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Updated: June 29, 2025
I could not risk the Christians laughing at my bad German that would hurt my Idea. And English is a language like the Vale of Siddim full of pits." "We ought to have it translated," said Hulda. "Not only for the Christians, but for the rich Jews, who are more liberal-minded than those who live in our quarter." "But we cannot afford to pay for the translating now," said Zussmann.
He did not see that the journalist was getting gratuitous "copy," he saw only the bliss of Hulda and Zussmann, and in some strange exaltation, compact of whisky and affection, he shared in their vision of the miraculous spread of the Idea, once it had got into the dominant language of the world.
The cold of the weather seemed to strike right to his heart. He took the sufferer's limp chill hand. "How goes it?" he said cheerily. "A trifle weak. But I shall be better soon." He turned away. Zussmann whispered to him that the doctor who had been called in that morning had found the crisis so threatening that he was come again in the evening.
The wife touched the manuscript with reverent pride. "It all stands here," she said. "What! Quotations from the New Testament?" "From our Jewish Apostles!" said Zussmann. "Naturally! On every page!" "Then God help you!" said the Red Beadle. The Brotherhood of the Peoples was published.
"But she must not die I bring great news The Flag of Judah has read your book it will translate it into English it will print it in its own paper and then it will make a book of it for you. See, here is the beginning!" "Into English!" breathed Zussmann, taking the little journalist's scrawl. His whole face grew crimson, his eye shone as with madness. "Hulda! Hulda!" he cried, "the Idea works!
"Indeed he has!" said Hulda. "We couldn't dream of taking a farthing!" But her eyes were wet. "I insist!" said the Red Beadle. She thanked him sweetly, but held firm. "I will advance the money on loan till Zussmann gets work." Zussmann wavered, his eyes beseeching her, but she was inflexible. The Red Beadle lost his temper. "And this is what you call the brotherhood of humanity!"
'Twas vain for Zussmann to kick his heels among the dismal crowd in the corridor, the whisper of his misdeeds had been before him, borne by some competitor in the fierce struggle for assistance. What! help a hypocrite to sit on the twin stools of Christendom and Judaism, fed by the bounty of both!
Suddenly he became aware that Zussmann was beside him, looking up at the stars. "Well, what are you gaping at? Why the devil don't you say something?" And all the impatience of the rapt artist at being interrupted by anything but praise was in the outburst. "Holy Moses!" I gasped. "Give a man a chance to get his breath.
And, charming as they were, honesty demanded one should not curry favor with them by fostering their delusions. "What put such an idea into your head, Zussmann!" he cried unsympathetically. Zussmann answered naïvely, as if to a question "I have had the idea from a boy.
The Gabbai does not want you to come there or to speak to him, because, though the Idea works in him, the other 'hands' are not yet so large-minded: I am to bring you the orders, and I shall come here to fetch them." The set of tools to which Zussmann clung in desperate hope made the plan both feasible and pleasant.
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