A Fair Jewess

One venture had led to another, and the success which had attended them was a sufficient inducement to tarry. But now that the partnership was at an end the incentive was gone, and he was not sorry that he was in a certain sense compelled to return to his native land. One thing in his life in the village had weighed heavily upon him. He was the only Jewish man in the place; there was no synagogue in which he and his family could worship, and it was in his own home that he carried out all the ceremonials of his religion. Not one of these did he omit; he strictly observed the Sabbaths and holidays and fasts, and under no consideration would he perform any kind of work on those occasions.

He obtained his Passover cakes and his meat (killed according to the Jewish law) from neighboring towns, and he did not excite the ire of the local butcher, because he spent more money with him in providing for the wants of the poor than he could have done in his own establishment had it been twice as large as it was. Every year he erected in his garden a tent in which to celebrate the Feast of Tabernacles, and in all these observances Rachel took a devout and heartfelt pleasure.

If the great painter who had painted her portrait as she sat beneath the cherry tree had been a witness of the scene when the family were assembled in the prettily decorated tent, and Aaron, with the palm branch in his hand, intoned in his rich musical voice, "When I wave the branches do Thou pour down the blessings of thy heavenly influence on Thine habitation, the bridal canopy, the dwelling place of our God," while Rachel, with her young children, stood meekly before him, he would have been inspired to produce another picture which would have rivaled the first in popularity. But much as Aaron had reason to be grateful for, he yearned to follow the practices of his religion among his co-religionists, he yearned to have the honor of taking the sacred scroll from the ark, to hear the chazan's voice from the pulpit and the melodious chant, of the choir, followed by the deep responses of the congregation. There was another consideration.

He wished his son, Joseph, to grow up amid such surroundings, so that he might be fixed firmly in the faith of his forefathers. There was no Jewish school in the village in which the lad could be educated, there was no Jewish society in which he could mix. He looked forward to the future. Joseph would become a man, and in this village there would be no Jewish maiden to attract his heart. He discussed these matters with Rachel.

"Yes," she said, "let us go. But I shall never forget the happy years we have passed here."

"Nor I," said Aaron. "Peace and good fortune have attended us. May a blessing rest upon the village and all the dwellers therein!"

Then Rachel spoke of her poor and of her regret at leaving them.

"We will bear them in remembrance," said Aaron, "and before we bid them farewell something can be done to place them in comfort."

Much was done by Rachel and himself. For some time past he had bestowed a great part of his benefactions in such a manner that those whom he befriended were ignorant of the source from which the good flowed. In order that this should be carried out as he wished he had to seek an agent, and, after consideration, he asked the curé of the village to be his almoner, explaining that he did not wish it to be known that the money came from him. The curé, much surprised, accepted the office; Aaron was grievously disturbing his opinion of the heretic.

After his meeting with Rachel, which has been described in the previous chapter, he had visited her home with the laudable desire of converting the family to the true faith, and had found himself confronted with peculiar difficulties. He strove to draw them into argument, but in a theological sense they slipped through his fingers. Aaron's course in this respect was premeditated, Rachel's was unconsciously pursued. She listened to all he said, and smilingly acquiesced in his declaration that there was only one road open to heaven's gates.

"It is the road of right-doing, father," she said, "the road of kindness, of doing unto others as you would they should do unto you, of dispensing out of your store, whether it be abundant or not, what you can do to relieve the unfortunate. You are right, father; there is only one road."

By her sweetness and charity, by her practical sympathy with the suffering, she cut the ground from under his feet. He spoke of the saints, and she said they were good men and women, and were receiving their reward. In a word, she took the strength and subtlety out of him, and he yielded with sighs of regret and admiration. With Aaron he was more trenchant, and quite as unsuccessful.

Many of Aaron's humorous observations made the good priest laugh in spite of himself, and the pearls of wisdom which fell from the Jew's lips crumbled his arguments to dust. There was no scoffing or irreverence on Aaron's part; he simply parried the thrusts with a wisdom and humanity deeper and truer than those of which his antagonist could boast.

