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The Woman Mistress Hannah |
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Title: The Woman Mistress Hannah Author: Isaac Loeb Peretz [More Titles by Peretz] A PACKET OF LETTERS
Life and peace to my worthy sister, Mistress Hannah. I have received your letter, and I can tell you, I wept tears enough over it, and lay sighing and groaning one whole night long. But what was the good, seeing God in heaven is witness that I can do nothing to help you? And as to what you write about the inheritance, I must tell you, dear sister, there is no sense in it. According to the Jewish law, you have no claim upon any part. Ask your husband, he is learned, he will tell you the same thing. But you need not wait for him to tell you: a clever woman like you can open the "German Pentateuch" and see for herself that Zelophehad's daughters only inherited because there were no sons. As soon as there are sons, the daughters inherit nothing, and our father left no deed directing you were to inherit half as much as his male descendants. And all you say about our father, peace be upon him, not having given you the whole of your dowry, has nothing in it, because, if you come to think, who does get the whole? You know I did not, and yet I have no claim on anyone. Besides, common sense will tell you that if our father, peace be upon him, did not keep to his engagement, neither did the other side, and so the matter rested. The two parties forgave each other, as is the custom among us Jews. I would not trust my own judgment, but talked the matter over with our rabbi and his assistants, and we were all agreed that so it should be. Further, as regards your contention that you boarded at home only half a year instead of a whole one--I know nothing about it. Our father, peace be upon him, never told me. And you know quite well that just then I was living separated from my family and spent the whole time at the Rebbe's, long life to him! and Eva Gütel tells me it was this way: there was a bit of a dispute between you over our mother's seat in the women's Shool (peace be upon her), and you tore each other's hair, and our mother (peace be upon her) was greatly distressed. And one Sabbath evening you picked up your bundle and your husband and were off to his native town. If so, what do we owe you? Whom do you mean in your letter? Who asked you to run away? When people want to board, they should board. But heaven forbid that I should distress you with reproaches! I only wish to show you how unjust you are. Of course, right or wrong, one has to act according to law, specially in the case of a sister. Only--what is the good of wishing? If one can't, one can't! You must know, dear sister, that before our father of blessed memory departed, he made a will, by which he left the large Talmud to the large house-of-study and the small edition to the small house-of-study; the Mishnayes and the Bible were to be sent to the meeting-room where he used to recite the prayers--the funeral cost two hundred gulden, and I distributed alms to the amount of fifty gulden--what am I saying? a great deal more than fifty. I divided our father's clothes among the poor, except the silk cloak, which I am keeping, agreeably to the will, for my little Mösheh, so that in a propitious hour he may walk in it to the marriage canopy, and may it be soon, even in our days, amen! What remains? Nothing remains but the house. Well it isn't worth insuring. Even the roof, not of you be it said, has the falling-sickness--it hangs by a hair. The town-justice says, the old fire-wall must be taken down, and altogether it's in a dangerous state. You fancy, dear sister, that I am doing well for myself! When our father died and there was an end of board, I let the three little rooms to the left to Grunem, the dealer, called Grunem Tzop (you must have known him and his wife Zlate). I worry along with the money, and can only just pay the taxes and other duties that grow from day to day. Meantime I try dodges, give the collector a sip of brandy--come later, come to-morrow! and so on, but the rope round my neck tightens every day, and what the end of it will be, heaven only knows! I live in the three rooms to the right, that are one with the inn and the public room. Times are very bad, the villages round about have taken the pledge not to drink brandy. Beside this, the land-owner has opened cheap eating shops and tea houses for the peasants--what more need I say? It's despair! One may stare one's eyes out before one sees a peasant come. You say in your letter that everyone from here tells you I am flourishing. The fact is, people see the possessions of others with bigger eyes. One has to struggle for every dreier, and meanwhile there is Beile-Sasha's wedding coming, and I am getting old and gray with it all! The expenses are endless; they will lend you nothing; there is still a silk over-robe wanting for the wedding outfit, and as soon as the wedding is over, my Eva Gütel must consult a doctor. If Shmüel, the Röfeh, advises her to go, you can imagine the condition she must be in. I consulted the Rebbe (long life to him), and he also advised her going to Warsaw. Her cough gets worse every day--you would think people were chopping wood in the room. And as to your trying to frighten me by saying that if I don't behave myself, you will write to our relative in Lublin, and she will go to her lawyer, and have me handed over to the Gentiles--you know, my dear sister, that I am not the least afraid. First, because a pious woman like you, my sister, knows very well what a Jewish court is and (lehavdîl) what a Gentile court is. You wouldn't do anything so stupid! No Jewish woman would do that! And, even if you wanted to, you have a husband, and he would never allow such a shameful proceeding. He would never dare to show himself to his Rebbe or at the Stübel again. Besides that, I advise you not to throw away money on lawyers, they are incredible people; you give and give, and the moment you stop giving, they don't know who you are. And I must remind you of the Tomàshef story which our father, on whom be peace, used to tell. You may have forgotten it, so I will tell it you over again. In Tomàshef there died a householder, and his daughter, a divorced woman, fell upon the assessor--he was to give her a share in the inheritance, according to their custom. As she stood talking with the assessor, a coal sprang out of the hearth in her room at home, the room took fire, and a child of hers (not of you or any Jew be it said again) was burned. And I advise you, sister Hannah, to be sorry, and do penance for what you have written. Trouble, as they say, steals a man's wits--but it might, heaven forbid, be brought against you, and you ought to impose something on yourself, if only a day's fasting. I, for my part, forgive you with my whole heart, and if, please God, you come to my daughter's wedding, everything will be made up, and we shall all be happy together. Only forbear, for heaven's sake, to begin again about going to law. And I am vexed on account of your husband, who says nothing to me about his health; if he is angry with me, he commits a sin; he must know what is written about the sinfulness of anger, besides which there is a rumor current that he was not once at the Rebbe's during the Solemn Days, but prayed all the while in the house-of-study, and they also say that he intends to abandon study and take up something or other else. He says he intends to work with his hands. You can imagine the grief this is to me. Because what shall become of the Torah? And who shall study if not a clever head like him? He must know that our father, on whom be peace, did not agree to the marriage on that condition. And especially nowadays, when the "nations-of-the-world" are taking to trade, and business decreases daily, it is for the women to do business and for the men to devote themselves to the Torah, and then God may have mercy on us. It would be better for him to get a diploma as a rabbi, or let him become a Shochet or a teacher--anything--only not a trader! If I were only sure that he wouldn't turn my child's heart away from my Rebbe, I would send him my Mösheh'le for teaching and board. See to it that your husband gives up those silly notions, and do you buy a shop or a stall--and may the merits of the fathers on your side and on his be your help and stay! Further, I advise you to throw off the melancholy with which your letter is penetrated, so that it is heart-breaking to read. A human being without faith is worse than a beast. He goes about the world like an orphan without a father. We have a God in heaven, blessed be He, and He will not forsake us. When a person falls into melancholy, it is a sign that he has no faith and no trust. And this leads, heaven forbid, to worse things, the very names of which shall not pass my lips. Write me also, sister Hannah, how peas are selling with you. Our two great traders--you remember them? the lame Yochanan and the blind Yoneh--have raised the price, and our nobleman cannot get any for seed--one might do a little business. It may be heaven's will that I should make a trifle toward wedding expenses. Of course, I don't mean you to do me a kindness for nothing. If anything comes of it, I will send you some money, so that you and your husband may come to Beile-Sasha's wedding--and I will give a present for you--a wedding present from the bride's family. Eva Gütel sends you her very friendly greetings; she does not write herself because it is fair-day; there are two produce dealers here of the Samoscz gluttons, and they insist on having stuffed fish. The bride has gone to the tailor's to be measured for a dress, and I am left alone to keep an eye on the Gentile cooks. Try now, dear sister, for heaven's sake, not to take things to heart and to have faith. He who feeds the worm in the earth and the bird in its nest, will not forsake you. Greet your husband. From me, your brother MENACHEM MENDIL.
