CHAPTER III.
SHOWING HOW HIS MAJESTY WENT TO THE THEATRE AND WAS WOOED.
As Manasseh the Great, first beggar in Europe, sauntered across Goodman's Fields, attended by his Polish parasite, both serenely digesting the supper provided by the Treasurer of the Great Synagogue, Joseph Grobstock, a martial music clove suddenly the quiet evening air, and set the Schnorrers' pulses bounding. From the Tenterground emerged a squad of recruits, picturesque in white fatigue dress, against which the mounted officers showed gallant in blue surtouts and scarlet-striped trousers.
"Ah!" said da Costa, with swelling breast. "There go my soldiers!"
"Your soldiers!" ejaculated Yankelé in astonishment.
"Yes—do you not see they are returning to the India House in Leadenhall Street?"
"And vat of dat?" said Yankelé, shrugging his shoulders and spreading out his palms.
"What of that? Surely you have not forgotten that the clodpate at whose house I have just entertained you is a Director of the East India Company, whose soldiers these are?"
"Oh," said Yankelé, his mystified face relaxing in a smile. The smile fled before the stern look in the Spaniard's eyes; he hastened to conceal his amusement. Yankelé was by nature a droll, and it cost him a good deal to take his patron as seriously as that potentate took himself. Perhaps if Manasseh Bueno Barzillai Azevedo da Costa had had more humour he would have had less momentum. Your man of action is blind in one eye. Cæsar would not have come and conquered if he had really seen.
Wounded by that temporary twinkle in his client's eye, the patron moved on silently, in step with the military air.
"It is a beautiful night," observed Yankelé in contrition. The words had hardly passed his lips before he became conscious that he had spoken the truth. The moon was peeping from behind a white cloud, and the air was soft, and broken shadows of foliage lay across the path, and the music was a song of love and bravery. Somehow, Yankelé began to think of da Costa's lovely daughter. Her face floated in the moonlight.
Manasseh shrugged his shoulders, unappeased.
"When one has supped well, it is always a beautiful night," he said testily. It was as if the cloud had overspread the moon, and a thick veil had fallen over the face of da Costa's lovely daughter. But Yankelé recovered himself quickly.
"Ah, yes," he said, "you have indeed made it a beaudiful night for me."
The King of Schnorrers waved his staff deprecatingly.
"It is alvays a beaudiful night ven I am mid you," added Yankelé, undaunted.
"It is strange," replied Manasseh musingly, "that I should have admitted to my hearth and Grobstock's table one who is, after all, but a half-brother in Israel."
"But Grobstock is also a Tedesco," protested Yankelé.
"That is also what I wonder at," rejoined da Costa. "I cannot make out how I have come to be so familiar with him."
"You see!" ventured the Tedesco timidly. "P'raps ven Grobstock had really had a girl you might even have come to marry her."
"Guard your tongue! A Sephardi cannot marry a Tedesco! It would be a degradation."
"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 have married above her," he ended, with an ingenuous air.
"True," admitted Manasseh. "But then, as Grobstock's daughter does not exist, and my wife does—!"
"Ah, but if you vas me," said Yankelé, "vould you rader marry a Tedesco or a Sephardi?"
"A Sephardi, of course. But—"
"I vill be guided by you," interrupted the Pole hastily. "You be de visest man I have ever known."
"But—" Manasseh repeated.
"Do not deny it. You be! Instantly vill I seek out a Sephardi maiden and 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 Yankelé. "Even ven she had a face like a Passover cake. But still I prefer a Pentecost blossom."
"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 handsome faders."
Manasseh bethought himself. "There is Gabriel, the corpse-watcher's daughter. 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 his occupation! 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 be suitable."
Yankelé 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 Yankelé humbly; "I could not get a really beaudiful girl unless I married your Deborah herself."
"No, I am afraid not," said Manasseh sympathetically.
Yankelé 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 and indignation. He came to a standstill.
"Dat must be a fine piece," said Yankelé quickly, indicating a flamboyant picture of a fearsome phantom hovering over a sombre moat.
They had arrived at Leman Street, and had stopped before Goodman's Fields Theatre. Manasseh's brow cleared.
"It is The Castle Spectre," he said graciously. "Would you like to see it?"
