The History of Yiddish Literature in the Nineteenth Century

by Leo Wiener

Not less marvellous are the deeds of his disciples as related in the 'Sseefer Maisse Zadikim' and other similar productions that are issued in penny sheets in Lemberg to impress the believers with the greatness of their faith. Many of these have sprung up from the desire to instill the necessity of observing certain religious rites, and this the authors think they can accomplish best by connecting a moral with some miraculous tale. For every imaginable vow there is a special story telling of the blissfulness that the devotee has reached or the misery that the lax follower of Khassidism has had occasion to rue. Every good deed according to them creates its own protecting spirits, while every crime produces a corresponding monstrous beast that pursues the sinner and leads him to destruction. Interesting also are those cases when a man has been as prone to sin as he has been to perform virtuous acts, for then the struggle between the beings of his creation leads to amusing results in which all depends on the preponderance of one kind of deeds over the other. The worst of men is not excluded from the benefits of mercy if he makes amends for his crimes by an earnest repentance which is followed by a long penance.

Of the latter class, the following is a typical story. Chaim has brought many misfortunes to Jewish families by denouncing and blackmailing them to the Polish magnate, the chief authority of the district. Once while on his way to the magnate he sees a half-starved beggar in the road, and he divides with him his bread and carries him to his house and takes care of him until he is well enough to proceed on his journey. Chaim has occasion after several years to denounce some one to the magnate. He goes to the cupboard to fill his wallet for the journey, when he sees a dead person in it. After he has collected himself from his fright, he steps up once more to the cupboard. The dead person tells him that he is the beggar that he saved from starvation some time ago, that he had heard in heaven that Chaim was to be given his last chance in life, and that he had come to warn him to repent his misdeeds. Chaim takes his advice to heart, and for seven years stays uninterruptedly in the synagogue, perfecting himself in his knowledge of the religious lore. On the eve of the Passover he allows himself to be tempted by Satan in the shape of a scholar, to eat leavened bread at a time when the Law prohibits it. As he steps out to the brook to wash his hands before tasting of the bread, the dead person once more appears to him and tells him that Satan has been sent to him to tempt him, because it was thought that his seven years' penance alone was not sufficient to atone for his many evil deeds; that all his labors have been in vain, and that he will have to do penance another seven years. This Chaim is only too ready to undergo, and he applies himself with even more ardor than before to get a remission of his sins. At the expiration of the allotted time Chaim dies and is at once taken to heaven.

The legends and folk-tales so far considered are of a strictly Jewish character, whatever their origin. They are in one way or another connected with the inner life of the Jewish community. They deal with the acts of their worthies and inculcate religious truths. But these are far from forming the bulk of all the stories that are current to-day among the German Jews in Slavic countries. Among the printed books of a popular character there are many that not only are of Gentile origin, but that have not been transformed in the light of the Mosaic faith; they have been reprinted without change of contents for the last four centuries, furnishing an example of long survival unequalled probably in any other literature.[33] Many of the stories that had been current in Germany long before the time of printing were among the first to be issued from Jewish printing presses. Stories of the court of King Arthur in verse, of Dietrich of Bern, of the 'Constant Love of Floris and Blanchefleur,' of 'Thousand and One Nights,' had been common in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and many of them may be found in editions of this century; but none of them has been so popular as the 'Bovo-maisse,' the latest edition of which is known to me from the year 1895. It is identical with the English 'Bevys of Hamptoun' and was done into Judeo-German by Elia Levita in Venice in the year 1501. It is, no doubt, related to some one of the many Italian versions in which Bevys is turned into Bovo. The popularity of this book has been second only to the 'Zeena-Ureena' which contains a very large number of folk-tales interwoven in a popular exposition of the Bible. There are also books that contain stories of 'Sinbad the Sailor,' or what seem to be versions of Sir John Maundeville's 'Travels,' and other similar fantastic tales.

