Two Tales: Betrothed & Edo and Enam Page 12

  Yisrael Aharoni

  41. Sanin / 1907 Russian novel by Mikhail Petrovich Artsybashev (1878–1927); censored for its scandalous erotic and revolutionary content, making it particularly popular with young readers.

  43. Otto Weininger and his book Sex and Character / Weininger (1880–1903) was a Jewish-born Viennese philosopher. His book Sex and Character, published the same year as his suicide, attempts a scientific argument that all people are composed of both male and the female characteristics. Having converted to Protestantism the year before publication, Weininger analyzes the archetypal Jew as “feminine” – Christianity is described as “the highest expression of the highest faith”, while Judaism is called “the extreme of cowardliness”. Weininger decries the decay of modern times, and attributes much of it to feminine, or “Jewish”, influences.

  45. Kirov / City and the administrative center of Kirov Oblast, Russia, located on the Vyatka River, about 950 km. northeast of Moscow.

  45. Ibsen / Henrik Ibsen (1828–1906), Norwegian playwright and predominate force in European realism and modernism on the stage and in literature.

  46. Sharon settlements / The Sharon region is the northern half of Israel’s coastal plain.

  48. Herrchen / German for “My Lord”, but can also mean a pet-owner.

  51. Western Wall / Alt. Wailing Wall; remnant of the ancient retaining wall surrounding the Jerusalem Temple, destroyed in 70 CE.

  51. Sha’arei Zedek Hospital / Founded on Jaffa Road in 1902, the first major medical facility in Jerusalem outside the walls of the Old City.

  51. A certain doctor / Presumably the founder and long-time director of Sha’arei Zedek, Dr. Moshe (Moritz) Wallach (1866–1957).

  Dr. Moshe Wallach (in 1956)

  56. Ein Rogel / Natural spring and ancient water source on the southeastern outskirts of the Old City of Jerusalem (see Samuel II 17:17, e.g.).

  57. Our days on earth are like a shadow / Cf. Chronicles II 29:15.

  60. Opened a book… nobody dreams of himself as dead / Presumably Freud’s 1899 The Interpretation of Dreams, which actually states the opposite of what Shoshanah claims (likely a deliberate “mistake” by Agnon).

  63. Nietzsche / Friedrich Nietzsche (1844– 1900) was appointed professor of classical philology at the University of Basel at the age of 24, even prior to completing his Ph.D.

  65. Kaiser Wilhem / Wilhem II (1859–1941), last German Emperor and King of Prussia (reigned 1888–1918).

  66. Sworn to be faithful / It is from this Hebrew phrase, shevu’at emunim, that the story takes its title.

  Kaiser Wilhelm II

  68. Any pain’s better than a pain in the head / Shabbat 11a.

  68. Nothnagel / Dr. Hermann Nothnagel (1841–1905), German-born internist and professor in Vienna. The family name is German for an “emergency nail” or “nail in need” – an iron spike carried by firefighters of old to be used when an escape from an upper floor was blocked. It could be hammered into an outside window so that a rope could be lowered from it allowing the firefighter to rappel down to safety. Agnon may be using the name here to connote such a last-minute resort.

  71. Sitting at her window / Cf. Judges 5:28.

  72. Hotel Semiramis / An actual Jaffa hotel at the time, named for legendary queen of Assyria. See Robert Alter’s afterword to this volume on the symbolism of the hotel, which becomes a landmark for the final action of the story, bearing the name of “the queen who is a burning image of antiquity’s erotic splendor.”

  72. Because we have no university here / The first institute of higher learning in the Land of Israel was Haifa’s Technion – The Israel Institute of Technology, founded in 1912. However the vision of a Jerusalem university mentioned by the school principal is a reference to the Hebrew University, whose cornerstone was laid in 1918 on Mount Scopus (which overlooks the Temple Mount, as hinted at by the principal), and which began operation in 1925.

  Balfour speaking at inauguration of Hebrew University (1925)

  73. Blessed be your going out… / Inversion of verse in Deuteronomy 28:6.

  77. Zeus / In Greek mythology, Zeus, king of the gods, was also titled Philoxenon (lover of guests), patron god of hospitality and guests.

