appellations in fullest measure. The town was a collection of miserable
huts and shanties, irregularly scattered over the dull expanse of a
Lithuanian plain, with unpaved streets that were ankle-deep in dust most
of the summer, and knee-deep in mud and slush and snow most of the
winter. The man was a woe-begone specimen of humanity, with hungry eyes
gazing at you out of a careworn, furrowed countenance, the lower part of
which was surrounded by a neglected-looking, reddish beard; clad in an
aged suit of many colors—a man who was ready to do any and every work
for a few kopecks, and who was rarely so fortunate as to see a whole
rouble. He was not a bad sort of fellow at all, nor stupid. On the
contrary, he had somewhat of a smattering of Hebrew education, and he
endured with patience the unceasing chidings and naggings of his wife
Shprinze, who, despite the auspicious significance of her name—a Yiddish
corruption of the melodious Spanish appellation Esperanza—Hope—and thus
also a far-off reminder of the sojourn of the children of Israel in the
beautiful Iberian peninsula—did nothing to inspire the spouse of her
bosom with courage or confidence, but was enough to break down the
resolution of any man. He was never known to answer her revilings with a
single harsh word. No doubt much of his patience was due to his
knowledge of the fact that Shprinze had ample provocation, for, whatever
might have been the reason, Yerachmiel simply could not earn a living.
But, though Shprinze had provocation for her ill-temper, justification
she had none. Yerachmiel did the very best he could, and it was not his
fault but only the cruelty of unfeeling fate which prevented him from
extracting even “bread of adversity and water of affliction” from the
world. He tried to earn a little by being a porter or burden-bearer for
one of the merchants of the town at very scanty wages, but just as he
was about to get the place, along came a younger and stronger man and
offered to do the work for even less. Needless to say, the latter was
selected. He thought he could earn his livelihood by being a
_Mithassek_, that is to say, one who watches at the bed of the dead and
performs the funeral ablutions and rites; but it was provokingly healthy
that season. No one died for a long time; and when at last the angel of
death did claim one of the Hebrew residents of Novo-Kaidansk—a wealthy
_Baal Ha-Bayith_ he was, too, whose family always paid liberally for all
services rendered to any of its members—it just happened that they had a
poor relative, an aged man of greater learning and stricter piety than
Yerachmiel; and so, of course, he was preferred, and Yerachmiel was not
considered at all. At one time he dealt in fruit, purchasing a small
stock with a sum of money which a pitying philanthropist had given him
in order to set him up in business; but the demand for fruit was very
slack just then, and in a short time Yerachmiel decided to retire from
that line of commerce with the capital which he had originally
possessed, that is to say, nothing. He made a dozen other attempts to
coax the unwilling world into providing him with sustenance, but each
attempt ended with the same result—failure, and caused him to sink
appreciably lower in the estimation of Shprinze, whose temper grew
bitterer and whose tongue sharper with every new proof of her husband’s
_Shlemihligkeit_. In fact, the term _Shlemihl_ no longer harmonized with
her conception of her husband’s worthlessness; it was too mild, too
utterly inadequate. She began to address him by no other term than
_Shlamazzalnik_, that is, one doomed and predestined to perpetual
misfortune; and soon the neighbors and the other townspeople, and even
the children on the streets, took up the cry, and “Yerachmiel
Shlamazzalnik” resounded from one end to the other of the dusty highways
of Novo-Kaidansk whenever the poor fellow made his appearance. Poor
Yerachmiel! He used to console himself by saying that he was the equal
in some respects of the great Ibn Ezra, the renowned Hebrew exegete and
poet of the Middle Ages, for the latter was also an incurable _Shlemihl_
and _Shlamazzalnik_. Yerachmiel used to think he was reading of his own
experiences when he read the complaint of Ibn Ezra:
“Were I to deal in candles,
The sun would shine alway;
And if ’twere shrouds I’d handle,
Then death would pass away.”
