THE FOUNDATION OF AARON'S FORTUNE.
Eventful indeed to Aaron Cohen had been the twenty years since he left
Gosport. In the south of France, where they remained for a much longer
time than he intended, Rachel was restored to health, and Aaron had
the joy of seeing her move happily about the house and garden, and of
hearing her sing to her baby the songs and lullabys which, from a
mother's lips, are so fraught with melodious and tender meaning. It
almost seemed as if she had inward cause for thankfulness that
blindness had fallen upon her, for Aaron had never known her to be so
blithe and lighthearted as during those weeks of returning health.
Prissy was invaluable to them, and proved to be a veritable treasure.
The short time it took her to learn her duties, the swiftness and
eagerness with which they were performed, the delight she took in the
babe, who soon replaced Victoria Regina in her affections, and the
care and skill with which she guided her mistress' movements, amazed
Aaron. He had divined from the first that she was a shrewd, clever
girl, and he had the satisfaction of discovering that she was much
cleverer than he would have ventured to give her credit for. She was
tidier in her dress, too, and never presented herself unless she was
clean and neat. She became, in a sense, her mistress' teacher, and
Rachel was so apt a pupil that Aaron's apprehensions that she would
meet with an accident if she moved too freely about were soon
dispelled.
"Is it not wonderful, love?" she said. "I think I must have eyes at
the tips of my fingers. But it is Prissy I have to thank for it."
She repaid the girl, be sure. Gradually Prissy's mode of expressing
herself underwent improvement; she did not use so many negatives, she
dropped fewer h's, she learned to distinguish between g's and k's, and
Aaron himself laid the first stone in her education by teaching her
the A B C. One thing Prissy would not learn; she obstinately refused
to have anything to do with the French language. She did make a
commencement, but when she was told that _chou_ (she scornfully turned
her back on _du_) was cabbage it was the last straw. "In course we
choo," she said; "wot do we put things in our mouth for?" She had
previously shied at _pain_, declaring that bread was pleasure. English
was good enough for her, she declared, and to the English tongue she
nailed her colors. Fond as she was of babies, she would not
countenance French babies, and said it was a shame to dress them so.
"I'm a troo bloo, sir," she said to Aaron; "please don't force me."
And with a hearty laugh he desisted.
He himself spoke French fluently, and to this may be ascribed the
first change in his fortunes. Easy in his mind respecting Rachel, easy
respecting money, he found himself at leisure to look about him and
observe. He made friends, and among them a poor French engineer of
great skill. In conversation one day this engineer mentioned that
tenders were invited for the construction of a local bridge. It was
not a very important matter; the lake it was to span was of no great
dimensions, and the bridge required was by no means formidable.
"There are only two contractors who will tender for it," said the
engineer, "and they are in each other's confidence. They will settle
privately the amount of their separate tenders, and the lowest will
obtain the contract. They will divide the profits between them. If I
had a little money to commence with I would tender for the work, and
my tender would be at least ten thousand francs below theirs. Then it
would be I who would construct the bridge, and public money would be
saved."
"What would be your profit?" asked Aaron.
"Twenty thousand francs," was the reply, "perhaps more."
"And the amount of your tender?"
"Eighty thousand francs. I have the plans and specifications, and
every detail of expense for material and labor, in my house. Will you
come and look over them?"
Aaron examined them, and submitting them to the test of inquiry
as to the cost of labor and material, found them to be correct. A
simple-minded man might have been taken in by a schemer who had
prepared complicated figures for the purpose of trading with another
person's money, and standing the chance of losing or winning; but
Aaron was not simple-minded, the poor engineer was not a schemer, and
the figures were honestly set down.
"It would not need a great amount of money," said the engineer. "If a
certain sum were deposited in the bank a further sum could be raised
upon the signed contract being given as security, and moreover, as the
work proceeds, specified payments will be made by the local
authorities."
"How much would be required to commence operations, and to make
everything safe?"
"Ten thousand francs."
Roughly, that was four hundred pounds. The five hundred pounds he had
received from the lawyers were as yet untouched, for they lived very
economically, and they were in a part of the world where thrift was
part of the people's education. Aaron believed the project to be safe.
"If I advance it?" he asked.
"We would make it a partnership affair," replied the poor engineer
eagerly.
