Re-Defining a Space of Encounter. Islam and Mediterranean: Identity, Alterity and Interactions: Proceedings of the 28th Congress of the Union ... 2016 (Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta) 9789042936409, 9789042938816, 9042936401

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O R I E N TA L I A L OVA N I E N S I A A N A L E C TA Re-defining a Space of Encounter Islam and Mediterranean: Identity, Alterity and Interactions

edited by ANTONINO PELLITTERI, MARIA GRAZIA SCIORTINO, DANIELE SICARI and NESMA ELSAKAAN

P E E T ERS

RE-DEFINING A SPACE OF ENCOUNTER ISLAM AND MEDITERRANEAN: IDENTITY, ALTERITY AND INTERACTIONS

ORIENTALIA LOVANIENSIA ANALECTA ————— 283 —————

RE-DEFINING A SPACE OF ENCOUNTER Islam and Mediterranean: Identity, Alterity and Interactions Proceedingsofthe28thCongress oftheUnionEuropéennedesArabisantsetIslamisants Palermo2016

edited by

ANTONINO PELLITTERI, MARIA GRAZIA SCIORTINO DANIELE SICARI and NESMA ELSAKAAN

PEETERS LEUVEN – PARIS – BRISTOL, CT 2019

A catalogue record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. © 2019, Peeters Publishers, Bondgenotenlaan 153, B-3000 Leuven/Louvain (Belgium) All rights reserved, including the rights to translate or to reproduce this book or parts thereof in any form. ISBN 978-90-429-3640-9 eISBN 978-90-429-3881-6 D/2019/0602/86

TABLE OF CONTENTS FOREWORD .

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Laura BOTTINI Dhūl-Qarnayn in the Tafsīr by ‛Alī b. Ibrāhīm al-Qummī.

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Christopher MELCHERT Who’s in, who’s out? Right Belief and Good Behaviour in the Definition of a Muslim . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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András MÉRCZ Conversion in the ChronicleofZuqnīn: Reversed Baptism or Authentic Shahāda? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

25

Antonella STRAFACE The Calling of the Roots of Truth: the Prayer in al-Sijistānī’s Ismaili View . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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ISLAM AND RELIGION

HISTORY

Marek M. DZIEKAN How Aḥmad al-Nāṣirī quoted European Sources. The Case of DescripciónhistoricadeMarruecos by Manuel P. Castellanos . . . .

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Antonino PELLITTERI Al-ṭā’ifaal-bāġiya on one side and mušrikūna on the other. The Ideological Dispute between Ottoman Syrian Governors and Wahhabis in the Early 19th Century. A Historical and Terminological Analysis of Some Syrian-Lebanese Documents and the TārīkhNağd by Ibn Bišr

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Pavel SHLYKOV Islamic Institutions in the Socio-Political Process and Development of Civil Society in Turkey: the Case of Cemaats . . . . . .

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Johannes THOMANN Tools of Time: Devices for Organizing Public and Private Life in the Premodern Islamic World . . . . . . . . . . . . .

87

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Dmitry R. ZHANTIEV Allies of the Sultan? Traces of the Plan of a Russian Military Expedition to Ottoman Syria in the 1830s . . . . . . . . . .

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LITERATURE

Julia BRAY From Spain to Syria: What did al-Jilyānī Bring with him? .

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Francesca Maria CORRAO Guḥā: a Trickster across Different Cultural Borders .

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Hilary KILPATRICK Arabic Poetry among Christians in the Early Ottoman Period

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Bernadette MARTEL-THOUMIAN «De curieux notables». Étude sur le Mut‘atal-adhhān d’Ibn al-Mallā (937-1003/1530-1595) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133 Ulrich MARZOLPH Reconsidering the Origins of the ThousandandOneDays

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Nefeli PAPOUTSAKIS Al-Aḥnaf al-‘Ukbarī (ca. 301-385/914-995), a Sui Generis 10th-Century Arab Poet: Major Themes of his Complaint Poetry (Shakwā) . . . 153 Monica RUOCCO Archive et révolution: espaces de débat et pratiques culturelles en Syrie dès 2011 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165 Simone SIBILIO Mediterranean Poetic Geographies. Cross-Cultural Patterns and Paths in Munṣif al-Wahāybī’s City Poetry . . . . . . . . . . . 177 Richard VAN LEEUWEN The Esoteric Roots of the Story of the ‘Queen of the Serpents’ .

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TRAVELS

Cristiana BALDAZZI The Power of Representation: Museums and Monuments through the Eyes of Arab Intellectuals between the 19th and 20th Centuries . 207 Nikolay N. DYAKOV Alexandria of Egypt in Russian Travelogues of the 19th Century from the Libraries and Archives of Saint Petersburg . . . . . . . 219

VII

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Lutz RICHTER-BERNBURG Ibrāhīm b. Ya‛qūb from Tortosa as a Source of Arabic Itala: the Case of Friuli and Lombardy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 227 Daniele SICARI Gerusalemme e la Palestina nella Riḥla maqdisiyya dello Shaykh Jamāl al-Dīn al-Qāsimī (1903) . . . . . . . . . . . . 239

LANGUAGE AND LINGUISTICS

Rosanna BUDELLI Cultural and Religious Syncretism of Coptic Magic in the Arabic Language. Manuscript n. 412 from Muskī (Cairo): New Insights . 255 Pierre LARCHER Mais que vient donc faire Yaḥyā al-Naḥwī ici? Sur une citation du Lisānal-‘arab d’Ibn Manẓūr . . . . . . . . . . . . . 269 Vladimir LEBEDEV Système périodique des éléments temporels de la langue arabe littéraire (présentation du tableau périodique) . . . . . . . . . 283

ART AND INSCRIPTIONS

Vincenza GRASSI Rethinking Arabic Pseudo-Inscriptions in Context .

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Ennio G. NAPOLITANO The Transfer of Arabic Inscriptions in Italian Gothic and Renaissance Painting: A New Approach. The Words al-mulk, baraka and al-yumn in 14th and 15th Century Italian Paintings . . . . . . . . . 315 Aram A. SHAHIN An Interpretation of the Title KhalīfatAllāh in Light of Pre-Islamic Arabian Inscriptions and Early Islamic Documents . . . . . . 335 Jan M.F. VAN REETH Les premiers scribes musulmans et les origines syro-arabes de leur art 345 Eva-Maria VON KEMNITZ The hand / khamsa Symbol in the Mediterranean: the Case of Algeria 353

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

LAW

Vasco FRONZONI Du droit pénitentiaire islamique à la prévention de la radicalisation violente et du prosélytisme à l’intérieur des prisons aujourd’hui. Le cas Italie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 375 Pietro LONGO Arab Uprisings, Constitutional Law and Islam: Perspectives for an Accountable Government in Libya . . . . . . . . . . . 391

PHILOSOPHY AND SCIENCES

Carmela BAFFIONI The Three Kinds of Ritual in Ep. 50 of the Ikhwānal-Ṣafā’ .

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Ana M. CABO-GONZÁLEZ Action et interaction entre les peuples de la Méditerranée. La traduction en arabe de textes scientifiques grecs dans le califat de Cordoue: la version revisée du Materiamedica de Dioscorides . . . . . . . 415 Yassir EL JAMOUHI Die Rezeption der Unsterblichkeitslehre des Aristoteles in Miskawaihs Tahḏībal-akhlāq . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 427 István LÁNCZKY God’s Knowledge of Particulars: Avicenna and the Greek Philosophical Tradition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 439 Miklos MARÓTH Yaḥyā ibn ‘Adī and the adabal-munāẓara

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Monica SCOTTI The Power of Knowledge and the Knowledge of Power .

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FOREWORD

For the 28th UEAI Congress of the Union Européenne des Arabisants et Islamisants, we have chosen the subject “Re-defining a Space of Encounter: Islam and Mediterranean. Identity, Alterity and Interactions.” The main reason that triggered us to raise the issue of the re-definition of a space of encounter, with particular regard to the area of Mediterranean, is indubitably the novelty represented by the ongoing hard re-composition in the Arab and Islamic world following the so-called “Arab spring”. Such re-composition, which indeed presents many tragic aspects, has an influence on Europe in general, and on the Arabic and Islamic studies in particular. With regard to its geographical situation in the Mediterranean, Palermo, which is the seat of an ancient tradition of Arabic studies, could not fail to place this subject at the center of the high discussion of this 28th UEAI Congress. Palermo was both madīnat Ṣiqilliyya and al-Khāliṣa; it was the city that Muslims elected to represent their presence and their authority after the conquest of Sicily occurred in the 9th century AD. It is not by chance that, among others, the Congress devotes an interesting panel — IslaminSicily,SicilyandIslam — which focuses on the role played by Sicily in the context of Mediterranean between 9th and 12th century AD. It is well-known that Sicily was thaġr, as the Arab lexicographer Ibn Manẓūr (1232-1311) tended to underline, that is a frontier township, and also an opening and/or a passage, although “the sea surrounds it on all sides”.1 History of Sicily cannot disregard its relations with the Islamic world, with which Sicily was closely connected. The geographer and traveler al-Maqdisī, or al-Muqaddasī (d. 990), wrote that Sicily was important, “magnificent, superior, worthy of being worshipped, the biggest island in the hands of Muslims”. According to the more popular šarīfal-Idrīsī (d. 1165), Sicily was “a truly unique land, gem of time for its virtues and beauty, splendor of nature”2. While the Andalusian and Fatimid poet Ibn Hānī considered Sicily as a symbol of crossing and strength: “breach and lions reserve”. In 1902, the šaykh Muḥammad ‘Abduh, who would die in Alexandria just two years later, made his last journey to the Maghreb and France. On his way back, he chose to stop in Sicily and Palermo. He wrote that the island kept its role as frontier land and inter-cultural land of encounter which “any Arab should 1 A. Pellitteri, “La Sicilia nella visione arabo-musulmana: immagini nel testo e immagine del testo”, in LospazioletterariodelMedioevo, vol. II: La cultura arabo-islamica, Rome 2003, pp. 727-747. 2 Idrisi, IlLibrodiRuggero, translation and notes by U. Rizzitano, Palermo 1994, p. 28.

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FOREWORD

consider to visit” with regard to the Islamic traces and “the sweetness of the weather and the relief of the soul deriving from the beauty of its landscapes”. Some years later, the Damascene intellectual Muḥammad Kurd ‘Alī (1876-1953) used the expression hamzatuli’l-waṣl, or connecting ring, for the biggest island of Mediterranean, exalting its role in the center of a complex system of relationships which we can try to discern between the lines of a funny guide of Palermo, written by Enrico Onufrio at the end of the 19th century: The Arabic civilization had put down such strong roots in Sicily that it could not be rooted out by the bravery of a bunch of warriors (the Normans) […] The Arabs adjusted to these [new] conditions […] so much that it was they who erected the new Christian temples […] Poor architects, poor Muslim carpenters! It was they who, using their mother-tongue, had to carve on the bands of the domes praises and prayers to the merciful God which was not the God of the Quran. However, they transfused those buildings with all their exquisite taste, the elegance, the purity of their lines and the graceful quickness of their shapes. O Christians, you wanted churches able to delete the Islamic worship, but you have nothing but mosques which remind it to the distant posterity instead3

Three important scholars have devoted their opening lessons to such complex system of relations and communications, referring to the past and the present: Mohamed Ali Shomeli (International Institute for Islamic Studies, Al-Mustafa University of Qom, Iran); Antonino Buttitta, professor emeritus of Cultural Anthropology (University of Palermo) and Mohamed Hassen, scholar of the Faculté des Sciences Humaines et Sociales (University of Tunis). Indeed, the speeches of the several colleagues who participated to the Congress have taken into account the introductory discussion, as anyone can remark flipping through these Proceedings. In conclusion, I would like to remind three things: the active involvement of the several students of the area of Arabic and Islamic Studies of University of Palermo; the involvement of the city of Palermo through its most representative institutions; the meaningful presence of Arab scholars invited to participate to this Congress. I believe that I express the sentiments of all those who took part to the works of the Congress by giving particular thanks both to the members of the Scientific Committee and the editors of this volume. Antonino PELLITTERI

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E. Onufrio, GuidapraticadiPalermo, Milan 1882, pp. 116-119.

ISLAM AND RELIGION

DHŪL-QARNAYN IN THE TAFSĪR BY ‛ALĪ B. IBRĀHĪM AL-QUMMĪ Laura BOTTINI

Sūratal-Kahf, the eighteenth chapter of the Muslim Holy Book, contains a story about a character, nicknamed Dhūl-Qarnayn which literally means ‘the two-horned one’. The ambiguity in the Quran in naming this figure led to a protracted debate about his identity: according to some sources it was Alexander the Great and according to others it was Cyrus.1 The immediate proximity of the stories about Moses (18, 60-81) to Dhū l-Qarnayn’s tale (18, 82-102) complicates the issue still further.2 The Dhū l-Qarnayn tradition originated from the Quranic quotation of the Dhū l-Qarnayn nickname, where it first appears. Scholars have already pointed to the importance of investigating the earliest stages of the accounts concerning this character with a view to understanding the entire tradition surrounding him.3 For this reason they have focused attention on the exegetical literature and, in particular, on the Sunni exegetical production of the Middle Ages,4 hence neglecting, in my opinion, the early Twelver exegetical works.5 I have decided, therefore, to concentrate on one of its oldest texts, the Tafsīr written by ̔Alī b. Ibrāhīm al-Qummī (d. 307/919-20), a representative of the mufassirūn who lived during the period between the two Occultations (874-941 AD).6 See Chapter 3 (The Dhū’l-Qarnayn Tradition) of F. DOUFIKAR-AERTS, Alexander Magnus Arabicus.ASurveyof the Alexander Tradition throughSevenCenturies.FromPseudo-Callisthenes toṢūrī, Leuven, 2010; A. M. PIEMONTESE, Alexander le “circumnavigateur” dans le roman persan di Tarsusi, Mélangesdel’EcolefrançaisedeRome,MoyenAge, CXII (2000), p. 99 n. 7. 2 See, for example, K. VAN BLADEL, The Syriac Sources of the Early Arabic Narratives of Alexander, in H. P. RAY, D. T. POTTS (eds.), MemoryasHistory.TheLegacyofAlexanderinAsia, New Delhi, 2007, p. 59; and B. M. WHELEER, Moses or Alexander? Early Islamic Exegesis of Qur’ān 18:60-65, JournalofNearEasternStudies, 57, 3 (1998), pp. 191-215; concerning the remarks on Wheeler’s studies see VAN BLADEL, The Syriac Sources, pp. 59-60; V. POGGI, Alessandro Magno, dal ‘Romanzo’ alla sura ‘della caverna’, in R. B. FINAZZI and A. VALVO (eds.), Ladiffusionedell’eredità classicanell’etàtardoanticaemedievale.Il“RomanzodiAlessandro”ealtriscritti,AttidelseminariointernazionaledistudioRoma-Napoli,2-27settembre1997, Alessandria, 1998, pp. 197-208. 3 See, for example, F. DOUFIKAR-AERTS, Alexander MagnusArabicus, p. 188; VAN BLADEL, The Syriac Sources, p. 59. 4 VAN BLADEL, The Syriac Sources, pp. 64-67; D. Z. ZUWIYYA, The Alexander Romance in the Arabic Tradition, in D. Z. ZUWIYYA (ed.), ACompaniontoAlexanderLiteratureintheMiddle Ages, Leiden, 2011, pp. 87-88. 5 E. VAN DONZEL and A. SCHMIDT (Gog and Magog in Early Syriac and Islamic Sources. Sallam’sQuestforAlexander’sWall, Leiden, 2009, pp. 63-87) utilize Qummī’s Tafsīr together with other Arabic sources in investigating this theme. 6 He belongs to the second generation of the Quranic exegetes. Of the first generation of Shıʽi commentators’ works nothing is extant even though some excerpts are encapsulated in later works. 1

