Volume 2 — XIIXII. STEMPENJU'S FIEDELE ('Stempenju,' pp. 8-10)

Ach, ich fühl', as mein Feder is' schwach zu beschreiben, wie Stempenju hāt besetzt a Kale! Dās is' nit gewe'n glatt gespielt, gerümpelt: dās is' gewe'n a Min Aweede, a Gott's Dienst mit eppes sēhr a hōchen Gefühl, mit eppes sēhr an ēdlen Geist. Stempenju hāt sich gestellt akegen der Kale un' hāt ihr Drosche gehalten auf'n Fiedel,—a schoene, a lange Drosche, a rührende Drosche über dem frei un' glücklich Leben vun der Kale bis aher, vun ihr Maedelstand, un' über dem finsteren, bitteren Leben, wās erwartet sie später, später: Aus Maedel! übergedeckt dem Kopp, varstellt die schoene, lange Hāar auf ēbig ... nit dā dās Froehlichkeit! Sei gesund, Jugend, ot werst du a Jüdene!... Eppes sēhr nischt froehlich, Gott soll nischt strāfen far die Rēd'!...

Ot asölche Wörter hören sich kimat araus vun Stempenju's Fiedele; alle Weiber varstēhen gut dem Pschat vun der dāsiger stummer Drosche, alle Weiber fühlen es; see fühlen dās, un' wēinen derauf mit bittere Trähren.

—Wie lang bin ich asō gesessen,—klährt sich a

And suddenly a voice is heard in the darkness; terribly he did cry; a whale, the thinnest of them all, has there spit out a bigot.

And after his spitting up, just at the last prayer of Oleenu, he still continues to philosophize; he says: "With prophets, particularly the little ones, you must have nothing to do!"

XII. STEMPENJU'S VIOLIN

Oh, I feel that my pen is too weak to describe the manner of Stempenju's playing at the Enthronement of the Bride. That was not mere playing, mere fingering of the strings: that was a kind of religious service, devotion to the Lord, with a very elevated feeling, with such a noble spirit! Stempenju took his stand in front of the bride and began to address her with a sermon on his violin, a beautiful, a long sermon, a touching sermon, on the free and happy life she had led heretofore, on her girlish state, and the gloomy, bitter life that awaited her later, later. No longer a girl! the head covered, the beautiful long hair disguised forever ... gone all merriment! Farewell, youth, you are now turned into a married Jewess!... 'Tis somehow very sad! May God not visit us with punishment for such words!...

Almost these words are heard on Stempenju's violin. The women all understand well the purport of that silent sermon, all the women feel it; they feel it, and weep thereupon bitter tears.

"How long have I been sitting," meditates a young

jung Weibel, schlingendig die Trähren,—wie lang bin ich asō gesessen mit zulāste, zuflochtene Zöpp' un' hāb' nor gemēint, as Malochim spielen sich gār mit mir, as ich bin Ēine, a glückliche? Zum Ssof ... ach, zum Ssof....

—Bescher' ihr Gott,—thut beten an ältere Jüdene, a Mutter vun derwachsene Töchter,—bescher' ihr Gott, mein älterer Tochter, ihr Siweg in Gichen, nor mit mehr Masel wie mir, nor mit a schönere Dolje, wie ich hāb' bei mein Mann, Gott soll nit strāfen far die Rēd'!

Ot in asölche Machschowes fallen arein die Weiber un' Stempenju thut sich sein's: Er arbeit't mit alle Keelim, un' dās Fiedele redt. Dās spielt Stempenju a Wēinendig's, un' die Kapelje halt't ihm unter, es werd still, aus-Ljarem, aus-Gepilder! Alle, alle willen hören Stempenjun. Jüden wer'en vartracht, Weiber weren anschwiegen; Jünglech, Maedlech kletteren arauf auf Bänk' un' auf Tischen,—Jeder will hören Stempenjun!

—Sch—scha! Stiller! Ōlem, lās sein still!!

Un Stempenju zugiesst sich auf'n Fiedele un' zugēht sich wie a Wachs: Tjoch, tjoch, tjoch,—mehr hört män nischt. A Hand flieht auf un' āb,—mehr seht män nit, un' es hören sich allerlēi Kōles, un' es giessen sich verschiedene Minee Gesangen, un' alls umetige, trauerige, as es nemmt ān beim Harzen, es zieht die Neschome, es nemmt araus dās Chijes; Der Ōlem gēht aus mit alle Kōches, der Ōlem starbt, starbt mit alle Eewrim, dās Harz werd eppes asō vull, un' es stellen sich Trähren in die Äugen; Jüden süfzen, Jüden krächzen, Jüden wēinen ... un' Stempenju? Wer Stempenju? Me sēht ihm gār nit, me sēht kein Fiedele, me hört nor die süsse Kōles, die göttliche Gesangen, wās füllen ān

woman, swallowing her tears, "how long have I been sitting with flowing, unbraided hair, and thinking that angels are playing with me, that I am the happiest creature! And yet ... ah, and yet...."

