Rudolf J. Wiemann
The Jobsiade Illustrated
First Chapter
Since everything is at hand and fills the bill -
Paper, tobacco, ink, and quill -
We now, therefore, declare the time to be ripe -
After having first stuffed and lit our pipe -
To diligently trace and fittingly probe
The life of one Jerome Job,
Gauging his measure, his misery, his mirth,
And whatever he got himself into while here on earth. -
This man here is Senator Job, and presently he
Is Jerome’s ever-loving father-to-be.
But the senator’s wife is proud to lay claim
To Poplarplar as her maiden name,
With whom, however, her faithful mate
Only had female children to date.
This rendered her hope and desire strong
To gain a boy before very long.
So one night as Mrs. Job at around eleven
Lay asleep in her bed - quite softly, thank heaven! -
It seemed to her as if it would seem
As if with labor and trouble extreme
She had - instead of an infant child - born
A great, almighty musical horn.
Three weeks after her vision in the night,
A tiny new Job came into the light.
How happy this made and how very glad
Job Sr., Senator and dear old dad!
Soon came around, gaily chattering, dozens
Of neighborly matrons and aunties and cousins
Who all proclaimed with smiles most disarming
That he was the most handsome lad and utterly charming.
But when Mrs. Job held forth apropos
Her vision of three weeks ago,
They all as one threw their hands up high,
“Most merciful one! O my! O my!
What do you make of it, dear? What do you make of it, pray?
Something like that must mean something, I’d say!”
Mrs. Waggerly spoke quite knowingly,
“I am as sure as I can be!
Believe you me, Mrs. Prattelstein,
A dream is Mother Nature’s sign!”
Second Chapter
The family council to the decision came
That Jerome should be the infant’s name.
He really wasn’t much of a crier,
Especially when given a pacifier.
But that always attracted those pesky flies
Which winged in and claimed their share of the prize,
And they bothered and disconcerted him so,
That he had to let his pacifier go.
His protestations were loud and ad-lib
And summoned his parents to the crib,
And they always would at a time like this
Give their dear little Jerome many a loving kiss.
When young Jerome was seven years old,
A school boy now, with high hopes enrolled,
He unfortunately showed an absence of yearning
For attentive listening and buckle-down learning.
Instead, he cultivated an abiding committal
For catching flies using his fingers and spittle,
And he kept this up even when given to know,
“Jerome, please, refrain from doing so!”
He also played other pranks galore
Which the schoolmaster did seriously deplore.
For instance, he cropped his pigtail one time
And used it the schoolmaster’s pipe to prime.
The worthy schoolmaster soon reappears,
Picks up the pipe which he reveres
And, since it is filled and fit to be lit,
Gratefully holds a match to it.
But a few puffs later he already can tell
That the smoke does please him none too well.
“Ptui!” he spits. “The taste compares,
There is nary a doubt, to burnt human hairs!
Aha! Jerome, you wicked sort!
It looks like your pigtail is coming up short!!”
The schoolmaster, anger replacing his good cheer,
Pulls toward the front and strikes toward the rear.
The schoolmaster’s long stem pipe is shattered,
Jerome is ink besmirched and spattered.
›From all this the schoolmaster does deduce
That Jerome will never be of any use.
Third Chapter
“That boy,” more than once said schoolmaster Bax,
“That boy is just plain lazy and lax!”
However, the parents were of a mind
That their Jerome was nothing of the kind.
Mrs. Job, who still gave her dream consideration,
Consulted an old woman of the gypsy nation
Who said, “This great big horn for tooting
For certain may well be constituting
A sign that this young master’s name
Will some day resonate in fame.
He will admonish, he will lead -
One man will speak and many will heed.
The sleepers he will rouse with might -
To the sick a comfort, to the wicked a fright.”
So thereupon it was firmly decided -
Although the schoolmaster thought it misguided -
That Jerome should study toward an academic career,
Start the university at Easter that year
And there excel in all things scholastic
Until he had become an ecclesiastic.
With his purse full of ducats and feeling well-heeled,
He really set out as Easter bells pealed
And rode with the old hired hand - clippety-clop! -
On horseback to the nearest stagecoach stop.
