Antarah ben Shedad el Absi (Antar the Lion, the Son of She-
dad of the tribe of Abs), the historic Antar, was born about the
## p.
dad of the tribe of Abs), the historic Antar, was born about the
## p.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v01 - A to Apu
”
Stubbornly the man on guard objected:—He is not to be
touched. He is not to be moved — until the inquest is held. ”
The bystanders gazed in surprise at the stranger,— Candia's
stranger. Their number was augmenting. A few occupied the
embankment shaded with acacias; others crowned the promon.
tory rising abruptly from the rocks. Here and there, on the
monstrous bowlders, a tiny boat lay sparkling like gold at the
foot of the detached crag, so lofty that it gave the effect of the
ruins of some Cyclopean tower, confronting the immensity of
the sea.
All at once, from above on the height, a voice announced,
« There she is. ”
Other voices followed:—“The mother! The mother! »
## p. 581 (#619) ############################################
GABRIELE D'ANNUNZIO
581
All turned. Some stepped down from the embankment.
Those on the promontory leaned far over. All became silent,
in expectation. The man on guard drew the sheet once more
over the corpse.
In the midst of the silence, the sea barely
seemed to draw its breath, the acacias barely rustled. And
then through the silence they could hear her cries as she drew
near.
The mother came along the strand, beneath the sun, crying
aloud. She was clad in widow's mourning. She tottered along
the sand, with bowed body, calling out, "O my son! My son! ”
She raised her palms to heaven, and then struck them upon
her knees, calling out, “My son! ”
One of her older sons, with a red handkerchief bound around
his neck, to hide some sore, followed her like one demented,
dashing aside his tears with the back of his hand. She ad.
vanced along the strand, beating her knees, directing her steps
toward the sheet. And as she called upon her dead, there
issued from her mouth sounds scarcely human, but rather like
the howling of some savage dog. As she drew near, she bent
over lower and lower, she placed herself almost on all fours; till,
reaching him, she threw herself with a howl upon the sheet.
She arose again. With hand rough and toil-stained, hand
toughened by every variety of labor, she uncovered the body.
She gazed upon it a few instants, motionless as though turned
to stone. Then time and time again, shrilly, with all the power
of her voice, she called as if trying to awaken him, “My son!
My son! My son! ”
Sobs suffocated her. Kneeling beside him, she beat her
sides furiously with her fists. She turned her despairing eyes
around upon the circle of strangers. During a pause in her
paroxysms she seemed to recollect herself. And then she began
to sing. She sang her sorrow in a rhythm which rose and
fell continually, like the palpitation of a heart. It was the
ancient monody which from time immemorial, in the land of
the Abruzzi, the women have sung over the remains of their
relatives. It was the melodious eloquence of sacred sorrow,
which renewed spontaneously, in the profundity of her being,
this hereditary rhythm in which the mothers of bygone ages
had modulated their lamentations.
She sang on and on:- "Open your eyes, arise and walk, my
son! How beautiful you are! How beautiful you are! ”
## p. 582 (#620) ############################################
582
GABRIELE D'ANNUNZIO
She sang on:-“For a morsel of bread I have drowned you,
my son! For a morsel of bread I have borne you to the
slaughter! For that have I raised you! ”
But the irate woman with the hooked nose interrupted her:-
“It was not you who drowned him; it was Destiny. It was not
you who took him to the slaughter. You had placed him in the
midst of bread. ” And making a gesture toward the hill where
the house stood which had sheltered the lad, she added, “They
kept him there, like a pink at the ear. ”
The mother continued:—“O my son, who was it sent you;
who was it sent you here, to drown? ”
And the irate woman: «Who was it sent him ? It was our
Lord. He said to him, “Go into the water and end yourself. »
As Giorgio was affirming in a low tone to one of the by-
standers that if succored in time the child might have been
saved, and that they had killed him by turning him upside down
and holding him suspended by the feet, he felt the gaze of the
mother fixed upon him. "Can't you do something for him, sir? ”
she prayed. "Can't you do something for him ? »
And she prayed:—“O Madonna of the Miracles, work a mir-
acle for him! ”
Touching the head of the dead boy, she repeated:—“My
son! my son! my son! arise and walk ! »
On his knees in front of her was the brother of the dead
boy; he was sobbing, but without grief, and from time to time
he glanced around with a face that suddenly grew indifferent.
Another brother, the oldest one, remained at a little distance,
seated in the shade of a bowlder; and he was making a great
show of grief, hiding his face in his hands. The women, striv-
ing to console the mother, were bending over her with gestures
of compassion, and accompanying her monody with an occasional
lament.
And she sang on:-“Why have I sent you forth from my
house? Why have I sent you to your death? I have done
everything to keep my children from hunger; everything, every-
thing, except to be a woman with a price. And for a morsel of
bread I have lost you! This was the way you were to die! ”
Thereupon the woman with the hawk nose raised her petti-
coats in an impetus of wrath, entered the water up to her knees,
and cried :-"Look! He came only to here. Look! The water
is like oil. It is a sign that he was bound to die that way. ”
## p. 583 (#621) ############################################
GABRIELE D'ANNUNZIO
583
With two strides she regained the shore. “Look! ” she re-
peated, pointing to the deep imprint in the sand made by the
man who recovered the body. "Look ! »
The mother looked in a dull way; but it seemed as if she
neither saw nor comprehended. After her first wild outbursts of
grief, there came over her brief pauses, amounting to an obscure-
ment of consciousness. She would remain silent, she would
touch her foot or her leg with a mechanical gesture. Then she
would wipe away her tears with the black apron. She seemed
to be quieting down. Then, all of a sudden, a fresh explosion
would shake her from head to foot, and prostrate her upon the
corpse.
“And I cannot take you away! I cannot take you in these
arms to the church! My son! My son! ”
She fondled him from head to foot, she caressed him softly.
Her savage anguish was softened to an infinite tenderness.
hand — the burnt and callous hand of a hard-working woman
became infinitely gentle as she touched the eyes, the mouth, the
forehead of her son.
“How beautiful you are! How beautiful you are! ”
She touched his lower lip, already turned blue; and as she
pressed it slightly, a whitish froth issued from the mouth. From
between his lashes she brushed away some speck, very carefully,
as though fearful of hurting him.
"How beautiful you are, heart of your mamma! ”
His lashes were long, very long, and fair. On his temples, on
his cheeks was a light bloom, pale as gold.
« Do you not hear me? Rise and walk. »
She took the little well-worn cap, limp as a rag. She gazed
at it and kissed it, saying: -
“I am going to make myself a charm out of this, and wear it
always on my breast. ”
She lifted the child; a quantity of water escaped from the
mouth and trickled down upon the breast.
"O Madonna of the Miracles, perform a miracle! ” she prayed,
raising her eyes to heaven in a supreme supplication. Then she
laid softly down again the little being who had been so dear to
her, and took up the worn shirt, the red sash, the cap. She
rolled them up together in a little bundle, and said: -
« This shall be my pillow; on these I shall rest my head,
always, at night; on these I wish to die. ”
## p. 584 (#622) ############################################
584
GABRIELE D'ANNUNZIO
»
She placed these humble relics on the sand, beside the head
of her child, and rested her temple on them, stretching herself
out, as if on a bed.
Both of them, mother and son, now lay side by side, on the
hard rocks, beneath the flaming sky, close to the homicidal sea.
And now she began to croon the very lullaby which in the past
had diffused pure sleep over his infant cradle.
She took up the red sash and said, "I want to dress him. ”
The cross-grained woman, who still held her ground, assented.
“Let us dress him now. ”
And she herself took the garments from under the head of the
dead boy; she felt in the jacket pocket and found a slice of bread
and a fig
“Do you see? They had given him his food just before, -
just before. They cared for him like a pink at the ear. ”
The mother gazed upon the little shirt, all soiled and torn,
over which her tears fell rapidly, and said, “Must I put that
shirt on him?
The other woman promptly raised her voice to some one of
her family, above on the bluff:-"Quick, bring one of Nufrillo's
new shirts! »
The new shirt was brought. The mother flung
herself down beside him.
“Get up, Riccangela, get up! ” solicited the women around her.
She did not heed them. "Is my son to stay like that on the
stones, and I not stay there too ? — like that, on the stones, my
own son ? »
"Get up, Riccangela, come away. ”
She arose. She gazed once more with terrible intensity upon
the little livid face of the dead. Once again she called with all
the power of her voice, “My son! My son! My son! »
Then with her own hands she covered up with the sheet the
unheeding remains.
And the women gathered around her, drew her a little to one
side, under shadow of a bowlder; they forced her to sit down,
they lamented with her.
Little by little the spectators melted away. There remained
only a few of the women comforters; there remained the man
clad in linen, the impassive custodian, who was awaiting the
inquest.
