The History of Yiddish Literature 12

	The History of Yiddish Literature 12

Is she so happy that even on the day of Atonement she cannot prevail over her heart to consider that no good is eternal, and mortal man does not know what to-morrow may be? Or is she not a Jewish woman, a woman having husband and children? and where is there a Jewish woman that has not some one or more reasons for weeping on the Atonement day, and shedding hot tears? Is she, perhaps, so hard of heart and so bad, so haughty and conceited, that she does not think it proper to weep, lest people should see her tears and deem her equal with the others? No! Chanele,--they call her the good, the wise Chanele,--her very dry eyes are witness that she has wept much, very much in her time; she is not proud and is not ashamed to weep, especially on the Atonement day, when tears come of their own accord! Why, then, does she not weep? Many eyes are looking at her and wondering why she is so different from other years, why she looks stolidly, like one turned to stone, into the Prayer-book, why she is neither weeping nor praying. A few times she pushed aside the curtain, looked down into the men's division, seated herself again in her place and looked each time sadder and more oppressed than before. When the Precentor began to read the Mussaf-prayer, she once more peeped through the window, her eyes ran restlessly over the whole synagogue, and she went back to her seat. "He has not come yet!" her heart spoke to her inwardly. "Even to the Mussaf he could not come?      Och, un' dās is' mein Kind, mein Bchor! Vun ihm hāb' ich dās asō      viel Jessurim un' Schmerzen arubergetrāgen, bis ich hāb' ihm auf      die Fuss' gestellt!      "Jā, mein Kind, mein Wund'! Ein ander Mutter wollt' ihm sein Gebēin      varscholten, sie wollt' gesāgt: Nit du bist mein Suhn, nit ich bin      dein Mutter,--ich kann es āber nit,--sei mir mōchel, Gott in      Himmel, wās ich ruf' ihm noch "mein Kind, mein Suhn!"... O, ich      kann bei Dir auf sich betten a Tōdt, āber nit auf mein      Kind!--Strāf' mich, Ribōne-schel-ōlem, mich, sein sundige Mutter,      efscher bin ich schuldig in dem, wās er is' vun rechten Weg arāb      un' hāt Dich, lebediger Gott, vargessen un' hāt dein Tōre varlāsen      un' thut dein Gebot nit? Jā, ich bin schuldig, ich hāb' ihm zu viel      lieb geha't; wās er hāt gebeten, hāb' ich gethun; ich hāb' sich mit      sein frummen Vāter standig arumgekriegt, as er flegt ihm bestrāfen      wollen. Ich hāb' ihm ausgehodewet, wie er is', un' mich strāf' far      ihm!"... J. DIENESOHN. XVII. AUF'N BUSEN VUN JAM ('Songs from the Ghetto,'[120] pp. 70-76)     Der schrecklicher Wind, der gefahrlicher Sturem,     Er rangelt sich dort mit a Schiff auf 'n Meer;     Er will sie zubrechen, un' sie mit Jessurim     Schneid't durch alle Tiefeniss, krachzendig schwer.     Es treschtschet der Mastbaum, der Segel, er zittert,     Der rauschender Wasser is' mōredig tief;--     Es kampfen mit Zoren, es streiten varbittert     Auf Tōdt un' auf Leben der Wind mit der Schiff. Oh, and that is my child, my first-born! For his sake I have borne so many privations and pains, that I might be able to place him on his feet! "Yes, my child, my sore vexation! Another mother would have cursed his bones; she would have said: 'You are not my son, I am not your mother,'--But I cannot do that,--forgive me, O Lord, that I still call him 'my child, my son'!... Oh, I can ask for my death of You, but not for the death of my child! Punish me, Lord of the Universe, me, his sinful mother! Maybe I am to be blamed that he has departed from the road of righteousness, and has forgotten You, O living God, and has abandoned Your Law and does not do Your commandments! Yes, I am to be blamed for it, I have loved him too much; I always did what he wanted me to do; I have always quarrelled with his pious father when he wanted to punish him. I have raised him such as he is, and do punish me for him!"... XVII. ON THE BOSOM OF THE OCEAN The terrible wind, the dangerous storm, is wrestling with a ship on the ocean; it is trying to break her, but she in distress cuts through the deep, groaning heavily. The mast cracks, the sail trembles, frightful is the depth of the roaring waters; the wind struggles desperately with the ship in a life and death combat.     