unfortunately the cathedral service fell on a friday night, when s. cohn, the emporium closed, was wont to absorb the sabbath peace. he would sit, after high tea, of which cold fried fish was the prime ingredient, dozing over the jewish weekly. he still approved platonically of its bellicose sentiments. this january night, the sabbath arriving early in the afternoon, he was snoring before seven, and mrs. cohn slipped out, risking his wrath. her religion forced her to make the long journey on foot; but, hurrying, she arrived at st. paul's before the doors were opened. and throughout the long walk was a morbid sense of one wasted ticket. she almost stopped at a friend's house to offer the exciting spectacle, but dread of a religious rebuff carried her past. with christians she was not intimate enough to invite companionship. besides, would not everybody ask why she was going without her husband?
she inquired for the door mentioned on her ticket, and soon found herself one of a crowd of parents on the steps. a very genteel crowd, she noted with pleasure. her boy would be in good company. the [64]scraps of conversation she caught dealt with a world of alien things—how little she was anglicized, she thought, after all those years! and when she was borne forward into the cathedral, her heart beat with a sense of dim, remote glories. to have lived so long in london and never to have entered here! she was awed and soothed by the solemn vistas, the perspectives of pillars and arches, the great nave, the white robes of the choir vaguely stirring a sense of angels, the overarching dome, defined by a fiery rim, but otherwise suggesting dim, skyey space.
suddenly she realized that she was sitting among the men. but it did not seem to matter. the building kept one's thoughts religious. around the waiting congregation, the human sea outside the cathedral rumoured, and whenever the door was opened to admit some dignitary the roar of cheering was heard like a salvo saluting his entry. the lord mayor and the aldermen passed along the aisle, preceded by mace-bearers; and mingled with this dazzle of gilded grandeur and robes, was a regretful memory of the days when, as a town councillor's consort, she had at least touched the hem of this unknown historic english life. the skirl of bagpipes shrilled from without—that exotic, half-barbarous sound now coming intimately into her life. and then, a little later, the wild cheers swept into the cathedral like a furious wind, and the thrill of the marching soldiers passed into the air, and the congregation jumped up on the chairs and craned towards the right aisle to stare at the khaki couples. how she looked for simon!
the volunteers filed on, filed on—beardless youths mostly, a few with a touch of thought in the face, [65]many with the honest nullity of the clerk and the shopman, some with the prizefighter's jaw, but every face set and serious. ah! at last, there was her simon—manlier, handsomer than them all! but he did not see her: he marched on stiffly; he was already sucked up into this strange life. her heart grew heavy. but it lightened again when the organ pealed out. the newspapers the next day found fault with the plain music, with the responses all in monotone, but to her it was divine. only the words of the opening hymn, which she read in the 'form of prayer,' discomforted her:
'fight the good fight with all thy might, christ is thy strength and christ thy right'
but the bulk of the liturgy surprised her, so strangely like was it to the jewish. the ninety-first psalm! did they, then, pray the jewish prayers in christian churches? 'for he shall give his angels charge over thee: to keep thee in all thy ways.' ah! how she prayed that for simon!
as the ecclesiastical voice droned on, unintelligibly, inaudibly, in echoing, vaulted space, she studied the hymns and verses, with their insistent old testament savour, culminating in the farewell blessing:
'the lord bless you and keep you. the lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious unto you. the lord lift up the light of his countenance upon you and give you peace.'
how often she had heard it in hebrew from the priests as they blessed the other tribes! her husband himself had chanted it, with uplifted palms and curiously grouped fingers. but never before had she felt its beauty: she had never even understood its [66]words till she read the english of them in the gilt-edged prayer-book that marked rising wealth. surely there had been some monstrous mistake in conceiving the two creeds as at daggers drawn, and though she only pretended to kneel with the others, she felt her knees sinking in surrender to the larger life around her.
as the volunteers filed out and the cheers came in, she wormed her way nearer to the aisle, scrambling even over backs of chairs in the general mellay. this time simon saw her. he stretched out his martial arm and blew her a kiss. oh, delicious tears, full of heartbreak and exaltation! this was their farewell.
she passed out into the roaring crowd, with a fantastic dream-sense of a night-sky and a great stone building, dark with age and solemnity, and unreal figures perched on railings and points of vantage, and hurrahing hordes that fused themselves with the procession and became part of its marching. she yearned forwards to vague glories, aware of a poor past. she ran with the crowd. how they cheered her boy! her boy! she saw him carried off on the shoulders of christian citizens. yes; he was a hero. she was the mother of a hero.