The dog-day sun poured down upon the strand, and lent to
the funeral sheet a dazzling whiteness. Amidst the heat the
## p. 585 (#623) ############################################
GABRIELE D'ANNUNZIO
585
promontory raised its desolate aridity straight upward from the
tortuous chain of rocks. The sea, immense and green, pursued
its constant, even breathing. And it seemed as if the languid
hour was destined never to come to an end.
Under shadow of the bowlder, opposite the white sheet, which
was raised up by the rigid form of the corpse beneath, the
mother continued her monody in the rhythm rendered sacred by
all the sorrows, past and present, of her race. And it seemed as
if her lamentation was destined never to come to an end.
TO AN IMPROMPTU OF CHOPIN
WER
Hen thou upon my breast art sleeping,
I hear across the midnight gray —
I hear the muffled note of weeping,
So near-so sad — so far away!
All night I hear the teardrops falling -
Each drop by drop- my heart must weep;
I hear the falling blood-drops -- lonely,
Whilst thou dost sleep-whilst thou dost sleep.
From «The Triumph of Death. "
INDIA
IN
NDIA — whose enameled page unrolled
Like autumn's gilded pageant, 'neath a sun
That withers not for ancient kings undone
Or gods decaying in their shrines of gold -
Where were thy vaunted princes, that of old
Trod thee with thunder - of thy saints was none
To rouse thee when the onslaught was begun,
That shook the tinseled sceptre from thy hold?
Dead - though behind thy gloomy citadels
The fountains lave their baths of porphyry;
Dead - though the rose-trees of thy myriad dells
Breathe as of old their speechless ecstasy;
Dead - though within thy temples, courts, and cells,
Their countless lamps still supplicate for thee.
Translated by Thomas Walsh, for (A Library of the World's Best Literature. )
## p. 586 (#624) ############################################
586
ANTAR
(About 550–615)
BY EDWARD S. HOLDEN
RABIA was opened to English readers first by Sale's transla-
tion of the Kuran,' in 1734; and by English versions of
the Arabian Nights from 1712 onward. The latter were
derived from Galland's translation of the Thousand and One Nights,'
which began to appear, in French, in 1704. Next to nothing was
generally known of Oriental literature from that time until the end
of the eighteenth century. The East India Company fostered the
study of the classics of the extreme Orient; and the first Napoleon
opened Egypt, — his savans marched in the centre of the invading
squares.
The flagship of the English fleet which blockaded Napoleon's army
carried an Austro-German diplomatist and scholar, - Baron von Ham-
mer-Purgstall, — part of whose mission was to procure a complete
manuscript of the Arabian Nights. ' It was then supposed that these
tales were the daily food of all Turks, Arabians, and Syrians. To
the intense surprise of Von Hammer, he learned that they were
never recited in the coffee-houses of Constantinople, and that they
were not to be found at all outside of Egypt.
His dismay and disappointment were soon richly compensated,
however, by the discovery of the Arabian romance of Antar,' the
national classic, hitherto unknown in Europe, except for an enthu-
siastic notice which had fallen by chance into the hands of Sir
William Jones. The entire work was soon collected. It is of inter-
minable length in the original, being often found in thirty or forty
manuscript volumes in quarto, in seventy or eighty in octavo. Por-
tions of it have been translated into English, German, and French.
English readers can consult it best in Antar, a Bedouin romance,
translated from the Arabic by Terrick Hamilton, in four volumes
8vo (London, 1820). Hamilton's translation, now rare, covers only a
portion of the original; and a new translation, suitably abridged, is
much needed.
The book purports to have been written more than a thousand
years ago, - in the golden prime of the Caliph Harún-al-Rashid
(786-809) and of his sons and successors, Amin (809-813) and Mamun
(813-834), — by the famous As-Asmai (born 741, died about 830). It
is in fact a later compilation, probably of the twelth century. (Baron
--
-
-
-
## p. 587 (#625) ############################################
ANTAR
587
von Hammer's MS. was engrossed in the year 1466. ) Whatever the
exact date may have been, it was probably not much later than A. D.
1200, The main outlines of Antar's life are historical. Many partic-
ulars are derived from historic accounts of the lives of other Arabian
heroes (Duraid and others) and are transferred bodily to the biogra-
phy of Antar. They date back to the sixth century. Most of the
details must be imaginary, but they are skillfully contrived by a
writer who knew the life of the desert Arab at first hand. The
verses with which the volumes abound are in many cases undoubt-
edly Antar's. (They are printed in italics in what follows. ) In any
event, the book in its present form has been the delight of all
Arabians for many centuries. Every wild Bedouin of the desert
knew much of the tale by heart, and listened to its periods and to
its poems with quivering interest. His more cultivated brothers of
the cities possessed one or many of its volumes. Every coffee-house
in Aleppo, Bagdad, or Constantinople had a narrator who, night after
night, recited it to rapt audiences.
The unanimous opinion of the East has always placed the romance
of Antar' at the summit of such literature. As one of their authors
well says:— «The Thousand and One Nights) is for the amusement
of women and children; Antar' is a book for men. From it they
learn lessons of eloquence, of magnanimity, of generosity, and of
statecraft. ” Even the prophet Muhammad, well-known foe to poetry
and to poets, instructed his disciples to relate to their children the
traditions concerning Antar, «for these will steel their hearts harder
than stone. ”
The book belongs among the great national classics, like the
(Shah-nameh' and the Nibelungen-Lied. ' It has a direct relation to
Western culture and opinion also. Antar was the father of knight-
hood. He was the preux-chevalier, the champion of the weak and
oppressed, the protector of women, the impassioned lover-poet, the
irresistible and magnanimous knight. European chivalry in a marked
degree is the child of the chivalry of his time, which traveled along
the shores of the Mediterranean Sea and passed with the Moors into
Spain (710). Another current flowed from Arabia to meet and to
modify the Greeks of Constantinople and the early Crusaders; and
still another passed from Persia into Palestine and Europe. These
fertilized Provençal poetry, the French romance, the early Italian
epic. The “Shah-nameh' of Firdausi, that model of a heroic poem,
was written early in the eleventh century. "Antar' in its present
form probably preceded the romances of chivalry so common in the
twelfth century in Italy and France.
Antarah ben Shedad el Absi (Antar the Lion, the Son of She-
dad of the tribe of Abs), the historic Antar, was born about the
## p. 588 (#626) ############################################
588
ANTAR
A
middle of the sixth century of our era, and died about the year 615,
forty-five years after the birth of the prophet Muhammad, and seven
years before the Hijra — the Flight to Medina — with which the
Muhammadan era begins. His father was a noble Absian knight.
The romance makes him the son of an Abyssinian slave, who is
finally discovered to be a powerful princess. His skin was black.
He was despised by his father and family and set to tend their
camels. His extraordinary strength and valor and his remarkable
poetic faculty soon made him a marked man, in a community in
which personal valor failed of its full value if it were not celebrated
in brilliant verse. His love for the beautiful Ibla (Ablah in the
usual modern form), the daughter of his uncle, was proved in hun-
dreds of encounters and battles; by many adventurous excursions in
search of fame and booty; by thousands of verses in her honor.
The historic Antar is the author of one of the seven suspended
poems. ” The common explanation of this term is that these seven
poems were judged, by the assemblage of all the Arabs, worthy to
be written in golden letters (whence their name of the golden
odes'), and to be hung on high in the sacred Kaabah at Mecca.
Whether this be true, is not certain. They are at any rate accepted
models of Arabic style. Antar was one of the seven greatest poets
of his poetic race. These “suspended poems” can now be studied in
the original and in translation, by the help of a little book pub-
lished in London in 1894, (The Seven Poems,' by Captain F. E.
Johnson, R. A.
The Antar of the romance is constantly breaking into verse which
is passionately admired by his followers. None of its beauties of
form are preserved in the translation; and indeed, this is true of the
prose forms also. It speaks volumes for the manly vigor of the
original that it can be transferred to an alien tongue and yet preserve
great qualities. To the Arab the work is a masterpiece both in form
and content. Its prose is in balanced, rhythmic sentences ending in
full or partial rhymes. This “cadence of the cooing dove ” is pure
music to an Eastern ear. If any reader is interested in Arabic verse,
he can readily satisfy his curiosity. An introduction to the subject
is given in the Terminal Essay of Sir Richard Burton's (Arabian
Nights) (Lady Burton's edition, Vol. vi. , page 340). The same sub-
ject is treated briefly and very clearly in the introduction to Lyall's
(Ancient Arabian Poetry'- a book well worth consulting on other
accounts.
The story itself appeals to the Oriental's deepest feelings, pass-
ions, ideals:-
-
!
