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A Latin-Alphabet Inscription in a Hebrew Pentateuch

A Latin-Alphabet Inscription in a Hebrew Pentateuch

Hamburg, Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek Cod. Levy 19 is a liturgical Pentateuch manuscript copied in Brussels in 1309. It was the fruit of a collaboration between three or four Jewish artisans: the scribe Itzḥak b. Eliahu Hazzan from Oxford, who copied (and probably also vocalised) the main text; an anonymous scribe, who copied part of the masorah parva and left the rest unfinished; the scribe-artist Yehudah haKohen, who copied and decorated the masorah magna; and a scribe-artist, who corrected the text, carried out most of the decorations and left a versified colophon in Hebrew where he referred to himself as ‘עקוד המור’ (aqud hamor, ‘the bound [person] of [Mount] Mor[ia]’; a circumlocution for the name Itzḥak).[1] It is not immediately clear whether the first and fourth, both named Itzḥak, were the same person, since the scripts that can be safely attributed to each of the two are at different registers and exhibit many similarities but also a few differences. Since these differences could potentially be explained by the different sizes and types of nibs used, it is at least possible that the scribe Itzḥak b. Eliahu from Oxford also decorated the manuscript. This would explain why in the artist’s colophon, he makes the claim that he completed the writing and the decoration together (ציור והכתיבה שילמתי יחד), a statement that would sound exaggerated if he added no other textual component than the corrections.

In this article, I focus on one particular marginal addition made by the artist (whom I will provisionally call ‘aqud hamor’ to distinguish him from the scribe Itzḥak, since it has not yet been proven that the two were the same person). This addition is situated near the end of the manuscript, at f. 529r, in the book of Ecclesiastes.

Hamburg, Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek, Cod. Levy 19, f. 529r. (© Bodleian Library, University of Oxford)

At the bottom left of the folio, a dragon similar to those in the initial word panels is drawn in ink and touching the elongated descender of the nun sofit in Rashi’s Commentary above with its tongue. The dragon is clearly in the hand of aqud hamor and can be compared with a similar small dragon (drawn in ink but with red highlights) at the end of a quire at f. 252v, the only other instance of a marginal drawing that has no obvious connection to the text. But what sets the dragon on f. 529r apart is the writing underneath its feet; it is done in the same shade of ink and with the same nib as the dragon drawing, in what appears to be Latin script. This writing is the only instance of Latin script being used in this book, and there is very little evidence, in general, of Jewish scribes writing in Latin script during this period.[2]

The ductus of the script is unlike either of the main Latin script types used in northwestern Europe during this period: compared to Gothic textualis, the letters are significantly wider and rounder in shape, and the strokes lack shading altogether; compared to Gothic cursiva, the body of the letter is proportionally too large relative to the length of the descender, and the presence of serifs (not a feature of the cursiva script) is likewise surprising. Even within the word itself, the register of the script fluctuates: the four letters on the left have carefully detached strokes, with small serifs at the end of each stroke, while the other half of the word is written in a more current manner, with ligatures between the letters (in the case of the fifth and sixth letters, the ligature actually precludes a straightforward identification of the letters). Apart from confirming that the word was probably written in the usual Latin direction, from left to right, this change in currency confirms that the letters were written by someone who was relatively inexperienced in writing in Latin script, even though he clearly had great facility with the quill. The peculiar dimension and shape of the letters may have been influenced by Hebrew (aqud hamor’s Hebrew script also tends to be elongated horizontally, with pronounced serifs), though the superficial resemblance this script bears to Carolingian script (much more than to the Gothic scripts) might not have been a complete coincidence.

While in the absence of other examples of Latin letters written by the same scribe, any reading of the word cannot avoid some degree of uncertainty, it is possible to read the word tentatively as either ‘cropccon’ or ‘cropocon’—the fifth letter is the most ambiguous, since the main body of the letter resembles the letter c but there is an additional dot to the right, reminiscent of a dagesh, which is connected by a ligature to the next letter. This additional dot could either be an otiose stroke (in which case the fifth letter should be read as c) or a not-entirely-successful attempt to close off the letter o, as the scribe tries to form a ligature with the next letter.

The problem is that neither ‘cropccon’ nor ‘cropocon’ is immediately recognisable as a word from any language widely spoken or written in the vicinity of Brussels at the beginning of the 14th century.[3] This fact is significant in itself: the possibility should at least be considered that the form, rather than corresponding precisely to an existing word yet to be identified by me, might not have been a familiar word or phrase. It could have been a deliberate coinage by aqud hamor, or an unintentionally corrupted version of an existing word. Since the manuscript does not contain any other writing in Latin, or any inscription in Hebrew of a similar nature that accompanies a drawing, it seems to me that the only category of contextual information that could guide one’s interpretation of this inscription is the manuscript page itself.[4]

The bifolium (ff. 524, 529) where the annotation is found is situated at the fourth and ninth positions of a sexternion, which is the 43rd quire of the manuscript (ff. 521-532). Most of the quires are sexternions. The drawing of the dragon and the inscription are placed at the lower left corner of the recto, which means that it is easily visible when one leafs through the manuscript. The dragon’s tongue touches the final letter of the word ‘סופן’ (‘their end’) from Rashi’s commentary on Ecclesiastes 9:3: ‘וְאַחֲרָיו אֶל הַמֵּתִים. וְסוֹפָן יוֹרְדִין לְגֵיהִנֹּם’ (‘and then to the dead: and they ultimately [lit. their end] descend to Gehinnom’).[5] The end of the Targum for Ecclesiastes 9:3 coincides with the end of the second text column, and the Hebrew text of Ecclesiastes 9:4 begins on the verso.

