The Book of Delight, and other papers — A Reader’s Guide
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This digital edition of The Book of Delight, and other papers — A Reader’s Guide is described by source-level measurements including 73,083 words, 5 hr 18 min estimated reading time, and 6 detected text sections.
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Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Ibn Zabara, Joseph ben Meir, 1140?- Sefer sha'ashu'im,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.
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Read the Text
krish was a travelling bookseller, who printed interesting little books, and hawked them about. Dr. Steinschneider points out that the date of Isaac Akrish's edition can be approximately fixed by the type. The type is that of the Jaabez Press, established in Constantinople and Salonica in 1560. This Constantinople edition is not only longer than the Paris edition, it is, on the whole, more accurate. The verbal variations between the two editions are extremely numerous, but the greater accuracy of the Constantinople edition shows itself in many ways. The rhymes are much better preserved, though the Paris edition is occasionally superior in this respect. But many passages that are quite unintelligible in the Paris edition are clear enough in the Constantinople edition.
The gigantic visitor of Joseph, the narrator, the latter undoubtedly the author himself, is a strange being. Like the guide of Gil Bias on his adventures, he is called a demon, and he glares and emits smoke and fire. But he proves amenable to argument, and quotes the story of the washerwoman, to show how it was that he became a reformed character. This devil quotes the Rabbis, and is easily convinced that it is unwise for him to wed an ignorant bride. It would seem as though Zabara were, on the one hand, hurling a covert attack against some one who had advised him to leave Barcelona to his own hurt, while, on the other hand, he is satirizing the current beliefs of Jews and Christians in evil spirits. More than one passage is decidedly anti-Christian, and it would not be surprising to find that the framework of the romance had been adopted with polemic intention.
The character of the framework becomes more interesting when it is realized that Zabara derived it from some version of the legends of which King Solomon is the hero. The king had various adventures with a being more or less demoniac in character, who bears several names: Asmodeus, Saturn, Marcolf, or Morolf. That the model for Zabara's visitor was Solomon's interlocutor, is not open to doubt. The Solomon legend occurs in many forms, but in all Marcolf (or whatever other name he bears) is a keen contester with the king in a battle of wits. No doubt, at first Marcolf filled a serious, respectable rôle; in course of time, his character degenerated into that of a clown or buffoon. It is difficult to summarize the legend, it varies so considerably in the versions. Marcolf in the best-known forms, which are certainly older than Zabara, is "right rude and great of body, of visage greatly misshapen and foul." Sometimes he is a dwarf, sometimes a giant; he is never normal. He appears with his counterpart, a sluttish wife, before Solomon, who, recognizing him as famous for his wit and wisdom, challenges him to a trial of wisdom, promising great rewards as the prize of victory. The two exchange a series of questions and answers, which may be compared in spirit, though not in actual content, with the questions and answers to be found in Zabara. Marcolf succeeds in thoroughly tiring out the king, and though the courtiers are for driving Marcolf off with scant courtesy, the king interposes, fulfils his promise, and dismisses his adversary with gifts. Marcolf leaves the court, according to one version, with the noble remark, _Ubi non est lex, ibi non est rex_.
This does not exhaust the story, however. In another part of the legend, to which, again, Zabara offers parallels, Solomon, being out hunting, comes suddenly on Marcolf's hut, and, calling upon him, receives a number of riddling answers, which completely foil him, and tor the solution of which he is compelled to have recourse to the proposer. He departs, however, in good humor, desiring Marcolf to come to court the next day and bring a pail of fresh milk and curds from the cow. Marcolf fails, and the king condemns him to sit up all night in his company, threatening him with death in the morning, should he fall asleep. This, of course, Marcolf does immediately, and he snores aloud. Solomon asks, "Sleepest thou?"--And Marcolf replies, "No, I think."--"What thinkest thou?"--"That there are as many vertebrae in the hare's tail as in his backbone."--The king, assured that he has now entrapped his adversary, replies: "If thou provest not this, thou diest in the morning!" Over and over again Marcolf snores, and is awakened by Solomon, but he is always _thinking_. He gives various answers during the night: There are as many white feathers as black in the magpie.--There is nothing whiter than daylight, daylight is whiter than milk.--Nothing can be safely entrusted to a woman.--Nature is stronger than education.
