THE FOOL ERRANT - World eBook Library - World Public Library

"Better a Jew than a thieving renegade," says I. "That is my answer to you. Go in peace."
He said, "As you will," and turned to his affairs. I left the hospital with the benevolent Jew, whose name was Issachar.
CHAPTER VIII. THE PEDLAR OF CRUCIFIXES
Issacher, as well as being a cheerful, loquacious fellow and of ready wits, was so exceedingly kind as to support my weight
upon his sparer frame. My arm was heavy, I am sure, upon his neck, as his was certainly tight about my middle; but he uttered
no complaints, indeed there was no room for them in the voluble series of his comments, confessions, promises and inquiries.
He said, as we made our painful way down the single street of Rovigo, "My dear friend, you and I have both failed in our
enterprise, and for much the same reason; but really you must be a novice at the trade if you expect to get a free lodging with a
pocketful of gold about you. Confess that my invention of your wager was as happy as it was apt. Done in a flash—on the
wings of the moment as they spread for a flight—but that is my way—I am like that. The lodging of my key, however, was a
folly of a sort I am never likely to commit again. Another time I will swallow it. It was indolence on my part—my besetting
weakness—a child of a whim! Having bestowed my goods, what but that hindered me from likewise bestowing the key? I am
vexed with myself, but I expected more company. Who was to know there would be time for so much examination? But now,
sir, let me see how I can serve you. An inn? A meal? A decent bed? Medicaments? All these you can have for a turn of your
pretty golden key."
I thanked him for his services, but he would not hear a word of them. Helping me through the town, he took me to a small inn
outside the gate, saw me put to bed, brought me a good broth, some wine and bread, and left me to my meditations while he
went for a doctor. The thorn was extracted, poultices applied; I was given a soothing medicine, fell asleep and slept heavily.
In the morning I found him by my side. After asking how I did, and satisfying himself, by examination, that my feet were
recovering, he said that he wished to serve me without being indiscreet. "What your private purposes may be," he said, "I
neither know nor seek to inquire. It is plain that you are a gentleman of some simplicity, or of a subtlety far too fine for my eyes
of every day. Whichever you may be, I admire. If you are candid in calling yourself a pilgrim I appreciate your candour. If you
are not, I appreciate even more your discretion. But you will still let me observe that for a young gentleman of personal
attractions to walk half naked through an inquisitive nation, and to give oracular replies to questions put him by officials (to say
the least of it) is to excite remark. I have some recommendations to make, which I hope you'll pardon—as first, stockings;
second, a pair of stout walking-shoes; third, a hat; fourthly, some apparent calling beside that of penitent. Penitence is a trade
open to many objections; but for those, I am sure I should have tried it myself. Of what, for instance, do you repent? Is it
murder? Is it coin-clipping? Is it—but I spare your blushes. Besides, it can always be objected that, as there is nothing to hinder
your penitent fishmonger from trading in fish and being truly contrite at the same time, so also your honour has the same privilege
before you. To be short, I recommend you to choose some calling more plainly commercial."
I replied that he was very right, and that I would gladly embrace any calling which would not hinder my design. To this he
answered that I had not done him the honour of explaining my design, but that he conceived it to be that of walking about the
country with as much discomfort as possible. To this superficial judgment I, very naturally, demurred.
"You are dry, my dear sir," I said, "nor do I wonder. Allow me to tell you my story, and I shall make you sweat with
indignation." Omitting names of persons and places, I thereupon detailed the whole of my case, and concluded thus solemnly: "I
hope that you now understand how I am placed. I am a gentleman who has behaved himself like a ruffian, a Christian who has
stultified his religion. I love a certain lady and have insulted her; I was placed in a sacred relationship and betrayed it. Still a
lover, still a postulant for service, I have three objects in life: (a) to bite and burn the vice out of myself; (b) to find my mistress;
(c) to make her amends. Whatever occupation you propose for my consideration must subserve these three great ends."
Issachar listened with attention, and remained for some time after I had finished speaking lost in thought. Then he said, "I see
that yours is no common case. Honour, Religion, and Love make a strong partnership and hard taskmasters to a young
journeyman. Perhaps I am too little of a casuist to maintain that the lady will not be gratified by your efforts to gain her esteem.
My experiences have been few, and I am no lady's man, but I own I should have thought that she would have preferred a more
dashing return to her feet—something on horseback, say, with a hand on your thigh and a kiss of the finger-tips. Ha! you might
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