Daniel Deronda

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"How can I serve you, sir?"

"I should like to look at the silver clasps in the window," said Deronda;
"the larger ones, please, in the corner there."

They were not quite easy to get at from the mother's station, and the son
seeing this called out, "I'll reach 'em, mother; I'll reach 'em," running
forward with alacrity, and then handing the clasps to Deronda with the
smiling remark--

"Mother's too proud: she wants to do everything herself. That's why I
called her to wait on you, sir. When there's a particular gentleman
customer, sir, I daren't do any other than call her. But I can't let her
do herself mischief with stretching."

Here Mr. Cohen made way again for his parent, who gave a little guttural,
amiable laugh while she looked at Deronda, as much as to say, "This boy
will be at his jokes, but you see he's the best son in the world," and
evidently the son enjoyed pleasing her, though he also wished to convey an
apology to his distinguished customer for not giving him the advantage of
his own exclusive attention.

Deronda began to examine the clasps as if he had many points to observe
before he could come to a decision.

"They are only three guineas, sir," said the mother, encouragingly.

"First-rate workmanship, sir--worth twice the money; only I get 'em a
bargain from Cologne," said the son, parenthetically, from a distance.

Meanwhile two new customers entered, and the repeated call, "Addy!"
brought from the back of the shop a group that Deronda turned frankly to
stare at, feeling sure that the stare would be held complimentary. The
group consisted of a black-eyed young woman who carried a black-eyed
little one, its head already covered with black curls, and deposited it on
the counter, from which station it looked round with even more than the
usual intelligence of babies: also a robust boy of six and a younger girl,
both with black eyes and black-ringed hair--looking more Semitic than
their parents, as the puppy lions show the spots of far-off progenitors.
The young woman answering to "Addy"--a sort of paroquet in a bright blue
dress, with coral necklace and earrings, her hair set up in a huge bush--
looked as complacently lively and unrefined as her husband; and by a
certain difference from the mother deepened in Deronda the unwelcome
impression that the latter was not so utterly common a Jewess as to
exclude her being the mother of Mirah. While that thought was glancing
through his mind, the boy had run forward into the shop with an energetic
stamp, and setting himself about four feet from Deronda, with his hands in
the pockets of his miniature knickerbockers, looked at him with a
precocious air of survey. Perhaps it was chiefly with a diplomatic design
to linger and ingratiate himself that Deronda patted the boy's head,
saying--

"What is your name, sirrah?"

"Jacob Alexander Cohen," said the small man, with much ease and
distinctness.

"You are not named after your father, then?"

"No, after my grandfather; he sells knives and razors and scissors--my
grandfather does," said Jacob, wishing to impress the stranger with that
high connection. "He gave me this knife." Here a pocket-knife was drawn
forth, and the small fingers, both naturally and artificially dark, opened
two blades and a cork-screw with much quickness.

"Is not that a dangerous plaything?" said Deronda, turning to the
grandmother.

"_He_'ll never hurt himself, bless you!" said she, contemplating her
grandson with placid rapture.

"Have _you_ got a knife?" says Jacob, coming closer. His small voice was
hoarse in its glibness, as if it belonged to an aged commercial soul,
fatigued with bargaining through many generations.

"Yes. Do you want to see it?" said Deronda, taking a small penknife from
his waistcoat-pocket.

Jacob seized it immediately and retreated a little, holding the two knives
in his palms and bending over them in meditative comparison. By this time
the other clients were gone, and the whole family had gathered to the
spot, centering their attention on the marvelous Jacob: the father,
mother, and grandmother behind the counter, with baby held staggering
thereon, and the little girl in front leaning at her brother's elbow to
assist him in looking at the knives.

"Mine's the best," said Jacob, at last, returning Deronda's knife as if he
had been entertaining the idea of exchange and had rejected it.

Father and mother laughed aloud with delight. "You won't find Jacob
choosing the worst," said Mr. Cohen, winking, with much confidence in the
customer's admiration. Deronda, looking at the grandmother, who had only
an inward silent laugh, said--

"Are these the only grandchildren you have?"

"All. This is my only son," she answered in a communicative tone,
Deronda's glance and manner as usual conveying the impression of
sympathetic interest--which on this occasion answered his purpose well.
It seemed to come naturally enough that he should say--

"And you have no daughter?"

