In the Aula at ToledoLoudly are the trumpets blowingTo the spiritual tourney,Gaily dress’d, the crowd are going.This is no mere worldly combat,Not one arm of steel here glances;Sharply pointed and scholasticWords are here the only lances.Gallant Paladins here fight not,Ladies’ honest fame defending;Capuchins and Jewish RabbisAre the knights who’re here contending.In the place of helmets are theyScull caps and capouches wearing;Scapular andArbecanfessAre the armour they are bearing.Which God is the one true God?He, the Hebrew stern and gloriousUnity, whom Rabbi JudaOf Navarre would see victorious?Or the triune God, whom ChristiansHold in love and veneration,As whose champion Friar Jose,The Franciscan, takes his station?By the might of weighty reasons,And the logic taught at college,And quotations from the authorsWhose repute one must acknowledge,Either championad absurdumHis opponent would bring duly,And the pure divinityOf his own God point out truly.’Tis laid down that he whose foemanManages his cause to smother,Should be bound to take upon himThe religion of the other,And the Jew be duly christen’d,—This was the express provision,—On the other hand the ChristianBear the rite of circumcision.Each one of the doughty championsHas eleven comrades by him,All to share his fate determined,And for weal or woe keep nigh him.While the monks who back the friarWith assurance full and steadyHold the holy-water vesselsFor the rite of christening ready,Swinging sprinkling-brooms and censers,Whence the incense smoke is rising,—All their adversaries brisklyWhet their knives for circumcising.By the lists within the hall stand,Ready for the fray, both forces,And the crowd await the signal,Eager for the knights’ discourses.’Neath a golden canopy,While their courtiers duly flatter,Both the king and queen are sitting;Quite a child appears the latter.With a small French nose, her featuresAre in roguishness not wanting,And the ever laughing rubiesOf her mouth are quite enchanting.Fragile fair inconstant flower,—May the grace of God be with her!—From the merry town of ParisShe has been transplanted hither,To the country where the SpanishOld grandees’ stiff manners gall her;Whilome known as Blanche de Bourbon,Donna Blanca now they call her.And the monarch’s name is Pedro,With the nickname of The Cruel;But to-day, in gentle mood, heLooks as if he ne’er could do ill.With the nobles of his court heEnters into conversation,And both Jew and Moor addressesWith a courteous salutation.For these sons of circumcisionAre the monarch’s favourite creatures;They command his troops, and alsoIn finances are his teachers.Suddenly the drums ’gin beating,And the trumpets’ bray announcesThat the conflict is beginning,Where each knight the other trounces.The Franciscan monk commences,Bursting into furious passion,And his voice, now harsh, now growling,Blusters in a curious fashion.Father, Son, and Holy SpiritIn one sentence he comprises,And the seed accurst of JacobIn the Rabbi exorcises.For in suchlike controversiesLittle devils oft are hiddenIn the Jews, and give them sharpness,Wit, and arguments when bidden.Having thus expell’d the devilBy his mighty exorcism,Comes the monk, dogmatically,Quoting from the catechism.He recounts how in the GodheadPersons three are comprehended,Who, whenever they so will it,Into one are straightway blended.’Tis a mystery unfoldedBut to those who, in due season,Have escaped from out the prisonAnd the chains of human reason.He recounts how God was born atBethlehem, of a tenderheartedVirgin, whose divine unsulliedInnocency ne’er departed.How they laid the Lord AlmightyIn a lowly stable manger,Where the calf and heifer meeklyStood around the newborn stranger.He recounts, too, how the LordFrom King Herod’s minions flying,Went to Egypt, how still laterDeath’s sharp pangs he suffer’d, dying.In the time of Pontius Pilate,Who subscribed his condemnation,Urged on by the Jews and cruelPharisees’ confederation.He recounts, too, how the Lord,Bursting from the tomb’s dark prisonOn the third day, into heavenHad in glorious triumph risen;How, when ’tis the proper time, heWould return to earth in splendour,At Jehoshaphat, to judge thereEvery quick and dead offender.“Tremble, Jews!” exclaim’d the friar,“At the God whom ye tormented“Cruelly with thorns and scourges,“To whose death ye all consented.“Jews, ye were his murderers! nation“Of vindictive fierce behaviour!“Him who comes to free you, still ye“Slay,—ye murder him, the Saviour.“Jews, the carrion where the demons“Coming from the lower regions“Dwell, your bodies are the barracks“Of the devil’s wicked legions.“Thomas of Aquinas says so,“He is famed in Christian story,“Call’d the mighty ox of learning,“Orthodoxy’s light and glory.“Villain race of Jews! you’re nought but“Wolves, hyenas, jackals hateful,“Church-yard prowlers, who deem only“Flesh of corpses to be grateful.“Jews, O Jews! you’re hogs and monkeys,“Monsters cruel and perfidious,“Whom they call rhinoceroses,“Crocodiles and vampires hideous.“Ye are ravens, owls, and screechowls,“Rats and miserable lapwings,“Gallows’-birds and cockatrices,“Very scum of all that flap wings!“Ye are vipers, ye are blindworms,“Rattlesnakes, disgusting adders,“Poisonous toads—Christ soon will surely“Tread you out like empty bladders!“Or, accursèd people, would ye“Save your souls so wretched rather?“Flee the synagogues of evil,“Seek the bosom of your Father.“Flee to love’s bright radiant churches,“Where the well of mercy bubbles“For your sakes in hallow’d basins,—“Hide your heads there from your troubles.“Wash away the ancient Adam,“And the vices that deface it;“From your hearts the stains of rancour“Wash, and grace shall then replace it.“Hear ye not the Saviour speaking?“O how well your new names suit you!“Cleanse yourselves upon Christ’s bosom“From the vermin that pollute you.“Yes, our God is very love, is“Like a lamb that’s dearly cherish’d,“And our vices to atone for,“On the cross with meekness perish’d.“Yes, our God is very love, his“Name is Jesus Christ the blessèd;“Of his patience and submission“We aspire to be possessèd.“Therefore are we meek and gentle,“Courteous, never in a passion,“Fond of peace and charitable,“In the Lamb the Saviour’s fashion.“We in heaven shall be hereafter“Into angels blest converted,“Wandering there in bliss with lily“Blossoms in our hands inserted.“In the place of cowls, the purest“Robes shall we when there be wearing,“Made of silk, brocades, and muslin,“Golden lace and ribbons flaring.“No more bald pates! Round our heads there“Will be floating golden tresses;“While our hair some charming virgin“Into pretty topknots dresses.“Winecups will be there presented“Of circumference so spacious,“That, compared with them, the goblets“Made on earth are not capacious.“On the other hand, much smaller“Than the mouths of earthly ladies“Will the mouth be of each woman“Who in heaven our solace made is.“Drinking, kissing, laughing will we“Pass through endless ages proudly,“Singing joyous Hallelujahs,“Kyrie Eleyson loudly.”Thus the Christian ended, and theMonks believed illuminationPierced each heart, and so prepared forThe baptismal operation.But the water-hating HebrewsShook themselves with scornful grinning,Rabbi Juda of Navarre thusHis reply meanwhile beginning:“That thou for thy seed mightst dung“My poor soul’s bare field devoutly,“With whole dung-carts of abuse thou“Hast in truth befoul’d me stoutly.“Every one the method follows“To his taste best calculated,“And instead of being angry,“Thank you, I’m propitiated.“Your fine trinitarian doctrine“We poor Jews can never swallow,“Though from earliest days of childhood“Wont the rule of three to follow.“That three persons in your Godhead,“And no more, are comprehended,“Moderate appears; the ancients“On six thousand gods depended.“Quite unknown to me the God is“Whom you call the Christ, good brother;“Nor have I e’er had the honour“To have met his virgin mother.“I regret that some twelve hundred“Years back, as your speech confesses,“At Jerusalem he suffer’d“Certain disagreablenesses.“That the Jews in truth destroy’d him“Rests upon your showing solely,“Seeing the delicti corpus“On the third day vanish’d wholly.“It is equally uncertain“Whether he was a connection“Of our God, who had no children—“In, at least, our recollection.“Our great God, like some poor lambkin,“For humanity would never“Perish; for such philanthropic“Actions he is far too clever.“Our great God of love knows nothing,“Never to affection yields he,“For he is a God of vengeance,“And as God his thunders wields he.“Nothing can his wrathful lightnings“From the sinner turn or soften,“And the latest generations“For the fathers’ sins pay often.“Our great God, he lives for ever“In his heavenly halls in glory,“And, compared with him, eternal“Ages are but transitory.“Our great God, he is a hearty“God, not like the myths that fright us,“Pale and lean as any wafer,“Or the shadows by Cocytus.“Our great God is strong. He graspeth“Sun and moon and constellation:“Thrones are crush’d, and people vanish“When he frowns in indignation.“And he is a mighty God.“David sings: We cannot measure“All his greatness, earth’s his footstool,“And is subject to his pleasure.“Our great God loves music dearly,“Lute and song to him are grateful;“But, like grunts of sucking pigs, he“Finds the sounds of churchbells hateful.“Great Leviathan the fish is“Who beneath the ocean strayeth,“And with him the Lord Almighty“For an hour each morning playeth.