Tales and Novels Volume IX Part 6

"There is no danger of that sort," he replied. "Had she been disposed to judge so rashly and uncharitably, the humane and polite attentions she met with last night from a gentleman who was an utter stranger to her, and who could only know that she was a foreigner in want of a.s.sistance, must have been to her at once conviction and reproof." (I bowed, delighted with Mr. Montenero and with myself.) "But I hope and believe,"

continued he, "that my Berenice is not disposed to form uncharitable judgments either of individuals or nations; especially not of the English, of whom she has, from their history and literature, with which we are not wholly unacquainted, conceived the highest ideas." I bowed again, though not quite so much delighted with this general compliment to my nation as by that peculiar to myself. I expressed my hopes that the English would justify this favourable prepossession, and that on farther acquaintance with different societies in London, Mr. and Miss Montenero would find, that among the higher cla.s.ses in this country there is no want of liberality of opinion, and certainly no want of delicacy of sentiment and manner--no want of attention to the feelings of those who are of a different persuasion from ourselves. Just at this moment my mother entered the room. Advancing towards Mr. Montenero, she said, with a gracious smile, "You need not introduce us to each other, my dear Harrington, for I am sure that I have the pleasure of seeing Mr.

Clive, from India."

"Mr. Montenero, from America, ma'am."

"Mr. Montenero! I am happy to have the honour--the pleasure--I am very happy--"

My mother's politeness struggled against truth; but whilst I feared that Mr. Montenero's penetration would discern that there was no pleasure in the honour, a polite inquiry followed concerning Miss Montenero's indisposition. Then, after an ineffectual effort to resume the ease and cordiality of her manner, my mother leaned back languidly on the sofa, and endeavoured to account for the cloud which settled on her brow by adverting to the sleepless night she had pa.s.sed, and to the fears of an impending headache; a.s.suring Mr. Montenero at the same time that society and conversation were always of service to her. I was particularly anxious to detain, and to draw him out before my mother, because I felt persuaded that his politeness of manner, and his style of conversation, would counteract any _presentiment_ or prejudice she had conceived against him and his race. He seemed to lend himself to my views, and with benevolent politeness exerted himself to entertain my mother. A Don Quixote was on the table, in which there were some good prints, and from these he took occasion to give us many amusing and interesting accounts of Spain, where he had pa.s.sed the early part of his life. From Don Quixote to Gil Blas--to the Duc de Lerma--to the tower of Segovia--to the Inquisition--to the Spanish palaces and Moorish antiquities, he let me lead him backwards and forwards as I pleased. My mother was very fond of some of the old Spanish ballads and Moorish romances: I led to the _Rio Verde_, and the fair Zaida, and the Moor Alcanzor, with whom both in their Moorish and English dress Mr. Montenero was well acquainted, and of whom he was enthusiastically fond.

My mother was fond of painting: I asked some questions concerning the Spanish painters, particularly about Murillo; of one of his pictures we had a copy, and my mother had often wished to see the original. Mr.

Montenero said he was happy in having it in his power to gratify her wish; he possessed the original of this picture. But few of Murillo's paintings had at this time found their way out of Spain; national and regal pride had preserved them with jealous care; but Mr. Montenero had inherited some of Murillo's master-pieces. These, and a small but valuable collection of pictures which he had been many years in forming, were now in England: they were not yet arranged as he could wish, but an apartment was preparing for them; and in the mean time, he should be happy to have the honour of showing them to us and to any of our friends. He particularly addressed himself to my mother; she replied in those general terms of acquiescence and grat.i.tude, which are used when there is no real intention to accept an invitation, but yet a wish to avoid such an absolute refusal as should appear ill-bred. I, on the contrary, sincerely eager to accept the offered favour, fixed instantly the time, and the soonest possible. I named the next day at one o'clock.

Mr. Montenero then took his leave, and as the door closed after him, I stood before my mother, as if waiting for judgment; she was silent.

"Don't you think him agreeable, ma'am?"

"Very agreeable."

