THE 
 
 ''Pleasures" of the Czar 
 
 ETC. 
 
 BY 
 
 KZKKIKL LKAVITT. 
 
 ISRAEI. FRIEDMAN 
 
 PRINTER 
 WASHINGTON, D. C. 
 
^^'^ 
 
 
 Transferred froth 
 L\ti'c:ic:yc Office. 
 

 CONTENTS 
 
 Pag-e 
 
 Prelimmarj Remarks 5 
 
 The "Pleasures" of the Czar 10 
 
 ^'Professor" Getzel 18 
 
 Hearts and Stomachs 30 
 
 Between Love and Dut}^ 34 
 
 Thoug-hts 50 
 
 WhoisHappy?^ 59 
 
 M7 Confession ^^-s^ (^3> 
 
 * Was published in "The American Hebrew." 
 ** Trariislated from the Yiddish by Alice Slone Bluckzvell 
 and published in "The Jewish Exponent." 
 
PRELIMINARY REMARKS 
 
 " He, Leavitt, is a singer of great, the greatest promise." 
 
 ( The late Dr. Jacob Voorsanger, Professor of the University of 
 California and of Leiand Stanford, Jr. University, in Elmanu-El, 
 Feb. 21, 1908.) 
 
 Obtaining permission from my highly esteemed friend 
 Mr. Ezekiel Leavitt to pubHsh in book form some of his 
 very interesting comedies, etc., I deem it proper to make 
 a few remarks about him, though I am v/ell aware of the 
 fact that Ezekiel Leavitt needs no introduction to the 
 literary world. 
 
 Mr. Leavitt is "a writer with a message," justly re- 
 marked one of his critics, and the truth of this opinion is 
 disclosed in all his writings. He is "a masterful in- 
 terpreter of both the despair and the hope of his own 
 suffering people." He is "a true Jewish poet, a true 
 grandson of the prophets," said the late Professor Voor- 
 sanger in Emanu-El, February 21, 1908. And a similar 
 opinion of Leavitt's poems is also expressed by Israel 
 Zangwill in one of his letters to Leavitt, in which he, 
 among other things, says: "I sympathize with your na- 
 tional aspiration and your prophetic eliort to uplift the 
 torch of idealism." 
 
 The poems '']\Iy Creed," ''To My Nation," "A Zionist 
 Marseillaise," ''A Prayer," and especially ''They Tell Me," 
 are good examples to justify these opinions. In the last 
 poem are some lines which can surely be considered real 
 gems in the realm of poetry. 
 
 Take, for instance, these four lines : 
 
 "My God, my race, I will not change 
 
 For gold or jewels' fires; 
 ]\Iore than a stranger's treasure-house, 
 A grave among mv sires !" 
 
Leavitt is a native of Russia, the land of oppression, 
 
 "Where they dig graves 
 
 For high ideals, and where th'e fist is law; 
 Where tyrants rule, whose kindness is like dew, 
 
 Their righteousness like webs which spiders draw;" 
 
 and, therefore, most of his poems are moiu'nful, and his 
 ''songs are poisoned." 
 
 "There is a depth of feeling in his (Leavitt's) poems, 
 and a beauty of sentiment and force of expression which 
 remind the reader very strongly of the deep penetration 
 into nature's mysteries which we find in some of the best 
 Russian poets of the day, like Tolstoi. To Leavitt, as to 
 Tolstoi, nature seems to speak," says Professor Gotthard 
 Deutsch in "The Jewish Voice" of March 6, 1908. And 
 this opinion will be shared by every one who will read 
 "The Prophet" and "Deborah," "an epic of great merit," 
 as William Jennings Bryan calls it in his "Commoner" of 
 May 22, 1908. 
 
 "When Mr. Leavitt grows sarcastic he can be as bitter 
 as sea-water. He echoes Heine," remarks William 
 Marion Reedy in his "Mirror" of February 6, 1908. And 
 the poems "One of Many," "'Doctor' Mendel," "The Pig," 
 and "The Lion and the Dogs" are enough to confirm Mr. 
 Reedy's opinion. 
 
 Leavitt "lashes inhumanity with the wildest indigna- 
 tion; his soul is on fire when he traces the injustice of 
 which his people have been the victims," wrote one of his 
 critics, and the poems, "To the Executioner," "On 
 Russia's Frontier," and "My Curse" are good evidence 
 of the correctness of this view. Congressman Francis 
 Burton Harrison expressed himself that these three poems 
 
awoke in his heart a terrible hatred to the Russian Gov- 
 ernment and a profound sympathy to its victims. 
 
 In his remarkable poem, "A Lion's Spirit," which has 
 '•the strong frankness of a spiritualized Walt Whitman,^ 
 as a critic remarked in 'The Sun" of March 5, 1905^ 
 Leavitt says : 
 
 "Within me, even from my youth, 
 
 A Hon's spirit dwells ; 
 High do I rise ; toward mighty deeds 
 
 My heart aspires and swells." 
 
 And this beautiful and toucliing poem he ends with these 
 lines : 
 
 "God gave me thirst for great ideals 
 
 And, from my earliest breath, 
 
 B'efore a dog's life, T with joy 
 
 Would choose a lion's death." 
 
 And Leavitt always practices what he preaches ! While 
 yet a lad in Russia he did not fear to send from there an' 
 article to the American Hebrew weekly "Hapisgoh," in- 
 which he unmercifully attacked Russia for her attitude 
 toward the Jew^s, and a few years later he made known: 
 to the world his "Streamlet," which caused him much: 
 trouble and grief, but also fame and recognition. In this 
 poem Leavitt compares the Russian Government to rocks 
 and says to them : 
 
 "Rocks, laugh not ! Granite does not last for aye ; 
 Continual dropping hollows out the stone." 
 
 Since Leavitt is in America he published articles, poems 
 and sketches in every leading Jewish and Jewish-English 
 paper, and almost every contribution of his is reprinted 
 manv times. 
 
**The man that makes a character makes foes," says 
 Edward Young, and, therefore, a man of Leavitt's char- 
 acter, who Hkes to tell the truth, though ''truth hurts," 
 must have enemies ; but the number of his admirers is 
 much greater, and they are not only here but in different 
 countries. The great thinker, Max Nordau, is one of 
 them, and in every letter of his to Leavitt he assures him 
 that 'he considers him as "one whose poetical gift and 
 wonderful master}- of our venerable language he much 
 admires." 
 
 Leavitt is one of our best orators and lecturers, and is 
 always ready to advocate any good movement. He is an 
 ardent Zionist and a great dreamer of the revived na- 
 tional ideal. He worked and works with word and pen 
 and with great enthusiasm for this noble cause. He 
 possesses a warm heart, strong conAactions and firm prin- 
 ciples, i want to recall here one fact of many similar 
 ones. He attacked very strongly Ash's disgraceful and 
 pornographic production, ''The God of Vengeance;" he 
 also bitterly attacked many times the outpourings of 
 Emma Goldman ; nevertheless, when he read in the papers 
 that a New York Rabbi called the attention of the chief 
 of police to Ash's play, and that a St. Louis Rabbi asked 
 the chief of police to prevent Emma Goldman lecturing 
 there, Mr. Leavitt published in the "Vorsteher" of March 
 12, 1908, a fiery article which ends thus: "I am ready to 
 fig'ht against plays like Ash's and against lectures like 
 Emma Goldman's, but with honest weapons : with word 
 and pen. But the people who go hand in hand with the 
 police and demand from them 'justice,' such people 
 deserve that we should consider them 'the meanest 
 creatures.' " So defends an honest man the liberty of 
 
those whom he personally dislikes and sometimes even 
 condemns ! 
 
 In conclusion, I want to say that "The Pleasures of the 
 Czar," "Hearts and Stomachs," and ''Thoughts" were 
 published in ''The Hebrew Standard ;" "Professor 
 Getzel" in "The Jewish Voice;" and "Between Love and 
 Duty" in the "Menorah." The latter was originally 
 written and published in the Russian language, and was 
 translated into English by David A. Modell. For this 
 publication, however, Leavitt has revised it. 
 
 A few lines of the poem "To Beekiel Leavitt — Bard 
 of Israel," wdiich was published in "The Jewish \'oice," 
 will end my few remarks. 
 
 "Oh, Player! strike again thy chord, 
 
 Bold Judah sleeps, but is not dead ! 
 As once before the lion roared, 
 So, roaring, will he rear his head." 
 
 Louis S. Gottlieb. 
 Washington, D. C, ]\Iarch 1910. 
 
THE 'PLEASURES" OF THE CZAR 
 
 A Tragi-Comedy in One Act. 
 
 Charactkrs : i. Czar Nicholas — a pale man of about 
 38, nervous, with closed, half idiotic eyes that cannot 
 rest in tlieir sockets. He wears an official coat, behung 
 with crosses, medals and wdth tiny portraits of saints. 
 From both his sides, two swords hang downi ; and upon 
 his head he wears a gold crown which shakes continu- 
 ally and which can scarcely stay on his head. 
 
 .2. Alexandra- — a fine-looking woman of thirty odd 
 years, with the dafnty manners of an aristocratic Ger- 
 man — the wife of Nicholas. 
 
 .3. ]\Iarie- — a dame of about sixty, with small and weak 
 eyes. Her face is painted and powdered, making her 
 appear like a superannuated actress — Nicholas' mother. 
 
 .4. PoBiEDONOSTSiEFF— a bent old man with a wrinkled 
 face and with the side whiskers of a Russian under- 
 officer. His appearance is terrible and repellant. 
 5. Stolypin, 
 
 Czar's 
 Lackevs. 
 
 WiTTE, 
 
 dournovo, 
 Yermoloff, 
 Neidgart, 
 
 'Gvardye" Officers (Body Guards) and Soldiers 
 Place Peterhof 
 
 Xiclwlas (in anger). "Oh, oh, oh! How times do 
 \:hange. Who could have imagined that the pride of a 
 Romanoff should be so humbled? Who could have 
 foretold, that our dynasty should suffer so many indig- 
 nities? And from wdiom? (Stamps his feet and seizes 
 both swords with his hands). From mutineers, from 
 
 10 
 
good-for-naughts ! . . . l^^rom ! . . . ( Begins to tremljle 
 with intense excitement. ) 
 
 Alexandra (tenderly). "Nicholas, my dear, my be- 
 loved, calm yourself! Your nerves are unstrung, your 
 mind is mixed . . . (she stammers) ... is confused." 
 
 Pohiedonostsicif (crossing himself). "May the Holy 
 \'irgin protect your majesty!" 
 
 Marie (with a pious countenance), "And the holy 
 .\thanasius, too!" 
 
 Stolypin. "Your majesty! You must have courage 
 now. You must strengthen yourself, for without you 
 we are powerless. The ' Muz j ikes' — the two-footed 
 machines, the rusty automaton which hitherto had not 
 dared to utter a sound — demand now — do you hear, your 
 ]\Iajesty? — they demand, not beg. land and liberty. And 
 what answer can we give them ?" 
 
 Pobiedoiwsfsieif (in trembling voice). "Liberty in 
 Russia? Oh, no! We must erase this dangerous word 
 from all our dictionaries ; we must stop the mouths of all 
 the heathens who dare to mention this word." 
 
 JVifte (with a cynical smile). "You are right, Con- 
 stantine Petrovitch ! Russia has never known of liberty, 
 and perhaps she ought not to know it. But we must 
 make some show before the world, too ! You know the 
 government treasury is now empty." 
 
 Dournovo and Xeid^art (together). "There is still 
 enough money for gallows and guns ! For such holy 
 purposes our Russian patriots will give away even their 
 last groschen." 
 
 Marie (firmly) "We owe the world no explanation. 
 My Sasha, your honored father, my little Nicholas, has 
 always sought to satisfy onlv liimself and the Church. 
 And vet he lived until he died." 
 
