The Novelist.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 317, 9 March 1878, Page 4

The Novelist.

SOLOMON ~LSAACS, A CHRISTMAS STORY. By B. L. Farjeon.

Chapter A.—Moses Levy Plays a Game of Cribbage with Himself for an Important Stake. Towards the end of the week, as M!ose3 Levy returned from his weary wanderings, he met Solomon Isaacs face to face. The rich man would have been glad to avoid the meeting, but being absorbed in meditating upon the suitability of a fine house in a fashionable locality, the lease of which had that day been offered to him, he did not see Moses Levy until he came plump upon him. It was an awkward moment for both, but more so for the rich man than for the poor man. Solomon Isaacs stammered and flushed up, andattempteel to say a few words, but they came out of his mouth all of a tangle, and Moses Levy therefore did not understand them. But he understood the manner of his quondam friend, and would have expressed himself angrily had he not been restrained by thought of his daughter. “ How do you do, Ikey ?” said Moses Levy, forcing himself into this mode of salutation. It cost him a pang to speak the words in a cordial tone ; something whispered to him that he owed it to himself to be more dignified ; but he was not thinking of himself. His salutation, however, in whatever words it had been expressed, could not have produced a worse effect upon Solomon Isaacs. Ikey ! Ikey ! It was a deliberate insult to be thus addressed ; the more he thought of it, the more offensive the name was growing to him. He made a clumsy attempt to conceal his annoyance, and answered stiffly and ungraciously, “ Very well, very well, thankee, Mr. Levy.” Mr. Levy. The “ Mr.” drove itself like a sharp blade into Moses Levy’s heart, for he seemed to hear in it the knell of Bachel’s happiness. “ Been out to-day ?” asked Moses Levy, not knowing exactly what to say. “ No,” answered Solomon Isaacs, pompously inflating his chest. “ ’Aven’t you ’eered ” “That you’ve got suddenly rich !” interrupted Moses Levy. “ Oh, yes. It is true, then,?” “Yes—yes—yes !” As though a redundancy of monev required a redundancy of affirmation. “I thought it likely you would have come and told us yourself,” observed Moses Levy. “ Been busy—busy ! Had to look after things.” “ How did it all happen ?” “ Spelcylated—spekylated, Mo !” said Solomon- Isaacs, becoming more familiar in the contemplation of his good fortune. “Ah !” ejaculated Moses Levy, dwelling lengthily on the little word. There was a meaning in it, as he uttered it, that was not pleasant in Solomon Isaacs’ ears. It conveyed to him a doubt, a suspicion that his money had not been come well by, and he resented it by saying abruptly, “ Good-night, good-night,” and hurrying away. Moses Levy gazed mournfully at the retreating figure of the rich man, and the old-clo’ bag on his shoulders became as heavy as lead, notwithstanding that there was little in it. He crept slowly to his house, and up his two flights of stairs, to the little room where Bachel was waiting for him. He did not speak to her of his interview with Leon’s father, nor of the uneasiness he felt in consequence. He was more than usually tender towards her, and strove to cheer her by telling her that he had made a good day’s work—which was not true. Then he related to her, in a comical way, a story he had heard in the course of the day, after which he washed himself, and said his prayers, aud sat down with her to tea. “ I wonder what Leon is having for tea?” said Bachel, during the meal. “Not fried fish, you may depend,” replied Moses Levy. “He’d sooner be here than where he is—eh, Bachel ?” with a wistful questioning of her pale face. “He says just those words in a letter I got from him this morning.” “ A good letter, Bachel ?” “A beautiful letter.” Moses Levy’s spirits rose. “ D«es he say anything about—about Mr. Isaacs.” “No.” replied Bachel, with blushes ; “it’s all about me.” “ l’ijen it isn’t likely Leon has heard the news, Bachel.” “ I should think not, father. He would have been certain to have mentioned it, if he had.” Moses Levy’s spirits fell to a desponding point agaiu. Bachel was not in the habit of showing Leon's letters to her father ; she would select portions here and there, and read them to the old man ; but this letter, in silence, she handed to him. Moses Levy read it carefully. It was in every respect a model lover’s letter, and was undoubtedly calculated to promote confidence in the truth and honesty of the writer. But the impression left upon Moses Levy’s mind by his recent interview with Solomon Isaacs was too powerful to allow such confidence undisputed sway. Although himself an unworldly man, he was to some extent versed in the world’s ways, and he murmured to himself, “ Leon does not know yet : he does not know.” “ What are you saying ?” inquired Bachel, observing that her father’s lips were moving. “That it is a beautiful letter, my dear. Leon will be true to you, my dear—yes, yes ” “ Father !” All the color had died out of her face, and her hands were trembling. For a moment she looked upon her father as her enemy, and she took sides against him with Leon and Solomofi Isaacs. How dare he whisper a doubt of Leon’s truth ! to hear it spoken distracted almost beyond endurance her already troubled mind. Her eyes sparkled with resentment against the father she so loved and honored.