“With the’ exception of the ninth day“Of the month Ab, that sad morrow,“When they burnt his holy temple;“On that day too great’s his sorrow.“Just one hundred miles in length is“The Leviathan; each fin is“Big as Og the King of Basan,“And his tail no cedar thin is.“Yet his flesh resembles turtle,“And its flavour is perfection,“And the Lord will ask to dinner“On the day of resurrection“All his own elect, the righteous,“Those whose faith was firm and stable,“And this fish, the Lord’s own favourite,“Will be set upon the table,“Partly dress’d with garlic white sauce,“Partly stew’d in wine and toasted,“Dress’d with raisins and with spices,“Much resembling matelotes roasted.“Little slices of horseradish“Will the white sauce much embellish,“So make ready, Friar Jose,“To devour the fish with relish.“And the raisin sauce I spoke of“Makes a most delicious jelly,“And will be full well adapted,“Friar Jose, to thy belly.“What God cooks, is quite perfection—“Monk, my honest counsel follow,“And be circumcised, your portion“Of Leviathan to swallow.”—Thus the Rabbi to allure himSpoke with inward mirth insulting,And the Jews, with pleasure grunting,Brandish’d all their knives exulting.To cut off the forfeit foreskins,Victors after all the fighting,Genuine spolia opimaIn this conflict so exciting.But the monks to their religionStuck, despite the Jews’ derision,And were equally reluctantTo submit to circumcision.Next the Catholic converterAnswer’d, when the Jew had finish’d,His abuse again repeating,Full of fury undiminish’d.Then the Rabbi with a cautiousArdour, with his answer follow’d;Though his heart was boiling over,All his rising gall he swallow’d.He appeals unto the Mischna,Treatises and commentaries,And with extracts from the Tausves-Jontof his quotations varies.But what blasphemy now speaks theFriar, arguments in want of!He exclaim’d: “I wish the devil“Had your stupid Tausves-Jontof!”“This surpasses all, good heavens!”Fearfully the Rabbi screeches,And his patience lasts no longer,Like a maniac’s soon his speech is.“If the Tausves-Jontof’s nothing,“What is left? O vile detractor!Lord, avenge this foul transgression!“Punish, Lord, this malefactor!“For the Tausves-Jontof, God,“Is thyself! And on the daring“Tausves-Jontof’s base denier“Thou must vent thy wrath unsparing.“Let the earth consume him, like the“Wicked band of Cora, quickly,“Who their plots and machinations“Sow’d against thee, Lord, so thickly.“Punish, O my God, his baseness!“Thunder forth thy loudest thunder;“Thou with pitch and brimstone Sodom“And Gomorrha didst bring under.“Strike these Capuchins with vigour,“As of yore thou struckest Pharaoh“Who pursued us, as well-laden“Flying from his land we were, Oh!“Knights a hundred thousand follow’d“This proud monarch of Mizrayim,“In steel armour, with bright weapons“In their terrible Jadayim.“Lord, thy right hand then extending,“Pharaoh and his host were smitten“In the Red Sea, and were drown’d there“As we drown a common kitten.“Strike these Capuchins with vigour,“Show the wicked wretches clearly“That the lightnings of thine anger“Are not smoke and bluster merely.“Then thy triumph’s praise and glory“I will sing and tell of proudly,“And moreover will, like Miriam,“Dance and play the timbrel loudly.”Then the monk with equal passionAnswer’d thus the furious Rabbi:“Villain, may the Lord destroy thee,“Damnable, accurst, and shabby!“I can well defy your devils“Whom the Evil One created,“Lucifer and Beelzebub,“Astaroth and Belial hated.“I can well defy your spirits,“And your hellish tricks unhallow’d,“For in me is Jesus Christ, since“I his body blest have swallow’d.“Christ my only favourite food is,“Than Leviathan more savoury,“With its boasted garlic white sauce“Cook’d by Satan, full of knavery.“Ah! instead of thus disputing,“I would sooner roast and bake you“With your comrades on the warmest“Funeral pile, the devil take you!”Thus for God and faith the tourneyGoes on in confusion utter;But in vain the doughty championsScreech and rail and storm and splutter.For twelve hours the fight has lasted,Neither side gives signs of tiring,But the public fast grow weary,And the ladies are perspiring.And the Court, too, grows impatient,Ladies make with yawns suggestions;To the lovely queen the monarchTurns and asks the following questions:“Tell me, what is your opinion?“Which is right, and which the liar?“Will you give your verdict rather“For the Rabbi or the friar?”Donna Blanca gazes on him,Thoughtfully her hands she pressesWith closed fingers on her forehead,And the monarch thus addresses:“Which is right, I cannot tell you,“But I have a shrewd suspicion“That the Rabbi and the monk are“Both in stinking bad condition.”
In the Aula at ToledoLoudly are the trumpets blowingTo the spiritual tourney,Gaily dress’d, the crowd are going.This is no mere worldly combat,Not one arm of steel here glances;Sharply pointed and scholasticWords are here the only lances.Gallant Paladins here fight not,Ladies’ honest fame defending;Capuchins and Jewish RabbisAre the knights who’re here contending.In the place of helmets are theyScull caps and capouches wearing;Scapular andArbecanfessAre the armour they are bearing.Which God is the one true God?He, the Hebrew stern and gloriousUnity, whom Rabbi JudaOf Navarre would see victorious?Or the triune God, whom ChristiansHold in love and veneration,As whose champion Friar Jose,The Franciscan, takes his station?By the might of weighty reasons,And the logic taught at college,And quotations from the authorsWhose repute one must acknowledge,Either championad absurdumHis opponent would bring duly,And the pure divinityOf his own God point out truly.’Tis laid down that he whose foemanManages his cause to smother,Should be bound to take upon himThe religion of the other,And the Jew be duly christen’d,—This was the express provision,—On the other hand the ChristianBear the rite of circumcision.Each one of the doughty championsHas eleven comrades by him,All to share his fate determined,And for weal or woe keep nigh him.While the monks who back the friarWith assurance full and steadyHold the holy-water vesselsFor the rite of christening ready,Swinging sprinkling-brooms and censers,Whence the incense smoke is rising,—All their adversaries brisklyWhet their knives for circumcising.By the lists within the hall stand,Ready for the fray, both forces,And the crowd await the signal,Eager for the knights’ discourses.’Neath a golden canopy,While their courtiers duly flatter,Both the king and queen are sitting;Quite a child appears the latter.With a small French nose, her featuresAre in roguishness not wanting,And the ever laughing rubiesOf her mouth are quite enchanting.Fragile fair inconstant flower,—May the grace of God be with her!—From the merry town of ParisShe has been transplanted hither,To the country where the SpanishOld grandees’ stiff manners gall her;Whilome known as Blanche de Bourbon,Donna Blanca now they call her.And the monarch’s name is Pedro,With the nickname of The Cruel;But to-day, in gentle mood, heLooks as if he ne’er could do ill.With the nobles of his court heEnters into conversation,And both Jew and Moor addressesWith a courteous salutation.For these sons of circumcisionAre the monarch’s favourite creatures;They command his troops, and alsoIn finances are his teachers.Suddenly the drums ’gin beating,And the trumpets’ bray announcesThat the conflict is beginning,Where each knight the other trounces.The Franciscan monk commences,Bursting into furious passion,And his voice, now harsh, now growling,Blusters in a curious fashion.Father, Son, and Holy SpiritIn one sentence he comprises,And the seed accurst of JacobIn the Rabbi exorcises.For in suchlike controversiesLittle devils oft are hiddenIn the Jews, and give them sharpness,Wit, and arguments when bidden.Having thus expell’d the devilBy his mighty exorcism,Comes the monk, dogmatically,Quoting from the catechism.He recounts how in the GodheadPersons three are comprehended,Who, whenever they so will it,Into one are straightway blended.’Tis a mystery unfoldedBut to those who, in due season,Have escaped from out the prisonAnd the chains of human reason.He recounts how God was born atBethlehem, of a tenderheartedVirgin, whose divine unsulliedInnocency ne’er departed.How they laid the Lord AlmightyIn a lowly stable manger,Where the calf and heifer meeklyStood around the newborn stranger.He recounts, too, how the LordFrom King Herod’s minions flying,Went to Egypt, how still laterDeath’s sharp pangs he suffer’d, dying.In the time of Pontius Pilate,Who subscribed his condemnation,Urged on by the Jews and cruelPharisees’ confederation.He recounts, too, how the Lord,Bursting from the tomb’s dark prisonOn the third day, into heavenHad in glorious triumph risen;How, when ’tis the proper time, heWould return to earth in splendour,At Jehoshaphat, to judge thereEvery quick and dead offender.“Tremble, Jews!” exclaim’d the friar,“At the God whom ye tormented“Cruelly with thorns and scourges,“To whose death ye all consented.“Jews, ye were his murderers! nation“Of vindictive fierce behaviour!“Him who comes to free you, still ye“Slay,—ye murder him, the Saviour.“Jews, the carrion where the demons“Coming from the lower regions“Dwell, your bodies are the barracks“Of the devil’s wicked legions.“Thomas of Aquinas says so,“He is famed in Christian story,“Call’d the mighty ox of learning,“Orthodoxy’s light and glory.