There was an instantaneous change in the mother's face. Her lips closed
more firmly, she looked down, swept her hands outward on the counter, and
finally turned her back on Deronda to examine some Indian handkerchiefs
that hung in pawn behind her. Her son gave a significant glance, set up
his shoulders an instant and just put his fingers to his lips,--then said
quickly, "I think you're a first-rate gentleman in the city, sir, if I may
be allowed to guess."

"No," said Deronda, with a preoccupied air, "I have nothing to do with the
city."

"That's a bad job. I thought you might be the young principal of a first-
rate firm," said Mr. Cohen, wishing to make amends for the check on his
customer's natural desire to know more of him and his. "But you understand
silver-work, I see."

"A little," said Deronda, taking up the clasps a moment and laying them
down again. That unwelcome bit of circumstantial evidence had made his
mind busy with a plan which was certainly more like acting than anything
he had been aware of in his own conduct before. But the bare possibility
that more knowledge might nullify the evidence now overpowered the
inclination to rest in uncertainty.

"To tell you the truth," he went on, "my errand is not so much to buy as
to borrow. I dare say you go into rather heavy transactions occasionally."

"Well, sir, I've accommodated gentlemen of distinction--I'm proud to say
it. I wouldn't exchange my business with any in the world. There's none
more honorable, nor more charitable, nor more necessary for all classes,
from the good lady who wants a little of the ready for the baker, to a
gentleman like yourself, sir, who may want it for amusement. I like my
business, I like my street, and I like my shop. I wouldn't have it a door
further down. And I wouldn't be without a pawn-shop, sir, to be the Lord
Mayor. It puts you in connection with the world at large. I say it's like
the government revenue--it embraces the brass as well as the gold of the
country. And a man who doesn't get money, sir, can't accommodate. Now,
what can I do for _you_, sir?"

If an amiable self-satisfaction is the mark of earthly bliss, Solomon in
all his glory was a pitiable mortal compared with Mr. Cohen--clearly one
of those persons, who, being in excellent spirits about themselves, are
willing to cheer strangers by letting them know it. While he was
delivering himself with lively rapidity, he took the baby from his wife
and holding it on his arm presented his features to be explored by its
small fists. Deronda, not in a cheerful mood, was rashly pronouncing this
Ezra Cohen to be the most unpoetic Jew he had ever met with in books or
life: his phraseology was as little as possible like that of the Old
Testament: and no shadow of a suffering race distinguished his vulgarity
of soul from that of a prosperous, pink-and-white huckster of the purest
English lineage. It is naturally a Christian feeling that a Jew ought not
to be conceited. However, this was no reason for not persevering in his
project, and he answered at once in adventurous ignorance of
technicalities--

"I have a fine diamond ring to offer as security--not with me at this
moment, unfortunately, for I am not in the habit of wearing it. But I will
come again this evening and bring it with me. Fifty pounds at once would
be a convenience to me."

"Well, you know, this evening is the Sabbath, young gentleman," said
Cohen, "and I go to the _Shool_. The shop will be closed. But
accommodation is a work of charity; if you can't get here before, and are
any ways pressed--why, I'll look at your diamond. You're perhaps from the
West End--a longish drive?"

"Yes; and your Sabbath begins early at this season. I could be here by
five--will that do?" Deronda had not been without hope that by asking to
come on a Friday evening he might get a better opportunity of observing
points in the family character, and might even be able to put some
decisive question.

Cohen assented; but here the marvelous Jacob, whose _physique_ supported a
precocity that would have shattered a Gentile of his years, showed that he
had been listening with much comprehension by saying, "You are coming
again. Have you got any more knives at home?"

"I think I have one," said Deronda, smiling down at him.

"Has it two blades and a hook--and a white handle like that?" said Jacob,
pointing to the waistcoat-pocket.

"I dare say it has?"

"Do you like a cork-screw?" said Jacob, exhibiting that article in his own
knife again, and looking up with serious inquiry.

"Yes," said Deronda, experimentally.

"Bring your knife, then, and we'll shwop," said Jacob, returning the knife
to his pocket, and stamping about with the sense that he had concluded a
good transaction.

The grandmother had now recovered her usual manners, and the whole family
watched Deronda radiantly when he caressingly lifted the little girl, to
whom he had not hitherto given attention, and seating her on the counter,
asked for her name also. She looked at him in silence, and put her fingers
to her gold earrings, which he did not seem to have noticed.

