THE FAREWELL.
When it became known that Aaron was about to leave the quiet resting
place in which the last few years had been passed, and in which he had
enjoyed peace and prosperity, a general feeling of regret was
expressed, and efforts were made to induce him to change his
resolution. The well-to-do and the poor alike deplored the impending
loss, but their appeals were unsuccessful. There was in Aaron a latent
ambition, of which he himself was scarcely aware, to move in a larger
sphere, and to play his part in life among his own people. His
intention had been at first to remain in the pretty French village
only long enough to benefit Rachel's health, and had it not been for
the chance that threw him and the engineer together, and which opened
up enterprises which had led to such fortunate results, he would have
fulfilled this intention and have selected some populous center in
England to pursue his career.
One venture had led to another, and the success which had attended
them was a sufficient inducement to tarry. But now that the
partnership was at an end the incentive was gone, and he was not sorry
that he was in a certain sense compelled to return to his native land.
One thing in his life in the village had weighed heavily upon him. He
was the only Jewish man in the place; there was no synagogue in which
he and his family could worship, and it was in his own home that he
carried out all the ceremonials of his religion. Not one of these did
he omit; he strictly observed the Sabbaths and holidays and fasts, and
under no consideration would he perform any kind of work on those
occasions.
He obtained his Passover cakes and his meat (killed according to the
Jewish law) from neighboring towns, and he did not excite the ire of
the local butcher, because he spent more money with him in providing
for the wants of the poor than he could have done in his own
establishment had it been twice as large as it was. Every year he
erected in his garden a tent in which to celebrate the Feast of
Tabernacles, and in all these observances Rachel took a devout and
heartfelt pleasure.
If the great painter who had painted her portrait as she sat beneath
the cherry tree had been a witness of the scene when the family were
assembled in the prettily decorated tent, and Aaron, with the palm
branch in his hand, intoned in his rich musical voice, "When I wave
the branches do Thou pour down the blessings of thy heavenly influence
on Thine habitation, the bridal canopy, the dwelling place of our
God," while Rachel, with her young children, stood meekly before him,
he would have been inspired to produce another picture which would
have rivaled the first in popularity. But much as Aaron had reason to
be grateful for, he yearned to follow the practices of his religion
among his co-religionists, he yearned to have the honor of taking the
sacred scroll from the ark, to hear the chazan's voice from the pulpit
and the melodious chant, of the choir, followed by the deep responses
of the congregation. There was another consideration.
He wished his son, Joseph, to grow up amid such surroundings, so that
he might be fixed firmly in the faith of his forefathers. There was no
Jewish school in the village in which the lad could be educated, there
was no Jewish society in which he could mix. He looked forward to the
future. Joseph would become a man, and in this village there would be
no Jewish maiden to attract his heart. He discussed these matters with
Rachel.
"Yes," she said, "let us go. But I shall never forget the happy years
we have passed here."
"Nor I," said Aaron. "Peace and good fortune have attended us. May a
blessing rest upon the village and all the dwellers therein!"
Then Rachel spoke of her poor and of her regret at leaving them.
"We will bear them in remembrance," said Aaron, "and before we bid
them farewell something can be done to place them in comfort."
Much was done by Rachel and himself. For some time past he had
bestowed a great part of his benefactions in such a manner that those
whom he befriended were ignorant of the source from which the good
flowed. In order that this should be carried out as he wished he had
to seek an agent, and, after consideration, he asked the curé of the
village to be his almoner, explaining that he did not wish it to be
known that the money came from him. The curé, much surprised, accepted
the office; Aaron was grievously disturbing his opinion of the
heretic.
After his meeting with Rachel, which has been described in the
previous chapter, he had visited her home with the laudable desire of
converting the family to the true faith, and had found himself
confronted with peculiar difficulties. He strove to draw them into
argument, but in a theological sense they slipped through his fingers.
Aaron's course in this respect was premeditated, Rachel's was
unconsciously pursued. She listened to all he said, and smilingly
acquiesced in his declaration that there was only one road open to
heaven's gates.
"It is the road of right-doing, father," she said, "the road of
kindness, of doing unto others as you would they should do unto you,
of dispensing out of your store, whether it be abundant or not, what
you can do to relieve the unfortunate. You are right, father; there is
only one road."
By her sweetness and charity, by her practical sympathy with the
suffering, she cut the ground from under his feet. He spoke of the
saints, and she said they were good men and women, and were receiving
their reward. In a word, she took the strength and subtlety out of
him, and he yielded with sighs of regret and admiration. With Aaron he
was more trenchant, and quite as unsuccessful.
Many of Aaron's humorous observations made the good priest laugh in
spite of himself, and the pearls of wisdom which fell from the Jew's
lips crumbled his arguments to dust. There was no scoffing or
irreverence on Aaron's part; he simply parried the thrusts with a
wisdom and humanity deeper and truer than those of which his
antagonist could boast.
"My son," said the curé, "would you not make me a Jew if it were in
your power?"
