Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine — Volume 53, No. 329, March, 1843. Various
visit to my friend, and gained admittance. It was about half-past eight o'clock in the evening, and the shop had been closed some twenty minutes before. I was ushered into a well-furnished room behind the shop, where sat the firm—Mrs Jehu and the junior partner. The latter looked into his lady's face, perceived a smile upon it, and then—but not till then, he offered me his hand, and welcomed me with much apparent warmth. This ceremony over, Mr Tomkins grew fidgety and uneasy, and betrayed a great anxiety to get up a conversation which he had not heart enough to set a going. Mrs Tomkins, a woman of the world, evinced no anxiety at all, sat smiling, and in peace. I perceived immediately that I must state at once the object of my visit, and I proceeded to the task.
"Mrs Tomkins," I commenced.
"Sir?" said that lady, and then a postman's knock brought us to a stop, and Jehu skipped across the room to listen at the door.
"That's him, my dear Jemima," exclaimed the linen-draper, "I know his knock," and then he skipped as quickly to his chair again.
The door of the apartment was opened by a servant girl, who entered the room alone and approached her mistress with a card. Mrs Tomkins looked at it through her eye-glass, said "she was most happy," and the servant then retired. The card was placed upon the table near me, and, as I believe, for my inspection. I took it up, and read the following words, "Mr Stanislaus Levisohn." They were engraven in the centre of the paper, and were surrounded by a circle of rays, which in its turn was enveloped in a circle of clouds. In the very corner of the card, and in very small characters, the words "general merchant" were written.
There was a noise of shoe-cleaning outside the door for about five minutes, then the door was opened again by the domestic, and a remarkable gentleman walked very slowly in. He was a tall individual, with small cunning eyes, black eye-brows, and a beard. He was rather shabbily attired, and not washed with care. He had thick boorish hands, and he smelt unpleasantly of tobacco smoke; an affected grin at variance with every feature, was planted on his face, and sickened an unprejudiced observer at the very first gaze. His mode of uttering English betrayed him for a foreigner. He was a native of Poland. Before uttering a syllable, the interesting stranger walked to a corner of the room, turned himself to the wall, and muttered a few undistinguishable words. He then bowed lowly to the company, and took a chair, grinning all the while.
"Is that a Polish move?" asked Mr Tomkins.
"It vos de coshtom mit de anshent tribes, my tear sare, vor alles tings, to recommend de family to de protection of de hevins. Vy not now mit all goot Christians?"
"Why not indeed?" added Mrs Tomkins. "May I offer you a glass of raisin wine?"
"Tank you. For de shtomack's sake—yase."
A glass was poured out. It was but decent to offer me another. I paid my compliments to the hostess and the gentlemen, and was about to drink it off, when the enlightened foreigner called upon me in a loud voice to desist.
"Shtay, mein young friend—ve are not de heathen and de cannibal. It is our privilege to live in de Christian society mit de Christian lady. Ve most ask blessing—alvays—never forget—you excuse—vait tree minutes."
It was not for me to protest against so pious a movement, albeit it presented itself somewhat inopportunely and out of place. Mr Levisohn covered his face with one hand, and murmured a few words. The last only reached me. It was "Amen," and this was rather heaved up in a sigh, than articulately expressed.
"Do you like the wine?" asked Jehu, as if he thought it superfine.
"Yase, I like moch—especially de sherry and de port."
Jehu smiled, but made no reply.
Mrs Tomkins supposed that port and sherry were favourite beverages in Poland, but, for her part, she had found that nothing agreed so well with British stomachs as the native wines.
"Ah! my lady," said the Pole, "ve can give up very moch so long ve got British religions."
"Very true, indeed," answered Mrs Tomkins. "Pray, Mr Levisohn, what may be your opinion of the lost sheep? Do you think they will come into the fold during our time?"
Before the gentleman replies, it may be proper to state on his behalf, that he had never given his questioner any reason to suppose that he was better informed on such mysterious subjects than herself. The history of his introduction into the family of the linen-draper is very short. He had been for some years connected with Mr Tomkins in the way of business, having supplied that gentleman with all the genuine foreign, but certainly English, perfumery, that was retailed with considerable profit in his over-nice and pious establishment. Mrs Tomkins, no less zealous in the cause of the church than that of her own shop, at length, and all on a sudden, resolved to set about his conversion, and to present him to the chapel as a brand plucked with her own hand from the burning. As a preliminary step, he was invited to supper, and treated with peculiar respect. The matter was gently touched upon, but discussion postponed until another occasion. Mr Levisohn being very shrewd, very needy, and enjoying no particular principles of morality and religion, perceived immediately the object of his hostess, met her more than half-way in her Christian purposes, and accepted her numerous invitations to tea and supper with the most affectionate readiness. Within two months he was received into the bosom of the church, and became as celebrated for the depth and intensity of his belief as for the earnestness and promptitude with which he attended the meetings of the brethren, particularly those in which eating and drinking did not constitute the least important part of the proceedings. Being a foreigner, he was listened to with the deepest attention, very often indeed to his serious annoyance, for his ignorance was awful, and his assurance, great as it was, not always sufficient to get him clear of his difficulties. His foreign accent, however, worked wonders for him, and whenever too hard pressed, afforded him a secure and happy retreat. An unmeaning grin, and "me not pronounce," had saved him from precipices, down which an Englishman, cæteris paribus, must unquestionably have been dashed.
"Vill dey come?" said Mr Levisohn, in answer to the question. "Yase, certainly, if dey like, I tink."
"Ah, sir, I fear you are a latitudinarian," said the lady.
"I hope Hevin, my dear lady, vill forgive me for dat, and all my wickedness. I am a shinner, I shtink!"
I looked at the converted gentleman, at the same moment that Mrs Jehu assured him that it would be a great thing if they were all as satisfied of their condition as he might be. "Your strong convictions of your worthlessness is alone a proof," she added, "of your accepted state."
"My lady," continued the humble Stanislaus, "I am rotten, I am a tief, a blackguard, a swindler, a pickpocket, a housebreak, a sticker mit de knife. I vish somebody would call me names all de day long, because I forget sometime dat I am de nashty vurm of de creation. I tink I hire a boy to call me names, and make me not forget. Oh, my lady, I alvays remember those fine words you sing—
'If I could read my title clear
To manshions in de shkies,
I say farevell to every fear,
And vipe my veeping eyes.'"
"That is so conscientious of you. Pray, my dear sir, is there an Establishment in Poland? or have you Independent churches?"
"Ah, my dear lady, we have noting at all!"
"Is it possible?"
"Yase, it is possible—it is true."
"Who could have thought it! What! nothing?"
"Noting at all, my lady. Do not ask me again, I pray you. It is frightful to a goot Christian to talk dese tings."
"What is your opinion of the Arminian doctrine, Mr Stanislaus?"
"Do you mean de doctrine?" enquired Stanislaus, slowly, as though he found some difficulty in answering the question.
"Yes, my dear sir."
"I