Chapter II: Part 2

And the supposition was correct. There were "secrets" between Aunt Rosalie and the priest. There were likewise "secrets" between Aunt Rosalie and the notary, and they were, to be plain, money secrets. For the irresistible attraction which drew all St. Martin-en-Pareds to Aunt Rosalie's feet must here be explained. The simple-minded old spinster supposed it the most natural thing in the world; she fancied her amiable qualities sufficient to engage the benevolent affection of all who knew her. Undeniably Aunt Rosalie's good humour and quiet fun were infinitely calculated to foster friendly neighbourly relations. But there was more to it than the uninquiring good soul suspected.

Aunt Rosalie was a poor relation of certain enormously rich people in the neighbouring canton. She was a grand niece of the famous Jean Bretaud, whose lucky speculations had made him the most important man in the district. The Bretauds had entirely forgotten the relationship and, taking the opposite course from the notary, would probably have denied it had Aunt Rosalie claimed it.

Aunt Rosalie claimed nothing, but she did not forget her family. When evening fell, and the blinds were closed, and the doors securely locked: "Victorine, go and bring the documents," she would say, after a glance all around to make sure that no one could spy on her in the mysterious elaborations of the work under way. At these words, Victorine, with sudden gravity, would extract from the wardrobe a little flat box, cunningly tied with string, and place it respectfully on the table, after having with much ado untied the knots and unrolled the complicated wrappings which guarded the treasure from the gaze of the profane.

The treasure was simply a genealogy of the Bretauds with authentic documents to support it. As soon as the papers had been spread out under the lamplight, and set in order, the work would begin. The point was to discover what catastrophes would have to occur in the Bretaud family before the millions could fall into Aunt Rosalie's purse. A considerable number of combinations were conceivable, and it was to the examination of them all that Aunt Rosalie and Victorine devoted their nightly labour. A quantity of sheets of white paper covered with pencil scribbling showed incredible entanglements of calculation and rudimentary arithmetical systems.

"Well, now, how far had we got?" said Aunt Rosalie.

"We had ended with the death of your grand niece Eulalie, Miss," said Victorine.

"Ah, yes, the dear child. The fact is, that if she were to die it would help greatly. There are still two cousins left who would have claims prior to mine, it is true. But they have very poor health in that branch of the family."

"I heard the other day that there was an epidemic of scarlet fever in their neighbourhood."

"Ah! Ah!"

"And then they go to Paris so often. A railway accident might so easily happen."

"Ah, yes! It is a matter of a minute----"

And they would continue in that tone for a good hour, warming up to it, comparing the advantages between the demise of this one and that one.

As soon as a Bretaud received a hypothetical inheritance from some relative, he was set down on Victorine's slip of paper as deceased. Presently there was strewn around these gentle maniacs on the subject of inheritance a very hecatomb of Bretauds, such as the eruption of Vesuvius which blotted out Pompeii would not more than have sufficed to bring about. Herself on the edge of the grave, this septuagenarian built up her future on the dead bodies of children, youths, men and women in the flower of life, whom she theoretically massacred nightly, with a quiet conscience, before going to sleep, she who would not willingly have hurt the smallest fly!

When Aunt Rosalie's table had assumed the aspect of a vast cemetery, they began their reckonings. If only eleven people were to die in a certain order, Aunt Rosalie would get so and so much. If fourteen, she would acquire another and fatter sum. Change the order, and there would be a new combination. They assessed fortunes, and if they did not agree in their valuations, they split the difference. But whatever happened, the discussion always ended by Aunt Rosalie receiving an enormous inheritance. Be it noted that whenever a real death or birth took place, the combinations were disturbed, the game had to be commenced all over on a new basis. This afforded fresh pleasure.

But the supreme joy lay in the distribution of the heritage. Neither Aunt Rosalie nor Victorine had any use for their treasures. Without personal needs, the harmless yet implacable dreamers experienced before the fantastic riches fallen to them from Heaven the delightful embarrassment of human creatures provided with the chance to be a shining example of all the virtues at very small cost to themselves. Victorine had never cared to receive her wages, and did not dream of claiming them, living as she did in the constant vision of barrelfuls of gold. Set down in the will for 50,000 francs, no more, she was only too happy to participate royally in her mistress's generosities.

Two account books were ready at hand. One for the distribution of legacies, and the other for "investments." Both presented an inextricable tangle of figures scratched out, rewritten, and then again scratched out for fresh modifications.

"Yesterday," said Rosalie, "we gave 100,000 francs to the hospital at La Roche-sur-Yon. That is a great deal."

"Not enough, Miss," took up Victorine. "I meant to speak of it; 100,000 for the sick! What can they do with that?"

"Perhaps you are right. Let us say 150,000."

"No, Miss, 200,000."

"Very well, say 200,000. I do not wish to distress you for so little."

"And the Church?"

"Ah, yes, the Church----"

"You cannot refuse to give God His share, Miss, after He has given you so much!"

"Quite true. Next week I shall add something in my will."

And for an hour the discussion would continue in this tone. The results were duly consigned to the secret account book, and then would follow the question of investments.

"Monsieur Loiseau tells me that the Western Railway shares have dropped. He advises me to buy Northern. He says that Northern means Rothschild, which means a good deal, you understand, Victorine."

"That Monsieur Loiseau knows everything! You must do as he says. Me, I don't know anything about such things."

"Well, then, put down Northern instead of Western shares. As for the dividends, they talk of changing the rate of interest."