SECOND LETTER Life and peace to my sister Mistress Hannah. I have received your second letter. It was soaked with tears and full of insults directed against me, my wife Eva Gütel, and even the bride, Beile-Sasha, and it has upset me very much, for why? You say, sister Hannah, that I am a bandit, that I met you, heaven forbid, in a wood, and, heaven forbid, murdered you; that it was I and my wife, Eva Gütel, who drove you from the house; that Beile-Sasha, in your opinion, is a hussy, because she is ordering silk dresses--what am I to say? I must listen in silence, knowing the trouble you are in--that it is not you that speak, but your heavy heart. But it is not as you think. I am no murderer, thank heaven! And were any one to come from the street and declare that the cloak I am wearing is his, and that he is going to law about it, I should go with him to the rabbi's without a word. And if, God willing, you come to the wedding, we will go together and have it out. And see here: About the board you did not eat, you confess yourself in your letter that it came about through a quarrel between you and my wife (it's not my affair who began it), and all I see is, that your husband was a great booby--"that he followed after his wife." They say that you ran away in the evening following Sabbath, and made yourselves a laughing-stock. Our father was greatly distressed, and it shortened his days (he said so plainly--neighbors heard it), and you put it all on Eva Gütel! It's a calumny! But what is done, is done! Our father lies in his grave. There can be no more question of board or anything else. And you know very well that Beile-Sasha, the bride, is no hussy. She, poor thing, is quite innocent in the matter. Her future father-in-law, the Takif,[119] forced me to order the silk dresses. Once even she cried, and said it would ruin us, but what am I to do, when the contract says "in dresses of silk and satin," and he will hear of no alteration--it's take it or leave it. And there would be no choice but to see my daughter an old maid.
But what is the use of telling that to a woman! Our sages were right when they said: "Women are feather-brained," and there is the proverb: "Long hair (in girls, of course) and short wits." I shall write separately to your husband; he is a man learned in the Law, and he will know that one human being should not lean upon another, because, as we are told, a human being can only just support himself. One must have faith. And I am convinced that God will not forsake you. He does not forsake the weakest fly. The Almighty alone can help you, you must pray to Him, and I, for my part, when next I am, God willing, at his house[120] (long life to him), I shall make a special offering in your behalf. That must help.
And as to what you write about your child being poorly, you must consult the Röfeh. Don't fancy it in danger. Keep up your spirits. I have done my part: I got up quite early, went to the great house-of-study, dropped a coin into the collecting box of Meïr Baal-Ness, wrote on the east wall "for complete recovery," in big letters, and as soon as we have made a little money I will send some candles to the Shool. I will also tell the Rebbe, and not explain that your husband is no follower of his. And you know that I am quite a son of the house. From me, thy brother MENACHEM MENDIL. My wife, Eva Gütel, sends you a very friendly greeting; the bride, another. One of these days, God willing, you will receive an invitation to the wedding, and may it bring us all good luck. MENACHEM MENDIL, the above.
THIRD LETTER To my beloved sister-in-law and worthy relative, the excellent woman, Mistress Hannah. I beg to inform you that from this time on I shall receive your letters, and not my tender-hearted husband, and I--I will burn them. Secondly, my dear sister-in-law, between ourselves, it was great forwardness on your part to fall upon us just before the wedding, turning our days into nights, and now you wish to blight our married life with discord. You must fancy that you are still boarding with my father-in-law, a spoiled only daughter that has never learned manners; and just because you can't have the moon to play with, you are ready to scratch people's eyes out, turn the world upside down, and your cries pierce the heavens. I can hear you now, tapping with your feet, and the bang of your fist on the table, while your ninny of a husband goes into the corner, wags his sheep's head, and his ear-locks shake like Lulavim; and father-in-law, may he forgive me, lets the spoiled child have her way. Dear sister-in-law Hannah! It is time to awaken from sleep, to forget the empty dreams, and to realize the kind of world one is in. My father-in-law of blessed memory has long lain in his grave--there is an end to boarding. You can only be spoiled by your husband now, and I--show you twice five fingers. And I have told the postman to deliver your letters to me, not to my husband, my innocent lamb. You know, dear sister-in-law, that people are scandalized at the way you go on. Whoever hears of it thinks you are possessed. Soril the Neggidah[121] told me plainly, she thought you deserved to be crimped like a fish. And I cannot make out what it is you want of me. It was not I, Eva Gütel, who wrote the Torah; it was not I, Eva Gütel, who descended on Sinai, with thunder and lightning, to deprive you of a share in the inheritance. And if my father-in-law was as great an idler as your husband is a ninny, and no document made special provision for you, am I to blame? It is not for me to advise the Almighty, the keys of the Gate of Mercy are not in my pocket. There is a Somebody whom to implore. Have you no prayer-book, no Supplications? Pray, beg for mercy! And if your child is really ill, is there no Ark to tear open--are there no graves to measure--no pious offerings to make? But the only idea you have is: Eva Gütel! Eva Gütel, and once more, Eva Gütel! If you haven't Parnosseh, whose fault? Eva Gütel's, and you pour out upon her the bitterness of your heart. If the child is ill, whose fault? Of course, Eva Gütel's, and you scream my head off. God in heaven knows the truth, I am a sick woman; I struggle for breath, and if I am vexed, I am at death's door. And when the cough seizes me, I think it's all over--that I am done for. I live, as they say, with one foot in the house and one in the grave. And if the doctors order me abroad to drink the waters, I shall be left, heaven forbid, without so much as a chemise. And who is to look after the house, and the housekeeping, and the sick children, wos?