1
U
## p. 589 (#627) ############################################
ANTAR
589
«To realize the impetuous feelings of the Arab,” says Von Hammer, you
must have heard these tales narrated to a circle of Bedouins crowded about
the orator of the desert
. . . It is a veritable drama, in which the spec-
tators are the actors as well. If the hero is threatened with imminent
danger, they shudder and cry aloud, No, no, no; Allah forbid! that cannot
be! ) If he is in the midst of tumult and battle, mowing down rank after
rank of the enemy with his sword, they seize their own weapons and rise to
fly to his rescue. If he falls into the snares of treachery, their foreheads
contract with angry indignation and they exclaim, “The curse of Allah be on
the traitor! ) If the hero at last sinks under the superior forces of the enemy,
a long and ardent sigh escapes from their breasts, with the farewell blessing,
(Allah's compassion be with him — may he rest in peace. ) . . . Descriptions
of the beauties of nature, especially of the spring, are received with exclama-
tions. Nothing equals the delight which sparkles in every eye when the
narrator draws a picture of feminine beauty. ”
The question as to the exact relation of the chivalry of Europe to
the earlier chivalry of Arabia and of the East is a large one, and
one which must be left to scholars. It is certain that Spenser and
Sir Philip Sidney owe far more to Saladin than we commonly sup-
pose. The tales of Boccaccio (1350) show that the Italians of that
day still held the Arabs to be their teachers in chivalry, and at least
their equals in art, science, and civilization; and the Italy of 1300
was a century in advance of the rest of Europe. In 1268 two broth-
ers of the King of Castile, with 800 other Spanish gentlemen, were
serving under the banners of the Muslim in Tunis. The knightly
ideal of both Moors and Spaniards was to be
“Like steel among swords,
Like wax among ladies. ”
Hospitality, generosity, magnanimity, the protection of the weak,
punctilious observance of the plighted faith, pride of birth and
lineage, glory in personal valor — these were the knightly virtues
common to Arab and Christian warriors. Antar and his knights, Ibla
and her maidens, are the Oriental counterparts of Launcelot and
Arthur, of Guinevere and Iseult.
The primary duty of the early Arab was blood-revenge. An
insult to himself, or an injury to the tribe, must be wiped out with
the blood of the offender. Hence arose the multitude of tribal feuds.
It was Muhammad who first checked the private feud by fixing the
price of blood” to be paid by the aggressor or by his tribe. In the
time of Antar revenge was the foremost duty. Ideals of excellence
change as circumstances alter. Virtues go out of fashion (like the
magnificence of Aristotle), or acquire an entirely new importance
(as veracity, since England became a trading nation). Some day we
may possess a natural history of the virtues.
## p. 590 (#628) ############################################
590
ANTAR
The service of the loved one by the early Arab was a passion
completely different from the vain gallantry of the mediæval knight
of Europe. He sought for the complete possession of his chosen
mistress, and was eager to earn it by multitudes of chivalric deeds;
but he could not have understood the sentimentalities of the Trou-
badours. The systematic fantasies of the «Courts of Love » would
have seemed cold follies to Arab chivalry — as indeed they are,
though they have led to something better. In generosity, in mag-
nanimity, the Arab knight far surpassed his European brother. Hos-
pitality was a point of honor to both. As to the noble Arabs of those
days, when any one demanded their protection, no one ever inquired
what was the matter; for if he asked any questions, it would be said
of him that he was afraid. The poets have thus described them in
verse:-
« They rise when any one calls out to them, and
they haste before asking any questions;
they aid him against his enemies
that seek his life, and they return
honored to their families. ”
The Arab was the knight of the tent and the desert. His deeds
were immediately known to his fellows; discussed and weighed in
every household of his tribe. The Christian knight of the Middle
Ages, living isolated in his stronghold, was less immediately affected
by the opinions of his class. Tribal allegiance was developed in the
first case, independence in the second.
Scholars tell us that the romance of Antar' is priceless for faith-
ful pictures of the times before the advent of Muhammad, which are
confirmed by all that remains of the poetry of “the days of ignorance. ”
To the general reader its charm lies in its bold and simple stories
of adventure; in its childlike enjoyment of the beauty of Nature;
in its pictures of the elemental passions of ambition, pride, love,
hate, revenge. Antar was a poet, a lover, a warrior, a born leader.
From a keeper of camels he rose to be the protector of the tribe of
Abs and the pattern of chivalry, by virtue of great natural powers
and in the face of every obstacle. He won possession of his Ibla
and gave her the dower of a queen, by adventures the like of which
were never known before. There were no Ifrits or Genii to come to
his aid, as in the Thousand Nights and a Night. ' 'Antar' is the
epic of success crowning human valor; the tales in the Arabian
Nights,' at their best, are the fond fancies of the fatalist whose best
endeavor is at the mercy of every capricious Jinni.
The Arabian Nights' contains one tale of the early Arabs, — the
story of Gharib and his brother Ajib, — which repeats some of the
## p. 591 (#629) ############################################
ANTAR
591
exploits of Antar; a tale far inferior to the romance. The excellences
of the Arabian Nights are of another order. We must look for
them in the pompous enchantments of the City of Brass, or in the
tender constancy of Aziz and Azizah, or in the tale of Hasan of
Bassorah, with its lovely study of the friendship of a foster-sister,
and its wonderful presentment of the magic surroundings of the
country of the Jann.
To select specimens from Antar' is like selecting from Robinson
Crusoe. ' In the romance, Antar's adventures go on and on, and the
character of the hero develops before one's eyes. It may be that the
leisure of the desert is needed fully to appreciate this master-work.
Edwards. Hoeden
THE VALOR OF ANTAR
ow Antar was becoming a big boy, and grew up, and used
to accompany his mother, Zebeeba, to the pastures, and
he watched the cattle; and this he continued to do till he
increased in stature. He used to walk and run about to harden
himself, till at length his muscles were strengthened, his frame
altogether more robust, his bones more firm and solid, and his
speech correct. His days were passed in roaming about the
mountain sides; and thus he continued till he attained his tenth
year.
(He now kills a wolf which had attacked his father's flocks, and breaks
into verse to celebrate his victory:-)
O thou wolf, eager for death, I have left thee wallowing in dust, and
spoiled of life; thou wouldst have the run of my flocks, but I have left
thee dyed with blood; thou wouldst disperse my sheep, and thou knowest I
am a lion that never fears. This is the way I treat thee, thou dog of the
desert. Hast thou ever before seen battle and wars?
[His next adventure brought him to the notice of the chief of the tribe, -
King Zobeir. A slave of Prince Shas insulted a poor, feeble woman who was
tending her sheep; on which Antar «dashed bim against the ground. And
his length and breadth were all one mass. ” This deed won for Antar the
hatred of Prince Shas, the friendship of the gentle Prince Malik, and the
praise of the king, their father. « This valiant fellow," said the king, «has
defended the honor of women. ”]
## p. 592 (#630) ############################################
592
ANTAR
was
.
From that day both King Zoheir and his son Malik conceived
a great affection for Antar, and as Antar returned home, the
women all collected around him to ask him what had happened;
among them were his aunts and his cousin, whose name
Ibla. Now Ibla was younger than Antar, and a merry lass.
She was lovely as the moon at its full; and perfectly beautiful
and elegant.
One day he entered the house of his uncle
Malik and found his aunt combing his cousin Ibla's hair, which
flowed down her back, dark as the shades of night. Antar was
quite surprised; he was greatly agitated, and could pay no atten-
tion to anything; he was anxious and thoughtful, and his anguish
daily became more oppressive.
[Meeting her at a feast, he addressed her in verse:-)
The lovely virgin has struck my heart with the arrow of a glance, for
which there is no cure. Sometimes she wishes for a feast in the sandhills,
like a fawn whose eyes are full of magic. She moves; I should say it
was the branch of the Tamarisk that waves its branches to the southern
breeze. She approaches; I should say it was the frightened fawn, when a
calamity alarms it in the waste.
When Ibla heard from Antar this description of her charms,
she was in astonishment. But Antar continued in this state for
days and nights, his love and anguish ever increasing.
[Antar resolves to be either tossed upon the spear-heads or numbered
among the noble; and he wanders into the plain of lions. )
As soon
as Antar found himself in it, he said to himself,
Perhaps I shall now find a lion, and I will slay him. Then,
behold a lion appeared in the middle of the valley; he stalked
about and roared aloud; wide were his nostrils, and fire flashed
from his eyes; the whole valley trembled at every gnash of his
fangs— he was a calamity, and his claws more dreadful than the
deadliest catastrophe - thunder pealed as he roared — vast was
his strength, and his force dreadful — broad were his paws,
and his head immense. Just at that moment Shedad and his
brothers came up. They saw Antar address the lion, and heard
the verses that he repeated; he sprang forward like a hailstorm,
and hissed at him like a black serpent - he met the lion as he
sprang and outroared his bellow; then, giving a dreadful shriek,
he seized hold of his mouth with his hand, and wrenched it
open to his shoulders, and he shouted aloud — the valley and the
country round echoed back the war.