"I knew you would think so, my dear mother; an uncommonly agreeable man."

"But--"

"But what, ma'am?"

"But so much the worse."

"How so, ma'am? Because he is a Jew, is he forbidden to be agreeable?"

said I, smiling.

"Pray be serious, Harrington--I say the more agreeable this man is, the better his manner, the more extensive his information, the higher the abilities he possesses, the greater are his means of doing mischief." "A conclusive argument," said. I, "against the possession of good manners, information, abilities, and every agreeable and useful quality! and an argument equally applicable to Jews and Christians."

"Argument!" repeated my mother: "I know, my dear, I am not capable of arguing with you--indeed I am not fond of arguments, they are so unfeminine: I seldom presume to give even my opinion, except on subjects of sentiment and feeling; there ladies may venture, I suppose, to have a voice as well as gentlemen, perhaps better, sometimes. In the present case, it may be very ridiculous; but I own that, notwithstanding this Mr. Montenero is what you'd call an uncommonly agreeable man, there is a something about him--in short, I feel something like an antipathy to him--and in the whole course of my life I have never been misled by these _antipathies_. I don't say they are reasonable, I only say that I can't help feeling them; and if they never mislead us, you know they have all the force of instincts, and in some cases instincts are superior even to that reason of which man is so proud."

I did not advert to the _if_, on which this whole reasoning rested, but I begged my mother would put herself out of the question for one moment, and consider to what injustice and intolerance such antipathies would lead in society.

"Perhaps in general it might be so," she said; "but in this particular instance she was persuaded she was right and _correct_; and after all, is there a human being living who is not influenced at first sight by countenance! Does not Lavater say that even a c.o.c.kchafer and a dish of tea have a physiognomy?"

I could not go quite so far as to admit the c.o.c.kchafer's physiognomy in our judgment of characters. "But then, ma'am," concluded I, "before we can judge, before we can decide, we should see what is called the play of the countenance--we should see the working of the muscles. Now, for instance, when we have seen Mr. Montenero two or three times, when we have studied the muscles of his countenance--"

"I! I study the muscles of the man's countenance!" interrupted my mother, indignantly; "I never desire to see him or his muscles again!

Jew, Turk, or _Mussulman_, let me hear no more about him. Seriously, my dear Harrington, this is the subject on which I wished to speak to you this morning, to warn you from forming this dangerous acquaintance.

I dreamed last night--but I know you won't listen to dreams; I have a _presentiment_--but you have no faith in _presentiments_: what shall I say to you?--Oh! my dear Harrington, I appeal to your own heart--your own feelings, your own conscience, must tell you all I at this moment foresee and dread. Oh! with your ardent, too ardent imagination--your susceptibility! Surely, surely, there is an absolute fatality in these things! At the very moment I was preparing to warn you, Mr. Montenero appears, and strengthens the dangerous impression. And after all the pains I took to prevent your ever meeting, is it not extraordinary that you should meet his daughter at the playhouse? Promise me, I conjure you," cried she, turning and seizing both my hands, "promise me, my dear son, that you will see no more of this Jew and Jewess."

It was a promise I could not, would not make:--some morning visitors came in and relieved me. My mother's imagination was as vivacious, but not as tenacious as my own. There was in her a feminine mobility, which, to my masculine strength of pa.s.sion, and consequent tenacity of purpose, appeared often inconceivable, and sometimes provoking. In a few minutes her fancy turned to old china and new lace, and all the fears which had so possessed and agitated her mind subsided.

Among the crowd of morning visitors, Lady Anne Mowbray ran in and ran out; fortunately she could not stay one minute, and still more fortunately my mother did not hear a word she said, or even see her ladys.h.i.+p's exit and entrance, so many ladies had encompa.s.sed my mother's sofa, displaying charming bargains of French lace. The subject abstracted their attention, and engrossed all their faculties. Lady Anne had just called to tell me a secret, that her mother had been saying all the morning to every body, how odd it was of Mr. Harrington to take notice whether a Jewess fainted or not. Lady Anne said, for her part, she had taken my part; she did not think it _so_ odd of me, but she thought it odd and ridiculous of the Jewess to faint about Shylock. But the reason she called was, because she was dying with curiosity to know if I had heard any more about the Jewess. Was she an heiress or not? I must find out and tell: she had heard--but she could not stay now--going to ride in the park.