Considering the negative implications both of the biblical verse and Rashi’s interpretation, it is reasonable to rule out the hypothesis that the Latin-script word was an encoded signature by the scribe. If aqud hamor intended to leave a self-referential inscription, Ecclesiastes 9:3 is just about the least appropriate place that he could have chosen. On the other hand, it also seems unlikely that the dragon and the inscription were intended as a gloss on Rashi’s explanation, ‘and they ultimately descend to Gehinnom’, considering the fact that, in rabbinic literature, the presence of dragons or any other creature is never mentioned in relation to Gehinnom, which is characterised simply as a fiery furnace. Since the drawing and the inscription are placed towards the end of Ecclesiastes, well past the halfway point of the book, we may also rule out the possibility that the drawing and the inscription served to mark a numerically significant point in the text.

An examination of the dragon itself allows one to rule out a few more possibilities. First of all, it should be noted that the dragon is by far the most common figural motif employed by aqud hamor—I count a total of 62 complete dragons (excluding hybrids with dragon’s bodies and dragon’s heads attached to non-figural elements such as the feet of a menorah) drawn in his hand. Considering the ubiquity of dragons in this manuscript, it is improbable that the inscription accompanying one small monochrome dragon drawing near the end of the manuscript should read anything as generic and straightforward as ‘dragon’.

But it is possible that a more specific description was intended. While all of aqud hamor’s dragons have more or less the same protruding forehead, drop-shaped eye, stack of wrinkles between the brow ridge and the nose, wavy long ears and flame-like tongue, there is some variation in the anatomy of their bodies. All the dragons are bipedal, but some have wings and others do not; out of the flightless dragons, the majority have smooth backs, while a few others have humps (either spaced-out like a camel’s or pressed together like thick wrinkles) or spiky projections on their backs. In general, the winged dragons tend to be used to fill larger gaps, the flightless and smooth-backed dragons tend to be used for smaller, irregularly shaped gaps (including the strokes of the spare-ground letters, and the narrow strips of space around the initial words for the parashiyot), while the flightless dragons with humped or spiky backs are used indiscriminately for both purposes. Formally speaking, both of these latter types occupy a middle ground between the other two varieties, being bulkier and more structurally complex than the smooth-backed dragons but less time-consuming to draw and requiring less space than the winged dragons. The smooth-backed dragons, with their ability to fill small and irregular spaces, are the most common variety (32/62); the winged dragons are the second most common (17/62); the hump-backed and spiky-backed dragons are the least common, at 9/62 and 4/62 respectively.

The dragon that appears above the inscription is of the rarest, spiky-backed type, with two small, flat projections on its back and a short, pig-like tail. Its fangs (a feature possessed by less than half of aqud hamor’s dragons) and claws, on the other hand, are meticulously drawn. While medieval European dragon lore did not produce a crystallised and widely recognised typology, the flightless, non-threatening stature of the dragon in question in combination with the emphasis on its teeth and claws suggests that it is most likely of the creeping, poisonous variety, whereas to winged dragons were usually attributed the ability of breath fire.[6]

It is possible that the inscription was a comment on the specific physical characteristics of the dragon. The first part of the word, ‘cropo-’, could be related to the Middle Dutch crupen (‘to crawl’) or the Middle English crepen (also spelt cropen; ‘to crawl’).[7] The remaining part of the word, ‘-con’, does not make any sense on its own in this context, but it can be read as a conflation of the second syllables of the Latin draco (‘dragon’), the Old French dragon (‘dragon’) and the Middle English dragon/dragoun (‘dragon’)—in both of the latter cases, the variant dracon is occasionally attested, no doubt under the influence of the Latin spelling. Could it be the case that the scribe coined this word, ‘cropo-con’, as a playful description of the creeping dragon he had just drawn?

To assess the probability of such a coinage happening in Brussels in 1309, at the hand of a Jewish scribe-artist, several acknowledgements should be made. First of all, the phenomenon of lexical blending (known since the 19th century primarily as ‘portmanteaus’)—whereby a new word is fashioned from parts (rather than the entirety) of two source words, so that the resulting blend refers to both source words simultaneously—is not well-attested in the pre-modern period, though there have been some isolated attempts to identify and analyse potential examples of lexical blending in medieval texts.[8] But ‘crocopon’ differs from the other medieval examples of lexical blending in one key respect: more than simply mixing two words, it quite possibly also mixes two different languages (though there is the possibility that both parts come from Middle English). For this practice, we have the analogous case of macaronic compositions in both verse and prose dating from the 12th century onwards, although in such cases it is entire words or phrases, rather than parts of words, that are mixed with those from another language.[9] To state that ‘cropocon’ may have been a macaronic lexical blend, uniting two linguistics practices that have otherwise only been attested separately, requires a bold conceptual leap.

