RnnTf ■ E/&T^ CQEXRIGHT DEPOi sS »(►/ <" EZEKIEL LEAVITT / PARROT GODS A BOOK OF ESSAYS AND SKETCHES BY EZEKIEL LEAVITT A.utlior o£ "Songs of Grief and GlaJness, "Oreamland , etc. with an appreciation of leavitt by Nathan Haskell Dole •■ BOSTON THE TALMUD SOCIETY PUBLISHERS ^^ V t" COPYRIGHT, 1921 BY / EZEKIEL LEAVITT / |\PR-l 1922 ^ ERRATA Page Line 9 2 25 5 79 2 111 21 151 IC 1-11 151 21 173 1 179 23 179 26 198 14 219 5 251 29 273 4 281 18 288 19 289 22 297 13 -14 297 31 298 15 301 9 307 16 343 1 for Appreciaton, read Appreciation. for writer, read writers. for Bibical, read Biblical. for content, read contents. are superfluous. after "full," add the word all. for lassical, read classical. for Fredinand, read Ferdinand. for a flatter, read to flatter. for softly, read softly. for forgot, read forget. for expressng, read expressing. for val, reaAvae. for degraned, read degraded. for equivalant, read equivalent. for exhilerating, read exhilarating. for Petersgrad, read Petrograd. for all together, read altogether. for Heidelburg, read Heidelberg. for Petersgrad, read Petrograd. for Jereboam, read Jeroboam. for often times, read oftentimes. 'wa O^ PARROT GODS CONTENTS Prefatory note 7 I. Ezekiel Leavitt — Nathan Haskell Dole 9 Parrot Gods 13 Gutenberg's Pro and Con 19 Do you not desire to have enemies? 23 What's to be Written? 27 Gossip and Slander 31 Guilty of Pessimism 35 The Modern "Almighty" 39 What Men Fight For 43 What is Boston Jewry doing for the Jewish Working Girls? 47 Monkeys 53 The Net Result of my Life 57 Our Modern Slaves 65 A Nation's Fundamental Needs 69 Our National Language 77 American Judaism 81 ▼ CONTENTS Education and Psychology 85 Educational Values 93 The Jewish Stage 103 The "Realism" of the Jewish Stage 107 Russian Jews and the Tsar Ill Leo Tolstoi 115 Daniel Mordovzef 123 The Great Russian Apostle of Optiniisrti 129 Ambition 133 Mendele Mocher Sforim 139 Let us turn back 143 Marriage 147 Day of Atonement 151 Luck and Sense 154 II. The "Pleasures" of the Tsar 157 "Professor" Getzel 165 Hearts and Stomachs 178 Between Love and Duty 183 The Parting of the Ways 200 Who is Happy? 205 Is there any Sense in Love? 209 vi 4 CONTENTS Who Lost More? 215 When Will the Messiah Come 219 The Wonderful Lights 22.5 Herschel the "Benefactor" 231 The Saint and the Sinner 237 If the Benches Could Talk 241 Interviews Beyond the Grave 247 Russia in Ten Years 253 Tsar Nicholas and I 257 A Trip to Coney Island 263 Reporter Oxenkop 269 The Seder Service 275 "Pieces of Life" I.— VI 279 Types and Pictures I. — III 287 Thumb-Nail Sketches I.— X 293 Some Character Sketches I. — V 311 The Philanthropist 323 Israel and Ivan 327 Thoughts 335 VI 1 PREFATORY NOTE The motive that induces me to make this publica- tion, is to preserve in a permanent form some of the thoughts that have, from time to time, occupied my own mind, and attracted the favorable attention of the critics and of the public. All of the articles and sketches collected here were published before in various periodicals, and now, putting them together in a volume, I have merely- made in them some unimportant changes. E. L. EZEKIEL LEAVITT (An Apprectaion) By Natlian Haslcell Dole EZEKIEL LEAVITT is a genuine poet. He has the poet's insight, the poet's skill in catching the salient characteristics of any episode that appeals to his imagination, and in omitting the unnecessary details that only confuse and distort the reality as he wishes the reader to see it. He is a Hebrew, and he knows his people as they really are, not only in his native Russia, but also in this land of their transplantation. He has witnessed the distressing circumstances by which they were oppressively surrounded in a country where unjust laws restrained their activities and their abilities, and where they were now and again persecuted by jeal- ous neighbors with the connivance of bureaucratic authorities ; he has studied them also in circumstan- ces scarcely less distressing in this land of their adoption, in cities where they live in crowded ten- ements, a nation in a nation, often persecuted by an unjust and prejudiced public opinion, with small opportunity to break away from an adverse environ- ment. He is sufficiently clear-eyed to recognize the results of such an environment, to see how it tends to ac- centuate the faults of any people exposed to such conditions, to drive in upon the center, as it were, the self-consciousness, and bring out the more unlovely traits which would soon disappear if fairer chances 9 EZEKIEL LEAVITT of development were afforded. The terrific struggle for a mere living, the rivalry in grasping after the crumbs that fall from the rich man's table, the im- morality almost unavoidable when thousands are herded together in unsanitary quarters with no hope of escape, the ever-present sense of injustice and of being misunderstood bound up with the national consciousness of being worthy of better things, of having the charge of a splendid inheritance, of being the Chosen People, with a history unbroken through millenniums. Mr. Leavitt depicts this tragic side with a master brush. With what ^eep feelings he shows us the poignant despair ol -he young Jewish maiden, who has been betrayed by one of her own people, a youth whose selfishness has made him callous to all sense ol honor — the inevitable suicide when the last gleam of hope disappears from her innocent heart. What pathos he discovers in the fate of the '^Maskil," or learned man, who, owing to circumstances, is obliged to leave Russia and emigrate to this Land of Promise, only to find himself obliged to earn his living by stitching garments in a stifling sweat-shop I Or again how skilfully he depicts the sorrow of the Orthodox Hebrew who on arriving in America where his children have prospered, perceives that they have given up all their old customs and have adopted the strange ways of the Gentiles ! With what keen humor he shows up the tricks of the charlatan, who pretends to be trained in the law or gospel but bases his success only on his audacity ! Like most Russian writers he selects characteristic "types" and his portrait gallery is hung with clearly sketched examples of these that swarm the Bowery. 10 EZEKIEL LEAVITT His young men love to argue and they are intense in their views. He shows the effect of "culture" on the young girl who by insisting on having a piano and playing on it at all times drives away her prac- tical suitor. He frequently indulges in reminiscen- ces of his youth in Russia and there again he paints vivid portraits of the Rabbis and the teachers, pic- tures of old-fashioned Hebrew homes, of episodes illustrating the great gulf fixed between the Ghetto and the quarter where live the native Slavs. He hints at the terrible pogroms, the outrageous perse- cutions which have rendered the lives of so many Jews in Russia wretched beyond words ; but he in- dulges in no detailed and heart-breaking descriptions of such scenes. He has a different purpose ; it is not only to describe the Jew as he is in Kief or in some little wretched Russian town or as transplanted into the new soil of America, and honestly, fearlessly, depicting his faults as well as his virtues, but it is also to teach a lesson. He has no patience with the Jew who would change his name so as to give the show of not being a Jew, who is ashamed of his race, of his religion, of his origin, who is blind to the splendid history, the noble accomplishments of his people and who cares only for achieving material success. He has a keen weapon with which to strike down the quack, the pretender, the coward. He can kindle a fierce flame of indignation against the wooden-headed official ; he attacks the Tsar (now so fortunately deposed) as the representative of all that is cruel and wrong in Russia ; he has no fear of consequences. But his fighting is all above-board and directed against real evils. That gives him a tremendous moral power and a prophetic zeal which 11 EZEKIEL LEAVITT cannot fail to have a beneficent influence upon those of his own people who surely read his sketches, his dramas, his poems, his Jeremiads (if that is a proper word to apply to his sarcasms) with keen interest. They are also revealing to those who harbor preju- dices against the Jews; his frankness in criticism makes all the more effective his delineation of the lovable qualities of many of the characters whom he portrays ; the staunchness of his patriotism, his defence of the language which many of the Jews would fain see die out, his quaint and original com- parisons, his occasional descriptions of Nature writ- ten with a genuine lyrical inspiration, even his touches of cynicism, have a quality which makes them ap- pealing. He gives the impression throughout, but especially in the more didactic articles in which he so wisely and sensibly discusses education and the theatre of being intensely in earnest. Intensity is a marked characteristic of all that he says, of all that he puta into the lips of his dramatis personae. Withal he writes fluently and easily. He knows exactly what he wants to say and he says it bravely, directly, often with a gleam of humor, more often with a flashing stroke of satire, but always with the impress of truth. One knows instinctively that he hates compromise. He will not yield to any possible currying of favor, to any weak bidding for popularity. He will express his own ideas though the heavens fall. His work, therefore, is extremely interesting and deserves careful reading, for it is a revelation of a great people by a great man, a rare Poet. 12 PARROT GODS MANY years ago, when I was still in my teens, I read in the history of antiquity, where facts are interwoven with fairy tales and beautiful legends with nonsensical myths, a little story which became — if I may be allowed to use such an expres- sion — as though tatooed on my memory. And very often, as I observe and hear all that goes on around me, I repeat to myself Ecclesiastes' wise words: **The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done ; and there is no new thing under the sun." The story I read is a short and simple one. The third Roman Emperor, Caligula, who was a brute and a despot of a high degree, and who desired that the entire Roman nation should be concentrated into one large head, in order that he should be able to cut it off at once, awoke one morning with a very queer desire: every one of his subjects should recognize him as a god. It is understood that all made fun of this mad dwarf, who dared to think of putting his microscopic head into the infinite heights, into the splendor of God. But the impudent Caligula was not deterred from his idee fixee. And what do you think he did? He bought a great number of parrots, locked them up in his house and repeatedly drilled them on the words : "Caligula is a god! Caligula is a god!" And as soon as the parrots had learned the two 13 PARROT GODS phrases, he released them and took in other parrots to whom he taught the same "lesson." And when he freed the parrots, he instructed his servants not to let them remain in one place, but to scatter them in different directions. The servants fulfilled the orders of their master, and the parrots, while driven, rent the air with shrill sounds : "Caligula is a gou ! Caligula is a god !" The foolish Caligula imagined that the parrots would deify him and make the whole empire believe in his divinity. But history, the impartial tribunal, which weighs men and deeds on true scales, not only did not recog- nize Caligula as a god, but even denied him the name of man, crowning him with the title beast, barbarian, egotist. If, however, the Roman Emperor was not success- ful in his attempt through parrots to secure for him- self divine fame, he opened the way for many people of his calibre who desire to be respected, honored and deified by mankind without rendering any ser- vices to it. One, for instance, writes dramas which are far from art as many so-called American "professors" and "reverends" are far from elementary knowledge. But the drama-maker thinks, of course, that his pro- ductions are real gems, and he is the god of the stage, and when he hears an adverse opinion of his plays from many competent critics, he sends out two- legged parrots, whom he instructs to repeat wherever they go: "N. is the god of the stage!" And these human parrots run around like poisoned mice and carry out their employer's message. Another writes rhymes, which contain as much 14 PARROT GODS poetry as the Russian Tsar's heart — compassion. The versifier has, however, quite a different opinion of his art, and through parrot-messengers he declares to the world that he is the god of Parnassus and the sole possessor of Heine's or of Keat's muse. One, not having the ability to produce something of his own, clothes himself in the guise of a critic and with unusual arrogance, with points of order and with points out of order, he tries to blacken the glory of others and to deprive them of their wreath of laurel. And when he is told by those who understand that it would be more proper for him to peddle bananas than to write "literary opinions," he engages some sort of two-legged parrots to advertise him and to proclaim him as a second George Brandes. In short, in the literary as well as in the profession- al and business world we very often notice Caligula's plan. Lately many people have begun to employ parrots for two-fold purposes — to praise themselves and to abuse others. For instance, some rich New York Jews, who live up town, employed a multitude of parrots and com- manded them to repeat: "The up-town Jews are honest merchants, great philanthropists, unique scholars, and the like while the down-town Jews are cheats, ignoramuses, immoral creatures, and im- posters." And the teachers as well as the up-town Jews ran from one end of the city to the other and shouted and squeaked the words of their "teachers." And the teachers as well as their parrots, whose task is repetition, have eyes and see not or cover 15 PARROT GODS them with golden eye-glasses in order not to see how hard the down-town Jews work to earn their daily- bread ; they, our "great" ones, do not want to confess that oftentimes more honest, legitimate business is done in Hester street than in Wall street. They do not want to admit that quite often we can find in dark basements and on narrow top floors men who are much more intelligent, more honest, and more idealistic than they, and have warmer hearts than theirs. They do not want to comprehend that the down-town Jews give comparatively more for charity than they, for it is harder for the down-town Jew to spend one dollar for charity than for the up- town Jew to spend hundreds of dollars ; and still the down-town Jew gives his hard-earned dollar mere zealously and more contentedly and with less ado than the rich up-town Jew gives his donations. The up-town Jews got the idea, and through the medium of their parrots wanted to induce the world to believe, that they are altogether unlike us poor Russian-Polish immigrants. They demand that we should deify them, that we should kneel before them ; they desire that we should stifle our individuality, our tears, our sighs, our feelings, and our aspirations and dance to their pipe. The up-town Jews want to make us believe by means of their parrots that to them belongs the first place in American Jewry, because they live in beau- tiful mansions on Fifth avenue, while the Russian- Polish Jews live somewhere in Broome or in Cherry streets. They demand, they desire, they command, they ask; but who cares? Parrots cannot deify them! as 16 PARROT GODS Caligula's parrots could not deify him, and his name remained in history as a laughing-stock, as a moral lesson to modem Caligulas, who want honors which are not due them. 17 GUTENBERG'S PRO AND CON What Gutenberg would be able to say now if he arose from his grave. HERMIT-like I have held myself aloof from aP the pleasures with which the world is teeming. In the day-time, when the wheel of life turned around me, seeking to drag me into its course, just as it does millions of other people, who run, hustle, and labor hard to earn money — or what is still worse — to spent same on luxuries, on useless and worthless objects, I sat in my room deeply absorbed in my thougths. Even in the summer, when on the tired, dreamy mother earth which had been heated all day by the rays of the sun, a blue and charming night came gradually down accompanied by a zephyr and by millions of stars, which were wont to wink at me and to seek to lure me from the house to enjoy the perfume of the roses, I was sitting alone in my room thinking and planning. And the result of my thinking and planning was that I succeeded in bestowing on mankind a great gift, the invention of printing. I do not wish to deny the truth : there were moments in my life when a proud feeling took pos- session of my heart and then I looked on myself as on a Prometheus, who brought to the world a divine fire. I believed that my invention would make it possi- ble for men to publish books preaching friendship and love, brotherhood and equality, sincerity and PARROT GODS goodness; I had hoped that through my invention the world would progress and become better and nobler. And now? Almighty Father, what use has man- kind made of my gift ! For brutal and shameless purposes have men used it : for objects which are a disgrace, an effrontery and an offense to the whole civilized world. Crowned heads and rulers, who conceived the idea that they had a right to enslave people and compel them to obey orders are using my invention to print laws which make a distinction between race and race, be- tween nation and nation and even between indi- viduals. They have made use of my invention and are still using it to publish circulars and commands, to send people to the prisons, to Siberia, and to the gallows. My invention, which should have been the greatest factor toward peace, progress, etc., is used by men with black souls for mean, horrible and terrible pur- poses : to preach hatred and revenge, chauvinism and war, religious fanaticism and foolish traditions. My invention, which helped to sow in the hearts of men the good and healthy seed of the Bible, and made it possible for the world to possess the literary treasures of Shakespeare and Goethe, the charming songs of Heine and of Keats, the volcano-melodies of Byron and of Shelley, the philosophical-theological views of Plato and Maimonides, the pantheistic- philosophical theories of Spinoza and his followers, is also utilized to print books, brochur**s, and articles which are positively worthless. I had hoped that my invention would help to unite people and to refine their taste, but I now realize that 20 PARROT GODS this was merely a sweet dream, for not only has it enabled persons to combat with one another with their pens far more effectively than with their swords, but it has placed the opportunity before them to poison souls, and spoil tastes and morals. Through my invention men assail one another and issue false statements regarding one another's life and work; on account of it many innocent people suffer unjustly. Had I been a prophet and foreseen to what use people would put my invention, my heart would have been its grave. What? What did I say? Oh, I am talking like an old fool ! My invention has brought to the world so much usefulness and joy, happiness and inspira- tion, gladness and consolation, that I do not want to think about its bad side. King's mandates, bad books, tasteless brochures, abusive articles will all, sooner or later, disappear, and no one will mention them ; but the good and useful things created by means of my invention will last forever, and always teach the world what to do and how to do things in order to be good and noble. Oh, nay, I am not sorry for my deed! And when my time will come to die again and return to my eternal resting-place, I shall lie there in peace. And when from time to time over my grave will trill a lonely bird, I shall then wish to believe that in it is the soul of a great lyric poet, whose sweet mel- odies became known to the world through my inven- tion, and who thanks me now, through this winged messenger, for the great boon I have conferred upon him. 21 PARROT GODS And the bird will trill over my grave more and more sweetly, and I shall lie calmly in my grave and dream charming and divine dreams. 22 DO YOU NOT DESIRE TO HAVE ENEMIES? DO you desire to have sincere and true friends? If so, be satisfied with having only a few. If, however, you care for people who are only quasi- friends i. e., friends and enemies at the same time, then the best thing is not to seek them, for such so- called "friends" are like la grippe, unexpectedly they come and so they disappear. If, on the other hand, you do not wish to have enemies, not even one, I shall give you some practi- cal advice, which is at least as good a remedy as a "standard patent medicine": become, if you please, deaf and dumb! Deafness itself will not prevent you from having enemies. If you are only slightly deaf you give the impression (pardon me for telling you the truth) that you are absolutely deaf and cannot hear when a poor man asks alms of you, or seeks any other favor, which is not in accordance with your desire. But when somebody whispers in your ear a slander or a bit of gossip, then, oh, then, you will at once hear, no matter how deaf you are. Gossip and slander have such luck — even the deaf hear them and the blind see them, yes, see them, although it is an impossibility to see abstract things. And when some one will bring you in the name of others, some gossip or slander concerning your person or the members of your family, you will surely talk against the others, and when your words reach them they will become your enemies. And in order to avoid such enmity you must become dumb. 23 PARROT GODS If, however, for certain reasons, you cannot afford such a "luxury," then for Heaven's sake and for your own sake, do not become a writer! Try to get rid of this feeling, if it comes to you; extinguish the divine fire, subdue the afflatus, the inspiration, when it burns in your heart; cut off the fingers of both your hands and, besides, pull out also the tongue from your mouth so that you may not be able to dictate your thoughts to others. If you follow my advice you will not have enemies. If you cannot resist the temptation to become a writer, I shall recommend to you another remedy which will protect you from having enemies. This remedy I must admit is not a very honest one, and is of a very compromising character, but what is not done in our days for the sake of bread and butter? Do we not see mean and contemptible compromises at each and every step? And not merely in the busi- ness world, where compromises are a necessity; or in the political camp alone, where compromises are a daily occurrence, but even in the literary world, in the scientific world, in the world, where sincerity and honesty, principles and intellect ought to reig^, oh, even there the evil spirit of compromise reigns su- preme, and its victims are numberless. The remedy which I am going to recommend to you is a very simple one: Do not write what you wish, but what others desire, or in other words, look, listen and — silence! If you see, for instance, that some literary maniacs are inclined to climb to the heights of Parnassus and to bring down from its summit a mixture of bad rhymes and decadciicy, do not dare say that it is not good, but on the contrary make a statement that up-to date poets should write 24 PARROT GODS in this manner. Even in Russia, which is less pro- gressive than other countries, the old poets, like Pushkin, Lermontof, and others are "out of style" and their place is taken by the symbolistic — metaphysic — mystic writer like Sologub, Artzibashef, Brusof and similar "giants" in the world of letters. If you see that a certain shoemaker gives up his profession and divides his time between cutting corns and spoiling paper with his "literary" outpourings, you should not say to him : "Schuster, bleib bei deinem Leisten! Get out of the literary field and stop bluffing!" But flatter him, praise him and tell him that he deserves a professorship at Yale, or even at Harvard. If you see that many "critics" are exhibiting their egotism and ignorance, their "chutzpa" and foolish- ness in each line of their writings, send them letters of congratulations, telling them that you consider their literary work as good as Brandes' and Belin- sky's ; for if you tell them the real truth about their screeds they will become your enemies and they will try to annihilate you and your work. If you see that some people call themselves leaders and mislead a great number of their fellowmen, do not criticize them and do not awaken enmity in their hearts against you. Oh, the enmity of so-called leaders is terrible! In short, if you are a writer, utilize the advice of a "wise" Russian Judge, before whom one com- plained of another that the latter called him a fool. "How do you dare to insult your fellowman?" asked the judge of the man against whom the com- plaint was brought. 25 PARROT GODS "I called him a fool because he is a fool," replied the latter. "He may be a fool, but you have no right to say so." "What then?f' he asked. *You may think it in your heart, for to think and not express your thoughts is allowable even in Rus- sia." "All right!" he replied to the judge's remark, "from now on I shall not call a fool "fool," but I shall only think (to think is permissible?) that the Russian judges are great idiots." Yes, if fortunately or unfortunately you are writ- ers, do not criticise or dare to express an opinion not in unison with the common opinion, do not see faults in leaders and in all the "machers" for the "welfare" of the community; do not dare to show the public the real value of many so-called writers' "gems" and of so called public benefactors' deeds. Look, listen, and — not a word! This is not exactly honesty, but it is very good policy. Think what you want, but do not express your thoughts. You will then be surrounded with friends and well wishers, and you will have no enemies. Behave yourselves, writers, and you will feel good, in this world, and, perhaps, in the future world also. WHAT IS TO BE WRITTEN? I HAVE promised to write something. "Promises make one a debtor," say the accurate Germans. And I am obliged to write, even though some- thing dreadful is to ensue. But what to write, that is the question. Boerne says that great, novel thoughts are gained but in solitude, and (since a fellow when in distress, will seize upon a straw,) I have concluded to obey Boerne. I had no other option, of course. I sat lonely in my room, where strange silence reigned, as in a cemetery or in a Reform temple dur- ing the mass — such silence that one could very dis- tinctly hear every tick of the clock. The firmament resembling a vellum — woven through with many harmoniously-colored threads and golden borders, — gazed through the window with an ironical smile, like a potent capitalist looking down upon a poor author, and methinks it whispered unto me secretly in the language of heaven, "Dreamer! wan dreamer! Leave thy constricted, narrow cell. The atmosphere is filled with perfume, it is delicious out-of-doors. And thou are sitting here lonely with thy pen in hand. For what pur- pose, pray? Thou hast promised to write? Well, what of this?. . . nowadays as much value may be attached to an assurance as to the careful sermons of the Reform Rabbis, as to the honeyed promises of a "politician" before election, and as to the warm vows of lovers. What does such an assurance now- adays represent? Merely naught. I combated the 2T PARROT GODS evil spirit which attempted to transport me to Lucifer's domain. As I sat my meditations were fixed as to what to write. Maybe of the weather? No, it is of no use. The weather problem is quite in place for good society, where after all, the discussion-material, viz: gossiping, gastronomical conundrums, Mrs. Grundy's tales, and similar matter have been exhausted, and there being no other material at hand, let the weather interest the Romeoes and Juliets, not me — no ! Perhaps I may chance to write love-letters and praise Eros. No. Such "transactions" should con- cern "boarders," old maids, toothless men, aged epileptics, and idlers in general. But as for me? I beg to be excused. May I resort to poetry, perhaps ? No. Now is no time to write poetry; our poets have so saddened Apollo through their poems, that he captured the Muse and carried her to the inaccessible Himalayas (Horei Choshech), in order to save her from the rhyme-jugglers and literature-spoilers, who have sullied her snow-white complexion, her alabaster ap- pearance. Aside from this, there is such an abund- ance of poems nowadays, that these could well serve as building-material of a paper bridge, to extend over the Sambathian, through which, in turn, the Territorialists and other "ists" could be safely trans- ported to the "red natives" dwelling on the other shore of the falls. Perchance review would constitute sutiable material for writing? Omnipotent Lord! The literary market is well- nigh full of manure, as the Augean Stables, which 28 PARROT GODS only a Hercules could clean, not I. How can I clean the literary market of all the guano that has been deposited by the literary hens for years and years? Even though I could write one hundred verses a day, would that be of any avail? No ! and a thousand times no! Our literary roosters have been transfigur- ed in their own active imagination into "nightingales/' into "minstrels" in the grace of our "Lord," and what good will unreality do them? My morals will exert as much influence upon them as the moral sermon of the Alliance Israelite has moved the Tsar of Russia. Perhaps I may hope to write about the "benefact- ors" who squander thousands of dollars on sports and proclaim from the house-tops that they make us fortunate with their alms, which they throw at us from time to time? No, not about them will 1 wiite for it is a known fact that our "Kalvarier Deutschen" never read our papers. It is entirely out of place for Shmuel, the son of Haikel from Hotza- plotz, who has in the meanwhile Americanized himself into Charles Dudley, and who is the proud owner of a real estate office on Broadway, to read Jewish books and journals. Shall I describe the many "bosses" who enslave their toilers, who extract the marrow of their bones, aye, their very blood? No, about this I shall not write, for no sooner do I picture " the shop," "the boss" and the "slavery of our civilized age," in my mind's eye, than my vision becomes indistinct from a streaming overflow of tears, and writing then becomes a physical impos- sibility. 29 PARROT GODS Perhaps I am to write of our brothers and sisters residing abroad, in Russia, Rumania, and other coun- tries in which they are suffering the bondage of exile in a measure more than they can bear. No, of this I cannot write. My heart beats strong- er than ever, my mind is confused. Well, what shall I write about? May there be as much thought about "the Tsar, the little father," Trepof and other "beauties." Oh, how great, how very hard a task to be honest nowadays, how difficult to come up to a promise. SO GOSSIP AND SLANDER— A STUDY "It is a busy, talking world." — Rowe. *'The way to check slander is to despise it." — A. Dumas. AMONG the abominable customs, of which hu- manity should be ashamed; among the cardi- nal faults, which blacken the world of respectability and justice, gossip and slander can take the first place because they are a shame for progress, a dwarfing of civilization, and a danger, a terrible danger to society. "Slander is more accumulative than a snow-ball," justly remarked a writer. It is like a salad, which every one will season to his own taste, or to the taste of those to whom he offers it ; or like the kite of a child, to which additional exaggerations are at- tached, each light in itself, but together forming a counterbalancing weight, without which the airy trifle would fall again to the earth, when, with eager speed, he runs to make it soar aloft. Gossip and slander are not the product of our time : they are as old as the world, and began to exist and be current as soon as man came into the world. Once, however, they were the occupation of idlers, of do-nothings, of the lowest elements of society, of those who did not wish or had not the opportunity to develop their characters, their natural gifts, their instincts. These people, not having the opportunity to as- cend the ladder of learning and knowledge; not hav- 81 PARROT GODS ing any sound and useful material for their spiritual food, for their — let us say — "intellectual stomachs," — have become accustomed, in order to use up their idle time, to busy themselves with easy things, like gossip, slander, and obloquy. Besides, these gossip- ers and slanderers had many customers among the women, among the "fair sex" who have many, very many, ugly ways. ... For them it was not merely a pastime, but a real pleasure. They derive much enjoyment from "stories," which Jane told of Mary Ann, or Mary Ann told of Bridget, and so forth. But "Tempora mutantur et nos mutamur in illis," says a latin proverb. Now gossip and slander are not monoplized merely by the two above named cat- egories; now they are very much in style by al- most all. Why? This question can have two answers. First, some do it because they are morally sick, that is : their minds are not strong enough to conquer the animal inclinations and instincts which drive men to do evil deeds ; secondly, many do it to quiet their vul- gar egoism, their manifold stormy *V, their desire to run after honors, after popularity, after recognition." So what do they do, these pigmies, these spiritual dwarfs, when the sea of envy of their stronger and more worthy fellowmen begins to boil in their little hearts? They begin then to use the most shameful and most poisonous weapon — gossip and slander. Men are not angels. Living on the earth, we must nolens-volens have earthly faults. The sun has spots; the rose thorns; gold is mixed with baser metals; — is it then a wonder, that a mortal man, no 32 PARROT GODS matter how good he is, or how pure his thoughts, should have faults ? And of these faults the gossipers and slanderers begin to make use and of every iault which they find in the successful poet, author or speaker, they make a "scarecrow," using thereby all their base means to paint them in blackest col- ors. . . . Heine says, "The greater the man, the easier the arrow of scorn reaches him. It is harder to reach the dwarfs." How true these words ! Little men who have no personality, and are not distinguished by any special characteristics, are not attacked, and they will not be talked of even if they have the greatest faults. If, however, a well-known person, a man with a name, do the least wrong, people will not stop speaking of him, and none will refrain from throwing mud at him with his own dirty hands. Yes, great is the crime of every person who takes part in gossip and slander; but a thousand times greater is the crime of those who call themselves "scholars" and "authors" when they occupy them- selves with such vulgar "business." They ought to set an example of good customs and good man- ners, because if they do this, people have more re- spect for literature, knowledge, and art. If we try to slander others, we shall not make ourselves great- er, and the mud which we throw to soil others will first of all soil us. 33 GUITLY OF PESSIMISM ^'My soul is bare of faith and all, except despair." — Zangwill. MY esteemed critics, well-wishers and friends, es- pecially of the frail fair sex, are accusing me, and without giving me a hearing, find me guil- ty of pessimism. They claim that the Omnipotent breathed into me atoms of Schopenahuer,*s spirit. They call it a fault of mine, but I — let me be candid — look upon the matter from an entirely different point of view, for were I not a pessimist — so at ieast it ap- pears to me — I should consider myself a vain being, devoid of all noble feelings. I am a pessimist, for there is a vital heart within my breast that beats ever strong for my fellow- beings. It is not that I find full contentment in being a pessimist; on the contrary, there is constantly go- ing on a struggle between my heart and my reason for optimism. But the very circumstances that brought about the production of the pessimistic adages of the Ko- heleth, and the deep and powerful offsprings of Byron's and Shelly's charming Muse, can keep the clockwork of pessimism going in every human soul, provided it is not petrified. I have left the rushing metropolis of the Empire State, the center of "hurry up" life and sports, and have chosen a panoramic little town, near New York, as my place of abode. From the veranda of my cottage I view the attractions above and beneath. The day is dying, the sun has set, and only the traces 35 PARROT GODS of its lost brilliancy play on the horizon. A mixture of light and darkness has prevailed for a few mo- ments. The hour of meditation is now on — twilight. Night approaches. The disc of the pale moon stealthily peeps into my chamber and spreads rays of light upon the walls, tables, chairs, bookcases, and upon all that surrounds me. The tall green trees embrace me with their twigs, as if to extend a cor- dial welcome. The petals of the roses and lilies, pen- etrated with the moist, refreshing dew-drops, shed their perfume, and a fragrant odor reaches me. I am in solitude, observing the transparent heaven above and the green meadows beneath me. I love Nature with every throb of my heart and with the deepest feelings of my soul. I am hers with all my dreams and aspirations, and I sorrowfully regret that opportunity is not granted to me to be closer to Nature and rest in her lap more often. The greater part of my life I spent in the heart of the Ghetto, in small rooms, distant from wood and field, far from birds and trees, away from flowers and plants. I belong to the dreamers of the Ghetto, and in the Ghetto my life is wasted. I am a pessimist, for wherever I look I find rot- tenness to the core and hypocrisy, dissimulation and the kinks of a Don Quixote. There is no sincere friendship in the land of the free and the home of the brave, there is lack of ideal feelings in this golden country; you cannot find here undivided attention pure and simple; the almighty dollar is found in connection with all that is holy and virtuous. 36 PARROT GODS Even the literary field is to a greater extent filled with dollar-getting stunts, with yellow sensations for the sake of filthy lucre. Every one whose knowledge exceeds not that of a school-boy has nerve to call himself a man of let- ters, scholar, critic and journalist; every one that is possessed of the ability to match rhymes of "toma- toes" with "potatoes" has gumption enough to style himself a poet, a minstrel by grace of the Lord. Others, being little familiar with the elementary reading in Hebrew, confer upon themselves the de- gree of "Reverend" and some of those who know the titles of a few volumes of the Talmud, are vain enough to refer to themselves as "Rabbis.'* Those, again, that are capable of grasping the reins, become by their own accord leaders and masters of Israel, and they lead our nation into swamps, into mud. Yes, I am a pessimist ! Despair fills my heart, when I see all the "decent" affairs in our midst. I am a pessimist, for it is not in my power to clear the dreary heaven of my nation, and to mend her defi- ciencies on the earth. I am a pessimist, indeed! 37 THE MODERN "ALMIGHTY." F^OUR men were discussing the question : "What is the greatest power in the world?" One, a big, fat man, a merchant, remarked that gold is more powerful than everything else because gold reigns supreme. "He who has the coin," he went on, "has the say, and can have anything he desires, anything he longs for." "And my belief is," replied the second one, "that the sword is the mightiest power, for it decides the greatest problems and the fiercest quarrels between the nations, and all of them obey its command." "And my humble opinion is," said the third, "that love is the strongest power, because it conquers the most renowned hero as well as the most powerful king. Remember,^' he exclaimed enthusiastically, "the names of Delilah, Cleopatra, Judith, and of a million other women of our day, who captured with a glance of their eyes the strongest 'fortification — hearts,' which would not have been taken with the biggest cannons." "Yes, yes!" the fourth exclaimed in a loud voice, "money is in our day a great power, the sword is also mighty, love is no doubt an enormous and un- limited power, which forces the giant to creep like a worm and the man of strongest character to act as an obedient slave; but, friends, all these are naught when we compare them with the might of the pen. It is small, indeed, but how powerful, how mighty it is! It frightens the most brutal kings in their 39 PARROT GODS palaces; it oftentimes compels the terrible tyrants, whose hearts are petrified, to give up things which are dear to them; it makes laws for the whole civil- ized world, and all men are compelled sooner or later to accept them.'* The man whose head has not only the mission to wear a hat, i. e., the man who thinks and can observe things and analyze them well, will surely agree with the opinion of the fourth debater, for his opinion is the right one. We can confirm it by examples from the annals of history, as well as from everyday hap- penings. And because the pen possesses such a great power, the people who were able to make use of this power, were in past years very careful with it. Unfortunately, "tempora mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis," and the changes are not always for the better. The pen has lost in our day many features of its great mission; the desk is no more *'God*s table,'* as one of the great Hebrew poets named it; the sin- cerity, the convincing power, the justice and honesty which were formerly the good angels accompanying the writers on their thorny literary paths, are gradu- ally diminishing and vanishing. Not only the daily press, but very often the weekly and monthly journ- als are yellow, very yellow. "What need is there," many of the so-called "writers" think, "of sincerity, knowledge, talent, etc., when freshness and stupidity, shamelessness and self-pride are now desirable prod- ucts in our literary market? What need of logic, when absurdity serves the purpose? What need of talent when empty phrases are acceptable?" 