Part 6
Gabirol died when he was only about thirty years of age. It is said that a Moor, who fancied himself to be a great poet, being jealous of Gabirol's success, which he was unable to equal, invited him to his house on a dark night and put him to death.
Abraham Ibn Ezra (1088–1167) achieved a certain amount of fame because of the genuine humour which characterized both his prose and verse. Like so many other men of genius, Ibn Ezra had all his life been in very straitened circumstances, but he never permitted his ill-fortune or disappointments to interfere with his natural cheerfulness. His is the courage which laughs at misfortunes. Thus he writes:—
In vain I labour, all my toil is vain, For never can I boast of riches' gain; The fates have frowned upon me, since my birth, And failure is my portion here on earth. Were I to take the notion in my head To deal in shrouds, the cerements of the dead, Then to establish how ill-starred am I, No man who lives on earth would ever die; Or should I try to make wax-candles pay, The sun would shine by night as well as day^[61-1].
When Ibn Ezra saw that it was impossible for him to earn a livelihood in his native country, he determined to try his fortune abroad. He thus visited Egypt at the time when the famous Maimonides was the physician at the Court of the Sultan Saladin. He made several vain attempts to see him, and in the end he composed the following epigram:—
I call on my Lord in the morning, I am told that on horse-back he's sped; I call once again in the evening, And hear that his lordship's abed. But whether his Highness is riding, Or whether my Lord is asleep, I'm perfectly sure, disappointment Is the one single fruit I shall reap^[61-2].
More fortunate as regards worldly possessions was Jehuda Halevi, the most celebrated Hebrew poet since the close of the Hebrew Canon. Born in Toledo, in Spain, about the end of the eleventh century, he received an excellent education, and his genius showed itself very early. Though following the medical profession with conspicuous success, he is chiefly known as the author of some philosophical works and of numerous charming poems in Hebrew. Some of them have been made familiar to the literary world by Heinrich Heine, who speaks of their author as follows:—“When his soul was on the point of leaving heaven, she was kissed by the Creator. This kiss re-echoed afterwards in the poet's mind, and vibrated in all the poetical offsprings of his genius.”
Particularly fine is the sacred song which Jehuda Halevi composed under the title of “An Ode to Zion,” a condensed version of which in prose runs somewhat as follows:—
“Hast thou, O Zion, forsaken thy captive children? Hearest thou not the heartfelt greetings thy flock sendeth thee from the end of the earth? They look to thee with longing hearts, and from year to year they shed their tears on thy beautiful hills and mountains. Had I but wings I would fly to thy ruins, that my head might touch thy sacred ground, and my feet rest on the holy tombs of my fathers. In thy fragrant air I should breathe the breath of life, and inhale the perfume of thy dust, and eagerly I should drink the sweet waters of thy streams. O Zion, crown of beauty, towards thee are bent the hearts of thy lovers; they rejoice in thy joy, and weep with thee in the days of thine affliction. Towards thy gates they pour forth their fervent prayers, and long for the shade of thy palm-trees. Oh thrice happy mortal, who shall live to see the dawn of thy renewed glory, and be present when thou wilt shine again in splendour and beauty as in the days of thy youth.”
Jehuda Halevi has also written a considerable number of secular poems and songs, having love, friendship, and the joys of life for their theme. Some of them are light and humorous, as the following lines will show:—
A Fancy^[63-1].
I once nursed Love upon my knee, I saw his likeness in my eye, He kissed the lid so tenderly, 'Twas himself he kissed, the rogue, not me.
A Serenade.
Awake, O my dear one, from slumber arise, The sight of thy face will give ease to my pain. If thou dreamest of one that is kissing thine eyes, Awake, and the dream I full soon shall explain^[63-2].
On a Rain Cloud^[63-3].
Without an eye it weeps, and we Do laugh with joy its kiss to see, But when its eyeless face is dry, 'Tis then our turn to weep and sigh.
