The Shield/Mr. Jackson's Opinion on the Jewish Question

by Vladimir Galaktionovich Korolenko

 

 

⁠Vladimir Galaktionovich Korolenko is today 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 Russians 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 werе 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 Riissia . . . 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 enhghtening 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 naïve 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 eye-brows 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 naïve 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 naïvely 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 translantic 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 naïve 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.

"How in the world have you reached such a conclusion?" asked Jackson coldly, and somewhat severely.

"But . . . you dishke the Jews heartily. . . ."

The clanging of the gong was reaching our corner. Mr. Jackson rose and buttoning his coat, he said :

"It does not follow. You have made a bad syllogism : the conclusion does not follow from the premises."

"But, sir. . . ."

"It is true that I dislike those people, but it doesn't follow that I want their rights restricted. . . ."

And after a moment of deliberation, as though seeking for the clearest form of explanation, he went on.

"Here we are being called for dinner . . . I must tell you, sir, that I cannot tolerate green peas. That is my personal taste. But it does not follow by any means, gentlemen, that I have the right to demand that green peas should not be served. . . . Probably, others like the dish. . . ."

And rising to his full height, he added:

"As for the rest of your words . . . as an American, I would feel insulted, if there were in my country citizens deprived of equal rights. . . . That a Kentuckian, for instance, should not have the right to breathe freely the air of Illinois. . . . My goodness. . . . The idea!"

And he started out, moving along the railing, straight and gaunt, and, there was something peculiar in his entire figure. He seemed to feel himself deeply insulted. At the door of the smoking-room, he met Mr. Carson of New York, his recent antagonist, and amiably taking his arm, he started to tell him something in great excitement. Judging by the way Mr. Carson turned to look at us, it was evident that they were discussing us Russians, the gentlemen who draw false conclusions from premises.

We exchanged glances. Half a minute passed in perplexed silence. Then we both laughed at once. . . .

"Rira bien qui rira le dernier. We must confess that this time it is 'our' rather bad American who laughs last," said my sarcastic friend. "And did you notice the expression on his face at that moment?"

"Yes, it looked positively intelligent. . . . Probably, because the experience and wisdom of a great nation, which has already firmly established axioms, were speaking at that moment through the mouth of our American. . . ."

"And the negroes?" said my friend hesitatingly and thoughtfully.

"Well, the negroes are 'the black peas' which Americans detest. But that is a matter of social custom; the law, however, does not distinguish them from other citizens. . . . To love, not to love . . . that is elusive and capricious, but justice is obligatory, like an axiom. . . ."

Entering the dining-room, I felt somewhat uneasy. . . . It seemed to me that all the Americans would turn and eye us, the representatives of a nation which has not as yet learned the axioms of law, and which draws childishly false conclusions from premises. . . .

But I was mistaken. There was in the dining-room the usual rustling, clatter of plates, forks and knives, tinkling of glasses, and whispered conversation. "Our" American was sitting at the side of his odd Dulcinea, and he again looked like a self-satisfied cox-comb. But, it seemed to me that into the everyday mood of the vessel's table-d'hôte, there entered something elusive and significant, which could change the appearance of this motley crowd just as our American's face had changed at the end of our conversation.

And, in fact, a few weeks later, I happened to be present at one of those tempestuous manifestations of public opinion which at times break out like storms on the surface of the ocean. There is much that is ridiculous in the every-day tone of American newspapers, in their thirst for sensations and réclame, in their petty interviews. But here everything was suddenly swept aside, and the dominant tone of the American press became deep and significant. Now and then the voices of past generations,—the men who had been the builders of freedom and law in their country, the voices of Lincolns, Harrisons, and Davises pierced the bustle of every-day life and were heard in editorials, articles, in the speeches delivered at meetings.

The occasion for all this was again the Jewish question, and the ignorance of axioms shown by a nation of the old continent. And it occurred to me that probably somewhere in Chicago, Mr. Jackson, "who dislikes green peas," was delivering, or at least listening to, a speech about the axioms of human law, and was voting in favor of a corresponding resolution.

For he firmly believes that love is capricious. Like mercy, it bloweth, whither it listeth. . . . But justice, justice is obligatory. . . .

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