Israel Abrahams opens this collection by positioning Joseph Zabara's Book of Delight (circa 1200) as a hybrid work—part poetical romance, part folkloric treasury. He describes it as a 'golden link between folk-literature and imaginative poetry,' noting that Zabara's style is original yet his anecdotes are 'adapted rather than invented.' This tension between originality and adaptation runs through the volume, as Abrahams repeatedly traces borrowed motifs across cultures.
The preface reveals that these chapters began as spoken addresses, preserved in their oral character. Abrahams acknowledges the book's limited 'permanent value,' aiming instead for 'passing entertainment.' This modesty belies the scholarly range on display: from Hebrew love songs to medieval wayfaring, the essays weave together literary criticism, folklore, and cultural history.
The Fox Without a Heart: A Fable's Migrations
Abrahams devotes considerable attention to the fable of the fox's heart, which appears in Zabara's work. In the Hebrew version, a fox tricks fishes into believing he left his heart at home, escaping their plot to feed him to Leviathan. Abrahams immediately notes a structural flaw: the fishes claim Leviathan is ill, but the fox's trick relies on a different premise. He suspects the Hebrew fable was 'pieced together from various sources.'
He then supplies a parallel from Benfey's Pantschatantra, where a crocodile's wife desires a monkey's heart for its ambrosial properties. This version, Abrahams argues, offers a 'more probable motive' than the Hebrew story's vague illness. The comparison highlights his method: juxtaposing variants to expose seams in the narrative fabric. He also cites a Responsa case where a woman claims to have found a cock without a heart—a literal-minded echo of the metaphorical 'heartless fool' in Proverbs.
Orality and Adaptation in Medieval Jewish Letters
Abrahams repeatedly emphasizes that his chapters were 'spoken addresses' and that converting them into 'formal essays' would rob them of 'any little attraction they may possess.' This commitment to oral style shapes the volume's tone: direct, anecdotal, and lightly scholarly. He notes that one address, 'Medieval Wayfaring,' was originally delivered in Hebrew in Jerusalem, then published in part in the London Jewish Chronicle.
The essays balance popular accessibility with erudition. Abrahams supplies notes 'only where absolutely necessary,' appending a few at the end. He describes Zabara's work as similar to the 'Book of Sindbad' and Kalilah ve-Dimnah, yet notes its European appearance 'half a century' before other such compilations. This attention to chronology and transmission reflects a broader interest in how stories travel across languages and cultures.
Curiosities and the Texture of Jewish Intellectual Life
The final section, 'A Handful of Curiosities,' gathers eight short pieces on topics ranging from George Eliot and Solomon Maimon to 'The Shape of Matzoth.' These vignettes exemplify Abrahams's method: each treats a specific, often overlooked detail—Milton's Hebrew pronunciation, the Cambridge Platonists, a lost Purim joy—as a window into broader cultural patterns.
For instance, the note on 'Jews and Letters' likely explores literacy and correspondence, while 'The Mystics and Saints of India' suggests comparative religion. The inclusion of 'The Anglo-Jewish Yiddish Literary Society' hints at contemporary communal dynamics. Abrahams does not claim these curiosities are exhaustive; rather, they function as 'a handful,' inviting readers to see Jewish intellectual history as a mosaic of small, telling fragments.
Readers approaching this collection should expect a meandering, conversational style that rewards attention to detail. Abrahams's strength lies in his ability to pivot from a medieval fable to a modern legal case without losing coherence. The book does not offer a unified thesis; instead, it models a method of comparative reading that values adaptation over originality. For those interested in folklore transmission, medieval Hebrew literature, or the texture of Jewish intellectual life, these papers provide a series of entry points rather than a comprehensive survey.
Reading about the fox’s heart in Abrahams’s gentle scholarship, I thought of another kind of seeking—not for wisdom in a fable, but for steadiness in a public life. The way he lingers over old songs reminds me of how, sometimes, we look for quiet in documents of duty. There is a similar patience in A Compilation of the Messages and Papers of the Presidents. Volume 8, part 2: Grover Cleveland — Context and Discussion, like finding a still corner in a room full of noise.
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