{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_37242/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_37242","id":"gutenberg_37242","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37242","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Russian Literature","Category: Short Stories","Jewish fiction","Jews -- Fiction","Peretz, Isaac Leib, 1851 or 1852-1915 -- Translations into English","Short stories"],"text":"</pre>\n\n\n\nProduced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was\nproduced from scanned images of public domain material\nfrom the Google Print project.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nSTORIES AND PICTURES\n\nBY\n\nISAAC LOEB PEREZ\n\nTRANSLATED FROM THE YIDDISH BY\n\nHELENA FRANK\n\n[Illustration: colophon]\n\nPHILADELPHIA\nTHE JEWISH PUBLICATION SOCIETY OF AMERICA\n1906\n\nCOPYRIGHT, 1906,\nBY THE JEWISH PUBLICATION SOCIETY OF AMERICA\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nMy heartfelt thanks are due to all those who, directly or indirectly,\nhave helped in the preparation of this book of translations; among the\nformer, to Professor Israel Abrahams, for invaluable help and advice at\nvarious junctures; and to Mr. B. B., for his detailed and scholarly\nexplanations of difficult passages--explanations to which, fearing to\noverload a story-book with notes, I have done scant justice.\n\nThe sympathetic reader who wishes for information concerning the author\nof these tales will find it in Professor Wiener's \"History of Yiddish\nLiterature in the Nineteenth Century,\" together with much that will help\nhim to a better appreciation of their drift.\n\nTo fully understand any one of them, we should need to know intimately\nthe life of the Russian Jews who figure in their pages, and to be\nfamiliar with the lore of the Talmud and the Kabbalah, which colors\ntheir talk as the superstitions of Slav or Celtic lands color the talk\nof their respective peasants.\n\nA Yiddish writer once told me, he feared these tales would be too\n_tief-j\u00fcdisch_ (intensely Jewish) for Gentile readers; and even in the\ncase of the Jewish English-reading public, the \"East (of Europe) is\nEast, and West is West.\"\n\nPerez, however, is a distinctly modern writer, and his views and\nsympathies are of the widest.\n\nHe was born in 1855, and these stories were all written, quite broadly\nspeaking, between 1875 and 1900. They were all published in Russia,\nunder the censorship--a fact to be borne in mind when reading such pages\nas \"Travel-Pictures\" (which, by the way, is not a story at all), \"In the\nPost-Chaise,\" and others.\n\nWe may hope that conditions of life such as are depicted in \"The Dead\nTown\" will soon belong entirely to history. It is for those who have\nseen to tell us whether or not the picture is correct.\n\nThe future of Yiddish in a Free Russia is hard to tell. There are some\nwho consider its early disappearance by no means a certainty. However\nthat may be, it is at present the only language by which the masses of\nthe Russian Jews can be reached, and Perez's words of 1894, in which he\nurges the educated writers to remember this fact, have lost none of\ntheir interest:\n\n     \"Nowadays everyone must work for his own, must plough and sow his\n     own particular plot of land, although, or rather _because_ we\n     believe that the future will represent one universal store, whither\n     shall be carried all the corn of all the harvests....\n\n     \"We do not wish to desert the flag of universal humanity.\n\n     \"We do not wish to sow the weeds of Chauvinism, the thorns of\n     fanaticism, the tares of scholastic philosophy.\n\n     \"We want to pull up the weeds by the roots, to cut down the briars,\n     to burn the tares, and to sow the pure grain of human ideas, human\n     feelings, and knowledge.\n\n     \"We will break up our bit of land, and plough and sow, because we\n     firmly believe that some day there will be a great common store,\n     out of which all the hungry will be fed alike.\n\n     \"We believe that storm and wind and rain will have an end, that a\n     day is coming when earth shall yield her increase, and heaven give\n     warmth and light!\n\n     \"And we do not wish _our_ people, in the day of harvest, to stand\n     apart, weeping for misspent years, while the rest make holiday,\n     forced to beg, with shame, for bread that was earned by the sweat\n     and toil of others.\n\n     \"We want to bring a few sheaves to the store as well as they; we\n     want to be husbandmen also.\"\n\nWhenever, in the course of translation, I have come across a Yiddish\nproverb or idiomatic expression of which I knew an English equivalent, I\nhave used the latter without hesitation. To avoid tiresome\ncircumlocutions, some of the more important Yiddish words (most of them\nHebrew) have been preserved in the translation. A list of them with\nbrief explanations will be found on page 453. Nevertheless footnotes had\nto be resorted to in particular cases.\n\nTo conclude: I have frequently, in this preface, used the words \"was\"\nand \"were,\" because I do not know what kaleidoscopic changes may not\nhave taken place in Russo-Jewish life since these tales were written.\n\nBut they are all, with exception of the legend \"The Image,\" tales of the\nmiddle or the end of the nineteenth century, and chiefly the latter.\n\nHELENA FRANK\n\nJanuary, 1906\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                                                                    PAGE\nPREFACE                                                                5\n\nI. IF NOT HIGHER                                                      13\n\nII. DOMESTIC HAPPINESS                                                21\n\nIII. IN THE POST-CHAISE                                               29\n\nIV. THE NEW TUNE                                                      53\n\nV. MARRIED                                                            59\n\nVI. THE SEVENTH CANDLE OF BLESSING                                    89\n\nVII. THE WIDOW                                                        95\n\nVIII. THE MESSENGER                                                  101\n\nIX. WHAT IS THE SOUL?                                                117\n\nX. IN TIME OF PESTILENCE                                             135\n\nXI. BONTZYE SHWEIG                                                   171\n\nXII. THE DEAD TOWN                                                   185\n\nXIII. T<sub>HE</sub> DAYS OF THE MESSIAH                             201\n\nXIV. KABBALISTS                                                      213\n\nXV.  TRAVEL-PICTURES\n\n      PREFACE                                                        223\n\n      TRUST                                                          224\n\n      ONLY GO!                                                       226\n\n      WHAT SHOULD A JEWESS NEED?                                     229\n\n      NO. 42                                                         231\n\n      THE MASKIL                                                     237\n\n      THE RABBI OF TISHEWITZ                                         241\n\n      TALES THAT ARE TOLD                                            245\n\n      A LITTLE BOY                                                   256\n\n      THE YARTSEFF RABBI                                             259\n\n      LYASHTZOF                                                      265\n\n      THE FIRST ATTEMPT                                              266\n\n      THE SECOND ATTEMPT                                             271\n\n      AT THE SHOCHET'S                                               272\n\n      THE REBBITZIN OF SKUL                                          276\n\n      INSURED                                                        280\n\n      THE FIRE                                                       284\n\n      THE EMIGRANT                                                   289\n\n      THE MADMAN                                                     291\n\n      MISERY                                                         294\n\n      THE L\u00c0MED W\u00d2FNIK                                               295\n\n      THE INFORMER                                                   299\n\nXVI. THE OUTCAST                                                     307\n\nXVII. A CHAT                                                         313\n\nXVIII. THE PIKE                                                      321\n\nXIX. THE FAST                                                        329\n\nXX. THE WOMAN MISTRESS HANNAH                                        337\n\nXXI. IN THE POND                                                     385\n\nXXII. THE CHANUKAH LIGHT                                             391\n\nXXIII. THE POOR LITTLE BOY                                           401\n\nXXIV. UNDERGROUND                                                    417\n\nXXV. BETWEEN TWO MOUNTAINS                                           429\n\nXXVI. THE IMAGE                                                      449\n\nGLOSSARY                                                             453\n\n\n\n\nI\n\nIF NOT HIGHER\n\n\nAnd the Rebbe of Nemirov, every Friday morning early at Sliches-time,\ndisappeared, melted into thin air! He was not to be found anywhere,\neither in the synagogue or in the two houses-of-study, or worshipping in\nsome Minyan, and most certainly not at home. His door stood open, people\nwent in and out as they pleased--no one ever stole anything from the\nRebbe--but there was not a soul in the house.\n\nWhere can the Rebbe be?\n\nWhere _should_ he be, if not in heaven?\n\nIs it likely a Rebbe should have no affairs on hand with the Solemn Days\nso near?\n\nJews (no evil eye!) need a livelihood, peace, health, successful\nmatch-makings, they wish to be good and pious and their sins are great,\nand Satan with his thousand eyes spies out the world from one end to the\nother, and he sees, and accuses, and tells tales--and who shall help if\nnot the Rebbe? So thought the people.\n\nOnce, however, there came a Lithuanian--and he laughed! You know the\nLithuanian Jews--they rather despise books of devotion, but stuff\nthemselves with the Talmud and the codes. Well, the Lithuanian points\nout a special bit of the Gemoreh--and hopes it is plain enough: even\nMoses our Teacher could not ascend into heaven, but remained suspended\nthirty inches below it--and who, I ask you, is going to argue with a\nLithuanian?\n\nWhat becomes of the Rebbe?\n\n\"I don't know, and I don't care,\" says he, shrugging his shoulders, and\nall the while (what it is to be a Lithuanian!) determined to find out.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe very same evening, soon after prayers, the Lithuanian steals into\nthe Rebbe's room, lays himself down under the Rebbe's bed, and lies low.\n\nHe intends to stay there all night to find out where the Rebbe goes, and\nwhat he does at Sliches-time.\n\nAnother in his place would have dozed and slept the time away. Not so a\nLithuanian--he learned a whole treatise of the Talmud by heart!\n\nDay has not broken when he hears the call to prayer.\n\nThe Rebbe has been awake some time. The Lithuanian has heard him sighing\nand groaning for a whole hour. Whoever has heard the groaning of the\nNemirover Rebbe knows what sorrow for All-Israel, what distress of mind,\nfound voice in every groan. The soul that heard was dissolved in grief.\nBut the heart of a Lithuanian is of cast-iron. The Lithuanian hears and\nlies still. The Rebbe lies still, too--the Rebbe, long life to him,\n_upon_ the bed and the Lithuanian _under_ the bed!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAfter that the Lithuanian hears the beds in the house squeak--the people\njump out of them--a Jewish word is spoken now and again--water is poured\non the fingers--a door is opened here and there. Then the people leave\nthe house, once more it is quiet and dark, only a very little moonlight\ncomes in through the shutter.\n\nHe confessed afterwards, did the Lithuanian, that when he found himself\nalone with the Rebbe terror took hold of him. He grew cold all over, and\nthe roots of his ear-locks pricked his temples like needles. An\nexcellent joke, to be left alone with the Rebbe at Sliches-time before\ndawn!\n\nBut a Lithuanian is dogged. He quivers and quakes like a fish--but he\ndoes not budge.\n\nAt last the Rebbe, long life to him, rises in his turn.\n\nFirst he does what beseems a Jew. Then he goes to the wardrobe and takes\nout a packet--which proves to be the dress of a peasant: linen trousers,\nhigh boots, a pelisse, a wide felt hat, and a long and broad leather\nbelt studded with brass nails. The Rebbe puts them on.\n\nOut of the pockets of the pelisse dangles the end of a thick cord, a\npeasant's cord.\n\nOn his way out the Rebbe steps aside into the kitchen, stoops, takes a\nhatchet from under a bed, puts it into his belt, and leaves the house.\nThe Lithuanian trembles, but he persists.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA fearful, Solemn-Day hush broods over the dark streets, broken not\nunfrequently by a cry of supplication from some little Minyan, or the\nmoan of some sick person behind a window.\n\nThe Rebbe keeps to the street side, and walks in the shadow of the\nhouses.\n\nHe glides from one to the other, the Lithuanian after him. And the\nLithuanian hears the sound of his own heart-beats mingle with the heavy\nfootfall of the Rebbe; but he follows on, and together they emerge from\nthe town.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBehind the town stands a little wood. The Rebbe, long life to him,\nenters it. He walks on thirty or forty paces, and then he stops beside a\nsmall tree. And the Lithuanian, with amaze, sees the Rebbe take his\nhatchet and strike the tree. He sees the Rebbe strike blow after blow,\nhe hears the tree creak and snap. And the little tree falls, and the\nRebbe splits it up into logs, and the logs into splinters. Then he makes\na bundle, binds it round with the cord, throws it on his shoulder,\nreplaces the hatchet in his belt, leaves the wood, and goes back into\nthe town.\n\nIn one of the back streets he stops beside a poor, tumbledown little\nhouse, and taps at the window.\n\n\"Who is there?\" cries a frightened voice within. The Lithuanian knows it\nto be the voice of a Jewess, a sick Jewess.\n\n\"I,\" answers the Rebbe in the peasant tongue.\n\n\"Who is I?\" inquires the voice further. And the Rebbe answers again in\nthe Little-Russian speech:\n\n\"Vassil.\"\n\n\"Which Vassil? and what do you want, Vassil?\"\n\n\"I have wood to sell,\" says the sham peasant, \"very cheap, for next to\nnothing.\"\n\nAnd without further ado he goes in. The Lithuanian steals in behind\nhim, and sees, in the gray light of dawn, a poor room with poor, broken\nfurniture.\n\nIn the bed lies a sick Jewess huddled up in rags, who says bitterly:\n\n\"Wood to sell--and where am I, a poor widow, to get the money from to\nbuy it?\"\n\n\"I will give you a six-groschen worth on credit.\"\n\n\"And how am I ever to repay you?\" groans the poor woman.\n\n\"Foolish creature!\" the Rebbe upbraids her. \"See here: you are a poor\nsick Jewess, and I am willing to trust you with the little bundle of\nwood; I believe that in time you will repay me. And you, you have such a\ngreat and mighty God, and you do not trust Him! not even to the amount\nof a miserable six-groschen for a little bundle of wood!\"\n\n\"And who is to light the stove?\" groans the widow. \"Do _I_ look like\ngetting up to do it? and my son away at work!\"\n\n\"I will also light the stove for you,\" said the Rebbe.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd the Rebbe, while he laid the wood in the stove, repeated groaning\nthe first part of Sliches.\n\nThen, when the stove was alight, and the wood crackled cheerily, he\nrepeated, more gaily, the second part of Sliches.\n\nHe repeated the third part when the fire had burnt itself out, and he\nshut the stove doors....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe Lithuanian who saw all this remained with the Rebbe, as one of his\nfollowers.\n\nAnd later, when anyone told how the Rebbe early every morning at\nSliches-time raised himself and flew up into heaven, the Lithuanian,\ninstead of laughing, added quietly:\n\n\"If not higher.\"\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nDOMESTIC HAPPINESS\n\n\nCha\u00efm is a street porter.\n\nWhen he goes through the town stooping beneath his case of wares, one\ncan hardly make him out--it looks as if the box were walking along on\ntwo feet of its own. Listen to the heavy breathing! One can hear it\nquite a long way off.\n\nBut now he lays down his load, and is given a few pence. He straightens\nhimself, wipes the sweat off his face, draws a deep breath, goes to the\nfountain and takes a drink of water, and then runs into the court.\n\nHe stands close to the wall, and lifts his huge head till the point of\nhis chin and the tip of his nose and the brim of his hat are all on a\nlevel.\n\n\"Hannah,\" he calls.\n\nA little window opens just below the eaves, and a small female head in a\nwhite kerchief answers, \"Cha\u00efm!\"\n\nThe two look at each other very contentedly.\n\nThe neighbors say they are \"lovering.\"\n\nCha\u00efm tosses up his earnings wrapped in a piece of paper, and Hannah\ncatches them in the air--not for the first time in her life, either!\n\n\"You're a wonder!\" says Cha\u00efm, and shows no disposition to go away.\n\n\"Off with you, Cha\u00efm!\" she says, smiling. \"I daren't take my eyes off\nthe sick child. I have stood the cradle near the fire-place, and I skim\nwith one hand and rock with the other.\"\n\n\"How is it, poor little thing?\"\n\n\"Better.\"\n\n\"God be praised! Where is Henne?\"\n\n\"With the sempstress, learning to sew.\"\n\n\"And Y\u00f6ssele?\"\n\n\"In Choder.\"\n\nCha\u00efm lowers his chin and goes away. Hannah follows him with her eyes\ntill he disappears. Thursday and Friday it lasts longer.\n\n\"How much have you got there in the paper?\" inquires Hannah.\n\n\"Twenty-two groschen.\"\n\n\"I am afraid it is not enough!\"\n\n\"Why, what do you want, Hannah?\"\n\n\"A sechser's worth of ointment for the baby, a few farthing dips--a\nSabbath loaf I have--oh! meat--a pound and a half--let me see--and\nbrandy for the Kiddush, and a few splinters.\"\n\n\"Those I can get for you. There are sure to be some in the market.\"\n\n\"And then I want,\" and she makes a calculation of all she needs for\nSabbath, and it comes to this: that one can say the Kiddush quite well\nover a loaf, and that there are heaps of things one can do without.\n\nThe two important ones are: the candles to say the blessing over and the\nsalve for the child.\n\nAnd if only the children, God helping, are well, and the metal\ncandle-sticks not in pawn, and supposing there is even a pudding, they\nspend a cheerful Sabbath.\n\nHannah _is_ wonderful at puddings!\n\nShe is always short of something, either meal or eggs or suet, and the\nend of it all is a sweet, succulent, altogether ravishing pudding--it\nmelts away into the very limbs!\n\n\"An angel's handiwork!\" says Hannah, smiling delightedly.\n\n\"An angel's is it?\" Cha\u00efm laughs. \"You think you are a little angel, do\nyou, because you put up with me and the children? Well, they worry you\nenough, goodness knows! And I'm a regular crosspatch, _I_ am, at\ntimes--and never a curse do I get--you're not like other women. And what\na comfort I must be to you, too! I'm no good at Kiddush or Havdoleh\neither--I can't even sing the hymns properly!\"\n\n\"You're a good husband and a good father,\" persists Hannah. \"I ask no\nbetter for myself or anyone else. God grant that we may grow old\ntogether, you and I!\"\n\nAnd they gaze into each other's eyes so kindly and so affectionately as\nit were from the very heart. It looks for all the world as if they were\nnewly married, and the party at table grows more and more festive.\n\nBut directly after his nap, Cha\u00efm repairs to the little synagogue to\nhear the Law--a teacher expounds Alshech[1] there to simple folk like\nhimself.\n\nThe faces still look sleepy.\n\nOne is finishing his doze, another yawns loudly. But all of a sudden,\nwhen it comes to the right moment, when there is talk of the other\nworld, of Gehenna, where the wicked are scourged with iron rods, of the\nlightsome Garden of Eden, where the just sit with golden crowns on\ntheir heads and study the Torah, then they come to life again! The\nmouths open, the cheeks flush, they listen breathlessly to be told what\nthe next world will be like. Cha\u00efm usually stands near the stove.\n\nHis eyes are full of tears, he trembles all over, he is all there, in\nthe other world!\n\nHe suffers together with the wicked; he is immersed in the molten pitch,\nhe is flung away into hell; he gathers chips and splinters in gloomy\nwoods....\n\nHe goes through it all himself, and is covered with a cold sweat. But\nthen, later on, he also shares the bliss of the righteous. The Garden of\nEden, the angels, Leviathan, Behemoth, and all good things present\nthemselves so vividly to his imagination that when the reader kisses the\nbook previously to closing it, Cha\u00efm starts as it were out of a dream,\nlike one called back from the other world!\n\n\"_Ach!_\" he gasps, for wonder has held him breathless. \"O Lord, just a\ntiny bit, just a scrap, just a morsel of the world to come--for me, for\nmy wife, and for my little children!\"\n\nAnd then he grows sad, wondering: After all, because of what? as a\nreward for what?\n\nOnce, when the reading was over, he went up to the teacher:\n\n\"Rabbi,\" he said, and his voice shook, \"advise me! What must I do to\ngain the world to come?\"\n\n\"Study the Law, my son!\" answered the teacher.\n\n\"I can't.\"\n\n\"Study Mishnayes, or some \"Eye of Jacob,\" or even Perek.\"\n\n\"I can't.\"\n\n\"Recite the Psalms!\"\n\n\"I haven't time!\"\n\n\"Pray with devotion!\"\n\n\"I don't know what the prayers mean!\" The teacher looks at him with\ncompassion:\n\n\"What are you?\" he asks.\n\n\"A street porter.\"\n\n\"Well, then, do some service for the scholars.\"\n\n\"I beg pardon?\"\n\n\"For instance, carry a few cans of water every day toward evening into\nthe house-of-study, so that the students may have something to drink.\"\n\n\"Rabbi,\" he inquired further, \"and my wife?\"\n\n\"When a man sits on a chair in Paradise, his wife is his footstool.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen Cha\u00efm went home to say Havdoleh, Hannah was sitting there reciting\n\"God of Abraham.\" And when he saw her he felt a tug at his heart.\n\n\"No, Hannah,\" he flung his arms around her, \"I won't have you be my\nfootstool! I shall bend down to you and raise you and make you sit\nbeside me. We shall sit both on one chair, just as we are doing now. We\nare so happy like that! Do you hear, Hannah? You and I, we are going to\nsit in a chair together ... the Almighty will _have_ to allow it!\"\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nIN THE POST-CHAISE\n\n\nHe told me everything at once, in one breath. I learned in little over a\nminute that he was Cha\u00efm, Yoneh Krubishever's son-in-law, Beril\nKonskivoler's son, and that the rich Meerenstein in Lublin was a\nrelation on his mother's side, peace be upon her! But this relation\nlived almost like a Gentile; whether or not they ate forbidden food, he\ncould not tell, but that they ate with unwashed hands ... so much he had\nseen with his own eyes.\n\nThey had other queer ways beside: long colored cloths were lying on\ntheir stairs; before going in, one rang a bell; figured table-covers\nwere spread about the rooms where people sat as if in jail ... stole\nacross them like thieves ... altogether it was like being in a company\nof deaf-mutes.\n\nHis wife has a family of a kind in Warsaw. But he never goes near them;\nthey are as poor as himself, so what is the good of them to him, _ha?_\n\nIn the house of the Lublin relation things are not as they should be,\nbut, at least, he is rich, and whoso rubs against fat meat gets shiny\nhimself; where they chop wood, there are splinters; where there is a\nmeal, one may chance to lick a bone--but those others--paupers!\n\nHe even counts on the Lublin relation's obtaining a place for him.\nBusiness, he says, is bad; just now he is dealing in eggs, buys them,\nin the villages, and sends them to Lublin, whence they are despatched to\nLondon. There, it is said, people put them into lime-ovens and hatch\nchickens out of them. It must be lies. The English just happen to _like_\neggs! However that may be, the business, for the present, is in a bad\nway. Still, it is better than dealing in produce--produce is knocked on\nthe head. He became a produce dealer soon after his marriage; he had\neverything to learn, and his partner was an old dealer who simply turned\nhis pockets inside out.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was dark in the post-chaise--I could not see Cha\u00efm's face, and I\ndon't know to this day how he recognized a fellow-Jew in me. When he got\nin, I was sitting in a corner dozing, and was only awakened by his\nvoice. I don't talk in my sleep--perhaps I gave a Jewish groan. Perhaps\nhe felt that _my_ groan and _his_ groan were _one_ groan?\n\nHe even told me that his wife was from Warsaw and did not fancy\nKonskiv\u00f2lye. That is, she was born in Krubisheff, but she was brought up\nin Warsaw by that miserable family of hers--lost her parents.\n\nThere she learned to know about _other_ things. She could talk Polish\nand read German addresses fluently. She even says that she can play, not\non a fiddle, but on some other instrument.\n\n\"And who are you?\" and he seized me by the hand.\n\nSleep was out of the question, and he had begun to interest me. It was\nlike a story. A young man from a small provincial town; a wife brought\nup in Warsaw--she is impatient of the small town. Something might be\nmade of it, I reflect; one must know exactly how it all is, then add a\nlittle to it, and it will make a novel. I will put in a villain, a\nconvict, a bankruptcy or two, and rush in a dragon--I, too, will be\ninteresting!\n\nI lean toward my neighbor, and tell him who I am.\n\n\"So it's you,\" he said, \"is it? You yourself! Tell me, I beg of you, how\ndo you find the time and attention required for inventing stories?\"\n\n\"Well, you see....\"\n\n\"How can I see? You must have inherited a large fortune, and you are\nliving on the interest?\"\n\n\"Heaven forbid! My parents are alive.\"\n\n\"Then you won in the lottery?\"\n\n\"Wrong again!\"\n\n\"Then, what?\"\n\nI really did not know how to answer.\n\n\"Do you make a living by _that_?\"\n\nI gave a genuinely Jewish reply--_B\u00ea!_\n\n\"And that is your whole Parnosseh, without anything additional?\"\n\n\"For the present.\"\n\n\"O _wa_! how much does it bring in?\"\n\n\"Very little.\"\n\n\"A bad business, too?\"\n\n\"Knocked on the head!\"\n\n\"Bad times!\" sighed my neighbor.\n\nA few minutes' silence, but he could not be quiet long.\n\n\"Tell me, I beg of you, what is the good of the stories you write? I\ndon't mean to _you_,\" he amended himself. \"Heaven forbid! A Jew must\nearn a living, if he has to suck it out of the wall--that is not what I\nmean--what will a Jew not do for a living? I am riding in the\npost-chaise, and not in an 'opportunity,'[2] because I could not hear of\none. Heaven knows whether I'm not sitting on Shatnez.[3] I mean the\npeople--what is the good of the stories to _them?_ What is the object of\nthem? What do they put into story books?\" Then, answering himself: \"I\nguess it's just a question of women's fashions, like crinolines!\"\n\n\"And you,\" I ask, \"have never dipped into a story-book?\"\n\n\"I can tell _you_: I do know a _little_ about them, as much as that.\"\n\nAnd he measured off a small piece of his finger, but it was dark in the\nchaise.\n\n\"Did they interest you?\"\n\n\"_Me?_ Heaven forbid! It was all through my wife! This, you see, is how\nit happened: It must be five or six years ago--six--a year after the\nwedding, we were still boarding with my father--when my wife grew\npoorly. Not that she was ill; she went about as usual, but she was not\nup to the mark.\n\n\"One day I asked her what was wrong.\n\n\"But, really--\" he caught himself up. \"I don't know why I should bother\nyou with all this.\"\n\n\"Please, go on!\"\n\nMy neighbor laughed.\n\n\"Is straw wanted in Egypt? Do you want _my_ stories, when you can invent\nyour own?\"\n\n\"Do, please, go on!\"\n\n\"Apparently, you write fiction for other people and want truth for\nyourself?\"\n\nIt does not occur to him that one might wish to write the truth.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"so be it!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"Well,\" repeated my neighbor, \"there's nothing to be ashamed of. We had\na room to ourselves, I was a young man then, more given to that sort of\nthing--and I asked her what was the matter. She burst out crying!\n\n\"I felt very sorry for her. Besides being my wife, she was an orphan,\naway from her home, and altogether much to be pitied.\"\n\n\"Why so much to be pitied?\" I wonder.\n\n\"You see, my mother, peace be upon her, died about two years before the\nmarriage, and my father, peace be upon him, did not marry again.\n\n\"My mother, may her merits protect us, was a good woman, and my father\ncould not forget her. Well, a woman alone in the house! My father, peace\nbe upon him, had no time to spare--he was away nearly the whole week in\nthe villages--he traded in all sorts of things, whatever you\nplease--eggs, butter, rags, hogs' bristles, linen.\"\n\n\"And you?\"\n\n\"I sat in the house-of-study and learned. Well, I reflected, a woman\ngets frightened all by herself; but why cry? No, she said, she was dull.\nDull? What was that?\n\n\"I saw that she went about like one half asleep. Sometimes she did not\nhear when spoken to, or she seemed absent-minded, and sat staring at the\nwall--stared and stared--or else, her lips moved and never a sound to be\nheard. But as to being dull--all a woman's fancy. An unaccountable folk,\nwomen! A Jew, a man, is never dull. A Jew has no time to be dull, a Jew\nis either hungry or full; either he has business on hand, or he is in\nthe house-of-study, or asleep; if one has _heaps_ of time one smokes a\npipe; but dull!----\"\n\n\"Remember,\" I put in, \"a woman has no Torah, no Kohol affairs, no six\nhundred and thirteen religious obligations.\"\n\n\"That's just where it is! I soon came to the conclusion that being dull\nmeant having nothing to do--a sort of emptiness calculated to drive one\nmad. Our sages saw that long ago. Do you know the saying, 'Idleness\nleads the mind to wander?' According to the law, no woman may be idle. I\nsaid to her: Do something! She said, she wanted to 'read'!\n\n\"'To read,' sounded very queer to me, too. I knew that people who know\nhow to write call 'learning' lehavd\u00eel, reading books and newspapers, but\nI did _not_ know then that she was so learned.... She spoke less to me\nthan I to her. She was a tall woman; but she kept her head down and her\nlips closed as though she could not count two. She was quiet\naltogether--quiet as a lamb; and there was always a look in her face as\nif a whole ship full of sour milk had foundered at sea. She wanted to\nread, she said. And what? Polish, German, even Yiddish--anything to\nread.\n\n\"In all Konskiv\u00f2lye there wasn't a book to be found. I was very sorry--I\ncouldn't refuse her. I told her I would get her some books when I went\nto see my relative in Lublin.\n\n\"'And _you_ have nothing?' she asked.\n\n\"'_I?_ Preserve us!'\n\n\"'But what do you do all day in the house-of-study?'\n\n\"'I learn.'\n\n\"'I want to learn, too,' says she.\n\n\"I explained to her that the Gemoreh is not a story-book, that it is not\nmeant for women, that it had been said women should not study it, that\nit is Hebrew....\n\n\"I gave her to understand that if the Konskiv\u00f2lye people heard of such a\nthing, they would stone me, and quite right, too! I won't keep you in\nsuspense, but tell you at once that she begged so hard of me, cried,\nfainted, made such a to-do that she had her way. I sat down every\nevening and translated a page of the Gemoreh for her benefit; but I knew\nwhat the end of it would be.\"\n\n\"And what was it?\"\n\n\"You need not ask. I translated a page about goring oxen, ditches,\nsetting on fire,[4] commentaries and all. I held forth, and she went to\nsleep over it night after night. That sort of thing was not intended for\nwomen. By good fortune, however, it happened that, during the great gale\nthat blew that year, a certain book-peddler wandered out of his way into\nKonskiv\u00f2lye, and I brought her home forty pounds' weight of\nstory-books. Now it was the other way about--_she_ read to _me_,\nand--_I_ went to sleep.\n\n\"And to this day,\" he wound up, \"I don't know what is the use of\nstory-books. At any rate, for men. Perhaps you write for women?\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMeanwhile it began to dawn; my neighbor's long, thin, yellow face became\nvisible--with a pair of black-ringed, tired-looking red eyes.\n\nHe was apparently anxious to recite his prayers, and began to polish the\nwindow-pane, but I interrupted him.\n\n\"Tell me, my friend, don't take it amiss. Is your wife content _now_?\"\n\n\"How, content?\"\n\n\"She is no longer dull?\"\n\n\"She has a stall with salt and herrings; one child at the breast and two\nto wash and comb. She has a day's work blowing their noses.\"\n\nAgain he rubs the pane, and again I question:\n\n\"Tell me, friend, what is your wife like?\"\n\nMy neighbor sat up, threw a side-glance at me, looked me down from head\nto foot, and asked severely:\n\n\"Then you know my wife? From Warsaw, eh?\"\n\n\"Not in the least,\" I answered; \"I only mean, in case I am ever in\nKonskiv\u00f2lye, so that I may recognize her.\"\n\n\"So that you may recognize her?\" he smiles, reassured. \"I'll give you a\nsign: she has a mole on the left side of her nose.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe Jew got down from the chaise, giving me a cold and distant farewell\nas he stood on the step. He evidently still suspected me of knowing his\nwife and of belonging to her miserable family in Warsaw.\n\nI was left alone in the chaise, but it was useless to think of sleep.\nThe cool morning had taken hold of me. My literary overcoat blew out in\nthe wind, and I felt chilly all over. I shrank together in the corner.\nThe sun began to shine outside. It may be that I was riding through\nbeautiful country; the early rays may have kissed hill-tops and green\ntrees, and slid down a glassy river; but I hadn't the courage to open\nthe little window.\n\nA Jewish author fears the cold! I began, as the Jew put it, to \"think\nout\" a story. But other thoughts came in between.\n\nTwo different worlds, a man's world and a woman's world--a world with\nTalmudical treatises on goring oxen, and ditches, and incendiary fires,\nand the damages to be paid for them, and a world with story-books that\nare sold by weight!\n\nIf _he_ reads, _she_ goes to sleep; if _she_ reads, _he_ goes to sleep!\nAs if we were not divided enough, as if we had not already \"French\nnoses,\" \"English sticks,\" \"Dutch Georges,\" \"Lithuanian pigs,\" \"Polish\nbeggars,\" \"Palestinian tramps;\" as though every part of our body were\nnot lying in a different place and had not a resounding nickname; as\nthough every part, again, had not fallen into smaller ones: Chassid\u00eem,\nMisnagd\u00eem, \"Germans;\" as though all this were not, we must needs divide\nourselves into men and women--and every single, narrow, damp, and dirty\nJewish room must contain these two worlds within itself.\n\nThese two at least ought to be united. To strive after their unification\nis a debt every Yiddish writer owes his public. Only, the writers have\ntoo many private debts beside--one requires at least one additional\nParnosseh, as he said.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMy reflections about an additional Parnosseh were broken in upon by a\nfew sharp notes on the postillion's horn. But I did not leave the\nchaise. I was just feeling a little warmer, and the sun had begun to\npour in his beams.\n\nI got a new neighbor and, thanks to the bright daylight, I saw his face\nplainly and even recognized him. It was an old acquaintance, we had\nskated together as children, played at bakers--we were almost\ncomrades--then _I_ went to the dingy, dirty Cheder, and he, to the free,\nlightsome \"gymnasium.\"[5]\n\nWhen _I_ did not know the lesson, I was beaten; when I answered right,\nthey pinched my cheek--it hurt either way.\n\n_He_ was sometimes kept in and sometimes he got \"fives;\"[6] _I_ broke my\nhead over the Talmud; he broke his over Greek and Latin. But we stuck\ntogether. We lived on neighborly terms; he taught me to read in secret,\nlent me books, and in after years we turned the world upside down as we\nlay on the green grass beside the river. I wanted to invent a kind of\ngunpowder that should shoot at great distances, say one hundred miles;\nhe, a balloon in which to mount to the stars and bring the people \"up\nthere\" to a sense of order and enlightenment. We were dreadfully sorry\nfor the poor world, she was stuck in the mud--and how to get her out?\nUngreased wheels, lazy horses, and the driver--asleep!\n\nThen I married, and he went to a university. We never corresponded. I\nheard later that he had failed, and, instead of a doctor, had become an\napothecary somewhere in a small country town....\n\nI all but cried for joy when my new neighbor entered the chaise, and my\nheart grew warm; my hands stretched themselves out; my whole body leaned\ntoward him, but I held myself back--I held myself back with all my\nstrength.\n\nThere you are! I thought. It is Yanek Polnivski, our late sequestrator's\nson. He was my playfellow, he had a large embrace and wanted to put his\narms round the whole world and kiss its every limb, except the ugly\ngrowths which should be cut away. Only--there you are again! Present-day\ntimes. Perhaps he is an anti-Semite, breathing death and destruction in\nthe newspapers; perhaps now we Jews are the excrescences that need\nremoving from Europe's shapely nose. He will measure me with a cold\nglance, or he may embrace me, but tell me, at the same time, that I am\nnot as other Jews.\n\nBut I was mistaken. Polnivski recognized me, fell upon my neck, nor had\nI spoken a word before he asked me how I liked \"this vile\nanti-Semitism.\"\n\n\"It is,\" he said to me, of course in Polish, \"a kind of cholera--an\nepidemic.\"\n\n\"Some say it is political.\"\n\n\"I don't believe it,\" said Polnivski. \"Politicians invent nothing new,\nthey create no _facts_. They only use those which exist, suppress some,\nand make the most of others. They can fan the flame of hell-fire, but\nnot a spark can they kindle for themselves. It is human nature, not the\npolitician, that weaves the thread of history. The politicians plait it,\ntwist it, knot it, and entangle it.\n\n\"Anti-Semitism is a disease. The politician stands by the patient's\nbedside like a dishonest doctor who tries to spin out the sickness.\n\n\"The politician makes use of anti-Semitism--a stone flies through the\nair and Bismarck's assistant directs it through the window of the Shool;\notherwise _other_ panes would be smashed. Does anyone raise a protesting\nfist? Immediately a thin, shrinking Jewish shoulder is thrust beneath\nit, otherwise _other_ bones would crack.\n\n\"But the stone, the fist, the hatred, and the detestation, these exist\nof themselves.\n\n\"Who die of a physical epidemic? Children, old people, and invalids. Who\nfall victims to a moral pestilence? The populace, the decadent\naristocrat, and a few lunatics who caper round and lead the dance. Only\nthe healthy brains resist.\"\n\n\"How many healthy brains have we?\" I asked.\n\n\"How many? Unhappily, very few,\" replied Polnivski.\n\nThere was a short, sad silence. \"I do not know what my neighbor's\nthoughts may have been; it seemed to _me_ that the strongest and\nbest-balanced brains had not escaped infection. There are two different\nphases in history: one in which the best and cleverest man leads the\nmass, and one in which the mass carries the best and cleverest along\nwith it. The popular leader is a Columbus in search of new happiness, a\nnew America for mankind; but no sooner is there scarcity of bread and\nwater on board than the men mutiny, and _they_ lead. The first thing is\nto kill somebody, the next, to taste meat, and still their hatred.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"And don't suppose,\" said Polnivski, \"that I am fishing for compliments,\nthat I consider myself an _esprit fort_, who runs no danger of\ninfection, an oak-tree no gale can dislodge.\n\n\"No, brother,\" he went on, \"I am no hero. I might have been like the\nrest; I also might have been torn like a decayed leaf from the tree of\nknowledge, and whirled about in the air. I might have tried to think,\nwith the rest of the dead leaves, that it was a ball, and we were\ndancing for our enjoyment; that the wind was our hired musician who\nplayed to us on his flute.\n\n\"I was saved by an accident; I learned to know a Jewish woman. Listen!\"\n\nI leaned toward my neighbor. His face had grown graver, darker; he\nrested his elbows on his knees and supported his head with his hands.\n\n\"But don't suppose,\" he said again, \"that I discovered the heroine of a\nromance, a strong character that breaks through bolt and bar, and goes\nproudly on its way. Don't suppose that she was an 'exception,' an\neducated woman full of the new ideas, or, in fact, any 'ideal' at all.\nNo; I learned to know a simple Jewish woman--one of the best, but one of\nthe best of those who are most to be pitied. I learned to love her, and\nI'll tell you the truth: Whenever I read anything against Jews in\ngeneral, she comes hack to my mind with her soft, sad eyes; stands\nbefore me and begs: 'Do not believe it. I am not like that.'\"\n\nHe is lost in thought.\n\n\"The story is a simple one,\" he rouses himself and begins afresh. \"We\nhave not written to one another the whole time, and you don't know what\nhas happened to me, so I'll tell you--briefly. I am only going as far as\nLukave.\n\n\"On leaving the gymnasium I entered the university and studied medicine.\nI did _not_ finish the course; it was partly my comrades' fault, partly\nthe teachers', and most of all my own. I had to leave and become an\napothecary, had to marry, take my marriage portion, and set up a shop\nfull of cod-liver oil in a little out-of-the-way town. But I was\nfortunate in many ways. I had a good father-in-law, who was prompt in\nfulfilling the contract, a pretty wife--it was a little bit of a town.\n\n\"My wife's name was Maria--I see her before me now, turning round\nhelplessly from the looking-glass. Her golden curls refuse to submit to\nthe comb, they fly merrily in all directions; they will not be twisted\ninto the wreath which was just then the fashion.\n\n\"Slender--and such good, laughing, sky-blue eyes.\n\n\"We were not much disturbed by my professional duties. The town was too\npoor and an apothecary shop where there is no doctor isn't worth much.\nThere was little doing, but we lived in a paradise, and we were always\non the veranda--it was summer-time--side by side, hand in hand.\n\n\"And what should have claimed our interest? We had enough to live on,\nand as for going out, where were we to go? The veranda overlooked nearly\nthe whole town--the low, sagging houses, broad, black, wooden booths\nthat leaned, as though in pity, over the roll and apple sellers at their\nwretched stalls before the house-doors, as though they wanted to protect\nthe old, withered, wrinkled faces from the sun.\n\n\"The town had once been rich, the booths full of all kinds of produce\nand fruits, the market full of carts, peasants, and brokers; sometimes\neven a great nobleman would be seen among the white peasant coats and\nthe gray kaftans (at least so they assured me in the town), but the\n_chauss\u00e9e_ and the railroad had thrown everything out. The streets were\nempty, the booths filled with decayed onions and pieces of cheese--all\nthat was left of the good times.\n\n\"Poor as poor can be. Ten traders threw themselves on every cart-load of\ncorn brought in by the peasants, raised the price, then came to an\nagreement, promised cession money, and bought it in common; but not one\nof the ten could find in his pockets the wherewith to pay, and they\nborrowed money on interest. There were one hundred tailors to a pair of\ntrousers; fifty cobblers to put in one patch. In all my born days I\nnever saw such poverty.\n\n\"We kept away from the town as much as possible--the happy are selfish.\n\n\"But somehow we could not help noticing a young housewife opposite, not\nmore than eighteen or twenty at most, and we could neither of us take\nour eyes off her, and she, apparently, couldn't take hers off us. It was\nan unusual sight. Imagine a beauty, a perfect picture, set in a frame as\ndirty as only a Jewish window in a small town can be, beneath a\ndreadfully bent roof. Imagine a pair of sad, soft, dreamy eyes in an\nalabaster white face and under a hair-band.\n\n\"She made a terribly sad impression on us.\n\n\"For hours together she would stand leaning in the window, her fingers\ntwisted together, staring at us, or else at the stars, and swallowing\nher tears. We saw that she was always alone (your men never have any\ntime to spare), always unhappy and wistful. Her face spoke for her. She\nis a stranger here, we decided; she has come from a larger house, less\nshut in, and she longs to be far away; her heart yearns after a freer\nlife. She also wanted to live, to live and to be loved. No, you may say\nwhat you like, but you _do_ sometimes sell your daughters. It is true\nthat after a while they forget. They are pious and good and patient, but\nwho shall count the tears that fall over their saddened faces till the\nstore is exhausted? Or note what the heart suffers till it resigns\nitself to its living death? And why should it be so? Just because they\nare good and pious? You should have seen the husband--yellow, shrunk\ntogether. I saw him twice a day--go out in the morning and come home at\nnight.\n\n\"A shame!\"\n\nYou will believe that I had no answer ready.\n\nWe were both silent for a time, and then Polnivski went on:\n\n\"Once we missed her. She did not appear at the window all day.\n\n\"She must be ill, we thought.\n\n\"That evening the husband came in--the yellow creature--and asked for a\nremedy.\n\n\"'What sort?'\n\n\"'I don't know,' he said; 'a remedy.'\n\n\"'For whom?'\n\n\"'You want to know that, too? For my wife.'\n\n\"'What is wrong with her?'\n\n\"'I'm sure I don't know. She says, her heart hurts her.'\n\n\"And that,\" said Polnivski, \"was the occasion of our becoming\nacquainted. I won't be long about it. I am a bit of a doctor, too, and I\nwent back with him.\"\n\nPolnivski had begun to talk in broken sentences; he looked for\ncigarettes; at last he broke off altogether, opened his travelling-bag\nand commenced to hunt for matches.\n\nMeantime I was tormented by suspicions.\n\nI now looked at Polnivski with other eyes; his story had begun to pain\nme.\n\nWho can read a man? Who knows all that is in him? I began to think that\nI might have before me a Christian weasel who stole into Jewish\nhen-houses. He is too indignant about the fate of Jewish daughters; he\nis too long looking for matches; he is ashamed of something. Why will he\n\"not be long about it?\" Why won't he tell me the whole story in detail?\nWho knows what part he played in it, if not the old part of the serpent\nin Paradise? Why won't his conscience let him speak out? There it is\nagain--a Jewess--then, why not? At one time it was a merit to christen\nher; now the approved thing is to incite her to rebel against her God,\nher parents, her husband, her whole life!\n\nIt is called liberalism, entering a prison and letting in a breath of\nfresh air, a few rays of sunlight; awaking the prisoner, giving him a\nfew gingerbreads and then going--not seeing the prisoner grind his teeth\nas the rusty key turns in the lock, or how his face darkens, how\nconvulsively he breathes, how he tears his hair; or else, if he still\n_can_ weep, how he waters with bitter tears the mouldy bread at which\nthe mice have been gnawing while he slept.\n\nTo waken the dark, slumbering, and oppressed heart of a Jewish woman\nstrikes a romantic chord; to fan the flame of unknown or smouldering\nfeelings; to kiss and then--good-bye! bolt the door! she must make the\nbest of it!\n\nWe have been slaked for so long with bitterness, gall, and hatred, that\nnow, when we are offered bread and salt, we feel sure it must be\npoisoned--even though the hand that holds it out to us shakes with pity;\neven though there are tears in the eyes, and words of comfort on the\nlips.\n\nIt is so hard to believe in it all. For we also are infected; we also\nhave succumbed to the plague.\n\nMeanwhile Polnivski had found his matches, and I unwillingly accepted a\ncigarette. We smoked. The chaise was filled with blue, smoky rings. I\nwatched them, followed them with my eyes, and thought: Thus vanish both\ngood and evil.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"We made each other's acquaintance,\" said my Christian neighbor, \"but\nnothing came of it in the way of closer friendship.\"\n\n\"Why not?\" I asked, astonished.\n\n\"We went on looking at each other like the best of friends, but _she_\ncould not come to us, nor we, to her.\n\n\"She had but to try it! It was a most orthodox town, where everyone but\nthe Feldscher and the ladies' tailor wore kaftans. And there was\nsomething besides, I don't know what, that kept us back.\n\n\"Then the worst misfortune befell me that can befall a man.\n\n\"The apothecary's shop brought in next to nothing, and my wife began to\nfail in health.\n\n\"I saw more clearly every day that she was declining, and there was no\nhope of saving her. She needed Italy, and I could not even provide her\nwith enough to eat; and, you know, when people are in that state of\nhealth, they are full of hope and do not believe in their illness.\n\n\"The whole pain, the whole anguish has to be suppressed, buried deep in\nthe heart; and no matter how the heart is aching, _you_ have to smile\nand wear a smooth brow. It dies within you every second, and yet you\nmust help to make plans for this time next year, settle about enlarging\nthe house, buying a piano.\"\n\nHis voice changed.\n\n\"I am not equal to describing, to living through those times again; but\n_my_ sorrow and _her_ sorrow brought us nearer together.\"\n\nLukave appeared in the distance.\n\n\"I will tell you, in the few minutes I have left, that anyone so unhappy\nas that woman, and at the same time so full of sympathy and compassion\nfor others, I never saw; and all so simple, so natural, without any\nexaggeration.\n\n\"She never left Maria's bedside; she got round her husband to lend me\nmoney at a lower rate of interest. She was our watcher, our housekeeper,\nour cook, our most devoted friend, and when Maria died, it was almost\nharder to comfort her than me.\n\n\"Then it was I became convinced that hatred between nations is _not_\nnatural. There's just a lot of trouble in the world, and the more\npassionate would protest, only the false scribe, the political advocate,\ndrafts instead a denunciation of the Jews.\n\n\"I saw clearly that the Jews are not inimical to us--that we _can_ live\nin peace.\"\n\nLukave draws nearer and nearer to us--or we to it--and still I am afraid\nof the end. I interrupt him and ask:\n\n\"And what became of the woman?\"\n\n\"How should I know? I buried my wife, sold the apothecary's shop, cried\nwhen I said good-bye to my neighbor, and--that's all. Now I live in\nLukave. I am not doing well there, either.\"\n\n\"And what was the name of the little town you lived in before?\"\n\n\"Konska-vola.\"[7]\n\n\"Your neighbor was tall and pale?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Thin?\"\n\n\"Yes--you know her?\" he asked, looking pleased.\n\n\"She has a mole on the left side of her nose?\"\n\n\"A mole?\" laughed Yanek. \"What an idea!\"\n\nI think I must have made a mistake and say: \"Perhaps on the right side?\"\n\n\"My dear fellow, what are you talking about?\"\n\n\"Perhaps you did not notice--and her husband is yellow-skinned?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Called Cha\u00efm?\"\n\n\"I think not, and yet--perhaps---- devil may care!\"\n\n\"But _her_ name is Hannah?\"\n\n\"_Ach_, nonsense! Sarah! I remember I called her S\u00f2ruchna. I shouldn't\nhave forgotten her name.\"\n\n_I_ was the fool. Are there so few Jewish women leading similar\nlives?\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nTHE NEW TUNE\n\n\nThe end of the Day of Atonement.\n\nA blast on the Shofar, and the congregation stirred noisily: \"Next year\nin Jerusalem!\" The boys made a dash at the candle-wax on the table, a\nweek-day reader was already at the desk, and the week-day evening prayer\nwas being recited to a week-day tune.\n\nFull tilt they recited the prayers and full tilt they took off robes and\nprayer-scarfs and began to put on their boots--who has time to spare?\n\nNobody--not even to remark the pale young man walking round and round\namong the people, dragging after him a still paler child. It is his\nthird round; but nobody notices him. One is under a seat looking for his\nboots, another finds somebody has taken his goloshes by mistake or\ndropped candle-grease on his hat, and all are hungry.\n\nHe looks vainly into their faces; he cannot catch a single glance.\n\n\"Father, let us go home,\" begs the child.\n\n\"We will go round once more,\" he answers, \"and look for uncle.\"\n\nMeantime the congregation is preparing to leave. The last Kaddish is\nsaid, the last Amen!\n\nThe congregation make a rush for the door, carrying along with them the\nyoung man and the child.\n\nIn the court of the Shool the men begin to recite the blessing on the\nmoon. The women walk away down both sides of the street, forming two\nwhite fillets.\n\nOn the way home, there is time to count how many women really fainted;\nhow many nearly fainted; and to discuss the reader, who grew hoarser\nthis year than he had ever done before. At every house-door two or three\npeople say good-bye to the rest and go in, while the majority are still\nin the court of the Shool, gesticulating toward the moon. The pale young\nman and the pale child still circulate among them. The crowd lessens,\nand his face darkens; now the last has finished and gone. The young man\nremains.\n\n\"Not one; well, we must do without. I am not going to beg into a new\nyear, just after the Day of Atonement,\"[8] he murmured, with quivering\nlips.\n\nThe child thinks he is saying the moon-prayer.\n\n\"Enough now, father,\" and he took hold of the man's coat. \"Come home!\"\nHis voice was full of tears.\n\n\"Silly child, why are you in such a hurry?\"\n\n\"I want to eat; I'm hungry.\"\n\n\"I should think so! Of course, you are hungry, you rogue; you needn't\ntell me that. Was I likely to think that you wouldn't be, after fasting\nthrough a whole Day of Atonement?\"\n\n\"Come home!\" begs the child again.\n\n\"Look here, David'l, there's nothing to eat at home, either.\"\n\n\"Just a bit of bread!\"\n\n\"There isn't a scrap!\"\n\nThe child stands still in alarm.\n\n\"David'l,\" say the father, \"you know what day this has been?\"\n\nThe child only sobs quietly.\n\n\"To-day, David'l, was the Day of Atonement--a Y\u00f4m kodesh.[9] Do you know\nwhat that means?\"\n\nYes, the child just nodded.\n\n\"Well, tell me, David'l, what have we done all day?\"\n\n\"Prayed,\" wept the child.\n\n\"Right! And He whose Name is blessed, what has _He_ done?\"\n\n\"Forgiven us!\" (sobbing).\n\n\"Well, do you know, David'l, if God, blessed be He, has forgiven us, I\nthink we ought to be cheerful, don't you?\"\n\nThe child makes no reply.\n\n\"You remember, David'l, last year, when mother was alive, how we sang\nafter supper, to a new tune? Do you remember the tune?\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"I will sing it to remind you, only you must join in.\"\n\nAnd the young man began to sing in a weak, hoarse voice. It was not a\n\"Sinni\" and not a \"Wallach\" tune, but it was a gruesome tune that went\nto one's heart.\n\nThe child joined in and sang through his tears.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nMARRIED\n\n(Told by a Woman)\n\n\nI remember myself at the time when I played marbles and made mud cakes\nin the yard; in winter I sat all day indoors and rocked a little brother\nwho was born sickly, and who lingered on into his seventh year, when he\ndied of a decline.\n\nIn summer, whenever it was sunny, the poor little creature sat in the\nyard, warmed itself in the sun, and watched me playing marbles.\n\nIn winter it never left its cradle, and I told it stories and sang to\nit. The other boys all went to Cheder.\n\nMother was always busy, she had at least ten Parnossehs. Poor mother!\nshe peddled, she baked gingerbread, she helped at circumcisions and\nweddings, she was a Tikerin, a grave-measurer,[10] recited prayers, and\nbought in provisions for better-class households.\n\nFather earned three rubles a week keeping accounts for Reb Zeinwill\nTerkelbaum in the forest. And those were the good times; teachers were\npaid, and the rent, too--almost on rent-day,--and we never had to eat\nour bread dry.\n\nSometimes mother would bake a cake for supper; then there was quite a\nfeast. But that happened seldom.\n\nMother usually came home late and tired; often with red eyes and in a\nbitter mood. She would complain that the well-to-do ladies owed her\nmoney. They would get her to lay out her money for them, and then tell\nher to come for the money to-morrow, the day after; meantime more\npurchases were made, and when it came to a reckoning, the house-mistress\ncould not remember if she hadn't already paid for the day before\nyesterday's quarter of a pound of butter--and she \"put it aside\" to ask\nher husband about it, who was there at the time--he has a tenacious\nmemory, and will certainly remember how it was. Next morning it turns\nout the husband came home too late from the house-of-study, and she\nforgot to ask him. On the third day she says, with a pleased expression,\nthat she asked her husband about it, and he was angry with her for\nbothering him, \"as if he had nothing better to do than attend to the\naffairs of a couple of women;\" and it is settled that she, the madam,\nshall try to remember herself.\n\nPresently she begins to feel sure the butter was included in the account\nafter all; a little later, she is ready to build on it; and when poor\nmother reminded her of the butter again, she was called a pert hussy,\nwho was trying to get an extra gulden by trickery--and she was assured\nthat if they heard any more about the butter, she need never show\nherself there again.\n\nMother, who was herself the daughter of well-to-do parents, and would\nhave been a lady herself, were it not for the nobleman who took her\ndowry, could not accept this meekly. She frequently came home with\nswollen eyelids, threw herself on the bed with a burst of tears, and lay\nthere weeping bitterly till her heart was eased, when she stood up and\ncooked us Kliskelech[11] with beans.\n\nAt other times she vented her anger on us; that is, on me; she never\nscolded the sick Beril, and the other boys only very seldom--they, poor\nthings, used to come home from Cheder with their cheeks pinched brown\nand blue and with swollen under-lids; I, on the other hand, came in for\nmany an undeserved tweak to my hair or else a slap.\n\n\"You were not so sick all this time, but you could have laid the fire,\nput on a kettleful of water, were you?\" And if I _had_ done it, I caught\nit worse: \"Look at my fine lady! Goes and makes a fire and lets the wood\nburn away for nothing and nobody--never a thought of me toiling all day!\nShe'll be the ruin of us!\"\n\nSometimes when father was at work in the woods, mother would sit down on\nthe bed with her face to the window and complain, as she stared before\nher: \"What does he care! There he sits out in the woods like a lord,\nbreathes fresh air, lies about on the grass, eats sour milk, perhaps\neven cream, how do I know? and here am I, skin and bone!\"\n\nAnd with all that, those were good days. We never knew want, and after a\nweek of little worries came a cheerful, or at all events a peaceful,\nSabbath. Father often came home for it, and mother was busy all about\nthe house and smiled to herself in secret.\n\nFriday evening, just before blessing the candles, she would often kiss\nme on the head. I knew what that meant. Because if it so happened that\nfather did _not_ come home, then I was an idle hussy. Even when mother\npulled out half my hair while combing it, and gave me a few slaps on the\nshoulders besides, I didn't cry. My childish heart felt that it was not\n_me_ she meant, but her unhappy fate. When the wood was all cut down, my\nfather stayed at home, and then food began to grow scarce. It was my\nfather, my mother, and myself, really, who hadn't enough; the other\nchildren knew very little about it. Beril wanted next to nothing--took a\ncup of porridge when it was given him, and stared all the time at the\nceiling. The other poor children had to go to Cheder, \"they _must_ have\nsomething hot,\" but I often went hungry.\n\nFather and mother were always recalling by-gone days with tears in their\neyes. I, on the contrary, was happier in the bad times than I had been\nin the good. Now that bread was often lacking in the house, I received a\ndouble portion of my mother's love; she never pulled a hair out of my\nhead when combing it, or hit my thin bones; my father would stroke my\nhead at supper and play with me, so that I should not observe the\nsmallness of my share of food; and I was quite proud whenever there came\na fast, because I fasted with my parents, like a grown-up girl.\n\nIt was about that time that Beril died. It happened this way: Mother\nwoke up one morning and said to father across the bed: \"Do you know,\nBeril must be better; he has slept the whole night through.\"\n\nI heard it--I have always been a light sleeper--sprang joyfully from my\nbed on the chest, and ran to look at my \"pet of a brother\" (that is how\nI called him--I was so fond of him). I hoped to see a smile on the wan\nlittle face, such as came over it once a year--but it was a dead face I\nsaw.\n\nThere was a week's mourning.\n\nAfter that my father's health failed, and the R\u00f6feh began to come to the\nhouse.\n\nSo long as there was money to pay his fee, the old R\u00f6feh came in person;\nlater on, when all the bed-clothes and the hanging-lamp, with father's\nbook-case, which for a while my mother wouldn't touch, had gone in\nmedicines, the R\u00f6feh began to send his \"boy,\" the assistant.\n\nThe \"boy\" displeased my mother dreadfully; he had merely a suspicion of\npointed whiskers, was dressed like a Gentile, and was continually\nintroducing Polish words into his speech.\n\n_I_ was afraid of him, to this day I don't know why. But when I knew he\nwas to come, I ran and hid in the yard, and waited there till he had\ngone.\n\nOne day a neighbor fell ill, also a poor man, and one whose furniture\nhad apparently gone, too, and the \"boy\" (to this day I don't know what\nhis name was) went to him straight from our house. Crossing the yard, he\nfound me sitting on a log.\n\nI looked down. Aware of his approach, I felt a chill run through me, and\nmy heart began to beat faster.\n\nHe came up to me, took me by the chin, lifted my face and said:\n\n\"A pretty girl like you ought not to have untidy hair! And she ought not\nto be ashamed before any lad in the world.\"\n\nHe let me go, and I ran into the house. I felt that all the blood had\nrushed into my face at once. I squeezed into the darkest corner behind\nthe stove, under pretense of counting the soiled linen. That was on a\nWednesday.\n\nOn Friday, for the first time, I reminded my mother of my own accord\nthat my head needed washing, that it was frowzy.\n\n\"More shame to me!\" exclaimed my mother, wringing her hands. \"I haven't\ncombed her hair these three weeks.\"\n\nSuddenly she grew angry: \"Lazy thing!\" she cried; \"a great girl like you\nand not able to comb her own hair! Another at your age would have washed\nthe other children.\"\n\n\"Sarah'le, don't scream,\" begged father; but her anger only grew more\nviolent.\n\n\"Lazy girl, you _shall_ comb your own hair, and this minute. Do you\nhear?\"\n\nBut I was afraid to go to the fire-place, where the hot water stood,\nbecause I had to pass mother, who would have given me a slap. Father\nsaved me, as usual.\n\n\"Sarah'le,\" he moaned, \"don't scream, my head does ache so.\"\n\nThat was enough. My mother's anger vanished. I ran freely across the\nroom to the hot water.\n\nAs I awkwardly combed my hair, I saw my mother go up to my father and\npoint at me with a heavy sigh:\n\n\"Lord of the world, the poor child grows taller every day,\" she\nwhispered to my father, but my ears caught every word. \"Fine as\ngold--and what's to be done with her?\"\n\nFather answered with a still heavier sigh.\n\nThe R\u00f6feh assured us several times that father had nothing serious the\nmatter with him. Worry of mind had gone to his liver, and this had\nswollen and pressed against the heart; nothing worse. He was to drink\nmilk and not trouble any more, walk out into the street, talk with his\nfriends, and find something to do; but father said his feet refused to\ncarry him. Why, I only knew later.\n\nEarly one summer morning I was awakened by the following conversation\nbetween my parents:\n\n\"Did you knock yourself up in the woods?\" asked my mother.\n\n\"Looks like it,\" answered my father. \"They were cutting down in twenty\nplaces at once. You see, the wood is the nobleman's, but the peasants\nhave certain privileges;[12] they get the twigs that fall and lie about\non the ground, and the wood of any tree that is struck by lightning.\nWell, when the trees are cut down they lose their privileges, and have\nto buy wood for building and for heating purposes. So, of course, they\nwanted to stop it and bring down a commissioner. But they set about it\ntoo late. Reb Zeinwill no sooner saw them scratching their heads than he\ngave orders to put on forty axes. It was a Gehenna! They were felling in\nperhaps twenty different places, and one had to be everywhere. Well,\nwhat could you expect? My feet swelled like toadstools.\"\n\n\"Sinner that I am,\" sighed my mother. \"And there was I fancying you had\nnothing to do.\"\n\n\"Nothing at all,\" my father smiled sadly; \"I was only on my feet from\ndawn to dark.\"\n\n\"And three rubles a week wages,\" added my mother, angrily.\n\n\"He consented to raise them; meanwhile, you know, the timber raft was\nsunk, and he told me he was a poor man.\"\n\n\"And you believe it?\"\n\n\"It may be.\"\n\n\"He is always saying that\" (angrily), \"and yet the fortune goes on\nincreasing.\"\n\n\"With God's help,\" sighed father.\n\nThere was silence for a while.\n\n\"Do you know what he is doing now?\" asked father, who had scarcely left\nthe house for a year.\n\n\"What should he? He trades in flax and eggs; he has a public-house.\"\n\n\"And she?\"\n\n\"Sick, poor thing.\"\n\n\"A pity; she was a good woman.\"\n\n\"A jewel. The only lady who was not allowed to put up a groschen's worth\nof preserves! _She_ would have paid me regularly, but she hadn't much to\nsay in the matter.\"\n\n\"I fancy she is his third wife,\" said my father.\n\n\"She is,\" my mother agreed.\n\n\"Well, Sarah, here we have a rich Jew, one who might live comfortably,\nand, lo and behold, he has no luck with his wives--we all have our\ntroubles.\"\n\n\"Such a young woman, too,\" said my mother; \"not more than two or three\nand twenty.\"\n\n\"There's no accounting for these things; he must be seventy, and he's\nsolid as iron.\"\n\n\"You don't say so.\"\n\n\"And no spectacles.\"\n\n\"And when he walks, he shakes the planks.\"\n\n\"And here am I in bed.\"\n\nThese last words gave me a pang.\n\n\"God will help,\" mother consoled him.\n\n\"Only she--she--,\" sighed my mother, and glanced toward my box, \"she is\ngrowing taller and taller, do you see?\"\n\n\"Of course, I see!\"\n\n\"And a face--bright as the sun.\"\n\nThere is a silence.\n\n\"Sarah'le, we are not doing our duty.