"No," replied Aaron, "we do not proselytize, and even if we did you
are too good a Christian for me to wish to make you a Jew."
This was one of the puzzling remarks which caused the curé to ponder
and which dwelt long in his mind; sometimes he thought that Aaron was
a man of deep subtlety, sometimes that he was a man of great
simplicity, but whether subtle or simple he felt it impossible to
withhold a full measure of respect from one whose eternal lot he
sighed to think was perdition and everlasting torment.
That sincerity was the true test of faith, as Aaron declared, he would
not admit; there could be no sincerity in a faith that was false,
there could be no sincerity if you did not believe as he believed.
Nevertheless he had an uncomfortable impression that he was being
continually worsted in the peaceful war of words in which they
invariably engaged when they came together.
As Aaron was not to be turned from his resolution to leave the country
the villagers took steps to show their respect for him. Public
meetings were held, which were attended by many persons from
surrounding districts, and there was a banquet, of which Aaron did not
partake, the food not being cooked after the Jewish mode. He contented
himself with fruit and bread, and made a good and sufficient meal.
Speeches were made in his honor, and he was held up as an example to
old and young alike.
His response was in admirable taste. He said that the years he had
spent among them were the happiest in his life, and that it was with
true regret he found himself compelled to leave the village. He spoke
of his first coming among them with a beloved wife in a delicate state
of health, who had grown well and strong in the beautiful spot. It was
not alone the sweet air, he said, which had brought the blessing of
health to her; the bond of sympathy which had been established between
her and her neighbors had been as a spiritual medicine to her, which
had given life a value of which it would otherwise have been deprived.
It was not so much the material reward of our labors that conferred
happiness upon us as the feeling that we were passing our days among
friends who always had a smile and a pleasant greeting for us. Riches
were perishable, kindly remembrances immortal.
The best lessons of life were to be learned from the performance of
simple acts of duty, for he regarded it a duty to so conduct ourselves
as to make our presence welcome and agreeable to those with whom we
were in daily association. As for the kind things that had been said
of him, he felt that he was scarcely worthy of them.
"There is," he said, "a leaven of human selfishness in all that we do,
and the little I have, with the blessing of God, been enabled to do
has conferred upon me a much greater pleasure than it could possibly
have conferred upon others. To you and to my residence among you I owe
my dear wife's restoration to health, and it would be ingratitude
indeed did I not endeavor to make some return for the good you have
showered upon me. I shall never forget you, nor will my wife forget
you; in our native land we shall constantly recall the happy years we
spent among you, and we shall constantly pray that peace and
prosperity may never desert you."
The earnestness and feeling with which these sentiments were uttered
were unmistakable and convincing, and when Aaron resumed his seat the
eyes of all who had assembled to do him honor were turned upon him
approvingly and sympathizingly.
"Ah," groaned the good curé, "were he not a Jew he would be a perfect
man."
The flowers which graced the banqueting table were sent by special
messenger to Rachel, and the following day she pressed a few and kept
them ever afterward among her precious relics. Aaron did not come home
till late in the night, and he found Rachel waiting up for him. He
delighted her by describing the incidents and speeches of the
memorable evening. Aaron was a great smoker, and while they talked he
smoked the silver-mounted pipe which he had grown to regard with an
affection which was really spiritual. There are in the possession of
many men and women dumb memorials of insignificant value which they
would not part with for untold gold, and this silver-mounted pipe of
Aaron's--Rachel's gift to him in the early years of their married
life--was one of these. A special case had been made for it, and he
handled it almost with the care and affection he bestowed upon his
children.
"Your health was proposed," said Aaron, "and the health of our little
ones. What was said about you, my life, gave me much more pleasure
than what was said about myself. It abashes one to have to sit and
listen to extravagant praises far beyond one's merits, but it is the
habit of men to run into extravagance."
"They could say nothing, dear husband, that you do not deserve."
"You, too!" exclaimed Aaron gayly. "It is well for me that you were
not there, for you might have been called upon to give your
testimony."
"I should not have had courage." She fondly pressed his hand. "I am
glad they spoke of me kindly."
"They spoke of you truly, and my heart leaped up within me at what the
good curé said of you, for it was he who proposed the toast. I
appreciated it more from him than I should have done from anyone else,
and he was quite sincere at the moment in all the sentiments he
expressed, whatever he may have thought of himself afterward for
asking his flock to drink the health of a Jewess. Well, well, it takes
all sorts to make a world."
"How much we have to be grateful for!" said Rachel, with a happy sigh.
"Indeed, indeed--for boundless gratitude. Think of what we passed
through in Gosport." He paused suddenly. The one experience which
weighed upon his conscience brought a dark and troubled shadow into
his face.
"Why do you pause, dear? Has not my blindness proved a blessing to us?
Do I miss my sight? Nay, I think it has made life sweeter. But for
that we should not have come to this place, but for that we should not
have had the means to do something toward the relief of a few
suffering and deserving people. What good has sprung from it! Our Lord
God be praised!"
