No More Learning

Then Shahrazad entered, she
and her sister Dunyazad, and they cleansed their heads and
clipped their hair. When they came forth of the Hammam-bath,
they donned raiment and ornaments, such as men were wont pre-
pare for the Kings of the Chosroës; and among Shahrazad's
apparel was a dress purfled with red gold and wrought with
counterfeit presentments of birds and beasts. And the two
sisters encircled their necks with necklaces of jewels of price, in
the like whereof Iskander rejoiced not, for therein were great
jewels such as amazed the wit and dazzled the eye; and the
imagination was bewildered at their charms, for indeed each of
them was brighter than the sun and the moon. Before them
they lighted brilliant flambeaux of wax in candelabra of gold,
but their faces outshone the flambeaux, for that they had eyes
sharper than unsheathed swords and the lashes of their eyelids
bewitched all hearts. Their cheeks were rosy red, and their
necks and shapes gracefully swayed, and their eyes wantoned
like the gazelle's; and the slave-girls came to meet them with
instruments of music.
Then the two Kings entered the Hammam-bath, and when
they came forth they sat down on a couch set with pearls and
gems, whereupon the two sisters came up to them and stood
between their hands, as they were moons, bending and leaning
from side to side in their beauty and loveliness. Presently they
brought forward Shahrazad and displayed her, for the first dress,
in a red suit; whereupon King Shahryar rose to look upon her,
and the wits of all present, men and women, were bewitched for
that she was even as saith of her one of her describers:
·-


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THE ARABIAN NIGHTS
661
A sun on wand in knoll of sand she showed, Clad in her
cramoisy-hued chemisette:
Of her lips' honey-dew she gave me drink * And with her rosy
cheeks quencht fire she set.
Then they attired Dunyazad in a dress of blue brocade, and she
became as she were the full moon when it shineth forth. So
they displayed her in this, for the first dress, before King Shah
Zaman, who rejoiced in her and well-nigh swooned away for
love-longing and amorous desire; yea, he was distraught with
passion for her, whenas he saw her, because she was as saith of
her one of her describers in these couplets:-
She comes appareled in an azure vest* Ultramarine as skies
are deckt and dight:
I view'd th' unparall'd sight, which showed my eyes * A
Summer-moon upon a Winter-night.
-
Then they returned to Shahrazad and displayed her in the second
dress, a suit of surpassing goodliness, and veiled her face with
her hair like a chin-veil. Moreover, they let down her side-
locks, and she was even as saith of her one of her describers in
these couplets:-
O hail to him whose locks his cheeks o'ershade, * Who slew
my life by cruel hard despight:
Said I, "Hast veiled the Morn in Night? " He said, * «Nay, I
but veil the Moon in hue of Night. "
Then they displayed Dunyazad in a second and a third and a
fourth dress, and she paced forward like the rising sun, and
swayed to and fro in the insolence of her beauty; and she was
even as saith the poet of her in these couplets: -
The sun of beauty she to all appears * And, lovely coy, she
mocks all loveliness:
And when he fronts her favor and her smile* A-morn, the
sun of day in clouds must dress.
Then they displayed Shahrazad in the third dress and the fourth
and the fifth, and she became as she were a Bán-branch snell of
a thirsting gazelle, lovely of face and perfect in attributes of
grace, even as saith of her one in these couplets:


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662
THE ARABIAN NIGHTS
She comes like fullest moon on happy night, Taper of waist
with shape of magic might;
She hath an eye whose glances quell mankind, * And ruby on
her cheeks reflects his light;
Enveils her hips the blackness of her hair; * Beware of curls
that bite with viper-bite!
Her sides are silken-soft, what while the heart * Mere rock
behind that surface 'scapes our sight;
From the fringed curtains of her eyne she shoots* Shafts that
at furthest range on mark alight.
Then they returned to Dunyazad and displayed her in the fifth
dress and in the sixth, which was green, when she surpassed
with her loveliness the fair of the four quarters of the world, and
outvied, with the brightness of her countenance, the full moon
at rising tide; for she was even as saith of her the poet in these
couplets:-
A damsel 'twas the tirer's art had decked with snare and sleight,
* And robed with rays as though the sun from her had borrowed
light;
She came before us wondrous clad in chemisette of green,
veiled by his leafy screen Pomegranate hides from sight;
And when he said, "How callest thou the fashion of thy dress? "
*She answered us in pleasant way, with double meaning dight,
"We call this garment crève-cœur; and rightly is it hight, * For
many a heart wi' this we brake and harried many a sprite. "
* As
Then they displayed Shahrazad in the sixth and seventh dresses
and clad her in youth's clothing, whereupon she came forward
swaying from side to side, and coquettishly moving, and indeed
she ravished wits and hearts and ensorcelled all eyes with her
glances. She shook her sides and swayed her haunches, then
put her hair on sword-hilt and went up to King Shahryar, who
embraced her as hospitable host embraceth guest, and threatened
her in her ear with the taking of the sword; and she was even
as saith of her the poet in these words:
Were not the Murk of gender male, * Than feminines surpassing fair,
Tire-women they had grudged the bride, * Who made her beard
and whiskers wear!
Thus also they did with her sister Dunyazad; and when they
had made an end of the display, the King bestowed robes of