## p. 593 (#631) ############################################
ANTAR
593
[Those who were watching were astonished at his prowess, and began to
fear Antar. The horsemen now set off to attack the tribe of Temeem, leav-
ing the slaves to guard the women. ]
Antar was in transports on seeing Ibla appear with the other
women. She was indeed like an amorous fawn; and when
Antar was attending her, he was overwhelmed in the ocean of
his love, and became the slave of her sable tresses. They sat
down to eat, and the wine-cups went merrily round.
It was
the spring of the year, when the whole land shone in all its
glory; the vines hung luxuriantly in the arbors; the flowers
shed around ambrosial fragrance; every hillock sparkled in the
beauty of its colors; the birds in responsive melody sang sweetly
from each bush, and harmony issued from their throats; the
ground was covered with flowers and herbs; while the nightin-
gales filled the air with their softest notes.
[ While the maidens were singing and sporting, lo! on a sudden appeared
a cloud of dust walling the horizon, and a vast clamor arose. A troop of
horses and their riders, some seventy in number, rushed forth to seize the
women, and made them prisoners. Antar instantly rescues Ibla from her
captors and engages the enemy. ]
He rushed forward to meet them, and harder than flint was
his heart, and in his attack was their fate and destiny. He
returned home, taking with him five-and-twenty horses, and all
the women and children. Now the hatred of Semeeah (his
stepmother) was converted into love and tenderness, and he
became dearer to her than sleep.
[He had thenceforward a powerful ally in her, a fervent friend in
Prince Malik, a wily counselor in his brother Shiboob. And Antar made great
progress in Ibla's heart, from the verses that he spoke in her praise; such
verses as these:-)
I love thee with the love of a noble-born hero; and I am content with
thy imaginary phantom. Thou art my sovereign in my very blood; and
my mistress; and in thee is all my confidence.
[Antar's astonishing valor gained him the praise of the noble Absian
knights, and he was emboldened to ask his father Shedad to acknowledge
him for his son, that he might become a chief among the Arabs. Shedad,
enraged, drew his sword and rushed upon Antar to kill him, but was pre-
vented by Semeeah. Antar, in the greatest agony of spirit, was ashamed
that the day should dawn on him after this refusal, or that he should remain
any longer in the country. He mounted his horse, put on his armor, and
traveled on till he was far from the tents, and he knew not whither he was
going. )
11-38
## p. 594 (#632) ############################################
ANTAR
594
Antar had proceeded some way, when lo! a knight rushed
out from the ravines in the rocks, mounted on a dark-colored
colt, beautiful and compact, and of a race much prized among
the Arabs; his hoofs were as flat as the beaten coin; when he
neighed he seemed as if about to speak, and his ears were like
quills; his sire was Wasil and his dam Hemama. When Antar
cast his eye upon the horse, and observed his speed and his paces,
he felt that no horse could surpass him, so his whole heart and
soul longed for him. And when the knight perceived that Antar
was making toward him, he spurred his horse and it fed beneath
him; for this was a renowned horseman called Harith, the son of
Obad, and he was a valiant hero.
[By various devices Antar became possessed of the noble horse Abjer,
whose equal no prince or emperor could boast of. His mettle was soon tried
in an affray with the tribe of Maan, headed by the warrior Nakid, who was
ferocious as a lion. ]
arm
When Nakid saw the battle of Antar, and how alone he stood
against five thousand, and was making them drink of the cup of
death and perdition, he was overwhelmed with astonishment at
his deeds. “Thou valiant slave,” he cried, “how powerful is thine
how strong thy wrist! ”. And he rushed down upon Antar.
And Antar presented himself before him, for he was all anxiety
to meet him. « O thou base-born! ) cried Nakid. But Antar
permitted him not to finish his speech, before he assaulted him
with the assault of a lion, and roared at him; he was horrified
and paralyzed at the sight of Antar. Antar attacked him, thus
scared and petrified, and struck him with his sword on the head,
and cleft him down the back; and he fell, cut in twain, frum
the horse, and he was split in two as if by a balance; and as
Antar dealt the blow he cried out, “Oh, by Abs! oh, by Adnan!
I am ever the lover of Ibla. " No sooner did the tribe of Maan
behold Antar's blow, than every one was seized with fear and
dismay. The whole five thousand made an attack like the attack
of a single man; but Antar received them as the parched ground
receives the first of the rain. His eyeballs were fiery red, and
foam issued from his lips; whenever he smote he cleft the head;
every warrior he assailed, he annihilated; he tore a rider from the
back of his horse, he heaved him on high, and whirling him in
the air he struck down another with him, and the two instantly
expired. "By thine eyes, Ibla,” he cried, “to-day will I destroy
»
## p. 595 (#633) ############################################
ANTAR
595
all this race. " Thus he proceeded until he terrified the warriors,
and hurled them into woe and disgrace, hewing off their arms
and their joints.
[At the moment of Antar's victory his friends arrive to see his triumph.
On his way back with them he celebrates his love for Ibla in verses. ]
When the breezes blow from Mount Saadi, their freshness calms the fire
of my love and transports.
Her throat complains of the darkness
of her necklaces. Alas! the effects of that throat and that necklace! Will
fortune ever, O daughter of Malik, ever bless me with thy embrace, that
would cure my heart of the sorrows of love? If my eye could see her
baggage camels, and her family, I would rub my cheeks on the hoofs of
her camels. I will kiss the earth where thou art; mayhap the fire of my
love and ecstasy may be quenched.
I am the well-known Antar,
the chief of his tribe, and I shall die; but when I am gone, histories shall
tell of me.
(From that day forth Antar was named Abool-fawaris, that is to say, the
father of horsemen. His sword, Dhami — the trenchant – was forged from a
meteor that fell from the sky; it was two cubits long and two spans wide. If
it were presented to Nushirvan, King of Persia, he would exalt the giver with
favors; or if it were presented to the Emperor of Europe, one would be
enriched with treasures of gold and silver. ]
As soon as Gheidac saw the tribe of Abs, and Antar the
destroyer of horsemen, his heart was overjoyed and he cried out,
« This is a glorious morning; to-day will I take my revenge. ” So
he assailed the tribe of Abs and Adnan, and his people attacked
behind him like a cloud when it pours forth water and rains.
And the Knight of Abs assaulted them likewise, anxious to try
his sword, the famous Dhami. And Antar fought with Gheidac,
and wearied him, and shouted at him, and filled him with horror;
then assailed him so that stirrup grated stirrup; and he struck
him on the head with Dhami. He cleft his visor and wadding,
and his sword played away between the eyes, passing through
his shoulders down to the back of the horse, even down to the
ground; and he and his horse made four pieces; and to the strict-
est observer, it would appear that he had divided them with
scales. And God prospered Antar in all that he did, so that he
slew all he aimed at, and overthrew all he touched.
“Nobility,” said Antar, «among liberal men, is the thrust of
»
the spear, the blow of the sword, and patience beneath the battle-
dust. I am the physician of the tribe of Abs in sickness, their
protector in disgrace, the defender of their wives when they are
## p. 596 (#634) ############################################
596
ANTAR
in trouble, their horseman when they are in glory, and their
sword when they rush to arms. ”
»
[This was Antar's speech to Monzar, King of the Arabs, when he was in
search of Ibla's dowry. He found it in the land of Irak, where the magnificent
Chosroe was ready to reward him even to the half of his kingdom, for his
victory over the champion of the Emperor of Europe. ]
»
(
"All this grandeur, and all these gifts,” said Antar, have
no value to me, no charm in my eyes. Love of my native land
is the fixed passion of my soul. ”
“Do not imagine,” said Chosroe, “that we have been able
duly to recompense you. What we have given you is perish-
able, as everything human is, but your praises and your poems
will endure forever. ”
[Antar's wars made him a Nocturnal Calamity to the foes of his tribe.
He was its protector and the champion of its women, «for Antar was particu-
larly solicitous in the cause of women. ” His generosity knew no bounds.
«Antar immediately presented the whole of the spoil to his father and his
uncles; and all the tribe of Abs were astonished at his noble conduct and
filial love. " His hospitality was universal; his magnanimity without limit.
"Do not bear malice, O Shiboob. Renounce it; for no good ever came of
malice. Violence is infamous; its result is ever uncertain, and no one can
act justly when actuated by hatred. Let my heart support every evil, and
let my patience endure till I have subdued all my foes. ” Time after time he
won new dowries for Ibla, even bringing the treasures of Persia to her feet.
Treacheries without count divided him from his promised bride. Over and
over again he rescued her from the hands of the enemy; and not only her,
but her father and her hostile kinsmen.