"What does that mean?"

"It is just a way of making us lose money."

"What then?"

"Well, then, we may have to get rid of our stock. I will talk it over with Monsieur Loiseau to-morrow, and perhaps also with the good _curé_ who is very well informed in these matters. Make a cross before those shares, so that I may not forget."

And Aunt Rosalie actually did ply notary and _curé_ with questions about her investments, and the use to be made of her fortune after her death.

These two had acquired a liking for the topic. On the day when Aunt Rosalie, questioned by him with regard to her direct heirs, declared that as she had seen none of the Bretauds for more than forty years she "had decided not to leave any of them a penny's worth of her property," the _curé_ began pleading for the Church, for the Pope, and for his charities. His efforts were amply rewarded, for Aunt Rosalie, though not perhaps satisfying all his demands, generously wrote him down for large sums, of which she handed him the list, with great mystery. In return for which she received the confidential assurance of eternal felicity, although she never performed any of her religious duties.

The notary, scenting something of this in the air, before long insinuated delicately that he would be glad of a "remembrance" from his old friend. How could she refuse, when his suggestions in the matter of investments were so valuable?

"Give me good information and advice, Monsieur Loiseau," said Aunt Rosalie, with a kind smile. "You shall be rewarded. I will not forget you."

And from time to time, by a codicil, of which he had taught her the form, she would add something in her will to the sum she intended for the good notary. Whereupon he would exert himself with renewed diligence in her garden, which he jovially called "hoeing Aunt Rosalie's will."

Such things could not be kept secret. St. Martin-en-Pareds soon knew that Aunt Rosalie had great wealth, which they surmised had come to her through the generosity of her great uncle Bretaud. Having quarrelled with her "heirs," she would leave everything to her "friends." Who could withstand such generous affection as was exhibited toward her? Following the example of the notary, all St. Martin had by the claim of friendship become relatives. And visits were paid her, and good wishes expressed, accompanied by gifts in produce, eggs, fruits, vegetables, bacon, or chickens, all of which the good "Aunt" accepted with a pretty nodding of her head, accompanied by an "I shall not forget you!" which everyone stored in memory as something very precious.

Aunt Rosalie constantly received, and never gave. Even the poor got only promises for the future. Nothing did so much to rivet her in the public esteem. Her reputation for blackest avarice was the surest guarantee that the hoard would be enormous.

Things had gone on like this for more than thirty years, when Aunt Rosalie was carried off in two days by an inflammation of the lungs. Victorine, in stupefaction, watched her die, thinking of the inheritance which had not come, but which could not have failed to come eventually, if only the old Aunt had continued to live. When the dead woman was cold, Victorine, who was alone with her in the middle of night, ran to the box of documents, muttering over and over, in an access of positive madness: "No one will get anything, no one will get anything!" and threw the box into the fire.

As she stood poking the bundle to make it kindle, a flame caught her petticoats. The wretched creature was burned alive, without a soul to bring her help.

Monsieur Loiseau, anxious for news, arrived on the spot at dawn and discovered the horrible sight. The fire had crept to the bed. Sheets of charred paper covered with figures fluttering about the room exposed Victorine's crime, which had been followed by punishment so swift. When the official seals had been removed, after the funeral, no trace of funds could be found, nor any last will and testament. All the notary's searching led to nothing.

It was concluded that Victorine, an "agent of the Bretauds," had made everything disappear. Wrath ran high. There rose a chorus of angry wailing and gnashing of teeth.

"Ah, the money will not be lost!" people said, heaping maledictions upon the "thief." "The Bretauds will know, well enough, where to look for the treasure!"

"Poor dear Aunt!" each of them added, mentally. "So rich, so kindly disposed toward us! And that beast of a servant had to go and----"

As a sort of protest against the Bretauds, Aunt Rosalie was provided by subscription with a beautiful white marble grave stone, while the charred remains of Victorine, thrust in a despised corner of the cemetery, were consigned to public contempt.

Such is the world's justice.

V

GIDEON IN HIS GRAVE

Everyone connected with the Cloth Market of Cracow still remembers Gideon the Rich, son of Manasseh, who excelled in the cloth trade and died in the pathways of the Lord. Not only for his prosperity was Gideon notable. He was universally regarded as "a character," and the man truly had been gifted by Heaven with a combination of qualities--whether good or bad, yet well balanced--setting him apart from the common herd.

Gideon was a thick, rotund little Jew, amiable in appearance to the point of joviality, with a fresh pink and white face in which two large emotional blue eyes, always looking ready to brim over, bathed his least words, whether of pity or business, with generous passions. Being an orthodox Jew, he naturally wore a long, black levitical coat which concealed his swinging woollen fringes. Where his abundant gray hair met with his silky beard (unprofaned by shears) hung the two long _paillès_, cabalistic locks which Jehovah loves to see brushing the temples of the faithful. When the whole was topped by a tall hat, impeccably lustrous, and Gideon appeared in the Soukinitza, silence spread, as all gazed at the noble great-coat (of silk or of cloth, according to the season) whose pockets offered a safe asylum to the mysteries of universal trade.

Never suppose that such authority was a result of chance or any sudden bold grasping of advantage. It was the fruit of long endeavour, continually fortunate because he never embarked on an enterprise or a combination without laborious calculations, in which all chances favourable or adverse had been duly weighed. Manasseh had acquired a very modest competence in the old clothes business, and everyone knows that the old clothes of the Polish Jews are young when the rest of mankind consider them past usefulness. One cannot accumulate any great fortune in this business, which is why Gideon, at Manasseh's death, sold his paternal inheritance and went unostentatiously to occupy the meanest booth in the Cloth Market.

