THE OLD MOTHER.
Carried away in the whirl of active city life, Jacob, since his
residence in Warsaw, had had little communication with his family, who
had remained in his native province. Twice a year he received, by
letter, his mother's blessing, and news of his sister and elder
brother. Despite the intellectual distance which education had put
between him and his relations, he did not forget them, and he
scrupulously acquitted himself of his duties as son and brother. Since
the recent political disturbances he had been deprived of a
correspondence from which he always derived much pleasure, and to the
regularity of which he was accustomed, and he felt a certain inquietude
in consequence.
One day, on returning home, he was informed by his servant that an old
woman, dressed in strange fashion, who said she was a near relation,
waited to see him. In saying this the servant seemed a little
embarrassed.
"I knew not what to do," added he awkwardly; "I told this person that
monsieur was absent, but she was obstinate and would not go. She raised
her voice, and the noise attracted the attention of the servants on the
floor below, and it would have created a disturbance if I had, as I at
first intended, ordered her out. So there she is, monsieur."
"Who is this woman?" asked Jacob.
The servant, judging his master by his own way of seeing things, dared
not reply.
"I do not understand who she can be," muttered he. "She did not
pronounce her name distinctly. I believe she has come to ask for help.
I am not positive."
As soon as he opened the door Jacob saw a woman who was walking up and
down the room, examining everything with curiosity. She was dressed in
the ancient costume of a Polish Jewess. She wore a black dress of
strange but simple fashion, and around her throat a necklace of pearls
with a large gold medallion; a long black mantle completed her costume,
and her face was sprinkled with patches, following the ancient fashion
for Jewesses.
Jacob divined, rather than recognized, his mother, and with a cry of
joy threw himself at her feet and covered her hand with kisses. The old
woman was so agitated that she could hardly speak, and her eyes filled
with tears.
Jacob seated her on the sofa and ran for a glass of water. In his haste
he ran against the servant who was peeping through the key-hole, and
who had no time to conceal himself.
"Go for water!" cried Jacob. "You gave this lady a fine reception! It
is my mother!"
"That is just what she told me," murmured the man; "but"--
"Not another word! Get some water, I tell you!"
When he returned, he found his mother much calmer.
"God of Israel, how great has been thy goodness to my child! Oh, if his
father could have seen the elegance with which he is surrounded, he
could not have said enough prayers to express his gratitude! God of
Moses! Alas! I can only thank thee by my tears."
"The most precious gift of God for me," said Jacob, "is the joy of a
mother's heart."
"Your prosperity is the celestial recompense for your father's virtues.
This recompense has not been accorded to all my children. Sarah is ill.
Miriam's children are dead. I could not resist the desire to embrace
thee once more before I die. I said to myself, 'Perhaps he will be
ashamed of his old mother;' that kept me. Afterward, I thought that at
the worst I should have seen thee, if even from afar, and given thee a
secret blessing."
"How couldst thou, dearest mother, think me capable of such vile
ingratitude, and such forgetfulness of the commandments of God?"
"O my Jacob, I know the world! Your eldest brother respects me,
although I am not his mother, but only his father's wife. He is a good
man; yet if I go to his house poorly dressed, when he has elegant
visitors, I can see that he is ashamed of me. But don't be afraid, my
son, I will not show myself before your fine friends."
"Then you will cruelly offend me," cried Jacob. "Never shall I be
ashamed of my mother, nor my father, nor my race, nor my religion, nor
anything holy. To conceal one's origin is a foolish pride, a criminal
lie."
Just then the servant entered, much disturbed, and said:--
"One of monsieur's friends is here; shall I show him in?"
"Certainly," said Jacob.
It was Mathilde's father. He did not recognize his relative, and was
surprised to see an old Jewess seated on the sofa. He had suspected
Jacob of entertaining a visitor of another kind.
"Mother, you remember Monsieur Samuel, our cousin, and my guardian?"
said Jacob. "I owe everything to him."
"After God, it is to you that I am most grateful," replied Jacob's
mother.
Monsieur Samuel was somewhat embarrassed; he succeeded, nevertheless,
in addressing some words of courtesy to the good woman, and to relieve
himself of his embarrassment he drew Jacob aside under pretext of
pressing business.
"I came to consult with you," said he; "but we can leave it until some
other time. Now let me ask you, what will you do with your mother?"
