บทที่ บทที่ 34 · Chapter XXXIV

.

“Er ist geheissen

Israel. Ihn hat verwandelt

Hexenspruch in einen Hund.

* * * * *

Aber jeden Freitag Abend,

In der Dämm’rungstunde, plötzlich

Weicht der Zauber, und der Hund

Wird aufs Neu’ ein menschlich Wesen.”

—HEINE: _Prinzessin Sabbath_.

When Deronda arrived at five o’clock, the shop was closed and the door

was opened for him by the Christian servant. When she showed him into

the room behind the shop he was surprised at the prettiness of the

scene. The house was old, and rather extensive at the back: probably

the large room he now entered was gloomy by daylight, but now it was

agreeably lit by a fine old brass lamp with seven oil-lights hanging

above the snow-white cloth spread on the central table. The ceiling and

walls were smoky, and all the surroundings were dark enough to throw

into relief the human figures, which had a Venetian glow of coloring.

The grandmother was arrayed in yellowish brown with a large gold chain

in lieu of the necklace, and by this light her yellow face with its

darkly-marked eyebrows and framing roll of gray hair looked as handsome

as was necessary for picturesque effect. Young Mrs. Cohen was clad in

red and black, with a string of large artificial pearls wound round and

round her neck: the baby lay asleep in the cradle under a scarlet

counterpane; Adelaide Rebekah was in braided amber, and Jacob Alexander

was in black velveteen with scarlet stockings. As the four pairs of

black eyes all glistened a welcome at Deronda, he was almost ashamed of

the supercilious dislike these happy-looking creatures had raised in

him by daylight. Nothing could be more cordial than the greeting he

received, and both mother and grandmother seemed to gather more dignity

from being seen on the private hearth, showing hospitality. He looked

round with some wonder at the old furniture: the oaken bureau and high

side-table must surely be mere matters of chance and economy, and not

due to the family taste. A large dish of blue and yellow ware was set

up on the side-table, and flanking it were two old silver vessels; in

front of them a large volume in darkened vellum with a deep-ribbed

back. In the corner at the farther end was an open door into an inner

room, where there was also a light.

Deronda took in these details by parenthetic glances while he met

Jacob’s pressing solicitude about the knife. He had taken the pains to

buy one with the requisites of the hook and white handle, and produced

it on demand, saying,

“Is that the sort of thing you want, Jacob?”

It was subjected to a severe scrutiny, the hook and blades were opened,

and the article of barter with the cork-screw was drawn forth for

comparison.

“Why do you like a hook better than a cork-screw?” said Deronda.

“’Caush I can get hold of things with a hook. A cork-screw won’t go into

anything but corks. But it’s better for you, you can draw corks.”

“You agree to change, then?” said Deronda, observing that the

grandmother was listening with delight.

“What else have you got in your pockets?” said Jacob, with deliberative

seriousness.

“Hush, hush, Jacob, love,” said the grandmother. And Deronda, mindful

of discipline, answered,

“I think I must not tell you that. Our business was with the knives.”

Jacob looked up into his face scanningly for a moment or two, and

apparently arriving at his conclusions, said gravely,

“I’ll shwop,” handing the cork-screw knife to Deronda, who pocketed it

with corresponding gravity.

Immediately the small son of Shem ran off into the next room, whence

his voice was heard in rapid chat; and then ran back again—when,

seeing his father enter, he seized a little velveteen hat which lay on

a chair and put it on to approach him. Cohen kept on his own hat, and

took no notice of the visitor, but stood still while the two children

went up to him and clasped his knees: then he laid his hands on each in

turn and uttered his Hebrew benediction; whereupon the wife, who had

lately taken baby from the cradle, brought it up to her husband and

held it under his outstretched hands, to be blessed in its sleep. For

the moment, Deronda thought that this pawnbroker, proud of his

vocation, was not utterly prosaic.

“Well, sir, you found your welcome in my family, I think,” said Cohen,

putting down his hat and becoming his former self. “And you’ve been

punctual. Nothing like a little stress here,” he added, tapping his

side pocket as he sat down. “It’s good for us all in our turn. I’ve

felt it when I’ve had to make up payments. I began to fit every sort of

box. It’s bracing to the mind. Now then! let us see, let us see.”

“That is the ring I spoke of,” said Deronda, taking it from his finger.

“I believe it cost a hundred pounds. It will be a sufficient pledge to

you for fifty, I think. I shall probably redeem it in a month or so.”

Cohen’s glistening eyes seemed to get a little nearer together as he

met the ingenuous look of this crude young gentleman, who apparently

supposed that redemption was a satisfaction to pawnbrokers. He took the

ring, examined and returned it, saying with indifference, “Good, good.