Dear sister-in-law, I tell you, you have the heart of a Tartar, not that of a Jewish daughter; you are without compassion! It is time you left off writing those affectionate letters of yours. And, for heaven's sake, come to the wedding, which, please God, will be soon. When, I don't exactly know, and I will not be responsible for the day. Menachem Mendil shall go to the holy man and consult with him, so that it take place in a propitious hour. I will be sure to tell you. And you are not to bring presents, and if your husband, as I hope, comes with you, you will be among the privileged guests, and I will seat you at the top of the table. And the bride also begs very much that you will come to her wedding. Only you must behave well, remember where you are, and not put us to shame and confusion. Greet your husband and wish the child a complete recovery. From me, your sister-in-law EVA GÜTEL.
FIRST LETTER To my beloved wife Mistress Hannah: When my letter is given into your hands, I, Shmùel Mösheh, shall be already far away. And I beg you with my whole heart to forgive me for that same. I left you not of my own good will: I couldn't bear it any longer, I saw plainly that there was no help for it, that the trouble was not to be borne. We have eaten up the dowry, the inheritance has been swallowed by your bandit of a brother. He used the time when the letters were passing between you to have the house entered in the name of his son-in-law's father. I couldn't set up any kind of business, I hadn't the wherewithal. There was nothing left for me but to hang myself, which heaven forbid, like Leezer, the tailor, or to run away to America. I chose America, so as at least not to lose the other world as well. And I shall not be idle there. With God's help and with the sweat of my brow and with my ten fingers, I will earn my bread, and perhaps God will have mercy and send a blessing into my ten fingers, and perhaps he will also bless your trade in onions, and bring us together again; either me to you or you to me. Amen, thus may it seem good in His sight. And I beg of you, dear, good Hannah, not to take it to heart, not to cry so much! You know, I only go away for the sake of Parnosseh--a "bit of bread." You are my wife Hannah, and I am your husband, Shmùel Mösheh, and we are both bound to the child, life and health to it. If there had only been a piece of dry bread, I wouldn't have done it. Perhaps He whose Name is blessed may meantime have compassion, and that, when your brother the bandit, hears that I, heaven forbid, have left you a grass-widow, he will be touched, his stony heart will soften, and he will perhaps send you a few rubles. My precious Hannah, what am I to say to you? I must tell you that the idea of going away and leaving you with the child came into my head many and many a time. I saw long ago that I had no other choice. I thought it over day and night, at prayer and at study. I only waited till the child should be well. And when it got better, I hadn't the heart to tell you I wanted to go away, whither my eyes should take me. I was afraid you would say you wouldn't allow it, and that I should not be able to act against your will. So I kept everything to myself, ate my heart out in silence. But the day before yesterday, when you brought home a pound of bread, and divided it between me and the child, and said, you had eaten at our neighbor's, and I saw in your face, which turned all colors--because you cannot tell a lie--that you were fooling me, that you hadn't had a bite, then I felt how I was sinning against you. Eating the bread, I felt as if it were your flesh, and afterward, drinking a glass of tea, as if it were your blood. My eyes opened, and I saw, for the first time, what a sinner in Israel I was. And yet I was afraid to speak out. I ran away without your knowing. I pawned my outer cloak and prayer-scarf to Yechiel the money-lender--but don't, for the love of heaven, let anyone know--and paid for my journey. And if I should be in need, Jews are charitable and will not let me fall dead in the street; and I have made a vow that later on, when His Name shall have had mercy, and I have earned something, to give it in charity, not only what I got, but more, too, if God so please. You must understand, my precious Hannah, how hard and bitter it is for me to go away. When our dear only child was born, it never occurred to me that I should have to leave it fatherless, even for a time. The night I left I must have stood over your bed an hour by the clock. You were asleep. And I saw in the moonlight, for the first time, what you, poor thing, have come to look like; and that the child was as yellow as wax. My heart choked me for terror and pity--I nearly burst out crying, and I left the room half-dead. I knocked at the baker's and bought a loaf, stole back into the house and left it with you, and stood and looked at you a little while longer, and it was all I could do to drag myself away. What more am I to tell you? A man can go through the suffering of a hundred years in one minute. Hannah Krön,[122] I know that I am a bandit, a murderer, not to have got you a divorce, or at all events a conditional divorce--but God in heaven is my witness: I hadn't the heart! I felt that if I left you a divorce, I should die of grief on the way. We are a true and faithful couple. God Himself was present at our union, and I am bound to you with my whole heart, we are one soul in two bodies, and I do not know how I shall live without you and without the child, may it be well, even for a minute. And should anyone say I have left you a grass-widow, don't believe it; for I, Shmùel Mösheh, am your husband, and I have only done what I had to do. What will misery not drive a man to? Hannah'li Krön, if I could lay my heart open before you, you would see what is going on there, and I should feel a little happier. As it is, dear soul, I am very wretched, the tears are pouring from my eyes so that I cannot see what I am writing, and my heart aches and my brain goes round like a mill-wheel--and my teeth chatter, and the letter-carrier, the illiterate boor, stands over me and bangs on the table and cries: "I must go! I must go!" [Footnote 122: Hannah my crown.]
From me, your dear husband, who writes in the inn on the way, SHMÙEL MÖSHEH.