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THE ARABIAN NIGHTS
663
honor on all who were present, and sent the brides to their own
apartments. Then Shahrazad went in to King Shahryar and
Dunyazad to King Shah Zaman, and each of them solaced him-
self with the company of his beloved consort, and the hearts of
the folk were comforted. When morning morrowed, the Wazir
came in to the two Kings and kissed ground before them;
wherefore they thanked him and were large of bounty to him.
Presently they went forth and sat down upon couches of king-
ship, whilst all the Wazirs and Emirs and Grandees and Lords
of the land presented themselves and kissed ground. King
Shahryar ordered them dresses of honor and largesse, and they
prayed for the permanence and prosperity of the King and his
brother. Then the two Sovrans appointed their sire-in-law the
Wazir to be Viceroy in Samarcand, and assigned him five of
the Chief Emirs to accompany him, charging them attend him
and do him service. The Minister kissed ground and prayed
that they might be vouchsafed length of life: then he went in
to his daughters, whilst the Eunuchs and Ushers walked before
him, and saluted them and farewelled them. They kissed his
hands and gave him joy of the kingship and bestowed on him
immense treasures; after which he took leave of them, and set-
ting out, fared days and nights, till he came near Samarcand,
where the townspeople met him at a distance of three marches
and rejoiced in him with exceeding joy. So he entered the
city, and they decorated the houses and it was a notable day.
He sat down on the throne of his kingship, and the Wazirs did
him homage and the Grandees and Emirs of Samarcand, and
all prayed that he might be vouchsafed justice and victory and
length of continuance. So he bestowed on them robes of honor
and entreated them with distinction, and they made him Sultan
over them. As soon as his father-in-law had departed for
Samarcand, King Shahryar summoned the Grandees of his realm
and made them a stupendous banquet of all manner of delicious
meats and exquisite sweetmeats. He also bestowed on them
robes of honor and guerdoned them, and divided the kingdoms
between himself and his brother in their presence, whereat the
folk rejoiced. Then the two Kings abode, each ruling a day in
turn, and they were ever in harmony each with other, while on
similar wise their wives continued in the love of Allah Almighty
and in thanksgiving to Him; and the peoples and the provinces
were at peace, and the preachers prayed for them from the


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664
THE ARABIAN NIGHTS
pulpits, and their report was bruited abroad and the travelers
bore tidings of them to all lands. In due time King Shahryar
summoned chronicles and copyists, and bade them write all that
had betided him with his wife, first and last; so they wrote this
and named it 'The Stories of the Thousand Nights and A
Night. ' The book came to thirty volumes, and these the King
laid up in his treasure. And the two brothers abode with their
wives in all pleasaunce and solace of life and its delights, for
that indeed Allah the Most High had changed their annoy into
joy; and on this wise they continued till there took them the
Destroyer of delights and the Severer of societies, the Desolator
of dwelling-places, and Garnerer of grave-yards, and they were
translated to the ruth of Almighty Allah; their houses fell waste
and their palaces lay in ruins, and the Kings inherited their
riches. Then there reigned after them a wise ruler, who was
just, keen-witted, and accomplished, and loved tales and legends,
especially those which chronicle the doings of Sovrans and Sul-
tans, and he found in the treasury these marvelous stories and
wondrous histories, contained in the thirty volumes aforesaid.
So he read in them a first book and a second and a third
and so
on to the last of them, and each book astounded and
delighted him more than that which preceded it, till he came
to the end of them. Then he admired what so he had read
therein of description and discourse and rare traits and anec-
dotes and moral instances and reminiscences, and bade the folk
copy them and dispread them over all lands and climes; where-
fore their report was bruited abroad and the people named
them 'The marvels and wonders of the Thousand Nights and
A Night. ' This is all that hath come down to us of the origin
of this book, and Allah is All-knowing. So Glory be to Him
Whom the shifts of Time waste not away, nor doth aught of
chance or change affect His sway! Whom one case diverteth
not from other case, and Who is sole in the attributes of per-
fect grace.
And prayer and the Peace be upon the Lord's
Pontiff and Chosen One among His creatures, our Lord MOHAM-
MED the Prince of mankind, through whom we supplicate Him
for a goodly and a godly end.


## p. 665 (#75) #############################################

665
ARABIC LITERATURE
BY RICHARD GOTTHEIL
F NO civilization is the complexion of its literary remains
so characteristic of its varying fortunes as is that of the
Arabic. The precarious conditions of desert life and of
the tent, the more certain existence in settled habitations, the grand-
eur of empire acquired in a short period of enthusiastic rapture, the
softening influence of luxury and unwonted riches, are so faithfully
portrayed in the literature of the Arabs as to give us a picture of
the spiritual life of the people which no mere massing of facts can
ever give. Well aware of this themselves, the Arabs at an early date
commenced the collection and preservation of their old literary monu-
ments with a care and a studious concern which must excite within
us a feeling of wonder. For the material side of life must have
made a strong appeal to these people when they came forth from
their desert homes. Pride in their own doings, pride in their own
past, must have spurred them on; yet an ardent feeling for the
beautiful in speech is evident from the beginning of their history.
The first knowledge that we have of the tribes scattered up and down
the deserts and oases of the Arabian peninsula comes to us in the
verses of their poets. The early Teuton bards, the rhapsodists of
Greece. were not listened to with more rapt attention than was the
simple Bedouin, who, seated on his mat or at the door of his tent,
gave vent to his feelings of joy or sorrow in such manner as nature
had gifted him. As are the ballads for Scottish history, so are the
verses of these untutored bards the record of the life in which they
played no mean part. Nor could the splendors of court life at
Damascus, Bagdad, or Cordova make their rulers insensible to the
charms of poetry, — that "beautiful poetry with which Allah has
adorned the Muslim. " A verse happily said could always charm, a
satire well pointed could always incite; and the true Arab of to-day
will listen to those so adorned with the same rapt attention as did
his fathers of long ago.
This gift of the desert- otherwise so sparing of its favors-has
not failed to leave its impression upon the whole Arabic literature.
Though it has produced some prose writers of value, writing, as an
art to charm and to please, has always sought the measured cadence
of poetry or the unmeasured symmetry of rhymed prose. Its first
lispings are in the "trembling» (rájaz) metre, -iambics, rhyming in
the same syllable throughout; impromptu verses, in which the poet