The last of the famous quartette of Spanish Hebrew poets living in the Middle Ages, exclusive of the famous Moses Ibn Ezra, was Jehuda ben Shelomoh Alcharizi. He flourished in Spain in the first half of the thirteenth century, and was famous in his day not only as a linguist and philosopher, but even more so as a master of sparkling rhymed prose and verse. His reputation rests chiefly on his charming book entitled _Tachkemoni_, which consists of fifty chapters, having for their model the peculiar form of the so-called Makāma, which the author has adopted from his favourite Arabic poet, Al Hariri. Alcharizi and his _Tachkemoni_ have in modern times been exhaustively criticized, so that there is very little left to be said about him. A specimen of his humour may, however, be aptly given here; it is an extract from the sixth Makāma of the _Tachkemoni_, which is called “The Unlucky Marriage.”
“Thus relate Hayman the Esrachite:—While living in Tarbez, a town pleasantly situated in the East, I sat one day in one of the public bazaars in company with some friends. I suddenly noticed among the crowd a haggard man whom I soon recognized as Heber the Kenite, an old and intimate friend of my youth. I quickly ran up to him, and amidst cordial greetings and embraces I questioned him about the state of his health, and about his intended plans for the future. At the same time I suggested to him that he should settle down in my neighbourhood, so that I could look after him, and even assist him in making a suitable marriage. When Heber heard my last remark, he sighed deeply, and said: ‘Dear friend, I entreat you with all my heart and soul not to induce me to get married to any woman, for my past experiences of wedlock have been so painful that I should not like to have them repeated.’ And on my pressing him to let me know what had happened, he told me the following tale:—
“‘Some time ago, it so happened that I was rather depressed in mind at my lonely bachelor state, and thus I resolved to enter upon matrimonial life, which I fancied would bring me happiness and contentment to my heart's desire. This pleasant thought at once took hold of me, and being unable to stay in the house, I rushed out into the street in search of some imaginary pretty girl, whom I intended to marry, and be happy with ever after. Presently an old and mysterious-looking woman came up, and greeting me humbly, addressed me as follows:—“May God be with you, young man, and grant you a long and prosperous life. From afar I have closely watched you, and admired your handsome face and erect figure. But you seem to be sad, and in want of a lively companion whom you would call your wife. Now I know a most beautiful maiden in town, who would be a suitable match for you. She belongs to an excellent family, is highly accomplished, and, as for her looks, they are simply fascinating, and especially her eyes send forth a glorious light, like the lovely stars in a cloudless sky. Happy will the man be who will succeed in winning her love, but this can only be done if he assigns to her a dowry of two thousand ducats, payable to her father on the day of her marriage.”’
“After a short pause my friend Heber went on to relate the story of his strange adventure, saying:—
“‘The glorious description given to me by the old woman of my future bride caused my heart to beat loudly within me, and in answer I said that I would willingly agree to pay the stipulated sum of two thousand ducats, if I could only first obtain a glimpse of the lovely girl who was to be my wife. But the woman hurried away, having assured me that my desire would be fulfilled on the following day, when everything would also be ready for the celebration of the marriage ceremony. Thereupon I went home in a most agitated state and passed a sleepless night, looking forward to the happy morning when I expected to meet my charming bride. Next day, at an early hour, the old woman made her appearance, and told me, with a beaming face, that my future father-in-law would soon be here to give his consent to the wedding. And hardly had she said so, when the door of my room opened, and my future father-in-law came in, accompanied by several elders of the community, whom he addressed as follows:—“Brethren and friends, this young man here, who is well off and belongs to a good family, is desirous of marrying my daughter, and of assigning to her a dowry of two thousand ducats. Be ye now witnesses that I fully consent to this proposed marriage, and that I readily accept the amount of the dowry which he has promised to pay for the privilege of enjoying the advantage of our near relationship.”
“‘I was about to remonstrate against these proceedings, when the marriage contract was quickly thrust into my hands which, after some hesitation, I duly signed and handed over to the notary who was present. Thereupon the preparations were soon made for the wedding ceremony and its subsequent feast, which were to take place in the evening of that very day. When it got dark the wedding guests arrived, and brought with them the fair maiden that was to become my lawful wife. Her face was covered with a thick veil, and thus standing close to me, the wedding ceremony was solemnized in the usual way. Then the feasting and merry-making began, and lasted for some time. But gradually the crowd of the wedding guests disappeared, and when I was left alone with my wife, I blushingly spoke to her for the first time the following tender words: “Oh, thou fairest of women, remove the veil from thy sweet face, that I may behold and admire the beautiful eyes which shine like the stars in a cloudless sky.” She removed her veil; then lo, and behold, what an awakening! The female that stood there before me was not a fair maiden with softly shining eyes, but rather a monster in female guise, who had a fierce and threatening look about her, and filled me with feelings of horror and consternation. Presently recovering from my shock, I asked my wife whether she had any trinkets and jewels, costly robes, and precious shawls that had been given to her by her father as a dowry. In a husky voice she answered: “I have assuredly left a large bundle in my father's house, which is filled with veils and slippers, nightcaps and aprons, and several other things that my poor departed mother had bequeathed to me as my marriage portion. All these things are there ready for my immediate use.”’
