Mr. Moss and Aaron spent the greater part of the day together, awaiting the arrival of Mr. Gordon's legal representative. The doctor who attended Rachel called only once, and gave a good report of her condition.
"The crisis is over," he said to Aaron. "Your wife and child will live. In a few days Mrs. Cohen will be strong enough to be removed, and I advise that you take her away without delay to the south of France, where, before spring, her health will be completelyre-established."
It was not until the doctor had departed that the question presented itself to Aaron whether he had any right to the fifty pounds he had received from Mr. Moss. He was clear as to the second sum oftwenty-five pounds; that must be returned. He wished Mr. Moss to take it back, but that gentleman would have nothing to do with it; and as to Aaron's right to retain the fifty pounds he entertained no doubt.
"It is undisputably yours," he said; "it was handed to me by Mr. Gordon himself for a specific purpose, and I look upon it as a retaining fee. No lawyer returns such a fee when the case breaks down. Understand, please, Cohen, that I am no longer acting in the affair. It rests now between you and the lawyers."
Late in the afternoon Mr. Moss went to the railway station to meet the lawyer, and the two proceeded together to the house where the dead child lay. Arrangements for the funeral were made, and then Mr. Moss conducted the lawyer, whose name was Chesterman, to Aaron's house.
"Mr. Chesterman has something to say to you, Cohen," he said; "I will leave you together." He took Aaron aside. "It is something of great importance, a wonderful stroke of fortune. Don't throw it away. It will be the making of you--and remember Rachel."
"Mr. Moss," commenced Mr. Chesterman when he and Aaron were alone, "has related to me all that has occurred. In a general sense the death of the child is to be regretted, as would be the death of any person, old or young, but there are peculiar circumstances in this case which render this visitation of God a relief to certain parties. It removes all difficulties from the future, and there is now no likelihood of our client's plans being hampered or interfered with. You are aware that he is a gentleman of fortune."
"I have been so informed."
"You may not be aware, however, that he is a gentleman of very decided views, and that he is not to be turned from any resolution he may have formed. We lawyers have to deal with clients of very different temperaments, and when a case is submitted to us by a strong-minded gentleman we may advise, but we may not waste time in arguing. I understand from Mr. Moss that you have some scruples with respect to the money you have received from him?"
"I wish to know whether I may consider the first sum of fifty pounds mine; I have my doubts about it. As to the second sum of twenty-five pounds paid in advance for the rearing of the child I have no doubt whatever."
"We have nothing to do with either of those sums; they do not come from us, but independently from our client to Mr. Moss, and from Mr. Moss to you. Without being consulted professionally, I agree with Mr. Moss that the fifty pounds are yours. I offer no opinion upon the second sum."
"If you will give me your client's address I will communicate with him."
"We cannot disclose it to you; it is confided to us professionally, and our instructions are to keep it secret."
"You can give him my name and address."
"No. His stipulation is that it is not to be made known to him. If at any time he asks us voluntarily for it that is another matter, and I will make a note of it. The special purpose of my visit is to complete and carry out to the last letter our client's instructions. The conditions to which he bound himself were very liberal. With a generous desire for the child's welfare in the event of her living and marrying, he placed in our hands the sum of five hundred pounds as a marriage dowry, to be paid over to her on her wedding day."
"A noble-minded gentleman," said Aaron.
Mr. Chesterman smiled. "Different people, different temperaments. In the event of the child's death this five hundred pounds was to be paid over to the party or parties who undertook the charge of her. The child is dead; the five hundred pounds is to be paid over to you."
"But, sir," said Aaron in astonishment, "do you not understand that I cannot accept this money?"
"It is not for us to understand; it is for us to carry out instructions. I have brought the sum with me, and all I have to do is to hand it over to you, and to take your receipt for it. Mr. Moss hinted to me that you might raise objections; my reply was, Nonsense. The money belongs to you by legal and moral right, and I decline to listen to objections. If it is any satisfaction to you I may tell you that our client can well afford to pay it, and that by its early payment he is a considerable gainer, for he is no longer under the obligation to pay a hundred a year for the child's maintenance. Here is the receipt legally drawn out; oblige me by signing it."
