Aaron the Jew: A Novel. Farjeon Benjamin Leopold

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      "Tush, tush!" exclaimed Mr. Whimpole, petulantly. "Straightforward dealings, indeed! The vanity of life, indeed!"

      Aaron Cohen smiled.

      Only once before in his life had Mr. Whimpole felt so thoroughly uncomfortable as at the present moment, and that was when he was a little boy and fell into a bed of nettles from which he was unable to extricate himself until he was covered with stings. It was just the same now; he was smarting all over from contact with Aaron Cohen, who was like a porcupine with sharp-pointed quills. But he would not tamely submit to such treatment; he would show Aaron that he could sting in return; he knew well enough where to plant his poisoned arrow.

      It is due to Mr. Whimpole to state that he was not aware that the manner in which he was conducting himself during this interview was not commendable. Being a narrow-minded man, he could not take a wide and generous view of abstract matters, which, by a perversion of reasoning, he generally regarded from a purely personal standpoint. Such men as he, in their jealous regard for their own feelings, are apt to overlook the feelings of others, and, indeed, to behave occasionally as if they did not possess any. This was Mr. Whimpole's predicament, and, having met a ready-witted man, he was made to suffer for his misconduct. He sent forth his sting in this wise:

      "You speak, Mr. Cohen, of being fair and straightforward in your dealings; but, for the matter of that, we all know what we may expect from a-"

      And having got thus far in his ungenerously-prompted speech, he felt himself unable, in the presence of Rachel, and with her reproachful eyes raised to his face, to conclude the sentence. Aaron Cohen finished it for him.

      "For the matter of that," he said, gently, "you all know what you may expect from a Jew. That is what you were going to say. And with this thought in your mind you came to trade with me. Well, sir, it may be that we both have something to learn."

      "Mr. Cohen," said Mr. Whimpole, slightly abashed, "I am sorry if I have said anything to hurt your feelings."

      "The offence, sir, is atoned for by the expression of your sorrow."

      This was taking high ground, and Mr. Whimpole's choler was ready to rise again; but he mastered it, and said, in a conciliatory tone, -

      "I will disguise nothing from you; I was born in this house."

      "The circumstance will make it all the more valuable to us. My dear," – impressing it upon Rachel with pleasant emphasis-"Mr. Whimpole was born in this house. A fortunate omen. Good luck will come to us, as it has come to him. It is a low-rented house, and those who have been born in it must have been poor men's children. When they rise in the world as Mr. Whimpole has done, it is better than a horseshoe over the door. In which room were you born, Mr. Whimpole?"

      "In the room on the back of the first floor," replied Mr. Whimpole, making a wild guess.

      "Our bedroom. There should be a record on the walls; there should, indeed, be a record, such as is placed outside those houses in London which have been inhabited by famous people. Failing that, it is in the power of every man, assuredly every rich man, to make for himself a record that shall be unperishable-far better, my dear sir, than the mere fixing of a plate on a cold stone wall."

      Mr. Whimpole gazed at Aaron Cohen to discover if there was any trace of mockery in his face; but Aaron was perfectly grave and serious.

      "A man's humility," said Mr. Whimpole, raising his eyes to the ceiling, "his sense of humbleness, would prevent him from making this record for himself. It has to be left to others to do it when they have found him out."

      "Aha! my dear sir," said Aaron, softly, "when they have found him out. True, true; but how few of us are! How few of us receive our just reward! How few of us when we are in our graves receive or deserve the tribute, 'Here lies a perfect man!' But the record I speak of will never be lost by a rich man's humility, by his humbleness; for it can be written unostentatiously in the hearts of the poor by the aid of silver and gold."

      "I understand you, Mr. Cohen," – inwardly confounding Aaron's flow of ideas-"by means of charity."

      "Yes, sir, by means of charity, whereby the name of a man becomes sweet in the mouth. A good name is better than precious oil, and the day of one's death better than the day of his birth. There is an old legend that a man's actions in life are marked in the air above him, in the places in which they are performed. There, in invisible space, are inscribed the records of his good and bad deeds, of his virtues, of his crimes; and when he dies his soul visits those places, and views the immortal writing, which is visible to all the angels in heaven and which covers him with shame or glory. Gosport doubtless has many such records of your charity."

      "I do my best," said Mr. Whimpole, very much confused and mystified; "I hope I do my best. I said I would disguise nothing from you; I will therefore be quite frank, with no intention of wounding you. I am strictly a religious man, Mr. Cohen, and it hurts me that one whose religious belief is opposed to my own should inhabit the house in which I was born. I will give you a hundred and twenty pounds for the lease; that will leave you a profit of twenty pounds. Come, now!"

      "I will not accept less for it, sir, than the sum I named."

      "Is that your last word?"

      "It is my last word."

      Mr. Whimpole rose with a face of scarlet, and clapped his hat on his head. "You are a-a-"

      "A Jew. Leave it at that. Can you call me anything worse?" asked Aaron, with no show of anger.

      "No, I cannot. You are a Jew."

      "I regret," said Aaron, calmly, "that I cannot retort by calling you a Christian. May our next meeting be more agreeable! Good-evening, Mr. Whimpole."

      "You do not know the gentleman you have insulted," said Mr. Whimpole, as he walked towards the door; "you do not know my position in this town. I am in the expectation of being made a justice of the peace. You will live to repent this."

      "I think not," said Aaron, taking the candle to show his visitor out. "I trust you may."

      "You may find your residence in Gosport, where I am universally respected, not as agreeable as you would wish it to be."

      "We shall see, we shall see," said Aaron, still smiling. "I may also make myself respected here."

      "There is a prejudice against your race-"

      "Am I not aware of it? Is not every Jew aware of it? Is it not thrown in our teeth by the bigoted and narrow-minded upon every possible occasion? We will live it down, sir. We have already done much; we will yet do more. Your use of the word 'prejudice' is appropriate; for, as I understand its meaning, it represents a judgment formed without proper knowledge. Yes, sir, it is not to be disputed that there exists a prejudice against our race."

      "Which, without putting any false meaning upon it, will make this ancient and respectable town" – here Mr. Whimpole found himself at a loss, and he was compelled to wind up with the vulgar figure of speech-"too hot to hold you."

      "This ancient town," said Aaron, with a deeper seriousness in his voice, "is known to modern men as Gosport."

      "A clever discovery," sneered Mr. Whimpole. "Are you going to put another of your false constructions on it?"

      "No, sir. I am about to tell you a plain and beautiful truth. When in olden times a name was given to this place, it was not Gosport: it was God's Port; and what Gods port is there throughout the civilised world in which Jew and Christian alike have not an СКАЧАТЬ