These stories, having once been committed to writing and printing, have remained intact up to our times, except that they have undergone linguistic modernizations. But there is also an unlimited number of fairy tales and fables in circulation which have never been written down, which have therefore been more or less subjected to local influences; in these Hebrew, German, and Slavic elements meet most freely, causing the stories to be moulded in new forms.[34] It may be asserted without fear of contradiction that among the Russian Jews the investigator will find the best, most complete versions of most, if not all, the stories contained in Grimm's or Andersen's collections. The reason for it is to be sought in the inordinate love of story-telling that the Jews possess. They are fond of staying up late in the night, particularly in the winter, and whiling away the time with an endless series of stories. The stranger who is a good raconteur is sure of a kind reception wherever he may chance to stay; but his nights will be curtailed by the extent of his fund of stories, for his audience will not budge as long as they suspect that the stranger has not spent all the arrows from his quiver. The wandering beggar-students and tailors have the reputation for story-telling; it was by one of the latter that a large number of fairy tales were related to me. I choose for illustration one that is known in a great variety of versions.

The Fool is Wiser than the Wise

"Once upon a time there lived a rich man who had three sons: two of them were wise, while one was a fool. After his death the brothers proceeded to divide the property, which consisted mainly of cattle. The two wise brothers suggested that the herd be divided into three equal parts, and that lots be cast for each; but the fool insisted that corrals be built near the house of each and that each be allowed to keep the cattle that would stray into his corral. The wise brothers agreed to this, and to entice the oxen and cows they placed fresh hay in their enclosures; but the fool did not take measures to gain possession of cattle by unfair means. The animals were attracted by the odor of the new-mown hay, and only one calf strolled into the fool's enclosure. The fool kept his calf for eight days, and forgot to give it fodder during that time; so it died. He took off its hide, and placed it in the sun to get dry. There it lay until it shrivelled up. Then he took the hide to Warsaw to sell it, but no one wanted to buy it, for it was all dried up.

"He started for home and came to an inn where he wanted to stay over night. He found there twelve men eating, and drinking good wine. He asked the landlady whether he could stay there over night. She told him she would not keep him in the house for all the money in the world, and she asked him to leave the house at once. He did not like her hasty manner, and he hid himself behind the door where no one could see him. There he overheard the landlady saying to the men: 'Before my husband gets home you must go down in the cellar and hide behind the wine-casks. In the night, when he will be asleep, you must come up and kill him. Then I shall be satisfied with you!' After a short while her husband returned from the distillery with some brandy, and the men hurried down into the cellar. He unloaded the brandy-casks, and went into the house. He asked his wife for something to eat; but she said there was nothing in the house. Just then the fool stepped in and asked the innkeeper whether he could not stay there over night. The landlady got angry at him and said: 'I told you before that there was no bed here for you!' But the innkeeper said: 'He will stay here over night!' and the innkeeper's word was law. He told the fool to sit down at the table with him, and they started a conversation. The fool accidentally placed his hand on the hide, which being dry began to crackle. The innkeeper asked him: 'What makes the hide crackle that way?' and the fool answered: 'It is talking to me!' 'What does it say?' 'It says that you are hungry, and that your wife says that there is nothing in the house, but that if you will look into the oven you will find some dishes.' He went up to the oven and found there enough for himself and the fool to eat. Then the hide crackled again, and the innkeeper asked again: 'What does it say?' 'It says that you should start a big fire in the oven!' 'What is the fire for?' 'I do not know, but you must obey the hide.' So he went and made a big fire in the oven. Then the hide crackled again. Says he: 'What does the hide say now?' 'It tells to heat kettles of water.' When the water got hot, the hide crackled again. Then he asked: 'What does the hide say now?' 'It says that you should take some strong men with you to the cellar and pour the water behind the wine-casks.' And so he did. The robbers were all scalded, and they ran away. Then he came upstairs, and the hide crackled again. Said he: 'Why does it crackle now?' 'The twelve robbers wanted to kill you at night, because your wife ordered them to do so.' When the wife heard that, she also ran away. Then the innkeeper said: 'Sell me your hide!' The fool answered: 'It costs much money.' 'No matter how much it costs, I shall pay for it, for it has saved my life.' 'It costs one thousand roubles.' So he gave him one thousand roubles. The fool went home, and when the brothers heard that he had sold his hide for one thousand roubles, they killed all their cattle, and took their hides to Warsaw to sell. They figured that if their brother's calf brought one thousand roubles, the hides of their oxen ought to fetch them at least two thousand roubles apiece. When they asked two thousand roubles apiece, people laughed and offered them a rouble for each. When they heard that, they went home and upbraided their brother for having cheated them. But he insisted that he had received one thousand roubles for his hide, and the brothers left him alone.

