Читать книгу The History of Yiddish Literature in the Nineteenth Century - Wiener Leo - Страница 9
ОглавлениеJāhren klēine, Jāhren schoene,
Wās sent ihr asō wēnig dā?
Ihr sent nor gekummen,
Me hāt euch schoen aufgenummen,
Un' sent nor gewe'n bei uns ēin Scho?
Jāhren junge, Jāhren g'ringe,
Wās sent ihr asō gich aweg?
Es seht euch nit kēin Äugel,
Es derjāgen euch nit die Voegel,
Ihr sent aweg gār ohn' ein Eck'!
Little years, beautiful years, why are there so few of you? You had scarcely come, you were well received, and you stayed but an hour with us!—Young years, light years, why have you passed so quickly? Not an eye can see you, not a bird can fly as swiftly, you have passed without return!
The number of ditties sung by children is very great. They do not in general differ from similar popular productions of other nations, either in form or content; some are evidently identical with German songs, while a few are Slavic borrowings.
But there are two classes of songs peculiarly Jewish: the mnemonic lines for the study of Hebrew words, and those that depict the ideal course of a boy's life. To the second belongs:
A klēine Weile wöllen mir spielen,
Dem Kind in Cheeder wöllen mir führen, Wet er lernen a Pāar Schures, Wöllen mir hören gute Pschures, Gute Pschures mit viel Mailes, Zu der Chupe paskenen Schailes, 's 'et sein gefällen der ganzer Welt, Chossen-kale—a vulle Geld, A vulle Geld mit Masel-broche, Chossen-kale—a schoene Mischpoche, Schoene Mischpoche mit schoenem Trest, Ābgestellt auf drei Jahr Köst.
A little while we shall play, we shall lead the child to school; there he will learn a few lines, and we shall get good reports, good reports with many good things, and he will settle religious disputes upon his wedding day. The whole world will be satisfied—bridegroom and bride—a purse full of money; full of money, may it bring blessings; bridegroom and bride—a fine family; a fine family with fine apparel, and at their house you'll stay three years.
The man's career used to run in just such a stereotyped manner: at a tender age, when children have not yet learned to properly articulate their speech, he was sent to the Cheeder, the elementary Jewish school; long before the romantic feeling has its rise in youth, he was betrothed and married; but unable to earn a livelihood for the family with which he prayed to be blessed, he had to stay for a number of years with his parents or parents-in-law, eating 'Köst,' or board; this time he generally passed in the Talmud school, perfecting himself in the casuistry of religious discussion, while the woman at once began to care for her ever-increasing family. Under such conditions love could not flourish, at least not that romantic love of which the young Gentiles dream and which finds its utterance in their popular poetry. The word 'love' does not exist in the Judeo-German dictionary, and wherever that feeling, with which they have become acquainted only since the middle of this century, is to be named, the Jews have to use the German word 'Liebe.' The man's hope was to marry into some 'schoene Mischpoche,' a good and respected family, while the girl's dream was to get a husband who was well versed in 'rabonische Tōre,' i.e. Jewish lore. While the boy, by his occupation with the Bible and the Talmud, was taught to look on marriage as on an act pleasing to God, the girl was freer to allow her fancy to roam in the realms bordering on the sensations of love:
Schoen bin ich, schoen, un' schoen is' mein Nāmen:
Redt män mir Schiduchim vun grōsse Rabonim.
Rabonische Tōre is' sēhr grōss,
Un' ich bei mein Mamen a züchtige Rōs'.
A Rōs' is' auf'n Dach,
A lichtige Nacht,
Wasser is' in Stub, Holz is' in Haus,
Welchen Bocher hāb' ich feind, treib' ich ihm araus!
Fischelach in Wasser, Kräppelach in Puter,
Welchen Bocher hāt mich feind, a Ruch in sein Mutter!
Pretty I am, pretty, and pretty is my name; they talk of great rabbis as matches for me. Rabbi's learning is very great, but I am a treasured rose of my mother's. A rose upon the roof, a clear night; water is in the room, wood is in the house—If I love not a boy, I drive him away! Fish in the water, fritters in butter—If a boy love me not, cursed be his mother!
