Although Ibn-Janach had many enemies amongst those who belittled him, and amongst those who condemned him as a heretic on account of his scientific treatment of the Bible, yet in his work he never mentions them in anger, and, in fact, had he been the only one concerned, the world would never have known of the enmity of Samuel Ibn-Nagrela towards him. Ibn-Janach was not unacquainted with philosophy. He refers to Plato and Aristotle in a scholarly manner. He also wrote a book on logic in the Aristotelian spirit. But he was opposed to metaphysical researches into the relation of God to the world, and first principles, speculations with which his countrymen, and especially Ibn-Gebirol, concerned themselves, because he considered that such matters did not lead to any definite knowledge, and that they undermine belief. Ibn-Janach was a clear thinker, and opposed to any extravagant or eccentric tendency. He was the opposite of the third of the triumvirate of this period, his townsman Ibn-Gebirol, with whom his relations apparently were not of the pleasantest kind.
CHAPTER IX.
IBN-GEBIROL AND HIS EPOCH
Solomon Ibn-Gebirol – His early life – His poems – The statesman Yekutiel Ibn-Hassan befriends him – Murder of Yekutiel – Bachya Ibn-Pakuda and his moral philosophy – The Biblical critic Yizchaki ben Yasus – Joseph ben Chasdaï, the Poet – Death of Samuel Ibn-Nagrela – Character of his son Joseph and his tragic fate – Death of Ibn-Gebirol – The French and German communities – Alfassi – Life and works of Rashi – Jewish scholars in Spain – King Alfonso.
1027–107 °C. E
An ideal personage, richly endowed, a poet, and at the same time a great thinker, was Solomon Ibn-Gebirol (Jebirol), in Arabic, Abu Ayub Sulaiman Ibn-Yachya (born 1021, died 1070). His father, Judah, who lived in Cordova, appears to have emigrated with Ibn-Nagrela, during the disturbances that befell the city, to Malaga. In this place was born and bred the Jewish Plato, by whom many hearts have been warmed, and from whom many minds have gained light. It appears that Ibn-Gebirol lost his parents early, and that they left him without means. His tender, poetical soul grew sad in his loneliness; he withdrew from the outer world, and became absorbed in self-contemplation. Poetry and a faith resting upon a philosophical basis seem, like two angels, to have shadowed him with their wings, and to have saved him from despair. But they could not bring joy to his heart; his thoughts remained serious, and his songs have a mournful strain.
At an age when other men still indulge in the frivolities of youth, Ibn-Gebirol was a finished poet, outshining all his predecessors. His poems show that words and rhymes, thoughts and metaphors, readily and exuberantly came to him. He improved the Hebrew meter and softened its tones. The poetic muse, which had been personified neither in Biblical nor in neo-Hebraic poetry, he depicted as a dove with golden wings and a sweet voice. In his desolation and distress the young poet found a comforter and protector in a man whom his poems have immortalized. Yekutiel Ibn-Hassan or Alhassan appears to have had a high position in Saragossa, under King Yachya Ibn-Mondhir, similar to that held by Samuel Ibn-Nagrela in Granada. This distinguished man kindly protected the desolate poet, supported him and soothed him with his friendship. Ibn-Gebirol poured forth the praises of his patron, under whose protection his heart was taught a more cheerful philosophy of life. At this time his muse sang the praises of his patrons and friends, and his pictures of nature are bright, graphic and spirited.
But fate did not long permit him to enjoy these privileges, and before he had begun to feel the joy of living, his protector was snatched away from him. Abdallah Ibn-Hakam plotted against the king, his cousin, attacked and murdered him in his palace, and took possession of the treasures. The king's favorites were not spared by the conspirators, and Yekutiel Ibn-Alhassan was imprisoned and afterwards killed. Northern Spain was plunged into grief over the tragic end of the well-beloved Yekutiel. Ibn-Gebirol's grief was without bounds, and his elegy on his benefactor is touching, withal a model of lofty poetry. The poem numbers more than two hundred verses, and is a memorial both of the departed and of the poet. Ibn-Gebirol again fell a prey to melancholy after this incident, and his poetry henceforth reflects the gloom in which his mind was shrouded. But what would have borne down another, stimulated him to fresh flights, and he now approached the summit of his poetic and literary greatness. Versifying was so easy to him that in his nineteenth year (1040) he wrote a Hebrew grammar with all its dry rules in four hundred verses, hampering himself, moreover, by acrostic tricks, and the repetition of the same rhyme throughout (Anak). In the introduction to this poem Ibn-Gebirol describes the holy language as one favored by God, "in which the angel choirs daily praise their Creator, in which God revealed the Sinaitic Law, the prophets prophesied and the psalmists sung." He blamed his countrymen, the men of Saragossa, the blind community, for their indifference to pure Hebrew. "Some speak Idumæan (Romance), and some the language of Kedar" (Arabic). His versified Hebrew Grammar was intended to awaken love for the language of the Bible, and at the same time to teach the laws of the language.