But poetry, though it may be a good consoler, is a poor substitute for
substantial food and the other requisites of a comfortable life; and so
Yerachmiel was not entirely satisfied with his lot, even though the
great Ibn Ezra was a companion in misfortune. Finding that his attempts
to earn a living by work were not crowned with success, Yerachmiel did
what other unsuccessful persons have done under similar circumstances—he
took to religion. He became an assiduous attendant at the local Beth
Hammidrash, was present at all services, morning, afternoon, and
evening, and remained in the sacred edifice during the greater part of
the day and night. He would pray with great fervor, particularly the
“prayer for sustenance” at the end of the morning service, would listen
attentively to the rabbi or the other learned Talmudists expounding the
Holy Law, and would sometimes try to learn a little himself from some of
the bulky tomes. He was, no doubt, sincere in his new-found fervor, but
candor impels the statement that one of the motives of his fondness for
the sacred place was a desire to have a refuge in which the sharp tongue
of Shprinze could not reach him; and another was a desire to participate
in the doles which were distributed on certain occasions, such as the
beginnings of months or the memorial days of the death of the parents of
well-to-do members to the poor persons who regularly attended. In this
way he managed to exist in a precarious fashion, at least without being
a burden to his wife; for whenever he had a little money he gave it to
her, and when he had none he simply did not eat. It is true, he was
sometimes obliged to go without food or with next to none for several
days at a time; but, like all other things, semi-starvation becomes a
habit, and Yerachmiel was so used to it he did not even complain.
One afternoon he was poring over one of the volumes of the Talmud,
trying to interest himself in a particularly intricate disputation
between Abaye and Raba, and thus forget the unidealistic fact that he
had not eaten a substantial meal in three days, and that there were no
visible prospects of obtaining any in the near future. He had fallen
into a light doze, and was just dreaming that he had been invited by the
_Parnass_ to take dinner with him on the Sabbath, and that the Sabbath
goose, juicy and savory and appetizing, had just been carried to the
table, when he was aroused by a hearty whack on his shoulders and a loud
voice exclaiming, in boisterous though friendly tones, “Wake up, old
_Chaver_! What are you doing here?” Yerachmiel awoke with a start. The
vision of savory goose disappeared into thin air, and he was about to
protest angrily against the rude disturbance of his entrancing dream
when he recognized that the man who stood before him with a broad smile
upon his countenance was none other than Shmulke Aronowitz, his old-time
friend and boyhood comrade. It was Shmulke, sure enough, but strangely
altered. He was dressed in an elegant suit of foreign make; his hair and
beard were closely trimmed, and his whole appearance, including his
ruddy countenance and his cheerful smile, indicated prosperity. All of
these characteristics were strange enough in Novo-Kaidansk, heaven
knows, but they were hardly to be wondered at in Shmulke, who had
emigrated to America some twenty years previously and had amassed wealth
in the liquor business in the classic vicinity of Baxter Street, New
York. He had Americanized his cognomen into Samuel Aarons, and had
incidentally acquired local fame by pugilistic ability so that he was
sometimes referred to as “Sam, the Hebrew slugger.” He was now on a
visit to his native town, where his parents still resided, and was
unfeignedly glad to see Yerachmiel, who had been a real chum to him in
boyhood days. The latter sat gazing dazedly at his old friend for a few
moments, utterly unable to speak, so overwhelmed was he by the
unexpected sight and also by the manifest contrast between his own
condition and that of his friend.
Shmulke recalled him to himself. “Come, come, old comrade,” he said with
good-humored impatience. “Don’t sit staring at me as though I were a
curiosity in a circus. Speak out and tell me how you are getting on.”
Thus encouraged, Yerachmiel lost no time in pouring his sad story into
the ears of his friend. Shmulke listened attentively until the tale was
all told, including the present hunger and the dream goose, and then
said: “That is too bad, Yerachmiel. I am really sorry that you are so
unfortunate. Come with me now to the inn of Reb Yankele, where, if you
can’t get the roast goose of which I deprived you, at least you can get
_something_ to eat, and there we can consult as to what can be done for
you.” Yerachmiel complied with alacrity.
Reb Yankele was more than surprised at the unexpected apparition of
Yerachmiel the _Shlemihl_, who had never in all his life been rich
enough to be a guest at the _Kretchm_, although he had been glad to get
an occasional meal or drink there in return for odd jobs, boldly
entering his establishment as the companion of a manifestly prosperous
_Deitch_. He stepped forward with an obsequious bow and a deferential
“What do the gentlemen wish?”
“The best your house has of food and drink,” answered Shmulke, “and be
quick about it. A rouble or two more or less makes no difference.”
Thus encouraged the innkeeper performed his task with alacrity; and in a
few minutes Shmulke and Yerachmiel were sitting down before a very fair
meal, consisting of beet soup, roast chicken, boiled potatoes, black
bread, onions sliced in vinegar, and a large bottle of _vodka_.
Yerachmiel almost imagined himself in _Gan Eden_, and was convinced that
if dreams were not prophetic, they were certainly closely akin to
prophecy. The roast chicken, if not equal in quality to the dream goose,
was not much inferior; and the _vodka_, while undoubtedly not as good as
the wine which is stored up for the righteous since creation’s dawn, was
yet abundantly satisfying to a poor sinner in the cheerless present.
