The years that followed until Ruth was grown to womanhood and Joseph was a young man were eventful years for Aaron and his family. He returned to England the possessor of a few thousands of pounds, and was received with open arms by the Jewish community. He found to his surprise that the story of his life in a foreign land was known to his co-religionists, who are ever eager to acknowledge the success of their brethren. With Jews, as with Christians, success is a power, an "open sesame;" they are proud of it as reflecting honour upon the race, and, as is the human fashion, are willing to overlook a retrograde step or two in matters of religious observance on the parts of those who have won their way into the front ranks. It is also human, perhaps, that they are less tolerant to those who have not been so successful. Aaron Cohen, as we know, had no need of such indulgence; by poor and rich, by the heterodox and the orthodox, he was hailed as a worthy upholder of the old faith which has survived the persecutions of thousands of years. Before he went to Gosport he had resided in the East End of London, and he derived pleasure from his visits to the old familiar ground and from the renewal of acquaintance with old friends who had not prospered in life's battle. That he should be asked to assist these was natural, and the practical aid he tendered brought its reward. In a certain sense he became suddenly famous. "That's Aaron Cohen," said the East End Jews, pointing him out as he passed; "he used to live here, and he has made an enormous fortune"--multiplying his riches, of course, a hundredfold. But a man may be famous without being popular; Aaron was both, and he was not allowed to remain in ignorance of the fact. He was offered an honourable office in his synagogue, and he gladly accepted it. He was asked to serve on the board of several of the Jewish charities with which London abounds, and he did not refuse one of these requests. It was his earnest wish to make himself practically useful to the community, and also to do something towards the stemming of the tide of loose religious observance which was steadily rising among his brethren. Upon this subject he had many conversations with the clerical leaders of the chosen people, who saw the inroads that were being made and seemed powerless to provide a remedy. It did not occur to them that by a bold grasp of the nettle danger they might pluck from it the flower safety. Aaron Cohen believed in the thirteen articles of the Creed framed by Maimonides, which are accepted as the fundamental articles of the Jewish faith. He believed in following--so far as was practicable in the present age--the precepts which Moses transmitted to his race, with which all faithful Jews should be familiar. Some, he knew, were obsolete; such as those affecting the Nazarites, of whom not one disciple exists to-day among English-speaking communities: others were impracticable; such, for instance, as those relating to the burnt sacrifices, the redeeming of the male firstling of an ass, and the punishment of criminals by stoning and the sword. But in this code of six hundred and thirteen precepts are to be found many which breathe the pure essence of the faith in which he was born, and these he believed it incumbent upon him to obey. His lectures and addresses to Jewish audiences in the East End of London were listened to with breathless interest; the halls were not large enough to accommodate those who thronged to hear him. He drew from history illustrations of their past grandeur which fired and thrilled them. Sensible of the impression he made upon them, Aaron Cohen had reason to be proud of the part he was playing, but there was more room in his heart for humbleness than pride; the shadow of a committed sin for ever attended him.
Apart from these communal matters he had much to do. In business hours business claimed him, and he answered zealously to the call. 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 his 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 Aaron's 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 occasions, Aaron readily consented to give an introduction, through concerts held in his house, to young aspirants in whom Mr. Moss took an interest; and to other budding talent in the same direction Aaron's rooms were always open. In relation to their intimacy in Gosport a conversation took place between Mr. Moss and Aaron some three years after the latter was settled 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."
"Very well. What did he say?"
"That you are ruining the labour market."
"Ruin to some men may mean salvation to others. He doubtless gives an explanation. How am I ruining the labour market?"
"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. Yes, I pay good wages, and I don't consider them high."
"And the hours are not as long as they might be."
"Quite true. They might be twelve, fourteen, sixteen, out of the twenty-four. We read of such unfair strains upon human labour. My hours are reasonably long enough. If I am satisfied and my workmen are satisfied, I give offence to no man."
"You are wrong, Cohen; you give offence to the capitalist."
"I regret to hear it."
