 The King of Snorahs by Israel Zanguil, read by Adrian Predzellus. This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The King of Snorahs by Israel Zanguil, Chapter 5 Showing how the king dissolved the Muhammad Manasad Akhasta, thus doctor of his nominal plenitude in the solemn writ, had been summoned before the Muhammad, the intended union of his daughter with a Polish Jew, having excited the liveliest horror and displeasure in the breasts of the elders of the synagogue. Such a Jew did not pronounce Hebrew as they did. The Muhammad was a council of five, no less dread than the more notorious Council of Ten. Like the Venetian Tribunal, which has unjustly monopolized the attention of history, it was of annual election, and it was elected by a larger body of elders, just as the Council of Ten was chosen by the aristocracy. The gentlemen of the Muhammad, as they were styled, administered the affairs of the Spanish-Portuguese community, and their oligarchy would undoubtedly be a byword for all that is arbitrary and inquisitorial, but for the widespread ignorance of its existence. To itself, the Muhammad was the centre of creation. On one occasion it refused to bow even to the authority of the Lord Mayor of London. A Sephardic Jew lived and moved and had his being by permission of the Muhammad. Without its consent he could have no legitimate place in the scheme of things. Minus the permission of the Muhammad he could not marry. With it he could be divorced readily. He might indeed die without the sanction of the Council of Five, but this was the only great act of his life that was free from its surveillance, and he could certainly not be buried save by permission of the Muhammad. The Hayham himself, the sage or chief rabbi of the congregation, could not unite his flock in holy wedlock without the permission of the Muhammad. And this authority was not merely negative and passive, it was likewise positive and active. To be a Yahid, a recognised congregant, one had to submit one's neck to a yoke more galling even than that of the Torah, to say nothing of the payment of the finter or pole tax. Woe to him who refused to be a warden of the captives, he who ransomed the chained hostages of the Moorish Corsairs or the war prisoners held endurance by the Turks, or to be president of the congregation or parnass of the Holy Land or bridegroom of the law or any of the numerous dignitaries of a complex constitution. Fines, frequent and heavy, for the benefit of the poor box, awaited him by permission of the Muhammad. Unhappy the white who misconducted himself in synagogue by offending the president or grossly insulting any other person, as the ordinance deliciously ran. Penalties stringent and harrying visited these and other offences. Deprivation of the Mitzvot of swathing the holy scroll or opening the art, ignominious relegation to seats behind the reading desk, withdrawal of the franchise, prohibition against shaving for a term of weeks, and, if accepting office, the Ahid failed in the punctual and regular discharge of his duties, he was mocked and chastised nonetheless. A fine of forty pounds drove from the synagogue Isaac Disraeli, collector of curiosities of literature, and made possible that curiosity of politics the career of Lord Beaconsfield. The fathers of the synagogue who drew up their constitution in pure Castilian in the days when peeps noted the Indicorum in their little synagogue in King Street meant their statutes to cement, thus to disintegrate the community. Twas a tactless tyranny, this of the Muhammad, an inelastic administration of a Castilian codex wrought in Good King Charles' golden days when the colony of Dutch Spanish exiles was, as a camp in enemy's country, in need of military regime, and it cooperated with the attractions of an unhampered Christian career in driving out many a brilliant family beyond the gates of the ghetto and into the pages of de Bret. Athens is always a dangerous rival to Sparta. But the Muhammad itself moved strictly in the grooves of prescription. That legalistic instinct of the Hebrew, which had evolved into the most gigantic and minute code of conduct in the world, had beguiled these Latter-day Jews super-adding to it a local legislation that grew into two hundred pages of Portuguese, an inter-tangled network of Ascomote or regulations providing for every contingency of synagogue politics from the quarrels of members for the best seats down to the dimensions of their graves in the Carriera, from the distribution of mitzvot among the rich to the distribution of Passover cakes among the poor. If the wheels and pulleys of the communal life moved by permission of the Muhammad, the Muhammad moved by permission of the Ascomote. The solemn council was met in complete Muhammad. Even the chief of the elders was present by virtue of his privilege making a sixth. Not to count the chancellor or secretary who sat flutteringly fingering the Portuguese minute-book on the right of the president. He was a little man, an odd medley of pomp and bluster, with a snuff smeared up a lip and a nose that had dipped in the wine when it was red. He had a grandiose sense of his own importance, but it was a pride that had its roots in humility, for he felt himself great because he was the servant of greatness. He lived by permission of the Muhammad. As an official he was theoretically inaccessible. If you approached him on a matter he would put out his palms depreciatingly in pant, a must consult the Muhammad. It was said of him that he had once been asked the time and that he'd automatically panted, I must consult the Muhammad. This consultation was the merest form. In practice the secretary had more influence than the chief rabbi who was not allowed to recommend an applicant for charity for the quaint reason that the respect entitled for him might unduly prejudice the council in favour of his candidate. As no gentleman of the Muhammad could possibly master the statutes in his year of office, especially as only a rare member understood the Portuguese in which they had been ultimately couched, the secretary was invariably referred to, for he was permanent, full of sores and precepts, so he interpreted the law with impartial inaccuracy by permission of the Muhammad. In his heart of hearts he believed that the sun rose and the rain fell by permission of the Muhammad. The council chamber was of goodly proportions and was decorated by gold-lettered panels inscribed with the names of pious donors, workers saints in a graveyard overflowing even into the lobby. The flower and chivalry of the Spanish Jewry sat around that council table, grandees who had plumed and ruffled it with the bloods of their days, clanking their swords with the best, punctilious with all and ceremonious, with the stately Castilian courtesy still presented by the men who were met this afternoon, and their memory was as faint as the receding records of the panels. These descendants of theirs had still elaborate salutations and circumlocutions and austere dignities of debate. God-fearing men of capacity and respectability, as the Asgama demanded, they were also men of money, and it gave them a port and a repose. His Britannic Majesty graced the throne no better than the president of the Muhammad, seated at the head of the long table in his alcoved armchair, with the chief of the elders on his left and the chancellor on his right, and his counsellors all about him. The westerning sun sent a pencil of golden light through the norm and windows, as if anxious to record the names of those present in gilt letters by permission of the Muhammad. Let D'Costa enter," said the president when the agenda demanded the great Schnurrer's presence. The chancellor fluttered to his feet, facily threw open the door, and beckoned vacantly with his finger till he discovered Manasseh was not in the lobby. The beetle came hurrying up instead. Where is D'Costa? panted the chancellor, called D'Costa. D'Costa! sonoriously intoned the beetle with the long-drawn accent of court ushers. The corridor rang hollow, empty of Manasseh. Why, he was here a minute ago, cried the bewildered beetle. He ran down the passage and found him sure enough at the end of it where it abutted on the street. The king of Schnurrer's was in dignified converse with a person of consideration. D'Costa! The beetle cried again, but his tone was less awesome and more techy. The beggar did not turn his head. Mr. D'Costa! said the beetle, now arrived too near the imposing figure to venture on familiarities with it. This time the beggar gave indication of restored hearing. Yes, my man, he said, turning and advancing a few paces to meet the envoy. Don't go, Rob Stock, he called over his shoulder. Didn't you hear me calling, rumbled the beetle? I heard you calling D'Costa, but I naturally