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Al-Qummī, who provides a commentary on the entire narrative of the Quran based on the statements pronounced by the Imams,7 narrates several accounts about Dhū l-Qarnayn that I will analyze with two aims in mind: to evaluate how the Quranic figure of Dhū l-Qarnayn is utilized in Twelver circles in al-Qummī’s time and to extrapolate the various literary motifs connected with him. It is not my intention to challenge claims about the identification of Dhū l-Qarnayn with Alexander the Great, Cyrus or Moses, nor to enter into discussions about the affiliation or interrelationships of al-Qummī’s text with others. I am simply interested in highlighting the characteristics and connotations that Dhū l-Qarnayn has acquired within the different religious traditions of Islam. In particular, the present article is a preliminary analysis of the classical exegetical sources elaborated in both the Sunni and Shıʽi traditions concerning Dhū l-Qarnayn which I intend to investigate by comparing them with each other.8 THE QURAN IN THE

LIGHT OF AL-QUMMĪ’S

TAFSĪR

For the present, I think it best to first summarize the story of the character, named Dhū l-Qarnayn, mentioned in Sūratal-Kahf.9 The twenty verses in the Quran can be subdivided into five sections.10 1. An introductory section consisting of two verses (18, 82-83).11 In the first verse God, speaking directly to Muḥammad, invites him to relate the record (dhikr) about Dhū l-Qarnayn to those who ask him (18, 82). In the second introductory verse (18, 83) God, utilizing the first person plural in order to 7 On al-Qummī and his work see M. M. BAR-ASHER, ScriptureandExegesisinEarlyImāmīShiism, Leiden, 1999, pp. 33-56 and the Introduction by al-Ṭayyib al-Mūsawī al-Jazā’irī to A. AL-QUMMĪ, Tafsīr al-Qummī, Qumm, Mu’assasat Dār al-kitāb lil-ṭibāʽa wa-l-nashr, 1404 (al-ṭabʽa al-thālitha), pp. 7-26. 8 I am currently working on a research project called “Middle ages between romance and oriental literatures: geo-critical method and interpretation of Alexander’s romances”, sponsored by the University of Catania (FIR 2014). 9 According to the Islamic tradition, it is a Mecca sura, belonging to the third period of Mecca; but the 28th verse and the 83th to 101th verses were revealed at Madina. 10 Kevin van Bladel has demonstrated that the verses on Dhū l-Qarnayn are a retelling of the story found in the Syriac AlexanderLegend, an apocalyptic work, composed about 629-30 in support of Heraclius and his religious propaganda after the protracted war between Byzantines and Persians. He established precise correspondences between the Quranic tale and the SyriacAlexanderLegend outlining the same order of events as narrated in both texts; K. VAN BLADEL, The Syriac Sources, pp. 56-58; Idem, The Alexander Legend in the Qur’ān 18:83-102, in G. S. REYNOLDS (ed.), The Qur’āninitsHistoricalContext, London, 2008, pp. 175-203; T. TESEI, The Prophecy of Ḏū-l-Qarnayn (Q 18:83-102) and the Origins of the Qur’ānic Corpus, in A. ARIOLI (ed.), MiscellaneaArabica 2013-2014, Roma, 2014, pp. 273-290. See also K. CZEGLÉDY, The Syriac Legend Concerning Alexander The Great, ActaOrientaliaAcademiaeScientiariumHungaricae, 7 (1957), pp. 231249; G. SCARCIA, La distruzione del dato mitologico nell’Eskandar-Nāme, in Colloquiosulpoeta persianoNiẓāmīelaleggendairanicadiAlessandroMagno(Roma,25-25marzo1975), Roma, 1977, pp. 117-136. 11 Il Corano, Arabic text with concordance plates for the division in verses and an index, edited by Luigi Bonelli, Milano, 1937.

DHŪL-QARNAYN IN THE TAFSĪR BY ‛ALĪ B. IBRĀHĪM AL-QUMMĪ

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underline His power, informs Muḥammad and, by extension, readers of the Quran, that Dhū l-Qarnayn’s power on earth is derived from His own. In the second section (18, 84-88) there is related the first of Dhū l-Qarnayn’s journeys (sabab, heavenly cord), namely his journey to the sun’s setting place where he meets a people who imposed justice on earth, punishing wrongdoers and treating believers with kindness and rewarding or condemning them respectively to Heaven or Hell in the afterlife. Also in this section God reaffirms His own power when, addressing Dhū l-Qarnayn, He gives him the choice of the two options. In the third section (18, 89-91) Dhū l-Qarnayn’s second journey is narrated, a journey to the sun’s rising place where he meets a people to whom God did not provide shelter from the sun. In the fourth section (18, 92-98) Dhū l-Qarnayn’s last journey is related, a journey to a place between two mountains (sadd) inhabited by a people who asked him to build a defensive wall (radm) against Gog and Magog. This section ends with a brief prophecy on the part of Dhū l-Qarnayn which culminates in a prediction of the end of the world after God has destroyed the defensive wall (18, 98). Finally, the fifth section (18, 99-102) which is an amplification of the last verse of the fourth section. God, speaking in the first person plural, warns mankind about the end of the world when He will punish unbelievers and reward believers.

Al-Qummī in his Tafsīr devotes six pages to the stories surrounding Dhū l-Qarnayn. He narrates three reports (two of which dating back to the sixth Imam Jaʽfar al-Ṣādiq) that explain the meaning of the Quranic verses, written down in the text, relating to him. Each of the five Quranic sections finds an explication in his commentary which contains such a wealth of detail regarding this Quranic story that I will limit myself to following the main protagonists, Dhū l-Qarnayn, Gog and Magog and al-Khiḍr. AN INTRODUCTORY ACCOUNT Al-Qummī opens the section dedicated to the interpretation of the Quranic verses here examined by recounting a very short tradition in which the reason why God revealed the tale of Dhū l-Qarnayn to Muḥammad is narrated.12 Some of Muḥammad’s contemporaries had already heard of someone who had circumnavigated the world and wanted to know more about him.13 12

The transmitter of this account is ‘Alī b. Ibrāhīm. According to Piemontese, on the basis of his analysis of Hamadhānī and Ṭarsūsī, Dhū l-Qarnayn means “The Circumnavigator”. See A. M. PIEMONTESE, Alexander le “circumnavigateur”, pp. 97-112. Regarding those who were requesting this explanation (Jews?) and about what they 13

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̔Alī b. Ibrāhīm said: “As soon as God’s messenger had narrated the story of Moses, of his servant and of al-Khiḍr, they asked the Prophet: “Tell us about a man who circumnavigated (ṭā’ifṭāfa) the Mashreq and the Maghreb. Who is he and what is his story (qiṣṣa)?” Thus God revealed […, 18, 82-83] (al-Qummī, 2, 40).

While providing the reader with the information about the sabab (occasion) of the revelation of Dhū l-Qarnayn’s tale, al-Qummī intervenes personally in the narration in order to transcribe the ambiguous word sabab, which occurs in the 83th verse,14 into the term dalīl (sign), which would have been more comprehensible to his readers, thus eliminating any doubt about who Dhū l-Qarnayn was: a character in the Quran who had been elected by God to perform extraordinary actions that are signs of His Lordship. DHŪ L-QARNAYN:

HIS NAME OR EPITHET AND HIS QUALIFICATION

The second statement, going back to the sixth Imam Jaʽfar al-Ṣādiq, is two pages long;15 it contains the commentary on the majority of the verses regarding the Quranic tale here examined (vv. 82-102). It begins with an indirect explanation of Dhū l-Qarnayn’s name or epithet (the man with two horns). Questioned on the 82th verse, the Imam said: In truth God sent him to his people; but they struck him on the right side (qarn) of his head. Then God made him fall into a death-like trance (state of death) for 500 years, whereupon he sent him again among his people but they struck him once more, this time on the left side (qarn) of his head. God put him into a death-like trance for another 500 years, but then sent him again among his people and made him master (mallakahu) of the entire world, from where the sun rises to where it sets (al-Qummī, 2, 40).16

The same words, with slight variations, are repeated but, this time, they are ascribed to the first Imam who, on being questioned as to the qualification of Dhū l-Qarnayn, said: were asking Muḥammad (the two-horned one in the prophecy of Daniel 8?) see, for example, R. STONEMAN, Alexander the Great in the Arabic Tradition, in S. PANAYOTAKIS, M. ZIMMERMAN, W. KEULEN (eds.), TheAncientNovelandBeyond, Leiden, 2003, pp. 8-9. 14 The term occurs also in vv. 88 and 91. Sabab, conventionally translated as way, means, according to van Bladel, “heavenly course, specifically cord leading to heaven along which a human might travel” (VAN BLADEL, The Alexander Legend in the Qur’ān 18:83-102, p. 182); see K. VAN BLADEL, Heavenly cords and prophetic authority in the Qur’ān and its Late Antique context, Bulletin oftheSchoolofOrientalandAfricanStudies, 70 (2007), pp. 223-247. 15 Here is the complete isnād: Jaʽfar b. Aḥmad ‘an ‘Abdallāh b. Mūsà ‘an al-Ḥasan b. ‘Alī ‘an Abī Ḥamza ‘an abīhi ‘an Abī Baṣīr ‘an Abī ‘Abdallāh. 16 Regarding the explanations of the name or epithet Dhū l-Qarnayn see also DOUFIKAR-AERTS, Alexander MagnusArabicus, pp. 145-150, in particular p. 148 n. 59; A. R. ANDERSON, Alexander’s Horns, Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philological Association, 58 (1927), pp. 100-122.

DHŪL-QARNAYN IN THE TAFSĪR BY ‛ALĪ B. IBRĀHĪM AL-QUMMĪ

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He was neither prophet (nabī) nor king; he was only a servant who loved God and who was loved by Him, a sincere servant of God whom God loved (al-Qummī, 2, 41).

Thus al-Qummī reiterates that Dhū l-Qarnayn was, by his very name, an executor of God’s will on earth sent by Him to prove the existence of Divine justice and to impose it.17 GOG AND MAGOG:

BUILDING OF THE WALL; APOCALYPTIC REPRESENTATION

The verses on Gog and Magog in the Quran are a starting point for exegetes for writing numerous stories on this Biblical people.18 Unfortunately al-Qummī does not relate in detail how Dhū l-Qarnayn, with the help of the people to whom he was sent, built the wall behind which Gog and Magog were enclosed in order to prevent them spreading death and destruction nor does he give any details about their physical characteristics. He simply transcribes the Quranic verses (vv. 92-97) interspersing them with marginal annotations that concern two words, in particular, probably not commonly in use at his time: ṣadafayn and qiṭr that he translates respectively into jabalayn and ṣufr (al-Qummī, 2, 41). He synthetically reports, in two different loci of his text (the second tradition here examined), the building of the wall that will enclose Gog and Magog until the end of time; the first passage, where he refers to it as a gate,19 occurs after Dhū l-Qarnayn has reached the Maghreb: Then Dhū l-Qarnayn placed in front of them a gate (bāb) made of copper, iron, tar and sulfur, thus preventing them from making their way out. Then Abū ‘Abdallāh said: “No male among them will die before having fathered one thousand offspring, blood of his blood”. Then he added: “They will be the most numerous creatures ever created after the angels” (al-Qummī, 2, 41).

The second excerpt can be found after his quotation of verses 92-95: He ordered them to bring iron and they brought it. He placed it between the two barriers, namely two mountains, to fill in the gap. Then he ordered them to bring fire (nār) and they brought it; then they blew and set a fire under the iron until the iron became incandescent. Finally he poured over it qiṭr, that it is bronze (ṣufr), until he filled the gap (saddahu) (al-Qummī, 2, 41). See AL-QUMMĪ, 2, 42. VAN DONZEL, SCHMIDT, GogandMagog, pp. 63-87; for a contemporary interpretation of Gog and Magog see J. G. J. TER HAAR, Gog and Magog in Contemporary Shiite Quran-commentaries, in A. A. SEYED-GOHRAB, F. DOUFIKAR-AERTS, S. MCGLINN (eds), EmbodimentsofEvil:GogandMagog. InterdisciplinaryStudiesofthe‘other’inLiterature&InternetTexts, Leiden, 2011, pp. 111-121. On the Gog and Magog issue, in general, see DOUFIKAR-AERTS, Alexander MagnusArabicus, pp. 155171; Eadem, Dogfaces, Snake-tongues, and the Wall against Gog and Magog, in SEYED-GOHRAB, DOUFIKAR-AERTS, MCGLINN (ed.), EmbodimentsofEvil, pp. 37-52. 19 Regarding the two Quranic terms sadd and ramd and onbāb see VAN DONZEL, SCHMIDT, GogandMagog, pp. 61-62. 17 18

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Then al-Qummī offers a brief commentary on Dhū l-Qarnayn’s prophecy in the words of the Imam: When, before the Day of Resurrection, at the end of days, that wall (sadd) will fall, Gog and Magog will come out into the world and they will devour the people. God said: “Until Gog and Magog have been released and they descend from every elevation” (Quran 21, 96) (al-Qummī, 2, 41).

The first part of this explication, taken together with the other verse from the Quran quoted by the Imam Abū ‛Abdallāh,20 opens up a scene of apocalyptic proportions to the reader: the destruction of the wall, the encroachment of the ferocious hordes of Gog and Magog are signals that announce the end of days just as the fleeing of the people, like the blowing of the horn predicts the Day of Judgment which will see everyone gathered together to be rewarded as believers or condemned to eternal punishment in Gehenna as misbelievers. The combination of the joined theme of Dhū l-Qarnayn’s prophecy with the dis-enclosure of the apocalyptic peoples led al-Qummī to write at length on al-Khiḍr. AL-KHIḌR: HIS

JOURNEY THROUGH DARKNESS AND HIS IMMORTAL LIFE;

THE FISH STORY; HIS MEETING WITH THE FIRST IMAM

Before commenting briefly on the verses that close the Dhū l-Qarnayn’s tale (vv. 99-102), al-Qummī narrates (explaining once again the 84th verse, thus underlining Divine intervention in human affairs) his variant of the journey through darkness. The narrator is ‛Alī b. Abī Ṭālib who introduces the accounts regarding this legend by relating that when Dhū l-Qarnayn arrived in the places where the sun rises and sets, someone told him: “God possesses on earth a spring called the Source of Life, no one with a spirit (rūḥ) drinks from its waters without becoming immortal until the day of the horn”. Thus Dhū l-Qarnayn sent for al-Khiḍr, the best of his companions, together with 330 men; he gave each of them a fish and said to them: “Go to this place, there you will find 330 springs; each of you will wet his own fish in a different spring from those of his companions”. They set off and they wet their fish, but al-Khiḍr continued to wet his fish and it slipped away into the spring. Al-Khiḍr was amazed by what he had seen and asked himself: “What will I tell Dhū l-Qarnayn?” Then he stripped off his clothes in order to search for the fish in the spring, he drank from its waters but failed to find the fish. They all returned to Dhū l-Qarnayn. He ordered that all the fishes be taken back from their owners; when they came to al-Khiḍr they found nothing. Dhū l-Qarnayn called for him and asked him: “What happened to your fish?” Al-Khiḍr informed him. Dhū l-Qarnayn said to him: “What did you do?” Al-Khiḍr replied: “I dived into the spring and searched for the fish, but I didn’t 20 It is the verse 96 of Sūrat al-anbiyā’, where the names of Gog and Magog occur for the second and last time.

DHŪL-QARNAYN IN THE TAFSĪR BY ‛ALĪ B. IBRĀHĪM AL-QUMMĪ

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find it.” Dhū l-Qarnayn asked: “Did you drink the water of the spring?” Al-Khiḍr answered: “Yes”. Dhū l-Qarnayn searched for the spring but could not find it. Finally he said to al-Khiḍr: “The spring was destined for you” (al-Qummī, 2, 42).

