The legend of the Wandering Jew has its roots in a belief in the
possibility of human longevity beyond what is natural and normal. It
is connected with the story of the Crucifixion and the mysteries that
preceded and followed it. Our account may find its starting point
in a book of extraordinary interest which made a sensation in the
seventeenth century and is still delightful reading. The passage which
should arrest our attention is as follows:
“The story of the Wandering Jew is very strange and will hardly
obtain belief; yet there is a small account thereof set down by
_Matthew Paris_ from the report of an Armenian Bishop; who came
into this Kingdom about four hundred years ago, and had often
entertained this wanderer at his Table. That he was then alive,
was first called _Cartaphilus_, was keeper of the Judgment Hall,
whence thrusting out our Saviour with expostulation of his stay,
was condemned to stay until His return; was after baptized by
_Ananias_, and by the name of Joseph; was thirty years old in
the dayes of our Saviour, remembered the Saints that arised
with Him, the making of the Apostles’ Creed, and their several
peregrinations. Surely were this true, he might be an happy
arbitrator in many Christian controversies; but must impardonably
condemn the obstinacy of the Jews, who can contemn the Rhetorick
of such miracles, and blindly behold so living and lasting
conversions.”
The above is taken from the work entitled “Pseudoxia Epidemica” or
Enquiries into very many Received Tenets and Commonly Presumed Truths
by Sir Thomas Brown, Knight M.D. This was first published in 1640,
so that the “about four hundred years ago” mentioned would bring the
report of the Armenian Bishop to the first half of the thirteenth
century.
Thus unless there be something of an authoritative character to upset
the theory, Matthew Paris must be taken as the first European narrator
of the story. As a matter of fact the legend began just about the time
thus arrived at. The great work in Latin, “_Historia Major_,” was begun
by Roger of Wendover and completed in 1259 by the monk Matthew Paris.
It was not however published--in our ordinary sense of the word--until
the beginning of the year 1571 when Archbishop Parker took it in hand.
In the meantime the art of printing had been established and the new
world of thought and the reproduction of its fruit, had been developed
for common use. The _Historia Major_ was again printed in Zurich in
1589 and 1606. The next English edition was in 1640. This was reprinted
in Paris in 1644. The English edition of forty years later, 1684,
was a really fine specimen of typographic art. The authorship and
date of its printing are given: Matthaei Paris, Monachi Albanensis
Angli London MDCLXXXIV. The script is in ecclesiastical Latin and
to any modern reader is of a fresh and almost child-like sincerity
which at once disarms doubt or hostile criticism. Indeed it affords
a good example of the mechanism of myth, showing how the littleness
of human nature--vanity with its desire to shine and credulity in its
primitive form, are not subject to the controlling influences of either
sacredness of subject or the rulings of common sense. It lends another
meaning to the quotation of Feste, the jester: _Cucullus non facit
Monachum_. The artless narrative recorded in the _Historia Major_ makes
the whole inception of the myth transparent. In the monastery of St.
Albans a conversation is held by the monks on one side and the Armenian
Archbishop--name not given, on the other. The interpreter in French
is one Henri Spigurnel a native of Antioch, servant of the bishop.
We can gather even how Sir Thomas Brown M. D., doctor of Norwich and
most open-minded of scientists, lent himself, unconsciously, to the
propagation of error. Brown reading, or hearing read, the work of
Matthew Paris took it for granted that the record was correct and
complete; and in his own book summarises or generalises the statements
made. For instance he says that the Armenian bishop had “often
entertained this wanderer at his table” &c. Now it was his servant
who told the monks that the wandering Jew whom he had seen and heard
speaking many times dined at the table of his lord the Archbishop.
This at once minimises the value of the statement, for it does away
at once with the respect due to the bishop’s high office and presumed
character, and with the sense of intellectual acumen and accuracy which
might be expected to emanate from one of his scholarship and quality.