imagined it was one of your drinking companions, replied Manasseh severely. The mahamad is waiting for you, faltered the beetle. Tell the gentleman of the mahamad, said Manasseh, with reproving emphasis, that I shall do myself the pleasure of being with them presently. Nay, pray, don't hurry away, my dear Rob Stock. He went on, resuming his place at the German magnate's side, and so your wife is taking the waters at Tunbridge Wells. In faith, it is an excellent regimen for the vapours. I am thinking of sending my wife to Buxton. The warden of our hospital has his country seat there. But you are wanted! murmured Rob Stock, who was anxious to escape. He had caught the schnurrer's eye as its owner sunned himself in the archway, and it held him. It is only a meeting of the mahamad I have to attend, he said, indifferently. Rather a nuisance, but duty is duty. Rob Stock's red face became a setting for two expanded eyes. I thought the mahamad was your chief counsel, he exclaimed. Yes, there are only five of us, said Manasseh lightly, and while Grubstock gaped incredulous, the chancellor himself shambled up in pale consternation. You are keeping the gentleman of the mahamad waiting, he panted, imperiously. Oh, you are right, Grubstock, said Manasseh with a sigh of resignation. They cannot get on without me. Well, you will excuse me, I know. I am glad to have seen you again. We shall finish our chat at your house some evening, shall we? I have agreeable recollections of your hospitality. My wife will be away all this month," Grubstock repeated feebly. Ha-ha-ha! laughed Manasseh roguishly. Thank you for the reminder. I shall not fail to aid you in taking advantage of her absence. Perhaps mine will be away, too, at Buxton. Two bachelors, ha-ha! And, proffering his hand, he shook Grubstock's ingratious farewell. Then he sauntered leisurely in the wake of the feverishly impatient chancellor, his staff tapping the stones in measured tardiness. Good afternoon, gentlemen. He observed affably as he entered the council chamber. You have kept us waiting! sharply rejoined the president of the Mahamad, ruffled out of his regal suavity. He was a puffy, swarthy personage, elegantly attired, and he leaned forward on his velvet throne, tattooing on the table with bedimoned fingers. Not so long as you have kept me waiting! said Manasseh, with quiet resentment. If I had known you expected me to cool my heels in the corridor, I should not have come, and had not, my friend, the treasure of the great synagogue, opportunely turned up to chat with me. I should not have stayed. You are impertinent, sir, growled the president. I think, sir, it is you who owe me an apology, maintained Manasseh unflinchingly, and knowing the courtesy and high-breeding which has always distinguished your noble family, I can only explain your present tone by your being unaware I have a grievance. No doubt it is your chancellor who cited me to appear at too early an hour. The president, cooled by the quiet dignity of the beggar, turned a questioning glance upon the outraged chancellor, who was crimson and quivering with confusion and indignation. It is usual to summon persons before the cur-cur-mencement of the meeting. He stammered hotly. We cannot tell how long the prior business will take. Then I would respectfully submit to the chief of the elders, said Manasseh. That at the next meeting of his august body he move a resolution that persons cited to appear before the Mahamad shall take precedence of all other business. The chief of the elders looked helplessly at the president of the Mahamad, who was equally at sea. However, I will not press that point now, added Manasseh. Nor will I draw the attention of the committee to the careless perfunctory manner in which the document summoning me here was drawn up, so that had I been a stickler for accuracy I need not have answered to the name of Manasseh D'Costa. But that is your name, protested the chancellor. If you will examine the charity list, said Manasseh magnificently, you will see that my name is Manasseh Bueno-Barzilla-Azevedo D'Costa. But you are keeping the gentleman of the Mahamad waiting. And where the magnanimous air of dismissing the past, he seated himself on the nearest empty chair at the foot of the table, leaned his elbows on the table, and his face on his hands and gazed across at the president immediately opposite. The councillors were so taken aback by his unexpected bearing that this additional audacity was scarcely noted. But the chancellor, wounded in his inmost instincts, exclaimed irately, Stand up, sir, these chairs are for the gentleman of the Mahamad. And being gentlemen, added Manasseh crushingly, they know better than to keep an old man on his legs any longer. If you were a gentleman, retorted the chancellor, you would take that thing off your head. If you were not an Amhar Arats, rejoined the beggar, you would know that it is not a mark of disrespect for the Mahamad, but of respect for the law which is higher than the Mahamad. The rich man can afford to neglect our holy relics, but the poor man has only the law. It is his soul a luxury. The pathetic tremor in his voice stirred a confused sense of wrongdoing and injustice in the councillor's breasts. The president felt vaguely that the edge of his incoming impressive rebuke had been turned if indeed he did not sit rebuke'd instead. Irritated, he turned on the chancellor and bade him hold his peace. He means well, Manasseh said depreciatingly. He cannot be expected to have the fine instincts of the gentleman of the Mahamad. May I ask you, sir, he concluded, to proceed with the business for which you have summoned me? I have several appointments to keep with clients. The president's bedimoned fingers recommenced their ill-tempered tattoo. He was fuming inwardly with a sense of baffled wrath, of righteous indignation made unrighteous. Is it true, sir? He burst forth at last in the most terrible accents he could command in the circumstances. Will you mediate giving your daughter in marriage to a Polish Jew? No, replied Manasseh curtly. No? articulated the president, while a murmur of astonishment went round the table at this unexpected collapse of the whole case. Why, your daughter admitted it to my wife, said the councillor on Manasseh's right. Manasseh turned to him, expostulent, tilting his chair and body towards him. My daughter is going to marry a Polish Jew, he exclaimed with argumentative forefinger, but I do not mediate giving her to him. Ah, then you will refuse your consent, said the councillor, hitching his chair back as to escape the beggars' progressive propinquity. By no means!" Quoth Manasseh in surprised accents, as he drew his chair nearer again. I have already consented. I do not mediate consenting. That word argues an inconclusive attribute. None of your quibbles, sirrah! cried the president, while a scarlet flush mantled on his dark countenance. Do you not know that the union you contemplate is disgraceful and grating to you, to your daughter, to the community which has done so much for you? What a safari, maria tedesco, shameful! And do you think I do not feel the shame as deeply as you? inquired Manasseh with infinite pathos. Do you think, gentlemen, that I have not suffered from this passion of a tedesco for my daughter? I came here expecting your sympathy. And do you offer me reproach? Perhaps you think, sir. And here he turned again to his right-hand neighbour, who, in his anxiety to evade his pernicious proximity, had half-wheeled his chair round, offering only his back to the argumentative forefinger. Perhaps you think, because I have consented, that I cannot condole with you, that I am not at one with you in lamenting this blot on our common scotch, and perhaps you think? And here he adroitly twisted his chair into argumentative position on the other side of the councillor, rounding him like a cape. That, because you have no sympathy with my tribulation, I have no sympathy with yours. But, if I have consented, it is only because it was the best I could do for my daughter. In my heart of hearts, I have repudiated her, so that she may practically be considered an orphan, and, as such, a fit person to receive the marriage dowry bequeathed by Rodriguez Rial, may peace be upon him. This is no laughing matter, sir," thundered the president, stung into forgetfulness of his dignity by thinking too much of it. No, indeed, said Manasseh sympathetically, wheeling to the right so as to confront the president, who went on stormily. Are you aware, sir, of the penalties you risk by persisting in your course? I risk no penalties," replied the beggar. Indeed! Then do you think anyone may trample with impunity upon our ancient Ascomote? Our ancient Ascomote, repeated Manasseh in surprise, what of they to say against