 11 
 
Pobicdonostsieff (with tears in his eyes). ''May he 
 rest in the arms of Jesus, my good and pious pupil." 
 
 Nicholas (fixing his eyes on Witte). ''What say you, 
 Count Sergey Julevitch? Our treasury is empty? Can 
 we, then, make no loan outside of Russia? Outsiders 
 do not know clearly our interests. We needs must con- 
 fuse their brains with imaginary and unheard-of reports ; 
 and if bad comes to worse, you can turn to 'Zjidovski' 
 bankers. I hate them— the 'Zjides,' but their money 
 (sarcastically) — their .money is all right. And if you 
 
 will promise them a good interest, they will lend you 
 money even if they knew the money would go for pre- 
 parations for 'Pogroms' for their own nation." 
 
 Witte. "Still, your Majesty, we must, at least, make 
 some reforms, in order to put outsiders off the scent.'' 
 
 Stolypin. "Who cares for outsiders ? We must simply 
 have a few reforms out of fear of our own murderers, 
 who throw bombs right and left. One of my eyes aches 
 even yet, from that dense smoke which that bomb had 
 made in my palace. I cannot sleep in peace ; I am in fear. 
 We are all in danger !" 
 
 Pohiedonostsieif. "We must build more cloisters ; we 
 must be more pious ; so God will not forsake us." 
 
 Marie. "Right, rightj Heresy is growing in our 
 land, and it is the cause of all our misfortunes." 
 
 Dournovo. "We must increase the number of spies ; 
 we must punish every slight offense against us with 
 death ; let the mean souls of the terriorists leave them on 
 the gallows, upon the scaffold. Your Majesty,- we need 
 a dictator !" 
 
 Neidgart (kissing the Czar's boots). "Give us more 
 Dubasoffs, Kourloffs, Minins, Rennenkampfs, and we 
 will see to everything." 
 
 12 
 
Marie. "It is said that the 'Zjides' are spreading all 
 kinds of anarchistic and atheistic booklets over entire 
 Russia ; it is said that they preach free and harmful 
 doctrines ; we must teach them a good lesson." 
 
 Pobicdonostsieff. ''Their fore-forefathers had put our 
 Redeemer on the Cross. This is a nation of Anti-Chris- 
 tians, of exploiters, of blood-suckers . . . death to them 
 all!" 
 
 JJ'iftc. "From the moral standpoint, we might well 
 strangle those Jews, every one of them (Dournovo 
 quietly to Neidgart : 'And what will become of his wife?') 
 But from the economic standpoint, we must not do it, for 
 it will be hard for us to get money outside of Russia In 
 the foreign newspapers, they make fun of us ; they call 
 us 'Barbarians,' 'Africans,' and such things weaken our 
 credit there." 
 
 Xicholas (groaning). "Yermoloff's advice is that I 
 should give my land to the 'mouzjikes'; Witte's advice is 
 that I should make no more 'pogroms' upon Jews. Well, 
 then, what remains to me in life? No land, and no enjoy- 
 ment either. Oh, great spirit of my dear and beloved 
 Ivan the Terrible. What to do ? What to do ?" 
 
 Marie. "I know, my little Xicholas, that the good 
 news of Jewish heads cut off, of dishonored Jewish maid- 
 ens, of wounded Jewish children, of the Jewish blood 
 grown cold, makes you happier and merrier. W^ll, then, 
 what is there to hinder? Have you not enough soldiers, 
 or are you, perhaps, short in guns and knives? 'What 
 of the foreign loans ?' you ask. Oh, child, child ! you are 
 still very foolish. After the 'pogroms' have taken place, 
 you might have it printed in the newspapers that your 
 heart is aching, that you have great pity for the sacri- 
 
 13 
 
fices, etc. Then you remain a kind-hearted Czar, and the 
 joy of the 'pogroms' is still yours.'' 
 
 Alexandra. "No, no! It is not modern to make 'pog- 
 roms.' It is not nice for the civilized world to fill 
 stomachs with feathers, to drive nails into eyes, and be- 
 sides, it is, perhaps, even a pity, too." 
 
 Dounwz'o. "P'ardon, Czarina! As an old soldier, I 
 know of no pity, especially when the 'Zj ides' are con- 
 cerned, who are a menace to us." 
 
 Xcidgarf. "My friend Dournovo knows the Jews bet- 
 ter than you do, Czarina. .Vnd, therefore, he has rightly 
 remarked that they are a menace to our peace. To have 
 pity on them ? You are too good, Czarina ! I swear to 
 (jod, too good ! I can shoot down ten Jews at once, as 
 one shoots mad dogs. ... I can cut up to pieces the 
 Jewish women with their revolutionary 'Zjidkelach' 
 (little Jews), and this with a smile on my lips — I can — " 
 
 Pobicdonostsicif (with a pleased face). "We know that 
 \ou can do that, dear brother. May Jesus give you new 
 strength to crush the enemies of the Church, of the royal 
 family — the enemies of ever}'thing that is to us dear and 
 sacred." 
 
 Nicholas (to one of the bodyguard). "Hey, bring 
 'vodka,' bring champagne, I want to drink — to drink. 
 (Big bottles of wine are brought in, also brandies and 
 champagne, and they were placed near Nicholas). 
 
 Nicholas (drinking). "It is delicious. There is noth- 
 ing better than our 'vodka.' Drink all of you, drink ! 
 I am the Czar, the Autocrat. You wish to make 'pog- 
 roms ?' 'Tis well ! But, Stolypin, Witte ! Together 
 with the arms you will give to my faithful servants, you 
 should also prepare letters, which you should write — in 
 
 14 
 
my name — that I am much hurt that my iimocent subjects 
 should be robbed and murdered. Innocent? Ha, ha, ha! 
 They are certainly the greatest rebels, mutineers ; they 
 are the most dangerous elements in the land. They are — 
 (drinks and yawns) a pest, a plague. 'Dumas' do they 
 want, with Jewish representatives ! I will show them a 
 'Duma/ that — " (trembles with anger). 
 
 Marie. "My son, do not worry over it. Give but a 
 wink to your faithful servants, and the streets of Russia 
 will be dyed with the blood of the 'Zjidovski' race." 
 
 Ycrmoloff. "And what answer shall we make to the 
 'Aluzjikes ?' They scream and howl, make scandal." 
 
 Dournovo. "The Jewish blood will intoxicate them, 
 will dumbfound them entirely, and they will be as silent 
 as dogs." 
 
 Nicholas (shaking unsteadily). "I am the Czar of 
 Russia. I will annihilate all the 'Muzj — all the Zj ides' 
 of my sacred land. I shall institute an inquisition, as 
 there had once been in Spain. To think that T should 
 suffer anxiety for such beings. I should suffer misery 
 for creatures like these. Oh, Trepoff ! Trepoff !" (weeps). 
 
 Ah'idgart (kissing the Czar's boots). "Great Czar f 
 Everything shall happen as you wish. I lift my glass' to> 
 the annihilation of all the 'Zjides.' " • 
 
 Dournovo. ''Bravo, brother!" 
 
 Pobiedonostsicff. "That is the way for a true Chris- 
 tian to speak." 
 
 Marie. "And a noble patriot." 
 
 Stolypin. 'T will see to everything. I understand my 
 business well." 
 
 Witte. "And what will become of the loan ? There 
 will be a terrible crisis in Russia ; I see it now, I feel it." 
 
 15 
 
Yennoloff. "And who will quiet the new savagery of 
 the peasants?" 
 
 Nicholas (yawning). "'Pogroms?' Well, very well ! 
 
 Crisis ? Loans ? Well, devil ! Trepoff ! Already dead, 
 
 my faithful servant, dead? A bomb had reached him, too? 
 
 I do not remember now. Ah, what a delicious thing is 
 
 the Russian 'vodka!' Hey, bring champagne! Quick! 
 
 Why. do you stand like idiots ? Already many stomachs 
 cut open ! Already many Jewish corpses ! Ha, ha, ha !" 
 
 (falls down). 
 
 Alexandra (frightened). ''We must call a doctor, 
 quick." 
 
 Pobicdonostsicif. ''His Majesty has taken more 
 *vodka" than his delicate constitution can stand; that is 
 the reason he does not feel well. But it will soon pass. 
 Many times I have already had the honor to see him, and 
 his honored father, in such condition. It's alright. No 
 harm will come of it.'' (He makes the sign of the cross 
 over Nicholas and mumbles a prayer). 
 
 Marie. "When my dear Sasha used to feel ill, when 
 a gloomy fear used to possess him, the best means of 
 bringing him back to new life was to tell him of new 
 misfortunes upon the hated 'Zjides.' It is the same with 
 our son. with Nicholas. Make 'Pogroms.' Cut, tear 
 Jewish limbs ! Burn their houses and their possessions, 
 and at once bring the good news to us. 'Tis a pleasure 
 to hear it; it is the greatest joy we can have." 
 
 Neidgart and Dournovo arise from their places and go 
 towards the door. 
 
 Pobicdonostsicif (calling after them). "May the 'Pog- 
 roms' be a success. In the name of Jesus I bless you." 
 
 JJltfc (as to himself). "European opinion — the Press 
 — oh. the devil take it all!" 
 
 16 
 
Stolypin. "The Czar is in misery. He wants some 
 happiness from 'Pogroms' — let there be 'Pogroms.' The 
 Press — opinions — pshaw ! We are the lords of our own 
 land. No one will dare to say a word to us. We will 
 answer at once 'Nye uv svoyi sanii nye sadis,' — 'Since 
 it is not your sleigh, don't sit in it.' " 
 
 17 
 
"PROFESSOR" GETZEL 
 
 A Comedy in Two Acts. 
 
 Characters : 
 GETZEL LUDLOWJAILSKY, a man of sixty, who al- 
 ways insists that he is only forty-five ; a short little fel- 
 low, with cat's eyes, blonde mustaches and with a moon- 
 shaped head, covered with hair, half blonde, half white 
 (the result of frequent dyeing). He likes to be called 
 "Professor." 
 HILKE LEMECHOVSKY, a "melamed." a schnorrer, 
 a gossiper and an all-around good-for-nothing fellow, 
 about fifty-five, a bosom friend of Getzel. 
 'CHAIM SONSARA, publisher, a middle-aged man. 
 :BENTAMIN TRUTHMAN, young, but already famed 
 as a scholar and writer; a man of strong principles and 
 sincere character. 
 INIOE ROSE, a poet of about forty-eight. 
 ALEX RAKO\^Y, a linguist and critic, a middle-aged 
 
 man. 
 TASH, a Yiddish writer. 
 
 BUB, an editorial wTiter of a Yiddish paper. 
 FISH, an Americanized young man, an active membet 
 in a Yiddish daily. 
 
 AARON LORY, a colleague of Getzel, his teacher in 
 art and poetry. 
 KOM, a wealthy publisher. 
 
 PLACE — New York, in a Jewish newspaper office. 
 
 ACT L 
 Lcmcchovsky (standing near Getzel's desk and holding 
 in his hand a Jewish paper.) ''I am always happy, pro- 
 fessor, when I read your poems and the poems of our 
 beloved friend the Pittsburg editor. I am quite sure that 
 
 18 
 
both of you and, perhaps, Nathan Cantor also, arc the 
 greatest poets of our century. Your style is so sweet, so 
 charming, so full of sentiment that my mother-in-law 
 (and she, you know, is a literary woman, being the wife 
 of a well-known 'melamed' in Israel j thinks that your 
 writings are actually as good as her 'Tchinos.' " (Yid- 
 dish prayers for women). 
 
 Gcfzcl (with a smile.) "I am very glad that such 
 authorities like you and your mother-in-law appreciate my 
 writings. That is my consolation in the dreary moments 
 of my life, when terrible critics attack me and my literar}- 
 outpourings, stating that I am not a writer at all." 
 