In Saragossa, Ibn-Gebirol composed a work on moral philosophy (1045), which, without possessing the depth of his later philosophical works, is remarkable for the peculiar spirit which pervades it, and for the intimate acquaintance with the masters of philosophy evinced by this young man. By the side of the sayings of Holy Writ and ethical sentences from the Talmud, Ibn-Gebirol put the favorite sayings of the "divine Socrates," of his disciple Plato, of Aristotle, of Arabic philosophers, and more especially those of a Jewish philosopher, Alkuti (perhaps Chepez Alkuti). It is surprising how so young a writer could have had so deep an insight into the condition of the human soul and into worldly affairs. Ibn-Gebirol's writings contained scornful criticism of various personages in the community of Saragossa, whom he no doubt desired to offend. They must have felt his castigation the more keenly, as he said, "I need not mention names, for they are sufficiently well known." He describes the haughty, who look down upon their fellow-citizens, and always consider their own counsel the best, and those who, filled with hate, bear words of love on their lips. The pamphlet seems, in fact, to have been a challenge to his opponents in Saragossa. Ibn-Gebirol, in consequence of its publication, was turned out of Saragossa (in 1045) by the influential men whom he had embittered.
In return, he describes the town as a second Gomorrha in a mournful, heart-rending lamentation, the beautifully rhythmical cry of distress uttered by despair. Whither he next went is not known. The unfortunate young poet was so inconsolable that he determined, in his indignation, to leave Spain altogether, and to go to Egypt, Palestine and Babylonia. In a poem he encourages his soul in the resolve to shake off the dust of Spain. He calls to memory the example of the patriarchs and of the greatest prophet, who left their native lands and went to foreign climes. He thus apostrophizes Spain:
"Woe to thee, land of my foes,
In thee I have no portion,
Whether joy or sorrow be thy lot."
He did not, however, carry out his determination to emigrate, but wandered about in Spain, meeting with real or imaginary misfortunes. He complained of the inconstancy of the times and of his friends, and poured forth his plaints in beautiful verses:
"Blame me not for my heavy-flowing tears,
But for them were my heart consumed,
My wanderings have bereft me of all strength,
A fly could now with ease bear me up."
The tutelary genius of the Spanish Jews, Samuel Ibn-Nagrela, appears to have taken an interest in Ibn-Gebirol, and to have found a refuge for him. For this kindness Ibn-Gebirol extolled Nagrela in melodious lines. Under the powerful protection of the Jewish minister he occupied himself with philosophical studies, which held the place next to poetry in his heart. If poetry was his beloved, philosophy was a mother to him. He thus sings:
"How shall I forsake wisdom?
I have made a covenant with her.
She is my mother, I her dearest child;
She hath clasped her jewel about my neck.
Shall I cast aside the glorious ornament?
While life is mine, my spirit shall aspire
Unto her heavenly heights.
I will not rest until I find her source."
As Ibn-Gebirol, whilst yet a child, created the most difficult artistic forms of Hebrew poetry, and handled them with sportive ease; so while still a youth, he built up a system attempting to solve the deepest problems which concern the human understanding. What is the highest aim of man? What is the nature and origin of the soul, and whither does it go when it leaves its earthly dwelling? How is the highest Being to be conceived, and how did He, being One and perfect, bring forth the manifold, corrupt and defective things of a visible world? These and many other questions Ibn-Gebirol attempted to answer, to satisfy not the believing heart, but the critical human mind, to show it its true place in the universe, to direct its attention to the invisible spirit-world above, and to the world of matter beneath, and induce it to seek the link binding them together. In the exposition of his system Ibn-Gebirol reveals a superabundant wealth of ideas, and a depth of subtle thought, so that the thinker must concentrate all his attention in order to be able to follow out his reasoning. To him, however, these extremely complicated thoughts, encircling the whole world from its very origin, and the whole range of beings down to lifeless stone, were so comprehensible that for everything he found the most fitting word and the most suitable image. Indeed, one portion of these thoughts he poured forth in a poem in the form of a prayer (Kether Malchuth), which for sublimity, elevated tone, and truth has no equal. It is true that the leading ideas of Ibn-Gebirol's system had been expressed by earlier philosophers, but he formed into one organic whole a confused mass of scattered thoughts. He developed his system in a work entitled, "The Fountain of Life" (Mekor Chayim, Fons Vitæ), written in Arabic, which he handled with as much ease as Hebrew. A Christian emperor destroyed the temple of philosophy in Athens, and exiled its last priests. Since that time philosophy had been outlawed in Europe; at least, it was little known there, and had been compelled to find a home in Asia. The Jewish thinker, Ibn-Gebirol, was the first to transplant it again to Europe, and he built an altar to it in Spain, where it found a permanent habitation.