If in other variants of this legend it is Dhū l-Qarnayn who undertook the journey through darkness in search of the Source of Life, in al-Qummī’s Tafsīr, it is al-Khiḍr, who, at the request of Dhū l-Qarnayn, set out on the journey and accomplished it, hence in al-Qummī’s texts, the search of the Source of Life and its discovery, is related to al-Khiḍr, whereas Dhū l-Qarnayn is merely an instrument of God. In fact, at the end of al-Qummī’s second account, Dhū l-Qarnayn, learned of the discovery of the Source by al-Khiḍr, tries in vain to find it, but he immediately resigns himself to the will of God. Al-Qummī devotes almost the whole of the third account to al-Khiḍr. In the first two sections he relates that al-Khiḍr was the son of a king who, being desirous of having offspring, orders his son to get married. But al-Khiḍr, who wants to remain chaste and continue to worship God, disappears; he lives on a remote island but from time to time he is seen by people, such as a merchant who, having recognized him and having returned home, relates their meeting to his king, al-Khiḍr’s father.21 He is also met by ‛Alī b. Abī Ṭālib, the first Imam. The narration of this meeting occupies the third section of the account here under examination; it is structured as an exchange of questions and answers among the three protagonists, the first Imam, his son al-Ḥasan and an unnamed man, reported in direct speech and preceded by an introduction that sets the scene of the encounter: One day the Prince of Believers was walking along, his hand resting on Salmān’s shoulder, and there was also with him his son al-Ḥasan and they entered the mosque. As soon as the Prince of Believers sat down a man laid a silk cloak before him, greeted him and sat in front of him saying: “Prince of Believers, I would like to ask you some questions”. […] The Prince of Believers answered: “Address your questions to my son al-Ḥasan”. So the man turned to al-Ḥasan (al-Qummī, 2, 44).

When the man had received answers to his questions from al-Ḥasan, he turned towards ‛Alī b. Abī Ṭālib and said: “I testify that there is only one God and I will never cease to testify this: I testify also that Muḥammad is his Servant and his Envoy and I will never cease to testify this. I further testify that you are the executor of the testament (waṣī)22 of the Prophet and the Caliph of his community and, in truth, the Prince of Believers: 21 AL-QUMMĪ, 2, 42-45. The account, here summarized, is narrated by the sixth imam (here it is the isnād: My father narrated to me, from Yūsuf b. Abī Ḥammād from Abī ̔Abdallāh) who refers Gabriel’s words to Muḥammad during his ascension to heaven. See L. MASSIGNON, Elie et son rôle transhistorique, Khadiriya, en Islam, in OperaMinora I, Beirut, 1963, pp. 142-161; P. FRANKE, BegegnungmitKhidr.QuellenstudienzumImaginärenimtraditionellenIslam, Beirut, 2000. 22 This is a key term in the beliefs of the Shıʽi Imams.

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I testify that al-Ḥasan will carry out your functions after you just as al-Ḥusayn will do after him and, thereafter, ‘Alī b. al-Ḥusayn, Muḥammad b. ‘Alī, Jaʽfar b. Muḥammad, Mūsà b. Jaʽfar, ‘Alī b. Mūsà, Muḥammad b. ‘Alī, ‘Alī b. Muḥammad, al-Ḥasan b. ‘Alī. I testify that the executor of the testament (waṣī) of al-Ḥasan b. ‘Alī is the one who will rise up (al-Qā’im), bringing equity, the Awaited One (al-Muntaẓir), who will fill the world with equity and justice instead of oppression and injustice”. Then he stood up and left the mosque. The Prince of Believers said to al-Ḥasan: “That was my brother al-Khiḍr” (al-Qummī, 2, 45).

This last affirmation clarifies to a certain extent the presence of al-Khiḍr in the accounts surrounding Dhū l-Qarnayn: al-Khiḍr plays two fundamental roles within the theological Twelver system, which was still in a state of formation at the time al-Qummī was writing. As an immortal symbol of Divine authority, al-Khiḍr is called upon to testify to absolute truths established by God (the existence of the twelve Imams) and to make them manifest to listeners as in the case of al-Ḥasan, son of ‛Alī and his successor as Imam; or to predict them as in the case of the other ten Imams, starting from al-Ḥusayn the second son of ‛Alī and hence the third Imam and so on through the descendants of al-Ḥusayn who will, from father to son, assume the traditional role of Imam. He testifies that this succession is as certain as is the return of the twelfth Imam who, unseen by man, will come back and will bring justice to the earth at the end of days. Al-Khiḍr is also depicted, in the translated story, the go-between for the eternal and the terrestrial, for the manifest and the occult; in the story there is also another character, Salmān al-Fārisī,23 who has the role of bridge, this time, however, between the prophet Muḥammad and who, in the Shıʽi vision, is his successor, ‛Alī b. Abī Ṭālib, who, among other things, at the end of the story recounted, claims for himself an order of intimacy with regard to hermeneutic knowledge that al-Khiḍr represents, presenting him as his brother. Al-Qummī closes the commentary on the Quranic verses regarding the tale of Dhū l-Qarnayn with the stories on al-Khiḍr. The words of Muḥammad, which are also reported by the sixth Imam, make explicit the reason behind the revelation of the concluding verses of the Cave Sura (99-110). His words are as follows: As soon as God’s Envoy had recounted to the Quraysh tribe the story of the companions in the cave, of al-Khiḍr, Moses and Dhū l-Qarnayn they said: “There is one last question to be put”. The Envoy of God asked, “What is it?” To which they replied: “When will the Hour come?”. So God, the Almighty, revealed: “When they ask you, [O Muḥammad], when the Hour will come, you reply: “Only God knows that. No one will reveal its time except Him. It lies heavily upon the heavens 23 J. HOROVITZ, Salmān al-Fārisī, DerIslam, 12 (1922), pp. 178-183; L. MASSIGNON, Salman Pak et les prémices spirituelles de l’Islam iranien, in OperaMinora I, Beirut, 1963, pp. 443483.

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and the earth. It will not come upon you except unexpectedly.” If they assume that you know it, you reply that only God has that knowledge, but most of the people do not know.” [7, 187]. This was the motivation for the revelation of Sūratal-Kahfand of this last verse from Sūratal-Aʽrāfbut it was also necessary that there were … [vv. 18, 99-102] (al-Qummī, 2, 45).

SOME CONCLUDING REMARKS In al-Qummī’s Tafsīr Dhū l-Qarnayn is portrayed as a devout man, as a man favored by God. He is not depicted as a prophet (nabī) nor as a king; he is a man of God, endowed by Him with signs (the ability to travel around the world, his extraordinary deeds) as clear proofs of the universal lordship of God. As a man of God, in fact, Dhū l-Qarnayn punishes those who are not on the right path but he protects those who, on the right path, shut Gog and Magog behind a wall where they will stay until God decrees the end of the world as foretold in Dhū l-Qarnayn’s own prophecy. In al-Qummī’s account the biblical hordes of Gog and Magog are cited in passing; on the contrary the story of al-Khiḍr is significantly present to the extent that it is he and not Dhū l-Qurnayn who becomes immortal by God’s decree. Al-Khiḍr, who represents the world of eternal life and esoteric knowledge (he has an obvious eschatological dimension), is the link between the earthly world and the Hereafter. He knows, in fact, who will follow ‛Alī as the Imam in his own times, from al-Ḥasan right down to the twelfth Imam who, concealed from the view of mankind, will return at the end of days as the expected Mahdī. He will disclose the true meaning of God’s word and will mete out judgment accordingly. In this respect, the Twelver interpretation of the story of Dhū l-Qarnayn in the Quran clearly left its mark in the Tafsīr by al-Qummī. It would seem, furthermore, that al-Qummī in his writings attributes to al-Khiḍr the role of an apologist and polemicist with regard to the clouded Shıʽi thinking of his time. As a matter of fact, al-Qummī belonged to the second generation of commentators on the Quran who lived in the last decades of the third/ninth century and the beginning of the fourth/tenth century, that is, prior to the great Occultation of the twelfth Imam that occurred in 329/941. He was writing in a period in which the twelfth Imam (874) had already entered into occultation but in which his representative role, attributed to the wakīl (deputy), continued to prevail: al-Qummī is testimony to a precise position within the intellectual makeup of the time, a position that will shortly become a majority one and will opt for the disappearance of the twelfth Imam outside of human time and space.

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Research along these lines gives us the chance to evaluate the different uses that have been made, within religious traditions of Islam, of the Quranic figure of Dhū l-Qarnayn. This kind of analysis, moreover, offers a good deal of material to follow the journey of the texts or, at least, to identify the recurring literary motifs within them.

WHO’S IN, WHO’S OUT? RIGHT BELIEF AND GOOD BEHAVIOUR IN THE DEFINITION OF A MUSLIM Christopher MELCHERT Oxford University

It is a commonplace of Sunni theology, as it crystallized in the ninth century CE, that no one is to be accused of unbelief on account of wrong action, only wrong belief. Thus says Abū l-Ḥasan al-Ash‘arī (d. 324/935-6?) in his summary of Sunni belief: They do not pronounce any of the people of the qibla [i.e. Muslims who pray toward the Ka‘ba] an unbeliever on account of a sin he commits, such as adultery, theft, and similar cardinal sins. They have of faith whatever they believe in, even if they commit cardinal sins.1

Here are two creeds attributed by Ibn Abī Ya‘lā (d. 526/1133) to Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal (d. 241/855): We do not omit to pray over anyone of the people of the qibla on account of a sin he has committed, little or great, unless he is one of the people of innovations whom the Prophet . . . has excluded from Islam: the Qadariyya, Murji’a, Rāfiḍa, and Jahmiyya. He said, ‘Do not pray with them and do not pray over them.’2 As for the cursèd Mu‛tazila, those of the people of knowledge whom we have met agree unanimously that they pronounce someone an unbeliever on account of a sin . . . . Thus, they assert that Adam was an unbeliever. They assert that Joseph’s brothers, when they pronounced their father Jacob a liar, were unbelievers. The Mu‛tazila are agreed that whoever steals a grain is an unbeliever, his wife to be separated from him and he is to begin the pilgrimage over again if he was performing the pilgrimage. Those who say this are unbelievers. They are not to be married, nor is their testimony to be accepted.3

Contrary to many assertions (including from me), the Sunni community is basically defined by theology, not law; orthodoxy, not orthopraxy.4 ABŪ L-ḤASAN AL-ASH‘ARĪ. DiedogmatischenLehrenderAnhängerdesIslam, ed. Helmut Ritter (Bibliotheca islamica 1), Wiesbaden, 1963 (2nd edition), p. 293. 2 Creed V, apud IBN ABĪ YA‘LĀ, Ṭabaqāt al-ḥanābila I, ed. M. Ḥ. AL-FIQĪ, 2 vols, Cairo, 1371/1952, pp. 311-12 = Ṭabaqātal-ḥanābila II, ed. ‘A. R. b. S. AL-‘UTHAYMĪN, n.p., 1419/1999, pp. 340-1. Henceforth, references to the latter edition in italics. ‘Do not pray over them’ alludes to the funeral prayer. For a discussion of the creeds, especially their attribution, see S. AL-SARHAN and CH. MELCHERT, The Creeds of Aḥmad Ibn Ḥanbal, in R. GLEAVE (ed.), BooksandBibliophiles: StudiesinHonourofPaulAuchterlonie, n.p., 2014, pp. 29-50. 3 Creed VI, apud IBN ABĪ YA‘LĀ, Ṭabaqāt I, 343 II,428-9. 4 See N. CALDER, The limits of Islamic orthodoxy, in F. DAFTARY (ed.), Intellectualtraditions inIslam, London, 2000, pp. 66-86, esp. 66-7. 1

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However, the newly-formed Sunni party was confronted with some awkward hadith reports that made out various actions to constitute unbelief. Here are similar passages from the same two creeds: Hypocrisy is unbelief: that one should deny God and worship another while publicly professing Islam. The like of the hypocrites are those in the time of the Messenger of God . . . of whom he said . . . ‘There are three that, in whomever they are found, he is a hypocrite.’5 This is by way of hyperbole (taghlīẓ, lit. ‘roughening’). We relate it as it has come to us without explanation. There is also his saying, ‘Do go back after me in being unbelievers, striking off one another’s heads.’6 It is like (the saying) ‘When two Muslims meet with their swords, the killer and the killed are both in the Fire.’ It is also like (the saying) ‘Insulting a Muslim is depravity and fighting him is unbelief’7; like ‘Whoever says to his brother “You unbeliever”, one of them has brought it on’8; like ‘It is unbelief in God to renounce one’s lineage, even as to details (wa-in daqqa)’9 and other such hadith reports that are sound and memorized. We submit to them even if we do not know their interpretation. We do not talk or dispute about them. We do not interpret such hadith reports as these save by what has come down. We do not reject them save for what is better than they.10 Hypocrisy is unbelief in God: to be an unbeliever toward God and to worship someone else while making a show of Islam in public; to be like the hypocrites in the time of the Messenger of God . . . . Whoever of them openly shows unbelief is to be killed. It is not like these hadith reports that have come. ‘Whoever has three characters, he is a hypocrite.’ This is by way of hyperbole. They are to be related as they have come. It is impermissible for anyone to interpret them. It is the same for his saying ‘Do not go back after me to being unbelievers, striking off one another’s heads.’ It is like his saying, ‘When two Muslims meet with their swords, the killer and the killed are both in the Fire.’ It is like his saying, ‘Insulting a Muslim is depravity and fighting him is unbelief.’ It is like his saying, ‘Whoever says to his brother “You unbeliever” one of them has brought it on.’ It is like his saying, ‘It is unbelief in God to renounce one’s lineage, even as to details.’ It is like these hadith reports that are sound and to be memorized. We submit to them, even if we do not know their interpretation. We do not talk or debate about them, nor do we interpret them. Rather, we relate them as they have come. We believe in them, knowing they are true, as said the Messenger of God . . . . We submit to them and do not reject them.11

5 The full text of this last hadith report reads, ‘There are three that, if they are found in a man, he is a pure hypocrite, even if he fasts, prays, and asserts that he is a Muslim: if he speaks, he lies; if he promises, he breaks it; if he is trusted, he betrays’: AḤMAD, Musnadimāmal-muḥaddithīn II, Cairo, 1313/1895, p. 200 = Musnadal-imām XI, ed. SH. AL-ARNA’ŪṬ, &al., Beirut, 1413-21/1993-2001, p. 467. Henceforth, references to the latter edition in italics. 6 AḤMAD, Musnad, I, 230 III,477, among 15 occurrences altogether. 7 ID. Musnad, I, 385, 411, 433 VI,157-8,VII,:19-20,194-5; similar at Musnad I, 439 VII,2389. 8 ID. Musnad, II, 112 X,147. 9 Similar but not identical at AḤMAD, Musnad, II, 215 XI,592-3. 10 Creed III, apud IBN ABĪ YA‘LĀ, Ṭabaqāt, I, 245 II,172-3. 11 Creed V, apud IBN ABĪ YA‘LĀ, Ṭabaqāt, I, 311 II,169.

WHO’S IN, WHO’S OUT?

