"'DAT MUST BE A FINE PIECE.'"
They had arrived at Leman Street, and had stopped before Goodman's Fields Theatre. Manasseh's brow cleared.
"It isThe Castle Spectre," he said graciously. "Would you like to see it?"
"But it is half over—"
"Oh, no," said da Costa, scanning the play bill. "There was a farce by O'Keefe to start with. The night is yet young. The drama will be just beginning."
"But it is de Sabbath—ve must not pay."
Manasseh's brow clouded again in wrathful righteous surprise. "Did you think I was going to pay?" he gasped.
"N-n-no," stammered the Pole, abashed. "But you haven't got no orders?"
"Orders? Me? Will you do me the pleasure of accepting a seat in my box?"
"In your box?"
"Yes, there is plenty of room. Come this way," said Manasseh. "I haven't been to the play myself for over a year. I am too busy always. It will be an agreeable change."
Yankelé hung back, bewildered.
"Through this door," said Manasseh encouragingly. "Come—you shall lead the way."
"But dey vill not admit me!"
"Will not admit you! When I give you a seat in my box! Are you mad? Now you shall just go in without me—I insist upon it. I will show you Manasseh Bueno Barzillai Azevedo da Costa is a man whose word is the Law of Moses; true as the Talmud. Walk straight through the portico, and, if the attendant endeavours to stop you, simply tell him Mr. da Costa has given you a seat in his box."
Not daring to exhibit scepticism—nay, almost confident in the powers of his extraordinary protector, Yankelé put his foot on the threshold of the lobby.
"But you be coming, too?" he said, turning back.
"Oh, yes, I don't intend to miss the performance. Have no fear."
Yankelé walked boldly ahead, and brushed by the door-keeper of the little theatre without appearing conscious of him; indeed, the official was almost impressed into letting theSchnorrerpass unquestioned as one who had gone out between the acts. But the visitor was too dingy for anything but the stage-door—he had the air of those nondescript beings who hang mysteriously about the hinder recesses of playhouses. Recovering himself just in time, the functionary (a meek little Cockney) hailed the intruder with a backward-drawing "Hi!"
"Vat you vant?" said Yankelé, turning his head.
"Vhere's your ticket?"
"Don't vant no ticket."
"Don't you? I does," rejoined the little man, who was a humorist.
"Mr. da Costa has given me a seat in his box."
"Oh, indeed! You'd swear to that in the box?"
"By my head. He gave it me."
"A seat in his box?"
"Yes."
"Mr. da Costa, you vos a-sayin', I think?"
"The same."
"Ah! this vay, then!"
And the humorist pointed to the street.
Yankelé did not budge.
"This vay, my lud!" cried the little humorist peremptorily.
"I tells you I'm going into Mr. da Costa's box!"
"And I tells you you're a-goin' into the gutter." And the official seized him by the scruff of the neck and began pushing him forwards with his knee.
"Now then! what's this?"
"'NOW THEN! WHAT'S THIS?'"
A stern, angry voice broke like a thunderclap upon the humorist's ears. He released his hold of theSchnorrerand looked up, to behold a strange, shabby, stalwart figure towering over him in censorious majesty.
"Why are you hustling this poor man?" demanded Manasseh.
"He wanted to sneak in," the little Cockney replied, half apologetically, half resentfully. "Expect 'e 'ails from Saffron 'Ill, and 'as 'is eye on the vipes. Told me some gammon—a cock-and-bull story about having a seat in a box."
"In Mr. da Costa's box, I suppose?" said Manasseh, ominously calm, with a menacing glitter in his eye.
"Ye-es," said the humorist, astonished and vaguely alarmed. Then the storm burst.
"You impertinent scoundrel! You jackanapes! You low, beggarly rapscallion! And so you refused to show my guest into my box!"
"Are you Mr. da Costa?" faltered the humorist.
"Yes,Iam Mr. da Costa, butyouwon't much longer be door-keeper, if this is the way you treat people who come to see your pieces. Because, forsooth, the man looks poor, you think you can bully him safely—forgive me, Yankelé, I am so sorry I did not manage to come here before you, and spare you this insulting treatment! And as for you, my fine fellow, let me tell you that you make a great mistake in judging from appearances. There are some good friends of mine who could buy up your theatre and you and your miserable little soul at a moment's notice, and to look at them you would think they were cadgers. One of these days—hark you!—you will kick out a person of quality, and be kicked out yourself."
"I—I'm very sorry, sir."
"Don't say that to me. It is my guest you owe an apology to. Yes—and, by Heaven! you shall pay it, though he is no plutocrat, but only what he appears. Surely, because I wish to give a treat to a poor man who has, perhaps, never been to the play in his life, I am not bound to send him to the gallery—I can give him a corner in my box if I choose. There is no rule against that, I presume?"
"No, sir, I can't say as there is," said the humorist humbly. "But you will allow, sir, it's rayther unusual."
