Page 1 of The King of Schnorrers: Grotesques and Fantasies

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  _The King of Schnorrers_

  _I. Zangwill_

  _The King of Schnorrers_

  _GROTESQUES AND FANTASIES_

  BY I. ZANGWILL

  AUTHOR OF "CHILDREN OF THE GHETTO," "THE OLD MAIDS' CLUB," "MERELY MARY ANN," ETC.

  New York THE MACMILLAN COMPANY LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD. 1909

  _All rights reserved_

  COPYRIGHT, 1893, BY MACMILLAN AND CO.

  Set up and electrotyped January, 1894. Reprinted April, 1894; September, 1895; January, 1897; October, 1898; August, 1899; June, 1909.

  Norwood Press J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith Norwood Mass. U.S.A.

  _Foreword to "The King of Schnorrers."_

  _These episodes make no claim to veracity, while the personages arenot even sun-myths. I have merely amused myself and attempted to amuseidlers by incarnating the floating tradition of the Jewish_ SCHNORRER,_who is as unique among beggars as Israel among nations. The close ofthe eighteenth century was chosen for a background, because, while themost picturesque period of Anglo-Jewish history, it has never beforebeen exploited in fiction, whether by novelists or historians. To myfriend, Mr. Asher I. Myers, I am indebted for access to his uniquecollection of Jewish prints and caricatures of the period, and I havenot been backward in_ SCHNORRING _suggestions from him and otherprivate humourists. My indebtedness to my artists is more obvious,from my old friend George Hutchinson to my newer friend Phil May, whohas been good enough to allow me to reproduce from his Annuals thebrilliant sketches illustrating two of the shorter stories. Of theseshorter stories it only remains to be said there are both tragic andcomic, and I will not usurp the critic's prerogative by determiningwhich is which._

  _I. Z._

  _That all men are beggars, 'tis very plain to see, Though some they are of lowly, and some of high degree: Your ministers of State will say they never will allow That kings from subjects beg; but that you know is all bow-wow. Bow-wow-wow! Fol lol, etc._

  OLD PLAY.

  _Contents._

  THE KING OF SCHNORRERS _Illustrated by_ GEORGE HUTCHINSON. THE SEMI-SENTIMENTAL DRAGON _Illustrated by_ PHIL MAY. AN HONEST LOG-ROLLER _Illustrated by_ F. H. TOWNSEND. A TRAGI-COMEDY OF CREEDS THE MEMORY CLEARING HOUSE _Illustrated by_ A. J. FINBERG. MATED BY A WAITER _Illustrated by_ MARK ZANGWILL. THE PRINCIPAL BOY _Illustrated by_ F. H. TOWNSEND _and_ MARK ZANGWILL. AN ODD LIFE _Illustrated by_ F. H. TOWNSEND. CHEATING THE GALLOWS _Illustrated by_ GEORGE HUTCHINSON. SANTA CLAUS _Illustrated by_ MARK ZANGWILL. A ROSE OF THE GHETTO _Illustrated by_ A. J. FINBERG. A DOUBLE-BARRELLED GHOST _Illustrated by_ PHIL MAY. VAGARIES OF A VISCOUNT _Illustrated by_ F. H. TOWNSEND. THE QUEEN'S TRIPLETS _Illustrated by_ IRVING MONTAGU. A SUCCESSFUL OPERATION FLUTTER-DUCK: A GHETTO GROTESQUE _Illustrated by_ MARK ZANGWILL.

  THE KING OF SCHNORRERS.

  CHAPTER I.

  SHOWING HOW THE WICKED PHILANTHROPIST WAS TURNED INTO A FISH-PORTER.

  In the days when Lord George Gordon became a Jew, and was suspected ofinsanity; when, out of respect for the prophecies, England denied herJews every civic right except that of paying taxes; when the_Gentleman's Magazine_ had ill words for the infidel alien; whenJewish marriages were invalid and bequests for Hebrew colleges void;when a prophet prophesying Primrose Day would have been set in thestocks, though Pitt inclined his private ear to Benjamin Goldsmid'sviews on the foreign loans--in those days, when Tevele Schiff wasRabbi in Israel, and Dr. de Falk, the Master of the Tetragrammaton,saint and Cabbalistic conjuror, flourished in Wellclose Square, andthe composer of "The Death of Nelson" was a choir-boy in the GreatSynagogue; Joseph Grobstock, pillar of the same, emerged one afternooninto the spring sunshine at the fag-end of the departing stream ofworshippers. In his hand was a large canvas bag, and in his eye atwinkle.

  There had been a special service of prayer and thanksgiving for thehappy restoration of his Majesty's health, and the cantor hadinterceded tunefully with Providence on behalf of Royal George and"our most amiable Queen, Charlotte." The congregation was large andfashionable--far more so than when only a heavenly sovereign wasconcerned--and so the courtyard was thronged with a string of_Schnorrers_ (beggars), awaiting the exit of the audience, much as thevestibule of the opera-house is lined by footmen.

  They were a motley crew, with tangled beards and long hair that fellin curls, if not the curls of the period; but the gaberdines of theGerman Ghettoes had been in most cases exchanged for the knee-breechesand many-buttoned jacket of the Londoner. When the clothes one hasbrought from the Continent wear out, one must needs adopt the attireof one's superiors, or be reduced to buying. Many bore staves, and hadtheir loins girded up with coloured handkerchiefs, as though ready atany moment to return from the Captivity. Their woebegone air wasachieved almost entirely by not washing--it owed little to nature, toadventitious aids in the shape of deformities. The merest sprinklingboasted of physical afflictions, and none exposed sores like thelazars of Italy or contortions like the cripples of Constantinople.Such crude methods are eschewed in the fine art of _schnorring_. Agreen shade might denote weakness of sight, but the stone-blind manbore no braggart placard--his infirmity was an old established concernwell known to the public, and conferring upon the proprietor adefinite status in the community. He was no anonymous atom, such asdrifts blindly through Christendom, vagrant and apologetic. Rarest ofall sights in this pageantry of Jewish pauperdom was the hollowtrouser-leg or the empty sleeve, or the wooden limb fulfilling eitherand pushing out a proclamatory peg.

  When the pack of _Schnorrers_ caught sight of Joseph Grobstock, theyfell upon him full-cry, blessing him. He, nothing surprised, brushedpompously through the benedictions, though the twinkle in his eyebecame a roguish gleam. Outside the iron gates, where the throng wasthickest, and where some elegant chariots that had brought worshippersfrom distant Hackney were preparing to start, he came to a standstill,surrounded by clamouring _Schnorrers_, and dipped his hand slowly andceremoniously into the bag. There was a moment of breathlessexpectation among the beggars, and Joseph Grobstock had a moment ofexquisite consciousness of importance, as he stood there swelling inthe sunshine. There was no middle class to speak of in theeighteenth-century Jewry; the world was divided into rich and poor,and the rich were very, very rich, and the poor very, very poor, sothat everyone knew his station. Joseph Grobstock was satisfied withthat in which it had pleased God to place him. He was a jovial,heavy-jowled creature, whose clean-shaven chin was doubling, and hewas habited like a person of the first respectability in a beautifulblue body-coat with a row of big yellow buttons. The frilled shirtfront, high collar of the very newest fashion, and copious whiteneckerchief showed off the massive fleshiness of the red throat. Hishat was of the Quaker pattern, and his head did not fail of theperiwig and the pigtail, the latter being heretical in name only.

  "DIPPED HIS HAND INTO THE BAG."]

  What Joseph Grobstock drew from the bag was a small white-paperpacket, and his sense of humour led him to place it in the handfurthest from his nose; for it was a broad humour, not a subtle. Itenabled him to extract pleasure from seeing a fellow-mortal's hatrollick in the wind, but did little to alleviate the chase for hisown. His jokes clapped you on the back, they did not tickledelicately.

  Such was the
man who now became the complacent cynosure of all eyes,even of those that had no appeal in them, as soon as the principle ofhis eleemosynary operations had broken on the crowd. The first_Schnorrer_, feverishly tearing open his package, had found a florin,and, as by electricity, all except the blind beggar were aware thatJoseph Grobstock was distributing florins. The distributor partook ofthe general consciousness, and his lips twitched. Silently he dippedagain into the bag, and, selecting the hand nearest, put a secondwhite package into it. A wave of joy brightened the grimy face, tochange instantly to one of horror.

  "You have made a mistake--you have given me a penny!" cried thebeggar.

  "Keep it for your honesty," replied Joseph Grobstock imperturbably,and affected not to enjoy the laughter of the rest. The thirdmendicant ceased laughing when he discovered that fold on fold ofpaper sheltered a tiny sixpence. It was now obvious that the great manwas distributing prize-packets, and the excitement of the piebaldcrowd grew momently. Grobstock went on dipping, lynx-eyed againstsecond applications. One of the few pieces of gold in the lucky-bagfell to the solitary lame man, who danced in his joy on his sound leg,while the poor blind man pocketed his halfpenny, unconscious ofill-fortune, and merely wondering why the coin came swathed in paper.

  "DANCED ON HIS SOUND LEG."]

  By this time Grobstock could control his face no longer, and the lastepisodes of the lottery were played to the accompaniment of a broadgrin. Keen and complex was his enjoyment. There was not only thegeneral surprise at this novel feat of alms; there were the specialsurprises of detail written on face after face, as it flashed or fellor frowned in congruity with the contents of the envelope, and forundercurrent a delicious hubbub of interjections and benedictions, astretching and withdrawing of palms, and a swift shifting of figures,that made the scene a farrago of excitements. So that the broad grinwas one of gratification as well as of amusement, and part of thegratification sprang from a real kindliness of heart--for Grobstockwas an easy-going man with whom the world had gone easy. The_Schnorrers_ were exhausted before the packets, but the philanthropistwas in no anxiety to be rid of the remnant. Closing the mouth of theconsiderably lightened bag and clutching it tightly by the throat, andrecomposing his face to gravity, he moved slowly down the street likea stately treasure-ship flecked by the sunlight. His way led towardsGoodman's Fields, where his mansion was situate, and he knew that thefine weather would bring out _Schnorrers_ enough. And, indeed, he hadnot gone many paces before he met a figure he did not remember havingseen before.

  Leaning against a post at the head of the narrow passage which led toBevis Marks was a tall, black-bearded, turbaned personage, a firstglance at whom showed him of the true tribe. Mechanically JosephGrobstock's hand went to the lucky-bag, and he drew out aneatly-folded packet and tendered it to the stranger.

  The stranger received the gift graciously, and opened it gravely, thephilanthropist loitering awkwardly to mark the issue. Suddenly thedark face became a thunder-cloud, the eyes flashed lightning.

  "An evil spirit in your ancestors' bones!" hissed the stranger, frombetween his flashing teeth. "Did you come here to insult me?"

  "Pardon, a thousand pardons!" stammered the magnate, wholly takenaback. "I fancied you were a--a--a--poor man."

  "And, therefore, you came to insult me!"

  "No, no, I thought to help you," murmured Grobstock, turning from redto scarlet. Was it possible he had foisted his charity upon anundeserving millionaire? No! Through all the clouds of his ownconfusion and the recipient's anger, the figure of a _Schnorrer_loomed too plain for mistake. None but a _Schnorrer_ would wear ahome-made turban, issue of a black cap crossed with a white kerchief;none but a _Schnorrer_ would unbutton the first nine buttons of hiswaistcoat, or, if this relaxation were due to the warmth of theweather, counteract it by wearing an over-garment, especially one asheavy as a blanket, with buttons the size of compasses and flapsreaching nearly to his shoe-buckles, even though its length were onlycongruous with that of his undercoat, which already reached thebottoms of his knee-breeches. Finally, who but a _Schnorrer_ wouldwear this overcoat cloak-wise, with dangling sleeves, full of armlesssuggestion from a side view? Quite apart from the shabbiness of thesnuff-coloured fabric, it was amply evident that the wearer did notdress by rule or measure. Yet the disproportions of his attire did butenhance the picturesqueness of a personality that would be strikingeven in a bath, though it was not likely to be seen there. The beardwas jet black, sweeping and unkempt, and ran up his cheeks to meet theraven hair, so that the vivid face was framed in black; it was a long,tapering face with sanguine lips gleaming at the heart of a blackbush; the eyes were large and lambent, set in deep sockets under blackarching eyebrows; the nose was long and Coptic; the brow low butbroad, with straggling wisps of hair protruding from beneath theturban. His right hand grasped a plain ashen staff.

  Worthy Joseph Grobstock found the figure of the mendicant only tooimpressive; he shrank uneasily before the indignant eyes.

  "I meant to help you," he repeated.

  "And this is how one helps a brother in Israel?" said the_Schnorrer_, throwing the paper contemptuously into thephilanthropist's face. It struck him on the bridge of the nose, butimpinged so mildly that he felt at once what was the matter. Thepacket was empty--the _Schnorrer_ had drawn a blank; the only one thegood-natured man had put into the bag.

  "IT STRUCK HIM ON THE BRIDGE OF THE NOSE."]

  The _Schnorrer's_ audacity sobered Joseph Grobstock completely; itmight have angered him to chastise the fellow, but it did not. Hisbetter nature prevailed; he began to feel shamefaced, fumbledsheepishly in his pocket for a crown; then hesitated, as fearing thispeace-offering would not altogether suffice with so rare a spirit, andthat he owed the stranger more than silver--an apology to wit. Heproceeded honestly to pay it, but with a maladroit manner, as oneunaccustomed to the currency.

  "You are an impertinent rascal," he said, "but I daresay you feelhurt. Let me assure you I did not know there was nothing in thepacket. I did not, indeed."

  "Then your steward has robbed me!" exclaimed the _Schnorrer_excitedly. "You let him make up the packets, and he has stolen mymoney--the thief, the transgressor, thrice-cursed who robs the poor."

  "You don't understand," interrupted the magnate meekly. "I made up thepackets myself."

  "Then, why do you say you did not know what was in them? Go, you mockmy misery!"

  "Nay, hear me out!" urged Grobstock desperately. "In some I placedgold, in the greater number silver, in a few copper, in onealone--nothing. That is the one you have drawn. It is yourmisfortune."

  "_My_ misfortune!" echoed the _Schnorrer_ scornfully. "It is _your_misfortune--I did not even draw it. The Holy One, blessed be He, haspunished you for your heartless jesting with the poor--making asport for yourself of their misfortunes, even as the Philistinessported with Samson. The good deed you might have put to your accountby a gratuity to me, God has taken from you. He has declared youunworthy of achieving righteousness through me. Go your way,murderer!"

  "Murderer!" repeated the philanthropist, bewildered by this harsh viewof his action.

  "Yes, murderer! Stands it not in the Talmud that he who shames anotheris as one who spills his blood? And have you not put me to shame--ifanyone had witnessed your almsgiving, would he not have laughed in mybeard?"

  The pillar of the Synagogue felt as if his paunch were shrinking.

  "But the others--" he murmured deprecatingly. "I have not shed theirblood--have I not given freely of my hard-earned gold?"

  "For your own diversion," retorted the _Schnorrer_ implacably. "Butwhat says the Midrash? There is a wheel rolling in the world--not hewho is rich to-day is rich to-morrow, but this one He brings up, andthis one He brings down, as is said in the seventy-fifth Psalm.Therefore, lift not up your horn on high, nor speak with a stiffneck."

  He towered above the unhappy capitalist, like an ancient prophetdenouncing a swollen monarch. The poor man put his hand involuntarilyto his high collar as if to explain away h
is apparent arrogance, butin reality because he was not breathing easily under the _Schnorrer's_attack.

  "You are an uncharitable man," he panted hotly, driven to a line ofdefence he had not anticipated. "I did it not from wantonness, butfrom faith in Heaven. I know well that God sits turning awheel--therefore I did not presume to turn it myself. Did I not letProvidence select who should have the silver and who the gold, who thecopper and who the emptiness? Besides, God alone knows who reallyneeds my assistance--I have made Him my almoner; I have cast my burdenon the Lord."

  "Epicurean!" shrieked the _Schnorrer_. "Blasphemer! Is it thus youwould palter with the sacred texts? Do you forget what the next versesays: 'Bloodthirsty and deceitful men shall not live out half theirdays'? Shame on you--you a _Gabbai_ (treasurer) of the GreatSynagogue. You see I know you, Joseph Grobstock. Has not the beadle ofyour Synagogue boasted to me that you have given him a guinea forbrushing your spatterdashes? Would you think of offering _him_ apacket? Nay, it is the poor that are trodden on--they whose merits arein excess of those of beadles. But the Lord will find others to takeup his loans--for he who hath pity on the poor lendeth to the Lord.You are no true son of Israel."

  The _Schnorrer's_ tirade was long enough to allow Grobstock to recoverhis dignity and his breath.

  "If you really knew me, you would know that the Lord is considerablyin my debt," he rejoined quietly. "When next you would discuss me,speak with the Psalms-men, not the beadle. Never have I neglected theneedy. Even now, though you have been insolent and uncharitable, I amready to befriend you if you are in want."

  "If I am in want!" repeated the _Schnorrer_ scornfully. "Is thereanything I do not want?"

  "You are married?"

  "You correct me--wife and children are the only things I do _not_lack."

  "No pauper does," quoth Grobstock, with a twinkle of restored humour.

  "No," assented the _Schnorrer_ sternly. "The poor man has the fear ofHeaven. He obeys the Law and the Commandments. He marries while he isyoung--and his spouse is not cursed with barrenness. It is the richman who transgresses the Judgment, who delays to come under theCanopy."

  "Ah! well, here is a guinea--in the name of my wife," brokein Grobstock laughingly. "Or stay--since you do not brushspatterdashes--here is another."

  "In the name of my wife," rejoined the _Schnorrer_ with dignity, "Ithank you."

  "Thank me in your own name," said Grobstock. "I mean tell it me."

  "I am Manasseh Bueno Barzillai Azevedo da Costa," he answered simply.

  "A Sephardi!" exclaimed the philanthropist.

  "Is it not written on my face, even as it is written on yours that youare a Tedesco? It is the first time that I have taken gold from one ofyour lineage."

  "Oh, indeed!" murmured Grobstock, beginning to feel small again.

  "Yes--are we not far richer than your community? What need have I totake the good deeds away from my own people--they have too fewopportunities for beneficence as it is, being so many of them wealthy;brokers and West India merchants, and--"

  "But I, too, am a financier, and an East India Director," Grobstockreminded him.

  "Maybe; but your community is yet young and struggling--your rich menare as the good men in Sodom for multitude. You are the immigrants ofyesterday--refugees from the Ghettoes of Russia and Poland andGermany. But we, as you are aware, have been established here forgenerations; in the Peninsula our ancestors graced the courts ofkings, and controlled the purse-strings of princes; in Holland we heldthe empery of trade. Ours have been the poets and scholars in Israel.You cannot expect that we should recognise your rabble, whichprejudices us in the eyes of England. We made the name of Jewhonourable; you degrade it. You are as the mixed multitude which cameup with our forefathers out of Egypt."

  "Nonsense!" said Grobstock sharply. "All Israel are brethren."

  "Esau was the brother of Israel," answered Manasseh sententiously."But you will excuse me if I go a-marketing, it is such a pleasure tohandle gold." There was a note of wistful pathos in the latter remarkwhich took off the edge of the former, and touched Joseph withcompunction for bandying words with a hungry man whose loved ones wereprobably starving patiently at home.

  "Certainly, haste away," he said kindly.

  "I shall see you again," said Manasseh, with a valedictory wave of hishand, and digging his staff into the cobblestones he journeyedforwards without bestowing a single backward glance upon hisbenefactor.

  Grobstock's road took him to Petticoat Lane in the wake of Manasseh.He had no intention of following him, but did not see why he shouldchange his route for fear of the _Schnorrer_, more especially asManasseh did not look back. By this time he had become conscious againof the bag he carried, but he had no heart to proceed with the fun. Hefelt conscience stricken, and had recourse to his pockets instead inhis progress through the narrow jostling market-street, where hescarcely ever bought anything personally save fish and good deeds. Hewas a connoisseur in both. To-day he picked up many a good deed cheap,paying pennies for articles he did not take away--shoe-latchets andcane-strings, barley-sugar and butter-cakes. Suddenly, through a chinkin an opaque mass of human beings, he caught sight of a smallattractive salmon on a fishmonger's slab. His eye glittered, his chopswatered. He elbowed his way to the vendor, whose eye caught acorresponding gleam, and whose finger went to his hat in respectfulgreeting.

  "Good afternoon, Jonathan," said Grobstock jovially, "I'll take thatsalmon there--how much?"

  "Pardon me," said a voice in the crowd, "I am just bargaining for it."

  Grobstock started. It was the voice of Manasseh.

  "Stop that nonsense, da Costa," responded the fishmonger. "You knowyou won't give me my price. It is the only one I have left," he added,half for the benefit of Grobstock. "I couldn't let it go under acouple of guineas."

  "Here's your money," cried Manasseh with passionate contempt, and senttwo golden coins spinning musically upon the slab.

  In the crowd sensation, in Grobstock's breast astonishment,indignation, and bitterness. He was struck momentarily dumb. His facepurpled. The scales of the salmon shone like a celestial vision thatwas fading from him by his own stupidity.

  "I'll take that salmon, Jonathan," he repeated, spluttering. "Threeguineas."

  "Pardon me," repeated Manasseh, "it is too late. This is not anauction." He seized the fish by the tail.

  Grobstock turned upon him, goaded to the point of apoplexy. "You!" hecried. "You--you--rogue! How dare you buy salmon!"

  "'YOU ROGUE! HOW DARE YOU BUY SALMON!'"]

  "Rogue yourself!" retorted Manasseh. "Would you have me stealsalmon?"

  "You have stolen my money, knave, rascal!"

  "Murderer! Shedder of blood! Did you not give me the money as afree-will offering, for the good of your wife's soul? I call on youbefore all these witnesses to confess yourself a slanderer!"

  "Slanderer, indeed! I repeat, you are a knave and a jackanapes. You--apauper--a beggar--with a wife and children. How can you have the faceto go and spend two guineas--two whole guineas--all you have in theworld--on a mere luxury like salmon?"

  Manasseh elevated his arched eyebrows.

  "If I do not buy salmon when I have two guineas," he answered quietly,"when shall I buy salmon? As you say, it is a luxury; very dear. It isonly on rare occasions like this that my means run to it." There was adignified pathos about the rebuke that mollified the magnate. He feltthat there was reason in the beggar's point of view--though it was apoint to which he would never himself have risen, unaided. Butrighteous anger still simmered in him; he felt vaguely that there wassomething to be said in reply, though he also felt that even if heknew what it was, it would have to be said in a lower key tocorrespond with Manasseh's transition from the high pitch of theopening passages. Not finding the requisite repartee he was silent.

  "In the name of my wife," went on Manasseh, swinging the salmon by thetail, "I ask you to clear my good name which you have bespattered inthe presence of my very tradesmen. Again I call upon you to
confessbefore these witnesses that you gave me the money yourself in charity.Come! Do you deny it?"

  "No, I don't deny it," murmured Grobstock, unable to understand why heappeared to himself like a whipped cur, or how what should have been aboast had been transformed into an apology to a beggar.

  "In the name of my wife, I thank you," said Manasseh. "She lovessalmon, and fries with unction. And now, since you have no further usefor that bag of yours, I will relieve you of its burden by taking mysalmon home in it." He took the canvas bag from the limp grasp of theastonished Tedesco, and dropped the fish in. The head protruded,surveying the scene with a cold, glassy, ironical eye.

  "THE HEAD PROTRUDED."]

  "Good afternoon all," said the _Schnorrer_ courteously.

  "One moment," called out the philanthropist, when he found his tongue."The bag is not empty--there are a number of packets still left init."

  "So much the better!" said Manasseh soothingly. "You will be savedfrom the temptation to continue shedding the blood of the poor, and Ishall be saved from spending _all_ your bounty upon salmon--anextravagance you were right to deplore."

  "But--but!" began Grobstock.

  "No--no 'buts,'" protested Manasseh, waving his bag deprecatingly."You were right. You admitted you were wrong before; shall I be lessmagnanimous now? In the presence of all these witnesses I acknowledgethe justice of your rebuke. I ought not to have wasted two guineas onone fish. It was not worth it. Come over here, and I will tell yousomething." He walked out of earshot of the by-standers, turning downa side alley opposite the stall, and beckoned with his salmon bag. TheEast India Director had no course but to obey. He would probably havefollowed him in any case, to have it out with him, but now he had ahumiliating sense of being at the _Schnorrer's_ beck and call.