SECOND LETTER My precious and beloved wife: What am I to say to you? I see clearly that my idea of going away was heaven-sent, that God Himself put the thought of America into my head; everything He does is for the best. My dear Hannah, whenever I shut my eyes I fancy myself at home again, and the dream comes from the other end of the world. For who would have thought that an idler like me, such a nincompoop as I am, such a born fool, should ride on a railway, cross the sea in a ship, and arrive safe in America? The finger of God! "I will praise the Lord"--it was God's disposing--His will alone enabled me to leave you and the child, and may we be counted worthy to rear it for the Torah, the marriage canopy, and all good works. Hannah'li Krön, I have seen great wonders on dry land, but nothing to what I saw on the sea. While I was at sea, I forgot everything I had seen on dry land, and now, among the wonders of America, I begin to, forget about the sea. At first I was so miserable on board ship, there are no words for it. But all ended well, and I am sure it was for your sake and the child's. Hannah'li, I am sure you remember Leeb the reader,[123] who came to our town once a few years ago, and recited the prayers in our Shool during the Solemn Days. I remember that after the Day of Atonement you told me you had never heard such davenen[124] in your life. I even recall the very words you used: Leeb the reader "roars like a lion and weeps like a child."
[Footnote 124: Reciting of prescribed prayers.]
You see, Hannah'li Krön, I remember all the kind things you said and all your actions, for they were full of charm. You are continually before me. I fancied sometimes, crossing the sea, that you stood beside me, and that the child had hold of your apron, and I heard your voices, and they sounded in my ears with a sweetness beyond all description. And I have come across Leeb the reader, by the way. Heaven forgive me, but Leeb the reader has sunk very low. He paid no attention on board ship as to whether the food were kosher or not, and he drinks as is not the way with Jews. I never once saw him in prayer-scarf and phylacteries the whole time, or saying grace after meat. He goes about all day without a hat--and not content with this, he leads his daughter into the same paths. The Genendil of those days is now about seventeen. You should see her--a picture! And he made her sing and dance before the passengers on board ship--and she sings in different languages. The people listened and clapped their hands with delight and cried out goodness knows what. And it was all so boisterous that really--.... At first--why deny it?--I was very pleased to see them. It's always somebody from home, I thought. I won't have to hang about so lonely and wretched. But afterward I felt greatly distressed. I couldn't bear to watch his goings-on with his daughter. And now and again it cut me to the heart to hear a Jew, who used to stand at the reading-desk, a messenger of Israel to the Almighty, talk such disgusting nonsense. And his voice is burned with brandy. And they must take me in hand and try to make me presentable. They made fun of me on board. It was always: "Idler!" "Fool!" He tweaked my ear-locks; she pulled the fringe off my "little prayer-scarf," and the whole ship took it up. And what ailed them at me? That I avoided forbidden food and preferred to fast rather than touch it. You know, I dislike quarrelling, so I edged away, hid in a corner, and wept my heart out in secret. But they discovered me and made a laughing-stock of me, and I thought it would be my death. It is only here, in America, that I see it was all a godsend; that God, in His great goodness, had sent Leeb the reader before me into America, as He sent Joseph before his brothers into Egypt. Because, what should I have done without them? A man without the language of the country, without a trade, not knowing at which door to knock? And Leeb the reader is quite at home here, talks English fluently, and he got me straight away into a cigar-factory, and I am at work and earning something already. Meanwhile we are in the same lodging, because how should I set about finding one for myself? And they behave quite differently to me now. Genendil has given over quizzing me about my beard and ear-locks, and keeps at a distance, as beseems a Jewish daughter. She cooks for us, and that is very important, although I eat no meat, only eggs, and I drink tea without milk.[125] She washes for us, too.
And do you know why it has all turned out for the best? For your sake! On the boat, already, when I began to feel I could bear it no longer, I plucked up my courage and went to Genendil and told her I was your husband. I recalled to her memory the time after the Day of Atonement when they were in our house, how good you were to her, how you took her on your knee, and so on. Her manner changed at once, she had compassion on me, and her eyes filled with tears. Then she ran to her father, and talked it over with him, and we made peace. They immediately asked the captain to treat me better, and he agreed to do so. I was given bread as much as I could eat, and tea as much as I could drink. The crew stopped tormenting me, and I began to breathe again. You should have seen what a favorite Genendil was on board. And no wonder: first, she is a great beauty, and for a beauty people will jump into the sea; secondly, she is really good-natured, and people are simply charmed by her. And now, my precious wife, I will give you some good news: Leeb the reader tells me I shall earn at least ten dollars a week. I reckon to do as follows: the half, five dollars, I will send to you, and keep five for myself. I will live on this and save up to buy a Talmud. The Mishnah books I brought with me. I have settled to read at least ten pages of the Gemoreh a week. I won't buy a prayer-scarf, because so far I have prayed in Leeb the reader's--for Leeb the reader had one with him. To what end, I don't know, because, as to praying--never a word! I persuade myself, this is also heaven-sent; he was made to bring a prayer-scarf on my account. Perhaps he means to pray at the reading-desk during the Solemn Days. Who knows? They are drawing near. Anything is possible in America. The world here is topsy-turvy. And the Lord knows best what is good for a man. Do you know what? I am not angry with your brother, the bandit, any longer. It's the same thing again: I tell you, that also was a godsend; it couldn't otherwise be possible that a man should treat his sister so. That was all brought about in order that I should run away to America, and send for you to come to me. And when, God helping, I have made some money, I will assist your brother, too. I tell you, he also is a pauper. I see now--what we call a rich man is a beggar in America. I end my letter, and this time briefly, although I have heaps and heaps more to say, because I am afraid Leeb the reader and Genendil may come in, and I don't want them to see what I have written to you. And I beg of you very much not to show my letters to a living soul. Why need a stranger know of our doings? And I hug and kiss the child, long life to it. Give it ten thousand loving kisses from me--do you hear? From me, your husband SHMÙEL MÖSHEH.
THIRD LETTER My beloved wife: I can remember when Yoneh the shoemaker went to America, and people began to talk about it for the first time, wondering what it was like there, how things were done. They asked, whether people walked on their heads, and it is true that everything here is upside down. No sort of order, only a great shouting and noise, as in the butchers' meeting-house at home. Imagine, for instance, Paltiel the wadding-maker and Yössil the tanner coming and saying that our rabbi is not learned; that he is not experienced enough in the application of the Law, or that they are not satisfied with the head of the community--that they want another rabbi, another communal head. Well, wouldn't one hold one's sides laughing? And here, in America, workmen, cigar-cutters, for instance like me, have a word to say in everything. They share in the elections, take part in the voting, and choose--a President. And what do you think that is? A President is nothing more nor less than the supreme head of the whole country. And America, so I have heard, is ten times as large as the whole of Europe. You see what that means? Now imagine my surprise, as I sit in my room one evening, thinking of home, and suddenly the door opens, and there come in two workmen, ordinary workmen, who stand with me at the same machine, and are Achènu Benè Yisroèl.[126] And they laid two names before me, I don't even recollect what they were, and tell me, I also am a workman, and must see to the election of a President who shall favor our class.