"Unusual! Of course, it's unusual. Kindness and consideration for the poor are always unusual. The poor are trodden upon at every opportunity, treated like dogs, not men. If I had invited a drunken fop, you'd have met him hat in hand (no, no, you needn't take it off to me now; it's too late). But a sober, poor man—by gad! I shall report your incivility to the management, and you'll be lucky if I don't thrash you with this stick into the bargain."
"But 'ow vos I to know, sir?"
"Don't speak to me, I tell you. If you have anything to urge in extenuation of your disgraceful behaviour, address your remarks to my guest."
"You'll overlook it this time, sir," said the little humorist, turning to Yankelé.
"Next time, p'raps, you believe me ven I say I have a seat in Mr. da Costa's box," replied Yankelé, in gentle reproach.
"Well, ifyou'resatisfied, Yankelé," said Manasseh, with a touch of scorn, "I have no more to say. Go along, my man, show us to our box."
The official bowed and led them into the corridor. Suddenly he turned back.
"What box is it, please?" he said timidly.
"Blockhead!" cried Manasseh. "Which box should it be? The empty one, of course."
"But, sir, there are two boxes empty," urged the poor humorist deprecatingly, "the stage-box and the one by the gallery."
"Dolt! Do I look the sort of person who is content with a box on the ceiling? Go back to your post, sir—I'll find the box myself—Heaven send you wisdom—go back, some one might sneak in while you are away, and it would just serve you right."
The little man slunk back half dazed, glad to escape from this overwhelming personality, and in a few seconds Manasseh stalked into the empty box, followed by Yankelé, whose mouth was a grin and whose eye a twinkle. As the Spaniard took his seat there was a slight outburst of clapping and stamping from a house impatient for the end of theentr'acte.
Manasseh craned his head over the box to see the house, which in turn craned to see him, glad of any diversion, and some people, imagining the applause had reference to thenew-comer, whose head appeared to be that of a foreigner of distinction, joined in it. The contagion spread, and in a minute Manasseh was the cynosure of all eyes and the unmistakable recipient of an "ovation." He bowed twice or thrice in unruffled dignity.
"HE BOWED."There were some who recognised him, but they joined in the reception with wondering amusement. Not a few, indeed, of the audience were Jews, for Goodman's Fields was the Ghetto Theatre, and the Sabbath was not a sufficient deterrent to a lax generation. The audiences—mainly German and Poles—came to the little unfashionableplayhouse as one happy family. Distinctions of rank were trivial, and gallery held converse with circle, and pit collogued with box. Supper parties were held on the benches.In a box that gave on the pit a portly Jewess sat stiffly, arrayed in the very pink of fashion, in a spangled robe of India muslin, with a diamond necklace and crescent, her head crowned by terraces of curls and flowers."Betsy!" called up a jovial feminine voice from the pit, when the applause had subsided."Betsy" did not move, but her cheeks grew hot and red. She had got on in the world, and did not care to recognise her old crony."Betsy!" iterated the well-meaning woman. "By your life and mine, you must taste a piece of my fried fish." And she held up a slice of cold plaice, beautifully browned.Betsy drew back, striving unsuccessfully to look unconscious. To her relief the curtain rose, andThe Castle Spectrewalked. Yankelé, who had scarcely seen anything but private theatricals, representing the discomfiture of the wicked Haman and the triumph of Queen Esther (arôlehe had once played himself, in his mother's old clothes), was delighted with the thrills and terrors of the ghostly melodrama. It was not till the conclusion of the second act that the emotion the beautiful but injured heroine cost him welled over again into matrimonial speech."Ve vind up de night glorious," he said."I am glad you like it. It is certainly an enjoyable performance," Manasseh answered with stately satisfaction."Your daughter, Deborah," Yankelé ventured timidly, "do she ever go to de play?""No, I do not take my womankind about. Their duty lies at home. As it is written, I call my wife not 'wife' but 'home.'""But dink how dey vould enjoy deirselves!""We are not sent here to enjoy ourselves.""True—most true," said Yankelé, pulling a smug face. "Ve be sent here to obey de Law of Moses. But do not remind me I be a sinner in Israel."
"HE BOWED."
"HE BOWED."
There were some who recognised him, but they joined in the reception with wondering amusement. Not a few, indeed, of the audience were Jews, for Goodman's Fields was the Ghetto Theatre, and the Sabbath was not a sufficient deterrent to a lax generation. The audiences—mainly German and Poles—came to the little unfashionableplayhouse as one happy family. Distinctions of rank were trivial, and gallery held converse with circle, and pit collogued with box. Supper parties were held on the benches.
In a box that gave on the pit a portly Jewess sat stiffly, arrayed in the very pink of fashion, in a spangled robe of India muslin, with a diamond necklace and crescent, her head crowned by terraces of curls and flowers.