 Rakovy (approaching) "I heard the compliments 
 which Lemechovsky conferred upon you, Mr. Ludlow- 
 jailsky, and I cannot refrain from laughing. You are a 
 w^riter? Don't be angry if I'll ask you, just between our- 
 selves, what have you ever written that has any literary 
 value? Or, perhaps, you really believe that your articles 
 and quasi-sketches, the best part of which is stolen from 
 old papers, give you a right to the title 'litterateur?' But, 
 I heg your pardon, I forgot that you do not care for such 
 little things as rights, and that is the reason that you, not 
 having the least right, call yourself 'professor.' You are 
 a professor? Who, I pray, gave you this title? Your 
 mother-in-law, your janitor or Lemechovsky? I know 
 that you never studied, I am sure that you have no con- 
 ception of science and literature. I am positive that you 
 are an ignoramus in the full sense of the word, and you 
 dare to call yourself 'professor?' Let me tell you that 
 you are quite a champion of righteousness." 
 
 Lemechovsky (shivering.) "You are wrong, Mr. 
 Rakovy, ver}- wrong ! I heard from my mother-in-law 
 
 19 
 
that she heard from a poHceman of our district, who un- 
 derstands poHtics very well^ that Professor Getzel was 
 already appointed by Tammany Hall as American ambas- 
 sador to Turkey, and that he in his humility refused to 
 accept the nomination. You know why? Because he is 
 modest, because he is aware of the fact that the Jews of 
 New York will not enjoy their 'tzimes' and 'kugel' (spec- 
 ial Jewish dishes) if they will not find in Friday's Yiddish 
 paper, Getzel's wisdom." 
 
 Sonsara, Truthman, and Rose enter and seat them- 
 selves in the room adjoining the office ; Rakovy and Lem- 
 echovsky go out through different doors ; Getzel, putting 
 on his spectacles, which have only one glass, takes out 
 carefully from his pockets a bunch of clippings. 
 
 Truthman (turning to Sonsara.) "Have you seen al- 
 ready Getzel's statement to Dr. Sharlatansky ? Isn't it a 
 disgrace? I wonder how you, his publisher, can allow 
 him to act so mean !" 
 
 Sonsara. ''You are, I see, 'green' yet in the journalis- 
 tic field of our Gotham, when you ask me such naive 
 questions. Besides, let me assure you that I like Getzel 
 no better than you do. .... I remember well his 
 pasquils against myself and my family. I'll never forget 
 the stones which he threw at me for the bread and butter 
 which I gave him ; but I need him in my office for the 
 same reason that I need my dog at home ; to bark from 
 time to time. I wish, for instance, to publish in my paper 
 an article against one of my enemies. Well, I'll come to 
 Getzel and say: 'Say Getzel, here is a two-dollar bill, and 
 besides, I'll treat you with a nice dinner at Lorbeer's 
 restaurant, if you will only write a strong article against 
 
 20 
 
]\Ir. So-and-So.' And what do you think? Of course, 
 he will prepare such an article without delay. And for 
 many similar purposes I keep him in my office, though I 
 hate him. I cannot look at him. But, friends, I am a 
 practical man, and I know very well that of such Getzels 
 I can make good use. Business is business." 
 
 Rose. "Several times alread}' I, forgetting my muse 
 and my Parnassus, gave him some very prosaic slaps. 
 Once I even threw an ink well at him, and the ink made 
 his face the color of his soul — black. I thought that he 
 would never forgive me, but a few days after one of those 
 occasions I met him in a restaurant with his friend Lem- 
 echovsky, and — imagine my surprise — he, the beaten 
 Getzel, came over to my table and stretched out his hand 
 to me, making some flattering remarks on my latest 
 poems. I refused, of course, to shake hands with him, and 
 he, as though nothing had happened, called a waiter and 
 ordered an omelet. He is one of the lowest characters 
 in our ghetto. He and Lemechovsky are a worthy twin. 
 Spit in their faces and they will say that it rains." 
 
 Sonsara. "I know well this 'literary' couple, very well. 
 If Getzel will write something, be it as nonsensical as his 
 writings in general, lo ! Lemechovsky walks around in 
 the ghetto coffee houses to advertise it ; when on the other 
 hand, Lemechovsky will furnish a 'literary specimen' — 
 Lemechovsky and literature ; do you hear, gentlemen ? — 
 Getzel will immediately come to me and beg me to accept 
 it for my paper." 
 
 Triithmaii. "The funniest thing is that some fools con- 
 sider Getzel as a Hebrew writer also, though he has as 
 much knowledge of Hebrew as the Russian moujik of 
 calculus. I will wager that he is not able to write a dozen 
 Hebrew words without as many grammatical mistakes. 
 
Yes, he is indeed a 'classieal' Hebrew writer, as he calls 
 himself. And do you know why I would also, without 
 anv hesitation, confer upon him the epithet classical ? 
 Because he ought to be sent to a class for first reader 
 pupils." 
 
 Sojisara. "He told me that he published already many 
 Hebrew^ articles." 
 
 Trnthnian. "Oh, yes! It is a fact, but let iiie tell you 
 the story of those articles. Some of them he sent in 
 Yiddish and signed his name 'Prof. Getzel,' and the 
 Hebrew editors in Russia, being fond of having a profes- 
 sor among their contributors, translated them into 
 Hebrew ; others he sent in his own Hebrew and the editors 
 again translated them from Getzel's Hebrew^ into real 
 Hebrew." 
 
 Rose. "I am acquainted with a very rich German Jew, 
 who always speaks against the Yiddish press. The first 
 time I strongly opposed him and tried to convince him 
 that he is wrong ; but after careful consideration I must 
 confess that in many respects he is perfectly right. Getzel, 
 Lemechovsky, Zeif and other 'writers' of the same cali'ber 
 are the representatives of the Yiddish papers ; they are 
 the priests in the temple of the Yiddish literature. Fugh ! 
 If our readers will ignore such pen fakirs, then they will 
 be compelled to peddle with pickles, herring and onions, 
 and their place in literature will probably be occupied by 
 real writers, who will raise our literature to its proper 
 level, making it beloved and respected." 
 
 Truthman. "Oh, it will take time yet before we will 
 be able to clean the Augean stables of the Yiddish litera- 
 ture. We need many, many a Hercules for this purpose ! 
 And where shall we take them? The Cerberus is alwavs 
 
 22 
 
ill their way. Oh, the Cerberus ; how many talents he has 
 annihilated, he has abolished !" 
 
 Lcnicchovsky (entering unnoticed, reaches Getzel's 
 
 desk and says, quietly:) "Getzel, dearest colleague; I 
 
 have just met Dr. Sharlatansky, and he told me that he 
 
 wants a new statement from you that he cured you of a 
 
 sickness, I forgot the name of it ; it's a queer name. He 
 
 offers vou for vour statement five dollars in advance, 
 
 three dollars after the statement is published once, and a 
 
 quarter for each reprint of this statement. (Smilingly.) 
 
 He told nie that he will crown your statement with a big 
 
 picture of you. Think of it ! Every day your picture 
 
 will appear in the papers ! Your' enemies will see that and 
 
 will burst from envy. Say, Professor, will you ask Dr. 
 
 Sharlantansky to order from me also such a statement? I 
 
 would not require money from him. I will be satisfied 
 
 if he will print every day my picture and will, from time 
 
 to time, give pills for my wife's stomach. She suffers 
 
 very much, poor w^oman, from stomach troubles. It is 
 
 a pity !" 
 
 Sonsara (rising.) "Getzel, say, Getzel ! I forgot to 
 tell you, I want you should write a strong reply to* 
 Michael. You know^ how to write such things. I must 
 not teach you. Here is a dollar! Tomorrow Til treat 
 you wath a dinner and with a pure Havana cigar. Ga 
 ahead and write. Quick !" 
 
 Gctzcl (slavishly smiling.) "All right, Mr. Sonsara^ 
 your wish is always law to me. Yes, by the way, where 
 is the dollar?" Sonsara gives a dollar to Getzel, and the 
 latter victoriously disappears. 
 
 Truthman and Rose, rising together from their seats : 
 "Good-bye, Mr. Sonsara, try to give a good dinner to 
 Getzel; he deserves it — he is a faithful dog!" 
 
 23 
 
Sousara. "I am a practical man ; business is business. 
 Good-bye, good-bye !" 
 
 Rakovy (entering, hears Sonsara's words.) ''Yes; all 
 over I hear the cry that business is business. Some time 
 ago the mercantile spirit was only a factor in the literary 
 world, merel}^ a means to make the fine art of literature 
 more progressive, more known. The dominant idea of 
 most of the writers, and even of some of the publishers, 
 was the idealistic side of their work, the betterment of 
 inankind, which could be attained by reading good works. 
 And now ! Real idealism is scarcely found in our litera- 
 ture. It is now a thing of the past, a memory of yore. 
 Many so-called writers of 'Professor' Getzel's type peddle 
 with their pen like the bootblack boy with his tools, i. e., 
 the former is ready to do the work of the latter — to 
 blacken and to shine up, if he is only paid for it. * * * 
 Fate and circumstances made of me a Jewish writer, and 
 I must confess that many a time I am ashamed of my 
 literary colleagues. Some years ago the old and sensa- 
 tional storymaker Zeif published many -articles against 
 Getzel. adorning his name with very fine invectives, which 
 he really deserved. And now ! They are ready to em- 
 brace each other ; they flatter each other like young 
 schoolgirls; they almost make love to each other. Why? 
 Because they have no principles, because they are both 
 ready to sell their souls for thirty pieces of silver, and 
 even for much less. Literature is a mighty power ; litera- 
 ture is the key to life and nature ; literature is the medium 
 for the promulgation of lofty ideas and progressive 
 principles. And what can we expect from people who 
 have nothing in mind except the mighty dollar? 'Busi- 
 ness is business' is a good enough principle, but we 
 
 24 
 
must know how and when to apply it. In the reahii of 
 literature, however, it should not be too much considered." 
 
 ACT II. 
 In the same place. A year later. 
 
 Task (mournfully.) '*I feel very bad on account of the 
 death of our chief! He died in the prime of his life, hav- 
 ing lost hopes of a brighter future. He had many 
 enemies, he had many faults, but nevertheless he was 
 dear to me, very dear." 
 
 Gctzel. "And I am not sorry at all ! You know why? 
 Because he always treated me as an office boy. I shall 
 never forget how he acted toward me all the time, since 
 I worked under him, and especially lately. Six months 
 ago I celebrated my sixty-first birthday, and on this occa- 
 sion my mother-in-law presented me with a whole set 
 of Oizer Blaustein's novels, and a few of my friends from 
 
 Vitroe, my birthplace, bought me my own classical works 
 'Yacubembe' and 'Modern Tchinos' in gold bindings wnth 
 
 nice letter heads on the cover. I immediately wrote a 
 notice about this and I gave it to our foreman to insert it 
 in our paper. I asked all my friends and admirers to 
 buy a copy containing this notice, in order that they 
 should know^ the exact date of my birthday and begin to 
 think already about the celebration of my seventieth anni- 
 versary. Don't laugh, my friends, don't laugh ! Nine 
 years are nothing, they will fly away before you look 
 around. It is forty years already since I published my first 
 poem 'Ode to a Cockroach,' and it seems to me that it was 
 but yesterday. The cockroach, to which I sang my ode, 
 appears yet before my vision in its old glory . . . But let 
 me continue my story about the notice. Our foreman 
 showed it to our 'tsief,' and he — oh, thunders of Heaven ! 
 
 25 
 
■ — threw it in the waste basket. He begrudged me my 
 fame, the envious one. Now, gentlemen, I am the 'tsief,' 
 and you must obey my orders." 
 
