Word has reached the Maison Des Girrafes of a curious notion, possibly of creationist origin, that darwinism is a potent source of phenylalanine antisemitism. In this context, Nature Network is proud (if a little nervous) to reveal the existence of a hitherto unknown manuscript, recently unearthed from beneath some abandoned greenhouse-staging at Down House.
Oy veh is mir! Tventy years or more it’s taken – tventy years! Vot a schlap. And me mit zer headaches unt zer bad feet, not to mention zer rumblinks in zer tochas, unt now zer noise. Zer kids forever running up unt down zer corridors; zer mishpoche always begging for more of my shares in zer railways; unt Emma, my little Emmele, bellowing at zer maids to finish polishing zer candlesticks before shabbat, unt zen shrieking at me even vorse than that shlmiel Alfie Wallace (that shnorrer Owen is best forgotten. Always asking me for money, noch). And still I can’t finish off zer ‘abstract’ zat Lyell vonts me to write. “Chaim,” he says, “Stop prevaricating! Bist du meshuggeh? You must get zer patent on zat new idea for manufacturing species or that goy Wallace vill get zer one-up on you.” And if my name isn’t Chaim Dershovitz, vich it is, I should get on mit it, but, vell, you know how it is, mit vun sing unt another, and – vot is it now? – she only vonts me to come and bless the chollah. Can a man get no peace? Insisting that Ani Ha’Av cuts no ice with her. Okay – I said okay. Baruch atta Adonai, Eloheinu Melekh Ha’Olam, Bareh Puri Ha’Etz. Can I go now? You see vot it’s like, already! Not a minute ven I can get to write up my final transformation notebook, ze vun called Protocols for the Origin of Species. Vell, at least I sink I know how it vill end. Ze end of zer beginning. I like it! So here goes.
There is grandeur in this view of life, with its several powers, having been originally breathed into a few forms or into one; and that, whilst this planet has gone circling on according to the fixed law of gravity, from so simple a beginning endless forms most beautiful and most wonderful have been, and are being expelled .
Unt zen, I must choose a pseudonym. John Murray says nobody will buy a book from a yiddischer, and who can blame them? Not me! Unt I wrote it. But vot to choose? Somesink very English. Lee Strobel? Nein, still a bischen yiddisch. Paul Myers? Fech – even worse. Richard Dershovitz? Richard Feynman? Richard Dawkins? Charles Dawkins? Ah, I know…
Henry. Does Cromer, by any chance, have a particular species of mushroom growing wild? Perhaps even in your back garden?
I think he’d find a market for it over at Scienceblogs.
Well, now you mention it, the Gees (and Bora) went to Holkham Beach today (you can see Bora’s photojournal here). A few months ago the Gees went on a Fungus Foray in the pine woods behind this beach, along with a party of agricultural scientists including some expert mycologists who could identify every smear and scut of mould. We found more than fifty different species in a couple of hours, including several deadly ones, not a few potent hallucinogens, and ergot. So perhaps I picked up something…
Yes, yes. But why did you insist on calling it A Brief History of Time?
This is ridiculous. I think, on closer inspection, you will find that Charles Darwin was Indian.
I was, as I wrote in my autobiography, quite orthodox on matters of theology until I spent five years being seasick on HMS Beagle. It was not merely the earthquake at Chiloe, the Galapagos hummingbirds, it was five years hurling over the side of the ship and groaning ‘oh God!’ with no result.
Thank you for these words of wisdom, Mr Darwin. They will prove most useful on those evening constitutionals round the blogosphere in which I sometimes indulge when I am freed from my daily, and indeed often nightly, tasks at my
inkstandjournal office. So many times, I encounter those quoting the Devil to prove scripture, or rather, your belief in God, albeit in your earlier years, to “prove” the presence of a creator. With your words above, these naysayers can be clearly shown to be in want of fact.Dr. Gee, I have just returned from the capital with a malady which I am told is food-poisoning. If that is the case the culprit can only have been a bagel. I thought you should know.
Maxine, when suffering from Mal de Mer and imploring the deity for help, Capt Fitzroy (himself a man some faith) did say he had a cure. ‘What?’ I asked. ‘Sit under a tree!’ he said and walked off, chucking.
My dear Mr Darwin – I offer my sympahies. A bagel, being baked from a form of dough boiled at very high temperature, is unlikely to be the source of the malady. The smoke salmon inside the bagel, however, is another story.
Get well soon,
Your servant, etc etc,
Galapagos hummingbirds. I venture to suggest, Mr. Darwin, that the malady has affected your powers of recollection.