Stempenyu: A Jewish Romance (3 page)

“Did you ever hear the like—keeping the children fasting for hours and hours on end?” was the opponent’s echoing remark.

“Why are they running up and down, here and there?”

“What sort of running about is it?”

“Everybody is running, and everybody is making a noise, and still they are not advancing one step further. Beautiful management!”

“Though they run about and make a noise, they are not doing a single thing.”

“Perhaps there is enough talking going on? There must be an end to everything. Let there be a start to get the work done!”

“Well, let there be an end of talking. Let there be a start made to get the work done. There must be an end
to this talking.”

“Where are the musicians?” asked one of the bridegroom’s relatives.

“Yes, the musicians—where are they?” replied the bride’s relatives.

The musicians were at this moment occupied in getting themselves ready for the night’s work. They were tuning their instruments, and waxing their bows. But, as usual, Yekel Bass was otherwise occupied. He was dragging out of his corner, by the ear, a second delinquent, and dealing him out a goodly share of blows. When he had the boy already outside the door, he whispered, nay, rather hissed into the ear he was pinching with all his might: “I will show you, devil, how to strum the string of my ‘bass!’ ”

Michsa the drummer, not having anything else to do, was scratching the side of his face that had whiskers. He was not looking at anybody. Reb Chaikel Flute was chatting to a teacher of his acquaintance. He took a pinch of snuff from the preacher’s box with his forefinger and thumb; and, holding it in mid-air, he proceeded to scatter his words on to the teacher as though he were dropping them from the mouth of a sack.

And, the rest of the musicians—the swollen-faced young man with the long teeth—were standing around Stempenyu, who was talking to them in the jargon that all musicians used, so that no one would understand what they were saying. They seemed to be engrossed in a highly interesting subject.

“Who is the maiden who is standing near the bride?” asked Stempenyu, turning his glances in the direction of Rochalle the beautiful. “You go, Jeremiah,” he added, to
one of the apprentices, “and find out for me who she is. Be quick about it!”

Jeremiah was not away many minutes. He returned with definite information.

“She is not a maiden. She is a married woman. She is Isaac-Naphtali’s daughter-in-law, and comes from Yehupetz. That is her husband in the velvet skull-cap. Do you see him? He is just turning towards us.”

“To the devil with you!” cried Stempenyu excitedly. “You were not long finding all this out! Oh, she is very beautiful. Quick! Look at the expression in her wonderful blue eyes!”

“If you wish me to,” began the swollen-faced Jeremiah, “if you wish me to, I will start a conversation with her and find out more for you.”

“To the devil with you, you hideous monster! Nobody wants you to open your hideous mouth. I can talk to her myself if I want to!”

“Nu!” said someone to Stempenyu, seeing that there was likelihood of a quarrel. “Nu! Stempenyu, make a start. Let them see how you can pierce their hearts with your fiddle; and, how you can tear out their bowels.”

Stempenyu needed no further reminder. He took up his fiddle, winked at the men, who at once put themselves in readiness for the signal, and he began to play the opening overture.

No pen can describe how beautifully Stempenyu played the accompaniment to the bride’s enthronement. It was not an ordinary wedding march that he played, not by any means an ordinary melody, such as one might have heard anywhere. It was a god-like melody, pervaded with a certain spiritual meaning that was reminiscent of nothing anyone had ever listened to before. It was as if Stempenyu, having taken his stand in front of the bride, was desirous of playing on his fiddle a special sermon for her edification—a long, beautiful sermon touching on the life she had led hitherto, and the different life to which she was going, on the threshold of which she now found herself. Somehow, it seemed that he was particularly anxious to emphasize the contrast between the easy, careless days of maidenhood, and the deep responsibilities which the future held for her. Gone was her childhood,
and in its place she would find a serious woman with covered locks, her beauty and her youth hidden under the cap which orthodoxy demanded she should wear. No more joyousness! No more play! No more ease! Farewell youth, farewell! Hail! all hail to the woman that has come forth to the light of day!