At first no one took any notice of him. The shops in that market are little more than wardrobes. The doors fold back and become show-cases. The proprietor sits on a chair in the middle, and the passer will hardly get by without being deluged with reasons for buying exactly the entire contents of the shelves. Gideon, at the front of his black cave, lighted only by the big, hollow, smouldering eyes of his mother, seated motionless for hours on a heap of rags, thought himself in a palace fit for kings. Dazzled but calm, he skillfully spread his striking wares to tempt the passer. Others ran after possible purchasers, soliciting them, bothering them. The modest display which depended upon nothing but its attractiveness obtained favour. "It may be cheaper in there," people said, and submitted to persuasion. It was the beginning of a great destiny.

Twenty years later Gideon, now surnamed "the Rich," had a wife and children, whom he kept busy under the noisy arcade brightened by the rainbow colours of silks for sale. He had clung to his humble counter and was never willing to change it for another. He himself was seldom found there; he was elsewhere occupied with large transactions planned in the silence of the night. Rachel and his two sons, Daniel and Nathan, represented him at the Soukinitza, where he only showed himself to inquire concerning orders. There he would chatter for hours with the peasants on market days, to make a difference of a few kreutzers in the price of a piece of gossamer silk. No profit is too small to be worth making. This is the principle of successful firms. His conduct excited the admiration of all. How, furthermore, begrudge to Gideon his dues in honour, when he was constantly bestowing hundreds of florins upon schools, synagogues, and every sort of charitable institution?

For Gideon had a dual nature, as, brethren, is the case with many of us. In business the subtle art of his absorbing rapacity circumvented any attempt to lessen his profits by the shaving of a copper. "It is not for myself that I work," he used to say, "it is for the poor." And as this came near being the truth, people were afraid of appearing heartless if they opposed him. They let themselves be caught by his smiling good humour, his friendly familiar talk, and they were, after all, not much deceived in him, for Gideon, though a victor in life's bitter struggle, was happiest when stretching out a brotherly hand to the vanquished. In the same way, those American billionaires whose immoderate accumulations of wealth spread ruin all around them will anxiously question the first comer as to the most humanitarian way of spending the fortune thus acquired. I know of someone who when asked by that foolish ogre, Carnegie, what he should do with his money, answered: "Return it to those from whom you took it!"

Gideon could hardly have looked upon the matter in that light. He would never have asked advice of any one in reference either to amassing or to returning money. His chief interest, very nearly as important as his business schemes, was religion. The poetry of Judaism roused in him an ardour that nothing could satisfy but the feeling of substantially contributing to the traditional work of his fathers. His charitable gifts were simply a result. His object was the fulfilment of "the Law."

Daniel and Nathan, brought up in the same ideas, lived in silent respect for their father's authority. In Israel, ever since the days of the patriarchs, the head of the house has been, as with all Oriental peoples, an absolute monarch. The sons of Gideon could therefore feel no regret at their father's generosities. Like their father, they placed the service of Jehovah above everything else. Having, however, been reared by him, and taught all the combinations of exchange by which you get as much and give as little as you can, they were conscious of possessing invincible capacities for acquisition.

"They have something better than money," Gideon would say, "they know how to make it."

On one point alone could, possibly, some ferment of dissension in the family have been found. Gideon took a rich man's pride in living modestly. He never would have more than one servant in the house. The young men, with vanity of a different kind, would have delighted in dazzling the twelve tribes. As they were not given the necessary means, they made up their minds to migrate. During the long evenings of whole winter nothing else was talked of. Gideon did not begrudge the very considerable outlay involved, knowing that it was a good investment. Only one consideration troubled him at the thought of launching his progeny "in the cities of the West." Under penalty of closing the avenues to social success, they would be obliged to relinquish the orthodox long coat and clip off the two corkscrew locks on their temples. Without attaching too much importance to these outward signs, Gideon grieved over what seemed to him a humiliating concession.

"Father," said Daniel, "in Russia the orthodox Jews are obliged to cut their hair, in conformity with an edict of the Czar. But even without _paillès_ Jehovah receives them in his bosom, for it is a case of superior force."

"Yes, that is it, superior force," said Gideon, nodding assent. "The only thing that troubles me is that I have always noticed that one concession leads to another. Where shall you stop? One of these days you may think it necessary to your social success to become Christians!"

"That!... Never!" cried Daniel and Nathan in one voice, horror-stricken.

"I know, I know that you have no such intention. Like me, you are penetrated by the greatness of our race, and like me you stand in admiration before the miracles of destiny. By their holy books the Jews have conquered the West. Upon our thought the thought of our rulers has been modelled. That, you must know, is the fundamental reason for their reviling us; they are aware of having nothing but brutal force to help them, and of living upon our genius. Though vanquished, we are their masters. Even in their heresy, which is a Jewish heresy, they proclaim the superiority of the children of Jehovah. When their God was incarnate in man, his choice fell upon a Jewish woman. He was born a Jew. He promised the fulfilment of the Law. His apostles were Jews. Go into their temples. You will see nothing but statues of Jews which they worship on their knees. How sad a thing it is, when signs of our grace are so striking on all sides, to see the wealthiest among us seeking alliances with the barbarous aristocracy who subjugated us. Some of them, while remaining Jews, make donations to the church of Christ, so as to win the favour of nations and kings. Others submit to the disgrace of baptism. Should you, Daniel, or you, Nathan, commit such a crime, I should curse you, if living; if dead, I should turn in my grave."