 Buh. ''What! You are the chief? Perhaps in your 
 own home, but not here. You know weU that if you 
 would pay the publishers one hundred dollars a week, i. e., 
 four times as much as they pay you now, they would not 
 permit you to have charge of any department of their 
 -(paper, because you are an irresponsible person, an im- 
 'poster, and they would have to answer blackmail com- 
 plaints every day. We know your record from the 
 '"'World" and from many other sources. We knowtliat you 
 convinced your brother to embrace Christianity, of which, 
 it is rumored, you are an ardent admirer. We heard that 
 you were 'honored* in different countries for your 'noble' 
 and 'good' deeds. W^e know that in our paper you are 
 preaching Zionism, nationalism, etc., while in a western 
 weekly you are publishing at the same time (of course, 
 with the help of a translator from Yiddish into English), 
 so-called articles full of insinuations against everything 
 that is dear and holy to us. Yes, Getzel, we know your 
 abilities, we know your sincerity and we appreciate your 
 aims ! And if I would have the say, I would not keep 
 you here even as a janitor." 
 
 Gctzcl. "But I am the oldest servant in the office, and 
 since the 'tsief died, I am the next to occupy his position." 
 
 Fish (smiling). "I am really surprised, Air. Getzel, 
 that you admit that you are already an elderly man ! Till 
 now you always stated that you were a youngster yet. 
 Whom or what do we have to thank now for the correct 
 statement of your age?" 
 
 Tash. "Don't you understand, Fish? Mr. Getzel Bad- 
 
 26 
 
chon wants that we should prepare for him a seventieth 
 jubilee, and, of course, it is better for him if he will admit 
 his real age." 
 
 Lory. "I am preparing already an English poem for 
 this occasion." 
 
 Task. "I never knew that you were a writer and a 
 poet, especially in English." 
 
 Lory. "I know English as much as my colleague Get- 
 zel knows Hebrew, and if he dares to write Hebrew, why 
 shouldn't I write English? I know that every line of his 
 Hebrew^ is corrected by others or translated altogether 
 from his Yiddish, why shouldn't I do the same? Getzel 
 pays to people who correct his writings with promises, 
 and I pay for such help cash money. You know, that I 
 am not a writer only, I am also a peddler, and the sus- 
 penders and garters w^iich I sell bring me more profit 
 than all my writings." 
 
 Fisli. "Is your English poem in Getzel's honor done, 
 or are you going to work on it during the 8 or 9 years 
 lacking to his seventieth birthday?" 
 
 Lory. "A few^ lines of my intended poem I can recite 
 for you now, if you want." 
 
 Task, Bub, and Fish, altogether. ''All right! All 
 right ! Go ahead !" 
 
 Lory (in the pose of Hamlet pronouncing the mono- 
 logue "To be or not to be") : 
 
 "Oh, Getzel, Getzel, Getzel ! 
 I like you like my 'ketzel,' 
 Which is dear to me 
 Like your poetry. 
 Because it cleans my house 
 From each and every mouse, 
 
 27 
 
I like you, my dear colleague, 
 
 Like dirt likes the pig. 
 
 You are great, great, great, 
 
 There can be no debate ; 
 
 You are a writer with a great name, 
 
 Lemechovsky advertises your fame ; 
 
 Hester and Ludlow streets know you well ; 
 
 My love to you burns in me like Hell." 
 Task. "Your poem is excellent, much better than your 
 and Getzel's poems in Hebrew. You are a poet, but the 
 world does not know it." 
 
 Bub. ''Even now, after the 'poet laureate' Lory dedi- 
 cated to you such a literary gem, none of us in the office 
 will give you a chance to think for even one moment 
 that you are the chief here. Oh, no ! And if you are 
 not satisfied and you don't want to write for our paper 
 news and, from time to time, articles, under the auspices 
 of Mr. Tash and myself, you can leave the office at any 
 time. That is the decision of our publishers, in whose 
 name I am speaking to you." 
 
 Lory. "Don't worry, Getzel dear, I am always willing 
 to take you as a partner in poetry work and in my ped- 
 dling business. At night we will make in partnership 
 poems, and in the day time each one of us will take a 
 bundle and go for business. The number of my cus- 
 tomers, especially among the negroes, is increasing daily, 
 and I cannot attend to them all alone. I shall give you 
 knee pants, petticoats, and stockings as much as you 
 want, and I am quite sure that you will gain from them 
 more than from your writings." 
 
 Fish. "A very good proposition for an old man like 
 you, Reb Getzel !" 
 
 28 
 
Getzel, angrily. *'The room in which the 'tsief was 
 sitting is empty yet and it awaits me. I must be the 
 'tsief ! You hear? I pubhshed already visiting cards 
 saying that I am the 'tsief of our daily; besides, my 
 mother-in-law told all her neighbors that I am the 'tsief/ 
 and I must be so !" 
 
 Kom, entering. "What right have you, Getzel, to 
 make such a noise in my office? Sit down and prepare 
 news for tomorrow ! There was a fire in Cherry street ; 
 an old women fell down from the fifth floor in Grand 
 street ; a policeman beat with his club a Socialist speaker, 
 and so forth. Go ahead, quick!" 
 
 Getzel, slavishly. "All right, Mr. Kom, but don't scold 
 me! I am old and nervous, I cannot stand it!" (crying). 
 "Oh, dear mother-in-law ! Oh, Lory and Lemechovsky ! 
 How unhappy I am, poor devil, how unhappy!" 
 
 29 
 
HEARTS AND STOMACHS 
 
 A Comedy in One Act. 
 
 CHARACTERS : 
 
 Hyman Geldsack, a middle aged German Jew, with 
 the side whiskers of a Russian officer, chairman. 
 
 Bronislav Weinkeller, a native of Balbirishok, who 
 wants to be considered a German Jew, about 40, blond, 
 with long, curled mustaches, a la Wilhelm, secretary. 
 
 BoRUCH Kahn, a Russian Jew, philanthropist, about 
 50, with a long, broad beard, sprinkled in many places 
 with gray. 
 
 Chilka Lemechovsky, about 50, a mclamed, and, at 
 times, a reporter, speaks through his nose and stammers. 
 
 Moses Zundel Traski, a native of Chandrikovka, 
 about 45, with a bloated face, van dyke beard, proud of 
 his acquaintanceship with the rich, and always uses the 
 plural 'Sve." 
 
 Joseph Markowitz, a young man, a. member of this 
 organization, an energetic worker. 
 
 Place New York. 
 
 Geldsack (turning to the secretary). "Well, Herr 
 Weinkeller, tell us all you have to say about down-town 
 philanthropic institutions." 
 
 Weinkeller (with a submissive smile, looking at Geld- 
 sack with meek mien). "Honorable sir! I know well 
 that you know not less, and perhaps, much more than 
 I do about our institutions. I know that, although you 
 are very busy with your numerous business affairs, still 
 you find time to come down to us, and to interest your- 
 self in our small enterprises." 
 
 Traski. "Pshaw ! Such a philanthropist as the noble 
 Mr. Geldsack we have not seen in Russia." 
 
 30 
 
KaJin (with a sarcastic smile turning to Traskij. 
 "Even if your assertion is true, still you must remember 
 that you ought to moderate your compliments in the 
 presence of the person to whom they are addressed." 
 
 Markozcifc (to Kahn). "I agree with you entirely! 
 When a jubilee is celebrated, then it is permissible to use 
 hyperbole language — then it is perhaps not out of place 
 to call a second hand Hebrew poet — Jehudah Halevi ; a 
 Yiddish rhymster — Victor Hugo ; a cheap jester — Gogol, 
 Mark Twain ; a man who doles out a few dollars a year 
 for charity — philanthropist, benefactor ; a man who men- 
 tions in a cafe Karl ]\[arx's or Ferdinand Lassalle's 
 name — a theoretic socialist ; a maggid who chatters and 
 tries to combine in his talk theological books with Thomas 
 Paine's and Ingersoll's works — modern speaker. But 
 merely to flatter without any particular reason is un- 
 necessary." 
 
 LciuccJiovsky. "Wh-wdi-a-a-a-t d-d-do you m-e-ean? 
 Herr Geldsack is a great phi-phi-phi-lanthropist. He is 
 a-a-a " 
 
 Weinkellcr (interrupting). "Our down-town philan- 
 thropic institutions are very good ones, but they need 
 money. The 'Sheltering Home' needs money, the 'Hos- 
 pital' needs money, the 'Burial Association' needs money; 
 instead of money, the first one is getting richer in green- 
 horns, the second — in patients, and the last — in corpses.'* 
 
 Kahn. "Sad, very sad !" 
 
 Geldsack. "Why do the Russian Jews hold aloof, and 
 do not help these institutions with advice and deeds?" 
 
 Traski. "We also ask the same question." ' 
 
 Lcmechovsky. "I shall wr-r-ite an appeal to a local 
 Jewish pa-pa-per." 
 
 31 
 
Gcldsack. *'The Russian Jews, the immigrants, take 
 up all the places in these institutions, even the ceme- 
 teries are filled with them, and if we need any money 
 they hide themselves, and we cannot get a groschen from 
 them." 
 
 Traski. "Yes, indeed, sir, though it is not so." 
 Markowitz. ''It is very unjust of the rich Russian 
 Jews to refuse to help our institutions, but it is still more 
 unjust of our rich German Jews when they complain 
 that the Russians occupy all the places in these institu- 
 tions. Do the Russian Jews do it for pleasure? Besides, 
 do we not allow the German Jews to use the 'Sheltering 
 Home' and the 'Hospital' as much as their hearts desire? 
 Do we begrudge them the cemeteries? Nay, they can 
 use them all as much as they wish." 
 
 Lcincchovsky. "Y-e-es, y-e-e-es, as I am a Jew." 
 
 Gcldsack (with a smile). "It is well worth while to 
 spend a large amount of money for medicine, to make 
 the stomachs of paupers and beggars smaller. Such a 
 remedy would save a lot of money." 
 
 Weinkcllcr. "Ha, ha, ha ! Well said, Mr. Geldsack." 
 
 Traski (to Weinkeller). "Does not Mr. Geldsack al- 
 ways speak to the point?" 
 
 KaJiu. "Mr. Geldsack's proposition pleases you, Mr. 
 Weinkeller? Very well! Perhaps you, Mr. Lemechov- 
 sky, will publish an article about it? (Sarcastically), 
 will you not? Oh, no, gentlemen. Do not think that the 
 Russian Jews, although assisted by the German Jews, 
 deserve scorn, and jests, and contempt from the latter. 
 No, indeed ! Mr. Geldsack's proposition, though made 
 in a joke, is very offensive to me. Mr. Geldsack thinks 
 that the Russian Jews are drunkards, gluttons, and that 
 
 32 
 
their appetites are insatiable. Mr. Geldsack, like many 
 others of his kind, thinks that the Russian Jews are nat- 
 urally shnorrcrs, beggars, and parasites. He knows not, 
 and probably does not wish to know that many down- 
 town Jewish families, who have become poor, often live 
 on a piece of dry bread and herring, or else go hungry, 
 rather than ask help from charity. When they do go, 
 then charity is the last straw to which they cling, sink- 
 ing already with their wives and children in the deep sea 
 of poverty, in the abyss of wretchedness, and in the 
 marshes of necessity. . . . We do not need remedies 
 to decrease the stomachs of the poor ; but remedies are 
 needed to broaden the hearts of the rich German Jews. 
 . . . Then, when they will help the down-town insti- 
 tutions, and will show love and appreciation to the poor, 
 then their noble deeds will be an example for those ricn 
 Russian Jews who yet keep themselves far from philan- 
 throphy." 
 
 Markozvitz. "Here speaks a man of sense !" 
 Lemechovsky. "I w-w-will wr-i-t-e to-da\' a b-b-big 
 article about . . ." 
 