  78. Beside the brook… / Opening of a German poem, “The Youth by the Brook” (“Der Jüngling am Bache”), by Friedrich von Schiller (1759–1805).

  Dukhifat (Hoopoe)

  82. Hobbled bird / The Hebrew text reads dukhifat kfutah, a bound-up dukhifat (bird mentioned in Leviticus 11:19; identified as the hoopoe, a colorful bird with a distinctive crown of feathers). The Talmud mentions this bird, an agent of the mythic Lord of the Sea (Sara de-Yama), having committed suicide upon lacking to fulfill a particular “sworn oath” (Gittin 68b and Rashi s.v. badku, as per Hullin 63a) – all elements resonating with various symbols in the story.

  87. Here, for the time being… / A typically Agnonian indeterminate and ambivalent ending (see the conclusion to A Simple Story). There are, however, a number of references to Rechnitz and Shoshanah in other Agnon stories (see for example “Edo and Enam”, p. 115 in this volume). In Agnon’s Temol Shilshom, it’s very clear that all Agnon characters of the various Jaffa stories occupy the same literary universe. See there, Book III Chapter 8:1 (p. 415 in the English translation, Only Yesterday), which opens: “Isaac got out of bed. He washed his face and hands, but he didn’t go to the sea, for it was already noontime, and in those days, we didn’t go walking at the sea in the afternoon on hot days, except for Doctor Rekhnitz [sic], who used to hunt for seaweed, and now that he has left for America, you don’t see a person at the sea in the afternoon.” Jacob, it seems, sets sail for New York after the conclusion of “Betrothed” – whether Shoshanah accompanies him, or what becomes of their life together, is left for the reader to decide.

  Edo and Enam

  Home of Prof. Gershom Scholem, 28 Abravanel Street, in the Rehavia section of Jerusalem. Agnon was staying here in 1949 when he wrote this story, while Scholem was spending a sabbatical in the United States. “Edo and Enam” was rumored to be inspired by Scholem and his pioneering work in Kabbalah research (a speculation Scholem strongly objected to); the house seems to have served as a model for the setting of the story, which admittedly takes place in a different neighborhood of Jerusalem (Photo by J. Saks).

  I

  GERHARD GREIFENBACH AND HIS WIFE GERDA, MY TWO GOOD FRIENDS, were just about to go abroad. They hoped to rest a while from the strain of life in our country and visit relatives in the Diaspora. But when I called to wish them well upon their way, it was plain to see that they were really troubled. I hadn’t expected anything of the kind. After all, they lived a measured life, enjoyed a steady income, got on well together, and never did anything without first considering it carefully. If they had decided to go on their travels, they had surely managed to eliminate any obstacles and snags. Why then were they so dark and distracted?

  We sat together over tea, talking about the countries they were going to visit. A good many lands are no longer accessible, for since the war the world has closed in on us and the countries that admit tourists are fewer in number. Even places which have not barred their doors do not exactly welcome visitors. Still, if a traveler goes about things sensibly, he can find ways of enjoying his trip.

  All the time we talked, their anxiety never left them. I began trying to guess at the causes, but could not find any real grounds. These people, I thought to myself, are my friends; indeed I am almost one of the family. After the riots of 1929, when the Arabs had destroyed my home and I had no roof over my head, the Greifenbachs put me up. Again, in the bad times when people who had gone into town could not get back to their homes on account of the curfews suddenly imposed by the British, I had spent several nights at their house. Seeing them so worried, I felt I should ask the reason, but I found some difficulty in framing the question tactfully. I could see Mrs. Greifenbach staring straight ahead of her into the depths of the room. She was like someone looking at a
beloved object in order to fix its image so firmly in mind that he will be sure of recognizing it again. Still staring at the room, she remarked, as if to herself, “It’s hard to leave and hard to come back. I only pray that when we get home the doors won’t be locked against us and we won’t have to go to court with squatters.”

  Greifenbach made Gerda’s words more explicit. “These are fine times,” he said, “when we can’t even be sure of a roof over our heads. You open the newspaper, only to read about people breaking into other people’s homes. You go to the shops and hear of this person or that whose house has been broken into. A man’s afraid to go out for a short stroll for fear his house will be grabbed while he is away. And we’ve all the more reason to be anxious, because our house is so far from any others and a long way out of town. It’s true that one room is rented to a Dr. Ginat, but that doesn’t help us in the least; most of the time he’s away from home, and when we go on our travels the house will be left with no one to guard it.”

