Chapter XI: A Tough Morsel

On the shore of the waters, from Jaffa to Tarshish, one may hear a grumbling and growling;--on the shore of the waters, from Jaffa to Tarshish, the night descended in darkness.

And deep out of the water one may hear a growling,--it seems, the voice of a whale. "My lords! To-day the devil has taken me, I am going to die to-day, I feel it, I am sure!

"My end has come! My belly, O my belly will burst;--I have swallowed this day a prophet! No massaging, no rubbing, no scratching will help me;--ere long my belly will certainly burst!

"A prophet is entirely too tough a morsel, and no one can digest him; his piety is too fat,--may no honest stomach ever know the like.

"A Nowi, derzu noch gār ēiner, a klēiner!
(Punkt zwölf auf a Tutz gār in Ganzen)
Gār hart is' sein Nefesch, gār hart seine Bēiner--
Er löchert mir 's Harz mit sein Tanzen!

"Un' Stēiner, un' Bēiner, un' kolerlēi Sachen,
See hāt schōn mein Māgen zurieben;
Un' nor mit Newiim känn gār ich nit machen--
A Make, wās stēht nit geschrieben!

"A Nowi is' gār nit varhanden a wēicher--
Nit känn män ihm essen, nit nāgen:
Es wollt' sein a Mizwe, nit lāsen kēin Seecher
Vun Frumme, wās grablen beim Māgen!

"A Frummer is' gār nit varhanden kēin wēicher--
Mir kennen die dāsige Helden!
Es wollt' sein a Mizwe, nit lāsen a Seecher
Vun see--mit Respekt dās zu melden!

"Rabōssai! Ich spür' jetzt, er grabelt in Bauch mir--
Gewalt! 's is' die Tewa vun Frumme
Rak grablen in Jenems Gedärem--nu, äuch mir
A Nowi,--nor, ach, vun die Krumme!

"Rabōssai! Mir dacht sich, er murmelt jetzt eppes
Un' krümmt sich, un' bēugt sich gār plutzim--
Du darschenst umsüst gār, du darschenst in Steppes
Un' wartst gār umsüst auf Tiruzim!

"Rabōssai! Ich spür' jetzt sein Grablen, sein Zapplen,
Es dacht sich, er dawent a Bissel!
Un' halt' ich's noch länger jetzt aus, mus ich mapplen--
Gewald! Gi't mir Brechwein a Schüssel!

"A prophet, and one of the smaller kind at that!--Just twelve of them to the dozen. Too tough is his body, too tough are his bones, he pierces my heart with his dancing!

"And stones, and bones, and all other kinds of things my stomach has digested; but I am powerless with prophets,--they are a plague not mentioned in the Scriptures.

"There does not exist a tender prophet,--you can never eat them or gnaw them. It would be meritorious not to leave a trace of pious men who rummage in your stomachs!

"There does not exist a pious man who is tender,--we know that class of heroes! It would be meritorious not to leave a trace of them--with all due respect permit me to say that!

"My lords! I feel he is now rummaging in my stomach, oh, help me! It has ever been the business of pious people to rummage in other people's entrails,--that's the kind of a prophet he is, only, alas, he is crooked!

"My lords! meseems, he is now mumbling something, and he is writhing and bending up all of a sudden,--you preach in vain, you preach in the wilderness, and you are waiting in vain for an answer!

"My lords! I now feel his crawling, his sprawling, it seems, he is praying now a bit! And if I am to endure it much longer, I shall have to abort. Help! Give me a dish full of emetic!

"Ich känn nit derhalten sein Dawnen, sein Singen,--
Dās Tanzen arum, wie die Rinder,
Die falsche, verwilderte Tnues, dās Springen....
Gewald! Gi't mir Brechwein geschwinder!

"Gewald! Gi't mir Brechwein, gi't Zeitungsmaimorim,
Gi't Nechbi-ben-Wofsi's Artiklen;
Gi't gich Feuilletonen, gi't jüdische Sforim--
Un' thut mir dās All's zunaufwicklen,

"Un' macht mir a Mittel zum Brechen, zum Brechen!
Gi't Sforim vun spätere Dōres!
Gi't Schomer's Romanen, see senen, ich rechen'
Zum Brechen vorzügliche S-chōres--

"Gi't Sforim vun neunzehnten klugen Jāhrhundert,
Gi't kluge 'Kritiken'--vun wemen
Ihr willt sich allein nor; gi't gicher--mich wundert,
Wie brech' ich schōn nit bei die Nämen!"--

Beim Breg vun dem Wasser, vun Jāffō bis Tarschisch,
Dort hört sich a Žummen un' Brummen--
A Mittel zu Brechen, vun Jāffō bis Tarschisch,
Hāt dorten a Fisch eingenummen.

Un' still is' un' ruhig; es kraüselt die Nacht sich
Un' flecht ihre tunkele Locken;
In Himmel die Steren,--see flammen, es dacht sich,
Wie gelbliche, goldene Pocken.

Un' still is' un' ruhig, es flecht gār die Nacht sich
Un' kraüselt die finstere Locken;
Es wandelt gār still die Natur, un' es dacht sich,
Sie gēht wie auf seidene Socken.

"I cannot stand his praying, his chanting,--his dancing, like a calf, his false, barbaric doings,--his leaping.... Help! Give me quickly some emetic!

"Help! Give me some emetic, give me newspaper discussions, give me Nechbi-ben-Wofsi's articles. Give me feuilletons, give me Jewish books,--and put them all in a bundle,

"And make me a medicine to vomit, to vomit! Give me books of later generations! Give me the novels of Schaikewitsch,--I think they are excellent stuff for vomiting.

"Give me books of the wise nineteenth century; give me criticisms, whosesoever you wish yourself; only give them quickly,--I am surprised I am not vomiting at mentioning these names!"

On the shore of the waters, from Jaffa to Tarshish, one may hear a grumbling and growling;--an emetic, from Jaffa to Tarshish, a fish has swallowed there.

And all is still and quiet; night is curling and braiding her sable locks; the stars in the sky,--they flame, it seems, like yellow, golden pustules.

And all is still and quiet, and night is braiding and curling her dusky locks; nature wanders in silence, and it seems she walks on silken stockings.

Un' plutzling derhört sich a Kol in der Finster,
Gār fürchterlich hāt er geschriegen;
Es hāt dort a Wallfisch, vun alle der dünster,
A groben Frummak ausgespiegen.

Un' nāch dem Ausspeien, un' g'rād zu Oleenu,
Dā thut er noch philosophiren;
Er sāgt: "Zu Newiim, überhaupt zu die klēine,
Dā tor män sich gār nit zurühren!"
D. FRISCHMANN.