A Fair Jewess

CHAPTER XXIX.

WHAT SHALL BE DONE TO THE MAN WHOM THE KING DELIGHTETH TO HONOR?

In the autumn of the year 1891 a number of influential persons wended their way to Aaron Cohen's house to take part in a function of a peculiarly interesting nature. They comprised representatives of literature and the arts, of politics, science, and commerce, and among them were delegates of the press who were deputed to report the proceedings for their several journals.

That the pen is mightier than the sword was, at an earlier period in the world's history, open to dispute, but the contention exists no longer, and although the day is far distant when the lion shall lie down with the lamb, the press is now the pre-eminent dictator of peace and war, and can effectually hasten or retard the conflict of nations. It is an open question whether its invasion of the arena of private life is a beneficial feature in the power it wields, but it is useless to resist its march in this direction, and earnest as may be a man's desire to hide his light under a bushel, he does not live to see it gratified.

When a movement was set afoot to make some sort of semi-private, semi-public recognition of the remarkable position attained by the hero of this story he did not receive it with any kind of pleasure, and he made an effort to avoid it. That his effort was not successful was not so much due to the perseverance of the leaders of the movement as to a few simple words uttered by his wife.

"It will give me pleasure," she said.

He did not argue with her; he yielded immediately, and allowed himself to be carried with the stream. Never in the course of their happy married life had he failed to comply with her lightest wish; never had there been the least conflict between them; to each of them the word of the other was law, and it was love's cheerful duty to obey.

Remarkable, indeed, was the position he had won. From the day of his return to England there had been no break in his prosperity; every enterprise he undertook flourished, and the old saying was applied to him, "Everything he touches turns to gold." His reputation, however, was not based on the fact that he was a lucky but that he was a just and charitable man. No appeal for any good purpose 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, and his advice was asked and taken by high and low alike. His character was so well-known that the poorest Jew, in an hour 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 worldly matters. He did not confine his labors 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 as a large-hearted, honorable, and benevolent gentleman. Of course he was sometimes beguiled into bestowing money upon unworthy objects or persons, but when this came to his knowledge it did not affect him. "It is but human nature," he would say. "Where lives the man who does not make mistakes?"

In the wide scope of his charities he had curious experiences, and one of these got to be known and quoted.

A gentleman visited him and asked for a contribution to an old-established society known all the world over. Aaron inquired the name and objects of the society.

"You have doubtless heard of it," replied the gentleman. "It is for the promotion of Christianity among the Jews."

Aaron smiled as he said, "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 quoted to me as a man who has no narrow prejudices, and who in no sense of the word could be called dogmatic or prejudiced."

"It is, then, a compliment you are paying me by asking me to contribute to a fund which is antagonistic to my race."

"In your view antagonistic," observed the gentleman.

"I see. Meaning that my view is not necessarily the right view."

The gentleman nodded courteously. He was not a collector for the society, nor a paid officer, but a gentleman of means who, in a smaller way than Aaron, was also noted for his benevolence.

"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 endeavoring to convert Jews or Christians to a faith in which they were not born, would it not be better to employ ourselves in making those who call themselves Christians true Christians, and those who call themselves Jews true Jews?"

"There is force in your argument," said the gentleman, "but it is no answer to my appeal for a contribution to the objects of my society."

"Can you furnish me with particulars," Aaron then said, "of the working of the society?"

"I have brought the papers with me, anticipating your request."

Aaron looked over the printed books and papers handed to him, and made certain calculations upon paper.

"I perceive," he said, "that you take credit to yourselves for making a certain number of conversions during the past five years, and that you have spent a great deal of money in these conversions. The number of conversions is very small, the amount of money expended very large. I have worked out the sum, and I see that each conversion has cost you nearly eleven thousand pounds. You find these wavering Jews very expensive?"

"Very expensive," assented the gentleman, with a half-humorous sigh.

"Well, my dear sir," said Aaron, "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 believe to be worthy. I will write a check in contribution to your object on the understanding that you write a check for half the amount in contribution to mine. Do not be afraid; it is not for the promotion of Judaism among the Christians."

The gentleman, who was fairly liberal-minded, laughed good-humoredly at the proposition as he said:

"I consent, but you are richer than I, and I must stipulate that your check is not for a large amount."