40 PARROT GODS And literature, the most beautiful jewel, the most valued pearl in mankind's treasury, has become now a kind of shop, where people sit and traffic with ideals, and where we can get principles and opinions "two for five." We therefore now find in the literary field so many pygmies, whose real place ought to be in a circus. In the modern literary field we find "critics" who would be better experts in groceries than in literary subjects. Chaos reigns all around in our contemporary literature; dwarfs occupy the first place in it, and the talented and learned writers are very often behind the camp. Literature, which is the greatest factor in the life of civilized men, the pen, which has so great a power, should be in the hands of gifted writers, who are sincere and earnest. And those "literary" charlatans, to whom literature is only a "milking cow," those pen jugglers, whose souls are kneaded from mud and whose consciences are "clear" (as dirt) — they should refrain from their "literary" activities and choose some other occupation more suitable for their talents and inclinations. There is enough need for street cleaners and push- cart peddlers to provide these charlatans with a liv- ing, and we would wish them the best of luck in such new and more fitting spheres of activity. 41 WHAT MEN FIGHT FOR "For a cap and bells, our lives we pay; Bubbles we buy with a whole soul's tasking: 'Tis only God that is given away, Tis only Heaven may be had for the asking." THE great God Mammon sits upon his throne, which is wrought of finest gold, studded with precious stones. Upon his head rests a golden crown, and the many diamonds with which it is set flash their many colored fires in amazing brilliancy, dazzling the eye of the beholder. Around him stand his courtiers, the knights of the almighty dollar, dressed like himself in robes of heavy gold, whose weight almost drags them down to earth, and each one is guardian of a heavy treasure chest, filled, some with coins of gold, others with beautifully en- graved notes in green and gold, still others with cer- tificates of stock (90% of which, by the way, is wa- ter), and some with deeds for houses and lands. From all directions the people come to worship, and to ask for gifts. They come from God's coun- try, where the fields are covered with verdant grass and flowers, with waving golden grain, with stately trees whose sturdy branches droop heavily under their weight of fruit; where the sunny sky looks down upon the smiling earth, and the birds make music all day, and the little brook gurgles in laugh- ter as it dashes payfully over its pebbly bed; where every morning they can see the wonder and glory of creation renewed, as they watch the sun rising over 43 PARROT GODS the distant hills, the Lord of Day come to dispel the darkness of the night. All this they leave, and the wholesome labor that makes wholesome rest, and the freedom that is unbeholden to others, to worship the God of Gold. They come from the villages, where life moves slowly and peacefully from day to day. They come from the towns where already lesser satellites of Mammon are enthroned, emulating the rush and bustle of the great city. From all the highways and byways they come, the stronger trampling over the weaker, and only a few, a very, very few of all that great army ever reaching to the mighty God Mam- mon himself, to receive his largess, and be made one of the knights of the "Order of the Almighty Dollar." And why this steady influx of people? Why this crush and rush? What is this gift that the God Mammon dispenses that makes people so eager to re- ceive it? Is it something that makes people better? Does it make people happier, healthier, give them more of the joy of living? Does it enable them to see the beauty of the sky, of the green grass, of the fragrant flowers, to feel their hearts stir and swell within them at the renewal of life every year, after the cold and desolation of the winter ? If it does not do these things, what does it do that casts a spell of desire over all? The answer is, that the gift of the God of Gold has in it the power to make men bow down and worship its possessor even as they do the God Mammon himself. It gives him a power to subdue others to his will, to make tools and hirelings of those who but for the possession of this gift, are higher than he in every respect. It gives him a 44 PARROT GODS power before which the most despotic king and the most democratic government are powerless. Is it surprising that one and all are filled with the mad desire for this one gift? And yet — its possession is certainly not an unmixed joy. Riches and power entail obligations, great in proportion. What John Smith, possessed of a mod- erate income, and unnoticed, may do, would be out of the question for John Smith, the possessor of millions. Are not his tastes as simple as of yore when he could not sign his name to a check of seven fig- ures? Still he must keep up a grand establishment. This is part of the penalty he must pay for his wealth. A thousand and one claims will be made upon him, some just, some unjust, until both alike will become irksome and remain unnoticed. The friends of his earlier days will fall away from him, his grandeur over-awes them. His new friends, are they really friends indeed, he wonders sometimes, or is it policy that links their interest with his? And so, poor rich man, like king Midas of fairy fame, although every- thing he touches turns to gold, one needs food to eat, that is not gold, and human companionship that has not been deprived of its feeling by the golden touch. And all his life and work has been but for the sake of cap and bells, that people may hear and see. There is so much in life that mere money cannot buy, that everyone can have and pay for in other coin, because in one way or another, everything must be paid for. Friends, just pay for them in friendship's coin, and you will have them. Do you want happiness? Make others happy and you will find your own. All the beauty of the world is yours 45 PARROT GODS to enjoy, if you will but look for it, and appreciate it. You do not need to go to Italy to find that the sky is blue. A glance above you will show you that^ if the day be sunny, and if not, the clouds are also beautiful, and the sun is always behind them. Are not the flowers as fair, and the grass as green, here, as elsewhere? There is nothing, I know, that broad- ens the mind like travel, and I would be the last to decry it, and of course there is an enchantment that distance lends, which makes us all eager to be where we are not, but that same enchantment will hold good when we are away in distant lands, and make our own seem more desirable. So, if you have not the money to travel, why not admire the beauty with which you are surrounded, and think, as the rejected suitor did: "What care I how fair she be. If she be not fair for me." Beauty, it is said, is in the eye of the beholder. It is incumbent on us, therefore, to have it always in our eye, and we cannot fail to see it. The world returns to us that which we bring to it. Do we bring faith, hope, belief in the goodness of mankind? It will be justified. Just as we try to- justify the belief of children, so also do we try to justify the belief of those, who amid the stress and strain of everyday life, amid ugliness and sor- row and sin, can see the beauty and the goodness be- hind the clouds, if we but look for them. 46 WHAT IS BOSTON JEWHY DOING FOR THE JEWISH WORKING GIRL? THE s^jcjvt question presents itself with esp>eciai force at this time, when some of our Jewish society women, who are, or rather, pretend to be, active in charitable work, have gone so far as to cast aspersions on the character and moral of our Jewish working girls in genera!, and the immigrant girls in particular. What have these women done, what are they doing now, to help the girl who is forced to go forth and earn her living by the labor of her hands? I do not refer to the girl who comes from a sheltered home, where she has a father's and mother's care; to whom, while the necessity for work does present itself, the temporary lack of it will not mean the loss of necessities or even comforts. I refer rather to those who come here from coun- tries where the Jews are hounded and persecuted, and who look forvsard with eager eyes to happiness and liberty, in this, to them, the Promised Land. Sometimes they come alone, sometimes with friends or parents, but in almost all cases, without exception, they come here with very little tangible property, their only assets health, youth, and the boundless faith of youth. What welcome do you g^ve them, you ladies who have of your own right formed yourselves into a synod to sit in judgment upon them? What helping hand do you extend to your sisters that come here strangers in a strange land? 47 PARROT GODS Is there a home to welcome them if they are home- less? Is there money to aid them if they are needy, until such time as they may be able to find work and support themselves? There is a place where the immigrant may receive some aid, but is it such a place that a young girl could go there to receive shelter and help while she needed them? There are numerous educational classes in which the immigrant girls may be taught the English lan- guage, but one cannot take the proper interest in ac- quiring an education when the mind is over-worried with the problems of mere existence, and the body under nourished for lack of proper food. Do you help these girls to find the proper employ- ment, or do you take a girl who has graduated from the "Gymnasia'' and set her the task of finishing coats? Of course, beggars cannot be choosers, I ad- mit, but surely, if you are so concerned about the morals of the immigrant girls, a little real interest, the kind you would want other mothers to feel for your daughters were they in like position, would go very far indeed toward solving the problem. Have you ever gone through any of the hardships through which they have gone that you condemn them so easily ? Have you tried for days, and weeks perhaps, to get work, and been unable to find it? Have you ever felt the loneliness of a great city, where among all the thousands of people hurrying by, there was not one familiar face to greet you, in all the babble of the city's tongues there was not one familiar voice, among the thousands of hands out- stretched in welcome to others, not one was extended in kindly welcome to you? 48 PARROT GODS Have you gone hungry in a city of plenty, shiver- ing with cold in clothes that were worn and thead- bare, while others were clad in velvets and furs, seen others enjoying every luxury, while you were denied the bare necessities of existence? Have you ever come back from a hard day's labor, for a mere pittance, to a hall bedroom, which perhaps you shared with another girl for the sake of economy, made supper for yourself, because the meagerness of your salary would not allow you the luxury of board- ing, and tired out in mind and body, hurried to night school, because one must, willy-nilly, acquire an edu- cation? Cold, worry, hunger, all these things are hard to bear, but the loneliness is the hardest. Have you ever been a stranger in a strange land, a young girl brought up in a country town perhaps, where you knew every man, woman and child, and even the dogs would wag their tails in welcome as you passed, and have you felt the sense of desolation that grips the heart as you realize that in a great city, amongst thousands of people you were alone? If you have not known these things, if you have not felt them, and come through the ordeal with shin- ing spirit and untarnished virtue, do you think that you have the right to judge others, who, having known and felt poverty, hardship, and sorrow; tired, and impotent under a burden too heavy for their frail strength, at length accept the hand that is outstretched to them with offers of a life that is easier and brighter? Is it not your duty to see that these girls have a properly sheltered home, that they have some of the PARROT GODS amusements and gayety that youth craves, that their feet are guarded from the snares and pit-falls, which await those who are dissatisfied and unhappy? And yet, in spite of everything, of poverty, hard- ship, and loneliness, in spite of all assertions to the contrary, our working girls are good girls, and no matter what the temptation, the proportion of those who succumb to the lure of the so-called "easiest way" is a very small one. There is a soundness in their moral fibre which nothing can destroy, and the most corrupting influence upon them is sometimes that of the very people who think that they are working for their betterment. In New York City, there is the Clara de Hirsch home, where girls may obtain shelter until they find employment, in other cities there are various homes or places where the immigrant girl who is homeless may find a temporary home, but in Boston, the city of culture, the "Athens of America," our Jewish mothers have been so busy cultivating their minds, and acquitting themselves of the onerous duties which they owe to society, such as whist, teas, dinners, balls, theatre parties, and a hundred and one other matters of equal importance, that they are too busy to look after their own daughters, let alone the daughters of the working class. Are your whist parties more important to you than the lives and happiness of your less fortunate sisters ? Can you not spare a little time in your happily ap- pointed lives to the work of aiding those who need your assistance? Of what importance are your vari- ous clubs and isms, in comparison with human lives? Is not there wealth enough among the Jews of 50 PARROT GODS greater Boston to support a home for Jewish work- ing girls ? I mean a home that will be homelike, and not a sort of modified prison affair. With a sympa- thetic motherly woman in charge to whom she can tell her woes, with the company of other girls to keep her interest quickened, with the knowledge that kind people are truly interested in her welfare, it would be a poor specimen of girlhood indeed who would disappoint the expectations of her benefactors, and the question, "What is Boston Jewry doing for our Jewish Working Girls?" would be entirely super- fluous. 51 MONKEYS (The habit of imitating customs, literary ideas and fashions, and how the Jews are the greatest victims of this sickness.) THE Talmud says that if a non-Jew accepts a Jewish law, he will be more particular in ob- serving it than the Jew himself ; and how pro- found and psychological, how true and wise is this remark! A proselyte, that is, a new convert, who has accepted a new religion, a new ideal, a new idea, will strive with all his power to outdo the old mem- bers of the sect or party, to wl.ich he has attached himself. For instance, when a Jew becomes a Chris- tian, he will go to church more often than a pious Christian, because no one would say that the lattei is not a Christian, even if he does not attend church, while in regard to the former, at first opportunity, doubts will be raised whether he became a convert through conviction or principle, or only for selfish, and oftentimes even mean and detestable purposes. When a former Yeshivo-hochUr or melamed's as- sistant, who has led little boys to Cheder, and was wont thereby to steal their dinner from them, sudden- ly becomes a free-thinker, an abuser of religion, a Bible-hater, a denier of acts of faith — he will do his utmost to show that he is a greater "free-thinker" than his older and more experienced comrades ; and to convince them he means it in earnest, he will (good proof) eat lobsters, although they stick in his throat; he will swallow pork, although he loathe it, PARROT GODS and his Jewish stomach will immediately demand a large dose of pills. So, at every step, we constantly see that new-comers do everything possible not only to be like the "old," but even to outdo them. Our nation, whom bitter fate throws hither and thither like the wind the ship which has lost its rudder, must often, nolens volens, become an imitator of foreign customs, foreign traditions, foreign follies. The Jews are compelled by conditions in Russia to become more or less Russianized; in Germany, Ger- manized ; in France, Gallicized ; and in America, Am- ericanized; and we notice at once that the Jew — let us be candid! — wishes to become more of a Russian, German, Gaul or American, than the natives. He holds sacred and observes more religiously the cus- toms of the new country than the natives themselves. No one possessing a little common sense, will dare to assert that here, in America, Jews should not be- come Americanized. On the contrary, every reason- able person will surely say that we ought to Ameri- canize ourselves as much as possible, that is, we ought to learn the customs of the country, its lan- guage, its history ; we ought to implant in our hearts a love for the new world, where we can forget our old sorrows, and hope for a bright future. But it is very stupid, foolish, and even idiotic for many of our Jewish immigrants to think that, in order to be Am- ericanized, they must deny everything Jewish, every- thing that bears the stamp of their nation. It is folly for them to be ashamed to read the Jewish paper in the car, ashamed to speak Jewish ir« nuMic with their own fathers, who are still ignorant of the English language. They think that at meetings, even at our national ones, it is better taste to sing an American 54 PARROT GODS song, which is sung only on the Bowery, than a Hebrew or a Jewish song. To them the Irish name "Jerome" sounds better than the true Hebrew and highly poetical name "J^^^salem." They will refuse to give money for Jewish purposes and gladly offer their last penny for American sports, and many times for churches. And why do our Jewish Jeromes and McCarthys do this? Why do our Jewish Jeanettes and Ellas act so? Why? Because they are like monkeys — always imitating others. The great world-literature, and especially the French, has created very erotic novels and lascivious writings, and has dubbed them all with the name "Realism." Our "modern" writers and amateurs be- came enthusiastic over this "bargain," and carried this realistic literary "affair" to such an extreme that the French realistic writers themselves might take a lesson in realism from them. Oh, good God ! How this so-called "realism" has spoiled and sullied the Hebrew as well as the Yiddish literature. Realistic novels, sketches, ballads, epi- grams and fables are day by day given to the public ; and what are their contents ? They are as dangerous to our soul as horrible bacilli to our body. They are as cynical, disgusting and detestable as the well known Paul de Cock's nonsense. And what a style! What an art of writing! Our "modern" writers heard that the French have a Verlaine, a Malarme, those representatives of the decadent school in modern literature, replete with queer inspirations, with half wild outpourings; that in the Russian literature there are a few like Balmont, Sologub, Beli, Miropolsky and others. Well, how could they rest quietly before they brought these 55 PARROT GODS kinds of literature into our Jewish Ghetto I And our literary "gang" went to work and began to imitate them. Often in the Hebrew as well as in the Yiddish liter- ature we meet poems with dots, and dots without poems, which it is impossible to understand without the help of a commentator, and from which we can easily get incurable appendicitis. One of our modern diseases is doubtless the fash- ion. We can safely say of her : She is in Paris, and her net is spread over the whole world. It is under- stood that our people, an exiled people, who must constantly hold in one hand the "wandering stick" and in the other a paper with the inscription, "Have Pity," ought to be very little interested in the fash- ions. But what do we see? In the New York Ghet- to among the poorest class of our people a bride must have jewelry and rich dresses. A Jewish Am- ericanized girl will often require that her father should pawn his "Talis and Tephillin," and even himself only to have the opportunity to buy a latest style dress, or a golden locket around her neck. Many poor, but very pretty girls, who had bloomed like living Oriental flowers, and whom bitter fate had thrown into the caldron of life, and into shops, where they wither and grow old before their time, often work overtime and exert their last strength. Why ? For what purpose ? Oh ! it is shameful to tell! For the sake of another "rag," another ring, for the sake of another useless ornament. Why? Because many of our Jewish girls and women do not want to think what they are doing, and simply imi- tate the wealthy like monkeys. 5^ THE NET RESULT OF MY LIFE (The monologue of one doing penance who for many years had lost himself in a barren world. Overheard and written down.) I am now 45 years old! I was born in a little vil- lage not far from Vilna. How the village looked I scarcely remember now; all my recollections of it time has effaced. However, two things stand out most clearly even now : the woods which surrounded our village as with a green girdle, and the "Cheder/* The wood was enchanted, wonderful, a kind of earthly Eden. In summer time, when a holi- day came, and we boys were free from "Cheder," we usually spent the whole day there. And how beauti- ful then was the green giant, the forest! To us children it seemed as if the trees stretched out their green arms murmuring in their tree language, a hospitable greeting. The summer birds went about in the air, and up and down, as if they were bathing in the unending world atmosphere. This choir, the neighbors of the forest, met us face to face, with such greetings as warmed our hearts — warmed and bright- ened them so, as if seven suns had settled therein. The "Cheder," where my best and dearest hours had been spent, I also remember very, very well. It is a small room, the whitewashed walls full of stains of various colors. The beams are black and covered with cobwebs, where spiders undisturbed spin their nets for flies. In the middle of the room stands a large wooden table, and on each side of it a white 57 PARROT GODS wooden bench. The "rebbe" sits among us children, as a king in his own palace, teaching us the Torah. While recalling the "Cheder" all my Hebrew teach- ers come back to my mind. "Reb" David, the Dull, who had made a contract with angels to throw him from heaven candy and cookies for those of his pupils who usually studied the A. B. C. industriously, and who would energetically call aloud : Komotz alef — o, "komotz beth" — bo, etc. The teacher of "Chumesh," "Reb" Getzil, the Short, who was hasty and hot-tempered, and who dealt out severe punish- ment most readily. The teacher of the Talmud, "Reb" Sorach of Kapuli, who often with his leather strap gave us a "Kapulic hint," that we must not trifle with "Beth Shammai" and with "Beth Hillel and that the Talmud "Bovoth" are not "bovas stories" — superstitious beliefs. Until I was sixteen, I had been learning in "Ched- er," and after that my father, who was a God-fearing man, and who very much wished that I should attain a rabbi's rank, sent me to Vilna, to study there in a Hebrew college. The baggage that I took along consisted of a pair of "Tefilin," three old shirts, a loaf of bread, and a few dried up apples. Besides the above mentioned articles, I had with me a letter which our "rebbi" had given me to the Vilna chief of the "Yeshivoh." Arriving at Vilna I at once delivered that letter; and the chief took me into the Yeshivoh and furnished me with "good days" — that is to say daily opportun- ities for free board. I began to learn diligently ; and with all the fire of my young soul I threw myself into the endless lore 58 PARROT GODS of the Talmud, and I swam in the deepest places like an experienced swimmer. Late at night, when around me was a deathly quiet — which was only broken from time to time by the snoring of my school-mates, the "cloisniks," who likewise spent the night at the "Bes Hamidrash" — I used to get up from my place of rest, the hard bench which served me as a bed, and used to fill the *'Bes Hamidrash" air with sad Talmudic tunes. At night, when the moon was in the heavens, she would, as pale as a ghost, look in at me through the window; and it used to seem as if she nodded to me and spoke to me in her moon language: "Brother, lonely brother! Why are you not asleep now? Why are you not resting ? The heavens are slumber- ing now; the earth is resting, everything around you is wrapt in sleep — sh ! you, too, go to sleep ! May your hard bench make you forget your old griefs, your old sorrows, old pains. Rest, lonely brother! Gather strength for the coming days, which are sure to bring you new sorrows, fresh cares!" I used «o heed the words of the moon ; or made answer with a "Rovah said," or with some good interpretation of the text. I used to go on studying till dawn, until the sexton, and soon after him others, came, and preparations for the morning prayers began. Thus I had been studying for two years, and my name became beloved not only by the chief of the Yeshivoh and by the families, where I had my meals on different days, but almost all the frequenters of the "Bes Hamidrash." All called me by the name of "scholar," and some — even "genius.? But suddenly there came a complete turn in my 5P PARROT GODS life; my peace, my enthusiasm for the Talmud, my old hopes — everything, everything was gone, like vapor. An acquaintance of mine, a student in the "Real Shule," had taken me along with him to a meeting, where I saw and heard much. That meeting was an illegal one, i. e., those who assembled had no permis- sion from the police. The meeting, therefore, took place in an out-of-the-way corner, far from the much frequented street, far from a center, far from people. Arriving at the house where the meeting took place, I found quite a number of girls and young men. Some of them were holding small books; some, pieces of wood wrapped in red handkerchiefs, like my grandfather's handkerchief, which was always imm.ersed in snuff; some were debating, mentioning names which until then I had not heard. In short, this gathering made a deep impression on me, and I became a steady attendant of all kinds of secret meetings. I left the "Yeshivoh ;*' my acqain- tance, the student of the "Real Shule," had begun to teach me Russian — of which I already knew a little and to acquaint me with other matters. I made great progress, and in the course of a few months, I also participated in all debates that oc- curred at the "red" gatherings. The chief subjects of our debates were : The bad conditions of the Rus- sian Muzhik, the terrible treatment which he gets from the Plutocracy, from the "Bourgeois." We used often to discuss the Bulgarians and Slovian- opoles ; even the Hottentots we also mentioned. The only nation which was left out of the ■discussion, ignored in our debates, was the Jewish 6& PARROT GODS people — the nation that gave us life, reared us, and whose blood flowed in our veins. Then I became a propagandist; I used to go about to the most out-of- the-way towns and villages, and talk "cosmopolitan- ism," "socialism" and other "isms." Of my people I had no thought. "Humanity in general" was then in my mind. Only the world-tragedy interested me, and not the tragedy of my own poor people. Twenty years I have worked upon stranger fields for stranger people! I have been several times m jail ; I have been in cold Siberia, too. Has humanity won anything through me? Practically nothing. And my nation — I am ashamed to mention my be- trayer-like, my mean dealings against her. To strange Gods I have bowed; upon strange al- tars I have brought my greatest sacrifices ; strange soil I have fattened and sated with my blood — and my people ? Oh, from them I have become more dis- tant, them I have driven from me. Why? I have been blind. I have been stupid! I had not wanted to think — oh, I had been a stubborn cosmopolite — that all civilized members of a nation are proud of their nationality, their language, their land, their customs and national traditions — I had not wanted to think that the more civilized they are, the better, the more holy those things seem to them And we Jews? We have ridiculed ourselves, ex- changing everything that has oaly a bit of connection with our people for foreign matters, for international follies. In Austria there are many nationalists — Ruman- ians, Poles, Ruthenians, Bohemians, Slavonians, Bul- garians, etc., and each one of them struggles for in- 61 PARROT GODS dependence, for the national "1" for a national soul. The world knows well enough what had been going on in the "Reichsrat" when the language question had to come up for decision. The Bohemians had struggled proudly and courageously, that in the official places in Bohemia only Bohemian should be spoken. And we, the sons of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob? We have lost our national sense, our na- tional pride, and with others' mud we have soiled our soul, our heart. With enthusiasm, with peculiar fire we run in the first ranks of the strangers, who strug- gle for interests quite foreign to us, for ideals dis- tant, very distant. Like faithful horses, we harness ourselves to the international wagon and draw the heaviest loads with patience, with self-sacrifice. But when it comes to doing something for ourselves, for our own people — then words frighten us : "Re- gressist," "fanatic," etc. But I have now awakened from my lethargic sleep in "Olom hatohoo" — and my eyes are opened — I have returned to Israel's nation. With her I will suffer, with her hope. Her ideals will be mine. Her dream I will dream ; her chains I will wear, and her altar shall be my temple. Humanity is dear to me, but dearer than that to me is my own nation. The world tragedy fills my heart with sorrow, but the tragedy of my own broth- ers and sisters, the peculiarly Jewish tragedy — the pain which is deep as the abyss and boundless as the heavens — this pain envelops my soul with a veil of gloom, mingles gall with my sweetest hopes and em- bitters my life. I want to better the conditions of all suffering people, of all those oppressed, humbled, 62 PARROT GODS of all weak and defenseless. But to better the con- ditions of my people is my sacred duty; part of my life belongs to mankind, but my whole "I," my whole life, my whole soul, belongs solely to my Jew- ish nation. Oh, poor, lonely nation, take my life, take it — ^it is yours ! 03 OUR "MODERN" SLAVES NO Jewish holiday is so full of memories of joys and sorrows as Passover. This holiday re- minds us that many hundred years ago our Jewish nation was enslaved in Egypt, enslaved body and soul. A whole nation in slavery ! Can there be a greater tragedy? Can a greater misfortune befall a nation? But the dreary thoughts of our ancestors in slav- ery pass away as soon as we can remind ourselves of our great Moses. How small, how insignificant, appear Washington and all other great champions of freedom and inde- pendence, when we think of the splendid personality of our great teacher and lawgiver. Oh, great Moses ! We mention him — and a stream of light flows into the darkness of our heart, and a soft breeze soothes and fans us, like the hand of a devoted mother. Great are the merits of a man who is enslaved, and seeking some means to free himself, uses his powers to free, at the same time, his fellowmen, who are also enslaved. But much greater are the deserts of a man who can enjoy freedom and knows not the taste of slavery, when in his heart begins to glow the divine spark of love for those of lower station in life, for the weak, for the down trodden — and he comes to them and helps them bear their sorrows, and seeks means to free these unfortunates. And Moses was such a man! He had everything his heart could desire in 65 PARROT GODS Pharaoh's palace. There he could have enjoyed life to the full and become in time a Prince in Egypt, a ruler, before whom many must kneel, and whose com- mands they must obey. But he did not do this ! He could not do it! The great spirit of freedom, the divine fire of sym- pathy and love for the Jews, whose lives were em- bittered "in mortar and brick," drove him from the palace and did not let him rest, — "and he went out unto his brethren." He went to them, and "looked on their burdens," he saw their hard work, their slavery, their sorrows, their tears ; he heard their sighs, their quiet protests, their groans, which filled the place where they were forced to work; and he began to feel that he had no greater duty in life than to free these slaves from the hands of their oppressors, from the hands of those who can do no good, and know only to hold whips in their hands to strike their fellow men. A very hard task had our Moses ! The Jews had become so accustomed to slavery in Egypt, that they had already lost their desire for liberty and indepen- dence. It seemed to them that it had to be so as long as it was so. Moses, however, did not lose his courage and his energy. He kept on working until he succeeded in freeing his enslaved nation, and gave them the Torah — the first and greatest Declaration of Independence. Many years the Jews were a free nation, a nation on its own territory ; but historical conditions and tyrannical rulers drove them from their country, robbed them of their freedom, — and our great nation again became enslaved. 66 PARROT GODS New Pharoahs arose, new decrees were made against them, and the new slavery became worse than the Egyptian. At that time the Jews were not developed as now ; their intellectual spirit was as yet in embryo, and, therefore it was hard for them to understand the great misfortune of a nation when it is dependent on rulers to whom caprice is dearer than justice, and a wild whim more important than love for humanity. Now, however, our nation, or rather, the better ele- ment of our nation, comprehends how bad it is for us to be enslaved bodily, and still more spiritually; how unnatural it is to be in such a condition! And men, who have in their hearts a spark of Moses* great spirit, have consecrated themselves to the work, the great work — to free the Jews from their enslaved conditions and to assure them again a home of their own. It would seem that Jews of all classes ought to be in the first rank of our champions, and work with united strength for our freedom, for our new Exo- dus. But, unfortunately, there are among us "mod- ern Egyptian Jews," in whom the spirit of real free- dom is dead, and the conception of their own slavery is obscured, and they repeat as their brethren of yore: "We remember the fish," — the fish which we caught in foreign water ; or they say, like true slaves : "I love my master." And these "modern" slaves leave our ranks, mak- ing new circles for themselves and preaching there their gospels, which are as far from plain common sense, as the spirit of Kossuth and Garibaldi is — 67 PARROT GODS from the infernal spirit of Torquemada and Pobie- donostsef. They preach their slavery in a new form, they preach it in the name of freedom and equality. These "modern" slaves do not understand or act as they do not understand, that their whole theory possesses as much value as the present constitution in Russia, or the "kind" promises of Stolypin. . . These "modern" slaves wish to remain in exile, and build new "Pithoms and Ramases" for their rulers, who have given them so much pain and suffering. Why? For what purpose? The old reply: "I love my master," "We remem- ber the fish" ... Oh, slaves ! If I only could, I would nail your long ears to the stalls, where stand horses, who know nothing of freedom. I would bore your ears with a thousand awls, that you might hear the cries, the groans, and the sighs of your nation, of your own sisters and brother, who struggle under the hands of their oppressors, and beg us to help them, and to free them from their yoke. When, however, the "modern Egyptian Jews" leave us — the Jews, in whose heart there glows a spark of Moses' spirit, ought to unite more closely, and work in unison for our forlorn and forsaken sisters and brothers, who cannot endure the long exile and the hard work of the new Pharoahs .... Let the spirit of Moses lead us to the goal of free- dom and independence. 68 A NATION'S FUNDAMENTAL NEEDS DURING the time when the Russians, in a drunk- en condition, were committing violence, dur- ing the time when the "dear sons(*' of the fool- ish Alexander the Third and his "pious" teacher, Pobiedonostef, were adding a few more red pages to the history of Russia, and Ivan the Terrible — that i: during the time when the Mujiks were killing vhe persecuted Jews, dishonoring their wives and daugh- ters and robbing them of the possessions, gained by so many hardships ; during that time one of our great, rich brethren was sitting in his magnificent residence, eating, drinking and enjoying life. He knew that his unhappy nation was in distress, its life threatened in the streets of his native city of Kief ; he knew, but turned his heart away from this terrible event, thinking that money was the rock of his help, and that his wealth would prevent the de- stroyers from entering his residence. But this rich man was mistaken in his calculations. As soon as the robbers reached his residence, they smelt with canine instinct a Jew in hiding, took a stone and threw it at him through a window. The stone hit his eldest son's ear. Frightened, his son called out bitterly: "Father, what are we? Are we mere Jews, and no more?" "If such a large crowd testifies to the fact, we of necessity must confess it," answered the rich man in a low voice, and ended the conversation. This little episode, which an old gentleman told me, may be an invention born in an imaginative 69 PARROT GODS mind, but we have to take to heart the moral result- ing therefrom, at any time, at any hour, at any place. How great, alas ! how great is at present the num- ber of our sons and daughters, our brothers and sis- ters, who do not know, or do not want to know, or are ashamed to know that they sprang from Judah's loins, till one of the Gentile neighbors, who is familiar with the art of phrenology appears on the scene and reveals to them the secret in the loudest voice. I do not wish that our brethren shall conduct themselves here, in a free and progressive country, ^s they conducted themselves in Ishishock and Volosin. I know the proverb, "When thou goest to a city, follow her customs." We must not think that every- thing upon which is impressed the seal of antiquity is good and just, or that we have no right to banish the old from before the new. No, a thousand times no ; Old and new, new and old, both of them are good, when they only do not oppose our reason and our views of the world; but, with all our spiritual doings in general, we must let our individual spirit and our individual being appear, and this, to our greatest sorrow, we do not do ; and our sons and daughters, therefore, grow up without knowing our nation, and its spirit remains foreign to them. Generally every man has a special character, special qualities, special views of the world, special aspirations, a special inner world, mto which he con- fines himself like a turtle in its shell, while the sea of his life grows stormy and every wave of it rises 70 PARROT GODS to swallow him up. In a word, every man must have some individuality by which he is distinguished from his fellow-beings. And there is in the sum nothing but what is in the individual parts, therefore every nation, which is a collective sum of separate individ- uals, must have special national laws, upon which is impressed a special seal. But these laws are but of secondary nature. There are things which are most fundamental, dearer and most valuable to every nation, and if they are in the nation, everything is there! These fundamental things are three: (a) The coun- try, (b) the language, (c) the history. Every nation must have a special country, wherein it develops and perfects itself materially and spirit- ually. Materially, it makes efforts to cultivate its soil and to bestow upon it abundantly all that it needs for its development and cultivation ; it continually grows and improves, till it begins to get out of it abundance and to enjoy its fruits ; it makes efforts to increase the industry of its country and the branches of its commerce widen and spread out to different parts of the world, and from them other merchandise is im- ported, which it exchanges with them, and in that manner it satisfies its necessary wants and does not suffer materially. Every nation living on its own soil and enjoying a free life can beautifully develop its spiritual posses- sions, its literature, with clear ideas and lofty ideals ; while living on its own soil and intellectually not governed by others, who, as a rule, try their utmost to bestow upon it all their favors and the most of their teachings by physical force. It can produce 71 PARROT GODS the fruit of its original intellect — all that its heart feels, and this fruit will bear a national color, a na- tional appearance, and in it will be mirrored the pure national soul, which strange hands did not fondle or make unclean by their touch. Every nation must have an individual national lan- guage, understood by all the members of the nation, which should be the medium among them in every place. We must learn many foreign tongues, but we have no right to forget that they are all "foreign." We must, before all, know our own language, the language of our prophets and poets, which are in- herited from past generations. When one living in France, and understanding only the national language, happens to meet in a hotel a native of Russia and understanding only his own language, how can they talk to each other if they do not understand Hebrew, that is, if they have no corr^- mon language adopted by the nation and the same expressions? Will those brethren not seem to be like pieces not sewed together? They will look at each other, open their mouths, stammer — fear, laugh, finding no delight in each other. Every nation must have its own history. History is a long chain, the beginning of which is interwov- en with the end, and in that manner it binds the past to the future and shows us everything as through a bright mirror; and the old experienced past can and ought to be the teacher to the future, this tender, new-born child that sees nothing. Goethe says : "The greatest thing we derive from history is enthusiasm." And if history in general carries us away with enthusiasm, how much greater will the enthusiasm be with which the knowledge of 72 PARROT GODS our own history will fill our souls? "Only through history" says Schopenhauer, "a nation begins to know itself, and the nation that does not know its history resembles animals which see only the events before their eyes in the present." The following episode will confirm the truth of this great pessimist's assertion : A short time ago I was invited to the house of a friend who emigrated from "blessed Russia" and is already ashamed of his Judaism. On my arrival at the house I found there several guests, who came to congratulate his daugh- ter on her birthday. After partaking of an elaborate repast, the invited guests, males, and especially females, began, as usual ori such occasions, to show us their wisdom and knowledge in every branch of science and art. One made Shakespeare tremble in his resting place, the other Byron. One miss called out with a plaintive voice that she loved, with all the warmth of her heart, Shelly's poems, and her friend remarked that her favorites among all of them were Longfellow's poems. "Well, Mr. Leavitt, you are an enthusiastic nationalist," said the hostess suddenly turning to me. "Tell us, is there in 'your' literature even one poet, who can be likened to these poets in *our' literature?" "Certainly there is," I replied. "But, for the pres- ent, I will mention only one who is, in my estimation, greater than all the poets who lived after him, in our nation, or in any other nation." "Who is he?" called the hostess in a fine voice, and many guests directed their eyes on me. "Rabbi Jehuda Halevi !" I proudly answered. "Who?" they called out together— "who ? R-r-b-i — Shame ! Shame ! Rabbi, whose name we even 73 PARROT GODS have never heard, greater than Shakespeare! Ha, ha, ha!" "I have to laugh at you, young ladies," I remarked, "because you laugh without knowing why. Heine says : 'Many think they know the Jews because they see their beards.' You also, young ladies, see only the beard of the Jews, and you take the liberty of judging the Jews by it. Shame on you!" For the time being we have no country, but our great brethren make efforts to return it to us, and to make us live there. Let us hope that our grand and sublime ideal will materialize and come into realiza- tion, and our eyes shall again see the land wherein lived our forefathers, our prophets and poets ; let us hope that we shall yet live a political life in Israel's land, wherein stood Israel's cradle, and its bright and beautiful sky will spread over our head as a can- opy of blue and make us forget the clouds of the Diaspora and the shadows of the past. Let us hope, let us wait, and with all our power and might let us aid the Esras and Nehemiahs of our generation till the time of grace shall come and we shall return to Zion with songs. But if for the present we have not the possibility in our hands of freeing our country^ let us try to teach our sons and daughters our language and our history. We must not listen to the "Alcimuses and Jasons'^ among us, who want to see the Hebrew language dead, for which, according to their conception, there is no need. Let us try to fulfil rather the injunction of our Talmudical sages : "As the child begins to talk, the father talks to it the holy language; and if he does not talk to it the Hebrew language and does 74 PARROT GODS not teach it the law, it is as if he buried it." Let us teach our sons and daughters our wonderful history, wherein there are no mythological stories and fables about gods and goddesses, who assembled on the ^'mountain," behaving themselves like fools. If we know our history, we shall recognize and appreciate our unhappy nation, the wandering ''Ahasuerus," who always preferred the spirit to the matter. Let us make the young generation love our old culture and all our spiritual possessions. It may be that our culture has become somewhat old, but there is strength in our hands to cure it, and straighten it, and return youth to her old age. The French physician, Brown-Sequard, the great savant in pathology and physiology, invented a won- derful essence, possessing the quality of renewing youth. Let the other, the new cultures, which are full of juvenile vigor, be like that essence to our culture; it will then be strengthened and youth and age will be therein. We shall then honor, appreciate and love the old age and bless and find delight in the youth. 