“ Bachel, my blessing !” he criedimploringly. “ Forgive me—forgive me !” She crept into his arms, and he pressed her to his breast, and soothed her with loving words.

“ Mr. Isaacs has been too busy to come and see us this week,” said Bachel. “We must not be unjust to him.” “No, no, Bachel ; you are right—yes, yes,; there is no doubt you are right.” “ When you grow rich, father ” “Yes, my blessing,” he said, with a wan smile ; “ when I grow rich ” “ You will be the same as at first ; you will have so much to look after.”

“ Of course, my dear, of course.” “So because Mr. Isaacs has not been here yet, we must not blame Leon, or doubt Leon. Father, you and Leon are the two best men in the world ; I think you could not do a bad thing, if you tried. And Mr. Isaacs is the next best.”

“ Yes, Bacliel,” replied Moses Levy, with a sinking heart ; “ Solomon Isaacs is a good man, a good man.” “ There is no sacrifice you can think of,” continued Bachel, with a beautiful glow in her face, “ that I would not make for Leon’s sake, and because his father has had the good fortune to grow rich—for I suppose it is true—l am not going to believe that this is a wicked cruel world. Why, it should make things brighter for us, instead of darker !”

“ True, my dear. lam a heartless, unfeeling old man !” “ You are not—you are not,” she said, with a fond pressure, kissing his old fingers. “ Only you must never whisper a word against Leon —never, never !”

