Among the minor Hebrew poets who lived at Barcelona in the early part of
the thirteenth century there is, perhaps, none more remarkable than
Abraham Ibn Chasdai. Little is known of him beyond what may be gathered
from a letter addressed by him to his friend Alfakar. From it we learn
that the writer was a native of Barcelona and a contemporary of the famous
Hebrew grammarian David Kimchi (1160–1232), who is referred to there as
_Hazakan_ (“the old man”).
According to some historians^[117-1] Abraham Ibn Chasdai was the spiritual
head of the Barcelona Jewish community, but it is not impossible that he
also may have been somewhat intimately connected with the medical
profession. In his book _The Prince and the Dervish_ there are several
references to the healing art and its many intricacies, which suggest more
than a superficial acquaintance with the subject. But there is no doubt
whatever that Ibn Chasdai was an eminent Hebrew and Talmudical scholar,
and that he had a considerable knowledge of Arabic and Greek, which
enabled him to translate into Hebrew some books written in these two
languages^[117-2].
His only book, however, which has a permanent literary and ethical value
is _The Prince and the Dervish_. Though it is only a free Hebrew
translation of an Arabic book, which was in itself a mere version of a
volume that had originally been composed in Greek, it has always enjoyed
much popularity among readers of neo-Hebrew literature. It has not only
been repeatedly published^[118-1], but it has also been translated into
several languages, including Latin^[118-2], Spanish, and Jewish German.
_The Prince and the Dervish_ possesses in an eminent degree the qualities
which make any book attractive, viz. a pleasing style and interesting
subject-matter. In style it is a happy imitation of that found in the
Bible, and is remarkable for the ingenuity with which certain verses
thereof are used in a somewhat different sense from that which they have
in it.
It consists of thirty-five chapters, full of charming tales and fables,
together with many valuable maxims and proverbs. Rhymed prose intermingled
with verse is generally used. The subject-matter is derived chiefly from
the Talmud and the Midrash, but partly also from other Oriental sources.
It is curious to note that several of the stories have been reproduced in
a somewhat modified form by Boccaccio, Lafontaine, and other writers
belonging to more modern times. But they possess a special characteristic
of their own—they invariably end with a moral.
Passing now to a more detailed account of its contents, it is necessary to
give the story, which is the framework within which the subordinate
episodes are included. It runs as follows:—
“Once upon a time there lived in a certain state in India a cruel and
despotic king, who only lived for his own enjoyment. He hated, in
consequence, every kind of religious restriction, and even persecuted
those of his subjects who, like the members belonging to the sect of the
so-called Dervishes, led a retiring and ascetic life. His hatred of them
acquired additional intensity when the chief of his courtiers disappeared
one day from the palace, and was reported to have become a Dervish
himself. A royal decree was issued, which forbade the Dervishes to remain
in any part of the king's dominions, and which at the same time fixed a
severe penalty for any disregard of the proclamation.
“Now it so happened that soon after this event a son and heir to the
throne was born to the king. He summoned his astrologers to tell him of
the future destiny of the newborn prince, and was informed that the prince
would in the future become a great friend of the Dervishes, and favour and
promote their cause. Thereupon the king ordered that the infant prince
should be taken to a secluded castle, which stood upon a solitary island,
and that he should be kept there under the closest surveillance until the
time when he should ascend the throne. This order was strictly observed
and carried out for a number of years by the king's servants. But when the
prince had grown up, he was allowed by them to walk about the island by
himself. Now on one of his walks the prince came across a strange looking
man, who was sitting and meditating in a lonely spot near the sea. This
man was the former chief courtier of the king who, as already stated, had
joined the sect of Dervishes, and afterwards led a vagrant life. The
strange appearance and peculiar attire of the Dervish attracted the
attention of the prince, who, having engaged him in conversation, was so
greatly charmed with it that he expressed a desire to have this
interesting meeting repeated. The Dervish consented, and in their
subsequent meetings many topics, including chiefly theology, ethics, and
philosophy, were discussed. The Dervish, according to the Eastern fashion,
wove tales, fables, and maxims into his discourses, which interested the
prince so much that he offered the Dervish his life-long friendship as a
mark of his sincere attachment to him. He also assured him that he would
extend his favour to the whole sect of Dervishes as soon as he should
succeed to his father's throne.”
