AT THE GRAVE OF HIS CHILD.
The years that followed until Ruth was grown to womanhood and Joseph
was a young man were eventful years for Aaron and his family. He
returned to England the possessor of a few thousands of pounds, and
was received with open arms by the Jewish community. He found to his
surprise that the story of his life in a foreign land was known to his
co-religionists, who are ever eager to acknowledge the success of
their brethren. With Jews, as with Christians, success is a power, an
"open sesame;" they are proud of it as reflecting honour upon the
race, and, as is the human fashion, are willing to overlook a
retrograde step or two in matters of religious observance on the parts
of those who have won their way into the front ranks. It is also
human, perhaps, that they are less tolerant to those who have not been
so successful. Aaron Cohen, as we know, had no need of such
indulgence; by poor and rich, by the heterodox and the orthodox, he
was hailed as a worthy upholder of the old faith which has survived
the persecutions of thousands of years. Before he went to Gosport he
had resided in the East End of London, and he derived pleasure from
his visits to the old familiar ground and from the renewal of
acquaintance with old friends who had not prospered in life's battle.
That he should be asked to assist these was natural, and the practical
aid he tendered brought its reward. In a certain sense he became
suddenly famous. "That's Aaron Cohen," said the East End Jews,
pointing him out as he passed; "he used to live here, and he has made
an enormous fortune"--multiplying his riches, of course, a
hundredfold. But a man may be famous without being popular; Aaron was
both, and he was not allowed to remain in ignorance of the fact. He
was offered an honourable office in his synagogue, and he gladly
accepted it. He was asked to serve on the board of several of the
Jewish charities with which London abounds, and he did not refuse one
of these requests. It was his earnest wish to make himself practically
useful to the community, and also to do something towards the stemming
of the tide of loose religious observance which was steadily rising
among his brethren. Upon this subject he had many conversations with
the clerical leaders of the chosen people, who saw the inroads that
were being made and seemed powerless to provide a remedy. It did not
occur to them that by a bold grasp of the nettle danger they might
pluck from it the flower safety. Aaron Cohen believed in the thirteen
articles of the Creed framed by Maimonides, which are accepted as the
fundamental articles of the Jewish faith. He believed in following--so
far as was practicable in the present age--the precepts which
Moses transmitted to his race, with which all faithful Jews should
be familiar. Some, he knew, were obsolete; such as those affecting
the Nazarites, of whom not one disciple exists to-day among
English-speaking communities: others were impracticable; such, for
instance, as those relating to the burnt sacrifices, the redeeming of
the male firstling of an ass, and the punishment of criminals by
stoning and the sword. But in this code of six hundred and thirteen
precepts are to be found many which breathe the pure essence of the
faith in which he was born, and these he believed it incumbent upon
him to obey. His lectures and addresses to Jewish audiences in the
East End of London were listened to with breathless interest; the
halls were not large enough to accommodate those who thronged to hear
him. He drew from history illustrations of their past grandeur which
fired and thrilled them. Sensible of the impression he made upon them,
Aaron Cohen had reason to be proud of the part he was playing, but
there was more room in his heart for humbleness than pride; the shadow
of a committed sin for ever attended him.
Apart from these communal matters he had much to do. In business hours
business claimed him, and he answered zealously to the call. To such a
man idleness would have been little less than a living death, and,
taking up his residence in London, he embarked very soon in
enterprises of magnitude. The knowledge he had gained during his
partnership in France was of immense value to him, and in conjunction
with other men of technical resource, he contracted for public works
in various parts of the country. His fortune grew, and he gradually
became wealthy. He moved from one house to another, and each move was
a step up the ladder. A house in Prince's Gate came into the market,
and Aaron purchased it, and furnished it with taste and elegance.