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Most of the awkward reports referred to are to be found in Aḥmad’s Musnad but not all. This is probably weak confirmation that the creeds are incorrectly attributed to Aḥmad (weak especially inasmuch as the extant Masā’il collections, much more securely attributed, also sometimes refer to hadith reports not found in the Musnad).12 The following study mainly exposes their treatment in the leading Sunni hadith collections of the ninth century.13 The first of these, ‘There are three that, in whomever they are found, he is a hypocrite’, is not well attested. Ibn Abī Shayba relates two versions that begin as in the creed, one a Companion report going back to ‘Abdallāh b. Mas‘ūd, the other going back to Mujāhid (b. Jabr, d. 103/721-2?) from the Prophet; i.e. missing the name of the Companion from whom he heard it.14 The first has a Basran isnād, the second a Kufan/Meccan. Al-Nasā’ī relates a version going back to the Companion Ibn Mas‘ūd through a Kufan isnād.15 A closely related version occurs in two of the Six Books, those of al-Bukhārī and al-Tirmidhī, and al-Sunanal-kubrā of al-Nasā’ī, which begins, ‘The sign (āya) of the hypocrite is three: when he speaks he lies, when he makes a promise he breaks it, and when he is trusted he betrays.’16 These have Medinese isnāds. I can only suppose the sentiment was widespread, and perhaps did not cause alarm because it did not actually mention unbelief. By contrast, ‘Do go back after me to being unbelievers, striking off one another’s heads’ is very well attested. It is usually found in the context of Muḥammad’s Farewell Pilgrimage. It does not appear in the Sīra of Ibn Hishām but Ibn Sa‘d includes it with a Basran/Medinese isnād going back to the Companion Abū Ghādiya, also a version with a Basran isnād going back to the Companion Abū Bakra.17 It is most often quoted in a version going back through Ibn ‘Umar with Basran, Basran/Medinese, Kufan, Egyptian, or Syrian/Medinese isnāds, usually 12 For the masā’il collections and the Musnad, see CH. MELCHERT, ‘The Musnad of Aḥmad ibn Ḥanbal’, DerIslam 82 (2005), pp. 32-51, at pp. 40-1. 13 The problem of just such awkward hadith reports has been remarked and briefly treated by W. MADELUNG, ‘Early Sunnī Doctrine Concerning Faith as Reflected in the Kitābal-Īmān of Abū ‘Ubayd al-Qāsim b. Sallām (d. 224/839)’, StudiaIslamica, no 32 (1970), pp. 233-54, with special reference to the Ḥanbali creeds at pp. 249-50 and Abū ‘Ubayd’s analysis of the problem at pp. 250-2. 14 IBN ABĪ SHAYBA, al-Muṣannaf, al-adab 41, mādhukiramin‘alāmatal-nifāq; ed. Ḥ. ‘A. AL-JUM‘A & M. I. AL-LUḤAYDĀN, 16 vols. (Riyadh, 1425/2004), VIII, 427; ed. M. ‘AWWĀMA, 26 vols. (Jedda & Damascus, 1427/2006), XIII, 153-5. These are the two good editions of the Muṣannaf. Others are better avoided. Henceforth, references to the latter edition in italics. 15 NASĀ’Ī, Mujtabā, al-īmān 20, ‘alāmatal-munāfiq, no 5026. 16 BUKHĀRĪ, al-īmān 24, bāb‘alāmatal-munāfiq, no 33; 2682, 2749, 6095; TIRMIDHĪ, al-īmān 14, bāb fī ‘alāmat al-munāfiq, no 2631; NASĀ’Ī, al-Sunan al-kubrā (henceforth SK), al-īmān wa-sharā’i‘uh 20, ‘alāmatal-munāfiq, no 11722. 17 IBN SA‘D, Biographien, ed. E. SACHAU, &al., Leiden, 1904-40, II/1, 132, 133-4 = al-Ṭabaqāt al-kubrā, Beirut, 1957-68, II, 184, 186. Abū Bakra is also the companion in NASĀ’Ī, al-Mujtabā, taḥrīmal-dam 27, qitālal-muslim, no 4135 = SK, al-muḥāraba 29, taḥrīmal-dam, no 3595, and ABŪ DĀWŪD AL-ṬAYĀLISĪ, al-Musnad, Hyderabad, 1321, no 859.

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but not always preceded by the exclamation ‘Woe betide you.’18 It is also often quoted in a version going back through Jarīr b. ‘Abdallāh, usually but not always preceded by the Prophet’s commanding the people to be quiet or else bidding Jarīr to command them to be quiet.19 Finally, there are a few reports going back to the Prophet through Ibn ‘Abbās and Ibn Mas‘ūd with Kufan isnāds.20 Its theological application is sometimes evident from the title under which a traditionist reports it. For Abū Dāwūd, the most traditionalist of the Six, it is chiefly useful as discrediting the Murji’ belief that one is either a believer or not: he puts it in the section of ‘Evidence for the increase of faith and its decrease’. Al-Bukhārī seems to treat it the most gingerly, for he brings it up ten times under various headings (e.g. the version with ‘Woe betide you’ in the Book of Etiquette to show that this expression is permissible) but never in the Book of Faith, where it would have raised the awkward question of whether ‘Alī, Ṭalḥa, al-Zubayr, and other participants in the First Civil War were some or all of them unbelievers. ‘When two Muslims meet with their swords, the killer and the killed are both in the Fire’ was likewise awkward for its implicit condemnation of both sides in the First Civil War, among other conflicts within the community. G. H. A. Juynboll tentatively attributes this version to the Basran client Ḥammād b. Zayd (d. 179/ 795), through the Companion Abū Bakra: I heard the Prophet say: ‘When two Muslims confront each other with swords, then both the one who kills as well as the one who gets killed end up in Hell.’ When he was asked the question: ‘That the killer goes to Hell is understandable, but what about the one who gets killed?’ ‘Well,’ the Prophet said, ‘(before he got killed) he was intent on killing the other.’21 18 BUKHĀRĪ,al-ḥudūd 9, bābẓahral-muslimḥimā, no 6785; al-adab 95, bābmājā’afīqawl al-rajulwaylak, no 6166; al-diyāt 2, bābqawlAllāhwa-manaḥyāhā, no 6868;al-fitan 8, bābqawl al-nabīlātarji‘ūba‘dīkuffāran, no 7077; MUSLIM, al-īmān 29, bābbayānma‘nāqawlal-nabī. . . lā tarji‘ū ba‘dī kuffāran, no 66; ABŪ DĀWŪD, al-sunna 15, bāb al-dalīl ‘alā ziyādat al-īmān wa-nuqṣānih, no 4686; TIRMIDHĪ, al-fitan 28, bāb lā tarji‘ū ba‘dī kuffāran, no 2193; NASĀ’Ī, Mujtabā, taḥrīmal-dam 27, qitālal-muslim, nos 4130-1 = SK, al-muḥāraba29, taḥrīmal-qatl, no 3590-1; IBN MĀJA, al-fitan 5, bāb lā tarji‘ū ba‘dī kuffāran, nos 3942-3; IBN ABĪ SHAYBA, al-fitan 1, mankarihaal-khurūjfil-fitna, XIV, 29 XXI,57; DĀRIMĪ, al-Sunan, k.al-manāsik 76, bāb fīḥurmatal-muslim. 19 BUKHĀRĪ, al-‘ilm 43, bābal-inṣātlil-‘ulamā’, no 121; al-maghāzī 78, bābḥijjatal-wadā‘, no 4405; al-diyāt 2, bāb qawl Allāh wa-man aḥyāhā, no 6869; al-fitan 8, bāb qawl al-nabī lā tarji‘ūba‘dīkuffāran, no 7080; MUSLIM, al-īmān 29, bābbayānma‘nāqawlal-nabī. . .lātarji‘ū ba‘dī kuffāran, no 65; NASĀ’Ī, Mujtabā, taḥrīm al-dam 27, qitāl al-muslim, nos 4136-7 = SK, al-muḥāraba 29, taḥrīmal-dam, no 3596-7; IBN ABĪ SHAYBA, al-fitan 1, mankarihaal-khurūjfi l-fitna, XIV, 30 XXI,57. 20 BUKHĀRĪ, al-ḥajj 132, bābal-khuṭbaayyāmal-Minā, no 1739; TIRMIDHĪ, al-fitan 28, bāb lātarji‘ūba‘dīkuffāran, no 2193; NASĀ’Ī, Mujtabā, taḥrīmal-dam 27, qitālal-muslim, no 4132 = SK, al-muḥāraba 29, taḥrīmal-dam, no 3592. 21 G. H. A. JUYNBOLL, EncyclopediaofCanonicalḤadīth, Leiden, 2007, p. 173. With iltaqā, tawājaha, or tawajjaha as the verb, see BUKHĀRĪ,al-īmān 22, bābal-ma‘āṣīminamral-jāhiliyya wa-lāyukaffaruṣāḥibuhābi-irtikābihāillābi-l-shirk, no 31, al-diyāt 2, bābqawlAllāhwa-man aḥyāhā, no 6875, al-fitan 1, bābidhāiltaqāl-Muslimānibi-sayfayhimā, no 7083; MUSLIM, al-fitan

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It is also related through the Companion Abū Mūsā l-Ash‘arī and others.22 This one, oddly, is not included by Abū Dāwūd. By contrast, al-Bukhārī once includes it in the Book of Faith under the heading, ‘Sins of the Jāhiliyya for committing which one is not pronounced an unbeliever except for polytheism’. It is possible to infer from it that Muslims who fight one another to the death become unbelievers, the reason it is mentioned as a baffling challenge to Sunni dogma in the creeds. On the other hand, this report does not expressly mention unbelief, so possibly al-Bukhārī considered the killer and the killed among the many Muslims who would be put into Hell and burnt to cinders but then delivered by the intercession of the Prophet.23 ‘Insulting a Muslim is depravity and fighting him is unbelief’ does make ‘unbelief’ explicit. It is most often reported with a Basran/Kufan isnād going back to the Companion Ibn Mas‘ūd,24 but it also appears with a purely Kufan isnād.25 Al-Nasā’ī reports several versions in which this is a saying from the Companion Ibn Mas‘ūd himself, not a quotation of the Prophet, all with Kufan isnāds.26 Ibn Māja reports a version through the Companion Abū Hurayra with a Basran isnād.27 Al-Bukhārī puts this one also in his Book of Faith, even though it expressly mentions unbelief, although his section heading, ‘The believer’s fear that his works should fail without his knowing’, pushes attention away from the First Civil War in favour of warning against complacency. He also admits its relevance to the First Civil War by putting it in the Book of Tribulations along with ‘Do not go back after me to being unbelievers’, although that book comprises overwhelmingly recommendations to abstain from participating in civil strife, not the proper classification of past heresies. Al-Nasā’ī adds an interesting bit of hadith criticism to one of his Basran/Kufan reports: ‘Ḥammād said he did not suspect Manṣūr, Zubayd, or Sulaymān, but that he did suspect Abū Wā’il’, wa-ashrāṭ al-sā‘a 4, bāb idhā tawājaha al-muslimān bi-sayfayhimā, no 2888; ABŪ DĀWŪD, al-fitan 5, bābfīl-nahy‘anal-qitālfīl-fitan, no 4268; NASĀ’Ī, Mujtabā, taḥrīmal-dam 29, taḥrīm al-qatl, nos 4125-8 = SK, al-muḥāraba 29, taḥrīmal-dam, nos 3583, 3585-8. 22 NASĀ’Ī, Mujtabā, taḥrīmal-dam 29, taḥrīmal-qatl, nos 4123-4, 4129 = SK, al-muḥāraba 29, taḥrīm al-dam, nos 3583-4, 3589; IBN MĀJA, abwāb al-fitan 11, bāb idhā iltaqā muslimāni bi-sayfayhimā, nos 3963-4; IBN ABĪ SHAYBA, al-fitan 1, mankarihal-khurūjfil-fitna, XIV, 42 XXI, 79-80. 23 BUKHĀRĪ, al-riqāq 51, bābṣifatal-jannawa-l-nār, nos 6559, 6566; al-tawḥīd 25, bābmā jā’afīqawlAllāhinnaraḥmatAllāhqarībminal-muḥsinīn, no 7450. 24 BUKHĀRĪ, al-īmān 36, bābkhawfal-mu’minminanyaḥbaṭa‘amalahūwa-huwalāyash‘ur, no 48, al-adab 44, bāb mā yunhā ‘an al-sibāb wa-al-la‘n, no 6044; MUSLIM, al-īmān 28, bāb bayānqawlal-nabī. . .sibābal-muslimfusūqwa-qitāluhūkufr, no 64; NASĀ’Ī, Mujtabā, taḥrīm al-dam 27, qitāl al-muslim, no 4109-11 = SK, al-muḥāraba 27, qitāl al-muslim, no 3567; ABŪ DĀWŪD AL-ṬAYĀLISĪ, Musnad, no 248. 25 BUKHĀRĪ, al-fitan 8, bābqawlal-nabīlātarji‘ūba‘dīkuffāran, no 7076; IBN MĀJA, al-fitan 4, bābsibābal-muslimfusūqwa-qitāluhūkufr, nos 3939, 3941. 26 NASĀ’Ī, Mujtabā, taḥrīmal-dam 27, qitālal-muslim, nos 4111-12, 4117-18; SK, al-muḥāraba 27, qitālal-muslim, nos 3569-70, 3577-8. 27 IBN MĀJA, k.al-fitan 4, bābsibābal-muslimfusūqwa-qitāluhūkufr, no 3940.

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mainly Shaqīq b. Salama (d. 100/718-19), the transmitter from Ibn Mas‘ūd.28 The suggestion seems to be that this is most likely Ibn Mas‘ūd’s saying, erroneously projected back onto the Prophet. As for ‘Whoever says to his brother “You unbeliever” one of them has brought it on’, Juynboll offers this alternative translation and gloss: ‘When anyone calls a brother of his an unbeliever, this qualification will stick to either one of them’ . . . . The tradition is meant to convey that if the first man’s allegation is true, the other is indeed an unbeliever, and if the allegation is false, the first man is henceforth considered an unbeliever . . . .29

With this wording, it appears in Mālik’s Muwaṭṭa’ and two of the Six Books with a Medinese or Kufan/Medinese isnād going back through Ibn ‘Umar,30 in al-Bukhārī’s Ṣaḥīḥ also by a Basran or Basran/Medinese isnād going back through Abū Hurayra.31 Juynboll attributes it in this form to Mālik himself, even if Muslim has a dozen single strands supporting it that all bypass him. Mālik includes notably few of these awkward reports about actions and unbelief. This one appears in a section ‘Disapproved talk’, minimizing theological implications. Al-Bukhārī similarly puts it in the Book of Etiquette, under the section title ‘Whoever pronounces his brother an unbeliever without an interpretation’; that is, when the other’s wrong belief has no foundation in Scripture, however wrongly construed. Abū Dāwūd reports a substantially different version with a Kufan/Medinese isnād going back through Ibn ‘Umar, ‘Whatever Muslim man calls another Muslim man an unbeliever (akfara), if he is an unbeliever (well and good); otherwise, he is the unbeliever.’32 This makes the theological point more clearly. He puts it in the section, ‘Evidence for the increase of faith and its decrease’, evidently because it shows the possibility of ceasing to be a believer altogether. Al-Bukhārī also offers an alternative version with a Basran isnād through Abū Dharr: ‘A man does not accuse a man of depravity or unbelief but that it goes back to him if his counterpart is not so.’33 The mention of depravity seems to show the influence of the earlier hadith report against insulting a Muslim. By putting these in the Book of Etiquette, however, al-Bukhārī again NASĀ’Ī, Mujtabā, no 4114 = SK, no 3574. JUYNBOLL, Encyclopedia, 319. 30 MĀLIK, Muwaṭṭa’, al-jāmi‘ 67 (rec. of ABŪ MUṢ‘AB), bābmāyukrahuminal-kalām, no 2069; slightly different words, Muwaṭṭa’, al-jāmi‘ 71 (rec. of YAḤYĀ), bābmāyukrahuminal-kalām, no 2814; BUKHĀRĪ,al-adab 73, bābmanakfaraakhāhubi-ghayrta’wīl, no 6104; MUSLIM, al-īmān 26, bābbayānḥālīmānmanqālali-akhīhil-muslimyākāfir, no 60. 31 BUKHĀRĪ, al-adab 73, bābmanakfaraakhāhubi-ghayrta’wīl, no 6103. 32 ABŪ DĀWŪD, al-sunna 15, bābal-dalīl‘alāziyādatal-īmānwa-nuqṣānih, no 4687. 33 BUKHĀRĪ, al-adab 44, bābmāyunhā‘anal-sibābwa-l-la‘n, no 6045. Abū Dāwūd doubted one link in Bukhārī’s isnād, al-Ḥusayn al-mu‘allim ‘Abd Allāh b. Burayda: IBN ḤAJAR, K.Tahdhīb al-Tahdhīb, II, Hyderabad, 1325-7, repr. Beirut, n.d., p. 338. 28 29