"The name of 'mother' is my only reply."
"A beautiful phrase; but do not be sentimental, I beg of you, dear
Jacob. Do not compromise yourself in the eyes of the world. This
queerly dressed old woman, if she is seen with you, will hurt us
socially as well as you. You cannot brave public opinion."
"I do not care to cultivate the acquaintance of those who mock my
affection for my mother," said Jacob. "This will prove their worth;
thus I can tell the gold from the baser metal."
"A truce to poetry! Let us look on life as it really is. As soon as the
world scents a Jew, it will tolerate him only when his perfume is
sweet; the odours of the iarmulka are obnoxious."
"I will make no concessions to the prejudices of the world," said
Jacob.
"Well, then, spare me the honour of receiving a visit from your
mother."
Jacob grew pale and his eyes flashed.
"You have been my benefactor," said he slowly. "Do not make me forget
it."
"Excuse me, there are degrees in Judaism; for example, I give myself
out as a descendant of rich German Jews."
"Why do you prefer the German Jews," asked Jacob with a smile of pity.
"Are they any the less Jews?"
"Perhaps not. But they rank higher, and their past is different. Will
your mother live with you?"
"I hope so. I shall be very glad to have her near me."
"I see that it is useless to reason with you. I cannot convince you;
but if you have thoughts of Muse, I advise you to be careful."
"I do not dream of Mademoiselle Wtorkowska."
"There have been rumours"--
"These rumours have no foundation."
"The presence of your mother in your apartments will shock many
people."
"So much the worse for them. I do not intend to offer my mother as a
holocaust."
"Has she brought any more of the family?"
"I believe that she is alone. Poor old woman! to see me she has
undertaken a long and wearisome journey."
"She had better have sent for you to come to her, instead of suddenly
appearing at Warsaw."
Then Mathilde's father returned to the _salon_, saluted the old woman
politely, and took his leave.
On the first floor of the house the news of the arrival of a Jewess in
the ancient national costume was circulated from mouth to mouth.
Jacob's servant had no secrets from the Wtorkowska's maid, and he soon
told her all about it; she carried the news to madame, who, inspired by
Paul de Kock, her favourite author, arranged the story in her own
fashion and went to relate it to Muse.
"It is nothing to me," cried the young lady. "Jacob is no longer on my
list."
"Alas," replied Madame Wtorkowska, "to be so rich and to remain such an
obstinate Jew!"
"Mamma, would you have any objection to Sofronof, if he declares
himself?" asked Emusia.
"Do as you wish. Provided that you marry, your choice will be mine. Yet
be on your guard with this Sofronof. These Russians have no scruples,
no delicacy; to break a woman's heart is for them a pleasure, something
to glory in. Under apparent splendour, they are often penniless
adventurers who come to Poland to replenish their purses. I know the
Russians well. Many of them parade about in a brilliant uniform and
live in poverty."
"Mamma, Sofronof has a fine property in the province of Kostroma."
"I have met these brilliant officers who boast of possessing hundreds
of peasants near Iaroslaf or Tambof. They lied, and this one may also.
Let us go to Kostroma. The government pays these colonels so poorly,
and even the generals, that they are obliged to rob to cut any figure."
"It is not called robbery in Russia. They give it another
name,--indirect revenue, I believe. The country is so organized that
the employes, civil and military, without exception, procure indirect
revenues to increase their salary."
"Yes, dear Emusia, I regret Jacob. Unfortunately, he has a mother who
is an impossible Jewess."
"If I willed it, nevertheless, I could make him leave father, mother,
and religion. I am sure I could overcome him; but I do not care to make
any more efforts in that direction. Jacob is not congenial to me. My
favourite, you know, is Henri."
"You always force me to repeat that he is married."
"The obstacle is Mathilde. She will soon die, and Henri would marry me
immediately."
"The grapes are too green."
"We will see, and as a last resort I have always Sofronof."
Some days after the arrival of Jacob's mother Henri Segel said to his
father-in-law:--
"This Jacob is intractable. He will never be a society man.
Presumptuous and obstinate, he refuses to see the world as it is. His
head is full of fantasies from the Talmud, of dreams of reform, strange
ideas of fraternal union. He is for Poland, and at the same time
against the revolution. He refuses to enter into relations with the
most important persons. He keeps to himself and is a real savage;
useless to the world, yet not deprived of intelligence. But he is of no
use to us."