We’ll talk of it after our meal. Perhaps you’ll join us, if you’ve no

objection. Me and my wife’ll feel honored, and so will mother; won’t

you, mother?”

The invitation was doubly echoed, and Deronda gladly accepted it. All

now turned and stood round the table. No dish was at present seen

except one covered with a napkin; and Mrs. Cohen had placed a china

bowl near her husband that he might wash his hands in it. But after

putting on his hat again, he paused, and called in a loud voice,

“Mordecai!”

Can this be part of the religious ceremony? thought Deronda, not

knowing what might be expected of the ancient hero. But he heard a

“Yes” from the next room, which made him look toward the open door; and

there, to his astonishment, he saw the figure of the enigmatic Jew whom

he had this morning met with in the book-shop. Their eyes met, and

Mordecai looked as much surprised as Deronda—neither in his surprise

making any sign of recognition. But when Mordecai was seating himself

at the end of the table, he just bent his head to the guest in a cold

and distant manner, as if the disappointment of the morning remained a

disagreeable association with this new acquaintance.

Cohen now washed his hands, pronouncing Hebrew words the while:

afterward, he took off the napkin covering the dish and disclosed the

two long flat loaves besprinkled with seed—the memorial of the manna

that fed the wandering forefathers—and breaking off small pieces gave

one to each of the family, including Adelaide Rebekah, who stood on the

chair with her whole length exhibited in her amber-colored garment, her

little Jewish nose lengthened by compression of the lip in the effort

to make a suitable appearance. Cohen then uttered another Hebrew

blessing, and after that, the male heads were uncovered, all seated

themselves, and the meal went on without any peculiarity that

interested Deronda. He was not very conscious of what dishes he ate

from; being preoccupied with a desire to turn the conversation in a way

that would enable him to ask some leading question; and also thinking

of Mordecai, between whom and himself there was an exchange of

fascinated, half-furtive glances. Mordecai had no handsome Sabbath

garment, but instead of the threadbare rusty black coat of the morning

he wore one of light drab, which looked as if it had once been a

handsome loose paletot now shrunk with washing; and this change of

clothing gave a still stronger accentuation to his dark-haired, eager

face which might have belonged to the prophet Ezekiel—also probably

not modish in the eyes of contemporaries. It was noticeable that the

thin tails of the fried fish were given to Mordecai; and in general the

sort of share assigned to a poor relation—no doubt a “survival” of

prehistoric practice, not yet generally admitted to be superstitious.

Mr. Cohen kept up the conversation with much liveliness, introducing as

subjects always in taste (the Jew is proud of his loyalty) the Queen

and the Royal Family, the Emperor and Empress of the French—into which

both grandmother and wife entered with zest. Mrs. Cohen the younger

showed an accurate memory of distinguished birthdays; and the elder

assisted her son in informing the guest of what occurred when the

Emperor and Empress were in England and visited the city ten years

before.

“I dare say you know all about it better than we do, sir,” said Cohen,

repeatedly, by way of preface to full information; and the interesting

statements were kept up in a trio.

“Our baby is named _Eu_genie Esther,” said young Mrs. Cohen,

vivaciously.

“It’s wonderful how the Emperor’s like a cousin of mine in the face,”

said the grandmother; “it struck me like lightning when I caught sight

of him. I couldn’t have thought it.”

“Mother and me went to see the Emperor and Empress at the Crystal

Palace,” said Mr. Cohen. “I had a fine piece of work to take care of,

mother; she might have been squeezed flat—though she was pretty near

as lusty then as she is now. I said if I had a hundred mothers I’d

never take one of ’em to see the Emperor and Empress at the Crystal

Palace again; and you may think a man can’t afford it when he’s got but

one mother—not if he’d ever so big an insurance on her.” He stroked

his mother’s shoulder affectionately, and chuckled a little at his own

humor.

“Your mother has been a widow a long while, perhaps,” said Deronda,

seizing his opportunity. “That has made your care for her the more

needful.”

“Ay, ay, it’s a good many _yore-zeit_ since I had to manage for her and

myself,” said Cohen quickly. “I went early to it. It’s that makes you a

sharp knife.”

“What does—what makes a sharp knife, father?” said Jacob, his cheek

very much swollen with sweet-cake.

The father winked at his guest and said, “Having your nose put on the

grindstone.”

Jacob slipped from his chair with the piece of sweet-cake in his hand,

and going close up to Mordecai, who had been totally silent hitherto,

said, “What does that mean—putting my nose to the grindstone?”

“It means that you are to bear being hurt without making a noise,” said

Mordecai, turning his eyes benignantly on the small face close to his.