"My son," said the curé, "would you not make me a Jew if it were in your power?"

"No," replied Aaron, "we do not proselytize, and even if we did you are too good a Christian for me to wish to make you a Jew."

This was one of the puzzling remarks which caused the curé to ponder and which dwelt long in his mind; sometimes he thought that Aaron was a man of deep subtlety, sometimes that he was a man of great simplicity, but whether subtle or simple he felt it impossible to withhold a full measure of respect from one whose eternal lot he sighed to think was perdition and everlasting torment.

That sincerity was the true test of faith, as Aaron declared, he would not admit; there could be no sincerity in a faith that was false, there could be no sincerity if you did not believe as he believed. Nevertheless he had an uncomfortable impression that he was being continually worsted in the peaceful war of words in which they invariably engaged when they came together.

As Aaron was not to be turned from his resolution to leave the country the villagers took steps to show their respect for him. Public meetings were held, which were attended by many persons from surrounding districts, and there was a banquet, of which Aaron did not partake, the food not being cooked after the Jewish mode. He contented himself with fruit and bread, and made a good and sufficient meal. Speeches were made in his honor, and he was held up as an example to old and young alike.

His response was in admirable taste. He said that the years he had spent among them were the happiest in his life, and that it was with true regret he found himself compelled to leave the village. He spoke of his first coming among them with a beloved wife in a delicate state of health, who had grown well and strong in the beautiful spot. It was not alone the sweet air, he said, which had brought the blessing of health to her; the bond of sympathy which had been established between her and her neighbors had been as a spiritual medicine to her, which had given life a value of which it would otherwise have been deprived.

It was not so much the material reward of our labors that conferred happiness upon us as the feeling that we were passing our days among friends who always had a smile and a pleasant greeting for us. Riches were perishable, kindly remembrances immortal.

The best lessons of life were to be learned from the performance of simple acts of duty, for he regarded it a duty to so conduct ourselves as to make our presence welcome and agreeable to those with whom we were in daily association. As for the kind things that had been said of him, he felt that he was scarcely worthy of them.

"There is," he said, "a leaven of human selfishness in all that we do, and the little I have, with the blessing of God, been enabled to do has conferred upon me a much greater pleasure than it could possibly have conferred upon others. To you and to my residence among you I owe my dear wife's restoration to health, and it would be ingratitude indeed did I not endeavor to make some return for the good you have showered upon me. I shall never forget you, nor will my wife forget you; in our native land we shall constantly recall the happy years we spent among you, and we shall constantly pray that peace and prosperity may never desert you."

The earnestness and feeling with which these sentiments were uttered were unmistakable and convincing, and when Aaron resumed his seat the eyes of all who had assembled to do him honor were turned upon him approvingly and sympathizingly.

"Ah," groaned the good curé, "were he not a Jew he would be a perfect man."

The flowers which graced the banqueting table were sent by special messenger to Rachel, and the following day she pressed a few and kept them ever afterward among her precious relics. Aaron did not come home till late in the night, and he found Rachel waiting up for him. He delighted her by describing the incidents and speeches of the memorable evening. Aaron was a great smoker, and while they talked he smoked the silver-mounted pipe which he had grown to regard with an affection which was really spiritual. There are in the possession of many men and women dumb memorials of insignificant value which they would not part with for untold gold, and this silver-mounted pipe of Aaron's-Rachel's gift to him in the early years of their married life-was one of these. A special case had been made for it, and he handled it almost with the care and affection he bestowed upon his children.

"Your health was proposed," said Aaron, "and the health of our little ones. What was said about you, my life, gave me much more pleasure than what was said about myself. It abashes one to have to sit and listen to extravagant praises far beyond one's merits, but it is the habit of men to run into extravagance."

"They could say nothing, dear husband, that you do not deserve."