At last (in the fourth volume, on the fourteen hundred and fifty-third
page) Antar makes his wedding feasts.
Stubbornly the man on guard objected:—He is not to be
touched. He is not to be moved — until the inquest is held. ”
The bystanders gazed in surprise at the stranger,— Candia's
stranger. Their number was augmenting. A few occupied the
embankment shaded with acacias; others crowned the promon.
tory rising abruptly from the rocks. Here and there, on the
monstrous bowlders, a tiny boat lay sparkling like gold at the
foot of the detached crag, so lofty that it gave the effect of the
ruins of some Cyclopean tower, confronting the immensity of
the sea.
All at once, from above on the height, a voice announced,
« There she is. ”
Other voices followed:—“The mother! The mother! »
## p. 581 (#619) ############################################
GABRIELE D'ANNUNZIO
581
All turned. Some stepped down from the embankment.
Those on the promontory leaned far over. All became silent,
in expectation. The man on guard drew the sheet once more
over the corpse.
In the midst of the silence, the sea barely
seemed to draw its breath, the acacias barely rustled. And
then through the silence they could hear her cries as she drew
near.
The mother came along the strand, beneath the sun, crying
aloud. She was clad in widow's mourning. She tottered along
the sand, with bowed body, calling out, "O my son! My son! ”
She raised her palms to heaven, and then struck them upon
her knees, calling out, “My son! ”
One of her older sons, with a red handkerchief bound around
his neck, to hide some sore, followed her like one demented,
dashing aside his tears with the back of his hand. She ad.
vanced along the strand, beating her knees, directing her steps
toward the sheet. And as she called upon her dead, there
issued from her mouth sounds scarcely human, but rather like
the howling of some savage dog. As she drew near, she bent
over lower and lower, she placed herself almost on all fours; till,
reaching him, she threw herself with a howl upon the sheet.
She arose again. With hand rough and toil-stained, hand
toughened by every variety of labor, she uncovered the body.
She gazed upon it a few instants, motionless as though turned
to stone. Then time and time again, shrilly, with all the power
of her voice, she called as if trying to awaken him, “My son!
My son! My son! ”
Sobs suffocated her. Kneeling beside him, she beat her
sides furiously with her fists. She turned her despairing eyes
around upon the circle of strangers. During a pause in her
paroxysms she seemed to recollect herself. And then she began
to sing. She sang her sorrow in a rhythm which rose and
fell continually, like the palpitation of a heart. It was the
ancient monody which from time immemorial, in the land of
the Abruzzi, the women have sung over the remains of their
relatives. It was the melodious eloquence of sacred sorrow,
which renewed spontaneously, in the profundity of her being,
this hereditary rhythm in which the mothers of bygone ages
had modulated their lamentations.
She sang on and on:- "Open your eyes, arise and walk, my
son! How beautiful you are! How beautiful you are! ”
## p. 582 (#620) ############################################
582
GABRIELE D'ANNUNZIO
She sang on:-“For a morsel of bread I have drowned you,
my son! For a morsel of bread I have borne you to the
slaughter! For that have I raised you! ”
But the irate woman with the hooked nose interrupted her:-
“It was not you who drowned him; it was Destiny. It was not
you who took him to the slaughter. You had placed him in the
midst of bread. ” And making a gesture toward the hill where
the house stood which had sheltered the lad, she added, “They
kept him there, like a pink at the ear. ”
The mother continued:—“O my son, who was it sent you;
who was it sent you here, to drown? ”
And the irate woman: «Who was it sent him ? It was our
Lord. He said to him, “Go into the water and end yourself. »
As Giorgio was affirming in a low tone to one of the by-
standers that if succored in time the child might have been
saved, and that they had killed him by turning him upside down
and holding him suspended by the feet, he felt the gaze of the
mother fixed upon him. "Can't you do something for him, sir? ”
she prayed. "Can't you do something for him ? »
And she prayed:—“O Madonna of the Miracles, work a mir-
acle for him! ”
Touching the head of the dead boy, she repeated:—“My
son! my son! my son! arise and walk ! »
On his knees in front of her was the brother of the dead
boy; he was sobbing, but without grief, and from time to time
he glanced around with a face that suddenly grew indifferent.
Another brother, the oldest one, remained at a little distance,
seated in the shade of a bowlder; and he was making a great
show of grief, hiding his face in his hands. The women, striv-
ing to console the mother, were bending over her with gestures
of compassion, and accompanying her monody with an occasional
lament.
And she sang on:-“Why have I sent you forth from my
house? Why have I sent you to your death? I have done
everything to keep my children from hunger; everything, every-
thing, except to be a woman with a price. And for a morsel of
bread I have lost you! This was the way you were to die! ”
Thereupon the woman with the hawk nose raised her petti-
coats in an impetus of wrath, entered the water up to her knees,
and cried :-"Look! He came only to here. Look! The water
is like oil. It is a sign that he was bound to die that way. ”
## p. 583 (#621) ############################################
GABRIELE D'ANNUNZIO
583
With two strides she regained the shore. “Look! ” she re-
peated, pointing to the deep imprint in the sand made by the
man who recovered the body. "Look ! »
The mother looked in a dull way; but it seemed as if she
neither saw nor comprehended. After her first wild outbursts of
grief, there came over her brief pauses, amounting to an obscure-
ment of consciousness. She would remain silent, she would
touch her foot or her leg with a mechanical gesture. Then she
would wipe away her tears with the black apron. She seemed
to be quieting down. Then, all of a sudden, a fresh explosion
would shake her from head to foot, and prostrate her upon the
corpse.
“And I cannot take you away! I cannot take you in these
arms to the church! My son! My son! ”
She fondled him from head to foot, she caressed him softly.
Her savage anguish was softened to an infinite tenderness.
hand — the burnt and callous hand of a hard-working woman
became infinitely gentle as she touched the eyes, the mouth, the
forehead of her son.
“How beautiful you are! How beautiful you are! ”
She touched his lower lip, already turned blue; and as she
pressed it slightly, a whitish froth issued from the mouth. From
between his lashes she brushed away some speck, very carefully,
as though fearful of hurting him.
"How beautiful you are, heart of your mamma! ”
His lashes were long, very long, and fair. On his temples, on
his cheeks was a light bloom, pale as gold.
« Do you not hear me? Rise and walk. »
She took the little well-worn cap, limp as a rag. She gazed
at it and kissed it, saying: -
“I am going to make myself a charm out of this, and wear it
always on my breast. ”
She lifted the child; a quantity of water escaped from the
mouth and trickled down upon the breast.
"O Madonna of the Miracles, perform a miracle! ” she prayed,
raising her eyes to heaven in a supreme supplication. Then she
laid softly down again the little being who had been so dear to
her, and took up the worn shirt, the red sash, the cap. She
rolled them up together in a little bundle, and said: -
« This shall be my pillow; on these I shall rest my head,
always, at night; on these I wish to die. ”
## p. 584 (#622) ############################################
584
GABRIELE D'ANNUNZIO
»
She placed these humble relics on the sand, beside the head
of her child, and rested her temple on them, stretching herself
out, as if on a bed.
Both of them, mother and son, now lay side by side, on the
hard rocks, beneath the flaming sky, close to the homicidal sea.
And now she began to croon the very lullaby which in the past
had diffused pure sleep over his infant cradle.
She took up the red sash and said, "I want to dress him. ”
The cross-grained woman, who still held her ground, assented.
“Let us dress him now. ”
And she herself took the garments from under the head of the
dead boy; she felt in the jacket pocket and found a slice of bread
and a fig
“Do you see? They had given him his food just before, -
just before. They cared for him like a pink at the ear. ”
The mother gazed upon the little shirt, all soiled and torn,
over which her tears fell rapidly, and said, “Must I put that
shirt on him?
The other woman promptly raised her voice to some one of
her family, above on the bluff:-"Quick, bring one of Nufrillo's
new shirts! »
The new shirt was brought. The mother flung
herself down beside him.
“Get up, Riccangela, get up! ” solicited the women around her.
She did not heed them. "Is my son to stay like that on the
stones, and I not stay there too ? — like that, on the stones, my
own son ? »
"Get up, Riccangela, come away. ”
She arose. She gazed once more with terrible intensity upon
the little livid face of the dead. Once again she called with all
the power of her voice, “My son! My son! My son! »
Then with her own hands she covered up with the sheet the
unheeding remains.
And the women gathered around her, drew her a little to one
side, under shadow of a bowlder; they forced her to sit down,
they lamented with her.
Little by little the spectators melted away. There remained
only a few of the women comforters; there remained the man
clad in linen, the impassive custodian, who was awaiting the
inquest.