“You will never hear a word of that sort pass my lips, Bachel.” “ Nor against Mr. Isaacs. He’s not to be blamed because he has grown rich. You wouldn’t mind it yourself, father.” “ That I shouldn’t, Bachel ; there wouldn’t be any trouble then, my dear.” “And there’s none now. You’ll see ! Tonight is Mr. Isaacs’ regular night for cribbage. When he’s sitting at this table, playing with you, you’ll be sorry for what you’ve said against him.” She cleared the table briskly, and placed the greasy old pack of cards and the war-worn cribbage-board before her father. Then she went into his bedroom, and washed her eyes with cold water, and kissed Leon’s letter in the dark. Leon not true to her ! Would there ever be light in heaven again ? One of two nights in the week on which Solomon Isaacs made his appearance in Moses Levy’s room to play cribbage, this, which was at the latter end of the week, was the more important—for the reason that Bachel used to provide a little bit of supper for the old friends. On this occasion there was something especially dainty in the cupboard, a favorite dish which Solomon Isaacs had so often praised. For years Solomon Isaacs had not missed a single night unless it was holiday time, and Moses Levy felt that the breaking of the custom would be almost like the snapping of a vital cord in his body. Then, again, it was a test—absolutely a test of right-doing ; if Solomon Isaacs came scathless out of the fire, pure gold, indeed, would he prove himself to be. Moses Levy awaited the result with fear and trembling. He sat at the table, and, in deep suspense, listened for the familiar sound of Solomon Isaacs’ footfall. Bachel, as usual, took her work in her hand, and sat in her accustomed seat where she could see the old friends and exchange smiles with them. The time passed slowly and heavily, and every moment the silence became more impressive. Nothing was heard but the tick of the old clock, which seemed to beat “ He will soon come, he will not come ; he will soon come, he will not come.” It is really true that, to both Moses and BachelLevy’sears, the tick of the clock conveyed the same meaning. Moses Levy had but little hope ; Bachel had failed to convince him. As though it lay before him in a clear glass, had Solomon Isaacs’ soul been revealed to him in their last interview, and when the clock marked half an hour beyond the rich man’s usual time of arrival, it distinctly proclaimed to him that the old friendship had come to an end. Money had broken the tie between them. But for money he and Solomon Isaacs might have gone on to the end of their days, enjoying each other’s companionship in the good old way. But for money, no cloud would have darkened his dear daughter’s happiness. Surely what could work so much ill, and bring such unmerited suffering to tender hearts, could be nothing but a curse! Sadly and softly, so as not to attract Bachel’s attention, Moses Levy took up the cards, and began to play a game of patience ; but after losing a couple of games, he changed it to honestly to himself and an opponent cribbage, dealing out the cards fairly and “ shaped in the air.” In the course of his sad amusement, Moses Levy made mute wagers with his invisible antagonist, out of his hopes and fears. As thus : “ If I win,” he whispered, shaping each word as distinctly as though an actual opponent were sitting opposite, “ if I win, Leon will be faithful to Bachel ; if I lose, he will be false to her.” And he lost every game ! It would be difficult to describe his grief and d>. ? may at the uniformity of this result; if he Bad won once, he would have been comforted ; it would have given him hope. It was with a heavy heart that he scored the game against himself on the cribbage-board. He cast furtive glances at Bachel, actually apprehensive that she knew he was playing lor her happiness, and was losing. He tided hard to win ; at the commencement of each fresh game he whispered, “ This is the real game,” trying to cheat himself into the belief that the last was not played in earnest, and that he really had not meant to stake anything upon it. But his melancholy juggling met with its punishment ; not a game could he win, not a game. 111-luck clung close to him, and drove him almost out of his wits. At length he resolved, for the last time, to stake the entire issue on one concluding game. Having settled this definitely and determinedly, having pledged himself solemnly to abide by the