\"\n\n\"In what respect?\"\n\n\"In respect to her. How old were you when you married?\"\n\n\"I was younger than she is.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"Well--what?\"\n\nAt that moment there were two raps at the shutter.\n\nMother sprang out of bed; in one minute she had torn down the string by\nwhich the shutter was held to, and thrown open the window, which had\nlong been without a fastening.\n\n\"What is it?\" she called into the street.\n\n\"Rebekah Zeinwill is dead!\"\n\nMother left the window.\n\n\"Blessed be the righteous Judge!\" said my father. \"To die is nothing.\"\n\n\"Blessed be the righteous Judge!\" said my mother. \"We were just talking\nabout her.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI was very restless in those days. I don't know myself what ailed me.\n\nSometimes I would lie awake all night. Hammers beat in my temples, and\nmy heart pained me as though filled with fear, or else with a longing\nafter something for which it had no name. At other times it grew so warm\nand tender, I could have taken everything and everyone round me in my\narms and kissed them and hugged them.\n\nOnly whom? The little brothers wouldn't let me--even the five-year old\nYochanan butted and screamed; he wouldn't play with a girl. My mother,\nbesides my being afraid of her, was always cross and overdriven; my\nfather--growing from bad to worse.\n\nIn a short time he was as gray as a pigeon, his face shrivelled like\nparchment, and his eyes had such a helpless, pleading stare, it needed\nonly one glance at them to send me out of the room crying.\n\nThen I used to think of Beril. I could have told him everything, I could\nhave hugged and kissed him. Now he lay in the cold earth, and I cried\nmore bitterly than ever.\n\nIndeed, the tears often came without any reason at all. Sometimes I\nwould be looking out of the window into the yard and see the moon\nswimming nearer and nearer to the whitewashed fence opposite, and not\nable to swim over it.\n\nAnd I would be seized with pity for the moon and feel a sudden\ncontraction of the heart, and the tears flowed and flowed.\n\nOther days I was listless. I hung round with no energy and a pale face\nwith drooping eyelids. There was a rushing in my ears, my head was\nheavy, and life seemed so little worth living, it would be best to die.\n\nAt these times I envied Beril his lot. He lay in the earth, where it is\nquiet.\n\nAnd I often dreamt that I was dead; that I lay in the grave, or else\nthat I was flying about in heaven in a shift with my hair loose, and\nthat I looked down to see what people were about on the earth.\n\nJust about then I lost all the companions with whom I used to play at\nmarbles in days gone by, and they were not replaced. One of them already\nwent out on Sabbath with a satin skirt and a watch and chain. It was\nsoon to be her wedding. Others were \"Kallah-M\u00e4dlich\";[13] match-makers\nand future fathers-in-law were \"breaking in the doors,\" and there was\ncombing and washing and dressing, when _I_ was still going barefoot, in\nan old bodice and a short skirt and a faded cotton waist, which had\nburst in several places right in front, and which I had patched with\ncalico of a different color. The \"Kallah-M\u00e4dlich\" avoided me, and I was\nashamed to play with younger children; besides, marbles amused me no\nlonger. So I never showed myself in the street by day. Mother never sent\nme out on errands, and one day when I intended to go somewhere, she\nprevented me. I often used to slip out after dark, and walk about behind\nthe house near the barns, or else sit down beside the river.\n\nIn summer time, I sat there till quite late at night.\n\nSome evenings, mother would come out after me. She never came up to me,\nbut would stand in the gateway, look round--and I could almost hear the\nsigh she gave as she watched me in the distance.\n\nThat also came to an end in time; I would sit by myself there for hours,\nlistening to the noise of the little mill stream, watching the frogs\njump out of the grass into the water, or following a cloud through the\nsky.\n\nAt times I would fall half asleep with my eyes open.\n\nOne evening I heard a melancholy song. The voice was young and fresh,\nand yet the song thrilled me with emotion; it was a Jewish song.\n\n\"That is the R\u00f6feh-boy singing,\" I said to myself. \"Another would have\nsung hymns, not a song.\"\n\nI also said to myself that one should go indoors, so as not to hear it\nor meet the R\u00f6feh-boy, and yet I remained sitting; I was in a dreamy\nstate, with no energy to move, and I sat on, though my heart was beating\nanxiously.\n\nThe song drew nearer; it was coming from the opposite bank--across the\nbridge.\n\nAlready I hear steps in the sand, I want to run away, but my limbs are\ndisobedient, and I remain sitting.\n\nAt last he comes to the spot where I am.\n\n\"Is it you, Leah?\"\n\nI do not answer.\n\nThe noise in my ears is louder than ever, the hammering in my temples,\nbusier, and it seems to me the kindest and sweetest voice I ever heard.\n\nMy not answering matters little to him, he sits down beside me on the\nlog, and looks me straight in the face.\n\nI do not _see_ his look, because I dare not raise my eyes, but I feel\nhow it is scorching me.\n\n\"You are a pretty girl, Leah,\" he says, \"it's a pity to hide yourself.\"\n\nA dreadful crying fit seizes hold of me, and I run away.\n\nThe next evening I stayed at home, and the one after. On the third,\nFriday night, my heart was so heavy, I _had_ to go out--I felt I should\nsuffocate indoors. He was apparently waiting for me in the shadow round\na corner of the house, for hardly had I sat down in my accustomed place\nwhen he stood before me as though he had grown out of the ground.\n\n\"Don't run away from me, Leah,\" he begged gently. \"Believe me, I will do\nyou no harm.\"\n\nHis gentle, earnest voice touched me. Then he began to sing a low, sad\nsong, and again the tears came into my eyes. I could not keep them back,\nand began to cry quietly.\n\n\"Why are you crying, Leah,\" he broke off, and took my hand.\n\n\"You sing so sadly,\" I answered, and withdrew my hand from his.\n\n\"I am an orphan,\" he said, \"unhappy--among strangers.\"\n\nSomeone appeared in the street and we fled in different directions.\n\nI learned the song and used to hum it softly over to myself in bed; I\nwent to sleep with it, and I rose with it next morning. And yet I\nfrequently had remorse, and cried because I had made acquaintance with a\nR\u00f6feh-boy who dressed German fashion and shaved his chin. Had he dressed\nlike the old R\u00f6feh, had he at least been pious! I knew that if my father\nheard of it, the grief would kill him; my mother would do herself a\nmischief, and the secret lay on my heart like a stone.\n\nI go up to my father's bed to hand him something, and my mother comes in\nfrom the street, and my sin overwhelms me, so that hands and feet shake,\nand all the color goes from my face. And yet every night I consented to\ncome out again the next, and I felt no desire to run away from him now.\nHe never took my hand again and told me I was a pretty girl. He only\ntalked with me, taught me songs; but one day he brought me a bit of St.\nJohn's Bread.\n\n\"Eat it, Leah.\"\n\nI wouldn't take it.\n\n\"Why not?\" he asked sadly. \"Why will you not take anything from me?\"\n\nI blurted out that I would rather have a piece of bread.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHow long our sitting together and singing lasted, I don't know.\n\nBut one day he came sadder than usual; I saw it in his face and asked\nhim what was the matter.\n\n\"I have to go.\"\n\n\"Where to?\" I asked faintly.\n\n\"To the recruiting station.\"\n\nI caught hold of his hand.\n\n\"You are going into the army?\"\n\n\"No,\" he replied, and pressed my fingers, \"I am not strong. I suffer\nfrom the heart. I shall not be taken for a soldier, but I must present\nmyself.\"\n\n\"Shall you come back?\"\n\n\"Of course!\"\n\nWe are both silent.\n\n\"It will only be for a few weeks,\" he said.\n\nI was silent, and he looked at me pleadingly.\n\n\"Shall you miss me?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" I scarcely heard my own reply.\n\nAnother silence.\n\n\"Let us say good-bye.\"\n\nMy hand still lay in his.\n\n\"Go in health,\" I said in a trembling voice.\n\nHe leaned over, kissed me, and vanished.\n\nI stood there a long time like one tipsy.\n\n\"Leah!\" It was mother's voice, but the old, gentle, almost singing voice\nof the days when father was well.\n\n\"Leah'she!\"\n\nI had not been called that for a long time. One more quiver, and I ran\nindoors with lips still burning from his kiss. I scarcely recognized the\nroom. On the table stood two strange candle-sticks with lighted candles,\nand beside them, brandy and gingerbread. Father was sitting on a chair\npropped up with cushions, joy smiling out of every wrinkle in his face.\nAnd round the table were strange chairs with strange people--and mother\ncaught me in her arms and kissed me.\n\n\"Good luck to you, daughter, my little daughter, Leah'she! good luck to\nyou!\"\n\nI don't understand, but I am frightened, and my heart beats wildly. When\nmy mother let me loose, my father called me. I had no strength to stand,\nand I dropped on my knees beside him, and laid my head in his lap. He\nstroked my head, curled my hair with his fingers.\n\n\"My child you will never suffer want and hunger again, you will never go\nbarefoot--you will be a lady--you will be rich--you will pay for the\nteaching of your little brothers--so that they shall not be turned out\nof the Cheder--you will help _us_, too--I-shall get well.\"\n\n\"And do you know who the suitor is?\" asked mother, excitedly. \"Reb\nZeinwill! fancy, Reb Zeinwill! He sent the match-maker himself.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI don't know what happened to me, but I woke to find myself on my bed in\nbroad daylight.\n\n\"God be praised!\" cried my mother.\n\n\"Praised be His dear Name!\" said my father.\n\nAnd they continued to embrace and kiss me. They even offered me\npreserves.... Would I like syrup in water?... Perhaps a sip of wine?\n\nI shut my eyes again, and was choked with a terrible fit of crying.\n\n\"Never mind, never mind,\" said my mother, joyfully. \"Poor child, let her\nhave her cry out. It is our fault for telling her the good news all at\nonce, so suddenly. She might have burst a vein, which heaven forbid.\nBut God be praised! Yes, cry your heart out. May all sorrow swim away\nwith the tears, and a new life begin for you--a new life.\"\n\nMan has two angels, a good and a bad, and I felt convinced that the good\nangel bade me forget my R\u00f6feh-boy, eat Reb Zeinwill's preserves, drink\nhis syrup in water, and dress at his expense, while the bad angel urged\nme to tell my parents, once and for all, that I would not consent, that\non no account would I consent.\n\nI did not know Reb Zeinwill, unless I had seen him once and then\nforgotten--or else not known who it was--but I disliked him.\n\nThe second night I dreamed that I stood under the wedding canopy.\n\nThe bridegroom is Reb Zeinwill, and they lead me round him seven times,\nbut my feet are as if paralyzed, and they carry me in their hands.\n\nThen I am taken home.\n\nMy mother comes to meet me with a cake, and they are bringing the golden\nbroth.[14]\n\nI am afraid to raise my eyes. I feel sure I shall see before me a blind\nman, both eyes gone, with a dreadfully long nose--a cold shudder runs\nthrough me--but someone whispers in my ear:\n\n\"Leah, what a pretty girl you are!\" And the voice is not that of an old\nman; it is _his_ voice. I open my eyes a little way; it is _his_ face:\n\"Sst!\" he whispers; \"don't tell! I enticed Reb Zeinwill into the wood,\nput him into a sack, tied it up, and threw it into the river (this was\nout of a story my mother once told me), and I am here in his place!\"\n\nI woke trembling.\n\nPale moonshine was lighting the whole room through a chink in the\nshutter, and I noticed, for the first time, that the lamp was once more\nhanging from the ceiling, and that my parents were sleeping in\nbed-clothes. Father smiled in his sleep; mother breathed quietly, and\nthe good angel said to me:\n\n\"If you are obedient and pious, your father will recover his health;\nyour mother will not have to toil into her old age, and your little\nbrothers will become learned men--rabbis, authorities in the Law, great,\ngreat Jews. Their school fees will be paid.\"\n\n\"Only,\" put in the bad angel, \"Reb Zeinwill will kiss you with his damp\nwhiskers, and clasp you in his bony arms; and he will torment you as he\ndid the other wives, and send you to an early grave, and _he_ will come\nback and grieve, and he will teach you no more songs, or sit with you\nevening after evening--you will be sitting with Reb Zeinwill!\"\n\nNo! not if the heavens should fall about the earth! Tear up the\ncontract!\n\nI did not sleep again till morning. My mother was the first to wake. I\nwanted to talk with her, but I was accustomed to go for help to my\nfather.\n\nThere, he wakes.\n\n\"Do you know, Sarah'le,\" are his first words, \"I feel so well to-day.\nYou will see, I shall go out.\"\n\n\"Praise to His dear Name! It is all owing to our daughter's good\nfortune, all thanks to her merit.\"\n\n\"And the R\u00f6feh was quite right: the milk agrees very well with me.\"\n\nThey are silent, and the good angel repeats:\n\n\"If you are good and pious, your father will get well, while if your\nlips let fall wicked words, he will decline and die.\"\n\n\"Listen, Sarah'le,\" continued my father, \"you are not to go about\npeddling any more.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"What I say! I will go to-day to Reb Zeinwill; he will take me into a\nbusiness, or lend me a few rubles, and we will have a little shop; I\nwill serve a bit, and you a bit--and later I will deal in produce.\"\n\n\"God grant it.\"\n\n\"He _will_ grant it. If you want a dress for the wedding, buy it--even\n_two_ dresses. Why not? He said we were to get what we wanted. You are\nnot going in your old clothes?\"\n\n\"Go along with you! The thing is to have something made for the\nchildren. Reuben has been going barefoot--last week he got a splinter in\nhis sole, and he is limping now. Winter is coming on, too, they want\ncoats and shirts and warm cloaks.\"\n\n\"Buy, buy!\"\n\n\"You hear?\" said the good angel. \"If you speak out, your mother will\nhave no new dress, and you know the old one is falling to bits; the\nlittle brothers will run barefoot to Cheder in the sharpest frost, and\nin summer they will get splinters in their soles.\"\n\n\"I tell you what it is,\" said my mother, \"everything ought to be talked\nover and settled in detail, because he is not a _very_ good man.\nWhatever settlement he intends to make on her ought to be put down in\nwriting. There will be any quantity to inherit. Even if it isn't a deed,\nlet him give a written promise, because how long is such a one likely to\nlive? Another year or so!\"\n\n\"One can live a long time in comfort!\" sighed my father.\n\n\"A long time! Remember, he's seventy, and sometimes he looks dead behind\nhis ears.\"\n\nAnd the bad angel whispered: \"If you keep silence, you will marry a dead\nman; you will live with a corpse; they will lead you to the bridal\nchamber with a lifeless body.\"\n\nMother sighed.\n\n\"Everything is in God's hands,\" said my father.\n\nMother sighed again, and father said:\n\n\"And what could we do? Anything better? If I only could have gotten\nwell, and earned something, and we had had at least dry bread in the\nhouse----\"\n\nHe broke off; I had a feeling that something wept within him.\n\n\"If she had been a year or two younger, I would have risked it\nall--perhaps even bought lottery tickets.\"\n\nAnd I said nothing.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMy seventy-year-old bridegroom gave my father a few hundred gulden for\nclothes for the wedding, and me a check for one hundred and fifty\ngulden.\n\nPeople said, \"A fine match.\"\n\nI recovered my companions. The one with the satin skirt and the watch\nand chain came two or three times a day.\n\nShe was the happiest creature in the world, because I had caught her up,\nand we were to be married in the same month. I had others, but this one\nstuck to me like a leech. The others were \"common girls, there was no\nsaying how long they wouldn't have to wait!\"\n\nRivkah's _fianc\u00e9_ was a stranger, but she was to board at home for two\nor three years. During that time we would be close friends; she would\nrun in to me for chicory-coffee; I to her on Sabbath, after the mid-day\nrest, for chicken-broth and pear cider.\n\n\"And when I am expecting a baby,\" said Rivkah once, and her face shone,\n\"you will come and sit by me?\"\n\nI made no reply.\n\n\"Well,\" exclaimed Rivkah, \"why so sad? There's no saying but you,\ntoo.... Cheer up!\" she went on, \"if God will, one can fire off a broom.\nBesides, how long do you suppose it will last? No one can live forever.\nMy word, what a young widow you will make, to be sure. Won't you be run\nafter!\"\n\nRivkah wished Reb Zeinwill no harm.\n\n\"To be sure, he's a wretch; he tormented that other woman; but she was\nsickly, and you are sound as a nut. He will treat _you_ well enough.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHe came back!\n\nMy father was better, but he fancied a little dry-cupping--he was\nafraid, otherwise, of going out. He felt that after lying down so long,\nand then sitting for so many weeks on end, the blood had all settled in\none place, and should be stirred. Also his shoulders ached, and\ndry-cupping is the sovereign remedy for that.\n\nI shook as with ague. When there was dry-cupping to be done, the \"boy\"\ncame, not the R\u00f6feh himself.\n\n\"Will you go and fetch the R\u00f6feh?\" asked my father.\n\n\"The idea!\" exclaimed my mother. \"A Kallah-M\u00e4del!\"\n\nShe went herself.\n\n\"Why have you grown so pale?\" asked my father, in alarm.\n\n\"Nothing.\"\n\n\"It's some days now,\" he persisted.\n\n\"You imagine it, Tate.\"[15]\n\n\"Your mother says the same.\"\n\n\"_Eh!_\"\n\n\"To-day\"--father wanted to cheer me up--\"they are coming to measure you\nfor the wedding dress.\"\n\nI was silent.\n\n\"Aren't you pleased?\" he asked.\n\n\"Why shouldn't I be?\"\n\n\"You don't even know _what_ they are making you!\"\n\n\"But they've measured me once already.\"\n\nHereupon my mother came in with the R\u00f6feh himself.\n\nI felt relieved, and yet all the time something mourned within me:\n\"Perhaps you will never see him again.\"\n\n\"What a world it is!\" Thus the R\u00f6feh coming in panting and groaning.\n\"Reb Zeinwill marries a young girl, and the treasurer's Leezerl has\nturned ascetic and run away from his wife.\"\n\n\"Leezerl!\" cried mother, in astonishment.\n\n\"As I tell you; and here am I at sixty about early and late, and my\nassistant goes to bed.\"\n\nI began to tremble again.\n\n\"Don't keep such a Gentile!\" said my mother.\n\n\"A Gentile?\" said the R\u00f6feh. \"Why a Gentile?\"\n\n\"What's all that to me?\" interrupted father, impatiently. \"You'd better\nset to work.\"\n\nFather was naturally good-tempered; he always seemed to me incapable of\nhurting a fly, and yet his tone was so full of contempt for the R\u00f6feh.\n\nWhen he lay sick in bed, he was always glad if anyone came in to have a\nchat with him, but he could never get on with the R\u00f6feh; he always\ninterrupted him and told him to see to his own business, but this was\nthe first time he had spoken so strongly. It pained me, because how much\nrougher would he not have been with the other, who was lying ill?\n\nWhat is wrong with him?\n\nHe had said his heart was weak.\n\nWhat that meant exactly, I did not know; it must be something for which\none had to go to bed, and yet _my_ heart told me that I had something to\nanswer for in the matter.\n\nThat night I cried in my sleep; my mother woke me, and sat down beside\nme on my bed.\n\n\"Hush, my child,\" she said, \"don't let us wake father.\" And our\nconversation was whispered into each other's ears.\n\nI noticed that mother was greatly disturbed; she looked at me\ninquiringly, as though determined to get at the truth, and I resolved to\nsay nothing, at all events so long as my father slept.\n\n\"My child, why have you been crying?\"\n\n\"I don't know, mother.\"\n\n\"Do you feel well?\"\n\n\"Yes, Mamishe; only sometimes my head aches.\"\n\nShe sat on my bed, leaning half way over, and I drew nearer her and laid\nmy head on her breast.\n\n\"Mother,\" I asked, \"why does your heart beat so loud?\"\n\n\"For fear, Tochter'she.\"\n\n\"Are _you_ afraid at night, too?\"\n\n\"Night and day; I am afraid all the time.\"\n\n\"What for are you afraid?\"\n\n\"I am afraid for you.\"\n\n\"For me?\"\n\nNo reply, but I felt a warm tear fall on my face.\n\n\"Mother, _you_ are crying now.\"\n\nThe tears fell faster.\n\nI won't say! my resolve strengthened.\n\nSuddenly she asked:\n\n\"Has Rivkah been telling you anything?\"\n\n\"What about, mother?\"\n\n\"About your intended?\"\n\n\"How should _she_ know him?\"\n\n\"If she really knew him, she would hold her tongue. I only mean, did she\nrepeat any gossip? Out of jealousy--when a rich man marries a young girl\nin his old age, people always talk. I don't know--has no one told you\nthat his last wife died because of the life he led her?\"\n\nI answered coolly that I had heard something like it, but that I had\nforgotten from whom.\n\n\"I'm sure it was Rivkah--I wish her mouth were in the back of her head!\"\n(angrily).\n\n\"Then why was it,\" I inquired, \"that she died no suddenly?\"\n\n\"Why? She had a weak heart.\"\n\n\"But--do people die of a weak heart?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"....\n\nSomething seemed to snap inside my brain.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI became a \"silken child,\" my praise was in everyone's mouth. Parents\ncould not understand it--neither could the tailor: I asked for nothing;\nmother chose everything--material, color, and cut, just as she fancied.\n\nRivkah used to come in and pinch her own red cheeks.\n\n\"Who would trust a mother in matters of dress? An old-fashioned Jewess?\nYou won't dare to show yourself on Sabbath either in Shool or in the\nstreet or anywhere else!\n\n\"You've done for yourself,\" she wound up.\n\nIt occurred to me that I had done for myself a long time, and I waited\nindifferently for the Sabbath of Consolation, when Reb Zeinwill was to\nbe invited to supper.\n\nThen there would follow the \"calling up,\"[16] and then the wedding.\n\nFather was really better, he sometimes went out and began to inquire\nabout produce. He thought it too soon to speak to Reb Zeinwill about\nanything further; he intended to ask him on Sabbath to come again for\nthe \"third meal,\" and to put in a word for himself after that.\n\nAll being so well, it was time to dismiss the R\u00f6feh; there was no\ndifficulty now about credit--he never reminded us of what was owing him,\nnever sent the \"boy,\" but came himself. Still, it was time this should\nend. I don't know how much they sent him, but the messenger was my\nbrother Avremele, who was to leave the money on his way to Cheder.\n\nBut the \"boy\" appeared a few days later.\n\n\"How, wasn't it enough?\" said my father, on seeing him.\n\n\"Yes, Reb Yeh\u00f9dah; I have come to say good-bye.\"\n\n\"To me?\" asked my father in surprise.\n\nI had dropped down, when he came in, on the nearest chair, but at these\nwords I stood up; it had flashed across me that I must protect him, not\nlet him be insulted. He hadn't come for that.\n\n\"I used to come to see you at one time,\" he said, with his gentle,\nmelancholy voice, which was like sweet oil to my heart, \"now I am\nleaving for good, so I thought--\"\n\n\"Well, well, certainly,\" replied father, quite politely. \"Take a seat,\nyoung man. It was very nice of you to think of it, very nice, indeed.\"\n\n\"Daughter,\" he called to me, \"we must offer him some refreshment.\"\n\nHe sprang up, pale, with quivering lips and burning eyes, but the next\ninstant his face had taken on its old melancholy expression.\n\n\"No, Reb Yeh\u00f9dah, I want nothing, thank you. Farewell!\"\n\nHe put out his hand to no one, and barely gave me a glance.\n\nAnd yet, in that one glance, I read that he reproached me, that he would\nnever forgive me. For what? I hardly knew myself.\n\nAnd again I fainted.\n\n\"The third time,\" I hear my mother say to my father. \"It is of no\nconsequence--at her age it often happens--but heaven forbid that Reb\nZeinwill should hear of it. He would break off the match. He had enough\nof that with the last one--the invalid.\"\n\nI was not an invalid. And I only fainted once more--on the wedding-day,\nwhen I saw Reb Zeinwill for the first time.\n\nNever again.\n\nYesterday even, when the R\u00f6feh, who cuts my Reb Zeinwill's nails every\nmonth (otherwise they grow into his fingers), asked me, as he left, if I\nremembered his \"boy,\" because he had died in a hospital in Warsaw--even\nthen I didn't faint; I only shed one tear. And I was not aware of\n_that_, only it seemed to please the R\u00f6feh.\n\n\"You are a kind soul,\" he said, and then I felt it on my cheek.\n\nNothing more.\n\nI am healthy; I have lived with Reb Zeinwill five years.\n\n_How?_ Perhaps I shall tell another time.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nTHE SEVENTH CANDLE OF BLESSING\n\n\nThe thirteen-year-old brow is puckered with anguish, the child-face pale\nwith dread, tear after tear falls from the innocent eyes. Only last\nFriday, just a week ago, she was so happy, so full of glee. It was the\n\"short Friday.\"[17] Grandmother had woke her a little earlier than\nusual, she had spent the day in preparation for the Sabbath.\n\nIn the late afternoon she had washed herself, plaited her long hair,\nsinging and dancing the while, dressed, and gone with grandmother to the\nsynagogue--and they had lighted each her candles. Bashe's first\ncandle--God bless grandmother! Her second--God bless Tatishe,[18] and\nlet him find lots of work and make heaps of money, and not sigh any more\nand say that the times are bad. Her third--God bless Mamishe, and make\nher strong.\n\nAnd then--for the little sisters and the little brothers, a candle each.\n\nIt lasted till people began to come in for the prayers.\n\nHow she loves the synagogue! how she loves candle-blessing.\n\nShe has lived with grandmother two whole years.\n\nShe does not want to go home (there is no candle-blessing there, it is\nnot the custom), unless it were just to see her mother, to clasp her\nfather once round the neck and play awhile with his black, silky beard,\nand to have a game with the little ones.\n\nGrandmother must not be left alone. She is always so good to her; she\nhas taught her to bless the candles.\n\nBashe loves grandmother, and blessing the candles, too. She longs for it\nthe whole week through, she counts the days. But this is a miserable\nFriday.\n\nIn the morning everything was the same as usual.\n\nShe had \"made Sabbath\"; grandmother had sat there and watched her\nhappily. They had dressed themselves, and grandmother had taken her\nstick. Then, as ill-luck would have it, there came the postman.\n\nGrandmother read the letter, threw herself on the bed, and there she has\nlain for two hours with her face to the wall.\n\nShe is black as a coal, her eyes are shut; one hand holds the letter;\nshe foams at the mouth.\n\nNo one is to come near her; no one is to be sent for.\n\nBashe is pushed away, and whenever she tries to open the door,\ngrandmother hears and screams \"No!\"\n\nBashe stands by the bed and cannot make it out. Her heart beats wildly.\nGod only knows what they have written from home. Perhaps--perhaps....\n\nShe cannot think what has happened. She drops on to her knees and\nclutches convulsively at grandmother's hand:\n\n\"Granny, granny, what is it? Speak to me! Tell me--what is it? Granny, I\nthink I shall die of fright!\" She spoke involuntarily.\n\nGrandmother has turned toward her; she moves her lips, opens her eyes,\ngives her one look, and\n\n\"Die!\" she says in a hard voice, and turns her face once more to the\nwall. \"And there wasn't his like!\" she adds. \"Die, Bashe, die!\"\n\nBashe is silent. A blackness passes before her eyes, and her head falls\non grandmother's feet. Within her all is dark and cold. She has ceased\nto puzzle herself, she is nearly unconscious.\n\nAnd in this way another half-hour goes by.\n\nShe hears her grandmother's voice:\n\n\"Get up!\"\n\nBashe obeys.\n\nGrandmother has risen to her feet and taken up the stick which she\npreviously had flung away.\n\n\"How many candles have you?\" she asks.\n\n\"Why, eight,\" is the trembling reply.\n\n\"Leave one out!\"\n\nBashe does not move.\n\n\"Put one away!\" screams grandmother, angrily.\n\nBashe trembles like a leaf, but does not move.\n\nThe old woman has gone to the table herself, undone the packet of\ncandles, taken out one, and tied the rest together again. She pushes\nthem into Bashe's hands:\n\n\"Come along!\"\n\nBashe follows her automatically; neither has thought to fasten the door\nbehind her. Bashe does not know herself how she reached the platform\nwith her candles.\n\n\"Light them one at a time, for whom I shall tell you. Repeat my words.\nSay: God bless Mamishe and grant her long life!\"\n\nBashe shakes as with ague: the first candle has always been father's.\n\n\"Repeat!\" screams grandmother.\n\nBashe does so.\n\n\"The second: God make Cha\u00efmle a good Jew!\"\n\nLittle Bashe shakes more and more--her limbs are giving way beneath\nher--she does not hear her father's name. Her heart thumps, her temples\nthrob, her eyes burn.\n\nGrandmother has no pity on her--she screams louder every time:\n\n\"Repeat, repeat what I say!\"\n\nBashe is lighting the last candle.\n\n\"Say: God bless Sarah!\" commands grandmother.\n\nNo--she will not say that--where is father? No, she cannot say it--her\nwhole being is in revolt against her wicked grandmother--no, no, no!\n\n\"Repeat, repeat!\" screams grandmother with increasing violence.\n\nBashe refuses to obey--the last light _must_ be father's.\n\nShe begins: \"God bless fa--\"\n\n\"Hush!\" in a terrible voice. \"Hush, hush! Your father is no longer a\nJew. He has become an official!\"[19]\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\nTHE WIDOW\n\n\nThe gray, swirling mists have rolled themselves together into one black\ncloud. It is warm and stifling; it is going to pour with rain; a few\ndrops are falling already. The little house stands just under the hill.\nThe low, thatched roof is full of holes--there is no one to mend it.\n\nThe clouds have hidden the sun, and the remaining light is intercepted\nby the hill.\n\nInside the hut it is nearly dark; it is late--night is falling.\n\nIn the corner, on the chimney-shelf, stands a little empty lamp, with a\ncracked globe; the naphthaline is exhausted, there is no one to go and\nbuy more. It is closer indoors than out.\n\nThe fire-place is not empty, it boasts two or three broken earthenware\npots, a handful of ashes, a fragment of polished slate, a little iron\nstand on legs, but not a spark of fire.\n\nOutside the door lies a log of rotten wood; there is no one to chop it.\n\nThe owner of the hut lay sick for a whole year, and with every day of it\ntheir little hoard of money grew less. He had saved for a child's sake,\n\"scraped together one hundred rubles, to be lent on interest.\" God gave\na little girl: \"It shall be her marriage portion!\"\n\nBut there came the illness.\n\nThe little hoard dwindled and dwindled, and the man's strength likewise.\nThe household goods were disposed of one after another; the last to go\nwas the sewing-machine, and with the last penny out of the bag the soul\ndeparted out of the body.\n\nThe soiled shred of linen that held the money hangs across a glass of\nwater beside the soul-light.[20]\n\nA small, tin trunk stands near the door; it belongs to the servant-girl,\nwho has just gone out to look for another situation.\n\nThe dismantled room is now all but dark; a few scattered wisps of straw\nshimmer on the floor; a nail-head stares here and there out of the four\nwalls.\n\nOn the wall used to hang a looking-glass (it is not wanted now. If the\nwidow were to see her reflection, she would be terrified). A Chanukah\nlamp (for whom should it be lighted?) and clothes used to hang there,\ntoo. They came and took each his own before he died.\n\nIn one corner stands a cradle; in the cradle lies a child, asleep. On\nthe floor beside the cradle sits the newly-made widow.\n\nThe thin hands hang helpless, the heavy head rests on the cradle; the\neyes, which look as if they had wept themselves out, stare fixedly at\nthe ceiling.\n\nYou might suppose she was dead, that she neither felt nor remembered any\nlonger. Her heart scarcely beats, her strength has left her.\n\nAnd yet one thought is revolving ceaselessly in her brain; no other\nseems able to drive it away--it is not to be dislodged.\n\n\"Hannah,\" he had once said to her, \"hand me the scissors.\"\n\nHe had no use for them just then, and he had given a little artful\nsmile. What had he really wanted?\n\nDid he wish me to go near to him? I was peeling potatoes. Did I give him\nthe scissors? No; just then someone came in--but who? She cannot\nrecollect, and goes puzzling herself--who?\n\nThe child sleeps on, and smiles; it is dreaming.\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\nTHE MESSENGER\n\n\nHe is on the road, and his beard and coat-tails flutter in the wind.\n\nEvery few minutes he presses a hand to his left side--he feels a pang;\nbut he will not confess to it--he tries to think he is only making sure\nof his leather letter-bag.\n\n\"If only I don't lose the contract-paper and the money!\" That is what he\nis so afraid of.\n\n\"And if it _does_ hurt me, it means nothing. Thank God, I've got\nstrength enough for an errand like this and to spare! Another at my\nyears wouldn't be able to do a verst,[21] while I, thanks to His dear\nName, owe no one a farthing and earn my own living. God be praised, they\ntrust me with money.\n\n\"If what they trust me with were my own, I shouldn't be running errands\nat more than seventy years old; but if the Almighty wills it so--so be\nit.\"\n\nIt begins to snow in thick flakes; he is continually wiping his face.\n\n\"I haven't more than half a mile[22] to go now,\" he thinks. _\"O wa!_\nwhat is that to me? It is much nearer than further.\" He turns his head.\n\"One doesn't even see the town-clock from here, or the convent, or the\nbarracks; on with you, Shemaiah, my lad.\"\n\nAnd Shemaiah tramps on through the wet snow; the old feet welter in and\nout. \"Thank God, there is not much wind.\"\n\nMuch wind, apparently, meant a gale; the wind was strong enough and blew\nright into his face, taking his breath away with every gust; it forced\nthe tears out of his old eyes, and they hurt him like pins; but then he\nalways suffered from his eyes.\n\nIt occurred to him that he would spend his next earnings on\nroad-spectacles--large, round ones that would cover his eyes completely.\n\n\"If God will,\" he thought, \"I shall manage it. If I only had an errand\nto go every day, a long, long one. Thank God, I can walk any distance,\nand I should soon save up enough for the spectacles.\"\n\nHe is also in want of a fur coat of some sort, it would ease the\noppression on his chest; but he considers that, meanwhile, he has a warm\ncloak.\n\n\"If only it does not tear, it is an excellent one.\" He smiles to\nhimself. \"No new-fangled spider-web for you. All good, old-fashioned\nsateen--it will outlast me yet. And it has no slit--that's a great\npoint. It doesn't blow out like the cloaks they make nowadays, and it\nfolds over ever so far in front.\n\n\"Of course,\" he thinks on, \"a fur coat is better; it's warm--beautifully\nwarm. But spectacles come first. A fur is only good for winter, and\nspectacles are wanted all the year round, because in summer, when\nthere's a wind and it blows the dust into your eyes, it's worse than in\nwinter.\"\n\nAnd so it was settled; first spectacles and then a fur coat. Please\nGod, he would help to carry corn--that would mean four gulden.\n\nAnd he tramped on, and the wet snow was blown into his face, the wind\ngrew stronger, and his side pained him more than ever.\n\n\"If only the wind would change! And yet perhaps it's better so, because\ncoming back I shall feel more tired, and I shall have the wind in my\nback. Then it will be quite different. Everything will be done; I shall\nhave nothing on my mind.\"\n\nHe was obliged to stop a minute and draw breath; this rather frightened\nhim.\n\n\"What is the matter with me? A Cantonist[23] ought to know something of\nthe cold,\" he thought sadly.\n\nAnd he recalls his time of service under Nicholas, twenty-five years'\nactive service with the musket, beside his childhood as a Cantonist. He\nhas walked enough in his life, marching over hill and dale, in snow and\nfrost and every sort of wind. And what snows, what frosts! The trees\nwould split, the little birds fall dead to the ground, and the Russian\nsoldier marched briskly forward, and even sang a song, a _trepak_, a\n_komarinski_, and beat time with his feet.\n\nThe thought of having endured those thirty-five years of service, of\nhaving lived through all those hardships, all those snows, all those\nwinds, all the mud, hunger, thirst, and privation, and having come home\nin health--the thought fills him with pride. He holds up his head and\nfeels his strength renewed.\n\n\"Ha, ha, what is a bit of a frost like this to me? In Russia, well, yes,\nthere it was something like.\"\n\nHe walks on, the wind has lessened a little, it grows darker, night is\nfalling.\n\n\"Call that a day,\" he said to himself. \"Well, I never,\" and he began to\nhurry, not to be overtaken by the night. Not in vain has he been so\nregularly to study in the Shool of a Sabbath afternoon--he knows that\none should go out and come home again before the sun goes down.\n\nHe feels rather hungry. He has this peculiarity--that being hungry makes\nhim cheerful. He knows appetite is a good sign; \"his\" traders, the ones\nwho send him on errands, are continually lamenting their lack of it. He,\nblessed be His Name, has a good appetite; except when he is not up to\nthe mark, as yesterday, when the bread tasted sour to him.\n\nWhy should it have been sour? Soldiers' bread? Once, perhaps, yes; but\nnow? Phonye[24] bakes bread that any Jewish baker might be proud of, and\nhe had bought a new loaf which it was a pleasure to cut; but he was not\nup to the mark, a chill was going through his bones.\n\nBut, praised be He whose Name he is not worthy to mention, that happens\nto him but seldom.\n\nNow he is hungry, and not only that, but he has in his pocket a piece of\nbread and cheese; the cheese was given him by the trader's wife, may\nshe live and be well. She is a charitable woman--she has a Jewish heart.\nIf only she would not scold so, he thinks, she would be really nice. He\nrecalls to mind his dead wife.\n\n\"There was my Shprintze Niepritshkes; she also had a good heart and was\ngiven to scolding. Every time I sent one of the children out into the\nworld she wept like a beaver, although at home she left them no peace\nwith her scolding tongue. And when a death happened in the family!\" he\nwent on remembering. \"Why, she used to throw herself about on the floor\nwhole days like a snake and bang her head with her fists.\"\n\n\"One day she wanted to throw a stone at heaven.\n\n\"We see,\" he thought, \"how little notice God takes of a woman's\nfoolishness. But with her there was no taking away the bier and the\ncorpse. She slapped the women and tore the beards of the men.\n\n\"She was a fine woman, was Shprintze. Looked like a fly, and was strong,\nso strong. Yet she was a good woman--she didn't dislike _me_ even,\nalthough she never gave me a kind word.\n\n\"She wanted a divorce--a divorce. Otherwise she would run away. Only,\nwhen was that?\"\n\nHe remembers and smiles.\n\nIt was a long, long time ago; at that time the excise regulations were\nstill in force, and he was a night watchman, and went about all night\nwith an iron staff, so that no brandy should be smuggled into the town.\n\nHe knew what service was! To serve with Phonye was good discipline; he\nhad had good teachers. It was a winter's morning before daybreak, he\nwent to have his watch relieved by Cha\u00efm Yoneh--he is in the world of\ntruth now--and then went home, half-frozen and stiff. He knocked at the\ndoor and Shprintze called out from her bed:\n\n\"Into the ground with you! I thought your dead body would come home some\ntime!\"\n\nOho! she is angry still, because of yesterday. He cannot remember what\nhappened, but so it must be.\n\n\"Shut your mouth and open the door!\" he shouts.\n\n\"I'll open your head for you!\" is the swift reply.\n\n\"Let me in!\"\n\n\"Go into the ground, I tell you!\"\n\nAnd he turned away and went into the house-of-study, where he lay down\nto sleep under the stove. As ill-luck would have it, it was a charcoal\nstove, and he was suffocated and brought home like a dead man.\n\nThen Shprintze was in a way! He could hear, after a while, how she was\ncarrying on.\n\nThey told her it was nothing--only the charcoal.\n\nNo! she must have a doctor. She threatened to faint, to throw herself\ninto the water, and went on screaming:\n\n\"My husband! My treasure!\"\n\nHe pulled himself together, sat up, and asked quietly:\n\n\"Shprintze, do you want a divorce?\"\n\n\"May you be--\" she never finished the curse, and burst into tears.\n\"Shemaiah, do you think God will punish me for my cursing and my bad\ntemper?\"\n\nBut no sooner was he well again, there was the old Shprintze back. A\nmouth on wheels, a tongue on screws, and strong as iron--she scratched\nlike a cat--ha, ha! A pity she died; and she did not even live to have\npleasure in her children.\n\n\"They must be doing well in the world--all artisans--a trade won't let a\nman die of hunger. All healthy--they took after me. They don't write,\nbut what of that? They can't do it themselves, and just _you_ go and ask\nsomeone to do it for you! Besides, what's the good of a letter of that\nkind? It's like watered soup. And then young boys, in a long time they\nforget. They _must_ be doing well.\n\n\"But Shprintze is dead and buried. Poor Shprintze!\n\n\"Soon after the excise offices were abolished, she died. That was before\nI had got used to going errands and saying to the gentle folk 'your\nlordship,' instead of 'your high nobility';[25] before they trusted me\nwith contracts and money--and we used to want for bread.\n\n\"I, of course, a man and an ex-Cantonist, could easily go a day without\nfood, but for her, as I said, it was a matter of life and death. A\nfoolish woman soon loses her strength; she couldn't even scold any more;\nall the monkey was out of her; she did nothing but cry.\n\n\"I lost all pleasure in life--she grew somehow afraid to eat, lest I\nshouldn't have enough.\n\n\"Seeing she was afraid, I grew bold, _I_ screamed, _I_ scolded. For\ninstance: 'Why don't you go and eat?' Now and then I went into a fury\nand nearly hit her, but how are you to hit a woman who sits crying with\nher hands folded and doesn't stir? I run at her with a clenched fist and\nspit at it, and she only says: 'You go and eat first--and then _I_\nwill,' and I had to eat some of the bread first and leave her the rest.\n\n\"Once she fooled me out into the street: 'I _will_ eat, only _you_ go\ninto the street--perhaps you will earn something,' and she smiled and\npatted me.\n\n\"I go and I come again, and find the loaf much as I left it. She told me\nshe couldn't eat dry bread--she must have porridge.\"\n\nHe lets his head drop as though beneath a heavy weight, and the sad\nthoughts chase one another:\n\n\"And what a wailing she set up when I wanted to pawn my Sabbath\ncloak--the one I'm wearing now. She moved heaven and earth, and went and\npawned the metal candle-sticks, and said the blessing over candles stuck\ninto potatoes to the day of her death. Before dying she confessed to me\nthat she had never really wanted a divorce; it was only her evil tongue.\n\n\"'My tongue, my tongue,' she cried, 'God forgive me my tongue!' And she\nreally died in terror lest in the other world they should hang her by\nthe tongue.\n\n\"'God,' she said to me, 'will never forgive me; I've been too great a\nsinner. But when _you_ come--not soon, heaven forbid, but in over a\nhundred and twenty years[26]--when you _do_ come, then remember and take\nme down from the gallows, and tell the Heavenly Council that _you_\nforgave me.'\n\n\"She began to wander soon after that, and was continually calling the\nchildren. She fancied they were there in the room, that she was talking\nto them, and she asked their pardon.\n\n\"Silly woman, who wouldn't have forgiven her!\n\n\"How old was she altogether? Perhaps fifty. To die so young! It was\nworse than a person taking his own life, because every time a thing went\nout at the door, to the pawn-shop, a bit of her health and strength went\nwith it.\n\n\"She grew thinner and yellower day by day, and said she felt the marrow\ndrying up in her bones; she knew that she would die.\n\n\"How she loved the room and all its furniture! Whatever had to go,\nwhether it were a chair or a bit of crockery or anything else, she\nwashed it with her tears, and parted from it as a mother from her child;\nput her arms around it and nearly kissed it. 'Oho!' she would say, 'when\nI come to die, you won't be there in the room.'\n\n\"Well, there; every woman is a fool. At one moment she's a Cossack in\npetticoats, and the next weaker than a child; because, really, whether\nyou die with a chair or without a chair, what does it matter?\n\n\"_Ph\u00ea_,\" he interrupted himself, \"what shall I think of next? Fancy\nletting one's thoughts wander like that, and my pace has slackened, too,\nthanks to the rubbish!\n\n\"Come, soldier's feet, on with you!\" he commanded.\n\nHe looks round--snow on every hand; above, a gray sky with black\npatches--just like my under-coat, he thought, stuff patched with black\nsateen. Lord of the world, is it for want of \"credit\" up there, too?\n\nMeanwhile it is freezing. His beard and whiskers are ice. His body is\nfairly comfortable and his head is warm, he even feels the drops of\nsweat on his forehead; only his feet grow colder and weaker.\n\nHe has not walked so very far, and yet he would like to rest, and he\nfeels ashamed of himself. It is the first time he ever wanted to rest on\nan errand of two miles. He will not confess to himself that he is a man\nof nearly eighty, and his weariness not at all surprising.\n\nNo, he must walk on--just walk on--for so long as one walks, one is\nwalking, one gets on; the moment one gives way to temptation and rests,\nit's all over with one.\n\nOne might easily get a chill, he says to frighten himself, and does all\nhe can to shake off the craving for rest.\n\n\"It isn't far now to the village; there I shall have time to sit down.\n\n\"That's what I'll do. I won't go straight to the nobleman--one has to\nwait there for an hour outside; I'll go first to the Jew.\n\n\"It's a good thing,\" he reflected, \"that I am not afraid of the\nnobleman's dog. When they let him loose at night, it's dreadful. I've\ngot my supper with me, and he likes cheese. It will be better to go\nfirst and get rested. I will go to the Jew and warm myself, and wash,\nand eat something.\"\n\nHis mouth waters at the thought; he has had nothing to eat since early\nthis morning; but that's nothing, he doesn't mind if he _is_ hungry; it\nis a proof that one is alive. Only his feet!\n\nNow he has only two versts more to walk, he can see the nobleman's great\nstraw-covered shed, only his _feet_ cannot see it, and they want to\nrest.\n\n\"On the other hand,\" he mused, \"supposing I rested a little after all?\nOne minute, half a minute? Why not? Let us try. My feet have obeyed me\nso long, for once I'll obey them.\"\n\nAnd Shemaiah sits down by the road-side on a little heap of snow. Now\nfor the first time he becomes aware that his heart is beating like a\nhammer and his whole head perspiring.\n\nHe is alarmed. Is he going to be ill? And he has other people's money on\nhim. He might faint! Then he comforts himself: \"God be praised, there is\nno one coming, and if anyone came, it would never occur to him that I\nhave money with me--that I am trusted with money. Just a minute, and\nthen on we go.\"\n\nBut his lids are heavy as lead.\n\n\"No, get up, Shemaiah, _vstavai_!\"[27] he commands.\n\nHe can still give a command, but he cannot carry it out; he cannot move.\nYet he imagines he is walking, and that he is walking quicker and\nquicker. Now he sees all the little houses--that is Antek's, yonder,\nBasili's, he knows them all, he hires conveyances of them. It is still a\nlong way to the Jew's. Yet, best to go there first--he may find\nMezumen,[28] and it seems to him that he approaches the Jew's house; but\nit moves further and further on--he supposes that so it must be. There\nis a good fire in the chimney, the whole window is cheery and red; the\nstout Mir'l is probably skimming a large potful of potatoes, and she\nalways gives him one. What so nice as a hot potato? And on he trudges,\nor--so he thinks, for in reality he has not left his place.\n\nThe frost has lessened its grip, and the snow is falling in broad, thick\nflakes.\n\nHe seems to be warmer, too, in his cloak of snow, and he fancies that he\nis now inside the Jew's house. Mir'l is straining the potatoes, he hears\nthe water pouring away--_zi\u00f9ch, zi\u00f9ch, zi\u00f9ch_--and so it drips, indeed,\noff his sateen cloak. Yoneh walks round and hums in his beard; it is a\nhabit of his to sing after evening prayer, because then he is hungry and\nsays frequently: \"Well, Mir'l!\"\n\nBut Mir'l never hurries--\"more haste, worse speed.\"\n\n\"Am I asleep and is it a dream?\" He is seized with joyful surprise. He\nthinks he sees the door open and let in his eldest son. Chonoh, Chonoh!\nOh, he knows him well enough. What is he doing here? But Chonoh does not\nrecognize _him_, and Shemaiah keeps quiet. Ha, ha, ha; he is telling\nYoneh that he is on his way to see his father; he inquires after him; he\nhas not forgotten; and Yoneh, sly dog, never tells him that his father\nis sitting there on the sleeping-bench. Mir'l is busy; she is taken up\nwith the potatoes; she won't stop in her work; she only smiles and\nmashes the potatoes with the great wooden spoon--and smiles.\n\n_Ach!_ Chonoh must be rich, very rich! Everything he has on is whole,\nand he wears a chain--perhaps it is pinchbeck? No, it is real gold!\nChonoh wouldn't wear a pinchbeck chain. Ha, ha, ha! he glances at the\nstove.[29] Ha, ha, ha! he nearly splits with laughter. Yainkil, Beril,\nZecharyah--all three--ha, ha, ha! they were hidden on the stove. The\nthieves! What a pity Shprintze is not there! What a pity! She would have\nbeen so pleased. Meantime Chonoh is ordering two geese. \"Chonoh! Chonoh!\ndon't you know me? I am he!\" And he fancies they embrace him.\n\n\"Look you, Chonoh; what a pity your mother cannot see you! Yainkil,\nBeril, Zecharyah, come down from the stove! I knew you at once! Make\nhaste! I knew you would come! Look, I have brought you some cheese, real\nsheep's milk cheese. Don't you like soldier's bread? What? Perhaps not?\nYes, it is a pity about the mother.\"\n\nAnd he fancies that all the four children have put their arms round him\nand hold him and kiss and press him to them.\n\n\"Gently, children, gently; don't squeeze me too hard! I am no young\nman--I am eighty years old! Gently, you are suffocating me; gently,\nchildren! Old bones! Gently, there is money in the bag. Praise God, they\ntrust me with money! Enough, children, enough!\"\n\nAnd it was enough. He sat there suffocated, with his hand pressed to the\nbag in his bosom.\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\nWHAT IS THE SOUL?\n\n\n1\n\nI remember, as in a dream, that there used to be about the house a\nlittle, thin Jew, with a pointed beard, who often put his arms round me\nand kissed me.\n\nThen I remember how the same man lay ill in bed; he groaned a great\ndeal, and my mother stood and beat her head with her hands.\n\nOne night I woke up and saw the room full of people. Outside there was a\ngrievous noise; I was very frightened, and I began to scream.\n\nOne of the people came up to me, dressed me, and led me away to sleep at\na neighbor's.\n\nWhen I saw our room next morning, I did not know it again. Straw lay\nscattered on the floor, the glass on the wall was covered over, the\nhanging-lamp wrapped in a table cover, and my mother sat on a low stool\nin her socks.\n\nShe began to weep loudly at sight of me and cried: \"The orphan! the\norphan!\"\n\nAn oil-lamp burned in the window; beside it were a glass of water and a\npiece of linen.\n\nThey told me that my father had died, that his soul washed itself in the\nglass and dried itself with the linen; that when once I began to say the\nKaddish it would fly straight up into heaven.\n\nAnd I fancied the soul was a bird.\n\n\n2\n\nOne evening the \"helper\" was leading me home from Cheder. A few birds\nflew past me, quite low.\n\n\"Neshome'lech fliehen, neshome'lech fliehen!\"[30] I sang to myself. The\n\"helper\" turned round upon me:\n\n\"You silly!\" he said, \"those are birds, ordinary birds.\"\n\nAfterwards I asked my mother how one could tell the difference between\nan ordinary bird and a soul.\n\n\n3\n\nAt fourteen years old, I was studying Gemoreh with the commentaries,\nand, as luck would have it, under Zerach Kneip.\n\nTo this day I don't know if that was his real name, or whether the boys\ngave it him because he used to pinch (_kneipen_) without mercy.\n\nAnd he did not wait till one had deserved a pinch; he gave it in\nadvance. \"Remind me,\" he would say, \"and by and by we shall settle up\nour accounts.\"\n\nHe was a Mohel, and had one pointed, uncut finger nail, and every pinch\nwent to the heart.\n\nAnd he used to say: \"Don't cry; don't cry about nothing! I only pinch\nyour body! What is it to you if the worms have less to eat when you are\nin your grave?\"\n\n\"The body,\" said Zerach Kneip, \"is dust. Rub one palm against the other,\nand you will see.\"\n\nAnd we tried, and saw for ourselves that the body is dust and ashes.\n\n\"And what is the soul?\" I asked.\n\n\"A spirit,\" answered the rabbi.\n\n\n4\n\nZerach Kneip hated his wife like poison; but his daughter Shprintze was\nthe apple of his eye.\n\n_We_ hated Shprintze, because she told on us, and--we loved the\nrebbitzin, who sold us beans and peas on credit, and saved us more than\nonce from the rabbi's hands. I was her special favorite. I was given the\nlargest portions, and when the rabbi had hold of me, she would cry:\n\"Murderer! what are you after, treating an orphan like that? His\nfather's soul will be revenged on you!\"\n\nThe rabbi would let go of me, and the rebbitzin got what was left.\n\nI remember that one winter's evening I came home from Cheder so pinched\nby the rabbi and so penetrated by the frost that my skin was quite\nparched.\n\nAnd I lifted my eyes to heaven and cried piteously and prayed: \"Tatishe,\ndo be revenged on Zerach Kneip! Lord of the world, what does he want of\nmy soul?\"\n\nI forgot that he only pinched the body. But a man is to be excused for\nwhat he says in his distress.\n\n\n5\n\nOn a school holiday, when Zerach Kneip shut the Gemoreh and began to\ntell stories, he was a different person.\n\nHe took off his cap and sat in his bushy locks (the skull-cap was hidden\nby them); he unbuttoned his kaftan, smoothed out his forehead. His lips\nsmiled, and even his voice was different.\n\nHe taught us in the hard, gruff, angry voice in which he spoke to the\nrebbitzin; he told us stories in the gentle, small, kind voice in which\nhe addressed Shprintze, his dear soul.\n\nAnd we used to implore him as though he were a brigand to tell us a\nstory. We were unaware of the fact that Zerach Kneip knew only one\nchapter of the Talmud, with which his course for little boys began and\nended, and that he _had_ to fill up the time with stories, specially in\nwinter when there are no religious holidays. We little fools used to buy\nstories of him with peas and beans, and once even we saved up to buy\nShprintze a red flannel spencer.\n\nFor the said spencer, Reb Zerach told us how the Almighty takes a soul\nout of his treasure-house and blows it into a body.\n\nAnd I pictured to myself the souls laid out in the Almighty's store-room\nlike the goods in my mother's shop, in boxes, red, green, white, yellow,\nand blue, and tied with string.\n\n\n6\n\n\"When God,\" said the rabbi, \"has chosen a soul and decided that it is to\ngo down into the sinful world, it trembles and cries.\n\n\"In the nine months before birth an angel teaches it the whole Torah;\nthen he gives it a fillip under the nose, and the soul forgets\neverything it has learned.\n\n\"That,\" added the rabbi, \"is why all Jewish children have cloven upper\nlips.\"\n\nThat same evening I was skating on the ice outside the town, and I\nobserved that the Gentile boys, Yantek, Voitek, and Yashek, had cloven\nupper lips just like ours.\n\n\"Yashek,\" I risked my life and asked, \"_ti t\u00e0ksh\u00e9 m\u00e0yesh d\u00f9sh\u00e9_?\"[31]\n\n\"What does it matter to you, soul of a dog?\" was the distinct reply.\n\n\n7\n\nBeside going to the rabbi, I had a teacher for writing. This teacher was\nsupposed by the town to be a great heretic, and the neighbors wouldn't\nborrow his dishes.[32]\n\nHe was a widower, and people never believed that G\u00fctele, his daughter, a\ngirl about my age, knew how to make meat kosher.\n\nBut he was exceedingly accomplished, and my mother was determined that\nher only son should learn to write.\n\n\"I beg of you, Reb teacher,\" she said to him, \"not to teach him anything\nheretical, nothing out of the Bible, but teach him how to write a Jewish\nletter, just a 'greeting to any friend' letter.\"\n\nBut I don't know if he kept his word. When I gave him the poser about\nthe cleft lips, he went into a fury; he jumped up from his chair,\noverturned it with his foot, and began to caper about the room, crying\nout:\n\n\"Blockheads! murderers! bats!\" By degrees he grew calm, sat down again,\nwiped his spectacles, and drew me to him:\n\n\"My child,\" he said, \"never believe such rubbish. You took a good look\nat the Gentile boys who were skating? What are their names?\"\n\nI told him.\n\n\"Well,\" he continued, \"had any one of them a different kind of eye from\nyours; different hands or feet or limbs? Don't they laugh just as you\ndo? And if they cry, do they shed another sort of tears? Why should they\nnot have a real soul as well as we? All men are alike, children of one\nfamily, one God is their Father, one earth their home. It is true that\nat present the nations hate each other, and each one persuades itself\nthat _it_ is the crown of creation, and occupies all God's thoughts; but\n_we_ hope for a better day, better and brighter, when humanity will\nacknowledge one God and one law, when the words of our holy prophets\nwill come true, when there shall be an end to all wars and jealousy and\nhatred; when all will serve one Creator, and it will be as the verse\nsays: 'For out of Zion shall go forth the Law and the word of the Lord\nfrom Jerusalem.'\"\n\nI knew that verse from the paragraph, \"And it came to pass, when the Ark\nset forward,\" in the prayer-book.[33]\n\nThe teacher went on talking for some time, but I understood little of\nwhat he said; I could not believe that \"a Gentile has brains, too,\" that\nall men were equal. I knew that the teacher held heretical opinions; he\ndid not even believe in the transmigration of souls, as I saw for myself\nafter the death of Fradel Mifkeres (the heretic), when a black dog\nappeared on the roof of the house where she had lived.\n\nThen he pared his nails in order, and never cut a \"witness\"[34] to throw\nout of the window.\n\nI should very soon have run away from him; I should have told my mother\nof the way he talked, only--\n\nI am sure you guess what and whom I mean.\n\n\n8\n\nThis alone remained fixed in my head, that there would be a time when\nthe other nations would come to us to learn Torah, and that it might be\nto-morrow.\n\nTimes with us just then were quite Messianic; strong hints of it were\ndiscovered in the Book of Daniel, and the word that stood for the\ncurrent year indicated it; besides, there was a passage in the Zohar,\nand in the Midrash ha-N\u00e9elom, and it was whispered from ear to ear that\nthe Rebbe of Kozenitz had stopped reciting the Supplications; and there\nwas reliable news from Palestine that no fox had been seen near the\n\"western wall\" all that year.\n\nAnd people looked every day for Messiah the son of Joseph; Kohol gave\nbribes to escape paying taxes; when Messiah came, who would trouble\nabout little things like that?\n\nThe women came off worst. A few years previously the steps of their bath\nhad fallen in. Goodness knows, it took asking enough before the money\nwas granted for new ones. And now the wood was there, ready and waiting,\nonly it seemed a pity, all the same, to hire a workman and spend those\nfew rubles. And I firmly believed that in a short time Yashek, who\npushed me when I was skating, just as I was doing a \"cobbler,\" so that,\nthanks to him, I all but broke my neck; that Voitek, who always made a\npig's ear at me, and Yantek, who counted us--_raz, dva, tshi_--that all\nthree, I say, would come and humbly ask me to explain a ritual question,\nfor instance, concerning things improper for the touch, as a stone on\nSabbath.\n\nAnd I, \"merciful and a son of the Merciful,\" would not remember against\nthem what they had done to me, but would tell them. I would be a friend\nto them and explain to them the mystery of the iron and the paper\nbridge; tell them not to venture on to the iron bridge--indeed, that it\nwould be best to keep away altogether, if they wished to save their\nsouls.\n\n\n9\n\nOn the eve of New Year I completed the course with Zerach Kneip, and\nfelt as it were the relief of the exodus out of Egypt.\n\nI had been told that my new teacher, Reb Yozel, never pinched; never\neven hit you for nothing. I had been used to see Reb Yozel at prayers.\nHe was a tall Jew, with huge eyebrows, so that his eyes were quite\nhidden. He wore his kaftan open, and the \"little prayer-scarf\" appeared\non each side of his long, pointed beard. He walked softly and talked\nsoftly, as though of secrets. And while he talked, he nodded his head\nslowly, lifted his brows, drew his forehead together, thrust out his\nlips and whiskers, and slid both hands into his girdle; it seemed as\nthough every word he spoke were of the greatest importance.\n\nReb Yozel had been \"messenger\" for a time to one of the great\nwonder-workers, and he had even now a certain amount of oils, coins,\namulets, salves, etc.,[35] to sell on commission; he was reckoned the\nfirst exorcist in the town, and if the rabbi were poorly, he would\npreach instead of him on the Great Sabbath and the New Year, and deliver\nmemorial addresses. The rabbi was a weak old man, and Reb Yozel looked\nto filling his place when he had accomplished his one hundred and twenty\nyears.\n\nBeside this, Reb Yozel was a celebrated blower of the Shofar, and when\nhe repeated the blessing before blowing--how goes the saying?--fish\ntrembled in the water.\n\nAnd I was filled with pride at the thought of being his pupil.\n\nWe had not reached the Day of Atonement before I had an opportunity of\nquestioning Reb Yozel about the soul.\n\nThe soul, with me, had become a sort of _id\u00e9e fixe_; it was never out of\nmy thoughts. The first thing Reb Yozel did was to empty my head of the\nnotion of other people being our equals, and to fill it up again with\n\"Thou hast chosen us.\"\n\n\"Not in vain,\" said he, \"do we suffer exile, scorn, and other plagues\nnot mentioned in the denunciations of the Pentateuch. Were we like to\nother nations, we should have _this_ world the same as they have it;\n'the child whom the father loveth, he correcteth,' so that it may study\nand enter the gates of knowledge.\n\n\"But even with us Jews,\" went on Reb Yozel, \"souls are not all alike;\nthere are coarse, ordinary souls, like Zerach Kneip's, for instance;\nyour teacher, the heretic, has a soul like Korah; there are also very\ngreat souls, some of which come from out the space under the Throne of\nGlory; these belong to the category of _k\u00e9mach s\u00f2let_.\"[36]\n\nI understood little, especially about the space under the Throne of\nGlory; I only knew the meaning of _k\u00e9mach s\u00f2let_, and supposed the\ndifference between soul and soul was like that between rye-flour,\ncorn-flour, wheat-flour, and the flour which was used for the Sabbath\nloaf. The greatest of all the souls must be mixed with saffron and\nraisins.\n\n\n10\n\n\"The great thing,\" said Reb Yozel, \"is to suffer.\n\n\"No soul will be lost; they must all return to the state in which they\nwere previous to their stay on earth. And the souls can be cleansed only\nby suffering. The Creator, in His great mercy, sends us suffering so\nthat we may remember we are but flesh and blood, a broken potsherd, mere\nnothings, who fall into dust and ashes at His look; but in the other\nworld also the souls undergo purification.\"\n\nAnd he told me all that was done to the poor souls in the seven\ntorture-chambers of Gehenna.\n\n\n11\n\nAbout the holiday times I had more leisure for looking round at home.\nJust before Tabernacles, we had a great wash.\n\nOne night I dreamt that I was in the next world. I saw how the angels\nstretched out their hands from heaven and caught hold of the souls who\nwere returning thither. The angels sifted them; those that were clean\nand white as snow, flew up like doves out of their hands as though into\nParadise. The dirty ones were thrown into a heap, and the heap was\nthrown into the sea of ice, beside which stood black angels with their\nsleeves rolled up, who washed them. After that they were boiled in a\nblack pot over hell-fire.\n\nAnd when the dirt was squeezed out of them and they were ironed, the\nweeping of the souls was heard from one end of the world to the other.\n\nThere, in the soiled heap, I recognized the soul of my teacher; it had\nhis long nose, his hollow cheeks, his pointed beard, and it wore his\nlarge, blue spectacles. They washed it, and it only looked the blacker.\n\nAnd an angel called out: \"That is the soul of the heretical teacher!\"\nThen the same angel said angrily to me:\n\n\"If you walk in his ways, your soul will be as black as his, and it will\nbe washed like this every evening, till it is thrown into Gehenna.\"\n\n\"I will not walk in his ways!\" I cried out in my sleep.\n\nMy mother woke me and took my hand down from my breast.\n\n\"What is it, my treasure?\" she asked in alarm. \"You are bathed in\nperspiration;\" and she blew upon me--_fu_, _fu_, _fu!_\n\n\"Mother, I have been in the other world!\"\n\nEarly next morning my mother asked me in all seriousness if I had seen\nmy father there. I said, \"No.\"\n\n\"What a pity! What a pity!\" she lamented. \"He would certainly have given\nyou a message for me.\"\n\n\n12\n\nWhat was to be done, if the teacher even made game of dreams?\n\nFor his own sake, still more for G\u00fctele's, I wished to save him, and I\ndescribed to him the whole of my dream. But he said dreams were foolish;\nhe paid no attention to such things.\n\nHe wanted to prove to me out of the Bible and the Talmud that dreams\nwere rubbish, but I stopped my ears with my little fingers and would not\nlisten.\n\nI saw clearly that he was lost; that his sentence would be a terrible\none; that I ought to avoid him like the plague; that he was like to ruin\nmy soul, my young soul.\n\nBut, again, what was to be done? I made a hundred resolves to tell my\nmother, and never kept one of them.\n\nI had my mouth open to speak many a time, but it seemed to me that\nG\u00fctele stood behind her shoulders, held out her small hands to me in\nsupplication, and spoke with her eyes: \"No,\" she begged, \"no, don't\ntell!\"\n\nAnd the prayer in her eyes overcame my piety; I felt that for her I\nwould go, not through fire and water only, but into hell itself.\n\nAnd yet it seemed to me a great pity, for my mother and all my teachers\nwere sure that I had in me the making of something remarkable.\n\n\n13\n\nI was quit of Zerach Kneip and his long finger-nail, but I was not so\nmuch the better off.