In his twelfth year, Stempenyu could already play the bridal march which was played when the ceremony of seating the bride was taking place. And, he could play all the pieces which were necessary for an entire wedding-feast, including the music of all the dances. For the exceptional talent which he thus showed the world, his father, Berrel Bass, loved him more than any of the other children, who went in rags, half naked and barefooted, while Stempenyu had good clothes and looked smart and clean. And, although he often beat him black and blue, and pulled his ears, and thumped him, and pinched him, and inflicted on him all sorts of bodily torture, his father still regarded him as the light of his eyes — the ornament of his family — the comfort of his declining years, and the reward for all his labors and trials. He showed off with him, and pushed him into the eyes of strangers at every opportunity. He used to say of him, with a proud air, “Do you see, devils, this youngster will support me in my old age. It is all right. I can depend on him!”
But, Berrel Bass was not destined to be supported by Stempenyu in his old age. For, when Stempenyu was about fifteen years old, he left his father and his home in search of adventure, with only a few coppers in his pocket, and an old broken fiddle hidden away under his coat-tails. He wished to see the whole world. And, he wandered in and out of all and made every possible hole and corner, through many towns and villages, in the company of many different orchestras. He would not stay in the same place for more than a six-month at the outside. He always drawn towards some new place — somewhere where he had not been, and which was further and further away from his home. From Tasapevka he went to Stepevka, from Stepevka to Karretz, from Karretz to Balta, from Balta to Old Constantin, and from there to Berdettsev; and so on, always further and further, until at least he found himself in Odessa, from which city he turned back again towards home. On his return journey, he stopped again at every little town and village where he had the least opportunity of being head to any advantage. According to his wishes, so it fell out. He was heard everywhere, and his fame spread like wild-fire. Wherever he went, he found that the people had already heard of him in advance of his coming — had heard that there was a certain musician called Stempenyu, who was going about from place to place, all the world over, playing his fiddle with so much genius that the like of his music had never been heard before since the sawn of creation.
It may be gathered from what was said of him that the greatest excitement prevailed whenever he made his appearance in a community. At eighteen years of age, he had already an orchestra of his own, traveling about, and playing at the most important wedding feasts and other gatherings. And, in this way, in the course of time, Stempenyu gave up playing in other orchestras, as he had to do before; for instance, the Conatopar Orchestra, the fame of which was very great, or the Shmielor, or the Viennese, or the Sarragrada, or any other of the orchestras which were known everywhere, and for which he had played at different times.
It stands to reason that Stempenyu’s success brought him very few friends, and many enemies. As the latter put it, he tore the bread out of the mouths of other musicians. And, on his head were poured out many cart-loads of oaths and curses every day of the week, and every hour of the day. But, to his face he was flattered, and made much of, though the words were born out of malice and spite. Every individual musician knew in his heart that the moment Stempenyu took his fiddle in his hand there was nothing left for any of them to do but to go to bed.
For generations past, the majority of musicians have been passionately attached to the practice of storytelling. They would listen for hours on end to all sorts of tales, of fairies and witches and wonderful doings, legends and romances. And, the members of Stempenyu’s orchestra were not exceptional. They not only listened to stories with pleasure, but themselves told many wherever they went. Stempenyu was their hero, and all their stories centered around him. He was, according to the stories, the most marvelous and the most terrible man who had ever lived. And, there arose a belief in the towns and villages to the effect that Stempenyu had sold himself to the Evil One, and that his fiddle had belonged to the great Paganni himself, whose soul still dwelt in it.
When the local musicians heard that Stempenyu and his orchestra were coming into the village, they cursed him and his assistants for hours on end. And, it is hardly necessary to add that their wives took up the cudgels against Stempenyu, and positively poured out on him a terrific flood of such curses as made one tremble to listen to, and lifted the hair of one’s head with fear.
The whole year round, the local orchestras were starved, worn thin as laths with the anxiety of borrowing, and pawning, and trying to get this and that on trust. They were so poor that they almost ate up their own skins, since nothing else was available. And to what end? Because they knew that on such and such a date, the daughter of such and such a man of wealth was going to be married. And, they hoped to make a few roubles out of the marriage-feast. But, what happened? At the end of their period of waiting, when they were about to tune up their instruments, behold there came into the village an evil spirit — a stranger from goodness alone knew where, and snatched the piece of bread from between the very teeth of the musicians!
“Oh, may the thunder strike down Stempenyu! May the lightning shrivel him up!”
But, from a personal point of view, Stempenyu made no enemies anywhere. He was a good comrade to everybody who had need of him. When he was done with his work of playing at a wedding, he generally gathered together all the musicians of the village, and gave them a grand supper on the most lavish scale possible. He did not economize the liquor, and got the finest dainties that were to be had, without caring a rap for the cost. And, before he left the village, he gave the boys and girls handfuls of coppers, so that they might not forget that he had been amongst them. In a word, he was the best of companions, and the very soul of liberality.
“Do you know what?” the wives of the local musicians said to one another, after Stempenyu had been in their village and had gone away again. “Do you know what? No one ought to attempt to weigh and measure a Jewish heart!”
Above all, Stempenyu found favour in the black or the blue eyes of the daughters of the musicians. Whenever he came, he was sure to seek out the young and pretty girls, and to swear to each and every one of them that he loved her to distraction. And, it was quite true. Stempenyu had the peculiar gift of being able to fall madly in love without a moment’s hesitation with the very first pretty girl that came his way. But, no sooner had he crossed the boundary which separated the village she lived in from the next village, than he forgot all about the transports of love into which he had fallen, and never gave a second thought to the girl he had vowed love to for ever. His outbursts of passion as well as his protestations were sure to vanish as the smoke vanishes in the wind. And, the moment he found himself face to face with another pretty girl, in the very next village he came to, he was sure to fall as madly in love with her as he had fallen love with the other girls he had come upon, in the villages he had come away from. He swore that he would never leave her. He protested loudly and emphatically that he would ever forget her as long has he lived. He made her presents, and when the time came for his going away he took leave of her in the most heartrending accents, and was soon on his way to the next village, where he was sure to repeat the same performance of love-making with as much zest as if he had never done it in his life before.
It cannot be said that all his love-affairs ended with his going away. He was not forgotten by the girls as easily as he forgot them. Generally speaking, the girls to whom he made love took him as lightly as he took them. They attached no importance to his words. They forgot soon after every word he had spoken and every tear he had shed for them. They married, without giving another thought to Stempenyu, the first eligible young man who happened to come in their way. But, on the other hand, it happened in several instances that the girl did not forget Stempenyu, but hoped that he would return to her as soon as he could, to redeem his promise to her. If he did not come back today, then he would surely come on the morrow. If not on the morrow, then on the next day. Until, because of their deferred hopes, they grew heart-sick and weary, and began to pine away. So that at the very moment when Stempenyu was making love to and stealing kisses from a pretty girl in some dark corner, several other girls were pining away for love of him, and were broken hearted because of his absence. They drooped, and languished, and grew thin and fretful, because he had loved them and gone away again without every sending them the least sign that he thought of them any more, much less coming back to claim them for his own. He seemed to have forgotten that they existed, much less that they were waiting for him.