But such an exultation of free choice could be only passing, as the match was made without consulting her feelings in the matter; her greatest concern was that she might be left an old maid, while her companions passed into the ordained state of matrimony. Songs embodying this fear are quite common; the following is one of them:
Sitz' ich mir auf'n Stēin,
Nemmt mir ān a grōss Gewēin: Alle Maedlach hāben Chassene, Nor ich bleib' allēin. Oi wēh, Morgenstern! Wenn well ich a Kale wer'n, Zi heunt, zi morgen? A schoene Maedel bin ich doch Un' a reichen Taten hāb' ich doch!
I sit upon a stone, and am seized by great weeping: all girls get married, but I remain single. Woe to me, morning star! When shall I become a bride, to-day or to-morrow? I surely am a pretty girl, and I have a rich father!
In the more modern songs in which the word 'love' is used, that word represents the legitimate inclination for the opposite sex which culminates in marriage.
Now that love and love matches are not uncommon, it is again woman who is the strongest advocate of them; love songs addressed by men to women are rare, and they may be recited with equal propriety by the latter. The chief characteristic of woman's love, as expressed in them, is constancy and depth of feeling.
Schwarz bist du, schwarz, asō wie a Zigeuner,
Ich hāb' gemēint, as du we'st sein meiner;
Schwarz bist du, āber mit Cheen,
Für wemen du bist mies, für mir bist du schoen;
Schoen bist du wie Silber, wie Gold—
Wer's hāt dich feind un' ich hāb' dich hold.
Vun alle Fehlern känn a Doktor ābhēilen,
Die Liebe vun mein Herzen känn ich var Kēinem nit derzaehlen.
Black you are, black as a Gypsy, I thought you would always be mine; black you are, but with grace—for others you may be homely, but for me you are handsome; handsome you are, like silver, like gold—let others dislike you, but I love you. Of all troubles a doctor can cure, the love in my heart I can tell to no one.
Many are the songs of pining for the distant lover; they show all the melancholy touches of similar Slavic love ditties, and are the most poetical of all the Jewish songs. They range from the soft regrets of the lover's temporary absence to the deep and gloomy despair of the betrothed one's death, though the latter is always tempered by a resignation which comes from implicit faith in the ways of Heaven. Here are a few of them in illustration of the various forms which this pining assumes:
Bei 'm Breg Wasser thu' ich stēhn
Un' känn zu dir nit kummen,
Oi, vun weiten rufst du mich,
Ich känn āber nit schwimmen!
At the water's edge I do stand, and I cannot get to you. Oh, you call me from afar, but I cannot swim!
Finster is' mein' Welt,
Mein' Jugend is' schwarz,
Mein Glück is' verstellt,
Es fault mir mein Harz.
Es zittert mir jetwider Eewer,
Es kühlt mir dās Blut,
Mit dir in ēin Keewer
Wet mir sein gut.
Ach, wās willst du, Mutter, hāben,
Wās mutschest da dein Kind?
Wās willst du mir begrāben?
Für wāssere Sünd'?
Ich hāb' kēin Nachas geha't,
Nor Leiden un' Kummer,
Ich welk' wie ein Blatt,
Wie ein Blum' Ssof Summer.
Wu nemm' ich mein' Freund
Chotsch auf ēin Scho?
Alle hāben mir feind
Un' du bist nit dā!
Dark is my world; my youth is black, my fortune is veiled, my heart is decaying.—Every limb of mine is trembling; my blood grows cold; I should feel well with you in one grave.—Oh, what do you want of me, mother? Why do you vex your child? Why do you wish to bury me? For what sins of mine?—I have had no joy, only suffering and sorrow. I am fading like a leaf, like a flower at the end of summer.—Where shall I find my friend but for one hour? No one loves me, and you are not here.
