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.
"Cohen," said Mr. Moss, "Dr. Spenlove wishes to know you."
Aaron started.
He never forgot a name or a face, and he recollected the mention of
Dr. Spenlove's name when Mr. Moss came to him in Gosport with the
child.
"Without exactly knowing it, perhaps," said Dr. Spenlove, "you have
been most kind in movements in which I have taken an interest. I am
glad of the opportunity of making your acquaintance."
Nothing more; no reference to the private matter.
Aaron breathed more freely.
He responded to Dr. Spenlove's advances, and the gentlemen parted
friends.
Rose Moss was in the room during the proceedings, and her fair young
face beamed with pride; it was her lover's father who was thus
honored, and she felt that she had, through Aaron Cohen's son, a share
in that honor.
When the gratifying but fatiguing labors of the day were at an end,
and Aaron, Rachel, and Rose were alone, Rachel said:
"I am sorry, dear Rose, that Joseph was not here to hear what was said
about his father."
"It would not have made him love and honor him more," said Rose.
Rachel pressed her hand and kissed her; she had grown to love this
sweet and simple girl, who seemed to have but one thought in life, her
lover. Then the sightless woman asked them to describe the picture to
her, and she listened in an ecstasy of happiness to their words.
"Is it not wonderful?" she said to Aaron. "A famous picture, they
said, and I the principal figure. What can the painter have seen in
me?"
"What all men see, my life," replied Aaron, "but what no one knows as
I know."
"It has been a happy day," sighed Rachel; she sat between them, each
holding a hand. "You did not hear from our dear Ruth this morning?"
"No, dear mother." For thus was Rose already permitted to address
Rachel.
"She will be home in two days, and our dear lad as well. I wish he
were back from Australia, even before he has started, and so do you,
my dear. But time soon passes. Just now it seems but yesterday that we
were in France."
The day waned. Rachel and Rose were together; Aaron was in his study,
writing letters. A servant entered.
"A gentleman to see you, sir."
Aaron looked at the card, which bore the name of Mr. Richard
Dillworthy.
"I am busy," said Aaron. "Does he wish to see me particularly? Ask him
if he can call again."
"He said his business was pressing, sir."
"Show him in."
The servant ushered the visitor into the room--a slightly built,
middle-aged man, with iron-gray hair and whiskers. Aaron motioned him
to a chair, and he placed a card on the table bearing the name and
address of a firm of lawyers.
"I am Mr. Dillworthy, of Dillworthy, Maryx & Co.," he said.
"Yes."
"I have come to speak to you upon a family matter----"
"A family matter!" exclaimed Aaron, interrupting him.
"On behalf of a client. I shall take it as a favor if you will regard
this interview as private."
"Certainly."
"It refers principally to your daughter, Miss Ruth Cohen."