Upon that understanding the bridge was tendered for, and the tender
accepted. In four months the work was executed and passed by the
inspectors; they received the balance due to them, and a division of
the profits was made. After paying all his expenses Aaron was the
richer by two hundred pounds. He gave fifty pounds to the poor, which
raised him in the estimation of the people among whom he was
temporarily sojourning. He had not been idle during the four months
occupied by the building of the bridge; under the guidance of his
partner he had superintended the workmen and undertaken the
correspondence and management of the accounts; and new as these duties
were to him he had shown great intelligence and aptitude.
"We met on a fortunate day," said the engineer.
At about this time a new engineering project presented itself. It was
on a larger scale than the first, and the two men, emboldened by their
success, tendered for it. Again did fortune favor them; everybody,
with the exception of rival contractors, was on their side. In the
carrying out of their first contract there had not been a hitch; they
had paid their workmen better wages, they had behaved honestly and
liberally all around, and they had already achieved a reputation.
Moreover, people were talking of Rachel's kindness and of Aaron's
benevolence. Hats were lifted to them, women and children left flowers
at their door; rich was the harvest they gathered for their charity.
When it was known they had obtained another contract the best workmen
came to them for employment, and they learned what all employers of
labor may learn, that it is wise policy to pay generously for bone and
muscle. The hateful political economy of Ricardo, which would grind
labor down to starvation pittance, could never find lodgment in the
mind of such a man as Aaron Cohen. The new venture was entirely
successful, and being of greater magnitude than the first, the profits
were larger. Aaron was the possessor of two thousand pounds. He gave
two hundred pounds to the poor. He did more than this. The doctor who
had attended Rachel in Gosport had declined to accept a fee, and Aaron
now wrote him a grateful letter, inclosing in it a draught for a
hundred pounds, which he asked the doctor to distribute among the
local charities. That the receipt of this money afforded gratification
to the doctor was evidenced in his reply. "Everyone here," he said,
"has kind words for you and your estimable wife, and the general
feeling is that if you had continued to reside in Gosport it would
have been a source of pleasure to all of us. When I speak of your good
fortune all the townsfolk say, 'We are glad to hear it.'" Thus did
good spring out of evil.
Aaron felt that his foot was on the ladder. He entered into a three
years' partnership with his friend the engineer, and they executed
many public works, and never had a failure. The justness of their
trading, their consideration for the toilers who were helping to build
up a fortune for them, the honest wages they paid, earned for them an
exceptional reputation for rectitude and fair dealing. In these
matters, and in this direction, Aaron was the guiding spirit. He left
to his partner the technical working out of their operations, and took
himself the control of wages and finance.
Occasionally there were arguments between him and his partner, the
latter hinting, perhaps, that there was a cheaper market, and that so
much money could be saved by employing such and such middlemen, who
offered to supply labor and material at prices that were not equitable
from the point of view of the toilers and producers. Aaron would not
entertain propositions of this kind.
"We are doing well," he said, "we are making money, we are harvesting.
Be satisfied."
His partner gave way; Aaron's character was too strong for resistance.
"Clean and comfortable homes," said Aaron, "a good education for their
children, a modest enjoyment of the world's pleasures--these are the
laborers' due."
Hearing of this, some large employers called him quixotic and said he
was ruining trade, but he pursued the just and even tenor of his way,
satisfied that he was a savior and not a spoiler.
Upon the conclusion of each transaction, when the accounts were
balanced, he devoted a portion of his profits to benevolent purposes,
and he became renowned as a public benefactor. The thanks that were
showered upon him did not please him, but tended rather to humiliate
and humble him; he would not listen to expressions of gratitude; and
it will be presently seen that when he returned to England he took
steps to avoid the publicity which was distasteful to him.
Meanwhile Rachel throve. She walked with an elastic spring in her
feet, as though in response to nature's greeting, and joy and
happiness accompanied her everywhere. She was profoundly and devoutly
grateful for her husband's better fortune, and daily rendered up
thanks for it to the Giver of all good. She took pleasure in
everything; blind as she was, she enjoyed nature's gifts to the full.
In winter it was extraordinary to hear her describe the aspect of
woods and fields in their white feathery mantle; with deep-drawn
breath she inhaled the fresh cold air, and a glory rested on her face
as she trod the snow-clad paths.
When she visited the poor on those cold days Prissy accompanied her,
carrying a well-filled basket on her arm. Her sympathy with the sick
and suffering was divine, and in the bleakest hours, when the sky was
overcast and the light was hidden from shivering mortals, she was the
herald of sunshine. A priest met her on one of these journeys, and
gave her good-day.
"Good-day, father," she said.
"You know me!" he exclaimed, surprised.