a safadi marrying a Tedesco? The audacity of the question rendered the council breathless. Manasseh had to answer it himself. They have nothing to say. There is no such Ascomote. There was a moment of awful silence. It was as though he had disavowed the decalogue. Do you question the first principle of our constitution? said the president at last in low ominous tones. Do you deny that your daughter is a traitorous? Do you ask your chancellor? calmly interrupted Manasseh. He is an Amhar Arats, but he should know your statutes, and he will tell you that my daughter's conduct is nowhere forbidden. Silence, sir! cried the president testily. Mr. Chancellor, read the Ascomote. The chancellor wriggled on his chair, his face flushing and palping by turns. All eyes were bent upon him in anxious suspense. He hemmed and hard and coughed and took snuff and blew his nose elaborately. There is no express, Ascomote! he stuttered at last. Manasseh sat still in unpretentious trance. The counselor, who was now become his right-hand neighbour, was the first to break the dazed silence, and it was his first intervention. Of course, it was never actually put into writing, he said in stern reproof. It has never been legislated against because it has never been conceived possible. These things are an instinct with every right-minded safari. Have we ever legislated against marrying Christians? Manasseh veered round half a point of the compass and fixed the new opponent with his argumentative forefinger. Certainly we have, he replied unexpectedly, in Section 20 Paragraph 2. He quoted the Ascomote by heart rolling out the sonorous Portuguese like a solemn indictment. If our legislators had intended to prohibit intermarriage with the German community, they would have prohibited it. There is the traditional law as well as the written, said the Chancellor, recovering himself. It is so in our holy religion. It is so in our constitution. Yes, there are precedents assuredly, cried the President, eagerly. There is the case of one of our treasurers in the time of George II, said the little Chancellor, blossoming under the sunshine of the President's encouragement, and naming the ancestor of a Duchess of today. He wanted to marry a beautiful German Jewess. And was indicted, said the President. Ahem! coughed the Chancellor. He was only permitted to marry her under humiliating conditions. The elders forbade the attendance of the members of the House of Judgment or of the Cantors. No celebration was to take place in the Snooga. No offerings were to be made for the bridegroom's health, nor was he even to receive the bridegroom's call to the reading of the law. But the elders will not impose any such conditions on my son-in-law, said Manasseh, skirting around another chair was to bring his forefinger to play upon the chief of the elders, on whose left he had now arrived in his argumentative advances. In the first place he is not one of us. His desire to join us is a compliment. If anyone has offended your traditions, it is my daughter. But then she is not a male, like the treasurer cited. She is not an active agent. She has not gone out of her way to choose a tedesco. She has been chosen. Your masculine precedence cannot touch her. I but we can touch you! said the contemporary treasurer, guffawing grimly. He sat opposite Manasseh and next to the Chancellor. Is it fine you are thinking of? said Manasseh with a scornful glance across the table. Very well, find me. If you can afford it. You know that I am a student, a son of the law, who has no resources but what you allow him. If you care to pay this fine it is your affair. There is always room in the poor-box. I am always glad to hear of fines. You had better make up your mind to the inevitable, gentlemen. Have I not had to do it? There is no ask-a-mar to prevent my son-in-law having all the usual privileges. In fact, it was to ask that he might receive the bridegroom's call to the law on the Sabbath before his marriage that I really came. By Section 3, Paragraph 1, you are empowered to admit any person about to marry the daughter of a Yahid. Again the sonorous Portuguese ran out, thrilling the councillors with all that quintessential awfulness of ancient statutes in a tongue not understood. It was not till a quarter of a century later that the Ascomote were translated into English and from that moment their authority was doomed. The Chancellor was the first to recover from the quotation. Daily contact with these archaic sanctities had dulled his oar, and the President's impotent irritation spurred him to action. But you are not a Yahid, he said quietly. By Paragraph 5 of the same section anyone whose name appears on the r-charity list ceases to be a Yahid. And a vastly proper law, said Manasseh with irony. Everybody may vote but the snorer. And ignoring the Chancellor's point at great length he remarked confidentially to the Chief of the Elders at whose elbow he was still encamped, it is curious how few of your Elders perceive that those who take the charity are the pillars of the synagogue. What keeps your community together? Fines. What ensures respect for your constitution? Fines. What makes every man do his duty? Fines. What rules this very Muhammad? Fines. And it is the poor who provide an outlet for all these monies. Eggat, do you think your members would for a moment tolerate your penalties if they did not know the money was laid out in Mitzvot? Charity is the salt of riches, says the Talmud, and indeed it is the salt that preserves your community. Have done, sir! Have done! shouted the President, losing all regard for those grave amenities of the ancient council chamber which Manasseh did his best to maintain. Do you forget to whom you are talking? I am talking to the Chief of the Elders, said Manasseh in a wounded tone, but if you would like me to address myself to you and wheeling round the Chief of the Elders he landed his chair next to the President's. Silence, fellow! thundered the President, shrinking spasmodically from his confidential contact. You have no right to a voice at all as the Chancellor has reminded us. You are not even a Yahid, a congregant. Then the laws do not apply to me. retorted the beggar quietly. It is only the Yahid who is privileged to do this who is prohibited from doing that. No Askamar mentions the Shnara or gives you any authority over him. On the contrary, said the Chancellor seeing the President disconcerted again. He is bound to attend the our weekday services, but this man hardly ever does, sir. I never do, corrected Manasseh, with touching sadness. That is another of the privileges I have to forego in order to take your charity. I cannot risk appearing to my maker in the light of a mercenary. But what prevents you taking your turn in the graveyard watches? sneered the Chancellor. The antagonists were now close together, one on either side of the President of the Mahamad who was wedged between the two bubbling, quarreling figures his complexion altering momently for the blacker and his fingers working nervously. What prevents me? replied Manasseh. Age! It would be a sin against heaven to spend a night in the cemetery. If the body snatchers did come they might find a corpse to their hand in the watchtower. But I do my duty. I always pay a substitute. No doubt, said the Treasurer. I remember you're asking me for the money to keep an old man out of the cemetery. Now I see what you meant. Yes! began two others. And I? Order, gentlemen! Order! interrupted the President desperately. For the afternoon was flitting, the sun was setting and the shadows of twilight were failing. You must not argue with the man. Hark, you my fine fellow! We refuse to sanction this marriage. It shall not be performed by our ministers, nor can we dweem of admitting your son-in-law as a Yahid. Then admit him on your charity list, said Manasseh. We are more likely to strike you off, and by God! cried the President, tattooing on the table with his whole fist. If you don't stop this scandal in stanta we will send you howling. Is it excommunication you threaten? said Manasseh, rising to his feet. There was a menacing glitter in his eye. This scandal must be stopped! repeated the President, agitatingly rising in involuntary imitation. Any member of the Mahamad could stop it in a twinkling, said Manasseh, sullenly. You yourself, if you only chose. If I only chose, echoed the President inquiringly, if you only chose my daughter, are you not a bachelor? I am convinced she could not say nay to anyone present excepting the Chancellor. Only no one is really willing to save the community from this scandal, and so my daughter must marry as best she can. And yet it is a handsome creature who would not disgrace even a house in Hackney. Manasseh spoke so seriously that the President fumed the