Kitabı oku: «Aaron the Jew: A Novel», sayfa 17

"Truly, they take time-and money. Would you mind relating to me how the Borlinskis became associated with your society?"

"Not at all. It was a matter of conscience, purely a matter of conscience. That is why we are so proud of them. Josef Borlinski came first. He presented himself at our office; he had doubts; he had had doubts since childhood. In his country-Poland-no such society as ours exists, where a man can obtain monition and teaching to confirm or dispel those doubts. There are in that country converted Jews, but the conversion is sudden and effected by a kind of terrorism. Josef Borlinski is a reasonable being, and wished to be convinced through his reason. We cheerfully took up the task of convincing him of the error of his ways; we argued with him, we gave him books, he attended our meetings, we expounded the Gospel to him. At length he was satisfied, and became a zealous and happy convert to Christianity."

"How many months or years did it take to convince Josef Borlinski of his error?" asked Aaron.

"Nearly two years."

"During which time you supported him."

"We could do no less. He was desperately poor, almost starving when he came to us. Then, he was a foreigner, and the only trade-if it can be called one-to which he could turn his hand was that of an itinerant glazier, at which he could not earn more than three or four shillings a week, sometimes not so much. In any circumstances, it would have been a dangerous occupation for him to follow; he would have had to be out the whole of the day exposed to the weather, and the poor fellow is consumptive."

"So that you first adopted, and then converted him. How did you get hold of Izak Borlinski?"

"He is Josef's cousin, and Josef brought him to us."

"Zealous Josef! Izak also had doubts, and wished to be convinced through his reason?"

"That is so."

"And you adopted and converted him as well as Josef?"

"Yes."

"Clever Josef! Poor, consumptive Josef! It would not surprise me if he presently introduces another of his countrymen to you who has had doubts since childhood, and wishes to be convinced-through his reason and your pocket. Him, also, you can adopt and convert. Ah, what a loss to the stage is Josef Borlinski! Only that he lacks industry, for in him are united a fox's cunning and a sloth's love of idleness. The rogue! He imposed upon me for months, until at length, my suspicions aroused, I unmasked the rascal."

"Do you mean to say that we have been imposed upon?" asked the gentleman, in an excited tone.