  "Well, what more have you to say?" he demanded gruffly.

  "I wish to save you money in future," said the beggar in low,confidential tones. "That Jonathan is a son of the separation! Thesalmon is not worth two guineas--no, on my soul! If you had not comeup I should have got it for twenty-five shillings. Jonathan stuck onthe price when he thought you would buy. I trust you will not let mebe the loser by your arrival, and that if I should find less thanseventeen shillings in the bag you will make it up to me."

  The bewildered financier felt his grievance disappearing as by sleightof hand.

  Manasseh added winningly: "I know you are a gentleman, capable ofbehaving as finely as any Sephardi."

  This handsome compliment completed the _Schnorrer's_ victory, whichwas sealed by his saying, "And so I should not like you to have it onyour soul that you had done a poor man out of a few shillings."

  Grobstock could only remark meekly: "You will find more than seventeenshillings in the bag."

  "Ah, why were you born a Tedesco!" cried Manasseh ecstatically. "Doyou know what I have a mind to do? To come and be your Sabbath-guest!Yes, I will take supper with you next Friday, and we will welcome theBride--the holy Sabbath--together! Never before have I sat at thetable of a Tedesco--but you--you are a man after my own heart. Yoursoul is a son of Spain. Next Friday at six--do not forget."

  "But--but I do not have Sabbath-guests," faltered Grobstock.

  "Not have Sabbath-guests! No, no, I will not believe you are of thesons of Belial, whose table is spread only for the rich, who do notproclaim your equality with the poor even once a week. It is your finenature that would hide its benefactions. Do not I, Manasseh BuenoBarzillai Azevedo da Costa, have at my Sabbath-table every weekYankele ben Yitzchok--a Pole? And if I have a Tedesco at my table, whyshould I draw the line there? Why should I not permit you, a Tedesco,to return the hospitality to me, a Sephardi? At six, then! I know yourhouse well--it is an elegant building that does credit to yourtaste--do not be uneasy--I shall not fail to be punctual. _A Dios!_"

  This time he waved his stick fraternally, and stalked down a turning.For an instant Grobstock stood glued to the spot, crushed by a senseof the inevitable. Then a horrible thought occurred to him.

  "WAVED HIS STICK FRATERNALLY."]

  Easy-going man as he was, he might put up with the visitation ofManasseh. But then he had a wife, and, what was worse, a liveryservant. How could he expect a livery servant to tolerate such aguest? He might fly from the town on Friday evening, but that wouldnecessitate troublesome explanations. And Manasseh would come againthe next Friday. That was certain. Manasseh would be like grimdeath--his coming, though it might be postponed, was inevitable. Oh,it was too terrible. At all costs he must revoke the invitation(?).Placed between Scylla and Charybdis, between Manasseh and hismanservant, he felt he could sooner face the former.

  "Da Costa!" he called in agony. "Da Costa!"

  The _Schnorrer_ turned, and then Grobstock found he was mistaken inimagining he preferred to face da Costa.

  "You called me?" enquired the beggar.

  "Ye--e--s," faltered the East India Director, and stood paralysed.

  "What can I do for you?" said Manasseh graciously.

  "Would you mind--very much--if I--if I asked you--"

  "Not to come," was in his throat, but stuck there.

  "If you asked me--" said Manasseh encouragingly.

  "To accept some of my clothes," flashed Grobstock, with a suddeninspiration. After all, Manasseh was a fine figure of a man. If hecould get him to doff those musty garments of his he might almost passhim off as a prince of the blood, foreign by his beard--at any rate hecould be certain of making him acceptable to the livery servant. Hebreathed freely again at this happy solution of the situation.

  "Your cast-off clothes?" asked Manasseh. Grobstock was not surewhether the tone was supercilious or eager. He hastened to explain."No, not quite that. Second-hand things I am still wearing. My oldclothes were already given away at Passover to Simeon the Psalms-man.These are comparatively new."

  "Then I would beg you to excuse me," said Manasseh, with a statelywave of the bag.

  "Oh, but why not?" murmured Grobstock, his blood running cold again.

  "I cannot," said Manasseh, shaking his head.

  "But they will just about fit you," pleaded the philanthropist.

  "That makes it all the more absurd for you to give them to Simeon thePsalms-man," said Manasseh sternly. "Still, since he is yourclothes-receiver, I could not think of interfering with his office. Itis not etiquette. I am surprised you should ask me if I should mind.Of course I should mind--I should mind very much."

  "But he is not my clothes-receiver," protested Grobstock. "LastPassover was the first time I gave them to him, because my cousin,Hyam Rosenstein, who used to have them, has died."

  "But surely he considers himself your cousin's heir," said Manasseh."He expects all your old clothes henceforth."

  "No. I gave him no such promise."

  Manasseh hesitated.

  "Well, in that case--"

  "In that case," repeated Grobstock breathlessly.

  "On condition that I am to have the appointment permanently, ofcourse."

  "Of course," echoed Grobstock eagerly.

  "Because you see," Manasseh condescended to explain, "it hurts one'sreputation to lose a client."

  "Yes, yes, naturally," said Grobstock soothingly. "I quiteunderstand." Then, feeling himself slipping into futureembarrassments, he added timidly, "Of course they will not always beso good as the first lot, because--"

  "Say no more," Manasseh interrupted reassuringly, "I will come at onceand fetch them."

  "No. I will send them," cried Grobstock, horrified afresh.

  "I could not dream of permitting it. What! Shall I put you to all thattrouble which should rightly be mine? I will go at once--the mattershall be settled without delay, I promise you; as it is written, 'Imade haste and delayed not!' Follow me!" Grobstock suppressed a groan.Here had all his manoeuvring landed him in a worse plight than ever.He would have to present Manasseh to the livery servant without eventhat clean face which might not unreasonably have been expected forthe Sabbath. Despite the text quoted by the erudite
_Schnorrer_, hestrove to put off the evil hour.

  "Had you not better take the salmon home to your wife first?" said he.

  "My duty is to enable you to complete your good deed at once. My wifeis unaware of the salmon. She is in no suspense."

  Even as the _Schnorrer_ spake it flashed upon Grobstock that Manassehwas more presentable with the salmon than without it--in fact, thatthe salmon was the salvation of the situation. When Grobstock boughtfish he often hired a man to carry home the spoil. Manasseh would haveall the air of such a loafer. Who would suspect that the fish and eventhe bag belonged to the porter, though purchased with the gentleman'smoney? Grobstock silently thanked Providence for the ingenious way inwhich it had contrived to save his self-respect. As a merefish-carrier Manasseh would attract no second glance from thehousehold; once safely in, it would be comparatively easy to smugglehim out, and when he did come on Friday night it would be in themetamorphosing glories of a body-coat, with his unspeakableundergarment turned into a shirt and his turban knocked into a cockedhat.

  They emerged into Aldgate, and then turned down Leman Street, afashionable quarter, and so into Great Prescott Street. At thecritical street corner Grobstock's composure began to desert him: hetook out his handsomely ornamented snuff-box and administered tohimself a mighty pinch. It did him good, and he walked on and was wellnigh arrived at his own door when Manasseh suddenly caught him by acoat button.

  "ADMINISTERED A MIGHTY PINCH."]

  "Stand still a second," he cried imperatively.

  "What is it?" murmured Grobstock, in alarm.

  "You have spilt snuff all down your coat front," Manasseh repliedseverely. "Hold the bag a moment while I brush it off."

  Joseph obeyed, and Manasseh scrupulously removed every particle withsuch patience that Grobstock's was exhausted.

  "Thank you," he said at last, as politely as he could. "That will do."

  "No, it will not do," replied Manasseh. "I cannot have my coatspoiled. By the time it comes to me it will be a mass of stains if Idon't look after it."

  "Oh, is that why you took so much trouble?" said Grobstock, with anuneasy laugh.

  "Why else? Do you take me for a beadle, a brusher of gaiters?"enquired Manasseh haughtily. "There now! that is the cleanest I canget it. You would escape these droppings if you held your snuff-boxso--" Manasseh gently took the snuff-box and began to explain, walkingon a few paces.

  "Ah, we are at home!" he cried, breaking off the object-lessonsuddenly. He pushed open the gate, ran up the steps of the mansion andknocked thunderously, then snuffed himself magnificently from thebejewelled snuff-box.

  Behind came Joseph Grobstock, slouching limply, and carrying Manassehda Costa's fish.

  CHAPTER II.

  SHOWING HOW THE KING REIGNED.

  When he realised that he had been turned into a fish-porter, thefinancier hastened up the steps so as to be at the _Schnorrer's_ sidewhen the door opened.

  The livery-servant was visibly taken aback by the spectacle of theirjuxtaposition.

  "This salmon to the cook!" cried Grobstock desperately, handing himthe bag.

  "'THIS SALMON TO THE COOK!'"]

  Da Costa looked thunders, and was about to speak, but Grobstock's eyesought his in frantic appeal. "Wait a minute; I will settle with you,"he cried, congratulating himself on a phrase that would carry anothermeaning to Wilkinson's ears. He drew a breath of relief when theflunkey disappeared, and left them standing in the spacious hall withits statues and plants.

  "Is this the way you steal my salmon, after all?" demanded da Costahotly.

  "Hush, hush! I didn't mean to steal it! I will pay you for it!"

  "I refuse to sell! You coveted it from the first--you have broken theTenth Commandment, even as these stone figures violate the Second.Your invitation to me to accompany you here at once was a mere trick.Now I understand why you were so eager."

  "No, no, da Costa. Seeing that you placed the fish in my hands, I hadno option but to give it to Wilkinson, because--because--" Grobstockwould have had some difficulty in explaining, but Manasseh saved himthe pain.

  "You had to give _my_ fish to Wilkinson!" he interrupted. "Sir, Ithought you were a fine man, a man of honour. I admit that I placed myfish in your hands. But because I had no hesitation in allowing you tocarry it, this is how you repay my confidence!"

  In the whirl of his thoughts Grobstock grasped at the word "repay" asa swimmer in a whirlpool grasps at a straw.

  "I will repay your money!" he cried. "Here are your two guineas. Youwill get another salmon, and more cheaply. As you pointed out, youcould have got this for twenty-five shillings."

  "Two guineas!" ejaculated Manasseh contemptuously. "Why you offeredJonathan, the fishmonger, three!"

  Grobstock was astounded, but it was beneath him to bargain. And heremembered that, after all, he _would_ enjoy the salmon.

  "Well, here are three guineas," he said pacifically, offering them.

  "Three guineas!" echoed Manasseh, spurning them. "And what of myprofit?"

  "Profit!" gasped Grobstock.

  "Since you have made me a middle-man, since you have forced me intothe fish trade, I must have my profits like anybody else."

  "Here is a crown extra!"

  "And my compensation?"

  "What do you mean?" enquired Grobstock, exasperated. "Compensation forwhat?"

  "For what? For two things at the very least," Manasseh saidunswervingly. "In the first place," and as he began his logicallydivided reply his tone assumed the sing-song sacred to Talmudicaldialectics, "compensation for not eating the salmon myself. For it isnot as if I offered it you--I merely entrusted it to you, and it isordained in Exodus that if a man shall deliver unto his neighbour anass, or an ox, or a sheep, or any beast to keep, then for every matterof trespass, whether it be for ox, for ass, for sheep, for raiment, orfor any manner of lost thing, the man shall receive double, andtherefore you should pay me six guineas. And secondly--"

  "Not another farthing!" spluttered Grobstock, red as a turkey-cock.

  "Very well," said the _Schnorrer_ imperturbably, and, lifting up hisvoice, he called "Wilkinson!"

  "Hush!" commanded Grobstock. "What are you doing?"

  "I will tell Wilkinson to bring back my property."

  "Wilkinson will not obey you."

  "Not obey _me_! A servant! Why he is not even black! All the SephardimI visit have black pages--much grander than Wilkinson--and theytremble at my nod. At Baron D'Aguilar's mansion in Broad StreetBuildings there is a retinue of twenty-four servants, and they--"

  "And what is your second claim?"

  "Compensation for being degraded to fishmongering. I am not of thosewho sell things in the streets. I am a son of the Law, a student ofthe Talmud."

  "If a crown piece will satisfy each of these claims--"

  "I am not a blood-sucker--as it is said in the Talmud, TractatePassover, 'God loves the man who gives not way to wrath nor sticklesfor his rights'--that makes altogether three guineas and threecrowns."

  "Yes. Here they are."

  Wilkinson reappeared. "You called me, sir?" he said.

  "No, _I_ called you," said Manasseh, "I wished to give you a crown."

  And he handed him one of the three. Wilkinson took it, stupefied, andretired.

  "Did I not get rid of him cleverly?" said Manasseh. "You see how heobeys me!"

  "Ye-es."

  "I shall not ask you for more than the bare crown I gave him to saveyour honour."

  "To save my honour!"

  "Would you have had me tell him the real reason I called him was thathis master was a thief? No, sir, I was careful not to shed your bloodin public, though you had no such care for mine."

  "Here is the crown!" said Grobstock savagely. "Nay, here are three!"He turned out his breeches-pockets to exhibit their absolute nudity.

  "No, no," said Manasseh mildly, "I shall take but two. You had bestkeep the other--you may want a little silver." He pressed it into themagnate's hand.

&nbs
p; "You should not be so prodigal in future," he added, in kindlyreproach. "It is bad to be left with nothing in one's pocket--I knowthe feeling, and can sympathise with you." Grobstock stood speechless,clasping the crown of charity.

  Standing thus at the hall door, he had the air of Wilkinson, surprisedby a too generous vail.

  Da Costa cut short the crisis by offering his host a pinch from thejewel-crusted snuff-box. Grobstock greedily took the whole box, thebeggar resigning it to him without protest. In his gratitude for thisunexpected favour, Grobstock pocketed the silver insult withoutfurther ado, and led the way towards the second-hand clothes. Hewalked gingerly, so as not to awaken his wife, who was a great amateurof the siesta, and might issue suddenly from her apartment like aspider, but Manasseh stolidly thumped on the stairs with his staff.Happily the carpet was thick.

  The clothes hung in a mahogany wardrobe with a plateglass front inGrobstock's elegantly appointed bedchamber.

  Grobstock rummaged among them while Manasseh, parting the whitePersian curtains lined with pale pink, gazed out of the window towardsthe Tenterground that stretched in the rear of the mansion. Leaning onhis staff, he watched the couples promenading among the sunlitparterres and amid the shrubberies, in the cool freshness of decliningday. Here and there the vivid face of a dark-eyed beauty gleamed likea passion-flower. Manasseh surveyed the scene with bland benevolence;at peace with God and man.

  "GROBSTOCK RUMMAGED AMONG THEM."]

  He did not deign to bestow a glance upon the garments till Grobstockobserved: "There! I think that's all I can spare." Then he turnedleisurely and regarded--with the same benign aspect--the litterGrobstock had spread upon the bed--a medley of articles in excellentcondition, gorgeous neckerchiefs piled in three-cornered hats, andbuckled shoes trampling on white waistcoats. But his eye had scarcelyrested on them a quarter of a minute when a sudden flash came into it,and a spasm crossed his face.

  "Excuse me!" he cried, and hastened towards the door.

  "What's the matter?" exclaimed Grobstock, in astonished apprehension.Was his gift to be flouted thus?

  "I'll be back in a moment," said Manasseh, and hurried down thestairs.

  Relieved on one point, Grobstock was still full of vague alarms. Heran out on the landing. "What do you want?" he called down as loudlyas he dared.

  "My money!" said Manasseh.

  Imagining that the _Schnorrer_ had left the proceeds of the sale ofthe salmon in the hall, Joseph Grobstock returned to his room, andoccupied himself half-mechanically in sorting the garments he hadthrown higgledy-piggledy upon the bed. In so doing he espied amid theheap a pair of pantaloons entirely new and unworn which he hadcarelessly thrown in. It was while replacing this in the wardrobe thathe heard sounds of objurgation. The cook's voice--Hibernian andhigh-pitched--travelled unmistakably to his ears, and brought freshtrepidation to his heart. He repaired to the landing again, and cranedhis neck over the balustrade. Happily the sounds were evanescent; inanother minute Manasseh's head reappeared, mounting. When his lefthand came in sight, Grobstock perceived it was grasping the lucky-bagwith which a certain philanthropist had started out so joyously thatafternoon. The unlucky-bag he felt inclined to dub it now.

  "I have recovered it!" observed the _Schnorrer_ cheerfully. "As it iswritten, 'And David recovered all that the Amalekites had taken.' Yousee in the excitement of the moment I did not notice that you hadstolen my packets of silver as well as my salmon. Luckily your cookhad not yet removed the fish from the bag--I chid her all the same forneglecting to put it into water, and she opened her mouth not inwisdom. If she had not been a heathen I should have suspected her oftrickery, for I knew nothing of the amount of money in the bag, savingyour assurance that it did not fall below seventeen shillings, and itwould have been easy for her to replace the fish. Therefore, in thewords of David, will I give thanks unto Thee, O Lord, among theheathen."

  The mental vision of the irruption of Manasseh into the kitchen wasnot pleasant to Grobstock. However, he only murmured: "How came you tothink of it so suddenly?"

  "Looking at your clothes reminded me. I was wondering if you had leftanything in the pockets."

  The donor started--he knew himself a careless rascal--and made as ifhe would overhaul his garments. The glitter in Manasseh's eyepetrified him.

  "Do you--do you--mind my looking?" he stammered apologetically.

  "Am I a dog?" quoted the _Schnorrer_ with dignity. "Am I a thief thatyou should go over my pockets? If, when I get home," he conceded,commencing to draw distinctions with his thumb, "I should findanything in my pockets that is of no value to anybody but you, do youfear I will not return it? If, on the other hand, I find anything thatis of value to me, do you fear I will not keep it?"

  "No, but--but--" Grobstock broke down, scarcely grasping theargumentation despite his own clarity of financial insight; he onlyfelt vaguely that the _Schnorrer_ was--professionally enough--beggingthe question.

  "But what?" enquired Manasseh. "Surely you need not me to teach youyour duty. You cannot be ignorant of the Law of Moses on the point."

  "The Law of Moses says nothing on the point!"

  "Indeed! What says Deuteronomy? 'When thou reapest thine harvest inthy field, and hast forgot a sheaf in the field, thou shalt not goagain to fetch it: it shall be for the stranger, for the fatherless,and for the widow.' Is it not further forbidden to go over the boughsof thy olive-tree again, or to gather the fallen fruit of thyvineyard? You will admit that Moses would have added a prohibitionagainst searching minutely the pockets of cast-off garments, were itnot that for forty years our ancestors had to wander in the wildernessin the same clothes, which miraculously waxed with their growth. No, Ifeel sure you will respect the spirit of the law, for when I went downinto your kitchen and examined the door-post to see if you had nailedup a _mezuzah_ upon it, knowing that many Jews only flaunt _mezuzahs_on door-posts visible to visitors, it rejoiced me to find one belowstairs."

  Grobstock's magnanimity responded to the appeal. It would be indeedpetty to scrutinise his pockets, or to feel the linings for odd coins.After all he had Manasseh's promise to restore papers and everythingof no value.

  "Well, well," he said pleasantly, consoled by the thought his troubleshad now come to an end--for that day at least--"take them away as theyare."

  "It is all very well to say take them away," replied Manasseh, with atouch of resentment, "but what am I to take them in?"

  "Oh--ah--yes! There must be a sack somewhere--"

  "And do you think I would carry them away in a sack? Would you have melook like an old clo' man? I must have a box. I see several in thebox-room."

  "Very well," said Grobstock resignedly. "If there's an empty one youmay have it."

  Manasseh laid his stick on the dressing-table and carefully examinedthe boxes, some of which were carelessly open, while every lock had akey sticking in it. They had travelled far and wide with Grobstock,who invariably combined pleasure with business.

  "MANASSEH CAREFULLY EXAMINED THE BOXES."]

  "There is none quite empty," announced the _Schnorrer_, "but in thisone there are only a few trifles--a pair of galligaskins and suchlike--so that if you make me a present of them the box _will_ beempty, so far as you are concerned."

  "All right," said Grobstock, and actually laughed. The nearer thedeparture of the _Schnorrer_, the higher his spirits rose.

  Manasseh dragged the box towards the bed, and then for the first timesince his return from the under-regions, surveyed the medley ofgarments upon it.

  The light-hearted philanthropist, watching his face, saw it instantlychange to darkness, like a tropical landscape. His own face grewwhite. The _Schnorrer_ uttered an inarticulate cry, and turned astrange, questioning glance upon his patron.

  "What is it now?" faltered Grobstock.

  "I miss a pair of pantaloons!"

  "'I MISS A PAIR OF PANTALOONS!' HE SHRIEKED."]

  Grobstock grew whiter. "Nonsense! nonsense!" he muttered.

  "I--miss--a--pair--of--pa
ntaloons!" reiterated the _Schnorrer_deliberately.

  "Oh, no--you have all I can spare there," said Grobstock uneasily. The_Schnorrer_ hastily turned over the heap.

  Then his eye flashed fire; he banged his fist on the dressing-table toaccompany each _staccato_ syllable.

  "I--miss--a--pair--of--pan--ta--loons!" he shrieked.

  The weak and ductile donor had a bad quarter of a minute.

  "Perhaps," he stammered at last, "you--m--mean--the new pair I foundhad got accidentally mixed up with them."

  "Of course I mean the new pair! And so you took them away! Justbecause I wasn't looking. I left the room, thinking I had to do with aman of honour. If you had taken an old pair I shouldn't have minded somuch; but to rob a poor man of his brand-new breeches!"

  "I must have them," cried Grobstock irascibly. "I have to go to areception to-morrow, and they are the only pair I shall have to wear.You see I--"

  "Oh, very well," interrupted the _Schnorrer_, in low, indifferenttones.

  After that there was a dead silence. The _Schnorrer_ majesticallyfolded some silk stockings and laid them in the box. Upon them hepacked other garments in stern, sorrowful _hauteur_. Grobstock's soulbegan to tingle with pricks of compunction. Da Costa completed histask, but could not shut the overcrowded box. Grobstock silentlyseated his weighty person upon the lid. Manasseh neither resented norwelcomed him. When he had turned the key he mutely tilted the sitteroff the box and shouldered it with consummate ease. Then he took hisstaff and strode from the room. Grobstock would have followed him, butthe _Schnorrer_ waved him back.

  "TILTED THE SITTER OFF THE BOX."]

  "On Friday, then," the conscience-stricken magnate said feebly.

  Manasseh did not reply; he slammed the door instead, shutting in themaster of the house.

  Grobstock fell back on the bed exhausted, looking not unlike thetumbled litter of clothes he replaced. In a minute or two he raisedhimself and went to the window, and stood watching the sun set behindthe trees of the Tenterground. "At any rate I've done with him," hesaid, and hummed a tune. The sudden bursting open of the door froze itupon his lips. He was almost relieved to find the intruder was onlyhis wife.

  "What have you done with Wilkinson?" she cried vehemently. She was apale, puffy-faced, portly matron, with a permanent air of rememberingthe exact figure of her dowry.

  "With Wilkinson, my dear? Nothing."

  "Well, he isn't in the house. I want him, but cook says you've senthim out."

  "I? Oh, no," he returned, with dawning uneasiness, looking away fromher sceptical gaze.

  Suddenly his pupils dilated. A picture from without had painted itselfon his retina. It was a picture of Wilkinson--Wilkinson the austere,Wilkinson the unbending--treading the Tenterground gravel, curvedbeneath a box! Before him strode the _Schnorrer_.

  Never during all his tenure of service in Goodman's Fields hadWilkinson carried anything on his shoulders but his livery. Grobstockwould have as soon dreamt of his wife consenting to wear cotton. Herubbed his eyes, but the image persisted.

  He clutched at the window curtains to steady himself.

  "My Persian curtains!" cried his wife. "What is the matter with you?"

  "He must be the Baal Shem himself!" gasped Grobstock unheeding.

  "What is it? What are you looking at?"