moor. Let her marry this pole, he ranted, and you shall be cut off from us in life and death. Alive you shall worship without our walls, and dead you shall be buried behind the boards. For the poor man, excommunication, said Manasseh in ominous soliloquy. For the rich man, permission to marry the Tedesco of his choice. Leave the room, fellows! forciferated the President. You have heard our ultimatum. But Manasseh did not quail. And you shall hear mine. He said, with a quietness that was the more impressive for the President's fury. Do not forget, Mr. President, that you and I owe allegiance to the same brotherhood. Do not forget that the power which made you can unmake you at the next election. Do not forget that if I have no vote I have vast influence, that there is not a Yahid whom I do not visit weekly, that there is not a Shnara who would not follow me in my exile. Do not forget that there is another community to turn to, yes, the very Ashkenazi community you condemn, with the treasurer of which I talked but just now, a community that waxes daily in wealth and greatness while you sleep in your sloth. His tall form dominated the chamber. His head seemed to touch the ceiling. The councillors sat dazed as amid a lightning storm. Jack-a-napes, blasphemer, shameless renegade! cried the President, choking with wrath. And, being already on his legs, he dashed the bale and tugged at it madly, blanching the councillor's face with the perception of a lost opportunity. I shall not leave this chamber till I choose," said Manasseh, dropping stolidly into the nearest chair and folding his arms. At once a cry of horror and consternation rose from every throat. Every man leapt threateningly to his feet, and Manasseh realized that he was thrown in the alcoved armchair. But he neither blenched nor budged. No, keep your seats, gentlemen," he said quietly. The President, turning at the stir, caught sight of the schnurra, staggered and clutched at the mantel. The councillors stood spellbound for an instant while the councillor's eyes roved wildly around the walls as if expecting the gold names to start from their panels. The beetle rushed in, terrified by the strenuous tintinabulation, looked instinctively toward the throne for orders, then underwent petrification on the threshold and stared speechlessly at Manasseh. What time the President, gasping like a landed cod, vainly strove to utter the order for the beggar's expulsion. Don't stare at me, Gomez," Manasseh cried imperiously. Can't you see the President wants a glass of water? The beetle darted a glance at the President, and perceiving his condition rushed out again to get the water. This was the last straw. To see his authority usurped as well as his seat maddened the poor President. For some seconds he strove to mouth an oath embracing his supine councillors as well as this beggar on horseback, but he produced only an inarticulate raucous cry and reeled sideways. Manasseh sprang from his chair and caught the falling form in his arms. For one terrible moment he stood supporting it in a tense silence broken only by the incoherent murmurs of the unconscious lips. Then, crying angrily, "'Bister yourselves, gentlemen. Don't you see the President is ill?' he dragged his burden toward the table and, aided by the panic-stricken councillors, laid it flat thereupon and threw open the ruffled shirt. He swept the minute book to the floor with an almost malicious movement to make room for the President. The beetle returned with the glass of water, which he well-nigh dropped. "'Run for a physician,' Manasseh commanded, and, throwing away the water carelessly in the Chancellor's direction, he asked if anyone had any brandy. There was no response. "'Come, come, Mr. Chancellor,' he said, "'bring out your vile and the abashed functionary obeyed. "'Has any of you his equipage without?' Manasseh demanded next of the Muhammad. They had not. So Manasseh dispatched the chief of the elders in quest of a sedan chair. There, then, was nothing left but to await the physician. "'You see, gentlemen, how insecure is earthly power,' said the Schnurrer solemnly, while the President breathed stentoriously, deaf to his impressive moralizing. It is swallowed up in an instant as Lisbon was engulfed. The cursed are they who despise the poor. How is the saying of our sages verified? The house that opens not to the poor opens to the physician.' His eyes shone with unearthly radiance in the gathering gloom. The cowed assembly wavered before his words, like reeds before the wind, or conscious stricken kings before fearless prophets. When the physician came he pronounced that the President had had a slight stroke of apoplexy, involving a temporary paralysis of the right foot. The patient, by this time restored to consciousness, was conveyed home in the sedan chair, and the Muhammad dissolved in confusion. Manasseh was the last to leave the council chamber. As he stalked into the corridor, he turned the key and the door behind him with a vindictive twist. Then, plunging his hand into his breech's pocket, he gave the beadle a crown, remarking genially, You must have your usual prerequisite, I suppose. The beadle was moved to his depths. He had a burst of irresistible honesty. The President gives me only half a crown, he murmured. Yes, but he may not be able to attend the next meeting, said Manasseh, and I may be away too. End of Chapter 5 The King of Shnoraz by Israel Zangwill Read by Adrian Predsellus This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org The King of Shnoraz by Israel Zangwill Chapter 6 Showing how the King enriched the synagogue The synagogue of the gates of heaven was crowded. Members, orphan boys, Shnoraz, all were met in celebration of the Sabbath. But the President of the Mahamad was missing. He was still inconvenienced by the effects of his stroke and deemed it most prudent to pray at home. The Council of Five had not met since Manasseh had dissolved it, and so the matter of his daughter's marriage was left hanging, as indeed was not seldom the posture of matters discussed by Sephardic bodies. The authorities, thus passive, Manasseh found scant difficulty in imposing his will upon the minor officers, less ready than himself with constitutional precedent. His daughter was to be married under the Sephardic canopy, and no jot of synagogical honour was to be baited the bridegroom. On the Sabbath, the last before the wedding, Yankala was to be called to the reading of the law like a true-born Portuguese. He made his first appearance in the synagogue of his bride's father with a feeling of solemn respect, not exactly due to Manasseh's grandiose references to the ancient temple. He had walked the courtyard with levity, half prepared from previous experience of his intended father-in-law to find the glories insubstantial. Their unexpected actuality awed him, and he was glad he was dressed in his best. His beaver hat, green trousers, and brown coat equalled him with the massive pillars, the gleaming candelabra, and the stately roof. Coster, for his part, had made no change in his attire. He dignified his shabby vestments, stuffing them with royal manhood, and wearing his snuff-coloured overgarment like a purple robe. There was in sooth an official air about his abealment, and to the worshippers it was as impressively familiar as the black stole and white bands of the canter. It seemed only natural that he should be called to the reading first, quite apart from the fact that he was a co-in of the family of Aron, the high priest, a descendant that perhaps led something to the loftiness of his carriage. When the minister intoned vigorously, the good name Manasseh, the son of Judah the priest, the man shall arise to read in the law. Every eye was turned with a new interest on the prospective father-in-law. Manasseh arose composedly, and hitching his sliding prayer shawl over his left shoulder, stalked to the reading-platform where he chanted the blessings with imposing flourishes, and stood at the minister's right hand while his section of the law was read from the sacred scroll. There was many a man of figure in the congregation, but none who became the platform better. It was beautiful to see him pay his respects to the scroll. It reminded one of the meeting of two sovereigns. The great moment, however, was when the section being concluded, the master reader announced Manasseh's donations to the synagogue. The financial statement was incorporated in a long benediction, like a coin wrapped up in folds of paper. This was always a great moment, even when inconsiderable personalities were concerned, each man's generosity being the subject of speculation before and comment after. Manasseh, it was felt, would, although Amir Shnara, rise to the height of the occasion, and offer as much as