It was in vain for Aaron to protest; the lawyer insisted, and at length, fearing the consequences of a decided refusal, Aaron put his name to the paper.
"Our business being concluded," said Mr. Chesterman, rising, "I have the pleasure of wishing you good-day. Should in the future any necessity for the statement arise I shall not hesitate to declare that the child was placed in the care of an honorable gentleman who would have faithfully performed his duty toward her."
"God forgive me," said Aaron when his visitor was gone, "for the sin I have committed! God help me to atone for it!"
But he would have been less than human had he not felt grateful that the means were placed in his hands to restore his beloved wife to health and strength. Before a week had passed he and Rachel and the child, accompanied by Prissy, were travelers to a milder clime.
A man upon whose face all that is noble and steadfast seems to have set its seal, to give the world assurance that here was one who, had his lot been so cast, would have ruled over men with justice, truth, and honor. He is of a goodly height, and his features are large and clearly defined. A sensitive, resolute mouth, calm, well-proportioned lips, which close without restraint and are eloquent even when the tongue is silent, a nose gently arched, with curved, indented nostrils, a massive forehead, almost oval at the top, and with projecting lower arches, the eyebrows near to the large browneyes, the chin and cheeks clothed in a handsome beard, in whichgray hairs are making themselves manifest. Powerful, benignant, and self-possessed as is his appearance, there is an underlying sadness in his eyes which could be variously construed--as born of a large experience of human ways, and of the errors into which mortals are prone to fall, or, maybe, of an ever-abiding remembrance of one moment in his own life when he also was tempted and fell. But no such thought as the latter ever entered the minds of those who knew him personally and those who judged him by the repute he bore, which could only have been earned by a man who walked unflinchingly and unerringly in the straight path, and was just and merciful to all who came in contact with him. This is Aaron Cohen, now close upon his fiftieth year.
A woman whose tranquil eyes never see the light of day, but in which, nevertheless, there is no sign of repining or regret. Purity and sweetness dwell in her face, and as she stands motionless, in a listening attitude, her white hand resting on the table, no more exquisite representation of peace and universal love and sympathy could be found in living form or marble statue. She is fair almost to whiteness, and although her figure is slight and there is no color in her cheeks, she is in perfect health--only that sometimes during the day she closes her eyes and sleeps in her armchair for a few minutes. In those intervals of unconsciousness, and when she seeks her couch, she sees fairer pictures, perhaps, than if the wonders of the visible world were an open book to her. Her dreams are inspired by a soul of goodness, and her husband's heart, as he gazes upon her in her unconscious hours, is always stirred to prayer and thankfulness that she is by his side to bless his days. Not only in the house is her influence felt. She is indefatigable in her efforts to seek out deserving cases of distress and to relieve them; and she does not confine her charity to those of her faith. In this regard Jew and Christian are alike to her, and not a week passes that she does not plant in some poor home a seed which grows into a flower to gladden and cheer the hearts of the unfortunate and suffering. Grateful eyes follow her movements, and a blessing is shed upon her as she departs. A ministering angel is she, whose words are balm, whose presence brings sweet life into dark spaces. So might an invisible herald of the Lord walk the earth, healing the sick, lifting up the fallen, laying his hand upon the wounded breast, and whispering to all: "Be comforted. God has heard your prayers, and has sent me to relieve you." This is Rachel Cohen, Aaron's wife, in her forty-fourth year.