"Betsy!" called up a jovial feminine voice from the pit, when the applause had subsided.
"Betsy" did not move, but her cheeks grew hot and red. She had got on in the world, and did not care to recognise her old crony.
"Betsy!" iterated the well-meaning woman. "By your life and mine, you must taste a piece of my fried fish." And she held up a slice of cold plaice, beautifully browned.
Betsy drew back, striving unsuccessfully to look unconscious. To her relief the curtain rose, andThe Castle Spectrewalked. Yankelé, who had scarcely seen anything but private theatricals, representing the discomfiture of the wicked Haman and the triumph of Queen Esther (arôlehe had once played himself, in his mother's old clothes), was delighted with the thrills and terrors of the ghostly melodrama. It was not till the conclusion of the second act that the emotion the beautiful but injured heroine cost him welled over again into matrimonial speech.
"Ve vind up de night glorious," he said.
"I am glad you like it. It is certainly an enjoyable performance," Manasseh answered with stately satisfaction.
"Your daughter, Deborah," Yankelé ventured timidly, "do she ever go to de play?"
"No, I do not take my womankind about. Their duty lies at home. As it is written, I call my wife not 'wife' but 'home.'"
"But dink how dey vould enjoy deirselves!"
"We are not sent here to enjoy ourselves."
"True—most true," said Yankelé, pulling a smug face. "Ve be sent here to obey de Law of Moses. But do not remind me I be a sinner in Israel."
"How so?"
"I am twenty-five—yet I have no vife."
"I daresay you had plenty in Poland."
"By my soul, not. Only von, and her I gavegett(divorce) for barrenness. You can write to de Rabbi of my town."
"Why should I write? It's not my affair."
"But I vant it to be your affair."
Manasseh glared. "Do you begin that again?" he murmured.
"It is not so much dat I desire your daughter for a vife as you for a fader-in-law."
"It cannot be!" said Manasseh more gently.
"Oh dat I had been born a Sephardi!" said Yankelé with a hopeless groan.
"It is too late now," said da Costa soothingly.
"Dey say it's never too late to mend," moaned the Pole. "Is dere no vay for me to be converted to Spanish Judaism? I could easily pronounce Hebrew in your superior vay."
"Our Judaism differs in no essential respect from yours—it is a question of blood. You cannot change your blood. As it is said, 'And the blood is the life.'"
"I know, I know dat I aspire too high. Oh, vy did you become my friend, vy did you make me believe you cared for me—so dat I tink of you day and night—and now, ven I ask you to be my fader-in-law, you say it cannot be. It is like a knife in de heart! Tink how proud and happy I should be to call you my fader-in-law. All my life vould bedevoted to you—my von thought to be vordy of such a man."
"You are not the first I have been compelled to refuse," said Manasseh, with emotion.
"Vat helps me dat dere be otherSchlemihls(unlucky persons)?" quoted Yankelé, with a sob. "How can I live midout you for a fader-in-law?"
"I am sorry for you—more sorry than I have ever been."
"Den you do care for me! I vill not give up hope. I vill not take no for no answer. Vat is dis blood dat it should divide Jew from Jew, dat it should prevent me becoming de son-in-law of de only man I have ever loved? Say not so. Let me ask you again—in a month or a year—even twelve months vould I vait, ven you vould only promise not to pledge yourself to anoder man."
"But if I became your father-in-law—mind, I only say if—not only would I not keep you, but you would have to keep my Deborah."
"And supposing?"
"But you are not able to keep a wife!"
"Not able? Who told you dat?" cried Yankelé indignantly.
"You yourself! Why, when I first befriended you, you told me you were blood-poor."
"Dat I told you as aSchnorrer. But now I speak to you as a suitor."
"True," admitted Manasseh, instantly appreciating the distinction.
"And as a suitor I tell you I canschnorrenough to keep two vives."
"But do you tell this to da Costa the father or da Costa the marriage-broker?"
"Hush!" from all parts of the house as the curtain went up and the house settled down. But Yankelé was no longer inrapportwith the play; the spectre had ceased to thrill and the heroine to touch. His mind was busy with feverish calculations of income, scraping together every penny he could raise by hook or crook. He even drew out a crumpled piece of paper and a pencil, but thrust them back into his pocket when he saw Manasseh's eye.
"I forgot," he murmured apologetically. "Being at de play made me forget it was de Sabbath." And he pursued his calculations mentally; this being naturally less work.
When the play was over the two beggars walked out into the cool night air.
"I find," Yankelé began eagerly in the vestibule, "I make at least von hundred and fifty pounds"—he paused to acknowledge the farewell salutation of the little door-keeper at his elbow—"a hundred and fifty a year."
"Indeed!" said Manasseh, in respectful astonishment.