## p. 666 (#76) #############################################

666
ARABIC LITERATURE
expressed the feelings of the moment: a measure which, the Arabs
say, matches the trembling trot of the she-camel. It is simple in its
character; coming so near to rhymed prose that Khalil (born 718),
the great grammarian, would not willingly admit that such lines could
really be called poetry. Some of these verses go back to the fourth
and fifth centuries of our era. But a growing sense of the poet's art
was incompatible with so simple a measure; and a hundred years
before the appearance of the Prophet, many of the canonical sixteen
metres were already in vogue. Even the later complete poems bear
the stamp of their origin, in the loose connection with which the
different parts stand to each other. The "Kasidah» (poem) is built
upon the principle that each verse must be complete in itself, — there
being no stanzas, and separable from the context; which has made
interpolations and omissions in the older poems a matter of ease.
The classical period of Arabic poetry, which reaches from the
beginning of the sixth century to the beginning of the eighth, is
dominated by this form of the Kasidah. Tradition refers its origin
to one al-Muhalhel ibn Rabí'a of the tribe of Taghlib, about one
hundred and fifty years before Muhammad; though, as is usual, this
honor is not uncontested. The Kasidah is composed of distichs, the
first two of which only are to rhyme; though every line must end in
the same syllable. It must have at least seven or ten verses, and
may reach up to one hundred or over. In nearly every case it deals
with tribe or a single person, the poet himself or a friend, — and
may be either a panegyric, a satire, an elegy, or a eulogy. That
which it is the aim of the poet to bring out comes last; the greater
part of the poem being of the nature of a captatio benevolentia. Here
he can show his full power of expression. He usually commences
with the description of a deserted camping-ground, where he sees the
traces of his beloved. He then adds the erotic part, and describes
at length his deeds of valor in the chase or in war; in order, then, to
lead over to the real object he has in view. Because of this disposi-
tion of the material, which is used by the greater poets of this time.
the general form of the Kasidah became in a measure stereotyped.
No poem was considered perfect unless molded in this form.
Arabic poetry is thus entirely lyrical. There was too little, among
these tribes, of the common national life which forms the basis for
the Epos. The Semitic genius is too subjective, and has never gotten
beyond the first rude attempts at dramatic composition. Even in its
lyrics, Arabic poetry is still more subjective than the Hebrew of the
Bible. It falls generally into the form of an allocution, even where
it is descriptive. It is the poet who speaks, and his personality per-
vades the whole poem. He describes nature as he finds it, with little
of the imaginative, "in dim grand outlines of a picture which must
―――――


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ARABIC LITERATURE
667
be filled up by the reader, guided only by a few glorious touches
powerfully standing out. " A native quickness of apprehension and
intense feeling nurtured this poetic sentiment among the Arabs. The
continuous enmity among the various tribes produced a sort of knight-
errantry which gave material to the poet; and the richness of his
language put a tongue in his mouth which could voice forth the
finest shades of description or sentiment. Al-Damári has wisely said:
"Wisdom has alighted upon three things,—the brain of the Franks,
the hands of the Chinese, and the tongues of the Arabs. "
The horizon which bounded the Arab poet's view was not far
drawn out. He describes the scenes of his desert life: the sand
dunes; the camel, antelope, wild ass, and gazelle; his bow and arrow
and his sword; his loved one torn from him by the sudden striking
of the tents and departure of her tribe. The virtues which he sings
are those in which he glories, "love of freedom, independence in
thought and action, truthfulness, largeness of heart, generosity, and
hospitality. " His descriptions breathe the freshness of his outdoor
life and bring us close to nature; his whole tone rings out a solemn
note, which is even in his lighter moments grave and serious,-as
existence itself was for those sons of the desert, who had no settled
habitation, and who, more than any one, depended upon the bounty
of Allah. Although these Kasídahs passed rapidly from mouth to
mouth, little would have been preserved for us had there not been a
class of men who, led on some by desire, some by necessity, made it
their business to write down the compositions, and to keep fresh in
their memory the very pronunciation of each word. Every poet had
such a Ráwiah. Of one Hammád it is said that he could recite one
hundred Kasidahs rhyming on each letter of the alphabet, each Ka-
sídah having at least one hundred verses. Abu Tammám (805), the
author of the 'Hamásah,' is reported to have known by heart four-
teen thousand pieces of the metre rájaz. It was not, however, until
the end of the first century of the Hijrah that systematic collections
of this older literature were commenced.
It was this very Hammád (died 777) who put together seven of the
choicest poems of the early Arabs. He called them 'Mu 'allakât,'
"the hung up” (in a place of honor, in the estimation of the people).
The authors of these seven poems were: Imr-al-Kais, Tárafa, Zuhéir,
Labîd (570), 'Antara, 'Amr, and al-Hárith. The common verdict of
their countrymen has praised the choice made by Hammád. The
seven remained the great models, to which later poets aspired: in
description of love, those of Imr-al-Kais and 'Antara; in that of the
camel and the horse, Labîd; of battle, 'Amr; in the praise of arms,
Hárith; in wise maxims, Zuhéir. To these must be added al-Nabi-
ghah, 'Alkamah, Urwa ibn al-Ward, Hássan ibn Thábit, al-A'sha, Aus


## p. 668 (#78) #############################################

668
ARABIC LITERATURE
ibn Hájar, and as-Shánfarah, whose poem has been called "the most
magnificent of old Arabic poems. " In addition to the single poems
found in the 'Mu 'allakât' and elsewhere, nearly all of these com-
posed whole series of poems, which were at a later time put in the
form of collections and called 'Diwans. ' Some of these poets have
left us as many as four hundred verses. Such collections were made
by grammarians and antiquarians of a later age. In addition to the
collections made around the name of a single poet, others were made,
fashioned upon a different principle: The 'Mufáddaliyát' (the most
excellent poems), put together by al-Mufáddal (761); the 'Diwan' of
the poets of the tribe of Hudhéil; the 'Hamásah' (Bravery; so called
from the subject of the first of the ten books into which the collec-
tion is divided) of Abu Tammám. The best anthology of these poems
is The Great Book of Songs,' put together by Abu al-Fáraj al-Ispa-
háni (died 967).
With these poets Arabic literature reached its highest development.
They are the true expression of the free Arabic spirit. Most of them
lived before or during the time of the appearance of Muhammad.
His coming produced a great change in the life of the simple Bedouins.
Though they could not be called heathen, their religion expressed
itself in the simple feeling of dependence upon higher powers, with-
out attempting to bring this faith into a close connection with their
daily life. Muhammad introduced a system into which he tried to
mold all things. He wished to unite the scattered tribes to one only
purpose. He was thus cutting away that untrammeled spirit and
that free life which had been the making of Arabic poetry. He knew
this well. He knew also the power the poets had over the people.
His own 'Qur'an' (Koran) was but a poor substitute for the elegant
verses of his opponents. "Imr-al-Kais," he said, "is the finest of all
poets, and their leader into everlasting fire. " On another occasion
he is reported to have called out, "Verily, a belly full of matter is
better than a belly full of poetry. " Even when citing verses, he
quoted them in such a manner as to destroy the metre. Abu Bekr .
very properly remarked, "Truly God said in the Qur'an,' 'We have
not taught him poetry, and it suits him not. '" In thus decrying the
poets of "barbarism," and in setting up the 'Qur'an' as the greatest
production of Arabic genius, Muhammad was turning the national
poetry to its decline. Happily his immediate successors were unable
or unwilling to follow him strictly. Ali himself, his son-in-law, is
said to have been a poet; nor did the Umáyyid Caliphs of Damascus,
"very heathens in their carnal part," bring the new spirit to its full
bloom, as did the Abbassides of Bagdad.
And yet the old spirit was gradually losing ground. The consoli-
dation of the empire brought greater security; the riches of Persia