With the same feeling that prompts the Jewish woman to repeat the prayer, 'O Lord, I thank Thee that Thou hast created me according to Thy will!' while the man prays, 'I thank Thee that Thou hast created me a man,' she regards her disappointments in love as perfectly natural; and the inconstancy of man, which forms the subject of all songs of unhappy love, does not call forth recriminations and curses, which one would expect, but only regrets at her own credulity.
One would imagine that the wedding day must appear as the happiest in the life of the woman, but such is not the case. With it begin all the tribulations for which she is singled out; and the jest-maker, who is always present at the ceremony of uniting the pair, addresses the bride with the words:
Bride, bride, weep! The bridegroom will send you a pot full of horseradish, and that will make you snivel unto your very teeth,
inviting her to weep instead of smiling, and he follows this doggerel with a discussion of the vanities of life and the sadness of woman's lot. Even if her marital happiness should be unmarred by any unfaithfulness of her husband—and Jewish men for the greater part are good husbands and fathers—there are the cares of earning the daily bread, which frequently fall on the woman, while the stronger vessel is brooding over some Talmudical subtleties; there are the eternal worries over the babies, and, worst of all, the proverbial mother-in-law, if the wife chances to board with her for the first few years after marriage. The ideal of the Jewess is but a passing dream, and no one can escape the awakening to a horrible reality:
A Maedele werd a Kale
In ēin Rege, in ēin Minut,
Mit ihr freuen sich Alle
Die Freud' is' nor zu ihr.
Der Chossen schickt Presenten,
Sie werd gār neu geboren,
Wenn sie thut sich ān,
Wünscht sie ihm lange Jāhren.
Sie gēht mit'n Chossen spazieren
Un' thut in Spiegele a Kuck,
Stēhen Ōlem Menschen
Un' seinen mekane dem Glück.
Ot führt män sie zu der Chupe,
Un' ot führt män sie zurück,
Stēhen a Kupe Maedlach
Un' seinen mekane dem Glück.
Auf morgen nāch der Chupe,
Die Freimut is' noch in Ganzen:
Der Chossen sitzt wie a Meelach
Un' die Kale gēht sich tanzen.
Drei Jāhr nāch der Chupe
Der Freimut is schōn arāb:
Die junge Weibel gēht arum
Mit a zudrēhter Kopp.
… … . …
"Oi wēh, Mutter, Mutter,
Ich will vun dir nit hören,
Ich wollt' schōn besser wöllen
Zurück a Maedel wer'n!"
A girl is made a bride in a moment, in a minute—all rejoice with her, with her alone.—The groom sends presents, she feels all new-born, when she attires herself, she wishes him long years.—She gets ready to walk with the bridegroom, and looks into the mirror—there stands a crowd of people who envy her her good luck.—Now she is led to the baldachin, now she is led back again—there stands a bevy of girls who envy her her luck.—The next day after the marriage—the joy is still with them: the bridegroom sits like a king, the bride is a-dancing.—Three years after the marriage—the joy has left them: the young woman walks around with a troubled head. … 'Woe to me, mother, mother, I do not want to hear of you—I should like, indeed, to be a young girl again.'
Pathetic are the recitals of suffering at the house of her husband's parents, where she is treated worse than a menial, where she is without the love of a mother to whom she is attached more than to any one else, and where she ends miserably her young years:[41]
Mein' Tochter, wu bist du gewesen?
Bei'm Schwieger un' Schwähr,
Wās brummt wie a Bär,
Mutter du liebe, du meine!
Mein Tochterl, awu hāst du dorten gesessen?
Auf a Bank,
Kēinmāl nit geramt,
Mutter du liebe, du meine!
Mein' Tochter, awu hāst du dorten geschlāfen?
Auf der Erd,
Kēinmāl nit gekehrt, etc.
Tochterulu, wās hāt män dir gegeben zu Koppen?
A Säckele Hēu,
In Harzen is' wēh, etc.
Tochterulu, in wās hāt män dir geführt?
In kowanem Wāgen,
Mit Eisen beschlāgen, etc.