Jacob put the corner of the cake into Mordecai’s mouth as an invitation

to bite, saying meanwhile, “I shan’t though,” and keeping his eyes on

the cake to observe how much of it went in this act of generosity.

Mordecai took a bite and smiled, evidently meaning to please the lad,

and the little incident made them both look more lovable. Deronda,

however, felt with some vexation that he had taken little by his

question.

“I fancy that is the right quarter for learning,” said he, carrying on

the subject that he might have an excuse for addressing Mordecai, to

whom he turned and said, “You have been a great student, I imagine?”

“I have studied,” was the quiet answer. “And you?—You know German by

the book you were buying.”

“Yes, I have studied in Germany. Are you generally engaged in

bookselling?” said Deronda.

“No; I only go to Mr. Ram’s shop every day to keep it while he goes to

meals,” said Mordecai, who was now looking at Deronda with what seemed

a revival of his original interest: it seemed as if the face had some

attractive indication for him which now neutralized the former

disappointment. After a slight pause, he said, “Perhaps you know

Hebrew?”

“I am sorry to say, not at all.”

Mordecai’s countenance fell: he cast down his eyelids, looking at his

hands, which lay crossed before him, and said no more. Deronda had now

noticed more decisively than in their former interview a difficulty in

breathing, which he thought must be a sign of consumption.

“I’ve had something else to do than to get book-learning,” said Mr.

Cohen,—“I’ve had to make myself knowing about useful things. I know

stones well,”—here he pointed to Deronda’s ring. “I’m not afraid of

taking that ring of yours at my own valuation. But now,” he added, with

a certain drop in his voice to a lower, more familiar nasal, “what do

you want for it?”

“Fifty or sixty pounds,” Deronda answered, rather too carelessly.

Cohen paused a little, thrust his hands into his pockets, fixed on

Deronda a pair of glistening eyes that suggested a miraculous

guinea-pig, and said, “Couldn’t do you that. Happy to oblige, but

couldn’t go that lengths. Forty pound—say forty—I’ll let you have

forty on it.”

Deronda was aware that Mordecai had looked up again at the words

implying a monetary affair, and was now examining him again, while he

said, “Very well, I shall redeem it in a month or so.”

“Good. I’ll make you out the ticket by-and-by,” said Cohen,

indifferently. Then he held up his finger as a sign that conversation

must be deferred. He, Mordecai and Jacob put on their hats, and Cohen

opened a thanksgiving, which was carried on by responses, till Mordecai

delivered himself alone at some length, in a solemn chanting tone, with

his chin slightly uplifted and his thin hands clasped easily before

him. Not only in his accent and tone, but in his freedom from the

self-consciousness which has reference to others’ approbation, there

could hardly have been a stronger contrast to the Jew at the other end

of the table. It was an unaccountable conjunction—the presence among

these common, prosperous, shopkeeping types, of a man who, in an

emaciated threadbare condition, imposed a certain awe on Deronda, and

an embarrassment at not meeting his expectations.

No sooner had Mordecai finished his devotional strain, than rising,

with a slight bend of his head to the stranger, he walked back into his

room, and shut the door behind him.

“That seems to be rather a remarkable man,” said Deronda, turning to

Cohen, who immediately set up his shoulders, put out his tongue

slightly, and tapped his own brow. It was clearly to be understood that

Mordecai did not come up to the standard of sanity which was set by Mr.

Cohen’s view of men and things.

“Does he belong to your family?” said Deronda.

This idea appeared to be rather ludicrous to the ladies as well as to

Cohen, and the family interchanged looks of amusement.

“No, no,” said Cohen. “Charity! charity! he worked for me, and when he

got weaker and weaker I took him in. He’s an incumbrance; but he brings

a blessing down, and he teaches the boy. Besides, he does the repairing

at the watches and jewelry.”

Deronda hardly abstained from smiling at this mixture of kindliness and

the desire to justify it in the light of a calculation; but his

willingness to speak further of Mordecai, whose character was made the

more enigmatically striking by these new details, was baffled. Mr.

Cohen immediately dismissed the subject by reverting to the

“accommodation,” which was also an act of charity, and proceeded to

make out the ticket, get the forty pounds, and present them both in

exchange for the diamond ring. Deronda, feeling that it would be hardly

delicate to protract his visit beyond the settlement of the business

which was its pretext, had to take his leave, with no more decided

result than the advance of forty pounds and the pawn-ticket in his

breast-pocket, to make a reason for returning when he came up to town

after Christmas. He was resolved that he would then endeavor to gain a

little more insight into the character and history of Mordecai; from

whom also he might gather something decisive about the Cohens—for

example, the reason why it was forbidden to ask Mrs. Cohen the elder

whether she had a daughter.

BOOK V.—MORDECAI.