But there are several factors that justify such a leap. The inscription accompanies an informal, non-illustrative drawing at the bas-de-page, a site where other playful, experimental treatments of small pieces of text by the illuminator are known from the same period. For instance, one may cite the ‘tu es asinus’ caption written in mirror image in the Rutland Psalter (Salisbury and London [?], c1260-1270; London, British Library, MS Add 62925, f. 37r), or the onomatopoeic gloss ‘queck’ accompanying an image of a goose being carried away by a fox in the Gorleston Psalter (Suffolk, c1310-1324; London, British Library, MS Add 49622, f. 190v). By virtue of its being placed in such an informal codicological context, the word ‘cropocon’ invites an adventurous rather than plain reading, and it would have been odd if the scribe chose to write something more ordinary and self-explanatory.

Additionally, the relative novelty of the Latin script in the context of Hebrew manuscript production, as well as the complex mesh of linguistic situations aqud hamor had to navigate on a daily basis—living in a duchy where Dutch, French and Latin were spoken, and either working closely with another Jew from England or being of English origin himself—probably paved the way for irreverent interlingual experimentation much more readily than in the case of a Christian living in Brussels at the same time. Just as adding an inscription to a marginal drawing, far removed from the centre of the page, gave the scribe-artist a certain degree of freedom, so being at the fringes of Latin written culture, knowing the alphabet but rarely having to write it in a professional capacity, gave him a different kind of freedom. In this connection, it is worth asking who the target audience might have been—going back to the high visibility of the drawing and the inscription when one leafs through the manuscript, it is unlikely that aqud hamor intended the joke only for himself. Instead, we may imagine aqud hamor’s colleagues, or indeed the patron Ḥayyim b. Ḥayyim and his family, noticing the inscription and pondering over it. It is difficult to say whether they were all able to decode it easily, but one assumes that they were in a much better position to do so than any present-day scholar. Their shared amusement by the ‘riddle’, which required knowledge of several vernaculars including those not spoken locally, may have fostered, in however limited a way, a sense of solidarity among members of this highly heterogeneous community, made up of native Brabantian Jews as well as recent immigrants from England and France.[10]

I will finish by suggesting another possible interpretation that may well coexist with the one already proposed. The consonantal similarity (with a minor change in order) of ‘cropocon’ to the name of the zodiac sign Capricorn/Capricorne/Capricornus has been the first thought of many to whom I showed the inscription. While there is insufficient resemblance between the creeping dragon and common pictorial representations of Capricorn (in Christian calendars and Hebrew maḥzorim) during this period—either as a goat, or as a hybrid with the frontal port of a goat and a serpent-like tail—it is possible that the word ‘Capricorn’ provided aqud hamor with the necessary phonetic substrate on which to build his neologism. Since the copying of the manuscript was completed on 19 October 1309 in the Julian calendar, and the decoration could only have begun thereafter, it is possible that the drawing and the inscription were added during the month of December, when the sun moved into the sign of Capricorn. But the scribe would have been familiar with this word with or without the coincidence.


[1] The place name, spelt ‘אוכשונפורט’ (Okhsonfort), could either be Oxford (spelt ‘Oxenford’ in Middle English and ‘אושינפורט’ or ‘אושנפורט’ in Hebrew deeds) or Ochsenfurt in Franconia (spelt ‘אוחשנוורת’ in the Memorbuch of Nuremberg). These two towns are almost exactly equidistant (around 405km) from Brussels, and both have well-documented histories of Jewish settlement up to the late thirteenth century, as well as significant episodes of persecution during the 1290s. I consider Oxford to be the more likely solution of the two since the phenomenon of expelled English Jews settling in Brussels after crossing the channel is better known, while it would have been counterintuitive for persecuted Franconian Jews to travel so far northwards to join a relatively small community, rather than eastwards or southwards to Poland or northern Italy which were more common destinations.

[2] See Eva De Visscher, ‘Hebrew, Latin, French, English: Multilingualism in Jewish-Christian Encounters’, in Judith Jefferson and Ad Putter (eds.), Multilingualism in Medieval Britain (c. 1066-1520): Sources and Analysis, Medieval Texts and Cultures of Northern Europe 15 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2012), pp. 89-103 at p. 93.

[3] I have not been able to find a satisfactory reading of the inscription (either as a single word or as a phrase) in Hebrew or Medieval Latin. I thank Sandra Hajek, Henrike Lähnemann, Sjoerd Levelt, Eugenia Vorobeva and Daniel Wakelin for confirming that it does not correspond to any recognisable formulation in Old French, Middle High German, Middle Dutch, Old Norse and Middle English respectively, and also for their enthusiasm about this ‘riddle’. In addition, I thank Henry Baxter, Branton DeMoss, Mimi Eisenbruch and Alicia Vergara Steinmann for helpful discussions on the interpretation of the drawing and the inscription.

[4] The only other annotation of a similar format accompanies a framed drawing of Job covered with sores: ‘זה איוב השחון’ (‘this is the boil-covered Job’, f. 600v). Here, however, the correspondence between the text and the image, and between the image and its particular location in the manuscript (beginning of the book of Job), is straightforward.