"Yes! I have reckoned it all up. Ten are de sources of charity—"
"As it is written," interrupted Manasseh with unction, "'With ten sayings was the world created; there were ten generations from Noah to Abraham; with ten trials our father Abraham was tried; ten miracles were wrought for our fathers in Egypt and ten at the Red Sea; and ten things were created on the eve of the Sabbath in the twilight!' And now it shall be added, 'Ten good deeds the poor man affords the rich man.' Proceed, Yankelé."
"First comes my allowance from de Synagogue—eight pounds. Vonce a veek I call and receive half-a-crown."
"Is that all? Our Synagogue allows three-and-six."
"Ah!" sighed the Pole wistfully. "Did I not say you be a superior race?"
"But that only makes six pound ten!"
"I know—de oder tirty shillings I allow for Passover cakes and groceries. Den for Synagogue-knocking I get ten guin—"
"Stop! stop!" cried Manasseh, with a sudden scruple. "Ought I to listen to financial details on the Sabbath?"
"Certainly, ven dey be connected vid my marriage—vich is a Commandment. It is de Law ve really discuss."
"You are right. Go on, then. But remember, even if you can prove you canschnorrenough to keep a wife, I do not bind myself to consent."
"You be already a fader to me—vy vill you not be a fader-in-law? Anyhow, you vill find me a fader-in-law," he added hastily, seeing the blackness gathering again on da Costa's brow.
"Nay, nay, we must not talk of business on the Sabbath," said Manasseh evasively. "Proceed with your statement of income."
"Ten guineas for Synagogue-knocking. I have tventy clients who—"
"Stop a minute! I cannot pass that item."
"Vy not? It is true."
"Maybe! But Synagogue-knocking is distinctlywork!"
"Vork?"
"Well, if going round early in the morning to knock at the doors of twenty pious persons, and rouse them for morning service, isn't work, then the Christian bell-ringer is a beggar. No, no! Profits from this source I cannot regard as legitimate."
"But mostSchnorrersbe Synagogue-knockers!"
"MostSchnorrersare Congregation-men or Psalms-men," retorted the Spaniard witheringly. "But I call it debasing. What! To assist at the services for a fee! To worshipone's Maker for hire! Under such conditions to pray is to work." His breast swelled with majesty and scorn.
"I cannot call it vork," protested theSchnorrer. "Vy at dat rate you vould make out dat de minister vorks? or de preacher? Vy, I reckon fourteen pounds a year to my services as Congregation-man."
"Fourteen pounds! As much as that?"
"Yes, you see dere's my private customers as vell as de Synagogue. Ven dere is mourning in a house dey cannot alvays get together ten friends for de services, so I make von. How can you call that vork? It is friendship. And the more dey pay me de more friendship I feel," asserted Yankelé with a twinkle. "Den de Synagogue allows me a little extra for announcing de dead."
In those primitive times, when a Jewish newspaper was undreamt of, the day's obituary was published by a peripateticSchnorrer, who went about the Ghetto rattling a pyx—a copper money-box with a handle and a lid closed by a padlock. On hearing this death-rattle, anyone who felt curious would ask theSchnorrer:
"Who's dead to-day?"
"So-and-so ben So-and-so—funeral on such a day—mourning service at such an hour," theSchnorrerwould reply, and the enquirer would piously put something into the "byx," as it was called. The collection was handed over to the Holy Society—in other words, the Burial Society.
"P'raps you call that vork?" concluded Yankelé, in timid challenge.
"Of course I do. What do you call it?"
"Valking exercise. It keeps me healty. Vonce von of my customers (from whom Ischnorredhalf-a-crown a veek) said he was tired of my coming and getting it every Friday.He vanted to compound mid me for six pound a year, but I vouldn't."
"But it was a very fair offer. He only deducted ten shillings for the interest on his money."
"Dat I didn't mind. But I vanted a pound more for his depriving me of my valking exercise, and dat he vouldn't pay, so he still goes on giving me de half-crown a veek. Some of dese charitable persons are terribly mean. But vat I vant to say is dat I carry de byx mostly in the streets vere my customers lay, and it gives me more standing as aSchnorrer."
"No, no, that is a delusion. What! Are you weak-minded enough to believe that? All the philanthropists say so, of course, but surely you know thatschnorringand work should never be mixed. A man cannot do two things properly. He must choose his profession, and stick to it. A friend of mine once succumbed to the advice of the philanthropists instead of asking mine. He had one of the best provincial rounds in the kingdom, but in every town he weakly listened to the lectures of the president of the congregation inculcating work, and at last he actually invested the savings of years in jewellery, and went round trying to peddle it. The presidents all bought something to encourage him (though they beat down the price so that there was no profit in it), and they all expressed their pleasure at his working for his living, and showing a manly independence. 'But Ischnorralso,' he reminded them, holding out his hand when they had finished. It was in vain. No one gave him a farthing. He had blundered beyond redemption. At one blow he had destroyed one of the most profitable connections aSchnorrerever had, and without even getting anything for the goodwill. So if you will be guided by me, Yankelé, you will do nothing to assist thephilanthropists to keep you. It destroys their satisfaction. ASchnorrercannot be too careful. And once you begin to work, where are you to draw the line?"
