I
The first thing the child remembered was looking down from a window
and seeing, ever so far below, green water flowing, and on it gondolas
plying, and fishing-boats with colored sails, the men in them looking
as small as children. For he was born in the Ghetto of Venice, on the
seventh story of an ancient house. There were two more stories, up
which he never went, and which remained strange regions, leading
towards the blue sky. A dusky staircase, with gaunt whitewashed walls,
led down and down--past doors whose lintels all bore little tin cases
containing holy Hebrew words--into the narrow court of the oldest
Ghetto in the world. A few yards to the right was a portico leading to
the bank of a canal, but a grim iron gate barred the way. The water of
another canal came right up to the back of the Ghetto, and cut off all
egress that way; and the other porticoes leading to the outer world
were likewise provided with gates, guarded by Venetian watchmen. These
gates were closed at midnight and opened in the morning, unless it was
the Sabbath or a Christian holiday, when they remained shut all day,
so that no Jew could go in or out of the court, the street, the big
and little square, and the one or two tiny alleys that made up the
Ghetto. There were no roads in the Ghetto, any more than in the rest
of Venice; nothing but pavements ever echoing the tramp of feet. At
night the watchmen rowed round and round its canals in large barcas,
which the Jews had to pay for. But the child did not feel a prisoner.
As he had no wish to go outside the gates, he did not feel the chain
that would have drawn him back again, like a dog to a kennel; and
although all the men and women he knew wore yellow hats and large O's
on their breasts when they went into the world beyond, yet for a long
time the child scarcely realized that there were people in the world
who were not Jews, still less that these hats and these rounds of
yellow cloth were badges of shame to mark off the Jews from the other
people. He did not even know that all little boys did not wear under
their waistcoats "Four-corners," colored shoulder-straps with squares
of stuff at each end, and white fringes at each corner, and that they
did not say, "Hear, O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One,"
as they kissed the fringes. No, the Ghetto was all his world, and a
mighty universe it was, full of everything that the heart of a child
could desire. What an eager swarm of life in the great sunny square
where the Venetian mast towered skywards, and pigeons sometimes
strutted among the crowd that hovered about the countless shops under
the encircling colonnade--pawnshops, old-clo' shops, butcher-shops,
wherein black-bearded men with yellow turbans bargained in Hebrew!
What a fascination in the tall, many-windowed houses, with their
peeling plastered fronts and patches of bald red brick, their green
and brown shutters, their rusty balconies, their splashes of
many-colored washing! In the morning and evening, when the padlocked
well was opened, what delight to watch the women drawing water, or
even to help tug at the chain that turned the axle. And on the bridge
that led from the Old Ghetto to the New, where the canal, though the
view was brief, disappeared round two corners, how absorbing to stand
and speculate on what might be coming round either corner, and which
would yield a vision first! Perhaps there would come along a sandolo
rowed by a man standing at the back, his two oars crossed gracefully;
perhaps a floating raft with barefooted boys bestriding it; perhaps a
barca punted by men in blue blouses, one at front and two at the back,
with a load of golden hay, or with provisions for the Ghetto--glowing
fruit and picturesque vegetables, or bleating sheep and bellowing
bulls, coming to be killed by the Jewish method. The canal that
bounded the Ghetto at the back offered a much more extended view, but
one hardly dared to stand there, because the other shore was foreign,
and the strange folk called Venetians lived there, and some of these
heathen roughs might throw stones across if they saw you. Still, at
night one could creep there and look along the moonlit water and up at
the stars. Of the world that lay on the other side of the water, he
only knew that it was large and hostile and cruel, though from his
high window he loved to look out towards its great unknown spaces,
mysterious with the domes and spires of mighty buildings, or towards
those strange mountains that rose seawards, white and misty, like the
hills of dream, and which he thought must be like Mount Sinai, where
God spake to Moses. He never thought that fairies might live in them,
or gnomes or pixies, for he had never heard of such creatures. There
were good spirits and bad spirits in the world, but they floated
invisibly in the air, trying to make little boys good or sinful. They
were always fighting with one another for little boys' souls. But on
the Sabbath your bad angel had no power, and your guardian Sabbath
angel hovered triumphantly around, assisting your every-day good
angel, as you might tell by noticing how you cast two shadows instead
of one when the two Sabbath candles were lighted. How beautiful were
those Friday evenings, how snowy the table-cloth, how sweet
everything tasted, and how restful the atmosphere! Such delicious
peace for father and mother after the labors of the week!
