The hasty marriage; a sketch of modern Jewish life

Preface

. In submitting this work to the Anglo- Jewish community, I would offer a few words on behalf of the following pages. It may possibly be supposed by some, that my object is to uphold to the ridicule of the world certain characters, whose types are to be found in this book; I would, therefore, disabuse the reader's mind of any such notion, and declare at once that I never entertained such an idea. It is to save families from disgrace and children from ruin, that the work is written. It is also to bring clearly before the eyes of our authorities, as well as the authorities of other religions, the facilities which are afforded to Jewish girls, the temptations which are held out to them by the church, and the brilliant prospect, painted in gaudy colours, which are set before their eyes, and which induce them, more or less, to enter the marriage state, contrary to, and in defiance of, divine law. To accomplish my objects, I have had recourse to

PREFACE.

. means, which may, or may not, be allowable by the rules of novel writing. 1 have ventured, in the first place, to intersperse my own ideas and opinions through out the book; and if, at times, Christianity is attacked unhesitatingly, the answer, or rather the cause, is to be found in the fact that, while the purity of Christianity is the boast of missionaries, the church is ready and willing at all times to receive into its bosom strangers, who believe neither in a Trinity nor the New Testament. I will not here enter into this question; but it is an in controvertible fact, that a Catholic and a Jewess, aye, a Mahomedan and a Unitarian, may be married in the church. I am willing to admit that the parties so married cannot be very ardent followers of any religion; nevertheless, if Protestantism is to be made the common receptacle for the refuse of other religions, then, I consider I am justified in calling into question th. purity of Christianity.

That it affords the facilities for those kind of marriages, one of which forms the turning point of this narrative cannot be doubted, and I consider, in thus attacking the principle, I am perfectly justified. That the following pages are not written in strict accordance with the laws of novel writing, I am ready to admit. In plot, the " Hasty Marriage " is greatly deficient; with incident, however, it is replete; and for this reason, the circumstances are taken from life, and, in depicting the scenes, the various incidents are those which have really happened.

PREFACE.

. V I am, however, perfectly aware, that in mentioning what I consider to be the principal merit of this work, I shall lay myself open to a serious charge ; but I must risk it, and hope for a good result. The merit of this work is Truth. If the characters are not drawn from nature, at any rate, they are taken from life; and if any one be desirous of affirming that the plea is simply an excuse for disarming criticism, I beg to tell him such is not the case. The narrative is the result of a few leisure hours, and it is presented to tbe reader in the form in which it was first written. I have made no material alterations; and, although its pretensions are few, I would nevertheless ask the reader to bear in mind my object. There was one circumstance which, for the moment, caused me some little delay — the nomenclature of the characters.

My wish was, if possible, to invent names which, should convey to the mind the fact, that the personages were of Jewish extraction, yet, at the same time, I was anxious that they should not give rise to the suspicion that the members of any particular family were sought to be noticed. In how far I have succeeded in my desire, I will leave others to say; but should any name be owned by any living being, I here emphatically deny that the character in question ia intended as personal. My dramatis personæ are types of the generality of " people," and sorry, indeed, should I be, if it were, for one moment, supposed that I wished to descend to personalities in the following pages. The VI

PREFACE.

. conversations are natural, and I have not improved upon them in the least degree-. The opinions expressed are those of the speakers, and they are given in their en tirety. The task of placing my ideas on paper, has been a labour of love; and if the reader should imagine that the description applies to himself, or herself, my answer is Truth ! It may, it must, and as far as I am con cerned, it shall be fearlessly spoken; but at the same time, let the person I am now addressing, remember that we are not acquainted, and that every character in this book is copied from the greatest of masters — Life. N. M. CONTENTS.

Chapter I. The Family

It is not to a shady nook or quiet retreat, that I am about to introduce the reader; it is not to a "sylvan glade" or "forest dell," that I ask you to accompany me. Neither is it on the banks of a stream, flowing gaily on, meandering through fields, that our scene first commences; it is not on a dusty road, bounded on either side by the hawthorn and sweet briar, where may be seen two horsemen, riding gallantly forward; it is not in an ancient gothic mansion, situated in , in the county of shire, several hundred miles from the metropolis, that we make acquaintance with any of our characters; it is not in a dirty-looking house, with a mysterious appearance, which has been regularly entered every night for the last five years by a man in a cloak, that we wish to take thee, Reader ! And, finally, it is not either to a prison or a dark alley, or any other spot which partakes of a gloomy appearance.

