A Song of a Single Note: A Love Story

"He said nothing but the truth. Mr. Hulens is the most loyal of gentlemen, but because he was not sufficiently polite to a town major, he was imprisoned with felons and vagabonds and afterward compelled to publicly apologize. It was an infamous wrong."

"Precisely what the Elder said. It has not been forgotten."

"There were the two De Lanceys – "

"Yes, to be sure! And why did he trouble himself about them? There are enough of De Lanceys to look after De Lanceys."

"The injustice of the affair was every man's business. These two De Lanceys were private gentlemen, who, because they had some words with a German chasseur, were seized in their homes and tried by court-martial – though they had no connection whatever with the army: at the worst it was a simple assault, the most trifling offense the civil law notices, yet the De Lanceys were degraded and imprisoned for two months, and then compelled to beg this German mercenary's pardon before all the troops at Kingsbridge. Remember Mr. Hicks, turned out of his hotel by General Patterson at the request of that unmentionable creature Loring – because Loring wanted it for one of his parasites. Remember poor Amberman, the miller at Hempstead, who, because he asked Major Stockton for payment for the flour he had bought, was nearly flogged to death, and then run through with Major Crew's sword, and kicked out of the way – dead. Nothing was done to Stockton; I met him on the street an hour ago, still an officer in His Majesty's service. I could add one hundred examples to these – but what is the use? And why are we lawyers? There is no law. The will of any military officer is the law."

"Still we are lawyers, Neil; and special counselors to three of the commissaries."

"I shall not be counselor much longer. I am going to write my resignation now."

"Are you mad? These fees are about all the ready money we make."

"I should deserve to be called mad, or worse, if I continued to serve a government which had just fined me for not being careful of its interests."

"For Heaven's sake, don't throw hundreds a year away for a figment!"

"Honor is something more than a figment. But you had better go to court early this morning. When you come back, I want you to let me have two hundred pounds until I can sell some property."

Curtis burst into a loud laugh: "I could not let you have two hundred shillings," he said. "Good gracious, Neil, how can you suppose I have money to spare?"

"I know you have money, but if you are averse to lending it, that is a different thing. I thought you might have some memory of all I have done for you."

"I have. Of course I have. You have put thousands of pounds in my way; I don't deny or forget it, but I have a family – "

"I understand. I wish you would hasten about Bradley's case. His father will be expected to pay for their service."

"I suppose his case is settled. I am sorry he has got off – deuced sorry! A saucy youth who looked defiance at his betters all the time."

"Were they his betters?"

"He ought to be hung!" And he went on talking rapidly about Bradley's deserts. Neil knew the bluster was affected in order to prevent recurrence to the subject of money, and with a heart hot and wounded he sat down to write his resignation of the offices which were his principal support. Curtis was disconcerted and uneasy, and his last words on leaving the office were an entreaty to Neil to do "nothing foolish and hasty." But the papers were written, and then he took himself to the proper departments.

He was woefully unhappy. His father's and mother's condition made his strong heart tremble, and though no one could have supposed from his appearance that he had a single care, the sudden falling away of his friends and acquaintances wounded him like a sword.

As he walked the streets, so gravely erect, so haughtily apart, he was made to feel, in many ways, that he had lost in public estimation. No one took the trouble to ask him a favor or stopped to seek his opinion, or told him bits of gossip about events transpiring. He was classed with the Bradleys. The Misses Robertson passed him with the most formal of recognitions; Miss Smith did not notice him at all, while Joris Van Emerslie, who had taken his advice the previous week about the sale of his business, crossed the street to avoid him.

Friends were not far behind enemies. As he stood a moment on the steps of the barracks commissary, Judge Lawson, an old man and an intimate acquaintance of the Semples, stopped and said, "Good-morning, Neil. I am glad to see you here. I heard Cornelius Bloch had asked for your position and was likely to get it."

"I did not resign my position, Judge, until five minutes ago. The commissioners have not yet received it."

"Very true, but every one knew you must resign – the servants of the King must be above suspicion, eh?"

"Suspicion, sir!"

"Now, now, Neil! You must keep your temper for younger men; I am too old to be bluffed."

Then Neil walked silently away, and the old friend of the family watched him with a queer mingling of pity and satisfaction. "Proud creatures, them Semples, old and young," he muttered; "but good, true hearts in them, I'm half sorry for Neil, he was always ready to do me a kindness; but a little pull-down won't hurt him, he carries his head too high for anything."

But high as Neil carried his head, his heart was in the depths. It seemed to him that all the fair, honorable life he had built was falling into ruin. He needed now both help and sympathy, and his friends looked coldly upon him, or took the same reproving tone as the self-righteous comforters of the man of Uz. Full of bitter thoughts he was walking down Queen Street, when he heard a soft, familiar voice, almost at his ear, say, "Mr. Semple! Honored sir, will you speak to me for a few minutes?" He looked up quickly, and saw that he was close to the doorstep of Jacob Cohen, the Jewish dealer in fine furniture, china, jewelry, etc.

"Certainly, Mr. Cohen," he answered, as he stepped inside the gloomy warehouse, crowded with articles of great beauty and astonishing value.

"Will you sit here, if you please, sir," and Cohen drew a large stool forward for Neil; "I must not detain you, your time is worth much money, many people wish to buy it, but it is land I would buy, if you will sell it to me."