"He says 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 labour cheaper and by making his 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 I 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 towards 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. Why? Because you are a fair-dealing man. I, on my part, wish to make myself respected in whatever part of the world I live. To this end the conditions are somewhat harder for us than for our Christian neighbours. They drive as hard bargains as we do, they are equally guilty of malpractices. When one is found out--a terrible crime, as we know--it is not said of him, 'What could you expect? He is a Christian.' It is not so with us. When one of us is proved to be guilty of sharp dealing, it is said, 'What could you expect? He is a Jew.' I will not go into the question whether we have justly earned the reproach; but it certainly lays upon us the obligation of being more careful than perhaps we might otherwise be, of even giving way a little, of being a trifle more liberal. It is a duty we owe to ourselves. Surely there is no race to which it is a greater honour, and should be the greatest pride to belong, than the Jewish race; and by my conduct through life I trust I shall do nothing to tarnish that honour or lower that pride. Moreover, what I can do to weaken a prejudice shall be done to the last hour of my life. 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's eyes gleamed. Aaron had touched a sympathetic cord; 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 the offer," responded Aaron, "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," said Aaron, outwardly calm; but his heart beat more quickly.
"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 keenly sensible of the sword that was 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 clue, and may be directed to you."
"Who will direct her? Nothing is more unlikely."
"It is at least probable," said Aaron.
"Well," Mr. Moss rejoined, "if she does apply to me, I shall not enlighten her. It is none of my business."
"My desire is that you do enlighten her. The box is her property, and I have no right to retain it."
"Very well, Cohen, if you wish it; but it is my opinion that you will never see her again. She has forgotten all about it long ago."
"You are mistaken. A mother never forgets."
"And now, Cohen, I have a message for you from Mrs. Moss. She is burning to see you, and cannot come to London. We are about to have an addition to our family; that will be the sixteenth. Upon my word, I don't know when we are going to stop. Is it too much to ask you to pay us a visit?"
"Not at all; it will give me great pleasure. When?"
"It will give Mrs. Moss greater pleasure," said Mr. Moss, rubbing his hands joyously at this answer. "She will be delighted, and so will all our friends in Portsmouth. You have no idea how anxious she has been about it. She was afraid you would refuse because----"
He paused rather awkwardly.
"Finish the sentence," urged Aaron, in a kind tone.
"To tell you the truth," said Mr. Moss, with a frank laugh, "she thought you might be too grand now to visit us. I told her she was mistaken. 'Cohen is not the kind of man to forget the past,' I said to her."
"No," said Aaron; "I do not forget the past."
The sad tone in which these words were spoken escaped Mr. Moss. With a beaming face, he continued,--
"'Once a friend,' I said to Mrs. Moss, 'always a friend. It does not matter to him whether a man is up or down in the world, so long as he is honest and straightforward.' Why, if business went wrong, and I was in trouble, I should come straight to you."
Aaron pressed the hand of this warm-hearted friend.
"You would do right. I hope you may never need my services in that way; but if unhappily you should, do not hesitate to come to me."
"I promise you, Cohen, I promise you. Not that there is any likelihood of it. To bring up such a family as ours is no light matter, keeps one's nose to the grindstone, as the saying is; but we're not at all badly off. I return to Portsmouth on Thursday. Will that time suit you for the visit?"
"Yes; I will accompany you."
And away went Mr. Moss, overjoyed, to write to his wife to make all needful preparations. Not being acquainted with the secret which had become the torture of Aaron Cohen's life, he could have had no idea that the ready acceptance of the invitation sprang from a father's burning desire to stand by the grave of his child.