\n\nI was sixteen years old. The match-mongers were already catching at my\nmother's skirts, and I preserved the childish habit of collecting wax\noff the Shool table on the Day of Atonement and secretly moulding it in\nCheder under the table.\n\nThe beadle hated me for this with a deadly hatred, and I was well served\nout for it besides.\n\n\"What have you got there?\" asks Reb Yozel.\n\nI am wool-gathering at the moment and lay my whole hand on the Gemoreh,\nwax on all the five fingers.\n\nReb Yozel has grown pale with anger. He opens the drawer, takes out a\npiece of thin string, and binds together my two thumbs, but so tight, a\npang goes through me.\n\nThat was only the beginning. He went to the broom and deliberately chose\nand pulled out a thin, flexible twig. With this twig he whipped me over\nmy tied hands--for how long? It seemed to me forever. And strange to\nsay, I took the pain in good part; I felt sure God had sent it me that I\nmight repent of my sin and give up going to the teacher.\n\nWhen my hands were pretty well swollen and the skin had turned all\ncolors, Reb Yozel put away the twig and said: \"Enough! Now you'll let\nthe wax alone!\"\n\nI went on moulding wax all the same.\n\nIt gave me the greatest satisfaction to make whatever I pleased out of\nit. I felt I had something to be busy about.\n\nI would mould the head of a man, and then turn it into a cat or a mouse;\nthen I drew the sides out into wings, divided the head into two, and it\nbecame an Imperial eagle. After that, out of the two heads and two\nwings, I made a bun in four pieces.\n\nI myself was just such another piece of wax. Reb Yozel, the teacher, my\nmother, and anybody who pleased moulded me into shape. G\u00fctele melted me.\n\n\n14\n\nThey moulded me into shapes, but it hurt.\n\nI remember very well that it hurt, but why? Why must _I_ torment myself\nabout the soul?\n\nMy comrades laughed at me; they nicknamed me the \"soul-boy,\" and I\nsuffered as much from the name as it was foolish in itself.\n\nI am lost in thought; I wonder what my end will be; when I shall have\nthe strength to tear myself out of Satan's grasp. I call my own soul to\naccount; I reproach it; I scold it. Suddenly I receive a fillip on the\nnose, \"Soul-boy.\" I wish to forget my troubles and plunge into a deep\nproblem of Rabbinical dialectics; I yoke together a difficult\nexplanation of the Tossafot with a hard passage in the Rambam, mix in a\npiece from the P'ne Yehoshuah, and top it off with an argument from\nEibesch\u00fctz. I am in another world, forgotten are the teacher, G\u00fctele,\nthe soul. Things are fitting one into the other in my brain; I nearly\n\"have it,\" the solution is at the tip of my tongue--a whistle in my\near--\"Soul-boy!\" It rings through my head, something bursts in my brain.\nForgotten Tossafot, forgotten Rambam--I am back on the earth!\n\nI stand repeating the Eighteen Benedictions, my heart and my eyes are\nalike full of tears, \"Heal us, O Eternal, and we shall be healed!\" I say\nwith devotion, and I mean not the body, heaven forbid, I mean the soul:\n\"Heal me, Almighty; heal my poor soul!\"\n\n\"That's the soul-boy,\" says one to another, pointing at me. And it is\nall over with my devotion.\n\nThus I suffered day and night.\n\n\n15\n\nG\u00fctele was held to be very clever; her father never called her anything\nbut \"my little wisdom,\" and the neighbors said she was as bright as the\nday, and that if she were as pious as she was clever, she would rejoice\nthe heart of her mother in Paradise. My mother, too, used to praise her\ncleverness, and, if only G\u00fctele had known more about koshering meat, she\nwould not have wished for a better daughter-in-law.\n\nAnd one day, when I found the teacher out, and G\u00fctele alone, it occurred\nto me to ask her opinion about the soul.\n\nMy knees shook, my hands twitched, my heart fluttered; my eyes were\nfixed on the floor, and yet I asked: \"They all say, G\u00fctele, that you are\nso wise. Tell me, please, what is the soul?\"\n\nShe smiled and answered:\n\n\"I'm sure, I don't know.\"\n\nThen she grew suddenly sad and tears came into her eyes:\n\n\"I just remember,\" she said to me, \"that when my mother was alive (on\nwhom be peace), my father always said, she was his soul--they loved one\nanother so dearly.\"\n\nI don't know what came over me, but that same instant I took her hand\nand said, trembling:\n\n\"G\u00fctele, will you be my soul?\" And she answered me quite softly:\n\"Yes!\"\n\n\n\n\nX\n\nIN TIME OF PESTILENCE\n\n\n1\n\nTHE TOWN TAKES FRIGHT\n\nIt is coming! _\u00f6i_, it is already near! In the villages round about\npeople are in peril of death! Lord of the world, what is to be done?\n\"Thou shalt not open thy mouth for Satan\"--the name of the pestilence\nmay not cross the lips, but fear descends on every heart like a stone.\n\nAnd every day there is worse news. In Apte a water-carrier, carrying his\ncans, has fallen dead in the street. In Ostrovtze they have made\npost-mortem examinations on two Jews. In Brotkoff there is a doctor with\na student from Warsaw. Racheff is isolated; they let nobody out or in.\nRadom is surrounded by a chain of Cossacks; in Tzoismir, heaven defend\nus, they say people are falling like flies. A terror!\n\nTrade slackens, piousness increases. Dealers in produce are afraid to\nleave the spot; big Yossil has already sold his horse and wagon--it's a\npity about the oats. The produce-brokers tighten the belt across their\nempty stomachs, and there is daily more room in the dwellings, because\nevery Friday something more is taken to be pawned against Sabbath. A\nworkman, sometimes even a householder, will take an extra sip of brandy,\nto put heart into him, but that doesn't go far to fill the innkeeper's\npocket, and a peasant is seldom to be seen. To make up for this, the\nR\u00f6feh's wife has removed her wig and put on a hair-band;[37] a secret\nMaskil has burnt his \"Love of Zion\"[38] in public and taken to reciting\npsalms; the bather's maid-servant has gone to the rabbi and asked him\nhow to do penance for having been in the habit of peeping into the men's\nbath-house, on Fridays, through a chink in the door. A certain young\nman, not to mention names, has been fasting a whole month and thinks of\nbecoming an ascetic--heaven only knows for what sin. Some of the tailors\nnow return remnants, butchers are more liberal in their cuts, only\nYeruchem Chalfen asks ten per cent. a month on a pawn ticket, and no\nless with a security. His heart is of flint.\n\nAnd faces grow yellow and livid, lips, blue-brown, eyes look large and\nround, and heads droop; and the street is hushed. Small, scattered\ngroups, men and women apart, stand and hold voiceless conversation;\nheads are shaken, hands thrown out, and eyes lifted to the leaden sky\nspread out over the little town. It is quiet even in the house-of-study\nbetween afternoon and evening prayers. On the other hand, the women's\ngallery in the Shool is full. Every few minutes a piteous cry comes\nthrough the grating, and the men feel their hair and nails tingle. There\nis Kol Nidrei[39] every night, and people are bathed in tears.\n\nWhat is to be done? Who can advise?\n\nIt is said that in Warsaw they have started tea-houses for the poor, and\ncheap kitchens; they are giving away coal, clothes, and food for\nnothing--all \"_their_\" precautions, all to imitate the nations of the\nworld, and perhaps to please the chief of police. Here other means are\nemployed--\"Me\u00efr Baal-Ness,\"[40] wonder-workers, and famous charms.\nSaturday evening, as soon as it is dark, \"candles of blessing\" are stuck\nin the windows; outside the town, Vassil has a mill--the stakes shall be\nconveyed away by night and buried in holy ground; an orphan boy shall be\nmarried to an orphan girl--and every possible thing of the kind;\nonly--only, these charms have been from everlasting, and yet, when there\nwas the plague of 1829, the entire market-place was grass-grown with\nonly a pathway or two in the middle, trodden by those who carried the\ndead.\n\nBesides, and worse even than the plague itself, there is disinfection,\nisolation, and, heaven have mercy on us, post-mortems. No man can live\nforever, nor can he die more than once; but death and life are in the\nhands of the All-Merciful. Weeping, prayer, and confession, these help;\nalmsgiving is a remedy; but the other things mean falling into the hands\nof men. They suck the marrow out of your bones, it costs you a fortune,\ntreasure and blood--and they make post-mortems! They cut up a corpse,\nheaven defend us, into little pieces, and bury it without a\nwinding-sheet, in pitch. In the hospital there is poisoning; they burn\ninnocent bedding, or they make a ring of Cossacks, and people may\nstarve to death or devour each other as they choose. Ha! one must be up\nand doing and not let the enemy into the town.\n\n\"Candles of blessing\" are already in the windows, side-glances are being\ncast at Vassil's mill, and a marriage between two orphans is under\ndiscussion. And the terror increases day by day. One had hoped that the\ncalamity would pass away with the summer, with the great heat....\n\nThese are all over, the Solemn Days, too. Now, thank God, it is after\nTabernacles. One feels the cold in one's bones; it snows a little, not\nunfrequently, and the pestilence creeps on and on. May God watch over us\nand protect us.\n\n\n2\n\nTWO ARE NOT AFRAID\n\nAnd yet there are two persons in the place who are not afraid; and not\nonly that, but they are hoping for the plague.\n\nThe two persons are the young doctor, Savitzki, a Christian, and,\nlehavd\u00eel, Y\u00f6ssil, the beggar-student.\n\nSavitzki came two years and a half ago, straight from the university; he\ncame a good Christian, a treasure, quite one of the righteous of the\nnations of the world; people wished the town-justice were as good. There\nwasn't a particle of pride in the man; he never gave himself airs; he\ngreeted everyone he passed, even a child, even a woman. For an old\nperson he would step aside. He loved Jewish fish as life itself, and the\nhouseholders treated him one and all with respect; they bowed to him\nand took off as much as the whole hat; they sent him Sabbath cakes, and\noften asked him in to fish. In fact, they wished him all that is good,\nonly--they never consulted him. Who wanted a doctor? Hadn't they a\nR\u00f6feh? And what a R\u00f6feh! He has only to give the patient one look to\nknow what is the matter with him. So it's no wonder the apothecary is\nwilling to make up his prescriptions. It is possible that another doctor\nmight have got a practice quicker. For instance, if there had come an\nold doctor with long experience and leaving a large practice somewhere\nbehind him, but there appears this popinjay, who cannot even twirl the\ndown on his upper lip, with a young, pale face like a girl's, dressed\nlike a dandy, a boy fresh from school. And just as the eggs always know\nmore than the hen, so must he think himself better than the old R\u00f6feh,\nwho, as the saying goes, had eaten up his teeth at the work. So must he\nsay, that the sick take overmuch castor oil, that cupping was a mistake,\nespecially for a woman in child-bed; leeches he wanted put on the shelf,\nthat they might do no harm; dry-cupping he made fun of, and he had no\nfaith in salves. Did you ever hear of a doctor without salves and\nwithout blood-letting? Who would consult him? An apothecary turns up his\nnose at such an one's prescriptions--for twenty groschen apiece.\n\nThus it went on for six months; there was open war with the R\u00f6feh and\nhidden war with the apothecary, and yet he was on very good terms with\nthe householders.\n\nThus it went on, I say, till Savitzki came to the last of the few\ngulden which he had brought with him from somewhere; after a bit he got\nbehindhand with his rent, and was in debt to the butcher and the grocer\nand the tailor--he was in debt all round--and the creditors grew daily\nmore impatient.\n\nAnd once, when the butcher had sent back the maid without any meat,\nSavitzki let his wings droop, and confessed that blood-letting was\nnecessary, and that castor oil might be taken every minute; but this did\nhim no good at all, because, first, no one believed him, that he really\nmeant it--it was very likely only to take people in; secondly, supposing\nit were so, and he had really given in to the R\u00f6feh, then what was he\nwanted for?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSavitzki got another gulden or two from somewhere (Christians often\ninherit things from rich uncles and aunts), and dragged on another six\nmonths, at the end of which he had an inspiration: _he became an\nanti-Semite_, and a real bitter one.\n\nHe left off saluting people, and now, if he stepped aside for a Jew, it\nwas to spit out before him.\n\nHe persuaded the town-justice, even though it was winter, to drive a few\nJewish families off the peasants' land, and when there came a new\ninspector (the old ones had their hush-money), he would himself take him\nround the courtyards and show him where there lurked uncleanliness. He\ntold the apothecary one day that in _his_ place he should give all the\nJews poison; and many, many more things of the kind.\n\n_This_ idea really proved helpful. Certain of the householders began to\ncall him in and paid him for his visits, although they would afterwards\ntear up his prescriptions, pour out his mixtures, throw away his\nointment. The enemy of Israel must have his mouth shut; that also was a\nkind of \"hush-money\"; but Savitzki did not make a living by it.\n\nHe had no more inspirations, and there was no hope of things bettering\nthemselves.\n\nIn addition to this he had the following misfortunes: he was unable to\nextract a pea out of a little boy's ear; a sick man risked his life by\ntaking one of Savitzki's prescriptions and in a week he was dead. But\nthe worst was that he forgot himself one day and declared that fever was\nnot in itself an illness, but a remedy, a weapon by means of which the\nbody would rid itself of the disease. Those who heard him all but split\nwith laughter; and still more did they pant for laughing when it\nhappened that he was called in to a woman in child-bed at the critical\nmoment, because the \"town-grandmother\" was away on business in a\nvillage, and there was no help for it. The ridiculous things he did! He\ncalled for a basin of water, a piece of soap. He poured something into\nthe basin out of a little bottle he had brought in his pocket. The\npeople stood and watched him, and concluded he made up his medicines at\nhome to annoy the apothecary--but heaven only knew what it was. Then he\njust went and washed his hands; and yet his hands were as clean as clean\ncould be, as is the way with Christians. And as if that wasn't enough,\nhe took out a knife and cleaned his nails--really, lehavd\u00eel, he might\nhave been a pious Jewess. Then he rubbed his hands and washed them\nanew. What more shall I say about his conjuring tricks? Then to\nbusiness. The woman (it was not her first) said he certainly had smaller\nhands than the \"town-grandmother,\" and was quicker at it, too, except\nfor his fads.\n\nBut who could stand all that fuss?\n\nAnd when there's no soap to be had? It just happened to have been\nwashing day, but otherwise?\n\nThe result of all this was that Savitzki went about like a wicked man in\nthe other world, and at the end of two years and a half he saw he would\nnot be able to hold on there; that his \"inexpressibles\" were getting too\nbig for him, that he was growing daily thinner, and might fall into a\ndecline; he was preparing to run away and leave his debts behind, and\nnow--_it_ was near.\n\nNo, this is not the time to leave a town of the kind; there are golden\ndays coming. They have already sent an order to build a \"barrack\" for\ncholera patients and to set apart a house for their families; and\nalthough the heads of the community have forked out and bribed the\ntown-justice and the inspectors, to set down the \"expenditures\" for the\nbarrack as though it had been built, and not alarm the town, everyone\nfelt it was on the move, that it was coming; that it meant peril of\ndeath to everyone and good luck to Savitzki. He will get three to four\nrubles a day from the government, the sick will pay him extra, and those\nwho are well will pay not to be put down as sick. All the Jews will pay,\nfor disinfection and no-disinfection, isolation and non-isolation, for\nbeing let in and let out, for speaking and for being silent, and above\nall, \"burial money\"--not to be made the subject of a post-mortem and be\nburied in pitch.\n\nSavitzki revived. His heart grew light within him.\n\nHe paced the streets whistling a merry air; he looked cheerily into\neveryone's face, peeped in at all the doors and windows. Jews like to\nhide themselves, ah! but he will not allow it. They shall pay him for\nthe past years--he will come into his own.\n\nThen he will leave the dead-alive place and marry. Whom should he find\nhere? The apothecary's daughter--that ugly thing?\n\n\n3\n\nTHE SECOND WHO IS NOT AFRAID\n\nY\u00f6ssil, the beggar-student, would also like to marry, and has equally\nput his hope in the pestilence; he is the one orphan lad in the town.\nThe householders could get no other if they wished. They will _have_ to\nmarry him off.\n\nAnd he wishes it very much, which is no wonder--it is in the family. His\nfather and his grandfather at his age had already buried children, and\nhe is eighteen years old. He is \"a scorn and a derision.\" They call him\n\"bachelor\" and \"old maid,\" he has no peace at the academy all day. The\nallusions made at his expense prick him like pins. At night, it's worse.\nHe lies all alone in the house-of-study on the hard bench, and does not\nsleep whole nights--the bad dreams will not let him; he is ready to\ncrawl up the wall.\n\nHe begs and implores the neighbors to marry him. He asks mercy, and the\nanswer is always the same: \"Unless it be the Queen of Sheba, who will\nlook at you, scab?\"\n\nThat, as it happened, was something Y\u00f6ssil had not; but he had other\nattractions. He had come to the place fourteen years before, with his\nfather, a book-peddler who fell ill on his way through and who--not of\nyou be it said!--died there.\n\nHe had never known his mother, and therefore had wandered about with his\nfather from babyhood.\n\nKohol was moved to pity, householders bought up all the books in order\nto bury the father, which they did almost for nothing, and even gave him\na nice grave.\n\nThe orphan was taken into the Talmud Torah and told to sleep in the\nhouse-of-study; he ate \"days,\"[41] as he was still doing when my story\nbegins.\n\nIn half a year's time he went through measles in the house-of-study, and\nthen small-pox, and got a face as pitted as a grater.\n\nThe next year brought a new misfortune. In the house-of-study was an old\nsplit stove, of which Y\u00f6ssil was the official heater. This oven was a\nuseless old thing and gave out no heat. By day things were bearable; at\nnight the stove went down to freezing-point. Y\u00f6ssil's rags, given him by\nthe householders on some holiday, were hardly enough to clothe him,\nnever sufficient for extra covering at night.\n\nOne day Y\u00f6ssil thought the matter over, and stole the key of the wood\nstore-room. He commenced to steal wood, and every day he heated the\nstove more, and sat by the fire and warmed himself. At last, as people\nsaid, God punished him for his theft: the stove suddenly burst, and a\npiece flew out and broke his foot. The town R\u00f6feh cured it, but it\nremained shorter than the other, and Y\u00f6ssil limped from that day\nforward.\n\nAnd he was no genius, not even specially diligent. Who would fix on him?\nWhom was he likely to attract? Not even a water-carrier would take him\nfor a son-in-law. Meantime, as though to spite him, his eyes would burn\nlike hot coals, his heart beat and yearned and sickened after something.\nHe often felt dizzy, there was a sound as of bells in his ears, and he\nshook as in a fever, hot and cold, hot and cold.\n\nBut who troubles about an orphan?\n\nThe householders feel they have done their part in giving him free\nmeals. What sort of meals? Well, what merit is there to be secured in\nfeeding a boy like that? A boy who won't learn, sits over a book, and is\nall the time wool-gathering? You speak to him and he doesn't hear.\n\nAnd all of a sudden he starts up and jumps away from his place, leaves\nthe book open, and runs about the house-of-study like a mad thing,\nupsets the reading-desks, upsets the people, like one possessed.\n\nA madcap, a scatter-brain. Tendons, bones, mouldy bread, the day before\nyesterday's porridge--and _that's_ a waste! What's the use of him? He\nmay thank his stars that he's an orphan.\n\nA boy of that sort in a family is apprenticed to a workman, but nobody\nwants to undertake a strange child. Who would care to be responsible for\nit? Besides, the father was a learned man, who recited Torah in his last\nmoments, and who died like a saint in the seventh month, after making a\nvery clear confession of sins; and who would dare apprentice the child\nof such an one to a workman?[42] Who would undertake to answer for it to\nthe dead?\n\nAnd so Y\u00f6ssil grew up alone in the house-of-study; by day he was\ntormented by malicious observations and at night by bad dreams; it is\ntwo or three years since he had rest.\n\nBut he would not let himself drift; he felt that these were bad\nthoughts, evil dreams; but they grew stronger and stronger, and his will\ngrew weaker, and he began to fast, but this was of no avail; to recite\npsalms--no use at all; to study--when he could not read the letters?\nFiery wheels circled before his eyes.\n\nHe saw that the seducer was stronger than he was, and he let his wings\ndroop and ceased to oppose him. He only consoled himself with the\nthought that he, too, might be married some day. And he waited for the\nmatch-mongers, and then, as they did not come to him, he put shame aside\nand went to them. But that is not done so easily.\n\nMonths passed before he ventured to speak to a match-monger; first to\none, then to another, then to a third, until he had been to all there\nwere in the town. And when the last one had given him the same reply as\nthe others, that no one would look at him but the Queen of Sheba, he\nfell into great despondency.\n\nLife had become hateful to him. One night it occurred to him that it\nwould be better to die than to live thus.\n\nHe began to battle afresh with this new sinful thought, and again his\nstrength began to fail. The first time the thought came like a\nlightning-flash and vanished. The following day it came again and stayed\nlonger; on the third day he had time to consider it; he remembered that\nlast week there had been a strong wind, a sign that some one had hanged\nhimself. Perhaps a Gentile? No; there would never be a wind because of a\nGentile; it must have been a Jew. A year ago, there was a Jew drowned in\nthe bath, Cha\u00efm the tailor. Who knows, perhaps he drowned himself on\npurpose? What should a tailor be doing in the bath in the middle of the\nweek? On the eve of the Day of Atonement everyone goes, but on a\nWednesday like any other?...\n\nA few days later he felt drawn to the bath as though by pincers. Where\nis the harm? I can go if I like. He went, but he did not even undress.\nHe felt that once in, he would never come out again, that he would\nremain there. He stood some time leaning over the bath, he could not\ntear himself away from it, but gazed at the dark water with a faint\nreflection of himself trembling on the surface. Then it seemed to him,\nthat was not _his_ image, but Cha\u00efm the tailor's, and that Cha\u00efm the\ntailor smiled and beckoned to him: \"Come! come! It is so quiet here, so\ncool--a delight!\"\n\nHe grew hot all over and fled in terror. It was only in the street that\nhe collected himself again. Passing a rope-maker's, he observed that the\nropes lay tossed about anyhow; the rope-maker had gone away somewhere.\nWhy had he just gone away? Where to? A few other such silly questions\npassed through Y\u00f6ssil's mind, while his hands, acting of themselves,\nstole away a rope that happened to be lying on the door-step.\n\nHe was not aware of the theft till he found himself back in the\nhouse-of-study. He was very much surprised--he could not think how the\ncord had got into his pocket.\n\n\"It is God's doing,\" he thought, with tears in his eyes; \"God Himself\nwishes me to take my life, to hang myself!\" and he felt a bitterly\npiteous compassion for himself in his heart. God who had created him,\nwho had made him an orphan, who had sent him the small-pox, and had\nthrown the piece of the stove at him, wishes him now to hang himself. He\nhas refused him _this_ world, and now he is to lose the other as well.\nWhy?\n\nBecause he had not mastered the seducer?\n\nHow could he? All by himself--without parents, without companions--and\nthe seducer is, after all, an angel, and has been under arms since the\nCreation; and Y\u00f6ssil feels very wretched and unhappy. God Himself is\nunjust to him, if He wishes him to hang himself. He sees it clearly,\nthere is no uncertainty about it. And what is the outcome? If God wills\nit so, what can he do, he, the worm, the orphan?\n\nHe cannot withstand the seducer, then how shall he dare to think of\ngoing against God? No; he will not attempt to go against God.\n\nHe takes the rope and goes up into the loft of the Shool. He will not\nprofane the house-of-study. He will not hang himself over against the\nArk.\n\nIn the loft there is a hook, equally provided by Him. How else should\nthere be a hook up there? Who knows how long the hook has been waiting\nfor him? God may have prepared it before he, Y\u00f6ssil, was born or thought\nof.\n\nThus considering, he folded the rope. Something had occurred to him: And\nsuppose the contrary? Suppose it to be the work of Satan? Suppose the\nsame Satan who sends me the other thoughts had sent me this one, too?\n\nAnd he let the rope be--it is a matter for consideration. He must think\nit well over. To lose both this world and the world to come is no\ntrifle.\n\nThereupon the clock struck four--dinner-time and he became suddenly\naware that his stomach was cramped with hunger.\n\nAnd he came down from the loft and left the rope folded up.\n\nEvery night he feels drawn to the rope. He does what he can to save\nhimself--he runs to the Ark, puts his head in among the holy scrolls,\nand cries pitifully to them for help. He frequently clasps a desk, so\nthat it may be more difficult for him to leave the spot, or he clings\nwith all his might to the old stove.\n\nAnd who knows what the issue of the struggle would have been but for the\npestilence?\n\nOh! now he drew a deep breath of relief. An end to hanging, an end to\nmelancholy. They will have to give him a companion, and _not_ the Queen\nof Sheba; he is the _one_ orphan in the town.\n\n\n4\n\nSAVITZKI WITHDRAWS--Y\u00d6SSIL GOES INTO RETREAT\n\nSince the dread of the pestilence had so increased, the townsfolk ran a\nmile when they saw Savitzki coming. They were afraid of him--and no\nwonder. After all, a man is only flesh and blood, he may suddenly become\nindisposed any day, and Savitzki now is cock of the walk. He can have\npeople put to bed, smeared, rubbed, can pour drugs down their throats,\ndrive out the whole family, burn the furniture, poison people, and then\nmake post-mortems. What an outrage! When doctors want to know the nature\nof an illness, they poison off the first patients and look for little\nworms inside them. But what is to be done? When one is in exile--one\nis!...\n\nA R\u00f6feh in Apte having declared that the doctor there poisoned his\npatients, they imprisoned him for three months on bread and water. You\nthink I mean the doctor? No, mercy on us, the R\u00f6feh!\n\nThat is why, when Savitzki appeared in the street, it grew suddenly\nempty. If he looked up at a window, a blind was drawn, or the window was\nfilled up with a sheet, a cushion--anything.\n\nOne fine morning the street where Savitzki lived stood empty--all the\nhouseholders and the tenants had moved away overnight. No one wished to\ncome within his area. It was a real case of \"woe to the wicked and woe\nto his neighbor!\"\n\nSavitzki has remarked it, and he is silent. More than that, he has\nwithdrawn himself from the town for the time being--just as a cat will\nspring aside from a mouse--it won't run away.\n\nHe sits the whole day at home, or goes for walks outside the town in the\nmud. He is sure of his game, then why irritate the people by prying?\nWhen the time comes, he will know; doors and windows won't keep the\nthing in; there will be cries as on the Day of Atonement. The Jews have\nlittle self-control. They are a people very much afraid of death, and\nhelpless when face to face with sickness.\n\nSavitzki had lived through a typhus epidemic; he had seen the overflow\nof feeling, heard the cries and commotion. He seemed to be in a sea of\nlamentation and wailing. O no, they will never keep it to themselves.\n\nHe withdrew from the street. And Y\u00f6ssil withdrew from the street and the\nhouse-of-study as well. One wished it, the other had to do it.\n\nSince there was more talk of the pestilence, Y\u00f6ssil's whole melancholy\nhad vanished, as though brushed away by the hand. Indeed, he grew more\ncheerful, merrier day by day, and would often, without meaning to do so,\nburst out laughing. He could not help himself, it bubbled up within him;\nhe had to laugh. It tickled him in all his limbs. The paler the\nhouseholders grew, the ruddier grew he; the lower they hung their heads,\nthe higher he carried his; the more subdued grew their voices, the\nclearer and fuller Y\u00f6ssil's, and--the more the house-of-study sighed,\nthe louder his laughter: ha-ha-ha! And it was not his fault, something\nin him laughed of itself.\n\nAnd at a time when all other eyes were dim and moist, his shone brighter\nand brighter; they fairly sparkled. At a time when people stood and\nlooked at each other open-mouthed, not daring to move a limb, his feet\ndanced beneath him; he could have kissed every desk, the stove, the\nwalls.\n\n\"Is he mad?\" people asked, \"or what has possessed him?\"\n\n\"He's most certainly mad,\" was the reply.\n\n\"Certainly! He ought to be sent to the asylum.\"\n\nY\u00f6ssil was not afraid even of the asylum; he knows that Kohol will not\nspend money on that. A few years ago a mad woman was frozen to death in\nthe street, after running around a whole winter without clothes, and all\nthat time it never occurred to anyone to hire a conveyance and have her\ntaken to a refuge. People were extremely sorry for her. Another in her\ncase would have gone about the country and begged a few pence. She\nhadn't even the wits to do so much. The householders only sighed, and\nthere it ended. Why should he, Y\u00f6ssil, be of more consequence? He is\nanxious not to make Kohol angry; there is no other orphan, true, but--if\nKohol became angry, they might have one brought. And someone else might\nbecome an orphan! Alarming thought! Anyhow, Kohol will have to give a\nwedding-present. It is well to keep on terms with people.\n\nSecondly, Y\u00f6ssil is afraid lest they should take him for a real lunatic\nand _have_ to get another. They would never marry a _real_ lunatic.\nThere would be no use in that. Another thing--and this is the principal\none--he needs retirement. He must be alone with his thoughts, he must\nreflect and consider, and dream by night and by day.\n\nHe finds rest now at night in the house-of-study; when the others go,\nand he is left alone with the desks and chairs, he runs to the window,\npresses his burning forehead against the cold pane; it grows cool in his\nbrain, his ideas move in order. If it is a clear night, he thinks the\nmoon is making signs to him, that is, that Joshua, the son of Nun,[43]\nsays to him, in pantomime, yes or no, as he thinks best.\n\nBy day he saunters about by himself outside the town. He does not feel\nthe creeping cold that makes its way in through the holes in his\ngarments; he does not feel the wet that enters boldly his half-open\nboots; he makes gestures with his hand, talks to himself, to the leaden\nclouds, or to the pale winter sun; he has so much to think about, so\nmuch to say. He is the one orphan lad, but there are three orphan girls,\nand he would like to know which of them is for him.\n\nIn the foreground stands Devosheh, daughter of Jeremiah, the shoemaker.\n\nThe latter was kind to Y\u00f6ssil before he died, and would sometimes call\nhim in and mend his boots; once he gave him a pair of cobbler's shoes;\nhe would spare him a piece of bread and dripping, or an onion. Y\u00f6ssil,\non these occasions, could not take his eyes off Devosheh--O, he\nremembers her well. She stands before him now, a stout, healthy girl,\nred-cheeked like a Simchas-Torah apple, and strong as they make them.\nWhen she takes the hatchet, the splinters fly. If Jeremiah had not died,\nY\u00f6ssil would have proposed the match--he liked a fine, healthy girl of\nthe sort. When he thinks of her, his mouth waters. Once--he cannot\nforget it--he met her on the stairs, and she attracted him like a\nmagnet. He went close and touched her dress, and she gave him a little\npush which all but sent him rolling down. A good thing he caught hold of\nthe banisters. After that it was some time before he dared show himself\nupstairs again; he was afraid, lest she should have told her father; and\nlater on when he would have risked it and gone with his life in his\nhand, Jeremiah was already ill. He lay sick for about three weeks and\nthen died. Then his wife fell into a decline and died, too. Now Devosheh\nis maid-servant at Saul the money-lender's. When he goes there for his\n\"day,\" he sometimes finds himself alone with her in the room; then he\nhasn't the courage to say a word to her; she has a look in her eyes! But\nif Kohol wishes it, she will _never_ dare to say _no_! Kohol is Kohol!\nDevosheh, he thought longingly, would be good to have; he can imagine\n_no_ better wife. He may possibly get a \"pat on the cheek\" from her, but\nthat's nothing unusual, and he will take it kindly. He will only hug and\nkiss her for it. He would wash the dust off her feet and follow her\nabout like a child. He would obey her, stroke her, fondle her, and press\nher tight to his heart--tighter still, though it should beat even\nquicker than it was beating now, though it should burst, though it\nshould jump out of him; though his soul should escape, he would die at\nher feet--and he _will_ press her to himself.\n\n_Ach!_ if Kohol would only settle on Devosheh! Her little finger is\nworth the whole of another woman. He asks for nothing more at present\nthan her little finger; he would take it and squeeze it with all his\nmight, to prove to her that she wanted a husband.\n\nBut Kohol may think of another orphan.\n\nYonder, at the burial ground, is a second; there she is, though he does\nnot know her name; she is only half an orphan, motherless, but she has a\nfather; only what a father! It were better to have none! A nice person\nis Beril, the grave-digger. He spends the day in the public houses, and\nleaves her alone among the graves. Sometimes he even goes home tipsy and\nbeats her; they say he even measures the graves with her, dragging her\nalong by the hair--the whole town says it--but nobody wants to\ninterfere, they are afraid of him; a drunkard and a strong man besides.\nSome few years ago he gave M\u00f6sheh Gl\u00e4ser a poke in the side, just for\ngood fellowship, and the latter has had a lung trouble ever since; he\ngrows paler every day, and can hardly breathe. If the daughter were not\nas hard as nails, she wouldn't be alive; the mother went down into an\nearly grave. And what does he want with the girl? Y\u00f6ssil feels a pang at\nhis heart. He saw her one day and will never forget it. He saw her at\nthe funeral of Jeremiah, the shoemaker, when he was afraid to go near to\nthe grave lest he should find himself close to Devosheh.\n\nShe was crying, and her tears would have fallen on his heart like molten\nlead. So he turned away and walked round about the cemetery, and two or\nthree times he passed the window of Beril, the grave-digger. He saw her\nstanding with downcast eyes peeling potatoes--a pale, ethereal figure.\nHe could have clasped her with one hand; but she must be a good-hearted\ngirl, she has such eyes, such a look. Once she lifted her eyelids--and\nDevosheh was nowhere. The whole funeral was nowhere--such was the\ngentleness that beamed in her blue eyes and the sweetness in her face.\nOnly Queen Esther could have looked like that, and Queen Esther was\nsallow,[44] while she is white like alabaster. Her hair is black as\ncoal, but then, once she was married, it would not be seen any more.\n_A\u00ef_, how beautiful she is! How she leads the heart captive! And she has\nanother merit in his eyes; when he sees Devosheh, it excites him, but\nwhile he looked at her, it felt good, and light, and warm within him.\n\nFrom that day forward he attended every funeral, and glanced in at the\nwindow.\n\nYes, he wants her, too! Let it rather be her; he would just as soon, in\nfact, it would be better so.\n\nHe would treat her like a toy, play with her all day, and do everything\nfor her. He would never let her dip a hand in cold water. He would do\nall the chopping, cooking, baking, and washing, indeed, everything, upon\nthe one condition that she should stand and watch him and smile. When\nthere was time, he would take her and carry her about like a little\nchild. He would rise with the dawn, and, in winter time, soon have the\nstove lighted; in summer, soon have set the kettle on for morning tea.\nHe would walk softly, on his toes, and quietly dust her dress and shoes;\nhe would quietly place the clothes beside her bed; and then only go\nnoiselessly and bend over her and look at her, and look at her, till the\nsun rose, and it was broad day, till the sun shone in at the\nwindow--then only wake her with a kiss. That would be a life worth the\nname!\n\nAnd a good match, too! _\u00f6i! \u00f6i!_ Devosheh may have a few gulden, she is\nsaving, but _she_ holds a Parnosseh, as it were, in her hand. Everyone\nknows that Beril is being burnt up by brandy; the R\u00f6feh says he eats\nnothing and goes about, heaven defend us, with his inside full of holes.\nIn a hundred and twenty years to come, Y\u00f6ssil might take over the\ngrave-digging--why not? At first he would feel frightened of the\ncorpses, but one gets used to everything. With _her_ beside him he would\nfeel at home in Gehenna. It is not a nice Parnosseh, but then he would\nbe able to live outside the town, apart, no one could overlook him. That\nwould be a life--Paradise in the burial ground!\n\nBut if the lot should fall on \"Lapei?\" \"Lapei\" is the nickname of the\nthird orphan girl. When he remembers _her_, he grows cold in every limb.\nShe is a town orphan, who has been one ever since he can\nremember--sickly, with a large head, hair that falls out, and somewhat\ncrooked feet. She doesn't walk on her soles, but on her toes, with her\nheels in the air, and as she walks, she wobbles like a tipsy person. He\noften meets _her_ in the street; she has no home of her own, but goes\nfrom house to house, helping the servants--fetches water for one, wood\nfor another, helps a third to chop up a little resinous fir-wood,\ncarries a bucket, fills a tub. When she has no work, she begs. Once a\nyear she washes the floor of the house-of-study. Where she spends the\nnight, he does not know. Lapei, Lapei! he pictures her to himself and he\nshudders.\n\nHe feels cold all over. She must be forty years old. She has looked so\nmuch ever since he can remember.\n\n\"Lord of the world!\" he cries out in terror, \"that would be worse than\nhanging!\" and lifts his terrified eyes imploringly to heaven. On his\npale forehead are drops of perspiration as large as peas.\n\nBut he is moved to compassion in his heart. Poor thing! She would\ncertainly also like to be married, she is equally a blind sheep, equally\nan orphan. She has nothing, either, beyond a God in heaven. He feels\ninclined to weep over her lot and his together, and, on second thoughts,\nhe places himself in God's hands. If God wills it so, it shall be she!\nHe throws himself on God and on Kohol. The one destined by God and given\nby Kohol shall be his mate, he will honor her and be true to her, and\nwill be to her a husband like any other, and he will forget the other\ntwo.\n\nThen a fresh anxiety rises within him: If the destined one be Lapei,\nwhere are they to live? Where can they go? What will they do? She hasn't\na penny, and goes about tattered, a draggle-tail, and sells her\nbirthright for a handful of cold potatoes. She takes two gulden for\nwashing the floor of the house-of-study--not enough for dry bread--and\nhe, what can he do? Of what use is he?\n\nWere he not lame, he would be a messenger. He knows no trade, unless (he\nconsoles himself) he became a teacher. All the householders will give\nwedding-presents, and he will hire a room with the money and start\nkeeping school; he knows quite enough to teach, especially little\nchildren. Let come what may if only he has a wife. There are Jews who\nhave uglier wives, and who are worse cripples ... but there they are! A\nwife is a wife! Only not to live alone and eat \"days!\"\n\nAnd he may yet succeed in getting one of the other two, and once more he\nbegins to invent a Paradise. And he smiles on at the mud and the leaden\nclouds.\n\nHush! something has occurred to him. If he knew for certain that poor\nLapei was fated to die of the pestilence, he would gladly marry her. At\nleast, poor thing, she would have had a husband before she died. If only\nfor a month. Why not? Is she not a Jewish daughter? It wouldn't hurt\nhim, and it would be fair on the part of His blessed Name. He does not\nwish her death, heaven forbid! On the contrary, he is sorry for her; he\nfeels and knows the meaning of \"misery,\" of being all alone, always all\nalone.\n\n\n5\n\nSAVITZKI AND Y\u00d6SSIL TOGETHER\n\nOne day, as Y\u00f6ssil, the beggar-student, was splashing through the mud,\nlost in thought, he suddenly felt himself caught hold of by the sleeve.\nHe turned round in a fright and was still more alarmed on seeing before\nhim--Dr. Savitzki.\n\nSavitzki and Y\u00f6ssil had often passed each other outside the town, and\nY\u00f6ssil had always taken off his torn cap and bowed low before the\nChristian. Savitzki, the first time, had spat out; the second time, he\nhad thrown out an evil, anti-Semitic look; the third time, he had only\nglanced into Y\u00f6ssil's face. Later he half smiled--and to-day, for the\nfirst time, he had caught him by the sleeve.\n\nThey saw in each other's eyes that there was a link between them, that\nthey had a common interest, a common hope, that something bound them\ntogether.\n\nSavitzki was now quite alone in the town. At one time, he used to go in\nto the apothecary, but the latter had lately given him to understand,\nthat he had done him harm; that people had grown afraid, on Savitzki's\naccount, of buying bitter-water and castor oil, the apothecary's great\nstand-by.\n\nThe Christian townspeople had also begun to avoid him; they, too,\nbelieved that doctors poison people, and Savitzki was probably no better\nthan the rest.\n\nIt was rumored that in some little place or other, a set of tramps had\nburnt the \"barrack\" and stoned the doctor. There was occasionally a\ngleam in the eyes of the townsfolk that boded no good.\n\nY\u00f6ssil got on without other people, Savitzki longed for someone to speak\nto. He wondered himself how it was that the lame _Zhidlak's_[45] pitted\nface seemed so pleasant to him. True, he had a little business with\nhim; it was possible the plague was already there, only people were\nhiding it. One might be able to learn something from the said _Zhidlak_.\n\nY\u00f6ssil, on being caught by the sleeve, had given a start; but he soon\nrecovered himself, and did not even notice how quickly Savitzki let go\nof his dirty coat; he only saw that Savitzki was no longer angry, but\nsmiling.\n\n\"Well,\" inquired Savitzki, in Polish, \"no cholera?\"\n\nY\u00f6ssil had once driven out with the town Dayan to a mill to guard wheat\nfor Passover, and had there learned a few Polish words. He understood\nSavitzki's question; the word \"cholera,\" in spite of the fact that it\nrepresented all his hopes, gave him a pang \"in the seventh rib,\" his\nface twitched, but he composed himself and replied: \"None, honored sir,\nnone!\" And without his being conscious of it, the answer rang sadly.\n\nThey soon parted. The day following they met again, advancing toward one\nanother.\n\nY\u00f6ssil stood aside like a soldier saluting, but without putting his hand\nto his cap; Savitzki stopped a moment to ask:\n\n\"Well, not yet?\"\n\n\"Not yet, honored sir, not yet!\" was Y\u00f6ssil's reply.\n\nThe third day they met again and remained longer together.\n\nSavitzki questioned him as to whether there was no talk anywhere of\ndiarrhoea and sickness, cholereen, etc., or any other intestinal\ntrouble.\n\nY\u00f6ssil could not understand everything Savitzki said, but he made a good\nshot, concluding that he was being asked about sicknesses of a\nsuspicious nature.\n\n\"Nothing, honored sir, nothing!\" he kept answering. He knew that so far\nall was quiet in the town.\n\n\"Nothing yet, but it will come!\" was Savitzki's consoling observation as\nhe walked away.\n\nA little time passed, and they had got into the habit, when they met, of\nwalking a few steps together; Savitzki continued to question and to\nreceive the same reply: \"Nothing, sir, nothing,\" and still he consoled\nhimself and Y\u00f6ssil with: \"It will come!\"\n\n\"It must come!\" he declared with assurance, and Y\u00f6ssil translated it\ninto Hebrew: \"And although it tarry, I expect it,\"[46] and his heart\nexpanded.\n\nHe wished the town no harm. Savitzki might wish for a great outbreak of\nthe pestilence, he only desired a little one, a little tiny one. No one\nwas to die, heaven forbid! A few householders should fall ill--nothing\nmore would be necessary. That is all he asks. He does not wish that his\ngreatest enemy should die.\n\nThis lasted a month. Savitzki even began to lose patience, and made\nY\u00f6ssil a proposal. He felt sure something must be happening, only that\npeople kept it hid. They were afraid of making it known--Jews are so\nnervous. So he proposed that Y\u00f6ssil should pry, find out, and tell him\nof only one hidden case, tell him of anything. He would be grateful to\nhim.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSavitzki talked too quick for Y\u00f6ssil and too \"high Polish,\" but he\nunderstood that Savitzki wished to make a spy of him and have him betray\nthe Jewish sick.\n\n\"No,\" he thought, \"no, Y\u00f6ssil is not going to turn informer!\" He is\nresolved not to let out a word to Savitzki, and yet, in spite of\nhimself, and for politeness' sake, he nodded in affirmation, and\nSavitzki walked away.\n\nY\u00f6ssil's determination not to tell tales strengthened, but there was no\nreason why he should not find out for himself if they were not\nconcealing something, and he began to go in and out among the people\nassembled for daily prayer, to see if no one were missing; if he\nremarked any one's absence, he tried to discover the reason, but it came\nto nothing. It always turned out to be that the person had risked his\nlife going out into a village to buy stores; or else he had quarrelled\nwith his wife, and was ashamed to come to the house-of-study with a\nswollen cheek, or he had been to the R\u00f6feh to have a tooth out and they\ncouldn't stop the bleeding; and other such trifles that had no\nconnection with the object of his interest. And every day he was able to\nreport honestly to Savitzki: \"Nothing, honored sir, nothing!\"\n\nEvery day now they waited one for the other, and every day they talked\nlonger together.\n\nY\u00f6ssil endeavored with all his might to make himself intelligible to\nSavitzki; he worked his hands and his feet, and Savitzki, who had learnt\nto understand the gestures, had often to save himself from Y\u00f6ssil's too\nenergetic demonstrations.\n\nSavitzki could not make out what Y\u00f6ssil was after, why he kept at a\ndistance from Kohol, and why, as was clearly to be seen, he also wished\nfor the pestilence--but he had no time to busy himself with the\nproblem--to fathom the mind of a Jew. It was probably a matter of\nbusiness--perhaps he dealt in linen for winding-sheets. Perhaps he made\ncoffins. But when he remarked that Y\u00f6ssil was growing depressed, that he\nwas less sure than Savitzki that it must come to-morrow, he talked to\nhim freely, gave him courage, and made him confident once more that the\ncommunity would not escape.\n\nTo Savitzki it was clear as daylight that it would come. It was getting\nnearer and nearer--was it not in all the papers?\n\nSix weeks passed. The sharp frosts, for which the community was hoping,\nhad not been, but the pestilence desired by Savitzki and Y\u00f6ssil delayed\nequally. Even Savitzki began to have his doubts, but encouraging Y\u00f6ssil,\nhe encouraged himself in the matter. It was simply impossible that it\nshould not come. Was there a less clean town anywhere? Where else did\npeople eat so many gherkins, so much raw fruit, and as many onions?\nWhere were they less well provided with cold water? There were perhaps\ntwo or three well-to-do people in the place with metal samovars; three\nto four houses where they made tea; in the rest they drank pear-drink\nafter the Sholent[47] and old, putrid fish was sold galore.\n\nIt must come!\n\nThere were towns over which the pestilence had no power: Aix,\nBirmingham, and others whose names Y\u00f6ssil could not catch; but there\npeople ate no Sholent, and tea was made with distilled water--that was\ndifferent.\n\nMeantime another week passed and nothing happened. On the contrary, it\nwas reported that in Apte it had decreased considerably; Racheff was\nopen again; in Tzoismir they had even closed the tea-house for poor\npeople, which had been started to please the governor. Y\u00f6ssil began to\nthink his sorry luck would make all his plans evaporate into thin air,\nthat his town was also a kind of Birmingham, over which the pestilence\nhad no power. He began to have his old bad nights and felt restless even\nin the day-time. The brides seemed further off than ever, and, except\nduring the half-hour spent with Savitzki, he had no rest.\n\nHe saw the townsfolk growing unmistakably calmer; then it was said that\nthe villages round about had returned to their normal state. The whole\ntown revived; the women ceased to wail in the synagogue; the younger\nones gave up coming to prayers at all, except now and again on Sabbath\nas before; the R\u00f6feh's wife began to think of putting on her wig again.\nThe bather's maid-servant was in people's mouths, and they had even\nreported her to the rabbi. The Maskil recommenced to write in Hebrew;\ndealers in produce, to drive out into the country; brokers, to make\nmoney; the Sunday market was crowded with peasants, the public-houses\nfilled; salt, naphthaline, and other household wares began to sell. The\ntown assumed its old aspect, window blinds disappeared; Savitzki's\nstreet came to life again.\n\nY\u00f6ssil's condition grew daily worse. His former melancholy had returned\nin part. Instead of brides, he had the rope in the loft continually\nbefore his eyes. It beckons him and calls to him: Come, come! rid\nyourself of Kohol, rid yourself of this wretched life. But he resisted:\nSavitzki is a doctor, he must know. And Savitzki holds to his opinion.\n\nOne day Y\u00f6ssil did not meet Savitzki outside the town, and just the day\nhe wanted him most.\n\nHardly had Y\u00f6ssil awoke, early that morning--it was still dark--when the\nbeadle burst joyfully into the house-of-study, with \"Do you hear,\nY\u00f6ssil? The doctor and the student have left Raeheff! And last night,\njust at new moon, there was a hard frost, an iron frost. No fear of the\npestilence now!\" he cried out and ran to call people to prayers with the\ngood news.\n\nY\u00f6ssil dressed quickly, that is, he threw round him the cloak he had\nbeen using as a covering, and began to move jerkily to and fro across\nthe house-of-study, every now and then running to the window to see if\nit were daylight, if it were time to hasten out after Savitzki. Hardly\nhad the day fairly broken, when he recited the morning prayers and ran,\nwithout having breakfasted, outside the town. He felt that without\ncomfort from Savitzki his heart would burst.\n\nHe waited about, hungry, till midday; Savitzki did not come, he must\nwait--it had happened before that Savitzki did not appear till the\nafternoon.\n\nHe is hungry, very hungry, but it never occurs to him to go and buy\nfood; he must wait for Savitzki. Without having seen him and received\ncomfort from him, he could not swallow one bite. He will have another\nbad night; he will be drawn to the rope. No, let him fast for once!\nAnother hour has passed, it begins to grow dark, the pallid spot of\nwinter sun behind the clouds sinks lower and lower, and will shortly\nvanish behind Vassil's mill. He shivers with cold; he runs to warm\nhimself, claps his hands together, and Savitzki does not come. He has\nnever been so late before.\n\nHe began to think there must have been an accident; Savitzki must have\nbeen taken ill, or else (Y\u00f6ssil grows angry) he is playing cards, the\nGentile! And the pale ball of sun sinks lower and lower, and in the\nother, clearer half of the sky appears a second pale misty spot like a\nsickle. That is the young moon, it is time for evening prayer.\n\nY\u00f6ssil loses all hope: Savitzki will not come now. The tears choke him.\nHe hurries back to the house-of-study, to be at least in time for\nprayers.\n\nHe met scarcely anyone in the street, the men had all gone to pray, only\nhere and there a woman's voice sounded cheerfully through the doors of\nthe little shops and followed him to the steps of the house-of-study.\nHis limbs shook beneath him from exhaustion; there must be some very\ngood news to make the women laugh so loud.\n\nHe could hardly climb the stairs. Outside the door he stopped; he had\nnot the courage to turn the handle; the people were not praying, but\nthey were talking cheerily and all at once; heaven knows what the\nhouseholders were all so happy about.\n\nSuddenly he grew angry and flung open the door.\n\n\"And Savitzki,\" were the first words he heard, \"has also, thank heaven,\ntaken himself off.\"\n\n\"Really and truly?\" someone asked.\n\n\"Saw it myself,\" said the other, \"with my own eyes.\"\n\nY\u00f6ssil heard no more; his limbs gave way and his whole body was seized\nwith trembling; he just dragged himself to a bench and sat there like\none turned to stone, with great, staring eyes.\n\n\n6\n\nTHE END\n\nThe happy assembly did not notice it. After Minchah and Maariv (some few\nonly after a page of Gemoreh, or a chapter of Mishnayes), they went away\nand left Y\u00f6ssil alone as usual. Even the householder in whose house\nY\u00f6ssil should have eaten that day's meals never thought of going up to\nhim and asking why he had not been to breakfast, and why he was not\ncoming back with him to supper; he just hurried home along with the\nrest, to tell his wife and children the good news, that Savitzki had\ngone, that they were rid of _that_ treasure. It was not till the next\nday that Y\u00f6ssil was missed; then they said, bother would _not_ have\ntaken him, and the beadle lighted the stove himself. The oven smoked and\nY\u00f6ssil was talked about the whole day; he was the only one who could\nmanage the stove. They began to wonder if he had gone to Palestine, or\nelse to Argentina? It was true, he had nothing with which to pay his\ntravelling expenses, but then he could always resort to begging.\n\nIt was only on the sixth day, when the town was looking for the arrival\nof an inspector of licenses, that the first shop-keeper who climbed up\ninto the loft to hide a piece of imported velvet found Y\u00f6ssil hanging\nand already stark.\n\n\n\n\nXI\n\nBONTZYE SHWEIG[48]\n\n\nDown here, in _this_ world, Bontzye Shweig's death made no impression at\nall. Ask anyone you like who Bontzye was, _how_ he lived, and what he\ndied of; whether of heart failure, or whether his strength gave out, or\nwhether his back broke under a heavy load, and they won't know. Perhaps,\nafter all, he died of hunger.\n\nIf a tram-car horse had fallen dead, there would have been more\nexcitement. It would have been mentioned in the papers, and hundreds of\npeople would have crowded round to look at the dead animal--even the\nspot where the accident took place.\n\nBut the tramway horse would receive less attention if there were as many\nhorses as men--a thousand million.\n\nBontzye lived quietly and died quietly. He passed through _our_ world\nlike a shadow.\n\nNo wine was drunk at Bontzye's circumcision, no healths were proposed,\nand he made no beautiful speech when he was confirmed. He lived like a\nlittle dun-colored grain of sand on the sea-shore, among millions of his\nkind; and when the wind lifted him and blew him over to the other side\nof the sea, nobody noticed it.\n\nWhen he was alive, the mud in the street preserved no impression of his\nfeet; after his death, the wind overturned the little board on his\ngrave. The grave-digger's wife found it a long way off from the spot,\nand boiled a potful of potatoes over it. Three days after that, the\ngrave-digger had forgotten where he had laid him.\n\nIf Bontzye had been given a tombstone, then, in a hundred years or so,\nan antiquarian might have found it, and the name \"Bontzye Shweig\" would\nhave echoed once again in _our_ air.\n\nA shadow! His likeness remained photographed in nobody's brain, in\nnobody's heart; not a trace of him remained.\n\n\"No kith, no kin!\" He lived and died alone!\n\nHad it not been for the human commotion, some one might have heard\nBontzye's spine snap under its load; had the world been less busy, some\none might have remarked that Bontzye (also a human being) went about\nwith two extinguished eyes and fearfully hollow cheeks; that even when\nhe had no load on his shoulders, his head drooped earthward as though,\nwhile yet alive, he were looking for his grave. Were there as few men as\ntramway horses, some one might perhaps have asked: What has happened to\nBontzye?\n\nWhen they carried Bontzye into the hospital, his corner in the\nunderground lodging was soon filled--there were ten of his like waiting\nfor it, and they put it up to auction among themselves. When they\ncarried him from the hospital bed to the dead-house, there were twenty\npoor sick persons waiting for the bed. When he had been taken out of the\ndead-house, they brought in twenty bodies from under a building that had\nfallen in. Who knows how long he will rest in his grave? Who knows how\nmany are waiting for the little plot of ground?\n\nA quiet birth, a quiet life, a quiet death, and a quieter burial.\n\nBut it was not so in the _other_ world. _There_ Bontzye's death made a\ngreat impression.\n\nThe blast of the great Messianic Shofar sounded through all the seven\nheavens: Bontzye Shweig has left the earth! The largest angels with the\nbroadest wings flew about and told one another: Bontzye Shweig is to\ntake his seat in the Heavenly Academy! In Paradise there was a noise and\na joyful tumult: Bontzye Shweig! Just fancy! Bontzye Shweig!\n\nLittle child-angels with sparkling eyes, gold thread-work wings, and\nsilver slippers, ran delightedly to meet him. The rustle of the wings,\nthe tap-tap of the little slippers, and the merry laughter of the fresh,\nrosy mouths, filled all the heavens and reached to the Throne of Glory,\nand God Himself knew that Bontzye Shweig was coming.\n\nAbraham, our father, stood in the gate, his right hand stretched out\nwith a hearty greeting, and a sweet smile lit up his old face.\n\nWhat are they wheeling through heaven?\n\nTwo angels are pushing a golden arm-chair into Paradise for Bontzye\nShweig.\n\nWhat flashed so brightly?\n\nThey were carrying past a gold crown set with precious stones--all for\nBontzye Shweig.\n\n\"Before the decision of the Heavenly Court has been given?\" ask the\nsaints, not quite without jealousy.\n\n\"O,\" reply the angels, \"that will be a mere formality. Even the\nprosecutor won't say a word against Bontzye Shweig. The case will not\nlast five minutes.\"\n\nJust consider: Bontzye Shweig!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen the little angels had met Bontzye in mid-air and played him a tune;\nwhen Abraham, our father, had shaken him by the hand like an old\ncomrade; when he heard that a chair stood waiting for him in Paradise,\nthat a crown lay ready for his head; and that not a word would be lost\nover his case before the Heavenly Court--Bontzye, just as in the other\nworld, was too frightened to speak. His heart sank with terror. He is\nsure it is all a dream, or else simply a mistake.\n\nHe is used to both. He often dreamt, in the other world, that he was\npicking up money off the floor--there were whole heaps of it--and then\nhe woke to find himself as poor as ever; and more than once people had\nsmiled at him and given him a friendly word and then turned away and\nspit out.\n\n\"It is my luck,\" he used to think. And now he dared not raise his eyes,\nlest the dream should vanish, lest he should wake up in some cave full\nof snakes and lizards. He was afraid to speak, afraid to move, lest he\nshould be recognized and flung into the pit.\n\nHe trembles and does not hear the angels' compliments, does not see how\nthey dance round him, makes no answer to the greeting of Abraham, our\nfather, and--when he is led into the presence of the Heavenly Court, he\ndoes not even wish it \"good morning!\"\n\nHe is beside himself with terror, and his fright increases when he\nhappens to notice the floor of the Heavenly Courthouse; it is all\nalabaster set with diamonds. \"And my feet standing on it!\" He is\nparalyzed. \"Who knows what rich man, what rabbi, what saint they take me\nfor--he will come--and that will be the end of me!\"\n\nHis terror is such, he never even hears the president call out: \"The\ncase of Bontzye Shweig!\" adding, as he hands the deeds to the advocate,\n\"Read, but make haste!\"\n\nThe whole hall goes round and round in Bontzye's eyes, there is a\nrushing in his ears. And through the rushing he hears more and more\nclearly the voice of the advocate, speaking sweetly as a violin.\n\n\"His name,\" he hears, \"fitted him like the dress made for a slender\nfigure by the hand of an artist-tailor.\"\n\n\"What is he talking about?\" wondered Bontzye, and he heard an impatient\nvoice break in with:\n\n\"No similes, please!\"\n\n\"He never,\" continued the advocate, \"was heard to complain of either God\nor man; there was never a flash of hatred in his eye; he never lifted it\nwith a claim on heaven.\"\n\nStill Bontzye does not understand, and once again the hard voice\ninterrupts: \"No rhetoric, please!\"\n\n\"Job gave way--this one was more unfortunate--\"\n\n\"Facts, dry facts!\"\n\n\"When he was a week old, he was circumcised....\"\n\n\"We want no realism!\"\n\n\"The Mohel who circumcised him did not know his work--\"\n\n\"Come, come!\"\n\n\"And he kept silent,\" the advocate went on, \"even when his mother died,\nand he was given a step-mother at thirteen years old--a serpent, a\nvixen.\"\n\n\"Can they mean me after all?\" thought Bontzye.\n\n\"No insinuations against a third party!\" said the president, angrily.\n\n\"She grudged him every mouthful--stale, mouldy bread, tendons instead of\nmeat--and _she_ drank coffee with cream.\"\n\n\"Keep to the subject,\" ordered the president.\n\n\"She grudged him everything but her finger nails, and his black-and-blue\nbody showed through the holes in his torn and fusty clothes. Winter\ntime, in the hardest frost, he had to chop wood for her, barefoot, in\nthe yard, and his hands were too young and too weak, the logs too thick,\nthe hatchet too blunt. More than once he nearly dislocated his wrist;\nmore than once his feet were nearly frost-bitten, but he kept silent,\neven to his father.\"\n\n\"To that drunkard?\" laughs the accuser, and Bontzye feels cold in every\nlimb.\n\n\"He never even complained to his father,\" finished up the advocate.\n\n\"And always alone,\" he continued, \"no playmates, no school, nor teaching\nof any kind--never a whole garment--never a free moment.\"\n\n\"Facts, please!\" reminded the president.\n\n\"He kept silent even later, when his father seized him by the hair in a\nfit of drunkenness, and flung him out into the street on a snowy\nwinter's night. He quietly picked himself up out of the snow and ran\nwhither his feet carried him.\n\n\"He kept silent all the way--however hungry he might be, he only begged\nwith his eyes.\n\n\"It was a wild, wet night in spring time, when he reached the great\ntown; he fell like a drop into the ocean, and yet he passed that same\nnight under arrest. He kept silent and never asked why, for what. He was\nlet out, and looked about for the hardest work. And he kept silent.\nHarder than the work itself was the finding of it--and he kept silent.\n\n\"Bathed in a cold sweat, crushed together under heavy loads, his empty\nstomach convulsed with hunger--he kept silent.\n\n\"Bespattered with mud, spat at, driven with his load off the pavement\nand into the street among the cabs, carts, and tramways, looking death\nin the eyes every moment--he kept silent.\n\n\"He never calculated how many pounds' burden go to a groschen, how many\ntimes he fell on an errand worth a dreier; how many times he nearly\npanted out his soul going after his pay; he never calculated the\ndifference between other people's lot and his--he kept silent.\n\n\"And he never insisted loudly on his pay; he stood in the door-way like\na beggar, with a dog-like pleading in his eyes--Come again later! and he\nwent like a shadow to come again later, and beg for his wage more humbly\nthan before.\n\n\"He kept silent even when they cheated him of part, or threw in a false\ncoin.\n\n\"He took everything in silence.\"\n\n\"They mean me after all,\" thought Bontzye.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"Once,\" continued the advocate, after a sip of water, \"a change came\ninto his life: there came flying along a carriage on rubber tires drawn\nby two runaway horses. The driver already lay some distance off on the\npavement with a cracked skull. The terrified horses foamed at the mouth,\nsparks shot from their hoofs, their eyes shone like fiery lamps on a\nwinter's night--and in the carriage, more dead than alive, sat a man.\n\n\"And Bontzye stopped the horses. And the man he had saved was a\ncharitable Jew, who was not ungrateful.\n\n\"He put the dead man's whip into Bontzye's hands, and Bontzye became a\ncoachman. More than that--he was provided with a wife, and more\nstill--with a child.\n\n\"And Bontzye kept silent!\"\n\n\"Me, they mean me!\" Bontzye assured himself again, and yet had not the\ncourage to give a glance at the Heavenly Court.\n\nHe listens to the advocate further:\n\n\"He kept silent also when his protector became bankrupt and did not pay\nhim his wages.\n\n\"He kept silent when his wife ran away from him, leaving him a child at\nthe breast.\n\n\"He was silent also fifteen years later, when the child had grown up and\nwas strong enough to throw him out of the house.\"\n\n\"Me, they mean me!\" Now he is sure of it.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"He kept silent even,\" began the angelic advocate once more in a still\nsofter and sadder voice, \"when the same philanthropist paid all his\ncreditors their due but him--and even when (riding once again in a\ncarriage with rubber tires and fiery horses) he knocked Bontzye down and\ndrove over him.\n\n\"He kept silent. He did not even tell the police who had done for him.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"He kept silent even in the hospital, where one may cry out.\n\n\"He kept silent when the doctor would not come to his bedside without\nbeing paid fifteen kopeks, and when the attendant demanded another\nfive--for changing his linen.\n\n\"He kept silent in the death-struggle--silent in death.\n\n\"Not a word against God; not a word against men!\n\n\"_Dixi!_\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOnce more Bontzye trembled all over, he knew that after the advocate\ncomes the prosecutor. Who knows what _he_ will say?\n\nBontzye himself had remembered nothing of his life.