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ARABIC LITERATURE
669
and Syria produced new types of men. The centre of Arab life was
now in the city, with all its trammels, its forced politeness, its herd-
ing together. The simplicity which characterized the early caliphs
was going; in its place was come a court, court life, court manners,
court poets. The love of poetry was still there; but the poet of the
tent had become the poet of the house and the palace. Like those
troubadours who had become jongleurs, they lived upon the crumbs
which fell from the table of princes. Such crumbs were often not to
be despised. Many a time and oft the bard tuned his lyre merely
for the price of his services. We know that he was richly rewarded.
Harún gave a dress worth four hundred thousand pieces of gold to
Ja'far ibn Yahya; at his death, Ibn 'Ubeid al-Buchtarí (865) left one
hundred complete suits of dress, two hundred shirts, and five hundred
turbans - all of which had been given him for his poems. The fresh-
ness of olden times was fading little by little; the earnestness of the
Bedouin poet was making way for a lightness of heart. In this
intermediate period, few were born so happily, and yet so imbued
with the new spirit, as was 'Umar ibn 'Rabí'a (644), "the man of
pleasure as well as the man of literature. " Of rich parentage, gifted
with a love of song which moved him to speak in verses, he was
able to keep himself far from both prince and palace. He was of
the family of Kureish, in whose Muhammad all the glories of Ara-
bia had centred, with one exception, - the gift of poetry. And now
"this Don Juan of Mecca, this Ovid of Arabia," was to wipe away
that stain. He was the Arabian Minnesinger, whom Friedrich Rückert
called "the greatest love-poet the Arabs have produced. " A man of
the city, the desert had no attractions for him. But he sang of love
as he made love,—with utter disregard of holy place or high station,
in an erotic strain strange to the stern Umáyyids. No wonder they
warned their children against reading his compositions. "The great-
est sin committed against Allah are the poems of 'Umar ibn Rabí'a,"
they said.
With the rise of the Abbassides (750), that "God-favored dynasty,"
Arabic literature entered upon its second great development; a
development which may be distinguished from that of the Umayyids
(which was Arabian) as, in very truth, Muhammadan. With Bagdad
as the capital, it was rather the non-Arabic Persians who held aloft
the torch than the Arabs descended from Kuréish. It was a bold
move, this attempt to weld the old Persian civilization with the new
Muhammadan. Yet so great was the power of the new faith that it
succeeded. The Barmecide major-domo ably seconded his Abbasside
master; the glory of both rests upon the interest they took in art,
literature, and science. The Arab came in contact with a new
world. Under Mansúr (754), Harun al-Rashid (786), and Ma'mún


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ARABIC LITERATURE
(813), the wisdom of the Greeks in philosophy and science, the
charms of Persia and India in wit and satire, were opened up to
enlightened eyes. Upon all of these, whatever their nationality,
Islam had imposed the Arab tongue, pride in the faith and in its
early history. 'Qur'an' exegesis, philosophy, law, history, and science
were cultivated under the very eyes and at the bidding of the
Palace. And, at least for several centuries, Europe was indebted to
the culture of Bagdad for what it knew of mathematics, astronomy,
and philosophy.
The Arab muse profited with the rest of this revival. History and
philosophy, as a study, demanded a close acquaintance with the
products of early Arab genius. The great philologian al-Asmái
(740-831) collected the songs and tales of the heroic age; and a little
later, with other than philological ends in view, Abu Tammán and
al-Búchturí (816-913) made the first anthologies of the old Arabic
literatures (Hamásah '). Poetry was already cultivated: and amid
the hundreds of wits, poets, and singers who thronged the entrance
to the court, there are many who claim real poetic genius. Among
them are al-Ahtal (died 713), a Christian; 'Umar ibn Rabí'a (died
728), Jarír al-Farázdak (died 728), and Muslim ibn al-Walid (died 828).
But it is rather the Persian spirit which rules, - the spirit of the
Shahnámeh and Firdaúsi,—“charming elegance, servile court flattery,
and graceful wit. " In none are the characteristics so manifest as in
Abu Núwas (762-819), the Poet Laureate of Harun, the Imr-al-Kais of
his time. His themes are wine and love. Everything else he casts
to the wind; and like his modern counterpart, Heine, he drives the
wit of his satire deep into the holiest feelings of his people. "I
would that all which Religion and Law forbids were permitted me;
and if I had only two years to live, that God would change me into
a dog at the Temple in Mecca, so that I might bite every pilgrim in
the leg," he is reported to have said. When he himself did once
make the required pilgrimage, he did so in order to carry his loves
up to the very walls of the sacred house. "Jovial, adventure-loving,
devil-may-care,» irreligious in all he did, yet neither the Khalif nor
the whole Muhammadan world were incensed. In spite of all, they
petted him and pronounced his wine-songs the finest ever written;
full of thought and replete with pictures, rich in language and true
to every touch of nature. "There are no poems on wine equal to
my own, and to my amatory compositions all others must yield," he
himself has said. He was poor and had to live by his talents. But
wherever he went he was richly rewarded. He was content only to
be able to live in shameless revelry and to sing. As he lived, so he
died, in a half-drunken group, cut to pieces by those who thought
themselves offended by his lampoons.