"He always reminds me of the beggary from which I took him," said
Samuel. "He seems to be proud of it."
"It is too bad; with his large acquaintance he could have been of great
service to us. He has good manners and a sympathetic character. No one
would ever take him for a Jew, if he did not foolishly avow his origin
on every occasion. He is compromising in society. Men of his calibre
are destined to an evil end, and he makes himself disagreeable to all.
He must be blind, to act so much against his own interests."
"Have you heard about his mother?"
"Not yet."
"Imagine, then, a Jewess of the lowest rank suddenly appearing at his
house. He has welcomed her, and made much of her, and walked with her
on the public streets. He would have brought her to me, if I had not
begged him to spare me this ridicule."
"The same danger threatens me, I fear, and he is capable of choosing
the very day when I have the best society of Warsaw in my _salon_. This
eccentric has turned Mathilde's head. She will suffer no one to
ridicule him, and looks on him as a saint."
"They have indulged in a Platonic romance since their childhood; but I
will give you the means of breaking the charm which enchains my
daughter's spirit. Behold! he whom she takes for a saint pays his
tribute to frail humanity."
"How? I have never heard any scandal about Jacob."
"He has concealed it well; but I have a good detective who has told me
that this sage, learned in the books of Solomon, follows the footsteps
of that voluptuous monarch. Only they are not beautiful Midianites with
whom he shares his wealth. He has succumbed to a pure-blooded Jewess."
"Tell me about it, I beg of you."
"Well, you know that I like to look about me a little everywhere.
Sometimes I profit by it, and it always amuses me. Sometimes in one
direction, sometimes another, I have bloodhounds that I chat with. Of
late, that old man with a red nose, whom they call Trompette, has spied
about for me. One day I was occupied; he insisted on seeing me, and
came in with a mysterious air as if he had a state secret. He told me
that Monsieur Jacob,--you will never guess,--the pious Jacob, had a
mistress. She is a Jewess, whose father is very rich. The romance has
lasted a long time, for the result is a child, on account of which she
has been turned from her father's house."
"Well, well!" cried Henri. "Why, it is impossible!"
"At first he hid her with the greatest mystery in a little old house in
the _rue des Jardins_. Now he has established her, still secretly, in a
much more comfortable place in Saint George's street. He often goes
there in the evening. I know it to be so, and I am told that the girl
is pretty, graceful, and modest."
"How does he reconcile this proceeding with his principles?" asked
Henri. "Really, I am surprised."
Samuel laughed heartily, and added:--
"Yes; Jacob has concealed this intrigue well; but some day I'll tease
him about it. That will be great fun."
"I can hardly believe it yet," said Henri.
"There is no doubt whatever, I assure you. Jacob supports a pretty
girl, and she lacks nothing. If you think it is for love of humanity
and chastity, explain his motive."
"He is, then, a Don Juan disguised as an anchorite. It is a side of his
character that I have never suspected. I never dreamed of it."
"Do you wish to be convinced with your own eyes? Here is the address,
go and see for yourself; you are one of the family, and you might take
a little trouble about it. The thing ought to be cleared up. You will
not fail, with a little pains, to surprise the gay Lothario _in
flagrante delicti_. After that he will not talk so much about the
saints and holy writ. At heart he is no better than the rest of us."
"Alas, poor Jacob, where is your character now! Do you know how this
original romance commenced?"
"It is a secret that you will discover, no doubt. I can only say one
thing, that it is a secret no longer."
"But it is such a short time since he returned, that the connection
must have begun abroad. Who knows where? Perhaps at the baths."
Henri Segel, seemingly absorbed in thought, went in the early evening
to see Muse. This was for him the privileged hour for a charming
interview, when no one ventured to disturb them, not even Sofronof. She
had so well arranged her time that her favourites never ran the risk of
meeting each other. The early part of the evening was given to Henri,
who could then at his ease chat and joke with the siren and kiss her
lovely hands. Segel was so preoccupied that the young lady noticed it.
"What has come over you?" asked she. "Why are you so quiet? Have you
lost at the Bourse, or has your dancer left you for the epaulets?"
"How cruel you are, dear mademoiselle, to think that such selfish
preoccupations should cloud my brow."
"I think that you are a sensible and practical man, that is all."