Tochterl, über wās hāt män dir geführt?
Über a Brück',
Kēinmāl nit zurück, etc.
Tochterulu, mit wās hāt män dir geführt?
Mit a Ferd,
Jung in der Erd',
Mutter du liebe, du meine!
My daughter, where have you been?—At mother-in-law's and father-in-law's, who growls like a bear, mother dear, mother mine!—My daughter, where did you sit there?—Upon a bench never cleaned, mother dear, mother mine!—My daughter, where did you sleep there?—Upon the ground, never swept, etc.—Daughter dear, what did they lay under your head?—A bag of hay, in my heart there is a pain, etc.—Daughter dear, in what did they drive you?—In a wagon covered with iron bands, etc.—Daughter dear, over what did they lead you?—Over a bridge, never back, etc.—Daughter dear, with what did they drive you?—With a horse, young into the earth, mother dear, mother mine!
Equally pathetic are the songs that sing of widowhood. This is a far more common occurrence among Jews than among other people and causes much greater inconveniences to the helpless woman. It is caused either by the natural occurrences of death or by self-assumed exile to escape military service which is naturally not to the tastes of the Jew, as we shall see later, or frequently by ruthless abandonment. This latter case is the result of early marriages in which the contracting parties are not considered as to their tastes; often the young man finds awakening in himself an inclination for higher, Gentile, culture, but he finds his path impeded by the ties of family and the gross interests of his consort. If he can, he gets a divorce from her, but more frequently he leaves her without further ado, escaping to Germany or America to pursue his studies. His wife is made an Agune, a grass-widow, who, according to the Mosaic law, may not marry again until his death has been duly certified to:
Auf'n Barg stēht a Täubele,
Sie thut mit ihr Pāar brummen,
Ich hāb' geha't a guten Freund
Un' kann zu ihm nit kummen.
Bächen Trähren thuen sich
Vun meine Äugen rinnen,
Ich bin geblieben wie a Spändele
Auf dem Wasser schwimmen.
Gār die Welt is auf mir gefallen,
Seit ich bin geblieben allēin,
Sitz' ich doch Tāg un' Nacht
Jāmmerlich un' wēin'.
Teichen Trähren thuen sich
Rinnen vun meine Äugen,
Ich soll hāben Fliegelach,
Wollt' ich zu ihm geflōgen.
Lēgt sich, Kinderlach, alle arum mir,
Euer Tate is' vun euch vertrieben.
Klēine Jessomim sent ihr doch
Un' ich bin ein Almone geblieben.
On the mountain stands a dove; she is cooing to her brood: I have had a good friend, and I cannot get to him.—Brooks of tears flow out of my eyes; I am left like a piece of wood swimming on the water.—The whole world has fallen upon me since I am left alone; I sit day and night and weep bitterly.—Rivers of tears pour forth from my eyes. If I had wings I should fly to him.—Lie down, children, all around me! Your father has been taken away from you: You are now young orphans, and I am left a widow.
As sad as the widow's is the lot of the orphan. Fatherless and motherless, he seems to be in everybody's way, and no matter what he does, he is not appreciated by those he comes in contact with. There are many songs of the dying mother who finds her last moments embittered by the thought that her children will suffer privations and oppression from their stepmother and from other unkind people. There are also beggar's songs which tell that the singers were driven to beggary through loss of parents. The following verses, touching in their simplicity, recite the sad plight of an orphan:
Wasser schaumt, Wasser schaumt,
Thut män ganz weit hören—
Wenn es starbt der Vāter-Mutter,
Giesst der Jossem mit Trähren.
Der Jossem gēht, der Jossem gēht,
Der Jossem thut gār umsüst—
Leut' schatzen, Leut' sāgen,
As der Jossem täug' gār nischt
Der Jossem gēht, der Jossem gēht,
Un' in Zar un' in Pein—
Leut' schatzen, Leut' sāgen,
As der Jossem is' schicker vun Wein.