A younger woman, in her springtime, with life's fairest pages spread before her. Darker than Rachel is she, with darker hair and eyes and complexion, slim, graceful, and beautiful. It is impossible that she should not have felt the influence of the home in which she has been reared, and that she should not be the better for it, for it is a home in which the domestic affections unceasingly display themselves in their tenderest aspect, in which the purest and most ennobling lessons of life are inculcated by precept and practice; but a profound student of human nature, whose keen insight would enable him to plumb the depths of passion, to detect what lay beneath the surface, to trace the probable course of the psychological inheritance which all parents transmit to their children, would have come to the conclusion that in this fair young creature were instincts and promptings which were likely one day to give forth a discordant note in this abode of peace and love, and to break into rebellion. There is no outward indication of such possible rebellion. To the friends and acquaintances of the household she is a lovely and gracious Jewish maiden, who shall in time become a mother in Judah. This is Ruth Cohen, in the eyes of all the world the daughter of Aaron and Rachel.
A young man, Ruth's junior by a year, with his father's strength of character and his mother's sweetness of disposition. He is, as yet, too young for the full development of this rare combination of qualities, the outcome of which is to be made manifest in the future, but he is not too young to win love and respect. His love for his parents is ardent, his faith in them indelible. To him his mother is a saint, his father a man without blemish. Were he asked to express his most earnest wishes he would answer, "When I am my father's age may I be honored as he is; when I marry may my wife be as my mother is." This is Joseph Cohen, the one other child of Aaron and Rachel.
A tall ungainly woman of thirty, working like a willing slave from morning to night, taking pride and pleasure in the home, and metaphorically prostrating herself before everyone who lives beneath its roof. Esteemed and valued by her master and mistress, for whom she is ready to sacrifice herself, and to undergo any privation; especially watchful of her mistress, and tender toward her; jealous of the good name of those whom she serves with devotion. This is Prissy, the ever true, the ever faithful.
Eventful indeed to Aaron Cohen had been the twenty years since he left Gosport. In the south of France, where they remained for a much longer time than he intended, Rachel was restored to health, and Aaron had the joy of seeing her move happily about the house and garden, and of hearing her sing to her baby the songs and lullabys which, from a mother's lips, are so fraught with melodious and tender meaning. It almost seemed as if she had inward cause for thankfulness that blindness had fallen upon her, for Aaron had never known her to be so blithe and lighthearted as during those weeks of returning health. Prissy was invaluable to them, and proved to be a veritable treasure. The short time it took her to learn her duties, the swiftness and eagerness with which they were performed, the delight she took in the babe, who soon replaced Victoria Regina in her affections, and the care and skill with which she guided her mistress' movements, amazed Aaron. He had divined from the first that she was a shrewd, clever girl, and he had the satisfaction of discovering that she was much cleverer than he would have ventured to give her credit for. She was tidier in her dress, too, and never presented herself unless she was clean and neat. She became, in a sense, her mistress' teacher, and Rachel was so apt a pupil that Aaron's apprehensions that she would meet with an accident if she moved too freely about were soon dispelled.
"Is it not wonderful, love?" she said. "I think I must have eyes at the tips of my fingers. But it is Prissy I have to thank for it."
She repaid the girl, be sure. Gradually Prissy's mode of expressing herself underwent improvement; she did not use so many negatives, she dropped fewer h's, she learned to distinguish between g's and k's, and Aaron himself laid the first stone in her education by teaching her the A B C. One thing Prissy would not learn; she obstinately refused to have anything to do with the French language. She did make a commencement, but when she was told thatchou(she scornfully turned her back ondu) was cabbage it was the last straw. "In course we choo," she said; "wot do we put things in our mouth for?" She had previously shied atpain, declaring that bread was pleasure. English was good enough for her, she declared, and to the English tongue she nailed her colors. Fond as she was of babies, she would not countenance French babies, and said it was a shame to dress them so. "I'm a troo bloo, sir," she said to Aaron; "please don't force me." And with a hearty laugh he desisted.