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671
At the other end of the Muslim world, the star of the Umáyyids,
which had set at Damascus, rose again at Cordova. The union of
two civilizations-Indo-Germanic and Semitic-was as advantageous
in the West as in the East. The influence of the spirit of learning
which reigned at Bagdad reached over to Spain, and the two dynasties
vied with each other in the patronage of all that was beautiful in
literature and learned in science. Poetry was cultivated and poets
cherished with a like regard: the Spanish innate love of the Muse
joined hands with that of the Arabic. It was the same kind of
poetry in Umáyyid Spain as in Abbasside Bagdad: poetry of the city.
and of the palace. But another element was added here,― the West-
ern love for the softer beauties of nature, and for their expression
in finely worked out mosaics and in graceful descriptions. It is this
that brings the Spanish-Arabic poetry nearer to us than the more
splendid and glittering verses of the Abbassides, or the cruder and
less polished lines of the first Muhammadans. The amount of poetry
thus composed in Arab Spain may be gauged by the fact that an
anthology made during the first half of the tenth century, by Ibn
Fáraj, contained twenty thousand verses. Cordova under 'Abd-al-
Rahmán III. and Hákim II. was the counterpart of Bagdad under
Harun. "The most learned prince that ever lived," Hákim was so
renowned a patron of literature that learned men wandered to him
from all over the Arab Empire. He collected a library of four hun-
dred thousand volumes, which had been gathered together by his
agents in Egypt, Syria, and Persia: the catalogue of which filled
forty-four volumes. In Cordova he founded a university and twenty-
seven free schools. What wonder that all the sciences-Tradition,
Theology, Jurisprudence, and especially History and Geography-
flourished during his reign. Of the poets of this period there may be
mentioned: Sa'íd ibn Júdi—the pattern of the Knight of those days,
the poet loved of women; Yáhyah ibn Hakam, "the gazelle"; Ahmad
ibn 'Abd Rabbíh, the author of a commonplace book; Ibn Abdún of
Badjiz, Ibn Hafájah of Xucar, Ibn Sa'id of Granada. Kings added a
new jewel to their crown, and took an honored place among the
bards; as 'Abd al-Rahmán I.
, and Mu'tamid (died 1095), the last King
of Seville, whose unfortunate life he himself has pictured in most
beautiful elegies. Although the short revival under the Almohades
(1184-1198) produced such men as Ibn Roshd, the commentator on
Aristotle, and Ibn Toféil, who wrote the first 'Robinson Crusoe'
story, the sun was already setting. When Ferdinand burned the
books which had been so laboriously collected, the dying flame of
Arab culture in Spain went out.
During the third period-from Ma'mún (813), under whom the
Turkish body-guards began to wield their baneful influence, until
the break-up of the Abbasside Empire in 1258-there are many


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ARABIC LITERATURE
>
names, but few real poets, to be mentioned. The Arab spirit had
spent itself, and the Mogul cloud was on the horizon.
There were
'Abd-allah ibn al-Mu'tazz, died 908; Abu Firás, died 967; al-Tughrai,
died 1120; al-Busíri, died 1279,-author of the 'Búrda, poem in praise
of Muhammad: but al-Mutanábbi, died 965, alone deserves special
mention. The "Prophet-pretender" - for such his name signifies-
has been called by Von Hammer "the greatest Arabian poet"; and
there is no doubt that his 'Diwán,' with its two hundred and eighty-
nine poems, was and is widely read in the East. But it is only a
depraved taste that can prefer such an epigene to the fresh desert-
music of Imr-al-Kais. Panegyrics, songs of war and of bloodshed,
are mostly the themes that he dilates upon. He was in the service
of Saif al-Daulah of Syria, and sang his victories over the Byzantine
Kaiser. He is the true type of the prince's poet. Withal, the taste
for poetic composition grew, though it produced a smaller number
of great poets. But it also usurped for itself fields which belong to
entirely different literary forms. Grammar, lexicography, philoso-
phy, and theology were expounded in verse; but the verse was formal,
stiff, and unnatural. Poetic composition became a tour de force.
This is nowhere better seen than in that species of composition
which appeared for the first time in the eleventh century, and
which so pleased and charmed a degenerate age as to make of the
'Makamat' the most favorite reading. Ahmad Abu Fadl al-Hama-
dhání, "the wonder of all time" (died 1007), composed the first of
such "sessions. " Of his four hundred only a few have come down
to our time. Abu Muhammad al-Hariri (1030-1121), of Bâsra, is cer-
tainly the one who made this species of literature popular; he has
been closely imitated in Hebrew by Charízi (1218), and in Syriac by
Ebed Yéshu (1290). "Makámah" means the place where one stands,
where assemblies are held; then, the discourses delivered, or conver-
sations held in such an assembly. The word is used here especially
to denote a series of "discourses and conversations composed in a
highly finished and ornamental style, and solely for the purpose of
exhibiting various kinds of eloquence, and exemplifying the rules of
grammar, rhetoric, and poetry. " Hariri himself speaks of —
"These Makamat,' which contain serious language and lightsome,
And combine refinement with dignity of style,
And brilliancies with jewels of eloquence,
And beauties of literature with its rarities,
Besides quotations from the Qur'an,' wherewith I adorned them,
And choice metaphors, and Arab proverbs that I interspersed,
And literary elegancies, and grammatical riddles,
And decisions upon ambiguous legal questions,
And original improvisations, and highly wrought orations,
And plaintive discourses, as well as jocose witticisms. »


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673
The design is thus purely literary. The fifty "sessions" of Hariri,
which are written in rhymed prose interspersed with poetry, contain
oratorical, poetical, moral, encomiastic, and satirical discourses, which
only the merest thread holds together. Each Makámah is a unit,
and has no necessary connection with that which follows. The
thread which so loosely binds them together is the delineation of the
character of Abu Zeid, the hero, in his own words. He is one of
those wandering minstrels and happy improvisers whom the favor
of princes had turned into poetizing beggars. In each Makámah is
related some ruse, by means of which Abu Zeid, because of his
wonderful gift of speech, either persuades or forces those whom he
meets to pay for his sustenance, and furnish the means for his
debauches. Not the least of those thus ensnared is his great admirer,
Háreth ibn Hammám, the narrator of the whole, who is none other
than Hariri. Wearied at last with his life of travel, debauch, and
deception, Abu Zeid retires to his native city and becomes an ascetic,
thus to atone in a measure for his past sins. The whole might be
called, not improperly, a tale, a novel. But the intention of th
poet is to show forth the richness and variety of the Arabic lan-
guage; and his own power over this great mass brings the descript-
ive-one might almost say the lexicographic-side too much to the
front. A poem that can be read either backward or forward, or
which contains all the words in the language beginning with a cer-
tain letter, may be a wonderful mosaic, but is nothing more. The
merit of Hariri lies just in this: that working in such cramped quar-
ters, with such intent and design continually guiding his pen, he has
often really done more. He has produced rhymed prose and verses
which are certainly elegant in diction and elevated in tone.
Such tales as these, told as an exercise of linguistic gymnastics,
must not blind us to the presence of real tales, told for their own
sake. Arabic literature has been very prolific in these. They light-
ened the graver subjects discussed in the tent,- philosophy, religion,
and grammar,—and they furnished entertainment for the more bois-
terous assemblies in the coffee-houses and around the bowl. For the
Arab is an inveterate story-teller; and in nearly all the prose that
he writes, this character of the "teller" shimmers clearly through
the work of the "writer. " He is an elegant narrator. Not only does
he intersperse verses and lines more frequently than our own taste
would license: by nature, he easily falls into the half-hearted poetry
of rhymed prose, for which the rich assonances of his language pre-
dispose. His own learning was further cultivated by his early con-
tact with Persian literature; through which the fable and the wisdom
of India spoken from the mouths of dumb animals reached him. In
this more frivolous form of inculcating wisdom, the Prophet scented
II-43