Before proceeding to give some extracts from _The Prince and the Dervish_
it should be observed that, as already stated before, it is written in
rhymed prose, intermixed with rather heavy verse, it is impossible to
translate them literally or fully. The few passages, however, that are
here rendered will no doubt be sufficient to enable the reader to form
some notion of the most interesting portion of the book.
One of the best moral stories that occur in _The Prince and the Dervish_
is the following^[120-1]. It runs thus:—
“In the far East there was a little island, the inhabitants of which had
some strange customs, notably in regard to their selection of a king to
rule over them. Being averse to an hereditary monarchy, they used to go
once every year to the sea-shore, and choose the first poor and
shipwrecked stranger whom they happened to meet there as their king. As
such, he was driven in a state coach to a magnificent palace, and there he
was permitted to enjoy for a whole year all the rights and privileges
possessed by an Eastern potentate. But, as soon as the year of his reign
was over, the king was stripped of his royal garments, brought back to the
very spot where he had been found, and there left to himself.
“Once, however, it so happened that the stranger, whom they had selected
as their king, was a prudent man and experienced in worldly matters.
Astonished at his sudden elevation, he made inquiries of one of the
islanders whose confidence he had gained, and learned from him the real
reason. He accordingly devised a plan, from which he hoped that he and his
friend would derive some lasting advantage. They were simply to go on a
dark night to the state treasury, and to take away from thence a quantity
of jewels (which by right were the king's property for the time being),
and hide them in a cave near the sea; they would thus have some means of
subsistence when the year of the king's reign ended. The plan was speedily
carried into effect. After his year's reign was over, he was taken back to
the place whence he had come. He and his friend took possession of their
hidden treasure, and with it they went on board a passing ship, which
brought them to a foreign country, where the sale of their valuables
enabled them to live a life of comfort and happiness.”
This tale was related by the Dervish to the prince, in the course of one
of their conversations, as an illustration of human life. When we come
into existence, the Dervish said, we are, every one of us, helpless and
poor, but after we have grown up we have at our disposal all the wealth
and delights which this beautiful world of ours offers to all men. But we
must never ignore the fact that our stay on earth is but brief, and that
we are thus, as it were, kings for one year only. It therefore behoves man
to devote his brief existence to the performance of noble deeds which
will, when his life is ended in this world, procure him in the world to
come God's everlasting favour and grace.
All the tales contained in _The Prince and the Dervish_ are not, however,
of this character; there are several of a purely diverting nature. To the
latter class of tales belongs the one which treats of a large doll (chap.
31), and resembles in several respects some of the frivolous stories that
occur in Boccaccio's _Decameron_. This tale, which the curious will have
to read in the Hebrew original, shows up the fickleness of will and the
infidelity of women generally. The author here follows the example set by
several mediaeval Hebrew satirists, such as Bedaresi, Immanuel, Alcharizi,
Sabbatai, Zabara, and others, who made womankind the butt of their wit. In
the same volume a whole chapter (the 18th) is devoted to love. One of the
principal virtues of this passion, the author says, is that it often
brings into prominence certain good qualities in the lover which might
otherwise have remained concealed. To win his lady's affection he would
become courageous, active, liberal, and fond of jovial society. But love,
the author goes on to say in true Eastern fashion, has also its demerits,
for it often brings its devotees to destruction. It not seldom happens
that he who has been captivated by the charms of a fair woman gets
indolent, and spends much of his time in the pursuit of distractions. He
thus squanders his possessions, and is reduced to poverty. As a poor man
he has many cares, which weaken him both in mind and body, and throw him
on the bed of sickness. His illness is frequently fatal, and he thus pays
the penalty of unrestrained passion with his life.