Aaron's visit lasted a week, and he spent one day and night in Gosport. Nothing was changed in the ancient town. The house he had occupied had been rebuilt; the streets were the same; the names over the shops were unaltered. His wish was to pass in and out of the town without being recognised; but the wish was not gratified. The Portsmouth newspapers circulated in Gosport, and Aaron Cohen's visit "to our esteemed neighbour, Mr. Moss," found its way into the local columns. It may be that Mr. Moss himself was the harbinger of this piece of news and that he was also responsible for certain creditable episodes in Aaron's career which were duly recorded in print; but if the reporters were indebted to him for the particulars he made no mention of the fact. He was certainly proud of the paragraphs, and sent copies of the papers to all his friends. The Gosport folk were therefore prepared for Aaron's visit; old friends came forward to greet him; and the kind physician who had attended to Rachel during her illness pressed him to be his guest, but Aaron excused himself. When he left the doctor his road lay past Mr. Whimpole's shop, at the door of which the proprietor was standing. Their eyes meeting, Aaron courteously inclined his head. The corn-chandler, very red in the face, returned the salute, and, after a momentary hesitation, advanced towards Aaron with outstretched hand. Aaron stopped, and took the hand of his old enemy.
"Mr. Cohen," said Mr. Whimpole, "I hope you do not bear animosity."
"I do not, sir," replied Aaron. "Life is too full of anxieties for needless enmity."
"I am glad to hear you say so, Mr. Cohen. I have often reproached myself for misjudging you; but the best of men may be mistaken."
"They may, sir. I trust you have changed your opinion of those whose religious views differ from your own."
"We speak as we find," said Mr. Whimpole; "and you have proved yourself to be a gentleman."
"It is never too late to admit an error," said Aaron; and, bowing again, he passed on, leaving Mr. Whimpole with an uncomfortable impression that he had once more been worsted by the man he despised.
It was night when Aaron stood by the grave of his child. Light clouds floated before the moon, and the shifting shadows played upon the graves of those who lay in peace in that solemn sanctuary. For a long time he stood in silence, musing upon the sin he had committed, the full measure of which had not yet come home to him. He held a high place among men; his name was honoured; he had been spoken of as Aaron Cohen the upright Jew; he had made himself a leader, and had but to speak to be obeyed; he had brought back strayed sheep to the fold. The Chief Rabbi had said to him, "The example of such a man as yourself is invaluable. Inroads are being made in our ancient faith, and you stand like a valiant soldier in the breach. You exercise an influence for incalculable good." And then he had blessed the man who was hugging an awful secret close, and veiling it from the eyes of men. How would it be if his sin were laid bare?
The spirit of his child seemed to rise from the grave.
"Why am I here?" it asked reproachfully. "Why am I cut off from my race?"
He beat his breast; the tears flowed down his beard.
"Forgive me, Lord of hosts," he sobbed, "for laying my child to rest in a Christian churchyard! It was to save my beloved! Pardon my transgression! Have mercy upon me!"
The highest point in Aaron Cohen's prosperity was reached in 1893. From the day of his return to England there had been no break in the onward march of his fortunes; every enterprise he undertook flourished, and the old saying was applied to him, "Everything he touches turns to gold." A kind of superstition is associated with such men; people regard them as under the spell of some beneficent enchantment. Aaron's reputation, however, was not due solely to the fact that he was uniformly fortunate in his ventures, but that he was a just and charitable man. No appeal for assistance in any worthy movement was made to him in vain; his purse was ever open, and he was ever ready to respond. Among his co-religionists he was a power for good, and his advice was sought by high and low. The poorest Jew, in a time of difficulty, did not hesitate to go to him for counsel, and only those held back whose conduct would not stand the searching light he threw upon all matters submitted to him. By the oppressor he was held in awe, by the oppressed he was worshipped. One of the former, who had grown rich by usury, came to him for advice. Aaron listened in silence, and spoke no word of counsel to assist him out of his difficulty. "Reform your life," he said; "give back to the poor what you have stolen from them; then come to me again."