There in the waiting room sat a mannerly gent
Dressed in the finest habiliment
And sporting a powdered wig on his head.
He gave him a kindly once-over and said -
After an encouraging ‘how-do-you-do!’ -
That there’d be time for a friendly game or two.
Everything went quite well at the start,
And Jerome was happy and took heart,
But when the postal horn’s merry tune
Sounded outside, he began to swoon.
In sorrow he left his money in the care
Of the gent with the wig and distinguished air.
So now he sits in the corner of his coach,
Thinks of his lost ducats in self-reproach
And is steeped in melancholy to the brim.
A pretty young miss sits across from him.
This picture of a lovely demoiselle
Soon lifts the youth’s despondent spell.
Comforting words full of tenderness
Are followed by love and sweet caress,
And even the coachman seems to feel
That such encounters do have their appeal.
Alas, one barely has found a friend
When the time together must come to an end.
The coachman toots, ‘Tuttee! Tuttee!’
And gone is his sweet Emily.
A little while later, as Jerome travels on,
He thinks to himself, “Where have the hours gone?”
He searches high and he searches low,
But his much valued timepiece just won’t show.
Oh, boy! Already he is getting smart:
Beware in matters of the heart!
Fourth Chapter
The duty a muse’s son holds most dear
Is a serious pursuit of the subject beer.
This came quite easy to Jerome,
Having broached it often when he still lived at home.
In the Golden Angel on a bench of wood
He drank and sang as often as he could.
But when that dumb closing time came around,
And everyone was homeward bound,
He balked, for once seated he reacted with peeve
To the innkeeper´s suggestion that he now leave.
The spouts from the roof line, useful and fine,
He bends and twists them beyond their design,
Whereat the house’s lady is led
To empty the vessel of scorn over his head.
If there is a demand for satisfaction,
Jerome is often part of the action,
And in due time he receives a nice quarte
Across the cheek which surely does smart.
He often engaged Schmidt’s Caroline,
Even when the moon refused to shine,
To share a satisfying talk
While strolling along the old ramparts walk.
For our Jerome a time like this
Always held a particular bliss. -
Meanwhile, it must be said, he was also rather
Good about remembering his mother and father.
“Dear Parents,” he wrote often, “I want you to know
That my money supply is very low.
Please, have the great kindness and help my account
With a small but very welcome amount.
About twenty ducats I would like you to send,
For I am nearly at my wit’s end,
As things are so tight here in every direction.
I’d sure welcome those ducats with the greatest affection.
You will hardly believe how much one must spend
The university to attend,
For all those books and tuition and things.
Oh, if only the twenty ducats had wings!
With this I’ll conclude my communication.
My sisters I bid fond salutation,
And thinking always of his dear folks back home,
I remain your obedient son
Jerome.
I hurriedly add this postscript for you:
Beloved Parents, I say this in view
Of my serious plight when I offer this plea:
Please, do send the money soon to me.”
In a somber response to his son’s request,
Dad Job got the following off his chest:
“My Son, close to my heart and most dear!
Your letter has already gotten here.
The months still number less than three
Since you got a hundred and fifty talers from me.
I hardly know anymore what to do
To raise additional funds for you.
I am glad to hear that you show the good sense
To behave and to study with diligence
But now find myself exceedingly distressed
To get still another twenty ducat request.
So I should very much like to see
That you quit the university,
For I no longer know - I do truly declare! -
Where to get the money to keep yo there.
Otherwise I remain con amore
Dad
Hans Job, Senator pro tempore
P.S. Your letters are welcome as before,
But don’t bother me about money any more.”
Jerome then knew that it would be best
To follow his parents’ desire and behest.
So he said his good-byes and sans great delay
Did what was needed to be on his way.
Fifth Chapter
Just as Mrs. Job could be heard
Scolding a little over what had occurred,
Namely, that in the same week once more
A coffee pot lay broken on the floor;
Just as dad sat in his easy chair
Reading the paper after a fine dinner fare
There arose outside a loud cracking noise.
The father dropped his paper and poise,
And everyone came running to see
What kind of dunderhead that might be.
At first they kept thinking, “Just who is that?”
On account of his belly and face being so fat.
But then all grew excited and rejoiced.