## p. 674 (#84) #############################################

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ARABIC LITERATURE
danger to his strait-laced demands: "men who bring sportive legends,
to lead astray from God's path without knowledge and to make a
jest of it; for such is shameful woe," is written in the thirty-first
Surah. In vain; for in hours of relaxation, such works as the 'Fables
of Bidpai' (translated from the Persian in 750 by 'Abd Allah ibn
Mukáffah), the Ten Viziers,' the 'Seven Wise Masters,' etc. , proved
to be food too palatable. Nor were the Arabs wanting in their own
peculiar Romances,' influenced only in some portions of the setting
by Persian ideas. Such were the Story of Saif ibn dhi Yázan,' the
'Tale of al-Zir,' the 'Romance of Dálhmah,' and especially the
'Romance of Antar' and the Thousand Nights and A Night. ' The
last two romances are excellent commentaries on Arab life, at its dawn
and at its fullness, among the roving chiefs of the desert and the
homes of revelry in Bagdad. As the rough-hewn poetry of Imr-al-
Kais and Zuhéir is a clearer exponent of the real Arab mind, roving
at its own suggestion, than the more perfect and softer lines of a
Mutanábbi, so is the 'Romance of Antar' the full expression of real
Arab hero-worship. And even in the cities of the Orient to-day, the
loungers in their cups can never weary of following the exploits of
this black son of the desert, who in his person unites the great vir-
tues of his people, magnanimity and bravery, with the gift of poetic
speech. Its tone is elevated; its coarseness has as its origin the out-
spokenness of unvarnished man; it does not peep through the thin
veneer of licentious suggestiveness. It is never trivial, even in its
long and wearisome descriptions, in its ever-recurring outbursts of
love. Its language suits its thought: choice and educated, and not
descending—as in the 'Nights'-to the common expressions of ordi-
nary speech. In this it resembles the 'Makamat' of Hariri, though
much less artificial and more enjoyable. It is the Arabic romance of
chivalry, and may not have been without influence on the spread of
the romance of medieval Europe. For though its central figure is a
hero of pre-Islamic times, it was put together by the learned philo-
logian, al-'Asmái, in the days of Harun the Just, at the time when
Charlemagne was ruling in Europe.
There exist in Arabic literature very few romances of the length
of Antar. ' Though the Arab delights to hear and to recount tales,
his tales are generally short and pithy. It is in this sh ter form
that he delights to inculcate principles of morality and norms of
character. He is most adroit at repartee and at pungent replies. He
has a way of stating principles which delights while it instructs.
The anecdote is at home in the East: many a favor is gained, many
a punishment averted, by a quick answer and a felicitously turned
expression. Such anecdotes exist as popular traditions in very large.
numbers; and he receives much consideration whose mind is well


## p. 675 (#85) #############################################

ARABIC LITERATURE
675
stocked with them. Collections of anecdotes have been put to writ-
ing from time to time. Those dealing with the early history of the
caliphate are among the best prose that the Arabs have produced.
For pure prose was never greatly cultivated. The literature dealing
with their own history, or with the geography and culture of the
nations with which they came in contact, is very large, and as a
record of facts is most important. Ibn Hishám (died 767), Wákidi
(died 822), Tabari (838-923), Masudí (died 957), Ibn Athír (died 1233),
Ibn Khaldún (died 1406), Makrísi (died 1442), Suyúti (died 1505), and
Makkári (died 1631), are only a few of those who have given us large
and comprehensive histories. Al-Birúni (died 1038), writer, mathema-
tician, and traveler, has left us an account of the India of his day
which has earned for him the title "Herodotus of India," though for
careful observation and faithful presentation he stands far above the
writer with whose name he is adorned. But nearly all of these his-
torical writers are mere chronologists, dry and wearisome to the gen-
eral reader. It is only in the Preface, or 'Exordium,' often the most
elaborate part of the whole book viewed from a rhetorical standpoint,
that they attempt to rise above mere incidents and strive after liter-
ary form. Besides the regard in which anecdotes are held, it is con-
sidered a mark of education to insert in one's speech as often as
possible a familiar saying, a proverb, a bon mot. These are largely
used in the moral addresses (Khútbah) made in the mosque or else-
where, addresses which take on also the form of rhymed prose. A
famous collection of such sayings is attributed to 'Ali, the fourth
successor of Muhammad. In these the whole power of the Arab for
subtle distinctions in matters of wordly wisdom, and the truly reli-
gious feeling of the East, are clearly manifested.
-
The propensity of the Arab mind for the tale and the anecdote
has had a wider influence in shaping the religious and legal develop-
ment, of Muhammadanism than would appear at first sight. The
'Qur'an' might well suffice as a directive code for a small body of
men whose daily life was simple, and whose organization was of the
crudest kind. But even Muhammad in his own later days was called
on to supplement the written word by the spoken, to interpret such
parts of his "book" as were unintelligible, to reconcile conflicting
statements, and to fit the older legislation to changed circumstances.
As the religious head of the community, his dictum became law; and
these logia of the Prophet were handed around and handed down as
the unwritten law by which his lieutenants were to be guided, in
matters not only religious, but also legal. For "law" to them was
part and parcel of "religion. " This "hadith" grew apace, until, in
the third century of the Hijrah, it was put to writing. Nothing
bears weight which has not the stamp of Muhammad's authority, as


