Part 6

Vladimir Galaktionovich Korolenko is to-day universally recognized in Russia as the most worthy guardian of the best traditions of Russian letters. He has done yeoman service to his country both as an author of humanitarian tales and as the mouth-piece of Russia's public conscience. After the government some time ago suppressed the magazine "Russian Wealth" which Korolenko had edited, he retired to the city of Poltava, in the South, and in late years his appearance in print has been a rare event. He was born in 1853.

MR. JACKSON'S OPINION ON THE JEWISH QUESTION

BY VLADIMIR KOROLENKO

One of the most intelligent though not one of the most profound opinions about the Jewish question I happened to hear from a chance fellow-traveller on the Atlantic Ocean. And although it was quite some time ago, and the man who expressed it was in no way remarkable, nevertheless this opinion is recalled to me on various occasions--very frequently in these days.

It was in 1904. Together with a fellow countryman, also a man of letters, I was travelling aboard a steamer of the Anglo-American Company, "Cunard." Our cabin was small and narrow. It was lighted by the dull light of an electric bull's-eye in the ceiling which served as a deck. There were three berths and a wash basin. My friend and I occupied two of the berths. On the third there camped the gentleman about whom we read in the passenger list: "Mr. Henry Jackson of Illinois." This was all we knew about him for the first few days. He rose very early, went to bed late and spent all day outside of the cabin. As a rule, we woke early, because to the muffled and steady splash of the ocean over the sides of the ship there was added a splash issuing from the basin, nearby. By the dim light of the bull's-eye I could see from my top berth a tall figure in a nightshirt as long as a shroud, with a small bald spot on the pate. Out of delicacy he did not turn on the electric lights and in the semi-darkness made his toilet very quietly, but was not able to forego the pleasure of emitting some snorts while splashing himself with cold water from the basin. Then he dived again into his berth and for some time quietly and cautiously busied himself there; then--a light squeak of the door, and a long figure glided out from the cabin. We were interested in the personality of our neighbour. He was the first American whom fate had brought so near to us. We were unable even to distinguish his face and during the day tried to single him out in the international crowd of gentlemen scurrying about the deck of our Urania, lounging on the deck-chairs, having luncheon, or dinner or supper, or lost in the smoke of cigars in the smoking room. This elusiveness made the personality of the traveller puzzling and interesting, and we bestowed the title of "Our American" now on one, now on another of the middle-aged American gentlemen. Of course, we marked as candidates the more interesting and typical figures. The Urania had been on the ocean for quite some time when my friend at last said to me: "I have found out which American is ours. Here he comes now. Look!"

Along the railing, a lanky gentleman and a short stout lady were coming toward us. I felt a sense of involuntary disappointment: both he and she were the least interesting of all the first-class passengers on the Urania.

A kind of half-European, half-exotic troupe were on the boat. They were going to America for a tour. The central figures in the group were two beautiful Creoles who had already succeeded in gaining a reputation in Europe. Around them were grouped a few stars of smaller magnitude, and the whole constellation attracted considerable attention from the men of the various nationalities represented on board. Soon a few couples circling the decks together came into notice. Amongst them were the lanky gentleman and the short, very vulgar lady, who looked like a maid or a duenna. As they passed in front of the other couples, one could sometimes notice slightly ironical glances and meaning smiles. But "our" American had a most self-satisfied, even somewhat victorious look. My companion, well-versed in English soon made a few acquaintances. Most often I saw him converse with "our" American in the hours when the latter was free from his knightly duties. Pretty soon we gained an insight into the main facts of his life-history. We learned that in his youth he had followed in turn a number of various callings, until one of them brought him success. He had retired and was now living on his large income, had provided very well for his two sons, had lost his wife, and decided to devote to pleasure the rest of his life which had begun amidst drudgery and many vicissitudes. He spent his time in travelling from one son to the other and retiring now and then to his own well-furnished home in Chicago. "When travelling you very often have very interesting adventures, don't you?" And he shot a triumphant and sly glance in the direction of his artistic lady.

Having learned that we were Russian writers, he decided at once that we were going to the Exhibition in the capacity of correspondents.