Like Plato of a poetical nature, Ibn-Gebirol borrowed the dialogue form of composition from the Greek philosopher. His system is developed in the course of a lively conversation between a master and his disciple. He thereby avoided the usual dryness of metaphysical studies, which makes them unenjoyable. He paid so little attention to Judaism in his system, that unless the reader knows that he was a sincere Jew, thoroughly devoted to his faith, he cannot discover it in his writings. The philosophy of Ibn-Gebirol, therefore, found little favor in Jewish circles, and exercised very little influence. Jewish thinkers found the tenor of his philosophy foreign to their own mode of thinking, and the form of demonstration too involved, the explanations too fitful, the method of presentation too lacking in system, and the whole not satisfying. Ibn-Gebirol's system aroused all the more attention among the Arabs and the Christian schoolmen. A century after its appearance, his chief work was translated into Latin by the combined labor of a Christian priest and a baptized Jew. Several prominent scholastic writers subscribed to the views of Ibn-Gebirol, whom they called Avicebrol or Avicebron. Others opposed them, but all considered them. In later times, the Kabbala borrowed some formulæ from him.
Another Jewish philosopher of this time, which was so rich in great men, pursued a course different from Ibn-Gebirol's. He stood entirely upon Jewish ground, but he also introduced foreign elements into his system. Bachya (Bechaya) ben Joseph Ibn-Pakuda (Bakuda) was a model of earnest piety and altruistic morality. He established an entirely original moral theology of Judaism. Bachya was one of those natures whose energy of spirit and powerful moral force, if favored by the circumstances of the time, effect reformations. Of the details of the life of this moral philosopher absolutely nothing is known, not even the part of Spain in which he lived. We identify him wholly with his work, "Guide to the Duties of the Heart," which he wrote in Arabic. The sum and substance of its teachings is that nothing is of so much importance as that our conduct be ruled entirely by most serious religious convictions and godlike holiness of purpose. Biblical exegesis, grammar, poetry, speculative philosophy, all the pursuits with which the scholars of the age busied themselves are, according to Bachya, subordinate branches, hardly worthy of serious attention. The study of the Talmud even has no very great merit in his eyes. Bachya Ibn-Pakuda's aim was the spiritualization of Judaism. The duties which conscience demands are of infinitely greater importance to him than the ritual duties prescribed by the legal code. Like the Christian teachers of the first century, he distinguished in Judaism between the purely religious and moral injunctions and the ceremonial laws, attaching greater importance to the first than to the second.
The complete surrender to the demands of a godly, self-denying, holy life, which is the summum bonum of Bachya, remained no abstract theory with him, but was exemplified in his whole being, changing conscientiousness in him to overscrupulousness. Too subtle spiritualization of religion led Bachya to practise rigid asceticism, which appeared to him to be the highest degree of wisdom attainable by man. Judaism, according to his view, inculcates frugality and abstemiousness. The patriarchs, from Enoch to Jacob, received no laws setting limits to their pleasure, as they were unnecessary, their souls being able to overcome the lusts of the flesh. But their descendants, the Jewish nation, were commanded to be abstemious, because they had become corrupt by their intercourse with the Egyptians, and conceived a desire for luxury, when they obtained an accession of wealth at the time of the capture of the land of Canaan. For this reason the law of the Nazarite was instituted. The more degenerate the Jewish nation became, the more certain individuals, especially the prophets, felt themselves impelled to withdraw from communion with society and from worldly affairs, and to retire into seclusion and lead a contemplative life. This example men ought to follow. It is indeed impossible that all men should relinquish the world and its activity, because utter desolation would ensue, which was never intended by God. There must, however, be a class of exemplary persons, who shall deny themselves intercourse with the world (Perushim), and who shall serve as patterns to mankind to show how the passions can be curbed and controlled. Bachya came near extolling monasticism, toward which the Middle Ages, both in the Mahometan and in the Christian world, markedly inclined. Although well versed in philosophy, he would have passed his days, a Jewish hermit, in retirement from the world and in a contemplative life of meditation, like his younger contemporary, the Mahometan philosopher Alghazali, or he would have imitated the "Mourners for Zion" among the Karaites, were it not that the basis for such extravagant excesses was wanting in rabbinical Judaism.