"But you be a marriage-broker yourself," said Yankelé imprudently.
"That!" thundered Manasseh angrily, "That is not work! That is pleasure!"
"Vy look! Dere is Hennery Simons," cried Yankelé, hoping to divert his attention. But he only made matters worse.
Henry Simons was a character variously known as the Tumbling Jew, Harry the Dancer, and the Juggling Jew. He was afterwards to become famous as the hero of a slander case which deluged England with pamphlets for and against, but for the present he had merely outraged the feelings of his fellowSchnorrersby budding out in a direction so rare as to suggest preliminary baptism. He stood now playing antic and sleight-of-hand tricks—surrounded by a crowd—a curious figure crowned by a velvet skull-cap from which wisps of hair protruded, with a scarlet handkerchief thrust through his girdle. His face was an olive oval, bordered by ragged tufts of beard and stamped with melancholy.
"You see the results of working," cried Manasseh. "It brings temptation to work on Sabbath. That Epicurean there is profaning the Holy Day. Come away! ASchnorreris far more certain of The-World-To-Come. No, decidedly, I will not give my daughter to a worker, or to aSchnorrerwho makes illegitimate profits."
"But Imakede profits all de same," persisted Yankelé.
"You make them to-day—but to-morrow? There is no certainty about them. Work of whatever kind is by its very nature unreliable. At any moment trade may be slack.People may become less pious, and you lose your Synagogue-knocking. Or more pious—and they won't want congregation-men."
"But new Synagogues spring up," urged Yankelé.
"New Synagogues are full of enthusiasm," retorted Manasseh. "The members are their own congregation-men."
Yankelé had his roguish twinkle. "At first," he admitted, "but deSchnorrervaits his time."
Manasseh shook his head. "Schnorringis the only occupation that is regular all the year round," he said. "Everything else may fail—the greatest commercial houses may totter to the ground; as it is written, 'He humbleth the proud.' But theSchnorreris always secure. Whoever falls, there are always enough left to look afterhim. If you were a father, Yankelé, you would understand my feelings. How can a man allow his daughter's future happiness to repose on a basis so uncertain as work? No, no. What do you make by your district visiting? Everything turns on that."
"Tventy-five shilling a veek!"
"Really?"
"Law of Moses! In sixpences, shillings, and half-crowns. Vy in Houndsditch alone, I have two streets all except a few houses."
"But are they safe? Population shifts. Good streets go down."
"Dat tventy-five shillings is as safe as Mocatta's business. I have it all written down at home—you can inspect de books if you choose."
"No, no," said Manasseh, with a grand wave of his stick. "If I did not believe you, I should not entertain your proposal for a moment. It rejoices me exceedingly to find youhave devoted so much attention to this branch. I always held strongly that the rich should be visited in their own homes, and I grieve to see this personal touch, this contact with the very people to whom you give the good deeds, being replaced by lifeless circulars. One owes it to one's position in life to afford the wealthy classes the opportunity of charity warm from the heart; they should not be neglected and driven in their turn to write cheques in cold blood, losing all that human sympathy which comes from personal intercourse—as it is written, 'Charity delivers from death.' But do you think charity that is given publicly through a secretary and advertised in annual reports has so great a redeeming power as that slipped privately into the hands of the poor man, who makes a point of keeping secret from every donor what he has received from the others?"
"I am glad you don't call collecting de money vork," said Yankelé, with a touch of sarcasm which was lost on da Costa.
"No, so long as the donor can't show any 'value received' in return. And there's more friendship insucha call, Yankelé, than in going to a house of mourning to pray for a fee."
"Oh," said Yankelé, wincing. "Den p'raps you strike out all my Year-Time item!"
"Year-Time! What's that?"
"Don't you know?" said the Pole, astonished. "Ven a man has Year-Time, he feels charitable for de day."
"Do you mean when he commemorates the anniversary of the death of one of his family? We Sephardim call that 'making years'! But are there enough Year-Times, as you call them, in your Synagogue?"
"Dere might be more—I only make about fifteenpounds. Our colony is, as you say, too new. De Globe Road Cemetery is as empty as a Synagogue on veek-days. De faders have leftdeirfaders on de Continent, and kept many Year-Times out of de country. But in a few years many faders and moders must die off here, and every parent leaves two or tree sons to have Year-Times, and every child two or tree broders and a fader. Den every day more German Jews come here—vich means more and more to die. I tink indeed it vould be fair to double this item."
"No, no; stick to facts. It is an iniquity to speculate in the misfortunes of our fellow-creatures."