"Well, this time you deceive yourself. That which troubles me is the
downfall of a man whom"--
"The fall of a man? That is curious."
"Very curious."
"Do I know the man?"
"Very well. He is one of your friends."
"Speak, then! Why distil your story drop by drop?"
"It is Jacob."
"A fall! His mother's visit, then?"
"No; better than that."
"What, then?"
"An original adventure, a strange story. Jacob, our saint, our
immaculate Jacob, has a mistress by whom he has a child."
"Pure calumny!" said Muse.
"At first I thought so too; but, alas! it is a fact; there is good
proof."
"This will destroy his character."
"Simple truth that all men are fallible," said Henri.
"I am dying to know the details!" cried Muse. "Is she young, pretty,
blond or brunette, poor or rich, well educated?"
"She is only a little Jewess, daughter of a merchant, but young and
very pretty."
"When did this intrigue commence?"
"I am ignorant of the circumstances. It was my father-in-law, whom
nothing escapes, who discovered it. At first I did not believe it, but
he soon convinced me. The girl lived in the _rue des Jardins_ for a
while, now in Saint George's street."
"And this offspring of which you spoke?"
"Did you not understand me?"
Muse smiled and did not repeat her question, she only added:--
"He played so well the role of chaste Joseph that no one would have
suspected him of this."
"Humbug! His character now appears to me in a new light. I must
commence to study him again; until now I was all astray."
"I," replied Muse, "was convinced that he was ice toward women. At last
I see that he is vulnerable." She was so impatient to repeat this
scandal to her mother that she dismissed Henri.
"At present," said she, after finishing her story, "this man seems to
me more inexplicable than ever. A common girl succeeds where I have
failed."
"He loves; that explains all," said her mother.
"He loves! That is no reason; it is no excuse. I am furious, now that I
see that his coldness was only assumed so as not to marry me."
Colonel Sofronof paid dear for Muse's vexation. She deprived him of
little bits of news that she had been in the habit of giving him, and
in order to irritate him displayed some patriotic songs. However, he
did not get angry, but only smiled, and said:--
"You are not feeling well to-night."
The calumny spread rapidly. Henri arrived home in good humour. Not
finding visitors, he resigned himself to tea with his wife. After tea
the Englishwoman read in one corner, Mathilde in another; finally Segel
broke the prolonged silence.
"Have you seen Jacob lately?" asked he.
"No; he has not been here for some time."
"Without doubt his mother's society"--
"Yes, he told me of her arrival," said Mathilde.
"Has he ever spoken of any one else?"
"Of whom, then?"
"Bah! It is useless to tell you. It is not worth while to destroy your
illusions. You have an affection for Jacob; let it rest."
The least curious of women have still a little touch of curiosity,
especially in regard to the man they love. Mathilde became uneasy.
"I am sure," said she with agitation, "that Jacob has done nothing to
destroy the good opinion that I have of him."
"If you are sure, so much the better."
"Do not torment me thus. As you have commenced, tell me all."
"Why should you take this lively interest in Jacob," said Henri
smiling.
"I love him as a brother; I have never concealed it. We were brought up
together."
"Well, this Jacob has committed no crime. He simply possesses a
mistress whom he conceals from public view." Then he repeated cynically
all he had heard, with a malicious irony.
"If you do not believe me," added he, "ask your father. He is the one
that discovered the secret."
During this narration Mathilde had grown red and pale, and listened
with bowed head, trembling nervously. Suddenly she raised her head and
said boldly:--
"It is a lie! I believe neither you nor my father. It is an unworthy
calumny."
"And why do you say that?"
"Because it is not possible."
With these words, instead of going to the piano as usual, she went and
shut herself up in her room, where she could give free vent to her
tears. Until then she had been so proud of the man whom she had made
her ideal. Her idol was overthrown from his pedestal and was reduced to
the level of ordinary men.
Then she said to herself:--
"No, it cannot be possible." An inner voice replied: "They are all
built on the same model. The whole world is corrupt."
Life now appeared so empty, so sombre, so odious to her that she would
gladly have died. The next day when she seated herself at the table,
her face bore traces of the great suffering she had endured. She was
very pale, and her features were drawn and pinched. She replied
indifferently to her husband's questions, and pleading a violent
headache, hastened again to her chamber. She wished to be alone with
her sorrow.