  "N--nothing."

  Mrs. Grobstock incredulously approached the window and stared throughthe panes. She saw Wilkinson in the gardens, but did not recognise himin his new attitude. She concluded that her husband's agitation musthave some connection with a beautiful brunette who was tasting thecool of the evening in a sedan chair, and it was with a touch ofasperity that she said: "Cook complains of being insulted by a saucyfellow who brought home your fish."

  "Oh!" said poor Grobstock. Was he never to be done with the man?

  "How came you to send him to her?"

  His anger against Manasseh resurged under his wife's peevishness.

  "My dear," he cried, "I did not send him anywhere--except to thedevil."

  "Joseph! You might keep such language for the ears of creatures insedan chairs."

  And Mrs. Grobstock flounced out of the room with a rustle of angrysatin.

  When Wilkinson reappeared, limp and tired, with his pompousness exudedin perspiration, he sought his master with a message, which hedelivered ere the flood of interrogation could burst from Grobstock'slips.

  "Mr. da Costa presents his compliments, and says that he has decidedon reconsideration not to break his promise to be with you on Fridayevening."

  "Oh, indeed!" said Grobstock grimly. "And, pray, how came you to carryhis box?"

  "You told me to, sir!"

  "_I_ told you!"

  "I mean he told me you told me to," said Wilkinson wonderingly."Didn't you?"

  Grobstock hesitated. Since Manasseh _would_ be his guest, was it notimprudent to give him away to the livery-servant? Besides, he felt asecret pleasure in Wilkinson's humiliation--but for the _Schnorrer_ hewould never have known that Wilkinson's gold lace concealed a pliablepersonality. The proverb "Like master like man" did not occur toGrobstock at this juncture.

  "I only meant you to carry it to a coach," he murmured.

  "He said it was not worth while--the distance was so short."

  "Ah! Did you see his house?" enquired Grobstock curiously.

  "Yes; a very fine house in Aldgate, with a handsome portico and twostone lions."

  Grobstock strove hard not to look surprised.

  "I handed the box to the footman."

  Grobstock strove harder.

  Wilkinson ended with a weak smile: "Would you believe, sir, I thoughtat first he brought home your fish! He dresses so peculiarly. He mustbe an original."

  "Yes, yes; an eccentric like Baron D'Aguilar, whom he visits," saidGrobstock eagerly. He wondered, indeed, whether he was not speakingthe truth. Could he have been the victim of a practical joke, a prank?Did not a natural aristocracy ooze from every pore of his mysteriousvisitor? Was not every tone, every gesture, that of a man born torule? "You must remember, too," he added, "that he is a Spaniard."

  "Ah, I see," said Wilkinson in profound accents.

  "I daresay he dresses like everybody else, though, when he dines orsups out," Grobstock added lightly. "I only brought him in byaccident. But go to your mistress! She wants you."

  "Yes, sir. Oh, by the way, I forgot to tell you he hopes you will savehim a slice of his salmon."

  "Go to your mistress!"

  "You did not tell me a Spanish nobleman was coming to us on Friday,"said his spouse later in the evening.

  "No," he admitted curtly.

  "But is he?"

  "No--at least, not a nobleman."

  "What then? I have to learn about my guests from my servants."

  "Apparently."

  "Oh! and you think that's right!"

  "To gossip with your servants? Certainly not."

  "If my husband will not tell me anything--if he has only eyes forsedan chairs."

  Joseph thought it best to kiss Mrs. Grobstock.

  "THOUGHT IT BEST TO KISS MRS. GROBSTOCK."]

  "A fellow-Director, I suppose?" she urged, more mildly.

  "A fellow-Israelite. He has promised to come at six."

  Manasseh was punctual to the second. Wilkinson ushered him in. Thehostess had robed herself in her best to do honour to a situationwhich her husband awaited with what hope he could. She looked radiantin a gown of blue silk; her hair was done in a tuft and round her neckwas an "esclavage," consisting of festoons of gold chains. The Sabbathtable was equally festive with its ponderous silver candelabra,coffee-urn, and consecration cup, its flower-vases, and fruit-salvers.The dining-room itself was a handsome apartment; its buffets glitteredwith Venetian glass and Dresden porcelain, and here and there giltpedestals supported globes of gold and silver fish.

  At the first glance at his guest Grobstock's blood ran cold.

  Manasseh had not turned a hair, nor changed a single garment.
At thenext glance Grobstock's blood boiled. A second figure loomed inManasseh's wake--a short _Schnorrer_, even dingier than da Costa, andwith none of his dignity, a clumsy, stooping _Schnorrer_, with acajoling grin on his mud-coloured, hairy face. Neither removed hisheadgear.

  Mrs. Grobstock remained glued to her chair in astonishment.

  "Peace be unto you," said the King of _Schnorrers_, "I have broughtwith me my friend Yankele ben Yitzchok of whom I told you."

  Yankele nodded, grinning harder than ever.

  "You never told me he was coming," Grobstock rejoined, with anapoplectic air.

  "Did I not tell you that he always supped with me on Friday evenings?"Manasseh reminded him quietly. "It is so good of him to accompany meeven here--he will make the necessary third at grace."

  The host took a frantic surreptitious glance at his wife. It wasevident that her brain was in a whirl, the evidence of her sensesconflicting with vague doubts of the possibilities of Spanishgrandeeism and with a lingering belief in her husband's sanity.

  Grobstock resolved to snatch the benefit of her doubts. "My dear,"said he, "this is Mr. da Costa."

  "Manasseh Bueno Barzillai Azevedo da Costa," said the _Schnorrer_.

  The dame seemed a whit startled and impressed. She bowed, but words ofwelcome were still congealed in her throat.

  "And this is Yankele ben Yitzchok," added Manasseh. "A poor friend ofmine. I do not doubt, Mrs. Grobstock, that as a pious woman, thedaughter of Moses Bernberg (his memory for a blessing), you prefergrace with three."

  "'AND THIS IS YANKELE BEN YITZCHOK,' ADDED MANASSEH."]

  "Any friend of yours is welcome!" She found her lips murmuring theconventional phrase without being able to check their output.

  "I never doubted that either," said Manasseh gracefully. "Is not thehospitality of Moses Bernberg's beautiful daughter a proverb?"

  Moses Bernberg's daughter could not deny this; her salon was therendezvous of rich bagmen, brokers and bankers, tempered by occasionalyoung bloods and old bucks not of the Jewish faith (nor any other).But she had never before encountered a personage so magnificentlyshabby, nor extended her proverbial hospitality to a Polish_Schnorrer_ uncompromisingly musty. Joseph did not dare meet her eye.

  "Sit down there, Yankele," he said hurriedly, in ghastly genialaccents, and he indicated a chair at the farthest possible point fromthe hostess. He placed Manasseh next to his Polish parasite, andseated himself as a buffer between his guests and his wife. He wasburning with inward indignation at the futile rifling of his wardrobe,but he dared not say anything in the hearing of his spouse.

  "It is a beautiful custom, this of the Sabbath guest, is it not, Mrs.Grobstock?" remarked Manasseh as he took his seat. "I never neglectit--even when I go out to the Sabbath-meal as to-night."

  The late Miss Bernberg was suddenly reminded of auld lang syne: herfather (who according to a wag of the period had divided his timebetween the Law and the profits) having been a depositary of ancienttradition. Perhaps these obsolescent customs, unsuited to prosperoustimes, had lingered longer among the Spanish grandees. She seized anearly opportunity, when the Sephardic _Schnorrer_ was taking hiscoffee from Wilkinson, of putting the question to her husband, whofell in weakly with her illusions. He knew there was no danger ofManasseh's beggarly status leaking out; no expressions of gratitudewere likely to fall from that gentleman's lips. He even hinted that daCosta dressed so fustily to keep his poor friend in countenance.Nevertheless, Mrs. Grobstock, while not without admiration for theQuixotism, was not without resentment for being dragged into it. Shefelt that such charity should begin and end at home.

  "I see you did save me a slice of salmon," said Manasseh, manipulatinghis fish.

  "What salmon was that?" asked the hostess, pricking up her ears.

  "One I had from Mr. da Costa on Wednesday," said the host.

  "Oh, that! It was delicious. I am sure it was very kind of you, Mr. daCosta, to make us such a nice present," said the hostess, herresentment diminishing. "We had company last night, and everybodypraised it till none was left. This is another, but I hope it is toyour liking," she finished anxiously.

  "Yes, it's very fair, very fair, indeed. I don't know when I've tastedbetter, except at the house of the President of the _Deputados_. ButYankele here is a connoisseur in fish, not easy to please. What sayyou, Yankele?"

  Yankele munched a muffled approval.

  "Help yourself to more bread and butter, Yankele," said Manasseh."Make yourself at home--remember you're my guest." Silently he added:"The other fork!"

  Grobstock's irritation found vent in a complaint that the salad wantedvinegar.

  "How can you say so? It's perfect," said Mrs. Grobstock. "Salad iscook's speciality."

  Manasseh tasted it critically. "On salads you must come to me," hesaid. "It does not want vinegar," was his verdict; "but a little moreoil would certainly improve it. Oh, there is no one dresses salad likeHyman!"

  Hyman's fame as the _Kosher chef_ who superintended the big dinners atthe London Tavern had reached Mrs. Grobstock's ears, and she wasproportionately impressed.

  "They say his pastry is so good," she observed, to be in the running.

  "Yes," said Manasseh, "in kneading and puffing he stands alone."

  "Our cook's tarts are quite as nice," said Grobstock roughly.

  "We shall see," Manasseh replied guardedly. "Though, as foralmond-cakes, Hyman himself makes none better than I get from mycousin, Barzillai of Fenchurch Street."

  "Your cousin!" exclaimed Grobstock, "the West Indian merchant!"

  "The same--formerly of Barbadoes. Still, your cook knows how to makecoffee, though I can tell you do not get it direct from the plantationlike the wardens of my Synagogue."

  Grobstock was once again piqued with curiosity as to the _Schnorrer's_identity.

  "You accuse me of having stone figures in my house," he said boldly,"but what about the lions in front of yours?"

  "I have no lions," said Manasseh.

  "Wilkinson told me so. Didn't you, Wilkinson?"

  "Wilkinson is a slanderer. That was the house of Nathaniel Furtado."

  Grobstock began to choke with chagrin. He perceived at once that the_Schnorrer_ had merely had the clothes conveyed direct to the house ofa wealthy private dealer.

  "Take care!" exclaimed the _Schnorrer_ anxiously, "you are splutteringsauce all over that waistcoat, without any consideration for me."

  Joseph suppressed himself with an effort. Open discussion would betraymatters to his wife, and he was now too deeply enmeshed in falsehoodsby default. But he managed to whisper angrily, "Why did you tellWilkinson I ordered him to carry your box?"

  "To save your credit in his eyes. How was he to know we hadquarrelled? He would have thought you discourteous to your guest."

  "That's all very fine. But why did you sell my clothes?"

  "You did not expect me to wear them? No, I know my station, thankGod."

  "What is that you are saying, Mr. da Costa?" asked the hostess.

  "Oh, we are talking of Dan Mendoza," replied Grobstock glibly;"wondering if he'll beat Dick Humphreys at Doncaster."

  "Oh, Joseph, didn't you have enough of Dan Mendoza at supper lastnight?" protested his wife.

  "It is not a subject _I_ ever talk about," said the _Schnorrer_,fixing his host with a reproachful glance.

  Grobstock desperately touched his foot under the table, knowing he wasselling his soul to the King of _Schnorrers_, but too flaccid to facethe moment.

  "No, da Costa doesn't usually," he admitted. "Only Dan Mendoza being aPortuguese I happened to ask if he was ever seen in the Synagogue."

  "If I had my way," growled da Costa, "he should be excommunicated--abruiser, a defacer of God's image!"

  "By gad, no!" cried Grobstock, stirred up. "If you had seen him lickthe Badger in thirty-five minutes on a twenty-four foot stage--"

  "Joseph! Joseph! Remember it is the Sabbath!" cried Mrs. Grobstock.

  "I would willingly exchange our Dan Mend
oza for your David Levi," saidda Costa severely.

  David Levi was the literary ornament of the Ghetto; a shoe-maker andhat-dresser who cultivated Hebrew philology and the Muses, and broke alance in defence of his creed with Dr. Priestley, the discoverer ofOxygen, and Tom Paine, the discoverer of Reason.

  "Pshaw! David Levi! The mad hatter!" cried Grobstock. "He makesnothing at all out of his books."

  "You should subscribe for more copies," retorted Manasseh.

  "I would if you wrote them," rejoined Grobstock, with a grimace.

  "I got six copies of his _Lingua Sacra_," Manasseh declared withdignity, "and a dozen of his translation of the Pentateuch."

  "You can afford it!" snarled Grobstock, with grim humour. "I have toearn my money."

  "It is very good of Mr. da Costa, all the same," interposed thehostess. "How many men, born to great possessions, remain quiteindifferent to learning!"

  "True, most true," said da Costa. "Men-of-the-Earth, most of them."

  After supper he trolled the Hebrew grace hilariously, assisted byYankele, and ere he left he said to the hostess, "May the Lord blessyou with children!"

  "Thank you," she answered, much moved.

  "You see I should be so pleased to marry your daughter if you hadone."

  "You are very complimentary," she murmured, but her husband'sexclamation drowned hers, "You marry my daughter!"

  "Who else moves among better circles--would be more easily able tofind her a suitable match?"

  "Oh, in _that_ sense," said Grobstock, mollified in one direction,irritated in another.

  "In what other sense? You do not think I, a Sephardi, would marry hermyself!"

  "My daughter does not need your assistance," replied Grobstockshortly.

  "Not yet," admitted Manasseh, rising to go; "but when the time comes,where will you find a better marriage broker? I have had a finger inthe marriage of greater men's daughters. You see, when I recommend amaiden or a young man it is from no surface knowledge. I have seenthem in the intimacy of their homes--above all I am able to saywhether they are of a good, charitable disposition. Good Sabbath!"

  "Good Sabbath," murmured the host and hostess in farewell. Mrs.Grobstock thought he need not be above shaking hands, for all hisgrand acquaintances.

  "This way, Yankele," said Manasseh, showing him to the door. "I am soglad you were able to come--you must come again."

  CHAPTER III.

  SHOWING HOW HIS MAJESTY WENT TO THE THEATRE AND WAS WOOED.

  As Manasseh the Great, first beggar in Europe, sauntered acrossGoodman's Fields, attended by his Polish parasite, both serenelydigesting the supper provided by the Treasurer of the Great Synagogue,Joseph Grobstock, a martial music clove suddenly the quiet eveningair, and set the _Schnorrers'_ pulses bounding. From the Tentergroundemerged a squad of recruits, picturesque in white fatigue dress,against which the mounted officers showed gallant in blue surtouts andscarlet-striped trousers.

  "Ah!" said da Costa, with swelling breast. "There go my soldiers!"

  "'THERE GO MY SOLDIERS.'"]

  "Your soldiers!" ejaculated Yankele in astonishment.

  "Yes--do you not see they are returning to the India House inLeadenhall Street?"

  "And vat of dat?" said Yankele, shrugging his shoulders and spreadingout his palms.

  "What of that? Surely you have not forgotten that the clodpate atwhose house I have just entertained you is a Director of the EastIndia Company, whose soldiers these are?"

  "Oh," said Yankele, his mystified face relaxing in a smile. The smilefled before the stern look in the Spaniard's eyes; he hastened toconceal his amusement. Yankele was by nature a droll, and it cost hima good deal to take his patron as seriously as that potentate tookhimself. Perhaps if Manasseh Bueno Barzillai Azevedo da Costa had hadmore humour he would have had less momentum. Your man of action isblind in one eye. Caesar would not have come and conquered if he hadreally seen.

  Wounded by that temporary twinkle in his client's eye, the patronmoved on silently, in step with the military air.

  "It is a beautiful night," observed Yankele in contrition. The wordshad hardly passed his lips before he became conscious that he hadspoken the truth. The moon was peeping from behind a white cloud, andthe air was soft, and broken shadows of foliage lay across the path,and the music was a song of love and bravery. Somehow, Yankele beganto think of da Costa's lovely daughter. Her face floated in themoonlight.

  Manasseh shrugged his shoulders, unappeased.

  "When one has supped well, it is always a beautiful night," he saidtestily. It was as if the cloud had overspread the moon, and a thickveil had fallen over the face of da Costa's lovely daughter. ButYankele recovered himself quickly.

  "Ah, yes," he said, "you have indeed made it a beaudiful night forme."

  The King of _Schnorrers_ waved his staff deprecatingly.

  "It is alvays a beaudiful night ven I am mid _you_," added Yankele,undaunted.

  "It is strange," replied Manasseh musingly, "that I should haveadmitted to my hearth and Grobstock's table one who is, after all, buta half-brother in Israel."

  "But Grobstock is also a Tedesco," protested Yankele.

  "That is also what I wonder at," rejoined da Costa. "I cannot make outhow I have come to be so familiar with him."

  "You see!" ventured the Tedesco timidly. "P'raps ven Grobstock hadreally had a girl you might even have come to marry her."

  "Guard your tongue! A Sephardi cannot marry a Tedesco! It would be adegradation."

  "Yes--but de oder vay round. A Tedesco _can_ marry a Sephardi, not so?Dat is a rise. If Grobstock's daughter had married you, she vould havemarried above her," he ended, with an ingenuous air.

  "True," admitted Manasseh. "But then, as Grobstock's daughter does notexist, and my wife does--!"

  "Ah, but if you vas me," said Yankele, "vould you rader marry aTedesco or a Sephardi?"

  "A Sephardi, of course. But--"

  "I vill be guided by you," interrupted the Pole hastily. "You be devisest man I have ever known."

  "But--" Manasseh repeated.

  "Do not deny it. You be! Instantly vill I seek out a Sephardi maidenand ved her. P'raps you crown your counsel by choosing von for me.Vat?"

  Manasseh was visibly mollified.

  "How do I know your taste?" he asked hesitatingly.

  "Oh, any Spanish girl would be a prize," replied Yankele. "Even venshe had a face like a Passover cake. But still I prefer a Pentecostblossom."

  "What kind of beauty do you like best?"

  "Your daughter's style," plumply answered the Pole.

  "But there are not many like that," said da Costa unsuspiciously.

  "No--she is like de Rose of Sharon. But den dere are not many handsomefaders."

  Manasseh bethought himself. "There is Gabriel, the corpse-watcher'sdaughter. People consider his figure and deportment good."

  "Pooh! Offal! She's ugly enough to keep de Messiah from coming. Vy,she's like cut out of de fader's face! Besides, consider hisoccupation! You vould not advise dat I marry into such a low family!Be you not my benefactor?"

  "Well, but I cannot think of any good-looking girl that would besuitable."

  Yankele looked at him with a roguish, insinuating smile. "Say not dat!Have you not told Grobstock you be de first of marriage-brokers?"

  But Manasseh shook his head.

  "No, you be quite right," said Yankele humbly; "I could not get areally beaudiful girl unless I married your Deborah herself."

  "No, I am afraid not," said Manasseh sympathetically.

  Yankele took the plunge.

  "Ah, vy can I not hope to call you fader-in-law?"

  Manasseh's face was contorted by a spasm of astonishment andindignation. He came to a standstill.

  "Dat must be a fine piece," said Yankele quickly, indicating aflamboyant picture of a fearsome phantom hovering over a sombre moat.

  "'DAT MUST BE A FINE PIECE.'"]

  They had arrived at Leman Street, and had stopped before
Goodman'sFields Theatre. Manasseh's brow cleared.

  "It is _The Castle Spectre_," he said graciously. "Would you like tosee it?"

  "But it is half over--"

  "Oh, no," said da Costa, scanning the play bill. "There was a farce byO'Keefe to start with. The night is yet young. The drama will be justbeginning."

  "But it is de Sabbath--ve must not pay."

  Manasseh's brow clouded again in wrathful righteous surprise. "Did youthink I was going to pay?" he gasped.

  "N-n-no," stammered the Pole, abashed. "But you haven't got noorders?"

  "Orders? Me? Will you do me the pleasure of accepting a seat in mybox?"

  "In your box?"

  "Yes, there is plenty of room. Come this way," said Manasseh. "Ihaven't been to the play myself for over a year. I am too busy always.It will be an agreeable change."

  Yankele hung back, bewildered.

  "Through this door," said Manasseh encouragingly. "Come--you shalllead the way."

  "But dey vill not admit me!"

  "Will not admit you! When I give you a seat in my box! Are you mad?Now you shall just go in without me--I insist upon it. I will show youManasseh Bueno Barzillai Azevedo da Costa is a man whose word is theLaw of Moses; true as the Talmud. Walk straight through the portico,and, if the attendant endeavours to stop you, simply tell him Mr. daCosta has given you a seat in his box."

  Not daring to exhibit scepticism--nay, almost confident in the powersof his extraordinary protector, Yankele put his foot on the thresholdof the lobby.

  "But you be coming, too?" he said, turning back.

  "Oh, yes, I don't intend to miss the performance. Have no fear."

  Yankele walked boldly ahead, and brushed by the door-keeper of thelittle theatre without appearing conscious of him; indeed, theofficial was almost impressed into letting the _Schnorrer_ passunquestioned as one who had gone out between the acts. But the visitorwas too dingy for anything but the stage-door--he had the air of thosenondescript beings who hang mysteriously about the hinder recesses ofplayhouses. Recovering himself just in time, the functionary (a meeklittle Cockney) hailed the intruder with a backward-drawing "Hi!"

  "Vat you vant?" said Yankele, turning his head.

  "Vhere's your ticket?"

  "Don't vant no ticket."

  "Don't you? I does," rejoined the little man, who was a humorist.

  "Mr. da Costa has given me a seat in his box."

  "Oh, indeed! You'd swear to that in the box?"

  "By my head. He gave it me."

  "A seat in his box?"

  "Yes."

  "Mr. da Costa, you vos a-sayin', I think?"

  "The same."

  "Ah! this vay, then!"

  And the humorist pointed to the street.

  Yankele did not budge.

  "This vay, my lud!" cried the little humorist peremptorily.

  "I tells you I'm going into Mr. da Costa's box!"

  "And I tells you you're a-goin' into the gutter." And the officialseized him by the scruff of the neck and began pushing him forwardswith his knee.

  "Now then! what's this?"

  "'NOW THEN! WHAT'S THIS?'"]

  A stern, angry voice broke like a thunderclap upon the humorist'sears. He released his hold of the _Schnorrer_ and looked up, to beholda strange, shabby, stalwart figure towering over him in censoriousmajesty.

  "Why are you hustling this poor man?" demanded Manasseh.

  "He wanted to sneak in," the little Cockney replied, halfapologetically, half resentfully. "Expect 'e 'ails from Saffron 'Ill,and 'as 'is eye on the vipes. Told me some gammon--a cock-and-bullstory about having a seat in a box."

  "In Mr. da Costa's box, I suppose?" said Manasseh, ominously calm,with a menacing glitter in his eye.

  "Ye-es," said the humorist, astonished and vaguely alarmed. Then thestorm burst.

  "You impertinent scoundrel! You jackanapes! You low, beggarlyrapscallion! And so you refused to show my guest into my box!"

  "Are you Mr. da Costa?" faltered the humorist.

  "Yes, _I_ am Mr. da Costa, but _you_ won't much longer be door-keeper,if this is the way you treat people who come to see your pieces.Because, forsooth, the man looks poor, you think you can bully himsafely--forgive me, Yankele, I am so sorry I did not manage to comehere before you, and spare you this insulting treatment! And as foryou, my fine fellow, let me tell you that you make a great mistake injudging from appearances. There are some good friends of mine whocould buy up your theatre and you and your miserable little soul at amoment's notice, and to look at them you would think they werecadgers. One of these days--hark you!--you will kick out a person ofquality, and be kicked out yourself."

  "I--I'm very sorry, sir."

  "Don't say that to me. It is my guest you owe an apology to. Yes--and,by Heaven! you shall pay it, though he is no plutocrat, but only whathe appears. Surely, because I wish to give a treat to a poor man whohas, perhaps, never been to the play in his life, I am not bound tosend him to the gallery--I can give him a corner in my box if Ichoose. There is no rule against that, I presume?"