## p. 676 (#86) #############################################

676
ARABIC LITERATURE
reported by his near surroundings and his friends. In such a mass
of tradition, great care is taken to separate the chaff from the wheat.
The chain of tradition (Isnád) must be given for each tradition, for
each anecdote. But the "friends" of the Prophet are said to have
numbered seven thousand five hundred, and it has not been easy to
keep out fraud and deception. The subjects treated are most varied,
sometimes even trivial, but dealing usually with recondite questions
of law and morals. Three great collections of the 'Hadith' have
been made by al-Buchári (869), Múslim (874), and al-Tirmídhi (892).
The first two only are considered canonical. From these are derived
the three great systems of jurisprudence which to this day hold good
in the Muhammadan world.
The best presentation of the characteristics of Arabic poetry is
by W. Ahlwardt, 'Ueber Poesie und Poetik der Araber' (Gotha,
1856); of Arabic metres, by G. W. Freytag, 'Darstellung der Ara-
bischen Verkunst' (Bonn, 1830). Translations of Arabic poetry have
been published by J. D. Carlyle, Specimens of Arabic Poetry >
(Cambridge, 1796); W. A. Clouston, Arabic Poetry' (Glasgow, 1881);
C. J. Lyall, Translations of Ancient Arabic Poetry' (London, 1885).
The history of Arabic literature is given in Th. Nöldeke's 'Beiträge
zur Kenntniss der Poesie der Alten Araber' (Hanover, 1864), and F.
F. Arbuthnot's 'Arabic Authors' (London, 1890).
Richard Gottheil
DESCRIPTION OF A MOUNTAIN STORM
From the most celebrated of the Mu 'allakât,' that of Imr-al-Kais, The
Wandering King': Translation of C. J. Lyall
FRIEND, see the lightning there! it flickered and now is gone,
as though flashed a pair of hands in the pillar of crowned
cloud.
Now, was it its blaze, or the lamps of a hermit that dwells alone,
O
and pours o'er the twisted wicks the oil from his slender cruse?
We sat there, my fellows and I, 'twixt Dárij and al-Udhaib,
and gazed as the distance gloomed, and waited its oncoming.
The right of its mighty rain advanced over Katan's ridge;
the left of its trailing skirt swept Yadhbul and as-Sitar:
Then over Kutaifah's steep the flood of its onset drave,
and headlong before its storm the tall trees were borne to ground;


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ARABIC LITERATURE
677
And the drift of its waters passed o'er the crags of al-Kanân,
and drave forth the white-legged deer from the refuge they
sought therein.
And Taimá—it left not there the stem of a palm aloft,
nor ever a tower, save ours, firm built on the living rock.
And when first its misty shroud bore down upon Mount Thabîr,
he stood like an ancient man in a gray-streaked mantle wrapt.
The clouds cast their burdens down on the broad plain of al-Ghabit,
as a trader from al-Yaman unfolds from the bales his store;
And the topmost crest, on the morrow, of al-Mujaimir's cairn,
was heaped with the flood-borne wrack, like wool on a distaff
wound.
FROM THE MU 'ALLAKÂT› OF ZUHÉIR
A lament for the desertion, through a war, of his former home and the
haunts of his tribe: Translation of C. J. Lyall
I
AⓇ
RE they of Umm Aufà's tents-these black lines that speak no
word
in the stony plain of al-Mutathellam and al-Darraj?
Yea, and the place where his camp stood in ar-Rakmatan is now
like the tracery drawn afresh by the veins of the inner wrist.
The wild kine roam there large-eyed, and the deer pass to and fro,
and their younglings rise up to suck from the spots where they
all lie round.
I stood there and gazed; since I saw it last twenty years had flown,
and much I pondered thereon: hard was it to know again.
The black stones in order laid in the place where the pot was set,
and the trench like a cistern's root with its sides unbroken still.
And when I knew it, at last, for his resting-place, I cried,.
"Good greeting to thee, O house! Fair peace in the morn to
thee! "
-
Look forth, O friend! canst thou see aught of ladies, camel-borne,
that journey along the upland there, above Jurthum well?
Their litters are hung with precious stuffs, and their veils thereon
cast loosely, their borders rose, as though they were dyed in
blood.
Sideways they sat as their beasts clomb the ridge of as-Sûbân;
in them were the sweetness and grace of one nourished in wealth
and ease.


## p. 678 (#88) #############################################

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ARABIC LITERATURE
They went on their way at dawn-they started before sunrise;
straight did they make for the vale of ar-Rass, as hand for
mouth.
Dainty and playful their mood to one who should try its worth,
and faces fair to an eye skilled to trace out loveliness.
And the tassels of scarlet wool, in the spots where they gat them
down
glowed red, like to 'ishrik seeds, fresh-fallen, unbroken, bright.
And then they reached the wells where the deep-blue water lies,
they cast down their staves, and set them to pitch the tents for
rest.
On their right hand rose al-Kanân, and the rugged skirts thereof -
(and in al-Kanân how many are foes and friends of mine! )
At eve they left as-Sûbân; then they crossed the ridge again,
borne on the fair-fashioned litters, all new and builded broad.
[Certain cantos, to the sixth one, reproach the author of the treachery
and quarrel that led to the war and migration. Then follows a series of
maxims as to human life and conduct. ]
VI
Aweary am I of life's toil and travail: he who like me
has seen pass of years fourscore, well may he be sick of life!
I know what To-day unfolds, what before it was Yesterday;
but blind do I stand before the knowledge To-morrow brings.
I have seen the Dooms trample men as a blind beast at random
treads:
whom they smote, he died; whom they missed, he lived on to
strengthless eld.
Who gathers not friends by help, in many cases of need
is torn by the blind beast's teeth, or trodden beneath its foot.
And he who his honor shields by the doing of a kindly deed
grows richer; who shuts not the mouth of reviling, it lights on
him.
And he who is lord of wealth and niggardly with his hoard,
alone is he left by his kin; naught have they for him but blame.
Who keeps faith, no blame he earns, and that man whose heart is
led
to goodness unmixed with guile gains freedom and peace of soul.
Who trembles before the Dooms, yea, him shall they surely seize,
albeit he set a ladder to climb the sky.
Who spends on unworthy men his kindness with lavish hand;
no praise doth he earn, but blame, and repentence the seed
thereof.