The only critical comment they voiced
Concerned his stubbly beard and his clothes
As unbecoming an ecclesiastical pose.
Jerome did give this consideration
And shaved and dressed as behooved his station.
With clever forethought he had managed to pack
A ready-made sermon before heading back
Which in the muse’s city was obligingly penned
Expressly for him by a scholarly friend.
On the following Sunday, according to the slate,
Jerome stepped up to the pulpit as a candidate.
His clearly and pleasantly spoken word
Laid out what came first, second, and third.
“Firstly, beloved, is it not plain?
Oh, for virtue one searches in vain!
Secondly, sinful dissipation
Is gladly pursued throughout the nation.
‘Why must this be so?’ I hear people cry.
Oh, my beloved, I am telling you why!
It shows, thirdly, how wicked the times have got -
One listens to the clergy not.
To those who do so counsel - woe!
They must all fry in hell below!!
‘Crush them!’ I say. ‘Crush them!’ I say.
The times, they won’t change any other way!
But my dear friends, be forbearing in patience.
Meekness is the mark of good congregations.”
After Jerome, the candidate, had
Spoken thus, he stepped down and was glad.
But the citizens were amazed and deeply stirred,
And widespread murmuring could be heard,
“This Jerome, this Senator Job’s young gent,
Turns out to be quite a wonderment!”
Sixth Chapter
Yet there was something still amiss
In the attainment of ecclesiastical bliss,
Namely, the exam which - so it must sadly be stated -
To Jerome was almost unappreciated.
But all hesitation comes to naught.
The time to be at his most distraught
Is earnestly approaching with query and probe.
Oh, you poor Jerome Job. -
It was called to order by the illustrious chair.
He cleared his throat with four bursts of air.
Four times he also coughed and blew his nose
And said, while stroking his belly as he rose,
“I, in my capacity as inspector
And the regional clergy’s pro tempore director,
Ask you quid sit episcopus, my son.”
The answer came like a shot from a gun:
“A bishop is, I truly think,
A very enjoyable mix of a drink
Of red wine, sugar, and orange juice.
Great vigor and strength it is known to induce.”
Upon this reply which Jerome was making
There was general head shaking.
The inspector spoke first, saying, “Ahem!”
“Next question!” thereupon said the rest of them.
Now the assessor rose to ask.
“Jerome Job,” he said, “ I will give you this task:
‘Who are the apostles?’ I pray you to tell.”
Jerome knew the answer very well.
“Apostles are called those sizable mugs.
Of beer and wine they hold many slugs.
At country feasts the young fellows take
Them by the handle their thirst to slake.”
Upon this reply which Jerome was making
There was general head shaking.
The inspector spoke first, saying, “Ahem!”
“Next question!” thereupon said the rest of them.
Now it was Mr. Krager’s turn.
“The question I have,” he said, “does concern
The person and work of St. Augustine.”
For the answer Jerome did have to come clean:
“I have never heard nor ever seen listed
That another Augustine existed
Than the university’s proctor Augustine.
He often cited me before the assistant dean.”
Upon this reply which Jerome was making
There was general head shaking.
The inspector spoke first, saying, “Ahem!”
“Next question!” thereupon said the rest of them.
Now followed Mr. Kirsch without delay.
He asked, “Of how many parts, would you say,
Should a good sermon be comprised
In order to well organized?”
Jerome, after several fits and starts,
Said, “Every good sermon should have two parts:
One part by no one is understood,
But the other one is understood in all likelihood.”
Upon this reply which Jerome was making
There was general head shaking.
The inspector spoke first, saying, “Ahem!”
“Next question!” thereupon said the rest of them.
Now Mr. Beff, the linguist, was due.
He asked if Mr. Job perhaps knew
What a Hebraic kibbutz might be.
Jerome’s response came quite readily:
“The novel entitled ‘Sophy’s Travels
›From Memel to Saxony’ unravels
How she got grumpy old Kibbutz: i.e., in a huff,
As she could have, but didn’t wed rich Mr. Puff.”
Upon this reply which Jerome was making
There was general head shaking.
The inspector spoke first, saying, “Ahem!”
“Next question!” thereupon said the rest of them.