75 OUR NATIONAL LANGUAGE "There is no tracing the connection of ancient na- tions but by languages, therefore I am always sorry when any language is lost, for languages are the pedigree of nations" — Johnson. THE fate of our Hebrew language is very much like the fate of our nation ; most of the time our nation is criticized by people who know her not, comprehend her not and respect her not, or if a little respect is granted by them, it is usually admixed with conventional prejudices. The same applies to our national language. Incompetent men clothe them- selves in the gowns of judges and pass their verdict upon it. A few of those who occupy chairs at uni- versities, as professors of Semitic languages (though their knowledge of Hebrew is as extensive as the knowledge of a Russian muzhik (peasant) of the "Schulchan Aruch"), endeavor to impress upon the world, or rather their Christian students, whom they teach the Semitic A. B. C's, that the Hebrew lan- guage is nowadays merely an archaeological subject, an antiquity, a spiritual pyramid of past centuries, an artistic obelisk, a mausoleum which has remained as a remembrance on the grave in which our liberty, na- tional independence, pride and might and individual specific qualities were buried. For these professors it is quite convenient to express such opinion of the Hebrew language, for to them it is really dead. The reform rabbis, these "spiritual Shepherds,*' who are ashamed of the ancient Hebrew traditions, 77 PARROT GODS the Jewish ideals and of all that pertains to our past, have preached to their sheep "that Hebrew is but a language of prayers and litanies, a language which a human being has to employ only when he directs his eyes to heaven and speaks to the Almighty." The Yiddish writers, again, aroused an agitation to the effect that Hebrew should disappear from the front rank and give place to the Jargon, which they wish to designate "our national language." The admirers of Hebrew have, of course, defied this agitation, and a battle ensued. Both parties defend their respective positions. They furnish flimsy evidences, sophistical pilpulim, and hocus pocus stories, and, as usual with our liter- ateurs, they do not handle each other with kid gloves, and insults are not scarce. . . .The Yiddish writers waxed so hot in the "battle" that they, being in a mood of anger, turned the epithet Maskil into a term of abuse, entirely forgetting that this epithet ought to be dear and sacred to every one who is acquainted with the history of the development of our Maskilim. For to gain the degree of Maskil, many had to strug- gle with parents who were against modern thought, and to neglect even wife and children. The title Maskil has been obtained by many through a great number of sleepless nights, endless troubles and ter- rible misery ; to receive the epithet Maskil one had to study, think and work, and it is a great injustice on the part of the Jargonists to profane this term of honor. A number of the Jargonists above alluded to speak like authorities, who advance theories, axioms, that I. The modern Hebrew has no aesthetic taste; H. The Hebrew language is dead, and 78 PARROT GODS III. The present Hebrew writers attempt to Jar- gonize the Bibical language. In reference to the "lack of taste/T should like to remark that one is competent to express opinion on taste only when one attentively studies and fully com- prehends the subject. As to the dead part of the language and the tend- ency of Jargonizing it, I must say that dead lan- guages (e. g., Latin and Greek) atrophy and show no impulse, no new vital force. But a language that evolutionizes and undergoes changes, which cor- respond with the spirit of the time, cannot be spoken of as dead'. Those who know but little of the evolu- tion theory, even those who are familiar only with the popular works of Darwin, Spencer and Baer, can easily conclude that a language, like any other ele- ment, has changed and must undergo changes and be governed by laws or rather, as Aristotle states : "Alter a face for a new face,f' for this indicates vital- ity and evolution. The Hebrew language is growing to a more potent vitality all the time. In the Hebrew language books and newspapers are published that can occupy a place of honor in universal literature. Of late, the Hebrew language has produced poets and authors that find no equals in the ranks of the Yiddish writ- ers. Finally, Hebrew must be looked upon, even m practical life, as a true national language. Large commercial enterprises conduct their correspondence and bookkeeping in the Hebrew language, and many hundreds of thousands of private individuals employ the Hebrew language as their medium of correspond- ence. Such a language cannot be referred to as dead by 79 PARROT GODS any one who knows what he is saying. Some assert that th-e modern Jew, who speaks in Jargon, is estranged from the spirit of that language used long, long ago in Asia. Irrational! Untrue! Statistics show that a great many modern Jews study and acquire the Hebrew language and are well ac- quainted with its spirit. Hebrew has always been the greatest medium among ourselves, and the only language that can unite us into a nation. Hebrew has from time immemorial been the soul, the spirit of our perse- cuted nation. Hebrew has been and will forever be our consolation, our hope, our pride. Hebrew will forever remain the most precious heirloom bequeathed to us by our great and brave forefathers. Justly Dr. Max Nordau remarks in one of his let- ters to me that "this (the Jargon) is a goluth-fiower and bound to disappear, by one means or another, with the goluth itself," but the Hebrew language has been and will ever be our national language! 80 AMERICAN JUDAISM WHEN a Jew who has just reached our shores hears either in a hall or in the street a so- called address, in which the speaker, an ex- kneepants-maker and a present union leader, be- smirches the Jewish religion and makes threats against the Deity, he will think that American Judaism is dead, or at least on the point of death. On the contrary, when the same newcomer enters a Synagogue at twilight and hears at times the most nonsensical droshos of certain Rabbonim and magi- dim, in which they display the extreme ultra-ortho- dox views and comments on the daily problems, which confront us and are of paramount importance to us, — he will think that Judaism is flourishing here and is in the prime of its strength. And when he looks around and notices the big signs with the inscription "Kosher" on many of the butcher shops, restaurants, lunch-rooms, etc., — he takes it for granted that American Jews are very pi- ous, and that they do not use even toothpicks without a hechsher. . . . However, the new arrival would be wrong in both of his inferences, for American Judaism is neither dying nor blooming. It is, alas, in a chaotic state, in an anomalous and confused condition, befogged and beclouded. Why? Who is to be blamed for it? In my opinion, there are four principal causes for this state of affairs. 1. The half-baked agitators and lecturers, who understand Judaism as a mujik — Spinoza's philoso- 81 PARROT GODS ^ phy, and who nevertheless speak of it with the au- thority of great scholars. These gentlemen who without any right call themselves "free thinkers," though they are everything but thinkers; these de- stroyers want to make their followers believe that every boor, every wanton fellow, has a right to wage war against the God of Israel, to mock at the sanc- tity of religion, to scoff at the holiness of tradition, and to make fun of everything that we cherish, that we revere, that is dear to us and precious. 2. The Rabbis. Many of them stripped Judaism of all its best treasures, of all its loftiest traditions, of its most valuable gifts and acquisitions, leaving only a skeleton which they stuffed with modern straw. . . And this light food is, as it seems, very palatable for their congregations, whose members at times care more for the cantor with the chorus girls than for the Rabbi with his oratorical effusions. 3. The Rabbonim. An orthodox Rabbi was and in many communities still is the real spiritual leader of his flock. Such a Rabbi ought to be well versed in Jewish lore, a real Talmudical scholar, and above all, — a noble and pure character, a power for good, a posses- sor of the highest moral qualities, and a real "ser- vant of the Lord." The Talmud says : "If the Rabbi is like the angel of God, they should seek the law of his mouth." (Chagiga p. 15) ; it is, if the Rabbi desires that his doctrines be accepted, and that the Torah he teaches be appreciated, — he ought to be as good as an angel, pure as an angel, and as far from earthly faults as the inhabitant of the Heaven. Are our Rabbonim angel — men? 82 PARROT GODS Oh, I wish that all of them should be at least men I "Poverty is like death," says the Talmud (Nedarim p. 7), and this is the real excuse for many Rabbonim, whom poverty and misery oftentimes compel to act not as they ought to. Many an idealist forgets his idealism when hunger knocks at his door. Many, many beautiful teachings and glorious dreams are fading and disappearing un- der the strong hand of materialism. Life, stern life plucks away the most beautiful flowers of people's idealism and forces them to cringe like worms and do things which are not in accord with their hearts desire 4. The people. Our nation does not take the right care of its spiritual leaders, of our teachers, of our scholars. Our nation appreciates dead letters more than their living expounders. Many Rabbonim are actually starving, and nobody takes any notice of such an occurrence. Many of them are serving their congregations for a salary which couldn't be compared even with the smallest wage of the poorest working man. Let the people treat our teachers and preachers rightly and justly, and then, of course, we shall have a right to demand from them more active work along the lines of Judaism and nicer and nobler per- sonal deeds. It is an established fact that not only the poor Rabbonim, but even many rich reform Rabbis are not leaders of their flocks, but are led by every trus- tee of their congregations. And this is very, very deplorable ! If everyone is entitled here to free speech, a Rabbi, a leader, a speaker and any public man should insist,. 83 PARROT GODS at any cost, on having a free platform and a free will. They must herald truths as they understand them; they must say things as their minds and conscience dictate to them; they must reproach without fear the evil-doers, no matter how powerful the latter may be. Leaders ought not to play the role of mounte- banks, who are changing their faces and their clothes for the sake of a "bravo" or to please the circus goers. Every public man, especially a spiritual leader, should not play the role of a merry Andrew. "Words that come from the heart enter the heart," remarked our great savants, and this is a fact which ought to be remembered by our teachers, preachers and our leaders. Judaism needs good support, and still more earn- est, zealous, enthusiastic, scrupulous and unselfish supporters. And it will flourish, it will gain more strength and prestige, and be again for the Jewish people old and young, a pillar of light, a tower of hope, a source of inspiration, a sanctum sanctorum. 84 EDUCATION AND PSYCHOLOGY "The world is saved only by the breath of the school children.'' (Sabbath p. 119). "No education deserves the name unless it develops thought. A true teacher should penetrate to what- ever is vital in his pupil, and develop that by the light and heat of his own intelligence." — E. P. Whipple. PSYCHOLOGY is a science describing and ex- plaining mental phenomena. Now since Educa- tion aims to train the mind, the science of Educa- tion ought to make the fullest possible use of every branch of Psychology. There is a close interdepen- dence between these two sciences, the purposes of Ed- ucation still being supreme in determining what is to be taught, yet depending upon the results of Psy- chology to show how and in what order the different subjects shall be taught. Before proceeding further with my views on the relation between the two sciences, I wish to disclaim any attempt to show that with a full knowledge of psychological theories, would come a full solution of all the perplexing educational problems of the day. I do not expect to attain to any formulas tending to simplify and mechanize the work of teachers. Far from this is my position; for I strongly urge that a full appreciation of the relation of the two sciences would tend more than anything else to vitalize the increasing interest of teachers in their pupils. The fad of the last few years, the great pretensions made for the good derived from the application of 85 PARROT GODS Psychology to Education has been extravagant. We ought not, however, to condemn utterly this wild en- thusiasm as a fad, if you will ; for much good can oe seen resulting from it. We must point out its extra- vagances and abuses, and then more diligently make use of its great truths. When, in the early eighties of the Nineteenth Cen- tury, it was perceived how widespread was the dis- content with the methods of the Normal Schools, in- vestigation showed that a knowledge of the princi- ples of teaching was necessary to get teachers out of their mechanical rut into vital originality of teaching. Psychology was looked upon as able to give the re- quired aid to flexibility and adaptibility. Every- where throughout the country came this tremendous enthusiasm for a science, which dealt with those as- pects of mental life connected with the production of changes in human beings by consciously directed human influences. This was the hope entertained of educational psychology, which it was believed would provide the teacher with methods obtained from a consideration of the psychological laws of learning. There was, however, little practical return from this new enthusiastic attempt. There are many reasons for this. First of all the psychology taught was erroneous, — unfit to bring any practical results. It was the "old faculty psy- chology," the training of the imagination, the mem- ory, etc. The mind was conceived as made up of so many faculties ; and learning dates for instance meant cultivating the memory, learning poetry the imagination. These faculties were supposed to be unified by the self. This was the one great fault which brought about a reaction against the study of S6 PARROT GODS psychology as a factor in education. Another difficulty and a more serious one was our discovery that we knew in reality very little about psychology. It was just beginning to get out of the metaphysical and into the scientific field, and was not sufficiently advanced to give man, engaged in the control of human forces, much more useful knowl- edge than he could obtain by observation of his own special problems, and by common sense inferences from what he sees in daily life. The man who brought out clearly and forcibly that the field of educational psychology is small, yet very important, was Professor William James, of Harvard Univer- sity; but many new facts have been urged since the appearance of his book. I will now point out what I think educational psy- chology can do and is doing in helping us to improve our school systems of teaching. The aim is (a) to get students to look upon the mind as working ac- cording to definite laws. The student is to be the observing naturalist, and the teacher is to look upon the pupil as a reacting mind, working according to definite laws. In other words the aim is that the interest in the human organism should arouse the habit of recognizing laws of mind as well as of mat- ter; (b) educational psychology aims to stimulate in- terest in determining these laws. We are to learn introspection in order to find that the important law of association, for instance, will interpret the causes for the sequence of ideas in a revery as well as in conscious memory. We are to recognize that educa- tion can make most important use of this law of as- sociation in helping the training and development of the pupil; (c) educational psychology can teach at 87 PARROT GODS what period memory for crude facts is best, when the power for abstract thinking comes, what are the periods for the peculiar mental traits of scepticism, melancholy, and the like. It is the business of the psychologist to investigate, the duty of the teacher to know what has been found out and to apply such knowledge as it fits his own peculiar conditions. There is a tremendous lot of work to be done to show the importance of the prob- lems, to show how little we know of them, and there- fore how important it is to investigate them. This, however, is the work of the psychologist, the educa- tional theorist, and not of the teacher. The posses- sion of laws already worked out, the habit of looking upon the child as a living thing acting according to laws will inspire the teacher with new interest in the children as individuals, wth their own peculiar traits in conjunction with the characteristics of all. The teacher needs to feel interest in the miental life of his scholars, from the point of view of interpre- tation and appreciation of their mental states. The teacher must learn to understand the individual de- sires and ambitions and characters of his pupils ; for without this sympathy there is no interest, and the work is necessarily routine. Psychology offers gen- eral recommendations concerning the best ways to get girls and boys to study, to observe, to attend, to understand,, to. remember, and. to. apply, knowl- edge. It shows how to form habits and to de- velop power and capacity. It forces the teacher to consider physical conditions, if he wishes the best mental results. He must consider matters of hy- giene, of light, of air, of refreshment, of fatigue and other details of similar bearing, which show the 88 PARROT GODS condition of our health is a great determining factor in the comprehension of the mental life. Psychol- ogy teaches us not to project our own state of con- sciousness into the child and imagine that we know the child. We want to get what the child is, not what we think it is. Psychology will help in point- ing out the true method for the development of the mind of the child. There are three ways, three special lines of psycho- logical knowledge which can influence the practical working of education. I. The psychology of children shows facts about instinctive tendencies, the gradual maturing of ca- pacities, tendencies useful and harmful in childrea s habits of observing, associating, and reasoning, facts concerning the kinds and amount of knowledge child- ren may be expected to possess at different ages and under different conditions. It points out the relation of the mental to the physical well being. It fur- nishes us with the results of inquiry into nature, and the amount of individual differences. We learn to consider the relative shares of original nature and experience in the formation of human intellect and character. Those who plan educational systems and construct programs of studies for schools and select methods for teaching, now find it to their advantage to take account of the relationship among the various factors in education and certain traits of the human mind. The increased knowledge of individual differences makes the attempt to get every one in class on the same level of achievement futile. II. The knowledge of psychology teaches the educator the great guide he can be in shaping the 89 PARROT GODS characters of scholars. Each one is able to shape mental life; for man is more nearly master of his own intellect than of anything else in nature. The mind is readily influenced for the nervous system is very modifiable. This general law of the modifiabil- ity of the mind by every thought and feeling and act of man's life is the most important of practical les- sons of psychology. What we are depends on what we were in the past. Psychology shows that every thought, every act of life counts, that we build the ladder by which we climb, that nothing happens by chance. Man not only creates his own future; but in some measure his own present by his power of selecting what features of his surroundings shall influence him. The psychology of attention then teaches that we are as truly rulers as victims of cir- cumstances. III. Another of the practical problems is to con- duct life so as to think and act rightly with as little effort or strain possible. Psychology offers help in two ways : (a) Tension and effort are lessened by arranging circumstances so that undesirable ideas and impulses shall seldom appear. If the child for in- stance finds it hard to study and concentrate his mind in the midst of the family circle, he should have a room where no distracting noises can disturb him. (b) Intelligent workers soon learn that discretion is the better part of valor — that to avoid temptation is wiser than to resist it. Then it is not always true that the harder work we make of our mental tasks the better we do it. Success is measured by the amount done, not by the feelings experienced in do- ing it. The best men morally are those who do right without a moral struggle. 90 PARROT GODS Again the relation of psychology to education makes its best practical application when a system of education finds its best results in making use of the powers of the child according to the order and the strength of their development, and in endeavoring to direct those powers into right directions. Psychology shows the educator that from its first years until the age of six or seven the child is more or less the sport of circumstances, that the mind is passive, that there is very little voluntary attention. From this time until about fourteen the mind b-^'.- comes more and more active. It is not only acted upon by environment, but reacts upon it. Sensation and perception are now stored in a working memory. A thing well learned at this age is rarely forgotten. The judgment gradually becomes more reliable, the reasoning begins, and the feelings are often kept un- der better control. The will develops rapidly, often causing self-assertiveness at this age. From this time until the age of twenty or thereabouts, the mind becomes more subjective, it systematizes the knowl- edge of previous years. The verbal memory is weak. The aid of judgment is now invoked to aid the memory. Spontaneous feelings are more and more subject to will and intellect. Man is less and less influenced by environment. Development leads from dependence to independence. Education m promoting the development of the mind will accom- plish most by following the path of least resistance — that is by making use of the psychological analysis of the development of the mind. This leads us to a consideration of the educational value of voluntary and involuntary attention; for herein lies the difference between the old and the 91 PARROT GODS new school of education. Once effort was every- thing, interest nothing; but it is found that will- power implied in effort is lacking in young children. Keeping this in mind, teachers now rely on interest for securing attention, because little children, it is found, have little will-power, and are incapable of prolonged effort. We also know that the feelings of children are fairly well developed, and it is therefore easier to excite the feelings by interest than by trying to make them put forth effort. It is the degree and not the cause of attention which gives the depth of an impression. It is seen that we now attempt to make our teaching interesting by working in har- mony with the characteristics of the child's mind at the respective stages of development. I will grant, however, that many have embraced the new system too thoroughly and overlooking the fact that we must inculcate habits of attention. We must always guard, therefore, against the dangers of the too easy education which excludes effort. Psychology shows us that interest may be promot- ed by a changing or enlarging environment, and by increasing the knowledge of things already in the environment. It is then a problem of discovering at what age the pupil is sensitive to certain phases of his surroundings ; and to determine what methods would increase the knowledge of things in his en- vironment. 92 EDUCATIONAL VALUES ''The awakening of our best sympathies, the cul- tivation of our best and purest tastes, strengthening the desire to be useful and good, and directing youthful ambition to unselfish ends — such are the objects of true education." — ^J. T. Headley. "A true teacher should penetrate to whatever is Tital in his pupil, and develop that by the light and heat of his own intelligence." — E. P. Whipple. "Vemunft und Wissenschaft, Des Menchen aller- hoechste Kraft!" — Goethe, Faust. IN all grades of educational work, educational val- ues are the crucial question in all theories of choice of subjects. A measure must be found by means of which we can assign a higher or a lower val- ue to different lines of study. We measure the educa- tional value of a subject, all v. ill agree, by its efficacy in promoting the realization of the aim of education, preparation for complete living. We measure a man's worth by his intellectual grasp, his esthetic and ethical insight, his power for action toward right and useful ends. Since these make the ideal man, they should be the ideal aim of education ; since they are qualities tending toward complete living, a study should be valued as it best contributes toward devel- oping them. We must, however, realize that individuals cannot be treated as a mass, but as persons with diverse wants and capacities, and that educational value is not a quality belonging inherently to any study. Only as it fits the time, place and child does the value 93 PARROT GODS belong to the study. This causes us to study how we may educate every child in order to develop in him the ideas that control people; how to put at the disposal of the pupil all that society has already ac- complished for itself. Mere passivity acquired by gaining a knowledge of the best of subjects is not enough; the interests and powers must so dominate a person as to impel him to action. I believe then that the kind of work a man volun- tarily engages in and the value of it for himself and for society depends on his dominant interests, on a person's motives and on his skill in his chosen activ- ity. A comprehensive and intelligent education ought to take into account the innate diversities of individuals and thereby produce the best results. Educational values ought to be accorded to different subjects according as the different power develops the most and the highest incentives to activity. We must then compare the incentives obtained through the different studies, for with interest obtained in different fields of work, habits of efficiency and thorough and successful achievement can be devel- oped. For the individual pupil the relative value of different subjects will correspond to the degree of interest they develop. We have stated that man's usefulness and hap- piness are best secured when his interests and capac- ities harmonize with his life-work, and when his par- ticipation in the varied interests of life is large. We can best realize the aim of education by subjecting the pupil to the influence of social and ethical in- centives. We should then have to consider subjects which yield the greatest number of such incentives as knowledge of great worth. Thus, great value would 94 PARROT GODS have to be accorded to the study of the best litera- ture, for by precept, by example, by every illustra- tion reading of good literature can supply ideals which can be fostered to secure for the individual vigor and loveliness of character. Through litera- ture opportunity is given to lay great emphasis on industry, on perseverence, on persistence, on veracity in word and act, on gentleness and disinterestedness. Through such good reading can be brought clearly to light the hatefulness and degradation of falseness, brutality and of greed. In a consideration of educational values, although certain studies, like literature can be of great value for all because of the varied incentives to right liv- ing and activity which it furnishes, I believe that special prescribed studies cannot have absolute worth for all, but can only have value relative to the individual's tastes and powers. This principle is be- ginning to be recognized and is becoming a dominant factor in the arranging of all school curricula. Ad- vance in the physical sciences, in hygiene, and in at- tempts to arouse spontaneous activity in the pupil show that the pupil is no longer considered a passive receptacle into which knowledge is poured; but that the scholar is the chief factor, dtDminating not only the sequence of teaching but the very choice of sub- jects. The law of the pupil's development must be the law of choice and the sequence to be followed by the teacher. Modern educators have breathed unwaver- ing confidence in laws of nature as mightier than any human devices. The first factor claimed by them in the principle of the educational value of different sub- jects is the development of the highest possible evo- 95 PARROT GODS lution of the pupil; the second factor is the demand for the useful, the practical, the near at hand. This last is powerful because it contains a great deal of truth; it is also dangerous because it contains only a part of truth. It declares that the end of life is adaptation to environment, and in the hands of men like Spencer science is made the watchword of this second factor. The reform movement presents these two phases; first, the development of the individual according to the law of nature; second, according to environment, wherein is the dualism of the ideal and the real. The truth is found in the synthesis of the two. The true principle of education is development as modified by environment. We wish to consider values in sec- ondary education, a period for most children between the ages of fourteen and eighteen. This is a period characterized by unprecedented physical growth, a period of intellectual turmoil and confusion, a period characterized by the flaming up of emotions not bridled by reason, a period of birth of will and of individual character. The period determining the best lines of realizing himself as a member of society. All the pupils must in an ideal secondary school learn to participate in life by knowing the world in which they live in order to adapt themselves to it in thought, in order to gain power to work therein with success. They must learn to know the world as representing the correlated nature of man, to know the world so as to acquire the beginnings of lofty as- pirations, of yearnings to sacrifice oneself for some- thing noble and true. In the growing boy there is more feeling than 96 PARROT GODS power to co-ordinate, and such power can be gained only by action ; hence arises the educational value of the playground, the laboratory, the workshop, debat- ing societies as incentives to individual investigations and independent work. This helps the development of the child, but the development is always modified by its environment. The secondary school cannot be open to broad, or rather free, election, for the mean- ing of the various studies has not as yet been brought to the conscious understanding of the pupils. The various powers have not as yet been developed to the full degree of conscious strength ; the natural bent of the student has not yet been fairly tested. I believe that the child must be trained by a wise oversight of his elections to discover his natural bent, his dominant interests, to work toward the soul's highest realization ; therefore we must know the world in its different phases. Each subject has its peculiar value for knowledge, for power, for prac- tical life; it has its special value for us individuals according to the interest we take in it and the incen- tives to activity it arouses in us. We cannot make exact but only approximate estimates of each line of study. The study of languages is valuable because it is the instrument that makes social organization possible; it enables each to profit by the experience of all. By means of the languages human knowledge is pre- served and the progress of civilization is made possi- ble. It is one of the powers for the understanding of human character in all its different environments. The study of languages (our own and the modern ones preferred for the purpose of literature, because the ancient ones are too difficult for us to get an 97 PARROT GODS economical value from them unless we are specially interested in them) gives esthetic and ethical culture and in a practical way applies poetry to life. Liter- ature arouses many interests, but in itself does n(#r yield much power. Language and the sciences comprise the great mass of human information in the purest types. The sciences are the most nearly perfect em'bodiment of truth and of the ways of getting at truth. It exempli- fies the devices for establishing facts under the variety of circumstances and saps the credit of everything affirmed without truth. In proportion to our regard for truth and the means of ascertaining what is true is our power over the material and the moral world. The greatest test of knowledge is the test of practical fulfilment, and science is such knowledge. Then, again, the sciences, are a great liberalizing power in the mode of setting forth generalized knowledge (with gradation of generality) and with various relations of co-ordination. All this value it gives to the individual most interested in it. The experimental and inductive sciences give in- tellectual discipline. Inductive generalization through observation and experimentation attains here its highest force. Such sciences teach how far empiri- cal generalization is to be trusted. Their fertilizing information is diffused in the conduct and the arts of life. They provide a guidance for life. An under- standing of them enables its followers to penetrate into many of the secret workings of the natural world ; thus the natural sciences studied by those who have been especially interested in them largely form the basis of our material civilization. Mathematics treats of quantitative knowledge, and 98 PARROT GODS has its own peculiar intellectual method of training. Its procedure is purely deductive or demonstrative. It makes possible all commerce, great structures and the higher development of physical science. Through it the pupil gains in deductive reasoning-power, but this power can seldom be carried over into other fields owing to the special data it deals with. I know that it is a most dry and unsatisfactory study to those who are not interested in it, but to the initiated it gives a feeling of intellectual power ; it has its own charm and fascination. Its marvelous devices when once worked out impel toward trials of new prob- lems, and the successful worker in intricate and fas- cinating methods finds it a most wonderful study. It cultivates the concentration of sustained attention; but does not teach to observe, to generalize, to classi- fy. Too exclusive devotion to it, at the cost of other valuable knowledge, gives, I think a wrong bias of mind toward truth in general. An interest in history and economics is a broader one; it is an interest in human life, in human char- acter, in the world about us. From history, if it is taught in the right spirit, the pupil who loves it and even the ordinary student of history can get an understanding of the evolution of the forms of government, an evolution better and better adapted to permit individual freedom, and the participation of all citizens in the administration of government. History is a corrective to the one- sidedness of the methods of science. Science seeks explanation in the mechanical conditions and im- pulses received from the environment, while history keeps its gaze fixed on human purposes and studies the genesis of national actions through the previous 99 PARROT GODS stages of feelings, convictions and conscious ideas. In history the pupil has for his object self -activity, reaction against environment. When we ask for the educational value of history we ask for the power of history to educate. Man's task is the making, the developing of a noble ideal of life. History is a record of life and must therefore reckon with the two sides of life, the ideal and the real. The true struggle and the determining issues of life are found in the ideal aspect of history. History shows the concrete facts in which philosophy, ethics, psycho- logy, political science and economy find their illus- trations. The recorded facts of history exist to be judged, and have value only in proportion to the thought wrought into them. As mere facts they impede action. The real facts of history are con- crete manifestations of the ideal, and their worth for men is measured by the recognition of the truth they embody. Not until history is put on a basis com- mensurable with its dignity as a record of life can it have efficacy in education of which it is capable. Its study gives development to the powers of man which general education demands. There is a great educational value in the constant exercise of analysis. The pupil must feel in history its current of passions, its strong out-reaching after desired objects, its aspiration, its struggles, its on- ward sweep. Contemporary life must be grasped in this way. History and the life of to-day must be identified. Psychological powers find constant ex- ercise in the study of history. The pupils gain an understanding of human nature and grasp the mani- fold sides of man's nature. The logical and ethical powers find wide range if the teacher is interested in 100 PARRQ'i GODS the great ethical, political and philosophical questions of the time. For special education other studies may be better, but for a general education history has a great educational value. 