  "No, sir, I can't say as there is," said the humorist humbly. "But youwill allow, sir, it's rayther unusual."

  "Unusual! Of course, it's unusual. Kindness and consideration for thepoor are always unusual. The poor are trodden upon at everyopportunity, treated like dogs, not men. If I had invited a drunkenfop, you'd have met him hat in hand (no, no, you needn't take it offto me now; it's too late). But a sober, poor man--by gad! I shallreport your incivility to the management, and you'll be lucky if Idon't thrash you with this stick into the bargain."

  "But 'ow vos I to know, sir?"

  "Don't speak to me, I tell you. If you have anything to urge inextenuation of your disgraceful behaviour, address your remarks to myguest."

  "You'll overlook it this time, sir," said the little humorist, turningto Yankele.

  "Next time, p'raps, you believe me ven I say I have a seat in Mr. daCosta's box," replied Yankele, in gentle reproach.

  "Well, if _you're_ satisfied, Yankele," said Manasseh, with a touch ofscorn, "I have no more to say. Go along, my man, show us to our box."

  The official bowed and led them into the corridor. Suddenly he turnedback.

  "What box is it, please?" he said timidly.

  "Blockhead!" cried Manasseh. "Which box should it be? The empty one,of course."

  "But, sir, there are two boxes empty," urged the poor humoristdeprecatingly, "the stage-box and the one by the gallery."

  "Dolt! Do I look the sort of person who is content with a box on theceiling? Go back to your post, sir--I'll find the box myself--Heavensend you wisdom--go back, some one might sneak in while you are away,and it would just serve you right."

  The little man slunk back half dazed, glad to escape from thisoverwhelming personality, and in a few seconds Manasseh stalked intothe empty box, followed by Yankele, whose mouth was a grin and whoseeye a twinkle. As the Spaniard took his seat there was a slightoutburst of clapping and stamping from a house impatient for the endof the _entr'acte_.

  Manasseh craned his head over the box to see the house, which in turncraned to see him, glad of any diversion, and some people, imaginingthe applause had reference to the new-comer, whose head appeared tobe that of a foreigner of distinction, joined in it. The contagionspread, and in a minute Manasseh was the cynosure of all eyes and theunmistakable recipient of an "ovation." He bowed twice or thrice inunruffled dignity.

  "HE BOWED."]

  There were some who recognised him, but they joined in the receptionwith wondering amusement. Not a few, indeed, of the audience wereJews, for Goodman's Fields was the Ghetto Theatre, and the Sabbath wasnot a sufficient deterrent to a lax generation. The audiences--mainlyGerman and Poles--came to the little unfashionable playhouse as onehappy family. Distinctions of rank were trivial, and gallery heldconverse with circle, and pit collogued with box. Supper parties wereheld on the benches.

  In a box that gave on the pit a portly Jewess sat stiffly, array
ed inthe very pink of fashion, in a spangled robe of India muslin, with adiamond necklace and crescent, her head crowned by terraces of curlsand flowers.

  "Betsy!" called up a jovial feminine voice from the pit, when theapplause had subsided.

  "Betsy" did not move, but her cheeks grew hot and red. She had got onin the world, and did not care to recognise her old crony.

  "Betsy!" iterated the well-meaning woman. "By your life and mine, youmust taste a piece of my fried fish." And she held up a slice of coldplaice, beautifully browned.

  Betsy drew back, striving unsuccessfully to look unconscious. To herrelief the curtain rose, and _The Castle Spectre_ walked. Yankele, whohad scarcely seen anything but private theatricals, representing thediscomfiture of the wicked Haman and the triumph of Queen Esther (a_role_ he had once played himself, in his mother's old clothes), wasdelighted with the thrills and terrors of the ghostly melodrama. Itwas not till the conclusion of the second act that the emotion thebeautiful but injured heroine cost him welled over again intomatrimonial speech.

  "Ve vind up de night glorious," he said.

  "I am glad you like it. It is certainly an enjoyable performance,"Manasseh answered with stately satisfaction.

  "Your daughter, Deborah," Yankele ventured timidly, "do she ever go tode play?"

  "No, I do not take my womankind about. Their duty lies at home. As itis written, I call my wife not 'wife' but 'home.'"

  "But dink how dey vould enjoy deirselves!"

  "We are not sent here to enjoy ourselves."

  "True--most true," said Yankele, pulling a smug face. "Ve be sent hereto obey de Law of Moses. But do not remind me I be a sinner inIsrael."

  "How so?"

  "I am twenty-five--yet I have no vife."

  "I daresay you had plenty in Poland."

  "By my soul, not. Only von, and her I gave _gett_ (divorce) forbarrenness. You can write to de Rabbi of my town."

  "Why should I write? It's not my affair."

  "But I vant it to be your affair."

  Manasseh glared. "Do you begin that again?" he murmured.

  "It is not so much dat I desire your daughter for a vife as you for afader-in-law."

  "It cannot be!" said Manasseh more gently.

  "Oh dat I had been born a Sephardi!" said Yankele with a hopelessgroan.

  "It is too late now," said da Costa soothingly.

  "Dey say it's never too late to mend," moaned the Pole. "Is dere novay for me to be converted to Spanish Judaism? I could easilypronounce Hebrew in your superior vay."

  "Our Judaism differs in no essential respect from yours--it is aquestion of blood. You cannot change your blood. As it is said, 'Andthe blood is the life.'"

  "I know, I know dat I aspire too high. Oh, vy did you become myfriend, vy did you make me believe you cared for me--so dat I tink ofyou day and night--and now, ven I ask you to be my fader-in-law, yousay it cannot be. It is like a knife in de heart! Tink how proud andhappy I should be to call you my fader-in-law. All my life vould bedevoted to you--my von thought to be vordy of such a man."

  "You are not the first I have been compelled to refuse," saidManasseh, with emotion.

  "Vat helps me dat dere be other _Schlemihls_ (unlucky persons)?"quoted Yankele, with a sob. "How can I live midout you for afader-in-law?"

  "I am sorry for you--more sorry than I have ever been."

  "Den you do care for me! I vill not give up hope. I vill not take nofor no answer. Vat is dis blood dat it should divide Jew from Jew, datit should prevent me becoming de son-in-law of de only man I have everloved? Say not so. Let me ask you again--in a month or a year--eventwelve months vould I vait, ven you vould only promise not to pledgeyourself to anoder man."

  "But if I became your father-in-law--mind, I only say if--not onlywould I not keep you, but you would have to keep my Deborah."

  "And supposing?"

  "But you are not able to keep a wife!"

  "Not able? Who told you dat?" cried Yankele indignantly.

  "You yourself! Why, when I first befriended you, you told me you wereblood-poor."

  "Dat I told you as a _Schnorrer_. But now I speak to you as a suitor."

  "True," admitted Manasseh, instantly appreciating the distinction.

  "And as a suitor I tell you I can _schnorr_ enough to keep two vives."

  "But do you tell this to da Costa the father or da Costa themarriage-broker?"

  "Hush!" from all parts of the house as the curtain went up and thehouse settled down. But Yankele was no longer in _rapport_ with theplay; the spectre had ceased to thrill and the heroine to touch. Hismind was busy with feverish calculations of income, scraping togetherevery penny he could raise by hook or crook. He even drew out acrumpled piece of paper and a pencil, but thrust them back into hispocket when he saw Manasseh's eye.

  "I forgot," he murmured apologetically. "Being at de play made meforget it was de Sabbath." And he pursued his calculations mentally;this being naturally less work.

  When the play was over the two beggars walked out into the cool nightair.

  "I find," Yankele began eagerly in the vestibule, "I make at least vonhundred and fifty pounds"--he paused to acknowledge the farewellsalutation of the little door-keeper at his elbow--"a hundred andfifty a year."

  "Indeed!" said Manasseh, in respectful astonishment.

  "Yes! I have reckoned it all up. Ten are de sources of charity--"

  "As it is written," interrupted Manasseh with unction, "'With tensayings was the world created; there were ten generations from Noah toAbraham; with ten trials our father Abraham was tried; ten miracleswere wrought for our fathers in Egypt and ten at the Red Sea; and tenthings were created on the eve of the Sabbath in the twilight!' Andnow it shall be added, 'Ten good deeds the poor man affords the richman.' Proceed, Yankele."

  "First comes my allowance from de Synagogue--eight pounds. Vonce aveek I call and receive half-a-crown."

  "Is that all? Our Synagogue allows three-and-six."

  "Ah!" sighed the Pole wistfully. "Did I not say you be a superiorrace?"

  "But that only makes six pound ten!"

  "I know--de oder tirty shillings I allow for Passover cakes andgroceries. Den for Synagogue-knocking I get ten guin--"

  "Stop! stop!" cried Manasseh, with a sudden scruple. "Ought I tolisten to financial details on the Sabbath?"

  "Certainly, ven dey be connected vid my marriage--vich is aCommandment. It is de Law ve really discuss."

  "You are right. Go on, then. But remember, even if you can prove youcan _schnorr_ enough to keep a wife, I do not bind myself to consent."

  "You be already a fader to me--vy vill you not be a fader-in-law?Anyhow, you vill find me a fader-in-law," he added hastily, seeing theblackness gathering again on da Costa's brow.

  "Nay, nay, we must not talk of business on the Sabbath," said Manassehevasively. "Proceed with your statement of income."

  "Ten guineas for Synagogue-knocking. I have tventy clients who--"

  "Stop a minute! I cannot pass that item."

  "Vy not? It is true."

  "Maybe! But Synagogue-knocking is distinctly _work_!"

  "Vork?"

  "Well, if going round early in the morning to knock at the doors oftwenty pious persons, and rouse them for morning service, isn't work,then the Christian bell-ringer is a beggar. No, no! Profits from thissource I cannot regard as legitimate."

  "But most _Schnorrers_ be Synagogue-knockers!"

  "Most _Schnorrers_ are Congregation-men or Psalms-men," retorted theSpaniard witheringly. "But I call it debasing. What! To assist at theservices for a fee! To worship one's Maker for hire! Under suchconditions to pray is to work." His breast swelled with majesty andscorn.

  "I cannot call it vork," protested the _Schnorrer_. "Vy at dat rateyou vould make out dat de minister vorks? or de preacher? Vy, I reckonfourteen pounds a year to my services as Congregation-man."

  "Fourteen pounds! As much as that?"

  "Yes, you see dere's my private customers as ve
ll as de Synagogue. Vendere is mourning in a house dey cannot alvays get together ten friendsfor de services, so I make von. How can you call that vork? It isfriendship. And the more dey pay me de more friendship I feel,"asserted Yankele with a twinkle. "Den de Synagogue allows me a littleextra for announcing de dead."

  In those primitive times, when a Jewish newspaper was undreamt of, theday's obituary was published by a peripatetic _Schnorrer_, who wentabout the Ghetto rattling a pyx--a copper money-box with a handle anda lid closed by a padlock. On hearing this death-rattle, anyone whofelt curious would ask the _Schnorrer_:

  "Who's dead to-day?"

  "So-and-so ben So-and-so--funeral on such a day--mourning service atsuch an hour," the _Schnorrer_ would reply, and the enquirer wouldpiously put something into the "byx," as it was called. The collectionwas handed over to the Holy Society--in other words, the BurialSociety.

  "P'raps you call that vork?" concluded Yankele, in timid challenge.

  "Of course I do. What do you call it?"

  "Valking exercise. It keeps me healty. Vonce von of my customers (fromwhom I _schnorred_ half-a-crown a veek) said he was tired of my comingand getting it every Friday. He vanted to compound mid me for sixpound a year, but I vouldn't."

  "But it was a very fair offer. He only deducted ten shillings for theinterest on his money."

  "Dat I didn't mind. But I vanted a pound more for his depriving me ofmy valking exercise, and dat he vouldn't pay, so he still goes ongiving me de half-crown a veek. Some of dese charitable persons areterribly mean. But vat I vant to say is dat I carry de byx mostly inthe streets vere my customers lay, and it gives me more standing as a_Schnorrer_."

  "No, no, that is a delusion. What! Are you weak-minded enough tobelieve that? All the philanthropists say so, of course, but surelyyou know that _schnorring_ and work should never be mixed. A mancannot do two things properly. He must choose his profession, andstick to it. A friend of mine once succumbed to the advice of thephilanthropists instead of asking mine. He had one of the bestprovincial rounds in the kingdom, but in every town he weakly listenedto the lectures of the president of the congregation inculcating work,and at last he actually invested the savings of years in jewellery,and went round trying to peddle it. The presidents all boughtsomething to encourage him (though they beat down the price so thatthere was no profit in it), and they all expressed their pleasure athis working for his living, and showing a manly independence. 'But I_schnorr_ also,' he reminded them, holding out his hand when they hadfinished. It was in vain. No one gave him a farthing. He had blunderedbeyond redemption. At one blow he had destroyed one of the mostprofitable connections a _Schnorrer_ ever had, and without evengetting anything for the goodwill. So if you will be guided by me,Yankele, you will do nothing to assist the philanthropists to keepyou. It destroys their satisfaction. A _Schnorrer_ cannot be toocareful. And once you begin to work, where are you to draw the line?"

  "But you be a marriage-broker yourself," said Yankele imprudently.

  "That!" thundered Manasseh angrily, "That is not work! That ispleasure!"

  "Vy look! Dere is Hennery Simons," cried Yankele, hoping to divert hisattention. But he only made matters worse.

  Henry Simons was a character variously known as the Tumbling Jew,Harry the Dancer, and the Juggling Jew. He was afterwards to becomefamous as the hero of a slander case which deluged England withpamphlets for and against, but for the present he had merely outragedthe feelings of his fellow _Schnorrers_ by budding out in a directionso rare as to suggest preliminary baptism. He stood now playing anticand sleight-of-hand tricks--surrounded by a crowd--a curious figurecrowned by a velvet skull-cap from which wisps of hair protruded, witha scarlet handkerchief thrust through his girdle. His face was anolive oval, bordered by ragged tufts of beard and stamped withmelancholy.

  "You see the results of working," cried Manasseh. "It bringstemptation to work on Sabbath. That Epicurean there is profaning theHoly Day. Come away! A _Schnorrer_ is far more certain ofThe-World-To-Come. No, decidedly, I will not give my daughter to aworker, or to a _Schnorrer_ who makes illegitimate profits."

  "But I _make_ de profits all de same," persisted Yankele.

  "You make them to-day--but to-morrow? There is no certainty aboutthem. Work of whatever kind is by its very nature unreliable. At anymoment trade may be slack. People may become less pious, and you loseyour Synagogue-knocking. Or more pious--and they won't wantcongregation-men."

  "But new Synagogues spring up," urged Yankele.

  "New Synagogues are full of enthusiasm," retorted Manasseh. "Themembers are their own congregation-men."

  Yankele had his roguish twinkle. "At first," he admitted, "but de_Schnorrer_ vaits his time."

  Manasseh shook his head. "_Schnorring_ is the only occupation that isregular all the year round," he said. "Everything else may fail--thegreatest commercial houses may totter to the ground; as it is written,'He humbleth the proud.' But the _Schnorrer_ is always secure. Whoeverfalls, there are always enough left to look after _him_. If you were afather, Yankele, you would understand my feelings. How can a man allowhis daughter's future happiness to repose on a basis so uncertain aswork? No, no. What do you make by your district visiting? Everythingturns on that."

  "Tventy-five shilling a veek!"

  "Really?"

  "Law of Moses! In sixpences, shillings, and half-crowns. Vy inHoundsditch alone, I have two streets all except a few houses."

  "But are they safe? Population shifts. Good streets go down."

  "Dat tventy-five shillings is as safe as Mocatta's business. I have itall written down at home--you can inspect de books if you choose."

  "No, no," said Manasseh, with a grand wave of his stick. "If I did notbelieve you, I should not entertain your proposal for a moment. Itrejoices me exceedingly to find you have devoted so much attention tothis branch. I always held strongly that the rich should be visited intheir own homes, and I grieve to see this personal touch, this contactwith the very people to whom you give the good deeds, being replacedby lifeless circulars. One owes it to one's position in life to affordthe wealthy classes the opportunity of charity warm from the heart;they should not be neglected and driven in their turn to write chequesin cold blood, losing all that human sympathy which comes frompersonal intercourse--as it is written, 'Charity delivers from death.'But do you think charity that is given publicly through a secretaryand advertised in annual reports has so great a redeeming power asthat slipped privately into the hands of the poor man, who makes apoint of keeping secret from every donor what he has received from theothers?"

  "I am glad you don't call collecting de money vork," said Yankele,with a touch of sarcasm which was lost on da Costa.

  "No, so long as the donor can't show any 'value received' in return.And there's more friendship in _such_ a call, Yankele, than in goingto a house of mourning to pray for a fee."

  "Oh," said Yankele, wincing. "Den p'raps you strike out all myYear-Time item!"

  "Year-Time! What's that?"

  "Don't you know?" said the Pole, astonished. "Ven a man has Year-Time,he feels charitable for de day."

  "Do you mean when he commemorates the anniversary of the death of oneof his family? We Sephardim call that 'making years'! But are thereenough Year-Times, as you call them, in your Synagogue?"

  "Dere might be more--I only make about fifteen pounds. Our colony is,as you say, too new. De Globe Road Cemetery is as empty as a Synagogueon veek-days. De faders have left _deir_ faders on de Continent, andkept many Year-Times out of de country. But in a few years many fadersand moders must die off here, and every parent leaves two or tree sonsto have Year-Times, and every child two or tree broders and a fader.Den every day more German Jews come here--vich means more and more todie. I tink indeed it vould be fair to double this item."

  "No, no; stick to facts. It is an iniquity to speculate in themisfortunes of our fellow-creatures."

  "Somebody must die dat I may live," retorted Yankele roguishly; "devorld is so created. Did you
not quote, 'Charity delivers from death'?If people lived for ever, _Schnorrers_ could not live at all."

  "Hush! The world could not exist without _Schnorrers_. As it iswritten, 'And Repentance and _Prayer_ and CHARITY avert the evildecree.' Charity is put last--it is the climax--the greatest thing onearth. And the _Schnorrer_ is the greatest man on earth; for it standsin the Talmud, 'He who causes is greater than he who does.' Therefore,the _Schnorrer_ who causes charity is even greater than he who givesit."

  "Talk of de devil," said Yankele, who had much difficulty in keepinghis countenance when Manasseh became magnificent and dithyrambic. "Vy,dere is Greenbaum, whose fader vas buried yesterday. Let us cross overby accident and vish him long life."

  "Greenbaum dead! Was that the Greenbaum on 'Change, who was such arascal with the wenches?"

  "De same," said Yankele. Then approaching the son, he cried, "GoodSabbath, Mr. Greenbaum; I vish you long life. Vat a blow for decommunity!"

  "It comforts me to hear you say so," said the son, with a sob in hisvoice.

  "Ah, yes!" said Yankele chokingly. "Your fader vas a great and goodman--just my size."

  "'YOUR FADER VAS A GREAT AND GOOD MAN--JUST MY SIZE.'"]

  "I've already given them away to Baruch the glazier," replied themourner.

  "But he has his glaziering," remonstrated Yankele. "I have noting butde clothes I stand in, and dey don't fit me half so vell as yourfader's vould have done."

  "Baruch has been very unfortunate," replied Greenbaum defensively."He had a misfortune in the winter, and he has never got straight yet.A child of his died, and, unhappily, just when the snowballing was atits height, so that he lost seven days by the mourning." And he movedaway.

  "Did I not say work was uncertain?" cried Manasseh.

  "Not all," maintained the _Schnorrer_. "What of de six guineas I makeby carrying round de Palm-branch on Tabernacles to be shaken by devoomans who cannot attend Synagogue, and by blowing de trumpet for desame voomans on New Year, so dat dey may break deir fasts?"

  "The amount is too small to deserve discussion. Pass on."

  "Dere is a smaller amount--just half dat--I get from de presents to depoor at de Feast of Lots, and from de Bridegrooms of de Beginning andde Bridegrooms of de Law at de Rejoicing of de Law, and dere is aboutfour pounds ten a year from de sale of clothes given to me. Den I havea lot o' meals given me--dis, I have reckoned, is as good as sevenpounds. And, lastly, I cannot count de odds and ends under tenguineas. You know dere are alvays legacies, gifts, distributions--allunexpected. You never know who'll break out next."

  "Yes, I think it's not too high a percentage of your income to expectfrom unexpected sources," admitted Manasseh. "I have myself lingeredabout 'Change Alley or Sampson's Coffee House just when the jobbershave pulled off a special coup, and they have paid me quite a highpercentage on their profits."

  "And I," boasted Yankele, stung to noble emulation, "have made twosov'rans in von minute out of Gideon de bullion-broker. He likes togive _Schnorrers_ sov'rans, as if in mistake for shillings, to see vatdey'll do. De fools hurry off, or move slowly avay, as if notnoticing, or put it quickly in de pocket. But dose who have visdomtell him he's made a mistake, and he gives dem anoder sov'ran. Honestyis de best policy with Gideon. Den dere is Rabbi de Falk, de BaalShem--de great Cabbalist. Ven--"

  "But," interrupted Manasseh impatiently, "you haven't made out yourhundred and fifty a year."

  Yankele's face fell. "Not if you cut out so many items."

  "No, but even all inclusive it only comes to a hundred and forty-threepounds nineteen shillings."

  "Nonsense!" said Yankele, staggered. "How can you know so exact?"

  "Do you think I cannot do simple addition?" responded Manassehsternly. "Are not these your ten items?"

  L s. d. 1. Synagogue Pension, with Passover extras 8 0 0 2. Synagogue-knocking 10 10 0 3. District Visiting 65 0 0 4. As Congregation-man and Pyx-bearer 14 0 0 5. Year-Times 15 0 0 6. Palm-branch and Trumpet Fees 6 6 0 7. Purim-presents, &c. 3 3 0 8. Sale of Clothes 4 10 0 9. Equivalent of Free Meals 7 0 0 10. Miscellanea, the unexpected 10 10 0 Total L143 19 0

  "A child could sum it up," concluded Manasseh severely. Yankele wassubdued to genuine respect and consternation by da Costa's marvellousmemory and arithmetical genius. But he rallied immediately. "Ofcourse, I also reckoned on a dowry mid my bride, if only a hundredpounds."

  "Well, invested in Consols, that would not bring you four poundsmore," replied Manasseh instantly.

  "The rest vill be made up in extra free meals," Yankele answered noless quickly. "For ven I take your daughter off your hands you vill beable to afford to invite me more often to your table dan you do now."

  "Not at all," retorted Manasseh, "for now that I know how well off youare I shall no longer feel I am doing a charity."

  "Oh, yes, you vill," said Yankele insinuatingly. "You are too much aman of honour to know as a private philantropist vat I have told demarriage-broker, de fader-in-law and de fellow _Schnorrer_. Besides, Ivould have de free meals from you as de son-in-law, not de_Schnorrer_."

  "In that relation I should also have free meals from you," rejoinedManasseh.

  "I never dared to tink you vould do me de honour. But even so I cannever give you such good meals as you give me. So dere is still abalance in my favour."

  "That is true," said da Costa thoughtfully. "But you have still abouta guinea to make up."

  Yankele was driven into a corner at last. But he flashed back,without perceptible pause, "You do not allow for vat I save by mypiety. I fast twenty times a year, and surely dat is at least anoderguinea per annum."

  "But you will have children," retorted da Costa.

  Yankele shrugged his shoulders.

  "Dat is de affair of de Holy One, blessed be He. Ven He sends dem Hevill provide for dem. You must not forget, too, dat mid _your_daughter de dowry vould be noting so small as a hundred pounds."

  "My daughter will have a dowry befitting her station, certainly," saidManasseh, with his grandest manner; "but then I had looked forward toher marrying a king of _Schnorrers_."

  "Vell, but ven I marry her I shall be."

  "How so?"

  "I shall have _schnorred_ your daughter--the most precious thing inthe world! And _schnorred_ her from a king of _Schnorrers_, too!! AndI shall have _schnorred_ your services as marriage-broker into debargain!!!"

  CHAPTER IV.

  SHOWING HOW THE ROYAL WEDDING WAS ARRANGED.