"It shall not be large," said Aaron, and he filled in a check for twenty pounds.

The gentleman, somewhat relieved, wrote his check for ten pounds, and they exchanged documents.

"My contribution," observed Aaron, "represents the five hundred and fiftieth part of one transitory and probably worldly and insincere conversion, your contribution represents the fiftieth part of a perpetual endowment of one sick bed in a hospital. You will pardon me for saying that I think I have the best of the transaction."

A word as to Aaron Cohen's material position. The world gave him credit for being exceedingly wealthy, but he was not really so. He had money, and to spare, and his private establishment was conducted on a liberal scale. Roughly speaking, had he retired in 1891 he might have done so on an income of some five thousand pounds, whereas popular rumor would have credited him with ten times as much. The reason for this was that a considerable portion of the profits of his enterprise was regularly given anonymously to every public movement for the good of the people and for the relief of the suffering. Great curiosity had been evinced for a long time past as to who was the anonymous donor of large sums of money in response to these appeals. A colliery disaster, a flood, an earthquake in a distant country, a case of public destitution-to one and all of these came a large contribution from a person who adopted the most careful means to preserve his anonymity, and who signed himself "Mercy."

These charitable donations were Aaron's constant appeal to the Divine Throne for mercy and forgiveness for the one sin of his life, and thus did he effectually guard against becoming a millionaire.

The esteem in which he was held was to be demonstrated by two presentations, one a portrait of himself, by a renowned English painter, the other a picture also, the subject being withheld from his knowledge. This second painting was no other than the picture of Rachel sitting beneath the cherry tree, which had created excitement in the Paris Salon more than a dozen years ago. It had been purchased by a collector, who had lately died. After his death his collection was brought to the hammer, and this particular picture purchased by a London dealer, who exhibited it in his shop.

It was originally intended that a presentation of silver should be made with Aaron's portrait, but a friend of his happened to see the picture in London, and was struck by the marvelous resemblance of the principal figure to Rachel. He made some inquiries privately of Aaron respecting his sojourn in the south of France, and learned that there was a certain cherry tree in his garden there beneath which Rachel was in the habit of sitting in fine weather, that he had a friend, the curé of the village, and that one summer a French painter visited the village and made a great many sketches of Rachel and the cherry tree.

Aaron's friend obtained from the London dealer some information of the history of the picture, and of the year it was exhibited, and putting this and that together he came to the correct conclusion that Rachel had unconsciously sat for the painter. It was an interesting discovery, and the idea of a silver presentation was put aside, and the picture substituted in its place.

Mr. Moss, of course, came from Portsmouth to attend the function.

It is sad to relate that of late years the same good fortune had not attended him as had attended his friend Aaron. It was his own fault; he had embarked in speculations outside the scope of his legitimate business, and when these speculations came to grief he found himself by no means so well off as he was at the commencement of this history. It made no difference in Aaron's friendship for him; it may be said, indeed, to have strengthened it. In a period of difficulty Aaron came forward voluntarily, and afforded practical assistance to his old friend. Another strengthening tie was also to be added to this friendship. On a visit to Portsmouth Aaron's son Joseph fell in love with one of Mr. Moss' daughters, Rose, a sweet girl, of whom Rachel was very fond. Joseph was too young yet to marry, but with the consent of his parents an engagement was entered into between the young people, and there was joy in Mr. Moss' estimable family.

"There never was such a man as Aaron Cohen," said Mr. Moss to his wife and children. "He is a credit and an honor to the Jewish race."

In which opinion there was not a Jew in England who did not agree with him.

It was a consequence of this family arrangement that Rose was often invited to spend a few weeks with the Cohens in London, and she was in their house on the day of the presentations. Her lover was absent, and had been out of England for some months. He held a position of responsibility with a large contractor, and had been sent to Austria upon business of an important nature. He was expected home at the end of the week, but was only to remain in England two days, his passage to Australia being already taken, to look after a railway contract which had been secured by his employer, Mr. Monmouth. He was expected to be away eight or nine months, and upon his return home the marriage was to take place. Neither was their other child, Ruth, a witness of the presentations. She had invited herself to Portsmouth, to spend a week or two with Mrs. Moss. Rachel missed her, Aaron did not. Although he could not fix the exact day of her birth, he knew that she would soon be twenty-one years of age, when the duty would devolve upon him of delivering to her the iron box of which he had been made the custodian, and he was in an agony as to how he should act. Every day that passed deepened his trouble, and it was perhaps to this that his growing impression may be ascribed that shadows were gathering over his house which might wreck the happiness of his beloved wife.