"Adelaide Rebekah is her name," said her mother, proudly. "Speak to the
gentleman, lovey."

"Shlav'm Shabbes fyock on," said Adelaide Rebekah.

"Her Sabbath frock, she means," said the father, in explanation. "She'll
have her Sabbath frock on this evening."

"And will you let me see you in it, Adelaide?" said Deronda, with that
gentle intonation which came very easily to him.

"Say yes, lovey--yes, if you please, sir," said her mother, enchanted with
this handsome young gentleman, who appreciated remarkable children.

"And will you give me a kiss this evening?" said Deronda with a hand on
each of her little brown shoulders.

Adelaide Rebekah (her miniature crinoline and monumental features
corresponded with the combination of her names) immediately put up her
lips to pay the kiss in advance; whereupon her father rising in still more
glowing satisfaction with the general meritoriousness of his
circumstances, and with the stranger who was an admiring witness, said
cordially--

"You see there's somebody will be disappointed if you don't come this
evening, sir. You won't mind sitting down in our family place and waiting
a bit for me, if I'm not in when you come, sir? I'll stretch a point to
accommodate a gent of your sort. Bring the diamond, and I'll see what I
can do for you."

Deronda thus left the most favorable impression behind him, as a
preparation for more easy intercourse. But for his own part those
amenities had been carried on under the heaviest spirits. If these were
really Mirah's relatives, he could not imagine that even her fervid filial
piety could give the reunion with them any sweetness beyond such as could
be found in the strict fulfillment of a painful duty. What did this
vaunting brother need? And with the most favorable supposition about the
hypothetic mother, Deronda shrank from the image of a first meeting
between her and Mirah, and still more from the idea of Mirah's
domestication with this family. He took refuge in disbelief. To find an
Ezra Cohen when the name was running in your head was no more
extraordinary than to find a Josiah Smith under like circumstances; and as
to the coincidence about the daughter, it would probably turn out to be a
difference. If, however, further knowledge confirmed the more undesirable
conclusion, what would be wise expediency?--to try and determine the best
consequences by concealment, or to brave other consequences for the sake
of that openness which is the sweet fresh air of our moral life.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

"Er ist geheissen
Israel. Ihn hat verwandelt
Hexenspruch in elnen Hund.
* * * * *
Aber jeden Freitag Abend,
In der Daemmrungstunde, ploetzlich
Weicht der Zauber, und der Hund
Wird aufs Neu' ein menschlich Wesen."
--HEINE: _Prinzessin Sabbaz_.

When Deronda arrived at five o'clock, the shop was closed and the door was
opened for him by the Christian servant. When she showed him into the room
behind the shop he was surprised at the prettiness of the scene. The house
was old, and rather extensive at the back: probably the large room he how
entered was gloomy by daylight, but now it was agreeably lit by a fine old
brass lamp with seven oil-lights hanging above the snow-white cloth spread
on the central table, The ceiling and walls were smoky, and all the
surroundings were dark enough to throw into relief the human figures,
which had a Venetian glow of coloring. The grandmother was arrayed in
yellowish brown with a large gold chain in lieu of the necklace, and by
this light her yellow face with its darkly-marked eyebrows and framing
roll of gray hair looked as handsome as was necessary for picturesque
effect. Young Mrs. Cohen was clad in red and black, with a string of large
artificial pearls wound round and round her neck: the baby lay asleep in
the cradle under a scarlet counterpane; Adelaide Rebekah was in braided
amber, and Jacob Alexander was in black velveteen with scarlet stockings.
As the four pairs of black eyes all glistened a welcome at Deronda, he was
almost ashamed of the supercilious dislike these happy-looking creatures
had raised in him by daylight. Nothing could be more cordial than the
greeting he received, and both mother and grandmother seemed to gather
more dignity from being seen on the private hearth, showing hospitality.
He looked round with some wonder at the old furniture: the oaken bureau
and high side-table must surely be mere matters of chance and economy, and
not due to the family taste. A large dish of blue and yellow ware was set
up on the side-table, and flanking it were two old silver vessels; in
front of them a large volume in darkened vellum with a deep-ribbed back.
In the corner at the farther end was an open door into an inner room,
where there was also a light.

Deronda took in these details by parenthetic glances while he met Jacob's
pressing solicitude about the knife. He had taken the pains to buy one
with the requisites of the hook and white handle, and produced it on
demand, saying,--

"Is that the sort of thing you want, Jacob?"