seven and sixpence. The shrewder sort suspected he would split it up over two or three separate offerings to give an air of inexhaustible largesse. The shrewder sort were right and wrong, as is their habit. The master reader began his quaint formula. May he who blessed our fathers, pausing at the point where the Hebrew is blank for the amount, he spanned out the prefantery who vows, the last note prolonging it like the vibration of a tuning fork at a literal pitch of suspense. It was a sensational halt due to his forgetting the amounts or demanding corroboration at the eleventh hour, and the stingy often recklessly amended their contributions, panic struck under the pressure of imminent publicity. Who vows? The congregation hung upon his lips. With his usual gesture of interrogation, he inclined his ear toward Manasseh's mouth, his face wearing an unusual look of perplexity, and those nearest the platform were aware of a little colloquy between the Shnara and the master reader. The latter bewildered and agitated the former stately. The delay had discomposed the master as much as it has whetted the curiosity of the congregation. He repeated, Who vows? Sinko livras! He went on glibly without a pause for charity, for the life of Yankov Ben Yitzch, his son-in-law, etc., etc. But few of the worshippers heard any more than the Sinko livras, five pounds. A thrill ran through the building. Men pricked up their ears, incredulous, whispering one another. One man deliberately moved from his place towards the box in which sat the chief of the elders, the presiding dignitary in the absence of the president of the Mahamad. I didn't catch. How much was that? he asked. Five pounds, said the chief of the elders shortly. He suspected an irreverent irony in the beggars' contribution. The benediction came to an end, where the hearers had time to realise the fact the master reader had started on another. May you bless our fathers! He began in the strange traditional recitative. The wave of curiosity mounted again higher than before. Who vows? The wave hung for an instant, poised and motionless. Sinko livras! The wave broke in a low murmur, amid which the master imperturbably proceeded. For oil for the life of his daughter Dabora, etc., etc. When he reached the end there was a poignant silence. Was it to be de capo again? May he who blessed our fathers! The wave of curiosity surged once more, rising and subsiding with this ebb and flow of financial benediction. Who vows? Sinko livras! For the wax candles! This time the thrill, the whisper, the flutter swelled into a positive buzz. The gaze of the entire congregation was focused upon the beggar who stood impassive in the blaze of glory. Even the orphan boys, packed in their pew, paused in their inattention to the service and craned their necks toward the platform. The various magnates did not thus play piety with five-pound points. In the ladies' gallery the excitement was intense. The occupants gazed eagerly through the grill. One woman, a buxom dame of forty summers, richly clad and jewelled, had risen and was tiptoeing frantically over the woodwork, her feather waving like a signal of distress. It was Manasseh's wife. The waste of money maddened her. Each donation hit her like a poisoned arrow. In vain she strove to catch her spouse's eye. The air seemed full of gowns and torques and farthing-gales flamed away under her very nose, without her being able to move hand or foot in rescue. Whole wardrobes perished at each benediction. It was with the utmost difficulty she restrained herself from shouting down to her prodigal lord. At her side the radiant debaura vainly tried to pacify her by assurances that Manasseh never intended to pay up. Who vows! the benediction had begun for a fourth time. Sink your levers for the Holy Land! And the sensation grew. For the life of this holy corrugation, et cetera, et cetera, the master-reader's voice droned on impassively, interminably. The fourth benediction was drawing to its close when the beetle was seen to mount the platform and whisper in his ear. Only Manasseh overheard the message. The chief of the elders says you must stop. This is mere mockery. This man is a schnurrer, an impudent beggar. The beetle descended the steps, and after a moment of inaudible discussion with D'Costa, the master-reader lifted up his voice afresh. The chief of the elders frowned and clenched his praying shawl angrily. It was a fifth benediction, but the reader's sing-song went on, for Manasseh's wrath was nearer than the magnate's. Who vows! sink your levers for the captives for the life of the chief of the elders! The chief bit his lip furiously at this delicate revenge, galled almost a frenzy by the aggravating foreboding that the congregation would construe his message as a solicitation of the public attention, for it was of the amenities of the synagogue for rich people to present these benedictions to one another. And so the endless stream of donations flowed on, provoking the hearers to fever-pitch. The very orphan boys forgot that this prolongation of the service was retarding their breakfasts indefinitely. Every warden, dignitary, and official from the president of the Mahamad down to the very keeper of the bath was honoured by name in a special benediction. The chief of Manasseh's weekly patrons were repaid almost in kind on this unique and festive occasion. Most of the congregation kept count of the sum total, which was mounting, mounting. Suddenly there was confusion in the ladies' gallery, cries, a babble of tongues. The beadle hastened upwards to impose his authority. The rumour circulated that Mrs. De Custer had fainted and been carried away. It reached Manasseh's ears, but he did not move. He stood at his post, unfaultering, donating, blessing. Who vows, sinkolivras, for the life of his wife, Sara! And a faint, sardonic smile flitted across the beggar's face. The oldest worshipper wondered if the record would be broken. Manasseh's benefactions were approaching thrillingly near the highest total, hitherto reached by any one man upon any one occasion. Every brain was troubled by surmises. The chief of the elders, fuming impotently, was not alone in apprehending a blasphemous mockery. But the bulk imagined that the snorer had come into property or had always been a man of substance and was now taking this means of restoring to the synagogue the funds he had drawn from it. And the fountain of benevolence played on. The record figure was reached and left in the rear. When at length the poor master reader, sick upon death of the oft-repeated formula, which might just as well have covered all the contributions the first time, though Manasseh had commanded each new benediction as though by an afterthought, was allowed to summon the Levite who succeeded Manasseh, the synagogue had been enriched by a hundred pounds. The last benediction had been coupled with the name of the poorest snorer present, an assertion and glorification of Manasseh's own order that put the coping stone on this sensational memorial of the royal wedding. It was indeed a kingly munificence, a sovereign graciousness. Nay, before the service was over, Manasseh even begged the chief of the elders to permit a special rogation to be said for a sick person. The chief, meanly snatching at this opportunity of reprisals, refused, till learning that Manasseh alluded to the ailing president of the Mahamad, he collapsed ingloriously. But the real hero of the day was Yankala, who shone chiefly by a reflected light, and yet shone even more brightly than the Spaniard, for to him was added the double lustre of the bridegroom and the stranger, and he was the cause and centre of the sensation. His eyes twinkled continuously throughout. The next day Manasseh fared forth to collect the hundred pounds. The day being Sunday, he looked to find most of his clients at home. He took Grobstock first as being nearest, but the worthy speculator and East India director aspired him from an upper window and escaped by a back door into Goodman's Fields, a prudent measure, seeing that the incredulous Manasseh ransacked the house in quest of him. Manasseh's manner was always a search warrant. The king consoled himself by paying his next visit to a person who could not possibly evade him, none other than the sick president of the Mahamad. He lived in Devonshire Square in solitary splendour. Him, Manasseh, bearded in his library where the convalescent was sorting his collection of prints. The visitor had had himself announced as a gentleman on synagogical matters, and the public-spirited president had not refused himself to the business. But when he caught sight of Manasseh, his puffy features were distorted. He breathed painfully and put his hand to his hip. "'Ew!' he gasped. "'Have a care, my dear sir, have a