"But it is half over—"
"Oh, no," said da Costa, scanning the play bill. "There was a farce by O'Keefe to start with. The night is yet young. The drama will be just beginning."
"But it is de Sabbath—ve must not pay."
Manasseh's brow clouded again in wrathful righteous surprise. "Did you think I was going to pay?" he gasped.
"N-n-no," stammered the Pole, abashed. "But you haven't got no orders?"
"Orders? Me? Will you do me the pleasure of accepting a seat in my box?"
"In your box?"
"Yes, there is plenty of room. Come this way," said Manasseh. "I haven't been to the play myself for over a year. I am too busy always. It will be an agreeable change."
Yankelé hung back, bewildered.
"Through this door," said Manasseh encouragingly. "Come—you shall lead 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 you Manasseh Bueno Barzillai Azevedo da Costa is a man whose word is the Law of Moses; true as the Talmud. Walk straight through the portico, and, if the attendant endeavours to stop you, simply tell him Mr. da Costa has given you a seat in his box."
Not daring to exhibit scepticism—nay, almost confident in the powers of his extraordinary protector, Yankelé put his foot on the threshold of the lobby.
"But you be coming, too?" he said, turning back.
"Oh, yes, I don't intend to miss the performance. Have no fear."
Yankelé walked boldly ahead, and brushed by the door-keeper of the little theatre without appearing conscious of him; indeed, the official was almost impressed into letting the Schnorrer pass unquestioned as one who had gone out between the acts. But the visitor was too dingy for anything but the stage-door—he had the air of those nondescript beings who hang mysteriously about the hinder recesses of playhouses. Recovering himself just in time, the functionary (a meek little Cockney) hailed the intruder with a backward-drawing "Hi!"
"Vat you vant?" said Yankelé, 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.
Yankelé 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 official seized him by the scruff of the neck and began pushing him forwards with his knee.
"Now then! what's this?"
A stern, angry voice broke like a thunderclap upon the humorist's ears. He released his hold of the Schnorrer and looked up, to behold a strange, shabby, stalwart figure towering over him in censorious majesty.
"Why are you hustling this poor man?" demanded Manasseh.
"He wanted to sneak in," the little Cockney replied, half apologetically, half resentfully. "Expect 'e 'ails from Saffron 'Ill, and 'as 'is eye on the vipes. Told me some gammon—a cock-and-bull story 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 the storm burst.
"You impertinent scoundrel! You jackanapes! You low, beggarly rapscallion! 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 him safely—forgive me, Yankelé, I am so sorry I did not manage to come here before you, and spare you this insulting treatment! And as for you, my fine fellow, let me tell you that you make a great mistake in judging from appearances. There are some good friends of mine who could buy up your theatre and you and your miserable little soul at a moment's notice, and to look at them you would think they were cadgers. One of these days—hark you!—you will kick out a person of quality, 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 what he appears. Surely, because I wish to give a treat to a poor man who has, perhaps, never been to the play in his life, I am not bound to send him to the gallery—I can give him a corner in my box if I choose. There is no rule against that, I presume?"
"No, sir, I can't say as there is," said the humorist humbly. "But you will allow, sir, it's rayther unusual."
"Unusual! Of course, it's unusual. Kindness and consideration for the poor are always unusual. The poor are trodden upon at every opportunity, treated like dogs, not men. If I had invited a drunken fop, you'd have met him hat in hand (no, no, you needn't take it off to me now; it's too late). But a sober, poor man—by gad! I shall report your incivility to the management, and you'll be lucky if I don'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 in extenuation of your disgraceful behaviour, address your remarks to my guest."
"You'll overlook it this time, sir," said the little humorist, turning to Yankelé.
"Next time, p'raps, you believe me ven I say I have a seat in Mr. da Costa's box," replied Yankelé, in gentle reproach.
"Well, if you're satisfied, Yankelé," said Manasseh, with a touch of scorn, "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 turned back.
"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 humorist deprecatingly, "the stage-box and the one by the gallery."
"Dolt! Do I look the sort of person who is content with a box on the ceiling? Go back to your post, sir—I'll find the box myself—Heaven send 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 this overwhelming personality, and in a few seconds Manasseh stalked into the empty box, followed by Yankelé, whose mouth was a grin and whose eye a twinkle. As the Spaniard took his seat there was a slight outburst of clapping and stamping from a house impatient for the end of the entr'acte.