\n\nEven in the other world he forgot every moment what had happened in the\none before. The advocate had recalled everything to his mind. Who knows\nwhat the prosecutor will not remind him of?\n\n\"Gentlemen,\" begins the prosecutor, in a voice biting and acid as\nvinegar--but he breaks off.\n\n\"Gentlemen,\" he begins again, but his voice is milder, and a second time\nhe breaks off.\n\nThen, from out the same throat, comes in a voice that is almost gentle:\n\n\"Gentlemen! _He_ was silent! I will be silent, too!\"\n\nThere is a hush--and there sounds in front a new, soft, trembling voice:\n\n\"Bontzye, my child,\" it speaks like a harp, \"my dear child Bontzye!\"\n\nAnd Bontzye's heart melts within him. Now he would lift up his eyes, but\nthey are blinded with tears; he never felt such sweet emotion before.\n\"My child!\" \"My Bontzye!\"--no one, since his mother died, had spoken to\nhim with such words in such a voice.\n\n\"My child,\" continued the presiding judge, \"you have suffered and kept\nsilent; there is no whole limb, no whole bone in your body, without a\nscar, without a wound, not a fibre of your soul that has not bled--and\nyou kept silent.\n\n\"There they did not understand. Perhaps you yourself did not know that\nyou might have cried out, and that at your cry the walls of Jericho\nwould have shaken and fallen. You yourself knew nothing of your hidden\npower.\n\n\"In the other world your silence was not understood, but _that_ is the\nworld of delusion; in the world of truth you will receive your reward.\n\n\"The Heavenly Court will not judge you; the Heavenly Court will not pass\nsentence on you; they will not apportion you a reward. Take what you\nwill! Everything is yours!\"\n\nBontzye looks up for the first time. He is dazzled; everything shines\nand flashes and streams with light.\n\n\"_Taki?_\" he asks shyly.\n\n\"Yes, really!\" answers the presiding judge with decision; \"really, I\ntell you, everything is yours; everything in heaven belongs to you.\nBecause all that shines and sparkles is only the reflection of your\nhidden goodness, a reflection of your soul. You only take of what is\nyours.\"\n\n\"_Taki?_\" asks Bontzye again, this time in a firmer voice.\n\n\"_Taki! taki! taki!_\" they answer him from all sides.\n\n\"Well, if it is so,\" Bontzye smiles, \"I would like to have every day,\nfor breakfast, a hot roll with fresh butter.\"\n\nThe Court and the angels looked down, a little ashamed; the prosecutor\nlaughed.\n\n\n\n\nXII\n\nTHE DEAD TOWN\n\n\nWhen travelling in the provinces after Jewish statistics, I one day met\nwith a Jew dragging himself step by step through the heavy sand. He\nlooks ill, can hardly walk, hardly put one foot before the other. I feel\nsorry for him and take him into my conveyance. He gets in, gives me a\n\"peace be with you,\" and asks me every sort of question. I answer, and\nend by inquiring:\n\n\"And you, friend, whence are you?\"\n\n\"From the dead town,\" he answers calmly.\n\nI thought he was joking.\n\n\"Where is it?\" I ask. \"Behind the hills of darkness?\"\n\n\"Where?\" he smiles. \"It's just in Poland!\"\n\n\"In our country, a town like that?\"\n\n\"There it is!\" he said; \"there it is! Although the nations of the world\ndo not know of it, and have never given it a Gentile name, it is a\ngenuinely Jewish town.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"What I say! You know geography, and you think everything is down in it;\nnot at all. We Jews live without geography. We are not 'down,' and yet\nthey come to us from far and near. What is the good of geography? Every\ndriver knows the way.\n\n\"You don't believe me?\" he asks.\n\nI am silent.\n\n\"And yet it's true; our rabbi corresponds with all the Geonim[49] in the\nworld. Questions and answers concerning the most important matters come\nand go--everything is arranged somehow--it just depends. Not long ago,\nfor instance, an elderly grass-widow was released from the marriage-tie.\nWell, of course, the main thing is not the grass-widow, but the\ndialectics!\"[50]\n\nHe goes on:\n\n\"All the Einiklich[51] know of our town. They come, praise God,\noften--and, praise God, not in vain.\"\n\n\"It is the first time I ever heard of a dead town.\"\n\n\"That's rather strange! I suppose you keep yourself rather aloof.....\nAnd yet it is a truly Jewish town, a real Jewish metropolis. It has\neverything a town needs, even two or three lunatics! And it has a\nreputation for commerce, too!\"\n\n\"Is anything taken in or out?\"\n\n\"What? What do you say?\" asks the Jew, not quite clear as to my meaning.\n\"Are you speaking of articles of trade?\"\n\nI nod my head.\n\n\"Certainly!\" he answers. \"They take away prayer-scarfs and leather\nbelts, and bring in Corfu Esrog\u00eem and earth of Palestine. But that isn't\nthe chief thing, the chief thing is the business done in the town\nitself! Drink-shops, lodging homes for travellers, old clothes--according\nto custom--\"\n\n\"A poor town?\"\n\n\"What do you mean by rich and poor? There is Parnosseh! The very poor go\nabout begging either in the place or in the neighborhood--mostly in the\nplace itself! Whoever holds out a hand is given something! Others try\nfor some easy work, they do broker-business, or pick up things in the\nstreets and earn an honest crust. The Almighty is faithful! The orphans\nare given free meals by the householders and study in the Talmud Torah.\nThe orphan girls become maid-servants, cooks, or find a living\nelsewhere. Widows, divorced women, and grass-widows (there have been a\nlot of grass-widows lately[52]) sit over charcoal braziers, and when the\nfumes go to their head, they dream that rolls hang on the trees ready\nbaked. Others live _quite_ decently!\"\n\n\"On what?\"\n\n\"On what? What do other people live on? A poor man hopes; a trader\nswallows air, and the one who digs--graves, I mean--is never out of\nemployment--\"\n\nIs he joking, the dried-up, little, old Jew, the bag-of-bones with the\nodd gleam in his deeply sunken eyes? On his bony face, covered with a\nskin like yellow parchment, not the trace of a smile! Only his voice has\nsomething odd about it.\n\n\"What sort of a town _is_ it, anyway?\" I ask again.\n\n\"What do you mean? It's a town like any other! There's a Shool, and they\nsay that once there were all sorts of animals painted on the walls,\nbeasts and birds--out of Perek Shirah[53]--and on the ceiling all sorts\nof musical instruments, such as were played upon by King David, on whom\nbe peace. I never saw it so, but the old men tell of it.\"\n\n\"And nowadays?\"\n\n\"Nowadays? Dust and spider-webs. There's only a wooden chain, carved out\nof one piece, that hangs from the beam, and falls very prettily to one\nside of the Ark to the right of the curtain, which was itself the gift\nof pious women. Nobody remembers who made the chain, but it was an\nartist, there's no doubt! Such a chain!\n\n\"In the Shool,\" he continued, \"you see only the common people, artisans,\nexcept tailors, who form a congregation apart, and butchers and drivers,\nwho have hired a place of their own to pray in. The Shool can hardly\nread Hebrew! The well-to-do householders--sons of the Law--assemble in\nthe house-of-study, a large one with piles of books! The Chassid\u00eem,\nagain, pray in rooms apart!\"\n\n\"And are there dissensions?\"\n\n\"Many men, many minds! In the grave, on the other hand, there is peace;\none burial ground for all; and the men's bath--the women's bath--are\nthere for all alike.\"\n\n\"What else have you in your town?\"\n\n\"What more would you have? There was a refuge for wayfarers, and it was\ngiven up; wayfarers can sleep in the house-of-study--at night it's\nempty--and we have a Hekdesh.\"\n\n\"A hospital, you mean?\"\n\n\"Not a hospital at all, just a Hekdesh, two rooms. At one time they were\noccupied by the bather, then it was arranged that the bather should\ncontent himself with one room, and that the other should be used for the\nHekdesh; there are not more than three sick women in it altogether: one\npoor thing, an old woman with paralyzed legs, who lies all of a heap; a\nsecond with all her limbs paralyzed, and beside these, a crazy\ngrass-widow. Three corners are taken up with beds, in the fourth stands\na chimney-stove; in the middle there is a dead-house, in case of need!\"\n\n\"You are laughing at me, friend,\" I break in, \"that is Tziachnovke!\nTziachnovke itself with its commerce and charities and good works! Why\ndo you call it the dead town?\"\n\n\"Because it is a dead town! I am speaking of a town which, from the day\nit was built, hung by a hair, and now the hair has snapt, it hangs in\nthe air. It hangs by nothing at all. And because it hangs by nothing and\nfloats in mid-air, it is a dead town; if you like, I will tell you about\nit.\"\n\n\"By all means--most interesting!\"\n\nMeanwhile night is falling, one half of the sky grows blood-red and\nfiery, over there is the sunset. On our other hand, the moon is swimming\ninto view out of a light mist, like the face of a bride peeping out of\nher white veil. The pale beams, as they spread over the earth, mix with\nthe quivering shadows of the sad, still night.\n\nUncanny!--\n\nWe drive into a wood. The moon-rays steal in after us between the\ntrembling leaves.\n\nOn the ground, among the fallen leaves and twigs, there dance little\ncircles of light, like silver coins. There is something magical in the\nillumination, in the low breathing of the wood.\n\nI glance at the wayfaring Jew, his appearance has changed. It is\nmelancholy and serious, and his expression is so simple and honest. Can\nit all be true?\n\n_Ha!_ I will listen to what he has to say.\n\n\"The town hung by a hair from the first,\" said the narrator, \"because it\nwas started in a part where no Jewish town was allowed to be! It was not\ntill the first Minyan was complete that people held a meeting and\ndecided to reckon themselves as belonging to a town in the neighborhood.\nOn this pretense they built a bath, a Shool, and after that, a men's\nbath, and bought a piece of land for a burial ground.\n\n\"And when all that was finished, they sent people of backstair influence\nto have it all endorsed.\"\n\n\"Head downward?\"\n\n\"Isn't that always the way with us? How should it be otherwise?\"\n\n\"I don't know!\"\n\n\"However, that's how it was! And the thing was not so underhand as you\nsuppose.\n\n\"There was a Jew who was very rich, and this rich Jew, as is usually\nthe case, was a little, not to say very much, in with the authorities,\nand everything was in his name; it was _his_ Shool, _his_ bath, _his_\nwomen's bath--even to _his_ burial ground--and nothing was said; as I\ntell you, he was a person of influence!\n\n\"And when the paper came from high quarters, he was to transcribe it in\nthe name of the community and stop paying sop-money to the local\npolice.\"\n\n\"And then the rich man said: 'To my account'?\"\n\n\"No, my dear sir, such rich people didn't exist in those days. 'To my\naccount' was a thing unknown; but hear what happened, what things may\ncome to pass!\n\n\"It was not the Gevir, but the envoy who caused the trouble. He made\noff, half-way, with the money and the papers, and left the freshly-baked\ncommunity like a grass-widow with a family.\"\n\n\"Did they send another?\"\n\n\"Not so soon as all that! Before it was known that the first had\nabsconded, or anything about it, the Gevir died and left, among other\nthings, an heir who was a minor; he couldn't sign a paper till he was\ntwenty-one!\"\n\n\"So they hurried up?\"\n\n\"Of course, as soon as he was twenty-one, they meant to send another\nenvoy, and perhaps two.\"\n\n\"And meanwhile it was entered in the communal records?\"\n\n\"That's where it is! The records remembered and the people forgot! Some\nsay the record was burnt, that the trustee took the record, said\nHavdoleh over it, set fire to a little brandy, and--good-bye!\n\n\"The community, meanwhile, was growing; Jews, praise God, soon\nmultiply. And they come in from other places; one person brings in a\nson-in-law, another a daughter-in-law, in a word, it grew. And the\nGevir's heirs disappeared as though on purpose! The widow married again\nand left, one son after another went to seek his fortune elsewhere, to\ntake a look 'round. The youngest remained. Kohol appointed him a\nguardian and married him, and gave him an experienced partner.\"\n\n\"Who led him about by the nose?\"\n\n\"According to the law of Moses and of Israel!\n\n\"He had trouble with the partner and more still with the wife; and he\nsigned a forged check and took himself off, bankrupt; townspeople and\nstrangers collected and made a great noise, the case was heard in court,\ndown came an inspector, no money to be seen anywhere, the wife hid the\nfurniture, the inspector took possession of the Shool and the burial\nground!\n\n\"The little town was thunderstruck, it was a bolt from the blue with a\nvengeance! Because, you see, the whole thing had been kept dark to the\nlast minute!\n\n\"And all of a sudden, the community was seen hanging, as it were, by a\nhair!\n\n\"What was to be done? They drove to lawyers. What could they advise in a\ncase like that? The best thing would be to have an auction, the\ninspector would sell the things and the community buy them at any cost.\nThe community was no community? The papers had been lost by the way?\nThey must find another Gevir, and buy in his name! The great thing was\nnot to wait till the Gevir should die or go away!\n\n\"The advice seemed good, Kohol was quite used to loss of money; but\nthere was not only _one_ Gevir, there were several! And heaps willing to\nact as diplomatic envoys. Whose name should they use? Who should be\ntaken for an envoy? All were willing and might be offended. So they held\na meeting and talked it over. And they talked it over till the talk\nbecame a dispute, and when _we_ have a dispute, it isn't settled in a\nhurry. Now and again it looks like peace, the flame of discord burns\nlow, comes a peacemaker and pours oil on it, and it blazes up again\nand--blazes on!\"\n\nThe Jew wiped his pale forehead and continued:\n\n\"Meanwhile something happened, something not to be believed!\n\n\"Only,\" he added with a smile, \"it is night and the creature who walks\nthe sky at night (he points at the moon) is called 'truth,' and at\nnight, specially in such a quiet one, everything is credible.\"\n\n\"Well, yes\"--I allow unwillingly.\n\n\"The story is a dreadful one.\n\n\"The inspector put his foot on the 'holy ground,' the corpses heard and\nmust have grown angry--the tombstones move--the corpses rise up from\nbeneath them--you believe me?\"\n\n\"I am no heretic,\" I replied, \"heaven forbid! And I believe in the\nimmortality of the soul, only--\"\n\n\"Only, friend, only?\"\n\n\"I always thought, that only the soul remained--the soul that flies into\nheaven; but the body that goes into the grave, the image that\ndecays--anyhow, it cannot move without the soul--cannot rise again.\"\n\n\"Well said!\" he praises me. \"May I ever hear the like!\n\n\"I am glad,\" he said, \"that you are book-learned; but, my friend, you\nhave forgotten the world of illusion! You say the soul goes to heaven,\ninto the sky--very well--but to which part? One goes into Paradise, the\nother into Gehenna. Paradise is for the souls of the righteous, Gehenna\nfor the souls of the wicked. The one, for his good deeds, receives a\nshare of Leviathan, of Behemoth, wine of the ages,--the other, for his\nsins, boiling pitch; but that only means reward and punishment, and why\nreward and punishment? Because so long as a man lives, he has a free\nchoice. If he wishes to do what is good, he does it, if to do evil, he\ndoes evil, and as he makes his bed, _ha?_ so he lies.\n\n\"But what is the sentence passed when a man was no man, when his life\nwas no life, and he did nothing, neither good nor evil, because he could\nnot do anything? He had no choice, and he slept away his life and lived\nin a dream. What is such a soul entitled to? Gehenna? What for? It never\nso much as killed a fly. Paradise? For what? It never dipped a hand in\ncold water to gain it.\"\n\n\"What _does_ become of such a soul?\"\n\n\"Nothing! It goes on living in a world of illusion, it does not detach\nitself from the body; but just as it dreamt before that it lived _on_\nthe earth, so it dreams now that it lives _in_ the earth!\n\n\"No one in our town ever really died, because no one ever really lived!\nNo one did either good or evil, there were no sinners and no\nrighteous--only sleepy-heads and souls in a world of illusion. When\nsuch a sleepy-head is laid in the grave, it remains a sleepy-head--only\nin another lodging--that's all.\n\n\"And so dying with us was a perfect comedy! Because if a feather was put\nunder the nose of a _live_ man, would he stir to brush it away? Not he!\nAnd the same with a fly. They left off troubling about Parnosseh--they\nsimply left off troubling about anything at all!\n\n\"So it went on.... There are many towns like it, and when it happens, as\nit has happened with us, that a corpse creeps out of its grave, it\ndoesn't begin to remember that it has made its last confession of sins\nand drawn its last breath. No sooner have the potsherds fallen from its\neyes than it goes straight to the house-of-study, to the bath, or else\nhome to supper--it remembers nothing about having died!\"\n\nI do not know if it is the moon's fault, or whether I am not quite\nmyself, but I hear, believe, and even ask:\n\n\"Did all the corpses rise? All?\"\n\n\"Who can tell? Do they keep a register? There may have been a few\nheretics who thought it was the final resurrection and lay low; but\nthere rose a whole community; they rose and fled before the inspector\ninto the nearest wood!\"\n\n\"Why into a wood?\"\n\n\"They couldn't go into the town, because it was daylight, and it is not\nthe thing to appear in winding-sheets by daylight--they might have\nfrightened the young mothers.\"\n\n\"True. And the inspector?\"\n\n\"You ask about a Gentile? He saw nothing. Perhaps he was\ntipsy--nothing--he did his work, made his inventory.\"\n\n\"And sold the things?\"\n\n\"Nothing, there was as yet no one to buy.\"\n\n\"And the corpses?\"\n\n\"Ah--the corpses!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHe rests for a moment and then goes on:\n\n\"Hardly had night fallen, when the corpses came back into the town; each\none went to his home, stole in at the door, the window, or down the\nchimney--went hastily to the wardrobe, took out some clothes, dressed\nhimself, yawned, and lay down somewhere to sleep.\n\n\"Next morning there was a whole townfull of corpses.\"\n\n\"And the living said nothing?\"\n\n\"They never remarked; they were taken up with the dispute; their heads\nwere full of it, they were all at sixes and sevens! And really, when you\ncome to think of it, how much difference is there between a dead-alive\nperson and a walking corpse in winding-sheets? When a son saw his\nfather, he spat out three times, indignant with himself: 'To think of\nthe dream I had--I dreamt I said Kaddish for my father and inherited\nhim! May such dreams plague my enemies.'\n\n\"A widow saw her husband, and gave him a hearty slap. He had deceived\nher, the wretch! made game of her! and she, foolish woman that she was,\nhad made him new winding-sheets!\"\n\n\"And supposing she had married again?\"\n\n\"How should she have? In the course of the dispute some one set fire to\nthe Shool and to the house-of-study and to the wedding canopy;\neverything, you may say, was burnt. They accused pretty well everybody\nin turn--\"\n\n\"And after that?\"\n\n\"Nothing; the corpses had come to life and the living began to die out,\nfor want of room, for want of air--but specially of hunger--\"\n\n\"Was there a famine?\"\n\n\"No more than anywhere else! But there _was_ one for all that. The\ncorpses took their place at the prayer-meetings and at the table at home\nas well. People didn't know why, but there were suddenly not enough\nspoons. All ate out of one dish, and there were not enough spoons. Every\nhouse-mistress knows that she has as many spoons as there are people in\nthe house, so she thinks there has been a robbery! The pious say:\nWitchcraft! But as they came to see the spoons were missing everywhere,\nand there was not food to go round, then they said: A famine! and they\nhungered, and they are hungering still.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"And in a short time the corpses outnumbered the living; now they are\nthe community and the leaders of the community! They do not beget\nchildren and increase naturally--not that, but when anyone dies, they\nsteal him away off his bed, out of the grave--and there is a fresh\ncorpse going about the town.\n\n\"And what is lacking to them? They have no cares, no fear of\ndeath--they eat for the purpose of saying grace--they don't want the\nfood, they have no craving for it--let alone drink and lodging; a\nhundred corpses can sleep in one room--they don't require air!\n\n\"And they have no worries, because whence do worries spring? From\nknowing! 'The more knowledge, the more sorrow, but the dead man does not\ntrouble.' It's not his affair! He doesn't wish to know and he _needn't_\nknow--he wanders in a world of illusion.\n\n\"He keeps away from living concerns; he has no questions, no anxieties,\nno heart-ache, no one is conscious of his liver!\n\n\"Who do you think is our rabbi? Once it was a live man and a man of\naction; now he, too, is a corpse; he wanders in a world of illusion, and\ngoes on giving decisions by rote as in a dream.\n\n\"Who are his assistants? People like him--half-decayed corpses.\n\n\"And they solve ritual questions for the living and the dead, they know\neverything and do everything; they say blessings, unite in wedlock. Who\nis it stands at the platform? A corpse! He has the face of a corpse, the\nvoice of a corpse; if it happen that a cock crows suddenly, he runs\naway.\n\n\"And the Gevir\u00eem, the almsgivers, the agitators, the providers, the\nwhole lot--what are they? Dead men, long dead and long buried!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"And you, friend? What are you?\"\n\n\"I? I am half-dead,\" answers the Jew. He jumps down from the conveyance\nand disappears among the trees.\n\n\n\n\nXIII\n\nTHE DAYS OF THE MESSIAH\n\n\nAs in all the Jewish towns in Galicia, big and little, so in the one\nwhere my parents lived, there was a lunatic.\n\nAnd as in most cases, so in this one, the lunatic was afraid of nobody,\nneither of Kohol, nor of the rabbi or his assistants, not even of the\nbather or the grave-digger, who are treated with respect by the richest\nmen. On the other hand, the whole of the little town, Kohol with all the\nJewish authorities and the bather and the grave-digger, trembled before\nthe lunatic, closed door and window at his approach. And although the\npoor lunatic had never said an abusive word, never touched any one with\nhis little finger, everybody called him names, many people hit him, and\nthe street boys threw mud and stones at him.\n\nI always felt sorry for the lunatic. He attracted me, somehow, I wanted\nto talk to him, to console him, to give him a friendly pat; but it was\nimpossible to approach him; I should have received part of the stones\nand mud with which he was bombarded by the others. I was quite a little\nboy, and I wore a nice suit from Lemberg or Cracow, and I wished to\npreserve my shoulders from stones and my suit from mud; so I remained at\na distance.\n\nThe little town in which my parents lived and where I spent my\nchildhood, dressed in clothes made by the tailors of Lemberg and Cracow,\nwas a fortress, surrounded by moats, water, earthworks, and high walls.\n\nOn the walls were batteries, and these were protected by soldiers with\nmuskets, who marched up and down, serious and silent. Hardly had\ndarkness fallen, when the iron drawbridge was raised from over the moat,\nall the gates were closed, and the little town was cut off from the rest\nof the world till early next morning. At every gate stood a watchman,\nfully armed.\n\nA short while ago, in the day-time, we were all free, we could go in and\nout without applying for leave to the major in command; one might bathe\nin the river outside the town, and even lie stretched out on the green\nbank and gaze into the sky or out into the wide world, as one chose. No\none made any objection, and even if one did not return, no questions\nwere asked. But at night all was to be quiet in the town, no one was to\ngo out or to come in. \"Lucky,\" I used to think to myself, \"that they let\nin the moon.\"\n\nAnd as long as I may live, I shall never forget the twilights there, the\nfall of night. As the shades deepened, a shudder went through the whole\ntown, men and houses seemed suddenly to grow smaller and cower together.\nThe bridge was raised, the iron chains grated against the huge blocks;\nand the rasp of the iron, the harsh, broken sounds, went through one's\nvery bones. Then gate on gate fell to. Every evening it was the same\nthing, and yet every evening people's limbs trembled, a dull apathy\noverspread their faces, and their eyes were as the eyes of the dead.\nEye-lids fell heavy as lead; the heart seemed to stop beating, one\nscarcely breathed. Then a patrol would march down the streets, with a\nclatter of trailing swords and great water-boots; the bayonets\nglistened, and the patrol shouted: \"_Wer da?_\" To which one had to\nreply: \"A citizen, an inhabitant,\" otherwise there was no saying what\nmight not happen. Many preferred to remain behind lock and key--they\nwere afraid of being seen in the street.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOne day I had the following adventure: I had been bathing in the river,\nand either I lost myself in thought, or in staring about, or I simply\nforgot that after day comes night. Suddenly I see them raise the bridge;\nthere is a grating in the ears, the gates swing to, and my heart goes by\nleaps and bounds. No help for it! I must pass the night outside the\nwalls--and strange to say, night after night, as I lay in my warm bed at\nhome, I had dreamt of the free world outside the fortress; and now that\nmy dreams had come true, I was frightened. There ensued the usual\ndispute between head and heart. The head cried: Steady! Now, for once,\nyou may enjoy the free air and the starry sky to the full! And the\nheart, all the while, struggled and fluttered like a caged bird. Then\nfrom heart to head rose as it were a vapor, a mist, and the clear\nreasoning became obscured, and was swallowed up in the cloud.\n\nThere was a rushing noise in my ears, a flickering before my eyes. Every\nsound, however light, every motion of a twig or a blade of grass made me\nshudder, and threw me on to the ground with fright.\n\nI hid my face in the sand. Whether or not I slept, and how long I lay\nthere, I cannot tell! But I suddenly heard someone breathing close to\nme; I spring up and--I am not alone! Two well-known, deep, black eyes\nare gazing at me in all candor and gentleness.\n\nIt is the lunatic.\n\n\"What are you doing here?\" I ask in smothered tones.\n\n\"I never sleep in the town!\" he answers sadly, and his glance is so\ngentle, the voice so brotherly, that I recover myself completely and\nlose all fear.\n\n\"Once upon a time,\" I reflected, \"lunatics were believed to be\nprophets--it is still so in the East--and I wonder, perhaps he is one,\ntoo! Is he not persecuted like a prophet? Don't they throw stones at him\nas at a prophet? Don't his eyes shine like stars? Doesn't his voice\nsound like the sweetest harp? Does he not bear the sorrows of all, and\nsuffer for a whole generation? Perhaps he also knows what shall be\nhereafter!\"\n\nI have a try and begin to question him, and he answers so softly and\nsweetly, that I think sometimes it is all a dream, the dream of a\nsummer's night outside the fortress.\n\n\"Do you believe in the days of the Messiah?\" I ask him.\n\n\"Of course!\" he answers gently and confidently, \"he _must_ come!\"\n\n\"He must?!\"\n\n\"O, surely! All wait for him, even the heavens and the earth wait! If it\nwere not so, no one would care to live, to dip a hand in cold water--and\nif people live as they do and show they _want_ to live, it is a sign\nthey all feel that Messiah is coming, that he must come, that he is\nalready on the way.\"\n\n\"Is it true,\" I question further, \"that first there will be dreadful\nwars, and false Messiahs, on account of whom people will tear one\nanother like wild beasts, till the earth be soaked with blood? Is it\ntrue that rivers of blood will flow from east to west and from north to\nsouth, and all the animals and beasts drink human blood, all the fields\nand gardens and wild places and roads be swamped with human blood, and\nthat in the middle of this bloody time the _true_ Messiah will come--the\n_right_ one? Is that true?\"\n\n\"True!\"\n\n\"And people will know him?\"\n\n\"Everyone will know him. Nobody will be mistaken. He will be Messiah in\nevery look, in every word, in every limb, in every glance. He will have\nno armies with him, he will ride on no horse, and there will be no sword\nat his side--\"\n\n\"Then, what?\"\n\n\"He will have wings--Messiah will have wings, and then everyone will\nhave wings. It will be like this: suddenly there will be born a child\nwith wings, and then a second, a third, and so it will go on. At first\npeople will be frightened, by degrees they will get used to it, until\nthere has arisen a whole generation with wings, a generation that will\nno longer struggle in the mud over a Parnosseh-worm.\"\n\nHe talked on like this for some time, but I had already ceased to\nunderstand him. Only his voice was so sadly-sweet that I sucked it up\nlike a sponge. The day was breaking when he ceased--they had opened the\ngates and were letting down the bridge.\n\nSince the night spent outside the fortress, the life within it had grown\nmore unbearable still. The old walls, the rasping iron drawbridge, the\niron doors, the sentinels and patrols, the hoarsely-angry \"_Wer da?_\"\nthe falsely-servile: \"A citizen, an inhabitant!\" the eternal quivering\nof the putty-colored faces, the startled, half-extinguished eyes, the\nmarket with its cowering, aimlessly restless shadows of men--the whole\nthing weighed on me like lead--not to be able to breathe, not to feel\nfree! And my heart grew sick with a great longing. And I resolved to go\nto meet the Messiah.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI got into the first conveyance that presented itself. The driver turned\nround and asked:\n\n\"Where to?\"\n\n\"Wherever you please,\" I answered, \"only a great way--a great way off\nfrom here!\"\n\n\"For how long?\"\n\n\"For as long as the horse can go!\"\n\nThe driver gathered up the reins, and we set off.\n\nWe drove on and on. Other fields, other woods, other villages, other\ntowns, everything different; but the difference was only on the surface,\nbelow that everything was the same. When I looked into things, I saw\neverywhere the same melancholy, every face wore a look of frightened\ncunning, speech was everywhere broken and halting--the world seemed\noverspread with a mournful mist that hid every gleam of light and\nextinguished every joy. Everything shrank together and stifled. And I\nkept shouting: \"Go on!\" But I depended on the driver, and the driver, on\nthe horse--the horse wants to eat, and we are obliged to stop.\n\nI step into the inn. A large room, divided into two by means of an old\ncurtain, reaching from one wall to the other. On my side of the curtain,\nthree men sit round a large table. They do not remark me, and I have\ntime to look them over. They represent three generations. The oldest is\ngray as a pigeon, but he sits erect and gazes with sharp eyes and\nwithout spectacles into a large book, lying before him on the table. The\nold face is grave, the old eyes unerring in their glance, and the old\nman and the book are blent into one by the white beard, whose silver\npoints rest on the pages. At his right hand sits a younger man, who must\nbe his son; it is the same face, only younger, less unmoved, more\nnervous, at times more drawn and weary. He also gazes into a book, but\nthrough glasses. The book is smaller, and he holds it nearer to his\neyes, resting it against the edge of the table. He is of middle age;\nbeard and ear-locks just silvered over. He rocks himself to and fro. It\nseems every time as if his body wished to tear itself away from the\nbook, only the book draws it back. He rocks himself, and the lips move\ninaudibly. Every now and then he glances at the old man, who does not\nnotice it.\n\nTo the old man's left sits the youngest, probably a grandson, a young\nman with glossy black hair and a burning, restless glance. He also is\nlooking at a book, but the book is quite small, and he holds it close\nto his bright, unquiet eyes. He continually lowers it, however, and\nthrows a glance of mingled fear and respect at the old man, another,\nwith a half-ironic smile, at his father, and then leans over to hear\nwhat is going on, on the further side of the curtain. And from the\nfurther side of the curtain come moans as of a woman in child-birth--\n\nI am about to cough, so that they may be aware of me. At this moment a\nfold of the curtain is pushed aside and there appear two women: an old\none with a sharp, bony face and sharp eyes, and one of middle age with a\ngentle, rather flabby face and uncertain glance. They stand looking at\nthe men, and waiting to be questioned. The oldest does not see them--his\nsoul has melted into the soul of the book. The middle-aged man has seen\nthem, and is wondering how best to rouse his father; the youngest starts\nup--\n\n\"Mother! Grandmother! Well?\"\n\nThe father rises anxiously from his chair; the grandfather only pushes\nthe book a little away from him, and lifts his eyes to the women.\n\n\"How is she?\" inquires the young one further, with a trembling voice.\n\n\"She is over it!\"\n\n\"Over it! over it!\" stammers the young one.\n\n\"Mother, won't you say, Good luck to you?\" asks the second. The old one\nreflects a moment and then asks:\n\n\"What has happened? Even if it is a girl--\"\n\n\"No!\"--the grandmother speaks for the first time--\"it is a boy.\"\n\n\"Still-born?\"\n\n\"No, it lives!\" answers the old woman, and yet there is no joy in her\ntone.\n\n\"A cripple? Defective?\"\n\n\"It has marks! On both shoulders--\"\n\n\"What sort of marks?\"\n\n\"Of wings--\"\n\n\"Of wings?\"\n\n\"Yes, of wings, and they are growing--\"\n\nThe old man remains sitting in perplexity, the second is lost in wonder,\nthe youngest fairly leaps for joy.\n\n\"Good, good! Let them grow, may they grow into wings, big, strong ones!\nGood, good!\"\n\n\"What is there to be glad about?\" inquires his father.\n\n\"A dreadful deformity!\" sighs the old man.\n\n\"Why so?\" asks the grandson.\n\n\"Wings,\" said the old man, sternly, \"raise one into the height--when one\nhas wings one cannot keep to the earth.\"\n\n\"Much it matters!\" retorts the grandson, defiantly. \"One is quit of\nliving here and wallowing in the mud, one lives in the height. Is heaven\nnot better than earth?\"\n\nThe old man grows pale, and the son takes up the word:\n\n\"Foolish child! What is one to live on in the height? Air doesn't go\nfar. There are no inns to hire up there, no 'contracts' to sign.\nThere's no one of whom to buy a bit of shoe-leather--in the height--\"\n\nThe old man interrupts him: \"In the height,\" he says in hard tones,\n\"there is no Shool, no house-of-study, no Kl\u00e4us to pray and read in; in\nthe height, there is no pathway, trodden out by past generations--in the\nheight, one wanders and gets lost, because one does not know the road.\nOne is a free bird, but woe to the free bird in the hour of doubt and\ndespondency!\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" and the young man starts up with burning cheeks and\neyes.\n\nBut the grandmother is beforehand with him:\n\n\"What fools men are,\" she exclaims, \"how they talk! And the rabbi? Do\nyou suppose the rabbi is going to let him be circumcised? Is he likely\nto allow a blessing to be spoken over a child with wings?\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI give a start. The night spent outside the town, the drive, and the\nchild with wings were all a dream.\n\n\n\n\nXIV\n\nKABBALISTS\n\n\nWhen times are bad, even Torah, \"the best ware,\"[54] loses in value.\n\nIn the Lashewitz \"academy,\" there remain only the head, Reb Yainkil, and\none pupil.\n\nThe head of the academy is on old, thin Jew, with a long, pointed beard\nand old, extinguished eyes; Lemech, his beloved pupil, is a young man,\nlikewise thin, tall, and pale, with black, curling ear-locks, dark,\nglowing eyes, heavily-ringed, dry lips, and sharp, quivering throat;\nboth with garments open at the breast, with _no_ shirts, and both in\nrags; the teacher just drags about a pair of peasant boots; the pupil's\nshoes drop from his sockless feet.\n\nThat is all that remains of the celebrated academy!\n\nThe impoverished little town sent less and less food, gave fewer and\nfewer free meals to the poor students, and these crept away elsewhere!\nBut Reb Yainkil intends to die here, and his pupil remains to close his\neyelids!\n\nAnd these two are often hungry. Eating little means sleeping little, and\nwhole nights without sleep or food incline one to the Kabbalah! If one\nhas to wake whole nights and hunger whole days, one may as well get\nsomething by it, if only fasting and flagellations, so long as these\nopen the door to the world of mystery, of spirits, and of angels!\n\nAnd they have been studying the Kabbalah for some time!\n\nNow they are sitting at the one long table. With everyone else it is\n\"after dinner,\" with them still \"before breakfast.\" They are used to\nthat. The teacher rolls his eyes and holds forth; the pupil sits with\nboth hands supporting his head and listens.\n\n\"Therein,\" said the teacher, \"are many degrees of attainment: one knows\na bit of a tune, another half a one, another a whole. The Rebbe of\nblessed memory knew a whole one with the accompaniment. I,\" he added\nsadly, \"have only been found worthy of a bit like that!\"\n\nHe measured off a tiny piece of his bony finger and went on:\n\n\"There is one kind of tune that must have words, that is a low order of\ntune. But there is a higher kind: a tune that sings itself, but without\nwords--a pure melody! But _that_ melody must have a voice--and lips,\nthrough which the voice issues! And lips, you see, are material things!\n\n\"And the voice itself is refined matter, certainly, but matter none the\nless. Let us say, the voice stands mid-way between the spiritual and the\nmaterial.\n\n\"However that may be, the tune that finds expression through a voice and\nis dependent on lips is not pure, not entirely pure, not yet really\nspiritual!\n\n\"The real tune sings itself without a voice--it sings itself inside one,\nin the heart, in the thoughts!\n\n\"There you have the meaning of the words of King David: 'All my bones\nshall say,' etc. It ought to sing in the marrow of the bones, that is\nwhere the tune should be--that is the highest praise we can give to God.\nThat is no human tone that has been _thought out_! It is a fragment of\nthe melody to which God created the world, of the soul He breathed into\nit. Thus sings the Heavenly Family, thus sang the Rebbe, whose memory be\nblessed!\"\n\nThe teacher was interrupted by a shock-headed lad with a cord round his\nwaist--a porter. He came into the house-of-study, put down on the table,\nbeside the teacher, a dish of porridge with a piece of bread, said\ngruffly: \"Reb Tebil sends the teacher some food,\" turned his back, and\nadded, as he went out: \"I'll come back presently for the dish.\"\n\nRecalled by the rough tone from the divine harmonies, the teacher rose\nheavily, and went to the basin to wash, dragging his great boots.\n\nHe continued to speak as he went, but with less assurance, and the pupil\nfollowed him with greedy ears and glowing, dreaming eyes.\n\n\"But I,\" repeated Reb Yainkil, sadly, \"was not even worthy of\nunderstanding to what category it belongs, of knowing under what heading\nit is classified. However,\" he added with a smile, \"the initiatory\nmortifications and purifications, those I _do_ know, and perhaps I will\nteach them you to-day.\"\n\nThe pupil's eyes seem about to start from their sockets with eagerness;\nhe keeps his mouth open so as to catch every word. But the teacher is\nsilent, he is washing his hands; he repeats the ritual formula, comes\nback to the table and says \"Thou who bringest forth,\"[55] with trembling\nlips.\n\nHe lifts the dish with shaking fingers, and the warm steam rises into\nhis face; then he puts it down, takes the spoon in his right hand, and\nwarms the left at the dish's edge; after which he masticates the rest of\nthe bread with some salt between his tongue and his toothless gums.\n\nHaving warmed his face with his hands, he wrinkles his forehead, purses\nhis thin lips, and begins to blow the porridge.\n\nThe pupil has not taken his eyes off him the whole time, and when the\nteacher's trembling mouth met the spoonful of porridge, something came\nover him, and he covered his face with both hands and withdrew within\nhimself.\n\nA few minutes later another boy came in with a bowl of porridge and some\nbread:\n\n\"Reb Y\u00f2sef sends the pupil some breakfast!\"\n\nBut the pupil did not remove his hands from his face.\n\nThe teacher laid down his spoon and went up to the pupil. For a while he\ngazed at him with affectionate pride, then he wrapped his hand in the\nskirt of his kaftan, and touched him on the shoulder:\n\n\"They have brought you something to eat,\" he said gently, by way of\nrousing him. Slowly and sadly the pupil uncovered his face. It was paler\nthan ever, and the black-ringed eyes had grown wilder.\n\n\"I know, Rebbe,\" he answered, \"but I will not eat anything to-day.\"\n\n\"The fourth fast?\" asked the teacher, wondering, \"and without me?\" he\nadded, with a playful pretense at being hurt.\n\n\"It is another kind of fast,\" answered the pupil, \"it is a penance.\"\n\n\"What do you mean? _You_ and a penance?\"\n\n\"Yes, Rebbe! A penance. A minute ago, when you began to eat, I was\ntempted to break the commandment: 'Thou shalt not covet!'\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nLate that night the pupil woke the teacher. They slept on the benches in\nthe Kl\u00e4us, opposite to one another.\n\n\"Rebbe, Rebbe!\" he called in a weak voice.\n\n\"What is it?\" and the teacher started up in alarm.\n\n\"Just now I attained to a higher degree!\"\n\n\"How so?\" inquired the teacher, still half asleep.\n\n\"It sang within me!\"\n\nThe teacher sat up:\n\n\"How so? how so?\"\n\n\"I don't know myself, Rebbe,\" replied the pupil in his feeble tones, \"I\ncouldn't sleep, and I thought over what you told me. I wanted to get to\nknow the tune--and I was so sorrowful, because I could not, that I began\nto weep--everything in me wept; all my limbs wept before the Creator.\n\n\"Then I made the invocations you taught me--and, wonderful to say, not\nwith my lips, but somehow inside me--with my whole self. Suddenly it\ngrew light; I shut my eyes, and still it was light to me, very light,\nbrilliantly light.\"\n\n\"There!\" and the teacher sat bending toward him.\n\n\"And I had such pleasant feelings as I lay in the light, and I seemed to\nweigh nothing at all, no more than if my body had been a feather, I felt\nas if I could fly.\"\n\n\"You see, you see, you see!\"\n\n\"Then I felt merry and lively, I wanted to laugh--my face never moved,\nnor my lips either, and yet I laughed--and so heartily.\"\n\n\"You see, you see, you see!\"\n\n\"Then there was a humming inside me like the beginning of a melody.\"\n\nThe teacher sprang down from his bench, and was across the room.\n\n\"Well, well?\"\n\n\"Then I heard something begin to sing within me.\"\n\n\"What did you feel like? Tell me quick!\"\n\n\"I felt as though all the doors of sense in me were shut, and as though\nsomething sang within me--as it ought to do--without any words, like ...\nlike....\"\n\n\"How was it? How was it?\"\n\n\"No, I can't! I knew, before--and then the singing turned into--into--\"\n\n\"Into what? What became of it?\"\n\n\"A kind of playing--as though (lehavd\u00eel) there were a fiddle inside\nme--or as if Yoneh, the musician, were sitting there and playing hymns,\nas he does at the Rebbe's dinner-table. Only it was better, more\nbeautiful, more spiritual. And without a voice, without any voice at\nall--it was _all_ spiritual.\"\n\n\"Happy, happy, happy, are you!\"\n\n\"Now it's all gone (sadly), the doors of sense are reopened, and I am so\ntired, I am so--so--_tired_, that I--\n\n\"Rebbe!\" he called out suddenly, clapping a hand to his heart, \"Rebbe,\nsay the confession of sins with me! They have come for me! They have\ncome for me! There is a singer wanted in the Heavenly Family! An angel\nwith white wings! Rebbe, Rebbe! Hear, O Israel! Hear, O Is--\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe entire little town wished as one man that it might die as blessed a\ndeath; but the Rebbe was not satisfied.\n\n\"Another fast or two,\" he groaned, \"and he would have died beneath the\nDivine kiss!\"[56]\n\n\n\n\nXV\n\nTRAVEL-PICTURES\n\n\nPREFACE\n\nIt was at the end of the good, and the beginning of the bad, years.\nBlack clouds had appeared in the sky, but it was believed that the\nwind[57]--the spirit of the times, I mean--would soon disperse them,\nthat they would pour out their heart somewhere in the wilderness.\n\nIn Europe's carefully-tended vineyard the bitter root was already\ncleaving the sod and sending out prickly, poisonous shoots, but look,\nlook! now the gardener will see it and tear it out root and all. That\nwas the idea. It was supposed that the nineteenth century had caught a\ncold, a feverish chill, in its old age. That it would end in a serious\nillness, a fit of insanity, never occurred to anyone.\n\nHow far away America was for us in those days! Not a Jew troubled\nhimself as to what a plate of porridge looked like over there, or\nwondered whether people wore their skull-caps on their feet. Palestinian\nEsrog\u00eem were as seldom mentioned as Barons Hirsch and Edward de\nRothschild.[58]\n\nAstronomy calculates beforehand every eclipse of the sun or moon.\nPsychology is not so advanced. The world-soul grows suddenly dark, the\nbody is seized with a sort of convulsion, and science cannot foretell\nthe hour--the thing is difficult enough to believe in after it has\nhappened--it is not to be explained. And yet people were uneasy--rumor\nfollowed rumor from every side.\n\nIt was resolved, among other things, to inquire into the common,\nworkaday Jewish life, to find out what went on in the little towns, what\nmen were hoping for, how they made a living, what they were about, what\nthe people said.\n\n\nTRUST\n\nMy first halting-place was Tishewitz. I took lodgings with an\nacquaintance, Reb B\u00f2ruch. He sent for the beadle and a few householders.\n\nWhile I was waiting for them, I stood by the window and looked at the\nmarket-place. The market-place is a large square bounded on each side by\na row of grimy, tumbledown houses, some roofed with straw, but the\nmajority, with shingle. All are one-storied with a broad veranda\nsupported by rotten beams.\n\nPushing out from the veranda and not far apart, one from the other,\nstand the huckstresses over the stalls with rolls, bread, peas, beans,\nand various kinds of fruit.\n\nThe market-women are in a state of great commotion. I must have\nimpressed them very much.\n\n\"Bad luck to you!\" screams one, \"don't point at him with your finger; he\ncan see!\"\n\n\"Hold your tongue!\"\n\nThe women know that I have come to take notes in writing. They confide\nthe secret one to another so softly that I overhear every word, even\ninside the house.\n\n\"They say it is he himself!\"\n\n\"It is a good thing the poor sheep have shepherds who are mindful of\nthem. All the same, if _that_ Shepherd[59] did not help, much good it\nwould be!\"\n\n\"One cannot understand why _that_ Shepherd should require such\nmessengers\" (in allusion to my shaven beard and short-skirted coat).\n\nAnother is more liberal in her views, and helps herself out of the\ndifficulty by means of the R\u00f6feh.\n\n\"Take a R\u00f6feh,\" she says, \"he is likewise a heretic, and yet he also is\npermitted--\"\n\n\"That is another thing altogether, he is a private individual, but is it\nso hard to find good Jews for public affairs?\"\n\n\"They'd better,\" opines another, \"have sent a few hundred rubles. They\nmight let the writing be and welcome, even though my son were _not_ made\na general!\"[60]\n\nSitting at the table, I saw without being seen. I was hidden from the\nstreet, but I could see half the market-place. Meantime, mine host had\nfinished his prayers, put off Tallis and Tefillin, poured out a little\nbrandy, and drunk my health in it.\n\n\"Long life and peace to you!\" he said.\n\nI answer, \"God send better times and Parnosseh!\"\n\nI envy my host--Parnosseh is all he wants.\n\nHe adds impressively:\n\n\"And there will _have_ to be Parnosseh! Is there not a God in the world?\nAnd the 'good Jews' will pray and do what they can.\"\n\nI interrupt him and ask why, although he has confidence in his own\nbusiness, although he knows quite well \"He who gives life gives\nfood\"--why he exerts himself so, and lies awake whole nights thinking:\nTo-morrow, later, this time next year. Hardly has a Jew put on his\nwedding garments, when he begins to think how to buy others for his\nchildren--and then, when it comes to All-Israel, his trust is so great\nthat it does not seem worth while to dip one's hand in cold water for\nit--why is this?\n\n\"That,\" he says, \"is something quite different. All-Israel is another\nthing. All-Israel is God's affair--God is mindful of it, and then, in\ncase there should be forgetfulness before the throne of His glory, there\nare those who will remind Him. But as for private affairs, that's a\ndifferent matter. Besides, how much longer can the misery of Israel\nlast? It _must_ come to an end some time, either because the measure of\nguilt is full, or the measure of merit is full. But Parnosseh is quite\nanother thing!\"\n\n\nONLY GO!\n\nI forgot to tell you that the rabbi of the little town would neither\ncome to see me nor allow me to visit him.\n\nHe sent to tell me that it was not his business, that he was a poor,\nweakly creature, besides which he had been sitting now for several weeks\nover a knotty question of \"meat in milk,\" and then, the principal thing,\nhe was at loggerheads with Kohol, because they would not increase his\nsalary by two gulden a week.\n\nThere came, however, three householders and two beadles.\n\nI began with mine host. He has no wife, and before I could put in a\nword, he excused himself for it by asking, \"How long do you suppose she\nhas been dead?\" lest I should reproach him for not having found another\nto fill her place.\n\nWell, to be brief, I set him down a widower, three sons married, one\ndaughter married, two little boys and one little girl at home.\n\nAnd here he begs me at once to put down that all the sons--except the\nyoungest, who is only four years old \"and Messiah will come before _he_\nis liable to serve\"--that all the others are defective[61] in one way or\nother.\n\nWith the exception of the two eldest sons, I already know the whole\nfamily.\n\nThe married daughter lives in her father's house and deals in tobacco,\nsnuff, tea, and sugar; also, in foodstuffs; also, I think, in rock-oil\nand grease. I had bought some sugar of her early that morning. She is\nabout twenty-eight years old. A thin face, a long hooked nose that seems\nto be trying to count the black and decaying teeth in her half-opened\nmouth, cracked, blue-gray lips--her father's image. Her sister, a young\ngirl, is like her; but she has \"Kallah-Chen,\"[62] her face is fresher\nand pinker, the teeth whiter, and altogether she is not so worn and\nneglected-looking. I also see the two little boys--pretty little\nboys--they must take after their mother: red cheeks, and shy, restless\neyes; their twisted black curls are full of feathers; but they have ugly\nways: they are always shrugging their little shoulders and writhing\npeevishly. They wear stuff cloaks, dirty, but whole.\n\nThe mother cannot have died more than a short time ago, long enough for\nthe cloaks to get dirty, not long enough for them to be torn. Who is\nthere to look after them now? The eldest sister has four children, a\nhusband who is a scholar, and the shop--the little Kallah maiden serves\nher father's customers at the bar; the father himself has no time.\n\n\"What is your business?\" I ask him.\n\n\"Percentage.\"\n\n\"Do you mean usury?\"\n\n\"Well, call it usury, if you like. It doesn't amount to anything either\nway. Do you know what?\" he exclaims, \"take all my rubbish and welcome,\nbills of exchange, deeds--everything for twenty-five per cent, only pay\nme in cash. I will give up the usury, even the public house! Would to\nGod I could get away to Palestine--but give me the cash! Take the whole\nconcern and welcome! You imagine that we live on usury--it lives on us!\nPeople don't pay in, the debt increases. The more it increases, the less\nit's worth, and the poorer am I, upon my faith!\"\n\nBefore going out to take further notes, I witness a little scene. While\nI was taking up all my things, paper, pencil, cigarettes, Reb B\u00f2ruch was\nbuttering bread for the children to take with them to Cheder. They had\neach two slices of bread and butter and a tiny onion as a relish.\n\n\"Now go!\" he says; he does not want them in the public house. But the\nlittle orphan is not satisfied. He hunches his shoulders and pulls a wry\nface preparatory to crying. He feels a bit ashamed, however, to cry\nbefore me, and waits till I shall have gone; but he cannot tarry so long\nand gives vent to a wail:\n\n\"Another little onion,\" he wants. \"Mother always gave _me_ two!\"\n\nThe sister has come running into the tap-room, she has caught up another\nonion and gives it to him. \"Go!\" says she also, but much more gently.\n\nThe mother's voice sounded in her words.\n\n\nWHAT SHOULD A JEWESS NEED?\n\nWe go from house to house, from number to number. I can see for myself\nwhich houses are inhabited by Jews and which by non-Jews; I have only to\nlook in the window. Dingy windows are a sure sign of \"Thou hast chosen\nus,\" still more so broken panes replaced by cushions and sacking. On the\nother hand, flower-pots and curtains portray the presence of those who\nhave no such right to poverty as the others.\n\nOne meets with exceptions--here lives, _not_ a Jew, but a drunkard--and\nhere again--flowers and curtains, but they read _Hazefirah_.[63]\n\nThe worst impression I receive is that made upon me by a great, weird,\nwooden house. It is larger, but blacker and dirtier than all the other\nhouses. The frontage leans heavily over and looks down upon its\nlikeness--also an old, blackened ruin--upon an old, dried up, bent and\ntottering Jewess, who is haggling with her customer--a sallow, frowzy\nmaid-servant--over an addition to a pound of salt. The beadle points the\nold woman out to me:\n\n\"That is the mistress of the house.\"\n\nI was astonished: the Jewess is too poor for such a house.\n\n\"The house,\" explains the beadle, \"is not exactly hers. She pays only\none-sixth of the rent--she is a widow--but the heirs, her children, do\nnot live here--so she is called the mistress.\"\n\n\"How much does the house bring in?\"\n\n\"Nothing at all.\"\n\n\"And it's worth?\"\n\n\"About fifteen hundred rubles.\"\n\n\"And nothing is made by it?\"\n\n\"It stands empty. Who should live there?\"\n\n\"How do you mean, who?\"\n\n\"Well, just who? Nearly everybody here has his own house, and if any one\nhires a lodging, he doesn't want to have to heat a special room. The\ncustom here is for a tenant to pay a few rubles a year for the heating\nof a corner. Who wants such large rooms?\"\n\n\"Why did they build such a house?\"\n\n\"_Ba!_--once upon a time! It isn't wanted nowadays.\"\n\n\"Poor thing.\"\n\n\"Why 'poor thing?' She has a stall with salt, earns a few rubles a week.\nOut of that she pays twenty-eight rubles a year house-tax and lives on\nthe rest--what should a Jewess need? What can she want more? She has her\nwinding-sheet.\"\n\nI gave another look at the old woman, and really it seemed to me that\nshe was not in need of anything. Her wrinkled skin appeared to smile at\nme: What should a Jewess need?\n\n\nNO. 42\n\nI went from house to house in their order of number, with a note-book in\nmy hand. But from No. 41 the beadle led me to 43.\n\n\"And 42?\" I ask.\n\n\"There!\" and he points to a ruin in a narrow space between 43 and 41.\n\n\"Fallen in?\"\n\n\"Pulled down,\" answers the beadle.\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"On account of a fire-wall.\"\n\nI did not understand what he meant.\n\nWe were both tired with walking, and we sat down on a seat at the street\nside.\n\nThe beadle explained:\n\n\"You see--according to law, if one house is not built far enough away\nfrom another, the roofs must be separated by a fire-wall. What the\ndistance has to be, I don't know; _their_ laws are incomprehensible; I\nshould say, four ells or more.\n\n\"A fire-wall is with them a charm against fire. Well, this house was\nbuilt by a very poor man, Yeruchem Iv\u00e0novker, a teacher, and he couldn't\nafford a fire-wall.\n\n\"Altogether, to tell the truth, he built without a foundation, and out\nof that, as you will hear presently, there came a lawsuit, at which his\nwife (peace be upon her) told the whole story, beginning after the\ncustom of women-folk with the sixth day of creation. This is how it\nhappened:\n\n\"Malkah had not spoken to her husband for about fifteen years. She was\nnaturally a sour-tempered woman,--God forgive me for talking against the\ndead,--tall and thin, dark, with a pointed nose like a hook. She rarely\nsaid a word not relating to Parnosseh--she was a huckstress--and nobody\nwanted her to do so. Her look was enough to freeze you to the bone. All\nthe other huckstresses trembled before her--there was an expression in\nher eye. So, you see, Yeruchem was quite content that she should be\nsilent--_he_ never said a word to _her_, either.\n\n\"For all this silence, however, they were blessed with two boys and\nthree girls.\n\n\"But the desire to become householders made them conversational. The\nconversation was on this wise:\n\n\"'Malke!' (No answer.)\n\n\"'Malke!' (No answer.)\n\n\"He Malke's and she doesn't stir.\n\n\"But Yeruchem stands up and gives a shout:\n\n\"'Malke, I am going to build a house!'\n\n\"Malke could resist no longer, she raised an eye, and opened her mouth.\n\n\"'I thought,' she said afterward, 'that he had gone mad.'\n\n\"And it _was_ a madness. He had inherited the narrow strip of land you\nhave seen from a great-grandfather, and not a farthing in money. The\nwife's trash, which was afterwards sold for fifty-four gulden, used to\nbe in pawn the whole year round, except on Sabbaths and holidays, when\nYeruchem took them out on tick.\n\n\"When the desire calls the imagination to its help--who shall withstand?\n\n\"No sooner has he a house, than all good things will follow.\n\n\"People will place confidence in him, and he will borrow money to buy a\ngoat, and there will be plenty in the home. He will let out one room as\na drink-shop, and he, God helping, will keep it himself. Above all, the\nchildren will be provided for. The little boys shall be sent one way or\nthe other to a rabbinical college, the girls shall be given a deed as\ntheir dowry, promising them, after his death, half as much as the boys\nwill get, and the thing's done.\n\n\"'And how is the building to be paid for?'\n\n\"He had an answer ready:\n\n\"'I,' said he, 'am a teacher, and thou art a huckstress, so we have two\nParnossehs: let us live on one Parnosseh, and build on the other.'\n\n\"'Was there ever such an idiot! We can't make both ends meet as it is!'\n\n\"'God helps those who help themselves,' said he, 'here's a proof of it:\nthe teacher, Noah, our neighbor, has a sickly wife, who earns nothing,\nand six little children, and it seems they are well and strong--and he\nlives on nothing but his teaching,'\n\n\"'There you are again! He is a great teacher, his pupils are the\nchildren of gentlefolk.'\n\n\"'And why do you think it is so? What is the reason? Can he \"learn\"\nbetter than I do? Most certainly not. But God, blessed be His Name,\nseeing that he has only one Parnosseh, increases it to him. And then,\nanother example: Look at Black Brocheh! A widow with five children and\nnothing but a huckstress--'\n\n\"'Listen to him! _That_ one (would it might be said of me!) has a\nfortune in the business, at least thirty rubles--'\n\n\"'That is not the thing,' he gives her to understand, 'the thing is that\nthe blessing can only reach her through the apples. The Creator governs\nthe world by the laws of nature.'\n\n\"And he manages also to persuade her that they can economize in many\nways--one can get along--\n\n\"And so it was decided: Yeruchem gave up taking snuff, and the entire\nhousehold, sour milk in particular and supper in general--and they began\nto build.\n\n\"They built for years, but when it came to the fire-wall, Malkah had no\nwares, Yeruchem had no strength left in him, the eldest son had gone\nbegging through the country, the youngest had died, and there was a\nfortune wanting--forty rubles for a fire-wall.\n\n\"Well, what was to be done? A coin or two changed hands, and they moved\ninto the new house without building a fire-wall.\"\n\nHe took possession with rejoicing. He was a member of the Burial\nSociety, and the community gave him a house-warming. They drank, without\nexaggeration, a whole barrel of beer, besides brandy and raisin-wine. It\nwas a regular flare-up, a glorification.\n\nBut the bliss was short-lived.\n\nA certain householder quarrelled with a neighbor of Yeruchem, with Noah\nthe teacher. Now Noah the teacher had once been a distinguished\nhouseholder, a very rich man. Besides what he had inherited from his\nfather, he disposed of a few tidy hundreds. He had carried on a business\nin honey. Afterwards, when there was the quarrel relating to the\nLithuanian rabbi, they got his son taken for a soldier (he is serving in\nthe regiment to this day, with a bad lung), and he himself got involved\nin a lawsuit for having burnt out the rabbi.\n\nWell, it was a great crime. One is used to denouncing, but to heap\nsticks round a house on all sides and set fire to it, that's a wicked\nthing.\n\nWhether or not he had anything to do with it, the lawsuit and the son\ntogether impoverished him completely, and he became a teacher. Being so\nnew to the work, he hadn't the knack of getting on with the parents, one\nof them took offense at something, removed his child, and sent him to\nYeruchem instead.\n\nNoah was deeply wounded, but he was a man of high courage; he hung day\nand night about the office of the district commissioner, and used both\nhis tongue and his pen. Well, in due time, up came the matter of the\nfire-wall, and down came the senior inspector.\n\nNoah meantime had been seized with remorse. He did all he could to\nprevent the affair from being carried on. A coin or two changed hands,\nand the affair was hushed up.\n\nAll might yet have been well, but for a fresh dispute about \"blue.\"\nYeruchem was a Radziner,[64] and wore blue \"fringes,\"[65] and Noah, a\nrabid Belzer,[66] called down vengeance.\n\nThe dispute grew hotter, up crops the fire-wall, and the law was called\nin a second time.\n\nThere was a judgment given in default, and the court decided that\nYeruchem should erect a fire-wall within a month's time, otherwise--the\nhouse was to be taken to pieces.\n\nThere wasn't a dreier. This time Noah had no remorse; on the contrary,\nthe quarrel was at its height, and there was nothing to be done with\nhim. Yeruchem sent to call him before the rabbi, and he sent the beadle\nflying out of the house.\n\nWhen Malkah saw that there was no redress to be had, she seized Noah by\nthe collar in the street, and dragged him to the rabbi like a murderer.\n\nThere was a marketful of Belzers about, but who is going to fight a\nwoman? \"He who is murdered by women,\" says the Talmud, \"has no judge and\nno avenger.\" Noah's wife followed cursing, but was afraid to interfere.\nAt the rabbi's, Malkah told the whole story from beginning to end, and\ndemanded either that Noah should build the fire-wall, or else that the\nmatter should be dropped again.\n\nOur rabbi knew very well that whichever party he declared to be right,\nthe Chassid\u00eem on the _other_ side would be at him forthwith, and he\nwormed himself out of the difficulty like the learned Jew that he was.\n_He_ couldn't decide--it was a question of the impulse to do\nharm--_b\u00ea-m\u00ea_. There was no decision possible--the case must be laid\nbefore the Rebbes.[67]\n\nNoah naturally preferred the Belzer Rebbe, Yeruchem had no choice, and\nto Belz they went.\n\nYeruchem, before he left, made his brother-in-law his representative,\nand trusted him with a few rubles which he had borrowed (people lent\nthem out of pity).\n\nBut it all turned out badly.\n\nThe brother-in-law spent the money on himself, or (as he averred) lost\nit--Malkah fell ill of worry.\n\nYeruchem, it is true, gained his fire-wall with \"costs,\" before the\nRebbe, but he and Noah were both caught on the frontier,[68] and brought\nhome with the _\u00e9tape_.[69]\n\nWhen Yeruchem arrived, Malkah was dead, and the little house pulled\ndown.\n\n\nTHE MASKIL\n\nAnd don't imagine Tishewitz to be the world's end. It has a Maskil, too,\nand a real Maskil, one of the old style, of middle age, uneducated and\nunread, without books, without even a newspaper, in a word a mere\npretense at a Maskil.\n\nHe lets his beard grow. To be a Maskil in Tishewitz it is enough only to\ntrim it, but they say \"he attends to his hair during the ten Days of\nPenitence!\"\n\nHe is not dressed German fashion, and no more is the Feldscher, also a\nJew in a long coat and ear-locks.\n\nOur Maskil stops at blacking his boots and wearing a black ribbon round\nhis neck. He has only sorry remnants of ear-locks, but he wears a peaked\ncap.\n\nPeople simply say: \"Yeshurun waxed fat and kicked.\"\n\nHe does well, runs a thriving trade, has, altogether, three\nchildren--what more can he want? Being free of all care, he becomes a\nMaskil.\n\nOn the strength of what he is a Maskil, it is hard to tell--enough that\npeople should consider him one!\n\nThe whole place knows it, and he confesses to it himself. He is chiefly\ncelebrated for his \"W\u00f6rtlech,\" is prepared to criticise anything in\nheaven or on earth.\n\nAs I heard later, the Maskil took me for another Maskil, and was sure\nthat I should lodge with him, or, at any rate, that he would be my first\nentry.\n\n\"For work of that kind,\" he said to the others, \"you want people with\nbrains. What do you suppose he could do with the like of _you_?\"\n\nAnd as the mountain did not go to Mohammed, because he had never heard\nof him, Mohammed went to the mountain.\n\nHe found me in the house of a widow. He came in with the question of\nthe wicked child in the Haggadah: \"What business is this of yours?\"\n\n\"_M\u00f2i P\u00e0nyiye!_[70] what are you doing here?\"\n\n\"How here?\" I ask.\n\n\"Very likely you think I come from under the stove? That because a\nperson lives in Tishewitz, he isn't civilized, and doesn't know what is\ndoing in the world? You remember: 'I have sojourned with Laban?'[71] I\ndo live here, but when there's a rat about, I soon smell him.\"\n\n\"If you can smell a rat, and know all that is going on, why do you want\nto ask questions?\"\n\nThe beadle pricked up his ears, and so did the half-dozen loungers who\nhad followed me step by step.\n\nThere was a fierce delight in their faces, and on their foreheads was\nwritten the verse: \"Let the young men arise\"--let us see two Maskil\u00eem\nhaving it out between them!\n\n\"What is the good of all this joking?\" said the Maskil, irritated. \"My\ntongue is not a shoe-sole! And for whose benefit am I to speak? That of\nthe Tishewitz donkeys? Look at the miserable creatures!\"\n\nI feel a certain embarrassment. I cannot well take up the defense of\nTishewitz, because the Tishewitz worthies in the window and the door-way\nare smiling quite pleasantly.\n\n\"Come, tell me, what does it all mean, taking notes?\"\n\n\"Statistics!\"\n\n\"_Statistic-shmistik!