Bei meine Freund', bei meine Freund'
Wachst Weiz un' Körner—
Bei mir Jossem, bei mir Jossem
Wachst doch Grās un' Dörner.
Gottunju, Gottunju,
Gottunju du mein,
Wās hāst du mich nit beschaffen
Mit dem Masel wie meine Freund?
Water foams, water foams, one can hear afar. When father and mother die the orphan sheds tears.—The orphan goes, the orphan goes, the orphan does all in vain. People judge, people say that the orphan is good for nothing.—The orphan goes, the orphan goes, in pain and in sorrow. People judge, people say that the orphan is drunk with wine.—With my friends, with my friends there grows wheat and grain. With me, orphan, with me, orphan, there grow but grass and thorns.—Dear God, dear God, dear God of mine! Why have you not created me with the same luck as my friends have?
The tender feelings of love, replete with sorrows and despair, are left almost entirely to women; men are too busy to sing of love, or less romantic in their natures. But they are not entirely devoid of the poetic sentiment, and they join the weaker sex in rhythmic utterance, whenever they are stirred to it by unusual incidents that break in on their favorite attitude of contemplation and peaceful occupations. Such are military service, the pogroms, or mob violence, and riots periodically instituted against the Jewish population, expatriation, and the awful days of Atonement. On these occasions they rise to all the height of feeling that we have found in the other productions, and the expression of their attachment to their parents, wives, and children is just as tender and pathetic. The Russian Jew is naturally averse to the profession of war. He is not at all a coward, as was demonstrated in the Russo-Turkish War, in which he performed many a deed of bravery; but what can be his interest to fight for a country which hardly recognizes him as a citizen and in which he cannot rise above the lowest ranks in civil offices or in the army, although he is called to shed his blood on an equal footing with his Christian or Tartar fellow-soldier? Before the reign of Nicholas he was regarded beyond the pale of the country's attention and below contempt as a warrior; he was expected to pay toward the support of the country, but was not allowed to be its defender in times of war. He easily acquiesced in this state of affairs, and learned to regard the payment of taxes as a necessary evil and the exemption from enlistment as a privilege. Things all of a sudden changed with the ukase of Emperor Nicholas, by which not only military service was imposed on all the Jews of the realm, but the most atrocious regime was inaugurated to seize the persons who might elude the vigilance of the authorities. A whole regiment of Chapers, or catchers, were busy searching out the whereabouts of men of military age, tearing violently men from wives, fathers from infant children, minors from their parents. The terror was still increased by the order of 'cantonment,' by which young children of tender age were stolen from their mothers to be sent into distant provinces to be farmed out to peasants, where it was hoped they would forget their Hebrew origin and would be easily led into the folds of the Greek-Catholic Church.[42]
This sad state of affairs is described in a long poem, a kind of a rhymed chronicle of the event; it lies at the foundation of many later lyrical expressions dealing with the aversion to military service, even at a time when it was divested of the horrors of Nicholas' regime. Under the best conditions, the time spent in the service of the Czar might have been more profitably used for the study of the Bible and commentaries to the same, is the conclusion of several of such poems:
Ich gēh' arauf auf'n Gass'
Derlangt män a Geschrēi: "A Pass, a Pass!"
A Pass, a Pass hāb' ich gethān verlieren,
Thut män mir in Prijom areinführen.
Führt män mir arein in ersten Cheeder,
Thut män mir aus mein' Mutters Kleider.
Och un' wēh is' mir nischt geschehn,
Wās ich hāb' mir nit arumgesehn!
Führt män mir arein in andern Cheeder,
Thut män mir ān soldatske Klēider.
Och un' wēh is' mir nit geschehn, etc.
Führt män mir arein in Schul' schwören,
Giesst sich vun mir Teichen Trähren.
Och un' wēh is mir nit geschehn, etc.
Ēhder zu trāgen dem Kēissers Hütel,
Besser zu lernen dem Kapitel,
Och un' wēh is' mir nit geschehn, etc.
Ēhder zu essen dem Kēissers Kasche,
Besser zu lernen Chumesch mit Rasche.