The first rabbinical epoch was fertile in original minds, also producing a character whose course tended to shake violently the firm basis of Judaism. Abu Ibraham Isaac Ibn-Kastar (or Saktar) ben Yasus, with the literary title Yizchaki, was a man whose profound knowledge of philosophy and medicine was also celebrated among the Arabs. Born at Toledo (982, died 1057), he was appointed physician to Mujahid, the Prince of Denia, and his son Ali Ikbal Addaula. Ben Yasus composed a Hebrew grammar, under the name of "Compositions," and another work with the title of "Sefer Yizchaki," in which he displayed remarkable boldness in his Biblical explanations. He asserted especially that the portion of the Pentateuch in Genesis which treats of the kings of Edom was not written by Moses, but was interpolated some centuries later, a critical statement unique in the Middle Ages, and not advanced until very recently.
It would be wrong to pass over in silence a poet, who, for flight of fancy, depth of thought, and beauty of expression, may claim equality with Solomon Ibn-Gebirol, but of whose poems only a single one is extant, "an orphaned song," as he himself called it. Abu Amr Joseph ben Chasdaï was probably born in Cordova. His two brothers, who were compelled by the troubles of the wars in Spain to leave home, dwelt under the protection of the statesman, Samuel Ibn-Nagrela. Respect and thankfulness towards their noble patron induced Joseph ben Chasdaï to write an elevated, artistic, and highly imaginative poem, in which he eulogized Samuel and his young son Joseph with enthusiastic warmth (about 1044–1046). Samuel, who would never accept anything, not even a gift of praise, without making some return, wrote, in praise of Joseph ben Chasdaï, a similar poem in the same meter, but not possessing the same poetical beauty. Joseph ben Chasdaï left a son, who later obtained in Saragossa a position similar to that of Ibn-Nagrela in Granada.
Samuel, the pride of the Spanish Jews, who, as his biographer says, bore four crowns, the crown of the Law, of the priesthood, of renown, and pre-eminently that of magnanimity, was the soul of the Jewish congregation for over a quarter of a century, and died deeply lamented by his contemporaries (1055). He was buried at the gate of Elvira, in Granada, and his son erected a magnificent monument to him. A still finer monument was built for him by Solomon Ibn-Gebirol in a few pregnant lines:
"Thy home is now within my heart,
Whence ne'er shall thy firm tent depart.
There I seek thee, there I find thee,
Near as my soul art thou to me."
Samuel's noble son, Abu Hussain Joseph Ibn-Nagrela (born 1031), was a worthy successor to all the honors and titles of his father. King Badis appointed him his vizir, and the Jewish community in Granada acknowledged him, although but twenty-four years of age, as their rabbi and chief (Nagid). His father had placed him under learned tutors from different countries, and in his youth he displayed extraordinary maturity of mind. Joseph, who, like his father, was well acquainted with Arabic literature, became during his father's lifetime secretary to the heir-apparent Balkin. When he was eighteen years old, his father chose a wife for him, and he did not seek her among the wealthy and noble families of Andalusia. She was the learned and virtuous daughter of the poor Nissim of Kairuan. Joseph was heir to all the greatness of his father, and though rich and surpassingly handsome, he lived, in the prime of his youth, with a moderation that presented a marked contrast to the debauchery of the Mahometan nobles. In his capacity as minister, Joseph worked for the welfare of the state, and ruled as independently as his father. He supported science and its votaries, and so great was his liberality and so lofty his nobility of soul, that even Arab poets sang his praises. "Greet his countenance," said a Mahometan of him, "for in it wilt thou find happiness and hope. Never has a friend found a flaw in him." When the sons of the last Gaon, descended from the Prince of the Captivity, fled to Spain, Joseph Ibn-Nagrela received them hospitably, and assisted them in finding a new home in Granada. The young Jewish vizir, like his father, was the head of a college, and delivered lectures on the Talmud.