[5] The whole verse (Ecclesiastes 9:3) is as follows: זֶ֣ה ׀ רָ֗ע בְּכֹ֤ל אֲשֶֽׁר־נַעֲשָׂה֙ תַּ֣חַת הַשֶּׁ֔מֶשׁ כִּֽי־מִקְרֶ֥ה אֶחָ֖ד לַכֹּ֑ל וְגַ֣ם לֵ֣ב בְּֽנֵי־הָ֠אָדָ֠ם מָלֵא־רָ֨ע וְהוֹלֵל֤וֹת בִּלְבָבָם֙ בְּחַיֵּיהֶ֔ם וְאַחֲרָ֖יו אֶל־הַמֵּתִֽים׃

That is the sad thing about all that goes on under the sun: that the same fate is in store for all. (Not only that, but men’s hearts are full of sadness, and their minds of madness, while they live; and then—to the dead!)

[6] See Martin Arnold, The Dragon: Fear and Power (London: Reaktion Books, 2018), p. 116.

[7] I am grateful to Sandra Hajek for suggesting this possible interpretation to me.

[8] See Britt Mize, ‘Did Deliberate Lexical Blending Occur in Old English?’, Peritia 27 (2016), pp. 99-120. My definition of lexical blending is borrowed from this article.

[9] See for example Siegfried Wenzel, Macaronic Sermons: Bilingualism and Preaching in Late-Medieval England (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1994), and more recently Herbert Schendl, ‘Code-Switching in Late Medieval Macaronic Sermons’, in Multilingualism in Medieval Britain, pp. 153-169.

[10] See Christoph Cluse, Studien zur Geschichte der Juden in den mittelalterlichen Niederlanden (Hannover: Verlag Hahnsehe Buchhandlung, 2000), pp. 31-32.

Ms Celeste Pan
DPhil student at the OCHJS researching decorated manuscripts from medieval Ashkenaz
Categories
Yiddish

Crime and Detective Stories in Yiddish

In the first decade of the 20th century, the varied Yiddish book market included, among other genres and styles, crime and detective stories. At a certain stage, these publications, which were mostly adapted or translated from other languages, became bestsellers.[1] Yet, so far, they have attracted little scholarly attention.

The range of Yiddish crime stories included works of high literary quality, alongside trivial works devoid of any literary value. Generally, such works attempted to contend with the evil lurking around every corner and inspire confidence in the eventual triumph of the good and righteous. Their consumption traversed the boundaries of gender and social class.

The appearance of the word ‘mystery’ (Geheimnis) in the title of a work pointed out its sensational nature[2] and, indeed, from the mid-19th century, Yiddish writers used it to attract readers. By 1918, at least 35 books, booklets, and stories (most translated or adapted from foreign languages) serialized in the press featuring this word in their titles had been published. The Yiddish-speaking intelligentsia dismissed these stories, drawing a direct—albeit not always justified—connection between sensational works and shund literature.[3]

Following the 1905 Revolution and alongside the popular local tales of bandits and Cossacks, Russian translations and adaptations of European and American detective stories began to appear. These included stories featuring Sherlock Holmes, Nat Pinkerton and Nick Carter. Despite, and possibly due to, the foreignness of the heroes and the setting of events far from Russia’s borders, demand for these stories in booklets grew steadily. In 1907, the price of a booklet ranged from 15 to 20 kopeks with circulation figures of between 5,000 and 10,000 per booklet. By 1908, the peak of the so-called ‘plague of booklets’, the price had fallen to five kopeks or less per booklet, and circulation figures had increased, on occasion rising as high as 50,000 or even 60,000 copies.[4]  At the height of circulation in 1908, the number of booklets in each series reached 123 for Pinkerton stories and 218 for stories concerning Sherlock Holmes.[5]

Parallel to the upsurge of crime and detective stories in Russia, similar works appeared in Polish (largely in the years 1908–14). These stories were published in illustrated booklets with colorful bindings and sold at affordable prices. Four series of Sherlock Holmes stories were printed in Lvov (Lemberg), Kraków (both in Austrian Galicia) and Warsaw and circulated throughout the former Polish territory. The initial printing of 5,000 copies of each booklet apparently failed to meet demand; subsequently, dozens of these booklets were repeatedly reprinted. The series of booklets were bound together in thick volumes numbering thousands of pages.[6]  Aside from Sherlock Holmes, these stories featured Nick Carter, Nat Pinkerton, Harry Dickson, Ethel King (Holmes’ ‘partner’) and even Stefan Wenke, the ‘famous Warsaw detective’.[7]

Yiddish writers exploited the potential of attractive titles and, alongside wondrous events of various kinds, they deliberately utilized titles containing words from the vocabulary of mystery and crime, even though these do not always accurately reflect the content of the work; indeed, at times there is no link between the two.[8]

In the first years of the 20th century, the Warsaw publisher Yehude Leyb Morgenshtern published dozens of anonymous booklets containing serialized stories. Amongst these are those bearing appealing titles, including stories of crime and romance involving intricate plots of kidnapped children relocated after many years, usually in tragic circumstances; sons and daughters discovering that their mothers and fathers are not their biological parents; siblings reunited after being separated for many years or not knowing of the other’s existence; pairs of lovers unable to be together; violent kidnappings; property takeovers; inheritance theft; false testimonies; acts of robbery, murder and more. The names of the protagonists are generally international, with no definitive national identity (Peter, Adolf, Max, Franz, Anton, Charlotte, Margarita, Adela and so forth), and the geographic settings range from Galicia and France to as far away as New York. There is a noted lack of religious identification, and only seldom are the characters identified as Jews.