Shmulke watched Yerachmiel’s enjoyment of the meal with a quiet smile of
satisfaction, and said to him: “What is the best way to provide you with
a permanent _parnoso_?” Yerachmiel did not exactly know. He suggested
half a dozen different sorts of business, from banker to butcher, but
was most inclined to favor the occupation of innkeeper, of whose
delights he had just had emphatic demonstration.
Shmulke rejected all these propositions with scorn. “To tell you the
truth,” he said, “I don’t believe you could succeed at anything in
Russia. You are too much of a _Shlemihl_, and you could never get along
without some one to look after you. What do you say to going with me to
America? I would set you up in business and help you along with my
advice.”
The magnificence, as well as the unexpectedness, of this proposal fairly
took Yerachmiel’s breath away. Indeed, it made him feel a little faint.
He did not really want to go to America. He admired America as a land of
extraordinary and incomprehensible prosperity; but he also feared it as
a land which corrupted Jewish piety, and made the holy people faithless
to their ancient heritage. He would rather have remained in his native
place and continued to live in his accustomed manner could he have been
assured of even the most modest sustenance. But in his heart he knew
that Shmulke had spoken the truth; that he was too much of a _Shlemihl_
to succeed without friendly aid and sympathetic guidance, and that he
could not expect to receive those from any one except the old friend of
his youth. He therefore murmured a confused assent, adding, however,
faintly that he was afraid Shprinze might not be willing to have her
husband leave her and go to so distant a land.
“Don’t worry about that, old friend,” said Shmulke, with a broad smile.
“I’ll guarantee that she will not put any obstacles in the way of her
own prosperity. And now that you have agreed, we will go and see her at
once.”
Shmulke was right. Shprinze assented at once to Shmulke’s proposition,
which was that he would take Yerachmiel to America and assist him to
become self-supporting, that he would provide her with sufficient money
to maintain her for several months until Yerachmiel would probably be
able to send her of his own earnings; and that if Yerachmiel proved
unable to adapt himself to the conditions of America and find his way in
his new home, at the end of three years he, Shmulke, would send him back
to his native place with a substantial gift. Indeed, her assent was so
willing, and given with such manifest pleasure, that it jarred
disagreeably upon Yerachmiel, and was not altogether pleasing even to
Shmulke.
Thus did Yerachmiel Sendorowitz become a resident and a respected
citizen of the metropolis of America. It is not necessary to enter into
the details of his career in the New World, which did not differ
essentially from that of many of his Russian Jewish compatriots. At
first he was a peddler, Shmulke providing him with suitable goods and
initiating him into the mysteries of the profession. He did not fail.
The mysterious something in the American atmosphere which confers energy
and shrewdness and practical sense seemed to be even more potent than
usual in his case. This may have been due to the fact that the
_Shlemihligkeit_, which had hitherto been his distinguishing
characteristic, had been more apparent than real, and that he had really
possessed innate qualities of courage and astuteness which only had
lacked the opportunity of manifesting themselves. However that may have
been, he certainly became a different man under the invigorating
influence of America. He toiled early and late with untiring assiduity
and industry; he purchased his little articles of merchandise wisely and
sold prudently. In six months he had developed into a customer peddler,
and no longer wandered through the streets with a pack upon his back,
but went with samples only to the numerous customers whose friendship
and trade he had gained, and received their orders. A year later he had
given this up also, and was the proud and happy possessor of a peddler’s
supply store in one of the little streets which abut on the main
thoroughfare of the Jewish East Side, Canal Street, and had purchased a
tenement house. Success even affected his personal appearance favorably.
The old slouchy, unkempt, ne’er-do-well, with the hungry eyes and
hopeless air, had disappeared forever, and in his stead had come a
bright, alert, neat, active man. Yerachmiel the _Shlemihl_ had given way
to Mr. Sendorowitz, the prosperous wholesale merchant and real-estate
owner. Nor had he failed to keep his promises to Shprinze. He wrote to
her regularly, every week, telling her in detail and with great pride
about his doings and his successes, not failing either to give due
credit to Shmulke for the large share which the latter had had in
bringing about these gratifying results, and always inquiring
solicitously about her health and welfare. Once a month he sent her
money, at first only a few roubles, afterward larger sums, but always
sufficient to enable her to live in proper comfort in the little Russian
town of her residence. He often wrote her, too, of his intention to go
out and take her to his new home as soon as business would permit, she
having expressed a strong aversion to crossing “the great sea” alone. In
all this he was thoroughly sincere, for he was naturally the soul of
honor, and really loved his wife in a simple, unreflecting way, despite
the slight cause she had ever given him for affection. Besides, his
Talmudic studies had given him a clear conviction that a Jewish husband
was under many obligations to his wife; but his ideas of the counter
duties of wife to husband were much less distinct. Despite the slight
demands which he made upon the conjugal sentiment of his life partner,
he had, however, to confess to himself that the letters of Shprinze were
not satisfactory. They were excessively brief, not very frequent,
expressed very little interest in his personal welfare or his doings,
and invariably contained a demand for a larger amount of money.