"You, too!" exclaimed Aaron gayly. "It is well for me that you were not there, for you might have been called upon to give your testimony."

"I should not have had courage." She fondly pressed his hand. "I am glad they spoke of me kindly."

"They spoke of you truly, and my heart leaped up within me at what the good curé said of you, for it was he who proposed the toast. I appreciated it more from him than I should have done from anyone else, and he was quite sincere at the moment in all the sentiments he expressed, whatever he may have thought of himself afterward for asking his flock to drink the health of a Jewess. Well, well, it takes all sorts to make a world."

"How much we have to be grateful for!" said Rachel, with a happy sigh.

"Indeed, indeed-for boundless gratitude. Think of what we passed through in Gosport." He paused suddenly. The one experience which weighed upon his conscience brought a dark and troubled shadow into his face.

"Why do you pause, dear? Has not my blindness proved a blessing to us? Do I miss my sight? Nay, I think it has made life sweeter. But for that we should not have come to this place, but for that we should not have had the means to do something toward the relief of a few suffering and deserving people. What good has sprung from it! Our Lord God be praised!"

Aaron recovered himself.

"There was Mr. Whimpole's visit to us before I commenced business; there were those stupid boys who distressed you so with their revilings, which I managed to turn against themselves. It was this pipe of yours, my life, that gave me the inspiration how to disarm them. It sharpens my faculties, it brings out my best points; it is really to me a friend and counselor. And now I have smoked enough, and it is time to go to bed. I will join you presently."

In solitude the one troubled memory of the past forced itself painfully upon him. Did he deserve what had been said in his honor on this night? He valued men's good opinion, and of all the men he knew he valued most the good opinion of the curé. What would this single-minded, conscientious priest think of him if he were acquainted with the sin of which he had been guilty, the sin of bringing up an alien child in a religion in which she had not been born? He would look upon him with horror.

And it was a bitter punishment that he was compelled to keep this secret locked up in his own breast, that he dared not reveal it to a single human creature, that he dared not say openly, "I have sinned, I have sinned. Have mercy upon me!"

To his own beloved wife, dearer to him than life itself, he had behaved treacherously; even in her he dared not confide. It was not with Rachel as it was with him; there was no difference in the love she bore her children; they were both equally precious to her.

To fall upon his knees before her and make confession would be like striking a dagger into her heart; it almost drove him mad to think of the shock such a revelation would be to her. No, he must guard his secret and his sin jealously to the last hour of his life. So far as human discovery went he believed that he was safe; the betrayal, if it ever came, lay with himself. True, he had in his possession testimony which might damn him were it to fall into other hands-the little iron safe which Mr. Moss had received from Dr. Spenlove, and at the mother's request had conveyed to him.

In his reflections upon the matter lately the question had intruded itself, "What did this little box contain?" It was impossible for him to say, but he felt instinctively that it contained evidence which would bring his sin home to him. He allowed his thoughts now to dwell upon the mother. From the day on which he received the five hundred pounds from Mr. Gordon's lawyer he had heard nothing from them, nothing from Mr. Moss or from anybody, relating to the matter. Between himself and Mr. Moss there had been a regular, though not very frequent, correspondence, but his friend had never written one word concerning it, and Aaron, of course, had not referred to it. Thus far, therefore, it was buried in a deep grave.

But would this grave never be opened? If other hands were not responsible for the act would it not be his duty to open the grave? The mother had stipulated that, in the event of her husband's death, she should be free to seek her child, should be free to claim the box. Upon this contingency seemed to hang his fate; but there were arguments in his favor.