It was the Sabbath Fire-woman who forced clearly upon the child's
understanding--what was long but a dim idea in the background of his
mind--that the world was not all Jews. For while the people who lived
inside the gates had been chosen and consecrated to the service of the
God of Israel, who had brought them out of Egyptian bondage and made
them slaves to Himself, outside the gates were people who were not
expected to obey the law of Moses; so that while he might not touch
the fire--nor even the candlesticks which had held fire--from Friday
evening to Saturday night, the Fire-woman could poke and poke at the
logs to her heart's content. She poked her way up from the
ground-floor through all the seven stories, and went on higher, a sort
of fire-spirit poking her way skywards. She had other strange
privileges, this little old woman with the shawl over her head, as the
child discovered gradually. For she could eat pig-flesh or shell-fish
or fowls or cattle killed anyhow; she could even eat butter directly
after meat, instead of having to wait six hours--nay, she could have
butter and meat on the same plate, whereas the child's mother had
quite a different set of pots and dishes for meat things or butter
things. Yes, the Fire-woman was indeed an inferior creature, existing
mainly to boil the Ghetto's tea-kettles and snuff its candles, and was
well rewarded by the copper coin which she gathered from every hearth
as soon as one might touch money. For when three stars appeared in the
sky the Fire-woman sank back into her primitive insignificance, and
the child's father made the _Habdalah_, or ceremony of division
between week-day and Sabbath, thanking God who divideth holiday from
working-day, and light from darkness. Over a brimming wine-cup he
made the blessing, holding his bent fingers to a wax taper to make a
symbolical appearance of shine and shadow, and passing round a box of
sweet-smelling spices. And, when the chanting was over, the child was
given to sip of the wine. Many delicious mouthfuls of wine were
associated in his mind with religion. He had them in the synagogue
itself on Friday nights and on Festival nights, and at home as well,
particularly at Passover, on the first two evenings of which his
little wine-glass was replenished no less than four times with mild,
sweet liquid. A large glass also stood ready for Elijah the Prophet,
which the invisible visitor drank, though the wine never got any
lower. It was a delightful period altogether, this feast of Passover,
from the day before it, when the last crumbs of bread and leavened
matter were solemnly burnt (for no one might eat bread for eight days)
till the very last moment of the eighth day, when the long-forbidden
bread tasted as sweet and strange as cake. The mere change of kitchen
vessels had a charm: new saucepans, new plates, new dishes, new
spoons, new everything, in harmony with the Passover cakes that took
the place of bread--large thick biscuits, baked without yeast, full of
holes, or speckled and spotted. And when the evening table was laid
for the _Seder_ service, looking oh! so quaint and picturesque, with
wine-cups and strange dishes, the roasted shank-bone of a lamb, bitter
herbs, sweet spices, and what not, and with everybody lolling around
it on white pillows, the child's soul was full of a tender poetry, and
it was a joy to him to ask in Hebrew:--"Wherein doth this night differ
from all other nights? For on all other nights we may eat leavened and
unleavened, but to-night only unleavened?" He asked the question out
of a large thin book, gay with pictures of the Ten Plagues of Egypt
and the wicked Pharaoh sitting with a hard heart on a hard throne.
His father's reply, which was also in Hebrew, lasted some two or three
hours, being mixed up with eating and drinking the nice things and the
strange dishes; which was the only part of the reply the child really
understood, for the Hebrew itself was very difficult. But he knew
generally what the Feast was about, and his question was only a matter
of form, for he grew up asking it year after year, with a feigned
surprise. Nor, though he learned to understand Hebrew well, and could
even translate his daily prayers into bad Italian, a corruption of the
Venetian dialect finding its way into the Ghetto through the mouths of
the people who did business with the outside world, did he ever really
think of the sense of his prayers as he gabbled them off, morning,
noon, and night. There was so much to say--whole books full. It was a
great temptation to skip the driest pages, but he never yielded to it,
conscientiously scampering even through the passages in the tiniest
type that had a diffident air of expecting attention from only
able-bodied adults. Part of the joy of Sabbaths and Festivals was the
change of prayer-diet. Even the Grace--that long prayer chanted after
bodily diet--had refreshing little variations. For, just as the child
put on his best clothes for Festivals, so did his prayers seem to
clothe themselves in more beautiful words, and to be said out of more
beautiful books, and with more beautiful tunes to them. Melody played
a large part in the synagogue services, so that, although he did not
think of the meaning of the prayers, they lived in his mind as music,
and, sorrowful or joyous, they often sang themselves in his brain in
after years. There were three consecutive "Amens" in the afternoon
service of the three Festivals--Passover, Pentecost, Tabernacles--that
had a quaint charm for him. The first two were sounded staccato, the
last rounded off the theme, and died away, slow and lingering. Nor,
though there were double prayers to say on these occasions, did they
weigh upon him as a burden, for the extra bits were insinuated between
the familiar bits, like hills or flowers suddenly sprung up in
unexpected places to relieve the monotony of a much-travelled road.