"Judge for yourself. Six years ago Josef Borlinski came to this country, and lived for some time upon charity. I am on the committees of several of our benevolent institutions, and at every meeting I attended, the name of Josef Borlinski cropped up. It was always Josef Borlinski, Josef Borlinski, destitute and starving. The continual recurrence of the name irritated me, and I went to see this Josef Borlinski, destitute and starving. I found him down Whitechapel way playing draughts with his cousin, Izak. I saw before me a young man with black eyes, black hair, and a general appearance of belonging to the lymphatic order of being. I questioned him. How long had he been in England? Eighteen months. Why had he lived upon charity all that time? He was unfortunate; he could not obtain work. Was he willing to work? Oh yes, yes, yes, several times repeated, his little cunning eyes watching me as we conversed. Was he married? No. Had he a trade? Unfortunately no, he had no trade. Then, what could he do, what did he feel himself fitted for? Anything, everything. He is a man of professions this Josef Borlinski, glib of tongue, quick at response, supple as a reed, slippery as an eel. I reflected. He spoke English fairly well; he looked strong and healthy, not a symptom of consumption visible. How much a week could he, a single man, live upon? Upon anything, nothing-a few shillings, a few pence. Thus spoke Josef Borlinski, humbly and smoothly, interlarding his speech with Hebrew exclamations and pious adjurations. I offered him a situation at twenty shillings a week, to be increased if he gave satisfaction, which required no special knowledge of a trade, and in which he would have to work five days out of the seven. Boundless were his professions of gratitude. I was his benefactor; he would bless me all his life. He commenced work on the following Monday, and on the Tuesday he presented himself to me, with his coat rent, and black cloth round his hat. He had received a letter from Poland; his father was dead; a week of mourning was incumbent upon him; could he be spared to fulfil this religious obligation? Grief was in his countenance, tears in his eyes, his voice trembled. I sympathised with him; he could have his week's mourning. But he was destitute; he was starving; how was he to support himself during this week of enforced idleness? I gave him something more than a week's wages, and he departed, blessing me. His week of mourning over, it was reported to me that he had not returned to work. I sought him out, and found him playing draughts with his cousin Izak. He made a thousand excuses; he was ill; he was overwhelmed with sorrow at the loss he had sustained; he did not understand English customs; he did not think it was lawful to resume work in the middle of the week; moreover, he was in rags. He obtained money from me for a new suit of clothes, and a further extension of leave till the end of the week. On the Monday he duly presented himself, and in the afternoon fell down in a swoon, and had to be conveyed home in a cab, where he remained for three weeks, supported, as usual, by charity. My wife sent him wine and jelly, and the rascal was in clover. I visited him, and found him playing draughts with his cousin Izak. 'The game requires no exertion,' he said languidly; 'it is my only amusement; it diverts my mind from the sorrow by which I am oppressed.' I thought it extremely curious. The effects of his swoon having passed away, he commenced work again, and on the second day I received a letter from him. He had been compelled, he wrote, to take to his bed; he had spasms; he was doubled up with pain; he hoped to be better soon; meanwhile, could I send him a few shillings for medicine and food? He obtained what he asked for, and I called to see how he was progressing. I found him playing draughts with his cousin Izak. I was now thoroughly interested in Josef Borlinski. Such a chapter of accidents-such a plausible speaker and writer-so regularly unfortunate when he went to work, and so fond of playing draughts with his cousin Izak. I He was weeks getting rid of his spasms, but at length he recommenced work. Would you believe it? On the evening of the first day I found him waiting for me in this house. His left hand was in bandages, and the linen was besmeared with blood. In Heaven's name what had happened? He told me a lugubrious tale of having cut three of his fingers to the bone. The accident happening in my service made me responsible, and I felt myself bound to support him, especially as I discovered that he had related his woes to my wife, who was filled with pity for the rascal. 'You will look after the poor man,' she said to me; 'I promised him that you would.' 'I will look after him,' I replied. I did, and at every visit I paid him I found him playing draughts with his cousin Izak. He was, however, so long getting well this time, that I sent my own doctor to him. I also employed an agent to make inquiries into the history of the Borlinskis. My doctor reported that it was with great difficulty he had succeeded in obtaining a sight of Josefs wounded fingers. He had him held fast while he took off the bandages, and then he discovered that the fingers were without a scar, no wound of any kind had been received. My agent reported that the Borlinskis were well known in the village in Poland from which they had emigrated. They had lived the lives of idle scamps there, and had never been known to do one day's honest work. They preferred to hang about the drinking shops, to beg, to pilfer on the sly, to impose on charitable strangers, to do anything but work. As liars they were pre-eminent. Josef lost his father fourteen years before he came to England, therefore his statement that he had just received a letter from Poland informing him of his father's death was an invention, a trick. His swoon was a trick; his spasms a trick; his cutting his fingers to the bone a trick. From the hairs of his head to the soles of his feet he is a knave and a trickster; through his blood runs the incorrigible vice of indolence, and rather than work he will resort to any subterfuge. Only on one day in the whole year does his conscience disturb him, on the day of the White Fast. To-day a Jew, to-morrow a Christian, the next day a Mohammedan, the next a Pagan-it matters not to him so long as he can make money out of it, and eat the bread of idleness. My dear sir, I wish you joy of your Borlinskis."

The gentleman rose to take his leave, his belief in the genuineness of the conversion of the Borlinskis visibly shaken. He put but one question to Aaron Cohen.

"Josef Borlinski being what you describe him to be, what becomes of your assertion, 'Once a Jew, always a Jew'?"

