Stempenyu: A Jewish Romance

V THE FIRST MEETING BETWEEN ROCHALLE AND STEMPENYU

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stempenyu fluttered around her still; but she showed him that she had grown tired of him — the same Stempenyu whose glances were so magnetic, and whose personality was so irresistible. She thought that it was wrong for any young woman to so much as stay in the same room with him.

She went back to her place beside the bride, and was ready to forget hat there existed such a person as Stempenyu.

A moment later, a hush fell upon the guests. Stempenyu was again playing a pathetic melody accompanied by the orchestra. Every one was breathless. Every single individual was filled with anxiety lest he or she should lose a note of Stempenyu’s playing. Isaac-Naphtali’s head drooped to one side, as he listened with the rapt air of a connoisseur. Dvossa-Malka was like rooted to the spot on which she was standing, holding a plate in her hand. And, even the waiters and waitresses were compelled to stand stock-still, enraptured.

And, Stempenyu went on pouring out his soul in the saddest, gloomiest melodies, so that a profound melancholy fell upon everyone who listened to him. They were breathless with the pathos of it all. Their hearts were full, and their tears gushed to their eyes. They wept, and moaned, and sobbed quietly. And Stempenyu? Who was Stempenyu at that moment? What was he? There was no such person as he. There was only a little fiddle, and sweet, yet sad sounds — divine singing that seemed to full the house from roof to cellar.

And, Rochalle the beautiful, who had never before heard Stempenyu playing — she stood now and listened to the enchanting strains — the golden notes the likes of which she had never imagined, much less heard, in all her life. She knew nothing, and understood nothing of what was going on around her. She only knew that her heart was melting within her. She lifted her eyes, and looked up to where the wonderful melody was coming from. And, her eyes encountered Stempenyu’s black eyes fixed on her face, piercing her to the core, like dagger thrusts. At the same time, the piercing eyes were pleading with her, beckoning to her, speaking to her in seductive terms.

Rochalle dropped her eyes; but, she knew that the burning eyes were still fixed on her. She felt uncomfortable and hot, and tried to turn out of the way of the burning eyes; but, they were still following her with their haunting expression, their supplications, their pleadings.