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minimizes the theological implications, suggesting that these are extremely rude things to say, highly discouraged but probably not a matter of literal unbelief. The last awkward hadith report mentioned in the creeds is ‘It is unbelief in God to renounce one’s lineage, even as to details.’ Ibn Abī Shayba relates something very close to this going back to Abū Bakr by a Kufan isnād, Ibn Māja going back to the Prophet through Ibn ‘Amr by a Medinese isnād.34 Many other hadith reports make a similar warning; for example, from al-Bukhārī through Abū Dharr by a Basran isnād, ‘There is no man who knowingly makes a claim to other than his father but that he commits unbelief in God. Whoever makes a claim to a group not part of his lineage, let him prepare his seat in the Fire.’35 There is even said to have been a lost verse of the Qur’an warning against falsifying one’s lineage: Abū ‘Ubayd (d. Mecca, 224/838-9?) quotes ‘Umar as saying, ‘We used to recite, “Do not despise (lātarghabū‘an) your fathers, for that is unbelief on your part.”’ Then he asked Zayd b. Thābit, ‘Is that so, O Zayd?’ He said, ‘Yes.’36 ‘Abd al-Razzāq, Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal, and al-Bukhārī all quote ‘Umar as mentioning this verse alongside the more famous stoning verse.37 More often, these words are simply quoted of the Prophet, as by al-Bukhārī and Muslim through Abū Hurayra.38 I have been looking for these awkward hadith reports in the earliest and what posterity considered the most authoritative Sunni hadith collections. None of them has all six of the awkward reports mentioned in the two creeds. Surprisingly to me, Abū Dāwūd and al-Tirmidhī have come up the least often of the Six (twice), al-Bukhārī the most (five out of six). This is probably not because al-Bukhārī has the most dogmatic hadith, Abū Dāwūd and al-Tirmidhī much less, although the point might be further investigated.39 Probably, none of them interpreted them in the Khāriji fashion as establishing that wrong actions may constitute unbelief. Aḥmad and the Ḥanābila after him did contend that one sin was tantamount to unbelief, mainly refusing to perform the ritual prayer. The Māliki and Shāfi‘i schools consider it a capital crime but not unbelief, the Ḥanafi school an offence 34 IBN ABĪ SHAYBA, al-adab 117, māyukrahulil-rajulanyantamiyailayhiwa-laysakadhālik; VIII, 517-18 XIII,330-1; IBN MĀJA, al-farā’iḍ 13, bābmanankarawaladah, no 2744. 35 BUKHĀRĪ, al-manāqib 5, no 3508. 36 ABŪ ‘UBAYD, Faḍā’ilal-Qur’ān, ed. M. AL-‘AṬIYYA, M, KHARĀBA, and W. TAQĪ AL-DĪN, Damascus, 1415/1995, p. 324. 37 ‘ABD AL-RAZZĀQ, al-Muṣannaf, ed. Ḥ. R. AL-A‘ẒAMĪ (Min Manshūrāt al-Majlis al-‘Ilmī 39), V, Johannesburg, 1390-2/1970-2, pp. 439-45; AḤMAD, Musnad I, 47, 55-6 I, 414-15, 449-55; BUKHĀRĪ, al-ḥudūd 31, bābrajmal-ḥublā, no 6830. 38 BUKHĀRĪ, al-farā’iḍ 29, bābmanidda‘āilāghayrabīh, no 6768; MUSLIM, al-īmān 27, bāb bayānḥālīmānmanraghiba‘anabīhiwa-huwaya‘lam, no 62. 39 For comparison, equally many of these awkward reports are in Muslim’s Jāmi‘ and Aḥmad’s Musnad, yet the latter has about three times as high a proportion of dogmatic hadith as the former, according to MELCHERT, Musnad, p. 45.

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that calls for flogging but not death.40 All six of the Ḥanbali creeds treat faith and works. The first declares that anyone who fails to say that faith is word and deed is a Murji’.41 The second says ‘Faith is word and deed’, all the rest that ‘Faith is word and deed, increasing and decreasing.’42 Relative Ḥanafi lenience about failing to perform the ritual prayer reflects early Ḥanafi involvement with Murji’ism. The creed of al-Ṭaḥāwī (d. 321/933) accordingly states that ‘Faith is confession by the tongue and confirmation by the heart’ — no word of its increase and decrease. The hadith report most often cited in the law books is usually traced back to the Prophet by a Kufan/Meccan isnād, although Muslim also reports a variant Basran isnād: ‘Between the servant and unbelief is leaving ritual prayer.’43 Juynboll attributes this wording to the Kufan Wakī‘ b. al-Jarrāḥ (d. 196/812?).44 Abū Dāwūd puts this under the heading, ‘in refutation of Murji’ism’. Al-Tirmīdhī makes his opinion clear by quoting the Basran Follower ‘Abd Allāh b. Shaqīq al-‘Uqaylī (d. 118/736-7), ‘The Companions (aṣḥāb) of Muḥammad . . . do not think leaving anything of works is unbelief except for the ritual prayer’, then the recent Medinese jurisprudent Abū Muṣ‘ab al-Zuhrī (d. 242/856-7), ‘Whoever says faith is profession is to be asked to repent. If he repents, (well and good); otherwise, his head is to be struck off.’45 Al-Tirmidhī and al-Nasā’ī, among others, also include a Prophet report to similar effect with a Khurasani isnād: ‘The covenant that is between us and them is the ritual prayer, so whoever leaves it has committed unbelief.’46 Al-Bukhārī is the odd one, here, not reporting that omission of the prayer amounts to unbelief. His unease probably had to do with the theological question 40 See for example AL-MARDĀWĪ, al-Inṣāf, ed. M. Ḥ. AL-FIQĪ, I, Cairo, 1955-8, repr. Beirut, 1419/ 1998, pp. 284-7 (Ḥanbali), AL-SHĀFI‘Ī, K.al-Umm, I, Bulaq, 1321-5, p. 225; AL-MĀWARDĪ, al-Ḥāwī al-kabīr, ed. M. MAṬARJĪ, &al., III, Beirut: Dār al-Fikr, 1414/1994, pp. 158-61 (Shāfi‘i), AL-JAṢṢĀṢ AL-RĀZĪ, MukhtaṣarIkhtilāf al-‘ulamā’, ed. ‘A. N. AḤMAD, IV, Beirut, 1428/2007, pp. 392-3 (Ḥanafi). On the positions of the different schools, see most conveniently Ibn Rushd, The Distinguished Jurist’sPrimer:Bidāyatal-mujtahid, trans. I. A. KH. NYAZEE, rev. M. ABDUL RAUF (Great Books of Islamic Civilization), I, Reading, 1994-6, pp. 98-9. 41 IBN ABĪ YA‘LĀ, Ṭabaqāt 1:25 1:55. Twelver discussions (mostly later) are reviewed by R. GLEAVE, ‘Abandoning Prayer and the Declaration of Unbelief in Imāmī Jurisprudence’, AccusationsofUnbeliefinIslam, ed. C. ADANG, & al. (Islamic History and Civilization, Studies and Texts, 123), Leiden, 2016, pp. 413-33. 42 IBN ABĪ YA‘LĀ, Ṭabaqāt 1:131, 243, 295, 313, 343 1:350, 2:169, 294, 343, 428. 43 IBN ABĪ SHAYBA, al-īmān 6, X, 306 XV, 611-12; MUSLIM, al-īmān 35, bāb bayān iṭlāq ism al-kufr‘alāmantarakaal-ṣalāh . . . , no 82; ABŪ DĀWŪD, al-sunna 14, bābfīraddal-irjā’, no 4678; TIRMIDHĪ, al-īmān 9, bābmājā’afītarkal-ṣalāh, nos 2618-20; NASĀ’Ī, SK, k.al-ṣalāh 12, al-ḥukm fītārikal-ṣalāh, no 330; IBN MĀJA, abwābiqāmatal-ṣalawāt 77, bābmājā’afīmantarakaal-ṣalāh, no 1078; DĀRIMĪ, al-ṣalāh 29, bābfītārikal-ṣalāh. 44 JUYNBOLL, Encyclopedia, 646-7. 45 TIRMIDHĪ, al-īmān 9, bābmājā’afītarkal-ṣalāh, no 2622. 46 NASĀ’Ī, Mujtabā, al-ṣalāh 8, bāb al-ḥukm fī tārik al-ṣalāh, no 464 = SK, al-ṣalāh 12, al-ḥukmfītārikal-ṣalāh, no 329; also TIRMIDHĪ, abwābal-īmān 9, bābmājā’afītarkal-ṣalāh, no 2621, IBN MĀJA, abwābiqāmatal-ṣalawāt 77, bābmājā’afīmantarakal-ṣalāh, no 1079, and IBN ABĪ SHAYBA, al-īmān 6, X, 307 XV,612.

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— his evident legal opinions usually align with the Māliki/Shāfi‘i tendency and he is notably hostile to Ḥanafism, but he was an independent traditionistjurisprudent who sometimes disagreed with each of the schools. There is a hint that he found congenial the explanation of the Ḥanbali creeds that this talk of unbelief is hyperbole, meant to frighten people into better behaviour but not to establish correct belief. Shortening something from Mālik, al-Bukhārī reports this under the heading ‘Ingratitude (kufrān) toward husbands and varieties of kufr’: ‘I saw the Fire, and lo, most of its people were women. They commit unbelief (yakfurna).’ It was said, ‘Do they express unbelief in God?’ He said, ‘They cover up (yakfurna) their husbands (al-‘ashīr), they cover up doing good — if you do well to one of them for an age, then she sees something (unwelcome) from you, she says, “I have never seen anything good from you.”’47

Kāfir in the sense of ‘unbeliever’ is probably a loan word from Aramaic, but the verb means to cover up, perhaps specifically to cover up a favour, hence to be an ingrate.48 Al-Bukhārī’s heading makes sure we do not equate these women’s ingratitude (kufr) with the theological unbelief (kufr) that ensures an eternity of torment. Finally, all the major collectors include a report that apparently makes unbelief a temporary condition as one commits a cardinal sin: ‘The adulterer does not commit adultery when he commits adultery as a believer, nor drink wine when he drinks as a believer, nor steal when he steals as a believer, nor plunder as the people raise their sight to him when he plunders as a believer.’49 Juynboll tentatively attributes it to al-A‘mash (Kufan, d. 147/764-5?). In some versions, the Prophet goes on, ‘Repentance is offered later.’ The report might be interpreted simply as more hyperbolic discouragement of adultery, drinking, and stealing. (Plundering, nuhba, not in all versions, refers to appropriating more than one’s 47 BUKHĀRĪ, al-īmān 21, bābkufrānal-‘ashīrwa-kufrdūnakufr, no 29; sim. at al-nikāḥ 89, bāb kufrān al-‘ashīr wa-huwa l-zawj wa-huwa l-khalīṭ min al-mu‘āshara, no 5197; cf. MĀLIK, Muwaṭṭa’, rec. YAḤYĀ, al-ṣalāh 119, al-‘amalfīṣalātkusūfal-shams, no 508 = rec. ABŪ MUṢ‘AB, al-ṣalāh 93, bābal-‘amalfīkhusūfal-shams, no 606. 48 A. JEFFERY, TheForeignVocabularyoftheQuran (Gaekwad’s Oriental ser. 79), Baroda, 1938, p. 250. 49 BUKHĀRĪ, al-ashriba 1, bābqawlAllāhinnamāal-khamr. . . , no 5578. Sim. at al-maẓālim 30, bābal-nuhbābi-ghayridhnṣāḥibih, no 2475, al-ḥudūd 1, bābal-zināwa-shurbal-khamr, no 6772; MUSLIM, al-īmān 24, bābbayānnuqṣānal-īmānbi-l-ma‘āṣī, no 57; ABŪ DĀWŪD, al-sunna 15, bāb al-dalīl ‘alā ziyādat al-īmān wa-nuqṣānih, nos 4689-90; TIRMIDHĪ, al-īmān 11, bāb lā yaznī al-zānīwa-huwamu’min, no 2625; NASĀ’Ī, Mujtabā, al-ashriba 42, dhikral-riwāyātal-mughallaẓāt fīshurbal-khamr, nos 5662-3; idem, SK, al-rajm 1, ta‘ẓīmal-zinā 1, nos 7126-33 (the last as Abū Hurayra’s own statement); IBN MĀJA, al-fitan 3, bābal-nahy‘anal-nuhba, no 3936. Through Ibn ‘Abbās, BUKHĀRĪ, al-ḥudūd 20, bābithmal-zunāh, no 6809, and NASĀ’Ī, SK, al-rajm 1, ta‘ẓīm al-zinā 1, nos 7134-5. See also ‘ABD AL-RAZZĀQ, Muṣannaf, VII, 414-17, § lāyaznīl-zānīḥīna yaznīwa-huwamu’min, sometimes reporting it as Abū Hurayra’s or Ibn ‘Abbās’ own statement. Additional versions through Ibn ‘Umar, Ibn Abī Awfā, and ‘Ā’isha in AḤMAD, Musnad, III, 346, IV, 352-3, VI, 139 XXIII,71,XXXI,449-50,XLII,10-12.

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lawful share of booty in the holy war.) This is the implication of section headings in the collections of al-Bukhārī, Abū Dāwūd, al-Nasā’ī, and Ibn Māja. Al-Nasā’ī’s section heading in al-Mujtabā expressly invokes hyperbole (riwāyātmughallaẓāt), the explanation of the Ḥanbali creeds. On the other hand, although the section headings in Muslim’s collection were added long after his lifetime, his inclusion of this report in the Book of Faith does draw attention to the theological implications. Al-Tirmidhī also definitely noticed the theological implications, for he afterwards quotes the Prophet without a complete isnād, ‘When the servant commits adultery, faith goes out of him. It is over his head like a shadow. When he goes out of that work, faith returns to him.’ This implies that unbelief lasts only as long as the act of adultery or theft. Then al-Tirmidhī offers another means of softening the report, relating from the sixth Shi‘i imam Muḥammad al-Bāqir (d. 114/732-3?), ‘This is about going out of īmān into islām’, alluding to the standard Sunni distinction between islām as outward adhesion to the community, īmān as a higher, interiorized faith in God, ultimately based on Q. 49:14.50 Al-Nasā’ī also raises theological implications, for after his last reported version he goes on to a dialogue between Ibn ‘Abbās and its transmitter from him, ‘Ikrima: ‘I asked Ibn ‘Abbās, “How is faith withdrawn?” He intertwined his fingers, then put them out and said, “Like this: when he repents, it returns to him like this” and he intertwined his fingers.’ By this account, faith returns not immediately but only on repentance. To conclude, modern scholarship has treated the theological issue of faith and works at length. I do not claim to have overturned widespread false perceptions here. But I hope it is useful to document how the controversy was waged in hadith. As for chronology, the awkward hadith reports named in the Ḥanbali creeds in the mid-to-late ninth century seem to have been formulated about a century before. They show how late Sunni orthodoxy was in forming, for they could not have been formulated as they were and taken up in multiple centres if the issue of accusing someone of unbelief on account of wrong action had been as acute in the eighth century as it evidently became in the ninth. As for geography, Basra seems prominent in the isnāds supporting them, although they also circulated elsewhere, especially Kufa and Egypt. It may be a peculiarity of Mālik’s outlook rather than widespread indifference to theology in Medina that they are poorly represented in the Muwaṭṭa’. They are well-represented in the Muṣannafs of ‘Abd al-Razzāq and Ibn Abī Shayba, our best sources for debates in Mecca and Kufa, respectively. 50 ‘The bedu say, “We believe.” Say, “You do not believe, but say, ‘We surrender’, for faith has not yet entered your hearts”’ (Jones translation). See W. M. WATT, ‘The Conception of Īmān in Islamic Theology’, DerIslam 43 (1967), pp. 1-10. I have not found these very words in any Shi‘i source, but al-Bāqir is quoted as making the same distinction, citing Q. 49:14, in AL-KULAYNĪ, al-Kāfī, ed. ‘A. A. AL-GHAFFĀRĪ, corr. M. AL-ĀKHUNDĪ, II, Tehran, 1389, 1391, pp. 26-7.

WHO’S IN, WHO’S OUT?

