Daniel Deronda

Chapter 33

It lay in Deronda's nature usually to contemn the feeble, fastidious

sympathy which shrinks from the broad life of mankind; but now, with Mirah

before him as a living reality, whose experience he had to care for, he

saw every common Jew and Jewess in the light of a comparison with her, and

had a presentiment of the collision between her idea of the unknown mother

and brother and the discovered fact--a presentiment all the keener in him

because of a suppressed consciousness that a not unlike possibility of

collision might lie hidden in his own lot. Not that he would have looked

with more complacency of expectation at wealthy Jews, outdoing the lords

of the Philistines in their sports; but since there was no likelihood of

Mirah's friends being found among that class, their habits did not

immediately affect him. In this mood he rambled, without expectation of a

more pregnant result than a little preparation of his own mind, perhaps

for future theorizing as well as practice--very much as if, Mirah being

related to Welsh miners, he had gone to look more closely at the ways of

those people, not without wishing at the same time to get a little light

of detail on the history of Strikes.

He really did not long to find anybody in particular; and when, as his

habit was, he looked at the name over a shop door, he was well content

that it was not Ezra Cohen. I confess, he particularly desired that Ezra

Cohen should not keep a shop. Wishes are held to be ominous; according to

which belief the order of the world is so arranged that if you have an

impious objection to a squint, your offspring is the more likely to be

born with one; also, that if you happened to desire a squint you would not

get it. This desponding view of probability the hopeful entirely reject,

taking their wishes as good and sufficient security for all kinds of

fulfilment. Who is absolutely neutral? Deronda happening one morning to

turn into a little side street out of the noise and obstructions of

Holborn, felt the scale dip on the desponding side.

He was rather tired of the streets and had paused to hail a hansom cab

which he saw coming, when his attention was caught by some fine old clasps

in chased silver displayed in the window at his right hand. His first

thought was that Lady Mallinger, who had a strictly Protestant taste for

such Catholic spoils, might like to have these missal-clasps turned into a

bracelet: then his eyes traveled over the other contents of the window,

and he saw that the shop was that kind of pawnbroker's where the lead is

given to jewelry, lace and all equivocal objects introduced as _bric-*-

brac_. A placard in one corner announced--_Watches and Jewlery exchanged

and repaired_. But his survey had been noticed from within, and a figure

appeared at the door, looking round at him and saying in a tone of cordial

encouragement, "Good day, sir." The instant was enough for Deronda to see

the face, unmistakably Jewish, belonged to a young man about thirty, and

wincing from the shopkeeper's persuasiveness that would probably follow,

he had no sooner returned the "good day," than he passed to the other side

of the street and beckoned to the cabman to draw up there. From that

station he saw the name over the shop window--Ezra Cohen.

There might be a hundred Ezra Cohens lettered above shop windows, but

Deronda had not seen them. Probably the young man interested in a possible

customer was Ezra himself; and he was about the age to be expected in

Mirah's brother, who was grown up while she was still a little child. But

Deronda's first endeavor as he drove homeward was to convince himself that

there was not the slightest warrantable presumption of this Ezra being

Mirah's brother; and next, that even if, in spite of good reasoning, he

turned out to be that brother, while on inquiry the mother was found to be

dead, it was not his--Deronda's--duty to make known the discovery to

Mirah. In inconvenient disturbance of this conclusion there came his

lately-acquired knowledge that Mirah would have a religious desire to know

of her mother's death, and also to learn whether her brother were living.

How far was he justified in determining another life by his own notions?

Was it not his secret complaint against the way in which others had

ordered his own life, that he had not open daylight on all its relations,

so that he had not, like other men, the full guidance of primary duties?

The immediate relief from this inward debate was the reflection that he

had not yet made any real discovery, and that by looking into the facts

more closely he should be certified that there was no demand on him for

any decision whatever. He intended to return to that shop as soon as he

could conveniently, and buy the clasps for Lady Mallinger. But he was

hindered for several days by Sir Hugo, who, about to make an after-dinner

speech on a burning topic, wanted Deronda to forage for him on the legal

part of the question, besides wasting time every day on argument which

always ended in a drawn battle. As on many other questions, they held

different sides, but Sir Hugo did not mind this, and when Deronda put his

point well, said, with a mixture of satisfaction and regret--

"Confound it, Dan! why don't you make an opportunity of saying these

things in public? You're wrong, you know. You won't succeed. You've got

the massive sentiment--the heavy artillery of the country against you. But

it's all the better ground for a young man to display himself on. When I

was your age, I should have taken it. And it would be quite as well for

you to be in opposition to me here and there. It would throw you more into

relief. If you would seize an occasion of this sort to make an impression,

you might be in Parliament in no time. And you know that would gratify

me."

