Footnotes:
[52-1] Cp. Curiosities of Literature, by I. D'Israeli: sub Solomon and Queen Sheba.
[54-1] Cp. Megilla, p. 29; Succah, p. 49; Berachoth, p. 15; also Menachoth, p. 110.
[55-1] Cp. Bab. Kam., p. 60; Aesop (Halm, 56), and also Lafontaine, I, 17.
[VII]
[THE HUMOUR OF SOME MEDIAEVAL AND MODERN HEBREW WRITERS]
After the disintegration of the Jewish state in 70 A. D. a large number of refugees went to live in Spain, in that land of flowers and sunshine that was already known in Biblical times under the name of Tarshish. There they lived happily for several centuries, under the rule of various Gothic kings, until one of them, Reccared by name, who lived in 590, embraced Christianity. This was the commencement of a prolonged period of religious intolerance, which continued till the invasion and conquest of Spain by the Moors in 711 A. D., when religious independence was proclaimed. The privileges thus obtained were a direct incentive to the Jews to participate in the literary and scientific life that flourished round them under the immediate protection of the high-minded Caliphs. The finest productions of Jewish thought were brought to light through the cordial friendship which they entertained for their Mohammedan neighbours, and their friendly intercourse resulted in far-reaching advantages to both of them. The Arabs, by this means, became acquainted with the beautiful legends and maxims found in the Rabbinical writings, a good many of which they subsequently used as material for enriching their own literature; while the Jews gained an insight into the beauties of the Arabic poetry, which they, in their turn, essayed to imitate in Hebrew. The Spanish era, which extended over more than six centuries, may be justly called the golden age in the post-Biblical history of the Jews. For, while nearly the whole of Europe was during that time plunged in the depths of ignorance and superstition, Spanish Judaism distinguished itself by its efforts within the field of original classical work. In fact, had it not been for the labours of the Spanish Jews in handing over to the West some of the literary treasures of the East, together with those of the Greeks and Romans, it is doubtful whether these valuable works would have been preserved to us.
The principal representatives of the Spanish Hebrew poets were—Solomon Ibn Gabirol, Abraham Ibn Ezra, Jehuda Halevi, and Jehuda Alcharizi. But as their lives and works have already been largely dealt with by several eminent scholars, it is only proposed to give here a few specimens of their humour.
Solomon Ibn Gabirol, who was born in Malaga in 1020, acquired the reputation of being a profound philosopher, but his special claim to recognition rests on his poetry. The leading characteristic of his verse is its sadness, although some of his poems were written in a vein of pure humour. His poem entitled Kether Malchus (the Royal Crown) is undoubtedly one of his best poetic compositions. It has for its theme the loftiest of subjects—God, the Universe, and Man. Humboldt considers it to be the noblest monument of Neo-Hebraic poetry, inasmuch as it contains vivid flashes which recall the poetical inspiration of the prophets.
Ibn Gabirol's humour is, however, best represented in his famous “Wine-song,” which he composed at a banquet given to him by a wealthy but niggardly man called Moses. Gabirol and the other guests had nothing offered to them to drink but water, and indignant thereat he wrote a few stanzas, the refrain of which was easily taken up and chanted by the whole company. The song runs in a free English translation somewhat as follows:—
I
Full sweet of a truth is the sparkle of wine,
But sorely we miss this blessing divine,
And how can we waken a song or a laugh
When we find that we simply have nothing to quaff
But water, mere water?
II
The banquet has little contentment to bring,
Bears little incitement to joke or to sing,
When the potions we hoped to our future would fall
Turn out in the end to be nothing at all,
But water, yes water.
III
Good Moses of old caused the waters to flee,
And led all his people dryshod o'er the sea;
But Moses, our host, at the precedent frowns,
And us, his poor guests, he unflinchingly drowns
In water, cold water.
IV
We sit round the table like cold-blooded frogs,
Who live out their lives in the watery bogs;
Well,—if we have fallen on watery days,
Let us, too, like them, croak a paean in praise
Of water, dear water.
V
Long, long may our host here with main and with might
By night and by day for his temperance fight,
And may he and his line find it writ in the law
That their business in life will be ever to draw
Water, pure water[[60-1]].
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.