23

The great ninth-century Sunni hadith collections mostly softened these awkward hadith reports in the same fashion as the Ḥanbali creeds, mainly implying by section headings that they were hyperbolical discouragements, not serious theological propositions. Very likely, this is just the way they were formulated in the eighth century: as hyperbolic discouragements, with minimal regard for the theological implication that wrong action, not only wrong belief, may constitute unbelief. At that, the Khāriji position that committing cardinal sins amounted to apostasy had continuing support in the Ḥanbali tradition that failing to perform the ritual prayer should be punished as apostasy. The Khāriji position is supported by hadith in almost all of the Six Books. Inasmuch as such hadith reports imply a theological proposition about faith and works, their preservation in major hadith collections kept them available for spectacular reappropriation in the modern period, as by Sadat’s killers the Neo-Khāriji group Jamā‘at al-Muslimīn or, as its enemies called it, Jamā‘at al-Takfīr wa-l-Hijra.

CONVERSION IN THE CHRONICLEOFZUQNĪN: REVERSED BAPTISM OR AUTHENTIC SHAHĀDA? András MÉRCZ I. INTRODUCTION If we were to ask a Muslim today about what we needed do to become Muslim, he would tell us that we must recite the shahāda saying: “ThereisnoGod butAllahandMohamedisthemessengerofAllah”. That is all. Of course there are some other conditions. Muslim scholars insist on niyya or intention, meaning one has to pronounce this sentence desiring conversion. Others require at least two witnesses. Nevertheless, the text of the “liturgy” remains only this one single sentence. Information regarding conversion to Islam throughout history is remarkably scant.1 And if the number of personal conversion stories is extremely small, descriptions with details of the ceremony are even sparser. They mostly mention only the name of the person and, at most, the person “in the hands” of whom the convert made his creedal testimony. However, reading the ChronicleofZuqnīn, one bumps into a long description, which is completely different from today’s well-known ritual. According to the author of the chronicle, conversion occurred like this:  Themansaidtohim:“DoyourenounceChrist?”Hesaid:“Yes.”  Thenhesaidtohim:“DoyourenounceBaptism?”Hesaid:“Yes.”  Thenhesaidtohim:“DoyourenouncetheCross,theEucharistandeverything whichChristiansprofess?”Hereplied:“Irenouncethem.”  Afterhemadehimapostatizeinthismanner,heaskedhim:“Doyoubelievein MuḥammadasthemessengerofGod,andintheBookthatdescendeduponhim fromHeaven?”Hesaid:“Ibelieve.”  Thenhesaid:“Doyoubelievethat῾ĪsāistheWordandSpiritofGod,thathe isaProphet,andthatheisnotGod?”Hereplied,saying:“Yes.”Thushemade himrenounceeverythinginhisfreewill.2

1 Bulliet gave a plausible reason for this apparent lacuna in the historical record. cf. R. BULLIET, Conversion in early Islam, in M. GERBERS ‒ R. J. BIKHAZI (eds.), Conversion and Continuity: indigenous Christian Communities in Islamic Lands eighth to eighteenth Centuries (Papers in Mediaeval Studies 9), Toronto, 1990, pp. 123‒133. 2 A. HARRAK (ed.), The Chronicle of Zuqnīn. Parts III and IV. A.D. 488-775 (Mediaeval Sources in Translation 36), Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1999, p. 328; For the original Syriac text cf. I.-B. CHABOT (ed.), IncertiauctorisChroniconPseudo-Dionysianumvulgodictum II (Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium 104), Paris, 1933, p. 390.

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What is most striking in this description is that it looks rather like a Christian baptism, more than a profession of the Muslim shahāda. However, knowing that the author is Syriac Christian, one may tend to suppose that this description was simply the fancy of the author, who imagined the Muslim initiation ceremony being as such. If so, it would not be unprecedented, as modern scholars categorize most of these conversion accounts as fictitious. The following paper tries to examine whether this description can be considered an authentic profession of Muslim faith or whether it is merely the Christian monk’s conception about this ceremony. Could apostasy have happened like this in reality? Is this text a genuine shahāda or rather is it an inverse baptism? Let us first take into account the reasons why this text seems to be a Christian forgery.

II. THE CHRONICLE OFZUQNĪN —

HISTORICAL BACKGROUND AND

GENERAL FEATURES

The ChronicleofZuqnīn is an 8th-century chronicle written in Syriac, which recounts, in 4 parts, the history of the world from creation up to the year 775 AD. It was written in the monastery of Zuqnīn near Amida (modern-day Diyarbakır), hence the title. The first three books are mainly compilations of a great number of sources, while the fourth, which deals with the seventh and eighth centuries, is the work of a contemporary author. From 715 AD, he provides plenty of valuable and important details about the everyday life of Christians in Mesopotamia, especially for the period after 767 AD where the entries become very developed and at times verbose. A skilful attempt at identifying the author of the Chronicle was made by F. Nau, who proposed Joshua the Stylite as the composer of this work.3 This hypothesis was convincingly proved by A. Harrak in the introduction of his translation of the parts III and IV of the Chronicle.4 Joshua the Stylite of Zuqnīn was a Syrian Orthodox priest who probably spent his whole life in the Jazīra region. During his youth, he lived on top of a pillar in prayer and meditation. In all likelihood, he broke with this way of living when violence against stylites erupted in the region during the early ῾Abbasid period, and then entered the nearby monastery of Zuqnīn.5 It is there where he wrote his universal chronicle, consulting a large variety of sources he 3 F. NAU, Étude sur les parties inédites de la Chronique Ecclésiastique attribuée à Denys de Tellmahré († 815), Revuedel’OrientChrétien 2 (1897), pp. 47‒49. 4 A. HARRAK (ed.), ChronicleofZuqnīn, pp. 4‒8. 5 A. HARRAK, Joshua the Stylite of Zuqnīn, in D. THOMAS and B. ROGGEMA (eds.), Christian- MuslimRelations.ABibliographicalHistory I, Leiden-Boston, 2009, p. 323.

CONVERSION IN THE CHRONICLEOFZUQNĪN

27

found in the monastery’s library which must have been particularly rich in manuscripts. From the evidence of the fourth part of the Chronicle, he was deeply committed to his monastic vocation and criticized ecclesiastical leaders who did not serve their flocks responsibly.6 It seems that we are facing a Christian author who, living in a monastery, used Christian sources for his work. He wrote in Syriac, which made his chronicle inaccessible to Muslims. Thus, his intended readers were in all probability his fellow Christians. All these circumstances incline us to conclude that he is moving within a Christian cultural sphere and he was operating with symbols of his own religion. Having a quick look at the historical background in which Joshua the Stylite lived and in which the aforementioned “conversion” scene took place, it must be noted that we are a good century after the Islamic conquest. This is the time when Christians started to convert to Islam in large numbers. Under the reign of al-Manṣūr (754-775), dhimmīs were hit by over-taxation, and many of them tried to avoid paying the jizya by abandoning their faith and becoming a member of the Muslim community.7 In the Part IV of the Chronicle, which is the personal contribution of Joshua the Stylite, he writes about these mass conversions due to this hardship. He states: Ifthosewhousedtodosuchadeed(asapostasy)hadnumberedone,oronehundred,oronethousand,or[…]Iwouldhavekeptsilent.Butbecauseitisnotright thatthiscorruptmatterremainwithoutashortmention,wewilltalkaboutthebitter [shoot?],lacerationofthorns,andthetares,butalsoaboutthebeautifulshootand thelight[…]thatappearedtousamongthem.Forevenwithoutblowsandtortures peopleslippedtoward[apostasywith]great[eag]erness,ingroupsoftwenty,thirty, one hundred, two hundred or three hundred [men], without any compulsion [that ledthem?]toit.TheyusedtocomedowntoḤarrān,togovernors,andapostatise toIslam.8

So, he feels he cannot remain silent, that he has to do something to put a halt to this process. The fact that he addresses his Christian readers with a didactic purpose gives rise to the suspicion that the historicity of the conversion account may easily fall victim to his instructive manner.

A. HARRAK, Joshua the Stylite, p. 323. A. HARRAK (ed.), ChronicleofZuqnīn, pp. 321‒324. Cf. also A. HARRAK, Christianity in the eyes of the Muslims of the Jazīrah at the end of the eighth century, Paroledel’Orient 20 (1995), pp. 338‒339; C. CAHEN, Fiscalité, propriété, antagonismes sociaux en Haute-Mésopotamie au temps des premiers ῾Abbāsides, d’après Denys de Tell-Mahré, Arabica 1 (1954), pp. 136‒152. 8 A. HARRAK (ed.), ChronicleofZuqnīn, p. 324; I.-B. CHABOT (ed.), IncertiauctorisChronicon, pp. 384‒385. 6 7

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A. MÉRCZ

III. THE

AUTHOR’S INTENTION

—

THE CONTEXT OF THE ACCOUNT OF

THE CONVERSION

The account of the apostasy found in the Chronicle can be divided into two main parts. The first is a lengthy, general presentation of the circumstances, which includes many Biblical citations. The second is a detailed report of two specific cases: that of an Edessan deacon and that of a priest from the region of Ḥarrān. Choosing a man from Edessa has a symbolic charge, as this city (today Şanlıurfa) is the cradle of the Syriac culture. The author straightforwardly declares his intention at the end of the description of the Edessan deacon’s conversion and explains the necessity of giving these two examples: Inlikemanner,wetooshallsethimasanexampleforthegenerationstocome afterus,sothatallthebelieverswhowillreadinthisbook,willrealisewhathappenedtothiswretchedone,andtakecareofthegracewhichtheyhavereceived, lestthesamethingshouldhappentothem.9

His aim is to convince his Christian co-religionists not to abandon their faith, otherwise they will lose the grace they received. But what is that grace? And what happened to this Edessan deacon? Having decided to apostatise, he came to a Muslim man and answered the questions “Do you renounce…?” and “Do you believe…?”, as quoted above. After this ritual and being a freshly converted Muslim, he had to complete his religious duty: Duringhisprayerhestartsshiveringandatthetimeofprostrationsomething like a white and beautiful dove comes out of his mouth and goes up to the sky.10

This mythical description is an evident allusion to Christ’s Baptism in the Jordan, where the Holy Spirit, in form of a dove, descended from Heaven. A quite similar phenomenon happened to the priest from the region of Ḥarrān as well, who broke out lamenting: “I am laid bare and all the glory that I assumedinsidethewateristakenawayfromme.”11 9 A. HARRAK (ed.), ChronicleofZuqnīn, p. 328; I.-B. CHABOT (ed.), IncertiauctorisChronicon, p. 391. 10 A. HARRAK (ed.), ChronicleofZuqnīn, pp. 328‒329; I.-B. CHABOT (ed.), Incertiauctoris Chronicon, p. 391. 11 A. HARRAK (ed.), ChronicleofZuqnīn, p. 329; I.-B. CHABOT (ed.), IncertiauctorisChronicon, p. 392; The question, whether a person who becomes Muslim is deprived of the grace of baptism, already emerged in the 7th century. Cf. the query of John the Stylite from Litarb to Jacob of Edessa in A. VÖÖBUS, TheSynodiconintheWestSyrianTradition (Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium 367‒368, Scriptores Syri 161‒162), Louvain, 1975, p. 253 (text) and p. 231 (tr.).

CONVERSION IN THE CHRONICLEOFZUQNĪN

29

The author’s decisive argument against apostasy is the loss of the Holy Spirit received at baptism, which is why it would not be surprising that he uses the text of the baptismal liturgy to make his point. But was baptism being performed in the same way one and a half thousand years ago as it is today? IV. THE HISTORY OF THE

BAPTISMAL LITURGY

The renunciation of Satan (apotaxis) and the profession of faith are amongst the most ancient elements of the baptismal liturgy, and the roots of the questionanswer form also go as far back as the first centuries of Christianity. All of these elements can be found in the ApostolicTradition12, which is dated mainly to the beginning of the 3rd century AD.13 However, Oriental churches had their own ordines.14 The ordo attributed to Severus, Patriarch of Antioch (512‒518), was the standard baptismal ordo in the Syrian Orthodox Church to which Joshua the Stylite belonged. In the form as it has come down to us15, we see that it contains the apotaxis (renunciation) and syntaxis (adherence). However, there are no traces of the use of the threefold creedal interrogation.16 This latter is also missing from the other ordo, attributed to Timothy of Alexandria, which was also in use in the Syrian Orthodox Church.17 Nevertheless, there is a third text closely related to the ApostolicTradition: the TestamentumDomini, which preserved this form of interrogatiofidei.18 Originally written in Greek, it had been translated to Syriac by James of Edessa in 687 AD, which is less than a hundred years before the birth of the ZuqnīnChronicle. Thus, it could be a source of inspiration for Joshua the Stylite. 12 B. BOTTE, LaTraditionapostoliquedeSaintHippolyte.Essaidereconstitution(Liturgiewissenschaftliche Quellen und Forschungen 39), Münster, 1989 (5th edition), pp. 46‒51. 13 A. STEWART, OntheApostolicTradition,Hippolytus;AnEnglishversionwithintroduction andcommentary, St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2015 (2nd edition), pp. 28–38. 14 P. DE PUNIET, Baptême: Rites orientaux, in Dictionnaire d’archéologie chrétienne et de liturgie II, Paris, 1907, pp. 251‒285; S. BROCK, Studies in the Early History of the Syrian Orthodox Baptismal Liturgy, TheJournalofTheologicalStudies, New Series 23 (1972), pp. 16‒ 64. 15 Most of the printed editions of this text are based on late medieval manuscripts. For earlier manuscripts ranging in date from the 8th to the 11th century see BROCK, Studies, pp. 20‒ 21. 16 BROCK, Studies, p. 22; DE PUNIET, Baptême, pp. 275‒276; G. KHOURI-SARKIS, Prières et cérémonies du baptême selon le rite de l’Église Syrienne d’Antioche, L’OrientSyrien 1 (1956), pp. 156‒184. 17 S. BROCK, A New Syriac Baptismal Ordo Attributed to Timothy of Alexandria, LeMuséon 83 (1970), pp. 367‒431. 18 I. Ephraem II RAHMANI (ed. and transl.), TestamentumDomininostriJesuChristinuncprimumeditur,latinereddiditetillustravit, Mainz, 1899, pp. 128‒129; A. VÖÖBUS (ed. and transl.), The Synodicon in the West Syrian tradition I (Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium 367‒368, Scriptores Syri 161-162), Louvain, 1975, pp. 37‒38 (text) and 55‒56 (transl.).