Och un' wēh is mir nit geschehn,
Wās ich hāb' mir nit arumgesehn!
I walk in the street—they cry: "A passport, a passport!" The passport, the passport I have lost. They take me to the enlisting office. They lead me into the first room. They take off the clothes my mother made me. Woe unto me that I have not bethought myself in time!—They lead me into the second room; they put on me a soldier's uniform. Woe unto me, etc.—They lead me into the synagogue to take my oath, and rivers of tears roll down my face. Woe unto me, etc.—Rather than wear the cap of the Czar—to study a chapter of religious lore. Woe unto me, etc.—Rather than eat the Czar's buckwheat mush—to study the Bible with its commentaries. Woe unto me that I have not bethought myself in time!
Other soldier songs begin with a detailed farewell to parents, brothers, sisters, and friends, after which follows a recital of the many privations to which the Jewish soldier will be subjected; in all of these, the forced absence from wife or bride is regarded as the greatest evil.
The cup of bitterness has never been empty for the Jews that inhabit the present Russian Empire; they had been persecuted by Poland, massacred by the Cossacks, and are now exiled from the central provinces of Russia. Each massacre, each 'pogrom,' has given rise to several poems, in which God is invoked to save them from their cruel tormentors, or in which there are given graphic descriptions of the atrocities perpetrated on the unwary. Like the soldier songs, they vary in form from the chronicle in rhymes to the metrical lyric of modern times. The oldest recorded rhymed chronicle of this kind is the one that tells of the blood bath instituted in the Ukraine in the middle of last century. The simple, unadorned recital of inhumanities concocted by the fertile imagination of a Gonto, a Silo, a Maxim Zhelezniak, produces a more awful effect than any studied poem could do.[43]
It is no wonder, then, that the Jew takes a gloomy view of life, and that whenever he rises to any generalizations, he gives utterance to the blackest pessimism. One such poem depicts the vanities of human life, into which one is born as into a prison, from which one is freed at best at the Biblical age of three score and ten, to leave all the gold and silver to the surviving orphans. There is but one consolation in life, and that is, that Tōre, 'learning,' will do one as much good in the other world as it does in this. And yet, under all these distressing circumstances, the Jew finds pleasure in whole-hearted laughter. His comical ditties may be divided into two classes—those in which he laughs at his own weaknesses, and those in which he ridicules the weaknesses of the Khassidim, the fanatical sect, among whom the Rabbis are worshipped as saints and are supposed to work miracles. This sect is very numerous in Poland and South Russia, is very ignorant, and has opposed progress longer than the Misnagdim, to which sect the other German Jews in Russia belong. As an example of the first class may serve a poem in which poverty is made light of:
Ferd' hāb' ich vun Paris:
Drei ohn' Köpp', zwēi ohn' Füss'.
Ladrizem bam, ladrizem bam.
A Rock hāb' ich vun guten Tuch,
Ich hāb' vun ihm kein Bröckel Duch.
Ladrizem, etc.
Stiewel hāb' ich vun guten Leder,
Ich hāb' vun see kein Bröckel Feder.
Ladrizem, etc.
Kinder hāb' ich a drei Tuz',
Ich hāb' vun see kein Bröckel Nutz.
Ladrizem, etc.
Jetzt hāb' ich sich arumgetracht
Un' hāb' vun see a Barg Asch' gemacht.
Ladrizem bam, ladrizem bam.
Horses I have from Paris, three without heads, and two without feet—ladrizem bam, etc.—A coat I have of good cloth—I have not a trace left of it.—Boots I have of good leather, not a feather's weight have I left of them.—Children I have some three dozen—I get no good out of them.—So I fell a-thinking and made a heap of ashes of them.
The sensuality, intemperance, and profound ignorance and superstition of the Rebe, or Rabbi, of the Khassidim, and the credulity and lightheartedness of his followers, form, perhaps, the subject of the most poems in the Judeo-German language, as they also form the main subject of attack in the written literature of the last forty years.