_ We've heard that before. What's the use of it?\"\n\nI explained--not exactly to _him_, but to the community, so that they\nshould all have an idea of what statistics meant.\n\n\"Ha-ha-ha!\" laughs the Maskil loudly and thickly, \"you can get the\nTishewitz donkeys to believe that, but you won't get me! Why do you want\nto put down how a person lives, with a floor, without a floor! What does\nit matter to you if a person lives in a room without a floor? _Ha?_\"\n\nIt matters, I tell him, because people want to show how poor the Jews\nare; they think--\n\n\"They think nothing of the kind,\" he interrupted, \"but let that pass!\nWhy should they want to know exactly how many boys and how many girls a\nman has? and what their ages are, and all the rest of the bother?\"\n\n\"They suspect us of shirking military duty. The books, as of course you\nknow, are not correct, and we want to prove--\"\n\n\"Well, that may be so, for one thing--I'll allow that--but--about\nlicenses! Why do you note down who has them--and what they are worth?\"\n\n\"In order to prove that the Jews--\"\n\nBut the Maskil does not allow me to finish my sentence.\n\n\"A likely story! Meantime, people will know that this one and the other\npays less than he ought to for his license, and he'll never hear the\nlast of it.\"\n\nScarcely had he said so, when the heads in the window disappeared; the\nbeadle in the door-way took himself off, and the Maskil, who had really\nmeant well all along, stood like one turned to stone.\n\nThe population had taken fright, and in another hour or two the town was\nfull of me.\n\nI was suspected of being commissioned by the excise. And why not,\nindeed? The excise knew very well that a Jew would have less difficulty\nin getting behind other people's secrets.\n\nI was left to pace the market-square alone. The town held aloof. It is\ntrue that the Maskil dogged my footsteps, but he had become antipathetic\nto me, and I couldn't look at him.\n\nThe faces in the Gass became graver and darker, and I began to think of\nescaping. There are too many side-glances to please me--there is too\nmuch whispering.\n\nIt occurred to me to make a last effort. I remembered that the rabbi of\nTishewitz had once been our Dayan, and would remember me, or at least\nwitness to the fact that I was not what they took me for.\n\n\"Where does the rabbi live?\" I inquire of the Maskil.\n\nHe is pleased and says: \"Come, I will show you!\"\n\n\nTHE RABBI OF TISHEWITZ\n\nNo one who has not seen the rabbi of Tishewitz's dressing-gown would\never know the reason why the rebbitzin, his third wife, though hardly\nmiddle-aged, already wears a large pair of spectacles on her nose. The\ndressing-gown looks as if it were simply _made_ of patches.\n\n\"If only,\" complains the rabbi, \"the town would give me another two\ngulden a week, I could get along. _As\u00f6 is gor bitter!_ But I shall get\nmy way. Their law-suits they can decide without me; when it is a\nquestion of pots and pans, any school-teacher will do; questions\nregarding women, of course, cannot be put off; and yet I shall get my\nway, I'm only waiting for the election of the elders; they can't have an\nelection without a rabbi. Imagine a town--no evil eye!--a metropolis in\nIsrael, without elders! And if that won't do it, I shall refuse to try\nthe slaughtering-knives--I've got them fast enough!\"\n\nIt was no easy matter to divert the rabbi's thoughts from his own\ngrievances, but on the Maskil's promising to do his utmost to induce the\ncommunity to raise his salary, he begged us to be seated, and listened\nto our tale.\n\n\"Nonsense!\" he said, \"I know you! Tell the fools I know you.\"\n\n\"They run away from me!\"\n\n\"_Ett!_[72] They run away! Why should they run away? Who runs away?\nAfter what? Well, as you say they run away, I will go out with you\nmyself.\"\n\n\"In what will you go?\" calls out a woman's voice from behind the stove.\n\n\"Give me my cloak,\" answers the rabbi.\n\n\"Give you your cloak! I've this minute taken it apart.\"\n\n\"Well,\" says the rabbi, \"the misfortune is happily not great. We will go\nto-morrow.\"\n\nI give him to understand that it is only noon, that I should be sorry to\nwaste the day.\n\n\"_Nu_, what shall I do?\" answers the rabbi, and folds his hands. \"The\nrebbitzin has just started mending my cloak.\"\n\n\"Call them in here!\"\n\n\"Call them? It's easy enough to call them, but who will come? Are they\nlikely to listen to me? Perhaps I had better go in my dressing-gown?\"\n\n\"It wouldn't do, rabbi!\" exclaimed the Maskil, 'the inspector is going\nabout in the Gass.\n\n\"For my part,\" said the rabbi, \"I would have gone, but if you say\nno--no!\"\n\nIt is settled that we shall all three call the people together from the\nwindow. But opening the window is no such easy matter. It hasn't been\nopened for about fifteen years. The panes are cracked with the sun, the\nputty dried up, the window shakes at every step on the floor. The frame\nis worm-eaten, and only rust keeps it fastened to the wall. It is just a\nchance if there are hinges.\n\nAnd yet we succeeded. We opened first one side and then the other\nwithout doing any damage.\n\nThe rabbi stood in the centre, I and the Maskil on either side of him,\nand we all three began to call out.\n\nThe market was full of people.\n\nIn a few minutes there was a crowd inside the room.\n\n\"Gentlemen,\" began the rabbi, \"I know this person.\"\n\n\"There will be no writing people down!\" called out several voices\ntogether.\n\nThe rabbi soon loses heart.\n\n\"No use, no use,\" he murmurs, but the Maskil has got on to the table and\ncalls out:\n\n\"Donkeys! They _must_ be written down! The good of the Jews at large\ndemands it!\"\n\n\"The good of the Jews at large,\" he says, and he goes on to tell them\nthat he has gone through the whole chapter with me, that there is no\nquestion of a joke, that I have shown him letters from the Chief Rabbis.\n\n\"From which Chief Rabbis?\" is the cry.\n\n\"From the Chief Rabbi in Paris,\" bellows the Maskil, \"from the Chief\nRabbi in Paris (no other will do for him), from the Chief Rabbi in\nLondon--\"\n\n\"Jews, let us go home!\" interrupted someone, \"_nisht unsere Leut!_\"[73]\n\nAnd the crowd dispersed as quickly as it had come together. We three\nremained--and the beadle, who came close to me:\n\n\"Give me something,\" he said, \"for the day's work.\"\n\nI gave him a few ten-kopek pieces, he slipped them into his pocket\nwithout counting them, and was off without saying good-bye.\n\n\"What do _you_ say, Rabbi?\" I asked.\n\n\"I don't know what to say, how should I? I am only dreadfully\nafraid--lest it should do me harm--\"\n\n\"_You?_\"\n\n\"Whom else? _You?_ If you don't get any statistics, it will be of no\ngreat consequence, for 'He that keepeth Israel will neither slumber nor\nsleep!' I mean the two extra gulden a week.\"\n\nThe rebbitzin with the large spectacles has come out from behind the\nstove.\n\n\"I told you long ago,\" she says, \"not to interfere in the affairs of the\ncommunity, but when did you ever listen to me? What has a rabbi to do\nwith _that_ sort of thing? Kohol's business!\"\n\n\"_Nu_, hush, Rebbitzin, hush!\" he answers gently; \"you know what I am, I\nhave a soft heart, it touched me, but it's a pity about the two gulden a\nweek.\"\n\n\nTALES THAT ARE TOLD\n\nSad and perplexed in spirit, I came down from the rabbi, with the\nMaskil, and into the street. There we came across the beadle, who\nassured us that, in his opinion, we should be able to go on with the\nwork to-morrow.\n\nThe whole Tararam[74] had been stirred up by two impoverished\nhouseholders, who were now in great misery; one, a public-house keeper,\nand the other, a horse-dealer.\n\nThe Maskil, for his part, promises to talk the matter over with the\ntownspeople between Minchah and Maariv, and if he doesn't turn the place\nupside down, then his name is not Shmeril (such a name has a Maskil in\nTishewitz!). They may stand on their heads, he said, but the notes must\nbe taken. \"The very authorities that forbade will permit.\"\n\nWell done! It is evident that the Maskil had studied in a Cheder, in the\ngreat world one meets with other Maskil\u00eem.\n\nI go back to the inn; the beadle comes, too. At my host's they still\nhave services, the mourning for his wife not being ended. Between\nMinchah and Maariv, we get on to politics; after Maariv, on to the Jews.\nThe greater part are dreadfully optimistic. In the first place, it's not\na question of _them_, secondly, plans will not prosper against\n\"Yainkil,\"[75] he has brains of his own; thirdly, it's like a see-saw,\nnow it goes up and now it goes down;[76] fourthly, God will help;\nfifthly, \"good Jews\" will not allow it to happen.\n\nThe old song!\n\n\"Believe me,\" exclaims one, with small, restless eyes under a low\nforehead, \"believe me, if there were unity among all 'good Jews,' if\nthey would hold together, as one man, and stop repeating Tachanun,[77]\nMessiah would _have_ to come!\"\n\n\"But the Kozenitz Rebbe, may his memory be blessed, _did_ stop,\"\nsuggested another.\n\n\"'One swallow,' replied the young man, 'does not make a summer.' Who\ntalks of their imposing a prohibition on All-Israel?\"\n\nThere are times when one must set one's self against things--defend\none's self.\n\n\"If they were to issue a prohibition,\" says someone, ironically, and\nwith a side-glance at me, \"the heretics would take to praying, if only\nfor the sake of saying Tachanun, so that Messiah should _not_ come.\"\n\nThe company smile.\n\n\"But where is the harm,\" asks someone else, \"if the great people don't\nagree among themselves?\"\n\nThe company gave a groan. Doubtless each remembered how many times he\nhad suffered unjustly on account of the want of unity, and the surest\nproof of Tishewitz having greatly suffered by reason of dissensions is,\nthat no clear explanation was given as to who was at fault that the\ngreat were not at one, so fearful were they of provoking a fresh\ndisagreement.\n\nI put forward that poverty had more to do with the differences than\nanything.\n\nThere is nothing to trade with, people go about empty-handed, seeking\nquarrels to while away the time with; the proof is that in larger towns,\nwhere each goes about his own business, there is quiet.\n\nIf someone, I opine, would throw into Tishewitz a few thousand rubles,\neverything would be forgotten.\n\n\"To be sure, we know wealth is everything!\" exclaims somebody. \"If I had\nonly had _so_ much brains, I could put all Tishewitz into my pocket\nto-day. It was just a toss-up--I had only to say the word.\"\n\n\"True! True!\" was heard on all sides. \"It is an actual fact.\"\n\nThe man who had only required to have _so_ much brains, or a little\ndetermination, to become rich, looked like poverty itself: lean, yellow,\nshrunk, \"wept out,\" and in a cloak that had its only equal in the\ndressing-gown of the Tishewitz rabbi.\n\nThereupon came the Maskil.\n\nOf course, he laughed.\n\n\"Reb Elyeh, you must have bought the lucky number an hour before the\ndrawing!\"\n\n\"Listen to his cheek!\" says Reb Elyeh. \"As if he couldn't remember the\nstory!\"\n\n\"May my head not ache,\" swears the Maskil, \"for so long as I have\nforgotten--if ever I heard the lies at all.\"\n\n\"Lies!\" retorts Reb Elyeh, much hurt, \"is that so? Lies? According to\nyou, other things are lies as well.\"\n\nI interfere and ask what the story may be.\n\n\"You've heard of the Tsaddik of Vorke of blessed memory?\" begins Reb\nElyeh.\n\nOf course!\n\n\"Naturally, _Kind und Keit_[78] knew of him. And you will have heard\nthat there came to him not only the pious men of the nations of the\nworld, but even 'German' Jews, even Lithuanians, knowing fellows that\nthey are. May I have as much money as I have seen Lithuanians at his\nhouse! There is even a story about a discussion a Lithuanian had with\nhim. A Lithuanian must always be showing off his acumen! He asks a\nquestion about the Tossafot on _Vows_. The Rebbe, of blessed memory,\nexplains a bit of the Mishnah to him upside down.\n\n\"'Well, I never, Rebbe!' exclaims the Lithuanian, 'why, the Tossafot on\n_New Year_ dealing with the same subject says exactly the opposite of\nyour words.' Well, what do you say to that? It was a miracle the Rebbe\ndid not seize and strangle him on the spot. But that is not what I was\ndriving at. The 'Vorker' treated the Almighty like a good comrade.\n\n\"'Lord of the world (and he sat down in the middle of the room)! Would\nit not have been enough to torment the Jews with persecutions? Now one\ncannot even sit and study in peace.'\n\n\"Someone, it would appear, answered him from 'up there.'\n\n\"'So,' he said, 'that is another thing altogether! I give in; good pay\nputs everything straight. But, Lord of the world! a little of it here as\nwell!'\n\n\"Again one could see in his face that he heard a response, and he\nanswered:\n\n\"'Well, if not--not! You are solvent, we will wait!'\n\n\"But that is not what I was after. His chief concern was whatever was\nconnected with circumcision. In the matter of circumcision he was steel\nand iron. In that he would take no denial from the Powers above. And,\nindeed, they waited for his word up there! Scarce had he given a sign,\nwhen the thing he wanted was done and established. He said, that before\ngoing to a circumcision, when he merely began to think of the\nMohel-knife, the quality of _Fear_[79] straightway diffused itself\nthrough his being, and then there could be no doubt all would go as he\nwanted, for 'the will of those who _fear_ Him He executeth.'\n\n\"He was very sorry that people had become aware of this peculiarity of\nhis. He knew that on this account he would not perform the ceremony here\nmuch longer, that he would be called to join the Heavenly Academy. His\nrelations to the upper world having become known, the very stability of\nthe world was endangered. It ought to have remained a secret.\n\n\"Well, people had become aware of it. I, too. And even sooner than\nothers, because the treasurer, M\u00f6sheh, was my first wife's\nbrother-in-law, and he it was who let out the secret. For this he was\ndeprived of his place for half a year, but his distress was so great,\nthe Rebbe had compassion on him, and restored him to his office. But\nthat doesn't belong to the story either.\n\n\"Enough that I knew it.\n\n\"Well, 'and he kept the thing in his heart.' I waited, for I was not\ngoing to plague the Rebbe about a trifle. I waited. I was living just\nthen a mile outside Vorke. My first wife was alive, and she did not fare\nbadly, though it was difficult to make both ends meet. But I earned\nwhatever it was by my match-making, and my wife supported us by means of\nher stall. And not only us, but also she provided for a married couple,\nmy eldest daughter and her husband, who was an excellent scholar. What,\nthen, was lacking?\n\n\"And it came to pass on a day that my son-in-law was away at the Ger\nRebbe's, there was a fair in the town, and my daughter was in child-bed.\nIt went hard with her, a first baby. Beile Bashe, the midwife, was at\nher wit's end, and this was the third day of her pains. No cupping, no\nblood-letting seemed to help--things were very bad. And I hear that the\nRebbe is coming to a circumcision.\n\n\"What do you think? 'There sprang up light for the Jews!' We were all\noverjoyed. It put new life into us. We pray that God will preserve her\nanother day and a half, because people were only let in an hour before\nthe ceremony. But meanwhile things got worse and worse, she was near\ndeath.\n\n\"An hour or two before the ceremony, however, she grew easier, or so it\nseemed to me. She came to herself, opened her eyes, urged her mother to\ngo to the fair, and called me to her bedside. A foolish woman, they are\nall alike--they blame us for it.\n\n\"She doesn't like Shm\u00fclek, she says, she never liked him, she didn't\nwant him from the very first. She can't stand him and had better die.\nShe had sent her mother out on purpose, because she was afraid of her.\nShe, peace be upon her, was a terror to the children--she wanted to slap\nher daughter on her wedding-day.\n\n\"I, of course, gave her to understand that all women are the same, that\nsome even make a vow never to live with their husbands again; that the\nsin-offering is there on that account--some even swear that--'but no one\nmay be held responsible for what he utters in pain and grief.' But she\nkeeps to it, she bids me farewell, she needs no vows, no oaths, she\nsays, smiling. I am going out, she says, like a candle.\n\n\"Well, I listen to her and can see all the while that she is better. She\nis quite clear again in her mind, and it only wants half an hour to the\ncircumcision. And she looked quite pretty again.\n\n\"I sit by the bed and talk to her--even the midwife had gone to buy a\ncradle at the fair. I look at the clock--it is time to go. I look at\nher. Upon my word! Quite well! And yet I do not want to go and leave her\nall alone, and nearly alone in the town.\n\n\"The fair, you see, comes once a year, and lasts three days, and it\nmeans Parnosseh for the whole twelve months. So, you see, there was no\none left at the Rebbe's even--every soul was off to the fair.\n\n\"Well, I wait a bit.\n\n\"But in half an hour things got suddenly worse. She snatches at my hand,\nfalls back on the pillows, makes grimaces. Bad!\n\n\"She begins to moan. I call for help, no one answers. There is a great\nnoise from the fair--nobody hears _me_. Among a thousand men and\nwomen--and we might have been in a wilderness. I want to pull away my\nhands, go and call somebody, but she holds them tight.\n\n\"Two, three minutes pass, it grows late, things are bad. I tear away my\nhands and I run thither. The circumcision was at the further end of the\ntown. I fly along roads, over bales of merchandise, I fly and fly! It is\nall too long to me. It was July and yet I shivered with cold as I\nran--there, there is Tsemach's house, where the ceremony has taken\nplace.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"My heart beats as though I were a malefactor; I feel that _there_, at\nhome, a soul is about to escape. There I am at the first window! I will\nnot wait for the door, I will break a pane and get in that way. I run up\nto the window, I see the Rebbe is really in the room, he is walking up\nand down, I am about to enter like a housebreaker. I gather my remaining\nstrength--there is a cry in my ears: Father, father! I leap.\"\n\nThe narrator was out of breath. He takes a rest, lowers his eyes, which\nare full of large tears, and ends quietly with a broken voice:\n\n\"But it was not to be! There was a heap of manure and stones before the\nwindow--I fell, and nearly broke my neck. I have a mark on my forehead\nto this day. When they brought me in to the Rebbe, he motioned me away\nwith his hand.\n\n\"When I got home (_how_ I got there, I don't know), she was lying on the\nfloor--either she fell out of bed dying, or I pulled her out tearing\naway my hands.\"\n\nThe listeners were silent, a stone weighed on our hearts.\n\nThe Maskil soon recovered himself.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"blessed be the righteous Judge! Where are the riches?\"\n\nThe narrator wiped his eyes with his sleeve, gave a sad smile and\ncontinued:\n\n\"Yes, I only wanted to show you what one means when one says, it was not\nto be. There came trouble after trouble--my wife died--the stall went to\nthe bad because it was kept by a man--I was left alone with the\nchildren, and there wasn't a crust--I married again--I took an elderly\nwoman on purpose, because I thought she would do for the stall, but I\nwas taken in. There was a baby a year. Meanwhile our fairs fell off, and\nfor a whole twelvemonth the stall wasn't worth a pinch of powder.\n\n\"I determined to make an end of it--to give up the match-making, grow\nrich, and sit and study. _A\u00ef_--how does one grow rich? I wrote to the\nbrother-in-law of my first wife, to the treasurer, and asked him for\nGod's sake to tell me when next there was a circumcision.\n\n\"I got a message before the month was out, and hastened to Vorke. I stop\nnowhere, but go straight to the Rebbe.\"\n\n\"And--a larger manure heap?\" laughs the Maskil. The narrator gives him a\nvicious look.\n\n\"The Vorke Tsaddik,\" he said, \"went in for ritual cleanliness, his whole\nreligion was ritual cleanliness.\"\n\n\"Only see,\" remarked the Maskil, \"how he looks at me! Rascal! When you\ncame here first, who helped you? A Vorke Chossid? or perhaps your cousin\nthe Tsaddik? or was it I? _ha!_ You would have died of hunger long ago\nif it hadn't been for me!\"\n\nAnd he turns to me:\n\n\"And what do you suppose he is now? He teaches my children, and if I\nwere to take them away from him, he would have no Parnosseh left!... not\na crust of bread....\"\n\nThe other stands silent with downcast eyes.\n\nThe Maskil disgusts me more and more, although he made a sign to me with\nhis eyes a little while ago, to the effect that he had exerted himself\non my behalf, and with his hands, that to-morrow there will be taking of\nnotes.\n\nI turn to the other:\n\n\"Well, my friend?\"\n\n\"See for yourself,\" says he to the Maskil, \"our note-taker is more of a\nMaskil than you, on the face of him, and _he_ doesn't make game of\nthings ... one might say, on the contrary. Rambam[80] (lehavd\u00eel) did not\nbelieve in magic ... but at any rate, he answers seriously ... a Jew\nshould have manners ... to make fun of things is not fair ... man, it\ncuts to the heart!\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" says the Maskil, more gently, \"let us have the rest!\"\n\n\"I will make it short,\" says the poor Jew. \"I come in without a ticket\nof admission, nothing to speak for me, without even a money-offering,\nbut that would have been no help at such a time, only his face was\nterrible! My feet shook under me! I stood there without opening my\nmouth. He, may his merits protect us, took great strides up and down.\n\n\"Suddenly he saw me and gave a roar like a lion.\n\n\"'What do you want?'\n\n\"I was more terrified than ever and scarcely answered:\n\n\"'Riches!'\n\n\"It seemed as though the Rebbe had not quite understood.\n\n\"'Riches?' he asked, and his voice was like thunder.\n\n\"'If only ... Parnosseh!' I answer in a lower tone.\n\n\"'What, Parnosseh!' he cried as before.\n\n\"'Only not to die of hunger!'\n\n\"The Rebbe hurried up and down, stopped suddenly and asked:\n\n\"'What else?'\n\n\"I thought I should drop dead! It seemed to me (I don't know, but it\nseemed to me) as if someone else, and not I, had control of my tongue,\nand it replied:\n\n\"'I want Y\u00f2sef to be a learned man!'\n\n\"'What besides?' I hardly escaped alive, and he, may his merits protect\nus, died the following week.\n\n\"Well? What lay between me and the riches? A hair's breadth! it was my\nown fault. If I had stood up to him and kept to it! Well!\"\n\n\"At least,\" I inquire, \"is your son learned?\"\n\n\"He _would_ have been,\" he replies in a broken voice, \"only he won't\nlearn ... even a Rebbe can't help that ... he _won't_ learn--what can\none do?\"\n\n\"And the moral,\" interposes the Maskil, \"is that one shouldn't keep\nrubbish heaps under the window, that you can do nothing without money,\nand, above all, that one shouldn't be frightened of any Rebbe!\"\n\nIn one second the livid-faced Jew had flushed scarlet, his eyes shot\nfire, his person lengthened, and the room resounded with two slaps\nreceived by the Maskil.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI fear that his first request will equally go unfulfilled: he will yet\ndie of hunger.\n\n\nA LITTLE BOY\n\nThe innkeeper's pretty little boy, with his shrugs and pouts, and his\ncurls full of feathers, haunts me.\n\nNow he stands before me with a small onion in his hand, and he cries--he\nwants two; or I hear him at evening prayer, repeating the Kaddish in his\nplaintive child-voice, so tearfully earnest that it goes to my very\nheart. When the Chossid slapped the Maskil, the child turned pale and\ngreen with fright, so that I took him by the hand and led him out of the\nroom.\n\n\"Come for a walk.\"\n\n\"A walk?\" he stammers.\n\nThe pale face flushes.\n\n\"Do you never go out for a walk?\"\n\n\"Not now. When my mother, peace be upon her, was alive, she used to\ntake me out walking Sabbaths and holidays. My father, long life to him,\nsays it's better to sit at one's book.\"\n\nWe were already in the long entrance passage. A \"Shield of David\" shone\nredly from a lamp some way off. I could not see his face, but the thin\nlittle hand trembled as it lay in mine.\n\nWe stepped out into the street.\n\nThe sky that hung over Tishewitz resembled a dark blue uniform with dim\nsteel buttons.\n\nMy companion found it like a curtain[81] sewn with silver spangles.\n\nPerhaps he is dreaming of just such a blue satin \"prayer-bag,\" with\nspangles, some day to be his own. In five or six years he may receive it\nas a gift from his bride.\n\nThe little town looks quite different by night. The rubbish heaps and\nthe tumbledown houses are hidden in the \"poetical and silent lap of\ndarkness.\"\n\nThe windows and door-panes look like great, fiery, purple eyes. By the\nhearth-sides pots of boiling water must be standing ready for the\npotatoes or the dumplings.\n\nThe statistics give an average annual expenditure of thirty-seven and a\nhalf rubles a head--about ten kopeks a day. Now calculate: school fees,\ntwo sets of pots and pans, Sabbaths and holidays, an illness, and a\nwonder-working Rebbe--besides extras. You see now why there is not\nalways a meal cooking, why the dumplings are of buck-wheat without an\negg, and why the potatoes are not always eaten with dripping. Many of\nthe houses are stone-blind. In these it is a question of a bit of bread\nwith or without a herring, and perhaps grace without meat. In one of\nthose houses must live the widow who requires so little, beating her\nhollow chest through the long confession. Perhaps she measures her\nwinding-sheet, or thinks of her wedding dress of long ago with its gold\nbraid, and from her old eyes there drops a tear, and she whispers,\nsmiling, into the night: \"After all, what does a Jewess need?\"\n\nMy motherless companion is thinking of something else. Hopping on one\nlittle foot, he lifts his face to the moon, swimming with a silly,\naristocratic air in and out of the light clouds.\n\nHe sighs. Has he seen a star fall? No.\n\n\"_\u00d6i_,\" he says, \"_wollt ich gewollt, Meshiach soll kimmen!_\" (How I do\nwish the Messiah would come!)\n\n\"What is the matter?\"\n\n\"I want the moon to be made bigger again. It is so dreadfully sad about\nher! She committed a sin, but to suffer so long! It will soon be six\nthousand years.\"\n\nAltogether, two requests! one of his earthly father for a second little\nonion, and one of his Father in Heaven, for the enlargement of the moon.\n\nA wild impulse seized me to say: \"Let alone! Your father will soon marry\nagain, you will soon have a step-mother, become a step-child, and have\nto cry for a bit of bread! Spare the little onion, forget about the moon\n...\"\n\nIt was all I could do to refrain.\n\nWe left Tishewitz behind, the spring airs blew toward us from the green\nfields. He drew me to a tree, we sat down.\n\nHe must have sat here, it occurs to me, with his mother. She must have\npointed out to him the different things that grew in the narrow plots\nbelonging to the townspeople. He recognizes wheat, rye, potatoes.\n\nAnd those are briars.\n\nNobody eats briars, do they?\n\nDonkeys eat briars.\n\n\"Why,\" he asks, \"did God make all creatures to eat different things?\"\n\nHe does not know that if they ate the same, they would be all alike.\n\n\nTHE YARTSEFF RABBI\n\nThe Yartseff rabbi is a man who has all that heart desireth. He gets\nfour rubles a week, and that is really more than enough. How? Are they\nnot an old couple without children? He used to be Dayan in a larger\ntown. There also he had four rubles a week, and nearly cut his fingers\nto bits over dried herring from week's end to week's end.\n\nHere it's different. He goes through his daily fare for my benefit. For\nbreakfast, what shall he say? a little milk-gruel; for dinner,\nsometimes, half a pound of meat; and in the evening, a glass of hot tea\nwith stale rolls--he really cannot hold more! When one lives in the\ncountry, one must follow country customs, and they are much the best!...\nDinner in the large towns is a ruination and a misery!... If there\nshould happen not to be any meat for dinner, well, he can afford to\nwait to eat till supper-time. Sometimes, early in the day, there is a\nlittle vegetable soup with dripping--that is how one lives in Yartseff\nand one does very well. In the large town it was often difficult to get\non. Not that _he_ cared! He really doesn't like meat. On week-days it is\nheavy food; on week-days he likes an onion with a little sour milk, he\nprefers sour milk even to Purim herbs, it is his nature, but the\nrebbitzin, she wouldn't look at it (he smiles as he glances at her)--her\nfeelings used to get hurt. It was jealousy! _How_ was that? Well, the\nShochet's wife had sausage, and she, the Dayan'te, not so much as a\nbone--wasn't that humiliating, _ha_? Now he has done with all that; in\nYartseff, thank God, they all eat meat every Sabbath and even mutton,\nand week-days all fare much alike, too. So long as the rebbitzin has no\none to envy, it's all right!\n\n\"To envy!\" throws in the rebbitzin. \"I know, I know!\" laughs the rabbi's\nhead with the tiny wrinkles, the beard with the soft end quivers, the\nold eyes grow moister. \"I know, it was not the sinful body you were\nthinking of, but the honor of the Law. Of course, a Shochet sausage and\na Dayan--no, that was very wrong! A Dayan is distinctly greater than a\nShochet! Well, well, anyhow, here I am quit of all that--where they\ndon't kill for a whole week at a time.\"\n\nHe is still better pleased with the fresh country air. In the large\ntowns, the householders must live in large houses. The rich householders\nlive in the middle; below, in the cellars, and above, in the attics,\npoor people, including paid officials of the community like himself.\n\nIn summer he had felt suffocated there. It went so far that the\nrebbitzin stole away his snuff-box, so that he might at any rate not\nstuff snuff up his nose, but she had to give it him back--without snuff\nhe was nowhere; he cannot even sit and read without it; even when not\ntaking any, he must have the root snuff-box to finger while he studies,\nand even as now, when talking, he would lose the train of his thought\nand not find suitable words in which to express himself if he had not\ngot it.\n\nWhat do you think? When he first saw Yartseff with the wide, grass-grown\nmarket-place, he would have liked a band to play--and a band _played_!\nOn that day all Kohol was at home, and they came to meet him with\nchamber-music! And he was charmed by the little, tiny houses, like\npieces of root tobacco; there is one walled in, the big one in the\ncentre of the market-place--it is the lord's.\n\nAnd the stairs he got away from when he left the large town! He is\nnaturally weak in the legs, in another year he would have been without\nfeet! Then--the restfulness of it here!... quiet!... not a dog barks,\nand the children (lehavd\u00eel) don't shout. There are thirty boys and\nperhaps six teachers, so they're kept well in hand, not as in the large\ntowns. At Purim and Chanukah, then they shout, yes! they make a fearful\nnoise! But otherwise you don't hear a sound.\n\nAbove all, a blessing from His dear Name, there are no quarrels! Two or\nthree Chassid\u00eem with blue fringes,[82] but he prays for their life,\nbecause when they die, may it not be for a hundred years, there will be\na to-do over their burial.[83] Meanwhile there is peace. The inhabitants\nof the place are all peddlers or \"messengers.\" Even the artisans do not\nremain at home, but go and work in the villages, even the Feldscher goes\nabout the district with the \"cuppers.\" Early on Sunday you can see the\nwhole male population coming out of the little houses. Outside the town\nthey take off their boots, hang them upon a stick across their shoulder\nand start off in all directions. Friday evening they return. Even the\nShochet sometimes goes away for a whole week, so when should they find\ntime to quarrel? Sabbath and holidays are the time for disputes, and\nevery now and again they get up a discussion, start a hare ... but it is\nnot their line! The thing halts. People are sleepy and tired.\n\nHe just sits and studies. Occasionally (he smiles) there is a\ndispute--only it is for the honor of God--between him and the Shochet.\nYou understand, it is seldom a ritual question arises. All the week the\npeople use milk dishes, Sabbath--meat dishes. They don't stand at the\nfire-place together. Questions about the fitness of slaughtered animals\nhappen along once a year! But on that very account, they make the most\nof it, turn over the whole Talmud, all the codes, and there you have a\nquarrel. The Shochet is very obstinate and pig-headed, and has a way of\nshifting his bundle of faults on to other people's shoulders; says, the\nrabbi is obstinate and pig-headed! Even here he had terrible bother\nwith two things: the yeast and the house, and all (he smiles again)\nthrough the rebbitzin. With the yeast it befell in this wise; he had\nagreed with Kohol for four rubles a week. The previous rabbi got four\nrubles with the yeast, but they cheated _him_ out of the yeast--he got\nnone!\n\nOn the first Great Sabbath he preached a long sermon on leaven at\nPassover. \"The town was beside itself with delight. Everyone knows a\ngood thing, when he hears it, even the most ignorant. I say it is\nbecause all the souls were present at Mount Sinai, and there everything\nwas revealed, even what scholars in time to come will deduce from what\nwas explicitly given, so that even when the soul has forgotten, she\nrecognizes whence things are ... and soon the town gave me the yeast.\n\n\"Just at the moment I felt a little exultation, for which His dear Name\nquickly punished me. I had trouble with the yeast! I had disputes to\nsettle all week between the housewives and the rebbitzin; one found her\nSabbath loaf too hard, another too heavy, a third said her yeast ran,\nand people suspected the rebbitzin watered it. What could I do? I hadn't\nseen her do it, and she said no!\n\n\"Well, it was all such nonsense! I can't pass a decision in a case\nbetween the rebbitzin and the housewives, and I arbitrate; if they come\non Friday, I exchange their loaf for mine, and a whole week I give a\nlittle extra yeast for Kliskelech.[84] Altogether a dreadful worry! God\nbe praised, a tailor brought some dried yeast, and there was an end of\nit.\"\n\nThen as to the house: he observed the rebbitzin was saving money--let\nher save! Was it his affair? The children are doing well, but may-be she\nwishes to buy a present for a grandchild--so be it! He is not much in\nfavor of that himself, but he is not going to fight a woman. Perhaps (he\nreflects) she means differently; he knows, many prepare for later. He\ndoesn't. He says, Blessed be His Name, day by day! When they die, there\nwill be a winding-sheet, but he does not concern himself about it.\n\nThe affair of the yeast was just going on. To cut a long matter short,\none day someone told him a fine tale--the rebbitzin had bought some\ntimber. He came home, and sure enough, it was true. She had even engaged\nsome workmen, she was beginning to build a house. What is it? She won't\nlive in lodgings any longer. He interfered no further--let her build!\nAnd she built, she took possession, he--he just carried over his Talmud.\n\n\"Now, I am a householder, too.\"\n\nBut it was a long way for him to go to the house-of-study.\n\n\"Not of you be it said, my feet have grown weak in my old age. I have\nnot many books of my own. They have a rule in the house-of-study not to\nlend out any book, not to the rabbi, not to any head of the community.\nWhen a question arose, I had nothing to lay my hand on. This gave me a\ndeal of trouble.\n\n\"But God helped me. There was a fire and several houses were burned\ndown, mine among them. God be praised! The other householders had no\ngreat loss; they were insured. I was not, and Kohol, as you see, set\naside for me a little corner of the house-of-study.\"\n\n\nLYASHTZOF\n\nI arrived in Lyashtzof on a dark summer night, between eleven and twelve\no'clock. Another market-place with various buildings and little,\nwalled-in houses round about.\n\nIn the middle of the market-place, a collection of large, white stones.\nI drive nearer--the stones move and grow horns; they become a herd of\nmilk-white goats.\n\nThe goats show more sense than the heads of the community of Tishewitz:\nthey are not frightened. One or two out of the whole lot have lifted\ntheir heads, looked at us sleepily, and once more turned their attention\nto the scanty grass of the Gass, and to scratching one the other.\n\nHappy goats! No one calumniates you, _you_ needn't be afraid of\nstatisticians. It is true, people kill you, but what then? Does not\neveryone die before his time? And as far as troubles go, you certainly\nhave fewer.\n\nI recall what I was told in Tishewitz: \"In Lyashtzof you will get on\nbetter and faster. The people are sensible, quieter; no one will run\nafter you.\"\n\nKohol and the goats seem to be equally admirable; one like the other.\nBut my host, an old friend, is not encouraging. He says it will not be\nso easy as people think.\n\n\"What will you do?\" he asks. \"Go from house to house?\"\n\n\"What else?\"\n\n\"I wish they may be civil.\"\n\n\"Why shouldn't they be?\"\n\n\"A Jew hates having his money-box opened and the contents counted.\"\n\n\"Why so? Won't the blessing enter in afterwards?\"\n\n\"No, it isn't that--the misfortune is that the credit will go out.\"\n\n\nTHE FIRST ATTEMPT\n\nEarly in the morning, before the arrival of the beadle, there come some\nJews--they want to see the note-taker.\n\nMy fame has preceded me.\n\nI make a beginning, and turn to one of them:\n\n\"Good morning, friend!\"\n\n\"Good morning, _Sholom Alechem_.\"[85]\n\nHe gives me his hand, quite lazily.\n\n\"What is your name, friend?\"\n\n\"Levi Yitzchok.\"\n\n\"And your German name?\"[86]\n\n\"Why do you want to know?\"\n\n\"Well, is it a secret?\"\n\n\"Secret or no secret, you may as well tell me why you want to know. I'll\nbe bound _that's_ no secret!\"\n\n\"Then you don't know it?\"\n\n\"Not exactly.\"\n\n\"Make a shot at it--just for fun!\"\n\n\"B\u00e4renpelz,\" he answers, a little ashamed.\n\n\"A wife?\"\n\n\"_Ett!_\"\n\n\"What does _ett_ mean?\"\n\n\"He wants a divorce!\" another answers for him.\n\n\"How many children?\"\n\nHe has to think, and counts on his fingers: \"By the first wife--mine:\none, two, three; hers: one, two; by the second wife....\" He is tired of\ncounting: \"Let us say six!\"\n\n\"'Let us say' is no good. I must know exactly.\"\n\n\"You see, 'exactly' is not so easy. 'Exactly!' Why do you want to know?\n_Wos is?_ Are you an official? Do they pay you for it? Will somebody\nfollow and check your statements? 'Exactly!'\"\n\n\"Tell, blockhead, tell,\" the rest encourage him, \"now you've begun,\ntell!\"\n\nThey want to know what the next questions will be.\n\nOnce again he has counted on his fingers and, heaven be praised, there\nare three more.\n\n\"Nine children, health and strength to them!\"\n\n\"How many sons, how many daughters?\"\n\nHe counts again:\n\n\"Four sons and five daughters.\"\n\n\"How many sons and how many daughters married?\"\n\n\"You want to know that, too? Look here, tell me why?\"\n\n\"Tell him, then, tell him!\" cry the rest, impatiently.\n\n\"Three daughters and two sons,\" answers someone for the questioned.\n\n_\"Taki?\"_ says the latter. \"And Yisrolik?\"\n\n\"But he isn't married yet.\"\n\n\"Horse! They call him up next Sabbath![87] What does a week and a half\nmatter?\"\n\nI make a note and ask further: \"Have you served in the army?\"\n\n\"I bought exemption from Kohol, for four hundred rubles![88] Where\nshould I find them now?\" and he groans.\n\n\"And your sons?\"\n\n\"The eldest has a swelling below his right eye, and has besides--not of\nyou be it said!--a rupture. He has been in three hospitals. It cost more\nthan a wedding. They only just sent him home from the regiment! The\nsecond drew a high number.[89] ... The third is serving his time now.\"\n\n\"And the wife?\"\n\n\"At home with me, of course. Need you ask?\"\n\n\"She might have been at _her_ father's.\"\n\n\"A pauper!\"\n\n\"Have you a house?\"\n\n\"Have I a house!\"\n\n\"Worth how much?\"\n\n\"If it were in Samoscz, it would be worth something. Here it's not worth\na dreier, except that I have a place to lay my head down in.\"\n\n\"Would you sell it for one hundred rubles?\"\n\n\"Preserve us! One's own inheritance! Not for three hundred.\"\n\n\"Would you give it for five hundred?\"\n\n\"_M\u00ea!_ I should hire a lodging and apply myself to some business!\"\n\n\"And what is your business now?\"\n\n\"What business?\"\n\n\"What do you live on?\"\n\n\"_That's_ what you mean! One just lives.\"\n\n\"On what?\"\n\n\"God's providence. When He gives something, one has it!\"\n\n\"But He doesn't throw things down from heaven?\"\n\n\"He does so! Can I tell how I live? Let us reckon: I need a lot of\nmoney, at least four rubles a week. The house yields, beside my own\nlodging, twelve rubles a year--nine go in taxes, five in repairs, leaves\na hole in the pocket of two rubles a year! That's it.\"\n\nHe puts on airs:\n\n\"Heaven be praised, I have no money. Neither I, nor any one of the Jews\nstanding here, nor any other Jews--except perhaps the 'German' ones[90]\nin the big towns. We have no money. I don't know any trade, my\ngrandfather never sewed a shoe. Therefore I live as God wills, and have\nlived so for fifty years. And if there is a child to be married, we have\na wedding, and dance in the mud.\"\n\n\"Once and for all, what are you?\"\n\n\"A Jew.\"\n\n\"What do you do all day?\"\n\n\"I study, I pray--what else should a Jew do? And when I have eaten, I go\nto the market.\"\n\n\"What do you do in the market?\"\n\n\"What do I do? Whatever turns up. Well, yesterday, for example, I heard,\nas I passed, that Yoneh Borik wanted to buy three rams for a gentleman.\nBefore daylight I was at the house of a second gentleman, who had once\nsaid, he had too many rams. I made an agreement with Yoneh Borik, and,\nheaven be praised, we made a ruble and a half by it.\"\n\n\"Are you, then, what is called a commission-agent?\"\n\n\"How should I know? Sometimes it even occurs to me to buy a bit of\nproduce.\"\n\n\"Sometimes?\"\n\n\"What do you mean by 'sometimes'? When I have a ruble, I buy.\"\n\n\"And when not?\"\n\n\"I get one.\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"What do you mean by 'how'?\"\n\nAnd it is an hour before I find out that Levi Yitzchock B\u00e4renpelz is a\nbit of a rabbinical assistant, and acts as arbiter in quarrels; a bit of\na commission-agent, a fragment of a merchant, a morsel of a match-maker,\nand now and again, when the fancy takes him, a messenger.\n\nThanks to all these \"trades,\" the counted and the forgotten ones, he\nearns his bread, although with toil and trouble, for wife and\nchild--even for the married daughter, because her father-in-law is _but_\na pauper.\n\n\nTHE SECOND ATTEMPT\n\nI am taken into a shop.\n\nA few packets of matches, a few boxes of cigarettes; needles, pins,\nhair-pins, buttons, green and yellow soap, a few pieces of home-made,\nfragrant soap, a few grocery wares.\n\n\"Who lives here?\" I ask.\n\n\"You can see for yourself!\" answers a Jewish woman, and goes on combing\nthe hair of a little girl about ten years old, who has twitched her head\nfrom under the comb and stares with great, astonished eyes, at the\nGo\u00ef[91] who talks Yiddish.\n\n\"Lay your head down again!\" screams the mother.\n\n\"What is the name of your husband?\" I inquire.\n\n\"M\u00f6sheh.\"\n\n\"And his 'German' name?\"\n\n\"May his name come home!\" she scolds suddenly. \"He has been four hours\ngetting a dish from the neighbor's!\"\n\n\"Stop scolding,\" says the beadle, \"and answer when you're spoken to!\"\n\nShe is afraid of the beadle. He is beadle and bailiff together, and\ncollects the taxes, besides being held in great regard by the\ntown-justice.\n\n\"Who was scolding? who? what? Can't I speak against my own husband?\"\n\n\"What is his 'German' name?\" I ask again.\n\nThe beadle remembers it himself, and answers, \"Jungfreud.\"\n\n\"How many children have you?\"\n\n\"I beg of you, friend, come later on, when my husband is here; that's\nhis affair! I've enough to do with the shop and six children. Go away,\nfor goodness' sake!\"\n\nI make a note of six children, and ask how many are married.\n\n\"Married! I wish any of them were married, I should have fewer gray\nhairs.\"\n\n\"Are they all girls?\"\n\n\"Three are boys.\"\n\n\"What are they doing?\"\n\n\"What should they be doing? Plaguing my life out with their open\nmouths!\"\n\n\"Why not teach them a trade?\"\n\nShe turns up her nose, gives me a black look, and refuses to give any\nfurther answers.\n\nI have an idea: I buy a packet of cigarettes. She looks less\ndisagreeable, and I ask:\n\n\"How much does your husband earn?\"\n\n\"_He?_ He earn anything? What use do you suppose _he_ is, when I can't\neven send him to fetch a dish from a neighbor's? He's been four hours\nalready. It won't be thanks to _him_ if we get any supper to-night!\"\n\nShe goes off into another fury. I have to go outside and catch the\nhusband in the street. I knew him--he was carrying a dish!\n\n\nAT THE SHOCHET'S\n\nI am greeted by a mixture of different voices. A hero of a cock gives a\nproud crow, as though there were no such thing as a slaughter-knife in\nthe world. Contrariwise, a calf lows sadly--it would seem to be hungry,\nwhile between the boards under the holes in the tall roof chirp\nquantities of small birds. They have wings and laugh at the Shochet. It\nis summer, the air is full of insects, men, even the poorest and\nstingiest, leave crumbs about. Zip! zip! and zip! and zip! zip! zip! The\nbed in the nest is made, the \"he\" is decked out in bright colors, the\n\"she\" is modest and silent, and the children have had enough to eat!\nThey are warm, and are not \"down\" in someone's note-book for military\nservice or in connection with the matter of a license.\n\nBut ask them what is the meaning of a \"blemish in the holy offerings!\"\nThis question is being discussed by two young men, barefoot, in\nskull-caps, and undressed to their \"little prayer-scarfs.\"[92]\n\nThe young men are only unfit for inspecting licenses or wares in the\nshop, but calves for the altar--as fast as you please!\n\nWhen God portioned out the world, the peasant took the soil, the fisher\nthe river, the hunter the forest, the gardener the fruit-trees, the\nmerchant the weights and measures, and so on; but the poet lingered in a\nwood. The nightingale sang to him, the trees whispered all sorts of\nwood-gossip into his ear, and his eyes, the poetical eyes, could not\nlook away from the girl kneeling by the stream, from the tadpole in her\nhand. And he came too late for everything! The world, when he arrived,\nwas already divided up. God had nothing left for him but clouds,\nrainbows, roses, and song-birds. He did not even find the young\nwasherwoman on his way back, she had engaged herself somewhere as nurse.\n\nYou have fancy! Create a world for yourself, said God.\n\nAnd people envied the poet--his world was the best! The peasant tilled\nhis land with sweat and toil. The fisher is not idle--breaking ice in\nwinter time is no joke. The hunter wearies hunting and pursuing. Pippins\nare not so easily made out of crab-apples! The merchant must bestir\nhimself, if only about falsifying the weights and measures, else he dies\nof hunger. _One_ is the poet, who lies on his stomach and creates\nworlds!\n\nBut it was a mistake. It turned out that his soul was only a\ncamera-obscura that reflected the outside world with all its mud and\npigs. So long as the pig keeps its place, it is not so bad, but when the\npig gets into the foreground, the poet's world becomes as piggish as\nours.\n\nThe only people who remain to be envied are our two young men, the\nShochet's son with the Shochet's son-in-law. Our world with its pigs\ndoesn't fit in with their world of \"blemish in the sacrifice.\" There is\nno connection between the two, no bridge, no link whatever.\n\nAnd as I have come into _their_ world out of _our_ world, the Gemorehs\nare shut, while the young faces express fear and wonder.\n\nThe Shochet is not at home, he has gone to a neighboring village; that\nis why the calf is still lowing in the house. The wife has a little\ndraper's shop.\n\nThe daughter and a daughter-in-law stand by the fire and their faces are\ntriply red.\n\nFirst, from pride in their husbands with their Torah; secondly, from\nthe crackling fire, and thirdly, with confusion before a stranger, a\nman, and a \"German\" to boot. One caught a corner of her apron in her\nmouth, the other moved a few steps backward, as in the synagogue at the\nend of the Kedushah. Both look at me in astonishment from under low\nforeheads with hairbands of plaited thread.\n\nThe young men, however, soon recover themselves. They have heard of the\nnote-taker, and have guessed that I am he!\n\nThe note-taking goes quickly. The Shochet gets four rubles a week,\nbesides what he earns in the villages; were it not for the meat brought\nin from the villages round about, he would be doing very well.\n\nThe shop does not bring in much, but always something. Parnosseh, thank\nGod, they have! As for the children, they will live with the parents,\nand when, in God's good time, the parents shall have departed this life,\nthey will inherit, one, the father's profession, the other, the shop;\nthe house will be in common.\n\nThey look better off than any in the town; better off than the traders,\nhouseholders, workmen, better off even than the public-house keeper and\nthe Feldscher together. There will come a time--I think as I go\nout--when even teaching will be one of the best paid professions.\n\nIt is all not so bad as people think: besides being a rabbi, a Shochet,\na beadle, and a teacher, there is yet another good way of getting a\nliving.\n\nIn the Shochet's house there is a female lodger; she pays fifteen rubles\na year. The door is locked; through the window, which looks into the\nstreet, I see quite a nice little room. Two well-furnished beds with\nwhite pillows, red-painted wooden furniture; copper utensils hang on the\nwall by the fire-place; there is a bright hanging-lamp. The room is full\nof comfort and household cheer.\n\nShe has silver, too, they tell me. I see a large chest with brass\nfittings. There must be silver candle-sticks in it, and perhaps\nornaments.\n\nWhat do you think? they say. She has a lot of money, the whole town is\nin her pocket. She is a widow with three children. The door is locked\nall through the week, because she only comes home every Sabbath,\nexcepting Shabbes Chazon.[93] She spends the whole week going round the\nvillages in the neighborhood, begging, with all three children.\n\n\nTHE REBBITZIN OF SKUL\n\nEsther the queen was sallow,[94] but a gleam of graciousness lighted up\nher countenance. Esther, the Skul rebbitzin, was also plain-featured,\nbut it was not a gleam, rather a sun, of kindliness that shone in her\nface. An old, thin woman, her head covered with a thin, wrinkled, pale\npink skin, droops like a fine Esrog over her red kerchief. Only this\nEsrog has two kind, serious eyes.\n\nShe is a native of the place, and lives by herself; she has married all\nher children in various parts of the country, but nothing would induce\nher to live with any one of them.\n\nIt is never advisable to let oneself be dependent on a son-in-law or\ndaughter-in-law. The husband stands up for the wife--the wife for the\nhusband (not without reason saith the holy Torah: \"And therefore a man\nshall leave his parents, etc.\"). She will not give them occasion to\ntransgress the command to honor a mother, that is a real case of \"thou\nshalt not cause the blind to stumble.\"\n\n\"God, blessed be His Name, created man so that he should not see the\nfaults of those nearest him, otherwise the world would be as full of\ndivorces as of marriage contracts!\"\n\nSecondly--as the rabbi of Skul observed more than once--a widow who\ndepends on her children is a double grass-widow, and \"the words of the\nrabbi of Skul should be framed in gold and worn about the neck as an\n_\u00d6ibele_.\" True, she says with a low sigh, _\u00d6ibeles_ are not worn\nnowadays, imitation pearls are considered prettier!\n\nShe could not stay on in Skul. Since her husband the rabbi died, the\nplace has become hateful to her. \"Really,\" she says, \"'its glory has\ndeparted, its splendor, and its beauty.'\" She goes there once a year,\nfor the anniversary of his death, but she cannot remain long--\"it has\ngrown empty.\"\n\nShe lived with the Skul rabbi forty years. Those that knew him say that\nshe grew to be his second self.\n\nHe, may he forgive me! was a Misnagid; so she thinks nothing of \"good\nJews!\" His \"service\" was the Torah in its plain meaning. She sits all\nday over the Pentateuch in Yiddish, or learns the Shulchan Aruch;[95]\nshe quotes the Skul rabbi at every second word and it is his voice, his\nmotions, his customs!\n\nAfter the Skul rabbi's Kiddush and Havdoleh, she will listen to no\nother; she says her own over cake or currant wine. And _her_ Kiddush is\n_his_ Kiddush--the same low, dignified chant, the same sweetness. She\neats \"just kosher\" and is very learned.\n\nShe can answer ritual questions! Forty years running she has stood by\nthe hearth with her kind face turned to the table at which her husband\nsat and studied; her dove's eyes took in his every movement, her ears,\nhalf hidden under the head-kerchief, his every word, she was his true\nhelpmeet, she hid his every thought in her brain and his goodness in her\nheart.\n\nA river may have lain a hundred years in another bed, and all its\nprevious twists and bends are wrought into the rocks of its first one.\nThe Skul rabbi's life may have run more peacefully than a river, but the\nrebbitzin was no rock to him, rather a sponge that absorbed the whole of\nhim.\n\nShe is not satisfied with the world as it is to-day. \"If it is no longer\npious, the Almighty must have a care; if His people behave so, it is\ndoubtless because He wishes it. Only, there is no 'purpose' in it all;\nthe present-day stuffs are spider-webs, and people don't sew as they\nused to, they cut it all up into seams!\n\n\"Don't talk to me of the curtains before the Ark, you can't make so much\nas a frock for a child out of them! The old-fashioned head-dresses get\ndearer every day, a head-kerchief ought to last forever, and even out of\na bosom-kerchief you can always draw a gold or silver thread, but\nimitation pearls and glass spangles are good for nothing. And, believe\nme, it is all much uglier, in my opinion!\"\n\nBut she bears no one a grudge: \"My husband, the Skul rabbi, was a\nMisnagid, but he never persecuted a Chossid, heaven forbid!\"\n\nShe remembers how the householders once came crying out that the\nChassid\u00eem of the place were late in reciting the Shema,[96] and she\nheard from his own lips the reply: \"There are,\" he said to them,\n\"different armies, and they have different weapons, different customs,\nbut they all serve the same kingdom. Even boots,\" he added with his\nsmile, \"are not all made by the same pattern.\"\n\nShe remembers all his sayings and lives according to his ideas.\n\nHe used to get very angry if a workman rose and stood before him as a\nsign of respect, for he was greatly in favor of people working with\ntheir hands, therefore when she came here with her few hundred rubles,\nshe set up soap-making--sooner than live on others.\n\nShe knows that even a woman is under the law bidding every one do\nsomething for his own support--it is not one of the laws bound to a\ncertain time, from which women are exempt. When they \"kept\" her money,\nshe remained dependent on the soap only. \"It wouldn't be a bad\nbusiness,\" she says, \"blessed be His Name! I make three to four rubles a\nweek before a holiday. My soap, may His Name be praised! has a\nreputation in the whole neighborhood, only--just now it's all on credit.\nSome day the business will fail.\"\n\nI look round on all sides, I see no utensils, no instruments for the\nwork.\n\nNothing extra is wanted for it, she gives me to understand: \"You take\nsome ashes from the hearth, potatoes, and other vegetables, work them\ntogether in water, let them steam and then simmer over the fire; in that\nway you get 'unclear' soap, and if you do the same thing over again, you\nget _liter_, that is, good soap!\" When I leave, she asks a little\ntroubled and ashamed:\n\n\"Tell me, I beg of you, when your writings come into the hands of the\ngreat people, will they not say I must take out a license?\"\n\n\nINSURED\n\nA quiet summer night. Over there the celebrated wood shows black on the\nsky-line; our forefathers engraved in its trees the names of the\ndivisions of the Talmud they completed as they went along. Yonder, not\nfar off, they halted, and the \"head of the dispersion\" said \"P\u00f6h l\u00een!\"\n(here abide!), and the land has ever since been called \"P\u00f6hlin;\"[97] but\nthe other nations cannot make out the reason.\n\nAnd the wood has a short cut to Jerusalem. There was once a goat\nbelonging to one of the native L\u00e0med-W\u00f2fniks, and the goat knew the\nroad; she used to trot every morning to pasture on the Temple Mount, and\nreturn with three pitcherfuls of milk for the holy man.\n\nTo the right of the wood, beside a river, lies the town. It is divided\ninto two parts. One part is a long strip--a straight, paved street with\nwalled-in houses under sheet-metal roofs, quite substantial, fastened to\nthe earth with foundations. The inhabitants of the street know for\ncertain that they will live and die in them; that all the winds of\nheaven may blow without causing them to move an inch.\n\nThen comes the second part, another world, quite spiritual: flimsy\n\"hen-houses\" entirely built of straw and fir planks, with only an\noccasional slate-roof. A breeze blows over them, and they are gone. Do\ntheir dwellers hope to find the short cut to the Temple Mount, like the\nimmortal goat, or do they speculate on the fire-insurance?\n\nAnd how like are the houses to their inhabitants! These are\nnarrow-chested, with darkened eyes, and crouch under crooked straw caps.\n\nCocks crow out of the huts, ducks quack, and geese cackle. From out the\nmarsh, which licks the threshold with seventy tongues, croak well-fed,\nportly frogs. A Jewish calf frequently contributes a bleat, and is\nanswered out of the long street by a Gentile dog. I shall begin to take\nnotes early in the morning.\n\nI know beforehand what it will be: if not thirty-six rubles a year, it\nwill be thirty-three or thirty-two.... I shall find \"many trades and\nfew blessings,\"[98] more soap factories, any number of empty houses....\nThe beadle will reckon up for me: _he_ is a messenger, _she_, a\nhuckstress; two daughters are out in service in Lublin, in Samoscz....\none son is a \"helper\" in a Cheder, the other serving his time in the\narmy, and the daughter-in-law with three, four, five children has gone\nhome to her father and mother....\n\nI shall find neglected children tumbling about in the swamp with the\nducks and geese; mites of babies screaming their throats out in the\ncradles; sick people left alone in bed; boarded-out children sitting\nover Gemorehs; young women in furry wigs and with or without shyness; I\nhardly shut my eyes, before these same weary, livid, pale, twisted\nfaces, walking sorrows, rise before me ... there is seldom one who\nsmiles, one with a dimple ... all the men so unmanly, so mummy-like,\nwomen with running eyes, carrying a load of fruit, a sack of onions, or\nelse an unborn child together with the onions. I know I shall come\nacross an unlicensed third-rate public-house, two or three\nhorse-stealers, and more than two or three receivers of stolen goods.\nBut what about the statistics? Can they answer the question, how many\nempty stomachs, useless teeth? how many people whose eyes are drawn out\nof their sockets as with pincers at the sight of a piece of dry bread?\nhow many people who have really died of hunger?\n\nAll you gain by statistics is that you find out about an unlicensed\npublic-house, or a horse-thief, or a receiver of stolen goods.\n\nScientific medicine has invented a machine for checking heart-beats, one\nby one; the foolish statistics play with figures. Do statistics record\nthe anxious heart-beats that thumped in the breast of the grandson of\nthe descendant from Spanish ancestors, or the son of the author of the\n_Tevuas Shor_, before they committed their first illegality? Do they\nmeasure how their hearts bled _after_ they committed it? Do they count\nthe sleepless nights before and after?\n\nCan they show how many were the days of hunger? How many times the\nchildren flung themselves about in convulsions, how often hands and feet\nshook when the first glass was filled by the unlicensed brandy-seller?\nLivid, ghastly, blue faces float before me in the empty air, and\nblue-brown, parched lips whisper: \"There has been no fire in my chimney\nfor twenty-four days.\"\n\n\"We have eaten potato peelings for ten.\"\n\n\"Three died without a doctor or a prescription; I _had_ to save the\nfourth!\"\n\nThe hoarse voices cut me to the heart, like a blunt knife; I leave the\nwindow where I have been standing; but the room is full of ghosts.\n\nBy the stove stands a red Jew, well-nourished: \"Hee, hee!\" he laughs.\n\"Steal? buy stolen things? a business like any other ... not less than a\nmonth's imprisonment ... in a month I would have lost a fortune ... all\nthe noblemen will bear me witness ... honestly! honestly!\"\n\nThat voice is worse; it saws ... I throw myself on the bed, I shut my\neyes, and there appears to me the good old rebbitzin of Skul.\n\n\"Well,\" she says with her childlike, silvery voice, \"and suppose the\nresult of your inquiries were not favorable for the Jews, shall you he\nable to say: 'Thy people are all righteous?'\" I feel as if her kind,\nblue, dove-like eyes rested soothingly on my hot forehead.\n\nI fell asleep beneath them, and I dreamt of the two angels, the good\ninclination and the evil one. I saw them flying earthward before\nday-break, enveloped in a thin, pink mist. The evil inclination carried,\nin one hand, a blue paper with a large, black eye in the top left-hand\ncorner, evidently a deed relating to a house or some property ...\nexpensive dresses, besides fur caps, braided kaftans, silk sashes, also\na top-hat and frock-coat as if for one person; also handkerchiefs,\nhead-kerchiefs, kerchiefs with tinsel, pearl necklaces, as well as silk\nand satin trains of all colors--all that in one hand, and in the\nother--potato peelings....\n\nThe good inclination--naked, without clothes or things to carry, as God\nmade him....\n\nBoth fly ... it seems as if the good inclination wanted to tell me\nsomething, he opens his pretty mouth ... but not his voice, a cry of\nalarm wakes me. Fire! I spring out of bed, there is a fire just\nopposite!\n\nA long tongue of flame stretches out toward me and seems to say:\n\n\"Don't be frightened: it's insured!\"\n\n\nTHE FIRE\n\nThe fiery tongue was put out at me by Reb Cha\u00efm Weizensang's house. The\ntongue grew larger and the house smaller till it fell in, into a sea of\nwails and screams of terror. There was fortunately no wind at the time\nof the conflagration.\n\nWhen the sun rose from out the mist, blushing red like a beautiful and\ninnocent maiden after the bath, she saw nothing but long, black, male\nheads turning over the ruins with sticks. They were looking for the\nremnants of Weizensang's riches in the remnants of his house.\n\nGroups of yellow-faced women are already standing around it. The brown\nshawls are held with washed fingers over their unwashed heads, and pale\nlips lament and bewail the house.\n\nWith the morning came a fresh wind. A little sooner, and it would have\nplayed havoc. Now it just shakes the remaining old chimney over the\nwomen's heads as though it were a palm. The chimney rocks and groans\nsadly, as though it felt deserted, and perhaps it listens to the\ninn-keeper telling me the tale of the destruction of the house, and\naffirms with a nod: \"True, true!\"\n\nYou would sooner pick up every thread, every dust-grain of life out of\nwhich the sleep-angel has woven you a fantastic dream, than discover all\nthe devices a Jew must resort to before he hears the clink of copper\ncoin.\n\nIf I were to describe everything, you would think I had been dreaming\nmyself.... Who shall read the Divine countenance when a wretched\ncreature stands before Him, lifts its head with its racked brain,\nextinguished eyes, and trembling voice, and pressing its empty stomach\nwith cracked and bony hands, prays without a voice, without a language;\nthe tongue will not move, but the blood cries: \"Lord of the world, I\nhave done my part, now--Thou must help! Lord of the world, feed me like\nthe ravens! In what am I more worthless than they are? Lord of the\nworld, where are _my_ crumbs? When will it be _my_ 'Sabbath of\nSong?'\"[99]\n\nAnd for all the body he has, he might very well be a bird; nothing is\nwanting but the wings, and the nest with the crumbs.\n\nAnd therefore the Jewish Parnossehs are so specialized that their like\nwill only be in the twenty-first century, when one specialist will lift\nthe upper eye-lid, a second press down the lower, and a third examine\nthe sick eye.\n\nIf a dish of roast veal, a rag in a paper-factory, or an exported egg\nhad a mouth to speak with and the rabbi Reb Heshil's memory, they would\nstill be unable to say how many Jewish hands had taken them out and put\nthem in, from the peasant's shed into the roasting-pan, from the\nmanure-box into the \"Holl\u00e4nder,\"[100] from servitude into freedom....\nAnd a Jewish Parnosseh is just such a ladder as Jacob our father saw in\na dream, the night when all stones united into one stone for his head, a\nladder standing on the earth, and the top of it reaches into the sky.\n\nHow deep it is chained into the earth, is known only to the worm at its\nfoot, and how high it reaches--to the star only that shines above it.\n\n_We_ grow giddy gazing up the height; and when we peer down into the\ndepths, our stomach turns, and we look green forever after.\n\nAngels ascend and descend the ladder; men, alas, _climb_ it with their\nlast remaining strength, and fall down it when their strength is\nexhausted. And even if he can thank his stars his neck is not broken,\nthe Jew has no strength left to begin climbing again.\n\nSuch is the ladder that was partly climbed by our \"burnt-out\" one. First\nhe travelled between the villages as a \"runner,\" on business for other\npeople; the earth was hot to his bare feet. It was not the cry of a\nbrother's blood this Cain heard, it was the cry of wife and children for\nbread.\n\nHeaven came to his assistance; he bought very cheaply for two or three\nyears on end, and then he was promoted from a \"runner\" to a \"walker.\"\nThere was already provision at home for a week at a time, and he only\ncame back Fridays with the result of a week's bargaining; the brain was\nmore composed, and had time to take in the fact that the feet were\nbecoming swollen, that the father of six children ought always to walk\nand not run, if he wishes his feet to carry him till at least one of\nthem is confirmed. And God helped further; he is now, blessed be the\nName, a village peddler, that is, he walks only when there is no\n\"opportunity\"[101] to ride in from one village to another for a kopek;\nif the \"opportunity\" is there, he rides.\n\nGod helped him on again; another year or two, and he has his own horse\nand cart!\n\nTime does not stand still, and he took no rest, and God helped. The one\nhorse turned into two, the cart into a trap, and it even came to a\ndriver! And he is now a produce dealer; first he deals with peasants and\nthen with gentlemen.\n\nAnd, God helping, he gets into favor first with the head of the dairy\nfarm, then with the manager, after that with the bailiff, after that\nagain with the steward, and at last with the count himself. O, by that\ntime he is an inhabitant, settled in the place, the driver becomes a\ndomestic servant, horse and carriage are sold, and pockets are lined\nwith the count's receipts....