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Updated: June 4, 2025
He remembered scenes in novels and plays in which undesirable suitors were tackled by champions of convention scenes in which they were even bought off and started in new lands. Would not Yossel go to a new land, and how much would he want over and above his fare? He led the way without. 'You have lived here all your life, Yossel, have you not? he said, when they were in the village street.
'True, true, said Yossel eagerly; 'and life is very cheap there, I have always heard. 'Then it is a bargain, slipped unwarily from the artist's tongue. But Yossel replied simply: 'May the blessings of the Eternal be upon you for ever and for ever, and by the merit of my prayers in Jerusalem may your sins be forgiven. The artist was moved.
'But Yossel is pious surely? A vision of the psalm-droners and prayer-shriekers in the little synagogue, among whom the hunchback had been conspicuous, surged up vividly. 'He may shake himself from dawn-service to night-service, he will never shake off his father, the innkeeper, said Frau Schneemann hotly.
He was always a Schlemihl. 'But can one pay too much attention to the Talmud? That is a strange saying for a Rabbi's daughter. 'King Solomon tells us there is a time for everything, returned the Rabbi's daughter. 'Yossel neglected what the wise King said, and so now he comes trying to wheedle your poor grandmother out of her money.
Yossel took a pinch, but his eyes seemed roving in amaze, less over the stranger than over the bespread table, as though he might unaccountably have overlooked some sacred festival. That two are company and three none seemed at this point a proverb to be heeded, and without waiting to renew the hero's acquaintance, the artist escaped from the idyllic cottage.
'When will you be ready to start? he said. Yossel pondered. 'But to die in Palestine one must live in Palestine, he said. 'I cannot be certain that God would take my soul the moment I set foot on the holy soil. The artist reflected a moment, but scarcely felt rich enough to guarantee that Yossel should live in Palestine, especially if he were an unconscionably long time a-dying.
Yossel, propped on his crutches, was pulling out a mouldering black-covered book from under his greasy caftan. 'I have brought you back your Chovoth Halvovoth, he said. In the vivid presence of the actual romance the artist could not suppress the smile he had kept back at the mere shadowy recital. In Rome he himself had not infrequently called on young ladies by way of returning books to them.
However, he told himself that one must make assurance doubly sure and that, even if it was all empty gossip, still he had stumbled upon a way of making an old man happy. You see, I have so few good deeds to my credit. 'So I have heard, replied Yossel placidly. 'A very wicked life it is said you lead at Rome. 'Most true, said the artist cheerfully.
May his name be blotted out! 'Why, what is wrong with Yossel? Moses Mendelssohn himself had a hump. 'Who speaks of humps? Have you forgotten we are of Rabbinic family? Her son had quite forgotten it, as he had forgotten so much of this naïve life to which he was paying a holiday visit. 'Ah yes, he murmured.
The grandmother fumbled with her spectacles, and removing them with trembling fingers blinked downwards at the bundle. Yossel snatched up his crutches, and propped himself manfully upon them. 'Your grandmother goes with me, he explained decisively. 'What! the artist gasped. The grandmother's eyes met his unflinchingly; they had drawn fire from Yossel's.
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