  My heart beat fast as I heard this; not because of the Greifenbachs, but because they had spoken of Ginat as a real person. Since the time when the name of Ginat became world-famous, I had not come across anyone who could say he actually knew him. Nor had I heard any mention of him, except in connection with his books. And now here he was, staying in this very house where I came and went freely.

  Even with his first published article, “Ninety-nine Words of the Edo Language,” Ginat had drawn the attention of most of the philologists; when he followed this up with his Grammar of Edo, no philologist could afford to ignore him. But what made him truly famous was his discovery of the Enamite Hymns. To discover ninety-nine words of a language whose very name was hitherto unknown is no small achievement, and a greater one still is the compilation of a grammar of this forgotten tongue. But the Enamite Hymns were more: they were not only a new-found link in a chain that bound the beginnings of recorded history to the ages before, but in themselves splendid and incisive poetry. Not for nothing, then, did the greatest scholars come to grips with them, and those who at first had doubted that they were authentic Enamite texts began to compose commentaries on them. One thing, however, surprised me. All these scholars affirmed that the gods of Enam and their priests were male; how was it that they did not catch in the hymns the cadence of a woman’s song? On the other hand, I could be mistaken; for I am not, of course, a professional scholar, only a common reader who happens to enjoy anything beautiful that comes his way.

  Mrs. Greifenbach could tell that I was excited, but could not tell why. She poured me another cup of tea and repeated what she had been saying before. I held my teacup while my heart pounded; at the same time, I could hear a kind of echo from my very depths. This did not surprise me; ever since the day I had first read the Enamite Hymns that echo had resounded. It was the reverberation of a primeval song passed on from the first hour of history through endless generations.

  I held down the turmoil within me and asked, “Is he here?” Even as I said this, I was amazed at my own question. Never had I been inside a house where Ginat had been seen.

  “Oh, no,” answered Mrs. Greifenbach. “He’s not in.” Well, I thought, that’s clear now. But since they’ve told me that he has rented a room, they must surely have seen him; and if they’ve seen him, they may very well have talked to him; and if they’ve talked to him, perhaps they can tell me something about him. With a great man who shuns publicity and lets nothing be known about himself, even the least bit of information is an unexpected find.

  I turned to the Greifenbachs. “May I ask what you know about Ginat?”

  “What we know?” answered Greifenbach. “Very little, so little it amounts to less than nothing.”

  “How did he turn up at your house?”

  “That’s easily answered,” said Greifenbach. “He just rented a room and came to live in it.”

  “But how did he get here?” I insisted.

  “Well, if you want to know the whole story, I can tell you, though there’s really nothing to tell.”

  “Nevertheless, please tell me,” I said.

  “One afternoon in summer,” he went on, “we were out on the veranda having tea, when a man with a walking stick and a knapsack came up and asked if we would rent him a room. We aren’t in the habit of renting rooms. Besides, this man didn’t so take my fancy that I felt like changing my ways in order to have him as a roomer. On the other hand, I was thinking, We do have a room that has been empty all these years. We’ve no use for it, and there’s a separate entrance, a shower, and so on. Perhaps it would be worthwhile to rent the room, if not for the money’s sake, at least to do a good turn to someone who wants to live in this modest neighborhood and is plainly a lover of peace and quiet. This fellow went on to say, ‘I promise I won’t give you much trouble. I travel about a great deal and only come to Jerusalem for a rest between one journey and the next. I shall not bring in any visitors, either.’ I took another look at him and could see that it would be a good thing to rent him the room; not for the reasons he gave, but because by now I rather liked him. In fact, I was surprised at myself for not realizing at once what sort of man he was. I looked across at Gerda and could see that she agreed. So I said to him, ‘Very well, the room is yours, on condition that you expect nothing from us; no service or anything at all, except a bed, a table, a chair, and a lamp; and the rent will be such-and-such.’ He took out his money and paid down a year’s rent, and he has kept to his side of the bargain ever since, making no demands on us. That’s all I can tell you, besides what I’ve seen about him in the literary supplements to the newspapers, which I’m sure you have also read. I dare say you have read his Hymns, too. So have I, a bit here and a bit there, but I still don’t see why they are so important. I’m not in the habit of expressing my views about matters on which I’m no expert, but I think I can say this: in every generation, some discovery is made that’s regarded as the greatest thing that ever was. Eventually it’s forgotten, for meanwhile some new discovery comes to light. No doubt that goes, too, for the discoveries of Dr. Ginat.”