Ot mus sie sich lēgen, ot mus sie sich stellen,     Ot treibt es zuruck ihr, ot treibt es varaus,--     A Spielchel is' itzter die Schiff bei die Wellen,     See schlingen sie ein un' see speien sie aus.     Es laremt der Jam, un' es hēben sich Chwales;     Es huzet, es pildert mit Schreck un' mit Graul;--     Der Sturem, der Gaslen, will umbrengen Alles,     Der Thom offent auf sein varschlossene Maul.     Es horen sich Sufzen, es hort sich ēin Beten,     's is' grōss die Ssakone, 's is' schrecklich die Nōt,     Un' Jederer bet't bei sein Gott, er soll retten,     Befreien die Menschen vun sicheren Tōdt.     Dās wēinen die Kinder, es klāgen die Weiber,     Man schreit un' man is' sich miswade azund:     Es flatteren Sēelen, es zitteren Leiber     Var Schreck var dem boesen, varnichtenden Wind.     Doch unten, in Zwischendeck, sitzen zwēi Manner     Ganz ruhig, see ruhrt nit der mindester Wēh;     See suchen kēin Rettung, see klaren kēin Planer,     Wie Alls wollt' sein sicher un' still arum see.     Es laremt dās Wasser, die Wellen, see schaumen,     Es wojet, es mojet meschune der Wind;     Es ssappet der Kessel, es hužet der Kōmen;     Doch unten die Zwēi, seht, see schweigen azund.     See kucken mit Kaltkeit dem Tōdt in die Augen,     See ruhrt nit dem Sturem's gefahrliche Macht;     Es scheint, as der Tōdt hāt allēin nor erzōgen     See Bēiden, in Schreck un' in finsterer Nacht. Now she must lie down, now again she must rise, now she is driven back, now forward;--the ship is a plaything of the waves that swallow her up and spit her out again. The ocean roars, the billows rise, and lash, and thunder in awful terror, the murderous storm wants to destroy everything,--the abyss opens up its closed jaws. There are heard sighs and prayers. Great is the danger and dreadful the calamity,--and everybody prays to his God that He may save and liberate the people from sure death. Children weep, women wail; the people cry and confess their sins; souls flutter, bodies tremble in terror of the angry, destructive wind. But below, in the steerage, two men sit quietly; no pain assails them; they seek no salvation, they make no plans, just as if all were safe and calm about them. The water roars, the billows foam; the wind whines and howls insanely; the boiler gasps, the chimney buzzes,--but the men below, behold, they are silent now! They look coolly into the eyes of Death; the dangerous might of the storm touches them not; it seems as though Death had reared the two in terror and dark night.     "Wer seid ihr, Ungluckliche,--lasst es doch horen,--     Wās konnen varschweigen die gwaldigste Nōt,     Wās hāben kēin Sufzen, un' hāben kēin Trahren,     Afile bei'm schrecklichen Thōer vun Tōdt?     "Sāgt, hāben euch take nor Kworim geboren?     Ihr lāsst gār kēin Elteren, Weib oder Kind,     Zu wēinen auf euch, wenn ihr werd't dā varloren     In tiefen, in schrecklichen Ābgrund azund?     "Wie? Lāsst ihr nit Kēinem, wās ihm soll vardriessen,     Wās er soll wenn baenken, zu lāsen a Trahr,     Wenn euch wet der nasser Bessōlem vargiessen,     Wenn ihr wet dā kēin Māl zuruckkehren mehr?     "Wie? Hā't ihr kēin Vāterland gār, kēin Medine,     Kēin Hēim, wu zu kummen, kēin freundliche Stub',     Wās ihr hā't behalten in sich asa Ssine     Zum Leben un' wart't auf der finsterer Grub'?     "Ihr hā't gār nit Kēinem in Himmel dort ōben,     Zu wemen zu schreien, wenn ihr seid in Zar?     Ihr hā't gār kēin Volk nit, ihr hā't gār kēin Glauben?     Varlorene, wās is' mit euch far a Gsar?"     Es ganezt der Ābgrund, es brausen die Inden,     Es krachen die Leiters vun Schiff, un' es trāgt,     Es hulet der Sturem, es pfeifen die Winden,     Un' Ēiner hāt endlich mit Trahren gesāgt:     "Der schwarzer Bessōlem is' nit unser Mutter,     Nit is' unser Wiegel der Keewer gewe'n;--     Es hāt uns geboren a Malach a guter,     A teuere Mutter, mit Liebe varsehn. "Who are you, wretched ones, tell me, that you can suppress the most terrible sufferings, that you have no sighs and no tears even at the awful gates of Death? "Say, have, indeed, graves brought you forth? Do you leave behind you no parents, no wife, no child who will lament you when you are