To none of the above mentioned places, is it our intention to take the reader : B after which announcement he will the more readily ob serve, that this work will have nothing of the romantic. Havin"- stated where our scene does not open, we will now proceed to enlighten the reader as to the locality in which we first make the acquaintance of some of the personages who take a part in our little drama. It is the metropolis, that huge wilderness of bricks and mortar, where vice and virtue, honesty and roguery, riches and penury, jolt against each other daily, with all the ease and familiarity, as though they had been intimate for many years, and had now become old acquaintances. It is in London, then, our scene is laid; but it is not in a fashionable street or a grand house, which lets at eight hundred pounds per annum.

It is in one of those streets which have of late years grown into some little notoriety, owing to the class of persons who have domiciled them selves there ; a street sacred from the noise and confusion of our more crowded thoroughfares, and entirely free from the inroads and incursions of omnibuses, waggons, brewers' drays, and the like, vehicles invented in order to expedite commerce, but which, in effect, bring our trade to a complete stand-still every day for about half an hour. The only conveyances which at all disturbed the tranquillity of the inhabitants of this locality, were a few stray carriages which passed and repassed in the course of the evening on their way to, or return from, the pit-door of the opera, or the dress-circle of some more unpretending theatre. A few cabriolets, also, might be seen traversing the street in the course of the day; but with that exception the thoroughfare was hushed in silence.

Of course, there was the usual hum of the voices of those who came on errands; the milkman with his shrill cry; the man of bones and grease, with his deep sonorous voice, lustily shouting " Butcher!"; the baker, with his soft sweet tenor voice, which was delightful to hear at all times; the green grocer ; and in fact the usual number of rising young men who frequent the areas of all such streets at the hour of ten or thereabouts. With these exceptions (and they are necessary evils) the locality in question enjoyed com parative silence. It was a " quiet street"; barrel-organs, tumblers, and Punch being strictly prohibited by the owner of the property, which prohibition, to the great annoyance of the proprietors of these various peripatetic entertainments, was duly enforced by the little old man who did duty as watchman, crossing-sweeper, and errand boy to the inhabitants.

Altogether, it was a street about which there was nothing that partook of mystery, people were not afraid to walk there; there were no old stories attached to it; nothing monstrous and absurd connected with it. It was (and I wish the reader to distinctly understand me) an ordinary street, where the private houses were not as yet turned into shops ! With that emphatic declaration, I think it may now be left to take care of itself; although, perhaps, we may have occasion to enter it many times, ere we have unravelled our history to those who will be patient enough to follow it to the end. The house to which we are about to introduce you was an ordinary brick-built house of the generally ad mitted dimensions. The parlour had two windows; the drawing-room, taking advantage of its elevated situation, enjoyed three; this was owing to the street-door and passage; the first-floor " front room" extending over the aforesaid passage, thus necessitating a third window.

But that was the builder's affair, not ours. The upper part of the house was divided into the usual number of apart ments, all of which were used as chambres a coucher. We would therefore observe, the house was an every-day matter-of-fact sort of place, with an every-day matter-of fact sort of gentleman for its owner, who revelled in the luxurious cognomen of Mr. Henry Montague, which ap pellation was jointly shared by a very amiable middle aged, good-natured, and kind-hearted lady, who, thinking the name of Montague was more aristocratic than Moses, acted accordingly; and we now find her a good wife and an excellent mother of two daughters. Mr. Henry Montague was a merchant; but, having attained a certain age, and having also amassed a con siderable fortune, he considered the time had arrived when he might, with the greatest propriety and without, in the least degree, injuring the prospects of his family, retire from business and enjoy the remainder of his life in comparative ease.

His early career had been well used, inasmuch as he had worked hard and married young, circumstances which he would often refer to with much pride. Mr. Montague was a very good-natured, affable man. He had lived in the world, and had had a great deal of experience in its doings; his know ledge of " things " was extensive, and his opinions were always courted. He enjoyed a good reputation, was well known; and, by dint of perseverance and honesty, came to be much respected, not only in his immediate circle, but by all who had any connection with him. His wife, Rachel, was one of those remarkable women, so seldom met with now-a-days. She had married youn°-, a mere girl, consequently, all her worldly experience was acquired after her union with Mr. Montague. Not that she suffered by this; on the contrary, her domestic duties brought her in contact with those who materially aided in forming a character as remarkable for its origin ality as it was extraordinary in its development.

