Read Online Stempenyu: A Jewish Romance by Sholem Aleichem, Hannah Berman - Free Book Online
Authors: Sholem Aleichem, Hannah Berman
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selfishness shown. And the bridegroom’s people went so far as to call the bride’s father the name of an unclean animal that is forbidden byJewish law. But, when the wedding was completely at an end, they forgave one another freely, and parted the best of friends, each set of families going its way in peace.
A few days afterwards, Rochalle drove off from her father’s house to the village of Tasapevka to take up her residence with her husband and his parents.
XI ROCHALLE YET AGAIN
There in her new home, Rochalle began an entirely new life. Rochalle, the wife of their only child, and the beautiful Rochalle that she was besides, at once won the hearts of every person with whom she came into contact. But, she was the particular favourite of Moshe-Mendel’s parents. They took care of her, and kept guard over her every hour of the day, lest so much as a speck of dust fall on her.
Dvossa-Malka, who had counted the days until her son should bring home a wife, was ready and willing to lay down her life for Rochalle, if she thought that it would contribute to her welfare. It was always, Rochalle this, and Rochalle that! Whenever she came upon anything in the shape of a dainty—something which was not to be had every day of the week—she was sure to bring it home for Rochalle. And, she went out of her way toprocure these dainties as frequently as possible; for, she looked upon Rochalle as one looks upon a child that is delicate and full of strange caprices. The moment Rochalle opened her eyes in the mornings, she found that her mother-in-law had already placed something for her to eat by her bedside, so that she might see it the very moment she opened her eyes. It did not seem to matter to Dvossa-Malka that she had such a great lot of work to do besides all these labours of love which she was always ready to undertake for Rochalle’s comfort. Nothing seemed to matter to her but the one thing—that Rochalle should have the very best that money could buy or labour create. Though she had to attend to her business of selling her wares at the market, she felt that the only thing which really concerned her was the care of Rochalle.
“Why should you trouble yourself about me?” asked Rochalle, a hundred times a week.
“What harm is it? You eat this, Rochalle; it is good. And, drink this, Rochalle, it is refreshing.” And, Dvossa-Malka kept on fussing around Rochalle day and night. Many times she set the whole house into a commotion by rushing in from the market, breathless, with haste and excitement, to see if Rochalle had got this or that. It was a usual thing for her to pour out a volume of abuse on the unoffending heard of her serving-maid because of her neglect of Rochalle—neglect which was often as imaginary as real. One would think that Dvossa-Malka was trying to run away from a highwayman, from the manner in which she flew into the house sometimes.
“What is it, mother?” Rochalle would ask, fearing that some disaster had befallen her.
“What else should it be but the fool of a girl forgot to take the milk that I left to boil for you off the fire. Oh, may her breath boil within her. I thought she would forget, and so leave you without your hot milk, through letting it burn or boil over. The moment I remembered the milk, I ran off from my stall towards home, as if a mad animal were chasing me. That is how it is. I pay her to do the work, and I a worried to death because she is sure to forget every single thing, unless I am here to keep watch over her. God help me, I don’t know where in the world I am at all. I left the shop by itself. And, there stands that ne’er-do-well with his hands folded behind his back, as if there was nothing at all for him to do—as if he were the principal guest at a wedding-feast, and had only to wait for people to attend on him. I asked him to run over with these little cakes for you; but, he would not stir. Here, eat them, Rochalle; they are very good. I got them for
A few days afterwards, Rochalle drove off from her father’s house to the village of Tasapevka to take up her residence with her husband and his parents.
XI ROCHALLE YET AGAIN
There in her new home, Rochalle began an entirely new life. Rochalle, the wife of their only child, and the beautiful Rochalle that she was besides, at once won the hearts of every person with whom she came into contact. But, she was the particular favourite of Moshe-Mendel’s parents. They took care of her, and kept guard over her every hour of the day, lest so much as a speck of dust fall on her.
Dvossa-Malka, who had counted the days until her son should bring home a wife, was ready and willing to lay down her life for Rochalle, if she thought that it would contribute to her welfare. It was always, Rochalle this, and Rochalle that! Whenever she came upon anything in the shape of a dainty—something which was not to be had every day of the week—she was sure to bring it home for Rochalle. And, she went out of her way toprocure these dainties as frequently as possible; for, she looked upon Rochalle as one looks upon a child that is delicate and full of strange caprices. The moment Rochalle opened her eyes in the mornings, she found that her mother-in-law had already placed something for her to eat by her bedside, so that she might see it the very moment she opened her eyes. It did not seem to matter to Dvossa-Malka that she had such a great lot of work to do besides all these labours of love which she was always ready to undertake for Rochalle’s comfort. Nothing seemed to matter to her but the one thing—that Rochalle should have the very best that money could buy or labour create. Though she had to attend to her business of selling her wares at the market, she felt that the only thing which really concerned her was the care of Rochalle.
“Why should you trouble yourself about me?” asked Rochalle, a hundred times a week.
“What harm is it? You eat this, Rochalle; it is good. And, drink this, Rochalle, it is refreshing.” And, Dvossa-Malka kept on fussing around Rochalle day and night. Many times she set the whole house into a commotion by rushing in from the market, breathless, with haste and excitement, to see if Rochalle had got this or that. It was a usual thing for her to pour out a volume of abuse on the unoffending heard of her serving-maid because of her neglect of Rochalle—neglect which was often as imaginary as real. One would think that Dvossa-Malka was trying to run away from a highwayman, from the manner in which she flew into the house sometimes.
“What is it, mother?” Rochalle would ask, fearing that some disaster had befallen her.
“What else should it be but the fool of a girl forgot to take the milk that I left to boil for you off the fire. Oh, may her breath boil within her. I thought she would forget, and so leave you without your hot milk, through letting it burn or boil over. The moment I remembered the milk, I ran off from my stall towards home, as if a mad animal were chasing me. That is how it is. I pay her to do the work, and I a worried to death because she is sure to forget every single thing, unless I am here to keep watch over her. God help me, I don’t know where in the world I am at all. I left the shop by itself. And, there stands that ne’er-do-well with his hands folded behind his back, as if there was nothing at all for him to do—as if he were the principal guest at a wedding-feast, and had only to wait for people to attend on him. I asked him to run over with these little cakes for you; but, he would not stir. Here, eat them, Rochalle; they are very good. I got them for
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