Now it was the turn of Mr. Schrei
Jerome’s exam question to supply,
And he wondered just how manifold
The species of angels be, all told.
Jerome’s answer went like so:
All the angels he did not know,
But a golden angel he had seen before,
Namely, over the Angle Tavern Door.
Upon this reply which Jerome was making
There was general head shaking.
The inspector spoke first, saying, “Ahem!”
“Next question!” thereupon said the rest of them.
Here Mr. Plotz continued now,
“Candidate Job, please, tell me, how
Many ecumenical councils were called?”
For the answer Jerome in no way stalled,
“When I studied at the university,
The council often summoned me,
But never ever did the latter
Concern itself with economical matter.”
Upon this reply which Jerome was making
There was general head shaking.
The inspector spoke first, saying, “Ahem!”
“Next question!” thereupon said the rest of them.
Now followed a man of the cloth and great stature,
Mr. Keffer, with a question of a most difficult nature.
It concerned the Manichaeans heretical sin,
And what their beliefs and tenets had been.
Answer: “Those simpletons I truly pity.
The believed that before I would leave the city,
I could be expected to stop by and pay,
But I slyly skipped out on them anyway.”
Upon this reply which Jerome was making
There was general head shaking.
The inspector spoke first, saying, “Ahem!”
“Next question!” thereupon said the rest of them.
When mercifully soon the exam was completed,
Jerome took a respectful bow and retreated,
So that, according to canon law and regulation,
This matter be given due consideration;
If in good conscience it would be fitting
For the supplicant Jerome Job to be sitting
In the ranks of candidates for the holy ministry
To which a credit he was expected to be.
The taking of votes did then commence,
But before the discussion could grow intense,
The ecclesiastical decree stood indisputable:
Jerome is quite unsuitable.
Seventh Chapter
So the hope of becoming here on earth
A cleric did wither to permanent dearth,
And Jerome was compelled to look around
For other employment as could be found.
He was in luck. Beyond the town’s gate,
On an elderly gentleman’s estate,
One had for some time found it necessary
To look for a suitable secretary.
Jerome applied for an interview,
Was admitted and eventually hired, too.
The chambermaid turned out to be
An old acquaintance, namely Emily.
This business with the watch, of course, was crass,
But Jerome was willing to let it pass,
For Emily was contrite and very sad,
Ingratiated herself every chance she had,
And helped him greatly, in addition,
With the difficult tasks of his new position.
But things got off to an embarrassing start,
For the old man was petty at heart,
And Jerome was released of his obligation
Without good-byes and remuneration.
But a pious miss of considerable means,
Who decades ago had outgrown her teens,
Was looking for an assistant with the strength
To sing and pray with her at length.
Of all those who called, Jerome seemed, indeed,
The most capable candidate to fill this need.
That’s why she took him into her employ
For their mutual benefit and joy.
But when to singing she did him exhort,
His Christian long-suffering was falling short,
And the old gal once more had to intone
Her daily private devotions alone.
Dusk finds Jerome in a roadside dive
Talking to two roughnecks who also arrive.
He is quite sure that one of that pair
He’s met up with before but just can’t say where.
Jerome soon wearies and hits the hay;
The villains sneak up and steal his purse away.
When morning dawns, it becomes clear - o dear! -
That his purse and the villains did disappear.
The gracious host keeps his outer raiment,
Instead of insisting on cash, in payment,
And now Jerome wanders troubled and alone
Without any purpose in a forested zone.
Of a sudden he hears much crying and wailing
And clattering of swords and clubs a-flailing.
Merciful heavens! In a lonesome glen
A carriage is attacked by two highwaymen.
The coachman lies on the ground dismayed,
The gentleman defends himself with his blade.
Amid this turmoil milady stands
With loud lamentations and wringing of hands.
Jerome jumps forward without delay
Toward this site of terror and enters the fray
And decides the outcome in a hurry
With a quick and determined walking stick flurry.
The robbers are thus severely outclassed;
One of them runs, one breathes his last.
And look, the one who breathes no more,
Is the moneybag thief of the night before.
And now his eye patch slides from its place,
Revealing to all the scapegrace’s face.
Look again, it’s the gambling man with the wig
Who once at the stage coach stop had won so big.
