skipped about with
it here and there, pressed it to his breast, and, thrilled by its holy
touch, broke forth into such a devout hymn of praise and thanksgiving,
that it seemed to Beautiful Sara as if the pillars under the holy ark
began to bloom; and the strange and lovely flowers and leaves on the
capitals shot ever higher, the tones of the treble were converted into
the notes of the nightingale, the vaulted ceiling of the synagogue
resounded with the tremendous tones of the bass singer, while the glory
of God shone down from the blue heavens. Yes, it was a beautiful psalm.
The congregation sang in chorus the concluding verse, and then the
choir-leader walked slowly to the raised platform in the middle of the
synagogue bearing the holy Book, while men and boys crowded about him,
eager to kiss its velvet covering, or even to touch it. On the platform,
the velvet cover, as well as the wrappings covered with illuminated
letters, were removed, and the choir-leader, in the peculiar intonation
which in the Passover service is still more peculiarly modulated, read
the edifying narrative of the temptation of Abraham.

Beautiful Sara had modestly withdrawn from the grating, and a stout,
much ornamented woman of middle age, with a forward, but benevolent
manner, had with a nod invited her to share her prayer-book. This lady
was evidently no great scholar, for as she mumbled to herself the
prayers as the women do, not being allowed to take part in the singing,
Sara observed that she made the best she could of many words, and
skipped several good lines altogether. But after a while the watery blue
eyes of the good woman were languidly raised, an insipid smile spread
over her red and white porcelain face, and in a voice which she strove
to make as genteel as possible, she said to Beautiful Sara, "He sings
very well. But I have heard far better singing in Holland. You are a
stranger, and perhaps do not know that the choir-leader is from Worms,
and that they will keep him here if he will be content with four hundred
florins a year. He is a charming man, and his hands are as white as
alabaster. I admire beautiful hands; they make one altogether
beautiful." Having said this, the good lady laid her own hand, which
was really a fine one, on the shelf before her, and with a polite nod
which intimated that she did not like to be interrupted while speaking,
she added, "The little singer is a mere child, and looks very much worn
out. The ba