"Somebody must die dat I may live," retorted Yankelé roguishly; "de vorld is so created. Did you not quote, 'Charity delivers from death'? If people lived for ever,Schnorrerscould not live at all."
"Hush! The world could not exist withoutSchnorrers. As it is written, 'And Repentance andPrayerandCharityavert the evil decree.' Charity is put last—it is the climax—the greatest thing on earth. And theSchnorreris the greatest man on earth; for it stands in the Talmud, 'He who causes is greater than he who does.' Therefore, theSchnorrerwho causes charity is even greater than he who gives it."
"Talk of de devil," said Yankelé, who had much difficulty in keeping his countenance when Manasseh became magnificent and dithyrambic. "Vy, dere is Greenbaum, whose fader vas buried yesterday. Let us cross over by accident and vish him long life."
"Greenbaum dead! Was that the Greenbaum on 'Change, who was such a rascal with the wenches?"
"De same," said Yankelé. Then approaching the son, he cried, "Good Sabbath, Mr. Greenbaum; I vish you long life. Vat a blow for de community!"
"It comforts me to hear you say so," said the son, with a sob in his voice.
"Ah, yes!" said Yankelé chokingly. "Your fader vas a great and good man—just my size."
"'YOUR FADER VAS A GREAT AND GOOD MAN—JUST MY SIZE.'"
"I've already given them away to Baruch the glazier," replied the mourner.
"But he has his glaziering," remonstrated Yankelé. "I have noting but de clothes I stand in, and dey don't fit me half so vell as your fader's vould have done."
"Baruch has been very unfortunate," replied Greenbaumdefensively. "He had a misfortune in the winter, and he has never got straight yet. A child of his died, and, unhappily, just when the snowballing was at its height, so that he lost seven days by the mourning." And he moved away.
"Did I not say work was uncertain?" cried Manasseh.
"Not all," maintained theSchnorrer. "What of de six guineas I make by carrying round de Palm-branch on Tabernacles to be shaken by de voomans who cannot attend Synagogue, and by blowing de trumpet for de same voomans on New Year, so dat dey may break deir fasts?"
"The amount is too small to deserve discussion. Pass on."
"Dere is a smaller amount—just half dat—I get from de presents to de poor at de Feast of Lots, and from de Bridegrooms of de Beginning and de Bridegrooms of de Law at de Rejoicing of de Law, and dere is about four pounds ten a year from de sale of clothes given to me. Den I have a lot o' meals given me—dis, I have reckoned, is as good as seven pounds. And, lastly, I cannot count de odds and ends under ten guineas. You know dere are alvays legacies, gifts, distributions—all unexpected. You never know who'll break out next."
"Yes, I think it's not too high a percentage of your income to expect from unexpected sources," admitted Manasseh. "I have myself lingered about 'Change Alley or Sampson's Coffee House just when the jobbers have pulled off a special coup, and they have paid me quite a high percentage on their profits."
"And I," boasted Yankelé, stung to noble emulation, "have made two sov'rans in von minute out of Gideon de bullion-broker. He likes to giveSchnorrerssov'rans, as if in mistake for shillings, to see vat dey'll do. De foolshurry off, or move slowly avay, as if not noticing, or put it quickly in de pocket. But dose who have visdom tell him he's made a mistake, and he gives dem anoder sov'ran. Honesty is de best policy with Gideon. Den dere is Rabbi de Falk, de Baal Shem—de great Cabbalist. Ven—"
"But," interrupted Manasseh impatiently, "you haven't made out your hundred and fifty a year."
Yankelé's face fell. "Not if you cut out so many items."
"No, but even all inclusive it only comes to a hundred and forty-three pounds nineteen shillings."
"Nonsense!" said Yankelé, staggered. "How can you know so exact?"
"Do you think I cannot do simple addition?" responded Manasseh sternly. "Are not these your ten items?"
£s.d.1.Synagogue Pension, with Passover extras8002.Synagogue-knocking101003.District Visiting65004.As Congregation-man and Pyx-bearer14005.Year-Times15006.Palm-branch and Trumpet Fees6607.Purim-presents, &c.3308.Sale of Clothes41009.Equivalent of Free Meals70010.Miscellanea, the unexpected10100___________Total£143190
"A child could sum it up," concluded Manasseh severely. Yankelé was subdued to genuine respect and consternation by da Costa's marvellous memory and arithmetical genius. But he rallied immediately. "Of course, I also reckoned on a dowry mid my bride, if only a hundred pounds."
"Well, invested in Consols, that would not bring you four pounds more," replied Manasseh instantly.
"The rest vill be made up in extra free meals," Yankelé answered no less quickly. "For ven I take your daughter off your hands you vill be able to afford to invite me more often to your table dan you do now."
"Not at all," retorted Manasseh, "for now that I know how well off you are I shall no longer feel I am doing a charity."