lost here in the deep and dreadful abyss? "How? Have you no one to be sorry for you, to long for you, or shed a tear, when the wet cemetery will cover you, when you will no more return to this earth? "How? Have you no fatherland, no country, no home where to go to, no friendly house, that you bear such a contempt for life, and are waiting for the dark grave? "Have you no one in heaven above to whom to cry when you are in trouble? Have you no nation, have you no faith? Miserable ones, what is your fate?" The abyss yawns, the waves bellow, the shipladders crack, the storm rages madly, the winds whistle,--and finally one says in tears: "The black cemetery is not our mother, the grave has not been our cradle; a good angel has borne us, a dear mother, endowed with love.     "Es hāt uns gepjestet a Mame, erzōgen     A zartliche, wareme, freundliche Brust;     Gekichelt un' standig gekuckt in die Augen     Hāt uns auch a Vāter, un' lieblich gekusst.     "Mir hāben a Haus, nor man hāt sie zubrochen,     Un' unsere hēiligste Sachen varbrennt,     Die Liebste un' Beste varwandelt in Knochen,     Die Letzte varjāgt mit gebundene Hand'.     "Man kenn' unser Land, o, sie lāsst sich derkennen:     Durch Jāgen, durch Schlāgen nit werendig mud',     Durch wilde Pogromen, durch Brechen, durch Brennen,     Durch Suchen dem Tōdt far dem elenden Jud.     "Un' mir seinen Juden, varwogelte Juden,     Ohn' Freund un' ohn' Frēuden, ohn' Hoffnung auf Gluck.--     Nit fragt mehr, o, fragt nit, o, seht, lāsst zufrieden!     Amerika treibt uns nāch Russland zuruck,     "Nāch Russland, vun wannen mir seinen antloffen,     Nāch Russland derfar, wās mir hāben kēin Geld;     Auf wās bleibt uns itzter zu warten, zu hoffen?     Wās taug' uns dās Leben, die finstere Welt?     "Ihr hā't wās zu wēinen, ihr hā't wās zu brummen,     Ihr hā't wās zu schrecken sich itzt far dem Tōdt,     Ihr hā't gewiss Alle a Hēim, wu zu kummen,     Un' fāhrt vun Amerika auch nit aus Nōt.     "Doch mir seinen Elende, gleich zu die Stēiner:     Die Erd' is' zu schlecht, uns zu schenken an Ort--     Mir fāhren, doch leider, es wart't auf uns Kēiner,     Erklart mir, ich bet' euch, wu reisen mir fort! "A mother has fondled us, a tender, warm, friendly breast has nurtured us; a father, too, has stroked us and looked into our eyes, and kissed us tenderly. "We have a house, but it has been destroyed, and our holy things have been burned; our dearest and best have been turned into bones, and those who survive have been driven away with fettered hands. "You know our country; it is easily recognized by its unceasing baiting and beating, by its cruel riots, its ruthless destruction, and dealing death to the wretched Jew. "Yes, we are Jews, miserable Jews, without friends or joys, without hopes or happiness. Oh, ask us no more, ask no more, oh, leave us in peace! America drives us back to Russia, "To Russia, whence we have run away, to Russia, because we have no money. What is there left for us to expect, to hope for? Of what good is life, and the gloomy world to us? "You have something to weep for; you have reason to murmur and to be afraid of Death! You have, no doubt, a home where to go to, and you have left America not from necessity. "But we are forlorn and alone like a rock. Earth is too mean to give us a resting-place; we are voyaging, but, unfortunately, no one waits for us. Explain to me, pray, whither we are bound!     "Soll sturmen der Wind, soll er brummen mit Zoren,     Soll sieden, soll kochen, soll rauschen der Grund!     Denn 's sei wie 's sei seinen mir Juden varloren,     Der Jam nor varloscht unser brennende Wund'...."               M. ROSENFELD. XVIII. BONZJE SCHWEIG' (_Literatur un' Leben_, pp. 11-22)      Dā, auf der Welt, hāt Bonzje Schweig's Tōdt gār kēin Rōschem nischt      gemacht! Fragt Emizen becheerem, wer Bonzje is' gewesen, wie asō er      hāt gelebt, auf wās er is' gestorben! Zu hāt in ihm dās Harz      geplatzt, zu die Kōches senen ihm ausgegangen, oder der Marchbēin      hāt sich ubergebrochen unter a schwerer Last ... wer wēisst?      Efscher is' er gār var Hunger gestorben!      A Ferd in Tramwaj soll fallen, wollt' man sich mehr interessirt, es      wollten Zeitungen geschrieben, hunderter Menschen wollten vun alle      Gassen geloffen un' die Neweele bekuckt, betracht't afile dem Ort,      wu die Mapole is' gewe'n....        *       *       *       *       *      Nor dās Ferd in Tramwaj wollt' auch die S-chie nischt geha't, es      soll sein tausend Milljon Ferd' wie Menschen!      Bonzje hāt still gelebt un' is' still gestorben; wie a Schatten is'      er durch durch unser Welt.      Auf Bonzje's Bris hāt man kēin Wein nischt getrunken, es hāben kēin      Kōsses geklungen. Zu Barmizwe hāt er kēin klingendige Drosche      nischt gesāgt ... gelebt hāt er wie a gro, klēin Kerndel Samd beim      Breg vun'm Jam, zwischen Milljonen seins Gleichen; un' as der Wind      hāt ihm aufgehōben un' auf der anderer Seit Jam aruber gejāgt, hāt      es Kēiner nischt bemerkt.      Beim Leben hāt die nasse Blote kēin Schlad vun sein "Let storm the wind, let it howl in anger: let the deep seethe, and boil, and roar! However it be, we Jews are lost, the ocean alone can allay our burning wound...." XVIII. BONTSIE SILENT Here, in this world, the death of Bontsie Silent produced no impression. You will ask in vain who Bontsie was, how he lived, and what caused his death. Did his heart burst, did his strength give out, or were his bones crushed under a heavy load ... who knows? Maybe, after all, he died of starvation!        *       *       *       *       * There would have been displayed more interest if it had been a street-car horse that had fallen dead. Newspapers would have reported about it, hundreds of people would have congregated from all the streets to look at the carcass and even to survey the spot where the accident had occurred! But even the street-car horse would not be honored in such a distinguished way if there were as many millions of them in existence as there are men. Bontsie had lived quietly, and he died quietly. He passed through the world like a shadow. No wine was drunk on the day of Bontsie's circumcision; no cups were clinked. At his confirmation he made no flowery speech ... he lived like a small, yellow grain of sand on the seashore, among millions of its kind, and no one noticed how the wind lifted it up and carried it on the other side of the Ocean.        *       *       *       *       * In his lifetime the wet mud kept no impression of his      Fuss nischt behalten; nāch'n Tōdt hāt der Wind dās klēine Brettel      vun sein Keewer umgeworfen, un' dem Kabren's Weib hāt es gefun'en      weit vun Keewer un' derbei a Toppel Kartoffles ābgekocht.... Es is'      drei Tag' nāch Bonzje's Tōdt, fragt dem Kabren becheerem, wu er hāt      ihm gelēgt!      Wollt' Bonzje chotsch a Mazeewe geha't, wollt' efscher uber hundert      Jāhr sie an Alterthumsforscher gefun'en un' Bonzje Schweig wollt'      noch a Māl ubergeklungen in unser Luft.      A Schātten, sein Photographje is' nischt geblieben bei Kēinem in      Harz; es is' vun ihm kēin Seecher in Kēinem's Mōach nischt      geblieben!      "Kēin Kind, kēin Rind,"--elend gelebt, elend gestorben!      Wenn nischt dās menschliche Geruder, wollt' efscher Emizer a Māl      gehort, wie Bonzje's Marchbein hāt unter der Masse geknackt: wollt'      die Welt mehr Zeit geha't, wollt' Emizer efscher a Māl bemerkt, as      Bonzje (auch a Mensch) hāt lebedigerhēit zwēi ausgeloschene Augen      un' schrecklich eingefallene Backen; as afile wenn er hāt gār schōn      kēin Masse nit auf die Pleezes, is' ihm auch der Kopp zu der Erd'      gebōgen, gleich er wollt' lebedigerhēit sein Keewer gesucht!      Wollten asō wēnig Menschen wie Ferd in Tramwaj gewesen, wollt'      efscher a Māl Emizer gefragt: Wu is' Bonzje ahin gekummen?      Wenn man hāt Bonzjen in Spital areingefuhrt, is' sein Winkel in      Suterine nischt lēdig geblieben,--es hāben derauf zehn      Seins-gleichen gewart't, un' zwischen sich dem Winkel "In-pljum"      lizitirt; wenn man hāt'n vun Spitalbett in Tōtenstubel arein      getrāgen, hāben auf'n Bett zwanzig āreme Chaluim gewart't.... Wenn      er is' araus vun Tōtenstubel, hāt man zwanzig Harugim vun unter ēin      eingefallen Haus gebrengt,--wer footsteps; after his death the wind threw down the small board over his grave, and the grave-digger's wife found it far away from the mound and made a fire with it over which she boiled a pot of potatoes.... It