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.”