"Oh, yes, you vill," said Yankelé insinuatingly. "You are too much a man of honour to know as a private philantropist vat I have told de marriage-broker, de fader-in-law and de fellowSchnorrer. Besides, I vould have de free meals from you as de son-in-law, not deSchnorrer."
"In that relation I should also have free meals from you," rejoined Manasseh.
"I never dared to tink you vould do me de honour. But even so I can never give you such good meals as you give me. So dere is still a balance in my favour."
"That is true," said da Costa thoughtfully. "But you have still about a guinea to make up."
Yankelé was driven into a corner at last. But he flashedback, without perceptible pause, "You do not allow for vat I save by my piety. I fast twenty times a year, and surely dat is at least anoder guinea per annum."
"But you will have children," retorted da Costa.
Yankelé shrugged his shoulders.
"Dat is de affair of de Holy One, blessed be He. Ven He sends dem He vill provide for dem. You must not forget, too, dat midyourdaughter de dowry vould be noting so small as a hundred pounds."
"My daughter will have a dowry befitting her station, certainly," said Manasseh, with his grandest manner; "but then I had looked forward to her marrying a king ofSchnorrers."
"Vell, but ven I marry her I shall be."
"How so?"
"I shall haveschnorredyour daughter—the most precious thing in the world! Andschnorredher from a king ofSchnorrers, too!! And I shall haveschnorredyour services as marriage-broker into de bargain!!!"
SHOWING HOW THE ROYAL WEDDING WAS ARRANGED.
Manasseh Bueno Barzillai Azevedo da Costa was so impressed by his would-be son-in-law's last argument that he perpended it in silence for a full minute. When he replied, his tone showed even more respect than had been infused into it by the statement of the aspirant's income. Manasseh was not of those to whom money is a fetish; he regarded it merely as something to be had for the asking. It was intellect for which he reserved his admiration. That was strictly not transferable.
"It is true," he said, "that if I yielded to your importunities and gave you my daughter, you would thereby have approved yourself a king ofSchnorrers, of a rank suitable to my daughter's, but an analysis of your argument will show that you are begging the question."
"Vat more proof do you vant of my begging powers?" demanded Yankelé, spreading out his palms and shrugging his shoulders.
"'VAT MORE PROOF DO YOU VANT?'"
"Much greater proof," replied Manasseh. "I ought to have some instance of your powers. The only time I have seen you try toschnorryou failed."
"Me! ven?" exclaimed Yankelé indignantly.
"Why, this very night. When you asked young Weinstein for his dead father's clothes!"
"But he had already given them away!" protested the Pole.
"What of that? If anyone had given awaymyclothes, I should have demanded compensation. You must really be above rebuffs of that kind, Yankelé, if you are to be my son-in-law. No, no, I remember the dictum of the Sages: 'To give your daughter to an uncultured man is like throwing her bound to a lion.'"
"But you have also seen meschnorrmid success," remonstrated the suitor.
"Never!" protested Manasseh vehemently.
"Often!"
"From whom?"
"From you!" said Yankelé boldly.
"Fromme!" sneered Manasseh, accentuating the pronoun with infinite contempt. "What does that prove? I am a generous man. The test is toschnorrfrom a miser."
"Ivill schnorrfrom a miser!" announced Yankelé desperately.
"You will!"
"Yes. Choose your miser."
"No, I leave it to you," said da Costa politely.
"Vell, Sam Lazarus, de butcher shop!"
"No, not Sam Lazarus, he once gave aSchnorrerI know elevenpence."
"Elevenpence?" incredulously murmured Yankelé.
"Yes, it was the only way he could pass a shilling. It wasn't bad, only cracked, but he could get no one to take it except aSchnorrer. He made the man give him a penny change though. 'Tis true the man afterwards laidout the shilling at Lazarus's shop. Still a really great miser would have added that cracked shilling to his hoard rather than the perfect penny."
"No," argued Yankelé, "dere vould be no difference, since he does not spend."
"True," said da Costa reflectively, "but by that same token a miser is not the most difficult person to tackle."
"How do you make dat out?"
"Is it not obvious? Already we see Lazarus giving away elevenpence. A miser who spends nothing on himself may, in exceptional cases, be induced to give away something. It is the man who indulges himself in every luxury and gives away nothing who is the hardest toschnorrfrom. He has ausefor his money—himself! If you diminish his store you hurt him in the tenderest part—you rob him of creature comforts. Toschnorrfrom such a one I should regard as a higher and nobler thing than toschnorrfrom a mere miser."
"Vell, name your man."
"No—I couldn't think of taking it out of your hands," said Manasseh again with his stately bow. "Whomever you select I will abide by. If I could not rely on your honour, would I dream of you as a son-in-law?"
"Den I vill go to Mendel Jacobs, of Mary Axe."
"Mendel Jacobs—oh, no! Why, he's married! A married man cannot be entirely devoted to himself."