These are only some samples of the growing Yiddish popular publications between the 1870s and the outbreak of World War I.

***

In 1907 the Warsaw educator and businessman Magnus Krinsky started publishing a weekly illustrated literary journal Roman-tsaytung (Novel Newspaper, Warsaw, 1907–8). From its beginning, the journal published three stories by Edgar Allan Poe[9] and four by Arthur Conan Doyle in Yiddish translation (clearly indicating the names of these writers but usually without the name of the translator[s]). The hero of Conan Doyle’s stories is Sherlock Holmes, but only the title of the last story is similar to that of the source text: ‘Di gut-bezitser fun Reyge’ (‘The Landowners of Reigate’; ‘The Reigate Squires’).[10] The other stories carry more enticing titles than the original texts.[11] Apart from the changes in titles, the translations, apparently the fruit of the editor’s pen, contain only minor alterations.

In 1907, the first and (apparently) last booklet in what was intended to be the collected stories of Sherlock Holmes was published: a precise translation of the story ‘Der shtendiker patsient’ (‘The Permanent Patient’, or ‘The Resident Patient’).[12] Soon after the appearance of a new daily newspaper, Haynt, in Warsaw, in January 1908, the title pages of the existing popular daily, Yidishes tageblat (1906–11), announced the intention to publish a new series of stories, ‘Di greste velt-geheymnisen’ (‘The Greatest World Mysteries’), from the tales of Sherlock Holmes, Nat Pinkerton and others. The first story, serialized in 13 installments, was a further translation of the story ‘A Scandal in Bohemia’, titled in Yiddish ‘A keniglikhe fotografishe karte’ (‘A Royal Photographic Card’), without the opening of the source story.[13] The decision to begin the series with this story appears to have been motivated by the fact that it does not feature an act of murder as well as by the Warsaw origins of the heroine, who succeeds in deceiving the acclaimed detective. For reasons unknown, this story was also the last in this promising series.

At the same time, series of Yiddish booklets bearing the name of the famous detective appeared on newspaper stands. These booklets, which lacked the name of the author, included tales of various bizarre murders lacking any connection to Conan Doyle’s works. None of these booklets indicated the year of publication. One series of such booklets was published at the initiative of the Vigoda publishing house by Hatsefira printers in Warsaw (c. 1907–8). Each story was divided into three booklets, a total of 47 pages per story, sold for the minimal sum of three kopeks each.[14] Another series was published in Kraków and circulated across the Russian border. Here there was even a slight change in the name of the hero: the addition of a vowel indicates that the ‘e’ in Holmes should be pronounced. They appeared in single booklets of 21 pages each and were sold at the relatively high price of 10 kopeks per booklet.[15] These stories and their predecessors were probably translated from two similar series in Polish: one was published in Warsaw in the years 1907–9 (52 booklets) and the other in Kraków, 1908–9 (86 booklets). The latter series was, in turn, probably translated from a German counterpart titled ‘Aus den Geheimakten des Welt-detektivs’ (‘From the Mysteries of World-Detectives’), of which 230 booklets appeared from 1907. So, too, dozens of such booklets appeared in Russian from 1902, and mainly in the years 1908–10. The colorful cover pages of the Yiddish booklets were also copied from the German series, apparently via translation into Polish or Russian.[16]

Simultaneously, other booklets of a similar format circulated in Galicia and Congress Poland. These featured the hero Maks Shpitskop: Der kenig fun detektivs, der viner Sherlock Holmes (Max Shpitskop: The King of Detectives, the Viennese Sherlock Holmes). Shpitskop was an original Jewish response to the figure of the famous British detective, as well as to Russian and Polish imagined detective figures. Like his British counterpart, Shpitskop  also has an assistant, a Jew known by his last name Fuks (no first name); the two work from an office in Vienna named ‘Blits’ (Lightning). Shpitskop’s work is not connected in any way to his Jewishness, but when presented with the opportunity he immediately comes to the defense of his people.[17] An example of such a story is Aliles dam (Dos blut bilbl) (The Blood Libel) (see Fig. 1), in which the detective and his assistant expose the story of the murder and disappearance of a Christian child, an event that gave rise to a pogrom and engendered great fear among the Jews of a Galician town. The booklets, written in Germanized Yiddish, were published in Kraków by the Jüdischer Roman-Verlag and printed by Josef Fisher, also without any indication of the year.

