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!"
Lord of the world, have pity on me now and on my wife Hannah, health to
her, and on the child, so that I may have joy of it yet.
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."
Next morning there was something of a commotion in the town; people had
forgotten Leeb the reader, hadn't paid him properly, and he, poor man,
went from house to house collecting money--with a little girl, you
remember, whose name was Genendil. She accompanied her father's singing
with her childish voice. When they came to our house, you were very
sorry for her, took her into your lap, kissed her on the head, and gave
her something, I forget what. And you cried for compassion over the
motherless child. Perhaps you wonder at my remembering all this?
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.
There is a lesson to be learned from this, namely, that what the Lord
does is for the best.
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.
And they told me that _one_ President was all for the rich people and
trod down all those who lived by their ten fingers; while the second,
the one they wanted to have elected, was a jewel; he stood for the
workingman like a flint, and pursued the bloated upper classes with a
fierce hatred. And more such foolishness, which I did not understand.
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.
And as to your writing that you don't like Genendil, I cannot see why.
What ails you at her? It is not for me to set other people right.
Besides, I am sure she only does it all for Parnosseh. She is as modest
by nature as any other Jewish daughter. All day long, while Leeb the
reader and I are at the factory, she cooks and washes and sweeps out the
rooms. It is only in the evening that she goes with her father to
_their_ places of amusement, where she sings and plays and dances before
the public. I sit by myself at home, read Torah, and write to you.
Towards midnight they come home, we drink tea together, and we go to
bed.
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.
3
Two letters which Hannah received from her relative in Lublin, and one
from her brother.
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!