Aaron the Jew: A Novel

by B. L. Farjeon

"So that you first adopted, and then converted him. How did you get hold of Izak Borlinski?"

"He is Josef's cousin, and Josef brought him to us."

"Zealous Josef! Izak also had doubts, and wished to be convinced through his reason?"

"That is so."

"And you adopted and converted him as well as Josef?"

"Yes."

"Clever Josef! Poor, consumptive Josef! It would not surprise me if he presently introduces another of his countrymen to you who has had doubts since childhood, and wishes to be convinced--through his reason and your pocket. Him, also, you can adopt and convert. Ah, what a loss to the stage is Josef Borlinski! Only that he lacks industry, for in him are united a fox's cunning and a sloth's love of idleness. The rogue! He imposed upon me for months, until at length, my suspicions aroused, I unmasked the rascal."

"Do you mean to say that we have been imposed upon?" asked the gentleman, in an excited tone.

"Judge for yourself. Six years ago Josef Borlinski came to this country, and lived for some time upon charity. I am on the committees of several of our benevolent institutions, and at every meeting I attended, the name of Josef Borlinski cropped up. It was always Josef Borlinski, Josef Borlinski, destitute and starving. The continual recurrence of the name irritated me, and I went to see this Josef Borlinski, destitute and starving. I found him down Whitechapel way playing draughts with his cousin, Izak. I saw before me a young man with black eyes, black hair, and a general appearance of belonging to the lymphatic order of being. I questioned him. How long had he been in England? Eighteen months. Why had he lived upon charity all that time? He was unfortunate; he could not obtain work. Was he willing to work? Oh yes, yes, yes, several times repeated, his little cunning eyes watching me as we conversed. Was he married? No. Had he a trade? Unfortunately no, he had no trade. Then, what could he do, what did he feel himself fitted for? Anything, everything. He is a man of professions this Josef Borlinski, glib of tongue, quick at response, supple as a reed, slippery as an eel. I reflected. He spoke English fairly well; he looked strong and healthy, not a symptom of consumption visible. How much a week could he, a single man, live upon? Upon anything, nothing--a few shillings, a few pence. Thus spoke Josef Borlinski, humbly and smoothly, interlarding his speech with Hebrew exclamations and pious adjurations. I offered him a situation at twenty shillings a week, to be increased if he gave satisfaction, which required no special knowledge of a trade, and in which he would have to work five days out of the seven. Boundless were his professions of gratitude. I was his benefactor; he would bless me all his life. He commenced work on the following Monday, and on the Tuesday he presented himself to me, with his coat rent, and black cloth round his hat. He had received a letter from Poland; his father was dead; a week of mourning was incumbent upon him; could he be spared to fulfil this religious obligation? Grief was in his countenance, tears in his eyes, his voice trembled. I sympathised with him; he could have his week's mourning. But he was destitute; he was starving; how was he to support himself during this week of enforced idleness? I gave him something more than a week's wages, and he departed, blessing me. His week of mourning over, it was reported to me that he had not returned to work. I sought him out, and found him playing draughts with his cousin Izak. He made a thousand excuses; he was ill; he was overwhelmed with sorrow at the loss he had sustained; he did not understand English customs; he did not think it was lawful to resume work in the middle of the week; moreover, he was in rags. He obtained money from me for a new suit of clothes, and a further extension of leave till the end of the week. On the Monday he duly presented himself, and in the afternoon fell down in a swoon, and had to be conveyed home in a cab, where he remained for three weeks, supported, as usual, by charity. My wife sent him wine and jelly, and the rascal was in clover. I visited him, and found him playing draughts with his cousin Izak. 'The game requires no exertion,' he said languidly; 'it is my only amusement; it diverts my mind from the sorrow by which I am oppressed.' I thought it extremely curious. The effects of his swoon having passed away, he commenced work again, and on the second day I received a letter from him. He had been compelled, he wrote, to take to his bed; he had spasms; he was doubled up with pain; he hoped to be better soon; meanwhile, could I send him a few shillings for medicine and food? He obtained what he asked for, and I called to see how he was progressing. I found him playing draughts with his cousin Izak. I was now thoroughly interested in Josef Borlinski. Such a chapter of accidents--such a plausible speaker and writer--so regularly unfortunate when he went to work, and so fond of playing draughts with his cousin Izak. I He was weeks getting rid of his spasms, but at length he recommenced work. Would you believe it? On the evening of the first day I found him waiting for me in this house. His left hand was in bandages, and the linen was besmeared with blood. In Heaven's name what had happened? He told me a lugubrious tale of having cut three of his fingers to the bone. The accident happening in my service made me responsible, and I felt myself bound to support him, especially as I discovered that he had related his woes to my wife, who was filled with pity for the rascal. 'You will look after the poor man,' she said to me; 'I promised him that you would.' 'I will look after him,' I replied. I did, and at every visit I paid him I found him playing draughts with his cousin Izak. He was, however, so long getting well this time, that I sent my own doctor to him. I also employed an agent to make inquiries into the history of the Borlinskis. My doctor reported that it was with great difficulty he had succeeded in obtaining a sight of Josefs wounded fingers. He had him held fast while he took off the bandages, and then he discovered that the fingers were without a scar, no wound of any kind had been received. My agent reported that the Borlinskis were well known in the village in Poland from which they had emigrated. They had lived the lives of idle scamps there, and had never been known to do one day's honest work. They preferred to hang about the drinking shops, to beg, to pilfer on the sly, to impose on charitable strangers, to do anything but work. As liars they were pre-eminent. Josef lost his father fourteen years before he came to England, therefore his statement that he had just received a letter from Poland informing him of his father's death was an invention, a trick. His swoon was a trick; his spasms a trick; his cutting his fingers to the bone a trick. From the hairs of his head to the soles of his feet he is a knave and a trickster; through his blood runs the incorrigible vice of indolence, and rather than work he will resort to any subterfuge. Only on one day in the whole year does his conscience disturb him, on the day of the White Fast. To-day a Jew, to-morrow a Christian, the next day a Mohammedan, the next a Pagan--it matters not to him so long as he can make money out of it, and eat the bread of idleness. My dear sir, I wish you joy of your Borlinskis."

The gentleman rose to take his leave, his belief in the genuineness of the conversion of the Borlinskis visibly shaken. He put but one question to Aaron Cohen.