Fig. 1. Booklet 3. Aliles dam (Dos blut bilbl) (The Blood Libel (© Paris Yiddish Center – Medem Library)

Amongst his childhood memories, Isaac Bashevis Singer mentions these Max Shpitskop booklets together with the Sherlock Holmes ones that he read as a young boy in Warsaw.[18] The name of the author of the Shpitskop series does not appear on the booklets but, based on a recently published article, it is highly possible that they were penned by Yoyne Krepel (1874–1939), a Galician writer and editor, the son-in-law of the printer Yosef Fisher and later an activist closely associated with the Jewish Orthodox party Agudes Yisroel.[19] By contrast to the series discussed above, which, inspired by similar booklets in Polish, ‘adopted’ the character of Sherlock Holmes, it would seem that these stories about Detective Shpitskop were inspired by popular stories about the Viennese detectives Josef Müller (created by the writer Auguste Groner) and Dagobert Trostler (Balduin Groller); the latter is similar to Sherlock Holmes in terms of character and the plots in which he is involved.[20] Although Jewish content such as that found in the story about a blood libel or in Geroybt tsu der shmad (Kidnapped for Conversion) cannot be found in the writings of these authors, the possibility should not be ruled out that they served as inspiration.

***

In an angry letter, a reader of Roman-tsaytung complained that a serious newspaper should include within its pages shund, in the form of detective stories. In response, the acting editor and prominent translator A. L. Yakobovits seized the opportunity to acquaint readers with the writers Arthur Conan Doyle and Edgar Allan Poe, the character Sherlock Holmes and his contribution to society, specifying that these stories were considered belles lettres. Yakobovits warned readers against the widely circulating booklets translated from Russian and Polish bearing the name of the famous detective but not attributed to any specific author: in his opinion, these (and not the original detective stories) constituted a danger to the still relatively inadequate field of Yiddish literature and should be avoided as much as possible.[21]

A satirical review, in the form of a short story set in the office of a known London detective, portrayed Sherlock Holmes as nothing more than a good for nothing. The review ends with a wish, ‘Let us hope that he will no longer rule over minds’.[22] A similar conviction informs another satirical story by the writer Zalman Vendrof, who warns potential readers against the superficiality and worthlessness of reading unrealistic detective stories and newspaper reports about police stations and courts.[23]

In January 1909, a theater troupe starring Ester Rokhel Kaminsky staged a drama in four parts, titled ‘Sherlock Holms’, in the Muranuv theatre in Warsaw.[24] On the Sabbath, the day before Tisha B’Av 1910 (13 August), the play ‘Sherlock Holms’, a comedy in four acts staring Yulius Adler and translated from German by Anshl Shor, premiered at the Great Theater in Łódź which was managed by Y. G. Zandberg.[25] The editor of the Lodzer tageblat, Lazar Kahan, described the latter as a refreshing innovation within the dull landscape of Yiddish theatre. He added that the play could not be compared with the common shund booklets so detrimental to the literary value of both the hero and the author.[26]

Just as European belles lettres found their way to Yiddish readers through translations and adaptations even before the invention of the printing press, so, too, in the second half of the 19th and the first decade of the 20th century, did the popular genre of crime literature. As newspapers in all languages became more readily available to growing readerships and provided up-to-date details on a variety of topics, including detailed reports from police stations and courts, such information contained therein—combined with the development of European crime stories and the popularity already enjoyed by folk tales concerning bandits and criminals—inspired writers, translators and publishers to adapt into Yiddish tales of suspense and drama from the wider world. Their circulation, in the form of detective booklets and stories serialized in Yiddish (and Polish) newspapers and journals, reached a peak in the years 1908–10 with Sherlock Holmes and Max Shpitskop at the top. After World War I, this literature was pushed to the sidelines of the Yiddish book market in Poland. It is possible that Jewish readers began to read such works in Polish. However, a more likely explanation for this change resides in the fact that silent movies became the main supplier of crime and detective stories for entertainment purposes among the general and Jewish publics.


[1] A first and expanded version of this chapter was published as ‘Sherlock Holmes in the Pale of Settlement: Yiddish Crime Stories 1860–1914’, in Leket: Yiddish Studies Today, ed. Marion Aptroot, Efrat Gal-Ed, Roland Gruschka, and Simon Neuberg (Düsseldorf: Düsseldorf University Press, 2013), pp. 253–278. A revised version can be found in Nathan Cohen, Yiddish Transformed: Reading Habits in the Russian Empire, 1860-1914, New York and Oxford: Berghahn Books, 2023, chapter three, ‘New on the Shelf: Crime and Detective Stories’, pp. 222-247.

[2] Patrick Brantlinger, ‘What Is “Sensational” about the “Sensation Novel”?’ Nineteenth Century Fiction 37 (1982): 1–28. The characteristics of the sensational story are similar to those of the gothic novel (which was widespread in 18th-century England, France, and Germany): they create an atmosphere of dread combined with elements of mystery. For general information on this literary genre, its characteristics, and circulation, see Jerrold E. Hogle ed., The Cambridge Companion to Gothic Fiction. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002). Regarding sensation and crime literature (as well as westerns and war stories) in Great Britain see, for example, Patrick Brantlinger, The Reading Lesson: The Threat of Mass Literacy in Nineteenth-Century British Fiction. (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1998), pp. 142–165.