Manasseh craned his head over the box to see the house, which in turn craned to see him, glad of any diversion, and some people, imagining the applause had reference to the new-comer, whose head appeared to be that of a foreigner of distinction, joined in it. The contagion spread, and in a minute Manasseh was the cynosure of all eyes and the unmistakable recipient of an "ovation." He bowed twice or thrice in unruffled dignity.
There were some who recognised him, but they joined in the reception with wondering amusement. Not a few, indeed, of the audience were Jews, for Goodman's Fields was the Ghetto Theatre, and the Sabbath was not a sufficient deterrent to a lax generation. The audiences—mainly German and Poles—came to the little unfashionable playhouse as one happy family. Distinctions of rank were trivial, and gallery held converse with circle, and pit collogued with box. Supper parties were held on the benches.
In a box that gave on the pit a portly Jewess sat stiffly, arrayed in the very pink of fashion, in a spangled robe of India muslin, with a diamond necklace and crescent, her head crowned by terraces of curls and flowers.
"Betsy!" called up a jovial feminine voice from the pit, when the applause had subsided.
"Betsy" did not move, but her cheeks grew hot and red. She had got on in the world, and did not care to recognise her old crony.
"Betsy!" iterated the well-meaning woman. "By your life and mine, you must taste a piece of my fried fish." And she held up a slice of cold plaice, beautifully browned.
Betsy drew back, striving unsuccessfully to look unconscious. To her relief the curtain rose, and The Castle Spectre walked. Yankelé, who had scarcely seen anything but private theatricals, representing the discomfiture of the wicked Haman and the triumph of Queen Esther (a rôle he had once played himself, in his mother's old clothes), was delighted with the thrills and terrors of the ghostly melodrama. It was not till the conclusion of the second act that the emotion the beautiful but injured heroine cost him welled over again into matrimonial 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," Yankelé ventured timidly, "do she ever go to de play?"
"No, I do not take my womankind about. Their duty lies at home. As it is 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 Yankelé, pulling a smug face. "Ve be sent here to obey de Law of Moses. But do not remind me I be a sinner in Israel."
"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) for barrenness. 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 a fader-in-law."
"It cannot be!" said Manasseh more gently.
"Oh dat I had been born a Sephardi!" said Yankelé with a hopeless groan.
"It is too late now," said da Costa soothingly.
"Dey say it's never too late to mend," moaned the Pole. "Is dere no vay for me to be converted to Spanish Judaism? I could easily pronounce Hebrew in your superior vay."
"Our Judaism differs in no essential respect from yours—it is a question of blood. You cannot change your blood. As it is said, 'And the blood is the life.'"
"I know, I know dat I aspire too high. Oh, vy did you become my friend, vy did you make me believe you cared for me—so dat I tink of you day and night—and now, ven I ask you to be my fader-in-law, you say it cannot be. It is like a knife in de heart! Tink how proud and happy I should be to call you my fader-in-law. All my life vould be devoted to you—my von thought to be vordy of such a man."
"You are not the first I have been compelled to refuse," said Manasseh, with emotion.
"Vat helps me dat dere be other Schlemihls (unlucky persons)?" quoted Yankelé, with a sob. "How can I live midout you for a fader-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 no for no answer. Vat is dis blood dat it should divide Jew from Jew, dat it should prevent me becoming de son-in-law of de only man I have ever loved? Say not so. Let me ask you again—in a month or a year—even twelve months vould I vait, ven you vould only promise not to pledge yourself to anoder man."
"But if I became your father-in-law—mind, I only say if—not only would 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 Yankelé indignantly.
"You yourself! Why, when I first befriended you, you told me you were blood-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 the marriage-broker?"
"Hush!" from all parts of the house as the curtain went up and the house settled down. But Yankelé was no longer in rapport with the play; the spectre had ceased to thrill and the heroine to touch. His mind was busy with feverish calculations of income, scraping together every penny he could raise by hook or crook. He even drew out a crumpled piece of paper and a pencil, but thrust them back into his pocket when he saw Manasseh's eye.
"I forgot," he murmured apologetically. "Being at de play made me forget 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 night air.