Again and again had he debated the matter with himself without being able to arrive at any comforting conclusion. Rachel doted on her children. She could not see what Aaron could see-that there was something weighing also upon Ruth's mind which she was concealing from them, and that the confidence was wanting which should exist between a child and her parents. However, on this day he could not give himself up to these disturbing reflections; he had consented to accept an honor of which he deemed himself unworthy, and it was incumbent upon him that he should not betray himself.

There was still a little time left to him to decide upon his course of action. He was beginning to tamper with himself. The man of upright mind was at this period laying himself open to dangerous casuistical temptations. Even from such pure, unselfish love as he entertained for the wife who was deserving of love in its sweetest and purest aspects may spring an upas tree to poison the atmosphere we breathe.

Among the company was an old friend of ours, Dr. Spenlove, who had attained an eminent position in London. The hundred pounds which Mr. Gordon had left for his acceptance had proved the turning point in his career, and he was at the top of the tree in his profession. A man as kind-hearted as he was of necessity mixed up with many benevolent and public movements. Aaron, whom till this day he had never met, had subscribed to some of the charities in which he was interested, and he gladly availed himself of the opportunity of becoming acquainted with him. When the company were assembled in the reception room of Aaron's house Dr. Spenlove happened to be standing next to Mr. Moss, whom he had not seen since he left Portsmouth. Except for the mark of years, which did not tell heavily upon him, Mr. Moss was the same jovial-featured, bright-eyed man as ever; Dr. Spenlove had altered; the fashion of his hair was different, the thoughtful lines in his face had deepened, he had grown stouter. So that when the two looked at each other the first sign of recognition came from Dr. Spenlove.

"If I am not mistaken," he said, "we have met before."

Mr. Moss, looking at him, was puzzled for a moment. "In Portsmouth," added Dr. Spenlove, jogging his memory.

"Dr. Spenlove?"

"The same."

They shook hands. "It is strange," said Mr. Moss, "that after the lapse of years we should meet in this house."

"Why is our meeting in this house strange?" inquired Dr. Spenlove.

The question recalled Mr. Moss to himself. The one incident which formed a link between them was that connected with a poor woman and her babe whom they rescued from impending death on a snowy night twenty years ago. But he had not made Dr. Spenlove acquainted with the name of the man to whom he had intrusted the child, and upon this point his lips were sealed.

"I mean," he said, "that the circumstances of our meeting here and in Portsmouth are different."

"Widely different," observed Dr. Spenlove. "I have never forgotten that sad night, have never forgotten your kindness."

"Not worth mentioning."

"But worth bearing in remembrance, as all acts of kindness are. I have heard nothing more of the matter from that time to this. What became of the child, Mr. Moss?"

"She died very shortly afterward. A happy release."

"Death is a happy release to many. It, was hardly to be expected that the child would live long after the exposure on such a night. She was almost buried in the snow. And the mother, Mr. Moss?"

"I have heard nothing of her whatever."

"Nor have I."

The conversation ceased here. The proceedings had commenced, and a gentleman was speaking. He was a man of discretion, which all orators are not. He touched lightly and pertinently upon the reputation which Mr. Aaron Cohen had earned by his unremitting acts of benevolence and by the worthiness of his career. Such a man deserved the good fortune which had attended him, and such a man's career could not fail to be an incentive to worthy endeavor. Rachel, seated by her husband, and turning her sightless eyes upon the audience, who were only spiritually visible to her, listened to the speaker in gratitude and delight. It was not that she had waited for this moment to learn that she was wedded to an upright and noble man, but it was an unspeakable happiness to her to hear from the lips of others that he was appreciated as he deserved, that he was understood as she understood him.

