Part 10 (1/2)
Then he arraigns Rome herself, ”the great people who is mistress of three-quarters of the earth, the terror of the world, whose triumph can know no limit now that she has carried off the victory over a people destined to perish, whose territory can be covered in a five hours'
march”. And finally his Jewish heart is revolted by ”the n.o.ble matrons followed by their servants, whose tender soul is about to take delight in the b.l.o.o.d.y sights of the arena”.
_Bi-Mezulot Yam_ (”In the Depths of the Sea”) revives a terrible episode of the exodus of the Jews from Spain (1492). The refugees embarked on pirate vessels, where they were exploited pitilessly. The cupidity of the corsairs is insatiable. After despoiling the Jews of all they own, they sell them as slaves or cast them into the water. This is the lot that threatens to overtake a group of exiles on a certain s.h.i.+p.
But the captain falls in love with the daughter of a Rabbi, a maiden of rare beauty. To rescue her companions, she pretends to yield to the solicitations of the captain, who promises to land the pa.s.sengers safe and sound on the coast. He keeps his word, but the girl and her mother must stay with him. At a distance from the coast, the two women, with prayers to G.o.d upon their lips, throw themselves into the sea, to save the girl from having to surrender herself to the desires of the corsair.
It is one of the most beautiful of Gordon's poems. Indignation and grief inspire such words as these:
”The daughter of Jacob is banished from every foot of Spanish soil. Portugal also has thrust her out. Europe turns her back upon the unfortunates. She grants them only the grave, martyrdom, h.e.l.l. Their bones are strewn upon the rocks of Africa. Their blood floods the sh.o.r.es of Asia.... And the Judge of the world appeareth not! And the tears of the oppressed are not avenged!”
What revolts the poet above all is the thought that the downtrodden victims will never have their revenge--all the crimes against them will go unpunished:
”Never, O Israel, wilt thou be avenged! Power is with thy oppressors. What they desire they accomplish, what they do, prospereth.... Spain--did her vessels not set forth and discover the New World, the day thou wast driven out a fugitive and outlaw? And Portugal, did she not find the way to the Indies? And in that far-off country, too, she ruined the land that welcomed thy refugees. Yea, Spain and Portugal stand una.s.sailed!”
But if vengeance is withheld from the Jews, implacable hatred takes possession of all hearts, and never will it be appeased.
”Enjoin it upon your children until the end of days. Adjure your descendants, the great and the little, never to return to the land of Spain, reddened with your blood, never again to set foot upon the Pyrenean peninsula!”
The despair, the grief of the poet are concentrated in the last stanzas, telling how the maiden and her mother throw themselves into the water:
”Only the Eye of the World, silently looking through the clouds, the eye that witnesseth the end of all things, views the ruin of these thousands of beings, and it sheds not a single tear.”
His last historical poem, ”King Zedekiah in Prison”, dates from the period when the poet's skepticism was a confirmed temper of mind.
According to Gordon, the ruin of the Jewish State was brought about by the weight given to moral as compared with political considerations. He no longer contents himself with attacking Rabbinism, he goes back to the very principles of the Judaism of the prophets. These are the ideas which he puts into the mouth of the King of Judah, the captive of Nebuchadnezzar. He makes him the advocate of the claims of political power as against the moralist pretensions of the prophets.
The king pa.s.ses all his misfortunes in review, and he asks himself to what cause they are attributable.
”Because I did not submit to the will of Jeremiah? But what was it that the priest of Anathoth required of me to do?”
No, the king cannot concede that ”the City would still be standing if her inhabitants had not borne burdens on the Sabbath day”.
The prophet proclaims the rule of the letter and of the Law, supreme over work and war, but can a people of dreamers and visionaries exist a single day?
The king does not stop at such rebellious thoughts. He remembers all too well the story of Saul and Samuel--how the king was castigated for having resisted the whims of the prophets.
”Thus the seers and prophets have always sought to crush the kings in Israel”, he maintains.
”Alas! I see that the words of the son of Hilkiah will be fulfilled without fail. The Law will stand, the kingdom will be ruined. The book, the word--they will succeed to the royal sceptre. I foresee a whole people of scholars and teachers, degenerate folk and feeble.”
This amazing view, so disconcerting to the prophet-people, Gordon held to the very end. And seeing that the Law had killed the nation, and a cruel fatality dogged the footsteps of the people of the Book, would it not be best to free the individuals from the chains of the faith and liberate the ma.s.ses from the minute religious ceremonial that has obstructed their path to life? This was the task Gordon set himself for the rest of his days.
In a poem inscribed to Smolenskin, the editor of _Ha-Shahar_ (”Daybreak”), on the occasion of the periodical's resuming publication after an interval, the poet poured forth his afflicted soul, and pointed out the aim he had decided to pursue:
”Once upon a time I sang of love, too, and pleasure, and friends.h.i.+p; I announced the advent of days of joy, liberty, and hope. The strings of my lyre thrilled with emotion....
”But yonder comes _Ha-Shahar_ again, and I shall attune my harp to hail the break of day.
”Alas, I am no more the same, I know not how to sing, I waken naught but grief. Disquieting dreams trouble my nights. They show me my people face to face.... They show me my people in all its abas.e.m.e.nt, with all its unprobed wounds. They reveal to me the iniquity that is the source of all its ills.
”I see its leaders go astray, and its teachers deceiving it. My heart bleeds with grief. The strings of my lyre groan, my song is a lament.
”Since that day I sing no more of joy and solace; I hope no more for the light, I wait no more for liberty. I sing only of bitter days, I foretell everlasting slavery, degradation, and no end.