Despite the beauty of his playing, the solemnity of it all made it inexpressibly sad. The fiddle seemed to weep and wail after its own fashion, so much so that the women were moved to tears. They could not keep themselves from weeping out loud.

“How short a time it seems since I was a bride myself, sitting on a little throne,” murmured an old woman. “It seems but yesterday that I was waiting for the women to tie up my hair. And, I imagined that the angels that are in heaven had intervened in my life; for, it seemed to me that I was the most fortunate creature in the whole wide world. And, how is it in reality? What has it turned out to be?”

“Oh, God,” prayed another woman, half aloud. “Oh, God, let it be the fate of my eldest daughter to be married soon. Only let her have better luck than I had. God forgive me for my sinful words!”

While the women were musing thus, Stempenyu was playing. His orchestra now accompanied him at intervals. His fiddle did not play. It talked, saying a multitude of things which were sad, and melancholy to the verge of tears, almost a series of long drawn-out sobs. Not a murmur was to be heard, not a movement. Nothing but the low, thin, plaintive notes of the violin seemed to be in existence. Everybody held his or her breath, for fear of missing a single note. The people felt that it would be
better to lose a fortune than a single note from Stempenyu’s fiddle. The old men fell into reveries; the women were stricken with dumbness; and the boys and girls clambered on to chairs and tables so as to see the musicians as well as hear them.

And, Stempenyu poured out his soul through the fiddle. He seemed to be melting away out of existence, as if he were wax before a fire. And, now and again, he seemed to come back to earth again, from his soarings in the blue vault of heaven. His thin, fine notes changed to deep, solemn tones that echoed and re-echoed through and through the hearts of his listeners.

A hand flying swiftly up and down—no more than this was to be seen; and yet, one heard all sorts of sweet sounds. A thousand delicious melodies and arias filled the air. And, all of them were so sad that they caught hold of one’s heart, and gripped it as with pincers. The people felt that their souls were leaving their bodies. They were dying slowly, inch by inch, their strength drawn out of them by the magic of Stempenyu’s playing.

And, who was Stempenyu? What was Stempenyu? No one saw him. No one remembered that he was an individual to himself. And, no one saw the fiddle. One only heard the sweet sounds that came from it—divine voices seemed to be flooding the room with song.

And, Rochalle the beautiful, who had never before heard Stempenyu playing, who had only heard his name, and only knew that such a person as he existed—but who had never heard such music in her life as that which now fell on her ears—Rochalle was standing and listening to the magical tones, the golden harmonies. Did she understand what they conveyed? She did not know what was
going on at all. Her heart was filled with something which she had never felt in all her life. She lifted her eyes to the source from which the sweet sounds came, and they encountered a pair of wonderfully beautiful black eyes that burned like living coals. They penetrated her through and through, like sharp daggers. More, they seemed to her eloquent, as if they were filled with the desire to convey to her a special message. She tried to withdraw her eyes from the eyes that were piercing her to her core; but she could not. She was like hypnotized.

“And, so this is Stempenyu!” she thought within herself. But, she got no further than this. There was a sudden movement. The bride was about to be brought under the wedding canopy.

“Where are the candles?” asked one of the bridegroom’s relatives.

“The candles—where are they?” was the reply that one of the bride’s relatives had to the challenge that had been thrown out.

And, once again there arose the same noise and hubbub which had characterized the beginning of the wedding-day. Everyone took to running here and there, without having the least idea as to why and wherefore of their flight. Everybody was pushing and crushing, and treading on his neighbors’ toes. Dresses were torn. And, the people were sweating and abusing the waters and the waitresses, as well as the superintendents, the latter of whom, in turn, abused the guests back again. And, from one end of the room to the other, there passed from lip to lip the sarcastic remark—“Thank goodness, it is a bit lively here!”