He did not confine his labours and charities to the Jewish community; his name was to be found among the administrators of all their benevolent funds, and it was also to be found on the lists of numberless Christian charities. In so generous a spirit did he meet the appeals that were made to him, and so devoid of narrowness were his benefactions, that he grew into the esteem of all classes of society. Early in the year a public indignation meeting was held at the Mansion House under the auspices of the Lord Mayor, to protest against the barbarous treatment of the Jews in Russia. Church and synagogue joined hands in the common cause of human brotherhood. It was not a question of theology but of humanity, and Catholic Cardinal, Protestant Bishop, and Jewish Chief Rabbi stood shoulder to shoulder in the indignant protest. Aaron was requested to speak on the occasion, and his words went forth to the world, and were quoted far and wide. In the course of his speech he said: "We do not ask for favour, we scarcely dare ask for justice, though it is to be hoped that this will come by-and-by, when the eyes of the rulers of Russia are open to the fact that in their oppression of the Jew they are not only violating the laws of God and man, but are retarding their own prosperity. We ask merely for toleration, for permission to follow the faith in which we were born, to worship God according to our ancient usage. The history of nations furnishes the proof that the Jew, fairly treated, is a good citizen, that he is obedient to the law, and loyal to the head of the State and in his support of lawful authority. In his love of family life, in the orderly regulation of his household, in the performance of his duty to wife and children, he is surely entitled to rank with his Christian brother. He is, moreover, industrious and enterprising, he excites emulation and stimulates the commercial activity of his neighbour, by which the wealth of the general community is increased. These are distinct virtues, private and national, but Russian rulers seem to account them crimes. When a tale of bodily slavery reaches a civilised country a thrill of horror runs through the land, and it is not the least of the glorious records of England that wherever the English-speaking race holds sway the shackles of the slave are removed, and he hears the blessed words, 'You are free!' But in Russia they are not content to chain the body; they hold man's soul in bondage. Not only do they say to the Jew, 'Your presence is a contamination; you shall not live in this or that town or city; you shall not engage in such or such pursuits; you shall wear badges of disgrace;' but they add, 'You shall not think; you shall not pray.' Incredible are the instances of cruelty which are brought before us: of families torn asunder; of the deliberate wrecking of cherished hopes and worthy aspirations; of steady and honourable lives brought to ruin; of shameful robbery and pillage, and even of worse doings which I should blush to name. It is indeed time that the voice of humanity should be forced upon the ears of the oppressors who are making life horrible for millions of helpless human beings; and we, the Jewish residents in this honoured land, render our grateful homage to this distinguished assembly, and our sincere thanks for its powerful assistance in the endeavour we are making to rescue our brethren from misery and despair."
He was congratulated on all sides for these stirring words, which were recognised and acknowledged as a fitting tribute to the Jewish character. Some called it a vindication; he would not have it so. "We need no vindication now in this happy land," he said. "We have proved ourselves; the old prejudice is dying away."
When the speech was read to Rachel her eyes overflowed with tears of joy. Aaron, coming in shortly afterwards, found her holding the newspaper to her heart. She took his hand, and raised it to her lips.
"No, no," he said; "you humble me."
He folded her in his arms, where she lay, contented and happy.
As a matter of course he was sometimes beguiled into bestowing money upon unworthy objects or persons, but it did not affect him. "Where lives the man who does not make mistakes?" he said. "If there is one deserving case in ten I am satisfied." In the wide scope of his charities he had some curious experiences, and one of these, becoming known, was the theme of much comment, both serious and humorous. A gentleman called upon him and solicited a contribution to an old-established society, the name of which he did not mention. He contented himself with saying that it was known all the world over, and that its objects were universally approved of.
"You do not, I suppose," said Aaron, "expect me to give in the dark. Favour me with the name of the society."
"You have doubtless heard of it," replied the gentleman. "It is the Society for the Promotion of Christianity amongst the Jews."
Aaron smiled as he said, "Yes, I have heard of it. But, my dear sir, I am myself a Jew."
"I am aware of it," said the gentleman, "and the reason I make the appeal is that you have been described to me as a man who has no narrow prejudices, and who is in no sense dogmatic or bigoted."
"It is, then, a compliment you are paying me when you ask me to contribute to a fund which is antagonistic to my race."
"In your view antagonistic," observed the gentleman. "There are generally two sides to a question."
"I see. Meaning that my view is not necessarily the correct view."
The gentleman nodded courteously. He was not a collector for the society, nor a paid officer, but a man of means who was also noted for his benevolence.