There he entertained liberally but not lavishly, for his judgment led
him always to the happy mean, and his house became the resort of men
and women of intellect and culture. Mr. Moss, who was wedded to
Portsmouth, and continued to flourish there, paid periodical visits to
London, and was always welcome in Aaron's home. He was as musically
inclined as ever; and opportunities were afforded him of hearing the
finest singers and players at Prince's Gate. On occasions, Aaron
readily consented to give an introduction, through concerts held in
his house, to young aspirants in whom Mr. Moss took an interest; and
to other budding talent in the same direction Aaron's rooms were
always open. In relation to their intimacy in Gosport a conversation
took place between Mr. Moss and Aaron some three years after the
latter was settled in London. Aaron had just completed a successful
contract, and business had called Mr. Moss to the metropolis.
"I heard to-day," said Mr. Moss, "that you had cleared six or seven
thousand pounds by the contract."
"The balance on the right side," replied Aaron, "is a little over
seven thousand."
"I congratulate you. The gentleman I spoke with said that if he had
had the contract he would have made a profit of three times as much."
"It is likely."
"Then, why didn't you do it, Cohen?"
Aaron smiled and shook his head. "Let us speak of another subject."
"But I want to get at the bottom of this. I should like you to know
what the gentleman said about it."
"Very well. What did he say?"
"That you are ruining the labour market."
"Ruin to some men may mean salvation to others. He doubtless gives an
explanation. How am I ruining the labour market?"
"By high wages and short hours."
"That is a new view."
"You do pay high wages, Cohen, according to what everybody says."
"Oh, it's everybody now, as well as your gentleman friend. Yes, I pay
good wages, and I don't consider them high."
"And the hours are not as long as they might be."
"Quite true. They might be twelve, fourteen, sixteen, out of the
twenty-four. We read of such unfair strains upon human labour. My
hours are reasonably long enough. If I am satisfied and my workmen are
satisfied, I give offence to no man."
"You are wrong, Cohen; you give offence to the capitalist."
"I regret to hear it."
"He says you are ruining the capitalist."
"Oh, I am ruining the capitalist now. But if that is the case, he is
no longer a capitalist."
"You know what I mean. I don't pretend to understand these things as
you do, because I have not studied political economy."
"I have, and believe me it is a horse that has been ridden too hard.
Mischief will come of it. Apply your common sense. In what way would
your friend have made twenty-one thousand pounds out of the contract
instead of seven thousand?"
"By getting his labour cheaper and by making his men work longer
hours."
"Exactly. And the difference of fourteen thousand pounds would have
gone into his pocket instead of the pockets of his workmen."
"Yes, of course."
"Ask yourself if that is fair. The wages I pay my men are sufficient
to enable them to maintain a home decently, to bring up their families
decently, and perhaps, if they are wise and thrifty--only, mind you,
if they are wise and thrifty--to make a small provision for old age,
when they are no longer able to work. Their hours are long enough to
give them just a little leisure, which they can employ partly in
reasonable amusement and partly in intellectual improvement. I have
gone thoroughly into these matters, and I know what I am talking
about. Men who do their work honestly--and I employ and will keep no
others--have a right to fair wages and a little leisure, and I decline
to grind my men down after the fashion of the extreme political
economist. The contract I have just completed was tendered for in an
open market. My tender was the lowest, and was accepted. I make a
considerable sum of money out of it, and each of my men contributes a
mickle towards it. They believe I have treated them fairly, and I am
certain they have treated me fairly. Upon those lines I intend to make
my way. Your sweater is a political economist. I am not a sweater. It
is the course I pursued in France, and by it I laid the foundation of
what may prove to be a great fortune. I am tendering now for other
contracts, and I shall obtain my share, and shall pursue precisely the
same course. Mr. Moss, you and I are Jews. At a great disadvantage
because of the nature of your business, which I myself once intended
to follow, you have made yourself respected in the town in which you
reside. Why? Because you are a fair-dealing man. I, on my part, wish
to make myself respected in whatever part of the world I live. To this
end the conditions are somewhat harder for us than for our Christian
neighbours. They drive as hard bargains as we do, they are equally
guilty of malpractices. When one is found out--a terrible crime, as we
know--it is not said of him, 'What could you expect? He is a
Christian.' It is not so with us. When one of us is proved to be
guilty of sharp dealing, it is said, 'What could you expect? He is a
Jew.' I will not go into the question whether we have justly earned
the reproach; but it certainly lays upon us the obligation of being
more careful than perhaps we might otherwise be, of even giving way a
little, of being a trifle more liberal. It is a duty we owe to
ourselves. Surely there is no race to which it is a greater honour,
and should be the greatest pride to belong, than the Jewish race; and
by my conduct through life I trust I shall do nothing to tarnish that
honour or lower that pride. Moreover, what I can do to weaken a
prejudice shall be done to the last hour of my life. It may or may not
be for that reason that I decline to follow the political economist to
the depths into which he has fallen."