care,' said Manasseh anxiously as he seated himself. "'You are still weak to come to the point, for I would not care to distract too much a man indispensable to the community, who has already felt the hand of the Almighty for his treatment of the poor.' He saw that his words were having effect for these preposterous pillars of the synagogue were mightily superstitious under reflection, and he proceeded in gentler tones. "'To come to the point, it is my duty to inform you, for I am the only man who is certain of it, that while you have been away, our synagogue has made a bad debt.' "'A bad debt?' an angry light leapt into the president's eyes. There had been an ancient practice of lending out the funds to members, and the president had always set his face against the survival of the policy. "'It would not have been made! Had I been there?' he cried. "'No, indeed,' admitted Manasseh, you would have stopped it in its early stages. The chief of the elders tried, but failed. "'The don't! A man without a backbone! How much is it?' "'A hundred pounds.' "'A hundred pounds?' "'Echoed the president, seriously concerned at this blot upon his year of office. "'And who—who is the debtor?' "'I am.' "'You? You have bowed a hundred pounds? You jack-and-apes?' "'Silence! How dare you! I should leave this apartment at once. Were it not that I cannot go without your apology? "'Never in my life have I borrowed a hundred pounds. Nay, never have I borrowed one farthing. I am not a borrower. If you were a gentleman, you would apologize.' "'I'm sorry if I misunderstood you,' murmured the poor president. "'But—but how then do you owe the money?' "'How then?' repeated Manasseh impatiently. "'Cannot you understand that I have donated it to the synagogue?' The president stared at him open-mouthed. "'I vowed it yesterday in celebration of my daughter's marriage.' The president let a sigh of relief pass through his open mouth. He was even amused a little. "'Oh! Oh! Is that all? It was like you're duly defuntowy. But still, the synagogue doesn't lose anything. There's no harm done.' "'What is it that you say?' inquired Manasseh sternly. "'Do you mean to say I am not to pay this money?' "'How can you?' "'How can I? I come to you and others like you to pay it for me.' "'Nonsense! Nonsense!' said the president, beginning to lose his temper again. "'Let it pass. There's no harm done.' "'And this is the president of the Mahamad,' salil acquies the Schnorah in bitter astonishment. "'This is the chief of our ancient godly council. "'What, sir? Do you hold words spoken solemnly in synagogue of no account? Would you have me break my solemn vow? Do you wish to bring the synagogue institutions into contempt? Do you, a man already once stricken by heaven, invite its chastisement again?' The president had grown pale. His brain was reeling. "'Nay, ask its forgiveness, sir,' went on the king implacably, "'and make good this debt of mine in token of your remorse, as it is written, and repentance and prayer and charity, avert the evil decree.' "'Not a penny!' cried the president, with a last gleam of lucidity, and strode furiously toward the bell-pull. Then he stood still, in sudden recollection of a similar scene in the council chamber. "'You need not trouble to ring for a stroke,' said Manasseh grimly. "'Then the synagogue is to be profaned, then even the benediction which I, in all loyalty and forgiveness, calls to be said for the recovery of the president of the Mohammed, is to be null, a mockery in the sight of the Holy One, blessed be he.' The president tottered into his reading-chair. "'How much did you vow on my behalf?' "'Five pounds.' The president precipitately drew out a pocket-book and extracted a crisp Bank of England note. "'Give it to the chancellor!' he breathed, exhausted. "'I am punished,' quote Manasseh plaintively as he placed it in his bosom. "'I should have vowed ten for you.' And then he bowed himself out. In like manner did he collect other contributions that day from Sephardic celebrities, pointing out that now a foreign Jew, Yankola, to wit, had been admitted to their communion, it behoved them to show themselves at their best. What a bad effect it would have on Yankola if a Sephardi was seen to vow with impunity. First impressions were everything, and they could not be too careful. It would not do for Yankola to circulate contumelious reports of them among his kin. Those who remonstrated with him over his extravagance he reminded that he only had one daughter, and he drew their attention to the favorable influence his example had had on the Sunday receipts. Not a man of those who came after him in the reading had ventured to offer half-crowns. He had fixed the standard in gold for that day at least, and who knew what noble emulation he had fired for the future. Every man who yielded to Manasseh's eloquence stepped to reach the next, for Manasseh made a list of the donors and paraded it reproachfully before those who had yet to give. With all the most obstinate resistance met him in some quarters. One man, a certain Rodríguez inhabiting a mansion in Finsbury Circus, was positively rude. If I came in a carriage you'd soon pull out your ten-pound noot for the synagogue, near Manasseh his blood boiling. Certainly I would," admitted Rodríguez, laughing, and Manasseh shook off the dust of his threshold in disdain. By reason of such rebuffs his collection for the day only reached about thirty pounds, inclusive of the value of some depreciated Portuguese bonds which he good-naturedly accepted as though at par. Disgusted with the meanness of mankind, Coster's genius devised more drastic measures. Having carefully locked up the proceeds of Sunday's operations and, indeed, nearly all his loose cash in his safe, for, to avoid being put to expense, he rarely carried money on his person, unless he gathered it en route, he took his way to Bishop's Gate within to catch the stage for Clapton. The day was bright and he hummed the festive synagogue tune as he plodded leisurely with his stick along the bustling narrow pavements, bordered by Coster's barrows at one edge and by jagged houses, overhung by grotesque signboards at the other and thronged by sits in woosted hose. But when he arrived at the inn he found the coach had started. Nothing concerned, he ordered a post-chase in a supercilious manner, criticizing the horses and drove to Clapton in style, drawn by a pair of spanking steeds to the music of the postillian's horn. Very soon they drew out of the blocked roads with their lumbering procession of carts, coaches and chairs, and into the open country, green with the fresh, bare dew of spring. The chaise stopped at the Red Cottage, a pretty villa whose facade was covered with Virginian creeper that blushed in the autumn. Manasseh was surprised at the taste with which the lawn was laid out in the Italian style with grottoes and marble figures. The householder, hearing the windings of the horn, conceived himself visited by a person of quality and sent a message that he was in the hands of his hairdresser and would be down in less than half an hour. This was a piece with Manasseh's information concerning the man a certain Balasco, emulous of the great phops, an amateur of satin waistcoats and novel shoestrings, and even said to effect a spying glass when he showed at Vauxhall. Manasseh had never seen him, not having trouble to go far afield, but from the handsome appurtenances of the hall and the staircase he augured the best. The apartments were even more to his liking. They were oak-paneled and crammed with the most expensive objects of art and luxury. The walls of the drawing-room were frescoed and from the ceiling depended a brilliant luster with seven spouts for illumination. Having sufficiently examined the furniture, Manasseh grew weary of waiting and betook himself to Balasco's bed-chamber. You will excuse me, Mr. Balasco," he said as he entered through the half-open door, but my business is urgent. The young dandy, who was seated before a mirror, did not look out but replied, "'Have a care, sir. You well nice startled my hairdresser.'" Far beard from me to willingly discompose an artist, replied Manasseh dryly. Though from the elegance of the design I venture to think my interruption will not make a hair-breadth's difference, but I come on a matter which the son of Benjamin Balasco will hardly denies more pressing than his toilette. "'Nay, nay, sir. What can be more momentous?' "'The synagogue,' said Manasseh austerely. "'Par! What are you talking of, sir?' And he looked up cautiously for the first time at the picturesque figure. "'What does the synagogue want of me? I pay my finter, and every bill the rascals send me. Monsterous fine sums, too, a gad!' "'But you'll never go there?' "'Now, indeed, a man of fashion cannot be