AND HIS BOOK “THE PRINCE AND THE DERVISH”

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:—

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]:—

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:—

Humility of mind is thus spoken of^[125-2]:—

The following lines must have been written when a dear friend was about to take leave of him. They run thus^[125-3]:—

Of a more humorous nature are the following lines^[125-4] put in the form of questions and answers:—

Apart from the literary value which The Prince and the Dervish possesses, it has a special importance which recalls to mind that all its versions have been rendered by Jewish writers into different languages. This fact lends support to the theory that the Jews have always displayed a peculiar aptitude in the translation of books, and more especially from Arabic, Greek, and Latin, into the sacred tongue of the Bible. By this means they preserved to posterity many valuable literary works which might otherwise have remained unknown or even perished. Among the more prominent Jewish translators living in mediaeval times were, besides several members of the famous Tibbon family, Kalonymos ben Kalonymos, Moses di Rieti, Immanuel di Roma, Alcharizi, Judah Romano, Elias del Medigo, and last, but not least, Abraham Ibn Chasdai, the author of The Prince and the Dervish. It should also be observed that several learned Jewish linguists have, in more modern times, been greatly helpful, in a literary sense, to many of their less educated co-religionists by introducing to them in a Hebrew garb some of the best-known works of general literature, including Homer, Virgil, Horace, Shakespeare, Milton, Dante, Racine, Schiller, and Goethe. Thus it is interesting to note that the language of the Bible has, like the Bible itself, at all times rendered most valuable services to Jews as well as to those of other creeds.

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