“Villain race of Jews! you’re nought but“Wolves, hyenas, jackals hateful,“Church-yard prowlers, who deem only“Flesh of corpses to be grateful.“Jews, O Jews! you’re hogs and monkeys,“Monsters cruel and perfidious,“Whom they call rhinoceroses,“Crocodiles and vampires hideous.“Ye are ravens, owls, and screechowls,“Rats and miserable lapwings,“Gallows’-birds and cockatrices,“Very scum of all that flap wings!“Ye are vipers, ye are blindworms,“Rattlesnakes, disgusting adders,“Poisonous toads—Christ soon will surely“Tread you out like empty bladders!“Or, accursèd people, would ye“Save your souls so wretched rather?“Flee the synagogues of evil,“Seek the bosom of your Father.“Flee to love’s bright radiant churches,“Where the well of mercy bubbles“For your sakes in hallow’d basins,—“Hide your heads there from your troubles.“Wash away the ancient Adam,“And the vices that deface it;“From your hearts the stains of rancour“Wash, and grace shall then replace it.“Hear ye not the Saviour speaking?“O how well your new names suit you!“Cleanse yourselves upon Christ’s bosom“From the vermin that pollute you.“Yes, our God is very love, is“Like a lamb that’s dearly cherish’d,“And our vices to atone for,“On the cross with meekness perish’d.“Yes, our God is very love, his“Name is Jesus Christ the blessèd;“Of his patience and submission“We aspire to be possessèd.“Therefore are we meek and gentle,“Courteous, never in a passion,“Fond of peace and charitable,“In the Lamb the Saviour’s fashion.“We in heaven shall be hereafter“Into angels blest converted,“Wandering there in bliss with lily“Blossoms in our hands inserted.“In the place of cowls, the purest“Robes shall we when there be wearing,“Made of silk, brocades, and muslin,“Golden lace and ribbons flaring.“No more bald pates! Round our heads there“Will be floating golden tresses;“While our hair some charming virgin“Into pretty topknots dresses.“Winecups will be there presented“Of circumference so spacious,“That, compared with them, the goblets“Made on earth are not capacious.“On the other hand, much smaller“Than the mouths of earthly ladies“Will the mouth be of each woman“Who in heaven our solace made is.“Drinking, kissing, laughing will we“Pass through endless ages proudly,“Singing joyous Hallelujahs,“Kyrie Eleyson loudly.”Thus the Christian ended, and theMonks believed illuminationPierced each heart, and so prepared forThe baptismal operation.But the water-hating HebrewsShook themselves with scornful grinning,Rabbi Juda of Navarre thusHis reply meanwhile beginning:“That thou for thy seed mightst dung“My poor soul’s bare field devoutly,“With whole dung-carts of abuse thou“Hast in truth befoul’d me stoutly.“Every one the method follows“To his taste best calculated,“And instead of being angry,“Thank you, I’m propitiated.“Your fine trinitarian doctrine“We poor Jews can never swallow,“Though from earliest days of childhood“Wont the rule of three to follow.“That three persons in your Godhead,“And no more, are comprehended,“Moderate appears; the ancients“On six thousand gods depended.“Quite unknown to me the God is“Whom you call the Christ, good brother;“Nor have I e’er had the honour“To have met his virgin mother.“I regret that some twelve hundred“Years back, as your speech confesses,“At Jerusalem he suffer’d“Certain disagreablenesses.“That the Jews in truth destroy’d him“Rests upon your showing solely,“Seeing the delicti corpus“On the third day vanish’d wholly.“It is equally uncertain“Whether he was a connection“Of our God, who had no children—“In, at least, our recollection.“Our great God, like some poor lambkin,“For humanity would never“Perish; for such philanthropic“Actions he is far too clever.“Our great God of love knows nothing,“Never to affection yields he,“For he is a God of vengeance,“And as God his thunders wields he.“Nothing can his wrathful lightnings“From the sinner turn or soften,“And the latest generations“For the fathers’ sins pay often.“Our great God, he lives for ever“In his heavenly halls in glory,“And, compared with him, eternal“Ages are but transitory.“Our great God, he is a hearty“God, not like the myths that fright us,“Pale and lean as any wafer,“Or the shadows by Cocytus.“Our great God is strong. He graspeth“Sun and moon and constellation:“Thrones are crush’d, and people vanish“When he frowns in indignation.“And he is a mighty God.“David sings: We cannot measure“All his greatness, earth’s his footstool,“And is subject to his pleasure.“Our great God loves music dearly,“Lute and song to him are grateful;“But, like grunts of sucking pigs, he“Finds the sounds of churchbells hateful.“Great Leviathan the fish is“Who beneath the ocean strayeth,“And with him the Lord Almighty“For an hour each morning playeth.“With the’ exception of the ninth day“Of the month Ab, that sad morrow,“When they burnt his holy temple;“On that day too great’s his sorrow.“Just one hundred miles in length is“The Leviathan; each fin is“Big as Og the King of Basan,“And his tail no cedar thin is.“Yet his flesh resembles turtle,“And its flavour is perfection,“And the Lord will ask to dinner“On the day of resurrection“All his own elect, the righteous,“Those whose faith was firm and stable,“And this fish, the Lord’s own favourite,“Will be set upon the table,“Partly dress’d with garlic white sauce,“Partly stew’d in wine and toasted,“Dress’d with raisins and with spices,“Much resembling matelotes roasted.“Little slices of horseradish“Will the white sauce much embellish,“So make ready, Friar Jose,“To devour the fish with relish.“And the raisin sauce I spoke of“Makes a most delicious jelly,“And will be full well adapted,“Friar Jose, to thy belly.“What God cooks, is quite perfection—“Monk, my honest counsel follow,“And be circumcised, your portion“Of Leviathan to swallow.”—Thus the Rabbi to allure himSpoke with inward mirth insulting,And the Jews, with pleasure grunting,Brandish’d all their knives exulting.To cut off the forfeit foreskins,Victors after all the fighting,Genuine spolia opimaIn this conflict so exciting.But the monks to their religionStuck, despite the Jews’ derision,And were equally reluctantTo submit to circumcision.Next the Catholic converterAnswer’d, when the Jew had finish’d,His abuse again repeating,Full of fury undiminish’d.Then the Rabbi with a cautiousArdour, with his answer follow’d;Though his heart was boiling over,All his rising gall he swallow’d.He appeals unto the Mischna,Treatises and commentaries,And with extracts from the Tausves-Jontof his quotations varies.But what blasphemy now speaks theFriar, arguments in want of!He exclaim’d: “I wish the devil“Had your stupid Tausves-Jontof!”“This surpasses all, good heavens!”Fearfully the Rabbi screeches,And his patience lasts no longer,Like a maniac’s soon his speech is.“If the Tausves-Jontof’s nothing,“What is left? O vile detractor!Lord, avenge this foul transgression!“Punish, Lord, this malefactor!“For the Tausves-Jontof, God,“Is thyself! And on the daring“Tausves-Jontof’s base denier“Thou must vent thy wrath unsparing.“Let the earth consume him, like the“Wicked band of Cora, quickly,“Who their plots and machinations“Sow’d against thee, Lord, so thickly.“Punish, O my God, his baseness!“Thunder forth thy loudest thunder;“Thou with pitch and brimstone Sodom“And Gomorrha didst bring under.“Strike these Capuchins with vigour,“As of yore thou struckest Pharaoh“Who pursued us, as well-laden“Flying from his land we were, Oh!“Knights a hundred thousand follow’d“This proud monarch of Mizrayim,“In steel armour, with bright weapons“In their terrible Jadayim.“Lord, thy right hand then extending,“Pharaoh and his host were smitten“In the Red Sea, and were drown’d there“As we drown a common kitten.“Strike these Capuchins with vigour,“Show the wicked wretches clearly“That the lightnings of thine anger“Are not smoke and bluster merely.“Then thy triumph’s praise and glory“I will sing and tell of proudly,“And moreover will, like Miriam,“Dance and play the timbrel loudly.”Then the monk with equal passionAnswer’d thus the furious Rabbi:“Villain, may the Lord destroy thee,“Damnable, accurst, and shabby!“I can well defy your devils“Whom the Evil One created,“Lucifer and Beelzebub,“Astaroth and Belial hated.“I can well defy your spirits,“And your hellish tricks unhallow’d,“For in me is Jesus Christ, since“I his body blest have swallow’d.“Christ my only favourite food is,“Than Leviathan more savoury,“With its boasted garlic white sauce“Cook’d by Satan, full of knavery.“Ah! instead of thus disputing,“I would sooner roast and bake you“With your comrades on the warmest“Funeral pile, the devil take you!”Thus for God and faith the tourneyGoes on in confusion utter;But in vain the doughty championsScreech and rail and storm and splutter.For twelve hours the fight has lasted,Neither side gives signs of tiring,But the public fast grow weary,And the ladies are perspiring.And the Court, too, grows impatient,Ladies make with yawns suggestions;To the lovely queen the monarchTurns and asks the following questions:“Tell me, what is your opinion?“Which is right, and which the liar?“Will you give your verdict rather“For the Rabbi or the friar?”Donna Blanca gazes on him,Thoughtfully her hands she pressesWith closed fingers on her forehead,And the monarch thus addresses:“Which is right, I cannot tell you,“But I have a shrewd suspicion“That the Rabbi and the monk are“Both in stinking bad condition.”