Thus we get the story not from an accredited Bishop on a foreign
mission--rare at the period and entrusted only to men of note--but from
the gossip of an Armenian lacquey or valet, trying to show his own
importance to a credulous serving brother of the monastery. And so,
after all, coming from this source it is to be accepted with exceeding
care--not to say doubt, even when seconded by the learned monastic
scribe Matthew. So, also, for instance is his statement regarding the
manner in which the wanderer’s life is miraculously prolonged. It is
to this effect. Each hundredth year Joseph falls into a faint so that
he lies for a time unconscious. When he recovers he finds that his age
is restored to that which it was when the Lord suffered. Joseph, it
must be borne in mind, is the Wandering Jew, once Cartaphilus, who had
kept Pilate’s judgment-hall. Then Matthew himself takes up the story
and gives what professes to be the _ipsissima verba_ of the servant as
to the conversation between Christ and Cartaphilus which culminated in
the terrible doom pronounced on the janitor who, from the showing, did
not seem a whit worse than any of the crowd present on that momentous
day in Jerusalem. When Jesus, wearied already with carrying the great
cross, leaned for a moment against the wall of the house of Cartaphilus
just opposite the Judgment-hall the official said:
“‘Vade Jesu citius, vade, quid moraris?’ et Jesus severo vultu et
oculo respiciens eum, dixit: ‘Ego vado. Expectabis donec veniam.’”
Now this is the whole and sole foundation of the individual Wandering
Jew. I say “individual” because there were before long other variants,
and many old beliefs and fables were appropriated and used to back up
the marvellous story, invented by the Armenian servant and recorded
by the learned monk, Matthew. Amongst these beliefs were those
which taught that John the Baptist never died; that the aloe blooms
only once in a hundred years; and that the phœnix renews itself in
fire. It is the tendency of legendary beliefs to group or nucleate
themselves as though there were a conscious and intentional effort at
self-protection; and this, together with the natural human tendency to
enlarge and elaborate an accepted idea, is responsible for much. The
legend started in the thirteenth century, took root and flourished, and
in the very beginning of the seventeenth a variant blossomed. In this
Joseph, originally Cartaphilus, became Ahasuerus. In the long pause the
story, after the manner of all things of earth, had grown, details not
being lacking. The world was informed through the Bishop of Schleswig,
how in 1547, at Hamburg, a man was seen in the Cathedral who arrested
attention--why we are not told. He was about fifty years of age, of
reverend manner, and dressed in ragged clothes; he bowed low at the
name of Christ. Many of the nobility and gentry who saw him recognised
him as one whom they had already seen in various places--England,
France, Italy, Hungary, Persia, Spain, Poland, Moscow, Lieffland,
Sweden, Denmark, Scotland, &c. Inquiry being made of him, he told the
Bishop that he was Ahasuerus the shoe-maker of Jerusalem, who had been
present at the Crucifixion and had ever since been always wandering.
He was well posted in history, especially regarding the lives and
sufferings of the Apostles, and told how, when he had directed Christ
to move on, the latter had answered: “I will stand here and rest, but
thou shalt move on till the last day.” He had been first seen, we are
told, at Lubeck.
It is strange that in an age of religious domination many of the
legends of Our Saviour seem to have been based on just such intolerant
anger at personal slight as might have ruled a short-tempered,
vain man. For instance look at one of the Christ legends which was
reproduced in poor Ophelia’s distracted mind apropos of the owl, “They
say, the owl was a baker’s daughter.” The Gloucestershire legend runs
that Christ having asked for bread at baking time the mistress of the
bakery took dough from the oven, but her daughter having remonstrated
as to the size of the benefaction was turned into an owl. The penalty
inflicted on the erring janitor of the Presidium is another instance.
The “Wandering Jew” legend once started, was hard to suppress. The
thirteenth, fourteenth, fifteenth and sixteenth centuries were the ages
of Jew-baiting in the kingdoms of the West, and naturally the stories
took their colour from the prevailing idea.
In 1644, Westphalus learned from various sources that the Wandering Jew
healed diseases, and that he had said he was at Rome when it was burned
by Nero; that he had seen the return of Saladin after his Eastern
Conquests; that he had been in Constantinople when Salimen had built
the royal mosque; that he knew Tamerlane the Scythian, and Scander
Beg, Prince of Epirus; that he had seen Bajazet carried in a cage by
Tamerlane’s order; that he remembered the Caliphs of Babylon and of
Egypt, the Empire of the Saracens, and the Crusades where he had known
Godfrey de Bouillon. Amongst other things he seems to have apologised
for not seeing the Sack of Jerusalem, because he was at that time in
Rome at the Court of Vespasian.