“After a few minutes' silence, my friend Heber concluded his story as follows: ‘On hearing the shrill voice of my wife, and the description she gave me of her wedding outfit, I got mad with rage. Like a flash I rushed out of the house, and ran all night on the road until I came to a thick forest, which afforded me shelter till the following morning, when I continued my flight from the unlovely society of my spouse. Since that fearful night I am wandering from place to place, and all that I ask of you, my friend, is, to let me go away in peace.’”
Light humour is also frequently met with in certain little Hebrew poems extant, which end in a “point,” especially of the satirical kind. They are somewhat similar in form and construction to the epigrams found in ancient and modern literatures, and are termed in modern Hebrew _Michtamim_. They form, according to Steinschneider^[67-1], an important branch of Neo-Hebrew literature, and rival in excellence and copiousness any other class of epigrams in existence.
Hebrew epigrams have both mediaeval and modern Jewish writers for their authors, and the following rendering into English of some of them will give the reader an approximate idea of their contents.
I
The Grey Hair. By Jehudah Halevi^[67-2].
One day I observed a grey hair in my head; I plucked it right out, when it thus to me said: “Thou mayest smile, if thou wilt, at thy treatment of me, But a score of my friends soon will make mock of thee.”
II
The Song of the Pen. By Alcharizi^[67-3].
My Muse, though airy, glides softly along, Singing full oft a voiceless song; My pen, though frail and slim of figure, Has a serpent's tooth and a lion's vigour.
III
The Unhappy Lover. By the same author^[67-4].
O lovely maiden, thou hast drawn my heart To thee, as though by some magician's art, Yet though my love is like a glowing flame, Thy coldness brings me but to scorn and shame. Mind, if I perish through thy chill disdain, The folks will say, “Here's one by woman slain^[67-5].”
IV
The Gift of the Benevolent. By the same author^[68-1].
The gift a noble soul may bring, Is like the dew that heaven sows; It gently falls on hill and dale, But how it cometh, no man knows. The promise of a wicked heart Is like unto the thunder peal, Lit by the lightning's lurid flash With ne'er a drop of rain to heal.
V
Happiness amidst Troubles. By Immanuel di Roma^[68-2].
Whenever troublous hours I find That rob me of my peace of mind, To thee I haste, my little bride, And all forget, when by thy side. Let others laud their castled towers, Their magic grots, their gladsome bowers: For me that place hath chiefest charms, That brings me, dearest, to thine arms.
VI
The Mouth and the Ears. By Palqera (1264)^[68-3].
My friend, speak always once, but listen twice, This, I would have you know, is sound advice; For God hath given you and all your peers A single mouth, friend, but a pair of ears.
VII
The Miser and the Fisherman. By Ben-Zeeb (1785)^[68-4].
A miser once into a river fell— Hard by a boatman heard his frenzied yell; He swiftly ran and cried, “Give me your hand, And I shall bring you safely back to land.” “Give,” moaned the miser, “when I've ne'er before Given, No—never!” He was seen no more.
VIII
The Miser and the Poor. By the same author^[69-1].
A miser once dreamed he had given away Some bread to a beggar he met on the way. In terror he woke, and he solemnly swore That the rest of his life he would slumber no more.
IX
The Gourmand and Late Riser^[69-2].
My piteous plight oft makes me weep— I cannot eat when I am asleep.
X
An Epitaph. By Ben-Jacob^[69-3].
Here lies _Nachshon_, man of great renown, Who won much glory in his native town: 'Twas hunger that killed him, and they let him die— They give him statues now, and gaze, and sigh— While _Nachshon_ lived, he badly wanted _bread_, Now he is gone, he gets a _stone_ instead.
