So we must be divided! Sweetest, stay!
Once more mine eyes would seek thy glance's light!
At night I shall recall thee; thou, I pray,
Be mindful of the days of our delight!
Come to me in my dreams, I ask of thee,
And even in thy dreams be gentle unto me!
If thou shouldst send me greeting in the grave,
The cold breath of the grave itself were sweet;
Oh, take my life! my life, 'tis all I have,
If I should make thee live I do entreat!
I think that I shall hear, when I am dead,
The rustle of thy gown, thy footsteps overhead.
It is this last image that has so interesting a literary history as to
tempt me into a digression. But first a word must be said of the
translation and the translator. The late Amy Levy made this rendering, not
from the Hebrew, but from Geiger's German with obvious indebtedness to Emma
Lazarus. So excellent, however, was Geiger's German that Miss Levy got
quite close to the meaning of the original, though thirty-eight Hebrew
lines are compressed into twelve English. Literally rendered, the Hebrew of
the last lines runs:
Would that, when I am dead, to mine ears may rise
The music of the golden bell upon thy skirts.
This image of the bell is purely Hebraic; it is, of course, derived from
the High Priest's vestments. Jehudah Halevi often employs it to express
melodious proclamation of virtue, or the widely-borne voice of fame. Here
he uses it in another context, and though the image of the bell is not
repeated, yet some famous lines from Tennyson's "Maud" at once come into
one's mind:
She is coming, my own, my sweet;
Were it ever so light a tread,
My heart would hear her and beat,
Were it earth in an earthy bed;
My dust would hear her and beat,
Had I lain for a century dead;
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red.
It is thus that the lyric poetry of one age affects, or finds its echo in,
that of another, but in this particular case it is, of course, a natural
thought that true love must survive the grave. There is a mystical union
between the two souls, which death cannot end. Here, again, we meet the
close connection between love and mysticism, which lies at the root of all
deep love poetry. But we must attend to the literary history of the thought
for a moment longer. Moses ibn Ezra, though more famous for his Synagogue
hymns, had some lyric gifts of a lighter touch, and he wrote love songs on
occasion. In one of these the poet represents a dying wife as turning to
her husband with the pathetic prayer, "Remember the covenant of our youth,
and knock at the door of my grave with a hand of love."
I will allude only to one other parallel, which carries us to a much
earlier period. Here is an Arab song of Taubah, son of Al-Humaiyir, who
lived in the seventh century. It must be remembered that it was an ancient
Arabic folk-idea that the spirits of the dead became owls.
Ah, if but Laila would send me a greeting down
of grace, though between us lay the dust and flags of stone,
My greeting of joy should spring in answer, or there should cry
toward her an owl, ill bird that shrieks in the gloom of graves.
C.J.L. Lyall, writing of the author of these lines, Taubah, informs us
that he was the cousin of Laila, a woman of great beauty. Taubah had loved
her when they were children in the desert together, but her father refused
to give her to him in marriage. He led a stormy life, and met his death in
a fight during the reign of Mu'awiyah. Laila long survived him, but never
forgot him or his love for her. She attained great fame as a poetess, and
died during the reign of 'Abd-al-Malik, son of Marwan, at an advanced age.
"A tale is told of her death in which these verses figure. She was making a
journey with her husband when they passed by the grave of Taubah. Laila,
who was travelling in a litter, cried, By God! I will not depart hence till
I greet Taubah. Her husband endeavored to dissuade her, but she would not
hearken; so at last he allowed her. And she had her camel driven up the
mound on which the tomb was, and said, Peace to thee, O Taubah! Then she
turned her face to the people and said, I never knew him to speak falsely
until this day. What meanest thou? said they. Was it not he, she answered,
who said
Ah, if but Laila would send a greeting down
of grace, though between us lay the dust and flags of stone,
My greeting of joy should spring in answer, or there should cry
toward her an owl, ill bird that shrieks in the gloom of graves.
Nay, but I have greeted him, and he has not answered as he said. Now, there
was a she-owl crouching in the gloom by the side of the grave; and when it
saw the litter and the crowd of people, it was frightened and flew in the
face of the camel. And the camel was startled and cast Laila headlong on
the ground; and she died that hour, and was buried by the side of Taubah."
The fascination of such parallels is fatal to proportion in an essay such
as this. But I cannot honestly assert that I needed the space for other
aspects of my subject. I have elsewhere fully described the Wedding Odes
which Jehudah Halevi provided so abundantly, and which were long a regular
feature of every Jewish marriage. But, after the brilliant Spanish period,
Hebrew love songs lose their right to high literary rank. Satires on
woman's wiles replace praises of her charms. On the other hand, what of
inspiration the Hebrew poet felt in the erotic field beckoned towards
mysticism. In the paper which opens this volume, I have written
sufficiently and to spare of the woman-haters. At Barcelona, in the age of
Zabara, Abraham ibn Chasdai did the best he could with his misogynist
material, but he could get no nearer to a compliment than this, "Her face
has the shimmer of a lamp, but it burns when held too close" ("Prince and
Dervish," ch. xviii). The Hebrew attacks on women are clever, but
superficial; they show no depth of insight into woman's character, and are
far less effective than Pope's satires.
The boldest and ablest Hebrew love poet of the satirical school is Immanuel
of Rome, a younger contemporary of Dante. He had wit, but not enough of it
to excuse his ribaldry. He tells many a light tale of his amours; a pretty
face is always apt to attract him and set his pen scribbling. As with the
English dramatists of the Restoration, virtue and beauty are to Immanuel
almost contradictory terms. For the most part, wrinkled old crones are the
only decent women in his pages. His pretty women have morals as easy as the
author professes. In the second of his _Machberoth_ he contrasts two girls,
Tamar and Beriah; on the one he showers every epithet of honor, at the
other he hurls every epithet of abuse, only because Tamar is pretty, and
Beriah the reverse. Tamar excites the love of the angels, Beriah's face
makes even the devil fly. This disagreeable pose of Immanuel was not
confined to his age; it has spoilt some of the best work of W.S. Gilbert.
The following is Dr. Chotzner's rendering of one of Immanuel's lyrics. He
entitles it