In the Aula at ToledoLoudly are the trumpets blowingTo the spiritual tourney,Gaily dress’d, the crowd are going.
This is no mere worldly combat,Not one arm of steel here glances;Sharply pointed and scholasticWords are here the only lances.
Gallant Paladins here fight not,Ladies’ honest fame defending;Capuchins and Jewish RabbisAre the knights who’re here contending.
In the place of helmets are theyScull caps and capouches wearing;Scapular andArbecanfessAre the armour they are bearing.
Which God is the one true God?He, the Hebrew stern and gloriousUnity, whom Rabbi JudaOf Navarre would see victorious?
Or the triune God, whom ChristiansHold in love and veneration,As whose champion Friar Jose,The Franciscan, takes his station?
By the might of weighty reasons,And the logic taught at college,And quotations from the authorsWhose repute one must acknowledge,
Either championad absurdumHis opponent would bring duly,And the pure divinityOf his own God point out truly.
’Tis laid down that he whose foemanManages his cause to smother,Should be bound to take upon himThe religion of the other,
And the Jew be duly christen’d,—This was the express provision,—On the other hand the ChristianBear the rite of circumcision.
Each one of the doughty championsHas eleven comrades by him,All to share his fate determined,And for weal or woe keep nigh him.
While the monks who back the friarWith assurance full and steadyHold the holy-water vesselsFor the rite of christening ready,
Swinging sprinkling-brooms and censers,Whence the incense smoke is rising,—All their adversaries brisklyWhet their knives for circumcising.
By the lists within the hall stand,Ready for the fray, both forces,And the crowd await the signal,Eager for the knights’ discourses.
’Neath a golden canopy,While their courtiers duly flatter,Both the king and queen are sitting;Quite a child appears the latter.
With a small French nose, her featuresAre in roguishness not wanting,And the ever laughing rubiesOf her mouth are quite enchanting.
Fragile fair inconstant flower,—May the grace of God be with her!—From the merry town of ParisShe has been transplanted hither,
To the country where the SpanishOld grandees’ stiff manners gall her;Whilome known as Blanche de Bourbon,Donna Blanca now they call her.
And the monarch’s name is Pedro,With the nickname of The Cruel;But to-day, in gentle mood, heLooks as if he ne’er could do ill.
With the nobles of his court heEnters into conversation,And both Jew and Moor addressesWith a courteous salutation.
For these sons of circumcisionAre the monarch’s favourite creatures;They command his troops, and alsoIn finances are his teachers.
Suddenly the drums ’gin beating,And the trumpets’ bray announcesThat the conflict is beginning,Where each knight the other trounces.
The Franciscan monk commences,Bursting into furious passion,And his voice, now harsh, now growling,Blusters in a curious fashion.
Father, Son, and Holy SpiritIn one sentence he comprises,And the seed accurst of JacobIn the Rabbi exorcises.
For in suchlike controversiesLittle devils oft are hiddenIn the Jews, and give them sharpness,Wit, and arguments when bidden.
Having thus expell’d the devilBy his mighty exorcism,Comes the monk, dogmatically,Quoting from the catechism.
He recounts how in the GodheadPersons three are comprehended,Who, whenever they so will it,Into one are straightway blended.
’Tis a mystery unfoldedBut to those who, in due season,Have escaped from out the prisonAnd the chains of human reason.
He recounts how God was born atBethlehem, of a tenderheartedVirgin, whose divine unsulliedInnocency ne’er departed.
How they laid the Lord AlmightyIn a lowly stable manger,Where the calf and heifer meeklyStood around the newborn stranger.
He recounts, too, how the LordFrom King Herod’s minions flying,Went to Egypt, how still laterDeath’s sharp pangs he suffer’d, dying.
In the time of Pontius Pilate,Who subscribed his condemnation,Urged on by the Jews and cruelPharisees’ confederation.
He recounts, too, how the Lord,Bursting from the tomb’s dark prisonOn the third day, into heavenHad in glorious triumph risen;
How, when ’tis the proper time, heWould return to earth in splendour,At Jehoshaphat, to judge thereEvery quick and dead offender.
“Tremble, Jews!” exclaim’d the friar,“At the God whom ye tormented“Cruelly with thorns and scourges,“To whose death ye all consented.
“Jews, ye were his murderers! nation“Of vindictive fierce behaviour!“Him who comes to free you, still ye“Slay,—ye murder him, the Saviour.
“Jews, the carrion where the demons“Coming from the lower regions“Dwell, your bodies are the barracks“Of the devil’s wicked legions.
“Thomas of Aquinas says so,“He is famed in Christian story,“Call’d the mighty ox of learning,“Orthodoxy’s light and glory.
“Villain race of Jews! you’re nought but“Wolves, hyenas, jackals hateful,“Church-yard prowlers, who deem only“Flesh of corpses to be grateful.
“Jews, O Jews! you’re hogs and monkeys,“Monsters cruel and perfidious,“Whom they call rhinoceroses,“Crocodiles and vampires hideous.
“Ye are ravens, owls, and screechowls,“Rats and miserable lapwings,“Gallows’-birds and cockatrices,“Very scum of all that flap wings!
“Ye are vipers, ye are blindworms,“Rattlesnakes, disgusting adders,“Poisonous toads—Christ soon will surely“Tread you out like empty bladders!
“Or, accursèd people, would ye“Save your souls so wretched rather?“Flee the synagogues of evil,“Seek the bosom of your Father.
“Flee to love’s bright radiant churches,“Where the well of mercy bubbles“For your sakes in hallow’d basins,—“Hide your heads there from your troubles.
“Wash away the ancient Adam,“And the vices that deface it;“From your hearts the stains of rancour“Wash, and grace shall then replace it.
“Hear ye not the Saviour speaking?“O how well your new names suit you!“Cleanse yourselves upon Christ’s bosom“From the vermin that pollute you.
“Yes, our God is very love, is“Like a lamb that’s dearly cherish’d,“And our vices to atone for,“On the cross with meekness perish’d.
“Yes, our God is very love, his“Name is Jesus Christ the blessèd;“Of his patience and submission“We aspire to be possessèd.
“Therefore are we meek and gentle,“Courteous, never in a passion,“Fond of peace and charitable,“In the Lamb the Saviour’s fashion.
“We in heaven shall be hereafter“Into angels blest converted,“Wandering there in bliss with lily“Blossoms in our hands inserted.
“In the place of cowls, the purest“Robes shall we when there be wearing,“Made of silk, brocades, and muslin,“Golden lace and ribbons flaring.
“No more bald pates! Round our heads there“Will be floating golden tresses;“While our hair some charming virgin“Into pretty topknots dresses.
“Winecups will be there presented“Of circumference so spacious,“That, compared with them, the goblets“Made on earth are not capacious.
“On the other hand, much smaller“Than the mouths of earthly ladies“Will the mouth be of each woman“Who in heaven our solace made is.
“Drinking, kissing, laughing will we“Pass through endless ages proudly,“Singing joyous Hallelujahs,“Kyrie Eleyson loudly.”
Thus the Christian ended, and theMonks believed illuminationPierced each heart, and so prepared forThe baptismal operation.