everywhere. Wouts and wegoaty play the juice with one's time.' "'What a pity!' mused Manasseh ironically. "'One misses you there. "'Tis no edifying spectacle. A slovenly rabble with none to set the standards of taste.' The pale-faced bow's eyes lit up with a gleam of interest. "'Oh, the clods,' he said. "'You should yourself be a buck of the eccentric school by your dress, but I stick to the old tradition of elegance.' "'You had better stick to the old tradition of piety,' quote Manasseh. "'Your father was a saint. You are a sinner in Israel. Return to the synagogue and herald your return by contributing to its finances. It has made a bad debt, and I am collecting the money to reimburse it.' The young exquisite yawned. "'I know not who you may be,' he said at length, "'but you are evidently not one of us. "'As to the synagogue, I am willing to reform its duest, but damned if I will give a shilling more to its finances. "'You are a slovenly rabble of tradesmen, play the piper. I cannot afford it.' "'You cannot afford it?' "'No. You see, I have such extravagant tastes.' "'But I give you the opportunity for extravagance,' expostulated Manasseh. "'What greater luxury is there than that of doing good?' "'Confound it, sir. "'I must ask you to go,' said Bobalasko coldly. "'Do you not perceive the odd disconcerting my head, Wessar?' "'I could not abide a moment longer under this profane, if tasteful roof,' said Manasseh, backing sternly toward the door. "'But I would make one last appeal to you for the sake of the repose of your father's soul to forsake your evil ways.' "'Be hanged to you for a meddler,' retorted the young blood. "'My money supports men of genius and taste. "'Shall not be flittered away on a pack of flusty shopkeepers?' The snorer drew himself up to his full height, his eyes darted fire. "'Fair well, then,' he hissed in terrible tones. "'You will make the third at grace.' He vanished. The dandy started up full of vague alarm, forgetting even his hair in the mysterious menace of that terrifying simulation. "'What do you mean?' he cried. "'I mean,' said Manasseh, reappearing at the door, that since the world was created only two men have taken their clothes with them to the world to come. One was Korra, who was swallowed down. The other was Elijah, who was born aloft. It is patent in which direction the third will go. The sleeping chord of superstition vibrated under Manasseh's dexterous touch. "'Rejoice, oh young man, in your strength,' went on the beggar. "'But a day will come when only the corpse-watchers will perform your toilette. In plain white they will dress you, and the devil shall know what a dandy you were.' "'But who are you that I shall give you money for the synagogue?' asked the bow sullenly. "'Where are your credentials?' "'Was it to insult me that you called me back? Do I look like a knave? Nay, put up your purse. I will have none of your filthy gold. Let me go!' Gradually Manasseh was one round to accepting ten sovereigns. "'For your father's sake,' he said, pocketing them, "'the only thing I will take for your sake is the cost of my conveyance. I had to post-hither, and the synagogue must not be the loser.' Bo Balasco gladly added the extra money and receded himself before the mirror with agreeable sensations in his neglected conscience. "'You see,' he observed, half apologetically, for Manasseh still lingered, "'one cannot do everything. To be a prince of dandies one needs all one's time.' He waved his hand comprehensively around the walls which were lined with wardrobes. My buckskin breeches were the result of nine separate measureings. Do you note how they fit?' "'They scarcely do justice to your evident reputation,' replied Manasseh candidly. Bo Balasco's face became whiter than ever at the thought of earthquakes and devils. "'They fit me to bursting,' he breathed. "'But are they in the pink of fashion?' I inquired Manasseh, and insuredly the nankine pantaloon jonda I recollect to having seen worn last year. "'My tailor said they were of a special cut. There's a shape I am introducing, baggy, to go with fuelled shirts.' Manasseh shook his head skeptically, whereupon the bow besought himself to go through his wardrobe and set aside anything that lacked originality or extreme fashionableness. After considerable reluctance Manasseh consented and set aside a few cravats, shirts, periwigs, and suits from the immense collection. "'Aha! that is all you can find,' said the bow gleefully. "'Yes, that is all,' said Manasseh sadly. "'All I can find that does any justice to your fame. These speak the man of polish and invention. The rest are but taudry frivery. Anybody might wear them.' "'Anybody?' gasped the poor bow, stricken to the soul. "'Yes, I might wear them myself.' "'Thank you. Thank you. You are an honest man. I love true criticism. When the critic has nothing to gain, I am delighted you call. These wags shall go to my valet.' "'Nee! Why waste them on the heathen?' asked Manasseh, struck with a sudden thought. "'Let me dispose of them for the benefit of the synagogue.' "'If it would not be twabbling you too much, is there anything I would not do for heaven?' said Manasseh, with a patronising air. He threw open the door of the adjoining piece suddenly, disclosing the scowling valet on his knees. "'Take these down, my man,' he said quietly, and the valet was only too glad to hide his confusion at being caught eavesdropping by hastening down the drive with an armful of satin waistcoats. Manasseh, getting together the remainder, shook his head despairingly. "'I shall never get these into the post-shays,' he said. "'You will have to lend me your carriage.' "'Can't you come back for them?' said the bow feebly. "'Why waste the synagogue's money on hired vehicles? "'No. If you will crown your kindness by sending the footmen along with me to help me unpack them, you shall have your echipage back in an hour or two.'" So the carriage and pair were brought out, and Manasseh, pressing into his service the coachman, the valet, and the footman, superintended the packing of the bulk of Bobo Bolasco's wardrobe into the two vehicles. Then he took his seat in the carriage, the coachman and the gorgeous, powdered footman got into their places, and, with a joyous fan-frenade on the horn, the procession set off, Manasseh bowing graciously to the master of the Red House, who was waving his beruffled hand from a window inbowered in greenery. After a pleasant drive, the vehicles halted at the house, guarded by stone lions, in which dealt Nathaniel Fratado, the wealthy private dealer who willingly gave fifteen pounds for the bucks belaced in embroidered vestments, besides being invagal into a donation of a guinea toward the synagogue's bad debt. Manasseh, thereupon, dismissed the shays with a handsome gratuity, and drove in state in the now empty carriage, attended by the powdered footman to Finsbury Circus, to the mansion of Rodriguez. I've come for my ten pounds, he said, and reminded him of his promise. Rodriguez laughed and swore, and laughed again and swore that the carriage was hired to be paid out of the ten pounds. Hired? echoed Manasseh resentfully. Do you not recognise the arms of my friend Boobalasco? And he presently drove off with the note, for Rodriguez had a roguish eye. And then, parting with the chariot, the king took his way on foot to Fenchurch Street, to the house of his cousin Barzilai, the ex-planter of Barbados, and now a West Indian merchant. Barzilai, fearing humiliation before his clerks, always carried his relative off to the neighbouring Franco's Head tavern, and humoured him with costly liquours. But you had no right to donate money you did not possess. It was dishonest. He cried with irrepressible ire. Hoity-toity! said Manasseh, setting down his glass so vehemently that the stem shivered. And were you not called to the law after me? And do you not donate money? Certainly, but I had the money. What, with you? No, no, certainly not. I do not carry money on the Sabbath. Exactly, neither do I. But the money was at my bankers. And so it was at mine. You are my bankers, you and the others like you. You draw on your bankers, I draw on mine. And his cousin, being thus confuted, Manasseh had not much difficulty in weedling £2.10 out of him. And no, he said, I really think you ought to do something to lessen the synagogue's loss. But I've just given, quote Barzilai in bewilderment, that you gave me as your cousin to enable your relative to discharge his obligations. I put it strictly on a personal footing, but now I am pleading on behalf of the synagogue, which stands to lose heavily. You are a safadi as well as my cousin. It is a distinction not unlike the one I have so often to explain to you. You owe me charity, not only as a cousin, but as a snorer likewise. And having rested