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Updated: June 29, 2025
"I shall do very well here this has given me strength. I shall be up in a day or two." "No, no, Zussmann," said the Beadle hurriedly. "There is no need to leave your wife. I have arranged it all.
"Even so shall humanity live," thought Zussmann, "peaceful as a babe, cradled in music. God hath sent me a sign." He returned home, comforted, and told Hulda of the sign. "Was it an Italian child?" she asked. "An English child," he answered. "Fair-eyed and fair-haired." "Then it is a sign that through the English tongue shall the Idea move the world.
It had been abandoned as hopeless even by the thin-nosed gentlewomen who had begun by painting a Hebrew designation over their bureau of beneficence. But the fact that the Ghetto was perspicacious did not mitigate the author's treachery to his race and faith. Zussmann was given violently to understand that his presence in the little synagogue would lead to disturbances in the service.
Zussmann received it with delight from the boy who bore it. "God bless them!" he said. "A chicken grapes wine. Look, Hulda!" Hulda raised herself in bed; her eyes sparkled, a flush of color returned to the wan cheeks. "Where do these come from?" she asked. Zussmann hesitated. Then he told her they were the harbingers of a visit from the good sisters. The flush in her cheek deepened to scarlet.
By way of house-warming, Hulda had ordered in baked potatoes and liver from the cook-shop, and there were also three tepid slices of plum-pudding. "Plum-pudding!" cried Zussmann in delight, as his nostrils scented the dainty. "What a good omen for the Idea!" "How an omen?" inquired the Red Beadle. "Is not plum-pudding associated with Christmas, with peace on earth?" Hulda's eyes flashed.
The Red Beadle, who had never read a line of the Midrash, did not deny that he had forgotten the explanation, but persisted: "And even if we didn't kill Christ, what good will it do to tell the Jews so? It will only make them angry." "Why so?" said Zussmann, puzzled. "They will be annoyed to have been punished for nothing."
In this dark hour he was approached by the thin-nosed gentlewomen, who had got wind of his book and who scented souls. Zussmann wavered. Why, indeed, should he refuse their assistance? He knew their self-sacrificing days, their genuine joy in salvation.
The Hebrew original he had forgotten on the restaurant table, but he knew in some troubled nightmare way that Zussmann and Hulda must see that paper at once, that he had been charged to deliver it safely, and must die sooner than disobey. The fog had lifted, but the heaps of snow were a terrible hindrance to his erratic progression.
Shall we allow it to continue for ever?" "It will continue till they both understand that Nature makes herself," said the Red Beadle. "It will continue till they both understand my husband's book," corrected Hulda. "Not while Jews live among Christians. Even here they say we take the bread out of the mouths of the Christian shoemakers. If we had our own country now " "Hush!" said Zussmann.
The room in which Zussmann thought and worked was one of two that he rented from the Christian corn-factor who owned the tall house a stout Cockney who spent his life book-keeping in a little office on wheels, but whom the specimens of oats and dog-biscuits in his window invested with an air of roseate rurality.
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