"I have spoken of the White Fast," replied Aaron, "as the only day upon which Josef's conscience is awake. He believes, as we all do, in a future state, in the immortality of the soul. The White Fast is the great Day of Atonement, when Jews pray to be forgiven the sins they have committed during the past year. The most ignorant of them believe that if they pray and fast on the Day of Atonement their transgressions are atoned for. We have our black sheep, as you have; but the blackest of them observes this day with superstitious fear, and Josef Borlinski is not an exception. This year, on the Day of Atonement, I myself saw Josef in synagogue, enveloped in the white shroud he brought from Poland, beating his breast, and praying for forgiveness for his sins. From sunset to sunset food did not pass his lips; from sunset to sunset he prayed, and grovelled, and trembled. Come to our synagogue next year, and you shall see him there, if before that time he is not called to his account. Though he be converted to twenty different religions, and baptized twenty times over, Josef Borlinski is a Jew, and will remain a Jew to the last hour of his life."

CHAPTER XXXII
AARON COHEN ADDRESSES A JEWISH AUDIENCE

The world gave Aaron Cohen credit for being exceedingly wealthy, and fabulous tales of the success of his ventures obtained credence with the people. Instead of the age of romance being over, there was never a time in the world's history which afforded so much material for romance as the present, and in which it was so eagerly sought after and believed in. Imagination is more powerful than science, and this is the age of both. Small wonder, therefore, for the current report that Aaron Cohen was a millionaire; but such was not the case. He had money and to spare, and his private establishment was conducted on a liberal scale. Had he retired at this period he might have done so on an income of some five thousand pounds, which people's imagination would have multiplied by ten; and he might have justified this flight as to his means were it not that in addition to the charities to which he openly subscribed, a considerable portion of the profits of his enterprises was given anonymously to every public movement for the good of the people and for the relief of the poor. For several years past great curiosity had been evinced to learn the name of the anonymous donor of considerable sums of money sent through the post in bank-notes in response to every benevolent appeal to the public purse. A colliery disaster, a flood, an earthquake in a distant country, a case of national destitution-to one and all came large contributions from a singularly generous donor, who, in the place of his signature, accompanied the gift with the simple words, "In Atonement." Several well-known benefactors were credited with these liberal subscriptions, but so careful was the giver in the means he adopted to preserve his anonymity that they were not traced to the right source. They were strange words to use to such an end. In atonement of what? Of an undiscovered crime, the committal of which had enriched the man who would not sign his name? A few ingenious writers argued the matter out in the lesser journals, and although specifically they were very far from the truth, they were in a general sense more often nearer to it than they suspected.

These charitable donations were Aaron's constant appeal to the Divine Throne for mercy and forgiveness for the one sin of his life, and thus did he effectually guard against becoming a millionaire.

He was, indeed, unceasing in his secret charities to individuals as well as to public bodies. Many a struggling man never discovered to whom he was indebted for the timely assistance which lifted him out of his troubles, and started him on the high road to prosperity; many a widow had cause to bless this mysterious dispenser of good. If upon his deathbed a life-long sinner, repenting, may be forgiven his numberless transgressions, surely a life-long record of noble deeds may atone for an error prompted by the purest feelings of love. Such a thought did not enter Aaron's mind; the flattering unction was not for him. He walked in sorrow and humility, wronging no man, doing good to many, and faithfully performing his duty to all. At the Judgment Seat he would know.