  Manasseh Bueno Barzillai Azevedo da Costa was so impressed by hiswould-be son-in-law's last argument that he perpended it in silencefor a full minute. When he replied, his tone showed even more respectthan had been infused into it by the statement of the aspirant'sincome. Manasseh was not of those to whom money is a fetish; heregarded it merely as something to be had for the asking. It wasintellect for which he reserved his admiration. That was strictly nottransferable.

  "It is true," he said, "that if I yielded to your importunities andgave you my daughter, you would thereby have approved yourself a kingof _Schnorrers_, of a rank suitable to my daughter's, but an analysisof your argument will show that you are begging the question."

  "Vat more proof do you vant of my begging powers?" demanded Yankele,spreading out his palms and shrugging his shoulders.

  "'VAT MORE PROOF DO YOU VANT?'"]

  "Much greater proof," replied Manasseh. "I ought to have some instanceof your powers. The only time I have seen you try to _schnorr_ youfailed."

  "Me! ven?" exclaimed Yankele indignantly.

  "Why, this very night. When you asked young Weinstein for his deadfather's clothes!"

  "But he had already given them away!" protested the Pole.

  "What of that? If anyone had g
iven away _my_ clothes, I should havedemanded compensation. You must really be above rebuffs of that kind,Yankele, if you are to be my son-in-law. No, no, I remember the dictumof the Sages: 'To give your daughter to an uncultured man is likethrowing her bound to a lion.'"

  "But you have also seen me _schnorr_ mid success," remonstrated thesuitor.

  "Never!" protested Manasseh vehemently.

  "Often!"

  "From whom?"

  "From you!" said Yankele boldly.

  "From _me_!" sneered Manasseh, accentuating the pronoun with infinitecontempt. "What does that prove? I am a generous man. The test is to_schnorr_ from a miser."

  "I _vill schnorr_ from a miser!" announced Yankele desperately.

  "You will!"

  "Yes. Choose your miser."

  "No, I leave it to you," said da Costa politely.

  "Vell, Sam Lazarus, de butcher shop!"

  "No, not Sam Lazarus, he once gave a _Schnorrer_ I know elevenpence."

  "Elevenpence?" incredulously murmured Yankele.

  "Yes, it was the only way he could pass a shilling. It wasn't bad,only cracked, but he could get no one to take it except a _Schnorrer_.He made the man give him a penny change though. 'Tis true the manafterwards laid out the shilling at Lazarus's shop. Still a reallygreat miser would have added that cracked shilling to his hoard ratherthan the perfect penny."

  "No," argued Yankele, "dere vould be no difference, since he does notspend."

  "True," said da Costa reflectively, "but by that same token a miser isnot the most difficult person to tackle."

  "How do you make dat out?"

  "Is it not obvious? Already we see Lazarus giving away elevenpence. Amiser who spends nothing on himself may, in exceptional cases, beinduced to give away something. It is the man who indulges himself inevery luxury and gives away nothing who is the hardest to _schnorr_from. He has a _use_ for his money--himself! If you diminish his storeyou hurt him in the tenderest part--you rob him of creature comforts.To _schnorr_ from such a one I should regard as a higher and noblerthing than to _schnorr_ from a mere miser."

  "Vell, name your man."

  "No--I couldn't think of taking it out of your hands," said Manassehagain with his stately bow. "Whomever you select I will abide by. If Icould not rely on your honour, would I dream of you as a son-in-law?"

  "Den I vill go to Mendel Jacobs, of Mary Axe."

  "Mendel Jacobs--oh, no! Why, he's married! A married man cannot beentirely devoted to himself."

  "Vy not? Is not a vife a creature comfort? P'raps also she comescheaper dan a housekeeper."

  "We will not argue it. I will not have Mendel Jacobs."

  "Simon Kelutski, de vine-merchant."

  "He! He is quite generous with his snuff-box. I have myself beenoffered a pinch. Of course I did not accept it."

  Yankele selected several other names, but Manasseh barred them all,and at last had an inspiration of his own.

  "Isn't there a Rabbi in your community whose stinginess is proverbial?Let me see, what's his name?"

  "A Rabbi!" murmured Yankele disingenuously, while his heart began topalpitate with alarm.

  "Yes, isn't there--Rabbi Bloater!"

  Yankele shook his head. Ruin stared him in the face--his fondest hopeswere crumbling.

  "I know it's some fishy name--Rabbi Haddock--no it isn't. It's RabbiRemorse something."

  Yankele saw it was all over with him.

  "P'raps you mean Rabbi Remorse Red-herring," he said feebly, for hisvoice failed him.

  "Ah, yes! Rabbi Remorse Red-herring," said Manasseh. "From all Ihear--for I have never seen the man--a king of guzzlers and topers,and the meanest of mankind. Now if you could dine with _him_ you mightindeed be called a king of _Schnorrers_."

  Yankele was pale and trembling. "But _he_ is married!" he urged, witha happy thought.

  "THE TREMBLING JEW."]

  "Dine with him to-morrow," said Manasseh inexorably. "He fares extraroyally on the Sabbath. Obtain admission to his table, and you shallbe admitted into my family."

  "But you do not know the man--it is impossible!" cried Yankele.

  "That is the excuse of the bad _Schnorrer_. You have heard myultimatum. No dinner, no wife. No wife--no dowry!"

  "Vat vould dis dowry be?" asked Yankele, by way of diversion.

  "Oh, unique--quite unique. First of all there would be all the moneyshe gets from the Synagogue. Our Synagogue gives considerable dowriesto portionless girls. There are large bequests for the purpose."

  Yankele's eyes glittered.

  "Ah, vat gentlemen you Spaniards be!"

  "Then I daresay I should hand over to my son-in-law all my Jerusalemland."

  "Have you property in de Holy Land?" said Yankele.

  "First class, with an unquestionable title. And, of course, I wouldgive you some province or other in this country."

  "What!" gasped Yankele.

  "Could I do less?" said Manasseh blandly. "My own flesh and blood,remember! Ah, here is my door. It is too late to ask you in. GoodSabbath! Don't forget your appointment to dine with Rabbi RemorseRed-herring to-morrow."

  "Good Sabbath!" faltered Yankele, and crawled home heavy-hearted toDinah's Buildings, Tripe Yard, Whitechapel, where the memory of himlingers even unto this day.

  Rabbi Remorse Red-herring was an unofficial preacher who officiated atmourning services in private houses, having a gift of well-turnedeulogy. He was a big, burly man with overlapping stomach and a redbeard, and his spiritual consolations drew tears. His clients knew himto be vastly self-indulgent in private life, and abstemious in thematter of benevolence; but they did not confound the _roles_. As amourning preacher he gave every satisfaction: he was regular andpunctual, and did not keep the congregation waiting, and he had hadconsiderable experience in showing that there was yet balm in Gilead.

  He had about five ways of showing it--the variants depending upon thecircumstances. If, as not infrequently happened, the person deceasedwas a stranger to him, he would enquire in the passage: "Was it manor woman? Boy or girl? Married or single? Any children? Young 'uns orold 'uns?"

  When these questions had been answered, he was ready. He knew exactlywhich of his five consolatory addresses to deliver--they were allsufficiently vague and general to cover considerable variety ofcircumstance, and even when he misheard the replies in the passage,and dilated on the grief of a departed widower's relict, the resultswere not fatal throughout. The few impossible passages might beexplained by the mishearing of the audience. Sometimes--veryrarely--he would venture on a supplementary sentence or two fittingthe specific occasion, but very cautiously, for a man with areputation for extempore addresses cannot be too wary of speaking onthe spur of the moment.

  Off obituary lines he was a failure; at any rate, his one attempt topreach from an English Synagogue pulpit resulted in a nickname. Histheme was Remorse, which he explained with much care to thecongregation.

  "For instance," said the preacher, "the other day I was walking overLondon Bridge, when I saw a fishwife standing with a basket ofred-herrings. I says, 'How much?' She says, 'Two for three-halfpence.'I says, 'Oh, that's frightfully dear! I can easily get three fortwopence.' But she wouldn't part with them at that price, so I wenton, thinking I'd meet another woman with a similar lot over the water.They were lovely fat herrings, and my chaps watered in anticipation ofthe treat of eating them. But when I got to the other end of thebridge there was no other fishwife to be seen. So I resolved to turnback to the first fishwife, for, after all, I reflected, the herringswere really very cheap, and I had only complained in the way ofbusiness. But when I got back the woman was just sold out. I couldhave torn my hair with vexation. Now, that's what I call Remorse."

  "'I COULD HAVE TORN MY HAIR.'"]

  After that the Rabbi was what the congregation called Remorse; alsoRed-herring.

  The Rabbi's fondness for concrete exemplification of abstract ideaswas not, however, to be stifled, and there was one illustration ofCharity which found a place in a
ll the five sermons of consolation.

  "If you have a pair of old breeches, send them to the Rabbi."

  Rabbi Remorse Red-herring was, however, as is the way of preachers,himself aught but a concrete exemplification of the virtues heinculcated. He lived generously--through other people'sgenerosity--but no one could boast of having received a farthing fromhim over and above what was due to them; while _Schnorrers_ (whodeemed considerable sums due to them) regarded him in the light of adefalcating bankrupt. He, for his part, had a countervailing grudgeagainst the world, fancying the work he did for it but feeblyremunerated. "I get so little," ran his bitter plaint, "that Icouldn't live, _if it were not for the fasts_." And, indeed, the fastsof the religion were worth much more to him than to Yankele; his mealswere so profuse that his savings from this source were quite a littlerevenue. As Yankele had pointed out, he was married. And his wife hadgiven him a child, but it died at the age of seven, bequeathing to himthe only poignant sorrow of his life. He was too jealous to call in arival consolation preacher during those dark days, and none of his ownfive sermons seemed to fit the case. It was some months before he tookhis meals regularly.

  At no time had anyone else taken meals in his house, except by lawentitled. Though she had only two to cook for, his wife habituallyprovided for three, counting her husband no mere unit. Herself shereckoned as a half.

  It was with intelligible perturbation, therefore, that Yankele,dressed in some other man's best, approached the house of RabbiRemorse Red-herring about a quarter of an hour before the Sabbathmid-day meal, intent on sharing it with him.

  "No dinner, no marriage!" was da Costa's stern ukase.

  What wonder if the inaccessible meal took upon itself the grandiosityof a wedding feast! Deborah da Costa's lovely face tantalised him likea mirage.

  The Sabbath day was bleak, but chiller was his heart. The Rabbi hadapartments in Steward Street, Spitalfields, an elegant suite on theground-floor, for he stinted himself in nothing but charity. At theentrance was a porch--a pointed Gothic arch of wood supported by twopillars. As Yankele mounted the three wooden steps, breathing aspainfully as if they were three hundred, and wondering if he wouldever get merely as far as the other side of the door, he was assailedby the temptation to go and dine peacefully at home, and represent toda Costa that he had feasted with the Rabbi. Manasseh would neverknow, Manasseh had taken no steps to ascertain if he satisfied thetest or not. Such carelessness, he told himself in righteousindignation, deserved fitting punishment. But, on the other hand, herecalled Manasseh's trust in him; Manasseh believed him a man ofhonour, and the patron's elevation of soul awoke an answering chivalryin the parasite.

  He decided to make the attempt at least, for there would be plenty oftime to say he had succeeded, after he had failed.

  Vibrating with tremors of nobility as well as of apprehension, Yankelelifted the knocker. He had no programme, trusting to chance andmother-wit.

  Mrs. Remorse Red-herring half opened the door.

  "I vish to see de Rabbi," he said, putting one foot within.

  "'I VISH TO SEE DE RABBI.'"]

  "He is engaged," said the wife--a tiny thin creature who had beenplump and pretty. "He is very busy talking with a gentleman."

  "Oh, but I can vait."

  "But the Rabbi will be having his dinner soon."

  "I can vait till after dinner," said Yankele obligingly.

  "Oh, but the Rabbi sits long at table."

  "I don't mind," said Yankele with undiminished placidity, "de longerde better."

  The poor woman looked perplexed. "I'll tell my husband," she said atlast.

  Yankele had an anxious moment in the passage.

  "The Rabbi wishes to know what you want," she said when she returned.

  "I vant to get married," said Yankele with an inspiration of veracity.

  "But my husband doesn't marry people."

  "Vy not?"

  "He only brings consolation into households," she explainedingenuously.

  "Vell, I won't get married midout him," Yankele murmured lugubriously.

  The little woman went back in bewilderment to her bosom's lord.Forthwith out came Rabbi Remorse Red-herring, curiosity and cupidityin his eyes. He wore the skull-cap of sanctity, but looked thegourmand in spite of it.

  "Good Sabbath, sir! What is this about your getting married?"

  "It's a long story," said Yankele, "and as your good vife told me yourdinner is just ready, I mustn't keep you now."

  "No, there are still a few minutes before dinner. What is it?"

  Yankele shook his head. "I couldn't tink of keeping you in disdraughty passage."

  "I don't mind. I don't feel any draught."

  "Dat's just vere de danger lays. You don't notice, and one day youfind yourself laid up mid rheumatism, and you vill have Remorse," saidYankele with a twinkle. "Your life is precious--if _you_ die, who villconsole de community?"

  It was an ambiguous remark, but the Rabbi understood it in its mostflattering sense, and his little eyes beamed. "I would ask youinside," he said, "but I have a visitor."

  "No matter," said Yankele, "vat I have to say to you, Rabbi, is notprivate. A stranger may hear it."

  Still undecided, the Rabbi muttered, "You want me to marry you?"

  "I have come to get married," replied Yankele.

  "But I have never been called upon to marry people."

  "It's never too late to mend, dey say."

  "Strange--strange," murmured the Rabbi reflectively.

  "Vat is strange?"

  "That you should come to me just to-day. But why did you not go toRabbi Sandman?"

  "Rabbi Sandman!" replied Yankele with contempt. "Vere vould be de goodof going to him?"

  "But why not?"

  "Every _Schnorrer_ goes to him," said Yankele frankly.

  "Hum!" mused the Rabbi. "Perhaps there _is_ an opening for a moreselect marrier. Come in, then, I can give you five minutes if youreally don't mind talking before a stranger."

  He threw open the door, and led the way into the sitting-room.

  Yankele followed, exultant; the outworks were already carried, and hisheart beat high with hope. But at his first glance within, he reeledand almost fell.

  Standing with his back to the fire and dominating the room wasManasseh Bueno Barzillai Azevedo da Costa!

  "Ah, Yankele, good Sabbath!" said da Costa affably.

  "G-g-ood Sabbath!" stammered Yankele.

  "Why, you know each other!" cried the Rabbi.

  "Oh, yes," said Manasseh, "an acquaintance of yours, too, apparently."

  "No, he is just come to see me about something," replied the Rabbi.

  "I thought you did not know the Rabbi, Mr. da Costa?" Yankele couldnot help saying.

  "I didn't. I only had the pleasure of making his acquaintance half anhour ago. I met him in the street as he was coming home from morningservice, and he was kind enough to invite me to dinner."

  Yankele gasped; despite his secret amusement at Manasseh's airs, therewere moments when the easy magnificence of the man overwhelmed him,extorted his reluctant admiration. How in Heaven's name had theSpaniard conquered at a blow!

  Looking down at the table, he now observed that it was already laidfor dinner--and for three! He should have been that third. Was it fairof Manasseh to handicap him thus? Naturally, there would be infinitelyless chance of a fourth being invited than a third--to say nothing ofthe dearth of provisions. "But, surely, you don't intend to stay todinner!" he complained in dismay.

  "I have given my word," said Manasseh, "and I shouldn't care todisappoint the Rabbi."

  "Oh, it's no disappointment, no disappointment," remarked RabbiRemorse Red-herring cordially, "I could just as well come round andsee you after dinner."

  "After dinner I never see people," said Manasseh majestically; "Isleep."

  The Rabbi dared not make further protest: he turned to Yankele andasked, "Well, now, what's this about your marriage?"

  "I can't tell you before Mr. d
a Costa," replied Yankele, to gain time.

  "Why not? You said anybody might hear."

  "Noting of the sort. I said a stranger might hear. But Mr. da Costaisn't a stranger. He knows too much about de matter."

  "What shall we do, then?" murmured the Rabbi.

  "I can vait till after dinner," said Yankele, with good-naturedcarelessness. "_I_ don't sleep--"

  Before the Rabbi could reply, the wife brought in a baked dish, andset it on the table. Her husband glowered at her, but she, regular asclockwork, and as unthinking, produced the black bottle of _schnapps_.It was her husband's business to get rid of Yankele; her business wasto bring on the dinner. If she had delayed, he would have ragedequally. She was not only wife, but maid-of-all-work.

  Seeing the advanced state of the preparations, Manasseh da Costa tookhis seat at the table; obeying her husband's significant glance, Mrs.Red-herring took up her position at the foot. The Rabbi himself satdown at the head, behind the dish. He always served, being the onlyperson he could rely upon to gauge his capacities. Yankele was leftstanding. The odour of the meat and potatoes impregnated theatmosphere with wistful poetry.

  Suddenly the Rabbi looked up and perceived Yankele. "Will you do as wedo?" he said in seductive accents.

  The _Schnorrer's_ heart gave one wild, mad throb of joy. He laid hishand on the only other chair.

  "I don't mind if I do," he said, with responsive amiability.

  "Then go home and have _your_ dinner," said the Rabbi.

  "'THEN GO HOME AND HAVE YOUR DINNER.'"]

  Yankele's wild heart-beat was exchanged for a stagnation as of death.A shiver ran down his spine. He darted an agonised appealing glance atManasseh, who sniggered inscrutably.

  "Oh, I don't tink I ought to go avay and leave you midout a tird manfor grace," he said, in tones of prophetic rebuke. "Since I _be_ here,it vould be a sin not to stay."

  The Rabbi, having a certain connection with religion, was cornered; hewas not able to repudiate such an opportunity of that more pious formof grace which needs the presence of three males.

  "Oh, I should be very glad for you to stay," said the Rabbi, "but,unfortunately, we have only three meat-plates."

  "Oh, de dish vill do for me."

  "Very well, then!" said the Rabbi.

  And Yankele, with the old mad heart-beat, took the fourth chair,darting a triumphant glance at the still sniggering Manasseh.

  The hostess rose, misunderstanding her husband's optical signals, andfished out a knife and fork from the recesses of a chiffonier. Thehost first heaped his own plate high with artistically colouredpotatoes and stiff meat--less from discourtesy than from life-longhabit--then divided the remainder in unequal portions between Manassehand the little woman, in rough correspondence with their sizes.Finally, he handed Yankele the empty dish.

  "You see there is nothing left," he said simply. "We didn't evenexpect one visitor."

  "First come, first served," observed Manasseh, with his sphinx-likeexpression, as he fell-to.

  Yankele sat frozen, staring blankly at the dish, his brain as empty.He had lost.

  Such a dinner was a hollow mockery--like the dish. He could not expectManasseh to accept it, quibbled he ever so cunningly. He sat for aminute or two as in a dream, the music of knife and fork ringingmockingly in his ears, his hungry palate moistened by the delicioussavour. Then he shook off his stupor, and all his being wasdesperately astrain, questing for an idea. Manasseh discoursed withhis host on neo-Hebrew literature.

  "We thought of starting a journal at Grodno," said the Rabbi, "onlythe funds--"

  "Be you den a native of Grodno?" interrupted Yankele.

  "Yes, I was born there," mumbled the Rabbi, "but I left there twentyyears ago." His mouth was full, and he did not cease to ply thecutlery.

  "Ah!" said Yankele enthusiastically, "den you must be de famouspreacher everybody speaks of. I do not remember you myself, for I vasa boy, but dey say ve haven't got no such preachers nowaday."

  "In Grodno my husband kept a brandy shop," put in the hostess.

  There was a bad quarter of a minute of silence. To Yankele's relief,the Rabbi ended it by observing, "Yes, but doubtless the gentleman(you will excuse me calling you that, sir, I don't know your realname) alluded to my fame as a boy-Maggid. At the age of five Ipreached to audiences of many hundreds, and my manipulation of texts,my demonstrations that they did not mean what they said, drew tearseven from octogenarians familiar with the Torah from their earliestinfancy. It was said there never was such a wonder-child since BenSira."

  "But why did you give it up?" enquired Manasseh.

  "It gave me up," said the Rabbi, putting down his knife and fork toexpound an ancient grievance. "A boy-Maggid cannot last more than afew years. Up to nine I was still a draw, but every year the wondergrew less, and, when I was thirteen, my Bar-Mitzvah (confirmation)sermon occasioned no more sensation than those of the many other ladswhose sermons I had written for them. I struggled along as boyishly asI could for some time after that, but it was in a losing cause. My agewon on me daily. As it is said, 'I have been young, and now I am old.'In vain I composed the most eloquent addresses to be heard in Grodno.In vain I gave a course on the emotions, with explanations andinstances from daily life--the fickle public preferred youngerattractions. So at last I gave it up and sold _vodki_."

  "'SOLD VODKI.'"]

  "Vat a pity! Vat a pity!" ejaculated Yankele, "after vinning fame inde Torah!"

  "But what is a man to do? He is not always a boy," replied the Rabbi."Yes, I kept a brandy shop. That's what I call Degradation. But thereis always balm in Gilead. I lost so much money over it that I had toemigrate to England, where, finding nothing else to do, I became apreacher again." He poured himself out a glass of _schnapps_, ignoringthe water.

  "I heard nothing of de _vodki_ shop," said Yankele; "it vas svallowedup in your earlier fame."

  The Rabbi drained the glass of _schnapps_, smacked his lips, andresumed his knife and fork. Manasseh reached for the unoffered bottle,and helped himself liberally. The Rabbi unostentatiously withdrew itbeyond his easy reach, looking at Yankele the while.

  "How long have you been in England?" he asked the Pole.

  "Not long," said Yankele.

  "Ha! Does Gabriel the cantor still suffer from neuralgia?"

  Yankele looked sad. "No--he is dead," he said.

  "Dear me! Well, he was tottering when I knew him. His blowing of theram's horn got wheezier every year. And how is his young brother,Samuel?"

  "He is dead!" said Yankele.

  "What, he too! Tut, tut! He was so robust. Has Mendelssohn, thestonemason, got many more girls?"

  "He is dead!" said Yankele.

  "Nonsense!" gasped the Rabbi, dropping his knife and fork. "Why, Iheard from him only a few months ago."

  "He is dead!" said Yankele.

  "Good gracious me! Mendelssohn dead!" After a moment of emotion heresumed his meal. "But his sons and daughters are all doing well, Ihope. The eldest, Solomon, was a most pious youth, and his third girl,Neshamah, promised to be a rare beauty."

  "They are dead!" said Yankele.

  This time the Rabbi turned pale as a corpse himself. He laid down hisknife and fork automatically.

  "D--dead," he breathed in an awestruck whisper. "All?"

  "Everyone. De same cholera took all de family."

  The Rabbi covered his face with his hands. "Then poor Solomon's wifeis a widow. I hope he left her enough to live upon."

  "No, but it doesn't matter," said Yankele.

  "It matters a great deal," cried the Rabbi.

  "She is dead," said Yankele.

  "Rebecca Schwartz dead!" screamed the Rabbi, for he had once loved themaiden himself, and, not having married her, had still a tendernessfor her.

  "Rebecca Schwartz," repeated Yankele inexorably.

  "Was it the cholera?" faltered the Rabbi.

  "No, she vas heart-broke."

  Rabbi Remorse Red-herring silently pushed his plate away,
and leanedhis elbows upon the table and his face upon his palms, and his chinupon the bottle of _schnapps_ in mournful meditation.

  "IN MOURNFUL MEDITATION."]

  "You are not eating, Rabbi," said Yankele insinuatingly.

  "I have lost my appetite," said the Rabbi.

  "Vat a pity to let food get cold and spoil! You'd better eat it."

  The Rabbi shook his head querulously.

  "Den I vill eat it," cried Yankele indignantly. "Good hot food likedat!"

  "As you like," said the Rabbi wearily. And Yankele began to eat atlightning speed, pausing only to wink at the inscrutable Manasseh; andto cast yearning glances at the inaccessible _schnapps_ that supportedthe Rabbi's chin.

  Presently the Rabbi looked up: "You're quite sure all these people aredead?" he asked with a dawning suspicion.

  "May my blood be poured out like this _schnapps_," protested Yankele,dislodging the bottle, and vehemently pouring the spirit into atumbler, "if dey be not."