But the water-hating HebrewsShook themselves with scornful grinning,Rabbi Juda of Navarre thusHis reply meanwhile beginning:
“That thou for thy seed mightst dung“My poor soul’s bare field devoutly,“With whole dung-carts of abuse thou“Hast in truth befoul’d me stoutly.
“Every one the method follows“To his taste best calculated,“And instead of being angry,“Thank you, I’m propitiated.
“Your fine trinitarian doctrine“We poor Jews can never swallow,“Though from earliest days of childhood“Wont the rule of three to follow.
“That three persons in your Godhead,“And no more, are comprehended,“Moderate appears; the ancients“On six thousand gods depended.
“Quite unknown to me the God is“Whom you call the Christ, good brother;“Nor have I e’er had the honour“To have met his virgin mother.
“I regret that some twelve hundred“Years back, as your speech confesses,“At Jerusalem he suffer’d“Certain disagreablenesses.
“That the Jews in truth destroy’d him“Rests upon your showing solely,“Seeing the delicti corpus“On the third day vanish’d wholly.
“It is equally uncertain“Whether he was a connection“Of our God, who had no children—“In, at least, our recollection.
“Our great God, like some poor lambkin,“For humanity would never“Perish; for such philanthropic“Actions he is far too clever.
“Our great God of love knows nothing,“Never to affection yields he,“For he is a God of vengeance,“And as God his thunders wields he.
“Nothing can his wrathful lightnings“From the sinner turn or soften,“And the latest generations“For the fathers’ sins pay often.
“Our great God, he lives for ever“In his heavenly halls in glory,“And, compared with him, eternal“Ages are but transitory.
“Our great God, he is a hearty“God, not like the myths that fright us,“Pale and lean as any wafer,“Or the shadows by Cocytus.
“Our great God is strong. He graspeth“Sun and moon and constellation:“Thrones are crush’d, and people vanish“When he frowns in indignation.
“And he is a mighty God.“David sings: We cannot measure“All his greatness, earth’s his footstool,“And is subject to his pleasure.
“Our great God loves music dearly,“Lute and song to him are grateful;“But, like grunts of sucking pigs, he“Finds the sounds of churchbells hateful.
“Great Leviathan the fish is“Who beneath the ocean strayeth,“And with him the Lord Almighty“For an hour each morning playeth.
“With the’ exception of the ninth day“Of the month Ab, that sad morrow,“When they burnt his holy temple;“On that day too great’s his sorrow.
“Just one hundred miles in length is“The Leviathan; each fin is“Big as Og the King of Basan,“And his tail no cedar thin is.
“Yet his flesh resembles turtle,“And its flavour is perfection,“And the Lord will ask to dinner“On the day of resurrection
“All his own elect, the righteous,“Those whose faith was firm and stable,“And this fish, the Lord’s own favourite,“Will be set upon the table,
“Partly dress’d with garlic white sauce,“Partly stew’d in wine and toasted,“Dress’d with raisins and with spices,“Much resembling matelotes roasted.
“Little slices of horseradish“Will the white sauce much embellish,“So make ready, Friar Jose,“To devour the fish with relish.
“And the raisin sauce I spoke of“Makes a most delicious jelly,“And will be full well adapted,“Friar Jose, to thy belly.
“What God cooks, is quite perfection—“Monk, my honest counsel follow,“And be circumcised, your portion“Of Leviathan to swallow.”—
Thus the Rabbi to allure himSpoke with inward mirth insulting,And the Jews, with pleasure grunting,Brandish’d all their knives exulting.
To cut off the forfeit foreskins,Victors after all the fighting,Genuine spolia opimaIn this conflict so exciting.
But the monks to their religionStuck, despite the Jews’ derision,And were equally reluctantTo submit to circumcision.
Next the Catholic converterAnswer’d, when the Jew had finish’d,His abuse again repeating,Full of fury undiminish’d.
Then the Rabbi with a cautiousArdour, with his answer follow’d;Though his heart was boiling over,All his rising gall he swallow’d.
He appeals unto the Mischna,Treatises and commentaries,And with extracts from the Tausves-Jontof his quotations varies.
But what blasphemy now speaks theFriar, arguments in want of!He exclaim’d: “I wish the devil“Had your stupid Tausves-Jontof!”
“This surpasses all, good heavens!”Fearfully the Rabbi screeches,And his patience lasts no longer,Like a maniac’s soon his speech is.
“If the Tausves-Jontof’s nothing,“What is left? O vile detractor!Lord, avenge this foul transgression!“Punish, Lord, this malefactor!
“For the Tausves-Jontof, God,“Is thyself! And on the daring“Tausves-Jontof’s base denier“Thou must vent thy wrath unsparing.
“Let the earth consume him, like the“Wicked band of Cora, quickly,“Who their plots and machinations“Sow’d against thee, Lord, so thickly.
“Punish, O my God, his baseness!“Thunder forth thy loudest thunder;“Thou with pitch and brimstone Sodom“And Gomorrha didst bring under.
“Strike these Capuchins with vigour,“As of yore thou struckest Pharaoh“Who pursued us, as well-laden“Flying from his land we were, Oh!
“Knights a hundred thousand follow’d“This proud monarch of Mizrayim,“In steel armour, with bright weapons“In their terrible Jadayim.
“Lord, thy right hand then extending,“Pharaoh and his host were smitten“In the Red Sea, and were drown’d there“As we drown a common kitten.
“Strike these Capuchins with vigour,“Show the wicked wretches clearly“That the lightnings of thine anger“Are not smoke and bluster merely.
“Then thy triumph’s praise and glory“I will sing and tell of proudly,“And moreover will, like Miriam,“Dance and play the timbrel loudly.”
Then the monk with equal passionAnswer’d thus the furious Rabbi:“Villain, may the Lord destroy thee,“Damnable, accurst, and shabby!
“I can well defy your devils“Whom the Evil One created,“Lucifer and Beelzebub,“Astaroth and Belial hated.
“I can well defy your spirits,“And your hellish tricks unhallow’d,“For in me is Jesus Christ, since“I his body blest have swallow’d.
“Christ my only favourite food is,“Than Leviathan more savoury,“With its boasted garlic white sauce“Cook’d by Satan, full of knavery.
“Ah! instead of thus disputing,“I would sooner roast and bake you“With your comrades on the warmest“Funeral pile, the devil take you!”
Thus for God and faith the tourneyGoes on in confusion utter;But in vain the doughty championsScreech and rail and storm and splutter.
For twelve hours the fight has lasted,Neither side gives signs of tiring,But the public fast grow weary,And the ladies are perspiring.
And the Court, too, grows impatient,Ladies make with yawns suggestions;To the lovely queen the monarchTurns and asks the following questions:
“Tell me, what is your opinion?“Which is right, and which the liar?“Will you give your verdict rather“For the Rabbi or the friar?”
Donna Blanca gazes on him,Thoughtfully her hands she pressesWith closed fingers on her forehead,And the monarch thus addresses:
“Which is right, I cannot tell you,“But I have a shrewd suspicion“That the Rabbi and the monk are“Both in stinking bad condition.”
(1853-4.)
O let thy wounds bleed on, and letThy tears for ever flow unbidden—In sorrow revels secret joy,And a sweet balm in tears is hidden.If strangers’ hand did wound thee not,Thou by thyself must needs be wounded;Thank God with all thy heart, if tearsTo wet thy cheek have e’er abounded.The noise of day is hush’d, and nightIn long dark mantle comes from heaven;While in her arms, nor fool nor doltCan break the rest to soothe thee given.Here thou art safe from music’s noise,And from the piano’s hammer-hammer,From the grand opera’s pompous notes,And the bravura’s fearful clamour.Here thou art not pursued, nor plaguedBy endless crowds of idle smatt’rers;Nor by the genius Giacomo,[85]And all the clique of world-known chatt’rers.O grave, thou art the ParadiseOf ears that shun the rabble’s chorus;Death’s good indeed, yet better ’twereOur loving mothers never bore us.
O let thy wounds bleed on, and letThy tears for ever flow unbidden—In sorrow revels secret joy,And a sweet balm in tears is hidden.If strangers’ hand did wound thee not,Thou by thyself must needs be wounded;Thank God with all thy heart, if tearsTo wet thy cheek have e’er abounded.The noise of day is hush’d, and nightIn long dark mantle comes from heaven;While in her arms, nor fool nor doltCan break the rest to soothe thee given.Here thou art safe from music’s noise,And from the piano’s hammer-hammer,From the grand opera’s pompous notes,And the bravura’s fearful clamour.Here thou art not pursued, nor plaguedBy endless crowds of idle smatt’rers;Nor by the genius Giacomo,[85]And all the clique of world-known chatt’rers.O grave, thou art the ParadiseOf ears that shun the rabble’s chorus;Death’s good indeed, yet better ’twereOur loving mothers never bore us.