  I let these remarks pass and returned to the main question, concerning Dr. Ginat himself. “My guess is that Gerda could tell me more,” I said.

  Mrs. Greifenbach looked at me, surprised that I should credit her with knowledge she didn’t possess. She hesitated for a moment, reflected for still another, then said, “I really don’t know any more than what Gerhard has told you. There’s a separate entrance to the room, we don’t have to keep it tidy, and our hard working cleaning woman Grazia, as you know, isn’t keen on extra work. Since we gave Ginat the key to his room, I’ve not been in it, nor have I seen him; after staying here one night, he went off and didn’t come back for months.”

  Having said this, Mrs. Greifenbach began speaking again about their intended journey, throwing in at the same time a sort of complaint. “Your head is so full of our tenant,” she said, “that you don’t listen to what we are saying.”

  “Possibly,” I answered.

  “Don’t just say ‘possibly,’” she went on, “you must admit that it’s absolutely true.”

  “Heaven forbid that I should contradict you, but please tell me more about Ginat.”

  “Haven’t I already told you, he only stayed one night and went away next morning.”

  “And didn’t you say, too, that he came back? Very well, when he came back what did he do?”

  “Do? He closed the door and stayed in his room.”

  “What was he doing there?”

  “Oh, he may have been drawing the pyramids to scale or writing a third part to Faust. How do I know?”

  I looked hard at her for some time, but she only laughed and said, “I see you want to turn me into a detective.”

  “No,” I answered, “I don’t want you to be a detective. I simply want to hear more about Ginat.”

  I’ve told you,” she said. “Since we gave him his key, I’ve not spoken to him.”

  “But what did he do when
he came back?”

  “I’m sure he did one of the things I’ve mentioned. Which it was, I’ve not troubled myself to find out.”

  “Gerda,” said Greifenbach, “just hasn’t got that quality women are noted for. She isn’t the least bit curious.”

  Gerda tapped her long, slender fingers on his hairy hands, saying, “You have enough of that quality for both of us. So you tell him.”

  “Who, me??” Greifenbach exclaimed in surprise. “Even I can’t tell him about things that never were.”

  “So you really want me to tell him,” said Gerda. “Wasn’t it you who said Dr. Ginat had created a girl for himself?”

  Greifenbach laughed a long and happy laugh. “Do you know what Gerda’s referring to? She’s thinking of the legend about the lonely poet – I’ve forgotten his name – who was said to have created a woman to serve his needs. Are you familiar with that legend?”

  “It was Rabbi Solomon Ibn Gabirol,” I said, “and if you are interested, this is how the story ends. News of the affair spread about until it reached the king, who gave orders for the woman to be brought before him. The king saw her and fell in love with her, but she ignored him. They went and brought Rabbi Solomon Ibn Gabirol. When he came he showed the king that she was not a real creature, only pieces of wood made up into the likeness of a woman. But what has this legend to do with Dr. Ginat?”

  Mrs. Greifenbach said, “One night, Gerhard and I were sitting together reading Goethe when we heard a voice coming from Ginat’s room. We knew that Ginat was back from his travels and that he was in there reading. We began our own reading again, and again the voice came through. Gerhard put his book down and said, ‘That’s a woman’s voice.’ But it wasn’t only the idea of Ginat bringing a woman to his room that surprised us; it was the language she spoke, some strange tongue we had never heard before. Gerhard whispered to me, ‘Ginat must have created a girl for himself, and there she is talking to him in her own language.’ My dear, that’s all I can tell you about Ginat. If you want to know more, ask Gerhard. He loves to make conjectures and treat them as proven facts.”