She did not know exactly where to look for it, but, after some amount of rummaging, found it at the bottom of a trunk, underneath a pile of old music. It was very dusty, and looked as if it had not seen daylight for some time. Celia dusted it carefully, and shook the leaves. As she did so, a small sheet of foreign writing-paper dropped out on to the floor. She picked it up and examined it. It was evidently a note of some description, but was not addressed to any one by name. The calligraphy was English in character but was barely legible, and the ink was faded. With difficulty Celia made out the following words:—
“9, Rue d’Alençon, Neuilly. Longchamps an utter frost. Auteuil ditto. Bonne Bouche a dead cert this time. Hurry up, old man, and send a hundred by return, or I come to England for change of air.—Ninette.”
She read it over twice, but could make nothing of it. To whom was it addressed, and who was “Ninette”? Ninette—the name seemed strangely familiar, yet she was unable to remember where or when she had heard it before. Perhaps Herbert had lent the book to somebody, and the note had been inserted as a bookmark. She would ask him about it some day, if she did not forget. Meanwhile she locked it away in her desk, and gave the book to Montie to take to Mildred Brooke.
Then she sat down to write a letter to her brother. Mrs. Friedberg had asked her if she intended to take a seat in the synagogue for the forthcoming Yomtovim,[4] and she wished to have Herbert’s advice. She was undecided whether to observe the holydays or not. Hitherto she had never done so, for lack of opportunity; but now that she was living with a Jewish family, within easy reach of several synagogues, she had no such excuse.
This was a matter which had caused her some serious thought of late. It was not only the question of keeping the approaching holydays, but of practising the Jewish faith as a whole. If, a month ago, anybody had asked her what religion she professed, she would have replied, without a moment’s hesitation, “Judaism.” She was not so sure now. She had come to the conclusion that, if she would be a true Jewess, she was bound to observe all the ceremonial laws, honestly and thoroughly. It would not do to keep some and reject the others. Either she must place herself under the yoke of the law, or she must cast it off altogether. The question was, which was right in the sight of God?
Herbert Karne answered her letter by return of post. “This is a matter in which you must decide for yourself, dear sis,” he wrote. “You know my views. I do not believe in revealed religion, according to the Pentateuch, at all; and still I call myself a Jew. I worship God only as I find Him in nature, in art, in all that is beautiful; this is the grandest of all creeds. If, however, you think that these Jewish ceremonial observances will help and comfort you, use them by all means, and get all the good you can out of them. If, on the other hand, you find them but meaningless and empty forms, do not submit to them under any consideration, but shake them off for ever. Whatever you do, Celia, be true, be sincere. Shun hypocrisy as you would a pest, for there is nothing more weakening to the whole moral and spiritual nature. At the same time, I do not want you wilfully to offend Mr. Friedberg’s religious susceptibilities; it is not at all necessary to tell every one what you think and believe. In any case, it will not hurt you to go to the synagogue on New Year’s Day, and the Day of Atonement. It will be a new experience for you, and if you have any religious feeling in you at all, you ought to be profoundly moved by the intensity and solemnity of the services. I have promised, as usual, to assist at the services for the men at Mendel’s factory on those days. It seems strange, but although my views are to them so heretical, they always ask me to give the lecture.”
He then passed on to other subjects, and asked several questions about her Academy work. Celia put the letter away, and went down to tell Mrs. Friedberg that she would like to have a seat in the synagogue for the holydays.
Mrs. Friedberg was pleased. “Lottie said you didn’t care about Yiddishkeit[5] at all,” she said. “But I think you do, don’t you, Celia?”
“Yes, I think I do,” answered the girl, slowly. “I am afraid that I have been very lax in the past, but I am going to try to be a true Jewess now.”