  The Rabbi relapsed into his moody attitude, and retained it till hiswife brought in a big willow-pattern china dish of stewed prunes andpippins. She produced four plates for these, and so Yankele finishedhis meal in the unquestionable status of a first-class guest. TheRabbi was by this time sufficiently recovered to toy with twoplatefuls in a melancholy silence which he did not break till hismouth opened involuntarily to intone the grace.

  "PRUNES AND PIPPINS."]

  When grace was over he turned to Manasseh and said, "And what was thisway you were suggesting to me of getting a profitable Sephardicconnection?"

  "I did, indeed, wonder why you did not extend your practice asconsolation preacher among the Spanish Jews," replied Manassehgravely. "But after what we have just heard of the death-rate of Jewsin Grodno, I should seriously advise you to go back there."

  "No, they cannot forget that I was once a boy," replied the Rabbi withequal gravity. "I prefer the Spanish Jews. They are all well-to-do.They may not die so often as the Russians, but they die better, so tospeak. You will give me introductions, you will speak of me to yourillustrious friends, I understand."

  "You understand!" repeated Manasseh in dignified astonishment. "You donot understand. I shall do no such thing."

  "But you yourself suggested it!" cried the Rabbi excitedly.

  "I? Nothing of the kind. I had heard of you and your ministrations tomourners, and meeting you in the street this afternoon for the firsttime, it struck me to enquire why you did not carry your consolationsinto the bosom of my community where so much more money is to be made.I said I wondered you had not done so from the first. And you--invitedme to dinner. I still wonder. That is all, my good man." He rose togo.

  The haughty rebuke silenced the Rabbi, though his heart was hot with avague sense of injury.

  "Do you come my way, Yankele?" said Manasseh carelessly.

  The Rabbi turned hastily to his second guest.

  "When do you want me to marry you?" he asked.

  "You have married me," replied Yankele.

  "I?" gasped the Rabbi. It was the last straw.

  "Yes," reiterated Yankele. "Hasn't he, Mr. da Costa?"

  His heart went pit-a-pat as he put the question.

  "Certainly," said Manasseh without hesitation.

  Yankele's face was made glorious summer. Only two of the quartetteknew the secret of his radiance.

  "There, Rabbi," he cried exultantly. "Good Sabbath!"

  "Good Sabbath!" added Manasseh.

  "Good Sabbath," dazedly murmured the Rabbi.

  "Good Sabbath," added his wife.

  "Congratulate me!" cried Yankele when they got outside.

  "On what?" asked Manasseh.

  "On being your future son-in-law, of course."

  "Oh, on _that_? Certainly, I congratulate you most heartily." The two_Schnorrers_ shook hands. "I thought you were asking for complimentson your manoeuvring."

  "Vy, doesn't it deserve dem?"

  "No," said Manasseh magisterially.

  "No?" queried Yankele, his heart sinking again. "Vy not?"

  "Why did you kill so many people?"

  "Somebody must die dat I may live."

  "You said that before," said Manasseh severely. "A good _Schnorrer_would not have slaughtered so many for his dinner. It is a waste ofgood material. And then you told lies!"

  "How do you know they are not dead?" pleaded Yankele.

  The King shook his head reprovingly. "A first-class _Schnorrer_ neverlies," he laid it down.

  "I might have made truth go as far as a lie--if you hadn't come todinner yourself."

  "What is that you say? Why, I came to encourage you by showing you howeasy your task was."

  "On de contrary, you made it much harder for me. Dere vas no dinnerleft."

  "But against that you must reckon that since the Rabbi had alreadyinvited one person, he couldn't be so hard to tackle as I hadfancied."

  "Oh, but you must not judge from yourself," protested Yankele. "You benot a _Schnorrer_--you be a miracle."

  "But I should like a miracle for my son-in-law also," grumbled theKing.

  "And if you had to _schnorr_ a son-in-law, you vould get a miracle,"said Yankele soothingly. "As he has to _schnorr_ you, _he_ gets themiracle."

  "True," observed Manasseh musingly, "and I think you might thereforebe very well content without the dowry."

  "So I might," admitted Yankele, "only _you_ vould not be content tobreak your promise. I suppose I shall have some of de dowry on demarriage morning."

  "On that morning you shall get my daughter--without fail. Surely thatwill be enough for one day!"

  "Vell, ven do I get de money your daughter gets from de Synagogue?"

  "When she gets it from the Synagogue, of course."

  "How much vill it be?"

  "It may be a hundred and fifty pounds," said Manasseh pompously.

  Yankele's eyes sparkled.

  "And it may be less," added Manasseh as an after-thought.

  "How much less?" enquired Yankele anxiously.

  "A hundred and fifty pounds," repeated Manasseh pompously.

  "D'you mean to say I may get noting?"

  "Certainly, if she gets nothing. What I promised you was the money shegets from the Synagogue. Should she be fortunate enough in the_sorteo_--"

  "De _sorteo_! Vat is dat?"

  "The dowry I told you of. It is accorded by lot. My daughter has asgood a chance as any other maiden. By winning her you stand to win ahundred and fifty pounds. It is a handsome amount. There are not manyfathers who would do as much for their daughters," concluded Manassehwith conscious magnanimity.

  "But about de Jerusalem estate!" said Yankele, shifting hisstandpoint. "I don't vant to go and live dere. De Messiah is not yetcome."

  "No, you will hardly be able to live on it," admitted Manasseh.

  "You do not object to my selling it, den?"

  "Oh, no! If you are so sordid, if you have no true Jewish sentiment!"

  "Ven can I come into possession?"

  "On the wedding day if you like."

  "One may as vell get it over," said Yankele, suppressing a desire torub his hands in glee. "As de Talmud says, 'One peppercorn to-day isbetter dan a basketful of pumpkins to-morrow.'"

  "All right! I will bring it to the Synagogue."

  "Bring it to de Synagogue!" repeated Yankele in amaze. "Oh, you meande deed of transfer."

  "The deed of transfer! Do you think I waste my substance onsolicitors? No, I will bring the property itself."

  "But how can you do dat?"

  "Where is the difficulty?" demanded Manasseh with withering contempt."Surely a child could carry a casket of Jerusalem earth to Synagogue!"

  "A casket of earth! Is your property in Jerusalem only a casket ofearth?"

  "What then? You didn't expect it would be a casket of diamonds?"retorted Manasseh, with gathering wrath. "To a true Jew a casket ofJerusalem earth is worth all the diamonds in the world."

  "But your Jerusalem property is a
fraud!" gasped Yankele.

  "Oh, no, you may be easy on that point. It's quite genuine. I knowthere is a good deal of spurious Palestine earth in circulation, andthat many a dead man who has clods of it thrown into his tomb isnevertheless buried in unholy soil. But this casket I was careful toobtain from a Rabbi of extreme sanctity. It was the only thing he hadworth _schnorring_."

  "I don't suppose I shall get more dan a crown for it," said Yankele,with irrepressible indignation.

  "That's what I say," returned Manasseh; "and never did I think ason-in-law of mine would meditate selling my holy soil for a paltryfive shillings! I will not withdraw my promise, but I am disappointedin you--bitterly disappointed. Had I known this earth was not to coveryour bones, it should have gone down to the grave with me, as enjoinedin my last will and testament, by the side of which it stands in mysafe."

  "Very vell, I von't sell it," said Yankele sulkily.

  "You relieve my soul. As the _Mishnah_ says, 'He who marries a wifefor money begets froward children.'"

  "And vat about de province in England?" asked Yankele, in low,despondent tones. He had never believed in _that_, but now, behind allhis despair and incredulity, was a vague hope that something might yetbe saved from the crash.

  "Oh, you shall choose your own," replied Manasseh graciously. "We willget a large map of London, and I will mark off in red pencil thedomain in which I _schnorr_. You will then choose any district inthis--say, two main streets and a dozen byways and alleys--whichshall be marked off in blue pencil, and whatever province of mykingdom you pick, I undertake not to _schnorr_ in, from yourwedding-day onwards. I need not tell you how valuable such a provincealready is; under careful administration, such as you would be able togive it, the revenue from it might be doubled, trebled. I do not thinkyour tribute to me need be more than ten per cent."

  Yankele walked along mesmerised, reduced to somnambulism by hismagnificently masterful patron.

  "Oh, here we are!" said Manasseh, stopping short. "Won't you come inand see the bride, and wish her joy?"

  A flash of joy came into Yankele's own face, dissipating his glooms.After all there was always da Costa's beautiful daughter--a solid,substantial satisfaction. He was glad she was not an item of thedowry.

  The unconscious bride opened the door.

  "THE UNCONSCIOUS BRIDE OPENED THE DOOR."]

  "Ah, ha, Yankele!" said Manasseh, his paternal heart aglow at thesight of her loveliness. "You will be not only a king, but a richking. As it is written, 'Who is rich? He who hath a beautiful wife.'"

  CHAPTER V.

  SHOWING HOW THE KING DISSOLVED THE MAHAMAD.

  Manasseh da Costa (thus docked of his nominal plenitude in the solemnwrit) had been summoned before the Mahamad, the intended union of hisdaughter with a Polish Jew having excited the liveliest horror anddispleasure in the breasts of the Elders of the Synagogue. Such a Jewdid not pronounce Hebrew as they did!

  "THE ELDERS OF THE SYNAGOGUE."]

  The Mahamad was a Council of Five, no less dread than the morenotorious Council of Ten. Like the Venetian Tribunal, which hasunjustly monopolised the attention of history, it was of annualelection, and it was elected by a larger body of Elders, just as theCouncil of Ten was chosen by the aristocracy. "The gentlemen of theMahamad," as they were styled, administered the affairs of theSpanish-Portuguese community, and their oligarchy would undoubtedly bea byword for all that is arbitrary and inquisitorial but for thewidespread ignorance of its existence. To itself the Mahamad was thecentre of creation. On one occasion it refused to bow even to theauthority of the Lord Mayor of London. A Sephardic Jew lived and movedand had his being "by permission of the Mahamad." Without its consenthe could have no legitimate place in the scheme of things. Minus "thepermission of the Mahamad" he could not marry; with it he could bedivorced readily. He might, indeed, die without the sanction of theCouncil of Five, but this was the only great act of his life which wasfree from its surveillance, and he could certainly not be buried save"by permission of the Mahamad." The Haham himself, the Sage or ChiefRabbi of the congregation, could not unite his flock in holy wedlockwithout the "permission of the Mahamad." And this authority was notmerely negative and passive, it was likewise positive and active. Tobe a Yahid--a recognised congregant--one had to submit one's neck to ayoke more galling even than that of the Torah, to say nothing of thepayment of Finta, or poll-tax. Woe to him who refused to be Warden ofthe Captives--he who ransomed the chained hostages of the MoorishCorsairs, or the war prisoners held in durance by the Turks--or to bePresident of the Congregation, or Parnass of the Holy Land, orBridegroom of the Law, or any of the numerous dignitaries of a complexconstitution. Fines, frequent and heavy--for the benefit of thepoor-box--awaited him "by permission of the Mahamad." Unhappy thewight who misconducted himself in Synagogue "by offending thepresident, or grossly insulting any other person," as the ordinancedeliciously ran. Penalties, stringent and harrying, visited these andother offences--deprivation of the "good deeds," of swathing the HolyScroll, or opening the Ark; ignominious relegation to seats behind thereading-desk, withdrawal of the franchise, prohibition against shavingfor a term of weeks! And if, accepting office, the Yahid failed in thepunctual and regular discharge of his duties, he was mulcted andchastised none the less. A fine of forty pounds drove from theSynagogue Isaac Disraeli, collector of _Curiosities of Literature_,and made possible that curiosity of politics, the career of LordBeaconsfield. The fathers of the Synagogue, who drew up theirconstitution in pure Castilian in the days when Pepys noted theindecorum in their little Synagogue in King Street, meant theirstatutes to cement, not thus to disintegrate, the community. 'Twas atactless tyranny, this of the Mahamad, an inelastic administration ofa cast-iron codex wrought "in good King Charles's golden days," whenthe colony of Dutch-Spanish exiles was as a camp in enemies' country,in need of military _regime_; and it co-operated with the attractionsof an unhampered "Christian" career in driving many a brilliant familybeyond the gates of the Ghetto, and into the pages of Debrett. Athensis always a dangerous rival to Sparta.

  But the Mahamad itself moved strictly in the grooves of prescription.That legalistic instinct of the Hebrew, which had evolved the mostgigantic and minute code of conduct in the world, had beguiled theselatter-day Jews into super-adding to it a local legislation that grewinto two hundred pages of Portuguese--an intertangled network of_Ascamot_ or regulations, providing for every contingency of Synagoguepolitics, from the quarrels of members for the best seats down to thedimensions of their graves in the _Carreira_, from the distribution of"good deeds" among the rich to the distribution of Passover Cakesamong the poor. If the wheels and pulleys of the communal life moved"by permission of the Mahamad," the Mahamad moved by permission of the_Ascamot_.

  The Solemn Council was met--"in complete Mahamad." Even the Chief ofthe Elders was present, by virtue of his privilege, making a sixth;not to count the Chancellor or Secretary, who sat flutteringlyfingering the Portuguese Minute Book on the right of the President. Hewas a little man, an odd medley of pomp and bluster, with asnuff-smeared upper lip, and a nose that had dipped in the wine whenit was red. He had a grandiose sense of his own importance, but it wasa pride that had its roots in humility, for he felt himself greatbecause he was the servant of greatness. He lived "by permission ofthe Mahamad." As an official he was theoretically inaccessible. If youapproached him on a matter he would put out his palms deprecatinglyand pant, "I must consult the Mahamad." It was said of him that he hadonce been asked the time, and that he had automatically panted, "Imust consult the Mahamad." This consultation was the merest form; inpractice the Secretary had more influence than the Chief Rabbi, whowas not allowed to recommend an applicant for charity, for the quaintreason that the respect entertained for him might unduly prejudice theCouncil in favour of his candidate. As no gentleman of the Mahamadcould possibly master the statutes in his year of office, especiallyas only a rare member understood the Portuguese in which they had beenultimately couched, the Secretary was invariably referred
to, for hewas permanent, full of saws and precedents, and so he interpreted thelaw with impartial inaccuracy--"by permission of the Mahamad." In hisheart of hearts he believed that the sun rose and the rain fell--"bypermission of the Mahamad."

  The Council Chamber was of goodly proportions, and was decorated bygold lettered panels, inscribed with the names of pious donors, thickas saints in a graveyard, overflowing even into the lobby. The flowerand chivalry of the Spanish Jewry had sat round that Council-table,grandees who had plumed and ruffled it with the bloods of their day,clanking their swords with the best, punctilious withal andceremonious, with the stately Castilian courtesy still preserved bythe men who were met this afternoon, to whom their memory was as faintas the fading records of the panels. These descendants of theirs hadstill elaborate salutations and circumlocutions, and austere dignitiesof debate. "God-fearing men of capacity and respectability," as the_Ascama_ demanded, they were also men of money, and it gave them aport and a repose. His Britannic Majesty graced the throne no betterthan the President of the Mahamad, seated at the head of the longtable in his alcoved arm-chair, with the Chief of the Elders on hisleft, and the Chancellor on his right, and his Councillors all abouthim. The westering sun sent a pencil of golden light through theNorman windows as if anxious to record the names of those present ingilt letters--"by permission of the Mahamad."

  "THE PRESIDENT OF THE MAHAMAD."]

  "Let da Costa enter," said the President, when the agenda demanded thegreat _Schnorrer's_ presence.

  The Chancellor fluttered to his feet, fussily threw open the door, andbeckoned vacancy with his finger till he discovered Manasseh was notin the lobby. The beadle came hurrying up instead.

  "BECKONED WITH HIS FINGER."]

  "Where is da Costa?" panted the Chancellor. "Call da Costa."

  "Da Costa!" sonorously intoned the beadle with the long-drawn accentof court ushers.

  The corridor rang hollow, empty of Manasseh. "Why, he was here amoment ago," cried the bewildered beadle. He ran down the passage, andfound him sure enough at the end of it where it abutted on the street.The King of _Schnorrers_ was in dignified converse with a person ofconsideration.

  "Da Costa!" the beadle cried again, but his tone was less awesome andmore tetchy. The beggar did not turn his head.

  "Mr. da Costa," said the beadle, now arrived too near the imposingfigure to venture on familiarities with it. This time the beggar gaveindications of restored hearing. "Yes, my man," he said, turning andadvancing a few paces to meet the envoy. "Don't go, Grobstock," hecalled over his shoulder.

  "Didn't you hear me calling?" grumbled the beadle.

  "I heard you calling da Costa, but I naturally imagined it was one ofyour drinking companions," replied Manasseh severely.

  "The Mahamad is waiting for you," faltered the beadle.

  "Tell _the gentlemen_ of the Mahamad," said Manasseh, with reprovingemphasis, "that I shall do myself the pleasure of being with thempresently. Nay, pray don't hurry away, my dear Grobstock," he went on,resuming his place at the German magnate's side--"and so your wife istaking the waters at Tunbridge Wells. In faith, 'tis an excellentregimen for the vapours. I am thinking of sending my wife toBuxton--the warden of our hospital has his country-seat there."

  "But you are wanted," murmured Grobstock, who was anxious to escape.He had caught the _Schnorrer's_ eye as its owner sunned himself in thearchway, and it held him.

  "'Tis only a meeting of the Mahamad I have to attend," he saidindifferently. "Rather a nuisance--but duty is duty."

  Grobstock's red face became a setting for two expanded eyes.

  "I thought the Mahamad was your chief Council," he exclaimed.

  "Yes, there are only five of us," said Manasseh lightly, and, whileGrobstock gaped incredulous, the Chancellor himself shambled up inpale consternation.

  "You are keeping the gentlemen of the Mahamad waiting," he pantedimperiously.

  "Ah, you are right, Grobstock," said Manasseh with a sigh ofresignation. "They cannot get on without me. Well, you will excuse me,I know. I am glad to have seen you again--we shall finish our chat atyour house some evening, shall we? I have agreeable recollections ofyour hospitality."

  "My wife will be away all this month," Grobstock repeated feebly.

  "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Manasseh roguishly. "Thank you for the reminder.I shall not fail to aid you in taking advantage of her absence.Perhaps mine will be away, too--at Buxton. Two bachelors, ha! ha! ha!"and, proffering his hand, he shook Grobstock's in gracious farewell.Then he sauntered leisurely in the wake of the feverishly impatientChancellor, his staff tapping the stones in measured tardiness.

  "'HA! HA! HA!' LAUGHED MANASSEH."]

  "Good afternoon, gentlemen," he observed affably as he entered theCouncil Chamber.

  "You have kept us waiting," sharply rejoined the President of theMahamad, ruffled out of his regal suavity. He was a puffy, swarthypersonage, elegantly attired, and he leaned forward on his velvetthrone, tattooing on the table with bediamonded fingers.

  "Not so long as you have kept _me_ waiting," said Manasseh with quietresentment. "If I had known you expected me to cool my heels in thecorridor I should not have come, and, had not my friend the Treasurerof the Great Synagogue opportunely turned up to chat with me, I shouldnot have stayed."

  "You are impertinent, sir," growled the President.

  "I think, sir, it is you who owe me an apology," maintained Manassehunflinchingly, "and, knowing the courtesy and high breeding which hasalways distinguished your noble family, I can only explain yourpresent tone by your being unaware I have a grievance. No doubt it isyour Chancellor who cited me to appear at too early an hour."

  The President, cooled by the quiet dignity of the beggar, turned aquestioning glance upon the outraged Chancellor, who was crimson andquivering with confusion and indignation.

  "It is usual t-t-to summon persons before the c-c-commencement of themeeting," he stammered hotly. "We cannot tell how long the priorbusiness will take."

  "Then I would respectfully submit to the Chief of the Elders," saidManasseh, "that at the next meeting of his august body he move aresolution that persons cited to appear before the Mahamad shall takeprecedence of all other business."

  The Chief of the Elders looked helplessly at the President of theMahamad, who was equally at sea. "However, I will not press that pointnow," added Manasseh, "nor will I draw the attention of the committeeto the careless, perfunctory manner in which the document summoning mewas drawn up, so that, had I been a stickler for accuracy, I need nothave answered to the name of Manasseh da Costa."

  "But that _is_ your name," protested the Chancellor.

  "If you will examine the Charity List," said Manasseh magnificently,"you will see that my name is Manasseh Bueno Barzillai Azevedo daCosta. But you are keeping the gentlemen of the Mahamad waiting." Andwith a magnanimous air of dismissing the past, he seated himself onthe nearest empty chair at the foot of the table, leaned his elbows onthe table, and his face on his hands, and gazed across at thePresident immediately opposite. The Councillors were so taken aback byhis unexpected bearing that this additional audacity was scarcelynoted. But the Chancellor, wounded in his inmost instincts, exclaimedirately, "Stand up, sir. These chairs are for the gentlemen of theMahamad."

  "And being gentlemen," added Manasseh crushingly, "they know betterthan to keep an old man on his legs any longer."

  "If you were a gentleman," retorted the Chancellor, "you would takethat thing off your head."

  "If you were not a Man-of-the-Earth," rejoined the beggar, "you wouldknow that it is not a mark of disrespect for the Mahamad, but ofrespect for the Law, which is higher than the Mahamad. The rich mancan afford to neglect our holy religion, but the poor man has only theLaw. It is his sole luxury."

  The pathetic tremor in his voice stirred a confused sense ofwrong-doing and injustice in the Councillors' breasts. The Presidentfelt vaguely that the edge of his coming impressive rebuke had beenturned, if, indeed, he did not sit rebuked inst
ead. Irritated, heturned on the Chancellor, and bade him hold his peace.

  "He means well," said Manasseh deprecatingly. "He cannot be expectedto have the fine instincts of the gentlemen of the Mahamad. May I askyou, sir," he concluded, "to proceed with the business for which youhave summoned me? I have several appointments to keep with clients."

  The President's bediamonded fingers recommenced their ill-temperedtattoo; he was fuming inwardly with a sense of baffled wrath, ofrighteous indignation made unrighteous. "Is it true, sir," he burstforth at last in the most terrible accents he could command in thecircumstances, "that you meditate giving your daughter in marriage toa Polish Jew?"

  "No," replied Manasseh curtly.

  "No?" articulated the President, while a murmur of astonishment wentround the table at this unexpected collapse of the whole case.

  "Why, your daughter admitted it to my wife," said the Councillor onManasseh's right.

  Manasseh turned to him, expostulant, tilting his chair and bodytowards him. "My daughter is going to marry a Polish Jew," heexplained with argumentative forefinger, "but I do not meditate givingher to him."

  "Oh, then, you will refuse your consent," said the Councillor,hitching his chair back so as to escape the beggar's progressivepropinquity. "By no means," quoth Manasseh in surprised accents, as hedrew his chair nearer again, "I have already consented. I do not_meditate_ consenting. That word argues an inconclusive attitude."

  "None of your quibbles, sirrah," cried the President, while a scarletflush mantled on his dark countenance. "Do you not know that the unionyou contemplate is disgraceful and degrading to you, to your daughter,and to the community which has done so much for you? What! A Sephardimarry a Tedesco! Shameful."

  "And do you think I do not feel the shame as deeply as you?" enquiredManasseh, with infinite pathos. "Do you think, gentlemen, that I havenot suffered from this passion of a Tedesco for my daughter? I camehere expecting your sympathy, and do you offer me reproach? Perhapsyou think, sir"--here he turned again to his right-hand neighbour,who, in his anxiety to evade his pertinacious proximity, hadhalf-wheeled his chair round, offering only his back to theargumentative forefinger--"perhaps you think, because I haveconsented, that I cannot condole with you, that I am not at one withyou in lamenting this blot on our common 'scutcheon; perhaps youthink"--here he adroitly twisted his chair into argumentativeposition on the other side of the Councillor, rounding him like acape--"that, because you have no sympathy with my tribulation, I haveno sympathy with yours. But, if I have consented, it is only becauseit was the best I could do for my daughter. In my heart of hearts Ihave repudiated her, so that she may practically be considered anorphan, and, as such, a fit person to receive the marriage dowrybequeathed by Rodriguez Real, peace be upon him."