Jerome takes his purse and certainly feels
Much better as he follows the gentlefolk’s wheels,
While the gentlefolk praise the deities
And the bold young man who answered their pleas.
Eighth Chapter
In these parts there presently happened to be
A country schoolmaster vacancy,
Appointment to which being the privilege
Of that very lordship’s patronage.
In gratitude, upon highest volition,
Jerome is established in this position. -
So Jerome himself is a schoolmaster now
And wonders what to do with it anyhow.
He soon determines that in the primers lurk
Archaic notions and many a quirk,
Of which he views as particularly telling
The many ‘f’ sounds with a ‘ph’ spelling.
Neither is he much of a booster
Of an illustration therein depicting a rooster.
So he diligently erases and blurs
The bird’s superfluous and showy spurs.
That settled, he next introduces a nest
With an egg the bird rose from - so it would suggest -
So that no one would have any trouble guessing
That this be the poultry’s real purpose and blessing.
Having thus improved the method of teaching,
He next seeks to make punishment more far-reaching.
Among the school’s inventory a donkey had played
A limited role as a teaching aid.
Jerome refashioned it at once
Into a whole donkey to honor the dunce.
But the peasants united severely reprehend
This newfangled educational trend.
They take a common stand not to permit
And not to, and not to tolerate it;
And furthermore do they solemnly swear
To bump their new schoolmaster off his chair.
And so at the crack of dawn they march
With sundry weapons and full of starch.
Jerome, still cozy in down and sheet,
Bolts awake when a voice rings out, “On your feet!”
At once he feels himself pushed through a mob.
Giddy-up! He loses his shelter and job.
But the peasants with trophies in their possession
Are holding a victory procession.
They raise their glasses in a toast,
“Cheers! We did it! We showed him!” they boast.
But when their fire has burned down,
There appears many an uneasy frown.
If only His Lordship wouldn’t be!
The Lord of the Manor, what sayeth he??
“Twenty lashes in the time-honored way!”
You guessed it! - They’re meted out later that day.
Ninth Chapter
After this mishap Jerome lacks the ambition
To keep on filling his old position.
He picks up his staff and searches afield
For another locale with a living to yield.
How things do happen! He once goes to see
A play by a theatrical company,
And right before him, scene one, center stage,
Stands a beauteous princess who is all the rage.
Dear Lord! How throbs his heart with glee!
It is his beloved Emily.
The play concludes and, at last face to face,
The lovers seek each other’s embrace.
And it seemed to Jerome at that very hour
As if from the depth of his being with great power
An inner voice came earnestly through:
“Jerome, be something like this, too!”
Before too many days passed by
He really appeared before the public’s eye
In a lovesick rustic shepherd’s role.
In other plays he’s even more in control
As his characters become ever more audacious.
But Emily’s conduct is downright ungracious.
So poor Jerome, now deeply hurt, parts
With this promising discipline of the arts,
And as long as his hometown does audition
For a watchman of the night position,
He acquires this worthwhile office and hence
Toots his horn at municipal expense.
The maternal vision which once had thrilled
Her aunties and cousins is now fulfilled.
As a horn blower Jerome is really astute.
No sooner does it strike ten, he blows, ‘Too-hoot!’
And when he calls out that “All is well!”
All wake up gladly to hear him yell.
One night when the weather was cold and mean
And, true to his bounden duty and routine,
To announce the twelfth hour he opened his mouth,
The wind blew right into it on its way south.
At one o’clock his ‘Too-hoot!’ still sounds steady,
But at two he is feeling quite low already.
At three he decides to go to bed
With aches in his limbs and his body and head.
At eight the medicine does arrive
Whereupon he looks just a bit more alive,
But then at about ten it becomes clear to most:
Jerome is going to give up the ghost!
At twelve o’clock sharp appears the dread
Grim reaper and stops the pendulum dead. -
Alas, so everything here comes to an end:
Tobacco, ink, and we too, my friend.
One final time the quill does drop,
Then comes the great, big last full stop.
From the German “Bilder zur Jobsiade“.
Text by Karl. A. Kortum.
Arranged, with parts added,
by Wilhelm Busch.
Translated by
Rudolf J. Wiemann, P. E.,
St.Paul, USA
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