He himself spoke French fluently, and to this may be ascribed the first change in his fortunes. Easy in his mind respecting Rachel, easy respecting money, he found himself at leisure to look about him and observe. He made friends, and among them a poor French engineer of great skill. In conversation one day this engineer mentioned that tenders were invited for the construction of a local bridge. It was not a very important matter; the lake it was to span was of no great dimensions, and the bridge required was by no means formidable.
"There are only two contractors who will tender for it," said the engineer, "and they are in each other's confidence. They will settle privately the amount of their separate tenders, and the lowest will obtain the contract. They will divide the profits between them. If I had a little money to commence with I would tender for the work, and my tender would be at least ten thousand francs below theirs. Then it would be I who would construct the bridge, and public money would be saved."
"What would be your profit?" asked Aaron.
"Twenty thousand francs," was the reply, "perhaps more."
"And the amount of your tender?"
"Eighty thousand francs. I have the plans and specifications, and every detail of expense for material and labor, in my house. Will you come and look over them?"
Aaron examined them, and submitting them to the test of inquiryas to the cost of labor and material, found them to be correct. A simple-minded man might have been taken in by a schemer who had prepared complicated figures for the purpose of trading with another person's money, and standing the chance of losing or winning; but Aaron was not simple-minded, the poor engineer was not a schemer, and the figures were honestly set down.
"It would not need a great amount of money," said the engineer. "If a certain sum were deposited in the bank a further sum could be raised upon the signed contract being given as security, and moreover, as the work proceeds, specified payments will be made by the local authorities."
"How much would be required to commence operations, and to make everything safe?"
"Ten thousand francs."
Roughly, that was four hundred pounds. The five hundred pounds he had received from the lawyers were as yet untouched, for they lived very economically, and they were in a part of the world where thrift was part of the people's education. Aaron believed the project to be safe.
"If I advance it?" he asked.
"We would make it a partnership affair," replied the poor engineer eagerly.
Upon that understanding the bridge was tendered for, and the tender accepted. In four months the work was executed and passed by the inspectors; they received the balance due to them, and a division of the profits was made. After paying all his expenses Aaron was the richer by two hundred pounds. He gave fifty pounds to the poor, which raised him in the estimation of the people among whom he was temporarily sojourning. He had not been idle during the four months occupied by the building of the bridge; under the guidance of his partner he had superintended the workmen and undertaken the correspondence and management of the accounts; and new as these duties were to him he had shown great intelligence and aptitude.
"We met on a fortunate day," said the engineer.
At about this time a new engineering project presented itself. It was on a larger scale than the first, and the two men, emboldened by their success, tendered for it. Again did fortune favor them; everybody, with the exception of rival contractors, was on their side. In the carrying out of their first contract there had not been a hitch; they had paid their workmen better wages, they had behaved honestly and liberally all around, and they had already achieved a reputation. Moreover, people were talking of Rachel's kindness and of Aaron's benevolence. Hats were lifted to them, women and children left flowers at their door; rich was the harvest they gathered for their charity.
When it was known they had obtained another contract the best workmen came to them for employment, and they learned what all employers of labor may learn, that it is wise policy to pay generously for bone and muscle. The hateful political economy of Ricardo, which would grind labor down to starvation pittance, could never find lodgment in the mind of such a man as Aaron Cohen. The new venture was entirely successful, and being of greater magnitude than the first, the profits were larger. Aaron was the possessor of two thousand pounds. He gave two hundred pounds to the poor. He did more than this. The doctor who had attended Rachel in Gosport had declined to accept a fee, and Aaron now wrote him a grateful letter, inclosing in it a draught for a hundred pounds, which he asked the doctor to distribute among the local charities. That the receipt of this money afforded gratification to the doctor was evidenced in his reply. "Everyone here," he said, "has kind words for you and your estimable wife, and the general feeling is that if you had continued to reside in Gosport it would have been a source of pleasure to all of us. When I speak of your good fortune all the townsfolk say, 'We are glad to hear it.'" Thus did good spring out of evil.