"Vy not? Is not a vife a creature comfort? P'raps also she comes cheaper dan a housekeeper."
"We will not argue it. I will not have Mendel Jacobs."
"Simon Kelutski, de vine-merchant."
"He! He is quite generous with his snuff-box. I have myself been offered a pinch. Of course I did not accept it."
Yankelé selected several other names, but Manassehbarred them all, and at last had an inspiration of his own.
"Isn't there a Rabbi in your community whose stinginess is proverbial? Let me see, what's his name?"
"A Rabbi!" murmured Yankelé disingenuously, while his heart began to palpitate with alarm.
"Yes, isn't there—Rabbi Bloater!"
Yankelé shook his head. Ruin stared him in the face—his fondest hopes were crumbling.
"I know it's some fishy name—Rabbi Haddock—no it isn't. It's Rabbi Remorse something."
Yankelé saw it was all over with him.
"P'raps you mean Rabbi Remorse Red-herring," he said feebly, for his voice failed him.
"Ah, yes! Rabbi Remorse Red-herring," said Manasseh. "From all I hear—for I have never seen the man—a king of guzzlers and topers, and the meanest of mankind. Now if you could dine withhimyou might indeed be called a king ofSchnorrers."
Yankelé was pale and trembling. "Butheis married!" he urged, with a happy thought.
"THE TREMBLING JEW."
"Dine with him to-morrow," said Manasseh inexorably. "He fares extra royally on the Sabbath. Obtain admission to his table, and you shall be admitted into my family."
"But you do not know the man—it is impossible!" cried Yankelé.
"That is the excuse of the badSchnorrer. You have heard my ultimatum. No dinner, no wife. No wife—no dowry!"
"Vat vould dis dowry be?" asked Yankelé, by way of diversion.
"Oh, unique—quite unique. First of all there would be all the money she gets from the Synagogue. Our Synagoguegives considerable dowries to portionless girls. There are large bequests for the purpose."
Yankelé's eyes glittered.
"Ah, vat gentlemen you Spaniards be!"
"Then I daresay I should hand over to my son-in-law all my Jerusalem land."
"Have you property in de Holy Land?" said Yankelé.
"First class, with an unquestionable title. And, of course, I would give you some province or other in this country."
"What!" gasped Yankelé.
"Could I do less?" said Manasseh blandly. "My own flesh and blood, remember! Ah, here is my door. It is too late to ask you in. Good Sabbath! Don't forget your appointment to dine with Rabbi Remorse Red-herring to-morrow."
"Good Sabbath!" faltered Yankelé, and crawled home heavy-hearted to Dinah's Buildings, Tripe Yard, Whitechapel, where the memory of him lingers even unto this day.
Rabbi Remorse Red-herring was an unofficial preacher who officiated at mourning services in private houses, having a gift of well-turned eulogy. He was a big, burly man with overlapping stomach and a red beard, and his spiritual consolations drew tears. His clients knew him to be vastly self-indulgent in private life, and abstemious in the matter of benevolence; but they did not confound therôles. As a mourning preacher he gave every satisfaction: he was regular and punctual, and did not keep the congregation waiting, and he had had considerable experience in showing that there was yet balm in Gilead.
He had about five ways of showing it—the variants depending upon the circumstances. If, as not infrequently happened, the person deceased was a stranger to him, hewould enquire in the passage: "Was it man or woman? Boy or girl? Married or single? Any children? Young 'uns or old 'uns?"
When these questions had been answered, he was ready. He knew exactly which of his five consolatory addresses to deliver—they were all sufficiently vague and general to cover considerable variety of circumstance, and even when he misheard the replies in the passage, and dilated on the grief of a departed widower's relict, the results were not fatal throughout. The few impossible passages might be explained by the mishearing of the audience. Sometimes—very rarely—he would venture on a supplementary sentence or two fitting the specific occasion, but very cautiously, for a man with a reputation for extempore addresses cannot be too wary of speaking on the spur of the moment.
Off obituary lines he was a failure; at any rate, his one attempt to preach from an English Synagogue pulpit resulted in a nickname. His theme was Remorse, which he explained with much care to the congregation.
"For instance," said the preacher, "the other day I was walking over London Bridge, when I saw a fishwife standing with a basket of red-herrings. I says, 'How much?' She says, 'Two for three-halfpence.' I says, 'Oh, that's frightfully dear! I can easily get three for twopence.' But she wouldn't part with them at that price, so I went on, thinking I'd meet another woman with a similar lot over the water. They were lovely fat herrings, and my chaps watered in anticipation of the treat of eating them. But when I got to the other end of the bridge there was no other fishwife to be seen. So I resolved to turn back to the first fishwife, for, after all, I reflected, the herrings were really very cheap, and I had only complained in the way of business. But when I got back the woman was just sold out. I couldhave torn my hair with vexation. Now, that's what I call Remorse."