The dog-day sun poured down upon the strand, and lent to
the funeral sheet a dazzling whiteness. Amidst the heat the
## p. 585 (#623) ############################################
GABRIELE D'ANNUNZIO
585
promontory raised its desolate aridity straight upward from the
tortuous chain of rocks. The sea, immense and green, pursued
its constant, even breathing. And it seemed as if the languid
hour was destined never to come to an end.
Under shadow of the bowlder, opposite the white sheet, which
was raised up by the rigid form of the corpse beneath, the
mother continued her monody in the rhythm rendered sacred by
all the sorrows, past and present, of her race. And it seemed as
if her lamentation was destined never to come to an end.
TO AN IMPROMPTU OF CHOPIN
WER
Hen thou upon my breast art sleeping,
I hear across the midnight gray —
I hear the muffled note of weeping,
So near-so sad — so far away!
All night I hear the teardrops falling -
Each drop by drop- my heart must weep;
I hear the falling blood-drops -- lonely,
Whilst thou dost sleep-whilst thou dost sleep.
From «The Triumph of Death. "
INDIA
IN
NDIA — whose enameled page unrolled
Like autumn's gilded pageant, 'neath a sun
That withers not for ancient kings undone
Or gods decaying in their shrines of gold -
Where were thy vaunted princes, that of old
Trod thee with thunder - of thy saints was none
To rouse thee when the onslaught was begun,
That shook the tinseled sceptre from thy hold?
Dead - though behind thy gloomy citadels
The fountains lave their baths of porphyry;
Dead - though the rose-trees of thy myriad dells
Breathe as of old their speechless ecstasy;
Dead - though within thy temples, courts, and cells,
Their countless lamps still supplicate for thee.
Translated by Thomas Walsh, for (A Library of the World's Best Literature. )
## p. 586 (#624) ############################################
586
ANTAR
(About 550–615)
BY EDWARD S. HOLDEN
RABIA was opened to English readers first by Sale's transla-
tion of the Kuran,' in 1734; and by English versions of
the Arabian Nights from 1712 onward. The latter were
derived from Galland's translation of the Thousand and One Nights,'
which began to appear, in French, in 1704. Next to nothing was
generally known of Oriental literature from that time until the end
of the eighteenth century. The East India Company fostered the
study of the classics of the extreme Orient; and the first Napoleon
opened Egypt, — his savans marched in the centre of the invading
squares.
The flagship of the English fleet which blockaded Napoleon's army
carried an Austro-German diplomatist and scholar, - Baron von Ham-
mer-Purgstall, — part of whose mission was to procure a complete
manuscript of the Arabian Nights. ' It was then supposed that these
tales were the daily food of all Turks, Arabians, and Syrians. To
the intense surprise of Von Hammer, he learned that they were
never recited in the coffee-houses of Constantinople, and that they
were not to be found at all outside of Egypt.
His dismay and disappointment were soon richly compensated,
however, by the discovery of the Arabian romance of Antar,' the
national classic, hitherto unknown in Europe, except for an enthu-
siastic notice which had fallen by chance into the hands of Sir
William Jones. The entire work was soon collected. It is of inter-
minable length in the original, being often found in thirty or forty
manuscript volumes in quarto, in seventy or eighty in octavo. Por-
tions of it have been translated into English, German, and French.
English readers can consult it best in Antar, a Bedouin romance,
translated from the Arabic by Terrick Hamilton, in four volumes
8vo (London, 1820). Hamilton's translation, now rare, covers only a
portion of the original; and a new translation, suitably abridged, is
much needed.
The book purports to have been written more than a thousand
years ago, - in the golden prime of the Caliph Harún-al-Rashid
(786-809) and of his sons and successors, Amin (809-813) and Mamun
(813-834), — by the famous As-Asmai (born 741, died about 830). It
is in fact a later compilation, probably of the twelth century. (Baron
--
-
-
-
## p. 587 (#625) ############################################
ANTAR
587
von Hammer's MS. was engrossed in the year 1466. ) Whatever the
exact date may have been, it was probably not much later than A. D.
1200, The main outlines of Antar's life are historical. Many partic-
ulars are derived from historic accounts of the lives of other Arabian
heroes (Duraid and others) and are transferred bodily to the biogra-
phy of Antar. They date back to the sixth century. Most of the
details must be imaginary, but they are skillfully contrived by a
writer who knew the life of the desert Arab at first hand. The
verses with which the volumes abound are in many cases undoubt-
edly Antar's. (They are printed in italics in what follows. ) In any
event, the book in its present form has been the delight of all
Arabians for many centuries. Every wild Bedouin of the desert
knew much of the tale by heart, and listened to its periods and to
its poems with quivering interest. His more cultivated brothers of
the cities possessed one or many of its volumes. Every coffee-house
in Aleppo, Bagdad, or Constantinople had a narrator who, night after
night, recited it to rapt audiences.
The unanimous opinion of the East has always placed the romance
of Antar' at the summit of such literature. As one of their authors
well says:— «The Thousand and One Nights) is for the amusement
of women and children; Antar' is a book for men. From it they
learn lessons of eloquence, of magnanimity, of generosity, and of
statecraft. ” Even the prophet Muhammad, well-known foe to poetry
and to poets, instructed his disciples to relate to their children the
traditions concerning Antar, «for these will steel their hearts harder
than stone. ”
The book belongs among the great national classics, like the
(Shah-nameh' and the Nibelungen-Lied. ' It has a direct relation to
Western culture and opinion also. Antar was the father of knight-
hood. He was the preux-chevalier, the champion of the weak and
oppressed, the protector of women, the impassioned lover-poet, the
irresistible and magnanimous knight. European chivalry in a marked
degree is the child of the chivalry of his time, which traveled along
the shores of the Mediterranean Sea and passed with the Moors into
Spain (710). Another current flowed from Arabia to meet and to
modify the Greeks of Constantinople and the early Crusaders; and
still another passed from Persia into Palestine and Europe. These
fertilized Provençal poetry, the French romance, the early Italian
epic. The “Shah-nameh' of Firdausi, that model of a heroic poem,
was written early in the eleventh century. "Antar' in its present
form probably preceded the romances of chivalry so common in the
twelfth century in Italy and France.
Antarah ben Shedad el Absi (Antar the Lion, the Son of She-
dad of the tribe of Abs), the historic Antar, was born about the
## p. 588 (#626) ############################################
588
ANTAR
A
middle of the sixth century of our era, and died about the year 615,
forty-five years after the birth of the prophet Muhammad, and seven
years before the Hijra — the Flight to Medina — with which the
Muhammadan era begins. His father was a noble Absian knight.
The romance makes him the son of an Abyssinian slave, who is
finally discovered to be a powerful princess. His skin was black.
He was despised by his father and family and set to tend their
camels. His extraordinary strength and valor and his remarkable
poetic faculty soon made him a marked man, in a community in
which personal valor failed of its full value if it were not celebrated
in brilliant verse. His love for the beautiful Ibla (Ablah in the
usual modern form), the daughter of his uncle, was proved in hun-
dreds of encounters and battles; by many adventurous excursions in
search of fame and booty; by thousands of verses in her honor.
The historic Antar is the author of one of the seven suspended
poems. ” The common explanation of this term is that these seven
poems were judged, by the assemblage of all the Arabs, worthy to
be written in golden letters (whence their name of the golden
odes'), and to be hung on high in the sacred Kaabah at Mecca.
Whether this be true, is not certain. They are at any rate accepted
models of Arabic style. Antar was one of the seven greatest poets
of his poetic race. These “suspended poems” can now be studied in
the original and in translation, by the help of a little book pub-
lished in London in 1894, (The Seven Poems,' by Captain F. E.
Johnson, R. A.
The Antar of the romance is constantly breaking into verse which
is passionately admired by his followers. None of its beauties of
form are preserved in the translation; and indeed, this is true of the
prose forms also. It speaks volumes for the manly vigor of the
original that it can be transferred to an alien tongue and yet preserve
great qualities. To the Arab the work is a masterpiece both in form
and content. Its prose is in balanced, rhythmic sentences ending in
full or partial rhymes. This “cadence of the cooing dove ” is pure
music to an Eastern ear. If any reader is interested in Arabic verse,
he can readily satisfy his curiosity. An introduction to the subject
is given in the Terminal Essay of Sir Richard Burton's (Arabian
Nights) (Lady Burton's edition, Vol. vi. , page 340). The same sub-
ject is treated briefly and very clearly in the introduction to Lyall's
(Ancient Arabian Poetry'- a book well worth consulting on other
accounts.
The story itself appeals to the Oriental's deepest feelings, pass-
ions, ideals:-
-
!