Mr. Moss's eyes gleamed. Aaron had touched a sympathetic cord; the men
shook hands and smiled cordially at each other.
"When you were in Gosport," said Mr. Moss, "I ought to have asked you
to go into partnership with me."
"If you had made the offer," responded Aaron, "I should have accepted
it."
"Lucky for you that I missed my opportunity. It is a fortunate thing
that you went to France when you did."
"Very fortunate. It opened up a new career for me; it restored my dear
wife to health; my son was born there."
"About the poor child I brought to you in Gosport, Cohen. We have
never spoken of it."
"That is true," said Aaron, outwardly calm; but his heart beat more
quickly.
"Did the lawyers ever write to you again?"
"Never."
"And I have heard nothing. The iron box I gave you--you have it still,
I suppose?"
"I have it still."
"I have often wondered what it contains, and whether the mother will
ever call for it."
"If she does it shall be handed to her in the same condition as you
handed it to me. But she does not know in whose possession it is."
"No, she does not know, and she can only obtain the information from
Mr. Gordon's lawyers. My lips are sealed."
Aaron considered a moment. This opening up of the dreaded subject made
him keenly sensible of the sword that was hanging over his head; but
his sense of justice impelled him to say, "It may happen that the
mother will wish to have the box restored to her, and that the lawyers
may refuse to give her the information that it is in my possession.
She may seek elsewhere for a clue, and may be directed to you."
"Who will direct her? Nothing is more unlikely."
"It is at least probable," said Aaron.
"Well," Mr. Moss rejoined, "if she does apply to me, I shall not
enlighten her. It is none of my business."
"My desire is that you do enlighten her. The box is her property, and
I have no right to retain it."
"Very well, Cohen, if you wish it; but it is my opinion that you will
never see her again. She has forgotten all about it long ago."
"You are mistaken. A mother never forgets."
"And now, Cohen, I have a message for you from Mrs. Moss. She is
burning to see you, and cannot come to London. We are about to have an
addition to our family; that will be the sixteenth. Upon my word, I
don't know when we are going to stop. Is it too much to ask you to pay
us a visit?"
"Not at all; it will give me great pleasure. When?"
"It will give Mrs. Moss greater pleasure," said Mr. Moss, rubbing his
hands joyously at this answer. "She will be delighted, and so will all
our friends in Portsmouth. You have no idea how anxious she has been
about it. She was afraid you would refuse because----"
He paused rather awkwardly.
"Finish the sentence," urged Aaron, in a kind tone.
"To tell you the truth," said Mr. Moss, with a frank laugh, "she
thought you might be too grand now to visit us. I told her she was
mistaken. 'Cohen is not the kind of man to forget the past,' I said to
her."
"No," said Aaron; "I do not forget the past."
The sad tone in which these words were spoken escaped Mr. Moss. With a
beaming face, he continued,--
"'Once a friend,' I said to Mrs. Moss, 'always a friend. It does not
matter to him whether a man is up or down in the world, so long as he
is honest and straightforward.' Why, if business went wrong, and I was
in trouble, I should come straight to you."
