this than the real Jews of Jerusalem,
especially those from the ghettoes of eastern Europe.
They can be immediately picked out by the peculiar wisps of hair worn
on each side of the face, like something between curls and whiskers.
Sometimes they look strangely effeminate, like some rococo
burlesque of the ringlets of an Early Victorian woman.
Sometimes they look considerably more like the horns of a devil;
and one need not be an Anti-Semite to say that the face is often
made to match. But though they may be ugly, or even horrible,
they are not vulgar like the Jews at Brighton; they trail behind
them too many primeval traditions and laborious loyalties,
along with their grand though often greasy robes of bronze
or purple velvet. They often wear on their heads that odd
turban of fur worn by the Rabbis in the pictures of Rembrandt.
And indeed that great name is not irrelevant; for the whole truth
at the back of Zionism is in the difference between the picture
of a Jew by Rembrandt and a picture of a Jew by Sargent.
For Rembrandt the Rabbi was, in a special and double sense,
a distinguished figure. He was something distinct from the world
of the artist, who drew a Rabbi as he would a Brahmin. But Sargent
had to treat his sitters as solid citizens of England or America;
and consequently his pictures are direct provocations to a pogrom.
But the light that Rembrandt loved falls not irreverently on
the strange hairy haloes that can still be seen on the shaven heads
of the Jews of Jerusalem. And I should be sorry for any pogrom
that brought down any of their grey wisps or whiskers in sorrow
to the grave.

The whole scene indeed, seriousness apart, might be regarded as a
fantasia for barbers; for the different ways of dressing the hair
would alone serve as symbols of different races and religions.
Thus the Greek priests of the Orthodox Church, bearded and robed
in black with black towers upon their heads, have for some
strange reason their hair bound up behind like a woman's. In
any case they have in their pomp a touch of the bearded bulls
of Assyrian sculpture; and this strange fashion of curling if not
oiling the Assyrian bull gives the newcomer an indescribable and
illogical impression of the unnatural sublimity of archaic art.
In the Apocalypse somewhere there is an inspiringly unintelligible
allusion to men coming on the earth, whose hair is like the hair
of women and their teeth like the teeth of lions. I have nev