another guinea from the obfuscated merchant, he repaired to Grobstock's business office in search of the defaulter. But the wily Grobstock, forewarned by Manasseh's promise to visit him and further frightened by his Sunday morning call, had denied himself to the snorer, or anyone remotely resembling him. And it was not until the afternoon that Manasseh ran him to earth at Samson's coffee-house in Exchange Alley, where the brokers foregathered and apprentices and students swaggered in to abuse the ministers and all kinds of men from bloods to barristers loitered to pick up hints to easy riches. Manasseh detected his quarry in the furthest-most box, his face hidden behind a broadsheet. Why do you always come to me? muttered the East India director helplessly. Eh! said Manasseh, mistrustful of his own ears. I beg your pardon. If your community cannot support you, said Grobstock more loudly and with all the boldness of an animal driven to bay, why not go to Abraham Goldschmidt or his brother Ben or Van Overn or Oppenheim? They're all more prosperous than I. Sir! said Manasseh wrathfully, you are a skillful, near-famous financier. You know what stocks to buy, what stocks to sell, when to follow a rise and when to fall. When the Premier advertises the loans, thousands speculators look to you for guidance. What would you say if I presumed to interfere in your financial affairs, if I told you to issue these shares or to call in those? You would tell me to mind my own business and you would be perfectly right. Now, snoring is my business. Trust me, I know best whom to come to. You stick to stocks and leave snoring alone. You are the king of financiers, but I am the king of snorers." Grobstock's resentment at the rejoinder was mitigated by the compliment to his financial insight. To be put on the same level with the beggar was indeed unexpected. "'Will you have a cup of coffee?' he said. "'I ought scarcely to drink with you after your reception of me,' replied Manasseh, unappeased. "'It is not even as if I came to snore for myself. It is to the financiers of our house of worship that I wish to give you an opportunity of contributing.' "'Ah, your value-community hard-up,' queried Joseph with a complacent twinkle. "'So we are the richest congregation in the world. We want nothing from anybody,' indignantly protested Manasseh, as he absent-mindedly took the cup of coffee which Grobstock had ordered for him. "'The difficulty merely is that in honour of my daughter's wedding I have donated a hundred pounds to the synagogue, which I have not yet managed to collect, although I have already devoted a day and a half of my valuable time to the purpose. "'But why do you come to me?' "'What? Do you ask me that again?' "'I mean,' stammered Grobstock. "'Why should I contribute to a Portuguese synagogue?' Manasseh clucked his tongue in despair of such stupidity. "'It is just you who should contribute more than any Portuguese.' "'I,' Grobstock wondered, if he was awake.' "'Yes, you! Was not the money spent in honour of the marriage of a German Jew? It was a splendid vindication of your community.' "'This is too much!' cried Grobstock, outraged and choking. "'Too much to mark the admission to our fold of the first of your sect?' "'I am disappointed in you, deeply disappointed. I thought you would have applauded my generous behaviour.' "'I don't care what you thought!' gasped Grobstock. He was genuinely exasperated at the ridiculousness of the demand. But he was also quite pleased to find himself preserving so staunch a front against the insidious Schnurrer. If he could only keep firm now, he told himself, he might emancipate himself for ever. Yes, he would be strong, and Manasseh should never dare address him again. "'I won't pay a stiver,' he roared. "'If you make a scene, I will withdraw,' said Manasseh quietly. "'Already there are ears and eyes turned upon you. From your language people will think me a done, and you a bankrupt.' "'Then they can go to the devil,' thundered Grobstock, and you too.' "'Blasphemer, you counsel me to ask the devil to contribute to the synagogue? I will not bandy words with you. You refuse then to contribute to this fund?' "'I do. I see no reason.' "'Not even the five pounds I vowed on behalf of Yankler himself, one of your own people?' "'What? I paid honour of Yankler a dirty Schnurrer?' "'Is this the way you speak of your guests?' said Manasseh in pained astonishment. "'Do you forget that Yankler has broken bread at your table?' "'Perhaps this is how you talk of me when my back is turned, but beware. Remember the saying of our sages. You and I cannot live in the world,' said God to the haughty man. "'Come now. No more poltering or taking refuge and abuse. You refuse me this beggarly five pounds?' "'Most decidedly.' "'Very well, then.' Manasseh called the attendant. "'What are you about to do?' asked Grobstock apprehensively. "'You shall see,' said Manasseh resolutely, and when the attendant came he pressed the price of his cup of coffee into his hand. Grobstock flushed in silent humiliation. Manasseh rose. Grobstock's fatal strain of weakness gave him a twinge of compunction at the eleventh hour. "'You shall see for yourself how unreasonable your request was,' he murmured. "'Do not strive to justify yourself. I am done with you,' said Manasseh. "'I am done with you as a philanthropist. For future you may be snuff and be spat your coat as much as you please for all the trouble I shall ever take. As a financier I still respect you and may yet come to you, but as a philanthropist never. "'Anything I can do,' muttered Grobstock vaguely. "'Let me see,' said Manasseh, looking down upon him thoughtfully. "'Ah, yes, an idea. I have collected over sixty pounds. If you would invest this for me, certainly, certainly,' interrupted Grobstock with conciliatory eagerness. "'Good. With your unrivaled knowledge of the markets, you could easily bring it up to the necessary sum in a day or two. Perhaps there is even some grand coup on the tap, something to be bold or bared in which you have a hand.' Grobstock nodded his head vaguely. He had already remembered that the proceeding was considerably below his dignity. He was not a stockbroker. Never had he done anything of the kind for anyone. "'But suppose I'd lose it all?' he asked, trying to draw back. "'Impossible!' said the Schnurrer serenely. "'Do you forget it is a synagogue fund? Do you think the Almighty will suffer his money to be lost?' "'Then why not speculate it yourself?' said Grobstock craftily. "'The Almighty's honour must be guarded. "'What? Shall he be less well-served than an earthly monarch? Do you think I do not know your financial relations with the court? The service of the Almighty demands the best men. I was the best man to collect the money, you the best to invest it. Tomorrow morning it shall be in your hands.' "'No, don't trouble,' said Grobstock feebly. "'I don't need the actual money to deal with.' "'I thank you for your trust in me,' replied Manasseh with emotion. "'Now you speak like yourself again. "'I withdraw what I said to you. I will come to you again. "'To the philanthropist no less than the financier. "'And I am sorry I paid for my coffee.' His voice quivered.' Grobstock was touched. He took out a sixpence and repaid his guest with interest. Manasseh slipped the coin into his pocket, and shortly afterwards, with some final admonitions to his stock-jobber, took his leave. Being in for the job, Grobstock resolved to make the best of it. His latent vanity impaled him to astonish the beggar. It happened that he was on the point of making a magnificent manoeuvre, and alongside his own triton, Manasseh's minnow might just as well swim. He made the sixty-odd pounds into six hundred. A few days after the royal wedding the glories of which are still a tradition among the degenerate snarls of today, Manasseh struck the chancellor breathless by handing him a bag containing five score of sovereigns. Thus did he honourably fulfil his obligation to the synagogue, and with more celebrity than many a warden, nay, more justly considering the results of the speculation should accrue to the synagogue whose money he had risked. He, with quixotic scrupulousness, handed over the balance of five hundred pounds to the mahamad, stipulating only that it should be used to purchase a life annuity, styled the D'Costa fund for a poor and deserving member of the congregation in whose selection he, as donor, should have the ruling voice. The council of five eagerly agreed to his conditions, and a special hunter was summoned for the election. The donor's choice fell upon Manasseh Bueno-Barzilla as a Vado D'Costa, henceforward universally recognised, and hereby handed down to tradition as the King of Snarras. End of Chapter Six End of The King of Snarras. Zygazint