result, he proceeded to cut for crib, and to deal the cards. He ployed well and carefully—never in his life had he played so well ; he did notthrow away a single chance; he played fairly too ; to win by trickery would be sure to bring misfortune. The game ran pretty close to the end, when at the last deal he found himself with the best chance of winniug he had during the night. His eyes brightened ; his heart grew lighter. It was his enemy’s crib ; he himself wanted only one for game, and his enemy wanted two. He threw out for crib, having a sure two ; he cut the cards for his enemy with his right hand, and turned up his enemy’s crib card with his left. It was a knave, and it placed his enemy’s peg in the winning hole ! Moses Levy dropped his cards upon the table with a look of despair. He had worked himself into such a fever of nervous excitement as to positively believe that the turning up of that knave had irretrievably wrecked his daughter’s happiness. It was sufficiently suggestive, Heaven knows ! in its application to the affairs of life. For how often are our dearest hopes blasted by the turning up of a knave! Chapter Xl.—The Lesson of Love. More than a month elapsed before Solomon Isaacs left Spitalfiekls, and during this time he did not visit Moses Levy. Having no desire to meet his old friend in the street, he was careful to avoid him ; there was a matter in his mind which caused him great disturbance, and it was not until he had taken his departure from his old quarters that he resolved upon his course of action with ■ reference to it. Leon was still absent from London. His mission had been entirely successful, and had led him to other discoveries in the shape of suitable new goods for his employers. Mentioning this in his correspondence he was instructed to pursue his enquiries, and although he was anxious to get back to Bachel, his future career, as he believed, depended upon his compliance with the orders he received. He had no suspicion that his father had anything to do with his long absence—which was really the case—-nor of the change that had taken place in Solomon Isaacs’ fortunes. Solomon Isaacs had strictly desired his wife not to mention the matter in her letters. “ I want—” said Solomon Isaacs ; “ I want to make ’im stare.” Bachel Levy also had her reasons for keeping silence. Leon, she thought, must surely know that his father had grown rich, and it distressed her and caused her uneasiness that he made no reference to it. She would not, however, write a word on the subject ; it was his place to speak first. Solomon Isaacs was most particular in enjoining his wife not to visit Spitalfields until he gave her permission, and when she remonstrated, flew into a passion, and said he knew his own business best. “ But why don’t they come to see us ?” she asked. “ You’ll drive me out of nay mind !” was the only reply he vouchsafed. “ Can’t you wait ? Ain’t we up to our ’eads and ears with things ? You take my advice, Milly Isaacs ! let me manage my own business my own way !” He was certainly busy night and day furnishing his new residence in the West-end of London, and superintending certain alterations therein. He was mighty particular about this aud that, and endeavored in his conversations with builders and house-agents to impress them with the notion that he had been used to grandeur all his life. It was a comical sight to see him attempt to act the gentleman, with the old Adam peeping out the moment he began to bargain with the tradesmen. Then it was all his native shrewdness was displayed, and that, in his wrangles over the values of textuses and materials, he baited down to the last shilling. When he was gone the tradesmen exchanged winks, aud put their fingers to their noses ; they knew all about old Solomon Isaacs, aud they had many a good laugh at him behind his back. His banknotes, however, were as good as any other man’s. A nice thing it would be in this world if tradesmen were particular as to where the money they put into their tills comes from ! Mrs. Isaacs was dazed and bewildered at this tremendous jump up the social ladder, and her heart sank as she walked through the grand rooms, and wondered what on earth they were going to do with them. She did not know whether to be pleased or sorry. At length Solomon Isaacs, having come to a certain decision, set apart an evening for his visit to Mosss Levy. Behold him, then, mounting the stairs in Spitalfields which led to his friend’s apartments. It had been his custom hitherto to enter the room without ceremony, but on this occasion, after stepping up-stairs—not with his old rapid shuffle, but slowly and in a stately manner—he rapped with his knuckles, and waited for permission to enter. He heard the voices of Bachel aud her father in the room, and he put his ear to the door-, to hear what they were saying. “ They’re a playing cribbage,” he whispered to himself ; “I didn’t think Bachel could play.” He was correct in his conjecture; Bachel had learnt the game for the purpose of amusing her father, and to afford him some recompense for the loss of his old opponent. Solomon Isaacs waited a little, and then rapped again. It is not customary for persons in Moses Levy’s condition in life to say “ Come in,” in response to a knock at the door ; they usually open the door for their visiter ; and on this occasion Bachel rose, with her cards in her hands, and fell back with a little hysterical cry when she saw who the visitor was. This in itself was sufficient to cause some discomposure to Solomon Isaacs, and he lingered on the threshold, scarcely knowing whether to enter the room or go out of the house. Moses Levy, also, was discomposed by the sight of Solomon Isaacs ; but he recovered himself quickly, and, actuated both by his anxiety for Bachel and the instinct of hospitality—a beautiful and strongly-marked feature in the Jewish character—he desired his visitor to take a seat, indicating, with a courteous motion of his hand, the chair which Solomon Isaacs was to occupy.

