Senses and Perceptions of the Disabled in Early Modern Yiddish Literature

Introduction

Modern taxonomies of illnesses and disabilities do not reflect early modern ideas about physical and mental difference. In modern thought, disability or illness is always understood in terms of a norm, deviations from that norm, and medical treatment. In the early modern period, the disabled are their own order of creation, almost another species. Far from being pathologized, disabled people were widely considered miraculous and potentially oracular. The pre-modern view sees a radical discontinuity between disabled and able-bodied people. Illnesses, on the other hand, were already seen as treatable—be it by diet, say, or exorcism. These different ideas about disability are reflected in Old Yiddish literature, which includes stories about monstrous births, demonic possession, miraculous healings, prophetic proclamations, and insights of great wisdom. 

Revelations on the part of disabled characters are featured in two Old Yiddish stories from the late 16th-early 17th century presented here. Both stories question senses and perceptions of able-bodied people and illustrate the common European proverb “children and fools speak the truth.”

The first example is taken from a collection of stories about the jester Ayleshpigel (Dyl Ulenspiegel or Till Eulenspiegel famous in German and ultimately world literature), from a multi-work Yiddish manuscript held in the Bavarian State Library and compiled by the scribe Benjamin b. Joseph Merks of Tannhausen around 1600. It presents a Yiddish translation that follows its German source text very closely. First recorded in the Pfaffe Amis (mid-13th century), a collection of satirical tales whose author is known as Der Stricker, this is the story of a painter who produces what he claims is an artwork that people born out of wedlock cannot see, was widely spread in European literature of the Middle Ages and the early modern period.

The second story is from the Old Yiddish Mayse-bukh, a collection of 255 stories first printed in Basel in 1602, with various identifiable Jewish and non-Jewish sources. For this story, however, there is no known source.

Bibliography

Daston, Lorraine, and Katharine Park. Wonders and the Order of Nature, 1150–1750. New York: Zone Books, 1998.

Ma’aseh Book: Book of Jewish Tales and Legends, translated from the Judeo-German by Moses Gaster. 2 vol. Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America 1934.

Metzler, Irina, Fools and Idiots?: Intellectual Disability in the Middle Ages. Manchester: Manchester University Press 2016.

Till Eulenspiegel: His Adventures, edited and translated by Paul Oppenheimer, xxi–xcv. New York: Routledge, 2001.

Shoham-Steiner, Ephraim, On the Margins of a Minority: Leprosy, Madness, and Disability Among the Jews of Medieval Europe. Detroit : Wayne State University Press, 2014.

Un beau livre d’histoires: Eyn shön mayse bukh; Facsimilé de l’editio princeps de Bâle (1602). Edited, introduced, and translated by Astrid Starck-Adler. 2 vol. Basel: Schwabe Verlag, 2004.

Waldschmidt, Anne, “Disability Goes Cultural: The Cultural Model of Disability as an Analytical Tool.” In Culture – Theory – Disability: Encounters between Disability Studies and Cultural Studies, edited by Anne Waldschmidt, Hanjo Berressem, and Moritz Ingwersen. Bielefeld: transcript Verlag 2017, 19-27.

Source 1 Translation

Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, cod. hebr. 100, fol. 147r-148v.

Translated by Ruth von Bernuth from the Yiddish manuscript with reference to Paul Oppenheimer’s translation of the German Ein kurtzweilig lesen von Dyl Ulenspiegel. Straßburg 1515.

The twenty-seventh story 

How Ayleshpigel painted the Landgrave of Hesse and persuaded him that whoever was illegitimate could not see it

Ayleshpigel performed amazing things in the country of Hesse. When he had roamed the country of Saxony through and through, he was so well-known, that was no longer quite able to get away with his mischief-making. Then he moved into the country of Hesse and arrived in Marburg at the Landgrave’s [court].

He was asked what he could do. He replied and said, “I am an artist.” This pleased the Landgrave. He thought he could do alchemy, because the Landgrave concerned himself quite deeply with alchemy. He asked whether he was an alchemist. Ayleshpigel said, “No, gracious Lord, I am a painter—one whose equal will not be found in many countries. For my work far exceeds the work of others.” 