 Geldsack (interrupting). "I give eighteen dollars for 
 the 'Sheltering Home' and eighteen dollars for the 'Hos- 
 pital,' to show that Mr. Kahn's words appeal to me." 
 Traski (to Weinkeller). "Put it in the minutes." 
 Kahn. "Arid I give twice as much for each of the in- 
 stitutions, and I do not care if Lemechovsky will not 
 mention my name in his article." 
 
 Markozvitc (looks at INIr. Kahn and smiles.) 
 Traski. "We give five times eighteen cents as our 
 personal gift." 
 
 Geldsack (taking out his watch). "It is late. W^e 
 must go. '' He adjourns the meeting. All rise and go out. 
 
 33 
 
BETWEEN LOVE AND DUTY 
 
 "Often, dear friend, m\- sufferings are unendurable," 
 said Alexander ^^iichailovicli, nervously stripping- the 
 petals of an acacia. "Tlie question, 'What am I?' gives 
 me no rest. You will answer, I suppose, 'You are a hu- 
 man being, and everything concerning humanity should 
 interest you.' But, my friend, this answer will not relieve 
 me in the least." 
 
 "Wait a bit," cried Solomon Moiceivich, smiling, ,"I 
 haven't uttered a word yet, and here you are already ar- 
 guing with me. Supposing, however, that you have 
 guessed my answer — what then?" 
 
 ''Simply this," answered Alexander Alichailovich, 
 warmly, "that if I am merely a human being, with no na- 
 tional ties whatsoever, why do I sometimes feel so op- 
 pressed — so extremely miserable — at the sight of my 
 wronged brethren, my kin brothers?" 
 
 "Wliy?" immediately repeated the genial but some- 
 what sarcastic Simeon Ivanovich, "the Jewish-Christian,'' 
 as every one called him. "Because, dear friend, do what 
 you will, you are still a Jew ; and a birthmark won't wash 
 off in seven waters, you know." 
 
 "I am a Jew, it's true," sadly replied Alexander Mich- 
 ailovich, "but you will admit that I know altogether too 
 little of Judaism. Pray, what does it consist in? W4iat 
 are its peculiar, specific traits that distinguish it so sharply 
 from the rest of humanity? Tell me. moreover, wherein 
 in general do you find a basis for this so-called national 
 bond?" 
 
 "Your question — questions, rather — cannot be answered 
 offhand ; but, then, you know, of course, the breadth of 
 
 34 
 
our Russian character ; we never hesitate, and ahvays hit 
 from the shoulder." 
 
 "And so," asked Solomon Moiceivich, dejectedly, 
 speaking to Simeon Ivanovich, ''do you really undertake 
 to answer his questions ?" 
 
 "I'll try, at any rate; mental exercise is not yet sub- 
 ject to taxation, even in Russia. Well, my dear Alex- 
 ander Michailovich, leaving your first questions unan- 
 swered, I will endeavor to define to you my own view 
 regarding national ties. Our nature demands, you see, 
 some kind of social afihliation, that would widen the 
 sphere of our interests. The thought that the word 
 'mine' is not restricted merely to one's home and family, 
 lends one vigor and inspires greater self-confidence. This 
 conception is usually the result of a higher moral develop- 
 ment, though the latter is sometimes responsible also for 
 a despotic disposition, a social pride, and the belief in the 
 right to enjoy freely certain personal privileges without 
 deserving them." 
 
 "Dear friend," interrupted Alexander Michailovich, 
 ''all you have said fitly applies to men in general who 
 enjoy some social standing; but to me — what am I? Let 
 me tell you, if you are in the mood for it, when and how 
 I first learned of my Jewish descent." 
 
 "All right, go on," spoke Solomon Moiceivich ; "sad 
 or gay, be it only true, and we will listen." 
 
 "Well," began Alexander Michailovich, "I heard of 
 my being a Jew for the first time when I was between 
 seven and eigh-t. Having quarreled with a Russian play- 
 mate, I came to father, complaining. 'Papa,' I said, 
 'Vassia called me ']qw,' and when I answered back with 
 the same, he laughed right out and added: 'You are a 
 
 35 
 
Jew and a fool, besides.' But, papa, why does he call 
 
 me Jew, while I daren't call him that?" 
 
 ''Because," my father answered, ''he is a Christian 
 and we are Jews." 
 
 "We Jews !" This was news to me. Excepting our- 
 selves, there seemed to be no Jews in N , and if any 
 
 did live there, I did not know them. My father, as the 
 city physician, always ming-led with Christians. I did 
 know, it is true, a poor elderly Jewish woman, who fre- 
 quently visited us in the kitchen ; and our old nurse, 
 Pashia, always reported these visits by saying, 'Mistress, 
 that old Jewess has again been here.' And pronounced 
 the words 'old Jewess' so contemptuously, and so re- 
 spectfully called my mother 'mistress,' that I could not, 
 of course, suspect that between the mistress and the old 
 Jewess there was such close connection. 'We are Jews,' 
 father said — and we never reverted to the subject. I re- 
 member only that I felt grieved and ashamed before 
 Vassia that he should be a Christian and I a Jew. But 
 my parentage was a still greater source of sorrow to me 
 in that it deprived me of all the pleasures my playmates 
 experienced. There never were any holiday celebrations, 
 no Christmas trees in our house, although nothing else 
 was ever denied me. Therein, as I learned afterwards, 
 was manifest the proud, independent spirit of my mother, 
 who could never tolerate a blind imitation of other peo- 
 ple's customs, and a studied conformance to them. Yes, 
 the gloomy side of my childhood and youth must be at- 
 tributed to my utter ignorance of national customs, and, 
 more particularly, ignorance of our own holidays. I saw 
 how others were celebrating; I shared their rejoicings 
 over approaching Christmas festivities, but was not glad- 
 
 36 
 
dened by them so much as Vassia. I remember how 
 mother's words w^ere always ringing in my ears : 'This 
 is a hoHday, but not ours.' Sometimes it seemed to me 
 even that these words have remained the fatal curse of 
 all my life, as if everywhere, upon every festive occa- 
 sion in life, I hear the murmur, 'This is a holiday, but 
 not ours.' 
 
 "Yes, my friend, this forms a wide gap in our boyhood. 
 Not knowing any holidays, we miss the poetry of child- 
 hood with all its charms. What a hard life this is ! How 
 we live, with no ground to stand upon. . . . It is 
 very trying to live under such circumstances, and much 
 more difficult to emerge from them fitted for the struggle 
 for life. What do we receive from these years of child- 
 hood ? What memories ? What can give direction to our 
 minds, and, more . important still, inspiration to our 
 hearts ? To what are we to pin our faith ? In the name 
 of what national pride or weakness shall we raise or low^er 
 our people's standard? We are born and grown up, not 
 knowing who we are ; the very secret of our births is 
 mysteriously kept from us as if by design. No prepara- 
 tory materials are given us, and then we are thrown into 
 the world, subject to all the whims of chance. W^e are 
 torn off from everything which sustained and inspired 
 our parents and grandparents. Nothing is told us in our 
 childhood that would in any degree acquaint us with 
 our history. Finally, we are not given to understand 
 even in the name of what w^e are suffering pers"ecution 
 and indignity. We w^ere not taught to love and to rev- 
 erence our past, and yet are blamed if sometimes we 
 thoughtlessly renounce it. Is this just? Is it logical? 
 Here am I, beaten and made miserable ; why should I not 
 go there wdiere one can live a better, a freer life? For, 
 
 37 
 
in truth. I bear no conscious love for either side; no one 
 has ever told nie why I should love my people. And yet, 
 in spite of all these painful feelings and considerations, 
 I still cannot disown my past: Why? What is the 
 reason?" 
 
 "Because you are a Jew, because you form a part of 
 this suffering nation, and cannot live to share its vital 
 forces without partaking of its sufferings. You are a 
 Jew, and as such you unconsciously suffer for your peo- 
 ple," spoke Solomon Moiceivich with marked emotion. 
 
 "You talk of a 'people,' 'love of kindred,' 'suffering for 
 one's nation,' etc. But, my friend, I am related to it only 
 by birth ; but b\' training and by the whole turn of my 
 life, I have nothing in common with it. Well, I am a 
 Jew, but what have I in common with the Jewish people? 
 Has it given me anything for wdiich I should grow to 
 love it and care to bear its woes ?" 
 
 "Why?" irritably exclaimed Solomon Moiceivich, ''just 
 because it didn't give you anything — and so far it hasn't 
 niuch to offer to men of your calibre. This battered 
 Judaism looks to us to restore her her former strength ; 
 it is for us ourselves to resurrect her — this sleeping 
 beauty — to infuse into her still warm heart the fire of 
 life, a life that should bring back her mig"lity powers, 
 place. her on a level with the rest of humanity, and enable 
 her to say to the world : 'Look at me carefully, and you 
 will see that I am not a bit worse than all the rest, and 
 that I do not deserve your hatred ; I am lovable, and will 
 earn your love ; let me but draw my breath freely, and 
 loosen my hands from the heavy chains which drag me 
 downward.' And how truly beautiful she is ! See how 
 brightly and boldly peer her half-shut eyes ! What a 
 wealth of exquisite, immortal thought they express ! Ob- 
 
 38 
 
serve her countenance, all dee])ly furrowed with the in- 
 delible traces of her past woes — of which there were 
 entirely too many. But even through these can be seen 
 a brave mind and an iron will. She has been persecuted, 
 and she has been enslaved, but never was she vanquished. 
 She is still alive, and still unconquered. Let us go to 
 her ; she expects us to help her, and we have no right to 
 refuse aid; we daren't abandon her now, at the time 
 when she most needs assistance. She has not, perhaps, 
 given us everything that we may expect ; but look closely 
 at her, and you will see that she is great in her weakness ; 
 without rendering us at present any real service, she still 
 draws us to her by her excellent past. Love her, poor 
 thing ; love her, down-trodden and forgotten. Love and 
 pity her!" 
 
 "Dear friend," Alexander ]\Iichailovich interru])ted. 
 "your theory of love absolutely won't bear the test of 
 logic : to love her because she hasn't done anything for 
 us, because. . ." 
 
 "Because," excitedly exclaimed Solomon ]\Ioiceivich, 
 "because, at any rate, she is mine ; because I am myself 
 part of her." 
 
 "Having followed your interminable discussion," broke 
 in Simeon Ivanovich, rising lazily, "I recollected a cer- 
 tain episode from my own early boyhood. Hear it, and 
 then — let there be no more arguing, and to our homes ! 
 I w^as between seven and eight, and my playmate, our 
 poor neighbor's son, was probably no older. We were 
 
 then living what is called a high life, with no thought 
 for the morrow, and we children were utterly spoiled by 
 
 over-fondling. Once, and not, of course, without a cer- 
 tain boastfulness, I commenced to show to my comrade 
 the new toys father had bought me on the eve of the 
 
 39 
 
holiday ; and at every new toy I, in delight, exclaimed, 
 'dear papa, good papa !' 'How much I love him !' My 
 friend, delighted no less than myself, sighed and asked, 
 'Do you love your father very much?' 
 
 " 'Why, of course I do/ I answered. 'But you,' said 
 J, smiling, 'you cannot, of course, love your poor mother 
 so (his father was dead) ; she never gives you any pres- 
 ents.' 
 
 '' 'Yes, indeed,' said he, 'I love her very, very much,' 
 he added, perceiving that I viewed him suspiciously. 
 
 " 'You do love her?' I asked, derisively, 'but why?' 
 
 " 'Because,' he answered, 'because she is so very poor.' 
 
 "I remember I then had but a vague notion as to what 
 may and what may not be lovable. Now I have grasped 
 it all, understanding you, Solomon, perfectly — and Alex- 
 ander, too. Of course, -it is hard for him to accept what 
 you are preaching ; at present it simply runs counter to 
 all his spiritual life. . . ." 
 
 "What are you referring to?" sternly demanded Alex- 
 ander Michailovich. 
 