\n\nWhat is he now?\n\nHe is like the sun round which circle the stars--smaller traders, and\nlittle stars--brokers.\n\nHe shines and illumines the whole place with credit. Yelenskin compared\nhim to a spider sitting in his web, and the count to one of the flies\nentangled in it. After a while our \"sun-spider,\" or \"spider-sun,\"\nenlarged his house, wrote marriage contracts for his children, settled\ndowries on them; bought his wife pearls and himself a sealskin coat,\nengaged better teachers for his boys, and for the girls someone to teach\nthem if only how to write a Jewish letter.\n\nSuddenly (at least, for the town), the count was declared bankrupt, and\nour \"spider-sun,\" or \"sun-spider,\" lost everything at once.\n\nIf I had passed through a month earlier, I should have put down:\n\nA house, fifteen hundred rubles, a propination,[102] a business in\ntimber and produce, a money-lender. He has lent the count fifteen\nthousand rubles at ten per cent., not as a mortgage, but for\n\"hand-receipts.\"\n\nNow I write one word:\n\n\"Burnt-out.\"\n\nI might add:\n\nA man of eighty-two, swollen feet, a household of seventeen persons.\n\n\nTHE EMIGRANT\n\nI open a door.\n\nA room without beds, without furniture, carpeted with hay and straw. In\nthe middle of the room stands a barrel upside down. Round the barrel,\nfour starved-looking children, with frowzy hair, hang over a great\nearthenware dish of sour milk, out of which they eat, holding a greenish\nmetal spoon in their right hand and a bit of bran-bread in their left.\n\nIn one corner, on the floor, sits a pale woman, and the tears fall from\nher eyes on the potatoes she is about to peel. In the second corner lies\n\"he,\" also on the floor, and undressed.\n\n\"It was no good your coming, neighbor,\" he says to me, without rising,\n\"no good at all! I don't belong here now!\"\n\nBut when he sees that I have no intention of going away, he raises\nhimself slowly.\n\n\"_Nu_, where am I to seat you?\" he asks sadly.\n\nI assure him that I can write standing.\n\n\"You will get nothing out of me! I am only waiting for a boat\nticket--you see, I have sold everything, even my tools....\"\n\n\"You are a mechanic?\" I ask.\n\n\"A tailor.\"\n\n\"And what obliges you to emigrate?\"\n\n\"Hunger.\"\n\nAnd there was hunger in _his_ face, in _her_ face, and still more in the\ngleaming eyes of the children round the barrel.\n\n\"No work to be had?\"\n\nHe shrugged his shoulders as much as to say, he and work had long been\nstrangers.\n\n\"Where are you going to?\"\n\n\"To London. I was there once already, and made money. I sent my wife ten\nrubles a week, and lived like a human being. The bad luck brought me\nhome again.\"\n\nI wondered if the \"bad luck\" were his wife.\n\n\"Why not have sent for your family to join you?\"\n\n\"It drew me back! It's black as night over there. As soon as ever I\nclosed an eye, I dreamt of the little town, the river round it, ... I\nfelt suffocated there, and it drew me and drew me....\"\n\n\"This is certainly,\" I remark, \"a beautiful bit of country.\"\n\n\"The air costs nothing, and we have been living on air, heaven be\npraised, these three years. This time I am going with wife and child. I\nmean to put an end to it.\"\n\n\"You will miss the wood again!\"\n\n\"The wood!\"--he gives himself a twist with a bitter smile--\"my wife\nwent into the wood the evening before last, to gather berries, and they\nmarched her out and treated her to the whip.\"\n\n\"There is the river,\"--I want to take him away from his sad thoughts.\n\nHis pale face grew paler.\n\n\"The river? In the summer it took one of my children.\"\n\nI hurried away from the luckless home.\n\n\nTHE MADMAN\n\nI returned to my lodgings quite unnerved, and lay a long time on the\nhard sofa without closing an eye.... A noise wakes me. Something is\nstealing in to me through the window. I see on the window ledge two\nlong, bony, dirty hands, and there raises itself from behind them an\nunkempt head with two gleaming eyes in a livid face.\n\n\"Won't you enter _me_?\" asks the head, softly.\n\nI do not know how to answer. He, meanwhile, has taken silence for\nconsent, and stands in the middle of the room.\n\nAlarmed, and still more astonished, I keep my eye on him.\n\n\"Write!\" he says impatiently. \"Shall I give you the ink and a pen?\"\n\nWithout waiting for an answer, he pushes up to my sofa the little table\nwith the writing materials.\n\n\"Write, please, write!\"\n\nAnd his voice is so soft and gentle, it finds its way into my heart, and\nI am no longer frightened.\n\nI sit up to write. I question him, and he answers me.\n\n\"Your name?\"\n\n\"Jonah.\"\n\n\"Your surname?\"\n\n\"When I was a little boy, they called me Jonah Zieg. After my wedding,\nJonah Drong, but since the misfortune happened to me, Mad Jonah.\"\n\n\"What is your German name?\"\n\n\"O, you mean _that_?... Directly, directly. Perelmann. You see my\npearls?\"\n\nHe points to a torn, red kerchief round his neck, and says: \"Real\npearls, _ha_? But that's what I'm called. How can I help it?\"\n\n\"A wife?\"\n\n\"You had better _not_ put her down: she doesn't live with me. Since the\nmisfortune, she doesn't live with me ... a nice wife, too. I would\ngladly have given her a divorce, but the rabbi wouldn't allow it. He\nsaid I mustn't. A nice little wife!\"\n\nAnd his eyes grew moist.\n\n\"She even took the child with her. It's better off with her--what should\n_I_ do with it? Carry it about? They throw stones at me, and would have\nhurt it.\"\n\n\"One child is it you have?\"\n\n\"One.\"\n\n\"What was your misfortune?\"\n\n\"May you know trouble as little as I know that! Folk say a devil. The\nR\u00f6feh says, a stone fell into my head, and the soul, or, as he calls it,\nthe life, into my belly. I don't remember the stone, but I have a bruise\non my head.\"\n\nHe takes off his hat and cap together, bends his head, and shows me a\nbare bump in the hair.\n\n\"It may have been from a stone, but I _am_ mad--that's certain.\"\n\n\"What is your eccentricity?\"\n\n\"Two or three times a day I have my soul in my belly, and then I speak\nout of my belly, and crow like a cock. I can't stop myself, I really\ncan't!\"\n\n\"What were you _before_ the misfortune?\"\n\n\"I hadn't got to be anything. It happened to me early in the K\u00f6st.[103]\nThat is why I have only one child, health and strength to it!\"\n\n\"Have you any money?\"\n\n\"I had a few gulden dowry. A lot of it went in remedies--on 'good Jews'\n... the rest I gave _her_.\"\n\n\"What do you live on?\"\n\n\"On trouble. The boys throw stones at me. I daren't go about in the\nmarket-place, else I might have earned something near a stall. At one\ntime people were sorry for me and gave me things. Now times are bad--I\nhave to go begging. I beg before dinner, while the children are still in\nCheder. And it's little enough I get by it! The town is small; there are\ntwo mad people in it beside me. And now they say that yesterday the\n'Lokshiche'[104] threw a saucepan at her servant's head. The servant is\nsure to go mad, quite sure! Only I don't know yet if she will crow as I\ndo, or trumpet into her fist, like the rabbi's Shlom'tzie, or be silent\nlike Hannah the Tikerin.\"\n\n\nMISERY\n\nI shall not call the little town by its name, but if I come across\nanother such, I, too, shall begin to crow, like the madman....\n\nHe was an excellent shoemaker, who supported wife and children (rarely\nless than four or five) respectably. He won a large sum of money in a\nlottery, took to drink, drank it all up, left his wife and children to\nshift for themselves, disappeared, and must have died since somewhere or\nother beneath a hedge.\n\nBut that is not specifically Jewish. Take another one of us, his partner\nin the lottery ticket. He was a teacher, won some money, hired a mill\ntogether with the Rebbe. The mill failed, now he is beadle in a\nChassidic meeting-house, gets nothing for it, but he sells the \"bitter\ndrop.\" The wife is a \"buyer-in,\" takes round eggs and butter to the\nhouses. She doesn't earn much, because she is lame. One son is away, the\nsecond works somewhere at a carpenter's; one is at home, scrofulous.\n\nThe widow Beile Bashe, surname unknown, lives with a daughter-in-law, a\nsoldier's wife. The husband disappeared in the Turkish war. The\ndaughter-in-law plucks feathers--she is a Tikerin, and watches beside\nwomen in child-bed, or else by the sick. In summer, so long as the\nnobleman allowed it, she gathered berries in the forest; a sickly woman,\nshe does a little bit of begging besides.\n\nZeinwill Graf has only lately become a skinner. Last year he was a great\nfisher, rented a river which the nobleman wished to let to a Christian;\nhe paid a lot of cession-money, caught only \"forbidden fish\" the whole\nsummer, and is now in dire poverty.\n\nShmerke Bentzies, formerly a Dantzig trader ... it is twenty years since\nhe came home empty-handed. Since then he trades in currant-wine for\nKiddush. The wife is a sempstress, has suffered a year or two with her\neyes. \"They haven't _no_ children,\" but competition in the currant-wine\ntrade is very keen, and they struggle.\n\nMelach Berils, a fine young man, only lately boarding with his\nfather-in-law ... he was in business together with a cattle-dealer and\nlost his money; meantime the father-in-law died in poverty. It is\nuncertain what he will do. There are three little children, not more.\n\nI was also asked to put down a man (they had forgotten the name), a man\nwith a wife, and children (nobody remembers how many, but a lot), who\nmay arrive at any moment. The nobleman has refused to renew his lease;\nno one can tell what he will take to, but--\"you may as well put him\ndown!\"\n\n\nTHE L\u00c0MED-W\u00d2FNIK\n\n\"We (the story is told me by a teacher of small children) once had a\nreal L\u00e0med-W\u00f2fnik!\"\n\n\"He said so himself?\" I ask.\n\n\"Well, he would have been a fine L\u00e0med-W\u00f2fnik if he had! He denied it\n'stone and bone.' If he were questioned about it, he lost his temper and\nfired up. But, of course, people got wind of it, they knew well enough!\nyes, 'kith and kin,' the whole town knew it! As if there could be any\ndoubt! People talked, it was clear as daylight! In the beginning, there\nwere some who wouldn't believe--they came to a bad end!\n\n\"For instance: Yainkef-Yosef Weinshenker, a man of eighty and much\nrespected, I can't quite explain, but he sort of turned up his nose at\nhim. Did he _say_ anything? Heaven forbid! but there! Like that....\nTurned up his nose as much as to say: Preserve us! Nothing worse! Well,\nwhat do you think? Not more than five or six years after, he was dead.\nYainkef-Yosef lay in his grave. Poor Leah, the milkwoman! One was sorry\nfor her. It was muddy, and she did not step off the stone causeway to\nmake room for him. Would you believe it, the milk went wrong at all her\ncustomers' for a month on end! And there was no begging off! When\napproached on the subject, he pretended to know nothing about it, and\nscolded into the bargain!\"\n\n\"Of course,\"--I wish to show off my knowledge--\"though a scholar decline\nthe honor due to him....\"\n\n\"A scholar? _Is_ a L\u00e0med-W\u00f2fnik a scholar? And you think he knew even\nhow to read Hebrew properly? He could manage to make seven mistakes in\nspelling Noah. Besides, Hebrew is nothing. Hebrew doesn't count for much\nwith us. He could not even read through the weekly portion. And his\nreciting the Psalms made nevertheless an impression in the highest! The\nlast Rebbe, of blessed memory, said that Welvil (that was his name, the\nL\u00e0med-W\u00f2fnik's) cleft the seventh heaven! And you think his\nPsalm-singing was all! Wait till I tell you!\n\n\"Hannah the Tikerin's goat (not of you be it said!) fell sick, and she\ndrove it to the Gentile exorcist, who lives behind the village. The goat\nstaggered, she was so ill.\n\n\"On the way--it was heaven's doing--the goat met the L\u00e0med-W\u00f2fnik, and\nas she staggered along, she touched his cloak. What do you think? Cured,\nas I live! Hannah kept it to herself, only what happened afterwards was\nthis: A disease broke out among the goats; literally, 'there was not a\nhouse in which there was not one dead;' then she told. The L\u00e0med-W\u00f2fnik\nwas enticed into the market-place, and all the goats were driven at\nhim.\"\n\n\"And they all got well?\"\n\n\"What a question! They even gave a double quantity of milk.\"\n\n\"The Tikerin got a groschen a goat--she became quite rich!\"\n\n\"And he?\"\n\n\"He? nothing! Why, he denied everything, and even got angry and\nscolded--and such an one _may_ not take money, he is no 'good Jew'--he\nmust not be 'discovered!'\"\n\n\"How did he live?\"\n\n\"At one time he was a shoemaker (a L\u00e0med-W\u00f2fnik has got to be a workman,\nif only a water-carrier, only he must support himself with his hands);\nhe used to go to circumcisions in a pair of his own shoes, but in his\nold age he was no longer any good for a shoemaker, he could no longer so\nmuch as draw the thread, let alone put in a patch--his hands shook: he\njust took a message, carried a canful of water, sat up with the dead at\nnight, recited Psalms, was called up to the Tochechoh,[105] and in\nwinter there was the stove to heat in the house-of-study.\"\n\n\"He carried wood?\"\n\n\"Carry wood? Why, where were the boys? The wood was brought, laid in the\nstove, he gave the word, and applied the light. People say: A stove is a\nlifeless thing. And yet, do you know, the house-of-study stove knew him\nas a woman (lehavd\u00eel) knows her husband! He applied a light and the\nstove burnt! The wind might be as high as you please. Everywhere else it\nsmoked, but in the house-of-study it crackled! And the stove, a split\none, such an old thing as never was! And let anyone else have a try--by\nno means! Either it wouldn't burn, or else it smoked through every\ncrack, and the heat went up the chimney, and at night one nearly froze\nto death! When he died, they had to put in another stove, because nobody\ncould do anything with the old one.\n\n\"He was a terrible loss! So long as he lived there was Parnosseh, now,\nheaven help us, one may whistle for a dreier! There was no need to call\nin a doctor.\"\n\n\"And all through his Psalms?\"\n\n\"You ask such a question? Why, it was as clear as day that he delivered\nfrom death.\"\n\n\"And no one died in his day?\"\n\n\"All alive? Nobody died? Do you suppose the death-angel has no voice in\nthe matter? How many times, do you suppose, has the 'good Jew' himself\nof blessed memory wished a complete recovery, and he, Satan, opposed him\nwith all his might? Well, was it any good? An angel is no trifle! And\nthe Heavenly Academy once in a while decides in the death-angel's\nfavor. Well, then! There was no doctor wanted; not one could get on\nhere. Now we have _two_ doctors!\"\n\n\"Beside the exorcist?\"\n\n\"He was taken, too!\"\n\n\"_Gepegert?_\"[106]\n\n\"One doesn't say _gepegert_ of anyone like that--the 'other side'[107]\nis no trifle, either.\"\n\n\nTHE INFORMER\n\nIf Tom\u00e0shef had a L\u00e0med-W\u00f2fnik, it had an \"informer\" too! This also was\ntold me by the primary school teacher. Neither is it long since he--only\nI don't know how it should be expressed--departed, died, was taken.\n\nPerhaps you think an ordinary informer, in the usual sense of the word;\nhe saw a false weight, an unequal balance, and went and told? Heaven\nforbid! Not at all! It was all blackmail, all frightening people into\npaying him not to tell--see, there he goes, he runs, he drives, he\nwrites, he sends! And he sucked the marrow from the bones--\n\n\"And he was badly used himself,\" continued the teacher. \"I remember when\nYeruchem first brought him here! A very fine young man! Only Yeruchem\npromised 'dowry and board,' and hadn't enough for a meal for himself.\nAnd Yeruchem had been badly used, too. His brother Getzil (a rich miser\nas ever was), he had the most to answer for!\n\n\"It is a tale of two brothers, one clever and good, the other foolish\nand bad; the good, clever one, poor, and the bad fool, a rich man. Of\ncourse, the rich brother would do nothing for the poor one.\n\n\"Well, so long as it was only a question of food, Yeruchem said nothing.\nBut when his daughter Gr\u00fcne had come to be an overgrown girl of nineteen\nor twenty, Yeruchem made a commotion. The town and the rabbi took the\nmatter up, and Getzil handed over a written promise that he would give\nso and so much to be paid out a year after her marriage. Not any sooner;\nthe couple might change their minds, Yeruchem would spend the money, and\nthere would be the whole thing over again.\n\n\"He, Getzil, wished to defer the payment until the end of three years,\nbut they succeeded in getting him to promise to pay it in one year. When\nthe time came, Getzil said: 'Not a penny! Anyhow, according to _their_\nlaw, the paper isn't worth a farthing,' and meanwhile it became\nimpossible to settle it within the community. The old rabbi had died;\nthe new rabbi wouldn't interfere, he was afraid of the crown-rabbi, lest\nhe send it up to the regular courts--and there it ended! Getzil wouldn't\ngive a kopek, Yeruchem disappeared either on the way to a 'good Jew,' or\nelse he went begging through the country ... and Beinishe remained with\nGr\u00fcne!\n\n\"Truly, the ways of the Most High are past finding out! It seems\nridiculous! He was a lad and she was a girl, but it was all upside down.\nThe woman, an engine, a Cossack, and the husband, a misery, a bag of\nbones! And what do you think! She took him in hand and made a man of\nhim!\n\n\"She was always setting him on Getzil, he was to prevent the\ncongregation from taking out the scrolls until the matter was settled,\nprevent Getzil from being called up to the Law.... it made as much\nimpression as throwing a pea at a wall. Getzil cuffed him, and after\nthat the young fellow was ashamed to appear in the house-of-study. Once,\njust before Passover, when all devices had failed, Gr\u00fcne again drove\nBeinishe to his uncle, and drove him with a broom! Beinishe went again,\nand again the uncle turned him out. I tell you--it was a thing to\nhappen! My second wife (to be) had just been divorced from her first\nhusband, and she was Gr\u00fcne's lodger; and she saw Beinishe come home with\nher own eyes; he was more dead than alive, and shook as if he had the\nfever; and my good-woman was experienced in that sort of thing (she had\nbeen the matron of the Hekdesh before it was burnt down), and she saw\nthat something serious had happened.\n\n\"It was just about the time when Gr\u00fcne was to come home (she sold rolls)\nfrom market, and she would have knocked him down; and my good-wife\nadvised him, out of compassion, to lie down and rest on the stove; and\nhe, poor man, was like a dummy, tell him to do a thing and he did it; he\ngot up on the stove.\n\n\"Gr\u00fcne came home, my good-woman said nothing; Beinishe lay and slept, or\npretended to sleep, on the stove![108] And perhaps he was not quite\nclear in his head, because, when Getzil was turning him out of the\nhouse, he cried out that he would tell where they had hidden Getzil's\nson, and if he had been clear in the head, he would not have said a\nthing like that.\n\n\"However that may be, the words made a great impression on Getzil's\nwife. May my enemies know of their life what Beinishe knew of the\nwhereabouts of Jonah-Getzil's! But there, a woman, a mother, an only\nson!... so, what do you think? She had a grocery shop, got a porter and\na bag of Passover-flour, and had it carried after her to Gr\u00fcne.\n\n\"She goes in ... (such a pity, my wife isn't here! she was an\neye-witness of it, and when she tells the story, it is enough to make\nyou split with laughter); she goes in, leaves the porter outside the\nroom.\n\n\"'Good morning, Gr\u00fcne!' Gr\u00fcne makes no reply, and Getzil's wife begins\nto get frightened.\n\n\"'Where,' she asks, 'is Beinishe?' 'The black year knows!' answers\nGr\u00fcne, and turns to the fire-place, where she goes on skimming the soup.\nHe must have gone to inform, she thinks. She calls in the porter, the\nsack of meal is put down, Gr\u00fcne does not see, or pretends she doesn't,\ndevil knows which! Getzil's wife begins to flush and tremble, 'Gr\u00fcnishe,\nwe are relatives ... one blood--call him back! Why should he destroy\nhimself and my soul with him?'\n\n\"Then only Gr\u00fcne turned round. She was no fool, and soon took in the\nsituation. She got a few more rubles out of them, and made believe to go\nafter Beinishe.... It was soon rumored in the town that Beinishe was an\ninformer ... and Gr\u00fcne was glad of it ... she kept Beinishe on the\nstove, and bullied and drew blood at every householder's where there was\nanything wrong.\"\n\n\"At that rate, _she_ was the informer?\"\n\n\"First she, and then he himself. In his misery, he took to drink, hung\nabout at night in the public-houses, threatened to 'inform' all on his\nown account. He never gave Gr\u00fcne a penny, and spent all he had in\ndissipation. It was sad--a man like that to end so!\"\n\n\"What happened?\"\n\n\"He burnt up his inside with drink. First he went mad, and ran about in\nthe streets, or lay out somewhere for weeks under a hedge. But home to\nGr\u00fcne--not for any money!\n\n\"Even when he was quite a wreck, ten men couldn't get him back into his\nhouse. He fought and bit. He had to be brought into the house-of-study\n(the Hekdesh was no longer in existence), and there he died! They tried\nto save him, called in a specialist, recited Psalms.\"\n\n\"The L\u00e0med-W\u00f2fnik, too?\"\n\n\"Certainly!\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"A man with no inside--what could you expect?\"\n\n\n\n\nXVI\n\nTHE OUTCAST\n\n\nMay had been cold and wet from beginning to end. People began to feel as\nif summer would never come, as if it would go on freezing and raining\nforever. At last, the day before Pentecost, the sun shone out.\n\n\"Torah is light!\" said my father, with proud satisfaction, and began to\nlook for the Tikun[109] for the night of Pentecost.\n\n\"In honor of the holy feast-day!\" exclaimed my mother, joyfully, and\nwent back with fresh courage to her cake-making.\n\n\"I am going to bake Gelle Challeh!\"[110] she called to us.\n\nSoon the house was filled with the smell of freshly-kneaded dough,\nsaffron, cinnamon and cloves, sugared cheese and melted butter.\n\nMy younger sister Hannah took no part in what was going forward.\n\nShe sat by the window over a book, but she read nothing, and her eyes\nstared anxiously out into the street.\n\nOur mother called on her several times for help, but Hannah did not even\nanswer....\n\nThe pale face wears a scornful smile ... the delicate lips open, she is\nabout to speak! But she remains silent, and fastens her eyes upon her\nbook.\n\n\"Lazy thing!\" grumbles our mother, \"always poring over books!\nWorking-day or holiday, it's all the same to her!\"\n\nOur father, who rarely interferes in household matters, having found the\nbook and dusted it, lies down to sleep before bathing, to prepare for\nbeing up at night.\n\nOur mother stops complaining, lest she should wake him. She calls me\nquietly to her, gives me a few pennies, and tells me to go down-stairs\nand buy a bit of green, and some colored paper with which to festoon the\nwindows.\n\nHeaven knows, I am unwilling enough to leave the room wherein stands a\nbowl of sweet cream, another of sugared cheese, and where packets of\ncurrants and raisins lie all about. At the same time, going to buy, to\nbargain over, and to pay for greenery and paper, was still more\nseductive, and away I run.\n\nAnd it turned out to be such a dreadful Pentecost!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHannah, my sister, ran away!\n\nWe had gone to prayers, and my mother had lain down to rest before\nblessing the lights.... It was then they gave a signal--my mother\nremembered afterwards hearing a terrible whistle in her sleep. And she\nleft us, and went over to our enemies! And the time she chose was\nPentecost, the season of the giving of our Law!... It was then she left\nus.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nEverything passes away, joy and sorrow, good and evil, and still we go\nforward on our way to the land where all things are forgotten--or\nremembered anew.\n\nEverything we have lived through lies beneath our feet like stones in a\nbeaten track, like gravestones under which we have buried our friends,\ngood and bad.\n\nBut I cannot forget Hannah!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe life she had sought so eagerly spurned her from it, the vision of\nhappiness faded into thin air, the flowers turned to sharp thorns in her\ngrasp!\n\nThere was no return possible.\n\nIn her way stood the Law and two graves: her father's grave and her\nmother's.\n\nWhere is she?\n\nOnce every year, on the eve of Pentecost, she shows herself to me again.\n\nShe appears in the street, she stands outside at the window, as if she\nwere afraid, as if she had not the power to enter a Jewish home.\n\nShe gazes with staring eyes into the room, and sees me there alone.\n\nShe looks at me with dismay, supplication, and anger. I understand her.\n\n\"Where are they?\" she asks in dismay. \"Have pity on me!\" she says,\nimploring. And then, in anger, she lays the whole blame of the disaster\non us:\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"What could I know of your bitter feud with _them_? _You_ knew, you\nlearned all about it in school, _my_ books told me nothing, not a word!\n\n\"Living in the same house with you, I led a separate life. My\nstory-books were like mirrors filled with the bright reflection of\nother women's lives, and, as I read, my own appeared there in all its\ndreariness!\n\n\"I have betrayed something?\n\n\"I have been false? To what?\n\n\"I only exchanged saffron cakes for cakes of another sort, the tales in\nMother's books of legends for others far more vivid and entrancing--a\nbit of green in the window for the free, fresh green of the woods and\nfields--litanies for romances--the narrow, stifling routine of my daily\nlife for sunshine and flowers, for gladness and love! I never betrayed\n_you_--I never knew you!\n\n\"I knew nothing of your sorrow, you never spoke to me of yourselves. Why\ndid you not tell me of _your_ love, of the love which is your very\nbeing, why did you not tell me of your _beauty_--of the terrible,\nblood-stained beauty of Israel?\n\n\"The beautiful, the precious, the exalted in our religion, you hid it in\nyourselves, you men, you kept it from me, you kept it from us.\n\n\"Of me, of us, with our flesh and blood, with the strength of our youth\nstruggling and crying out for _life_--of us you asked only butter-cake\nand Gelle Challeh!\n\n\"You cast us out!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHe who is high above all peoples, who alone can see clearly through\ntheir tangled web of prejudice and hatred--_He_ shall judge her.\n\n\n\n\nXVII\n\nA CHAT\n\n\nIt is warm, real holiday weather, and Reb Shachneh, a tall, thin Jew,\none of the last old Kotzkers,[1] and Reb Zerach, one of the few\nremaining old Belzers,[111] are taking a stroll outside the town.\n\nAs young men they had been enemies, hating each other heart and soul.\nReb Shachneh led the Kotzkers against the Belzers, and Reb Zerach, the\nBelzers against the Kotzkers.\n\nBut now that they are old, and Kotzkers are \"not what they were,\" and\nBelzers have lost their \"go,\" they have separated themselves from their\nformer associates, and left the meeting-rooms where less pious, but\nyounger and stronger, men have taken the lead.\n\nThey made peace in the synagogue, in winter time, beside the stove, and\nnow, on this intermediate day of Passover, on the first fine afternoon,\nthey have come out together for a walk.\n\nThe sun shines in a wide, blue sky. The little grasses are springing up\nthrough the mould, and one can distinctly see the angel who stands\nbeside each blade, and cries: grow, grow!\n\nLittle birds fly about in flocks, looking for last year's nests, and Reb\nShachneh says to Reb Zerach:\n\n\"A Kotzker, you see, I mean a real Kotzker--the present ones don't\ncount--never thought much of the Haggadah.\"[112]\n\n\"But only of the dumplings?\" smiles Reb Zerach.\n\n\"Never mind about the dumplings!\" answers Reb Shachneh, gravely, \"and\ndon't laugh. You know the meaning of 'thou shalt not deliver up a slave\nto his master?'\"\n\n\"For me,\" says the Belzer with humble pride, \"it is enough to know the\nhidden meaning of the prayers!\"\n\nReb Shachneh pretends not to have heard, and continues:\n\n\"The literal interpretation is simple enough: If a slave, or a servant,\nor a serf, run away, one may not, according to the Law, catch him, bind\nhim, and give him up to his master--it is evident, if a man runs away,\nhis very life was endangered. But the hidden meaning is also quite\nclear: the body here below is a slave--it is the servant of the soul.\nThe body is sinful, it sees a piece of pork, an idol, a woman, what not,\nand is ready to jump out of its skin. But when the soul says, thou shalt\nnot! it must desist.\n\n\"On the other hand, suppose the soul desires to perform a religious act.\nThe body must be up and doing, however tired and harassed. The hands\nmust work, the feet must run, the lips move--and why? The soul, the\nlord, commands! And therefore it is written: 'Thou shalt not deliver\nup!'\n\n\"The body may not be handed over unconditionally to the soul. The fiery\nsoul would speedily burn it to ashes. Had the Creator wished for souls\nwithout bodies, he would not have made the world.\n\n\"The body also has its rights. 'He who fasts much is a sinner.' The body\nmust eat. He who would ride must feed his horse! Comes a feast, a\nholiday--be merry, too! Take a sip of brandy, rejoice, body, likewise!\nAnd the soul rejoices and the body rejoices--the soul in the\nbenediction, and the body in the glass!\n\n\"Passover, the season of our deliverance--here, body, catch a dumpling!\nAnd it is inspirited and cheered, and rejoices to fulfil the\ncommandment.\n\n\"Farewell, dumpling! Brother, do not laugh.\"\n\nReb Zerach opines that the matter is a deep one and worth consideration;\nbut he himself does not eat Sheruyah?[113]\n\n\"Do you _enjoy_ Passover cakes dry?\"\n\n\"For dessert?\" smiles Reb Zerach. \"And where are my teeth to eat them\nwith?\"\n\n\"How then do you observe the precept: 'And thou shalt rejoice in thy\nfeasts,' as regards the body?\"\n\n\"All sorts of ways. If it likes currant wine--well and good. I myself\nrevel in the Haggadah. I sit and repeat and count the plagues, and count\nand double them and multiply.\"\n\n\"Materialism!\"\n\n\"Materialism? After all the misery and the hard labor--after the long\nexile of the Divine Presence? In my opinion, there ought to be a custom\nintroduced of repeating the plagues seven times, and seven times 'Pour\nout thy wrath!' But the great thing is the plagues! I delight in them.\nI wish I could open the door at the plagues--let _them_ hear! Why should\nI be afraid? Do you suppose _they_ understand Hebrew?\"\n\nReb Shachneh is silent for a while, and then he relates the following:\n\n\"Listen! This is what happened one day with us. I assure you I won't\nexaggerate. In perhaps the tenth house from the Rebbe's of blessed\nmemory, there lived a Shochet who was (may I be forgiven for saying\nso--he is no more of this world) a mad butcher, a butcher among\nbutchers, one in a thousand. A neck like a bull's, eyebrows like\nbristles, hands like logs, and a voice, a voice! When he spoke, it\nsounded like distant thunder, or musketry. He must have been at one time\nor another a Belzer.\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" growls Reb Zerach.\n\n\"Well, and,\" continues Reb Shachneh, coolly, \"he used to pray with the\nmost extravagant gestures, with shouts and whispers.\n\n\"His 'they shall remember' reminded one of sprinkling fire with water.\"\n\n\"Let that pass!\"\n\n\"You can fancy the uproar when a fellow like this sat down to the\nHaggadah. In the Rebbe's chamber we could hear every word. He read, of\ncourse, like a butcher, and the laugh went round.\n\n\"The Rebbe of blessed memory scarcely moved his lips, and yet everyone\ncould see that he was smiling. Later, however, when the butcher began to\ncount the plagues, so that they shot from his mouth like bullets, and\nbrought his fist down on the table, so that the glasses rang again, the\nRebbe of blessed memory became melancholy.\"\n\n\"Melancholy? On a feast-day? Passover? What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Well, we asked him the reason why!\"\n\n\"And what did he answer?\"\n\n\"God Himself,\" was his reply, \"became melancholy on the occasion of the\nExodus.\"\n\n\"Where had he found that?\"\n\n\"It's a Midrash![114] When the children of Israel had crossed the Red\nSea, and the water had covered up and drowned Pharaoh and all his host,\nthen the angels began to sing songs, seraphim and ophanim flew into all\nthe seven heavens with hymns and glad tidings, all the stars and planets\ndanced and sang, and the celestial bodies--you can guess what\nrejoicings! But the Creator put an end to them. A Voice issued from the\nThrone:\n\n\"'My children are being drowned in the sea, and you rejoice and sing?'\n\n\"Because God created even Pharaoh and all his host, even the devil\nhimself, and it is written: 'His tender mercies are over all His\nworks.'\"\n\n\"Certainly!\" sighs Reb Zerach.\n\nHe says nothing more for a while, and then asks:\n\n\"And if it _is_ a Midrash, what has he added to it to deserve praise?\"\n\nReb Shachneh stands still, and says gravely:\n\n\"First, Belzer fool, no one has the duty to be original; there is no\nchronological order in the Law--the new is old, the old is new.\nSecondly, he showed us why we recite the Haggadah, even the plagues in\nthe Haggadah, to a mournful \"Sinni\" tune, a tune that is steeped in\ngrief.\n\n\"Thirdly, he translated the precept: _Al tism\u00e0ch Yisroel el Gil\nko-Ammim_: Materialist, rejoice not in a coarse way--you are no boor!\nRevenge is not for Jews.\"\n\n\n\n\nXVIII\n\nTHE PIKE[115]\n\n\nIn honor of the feast-day, live fish have been bought.\n\nTwo large pike are lying in a great, green glass bowl filled with water,\nand a little further off, in one of blackened earthenware, two or three\nsmall carp. These are no sea-folk, but they come out of a fairly wide\nriver, and they are straightened for room in the bowls.\n\nThe poor little carp, in the one of black glaze, have been aware of its\nconfines for some time past.\n\nThey have lain for a good hour by the clock, wondering what sort of a\nprison this may be.\n\nAnd there is plenty of leisure for thinking. It may be long before the\ncook comes home from market with good things for the feast-day long\nenough for even a carp to have an idea.\n\nBut the pike in the glass bowl have not taken in the situation yet. Time\nafter time they swim out strongly and bang their heads against the hard\nglass.\n\nPike have iron heads but dull wits. The two captive heroes have received\neach a hundred knocks from every part of the bowl, but they have not yet\nrealized that all is closed to them.\n\nThey _feel_ the walls, but the weak pike-eyes do not _see_ them.\n\nThe glass is green--it is just like river water--and yet there is no\ngetting out.\n\n\"It is witchcraft!\" says one pike to the other.\n\nThe other agrees with him.\n\n\"To-morrow there is an auction. The other bidders have bewitched us.\"\n\n\"Some crayfish or frog has done this.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt is only a short time since the net drew them out of the water. When\nthey got into the air they had fainted, to recover consciousness inside\na barrel of which the lid had been hammered down.\n\n\"How the days are drawing in!\" they had observed both at once.\n\nThere was very little room in the barrel, scarcely sufficient to turn\nin, and hardly water enough for anyone to breathe. What with having\nfainted before, and now this difficulty in breathing, they had fallen\ninto a doze, and had dreamt of all sorts of things, of the fair, and\neven of the opera and the ballet. But the dream-angel never showed them\nany kind of barrel.\n\nThey heard nothing, not even the opening of the barrel and the hubbub of\nthe market.\n\nNeither perceived they the trembling of the scales in which they\noscillated whilst the cook haggled over them with the fish-wife--or\nremarked the click-clack of the pointer that spoke their doom.\n\nThey slept still more soundly in the cook's basket, starting into life\nagain only in the bowl, beneath the rush of cold water. And now, after\ndoing unwilling penance for an hour against the glass, they have only\njust hit upon witchcraft.\n\n\"What are we to do?\" says one to the other.\n\nThe carp know themselves to be in prison.\n\nThey, too, have had experience of a long night, and awoke in a bowl.\n\n\"Someone,\" say they, \"had palmed off counterfeit bank-notes on us!\"\n\nIt will be proved, they are sure, if only one could get hold of someone\nwho will take the matter up properly.\n\nThey give a little leap into the air, catch sight of the pike, and fall\nback more dead than alive.\n\n\"They are going to eat us!\" they say, trembling. Not until they realize\nthat the pike are likewise in prison do they feel somewhat reassured.\n\n\"They, they certainly have been passing counterfeit notes, too!\" says\none carp to the other.\n\n\"Yes, and therein lies our salvation. _They_ will not keep silence, and,\nwith God's help, we shall all be set free together.\"\n\n\"And they will see us, and, with God's help, will eat us up!\"\n\nAnd the carp nestle closer against the bowl.\n\nThey can just see a tub full of onions on the kitchen floor.\n\n\"If we signed the contract, we might receive a golden order,\" observes\none of the pike.\n\n\"Please God, we shall be decorated yet,\" answers the other. \"It is a\ncase of witchcraft, but--\"\n\n\"But what?\"\n\n\"There is one thing.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"It sounds almost absurd--but--I wanted to tell you--we ought to\n_pray_,\" he stammers, \"it is the best thing against sorcery!\"\n\n\"To pray? Perhaps so!!\" Whereupon the two pike discover that it is years\nsince they prayed last.\n\nThey cannot remember a word.\n\n\"Ashr\u00e8,\"[116] begins one.\n\n\"Ashr\u00e8,\" repeats the other, and comes to a standstill.\n\n\"Oh, I want to pray!\" moans the first.\n\n\"So do I!\" chimes in the second, \"for when all is said and done, we are\nbut fish!\"\n\nA door opens in the wall, a little way, and two heads are seen in the\naperture--a tipsy-looking man's head, and a woman's with curl papers.\n\n\"Ah,\" exclaims the man's head, joyously, \"this is something like!\nPike--carp--and all the other good things.\"\n\n\"I should hope so! And I have sent for meat besides.\"\n\n\"My knowing little wife,\" chuckles the man's head.\n\n\"There, there, that will do.\"\n\nAnd the heads disappear.\n\n\"Did you hear?\" says a pike, \"there are carp, too.\"\n\n\"They have the best of it.\"\n\n\"How is that?\"\n\n\"To begin with, they have made no contracts, they are free agents.\nSecondly, they can leap.\"\n\n\"If they would only give a _good_ leap, they would find themselves back\nin the river.\"\n\n\"Quite true.\"\n\n\"And something good might come of it for us. Wait a bit--let's try!\nCarp!\"\n\nThe carp have suddenly swum to the surface of the water, and are poking\ntheir noses over the edge of the bowl.\n\nThe pike, face to face with the carp:\n\n\"Bad luck, brothers?\" he exclaimed.\n\n\"Bad,\" answer the carp.\n\n\"Bitter?\"\n\n\"Bitter!\"\n\n\"Very little water?\"\n\n\"Oh, very little!\"\n\n\"And it smells?\"\n\n\"Ugh!\"\n\n\"Not fit to live in?\"\n\n\"Not fit!\"\n\n\"We must get home, back to the river!\"\n\n\"We--must!\"\n\n\"We have forgotten what it was like in the river.\"\n\n\"Forgotten!\"\n\n\"A sin!\"\n\n\"A mortal sin!\"\n\n\"Let us beat our head against the wall and do penance.\"\n\nThe carp flatten their bellies against the bowl. The pike run their head\nagainst the glass till it rings again.\n\n\"One should leap away home!\" continues the pike.\n\n\"One should leap!\"\n\n\"Well--leap!\"\n\nThe pike commands, and the carp are out of the bowl and on the\nfloor--lying there more dead than alive.\n\n\"I never knew,\" says the second pike, \"that you were such an\norator--your lips drop honey!\"\n\nThe carp meanwhile are moaning.\n\n\"Hurry up!\" orders the pike.\n\nThe carp give another little spring.\n\n\"Oh,\" they moan, \"we do not see any river--and our bones are\nbreaking--and we cannot breathe.\"\n\n\"On with you--make an effort! It is not much further--give a jump!\"\n\nBut the carp are past hearing.\n\nThe carp lie dying on the floor, and the pike are having a dispute.\n\nBoth opine that any proper leap would carry one into the river, but one\nsays that other fish are wanted, not stupid carp, who can only leap in\nthe water, who cannot exist for an hour without food, and that what are\nwanted are--electric fish!\n\nAnd the other says: \"No, carp--only, lots and lots of carp. If one\nhundred thousand carp were to leap, _one_ would certainly fall into the\nriver, and if _one_ fell in, why, then--ha, ha!\"\n\n\n\n\nXIX\n\nTHE FAST\n\n\nA winter's night; Sarah sits by the oil-lamp, darning an old sock. She\nworks slowly, for her fingers are half-frozen; her lips are blue and\nbrown with cold; every now and then she lays down her work and runs up\nand down the room to warm her icy feet.\n\nIn a bed, on a bare straw mattress, sleep four children--two little\nheads at each end--covered up with some old clothes.\n\nNow one child and now another gives a start, a head is raised, and there\nis a plaintive chirp: \"Hungry!\"\n\n\"Patience, dears, patience!\" says Sarah, soothingly.\n\n\"Father will be here presently, and bring you some supper. I will be\nsure to wake you.\"\n\n\"And something hot?\" ask the children, whimpering. \"We have had nothing\nhot to-day yet!\"\n\n\"And something hot, too!\"\n\nBut she does not believe what she is saying.\n\nShe glances round the room--perhaps, after all, there is something left\nthat she can pawn. Nothing! Four bare, damp walls--split\nstove--everything clammy and cold--two or three broken dishes on the\nchimney-piece--on the stove, an old, battered Chanukah lamp--over-head,\nin the beam, a nail--sole relic of a lamp that hung from the ceiling;\ntwo empty beds without pillows--and nothing, nothing else!\n\nThe children are some time getting to sleep.\n\nSarah's heart aches as she looks at them.\n\nSuddenly she turns her eyes, red with crying, to the door--she has heard\nfootsteps, heavy footsteps, on the stairs leading down into the\nbasement--a clatter of cans against the wall, now to the right, now to\nthe left.\n\nA gleam of hope illumines her sunken features.\n\nShe rubs one foot against the other two or three times, rises stiffly,\nand goes to the door.\n\nShe opens it, and in comes a pale, stoop-shouldered Jew, with two empty\ncans.\n\n\"Well?\" she whispers.\n\nHe puts away the cans, takes off his yoke, and answers, lower still:\n\n\"Nothing--nothing at all; nobody paid me. To-morrow! they said. Everyone\nalways says to-morrow--the day after to-morrow--on the first day of the\nmonth!\"\n\n\"The children have hardly had a bite all day,\" articulates Sarah.\n\"Anyway, they're asleep--that is something. O, my poor children!\"\n\nShe can control herself no longer, and begins to cry quietly.\n\n\"What are you crying for?\" asks the man.\n\n\"O, Mendele, the children are so hungry.\" She is making desperate\nefforts to gulp down her tears.\n\n\"And what is to become of us?\" she moans. \"Things only get worse and\nworse!\"\n\n\"Worse? No, Sarah! It is a sin to speak so. We are better off than we\nwere this time last year. I had no food to give you, and no shelter. The\nchildren were all day rolling in the gutter, and they slept in the\ndirty courts. Now, at least, they sleep on straw, they have a roof over\ntheir head.\"\n\nSarah's sobs grow louder.\n\nShe has been reminded of the child that was taken from her out there in\nthe streets. It caught cold, grew hoarse, and died--and died, as it\nmight have died in the forest, without help of any kind--no tearing open\nthe Ark[117]--no measuring of graves--nothing said over it to exorcise\nthe evil eye--it went out like a candle.\n\nHe tries to comfort her:\n\n\"Don't cry, Sarah; don't cry so! Do not sin against God!\"\n\n\"Oh, Mendele, if only He would help us!\"\n\n\"Sarah, for your own sake don't take things so to heart. See what a\nfigure you have made of yourself. Do you know, it is ten years to-day\nsince we were married? Well, well, who would think you were the beauty\nof the town!\"\n\n\"And you, Mendele; do you remember, you were called Mendele the\nstrong--and now you are bent double, you are ill--and you don't tell me!\nO, my God, my God!\"\n\nThe cry escapes her, the children are startled out of their sleep, and\nbegin to wail anew: \"Bread! Hungry!\"\n\n\"Who ever heard of such a thing! Who is going to think of eating\nto-day!\" is Mendele's sudden exclamation.\n\nThe children sit up in alarm.\n\n\"This is a fast-day!\" continues Mendele with a stern face.\n\nSeveral minutes elapse before the children take in what has been said to\nthem.\n\n\"What sort of fast is it?\" they inquire tearfully.\n\nAnd Mendele with downcast eyes tells them that in the morning, during\nthe Reading of the Law, the Scroll fell from the desk. \"Whereupon,\" he\ncontinues, \"a fast was proclaimed, in which even sucking-children are to\ntake part.\" The children are silent, and he goes on to say:\n\n\"A fast like that on the Day of Atonement, beginning overnight.\"\n\nThe four children tumble out of bed; bare-footed, in their little ragged\nshirts, they begin to caper round the room, shouting: \"We are going to\nfast, to fast, to fast!\"\n\nMendele screens the light with his shoulders, so that they shall not see\ntheir mother's tears:\n\n\"There, that will do, children, that will do! Fast-days were not meant\nfor dancing. When the Rejoicing of the Law comes, then we will dance,\nplease God!\" The children get back into bed. Their hunger is forgotten.\n\nOne of them, a little girl, starts singing: \"Our Father, our King,\"\netc., and \"On the High Mountain,\" etc.\n\nMendele shivers from head to foot.\n\n\"One does not sing, either,\" he says in a choked voice.\n\nThe children are silent, and go off to sleep, tired out with singing and\ndancing. Only the eldest opens his eyes once more and inquires of his\nfather:\n\n\"Tate, when shall I be Bar-Mitzwah?\"[118]\n\n\"Not yet, not for a long time--in another four years. You must grow and\nget strong.\"\n\n\"Then you will buy me a pair of phylacteries?\"\n\n\"Of course.\"\n\n\"And a little bag to hold them?\"\n\n\"Why, certainly!\"\n\n\"And a little, tiny prayer-book with gilt edges?\"\n\n\"With God's help! You must pray to God, Cha\u00efmle!\"\n\n\"Then I shall keep all the fasts!\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, Cha\u00efmle, all the fasts,\" adding, below his breath: \"Lord of\nthe world, only not any like this one--not like to-day's.\"\n\n\n\n\nXX\n\nTHE WOMAN MISTRESS HANNAH\n\n\nA PACKET OF LETTERS\n\n\n1\n\nTwo letters which Hannah received from her brother Menachem Mendil, and\none letter from her sister-in-law, Eva G\u00fctel; altogether, three letters.\n\n\nFIRST LETTER\n\nLife and peace to my worthy sister, Mistress Hannah.\n\nI have received your letter, and I can tell you, I wept tears enough\nover it, and lay sighing and groaning one whole night long. But what was\nthe good, seeing God in heaven is witness that I can do nothing to help\nyou? And as to what you write about the inheritance, I must tell you,\ndear sister, there is no sense in it. According to the Jewish law, you\nhave no claim upon any part. Ask your husband, he is learned, he will\ntell you the same thing. But you need not wait for him to tell you: a\nclever woman like you can open the \"German Pentateuch\" and see for\nherself that Zelophehad's daughters only inherited because there were no\nsons. As soon as there are sons, the daughters inherit nothing, and our\nfather left no deed directing you were to inherit half as much as his\nmale descendants.\n\nAnd all you say about our father, peace be upon him, not having given\nyou the whole of your dowry, has nothing in it, because, if you come to\nthink, who _does_ get the whole? You know _I_ did not, and yet I have no\nclaim on anyone.\n\nBesides, common sense will tell you that if our father, peace be upon\nhim, did not keep to his engagement, neither did the other side, and so\nthe matter rested. The two parties forgave each other, as is the custom\namong us Jews.\n\nI would not trust my own judgment, but talked the matter over with our\nrabbi and his assistants, and we were all agreed that so it should be.\n\nFurther, as regards your contention that you boarded at home only half a\nyear instead of a whole one--I know nothing about it. Our father, peace\nbe upon him, never told me. And you know quite well that just then I was\nliving separated from my family and spent the whole time at the Rebbe's,\nlong life to him! and Eva G\u00fctel tells me it was this way: there was a\nbit of a dispute between you over our mother's seat in the women's Shool\n(peace be upon her), and you tore each other's hair, and our mother\n(peace be upon her) was greatly distressed. And one Sabbath evening you\npicked up your bundle and your husband and were off to his native town.\nIf so, what do we owe you?\n\nWhom do you mean in your letter? Who asked you to run away? When people\nwant to board, they should board.\n\nBut heaven forbid that I should distress you with reproaches! I only\nwish to show you how unjust you are. Of course, right or wrong, one has\nto act according to law, specially in the case of a sister. Only--what\nis the good of wishing? If one can't, one can't! You must know, dear\nsister, that before our father of blessed memory departed, he made a\nwill, by which he left the large Talmud to the large house-of-study and\nthe small edition to the small house-of-study; the Mishnayes and the\nBible were to be sent to the meeting-room where he used to recite the\nprayers--the funeral cost two hundred gulden, and I distributed alms to\nthe amount of fifty gulden--what am I saying? a great deal more than\nfifty. I divided our father's clothes among the poor, except the silk\ncloak, which I am keeping, agreeably to the will, for my little M\u00f6sheh,\nso that in a propitious hour he may walk in it to the marriage canopy,\nand may it be soon, even in our days, amen! What remains?\n\nNothing remains but the house. Well it isn't worth insuring. Even the\nroof, not of you be it said, has the falling-sickness--it hangs by a\nhair. The town-justice says, the old fire-wall must be taken down, and\naltogether it's in a dangerous state.\n\nYou fancy, dear sister, that I am doing well for myself! When our father\ndied and there was an end of board, I let the three little rooms to the\nleft to Grunem, the dealer, called Grunem Tzop (you must have known him\nand his wife Zlate). I worry along with the money, and can only just pay\nthe taxes and other duties that grow from day to day. Meantime I try\ndodges, give the collector a sip of brandy--come later, come to-morrow!\nand so on, but the rope round my neck tightens every day, and what the\nend of it will be, heaven only knows!\n\nI live in the three rooms to the right, that are one with the inn and\nthe public room. Times are very bad, the villages round about have taken\nthe pledge not to drink brandy. Beside this, the land-owner has opened\ncheap eating shops and tea houses for the peasants--what more need I\nsay? It's despair! One may stare one's eyes out before one sees a\npeasant come.\n\nYou say in your letter that everyone from here tells you I am\nflourishing. The fact is, people see the possessions of others with\nbigger eyes. One has to struggle for every dreier, and meanwhile there\nis Beile-Sasha's wedding coming, and I am getting old and gray with it\nall! The expenses are endless; they will lend you nothing; there is\nstill a silk over-robe wanting for the wedding outfit, and as soon as\nthe wedding is over, my Eva G\u00fctel must consult a doctor. If Shm\u00fcel, the\nR\u00f6feh, advises her to go, you can imagine the condition she must be in.\nI consulted the Rebbe (long life to him), and he also advised her going\nto Warsaw. Her cough gets worse every day--you would think people were\nchopping wood in the room.\n\nAnd as to your trying to frighten me by saying that if I don't behave\nmyself, you will write to our relative in Lublin, and she will go to her\nlawyer, and have me handed over to the Gentiles--you know, my dear\nsister, that I am not the least afraid. First, because a pious woman\nlike you, my sister, knows very well what a Jewish court is and\n(lehavd\u00eel) what a Gentile court is. You wouldn't do anything so stupid!\nNo Jewish woman would do that! And, even if you wanted to, you have a\nhusband, and he would never allow such a shameful proceeding. He would\nnever dare to show himself to his Rebbe or at the St\u00fcbel again.\n\nBesides that, I advise you not to throw away money on lawyers, they are\nincredible people; you give and give, and the moment you stop giving,\nthey don't know who you are.\n\nAnd I must remind you of the Tom\u00e0shef story which our father, on whom be\npeace, used to tell. You may have forgotten it, so I will tell it you\nover again. In Tom\u00e0shef there died a householder, and his daughter, a\ndivorced woman, fell upon the assessor--he was to give her a share in\nthe inheritance, according to _their_ custom. As she stood talking with\nthe assessor, a coal sprang out of the hearth in her room at home, the\nroom took fire, and a child of hers (not of you or any Jew be it said\nagain) was burned.\n\nAnd I advise you, sister Hannah, to be sorry, and do penance for what\nyou have written. Trouble, as they say, steals a man's wits--but it\nmight, heaven forbid, be brought against you, and you ought to impose\nsomething on yourself, if only a day's fasting.\n\nI, for my part, forgive you with my whole heart, and if, please God, you\ncome to my daughter's wedding, everything will be made up, and we shall\nall be happy together. Only forbear, for heaven's sake, to begin again\nabout going to law.\n\nAnd I am vexed on account of your husband, who says nothing to me about\nhis health; if he is angry with me, he commits a sin; he must know what\nis written about the sinfulness of anger, besides which there is a rumor\ncurrent that he was not once at the Rebbe's during the Solemn Days, but\nprayed all the while in the house-of-study, and they also say that he\nintends to abandon study and take up something or other else. He says he\nintends to work with his hands. You can imagine the grief this is to me.\nBecause what shall become of the Torah? And who shall study if not a\nclever head like him?\n\nHe must know that our father, on whom be peace, did not agree to the\nmarriage on _that_ condition. And especially nowadays, when the\n\"nations-of-the-world\" are taking to trade, and business decreases\ndaily, it is for the women to do business and for the men to devote\nthemselves to the Torah, and then God may have mercy on us. It would be\nbetter for him to get a diploma as a rabbi, or let him become a Shochet\nor a teacher--anything--only not a trader! If I were only sure that he\nwouldn't turn my child's heart away from _my_ Rebbe, I would send him my\nM\u00f6sheh'le for teaching and board.\n\nSee to it that your husband gives up those silly notions, and do you buy\na shop or a stall--and may the merits of the fathers on your side and on\nhis be your help and stay!\n\nFurther, I advise you to throw off the melancholy with which your letter\nis penetrated, so that it is heart-breaking to read. A human being\nwithout faith is worse than a beast. He goes about the world like an\norphan without a father. We have a God in heaven, blessed be He, and He\nwill not forsake us.\n\nWhen a person falls into melancholy, it is a sign that he has no faith\nand no trust. And this leads, heaven forbid, to worse things, the very\nnames of which shall not pass my lips.\n\nWrite me also, sister Hannah, how peas are selling with you. Our two\ngreat traders--you remember them? the lame Yochanan and the blind\nYoneh--have raised the price, and our nobleman cannot get any for\nseed--one might do a little business. It may be heaven's will that I\nshould make a trifle toward wedding expenses. Of course, I don't mean\nyou to do me a kindness for nothing. If anything comes of it, I will\nsend you some money, so that you and your husband may come to\nBeile-Sasha's wedding--and I will give a present for you--a wedding\npresent from the bride's family.\n\nEva G\u00fctel sends you her very friendly greetings; she does not write\nherself because it is fair-day; there are two produce dealers here of\nthe Samoscz gluttons, and they insist on having stuffed fish. The bride\nhas gone to the tailor's to be measured for a dress, and I am left alone\nto keep an eye on the Gentile cooks.\n\nTry now, dear sister, for heaven's sake, not to take things to heart and\nto have faith. He who feeds the worm in the earth and the bird in its\nnest, will not forsake you.\n\nGreet your husband.\n\nFrom me, your brother\n\nMENACHEM MENDIL.\n\n\nSECOND LETTER\n\nLife and peace to my sister Mistress Hannah.\n\nI have received your second letter. It was soaked with tears and full of\ninsults directed against me, my wife Eva G\u00fctel, and even the bride,\nBeile-Sasha, and it has upset me very much, for why? You say, sister\nHannah, that I am a bandit, that I met you, heaven forbid, in a wood,\nand, heaven forbid, murdered you; that it was I and my wife, Eva G\u00fctel,\nwho drove you from the house; that Beile-Sasha, in your opinion, is a\nhussy, because she is ordering silk dresses--what am I to say? I must\nlisten in silence, knowing the trouble you are in--that it is not you\nthat speak, but your heavy heart.\n\nBut it is not as you think. I am no murderer, thank heaven! And were any\none to come from the street and declare that the cloak I am wearing is\nhis, and that he is going to law about it, I should go with him to the\nrabbi's without a word. And if, God willing, you come to the wedding, we\nwill go together and have it out.\n\nAnd see here: About the board you did not eat, you confess yourself in\nyour letter that it came about through a quarrel between you and my wife\n(it's not my affair who began it), and all I see is, that your husband\nwas a great booby--\"that he followed after his wife.\" They say that you\nran away in the evening following Sabbath, and made yourselves a\nlaughing-stock. Our father was greatly distressed, and it shortened his\ndays (he said so plainly--neighbors heard it), and you put it all on Eva\nG\u00fctel! It's a calumny!\n\nBut what is done, is done! Our father lies in his grave. There can be no\nmore question of board or anything else.\n\nAnd you know very well that Beile-Sasha, the bride, is no hussy. She,\npoor thing, is quite innocent in the matter. Her future father-in-law,\nthe Takif,[119] forced me to order the silk dresses. Once even she\ncried, and said it would ruin us, but what am I to do, when the contract\nsays \"in dresses of silk and satin,\" and he will hear of no\nalteration--it's take it or leave it. And there would be no choice but\nto see my daughter an old maid.\n\nAnd you know the dowry will not be given entirely in cash. I have\npromised six, and given three, hundred rubles; I have mortgaged the\nhouse for two hundred rubles, and you know the house stands in our\nfather's name, so that I had to pay extra--and now I am so short of\nmoney that may God have mercy on me.\n\nBut what is the use of telling that to a woman! Our sages were right\nwhen they said: \"Women are feather-brained,\" and there is the proverb:\n\"Long hair (in girls, of course) and short wits.\" I shall write\nseparately to your husband; he is a man learned in the Law, and he will\nknow that one human being should not lean upon another, because, as we\nare told, a human being can only just support himself. One must have\nfaith.\n\nAnd I am convinced that God will not forsake you. He does not forsake\nthe weakest fly. The Almighty alone can help you, you must pray to Him,\nand I, for my part, when next I am, God willing, at _his_ house[120]\n(long life to him), I shall make a special offering in your behalf. That\n_must_ help.\n\nAs to the peas, the business is off. Before there was time to turn,\nGabriel, the tenant, had brought several cartloads from your part of the\ncountry--he has made a fortune. He is about to marry a son and has\nactually given a dowry! It so pleased God that you should not be able\nto afford a stamp, your answer was belated, and Gabriel is the winner.\n\nAnd as to what you write about your child being poorly, you must consult\nthe R\u00f6feh. Don't fancy it in danger. Keep up your spirits. I have done\nmy part: I got up quite early, went to the great house-of-study, dropped\na coin into the collecting box of Me\u00efr Baal-Ness, wrote on the east wall\n\"for complete recovery,\" in big letters, and as soon as we have made a\nlittle money I will send some candles to the Shool. I will also tell the\nRebbe, and _not_ explain that your husband is no follower of _his_. And\nyou know that I am quite a son of the house.\n\nFrom me, thy brother\n\nMENACHEM MENDIL.\n\nMy wife, Eva G\u00fctel, sends you a very friendly greeting; the bride,\nanother. One of these days, God willing, you will receive an invitation\nto the wedding, and may it bring us all good luck.\n\nMENACHEM MENDIL, the above.\n\n\nTHIRD LETTER\n\nTo my beloved sister-in-law and worthy relative, the excellent woman,\nMistress Hannah.\n\nI beg to inform you that from this time on _I_ shall receive your\nletters, and not my tender-hearted husband, and _I_--I will burn them.\n\nSecondly, my dear sister-in-law, between ourselves, it was great\nforwardness on your part to fall upon us just before the wedding,\nturning our days into nights, and now you wish to blight our married\nlife with discord. You must fancy that you are still boarding with my\nfather-in-law, a spoiled only daughter that has never learned manners;\nand just because you can't have the moon to play with, you are ready to\nscratch people's eyes out, turn the world upside down, and your cries\npierce the heavens. I can hear you now, tapping with your feet, and the\nbang of your fist on the table, while your ninny of a husband goes into\nthe corner, wags his sheep's head, and his ear-locks shake like Lulavim;\nand father-in-law, may he forgive me, lets the spoiled child have her\nway.\n\nDear sister-in-law Hannah! It is time to awaken from sleep, to forget\nthe empty dreams, and to realize the kind of world one is in. My\nfather-in-law of blessed memory has long lain in his grave--there is an\nend to boarding. You can only be spoiled by your husband now, and\nI--show you twice five fingers.\n\nAnd I have told the postman to deliver your letters to me, not to my\nhusband, my innocent lamb. You know, dear sister-in-law, that people are\nscandalized at the way you go on. Whoever hears of it thinks you are\npossessed. Soril the Neggidah[121] told me plainly, she thought you\ndeserved to be crimped like a fish. And I cannot make out what it is you\nwant of me. It was not I, Eva G\u00fctel, who wrote the Torah; it was not I,\nEva G\u00fctel, who descended on Sinai, with thunder and lightning, to\ndeprive you of a share in the inheritance. And if my father-in-law was\nas great an idler as your husband is a ninny, and no document made\nspecial provision for you, am I to blame? It is not for me to advise the\nAlmighty, the keys of the Gate of Mercy are not in my pocket. There is a\nSomebody whom to implore. Have you no prayer-book, no Supplications?\nPray, beg for mercy! And if your child is really ill, is there no Ark to\ntear open--are there no graves to measure--no pious offerings to make?\nBut the only idea you have is: Eva G\u00fctel! Eva G\u00fctel, and once more, Eva\nG\u00fctel! If you haven't Parnosseh, whose fault? Eva G\u00fctel's, and you pour\nout upon her the bitterness of your heart. If the child is ill, whose\nfault? Of course, Eva G\u00fctel's, and you scream my head off. God in heaven\nknows the truth, I am a sick woman; I struggle for breath, and if I am\nvexed, I am at death's door. And when the cough seizes me, I think it's\nall over--that I am done for. I live, as they say, with one foot in the\nhouse and one in the grave. And if the doctors order me abroad to drink\nthe waters, I shall be left, heaven forbid, without so much as a\nchemise. And who is to look after the house, and the housekeeping, and\nthe sick children, _wos_?\n\nI think you know that the whole house depends on me, that Menachem\nMendil has only to move to cause a disaster. Of all putty-fingers! A man\nthat's no use to heaven or earth, can't put a hand into cold\nwater--nothing! And now, as if I hadn't troubles enough, the doctor must\nneeds come and say my liver is enlarged, the danger great, and, in fact,\nthat may heaven have mercy on me! And _you_ insisting that I am a rich\nwoman who can help you!\n\nDear sister-in-law, I tell you, you have the heart of a Tartar, not that\nof a Jewish daughter; you are without compassion! It is time you left\noff writing those affectionate letters of yours. And, for heaven's sake,\ncome to the wedding, which, please God, will be soon. _When_, I don't\nexactly know, and I will not be responsible for the day. Menachem Mendil\nshall go to the holy man and consult with him, so that it take place in\na propitious hour. I will be sure to tell you. And you are not to bring\npresents, and if your husband, as I hope, comes with you, you will be\namong the privileged guests, and I will seat you at the top of the\ntable. And the bride also begs very much that you will come to her\nwedding. Only you must behave well, remember where you are, and not put\nus to shame and confusion.\n\nGreet your husband and wish the child a complete recovery.\n\nFrom me, your sister-in-law\n\nEVA G\u00dcTEL.\n\n\n2\n\nFour letters which Hannah received from her husband, Shm\u00f9el M\u00f6sheh.\n\n\nFIRST LETTER\n\nTo my beloved wife Mistress Hannah:\n\nWhen my letter is given into your hands, I, Shm\u00f9el M\u00f6sheh, shall be\nalready far away. And I beg you with my whole heart to forgive me for\nthat same. I left you not of my own good will: I couldn't bear it any\nlonger, I saw plainly that there was no help for it, that the trouble\nwas not to be borne. We have eaten up the dowry, the inheritance has\nbeen swallowed by your bandit of a brother. He used the time when the\nletters were passing between you to have the house entered in the name\nof his son-in-law's father. I couldn't set up any kind of business, I\nhadn't the wherewithal. There was nothing left for me but to hang\nmyself, which heaven forbid, like Leezer, the tailor, or to run away to\nAmerica. I chose America, so as at least not to lose the other world as\nwell. And I shall not be idle there. With God's help and with the sweat\nof my brow and with my ten fingers, I will earn my bread, and perhaps\nGod will have mercy and send a blessing into my ten fingers, and perhaps\nhe will also bless your trade in onions, and bring us together again;\neither me to you or you to me. Amen, thus may it seem good in His sight.\n\nAnd I beg of you, dear, good Hannah, not to take it to heart, not to cry\nso much! You know, I only go away for the sake of Parnosseh--a \"bit of\nbread.\" You are my wife Hannah, and I am your husband, Shm\u00f9el M\u00f6sheh,\nand we are both bound to the child, life and health to it. If there had\nonly been a piece of dry bread, I wouldn't have done it. Perhaps He\nwhose Name is blessed may meantime have compassion, and that, when your\nbrother the bandit, hears that I, heaven forbid, have left you a\ngrass-widow, he will be touched, his stony heart will soften, and he\nwill perhaps send you a few rubles.\n\nMy precious Hannah, what am I to say to you? I must tell you that the\nidea of going away and leaving you with the child came into my head many\nand many a time. I saw long ago that I had no other choice. I thought\nit over day and night, at prayer and at study.