_The Man and his Three Friends._
A certain man had three friends, two of whom he loved dearly, but the
other he lightly esteemed. It happened one day that the king commanded
his presence at court, at which he was greatly alarmed, and wished to
procure an advocate. Accordingly he went to the two friends whom he
loved: one flatly refused to accompany him, the other offered to go with
him as far as the king's gate, but no farther. In his extremity he
called upon the third friend, whom he least esteemed, and he not only
went willingly with him, but so ably defended him before the king that
he was acquitted. In like manner, says the Talmudist, every man has
three friends when Death summons him to appear before his Creator. His
first friend, whom he loves most, namely, his _money_, cannot go with
him a single step; his second, _relations_ and _neighbours_, can only
accompany him to the grave, but cannot defend him before the Judge;
while his third friend, whom he does not highly esteem, the _law_ and
his _good works_, goes with him before the king, and obtains his
acquittal.[92]
[92] This is the 9th parable in the romance of Barlaam and
Joasaph, where it is told without any variation.
* * * * *
Another striking and impressive parable akin to the two immediately
preceding is this of
_The Garments._
A king distributed amongst his servants various costly garments. Now
some of these servants were wise and some were foolish. And those that
were wise said to themselves: "The king may call again for the garments;
let us therefore take care they do not get soiled." But the fools took
no manner of care of theirs, and did all sorts of work in them, so that
they became full of spots and grease. Some time afterwards the king
called for the garments. The wise servants brought theirs clean and
neat, but the foolish servants brought theirs in a sad state, ragged and
unclean. The king was pleased with the first, and said: "Let the clean
garments be placed in the treasury, and let their keepers depart in
peace. As for the unclean garments, they must be washed and purified,
and their foolish keepers must be cast into prison."--This parable is
designed to illustrate the passage in Eccles., xii, 7, "Then shall the
dust return to the earth as it was, and the spirit shall return unto
God, who gave it"; which words "teach us to remember that God gave us
the soul in a state of innocence and purity, and that it is therefore
our duty to return it unto him in the same state as he gave it unto
us--pure and undefiled."
_Solomon's Choice_
of Wisdom, in preference to all other precious things, is thus finely
illustrated: A certain king had an officer whom he fondly loved. One day
he desired his favourite to choose anything that he could give, and it
would at once be granted him. The officer considered that if he asked
the king for gold and silver and precious stones, these would be given
him in abundance; then he thought that if he had a more exalted station
it would be granted; at last he resolved to ask the king for his
daughter, since with such a bride both riches and honours would also be
his. In like manner did Solomon pray, "Give thy servant an understanding
heart," when the Lord said to him, "What shall I give thee?" (1st Kings,
iii, 5, 9.)
But perhaps the most beautiful and touching of all the Talmudic parables
is the following (Polano's version), in which Israel is likened to a
bride, waiting sadly, yet hopefully, for the coming of her spouse:
_Bride and Bridegroom._
There was once a man who pledged his dearest faith to a maiden beautiful
and true. For a time all passed pleasantly, and the maiden lived in
happiness. But then the man was called from her side, and he left her.
Long she waited, but still he did not return. Friends pitied her, and
rivals mocked her; tauntingly they pointed to her and said: "He has left
thee, and will never come back." The maiden sought her chamber, and read
in secret the letters which her lover had written to her--the letters in
which he promised to be ever faithful, ever true. Weeping, she read
them, but they brought comfort to her heart; she dried her eyes and
doubted not. A joyous day dawned for her: the man she loved returned,
and when he learned that others had doubted, while she had not, he asked
her how she had preserved her faith; and she showed his letters to him,
declaring her eternal trust. [In like manner] Israel, in misery and
captivity, was mocked by the nations; her hopes of redemption were made
a laughing-stock; her sages scoffed at; her holy men derided. Into her
synagogues, into her schools, went Israel. She read the letters which
her God had written, and believed in the holy promises which they
contained. God will in time redeem her; and when he says: "How could you
alone be faithful of all the mocking nations?" she will point to the law
and answer: "Had not thy law been my delight, I should long since have
perished in my affliction."[93]
[93] Psalm cxix, 92.--By the way, it is probably known to
most readers that the twenty-two sections into which
this grand poem is divided are named after the letters
of the Hebrew alphabet; but from the translation given
in our English Bible no one could infer that in the
original every one of the eight verses in each section
begins with the letter after which it is named, thus
forming a very long acrostic.
