“Why, they loved him,” said Goldstone.
“Then who said he was the monkey on John Bull’s chest?”
“He had enemies, naturally.”
“I understand they never took him in,” Leventhal declared.
“Wrong!” Harkavy cried. “He was a credit to them and to us.”
“I don’t see that,” Leventhal slowly shook his head. “It didn’t make any difference to them that Victoria was a German. But Disraeli…?”
“He showed Europe that a Jew could be a national leader,” said Goldstone.
“That’s Leventhal all over for you,” exclaimed Harkavy. “That shows you where he stands.”
“Jews and empires? Suez and India and so on? It never seemed right to me.”
“To teach the world a lesson with empty hands — I know that stuff by heart.” Harkavy stared at him with shocked, reprimanding eyes. “The Empire was certainly his business. He was an Englishman and a great one. Bismarck admired him. Der alter Jude, das ist der Mann!”
“Is there such a difference between an empire and a department store?” asked Shifcart. “You’re managing a business.”
“And he was managing the firm?” said Goldstone. “Bull and Company. The sun never sets on our stores. B. Disraeli, chief buyer.”
Leventhal at the outset had been a little reluctant to speak and had a fleeting feeling that it was a mistake to be drawn or lured out of his taciturnity. Nor had he thought, with his first remark, that he had much to say on this subject. But now, to his surprise, he was unable to hold back his opinions — they were his, of course, but he had never before expressed them, and they sounded queer to him.
“You bring up Bismarck,” he said. “Why did he say Jude instead of Englishman? Disraeli was a bargainer, so he was a Jew to him, naturally.”
“Don’t misrepresent Bismarck on the Jews,” warned Harkavy. “Be careful, boy. He lightened their load.”
“Yes, he had something to say about making a great race. What was it, now? ‘A German stallion and a Jewish mare.”‘
“A regular Kentucky Derby,” said Schlossberg. “Hay for everybody.”
“Don’t be down on a man for a figure of speech,” said Gold-stone. “He was an old cavalryman. That was just his way of talking about the best qualities of both.”
“Who needs his compliments?” Schlossberg said. “Who wants them?”
“Does it sound like flattery to you?” Leventhal raised his hand from the top of his head questioningly.
“I see what’s on your mind,” Goldstone answered. “You’re blaming him for the Germans of today.”
“I don’t,” cried Leventhal. “But why are you so glad to have one word of praise from Bismarck, and cockeyed praise too?”
“Why do you have it in for Disraeli?” demanded Harkavy.
“I don’t have it in for him. But he wanted to lead England. In spite of the fact that he was a Jew, not because he cared about empires so much. People laughed at his nose, so he took up boxing; they laughed at his poetic silk clothes, so he put on black; and they laughed at his books, so he showed them. He got into politics and became the prime minister. He did it all on nerve.”
“Oh, come on,” Harkavy said.
“On nerve,” Leventhal insisted. “That’s great, I’ll give you that. But I don’t admire it. It’s all right to overcome a weakness, but it depends how and it depends what you call a weakness… Julius Caesar was sick with epilepsy. He learned to ride with his hands behind his back and slept on the bare ground like a common soldier. What was the reason? His disease. Why should we admire people like that? Things that are life and death to others are only a test to them. What’s the good of such greatness?”
“Why, you’re succumbing yourself to all the things that are said against us,” Harkavy began in an upbraiding tone.
“No, I don’t think I am,” said Leventhal. He declined to argue further. He had already said too much and he gave notice by the drop of his voice that he intended to say no more.
A Filipino busboy came to clear the table. He was an old man and frail looking, and his hands and forearms were whitened by immersions in hot water. The cart loaded, he bent his back low over it, receiving the handlebar in his chest, and pushed away slowly. Behind the steam tables, one set of white-lettered menu boards was hauled down and another sent up in the steel frame with a clash.
“I have seen only one actor do Disraeli,” said Goldstone. “That was George Arliss.”
“Made for the part, that man,” Shifcart asserted.
“Him I liked in that,” said Schlossberg. “You’re right, Jack, he was made for it. He had the right face to play it, with his thin lips and long nose.”
“Somehow I’ve passed up all the Victorias,” remarked Gold-stone. “I haven’t seen a single one.”
“So what have you missed?” said Schlossberg. “A successful Victoria I have yet to see.”
It was a slow hour in the restaurant. On all sides there were long perspectives of black-topped tables turned on an angle to appear diamond-shaped, each with its symmetrical cluster of sugar, salt, pepper, and napkin box. From end to end their symmetry put a kind of motion into the almost empty place. At the rear, under the scene of groves painted on the wall, some of the employees sat smoking, looking toward the sunlight and the street.
“I have seen good ones,” Shifcart contended. “Don’t you like any of them?”
“No. One thing is why there should be so many Victorias. Maybe it’s because she was so plain. An ordinary-looking queen has a lot of appeal these days. Everything has to be pulled down a little. Isn’t it so? Why is she so popular?” He held out his hands to them as though soliciting a better answer. “She loved Albert; she was stubborn; she was a good housekeeper. It goes over.”
“I thought Eunice Sherbarth was a good Victoria,” said Harkavy.
“She’s a healthy, beautiful lady; it’s a pleasure to look at her,” said Schlossberg.
“So what’s the matter?” asked Shifcart. “She can’t act? You only wish you had her contract, Schlossberg.”
“Why not?” Schlossberg admitted. “As long as I’m wishing, I’d like to be thirty years old today with death a little farther off than it is. Besides, my pants are shiny. And who can’t use money? She must make plenty, I can imagine. And partly she has it coming because she’s good to look at. But act? I could play a better Victoria myself.” And indeed he could, thought Leventhal with more respect than amusement, if his voice weren’t so deep.
“Yes, in skirts you could be a hit,” said Shifcart.
“Anybody could be a hit today,” Schlossberg replied. “With the public so crazy to be pleased. It’s a regular carnival. Everybody is on the same side with illusion. Tell me, Jack, do you think you have ever discovered a good actress?”
“You mean an artist, I suppose, not a little type like Waters.”
“I mean an actress.”
“Then I say Livia Hall.”
“You mean that?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Impossible,” said Shifcart. “A pair of chopsticks.”
Shifcart’s stout neck grew red in patches and he said, a shade away from anger, “She is not a cheap success. Not everybody is so hard to satisfy, Schlossberg. It looks like it’s a big job to entertain you and maybe nobody does.”
“You are a tough critic, Marcus,” Goldstone said.
“Do I make up the specifications?” said Schlossberg. “Narischer mensch! I’m speaking for you, too. This is not the public. Between ourselves we can tell the truth, can’t we? What’s the matter with the truth? Everything comes in packages. If it’s in a package, you can bring the devil in the house. People rely on packages. If you will wrap it up, they will take it.”
“I didn’t claim the woman was Ellen Terry. I only said she was a good actress. You have to admit, Schlossberg, she’s got some ability.”