She was good-natured, charitable, a friend to the poor, and, in short, combined all those qualities which a woman should possess, in order to qualify her for the duties of a wife and the cares of a mother. But she had one failing, which marred a great deal of the happiness she might otherwise have enjoyed; Rachel Montague was afflicted with a bad temper. In the midst of the most trifling conversation, this evil would shew itself ; it would burst upon you like a thunder-clap, when you least ex pected it. It was like a d:rty sweep at a party. It spoiled the effect of the whole, and perhaps was the means of bringing about much of the misery which was destined to befall the family of Mr. Montague. I say, it might have been; aud, although it will not appear so in the following pages, although it is not the point on which any event or in cident in this narrative turns, yet so glaring a fault which was partially her own, could not be passed un noticed by the author in thus slightly sketching the character of a woman, who, say what we may, did not deserve, as far as human judgment goes, the punishment that was awarded to her in the declining part of her life.

But we dare not complain, we dare not list up our voice in opposition — it was the work of Providence, not man ! This loving couple — for Mr. and Mrs. Montague were really well matched — were favoured with two daughters, Leonora, and Caroline; and a greater difference between two sisters I do not believe ever existed. Leonora, the elder, was a charming girl of nineteen; not one of your pampered and affected heroines who are made to fall THE HASTY MAKKIAGE ; in love with the hero because there is nobody better; but a really sensible girl. She was a girl in whom any one would take an interest: there was a something about her appearance so irresistibly attractive that your look became rivetted ; and it was with difficulty you could turn your eyes to any other object while she was present. Her countenance was open, frank, — honesty itself.

She could not breathe a harsh word. Obedience to the will of her parents sat upon her lips; gladness beamed forth from her eyes. She was always happy, always content. With her everything that her parents said was law, and she would sooner anything should happen than disobey their commands. Her beauty attracted many admirers to her shrine; but she had never loved. She had not as yet tasted of the ambrosial food. The delightful effects of the nectar were withheld from her; Cupid had not yet pierced her heart with any of his arrows; and, like Ariel after being released by Prospero, she was " free as air." Unfettered by the trammels of love, she was so far her own mistress : unaffected yet graceful ; beautiful, yet not vain, she attracted many admirers and lovers, who, as in duty bound to do, " adored the very ground she trod."

In one word, she was more the angel than the woman. But withal there was a firmness and determination in her manner which surprised all who knew her. Sensible to a degree, her conversation had all the charms of a philo sopher's; but there was one subject on which she had not ventured a word : no one knew or could tell her sen timents; and when the conversation turned towards this matter, she was ingenious enough to bring it back to its original course. That subject was Love. It remained for one favoured mortal to discover her sentiments on love: it was not for the idle and curious to know who should be blessed with so amiable and charming a wife. She studiously avoided all reference to the matter; and, when one more bold than the rest would dare to interro gate her indirectly on the subject, he received so severe a castigation as to prevent him from venturing on such dangerous ground a second time.

And yet, argues the reader, so amiable a being would be imperfect did she not love. " Season your admiration for awhile," cour teous and gentle reader ; it is not fiction, but fact, that I am narrating ! Caroline Montague was a being of a very different order to that to which her sister belonged. She was good-looking and intelligent. Her countenance was fair and well-proportioned. Her forehead was high and bold, while from under the dark eyelashes two black diamonds shone in all their dark brilliancy. To the ordinary observer Caroline would appear a girl of great pretensions ; a girl in whom the elements of a bright and prosperous career were associated, to burst forth at some future time in all their glory, and to win for her golden opinions. Such was Caroline Montague at the age of sixteen, to the ordinary eye ; but to the close observer, to him who makes character a study, and to whom the features of the face are an index of the mind, Caroline was a far different being.

All the good looks, the fair countenance, the jocular mood in which she always addressed her hearers, old acquaintances or strangers, faded, or rather shrunk back from the fixed gaze of such an observer, and revealed a dark, gloomy interior, where intrigue, passion, and disobedience were the reigning monarchs. The unflinching eye, the stem look, were but evidence of what the mind could do if it were determined. Her acts, her remarks, all tended to prove a theory which had been more than once advanced by those who professed themselves conver sant with men and manners. Many foresaw that she would be a woman of no ordinary capacity ; her womanly ways when but a girl confirmed this opinion ; her after life proved its truthfulness. But it was only occasionally that these qualities would ooze out.