1
U
## p. 589 (#627) ############################################
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«To realize the impetuous feelings of the Arab,” says Von Hammer, you
must have heard these tales narrated to a circle of Bedouins crowded about
the orator of the desert
. . . It is a veritable drama, in which the spec-
tators are the actors as well. If the hero is threatened with imminent
danger, they shudder and cry aloud, No, no, no; Allah forbid! that cannot
be! ) If he is in the midst of tumult and battle, mowing down rank after
rank of the enemy with his sword, they seize their own weapons and rise to
fly to his rescue. If he falls into the snares of treachery, their foreheads
contract with angry indignation and they exclaim, “The curse of Allah be on
the traitor! ) If the hero at last sinks under the superior forces of the enemy,
a long and ardent sigh escapes from their breasts, with the farewell blessing,
(Allah's compassion be with him — may he rest in peace. ) . . . Descriptions
of the beauties of nature, especially of the spring, are received with exclama-
tions. Nothing equals the delight which sparkles in every eye when the
narrator draws a picture of feminine beauty. ”
The question as to the exact relation of the chivalry of Europe to
the earlier chivalry of Arabia and of the East is a large one, and
one which must be left to scholars. It is certain that Spenser and
Sir Philip Sidney owe far more to Saladin than we commonly sup-
pose. The tales of Boccaccio (1350) show that the Italians of that
day still held the Arabs to be their teachers in chivalry, and at least
their equals in art, science, and civilization; and the Italy of 1300
was a century in advance of the rest of Europe. In 1268 two broth-
ers of the King of Castile, with 800 other Spanish gentlemen, were
serving under the banners of the Muslim in Tunis. The knightly
ideal of both Moors and Spaniards was to be
“Like steel among swords,
Like wax among ladies. ”
Hospitality, generosity, magnanimity, the protection of the weak,
punctilious observance of the plighted faith, pride of birth and
lineage, glory in personal valor — these were the knightly virtues
common to Arab and Christian warriors. Antar and his knights, Ibla
and her maidens, are the Oriental counterparts of Launcelot and
Arthur, of Guinevere and Iseult.
The primary duty of the early Arab was blood-revenge. An
insult to himself, or an injury to the tribe, must be wiped out with
the blood of the offender. Hence arose the multitude of tribal feuds.
It was Muhammad who first checked the private feud by fixing the
price of blood” to be paid by the aggressor or by his tribe. In the
time of Antar revenge was the foremost duty. Ideals of excellence
change as circumstances alter. Virtues go out of fashion (like the
magnificence of Aristotle), or acquire an entirely new importance
(as veracity, since England became a trading nation). Some day we
may possess a natural history of the virtues.
## p. 590 (#628) ############################################
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ANTAR
The service of the loved one by the early Arab was a passion
completely different from the vain gallantry of the mediæval knight
of Europe. He sought for the complete possession of his chosen
mistress, and was eager to earn it by multitudes of chivalric deeds;
but he could not have understood the sentimentalities of the Trou-
badours. The systematic fantasies of the «Courts of Love » would
have seemed cold follies to Arab chivalry — as indeed they are,
though they have led to something better. In generosity, in mag-
nanimity, the Arab knight far surpassed his European brother. Hos-
pitality was a point of honor to both. As to the noble Arabs of those
days, when any one demanded their protection, no one ever inquired
what was the matter; for if he asked any questions, it would be said
of him that he was afraid. The poets have thus described them in
verse:-
« They rise when any one calls out to them, and
they haste before asking any questions;
they aid him against his enemies
that seek his life, and they return
honored to their families. ”
The Arab was the knight of the tent and the desert. His deeds
were immediately known to his fellows; discussed and weighed in
every household of his tribe. The Christian knight of the Middle
Ages, living isolated in his stronghold, was less immediately affected
by the opinions of his class. Tribal allegiance was developed in the
first case, independence in the second.
Scholars tell us that the romance of Antar' is priceless for faith-
ful pictures of the times before the advent of Muhammad, which are
confirmed by all that remains of the poetry of “the days of ignorance. ”
To the general reader its charm lies in its bold and simple stories
of adventure; in its childlike enjoyment of the beauty of Nature;
in its pictures of the elemental passions of ambition, pride, love,
hate, revenge. Antar was a poet, a lover, a warrior, a born leader.
From a keeper of camels he rose to be the protector of the tribe of
Abs and the pattern of chivalry, by virtue of great natural powers
and in the face of every obstacle. He won possession of his Ibla
and gave her the dower of a queen, by adventures the like of which
were never known before. There were no Ifrits or Genii to come to
his aid, as in the Thousand Nights and a Night. ' 'Antar' is the
epic of success crowning human valor; the tales in the Arabian
Nights,' at their best, are the fond fancies of the fatalist whose best
endeavor is at the mercy of every capricious Jinni.
The Arabian Nights' contains one tale of the early Arabs, — the
story of Gharib and his brother Ajib, — which repeats some of the
## p. 591 (#629) ############################################
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591
exploits of Antar; a tale far inferior to the romance. The excellences
of the Arabian Nights are of another order. We must look for
them in the pompous enchantments of the City of Brass, or in the
tender constancy of Aziz and Azizah, or in the tale of Hasan of
Bassorah, with its lovely study of the friendship of a foster-sister,
and its wonderful presentment of the magic surroundings of the
country of the Jann.
To select specimens from Antar' is like selecting from Robinson
Crusoe. ' In the romance, Antar's adventures go on and on, and the
character of the hero develops before one's eyes. It may be that the
leisure of the desert is needed fully to appreciate this master-work.
Edwards. Hoeden
THE VALOR OF ANTAR
ow Antar was becoming a big boy, and grew up, and used
to accompany his mother, Zebeeba, to the pastures, and
he watched the cattle; and this he continued to do till he
increased in stature. He used to walk and run about to harden
himself, till at length his muscles were strengthened, his frame
altogether more robust, his bones more firm and solid, and his
speech correct. His days were passed in roaming about the
mountain sides; and thus he continued till he attained his tenth
year.
(He now kills a wolf which had attacked his father's flocks, and breaks
into verse to celebrate his victory:-)
O thou wolf, eager for death, I have left thee wallowing in dust, and
spoiled of life; thou wouldst have the run of my flocks, but I have left
thee dyed with blood; thou wouldst disperse my sheep, and thou knowest I
am a lion that never fears. This is the way I treat thee, thou dog of the
desert. Hast thou ever before seen battle and wars?
[His next adventure brought him to the notice of the chief of the tribe, -
King Zobeir. A slave of Prince Shas insulted a poor, feeble woman who was
tending her sheep; on which Antar «dashed bim against the ground. And
his length and breadth were all one mass. ” This deed won for Antar the
hatred of Prince Shas, the friendship of the gentle Prince Malik, and the
praise of the king, their father. « This valiant fellow," said the king, «has
defended the honor of women. ”]
## p. 592 (#630) ############################################
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ANTAR
was
.
From that day both King Zoheir and his son Malik conceived
a great affection for Antar, and as Antar returned home, the
women all collected around him to ask him what had happened;
among them were his aunts and his cousin, whose name
Ibla. Now Ibla was younger than Antar, and a merry lass.
She was lovely as the moon at its full; and perfectly beautiful
and elegant.
One day he entered the house of his uncle
Malik and found his aunt combing his cousin Ibla's hair, which
flowed down her back, dark as the shades of night. Antar was
quite surprised; he was greatly agitated, and could pay no atten-
tion to anything; he was anxious and thoughtful, and his anguish
daily became more oppressive.
[Meeting her at a feast, he addressed her in verse:-)
The lovely virgin has struck my heart with the arrow of a glance, for
which there is no cure. Sometimes she wishes for a feast in the sandhills,
like a fawn whose eyes are full of magic. She moves; I should say it
was the branch of the Tamarisk that waves its branches to the southern
breeze. She approaches; I should say it was the frightened fawn, when a
calamity alarms it in the waste.
When Ibla heard from Antar this description of her charms,
she was in astonishment. But Antar continued in this state for
days and nights, his love and anguish ever increasing.
[Antar resolves to be either tossed upon the spear-heads or numbered
among the noble; and he wanders into the plain of lions. )
As soon
as Antar found himself in it, he said to himself,
Perhaps I shall now find a lion, and I will slay him. Then,
behold a lion appeared in the middle of the valley; he stalked
about and roared aloud; wide were his nostrils, and fire flashed
from his eyes; the whole valley trembled at every gnash of his
fangs— he was a calamity, and his claws more dreadful than the
deadliest catastrophe - thunder pealed as he roared — vast was
his strength, and his force dreadful — broad were his paws,
and his head immense. Just at that moment Shedad and his
brothers came up. They saw Antar address the lion, and heard
the verses that he repeated; he sprang forward like a hailstorm,
and hissed at him like a black serpent - he met the lion as he
sprang and outroared his bellow; then, giving a dreadful shriek,
he seized hold of his mouth with his hand, and wrenched it
open to his shoulders, and he shouted aloud — the valley and the
country round echoed back the war.