\n\nI only waited till the child should be well. And when it got better, I\nhadn't the heart to tell you I wanted to go away, whither my eyes should\ntake me. I was afraid you would say you wouldn't allow it, and that I\nshould not be able to act against your will. So I kept everything to\nmyself, ate my heart out in silence. But the day before yesterday, when\nyou brought home a pound of bread, and divided it between me and the\nchild, and said, you had eaten at our neighbor's, and I saw in your\nface, which turned all colors--because you cannot tell a lie--that you\nwere fooling me, that you hadn't had a bite, then I felt how I was\nsinning against you. Eating the bread, I felt as if it were your flesh,\nand afterward, drinking a glass of tea, as if it were your blood. My\neyes opened, and I saw, for the first time, what a sinner in Israel I\nwas. And yet I was afraid to speak out. I ran away without your knowing.\n\nI pawned my outer cloak and prayer-scarf to Yechiel the\nmoney-lender--but don't, for the love of heaven, let anyone know--and\npaid for my journey. And if I should be in need, Jews are charitable and\nwill not let me fall dead in the street; and I have made a vow that\nlater on, when His Name shall have had mercy, and I have earned\nsomething, to give it in charity, not only what I got, but more, too, if\nGod so please.\n\nYou must understand, my precious Hannah, how hard and bitter it is for\nme to go away. When our dear only child was born, it never occurred to\nme that I should have to leave it fatherless, even for a time.\n\nThe night I left I must have stood over your bed an hour by the clock.\nYou were asleep. And I saw in the moonlight, for the first time, what\nyou, poor thing, have come to look like; and that the child was as\nyellow as wax. My heart choked me for terror and pity--I nearly burst\nout crying, and I left the room half-dead. I knocked at the baker's and\nbought a loaf, stole back into the house and left it with you, and stood\nand looked at you a little while longer, and it was all I could do to\ndrag myself away. What more am I to tell you? A man can go through the\nsuffering of a hundred years in one minute.\n\nHannah Kr\u00f6n,[122] I know that I am a bandit, a murderer, not to have got\nyou a divorce, or at all events a conditional divorce--but God in heaven\nis my witness: I hadn't the heart! I felt that if I left you a divorce,\nI should die of grief on the way. We are a true and faithful couple. God\nHimself was present at our union, and I am bound to you with my whole\nheart, we are one soul in two bodies, and I do not know how I shall live\nwithout you and without the child, may it be well, even for a minute.\nAnd should anyone say I have left you a grass-widow, don't believe it;\nfor I, Shm\u00f9el M\u00f6sheh, am your husband, and I have only done what I _had_\nto do. What will misery not drive a man to? Hannah'li Kr\u00f6n, if I could\nlay my heart open before you, you would see what is going on there, and\nI should feel a little happier. As it is, dear soul, I am very wretched,\nthe tears are pouring from my eyes so that I cannot see what I am\nwriting, and my heart aches and my brain goes round like a\nmill-wheel--and my teeth chatter, and the letter-carrier, the\nilliterate boor, stands over me and bangs on the table and cries: \"I\nmust go! I must go!\"\n\nLord of the world, have pity on me now and on my wife Hannah, health to\nher, and on the child, so that I may have joy of it yet.\n\nFrom me, your dear husband, who writes in the inn on the way,\n\nSHM\u00d9EL M\u00d6SHEH.\n\n\nSECOND LETTER\n\nMy precious and beloved wife:\n\nWhat am I to say to you? I see clearly that my idea of going away was\nheaven-sent, that God Himself put the thought of America into my head;\neverything He does is for the best.\n\nMy dear Hannah, whenever I shut my eyes I fancy myself at home again,\nand the dream comes from the other end of the world. For who would have\nthought that an idler like me, such a nincompoop as I am, such a born\nfool, should ride on a railway, cross the sea in a ship, and arrive safe\nin America? The finger of God! \"I will praise the Lord\"--it was God's\ndisposing--His will alone enabled me to leave you and the child, and may\nwe be counted worthy to rear it for the Torah, the marriage canopy, and\nall good works.\n\nHannah'li Kr\u00f6n, I have seen great wonders on dry land, but nothing to\nwhat I saw on the sea. While I was at sea, I forgot everything I had\nseen on dry land, and now, among the wonders of America, I begin to,\nforget about the sea.\n\nAt first I was so miserable on board ship, there are no words for it.\nBut all ended well, and I am sure it was for your sake and the child's.\n\nHannah'li, I am sure you remember Leeb the reader,[123] who came to our\ntown once a few years ago, and recited the prayers in our Shool during\nthe Solemn Days. I remember that after the Day of Atonement you told me\nyou had never heard such davenen[124] in your life. I even recall the\nvery words you used: Leeb the reader \"roars like a lion and weeps like a\nchild.\"\n\nNext morning there was something of a commotion in the town; people had\nforgotten Leeb the reader, hadn't paid him properly, and he, poor man,\nwent from house to house collecting money--with a little girl, you\nremember, whose name was Genendil. She accompanied her father's singing\nwith her childish voice. When they came to our house, you were very\nsorry for her, took her into your lap, kissed her on the head, and gave\nher something, I forget what. And you cried for compassion over the\nmotherless child. Perhaps you wonder at my remembering all this?\n\nYou see, Hannah'li Kr\u00f6n, I remember all the kind things you said and all\nyour actions, for they were full of charm. You are continually before\nme. I fancied sometimes, crossing the sea, that you stood beside me, and\nthat the child had hold of your apron, and I heard your voices, and they\nsounded in my ears with a sweetness beyond all description.\n\nAnd I have come across Leeb the reader, by the way.\n\nHeaven forgive me, but Leeb the reader has sunk very low.\n\nHe paid no attention on board ship as to whether the food were kosher or\nnot, and he drinks as is not the way with Jews. I never once saw him in\nprayer-scarf and phylacteries the whole time, or saying grace after\nmeat. He goes about all day without a hat--and not content with this, he\nleads his daughter into the same paths. The Genendil of those days is\nnow about seventeen. You should see her--a picture! And he made her sing\nand dance before the passengers on board ship--and she sings in\ndifferent languages. The people listened and clapped their hands with\ndelight and cried out goodness knows what. And it was all so boisterous\nthat really--....\n\nAt first--why deny it?--I was very pleased to see them. It's always\nsomebody from home, I thought. I won't have to hang about so lonely and\nwretched. But afterward I felt greatly distressed. I couldn't bear to\nwatch his goings-on with his daughter. And now and again it cut me to\nthe heart to hear a Jew, who used to stand at the reading-desk, a\nmessenger of Israel to the Almighty, talk such disgusting nonsense. And\nhis voice is burned with brandy.\n\nAnd they must take me in hand and try to make me presentable. They made\nfun of me on board. It was always: \"Idler!\" \"Fool!\" He tweaked my\near-locks; she pulled the fringe off my \"little prayer-scarf,\" and the\nwhole ship took it up.\n\nAnd what ailed them at me? That I avoided forbidden food and preferred\nto fast rather than touch it.\n\nYou know, I dislike quarrelling, so I edged away, hid in a corner, and\nwept my heart out in secret.\n\nBut they discovered me and made a laughing-stock of me, and I thought it\nwould be my death.\n\nIt is only here, in America, that I see it was all a godsend; that God,\nin His great goodness, had sent Leeb the reader before me into America,\nas He sent Joseph before his brothers into Egypt.\n\nBecause, what should I have done without them? A man without the\nlanguage of the country, without a trade, not knowing at which door to\nknock? And Leeb the reader is quite at home here, talks English\nfluently, and he got me straight away into a cigar-factory, and I am at\nwork and earning something already.\n\nMeanwhile we are in the same lodging, because how should I set about\nfinding one for myself?\n\nAnd they behave quite differently to me now. Genendil has given over\nquizzing me about my beard and ear-locks, and keeps at a distance, as\nbeseems a Jewish daughter. She cooks for us, and that is very important,\nalthough I eat no meat, only eggs, and I drink tea without milk.[125]\nShe washes for us, too.\n\nThere is a lesson to be learned from this, namely, that what the Lord\ndoes is for the best.\n\nAnd do you know _why_ it has all turned out for the best? For _your_\nsake!\n\nOn the boat, already, when I began to feel I could bear it no longer, I\nplucked up my courage and went to Genendil and told her I was your\nhusband. I recalled to her memory the time after the Day of Atonement\nwhen they were in our house, how good you were to her, how you took her\non your knee, and so on.\n\nHer manner changed at once, she had compassion on me, and her eyes\nfilled with tears. Then she ran to her father, and talked it over with\nhim, and we made peace.\n\nThey immediately asked the captain to treat me better, and he agreed to\ndo so.\n\nI was given bread as much as I could eat, and tea as much as I could\ndrink. The crew stopped tormenting me, and I began to breathe again.\n\nYou should have seen what a favorite Genendil was on board. And no\nwonder: first, she is a great beauty, and for a beauty people will jump\ninto the sea; secondly, she is really good-natured, and people are\nsimply charmed by her.\n\nAnd now, my precious wife, I will give you some good news:\n\nLeeb the reader tells me I shall earn at least ten dollars a week.\n\nI reckon to do as follows: the half, five dollars, I will send to you,\nand keep five for myself. I will live on this and save up to buy a\nTalmud. The Mishnah books I brought with me. I have settled to read at\nleast ten pages of the Gemoreh a week. I won't buy a prayer-scarf,\nbecause so far I have prayed in Leeb the reader's--for Leeb the reader\nhad one with him.\n\nTo what end, I don't know, because, as to praying--never a word!\n\nI persuade myself, this is also heaven-sent; he was made to bring a\nprayer-scarf on my account.\n\nPerhaps he means to pray at the reading-desk during the Solemn Days. Who\nknows? They are drawing near. Anything is possible in America. The world\nhere is topsy-turvy. And the Lord knows best what is good for a man.\n\nDo you know what? I am not angry with your brother, the bandit, any\nlonger. It's the same thing again: I tell you, that also was a godsend;\nit couldn't otherwise be possible that a man should treat his sister so.\n\nThat was all brought about in order that I should run away to America,\nand send for you to come to me. And when, God helping, I have made some\nmoney, I will assist your brother, too. I tell you, he also is a pauper.\nI see now--what _we_ call a rich man is a beggar in America.\n\nI end my letter, and this time briefly, although I have heaps and heaps\nmore to say, because I am afraid Leeb the reader and Genendil may come\nin, and I don't want them to see what I have written to you. And I beg\nof you very much not to show my letters to a living soul. Why need a\nstranger know of our doings? And I hug and kiss the child, long life to\nit. Give it ten thousand loving kisses from me--do you hear?\n\nFrom me, your husband\n\nSHM\u00d9EL M\u00d6SHEH.\n\n\nTHIRD LETTER\n\nMy beloved wife:\n\nI can remember when Yoneh the shoemaker went to America, and people\nbegan to talk about it for the first time, wondering what it was like\nthere, how things were done.\n\nThey asked, whether people walked on their heads, and it is true that\neverything here is upside down. No sort of order, only a great shouting\nand noise, as in the butchers' meeting-house at home.\n\nImagine, for instance, Paltiel the wadding-maker and Y\u00f6ssil the tanner\ncoming and saying that our rabbi is not learned; that he is not\nexperienced enough in the application of the Law, or that they are not\nsatisfied with the head of the community--that they want another rabbi,\nanother communal head. Well, wouldn't one hold one's sides laughing?\n\nAnd here, in America, workmen, cigar-cutters, for instance like me, have\na word to say in everything. They share in the elections, take part in\nthe voting, and choose--a President.\n\nAnd what do you think that is? A President is nothing more nor less than\nthe supreme head of the whole country. And America, so I have heard, is\nten times as large as the whole of Europe. You see what that means? Now\nimagine my surprise, as I sit in my room one evening, thinking of home,\nand suddenly the door opens, and there come in two workmen, ordinary\nworkmen, who stand with me at the same machine, and are _Ach\u00e8nu Ben\u00e8\nYisro\u00e8l_.[126] And they laid two names before me, I don't even recollect\nwhat they were, and tell me, I also am a workman, and must see to the\nelection of a President who shall favor our class.\n\nAnd they told me that _one_ President was all for the rich people and\ntrod down all those who lived by their ten fingers; while the second,\nthe one they wanted to have elected, was a jewel; he stood for the\nworkingman like a flint, and pursued the bloated upper classes with a\nfierce hatred. And more such foolishness, which I did not understand.\n\nInwardly I laughed at them. But for the sake of peace--it is not seemly\nto be rude to people--I did them the favor and nodded yes.\n\nAll I wanted was to get rid of them, so as to sit down and write to you.\n\nBut--isn't it a madness?\n\nThey say, if the President is elected according to their wish, I shall\nearn ten dollars a week, and if not, only nine or perhaps eight.\n\nAnd Leeb the reader says he understands politics--that there is sense in\nit all--and that if I remain here some time, I shall get to know\nsomething about it, too. Well, perhaps so--I nod my head. And I think to\nmyself, he has taken a drop too much and is talking nonsense. But he\nswore that during election-time he lived on it, and had a little money\nover for later. I'm sure I don't see how.\n\nBut, joking apart, it's not our affair whether one or the other is\nPresident; it won't make much difference to us.\n\nThe fact is, I often feel very depressed, the tears fall from my eyes on\nthe tobacco leaves that I am cutting, and I don't sleep well at night.\nSometimes there is a noise in my ears, and my head aches whole days\ntogether--and there is no better remedy for all this than to take\npaper, pen, and ink, and write a letter to my dear Hannah.\n\nMy precious wife, I cannot keep anything from you. I have to tell you\neverything: I am still reading the Mishnah--I have got no Talmud yet.\nAnd do you know why? Because I have had to make another outlay.\n\nYou know that it is everywhere the same world. Although here they cry\nwithout stopping, \"Liberty! liberty!\" it isn't worth an onion. Here,\ntoo, they dislike Jews. They are, if possible, more contemptuous of\ntheir appearance. There are no dogs that bark at them in the street and\ntear their skirts, but there are plenty of hooligans here also. As soon\nas they catch sight of a \"capote\"[127] there is a cry: \"Jew, Jew!\" which\nis the same as _Zhidd_[128] with us. And they throw stones and\nmud--there is no lack of mud here, either. So what could I do? I did\nwhat all the Jews do here--I tucked away my ear-locks behind my ears,\nand I bought (to be paid for by degrees--a custom they have) \"German\"\nclothes. There was an end to the money. And you, too, Hannah'li, when\nyou come, will have to dress differently, for a custom stultifies a\nlaw--and it is their custom.\n\nAnd as to your writing that you don't like Genendil, I cannot see why.\nWhat ails you at her? It is not for me to set other people right.\nBesides, I am sure she only does it all for Parnosseh. She is as modest\nby nature as any other Jewish daughter. All day long, while Leeb the\nreader and I are at the factory, she cooks and washes and sweeps out the\nrooms. It is only in the evening that she goes with her father to\n_their_ places of amusement, where she sings and plays and dances before\nthe public. I sit by myself at home, read Torah, and write to you.\nTowards midnight they come home, we drink tea together, and we go to\nbed.\n\nAnd as to your saying, you think Genendil stole the spoon which was\nafterwards missing--that is nonsense!\n\nGenendil may not be very pious as regards the faith, but she would never\nthink of touching other people's property. For goodness' sake, don't\never let her hear of it. She treats me like her own child, and is always\nasking me if I don't need a clean shirt or a glass of tea.\n\nShe is really and truly a good girl. She gives all her earnings to her\nfather, and treats him in a way he doesn't deserve, although at times he\ncomes home very cheerful and talks nineteen to the dozen.\n\nAnd Leeb the reader has told me that he is collecting a dowry for her,\nand that, as soon as he has the first thousand dollars, he will find her\na bridegroom and marry her according to the law of Moses and of Israel,\nand she will not have to strain her throat for the public any more. I\ndon't know if he really means it--but I hope so. God grant he may\nsucceed and rid her of the ugly Parnosseh.\n\nGenendil was there when he said this and blushed for shame, as a Jewish\ngirl should do; so she is evidently agreed.\n\nI implore you, dearest Hannah, to put away calumny and evil-speaking.\nThat is not right, it only does for gossips in a small town. And you,\nHannah dear, must come to America. Here the women are different--less\nflighty, more serious, and as occupied as the men.\n\nTo return to the subject, your Shm\u00f9el M\u00f6sheh is no tailor or shoemaker,\nto throw over his wife for another woman. You mustn't imagine such a\nthing! It is an insult! You know that your words pierce my heart like\nknives, and if Leeb the reader and his daughter knew of it, they would\nforsake me, and I should be left alone in a desert! It would be a\ncalamity, for I don't know the language, only a few words, and I should\nbe quite helpless.\n\nAnd now I beg of you, my dear Hannah, I beg very much, take the child's\nhand and guide it across the paper, so that it may write me\nsomething--let me see at least a mark or two it has made! Lord of the\nworld, how often I get away into a corner and have a good cry! And why?\nBecause I was not found worthy to teach my child the Law! And as if I\nwere not suffering enough, there come your letters and strew salt on my\nwounds. Look here, to-day Leeb the reader asked me, and Genendil, too\n(here she is called Sophie), nodded her head, to go with them and hear\nher sing and see her dance, and I wouldn't. Leeb the reader said,\n\"Foolish Chossid!\" _She_ turned up her nose. But I don't care! I shall\ngo my own ways and not a hair's breadth will I turn aside!\n\nKeep well, you and our child. Such is the wish of your husband\n\nSHM\u00d9EL M\u00d6SHEH.\n\nPlease don't let on about the clothes! Not a soul in our town must know\nof it, or I would be ashamed to lift my eyes.\n\nS. M.\n\n\nFOURTH LETTER\n\nTo my worthy wife Mistress Hannah:\n\nI have written ten letters without mentioning Genendil's name. I have\nnot even mentioned her father, Leeb the reader. After a great deal of\ntrouble, I have gone into another lodging, at a Shochet's, and haven't\nseen her for weeks, and yet you go on writing nothing but Genendil and\nGenendil, and Sophie and Sophie! And what is it you want of her? What?\nMay I be well, and may you be well, and may it be granted us to meet\nagain in peace, with the child, as surely as I saw Sophie come into the\nfactory to see her father--and the director himself went up to her and\nbegan to talk to her and to pay her compliments; and although I did not\nunderstand what he said, I know he meant no good by it. And he wanted to\nstroke her cheek. Well, what do you think? She gave him such a slap\nacross the hand that I was dumbfounded! And you should have seen the way\nshe turned away from him and went out! I was just delighted.\n\nSo you see that, in spite of everything, Genendil is a good girl, and\nthat you are unjust to her. You tell me I shall be caught like a fish in\na net and such-like rubbish. I swear to you, as it were by the Torah on\nthe Day of Atonement, that it is a lie; that for your sake I have gone\naway from her and avoid her as far as possible. If we do meet, I answer\na hundred words with a nod. Once more: Upon my faith, you are unjust to\nher! Heaven forbid, you sin before God! But that is nothing, I would\nhave passed it over as usual, only it has led to something so dreadful,\nthat, God help us! I would rather the earth had swallowed me up than\nthat I had lived to endure the shame.\n\nLast week I was taken poorly while at work; I grew giddy and fainted.\nWhen I came to myself, I was in bed in my own room. Beside the bed stood\na doctor. He said it was a fever. I was laid up for ten days. And Leeb\nthe reader never left me the whole time, and nursed me as if I had been\nhis own child. Afterward, when I had recovered full consciousness, I\nlearnt that while I lay in the fever, Sophie used to come in, too, and\nvisit me--and it was just then there came one of your post-cards in\nwhich you pour out upon her the bitterness of your heart--they most\ncertainly read it, because I was lying in a fever.\n\nAnd while you were writing your ugly words and calumnies, they, so to\nsay, were risking their lives for me--they sent for doctors, made up my\nbed and re-made it, gave me medicine, and even pawned a few of their\ntreasures, so that help should be there. They even brought me a bottle\nof wine. I never touched a drop, upon my word! but they meant it well.\nBesides that they measured the height of the fever three times a day\nwith a little glass tube--the doctors here order it to be done. And who\ntold me all this? The butcher and his wife. Had it not been for Leeb the\nreader and Sophie, you would be a widow. And at the very same time, you\nwrite such foolish things. _Ph\u00ea_, it is a shame! I really don't know how\nyou are to come to America, how you are to live in America! I hope, dear\nHannah'li, that you will throw off this foolishness, and not darken my\nlife with any more such letters.\n\nI often don't sleep at night. I imagine I see you plainly sitting at the\ntable writing to me. You write and scratch out, and write and scratch\nout, and I see the letter, but I cannot read the words at the distance,\nand it grieves me very much that I cannot read the letter so far off.\nAnd you take the pen and put it into the child's hand--the child is in\nyour lap--and guide its fingers!\n\nAnd you see, my dear wife, that I send you five dollars every week, that\nI manage with very little. And I have only three shirts altogether. I\ncannot ask Sophie to buy me any, and the Shochet's wife has given birth\nto a baby, and is not yet about again. The circumcision, please God,\nwill be to-morrow. Yes--but that is not to the point. What I mean is, be\nreasonable, for your own sake, and for the sake of me, your husband\n\nSHM\u00d9EL M\u00d6SHEH.\n\nA postscript, written sideways down the whole length of the letter:\n\nI have this minute received another letter from you. And now, my\nHannah'li, I tell you once and for all, it is enough to make one's hair\nstand on end, and hardly to be believed! You write that you may as well\nlet your hair grow and talk with gentlemen, that you also can dance and\nsing--and that you will go to the Rebbe's and get him to send a \"special\ndeath\" to both of us.\n\nWhat do you mean? What words are these?\n\nLord of the world, what has come to you?\n\nI think and think, till I don't know _what_ to think! This is my advice:\nPut away your evil-speaking and calumnies and curses! They are not for\nsuch as you! And I tell you simply this, that if you do not soon write\nthe letter a good Jewess ought to write, I shall send and fetch the\nchild away without you--do you hear? Otherwise--I shall throw myself\ninto the sea. It is enough, heaven forbid, to drive one mad!\n\nYour husband\n\nS. M.\n\n\n3\n\nTwo letters which Hannah received from her relative in Lublin, and one\nfrom her brother.\n\n\nFIRST LETTER\n\nTo my friend, the excellent lady and esteemed and worthy woman, Mistress\nHannah:\n\nDear Hannah, you were a whole fool and half a prophet, when you wrote me\na second letter. Because the first one fell into the hands of my\nhusband, and he put it into his pocket and forgot to give it me. Such is\nhis little way--he cares for nothing except eating and drinking. But\nwhen I got the second letter, it occurred to me to look in his pocket,\nand whoso seeks, finds.\n\nHannah'li Kr\u00f6n, I felt, reading your bitter words, as if I were being\nstruck on the head with an axe. I was stunned with grief. But I soon\ncomposed myself and thought, for instance: If my scatterbrain of a\nhusband ran away to America--well? I should just let him run, and pay\nthe piper into the bargain!\n\nNow think: my whole Parnosseh, as you know, is tar,[129] and I don't\nrequire _his_ assistance! Indeed, I can't stand his coming into the\nshop, with the airs he gives himself!\n\nIf the customer is a woman, he won't answer her, the Chossid! Won't take\nthe money from her hand, and if it's a man, likely as not he asks too\nlittle! If he takes the money, they palm off false coins on him. And if\nhe is so kind, once in a while, as to take up a piece of chalk, and make\nout a bill for me, it is a bill! May they add up my sins, in the other\nworld, as he adds up my wares!\n\nAnd as to your husband not having left you a divorce, I am not so very\nsurprised; my husband has no such easy time of it, and yet he doesn't\ndivorce me, and why should he? Does he want for anything? He has a nice\nlodging, and when he comes home, supper is ready and the bed made at the\nproper time, and every Sabbath he gets a clean white shirt! Many's the\ntime I've begged and prayed of him to go to all devils--not he! Do you\nthink he'd budge an inch? And when I scold him and throw things at his\nhead, he gets into a corner, makes a pitiful face, brings crocodile\ntears into his eyes, and I am so foolish as to relent, I give him food\nand drink, and off he goes.\n\nAnd as to what you say about your lawsuit, you know, sister Hannah, I\nhave quite a celebrated lawyer, because, for my sins, I have a\nnever-ending case against cooks, the hussies! I assure you, Hannah'li,\nservants such as we have in Lublin are not to be found anywhere! How\nshall I describe them? Always swilling and stuffing--and they steal\nanything they can lay hands on, and run away before the quarter is out;\nand then they lodge a complaint against me, because I haven't paid them\na quarter's wages, and in court, nowadays, they don't make a particle of\ndifference between a servant-girl and a mistress, and I have to stand\nwith her side by side! I mayn't open my mouth to say a word, otherwise\nthe judge rings a bell and imposes a fine up to three rubles. So I never\ngo into court alone, but have engaged an excellent lawyer, whose mouth\ndrops sulphur and pitch, and he sees me through.\n\nHe once told me himself that the judge had frequently wished to imprison\nme on some ridiculous pretext, such as tearing a girl's hair or giving\nher a slap! But he cannot do it, because my advocate has all the\nlaw-books in his head, knows all the laws, every single one, chooses out\nthe best for me, and flings them in the judge's face, so that he sits\nthere like a dummy and, willy-nilly, has to write \"Acquitted!\"\n\nAnd no sooner had I read your letter, and found the first one in my\nhusband's pocket, than I hastened to my lawyer, and he received me most\npolitely, and asked me to be seated on the plush sofa.\n\nI told him your whole story from Aleph to Taw, down to every detail; and\nhe listened attentively to it all, although the anteroom was crowded\nwith people waiting. He listened and walked up and down the room.\n\nThen he sighed and said that according to the laws a daughter had equal\nrights with a son and should inherit a share! So far, good! But there is\nthe following hitch: A wife cannot summons anyone without her husband's\nknowledge, because she is under his jurisdiction, and must be given\npower of attorney by him.\n\nAnd when I told him that you, unhappily, were a grass-widow, that your\nhusband had deserted you, and that, in my opinion, you were free to do\nas you pleased, he planted himself in front of me and shook his\nhead--that meant: By no means!\n\nAnd he went to a book-case, took out one book after the other, looked\nin, put it down, looked in and put it down, and so on with any number of\nbooks, little and big and bigger. One, heaven forgive me, was as fat as\na pig. And in this one he apparently found what he was in search of, for\nhe stood over it a long time.\n\nAnd then he told me, that if, after five years from the date of your\ndesertion, you bring him a paper from the justice of your town to\ncertify that your husband has not once shown himself in those five\nyears, he, the lawyer, will put in a plea for you in court, and the\ncourt will give you permission to summons your brother.\n\nThis is what he said--I give it you word for word.\n\nI offered him a ruble, and he made a wry face--evidently, not enough;\nbut he took it. Send me the ruble, Hannah'li Kr\u00f6n, as soon as you can,\nfor trade is slack, and tar is a drug in the market.\n\nTo return to the matter in hand:\n\nIt is what I always said and I say it again: the holy Torah (and _their_\nlaw, lehavd\u00eel, of course, also) has handed us over to the mercy of\nbandits! A man, a dummy, a bolster, can divorce his wife when he likes,\neither in person or by proxy; and a worthy woman, like myself, for\ninstance, cannot get rid of an idler like mine for love or money!\n\nIf we go together to a family gathering, he is stuffed with fish and\nmeat and all good things, and I--get a cup of chicory and milk!\n\nWhen he sits in the booth at Tabernacles, one has to send him the best\nof everything, and I live on bones!\n\nI share the three weeks, nine days, and all the fasts, but the Rejoicing\nof the Law is _his_!\n\nHe goes to a Rebbe, and they give him honey with apples! And what will\nParadise, when it comes to that, mean for _me_? I shall be the idiot's\nfootstool! He will sit in a grandfather's chair, and I shall be his\nfootstool!\n\nIn this world he is a feeble creature and is afraid of me, but how it\nwill be in the other world, don't ask me! I tell you plainly, if he\ngives me the least shove with his foot, the Almighty alone knows what\nwill happen!\n\nTo return: What would you get by a divorce? Believe me, all dogs have\nthe same face! Not one of them is worth a dreier! You know my sister\nMiriam suffered through her husband ten years before she could obtain a\ndivorce, and then she had to leave him her money and her clothes--in a\nword, all she had! A nice thing, wasn't it?\n\nShe married again and was out of the frying-pan into the fire: another\nidler to feed! She wanted a second divorce, he was satisfied, but she\ncouldn't afford to pay for it!\n\nIn short, dear Hannah, our mother Eve sinned and we suffer for it! And\nwe always shall suffer! For there is no escape from a husband, even in\nthe grave.\n\nWe have been sold to be servants and slaves in the other world, too! So\nit was aforetime, so it is now, and so it will be in the future world!\nOne has to suffer! For what is to be done, if the Almighty wills it so?\n\nTherefore, dear Hannah, have faith in God, blessed is He! Keep well and\nforget your husband, who has probably forgotten you. That is always the\nway when they go to America.\n\nAt first they write honeyed letters and send money; then, less and less;\nthen they write and send money once a year--then, once in seven\nyears--they don't need their wives out there, they have other women,\nbetter, livelier!\n\nMay I be forgiven for saying so, but in Lublin, in the Jewish quarter,\nthere isn't a house without a grass-widow! Wash your hands of him, I\ntell you, and forget! Imagine yourself a real widow or a divorced woman!\nTurn your attention to the onions. May His blessed Name send you success\nin business and preserve you whichever way you turn. Such is the wish of\nyour relative.\n\n(The signature is undecipherable.)\n\nI beg of you to send me the ruble as soon as possible, because my\nhusband, gorger and tippler that he is, is angry with me for having\ngiven it.\n\n(The same undecipherable signature.)\n\n\nSECOND LETTER\n\nTo my sister Hannah:\n\nFirst, my dear sister, I let you know that we are all well, except my\nwife, Eva G\u00fctel, who (not of you be it said!) is never free from cough\nfor an instant, and who, no sooner is the wedding over, must go to\nWarsaw to consult a doctor.\n\nI send you enclosed an invitation to the wedding. Mind you come and\nenjoy yourself! Only do not, for mercy's sake, spoil my daughter's\nhappiness, and keep all contentions till the wedding is over.\n\nYou need not feel called upon to bring any present. If, however, you are\ntroubled about appearances, you are sure to find something in the house\nthat will do. I shall not take it amiss. Blood is thicker than water and\na sister is a sister.\n\nAnd as to what you say about having no clothes to come in, that is\nnonsense. You can borrow a dress of some one or other either there or\nhere.\n\nAnd as to what you say about not being able to comfort yourself for the\nchild that has died--you know, dear sister, \"He gave and He hath taken\naway!\"\n\nChildren are a pledge from God, and if God wishes to take back the\ndeposit, we must not even brood over it and try to think why. God\nforbid!\n\nAnd as to your being afraid of your husband finding out that the child\nis dead and breaking with you altogether, that is another useless\nanticipation. Believe me, sister, it is quite foolish, because if it is\ntrue, as people say, that Shm\u00f9el M\u00f6sheh is Shm\u00f9el M\u00f6sheh no longer--he\nis treading other paths--it will be all the same, child or no child. He\ndoesn't want you and you cannot hold to him!\n\nAnd if, as I trust, that is all an invention, a calumny, and if, as I\nfirmly believe, Shm\u00f9el M\u00f6sheh is still Shm\u00f9el M\u00f6sheh, the learned and\npious Jew, then you have nothing to fear! On the contrary, with half the\nexpense it will be much easier to have you out to join him, and you will\nlive in peace and plenty.\n\nAnd as to your having had no news of him for so long, is it a wonder? I\nbelieve it is across the sea! How many ships, preserve us, are wrecked\non the way; how many postmen lose their lives on such an errand! And\nperhaps the ships have to pass the spot where, as the Book of the\nCovenant says, the waters stand on an heap, and there is peril of death.\nThank His dear Name that your Shm\u00f9el M\u00f6sheh crossed in safety! I\nconsider this fleeing to lands beyond the sea a disgrace and a shame, it\nis a sign of want of trust, because he who trusts knows that God helps\nwhom He will, and he shrinks from endangering both body and soul. For\nthey say that America is as dangerous to the soul as the sea to the\nbody. They say, people throw off their Jewishness on board ship as soon\nas the sea gives them a toss. They soon begin to eat bread baked by\nGentiles, forbidden food, to dress German fashion, women wear wigs,\neven, it has been said, their own hair. And the proof that America is\ndangerous to the soul is that there is not one \"good Jew\" in all\nAmerica! And I cannot imagine how one would exist there, where one could\nget advice in questions of Parnosseh, or if one were ill, or anything\nelse happened to one. I tell you that the man who goes into Satan's\ndomain of his own accord is responsible for his soul, for he is like a\nfoolish bird flying into a net. And particularly a learned Jew, because\nthe greater the man, the greater the danger, the more is the Evil One\nset on his destruction, and decoys him with either riches or beautiful\nwomen; the Evil One has tools for the work at hand.\n\nAnd, therefore, my advice to you is, so long as you do not know what is\nhappening there, forget! If you earn your livelihood with the onions,\nwell and good, and if, heaven forbid, you cannot, I can give you other\nadvice. If you come to the wedding, I will make it all right between you\nand my wife. We are, after all, one family, and you know that my wife,\nEva G\u00fctel, is really very good-natured; she is sure to forgive you, and\nwhen all is smooth again and she goes to Warsaw, after the wedding, then\nyou will remain here and be house-mistress. And when, please God, she\ncomes back cured, she will still find a place for you at the table and a\nbed in the house. Times are bad, but a sister is a sister, and one cuts\nthe herring into thinner slices.\n\nBut beside all that we have a mighty God--shall He not be able to feed\none of His creatures?--and that a woman!\n\nNonsense!\n\nAnd, for goodness' sake, come to the wedding in time, so that you may be\nable to lend Eva G\u00fctel a hand. It is no more than one has a right to ask\na sister-in-law. You would not wish, as things are nowadays, to have us\nhire extra help? Only, be sure and let everything I have said to you\nabout the future remain between ourselves. Eva G\u00fctel is not to know what\nI have written to you. The thing ought to come of itself, quite of\nitself. You know, Eva G\u00fctel does not like one to interfere in domestic\nconcerns--and I am sure, the thing _will_ arrange itself. A woman is a\nwoman even if she wears a top-hat.\n\nThat is why I write to you when Eva G\u00fctel is not at home. She has gone\nto engage the Badchan[130] and the musician; I shall not even tell her I\nsent you an invitation: let her imagine you were so good and so\nright-thinking as to come of your own accord! And may He whose Name is\nblessed comfort you together with all that mourn in Israel, and spread\nthe wings of His compassion over all abandoned women. Amen, may it seem\ngood in His sight.\n\nSister Hannah, whether you stay where you are or remain with us for\ngood, come to the wedding! You simply _must_! And you shall not repent\nit! It will be a fine wedding! It may be that he himself, may his days\nand years increase, will be present. It will cost me a fortune, but it\nis worth it! You see that such a wedding is not to be missed?\n\nFrom me, your brother\n\nMENACHEM MENDIL.\n\nMy wife Eva G\u00fctel has just come in from market and--a token that heaven\nwills it so--she tells me that I am not to hide my letter from her, that\nshe bears you no grudge. She advises you to sell the onions, buy a\ndress, and come to the wedding looking like other people, as befits the\nbride's aunt.\n\nShe also says that no present is necessary, and that one can trade in\nonions here, too.\n\nI repeat that my wife Eva G\u00fctel is both kind-hearted and wise, and that,\nif you will only not be obstinate, everything will come right.\n\nYou will see!\n\nYour brother\n\nM. M.\n\n\n4\n\nAn unfinished letter from Hannah to her husband.\n\nGood luck to you, my dear, faithful husband, good luck to you!\n\nHere's good news from us, and may I ever hear the like from you. Amen,\nmay it be His will! We are, indeed, as you say, united for all time, in\nthis world and the other!\n\nI let you know, first, dear husband, that my brother Menachem Mendil and\nhis wife Eva G\u00fctel (may they live to see the days of the Messiah!)\nforgave me everything, and sent for me in a lucky hour to their\ndaughter's wedding--Beile-Sasha's wedding.\n\nIt was a very fine one, fine as fine can be! Praise God that I was found\nworthy to see it! There was every kind of meat, birds and beef; and\nfish--just fish, and stuffed fish--and all sorts of other dishes, beside\nwine and brandy--something of everything.\n\nAnd the whole thing was such a success--so elegant! And I myself cooked\nthe meat, stuffed the fish, made the stew, sent up the dinner, and also\nsaw to the marketing beforehand.\n\nI was house-mistress! I was waitress! I did not go merely to enjoy\nmyself!\n\nI sold my stock of onions, made myself a dress of sorts, and went to my\nrelations, agreeably to their wish, a whole week before the wedding;\nbecause there was no one to do the work; the bride was taken up with her\nclothes, she spent the time with the tailor, the shoemaker, and even the\njeweller up to the very last minute.\n\nAnd poor Eva G\u00fctel, my sister-in-law, has a cough. And they say her\nliver is not what it should be.\n\nSo I was everybody--_before_ the wedding and _after_ the wedding, only\nnot at the wedding, during which I felt very tired and done up. I sat in\na corner and cried for joy, because I had been counted worthy to marry\nmy brother's child, and--because she had such an elegant wedding! And I\nwas not turned out in a hurry when it was over, either.\n\nDirectly after it, my sister-in-law, health and strength to her, started\nto consult a doctor in Lublin as to which doctor she ought to see in\nWarsaw.\n\nThen she left for Warsaw and went the round of all the celebrated\ndoctors. Thence she travelled to some other place to drink the\nwaters--mineral waters they are called--and during the whole six months\nof her absence, I was mistress of the house.\n\nMay the Almighty remember it to them for good and reward them!\n\nThere was no cook--I did the cooking. And I drank delight out of it as\nfrom a well!\n\nIn the first place, I had no time for thinking and brooding, and was\nthereby saved from going mad, or even melancholy! And where, indeed,\nshould I have found it?\n\nBusiness, thank heaven, was brisk. The public-house is always full and\nthe counter strewn with the gold and silver of Jews and Gentiles,\nlehavd\u00eel.\n\nAnd my sister-in-law Eva G\u00fctel's stuffed fish are celebrated for miles\nround, and there the people sit and eat and drink.\n\nAnd if ever I _began_ to think, and _wanted_ to think, Beile-Sasha, long\nlife to her, soon reminded me of where I was! And she has sharp eyes,\nbless her, nothing escapes them!\n\nAnd so it went merrily on--and I was so overjoyed at being\nhouse-mistress there that once I spat blood--but only once.\n\nMenachem Mendil saw it, and he told me to be sure and behave as if\nnothing had happened, because, if people knew of it, they would avoid\nhis house. Y\u00f6ssil the inn-keeper over the way would soon cry:\nConsumption! and there would be an end of it, and grass growing down our\nside of the street.\n\nBut Beile-Sasha is the cleverer of the two, she soon discovered that it\nwas not consumption, but that I had swallowed a fish-bone, and it\nscratched my throat, and so, that I should not suffocate, she gave me a\nblow between the shoulders to loosen it, and, all for love's sake, such\na blow that the fish-bone went down--only _my_ bones ached a bit.\n\nBut all's well that ends well--and Eva G\u00fctel has come back from drinking\nthe waters!\n\nShe has come back, thank God, in the best of health and spirits--a sight\nfor sore eyes!--and she has brought presents, the most beautiful\npresents, for herself, for her husband, for her daughter and her\nson-in-law--lovely things! But there was nothing for me; she said that\nI, heaven forbid, was no servant to be given presents and wages. Had I\nnot been house-mistress?\n\nHad not Eva G\u00fctel herself told me fifty times that I was mistress, and\ncould do as I liked?\n\nAnd no sooner was Eva G\u00fctel back, than she discovered that Menachem\nMendil had not been near the Rebbe the whole time, and she wrung her\nfingers till the bones cracked, and immediately sent me out to the\nmarket-place to hire a conveyance.\n\nMenachem Mendil drove to the holy man that same day.\n\nAnd next morning, Eva G\u00fctel gave me some good advice, which was to make\nup my bundle and go--because she was there again and had Beile-Sasha to\nhelp her. I should be fifth wheel to the cart and might go mad from\nhaving nothing to do. She advised me to go back whence I came or to stay\nin the place and do as I thought best. She would not be responsible,\neither way.\n\nI had slept my last night in her house.\n\nThe next one I spent walking the streets with my bundle under my arm.\n\nYou see, my dear husband, that I am doing very well. You need send me no\nmore money, as you used to do. You had better give it to Leeb the reader\nto buy you a Talmud, or to Genendil-Sophie to buy you some shirts. And\nmind she tries them on you herself, to see how they fit--is it not\nAmerica?\n\nYou see, my dear, good husband, I harbor no more unjust suspicions. I\nnever say now that Genendil stole either the spoon or my husband. I\nknow it is not her fault, and I am convinced that His blessed Name only\nmeant to do us a kindness when He brought you and Leeb the reader\ntogether on the ship, so that he should take care of you--it is all just\nas you wrote. There is only one thing that will never be as you think.\nYou may jump out of your skin, but you will never send for the child, to\ntake it away from me to America. Because our child, for your sake and\nfor that of your pious forefathers, has been gone this long time; it has\nbeen hidden somewhere in the burial ground, in a little room without a\ndoor, without a window. You may cry to heaven, but you shall not know\nwhere its little bones lie! No tombstone, nothing to mark it--nothing at\nall! Go, look for the wind in the fields!\n\nAskerah[131] has taken it under her wing.\n\nAnd since you have such a wonderful memory, and remember everything I\nsaid and everything I did, I will tell you a story which you may\nrecollect. It is a story about a shawl I did not know what to do with.\nShould I put it on and run for the doctor for the child, or stop up the\nbroken pane with it to keep the snow from blowing in, or wrap it round\nthe child, because the poor thing was suffocating with its throat? And\nit was cold, bitterly cold. I ran to and fro several times, from the\nwindow to the cradle, to the door, and back from the door to the\nwindow--I tell you, I ran! I think, my dear husband, you will not forget\nthat moment, because, as you say, we are bound one to the other, you to\nme and both of us to the child, and now the child is not there, we two\nmay as well go, too. Well, what will Genendil say? To tell the truth, I\nhave decided to let my hair grow and dress as they dress in America, and\ndo you know that, beside this, I have a sweet voice and can chant all\nthe prayers, and now, since I have been at my brother Menachem Mendil's,\nI have heard drunken peasants sing all sorts of songs--and I have\nlearned them and I sing every whit as well as Genendil, if not better;\nand at night, when I slept under the open sky, the Queen of Sheba came\nand taught me to dance--and a whole night long I danced with the Queen\nof Sheba in the eye of the moon.\n\nAnd you, my dear Shm\u00f9el M\u00f6sheh, have made a bad bargain, for I am better\nthan Genendil. Because I remember quite well that she had two moles, one\non the left ear and one on the right cheek--and rather a crooked nose.\nAnd I, you know, have a perfectly clear skin, without a mole anywhere.\nYou thought that only Genendil could sing and dance every Friday night,\nand let her hair grow, that other people were not up to that! But I am\nnot angry with you, heaven forbid! Hold to her! It is enough for me to\nhave the child's grave. I shall go and build myself a little house\nthere, and sit in it through the night till the cock crows. I shall talk\nto the child, very low and softly, about his father Shm\u00f9el M\u00f6sheh, and\nthat will delight him! And if you come yourself, or send anyone, to\nfetch the child, I shall scratch out his eyes with my nails, because the\nchild is mine, not Genendil's--may her name and her remembrance perish,\nand may you and she.....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe letter is unfinished; it was found together with the other letters\nin the pocket of the mad Hannah.\n\n\n\n\nXXI\n\nIN THE POND\n\n\nOnce upon a time there was a pond. It had a corner to itself, and lay\nquite apart from the rest of the field where beasts were wont to graze\nand herd-boys to fling stones.\n\nA high bank, set with briars, screened it from the wind, and it had a\nslimy, shiny green covering, in which the breeze tore a hole once in\ntwelve months. In the pond there dwelt (according to the order of\nnature) a colony of quite small worms which fed on still smaller ones.\n\nThe pond was neither long nor wide, not even deep, and if the little\nworms could neither discover a bottom nor swim to shore, they had only\nthe thick slime and the water-weeds and the fallen twigs to thank for\nit.\n\nThe geography of the pond was in its infancy.\n\nConceit, on the other hand, flourished, and fancy had it all her own way\nbeneath the green covering--and the two together sat spinning and\nweaving.\n\nAnd they wove between them a legend of the beginning of things, a truly\nworm-like tradition.\n\nThe pond is the great sea, and the four streams of Paradise flow into\nit. Hiddekel brings gold (that is the slime in which they find their\nnourishment), and the other three bring flowers (the water-weeds among\nwhich they play hide-and-seek on holidays), pearls (frog-pawn), and\ncorals (the little orange fungi on the rotting twigs).\n\nThe green cover, the slimy cap on the surface of the pond, is the heaven\nstretched out over the ocean, a special heaven for their own particular\nworld. Fragments of egg-shell, which have fallen into it, play the part\nof stars, and a rotten pumpkin does duty for the sun.\n\nThe chance stones flung into the pond by the herd-boys are, of course,\nhailstones flung by heaven at the head of sinners!\n\nAnd when their heaven opened, and a few beams of the real sun penetrated\nto a wormy brain, then they believed in hell!\n\nBut life in the pond was a pleasant thing!\n\nPeople were satisfied with themselves and with one another.\n\nWhen one lives in the great sea, one is as good as a fish oneself.\n\nOne worm would call another \"Tench,\" \"Pike;\" \"Crocodile\" and \"Leviathan\"\nwould be engraved on tombstones.\n\n\"Roach\" was the greatest insult, and \"Haddock\" not to be forgiven, even\non the Day of Atonement.\n\nMeanwhile, astronomy, poetry, and philosophy blossomed like the rose!\n\nThe bits of egg-shell were counted over and over again, till everyone\nwas convinced of the absurdity of the attempt.\n\nRomantic poets harped on the Heavenly Academy in a thousand different\nkeys.\n\nPatriots were likened to the stars, stars to ladies' eyes, and the\nladies themselves to Paradise--or else to Purgatory! Philosophy\ntransferred the souls of the pious to the rotten pumpkin.\n\nIn short, nothing was wanting!\n\nLife had all the colors of the rainbow. In due time a code of law was\nframed with hundreds of commentaries, they introduced a thousand rules\nand regulations, and if a worm had the slightest desire to make a\nchange, he had but to remember what the world would think, blush,\nregret, and do penance!\n\nOnce, however, there was a catastrophe! It was caused by a herd of\nswine. Dreadful feet crashed through the heaven, stamped down the slime,\nbruised the corals, made havoc of the flowers, and plunged the entire\nlittle \"world\" back into chaos.\n\nSome of the worms were asleep under the slime (and worms sleep fast and\nlong).\n\nThese escaped.\n\nWhen they rose out of the mud, the heavens had already swum together\nagain and united; but whole heaps of squeezed, squashed, and suffocated\nworms were lying about unburied, witnesses in death of the past awful\nevent!\n\n\"What has happened?\" was the cry, and search was made for some living\nsoul who should know the cause of the calamity.\n\nBut such a living soul was not easy to find!\n\nIt is no light thing to survive a heaven!\n\nThose who were not stamped upon had died of fright, and those who were\nnot killed by fright had died of a broken heart.\n\nThe remainder committed suicide. Without a heaven, what is life?\n\nOne had survived, but, when he had declared to them that the heaven they\nnow saw was a new heaven, fresh, as it were, from the shop, and that the\nformer heaven had been trodden in of beasts; when he asserted that a\nworm-heaven is not eternal--that only the universal heaven is, perhaps,\neternal--then they saw clearly that his mind had become deranged.\n\nHe was assisted with the deepest compassion, and conveyed to an asylum\nfor lunatics.\n\n\n\n\nXXII\n\nTHE CHANUKAH LIGHT\n\n\nMy top-coat was already in my hand, and yet I could not decide: to go,\nor not to go--to give my lesson! O, it is so unpleasant outside, such\nhorrible weather!--a mile's trudge--and then what?\n\n\"Once more: pak\u00e1d, pak\u00e1dti\"[132]--once more: the old house-master, who\nhas got through his sixty and odd years of life without knowing any\ngrammar; who has been ten times to Leipzig, two or three times to\nDantzig; who once all but landed in Constantinople--and who cannot\nunderstand such waste of money: Grammar, indeed? A fine bargain!\n\nThen the young house-master, who allows that it is far more practical to\nwear ear-locks, a fur-cap, and a braided kaftan, to consult with a \"good\nJew,\" and not to know any grammar ... not that he is otherwise than\northodox himself ... but he is obliged, as a merchant, to mix with men,\nto wear a hat and a stiff shirt; to permit his wife to visit the\ntheatre; his daughter, to read books; and to engage a tutor for his\nson....\n\n\"My father, of course, knows best! But one must move with the times!\" He\ncannot make up his mind to be left in the lurch by the times! \"I only\nbeg of you,\" he said to me, \"don't make an unbeliever of the boy! I will\ngive you,\" he said, \"as much as would pay for a whole lot of grammar,\nif you will _not_ teach him that the earth goes round the sun!\"\n\nAnd I promised that he should never hear it from, me, because--because\nthis was my only lesson, and I had a sick mother at home!\n\nTo go, or not to go?\n\nThe whole family will be present to watch me when I give my lesson.\n\n_She_ also?\n\nShe sits in the background, always deep in a book; now and again she\nlifts her long, silken lashes, and a little brightness is diffused\nthrough the room; but so seldom, so seldom!\n\nAnd what is to come of it?\n\nNothing ever _can_ come of it, except heart-ache.\n\n\"Listen!\" My mother's weak voice from the bed recalls me to myself. \"The\nFeldscher says, if only I had a pair of warm, woollen socks, I might\ncreep about the room a little!\"\n\nThat, of course, decides it.\n\nExcept for the lady of the house, who has gone to the play, as usual\nwithout the knowledge of her father-in-law, I find the whole family\nassembled round the pinchbeck samovar. The young house-master\nacknowledges my greeting with a negligent \"a good year to you!\" and goes\non turning over in his palm a pack of playing cards. Doubtless he\nexpects company.\n\nThe old house-master, in a peaked cap and a voluminous Turkish\ndressing-gown, does not consider it worth while to remove from his lips\nthe long pipe with its amber mouthpiece, or to lift his eyes from off\nhis well-worn book of devotions. He merely gives me a nod, and once more\nsinks his attention in the portion appointed for Chanukah.\n\n_She_ also is intent on her reading, only _her_ book, as usual, is a\nnovel.\n\nMy arrival makes a disagreeable impression on my pupil.\n\n\"O, I say!\" and he springs up from his seat at the table, and lowers his\nblack-ringed, little head defiantly, \"lessons to-day?\"\n\n\"Why not?\" smiles his father.\n\n\"But it's Chanukah!\" answers the boy, tapping the floor with his foot,\nand pointing to the first light, which has been placed in the window,\nbehind the curtain, and fastened to a bit of wood.\n\n\"Quite right!\" growls the old gentleman.\n\n\"Well, well,\" says the younger one, with indifference, \"you must excuse\nhim for once!\"\n\nI have an idea that _she_ has become suddenly paler, that she bends\nlower over her book.\n\nI wish them all good night, but the young house-master will not let me\ngo.\n\n\"You must stay to tea!\"\n\n\"And to 'rascals with poppy-seed!'\"[133] cries my pupil, joyfully. He is\nquite willing to be friends, so long as there is no question of \"pak\u00e1d,\npak\u00e1dti.\"\n\nI am diffident as to accepting, but the boy seizes my hand, and, with a\nroguish smile on his restless features, he places a chair for me\nopposite to his sister's.\n\nHas he observed anything? On _my_ side, of course, I mean....\n\n_She_ is always abstracted and lost in her reading. Very likely she\nlooks upon me as an idler, or even worse ... she does not know that I\nhave a sick mother at home!\n\n\"It will soon be time for you to dress!\" exclaims her father,\nimpatiently.\n\n\"Soon, very soon, Tatishe!\" she answers hastily, and her pale cheeks\ntake a tinge of color.\n\nThe young house-master abandons himself once more to his reflections; my\npupil sends a top spinning across the table; the old man lays down his\nbook, and stretches out a hand for his tea.\n\nInvoluntarily I glance at the Chanukah light opposite to me in the\nwindow.\n\nIt burns so sadly, so low, as if ashamed in the presence of the great,\nsilvered lamp hanging over the dining-table, and lighting so brilliantly\nthe elegant tea-service.\n\nI feel more depressed than ever, and do not observe that she is offering\nme a glass of tea.\n\n\"With lemon?\" her melancholy voice rouses me.\n\n\"Perhaps you prefer milk?\" says her father.\n\n\"Look out! the milk is smoked!\" cries my pupil, warningly.\n\nAn exclamation escapes her:\n\n\"How can you be so ...!\"\n\nSilence once more. Nothing but a sound of sipping and a clink of spoons.\nSuddenly my pupil is moved to inquire:\n\n\"After all, teacher, what _is_ Chanukah?\"\n\n\"Ask the rabbi to-morrow in school!\" says the old man, impatiently.\n\n\"Eh!\" is the prompt reply, \"I should think a tutor knew better than a\nrabbi!\"\n\nThe old man casts an angry glance at his son, as if to say: \"Do you\nsee?\"\n\n\"_I_ want to know about Chanukah, too!\" she exclaims softly.\n\n\"Well, well,\" says the young house-master to me, \"let us hear your\nversion of Chanukah by all means!\"\n\n\"It happened,\" I begin, \"in the days when the Greeks oppressed us in the\nland of Israel. The Greeks--\" But the old man interrupts me with a sour\nlook:\n\n\"In the Benedictions it says: 'The wicked Kingdom of Javan.'\"\n\n\"It comes to the same thing,\" observes his son, \"what _we_ call Javan,\n_they_ call Greeks.\"\n\n\"The Greeks,\" I resume, \"oppressed us terribly! It was our darkest hour.\nAs a nation, we were threatened with extinction. After a few ill-starred\nrisings, the life seemed to be crushed out of us, the last gleam of hope\nhad faded. Although in our own country, we were trodden under foot like\nworms.\"\n\nThe young house-master has long ceased to pay me any attention. His ear\nis turned to the door; he is intent on listening for the arrival of a\nguest.\n\nBut the old house-master fixes me with his eye, and, when I have a\nsecond time used the word \"oppressed,\" he can no longer contain himself:\n\n\"A man should be explicit! 'Oppressed'--what does that convey to me?\nThey forced us to break the Sabbath; they forbade us to keep our\nfestivals, to study the Law, even to practice circumcision.\"\n\n\"You play 'Preference'?\" inquires the younger gentleman, suddenly, \"or\nperhaps even poker?\"\n\nOnce more there is silence, and I continue: \"The misfortune was\naggravated by the fact that the nobility and the wealthy began to feel\nashamed of their own people, and to adopt Greek ways of living. They\nused to frequent the gymnasiums.\"\n\nShe and the old gentleman look at me in astonishment.[134]\n\n\"In the gymnasiums of those days,\" I hasten to add, \"there was no\nstudying--they used to practice gymnastics, naked, men and women\ntogether--\"\n\nThe two pairs of eyes lower their gaze, but the young house-master\nraises his with a flash.\n\n\"_What_ did you say?\"\n\nI make no reply, but go on to speak of the theatres where men fought\nwild beasts and oxen, and of other Greek manners and customs which must\nhave been contrary to Jewish tradition.\n\n\"The Greeks thought nothing of all this; they were bent on effacing\nevery trace of independent national existence. They set up an altar in\nthe street with an 'Avodeh zoroh,'[135] and commanded us to sacrifice to\nit.\"\n\n\"What is that?\" she asks in Polish.\n\nI explain; and the old man adds excitedly:\n\n\"And a swine, too! We were to sacrifice a swine to it!\"\n\n\"And there was found a Jew to approach the altar with an offering.\n\n\"But that same day, the old Maccabeus, with his five sons, had come down\nfrom the hills, and before the Greek soldiers could intervene, the\nmiserable apostate was lying in his blood, and the altar was torn down.\nIn one second the rebellion was ablaze. The Maccabees, with a handful of\nmen, drove out the far more numerous Greek garrisons. The people were\nset free!\n\n\"It is that victory we celebrate with our poor, little illumination,\nwith our Chanukah lights.\"\n\n\"What?\" and the old man, trembling with rage, springs out of his chair.\n\"_That_ is the Chanukah light? Come here, wretched boy!\" he screams to\nhis grandson, who, instead of obeying, shrinks from him in terror.\n\nThe old man brings his fist down on the table, so that the glasses ring\nagain.\n\n\"It means--when we had driven out the unclean sons of Javan, there was\nonly one little cruse of holy olive-oil left....\"\n\nBut a fit of coughing stops his breath, and his son hastens up, and\nassists him into the next room.\n\nI wish to leave, but she detains me.\n\n\"You are against assimilation, then?\" she asks.\n\n\"To assimilate,\" I reply, \"is to consume, to eat, to digest. We\nassimilate beef and bread, and others wish to assimilate _us_--to eat us\nup like bread and meat.\"\n\nShe is silent for a few seconds, and then she asks anxiously:\n\n\"But will there always, always be wars and dissensions between the\nnations?\"\n\n\"O no!\" I answer, \"one point they _must_ all agree--in the end.\"\n\n\"And that is?\"\n\n\"Humanity. When each is free to follow his own bent, then they will all\nagree.\"\n\nShe is lost in thought, she has more to say, but there comes a tap at\nthe door--\n\n\"Mamma!\" she exclaims under her breath, and escapes, after giving me her\nhand--for the first time!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOn the next day but one, while I was still in bed, I received a letter\nby the postman.\n\nThe envelope bore the name of her father's firm: \"Jacob Berenholz.\"\n\nMy heart beat like a sledge-hammer. Inside there were only ten\nrubles--my pay for the month that was not yet complete.\n\nGood-bye, lesson!\n\n\n\n\nXXIII\n\nTHE POOR LITTLE BOY\n\n(Told by a \"man\" on a \"committee\")\n\n\n\"Give me five kopeks for a night's shelter!\"\n\n\"No!\" I answer sharply and walk away. He runs after me with a look of\ncanine entreaty in his burning eyes, he kisses my sleeve--in vain!\n\n\"I cannot afford to give so much every day....\"\n\nThe poor, I reflect, as I leave the soup-kitchen, eat their fill\nquickly....\n\nThe first time I saw the dirty, wizened little face with the sunken\neyes, darkly-burning, sorrowful, and yet intelligent eyes, it went to my\nheart.\n\nI had not even heard his request before an impulse seized me and a\ngroschen flew out of my pocket into his thin little hands. I remember\nquite well that my hand acted of its own accord, without waiting to ask\nmy heart for its pity, or my reason whether with a pension of forty-one\nrubles, sixty-six kopeks a month, I could afford to give five kopeks in\ncharity.\n\nHis entreaty was an electric spark that fired every limb in my body and\nevery cell in every limb, and my reason was not informed of the fresh\noutlay till later, when the little boy, with a hop, skip, and a jump,\nhad left the soup-kitchen.\n\nBusy with my own and other people's affairs, I soon forgot the little\nboy.\n\nAnd yet not altogether. Somewhere inside my head, and without my knowing\nanything about it, there must have been held a meeting of practical\nthoughts.\n\nBecause the very next evening, when the little boy stopped me again, the\nsame little boy with the broken, quavering accents, and asked me once\nmore for a night's shelter and bed, the following considerations rose up\nfrom somewhere, ready prepared, to the surface of my mind:\n\nA boy seven or eight years old ought not to beg--he ought not to hang\nabout soup-kitchens; feeding on scraps, before the plates are collected\nand removed, would make a vagabond of him, a beggar--he would never come\nto any good if he went on like that.\n\nMy hand had found its way into my pocket, but _I_ caught it there and\nheld it fast.\n\nHad I been \"pious,\" I should have reasoned thus: \"Is the merit I shall\nacquire really worth five kopeks? Should I not gain just as much by\nrepeating the evening prayers? or by giving a hoarse groan during their\nrecital?\"\n\nNot being \"pious,\" I thought only of the boy's good: \"My five kopeks\nwill only do him harm and make a hopeless beggar of him.\" And I gave\nthem to him after all!\n\nMy hand forced its way out of my pocket, and this time I did not even\ntry to hold it back. Something pained me in the region of my heart, and\nthe tears were not far from my eyes. Once more the little boy ran\njoyfully out of the soup-kitchen, my heart grew light, and I felt a\nsmile on my face. The third time it lasted longer--much longer.\n\nI had calculated betimes that my means will _not_ allow of my giving\nevery day in charity. Of course, it is a pleasure to see the poor little\nwretch jump for joy, to notice the gleam of light in his young eyes, to\nknow that, thanks to your five kopeks, he will _not_ pass the night in\nthe street, but in the \"refuge,\" where he will be warm, and where,\nto-morrow morning, he will get a glass of tea and a roll. All that is a\npleasure, certainly, but it is one that I, with my income, cannot allow\nmyself--it is out of the question.\n\nOf course, I did not say all that to the little boy, I merely gave him\nsome good advice. I told him that if he begged he would come to a bad\nend--that every man (and he also must some day grow into a man) is in\nhonor obliged to work--work is holy, and he who seeks work, finds, and\nsuch-like wise things out of books, that could not make up to the little\nboy for the night-refuge, that could not so much as screen him till\ndaylight from the rain and the snow.\n\nAnd all the while there he stood and kissed my sleeve, and lifted his\neyes to mine, on the watch for some gleam of pity to prove that his\nwords were not as peas thrown against a wall.\n\nAnd I felt all the time that he was not watching in vain, that my cold\nreasonings were growing warmer, that his beseeching, dog-like eyes had a\npower I could not withstand, and that I must shortly surrender with my\nwhole battery of reproofs and warnings.\n\nSo I resolved as follows: I will give him something, and then tell him\nonce and for all that he is not to beg any more, tell him sharply and\ndecidedly, so that he may remember.\n\nI had not enough in coppers, so I changed a silver coin and gave him\nfive kopeks.\n\n\"There--but you are not to come begging from me again, do you hear?\"\n\nWhence the \"from me?\"\n\nAs far as I knew, I had no such words in my mind, anyway I certainly did\nnot intend to say them, and perhaps I would gladly have given a few\nkopeks not to have done so! I felt a sudden chill at my heart, as if I\nhad torn away a bit of covering and left a part of it naked. But it was\nall over like a flash. My stern face, the hard metallic ring of my\nvoice, my outstretched right hand and outward-pointing left foot had\ndone their work.\n\nI had a great attraction for that little boy! He stood there as if on\nhot coals, he wanted to run off so as to get earlier to the lodging\nhouse, and yet he stayed on and listened, growing paler and paler, while\na tear trembled on his childish lashes.\n\n\"There! and now don't beg any more,\" I wound up, \"do you hear? This is\nto be the very last time.\"\n\nThe little boy drew a deep breath and ran away.\n\nTo-day, to-day I have given him nothing--I will not break my word. I\nwill know nothing of \"evasions,\"[136] a given word is precious. One must\nbe firm, otherwise there would be an end to everything.\n\nI think over again what I have just been saying, and feel quite pleased\nwith myself. I _cannot_ afford to give five kopeks in charity every day,\nand yet that was not the reason. It was the boy's own good I was\nthinking of, indeed, the good of all! What is the use of unsystematic\ncharity--and how can there be system without a strict rule?