It was subjected to a severe scrutiny, the hook and blades were opened,
and the article of barter with the cork-screw was drawn forth for
comparison.

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

"'Caush I can get hold of things with a hook. A corkscrew won't go into
anything but corks. But it's better for you, you can draw corks."

"You agree to change, then?" said Deronda, observing that the grandmother
was listening with delight.

"What else have you got in your pockets?" said Jacob, with deliberative
seriousness.

"Hush, hush, Jacob, love," said the grandmother. And Deronda, mindful of
discipline, answered--

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

Jacob looked up into his face scanningly for a moment or two, and
apparently arriving at his conclusions, said gravely--

"I'll shwop," handing the cork-screw knife to Deronda, who pocketed it
with corresponding gravity.

Immediately the small son of Shem ran off into the next room, whence his
voice was heard in rapid chat; and then ran back again--when, seeing his
father enter, he seized a little velveteen hat which lay on a chair and
put it on to approach him. Cohen kept on his own hat, and took no notice
of the visitor, but stood still while the two children went up to him and
clasped his knees: then he laid his hands on each in turn and uttered his
Hebrew benediction; whereupon the wife, who had lately taken baby from the
cradle, brought it up to her husband and held it under his outstretched
hands, to be blessed in its sleep. For the moment, Deronda thought that
this pawnbroker, proud of his vocation, was not utterly prosaic.

"Well, sir, you found your welcome in my family, I think," said Cohen,
putting down his hat and becoming his former self. "And you've been
punctual. Nothing like a little stress here," he added, tapping his side
pocket as he sat down. "It's good for us all in our turn. I've felt it
when I've had to make up payments. I began to fit every sort of box. It's
bracing to the mind. Now then! let us see, let us see."

"That is the ring I spoke of," said Deronda, taking it from his finger. "I
believe it cost a hundred pounds. It will be a sufficient pledge to you
for fifty, I think. I shall probably redeem it in a month or so."

Cohen's glistening eyes seemed to get a little nearer together as he met
the ingenuous look of this crude young gentleman, who apparently supposed
that redemption was a satisfaction to pawnbrokers. He took the ring,
examined and returned it, saying with indifference, "Good, good. We'll
talk of it after our meal. Perhaps you'll join us, if you've no objection.
Me and my wife'll feel honored, and so will mother; won't you, mother?"

The invitation was doubly echoed, and Deronda gladly accepted it. All now
turned and stood round the table. No dish was at present seen except one
covered with a napkin; and Mrs. Cohen had placed a china bowl near her
husband that he might wash his hands in it. But after putting on his hat
again, he paused, and called in a loud voice, "Mordecai!"

Can this be part of the religious ceremony? thought Deronda, not knowing
what might be expected of the ancient hero. But he heard a "Yes" from the
next room, which made him look toward the open door; and there, to his
astonishment, he saw the figure of the enigmatic Jew whom he had this
morning met with in the book-shop. Their eyes met, and Mordecai looked as
much surprised as Deronda--neither in his surprise making any sign of
recognition. But when Mordecai was seating himself at the end of the
table, he just bent his head to the guest in a cold and distant manner, as
if the disappointment of the morning remained a disagreeable association
with this new acquaintance.

Cohen now washed his hands, pronouncing Hebrew words the while: afterward,
he took off the napkin covering the dish and disclosed the two long flat
loaves besprinkled with seed--the memorial of the manna that fed the
wandering forefathers--and breaking off small pieces gave one to each of
the family, including Adelaide Rebekah, who stood on the chair with her
whole length exhibited in her amber-colored garment, her little Jewish
nose lengthened by compression of the lip in the effort to make a suitable
appearance. Cohen then uttered another Hebrew blessing, and after that,
the male heads were uncovered, all seated themselves, and the meal went on
without any peculiarity that interested Deronda. He was not very conscious
of what dishes he ate from; being preoccupied with a desire to turn the
conversation in a way that would enable him to ask some leading question;
and also thinking of Mordecai, between whom and himself there was an
exchange of fascinated, half furtive glances. Mordecai had no handsome
Sabbath garment, but instead of the threadbare rusty black coat of the
morning he wore one of light drab, which looked as if it had once been a
handsome loose paletot now shrunk with washing; and this change of
clothing gave a still stronger accentuation to his dark-haired, eager face
which might have belonged to the prophet Ezekiel--also probably not modish
in the eyes of contemporaries. It was noticeable that the thin tails of
the fried fish were given to Mordecai; and in general the sort of share
assigned to a poor relation--no doubt a "survival" of prehistoric
practice, not yet generally admitted to be superstitious.