Aaron recovered himself.
"There was Mr. Whimpole's visit to us before I commenced business;
there were those stupid boys who distressed you so with their
revilings, which I managed to turn against themselves. It was this
pipe of yours, my life, that gave me the inspiration how to disarm
them. It sharpens my faculties, it brings out my best points; it is
really to me a friend and counselor. And now I have smoked enough, and
it is time to go to bed. I will join you presently."
In solitude the one troubled memory of the past forced itself
painfully upon him. Did he deserve what had been said in his honor on
this night? He valued men's good opinion, and of all the men he knew
he valued most the good opinion of the curé. What would this
single-minded, conscientious priest think of him if he were acquainted
with the sin of which he had been guilty, the sin of bringing up an
alien child in a religion in which she had not been born? He would
look upon him with horror.
And it was a bitter punishment that he was compelled to keep this
secret locked up in his own breast, that he dared not reveal it to a
single human creature, that he dared not say openly, "I have sinned, I
have sinned. Have mercy upon me!"
To his own beloved wife, dearer to him than life itself, he had
behaved treacherously; even in her he dared not confide. It was not
with Rachel as it was with him; there was no difference in the love
she bore her children; they were both equally precious to her.
To fall upon his knees before her and make confession would be like
striking a dagger into her heart; it almost drove him mad to think of
the shock such a revelation would be to her. No, he must guard his
secret and his sin jealously to the last hour of his life. So far as
human discovery went he believed that he was safe; the betrayal, if it
ever came, lay with himself. True, he had in his possession testimony
which might damn him were it to fall into other hands--the little iron
safe which Mr. Moss had received from Dr. Spenlove, and at the
mother's request had conveyed to him.
In his reflections upon the matter lately the question had intruded
itself, "What did this little box contain?" It was impossible for him
to say, but he felt instinctively that it contained evidence which
would bring his sin home to him. He allowed his thoughts now to dwell
upon the mother. From the day on which he received the five hundred
pounds from Mr. Gordon's lawyer he had heard nothing from them,
nothing from Mr. Moss or from anybody, relating to the matter. Between
himself and Mr. Moss there had been a regular, though not very
frequent, correspondence, but his friend had never written one word
concerning it, and Aaron, of course, had not referred to it. Thus far,
therefore, it was buried in a deep grave.
But would this grave never be opened? If other hands were not
responsible for the act would it not be his duty to open the grave?
The mother had stipulated that, in the event of her husband's death,
she should be free to seek her child, should be free to claim the box.
Upon this contingency seemed to hang his fate; but there were
arguments in his favor.
Mr. Gordon might live, and the mother could do nothing. Arguing that
the man died, it was more than probable that his wife had borne other
children who had a claim upon her love which she acknowledged. To seek
then her child of shame would be the means of bringing disgrace upon
these children of her marriage. Would she deliberately do this? He
answered the question immediately, No. In the consideration of these
phases of the matter he bore in mind that, although the false news of
the child's death must of necessity have been communicated to Mr.
Gordon by his lawyers, it was likely that it had been kept from the
knowledge of the mother. Aaron had been made to understand that Mr.
Gordon was a man of inflexible resolution, and that he had pledged
himself never, under any circumstances, to make mention of the child
to the woman he had married. Even setting this aside, even going to
the length of arguing that, hearing of the child's death, Mr. Gordon
departed from the strict letter of the resolution, and said to his
wife, "Your child is dead," was it not likely that she would reply, "I
do not believe it; you tell me so only to deceive me"? In that case,
her husband dead and herself childless, would she not search the world
over for her offspring?
Setting all this aside, however, the _onus_ still devolved upon him to
open the grave. One of the stipulations attached to his receipt of the
box was that when Ruth was twenty-one years of age it should be handed
over to her. Would he dare to violate this condition? Would he so far
tamper with his conscience as to neglect an obligation which might be
deemed sacred? The question tortured him; he could not answer it.
He heard Rachel moving in the room above, and with a troubled heart he
went up to her.
Thus this night, the events of which were intended to shed honor and
glory upon him, ended in sadness, and thus was it proved that a deceit
when first practiced may be as a feather weight to the solemn and
heavy consequences which follow in its train.
Everything was ready for the departure of the Cohens, which was to
take place at the end of the week. Before the day arrived they
received other tokens in proof of the appreciation in which they were
held. A deputation of workingmen waited on Aaron, and presented him
with an address. The employers of labor themselves--secretly glad,
perhaps, that he was going from among them--paid him a special honor.
Rachel's heart throbbed with gratitude and with pride in her husband.
But her greatest pleasure--in which were mingled touches of deep
sorrow--was derived from the affecting testimony of the poor she had
befriended. Old men and women witnessed their departure, and bidding
farewell to Rachel, prayed God's blessing upon her. Children gave her
flowers, and their childish voices were full of affection. The tears
ran from her eyes; she could hardly tear herself away. At length it
was over; they were gone; but it was long before her sweet face faded
from their memory.