MR. WHIMPOLE INTRODUCES HIMSELF.
It was the front room of the house on the ground floor which Aaron
Cohen had converted into a shop. The small parlor windows had been
replaced by larger ones, a counter had been put up, behind which were
shelves fitted into the walls. These shelves at present were bare, but
Aaron hoped to see them filled. Under the counter were other shelves,
as empty as those on the walls.
When Rachel entered her husband was engaged counting out his money,
like the king in his counting house. There was a studious expression
on his face, which was instantly replaced by one of deep tenderness as
he looked up and saw traces of tears in her eyes. He gathered his
money together, banknotes, silver, gold, and coppers, and motioned her
into the room at the rear of the shop. This was their living room, but
a large iron safe in a corner denoted that it was not to be devoted
entirely to domestic affairs. In another corner was the symbol of his
business, which was to be affixed to the front of the premises, over
the shop door--the familiar device of three golden balls.
Letting his money fall upon the table, he drew his wife to his side,
and passed his arm round her.
"The house," he said, "is almost in order."
"Yes, Aaron; there is very little to do."
"I am also ready for business. I have the license, and to-morrow those
glittering balls will be put up and the name painted. They are rather
large for so small a shop, but they will attract all the more
attention." He gazed at her anxiously. "Do you think you will be
contented and happy here?"
"Contented and happy anywhere with you," she replied in a tone of the
deepest affection.
"In this town especially, Rachel?"
"Yes, in this town especially. It is so peaceful."
"But," he said, touching her eyes with his fingers, "these?"
"Not because I am unhappy," she said, and her voice was low and sweet.
"I was looking out upon the churchyard from our bedroom window."
"Ah!" he said, and he kissed her eyes.
He divined the cause of her tears, and there was much tenderness in
his utterance of the monosyllable and in the kisses he gave her, Man
and wife for five years, they were still the fondest of lovers.
"My dear," said Aaron presently, "the spirit of prophecy is upon me.
We shall lead a comfortable life in this town; we shall prosper in
this house. It was a piece of real good fortune my hitting upon it.
When I heard by chance that the man who lived here owned the lease and
wished to dispose of it I hesitated before parting with so large a sum
as a hundred pounds for the purchase. It was nearly half my capital,
but I liked the look of the place, and a little bird whispered that we
should be lucky in it, so I made the venture. I am certain we shall
not regret it. There is a knock at the street door."
"Who can it be?" asked Rachel anxiously. "We know no one in Gosport,
and it is night."
"Which is no excuse for our not opening the door," said Aaron Cohen,
sweeping the money off the table into a small chamois leather bag,
which he tied carefully at the neck, and put into his pocket. "True we
believe we are not known here, but there may nevertheless be an old
acquaintance in Gosport who has heard of our arrival, and comes to
welcome us; or Judah Belasco may have told a friend of his we are
here; or it may be an enterprising baker or grocer who wishes to
secure our custom. No," he added as the knock was repeated, "that is
not a tradesman. Let us see who it is that expresses himself so
impatiently."
Aaron went to the street door, and Rachel followed him into the
passage, carrying a candle. The night was dark, and Rachel stood a
little in the rear, so that Aaron could not distinguish the features
of his visitor. He was a big man, and that was all that was apparent
to the Cohens.
"Mr. Cohen?" queried the visitor.
"Yes," said Aaron.
"Mr. Aaron Cohen?"
"That is my name."
"Can I speak with you?"
"Certainly." And Aaron waited to hear what the stranger had to say.
"I am not accustomed to be kept waiting on the doorstep. I should
prefer to speak to you in the house."
Rachel, who was naturally timid, moved closer to her husband, who took
the candle from her hand, and held it up in order to see the face of
the stranger.
"Step inside," he said.
The stranger followed Aaron and Rachel into the little parlor, and
without taking off his hat, looked at Aaron, then at Rachel, and then
into every corner of the room; the last object upon which his eyes
rested was the device of the three golden balls, and a frown gathered
on his features as he gazed. Aaron noted these movements and signs
with attention and amusement.
"Do you detect any blemish in them?" he asked.
"I do not understand you," said the stranger.
"In those balls. There was an expression of disapproval on your face
as you gazed on them."
"I disapprove of them altogether," said the stranger.