Aaron felt that his foot was on the ladder. He entered into a three years' partnership with his friend the engineer, and they executed many public works, and never had a failure. The justness of their trading, their consideration for the toilers who were helping to build up a fortune for them, the honest wages they paid, earned for them an exceptional reputation for rectitude and fair dealing. In these matters, and in this direction, Aaron was the guiding spirit. He left to his partner the technical working out of their operations, and took himself the control of wages and finance.
Occasionally there were arguments between him and his partner, the latter hinting, perhaps, that there was a cheaper market, and that so much money could be saved by employing such and such middlemen, who offered to supply labor and material at prices that were not equitable from the point of view of the toilers and producers. Aaron would not entertain propositions of this kind.
"We are doing well," he said, "we are making money, we are harvesting. Be satisfied."
His partner gave way; Aaron's character was too strong for resistance.
"Clean and comfortable homes," said Aaron, "a good education for their children, a modest enjoyment of the world's pleasures--these are the laborers' due."
Hearing of this, some large employers called him quixotic and said he was ruining trade, but he pursued the just and even tenor of his way, satisfied that he was a savior and not a spoiler.
Upon the conclusion of each transaction, when the accounts were balanced, he devoted a portion of his profits to benevolent purposes, and he became renowned as a public benefactor. The thanks that were showered upon him did not please him, but tended rather to humiliate and humble him; he would not listen to expressions of gratitude; and it will be presently seen that when he returned to England he took steps to avoid the publicity which was distasteful to him.
Meanwhile Rachel throve. She walked with an elastic spring in her feet, as though in response to nature's greeting, and joy and happiness accompanied her everywhere. She was profoundly and devoutly grateful for her husband's better fortune, and daily rendered up thanks for it to the Giver of all good. She took pleasure in everything; blind as she was, she enjoyed nature's gifts to the full. In winter it was extraordinary to hear her describe the aspect of woods and fields in their white feathery mantle; with deep-drawn breath she inhaled the fresh cold air, and a glory rested on her face as she trod the snow-clad paths.
When she visited the poor on those cold days Prissy accompanied her, carrying a well-filled basket on her arm. Her sympathy with the sick and suffering was divine, and in the bleakest hours, when the sky was overcast and the light was hidden from shivering mortals, she was the herald of sunshine. A priest met her on one of these journeys, and gave her good-day.
"Good-day, father," she said.
"You know me!" he exclaimed, surprised.
"I heard your voice a fortnight ago," she replied, "in the cottage I am going to now, and I never forget a voice. After you were gone the poor woman told me you were her priest. I heard so much of you that was beautiful."
She put forth her hand; he hesitated a moment, then took it and pressed it.
"You are a Jewess?"
"Yes, father."
"Let me come and talk to you."
"Yes, father, come and talk to me of your poor, to whom you are so good. You do so much; I, being blind, can do so little. If you will allow me"--she offered him some gold pieces, and he accepted them.
"The Holy Mother have you in her keeping," he said: and went his way.
Dogs and horses were her friends, and looked wistfully for recognition when she was near them. She scattered food for the birds, and they grew to know her; some would even pick crumbs from her hands. "I do not think," she said, "they would trust me so if I were not blind. They know I cannot see, and cannot harm them." Aaron thought differently; not a creature that drew breath could fail to trust and love this sweet woman whom God had spared to him.
Whom God had spared to him! When the thought thus expressed itself he raised his eyes to heaven in supplication.
She was the first to taste the sweet breath of spring.
"Spring is coming," she said; "the birds are trilling the joyful news. How busy they are over their nests! In a little while we shall see the flowers."
She invariably spoke of things as if she could see them, as doubtless she did with spiritual sight, investing them with a beauty which was not of this world. It was her delight in summer to sit beneath the branches of a favorite cherry tree, and to follow with her ears the gambols of her children. For she had two now.
A year after they left Gosport another child was born to them, Joseph, to whom Aaron clave with intense and passionate love. It was not that he was cold to Ruth, that he was not unremitting in showing her affection, but in his love for his son there was a finer quality of which no one but himself was conscious. He had prayed for another child, and the blessing was bestowed upon him.