Perhaps of all the institutions in which he took a part, those which most deeply interested him were the Jewish working men's clubs in the East End. He was one of their most liberal patrons; their library shelves were lined with the books he had presented, and he frequently took the chair at their Sunday evening gatherings. The announcement of his name was sufficient to crowd the hall; to shake hands with Aaron Cohen was one of the ambitions of the younger members. When he made his appearance at these gatherings he felt that he was among friends; there was a freemasonry among them, as indeed there is among Jews all the world over. Aaron devoted particular attention to the young people. He knew that the hope of Judaism lay in the new generation, and it was his aim to encourage in the minds of the young the pride of race which engenders self-respect and strengthens racial character. He regarded old customs as something more than landmarks in his religion; they were essentials, the keystones of the arch which kept the fabric together, and he was anxious that they should be preserved. Symbols are unmeaning to the materialist; to those who have faith they convey a pregnant message, the origin of which can be traced back to the first days of creation, when God made man in His own image. They are the links which unite the past, full of glorious traditions, and the future, full of Divine hope. Of this past Aaron spoke in words which stirred the sluggish fires in the hearts of the old, and made them leap into flame in the hearts of the young. "I have heard," he said, "of Jews who were ashamed that it should be known that they were Jews; of Jews who, when Jews were spoken of slightingly in Christian society, have held their tongues in order that they might perchance escape from the implied disparagement. I will not stop to inquire whether this springs from cowardice or sensitiveness, for in either case it is both wrong and foolish. Lives there any member of an old historic family who is not proud of the past which has been transmitted to him as a heritage, who is not conscious that his lineage sheds a lustre upon the name he bears? Not one. He pores over the annals of his race, and, pausing at the record of a noble deed performed, thinks proudly, 'This deed was performed by my ancestor, and it lives in history.' He takes up a novel or a poem, and reads it with exultant feelings, as having been inspired by another ancestor who, mayhap, shed his blood in defence of king and country. Let me remind you, if you have lost sight of the fact, that there is no historic family in England or elsewhere the record of whose deeds can vie in splendour with the record of the Jew. His history is at once a triumph of brain power and spiritual vitality, and the proudest boast a Jew can make is that he is a Jew. It is not he who holds the lower ground; he stands on the heights, a noble among the men who presume to despise him. Be true to yourselves, and it will not be long before this is made manifest and universally acknowledged. In personal as well as in racial history you stand pre-eminent. What greater schoolman than Maimonides? What greater master of philosophy than Spinoza? What poets more sublime than Isaiah and Ezekiel? In infamous Russia Jews who practised their religion in secret have been among its most eminent ministers of finance, and the glory of Spain departed when it persecuted our brethren and drove them from the country. The Disraelis, father and son, were Jews; Benary was a Jew; Neander, the founder of spiritual Christianity, was a Jew; in Germany the most celebrated professors of divinity were Jews; Wehl, a Jew, the famous Arabic scholar, wrote the 'History of Christianity'; the first Jesuits were Jews; Soult and Messina were Jews; Count Arnim was a Jew; Auerbach, Pasta, Grisi, Rachel, Sara Bernhardt, Baron Hirsch, the philanthropist, Meyerbeer, Mendelssohn-all Jews. These are but a few of the names which occur to me; are you ashamed to be associated with them? In war, in politics, in philosophy, in finance, in philanthropy, in exploration and colonisation, in all the arts and professions, you stand in the front rank. I see in this audience many young men, some of whom, I believe, are by their talents destined to become famous, and some to grow rich by their shrewdness and industry. To them I say, Work and prosper, and work in the right way. Whatever be the channel they have chosen to the goal they wish to reach, let them work honestly towards it, and when they stand upon the fairer shore let them not forget their religion, let them not forget that they owe their advancement to the intelligent and intellectual forces which have been transmitted to them by their great ancestors through all the generations."

This address was received with enthusiasm, and Aaron's hearers went to their homes that night stirred to their inmost hearts, and proud of the faith of their forefathers.

CHAPTER XXXIII
WHAT SHALL BE DONE TO THE MAN WHOM THE KING DELIGHTETH TO HONOUR?

On a bright morning in the autumn of the year 1893 a number of influential persons wended their way to Aaron Cohen's house to take part in a function of a peculiarly interesting nature. They comprised representatives of literature and the arts, of politics, science, and commerce, and among them were delegates of the press, who were deputed to report the proceedings for their respective journals. That the pen is mightier than the sword was open to dispute at an earlier period of the world's history, but the contention exists no longer, and though the day is far distant when the lion shall lie down with the lamb, the press is now a powerful factor in peace and war, and can effectually hasten or retard the conflict of nations. It is an open question whether its invasion of the arena of private life is a desirable feature in the power it wields; but it is useless to resist its march in this direction, and earnest as may be a man's desire to hide his light (or the reverse) under a bushel, he does not live to see it gratified. The up-to-date journalist, argus-eyed, overruns the earth; it is to be deplored that his quill is sometimes poison-tipped, but as a rule he sets about his work with good-humoured zest, and it is not to be denied that he prepares many a piquant dish for his omnivorous public.

