stories by english authors in london(英国作家在伦敦的故事)-第19节
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that he would give an I O U for the balance； but that he really could not
muster any more current coin。 Sugarman instructed the ambassador to
suggest that Eliphaz should raise the money among his friends。
And the short spring day slipped away。 In vain the minister； apprised
of the block； lengthened out the formulae for the other pairs； and blessed
them with more reposeful unction。 It was impossible to stave off the
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Leibel…Green item indefinitely； and at last Rose remained the only orange…
wreathed spinster in the synagogue。 And then there was a hush of solemn
suspense； that swelled gradually into a steady rumble of babbling tongues；
as minute succeeded minute and the final bridal party still failed to appear。
The latest bulletin pictured the bride in a dead faint。 The afternoon was
waning fast。 The minister left his post near the canopy； under which so
many lives had been united； and came to add his white tie to the forces for
compromise。 But he fared no better than the others。 Incensed at the
obstinacy of the antagonists； he declared he would close the synagogue。
He gave the couple ten minutes to marry in or quit。 Then chaos came； and
pandemoniuma frantic babel of suggestion and exhortation from the
crowd。 When five minutes had passed a legate from Eliphaz announced
that his side had scraped together twenty pounds； and that this was their
final bid。
Leibel wavered； the long day's combat had told upon him； the reports
of the bride's distress had weakened him。 Even Sugarman had lost his
cocksureness of victory。 A few minutes more and both commissions might
slip through his fingers。 Once the parties left the synagogue； it would not
be easy to drive them there another day。 But he cheered on his man still：
one could always surrender at the tenth minute。
At the eighth the buzz of tongues faltered suddenly； to be transposed
into a new key； so to speak。 Through the gesticulating assembly swept that
murmur of expectation which crowds know when the procession is
coming at last。 By some mysterious magnetism all were aware that the
BRIDE herselfthe poor hysteric bridehad left the paternal camp； was
coming in person to plead with her mercenary lover。
And as the glory of her and the flowers and the white draperies loomed
upon Leibel's vision his heart melted in worship； and he knew his citadel
would crumble in ruins at her first glance； at her first touch。 Was it fair
fighting？ As his troubled vision cleared； and as she came nigh unto him；
he saw to his amazement that she was speckless and composedno trace
of tears dimmed the fairness of her face； there was no disarray in her
bridal wreath。
The clock showed the ninth minute。
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She put her hand appeallingly on his arm； while a heavenly light came
into her facethe expression of a Joan of Arc animating her country。
〃Do not give in； Leibel！〃 she said。 〃Do not have me！ Do not let them
persuade thee！ By my life； thou must not！ Go home！〃
So at the eleventh minute the vanquished Eliphaz produced the
balance； and they all lived happily ever afterward。
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AN IDYL OF LONDON
BY BEATRICE HARRADEN
It was one o'clock； and many of the students in the National Gallery
had left off work and were refreshing themselves with lunch and
conversation。 There was one old worker who had not stirred from his
place； but he had put down his brush； and had taken from his pocket a
small book； which was like its ownerthin and shabby of covering。 He
seemed to find pleasure in reading it； for he turned over its pages with all
the tenderness characteristic of one who loves what he reads。 Now and
again he glanced at his unfinished copy of the beautiful portrait of Andrea
del Sarto； and once his eyes rested on another copy next to his； better and
truer than his； and once he stopped to pick up a girl's prune…coloured tie；
which had fallen from the neighbouring easel。 After this he seemed to
become unconscious of his surroundings； as unconscious； indeed； as any
one of the pictures near him。 Any one might have been justified in
mistaking him for the portrait of a man； but that his lips moved； for it was
his custom to read softly to himself。
The students passed back to their places； not troubling to notice him；
because they knew from experience that he never noticed them； and that
all greetings were wasted on him and all words were wanton expenditure
of breath。 They had come to regard him very much in the same way as
many of us regard the wonders of nature； without astonishment； without
any questionings； and often without any interest。 One girl； a new… comer；
did chance to say to her companion：
〃How ill that old man looks！〃
〃Oh； he always looks like that；〃 was the answer。 〃You will soon get
accustomed to him。 Come along！ I must finish my 'Blind Beggar' this
afternoon。〃
In a few minutes most of the workers were busy again； although there
were some who continued to chat quietly； and several young men who
seemed reluctant to leave their girl friends； and who were by no means
encouraged to go！ One young man came to claim his book and pipe； which
he had left in the charge of a bright…eyed girl； who was copying Sir
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Joshua's 〃Angels。〃 She gave him his treasures； and received in exchange a
dark…red rose； which she fastened in her belt； and then he returned to his
portrait of Mrs。 Siddons。 But there was something in his disconsolate
manner which made one suspect that he thought less of Mrs。 Siddons's
beauty than of the beauty of the girl who was wearing the dark…red rose！
The strangers； strolling through the rooms； stopped now and again to peer
curiously at the students' work。 They were stared at indignantly by the
students themselves； but they made no attempt to move away； and even
ventured sometimes to pass criticisms of no tender character on some of
the copies。 The fierce…looking man who was copying 〃The Horse Fair〃
deliberately put down his brushes； folded his arms； and waited defiantly
until they had gone by； but others； wiser in their generation； went on
painting calmly。 Several workers were painting the new Raphael； one of
them was a white…haired old gentlewoman； whose hand was trembling；
and yet skilful still。 More than once she turned to give a few hints to the
young girl near her； who looked in some distress and doubt。 Just the
needful help was given； and then the girl plied her brush merrily； smiling
the while with pleasure and gratitude。 There seemed to be a genial； kindly
influence at work； a certain homeliness too； which must needs assert itself
where many are gathered together； working side by side。 All made a
harmony； the wonderful pictures； collected from many lands and many
centuries； each with its meaning and its message from the past； the ever…
present memories of the painters themselves； who had worked and striven
and conquered； and the living human beings； each with his wealth of
earnest endeavour and hope。
Meanwhile the old man read on uninterruptedly until two hands were
put over his book and a gentle voice said：
〃Mr。 Lindall； you have had no lunch again。 Do you know； I begin to
hate Lucretius。 He always makes you forget your food。〃
The old man looked up； and something like a smile passed over his
joyless face when he saw Helen Stanley bending over him。
〃Ah；〃 he answered； 〃you must not hate Lucretius。 I have had more
pleasant hours with him than with any living person。〃