Inwardly I laughed at them. But for the sake of peace--it is not seemly to be rude to people--I did them the favor and nodded yes. All I wanted was to get rid of them, so as to sit down and write to you. But--isn't it a madness? They say, if the President is elected according to their wish, I shall earn ten dollars a week, and if not, only nine or perhaps eight. And Leeb the reader says he understands politics--that there is sense in it all--and that if I remain here some time, I shall get to know something about it, too. Well, perhaps so--I nod my head. And I think to myself, he has taken a drop too much and is talking nonsense. But he swore that during election-time he lived on it, and had a little money over for later. I'm sure I don't see how. But, joking apart, it's not our affair whether one or the other is President; it won't make much difference to us. The fact is, I often feel very depressed, the tears fall from my eyes on the tobacco leaves that I am cutting, and I don't sleep well at night. Sometimes there is a noise in my ears, and my head aches whole days together--and there is no better remedy for all this than to take paper, pen, and ink, and write a letter to my dear Hannah. My precious wife, I cannot keep anything from you. I have to tell you everything: I am still reading the Mishnah--I have got no Talmud yet. And do you know why? Because I have had to make another outlay. You know that it is everywhere the same world. Although here they cry without stopping, "Liberty! liberty!" it isn't worth an onion. Here, too, they dislike Jews. They are, if possible, more contemptuous of their appearance. There are no dogs that bark at them in the street and tear their skirts, but there are plenty of hooligans here also. As soon as they catch sight of a "capote"[127] there is a cry: "Jew, Jew!" which is the same as Zhidd[128] with us. And they throw stones and mud--there is no lack of mud here, either. So what could I do? I did what all the Jews do here--I tucked away my ear-locks behind my ears, and I bought (to be paid for by degrees--a custom they have) "German" clothes. There was an end to the money. And you, too, Hannah'li, when you come, will have to dress differently, for a custom stultifies a law--and it is their custom.
[Footnote 128: Russian term of contempt, in contradistinction to Yevrèi = Hebrew.]
And as to your saying, you think Genendil stole the spoon which was afterwards missing--that is nonsense! Genendil may not be very pious as regards the faith, but she would never think of touching other people's property. For goodness' sake, don't ever let her hear of it. She treats me like her own child, and is always asking me if I don't need a clean shirt or a glass of tea. She is really and truly a good girl. She gives all her earnings to her father, and treats him in a way he doesn't deserve, although at times he comes home very cheerful and talks nineteen to the dozen. And Leeb the reader has told me that he is collecting a dowry for her, and that, as soon as he has the first thousand dollars, he will find her a bridegroom and marry her according to the law of Moses and of Israel, and she will not have to strain her throat for the public any more. I don't know if he really means it--but I hope so. God grant he may succeed and rid her of the ugly Parnosseh. Genendil was there when he said this and blushed for shame, as a Jewish girl should do; so she is evidently agreed. I implore you, dearest Hannah, to put away calumny and evil-speaking. That is not right, it only does for gossips in a small town. And you, Hannah dear, must come to America. Here the women are different--less flighty, more serious, and as occupied as the men. To return to the subject, your Shmùel Mösheh is no tailor or shoemaker, to throw over his wife for another woman. You mustn't imagine such a thing! It is an insult! You know that your words pierce my heart like knives, and if Leeb the reader and his daughter knew of it, they would forsake me, and I should be left alone in a desert! It would be a calamity, for I don't know the language, only a few words, and I should be quite helpless. And now I beg of you, my dear Hannah, I beg very much, take the child's hand and guide it across the paper, so that it may write me something--let me see at least a mark or two it has made! Lord of the world, how often I get away into a corner and have a good cry! And why? Because I was not found worthy to teach my child the Law! And as if I were not suffering enough, there come your letters and strew salt on my wounds. Look here, to-day Leeb the reader asked me, and Genendil, too (here she is called Sophie), nodded her head, to go with them and hear her sing and see her dance, and I wouldn't. Leeb the reader said, "Foolish Chossid!" She turned up her nose. But I don't care! I shall go my own ways and not a hair's breadth will I turn aside! Keep well, you and our child. Such is the wish of your husband SHMÙEL MÖSHEH. Please don't let on about the clothes! Not a soul in our town must know of it, or I would be ashamed to lift my eyes. S. M.
FOURTH LETTER To my worthy wife Mistress Hannah: I have written ten letters without mentioning Genendil's name. I have not even mentioned her father, Leeb the reader. After a great deal of trouble, I have gone into another lodging, at a Shochet's, and haven't seen her for weeks, and yet you go on writing nothing but Genendil and Genendil, and Sophie and Sophie! And what is it you want of her? What? May I be well, and may you be well, and may it be granted us to meet again in peace, with the child, as surely as I saw Sophie come into the factory to see her father--and the director himself went up to her and began to talk to her and to pay her compliments; and although I did not understand what he said, I know he meant no good by it. And he wanted to stroke her cheek. Well, what do you think? She gave him such a slap across the hand that I was dumbfounded! And you should have seen the way she turned away from him and went out! I was just delighted. So you see that, in spite of everything, Genendil is a good girl, and that you are unjust to her. You tell me I shall be caught like a fish in a net and such-like rubbish. I swear to you, as it were by the Torah on the Day of Atonement, that it is a lie; that for your sake I have gone away from her and avoid her as far as possible. If we do meet, I answer a hundred words with a nod. Once more: Upon my faith, you are unjust to her! Heaven forbid, you sin before God! But that is nothing, I would have passed it over as usual, only it has led to something so dreadful, that, God help us! I would rather the earth had swallowed me up than that I had lived to endure the shame. Last week I was taken poorly while at work; I grew giddy and fainted. When I came to myself, I was in bed in my own room. Beside the bed stood a doctor. He said it was a fever. I was laid up for ten days. And Leeb the reader never left me the whole time, and nursed me as if I had been his own child. Afterward, when I had recovered full consciousness, I learnt that while I lay in the fever, Sophie used to come in, too, and visit me--and it was just then there came one of your post-cards in which you pour out upon her the bitterness of your heart--they most certainly read it, because I was lying in a fever. And while you were writing your ugly words and calumnies, they, so to say, were risking their lives for me--they sent for doctors, made up my bed and re-made it, gave me medicine, and even pawned a few of their treasures, so that help should be there. They even brought me a bottle of wine. I never touched a drop, upon my word! but they meant it well. Besides that they measured the height of the fever three times a day with a little glass tube--the doctors here order it to be done. And who told me all this? The butcher and his wife. Had it not been for Leeb the reader and Sophie, you would be a widow. And at the very same time, you write such foolish things. Phê, it is a shame! I really don't know how you are to come to America, how you are to live in America! I hope, dear Hannah'li, that you will throw off this foolishness, and not darken my life with any more such letters. I often don't sleep at night. I imagine I see you plainly sitting at the table writing to me. You write and scratch out, and write and scratch out, and I see the letter, but I cannot read the words at the distance, and it grieves me very much that I cannot read the letter so far off. And you take the pen and put it into the child's hand--the child is in your lap--and guide its fingers! And you see, my dear wife, that I send you five dollars every week, that I manage with very little. And I have only three shirts altogether. I cannot ask Sophie to buy me any, and the Shochet's wife has given birth to a baby, and is not yet about again. The circumcision, please God, will be to-morrow. Yes--but that is not to the point. What I mean is, be reasonable, for your own sake, and for the sake of me, your husband SHMÙEL MÖSHEH. A postscript, written sideways down the whole length of the letter: I have this minute received another letter from you. And now, my Hannah'li, I tell you once and for all, it is enough to make one's hair stand on end, and hardly to be believed! You write that you may as well let your hair grow and talk with gentlemen, that you also can dance and sing--and that you will go to the Rebbe's and get him to send a "special death" to both of us. What do you mean? What words are these? Lord of the world, what has come to you? I think and think, till I don't know what to think! This is my advice: Put away your evil-speaking and calumnies and curses! They are not for such as you! And I tell you simply this, that if you do not soon write the letter a good Jewess ought to write, I shall send and fetch the child away without you--do you hear? Otherwise--I shall throw myself into the sea. It is enough, heaven forbid, to drive one mad! Your husband S. M.