When a movement was set afoot to make some sort of semi-private, semi-public recognition of the remarkable position attained by the hero of this story, he made an effort to discourage it. The idea of any kind of publicity was distasteful to him, and he expressed an opinion to this effect. It was not heeded by the organisers of the testimonial, and he was thinking of remonstrating in stronger terms, when the matter was settled for him by a few simple words spoken by Rachel.

"Why do you object?" she asked. "You did not seek the honour, and it will reflect honour upon us."

"Do you wish it, Rachel?"

"It will give me pleasure, dear," she replied.

He did not argue with her, but yielded immediately, and allowed himself to be carried with the stream. Never in the course of their happy married life had he failed to comply with her lightest wish; never had there been the least conflict between them; to each of them the word of the other was law, and it was love's cheerful duty to obey.

The esteem in which he was held was to be demonstrated by two presentations, one a portrait of himself by a famous English artist, the other a picture also, the subject being withheld from his knowledge. This second painting was no other than the picture of Rachel sitting beneath the cherry tree, which had created so much interest in the Paris salon more than a dozen years ago. It had originally been purchased by a collector, who had lately died. After his death his collection had been brought to the hammer, and this particular picture was purchased by a London dealer, who exhibited it in his shop. The first intention was to present a silver memorial with Aaron's portrait, but a friend of his happened to see the French picture in London, and was struck by the wonderful resemblance of the principal figure to Rachel. He made inquiries privately of Aaron respecting his sojourn in the south of France, and learned that there was a picturesque cherry tree in the grounds at the back of the house, in the shadow of which Rachel was in the habit of sitting in sunny weather, that he had a friend, the curé of the village, and that one summer a French painter had visited the village and had made a number of sketches of Rachel and the garden. Following up his inquiries, Aaron's friend obtained from the London dealer some information of the history of the picture and of the year in which it was exhibited, and, putting this and that together, he came to the conclusion that Rachel had unconsciously sat for the picture. It was an interesting discovery, and the first idea of a silver presentation was put aside, and the picture substituted in its place.

Mr. Moss, of course, came from Portsmouth to attend the function. Our old friend was frequently in London now, to attend to certain complicated business matters. Sad to say, of late years fortune had not smiled upon him; he had met with losses, but that did not prevent him from humming his operatic airs at every possible opportunity. He had himself to blame for this reverse of fortune; certainly he had a tremendously large family, sixteen children to rear and provide for, and eight of them girls-he used to say jocularly that it was difficult to find names for them; but he had a comfortable business, and should have been content. Unhappily, one day he had a bright idea; he made a plunge in stocks, with disastrous results. Had he consulted Aaron Cohen, as he afterwards confessed, it would never have happened; Aaron would have shown him the folly of expecting to grow rich in a week. The consequence was that he found himself involved, and his frequent visits to London were necessitated by his personal endeavours to reduce his losses. It made no difference in Aaron's friendship for him; it may be said, indeed, to have strengthened it. In a time of more than ordinary difficulty Aaron came forward voluntarily, and afforded practical assistance to his old friend. "If you want to know the kind of metal Aaron Cohen is made of," he said to his wife, "go to him when you are in misfortune. That is the time to prove a man." Another strengthening tie was to be forged in the firm friendship of these men. One at least of Mr. Moss's numerous daughters was always in London on a visit to Rachel, and it was quite in the natural order of things that Joseph Cohen should fall in love with Esther Moss, the prettiest and sweetest of all the girls. Rachel and her husband were very fond of Esther, and regarded the attachment with favour. Joseph was too young yet to marry, but with the consent of his parents an engagement was entered into between the young people, and there was joy in Mr. Moss's estimable family.