## p. 593 (#631) ############################################
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593
[Those who were watching were astonished at his prowess, and began to
fear Antar. The horsemen now set off to attack the tribe of Temeem, leav-
ing the slaves to guard the women. ]
Antar was in transports on seeing Ibla appear with the other
women. She was indeed like an amorous fawn; and when
Antar was attending her, he was overwhelmed in the ocean of
his love, and became the slave of her sable tresses. They sat
down to eat, and the wine-cups went merrily round.
It was
the spring of the year, when the whole land shone in all its
glory; the vines hung luxuriantly in the arbors; the flowers
shed around ambrosial fragrance; every hillock sparkled in the
beauty of its colors; the birds in responsive melody sang sweetly
from each bush, and harmony issued from their throats; the
ground was covered with flowers and herbs; while the nightin-
gales filled the air with their softest notes.
[ While the maidens were singing and sporting, lo! on a sudden appeared
a cloud of dust walling the horizon, and a vast clamor arose. A troop of
horses and their riders, some seventy in number, rushed forth to seize the
women, and made them prisoners. Antar instantly rescues Ibla from her
captors and engages the enemy. ]
He rushed forward to meet them, and harder than flint was
his heart, and in his attack was their fate and destiny. He
returned home, taking with him five-and-twenty horses, and all
the women and children. Now the hatred of Semeeah (his
stepmother) was converted into love and tenderness, and he
became dearer to her than sleep.
[He had thenceforward a powerful ally in her, a fervent friend in
Prince Malik, a wily counselor in his brother Shiboob. And Antar made great
progress in Ibla's heart, from the verses that he spoke in her praise; such
verses as these:-)
I love thee with the love of a noble-born hero; and I am content with
thy imaginary phantom. Thou art my sovereign in my very blood; and
my mistress; and in thee is all my confidence.
[Antar's astonishing valor gained him the praise of the noble Absian
knights, and he was emboldened to ask his father Shedad to acknowledge
him for his son, that he might become a chief among the Arabs. Shedad,
enraged, drew his sword and rushed upon Antar to kill him, but was pre-
vented by Semeeah. Antar, in the greatest agony of spirit, was ashamed
that the day should dawn on him after this refusal, or that he should remain
any longer in the country. He mounted his horse, put on his armor, and
traveled on till he was far from the tents, and he knew not whither he was
going. )
11-38
## p. 594 (#632) ############################################
ANTAR
594
Antar had proceeded some way, when lo! a knight rushed
out from the ravines in the rocks, mounted on a dark-colored
colt, beautiful and compact, and of a race much prized among
the Arabs; his hoofs were as flat as the beaten coin; when he
neighed he seemed as if about to speak, and his ears were like
quills; his sire was Wasil and his dam Hemama. When Antar
cast his eye upon the horse, and observed his speed and his paces,
he felt that no horse could surpass him, so his whole heart and
soul longed for him. And when the knight perceived that Antar
was making toward him, he spurred his horse and it fed beneath
him; for this was a renowned horseman called Harith, the son of
Obad, and he was a valiant hero.
[By various devices Antar became possessed of the noble horse Abjer,
whose equal no prince or emperor could boast of. His mettle was soon tried
in an affray with the tribe of Maan, headed by the warrior Nakid, who was
ferocious as a lion. ]
arm
When Nakid saw the battle of Antar, and how alone he stood
against five thousand, and was making them drink of the cup of
death and perdition, he was overwhelmed with astonishment at
his deeds. “Thou valiant slave,” he cried, “how powerful is thine
how strong thy wrist! ”. And he rushed down upon Antar.
And Antar presented himself before him, for he was all anxiety
to meet him. « O thou base-born! ) cried Nakid. But Antar
permitted him not to finish his speech, before he assaulted him
with the assault of a lion, and roared at him; he was horrified
and paralyzed at the sight of Antar. Antar attacked him, thus
scared and petrified, and struck him with his sword on the head,
and cleft him down the back; and he fell, cut in twain, frum
the horse, and he was split in two as if by a balance; and as
Antar dealt the blow he cried out, “Oh, by Abs! oh, by Adnan!
I am ever the lover of Ibla. " No sooner did the tribe of Maan
behold Antar's blow, than every one was seized with fear and
dismay. The whole five thousand made an attack like the attack
of a single man; but Antar received them as the parched ground
receives the first of the rain. His eyeballs were fiery red, and
foam issued from his lips; whenever he smote he cleft the head;
every warrior he assailed, he annihilated; he tore a rider from the
back of his horse, he heaved him on high, and whirling him in
the air he struck down another with him, and the two instantly
expired. "By thine eyes, Ibla,” he cried, “to-day will I destroy
»
## p. 595 (#633) ############################################
ANTAR
595
all this race. " Thus he proceeded until he terrified the warriors,
and hurled them into woe and disgrace, hewing off their arms
and their joints.
[At the moment of Antar's victory his friends arrive to see his triumph.
On his way back with them he celebrates his love for Ibla in verses. ]
When the breezes blow from Mount Saadi, their freshness calms the fire
of my love and transports.
Her throat complains of the darkness
of her necklaces. Alas! the effects of that throat and that necklace! Will
fortune ever, O daughter of Malik, ever bless me with thy embrace, that
would cure my heart of the sorrows of love? If my eye could see her
baggage camels, and her family, I would rub my cheeks on the hoofs of
her camels. I will kiss the earth where thou art; mayhap the fire of my
love and ecstasy may be quenched.
I am the well-known Antar,
the chief of his tribe, and I shall die; but when I am gone, histories shall
tell of me.
(From that day forth Antar was named Abool-fawaris, that is to say, the
father of horsemen. His sword, Dhami — the trenchant – was forged from a
meteor that fell from the sky; it was two cubits long and two spans wide. If
it were presented to Nushirvan, King of Persia, he would exalt the giver with
favors; or if it were presented to the Emperor of Europe, one would be
enriched with treasures of gold and silver. ]
As soon as Gheidac saw the tribe of Abs, and Antar the
destroyer of horsemen, his heart was overjoyed and he cried out,
« This is a glorious morning; to-day will I take my revenge. ” So
he assailed the tribe of Abs and Adnan, and his people attacked
behind him like a cloud when it pours forth water and rains.
And the Knight of Abs assaulted them likewise, anxious to try
his sword, the famous Dhami. And Antar fought with Gheidac,
and wearied him, and shouted at him, and filled him with horror;
then assailed him so that stirrup grated stirrup; and he struck
him on the head with Dhami. He cleft his visor and wadding,
and his sword played away between the eyes, passing through
his shoulders down to the back of the horse, even down to the
ground; and he and his horse made four pieces; and to the strict-
est observer, it would appear that he had divided them with
scales. And God prospered Antar in all that he did, so that he
slew all he aimed at, and overthrew all he touched.
“Nobility,” said Antar, «among liberal men, is the thrust of
»
the spear, the blow of the sword, and patience beneath the battle-
dust. I am the physician of the tribe of Abs in sickness, their
protector in disgrace, the defender of their wives when they are
## p. 596 (#634) ############################################
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ANTAR
in trouble, their horseman when they are in glory, and their
sword when they rush to arms. ”
»
[This was Antar's speech to Monzar, King of the Arabs, when he was in
search of Ibla's dowry. He found it in the land of Irak, where the magnificent
Chosroe was ready to reward him even to the half of his kingdom, for his
victory over the champion of the Emperor of Europe. ]
»
(
"All this grandeur, and all these gifts,” said Antar, have
no value to me, no charm in my eyes. Love of my native land
is the fixed passion of my soul. ”
“Do not imagine,” said Chosroe, “that we have been able
duly to recompense you. What we have given you is perish-
able, as everything human is, but your praises and your poems
will endure forever. ”
[Antar's wars made him a Nocturnal Calamity to the foes of his tribe.
He was its protector and the champion of its women, «for Antar was particu-
larly solicitous in the cause of women. ” His generosity knew no bounds.
«Antar immediately presented the whole of the spoil to his father and his
uncles; and all the tribe of Abs were astonished at his noble conduct and
filial love. " His hospitality was universal; his magnanimity without limit.
"Do not bear malice, O Shiboob. Renounce it; for no good ever came of
malice. Violence is infamous; its result is ever uncertain, and no one can
act justly when actuated by hatred. Let my heart support every evil, and
let my patience endure till I have subdued all my foes. ” Time after time he
won new dowries for Ibla, even bringing the treasures of Persia to her feet.
Treacheries without count divided him from his promised bride. Over and
over again he rescued her from the hands of the enemy; and not only her,
but her father and her hostile kinsmen.
At last (in the fourth volume, on the fourteen hundred and fifty-third
page) Antar makes his wedding feasts.