FIRST LETTER To my friend, the excellent lady and esteemed and worthy woman, Mistress Hannah: Dear Hannah, you were a whole fool and half a prophet, when you wrote me a second letter. Because the first one fell into the hands of my husband, and he put it into his pocket and forgot to give it me. Such is his little way--he cares for nothing except eating and drinking. But when I got the second letter, it occurred to me to look in his pocket, and whoso seeks, finds. Hannah'li Krön, I felt, reading your bitter words, as if I were being struck on the head with an axe. I was stunned with grief. But I soon composed myself and thought, for instance: If my scatterbrain of a husband ran away to America--well? I should just let him run, and pay the piper into the bargain! Now think: my whole Parnosseh, as you know, is tar,[129] and I don't require his assistance! Indeed, I can't stand his coming into the shop, with the airs he gives himself!
And as to your husband not having left you a divorce, I am not so very surprised; my husband has no such easy time of it, and yet he doesn't divorce me, and why should he? Does he want for anything? He has a nice lodging, and when he comes home, supper is ready and the bed made at the proper time, and every Sabbath he gets a clean white shirt! Many's the time I've begged and prayed of him to go to all devils--not he! Do you think he'd budge an inch? And when I scold him and throw things at his head, he gets into a corner, makes a pitiful face, brings crocodile tears into his eyes, and I am so foolish as to relent, I give him food and drink, and off he goes. And as to what you say about your lawsuit, you know, sister Hannah, I have quite a celebrated lawyer, because, for my sins, I have a never-ending case against cooks, the hussies! I assure you, Hannah'li, servants such as we have in Lublin are not to be found anywhere! How shall I describe them? Always swilling and stuffing--and they steal anything they can lay hands on, and run away before the quarter is out; and then they lodge a complaint against me, because I haven't paid them a quarter's wages, and in court, nowadays, they don't make a particle of difference between a servant-girl and a mistress, and I have to stand with her side by side! I mayn't open my mouth to say a word, otherwise the judge rings a bell and imposes a fine up to three rubles. So I never go into court alone, but have engaged an excellent lawyer, whose mouth drops sulphur and pitch, and he sees me through. He once told me himself that the judge had frequently wished to imprison me on some ridiculous pretext, such as tearing a girl's hair or giving her a slap! But he cannot do it, because my advocate has all the law-books in his head, knows all the laws, every single one, chooses out the best for me, and flings them in the judge's face, so that he sits there like a dummy and, willy-nilly, has to write "Acquitted!" And no sooner had I read your letter, and found the first one in my husband's pocket, than I hastened to my lawyer, and he received me most politely, and asked me to be seated on the plush sofa. I told him your whole story from Aleph to Taw, down to every detail; and he listened attentively to it all, although the anteroom was crowded with people waiting. He listened and walked up and down the room. Then he sighed and said that according to the laws a daughter had equal rights with a son and should inherit a share! So far, good! But there is the following hitch: A wife cannot summons anyone without her husband's knowledge, because she is under his jurisdiction, and must be given power of attorney by him. And when I told him that you, unhappily, were a grass-widow, that your husband had deserted you, and that, in my opinion, you were free to do as you pleased, he planted himself in front of me and shook his head--that meant: By no means! And he went to a book-case, took out one book after the other, looked in, put it down, looked in and put it down, and so on with any number of books, little and big and bigger. One, heaven forgive me, was as fat as a pig. And in this one he apparently found what he was in search of, for he stood over it a long time. And then he told me, that if, after five years from the date of your desertion, you bring him a paper from the justice of your town to certify that your husband has not once shown himself in those five years, he, the lawyer, will put in a plea for you in court, and the court will give you permission to summons your brother. This is what he said--I give it you word for word. I offered him a ruble, and he made a wry face--evidently, not enough; but he took it. Send me the ruble, Hannah'li Krön, as soon as you can, for trade is slack, and tar is a drug in the market. To return to the matter in hand: It is what I always said and I say it again: the holy Torah (and their law, lehavdîl, of course, also) has handed us over to the mercy of bandits! A man, a dummy, a bolster, can divorce his wife when he likes, either in person or by proxy; and a worthy woman, like myself, for instance, cannot get rid of an idler like mine for love or money! If we go together to a family gathering, he is stuffed with fish and meat and all good things, and I--get a cup of chicory and milk! When he sits in the booth at Tabernacles, one has to send him the best of everything, and I live on bones! I share the three weeks, nine days, and all the fasts, but the Rejoicing of the Law is his! He goes to a Rebbe, and they give him honey with apples! And what will Paradise, when it comes to that, mean for me? I shall be the idiot's footstool! He will sit in a grandfather's chair, and I shall be his footstool! In this world he is a feeble creature and is afraid of me, but how it will be in the other world, don't ask me! I tell you plainly, if he gives me the least shove with his foot, the Almighty alone knows what will happen! To return: What would you get by a divorce? Believe me, all dogs have the same face! Not one of them is worth a dreier! You know my sister Miriam suffered through her husband ten years before she could obtain a divorce, and then she had to leave him her money and her clothes--in a word, all she had! A nice thing, wasn't it? She married again and was out of the frying-pan into the fire: another idler to feed! She wanted a second divorce, he was satisfied, but she couldn't afford to pay for it! In short, dear Hannah, our mother Eve sinned and we suffer for it! And we always shall suffer! For there is no escape from a husband, even in the grave. We have been sold to be servants and slaves in the other world, too! So it was aforetime, so it is now, and so it will be in the future world! One has to suffer! For what is to be done, if the Almighty wills it so? Therefore, dear Hannah, have faith in God, blessed is He! Keep well and forget your husband, who has probably forgotten you. That is always the way when they go to America. At first they write honeyed letters and send money; then, less and less; then they write and send money once a year--then, once in seven years--they don't need their wives out there, they have other women, better, livelier! May I be forgiven for saying so, but in Lublin, in the Jewish quarter, there isn't a house without a grass-widow! Wash your hands of him, I tell you, and forget! Imagine yourself a real widow or a divorced woman! Turn your attention to the onions. May His blessed Name send you success in business and preserve you whichever way you turn. Such is the wish of your relative. (The signature is undecipherable.) I beg of you to send me the ruble as soon as possible, because my husband, gorger and tippler that he is, is angry with me for having given it. (The same undecipherable signature.)