[3] This number is only partial and is based upon the catalogue of the National Library of Israel in Jerusalem and the Historical Jewish Press project https://www.nli.org.il/en/discover/newspapers/jpress  Undoubtedly a wider search would reveal additional titles. The source of the term shund, which played a crucial role in Yiddish cultural history, is the abattoir; the word originally designated the stench of a skinned animal’s arcass. In 19th-century Germany, Schund was used in a literary context to describe a work of low literary value that was considered morally harmful to its readers. By the end of the 19th century, the term was also used in the Yiddish literary sphere. See Chone Shmeruk, ‘Letoldot sifrut “hashund” beyidish’. Tarbiz 52 (1983), pp. 325–350 [in Hebrew]; Ellen Kellman, ‘Dos yidishe bukh alarmirt! Towards the History of Yiddish Reading in Inter-War Poland’. Polin: Studies in Polish Jewry 16 (2003), pp. 213–242.

[4] Between 1907 and 1915, 6.2 million copies of Nat Pinkerton booklets, 3.9 million copies of Sherlock Holmes booklets and 3.1 million copies of Nick Carter booklets were sold. See Jeffrey Brooks, ‘Readers and Reading at the End of the Tsarist Era’, In Literature and Society in Imperial Russia, 1800–1914, edited by William Mills Todd III, (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1986), pp. 144–46; and idem, When Russia Learned to Read, Literacy and Popular Literature, 1861–1917. (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1985), pp. 141–43, 148, 366–67.

[5] Brooks, When Russia Learned to Read, pp. 366, table 18.

[6] Anna Martuszewska, ‘Literatura obiegów popularnych’, In Słownik Literatury Polskiej XX Wieku, edited by Alina Brodzka et al. (Wrocław: Ossolineum, 1992,) pp. 580–582, as well as Janusz Dunin, Papierowy Bandyata: Książka kramarska I brukowa w Polsce. (Łódź: Wydawnictwo Łódzkie, 1974), pp. 191–220. The wide scope of the printing of these booklets and their circulation is discussed in Janusz Dunin and Zdzisław Knorowski, Polskie Powieściowe serie zeszytowe: Materiały bibliograficzne. (Łódź: Universytet Łódzki, 1984).

[7] Martuszewska, ‘Literatura obiegów popularnych’, p. 581; Anna Martuszewska, ‘Kryminalna Powieść’, in Słownik Literatury Polskiej XX Wieku, ed. Alina Brodzka et al. (Wroclaw, Warszawa, Kraków: Ossolineum, 1992), pp. 481–482.

[8] Several examples: An early booklet by a female author, Frume Dereizin [?], Der retseyekh un di retseyekhte (The Murderer and the Murderess), Zhitomir 1875, indeed tells a story of two people who committed a terrible crime. However, the main purpose of the story was to criticize traditional matchmaking and the superficiality characteristic of interpersonal relationships. A story in installments titled ‘Der shreklikher merder’ (‘ The Terrible Murder’) by Khayim Molits (1861–1924) was published in issues 5, 6, and 7 of the Yudishes folks-blat (1888), yet before the suspenseful plot even began to be revealed, publication ceased, in all likelihood due to the writer’s migration. A booklet by the popular author Avrom Yitskhok Bukhbinder (186?–97), Der kinder merder (The Infanticide) (Vilna, 1891), is a tale of disappointed love and revenge that culminates in the tragic deaths of its heroes. Di geheyme libe order di shreklekhe merderay ( The Secret Love or the Terrible Murder) (Lublin, 1895) is a complex story by Shimen Voltsonek (1856–??). At the center of the story are attempts to take control of property and earn money through guile. The title of Di farshtelte merders, oder bal-tshuve (The Disguised Murders, or [the] Repenting Sinner) (Piotrków, 1905), ostensibly indicates that this is a crime story, although in fact it is a popular adaptation of a gothic novel with Jewish heroes.

[9] Eight additional stories by Poe were published slightly later (1910) in the monthly journal Eyropayishe literatur, edited by Avrom Reyzen.

[10] Issues no. 5–7 (1908), 139–46, 177–82, 207–12.

[11] Di shkrelikhe geheymnis (The Terrible Mystery; ‘The Adventure of the “Gloria Scott”’), issues no. 1–5 (1907), 21–26, 57–60, 85–90, 119–24 ; ‘Di froy miten revolver’ (‘The Woman with a Revolver’; ‘The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton’), issues no. 26–27 (1907), 821–26, 849–58; and ‘Mis Irene Adler’ (‘Miss Irene Adler’; ‘A Scandal in Bohemia’), issues no. 29–32 (1907), 919–923, 941–46, 967–76, 999–1,004. It should be noted that as in the following publication of this story (see below) the editors almost completely avoided the explicit use of the term ‘Bohemia’ in the title and body of the story, apparently for political reasons.

[12] Sherlok Holms der berimter sishtsik: zayne ksovim fun Conan Doyl—Der shtendiker patsient (Sherlock Holmes the Famous Detective: The Writings of Conan Doyle—The Permanent Patient) (Warsaw, Edelsteyn), 1907.

[13] The announcement was published almost daily in the second and third weeks of May 1908. The story was published between 4 June and 2 July 1908.