101 THE JEWISH STAGE IT is rumored that the managers of the Jewish the- aters encountered a heavy deficit for the season just ended, and that they are placing the blame at the door of the Jewish theatergoers. I do not know how true this rumor is, but if it be so, our East Side Jews are to be congratulated on the improvement of their taste. It is a well-established fact that the managers of the Jewish theaters, who are, or at least think that they are, real "stars" in the firmament of Art, do not want to give any consideration to the demand and the wishes of the more intellectual class of their patrons. The managers look upon their theaters merely from the standpoint of commercialism, and upon a good sale of tickets — as the best criticism. And certainly there was a time that this policy and viewpoint brought the managers good results. Such a time was when the Jewish theater was still in em- bryo and the Jewish public looked upon it as on a "Purim-Spiel." A song by a so-called actor and an outrageous dance by a so-called soubrette, who ac- complished wonders with her feet, constituted the "theater" and gained the loud applause of the gal- lery. But since the late Jacob Gordin, whom friend and enemy must consider as the reformer of the Jew- ish stage, came out with real plays — splays which, with all their faults and deficiencies, are undoubtedly the very best in the Jewish repertoire, since this tal- ented playwright showed and proved that a very strong and good drama could be produced without 103 PARROT GODS being interwoven with lays and harangues; since this, at one time the ruler of the Jewish stage, gov- erned the actors as well as the "bosses" — the Jewish theater became more of a place deserving its name. It must be admitted that even then many quasi-plays were introduced and some of them were a material success. But it is also a fact that the better actors, for whom their profession is not merely a job, or, as the German says Mohrenwasche, were ashamed to take part in such plays. I remember well that the gifted actor, Mr. L. Blank, almost with tears in his eyes, complained to me at one of the performances of a "historical" pla}' in which he had an important role that he was com- pelled to make a fool of himself and to display "art" in an "Indian" show. I wish to confess that many of Gordin*s plays do not appeal to me; against the tendencies of some of them I raised my voice in protest. But his plays have faults, while the plays of almost all the other Jewish playwrights are merely faults without plays. Gordin was a literateur in the best sense of the word , he was very well acquainted with European litera- ture ; he had a clear conception of drama and art, and he didn't try to cater to the tastes of the gallery. None of the other Jewish playwrights, however, possesses his intelligence, his individuality, his nat- ural gifts, and, therefore, we see in their plays a lack of technique and of the rudimentary elements of a real play. Their heroes are marionettes without characters and without principles. They are in a way like moving-pictures, with the exception that the latter are mute, while the former go around talking. And what kind of talk sometimes! Many of their 104 PARROT GODS monologs and dialogs show the lack of urbanity, are full of insolence and are absolutely absurd. Some of the Jewish playwrights have tried their hands at problem-plays, but such plays are far above their powers and their abilities, and instead of the play we have often seen a cheap farce. We need a great genius to write a real problem-play. Even Zangwill, who is head and shoulders above all the Yiddish writers (with one or two exceptions) did not succeed in his well-advertised and beautifully writ- ten problem-play. Another thing which causes the Jewish stage to degenerate is the over-production of Jewish play- makers. I think there is no other nation which pro- portionately produces so many playwrights as our own nation. Among the greatest writers — let us say, for instance, of the Russian and of the German literatures — only a few devote their pen to dramatic art, while in our own camp every quill-driver tries to write at least one play. And our managers, instead of encouraging the few better ones, who for being better paid and more appreciated, would devote more time, more zeal and the best of their ability to pro- duce better things, are trying to get "bargains," a course which sometimes satisfies their eagerness for money, but could in no way satisfy the better class of theatergoers. Besides the Jewish theater, which I hope will gradually improve and will become a very important factor in the life of the more intelligent Jews, there is a terrible evil in our gates — the evil of music-halls and variety shows. Every Jew who has the least respect for his nation and for himself must feel ashamed and disgusted when he becomes aware of 105 PARROT GODS what is going on in these "places of amusement." Songs are sung which would make even a "muzhik" blush; jokes are perpetrated which would be con- sidered very much out of place even in a beer-saloon ; tales are told about our nation of which the editor of Life could make good use. And in order to adver- tise their "big shows," boys stand around some of these places, and instead of pulling the passers-by by their sleeves, sing "attractive" songs full of vulgar- ity, of impudence and of shamelessness. Some time ago I passed by one of these halls, and I noticed a crowd around it, and in its midst a young boy stood and sang a song full of curses against the Russian Tsar. Nobody can accuse me of sympathy with the outrageous Russian tyrant. There aren't many who condemn the Russian regime as I do. Still I felt somewhat disgusted when I heard the curses, accompanied by wild gestures, directed against the Russian autocrat by this little fellow. We need one who could write clean songs which should possess more or less literary merit and should contain even at times some moral. He would surely clear up the infected air of these halls; he would gradually clean out these Augean stables, which are at present a shame for us and a peril to the morality of our children. 106 THE "REALISM" OF THE JEWISH STAGE AS a writer who has made a thorough study of the Jewish problems which daily arise in our ghet- tos and who has observed the Jewish stage in its various phases, I want to express my views on the advantages and the disadvantages of a Jewish theater. A theater is a very important factor in the life of all civilized nations; it is a mirror which shows the people the virtues and vices of their fellowmen, their struggles and strifes, hopes and aims — thus teaching the public indirectly different things, and giving them the opportunity to think how to solve many, many questions which life continually presents to us. The theater is and ought to be, at the same time, also a place of amusement, where people can have, if I may be allowed to say so, a "spiritual shower," which may clear away their daily sorrows, their heartrending troubles, their afflictions and worries. The last, and by no means the most insignificant purpose of a theater is its great power to affect peo- ple, who have been accustomed to spend their leisure time in gambling houses, saloons and in similar "nice" places, to give up those places and to go instead to see a good play. All these advantages we require and ought to de- mand from theaters in general, and not specifically from the Jewish ones ; but the most important thing which we should expect from a Jewish theater still more then from a non-Jewish one is interesting plays 107 PARROT GODS full of sound, fresh humor and real amusement. Why? The public which fills up the Jewish theaters is different from the public which can be seen in non- Jewish theaters. The latter consists of an audience of different classes, while the greater part of the public in the former is made up of poor workmen, sweat-shop girls and the like. Who need mental diversion as well as physical entertainment more than they? They, the unhappy ones, the downtrodden, who spend their lives in a continual struggle to make both ends meet, and who are oftentimes compelled to endure hunger and cold, ought to find in the the- ater, a place where they give away their hard- earned pennies, rest and consolation after a long, long day's work under the auspices of a very "friendly" foreman. Do our theaters fulfil this requirement? My answer will be a negative one. I am sorry, very sorry to state that the Jewish theaters, especial- ly during the last two or three years, have produced plays, which were a disgrace for every person pos- sessing even an elementary knowledge of art and human nature, and whose taste has not been spoiled so much as not to be able to make a distinction be- tween good and evil. The authors and the actors of these plays, who have been reproached by some critics, took refuge behind the modern fortification that bears the sign "Realism," and from its top they began to throw stones at their critics and to abuse them. After- wards the lovers and admirers of the pseudo-realis- tic school started to lecture before rough crowds on the value of such realism, illustrating their lectures 108 PARROT GODS with plays like the "God of Revenge." by Asch, and the latest dramatic outpouring of Hirschbein. Both plays can be justly called "Specimens of Ultra-Cynicism." They have no logical situation; some scenes are wild and prostitutional, and the lack of psychological insight and good taste can be seen at every turn. And those plays — I am ashamed to say — have been the most important feature of the Jewish stage in New York! Why? "Because they are realistic," I seem to hear in re- sponse. Realistic! Oh, what a poor conception some men have of the real meaning of this word! Realism means a true description of things which exist, a faithful representation and interpretation of life. When we see, for instance, swine rolling in mud, or rats creeping from holes and corners, we call such scenes also realistic; but, I pray, would a real artist use his pencil to depict such things? Would an esthetic writer use his pen to describe the color of the mud in which the pigs were lying, or the glance of the rats' eyes while they were creeping? I am quite positive that they would not do so. Be- sides, many things which can be described in books should not be represented on the stage, for in books we are only reading about things, while on the stage our eyes see and our ears hear them. If the Jewish stage will put an end to plays of the above-named caliber, I shall be more than glad to await with eagerness the establishment of a Jewish theater in our city; but if sensational actors and playwrights want to continue their "good" work in 109 PARROT GODS accordance with the requirements of the half-crazy decadents, I will be among the first to raise my voice against any Jewish theater of this type. There is enough smoke and dirt in our life without that ! 110 RUSSIAN JEWS AND THE TSAR AFTER the horrible Kishinef massacres, a repre- sentative of the New York American and Journ- al came to me for a statement. In my state- ment, which was pubHshed under the heading "Holds Tsar for Massacre^" I said, among other things, that : The Tsar, who announces himself as "Freedom^s Angel," is really a cutthroat and a hypocrite. To him belongs the blame for all the cruelties to which the Jews have been subjected in Darkest Russia. I am convinced that the high authorities at St. Peters- burg instructed the people of Kishinfef to do this gruesome, deadly work. A few days after my statement was published the mail brought me two letters; one from Dr. Williara Osborne McDowell, of 203 Broadway, New York, president of the "League of Peace," to whom I had brought a letter of introduction from the late Count Leo Tolstoi, congratulating me on my true and courageous statement; the other letter was from a countryman of mine. It was written in very poor and faulty Yiddish and the content of it was that I am an "ocher Israel" — the troubler of Israel — for daring to speak in such terms of his "majesty." After my little comedy, "The Pleasures of the Tsar," was published in The Hebrew Standard, my lament- ed friend, the late J. P. Solomon, then editor of the paper, showed me a letter he had received from an orthodox Jew, in which he protested against my article for many reasons, the chief of which, how- Ill PARROT GODS ever, was because of Ecclesiastics* saying (Chap, x., 20) : "Curse not the king." Such rebukes and such "reasonable" reasons I had in plenty whenever I published an article or a poem against the Russian tyrant. These things sometimes amuse me, but sometimes they caused me also very great grief, for they showed me that many of my Russian brethren are still under the repressive influ- ence of the Russian scourge instead of obliterating from their minds Russian affairs and giving all their thoughts to their new home, to the United States. I mention these things now on account of two ar- ticles published lately in the American press in re- gard to the Tsar and the passports. One comes from Champ Clark, the Speaker of the House of Representatives, and is a fiery indictment of the Rus- sian regime. Mr. Clark writes like a real American whose soul is saturated with the immortal principles of our great republic, and whose view is broad, fear- less and just. The other one comes from the pen of an anonymous writer, who signs himself "Veteran Diplomat." The mere fact that the Tsar needs such defense (everyone, of course, understands that this article is either dictated or inspired by the Russian government!) gave me much delight, for it shows that even the Russian autocrat, who destroys and kills right and left in his own kingdom, is afraid of American public opinion, and is desirous of being vindicated in the eyes of the American people. But the statement and the arguments of "Veteran Diplo- mat" are so childish, foolish, or rather are so treach- erous and truthless that the impartial reader, who knows only a little of the real conditions in Russia, 112 PARROT GODS would shrug his shoulder at reading them. The paid agent of the Russian government, who, by the way, speaks of Baron David Ginsburg as if he were still living, although he entered into the eternal rest almost a year ago, says that the Tsar and Stoly- pin were ready to better the conditions of the Jews and to nullify the special restrictions against them, but the Duma was in their way. Is this statement made in a jest? It is an established fact that the Tsar looks on the Duma as on a fifth wheel to a wagon. Most of its members, as well as all the officials in Russia, are merely marionettes, which move only when the mighty hand of their owner puts every spring in motion. The fox-diplomat states that the Tsar is a very liberal man, for he gave his land a constitution. Yes, he gave the constitution, being surrounded with rivers of innocent blood, and he took it away again amidst the thunder of guns and hissing of bullets, which his soldiers used at his command in order to kill the best minds of his country. The Russian agent says further that his govern- ment is willing to permit eminent Jewish bankers to enter within its boundaries. Eminent Jewish bank- ers? This, of course, is done on the general princi- ple that business is business and that "Der Jude ist 'treif nur sein Groschen ist 'kosher.' " But what about Oscar Straus and many, many others who were refused entrance? Is this also a result of the White Bear's sympathy for the Jews? And what about the Black Hundred? Is not the Tsar their chief and their shield? Again the fact that the Tsar protected the makers of the pogroms and the slaughterers of the Jewish 113 PARROT GODS mothers and babes will inscribe his name in history with the names of Nero, Titus and Caligula. For one reason or another the Tsar wants to whitewash himself in our eyes, and for this purpose he engages paid emissaries to defend him and even to glorify him. But we Americans, Jew and Gentile alike, should not be "bluffed" by phrases and we ought not accept a "gold brick" for gold. The condition of the Russian Jew is getting worse and worse ; the first cause of all the restrictions against them and of the martyrdom and all the troubles they are subjected to is he, his "Majesty" himself. He is the Pandora's box for his subjects in general and our poor brethren in particular. Let us awaken the conscience of humanity. Let us raise our voice in protest against the Russian wolf masquerading — for the outside world only — as an innocent lamb. Our free republic, the home of Washington, Jefferson and Lincoln, gave the signal for war against the wicked Russian re- gime. Let us continue it with the hope that every real American is with us. In the battle of light against darkness light must prevail. 114 LEO TOLSTOI THERE is no living writer whose name is sur- rounded with so m)uch glory, and to whose words the whole literary world is so ready to lend an ear, as the name and the works of Count Leo Tolstoi. Even the descriptions of his beard, shirt, overcoat, etc., are read with great interest by all lovers of art. Why? His admirers, of course, will surely repeat the exclamation of the French writer, Flaubert, as he read some of Tolstoi's productions in the beautiful garb, in which Turgenief presented them to the French public: "He is a second Shakespeare!" But even his opponents, the severest one among whom is our beloved Max Nordau, will nolens volens admit, as the latter himself in his book "Degenera- tion," that "every one of his (Tolstoi's) words awak- ens an echo among all civilized nations on the globe."' and that "his strong influence over his contempor- aries is unmistakable." When we who are freed from the conventional opin- ions about Tolstoi, will use impartial criteria and un- biased analysis in judging his works, we shall come to the conculsion that he, when considered merely as a novelist, is not by any means the greatest in the world's literature of the last century, as some of his critics claim. We must not make far journeys into universal literature and mention the names of sever- al foreign writers, in order to confirm this opinion, since the names of two Russian writers alone will be 115 PARROT GODS sufficient : I mean the names of Turgenief , the great creator of "Fathers and Sons," "Nest of Nobles," "Annals of a Sportsman," etc., and Dostoyesky, the author of "Crime and Punishment," "Recollections of a Dead House," "Poor People," etc. The former, as an artist, and the latter as a deep psychologist and as a great diagonstician of human diseases and troubles are in many instances above Tolstoi. But Tolstoi is not only a novelist — he is a great phenomenon, in whose personality are concen- trated many talents — he is a social theorist, a the- ologian and a great teacher of morals and ethics. As a novelist he has shown his greatness in "War and Peace," "Anna Karenina," etc. He possesses a clear understanding of human nature, an analytical comprehension of the human soul with all the secrets of its tender fibers, and a remarkable power of rep- resenting things as they are in reality. "War and Peace" is a description of Russian life during the year 1805-1815, when Napoleon passed through Europe like a gale. In this remarkable book Tolstoi analyzes with a skillful pen, with a deep understanding and a clear insight its most active characters : Alexander, Napoleon, Kutuzof and others; in it we can see as in a mirror the whole physiognomy of the army, from the obedient sol- diers up to the commanders and generals ; and all these descriptions are pictured with a masterly hand. In this book figures also a certain Bezushof, who, as Olenin in "The Cossacks," is, in many ways, a per- sonified ego of the present Tolstoi, and through whose actions and thoughts Tolstoi showed to us (perhaps at that time unconsciously) the embryo of his own conception of life, which he so forcibly de- 116 PARROT GODS veloped in his later writings. "Anna Karenina," the second great book of Tol- stoi, is a picture of Russian society life of the present day. The principal character in it, Anna, is a most charming woman and very tender and sincere while she loves, as can be seen when she gives up her husband, a dry statesman, for the sake of her strong affection and real devotion to Vronsky. In contrast with Annans life, which is wrecked and poisoned on account of her false step and conventional prejudices, Tolstoi poetically and almost pathetically pictures the life of Kitty and Levin, which gives us the idea of a sweet, charmng eclogue, full of grace and of infinite beauty, worthy of Theocritus' pen. The main idea of this book, as one of Tolstoi's French critics justly remarked, "is duty accomplished uninfluenced by the passions." The moral irresolu- tions and vacillations of the author's life are here very well reflected in the character of Levin, his commentator and interpreter. The style of the two above named books is, with some little exceptions, graceful and strong — an im- portant quality lacking in Tolstoi's later works, in which he brings, oftentimes, the style as a sacrifice' on the altar of tendency. In 1889 his "Kreutzer Sonata" appeared, and this little book at once became the subject of the whole civilized world's discussion. In order to escape the Argus-censor, this book first circulated all over Rus- sia in hectograph copies. In this book Tolstoi preaches a very strange and unnatural doctrine, i. e., the anti-marriage moral, the mortification of the flesh, etc. Pozdnichef, the hero of this book, through whose mouth Tolstoi 117 PARROT GODS speaks, says : "When human passions, especially the most violent — sensuality — shall have been sup- pressed, the union (of the individual beings which compose humanity) will be accomplished, and hu- manity, having attained its end, will have no further reason for existing/' With all my love and admiration for Tolstoi and his great genius, I must say that his philosophy and his theory which he tries to develop in his "Kreutzer Sonata," as well as in his story, "Family Happiness," are metaphysical, and far from sound sense. In his comedy, "The Fruits of Enlightenment," he tries to show the foolishness of science, the failures of knowledge and the uselessness of civilization, and the proofs which he presents to us, I dare say, are far, very far from being satisfactory. Tolstoi published also a novel, "The Master and Man^* which, from the artistic standpoint, can be considered a real gem; the same thing we can say about "Resurrection," many pages of which remind us of the great Tolstoi, before he started to renounce Art (a good example of which is his production "What is Art?") and to give himself up to the care of the soul and to religious feelings. In his book "My Confession" (which, by the way, faintly echoes Jean Jacques Rousseau's book of the same name), "My Fate," "A Commentary on the Gospel," etc., Tolstoi expresses his views on the posi- tion of people in the world, on their relations to each other, and shows himself sometimes a pantheist, sometimes a Buddhist. The positive side of his philosophy is : 118 PARROT GODS To lov« all men and to sacrifice even our life for them. The greatest negative law of his ethics is: *'Do not resist evil; suffer wrong," etc. If Toltsoi's positive precepts cannot always be carried out, they are at least reasonable, while his negative ethics, especially the above mentioned, are an absurdity and an impossibility; for, according to this theory, we must give full sway to murderers to kill us, to thieves to rob us, etc. And what, for instance, about the Russian autoc- racy? Shall we here also follow Tolstoi's assump- tion "Do not resist evil," and give a free hand to all the brutes of Nicholas' and Pleves* type to send our best men to the prisons, to Siberia and to the gal- lows ? Oh, no ! We are not living in Elysium, and Isaiah's prophecy that a wolf will dwell together with a sheep is far yet from realization, and, there- fore, we must bear in mind the practical Latin pro- verb, "Si vis pacem, para bellum," and not some of Toltoi's instructions, which are unreasonable as an abstract, and would be undesirable, if his followers would put them into concrete form. After corresponding with Count Leo Tolstoi for some time, a very strong desire took possession of me to see this "modern prophet" and to receive from him personal answers to numerous problems with which my mind had been tortured for many sleepless nights. And in the year 1899, while in St. Petersburg, I finally decided to go to the new Mecca — to Yesnaya Polyana, near Tula, the ancestral estate of Tolstoi. With a letter from my late friend and teacher, 119 PARROT GODS Daniel Mordovzef, the great Russian historian and novelist, who, by the way, was one of the greatest gentile defenders of Jewish rights, I reached Tolstoi's house. I came to Yasnaya Polyana in the morning about ten o'clock. It was a charming July day. The bright sun poured out from on high his golden streams, and covered with a magnificent mantle all the trees, flowers and other similar things around me. The birds sang out their morning prayer, and I felt as though they joined with me in my happy thought about seeing Tolstoi. Not far from Tol- stoi's house stands an old tree which is called "the tree of the poor." Near it there is a bench, on which almost every hour of the day some of the poor "mouzhiks," Tolstoi's neighbors, sit and await him; and near this historical tree I stood a while in medi- tation before I went to Tolstoi's door. A middle-aged woman, I suppose a servant, opened the door for me, and when I asked her whether I could see Lev Nikolayvitch, she answered that he was very busy. I took out from my pocket my card together with Mordovzef's letter and handing them to her, asked her to take them to Tolstoi. A few minutes later I was in Tolstoi's room, where he pre- pares his literary gems, where he makes new plans to better mankind, where he answers thousands of letters in different languages, and where he receives people from all the four corners of the earth, who come to him to tell him their troubles and anxieties, their desperate struggles and doubts, and to ask his advice, how to live a proper life. When I saw Tolstoi and listened to his talk about life, science, literature, etc., I reminded myself of 1^0 PARROT GODS Tantalus who was always thirsy, although he was surrounded by water. Tolstoi is a living perpetuum mobile, his mind al- ways works; he has studied many things, he has thought many thoughts, he was always looking for the sources of truth, for the truth itself, and, after all, he is still thirsty for the truth, and his mind is always occupied with new ways, with new means how to find it. Tolstoi never accepted so-called axioms about truth, before he himself analyzed them and proved them; he never took for granted convention- al laws. In the sieve of his mind he sifted the tradi- tional customs and habits, which we inherited from our predecessors, and fearlessly proclaimed what he himself thought about them. Besides, Tolstoi is one of those rare preachers whose actions go hand in hand with his teachings. Tolstoi is against books whose purpose is only amusement and not something higher, i. e., some moral lessons. He is also against those writers who, as he said, "bake" books. "A manuscript," he said to me, "must be carefully read and rewritten many times, in order to make every thought, every ex- pression easily understood by the reader." And Tolstoi always practiced what he preached! I know that every chapter of his books was re- written many times ; and that is, perhaps, the reason that the style of every one of them is so clear, so simple, and so digestible for our spiritual stomach, even then when Tolstoi treated the most serious sub- jects. In one of our conversations Tolstoi told me that he took Hebrew lessons, in order to be able to read the Bible in the original. 121 PARROT GODS And when I asked his opinion about the people who gave the Bible to the world, he repeated his words which he used in one of his letters to me: "The Jewish question is not to be separated from that of other nations ; they — the Jews — should not be too religious, rather more liberal. Nations who are liberal have no masters, no slaves. They are all equal. The Jewish nation is inclined toward liberal- ism and by this it will conquer. The Jews have giv- en to the world the Bible and the prophets, and al- ways preached freedom and liberalism." When I left Tolstoi, I felt a new fountain of vital- ity in my veins, new vigor and new aspirations, see- ing among a throng of moral pigmies at least one real giant, whose life is devoted to justice and truth, to the unfortunate and the needy. 122 DANIEL MORDOVZEF DANIEL Mordovzef is dead! In every obscure corner of life where the eye can penetrate, we see more shadow than light; more thorns than blossoms; more evil than good; more falsehood than truth; more littleness than greatness. Our own day, as well as the history of all times and all epochs supplies enough examples, enough facts to support my words. Yet, though in almost every land and every nation "evil" prevails over "good," though all round us the Mephistophelian elements outnumber the better, nob- ler, and honester elements, we can with certainty al- lege that Russia is the modern Sodom, and her gov- ernment assuredly not better than the Gomorrah of our day. In such a land it is much harder to be honest and conscientious than in a land where truth and decency prevail. And Mordovzef was born in Russia ! In the realm of Nicholas, in the country of Cos- sacks and "Nagaikas," (the knout), in the land of vileness and robbery, of inhuman laws and pogroms, Mordovzef was born, in 1830. He pursued his stud- ies at the gymnasium of Saratof, and later on at the St. Petersburg University. Mordovzef published very many books and was recognized, the world over, as a great historian and novelist. His best works, "Dvenadzati God" (The Twelfth Year) ; "Idealisti I Realisti" (Idealists and Realists) "Znamenyia Vremeni" (Miracles of the Times), all 123 PARROT GODS exercised in their times a very great influence on all readers. More particularly did the last named make a great impression, and was widely read in the ob- scurest corners of Russia. His words were simply devoured with as great avidity as Tshernishevsky's "Tshto Dielat" (What Shall We Do?) In all his books, Mordovzef displayed great talent, rare observation, warmth, deep psychology and earnestness. In all his works are mirrored, like a face in a clear and silver-pure lakelet, his noble in- tellect; his elevated sentiments, his pure soul, and his warm, earnest and amiable disposition. For Jews Modovzef had a particular interest, for not one of the Russian writers (not even Vladimir Soloviof ) so loved the Jews ; so interested himself in them as the departed Daniel Mordovzef. As early as 1873 he published in the well-known journal "Dielo" his famous article "Political Tact- lessness or Worse," which served as an answer to a venomous anti-Semitic article in the "Golos" ; and in the same year he published in this identical "Golos" his artistic article — "Something from the Alphabet of Civilization," in which he admon- ished the anti-Semites and taught decency to those mercenary spirits who regard literature as a busi- ness and barter their pens as Hester street fishwives their wares. In 1882 he published in the Russian Yiddish pa- per, "Rasvet" his articles, "Letters from Mr. Plum- pudding" and "Letters from a Christian About the Jewish Question." In these articles, he declares that he is ashamed to look Christians in the face after the way they had made pogroms against "God's chosen people." n4 PARROT GODS Yes, Mordovzef was ever an advocate of justice to the Jews; he loved and honored them and took part in their sorrows and joys. In his article, "When Will Humanity Open Its Eyes?" he wrote: "The Christians have received a rich heritage from the Jews (religion and the Bible). Yet we, the heirs of these liberal rich men drive them from us like lepers, or we shut them up in Tsherta Osedlosti' (districts where Jews may dwell). It is the moral duty of the whole world to return to them (the Jew- ish people) their old home — Palestine. I feel sure that sooner or later this will happen. All humanity is beholden to the Jews, and their eyes will yet open to the fact." In his article, "The Golden Calf" (Novosti), he wrote: "If money is dear to Jews, it is because for an oppressed people money is the only aid in need. The Jew shows the threatening kulak' (fist) money and the 'kulak' unclenches its fingers to seize the money.'" I had the honor of being intimate with this great man, and to exchange many letters with him. In his letters to me there are gems of expression worthy of being set in gold. In a letter, dated Nov. 5, 1892, he wrote: "My view of Judaism I have expressed in my tale "Twixt Hammer and Anvil" (this tale was translated by the writer of this notice into Hebrew, and was published under the title of "Bein Hamt- zorim" (In the Straits), by the words of Rabbi Jacob Joseph Cohen; they convey my innermost thought. I can but bow myself before the mighty spirit of your people which a whole inimical world can not break." In his letter of June 7th, 1902, he wrote to me : "I am devoted with all my heart to your wonderful na- 125 PARROT GODS tion which the whole blind and silly humanity can not beat down — a thing they ought never to strive to do." I passed several weeks in Mordovzef's house in St. Petersburg. To the last moment of my life I shall not forget that happy time. Naturally, being thus together, we often spoke about art and literature, about the various problems of life, and so forth. Never would Mordovzef speak with such enthusiasm and exaltation as when he men- tioned the Jewish nation, which was as dear to him as his own flesh and blood. Almost all the Peters- burg litterateurs daily visited No. 6 "Stoliarni Pereulok," where Mordovzef lived. Not journalists alone, but learned men, who had gained a world-wide reputation, as well as young scribblers, beginners and students, for the greater part Jewish, were in the habit of calling on "Grandpa" Mordovzef with all sorts of difficulties to solve. He received all with a sympathetic, courteous manner, "besever ponim yafoth." He was strongly interested in Zionism, and he re- joiced exceedingly at the awakening of the Jewish nation from its historic lethargic sleep, no longer to depend on the "stranger-mercies" which are no stronger than spider-webs. Knowing that I was a frequenter of Mordovzef's house, Leon Rabinowitz, the former editor of "Hamelitz" and "Tog," gave me the book "Herodus" — a Hebrew translation of Mordovzef's "Erod," by the editorial staff of "Hamelitz" — begging me to present it to him. When I gave him the book he was overjoyed, and said to me : "Loving your folk as I do, I also love your Na- 126 PARROT GODS tional language — the language of the Bible — al- though, to my great sorrow, I do not understand it." Daniel Mordovzef is dead! 127 THE GREAT RUSSIAN APOSTLE OF OPTIMISM AND LIBERALISM VLADIMIR Korolenko was born in 1853, and to-day is ranked among Russia's greatest writ- ers. His attitude toward life in general is that of the optimist. His literary style is characterized by its realism, naturalness, truth and simplicity. He lacks the metaphysical ele- ment which one meets in Vladimir Soloviev ; nor does he lend himself to the mystic in- fluences which dominate the mind of Leo Tolstoi. He is a great and unflinching believer in the better side of Tiumanity, trusting faithfully that, sooner or later, the higher feelings of man will subdue his an- imal instincts, and that all mankind will be united in a bond of fraternity. Korolenko is not blind to the many dark fore- boding shadows which, too often, mar the clearness of our horizon. He is aware of the thorns and briars which obstruct the path of progress on every side. He is not deaf to the heartrending cries and sighs of the helpless and slaughtered who are seeking justice and find, instead — Siberia. . . . And, yet, his faith in the ultimate victory of civilization does not waver, and he never ceases to look forward to a future which will witness not only a freer existence for the per- secuted, but a satisfactory solution of mankind's social relations. And this faith, this hope of his, he voices in so rich and poetic a language, so fraught with love and enthusiasm for everything concerning his fellow-men — that we become hypnotized with the 129 PARROT GODS charm and witchery of his words, and, in spite of ourselves, we begin to think as he does, which is as he would have us think. His language is softer and richer than that of Gorki, who sometimes speaks to us through a hurricane, as it were, ever protesting against falsehood and wickedness with the terrific force of a cyclone. One of Korolenko's heroes ex- presses the hope that : "Wickedness will die out and all the nations of the earth will gather themselves to- gether to celebrate the Feast of Fraternity, and that no human blood will evermore be shed by the hands of a brother man." Korolenko's best work is his novel, Sliepoi Musikant (The Blind Musician), wherein he depicts in a highly-poetical style and with profound psy- chological analysis, the evolution of his hero, the joys and sorrows of his sick, yearning soul, the longing of his broken heart. . . In one of his letters to me he writes: "My views regarding the Jewish question are to a certain extent known to the pub- lic. Aside from my published articles in Russkoye Bogattstvo, I can point to my story 'Yom Kippur," and also my Pavlovskya Otzerki. I was born and spent my youth in the west of Russia. The Jews, as a people, I know well. When a youth I was on friendly terms with some of them, with others fate linked me in the critical moments of my life. The memory of those friendly relations is still very dear to me. It goes without saying that all this refers to the intelligent class of Jews ; never- theless, this is in itself sufficient to make of me the most strenuous opponent of all discriminations against Jews. I shall never forget how, before my very eyes, the street merchants of Pavlovsk, that 130 PARROT GODS most cruel and unscrupulous sort of the mercantile class, strictly demanded the banishment of the Jews from Pavlovsk. There is no doubt that the expul- sion of the Jews has not only not lessened but even increased the exploitation of the laboring classes — but then it was a pure, clean Russian exploita- tion. . . ." Korolenko was already sentenced by the autocra- tic Russian Czar, Alexander III., to Siberia, where he spent a few years, and his impressions of this land — which is as cold as the hearts of the Russian officials and as wild as their regime — he describes in a masterful manner in his "Sketches of a Siberian Tourist." Korolenko was also in America, and, as a result of his visit, appeared his wonderful sketch, "Speech- less," describing the poor immigrants who for the most part are like the dumb, being unable to speak the language of their new country. Korolenko published also a charming little sketch, "The Forest Murmurs," and he is for many years the editor of the journal "Russkoye Bogattstvo," which is considered the best and the most liberal Russian monthly. I met Korolenko but once in my life, but never, not till the day of my death, shall I forget my con- versation with him. And whenever I grow weary of the burdens of life, and the falsehood, corruption and pettiness of mankind strike terror at my soul, I recall Korolen- ko's strong and unshaken faith in better times, a truer and purer state of society and a brighter future — and I, too, believe. 