 "To what?' resumed Simeon Ivanovich, smiling good- 
 naturedly, and not noticing the former's severity, "why, 
 of course, I could not be referring to anything else than 
 to Natalia Nicholaevna. But, I warn you, take care ; she, 
 your sweetheart, does not suspect that you are a Jew." 
 
 It was with a sad heart that Alexander, Alichailovich, 
 having left his friends, bent his steps, without himself 
 observing it, toward the park where he hoped to meet 
 Natalia Nicholaevna. The reflection that she was alto- 
 gether ignorant concerning his descent troubled him con- 
 stantly. He had to inform her of this, and especially to 
 define to himself the relations that were possible under 
 these circumstances. "I'll tell her that I am a Jew," he 
 
 40 
 
thought, ''and what then?" He recalled his first meet- 
 ing with this wonderful girl, "the gray-eyed beauty," as 
 Simeon Ivanovich called her. It happened in summer. 
 A large company had gathered at Simeon Ivanovich's 
 house, among them also he, Alexander Michailovich. 
 Simeon Ivanovich had for some time past been telling 
 him a great deal about this girl, and on entering the big 
 reception room at Ivan Andrievich's (the house of Simeon 
 Ivanovich's father), he readily recognized her among the 
 numerous guests. 
 
 "I recognized you," he said to her a few minutes after 
 they had been introduced. 
 
 "Did you?" she asked, and smiled at him so sweetly 
 that they seemed the oldest of friends. He saw her but 
 a short while that evening, and hardly spoke to her, she 
 staying all the time with the hostess, helping to entertain 
 the guests. 
 
 "There's no need of entertaining you," she said to him 
 as she passed, "you are a member of the house here," 
 and, with a friendly smile at Simeon Ivanovich, "Simeon, 
 he is one of us, isn't he?" 
 
 These were almost the only words addressed to him, 
 but they made him feel at the time that he was at home 
 there, that he formed part of the universe they consid- 
 ered as theirs. These words of that almost unacquainted 
 maiden had eased and warmed his heart. Simeon Ivano- 
 vich was very much surprised the next morning when, to 
 all his enthusiastic questioning about Natalia Nichol- 
 aevna, Alexander Michailovich could answer only, "Yes, 
 she is very good — that I have observed already ; but to 
 come to know her, even slightly, was, of course, impo-.- 
 siblc." 
 
 41 
 
"Xo, sir, you are not sincere," said Simeon Ivanovich, 
 *'one cannot see her without learning to know her ; all 
 her heart shines forth from those gray eyes ; it is re- 
 flected in them as a face in clear water." 
 
 ''Yes," Alexander IMichailovich admitted, "her eyes 
 are indeed wonderful — really exceptional." 
 
 It was then he came to feel that her face would not 
 wane from his memory; he had virtually swallowed her 
 imag-e, and carried it away with him. Two months later 
 they met agam, at the University of P., and this second 
 meeting made him feel good and cheerful. It took place 
 in a merry, friendly company of university students. He 
 recalled her very words: 'T do not know^ yet what I 
 shall do here, but I know that whatever I may do will be 
 well and honestly done, because I have come here amongst 
 you in search of life and work, and have brought with 
 me a big stock of energy and faith. I am looking for 
 people who would give direction to my labor and point 
 out the way." This bold little speech of hers flowed 
 with the freshness of a brook, and none there was wlio 
 thought it funny or stilted. 
 
 "No, no," all seemed to say, "such eyes don't lie; thev 
 cannot shine by artificial light ; they glow wdth the llaiue 
 of the heart, with the sacred fire of a pure and free youth." 
 And how beautiful were her eyes ! How much kindness 
 there was in them, and how much power ! This she made 
 him realize once when he liad been to blame for some- 
 thing. How her e} es glared ! ' He shuddered, and thouglit, 
 ''these eyes can iiet, !3ut the}' can punish, too." It was 
 only for an instant that her eyes rested upon him, but he 
 thought right then thai he would stand anything in Oid.er 
 to avoid such glances. She, exactly surmising his 
 thoughts, smiled, and extended her hand to him, saying: 
 
 42 
 
"I forgive }oiir sin; you didn't know me. And now we 
 are friends again." 
 
 From that moment he felt that he had fallen in love 
 with her, and completely resigned himself to this feeling- 
 Still though he loved, and was loved, he was not alto- 
 gether happy ; his conscience troubled him. He knew 
 that he must not love her, a Christian, with such a love; 
 he realized that it was stolen happiness, but wasn't strong 
 enough to reject it. He knew all this — knew everything, 
 and continued to drain the cup of bliss, poisoning him- 
 self and infecting, it may be, the life of another being, so 
 confidently entrusted to him. x\nd time flew. He grew 
 more and more oppressed at heart ; he was conscious of 
 the unsoundness and dishonesty of his position. . . . 
 He wanted to flee from her ; he wanted and had to, but 
 could not. 
 
 "Life is stronger than I," he said, "it allures me, and 
 I haven't the strength to overcome its influence." And 
 how happ}- he felt during the few rare moments when 
 he succeeded in pacifying his conscience. But these 
 minutes grew more and more rare. Again her image, 
 as she looked when they had talked about the Jews flashed 
 before his eyes. He w^as amazed at the coldness with 
 which sh.e spoke of the Jewish people. How cold and 
 how^ strange she seemed to him, when, to his cjuestion, 
 "Why are they persecuted?" she replied — as if some use- 
 less old furniture were in question : ''They are in our 
 way, they harmfully infect our systems, and we must 
 clear the w^a\- of them." 
 
 "Clear the wvay of them ?" he repeated, his voice vibrat- 
 ing with emotion, "but how ?" 
 
 '*As you please," she answered (and again her cold- 
 ness astonished him), ''only that we be rid of them. 
 
 43 
 
Here 1 accept the Jesuitical motto, 'the end justifies the 
 means.' " He did not say anything to her then ; he felt 
 the nearness of the impending conversation which would 
 prove fatal to them. He had to tell her much — every- 
 thing, but for this talk he was as yet unprepared. And, 
 with a bitter heart, he left her. He was fully aware that 
 he could no longer live in this way : this lie oppressed 
 him. 
 
 ''Thief, thief." whispered his conscience ; and still his 
 heart yearned for happiness, if but for a single day. 
 And more time passed. 
 
 And now here he* is coming, and does not know what 
 he will tell her. But to-day he shall talk, and this recog- 
 nition tortured and oppressed him. His thoughts 
 changed as do the views in a kaleidoscope, preventing 
 him from concentrating his mind on the question he had 
 to settle. And he repeated with grief the whole of his 
 discussion with Sinieon Ivanovich, who did not regard 
 Alexander ]\Iichailovich's position inextricable. 
 
 "There are two courses open to you, and both are 
 equally commendable." 
 
 "That is to say," smiled Alexander Michailovich, "you 
 are preaching a two-sided truth. What sort of a truth is 
 it, pray?" 
 
 "Xot at all," said Simeon Ivanovich good-naturedly, 
 *'it is an uncontrovertible truth, created by your very 
 position. And so listen; you must study yourself con- 
 scientiously, both as a man and as a Jew. If you should 
 find that you lack the courage to renounce Judaism ; if 
 this Judaism has chmg so fast to you ; then there is noth- 
 ing more to be said in the matter ; it will mean that this 
 Judaism is stronger than you, and you will find consola- 
 tion in this recognition, and bow to the inevitable. But 
 
 44 
 
ill that case, of course, Natalie no longer exists for you. 
 This is the first alternative," he concluded, "but there i^ 
 also another, which is likewise not without justification. 
 It consists in this: you must completely reject your past, 
 in the name of the present and future which are over- 
 powering you. This is also an honest course, and follow- 
 ing it does not involve the slightest departure from the 
 truth." 
 
 "He is right, he is right," bitterly reflected Alexander 
 Michailovich, "wrong is he only in thinking that truth 
 can have a double form. But there is but one single truth, 
 
 and therefore, have I no free choice. Yes, the truth is 
 one, and to it I must submit!" He grew sad and hi^ 
 
 heart commenced to ache. 
 
 'T will be strong enough to reject this happiness," he 
 meditated, 'T will be able to part from Natalie, if neces- 
 sary. . . . If," thought he, and stopped, surprised 
 by a voice from a distant lane, where two of his fellow- 
 students were sitting. 
 
 "Don't argue, no more arguing!" he heard the voice 
 of one of them. Go where your brethren are suffering, 
 where your family is faltering and perishing, go to them, 
 show them the road to deliverance. You must go to 
 them. Their sufferings shall teach you what to do." 
 
 "He loves his people," Alexander Michailovich was 
 sorry to think. And do I? Yes, he is more right than I 
 am. Why are we lingering here in this bewitched circle? 
 We should go to them, our poor brothers. They are 
 expecting us, and it is wrong in us to flee from them. 
 Long and bitterly they have suffered ; they will teach me. 
 too, to become reconciled." And sadly Alexander Mich- 
 ailovich stole further away from those noisy lanes where 
 
 45 
 
the ringing speeches and the youthful, irritating laughter 
 were audible. 
 
 "Away, away from the noisy and gaudy crowd," he 
 murmured, and still lower drooped his head, while a new 
 light shone in his eyes, as if the deliberate decision he 
 had reached was catching fire within him, and paralyzed 
 by its brightness Natalie Nicholaevna, who had quietly 
 approached to his side. 
 
 "Is it you?" rang her gay voice, "I have been expect- 
 ing you a long time," she added in a lower tone, extend- 
 ing her hand to him. 
 
 "Alexander," she called, her eyes looking very lov- 
 ingly at him, as if she begged to be understood without 
 speaking. "Alexander," she repeated, "we had once 
 wandered from our conversation regarding the Jews, 
 and I wish to justify now my views on them. Did you 
 say the Jews deserve better treatment from us?" 
 
 "That is, a more undeserved hatred," excitedly ex- 
 claimed Alexander Michailovich. "You are not quite 
 right," gently said Natalie Nicholaevna, interrupting him, 
 "since there can be no question of hatred, at least, in me." 
 
 "In you?" and Alexander Michailovich's eyes gazed so 
 dejectedly at Natalie Nicholaevna that she shuddered and 
 asked: "What's the matter with you, Alexander? Why 
 are you so absorbed in this Jewish question?" 
 
 "Why?" mechanically repeated Alexander Michailo- 
 vich. W^hy, indeed? Many are the reasons, Natalie, 
 very many ; but of this later. Now, please continue, as I 
 want to know your opinion." 
 
 "Well," she resumed, "to me personally the Jews are 
 repulsive, and I detest them very much. Why? I really 
 don't know. I did not think that my dear Alexander 
 takes so much interest in these Jews, or I should have 
 
 46 
 
noticed them more closely, perhaps," she added, smiling-. 
 
 "Dear Natasha," he said, "v/liy are you ever so fond 
 of primary discussions? Why do you judge a whole peo- 
 ple so superficially, avoiding a correct understanding of 
 it? You say you don't like the Jews. . . . Why? 
 Are thev any worse than other races? Has any other 
 people suffered for its ideals and principles, for its re- 
 ligion and truth, as have the Jews? You should kneel 
 before these holy martyrs ; bow low before this chosen 
 people, before the Ahasuerus, v\ho always bring into 
 darkest lands the torch of humanity and civilization, 
 righteousness and justice. . To your knees when you men- 
 tion the chosen people, the messengers of God on earth." 
 
 "Why?" Natalie Nicholaevna indifierently answered. 
 "'Because I don't like the Jews; because no one ever told 
 me that they can be loved. I do pity them, it is true, but 
 even in this pity is sometimes mingled a good deal of 
 contempt. I am never pained by the wrongs they suffer 
 at our hands. I am only sorry that our life forces us to 
 walk alongside a people which lets itself be trodden un- 
 derfoot by everybody. This is a people incapable of tak- 
 ing offense. But tell me, Alexander, why are you grow- 
 ing so pale ? Why does this conversation excite you so 
 much?" she suddenly asked, glancing at Alexander Mich- 
 ailovich. 
 