It was a natural consequence of this family arrangement that Esther was frequently invited to make her home for a time with the Cohens in London, and she was in their house on the day of the presentations. Her lover was absent, and had been out of England for some months past. Young as he was, he already held a position of responsibility in an extensive firm, and had been sent to Australia to attend to business of an important nature. He was expected home at the end of the week, but was then to remain in England only a few days, his passage to India being taken, his mission being to establish agencies in that land for the gentleman by whom he was employed. Years ago the choice of a classical education had been offered him by his father; but his inclination was for commerce, and Aaron Cohen did not believe in forcing a lad into a career which was distasteful to him. Upon his return from India eight or nine months hence the marriage between him and Esther was to take place. Needless to say how proud and happy the young maid was in the contemplation of the approaching union.

Neither was Ruth Cohen a witness of the honour which was paid to the man she believed to be her father. She had invited herself to Portsmouth, to spend a week or two with Mrs. Moss. When she expressed the wish to go Rachel Cohen had remonstrated with her, and hinted that she should remain in London to attend the presentations; but Ruth was restless and rebellious, and said she did not care to be present. Rachel, inwardly grieved, did not press it upon her.

"Are you not happy at home?" she asked gently. Ruth did not speak, and Rachel continued, "You do not take pleasure in the society of our friends?"

"I am not very fond of them," Ruth replied.

Rachel said no more. Ruth's dislike of Jewish society was not new to her; it had caused her great pain, and she had striven in vain to combat it. The strength of Rachel's character lay in her moral and sympathetic affections: with those who recognised the sweetness and unselfishness of these attributes her power was great; with those who failed to appreciate them she was powerless. This was the case with Ruth, in whom, as she grew to womanhood, was gradually developed a stubbornness which boded ill for peace. Frequently and anxiously did Rachel ask herself, From whom could a daughter of her blood have inherited views and ideas so antagonistic and rebellious?

Aaron could have answered this question, had it been put to him, and had he dared to answer. Ruth's instincts were in her blood, transmitted by parents whom he had never known, and of whose characters he was ignorant. Heredity lay at the root of this domestic misery. As a rule, vices, virtues, and all classes of the affections are hereditary, and the religious sentiments are not an exception. Aaron had studied the subject, and was conscious of the solemn issues dependent upon it.

He had obtained possession of Ruth's body, but not of her mind, and even of the former his guardianship would soon be at an end. Although he could not fix the exact day of her birth, she would soon be twenty-one years of age, when the duty would devolve upon him of delivering to her the iron casket of which he had been made the custodian, and he was in an agony how he should act. Every day that passed deepened his agony; he saw shadows gathering over his house which might wreck the happiness of his beloved wife. Again and again had he debated the matter without being able to arrive at any comforting conclusion. Undoubtedly the casket contained the secret of Ruth's parentage; when that was revealed the sword would fall.

However, he could not on this day give himself up to these disturbing reflections; he had consented to accept an honour of which he deemed himself unworthy, and it was incumbent upon him that he should not betray himself. There was still a little time left to him to decide upon his course of action. The man of upright mind was at this period laying himself open to dangerous casuistical temptations. Even from such unselfish love as he entertained for the wife who was deserving of love in its sweetest and purest aspects may spring an upas tree to poison the air we breathe.

Among the company was an old friend of ours-Dr. Spenlove, who had attained an eminent position in London. His career from the time he left Portsmouth had been a remarkable one. In the larger field of labour to which he had migrated his talents were soon recognised, and he began almost at once to mount the ladder of renown. Success in the medical profession is seldom gained upon an insecure foundation; there must be some solid justification for it, and once secured it lasts a lifetime. Dr. Spenlove was no exception to the rule, and was not spoilt by prosperity. He was still distinguished by that kindliness of nature which had made his name a household word in the humble neighbourhood in Portsmouth in which he had struggled and suffered. The poor never appealed to him in vain, and he was as attentive to those who could not afford to pay him as to those from whom he drew heavy fees. Many a time did he step from his carriage to a garret in which lay a poor sufferer whose fortunes were at the lowest ebb, and many a trembling hand which held a few poor coins was gently put aside with tender and cheerful words which were never forgotten by those to whom they were spoken.