WThen the family were assembled, she gave signs of an amiable disposition; and her conversation would be rational and at times bril liant. Yet withal she would sometimes show off her airs : if refused anything she asked for, her temper and deter mined will became at once apparent. There was one other feature in the character of this family which, although not patent to the world, yet exer cised great influence on their worldly actions. It was the fly-wheel which set all the rest of the machinery in mo tion, but which at the same time was invisible. It was the secret spring which depended for its uses entirely on the touch of the owner. That spring was religion. Of late years a new class or sect has sprung up, the members of which have given themselves the name of Reformers. What their object is has never been yet clearly defined ; but certainly what they do is most inconsistent with common sense, and totally at variance with the pre scribed Orthodox faith.

If these would-be savans consi der themselves better able to appreciate, and consequently develop, the beauties of our holy religion, a faint motive is apparent; but before they can achieve anything ap proaching to success, they must satisfactorily convince the world that they have the ability to do that of which they pretend they are capable. Their notions of religion, and particularly of its forms and ceremonies, differ ing in the most essential part from the general body, it follows, that there must be a great degree of laxity in carrying into effect those precepts and ordinances which have weathered the storm of ages, outlived the laws of other nations, passed through the most trying ordeals, out of which they have come unscathed, and which are now given to us with as much purity and freshness as though they were but of recent date.

Now these Reformers do a great deal of harm, principally to themselves and their families; for, as "example is better than precept," and is, in nine cases out of ten, certain to be imitated, the children grow up in the opinions of their father, which, we are pretty sure, do not gain anything by the change from orthodoxy. Mr. Montague was a reformer in everything but name. He admired the institutions, and the new method of carry ing out the Jewish religion ; he dilated on the beneficial effects reform must ultimately have on Judaism and the Jews, and talked eagerly and much on the simplicity and beauty of the reform notion of how an Israelite should pray. Now for Mr. Montague himself, this was all very well. He could profess any opinion he liked, he could conform to the mode of worship he most admired, and all without any great harm to himself.

In the first place, he had arrived at, or passed, the meridian of life; he had gained experience, and, being perfect master of his own actions, no ill effects could result to himself, from adopting any opinion of religion which he pleased. Moreover, Mr. Montague was conscientious; and what ever his» opinions, he, at any rate, carried them into effect. But, withal, there was a marked difference be tween his religion, and those of more orthodox principles. There appeared to be less sincerity in his religion, than in that of the general body of people; and this difference b5 was not lost on his children. They noticed it: they fol lowed in his footsteps: and the common sense of the nine teenth century, drove out of their mind even the little religion he bequeathed to those who constituted the family.

Chapter II. The Suspicion

There is a certain thing in existence, called Society; and this Society has, in its service, under its control and guidance, nay, under its thumb, another thing called Fashion; and it is the duty of this Fashion to attend to any commands which its master, Society, should give. If Society ordains that certain things are neces sary, Fashion endorses the opinion, by carrying it into effect. If Society says certain attainments are essential to the accomplishment of young ladies' education, Fashion steps forward, and no matter the expense, the accomplishment, whatever it may be, is soon acquired. Servile adulators of Society! when will ye learn that your daughters need not follow Fashion? When will your eyes be opened to the disastrous consequences which must follow this base imitation of your superiors?

Parents ! when will ye be taught that you bring misery on yourselves, and disgrace on your families, by pander ing to every wish of your children. Heads of families, upholders of the Jewish name and religion, when will ye learn to keep your family intact, free from the invasion of the enemy ! When will ye be aware of the dangers to which you expose yourselves, by paying homage to Society ! When will ye know all this? When will ye learn it? When it is too late. When the steed is stolen, the mischief done, the temptation yielded to, and the sin committed, then will ye know better; then will ye act wiser ; and then will you say, " I have learnt by experience." Till the crime is committed, till ye become sufferers, will you continue in this same darkness. Till experience (dearly bought) shall light your paths, will ye still grope on in darkness.

Always on the alert, aware of the least movement in any direction, Caroline Montague had become perfectly acquainted with the doings of the world. She had heard that music was the " rage," every lady had a piano ; every lady learnt music. She must do so too. " Mamma," said she one day to Mrs. Montague, "why do I not learn music?" " Because, my child, it is not necessary for you." " Not necessary," replied Caroline, repeating the words emphatically; " it is necessary for every other girl, why should it not be so for me ? " " Because you are not capable of appreciating music; consequently it would be a waste of money and time, if you were to attempt to learn it." " But I have never tried, mamma; you do not know whether I can or not. At any rate, I should like to make the attempt: every other girl, I know," and this was always her ambition to rival anybody else, " every other girl, that I know, has tried, and, what is more, has been most successful. , Do let me learn, mamma."