"I am sorry not to do what would gratify you, sir," said Deronda. "But I

cannot persuade myself to look at politics as a profession."

"Why not? if a man is not born into public life by his position in the

country, there's no way for him but to embrace it by his own efforts. The

business of the country must be done--her Majesty's Government carried on,

as the old Duke said. And it never could be, my boy, if everybody looked

at politics as if they were prophecy, and demanded an inspired vocation.

If you are to get into Parliament, it won't do to sit still and wait for a

call either from heaven or constituents."

"I don't want to make a living out of opinions," said Deronda; "especially

out of borrowed opinions. Not that I mean to blame other men. I dare say

many better fellows than I don't mind getting on to a platform to praise

themselves, and giving their word of honor for a party."

"I'll tell you what, Dan," said Sir Hugo, "a man who sets his face against

every sort of humbug is simply a three-cornered, impracticable fellow.

There's a bad style of humbug, but there is also a good style--one that

oils the wheels and makes progress possible. If you are to rule men, you

must rule them through their own ideas; and I agree with the Archbishop at

Naples who had a St. Januarius procession against the plague. It's no use

having an Order in Council against popular shallowness. There is no action

possible without a little acting."

"One may be obliged to give way to an occasional necessity," said Deronda.

"But it is one thing to say, 'In this particular case I am forced to put

on this foolscap and grin,' and another to buy a pocket foolscap and

practice myself in grinning. I can't see any real public expediency that

does not keep an ideal before it which makes a limit of deviation from the

direct path. But if I were to set up for a public man I might mistake my

success for public expediency."

It was after this dialogue, which was rather jarring to him, that Deronda

set out on his meditated second visit to Ezra Cohen's. He entered the

street at the end opposite to the Holborn entrance, and an inward

reluctance slackened his pace while his thoughts were transferring what he

had just been saying about public expediency to the entirely private

difficulty which brought him back again into this unattractive

thoroughfare. It might soon become an immediate practical question with

him how far he could call it a wise expediency to conceal the fact of

close kindred. Such questions turning up constantly in life are often

decided in a rough-and-ready way; and to many it will appear an over-

refinement in Deronda that he should make any great point of a matter

confined to his own knowledge. But we have seen the reasons why he had

come to regard concealment as a bane of life, and the necessity of

concealment as a mark by which lines of action were to be avoided. The

prospect of being urged against the confirmed habit of his mind was

naturally grating. He even paused here and there before the most plausible

shop-windows for a gentleman to look into, half inclined to decide that he

would not increase his knowledge about that modern Ezra, who was certainly

not a leader among his people--a hesitation which proved how, in a man

much given to reasoning, a bare possibility may weigh more than the best-

clad likelihood; for Deronda's reasoning had decided that all likelihood

was against this man's being Mirah's brother.

One of the shop-windows he paused before was that of a second-hand book-

shop, where, on a narrow table outside, the literature of the ages was

represented in judicious mixture, from the immortal verse of Homer to the

mortal prose of the railway novel. That the mixture was judicious was

apparent from Deronda's finding in it something that he wanted--namely,

that wonderful bit of autobiography, the life of the Polish Jew, Salomon

Maimon; which, as he could easily slip it into his pocket, he took from

its place, and entered the shop to pay for, expecting to see behind the

counter a grimy personage showing that _nonchalance_ about sales which

seems to belong universally to the second-hand book-business. In most

other trades you find generous men who are anxious to sell you their wares

for your own welfare; but even a Jew will not urge Simson's Euclid on you

with an affectionate assurance that you will have pleasure in reading it,

and that he wishes he had twenty more of the article, so much is it in

request. One is led to fear that a secondhand bookseller may belong to

that unhappy class of men who have no belief in the good of what they get

their living by, yet keep conscience enough to be morose rather than

unctuous in their vocation.