And then these extra prayers were printed so prettily, they rhymed so
profusely. Many were clever acrostics, going right through the
alphabet from Aleph, which is A, to Tau, which is T, for Z comes near
the beginning of the Hebrew alphabet. These acrostics, written in the
Middle Ages by pious rabbis, permeated the Festival prayer-books, and
even when the child had to confess his sins--or rather those of the
whole community, for each member of the brotherhood of Israel was
responsible for the rest--he sinned his sin with an "A," he sinned his
sin with a "B," and so on till he could sin no longer. And, when the
prayers rhymed, how exhilarating it was to lay stress on each rhyme
and double rhyme, shouting them fervidly. And sometimes, instead of
rhyming, they ended with the same phrase, like the refrain of a
ballad, or the chorus of a song, and then what a joyful relief, after
a long breathless helter-skelter through a strange stanza, to come out
on the old familiar ground, and to shout exultantly, "For His mercy
endureth for ever," or "The appearance of the priest!" Sometimes the
run was briefer--through one line only--and ended on a single word
like "water" or "fire." And what pious fun it was to come down sharp
upon _fire_ or _water!_ They stood out friendly and simple, the rest
was such curious and involved Hebrew that sometimes, in an audacious
moment, the child wondered whether even his father understood it all,
despite that he wept freely and bitterly over certain acrostics,
especially on the Judgment Days. It was awe-inspiring to think that
the angels, who were listening up in heaven, understood every word of
it. And he inclined to think that the Cantor, or minister who led the
praying, also understood; he sang with such feeling and such fervid
roulades. Many solos did the Cantor troll forth, to which the
congregation listened in silent rapture. The only time the public
prayers bored the child was on the Sabbath, when the minister read the
Portion of the Week; the Five Books of Moses being read through once a
year, week by week, in a strange sing-song with only occasional
flights of melody. The chant was determined by curious signs printed
under the words, and the signs that made nice music were rather rare,
and the nicest sign of all, which spun out the word with endless turns
and trills, like the carol of a bird, occurred only a few times in the
whole Pentateuch. The child, as he listened to the interminable
incantation, thought he would have sprinkled the Code with bird-songs,
and made the Scroll of the Law warble. But he knew this could not be.
For the Scroll was stern and severe and dignified, like the high
members of the congregation who bore it aloft, or furled it, and
adjusted its wrapper and its tinkling silver bells. Even the soberest
musical signs were not marked on it, nay, it was bare of punctuation,
and even of vowels. Only the Hebrew consonants were to be seen on the
sacred parchment, and they were written, not printed, for the
printing-press is not like the reverent hand of the scribe. The child
thought it was a marvellous feat to read it, much less know precisely
how to chant it. Seven men--first a man of the tribe of Aaron the High
Priest, then a Levite, and then five ordinary Israelites--were called
up to the platform to stand by while the Scroll was being intoned, and
their arrivals and departures broke the monotony of the recitative.
After the Law came the Prophets, which revived the child's interest,
for they had another and a quainter melody, in the minor mode, full of
half tones and delicious sadness that ended in a peal of exultation.