"I am sorry, but we cannot please everybody. I am not responsible for
the insignia; you will find the origin in the armorial bearings of the
Medici. That is a beautiful hat you have on your head." The stranger
stared at him. "Really," continued Aaron blandly, "a beautiful hat; a
fine protection against the hot rays of the sun; a protection, also,
against the wind and rain. But in this room, as you may observe, we
have neither wind nor rain nor sun." The stranger, reddening slightly,
removed his hat, and placed it on the table. "My wife," then said
Aaron.
The stranger inclined his head, with the air of a man acknowledging an
introduction to one of a lower station. The manner of this
acknowledgment was not lost upon Aaron.
"My wife," he repeated courteously, "Mrs. Cohen."
"I see," said the stranger, glancing again at Rachel with
condescension. "With your permission I will take a seat."
It was distinctly at variance with the hospitable instincts of Aaron
Cohen that he did not respond to this request.
"You have the advantage of us," he said. "I have had the pleasure of
introducing my wife to you. Afford me the pleasure of introducing you
to my wife."
Somewhat stiffly the stranger handed Aaron a visiting card, upon which
was inscribed the name of Mr. Edward Whimpole, and in a corner the
word, "Churchwarden." Mr. Whimpole's movements were slow, and intended
to be dignified, but Aaron exhibited no impatience.
"My dear, Mr. Edward Whimpole, churchwarden."
Rachel bowed gracefully, and Aaron, with an easy motion of his hand,
invited Mr. Whimpole to a chair, in which he seated himself. Then
Aaron placed a chair for his wife, and took one himself, and prepared
to listen to what Mr. Whimpole had to say.
Mr. Whimpole was a large-framed man with a great deal of flesh on his
face; his eyes were light, and he had no eyebrows worth speaking of.
The best feature in his face was his mouth, and the most insignificant
his nose, which was really not a fair nose for a man of his build. It
was an added injury inflicted upon him by nature that it was very thin
at the end, as though it had been planed on both sides. But then, as
Aaron had occasion to remark, we don't make our own noses. A distinct
contrast presented itself in the two noses which, if the figure of
speech may be allowed, now faced each other.
Mr. Whimpole had not disclosed the nature of his visit, but he had
already made it clear that he was not graciously disposed toward the
Jew; the only effect this had upon Aaron was to render him exceedingly
affable. Perhaps he scented a bargain, and was aware that mental
irritation would interfere with the calm exercise of his judgment in a
matter of buying and selling.
"May I inquire," he said, pointing to the word "churchwarden" on the
card, "whether this is your business or profession?"
"I am a corn-chandler," said Mr. Whimpole.
"Churchwarden, my dear," said Aaron, addressing his wife in a pleasant
tone, "_and_ corn-chandler."
For the life of him Mr. Whimpole could not have explained to the
satisfaction of those not directly interested why he was angry at the
reception he was meeting. That Aaron Cohen was not the kind of man he
had expected to meet would not have been accepted as a sufficient
reason.
"I am not mistaken," said Mr. Whimpole, with a flush of resentment,
"in believing you to be a Jew?"
"You are not mistaken," replied Aaron with exceeding urbanity. "I am a
Jew. If I were not proud of the fact it would be folly to attempt to
disguise it, for at least one feature in my face would betray me."
"It would," said Mr. Whimpole, dealing a blow which had the effect of
causing Aaron to lean back in his chair, and laugh gently to himself
for fully thirty seconds.
"When you have quite finished," said Mr. Whimpole coldly, "we will
proceed."
"Excuse me," said Aaron, drawing a deep breath of enjoyment. "I beg
you will not consider me wanting in politeness, but I have the
instincts of my race, and I never waste the smallest trifle, not even
a joke."
A little tuft of hair which ran down the center of Mr. Whimpole's
head--the right and left banks of which were devoid of
verdure--quivered in sympathy with the proprietor's astonishment. That
a man should make a joke out of that which was generally considered to
be a reproach and a humiliation was, indeed, matter for amazement,
nay, in this instance, for indignation, for in Aaron Cohen's laughter
he, Mr. Whimpole himself, was made to occupy a ridiculous place.
"We are loath," continued Aaron, "to waste even the thinnest joke. We
are at once both thrifty and liberal."