Mr. Gordon might live, and the mother could do nothing. Arguing that the man died, it was more than probable that his wife had borne other children who had a claim upon her love which she acknowledged. To seek then her child of shame would be the means of bringing disgrace upon these children of her marriage. Would she deliberately do this? He answered the question immediately, No. In the consideration of these phases of the matter he bore in mind that, although the false news of the child's death must of necessity have been communicated to Mr. Gordon by his lawyers, it was likely that it had been kept from the knowledge of the mother. Aaron had been made to understand that Mr. Gordon was a man of inflexible resolution, and that he had pledged himself never, under any circumstances, to make mention of the child to the woman he had married. Even setting this aside, even going to the length of arguing that, hearing of the child's death, Mr. Gordon departed from the strict letter of the resolution, and said to his wife, "Your child is dead," was it not likely that she would reply, "I do not believe it; you tell me so only to deceive me"? In that case, her husband dead and herself childless, would she not search the world over for her offspring?

Setting all this aside, however, the onus still devolved upon him to open the grave. One of the stipulations attached to his receipt of the box was that when Ruth was twenty-one years of age it should be handed over to her. Would he dare to violate this condition? Would he so far tamper with his conscience as to neglect an obligation which might be deemed sacred? The question tortured him; he could not answer it.

He heard Rachel moving in the room above, and with a troubled heart he went up to her.

Thus this night, the events of which were intended to shed honor and glory upon him, ended in sadness, and thus was it proved that a deceit when first practiced may be as a feather weight to the solemn and heavy consequences which follow in its train.

Everything was ready for the departure of the Cohens, which was to take place at the end of the week. Before the day arrived they received other tokens in proof of the appreciation in which they were held. A deputation of workingmen waited on Aaron, and presented him with an address. The employers of labor themselves-secretly glad, perhaps, that he was going from among them-paid him a special honor. Rachel's heart throbbed with gratitude and with pride in her husband. But her greatest pleasure-in which were mingled touches of deep sorrow-was derived from the affecting testimony of the poor she had befriended. Old men and women witnessed their departure, and bidding farewell to Rachel, prayed God's blessing upon her. Children gave her flowers, and their childish voices were full of affection. The tears ran from her eyes; she could hardly tear herself away. At length it was over; they were gone; but it was long before her sweet face faded from their memory.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

REVISITS GOSPORT

The years that followed until Ruth was grown to womanhood and Joseph was a young man were eventful years for Aaron Cohen and his family. He returned to England the possessor of a moderate fortune, but he had no idea of retiring from the active duties of life. To such a man idleness would have been little less than a living death, and taking up his residence in London, he embarked very soon in enterprises of magnitude. The knowledge he had gained during his partnership in France was of immense value to him, and in conjunction with other men of technical resource he contracted for public works in various parts of the country. His fortune grew, and he gradually became wealthy. He moved from one house to another, and each move was a step up the ladder. A house in Prince's Gate came into the market, and Aaron purchased it, and furnished it with taste and elegance. There he entertained liberally, but not lavishly, for his judgment led him always to the happy mean, and the house became the resort of men and women of intellect and culture. Mr. Moss, who was wedded to Portsmouth, and continued to flourish there, paid periodical visits to London, and was always welcome in the home. He was as musically inclined as ever, and opportunities were afforded him of hearing the finest singers and players at Prince's Gate. On two or three occasions Aaron readily consented to give an introduction through a concert held in his house to a young aspirant in whom Mr. Moss took an interest, and to other budding talent in the same direction Aaron's rooms were always open. The only conversation between Mr. Moss and Aaron in relation to their intimacy in Gosport occurred some three years after the latter had taken up his residence in London. Aaron had just completed a successful contract, and business had called Mr. Moss to the metropolis.

"I heard to-day," said Mr. Moss, "that you had cleared six or seven thousand pounds by the contract."

"The balance on the right side," replied Aaron, "is a little over seven thousand."

"I congratulate you. The gentleman I spoke with said that if he had had the contract he would have made a profit of three times as much."

"It is likely."

"Then why didn't you do it, Cohen?"

Aaron smiled and shook his head.

"Let us speak of another subject."

"But I want to get at the bottom of this. I should like you to know what the gentleman said about it. His view is that you are ruining the labor market."