"I heard your voice a fortnight ago," she replied, "in the cottage I
am going to now, and I never forget a voice. After you were gone the
poor woman told me you were her priest. I heard so much of you that
was beautiful."
She put forth her hand; he hesitated a moment, then took it and
pressed it.
"You are a Jewess?"
"Yes, father."
"Let me come and talk to you."
"Yes, father, come and talk to me of your poor, to whom you are so
good. You do so much; I, being blind, can do so little. If you will
allow me"--she offered him some gold pieces, and he accepted them.
"The Holy Mother have you in her keeping," he said: and went his way.
Dogs and horses were her friends, and looked wistfully for recognition
when she was near them. She scattered food for the birds, and they
grew to know her; some would even pick crumbs from her hands. "I do
not think," she said, "they would trust me so if I were not blind.
They know I cannot see, and cannot harm them." Aaron thought
differently; not a creature that drew breath could fail to trust and
love this sweet woman whom God had spared to him.
Whom God had spared to him! When the thought thus expressed itself he
raised his eyes to heaven in supplication.
She was the first to taste the sweet breath of spring.
"Spring is coming," she said; "the birds are trilling the joyful news.
How busy they are over their nests! In a little while we shall see the
flowers."
She invariably spoke of things as if she could see them, as doubtless
she did with spiritual sight, investing them with a beauty which was
not of this world. It was her delight in summer to sit beneath the
branches of a favorite cherry tree, and to follow with her ears the
gambols of her children. For she had two now.
A year after they left Gosport another child was born to them, Joseph,
to whom Aaron clave with intense and passionate love. It was not that
he was cold to Ruth, that he was not unremitting in showing her
affection, but in his love for his son there was a finer quality of
which no one but himself was conscious. He had prayed for another
child, and the blessing was bestowed upon him.
In the first flush of his happiness he was tempted to regard this gift
of God as a token that his sin was forgiven, but he soon thrust this
reflection aside, refusing to accept his own interpretation of his sin
as an atonement for its committal. It was presumptuous in man to set
lines and boundaries to the judgment of the Eternal. It was to Rachel
that this blessing was vouchsafed, for a time might come when she
would find in it a consolation for a revelation that would embitter
the sweet waters of life. Both the children were pretty and engaging,
and had winning and endearing ways, which in the mother's sightless
eyes were magnified a thousandfold.
In the following year a picture by a famous painter was exhibited by
the Paris Salon; it was entitled "A Jewish Mother," and represented a
woman sitting beneath a cherry tree in flower, with two young children
gamboling on the turf at her feet. In the background were two men,
the curé of the village and a Jew, the latter being the woman's
husband, and looking like a modern Moses. The faces of the men--one
full-flushed, with massive features and a grand beard, the other
spare and lean, with thin, clear-cut features and a close-shaven
face--formed a fine contrast. But although the points of this contrast
were brought out in masterly fashion, and although the rustic scene
was full of beauty, the supreme attraction of the picture lay in the
woman's face. It dwelt in the minds of all who beheld it, and it is
not too much to say that it carried with it an influence for good.
So is it also with a pure poem and story; the impression they leave is
an incentive to kindly act and tolerant judgment; they soften, they
ameliorate, they bring into play the higher attributes of human
nature, and in their practical results a benefit is conferred equally
upon the sufferer by the wayside and the Samaritan who pours oil upon
his wounds.
"Who is the woman?" asked the critics, and no one could answer the
question except the painter, and he held his tongue.
The secret was this: The famous painter, passing through the village
with the subject of his next great picture in his mind, saw Rachel,
and was spellbound by the purity and grace of her face and figure.
Traveling under an assumed name, in order that he should not be
disturbed by the trumpet blasts of fame--a proof (clear to few men)
that there is pleasure in obscurity--he cast aside the subject he had
intended to paint, and determined to take Rachel in its stead. He made
himself acquainted with her story, was introduced to Aaron, and
contrived to make himself welcome in their home--no difficult matter,
for Aaron was ever ready to appreciate intellect.
Many an evening did this painter pass with them, sometimes in company
with the curé, and many a friendly argument did they have. He did not
ask Rachel and Aaron to be his models, but he made innumerable
sketches of them, and remained in the village long enough to
accumulate all the principal points and accessories for his picture.
Then he departed and painted his masterpiece elsewhere.
Some time afterward he revisited the village with the intention of
making acknowledgment for the inspiration, but Aaron and his family
had departed, and the painter's secret was undivulged.