The Landgrave said, “Let’s see something.”Ayleshpigel said, “Yes, gracious Lord.” He had with him various artful paintings, which he had bought in Flanders. He pulled these out of his sack and showed them to the Landgrave. The Lord certainly liked them, and said to him, “Dear master, how much would you charge for painting our hall—showing the origins of the Landgrave of Hesse and how he initiated the friendship with the King of Hungary, and other Princes and Lords, and how long all this has lasted? And we would like to have this done as sumptuously as possible.” Ayleshpigel replied, “Gracious Lord, if Your Grace were to let me do it, it would probably cost four hundred guilders.” The Landgrave said, “Master, just do it well. We plan to pay you well for it.”

Ayleshpigel took the job on, but the Landgrave had to give him hundred guilders right away, so he could buy paints and hire assistants. But when Ayleshpigel, with three assistants, was ready to start his work, he demanded to allow no one other than his assistants into the hall while he was working that he was not disturbed. The Landgrave promised him this.

Ayleshpigel next came to an agreement with his assistants. He ordered them to say nothing and let him take care of everything. They were not to work and they would receive their pay. Their greatest labor would consist of playing board games. They were pleased that they were to earn money for sitting idle.

All this went on for one or four weeks—till the Landgrave desired to see what the master and his cronies might be painting, and whether it would really be as good as the sample. And he spoke to Ayleshpigel, “Ah, dear master, we very much desire to see your work. We demand to go into the hall with you to view your painting.”

Ayleshpigel said to him, “Yes, gracious Lord. But I’ve got to tell Your Grace one thing. Whoever enters with Your Grace and views the painting—if he is not of legitimate birth, he won’t be able to see my painting.” The Landgrave said, “Master, this would be a big deal.” 

As they spoke, they were walking into the hall. Ayleshpigel had spread a long linen cloth across the wall where he was supposed to have been painting. And he drew this back a little. He pointed at the wall with a small white stick, and began to speak. “Look here, this man—he was the first Landgrave of Hesse and a pillar of Rome. He had as his princess and Lady mild Justinian’s daughter, a Duchess of Bavaria. He afterwards became Kaiser. Look here, gracious Lord. Adolfus was born of him. Adolfus sired Vilhelem the Black. Vilhelem sired Ludvig the Pious—and so on, to Your Princely Grace. Indeed, I know this much: no one can censure my work, so artistic it is and of such beautiful colors.” The Landgrave saw nothing other than the white wall and thought to himself, “I can see mothing except a white wall, even if that makes me the son of a whore for sure.” Nonetheless he said, wishing to be moderate, “Dear master, we are well satisfied—but we aren’t sophisticated enough to judge.” With that, he left the hall.

When the Landgrave came to his Princess, she asked him, “Ah, gracious Lord, what is your free master? You’ve seen it. How do you like his work? I have but little faith in it. He looks like a rogue.” The Prince said, “Dear Lady, I certainly like his work. You do him an injustice.” “Gracious Lord,” she said, “should we not also view it?” “Yes, with the master’s permission,” said the Lord.

She had brought Ayleshpigel to her, and requested that she might see the painting too. Ayleshpigel told her what he had told the Prince: whoever was illegitimate would not be able to see his painting. Then she, along with eight maids and a female court fool, went into the hall. Ayleshpigel now drew back the cloth, as before, and told the Countess too about the origin of the Landgraves, one section after the other. But the Princess and her maids remained silent. No one praised or condemned the painting. And several regretted that they were born out of wedlock, either on their father’s or mother’s side. But finally the female court fool spoke and said, “Dear master, I don’t see any painting, even if that makes me the daughter of a whore for the rest of my life.”

Ayleshpigel thought, “This isn’t good at all. [If fools] are telling the truth, then I, in truth, must leave.” And he turned it into a laughing matter. 

Then the Princess returned to her Lord, and he asked her whether she liked the painting. She answered and said, “Gracious Lord, I like it as much as Your Grace. But our fool didn’t like it. She also says she doesn’t see any painting at all. Our maids say the same.” She was worried there was knavery in this business.

The Prince took it to heart. Even though he had been tricked, he had Ayleshpigel informed that he should make ready his work that everyone at court might see his work. The Prince said he wished to find out who among his noblemen might be born in wedlock and which were not, for he would retrieve all the fiefs.