The unusual circumstance of Solomon Isaacs removing his hat from his head when he sat down may have been brought about by his desire to indicate by an outward sign that his present visit was not to be regarded in the same light as of old, or it may have been compelled by the singularly corteous manner of Moses Levy, whose calmness, considering the stake at issue, was wonderful to behold. The two old friends presented at this moment a notable contrast. Moses Levy’s white beard, his benevolent expression, his blue eyes—somewhat an uncommon attribute among the Jews —his loosely-hanging old coat, the stoop of his shoulders, his shapely hands, formed an harmonious and pleasant picture. In his youth, he must have been remarkably handsome, and the goodness of his character aud the simplicity of his heart imparted grace to his old age. In his face you could see the source of Bachel's beauty, and the likeness between them received a spiritual charm from the fact that in feeling and sentiment the one was the exact counterpart of the other. Moses Levy’s face was almost fair, and the furrows in his forehead added to the benignaney of his appearance. Solomon Isaacs forehead and face were also deeply furrowed, but the spirit of cunning lurked in the hard lines, and the pinched nostrils and the wriukles in the corners of the lips were telltale witnesses of a life storm-tossed by greed and avarice. Moses Levy’s voice was soft and silvery. Solomon Isaacs’ voice, since he had become rich, had grown more than ever like the turning of a rusty key in a rusty lock. Solomon Isaacs was dressed in a new suit of clothes, from the top of his head to the sole of his foot—a suit of clothes not bought readymade, but cut and put together by a fashionable tailor. The cloth of his coat was superfine, of the superfinest ; his waistcoat was soft and velvety ; his hat was glossy of the glossiest. His open coat displayed a massive gold chain, weighing four ounces at least, the device of which was formed by solid links of gold manacled to each other like galley-slave* ; and he wore a great diamond pin in his black satin cravat, and three great diamond rings on his fingers, outside his gloves—any of which articles of jewelry he would have been glad to sell you, at a profit, at a moment’s notice. But with all his finery, if ever a man in this world presented a mean and disreputable appearance, Solomon Isaacs did so, as he sat in the presence of Moses and Bachel Levy. He was abashed by the modest beauty of Bachel and by the dignity of her father, and he did not feel at his ease.

He' was rendered still more uncomfortable by Moses Levy’s behavior towards him. With a groat deal of fuss and parade, he took from his waistcoat pocket a beautiful heavy gold watch, and, opening it, held it in his hand for a much longer time than was necessary for him or any man to ascertain the hour. He was compelled to turn its face towards the lamp upon the table, so that the hands might catch the light. Moses Levy’s eyes wandered to the watch, and Moses Levy smiled, but never a word in praise of the watch passed Moses Levy’s lips. Solomon Isaacs was much disappointed. He fully expected Moses Levy to exclaim, “ Oh, what a lovely watch ! How much did it cost?” and was prepared in an amicable spirit to go into the question of value. He closed the watch with a vicious click, and returning it to his pocket, smoothed his face with his hands in such a manner as to most conspicuously display the beauty and brilliancy of the diamonds on hi* fingers. And Moses Levy’s eyes wandered again, and hia lips smiled, but never a word in praise of the rings did Moses Levy utter.

All this side-play did not take place in perfect silence. When Solomon Isaacs was seated, and the door closed, Moses Levy bade Bachel sit down, and said, without any further notice of his visitor,

“We will finish our game, my dear.” It proceeded but slowly, and ten minutes elapsed before it was finished. Solomon Isaacs, despite the attention he lavished upon himself and his personal adornments, found time to watch the progress of the game, and thought, ‘ ’Off badly Bachel. Levy plays—’ow badly she plays!’ She did play badly; she hardly knew what she was doing. Her eyes were so dim that she could hardly tell hearts from diamonds —perhaps because hearts and diamonds was really the game that was being played in her life just then.

“ You have lost, my dear,” said Moses Levy, with a sad significance in his tone. He carefully packed up the cards, and placing them and the cribbage-board in the cupboard, resumed his seat, and waited for Solomon Isaacs to speak. lie was determined not to be the first ; and Solomon Isaacs, perceiving this, and that it placed him at a disadvantage, said to himself, “I’ll be even with'im for it, the beast!—l’ll be even with ’im!” “ Well, Mo,” he said aloud, clearing his throat after the awkward pause, “ and ’ow’s business ?”

It was undoubtedly a familiar way for a rich man like Solomon Isaacs to address so poor a person as Moses Levy, but Solomon Isaac* had a purpose to achieve, and was ready to make any sacrifice to succeed. But for that, he would surely have resented the affront offered to him in being compelled to wait like a servant until Bachel and her father had finished their game of cribbage. “Well, Mo, and ’ow’s business ?” “ Pretty well the same as when you left it, Mr. Isaacs,” replied Moses Levy. “ I bought a good lot to-day.” “ Glad to ’ear it, Mo, glad to ’ear it,” said Solomon Isaacs, and then paused from not knowing how to proceed. Moses Levy showed no disposition to assist him out of his dilemma, and every moment of continue! silence added to his perplexity and annoyance. Bachel had taken up her work, and although her fingers were busy with the needle, aid she never once raised her eyes to Solomon Isaacs’ face, all her heart was in her ears.