[14] The whole series is titled: Sherlok Holms: Hekhst interesante vunderlikhe ertsehlungen fun velt berimten geheym-agent Sherlok Holms (Sherlock Holmes: A Highly Interesting, Wonderful Tale of the World-Famous Secret Agent Sherlock Holmes). The title page of the booklet includes a portrait of Holmes and next to him portraits of Nat Pinkerton and Nick Carter (although I am not aware of translations of any of the stories concerning Pinkerton and Carter into Yiddish) and also an illustration characteristic of the title of the story. In the National Library in Jerusalem and in the YIVO Library in New York, I was able to find three series (totaling seven booklets) bearing the titles: Der froyen-merder (The Woman-Murderer) (nos. 1–3); Der aristokratisher bandit (The Noble Bandit) (nos. 4–6); and Der mord fun firshtin Malkolm (The Murder of Duchess Malkolm) (nos. 7–[9]).

[15] This series is titled Sherlok Holmes: Der berimter veltdetektiv (Sherlock Holmes: The Famous World-Detective). The title page resembles the Warsaw publications. The price is noted in heller and in kopeks. It would seem likely that the relatively high price resulted from the distance between the place of printing and the places of marketing. It is possible that this is a slightly later publication than that discussed above (c. 1909). The titles that I have been able to see are: Sherlok Holmes in Vin (Sherlock Holmes in Vienna) (no. 1); Sherlok Holmes un dos tsirkus Angelo (Sherlock Holmes and the Angelo Circus) (no. 2); Tsvishen himel un erd (Between Heaven and Earth) (no. 3); Der farloyrener kapitan (The Lost Captain) (no. 4); Der masenmerder (The Mass-Murderer) (no. 9), in which Sherlock Holmes is studying medicine in Brooklyn, New York; and Di mapole funem prof. Flaks (The Overthrow of Prof. Flaks) (no. 10).

[16] On the German series, see: https://bit/ly/2mcHt4U. On the Polish and Russian series, see Dunin, Papierowy Bandyata, 84–86, 89–91; George Piliev, ‘Introduction’, In Sherlock Holmes in Russia. Edited and translated by Alex Auswaks. (London: Robert Hale, 2010), pp. 16–19.

[17] 15 booklets were published in the series: (1) Geroybt tsu der shmad (Kidnapped for Conversion); (2) Banknotn felsher (Banknote Forgers); (3) Aliles dam (Dos blut bilbul) (The Blood Libel); (4) A rethzelhafter mord (A Mysterious Murder); (5) Der shmugler (The Smuggler); (6) Der gefelshter testament (The Forged Will); (7) Der shpion (The Spy); (8) Der medkhen handler (The Maiden Merchant); (9) Der bank-aynbrekher (The Bank Robber); (10) Di kinder-merderin (The Child Killer); (11) Der toydten-greber (The Dead Digger); (12) Dos geheymnis fun a milyoner (The Mystery of a Millionaire); (13) Di dertrunkene kale (The Drowned Bride); (14) Der misyoner (The Missionary); (15) Di nakhtvandlerin (The Night Wanderer). All these booklets are found in the Vladimir Medem Library in Paris, and I offer my heartfelt gratitude to Ms Natalia Krinitska for her help in obtaining them. Two booklets, numbers 4 and 12, are found in the National Library of Israel, Jerusalem. The year of publication is not noted on the booklets. In the years 1909–11, these stories were printed in installments in the New York paper Di varhayt, and there Shpitskop was called ‘the Galician detective’. In the 1920s, these booklets appear to be the source for a series titled Viliamson: Der kenig fun detektivs, der Parizer Sherlok Holmes (Williamson: The King of Detectives, the Parisian Sherlock Holmes) (Warsaw).

[18] Isaac Bashevis Singer: ‘Fun der alter un nayer heim’, Forverts, 15 November 1963.

[19] Dovid Sheynberg, ‘Yoyne Krepel un zayne yestires’, Afn shvel 374–75 (2017): 41–48. I am grateful to Mr Sheynberg for bringing his findings to my attention.

[20] On these writers and their heroes, see Mary W. Tannert and Henry Kratz (trans. and eds.), Early German and Austrian Detective Fiction: An Anthology (Jefferson, North Carolina and London: McFarland & Company, 1999).

[21] Noel [A. L. Yakobovits], ‘Vegen der Sherlok Holms Literatur’, Roman-tsaytung,29 (1907), pp. 923–26. Notably Yakobovits himself, a known translator, was forced to translate shund novels for the daily popular press as a source of income. See also A yidishe tokhter, ‘Lebedike shotens’ (Living Shadows), Gut morgen, 26 May 1910 and 15 June 1910, p. 2 (in both issues). I would like to thank Dr Nurit Orchan for bringing this review and others mentioned here to my attention.

[22] Etienne Zshaliklerk [?], ‘Der sof fun Sherlok Holms’ (‘The Demise of Sherlock Holmes’), Vokhen-zshurnal ‘di naye velt’ 158 (1910), pp. 481–486.

[23] L.B., ‘Vi azoy der izvotshtishik hot derkent dem groysen sistshik’, Gut morgen, 26 June 1911, p. 3.

[24] According to announcements in the newspaper Undzer leben (Warsaw) from 22 January.

[25] Lodzer tageblat, 13 August and 25 August 1910.

[26] Y. Lazar [Kahan], ‘Teater un muzik: “Sherlock Kholms…,”’ Lodzer tageblat, 17 August 1910.

Professor Nathan Cohen
Associate Professor, and director of the Rena Costa Center for Yiddish
Studies at the Department of Literature of the Jewish People at Bar-Ilan University