And dismissed him.¹ Then he charged the steward another hundred guilders, and got them. Then he left at once.

The next day the Prince inquired after his painter—he was gone. Whereupon the Prince, with all the people of his court, went the next day into the hall to discover whether anyone could see the painting. But no one could say he saw anything and as they all remained silent, the Landgrave said, “We see well that we have been tricked. I never wanted to be troubled with Ayleshpigel. He came to us anyhow. We can forget easily enough about the two hundred guilders, though. You can’t stop him from being the rogue that he is. For that reason he has to stay out of our realm.”

But Ayleshpigel was gone from Marburg and had no wish to engage in any more painting.

Source 2 Translation

Eyn shoyn mayse bukh. Basel 1602, fol. 158r-159r.

Translated from the original (Basel, 1602) with reference to Moses Gaster’s free adaptation

Story no. 212

[Regarding a man who apostasized but in the end had great regrets]

This is the story of a man who repeatedly repudiated the Holy One Blessed Be He, until finally he regretted it. Then he asked himself, “How can I atone for my sins? Shall I do penance by fasting? I cannot do that, for I have never been accustomed to much fasting. He thought, “I will go and sanctify God’s name. This is the best penitence I can do.”

Then he went to a place where a prince-bishop had his seat, which bishop was especially zealous for the faith. When he arrived, he went to the palace and said to the mighty prince, “What does one deserve for making counterfeit money?” The prince replied: “He deserves to burn at the stake.” The Jew said, “Then I deserve that punishment, for I have made counterfeit coins.” He was immediately arrested, and the prince asked him what he meant by bringing such charges against himself. He replied that it was true: he had made counterfeit money, for once he had believed in the Almighty God [of the Jews], but now he had turned away from Him. When the bishop heard this, he was mortified that the man had reviled his idol [the Christian God], and he ordered him to be tortured severely, so that he should recant. But he stayed adamant. The bishop was now afraid that the Jew might [continue to] blaspheme and wanted him killed quickly. He ordered a pillar of iron, with an iron chain attached to it, to be placed in an open field, and he had a proclamation made throughout the entire country that whoever wished to see a Jew roast alive should come on a particular day to this place and he would see it.

When the day announced by the bishop came, all the people of the country assembled. A fire was made around the pillar. The Jew was tied by the chain to the pillar and was promenaded around. Slowly, he was driven round and the iron pillar until he was almost roasted. This was done to make his death a harsh one, in the hope that he might recant. When the executioner saw what a horrific death it was, he walked away and refused to execute the sentence, for he was afraid of [deserving thereby] such a horrible death himself.

The bishop, seeing that his executioner did not want to execute the sentence, rose from his seat and said, “I will carry out the sentence myself for the sake of my faith.” He drove him around the pillar in the fire with the iron chain until the fat ran down his body. But he persisted to sanctify God’s name. The bishop drew this out for three days, because he wanted to inflict [a maximum of] pain before he died. Periodically he stopped and asked if he would renounce his faith and be set free. But the Jew cried out every time, “No.” So he continued until he was almost dead. Then the man said to the bishop, “Listen, bishop, before eight days have passed I will judge you as you are judging me, and everyone will see it.” Then he shouted, “Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one,” and, during the “one,” his soul left him and he was completely burned to powder.

Then the bishop ordered a banquet for the people of the country and gave them plenty of wine to drink for the strengthening of their faith. As they were sitting at the table, the bishop began to laugh. His counselors asked him, “Your Grace, why are you laughing?” The bishop said, “Why should I not laugh? The foolish Jew whom I have judged said to me that before eight days pass he would also judge me. That is why I am laughing.” At the bishop’s table sat a counselor who was a dwarf, and he said, “Gracious Prince and Lord, if I had been here at the time, I would have not advised you thus. I cannot say more.” They went on eating and drinking. Suddenly the bishop began to cry, “Woe is me! I feel so hot.” He was carried into a cool cellar, but it did not help. Then the little dwarf said to him, “The Jew told you the honest truth, for I will show you that the Jew is judging you as you judged him.” And the little dwarf made everybody see that the Jew was judging the bishop just as he had judged him and that he was making him writhe [as if] around a pillar. And everybody could see the revenge clearly. Thereupon, the dwarf disappeared, no one knows where!