"I find," Yankelé began eagerly in the vestibule, "I make at least von hundred and fifty pounds"—he paused to acknowledge the farewell salutation of the little door-keeper at his elbow—"a hundred and fifty 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 ten sayings was the world created; there were ten generations from Noah to Abraham; with ten trials our father Abraham was tried; ten miracles were wrought for our fathers in Egypt and ten at the Red Sea; and ten things were created on the eve of the Sabbath in the twilight!' And now it shall be added, 'Ten good deeds the poor man affords the rich man.' Proceed, Yankelé."
"First comes my allowance from de Synagogue—eight pounds. Vonce a veek 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 superior race?"
"But that only makes six pound ten!"
"I know—de oder tirty shillings I allow for Passover cakes and groceries. Den for Synagogue-knocking I get ten guin—"
"Stop! stop!" cried Manasseh, with a sudden scruple. "Ought I to listen to financial details on the Sabbath?"
"Certainly, ven dey be connected vid my marriage—vich is a Commandment. It is de Law ve really discuss."
"You are right. Go on, then. But remember, even if you can prove you can 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 the blackness gathering again on da Costa's brow.
"Nay, nay, we must not talk of business on the Sabbath," said Manasseh evasively. "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 of twenty pious persons, and rouse them for morning service, isn't work, then the Christian bell-ringer is a beggar. No, no! Profits from this source I cannot regard as legitimate."
"But most Schnorrers be Synagogue-knockers!"
"Most Schnorrers are Congregation-men or Psalms-men," retorted the Spaniard witheringly. "But I call it debasing. What! To assist at the services for a fee! To worship one's Maker for hire! Under such conditions to pray is to work." His breast swelled with majesty and scorn.
"I cannot call it vork," protested the Schnorrer. "Vy at dat rate you vould make out dat de minister vorks? or de preacher? Vy, I reckon fourteen pounds a year to my services as Congregation-man."
"Fourteen pounds! As much as that?"
"Yes, you see dere's my private customers as vell as de Synagogue. Ven dere is mourning in a house dey cannot alvays get together ten friends for de services, so I make von. How can you call that vork? It is friendship. And the more dey pay me de more friendship I feel," asserted Yankelé with a twinkle. "Den de Synagogue allows me a little extra for announcing de dead."
In those primitive times, when a Jewish newspaper was undreamt of, the day's obituary was published by a peripatetic Schnorrer, who went about the Ghetto rattling a pyx—a copper money-box with a handle and a lid closed by a padlock. On hearing this death-rattle, anyone who felt curious would ask the Schnorrer:
"Who's dead to-day?"
"So-and-so ben So-and-so—funeral on such a day—mourning service at such an hour," the Schnorrer would reply, and the enquirer would piously put something into the "byx," as it was called. The collection was handed over to the Holy Society—in other words, the Burial Society.
"P'raps you call that vork?" concluded Yankelé, in timid challenge.
"Of course I do. What do you call it?"
"Valking exercise. It keeps me healty. Vonce von of my customers (from whom I schnorred half-a-crown a veek) said he was tired of my coming and getting it every Friday. He vanted to compound mid me for six pound a year, but I vouldn't."
"But it was a very fair offer. He only deducted ten shillings for the interest on his money."
"Dat I didn't mind. But I vanted a pound more for his depriving me of my valking exercise, and dat he vouldn't pay, so he still goes on giving me de half-crown a veek. Some of dese charitable persons are terribly mean. But vat I vant to say is dat I carry de byx mostly in the 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 to believe that? All the philanthropists say so, of course, but surely you know that schnorring and work should never be mixed. A man cannot do two things properly. He must choose his profession, and stick to it. A friend of mine once succumbed to the advice of the philanthropists instead of asking mine. He had one of the best provincial rounds in the kingdom, but in every town he weakly listened to 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 bought something to encourage him (though they beat down the price so that there was no profit in it), and they all expressed their pleasure at his working for his living, and showing a manly independence. 'But I schnorr also,' he reminded them, holding out his hand when they had finished. It was in vain. No one gave him a farthing. He had blundered beyond redemption. At one blow he had destroyed one of the most profitable connections a Schnorrer ever had, and without even getting anything for the goodwill. So if you will be guided by me, Yankelé, you will do nothing to assist the philanthropists to keep you. It destroys their satisfaction. A Schnorrer cannot be too careful. And once you begin to work, where are you to draw the line?"