"After a while the fool's wife died. The undertakers wanted one thousand roubles for her interment. But the fool would not pay that sum. He placed his wife in a wagon and took her to Warsaw. There he filled the wagon with fine apples and put the dead body at the head of the wagon all dressed up. He himself stood at some distance and watched what would happen. There rode by a Polish count, and as he noticed the fine apples, he sent his servant to buy some. The servant asked the woman several times at what price she sold the apples; but as she did not answer him, he hit her in the face. Then the fool ran up and cried, saying that they had killed his wife. The count descended from his carriage, and when he had convinced himself that the woman was really dead, he asked the fool what he could do to satisfy him. The fool asked five thousand roubles, and the count paid him. The fool paid the undertaker in Warsaw a few roubles, and he buried his wife. He returned home and told his brothers of his having received five thousand roubles for his dead wife. Upon hearing that, they killed their wives and children and took the dead bodies to Warsaw to sell. When they arrived in Warsaw, they were asked what they had in their wagons. They said: 'Dead bodies for sale.' The people began to laugh, and said that dead bodies had to be taken to the cemetery. There was nothing left for the brothers to do but to take them to the cemetery and have them buried.

"They wept bitterly, and swore that they would take revenge on their brother. And so they did. When they arrived home, they told him that they wished to make him a prince. They enticed him for that purpose into a bag, and wanted to throw him into the water. They went away to find a place where they could throw him in without being noticed. In the meanwhile the fool kept on crying in the bag that he did not care to be a prince, that he wished to get out of the bag. Just then a rich Polish merchant drove by. When he heard the cries in the bag, he stepped down from his carriage and asked the fool why he was crying so. He said: 'I do not want to be a prince!' So he untied him and said: 'Let me get into the bag and be made a prince! I shall make you a present of my horses and my carriage, if you will let me be a prince.' The rich man crept into the bag, and the fool tied it fast. He went into the carriage and drove away. The brothers came, picked up the bag, and threw it into the water. The fool watched their doings from a distance. The brothers were sure they had drowned the fool and returned home. The next morning they were astonished to see their brother driving around town in a fine carriage. They asked him: 'Where did you get that?' He answered: 'In the water.' 'Are there more of them left?' 'There are finer ones down there.' So they went down to the water's edge, and they agreed that one of them should leap in and see if there were any carriages left there, and if he should find any, he was to make a noise in the water, when the other one would follow him. One of them leaped in, and beginning to drown, began to splash the water. The other, thinking his brother was calling him, also jumped in, and they were both drowned. The fool became the sole heir of all their property; he married again, and is now living quite happily."

Corresponding to the diffusion of folklore among the Jews, their store of popular beliefs, superstitions, and medicine is unlimited. Their mysterious world is peopled with the imaginary beings of the Talmud, the creatures of German mythology, and the creations of the Slavic popular mind. These exist for them, however, not as separate entities, but as transfused into an organic whole in which the belief of Babylonia and Assyria has much of the outward form of the superstition of Russia, just as the spirits of Poland and Germany are made to be brothers to those of Chaldea and Egypt. To their minds the transmigrated souls of the Gilgulim, the scoffing Leezim, the living dead bodies of the Meessim, the possessing Dibukim, the grewsome Scheedim, are as real as the Riesen and Schraetele of Germany and the Nischtgute (niedobry), Wukodlaki (werewolf), Zlidne, Upior (vampyre), and Domowoj of Russia. The beast Reem of the Talmud, the Pipernātter (Lindwurm) of Germany are not less known to them than the fabled animals of Russian fairy tales. In case of sickness they consult with equal success the miracle-working Rabbi with his lore derived from Talmud and Cabbala, as the Tartar medicine man (znachar), or get some old woman to recite the ancient German formula for warding off the evil eye. There is not an incident in their lives, from their births unto their deaths, that is not accompanied by its own circle of superstitious rites and practices.[35]