“Diplomatic but false,” Sir Robert said. “Any man who has lost money in the funds knows he can follow the trail of his loss to the hand of a Jew—or a man in a Jew’s service, to be sure.”
The sophistry of this argument fairly filled me with rage. I knew not how to counter such nonsense. I was therefore shocked to hear Home respond for me. “What rubbish is that, Sir Robert? To say that any transaction might be traced to a Jew is the same as saying that, as you have made it a habit to attend the opera, I can trace you to a buggering Italian, and thus you must be a sodomite.”
“Clever wordplay from a Scot,” Sir Robert said, visibly angered by Home’s analysis. “But I’ve often wondered about you Scots—refusing to eat pork as you do and clinging so tightly to your funds. I have heard it said that you yourselves are one of the Lost Tribes of Israel.”
“Let us not give Mr. Weaver the wrong idea of friendly commerce among Christian gentlemen,” Lord Thornbridge proposed cautiously, in an effort to keep tempers in check.
Sir Robert coughed into his hand and then turned to me. “I do not mean to insult your people. I suppose there are reasons—historical reasons—that explain why you are the way you are. The Popes never permitted members of the Romish faith to engage in usury,” he explained to the others, perhaps believing that I was familiar with all aspects of Christian history that related to Jews. “And thus Jews gladly took the trade for themselves. Now, Weaver, your race seems tainted by that trade. And here your people are, working your stock-jobbery in this country. One wonders if you are not trying to take the very nation itself away from us. Must we say farewell to Britain and greet instead Judea Nova? Shall St. Paul’s be turned to a synagogue? Are we to see public circumcisions in the streets?”
“Gad, Bobby!” Sir Owen exclaimed. “You make me blush with your illiberal words.”
“I heartily hope Mr. Weaver is not insulted,” Sir Robert said, “but we so rarely have an opportunity to address Jews upon these gentlemanly terms. I feel that we have much to learn from one another under these circumstances. If Mr. Weaver can disabuse me of false notions, I shall not only be willing to listen, but grateful to have the scales lifted from my eyes.”
I attempted to smile politely, for there was nothing to be gained from showing this man my anger, and I took a certain comfort in the contempt his opinions earned him from his fellows. “I feel there is little I can say,” I began, “for I cannot claim to be an expert on either Jews or money. But I can assure you the two terms are not synonymous.”
“No one should claim they are,” Sir Robert rejoined. “I think that we only wish to have some points clarified about what Jews want in our country. This is, after all, a Protestant country. If that were not important to us, we would not have imported a German King—we would have been contented with a Popish tyrant. And our Romish citizens understand their precarious situation, but I often feel that you Jews do not—always wanting special dispensations from taking oaths for office and so forth. It’s as though you want to become
“I fear I must agree with Sir Robert here,” Lord Thornbridge told me, “for while I do not begrudge any foreigner his manners or ways, I do wonder about your brother Jews, who come to settle here in this nation, who wish to remain separate from us, yet clamor for special treatment. There are any number of men I know whose forebears were French or Dutch or Italian, but, from having lived here for a generation or two, they have become engrafted onto our English stock. I am not sure that is the case with your people, Weaver.”
“Indeed,” Sir Robert chimed in, “suppose stock-jobber Isaac, after earning a plumb in ’Change Alley off the misfortunes of honest Christian gentlemen, decides he wants to take his hundred thousand pounds to the country and become Squire Isaac. He buys an estate and builds up his rent rolls, and lo! he finds himself in charge of appointing a living for a clergyman. Is a Jew to appoint a priest of the Church of England, or are we to expect the good citizens of Somersetshire to follow the teachings of the rabbis? When Squire Isaac, who must serve as the law upon his property, is approached by tenants with a dispute, does he turn to the law of England or the law of Moses?”
“These are questions I cannot answer,” I told him, holding my voice steady. “I cannot speak for your Squire Isaac, for no such creature exists. And it has been my experience that rather than seek to take our host nation for as much as we can, we seek to live in peace and gratitude.”