O let thy wounds bleed on, and letThy tears for ever flow unbidden—In sorrow revels secret joy,And a sweet balm in tears is hidden.
If strangers’ hand did wound thee not,Thou by thyself must needs be wounded;Thank God with all thy heart, if tearsTo wet thy cheek have e’er abounded.
The noise of day is hush’d, and nightIn long dark mantle comes from heaven;While in her arms, nor fool nor doltCan break the rest to soothe thee given.
Here thou art safe from music’s noise,And from the piano’s hammer-hammer,From the grand opera’s pompous notes,And the bravura’s fearful clamour.
Here thou art not pursued, nor plaguedBy endless crowds of idle smatt’rers;Nor by the genius Giacomo,[85]And all the clique of world-known chatt’rers.
O grave, thou art the ParadiseOf ears that shun the rabble’s chorus;Death’s good indeed, yet better ’twereOur loving mothers never bore us.
The friends whom I kiss’d and caress’d of yoreHave treated me now with cruelty sore;My heart is fast breaking. The sun, though, aboveWith smiles is hailing the sweet month of love.Spring blooms around. In the greenwood is heardThe echoing song of each happy bird,And flowers and girls wear a maidenly smile—O beauteous world, I hate thee the while;Yes, Orcus’ self I wellnigh praise;No contrasts vain torment there our days;For suffering hearts ’tis better below,There where the Stygian night-waters flow.That sad and melancholy stream,And the Stymphalides’ dull scream,The Furies singsong, so harsh and shrill,With Cerberus’ bark the pauses to fill,—These match full well with sorrow and pain.In Proserpine’s accursèd domain,In the region of shadows, the valley of sighs,All with our tears doth harmonize.But here above, like hateful things,The sun and the rose inflict their stings;I’m mock’d by the heavens so May-like and blue—O beauteous world, I hate thee anew!
The friends whom I kiss’d and caress’d of yoreHave treated me now with cruelty sore;My heart is fast breaking. The sun, though, aboveWith smiles is hailing the sweet month of love.Spring blooms around. In the greenwood is heardThe echoing song of each happy bird,And flowers and girls wear a maidenly smile—O beauteous world, I hate thee the while;Yes, Orcus’ self I wellnigh praise;No contrasts vain torment there our days;For suffering hearts ’tis better below,There where the Stygian night-waters flow.That sad and melancholy stream,And the Stymphalides’ dull scream,The Furies singsong, so harsh and shrill,With Cerberus’ bark the pauses to fill,—These match full well with sorrow and pain.In Proserpine’s accursèd domain,In the region of shadows, the valley of sighs,All with our tears doth harmonize.But here above, like hateful things,The sun and the rose inflict their stings;I’m mock’d by the heavens so May-like and blue—O beauteous world, I hate thee anew!
The friends whom I kiss’d and caress’d of yoreHave treated me now with cruelty sore;My heart is fast breaking. The sun, though, aboveWith smiles is hailing the sweet month of love.
Spring blooms around. In the greenwood is heardThe echoing song of each happy bird,And flowers and girls wear a maidenly smile—O beauteous world, I hate thee the while;
Yes, Orcus’ self I wellnigh praise;No contrasts vain torment there our days;For suffering hearts ’tis better below,There where the Stygian night-waters flow.
That sad and melancholy stream,And the Stymphalides’ dull scream,The Furies singsong, so harsh and shrill,With Cerberus’ bark the pauses to fill,—
These match full well with sorrow and pain.In Proserpine’s accursèd domain,In the region of shadows, the valley of sighs,All with our tears doth harmonize.
But here above, like hateful things,The sun and the rose inflict their stings;I’m mock’d by the heavens so May-like and blue—O beauteous world, I hate thee anew!
Poor soul doth to the body say:I’ll never leave thee, but I’ll stayWith thee; yea, I with thee will sinkIn death and night, destruction drink.Thou ever wert my second I,And round me clungest lovingly,As though a dress of satin bright,All lined throughout with ermine white—Alas! I’ve come to nakedness,A mere abstraction, bodiless,Reduced a blessèd nullityIn yon bright realms of light to be,In the cold halls of heaven up yonder,Where the Immortals silent wander,And gape upon me, clatt’ring byIn leaden slippers wearily.’Tis quite intolerable; stay,Stay with me, my dear body, pray.The body to poor soul replied:Cheer up, be not dissatisfied!We peacefully must learn to bearWhat Fate apportions as our share.I was the lamp’s wick; I must nowConsume away; the spirit, thou,Wilt be selected by-and-byTo sparkle as a star on highOf purest radiance. I’m but rags.Mere stuff, like rotten tinder bags,Collapsing fast, and nothing worth,Becoming, what I was, mere earth.Farewell! take comfort, cease complaining;Perchance ’tis far more entertainingIn heaven than now supposed by thee.If thou shouldst e’er the great bear see(Not Meyer-beer[86]) in those bright climes,Greet him from me a thousand times.
Poor soul doth to the body say:I’ll never leave thee, but I’ll stayWith thee; yea, I with thee will sinkIn death and night, destruction drink.Thou ever wert my second I,And round me clungest lovingly,As though a dress of satin bright,All lined throughout with ermine white—Alas! I’ve come to nakedness,A mere abstraction, bodiless,Reduced a blessèd nullityIn yon bright realms of light to be,In the cold halls of heaven up yonder,Where the Immortals silent wander,And gape upon me, clatt’ring byIn leaden slippers wearily.’Tis quite intolerable; stay,Stay with me, my dear body, pray.The body to poor soul replied:Cheer up, be not dissatisfied!We peacefully must learn to bearWhat Fate apportions as our share.I was the lamp’s wick; I must nowConsume away; the spirit, thou,Wilt be selected by-and-byTo sparkle as a star on highOf purest radiance. I’m but rags.Mere stuff, like rotten tinder bags,Collapsing fast, and nothing worth,Becoming, what I was, mere earth.Farewell! take comfort, cease complaining;Perchance ’tis far more entertainingIn heaven than now supposed by thee.If thou shouldst e’er the great bear see(Not Meyer-beer[86]) in those bright climes,Greet him from me a thousand times.
Poor soul doth to the body say:I’ll never leave thee, but I’ll stayWith thee; yea, I with thee will sinkIn death and night, destruction drink.Thou ever wert my second I,And round me clungest lovingly,As though a dress of satin bright,All lined throughout with ermine white—Alas! I’ve come to nakedness,A mere abstraction, bodiless,Reduced a blessèd nullityIn yon bright realms of light to be,In the cold halls of heaven up yonder,Where the Immortals silent wander,And gape upon me, clatt’ring byIn leaden slippers wearily.’Tis quite intolerable; stay,Stay with me, my dear body, pray.
The body to poor soul replied:Cheer up, be not dissatisfied!We peacefully must learn to bearWhat Fate apportions as our share.I was the lamp’s wick; I must nowConsume away; the spirit, thou,Wilt be selected by-and-byTo sparkle as a star on highOf purest radiance. I’m but rags.Mere stuff, like rotten tinder bags,Collapsing fast, and nothing worth,Becoming, what I was, mere earth.
Farewell! take comfort, cease complaining;Perchance ’tis far more entertainingIn heaven than now supposed by thee.If thou shouldst e’er the great bear see(Not Meyer-beer[86]) in those bright climes,Greet him from me a thousand times.
A wicked cat, grown old and gray,That she was a shoemaker chose to say,And put before her window a boardWhere slippers for young maidens were stored;While some were of morocco made,Others of satin were there display’d;Of velvet some, with edges of gold,And figured strings, all gay to behold.But fairest of all exposed to viewWas a pair of slippers of scarlet hue;They gave full many a lass delightWith their gorgeous colours and splendour bright.A young and snow-white noble mouseWho chanced to pass the shoemaker’s houseFirst turn’d to look, and then stood still,And then peep’d over the window sill.At length she said: “Good day, mother cat:“You’ve pretty red slippers, I grant you that.“If they’re not dear, I’m ready to buy,“So tell me the price, if it’s not too high.”“My good young lady,” the cat replied,“Pray do me the favour to step inside,“And honour my house, I venture to pray,“With your gracious presence. Allow me to say“That the fairest maidens come shopping to me,“And duchesses too, of high degree.“The slippers I’m willing full cheap to sell,“Yet let us see if they’ll fit you well.“Pray step inside, and take a seat”—Thus the wily cat did falsely entreat,And the poor white thing in her ignorance thenFell plump in the snare in that murderous den.The little mouse sat down on a chair,And lifted her small leg up in the air,In order to try how the red shoes fitted,A picture of innocent calm to be pitied.When sudden the wicked cat seized her fast,Her murderous talons around her cast,And bit right off her poor little head.“My dear white creature,” the cat then said,“My sweet little mouse, you’re as dead as a rat.“The scarlet red slippers that served me so pat“I’ll kindly place on the top of your tomb,“And when is heard, on the last day of doom,“The sound of the trump, O mouse so white,“From out of your grave you’ll come to light,“Like all the rest, and then you’ll be able“To wear your red slippers.” Here ends my fable.