As it was with Rachel in winter and spring so was it in summer and
autumn. The flowers, the butterflies, the fragrant perfumes of garden
and hedgerow, all appealed powerfully to her, and all were in kinship
with her. The village children would follow her in the gloaming,
singing their simple songs; brawlers, ashamed, would cease contending
when she came in sight; women would stand at their cottage doors, and
gaze reverently upon her as she passed. Not a harsh thought was
harbored against her or hers; her gentle spirit was an incentive to
gentleness; she was a living tender embodiment of peace on earth and
good will to all. The whisper of the corn in the autumn, when the
golden stalks bowed their heads to the passing breeze, conveyed a
divine message to her soul; and indeed she said seriously to Aaron
that she sometimes fancied she heard voices in the air, and that they
were a pleasure to her.
The three years having expired, the partnership came to an end. The
engineer was invited to Russia to undertake some great work for the
government, and Aaron would not accompany him.
"In the first place," he said, "I will not expose my wife and children
to the rigors of such a climate. In the second place, I will not go
because I am a Jew, and because, being one, I should meet with no
justice in that land. In the annals of history no greater infamy can
be found than the persecution to which my brethren are subjected in
that horrible country. In former ages, when the masses lived and died
ignorant and unlettered, like the beasts of the field, one can
understand how it was that the iron hand ruled and crushed common
human rights out of existence; but in these days, when light is
spreading all over the world except in such a den of hideous
corruption and monstrous tyranny as Russia, it is almost incredible
that these cruelties are allowed to be practiced."
"How would you put a stop to them?" asked the engineer.
"I will suppose a case," Aaron answered. "You are a married man, with
wife and children, and you have for your neighbor another married man
with wife and children. You bring up your family decently, you treat
them kindly, you have an affection for them. All round you other men
with wives are doing the same; but there is one exception--your brutal
neighbor. Daily and nightly shrieks of agony are heard proceeding from
his house, terrible cries of suffering, imploring appeals for help and
mercy. He has a numerous family of children, all of whom have been
born in the house of which he is a ruler, all of whom recognize him as
their king and are ready and anxious to pay him respect, all of whom
have a natural claim upon him for protection, all of whom work for him
and contribute toward the expenses of his household. Some of these
children he loves, some he hates, and it is those he hates whom he
oppresses. From them proceed these shrieks of agony, these cries of
suffering, these appeals for help. You see them issue from his house
torn and bleeding, their faces convulsed with anguish, their hearts
racked with woe; you see them return to it--inexorable necessity
drives them there; they have no other home, and there is no escape for
them--trembling with fear, for the lash awaits them, and torture
chambers are there to drive them to the last stage of despair. And
their shrieks and supplications eternally pierce the air you breathe,
while the oppressed ones stretch forth their hands to the monster who
makes their lives a hell upon earth. What do they ask? That they
should be allowed to live in peace. But this reasonable and natural
request infuriates the tyrant. He flings them to the ground and grinds
his iron heel into their bleeding flesh, he spits in their faces, and
orders his torturers to draw the cords tighter around them. It is not
for a day, it is not for a week, it is not for a year, it is forever.
They die, and leave children behind them who are treated in the same
fashion, and for them, as it was with their fathers, there is no hope.
No attempt is made to hide these infamies, these cruelties, which
would disgrace the lowest order of beasts; they are perpetrated in the
light of day, and the monster who is responsible for them sneers at
you, and says, 'If you were in their place I would treat you the
same.' He laughs at your remonstrances, and draws the cords still
tighter, and tortures the quivering flesh still more mercilessly, and
cries, 'It is my house--they are my children, and I will do as I
please with them. Their bodies are mine, they have no souls!' Talk to
him of humanity, and he derides and defies you. You burn with
indignation--but what action do you take?"
"It is a strong illustration," said the engineer, "but it is not with
nations as with families."
"It is," said Aaron with passionate fervor. "There is no distinction
in the eyes of God. We are all members of one family, and the world is
our heritage. The world is divided into nations, nations into cities,
towns, and villages, and these are subdivided into houses, each having
its separate ruler; and though physically and geographically wide
apart, all are linked by the one common tie of our common humanity.
The same emotions, the same passions, the same aspirations, run
through all alike. Does it make an innocent babe a malefactor because
he is born in Russia instead of France or England? But it is so
considered, and his life is made a misery to him by monsters who, when
they give bloody work to their armies to do, blasphemously call upon
the Lord of Hosts to bless their infamous banners."
It was seldom that Aaron expressed himself so passionately, and as the
engineer made no reply they did not pursue the discussion.