  "This is no laughing matter, sir," thundered the President, stung intoforgetfulness of his dignity by thinking too much of it.

  "No, indeed," said Manasseh sympathetically, wheeling to the right soas to confront the President, who went on stormily, "Are you aware,sir, of the penalties you risk by persisting in your course?"

  "I risk no penalties," replied the beggar.

  "Indeed! Then do you think anyone may trample with impunity upon ourancient _Ascamot_?"

  "Our ancient _Ascamot_!" repeated Manasseh in surprise. "What havethey to say against a Sephardi marrying a Tedesco?"

  The audacity of the question rendered the Council breathless. Manassehhad to answer it himself.

  "They have nothing to say. There is no such _Ascama_." There was amoment of awful silence. It was as though he had disavowed theDecalogue.

  "Do you question the first principle of our constitution?" said thePresident at last, in low, ominous tones. "Do you deny that yourdaughter is a traitress? Do you--?"

  "Ask your Chancellor," calmly interrupted Manasseh. "He is aMan-of-the-Earth, but he should know your statutes, and he will tellyou that my daughter's conduct is nowhere forbidden."

  "Silence, sir," cried the President testily. "Mr. Chancellor, read the_Ascama_."

  The Chancellor wriggled on his chair, his face flushing and paling byturns; all eyes were bent upon him in anxious suspense. He hemmed andha'd and coughed, and took snuff, and blew his nose elaborately.

  "There is n-n-no express _Ascama_," he stuttered at last. Manasseh satstill, in unpretentious triumph.

  The Councillor who was now become his right-hand neighbour was thefirst to break the dazed silence, and it was his first intervention.

  "Of course, it was never actually put into writing," he said in sternreproof. "It has never been legislated against, because it has neverbeen conceived possible. These things are an instinct with everyright-minded Sephardi. Have we ever legislated against marryingChristians?" Manasseh veered round half a point of the compass, andfixed the new opponent with his argumentative forefinger. "Certainlywe have," he replied unexpectedly. "In Section XX., Paragraph II." Hequoted the _Ascama_ by heart, rolling out the sonorous Portuguese likea solemn indictment. "If our legislators had intended to prohibitintermarriage with the German community, they would have prohibitedit."

  "There is the Traditional Law as well as the Written," said theChancellor, recovering himself. "It is so in our holy religion, it isso in our constitution."

  "Yes, there are precedents assuredly," cried the President eagerly.

  "There is the case of one of our Treasurers in the time of GeorgeII.," said the little Chancellor, blossoming under the sunshine of thePresident's encouragement, and naming the ancestor of a Duchess ofto-day. "He wanted to marry a beautiful German Jewess."

  "And was interdicted," said the President.

  "Hem!" coughed the Chancellor. "He--he was only permitted to marry herunder humiliating conditions. The Elders forbade the attendance of themembers of the House of Judgment, or of the Cantors; no celebrationwas to take place in the _Snoga_; no offerings were to be made for thebridegroom's health, nor was he even to receive the bridegroom's callto the reading of the Law."

  "'HEM!' COUGHED THE CHANCELLOR."]

  "But the Elders will not impose any such conditions on my son-in-law,"said Manasseh, skirting round another chair so as to bring hisforefinger to play upon the Chief of the Elders, on whose left he hadnow arrived in his argumentative advances. "In the first place he isnot one of us. His desire to join us is a compliment. If anyone hasoffended your traditions, it is my daughter. But then she is not amale, like the Treasurer cited; she is not an active agent, she hasnot gone out of her way to choose a Tedesco--she has been chosen. Yourmasculine precedents cannot touch her."

  "Ay, but we can touch you," said the contemporary Treasurer,guffawing grimly. He sat opposite Manasseh, and next to theChancellor.

  "Is it fines you are thinking of?" said Manasseh with a scornfulglance across the table. "Very well, fine me--if you can afford it.You know that I am a student, a son of the Law, who has no resourcesbut what you allow him. If you care to pay this fine it is youraffair. There is always room in the poor-box. I am always glad to hearof fines. You had better make up your mind to the inevitable,gentlemen. Have I not had to do it? There is no _Ascama_ to prevent myson-in-law having all the usual privileges--in fact, it was to askthat he might receive the bridegroom's call to the Law on the Sabbathbefore his marriage that I really came. By Section III., Paragraph I.,you are empowered to admit any person about to marry the daughter of aYahid." Again the sonorous Portuguese rang out, thrilling theCouncillors with all that quintessential awfulness of ancient statutesin a tongue not understood. It was not till a quarter of a centurylater that the _Ascamot_ were translated into English, and from thatmoment their authority was doomed.

  The Chancellor was the first to recover from the quotation. Dailycontact with these archaic sanctities had dulled his awe, and thePresident's impotent irritation spurred him to action.

  "But you are _not_ a Yahid," he said quietly. "By Paragraph V. of thesame section, any one whose name appears on the Charity List ceases tobe a Yahid."

  "And a vastly proper l
aw," said Manasseh with irony. "Everybody mayvote but the _Schnorrer_." And, ignoring the Chancellor's point atgreat length, he remarked confidentially to the Chief of the Elders,at whose elbow he was still encamped, "It is curious how few of yourElders perceive that those who take the charity are the pillars ofthe Synagogue. What keeps your community together? Fines. What ensuresrespect for your constitution? Fines. What makes every man do hisduty? Fines. What rules this very Mahamad? Fines. And it is the poorwho provide an outlet for all these moneys. Egad, do you think yourmembers would for a moment tolerate your penalties, if they did notknow the money was laid out in 'good deeds'? Charity is the salt ofriches, says the Talmud, and, indeed, it is the salt that preservesyour community."

  "Have done, sir, have done!" shouted the President, losing all regardfor those grave amenities of the ancient Council Chamber whichManasseh did his best to maintain. "Do you forget to whom you aretalking?"

  "I am talking to the Chief of the Elders," said Manasseh in a woundedtone, "but if you would like me to address myself to you--" andwheeling round the Chief of the Elders, he landed his chair next tothe President's.

  "Silence, fellow!" thundered the President, shrinking spasmodicallyfrom his confidential contact. "You have no right to a voice at all;as the Chancellor has reminded us, you are not even a Yahid, acongregant."

  "Then the laws do not apply to me," retorted the beggar quietly. "Itis only the Yahid who is privileged to do this, who is prohibited fromdoing that. No _Ascama_ mentions the _Schnorrer_, or gives you anyauthority over him."

  "On the contrary," said the Chancellor, seeing the Presidentdisconcerted again, "he is bound to attend the weekday services. Butthis man hardly ever does, sir." "I _never_ do," corrected Manasseh,with touching sadness. "That is another of the privileges I have toforego in order to take your charity; I cannot risk appearing to myMaker in the light of a mercenary."

  "And what prevents you taking your turn in the graveyard watches?"sneered the Chancellor.

  The antagonists were now close together, one on either side of thePresident of the Mahamad, who was wedged between the two bobbing,quarrelling figures, his complexion altering momently for the blacker,and his fingers working nervously.

  "What prevents me?" replied Manasseh. "My age. It would be a sinagainst heaven to spend a night in the cemetery. If the body-snatchersdid come they might find a corpse to their hand in the watch-tower.But I do my duty--I always pay a substitute."

  "No doubt," said the Treasurer. "I remember your asking me for themoney to keep an old man out of the cemetery. Now I see what youmeant."

  "Yes," began two others, "and I--"

  "Order, gentlemen, order," interrupted the President desperately, forthe afternoon was flitting, the sun was setting, and the shadows oftwilight were falling. "You must not argue with the man. Hark you, myfine fellow, we refuse to sanction this marriage; it shall not beperformed by our ministers, nor can we dream of admitting yourson-in-law as a Yahid."

  "Then admit him on your Charity List," said Manasseh.

  "We are more likely to strike _you_ off! And, by gad!" cried thePresident, tattooing on the table with his whole fist, "if you don'tstop this scandal instanter, we will send you howling."

  "'IF YOU DON'T STOP THIS SCANDAL INSTANTER, WE WILLSEND YOU HOWLING!'"]

  "Is it excommunication you threaten?" said Manasseh, rising to hisfeet. There was a menacing glitter in his eye.

  "This scandal must be stopped," repeated the President, agitatedlyrising in involuntary imitation.

  "Any member of the Mahamad could stop it in a twinkling," saidManasseh sullenly. "You yourself, if you only chose."

  "If I only chose?" echoed the President enquiringly.

  "If you only chose my daughter. Are you not a bachelor? I am convincedshe could not say nay to anyone present--excepting the Chancellor.Only no one is really willing to save the community from this scandal,and so my daughter must marry as best she can. And yet, it is ahandsome creature who would not disgrace even a house in Hackney."

  Manasseh spoke so seriously that the President fumed the more. "Lether marry this Pole," he ranted, "and you shall be cut off from us inlife and death. Alive, you shall worship without our walls, and deadyou shall be buried 'behind the boards.'"

  "For the poor man--excommunication," said Manasseh in ominoussoliloquy. "For the rich man--permission to marry the Tedesco of hischoice."

  "Leave the room, fellow," vociferated the President. "You have heardour ultimatum!"

  But Manasseh did not quail.

  "And you shall hear mine," he said, with a quietness that was the moreimpressive for the President's fury. "Do not forget, Mr. President,that you and I owe allegiance to the same brotherhood. Do not forgetthat the power which made you can unmake you at the next election; donot forget that if I have no vote I have vast influence; that there isnot a Yahid whom I do not visit weekly; that there is not a_Schnorrer_ who would not follow me in my exile. Do not forget thatthere is another community to turn to--yes! that very Ashkenaziccommunity you contemn--with the Treasurer of which I talked but justnow; a community that waxes daily in wealth and greatness while yousleep in your sloth." His tall form dominated the chamber, his headseemed to touch the ceiling. The Councillors sat dazed as amid alightning-storm.

  "Jackanapes! Blasphemer! Shameless renegade!" cried the President,choking with wrath. And being already on his legs, he dashed to thebell and tugged at it madly, blanching the Chancellor's face with theperception of a lost opportunity.

  "HE DASHED TO THE BELL."]

  "I shall not leave this chamber till I choose," said Manasseh,dropping stolidly into the nearest chair and folding his arms.

  At once a cry of horror and consternation rose from every throat,every man leapt threateningly to his feet, and Manasseh realised thathe was throned on the alcoved arm-chair!

  But he neither blenched nor budged.

  "Nay, keep your seats, gentlemen," he said quietly.

  The President, turning at the stir, caught sight of the _Schnorrer_,staggered and clutched at the mantel. The Councillors stood spellboundfor an instant, while the Chancellor's eyes roved wildly round thewalls, as if expecting the gold names to start from their panels. Thebeadle rushed in, terrified by the strenuous tintinnabulation, lookedinstinctively towards the throne for orders, then underwentpetrifaction on the threshold, and stared speechless at Manasseh, whattime the President, gasping like a landed cod, vainly strove to utterthe order for the beggar's expulsion.

  "Don't stare at me, Gomez," Manasseh cried imperiously. "Can't you seethe President wants a glass of water?"

  The beadle darted a glance at the President, and, perceiving hiscondition, rushed out again to get the water.

  This was the last straw. To see his authority usurped as well as hisseat maddened the poor President. For some seconds he strove to mouthan oath, embracing his supine Councillors as well as this beggar onhorseback, but he produced only an inarticulate raucous cry, andreeled sideways. Manasseh sprang from his chair and caught the fallingform in his arms. For one terrible moment he stood supporting it in atense silence, broken only by the incoherent murmurs of theunconscious lips; then crying angrily, "Bestir yourselves, gentlemen,don't you see the President is ill?" he dragged his burden towards thetable, and, aided by the panic-stricken Councillors, laid it flatthereupon, and threw open the ruffled shirt. He swept the Minute Bookto the floor with an almost malicious movement, to make room for thePresident.

  The beadle returned with the glass of water, which he well-nighdropped.

  "Run for a physician," Manasseh commanded, and throwing away the watercarelessly, in the Chancellor's direction, he asked if anyone had anybrandy. There was no response.

  "Come, come, Mr. Chancellor," he said, "bring out your phial." And theabashed functionary obeyed.

  "Has any of you his equipage without?" Manasseh demanded next of theMahamad.

  They had not, so Manasseh despatched the Chief of the Elders in questof a sedan chair. Then there was not
hing left but to await thephysician.

  "You see, gentlemen, how insecure is earthly power," said the_Schnorrer_ solemnly, while the President breathed stertorously, deafto his impressive moralising. "It is swallowed up in an instant, asLisbon was engulfed. Cursed are they who despise the poor. How is thesaying of our sages verified--'The house that opens not to the pooropens to the physician.'" His eyes shone with unearthly radiance inthe gathering gloom.

  The cowed assembly wavered before his words, like reeds before thewind, or conscience-stricken kings before fearless prophets.

  When the physician came he pronounced that the President had had aslight stroke of apoplexy, involving a temporary paralysis of theright foot. The patient, by this time restored to consciousness, wasconveyed home in the sedan chair, and the Mahamad dissolved inconfusion. Manasseh was the last to leave the Council Chamber. As hestalked into the corridor he turned the key in the door behind himwith a vindictive twist. Then, plunging his hand into hisbreeches-pocket, he gave the beadle a crown, remarking genially, "Youmust have your usual perquisite, I suppose."

  The beadle was moved to his depths. He had a burst of irresistiblehonesty. "The President gives me only half-a-crown," he murmured.

  "Yes, but he may not be able to attend the next meeting," saidManasseh. "And I may be away, too."

  CHAPTER VI.

  SHOWING HOW THE KING ENRICHED THE SYNAGOGUE.

  The Synagogue of the Gates of Heaven was crowded--members, orphanboys, _Schnorrers_, all were met in celebration of the Sabbath. Butthe President of the Mahamad was missing. He was still inconveniencedby the effects of his stroke, and deemed it most prudent to pray athome. The Council of Five had not met since Manasseh had dissolved it,and so the matter of his daughter's marriage was left hanging, asindeed was not seldom the posture of matters discussed by Sephardicbodies. The authorities thus passive, Manasseh found scant difficultyin imposing his will upon the minor officers, less ready than himselfwith constitutional precedent. His daughter was to be married underthe Sephardic canopy, and no jot of synagogual honour was to be batedthe bridegroom. On this Sabbath--the last before the wedding--Yankelewas to be called to the Reading of the Law like a true-bornPortuguese. He made his first appearance in the Synagogue of hisbride's fathers with a feeling of solemn respect, not exactly due toManasseh's grandiose references to the ancient temple. He had walkedthe courtyard with levity, half prepared, from previous experience ofhis intended father-in-law, to find the glories insubstantial. Theirunexpected actuality awed him, and he was glad he was dressed in hisbest. His beaver hat, green trousers, and brown coat equalled him withthe massive pillars, the gleaming candelabra, and the stately roof. DaCosta, for his part, had made no change in his attire; he dignifiedhis shabby vestments, stuffing them with royal manhood, and wearinghis snuff-coloured over-garment like a purple robe. There was, insooth, an official air about his habiliment, and to the worshippers itwas as impressively familiar as the black stole and white bands of theCantor. It seemed only natural that he should be called to the Readingfirst, quite apart from the fact that he was a _Cohen_, of the familyof Aaron, the High Priest, a descent that, perhaps, lent something tothe loftiness of his carriage.

  When the Minister intoned vigorously, "The good name, Manasseh, theson of Judah, the Priest, the man, shall arise to read in the Law,"every eye was turned with a new interest on the prospectivefather-in-law. Manasseh arose composedly, and, hitching his slidingprayer-shawl over his left shoulder, stalked to the reading platform,where he chanted the blessings with imposing flourishes, and stood atthe Minister's right hand while his section of the Law was read fromthe sacred scroll. There was many a man of figure in the congregation,but none who became the platform better. It was beautiful to see himpay his respects to the scroll; it reminded one of the meeting of twosovereigns. The great moment, however, was when, the section beingconcluded, the Master Reader announced Manasseh's donations to theSynagogue. The financial statement was incorporated in a longBenediction, like a coin wrapped up in folds of paper. This was alwaysa great moment, even when inconsiderable personalities were concerned,each man's generosity being the subject of speculation before andcomment after. Manasseh, it was felt, would, although a mere_Schnorrer_, rise to the height of the occasion, and offer as much asseven and sixpence. The shrewder sort suspected he would split it upinto two or three separate offerings, to give an air of inexhaustiblelargess.

  The shrewder sort were right and wrong, as is their habit.

  The Master Reader began his quaint formula, "May He who blessed ourFathers," pausing at the point where the Hebrew is blank for theamount. He span out the prefatory "Who vows"--the last note prolongingitself, like the vibration of a tuning-fork, at a literal pitch ofsuspense. It was a sensational halt, due to his forgetting the amountsor demanding corroboration at the eleventh hour, and the stingy oftenrecklessly amended their contributions, panic-struck under thepressure of imminent publicity.

  "Who vows--" The congregation hung upon his lips. With his usualgesture of interrogation, he inclined his ear towards Manasseh'smouth, his face wearing an unusual look of perplexity; and thosenearest the platform were aware of a little colloquy between the_Schnorrer_ and the Master Reader, the latter bewildered and agitated,the former stately. The delay had discomposed the Master as much as ithad whetted the curiosity of the congregation. He repeated:

  "Who vows--_cinco livras_"--he went on glibly without a pause--"forcharity--for the life of Yankov ben Yitzchok, his son-in-law, &c.,&c." But few of the worshippers heard any more than the _cinco livras_(five pounds). A thrill ran through the building. Men pricked up theirears, incredulous, whispering one another. One man deliberately movedfrom his place towards the box in which sat the Chief of the Elders,the presiding dignitary in the absence of the President of theMahamad.

  "I didn't catch--how much was that?" he asked.

  "'I DIDN'T CATCH.'"]

  "Five pounds," said the Chief of the Elders shortly. He suspected anirreverent irony in the Beggar's contribution.

  The Benediction came to an end, but ere the hearers had time torealise the fact, the Master Reader had started on another. "May Hewho blessed our fathers!" he began, in the strange traditionalrecitative. The wave of curiosity mounted again, higher than before.

  "Who vows--"

  The wave hung an instant, poised and motionless.

  "_Cinco livras!_"

  The wave broke in a low murmur, amid which the Master imperturbablyproceeded, "For oil--for the life of his daughter Deborah, &c." Whenhe reached the end there was a poignant silence.

  Was it to be _da capo_ again?

  "May He who blessed our fathers!"

  The wave of curiosity surged once more, rising and subsiding with thisebb and flow of financial Benediction.

  "Who vows--_cinco livras_--for the wax candles."

  This time the thrill, the whisper, the flutter, swelled into apositive buzz. The gaze of the entire congregation was focussed uponthe Beggar, who stood impassive in the blaze of glory. Even the orphanboys, packed in their pew, paused in their inattention to the Service,and craned their necks towards the platform. The veriest magnates didnot thus play piety with five pound points. In the ladies' gallery theexcitement was intense. The occupants gazed eagerly through thegrille. One woman--a buxom dame of forty summers, richly clad andjewelled--had risen, and was tiptoeing frantically over the woodwork,her feather waving like a signal of distress. It was Manasseh's wife.The waste of money maddened her, each donation hit her like a poisonedarrow; in vain she strove to catch her spouse's eye. The air seemedfull of gowns and toques and farthingales flaming away under her verynose, without her being able to move hand or foot in rescue; wholewardrobes perished at each Benediction. It was with the utmostdifficulty she restrained herself from shouting down to her prodigallord. At her side the radiant Deborah vainly tried to pacify her byassurances that Manasseh never intended to pay up.

  "SHE STROVE TO CATCH HER SPOUSE'S EYE."]

  "Who vows--" The Benedict
ion had begun for a fourth time.

  "_Cinco livras_ for the Holy Land." And the sensation grew. "For thelife of this holy congregation, &c."

  The Master Reader's voice droned on impassively, interminably.

  The fourth Benediction was drawing to its close, when the beadle wasseen to mount the platform and whisper in his ear. Only Manassehoverheard the message.

  "The Chief of the Elders says you must stop. This is mere mockery. Theman is a _Schnorrer_, an impudent beggar."

  The beadle descended the steps, and after a moment of inaudiblediscussion with da Costa, the Master Reader lifted up his voiceafresh.

  The Chief of the Elders frowned and clenched his praying-shawlangrily. It was a fifth Benediction! But the Reader's sing-song wenton, for Manasseh's wrath was nearer than the magnate's.

  "Who vows--_cinco livras_--for the Captives--for the life of the Chiefof the Elders!"

  The Chief bit his lip furiously at this delicate revenge; galledalmost to frenzy by the aggravating foreboding that the congregationwould construe his message as a solicitation of the polite attention.For it was of the amenities of the Synagogue for rich people topresent these Benedictions to one another. And so the endless streamof donatives flowed on, provoking the hearers to fever pitch. The veryorphan boys forgot that this prolongation of the service was retardingtheir breakfasts indefinitely. Every warden, dignitary and official,from the President of the Mahamad down to the very Keeper of the Bath,was honoured by name in a special Benediction, the chief of Manasseh'sweekly patrons were repaid almost in kind on this unique and festiveoccasion. Most of the congregation kept count of the sum total, whichwas mounting, mounting....

  Suddenly there was a confusion in the ladies' gallery, cries, a babbleof tongues. The beadle hastened upstairs to impose his authority. Therumour circulated that Mrs. da Costa had fainted and been carried out.It reached Manasseh's ears, but he did not move. He stood at his post,unfaltering, donating, blessing.

  "MRS. DA COSTA HAD FAINTED."]

  "Who vows--_cinco livras_--for the life of his wife, Sarah!" And afaint sardonic smile flitted across the Beggar's face.

  The oldest worshipper wondered if the record would be broken.Manasseh's benefactions were approaching thrillingly near the highesttotal hitherto reached by any one man upon any one occasion. Everybrain was troubled by surmises. The Chief of the Elders, fumingimpotently, was not alone in apprehending a blasphemous mockery; butthe bulk imagined that the _Schnorrer_ had come into property or hadalways been a man of substance, and was now taking this means ofrestoring to the Synagogue the funds he had drawn from it. And thefountain of Benevolence played on.

  The record figure was reached and left in the rear. When at length thepoor Master Reader, sick unto death of the oft-repeated formula (whichmight just as well have covered all the contributions the first time,though Manasseh had commanded each new Benediction as if by anafter-thought), was allowed to summon the Levite who succeededManasseh, the Synagogue had been enriched by a hundred pounds. Thelast Benediction had been coupled with the name of the poorest_Schnorrer_ present--an assertion and glorification of Manasseh's ownorder that put the coping-stone on this sensational memorial of theRoyal Wedding. It was, indeed, a kingly munificence, a sovereigngraciousness. Nay, before the Service was over, Manasseh even beggedthe Chief of the Elders to permit a special _Rogation_ to be said fora sick person. The Chief, meanly snatching at this opportunity ofreprisals, refused, till, learning that Manasseh alluded to the ailingPresident of the Mahamad, he collapsed ingloriously.

  But the real hero of the day was Yankele, who shone chiefly byreflected light, but yet shone even more brilliantly than theSpaniard, for to him was added the double lustre of the bridegroom andthe stranger, and he was the cause and centre of the sensation.

  His eyes twinkled continuously throughout.

  The next day, Manasseh fared forth to collect the hundred pounds!

  The day being Sunday, he looked to find most of his clients at home.He took Grobstock first as being nearest, but the worthy speculatorand East India Director espied him from an upper window, and escapedby a back-door into Goodman's Fields--a prudent measure, seeing thatthe incredulous Manasseh ransacked the house in quest of him.Manasseh's manner was always a search-warrant.

  The King consoled himself by paying his next visit to a personage whocould not possibly evade him--none other than the sick President ofthe Mahamad. He lived in Devonshire Square, in solitary splendour. HimManasseh bearded in his library, where the convalescent was sortinghis collection of prints. The visitor had had himself announced as agentleman on synagogual matters, and the public-spirited President hadnot refused himself to the business. But when he caught sight ofManasseh, his puffy features were distorted, he breathed painfully,and put his hand to his hip.

  "SORTING HIS COLLECTION OF PRINTS."]

  "You!" he gasped.

