Chapter Thirty-four
When Deronda arrived at five o’clock, the servant showed him into the room behind the closed shop. He was surprised at the prettiness of the scene. The house was old, and extensive at the back: the large room was lit by a fine old brass lamp with seven oil-lights hanging above the snow-white cloth spread on the central table.
The dark surroundings threw into relief the human figures, with a Venetian glow of colouring. By this light, the grandmother’s face with its darkly-marked eyebrows and framing roll of grey hair looked picturesquely handsome. Young Mrs. Cohen was clad in red and black, with a string of large artificial pearls wound round and round her neck: the baby lay asleep in the cradle; Adelaide Rebekah was in braided amber, and Jacob was in black velveteen with scarlet stockings.
Deronda was almost ashamed of the supercilious dislike these happy-looking creatures had raised in him by daylight. Nothing could be more cordial than the greeting he received, and both mother and grandmother seemed more dignified in this setting. He looked round with some wonder at the old oak bureau and high side-table, where a large blue and yellow dish was set up between two old silver vessels; in front of them lay a large volume in darkened vellum. In the far corner was an open door into an inner room, where there was also a light.
Deronda took in these details while he met Jacob’s pressing solicitude about the knife. He had taken the pains to buy one with a hook and white handle, and produced it on demand, saying,–
“Is that the sort of thing you want, Jacob?”
It was subjected to a severe scrutiny, with Jacob’s own knife being drawn forth for comparison.
“Why do you like a hook better than a cork-screw?” said Deronda.
“’Caush I can get hold of things with a hook. A corkscrew won’t go into anything but corks. But it’s better for you, you can draw corks.”
“You agree to change, then?” said Deronda, observing that the grandmother was listening with delight.
“What else have you got in your pockets?” said Jacob.
“Hush, Jacob, love,” said the grandmother. And Deronda answered–
“I think I must not tell you that. Our business was with the knives.”
Jacob scanned his face for a moment, before saying gravely–
“I’ll shwop,” handing the cork-screw knife to Deronda, who pocketed it with equal gravity.
Immediately Jacob ran off into the next room, whence his voice was heard in rapid chat; and then ran back again – when, seeing his father enter, he seized a little velveteen hat from a chair and put it on. Cohen kept on his own hat, and stood still while the two children went up to him and clasped his knees. Then he laid his hands on each in turn and uttered his Hebrew benediction; whereupon the wife lifted the baby and brought it to her husband to be blessed in its sleep. For the moment, Deronda thought that this pawnbroker was not utterly prosaic.
“Welcome, sir,” said Cohen, putting down his hat. “You’ve been punctual. Nothing like a little stress here,” he added, tapping his side pocket as he sat down. “It’s good for us all in our turn. It’s bracing to the mind. Now then! let us see.”
“That is the ring I spoke of,” said Deronda, taking it from his finger. “I believe it cost a hundred pounds. It will be a sufficient pledge to you for fifty, I think. I shall probably redeem it in a month or so.”
Cohen’s glistening eyes seemed to get a little nearer together as met the innocent look of this young gentleman, who apparently supposed that redemption was a satisfaction to pawnbrokers. He examined the ring and returned it, saying with indifference, “Good, good. We’ll talk of it after our meal. Perhaps you’ll join us. Me and my wife’ll feel honoured, and so will mother.”
Deronda gladly accepted. All now turned and stood round the table, which held no dish at present except one covered with a napkin; and Mrs. Cohen had placed a china bowl near her husband that he might wash his hands in it. But after putting on his hat again, he paused, and called in a loud voice, “Mordecai!”
Deronda heard a “Yes” from the next room, and to his astonishment, from it stepped the figure of the enigmatic Jew whom he had met in the book-shop. Their eyes met, and Mordecai looked as much surprised as Deronda – though neither made any sign of recognition. But as Mordecai came to the table, he just bent his head to the guest in a cold and distant manner, as if still feeling the disappointment of the morning.
Cohen now washed his hands, pronouncing Hebrew words: then he took off the napkin covering the dish and disclosed the two long flat loaves besprinkled with seed – the memorial of the manna that fed the wandering forefathers – and breaking off small pieces gave one to each of the family, including Adelaide Rebekah, who stood on the chair in her amber-coloured garment, trying to look suitably solemn. Cohen then uttered another Hebrew blessing, and after that, the male heads were uncovered, all seated themselves, and the meal went on without any peculiarity that interested Deronda.
He was not very conscious of what dishes he ate; being preoccupied with a desire to turn the conversation in a way that would let him ask about Mirah; and also thinking of Mordecai, with whom he exchanged fascinated, furtive glances. Mordecai had no handsome Sabbath garment, but instead of the threadbare rusty black coat of the morning he wore a light one, which looked as if it had once been a handsome loose jacket, now shrunk with washing, which gave a stronger accentuation to his dark-haired, eager face. Deronda noticed that Mordecai was given the thin tails of the fried fish: the sort of share assigned to a poor relation.
