Stempenyu: A Jewish Romance by Sholem Aleichem, Hannah Berman Page B
Authors: Sholem Aleichem, Hannah Berman
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filled with the sorrow which vexed the heart of her friend.
On the moment when she caught the first glimpse into the workings of Chaya-Ettel’s heart, Rochalle seemed to have added many years to her age—ten years at the very least. Thanks to the knowledge she had of Chaya-Ettel’s unhappy attachment, Rochalle was an old woman, thought she had been a fresh young creature only a little while before.
At that time, at the time when she was attended Chaya-Ettel’s wedding, Rochalle was herself already betrothed to Moshe-Mendel, of whom she had heard so much, whose praises were sung so frequently and by so many mouths that she began to look upon herself as the luckiest girl in the whole world.
“What luck!” they cried. “May no Evil Eye interfere to upset her happiness. She has come upon a valley of fatness! How on earth did she manage to lay hold of him? His father, Isaac-Naphtali, is the foremost Jew of all the Jews of Tasapevka. And, Moshe-Mendel himself is an only child. And, what a son he is, what a son! There’s luck for you!”
And, in truth, Moshe-Mendel was a nice young man whom anyone could like. He was pleasant, and clever, and smart. He knew a good deal of the Talmud, and his witty sayings were taken up and repeated and handed round, so to speak, from one end of the village to the other. He wrote so well, such a beautiful hand, that even Mottel Sprais himself, the girls’ teacher, who was certainly the best writer in the district—even he was compelled to take note of Moshe-Mendel’s calligraphy. One day the old man saddled his nose with his silver-rimmed spectacles, and examined closely and carefully the specimen of Moshe-Mendel’s handwriting which had been submitted to him for approval. He did his best to find fault with it; but, in the end, he had to admit that Moshe-Mendel could lay some claim to the possession of the great ideal—“a golden hand,” as the old phrase had it. But, Mottel-Sprais took good care to qualify his praise. He expressed the opinion that Moshe-Mendel was certainly clever; and that, in the course of time, with much practice, if God willed, he would be able to write fairly well. He was promising in that direction.
Rochalle had not much chance of finding out for herself the good qualities of Moshe-Mendel. But, then, how could she when she had so little opportunity of coming face to face with him? He remained in his village, inTasapevka, and she in hers, Yehupetz, which was several miles off. And they had seen each other only once, and then in the presence of a whole houseful of people, for a couple hours. She was in one part of the room, and he in the other, so that they could hardly say with truth they knew what they each looked like—she in his eyes, and he in hers. But, for that again, they wrote to each other regularly once a week for a whole year, until they were married. What is the use in denying the truth? Mottel Sprais took a large part in Rochalle’s letter-writing; for, Moshe-Mendel’s letters were written so well, and in three languages—Hebrew, Russian, and German—that Rochalle was compelled to ask the help of Mottel Sprais in answering. She had no wish to show her ignorance. Mottel was more than willing to help her. He wished to let the whole world know that from his school the girls did not come out ignorant dunces, as happened in the case of other schools. In fact, he was so eager to advance the merits of his school that he did not scruple to add to the letter he wrote at Rochalle’s dictation many French words, to show that he knew the French language as well as the German.
In short, one might say that for a whole year Moshe-Mendel and Rochalle did nothing else but write letters to one another. They only left off when they were about to go under the wedding canopy.
The wedding came off in the usual fashion, which means that the relatives on both sides grumbled a good deal about the way this and that was managed. Each one said that there was too much
On the moment when she caught the first glimpse into the workings of Chaya-Ettel’s heart, Rochalle seemed to have added many years to her age—ten years at the very least. Thanks to the knowledge she had of Chaya-Ettel’s unhappy attachment, Rochalle was an old woman, thought she had been a fresh young creature only a little while before.
At that time, at the time when she was attended Chaya-Ettel’s wedding, Rochalle was herself already betrothed to Moshe-Mendel, of whom she had heard so much, whose praises were sung so frequently and by so many mouths that she began to look upon herself as the luckiest girl in the whole world.
“What luck!” they cried. “May no Evil Eye interfere to upset her happiness. She has come upon a valley of fatness! How on earth did she manage to lay hold of him? His father, Isaac-Naphtali, is the foremost Jew of all the Jews of Tasapevka. And, Moshe-Mendel himself is an only child. And, what a son he is, what a son! There’s luck for you!”
And, in truth, Moshe-Mendel was a nice young man whom anyone could like. He was pleasant, and clever, and smart. He knew a good deal of the Talmud, and his witty sayings were taken up and repeated and handed round, so to speak, from one end of the village to the other. He wrote so well, such a beautiful hand, that even Mottel Sprais himself, the girls’ teacher, who was certainly the best writer in the district—even he was compelled to take note of Moshe-Mendel’s calligraphy. One day the old man saddled his nose with his silver-rimmed spectacles, and examined closely and carefully the specimen of Moshe-Mendel’s handwriting which had been submitted to him for approval. He did his best to find fault with it; but, in the end, he had to admit that Moshe-Mendel could lay some claim to the possession of the great ideal—“a golden hand,” as the old phrase had it. But, Mottel-Sprais took good care to qualify his praise. He expressed the opinion that Moshe-Mendel was certainly clever; and that, in the course of time, with much practice, if God willed, he would be able to write fairly well. He was promising in that direction.
Rochalle had not much chance of finding out for herself the good qualities of Moshe-Mendel. But, then, how could she when she had so little opportunity of coming face to face with him? He remained in his village, inTasapevka, and she in hers, Yehupetz, which was several miles off. And they had seen each other only once, and then in the presence of a whole houseful of people, for a couple hours. She was in one part of the room, and he in the other, so that they could hardly say with truth they knew what they each looked like—she in his eyes, and he in hers. But, for that again, they wrote to each other regularly once a week for a whole year, until they were married. What is the use in denying the truth? Mottel Sprais took a large part in Rochalle’s letter-writing; for, Moshe-Mendel’s letters were written so well, and in three languages—Hebrew, Russian, and German—that Rochalle was compelled to ask the help of Mottel Sprais in answering. She had no wish to show her ignorance. Mottel was more than willing to help her. He wished to let the whole world know that from his school the girls did not come out ignorant dunces, as happened in the case of other schools. In fact, he was so eager to advance the merits of his school that he did not scruple to add to the letter he wrote at Rochalle’s dictation many French words, to show that he knew the French language as well as the German.
In short, one might say that for a whole year Moshe-Mendel and Rochalle did nothing else but write letters to one another. They only left off when they were about to go under the wedding canopy.
The wedding came off in the usual fashion, which means that the relatives on both sides grumbled a good deal about the way this and that was managed. Each one said that there was too much
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