131 AMBITION '^ Ambition is so powerful a passion in the human breasty that however high we reach, we are never satisfied." — Machiavelli IT was spring time. Throughout the length and breadth of the land the first kiss of the ardent sun had awaken to life the forces which, during the cold and gloomy winter months, had lain dormant in the earth under a fleecy covering of snow. Young, tender eaves of silvery green covered again the branches of trees which only a short month before had been bare and brown. Grass and flowers were springing forth in vigorous life, and the apple trees were covered with pink and white blossoms, in promise of the fruition which summer would bring. A cloudless sky smiled down upon a smiling earth and the air was filled with songs of birds, who, in full-throated chorus, gave thanks for the passing of the winter. I walked along, my feet on earth, my head among the clouds. Vague longings filled my breast, for I knew not what. How good it was just to be alive, to see, to hear, to feel the quickening life in all crea- tion. I drew a deep breath, and then, as I looked up, my eyes were suddenly dazzled by the splendor of the sight which forced itself upon them. Upon the summit of a mountain some distance from me, there stood a castle. Its slender spires were lifted in dazzling splendor to the sky; its walls 138 PARROT GODS were reflected in a thousand facets of light. High, high it stood above the earth, enveloped in rosy mist, a veritable castle of dreams. And straigntway the longing in my heart resolved inself into one concrete desire to see this wondrous palace, to wander amid its halls, to know the manner of people that dwelt therein; for rare, indeed, thought I, must be the treasures which so wondrous at castle would hold. And as I walked on toward the mountain I met a youth, and his name was Ambition. A goodly youth was he, who knew the way to the castle, which was called, he told me, "Temple of Fame." There were many paths, he went on to explain, and I had but to choose and, with him at my side, the joumty would be but short. So, with heaven and earth smiling their benediction upon me, and with Ambition as my companion, I started out on my journey to the "'Temple of Fame." Many were the travelers on the path which we itook and many were the travelers on the other paths, and I scanned the faces of some as I passed them by. Eager, happy faces they were, with the smile of hope on their lips and the light of dreams in their eyes. Assuredly, thought I, I have chosen well. But Ambition was a persevering youth and gave me little time for speculation or dreams. Onward we hurried, ever onward, and one by one many of those with whom we had started dropped out and fell by the wayside. Love called to me, with arms out-stretched, beg- ging to be my playmate, but my stem mentor hurried me ruthlessly along and would permit no tarrying. '•Only for a breathing space," I appealed, "only for 134 PARROT GODS a breathing space." Angrily he whirled upon me. "Do you see all those that have fallen by the way- side — there, and there, and there? All of those have heeded Love's appeal. They will never go on again. Do you want to do likewise? Look!" and he point- ed upward to the castle, shimmering in golden light, "that goal, is it not worth striving for? Love is for children and fools." Abashed, I continued on my journey. It seemed to me that some of the glory and freshness of the morning had gone, but a glance at the vision far, far ahead inspired me with renewed courage and desire. The promise of spring had ripened into glorious fulfillment, and it was now summer. Everywhere stood trees, their branches bending low under the burden of luscious fruit ; flowers rioted in profusion and the grass was a verdant carpet on which I would fain have thrown my weary body for a resting space, but Ambition relentlessly goaded me on and on. Nearer and nearer came the "Temple of Fame." Half the road was traversed, two-thirds, three-quar- ters. Everywhere along the way we came upon derelicts who had given up the race, who had fallen by the wayside in exhaustion. I wished to aid them, to cheer them on, but even this Ambition would not permit. And so ever on and on I climbed, regardless of heat, regardless of weariness, always guided and goaded by Ambition, who was my constant com- panion. Summer had passed into autumn. The fruit and grain had been gathered in, the flowers were fading, the trees gorgeous in their scarlet and gold, and the presence of winter was already in the air. And then 136 PARROT GODS one day, following a turn in the road, the Temple of Fame again burst upon my sight. In wonder and amazement I turned to Ambition. "Surely/)' I exclaimed, incredulous, "surely this is not the Temple of Fame." "And wherefore not, pray?" he answered scornfully. "The light, the radiance,|" I stammered, "where are they? I did not come for this — all the travail of the long, long road for this !" But regret was unavailing, the journey was ended and I had reached my goal. With dragging foot- steps I entered the portal and stood in the Hall of Fame, and there, newly graven, was a tablet whereon my name was written. Many many tablets were there — the names of all those who, like myself, had at one time or another, completed the arduous jour- ney. I have reached the summit. Below me lies the peaceful valley from which I started, wrapped in a golden haze, and the roads leading thereto stretch like white ribbons in the fading light. That now seems like the City of Dreams, that peaceful and sun-kissed valley from which I set forth on the great adventure. How many there are who envy me the height which I have attained ; how many that see but the tablet which tells that I have attained it. For the spring and summer and autumn, in which others gather fruits to tide them through the cold and dreary winter, I have nothing to show but a long and weary climb which has brought me to the moun- tain top, where I stand alone, for even Ambition has left me. Gone, the traitor, who goaded me to the 136 PARROT GODS lonely heights, to cajole other youths in the peaceful valleys when spring shall come and shed her glamor over the earth, and, alas for the irony of fate, he will spur them on with tales of me. 137 MENDELE MOCHER SFORIM The Father of Yiddish Literature SHOLOM Jacob Abramowitch (Mendele Mocher Sforim) who has just celebrated his seventieth birthday can rightly be called the ''Father of V'ddish Literature." True, there have been writers before him, but their "literary" productions have been of no greater value than "Tz'enoh U-r'enoh" (a Yiddish Midrashic rendition of the Scriptures) and "Sarah bas Tovim's Techinoths" (Book of Yiddish Prayers). Even Isaac Meyer Dick, who was a writer from a certain standpoint, did not possess that high literary quality that would entitle him to rank among the better class of Yiddish literateurs. It must, however, not be forgotten that Dick was a pioneer, and the work of a pioneer must not be measured with the same accuracy as the labors of those who succeed him, as the pioneer has a much more difficult task to accomplish than the others. Abramovitch is not a prolific writer. He has not written many bulky volumes, with prologues and epi- logues, as have done and still do the authors of "highly interesting novels/' because he always bore in mind the quality and not the quantity of his work. He knew very well that an ounce of gold is of greater value than a pound of iron, and, therefore, did not give much, but what he has written is of pure unal- loyed gold. Abramovitch may be rightly considered the "Yid- 139 PARROT GODS dish Gogol." In sarcastic terms he describes the Jewish Chlestakoffs, the Jewish Bobchinskis and Dobchinskis, the Jewish Plushkins and Sobakewit- ches, the Jewish Nosdreffs and others of the same type, whom he met in Jehupetz, Glusk, in Tuniadofka and in Beiborick. His language is as soft and as sweet as that of Gogol's, and is replete with beautiful descriptions of nature. I do not desire it to be inferred that Abramowitch is as great as Gogol and that his talent is as developed as that of the great Russian author, but he has some of the qualities which remind us very much of Gogol. Abramowitch is a poet of the realistic school, a champion of civilization and culture, and of the spiritual advancement of the Jewish masses. Beginning with Sholom Aleichem, who calls Ab- ramowitch "my grandfather," and coming down to the better Yiddish authors, all of them follow in the veteran writer's footsteps. But none of them has his deep insight, his profound psychology, his real Jew- ish sigh, his bitter laughter, migled with tears, and his unique style. In his younger days, Abramowitch wrote his well- known novel "Fathers and Sons," which is modelled after Tourgenieff's book of the same title. This work is, however, very faulty, and cannot be included among his best efforts, as for instance, his "Valley of Tears," and other short stories. Abramowitch al- so adapted Lenz's "Naturgeschichte," but the strong point of Abramowitch is not that of a translator, his great strength is originality. The subject of this sketch had ever with him his "Kliatche" and his "Boid," and in the course of his 140 PARROT GODS travels he always made new acquaintances, and every- thing he saw on the way he describes in his "Fishke der Krummer" (Fishke the Lame) ; his "Klein Menschele" (The Little Fellow) in his "Wuensch- fingerl" (The Magic Ring) and "The Journeys of Benjamin the Third." His work shows that he un- derstands the soul of the Jew and is imbued with his spirit and loves him. His famous work "Die Kliatche" (The Rosinante) does not belong to the above-mentioned books, for it is written with another tendency and allegorically, and is not so easily understood by the masses. "Die Kliatche" has been translated into Polish by the well- known Polish author Clemens Unosho, into German, published in the Mainzer Israelit, and also into Eng- lish. A few chapters were translated into Russian and appeared in the Woschod of St. Petersburg, but the Press Censor promptly interfered. Although the translations are very good, they cannot possibly com- pare with the original, because Abramowitch writes a very idiomatic language, the beauties of which can- not be rendered into any other language. I first met Abramowitch about eight or nine years ago. I saw before me a grey haired man, with glow- ing eyes and he seemed to me an inhabitant of Olympus. At first we conversed in Russian, but his bad ac- cent made an unfavorable impression. No sooner, however, did we drift into Yiddish than I felt such a pleasure as cannot be described in words. Pearls came from his lips, and his gestures, his mimicry, his accentuation were wonderful. I showed him my poem "Deborah" which was still 141 PARROT GODS then in manuscript. He paid me a few compliments and said, "Show your poem to Dubnow, who is a bet- ter critic of Russian." I had the pleasure of visiting Abramowitch many times and often in the company of my friend, the poet Tchernichowsky and other budding writers. I shall never forget his friendliness,. his encouragement -^^ sound advice. Yes, Abramowitch is the greatest Yiddish writer and none of his predecessors or his contemporaries have been able to mount his Pegasus. 142 LET US TURN BACK "Mass for me will not be chanted, Kaddish not be said, Naught be sung, and naught recited Round my dying bed." — ^Heinc. WHAT a world of tragedy lies in those words of the poet Heine, and what a world of tragedy there was in the life that prompted them, "Judaism," said Heine, "is not a religion, it is a mis- fortune," and with that idea in mind he tried, with the help of a few drops of water, to remove that misfortune from himself, but bitterly did he live to regret it. He remained a man without a country, without a religion, who could not reconcile himself to the new beliefs and ideas to which he had pledged loyalty of his own free will, and whose renunciation of all the ties of blood and birth removed him forever from association with those upon whom he should have looked as brothers. And for what? That a few people, who had set themselves up as arbiters, might admit him to their exclusive society, might treat as their equal one who should have known himself as far above them as the heavens are above the earth. Can we change ourselves in an instant from what we are into something exactly opposite? I doubt it. Behind each one of us are the elemental forces reaching back to the beginning of time, trains of 143 PARROT GODS thought struggling from chaos to order through many ages. Can we hope to change the ideals and beliefs which have been passed on to us with ever- increasing strength for many thousands of years? Will not every nerve, every fiber of our being cry out in protest, as it did in the life of the unhappy and embittered poet? What a child learns at its mother's knee it cannot forget. Can we then hope to forget, even if we should wish to do so, that which countless genera- tions of mothers have taught us, over and over again? If we try to root it out, we are killing our identity, the essential part of ourselves, and become only a parody of the people whom we try to imitate. Is it a matter of surprise that even they, who should be extremely flattered (for imitation, it is said, is the sincerest flattery), should despise us and look down upon us for our pains ? "Self -reverence, self-knowledge, self-control — these three alone lead men to sovereign power." — Tenny- son. Let us know ourselves, the glorious possibilities that life affords us to make the world better because we have lived ; let us respect ourselves because of that knowledge ; let us so control ourselves that every thought and action of our lives will work for the benefit of all. Why not play the part upon the world's stage that has been alloted to us? Surely we cannot ask bet- ter. For thousands of years Israel has been the torchbearer of the nations. Wherever, in his cease- less wanderings, he has made a stopping place, there the light of day has risen: slowly, it is true, for the 144 PARROT GODS night of ignorance and superstition are not so easilv banished, but surely, none the less, it has worked for the enlightenment and well being of those who have looked with distrust and hatred upon him. And what has he received for all this? What has been his compensation for all the benefits he has lav- ished upon his neighbors? Reviled, despised, tor- tured, driven hither and thither, victims of the Span- ish Auto-de-fe's, of the drunken crusaders' brutal orgies, less in the eyes of the law of the most Chrst- ian countries and most Christian kings than the meanest criminal ; accused of crimes at which his very nature revolts, we still find him in this, the enlightened twentieth century, hounded, persecuted and tortured in many of the countries which preach their most Christian tolerance as in the darkest of the dark ages. Shall we try, then, as Heine did, to merge our iden- tity with that of the people among whom we dwell? It has been attempted, but neither side seems to take kindly to the resulting hybrid, which often has the faults of both sides and the good qualities of neither. Nor is a person's respect ever gained by imitation. Surely, we should have proper reverence for a religion which has survived many nations and many beliefs, for which hundreds of thousands of people have suffered and died, rather than deny it : a religion which has produced great kings like David and Solo- mon, great heroes like the Maccabeans, prophets like Elijah and Isaiah, and a great lawgiver like Moses, to whom the world owes the fundamental laws upon which all other religions are based. Why do we abase ourselves because some hoodlum 145 PARROT GODS calls us names, because some minds are too mean and small to appreciate the greatness of our mission among the peoples? "Respect thyself." Until we respect ourselves we cannot hope to gain either the esteem or the goodwill of our fellowmen. There is a quality about self-re- spect which places it above the opinions and the good-will of others, and this we must have. But we can have this only if we are true to ourselves, to the best that is in us, and strive to fulfill, in ^o far as in us lies, the promise of our glorious past. Let us read the history of our nation with at least the same attention that we give to that of other peo- ples. There are many of us who will be surprised to find that it has been something more than a nation of merchants and money lenders, as we are so often told. Let us read the history of its struggles, its victories, its rise, its fall. It will show us how a rich and mighty nation, divided from within, became at length the prey of its barbarian conquerors. Can we not take this lesson to heart, cast aside the petty jealousies that divide us into many insignifi- cant factions, and with united effort strive to estab- lish a spiritual brotherhood which shall compel the respect and admiration of the world? 146 MARRIAGE "The hearts of old gave hands; But our new heraldry is — hands, not hearts/' — Shakespeare, Marriage is an equal parnership and should be en- tered into only by equal partners. Mrs. Strong, one of the characters in Charles Dick- ens' "David Copperfield," says: "There is no dis- parity in marriage like unsuitability of mind and pur- pose," and nothing is more true. Difference in age, difference in station, will not matter, if two people have the bed rock foundation of suitability. Without this foundation, any marriage, no matter how fair the prospects may seem at the outset, is sure to be unhappy, because a house that is built on the shifting sands will be wrecked by the first storm. For the ideal marriage both husband and wife must have the same general aims and ambitions, must be enough alike to harmonize, yet enough unlike to stimulate each other. If one be a dreamer the other must be practical ; if one be firm the other must be yielding, because two people of temperaments that are exactly alike cannot possibly agree. They must have perfect understanding and sympathy with each other's aims and ambitions, and a firm bond of com- radeship. Yet even all these are not sufficient if each does not have for the other "'the love that passeth un- derstanding," a love that is based on mutual sympa- thy and comprehension, but is far above and beyond all friendship, and which makes it possible for two 147 PARROT GODS people to go through all manner of hardships and privations and still be happy just because they share them together. One of the reasons that so many marriages are un- happy is because people do not take the time or the trouble to find out whether they are really suited to each other. Another is the disposition during the period of courtship to don company clothes and com- pany manners, while both seem to forget that court- ship is only a passing phase and marriage is a life sentence, in which they will have ample time to get acquainted with each other as they really are, and not as they seem to be. Would it not be much better if people would call attention to their faults and failings, would show themselves as they really are, so that if the love of either one for the other is not strong enough for them to put up with those faults, they could find it out in time to save themselves a world of misery? True love will forgive all failings, and the other kind which is only for fair weather, is surely no founda- tion for a happy union; It is not enough that a man and woman can get along together. To make of marriage the ideal state that it should be, they must care so much that they cannot get along without each other, that to make the other happy is the end and aim of existence for each. When a woman cares for a man in this way she will give up a home where she has been cradled in the lap of luxury, family, friends, everything that has previously seemed to her worth while, for a life that may be full of hardship and deprivation, and yet 148 PARROT GODS count herself happy in the exchange. When a man loves a woman with this supreme love, there is no barrier that he will not surmount to win her affec- tions, no hardship that he will not undergo to make her happy. Some people think that a certain amount of money is necessary to insure happiness, but this is not true. There is more happiness among the poor than there is among the rich, and the reason for this is that there is more unity of aim between husband and wife while they are struggling for existence than when all that is necessary for each of them to think of is how best to pass away the time that hangs so heavily on their hands ; and if both are not interested in the same things, they very soon drift apart. Women, live more in the affection than men. "Man's love is of his life a thing apart — 'Tis a woman's whole existence." For this reason the girl who marries a man just for what he can give her, without regard to her feelings for him, is sowing the wind, which later will return as a whirlwind to overwhelm her. For though it may be with all necessary ceremony to make it right in the eyes of the world, she has sold herself just as truly as any other commodity, and been paid for. And the return which she must make, the price which she must pay, will grow heavier with the \c-y:^ -^^ cause the pleasures and amusements that money can buy will soon cease to interest, and only the empty husks of existence will be left as the price for which she has sold her soul and body. It sometimes happens that a man and woman get married because each is lonely and craves compan- 149 PARROT GODS ionship. But there is no loneliness so great as that which is shared by two. With love two is company ; without it, calamity. Thomas Jefferson, when called on by his wife's niece for advice as to which of two suitors to marry, said, "Marry the man you love, dear. With love, marriage is heaven; without it, hell." This is very good advice to take, but be sure that it is the kind of love that will stand the test "for richer, for poorer, for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, until death do you part." "Happy and thrice happy are they who enjoy an uninterrupted union, and whose love, unbroken by any complaints, shall not dissolve until the last day." — Horace. UO DAY OF ATONEMENT HE who wants to have a better idea, a clearer conception of the Jewish people, whom anti-Semites proclaim as Shylocks, as spies, as tricksters ; he who wants to see how poor, downtrodden and persecuted men, who are com- pelled to labor hard, in the sweat of their brow, to make both ends meet, can rise to the high- est degree of idealism and to be almost trans- formed into angels whose main purpose is to the highest degree of idealism and to be almost transformed into angels whose main purpose is to laud the Creator of the world and sing songs of praise unto Him, — should visit the synagogues on the Day of Atonement. The atmosphere there is filled with holiness, with glory, with sublimity, and in each corner there is felt the splendor of the Lord, the Divine presence of the Almighty. Calculations, materialism, all earthly pleasures do not exist then in the synagogues. The richest man, whose head is full the year with speculations, trans- actions, agreements and interest, as well as the poor- est man, who hardly earns a livlihood for his big family, stay reverently in the synagogue and beg for- giveness of the Merciful Father. John Paul Richter, one of the greatest German humorists, remarked that "a man is never so great as when he seeks forgiveness, when his heart is broken and he repents." 151 PARROT GODS He who wishes to understand the beautiful sen- tence of Richter, should look into the synagogoues on the Day of Atonement. Sublime, great and hol> is every worshipper there. All of them look like holy men, and one feels like approaching each one of them and kissing the hem of his "talith." Yes, on the Day of Atonement earthly people are transformed into angels. And how wonderful is this metamorphosis ! And not only has this holy day a religious mean- ing, — nay ! it has also a great moral significance, which can be justly considered as the basis of the whole human doctrine, as the corner-stone of all ethical and cultural theories and claims. The Talmud says (Yoma p. 85) "The Day of Atonement wipes off the sins which man commits against God, but does not wipe off the sins of man against his fellowman before he appeases him." Oh, if the entire world would understand the sub- limity of this Talmudical passage; if men of all classes, of all parties and of all religions would fol- low this incomparable saying, — the world would be- come better, purer and nobler at least once a year. Parents and children who, for one reason or an- other, have quarreled, would calmly discuss their differences and forgive each other before the dawn of the Day of Atonement ; people who sinned against each other through jealousy, animosity, slander, gos- sip, etc., would at least before this day of judgment approaches think of their conduct and apologize to their victims. And if men would practice such things at least annually, they would gradually become purer and 1§2 PARROT GODS nobler, and we should , have fewer tears and more joy in the world, less hypocrisy and more earnest- ness. And if all the nations would at least once a year have to beg pardon of the Jewish people for all the persecutions and the horrible treatment, for all the pogroms and slaughter they have brought on them, then the nations would sooner or later become more humane and just, and little by little their conscience would awaken and they would come to the Jewish nation with down-cast eyes and with hearts full of repentence and ask her to forgive them for their terrible crimes, for all their outrageous deeds, for all they did to her through the centuries. No nation has a day like yom ha-Kipurim, and of all the days of the year the Day of Atonement is the holiest, the noblest, the greatest. When, oh, when will all nations come to under- stand its real significance, its real meaning? 153 LUCK AND SENSE THE Celestial Council in heaven is all busy at work. Preparations are made to let down on earth a number of "fresh]'' people. They were ready to de- scend, but at the eleventh hour they reminded them- selves that they miss two important things : sense and luck. They all stood in line near the door leading to the department where sense could be gotten. They were nervous and impatient. They got themselves into an inextricable tangle by attempting to push each other and conquer the front places. "Order!" — shouted the angels — "don't push each other and don't make duck and drake if you really care to get sense. It is a very delicate matter and requires deliberate judgment and not haste." For a moment the people kept still. But the still- ness did not last long. The angel who was distribut- ing the portions of sense informed the crowd that he is at present short of "funds" and has not enough sense for each of them. "But comfort, comfort yourselves," he consoled them, "you can live all your life and occupy a con- spicious position in the business world without hav- ing sense. . . .1 assure you of that. I know it from many experiments." "And now all to the department of luck!" — shout- ed the voice of a young angel! — ^go there and get your portion. Make a long arm before it is too late." 154 PARROT GODS The people who stood in Hne waiting in vain for sense were nearer to the departmnt of luck than the others, and immediately they reached the place and consumed for themselves all the luck that there was, thus depriving the sensible people of their allotment. And the world alas, is divided into two distinctive classes : sensible but luckless people who are at times even unable to supply their families with dire neces- sities; lucky ones who, though senseless, are in a position to lead an epicurean life and enjoy all the pleasures that money can get. 155 m THE "PLEASURES" OF THE TSAR A Tragi-Comedy in One Act. Characters: 1. TSAR NICHOLAS— a pale man of about 38, nervous, with closed, half-idiotic eyes that never rest in their sockets. He wears an official coat, overhung with crosses, medals and tiny portraits of saints. A sword hangs on each side. He wears a gold crown which can scarcely stay on his head, which shakes continually. 2. ALEXANDRA — a fine-looking woman of thirty odd years, with dainty manners of an aristocratic German — the wife of Nicholas. 3. MARIA — a dame of about sixty, with small, weak eyes. Her face is painted and powdered, making her look like a superannuated actress — Nicholas' mother. 4. POBIEDONOSTSIEF— a bent man with a wrinkled face and with the side whiskers of a Russian under-officer. His appearance is terrible and repellant. 5. Stolypin, ^ 6. Witte, 7. Durnovo, y The Tsar's Lackeys. 8. Yermolof, I 9. Neidhart j "Gvardye" Officers (Body Guards) and Soldiers. Place : Peterhof NICHOLAS (in anger). Oh, oh, oh! How times do change ! Who could have imagined that the pride of a Romanof should be so humbled? Who could 157 PARROT GODS have foretold that our dynasty should suffer so many indignities? And from whom? (Stamps his feet and seizes both swords with his hands). From reb- els, from good-for-nothings!. . . From. . .. (Trem- bles with intense excitement.) ALEXANDRA (tenderly). "Nicholas, my dear, my beloved, calm yourself ! Your nerves are un- strung, your mind is perturbed . . . (she stammers "> , . . is confused." POBIEDONOSTSIEF (crossing himself), "May the Holy Virgin protect your majesty!" MARIA (with a pious countenance). "And th^ holy Athanasius, too!" STOLYPIN. "Your Majesty! You must have courage now. You must strengthen yourself, for without you we are powerless. The Muzhiks — the two-footed machines, the rusty automata which hith- erto have not dared to utter a sound — demand now— do you hear, your Majesty? — they demand, not beg, land and liberty. And what answer can we give them?" POBIEDONOSTSIEF (in a trembling voice). "Liberty in Russia ? Oh, no ! We must erase this dangerous word from our dictionaries ; we must stop the mouths of all the heathen who dare to mention this word." WITTE (with a cynical smile). "You are right, Konstantin Petrovitch ! Russia has never known about liberty, and ought not to know about it. But we must make some show before the world, tool You know the government treasury is empty." DURNOVO and NEIDGART (together). "There 158 PARROT GODS is still enough money for gallows and guns ! For such holy purposes our Russian patriots will give even their last groschen." MARIA (firmly) "We owe the world no explana- tion. My Sasha, your honored father, or dear Nik- ky, always sought to satisfy only himself and the Church. And yet he lived until he died." POBIEDONOSTSIEF (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 Tulevich? Our treasury empty? Can we, then, make no loan outside of Rus- sia? Outsiders do not really know our interests. We needs must confuse their brains with imaginary and absurd reports ; and if bad comes to worse, you can turn to "Zhidovsky" banker. I hate them — the *Zhides,' but their money (sarcastically) — their money is all right. And if you will promise them high interest, they will lend you money, even if they know the money will go for preparations for 'pog- roms' 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? But we must have a few reforms for fear of our own murder- ers, who throw bombs right and left. One of my eyes aches even yet, from the dense smoke which that bomb made in my palace. I cannot sleep in peace ; I am in fear. We are all in danger ! POBIEDONOSTSIEF. We must build more 159 PARROT GODS monasteries ; we must be more pious ; so God will not forsake us. MARIA. Right, right ! Heresy is growing in our land; it is the cause of all our misfortunes. DURNOVO. We must increase the number of spies ; we must punish every slight offense against us with death ; let the mean souls of the terrorists leave them on the gallows, on the scaffold. Your Majesty, we need a dictator!" NEIDHART. (Kissing the Tsar's boots). Give us more Dubasofs, Kurlofs, Minins, Rennenkampfs, and we will see to everything. MARIA. It is said that the "Zhides" are spreading every kind of anarchistic and atheistic pamphlets over all Russia ; it is said that they preach free and harmful doctrines ; we must teach them a good les- son." POBIEDONOSTSIEF. Their fore-forefathers put our Redeemer on the Cross. This is a nation of Anti-Christians, of exploiters, of blood-suckers . . . Death to them all ! WITTE. From the moral standpoint, we might well strangle those Jews, every one of them (Durno- vo 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 newspa- pers, they make fun of us ; they call us "Barbarians," "Africans," and such things weaken our credit there. NICHOLAS (groaning). Yermolof's advice is that I should give my land to the *muzjiks' ; Witte's advice is that I should make no more 'pogroms' upon Jews. 160 PARROT GODS Well, then, what remains to me in life? No land, and no enjoyment either. Oh, great spirit of my dear and beloved Ivan the Terrible. What is to be done? What is to be done? What is to be done? MARIA. I know, my dear Nicholas, that the good news of Jewish heads cut off, of dishonored Jewish maidens, of wounded Jewish children, of the Jewish blood grown cold, makes you happier and merrier. Well, then, what is there to hinder? Have you not enough soldiers, or are you, perhaps, short of guns and knives? What of the foreign loans? you ask. Oh, child, child ! you are still very fool- ish. After the "progroms" have taken place, you might have it printed in the newspapers that your heart is aching, that you have great pity for the sacrifices, and all the rest of it. Then you remain a kind-hearted Tsar, and the joy of the "pogroms" is still yours. ALEXANDRA. No, no! It is not modem to make "pogroms." It is not nice for civilized p'^ople to fill stomachs with feathers and drive nails nto eyes ; besides, perhaps, it is even a pity, too. DURNOVO. Pardon, Tsaritsa! As an old sol- dier, I know of no pity, especially when the "Z^^iids" are concerned, for they are a menace to us. NEIDHART. My friend Durnovo knows the Jews better than you do Tsaritsa. And, therefore, he has rightly remarked that they are a menace to our peace. Have pity on them? You are too good, Tsaritsa ! I swear to God, too good ! I can shoot down ten Jews at once as one shoots mad dogs. . . . I can cut to pieces the Jewish women with their revo- 161 PARROT GODS lutionary "Zhidkelach" (little Jews) and this with a smile on my lips— I can — POBIEDONOSTSIEF (with a pleased face). We know that you 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 everything 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, also brandy and cham- pagne are brought in and placed near Nicholas). NICHOLAS (drinking) It is delicious. There is nothing better than our vodka. Drink all of you, drink! I am the Tsar, the Autocrat. You wish to make "pogroms?" 'Tis well! But, Stolypin, Witte! Together with the arms you give to my faithful ser- vants, you should also prepare letters, written in my name — that I am grieved that my innocent subjects fehould be robbed and murdered. Innocent? Ha, ha, ha! They are certainly the greatest rebels, they are the most dangerous elements in the land. They are — (drinks and yawns) a pest, a plague. Do they want Dumas with Jewish representatives! I will show them a Duma, that — (trembles with anger). MARIA. My son, do not worry over it. Give but a sign to your faithful servants, and the streets of Russia will be dyed with the blood of the "Zhido- vsky" race. YERMOLOF. And what answer shall we make to the Muzhiks? They scream and howl, they make a scandal. DURNOVO. The blood of the Jews will intoxi- 162 PARROT GODS cate them, will dumbfound them entirely, and they will be as silent as dogs. NICHOLAS (shaking and unsteadily). I am the Tsar of Russia. I will annihilate all the Muzh — all the Zhids in my sacred land. I shall institute an in- quisition such as there once was in Spain. To think that I should suffer anxiety because of such creatures, that I should be miserable on account of creatures like these. Oh, Trepof! Trepof! (weeps). NEIDHART (kissing the Tsar's boots). Great Tsar! Everything shall happen as you wish. I lift my glass to the annihilation of all the "Zhids." DURNOVO. Bravo brother! POBIEDONOSTSIEF. That is the way for a true Christian to speak. MARIA. And a noble patriot. STOLYPIN. I will see to everything. I under- stand my business well. WITTE. And what will become of the loan now? There will be a terrible crisis in Russia; I see it. 1 feel it. YERMOLOF. And who will appease the new sav- agery of the peasants? NICHOLAS (yawning). Pogroms? Well, very well ! Crisis ? Loans ? Well, the devil ! Trepof ! Already dead, my faithful servant, dead? A bomb reached him, too? I had forgotten. Ah, what a delicious thing is the Russian vodka! Hey, bring champagne! Quick! Why do you stand there like idiots? Already many stomachs cut open! Already many Jewish corpses! Ha, ha, ha! (falls down). ALEXANDRA, (frightened). We must call a doctor, quick. 163 PARROT GODS POBIEDONOSTSIEF. 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 had the honor of seeing him and his honored father in this condition. It's all right. No harm will come of it. (He makes the sign of the cross over Nicholas and mumbles a prayer). MARIA. When my dear Sasha used to feel ill, when a gloomy fear took possession of him, the best means of bringing him back to new life was to tell him of new misfortunes upon the hatred Zhids. It is the same with our son, with Nicholas. Start po- groms. Cut and tear the 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. NEIDHARD and DURNOVO arise from their places and go toward the door. POBIEDONOSTSIEF (calling after them). May the pogroms be a success. In the name of Jesus I bless you. WITTE (as to himself). European opinion — the Press — oh, the devil take it all !" STOLYPIN. The Tsar is in misery. He wants some happiness from pogrom — let there be pogroms. The Press — public 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 sat in it." 164 "PROFESSOR" GETZEL A Comedy in Two Acts. Qiaracters : GETZEL LUDLOWJAILSKY, a man of sixty, who always insists that he is only forty-five; a short little fellow, with cat's eyes, blonde mustache and 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 schnorr- er, a gossip and an all-round good-for-nothing fel- low, about fifty-five, a bosom friend of Getzel. CHAIM SONSARA, publisher, a middle-aged man. BENJAMIN TRUTHMAN, young, but already famed as a scholar and writer; a man of strong principles and sincere character. MOE ROSE, a poet of about forty-eight. ALEX RAKOVY, a linguist and critic, a middle- aged man. TASH, a Yiddish writer. BUB, an editorial writer on a Yiddish paper. FISH, an Americanized young man, an active mem- ber on 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 I. LEMECHOVSKY (standing near Getzel's desk and holding in his hand a Jewsh paper.) I am al- ways happy, professor, when I read your poems and the poems of our beloved friend the Pittsburg edi- 165 PARROT GODS tor. I am quite sure that both you and, perhaps, Nathan Cantor also, are the greatest poets of o.U' 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) thinks that your writings are actually as good as her "Tchinos." (Yid- dish prayers for women.) GETZEL (with a smile.) I am very glad that such authorities as you and your mother-in-law ap- preciate my writings. This is my consolation in the dreary moments of my life, when terrible critics at- tack me and my literary outpourings, stating that 1 am not a writer at all. RAKOVY (approaching) I heard the compliments which Lemechovsky conferred upon you, Mr. Lud- low jailsky, and I cannot refrain from laughing. You are a writer? Don't be angry if I'll ask you, just between ourselves, what have you ever written that has any literary value? Or perhaps you really be- lieve that your articles and quasi-sketches, the best part of which is stolen from old papers, gives you a right to the title "litterateur?" But, I beg your par- don, 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 a professor? Who, I pray, gave you of title? Your mother-in-law, your janitor or Lemechovsky? I know that you never studied, I am sure that you have no conception of science and literature. I am positive that you are an ignoramus in the full sense of the word, and you dare call yourself "professor?" lee PARROT GODS Let me tell you that you are quite a champion of righteousness. LEMECHOVSKY (shivering.) You are wrong, Mr. Rakovy, quite wrong. I heard from my mother- in-law that she heard from a policeman of our dis- trict, who understands politics very well, that Pro- fessor Getzel has already been appointed by Tam- many Hall as American ambassador to Turkey, and that he in his humility refused to accept the nomina- tion. You know why? Because he is modest, be- cause he is aware of the fact that the Jews of New- York will not enjoy their "tzimes" and "kugel" (special Jewish dishes) if they do not find in Friday's Yiddish paper Getzel's wisdom. Sonsara, Truthman, and Rose enter and seat themselves in the room adjoining the office; Rakovy and Lemechovsky 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 already seen Getzel's statement to Dr. Sharlatansky ? Isn't it a disgrace? I wonder how you, his publish- er, can allow him to act so meanly! SONSARA. You are, I see, green as yet in the journalistic field of our Gotham, when you ask me such naive questions. Besides, let me assure you that I don't like Getzel any better than you do. ... I remember well his satires on myself and my family. I shall never forget the stones he threw at me for the bread and butter which I gave him ; but I r ' *d him in my office for the same reason as I need m log at home to bark from time to time. I wish, jr in- 167 PARROT GODS stance, to publish in my paper an article against one of my enemies. Well, I come to Getzel and say: Look here, Getzel take a two-dollar bill, and be- sides, I'll treat you to a nice dinner at Lorbeer's res- taurant, if you will only write a strong article against Mr. 