Mr. Cohen kept up the conversation with much liveliness, introducing as
subjects always in taste (the Jew is proud of his loyalty) the Queen and
the Royal Family, the Emperor and Empress of the French--into which both
grandmother and wife entered with zest. Mrs. Cohen the younger showed an
accurate memory of distinguished birthdays; and the elder assisted her son
in informing the guest of what occurred when the Emperor and Empress were
in England and visited the city ten years before.

"I dare say you know all about it better than we do, sir," said Cohen,
repeatedly, by way of preface to full information; and the interesting
statements were kept up in a trio.

"Our baby is named _Eu_genie Esther," said young Mrs. Cohen, vivaciously.

"It's wonderful how the Emperor's like a cousin of mine in the face," said
the grandmother; "it struck me like lightning when I caught sight of him.
I couldn't have thought it."

"Mother, and me went to see the Emperor and Empress at the Crystal
Palace," said Mr. Cohen. "I had a fine piece of work to take care of,
mother; she might have been squeezed flat--though she was pretty near as
lusty then as she is now. I said if I had a hundred mothers I'd never take
one of 'em to see the Emperor and Empress at the Crystal Palace again; and
you may think a man can't afford it when he's got but one mother--not if
he'd ever so big an insurance on her." He stroked his mother's shoulder
affectionately, and chuckled a little at his own humor.

"Your mother has been a widow a long while, perhaps," said Deronda,
seizing his opportunity. "That has made your care for her the more
needful."

"Ay, ay, it's a good many _yore-zeit_ since I had to manage for her and
myself," said Cohen quickly. "I went early to it. It's that makes you a
sharp knife."

"What does--what makes a sharp knife, father?" said Jacob, his cheek very
much swollen with sweet-cake.

The father winked at his guest and said, "Having your nose put on the
grindstone."

Jacob slipped from his chair with the piece of sweet-cake in his hand, and
going close up to Mordecai, who had been totally silent hitherto, said,
"What does that mean--putting my nose to the grindstone?"

"It means that you are to bear being hurt without making a noise," said
Mordecai, turning his eyes benignantly on the small face close to his.
Jacob put the corner of the cake into Mordecai's mouth as an invitation to
bite, saying meanwhile, "I shan't though," and keeping his eyes on the
cake to observe how much of it went in this act of generosity. Mordecai
took a bite and smiled, evidently meaning to please the lad, and the
little incident made them both look more lovable. Deronda, however, felt
with some vexation that he had taken little by his question.

"I fancy that is the right quarter for learning," said he, carrying on the
subject that he might have an excuse for addressing Mordecai, to whom he
turned and said, "You have been a great student, I imagine?"

"I have studied," was the quiet answer. "And you?--You know German by the
book you were buying."

"Yes, I have studied in Germany. Are you generally engaged in
bookselling?" said Deronda.

"No; I only go to Mr. Ram's shop every day to keep it while he goes to
meals," said Mordecai, who was now looking at Deronda with what seemed a
revival of his original interest: it seemed as if the face had some
attractive indication for him which now neutralized the former
disappointment. After a slight pause, he said, "Perhaps you know Hebrew?"

"I am sorry to say, not at all."

Mordecai's countenance fell: he cast down his eyelids, looking at his
hands, which lay crossed before him, and said no more. Deronda had now
noticed more decisively than in their former interview a difficulty in
breathing, which he thought must be a sign of consumption.

"I've had something else to do than to get book-learning." said Mr.
Cohen,--"I've had to make myself knowing about useful things. I know
stones well,"--here he pointed to Deronda's ring. "I'm not afraid of
taking that ring of yours at my own valuation. But now," he added, with a
certain drop in his voice to a lower, more familiar nasal, "what do you
want for it?"

"Fifty or sixty pounds," Deronda answered, rather too carelessly.

Cohen paused a little, thrust his hands into his pockets, fixed on Deronda
a pair of glistening eyes that suggested a miraculous guinea-pig, and
said, "Couldn't do you that. Happy to oblige, but couldn't go that
lengths. Forty pound--say forty--I'll let you have forty on it."