"Oh, yes, in my hard days I ate bread baked in this oven, too," he said, with an air of satisfaction. "There are many occupations which are more respectable and profitable.... But one tries everything. I can give you a good piece of advice. On the first train which will take you into the interior of the country, you will encounter a young man who offers illustrated guide-books for sale. Do not grudge your half-dollar, and buy these guide-books as frequently as possible. You will find in them excellent descriptions of noteworthy places, written by real masters. You can draw from them quite liberally. Even we, Americans, cannot know all our guide-books, as for Russia.... Heh-heh! Before reaching Chicago you will have several thousand lines.... Your readers will be satisfied, and so will your editor and you will earn your pay easily.... What?... Isn't that so?"

"Much obliged, sir!" answered my companion with ironical civility, and added in Russian: "The swine! He is cock-sure that he has benefited us highly by his advice."

My companion had a strong sense of humour, and every day he had some new episode, some characteristic opinion held by the American or some story of his past to tell me. Sometimes he would take out his note-book and make believe he was respectfully taking notes on some especially happy passages from these enlightening conversations. And at the same time he would say to me in Russian:

"He is deeply convinced that America is the best country in the world, Illinois is the best State in America, the street he lives on is the best street in his city, and his house the best house on the street. Now he is trying to persuade me that Chicago outgrew New York long ago and is now the first city in the world. Wait a minute ... there comes another one. That one is a New Yorker." He stopped the gentleman who was passing by and proceeded to introduce them to each other:

"Mr. Jackson of Illinois, Mr. Carson of New York."

Then in the naive tone of a person, somewhat perplexed, he asked:

"You told me that New York is the first city in the world. And here is Mr. Jackson who asserts that for the last ten years Chicago has outstripped New York in population. According to him Chicago has so many million inhabitants."

My companion leaned back slightly in his arm-chair and looked with obvious curiosity at the two Americans.

"Presently we shall have a cock-fight," he said to me in Russian, and a mocking twitch appeared beneath his moustache.

Mr. Carson straightened up. His eyebrows lifted impatiently but immediately his face took on an expression of polite calm, and slightly tipping his hat, he said: "It is very possible ... the gentleman evidently includes the population of the cemeteries of Chicago."

He bowed and resumed his walking, leaving Mr. Jackson aghast with mouth wide-open, speechless, for he had not time to protest. Then he got up quickly and walked along the deck.... My companion followed him with his smiling eyes....

"Perfect parrots," he said. "Petty patriotism, in its most naive form.... Dickens long ago noticed that trait of American character and so it goes on." My sly countryman skilfully interviewed his victim, disclosing step by step the ludicrous traits of a Yankee. There were many weak sides. Mr. Jackson, in whom we were mainly interested, proved to be a mediocre person in all respects, with a naively middle-class outlook on life, and we, the two Russian observers, revelled in that delightful malice which is so characteristic of Russians abroad. So that is what they are, the far-famed children of the transatlantic republic!

Sometime later, I again found my companion engaged in conversation with Mr. Jackson. The ocean was somewhat rough. The ladies did not come out on deck; Mr. Jackson was, therefore, free and evidently in high spirits. He spoke with great animation. My companion had his note-book in his hands and there was a slyly respectful smile on his face.

"We are discussing the Jewish question," he said in Russian. "Mr. Carson, a quarter of an hour ago, praised the Jews, and ever since 'our man' cannot calm down. He enlightens me with arguments which sound as if they were just taken from our yellow newspapers. Please, go on, sir," he respectfully addressed Mr. Jackson. "Everything you say is so new and interesting...."

Mr. Jackson, who was flattered by the respectful attention of the naive Russian, continued his sermon. It was before the days of the Beyliss trial. Nevertheless, except for the "ritual" murder, all the rest of the jargon of our anti-Semitic papers was there, and the Jewish character was painted the most frightful black.

On the other end of the deck resounded the shrill sound of the gong, a signal for lunch.

"Thank you, sir," said my companion. "It is with great pleasure that I have listened to your views on the subject, and I am certain that all this will be found extremely novel in our country.... I have a few more minutes to ask you one last question...."

"What else do you wish to know?" said Mr. Jackson.

"I wonder," answered my friend, "what conclusions are to be drawn from this enlightening conversation. You are undoubtedly against equal rights for the Jews. You would shut the doors of the country for the Jews, wouldn't you? And you would limit the rights of those who already live there, by establishing, let us say, something in the nature of a special zone outside of which they would not be allowed to settle?"

Even as my friend was saying this the American's eyebrows went up, forming a sharp angle, and he looked at the speaker with such an air of pity that the latter was somewhat put out of countenance.