XI
Naomi's Troubles. By the same author^[69-4].
The weather's been so bad that I A place of worship could not try; But now that my new frock I see, I'll go whate'er the weather may be.
XII
The Miser and the Mouse. By the same author^[69-5].
A miser saw a tiny mouse Nimbly running through the house, “Hence,” he cried, “voracious beast, Here is nought whereon to feast.” Thereupon the mouse did say: “Be not angry, sir, I pray: In me a lodger plain you see, And I have brought my food with me.”
XIII
The Penitent. By the same author^[70-1].
A rich, but not a holy man, Grew old, and to repent began; So, to perform a pious deed That would procure him heaven's meed, He thought, and thought, then bade at last His _servants_ one whole day to fast.
A frequent charge preferred against Jewish literature by modern critics^[70-2] is, that it is deficient of humour. The instances given in this essay, as well as in some others forming part of the present volume may, perhaps, contribute in some small degree to dissipate this fallacy.
Footnotes:
[60-1] There is also in existence a witty epigram composed by the same author when a certain Jewish scribbler plagiarized one of his poems, and circulated it as his own. In this epigram Gabirol compares himself to an ever-flowing stream, which continues its course, and does not mind if some poor mortal draws from it now and again a bucketful of water. Cp. Dukes, _Shire Shelomo_, p. 50.
[61-1] Cp. Geiger's _Jüdische Dichtungen_, Leipzig, 1856, p. 21.
[61-2] Cp. _Orient_, 1843, Literaturblatt, p. 658.
[63-1] This translation is taken from Mr. Joseph Jacobs' article on “Jehuda Halevi,” published among the _Papers read before the Jews' College Literary Society_, 1886–7.
[63-2] Cp. the above article by Mr. Joseph Jacobs.
[63-3] This translation from the original Hebrew was done by Mr. Israel Abrahams.
[67-1] Cp. Steinschneider, _Jewish Literature_, p. 171.
[67-2] Cp. Dukes, _Lit.-Blatt des Orients_, p. 709.
[67-3] Cp. the ninth Makāma in his _Tachkemoni_.
[67-4] Cp. the twentieth Makāma in his _Tachkemoni_.
[67-5] The latter phrase occurs in the Book of Judges ix. 54, and is here wittily applied by Alcharizi to his own purpose.
[68-1] Cp. _Catalogue of the Hebrew MSS. of the Montefiore College Library_, compiled by Dr. H. Hirschfeld.
[68-2] Cp. third Machberoth.
[68-3] Steinschneider, _Manna_, p. 84.
[68-4] Cp. His תלמוד לשון עברי, p. 190.
[69-1] Cp. Ben-Jacob, _Epigrammata ac Poemata varia_, p. 104.
[69-2] Cp. Schlesinger, _Meassef_, 1805.
[69-3] Cp. Ben-Jacob, _Epigrammata_, &c., p. 19.
[69-4] Ibid. p. 7.
[69-5] Ibid. p. 101.
[70-1] Cp. Ben-Jacob, _Epigrammata_, &c., p. 38.
[70-2] Cp. Froude, _Carlyle's Life in London_, II, p. 480; and also Renan, _Histoire des langues sémitiques_ (I, 9, 11), wherein the following curious remark occurs: “Les peuples sémitiques manquent presque complètement de curiosité et de la faculté de rire.”
VIII
YEDAYA BEDARESI
A FOURTEENTH-CENTURY HEBREW POET AND PHILOSOPHER
The year 1306 was a fateful one in the annals of the Jews in France. At the beginning of that year Philip IV, surnamed _Le Bel_, issued an edict of expulsion against all the Jews living in his dominions. The edict practically confiscated all their property, and its terms were so rigorous that any Israelite found on French soil after a certain time became liable to the penalty of death.