is but three days since Bontsie's death, but you will ask in vain of the grave-digger where he has laid him at rest! If Bontsie had had a tombstone, an archæologist might have found it a hundred years later, and Bontsie's name would have resounded again in our atmosphere. He was but a shadow: his picture does not live in anybody's heart; his memory does not exist in anybody's mind! He left no child, no possessions! He had lived in misery, and he died in misery. Had it not been for the noise of the crowd, some one might have heard the snapping of Bontsie's bones under a heavy burden; if the world had had more time, some one might have noticed that Bontsie's eyes were dim and his eyes frightfully sunken for one alive; that even when he carried no load on his shoulders, his head was bent to the ground as if he were looking for the grave! If there were as few people as there are horses in the street cars, some one might, perhaps, have asked: What has become of Bontsie?        *       *       *       *       * When Bontsie was taken to the hospital, his corner in the basement was not left unoccupied; ten people of his sort had been waiting for it, and it was auctioned off to the highest bidder; when they carried him from the hospital bed to the morgue, twenty poor people were waiting for his bed. When he left the morgue, they brought in twenty people who had been killed by a falling wall.... Who knows how long he will rest      wēisst, wie lang er wet ruhig wōhnen in Keewer? Wer wēisst, wieviel      es warten schōn auf dem Stuckel Platz....      Still gebōren, still gelebt, still gestorben un' noch stiller      begrāben.      Nor nischt asō is' gewesen auf jener Welt! Dorten hat Bonzje's Tōdt      a grōssen Rōschem gemacht!      Der grōsser Schōfer vun Moschiach's Zeiten hāt geklungen in alle      sieben Himmlen: Bonzje Schweig is' nifter gewor'en! Die grosste      Malochim mit die brēit'ste Flugel senen geflōgen un' Ēiner dem      Anderen ubergegeben: Bonzje is' "nischbakesch" gewor'en "bischiwo      schel majlo"! In Ganeeden is' a Rasch, a Ssimche, a Geruder:      "Bonzje Schweig! A Spass Bonzje Schweig!!!"      Junge Malochimlech mit brilljantene Aeugelech, goldene      drāht-arbeitene Flugelech un' silberene Pantoffelech senen Bonzjen      ankegen geloffen mit Ssimche! Der Gerasch vun die Flugel, dās      Klappen vun die Pantoffelech un' dās froehliche Lachen vun die      junge, frische, rosige Maulechlech hāt verfullt alle Himmlen un'      is' zugekummen bis zum Kisse-ha-kowed, un' Gott allēin hāt auch      schōn gewusst, as Bonzje Schweig kummt!      Awrohom Owinu hāt sich in Thōer vun Himmel gestellt, die rechte      Hand ausgestellt zum brēiten "Scholem-aleechem!" un' a susser      Schmēichel scheint asō hell auf sein alten Ponim!      Wās radelt asō in Himmel?      Dās hāben zwēi Malochim in Ganeeden arein far Bonzje's wegen a      gingoldene Vāterstuhl auf Radlech gefuhrt!      Wās hāt asō hell geblitzt?      Dās hāt man durchgefuhrt a goldene Krōn', mit die theuerste Stēiner      gesetzt! All's far Bonzjen! quietly in his grave? Who knows how many are already waiting for his place?        *       *       *       *       * Born quietly, lived quietly, died quietly, and still more quietly buried! But matters went differently in the other world! There Bontsie's death produced a sensation! The sound of Moses' ram's horn was heard in all the seven heavens: Bontsie Silent has died! The greatest angels, with the broadest wings, were flying about and announcing the news to each other: Bontsie has been summoned before the Judgment Seat! There is a noise, an excitement, a joy in Heaven: Bontsie Silent! Just think of it,--Bontsie Silent!!! Young little angels with sparkling eyes, gold-worked wings, and silver slippers rushed out to receive Bontsie with joy! The buzzing of their wings, the clatter of their slippers, and the merry laughter of the young, fresh, and rosy little mouths filled the heavens and reached the Seat of Honor, and God himself knew that Bontsie Silent was coming! Father Abraham placed himself at the gate of Heaven, and he stretched out his right hand for a friendly "Peace be with you!" and a sweet smile lit up his old face!        *       *       *       *       * What are they rolling there in Heaven? Two angels are rolling into Paradise an armchair of pure gold on wheels for Bontsie!        *       *       *       *       * What caused that lightning? They are carrying a golden crown, all set in the most precious stones! All for Bontsie!      --Noch var'n Psak vun Bess-din-schel-majle? fragen die Zadikim      verwundert un' nischt gār ohn' Kine.        *       *       *       *       *      --Oh! entwern die Malochim, dās wet sein a proste, puste Forme!      Gegen Bonzje Schweig wet afile der Katēgor kēin Wort in Maul nischt      gefin'en! Die Djele wet dauern funf Minut!      Ihr spielt sich mit Bonzje Schweig?        *       *       *       *       *      As die Malochimlech hāben Bonzjen gechappt in der Luft un'      ābgespielt ihm a Semer; as Awrohom Owinu hāt ihm wie an alten      Kamrat die Hand geschockelt; as er hāt gehort, as sein Stuhl is'      grēit in Ganeeden; as auf sein Kopp wart't a Krōn', as in      Bess-din-schel-majle wet man uber ihm kēin ubrig Wort nischt      reden,--hāt Bonzje, gleich wie auf jener Welt, geschwiegen var      Schreck! Es is' ihm dās Harz entgangen. Er is' sicher, as dās mus      sein a Cholem, oder a proster Toes!      Er is' Bēide gewōhnt! Nischt ēin Māl hāt sich ihm auf jener Welt      gecholemt, as er klaubt Geld auf der Podloge, ganze Ōzres liegen      ... un' hāt sich aufgechappt noch a grosserer Kabzen wie      nachten.... Nischt ēin Māl hāt man in'm a Toes gehāt, es hāt ihm      Emiz zugeschmēichelt, a gut Wort gesāgt un' bald sich ubergedrēht      un' ausgespiegen....      --Mein Masel, tracht er, is' schōn asō!      Un' er hāt Mōre, die Augen aufzuhēben, der Cholem soll nischt      verschwunden wer'en; er soll sich nischt aufchappen ergez in a      Hoehl' zwischen Schlangen un' Egdissen! Er hāt Mōre vun Maul a      Klang arauszulāsen, a Tnue mit an Eewer zu machen,--man soll ihm      nischt derkennen un' nischt awegschleudern auf Kaf-hakal....      Er zittert un' hort nit die Malochim's Komplimenten, "What? Even before the sentence of the Supreme Court has been passed?" the saints ask not without envy. "Oh!" answer the angels, "that will be a mere formality. The Prosecuting Attorney himself will find no words against Bontsie! The case will last but five minutes!" Bontsie Silent--that's no trifling matter!        *       *       *       *       * As the angels carried Bontsie through the air and played sweet tunes to him; as Father Abraham shook his hand like that of an old comrade; as he heard that his chair was ready for him in Paradise, that a crown was waiting for his head, that no trifling words would be spoken against him before the Supreme Court,--Bontsie was frightened into silence just as in the other world! His heart failed him. He was sure that this was but a dream, or a mere mistake! He had been used to both. Many a time he had dreamed in the other world of picking up money from the floor where fortunes were lying.... More than once they had mistaken him for some one else; they had smiled at him, had said a good word, and then had turned aside, and spit out....        *       *       *       *       * "That's just my luck!" thought he. And he is afraid to raise his eyes for fear that the dream would disappear, that he should not awaken somewhere in a cave full of serpents and lizards. He is afraid to utter a sound, to move a limb, lest he be recognized and hurled to perdition.        *       *       *       *       * He trembles and does not hear the compliments of      seht nischt sejer Arumtanzen arum ihm, er entwert nischt Awrohom      Owinu auf'n herzlichen Scholem-aleechem, un'--gefuhrt zum      Bess-din-schel-majle, sāgt er ihm kein "Gut Morgen" nischt....      Bonzje is' ausser sich var Schreck!      Un' sein schreckliche Schreck is' noch grosser gewor'en as er hāt,      nischt willendig, unter seine Fuss' dersehn die Podloge vun      Bess-din-schel-majle. Ssame Alabaster mit Brilljanten! "Auf asa      Podloge stēhen meine Fuss'!" Er wert in Ganzen verstarrt. "Wer      wēisst, welchen Gwir, welchen Row, welchen Zadik man mēint ... er      wet kummen, wet sein mein finsterer Ssof!"      Var Schreck hāt er afile nit gehort, wie der Prases hāt befeeresch      ausgerufen: "Die Djele vun Bonzje Schweig!" un', derlangendig dem      Meeliz-jōscher die Akten, gesāgt: "Les', nor bekizer!"      