In the first flush of his happiness he was tempted to regard this gift of God as a token that his sin was forgiven, but he soon thrust this reflection aside, refusing to accept his own interpretation of his sin as an atonement for its committal. It was presumptuous in man to set lines and boundaries to the judgment of the Eternal. It was to Rachel that this blessing was vouchsafed, for a time might come when she would find in it a consolation for a revelation that would embitter the sweet waters of life. Both the children were pretty and engaging, and had winning and endearing ways, which in the mother's sightless eyes were magnified a thousandfold.
In the following year a picture by a famous painter was exhibited by the Paris Salon; it was entitled "A Jewish Mother," and represented a woman sitting beneath a cherry tree in flower, with two young children gamboling on the turf at her feet. In the background were two men,the curé of the village and a Jew, the latter being the woman's husband, and looking like a modern Moses. The faces of the men--one full-flushed, with massive features and a grand beard, the otherspare and lean, with thin, clear-cut features and a close-shavenface--formed a fine contrast. But although the points of this contrast were brought out in masterly fashion, and although the rustic scene was full of beauty, the supreme attraction of the picture lay in the woman's face. It dwelt in the minds of all who beheld it, and it is not too much to say that it carried with it an influence for good.
So is it also with a pure poem and story; the impression they leave is an incentive to kindly act and tolerant judgment; they soften, they ameliorate, they bring into play the higher attributes of human nature, and in their practical results a benefit is conferred equally upon the sufferer by the wayside and the Samaritan who pours oil upon his wounds.
"Who is the woman?" asked the critics, and no one could answer the question except the painter, and he held his tongue.
The secret was this: The famous painter, passing through the village with the subject of his next great picture in his mind, saw Rachel, and was spellbound by the purity and grace of her face and figure. Traveling under an assumed name, in order that he should not be disturbed by the trumpet blasts of fame--a proof (clear to few men) that there is pleasure in obscurity--he cast aside the subject he had intended to paint, and determined to take Rachel in its stead. He made himself acquainted with her story, was introduced to Aaron, and contrived to make himself welcome in their home--no difficult matter, for Aaron was ever ready to appreciate intellect.
Many an evening did this painter pass with them, sometimes in company with the curé, and many a friendly argument did they have. He did not ask Rachel and Aaron to be his models, but he made innumerable sketches of them, and remained in the village long enough to accumulate all the principal points and accessories for his picture. Then he departed and painted his masterpiece elsewhere.
Some time afterward he revisited the village with the intention of making acknowledgment for the inspiration, but Aaron and his family had departed, and the painter's secret was undivulged.
As it was with Rachel in winter and spring so was it in summer and autumn. The flowers, the butterflies, the fragrant perfumes of garden and hedgerow, all appealed powerfully to her, and all were in kinship with her. The village children would follow her in the gloaming, singing their simple songs; brawlers, ashamed, would cease contending when she came in sight; women would stand at their cottage doors, and gaze reverently upon her as she passed. Not a harsh thought was harbored against her or hers; her gentle spirit was an incentive to gentleness; she was a living tender embodiment of peace on earth and good will to all. The whisper of the corn in the autumn, when the golden stalks bowed their heads to the passing breeze, conveyed a divine message to her soul; and indeed she said seriously to Aaron that she sometimes fancied she heard voices in the air, and that they were a pleasure to her.
The three years having expired, the partnership came to an end. The engineer was invited to Russia to undertake some great work for the government, and Aaron would not accompany him.
"In the first place," he said, "I will not expose my wife and children to the rigors of such a climate. In the second place, I will not go because I am a Jew, and because, being one, I should meet with no justice in that land. In the annals of history no greater infamy can be found than the persecution to which my brethren are subjected in that horrible country. In former ages, when the masses lived and died ignorant and unlettered, like the beasts of the field, one can understand how it was that the iron hand ruled and crushed common human rights out of existence; but in these days, when light is spreading all over the world except in such a den of hideous corruption and monstrous tyranny as Russia, it is almost incredible that these cruelties are allowed to be practiced."