"But you be a marriage-broker yourself," said Yankelé imprudently.
"That!" thundered Manasseh angrily, "That is not work! That is pleasure!"
"Vy look! Dere is Hennery Simons," cried Yankelé, hoping to divert his attention. 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 become famous as the hero of a slander case which deluged England with pamphlets for and against, but for the present he had merely outraged the feelings of his fellow Schnorrers by budding out in a direction so rare as to suggest preliminary baptism. He stood now playing antic and sleight-of-hand tricks—surrounded by a crowd—a curious figure crowned by a velvet skull-cap from which wisps of hair protruded, with a scarlet handkerchief thrust through his girdle. His face was an olive oval, bordered by ragged tufts of beard and stamped with melancholy.
"You see the results of working," cried Manasseh. "It brings temptation to work on Sabbath. That Epicurean there is profaning the Holy Day. Come away! A Schnorrer is far more certain of The-World-To-Come. No, decidedly, I will not give my daughter to a worker, or to a Schnorrer who makes illegitimate profits."
"But I make de profits all de same," persisted Yankelé.
"You make them to-day—but to-morrow? There is no certainty about them. Work of whatever kind is by its very nature unreliable. At any moment trade may be slack. People may become less pious, and you lose your Synagogue-knocking. Or more pious—and they won't want congregation-men."
"But new Synagogues spring up," urged Yankelé.
"New Synagogues are full of enthusiasm," retorted Manasseh. "The members are their own congregation-men."
Yankelé had his roguish twinkle. "At first," he admitted, "but de Schnorrer vaits his time."
Manasseh shook his head. "Schnorring is the only occupation that is regular all the year round," he said. "Everything else may fail—the greatest commercial houses may totter to the ground; as it is written, 'He humbleth the proud.' But the Schnorrer is always secure. Whoever falls, there are always enough left to look after him. If you were a father, Yankelé, you would understand my feelings. How can a man allow his daughter's future happiness to repose on a basis so uncertain as work? No, no. What do you make by your district visiting? Everything turns on that."
"Tventy-five shilling a veek!"
"Really?"
"Law of Moses! In sixpences, shillings, and half-crowns. Vy in Houndsditch 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 it all 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 not believe you, I should not entertain your proposal for a moment. It rejoices me exceedingly to find you have devoted so much attention to this branch. I always held strongly that the rich should be visited in their own homes, and I grieve to see this personal touch, this contact with the very people to whom you give the good deeds, being replaced by lifeless circulars. One owes it to one's position in life to afford the wealthy classes the opportunity of charity warm from the heart; they should not be neglected and driven in their turn to write cheques in cold blood, losing all that human sympathy which comes from personal intercourse—as it is written, 'Charity delivers from death.' But do you think charity that is given publicly through a secretary and advertised in annual reports has so great a redeeming power as that slipped privately into the hands of the poor man, who makes a point of keeping secret from every donor what he has received from the others?"
"I am glad you don't call collecting de money vork," said Yankelé, 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, Yankelé, than in going to a house of mourning to pray for a fee."
"Oh," said Yankelé, wincing. "Den p'raps you strike out all my Year-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 one of his family? We Sephardim call that 'making years'! But are there enough 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 Synagogue on veek-days. De faders have left deir faders on de Continent, and kept many Year-Times out of de country. But in a few years many faders and moders must die off here, and every parent leaves two or tree sons to 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 to die. I tink indeed it vould be fair to double this item."
"No, no; stick to facts. It is an iniquity to speculate in the misfortunes of our fellow-creatures."
"Somebody must die dat I may live," retorted Yankelé roguishly; "de vorld 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 is written, 'And Repentance and Prayer and Charity avert the evil decree.' Charity is put last—it is the climax—the greatest thing on earth. And the Schnorrer is the greatest man on earth; for it stands in the Talmud, 'He who causes is greater than he who does.' Therefore, the Schnorrer who causes charity is even greater than he who gives it."
Charity
"Talk of de devil," said Yankelé, who had much difficulty in keeping his countenance when Manasseh became magnificent and dithyrambic. "Vy, dere is Greenbaum, whose fader vas buried yesterday. Let us cross over by accident and vish him long life."