Terrified by this portentous threat, Daniel and Nathan, rising with a common impulse, swore, calling upon the Lord, to live as good Jews, like their forefathers.

"That is well done," said Gideon. "I accept your oath. Remember that if you break it, I shall turn in my grave."

Nathan and Daniel acquired great wealth by every means that the law tolerates. Gideon was gathered to his fathers. In accordance with his will, the greater part of his fortune was distributed in charities. A considerable sum, however, fell to each of his sons, accompanied by a letter in which affection had dictated final injunctions. The last word was still: "If ever one of you should become a Christian,--forswear the pure faith of Abraham for Christian idolatry, I should turn in my grave."

Time passed. Daniel and Nathan, loaded with riches, had friends in society, at court, and most especially among those great lords who in the midst of their reckless magnificence may sometimes be accommodated by a pecuniary service. Daniel wished to marry. The daughter of an impoverished prince was opportunely at hand. But his conversion was required. The Vatican conferred a title upon him. From the class of mere manipulators of money, the son of the Cloth Market was raised to the higher sphere of world politics. Daniel did not hesitate. His absent brother coming home found him turned into a Christian count.

No violent scene ensued between the two sons of Gideon. Nathan understood perfectly. One thought, however, tormented him.

"I agree with you," he said, "that the Christians are but a sect of Israel, that they are sons of the synagogue, and that you remain loyal in spirit to our faith, though overlaid by debatable additions. The fact none the less remains that we had given our oath to our father.... He foresaw only too well the thing that has occurred. And you know what he said: 'I shall turn in my grave.'"

"One says that sort of thing----"

"Gideon, son of Manasseh, was not the man to speak idle words. Think of it, Daniel, if we were to lift the grave stone and our eyes were to behold----"

"Nathan, say no more, I beg of you. The mere thought turns me cold with fear."

The two brothers, formerly indissolubly united, drew away from each other little by little: Daniel, forgetful, cheerfully disposed, a nobleman not altogether free from arrogance, amiably deceived by his Christian spouse, but with or without this assistance becoming the founder of a great family; Nathan, morose, restless, smoulderingly envious of a happiness paid too high for, in his opinion. When a question of interest brought them together for a day, Nathan always ended by returning to his theme:

"Our father said: 'I shall turn in my grave!'"

Whereupon Daniel, finding nothing to reply, cut short the interview.

Then, suddenly, Nathan dropped sadness for mirth, severity for indulgence, stopped sermonizing and smiled instead at other people's faults. The change struck Daniel the more from twice meeting his brother without a word being spoken about their father and his terrible threat. Finally he found the key to the mystery: Nathan had in his turn received baptism and was about to become the happy bridegroom of a widow without fortune whom an act of the royal sovereign authorized to bestow upon her consort a feudal title threatened with falling to female succession. In gratitude, Nathan had promised that Daniel and he would "supervise" a future loan.

"So!" cried Daniel in anger, when he heard the great news. "You are becoming a Christian, too, after viciously tormenting me on every occasion, and reminding me of our father who on my account had 'turned in his grave.' And I was filled with remorse. Yes, I may have seemed happy, but my sleep was troubled. I did not know what to do. There were times when I even contemplated returning to the synagogue. Well, then, if what you tell me is true, if our father actually has turned in his grave, you will admit that you are now to blame as well as I. Come, speak, what have you to say?"

"I say," replied Nathan, undisturbed, "that I have shown myself in this the more devoted son of the two. I take back nothing of what I said. It is you assuredly who caused Gideon, son of Manasseh, to turn in his grave. About that there is no doubt whatever. But thanks to the act to which I have resigned myself, he has undoubtedly turned back again, according to his solemn promise, and there he lies henceforth just as we buried him, and as he must remain forever. I have retrieved your fault. Our father forgives you. I accept your thanks."

VI

SIMON, SON OF SIMON

Simon, son of Simon, was nearing the end of his career without having tasted the fruits of his untiring effort to acquire the riches which may be said to represent happiness. Whether we be the sons of Shem or of Japheth, each of us strives for the representative symbol of the satisfaction of his particular cravings. Not that Simon, son of Simon, of the tribe of Judah, had ever given much thought to the joys that were to come from his possession of treasure. No, the question of the possible use to be made of a pile of money had never occupied his active but simple mind. The satisfaction of money-lust having been his single aim, he had never looked forward to any enjoyment other than that of successful money getting. Fine raiment appealed to him not at all. The safest thing, after snaring wealth on the wing, is to conceal it under poverty, lest we lead into temptation the wicked, ever ready to appropriate the goods of their neighbours. Jewels, rare gems, precious vessels, delicate porcelain, rugs, tapestries, luxurious dwellings, horses, none of these awakened his desire. He cared nothing for them, and had no understanding of the vain-glorious joys to be derived from their possession. Neither did he yearn for fair persons--sometimes containing a soul--obtainable at a price for ineffable delight. Simon, son of Simon, had a very vague notion of the esthetic superiority of one daughter of Eve above another, and would not have given a farthing for the difference between any two of them.