"I have myself occasionally," he remarked, "given a donation to an object with which I was not in entire sympathy."
"When you decided to pay me a visit had you any hope of converting me?"
"Your conversion would give our society an immense impetus, but I had no hope of it. But there are men whose views are not so firmly fixed as your own, and I thought you would not object to assist them in the praiseworthy task of examining their consciences."
"Through a lens made of gold. In other words, giving them mercenary assistance to a spiritual conclusion."
"It is an original way of putting it," said the gentleman, greatly interested in the turn the conversation was taking.
"I cannot but consider the matter seriously," said Aaron, thoughtfully, "for there can be no doubt of your sincerity. Still, it occurs to me that if we were both equally sincere in our advocacy of objects of a similar nature, it would be as well that we should pause and ask ourselves this question. Instead of endeavouring to convert Jews or Christians to a faith in which they were not born, would it not be better to employ ourselves in the effort to make those who call themselves Christians true Christians, and those who call themselves Jews true Jews?"
"There is force in your argument, but it is no answer to my appeal for a contribution to the objects of my society."
"You can probably," Aaron then said, "furnish me with particulars of the working of your society."
"Anticipating your request I have brought the papers with me."
Aaron looked through the printed books and papers handed to him, and made certain calculations.
"I perceive," he said, "that you take credit to yourselves for making a stated number of conversions during the past five years, and that you have spent a stated sum of money during that period. The number of conversions is very small, the amount of money expended very large. I have worked out the sum, and according to my figures each convert has cost you nearly eleven thousand pounds. You find these wavering Jews very expensive."
"Very expensive," assented the gentleman, with a half humorous sigh.
"I cannot say I sympathise with you, but I will make a proposition to you. You are zealous in the furtherance of an object which you believe to be worthy, and I am zealous in the furtherance of an object which I know to be worthy. I will give you a cheque as a donation to your object if you will give me a cheque for half the amount as a donation to mine. Do not be afraid; it is not for the promotion of Judaism among the Christians."
The gentleman, who was rich and liberal-minded, laughed good-humouredly as he said, "I consent, on the further understanding that your cheque is for a reasonable amount."
"Will this do?" asked Aaron, filling in a cheque for one hundred pounds.
The gentleman made a wry face, but, without remark, he wrote a cheque for fifty pounds, and they exchanged documents.
"My contribution," said Aaron, "represents the one hundred and tenth part of a convert--the one hundred and tenth part of one transitory and, in all probability, worldly and insincere conversion. Your contribution represents a sick bed for two years in a hospital for poor children. During those two years you will be engaged in converting the one hundred and tenth part of an apostate Jew, and my hospital beds will be occupied by two poor Christian children, who, by God's mercy, will, I trust, be restored to health. You will pardon me for saying that I think I have the best of the transaction."
"You are a singular man," said the gentleman, "and I will not dispute with you. But I should like a few words with you upon what you say as to our converts being worldly and insincere. Is that really your opinion?"
"It is something more than an opinion. It is a conviction."
"Based upon some kind of proof, I presume?"
"Based upon proof and observation. Once a Jew, always a Jew, whether he follows the Mosaic laws or disregards them. So powerful is the seed of Judaism that it can never be entirely destroyed in the heart of one born in the ancient faith. We who are Jews know this to be incontrovertible; you who are Christians may not be able to understand it. So much for observation; now for the proof. I observe on your list of converts the name of Borlinski."
"You know the name?" the gentleman interrupted, eagerly.
"It is very familiar to me," replied Aaron.
"There are two Borlinskis on the list," said the gentleman. "Josef and Izak."
"I am acquainted with them both."
"We are very proud of the Borlinskis," said the gentleman, speaking with enthusiasm, "as the most important converts on our books. They are under engagement with us."
"On a salary?"
"Yes, an insignificant salary; twenty-five shillings a week each."
"Employed by you to make other converts."
"Yes."
"Have they been successful?"
"They have been with us for a few months only," said the gentleman. "These things take time."
"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."