It was natural, said the speaker, that the gentleman in whose honor they had that day assembled should be held in the highest esteem by his co-religionists, but it was a glory that in a Christian country a Jew should have won from all classes of a mixed community a name which would be enrolled upon those pages of our social history which most fitly represent the march of true civilization and humanity. They were not there to glorify money; they were not there to glorify worldly prosperity; they were there to pay tribute to one whose example Christians might follow, a man without stain, without reproach. The influence of such a man in removing-no, not in removing, but obliterating, the prejudices of caste was lasting and all-powerful. He regarded it as a privilege that he had been deputed to express the general sentiment with respect to Mr. Aaron Cohen. This sentiment, he begged to add, was not confined to Mr. Cohen, but included his wife, whose charities and benevolence were perhaps even more widely known and recognized than those of the partner of her joys and sorrows.

In the presence of this estimable couple it was difficult to speak as freely as he would wish, but he was sure they would understand that in wishing them long life and happiness he was wishing them much more than he dared to express in their hearing, and that there was but one feeling entertained toward them, a feeling not of mere respect and esteem, but of affection and love. In the name of the subscribers he offered for their acceptance two paintings, one a portrait of Mr. Cohen by an artist of renown, for which he had been good enough to sit; the other a painting which probably they would look upon now for the first time. The latter picture was an accidental discovery, but Mr. Cohen would tell them whether they were right in seizing the opportunity to obtain it, and whether they were right in their belief that his esteemed wife had unconsciously inspired the artist, who had availed himself of a happy chance to immortalize himself.

The pictures were then unveiled amid general acclamation, and if ever Rachel wished for the blessing of sight to be restored to her it was at that moment; but it was only for a moment. The dependence she placed upon her husband, the trust she had in him, the pleasure she derived from his eloquent and sympathetic descriptions of what was hidden from her, were of such a nature that she sometimes said inly, "I am thankful I can see only through the eyes of my dear husband."

The portrait of himself, from his frequent sittings, was familiar to Aaron Cohen, but the picture of his beloved sitting beneath the cherry tree was a delightful surprise to him. It was an exquisitely painted scene, and Rachel's portrait was as faithful as if she had given months of her time toward its successful accomplishment.

Aaron's response was happy up to a certain point. Except to pay a deserved compliment to the artist and to express his gratitude to the subscribers he said little about the portrait of himself. The presentation of the second picture supplied the theme for the principal part of his speech. He said there was no doubt that it was a portrait of his dear wife, and he recalled the time they had passed in the south of France, and described all the circumstances of the happy chance that had led to the painting of the picture. He was grateful for that chance because of the pleasure it would afford his beloved wife, who until to-day had been as ignorant as himself that such a painting was in existence.

"I went to the south of France," he said, "in the hope that my wife, who was in a delicate state of health, would be benefited by a short stay there. My hope was more than realized; she grew strong there; my son, whose absence from England deprives him of the pleasure of being present on this interesting occasion, was born there, and there the foundation of my prosperity was laid. It might be inferred from this that I believe all the events of a man's life are ruled by chance, but such is not my belief. There is an all-seeing Providence who shows us the right path. He speaks through our reason and our consciences, and except for the accident of birth, which lays a heavy burden upon many unfortunate beings, and which should render them not fully responsible for the evil they do, we ourselves are responsible for the consequences of our actions. We must accept the responsibility and the consequences."

He paused a few moments before he continued.

"When men of fair intelligence err they err consciously; it is useless for them to say that they erred in ignorance of the consequences. They must know if they write with black ink that their writing must be black."

He paused again.

"But it may be that a man commits a conscious error through his affections, and if that error inflicts injury upon no living being-if it even confer a benefit upon one or more-there may be some palliation of his error. In stating that you set for me a standard too high I am stating my firm belief. No man is stainless, no man is without reproach; the doctrine of infallibility applied to human affairs is monstrous and wicked; it is an arrogation of divine power. I am, as all men are, open to error; in my life, as in the lives of all men, there have been mistakes, but I may still take the credit to myself that if I have committed a conscious error it has harmed no living soul, and that it has sprung from those affections which sweeten and bless our lives. A reference has been made to my being a Jew. I glory that I am one. The traditions and history of the race to which I am proud to belong have been of invaluable service to me, and to the circumstance of my being a Jew I owe the incidents of this day, which will ever be a proud memory to me and to my family. In the name of my dear wife and my own I thank you cordially, sincerely, and gratefully for the honor you have paid to us-an honor not beyond my wife's merits, but far beyond my own."

Other speeches followed, and when the proceedings were at an end Dr. Spenlove asked Mr. Moss to introduce him to Mr. Cohen.