His ingenuous desire was concerned solely with coined metal. Gold, silver, bronze, cut into disks and stamped with an effigy, seemed to him, as in fact they are, the greatest marvel of the world. The thought of collecting them, carefully counted in bags--making high brown, white, or yellow piles of them in coffers with intricate locks--filled him with superhuman joy. And so great is the miracle of metal, even when absent and represented only by a sheet of paper supplied with the necessary formulæ and bearing imposing signatures along with the stamp of Cæsar, that the delight of it in that form was no less. Some, with a cultivated taste in such matters, tell us indeed that the delight is enhanced by the thought of safeguarding from the world's cupidity so great a treasure in a bulk so small.

All of this, however, Simon, son of Simon, had tasted only in dream visions, finding it infinitely delectable even so. How would he have felt, had reality kept pace with the flight of a delirious imagination? But such happiness seemed not to be the portion of the miserable Jew, who had so far vainly exerted himself to win gold. Gold for the sake of gold, not for the vain pleasures, the empty shells, for which fools give it in exchange. Gold was beautiful, gold was mighty, gold was sovereign of the world. If Simon, son of Simon, had attempted to picture Jehovah, he would have conceived of him as gold stretching out to infinity, filling all space! Meanwhile, he trailed shocking old slippers through the mud of his Galician village, and arrayed himself in a greasy, ragged garment on which the far-spaced clean places stood out like spots. He was a poor man, you would have thought him an afflicted one, but the golden rays of an indefatigable hope lighted his life.

He walked by the guidance of a star, the golden star of a dream which would end only with the dreamer. He was always busy. Always on the eve of some lucky stroke. Never on the day after it. The things he had attempted, the combinations he had constructed, the traps he had set for human folly, would worthily fill a volume. It seemed as if his genius lacked nothing necessary for success. Yet he always failed, and had acquired a reputation for bad luck. He had travelled much; taken part in large enterprises, to which he contributed ideas that proved profitable to someone else. He could buy and sell on the largest or the smallest scale. He dealt in every ware that is sold in the open market as well as every one that is bargained for in secret, from honours--and honour--to living flesh, from glory to love. And now, here he was, stripped of illusions--I mean illusions on the subject of his fellowman--dreaming for the thousandth time of holding a winning hand in the game.

The sole confidant of his dreams was his son Ochosias, a youth of great promise, initiated by him into all the mysteries of commerce. Ochosias profited by his lessons and was not lacking in gifts, but never rose to his father's sublime heights. He had a preference for the money trade.

"Money," said he, "is the finest merchandise of all. Purchase, sale, loan, are all profitable for one knowing how to handle it. If you will give your consent, father, I will establish myself as a banker--by the week."

"You are crazy," answered Simon, son of Simon. "The money trade certainly has advantages perceptible even to the dullest wit. But in order to deal with capital, capital you must have, or else find some innocent Gentile to lend it you at an easy rate. Before doing this, however, he will ask for securities. Where are your securities?"

And as the other shrugged his shoulders--

"Listen," continued the man of experience, "the time has come to submit to you a plan that has been haunting me and from which I expect a rare profit."

"Speak, speak, father," cried Ochosias, eagerly, with such a racial quiver at the words "rare profit" as a war-horse's at a bugle call.

"Listen," said Simon with deliberation, "I have long revolved in my mind the history of my life. I can say without vanity that nowhere is Simon, son of Simon, surpassed in business ability. Should you, Ochosias, live to be the age of the patriarchs, you might meet with one more fortunate than your father, but one more expert in trade--never. And yet I have not been successful ... at least, not up to the present time. For the future is in the hands of Jehovah alone by whom all things are decided."

The two men bowed devoutly in token of submission to the Lord.

"What, then, has been wanting?" continued Simon, son of Simon, following up his thought. "Nothing within myself, I say it without any uncertainty as to my pride being justifiable. Nothing within myself, everything outside of myself. It is no secret. Everyone proclaims it aloud. Ask anybody you please. Everyone will tell you: 'Simon, son of Simon, is no ordinary Jew.' Some will even add: 'He is the greatest Jew of his time.' I do not go as far as that. We must always leave room for another. But you will find opinion unanimous in respect to one curious statement: 'Simon, son of Simon, has no luck. All that he has lacked is luck,' There you have the simple truth. There is nothing further to say."

"Well----?" inquired Ochosias, breathlessly, scenting something new in the air.

"Well, one must have luck, that is the secret, and, I tell you plainly, I mean to have it."

"How?"

"It is within reach of all, my child. You cannot fail to see it. A state institution, through the care of the Emperor Francis Joseph, Christian of Christ, distributes good luck impartially to every subject of the Empire, whether Christian, Jew, or Mahomedan."

"The lottery?" asked Ochosias, and pouted his lips disdainfully.

"The lottery, you have said it, the lottery which graciously offers us every day a chance of which we neglect to avail ourselves."

"Unless, of course," mused the youth, with a brightening countenance, "you know of some way to draw the winning number----"

"Good. I was sure that blood would presently speak. You are not far from guessing right."

"But, come now. Seriously. You know of some such means?"

"Perhaps. Tell me, who is the master of luck?"

"Jehovah. You yourself just said so."

"Yes, Jehovah, or some god of the outsiders, if any there be mightier than Jehovah, which I cannot believe."

"Other gods may be mighty, like Baal, or like Mammon, who ought by no means to be despised. But Jehovah is the greatest of all. He said: 'I am the Eternal.' And He is."

"Doubtless. There are, however, more mysteries in this world than we can grasp, and Jehovah permits strange usurpations by other Celestial Powers."

"It is for the purpose of trying us."

