"But I shall remember her again presently, and the stab will be as
bitter as ever!"
Beclere did not believe that the Arab race was ever as great a race
as we were inclined to give it credit for being.
"All the same, if it hadn't been for your ancestors, we might have
all been Moslems now," Owen said, stopping to admire what remained
of the race which had conquered Spain and nearly conquered France.
"Now they are outcasts of our civilisation--but what noble outcasts!
That fellow, he is old, and without a corner, perhaps, where to lay
his head, but he walks magnificently in his ragged bournous. He is
poor, but he isn't a beggar; his life is sordid, but it isn't
trivial; he retains his grand walk and his solemn salute; and if he
has never created an art, himself is proof that he isn't without the
artistic sentiment."
Beclere looked at Owen in surprise, and Owen, thinking to astonish
him, added:
"His poverty and his filth are sublime; he is a Jew from Amsterdam
painted by Rembrandt, or a Jew from Palestine described by the
authors of the Pentateuch."
"The Jew is a tougher fellow to deal with; he cannot be eradicated,
but the Arab was very nearly passing away.
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