S. Agnon - Shira

The old woman was still there, singing Sarah’s praises. In addition to being clever, she was the most perfect child in the world. Beauty and wit have been linked together since the world was created, though beauty sometimes supersedes wit and wit sometimes supersedes beauty. In the case of that sweet baby, however, these two qualities were evenly matched, and this was the source of her rare and incomparable charm.

In deference to Bachlam, Herbst wanted to interrupt the old woman, but he couldn’t figure out how. All of a sudden, without forethought, without having any idea what his lips were about to utter, he whispered, “I’ll reveal something to you, something you will find very interesting. Mrs. Herbst will be coming to you, because she is soon going to have another baby.” The old woman clapped her small but vigorous hands. Her face was illuminated with joy, from her forehead to the roots of her hair, to the white kerchief on her head. As if to support an argument, she said, “I can tell you this, sir, doctor, you ought to be very happy. I have no doubt — in fact, it is clear to me — that the boy who is going to be born will be even more handsome and clever than his sister, since the world becomes more and more splendid, and each successive child outdoes its predecessors. This is what I tell all the mothers, most of whom are not pleased to be pregnant and bear children. ‘What are you after?’ I say to them. ‘Do you want to be like the dolls in a toy shop, dressed up in fine clothes, entertaining but producing nothing?’ My dear sir, you understand what I mean when I say ‘producing nothing.’ I mean that the dolls they sell in stores don’t even produce dolls like themselves. ‘Or,’ I say to them, ‘you might want to compare yourself to…’ Excuse me, professor. What would you like, sir, professor? If you would like lunch, I will bring lunch right away. But, before lunch, I would like to arrange the pillow. Only this pillow, the one on top. Excuse me, please, sir, professor, for daring to trouble you to raise your head just a bit. Head high! That’s a basic principle in life. Isn’t that so, professor? You are wise, you have written many wise books, and I don’t doubt — in fact, it is clear to me — that you have discovered this for yourself. Head high. Never let it droop. I commend Professor Bachlam. He obeys the doctors in every respect. I never saw such a wise patient, one who knows and understands that good health is based on hearing and following what the doctors say, for their sole aim is to cure the patient. I usually tell patients this, and it’s true: ‘If you listen to the doctor, then you don’t need a doctor.’ What I mean to say is that those who listen to the doctor and follow all his instructions will have no further need of a doctor. They’ll already be cured. Goodbye, goodbye, sir, Dr. Herbst. Goodbye to you, doctor. And please be so kind as to convey my good wishes to the sweet baby. And say to her, ‘My little sweetheart, try and guess who asked after you. The old nurse who had the privilege of showing you to your father right after you were born — she’s the one who asked after you.’ And if I may add a further request to that request, I would request that you convey my good wishes to that dear lady Mrs. Herbst. Tell her that a bed awaits her, a good bed with a rubber mattress, that lying on it is like — what shall I say? — it’s like…like floating on an ocean wave on a bright summer day. I’m already looking forward to having Mrs. Herbst with us anytime soon. Such a talent for childbirth! I never saw anything like it. If she would listen to me, I’d tell her that she ought to give birth every year. No, not once a year, but twice. The babies she produces have no equals anywhere in the world. If I weren’t so busy, with patients depending on me, I would take the time to draw them, so they could be in the Bezalel Museum. I once said to a famous woman painter, known throughout the world, ‘Why struggle to find subjects for your paintings? Wouldn’t you be better off having children of your own, so you would have live models?’ It seems to me that the professor wished to say something. I think the professor has something to say. Forgive me, sir, professor, for not hearing. Actually, I did hear, for I am totally intent on hearing what you have to say. But sometimes I am like a fish, immersed in the sea, who sticks out his head to catch a drop of rainwater as it falls from the sky, because it is only natural to be drawn to what comes from far away. I wouldn’t presume to interpret this to you, my dear professor, since no one is as wise as you, and you yourself know whatever anyone might say or want to say. Now, my dear professor, I will go and bring your lunch, and, in the meanwhile, I will say goodbye to dear Dr. Herbst. Goodbye, dear doctor. Say hello to Mrs. Herbst, and a special hello to the little princess. So, goodbye, dear Dr. Herbst, and once again goodbye. Now I’ll go and bring the dear professor his lunch. I’ll let you in on a secret: it’s not merely lunch but a symphony of treats.”

Herbst paid one more visit to Professor Bachlam. Professor Bachlam was feeling better, and he was about to leave the hospital. The room was filled with books, manuscripts, bundles of proofs to be read, and several kinds of flowers, because, of all the professors in Jerusalem, no one was as popular with students as Bachlam. Several of his female students had denied themselves food to buy flowers for their favorite professor.

Bachlam had no other visitors that day. His friends had received word that he was better and would soon be out of the hospital. Since there weren’t many visitors, Bachlam was glad to see Herbst, but he complained that all his limbs were defective and declared that there was no one in the entire world as sick as he, that all the known maladies had converged in him. Nonetheless, he wasn’t lying in bed idle; he wasn’t pampering himself. Sick as he was, he had managed to write more than a dozen pages, apart from reading the proofs of his latest book, which was about to go to press; preparing another manuscript for the printer; and reading dissertations by several of his students, including a comprehensive five-hundred-page work — yes, five hundred pages — on Nahum Sokolow. Not that Sokolow deserved it. But the student’s work on Sokolow was first rate. Then, for Herbst’s benefit, Bachlam listed the names of all the prominent individuals who had come to visit him, not to mention the ordinary people, for all who dwell in Zion were concerned about him. Bachlam showed Herbst the flowers he had received, referring to each by name. One of Bachlam’s many accomplishments was the naming of countless varieties of local flowers. He had found names for some of them in the Mishnah, forgotten names that he discovered and revived. Other flowers had never had a Hebrew name, and, if not for the names he assigned them, they would still be nameless. Then Bachlam began to talk about his illnesses again, how all the maladies of the world converged in his body, so one might say there was no one in the world as sick as he was. But he has overcome all these ills and recovered. When he looks at himself, he can’t help wondering: How could such a feeble body overcome so much sickness? It must be that his great spiritual power prevails over physical weakness. He must overcome it, because there is so much for him to do. If he doesn’t do it all, who will? Professor Weltfremdt, perhaps? Or Professor Lemner? Professor Kleiner? Or maybe Professor Wechsler? They are interested only in themselves, and they don’t respond to the people’s needs. If their advice had been heeded, there would be no Hebrew University. When Professor Wechsler was invited to teach for the English, wasn’t he willing to accept their offer? Is Lemner any different? Not to mention Weltfremdt. As far as Weltfremdt is concerned, the university could just as well be German. Such traitors. They would sell Israel’s birthright for a mess of pottage. If not for Bachlam, who stands in the breach, this would still be Palestine, not the Land of Israel, which is why those Germans hate him. But the people are not ungrateful. The people, with their healthy instinct, are aware, sensitive, and grateful. All these flowers, brought by those dear young women, provide ample evidence. No other nation can boast of souls as precious as these. Who gave them life and nurtured them? When he considers these students of his, he knows it’s worthwhile for him to struggle, to struggle and work.