"I believe it to be so. But I have no more time to waste in mistakes. And so I have said to myself: 'Adonai, the Master, holds luck in his hands. According to my belief, that master is Jehovah. He just might, however, be Christ, or Allah, or another. I shall, if necessary, exhaust the dictionary of the Gods of mankind, which is, I am told, a bulky volume. Whoever is the mightiest God, him must we tempt, seduce, or, to speak plainly, buy.' That is what I have resolved to do. I shall naturally begin the experiment with Jehovah, the God of Abraham and of Solomon, whom I worship above all others. To-morrow is the Sabbath. To-day I will go and purchase a ticket for the imperial lottery, the grand prize of which is five hundred thousand florins, and to-morrow, bowed beneath the veil, in the temple of the Lord, I shall promise to give him, if I win----"

"Ten thousand florins!" Ochosias bravely proposed.

"Ten thousand grains of sand!" cried Simon, son of Simon. "Would you be stingy toward your Creator? Ten thousand florins! Do you think that in the world we live in one can subsidize a Divinity, a first-class one, for that price? Triple donkey! Know that I shall offer Jehovah one hundred thousand florins! One hundred thousand florins! What do you think of it? That is how one behaves when he is moved by religious sentiments."

The amazed Ochosias was silent. After a pause, however, he murmured:

"You are right, father, in these days one cannot get a God, a real one, under that figure. But a hundred thousand florins! You must own that it is frightful to hand over such a pile of money even to Jehovah."

"Ochosias, in business one must know how to be lavish. With your ten thousand florins I should never win the grand prize. Whilst with my hundred thousand----We shall see."

And Simon, son of Simon, did as he had said. He bought his lottery ticket, he took a solemn oath before the Thorah to devote, should he win, a hundred thousand florins to Jehovah, and then he waited quietly for three months, to learn that his was not the winning number.

Ochosias and Simon, son of Simon, thereupon deliberated. To which God should they next turn their attention? For some reason Jehovah had lost power. Was it possible that the centuries had strengthened some other God against him? Strange things happen. Still, Ochosias ventured the suggestion that Jehovah with the best will in the world might have been bound by some previous engagement.

"Any other Jew to have promised a hundred thousand florins to the Eternal?" uttered Simon, son of Simon, sententiously. "No! I am the only one capable of a stroke of business such as that!"

But upon the insistence of Ochosias, whose faith in Jehovah remained unshaken, he was willing to try again. This time he waited six months ... with the same result.

It then became necessary to make a decision, and the two men agreed that after Jehovah the honour of the next trial was due to his son Jesus, a Jew, offspring of the Jew Joseph and the Jewess Mary. So Simon, son of Simon, bought another lottery ticket and hastened to the church of Christ where, having been properly sprinkled with holy water, he knelt according to the custom of the place, and pledged himself solemnly, in case he won the grand prize, to present the Crucified with a hundred thousand florins. Having given his word, Simon, son of Simon, looked all around him in the hope of some sign, but seeing nothing that could concern him he retired, not without repeating his promise and gratifying the Deity with a few supplementary genuflexions.

Time passed. Simon, son of Simon, and Ochosias went about their ordinary occupations, taking great care to utter no word that could give offence to the Power whose favour they were seeking. Jehovah remained during this long period exiled, as it were, from their thoughts. What if the Other should be jealous?

And then, of a sudden, the miracle! Simon, son of Simon, won the grand prize. At first he doubted, fearing some trick of the invisible powers. But in the end he was obliged to accept the evidence. The Most Catholic bank paid the money, and soon the five hundred thousand florins were safely bestowed.

After a few twitches of nervous trembling, Simon, son of Simon, regained command over himself. But he was visibly sunk in deep thought. Vainly the agitated Ochosias plied him with questions. Such answers as he obtained were vague and unsatisfactory. "Oh," and "Ah," and "Perhaps," and "We shall see," which in no wise revealed what lay in the other's mind. Finally, Ochosias could no longer restrain himself. He must know what was going on in his father's soul, for his own was torn by a dreadful doubt. The genius of Simon, son of Simon, was marvellous, it had opened the way for him to recalcitrant fortune, and in the natural course of things he, Ochosias, would presently through death's agency be placed in possession of the treasure. But here was a difficulty. Could one grant that Jehovah had no power left and that Christ was all-powerful? Ochosias shuddered at the thought, for, after all, if Christ had greater power than the One who was formerly all-powerful, if supreme power had devolved upon Christ, then to Christ must one bow. Conversion would be inevitable. To leave the temple of Jehovah for the altars of his enemy and pay, into the bargain, an enormous fee? Horrible!

In hesitating and fragmentary talk Ochosias made the sorrowful avowal of his anguish.

"Must we believe that Jesus is mightier than Jehovah? What consequences would such a belief involve! Is it possible that the religion of Jesus is the true one? No, no, it cannot be! What are your thoughts on the subject, father?"

"Man of little faith, who hast doubted," spoke Simon, son of Simon, softly, with a flash as of lightning in his eye. "Let me reassure thee who have not doubted. Clearly I perceive the true significance of events. Jehovah is not one whom we can deceive, even unintentionally. To Him all things are known. He foresees all, and works accordingly. The proof that He is mightier than Jesus is that He perfectly understood on both occasions that I should never be able to part with the hundred thousand florins I so rashly promised. He knows our hearts. He does not expect the impossible. The Other was taken in by my good faith, which deceived even myself. Jehovah alone is great, my son."