The Ahasuerus version of the Wandering Jew legend seems to have been
the popular one amongst the commonalty in England. As an instance
might be quoted the broad-sheet ballad of 1670. It is not without even
historical significance as it marks the measure of the time in many
ways. It is headed: “The Wandering Jew, or the Shoemaker of Jerusalem
who lived when Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ was crucified
appointed by Him to live until Coming again. Tune, _The Lady’s Fall_
&c. Licens’d and Enter’d according to order.” The imprint runs:
“Printed by and for W. O. and sold by the Booksellers of Pyecorner and
London-Bridge.”
A century and a half later--1828--was published a much more pretentious
work on the same theme. This was a novel written by Rev. George Croly.
It was called: “Salathiel: a Story of the Past, the Present, the
Future.” It was published anonymously and had an immediate and lasting
success. It was founded on historical lines, the author manifestly
benefiting by the hints afforded by the work of that consummate liar
(in a historical sense) Westphalus--or his informant. Croly was
a strange man with a somewhat abnormal faculty of abstraction. I
used to hear of him from my father who was a friend of his about a
hundred years ago. Being of gentle nature he did not wish to cause
any pain or concern to his family or dependents; but at the same
time he, as a writer, had to guard himself against interruption and
consequent digression of his thoughts during the times he set apart
for imaginative work. So he devised a scheme which might often be
put in practice with advantage by others similarly employed. When
settling down to a spell of such work--which as every creative
writer knows involves periods of mental abstraction though of bodily
restlessness--he would stick an adhesive wafer on his forehead. The
rule of the house was that when he might be adorned in this wise no one
was to speak to him, or even notice him, except under special necessity.
The great vogue of _Salathiel_ lasted some ten or more years, when
the torch of the Wandering Jew was lighted by Eugene Sue the French
novelist who had just completed in the _Débats_ his story “Les Mystères
de Paris.” As its successor he chose the theme adopted by Croly, and
the new novel _Le Juif-Errant_ ran with overwhelming success in the
_Constitutionnel_.
Sue was what in modern slang is called “up to date.” He knew every
trick and dodge of the world of advertisement, and in conjunction
with his editor, Dr. Veron, he used them all. But he had good wares
to exploit. His novels are really excellent, though the changes in
social life and in religious, political and artistic matters, which
took place between 1844 and 1910, make some things in them seem out of
date. His great imagination, and his firm and rapid grasp of salient
facts susceptible of being advantageously used in narrative, pointed
out to him a fresh road. It was not sufficient to the hour and place
that Cartaphilus--or Joseph--or Ahasuerus, or Salathiel or whatever he
might be called--should purge his sin by his personal sufferings alone.
In the legend, up to then accepted, he had long ago repented; so to
increase the poignancy of his sufferings, Sue took from the experience
of his own time a means of embittering the very inmost soul of such an
one. He must be made to feel that his existence is a curse not only to
himself but to all the world. To this end he attached to the Wanderer
the obligation of carrying a fell disease. The quick brain of the great
_feuilletonist_ seized the dramatic moment for utilising the occasion.
A dozen years before, the frightful spread of the cholera, which had
once again wrought havoc, woke the whole world to new terror. Some one
of uneasy mind who found diversion in obscure comparisons, noted from
the records of the disease that its moving showed the same progress in
a given direction as a man’s walking. A hint was sufficient for the
public who eagerly seized the idea that the Wandering Jew had, from the
first recorded appearance of the cholera, been the fated carrier of
that dreaded pestilence. The idea seemed to be a dramatic inspiration
and had prehensile grasp. Great as had been the success of the
_Mysteries of Paris_, that of _The Wandering Jew_ surpassed it, and for
half a century the new novel kept vividly before its readers the old
tradition, and so brought it down to the present.
We may now begin to ask ourselves who and where in this great deception
was the impostor. Who was the guilty one? And at first glance we
are inclined to say “There is none! Whatever the error, mistake,
deception, or false conclusion, there has been no direct guilt.” This
is to presuppose that guilt is of conscious premeditation; and neither
intention of evil nor consciousness of guilt is apparent. In legal
phrase the _mens rea_ is lacking.