Mr. Cohen kept up the conversation with much liveliness, introducing as subjects the Queen and the Royal Family, and the French Emperor and Empress – into which both grandmother and wife entered with zest.
“It’s wonderful how the Emperor resembles a cousin of mine,” said the grandmother; “it struck me like lightning when I saw him.”
“We went to see the Emperor and Empress at the Crystal Palace,” said Mr. Cohen. “I had hard work to take care of mother; she might have been squeezed flat. If I had a hundred mothers I’d never take one of ’em to see the Emperor and Empress at the Crystal Palace again; a man can’t afford it when he’s got but one mother.” He stroked his mother’s shoulder affectionately.
“Your mother has been a widow a long while, perhaps,” said Deronda, seizing his opportunity. “That has made your care for her the more needful.”
“Ay, ay, it’s a good many years since I had to manage for her and myself,” said Cohen. “It’s that makes you a sharp knife.”
“What makes a sharp knife, father?” said Jacob, his cheek swollen with cake.
The father winked at his guest and said, “Having your nose put to the grindstone.”
Jacob slipped from his chair, cake in hand, and going to Mordecai, who had been silent hitherto, said, “What does that mean – putting my nose to the grindstone?”
“It means that you are to bear being hurt without making a noise,” said Mordecai, turning his eyes benignly on the small face close to his. Jacob put the corner of the cake into Mordecai’s mouth as an invitation to bite, keeping his eyes on it to observe how much of it went in this act of generosity. Mordecai took a bite and smiled, and the little incident made them both look more lovable. Deronda, however, felt that he had gathered little by his question.
Turning to Mordecai, he said, “You have been a great student, I imagine?”
“I have studied,” was the quiet answer. “And you? You know German by the book you were buying.”
“Yes, I have studied in Germany. Are you generally engaged in bookselling?” said Deronda.
“No; I only go to Mr. Ram’s shop every day to keep it while he goes to meals,” said Mordecai, who was now looking at Deronda with a revival of his original interest. After a slight pause, he said, “Perhaps you know Hebrew?”
“I am sorry to say, not at all.”
Mordecai’s countenance fell: he cast down his eyelids and said no more. Deronda noticed a definite difficulty in the oth
er man’s breathing, which he thought must be a sign of consumption.
“I’ve been too busy for book-learning.” said Mr. Cohen. “I’ve had to learn about useful things. I know stones well,” – here he pointed to Deronda’s ring. “Now, what do you want for it?”
“Fifty or sixty pounds,” Deronda answered, rather too carelessly.
Cohen paused a little, hands in his pockets, fixed on Deronda a pair of glistening eyes that suggested a miraculous guinea-pig, and said,
“Couldn’t do you that. Happy to oblige, but say forty pound – I’ll let you have forty on it.”
Deronda was aware that Mordecai had looked up and was examining him again, while he said, “Very well, I shall redeem it in a month or so.”
“Good. I’ll make you out the ticket by-and-by,” said Cohen. Then he, Mordecai and Jacob put on their hats, and he began a thanksgiving, which was carried on by responses, till Mordecai spoke alone at some length, in a solemn chant, with his chin uplifted and his thin hands clasped. There could hardly have been a stronger contrast to the Jew at the other end of the table. It was unaccountable – the presence among these common, prosperous, shopkeeping types, of a man who, in an emaciated threadbare condition, imposed a certain awe on Deronda, and an embarrassment at not meeting his expectations.
No sooner had Mordecai finished his prayer than he rose, and with a slight bend of his head to the stranger, walked back into his room, and shut the door behind him.
“That seems to be rather a remarkable man,” said Deronda, turning to Cohen, who tapped his own brow, indicating that Mordecai did not come up to his standard of sanity.
“Does he belong to your family?” said Deronda.
The family exchanged looks of amusement.
“No, no,” said Cohen. “Charity! he worked for me, and when he got weaker I took him in. He’s an encumbrance; but he brings a blessing, and he teaches the boy. Besides, he repairs the watches and jewellery.”
Deronda smiled at this mixture of kindliness and the desire to justify it; but Mr. Cohen immediately dismissed the subject of Mordecai by reverting to business. He proceeded to make out the ticket, got the forty pounds, and presented them both in exchange for the diamond ring.
Deronda, feeling he could protract his visit no longer, had to take his leave, with no more result than a pawn-ticket in his pocket to make a reason for returning after Christmas. He was resolved that he would then try to learn more about Mordecai; from whom also he might gather knowledge about the Cohens – for example, the reason why it was forbidden to ask Mrs. Cohen the elder whether she had a daughter.
BOOK V: MORDECAI
George Eliot's Daniel Deronda: Abridged Page 37