I had often observed that my mother's _presentiments_ varied from day to day, according to the state of her nerves, or of some slight external circ.u.mstances. I was extremely anxious to prevail upon her to accompany me to see the Spanish pictures, and I therefore put off my visit for a day, when I found my mother had engaged herself to attend a party of fair encouragers of smugglers to a cheap French lace shop. I wrote an apology to Mr. Montenero, and Heaven knows how much it cost me. But my heroic patience was of no avail; I could not persuade my mother to accompany me. To all her former feelings, the pride of opinion and the jealousy of maternal affection were now added; she was piqued to prove herself in the right, and vexed to see that, right or wrong, I would not yield to her entreaties. I thought I acted solely from the dictates of pure reason and enlightened philanthropy.

CHAPTER IX.

Mowbray was curious, he said, to know how the Jewess would look by daylight, and he begged that he might accompany me to see the pictures.

As I had told him that I had permission to take with me any of my friends, I could not refuse his request, though I must own that I would rather have gone without him. I was a little afraid of his raillery, and of the quickness of his observation. During our walk, however, he with address--with that most irresistible kind of address, which a.s.sumes an air of perfect frankness and cordiality, contrived to dissipate my feelings of embarra.s.sment; and by the time we got to Mr. Montenero's door, I rejoiced that I had with me a friend and supporter.

"A handsome house--a splendid house, this," said Mowbray, looking up at the front, as we waited for admission. "If the inside agree with the out, faith, Harrington, your Jewish heiress will soon be heard of on 'Change, and at court too, you'll see. Make haste and secure your interest in her, I advise you."

To our great disappointment the servant told us that neither Mr. nor Miss Montenero was at home. But orders had been left with a young man of his to attend me and my company. At this moment I heard a well-known voice on the stairs, and Jacob, poor Jacob, appeared: joy flashed in his face at the sight of me; he flew down stairs, and across the hall, exclaiming, "It is--it is my own good Mr. Harrington!"

But he started back at the sight of Mowbray, and his whole countenance and manner changed. In an embarra.s.sed voice, he began to explain why Mr. Montenero was not at home; that he had waited yesterday in hopes of seeing me at the appointed time, till my note of apology had arrived.

I had not positively named any day for my visit, and Mr. Montenero had particular business that obliged him to go out this morning, but that he would be back in an hour: "Meantime, sir, as Mr. Montenero has desired,"

said Jacob, "I shall have the honour of showing the pictures to you and your friend."

It was not till he came to the words _your friend_, that Jacob recollected to bow to Lord Mowbray, and even then it was a stiff-necked bow. Mowbray, contrary to his usual a.s.surance, looked a little embarra.s.sed, yet spoke to Jacob as to an old acquaintance.

Jacob led us through several handsome, I might say splendid, apartments, to the picture-room.

"Good! Good!" whispered Mowbray, as we went along, till the moment we entered the picture-room; then making a sudden stop, and start of recollection, and pulling out his watch, he declared that he had till that minute forgotten an indispensable engagement--that he must come some other day to see these charming pictures. He begged that I would settle that for him--he was excessively sorry, but go he must--and off he went immediately.

The instant he was out of sight, Jacob seemed relieved from the disagreeable constraint under which he laboured, and his delight was manifest when he had me to himself. I conceived that Jacob still felt resentment against Mowbray, for the old quarrel at school. I was surprised at this, and in my own mind I blamed Jacob.

I have always found it the best way to speak openly, and to go to the bottom of mysteries and quarrels at once: so turning to Jacob, I asked him, whether, in right of our former acquaintance, I might speak to him with the freedom of one who heartily wished him well? The tears came into his eyes, and he could only say, "Speak, pray--and thank you, sir."