 "Go on, continue," said he, ignoring her questions and 
 feeling how she was going farther and farther away 
 from him, leaving a hollow sore spot within his heart. 
 
 "What's the use continuing?" said she. "Biit if you 
 want, I will say this : I am prepared to pity them in the 
 name of the superior rights of the weak over the strong, 
 but I cannot help confessing to you that this feeling very 
 much resembles that which the sight of a strayed puppy 
 
 47 
 
excites in me : I do feel sorry for it, but, seeing it wal- 
 lowing in suburban filth and decay, I throw a crumb to 
 it, myself turning away to escape the sight of it greedily 
 snatching the alms. Don't blame me, dear, I can't help 
 it ; I am very squeamish." 
 
 "Squeamish?" repeated Alexander Alichailovich. "And 
 I — I am very proud : I don't need your alms ! I don't 
 care to conceal it from you any longer. . . . No, I 
 don't! And why should I?" 
 
 ■'What — what do you mean ?" exclaimed Natalie Xich- 
 olaevna. 
 
 "I am a Jew !" loudly answered Alexander ]\Iichailo- 
 vich. 
 
 "You? You a Jew! Xo : none of this fooling, it's 
 too mean and too cruel." 
 
 "Xo. X^atasha," he said softly but firmly, ''it is not a 
 joke ; such matters are not fit for jesting." 
 
 "How? What do you mean? How dare you?" cried 
 X'^atalie Xicholaevna, beyond herself. 
 
 "Xatasha! You know it all," he said, "decide what's 
 to be done — what we are to do." 
 
 Xatalie Xicholaevna viewed him with awe. It seemed 
 that her eyes refused to see and her brains to reason. 
 
 "You have insulted me cruelly," she cried in excite- 
 ment, "but I will try to forget it all, though I warn you, 
 you shall have long to wait." 
 
 "Xo, my friend," he said, raising his head and look- 
 ing her in the face, "I will not come back to you. I be- 
 lieve in but one truth ; I have come to know it, and must 
 depart from you. I have no right to destroy that which 
 I have not created. . . . Upon the ruins of m\" dis- 
 consolate past I shall erect a bridge over which to reach 
 my own people, my brothers and sisters, whose lives are 
 
 48 
 
as (lark as is the night without the moon, without stars, 
 without a ray of Hght. 
 
 "Forgive me," he said, and walked away rapidly, feel- 
 ing that the tears stood ready 'to gush from his eyes. But 
 she didn't need his tears. He will take them where they 
 may flow, together with the tears of his brethren in the 
 common sea of human suffering. 
 
 49 
 
THOUGHTS 
 
 Years ago I read in ^lytliology — that mixture of truth 
 and fancy, of art and absurdity — that Orpheus (Apollo's 
 and Calliope's son) possessed a wonderful seven-stringed 
 Ivre, and as soon as he 1^;eg'an to i^ilay upon it the birds 
 became mute ; the woods were enchanted ; the trees ap- 
 plauded with their green hands ; the river ceased driv- 
 ing its waves ; and the most dangerous beasts grew still 
 and quiet as lambs while listening to Orpheus' divine 
 music. 
 
 O God! I do not ask you for riches, nor fortune, nor 
 pleasure. Give me only Orpheus' lyre ! Give it to me — 
 and I shall be happy and satisfied. I shall wander from 
 town to town, from place to place, and b}' my playing 
 gladden the hearts of the poor and needy. I shall play — 
 and the petrified hearts of "two-legged animals" will be- 
 softer and better, and the beasts will cease devouring 
 the best and most beautiful, ignoring altogether the 
 meek crowd wdiich also wants to enjoy something. 
 
 ;;; >;; ^: 
 
 The ancient Graces, who were more beautiful than all 
 other women upon whom the sun shone, selected a place 
 near the Muses, not far from Mount Olympus, in Greece. 
 How times have changed ! The modern Graces with- 
 draw from the Muses and Olympus, from art and poetry. 
 And do you know what they change for? For a bag of 
 
 gold. 
 
 ♦ t' * 
 
 Flercules bound the terrible dog "Cerberus" and sub- 
 dued him. O, how many Herculeses we need now to 
 subdue the new-born "Cerberuses'' who almost fill the 
 whole globe ! 
 
 50 
 
Prometheus stole fire from lieaven and brought it to 
 men on earth. The great Jupiter grew angry with him 
 and commanded Mercury to catch the thief, bind him 
 with iron chains to Mount Caucasus, and bring a vulture 
 to eat out Prometheus' heart. 
 
 Years ago, when I read this legend, I bewailed Prome- 
 theus' fate. I am older now. Time has given me many 
 a lesson, and I have no more compassion on Prometheus. 
 I rather sa\', how happy was the unhappy martyr! He 
 forgets his great pain, remembering that he made hu- 
 manity happy by giving it fire, light, sunshine. A man 
 who suffers for an idea, a noble deed, which brings profit 
 to the world, certainly looks with immense pride at the 
 gallov;s, and drinks, as an ordinary beverage, the poison 
 given him by his murderers. 
 
 Many writers think that they have great talents, be- 
 cause they have blackened much paper with their pens. 
 Fools! The poem, ''Magabgaratta," contains 120,000 
 couplets, and with all that, we do not even know who 
 was its real author. And had we known him for sure, 
 we would. never have called him by the name of ''poet" 
 or "artist." But if Shakespeare had only written his 
 "Hamlet" and nothing else, his name would live forever. 
 
 ;|c ;;c )ic 
 
 The great pessimist, Schopenhauer, refused to marry, 
 
 so that his pessimism should have no posterity. 
 
 ■i' * ^« 
 
 Though the poet sometimes wallows in the swamp like 
 ordinary mortals, yet the poet is an eagle. Of a sudden 
 he shakes off earthly dirt and flies up to the blue sky, 
 where the sun with his glowing rays dries up the hu- 
 midity which he, the poet, carries from the swamp. The 
 
 £1 
 
angels cleanse him. and the Almighty God kisses him 
 with love and hypnotizes him with His kiss, and the poet 
 Ijecomes part of the Divinity. 
 
 >K ^ >i< 
 
 ■My enemies did me oftentimes more good than my 
 "good friends." With the former I used to be careful. 
 The latter used to be careful with me^ and did not show 
 me their "true friendship." 
 
 ^c * >1: 
 
 W^hen a woman promises to love, I am quite sure she 
 will forget her words in 48 hours. 
 
 >;: >|; ^; 
 
 The theatre is a mirror, therefore we have to guard 
 that flies should not soil it. 
 
 ♦ -!<>!< 
 
 Many small men. with little souls, throw their search- 
 light on the sins of greater men (poets, artists, etc.), 
 thinking thereby to lower the latter's greatness. O 
 dwarfs ! A nightingale will remain a nightingale, even 
 though stains be found on its wings. But a rooster can 
 only crow, though its wings be well washed and made 
 clean as snow. 
 
 A young lady friend of mine tells me, that she suffers 
 because one did not understand her. God, how much 
 must the poet suffer whom, very often, the whole world 
 does not understand ! 
 
 ^ ;Jc }i< 
 
 A }'oung lad}' told me that she would never love again, 
 l)ecause she had been once deceived. How short is the 
 duration of a young lady's ''never !" 
 
The more I see of society, the more I appreciate soli- 
 tude. 
 
 ={: >!< * 
 
 Nice phrases without good thoughts are a beautiful 
 binding without a book to cover. 
 
 ^ ^; >{; 
 
 The clouds rejoice in being able to cover the sun, but 
 the sun rejoices in being able to clear away the clouds. 
 
 Nothing in the world is as good and as bad as love. 
 
 A poet's heart may become stirred up, but not bad. 
 ^hen the ocean beginf 
 poet's heart is an ocean. 
 
 When the ocean begins roaring, it becomes hotter. A 
 
 ^ jji :^ 
 
 Alany authors bury their hearts in their books, not leav- 
 ing for their own use even the smallest part. 
 
 ;!< ^ ^ 
 
 "Poetry is dear to me above everything," a beautiful 
 young lady said to me ; 'T could always be happy with a 
 poet !" I went to the young lady, asking for her heart 
 and hand. Her first question was : "How much money 
 do you earn by your poems?" To my reply: "Not very 
 much," she remarked indifferently, that she preferred to 
 wait till my poems became more valuable. 
 
 Many a time the hat is prettier and more valuable 
 than the head that wears it. 
 
 A heart which can be bought is worth its weight in- 
 meat. 
 
 ^ :jc ^ 
 
 53 
 
Lovers take for a witness a mute — the moon. Oh, if 
 she could hut talk, she would give them very many sage 
 discourccs ahout false promises.. 
 
 I know a "literary" beggar who performs the work of 
 an industrious scavenger, by going from house to house 
 looking at other's faults. 
 
 O mean creature ! how black must be your soul that 
 you must wash it with others' mud. 
 
 It is good that the god of love is blind. Could he see 
 everything, he would not be capable of bearing the pain. 
 
 It is very bad that love and truth can agree seldom. 
 
 A true poet is an angel, but even an angel can be mis- 
 led, if he finds himself always in company with devils. 
 
 With my truths I made many enemies, and with "good 
 words" good friends. I confess that I am much prouder 
 of the first. 
 
 '!< ^ '1^ ' 
 
 Poor Apollo ! How badly you must feel listening to 
 
 every poetaster calling you "brother." 
 
 -i' ^ * 
 
 We are no angels, and we must have faults. I despise 
 those men who have the audacity to say that their faults 
 are good qualities. 
 
 ;!; ^; ^ 
 
 A literary dwarf, who understands morals as much 
 as the Russian government justice, goes from house to 
 house slandering me. He is right ! I have done him 
 much good. He is entitled to slander me. But why do 
 
 54 
 
other literarv dwarfs slander me, to whom 1 did not do 
 
 good ? 
 
 In mv heart there burns a fire of love for the whole of 
 humanity ; but the tears of humanity quite often extin- 
 guish the fire, and my heart becomes like a derelict wreck. 
 
 'j^ ^ 'i^ 
 
 A poet is a human being and must make mistakes. 
 But to a poet much more must be pardoned, because he 
 sufir'ers more than others. 
 
 Music is an international language, which every man 
 can understand, provided his heart is not dead. 
 
 Humanity must have a religion as much as the lame a 
 cane. 
 
 ^ ;•; >1; 
 
 We are more careful with our money and with our 
 goods than with our children, whom we entrust to every 
 
 miserable teacher. 
 
 ^ ^ ^ 
 
 Women could make us men happy, but they do not 
 want to. The tiger finds its greatest pleasure in holding 
 its victims between its teeth. 
 
 You may laugh at us poets, ye prosaic little men ! You 
 can laugh, and we shall not be angry. The sun does not 
 look with anger, but with contempt on the lights which 
 say that they are more useful and brighter than he. 
 
 What a wonder, what a great wonder ! Women per- 
 suaded the whole world that they are "poetic creatures," 
 yet you see how seldom they love poetry without money ! 
 
 55 
 
Death does not frighten me ; I know the real value of 
 life. 
 
 ^ ^ ^ 
 
 Time blackens with stains some leaves of the noblest 
 man's life. Sun's eclipses are natural things. 
 
 ^len not capable of loving, laugh at love and appre- 
 ciate money. For men with weak eyes, a small light is 
 more pleasant than the sun. 
 
 When my life becomes a burden to me and men un- 
 bearable, I go into the woods and pour out my heart to 
 the trees and to the birds ; but in winter I do not go to 
 the woods : the birds have flown, the trees wear cold 
 shrouds, and the woods cast terror over me ! 
 
 ]\Iany men draw phrases from their mouths as a jug- 
 gler draws silk ribbons. The man of understanding, 
 however, sees through the deception. 
 