* * * * *
In the account of the Call of Abraham given in the Book of Genesis, xii,
1-3, we are not told that his people were all idolaters; but in the Book
of Joshua, xxiv, 1-2, it is said that the great successor of Moses, when
he had "waxed old and was stricken with age," assembled the tribes of
Israel, at Shechem, and said to the people: "Your fathers dwelt on the
other side of the flood in old time, even Terah, the father of Abraham
and the father of Nachor; and they served other gods." The sacred
narrative does not state the circumstances which induced Abraham to turn
away from the worship of false deities, but the information is furnished
by the Talmudists--possibly from ancient oral tradition--in this
interesting tale of
_Abraham and the Idols._
Abraham's father Terah, who dwelt in Ur of the Chaldees, was not only an
idolater, but a maker of idols. Having occasion to go a journey of some
distance, he instructed Abraham how to conduct the business of
idol-selling during his absence. The future founder of the Hebrew
nation, however, had already obtained a knowledge of the true and living
God, and consequently held the practice of idolatry in the utmost
abhorrence. Accordingly, whenever any one came to buy an idol Abraham
inquired his age, and upon his answering, "I am fifty (or sixty) years
old," he would exclaim, "Woe to the man of fifty who would worship the
work of man's hands!" and his father's customers went away shamefaced at
the rebuke. But, not content with this mode of showing his contempt for
idolatry, Abraham resolved to bring matters to a crisis before his
father returned home; and an opportunity was presented for his purpose
one day when a woman came to Terah's house with a bowl of fine flour,
which she desired Abraham to place as a votive offering before the
idols. Instead of doing this, however, Abraham took a hammer and broke
all the idols into fragments excepting the largest, into whose hands he
then placed the hammer. On Terah's return he discovered the destruction
of his idols, and angrily demanded of Abraham, who had done the
mischief. "There came hither a woman," replied Abraham, "with a bowl of
fine flour, which, as she desired, I set before the gods, whereupon they
disputed among themselves who should eat first, and the tallest god
broke all the rest into pieces with the hammer." "What fable is this
thou art telling me?" exclaimed Terah. "As for the god thou speakest of,
is he not the work of my own hands?' Did I not carve him out of the
timber of the tree which I cut down in the wilderness? How, then, could
he have done this evil? Verily _thou_ hast broken my idols!" "Consider,
my father," said Abraham, "what it is thou sayest--that I am capable of
destroying the gods which thou dost worship!" Then Terah took and
delivered him to Nimrod, who said to Abraham: "Let us worship the fire."
To which Abraham replied: "Rather the water that quenches the fire."
"Well, the water." "Rather the cloud which carries the water." "Well,
the cloud." "Rather the wind that scatters the cloud." "Well, the wind."
"Rather man, for he endures the wind." "Thou art a babbler!" exclaimed
Nimrod. "I worship the fire, and will cast thee into it. Perchance the
God whom thou dost adore will deliver thee from thence." Abraham was
accordingly thrown into a heated furnace, but God saved him.[94]
[94] After Abraham had walked to and fro unscathed amidst the
fierce flames for three days, the faggots were suddenly
transformed into a blooming garden of roses and
fruit-trees and odoriferous plants.--This legend is
introduced into the Kurán, and Muslim writers, when they
expatiate on the almighty power of Allah, seldom omit to
make reference to Nimrod's flaming furnace being turned
into a bed of roses.
* * * * *
Alexander the Great is said to have wept because there were no more
worlds for him to conquer; and truly says the sage Hebrew King, "The
grave and destruction can never have enough, nor are the eyes of man
ever satisfied" (Prov. xxvii, 20), a sentiment which the following tale,
or parable, is designed to exemplify:
_The Vanity of Ambition._
Pursuing his journey through dreary deserts and uncultivated ground,
Alexander came at last to a small rivulet, whose waters glided
peacefully along their shelving banks. Its smooth, unruffled surface was
the image of contentment, and seemed in its silence to say, "This is the
abode of tranquility." All was still: not a sound was heard save soft
murmuring tones which seemed to whisper in the ear of the weary
traveller, "Come, and partake of nature's bounty," and to complain that
such an offer should be made in vain. To a contemplative mind, such a
scene might have suggested a thousand delightful reflections. But what
charms could it have for the soul of Alexander, whose breast was filled
with schemes of ambition and conquest; whose eye was familiarised with
rapine and slaughter; and whose ears were accustomed to the clash of
arms--to the groans of the wounded and the dying? Onward, therefore, he
marched. Yet, overcome by fatigue and hunger, he was soon obliged to
halt. He seated himself on the bank of the river, took a draught of the
water, which he found of a very fine flavour and most refreshing. He
then ordered some salt fish, with which he was well provided, to be
brought to him. These he caused to be dipped in the stream, in order to
take off the briny taste, and was greatly surprised to find them emit a
fine fragrance. "Surely," said he, "this river, which possesses such
uncommon qualities, must flow from some very rich and happy country."
Following the course of the river, he at length arrived at the gates of
Paradise. The gates were shut. He knocked, and, with his usual
impetuosity, demanded admittance. "Thou canst not be admitted here,"
exclaimed a voice from within; "this gate is the Lord's." "I am the
Lord--the Lord of the earth," rejoined the impatient chief. "I am
Alexander the Conqueror. Will you not admit _me_?" "No," was the answer;
"here we know of no conquerors, save such as conquer their passions:
_None but the just can enter here_." Alexander endeavoured in vain to
enter the abode of the blessed--neither entreaties nor menaces availed.