"Then, Jacob," said I, "I thought you could not for such a number of years bear malice for a schoolboy's offence; and yet your manner just now to Lord Mowbray--am I mistaken?--set me right, if I am--did I misinterpret your manner, Jacob?"

"No, sir," said he, looking up in my face, with his genuine expression of simplicity and openness; "no, sir, you do not mistake, nor misinterpret Jacob's manner; you know him too well, and his manner tells too plainly; you do not misinterpret the feeling, but you mistake the cause; and since you are so kind as to desire me to set you right, I will do so; but it is too long a story to tell while you are standing."

"Not at all--I am interested--go on."

"I should not," said Jacob, "be worthy of this interest--this regard, which it is joy to my very heart to see that you still feel for me--I should not be worthy in the least of it, if I could bear malice so many years for a schoolboy's offence.

"No, Mr. Harrington, the schoolboy young lord is forgotten. But long since that time, since this young lord has been grown into a man, and an officer--at Gibraltar--"

The recollection of whatever it was that happened at Gibraltar seemed to come at this instant so full upon Jacob's feelings, that he could not go on. He took up his story farther back. He reminded me of the time when we had parted at Cambridge; he was then preparing to go to Gibraltar, to a.s.sist in keeping a store there, for the brother and partner of his friend and benefactor, the London jeweller, Mr. Manessa, who had ventured a very considerable part of his fortune upon this speculation.

About that time many Jews had enriched themselves at Gibraltar, by keeping stores for the troops; and during the siege it was expected that it would be a profitable business. Mr. Manessa's store under Jacob's care went on prosperously till the day when Lord Mowbray arrived at Gibraltar with a regiment, of which, young as he was, he had been appointed lieutenant-colonel: "He recognized me the first time we met; I saw he was grown into a fine-looking officer; and indeed, Mr.

Harrington, I saw him, without bearing the least malice for any little things that had pa.s.sed, which I thought, as you say, were only schoolboy follies. But in a few minutes I found, to my sorrow, that he was not changed in mind towards me.

"His first words at meeting me in the public streets were, 'So! are you here, _young Shylock?_ What brings you to Gibraltar? You are of the tribe of Gad, I think, _thou Wandering Jew!_'

"Lord Mowbray's servants heard, and caught their lord's witticism: the serjeants and soldiers repeated the colonel's words, and the nicknames spread through the regiment, and through the garrison; wherever I turned, I heard them echoed: poor Jacob was called _young Shylock_ by some, and by others the _Wandering Jew_. It was a bitter jest, and soon became bitter earnest.

"The ignorant soldiers really believed me to be that Jew whom Christians most abominate. [Footnote: See Percy's Reliques of Ancient Poetry, for the ballad of the Wandering Jew.]

"The common people felt a superst.i.tious dread of me: the mothers charged their children to keep out of my way; and if I met them in the streets, they ran away and hid themselves.

"You may think, sir, I was not happy. I grew melancholy; and my melancholy countenance, they said, was a proof that I was what I was said to be. I was ashamed to show my face. I lost all relish for my food, and began to pine away. My master noticed it, and he was sorry for me; he took my part, and spoke to the young lord, who thereupon grew angry, and high words pa.s.sed; the young lord cursed at my master for an insolent Jew dog. As to me, his lords.h.i.+p swore that he knew me from a boy; that he had known enough of my tricks, and that of course for that I must bear him malice; and he vowed I should not bear it to him for nothing.

"From that day there was a party raised against us in the garrison. Lord Mowbray's soldiers of course took his part; and those who were most his favourites abused us the most. They never pa.s.sed our store any day without taunt and insult; ever repeating the names their colonel had given me. It was hard to stand still and mute, and bear every thing, without reply. But I was determined not to bring my master into any quarrel, so I bore all. Presently the time came when there was great distress for provisions in the garrison; then the cry against the Jews was terrible: but I do not wish to say more of what followed than is necessary to my own story. You must have heard, sir, of the riot at Gibraltar, the night when the soldiery broke into the spirit stores?"