gently, I asked myself why he was not harsh; when he spoke harshly, I asked myself why he was not gentle. In either case, my heart was bitter and hard. While he was trying to win me with words, he was told guests had come to congratulate him. His manner changed, and he went to greet his guests. When he left, the old woman he had provided to serve me appeared. This happened several times in the course of the day.
“The old woman was the mother of the girl he had made pregnant, who was beaten to death by the duchess. The old woman used to sit and talk with me. ‘He’s a real man,’ she would say. ‘A real man. No girl can resist him. And you, my dove, are trying to run away. How will you do it? None of the farmers will give you a ride, for fear of your husband. If you walk, your little feet will sink into the snow. These darling feet were out on a snowy night; it’s a miracle the skin didn’t peel right off. Your dead mother probably came and put her good hands under the soles of your feet. The dead know the sorrows of the living and share them, though we are sometimes too stingy to light a candle in their memory. Give me one of your feet, my dove, and I’ll kiss it. My daughter didn’t have feet like yours, though she was lovely and good. Alas, she wasn’t favored by the Mother of God, who could have saved her from our mistress, the duchess. Probably because my daughter was born Christian and our lord, your husband, is a Jewish man. You, my dove, are Jewish too, so why resist your husband? You won’t find another man as powerful as he is. Be still, my dove, be still. Don’t look so enraged. The rage of the Lord God is enough, why add to it? You are, after all, a woman, and a woman’s heart is soft and good. Why be defiant? You are an orphan with no mother, and I am a mother with no daughter. Let’s live in peace, rather than upset each other. The Lord God and all those with him make enough trouble. Wouldn’t it be better if my daughter had lived and I had died, like your good mother who died, leaving you alive? She left you a kind father, too. Listen, my dove, listen: I hear the sound of a sleigh. Your kind father is coming. He will make peace between you and your husband.’
“The door opened, and Father came in. I fell on his neck and sobbed, ‘Father, Father.’ He pushed me away and said, ‘You’ve brought us shame, you’ve brought us shame.’ I was stunned. My tears dried up. I stopped crying and didn’t say a word. Father began to praise the man he called my husband, to describe all the good things he would be able to give me. I didn’t answer. I was as mute as a tree in the snow, but for the fact that a tree is alive on the inside though covered with snow, whereas I was like snow through and through. At night, that man gave a big party for Father, who had one drink too many and began muttering, ‘It will work out, it will work out.’ He kissed me and kissed the one they called my groom.
“It didn’t work out. On the contrary, it became more complex. At first, I had nothing against the man, but, in the end, my heart was filled with seething hatred. When he came near me, I shouted, ‘Get away from me, you wretch!’ I called him every vile name, and he loved me all the more. I was a captive in his house, seeking escape. Because of the snow, it was impossible to escape. Once, while he was drinking with friends who came to congratulate him on his marriage, I sneaked out of the house, hid in a sleigh belonging to a gentleman from my town, and rode off. Father was not happy to see me. Having married off his only daughter, he had his eye on a wife. Whom did he have in mind? The mother of the young man I had rejected. Knowing this, she hated me doubly – once for her son, once for herself – for I was interfering with the pleasure she sought from my father. Fate is a clown, and when he clowns, he doubles the laughs.
“Father hardly spoke to me. By day he was busy at the bank, and in the evening
“The old woman was the mother of the girl he had made pregnant, who was beaten to death by the duchess. The old woman used to sit and talk with me. ‘He’s a real man,’ she would say. ‘A real man. No girl can resist him. And you, my dove, are trying to run away. How will you do it? None of the farmers will give you a ride, for fear of your husband. If you walk, your little feet will sink into the snow. These darling feet were out on a snowy night; it’s a miracle the skin didn’t peel right off. Your dead mother probably came and put her good hands under the soles of your feet. The dead know the sorrows of the living and share them, though we are sometimes too stingy to light a candle in their memory. Give me one of your feet, my dove, and I’ll kiss it. My daughter didn’t have feet like yours, though she was lovely and good. Alas, she wasn’t favored by the Mother of God, who could have saved her from our mistress, the duchess. Probably because my daughter was born Christian and our lord, your husband, is a Jewish man. You, my dove, are Jewish too, so why resist your husband? You won’t find another man as powerful as he is. Be still, my dove, be still. Don’t look so enraged. The rage of the Lord God is enough, why add to it? You are, after all, a woman, and a woman’s heart is soft and good. Why be defiant? You are an orphan with no mother, and I am a mother with no daughter. Let’s live in peace, rather than upset each other. The Lord God and all those with him make enough trouble. Wouldn’t it be better if my daughter had lived and I had died, like your good mother who died, leaving you alive? She left you a kind father, too. Listen, my dove, listen: I hear the sound of a sleigh. Your kind father is coming. He will make peace between you and your husband.’
“The door opened, and Father came in. I fell on his neck and sobbed, ‘Father, Father.’ He pushed me away and said, ‘You’ve brought us shame, you’ve brought us shame.’ I was stunned. My tears dried up. I stopped crying and didn’t say a word. Father began to praise the man he called my husband, to describe all the good things he would be able to give me. I didn’t answer. I was as mute as a tree in the snow, but for the fact that a tree is alive on the inside though covered with snow, whereas I was like snow through and through. At night, that man gave a big party for Father, who had one drink too many and began muttering, ‘It will work out, it will work out.’ He kissed me and kissed the one they called my groom.
“It didn’t work out. On the contrary, it became more complex. At first, I had nothing against the man, but, in the end, my heart was filled with seething hatred. When he came near me, I shouted, ‘Get away from me, you wretch!’ I called him every vile name, and he loved me all the more. I was a captive in his house, seeking escape. Because of the snow, it was impossible to escape. Once, while he was drinking with friends who came to congratulate him on his marriage, I sneaked out of the house, hid in a sleigh belonging to a gentleman from my town, and rode off. Father was not happy to see me. Having married off his only daughter, he had his eye on a wife. Whom did he have in mind? The mother of the young man I had rejected. Knowing this, she hated me doubly – once for her son, once for herself – for I was interfering with the pleasure she sought from my father. Fate is a clown, and when he clowns, he doubles the laughs.
“Father hardly spoke to me. By day he was busy at the bank, and in the evening
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