Seeing all his attempts fruitless, he addressed himself to the guardian
of Paradise, and said: "You know I am a great king, who has received the
homage of nations. Since you will not admit me, give me at least some
token that I may show an astonished world that I have been where no
mortal has ever been before me." "Here, madman," said the guardian of
Paradise--"here is something for thee. It may cure the maladies of thy
distempered soul. One glance at it may teach thee more wisdom than thou
hast hitherto derived from all thy former instructors. Now go thy ways."
Alexander took the present with avidity, and repaired to his tent. But
what was his confusion and surprise to find, on examining his present,
that it was nothing but a fragment of a human skull. "And is this,"
exclaimed he, "the mighty gift that they bestow on kings and heroes? Is
this the fruit of so much toil and danger and care?" Enraged and
disappointed, he threw it on the ground. "Great king," said one of the
learned men who were present, "do not despise this gift. Contemptible as
it may appear in thine eyes, it yet possesses some extraordinary
qualities, of which thou mayest soon be convinced, if thou wilt but
cause it to be weighed against gold or silver." Alexander ordered this
to be done. A pair of scales were brought. The skull was placed in one,
a quantity of gold in the other; when, to the astonishment of the
beholders, the skull over-balanced the gold. More gold was added, yet
still the skull preponderated. In short, the more gold there was put in
the one scale the lower sank that which contained the skull. "Strange,"
exclaimed Alexander, "that so small a portion of matter should outweigh
so large a mass of gold! Is there nothing that will counterpoise it?"
"Yes," answered the philosophers, "a very little matter will do it."
They then took some earth and covered the skull with it, when
immediately down went the gold, and the opposite scale ascended. "This
is very extraordinary," said Alexander, astonished. "Can you explain
this phenomenon?" "Great king," said the sages, "this fragment is the
socket of a human eye, which, though small in compass, is yet unbounded
in its desires. The more it has, the more it craves. Neither gold nor
silver nor any other earthly possession can ever satisfy it. But when it
is once laid in the grave and covered with a little earth, there is an
end to its lust and ambition."
* * * * *
Shakspeare's well-known masterly description of the Seven Ages of Man,
which he puts into the mouth of the melancholy Jaques (_As You Like It_,
ii, 7), was anticipated by Rabbi Simon, the son of Eliezer, in this
Talmudic description of
_The Seven Stages of Human Life._
Seven times in one verse did the author of Ecclesiastes make use of the
word _vanity_, in allusion to the seven stages of human life.[95]
[95] Eccles., i, 2. The word Vanity (remarks Hurwitz, the
translator) occurs twice in the plural, which the Rabbi
considered as equivalent to four, and three times in the
singular, making altogether _seven_.
The first commences in the first year of human existence, when the
_infant_ lies like a king on a soft couch, with numerous attendants
about him, all ready to serve him, and eager to testify their love and
attachment by kisses and embraces.
The second commences about the age of two or three years, when the
darling _child_ is permitted to crawl on the ground, and, like an
unclean animal, delights in dirt and filth.
Then at the age of ten, the thoughtless _boy_, without reflecting on the
past or caring for the future, jumps and skips about like a young kid on
the enamelled green, contented to enjoy the present moment.
The fourth stage begins about the age of twenty, when the _young man_,
full of vanity and pride, begins to set off his person by dress; and,
like a young unbroken horse, prances and gallops about in search of a
wife.
Then comes the _matrimonial state_, when the poor _man_, like a patient
ass, is obliged, however reluctantly, to toil and labour for a living.
Behold him now in the _parental state_, when surrounded by helpless
children craving his support and looking to him for bread. He is as
bold, as vigilant, and as fawning, too, as the faithful dog; guarding
his little flock, and snatching at everything that comes in his way, in
order to provide for his offspring.
At last comes the final stage, when the decrepit _old man_, like the
unwieldy though most sagacious elephant, becomes grave, sedate, and
distrustful. He then also begins to hang down his head towards the
ground, as if surveying the place where all his vast schemes must
terminate, and where ambition and vanity are finally humbled to the
dust.
* * * * *
But the Talmudist, in his turn, was forestalled by Bhartrihari, an
ancient Hindú sage, one of whose three hundred apothegms has been thus
rendered into English by Sir Monier Williams:
Now for a little while a child; and now
An amorous youth; then for a season turned
Into a wealthy householder; then, stripped
Of all his riches, with decrepit limbs
And wrinkled frame, man creeps towards the end
Of life's erratic course; and, like an actor,
Passes behind Death's curtain out of view.
Here, however, the Indian philosopher describes human life as consisting
of only four scenes; but, like our own Shakspeare, he compares the world
to a stage and man to a player. An epigram preserved in the _Anthologia_
also likens the world to a theatre and human life to a drama:
This life a theatre we well may call,
Where every actor must perform with art;
Or laugh it through, and make a farce of all,
Or learn to bear with grace a tragic part.
It is surely both instructive and interesting thus to discover
resemblances in thought and expression in the writings of men of
comprehensive intellect, who lived in countries and in times far apart.