"In what way?"

"By high wages and short hours."

"That is a new view."

"You do pay high wages, Cohen, according to what everybody says."

"Oh! it's everybody now as well as your gentleman friend. I pay good wages, and I don't consider them high."

"And the hours are not as long as they might be."

"They are reasonably long enough. If I am satisfied and my workmen are satisfied I give offense to no man."

"You are wrong, Cohen; you give offense to the capitalist."

"I regret to hear it."

"The idea is that you are ruining the capitalist."

"Oh! I am ruining the capitalist now. But if that is the case he is no longer a capitalist."

"You know what I mean. I don't pretend to understand these things as you do, because I have not studied political economy."

"I have, and believe me it is a horse that has been ridden too hard. Mischief will come of it. Apply your common sense. In what way would your friend have made twenty-one thousand pounds out of the contract instead of seven thousand?"

"By getting his labor cheaper and by making his own men work longer hours."

"Exactly. And the difference of fourteen thousand pounds would have gone into his pocket instead of the pockets of his workmen?"

"Yes, of course."

"Ask yourself if that is fair. The wages I pay my men are sufficient to enable them to maintain a home decently, to bring up their families decently, and perhaps, if they are wise and thrifty-only, mind you, if they are wise and thrifty-to make a small provision for old age, when they are no longer able to work. Their hours are long enough to give them just a little leisure, which they can employ partly in reasonable amusement and partly in intellectual improvement. I have gone thoroughly into these matters, and know what I am talking about. Men who do their work honestly-and I employ and will keep no others-have a right to fair wages and a little leisure, and I decline to grind my men down after the fashion of the extreme political economist. The contract I have just completed was tendered for in an open market. My tender was the lowest and was accepted. I make a considerable sum of money out of it, and each of my men contributes a mickle toward it. They believe I have treated them fairly, and I am certain they have treated me fairly. Upon those lines I intend to make my way. Your sweater is a political economist. I am not a sweater. It is the course I pursued in France, and by it I laid the foundation of what may prove to be a great fortune. I am tendering now for other contracts, and I shall obtain my share, and shall pursue precisely the same course. Mr. Moss, you and I are Jews. At a great disadvantage because of the nature of your business, which I myself once intended to follow, you have made yourself respected in the town in which you reside. I, on my part, wish to make myself respected here. Surely there is no race in the world to which it is greater honor, and should be a greater pride, to belong than the Jewish race; and by my conduct through life I trust I shall do nothing to tarnish that honor or lower that pride. It may or may not be for that reason that I decline to follow the political economist to the depths into which he has fallen."

Mr. Moss' eyes gleamed; Aaron had touched a sympathetic chord; the men shook hands and smiled cordially at each other.

"When you were in Gosport," said Mr. Moss, "I ought to have asked you to go into partnership with me."

"If you had made me the offer," responded Aaron, "I'm afraid I should have accepted it."

"Lucky for you that I missed my opportunity. It is a fortunate thing that you went to France when you did."

"Very fortunate. It opened up a new career for me; it restored my dear wife to health; my son was born there."

"About the poor child I brought to you in Gosport, Cohen; we have never spoken of it."

"That is true."

"Did the lawyers ever write to you again?"

"Never."

"And I have heard nothing. The iron box I gave you-you have it still, I suppose?"

"I have it still."

"I have often wondered what it contains, and whether the mother will ever call for it."

"If she does it shall be handed to her in the same condition as you handed it to me. But she does not know in whose possession it is?"

"No, she does not know, and she can only obtain the information from Mr. Gordon's lawyers. My lips are sealed."

Aaron considered a moment. This opening up of the dreaded subject made him feel as if a sword were hanging over his head, but his sense of justice impelled him to say, "It may happen that the mother will wish to have the box restored to her, and that the lawyers may refuse to give her the information that it is in my possession. She may seek elsewhere for a clew, and may be directed to you."