Philip's mandate was promptly executed by the royal officers, and some 100,000 Jews were mercilessly driven out from their native land—a land in which their forefathers had resided long before Christianity had become the dominant religion there. In consequence of this expulsion, several famous Jewish seats of learning, such as those at Béziers, Lunel, and Montpellier ceased to exist. Among the refugees was Yedaya En-Bonet ben Abraham Bedaresi, the subject of the present essay. Yedaya, known also under the poetical pseudonym of Penini, has left no documentary evidence concerning the incidents of his life. The best biography, however, of a man like Yedaya is that which is found in his own works. There is some diversity of opinion among biographers as to the exact date of Yedaya's birth, for while Bartolocci, Wolf, and de Rossi say that he was born in 1298, Steinschneider and Neubauer put the year of his birth between 1255 and 1260, without, however, attempting to fix the year of his death. Graetz, again, maintains that Yedaya was born in 1280, and died about 1340, and that his birthplace was Béziers and not Barcelona, as some biographers believe^[72-1]. The only indisputable fact in connexion with Yedaya's early education is that he entered the school of Rabbi Meshullam of Péziers when he was fifteen years old. From Yedaya's numerous writings it is obvious that he was a philosopher and moralist, a Talmudical scholar and an expert in medicine, and above all a clever writer of Hebrew prose and poetry. It is chiefly to his ability in this direction that he owes his prominent position among the Jewish savants of the Middle Ages, and for that reason special attention will have to be paid in the course of this essay to his chief work entitled _Bechînath Olam_, “The Examination of the World.” It is true that Graetz finds fault with this poetical composition, which he condemns for its empty grandiloquence and artificiality. But, on the other hand, Munk, in his _Mélanges_, p. 495, and Buxtorf, in his _Bibliotheca Rabbinica_, speak very highly of Yedaya's poetical talent; and the latter calls “The Examination of the World” an excellent literary production. And, indeed, the same opinion will be shared by all those readers of the _Bechînath Olam_ who, like Munk and Buxtorf, are not prejudiced against it, on the ground that its style is not so pure, elegant, and clear as that met with in some of the writings of the most prominent representatives of the so-called Spanish and Italian schools of Hebrew poetry. It has, in fact, always enjoyed an extraordinary popularity among the Jews; and it is remarkable to notice the comparatively large number of MSS. of the original, and of the commentaries on it, which are to be found in various libraries. It may further be mentioned that it has passed through more than forty-four editions, issued both with and without commentaries, at various times and in various countries, and has been frequently translated into German and into Jargon, while there were Latin, English, French, Italian, and Polish versions as well. It is interesting to note that the eleventh and twelfth chapters of one of the German editions, issued at Prague in 1795 by Moses Kunitz, were rendered into German by Moses Mendelssohn; and that the French translation, published in Paris in 1629 by Ph. d'Aquin, was dedicated to Cardinal Richelieu. The English version, which appeared in London in 1806, was inscribed by its author, Rabbi Tobias Goodman, to “The Most Reverend Solomon Hirschell, Presiding Rabbi of the German Jews”; and the Latin one, which has for its title _Examen mundi, R. J. Bedrishitae, latina interpretatione_, was done by Uchtman, and issued at Leyden in 1650.
Curiously enough the editor of the first of the forty-four known editions of the _Bechînath Olam_, printed, as some biographers think, at Mantua between 1476 and 1480, was a lady called Estellina, the wife of a certain Abraham Conath. She was assisted in her task by Jacob Levy of Tarascon. The last known edition of the book, or rather the greater part of it, was published only a few years ago by Dr. Harkavy, of St. Petersburg, from a MS. in his possession. Dr. Harkavy is also the owner of a hitherto unpublished commentary thereon, composed in 1508 by Isaac Mançon of Reggio. In some prefatory lines the author states that he was induced to write the commentary, because he had noticed that many young men in his country were in the habit of learning the original by heart, without knowing anything about its contents.
As regards the style and composition of the _Bechînath Olam_, which seems to have been composed by Yedaya after the expulsion of the Jews from France in 1306, it must be admitted at the outset that the general reader will not find them quite in harmony with modern taste. De Lacy, in his _Magasin encyclopédique_, III, p. 321, censures the author for his use of certain Biblical phrases in a sense different to that which they bear in the Bible. But he readily admits that the Church fathers during the Middle Ages, and certain Arabic writers, at all times, have taken the same liberties with the Scriptures and the Koran respectively. The greatest of the Spanish-Jewish poets, not excluding Ibn Gabirol himself, allowed themselves the same licence, while Charizi often made his happiest points by the witty misuse of a familiar Biblical phrase. Despite this defect, it cannot be denied that the _Bechînath Olam_ possesses a peculiar charm of its own.