"We!" exclaimed Mr. Whimpole in hot repudiation.
"We Jews, I mean. No person in the world could possibly mistake you
for one of the chosen."
"I should hope not. The idea is too absurd."
"Make your mind easy, sir; you would not pass muster in a synagogue
without exciting remark. Yes, we are both thrifty and liberal, wasting
nothing, and in the free spending of our money seeing that we get good
value for it. That is not a reproach, nor is it a reproach that we
thoroughly enjoy an agreeable thing when we get it for nothing. There
are so many things in life to vex us that the opportunity of a good
laugh should never be neglected. Proceed, my dear sir, proceed; you
were saying that you believed you were not mistaken in taking me for a
Jew."
"Is it your intention," asked Mr. Whimpole, coming now straight to the
point, "to reside in Gosport?"
"If I am permitted," replied Aaron meekly.
"I hear, Mr. Cohen, that you have purchased the lease of this house."
"It is true, sir. The money has been paid and the lease is mine."
"It has twenty-seven years to run."
"Twenty-seven years and three months. Who can tell where we shall be,
and how we shall be situated at the end of that time?"
Mr. Whimpole waved the contemplation aside. "You gave a hundred pounds
for the lease."
"The precise sum; your information is correct."
"I had some intention, Mr. Cohen, of buying it myself."
"Indeed. It is a case of the early bird, then."
"If it gratifies you to put it that way. I have, therefore, no option
but to purchase the lease of you."
"Mr. Whimpole," said Aaron after a slight pause, "I am agreeable to
sell you the lease."
"I thought as much." And Mr. Whimpole disposed himself comfortably in
his chair.
Rachel's eyes dilated in surprise. Their settlement in Gosport had not
been made in haste, and all arrangements for commencing business were
made. She could not understand her husband's willingness to give up
the house.
"I do not expect you to take what you gave for it," said Mr. Whimpole;
"I am prepared to give you a profit, and," he added jocosely, "you
will not be backward in accepting it."
"Not at all backward. You speak like a man of sense."
"How much do you want for your bargain? How much, Mr. Cohen? Don't
open your mouth too wide.
"If you will permit me," said Aaron, and he proceeded to pencil down a
calculation. "It is not an undesirable house, Mr. Whimpole?"
"No, no; I don't say it is."
"It is compact and convenient?"
"Fairly so, fairly so!"
"I will accept," said Aaron, having finished his calculation, "five
hundred pounds."
"You cannot be in earnest!" gasped Mr. Whimpole his breath fairly
taken away.
"I am quite in earnest. Are you aware what it is you would buy of me?"
"Of course I am aware; the lease of this house."
"Not that alone. You would buy my hopes for the next twenty-seven
years; for I declare to you there is not to my knowledge in all
England a spot in which I so desire to pass my days as in this
peaceful town; and there is not in all Gosport a house in which I
believe I shall be so happy as in this. You see, you propose to
purchase of me something more than a parchment lease."
"But the--the things you mention are of no value to me."
"I do not say they are. I am speaking from my point of view, as all
men are bound to do. There is no reason why we should bandy words. I
am not anxious to sell the lease; wait till it is in the market."
"A most unhealthy situation," observed Mr. Whimpole.
"It concerns ourselves, and we are contented."
"I cannot imagine a more unpleasant, not to say obnoxious, view."
"The view of the churchyard? The spot has already acquired an
inestimable value in my eyes. God rest the souls of those who lie in
it! The contemplation of the peaceful ground will serve to remind me
of the vanity of life, and will be a constant warning to me to be fair
and straightforward in my dealings. The warning may be needed, for in
the business I intend to carry on there are--I do not deny it--many
dangerous temptations."
"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 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 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 offense, 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 of every rich man, to make for himself a
record that shall be imperishable--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," said Mr. Whimpole inwardly confounding
Aaron's flow of ideas, "by means of charity."
"Yes, sir, by means of charity. 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 a strictly 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 toward 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 God's port is there throughout the civilized
world in which Jew and Christian alike have not an equal right to
live, despite prejudice, despite bigotry, and despite the unreasonable
anger of large corn-chandlers and respected churchwardens? I wish you,
sir, good-night."
And having by this time reached the street door, Aaron Cohen opened it
for Mr. Whimpole, and bowed him politely out.