" Well, I will think of it." In an evil moment the mother gave way. " That's a good mamma," said Caroline, playfully, at the same time carressing her, " see how nice it will be for me to learn; and how pleased you will be when I THE SUSPICION. 13 can play and sing; for as soon as I know how to play, I shall learn to sing; and how proud you will be of me. I am sure you will never regret letting me learn." Do not let the reader imagine that this is a circumstance which occurred when Caroline had arrived at the comparatively ripe age of sixteen, it was long before that: at the time of which we write, she was an accom plished musician, mistress of every note of the piano, which, together with the silvery strains of her voice, would often elicit praise, which made the girl vain. She was now perfecting herself ; her master — she had a music master who gave her lessons at certain periods, and who, unlike most music masters, was never, by any accident, one minute over his time — her master was finishing her musical education, and then, as a preceptor, she would need him no longer.

Signor Pacheco Graber, or Herr Pacheco Graber — for he would answer to either of the two prefixes — was a foreigner; and when we state that, we are afraid we are not disposing the reader to look, with any particular amount of favour, on our friend. But, nevertheless, as only foreigners are capable of being music masters, and as no other beings but Germans and Italians have voices, it would be an unnatural character if we attempted to make him an Englishman. So despite any bad opinion the reader may have formed of him, Signor Graber was a foreigner. But there was one thing in his favour, he spoke English remarkably well; and that induced many persons to overlook tbe fact of his being a stranger. Now, dear reader, let me introduce you to this per sonage, who is about to play a conspicuous part in this little drama.

He was a tall, fine man, of commanding appearance. He had small eyes, a high forehead, but as to the rest of his face, it was covered with such an enormous crop of whiskers, moustachios, and beard, that it is impossible to describe his other features. He was unmarried; he dressed very neatly, and as Caroline would say, " always looked like a gentleman." So does every man until he is found out ; and then he is quite the reverse; to say nothing of the fiendish looks he suddenly possesses in other people's eyes. Sirmor Graber was an intimate friend of the family; he had been teaching Caroline music for some years, and consequently received the treatment more of a friend, than of one engaged in the performance of duties for which he was remunerated — and that in a most ample way. But his affability and pleasing manner, and above all, his " gentlemanly " appearance, had induced Caroline — 'for he was more with her than any other member of the family — to look upon him rather as a companion than a master; and this feeling was entirely reciprocated by Graber, who lightened the duties of the music lesson by an amusing conversation, which appeared to Caroline the reverse of disagreeable or unpleasant.

His fondness for his pupil went so far as to induce him occasionally to bring her some token of his admiration for her talent, which was truly versatile. She would perhaps, at first, refuse to accept the present; but he would say, — " Do not be afraid, there is no harm in it; you need not ask your papa whether it is proper, because it is unnecessary." And much more would he utter in the same strain, which easily upset any theory Caroline might advance respecting the propriety of young girls accepting presents of their music masters. As she grew older this feeling gave way, and at the time the reader first makes her THE SUSPICION. acquaintance she accepts his presents and treasures them up with as much non-chalance and coolness as though it were her own father who was the donor. Time, which effaces many remembrances from the mind, also gives birth to new ideas, in order to fill the vacancy caused by the removal of the old ones, so that Caroline who, when young, always had some thought to bestow on the propriety of doing anything, wherein Graber was concerned, without the consent of her pa rents, now thought little of accepting presents, and pro longing the time of her lessons to a very lengthened period.

Her conversations, too, with him were remarkable for their sprightliness, and also for the interest she took in discussing any point; wherein she had this advantage over her parents, that the conversations were in a foreign language, with which neither Mr. nor Mrs. Montague were acquainted. So that whatever might have been the tenor of their remarks, there was a degree of frankness in the argument, from the fact of the parents being present whenever Caroline and Graber met after the music lesson was over. Having a natural taste for music, Caroline was, as might be expected, very partial to the opera; and Signor Graber, always anxious to oblige his pupils, obtained, for this most favoured one, boxes at that place of fashion able resort. But as yet she had never been out of the house unless accompanied by her parents or some near relative, and it was a severe ordeal for her to have to ask permission for Signor Graber to act as her chaperon.