"Greenbaum dead! Was that the Greenbaum on 'Change, who was such a rascal with the wenches?"
"De same," said Yankelé. Then approaching the son, he cried, "Good Sabbath, Mr. Greenbaum; I vish you long life. Vat a blow for de community!"
"It comforts me to hear you say so," said the son, with a sob in his voice.
"Ah, yes!" said Yankelé chokingly. "Your fader vas a great and good man—just my size."
"I've already given them away to Baruch the glazier," replied the mourner.
"But he has his glaziering," remonstrated Yankelé. "I have noting but de clothes I stand in, and dey don't fit me half so vell as your fader'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 at its height, so that he lost seven days by the mourning." And he moved away.
"Did I not say work was uncertain?" cried Manasseh.
"Not all," maintained the Schnorrer. "What of de six guineas I make by carrying round de Palm-branch on Tabernacles to be shaken by de voomans who cannot attend Synagogue, and by blowing de trumpet for de same 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 de poor at de Feast of Lots, and from de Bridegrooms of de Beginning and de Bridegrooms of de Law at de Rejoicing of de Law, and dere is about four pounds ten a year from de sale of clothes given to me. Den I have a lot o' meals given me—dis, I have reckoned, is as good as seven pounds. And, lastly, I cannot count de odds and ends under ten guineas. You know dere are alvays legacies, gifts, distributions—all unexpected. You never know who'll break out next."
"Yes, I think it's not too high a percentage of your income to expect from unexpected sources," admitted Manasseh. "I have myself lingered about 'Change Alley or Sampson's Coffee House just when the jobbers have pulled off a special coup, and they have paid me quite a high percentage on their profits."
"And I," boasted Yankelé, stung to noble emulation, "have made two sov'rans in von minute out of Gideon de bullion-broker. He likes to give Schnorrers sov'rans, as if in mistake for shillings, to see vat dey'll do. De fools hurry off, or move slowly avay, as if not noticing, or put it quickly in de pocket. But dose who have visdom tell him he's made a mistake, and he gives dem anoder sov'ran. Honesty is de best policy with Gideon. Den dere is Rabbi de Falk, de Baal Shem—de great Cabbalist. Ven—"
"But," interrupted Manasseh impatiently, "you haven't made out your hundred and fifty a year."
Yankelé's face fell. "Not if you cut out so many items."
"No, but even all inclusive it only comes to a hundred and forty-three pounds nineteen shillings."
"Nonsense!" said Yankelé, staggered. "How can you know so exact?"
"Do you think I cannot do simple addition?" responded Manasseh sternly. "Are not these your ten items?"
£ 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 £143 19 0
"A child could sum it up," concluded Manasseh severely. Yankelé was subdued to genuine respect and consternation by da Costa's marvellous memory and arithmetical genius. But he rallied immediately. "Of course, I also reckoned on a dowry mid my bride, if only a hundred pounds."
"Well, invested in Consols, that would not bring you four pounds more," replied Manasseh instantly.
"The rest vill be made up in extra free meals," Yankelé answered no less quickly. "For ven I take your daughter off your hands you vill be able 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 you are I shall no longer feel I am doing a charity."
"Oh, yes, you vill," said Yankelé insinuatingly. "You are too much a man of honour to know as a private philantropist vat I have told de marriage-broker, de fader-in-law and de fellow Schnorrer. Besides, I vould 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," rejoined Manasseh.
"I never dared to tink you vould do me de honour. But even so I can never give you such good meals as you give me. So dere is still a balance in my favour."
"That is true," said da Costa thoughtfully. "But you have still about a guinea to make up."
Yankelé was driven into a corner at last. But he flashed back, without perceptible pause, "You do not allow for vat I save by my piety. I fast twenty times a year, and surely dat is at least anoder guinea per annum."
"But you will have children," retorted da Costa.
Yankelé shrugged his shoulders.
"Dat is de affair of de Holy One, blessed be He. Ven He sends dem He vill 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," said Manasseh, with his grandest manner; "but then I had looked forward to her 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 in the world! And schnorred her from a king of Schnorrers, too!! And I shall have schnorred your services as marriage-broker into de bargain!!!"