## p. 679 (#89) #############################################

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679
Who will not yield to the spears, when their feet turn to him in
peace,
shall yield to the points thereof, and the long flashing blades of
steel.
Who holds not his foe away from his cistern with sword and spear,
it is broken and spoiled; who uses not roughness, him shall men
wrong.
Who seeks far away from kin for housing, takes foe for friend;
who honors himself not well, no honor gains he from men.
Who makes of his soul a beast of burden to bear men's loads,
nor shields it one day from shame, yea, sorrow shall be his lot.
Whatso be the shaping of mind that a man is born withal,
though he think it lies hid from men, it shall surely one day be
known.
How many a man seemed goodly to thee while he held his peace,
whereof thou didst learn the more or less when he turned to
speech.
The tongue is a man's one-half, the other, the heart within;
besides these two naught is left but a semblance of flesh and
blood.
If a man be old and a fool, his folly is past all cure;
but a young man may yet grow wise and cast off his foolish-
ness.
VII
We asked, and ye gave; we asked again, and ye gave again:
but the end of much asking must be that no giving shall follow it.
TARAFAH IBN AL 'ABD
A rebuke to a mischief-maker: Translation of C. J. Lyall
THE
HE craft of thy busy tongue has sundered from home and kin
the cousins of both thy houses, 'Amr, 'Auf, and Mâlik's son.
For thou to thy dearest art a wind of the bitter north,
that sweeps from the Syrian hills, and wrinkles our cheeks and
brows.
――
But balmy art thou and mild to strangers, a gracious breeze
that brings from the gulf shore showers and fills with its rain our
streams.
And this, of a truth, I know-
-no fancy it is of mine:
who holds mean his kith and kin, the meanest of men is he!
And surely a foolish tongue, when rules not its idle prate
discretion, but shows men where thou dwellest with none to guard.


## p. 680 (#90) #############################################

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LABÎD
A lament for the afflictions of his tribe, the 'Âmir. From the Diwan':
Translation of C. J. Lyall
YEA,
EA, the righteous shall keep the way of the righteous,
and to God turn the steps of all that abideth;
And to God ye return, too; with Him, only,
rest the issues of things-and all that they gather.
All that is in the Book of Knowledge is reckoned,
and before Him revealed lies all that is hidden:
Both the day when His gifts of goodness on those whom
He exalts are as palms full freighted with sweetness,
(Young, burdened with fruit, their heads bowed with clusters,
swelled to bursting, the tallest e'en as the lesser,)
And the day when avails the sin-spotted only
prayer for pardon and grace to lead him to mercy,
And the good deed he wrought to witness before him,
and the pity of Him who is Compassion:
Yea, a place in his shade, the best to abide in,
and a heart still and steadfast, right weening, honest.
Is there aught good in life? Yea, I have seen it,
even I, if the seeing bring aught of profit.
Long has Life been to me; and this is its burthen:
lone against time abide Ti'âr and Yaramram,
And Kulâf and Badî the mighty, and Dalfa',
yea, and Timâr, that towers aloft over Kubbah;*
And the Stars, marching all night in procession,
drooping westwards, as each hies forth to his setting:
Sure and steadfast their course: the underworld draws them
gently downwards, as maidens encircling the Pillar;
And we know not, whenas their lustre is vanished,
whether long be the ropes that bind them, or little.
Lone is 'Amir, and naught is left of her goodness,
in the meadows of al-A'râf, but her dwellings -
Ruined shadows of tents and penfolds and shelters,
bough from bough rent, and spoiled by wind and by weather.
Gone is 'Amir, her ancients gone, all the wisest:
none remain but a folk whose war-mares are fillies,
Yet they slay them in every breach in our rampart-
yea, and they that bestride them, true-hearted helpers,
They contemn not their kin when change comes upon them,
Nor do we scorn the ties of blood and of succor.
-Now on 'Âmir be peace, and praises, and blessing,
wherever be on earth her way—or her halting!
*The five names foregoing are those of mountains.


## p. 681 (#91) #############################################

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681
A FAIR LADY
From the Mu 'allakât of Antara': Translation of E. H. Palmer
Tw
WAS then her beauties first enslaved my heart-
Those glittering pearls and ruby lips, whose kiss
Was sweeter far than honey to the taste.
As when the merchant opes a precious box
Of perfume, such an odor from her breath
Comes toward me, harbinger of her approach;
Or like an untouched meadow, where the rain
Hath fallen freshly on the fragrant herbs
That carpet all its pure untrodden soil:,
A meadow where the fragrant rain-drops fall
Like coins of silver in the quiet pools,
And irrigate it with perpetual streams;
A meadow where the sportive insects hum,
Like listless topers singing o'er their cups,
And ply their forelegs, like a man who tries
With maimèd hand to use the flint and steel.
--
THE DEATH OF 'ABDALLÂH
AND WHAT MANNER OF MAN HE WAS
From the original poem of Duraid, son of as-Simmah, of Jusharn: Translation
of C. J. Lyall
-
WARNED them both, 'Ârid, and the men who went 'Ârid's way –
the house of the Black Mother: yea, ye are all my witnesses,
I said to them: "Think-even now, two thousand are on your
track,
all laden with sword and spear, their captains in Persian mail! »
But when they would hearken not, I followed their road, though I
knew well they were fools, and that I walked not in Wisdom's
way.
For am not I but one of the Ghazîyah ? and if they err
I err with my house; and if the Ghazîyah go right, so I.
I read them my rede, one day, at Mun'araj al-Liwa:
the morrow, at noon, they saw my counsel as I had seen.
A shout rose, and voices cried, "The horsemen have slain a knight! »
I said, "Is it 'Abdallâh, the man whom you say is slain ? »
I
sprang to his side: the spears had riddled his body through
as a weaver on outstretched web deftly plies the sharp-toothed
comb.


## p. 682 (#92) #############################################

682
ARABIC LITERATURE
I stood as a camel stands with fear in her heart, and seeks
the stuffed skin with eager mouth, and thinks-is her youngling
slain?
I plied spear above him till the riders had left their prey,
and over myself black blood flowed in a dusky tide.