Comrades *
B OTH of them were unhappy. They would have enjoyed living, drawing deep breaths of good air; but they could not! They lacked something essential, or rather they were strangely unfitted for life; they themselves were at a loss to understand what it all meant. The world closed its doors against them, disowned them, would not recognize its kin and even seemed to forget that they too had desires and aspirations. It turned away with a derisive laugh and closed every avenue of activity against them, these two beings huddled together in despair, throroughly unhappy.
They lived somewhere in a gloomy damp basement where they cursed the world and all living creatures. But they did not curse aloud. It was impossible to give delequate utterance to their feelings. It seemed as if a heavy stone lay ever upon their tongues. But they understood one another better in sillence than in vocal expression.
One dark night they were seated at a small broken table upon which a grimy lamp flickered faintly. Black shadows lurked in every corner. They were unutterably miserable. They exchanged signals that passed for conversation.
One seemed to say, "Life has become disgust-
* From the forthcoming "The Stuff Dreams are Made of Phases of Jewish Life," being original stories and sketches translations and adaptations, by Louis Lipsky. All rights reserved. Copyrighted.
ing!" The other understood and seemed to reply. "Immeasurably disgusting!"
One signaled again, "A fearful idea is running through my mind and will not leave me; it has been with me for weeks. Weak I know I am; power to live I know I lack; perhaps I may be strong enough — to die?"
He of the pale face replied, "The same thought has come to me; but should we not endure it a while longer — who knows. . . ."
“Oh of what avail? . . . . Can't you see through the tiny window how dark the night is! Can't you hear how dolefully and doubtfully the wind blows? . . . .”
"And the day will not break?"
"Oh, it's to hard to wait. . . . I am so famished and weary!"
An hour thereafter one arose and turned to his comrade. A wild expression shone in his eyes. The glance spoke two words, "I go!"
It was answered with "Already?"
“We shall meet again, there, very soon. . .”
All night long the river foamed and stormed. Its peace of mind was disturbed; it was rebellious; the comrades troubled its rest.
Two shadows were floating over the town that dark night, engaged in conversation.
One said, "Seest thou — it is not yet day break; all is dark; and thou wouldst have waited! We have done well!"
His companion echoed, "Well!"
And wildly the night re-echoed, "Well!"
The great world trembled in its sleep.
[From the Yiddish.]
LOUIS LIPSKY.
Book Reviews
The Book of Psalms, by C. G. Montefiore. New York, The Macmillan Co., 1901.
This small volume consists of a reprint of the “Book of Psalms” from the “Bible for Home Reading” by Claude G. Montefiore. Mr. Montefiore’s Bible was written with the same end in view as prompted Moses Mendelsohn, to prepare his classic translation of the Hebrew Pentateuch into German,—“not for gain or fame, but for the sake of God-given children.” Originally written as an aid to the religious training of the son to whom the work is dedicated, the “Bible for
Home Reading ” by a latter-day lay teacher has come to be treasured, and rightly so, in many English-speaking homes in Israel. The tribute to Mendelsohn's work may well be echoed here: “Sie gefaellt den Unwissenden, ergoetzt den Gelehrten, der Kenner bewundert Sie.” Mr. Montefiore's treatment of the Book of Psalms will prove attractive alike to the careful scholar and the casual reader, and it may safely be said that the writer has realized his high aim, “to combine criticism with reverence, truthfulness with affection.” The tone of the work is the most eloquent and effective rebuttal of the oft-spoken