A wicked cat, grown old and gray,That she was a shoemaker chose to say,And put before her window a boardWhere slippers for young maidens were stored;While some were of morocco made,Others of satin were there display’d;Of velvet some, with edges of gold,And figured strings, all gay to behold.But fairest of all exposed to viewWas a pair of slippers of scarlet hue;They gave full many a lass delightWith their gorgeous colours and splendour bright.A young and snow-white noble mouseWho chanced to pass the shoemaker’s houseFirst turn’d to look, and then stood still,And then peep’d over the window sill.At length she said: “Good day, mother cat:“You’ve pretty red slippers, I grant you that.“If they’re not dear, I’m ready to buy,“So tell me the price, if it’s not too high.”“My good young lady,” the cat replied,“Pray do me the favour to step inside,“And honour my house, I venture to pray,“With your gracious presence. Allow me to say“That the fairest maidens come shopping to me,“And duchesses too, of high degree.“The slippers I’m willing full cheap to sell,“Yet let us see if they’ll fit you well.“Pray step inside, and take a seat”—Thus the wily cat did falsely entreat,And the poor white thing in her ignorance thenFell plump in the snare in that murderous den.The little mouse sat down on a chair,And lifted her small leg up in the air,In order to try how the red shoes fitted,A picture of innocent calm to be pitied.When sudden the wicked cat seized her fast,Her murderous talons around her cast,And bit right off her poor little head.“My dear white creature,” the cat then said,“My sweet little mouse, you’re as dead as a rat.“The scarlet red slippers that served me so pat“I’ll kindly place on the top of your tomb,“And when is heard, on the last day of doom,“The sound of the trump, O mouse so white,“From out of your grave you’ll come to light,“Like all the rest, and then you’ll be able“To wear your red slippers.” Here ends my fable.
A wicked cat, grown old and gray,That she was a shoemaker chose to say,And put before her window a boardWhere slippers for young maidens were stored;While some were of morocco made,Others of satin were there display’d;Of velvet some, with edges of gold,And figured strings, all gay to behold.But fairest of all exposed to viewWas a pair of slippers of scarlet hue;They gave full many a lass delightWith their gorgeous colours and splendour bright.A young and snow-white noble mouseWho chanced to pass the shoemaker’s houseFirst turn’d to look, and then stood still,And then peep’d over the window sill.At length she said: “Good day, mother cat:“You’ve pretty red slippers, I grant you that.“If they’re not dear, I’m ready to buy,“So tell me the price, if it’s not too high.”
“My good young lady,” the cat replied,“Pray do me the favour to step inside,“And honour my house, I venture to pray,“With your gracious presence. Allow me to say“That the fairest maidens come shopping to me,“And duchesses too, of high degree.“The slippers I’m willing full cheap to sell,“Yet let us see if they’ll fit you well.“Pray step inside, and take a seat”—
Thus the wily cat did falsely entreat,And the poor white thing in her ignorance thenFell plump in the snare in that murderous den.The little mouse sat down on a chair,And lifted her small leg up in the air,In order to try how the red shoes fitted,A picture of innocent calm to be pitied.When sudden the wicked cat seized her fast,Her murderous talons around her cast,And bit right off her poor little head.“My dear white creature,” the cat then said,“My sweet little mouse, you’re as dead as a rat.“The scarlet red slippers that served me so pat“I’ll kindly place on the top of your tomb,“And when is heard, on the last day of doom,“The sound of the trump, O mouse so white,“From out of your grave you’ll come to light,“Like all the rest, and then you’ll be able“To wear your red slippers.” Here ends my fable.
Ye little white mice, take care where you go,And don’t be seduced by worldly show;I counsel you sooner barefooted to walk,Than buy slippers of cats, however they talk.
Ye little white mice, take care where you go,And don’t be seduced by worldly show;I counsel you sooner barefooted to walk,Than buy slippers of cats, however they talk.
Ye little white mice, take care where you go,And don’t be seduced by worldly show;I counsel you sooner barefooted to walk,Than buy slippers of cats, however they talk.
I’m summon’d by death. I’d fain, my love,Have left thee behind in a wood to rove,In one of those forests of firs so drear,Where vultures build, and wolves’ howlings we hear,Where the wild sow fearfully grunts evermore,The lawful spouse of the light grey boar.I’m summon’d by death. ’Twere better farIf I, where the stormy billows are,Had had to leave thee, my wife, my child,And straightway the northpole’s tempest wildThe waters had flogg’d, and out of the deepThe hideous monsters that in it sleep,The crocodile fierce and the shark, had comeWith open jaws, and around thee swum.Believe me, my child, Matilda, my wife,That the angry sea, in its wildest strife,And the cruel forest less dangers giveThan the city where we’re now fated to live.Though fearful the wolf and the vulture may be,The shark, and the monsters dread of the sea,Far fiercer, more furious beasts have their birthIn Paris, the capital proud of the earth.Fair Paris, the singing, so gay in her revels,That hell to the angels, that heaven to devils.—That thee I must leave in this dungeon sad,This drives me crazy, this drives me mad.With scornful buzzing around my bedThe black flies come; on my nose and headThey perch themselves—detestable race!Amongst them are some with a human face,And elephants’ trunks (though small in span)Like the god Ganesa in Hindostan.In my brain I hear noises and heavy knocks,It sounds as if they were packing a box,And my reason departs, alas! alas!Ere I myself from this earth can pass.
I’m summon’d by death. I’d fain, my love,Have left thee behind in a wood to rove,In one of those forests of firs so drear,Where vultures build, and wolves’ howlings we hear,Where the wild sow fearfully grunts evermore,The lawful spouse of the light grey boar.I’m summon’d by death. ’Twere better farIf I, where the stormy billows are,Had had to leave thee, my wife, my child,And straightway the northpole’s tempest wildThe waters had flogg’d, and out of the deepThe hideous monsters that in it sleep,The crocodile fierce and the shark, had comeWith open jaws, and around thee swum.Believe me, my child, Matilda, my wife,That the angry sea, in its wildest strife,And the cruel forest less dangers giveThan the city where we’re now fated to live.Though fearful the wolf and the vulture may be,The shark, and the monsters dread of the sea,Far fiercer, more furious beasts have their birthIn Paris, the capital proud of the earth.Fair Paris, the singing, so gay in her revels,That hell to the angels, that heaven to devils.—That thee I must leave in this dungeon sad,This drives me crazy, this drives me mad.With scornful buzzing around my bedThe black flies come; on my nose and headThey perch themselves—detestable race!Amongst them are some with a human face,And elephants’ trunks (though small in span)Like the god Ganesa in Hindostan.In my brain I hear noises and heavy knocks,It sounds as if they were packing a box,And my reason departs, alas! alas!Ere I myself from this earth can pass.
I’m summon’d by death. I’d fain, my love,Have left thee behind in a wood to rove,In one of those forests of firs so drear,Where vultures build, and wolves’ howlings we hear,Where the wild sow fearfully grunts evermore,The lawful spouse of the light grey boar.
I’m summon’d by death. ’Twere better farIf I, where the stormy billows are,Had had to leave thee, my wife, my child,And straightway the northpole’s tempest wildThe waters had flogg’d, and out of the deepThe hideous monsters that in it sleep,The crocodile fierce and the shark, had comeWith open jaws, and around thee swum.Believe me, my child, Matilda, my wife,That the angry sea, in its wildest strife,And the cruel forest less dangers giveThan the city where we’re now fated to live.Though fearful the wolf and the vulture may be,The shark, and the monsters dread of the sea,Far fiercer, more furious beasts have their birthIn Paris, the capital proud of the earth.Fair Paris, the singing, so gay in her revels,That hell to the angels, that heaven to devils.—That thee I must leave in this dungeon sad,This drives me crazy, this drives me mad.
With scornful buzzing around my bedThe black flies come; on my nose and headThey perch themselves—detestable race!Amongst them are some with a human face,And elephants’ trunks (though small in span)Like the god Ganesa in Hindostan.In my brain I hear noises and heavy knocks,It sounds as if they were packing a box,And my reason departs, alas! alas!Ere I myself from this earth can pass.