\n\nWith the little boy I had spoken simple Yiddish, with myself, somewhat\nmore learnedly. As I left the soup-kitchen, I reflected: The worst\nmicrobe in the body of the community is begging. The man who will not\nwork has no right to eat, and so on.\n\nI had no sooner shut the door of the soup-kitchen behind me than my feet\nsank deep into the mud, I ran my head against a wall, and then plunged\ninto the dark night. There was a dreadful wind blowing, the flames of\nthe gas lamps trembled as with cold, and their flickering shine was\nreflected a thousandfold in the puddles in the street, so that the eyes\nwere dazzled. It wails plaintively, as though a thousand souls were\npraying for Tikun,[137] or a thousand little boys for five kopeks for a\nnight's shelter.... Bother that little boy!...\n\nIt would be a sin to drive a dog into the street on such a night, and\nyet the poor little boy will have to sleep out of doors.\n\nBut what can _I_ do?\n\nI have given him something three times--does that go for nothing?\n\nLet somebody else give him five kopeks for once!\n\nI have done quite enough, coming out to the soup-kitchen in this\nweather, with my sick chest and a cough, and without a fur coat. Were I\n\"pious,\" it would have been self-interest on my part. I should have done\nit with a view to acquiring merit, I should have hastened home, turned\ninto bed, and gone to sleep, so that my soul might quickly fly to heaven\nand enter the good deed to her account.\n\nThe good deed is the \"credit,\" and the \"debit\" a fat slice of Leviathan.\n\nI, when I went to the soup-kitchen, had no reward in view, it was my\nkind nature that prompted me.\n\nAs I walked and praised myself thus, my heart felt warm again. If other\npeople had been praising me, I must needs have been ashamed, and\nmotioned them away with my hand, but I can listen to myself without\nblushing, and I should perhaps have gone on praising myself and have\ndiscovered other amiable traits in my character, had I not stepped with\nmy half-soles--heaven knows, I had worn away the other half on the road\nto the soup-kitchen--stepped with my half-soles right into the mud.\n\n\"Those who are engaged in a religious mission come to no hurt!...\" but\nthat is probably on the way out. On the way home, when the newly-created\nangel is hastening heavenward, one may break one's neck.\n\nMy feet are wet, and I feel chilled all through. I know to a certainty\nthat I shall catch cold, that I have caught cold already. Presently I\nshall be coughing my heart out, and I feel a sting in my chest. A terror\ncomes over me. It is not long since I spent four weeks in bed.\n\n\"It's not a thing to do,\" I say to myself by way of reproach; \"no,\ncertainly not! It's all very well as far as _you_ are concerned, but\nwhat about your wife and child? What right have you to imperil their\nsupport?\"\n\nIf the phrase had been a printed one, and I the reader of it with my\npencil in my hand, I should have known what to do--but the phrase was my\nown.\n\nI feel more and more chilled, and home is distant, and my goloshes are\nfull of water, cold and heavy. The windows of a confectioner gleam\nbrightly in front of me--it is the worst in all Warsaw--their tea is\nshocking--but since there is no choice!\n\nI rush across the street and plunge into a warm mist. I order a glass of\ntea and take up a comic paper.\n\nThe first illustrated joke that caught my eye was like a reflection of\nthe state of things outside. The joke was called: \"Which has too much?\"\n\nThe weather in the picture is the weather out of doors.\n\nTwo persons are advancing toward each other on the pavement. From one\nside comes a stout, middle-aged woman, well-nourished, in a silk dress,\na satin cloak, and a white hat with feathers. She must have started on\nher walk, or to make a visit, in fine weather, and now she has been\ncaught by the rain. Her face is one of dismay. She dreads the rain and\nthe wind, if not for herself, at least for her hat. She hastens--drops\nof perspiration appear on her white forehead--she hastens, but her steps\nare unsteady: both her hands are taken up. In the left she holds the end\nof her silken train, already spattered with mud, and in the right, a\ntiny silk parasol that scarcely covers the feathered hat on her head.\nShe _only_ requires a larger umbrella. To make up for that she has\nenough and to spare of everything else, her face is free from care, it\ntells only of an abundance of all good things.\n\nComing to meet her is a little girl, all skin and bone. She has perhaps\nlong and beautiful hair, but no time to attend to it. It is matted and\nruffled, and the wind tears round and round and seizes whole locks with\nwhich he whips her narrow shoulders. She wears a thin, tattered frock,\nand the wind clings round her, seeking a hole through which to steal\ninto her puny body.\n\nOn her feet she wears a pair of top boots--of mud. She also walks\nunsteadily, first, because she is meeting the wind, and, secondly,\nbecause _her_ hands, too, are taken up.\n\nIn her left one she carries a pair of big boots, a man's boots (her\nfather's most likely), taking them to be mended. I need not suppose that\nthey are going to the inn to be pawned for a bottle of brandy, because\nof the split soles.\n\nHer father has probably come home tired out with his work, her mother is\ncooking the supper, and she, the eldest daughter, has been sent out with\nthe boots. They must be ready by to-morrow morning early--she hurries\nalong--she knows that if her father does not get his boots by to-morrow,\nthere will be no fire in the oven all day. She pants--the great boots\nare too heavy for such a little child. But the weight in her right hand\nis heavier, for she carries an immense journeyman's umbrella--and she\ncarries it proudly--her father has trusted her with it!\n\nThe child needs a lot of things: in winter, warmth--winter and summer,\nclothing, and all the year round, enough to eat. By way of compensation,\nthere is excess in the size of her umbrella. I am sure that at this\nmoment the rich lady with the parasol envies her.\n\nThe little half-starved girl with the merry, roguish eyes, although the\nwind threatens to upset her every minute, smiles at me from out the\npicture:\n\nThere, you see, we have our pleasures, too!\n\nAs to that lady, I am laughing at her!\n\nOn paying for my unfinished glass of tea, however, I am again reminded\nof my little beggar boy.\n\nHe has no umbrella at all, no home awaits him, not even one with dry\npotatoes without butter, no little bit of a bed at the foot of father's\nor mother's.\n\nEven the unhappy lady would not find anything to envy him for.\n\nWhat made me think of him again? Aha, I remember! It flashed across me\nthat for the ten kopeks which I paid for the scarcely-tasted tea, the\npoor little boy would have had a half-portion of soup or a piece of\nbread and a corner to sleep in. Why did I order the tea? At home the\nsamovar is steaming, somebody sits waiting for me with a \"ready\" smile,\non the table there is something to eat.\n\nI was ashamed not to order tea. Well, there is something in that, I say\nto console myself.\n\nThere is an even stronger wind blowing outside than before. It tears at\nthe roofs as if it were an anti-Semite, and the roofs, Jews.\n\nBut the roofs are of iron, and they are at home.\n\nIt descends with fury on the lamps in the street, but they remain erect\nlike hero-sages at the time of the Inquisition.\n\nIt sweeps down on the pavement, but the flags are set deep in the earth,\nand the earth does not let go of her dwellers so easily. Then he raises\nhimself in anger up, up into the height, but the heavens are far, and\nthe stars look down with indifference--or amusement.\n\nThe passers in the street bend and bow themselves and huddle together to\ntake up as little room as possible, turn round to catch their breath,\nand pursue their certain way.\n\nBut the poor, helpless little boy, I think of him with terror, what will\nbecome of _him_?\n\nAll my philosophy has deserted me, and all my pity is awake.\n\nIf it were _my_ child? If I thought my own flesh and blood were in the\ngrip of this wind? If _my_ child were roaming the streets to-night? If,\neven supposing that later on he had managed to beg a groschen, he were\ngoing, in this hurricane, toward Praga[138]--over the Vistula, over the\nbridge?\n\nAnd just because he is _not_ mine, is he any the less deserving? Does he\nfeel the wind less, shiver the less with cold, because _his_ parents are\nlying somewhere in a grave under a tombstone? I lose all inclination to\ngo home. I feel as if I had no right to a warm room, to the boiling\nsamovar, to the soft bed and, above all, to the smile of those who are\nawaiting me.\n\nIt seems to me that \"murderer\" or some such word must be written on my\nforehead, that I have no business to be seen by anyone.\n\nAnd once more I begin to think about \"piousness.\"\n\n\"Why the devil am not I 'pious'?\" I mutter. \"Why need I have been the\nworse for believing that the One who dwells high above all the stars,\nhigh above the heavens, never lets our world out of His sight for a\nsingle instant? That not for a single instant will He forget the little\nboy? Why need he lie so heavy on my heart? Why cannot I leave him\nfrankly and freely to the great heart of the universe? He would trouble\nme no more, I should feel him safe under the great eye of the\ncosmos--the eye, which, should it withdraw itself for an instant, leaves\nwhole worlds a prey to the devil; the eye which, so long as it is open,\nassures to the least worm its maintenance and its right? As it is, I,\nwith my sick chest, and my wet feet, and in this weather, must go back\nto the soup-kitchen and _look_ for that little boy. It is a disgrace and\na shame!\"\n\nWherein the shame and the disgrace consisted, why and before whom I felt\nashamed, to this day I do not know. And yet, on account of the shame and\nthe disgrace, I did not take the shortest way back to the soup-kitchen,\nbut I went round by several streets.\n\nAt last I arrived.\n\nThe first room, the dining-room, was empty.\n\nThe Gehenna of day-time is cooling down, the steam rises higher and\nhigher from the damp floor, and creates a new \"heaven\" and a new\n\"firmament\" between the waters below (from off the feet of the poor\npeople) and the waters above (the drops formed by the vapor). Here and\nthere the drops come raining through.\n\nThanks to a little window, I can see into the kitchen.\n\nThe drowsy cook with the untidy head leans with her left hand on the\ngreat kettle and lifts the big soup-spoon lazily to her mouth.\n\nThe second, the kitchen-maid, is shredding macaroni for to-morrow noon.\nShe, too, looks sleepy. The superintendent is counting meal tickets\ndistributed by the committee.\n\nThere is no one else visible. I cast a look under the tables--no trace\nof the little boy. I am too late!\n\n\"But at least,\" I think, as I leave the kitchen, \"nobody saw me!\"\n\nSuddenly I remember that I have been walking the streets for several\nhours.\n\nWhatever is the matter with me? I mutter, and begin to pace homeward.\n\nI am quite glad to find everyone asleep.\n\nI throw off my goloshes in the entrance, steal up to my room and into\nbed.\n\nBut I had a bad night. Tired out, chilled, and wet through, it was long\nbefore I ceased coughing and got warm--a continual shiver ran through my\nbones. I did not get really to sleep till late in the morning, and then\nmy dreams began to torment me in earnest.\n\nI started out of sleep bathed in cold perspiration, sprang out of bed,\nand went to the window. I look out; the sky is full of stars--the stars\nlook like diamonds set in iron--they roll on so proudly, so calmly, and\nso high.\n\nThere is a tearing wind blowing at the back--the whole house shakes.\n\nI went back to bed, but I slept no more, I only dozed. My dreams were\nbroken, but the little boy was the centre of them all.\n\nEvery time I saw him in a new place: there he lies asleep out in the\nstreet--there he crouches on some steps in an archway--once, even,\ndevils are playing ball with him--he flies from hand to hand through\nthe air--later on I come across him lying frozen in a rubbish-box.\n\nI held out till morning and then I flew to the soup-kitchen.\n\nHe is there!\n\nHad I not been ashamed, I should have washed the grime off his face with\ntears of thankfulness. Had I not been afraid of my wife, I should have\nled him home as my own child. He is there--I am _not_ his murderer!\n\nWell!\n\nAnd I held out a ten kopek piece.\n\nHe takes it wondering; he does not know what a kindness he has done me.\n\nLong life to him!\n\nAnd next day, when he begged me for another groschen, I did _not_ give\nit him, but this time I uttered no word of reproof--what is more, I went\naway ashamed, not satisfied with myself.\n\nI can really and truly not afford it, but my heart is sore: why can I\nnot afford it?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMy grandfather, on whom be peace, was not so far wrong when he used to\nsay:\n\n\"Whoever is not pious, lives in sorrow of heart and dies without\nconsolation.\"\n\n\n\n\nXXIV\n\nUNDERGROUND\n\n\nA big underground lodging room full of beds.\n\nFreude, the tatterdemalion, has been asleep for some time on her chest,\nin her corner between the stove and the wall.\n\nTo-day she went to bed early, because to-morrow is fair-day in a\nneighboring town, and she will have to be astir betimes in order to\ndrive there with the grease. But she lies uneasy--there is trouble and\nworry in store.\n\nShe had arranged with the driver to take her, Freude, and the _small_\nbarrel, and now, just as she was going to sleep, it occurred to her that\nit would be better to take the big one.\n\nShe tosses from side to side on her couch.\n\n\"Plague take a woman's tongue!\" she mutters then, exclaiming against\nherself:\n\n\"The _small_ barrel! Whatever for? To please the driver? Driver be\nblessed! Can't he give his horses a few more oats for once?\"\n\nGrumbling thus over the stupidity of a woman's tongue, she has just\nmanaged to doze off. From beneath the counterpane appears a red kerchief\nthat falls dangling round about her face and her pointed red and blue\nnose.\n\nShe breathes heavily, and presses one bony hand to her old heart. Who\nknows what she is dreaming? Perhaps that the driver has broken his\nword, and she is left for a whole year without Parnosseh.\n\nThe opposite corner belongs to Yoneh the water-carrier.\n\nThe wife and two children sleep in one bed, and Yoneh with the elder\nCheder boy in another.\n\nNow and then a sigh issues from the beds. Here also people have lain\ndown in sorrow.\n\nThe little Cheder boy has been crying for money to pay the rabbi his\nfee.\n\nAnd the eldest daughter was left without a situation. She had been doing\nwell, as servant to a couple without children. Suddenly her mistress\ndied. So she came home--she could not stay on alone with the widower.\n\nThere were a few rubles owing to her in wages--they would have been just\nenough to pay the rabbi--but the widower says it is no concern of his,\nhis wife never mentioned it, and he doesn't know--he never mixes himself\nup with the affairs of women.\n\nThey quarrelled a little before going to sleep. The mother advised going\nto the Jewish court, the daughter was in favor of writing a petition\neither to the _natch\u00e0lnik_[1] or to the _mirov\u00f2i_.[139]\n\nYoneh will not hear of doing one or the other.\n\nThe widower will take his revenge, and get Yoneh a bad name among the\nhouseholders: \"He has only to snap his fingers and there's an end of\nme!\" How many water-carriers are there already loafing about with\nnothing to do since they started the new water-supply?\n\nBeril, the porter, all by himself in an upper bed, is snoring away like\na broken-winded horse. The two children sleep together in another place.\nHis wife is a cook, and this evening she has a wedding supper on hand.\n\nHere, too, rest is broken.\n\nBeril has an ache going through his bones, one after the other, and the\neldest son sighs frequently in his sleep. He works in a lime-kiln and\nhas burnt his foot.\n\nFurther on lies another snorer alone in a bed: Tzirel, the\nstreet-seller. In the second bed sleep all three children. Her husband\nis a watchman. No sooner has _he_ come in than _she_ will go out, with\nbread and fresh rolls.\n\nWe are already in the third corner, where stands another--this time an\niron bedstead.\n\nA flushed, unhealthy-looking woman's head is set off by a bundle of rags\nthat serve as pillow.\n\nHer prematurely parched lips open frequently, and a heavy sigh escapes\nthem. Her husband's profession is a hard one, and he has no luck. Last\nweek, at the risk of his life, he conveyed away a copper kettle and\nburied it in the sand outside the town--and it was discovered. Who knows\nwhat he will bring home to-night? Perhaps he is already in jail. It is\nthree weeks since she set on to boil so much as a kettleful of\nwater--and they are clamoring for the rent.\n\n\"A hard life and no luck!\" sigh the parched lips. \"And one has to be on\none's guard against neighbors. They are always asking: 'What is your\nhusband's trade? What keeps him out so late?'\"\n\nOver all the beds flickers a pale light from the centre of the room. It\nrises from between four canvas walls that bound the kingdom of a young\nmarried couple.\n\nTreine, the young housewife, is still awake. She has only been married\ntwo months, and she is waiting for her husband, who will presently\nreturn from the house-of-study.\n\nThe oil lamp is burning and throws pale patches on to the blackened\nceiling. A few feeble rays come through the rents in the canvas walls\nand dance upon the beds with the poor, worn-out faces.\n\nIn Treine's kingdom all is brighter and cleaner.\n\nBetween the two beds, on a little white table, lies a prayer-book\nflanked by two little metal candle-sticks, her wedding gifts. Wedding\ngarments hang on the wall, also a Tallis bag with the Shield of David\nembroidered on it.\n\nBut there are no chairs in the kingdom. Treine sits on one of the beds,\nmaking a net to hold the onions which are lying beside her, scattered\nover the sheet. The soup for supper is keeping hot under the\nbed-clothes.\n\nThe door of the big room opens softly. Treine's cheeks flush, she lets\nthe net fall out of her hands, and springs off the bed. But then she\nremains standing--it would never do before all the neighbors. One of\nthem might wake, and she would never hear the last of it. The neighbors\nare bad enough as it is, especially Freude. Freude cannot understand a\nwife not beginning to scold her husband the very next day after the\nwedding. \"Just you wait,\" she says, the old cat, \"you'll see the life\nhe'll lead you--when it's too late.\" Freude leaves her no peace.\n\n\"A husband,\" she says, \"who is not led by the nose is worse than a wolf.\nHe sucks the marrow out of your bones, the blood out of your veins!\"\n\nIt is ten years now since Freude had a husband, and she has not got her\nstrength back yet. And Freude is a clever woman, she knows a lot.\n\n\"Anything that he has a right to,\" she says, \"fling it out to him as you\nwould a bone to a dog, and--\"\n\nTreine has time to recollect all this, because it is some minutes before\nY\u00f6ssele manages to steal on tiptoe past all the beds. Every step he\ntakes echoes at her heart, but as to going out to meet him--not for any\nmoney. There--he nearly fell! Now he is just outside the partition\nwalls. She breathes again.\n\n\"Good evening!\" he says in a low voice, with downcast eyes.\n\n\"A good year to you!\" she answers lower still. Then: \"Are you hungry?\"\nshe asks.\n\n\"Are _you_? Wait.\"\n\nHe slips out between the partitions and returns with washed and dripping\nhands.\n\nShe gives him a towel.\n\nOn a corner of the table there is some bread and some salt and the now\nuncovered soup.\n\nHe sits down on his bed, on the top of all the bed-clothes, she on hers,\nwith the onions.\n\nThey eat slowly, talking with their eyes--what about, do you think?--and\nwith their lips about the way to earn a living.\n\n\"Well, how are you getting on?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" he sighs, \"three pupils already!\"\n\n\"And that is all we have to depend on?\" she asks sadly.\n\n\"_Ma!_\" he answers with gentle reproach.\n\n\"God be praised!\" she is consoling herself and him together.\n\n\"God be praised; but that only makes one hundred and twenty rubles,\" he\nsighs.\n\n\"Well, why do you sigh?\"\n\n\"Add it up,\" he answers; \"one ruble a week rent, that's twenty-six\nrubles a season. And then I'm in debt--there were wedding expenses.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" she asks astonished.\n\nHe smiles.\n\n\"Silly little thing! My father couldn't afford to give us anything more\nthan his consent.\"\n\n\"Well, what do they come to altogether?\" she interrupts.\n\n\"Altogether,\" he goes on, \"twelve rubles. That makes thirty-eight. What\nremains over for food?\"\n\nShe calculates:\n\n\"Eighty-two, I suppose.\"\n\n\"For twenty-six weeks.\"\n\n\"Well, after all,\" she says, \"it's over three rubles a week.\"\n\n\"And what,\" he asks sadly, \"what about wood--and candles--Sabbaths and\nholidays?\"\n\n\"_Ett_, God is faithful,\" she tries to cheer him, \"and I can do\nsomething, too. Look, I have bought some onions. Eggs are very cheap. I\nwill buy some eggs, too. In a week or so, perhaps, five dozen eggs will\nyield a little profit.\"\n\n\"But just calculate,\" he persists, \"what we must spend on firing and\nlights.\"\n\n\"Why, next to nothing. Perhaps one ruble a week. That leaves us--\"\n\n\"And Sabbaths and holidays! Child, what are you thinking of?\" And the\nword \"child\" falls so softly, so kindly, from his lips, that she must\nneeds smile.\n\n\"Come, say the Blessing, quick!\" she says, \"and let other things be till\nto-morrow. It's time to go to sleep.\"\n\nThen she feels ashamed, lowers her eyelids, and says as if she were\nexcusing herself:\n\n\"You come so late!\" with a yawn that is half a sham.\n\nHe leans toward her across the little table.\n\n\"Silly child,\" he whispers, \"I come in late on purpose, so that we may\neat together, do you see? For a teacher, you know, it's not the thing.\"\n\n\"Well, well, say the Blessing!\" she repeats, shutting her eyes tighter.\nHe closes his, he _wants_ to say it seriously. But his eyes keep opening\nof themselves. He presses down his eyelids, but there remains a chink\nthrough which he sees her, in a strangely colored light, so that he\ncannot do otherwise than look at her. She is tired--he feels sorry for\nher. He sees her trying to sit further back on the bed and letting her\nhead rest against the wall. She will go to sleep like that, he thinks.\n\n\"Why not take a pillow?\" he would like to say, almost crossly, but he\ncannot--ahem, ahem--\n\nBut she doesn't hear. He hurries through the Blessing, finishes it,\nstands up, and there remains, not knowing what to do next.\n\n\"Treine,\" he calls, but so low, it could not wake her. He goes up to her\nbed and bends over her.\n\nHer face smiles, it looks so sweet--she must be dreaming of something\npleasant--how beautifully she smiles--it would be a shame to wake her!\nOnly her little head will hurt--_\u00f6i_, what hair she must have had--he\nhas looked at her curls, long, black hair--all shorn now[140]--her cap\nis a thin embroidered one, with holes--she _is_ a beauty! He smiles,\ntoo.\n\nBut she must be woke. He bends lower and feels her breath--he draws it\nin hastily--she attracts him like a magnet--half-unconsciously he\ntouches her lips with his own.\n\n\"I wasn't asleep at all!\" she says suddenly, and opens a pair of\nmischievous, laughing eyes. She throws her arms round his shoulders and\npulls him down to her. \"Never mind,\" she whispers into his ear, and her\nvoice is very sweet, \"never mind! God is good and will help us--was it\nnot He who brought us together? He will not forsake us. There will be\nfiring and lights--there will be enough to live on--it will be all\nright--everything will be right--won't it, Y\u00f6ssele? Yes, it will!\"\n\nHe makes no reply. He is trembling all over.\n\nShe pushes him a little further away.\n\n\"Look at me, Y\u00f6ssele!\" it occurs to her to say.\n\nY\u00f6ssele wishes to obey, and cannot.\n\n\"Poor wretch,\" she says gently, \"not accustomed to it yet--ha?\"\n\nHe wants to hide his head in her breast, but she will not allow him to.\n\n\"Why are you ashamed, wretch? You can kiss, but you won't look!\"\n\nHe would rather kiss her, but she will not allow him.\n\n\"_Please_, look at me!\"\n\nY\u00f6ssele opens his eyes wide, but not for long.\n\n\"Oh, please!\" she says, and her voice is softer, \"silkier\" than ever.\n\nHe looks. This time it is _her_ lids that fall.\n\n\"Just tell me,\" she says, \"only please tell me the truth, am I a pretty\nwoman?\"\n\n\"Yes!\" he whispers, and she feels his breath hot on her cheek.\n\n\"Who told you?\"\n\n\"Can't I see for myself? You are a queen--a queen!\"\n\n\"And tell me, Y\u00f6ssele,\" she continues, \"shall you be always just\nas--just the same?\"\n\n\"What do you mean by that, Treine?\"\n\n\"I mean,\" her voice shakes, \"just as fond of me?\"\n\n\"What a question!\"\n\n\"Just as dear?\"\n\n\"What next?\"\n\n\"Always?\"\n\n\"Always!\" he is confident.\n\n\"Shall you always eat with me?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" he answers.\n\n\"And--and you will never scold me?\"\n\n\"_Never._\"\n\n\"Never make me unhappy?\"\n\n\"Unhappy? I? You? What do you mean? Why?\"\n\n\"_I_ don't know, Freude says....\"\n\n\"_Wa_--the witch!\"\n\nHe draws nearer to her. She pushes him back.\n\n\"Y\u00f6ssele?\"\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"Tell me--what is my name?\"\n\n\"Treine!\"\n\n\"_Ph\u00ea!_\" the small mouth makes a motion of disgust.\n\n\"Treinishe,\" he corrects himself.\n\nShe is not pleased yet.\n\n\"Treininyu!\"\n\n\"No!\"\n\n\"Well then--Treine my life, Treine my crown, Treine my heart--will that\ndo?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she answers happily, \"only--\"\n\n\"What now, my life, my delight?\"\n\n\"Only--listen, Y\u00f6ssele,--and--\" she stammers.\n\n\"And what?\"\n\n\"And when--if you should be out of work any time--and when I am not\nearning much--then perhaps, perhaps--you will scold.\"\n\nThe tears come into her eyes.\n\n\"God forbid! God forbid!\"\n\nHe forces his head out of her hands, and flings himself upon her parted\nlips.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"Plague take you altogether, head and hands and feet!\" a voice comes\nfrom beneath the partition. \"Honey-mooning, as I'm alive! There's no\nclosing an eye--\"\n\nIt is the husky, acidly-spiteful voice of Freude, the tatterdemalion.\n\n\n\n\nXXV\n\nBETWEEN TWO MOUNTAINS\n\n(Between the Rabbi of Brisk and the Rebbe of By\u00e0le)\n\nA Simchas Torah Tale\n\nTOLD BY AN OLD TEACHER\n\n\nI\n\nOf course you have heard of the Brisk Rabbi and the By\u00e0le Rebbe, but it\nis not everyone who knows that the holy man of By\u00e0le, Reb N\u00f2ach'ke, was\nat one time the Brisk Rabbi's pupil, that he studied a good couple of\nyears with him, then disappeared for another two, and finally emerged\nfrom his voluntary exile as a distinguished man in By\u00e0le.\n\nAnd he left for this reason:\n\nThey studied Torah, with the Brisk Rabbi, only the Rebbe felt that it\nwas _dry_ Torah. For instance, one learns about questions regarding\nwomen, or about \"meat in milk,\" or else about a money matter--very well.\nReuben and Simon come with a dispute, or there comes a maid-servant or a\nwoman with a question of ritual, and that very moment the study becomes\na delight, it is all alive and is there for a purpose.\n\nBut like this, without them, the Rebbe felt the Torah, that is, the body\nof the Torah, the explanation, what lies on the surface, is dry. That,\nhe felt, is not the Law of life. Torah must live! The study of Kabbalah\nbooks was not allowed in Brisk. The Brisk Rabbi was a Misnagid, and by\nnature \"revengeful and relentless as a serpent;\" if anyone ventured to\nopen a Zohar, a Pardes, he would scold and put him under a ban. Somebody\nwas caught reading a Kabbalah-book, and the Rabbi had his beard shaven\nby Gentiles! What do you think? The man became distraught, fell into a\nmelancholy, and, what is more wonderful, no \"good Jew\" was able to help\nhim. The Brisk Rabbi was no trifle, I can tell you! And how was anyone\njust to get up and go away from his academy?\n\nReb N\u00f2ach'ke couldn't make up his mind what to do for a long time.\n\nThen he was shown a dream. He dreamed that the Brisk Rabbi came in to\nhim and said: \"Come, N\u00f2ach, I will take you into the terrestrial Garden\nof Eden.\" And he took his hand and led him away thither. They came into\na great palace. There were no doors and no windows in this palace,\nexcept for the door by which they came in. And yet it was light, for the\nwalls, as it seemed to the Rebbe, were of crystal and gave out a\nglittering shine.\n\nAnd so they went on, further and further, and one saw no end to it.\n\n\"Hold on to my skirt,\" said the Brisk Rabbi, \"there are halls without\ndoors and without number, and if you let go of me, you will be lost\nforever.\"\n\nThe Rebbe obeyed, and they went further and further, and the whole way\nhe saw no bench, no chair, no kind of furniture, nothing at all!\n\n\"There is no resting here,\" explained the Brisk Rabbi, \"one goes on and\non!\" And he followed, and every hall was longer and brighter than the\nlast, and the walls shone now with this color and now with that, here\nwith several, and there with all colors--but they did not meet with a\nsingle human being on their way.\n\nThe Rebbe grew weary walking. He was covered with perspiration, a cold\nperspiration. He grew cold in every limb, beside which his eyes began to\nhurt him, from the continual brilliancy.\n\nAnd there came over him a great longing, a longing after Jews, after\ncompanions, after All-Israel. It was no trifle, not meeting a single\nsoul.\n\n\"Long after no one,\" said the Brisk Rabbi, \"this is a palace for me and\nfor you--you will also, some day, be Rabbi of Brisk.\"\n\nAnd the other was more terrified than ever, and laid his hand against\nthe wall to help himself from falling. And the wall burnt him. Only not\nas fire burns, but as ice burns.\n\n\"Rabbi!\" he gave a cry, \"the walls are ice, simply ice!\"\n\nThe Brisk Rabbi was silent. And the other cried again:\n\n\"Rabbi, take me away hence! I do not wish to stay alone with you! I wish\nto be with All-Israel!\"\n\nAnd hardly had he said it when the Brisk Rabbi disappeared, and he was\nleft alone in the palace.\n\nHe knew of no way, no in and no out; a cold terror struck him from the\nwalls; and the longing for a Jew, to see a Jew, if only a cobbler or a\ntailor, waxed stronger and stronger. He began to weep.\n\n\"Lord of the world,\" he begged, \"take me away from here. Better in\nGehenna with All-Israel than here one by himself!\"\n\nAnd immediately there appeared before him a common Jew with the red sash\nof a driver round him, and a long whip in his hand. The Jew took him\nsilently by the sleeve, led him out of the palace--and vanished. Such\nwas the dream that was sent him.\n\nWhen he woke, before daylight, when it had scarcely begun to dawn, he\nunderstood that this had been no ordinary dream. He dressed quickly, and\nhastened toward the house-of-study to get his dream interpreted by the\nlearned ones who pass the night there. On his way through the market,\nhowever, he saw a covered wagon standing, and beside it--the driver with\na red sash round the waist, a long whip in his hand, and altogether just\nsuch a Jew as the one who had led him out of the palace in his dream.\n\nN\u00f2ach (it struck him there was something behind the coincidence) went up\nto him and asked:\n\n\"Whither drives a Jew?\"\n\n\"Not _your_ way,\" answered the driver, very roughly.\n\n\"Well, tell me anyway,\" he continued. \"Perhaps I will go with you!\"\n\nThe driver considered a little, and then answered:\n\n\"And can't a young fellow like you go on foot?\" he asked. \"Go along with\nyou, _your_ way!\"\n\n\"And whither shall I go?\"\n\n\"Follow your nose!\" answered the driver, \"it's not my business.\"\n\nThe Rebbe understood, and now began his \"exile.\"\n\nA few years later, as before said, he emerged into publicity in By\u00e0le.\nHow it all happened I won't tell you now, although it's enough to make\nanyone open his mouth and ears. And about a year after this happened, a\nBy\u00e0le householder, Reb Yechiel his name was, sent for me as a teacher.\n\nAt first I would not accept the post of teacher in his house.\n\nYou must know that Reb Yechiel was a rich man of the old-fashioned type,\nhe gave his daughters a thousand gold pieces dowry, and contracted\nalliances with the greatest rabbis, and his latest daughter-in-law was a\ndaughter of the Rabbi of Brisk.\n\nYou can see for yourselves that if the Brisk Rabbi and the other\nconnections were Misnagd\u00eem, Reb Yechiel had to be a Misnagid, too--and I\nam a By\u00e0le Chossid, well--how could I go into a house of that kind?\n\nAnd yet I felt drawn to By\u00e0le. You can fancy! The idea of living in the\nsame town as the Rebbe! After a good deal of see-sawing, I went.\n\nAnd Reb Yechiel himself turned out to be a very honest, pious Jew, and I\ntell you, his heart was drawn to the Rebbe as if with pincers. He was no\nlearned man, himself, and he stared at the Rabbi of Brisk as a cock\nlooks at a prayer-book.[141] He made no objections to my holding to the\nBy\u00e0le Rebbe, only he would have nothing to do with him himself. When I\ntold anything about the Rebbe, he would pretend to yawn, and yet I\ncould see that he pricked up his ears, but his son, the son-in-law of\nthe Brisk Rabbi, would frown and look at me with mingled anger and\ncontempt, only he never argued; he was silent by nature.\n\nAnd it came to pass on a day that Reb Yechiel's daughter-in-law, the\nBrisk Rabbi's daughter, was expecting the birth of her first\nchild--well, there is nothing new in that, you say? But \"thereby hangs a\ntale.\" It was well known that the Brisk Rabbi, because he had shaved a\nChossid, that is, caused him to be deprived of beard and ear-locks, was\nmade to suffer by the prominent Rebbes. Both his sons (not of you be it\nsaid!) died within five or six years, and not one of his three daughters\nhad a boy, beside which every child they bore nearly cost them their\nlife.\n\nEveryone saw and knew that it was a visitation of the great Rebbes on\nthe Brisk Rabbi, only he himself, for all his clear-sightedness, did not\nsee it. He went on his way as before, carrying on his opposition by\nmeans of force and bans.\n\nI was really sorry for G\u00fctele (that was the name of the Rabbi's\ndaughter), really sorry. First, a Jewess; secondly, a good Jewess, such\na good, kind soul as never was known.\n\nNot a poor girl was married without her assistance--a \"silken creature!\"\nAnd she was to be punished for her father's outburst of anger! And\ntherefore, as soon as I heard the midwife busy in the room, I wanted to\nmove heaven and earth for them to send to the By\u00e0le Rebbe--if only a\nnote without a money-offering--after all, it wasn't as if _he_ needed\nmoney.\n\nThe By\u00e0le Rebbe never thought much of money.\n\nBut whom was I to speak with?\n\nI try it on with the Brisk Rabbi's son-in-law--and I know very well that\nhis soul is bound up with her soul, that he has never hid from himself\nthat domestic happiness shone out of every corner, out of every word and\ndeed--but he is the Brisk Rabbi's son-in-law, he spits, goes away, and\nleaves me standing with my mouth open.\n\nI go to Reb Yechiel himself, and he answers: \"It is the Brisk Rabbi's\ndaughter. I could not treat him like that, not even if there were peril\nof death, heaven forbid!\" I try his wife--a worthy soul, but a simple\none--and she answers:\n\n\"If my husband told me to do so, I would send the Rebbe my holiday\nhead-kerchief and the ear-rings at once; they cost a mint of money; but\nwithout his consent, not a copper farthing--not a tassel!\"\n\n\"But a note--what harm could a note do you?\"\n\n\"Without my husband's knowledge, nothing!\" she answers, as a good Jewess\nshould answer, and turns away from me, and I see that she only does it\nto hide her tears--a mother--\"the heart knows,\" her heart has felt the\ndanger.\n\nBut when I heard the first cry, I ran to the Rebbe myself.\n\n\"Shemaiah,\" he answered me, \"what can I do? I will pray!\"\n\n\"Give me something for her, Rebbe,\" I implore, \"anything, a coin, a\ntrifle, an amulet!\"\n\n\"It would only make matters worse, which heaven forbid!\" he replied.\n\"Where there is no faith, such things only do harm, and she would have\nnone.\"\n\nWhat could I do? It was the first day of Tabernacles, there was nothing\nI could do for her, I might as well stay with the Rebbe. I was like a\nson of the house. I thought, I will look imploringly at the Rebbe every\nminute, perhaps he will have compassion.\n\nOne heard things were not going on well--everything had been\ndone--graves measured, hundreds of candles burnt in the synagogue, in\nthe house-of-study, and a fortune given away in charity. What remains to\nbe told? All the wardrobes stood open; a great heap of coins of all\nsorts lay on the table, and poor people came in and took away--all who\nwished, what they wished, as much as they wished!\n\nI felt it all deeply.\n\n\"Rebbe,\" I said, \"it is written: 'Almsgiving delivers from death.'\"\n\nAnd he answered quite away from the matter:\n\n\"Perhaps the Brisk Rabbi will come!\"\n\nAnd in that instant there walks in Reb Yechiel. He never spoke to the\nRebbe, any more than if he hadn't seen him, but:\n\n\"Shemaiah,\" he says to me, and catches hold of the flap of my coat,\n\"there is a cart outside, go, get into it and drive to the Brisk Rabbi,\ntell him to come.\"\n\nAnd he was evidently quite aware of what was involved, for he added:\n\n\"Let him see for himself what it means. Let him say what is to be done!\"\n\nAnd he looked--what am I to say? A corpse is more beautiful than he was.\n\nWell, I set off. And thinking, I thought to myself, if my _Rebbe knows\nthat the Brisk Rabbi expects to come here_, something will result.\nPerhaps they will make peace. That is, not the Brisk Rabbi with the\nBy\u00e0le Rebbe, for they themselves were not at strife, but their\nfollowers. Because, really, if he comes, he will see us; he has eyes in\nhis head!\n\nBut heaven, it seems, will not suffer such things to come to pass so\nquickly, and set hindrances in my way. Hardly had I driven out of By\u00e0le\nwhen a cloud spread itself out over the sky, and what a cloud! A heavy\nblack cloud like soot, and there came a gust of wind as though spirits\nwere flying abroad, and it blew from all sides at once. A peasant, of\ncourse, understands these things, he crossed himself and said that the\njourney, might heaven defend us, would be hard, and pointed with his\nwhip to the sky. Just then came a stronger gust of wind, tore the cloud\nas you tear a piece of paper, and began to blow one bit of it to one\nside, and one to the other, as if it were parting ice-floes on a river;\nI had two or three piles of cloud over my head. I wasn't at all\nfrightened at first. It was no new thing for me to be wet through, and I\nam not alarmed at thunder.\n\nIn the first place it never thunders at Tabernacles, and secondly, after\nthe Rebbe's Shofar-blowing! We have a tradition that after the\nShofar-blowing thunder has no power to harm for a whole year. But when\nthe rain suddenly gave a lash across the face like a whip--once, twice,\nthrice--my heart sank into my shoes. I saw that heaven was against me,\ndriving me back.\n\nAnd the peasant, too, begged, \"Let us go home!\"\n\nBut I knew there was peril of death. I sat on the cart and heard\nthrough the storm the moans of the woman and the crack of the husband's\nfinger-joints: he wrings his hands; and I see Reb Yechiel's dark face\nwith the sunken, burning eyes: \"Drive on,\" he says, \"drive on!\" And we\ndrive on.\n\nAnd it pours and pours, it pours from above and splashes from below,\nfrom underneath the wheels and the horse's feet, and the road is\nswamped, literally covered with water. The water frothed, the cart\nseemed to swim--what am I to tell you? Besides that we lost our way--but\nI lived through it!\n\nI brought back the Brisk Rabbi by the Great Hosanna.[142]\n\n\nII\n\nI must tell you the truth, that no sooner had the Brisk Rabbi taken his\nseat in the cart than it grew still! The cloud broke up and the sun\nshone through the rift, and we drove into By\u00e0le quite dry and\ncomfortable. Even the peasant remarked it, and said in his own language:\n\"A great Rabbi! a powerful Rabbi!\"\n\nBut the main thing was our arrival in By\u00e0le.\n\nThe women who were in the house crowded to the Rabbi like locusts--they\nnearly fell on their faces before him and wept--the daughter in the\ninner room was not heard, either because of the women's weeping, or else\nbecause she had no strength left to complain--Reb Yechiel did not see\nus, he was standing with his forehead pressed against a window-pane, as\nthough his head were burning hot.\n\nThe Brisk Rabbi's son-in-law did not turn round to greet us, either. He\nstood with his face against the wall, and I could see plainly how his\nwhole body shook, and how his head knocked against the wall.\n\nI thought I should have fallen. Anxiety and terror had taken such hold\non me that I was cold in every limb, I felt that my soul was chilled.\n\nWell, did you know the Brisk Rabbi? That was a man--a pillar of iron, I\ntell you!\n\nA tall, tall man, \"from his shoulders and upward he was higher than any\nof the people;\" he cast awe round him like a king.\n\nA long white beard, one point of it, I remember now, had tucked itself\nunder his girdle, the other point quivered over it. His eyebrows were\nwhite, thick, and long, they seemed to cover part of his face. When he\nraised them--Lord of the world! The women fell back as though they were\nthunderstruck, he had such eyes! There were daggers in them, glittering\ndaggers! And he gave a roar like a lion: \"Women, be gone!\"\n\nThen he asked in a lower and gentler voice:\n\n\"And where is my daughter?\"\n\nThey showed him.\n\nHe went in, and I remained standing quite upset: Such eyes, such a\nvoice! It is quite another sort another world! The By\u00e0le Rebbe's eyes\nare so kind, so quiet, they do one's heart good; he gives you a look,\nand it's like a shower of gold--and his voice--that sweet voice--soft as\nvelvet--Lord of the world! it goes to your heart and soothes it and\ncomforts it--one isn't afraid of _him_, heaven forbid! The soul just\nmelts for love of him, she desires to escape from the body and unite\nherself to _his_ soul--she is drawn as a butterfly (lehavd\u00eel) to a\nbright flame! And here--Lord of the world, fear and trembling! A Ga\u00f2n, a\nGa\u00f2n of the old days! And he has gone in to a woman in child-bed!\n\n\"He will turn her into a heap of bones!\" I think in terror.\n\nI run to the By\u00e0le Rebbe. And he met me in the door with a smile:\n\n\"Have you seen,\" he said to me, \"the majesty of the Law? The very\nmajesty of the Law?\"\n\nI felt relieved. If the Rebbe smiles, I thought, all will be well.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd all was well. On Shemini Atseres[143] she was over it.\n\nAnd on Simchas Torah the Brisk Rabbi presided at table. I would have\nliked to be at table somewhere else, but I did not dare go away,\nparticularly as I made up the tenth man needed to recite grace.\n\nWell, what am I to tell you? How the Brisk Rabbi expounded the Torah? If\nthe Torah is a sea, he was Leviathan in the sea--with one twist of his\ntail he swam through ten treatises, with another he mixed together the\nTalmud and the codes, so that it heaved and splashed and seethed and\nboiled, just as they say the real sea does--he made my head go\nround--but \"the heart knoweth its own bitterness,\" and my heart felt no\nholiday happiness! And then I remembered the Rebbe's dream--and I felt\npetrified. There was sun in the window and no want of wine at table, I\ncould see the whole company was perspiring. And I? I was cold, cold as\nice! Over yonder I knew the Torah was being expounded differently--there\nit is bright and warm--every word is penetrated and interwoven with love\nand rapture--one feels that angels are flying through the room, one\nseems to hear the rustle of the great, white wings--_a\u00ef_, Lord of the\nworld! Only, there's no getting away!\n\nSuddenly he stops, the Brisk Rabbi, and asks:\n\n\"What kind of rabbi have you got here?\"\n\n\"A certain N\u00f2ach,\" they reply.\n\nWell, it cut me to the heart. \"A certain N\u00f2ach!\" O, the flattery, the\nflattery of it!\n\n\"Is he a wonder-worker?\"\n\n\"Not very much of one, one doesn't often hear about him--the women talk\nof him, but who listens to them?\"\n\n\"Then he just takes money and does nothing wonderful?\"\n\nThey tell him the truth: that he takes little money, and gives away a\ngreat deal.\n\nThe rabbi muses.\n\n\"And he is a scholar?\"\n\n\"They say, a great one!\"\n\n\"Whence is he, this N\u00f2ach?\"\n\nNobody knows, and _I_ have to answer. A conversation ensues between me\nand the Brisk Rabbi:\n\n\"Was he not once in Brisk, this N\u00f2ach?\" he asks.\n\n\"Was not the Rebbe once in Brisk?\" I stammered. \"I think--yes!\"\n\n\"Ah,\" says he, \"a follower of his!\" and it seems to me he looks at me as\none looks at a spider.\n\nThen he turns to the company:\n\n\"I once had a pupil,\" he says, \"N\u00f2ach--he had a good head, but he was\nattracted to the other side[144]--I spoke to him once, twice--I would\nhave spoken to him a third time, to warn him, but he disappeared--is it\nnot he? Who knows!\"\n\nAnd he began to describe him: thin, small, a little black beard, black,\ncurly ear-locks, a dreamer, a quiet voice, and so on.\n\n\"It may be,\" said the company, \"that it is he; it sounds very like!\"\n\nI thanked God when they began to say grace.\n\nBut after grace something happened that I had never dreamt of.\n\nThe Brisk Rabbi rises from his seat, calls me aside, and says in a low\nvoice:\n\n\"Take me to _your_ Rebbe and _my_ pupil! Only, do you hear? no one must\nknow!\"\n\nOf course, I obeyed, only on the way I asked in terror:\n\n\"Brisk Rabbi, tell me, with what purpose are you going?\"\n\nAnd he answered simply:\n\n\"It occurred to me at grace, that I had judged by hearsay--I want to\nsee, I want to see for myself, and perhaps,\" he added, after a while,\n\"God will help me, and I will save a pupil of mine.\n\n\"Know, rascal,\" he said to me playfully, \"that if your Rebbe is _that_\nN\u00f2ach who studied with me, he may some day be a great man in Israel, a\nveritable Brisk Rabbi!\"\n\nThen I knew that it was he, and my heart began to beat with violence.\n\nAnd the two mountains met--and it is a miracle from heaven that I was\nnot crushed between them.\n\nThe By\u00e0le Rebbe of blessed memory used to send out his followers, at\nSimchas Torah, to walk round the town, and he himself sat in the balcony\nand looked on and had pleasure in what he saw.\n\nIt was not the By\u00e0le of to-day: it was quite a small place then, with\nlittle, low-built houses, except for the Shool and the Rebbe's Kl\u00e4us.\nThe Rebbe's balcony was on the second floor, and you could see\neverything from it as if it all lay in the flat of your hand: the hills\nto the east and the river to the west. And the Rebbe sits and looks out,\nsees some Chassid\u00eem walking along in silence, and throws down to them\nfrom the balcony the fragments of a tune. They catch at it and proceed\non their way singing, and batches and batches of them go past and out of\nthe town with songs and real gladness, with real Rejoicing of the\nLaw--and the Rebbe used not to leave the balcony.\n\nBut on this occasion the Rebbe must have heard other steps, for he rose\nand came to meet the Rabbi of Brisk.\n\n\"Peace be with you, Rabbi!\" he said meekly, in his sweet voice.\n\n\"Peace be with you, N\u00f2ach!\" the Brisk Rabbi answered.\n\n\"Sit, Rabbi!\"\n\nThe Brisk Rabbi took a seat, and the By\u00e0le Rebbe stood before him.\n\n\"Tell me, N\u00f2ach,\" said the Brisk Rabbi, with lifted eyebrows, \"why did\nyou run away from my academy? What was wanting to you there?\"\n\n\"Breathing-space, Rabbi,\" answered the other, composedly.\n\n\"What do you mean? What are you talking about, N\u00f2ach?\"\n\n\"Not for myself,\" explained the By\u00e0le Rebbe in a quiet tone, \"it was for\nmy soul.\"\n\n\"Why so, N\u00f2ach?\"\n\n\"Your Torah, Rabbi, is all justice! It is without mercy! There is not a\nspark of grace in your Torah! And therefore it is joyless, and cannot\nbreathe freely--it is all chains and fetters, iron regulations, copper\nlaws!--and all higher Torah for the learned, for the select few!\"\n\nThe Brisk Rabbi is silent, and the other continues:\n\n\"And tell me, Rabbi, what have you for All-Israel? What have you, Rabbi,\nfor the wood-cutter, for the butcher, for the artisan, for the common\nJew?--specially for the simple Jew? Rabbi, what have you for the\n_un_learned?\"\n\nThe Brisk Rabbi is silent, as though he did not understand what was\nbeing said to him. And still the By\u00e0le Rebbe stands before him, and goes\non in his sweet voice:\n\n\"Forgive me, Rabbi, but I must tell the truth--your Torah was _hard_,\nhard and dry, for it is only the body and not the soul of the Law!\"\n\n\"The soul?\" asks the Brisk Rabbi, and rubs his high forehead.\n\n\"Certainly, as I told you, Rabbi, your Torah is for the select, for the\nlearned, not for All-Israel. And the Torah _must_ be for All-Israel! The\nDivine Presence must rest on All-Israel! because the Torah is the soul\nof All-Israel!\"\n\n\"And _your_ Torah, N\u00f2ach?\"\n\n\"You wish to see it, Rabbi?\"\n\n\"Torah--_see_ it?\" wonders the Brisk Rabbi.\n\n\"Come, Rabbi, I will show it you!--I will show you its splendor, the joy\nwhich beams forth from it upon all, upon All-Israel!\"\n\nThe Brisk Rabbi does not move.\n\n\"I beg of you, Rabbi, come! It is not far.\"\n\nHe led him out on to the balcony, and I went quietly after. \"You may\ncome too, Shemaiah,\" he said to me, \"to-day you will see it also--and\nthe Brisk Rabbi will see--you will see the Simchas Torah--you will see\n_real_ Rejoicing of the Law!\"\n\nAnd I saw what I had always seen, only I saw it differently--as if a\ncurtain had fallen from my eyes.\n\nA great wide sky--without a limit! The sky was so blue! so blue! it was\na delight to the eye. Little white clouds, silvery clouds, floated\nacross it, and when you looked at them intently, you saw how they\nquivered for joy, how they danced for Rejoicing in the Law! Away behind,\nthe town was encircled by a broad green girdle, a dark green one, only\nthe green lived, as though something alive were flying along through the\ngrass; every now and then it seemed as if a living being, a sweet smell,\na little life, darted up shining in a different place; one could see\nplainly how the little flames sprang up and danced and embraced each\nother.\n\nAnd over the fields with the flames there sauntered parties and parties\nof Chassid\u00eem--the satin and even the satinette cloaks shine like glass,\nthe torn ones and the whole alike--and the little flames that rose from\nthe grass attached themselves to the shining holiday garments and seemed\nto dance round every Chossid with delight and affection--and every\ncompany of Chassid\u00eem gazed up with wonderfully thirsty eyes at the\nRebbe's balcony--and I could see how that thirsty gaze of theirs sucked\nlight from the balcony, from the Rebbe's face, and the more light they\nsucked in, the louder they sang--louder and louder--more cheerfully,\nmore devoutly.\n\nAnd every company sang to its own tune, but all the different tunes and\nvoices blended in the air, and there floated up to the Rebbe's balcony\n_one_ strain, _one_ melody--as though all were singing _one_ song. And\neverything sang--the sky, the celestial bodies, the earth beneath, the\nsoul of the world itself--everything was singing!\n\nLord of the world! I thought I should dissolve away for sheer delight!\n\nBut it was not to be.\n\n\"It is time for the afternoon prayers!\" said the Brisk Rabbi, suddenly,\nin a sharp tone; and it all vanished.\n\nSilence ... the curtain has fallen back across my eyes; above is the\nusual sky, below--the usual fields, the usual Chassid\u00eem in torn\ncloaks--old, disconnected fragments of song--the flames are\nextinguished. I glance at the Rebbe; his face is darkened, too.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThey were not reconciled; the Brisk Rabbi remained a Misnagid as before.\n\nBut it had one result! He never persecuted again.\n\n\n\n\nXXVI\n\nTHE IMAGE\n\n\nGreat people have been known to do great wonders; witness the time when\nthey attacked the Ghetto in Prague, and were about to assault the women,\nroast the children, and beat the remainder to death. When all means of\ndefense were exhausted, the Maharal[145] laid down the Gemoreh, stepped\nout into the street, went up to the first mud-heap outside the door of a\nschool-master, and made a clay image.\n\nHe blew into its nostril, and it began to move; then he whispered a name\ninto its ear, and away went the image out of the Ghetto, and the Maharal\nsat down again to his book. The image fell upon our enemies who were\nbesieging the Ghetto, and threshed them as it were with flails--they\nfell before him as thick as flies.\n\nPrague was filled with corpses--they say the destruction lasted all\nWednesday and Thursday; Friday, at noon, the image was still at it.\n\n\"Rabbi,\" exclaimed Kohol, \"the image is making a clean sweep of the\ncity! There will be no one left to light the fires on Sabbath or to take\ndown the lamps!\"[146]\n\nA second time the Maharal shut his book; he took his stand at the desk\nand began to chant the psalm, \"A Song of the Sabbath Day.\"\n\nWhereupon the image ceased from work, came back to the Ghetto, entered\nthe synagogue, and approached the Maharal.\n\nThe Maharal whispered into its ear as before, its eyes closed, the\nbreath left it, and it became once more a clay image.\n\nAnd to this day the image lies aloft in the Prague synagogue, covered up\nwith cobwebs that stretch across from wall to wall, and spread over the\nwhole arcade, so that the image shall not be seen, above all, not by the\npregnant women of the \"women's court.\" And the cobwebs may not be\ntouched: whoever touches them, dies!\n\nNo man, not the oldest there, recollects having seen the image; but the\nChacham Zeb\u00ee, the Maharal's grandson, sometimes wonders, whether, for\ninstance, such an image might not be included in one of the ten males\nrequired to form a congregation?\n\nThe image, you see, is not forgotten--the image is there still.\n\nBut the name with which to give it life in the day of need has fallen as\nit were into a deep water!\n\nAnd the cobwebs increase and increase, and one may not touch them.\n\nWhat is to be done?\n\n\n\n\nGLOSSARY\n\n(ALL WORDS GIVEN BELOW, UNLESS OTHERWISE SPECIFIED, ARE HEBREW.)\n\n\nCHANUKAH Feast of Dedication, or Feast of Lights, commemorating the\nvictory of Judas Maccabeus.\n\nCHASSID\u00ceM _See_ Chossid.\n\nCHEDER Private religious school.\n\nCHOSSID (pl. Chassid\u00eem). Briefly, a mystic. _See_ the article Hassid\u00eem,\nin the Jewish Encyclopedia, V.\n\nDAYAN Assistant to the rabbi of a town.\n\nDREIER (Ger.). A small coin.\n\nESROG (pl. Esrog\u00eem). The \"fruit of the tree Hadar,\" used with the Lulav\non the Feast of Tabernacles. _See_ Lev. xxiii. 40.\n\nFELDSCHER (Ger.). Assistant army surgeon; the successor to the\ncelebrated R\u00f6feh of twenty or thirty years ago.\n\nGEHENNA The nether world; hell.\n\nGEMOREH The Rabbinical discussion and elaboration of the Mishnah. _See_\nTalmud.\n\nGEVIR (pl. Gevir\u00eem). Influential rich man.\n\nGROSCHEN (Ger.). A small coin.\n\nGULDEN (Ger.). A florin.\n\nG\u00dcTER Y\u00dcD (Ger., \"Good Jew\"). Chassidic wonder-worker. _See_ Rebbe.\n\nHAVDOLEH Division; the ceremony ushering out the Sabbath or a holiday.\n\nHEKDESH Free hospital.\n\nKABBALAH A mystical religious philosophy, much studied by the\nChassid\u00eem.\n\nKADDISH Sanctification; a doxology. Specifically, the doxology recited\nby a child in memory of its parents during the first eleven months\nafter their death, and thereafter on every anniversary of the day of\ntheir death.\n\nKEDUSHAH Sanctification; an important part of the public service in the\nsynagogue.\n\nKISSUSH Sanctification; the ceremony ushering in the Sabbath or a\nholiday.\n\nKL\u00c4US (Ger.). House of study; lit., hermitage.\n\nKOHOL The community; transferred to the heads of the community.\n\nKOPEK (Russian). Small Russian coin, the hundredth part of a ruble.\n\nKOSHER Ritually permitted.\n\nL\u00c0MED-W\u00d2FNIK. One of the thirty-six hidden saints, whose merits are said\nto sustain the world. L\u00e0med is thirty; w\u00f2f is six; and nik is a Slavic\ntermination expressing \"of the kind.\"\n\nLEHAVD\u00ceL Lit. \"to distinguish.\" Elliptical for \"to distinguish between\nthe holy and the secular.\" It is equivalent to \"excuse the comparison\";\n\"with due distinction\"; \"pardon me for mentioning the two things in the\nsame breath\"; etc.\n\nLULAV (pl. Lulav\u00eem). The festal wreath used with the Esrog on the Feast\nof Tabernacles. _See_ Lev. xxiii. 40.\n\nMAARIV The evening service.\n\nMASKIL An enlightened one; an \"intellectual.\"\n\nMINCHAH The afternoon service.\n\nMINYAN A company of ten men, the minimum for a public service.\n\nMISHNAH A code of laws. _See_ Talmud.\n\nMISHNAYES Plural of Mishnah; specifically, the volumes containing the\nMishnah.\n\nMISNAGID (pl. Misnagd\u00eem). One opposed to the mystical teaching of the\nChassid\u00eem.\n\nMOHEL The one who performs the rite of circumcision.\n\nPARNOSSEH Means of livelihood; sustenance.\n\nRABBI Teacher of the Law; the religious guide and arbiter of a\ncommunity; also teacher, as at a Cheder.\n\nREB Mr.\n\nREBBE The acknowledged leader of the Chassid\u00eem, usually a\nwonder-worker; called also \"G\u00fcter Y\u00fcd.\" and Tsaddik.\n\nREBBITZIN Wife of a rabbi.\n\nR\u00d6FEH Jewish physician.\n\nRUBLE (Russian). Russian coin worth about half a dollar.\n\nSECHSER (Ger.). A small coin.\n\nSHOCHET Ritual slaughterer.\n\nSHOFAR Ram's horn, used on New Year's Day, etc. _See_ Lev. xxiii. 24.\n\nSHOOL (Ger., Schul'). Synagogue.\n\nSIMCHAS TORAH. The Festival of Rejoicing in the Law, the ninth day of\nthe Feast of Tabernacles.\n\nSLICHES Penitential prayers. Applied to the week, more or less, before\nthe New Year, when these prayers are recited at the synagogue.\n\nST\u00dcBELE (Ger.). Chassidic meeting-house.\n\nTAKI (Russian). Really.\n\nTALLIS Prayer-scarf.\n\nTALMUD The traditional lore of the Jews, reduced to writing about 500\nof the present era. It consists of the Mishnah and the Gemoreh.\n\nTALMUD TORAH. Free communal school.\n\nTEFILLIN Phylacteries.\n\nTIKERIN Assistant at the women's bath.\n\nTORAH The Jewish Law in general, and the Pentateuch in particular.\n\nTOSSAFOT An important commentary on the Talmud, composed chiefly by\nFranco-German authorities.\n\nTSADDIK Lit. \"righteous man\"; specifically, a Rebbe, a wonder-worker, a\n\"G\u00fcter Y\u00fcd.\"\n\nThe Lord Baltimore Press BALTIMORE, MD., U. S. A.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nChanges made in the text\n(not of the etext transcriber):\n\nstaid longer=>stayed longer\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] A Bible commentator of the sixteenth century.\n\n[2] Conveyance opportunely going the same way.\n\n[3] Shatnez, mixture of wool and linen, forbidden in the Pentateuch.\n\n[4] From the Talmudical treatise on damages.\n\n[5] College.\n\n[6] Five good marks, the highest number given in the Russian schools.\n\n[7] The correct name of the town.\n\n[8] The tenth of Tishri. New Year is Tishri 1.\n\n[9] Holy day. Hebrew.\n\n[10] In desperate cases of illness, people vow to supply the synagogue\nwith candles equal to the length of certain parts of the cemetery.\n\n[11] Small lumps of dough dropped into the soup while it is cooking.\n\n[12] _Servituty._ These are of different kinds.\n\n[13] Bride-maidens--girls of marriageable age.\n\n[14] Thick chicken soup with balls of flour.\n\n[15] Father.\n\n[16] Of the bridegroom in Shool to the Reading of the Law.\n\n[17] The Friday nearest December 21.\n\n[18] Diminutive of Tate = Father.\n\n[19] No unbaptized Jew may become an official in the courts in Russia.\n\n[20] For the soul of the dead, to wash and dry itself.\n\n[21] A verst is .663 of a mile.\n\n[22] A Lithuanian mile = 5.56 English miles.\n\n[23] A Jew taken from his home as a child, under Nicholas I, estranged\nfrom his family and his faith, and made to serve in the army.\n\n[24] Jewish name for the typical Russian.\n\n[25] Addressing them in Polish instead of Russian.\n\n[26] \"When you are a hundred and twenty years old\"--the ideal age for\nthe Jew, the age reached by Moses.\n\n[27] Get up! Russian.\n\n[28] Three men necessary for a certain form of grace.\n\n[29] Pi\u00e8kalik--built on to the stove.\n\n[30] Little souls fly, little souls fly!\n\n[31] \"You also have a soul?\" Polish.\n\n[32] Because he was suspected of not keeping the dietary laws.\n\n[33] Our little Talmud student would not be familiar with much of the\nProphets' writings beyond what is contained in the prayer-book. The\nstudy of the Prophets savored rather of free-thinking.\n\n[34] A tiny bit of wood tied up and thrown away with the nails. The\nsuperstitions behind this practice are not confined to the Jews.\n\n[35] Which had been invested with wonder-working powers.\n\n[36] \"Fine meal,\" as in Gen. xviii. 3; used also figuratively.\n\n[37] Head-dress with broad ribbon to hide the hair of a married woman.\n\n[38] A celebrated Hebrew novel by Mapu.\n\n[39] Eve of the Day of Atonement.\n\n[40] Pious offerings dropped into the collecting-box of \"Me\u00efr\nBaal-Ness,\" to be found in every orthodox Jewish house. The money is for\nthe poor Jews in Palestine.\n\n[41] Free meals given to poor students at the tables of different\nhouseholders.\n\n[42] Instead of bringing him up to the study of the Law.\n\n[43] The man in the moon is sometimes identified with Joshua in Jewish\nlegend.\n\n[44] According to the Talmudical legend.\n\n[45] Little Jew.\n\n[46] Adapted from the twelfth principle of the Jewish faith, relating to\nthe Messiah.\n\n[47] Sabbath dish prepared the day before, and kept in a heated oven\novernight.\n\n[48] Bontzye \"mum.\"\n\n[49] Men of great learning in the Law.\n\n[50] By which the law is made applicable to an elderly woman.\n\n[51] Grandsons. A celebrated Rebbe would have \"sons\" and \"grandsons\"\namong his adherents. The former would remain, the latter would come and\ngo in companies and more or less respectable conveyances.\n\n[52] Owing to the emigration of the younger men to America in the \"bad\ntimes.\"\n\n[53] \"Chapter of Song,\" a Midrash, found in some editions of the\nprayer-book.\n\n[54] \"T\u00f6re is die beste S'ch\u00f6re.\" From a Yiddish cradle-song.\n\n[55] Hebrew blessing before eating bread.\n\n[56] According to the Talmudic legend like Moses and other saints.\n\n[57] R\u00faach, Hebrew for wind and spirit both.\n\n[58] Who stand for colonization in Argentina and Palestine,\nrespectively.\n\n[59] God.\n\n[60] They have understood that the writer's mission is connected with\nthe matter of Jewish recruits.\n\n[61] Unfit for military service.\n\n[62] \"Bride\"-grace, girlish charm.\n\n[63] A Hebrew newspaper\n\n[64] Followers of the Rebbes of Radzin and Belz, respectively.\n\n[65] To his prayer-scarf. See Num. xv. 38.\n\n[66] Followers of the Rebbes of Radzin and Belz, respectively.\n\n[67] The plaintiff must take action in the place of domicile of the\ndefendant.\n\n[68] Belz being in Austrian Poland. There were two famous Rebbes of Belz\nin the last century; the second died in 1894. It has been asserted that\nthirty thousand Jews followed him to his grave.\n\n[69] For having no passports.\n\n[70] Sir, my lord. Polish.\n\n[71] And still Jacob did not become like Laban. A Midrash, a rabbinical\namplification of the Biblical text.\n\n[72] An exclamation corresponding to the Italian _che!_\n\n[73] Not our people!\n\n[74] Commotion.\n\n[75] Nickname for a Jew, diminutive of Jacob.\n\n[76] Anti-Semitism.\n\n[77] Prayer of supplication.\n\n[78] Kith and kin.\n\n[79] A Kabbalistic allusion.\n\n[80] Maimonides.\n\n[81] The curtain hung in front of the Ark.\n\n[82] To their prayer-scarfs.\n\n[83] Opponents might deny them burial in a choice place.\n\n[84] See note p. 61.\n\n[85] Peace be upon you! Hebrew.\n\n[86] Surname.\n\n[87] Special calling-up of a bridegroom to the Reading of the Law.\n\n[88] Up to the time when universal conscription was introduced in Russia\nin 1874, every Jewish community, Kohol, had to furnish a given number of\nrecruits, the Government asking no questions as to how these were\nobtained.\n\n[89] Which exempts him from military service.\n\n[90] Who have adopted German = Western ways of life.\n\n[91] Gentile.\n\n[92] Worn beneath the outer garments.\n\n[93] The \"Sabbath of the Vision,\" preceding the Ninth of Ab (fast in\nmemory of the destruction of the Temple), when the lesson from the\nprophets is Isaiah I, beginning, \"The Vision of Isaiah.\" At this period\nthere is much almsgiving.\n\n[94] According to the Talmudic legend.\n\n[95] The standard code of laws.\n\n[96] \"Hear, O Israel, etc.\" The Chassid\u00eem are not punctilious about\nobserving the prescribed time limits for the recitation of the Shema.\n\n[97] P\u00f6len = Poland.\n\n[98] \"A sach mel\u00f2ches un wenig br\u00f2ches.\"\n\n[99] So called from Moses xv. 1, read on the day when--it is not far\nfrom the \"New Year for trees\"--children place food for birds in the\nwindows.\n\n[100] Machine for making paper out of rags.\n\n[101] See note p. 32.\n\n[102] Right of a land-owner to keep a distillery--which was frequently\nlet out to a Jew.\n\n[103] Boarding with the wife's parents.\n\n[104] Macaroni-seller.\n\n[105] The rebukes and threats in Lev. xxvi and Deut. xxviii.\n\n[106] Used when speaking of animals.\n\n[107] \"Beyond the Good\"--the powers of darkness. We touch here on\nKabbalistic lore relating to the origin of evil.\n\n[108] See note p. 112.\n\n[109] Order of service.\n\n[110] Bread made with saffron.\n\n[111] Followers of the Kotzk and Belz Rebbes, respectively.\n\n[112] The service read in the home on the first (and the second)\nPassover eve.\n\n[113] Passover cakes soaked in broth or other liquid.\n\n[114] Rabbinical amplification of the Biblical text.\n\n[115] This is an allegory referring to certain aspects of Zionism.\n\n[116] \"Happy, etc.,\" Ps. lxxxiv. 5, three times dally in the prayers.\n\n[117] When the weeping female relatives of the sick force their way\nthrough the male congregation to the Ark, throw it open, and bedew the\nscrolls with their tears.\n\n[118] Confirmed.\n\n[119] A man of influence. Hebrew.\n\n[120] The Rebbe's.\n\n[121] Rich man's wife. Hebrew.\n\n[122] Hannah my crown.\n\n[123] Chazan, the reader or reciter of the prayers in the synagogue\n\n[124] Reciting of prescribed prayers.\n\n[125] Lest the meat and milk should not be ritually permitted.\n\n[126] Our brothers, the children of Israel.\n\n[127] Kind of cloak.\n\n[128] Russian term of contempt, in contradistinction to _Yevr\u00e8i_ =\nHebrew.\n\n[129] This was an important article of trade, required for the peasants'\ncarts, etc.\n\n[130] Wedding jester and improvisatore.\n\n[131] Croup.\n\n[132] He visited, I visited. Hebrew.\n\n[133] A kind of cake.\n\n[134] Gymnasium, in Russia as in Germany, is a college.\n\n[135] Idol. Hebrew.\n\n[136] As of those religious precepts which it is not possible to carry\nout literally.\n\n[137] Qualification for eternal bliss.\n\n[138] A suburb of Warsaw.\n\n[139] Russian officials.\n\n[140] As beseemed an orthodox, married Jewess.\n\n[141] Allusion to the ceremony performed on the eve of the Day of\nAtonement, when a cock or hen is twirled round the head, and a prayer is\nread.\n\n[142] The seventh day of Tabernacles.\n\n[143] The eighth day of Tabernacles.\n\n[144] To the teaching of the Chassid\u00eem.\n\n[145] \"The great Rabbi Loeb\" who lived in the sixteenth century, and who\nbecame the central figure of many a legend.\n\n[146] No Gentile to be hired for that purpose.","title":"Stories and Pictures","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":97540}