It is a purely metaphysical speculation whether guilt is a necessary
element of imposition. One is an intellectual experience, the other is
an ethical problem; and if we are content to deal with responsibility
for another’s misdoing, the question of the degree of blameworthiness
is sufficient. Let us try a process of exclusions. The complete list of
those who had a part in the misunderstanding regarding the myth of the
Wandering Jew, leaving out the ostensible fictionists, were:
The Abbot of St. Albans, the Archbishop of Armenia, the interpreter,
the Archbishop’s servant, the monks or laybrothers who singly or in
general conversed with any of the above; and finally Matthew Paris who
recorded the story in its various phases. Of these we must except from
all blame both the Abbot of St. Albans and the Archbishop of Armenia,
both of whom were good grave men of high character and to each of whom
had been entrusted matters of the highest concern. The interpreter
seems to have only fulfilled his office with exactitude; if in any way
or part he used his opportunity to impose on the ignorance of the host
or the guest there is no record, no suggestion of it. Matthew Paris
was a man of such keenness of mind, of such observation and of such
critical insight, that even to-day, after a lapse of over five hundred
years, and the withstanding of all the tests of a new intellectual
world which included such inventions as printing and photography, he
is looked upon as one of the ablest of chroniclers. Moreover he put no
new matter nor comments of his own into the wonderful and startling
narratives which he was called on to record. He even hints at or infers
his own doubt as to the statements made. The monks, servants and others
mentioned generally, were merely credulous, simple people of the time,
with reverence for any story regarding the _Via Dolorosa_, and respect
or awe for those in high places.
There remains but the servant of the foreign Archbishop. It is to
him that we must look for any outrage on our normal beliefs. He was
manifestly a person of individually small importance--even Matthew
Paris whose trained work it was to record with exactness, and whose
duty it therefore was to sustain or buttress main facts, did not think
it necessary or worth while to mention his name. He had in himself
none of the dignity, honour, weight, learning or position of the
noble of the Church who was the Abbot’s guest. He was after all but
a personal servant; probably one of readiness and expediency with a
quick imagination and a glib tongue. One who could wriggle through a
difficult position, defend himself with ready acquiescence, gain his
ends of securing his master’s ease, and find all necessary doors open
through the bonhommie of his fellow servitors. Such an one accustomed
to the exigencies of foreign travel, must have picked up many quaint
conceits, legends and japes, and was doubtless a _persona grata_ liked
and looked up to by persons of his own class, sanctified to some little
extent by the reflected glory of his master’s great position. It is
more than likely that he had been the recipient of many confidences
regarding legend and conjecture concerning sacred matters, and that any
such legend as he spoke of would have been imparted under conditions
favourable to his own comfort. After the manner of his kind his
stories doubtless lost nothing in the telling and gained considerably
in the re-telling. Even in the short record of Matthew Paris, there
is evidence of this in the way in which, after the striking story of
Cartaphilus has been told, he returns to the matter again, adding
picturesque and inconclusive details of the manner of the centennial
renewal of the wanderer’s youth. The simplest analysis here will show
the falsity of the story; what the great logician Archbishop Whately
always insisted on--“internal evidence”--is dead against the Armenian
valet, courier, or servitor. He gave circumstantial account of the
periodic illness, loss of memory, and recovery of youth on the part
of Cartaphilus; but there is no hint of how he came to know it, and
Cartaphilus could not have told him, nor anybody else. We may, I think,
take it for granted that no other mere mortal was present, for, had any
other human being been there, all the quacksalvers of a thousand miles
around would have moved heaven and earth to get information of what was
going on, since in mediæval days there was nearly as much competition
in the world of charlatanism as there is to-day in the world of sport.
The Armenian was much too handy a man at such a crisis to be found out,
so we may give him the benefit of the doubt and at once credit him
with invention. It is hard to understand--or even to believe without
understanding--that so mighty a legend and one so tenacious of life,
arose and grew from such a beginning. And yet it is in accord with
the irony of nature that one who has unintentionally and unwittingly
achieved a publicity which would dwarf the malign reputation of
Herostratus should have his name unrecorded.