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A. MÉRCZ

Yet, this text served only as a pattern for him. He borrowed only the questionanswer form, as the two texts do not show verbatim agreement and differ slightly in structure. The renunciation of Satan in the TestamentumDomini is expressed by a declarative sentence: “Irenouncethee,Satanandallthyservice,thyhouses ofshowsandthypleasuresandallthyworks.”19, while the rejection of the Christian faith in the Chronicle of Zuqnīn occured by answering three questions beginning with: “Doyourenounce…?” In both texts, the verb kpr is used: Ÿ Ÿ 20 The positive profession of faith is made ¿çÔéß¿æsüóÝand üóÝ.... by a threefold “Doyoubelieve…?” questioning in the baptismal rite, and by a similar, yet only twofold, questioning in the case of the Edessan deacon. The word “believe” in the ChronicleofZuqnīn is ĀæsÁxÎã, which means “to confess,” while in the TestamentumDomini the word is Āæs èäÙÍã, which means “to believe and trust.” Summarizing the arguments supporting the Christian origin of the scene, we can say that the author is a Syrian Orthodox monk writing to his fellow Christians. Furthermore, his deepest desire is to stop the depopulation of his flock due to conversion. Finally, he uses Christian terminology and images in an attempt at a persuasive argument. All these make the hypothesis that the text is a Christian fabrication quite credible and very likely. However, we have not yet viewed this story from within a Muslim context. So let us see the arguments from the other side. V. ARABISMS AND QURANIC QUOTATIONS IN THE

TEXT

The last part of the Chronicle, Joshua the Stylite’s own contribution to the work, is full of Arabisms. Mentioning Muhammad, Joshua applies the word ¿ćàÎé(i.e. rasūl) and not ¿ÚÃæ(i.e. nabīyō) as it would be expected in Syriac.21 In the text of the fourth book, there are an abundance of Arabic “loan-words”. Amir Harrak dedicated a comprehensive article to the subject.22 What is made clear is that Joshua did not simply use Arabic words. Rather, he seems to truly know Arabic in addition to his native Syriac.23 He also seems to know the Quran, or at least some parts of it, as he cites from it in some places. There is an example right in our conversion story. When the Muslim asks the deacon of Edessa: “Doyoubelievethat῾ĪsāistheWord VÖÖBUS, TheSynodicon, p. 55. RAHMANI, TestamentumDomini, p. 128; VÖÖBUS, TheSynodicon, pp. 37‒38, and I.-B. CHABOT (ed.), IncertiauctorisChronicon, p. 390. 21 I.-B. CHABOT (ed.), IncertiauctorisChronicon, p. 390. 22 A. HARRAK, Arabisms in Part IV of the Syriac Chronicle of Zuqnīn, in R. LAVENANT (ed.), Symposium Syriacum VII. Uppsala University, Department of Asian and African Languages 11‒14August1996, Rome, 1998, pp. 469‒498. 23 A. HARRAK, Joshua the Stylite, p. 323. 19 20

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CONVERSION IN THE CHRONICLEOFZUQNĪN

andSpiritofGod?” a Christian would immediately think of the prelude of the John’s Gospel (1:14). A Muslim, however, would say that it is an extract from the Sura of Women (4:171): ُ ‫يسى ٱ ْب ُن َم ْر َي َم َر ُس‬ َ ‫اب‬ ِ ‫َيا َأ ْه َل ٱ ْل ِك َت‬ ‫ول‬ ُ ‫لا تَغْ ُلو ْا ِفي ِدي ِن ُك ْم َو َلا َتقُ و ُلو ْا َع َلى ٱللَّ ِه إِلاَّ ٱ ْل َحقَّ إِن ََّما ٱ ْل َم ِس‬ َ ‫يح ِع‬ ‫وح مِّ ْن ُه فَآ ِم ُنو ْا بِٱللَّ ِه َو ُر ُس ِل ِه َو َلا َتقُ و ُلو ْا َثلا َث ٌة‬ َ َ‫ٱللَّ ِه َو َك ِل َم ُت ُه َأ ْلق‬ ٌ ‫اها إِ َلى َم ْر َي َم َو ُر‬

There is a damaged passage in the unique and autographed manuscript of the Chronicle, where we can read “Youaregodlessand(…)ofthespider.” The last word, spider (ÛÅÎÅ) does not fit the context.24 Rather, the whole passage gains meaning if, as Amir Harrak suggests25, we consider the Sura of the Spider (29:41), which compares people who rely upon someone other than God to a spider, whose home is the most vulnerable on the Earth. The use of this citation shows that the author had more than simply a superficial knowledge of Islam. Moreover, we will see that he was not only familiar with Islamic issues of the day, but that he was also well informed about the events which were taking place in the Khābūr region. VI. JOSHUA’S AUTHENTICITY AND TRUSTWORTHINESS

IN GENERAL

On the basis of the information he gathered and shared in his chronicle, it seems that Joshua travelled a lot. He shows a special interest in the prices of goods, and he had keen insight into the politics of the Church. On the basis of this evidence, Witakowski suggests that he might have been the ÁÎðé, or “steward”, of his monastery.26 Furthermore, according to his own testimony, he was in frequent contact with Muslims, receiving information from them on military operations.27 This contact can lead us to lend more credibility to the description of conversion above, as Joshua had direct access to these moments and perhaps could even attended such a profession of faith. Although he was not an eyewitness of the conversion of the Edessan deacon, the way he introduces this scene is fairly natural and realistic: IwasinEdessaatthattimeforsomeeventthattookplacethere.WhenIwasthere, peoplecameandsaidbeforeus,aswellasbeforeeveryone,thataman,adeacon fromtheregionofEdessa,hadslippedintothispitandchasmofperdition.(…) Someofthosewhoheardhimreportedthemattertome,butbecauseatthattime I.-B. CHABOT (ed.), IncertiauctorisChronicon, p. 385. HARRAK, Christianity, pp. 343‒347. 26 W. WITAKOWSKI, TheSyriacChronicleofPseudo-DionysiusofTel-Maḥrē:AStudyinthe HistoryofHistoriography(Studia Semitica Upsaliensia 9), Uppsala, 1987, p. 92; see also A. HARRAK, Joshua the Stylite, pp. 322‒323. 27 A. HARRAK, Joshua the Stylite, pp. 322‒323. 24 25

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A. MÉRCZ

Ididnotpayenoughattentiontoit,Iforgotthenameofthemanandthatofhis father,aswellasthenameofhisvillage.28

However, what is of greater importance is that giving the overview of the events surrounding mass conversions in the first part of the section, he provides a general description of the procedure: Ithappened,aswesaidtoyou,thatnumerouspeopleconvertedtopaganismand renounced Christ, baptism, the Eucharist and the Cross through which every humanbeingwasgrantedsalvation.Theyrenouncedallofthethingsthatarepart ofChrist’sprogrammeofsalvation,onlyconfessingthatChristwastheWordand theSpiritofGod.29

This is actually the heart of the Edessan deacon’s conversion taken out of its dialogical structure and relieved of the fairy tale-like garnish. So, the real question is whether renouncing important elements of the original faith and confessing Christ as Word and Spirit of God, alongside the prophethood of Muhammad, was in harmony with Muslim legal tradition with regards to Christians or not. VII. THE HISTORY OF THE

SHAHĀDA

Although Wensinck supposed that pronouncing the shahāda was sufficient proof for the change of religion30, he himself aptly articulated that: Creeds, that is, enumerations of the articles of belief are not in the first place addressed to the world of non-believers, but to the dissenting children of the motherchurch;theyowetheirorigintothenecessity,feltbytheorthodoxcommunity,ofvindicatingthetruthinthefaceofsectsandheretics,anditisonlywhen the theoretical foundations of the faith have been prepared by discussions and controversy that theologians begin to write treatises in which they expound the creed of the community, exposing the roots of scripture, tradition or reasoning, whichunderlieit.31

Moreover, there is no reason to expect the shahāda in the conversion stories of the first centuries because, at the dawn of Islam, it had not yet been fixed. Though the two phrases of the Muslim creed are both present in the Quran, they cannot be found together, side by side, as it is in the known formula today. Several shorter or longer forms coexisted during this early period. Versions of A. HARRAK (ed.), ChronicleofZuqnīn, pp. 327 and 329. A. HARRAK (ed.), ChronicleofZuqnīn, pp. 326‒327; I.-B. CHABOT (ed.), Incertiauctoris Chronicon, p. 388. 30 A. J. WENSINCK, TheMuslimCreed:ItsGenesisandHistoricalDevelopment, Cambridge, 1932, p. 28. 31 WENSINCK, TheMuslimCreed, p. 1. 28 29

CONVERSION IN THE CHRONICLEOFZUQNĪN

33

both phrases began to appear on coins and monumental architecture in the late 7th century AD. An inscription in the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem from around 692 AD reads “ThereisnogodbutGodalone;Hehasnopartnerwith him;MuhammadisthemessengerofGod”. Another variant appears on coins minted after the reign of ῾Abd al-Malik (685-705 AD) in the form “Muhammad istheservantofGodandHismessenger”.32 As there had not been an officially established ritual statement of faith at the time of Joshua the Stylite to which we could compare the description found in the ChronicleofZuqnīn, we have to find similar texts in Muslim sources in order to prove its authenticity. It is composed of two main parts. On the one hand, it contains a rejection formula, through which the person denied his original faith. On the other, there is a reference to Jesus in the positive profession of faith. VIII. RENUNCIATION IN THE MUSLIM TRADITION The possible and necessary use of an abjuration formula in the conversion process was known among Muslim jurists. In one of his articles, Friedmann collected several texts dealing with this issue.33 In the most elaborated form, it appears in al-Kāsānī (d. 587/1189) who emphasized that the conditions of conversion are not identical for all non-Muslims. He classified unbelievers into four groups: 1. Those who deny the Creator. 2. Those who acknowledge the Creator but deny His oneness: the idolaters and the Zoroastrians. 3. Those who acknowledge the Creator, and his oneness, but deny this idea of prophethood. The worst of them is a group of philosophers. 4. Those who acknowledge the Creator, His unity and the idea of prophethood, but deny the prophethood of Mohamed: the Jews and the Christians.34 For the first three groups, it was enough to recite the shahāda. However, the ahlal-kitāb (people of the Book) had to explicitly renounce their former religious attachment. 32 J. L. BACHARACH ‒ Sh. ANWAR, Early Versions of the shahāda: A Tombstone from Aswan of 71. A.H., the Dome of the Rock, and Contemporary Coinage, DerIslam. JournalfortheHistory andCultureoftheMiddleEast 89 (2012), pp. 60‒69. 33 Y. FRIEDMANN, Conditions of Conversion in Early Islam, in A. DESTRO ‒ M. PESCE (eds.), Rituals and Ethics. Patterns of Repentance. Judaism, Christianity, Islam. Second International ConferenceofMediterraneum (Collection de la Revue des Études Juives 31), Paris‒Louvain, 2004, pp. 100‒104. 34 Kāsānī, Badā᾿i῾al-ṣanā᾿i῾, vol 7, pp. 102‒103, cited by Y. FRIEDMANN, Conditions, p. 104.

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The earliest textual evidence of abjuration mentioned by Friedman is from an 8th-century jurist, al-Shaybānī35, who also shared the view that the pronouncement of the shahāda is not sufficient for the conversion of a Jew or a Christian. A commentator on his work, al-Sarakhsī (d. 490/1096), gave a very interesting explanation of this opinion. He wrote that Jews and Christians were willing to confess firmly that there is no God but Allah and Muhammad is his prophet because they had the second verse of the 62nd Sura (the Friday Sura) in mind, which says: ُ ‫اب َوٱ ْل ِح ْك َم َة َوإِن‬ َ ‫ُه َو ٱل َِّذي َب َع‬ َ ‫ِّين َر ُسو ًلا مِّ ْن ُه ْم َي ْت ُلو ْا َع َل ْيهِ ْم آ َيا ِت ِه َو ُي َزكِّيهِ ْم َو ُي َعل ُِّم ُه ُم ٱ ْل ِك َت‬ َ ‫ث ِفي ٱلأمِّي‬ ‫ِين‬ ٍ ‫َكانُو ْا ِمن َق ْب ُل َل ِفي َضلالٍ مُّب‬

They considered Muhammad to have been sent only to the “unlettered people,” and as they were not “unlettered,” even by pronouncing the shahāda they did not in fact acknowledge Muhammad’s prophethood. That is why al-Sarakhsī suggested that they must be made to apostatize first, since otherwise a simple recitation of the shahāda would not be valid for them.36 Thus, the first part of the conversion story is in full harmony with the Muslim tradition. Moreover, although al-Shaybānī was Joshua’s contemporary, his work did not come down to us as an entire work, but rather only through commentaries. And as al-Sarakhsī practically rewrote the book, it is almost impossible to distinguish al-Shaybānī’s text from the commentary. Consequently, scholars consider that al-Sarakhsī’s commentary represents Hanafi doctrines as they were understood in his time, the 11th century, and not those of al-Shaybānī’s time.37 This means that the passage from the ChronicleofZuqnīn in question is a very precious and early record of the use of an abjuration formula. IX. JESUS IN THE PROFESSION OF FAITH Concerning the more detailed positive profession of the faith, there are several examples where Jesus and Mary are mentioned. According to the Egyptian alNuwayrī (d. 1333), a Christian should say: ThereisnogodbutAllah,hehasnopartner.Muhammadishisservantandhis messenger (…) Jesus is God’s servant and his prophet, Mary is the servant of God,Muhammadisthesealoftheprophets,thebestofthemessengers(…)And thenheadds:IrenounceeveryreligiondifferentfromIslam.38 35 M. KHADDURI (transl.), The Islamic Law of Nations: Shaybānī’s Siyar, Baltimore, 1966, pp. 22‒38. 36 SARAKHSĪ, Sharḥ Kitāb al-siyar al-kabīr (ed. Ṣalāḥ al-dīn al-Munajjid 1-3, ῾Abd al-῾Azīz Aḥmad 4-5), al-Qāhira, 1957-1972, vol. 5, p. 2265 (no. 4519). 37 M. KHADDURI (transl.), TheIslamicLawofNations, p. 44. 38 AL-NUWAYRĪ, Nihāyatal-arab, cited by J. M. FIEY, Conversion à l’Islam de Juifs et de Chrétiens sous les Abbasides d’après les sources arabes et syriaques, in J. IRMSCHER (ed.), Rapportsentre Juifs,ChrétiensetMusulmans.EineSammlungvonForschungsbeiträgen, Amsterdam, 1995, p. 25.

CONVERSION IN THE CHRONICLEOFZUQNĪN

35

The 10th-century jurist, Ibn al-῾Aṭṭār is closer in time to the conversion of the Edessan deacon, but farther in location, as he was a qadi in Cordoba. His work Kitābal-wathā᾿iqwa-l-sijillāt contains all kinds of formulas a Muslim jurist may need for his work. In this collection, there is a section regarding apostasy, according to which a Christian man who wishes to become Muslim must: ّ‫شهد أنّ لا إله إ ّلا ا﷽ وحده لا شريك له وأن‬ ‫محمدا عبده ورسوله وخاتم رسله وأنّ المسيح عيسى‬ ّ ‫ابن مريم ص ّلى ا﷽ عليه وس ّلم عبده ورسوله وكلمته ألقاها إلى مريم وروح منه واغتسل لإسلامه‬ .39‫وص ّلى‬

We may remark on the striking similarities between this text and our passage from the Chronicle. There are literal agreements between the two texts, and one can see the Sura of the Women behind both. Although several thousand miles separates the two scenes, the distance is not as big as it seems at first glance. Ibn al-῾Aṭṭār’s book also contains the conversion formula for a Jew as well as for a Magus (majūsī).40 The editor of the text was puzzled by finding this word in the text and proposed many possible reasons which explain the presence of the Magus in Andalusia. He even tried to identify them with the Normans or the Magyars (i.e. Hungarians).41 However, the use of this word does not cause any problem if we put the text in a Mesopotamian context, supposing that it was not Ibn al-῾Aṭṭār who created this formula, but rather that he copied it from somewhere else so as to be a link in a long chain of tradition, which would not be unusual in the case of a juristic work. The word Magus in this legal work is indirect proof of the use of the verse on Jesus from the Sura of Women in a Muslim shahāda before the 10th century AD in the Mesopotamian region. However, there are direct proofs as well. Suliman Bashear examined hadīth traditions and found that the occurrence of Jesus’ name in the Muslim profession of faith was present in Syria in the 8th and 9th centuries AD.42 Having found parallels to this conversion story from the Chronicle in Muslim sources, we can state that this profession of faith is in harmony with Muslim tradition. Therefore, we can rightly consider it as an authentic shahāda.

IBN AL-῾AṬṬĀR, Kitābal-wathā᾿iqwa-l-sijillāt (ed. P. Chalmeta), Madrid, 1983, p. 405. IBN AL-῾AṬṬĀR, Kitābal-wathā᾿iq, p. 413. 41 P. CHALMETA, Le passage à l’islam dans al-Andalus au Xe siècle, in ActasdelXIICongresso de la UEAI (Malaga, 1984) / Congrès de l’Union Européenne des Arabisants et Islamisants, Madrid, 1986, pp. 169‒170. 42 S. BASHEAR, Jesus in an early muslim shahāda and related issues: a new perspective, in S. BASHEAR,StudiesinEarlyIslamicTradition (The Max Schloessinger Memorial Series. Collected Studies in Arabic and Islam 2), Jerusalem, 2004, XV, pp. 1-18. 39 40

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X. SUMMARY In conclusion, we can say that Joshua the Stylite drew from the reality and that he constructed this description of conversion from it. He placed the scene within a Christian, baptismal framework because it served best to achieve his goal of convincing his Christian brothers not to convert to Islam. However, he used his artistic freedom to embellish the story, applying rhetorical devices, but only to a degree that made it still possible to identify the historically authentic elements of the text. Putting the script in parallel with Muslim sources proves that it contains a genuine shahāda. Finally, what is made clear is that this text excels not just in its uniqueness, but in that it is an early evidence to this important interaction between Christians and Muslims of the time, making the ChronicleofZuqnīn a very valuable source for the study of the history of Islam.

