Daniel Deronda
乔治.艾略特 George Eliot
CHAPTER XXXIII. Page 2
"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 sonseeing this called out, "I'll reach 'em, mother; I'll reach 'em," runningforward with alacrity, and then handing the clasps to Deronda with thesmiling remark--
"Mother's too proud: she wants to do everything herself. That's why Icalled her to wait on you, sir. When there's a particular gentlemancustomer, sir, I daren't do any other than call her. But I can't let herdo 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 boywill be at his jokes, but you see he's the best son in the world," andevidently the son enjoyed pleasing her, though he also wished to convey anapology to his distinguished customer for not giving him the advantage ofhis own exclusive attention.
Deronda began to examine the clasps as if he had many points to observebefore 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 abargain 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 tostare at, feeling sure that the stare would be held complimentary. Thegroup consisted of a black-eyed young woman who carried a black-eyedlittle one, its head already covered with black curls, and deposited it onthe counter, from which station it looked round with even more than theusual intelligence of babies: also a robust boy of six and a younger girl,both with black eyes and black-ringed hair--looking more Semitic thantheir 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 bluedress, with coral necklace and earrings, her hair set up in a huge bush--looked as complacently lively and unrefined as her husband; and by acertain difference from the mother deepened in Deronda the unwelcomeimpression that the latter was not so utterly common a Jewess as toexclude her being the mother of Mirah. While that thought was glancingthrough his mind, the boy had run forward into the shop with an energeticstamp, and setting himself about four feet from Deronda, with his hands inthe pockets of his miniature knickerbockers, looked at him with aprecocious air of survey. Perhaps it was chiefly with a diplomatic designto 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 anddistinctness.
"You are not named after your father, then?"
"No, after my grandfather; he sells knives and razors and scissors--mygrandfather does," said Jacob, wishing to impress the stranger with thathigh connection. "He gave me this knife." Here a pocket-knife was drawnforth, and the small fingers, both naturally and artificially dark, openedtwo blades and a cork-screw with much quickness.
"Is not that a dangerous plaything?" said Deronda, turning to thegrandmother.
"_He_'ll never hurt himself, bless you!" said she, contemplating hergrandson with placid rapture.
"Have _you_ got a knife?" says Jacob, coming closer. His small voice washoarse 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 fromhis waistcoat-pocket.
Jacob seized it immediately and retreated a little, holding the two knivesin his palms and bending over them in meditative comparison. By this timethe other clients were gone, and the whole family had gathered to thespot, centering their attention on the marvelous Jacob: the father,mother, and grandmother behind the counter, with baby held staggeringthereon, and the little girl in front leaning at her brother's elbow toassist him in looking at the knives.
"Mine's the best," said Jacob, at last, returning Deronda's knife as if hehad been entertaining the idea of exchange and had rejected it.
Father and mother laughed aloud with delight. "You won't find Jacobchoosing the worst," said Mr. Cohen, winking, with much confidence in thecustomer's admiration. Deronda, looking at the grandmother, who had onlyan 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 ofsympathetic 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 closedmore firmly, she looked down, swept her hands outward on the counter, andfinally turned her back on Deronda to examine some Indian handkerchiefsthat hung in pawn behind her. Her son gave a significant glance, set uphis shoulders an instant and just put his fingers to his lips,--then saidquickly, "I think you're a first-rate gentleman in the city, sir, if I maybe allowed to guess."
"No," said Deronda, with a preoccupied air, "I have nothing to do with thecity."
"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 hiscustomer's natural desire to know more of him and his. "But you understandsilver-work, I see."
"A little," said Deronda, taking up the clasps a moment and laying themdown again. That unwelcome bit of circumstantial evidence had made hismind busy with a plan which was certainly more like acting than anythinghe had been aware of in his own conduct before. But the bare possibilitythat more knowledge might nullify the evidence now overpowered theinclination to rest in uncertainty.
"To tell you the truth," he went on, "my errand is not so much to buy asto borrow. I dare say you go into rather heavy transactions occasionally."