But instead of the ordinary tradesman, he saw, on the dark background of

books in the long narrow shop, a figure that was somewhat startling in its

unusualness. A man in threadbare clothing, whose age was difficult to

guess--from the dead yellowish flatness of the flesh, something like an

old ivory carving--was seated on a stool against some bookshelves that

projected beyond the short counter, doing nothing more remarkable than

reading yesterday's _Times_; but when he let the paper rest on his lap and

looked at the incoming customer, the thought glanced through Deronda that

precisely such a physiognomy as that might possibly have been seen in a

prophet of the Exile, or in some New Hebrew poet of the medi**** time. It

was a fine typical Jewish face, wrought into intensity of expression

apparently by a strenuous eager experience in which all the satisfaction

had been indirect and far off, and perhaps by some bodily suffering also,

which involved that absence of ease in the present. The features were

clear-cut, not large; the brow not high but broad, and fully defined by

the crisp black hair. It might never have been a particularly handsome

face, but it must always have been forcible; and now with its dark, far-

off gaze, and yellow pallor in relief on the gloom of the backward shop,

one might have imagined one's self coming upon it in some past prison of

the Inquisition, which a mob had suddenly burst upon; while the look fixed

on an incidental customer seemed eager and questioning enough to have been

turned on one who might have been a messenger either of delivery or of

death. The figure was probably familiar and unexciting enough to the

inhabitants of this street; but to Deronda's mind it brought so strange a

blending of the unwonted with the common, that there was a perceptible

interval of mutual observation before he asked his question; "What is the

price of this book?"

After taking the book and examining the fly-leaves without rising, the

supposed bookseller said, "There is no mark, and Mr. Ram is not in now. I

am keeping the shop while he is gone to dinner. What are you disposed to

give for it?" He held the book close on his lap with his hand on it and

looked examiningly at Deronda, over whom there came the disagreeable idea,

that possibly this striking personage wanted to see how much could be got

out of a customer's ignorance of prices. But without further reflection he

said, "Don't you know how much it is worth?"

"Not its market-price. May I ask have you read it?"

"No. I have read an account of it, which makes me want to buy it."

"You are a man of learning--you are interested in Jewish history?" This

was said in a deepened tone of eager inquiry.

"I am certainly interested in Jewish history," said Deronda, quietly,

curiosity overcoming his dislike to the sort of inspection as well as

questioning he was under.

But immediately the strange Jew rose from his sitting posture, and Deronda

felt a thin hand pressing his arm tightly, while a hoarse, excited voice,

not much above a loud whisper, said--

"You are perhaps of our race?"

Deronda colored deeply, not liking the grasp, and then answered with a

slight shake of the head, "No." The grasp was relaxed, the hand withdrawn,

the eagerness of the face collapsed into uninterested melancholy, as if

some possessing spirit which had leaped into the eyes and gestures had

sunk back again to the inmost recesses of the frame; and moving further

off as he held out the little book, the stranger said in a tone of distant

civility, "I believe Mr. Ram will be satisfied with half-a-crown, sir."

The effect of this change on Deronda--he afterward smiled when he recalled

it--was oddly embarrassing and humiliating, as if some high dignitary had

found him deficient and given him his _cong*_. There was nothing further

to be said, however: he paid his half-crown and carried off his _Salomon

Maimon's Lebensgeschichte_ with a mere "good-morning."

He felt some vexation at the sudden arrest of the interview, and the

apparent prohibition that he should know more of this man, who was

certainly something out of the common way--as different probably as a Jew

could well be from Ezra Cohen, through whose door Deronda was presently

entering, and whose flourishing face glistening on the way to fatness was

hanging over the counter in negotiation with some one on the other side of

the partition, concerning two plated stoppers and three teaspoons, which

lay spread before him. Seeing Deronda enter, he called out "Mother!

Mother!" and then with a familiar nod and smile, said, "Coming, sir--

coming directly."

Deronda could not help looking toward the door from the back with some

anxiety, which was not soothed when he saw a vigorous woman beyond fifty

enter and approach to serve him. Not that there was anything very

repulsive about her: the worst that could be said was that she had that

look of having made her toilet with little water, and by twilight, which

is common to unyouthful people of her class, and of having presumably

slept in her large earrings, if not in her rings and necklace. In fact,

what caused a sinking of heart in Deronda was, her not being so coarse and

ugly as to exclude the idea of her being Mirah's mother. Any one who has

looked at a face to try and discern signs of known kinship in it will

understand his process of conjecture--how he tried to think away the fat

which had gradually disguised the outlines of youth, and to discern what

one may call the elementary expressions of the face. He was sorry to see

no absolute negative to his fears. Just as it was conceivable that this

Ezra, brought up to trade, might resemble the scapegrace father in

everything but his knowledge and talent, so it was not impossible that

this mother might have had a lovely refined daughter whose type of feature

and expression was like Mirah's. The eyebrows had a vexatious similarity

of line; and who shall decide how far a face may be masked when the

uncherishing years have thrust it far onward in the ever-new procession of

youth and age? The good-humor of the glance remained and shone out in a

motherly way at Deronda, as she said, in a mild guttural tone--

"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.