SECOND LETTER To my sister Hannah: First, my dear sister, I let you know that we are all well, except my wife, Eva Gütel, who (not of you be it said!) is never free from cough for an instant, and who, no sooner is the wedding over, must go to Warsaw to consult a doctor. I send you enclosed an invitation to the wedding. Mind you come and enjoy yourself! Only do not, for mercy's sake, spoil my daughter's happiness, and keep all contentions till the wedding is over. You need not feel called upon to bring any present. If, however, you are troubled about appearances, you are sure to find something in the house that will do. I shall not take it amiss. Blood is thicker than water and a sister is a sister. And as to what you say about having no clothes to come in, that is nonsense. You can borrow a dress of some one or other either there or here. And as to what you say about not being able to comfort yourself for the child that has died--you know, dear sister, "He gave and He hath taken away!" Children are a pledge from God, and if God wishes to take back the deposit, we must not even brood over it and try to think why. God forbid! And as to your being afraid of your husband finding out that the child is dead and breaking with you altogether, that is another useless anticipation. Believe me, sister, it is quite foolish, because if it is true, as people say, that Shmùel Mösheh is Shmùel Mösheh no longer--he is treading other paths--it will be all the same, child or no child. He doesn't want you and you cannot hold to him! And if, as I trust, that is all an invention, a calumny, and if, as I firmly believe, Shmùel Mösheh is still Shmùel Mösheh, the learned and pious Jew, then you have nothing to fear! On the contrary, with half the expense it will be much easier to have you out to join him, and you will live in peace and plenty. And as to your having had no news of him for so long, is it a wonder? I believe it is across the sea! How many ships, preserve us, are wrecked on the way; how many postmen lose their lives on such an errand! And perhaps the ships have to pass the spot where, as the Book of the Covenant says, the waters stand on an heap, and there is peril of death. Thank His dear Name that your Shmùel Mösheh crossed in safety! I consider this fleeing to lands beyond the sea a disgrace and a shame, it is a sign of want of trust, because he who trusts knows that God helps whom He will, and he shrinks from endangering both body and soul. For they say that America is as dangerous to the soul as the sea to the body. They say, people throw off their Jewishness on board ship as soon as the sea gives them a toss. They soon begin to eat bread baked by Gentiles, forbidden food, to dress German fashion, women wear wigs, even, it has been said, their own hair. And the proof that America is dangerous to the soul is that there is not one "good Jew" in all America! And I cannot imagine how one would exist there, where one could get advice in questions of Parnosseh, or if one were ill, or anything else happened to one. I tell you that the man who goes into Satan's domain of his own accord is responsible for his soul, for he is like a foolish bird flying into a net. And particularly a learned Jew, because the greater the man, the greater the danger, the more is the Evil One set on his destruction, and decoys him with either riches or beautiful women; the Evil One has tools for the work at hand. And, therefore, my advice to you is, so long as you do not know what is happening there, forget! If you earn your livelihood with the onions, well and good, and if, heaven forbid, you cannot, I can give you other advice. If you come to the wedding, I will make it all right between you and my wife. We are, after all, one family, and you know that my wife, Eva Gütel, is really very good-natured; she is sure to forgive you, and when all is smooth again and she goes to Warsaw, after the wedding, then you will remain here and be house-mistress. And when, please God, she comes back cured, she will still find a place for you at the table and a bed in the house. Times are bad, but a sister is a sister, and one cuts the herring into thinner slices. But beside all that we have a mighty God--shall He not be able to feed one of His creatures?--and that a woman! Nonsense! And, for goodness' sake, come to the wedding in time, so that you may be able to lend Eva Gütel a hand. It is no more than one has a right to ask a sister-in-law. You would not wish, as things are nowadays, to have us hire extra help? Only, be sure and let everything I have said to you about the future remain between ourselves. Eva Gütel is not to know what I have written to you. The thing ought to come of itself, quite of itself. You know, Eva Gütel does not like one to interfere in domestic concerns--and I am sure, the thing will arrange itself. A woman is a woman even if she wears a top-hat. That is why I write to you when Eva Gütel is not at home. She has gone to engage the Badchan[130] and the musician; I shall not even tell her I sent you an invitation: let her imagine you were so good and so right-thinking as to come of your own accord! And may He whose Name is blessed comfort you together with all that mourn in Israel, and spread the wings of His compassion over all abandoned women. Amen, may it seem good in His sight.