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 bear to look at him. But, friends, I am a practical man, and I know very well that I can make good use of such Getzels. Business is business. ROSE. Several times, forgetting my Muse and my Parnassus, I have already given 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 he would never forgive me, but a few days later after one of those occasions I met him in a restaurant with his friend Lemechovsky, 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 poem. I refused, of course, to shake hands with him and he, as if nothing had happened, called a waiter and ordered an omelet. He is one of the lowest charac- ters in our ghetto. He and Lemechovsky are a worthy pair. Spit in their faces and they will say that it rains. SONSARA. I know this "literary" couple well, very well. If Getzel writes something, be it as non- sensical as his writings in general, lo! Lemochov- sky walks around in the ghetto coffee-houses to ad- vertise it; when on the other hand, Lemechovsky 168 PARROT GODS furnishes a "literary specimen" — Lemechovsky and literature ; do you hear, gentlemen ? — Getzel will im- mediately come to me and beg" me to accept it for my paper. TRUTHMAN. The funniest thing is that some fools consider Getzel a Hebrew writer also, though he has as much knowledge of Hebrew as the Russian muzhik knows 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 "classical" Hebrew writer, as he calls himself. And do you know why I would also, without any hesita- tion, confer upon him the epithet classical? Be- cause he ought to be sent to a class for first reader pupils. SONSARA. He told me that he has already published many Hebrew articles. TRUTHMAN. Oh, yes ! It is a fact, but let me tell you the story of those articles. Some of them he sent in Yiddish and signed his name "Prof. Get- zel," and the Hebrew editors in Russia, being fond of having a professor 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 was 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 caliber are the representa- tives of the Yiddish papers ; they are the priests in 169 PARROT GODS the temple of Yiddish literature. Fugh ! If our readers will ignore such pen-fakirs they will be com- pelled to peddle pickels, 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 shall be able to clean the Augean stables of Yiddish literature. We need many, many a Hercules for this purpose! And where shall we find them? The Cerberus is always in their way. Oh, the Cerberus how many talents he has annihilated, abolished ! LEMECHOVSKY (entering unnoticed, reaches Getzel's desk and says, quietly:) 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 some sickness, I forgot the name of it ; it's a queer name. He offers you for your statement five dollars in advance, three dollars after the statement is once published, and a quarter for each reprint of this statement. (Smilingly.) He told me that he would 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 with envy. Say, Professor, will you ask Dr. Sharlatnnsky to order from me also such a state- ment? I would not require money from him. I will be satisfied if he will print my picture every day and will, from time to time, give pills for my wife's stomach. She suffers very much, poor woman, from stomach trouble. It is a pity ! SONSARA (rising.) Getzel, say Getzel! for- got to tell you. I want you should write a ^roiig 170 PARROT GODS reply to Michael. You know how to write such things. I need not teach you. Here is a dollar! Tomorrow I'll treat you to a dinner and a genuine Havana cigar. Go ahead and write. Quick! GETZEL (slavishly smiling.) All right, Mr. Son- sara, your wish is always law to me. By the way, where is the dollar? (Sonsara gives Getzel a dollar and the latter victoriously disappears.) TRUTHMAN and ROSE, (rising together from their seats:) Good-bye, Mr. Sonsara, try to giva Getzel a good dinner ; he deserves it — he is a faithful dog! SONSARA. I am a practical man; business is business. Good-bye, good-bye! RAKOVY (entering, hears Sonsara's words.) Yes ; every where I hear the cry, business is business. Some time ago the mercantile spirit was a factor only in the literary world, merely a means to make the fine art of literature more progessive, better known. The dominant idea of most of the writers, and even some of the publishers, was the idealistic side of their work, the betterment of mankind, which could be attained by reading good works.. And now! Real idealism is scarcely found in our liter- ature at all. It is a thing of the past, a memory of yore. Many so-called writers of "Professor" Get- zel's type peddle their pens as the bootblack boy 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 me a Jewish writer, and I must confess that many a time I am ashamed of my literary colleagues. Some years ago the old sensational storymaker Zeif published 171 PARROT GODS many articles against Getzel, adorning his name with very fine invectives, which he really deserved. And now! They are ready to embrace 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; literature 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':' ^'Business is business" is a good enough principle, but we must know how and when to apply it. In the realm of literature, however, it should not be too much considered. ACT 11. The same place. A year later. TASH (mournfully.) I feel very bad on accouni of the death of our chief ! He died in the prime of his life, having lost his hope of a brighter future. He had many enemies, he had many faults, but never- theless he was dear to me, very dear. GETZEL. And I am not sorry at all. Do 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 began to work under him, and especially lately. Six months ago I celebrated my sixty-first birthday, and on this occasion my mother- in-law presented me with a whole set of Oizer Blaus- tein's novels, and a few of my friends from Vitroye, 172 PARROT GODS my birthplace, bought me my own lassical works "Yacubembe" and "Modern Tchinos" in gold bind- ings with nice lettering on the covers. I immediate- ly wrote a notice about this and I gave it to our fore- man to insert in our paper. I asked all my friends and admirers to buy a copy containing this notice, in Older that they should know the exact date of my birthday and begin early to think about the celebra- tion of my seventieth anniversary. Don't laugh, my friends, don't laugh ! Nine years are nothing, they will fly away before you look around. It is now for- ty years since I published my first poem "Ode to a Cockroach," and it seems to me that it was but yes- terday. The cockroach, to which I sang my ode still appears before my vision in its old glory . . . But let me continue my story about the notice. Our fore- man, showed it to our "tsief," and he — oh, thunders of Heaven ! — threw it into the waste basket. He be- grudged me my fame, the envious wretch. Now, gentlemen, I am the "tsief," and you must obey my orders. BUB. What! You the chief? Perhaps in your own home but not here. You know well that if you should pay the publishers a 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 depart- ment of their paper, because you are an irresponsible person, an imposter, and they would have to answer to libel suits every day. We know your record from the "World" and from many other sources. We know that you induced your brother to embrace Christianity, of which, it is rumored, you are an ard- ent admirer. We heard that you were "honored" in 173 PARROT GODS different countries for your "noble" and "good'' deeds. We know that in our paper you are preach- ing Zionism, nationalism, and all the rest of it, 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 in- sinuations against everything that is dear and holy to us. Yes, Getzel, we know your abilities w^e, know your sincerity and we appreciate your aims! And if I should have the say, I would not keep you here even as a janitor. GETZEL. 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, Mr. Get- zel, that you admit that you are already an elderly man! Till now you have always stated that you were still a youngster. Whom or what do we have to thank now for the correct statement of your age? TASH. Don't you understand. Fish? Mr. Getzel Badchon wants us to prepare for him a seventieth jubilee, and so, of course, it is better for him to ad- mit his real age. LORY. I am already preparing an English poem for this occasion. TASH. I never knew that you were a writer and a poet, especially in English. LORY. I know English as well as my colleague Getzel knows Hebrew, and if he dares to write He- brew, 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 likewise? Getzel pays people who 174 PARROT GODS correct his writings with promises, and I pay for such help in ready cash. You know, that I am not a writer only, I am also a peddler, and the suspenders and garters which I sell bring me more profit than all my writings. FISH. Is your English poem in Getzel's honor done, or are you going to work on it during the eight or nine years before his seventieth birthday? LORY. A few lines of my intended poem I can recite for you now, if you'd like. TASH, BUB, and FISH, altogether. All right! All right! Go ahead! LORY (in the pose of Hamlet pronouncing the monologue "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, I like you, my dear colleague, As 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 yovi burns in me like Hell. TASH. Your poem is excellent, much better than your poems in Hebrew or Getzel's. You are a poet, but the world does not know it. BUB. Even now, after the "poet laureate" Lory has dedicated to you such a literary gem, none of us 175 PARROT GODS 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 co write for our paper news items, and, from time to time, articles, under the auspices of Mr. Tash and myself, you can leave the office at any moment. 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 peddling business. At night we will make poems in partnership, and in the day time each one of us will take a bundle and go out for business. The number of my customers, especially among the ne- groes, is increasing daily, and I cannot attend to them all alone. I will give you knee-pants, petticoats, and stockings as many 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 ! GETZEL, (angrily). The room in which the "tsief" was sitting is still empty and it is waiting for me. I must be the "tsief"! You hear? I have already published visiting cards saying that I am the "tsief" of our daily; besides, my mother-in-law has told all her neighbors that I am the "tsief," and I must be! KOM, (entering.) What right have you, Getzel, to make such a noise in my office? Sit down and prepare the news items for tomorrow ! There has been a fire in Cherry street ; an old woman fell down from the fifth floor in Grand street; a policeman 176 PARROT GODS clubbed 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! 177 ! 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 Bal- birishok, 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 me- lamed, 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 "we.'* JOSEPH MARKOWITZ, a young man, a mem- ber of this organization, an energetic worker. Place: New York. GELDSACK (turning to the secretary). Well, Herr Weinkeller, tell all you have to say about down-town philanthropic institutions. 178 PARROT GODS WEINKELLER (with submissive smile, looking at Geldsack 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 yourself in our small enterprises. TRASKI. Pshaw ! Such a philanthropist as the noble Mr. Geldsack has never been seen in Russia. KAHN (with a sarcastic smile turning to Traski). Even if your assertion is true, still you must re- member that you ought to moderate your compli- ments in the presence of the person to whom they are addressed. MARKOWITZ (to Kahn). I agree with you en- tirely. When a jubilee is celebrated, then it is per- missible to use hyperboles — 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 — a philanthropist, bene- factor; a man who mentions (in a cafe) Karl Marx's or Fredinand Lassalle's name — a theoretic socialist ; a maggid who chatters and tries to combine in his talk theological books with Thomas Paine's and In- gersoli's works — a modern orator. But merely a flat- ter without any particular reason is unnecessary. LEMECHOVSKY. "Wh-wh-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 WEINKELLER (interrupting). "Our down- town philanthropic institutions are very good ones, but they need money. The "Sheltering Home" needs PARROT GODS money, the "Hospital" needs money, the "Burial As- sociation" needs money; instead of money, the first one is getting richer in greenhorns, the second — in patients, and the last — in corpses. KAHN. Sad, very sad! GELDSACK. Why do the Russian Jews hold aloof? Why don't they help these institutions with advice and deeds? TRASKI. We also ask the same question. LEMECHOVSKY. I shall wr-r-ite an appeal to a local Jewish pa-pa-per." GELDSACK. The Russian Jews, the immigrants, take — grab all the places in these institutions, even the cemeteries are filled with them, and yet when we need any money they hide themselves, and we cannot get a cent out of them. TRASKI. Yes, indeed, sir, though it is not so. MARKOWITZ. It is very unjust of the rich Rus- sian Jews to refuse to help our institutions, bat it is still more unjust of our rich German Jews when they complain that the Russians occupy all the places in these institutions. Do the Russian Jews do it for pleasure? Besides, do we not allow the German Jews to use the "Sheltering Home" and the "Hospi- tal" as much as their hearts desire? Do we begrudge them the cemeteries? Nay, they can use them all as much as they wish. LEMECHOVSKY. Y-e-es, y-e-e-es, as I am a Jew." GELDSACK (with a smile). It is well worth while to spend a large amount of money for medicine so as to make the stomachs of paupers and beggars smaller. Such a remedy saves a lot of money. 180 \ PARROT GODS WEINKELLER. Ha, ha, ha! Well said, Mr. Geldsack. TRASKI (to Weinkeller.) Does not Mr. Geldsack always speak to the point? KAHN. Mr. Geldsack's proposition pleases you, Mr. Weinkeller? Very well! Perhaps you, Mr. Lemechovsky, will publish an article about it? (Sar- castically), will you not? Oh, no gentlemen. Do not think that the Russian Jews, althouj^h assist -d by the German Jews, deser\e scorn and jests and contempt from the latter. No, indeed ! Mr. Geld- sack's proposition, though made as a joke, is very offensive to me. Mr. Geldsack thinks that the Rus- sian Jev/s are drunkards and gluttons, and that their appetites are insatiable. Mr. Geldsack, like many others of his kind, thinks that the Russian Jews are natural shnorrers, 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 as they sink 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 we do need remedies to broaden the hearts of the rich German Jews. . . . Then, when they help the down-town institutions, and show love and appreciation to the poor, I say their noble deeds will be an example for those rich Russian Jews who • yet keep themselves far from philanthrophy. MARKOWITZ. Here speaks a man of sense! 181 PARROT GODS LEMECHOVSKY. I w-w-will wri-i-t-e to-day a b-b-big article about . . ." GELDSAK (interrupting). I will give eighteen dollars for the "Sheltering Home" and eighteen dol- lars for the "Hospital," to show that Mr. Kahn's words appeal to me. TRASKI (to Weinkeller.) Put it in the minutes. KAHN. And I will give twice as much for each of the institutions, and I do not care if Lemechov- sky does not mention my name in his article. MARKOWITZ (looks at Mr. Kahn and smiles.) TRASKI. We give five times eighteen cents as our personal gift. GELDSACK (taking out his watch). It is late. We must go. He adjourns the meeting. All rise and go out. 18^ « BETWEEN LOVE AND DUTY o FTEN, dear friend, my sufferings are unendur- able," said Alexander Michailovich, nervously stripping off the petals of an acacia. "The question, 'What am I?' gives me no rest. You will answer, I suppose, 'You are a human 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 Moiseivich, smiling, "I haven't uttered a word as yet, and here you are al- ready arguing with me. Supposing, however, that you have guessed my answer — what then?" "Simply this," answered Alexander Michailovich, warmly, "that if I am merely a human being, with no national ties whatsoever, why do I sometimes feel so oppressed — so extremely miserable — at the sight of my wronged brethren, my own kith and kin. "Why?" immediately repeated the genial but some- what sarcastic Simeon Ivanvich, "the Jewish-Christ- ian," as every one called him. "Because, dear friend, do what you will, you are still a Jew ; and a birth- mark won't wash off in seven waters, you know." "I am a Jew, it's true," sadly replied Alexander Michailovich, "but you will admit that I know al- together too little of Judaism. Pray, what does it consist of? What are its peculiar, specific traits that distinguish it so sharply from the rest of humanity? Tell me, moreover, wherein in general you find a basis for this so-called national bond? " 183 PARROT GODS "Your question — questions, rather — cannot be an- swered offhand; but, then, you know, of course, the breadth of our Russian character; we never hesitate, and always hit from the shoulder." "And so," asked Solomon Moiseivich, dejectedly, speaking to Simeon Ivanovich, "do you really under- take to answer his questions?" "I'll try, at any rate; mental exercise is not as yet subject to taxation, even in Russia. Well, my dear A.lexander Michailovich, leaving your first questions unanswered, I will endeavor to define to you my own view regarding national ties. Our nature demands, you see, some kind of social affiliation, 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 development, 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 Moiseivich ; "sad or gay, be it only true, and we will listen." "Well," began Alexander Michailovich, "I discov- ered for the first time that I was a Jew when I was between seven and eight. Having quarreled with a Russian playmate, I came to father, complaining: 184 PARROT GODS "Papa," I said, "Vasia called me 'Jew,' and when 1 1|||||||^ answered back with the same, he laughed right out and added : 'You are a Jew and a fool, besides/ But, papa, why does he call me Jew, while I mustn't call him so? "Because," my father answered, "he is a Christian and we are jews.;" "We — Jews! This was news to me! Excepting ourselves, 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 mingled with Christians. I did know, it is true, a poor elderly Jewish woman, who frequently visited us in the kit- chen; and our old nurse, Pasha, always reported these visits by saying, 'Mistress ; the old Jewess has again been here.' And she pronounced the words 'old Jewess' so contemptuously, and so respectfully 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 arc Jews,' father said — and we never reverted to the sub- ject. I remember only that I felt grieved and ashamed before Vasia 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 nev- er were any holiday celebrations, or Christmas trees in our house, although nothing else was ever denied me. Therein, as I learned afterwards, was manifest- ed the proud, independent spirit of my mother, who could never tolerate a blind imitation of other peo- ple's custom^ and a studied conformity to them. Yes, the gloomy side of my childhood and youth 185 PARROT GODS must be attributed 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 gladdened by them as much as Vasia. I remember how mother's words were al- ways ringing in my ears : 'This is a holiday, 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 occasion 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 childhood 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 childhood?^ 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 lower our people's standard? We are born and grow up, not knowing who we are; the very secret of our birth is mysteriously kept from us as- if by design. No preparatory materials are given us, and then we are thrown into the world, subject to all the whims of chance. We are torn away from everything which sustained and inspired our parents and grandparents. Nothing is told us in our child- hood that would in any degree acquaint us with our PARROT GODS history. Finally, we are not even given to under- stand in the name of what we suffer persecution and indignity. We were not taught to love and to rev- erence our past, and yet are blamed if sometimes we thoughtlessly renounce it. It this just? Is it logi- cal? Here am I, beaten and made miserable; why, should I not go where one can live a better, a freer life? For, in truth, I bear no conscious love for either side; no one has ever told me why I should love my people. And yet, in spite of all the pain- ful feelings and considerations, I still cannot disown the 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 people," spoke Solomon Moiseivich with marked emotion. "You talk of a 'people,* *love of kindred,' 'suffering for one's nation,' and the like. But, my friend, I am related to Judaism only by birth ; by training and by the whole trend of my life, I have nothing in common with it. I am a Jew, but what have I in common with the Jewish nation? Has it given me anything for which I should grow to love it and care to bear its woes?" "Why?" irritably exclaimed Solomon Moiseivich, "just because it hasn't given you anything — and so far it hasn't much to offer men of your caliber. This bat- tered Judaism looks to us to restore her her former strength ; we ourselves must resurrect her — this sleep- ing beauty — must infuse into her still warm heart the fire of life, a life that should bring back her 187 PARROT GODS mighty 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 deserve 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- serve her countenance, all deeply furrowed with the indelible traces of her past woes. 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," interrupted Alexander Michailovich "your theory of love absolutely won't bear the test of logic : to love her because she hasn't done any- thing for us, because. . ." "Because," excitedly exclaimed Solomon Moisei- vich, "because, at any rate, she is mine ; because I am myself part of her." "While following your interminable discussion," 188 PARROT GODS broke in Simeon Ivanovich, rising lazily, "I recollect- ed a certain episode from my own early boyhood. Hear it, and then — let there be no more arguing-, and to our homes ! I was 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 child- ren were quite spoiled by over-fondling. Once, and not, of course, vv^ithout a certain boastfulness, I commenced to show my comrade the new toys father had bought me on the eve of the 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 I, smiling, 'you cannot, of course, love your poor mother so (his father was dead) ; she never gives you any presents.' " 'Yes, indeed,' said he, 'I love her very, very much,' he added, perceiving that I viewed him sus- piciously. "' 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 Alexander, 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 do you refer to?" sternly demanded Alex- 189 PARROT GODS ander Michailovich. "To What?" resumed Simeon Ivanovich, smiling good-naturedly, and not noticing the former's sever- ity, "why, of course, I could not be referring to any- thing else than to Natalia Nikholaevna. But, I warn you, take care; she, your sweetheart, does not sus- pect that you are a Jew." With a sad heart Alexander Michailovich, having left his friends, bent his steps, without himself ob- serving it, toward the park where he hoped to meet Natalia Nikholaevna. The reflection that she was al- together ignorant concerning his descent troubled him constantly. He had to inform her of this, and especially to define to himself the relations that were possible under these circumstances. "Til tell her that I am a Jew," he thought, "and what then?" He recalled his first meeting with this wonderful girl, "the gray-eyed beauty," as Simeon Ivanovich called her. It happened in summer. A large com- pany had gathered at Simeon Ivanovich's house, he, Alexander Michailovich among them. Simeon Ivan- ovich had for some time past been telling him a great deal about this girl, and on entering the big recep- tion room at Ivan Andrievich's (the house of Simeon Ivanovich's father,) he readily recognized her among the numerous guests. "I knew you the moment I saw you," he said to her a few minutes after they had been introduced. "Did you?" she asked, and smiled at him so sweet- ly that they seemed the oldest of friends. He saw her but a short while that evening, and hardly spoke to her, as she stayed all the time with the hostess, helping to entertain the guests. PARROT GODS "There's no need of entertaining you," she said to him as she passed, " you are a member of the house- hold here," and, with a friendly smile at Simeon Ivanovich, "he is one of us, isn't he, Simeon?" 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 considered as theirs. These words of that maiden whom he scarcely knew has eased and warmed his heart. Simeon Ivanovich was very much surprised the next morning when, to all his enthu- siastic questioning about Natalia Nikholaevna, Alex- ander Michailovich could answer only, "Yes, she is very good — that I have already observed; but to come to know her, even slightly, was, of course, im- possible." "No, sir, you are not sincere," said Simeon Ivano- vich, "one cannot see her without learning to know her ; all her heart shines forth from those gray eyes ; it is reflected in them like a face in clear water." "Yes," Alexander Michailovich admitted, "her eyes are indeed wonderful !" Then he came to feel that her face would not wane from his memory ; he had virtually enshrined her image in his memory, and carried it away with him.. Two months later they met again, 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 re- called her very words : "I do not know as yet what I shall do here, but I Hnow that whatever I may do will be well and honestly done, because I have come here among you in search of life and work, and have 191 PARROT GODS 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.f' This bold little speech of hers flowed with the fresh- ness of a brook, and none thought it funny or stilted. "No, no," all seemed to say, "such eyes don't lie; they cannot shine by artificial light; they glow with the flame 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 had been to blame for something. How her eyes glowed! He shuddered, and thought, "these eyes can caress, but they can punish, too." Her eyes rest- ed upon him only for an instant but he decided then and there that he would stand anything in order to avoid such a look. She, exactly surmising his thoughts, smiled, and extended her hand to him, saying: "I forgive your error; 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 altogether happy ; his conscience troubled him. He knew that he must not love her, a Christ- ian, with such a love; he realized that it was stolen happiness, but he wasn't strong enought to reject it. He knew all this — knew everything, and continued to drain the cup of bliss, poisoning himself and infect- ing, perhaps, the life of another being, so confidently entrusted to him. And time flew. He grew more and more oppressed at heart ; he was conscious of the unsoundness and dishonesty of his position 192 PARROT GODS 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 happy 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 was amazed at the coldness with which she spoke of the Jewish people. How cold and how strange she seemed to him, when, to his question, "Why are they persecuted?" she re- plied — as if some useless old furniture were in ques- tion : "They are in our way, they harmfully infect our systems, and we must clear them out of the way." "Clear them out of the way?" he repeated, his voice vibrating with emotion, "but how?" "As you please," she answered (and again her coldness astonished him), "only that we be rid of them. Here I accept the Jesuitical motto, 'the end justifies the means.' " He did not say anything to her then; he felt the nearness of the impending con- versation which would prove fatal to them. He had much to tell her — everything indeed, 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 soon to meet her, and does not know what he will tell her. But to-day he must speak, and this necessity tortures and oppresses him. 193 PARROT GODS His thoughts change as do the colors in a kaleido- scope, preventing him from concentrating his mind on the question he has to settle. And he repeats with grief the whole of his discussion with Simeon Ivano- vich, who did not regard Alexander Michailovich's position inextricable. "There are two courses open to you, and both are equally commendable." "That is to say," smiled Alexander Michailovidi, "you are preaching a two-sided truth. What sort of a truth is it, pray?" "Not at all," said Simeon Ivanovich good-natured- ly, "it is an uncontrovertible truth, created by your very position. And so listen ; you must study your- self conscientiously, both as a man and as a Jew. If you should find that you lack the courage to renounce Judaism ; if this Judaism has clung so fast to you ; then there is nothing more to be said in the matter; it will mean that this Judaism is stronger than you, and you will find consolation in this recognition, and bow to the inevitable. But in that case, of course, Natalie no longer exists for you. This is the first alternative," he concluded, "but there is also another, which is likewise not without justification. It con- sists 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 following it does not involve the slightest departure from the truth." "He is right, he is right," bitterly reflected Alex- ander Michailovich, "he is wrong only in thinking that truth can have a double form. But there is but one single truth, and therefore I have no free choice. 194 PARROT GODS Yes, the truth is one, and to it I must submit!" He grew sad and his heart commenced to ache. "I will be strong enough to reject this happiness," he meditated, "I shall be able to part from Natalie, if necessary. . . . If," thought he, and stopped, sur- prised 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 perish- ing, 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," thought Alexander Michail- ovich in deep sorrow "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 recon- ciled." And sadly Alexander Michailovich stole farther away from those noisy lanes where 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, ready to paralyze by its brightness Natalia Nikholaev- na, who had quietly approached. "So here you are at last I" rang her gay voice, "1 have been expecting you a long time," she added in 195 PARROT GODS a lower tone, extending her hand to him. "Alexander," she suddenly exclaimed, her eyes looking very lovingly at him, as if she begged to be understood without speaking. "Alexander,}" she re- peated, "we had once wandered from our conversa- tion regarding the Jews, and I now wish to justify my views on them. Did you say the Jews deserved better treatment from us?" "That is, a more undeserved hatred," excitedly ex- claimed Alexander Michailovich. "You are not quite right," gently said Natalia Nikolhoevna, 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 Natalia Nikholaevna 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 Michail- ovich. Why, indeed? Many are the reasons, Nat- alie, very many ; but of this later. Now, please con- tinue, 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 suppose that my dear Alexander took so much interest in these Jews, or I should have noticed them more closely, perhaps," she added, smiling. "Dear Natasha," he said, "why are you ever so fond of primary discussions? Why do you judge a whole people so superficially, avoiding a correct un- derstanding of it? You say you don't like the Jews . . . Why? Are they any worse than other races? 196 PARROT GODS Has any other people suffered for its ideal and prin- ciples, for its religion and truth, as have the Jews? You should kneel before these holy martyrs ; bow low before this chosen people, before the Ahasuerus, who always bring into darkest lands the torch of humanity and civilization, righteousness and justice. To your knees when you mention the chosen people, the messengers of God on earth." "Why?" Natalia Nikholaevna indifferently an- swered. "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 peo- ple which lets itself be trodden underfoot by every- body. It is a people incapable of taking offense. But tell me, Alexander, why are you growing so pale? Why does this conversation excite you so much?" she suddenly asked, glacing at Alexander Michailovich. "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. "But 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 excil:es in me: I do feel sorry for it, but, seeing it wallowing in (suburban) filth and decay, I throw a crumb to it, though I turn 197 PARROT GODS 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 Michailovich. "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 Natalia Nikholaevna. "I am a Jew!" loudly answered Alexander Mi- chailovich. "You ? You a Jew ! No ; none of this fooling, it's too mean and too cruel." "No, Natasha," he said softiy but firmly, "it is not a joke; such matters are not fit for jesting." "How? What do you mean? How dare you?" cried Natalia Nikholaevna, beside herself. "Natasha! You know it all," he said, "decide what's to be done — what we are to do." Natalia Nikholaevna viewed him with awe. It seemed that her eyes refused to see and her brain to reason. "You have insulted me cruelly," she cried in excite- ment, "but I will try to forget it all, though I warn you, it will take a long time." "No, my friend," he said, raising his head and looking her in the face, "I will not come back to you. I believe 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 my disconsolate past I shall erect a bridge over which to reach my own people, my broth- ers and sisters, whose lives are as dark as is the night 198 PARROT GODS without the moon, without stars, without a ray of light. "Forgive me," he said, and walked away rapidly, feeling 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. 199 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS *• }k ND that is your final decision, Esther?" J~\ His voice sounded strange, harsh, and deep- ened the pain at her heart, but she knew that she was right, and must be strong and unyielding. "My final decision, Edward, the only possible one," she answered, sadly. "You say that you love me," he exclaimed, bitter- ly, "and just as soon as it comes to the test, you fail miserably. Love, indeed ! A passing fancy, perhaps ; a game of' love, to be taken up or laid down at will, with a man's heart for tramps. "What is it to you that you have robbed me of my peace of mind, led me on and on, until my heart, my thoughts, my every desire is centered in you. My last thought before I fall asleep, the first one when I awake, is always of you. You say you are sorry, you did not know? Thought that I would under- stand that our religion was a barrier, and looked upon me only as a friend? Oh, Esther, Esther! Your lips may deny, but surely you cannot mask the truth in your eyes. "Religion! What is religion? Is not belief in God enough? Cannot people live good clean lives — lives filled with deeds of love and kindness, without belonging to any creed? "Esther, Esther," he pleaded, stretching his arms to her in appeal "I cannot live without you. I cannot. I will make you so happy, that you will never know, never feel, that we have not been born in the same faith. Your father and mother, youi 200 PARROT GODS sisters and brothers shall be mine, dear to me as my own parents would have been had they lived. Oh, what can I say, what can I do, to show you how deeply, how truly I love you? Had you not loved me, dear, I would have buried all this deep in my heart, and gone my way alone, praying- that you might be happy with another. But you do love me, Esther. Say it, dear ; tell me that you love me." "I do love you, Edward," she said, and a look of unutterable anguish came into her eyes. "Would to God that I did not. But, Edward, what shall I do? What shall I do? You are all alone in this world. You have no father or mother, no brothers or sisters to rejoice in your happiness or grieve in your sorrow. It does not matter to us, to you and me, that we observe our beliefs in different ways, for God is the same in all beliefs. "But my parents, they have been brought up in a land where their faith was a constant source of mar- trydom to them, where any hoodlum might insult them with impunity, where they might be robbed of their property, of their lives without a hand being raised in protest, and because they have suffered for it, that faith is dearer to them than it can be to us, to whom religion is no barrier to all the civil and social rights to which every human being is entitled. Do you think that they can look with joy, or even with indifference to a union between their daughter and a man of a faith to which they owe the Auto- da-fe's of the Spaniard's, and the brutal orgies of the Crusaders? "And what about ourselves? I know how truly you love me; but, Edward; think, dear. Should we 201 PARROT GODS marry, and sorrow come into our lives, as it must into all, might not the thought sometimes steal into your mind that if you had married a girl of your own faith you would have been happier? "If children were born to us, would it not grieve you if they did not believe the religion that you were taught at your mother's knee, and would it not cut me to the heart if they should scoff at what I hold dear for all the old sweet memories of my childhood days? If fortune smiled upon us, perhaps we might be happy; but, oh, should sorrow come to us, it is then, then that unity is needed; the unity of belief which makes husband and wife clasp each others hands and say with perfect trust, *Thy will be done/ Thus have I seen it with my parents. But how would it be with us? Might not the thought enter your mind that God punishes you for marrying a woman of another faith? Had you married one of your own, it would have been different. "And my parents, my dear, kind parents. The mother who has kept vigil over me through long, weary nights ; the father who has toiled early and late that I might know no want. You cannot under- stand it, perhaps, the prejudices ingrained through countless generations, the hatred of the oppressed for the oppressor descended through all the years. They will never, never consent. My happiness would be their sorrow. I cannot walk to my happiness over the bodies of those who are nearest and dearest to me. Death would be preferable." She pressed her hand to her heart in anguish. He stood with head bowed down, his mind in a whirlwind of pain and confusion. He loved her tru- 202 PARROT GODS ly, and to possess her he would have given all his hopes of heaven, and gone through a thousand hells; but would that make her happy? He knew that it would not. Had she been otherwise he would not have loved her; but it was this fineness, this loyalty which had drawn him to her. He would try to forget. Forget? He laughed harshly. Un til memory ceased to be he could never forget. Through the open window came the low, sweet tones of a girlish voice, accompanied by the piercing sweetness of a violin. With drawn breath, they both listened, unconsciously drawing closer together. ** Read in my eyes, Love never dies. Put your arms 'round me and cheer me ; Hearts may not break, But mine will ache, When you no longer are near me. Sweetheart, to you, I will be true. Love's dream of roses we sever: Kiss me once more, Once as of yore — Then, good-bye our love-dream forever." The last lingering chord died away, and with a sudden impulse he clasped her in his arms, and their lips met in a long, lingering kiss. She lay passive against his breast, her eyes closed, while the thought hammered in her mind — *T cannot give him up ; I cannot !" Then, summoning all her strength, she pushed him from her. "Go," she said, her face averted. "Go !" Without a word, he left the room. She heard the 203 PARROT GODS closing of the door, which fell upon her ears like the death-knell of her hopes. She swayed and fell upon the floor, and a wild cry of anguish arose from her tortured heart : "Oh, God, help me to bear it ! Help me to bear it!" 204 WHO IS HAPPY? EIGHT o|'clock in the evening. The sun, which has burned so fiercely the whole day long, kisses the sea, (which resembled a large translucent mirror), and began to expire, shrink, and grow dim. The deep azure sky which had retained a drowsy appearance the whole day long, suddenly becomes enlivened, and opens its fiery eyes. And those azure eyes shine and twinkle, and look proudly down from their noble height. It seems as if in another instant 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 crafti- ness ; and, very, very often find no time to recite your death-prayer. How foolish ye are, and how insig- nificant!" And those eyes shine and twinkle, how they leap in the air. 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 being silent and do not utter a syllable," suddenly remarks one of the party, a man about thirty years 205 PARROT GODS of age, who is fastidiously dressed, and has the air of a welKto-do person. "If you wish," remarks another of the party, "we shall now conclude our discussion as to *Who is happy?'" "Very well," rejoins the first. "I shall listen with pleasure to all arguments. Begin, for you are a poet ; to you the honor of commencing must now be ac- corded." "I respectfully decline the extraordinary honor," the poet replies, "There are four of us here; a doct- or, a lawyer, a rich man, and myself. Let the rich man speak first. Money ever seeks precedence." "Good, then," the rich man answers smilingly, "I shall take the initiative to-night and will earnest- ly endeavor to declare my views on this question. My opinion is that happiest of all is the man who possesses great riches. Money 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, obey me, and fear me. The machines work on, the wheels revolve, and each revolution of the wheel brings me more and more profit. And besides, honor and pleasure pour upon me from all sides. Yes, money does make one happy." "I am much happier than you," the doctor begins "Many lives have I saved, and that which I receive for my labor is given me with repeated blessings. Am I not, then, truly happy?" "I," exclaims the lawyer, "am much happier than you. My profession has pity and benevolence for 206 PARROT GODS its foundation. I vindicate and save people from prison and death. Is there a happier person than I?" **You are happy" the poet says, "because you do not know what happiness is. You, Sir Manufactur- er, 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 multi- ply your capital at the price of life itself. No one's happiness is 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 nintey-nine you transport to the other world by means of your prescription- passes. You, Sir Lawyer, very often clear persons who are pernicious to the community. You are very often compelled to use your talent, your eloquence, to paint white the black deeds of your clients. How, then, can you be ha; ; "Do you know who is truly happy? It is I, the poet! "The stars in the sky, the flowers in the gardens, and the birds in the woods are my friends ; and such are constant friends. They never prove treacherous ; they never hurt my feelings ; they are very faithful. "If I feel unhappy here on earth I mount my Pegasus and up, up I soar to the heavens, to the sun : and there I am like an angel. If I see the sorrows of man, I quickly seize my lyre and pour forth my sorrow in poesy ; and my poor and luckless person reads my poems and finds consolation and hope in them. 207 PARROT GODS "And who of you can love as I? "I assure you that the hearts of a hundred manu- facturers, 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 my little room than you have in your spacious mansions ; for the Muses lay the whole world at my feet. Believe me, friends, money can get pleasure, but never happiness. 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, begin to sing; and their melody bears this burden : "Thou art right, brother poet! Thou alone knowest what true hap- piness is. Man, however, is as yet too dull, and understandeth but little. Thou, poet, mayst be proud and happy : Thou art a child of Nature, a part of immortality; art undying as God Himself!" 