Yerachmiel tried to obey the rabbinical precept, “Judge every one
leniently,” and to find excuses for Shprinze’s unsympathetic demeanor.
He told himself that women are naturally inclined to scold, and that
Shprinze was merely following the rule of her sex; that she did not put
full faith in his tales of prosperity, and was demanding money as a test
of their truth; that women are naturally less expressive of the
affection they feel than are men, and a half-dozen other excuses for her
apparent coldness and mercenariness. But none of these excuses seemed
really adequate, and gradually Yerachmiel found a great dissatisfaction
with the conduct of his wife toward him rising in his breast. Finally, a
most painful question began to torture him. “Did Shprinze love him at
all, or was her interest in him purely mercenary, and limited to the
material benefits which she could derive from him?”
Simple-minded as Yerachmiel was in worldly things, untutored in romantic
concepts and affairs of the heart, his whole nature revolted against the
idea of marital relations with a woman in whose soul burned no flame of
love for him as her husband. But how could he ascertain the truth; how
find out whether his wife really loved him or not? Gradually a plan
matured in his mind. He did not permit Shprinze to have any inkling of
the doubts and the conflicting emotions by which he was agitated. He
wrote her as frequently and regularly as hitherto, and sent her monthly
remittances of money with unfailing punctuality. After some five years
of absence he wrote her that he had found it at last possible to
withdraw his constant personal attention from business for a few months,
and that he would come out and take her with him to his new home in
America. When Shprinze received this letter it did not fill her with the
joy which the prospect of reunion with a beloved and long-absent husband
might be expected to inspire in the heart of an affectionate and devoted
wife. She would have preferred the indefinite continuance of the
condition which had now lasted upward of five years, and which she had
found very agreeable. It had been very pleasant to receive constant
remittances of money, to live in comfort and ease, and to be looked up
to on all sides as the fortunate and happy one. When she had entered the
women’s gallery in the synagogue all the women had hastened to make way
for her with the utmost deference; and many a highly esteemed _Baal
Ha-bayis_ had looked upon her with favor, and would not have spurned to
ask her hand in marriage if her incumbrance on the other side of the
Atlantic would only have been good enough to make a polite exit for a
better world, leaving her a substantial fortune in American dollars. And
now all this was to cease; and she must leave her native place for a
strange land, and live again with one whom in her heart she still
despised as a _Shlemihl_, despite his unexpected good fortune in the New
World. Besides, she had a dim presentiment of evil, a feeling that the
advent of Yerachmiel meant some undesirable change in her tide of
fortune, why or what she could not think. At last a despatch came from
Yerachmiel, informing her that he was in Hamburg, and would reach
Novo-Kaidansk with the train due at such and such an hour. At the
appointed hour she was at the station, accompanied by quite a throng of
Jewish townsfolk bent on giving their long-absent townsman a hearty
welcome. Speculation was rife as to his appearance. Some thought that
his long absence in a foreign land would have removed his Jewish looks;
that he would have shaved off his beard and assumed in every way the
appearance of the Gentile. Others thought such a thing impossible of
Yerachmiel Sendorowitz; that he was far too pious and God-fearing to
fall away so utterly from Jewish ways, and that the only change probable
was that he would be elegantly attired in fine clothing, and would show
in his prosperous and beaming aspect the possession of much
America-gained wealth. The grimy train, drawn by the ugly, soot-covered
locomotive, swept into the low-roofed Russian station. The swarm of
passengers, of all kinds and degrees, flowed from the narrow openings of
the cars; and then a shock came over the waiting throng. From amidst the
crowd of passengers emerged one who was unmistakably Yerachmiel; and,
horrible to relate, the Yerachmiel of old, Yerachmiel the _Schlemihl_.
To be sure, he was not exactly the same in appearance as of old, for the
hat and suit that he wore were of American make; but they were shabby
and dusty, and ill suited to a prosperous man. His hair and beard were
unkempt and neglected, and his face bore an expression of anxiety and
care. All were surprised and shocked; but the most pitiably shocked of
all was Shprinze. Yerachmiel at once recognized his townsmen and his
wife, and advanced with a sort of wan smile to greet them. The former,
of course, returned his greetings, and inquired how he had fared in
America; but their embarrassment was only too manifest, and cutting
short his answers to them, Yerachmiel turned to his wife, who had been
standing all the while as if petrified, and said: “Come, Shprinze, let
us go home.” Mechanically she led him to her home. Hardly had the door
of the little dwelling closed behind them when all the animation and
energy which had left Shprinze when she beheld her spouse in such
unexpected and unwelcome guise suddenly returned.