 There are men who believe that reviling is criticism, 
 just as wild men think the croaking of frogs is music. 
 
 I know that I shall not live long. The fire burning in 
 my heart gives, perhaps, light for other people, but myself 
 it consumes, it eats me up with its fiery tongue. 
 
 When older people want to demonstrate that they 
 know better than the younger ones, their first argument 
 is: "We are older than you! We have lived longer!" 
 You have lived longer than we younger ones ? Good ! 
 But your years can only confirm that you wore out more 
 
 56 
 
hats on your heads than we, and does not prove that you 
 are always brighter. 
 
 Dearer to me are truthful blemishes than false virtues. 
 
 ;'; ;!; ^ 
 
 Love can rest in a woman's heart as long as water in a 
 sieve. 
 
 When life becomes a burden to mc, the sun ceasing to 
 warm me with his golden rays, the sky looking at me 
 with gloomy frown, and all men being in my eyes like 
 hungry beasts — then the thought of death comforts m\' 
 soul. It appears to me as a friendh-' shore after a dan- 
 gerous voyage on a stormy sea. 
 
 Earlier or later, all must die ; but unhappy is the man 
 who must die before having conceived life. 
 
 Some books are their authors' worst enemies, laying 
 bare before all the latter's foolishness. 
 
 ;!< * * 
 
 A true poet is the crown on humanity's head, but often- 
 times humanity's head is so small that the crown cannot 
 stav on. 
 
 ;|j i\i ^ 
 
 Once, riding on a dark night through a forest I re- 
 joiced to see a light in the distance. How great was my 
 disappointment on arriving there to find neither fire nor 
 light, but — rotten wood. In my life such false lights 
 have deceived me several times already. I thought I 
 found men who would brighten my dark life and bring 
 light to mv ^"loomv heart, and what did I find? Men no 
 more shining than the rotten wood I saw in the forest. 
 
 57 
 
Many people think they are great because fate has 
 dragged them high up the ladder of fortune. Fools ! 
 The chimney-sweeps are only chimney-sweepers, though 
 they oft stand higlier than the rest of them — on the very 
 roof. 
 
 Before the arrival of the Messiah, arrogance will in- 
 crease, say our sages. What a wonder, what a great 
 wonder that Messiah has not yet come ! It seems to me, 
 that there is enough arrogance among "literary men" in 
 America for ten Messiahs. 
 
 "Jews Christianizing — Christians judaizing — puzzle 
 me. I like fish or flesh," says Charles Lamb, in his "Im- 
 perfect Sympathies." Reform Rabbis, please bear in 
 mind these words ! 
 
 "Calumniare audacter sem])cr aliquid haeret," says the 
 Latin proverb. This is a very good thing for slanderers. 
 
 58 
 
WHO IS HAPPY? 
 
 Eight o'clock in the evening. The sun, that burned so 
 fiercely the whole day long, kissed the sea, which re- 
 sem!:led a large translucent mirror, and began to expire, 
 shrink and grow dim. 
 
 The deep azure sky which retained a drowsy appear- 
 ance the whole day long, suddenly enlivened and quickly 
 opened its fiery eyes. 
 
 And those azure eyes shine and twinkle and look 
 proudly down from their noble height. It seemed as if 
 another instant and they will burst into a laugh and begin 
 to speak : 
 
 "Little men, poor souls, how small ye are, and how 
 great your passions, your poverty ! Ye live and strive ; 
 ye seek riches and love ; honor and pleasure ; but what 
 find ye ? — naught, absolute emptiness ! Ye spend your 
 lifetime in everlasting anxiety and craftiness ; and very, 
 very often find no time to recite your death-prayer. How 
 foolish ye are, and how insignificant !" 
 
 And those eyes shine and twinkle, leap in the air and 
 hob-gobble. How fascinating, how mysterious their 
 secret must be ! 
 
 In a large park, not far from the city, under a tree 
 thickly overhung with foliage, sit four persons absorbed 
 in deep meditation. All about it is quiet as the grave. 
 Not a sound is audible. 
 
 "Sh — ! We shall all soon fall asleep if we keep on be- 
 ing silent and do not utter a syllable,'' suddenly remarked 
 one of the 'party, a man about thirty years of age, who 
 
 59 
 
was very fastidiously dressed and wore the air of a well- 
 to-do person. 
 
 "If you wish," remarked another of the party, "we 
 shall now conclude our discussion as to 'Who is happy?' " 
 "Very well," rejoined the first. *'I shall li-sten with 
 pleasure to all arguments. Begin, for you are a poet; to 
 you the honor of commencing must now be accorded." 
 "I respectfully decline the extraordinary honor," 
 the poet replied. "We are four of us here ; a doctor, a 
 lawyer, a rich man, and myself. Let the rich man speak 
 ftrst. ]\Ioney ever seeks precedence." 
 
 "Good, then," the rich man ansvv-ered smilingly, "I 
 shall take the initiative to-night and will earnestly en- 
 deavor to declare my views on this question. My 
 opinion is that happiest of all is the man who possesses 
 great riches. IMoney is every thing. If I have money, 
 I have everything — ^pleasure, honor, friendship, and. love. 
 I step into my factories where hundreds of persons are 
 working and I feel myself a monarch. All labor for me, 
 obev me, and fear me. The machines work on, the 
 Vvdieels revolve, and each revolution of the wheel brings 
 me more and more profit. And besides this, honor and 
 pleasures pour upon me from all sides. Yes, money 
 does make one happy." 
 
 "I am much happier than you," the doctor began, 
 "^lany lives have I saved, and that which I receive for 
 mv labor is given me with repeated blessings. Am I 
 not, then, truly happy?" 
 
 "I," exclaimed the lawyer, "am much happier than 
 vou. 'My profession has pity and benevolence for its 
 foundation. I vindicate and save people from ]M-ison 
 and death. My reward is bestowed upon me with many 
 thanks. Is there a happier person than I?" 
 
 60 
 
"You are happy," the poet said, "because you do not 
 know what happiness is. You, Sir Alanufacturer, by 
 right ought to feel yourself unhappy. It should always 
 be in your mind that in your glass of wine there are many, 
 many drops of your laborers' sweat and blood — your 
 laborers who sit with bowed heads and broken spirits 
 over their machines, and multiply your capital at the price 
 of life itself. No, one's happiness is no happiness when 
 it is founded on the ruins of the lives of others. You. 
 Sir Doctor, you too are not happy. You save one out of 
 a thousand and nine hundred and ninety- nine you trans- 
 port to the other world by means of \our prescription- 
 passes. You, Sir Lawyer, very often vindicate persons 
 who are pernicious to the community. You are vcrv 
 often compelled to use your talent, your eloquen'-^. :o 
 paint white the black deeds of your clients. How, tl en, 
 can you be happy? 
 
 "Do you know who is truly happy? It is I, the poet I" 
 
 "The stars in the sky, the flowers in the gardens, and 
 the birds in the woods are my friends ; and such are con- 
 stant friends. They never prove treacherous ; they never 
 hurt ni}^ feelings ; they are ever faithful. 
 
 "Do I feel unhappy here on earth I nmunt my 
 Pegassus and up, up I soar to the heavens, to the sun ; 
 and there I am as an angel. Do I see the sorrovv's of 
 man, quickly do I seize my lyre and pour forth my sor- 
 row in poesy ; and many a poor and luckless person reads 
 my poems and finds consolation and hope in them. 
 
 "And who of you can love as I ? 
 
 'T assure you that the hearts of a Inmdred manufac- 
 turers, as many doctors, and as many lawyers, cannot 
 entertain as much love for human beings as one true poet ; 
 and he is happy who can love. I have more luxuries in 
 
 61 
 
my little room than \ou have in your spacious mansions ; 
 for the Muses lay the whole world at my feet. Believe 
 me, friends, money can get you pleasure, but never hap- 
 piness. Happiest am I ! I, the poor, princely poet, who 
 knows where happiness lies." 
 
 The poet concluded. The four men leave the park. 
 The birds, who were heretofore silent, began to sing ; 
 and their melody bore this burthen : ''Thou art right, 
 brother-poet ! Thou alone knowest what true happiness 
 is. ^lan, however, is yet too dull, and understandeth but 
 little. Thou, poet, mayst be proud and happy : Thou art 
 a child of Nature, a part of immortality ; thou art undy- 
 ing as God Himself !" 
 
 (i2 
 
MY CONFESSION 
 
 Illness and jiain have overtaken nic; 
 
 I feel that death is drawing very nigh. 
 Well, let it come! I do not fear or care, 
 
 For I am ready and ircparcd to die. 
 
 But little in my life have I enjoyed, 
 
 AN'ith sorrows manifold my heart has bled. 
 
 And the sharp sword that threatened Damocles 
 Has always been suspended o'er my head. 
 
 In life the beautiful and tender flower 
 
 Ilath seldom smiled, my loving glance to greet, 
 
 -Vnd seldom has it poured into my soul 
 Its fragrant perfume as the nectar sweet. 
 
 Nothing but thorns and tliorns, oh, ; oisonous thorns 
 Have hedged my life's dark pathway evermore. 
 
 Why should I care that now my little boat 
 \\'ill soon attain the everlasting shore? 
 
 I have no wish to linger or delay; 
 
 It soon may be too late. Ere night begins. 
 The night that soon will rlo'^c m\- life's brief day, 
 
 Come, hear my last confession of my sins. 
 
 This sin have I committed in my life: 
 
 I ne'er would play the clownish jester's ])art; 
 
 I never wrote my books or sang my songs 
 
 Save when I felt Cod's fire within my heart. 
 
 i\lso this sin: I never leased my i)en 
 To Satan or the rich. It thus befalls 
 
 That a rich heritage I leave behind — 
 
 A chilly chamber with four empty walls. 
 
 This sin I have committed: that I gave 
 
 My time and counsel, and my help and hand. 
 
 To those whose wicked souls are black as soot, 
 Who neither shame nor justice understand; 
 
 63 
 
To base men, to impostors, in whose hearts 
 Hell burns forever; who sheep's clothing wear, 
 
 And o'er their Janus faces draw a mask 
 Of sleek hypocrisy, all smooth and fair. 
 
 This sin liave I committed: that the truth 
 
 I did not bury in my soul, apart, 
 r>ut always flung it boldly in the face 
 
 Of tyrant rulers, nabobs, hard of heart. 
 
 This sin have I committed: that mj' life 
 
 I spent in a poetic reverie. 
 And did not heed the setting of my sun 
 
 Or the dark night descending over me — 
 
 A night as gloomy as my fortune is; 
 
 Through which no spark of light a gleam can send; 
 .V night all filled with sad and dreary dreams. 
 
 The woes of Job, and sufferings without end. 
 
 This sin have I committed: I believed 
 
 The world was growing better and more wise, 
 
 And that the people would no longer bow 
 To gold and wealth, our modern deities: 
 
 Gods in whose name, with devilish boldness filled, 
 To act the greatest crimes they do not shrink — 
 
 Sell souls and trade in hearts, and ruthlessly 
 A fellow-creature's blood like water drink. 
 
 I have sinned, too, in that my fantasy 
 
 Built for me beauteous castles in the air, 
 
 And I believed that in those palaces 
 
 I should forget my constant woe and care, ' 
 
 Which like a leech my heart's blood sucked away, 
 Constantly, ceaselessly, the whole day long, 
 
 And to a mournful lamentation turned 
 
 My best, my proudest, and my merriest song. 
 
 Here is a catalogue of all my sins. 
 
 If any I have missed or not made clear, 
 'i'he rest you from my colleagues can obtain. 
 
 Scattered about the wide world far and near. 
 
 yiy "friends," the faithful ones, the comrades dear 
 Of the sick poet, will with joy begin 
 To tell you, swollen by a large per cent., 
 My every failing and my every sin. 
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