"Land, Mr. Cohen! Perhaps a house – "

"No, it is the land you own next to our synagogue. If you will remember, I had it in my heart to buy this plot of ground six years ago. I thought then we could build a larger temple, one more worthy for our worship; but we did not reach agreement at that time and then came the war. I offered you then, four hundred pounds for the land; to-day I make you the same offer if you will take it."

Neil's emotion was almost beyond his control. For a few minutes he could not answer the proposition, but Cohen had the patience of the Jew, and he divined the young man's agitation and mental tremor. Silent and motionless he waited for Neil's reply. It came strained and hesitating, as if speech was an effort.

"Mr. Cohen – I will sell you the land – yes, indeed! As you say, for four hundred pounds."

"To-morrow? Can the sale be completed to-morrow?"

"I will prepare the papers to-day."

"I am well pleased."

"Mr. Cohen, this is a great surprise – a good surprise – you do not understand how good. I believe it is something more than business you intend; it is sympathy, kindness, friendship."

"It is business, but it is kindness also, if you will accept it. Your house have ever done me good, and not evil. I and mine prayed for you – yes, the Jew knows the pang of injustice that must be borne without protest and without redress."

"You have done my family and myself an unspeakable kindness. I were the worst of ingrates not to acknowledge it," and Neil rose and offered his hand. And when Cohen took it, and held it for a few moments within his own, a marvellous change passed over the old man. The timid attitude, the almost servile respect, vanished; his face beamed with a lofty expression, his eyes met Neil's frankly; in the prosaic surroundings of the dark, crowded shop he looked, for a few moments, like an Eastern prince.

As they stood thus together, Neil longing to say something that should show his deep gratitude and friendship, and forgetting that Israel in America at that day still preserved much of their Oriental seclusion in household matters, asked after his daughter, Mrs. Belasco. "I have not seen her since her marriage," he said; "but I can never forget her. It was her promptitude in the duel between Captain Hyde and myself that saved my life."

"She has a good heart;" then suddenly, "come, come into my home, yes, come in and see her."

He walked toward the back of the shop and Neil followed him into a large, low room, where there was a table covered with a white cloth. Another white cloth, folded lengthwise, shielded the bread and the china laid ready for the noonday meal. Cohen stood at the entrance and permitted Neil to pass in. As he did so, a small, dark Jew rose and bringing forward a chair, said, "Welcome be the guest."

"This is Mr. Belasco," said Cohen, and then Neil knew the woman who was standing behind Mr. Belasco's chair. It was the still beautiful Miriam. The happiness of perfect love lighted the dusky white of her complexion and filled her glorious eyes. A brilliant silk kerchief was thrown over her black hair, and she wore a rich, flowing garment of many colors. There were gems in her ears and around her neck, and her slim, brown fingers sparkled with sapphires and diamonds. Behind her was the whitewashed wall of a room on which was traced some black Hebrew characters – wise or comforting passages from the Psalms or the Prophets; and on shelves of ordinary wood, a quantity of beautiful china, some silver vessels, and a copper lamp with seven beaks, brightly polished. Before her sat Belasco, his swarthy face revealing both power and intellect, purposely veiled beneath a manner of almost obsequious deference. But his voice, like Cohen's, was full of those vague tones of softness and melody, of which Orientals preserve the eternal poetry, with the eternal secret. Outside, but within sight and hearing, was the vibrant, noisy, military life of New York – western turmoil – hurry of business – existence without pause; but here, in this grave, unornamented room, with its domestic simplicity and biblical air, was the very atmosphere of the East.

Neil, who really possessed the heart and the imagination of a poet, felt the vibration of the far-off life, and even while addressing Mr. Belasco, had visions of palm-trees and of deserts and of long, long journeys with the caravans of camels, from oasis to oasis. He was standing amid the children of the patriarchs. These souls were of older race than himself; they had the noblest of kindreds, a country that was the mother of nations.

With the ideal respect born of such thoughts he offered his hand to Mrs. Belasco. Then she called her children and proudly exhibited them to Neil, and in a few moments a slave brought in a dish of lamb stewed with rice and herbs, some dates, a plate of little cakes strewed with caraway seeds, and some strong coffee. A roll of bread was at each plate, and Cohen broke his with Neil. Miriam did not eat with them; she waited silently on their wants, her face beaming with pleasure and goodwill. And Neil felt as if he had suddenly passed through a little wooden door into the life of the far East.

He said something like this, and Cohen answered, "God has said to us, as to His servant Abraham, Get thee out of thy country, and from thy kindred. We are the wayfarers of the Eternal, confessing still, as Moses in the Law taught us – 'a Syrian ready to perish was my father.'" Deut. 26:5.

It was an unlooked-for and wonderful hour, and Neil left the shop of Jacob Cohen a very different being from the depressed, anxious man who had entered it an hour previously. His first thought was his father and mother, and he went to his office, wrote the following note, and sent a messenger with it to them:

My Honored and Beloved Parents:

I have sold a plot of land in Mill Street for four hundred pounds, and the fines will be paid to-morrow. We shall not require to borrow a farthing from any one. Be at ease. I will come to you as soon as I have written the necessary transfer papers.

    Your affectionate son,