208 IS THERE ANY SENSE IN LOVE? IT was almost six o'clock. Ruth, clad in a light colored gown of clinging material, was putting the finishing touches to the dinner table, and singing softly to herself. That done, she crossed over to the window, raised the blind, and looked out into the deepening twilight. Outside, soft, heavy flakes of snow were falling. The street was deserted, and the street lamps, damp and steaming, showed only as faint blurs of light. With a sense of relief, she dropped the curtain, and turned to survey the cosy room. It was not richly furnished, for Ruth and Fred had not climbed very high as yet on the ladder of success, as it is meas- ured in dollars and cents, but there was an air of home-like comfort about it, and about the entire house, that made many of their visitors gaze with envious eyes, and wonder what made a visit to them so delightful. Had you spoken to Ruth about it, she would very likely have laughed and said, "Why, really, I don't know what you mean. Of course I try to make my home home-like, and Fred and I both love it. If we didn't, it wouldn't be home." And Fred would have answered enthusiastically, "It is all Ruth's work. She's the most wonderful little wife in all the world, old man, and I'm the luckiest man in the world to have her." And what they both said will supply the reason. They had been married six months before, and moved into a pleasant cottage within commuting dis- 209 PARROT GODS tance of the town, and every evening, except on the nights when he had met Ruth by appointment for dinner in town and an evening at the theatre, he had always been home promptly at six o'clock, or a few minutes later. The clock struck six. Ruth stepped into the kitch- en once more to see if everything was right. It had been the maid's day off, and she had done the cooking herself, and made some of Fred's favorite dishes. A tender smile lit up her face as she anticipated his pleasure in her handiwork, and she murmured to herself, **What a lucky woman I am, indeed." A short while passed. The minute hand already showed a quarter after the hour, and Ruth began to be impatient. Where was Fred? Had he been de- tained? She had timed the dinner so that he would not have to wait, and everything would be spoiled. Again she turned to the window, and raised the shade. Night had already fallen, and the soft, lightly falling flakes kept coming faster and faster. Already the earth was covered with a snowy white carpet, which gleamed in the darkness. Through their heavy coat- ing of snow, the lamp posts were now barely dis- cernable. Ruth shivered, dropped the shade, and sitting down on a low wicker rocker, began to rock herself back and forth. Monotonously the clock ticked off the leaden moments. She watched it with fascinated gaze. Seven o'clock and Fred not home yet! Where could he be? Had anything happened to him? Had he been taken sick? She shook her self impatiently. "Really, I am getting silly. Of course he must have been detained at the office. 210 PARROT GODS I his is their busy season, and I don't suppose he expected to stay late this morning, or he would have told me before he left home. I will not wait any longer, but take a bite myself." She suited the action to the word but she could not eat. A lump kept rising in her throat at the thought of the lonely sup- per, and impatiently she pushed her food away. Slowly the clock chimed forth in musical tones. Ruth counted, one-two-three-four-five-six-seven- eight. "Only two hours, but it seems an age." She took up a new book which she had been wanting to read all day, but had not found the time. Now, how- ever, she could not seem to get interested. What dif- ference did it make to her whether or not the hero got the Victoria Cross for bravery on the field? She was listening for Fred's footsteps in the hall. And he had not come yet ! For the third time she went to the window. A driving wind had set in, and sent the heavy flakes scurrying before it. Here and there it took them up, playfully whirled them round in a mad dance, and hurled them as suddenly to the ground again. The light of the street lamps was no longer visible. An unreasoning terror, born of the darkness, the storm and the loneliness took possession of her. She made haste to light up all the rooms, but that did not allay her fear. Something had happened to Fred! Surely he would not leave her in anxiety, had he been able to get word to her. He was hurt, she was sure he was hurt ! Perhaps he was killed ! Who knows ? There were accidents in the papers every day. And they had been so happy! Why only yester- 211 PARROT GODS day, only last night, they had sat before the fireplace after dinner, he reading aloud, she with some em- broidery to keep her restless fingers busy, secure in the sense of protection which his presence always gave her, and to-night she was all alone, and where was Fred? A pain so keen that it staggered her shot through her heart. She swayed and caught at the back of a chair to steady herself. All the accidents of which she had ever read or heard presented themselves to her mind's eye as vividly as if they had been portray- ed on a moving picture screen. Here Fred was crush- ed to death, mangled by a street car. There he was suffocated by smoke in a burning building, and his charred body robbed of all semblance to humanity. Again, he had suddenly dropped dead while walking in the street. She dragged herself to the sofa, and fell on it. It seemed as if invisble hands were choking her, and she clutched at her throat, biting her teeth together to keep from screaming. A feeling of apathy crept over her. What did it matter, after all? If he were dead, she would die too. With vacant eyes, she lay and stared up at the ceiling. She had ceased to take account of the time, but the heavy chimes, many times repeated, roused her. It was twelve o'clock. At the same moment she heard footsteps in the hall. In a thrice she was at the door, had thrown it open, and "Fred, Fred," she cried, flinging herself sobbing in an ecstacy of relief into the arms of the snow-covered man. "Ruth, dearest, what is the matter," he asked, in 212 PARROT GODS alarm. Her slender body trembled as in ague, and she could not control the storm of sobs that shook her. It was sometime before the violence of her grief had spent itself, and she could talk coherently. "I thought that something terrible had happened to you/' she explained, "and it was dark, and lonely, and I was so afraid. But where were you all tlie time?" she asked, awakening to the fact that here he was, alive and well, and all her terror of the night had been for naught. "How could you leave me all alone without sending a message? Oh, Fred, how could you?" "I did send a message, dear, but perhaps it was delayed on account of the storm. We had a West- ern customer in town, who had to go home early in the morning, and so I had to show him around town to-night. Darling, really I could not help it. Don t you know that I would much rather be here with you?" looking down tenderly into her tear-stained face. "And — in case anything had happened as you thought — one does not die but once. W^here is my brave and sensible little girl?" She looked up at him with a ghost of a smile, a tear still shining on her lashes. "I am not brave," she asserted, "not at all or sensible." Her smile grew brighter, and she continued, "Is there much sense in love?" 213 WHO LOST MORE? IT is autumn. The beautiful Central Park, which, till now, has possessed an expuisite charm and enchanted all its visitors, looks now pitifully at what is going on with- in its enclosure: its trees stand like mourners, and there are on them no more green garments — their leaves, which were fresh, green and moist with dew, lie about now withered and yellow. Gloomy it is now in the Park, and sad — sad like a cemetery of a small town, where stand wooden monuments bent down, and around them there is no grass, no flower. There are now in the Park very few people; they can be easily counted. Near a grand monument of stone, which bears the name of a great poet, who left behind him books which will outlive hundreds of monuments of stone and bronze, sits a young and very pretty girl. She holds in her hand a faded flower and looks at it with sad and moist eyes. Who knows what is now going on in her young heart? Perhaps, she also is already a half-faded flower, and he, who ruined her, is away from her, far, very far away, and there, in his new place, he is breaking and crushing new flowers, fresh flowers. Not far from the girl sits, a young man, pale, gloomy, lean, and looks into a small book. Who knows who the young man is? Perhaps, the author of the small book, and while reading it, he forgets that he had not eaten anything that day. His poesy is no salable merchandise in the market, where 215 PARROT GODS prevails a mighty prose — and to occupy himself with practical things, by which one can gain a livelihood is not so easy for a Jewish poet who has very much misery and very little money. Near a tree which looks like a skeleton stands a small table with a large bench around it. And on the bench three men sit, two-middle-aged and one very young. ''Comrades !" began one of the two older ones, "in- stead of spending our time in slander, old women's talk and foolish debates on abstract subjects, which we do not understand very well, suppose each one of us tell the greatest loss he has sustained in life. I will begin and, and I hope that you will at once ack- nowledge that my loss is one of the greatest. "1 had a hundred thousand dollars, silver and gold, diamonds and precious stones, and, by a stroke of misfortune, I lost it all, everything. And now, I am poor and miserable. Yes, my friends, I sustained the greatest loss which can happen to man in life." "I had a greater loss," cried the second one. "I worked ten years, not caring for health, time or moHey. And the result of my ten years' labor was a book, which, you can believe me, would have made an epoch in literature. All of a sudden a fire breaks out in my house and consumes my manuscript. Yes, my friends, my loss has no equal!" "You lost money,'' said the third, the youngest one, turning to the first. "Your loss is certainly not small : nowadays money plays a very great part in life ; with money everything is bought. *Who has the coin always has the say,' and everything is at his disposal, and all men are at his command. But do 216 PARROT GODS not forget, friend, that it is not impossible that you should have money again. And, if not, this is, after all, not such a great misfortune as you imagine. You will work and earn your living. An honest worker who has blisters on his hands, is to be appreciated more than a dishonest rich man (and what rich man is always honest? One out of a thousand, perhaps,) with golden rings on his tender hands. "And you, my friend," he said to the other, "you lost your manuscript. I must tell you the truth, that I very much doubt its great value. You say that it would have made an epoch in literature. What author does not say the same? Every writer, ever}' poetaster, every literary dwarf thinks that he is epoch making — a Shakespeare, a Byron, a Heine. "And granted that your book was in reality a val- uable one, your loss is not irreparable. A true tal- ent never dies. If you make another effort, y«^u will re-write your book. "Do you know, friends, who of us has suffered the greatest loss in life? I, poor man! I lost all: my heaven, my sun, my stars, my flowers, the whole poetry of my life — my love! I loved a girl — a poor girl — who had eyes — beautiful eyes — full of charm. As often as I looked into them I was happy. Her eyes hypnotised, enchanted and carried me into a new world, into a world of cherubim, into a world where reigns eternal Spring, eternal May. true love and infinite divinity. I loved the girl and was loved by her. All of a sudden cruel Death came, and with his black wings covered the form of my sweet- b.eart : her eyes closed forever, and I shall never see them again. Now she sleeps under a small hill of 217 PARROT GODS earth, which is very often made wet by my tears. "Almost every day, until the sun sets, I wander in the cemetery 'till I arrive at the grave which swal- loA\ed up my sweetheart. There I sit and weep 'till I lose my strength, and exhausted, weakened, brok- en-hearted and dejected, I leave the cemetery. ''Friends ! my loss is as great as God and as bitter as Death. My life is now a continued agony — I am dying alive — I live dying. "You lost. But consider well who lost more? What is life without love? And to have loved as I loved my girl is possible only once in life ; one cannot be born twice and one cannot love so intensely, so earnestly but once !" It grew darker, night had already spread over the world. All had left the Park and it now looked sad- der, gloomier and in deeper mourning than ever. 218 WHEN WILL THE MESSIAH COME? VERY often there are moments when I feel a kind of "elevation of the soul." I forget my old and ever new wounds, I forget my youthful fancies, which sweetened and embittered many hours of my life. I forgot that I am a Jewish poet, a Jew- ish writer. I forget the present, which ofttimes is so drab, and on the wing of my phantasy I fly into the farthest regions of the past, into the little world of my childhood, that world which was so great to me. And before me stands, as in the flesh, my teach er, Reb Shloma, with his rod in his hand. My teacher has long been dead. Time has already bent the wooden plank which marks his grave in the cemetery of my birthplace. Even the words "Po nit- mon'' ("Here lieth") are almost obliterated. Yet he still lives in my memory and will live there until my heart ceases to beat. My rabbi was a learned man. He was of a can- tankerous disposition and would often flog his pupils, innocent little creatures, without mercy. Once, I re- member, a classmate of mine forgot a passage from the Talmud, and my rabbi punished him severely for it. The poor Httle fellow cried bitterly and his tears fell on the open Gemoroh, which he considered then his bitterest enemy. My rabbi took pity on his chastised pupil and wished to cheer him up a bit. "Be still, thou little rascal!" he exclaimed. "And you, too, you scrapegraces," he added, turning to the 219 PARROT GODS class, "be still, and I'll tell you a pretty little tale of the Messiah." "Of the Messiah?" we all cried enthusiastically. "Good, good ! Tell us rebbi, tell us, and we shall be quiet, very quiet." "Listen, then, my children, and I will tell you. Years ago, when I was a child, I lived together with my parents (blessed be their memory) in the village of D. In one of its suburbs, in a small hut not far from the woods, lived a pious man, Rabbi Avigdor. He spent almost all his time in prayers and fasts. A few hours each day he taught the Torah to the children of a prominent family in the village, and Avith the paltry sum he received for these lessons he supported himself. He used to go to the synagogue three times a day, and as soon as he finished his pray- ers he would return home without stopping to speak to anyone. Now and then he would go to the woods, sit under a tree, and raising his large, dark eyes, gaze longingly into the sky. "Once he ran excitedly into the house of the rabbi and told him thus : *It has been revealed to me that the Messiah will soon appear in our midst. Make known this good news to our brethren.' And with this he left the rabbi's house. The latter, knowing Reb Avigdor was a man v/ho could be relied upon, at once notified the community that the Messiah was to be expected soon. "The inhabitants all rejoiced. They breathed more freely. The few rich men of the village were the only ones who were not very happy at the pros- pect, for the Messiah would probably not allow any imoney to be transported from here to the Holy 220 PARROT GCDS Land. But the poor Jews, whose sufferings begin with the cradle and end only with the grave, were certainly overjoyed. "The Messiah is coming ! The Messiah is coming 1 And we, too, shall begin to enjoy life," they thought, and their wan faces beamed with delight. "Anon there came a day when Reb Avigdor again appeared before the rabbi and told him that on this day the Messiah would come, and that it would be proper to meet him. "From which direction is he supposed to come?" the rabbi asked feverishly. "From the east, from the woods," Reb Avigdor answered, and straightway departed. The rabbi immediately called a meeting in order to decide how to meet the Messiah. The assembly was large and tumultuous. All talked, yelled and har- angued. Each one desired to be a delegate. "My advice is," one remarked, "that only Chassis dim should go, for the Messiah is certainly a Chassid. It is written in the Holy Books that Adam was an enthusiastic Chassid; King David also called himself a Chassid. Hence, the Messiah who is a descendant of the Psalmist, is also a Chassid, and he would be pleased to receive the first greeting from his brethren, the Chassidim." "And I would suggest just the contrary," yelled another, "for the Misnagdim are by far superior to th« Chassidim, Doesn't the Talmud often call the Chassidim fools?" "And I think," a third remarked, "that only Mas- kilixn (scholarly men) should be chosen as delegates. 221 PARROT GODS The Messiah will be delighted to converse with a maskil. "Silence, thou impertinent one," a chorus of voices was heard. How darest thou call the Messiah mas- kil? What, thinkest thou that the Messiah also reads those abominable books written by heretics, by apikorsim?" The conversation ended as it began — in dissent and confusion. Finally, each faction went out sep- arately to greet the Messiah. Not far from the woods, however, they all met, but refusing to unite, they entered the woods by different roads. "That day the woods seemed more beautiful than ever. Every blade of grass seemed to be endowed with exceptional charms, as if holiness itself rested upon it. In the clear, azure sky the sun shone trans- cendantly. It seemed as if the wood itself expected the Messiah, and at his arrival would command its warblers to sing an exqusite greeting. "Suddenly the heavens seemed to open and a large ball of fire shot through the air; and soon after the awe-stricken onlookers heard a resounding voice: *Go home ! The Messiah will not appear, for there is as yet no harmony among you!' "The heavens again seemed to open; it thundered, and the winds swept over the country. Some faint- ed ; many wept ; but nothing helped. Sadly they re- turned home. "That day witnessed the death of Reb Avigdor. A moment before his death his lips murmured: 'Hear, O Israel! Let there be peace among you. United you will stand.* " Here my rabbi ended his wonderful tale, and we 222 PARROT GODS children became sad; our little hearts ached longing/ \y for the Messiah. "Rabbi," one of us asked in a wailing tone, "when will the Messiah come? When? Or will He not come at all because He is angry?" "The Messiah," the rabbi replied, "is very kind, and does not know what anger means. He will surely come, surely. But do you know when? When there will be one United Israel." My rabbi is long dead. But his beautiful talov however, I remember well. And when I think of his tale of the Messiah, my heart begins to beat faster; and to my lips comes the bitter question: When, oh, when will there be full harmony and peace in our nation ? 223 THE WONDERFUL LIGHTS I am not old yet! But misfortune, disappointments and the trials of life have untimely silvered my hair, embittered my soul and set at naught many, many of my youth- ful aspirations, many, many of my gold-winged hopes and yearnings. And my wounded heart would perhaps have been broken, were it not for the haunting memory of my childhrod davs. Ah, the tender recollections of those days ring in my ears like exquisite music. I recall the scenes, now gone, alas, forever — and in the dreams of bygone days I forget the rude, merci- less present — the present which offers bitter knocks instead of sweet dreams, and odious realities instead of broad visions. It happened years ago. The winter was cruelly bitter. The streets and by-ways were buried in deep snow which crunched under the heels of passersby. The frost was biting; the wind was furious, and the cottage inmates of the town shuddered with pure delight to be so well pro- tected from their raging enemy. "Tonight, children," our Rabbi said, "you are free, for it is Chanukah." "Oh !" — we all exclaimed, overjoyed. "Hurrah for Chanukah! We will have candies and sweet- meats and we're free." "What !"exclaimed the Rabbi, "Are sweetmeats of more importance to you than the study of the Law? 225 PARROT GODS Pagans !" he ended, with a half -veiled smile. "We didn't mean anything," we answered discon- certedly. Revocation was still an unpleasant possi- bility. "Well, well, go home and be good Jews!" We fled from the schoolroom with what I fear was ungrateful haste. On reaching home I greeted my parents and was just in time to see my grandfather come in. "Papa, dear,'|' I broke out suddenly, "why do those candlesticks stand separate from one another, the one high, the others low? You may laugh at me, papa dear, but it seems as if the lower light looks offend- ed." "My child," Father answered, "the one standing higher is the sentinel ; it must stand guard and watch by itself. It must not stand beside the others." "It must not? Why, if it were not for it the other candles would not have been lit. Why, then, should it be humiliated? Why? I do not understand it, Father!" "When you grow older and become a man you will meet with many more circumstances in life, even harder to understand. But, child mine, there is no help for it, no remedy. Our whole life is one great question ; it is a riddle impossible to solve" . . . "And say, Grandpa, will you tell me a nice story for Chanukah?" "Surely, my dear lad, come hither, set thee by me and thou shalt hear." I sat down with him and he began. "A long, long time ago, when I was but a child like thou art now, I loved the Chanukah days dearly, 226 PARROT GODS even as thou dost. Once upon just such an occasion we all sat passing our time pleasantly together. The candles burned, calm and holy, and my father (bless- ed be his memory), related the story of the old Mattathias and his mighty son, Judas Maccabaeus, who laid down his life in behalf of the glorious cause of the nation. In the next house we heard the voice of our neighbor, the captain, in what seemed to be a rather heated discussion, for the army is the army the world over, with its fiery stimulus and stimulants alike. "Suddenly one of the captain's guests turned to him and said, *I noticed thorugh the thin door of that Jew's house a whole regiment of strange candle lights burning like blazes. It's the first time I have seen a thing of that kind. Come on, Captain, let's fetch them over here; we can use them.' " 'Bravo ! Come on !' the company cried uproar- iously. 'Let's go over to the Jew and get them.' "The whole company swaggered in upon our peaceful circle, shouting and. singing, seizing the lights and carrying them away in drunken triumph. "So quickly was this done that my frail mother swooned, the children shrieked from sheer fright and my father was appalled. "Rising soon, however, he seized a glass of water, knelt besides my mother and as he loosened her collar, called out tearfully : 'Rivkele, dearest mine, dost thou feel better?' "He sprinkled cold water upon her. She opea:d her eyes. His cheeks were wet, his look gloomy. " *Alas !' he sighed. 'Can tears avail where the fist rules?' ... 227 PARROT GODS "The captain, however, heeded nothing, but took the candles and placed them on the floor of his house near the door. "The house of the officer was cheerfully illumin- ated. "His guests ate and drank, sang and capered, while his own thick tallow candles seemed to flicker ag- gressively on the floor. And they seemed to hold a fiery converse wih each other, as if jubilantly saying: *Ha, ha! See what shining candles our master has brought. It seems they are made of "different mate- rial than we. They are lean, insignificant, and thev burn feebly. One can hardly see their flame. Ha, ha, soon little candles, your end will come, and our master will order servant Peter to throw you into thi ash heap. But we — we rule here, peerless, on the captain's table.' "But the little Chanukah lights suddenly burst into a fine brilliancy, while the large tallow candles were on the point of going out, emitting a foul odor with their last dying breath. "And the Chanukah lights gleamed brighter and brighter and a few minutes later shone with such mellov/ vigor as to peculiarly attract the attention of the captain and his guests. " 'What the devil is the matter wth those Jews' candle-lights, anyhow?' exclaimed Captain Ivan, an- noyed. * " 'Your large candle-sticks,' began the Chanukah lights, sturdily, 'have insulted us. They forgot that they were made of swine fat, and that they burn in houses where intoxication alone revels.' " 'But we candle-lights, we are wholly different, 228 PARROT GODS for we stand to remind our people of a sacred time that was. We burn for a time, when Jewish heroes sacrificed their lives for God, freedom, purity, lofty- ideals, sublime doctrines and holy traditions.' " *Thou, Ivan, hast insulted us by taking us from our peaceful abode into the foul den that is thine. Thy vulgar and snobbish lights have mocked us. And how long did they endure? Thy thick candles are no more, there is no trace of them .... '"And we?— " 'We still burn, and we will outlive many, many such as these . . .' "And the Chanukah lights began to flare upward?, and the room was lighted by an unusual fire. " 'These Jewish things will make a conflagration yet,' one of the guests called out in warning ; 'call the Jew and make him take back his goods.' "The captain came to us, gruffly bidding my father take the candles back. "Wy father went instantly and brought back our beloved Chanukah lights, and the house was bright and joyous once more." "Grandpa, dear Grandpa," I cried breathlessly, af- ter hearing- the conclusion, "whv do we not see such wonderful candle-lights now?" "Now, my child," replied my grandfather, "now is a different time — other lights . . . "Miracles are now scarce . . . "But if thou desires to be a good Jew thou must always remember the message of these wonderful candle-lights," and if such thoughts burn in thy lit- tle heart, thou wilt never forget the Feast of Chan- ukah and always remember the heroic Maccabeans 229 PARROT GODS who nobly fought for their nation against such over- whelming numbers." :{: 9|c :): H< ^c :|c My dear old grandsire has been long dead. He is but a memory. But his wise words are with me still, and they will burn in my heart like the constant Temple light. And only in the recesses of my dark and gloomy grave will my heart, my burning and stormy heart, grow cold, and find a rest, an eternal peaceful rest. 230 HERSCHEL "The Baal-Tzdokohi" A Folk Tale. HIS true name was Herschel, but he was better known in the village by his nickname "Her- schel Galach/' He was a cotton-batting-mak- er, and from this business he eked out a somewhat precarious existence. He was a plain worker, not at all a scholar; but he did know how to pray and how to recite the Psalms of David. However, he was a Baal-tzdokoh ; for he was given over heart and soul to anything which was related to charity. He was a poor laborer, saddled with a large family, who could not himself afiford to give large donations for the poor. Despite this handicap, he wished at least to be a "Sheliach Mitzvah;"^ therefore he used to go around the village and collect offerings from the other inhabitants. Every Thursday — even in inclement weather — he was in the habit of deserting his workshop, and with a kerchief in his hand, he used to make the round of the village, going from house to house and from store to store in order to scrape together a reasonable sum for the poor wid- ows and the unhappy orphans for the Sabbath. His nickname "the Galach" was acquired by him through an incident which occurred while on one of these praiseworthy excursions. On a certain Thursday, Herschel was making his (i) Herschel, "The Benefactor". (2) Herschel, "The Priest" (3) In this case, these two Hebrew words may be translated as meaa- inff "tlie unpaid distributor of the donations of other people." 281 PARROT GODS usual rounds in the village. The day was cold, rainy, and disagreeable. The market-place was empty, not a soul was in sight. The storekeepers were standing in their doorways eagerly awaiting the arrival of a customer. The cotton-batting-maker went about from store to store as usual, but he felt in- stinctively that he was not collecting the ordinary amount. This fact caused him to feel very sorrow- ful; for it meant that a few of the poor and the sick whom he supplied would not receive anything for the Sabbath. It was in such a worried and care-worn mood that he entered a large store in order to secure his usual offering. There were no customers in the store, and the salesmen were lolling around without anything to do. When Herschel entered, they decided to have some fun with him. Whereupon one said to him, "Your kerchief is not so well-filled today, Reb Herschel. It's really a pity." "Not so bad," broke in a second, "I'll wager there's a hundred dollars there already." "Perhaps it's too heavy for you, Reb Herschel," said another mockingly, "I'll help you carry your money." In this manner the salesmen continued to joke with him!, but the cotton-batting-maker merely smiled, for he was already well-accustomed to these mockers. In the meantime the village priest entered the store. On seeing that all were mocking the Jew, he also decided to share in the sport, and he called out: "Herschel, do you want to earn a five-dollar gold- piece for your poor? If so, then listen to me. I shall give you the gold-piece if you will put on my 232 PARROT GODS cassock and go all around the market-place past all the stores You will get the whole five dol- lars if you will do it " The salesmen began to laugh and the priest great- ly enjoyed his display of cleverness. "Do you really mean to give me the five-dollar gold-piece, little Father,?' asked Herschel with a smile, "or are you merely joking?" "Oh surely," answered the priest. "Fm in earnest, and if you don't believe me, FU place the five dollars in the hands of anyone of those present." When the Jew saw that the priest really meant to spend five dollars for the sake of the joke, he accept- ed the challenge without any delay. The priest pulled off his cassock and Herschel donned it. He tightened the broad girdle around his middle, raised the high collar into position, gathered the broad folds of the cassock in priest-like fashion, and strode forth into the market-place. The salesmen in the store almost split their sides with laughter, but the cotton-batting-maker paid no attention to them. The store-keepers, on seeing a priest in his cassock strolling into the market-place, thought that he doubtless wanted to buy something, and thereupon each one began to urge him to enter into his store. But the 'priest' answered them innocently in Jewish, "Don't you recognize me? It's I, Herschel." On recognizing the cotton-batting-maker, the store- keepers were astounded. "What's happened? ..... What's going on here? Has the poor man lost his wits? 233 PARROT GODS Or, God forbid, has he become a Meshu- mod ? )" Pandemonium reigned in the market-place People rushed up to get a look at the strange spriest* and to ridicule him. Little children pulled the *Galach' along by the folds of his cassock and fol- lowed him with loud cries of derision and with shrieks of mocking laughter. But the cotton-batting- maker, with a smile upon his serene features, strolled quietly along until he returned to the store whence he had set forth. There he pulled off the cassock, received the promised gold-piece, and full of joy at his extraordinary luck, he hastened off to his poor and sick. After this incident the cotton-batting-mak- er was nicknamed 'the Galach' and he bore the name all his life. Many, many years have passed since this oc- currence. Herschel Galach has long since died, and the people in the town have almost forgotten that such a person ever existed. When the new railroad was being built through the town, it was discovered that it would be necessary to tear down part of the old cemetery in order to permit the line to go through the town. It was impossible to oppose this decision of the engineers; for it was so ordered by the Tsar's ukase. Therefore, it was necessary to rebury the dead in another place, and the grave-dig- gers immediately set to work to dig out the old graves. At last, they arrived at an old, dilapidated grave. The wooden monument had long since rotted to pieces and had sunk deep into the ground ; the letters (1) An apostate 234 PARROT GODS were so effaced that it was entirely impossible to read the *here lieth/ But when the grave-diggers had finally opened the grave, they were dumbfounded with astonishment and with awe Wonder of wonders ! The dead man was entirely whole, not a hair of his head had been touched; the "Tach- richim^ " were white and brand-new as if the corpse had been buried but yesterday. When the elders of the town came to the grave and looked at the body, they immediately recognized Herschel the cotton-batting-maker. They related the tale of the cotton-batting-make/ and the priest, and It soon became clear to all present that over the body which had worn the Galach's cassock, the worms had no power. (1) Barial Clothes 235 THE SAINT AND THE SINNER THE SAINT AS a child he had never dirtied his hands as other children. His curls were always in order, his cothes unruffled and unsoiled. He was a "good child," as his mother remarked with pride, and his elders always pointed him out as an example . He stands near the pawnshop window and hh lips murmur "Rose!" "Do you wish to buy anything?" inquires one of the pawnshop clerks, coming out to him. "No!" he answers in a muffled tone, and he leaves the window with the feeling of one who leaves a cemetery, where he has buried a dear, a very dear friend. V Would Help the Tsar SOME time ago in New York I received an invita- tion to a meeting of a new Zionist society. When I arrived and heard the "speech" of the "great and beloved orator," and also the name of the society : "Zionistic-territorialistic-socialistic-itoistic Oiganization,'f I began to feel bad and left the meet- ing. When I reached Seward Park, to which I went to get some "fresh" air, I chose a bench upon which were seated two Jews. 300 PARROT GODS "Did you hear, Itze Mayer, what they are talking in New York about Russia ?'f said one of them. "What is it, Chaim Moshe, something new?" re- plied the other. "Sure! And what kind of news? Now we can really see that the Almighty is a God of vengence." "Well, what is it? Tell me." "There is a rumor that Tsar Nicholas has escaped from Petersgrad and that he has already been recog- nized here, on the Bowery, in a saloon. He was dressed in a torn soldier's-uniform, without button? and epaulettes. He looked just like a beggar." "That's impossible! This rumor is of no conse- quence! Why did he escape? Hasn't he enough fortresses in which to hide himself? And, if he did have to run away, couldn't he have taken a lot of money with him?" "You ask strange questions, upon my word! Now, when the Almighty wanted to punish King Solomon, whose rubbish was worth more than Nicholas's palaces, didn't He make Solomon a beg- gar? And what was the case with Nebuchadnezzar? Don't you remember Daniel's story about him ? No need of questioning the ways of the Almighty ! Is the Lord's hand waxed short?" "Perhaps the rumor is true! It serves him right, the 'katzap.' Let him also drag a pushcart as we del Let him also become a steady customer of charitable institutions. Is he any better than the Jews who became impoverished on account of the pogroms? Is he, the defender of the cross, more of a nobleman than the descendants of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob ? I'll bet you not ! He deserves it all I 301 PARROT GODS Gladly will I give him a donation, a whole nickel, as I am a Jew. Here will I say, "Here is a donation for you, Tsar, and think of it, who deserves more credit, you, the instigator of pogroms, or, I, the merciful one?' " "Indeed, a very good deed, Itze Mayer! A very good idea, upon my word! I am the poorest among the poor, and, yet, I would myself give him a few cents. After all, we mustn't forget that he was a Tsar." VI. His Newspaper I met an acquaintance of a chronic, melancholy dis- position, and asked him as to his welfare. "Very well,j" he answered, and his face glowed with joy. "What are you doing?" I asked. "I am publishing a paper for myself, i. e., I am myself the editor, contributor and, also, the mosl 'constant reader.' " "Excuse me, I do not quite understand you. You speak in symbols, like that used by the 'modern' Jewish writers, and I must unwillingly confess, I do not understand such language." "All right, I'll talk plainly to you. You know that I am a writer, and not a writer of any particular de- scription, but one of great versatility." "That means that you are a literary hack, a jack of all trades?" "I write poems, sketches, epigrams, et cetera. Now, if one writes, he wishes to be useful to the world, and, at the same time, to gain some honor for himself. But most of the editors are like murderers. 302 PARROT GODS pirates, and they simply begrudge me my abilities. For instance, I bring a poem to one of the editors. A poem, as every one knows, must have rhymes : Potatoes — tomatoes, fool — cool, moon — spoon, bright — light, and so on. But what does the editor do? He begins to explain that a poem must have, beside rhymes, a measure called meter. Did you ever hear such nonsense? Onions must have a measure, pota- toes must have a measure, but poetry, to my under- standing, needs neither measure nor weight. It is free as a goat in Brownsville. I have suffered much, in- deed, from the editors. As last a very good idea struck me. I found out that for a very small price any one can now buy a Jewish typewriter, which, on a small scale, can do the work of a printing press. So I bought one, and now I publish on my type- writer a daily paper called 'In Spite of the Editors.' I write everything myself, from alpha to omega, and all my customers (you know, I am a customer-ped- dler), receive from me a copy of my paper, and all of them are very much pleased with my 'literary productions.' " "Your idea is a very practical one," I said to my pedler-writer, "and if I were rich, I would buy many, many such machines as your typewriter, and I would present them to a great many of the Jewish 'writers/ with a request that they themselves should become editors, i. e., they should publish on these machines their literary efforts and send them to their friends and admirers as a token of friendship and love.'' 303 PARROT GODS VII. The New Lions /^ NE day while leaving my house I saw what was ^-^ almost a riot. "What happened?" I asked a by-stander. "You know nothing as yet?" several of them asked me at once. "No. I know nothing," I replied. "Our landlord is a murderer! He has not a bit 0f a Jewish soul in him !" exclaimed a woman of thirty- odd years, pressing to her breast a babe that cried and asked for something in its childish language. We pay him so much rent, $16 a month, for three small rooms on the fourth floor. Sixteen hard- earned dollars ! It ought to be enough, don't you think so? But he, the parasite, the scoundrel, is not satisfied yet." "What is the wonder?" shrieked another woman, lean as a stick and without a drop of blood in her pale face. "What is the wonder? In the old coun- try — I mean in Sumyachitz, where he was born-— this fine fellow, he was a horse thief. Every one knew Mot'ke, the thief. No respectable person would have anything to do with him there. But here in Ameri- ca he thinks he is the whole thing. He became president of the society 'J^zmach Purkoney' and vice president of the society 'Kol-bey-nick.' He owns al- ready a few houses and fleeces his tenants without mercy." One of the three things for which, according to the Proverbs, the earth is disquieted is when a servant reigneth," exclaimed one of the neighbors, a Me- lamed from the old country and a presser here. 304 PARROT GODS "But why must we suffer from him? We can tell him: *We don't need you and we don't need your rooms !" "But why did he suddenly raise the rent?" I asked. "Don't you know?" replied a girl of about eight- een, the presser's daughter, in her homemade Eng- lish. "Secuse me, mister, you must be, I suppose, one of the new 'tenements,' who have just moved in. Yes? All right, I will then explain you everything. A week ago the landlord painted the steps of this house and painted at the entrance two lions. Lions, let there be lions! No one of the neighbors asked for them and no one will be benefited by them. But he, the rogue, immediately came to each of the 'tene- ments' and said : 'Now that my house has become fancier on account of the new paint and of the two lions, which are a decoration for the house, I want every family in my house to pay me rent, at least one dolalr a month more. The lions demand it.' " "The dog demands it, not the lions I" screamed a young woman. "We should all move from here; let the lions remain here, they alone, that is all!