"Well, sir, I've accommodated gentlemen of distinction--I'm proud to sayit. I wouldn't exchange my business with any in the world. There's nonemore 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 agentleman like yourself, sir, who may want it for amusement. I like mybusiness, I like my street, and I like my shop. I wouldn't have it a doorfurther down. And I wouldn't be without a pawn-shop, sir, to be the LordMayor. It puts you in connection with the world at large. I say it's likethe government revenue--it embraces the brass as well as the gold of thecountry. 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 inall his glory was a pitiable mortal compared with Mr. Cohen--clearly oneof those persons, who, being in excellent spirits about themselves, arewilling to cheer strangers by letting them know it. While he wasdelivering himself with lively rapidity, he took the baby from his wifeand holding it on his arm presented his features to be explored by itssmall fists. Deronda, not in a cheerful mood, was rashly pronouncing thisEzra Cohen to be the most unpoetic Jew he had ever met with in books orlife: his phraseology was as little as possible like that of the OldTestament: and no shadow of a suffering race distinguished his vulgarityof soul from that of a prosperous, pink-and-white huckster of the purestEnglish lineage. It is naturally a Christian feeling that a Jew ought notto be conceited. However, this was no reason for not persevering in hisproject, and he answered at once in adventurous ignorance oftechnicalities--
"I have a fine diamond ring to offer as security--not with me at thismoment, unfortunately, for I am not in the habit of wearing it. But I willcome again this evening and bring it with me. Fifty pounds at once wouldbe a convenience to me."
"Well, you know, this evening is the Sabbath, young gentleman," saidCohen, "and I go to the _Shool_. The shop will be closed. Butaccommodation is a work of charity; if you can't get here before, and areany ways pressed--why, I'll look at your diamond. You're perhaps from theWest End--a longish drive?"
"Yes; and your Sabbath begins early at this season. I could be here byfive--will that do?" Deronda had not been without hope that by asking tocome on a Friday evening he might get a better opportunity of observingpoints in the family character, and might even be able to put somedecisive question.
Cohen assented; but here the marvelous Jacob, whose _physique_ supported aprecocity that would have shattered a Gentile of his years, showed that hehad been listening with much comprehension by saying, "You are comingagain. 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 ownknife again, and looking up with serious inquiry.
"Yes," said Deronda, experimentally.
"Bring your knife, then, and we'll shwop," said Jacob, returning the knifeto his pocket, and stamping about with the sense that he had concluded agood transaction.
The grandmother had now recovered her usual manners, and the whole familywatched Deronda radiantly when he caressingly lifted the little girl, towhom 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 fingersto her gold earrings, which he did not seem to have noticed.
"Adelaide Rebekah is her name," said her mother, proudly. "Speak to thegentleman, lovey."
"Shlav'm Shabbes fyock on," said Adelaide Rebekah.
"Her Sabbath frock, she means," said the father, in explanation. "She'llhave her Sabbath frock on this evening."
"And will you let me see you in it, Adelaide?" said Deronda, with thatgentle intonation which came very easily to him.
"Say yes, lovey--yes, if you please, sir," said her mother, enchanted withthis handsome young gentleman, who appreciated remarkable children.
"And will you give me a kiss this evening?" said Deronda with a hand oneach of her little brown shoulders.
Adelaide Rebekah (her miniature crinoline and monumental featurescorresponded with the combination of her names) immediately put up herlips to pay the kiss in advance; whereupon her father rising in still moreglowing satisfaction with the general meritoriousness of hiscircumstances, and with the stranger who was an admiring witness, saidcordially--
"You see there's somebody will be disappointed if you don't come thisevening, sir. You won't mind sitting down in our family place and waitinga bit for me, if I'm not in when you come, sir? I'll stretch a point toaccommodate a gent of your sort. Bring the diamond, and I'll see what Ican do for you."
Deronda thus left the most favorable impression behind him, as apreparation for more easy intercourse. But for his own part thoseamenities had been carried on under the heaviest spirits. If these werereally Mirah's relatives, he could not imagine that even her fervid filialpiety could give the reunion with them any sweetness beyond such as couldbe found in the strict fulfillment of a painful duty. What did thisvaunting brother need? And with the most favorable supposition about thehypothetic mother, Deronda shrank from the image of a first meetingbetween her and Mirah, and still more from the idea of Mirah'sdomestication with this family. He took refuge in disbelief. To find anEzra Cohen when the name was running in your head was no moreextraordinary than to find a Josiah Smith under like circumstances; and asto the coincidence about the daughter, it would probably turn out to be adifference. If, however, further knowledge confirmed the more undesirableconclusion, what would be wise expediency?--to try and determine the bestconsequences by concealment, or to brave other consequences for the sakeof that openness which is the sweet fresh air of our moral life.