In the days when the Ashkenazim and the Sephardim were divided by walls of sentiment and pride, as difficult to surmount as the walls that separated patrician from plebeian in ancient Rome, an Ashkenazi youth married a Sephardi maiden. It happened some four hundred or five hundred years ago. Youth and maiden are dust, their romance is forgotten, and we owe them an apology for disturbing their memory. Let us only add that the youth’s name was Zalman. May Mr. and Mrs. Zalman rest in peace!

Zalman, the tailor, lived in Essex Street on the same floor with the Rabbi Elsberg. Zalman possessed two treasures, each a rarity of exquisite beauty, each vying with the other for supremacy in his affections. The one was a wine glass of Venetian make, wonderful in its myriad-hued colouring, its fragile texture, and its rare design. The mate of it rests in one of the famous museums of 300Italy, and the connoisseurs came from far and near to feast their eyes upon Zalman’s piece. Money, in sums that would have made Zalman a rich man in that neighbourhood, had been offered to him for this treasure, but he always shook his head.

“It has been in my family for hundreds of years,” he would say, “and I cannot part with it. Years ago—many, many years ago—our family was wealthy, but now I have nothing left save this one wine glass. I would rather die than lose it.”

His visitors would depart with feelings of mingled wonder and rage; wonder that so priceless a gem should be in the possession of a decrepit, untidy, poverty-stricken East Side tailor; and rage that he should be so stubborn as to cling to it in spite of the most alluring offers that were made to him. Zalman’s other treasure was his daughter Barbara, whose name, like the wine glass, had descended from some long-forgotten Spanish or Italian ancestress. All the lavish praise that the most enthusiastic lover of things beautiful had ever lavished upon that wonderful wine glass would have applied with equal truth to Barbara. Excepting that Barbara was distinctly modern.

301Reuben sat in the Rabbi Elsberg’s sitting-room, frowning and unhappy; the rabbi, puffing reflectively at a long pipe, gazing at him in silence. Through the walls they could hear Barbara singing. Barbara always sang when she was merry, and Barbara was merry, as a rule, from the moment she left her bed until she returned to it. The rabbi took a longer puff than usual, and then asked Reuben:

“What said her father?”

Reuben gulped several times as if the words that crowded to his lips for utterance were choking him.

“It is well for him that he is her father,” he finally said. “I would not have listened to so much abuse from any other living man.” (Reuben, by the way, had a most determined-looking chin, and there was something very earnest in the cut of his features.)

“He gave me to understand,” he went on, “that he knew perfectly well it was his wine glass I was after, and not his daughter. That I was counting on his dying soon, and already looked forward to selling that precious glass to spend the money in 302riotous living. And when I told him that Barbara and I loved each other, he said ‘Bosh!’ and forbade me to speak of it again.”

The rabbi puffed in silence for a moment.

“He evidently has not a flattering opinion of you, my young friend.”

“He knows nothing against me!” Reuben hurriedly exclaimed. “It is only because I want Barbara. He would say the same to anyone else that asked for his daughter. You know me, rabbi; you have known me a long time, ever since I was a child. I do not pretend to be an angel, but I am not bad. I love the girl, and I can take good care of her. I don’t want to see his old wine glass again. I’d smash it into a——”

Reuben’s jaw fell, and his eyes stared vacantly at the wall. The rabbi followed his gaze, and, seeing nothing, turned to Reuben in surprise.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Nothing,” replied Reuben, with a sheepish grin. “I—I just happened to think of something.”

The rabbi frowned. “If you are often taken with such queer ideas that make you look so idiotic, 303I don’t think I can blame Zalman so very much.” But Reuben’s contrite expression immediately caused him to regret his momentary annoyance, and holding out his hand, he said, affectionately:

“Come, Reuben, I will do what I can for you. You are a good boy, and if you and the girl love each other I will see if there is not some way of overcoming her father’s objections.”

Taking Reuben by the arm he led him into Zalman’s shop. Zalman was not alone. A little shrivelled old man, evidently a connoisseur of objets d’art, was holding the wonderful wine glass to the light, gloating over the bewildering play of colours that flashed from it, while Zalman anxiously hovered about him, eager to receive the glass in his own hands again, yet proudly calling the old man’s attention to its hidden beauties.

Barbara stood in the doorway that led to the living-rooms in the rear. When she saw Reuben she blushed and smiled.

Zalman looked up and saw the rabbi and smiled; saw who was with him and frowned.

“I just dropped in to have a little chat,” said 304the rabbi, “but there is no hurry. I will wait until you are disengaged.”

The connoisseur carefully set the glass upon the counter, and heaved a long, painful sigh.

“And no price will tempt you to part with it?” he asked. Zalman shook his head and grinned. What followed happened with exceeding swiftness.

Zalman had got as far as, “It has been in our family for hundreds of years——” when a shadow caused him to turn his head. He saw Barbara throw up her hands in amazement, saw the rabbi start forward as though he were about to interfere in something, and saw the precious wine glass in Reuben’s hand. Mechanically he reached forward to take it from him, and then instantly felt Reuben’s other hand against his breast, holding him back, and heard Reuben saying, quite naturally, “Wait!”

It had not taken ten seconds—Zalman suddenly felt sick.

The connoisseur hastily put on his glasses. The situation seemed interesting.

“Mr. Zalman,” said Reuben, speaking very slowly and distinctly, yet carefully keeping the 305tailor at arm’s length, “I told you this very day that your daughter Barbara and I love each other. We will not marry without your consent. So you must consent. If I cannot marry Barbara I do not care what happens to me. I will have nothing to live for. I can give her a good home, and we will be very happy. You can come to live with us, if you like, and I will always be a good son to you. I swear by the Torah that this glass is nothing to me. I want Barbara because I love her, and you can throw this glass into the river for all I care. But if you do not give y............