Sister Hannah, whether you stay where you are or remain with us for good, come to the wedding! You simply must! And you shall not repent it! It will be a fine wedding! It may be that he himself, may his days and years increase, will be present. It will cost me a fortune, but it is worth it! You see that such a wedding is not to be missed? From me, your brother MENACHEM MENDIL. My wife Eva Gütel has just come in from market and--a token that heaven wills it so--she tells me that I am not to hide my letter from her, that she bears you no grudge. She advises you to sell the onions, buy a dress, and come to the wedding looking like other people, as befits the bride's aunt. She also says that no present is necessary, and that one can trade in onions here, too. I repeat that my wife Eva Gütel is both kind-hearted and wise, and that, if you will only not be obstinate, everything will come right. You will see! Your brother M. M.
Good luck to you, my dear, faithful husband, good luck to you! Here's good news from us, and may I ever hear the like from you. Amen, may it be His will! We are, indeed, as you say, united for all time, in this world and the other! I let you know, first, dear husband, that my brother Menachem Mendil and his wife Eva Gütel (may they live to see the days of the Messiah!) forgave me everything, and sent for me in a lucky hour to their daughter's wedding--Beile-Sasha's wedding. It was a very fine one, fine as fine can be! Praise God that I was found worthy to see it! There was every kind of meat, birds and beef; and fish--just fish, and stuffed fish--and all sorts of other dishes, beside wine and brandy--something of everything. And the whole thing was such a success--so elegant! And I myself cooked the meat, stuffed the fish, made the stew, sent up the dinner, and also saw to the marketing beforehand. I was house-mistress! I was waitress! I did not go merely to enjoy myself! I sold my stock of onions, made myself a dress of sorts, and went to my relations, agreeably to their wish, a whole week before the wedding; because there was no one to do the work; the bride was taken up with her clothes, she spent the time with the tailor, the shoemaker, and even the jeweller up to the very last minute. And poor Eva Gütel, my sister-in-law, has a cough. And they say her liver is not what it should be. So I was everybody--before the wedding and after the wedding, only not at the wedding, during which I felt very tired and done up. I sat in a corner and cried for joy, because I had been counted worthy to marry my brother's child, and--because she had such an elegant wedding! And I was not turned out in a hurry when it was over, either. Directly after it, my sister-in-law, health and strength to her, started to consult a doctor in Lublin as to which doctor she ought to see in Warsaw. Then she left for Warsaw and went the round of all the celebrated doctors. Thence she travelled to some other place to drink the waters--mineral waters they are called--and during the whole six months of her absence, I was mistress of the house. May the Almighty remember it to them for good and reward them! There was no cook--I did the cooking. And I drank delight out of it as from a well! In the first place, I had no time for thinking and brooding, and was thereby saved from going mad, or even melancholy! And where, indeed, should I have found it? Business, thank heaven, was brisk. The public-house is always full and the counter strewn with the gold and silver of Jews and Gentiles, lehavdîl. And my sister-in-law Eva Gütel's stuffed fish are celebrated for miles round, and there the people sit and eat and drink. And if ever I began to think, and wanted to think, Beile-Sasha, long life to her, soon reminded me of where I was! And she has sharp eyes, bless her, nothing escapes them! And so it went merrily on--and I was so overjoyed at being house-mistress there that once I spat blood--but only once. Menachem Mendil saw it, and he told me to be sure and behave as if nothing had happened, because, if people knew of it, they would avoid his house. Yössil the inn-keeper over the way would soon cry: Consumption! and there would be an end of it, and grass growing down our side of the street. But Beile-Sasha is the cleverer of the two, she soon discovered that it was not consumption, but that I had swallowed a fish-bone, and it scratched my throat, and so, that I should not suffocate, she gave me a blow between the shoulders to loosen it, and, all for love's sake, such a blow that the fish-bone went down--only my bones ached a bit. But all's well that ends well--and Eva Gütel has come back from drinking the waters! She has come back, thank God, in the best of health and spirits--a sight for sore eyes!--and she has brought presents, the most beautiful presents, for herself, for her husband, for her daughter and her son-in-law--lovely things! But there was nothing for me; she said that I, heaven forbid, was no servant to be given presents and wages. Had I not been house-mistress? Had not Eva Gütel herself told me fifty times that I was mistress, and could do as I liked? And no sooner was Eva Gütel back, than she discovered that Menachem Mendil had not been near the Rebbe the whole time, and she wrung her fingers till the bones cracked, and immediately sent me out to the market-place to hire a conveyance. Menachem Mendil drove to the holy man that same day. And next morning, Eva Gütel gave me some good advice, which was to make up my bundle and go--because she was there again and had Beile-Sasha to help her. I should be fifth wheel to the cart and might go mad from having nothing to do. She advised me to go back whence I came or to stay in the place and do as I thought best. She would not be responsible, either way. I had slept my last night in her house. The next one I spent walking the streets with my bundle under my arm. You see, my dear husband, that I am doing very well. You need send me no more money, as you used to do. You had better give it to Leeb the reader to buy you a Talmud, or to Genendil-Sophie to buy you some shirts. And mind she tries them on you herself, to see how they fit--is it not America? You see, my dear, good husband, I harbor no more unjust suspicions. I never say now that Genendil stole either the spoon or my husband. I know it is not her fault, and I am convinced that His blessed Name only meant to do us a kindness when He brought you and Leeb the reader together on the ship, so that he should take care of you--it is all just as you wrote. There is only one thing that will never be as you think. You may jump out of your skin, but you will never send for the child, to take it away from me to America. Because our child, for your sake and for that of your pious forefathers, has been gone this long time; it has been hidden somewhere in the burial ground, in a little room without a door, without a window. You may cry to heaven, but you shall not know where its little bones lie! No tombstone, nothing to mark it--nothing at all! Go, look for the wind in the fields! Askerah[131] has taken it under her wing.
And you, my dear Shmùel Mösheh, have made a bad bargain, for I am better than Genendil. Because I remember quite well that she had two moles, one on the left ear and one on the right cheek--and rather a crooked nose. And I, you know, have a perfectly clear skin, without a mole anywhere. You thought that only Genendil could sing and dance every Friday night, and let her hair grow, that other people were not up to that! But I am not angry with you, heaven forbid! Hold to her! It is enough for me to have the child's grave. I shall go and build myself a little house there, and sit in it through the night till the cock crows. I shall talk to the child, very low and softly, about his father Shmùel Mösheh, and that will delight him! And if you come yourself, or send anyone, to fetch the child, I shall scratch out his eyes with my nails, because the child is mine, not Genendil's--may her name and her remembrance perish, and may you and she..... * * * * * The letter is unfinished; it was found together with the other letters in the pocket of the mad Hannah. [The end] GO TO TOP OF SCREEN |