Aaron pressed the hand of this warm-hearted friend.
"You would do right. I hope you may never need my services in that
way; but if unhappily you should, do not hesitate to come to me."
"I promise you, Cohen, I promise you. Not that there is any likelihood
of it. To bring up such a family as ours is no light matter, keeps
one's nose to the grindstone, as the saying is; but we're not at all
badly off. I return to Portsmouth on Thursday. Will that time suit you
for the visit?"
"Yes; I will accompany you."
And away went Mr. Moss, overjoyed, to write to his wife to make all
needful preparations. Not being acquainted with the secret which had
become the torture of Aaron Cohen's life, he could have had no idea
that the ready acceptance of the invitation sprang from a father's
burning desire to stand by the grave of his child.
Aaron's visit lasted a week, and he spent one day and night in
Gosport. Nothing was changed in the ancient town. The house he had
occupied had been rebuilt; the streets were the same; the names over
the shops were unaltered. His wish was to pass in and out of the town
without being recognised; but the wish was not gratified. The
Portsmouth newspapers circulated in Gosport, and Aaron Cohen's visit
"to our esteemed neighbour, Mr. Moss," found its way into the local
columns. It may be that Mr. Moss himself was the harbinger of this
piece of news and that he was also responsible for certain creditable
episodes in Aaron's career which were duly recorded in print; but if
the reporters were indebted to him for the particulars he made no
mention of the fact. He was certainly proud of the paragraphs, and
sent copies of the papers to all his friends. The Gosport folk were
therefore prepared for Aaron's visit; old friends came forward to
greet him; and the kind physician who had attended to Rachel during
her illness pressed him to be his guest, but Aaron excused himself.
When he left the doctor his road lay past Mr. Whimpole's shop, at the
door of which the proprietor was standing. Their eyes meeting, Aaron
courteously inclined his head. The corn-chandler, very red in the
face, returned the salute, and, after a momentary hesitation, advanced
towards Aaron with outstretched hand. Aaron stopped, and took the hand
of his old enemy.
"Mr. Cohen," said Mr. Whimpole, "I hope you do not bear animosity."
"I do not, sir," replied Aaron. "Life is too full of anxieties for
needless enmity."
"I am glad to hear you say so, Mr. Cohen. I have often reproached
myself for misjudging you; but the best of men may be mistaken."
"They may, sir. I trust you have changed your opinion of those whose
religious views differ from your own."
"We speak as we find," said Mr. Whimpole; "and you have proved
yourself to be a gentleman."
"It is never too late to admit an error," said Aaron; and, bowing
again, he passed on, leaving Mr. Whimpole with an uncomfortable
impression that he had once more been worsted by the man he despised.
It was night when Aaron stood by the grave of his child. Light clouds
floated before the moon, and the shifting shadows played upon the
graves of those who lay in peace in that solemn sanctuary. For a long
time he stood in silence, musing upon the sin he had committed, the
full measure of which had not yet come home to him. He held a high
place among men; his name was honoured; he had been spoken of as Aaron
Cohen the upright Jew; he had made himself a leader, and had but to
speak to be obeyed; he had brought back strayed sheep to the fold. The
Chief Rabbi had said to him, "The example of such a man as yourself is
invaluable. Inroads are being made in our ancient faith, and you stand
like a valiant soldier in the breach. You exercise an influence for
incalculable good." And then he had blessed the man who was hugging an
awful secret close, and veiling it from the eyes of men. How would it
be if his sin were laid bare?
The spirit of his child seemed to rise from the grave.
"Why am I here?" it asked reproachfully. "Why am I cut off from my
race?"
He beat his breast; the tears flowed down his beard.
"Forgive me, Lord of hosts," he sobbed, "for laying my child to rest
in a Christian churchyard! It was to save my beloved! Pardon my
transgression! Have mercy upon me!"
BOOK THE FIFTH.
_THE GATHERING OF THE CLOUD_.