In two things only did Joseph's conduct differ from his father's; he promoted his co-religionists too conspicuously to positions of state, and behaved haughtily to his subordinates. A near kinsman of his was installed in the office next beneath his own. By these acts Joseph aroused the hatred of the Berbers, the ruling population in Granada, against himself and the Jews. They envied his truly princely splendor. He had a palace which was paved with marble. Certain occurrences during his administration transformed the hatred into fierce anger. Between the heir-apparent Balkin and his former secretary Joseph there was mutual antipathy. Suddenly Balkin died, it was thought by poisoning. King Badis thereupon had some of the servants and wives of the prince executed as guilty of his death. The remainder fled in fear of a similar punishment (1064). It was popularly believed, however, that Joseph had administered the poison to the prince. An incident, in which Joseph revealed himself at once as a humane man, and as a diplomatist devoted to his master, appears to have lost him the favor of Badis. Between the Berbers who held the sovereign power in Granada and other places in Spain and the original Arabs, there raged so fierce a racial hatred that every town of mixed population was divided into two camps. On one occasion King Badis learnt that the Berber ruler in Ronda had been slain in consequence of a conspiracy of the Arabs organized by the king of Seville, and on this account he was filled with mistrust towards the Arabs of his capital. He feared at every moment that he, like his kinsman, would fall a victim to a conspiracy. He thereupon concocted a fiendish plot; he ordered his army to massacre all the Arabs of his capital during divine service on a Friday. This plan he communicated to his Jewish minister, without whose advice he did nothing, adding that his determination was so firmly made that no objections would avail to cause him to desist from his purpose, and that he expected Joseph to maintain the deepest silence about his project. Joseph, however, considered this murderous plan as a baleful political mistake, and omitted nothing whereby he might persuade the bloodthirsty monarch to abandon his design. He asked the king to consider that the plot might miscarry, and the Arabs of the town and of the suburbs might rush to arms in self-defense, and that, even if the whole Arab population were destroyed without resistance, the danger would not disappear, but rather become magnified; for the neighboring states, which, like Seville, were wholly Arab, would be excited to deadly fury, and enter upon a war of revenge against the murderers of their kinsmen. "I see them even now," said Joseph with energy; "even now do I behold them hurrying towards us, burning with rage, each one brandishing his sword over thy head, O king. Foes, countless as the waves of the sea, hurl themselves against thee, and thou and thine army are powerless." Thus spake the Jewish statesman.
Badis, nevertheless, persisted in his resolve, and issued his commands to the generals of his army. Joseph alone deemed it his duty to abstain from taking part in the mischievous design of the king against his Arab subjects, and determined to frustrate the plot even at the risk of his own life. Through the medium of certain women, on whom he could rely, he sent secret instructions to the chief Arabs of the capital, warning them not to attend the mosque on the following Friday, but to keep themselves concealed. They understood the hint and obeyed it. On the appointed Friday the troops were drawn up in readiness near the palace. The spies of Badis found in the mosque only Berbers and a few Arabs of the lower classes. Badis was thus obliged to abandon his plan; but his anger turned against his minister, whom he suspected of betraying his trust, and he reproached him bitterly for it. Joseph denied the charge of having warned the Arabs, and maintained that the plan had been revealed by the mysterious, unnecessary military preparations. Finally, he remarked that the king ought to thank God that he had protected him from impending danger. "The time will come when thou wilt approve of my view of the matter, and wilt readily follow the advice I give thee." A Berber sheik came to the support of the vizir, and Badis was appeased. But dislike lingered in his heart against his Jewish minister, and he was full of suspicion of him. Joseph could maintain his position only by the aid of spies, who reported to him every utterance of the king. The Berber population, however, noticed that the Jewish vizir was now no longer in high favor with their sovereign, and dared enter into plots against him, and follow the dictates of their hatred against him and the Jews. Damaging rumors were continually circulated about him. His enemies gained the upper hand. A fanatical Mahometan poet, Abu Ishak al-Elviri, in an inflammatory poem, stimulated the fierce enmity of the Mahometans of Granada against the Jews into energetic action. A passage in it ran as follows: – "Say unto the Sinhajas, to the mighty men of the time, and the lions of the desert, 'Your lord has committed a disgraceful deed, he has given honor to the infidels. He appointed as minister (Katib) a Jew, when he was well able to find one among the Faithful. The Jews buoy themselves up with foolish hopes, make themselves lords, and treat the Moslems with haughtiness. When I entered Granada, I perceived that the Jews possessed the sole authority, and divided the capital and the provinces among themselves. Everywhere one of this accursed tribe is in power.'" This seditious poem was soon in the mouth of all Mahometans; it was the raven's croaking for Joseph's death.