“What is the meaning of all this?” she demanded fiercely, while flames
of wrath blazed from her piercing eyes. “Why do you come to me from
America looking like a beggar and a ragged saint fresh from the benches
of the Beth-Hammidrash instead of a prosperous New York merchant, as you
had made us all believe you had become? Was it all a lie, your
oft-repeated tale of your success in business and your progress? Did you
steal the money you sent me, and have you fled from the officers of the
law, who, perhaps, are after you now? Oh, you are still the same old
_Shlemihl_, the same old goodfor-nothing! Why did the Most High curse me
by making me your wife?”
“My dear Shprinze, do not rave so!” expostulated Yerachmiel. “How can
you say such things before you have heard any explanation from me? I am
not a liar nor a _Shlemihl_. Whatever I wrote you about my business
success in America was strictly true; and the money I sent you was my
own, and all honestly earned. I have come to take you with me to
America; and I already have the steamship tickets for us both, and
plenty of money for railroad fare and necessary expenses.”
“Then why are you dressed so shabbily?” continued Shprinze, with
undiminished fierceness; “and why do you look so down-hearted? Is that
the appearance and the bearing suitable to a wealthy merchant, such as
you have claimed to be?”
“I suppose I am not very particular about my appearance,” answered
Yerachmiel; “and then, I admit, I have had considerable trouble and
losses in business lately, and that may have given me a worried look.
But what need that concern you? I have learned the art of getting on in
America, and I do not fear but that I shall soon be able to recover
whatever I have lost. In the mean while I am here. I am your husband,
and I ask you to come and make your home with me.”
“You are _mechulleh_,” said Shprinze, suspicion gazing out of every line
of her excited countenance. “I can understand from what you admit that
you have lost all you had, and you want me to share your poverty, or
perhaps to give you the money that I have saved from what you sent me! I
shall not do it! I do not want to go with you! Give me a _Get_. I do not
want to be the wife of such a _Shlemihl_.”
Yerachmiel’s pale face became fiery red when he heard these harsh and
heartless words; but again he endeavored to bring his wife to a better
frame of mind. “Shprinze,” he said in appealing tones that might have
melted a heart of stone, “is this my welcome home? Have I deserved this
of you? Have I not always been faithful to you, even when I was a poor
_Shlemihl_ in this town, and did I not give you every kopeck I earned?
Did I not send you money abundantly from America? You may trust me. I
still have the means to support my wife, and therefore I again ask you
to come with me to my home, as beseems a good and true wife in Israel.”
“I will believe you are not _mechulleh_,” said Shprinze, in a tone of
calculating shrewdness, “if you will give me a thousand roubles now. If
you do that I will go with you.”
“That I shall not do,” said Yerachmiel, a manly anger getting the better
of his usual extreme mildness. “I do not need to buy my wife. Have you
no love for me at all? I ask you to go with me because I can support
you; and as a wife you can ask no more.”
“Then I see you are _mechulleh_,” answered Shprinze, “and I will not go.
Divorce me, I say; give me a _Get_. I want none of you or your money.
All I want is a _Get_.”
Again and again did Yerachmiel appeal to Shprinze’s better nature. It
was of no avail. She persisted in her demand and could not be induced to
alter it. Seeing that her determination was unalterable and that her one
wish was to be separated from him, Yerachmiel, although according to the
Jewish religious law he could have refused to consent to the desired
divorce and thus have effectually baffled any other matrimonial plans
that Shprinze might have entertained, decided to accede to her wishes.
“I shall do as you ask, hard-hearted and ungrateful woman,” he said;
“for even now that you treat me thus cruelly I wish you no evil. But one
thing I must tell you. In order to show that this divorce is not in
accordance with my wish, I shall pay neither the rabbi, nor the scribe,
nor any of the other expenses. Whatever outlay there is you must defray.
Thus shall all know that you are the one who seeks to undo the bond that
has bound us together these many years, but that I am satisfied to keep
you as my lawful, wedded wife.”
Shprinze eagerly agreed to this; and having further agreed that they
should meet on the morrow in the house of Rabbi Israel, the spiritual
guide of the Jewish community of the town, they separated, Yerachmiel
leaving the house without word of farewell.