“The Kamzan” (“The Miser”)

There was once a Mohel, who was very avaricious. He had inherited some money, and his sole pleasure was to augment his wealth, and count his gold and silver coin. In his own opinion he was a religious man, for he observed all the ceremonies prescribed by the law, and believed himself especially pleasing to God, in performing the office of Mohel without asking any remuneration from the poor. His love of money increased with age, and he would sit for many hours before his coffer, gazing at his heaps of gold, riveted to the metal by a singular fascination, whilst he felt acute pain whenever he was obliged to part with even a farthing. People observing how difficult it was to get any money from him, called him “Kamzan,” “the tongs,” because he kept fast hold of what he grasped.

One day a stranger came and asked him to perform the office of Mohel to a son that had been born to him. As the carriage and horses of the stranger indicated wealth, the Mohel had a special pleasure in accepting the invitation, thus at the same time serving God and himself.

They drove on until dusk, when the stranger suddenly turning into a wild country, hurried madly on over the trackless heath. In vain the Mohel cried, “Stop!” and entreated the stranger to set him down; the more he cried and entreated, the more furiously the stranger whipped his horses, so that the Mohel at last was more dead than alive, and completely unable to pay any attention to the direction in which he was carried. Suddenly the carriage stopped at the gate of a park leading to mansion, the splendour of which formed a singular contrast to the surrounding desolate landscape.

The Mohel was led to the chamber of the mother and infant, and when he for a moment was left alone with her, she said, “For God’s sake do not eat or drink anything here, nor accept any gift; my husband is a spirit, and all here are spirits excepting myself.” Her husband now returned, and they talked of other matters.

Next morning, when the ceremony was to be performed, a large and merry party gathered round a plentiful breakfast table. The Mohel was led to the seat of honour, and the most delicate of the dishes were offered him; but under the pretext that he always fasted on such a day, he declined to eat, although it cost him great pain, accustomed as he was to satisfy his appetite at other people’s tables. His pain was very much prolonged, for the party prolonged their breakfast to a late hour, during which the host never seemed to resign the hope of seeing his guest, the Mohel, break his fast.

At length the religious ceremony was performed. When it was finished, the host took the Mohel aside and said to him, “I am very much indebted to you for the great service you have shown me, and I beg you will accept a little token of gratitude.” So speaking, he opened a door leading into a large room, the walls of which were silver, and where immense piles of silver coin reached from the floor to the ceiling.

“Please take as much as you like,” said the host.

The Mohel had involuntarily stretched out both hands towards the glittering piles, but remembering what the woman had said, he as quickly let them drop and replied, “You owe me nothing.”

“I beg your pardon for having offered you a gift unworthy of your acceptance,” said his host, opening the door into another room, the walls of which were of gold, while piles of gold coin reached from the floor to the ceiling.

“Please take as much as you like,” said the host.

The Mohel’s head turned in the enchanted atmosphere, and it was only with greatest effort that he could repeat to himself the woman’s warning. He faintly said, “You owe me nothing; pray, let me go.”

“Oh! I see,” said his host, “you spurn anything like payment, and again I ask your pardon. This perhaps will be more to your taste.”

So saying, he opened the door of a third room, where precious stones in large heaps, symmetrically arranged, dazzled the Mohel’s eyes with a promise of that unspeakable pleasure of which he had only faintly dreamed, when brooding over his own coffer. But having resisted temptation in the silver and gold rooms, he found it easier now, and it cost him comparatively little effort to shake off the spell and to repeat: “You owe me nothing; only let me get home.”

“Well, then, this way, if you please,” said the host, leading him through an empty room, where only a number of keys were seen hanging on the walls. Instinctively the Mohel felt attracted by these keys and looked at them, until suddenly to his amazement he fancied he recognized the key of his own coffer. He turned to his host, who said smiling, “Yes, Mohel, it is the key of thy coffer.”

The Mohel became pale as death, and said, “How does it come here?”

“Why, Mohel,” said his host, “this is easily explained. Thou art at present among spirits, servants of the Lord. When a man orders a coffer, there are always two keys made: one is the man’s, the other is God’s. If God’s key is not made use of, He delivers it over to us, and then the man is not himself master of his money, nor his coffer. He can put in, but cannot take out; and at last his own soul is locked up therein. Remember this; and since thou hast gone through thy trial here, take God’s key with thee, and try to make use of it, that thou mayest thyself be master of thy money.”