For the Prophets, though they thundered against the iniquities of
Israel, and preached "Woe, woe," also foretold comfort when the period
of captivity and contempt should be over, and the Messiah would come
and gather His people from the four corners of the earth, and the
Temple should be rebuilt in Jerusalem, and all the nations would
worship the God who had given His law to the Jews on Mount Sinai. In
the meantime, only Israel was bound to obey it in every letter,
because only the Jews--born or unborn--had agreed to do so amid the
thunders and lightnings of Sinai. Even the child's unborn soul had
been present and accepted the yoke of the Torah. He often tried to
recall the episode, but although he could picture the scene quite
well, and see the souls curling over the mountains like white clouds,
he could not remember being among them. No doubt he had forgotten it,
with his other pre-natal experiences--like the two Angels who had
taught him Torah and shown him Paradise of a morning and Hell every
evening--when at the moment of his birth the Angel's finger had struck
him on the upper lip and sent him into the world crying at the pain,
and with that dent under the nostrils which, in every human face, is
the seal of oblivion of the celestial spheres. But on the anniversary
of the great Day of the Decalogue--on the Feast of Pentecost--the
synagogue was dressed with flowers. Flowers were not easy to get in
Venice--that city of stones and the sea--yet every synagogue (and
there were seven of them in that narrow Ghetto, some old and
beautiful, some poor and humble) had its pillars or its balconies
twined with roses, narcissi, lilies, and pansies. Prettier still were
the customs of "Tabernacles," when the wooden booths were erected in
the square or the courtyards of the synagogues in commemoration of the
days when the Children of Israel lived in tents in the wilderness.
The child's father, being particularly pious, had a booth all to
himself, thatched with green boughs, and hung with fruit, and
furnished with chairs and a table at which the child sat, with the
blue sky playing peep-bo through the leaves, and the white table-cloth
astir with quivering shadows and glinting sunbeams. And towards the
last days of the Festival he began to eat away the roof, consuming the
dangling apples and oranges, and the tempting grapes. And throughout
this beautiful Festival the synagogue rustled with palm branches, tied
with boughs of willows of the brook and branches of other pleasant
trees--as commanded in Leviticus--which the men waved and shook,
pointing them east and west and north and south, and then heavenwards,
and smelling also of citron kept in boxes lined with white wool. As
one could not breakfast before blessing the branches and the citron, a
man carried them round to such of the women-folk as household duties
kept at home--and indeed, home was a woman's first place, and to light
the Sabbath lamp a woman's holiest duty, and even at synagogue she sat
in a grated gallery away from the men downstairs. On the seventh day
of Tabernacles the child had a little bundle of leafy boughs styled
"Hosannas," which he whipped on the synagogue bench, his sins falling
away with the leaves that flew to the ground as he cried, "Hosanna,
save us now!" All through the night his father prayed in the
synagogue, but the child went home to bed, after a gallant struggle
with his closing eyelids, hoping not to see his headless shadow on the
stones, for that was a sign of death. But the ninth day of Tabernacles
was the best, "The Rejoicing of the Law," when the fifty-second
portion of the Pentateuch was finished and the first portion begun
immediately all over again, to show that the "rejoicing" was not
because the congregation was glad to be done with it. The man called
up to the last portion was termed "The Bridegroom of the Law," and to
the first portion "The Bridegroom of the Beginning," and they made a
wedding-feast to which everybody was invited. The boys scrambled for
sweets on the synagogue floor. The Scrolls of the Law were carried
round and round seven times, and the boys were in the procession with
flags and wax tapers in candlesticks of hollow carrots, joining
lustily in the poem with its alternative refrain of "Save us, we pray
Thee," "Prosper us, we pray Thee." So gay was the minister that he
could scarcely refrain from dancing, and certainly his voice danced as
it sang. There was no other time so gay, except it was Purim--the
feast to celebrate Queen Esther's redemption of her people from the
wicked Haman--when everybody sent presents to everybody else, and the
men wore comic masks or dressed up as women and performed little plays.
The child went about with a great false nose, and when the name of
"Haman" came up in the reading of the Book of Esther, which was intoned
in a refreshingly new way, he tapped vengefully with a little hammer or
turned the handle of a little toy that made a grinding noise. The other
feast in celebration of a Jewish redemption--Chanukah, or Dedication--was
almost as impressive, for in memory of the miracle of the oil that kept
the perpetual light burning in the Temple when Judas Maccabæus
reconquered it from the Greek gods, the Ghetto lighted candles, one on
the first night and two on the second, and so on till there were eight
burning in a row, to say nothing of the candle that kindled the others
and was called "The Beadle," and the child sang hymns of praise to the
Rock of Salvation as he watched the serried flames. And so, in this
inner world of dreams the child lived and grew, his vision turned back
towards ancient Palestine and forwards towards some vague Restoration,
his days engirdled with prayer and ceremony, his very games of ball or
nuts sanctified by Sandalphon, the boy-angel, to whom he prayed: "O
Sandalphon, Lord of the Forest, protect us from pain."