At length, a certain incident unchained the fury of his opponents. The troops of a neighboring prince, Almotassem of Almeria, had invaded the territory of Granada, and they declared that Joseph was in league with their king, and that the army had appeared because he intended to surrender the country to Almotassem. The truth of the matter cannot be discovered now. As soon as the statements of the Almerian soldiery had spread abroad, the Berbers, accompanied by a crowd of the common rabble, hastened on the same day, on a Saturday, to the palace of Joseph. On receiving news of the rising, he concealed himself, and blackened his face, so as to escape recognition. His furious enemies nevertheless recognized him, slew him, and crucified him at the gates of Granada. The young minister met his sad end in the thirty-fifth year of his life (9 Tebet, 30 December, 1066). The rage of the infuriated assassins also spent itself on all the Jews in Granada that had not saved themselves by flight. Over one thousand five hundred Jewish families were massacred on that day, and their houses destroyed. Only a few escaped the slaughter, among whom were Joseph's wife, with her young son, Azaria. They fled to Lucena, but so little of their enormous wealth had they been able to save that they were compelled to rely for their support on the congregation of Lucena. Joseph's valuable library was partly destroyed and partly sold. Great was the mourning for the Jewish martyrs of Granada and for the noble Jewish prince. Even an Arabic poet, Ibn-Alfara, who had celebrated Joseph during his lifetime, dedicated an elegy to him, in which these words occur: "Faithfulness is my religion, and this bids me shed a tear for the Jew." His sympathy caused calumnies to be spread against the Mahometan poet at the court of the king of Almeria, who was admonished against extending the hand of friendship to him. The prince, however, replied, "This poet must have a noble heart, since he laments a Jew after his death. I know Moslems who pay no attention to their living co-religionists."
The revolt against Joseph Ibn-Nagrela in Granada was the first persecution of the Jews in the Pyrenean peninsula since its conquest by Islam. It appears to have lasted some time, for the Jews throughout the kingdom of Granada were exiled, and compelled to sell their landed property. It had no effect, however, upon the Jewish inhabitants of other parts of Spain. The princes or kings of each district, who had made themselves independent on the downfall of the caliphate of Cordova, were so hostile towards each other, that the people who were persecuted by one prince were protected by his enemy. The three distinguished Jews who had been banished from Granada were received in a friendly spirit by Almuthadid, king of Seville, and Joseph Ibn-Migash I was given a high office. The king of Saragossa, Al-muktadir Billah, a patron of science and poetry, also had a Jewish vizir, Abu Fadhl, a son of the poet Joseph Ibn-Chasdaï who contended with Ibn-Gebirol for the laurels of poetry. This Abu Fadhl Chasdaï (born about 1040) was likewise a poet, but, although acquainted with Hebrew, he wrote only in Arabic verse. The following opinion of him was expressed by an Arabic critic: "When Abu Fadhl wrote poetry one was ready to believe in witchcraft; he did not compose verses, but miracles." Abu Fadhl was also distinguished in other branches of science. He understood the theory and practice of music, but his favorite study appears to have been speculative philosophy. The remarkable qualities of his mind attracted the attention of the king of Saragossa, who made him his vizir (1066).
Not long after these events, Solomon Ibn-Gebirol, the noble philosopher-poet, ended his days on earth. His gloomy spirit appears to have become still more somber through the tragic events in Granada. His last poems were therefore elegiac laments over the cruel fate of Israel: "Wherefore does the slave rule over the sons of princes? My exile has lasted a thousand years, and I am like the howling bird of the desert. Where is the high-priest who will show me the end of all this?" (1068). In the last year of his life, Solomon Ibn-Gebirol complained similarly: "Our years pass in distress and misery; we look for the light, but darkness and humiliation overtake us: slaves rule over us. Till she fell, Babylon held sway over me; Rome, Javan, and Persia then hemmed me in, and scattered me far and wide; and these 461 years (from the time of Hejira) doth Ishmael despoil me." This probably was Ibn-Gebirol's last poem. He spent the last years of his life, after many wanderings, in Valencia, and there he died, not yet fifty years old (1069 or 1070). A legend relates that an Arab poet slew him from envy of his masterly powers of song, and buried his body beneath a fig-tree. The tree produced extraordinary blossoms, the attention of passers-by was drawn to it, and thus the murder of the noble poet was discovered.