During this pause, time is allowed for the contemplation of the picture of life presented

in the humble room in Spitalfields, with all its mementoes of homely love and suffering-. The oddly-assorted furniture, the worn carpet, the cheap ornaments ; the simple tokens of affection, each of which has in the bygone days given pleasure to the giver and the receiver ; the chair in which Rachel's mother used to sit and gaze with loving eyes upon the bright flower of her existence ; her faded picture over the mantelshelf, and by its side the newer picture of Leon, fresh and smiling ; the Hebrew device up m the eastern wall, worked in ■ilk by Rachel’s hands, towards which Moses L vy turns his eyes when he prays ; all hallowed by the spirit of love which, in hours of peace and heartsease, sheds its sweet influence over the meanest things. Staring before him uneasily sits Solomon Isaacs, and near him Moses Levy, with sad, benignant features, and the modest figure of Rachel bending over her work. Her face is hidden from the men, and its gsntle grace and beauty are shadowed by fear and sorrow. The old clock marks the record which hastens all mankind to the common level of the grave, and its melancholy accents seem to proclaim a knowledge of the game that the living actors in the room are playing—seems to indicate a consciousness of the sickening battle which is being fought in the hearts of Rachel and her father. Truly the game resembles some games of cards. “ I play hearts!” whispers poor Rachel, with white and trembling lips. “I play diamonds!” cries Solomon Isaacs, and a cold glitter of money darts from his eyes, like a poison fang, and strikes desolation into the young girl’s life. There are old, old lessons which are always new. There are old, old lessons which played their parts thousands of years ago, and which are playing their parts to-day as though they are newly born, and imbued with the strength

of a strong young life. The lesson of love is one of these. What was put into the earth thousands of years ago, of which no material atom shall evermore be seen—what turned into dust thousands of years ago, and was used in afterdays for Heaven knows what base purpose —once plused with such hopes and fears as Rachel’s heart is pulsing with now. Think of the dust of a pure-souled, tender-hearted woman—be she lowly born or highly born, it matters not—and then of the passion, perhaps the agony, perhaps the fruition of love, which stirred the heart of that dust, when it was young and bright and imbued with life? The dawning of the love—the musings by day, the dreams by night—the tender fancies, the fond imaginings, the sweet hopes, the flushing of bright blood to neck and face when her lover comes before her, not as he is, but as her great love makes him—the thrills of adoration, the shy glances, the tender hand-clasps, the joy hiddeu in the hero’s breast—what symbols them now ? Dust. The heart that heat, the eye that brightened, the fingers in whose soft pressure Heaven-born hopes were wont to speak, the dewy eyelash, the tongue that uttered the loving thought:—a handful of dust is all that remains. It is the old, old story—the ol old lesson, to which men’s and women’s hearts have throbbed since the first man and the first woman drew breath in the Garden of Eden. Old as the hills, new as the sunrise. Glad am I to believe that some who read this simple tale of human passion must surely know that what these things are the symbol of shall never die if it be pure. Elesh shall turn to dust, and in its tiansformation shall play its allotted part in Nature’s wondrous scheme—shall strengthen the veins of tender blades of grass, shall ripen the juices of buttercup and daisy, shall make the air health-

fuL for tree and flower—shall fade utterly away, and lose all form and likeness of itself ; but love that is pure shall live for ever, untransformed ! Aud another old lesson! Mammon-worship —the lust for power born of money! What need to speak of the shame of it, when it lives apart from nobler attributes ? But how we covet it—how we yearn for it—how we pray, lie, and sin for it ! Here is a truism—new, it may be, though it is scarcely likely, for there are not many such, but not the less true whether it be old or new. Those are the most blessed who are not born to money. Sweet as the morning’s dew is mouey when it is honestly earned ; sweet as the dew when it is well aud worthily used. “ I have more than enough for my wants—take you, my poor aud struggling brother, a portion of mv superfluous store. With free hand and heart I give ; take—and let no one know.” Here is another truism: Too much money makes a man drunk.