In the same chapter several charming love poems occur, which resemble in
form and style those of Judah Halevy, Ibn Ezra, and Alcharizi. One of
these pieces, supposed to have been addressed by a lover to a maiden, who
had ignored his avowed affection for her, runs as follows:—
Thrice cruel maid, may Heaven frown on thee,
For that by day thou hidest thyself from me,
And yet thou robbest me of my nightly rest,
For that thy face is in my eyes impressed.
Another instance, showing how a subject is treated by the author in two
different ways, is found in chapter 17. There the question of travelling
is discussed by the prince and the Dervish, and they arrive at the
conclusion that travelling, which affords recreation for body and mind, is
specially commendable to a man who is worn out with cares and troubles, as
the change of scenery and climate cannot but be beneficial to him. And
indeed, says the author, were travelling not conducive to health and
happiness, God would surely not have commanded his faithful servant
Abraham, saying, “Get thee out of thy birthplace, and rove through the
country” (Gen. xii. 1). Elsewhere in the same chapter travelling is
depicted in different colours. It is, he says, fatiguing and by no means
pleasant; for it deprives man of his home comforts, and causes him to
renounce the society of dear and devoted friends, who make his life happy
for him. That travelling is not a boon the author proves by the fact that
Cain of the Bible was told by God to expiate the sin of his crime by being
a restless wanderer over the earth (cp. Gen. iv. 12).
A special feature of _The Prince and the Dervish_ is the fable, which
often serves as an illustration of the subject under discussion. The
following^[123-1] is a specimen:—
“King Solomon, to whom legend ascribes the knowledge of all languages,
including those supposed to be spoken by animals, once gave an audience to
a wealthy Jewish farmer, and received from him a costly present. To show
his appreciation of the gift, the king offered to bestow upon the farmer
any favour he might ask. But, to the king's surprise, the farmer asked the
favour of being initiated by the king into the secret of understanding the
language spoken by farm-yard animals. After some hesitation the king
granted the farmer's request, impressing him, however, with the necessity
of not divulging the secret to anybody else under penalty of immediate
death.
“Now it so happened that the farmer had a shrew for a wife, and, wishing
to live in peace with her, allowed himself to be ruled by her in all
domestic affairs. One day, while occupied in the farm-yard, he overheard a
conversation between an ox and an ass, which amused him so much that he
burst out laughing. At that moment his wife appeared, and insisted on
being told the joke. He begged her not to press him to disclose a secret,
on the keeping of which his very life depended. But she remained obdurate.
Seeing that there was no way out of the difficulty, he told her that he
would fulfil her desire in a few days, but that he had in the meantime to
settle his worldly affairs, before going to meet his inevitable and
premature death. To this she agreed. Next day, while again standing in the
farm-yard, he heard his dog rebuking the cock for crowing as loudly as
ever, though he was aware of his master's approaching death. But the cock
said that since their master was a coward and a fool, he did not deserve
to be pitied by anybody. ‘Let him,’ said the cock, ‘take a lesson from me,
and his life will certainly be saved. There are in the farm-yard a number
of hens, who all obey me implicitly, as they know very well that any case
of disobedience on their part would be attended with a well-deserved
punishment. Now, our master has only _one_ wife to deal with, and if he is
idiotic enough to allow her to rule over him, he must bear the
consequences.’
“When the farmer heard the cock's wise remarks he regained courage, and
presently meeting his wife, he told her that he refused to let her know
his secret, and that he was fully determined to be and to remain the ruler
in his own house from that time forward. These words had the desired
effect, and from that day forth he lived with his wife in harmony and
undisturbed peace.”
_The Prince and the Dervish_ is also exceedingly rich in pithy maxims, of
which the following may serve as examples. On the question of paying
visits to one's friends, he says^[124-1]:—
Go not too frequently thy friends to see,
Lest they grow weary of the sight of thee;
When rain is scanty, then we pray for more,
But love not one continuous downpour.
Another maxim is reminiscent of the Biblical saying “For man looketh on
the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart” (1 Sam. xvi.
7). It runs thus:—
Let not his humble vesture make thee blind
To one whose greatness is a learnèd mind:
For pearls may sometimes in the sand be found,
And stores of gold lie buried in the ground^[125-1].