Mit Bonzjen drēht sich der ganzer Salon, es rauscht ihm in die      Ōheren, nor in'm Gerausch hort er alle Māl scharfer un' scharfer      dem Malech-meeliz's suss Kol wie a Fiedel:      --Sein Nāmen, hort er, hāt ihm gepasst, wie zum schlank Leib a      Klēid vun an Artist a Schneider's Hand."      --Wās redt er? fragt sich Bonzje, un' er hort, wie an umgeduldig      Kol hackt ihm uber un' sāgt:        *       *       *       *       *      --Nor ohn' Mescholim!      --Er hāt kēin Māl, hēbt weiter ān der Meeliz-jōscher, auf Kēinem      nischt geklāgt, nischt auf Gott, nischt auf Leut'; in sein Aug' hāt      kēin Māl nischt aufgeflammt kēin Funk' Ssine, er hāt es kēin Māl      nischt aufgehōben mit a Pretensje zum Himmel.      Bonzje verstēht weiter nischt a Wort, un' dās harte Kol schlāgt      weiter uber: the angels, does not see their dancing around him, does not reply to Father Abraham's hearty "Peace be with you!" and being led before the Supreme Court he does not say "Good morning" to them. Bontsie is beside himself with terror. And his terrible fear is still increased when by accident he notices the floor of the Court Hall under his feet. Pure alabaster and brilliants! "On such a floor do my feet tread!" He grows stiff with fright. "Who knows what rich man, what Rabbi, what saint they mean!... I shall fare ill when he will come!"        *       *       *       *       * In his terror he did not even hear the Presiding Officer's call: "The case of Bontsie Silent!" and his saying to the Advocate, as he handed him the documents: "Read, but be short!" The whole hall is turning around with Bontsie, there is a din in his ears, and through it he can distinguish more sharply and more sharply the voice of the Advocate as sweet as a violin: "His name," he hears him saying, "has fit him like an artist-tailor's gown on a graceful body." "What is he talking about?" Bontsie asks himself. And he hears an impatient voice interrupting him, and saying: "Pray, without similes!" "He has never, proceeds the Advocate, complained against any one, neither against God nor against man! There has never flamed up a spark of hatred in his eyes; he has never uplifted them with any pretensions to Heaven." Bontsie again does not understand a word, and the harsh voice interrupts him:      --Ohn' Retorik!      --Iow hāt nischt ausgehalten, er is' umglucklicher gewesen--      --Fakten, truckene Fakten! ruft noch umgeduldiger der Prases.      --Zu acht Tāg' hāt men ihm male gewesen--      --Nor ohn' Realism!      --A Mōhel, a Fuscher hāt dās Blut nit verhalten--        *       *       *       *       *      --Weiter!      --Er hāt alls geschwiegen, fuhrt weiter der Meeliz-jōscher, afile      wenn die Mutter is' ihm gestorben un' er hāt zu dreizehn Jāhr a      Stiefmame bekummen ... a Stiefmame--a Schlang, a Marschaas....      --Mēint man doch efscher fort mich? tracht Bonzje.        *       *       *       *       *      --Ohn' Insinuazjes auf dritte Personen, boesert sich der Prases.      --Sie flegt ihm žalewen dem Bissen ... ēher-nachtig verschimmelt      Brōt ... Hāar-flachs far Flēisch ... un' sie hāt Kawe mit Schmetten      getrunken--      --Zu der Sach'--schreit der Prases.      --Sie hāt ihm far dās kēin Nagel nischt gekargt un' sein      blo-un'-blo Leib flegt arauskucken vun alle Locher vun seine      verschimmelt-zurissene Klēider.... Winter, in die grosste Frost',      hāt er ihr bārwess auf'n Hōf Holz gehackt, un' die Hand' senen zu      jung un' schwach gewesen, die Klotzlech zu dick, die Hack zu      stumpig ... nischt ēin Māl hāt er sich die Hand' vun die Stawes      ausgelenkt, nischt ēin Māl hāt er sich die Fuss' ābgefrōren, nor      geschwiegen hāt er afile sich var'n Vāter--      --Var'n Schiker! lacht arein der Katēgor, un' Bonzje werd kalt in      alle Eewrim-- "Please, without rhetoric!" "Job did not endure, but he has been more unfortunate--" "Facts! Dry facts!" the President calls out more impatiently. "On the eighth day he was circumcised--" "Pray, without realism!" "The surgeon was a quack, and he did not stanch the blood." "Go on!" "He was always silent," the Advocate proceeds, "even when