“There,” Sir Owen said cheerfully, “you have the honorable sentiments of an honorable man. And I can vouch for Mr. Weaver’s honor.”
“Indeed,” Sir Robert said, “Mr. Weaver may not be the perfect specimen of his people. You recall, I believe, the story of Edmund West?” The other men nodded, so Sir Robert turned to me and explained. “West was a successful merchant who took to playing the funds. He became rather set on the idea of retiring worth a plumb, you know, like so many other men. His fortune rose such that he could have easily retired from the business of the Exchange, but he would not quit until he had that hundred thousand pounds in pocket. So, worth perhaps eighty thousand pounds, he made some investments of Jews and watched in horror as his fortune was diminished by a full third. These Jews scented out his panic and took advantage of it. Soon this amount was halved and then halved again until he was worth nothing and less. And if you doubt this story”—Sir Robert looked at me squarely—“you may visit Mr. West among the lunatics at Bedlam itself, his losses having quite undone his mind.”
Though much of my work required that I bear the abuses of gentlemen, I found my patience all but at an end with this lot. I also grew angry at Sir Owen for allowing this calumny to be launched at me with naught but an ineffectual guffaw. For a moment I thought on taking my leave and showing this buffoon that a Jew is as capable as any man of feeling indignation and responding to it as it deserves. And yet something held me back, for I had rarely had a man of Sir Robert’s stature lay open his thoughts to me at length, and I wondered what there was to be learned in this conversation. I therefore chose to choke upon my pride for the moment and to consider how to turn this unpleasant conversation to my best advantage.
“All men risk losing their fortunes in the funds,” I replied at last. “I cannot think that the dishonesty of Jews can be blamed. Because one man sells to another in hopes of gaining advantage does not make the seller a villain,” I said, confidently repeating the words of my uncle.
“I rather agree,” Home said. “To blame Jews for the corruption of ’Change Alley is much the same as blaming a soldier for the violence of a battle. Men buy and sell upon the Exchange. Some men make money and some lose —and some of these men are Jews, but I think you know too well, Sir Robert, that most are not.”
“Many, however,” Lord Thornbridge added, “are foreigners, and there Sir Robert is not wrong to be concerned. I think,” he said, turning to his friend, “you are too much the victim of popular prejudice to blame the sons of Abraham exclusively, but they are certainly there, along with many other men of many other nations, and a host of Englishmen with a loyalty to no nation, who would stock-job away the entire country if they could.”
Sir Robert nodded in solemn agreement. “Now you talk like a man of sense,” he said, waving his hands about excitedly, “but the true villainy of all of this is what it does to our nation. When men begin to trade things of real value for all of this paper, it turns them into frenzied, fanciful women. The rugged and manful values of the ancients are set aside in favor of frivolousness. These loans and lotteries and annuities run our nation into a debt that can never be paid, because we care not to give a fig for the future. I tell you, all this Jewish stock-jobbery shall destroy the Kingdom.”
“In my mind,” Lord Thornbridge noted, “far more pernicious is the effect of paper money upon the lower elements. Why should a man labor hard for his daily bread if he owns a lottery ticket that may transport him to sudden wealth? In the end I fear that stock-jobbers”—he turned to Sir Robert—“and I mean stock-jobbers named John and Richard as much as those named Abraham and Isaac-threaten to replace birth and gentility with money as the measure of quality.”
Here I saw my opportunity. “I wonder, my lord, if Jews or anyone else need to plot the demise of those who are so effective at undoing themselves. I do not wish to speak ill of the dead, but I need only point out Mr. Michael Balfour, who was ruined not by schemers but by his own greed.”
Sir Robert stared hard at me. Sir Owen, Home, and Lord Thornbridge exchanged glances. Had I gone too far? Had Balfour perhaps been a member of this club? I felt a flicker of remorse, as though I had been guilty of some
Finally, as I might have anticipated, it was Sir Robert who spoke. “It is certain that Balfour was killed by Jews, Weaver. I say, you astonish me by mentioning his name at all.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but Sir Owen, not suffering from the shock and excitement I felt, spoke first. “In