The supercargo Mynher Van KoekIn his cabin sits adding his figures;He calculates his cargo’s amount,And the probable gain from his niggers.“My gum and pepper are good: the stock“Is three hundred chests of all sizes;“I’ve gold dust and ivory too in store,“But the black ware by far the best prize is.“Six hundred niggers I bought dirt-cheap“Where the Senegal river is flowing;“Their flesh is firm, and their sinews tough“As the finest iron going.“I got them by barter, and gave in exchange“Glass beads, steel goods, and some brandy;“I shall make at least eight hundred per cent.“With but half of them living and handy.“If only three hundred niggers are left,“When I get to Rio Janeiro,“I shall have a hundred ducats a head“From the house of Gonzales Perreiro.”—Here all of a sudden Mynher Van KoekWas disturb’d in his meditation,For Doctor Van Smissen enter’d in,The vessel’s surgeon by station.His figure was just as thin as a lath,And his nose had warts all over;“Well, worthy Doctor,” exclaim’d Van Koek,“Are my niggers still living in clover?”The Doctor thank’d him, and said in reply:“I’ve come with a tale of disaster;“Throughout the night, I’m sorry to say,“The deaths have grown faster and faster.“The average daily number is two,“But to-day just seven have died, Sir,—“Four men and three women; I wrote the loss“At once in the log as my guide, Sir.“I closely inspected every corpse,“For these rascals have often a notion“To feign themselves dead, in hopes that they“May be thrown away into the ocean.“I took the irons from off the dead,“And according to usual custom“Next morning early into the sea“I bid the sailors thrust ’em.“At once the sharks from out of the waves“Shot up in countless legions;“They love full dearly the niggers’ flesh,“My boarders are they in these regions.“They have follow’d after the track of the ship,“Since we’ve left the land in the distance;“The creatures smell the scent of a corpse“With ravenous snuffling persistence.“In truth ’tis a capital joke to see“How after the bodies they follow;“One takes the head, another a leg,“While the rest the fragments swallow.“Then round the ship contented they roll,“When they’ve finished their eating and crunching“And stare in my face, as if they sought“To thank me for their luncheon.”—Then spake Van Koek, as he sadly sigh’d,When the Doctor his story had finish’d:“How to lessen the evil? In what way best“Can the rate of the deaths be diminish’d?”The Doctor replied: “Many niggers have died“By their own misconduct stealthy;“Their breath’s so bad, that it poisons the air“In the ship, and makes it unhealthy.“Through lowness of spirits, too, many have died,“And ennui, in this dreary stillness;“I think that air and music and dance“Would soon remove their illness.”—Then cried Van Koek: “An excellent plan!“Dear Doctor, I utter no slander,“When I say that like Aristotle you’re wise,“The tutor of Alexander.“The Tulip-improvement Society’s head“In the town of Delft may be clever,“But he hasn’t one half of your brains, I’m sure,—“Your equal I’ve met with never.“Then, music, music! The niggers all“On the deck I’ll see dancing and kicking,“And whosoever won’t join in the fun“Shall receive in reward a good licking.”
The supercargo Mynher Van KoekIn his cabin sits adding his figures;He calculates his cargo’s amount,And the probable gain from his niggers.“My gum and pepper are good: the stock“Is three hundred chests of all sizes;“I’ve gold dust and ivory too in store,“But the black ware by far the best prize is.“Six hundred niggers I bought dirt-cheap“Where the Senegal river is flowing;“Their flesh is firm, and their sinews tough“As the finest iron going.“I got them by barter, and gave in exchange“Glass beads, steel goods, and some brandy;“I shall make at least eight hundred per cent.“With but half of them living and handy.“If only three hundred niggers are left,“When I get to Rio Janeiro,“I shall have a hundred ducats a head“From the house of Gonzales Perreiro.”—Here all of a sudden Mynher Van KoekWas disturb’d in his meditation,For Doctor Van Smissen enter’d in,The vessel’s surgeon by station.His figure was just as thin as a lath,And his nose had warts all over;“Well, worthy Doctor,” exclaim’d Van Koek,“Are my niggers still living in clover?”The Doctor thank’d him, and said in reply:“I’ve come with a tale of disaster;“Throughout the night, I’m sorry to say,“The deaths have grown faster and faster.“The average daily number is two,“But to-day just seven have died, Sir,—“Four men and three women; I wrote the loss“At once in the log as my guide, Sir.“I closely inspected every corpse,“For these rascals have often a notion“To feign themselves dead, in hopes that they“May be thrown away into the ocean.“I took the irons from off the dead,“And according to usual custom“Next morning early into the sea“I bid the sailors thrust ’em.“At once the sharks from out of the waves“Shot up in countless legions;“They love full dearly the niggers’ flesh,“My boarders are they in these regions.“They have follow’d after the track of the ship,“Since we’ve left the land in the distance;“The creatures smell the scent of a corpse“With ravenous snuffling persistence.“In truth ’tis a capital joke to see“How after the bodies they follow;“One takes the head, another a leg,“While the rest the fragments swallow.“Then round the ship contented they roll,“When they’ve finished their eating and crunching“And stare in my face, as if they sought“To thank me for their luncheon.”—Then spake Van Koek, as he sadly sigh’d,When the Doctor his story had finish’d:“How to lessen the evil? In what way best“Can the rate of the deaths be diminish’d?”The Doctor replied: “Many niggers have died“By their own misconduct stealthy;“Their breath’s so bad, that it poisons the air“In the ship, and makes it unhealthy.“Through lowness of spirits, too, many have died,“And ennui, in this dreary stillness;“I think that air and music and dance“Would soon remove their illness.”—Then cried Van Koek: “An excellent plan!“Dear Doctor, I utter no slander,“When I say that like Aristotle you’re wise,“The tutor of Alexander.“The Tulip-improvement Society’s head“In the town of Delft may be clever,“But he hasn’t one half of your brains, I’m sure,—“Your equal I’ve met with never.“Then, music, music! The niggers all“On the deck I’ll see dancing and kicking,“And whosoever won’t join in the fun“Shall receive in reward a good licking.”
The supercargo Mynher Van KoekIn his cabin sits adding his figures;He calculates his cargo’s amount,And the probable gain from his niggers.
“My gum and pepper are good: the stock“Is three hundred chests of all sizes;“I’ve gold dust and ivory too in store,“But the black ware by far the best prize is.
“Six hundred niggers I bought dirt-cheap“Where the Senegal river is flowing;“Their flesh is firm, and their sinews tough“As the finest iron going.
“I got them by barter, and gave in exchange“Glass beads, steel goods, and some brandy;“I shall make at least eight hundred per cent.“With but half of them living and handy.
“If only three hundred niggers are left,“When I get to Rio Janeiro,“I shall have a hundred ducats a head“From the house of Gonzales Perreiro.”—
Here all of a sudden Mynher Van KoekWas disturb’d in his meditation,For Doctor Van Smissen enter’d in,The vessel’s surgeon by station.
His figure was just as thin as a lath,And his nose had warts all over;“Well, worthy Doctor,” exclaim’d Van Koek,“Are my niggers still living in clover?”
The Doctor thank’d him, and said in reply:“I’ve come with a tale of disaster;“Throughout the night, I’m sorry to say,“The deaths have grown faster and faster.
“The average daily number is two,“But to-day just seven have died, Sir,—“Four men and three women; I wrote the loss“At once in the log as my guide, Sir.
“I closely inspected every corpse,“For these rascals have often a notion“To feign themselves dead, in hopes that they“May be thrown away into the ocean.
“I took the irons from off the dead,“And according to usual custom“Next morning early into the sea“I bid the sailors thrust ’em.
“At once the sharks from out of the waves“Shot up in countless legions;“They love full dearly the niggers’ flesh,“My boarders are they in these regions.
“They have follow’d after the track of the ship,“Since we’ve left the land in the distance;“The creatures smell the scent of a corpse“With ravenous snuffling persistence.
“In truth ’tis a capital joke to see“How after the bodies they follow;“One takes the head, another a leg,“While the rest the fragments swallow.
“Then round the ship contented they roll,“When they’ve finished their eating and crunching“And stare in my face, as if they sought“To thank me for their luncheon.”—
Then spake Van Koek, as he sadly sigh’d,When the Doctor his story had finish’d:“How to lessen the evil? In what way best“Can the rate of the deaths be diminish’d?”
The Doctor replied: “Many niggers have died“By their own misconduct stealthy;“Their breath’s so bad, that it poisons the air“In the ship, and makes it unhealthy.
“Through lowness of spirits, too, many have died,“And ennui, in this dreary stillness;“I think that air and music and dance“Would soon remove their illness.”—
Then cried Van Koek: “An excellent plan!“Dear Doctor, I utter no slander,“When I say that like Aristotle you’re wise,“The tutor of Alexander.
“The Tulip-improvement Society’s head“In the town of Delft may be clever,“But he hasn’t one half of your brains, I’m sure,—“Your equal I’ve met with never.
“Then, music, music! The niggers all“On the deck I’ll see dancing and kicking,“And whosoever won’t join in the fun“Shall receive in reward a good licking.”