"How would you put a stop to them?" asked the engineer.
"I will suppose a case," Aaron answered. "You are a married man, with wife and children, and you have for your neighbor another married man with wife and children. You bring up your family decently, you treat them kindly, you have an affection for them. All round you other men with wives are doing the same; but there is one exception--your brutal neighbor. Daily and nightly shrieks of agony are heard proceeding from his house, terrible cries of suffering, imploring appeals for help and mercy. He has a numerous family of children, all of whom have been born in the house of which he is a ruler, all of whom recognize him as their king and are ready and anxious to pay him respect, all of whom have a natural claim upon him for protection, all of whom work for him and contribute toward the expenses of his household. Some of these children he loves, some he hates, and it is those he hates whom he oppresses. From them proceed these shrieks of agony, these cries of suffering, these appeals for help. You see them issue from his house torn and bleeding, their faces convulsed with anguish, their hearts racked with woe; you see them return to it--inexorable necessity drives them there; they have no other home, and there is no escape for them--trembling with fear, for the lash awaits them, and torture chambers are there to drive them to the last stage of despair. And their shrieks and supplications eternally pierce the air you breathe, while the oppressed ones stretch forth their hands to the monster who makes their lives a hell upon earth. What do they ask? That they should be allowed to live in peace. But this reasonable and natural request infuriates the tyrant. He flings them to the ground and grinds his iron heel into their bleeding flesh, he spits in their faces, and orders his torturers to draw the cords tighter around them. It is not for a day, it is not for a week, it is not for a year, it is forever. They die, and leave children behind them who are treated in the same fashion, and for them, as it was with their fathers, there is no hope. No attempt is made to hide these infamies, these cruelties, which would disgrace the lowest order of beasts; they are perpetrated in the light of day, and the monster who is responsible for them sneers at you, and says, 'If you were in their place I would treat you the same.' He laughs at your remonstrances, and draws the cords still tighter, and tortures the quivering flesh still more mercilessly, and cries, 'It is my house--they are my children, and I will do as I please with them. Their bodies are mine, they have no souls!' Talk to him of humanity, and he derides and defies you. You burn with indignation--but what action do you take?"
"It is a strong illustration," said the engineer, "but it is not with nations as with families."
"It is," said Aaron with passionate fervor. "There is no distinction in the eyes of God. We are all members of one family, and the world is our heritage. The world is divided into nations, nations into cities, towns, and villages, and these are subdivided into houses, each having its separate ruler; and though physically and geographically wide apart, all are linked by the one common tie of our common humanity. The same emotions, the same passions, the same aspirations, run through all alike. Does it make an innocent babe a malefactor because he is born in Russia instead of France or England? But it is so considered, and his life is made a misery to him by monsters who, when they give bloody work to their armies to do, blasphemously call upon the Lord of Hosts to bless their infamous banners."
It was seldom that Aaron expressed himself so passionately, and as the engineer made no reply they did not pursue the discussion.
When it became known that Aaron was about to leave the quiet resting place in which the last few years had been passed, and in which he had enjoyed peace and prosperity, a general feeling of regret was expressed, and efforts were made to induce him to change his resolution. The well-to-do and the poor alike deplored the impending loss, but their appeals were unsuccessful. There was in Aaron a latent ambition, of which he himself was scarcely aware, to move in a larger sphere, and to play his part in life among his own people. His intention had been at first to remain in the pretty French village only long enough to benefit Rachel's health, and had it not been for the chance that threw him and the engineer together, and which opened up enterprises which had led to such fortunate results, he would have fulfilled this intention and have selected some populous center in England to pursue his career.
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 thissingle-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, theonusstill 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.