"Jehovah alone is great," repeated Ochosias, his soul divinely eased by the lifting off it of a great weight.

And both men, with foreheads bowed before the Almighty, worshipped.

VII

AT THE FOOT OF THE CROSS

Buried in silence, the city slept under the friendly moon. With the setting of the sun, activities had slowed, then halted in temporary death, and over the noisy pavements had fallen the peace of the grave. Divine sleep by oblivion shielded the children of men from evil and by dreams comforted them with hope. Some of the windows, however, were kept alight by love, or suffering, or labour. The hushed street, touched with bluish light, emerged from shadow here and there, and as abruptly dropped into it again. Where three converging roads ended in a public square, the water of fountains murmured around the great stone base of a bloodstained crucifix.

The street of the people, "_everybody's street_," as it was also called, was recognizable by its neglect of the customary city ordinances. A narrow track of aggressive cobblestones, amid which the sewage trailed its odours, wound between high, mouldy walls, and led from their dens to the foot of the Divine Image the sad, long procession of those who are not of the elect. The citizen's road, "_the middle road_," as some called it, offered greater convenience to its travellers. Wide, airy, drained according to the latest hygienic system, salubriously paved with wood, bordered by sumptuous shops where all the pleasant things of life were on sale, this road invited idleness to leisurely promenades, invariably ending, however, at the foot of the cross. For greater certainty, a moving platform took people thither, saving them the trouble of exerting themselves. As to the way of the elect, likewise called "_the way of the few_," it stretched along triumphantly, indescribable in splendour, amid monuments of art, statues, marvellous trees, blossoming bowers, fragrant lawns, singing birds, all that the utmost refinement of luxury could devise for human felicity. There were even, at stated hours, fair traffickers in delight, artfully adorned, who moved about in accordance with a prescribed order, selling heaven on earth to whomsoever had the price to pay. In commodious coaches drawn by six gold-caparisoned horses these repaired like the rest to the cross-roads where in His patient anguish the God awaited them. Motionless, from the height of His gibbet, He gazed down upon it all with ineffable sadness, as if He said: "Is this what I laboured for?"

And now, on the three avenues which even during the hours of sleep preserve their characteristics, shadows are seen moving. Their outlines increase in distinctness, and one after the other three human figures issue from the three roads into the flickering lamplight of the square.

The man from "_the low road_," hugging the wall, advances timidly, with hesitating step, yet like one driven by a higher power. A stranger to fear, the man of "_the middle road_" advances with tranquil eye, securely bold, knowing that others have care for his safety. _Incessu patuit Homo._ The man from "_the road of the few_" treads the earth as if he owned it, and seems to call the stars to witness that he is the supreme justification of the universe. Each with his different gait, they proceed toward their goal, which fate has made identical. At the foot of the cross, whose massive base had until that moment concealed them from one another, they suddenly come face to face, under the gaze of Him whom their ancestors nailed to the ignominious tree.

Three simultaneous cries cross in the air.

"Ephraim!"

"Samuel!"

"Mordecai!"

"What are you doing here?"

"And you?"

"And you?"

Silence falls, as each waits for an answer.

"Three Jews at the foot of the cross!" said Ephraim _of the low road_.

"Three renegade Jews," said Mordecai _of the tribe of the few_, below breath. "For we are Christians."

"Renegade is not the word, brother," objected Samuel _of the middle class_, softly. "Apostasy is the name for those who go over to the beliefs of the minority. The others are converts."

"Admirably expressed, Samuel," said Ephraim. "You are a wise man. Why should I take the trouble to lie to you? I have come here alone, by night, because having changed Lord, I need compensating gifts, and--God, though He has become Jesus, son of Joseph, cannot hear me when His crowd of courtiers is besieging Him with clamorous petitions. Therefore I come sometimes to speak to Him as man to God. And who knows? Perhaps if I help myself sufficiently my words will be heard."

"I will not deny," said Samuel, "that I am here with the same object."

"My case differs in nothing from yours," Mordecai readily owned.

"You, then, are a believer?" asked Ephraim, as if really curious, and at the same time anxious to avoid facing the same question.

"I must be ... since I am converted," answered each of the others.

"Sensible words," observed Ephraim, after a thoughtful pause. "To believe is to observe the forms of worship. In men's eyes, as in those of God himself, the ceremonies of the cult class one as a believer, and society first, Heaven later, will show approval by favours."

"As far as men are concerned, it is not difficult to satisfy them," spoke Mordecai. "You go to the temple at prescribed times, you perform the rites scrupulously, with proper manifestations of zeal. And this, I dare say, is equally satisfactory to the God."

"Certainly," said Ephraim. "But He is Jesus, son of Joseph, a Jewish God still, and sent by Jehovah, as is proved by His success. He must be a jealous God. Cleverness is necessary, and in my conferences with Him, when we are alone----"

"That is it! That is it!" exclaimed the other two.

"Brother," said Samuel, "what was it that led to your--conversion?"