  "Have a care, my dear sir! Have a care!" said Manasseh anxiously, ashe seated himself. "You are still weak. To come to the point--for Iwould not care to distract too much a man indispensable to thecommunity, who has already felt the hand of the Almighty for histreatment of the poor--"

  He saw that his words were having effect, for these prosperous pillarsof the Synagogue were mightily superstitious under affliction, and heproceeded in gentler tones. "To come to the point, it is my duty toinform you (for I am the only man who is certain of it) that while youhave been away our Synagogue has made a bad debt!"

  "A bad debt!" An angry light leapt into the President's eyes. Therehad been an ancient practice of lending out the funds to members, andthe President had always set his face against the survival of thepolicy. "It would not have been made had I been there!" he cried.

  "No, indeed," admitted Manasseh. "You would have stopped it in itsearly stages. The Chief of the Elders tried, but failed."

  "The dolt!" cried the President. "A man without a backbone. How muchis it?"

  "A hundred pounds!"

  "A hundred pounds!" echoed the President, seriously concerned at thisblot upon his year of office. "And who is the debtor?"

  "I am."

  "You! You have borrowed a hundred pounds, you--you jackanapes!"

  "Silence, sir! How dare you? I should leave this apartment at once,were it not that I cannot go without your apology. Never in my lifehave I borrowed a hundred pounds--nay, never have I borrowed onefarthing. I am no borrower. If you are a gentleman, you willapologise!"

  "I am sorry if I misunderstood," murmured the poor President, "buthow, then, do you owe the money?"

  "How, then?" repeated Manasseh impatiently. "Cannot you understandthat I have donated it to the Synagogue?"

  The President stared at him open-mouthed.

  "I vowed it yesterday in celebration of my daughter's marriage."

  The President let a sigh of relief pass through his open mouth. He waseven amused a little.

  "Oh, is that all? It was like your deuced effrontery; but still, theSynagogue doesn't lose anything. There's no harm done."

  "What is that you say?" enquired Manasseh sternly. "Do you mean to sayI am not to pay this money?"

  "How can you?"

  "How can I? I come to you and others like you to pay it for me."

  "Nonsense! Nonsense!" said the President, beginning to lose his temperagain. "We'll let it pass. There's no harm done."

  "And this is the President of the Mahamad!" soliloquised the_Schnorrer_ in bitter astonishment. "This is the chief of our ancient,godly Council! What, sir! Do you hold words spoken solemnly inSynagogue of no account? Would you have me break my solemn vow? Do youwish to bring the Synagogue institutions into contempt? Do you--a manalready once stricken by Heaven--invite its chastisement again?"

  The President had grown pale--his brain was reeling.

  "Nay, ask its forgiveness, sir," went on the King implacably; "andmake good this debt of mine in token of your remorse, as it iswritten, 'And repentance, and prayer, and _charity_ avert the evildecree.'"

  "Not a penny!"
cried the President, with a last gleam of lucidity, andstrode furiously towards the bell-pull. Then he stood still in suddenrecollection of a similar scene in the Council Chamber.

  "You need not trouble to ring for a stroke," said Manasseh grimly."Then the Synagogue is to be profaned, then even the Benediction whichI in all loyalty and forgiveness caused to be said for the recovery ofthe President of the Mahamad is to be null, a mockery in the sight ofthe Holy One, blessed be He!"

  The President tottered into his reading-chair.

  "How much did you vow on my behalf?"

  "Five pounds."

  The President precipitately drew out a pocket-book and extracted acrisp Bank of England note.

  "Give it to the Chancellor," he breathed, exhausted.

  "I am punished," quoth Manasseh plaintively as he placed it in hisbosom. "I should have vowed ten for you." And he bowed himself out.

  In like manner did he collect other contributions that day fromSephardic celebrities, pointing out that now a foreign Jew--Yankele towit--had been admitted to their communion, it behoved them to showthemselves at their best. What a bad effect it would have on Yankeleif a Sephardi was seen to vow with impunity! First impressions wereeverything, and they could not be too careful. It would not do forYankele to circulate contumelious reports of them among his kin. Thosewho remonstrated with him over his extravagance he reminded that hehad only one daughter, and he drew their attention to the favourableinfluence his example had had on the Saturday receipts. Not a man ofthose who came after him in the Reading had ventured to offerhalf-crowns. He had fixed the standard in gold for that day at least,and who knew what noble emulation he had fired for the future?

  Every man who yielded to Manasseh's eloquence was a step to reach thenext, for Manasseh made a list of donors, and paraded it reproachfullybefore those who had yet to give. Withal, the most obstinateresistance met him in some quarters. One man--a certain Rodriques,inhabiting a mansion in Finsbury Circus--was positively rude.

  "If I came in a carriage, you'd soon pull out your ten-pound note forthe Synagogue," sneered Manasseh, his blood boiling.

  "Certainly I would," admitted Rodriques laughing. And Manasseh shookoff the dust of his threshold in disdain.

  By reason of such rebuffs, his collection for the day only reachedabout thirty pounds, inclusive of the value of some depreciatedPortuguese bonds which he good-naturedly accepted as though at par.

  Disgusted with the meanness of mankind, da Costa's genius devised moredrastic measures. Having carefully locked up the proceeds of Sunday'soperations, and, indeed, nearly all his loose cash, in his safe, for,to avoid being put to expense, he rarely carried money on his person,unless he gathered it _en route_, he took his way to BishopsgateWithin, to catch the stage for Clapton. The day was bright, and hehummed a festive Synagogue tune as he plodded leisurely with his stickalong the bustling, narrow pavements, bordered by costers' barrows atone edge, and by jagged houses, overhung by grotesque signboards, atthe other, and thronged by cits in worsted hose.

  But when he arrived at the inn he found the coach had started. Nothingconcerned, he ordered a post-chaise in a supercilious manner,criticising the horses, and drove to Clapton in style, drawn by a pairof spanking steeds, to the music of the postillion's horn. Very soonthey drew out of the blocked roads, with their lumbering procession ofcarts, coaches, and chairs, and into open country, green with thefresh verdure of the spring. The chaise stopped at "The Red Cottage,"a pretty villa, whose facade was covered with Virginian creeper thatblushed in the autumn. Manasseh was surprised at the taste with whichthe lawn was laid out in the Italian style, with grottoes and marblefigures. The householder, hearing the windings of the horn, conceivedhimself visited by a person of quality, and sent a message that he wasin the hands of his hairdresser, but would be down in less than halfan hour. This was of a piece with Manasseh's information concerningthe man--a certain Belasco, emulous of the great fops, an amateur ofsatin waistcoats and novel shoestrings, and even said to affect aspying-glass when he showed at Vauxhall. Manasseh had never seen him,not having troubled to go so far afield, but from the handsomeappurtenances of the hall and the staircase he augured the best. Theapartments were even more to his liking; they were oak panelled, andcrammed with the most expensive objects of art and luxury. The wallsof the drawing-room were frescoed, and from the ceiling depended abrilliant lustre, with seven spouts for illumination.

  Having sufficiently examined the furniture, Manasseh grew weary ofwaiting, and betook himself to Belasco's bedchamber.

  "You will excuse me, Mr. Belasco," he said, as he entered through thehalf open door, "but my business is urgent."

  The young dandy, who was seated before a mirror, did not look up, butreplied, "Have a care, sir, you well nigh startled my hairdresser."

  "Far be it from me to willingly discompose an artist," repliedManasseh drily, "though from the elegance of the design, I venture tothink my interruption will not make a hair's-breadth of difference.But I come on a matter which the son of Benjamin Belasco will hardlydeny is more pressing than his toilette."

  "Nay, nay, sir, what can be more momentous?"

  "The Synagogue!" said Manasseh austerely.

  "Pah! What are you talking of, sir?" and he looked up cautiously forthe first time at the picturesque figure. "What does the Synagoguewant of me? I pay my _finta_ and every bill the rascals send me.Monstrous fine sums, too, egad--"

  "But you never go there!"

  "No, indeed, a man of fashion cannot be everywhere. Routs and rigottiplay the deuce with one's time."

  "What a pity!" mused Manasseh ironically. "One misses you there. 'Tisno edifying spectacle--a slovenly rabble with none to set the standardof taste."

  The pale-faced beau's eyes lit up with a gleam of interest.

  "Ah, the clods!" he said. "You should yourself be a buck of theeccentric school by your dress. But I stick to the old tradition ofelegance."

  "You had better stick to the old tradition of piety," quoth Manasseh."Your father was a saint, you are a sinner in Israel. Return to theSynagogue, and herald your return by contributing to its finances. Ithas made a bad debt, and I am collecting money to reimburse it."

  The young exquisite yawned. "I know not who you may be," he said atlength, "but you are evidently not one of us. As for the Synagogue Iam willing to reform its dress, but dem'd if I will give a shillingmore to its finances. Let your slovenly rabble of tradesmen pay thepiper--I cannot afford it!"

  "_You_ cannot afford it!"

  "No--you see I have such extravagant tastes."

  "But I give you the opportunity for extravagance," expostulatedManasseh. "What greater luxury is there than that of doing good?"

  "Confound it, sir, I must ask you to go," said Beau Belasco coldly."Do you not perceive that you are disconcerting my hairdresser?"

  "I could not abide a moment longer under this profane, if tasteful,roof," said Manasseh, backing sternly towards the door. "But I wouldmake one last appeal to you, for the sake of the repose of yourfather's soul, to forsake your evil ways."

  "Be hanged to you for a meddler," retorted the young blood. "My moneysupports men of genius and taste--it shall not be frittered away on apack of fusty shopkeepers."

  The _Schnorrer_ drew himself up to his full height, his eyes dartedfire. "Farewell, then!" he hissed in terrible tones. "_You will makethe third at Grace!_"

  "'FAREWELL!' HE HISSED."]

  He vanished--the dandy started up full of vague alarm, forgettingeven his hair in the mysterious menace of that terrifying sibilation.

  "What do you mean?" he cried.

  "I mean," said Manasseh, reappearing at the door, "that since theworld was created, only two men have taken their clothes with them tothe world to come. One was Korah, who was swallowed down, the otherwas Elijah, who was borne aloft. It is patent in which direction thethird will go."

  The sleeping chord of superstition vibrated under Manasseh's dexteroustouch.

  "Rejoice, O young man, in your stren
gth," went on the Beggar, "but aday will come when only the corpse-watchers will perform yourtoilette. In plain white they will dress you, and the devil shallnever know what a dandy you were."

  "But who are you, that I should give you money for the Synagogue?"asked the Beau sullenly. "Where are your credentials?"

  "Was it to insult me that you called me back? Do I look a knave? Nay,put up your purse. I'll have none of your filthy gold. Let me go."

  Gradually Manasseh was won round to accepting ten sovereigns.

  "For your father's sake," he said, pocketing them. "The only thing Iwill take for your sake is the cost of my conveyance. I had to posthither, and the Synagogue must not be the loser."

  Beau Belasco gladly added the extra money, and reseated himself beforethe mirror, with agreeable sensations in his neglected conscience."You see," he observed, half apologetically, for Manasseh stilllingered, "one cannot do everything. To be a prince of dandies, oneneeds all one's time." He waved his hand comprehensively around thewalls which were lined with wardrobes. "My buckskin breeches were theresult of nine separate measurings. Do you note how they fit?"

  "They scarcely do justice to your eminent reputation," repliedManasseh candidly.

  Beau Belasco's face became whiter than even at the thought ofearthquakes and devils. "They fit me to bursting!" he breathed.

  "But are they in the pink of fashion?" queried Manasseh. "Andassuredly the nankeen pantaloons yonder I recollect to have seen wornlast year."

  "My tailor said they were of a special cut--'tis a shape I amintroducing, baggy--to go with frilled shirts."

  Manasseh shook his head sceptically, whereupon the Beau besought himto go through his wardrobe, and set aside anything that lackedoriginality or extreme fashionableness. After considerable reluctanceManasseh consented, and set aside a few cravats, shirts, periwigs, andsuits from the immense collection.

  "Aha! That is all you can find," said the Beau gleefully.

  "Yes, that is all," said Manasseh sadly. "All I can find that does anyjustice to your fame. These speak the man of polish and invention; therest are but tawdry frippery. Anybody might wear them."

  "Anybody!" gasped the poor Beau, stricken to the soul.

  "Yes, I might wear them myself."

  "Thank you! Thank you! You are an honest man. I love true criticism,when the critic has nothing to gain. I am delighted you called. Theserags shall go to my valet."

  "Nay, why waste them on the heathen?" asked Manasseh, struck with asudden thought. "Let me dispose of them for the benefit of theSynagogue."

  "If it would not be troubling you too much!"

  "Is there anything I would not do for Heaven?" said Manasseh with apatronising air. He threw open the door of the adjoining piecesuddenly, disclosing the scowling valet on his knees. "Take thesedown, my man," he said quietly, and the valet was only too glad tohide his confusion at being caught eavesdropping by hastening down tothe drive with an armful of satin waistcoats.

  "THE SCOWLING VALET ON HIS KNEES."]

  Manasseh, getting together the remainder, shook his head despairingly."I shall never get these into the post-chaise," he said. "You willhave to lend me your carriage."

  "Can't you come back for them?" said the Beau feebly.

  "Why waste the Synagogue's money on hired vehicles? No, if you willcrown your kindness by sending the footman along with me to help meunpack them, you shall have your equipage back in an hour or two."

  So the carriage and pair were brought out, and Manasseh, pressing intohis service the coachman, the valet, and the footman, superintendedthe packing of the bulk of Beau Belasco's wardrobe into the twovehicles. Then he took his seat in the carriage, the coachman and thegorgeous powdered footman got into their places, and with a joyousfanfaronade on the horn, the procession set off, Manasseh bowinggraciously to the master of "The Red House," who was waving hisberuffled hand from a window embowered in greenery. After a pleasantdrive, the vehicles halted at the house, guarded by stone lions, inwhich dwelt Nathaniel Furtado, the wealthy private dealer, whowillingly gave fifteen pounds for the buck's belaced and embroideredvestments, besides being inveigled into a donation of a guinea towardsthe Synagogue's bad debt. Manasseh thereupon dismissed the chaise witha handsome gratuity, and drove in state in the now-empty carriage,attended by the powdered footman, to Finsbury Circus, to the mansionof Rodriques. "I have come for my ten pounds," he said, and remindedhim of his promise (?). Rodriques laughed, and swore, and laughedagain, and swore that the carriage was hired, to be paid for out ofthe ten pounds.

  "DROVE IN STATE."]

  "Hired?" echoed Manasseh resentfully. "Do you not recognise the armsof my friend, Beau Belasco?" And he presently drove off with the note,for Rodriques had a roguish eye. And then, parting with the chariot,the King took his way on foot to Fenchurch Street, to the house of hiscousin Barzillai, the ex-planter of Barbadoes, and now a West Indianmerchant.

  Barzillai, fearing humiliation before his clerks, always carried hisrelative off to the neighbouring Franco's Head Tavern, and humouredhim with costly liquors.

  "But you had no right to donate money you did not possess; it wasdishonest," he cried with irrepressible ire.

  "Hoity toity!" said Manasseh, setting down his glass so vehementlythat the stem shivered. "And were you not called to the Law after me?And did you not donate money?"

  "Certainly! But I _had_ the money."

  "What! _With_ you?"

  "No, no, certainly not. I do not carry money on the Sabbath."

  "Exactly. Neither do I."

  "But the money was at my bankers'."

  "And so it was at mine. _You_ are my bankers, you and others like you.You draw on your bankers--I draw on mine." And his cousin being thusconfuted, Manasseh had not much further difficulty in wheedling twopounds ten out of him.

  "And now," said he, "I really think you ought to do something tolessen the Synagogue's loss."

  "But I have just given!" quoth Barzillai in bewilderment.

  "_That_ you gave to me as your cousin, to enable your relative todischarge his obligations. I put it strictly on a personal footing.But now I am pleading on behalf of the Synagogue, which stands to loseheavily. You are a Sephardi as well as my cousin. It is a distinctionnot unlike the one I have so often to explain to you. You owe mecharity, not only as a cousin, but as a _Schnorrer_ likewise." And,having wrested another guinea from the obfuscated merchant, herepaired to Grobstock's business office in search of the defaulter.

  But the wily Grobstock, forewarned by Manasseh's promise to visit him,and further frightened by his Sunday morning call, had denied himselfto the _Schnorrer_ or anyone remotely resembling him, and it was nottill the afternoon that Manasseh ran him to earth at Sampson'scoffee-house in Exchange Alley, where the brokers foregathered, and'prentices and students swaggered in to abuse the Ministers, and allkinds of men from bloods to barristers loitered to pick up hints toeasy riches. Manasseh detected his quarry in the furthermost box, hisface hidden behind a broadsheet.

  "HIS FACE HIDDEN BEHIND A BROADSHEET."]

  "Why do you always come to me?" muttered the East India Directorhelplessly.

  "Eh?" said Manasseh, mistrustful of his own ears. "I beg your pardon."

  "If your own community cannot support you," said Grobstock, moreloudly, and with all the boldness of an animal driven to bay, "why notgo to Abraham Goldsmid, or his brother Ben, or to Van Oven, orOppenheim--they're all more prosperous than I."

  "Sir!" said Manasseh wrathfully. "You are a skilful--nay, a famous,financier. You know what stocks to buy, what stocks to sell, when tofollow a rise, and when a fall. When the Premier advertises the loans,a thousand speculators look to you for guidance. What would you say if_I_ presumed to interfere in your financial affairs--if I told you toissue these shares or to call in those? You would tell me to mind myown business; and you would be perfectly right. Now _Schnorring_ is_my_ business. Trust me, I know best whom to come to. You stick tostocks and leave _Schnorring_ alone. You are the King of Financi
ers,but I am the King of _Schnorrers_."

  Grobstock's resentment at the rejoinder was mitigated by thecompliment to his financial insight. To be put on the same level withthe Beggar was indeed unexpected.

  "Will you have a cup of coffee?" he said.

  "I ought scarcely to drink with you after your reception of me,"replied Manasseh unappeased. "It is not even as if I came to _schnorr_for myself; it is to the finances of our house of worship that Iwished to give you an opportunity of contributing."

  "Aha! your vaunted community hard up?" queried Joseph, with acomplacent twinkle.

  "Sir! We are the richest congregation in the world. We want nothingfrom anybody," indignantly protested Manasseh, as he absent-mindedlytook the cup of coffee which Grobstock had ordered for him. "Thedifficulty merely is that, in honour of my daughter's wedding, I havedonated a hundred pounds to the Synagogue which I have not yet managedto collect, although I have already devoted a day-and-a-half of myvaluable time to the purpose."

  "But why do you come to me?"

  "What! Do you ask me that again?"

  "I--I--mean," stammered Grobstock--"why should I contribute to aPortuguese Synagogue?"

  Manasseh clucked his tongue in despair of such stupidity. "It is justyou who should contribute more than any Portuguese."

  "I?" Grobstock wondered if he was awake.

  "Yes, you. Was not the money spent in honour of the marriage of aGerman Jew? It was a splendid vindication of your community."

  "This is too much!" cried Grobstock, outraged and choking.

  "Too much to mark the admission to our fold of the first of your sect!I am disappointed in you, deeply disappointed. I thought you wouldhave applauded my generous behaviour."

  "I don't care what you thought!" gasped Grobstock. He was genuinelyexasperated at the ridiculousness of the demand, but he was alsopleased to find himself preserving so staunch a front against theinsidious _Schnorrer_. If he could only keep firm now, he toldhimself, he might emancipate himself for ever. Yes, he would bestrong, and Manasseh should never dare address him again. "I won't paya stiver," he roared.

  "If you make a scene I will withdraw," said Manasseh quietly. "Alreadythere are ears and eyes turned upon you. From your language peoplewill be thinking me a dun and you a bankrupt."

  "They can go to the devil!" thundered Grobstock, "and you too!"

  "Blasphemer! You counsel me to ask the devil to contribute to theSynagogue! I will not bandy words with you. You refuse, then, tocontribute to this fund?"

  "I do, I see no reason."

  "Not even the five pounds I vowed on behalf of Yankele himself--one ofyour own people?"

  "What! I pay in honour of Yankele--a dirty _Schnorrer_!"

  "Is this the way you speak of your guests?" said Manasseh, in painedastonishment. "Do you forget that Yankele has broken bread at yourtable? Perhaps this is how you talk of me when my back is turned. But,beware! Remember the saying of our sages, 'You and I cannot live inthe world,' said God to the haughty man. Come, now! No more palteringor taking refuge in abuse. You refuse me this beggarly five pounds?"

  "Most decidedly."

  "Very well, then!"

  Manasseh called the attendant.

  "What are you about to do?" cried Grobstock apprehensively.

  "You shall see," said Manasseh resolutely, and when the attendantcame, he pressed the price of his cup of coffee into his hand.

  Grobstock flushed in silent humiliation. Manasseh rose.

  Grobstock's fatal strain of weakness gave him a twinge of compunctionat the eleventh hour.

  "You see for yourself how unreasonable your request was," he murmured.

  "Do not strive to justify yourself, I am done with you," saidManasseh. "I am done with you as a philanthropist. For the future youmay besnuff and bespatter your coat as much as you please, for all thetrouble I shall ever take. As a financier, I still respect you, andmay yet come to you, but as a philanthropist, never."

  "Anything I can do--" muttered Grobstock vaguely.

  "Let me see!" said Manasseh, looking down upon him thoughtfully. "Ah,yes, an idea! I have collected over sixty pounds. If you would investthis for me--"

  "Certainly, certainly," interrupted Grobstock, with conciliatoryeagerness.

  "Good! With your unrivalled knowledge of the markets, you could easilybring it up to the necessary sum in a day or two. Perhaps even thereis some grand _coup_ on the _tapis_, something to be bulled or bearedin which you have a hand."

  Grobstock nodded his head vaguely. He had already remembered that theproceeding was considerably below his dignity; he was not astockbroker, never had he done anything of the kind for anyone.

  "But suppose I lose it all?" he asked, trying to draw back.

  "Impossible," said the _Schnorrer_ serenely. "Do you forget it is aSynagogue fund? Do you think the Almighty will suffer His money to belost?"

  "Then why not speculate yourself?" said Grobstock craftily.

  "The Almighty's honour must be guarded. What! Shall He be less wellserved than an earthly monarch? Do you think I do not know yourfinancial relations with the Court? The service of the Almightydemands the best men. I was the best man to collect the money--you arethe best to invest it. To-morrow morning it shall be in your hands."

  "No, don't trouble," said Grobstock feebly. "I don't need the actualmoney to deal with."

  "I thank you for your trust in me," replied Manasseh with emotion."Now you speak like yourself again. I withdraw what I said to you. I_will_ come to you again--to the philanthropist no less thanfinancier. And--and I am sorry I paid for my coffee." His voicequivered.

  Grobstock was touched. He took out a sixpence and repaid his guestwith interest. Manasseh slipped the coin into his pocket, and shortlyafterwards, with some final admonitions to his stock-jobber, took hisleave.

  Being in for the job, Grobstock resolved to make the best of it. Hislatent vanity impelled him to astonish the Beggar. It happened that he_was_ on the point of a magnificent manoeuvre, and alongside his owntriton Manasseh's minnow might just as well swim. He made the sixtyodd pounds into six hundred.

  A few days after the Royal Wedding, the glories of which are still atradition among the degenerate _Schnorrers_ of to-day, Manasseh struckthe Chancellor breathless by handing him a bag containing five scoreof sovereigns. Thus did he honourably fulfil his obligation to theSynagogue, and with more celerity than many a Warden. Nay, more!Justly considering the results of the speculation should accrue to theSynagogue, whose money had been risked, he, with Quixoticscrupulousness, handed over the balance of five hundred pounds to theMahamad, stipulating only that it should be used to purchase alife-annuity (styled the Da Costa Fund) for a poor and deservingmember of the congregation, in whose selection he, as donor, shouldhave the ruling voice. The Council of Five eagerly agreed to hisconditions, and a special junta was summoned for the election. Thedonor's choice fell upon Manasseh Bueno Barzillai Azevedo da Costa,thenceforward universally recognised, and hereby handed down totradition, as the King of _Schnorrers_.

  "STRUCK THE CHANCELLOR BREATHLESS."]