And, Stempenyu poured out his soul through the fiddle. He seemed to be melting away out of existence, as if he were wax before a fire. And, now and again, he seemed to come back to earth again, from his soarings in the blue vault of heaven. His thin, fine notes changed to deep, solemn tones that echoed and re-echoed through and through the hearts of his listeners.
A hand flying swiftly up and down — no more than this was to be seen; and yet, one heard all sorts of sweet sounds. A thousand delicious melodies and arias filled the air. And, all of them were so sad that they caught hold of one’s heart, and gripped it as with pincers. The people felt that their souls were leaving their bodies. They were dying slowly, inch by inch, their strength drawn out of them by the magic of Stempenyu’s playing.
And, who was Stempenyu? What was Stempenyu? No one saw him. No one remembered that he was an individual to himself. And, no one saw the fiddle. One only heard the sweet sounds that came from it — divine voices seemed to be flooding the room with song.
And, Rochalle the beautiful, who had never before heard Stempenyu playing, who had only heard his name, and only knew that such a person as he existed — but who had never heard such music in her life as that which now fell on her ears — Rochalle was standing and listening to the magical tones, the golden harmonies. Did she understand what they conveyed? She did not know what was going on at all. Her heart was filled with something which she had never felt in all her life. She lifted her eyes to the source from which the sweet sounds came, and they encountered a pair of wonderfully beautiful black eyes that burned like living coals. They penetrated her through and through, like sharp daggers. More, they seemed to her eloquent, as if they were filled with the desire to convey to her a special message. She tried to withdraw her eyes from the eyes that were piercing her to her core; but she could not. She was like hypnotized.
“And, so this is Stempenyu!” she thought within herself. But, she got no further than this. There was a sudden movement. The bride was about to be brought under the wedding canopy.
“Where are the candles?” asked one of the bridegroom’s relatives.
“The candles — where are they?” was the reply that one of the bride’s relatives had to the challenge that had been thrown out.
And, once again there arose the same noise and hubbub which had characterized the beginning of the wedding-day. Everyone took to running here and there, without having the least idea as to why and wherefore of their flight. Everybody was pushing and crushing, and treading on his neighbors’ toes. Dresses were torn. And, the people were sweating and abusing the waters and the waitresses, as well as the superintendents, the latter of whom, in turn, abused the guests back again. And, from one end of the room to the other, there passed from lip to lip the sarcastic remark—“Thank goodness, it is a bit lively here!”
In the disorder which prevailed at the time when the bride was being led back from the canopy to her daïs, Stempenyu managed to escape from the orchestra. In a moment, he had reached the spot to which his eyes had wandered a hundred times during the last half-hour, beside the beautiful Rochalle, Isaac-Naphtali’s daughter-in-law. He managed to exchange a few words with her, smiling into her blue eyes and showing the agitation which had come upon him by the way in which he kept twirling the stray lock of hair he kept at the side of his forehead. Rochalle blushed scarlet. She feared to look into Stempenyu’s eyes, and kept her face averted from him. She hardly knew what he was saying, and only with difficulty managed to say on word to his ten. She felt that it was not all right for a modest young woman to sand talking with a musician before a whole room fell asleep.
V THE FIRST MEETING BETWEEN ROCHALLE AND STEMPENYU
Many and various were the tales told of Stempenyu. It was said that he was acquainted with all the magicians, and the “good-folks,” and the fairies, and had got from them a certain power which enabled him to do whatever he wished. If he wished to sunder a man from his betrothed, he could do it simply by uttering a certain set of words. And, he only needed to look at a girl, and she would be filled with love for him. It were best, therefore, to take great care of oneself when he was near. As a consequence of his powers, many mothers knew to take care of their daughters. Those of them that were yet unmarried were put under the sheltering wing of their married sisters, or their aunts, or any other married woman who happened to be in the room when Stempenyu was there. It is true that this was no compliment to Stempenyu, but what did that matter? Who is there who would make quarrels when there is peace? Stempenyu’s reputation as a musician was not the least bit injured. And, who cared anything beyond that? Nobody was going to marry him, and he remained the same Stempenyu in spite of the fact that many women were afraid of him.
Blessed are the young women who have secured husbands! And, blessed be the men who have secured for their wives freedom! But, alas for the maidens who are bound, and tethered, and guarded, and watched until they have come under the canopy — until they have been freed from their bonds, as happy wives.
As a married woman, Rochalle had nothing to fear from Stempenyu when he came towards her with his fiddle under his arm, and a smile hovering on his lips. What was there to be afraid of? What need for her to hide herself? Her father-in-law, Isaac-Naphtali, was busy with the wedding. He was walking up and down, with his hands hanging loosely by his side. He was scowling at the assistants, and urging them to make haste.
And, her mother-in-law, Dvossa-Malka, was so excited that if anyone had taken her veil off her shoulders she would have known nothing about it. It was true that she did stand up once to see what Stempenyu was doing beside Rochalle. But she did not feel concerned. She said to herself: “What matter! They are only fooling one another. It’s not worth half a farthing!”
There were many other things of greater importance than following her son’s wife about in a public place. Dvossa-Malka found plenty to do in helping her husband to superintend the arrangements. Between them they managed admirably. The waiters and the waitresses ran about like mad. And, the relatives of both parties made plenty of noise, as usual. The guests went to wash their hands before taking their places at the table, on which there was nothing yet but huge piles of warm rolls. Suddenly there arose an alarm: there was not enough water for all the guests.
“Where are we to get water now?” someone asked.
“Water — yes, where are we to get it now?”
“Water! Water!” shrieked Dvossa-Malka, in a hoarse voice.
“Water! Water!” repeated Isaac-Naphtali, helping to make more noise. He had turned up the tails of his coat, and had begun to believe that he was doing something, whereas he only fussed and flurried everybody.
In the uproar and excitement which prevailed, Stempenyu took advantage of his opportunity, and stayed talking with Rochalle a little longer. She was very thoughtful, and serious. Her beautiful blue eyes had in them a dreamy, far off gaze. She was looking beyond Stempenyu. She listened to him without saying a word, and Stempenyu talked brilliantly. He could talk well, the scamp! His words seemed not only to draw her closer to him but to surround her on all sides, as by a network of invisible silken cords. His eyes were fixed on her face; and, she felt that he was penetrating her through and through, to her very soul, deep, deep down into her heart.
Stempenyu talked, and Rochalle listened, spell bound. And, the noise of the room was so deafening that no one overheard a word of what he was saying.
“Is that your husband?” asked Stempenyu, throwing his eyes in the direction of a young man who was holding the lapel of another man’s coat, and arguing with it for all he was worth.