RACHEL'S LIFE IN THE NEW LAND.
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; for though his priestly
calling was apparent from his attire, Rachel could not see it.
"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.
"How sad, how sad, my daughter, that you are a Jewess!"
"I am happily a Jewess, 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 were instinctively conscious of
her presence. She scattered food for the birds, and they soon grew to
know her; some would even pick crumbs from her hand. "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, the little chatterers, telling one another
the news as they work! 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 favourite 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 his prayer was
answered. 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 in
the Paris _salon_; it was entitled "A Jewish Mother," and represented
a woman sitting beneath a cherry tree in flower, with two young
children gambolling 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-fleshed, 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. In her sightless eyes dwelt the spirit of peace and purity, and
there was an angelic sweetness and resignation in her face as, with
head slightly inclined, she listened to the prattle of her children.
You could almost hear a sigh of happiness issue from her lips. The
woman's face photographed itself upon the minds of all who beheld it,
and it is not too much to say that it carried with it an influence for
good. Years afterwards, when their visit to the _salon_ was forgotten,
it made itself visible to their mind's eye, and always with beneficial
suggestion. So it is also with a pure poem or story; the impression it
leaves is an incentive to kindly act and tolerant judgment; it
softens, it ameliorates, it brings into play the higher attributes of
human nature, and in its practical results a benefit is conferred
equally upon the sufferer by the wayside and the Samaritan who pours
oil upon his wounds. The critics were unanimous in their praises of
the picture. "Who is the woman?" they asked, 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.
Travelling 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 of the
great picture he had intended to paint, and determined to take his
inspiration from Rachel. He was assured from what he heard of her that
he was in the presence of a good woman, and he was deeply impressed by
her gentleness and grace. He did not find it difficult to obtain an
introduction to Aaron, who invited him home, where he made himself
welcome--no difficult matter, for Aaron was ever ready to appreciate
intellect. Many an evening did the painter pass with them, sometimes
in company with the curé, and many a friendly argument did they have.
The priest and the artist were surprised at the wide range of subjects
with which Aaron was familiar, and upon which he could converse with
fluent ease. Upon great themes he spoke with so much force and
clearness that even when they differed from him he generally succeeded
in weakening their convictions. It was not his early schooling that
made him so comprehensive and clear-sighted; a man's education depends
chiefly upon himself--teachers and masters play but a subsidiary part,
and all the coaching in the world will not make a weak intellect
strong. Superficial knowledge may be gained; but it is as transient as
a shadow, and in its effect is valueless in the business of life.
Aaron was not a classical scholar; he was something better--a
painstaking student, who extracted from his extensive reading the
essence of a subject, and took no heed of the husk and shell in which
it was embedded. Firm, perhaps to some extent dogmatic, in matters of
religion, he was gifted with a large-hearted toleration which led him
to look with a kindly eye upon men who did not think as he did; but
his final judgment was the judgment of a well-balanced mind.
The artist 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 afterwards 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 perfume 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
harboured against her and hers; her gentle spirit was an incentive to
gentleness; she was a living, tender embodiment of peace on earth and
goodwill 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
brought a sense of ineffable pleasure to her heart.
In the ordinary course of events the partnership came to an end. The
engineer was invited to Russia to undertake an important 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 rigours 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 practised."
"How would you put a stop to them?" asked the engineer.
"I will suppose a case," Aaron answered. "You are the ruler of an
estate, upon which reside a number of families, who respect the laws
you make for them, who pay you tribute, and who lead reputable lives.
You know that these families are not all of one opinion upon religious
matters. Some pray in churches, some in synagogues, some do not pray
at all. You do not show favour to those with whose views you agree,
and you do not oppress those from whom you differ. You say to them,
'You are all my subjects; so long as you obey my laws, so long as you
conduct yourselves as good citizens, you shall live upon an equality,
and shall have my protection. Thought is free. Worship God according
to the dictates of your conscience, and be happy. For you the
synagogue, for me the church. I am content.' What is the consequence?
Between you and your people exists a bond of allegiance and affection.
They are true and loyal to you, and you really look upon them as
children of one family. In times of national distress, when a cry for
help is heard in any part of your estate, the bishop of your
Established Church, the Pope's cardinal, and the Chief Rabbi of the
Jews meet upon common ground, free one and all to act as priests of
humanity, and eager to alleviate the suffering which has arisen among
them. In your government councils all creeds are represented, and the
voice that is heard in decisions of national importance is truly the
national voice. You have your reward. Order is preserved, property is
safe, and you are respected everywhere. There are other estates in
your neighbourhood which more or less resemble yours, and in which men
of all creeds have equal rights. But there is one from which shrieks
of agony issue daily and nightly, terrible cries of suffering,
imploring appeals for help and mercy. They strike upon your ears; you
cannot help hearing them. The brutal ruler of this estate has for his
subjects a vast number of families, all of whom have been born on his
land, all of whom recognise 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 to the
expenses of his household. To those whose religious views agree with
his own he shows favour and gives protection; those who are born in a
different faith he hates and tortures. From them proceed these shrieks
of agony, these cries of suffering, these appeals for help. You see
them torn and bleeding, their faces convulsed with anguish, their
hearts racked with woe; they have no other home, and there is no
escape for them. Every step they take is dogged and watched; whichever
way they turn the lash awaits them, and torture chambers 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 for mercy 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 for ever. 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 estate, they are my subjects, and I will do as I please with them.
Let them abjure their God, and I may show them mercy. Their bodies are
mine, they have no souls!' To argue with him is presumption; in his
arrogant estimation of himself the 'divinity that doth hedge a king'
places him above human conditions--this man, who comes of a family
with a social history so degrading that, were it attached to one of
low degree, he would not be admitted into decent society. 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 fervour. "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 rulers; 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 declare
that the Lord of hosts is on their side, and call upon Him 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.