his mother died, and he got upon his thirteenth year a stepmother ... a stepmother--a snake, a witch." "Maybe he really means me?" Bontsie thinks to himself. "Leave out insinuations against third persons!" says the President, angrily. "She begrudged him every morsel.... Musty bread, three days old ... tendons for meat ... and she drank coffee with cream...." "Let's come to business!" cries the President. "And she did not spare him her finger nails, and his blue-and-black body peeped through all the holes of his musty clothes.... In winter, in the severest frosts, he chopped wood for her in his bare feet, and his hands were too young and too weak, the blocks too large, the axe too dull.... More than once he had sprained his wrists, more than once he had frozen his feet, but he was silent, and even to his father--"        *       *       *       *       * "The drunkard!" the Prosecuting Attorney laughs out loud, and a shiver passes over Bontsie's body.      --Nischt geklāgt,--endigt der Meeliz-jōscher dem Satz.      --Un' standig elend, fuhrt er weiter, kēin Chawer, kēin      Talmud-tōre, kēin Cheeder, kēin Schkole ... kēin ganz Beged ...      kēin freie Minut--      --Fakten! ruft weiter der Prases.      --Er hāt geschwiegen afile spater, wenn der Vāter hāt'n schikerhēit      a Māl āngechappt bei die Hāar un' in Mitten a schneewindiger      Winternacht arausgeworf en van Stub'! Er hāt sich still aufgehōben      vun Schnee un' is' entloffen, wu die Augen hāben ihm getrāgen....      Auf'n ganzen Weg hāt er geschwiegen ... beim grossten Hunger hāt er      nor mit die Augen gebettelt.      Erscht in a schwindeldige, nasse Wjosne-nacht is' er in a grōsse      Stādt areingekummen; er is' arein wie a Troppen in a Jam un' doch      hāt er die ēigene Nacht in Kose genachtigt.... Er hāt geschwiegen,      nischt gefragt far wās, far wenn? Er is' araus un' die schwerste      Arbēit gesucht! Nor er hāt geschwiegen!      Noch schwerer far der Arbeit is' gewesen sie zu gefin'en,--er hāt      geschwiegen!      Bādendig sich in kalten Schwēiss, zusammengedruckt unter der      schwerster Last, beim grossten Krampf vun'm lēdigen Māgen, hāt er      geschwiegen!      Bespritzt vun fremder Blote, bespiegen vun fremde Mauler, gejāgt      vun Trotuaren mit der schwerster Last arāb in Gassen zwischen      Droschkes, Kareten un' Tramwajs, kuckendig jede Minut dem Tōdt in      die Augen arein,--hāt er geschwiegen!      Er hāt kēin Māl nischt ubergerechent, wieviel vun Masse es kummt      aus auf a Groschen, wieviel Māl er is' gefallen bei jeden Gang far      a Dreier, wieviel Māl er hāt schier nischt die Neschome      ausgespiegen, māhnendig sein Verdienst, er hāt nischt gerechent,      nischt sein, nischt Jenem's Masel, nor geschwiegen! "He did not complain!" the Advocate concludes his sentence. "And eternally alone, he proceeds,--no friend, no religious instruction, no school ... not a whole garb ... not a free minute!" "Stick to facts!" calls out the President. "He was silent even later, when his father, in a drunken fit, once grabbed him by his hair and kicked him out of the house into a stormy winter night. He quietly picked himself up and ran whither his eyes carried him. "He was silent on his whole journey ... in the greatest frost he begged only with his eyes. "In a nasty, wet spring night he arrived in a large city; he fell in like a drop in the Ocean, and yet he passed that very night in the police jail.... He was silent, did not ask why. He came out of it, and looked for the hardest work! And he was all the time silent.        *       *       *       *       * "Much harder than the work was the finding of the same,--and he was silent. "Bathing in cold sweat, bent under the heaviest burdens, during the severest cramps of his empty stomach,--he was silent! "Besmutted by strangers' mud, bespit by strangers' mouths, driven with his heavy load from the sidewalks into the streets among buggies, coaches, and street cars, looking every moment into the eyes of death,--he was silent! "He never calculated how many pounds of load came to every penny, how many times he stumbled on every three kopeks' errand, how many times he almost exhaled his soul collecting his pay; he did not beseech or curse,--he only was silent!