*' "You are right, perfectly right," several tenants replied. "We'll move. We'll move! Let the dog» our 'honorable' landlord, remain with his lions!" VIII. I A So-Called '^Jewish Mother" An old acquaintance invited me to tea. When I reached his house, he gave me a cordial reception and introduced me to his wife. While we were sipping our tea, she questioned me with the manner of a Russian "Ispravnik" in a Recruiting Office at con- scription time. After I had answered all her ques- 305 PARROT GODS tions she remained silent for some time, then asked i^hat was my occupation. '*I am a Hebrew writer," was my answer. **A Hebrew writer!" she shrieked, and her long nose began to go up into the air. "Why are you so surprised, my dear Nelly?" my friend asked her, in a vexed tone. "You ask me that? Do you forget that we are in America, and not in Palestine? One must be era — . I mean unpractical — to cultivate a Palestine language here — a language which brings no profit, a language which ought to be studied only by rabbis and schochtim, but not by intelligent people." "And yet, our son will study Hebrew! We are Jews, and every Jew is in duty bound to know the language of his people!" my friend cried, excitedly. *'I beg your pardon ! Harry shall not study He- brew! I do not want his little head filled with He- brew prayers, with foolishness. . . I do not want — " "Don't speak so loudly; you know that we have a guest." "Well, what of it? I say freely that Hebrew is nonsense." "I must go," I said, starting from my place. "I must finish a Hebrew article." I left my friend's house sadly, thinking, "She, too, is a Jewish mother!" IX. A So-Called "Writer" You may meet him almost any morning on East Broadway or Canal Street. He is forty-four or forty-five years old ; his scanty beard covers a pim- pled face which looks impudent and stupid. He does 306 PARROT GODS not walk as other people do, but he runs, holding a cane in one hand and his "writings" in the other. Perceiving an author, he runs toward him, takes hold of his sleeve and cries out: "I am glad to meet you. You know what A, the writer, says of you? He mocked at you. He said that your articles and poems are good for nothing; he—" "I have no time to listen to calumny," the writer replies, and hastens away. For a few minutes the calumniator scratches his ear, then seeing B., the writer, passing by he stops him, saying: "The Almighty Himself sent you here ! I tell you, you must guard against the writer C. He insults you, covers you with dirt. He says you are a Jere- boam, a Titus a God-knows what ! I am your sin- cere friend, so I warn you to look out ! By the way, would you like to buy my work? It will not cost you much. You know how I write. I assure you that Mendel Mocher Seforim (Abramovitz) is not so good a writer as I am. My father-in-law and my mother-in-law are delighted with my style. My pupils revere me as a god. Probably, you have seen my biography and picture? I had great difficulty in obtaining them, for they cost a couple of dollars, and my wife is a miserly woman. But I don't care for the expense, I want my enemies to burst with envy, and die of grief!" "Let me alone!" angrily says the detained writer. I do not feel like listening to your slander, anyhow. If you stop me again I will pull your nose, as surely 307 PARROT GODS as I am a Jew ! You ought to be ashamed, you idler, you charlatan!" The so-called "Writer" with the pimply face runs away to Hester Street, buys a herring there, which he wraps in his "writings," and darts to a newspaper editor's office. X. A So-Called "Actor" An actor ordered a play of me. Having written two acts, I took them to him to read them to him. I reached his residence at noon, but he was still asleep in bed. I waited an hour till the "great artist" honored me with a reception. We sat down to read. For about ten minutes he listened with attention to what I read, then suddenly rising from his seat, he began to walk up and down the room rather moodily. "What's the matter?" I asked him. "You ask me what is the matter? Why in your play there are words such as neither I nor the audi- ence could ever understand." "For example?" "The Doctor, your hero, talks of a kind of creature called Tatolologogy/ the devil alone knows what that is ! Why should I break my teeth in pronoun- cing such an abracadabra?" "It is the way in which you pronounce the word that breaks your teeth. If you would simply say "pathology," as I have written — " "I don't want such words !" he screamed, not giv- i me a chance to finish the sentence. I promised to use another word which he would be able to pronounce without difficulty and continued 308 PARROT GODS the reading. I went through the first act without interruption and I was just going to begin the second act — "Don't read any more!" he cried out in his bass voice. "I will not buy your play ; it is no good ; I won't have it !',' "Why?" "You ask me why? It seems that you don't as yet understand the stage or the real art of the stage." "What!" "How can you write a whole act — mark you well, a whole act ! — and not have one of your heroes use either gun powder, or poison, or even a simple knife. No, this is no play 1" "In Heaven's name! What are you talking about? Is it a law in the art code that a play must be filled with all kinds of violent death?" *'I need no code. I am an artist with a name, and I make my own laws. Have you seen what the Eng- lish papers write about me? Let me tell you briefly that not even Shakespeare understood the stage as well as I." "Shakespeare and you? What a fine conjunc- tion!" "What, you don't like it? You are a greenhorn, I will not listen any longer to your play. I will not buy it. When I pay, I like to have the **merchan- dise" according to my taste." "To your taste? That would be something seri- ous." "Never mind! There are enough playwrights who execute my wishes. If I tell them to hang the heroes, they hang them, and if I tell them to poicnn 809 PARROT GODS the heroes, they poison them. I am the boss, as long as I pay the money; you understand?" "Oh, I understand, very well !" I said. I left hurriedly. I had a violent headache. With tearful eyes and throbbing heart I muttered: "Poor Art, poor Art ! how insulted art thou by ignorant so called "Actors!" 310 s SOME CHARACTER SKETCHES The Cause of it All EVERAL months ago, on a Friday evening, our small apartments were filled with a number of guests of various characterists. There were young folks and aged, conserva- tives and radicals, Zionists, and other "ists." The legendary '^additional spirit," and the dishes of Sabbath semed to have influenced us very favorably, for we were all gay, frolicsome and jovial. Of those present a great many sipped tea, making expert tests as to its quality ; others hummed some popular national songs. A number of our visitors were deeply interested in discussions about Territor- ialism, the Bund and the hooligans, while some mere- ly killed time by talking generally. The representa- tives of the fair sex had ''new styles," "jewelry," and the deportment of Mrs. X. and Y, as their topics of debate. One of our callers, an ardent lover of tea, though a Rumanian, not a Russian, was attentively engaged in emptying the contents of his teacup, and at the same time drumming with his fingers on the table and voicing repeatedly the words, "The East, the East," which constitute the ending of a popular Zionist air. All at once the fellow had risen, vacated his seat, and was seem among the radicals. "Here in America," he started, "many of you wise fellows attempt to discredit the Talmud ; you are constantly bringing up question? a? to its validity; 311 PARROT GODS you can not perceive the possibility for instance, of the statement that an axle of a wagon was thr cause of the destruction of the great city of Bether. Well, I shall relate a fact that I personally witnessed a few days ago. You are aware of my occupation. I am *a sacred toor (keli Kodosh), a cantor, shochet, a rabbi, or, as it is summarily alluded to, a reverend. In this capacity I was called upon to act as the legal functionary at the marriage ceremony of my neigh- bor's daughter. On my arrival I found a few people in stove-pipe hats walking up and down, and a trio of 'musical artists' rendering an ancient song, that appeared to have originated and been played at the time when the Polish Kingdom under Sobieski was in blossom. "I then began to search about for the host, when a Tound-bellied, red-bearded individual approached me and said : "Please, Rabbi, get ready, make the bald- achin and let the matter come to an end. I am the bride's father, your neighbor from the top floor." ^'Then let me have the baldachin" I murpiured. ^'We are not provided with a ready-made one; you'll have to prepare one." I at once got a "tales" and asked four tall Jews to act as supporting pillars, and I called in a somewhat elevated tone for the groom, when a bass voice re- plied : 'Here I am, the bride-groom,' and a young man with a pock-marked face made his appearance through the crowd. 'What is your name, Sir?' I asked. 'I'll not tell you' exclaimed the young man in angry mood. 'I dislike 'monkey-business.' My father-in-law, the red fellow, who addressed you a ■few moments ago, has promised me as dowry a 312 PARROT GODS stove and many other articles ; concering the other commodities, I care not, but upon the stove, I must insist, for as time passes on, my father-in-law will argue that since summer is about approaching, there is no need for a stove, and I shan't like to give in to this red one.' A tumult ensued. The human pillars left their position, the tales was taken down and I left the room. What followed I cannot tell. I have not been the functionary of this ceremony. And what led to this derangement? Was not the stove the cause of it all? Oh! America! America! a golden country, indeed. II Tolstoi's Popularity Among my kinsmen in New York, I met one who, in the "lingo" of the "comrades," may be spoken of as "a specific individual." He is of the class that know not that they know not. In this latter quality he exceeds the "well-known radical orator," who makes historical assertions which are as exact as the assurances of Witte, or the statements of "Pravi- tyelstvenny Vyestnik." But it is not these qualities I intend to dwell upon. There are other qualities that stamp my kinsman as **an eccentric personage," who looks to gain notoriety, through "extremes" and curious views. Several days ago I entered an East Broadway cafe, where I had to meet an acquaintance. The place was packed. It required considerable pains- taking to find a seat in the long, narrow place. The atmosphere of the room was redolent of cheap cigar- ettes and the still cheaper phraseology of the radi- cals. 313 PARROT GODS I asked for a cup of coffee, which was served to me. While drinking the coffee, I shut my eyes so as not to notice the "additions," that are apt to occur in the coffee. Of a sudden I was startled by a familiar "hello." My eyelids opened, and before my eyes, the counten- ance of the above-mentioned kinsman appeared. He gulped dov,^n a glass of tea a la Russe and perspired. "How are you, sir?" I directed my inquiry to him. "How is one to be?" he quickly replied in the form of question, as the usual custom is with such as he — "the masters, the capitalists, prosper and enjoy life, while we, their bread-winners, their sole supporters, are driven to starvation." "Have you any news to relate?" I interrupted. "Not exactly, but I should like to hear your opin- ion in a matter concerning Tolstoi's ability," con- tinued my kinsman. "What do you mean?" I asked. "Explain, please, the cause of Tolstoi's popularity. A friend of mine who left a few moments ago en- deavored to impress upon me that Tolstoi became popular through his literary work — through his writings. But I take no bluffs. I emphatically deny this." "Of course his writings made him popular, as he is considered the greatest of the great in the literary ranks of the world in this century," was my reply." My kinsman's anger was now in full sway. "You all talk mere bosh, exaggerated nonsense. In our radical circles we meet much greater and more ad- vanced writers, and yet I — " "You mean taller ones," I interrupted. 314 PARROT GODS "Do not interrupt me like an uncivilized conserva- tive," he exclaimed. "I am quite sure that my asser- tions are accurate and certain." "Well, how, according to your opinion, did Tol- stoi really attain his popularity?" I asked. "The people got to know of Tolstoi's name through his well-worked scheme of advertising by putting his name on a brand of cigarettes," he responded in a very sincere tone. "Place the name of no matter who, of the least known men, upon an article that is extensively and readily sold and his popularity is surely established," he shouted triumphantly. I observed my friend very closely and noticing, by the absence of the slightest trace of a smile on his face, that he was very much in earnest about it. I vacated my seat, paid my bill and rushed into the street, so that I might give vent to my emotions. III. The Greatest Wonder After a perusal of Huxley's "Biological Research- es" lasting for hours, I left my home with a view of getting some out-of-doors exercise. It was twi- light. The sun had lost its luminosity and brilliancy, and was just about to set. On the boundaries of the firmament played a reddish hue, peculiar to the skies after a conflagration. It was the hour of meditation. Tramping from one street into another back and forth, I meditated about returning home. Suddenly my meditations were interrupted by a recollection of an appointment with one of my ac- quaintances for that evening. I immediately pro- ceeded toward my friend's house. On my arrival I met a number of people. A few were engaged at S15 PARROT GODS playing cards, chess, and other games. In a corner of the reception room at a small table several peo- ple were sitting and discussing quietly. Noticing me, they addressed me as follows : "Would you like to act as judge in deciding a problem for us?" "Tell me the nature of the problem and I shall see if I am able to decide the same,'* I replied. "Right you are, sir," nearly all exclaimed, and in- vited me to join their company. I complied with their desire. "We agreed," one of the assembled began, "that every one of us was to tell a marvel, that might be considered as tbe greatest of our age ; whosoever suc- ceeds in presenting the greatest prodigy is to receive a prize. I related an occurrence that is in my opin- ion the most marvelous of our age. I have been in- timately acquainted with a Jewish writer, who had won name, fame and a host of admirers. From this litterateur I never heard a single word of self-praise. On the contrary, he constantly lauded other good writers, and spoke with great enthusiasm of his con- temporaries, new talents in the literary field. Now, own up, is this not most wonderful?" "That is a rare occurrence, indeed, but let,'s hear what the others have to tell," I replied. "I again know some very wonderful facts," the second one started to say, "about a Reform Rabbi, who never ate oysters, who was a member of a Zion- istic society,and who was able to read Hebrew flu- ently. Now, friends, say what you will, I for my part cannot see where a greater wonder ever exist- ed." 316 PARROT GODS "It is really a great miracle, friend," said the third one, "but what I intend to speak of is certainly the greatest of all wonders. Now, listen attentively. I knew of a girl, the daughter of very wealthy par- ents, whose fame is spread all over town. She was as fair as the sun, mild as a dove, and good as an angel. To this girl men of various callings were proposed, such as doctors, lawyers, engineers and wealthy merchants. She shut the door on all these suitors and kept company with a poor Jewish poet, who owned all in all a small collection of published poems. In spite of the threatenings of her father, the scorn of her acquaintances and the disregard of her wealthy companions, she married the poet, and I am sure that she still loves him, and perhaps more than ever." "If all you have related is true, if it is an actual fact, not a mere creation of your imaginative pow- er," I addressed the third speaker, "then the prize ought to be awarded to you, for what you related is positively the greatest wonder of our twentieth cen- tury, a wonder that may be referred to as a raie rarity." After a brief dispute, the contestants all concurred with my view, and my third friend was the lucky recipient of the prize. IV. You Can't Bluff Me My attention was drawn to a Hebrew pamphlet lying on the editor's desk. The brochure was print- ed in short lines and verses and many punctuations adorned the pages, and because of these reasons the author wished to call it poetry. 317 PARROT GODS "Poetry! Let it pass for poetry, then," thought I, for time has taught me patience and endurance, and as I am a child of the race whose badge is suffer- ing, I have long ago accustomed myself to this misery, too. The reading of the **poems" necessi- tated meditation and deep thought over the meanirig of strange jaw-breaking words, which our philologi- cally-endowed poet has discovered, perfected and in- troduced into usage. A great many of these terms were polysyllabic, and of the kind that induce hys- teria at sight. As I read, the door opened in haste and a well-built man entered the office 'What do you wish, sir?" inquired the red-headed office boy. "Should like to get your paper of Sunday, Monday and Tuesday," replied the stranger, and diving into his pocket produced three pennies, which, owing to their lustre, seemed to have just cnt^^*^ from the mint. "Is it last week's paper you want?" asked the youngster politely. "Why?" Why from last week?" shouted the man, "I want this week's papers, and let me have them !" "How, sir? It is not possible. It is Sunday to- day ; hov>^ can you expect to get Monday's and Tues- day's newspapers? Why, they must be printed first." "Don't be so smart," clamored the man. You think I'm a greenhorn ? No, sir ! I come from Poughkeepsie. You can't bluff me! I know your editorial tricks, your journalistic schemes and your office secrets. I'm not a greenhorn, all right." 318 PARROT GODS "What are you talking about?" queried the red- head. "You don't understand. I will explain. I have been informed that you people print all the week's supply of newspapers once weekly, making the com- plete week's papers all at once in a single day. Why then should I await your paper every day in Pough- keepsie, when I am now in New York, and knowing your secret, can easily obtain the few copies of the paper of next Monday and Tuesday? This will cause the greenhorns of my town to wonder. Now hurry, and let me have the copies of the paper, as I have a great many transactions on hand, and I must be in haste, so as not to be late for the train. Do you charge, perhaps two cents for a new copy? All right! Business is business. Here's the extra money." The red-headed boy was howling with mirth by this time, and I laughed heartily with him. The sub- ject of our sketch grew very wrathy, and exclaimed loudly, "Do you also laugh at Jews? You are as had as these Zozelists. He shut the door with a bang and disappeared. V Papa, When Will You Celebrate Your Confirmation? A friend of mine,Americanized to an extent as to no longer recognize his old friends who oft helped him in need, invited me to a comfirmation party, his son having attained the age of thirteen. My friend is quite a wealthy real-estate broker, and owns, besides his own real estate, a daughter who is not young in age, and whose beauty is not such as to make her the prize-winner. 319 PARROT GODS Since it has been my friend's intention to display his wealth, and perhaps, catch on this occasion a cavalier for his maiden, he arranged a "kingly festi- val." The invited guests had partaken of the edibles and drinks with an extraordinary appetite, enjoying the party for two causes — first, owing to the palatability of the courses, and secondly because they well knew how little pleasure their eating and drinking afford- ed the host in his heart and soul. After the completion of the meal, the confirmed rose and rattled off the oration which his teacher had repeatedly gone over with him, and which was as insipid in style, as a great many "realistic" dramas produced on the Jewish stage. He then triumphantly occupied the seat adjoining that of his teacher. But, as it seems, it was not our lot to rest in peace. My friend had now arisen, and began to speak. What he was driving at I could not comprehend very well, and it seemed to me that the speaker was dull of comprehension of his own oration. But the concluding part of his "oration" I well heard, for this was not plainly spoken, but clam- ored. "My son/' he shouted, "you have been con- firmed, and from today you are bound to the duty of the daily using the phylacteries." The entire audience applauded the speaker — though not for his oration, but for his excellent meal, and v/ere instantly around the covered table, in order to continue at the feast. But, unexpectedly arose the confirmed, who appeared to be a very simple young- ster, and directed to his father the following query: "Papa, when will you be confirmed?" 320 PARROT GODS "What do you mean?" asked his father. "You stated/' began the boy, **that one confirmed is obliged to use phylacteries. I should like to know, therefore, when you'll begin to use phylacteries. You know, papa, there is a great bother in the use of phy- lacteries ; you have to know how to wind the '^straps," how to tie around the fingers, and other troubles. But when you begin to use the phylacteries your- self, then you will teach me how to do it." My friend turned his eyes downward; the guests laughed heartily and continued their drinking and toasting "Lehaim." 321 THE "PHILANTHROPIST" THE Almighty sits on his throne surrounded by columns of fire, and white-winged angels com- posing the Celestial Council full of reverence and fear stand near-by awaiting His orders. It is now quite a busy time in Heaven. Newcomers are arriving every minute. The Angel of Death is tired out from steady work. Some of the arrivals have a very short trial and are sent to the places they are consigned to — Hell or Paradise — at once. But when a doubtful case occurs then the only one who can cut the Gor- dian knot is the Heavenly Chief Justice — God. There are now three doubtful cases in the hands of the Celestial Council, and the defendants are two poets and a wealthy man who calls himself a "phil- anthropist." One of the poets is a pale young man with very expressive eyes, full of charm and goodness. He is the author of a small voume of lyric poems which ex- hibit indisputable proofs that he was a born poet. He understood the dumb language of Mother Nature. He was quick-eared to the murmur of the streamlets, to the whisper of the roses and to the prayers of the birds. His soul was in harmony with everything good, noble and inspiring. But he had not been un- derstood and appreciated by his fellowmen, and his whole life (and how short it was I) was a heavy chain of misery, poverty and grief. Now, being in the "World of Truth" he desires to be rewarded for all his sufferings in life. He does 323 PARROT GODS not want much. He will be satisfied if only a little place be given to him in Paradise, where he will be able to continue his poetical activities, where undis- turbed he can dream his old sweet dreams. But the Celestial Council do not want to grant him a place in Paradise; they are of the opinion that the poet had been already rewarded while alive, having found real satisfaction and great pleasure in his writings, and making himself immortal for future generations. After the poet's case, however, had been laid before the Almighty, one of the Heavenly clerks was order- ed to escort the poet to Paradise and to give him a place of honor amongst its inhabitants. "Who is next?" cried out one of the angels. "Another poet," was the answer. "Oh, Lord!" began one of the angels, the Heaven- ly district-attorney. "I have no objection to your first decision, but I shall be greatly disappointed if the same verdict is rendered in this case. This de- fendant has written his poems in the most obscure language; there is no construction, no technique, no rhythm in them ; his poetry bears the signs of prespir- ation, not of inspriation. He was trying to please the lowest tastes of the public; he looked for popularity, for notoriety, for a sensation. There is not an ounce of real poetry in his whole scribbling. He was not a poet by the grace of the muses, but was always writing rhymes at the order of some publishers. And he was always paid for his outpourings ! Why, oh Lord, I pray, should such a man enjoy the Heaven- ly Peace? Why should such a man enter the Gates of the Righteous Ones? Almighty! I object!" And the decision of the Lord was that the quasi- 324 PARROT GODS poet should be given a place in the lobby which separates Paradise and Hell. "The last one," a voice cried out. And a fat man with the face of a satisfied parvenu and with eyes full of arrogance and vulgarity approached God's throne. "I am a benefactor, a philanthropist," he began to say before he was even asked. "What have you done in the way of philanthropy?" asked Sandalphon in a sarcastic tone. "I have done much, very much in this line. I gave eighteen cents a month to a Talmud Torah ; eighteen cents a month to a Jewish hospital ; eighteen cents a month to the home for the aged ; eighteen cents a month to an orthodox congregation, where my father was a member, and $18.00 semi-annually to a reform congregation to which my wife and I belonged. Yes, I am indeed a philanthropist!" "What did you accomplish the last day of your life?" asked the angel. "Passing by a widow with her two babies I gave her five cents, and to each of the babies two cents ; then I met a blind mendicant and I gave him three cents ; then I came across a twelve-year-old boy who was wheeling his lame father in a little wagon, and I gave each one of them two cents, and all this benev- olence I did in one day, mind you. Isn't that great?" "Yon Vs-ere a very rich man," exclaimed God, "you enjoyed life to the full, you had enough of everything, and you are not ashamed to boast that you spent in one day sixteen whole pennies ! Isn't that a shame ! Isn't that a disgrace! Gabriel, take out from my treasury sixteen cents and hand them over to this 325 PARROT GODS 'philanthropist' and at once take him out of my sight. To the Devil with him! Hey, Satan, Lilith, Samoel, take him into your Dark Realm. His place is there!" And the "philanthropist" was taken away in the midst of great laughter. And the Heavens resound- ed with a sweet hymn "Hallelujah." 326 ISRAEL AND IVAN AT six in the morning I awoke. The night had not passed away; light and darkness skir- mished. A melancholy cloud covered the world, which was still adreaming. But in a few minutes the sky became blue and clear, the sun shone and chased the night away. Rays of light stole into my small chamber through a window, like frolickers making zigzags on the walls and lighting the map of Palestine and the portrait of Smolenskin, which hung thereon. I lay in my bed half awake. Closer I wrapped the blanket around me, and sank into a reverie. Fantasy, which knows not place or time, carried me away to an old graveyard, where my childhood days are buried, my sweet dreams, my hopes — and I am surrounded by the neighboring corpses. I am eight years old. I am in "cheder" under the instruction of Reb Baruch. My schoolmates and I are seated around a large oak table. The master is quiet, not a word is uttered. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and his hairy arms, which are as thin as splinters, fill us with fearsome im- pressions. Now and then, he wipes his face with the "Talith Koton," the fringes of which are blackened by con- stant dragging on the floor. Near the brick oven sits the Rabbi's wife feeding their only goat. "Now, my children," the Rabbi exclaims, "take your 'gmorahs' ; we will repeat yesterday's lesson." 327 PARROT GODS Each of us took a "gmorah/' "Well/* said the Rabbi to one of my classmates, "commence!" My mate's eyes, that were as black as black cher- ries, shone; his cheeks deepened in color, and with a special tone he commenced: "Shorr shenogach es haporoh" (an ox that gored a cow). We joined him, and the "cheder" was filled with many different tones. The "cheder" vanished, and another scene appear- ed before me. I am fifteen years old. I have left the "cheder". I have said my last good-bye to the sages of the Tal- mud. A student comes to my home to teach me the subjects that are necessary for those desirous of entering the fourth-year gymnasium. "Madam," says my instructor to my mother, "you may prepare your son for the gymnasium, as he is fully capable of entering.*' "Who knows? We are Jews, everything is forbid- den to us. Every drunkard, every good-for-nothing, if he only wears a cross is fully welcome to all ; but we are Jews in exile and merely tolerated in Russia," she answered. A few weeks passed by. I took the examination. I answered all questions satisfactorily. Soon, soon, I shall be a student ; I shall also wear a uniform, and shall be like Ivan who calls me ironically, "Jew,? and who treats me v/ith a stone occasionally. I will be as good as any of the Ivans, who laugh at me; soon I shall be able to study — with these encouraging thoughts I grew stronger. My mother's prophecy came to pass ; all my plans became soap bubbles. "There is no room for your 328 PARROT GODS son," said the Director to my mother. "I cannot help it!'^ I did not understand the Director's words then. What does he mean; "there is no room.'* There is enough room for one hundred more, and there is not room for only one? But the fact that was strange to me when a child is fully plain to me now; still I ask: Why is there no room for Jewish child ren? I lie in bed and think. My room becomes lightei and lighter. The sun had risen. It is time for me to rise. But how pleasant is sleep, I think. I will sleep a little longer, ten or fifteen minutes and no more. I close my eyes and dream. "I buy old clothes !" was the cry that aroused me. And that voice of my old acquaintance, Israel, the rag man, split my heart in twain. Methinks this voice that rings so tragic is a great protest against our social life. Although first impressions are the strongest, still the voice of Israel, makes as great an impression upon me at all times as the first; and when I hear this agonized voice, my heart breaks in fragments, and it awakens in me thoughts of the miserable con- dition of poor Israel, made a ragman by mankind. I think — my soul is surrounded with darkness and my eyes overflow. **Jew exploiter!" I suddenly hear a loud voice: **Is it not enough that you cheat our brethern in the market? Must you intrude into my hotise?" This voice awakened me. Quickly I arose, dress- ed and walked into the street. The day was clear and warm, the heavens as clear as the tears of a babe; the sun smiling upon the world's countenance. 329 PARROT GODS Near the house where we lived people were convers- ing and a tumultous sound filled the air. The one that raised his voice above all was Ivan Ivanovitch Durniovin, our landlord. He was red-faced and fat- bellied; his nose red and covered with pimples; his hair black and heavy. He spoke loud. His eyes glowed like blazing coals in the dark, and his mouth was filled with foam. The pale, worn-out ragman, Israel, stood near him, shivering. In one hand he clutched old clothes and in the other overshoes. "Why do you scold?" I asked Ivanovitch. "Your Jew has cheated me." "Who? Israel? He is poor, but honest," I replied. "Who is honest? Your Jew?" exclaimed Ivan Ivanovitch angrily. "No, you are mistaken ; he i» neither poor nor honest. He daily idles away his time and cheats our brethern." "What are you saying?" I asked. "Israel buys and sells old clothes daily; he walks from house to house ;in summer he stifles and in winter he freezes, and what does he earn? Only a few pennies, and that not always ; often he comes home and does not bring bread, and he and his family hunger." "Your defense is unnecessary. I know you Jews ; you are parasites, exploiters and thieves." "I understand," I sarcastically answered, "you must be a steady reader of the anti-Semitic papers." "Two weeks ago there came to me that parasite, your Israel, and bought a black pair of pants, which were nearly new, and a coat for which I paid twenty- five rubles ; and can you imagine how much he paid 330 PARROT GODS for them? Only three rubles, not more! Don't you think I justly call him parasite?" "He did not compel you to sell it to him, did he?" **He persuaded me ; he swore upon the health of his wife and children that he could not possibly pay more for them." "Who told you that they are worth more?" "Stepanof told me." "If you wish Mr. Durniovin," spoke up Israel, who had been silent until now, I will fetch the bar- gain back to you, as no one cares to buy them." "What?" exclaimed Durniovin, "did you not sell them? Stepanof informed me that Ignatz Petrovich paid you ten rubles for them." "If you disblieve me," answered Israel, "I will bring them to you." And Israel went off after them. "That thief will not return; he has escaped," was the sneering remark of Durniovin. "He will return," I answered. He will return!" The heavens were blue ; numberless and varishaped and tinted clouds sailed along the horizon. The sun's rays came down in the form of golden threads; the air was fragrant and invigorating; the birds that in- habit the garden near our house were singing, and their melody awakened all the noble, tender feelings of the listener. I was sad. The birds' singing aroused in me rnany a sorrowful thought. Israel earns his money honestly, still he is nicknamed by the drunken Ivan "parasite," "exploiter." "Oh, Heavenly Father! Does he deserve it? Oh, Israel, Israel ! How poor and forsaken thou art !" *Are you still here?" — the voice of Israel dis- 331 « PARROT GODS turbed my train of thought. In his hand he clutch- ed Durniovin's coat and trousers. **I am very tired," he said again. "I walked to rapidly. However, God is just!" "Now, Israel," said Dumiovin, coming from the house in a drunken state, *'did you bring my clothes ?" "Here they are. I will thank you a thousand times if you return me the three rubles." pleaded Israel. "What? I am not a Jew, who buys and sells rags." "Do you know, Mr. Durniovin, I will call Stepanof, it may be he will pay more for your goods." No, No ! I do not want that," screeched Durniovin. "I do not want to have anything to do with you. Get you hence!" "I see," I said to Durniovin, "that you made up the story about Stepanof, as the other false accu- sations are created by the other Ivans like you, against the Jews." "All of you are impudent and parasites," scream- ed Ivan Ivanoyich, angrily : "You eat our bread and drink our blood; for every Passover Feast you slay Christian children and dip your unleavened bread in- to our blood. You are leeches, parasites and rob- bers!" Ivan Ivanovich walked away, cursing every Jew. "Why are you unhappy, my friend?" I inquired of Israel after Ivan left us. "I am unhappy because my wife is sick, the child- ren have no food and I have not earned one penny today ; and then to hear all these Ivans curse our people." "Have hope, my friend," I cheered Israel ; "We had Pharaoh, Haman, Spanish Inquisitors and many 332 PARROT GODS more like these! We are rid of them; we may be sure that from the present Pharaohs and Hamans we shall also be freed and we'll add to our list of holi- days new Purims and Passovers-l*' "I hope so, too/' and this was followed by a fer- vent prayer from Israel's heart as he lifted his eyes to heaven: "But when will the good time come? When?" 383 THOUGHTS Years ago I read in Mythology — that mixture of truth and fancy, of art and absurdity — that Orpheus (Apollo's and Calliope's son) possessed a wonderful seven-stringed lyre, and as soon as he began to play upon it the birds became mute; the woods were en- chanted ; the trees applauded with their green hands ; the river ceased driving its waves ; and the most dan- gerous beasts grew still and quiet as lambs while listening to Orpheus' divine music. O God ! I do not ask you for riches, or fortune, or 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 by my playing gladden the hearts of the poor and needy. I shall play — and the petrified hearts of "two-legged animals" v/ill become softer and better, and the beasts will cease devouring the best and most beautiful, ignoring altogether the meek crowd which 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 Olym- pus, in Greece. How times have changed ! The modern Graces withdraw from the Muses and Olym- pus, from art and poetry. And do you know what they change for? For a bag of gold. * * * Hercules bound the terrible dog "Cerberus'i' and subdued him. O, how many Herculeses we need 3S6 PARROT GODS now to subdue the new-born "Cerberuses" who al- most fill the whole globe! Prometheus stole fire from heaven 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 our Prometheus* heart. Years ago, when I read this legend, I bewailed Prometheus' fate. I am older now. Time has given me many a lesson, and I have no more compassion on Prometheus. I rather say, how happy was the un- happy martyr! He forgets his great pain, remem- bering that he made humanity happy by giving it fire, light, sunshine. A man who suffers for an idea, a noble deed, which brings a profit to the world, certainly looks with immense pride at the gallows, and drinks, as an ordinary beverage, the poison given him by his murderers. * * * Many writers think that they have great talents, because 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 written his **Hamlet" only, and nothing else, his name would live forever. * * * The great pessimist, Schopenhauer, refused to marry, so that his pessimism should have no pos- terity. 336 PARROT GODS 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 humidity which he, the poet carries from the swamp. The angels cleanse him, and the Almighty God kisses him with love and hypnotizes him with His kiss, and the poet becomes part of the Divinity. * * * My enemies did me oftentimes more good than my "good friends." With the former I used to be care- ful. The latter used to be careful with me, and did not show me their "true friendship." * ♦ ♦ The theater is a mirror, therefore we have to guard that "literary'i' flies should not soil it. * * * Many small men, with Httle souls, throw their searchlight 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! * * * A young lady told me that she would never love again, because she had been once deceived. How short is the duration of a young lady's "never!" * * * 337 PARROT GODS The more I see of society, the more I appreciate solitude. * * * Nice phrases without good thoughts are a beauti- ful 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. When the ocean begins roaring, it becomes hotter. A poet's heart is an ocean. * * ♦ Many authors bury their hearts in their books, not leaving for their own use even the smallest part. * * * "Poetry is dear to me above everything," a beauti- ful young lady said to me ; "I 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 indifferent- ly, that she preferred to wait until 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. 338 PARROT GODS Lovers take for a witness a mute — the moon. Oh, if she could but talk, she would give them very many sage discourses about 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 I how black must be your soul that you must wash it with others mud. * Hi :¥ It is good that the god of love is blind. Could he see everything, he would not be capable of bear- ing the pain. * ♦ ♦ It is very bad that love and truth can seldom agree. * ♦ ♦ A true poet is an angel, but even an angel can be misled, 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. Poor Apollo ! How bad you must feel listening to every poet-taster calling you "brother." * * ^ 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. 5(1 * ♦ A literary dwarf, who understands morals as much 339 PARROT GODS 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 other literary dwarfs to whom I did not do good slander me? * * * In my heart there burns a fire of love for the whole of humanity; but the tears of humanity quite often extinguish the fire, and my heart becomes like a derelict wreck. * * * A poet is a human being and must make mistakes. But to a poet much more must be pardoned, be- cause he suffers 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. * * * We are more careful with our money and with our goods than with our children, whom we entrust to every miserable teacher. :ti :¥ ^ 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. SfC 9|( S|C 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 340 PARROT GODS lights which say that they are more useful and brighter than he. * * * What a wonder, what a great wonder! Women persuaded the whole world that they are "poetic creatures," yet you see how seldom they love poetry without money! * * ♦ Death does not frighten me; I know the real value of life. :(K 4( :^ Time blackens with stains some leaves of the noblest man's life. Sun's eclipses are natural things. 5j= * * Men not capable of loving, laugh at love and ap- preciate 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! * * * Many men draw phrases from their mouths as a juggler draws silk ribbons. The man of under- standing, however, sees through the deception. * ♦ * There are men who believe that reviling is criti- cism, just as wild men think the croaking of frogs is music. * * * I know that I shall not live long. The fire burn- 341 PARROT GODS ing 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 argu- ment 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 hats on your heads than we, and does not prove that you are always brighter. 4t ♦ ♦ Dearer to me are truthful blemishes than false virtues. « >|( 4: Sometimes love rests in a woman's heart as long as water in a sieve. * * * When life becomes a burden to me, 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 my soul. It appears to me as a friendly shore after a dangerous voyage on a stormy sea. * * * Earlier or later, all must die; but unhappy is the man who must die before having conceived life. * 4c 4^ Some books are their authors' worst enemies, lay- ing bare before all the latter's foolishness. * * * A true poet is the crown on humanity's head, but 342 PARROT GODS often times humanity's head is so small that the crown cannot stay on. * « ♦ Once, riding on a dark night through a forest I rejoiced 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 al- ready. I thought I found men who would brighten my dark life and bring light to my gloomy heart, and what did I find ? Men no more shining than the rot- ten wood I saw in the forest. ♦ « ifc Many people think they are great because fate has dragged them high up the ladder of fortune. Fools I The chimney-sweepers are only chimney-sweepers, though they oft stand higher than the rest of them — on the very roof. ♦ * 4i Before the arrival of the Messiah, arrogance will increase, 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 "Imperfect Sympathies." Reform Rabbis, please bear in mind these words! * « * "Calumniare audacter semper aliquid haeret," says the Latin proverb. This is a very good thing for slanderers. 343 A^B \ % 1922