"God grant her," so begins her prayer an elderly woman, a mother of grown-up daughters, "God grant her, my oldest daughter, to be soon united in wedlock, but with more happiness than I have had, with a better lot than I have had with my husband,—may God not visit me with punishment for my words!"

Such are the thoughts that fall upon the women, and Stempenju keeps on playing his way: he directs the whole band, and his violin talks eloquently. Stempenju is now playing a sad tune, and his musicians support him. All is quiet, there is no noise, not a sound! All, all want to hear Stempenju. Men fall to musing, women are grown silent. Boys and girls have climbed on benches and tables,—all want to hear Stempenju!

"Hush! Keep still! People, let there be quiet!"

And Stempenju dissolves on his violin and melts like wax; pitapat is all you may hear. An arm flies up and down,—that's all you may see, and you hear all kinds of voices, and all kinds of tunes are poured forth, all melancholy, sad, so that it tears out your heart, draws out your soul, takes away your life. The people grow faint, the people grow weak in all their limbs; the heart is full to overflowing, and tears appear in the eyes. Men sigh, men groan, women weep ... and Stempenju? But who pays attention to him? No one sees him, no one sees his violin; they only hear his sweet tones, the divine music which fills the whole room.... And Rochele the beautiful who had never

die ganze Stub' ... Un' Rochele die schoene, wās hāt noch bis aher nischt gehört Stempenju's Spielen, Rochele, wās hāt gehört, as 's is' dā a Stempenju, nor sie hāt noch nischt gehört asa Min Spielen, stēht un' hört sich zu zu die kischefdige Gesangen, zu die seltene Kōles, un' verstēht nit, wās dās is'. Eppes zieht dās ihr dās Harz, eppes glätt't dās sie,—nor wās dās is' verstēht sie nit. Sie hōbt auf die Äugen ahin, vun wannen es giessen sich die süsse Kōles un' derseht a Pāar wunderschoene, schwarze Äugen, feuerdige Augen, wās kucken gleich auf ihr un' nehmen sie durch, wie Spiesen, wie scharfe Spiesen. Die wunderschoene, schwarze, feuerdige Äugen kucken auf ihr un' winken zu ihr un' reden mit ihr; Rochele will arāblāsen ihre Äugen arāb,—un' kānn nit.

—Ot dās is' Stempenju?

Asō klährt sich Rochele die schoene, wenn dās Besetzen hāt sich schōn geëndigt un' die Mechutonim hōben schōn ān zu trachten mikōach Führen zu der Chupe.

—Wu senen ergez die Licht? frägt Chossen's Zad.

—Die Licht wu senen? entfert Kale's Zad.

Un' asō werd wieder der ēigener Gepilder, wās früher; Alle läufen un' me wēisst nit wuhin. Me kwetscht sich, me stuppt sich, me tret't ān auf Masolim, me reisst Klēidlech, me schwitzt, me siedelt die Ssarwers mit die Schamossim, un' see siedlen zurück die Mechutonim, un' die Mechutonim amperen sich zwischen sich,—es is' borchaschem ganz lebedig!

S. Rabinowitsch.

before heard Stempenju's playing, Rochele who had heard before of Stempenju, but who had never before heard such playing, stands and listens to the enticing music, the rare sounds, and does not understand what that all means. Something has touched her heart, a soft feeling has passed over her, but she does not understand what that is. She lifts her eyes to the place from which the sweet sounds proceed, and notices a pair of very beautiful black eyes, fiery eyes that are looking straight at her, and that transfix her like spears, like sharp spears. The beautiful, black, fiery eyes look at her and beckon to her and speak to her; Rochele wants to lower her eyes, and she cannot.

"Oh, that is Stempenju!"

So meditates Rochele the beautiful, as the Enthronement is ended, and the parents of the contracting parties are getting ready to lead them under the Baldachin.

"Where are the candles?" comes the question from the bridegroom's side.

"The candles, where are they?" comes the reply from the bride's side.

And thus the same noise begins as before. All are running, not knowing whither. There is a jam, and they push each other, and step on people's toes, and tear dresses; they perspire, they scold the ushers and the beadles, and these again scold the parents of the marrying couple, and the parents wrangle among themselves,—praised be the Lord, all is lively!