"It came about very naturally," replied Ephraim, "the reason for it being the great, the only motive of men's actions: self-interest. Self-interest, which it is the fashion among Christians to decry in words, while adhering to it strictly in action. When it became plain to me that the sons of Jehovah, to whom the earth was promised, were not masters of the earth, the holy promises notwithstanding, doubts entered my mind, which were only augmented by reflection. If Jehovah does not keep His promises, thought I, what right has He to the fidelity of those whom He leaves unrewarded? Give and receive is the rule. If I receive nothing, God himself has no claim to anything from me. On the other hand, I observed that the followers of Jesus possessed the earth, conquered treasures which they reserved strictly for themselves, being forever anxious to proclaim their indifference to worldly goods while inordinately preoccupied with collecting them. Their success seemed to me a sign. And when, after having burned, tortured, and in a thousand ways persecuted us during the dark ages, I saw them inaugurating the reign of justice and liberty by a return to persecution, I saw that the hour had come. I could not, however, decide immediately. A foolish self-respect held me back, I blush to own it. But then the head of the commercial house in which I am employed, doing justice to my talents, said to me:

"'What a pity that you are a Jew, Ephraim. I would gladly turn over my business to you, but all our customers would forsake us.'

"'If that is all that stands in the way, I am a Christian.'

"'A Christian?'

"'Yes.'

"And, the day after, I was a Christian. Six months later I married his daughter. My signature is honoured at the bank and at the church. I am president of the Anti-semitic Committee of my district."

"That is going somewhat far," remarked Samuel.

"Jews who remain Jews are inexcusable!" said Ephraim, in irritation against his people. "What is asked of them? A little salt water on their heads. A great matter! Is there any question of denying Jehovah? None, for it is our God whom, by our holy book, we have imposed upon the Gallic barbarians. In all the temples it is Jehovah they worship. Why should we refuse to enter? Whose effigies are they, if you please, on the altars, in the niches? Those of Jews. All Jews! Peter, the first pope--nothing less!--Paul, Joseph, Simon, Thomas, all the apostles. Even to the Jewess Mary and her mother Anna, who are regularly worshipped and who obtain favours from their son and grandson, Jesus, who Himself proclaimed that He had come to fulfill the law of Moses. Now there is not and there cannot be any other law than to vanquish one's rivals, and the victory of Christ is manifestly the victory of Jehovah himself. Christianity is the finest flower of Israel. It is the most flourishing among the Jewish sects, and in it nothing is changed but certain words. Shall we for the sake of a word or two forego that which makes life on earth beautiful? The Jews will come to understand this, and if they delay much longer the anti-semites will make them understand it."

The other two were silent in admiration.

"I suppose, brother," said Samuel after a time to Mordecai, "that your story is practically the same."

"Not at all," replied Mordecai, curtly. "My case is wholly different. I was rich from birth. My ancestors, a beggarly lot, I admit, had by filing away at Christian coins made Jewish ingots, which I found in my inheritance, and was able to increase considerably by analogous methods. Hence, the idea could never have occurred to me to be--converted--for the sake of gain." (This shaft was accompanied by a sidelong glance at Ephraim, who did not flinch.) "I lived in peaceful enjoyment of the things money can give, and it can give almost everything, as you know. Sovereigns loved me. I entertained them in my various dwellings. They pushed friendliness to the point of borrowing money from me which they forgot to return. I had the friendship besides of all those aristocracies that draw near at the sound of clinking coin, as serpents do at the sound of the charmer's flute. Good priests came to my antechamber on begging missions for the restoration or completion of their cathedrals."

"I fail to see what more you could want," said Samuel.

"I wanted nothing. You have said it, brother. Count Mordecai of Brussels was the equal of earth's kings. More princes applied for the hand of my daughters than I had time to refuse."

"Well?"

"Well, Jehovah, or Christ, or both, placed an extinguisher over this too bright happiness of mine."

"You are ruined?"

"Oh, no, on the contrary. Only, the wind changed. To divert the attention of the crowd from a demagogue who shouted, 'Clericalism is the great enemy!' the Jesuits devised the plan of raising a cry in opposition: 'The great enemy is Semitism!' And as the Jesuits had the whole Church behind them, and the demagogue controlled nothing but a fluctuating crowd, a very feather in the wind, anti-semitism prospered. Thereupon arose from somewhere or other certain so-called "intellectuals," who defended us in the name of their "ideas." What clumsy nonsense! And they could not be hushed up. They being our defenders, others for that very reason attacked us. Whereas, had we, according to our traditions, offered our backs to their blows, our enemies would presently have desisted, from weariness. Now the harm is done. We are contemned. No more priests after that sat on my benches. My noble friends deserted my drawing rooms, leaving their unpaid notes in my pocketbook. I went hunting with no company but the two hundred gamekeepers for the battue. Society forsook me. I was no longer "esteemed." Now, let me declare to you that there is no more exquisite torture than to see the friendship of the great go up in smoke. Unhesitatingly, therefore, resolutely, with the object of reinstating myself in public favour, I turned Christian. It means nothing, as Ephraim here demonstrated. My Christian friends came back, with contribution boxes outstretched, just as in earlier days. My generosity has ceased to be obnoxious. Now, as before, I build churches. So there is nothing really new in my estate. When I shall have received some honorary employment from the Vatican there will be nothing left to wish for. I have all that is needed for winning in the game. As it is wise, however, to neglect no detail, I thought that the intervention of the Master----"

He indicated the Crucified. But Samuel gave him no time to finish.

"Brothers," he cried, "I pity you! Conversion in itself means nothing, I agree. It is none the less true that there are traditions worthy of respect, which one must not renounce without serious reasons. A base money lust guided you, Ephraim. And you, Mordecai, were moved by love of the approbation of the majority. Which shows that man is never satisfied on earth. One for material advantages, the other for a thing as illusory as imprisoning the wind, you have sacrificed the ideal by which alone humanity is strong----"

"But you?" cried the others. "Why were you converted?"