In the disorder which prevailed at the time when the bride was being led back from the canopy to her daïs, Stempenyu managed to escape from the orchestra. In a moment, he had reached the spot to which his eyes had wandered a hundred times during the last half-hour, beside the beautiful Rochalle, Isaac-Naphtali’s daughter-in-law. He managed to exchange a few words with her, smiling into her blue eyes and showing the agitation which had come upon him by the way in which he kept twirling the stray lock of hair he kept at the side of his forehead. Rochalle blushed scarlet. She feared to look into Stempenyu’s eyes, and kept her face averted from him. She hardly knew what he was saying, and only with difficulty managed to say on word to his ten. She felt that it was not all right for a modest young woman to sand talking with a musician before a whole room fell asleep.

Many and various were the tales told of Stempenyu. It was said that he was acquainted with all the magicians, and the “good-folks,” and the fairies, and had got from them a certain power which enabled him to do whatever he wished. If he wished to sunder a man from his betrothed, he could do it simply by uttering a certain set of words. And, he only needed to look at a girl, and she would be filled with love for him. It were best, therefore, to take great care of oneself when he was near. As a consequence of his powers, many mothers knew to take care of their daughters. Those of them that were yet unmarried were put under the sheltering wing of their married sisters, or their aunts, or any other married woman who happened to be in the room when Stempenyu was there. It is true that this was no compliment to Stempenyu, but what did that matter? Who is there who would make
quarrels when there is peace? Stempenyu’s reputation as a musician was not the least bit injured. And, who cared anything beyond that? Nobody was going to marry him, and he remained the same Stempenyu in spite of the fact that many women were afraid of him.

Blessed are the young women who have secured husbands! And, blessed be the men who have secured for their wives freedom! But, alas for the maidens who are bound, and tethered, and guarded, and watched until they have come under the canopy—until they have been freed from their bonds, as happy wives.

As a married woman, Rochalle had nothing to fear from Stempenyu when he came towards her with his fiddle under his arm, and a smile hovering on his lips. What was there to be afraid of? What need for her to hide herself? Her father-in-law, Isaac-Naphtali, was busy with the wedding. He was walking up and down, with his hands hanging loosely by his side. He was scowling at the assistants, and urging them to make haste.

And, her mother-in-law, Dvossa-Malka, was so excited that if anyone had taken her veil off her shoulders she would have known nothing about it. It was true that she did stand up once to see what Stempenyu was doing beside Rochalle. But she did not feel concerned. She said to herself: “What matter! They are only fooling one another. It’s not worth half a farthing!”

There were many other things of greater importance than following her son’s wife about in a public place. Dvossa-Malka found plenty to do in helping her husband to superintend the arrangements. Between them they managed admirably. The waiters and the waitresses ran about like mad. And, the relatives of both parties made
plenty of noise, as usual. The guests went to wash their hands before taking their places at the table, on which there was nothing yet but huge piles of warm rolls. Suddenly there arose an alarm: there was not enough water for all the guests.

“Where are we to get water now?” someone asked.

“Water—yes, where are we to get it now?”

“Water! Water!” shrieked Dvossa-Malka, in a hoarse voice.

“Water! Water!” repeated Isaac-Naphtali, helping to make more noise. He had turned up the tails of his coat, and had begun to believe that he was doing something, whereas he only fussed and flurried everybody.

In the uproar and excitement which prevailed, Stempenyu took advantage of his opportunity, and stayed talking with Rochalle a little longer. She was very thoughtful, and serious. Her beautiful blue eyes had in them a dreamy, far off gaze. She was looking beyond Stempenyu. She listened to him without saying a word, and Stempenyu talked brilliantly. He could talk well, the scamp! His words seemed not only to draw her closer to him but to surround her on all sides, as by a network of invisible silken cords. His eyes were fixed on her face; and, she felt that he was penetrating her through and through, to her very soul, deep, deep down into her heart.

Stempenyu talked, and Rochalle listened, spell bound. And, the noise of the room was so deafening that no one overheard a word of what he was saying.

“Is that your husband?” asked Stempenyu, throwing his eyes in the direction of a young man who was holding the lapel of another man’s coat, and arguing with it for all
he was worth.

“Yes, that is he,” replied Rochalle, walking off from him without ceremony, as if she were offended. And, she felt dimly that he had offended her, though she could not exactly define how, or after what fashion.