THE CALLING TO THE ROOTS OF TRUTH: THE PRAYER IN AL-SIJISTĀNĪ’S ISMAILI VIEW Antonella STRAFACE

In the last of his works, the Kitābal-iftikhār, the 10th century Ismailidāʻī Abū Yaʻqūb al-Sijistānī, the pioneer of the philosophical Ismailism, devoted the last chapters to the understanding of the “pillars” of islam. The present paper, that is a continuation of my last researches on this topic,1 will focus attention on the chapter devoted to the canonical prayer (ṣalāt). Like the other arkān, the second “pillar” of islam was interpreted according to the Ismaili exegesis (ta’wīl) that gives allegorical meanings to the religious dogmas and rites. From fragmentary information on al-Sijistānī’s life,2 we know that he became a high ranking dā‘ī, since he was charged, after Abū Ḥātim al-Rāzī’s death (322/934), with the direction of the da‘wa in Rayy and later in Khurasan, after Muḥammad b. Aḥmad al-Nasafī’s murder in 332/943.3 So, despite his original belonging to Qarmatism, al-Sijistānī acknowledged the Fāṭimide a’imma as legitimate representatives of the Qā’im, probably formally or at least until the Qā’im’s advent. This implies that, in waiting for his “return”, the Islamic sharī‘a remained in force. This involves that al-Sijistānī recognized full value to the obligatory performance of the Islamic rituals, including of course the “pillars” of islām, a topic that he investigated esoterically in the last of his work, the Kitābal-iftikhār (Thebookoftheboast). For details see A. STRAFACE, Thearkānal-islāmaccordingtoal-Sijistānī:fasting inwaiting fortheQā’im,in M. Reinkowski, M. Winet, S. Yasargil (eds),ArabicandIslamicStudiesinEurope andBeyond (Proceedings of the 26th Congress of the Union Européenne des Arabisants et Islamisants, Basel 2012), Leuven 2016, [OLA 248], pp. 219-228; EAD., Thedutyofbeingcharitable inknowledge:the zakāt inal-Sijistānī’sKitāb al-iftikhār, in J. Hämeen-Anttila, P. Koskikallio, I. Lindstedt (eds), ContactsandInteraction (Proceedings of the 27th Congress of the Union Européenne des Arabisants et Islamisants, Helsinki 2014), Leuven 2017, [OLA 254], pp. 459-466. 2 For details see P. WALKER, Early philosophical shiism: The Ismaili neoplatonism of Abū Ya̔qūbal-Sijistānī, Cambridge 1993; ID.,AbūYa̔qūbal-Sijistānī: intellectualmissionary, London 1996. 3 Al-Sijistānī formed together with Abū Ḥātim al-Rāzī and Muaḥammad b. Aḥmad al-Nasafī, the early generation of “missionaries” (duʻāt), charged with political-doctrinal activities. He is considered a pioneer of the philosophical Ismailism because he brought a significant contribution in shaping a doctrine in which Neoplatonism was islamicized. The availability of his works made the reconstruction of the first developments of the philosophical Ismailism possible, although the pre-Fatimide period still remains obscure in some details of its origins. 1

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This treatise can be considered a kind of epitome of the Ismaili doctrine that al-Sijistānī wrote to replay, polemically, those who accused the Ismailis of professing a creed that was in contrast with the Islamic tenets. Hence, the necessity for replying this accuse by “boasting” (iftikhār) the merits of the Ismailis who respect what the Scriptures imposed and who also know, unlike their opponents, the inner Truth (ḥaqīqa) concealed in the Revelation that the expected Qā’im will unveil, assuring so the salvation of the soul. It was only by knowing the Truth concealed in the Scripture that the believer can achieved this supreme goal; since ordinary believers are not able to attain this hidden Truth, they need someone, i.e. the Qā’im, who will unveil it, so as to make them acquire salvation. Although al-Sijistānī claimed that the fulfilling of the religious obligations was a duty, at the same time he maintained that their formal attainment, even though necessary, were not sufficient to gain the salvation. As a matter of fact, the religious prescriptions must be considered as a “shell” (qishr) that hides and preserves the Truth that must be kept hidden to safeguard the community until the return of the Qā’im. In the meantime, the only exegete and interpreter of the Scripture is the imam whose role is considered necessary for gaining the soteriological purpose to which Ismailism aspired. Under this regard, the “pillars” of islām must be interpreted esoterically, since they were the symbols of one, unique and unchangeable Truth of faith, as the analysis of some excerpts of the Kitābal-iftikhār4 aims to show. At the beginning of the 14th chapter of the Bookoftheboast, which is devoted to “Understanding of the prayer”,5 al-Sijistānī explains that the canonical prayer is for those who live in a condition of “close friendship” (walāya) with God,6 that is the awliyā’. The walī, thanks to his privileged condition, is considered as an example that the true believer must imitate (iqtidā’) and obey (ṭāʻa),7 because God signed with him and his heirs the Solemn Covenant (al-mīthāqal-ghalīẓ) that recognized God as the only and unique Lord and the walī as the spiritual guide who safeguards the community of the believers, also called the “people of Truth”. According to al-Sijistānī, besides the “oath of the close friendship” (ʻaqd al-walāya) there is another oath; it is “the oath of the community” (ʻaqd al-jamāʻa) that links God to the Ismaili believers by means of the imam.

4 ABŪ YAʻQŪB AL-SIJISTĀNĪ, Kitāb al-iftikhār (hereafter Iftikhār) was edited twice: firstly by Muṣṭafā Ghālib (Bayrūt 1980), who omitted the offensive passages of condemnation of the A ͑ bbāsids as well as of Alī’s opponent,and later by Ismā‘īl Poonawala (Bayrūt 2000). I shall refer in this paper to both versions. 5 See Iftikhār, pp. 116-121 (ed. M. Ghālib); pp. 240-248 (ed. I. Poonawala). 6 See Iftikhār, p. 116, 2 (ed. M. Ghālib); p. 240, 2 (ed. I. Poonawala). 7 See Iftikhār, p. 116, 3-4 (ed. M. Ghālib); p. 240, 2-3 (ed. I. Poonawala).

THE CALLING TO THE ROOTS OF TRUTH

39

This oath has the same dignity of the oath signed between God and His “friends”, indeed it is regarded as the “premise” (muqaddima) to the “oath of the close friendship” because: “it is impossible the oath of close friendship without the means of the oath of the community”.8 At the same time, al-Sijistānī adds, “it is impossible to secure the oath of the community regardless of the manifest call”,9 i.e. the adhān, that is the premise to the prayer (ṣalāt), and “since the ‘call to the prayer’ is a manifest invitation, this involves that this ‘call’ is the premise to the oath of the community and the oath of the community is the premise to the oath of the close friendship”.10 These relationships that link the adhān to the ṣalāt, and the “oath of community” to the “oath of the close friendship” testify a kind of equilibrium between the sharīʻa and the ḥaqīqa; both, according to al-Sijistānī, can be related, respectively, to the “ritual ablution” and “ cultic purity”. In particular, what links the ṭahāra to the ḥaqīqa is the same goal, that is the “cultic purity” involves the purification of material impurities just like the achieving of the Truth involves the purification from any moral impurities. In evoking the topic of chapter 13th (which is devoted to ritual ablution and cultic purity), al-Sijistānī reminds that true purification is the disavowal of those who did not recognize the necessity for the imām and for his role, a fault which is considered as the worst “impurity”.11 So, al-Sijistānī concludes: “we said that the prayer is for the friendship of the friends of God just like cultic purity is for those who disavow [lit. “disavowing”] the enemies”.12 In order to highlight the preeminence of the imām, al-Sijistānī regards him as the qibla of the true believers: like the qibla that is indispensable to perform the prayer, since it gives the right direction, the imām is necessary for directing those who search for the Truth (murtādūn). This interpretation is justified in the Qur’an that reminds: “We see the turning of thy face for guidance to the heavens: now Shall We turn thee to a Qibla that shall please thee. Turn then Thy face in the direction of the sacred Mosque: Wherever ye are, turn your face in that direction. (…)”.13 According to the tradition of the ta’wīl to which al-Sijistānī resorts in order to interpret esoterically the Qur’an, this verse has an allegorical meaning since the “turnig of face to the heaven” must be understood as the turning of Prophet’s attention to the sharīʻaand to his waṣīy, the “legatee” who is charged with its 8

SeeIftikhār, p. 116, 4-5 (ed. M. Ghālib); p. 240, 4 (ed. I. Poonawala). See Iftikhār, p. 116, 4-5 (ed. M. Ghālib); p. 240, 4-5 (ed. I. Poonawala). 10 Iftikhār, p. 116, 6-7 (ed. M. Ghālib); pp. 240, 5-241, 1 (ed. I. Poonawala). 11 The Sijistanian interpretation of ritual ablution and cultic purity has been investigated in A. STRAFACE, RitualablutionandculticpurityinIsmāʻīlicontext, in C. DE ANGELO, S. TOLINO (eds), IslamicLawandMinorities, JournalofArabicandIslamicStudies, 17 (2017), pp. 268-279. 12 See Iftikhār, p. 116, 8 (ed. M. Ghālib); p. 241, 1-2 (ed. I. Poonawala). 13 Q. 2: 144. For the English translation of the Qur’an see YUSUF ALI (transl.), TheHolyQur’an, Hertfordshire rev. ed. 2001. 9

40

A. STRAFACE

interpretation (ta’wīl)14 and with the resposability for the custody of the hidden knowledge (‘ilmal-bāṭin) that it contains. He is the qibla “that shall please” the Prophet who shares with him the possession of the esoteric knowledge, as the Qur’an reminds when God, by urging Muḥammad to turn his face “in the direction of the sacred Mosque”,15 exhorts him to give his waṣīy “the half of what I have effused on you”.16 Since the imām possesses the knowledge that is necessary to the believer for acquiring his salvation, he is the only qibla to be faced, that is the only spiritual guide who must be followed and obeyed; this is why God admonishes not to face other directions, that is not to follow other guides than the imām, otherwise “wert thou indeed (clearly) in the wrong”.17 After having restated the fundamental role of the prophet as well as the necessity for the imām, al-Sijistānī focuses his attention on the topic of the chapter, that is the true understanding of the five canonical prayers. Before entering the details of the discussion, al-Sijistānī highlights that all the prayers begin with “praising” (ḥamd) God for His manifest and hidden favor,18 in this way the true believer thanks God for supporting him through the granting of His precious gifts, first of all the Intellect (ʻaql). The Intellect plays a key role on the cosmological level since it guarantees God’s unity and absolute transcendence, that is the backbone of the Ismaili ontology.19 It is worth noted that in the Ismaili thought God transcends the manifold as well as the one; in order to preserve His transcendence, He does not emanates (fāḍa) spontaneously but originates (abdaʻa) voluntary. The first entity He originated was the Intellect, called also “the first originated” (al-mubdaʻaal-awwal) and from the Intellect was emanated (inbaʻatha) the Soul (nafs), or the “first emanated” (al-munbaʻath al-awwal). The Intellect and the Soul represent the “original pair”, or the “two principles” (aṣlāni) that, charged by God with a kind of “executive power”, guarantees the transcendence of God. 14

See Iftikhār, pp. 116, 14-117, 1 (ed. M. Ghālib); p. 241, 8-9 (ed. I. Poonawala). Q. 2: 144. 16 Iftikhār, p. 117, 3-4 (ed. Ghālib); p. 241, 10 (ed. Poonawala). This last statement seems to evoke a a tradition that quotes: “Once, Jibrīl brought from Paradise two pieces of pomegranate to the Messenger of God, who ate one of them and broke the other one into two pieces. The Messenger of God ate one half [of the second pomegranate] and gave the other half to ‘Alī who ate it. The Messenger of God, then, said: ‘O ‘Alī, the first pomegranate that I ate was prophethood and there is no share in it for you. The other pomegranate [that I have broken into two parts] is knowledge in which you are my partner’”. MUḤAMMAD YAʻQŪB AL-KULAYNĪ, Al-uṣūlal-kāfī, Manshūrāt al-fajr, Bayrūt 2007, 2 vols, vol. 1, chapter. 106, Hadith 2 and 3. In this way, the prophet and his “legatee” partake the same status for what pertains knowledge (ma‘rifa) but not for what pertains the prophethood (nubuwwa). 17 Q 2:145. 18 See Iftikhār, p. 117, 14-15 (ed. M. Ghālib); p. 242, 11-12 (ed. I. Poonawala). 19 On this topic see, among the other. I.R. NETTON, AllāhTranscendent:Studies,intheStructure andSemioticsofIslamicPhilosophy,TheologyandCosmology, London 20133 (1st ed. 1989). 15

THE CALLING TO THE ROOTS OF TRUTH

41

Besides this “original pair” there was a “religious pair”: the Speaking-prophet and the Imām. Put at the top of a hierarchy of corporeal dignitaries (al-ḥudūd al-jismāniyya),20 the “religious pair” was established in order to give a moral guide to the community of believers. Both “pairs” were connected each other thanks to a system of symmetric correspondence that guarantees the redeeming return (ta’wīl) to God, complying so the soteriological purpose of the spiritual Ismaili teaching. As we shall see, both “pairs” — spiritual and religious — are put in relation by al-Sijistānī to the canonical prayers, as the following analysis will show. As regards the ṣalātal-fajr, it is performed before dawn when the sun rises and the light of the day disperses the darkness of the night. This is why this prayer must be connected to the Intellect that, like a bright lamp (sirājmunīr), dissolves the darkness of ignorance because it helps to distinguish what is true from what is false, what is good from what is bad, what is right from what is wrong.21 Through the prayer of the dawn, true believer gives thanks to God for having granted him the gift of the Intellect that is the necessary means to achieve the never ending Reward. The ṣalātal-maghrib is performed at mid-afternoon, when the dark begins to rise. This intermediate moment of the day, between light and dark, represent the double disposition of the Soul; it is attracted by the Nature and, at the same time, it aspires to achieve the perfection of the Intellect. This involves that when the Soul is united to the individual forms, or “persons” (ashkhāṣ),22 it manifests the effects of the Intellect; through this union (ittiḥād) the person is able to speak and to give to the things their names (asmā’), attributes (ṣifāt) and qualities (kayfiyyāt), “if not, the virtues of the Intellect do not become manifest, the nearest of them [scil. virtues] is the comprehension of what is known (iḥāṭatal-maʻlūmāt) and the attainment of the their true realities (darak ḥaqā’iqihā) and the remotest of them [scil. virtues] is the knowledge (maʻrifa) of the tawḥīd”.23 20 This hierarchy has its counterpart in the “spiritual hierarchy” (al-ḥudūdal-rūḥāniyya). The Isma̔ ili “propaganda” (da‘wa) provides for an heavenly and an earthly hierarchies. The “heavenly hierarchy”, echoing Neoplatonic doctrines, included five ranks, the first two of which was the Intellect and the Soul. As for the “earthly hierarchy” (al-ḥudūdal-jismāniyya), it included those who played a key role not only in the revelation of the Scriptures but also in the organization of the political and doctrinal life of the Isma̔ili community. Like the heavenly hierarchy, the earthly order provided five ranks, the first two of which was the Prophet, in charge with the revelation (tanzīl) of God’s Word and therefore called “Speaking” (Nāṭiq), the “Foundation” (Asās), known also as “Silent” (Ṣāmit) since he was the guardian of the concealed meaning of the divine Word. This system of ranks, developed for religious and political purposes, is evoked in the literature of the Fatimide period and, as far as we know, it seems that it did not become operative. See F. DAFTARY, AshortHistoryoftheIsmailis, Edinburgh 1998, pp. 97-98. 21 See Iftikhār, p. 117, 22-23 (ed. M. Ghālib); p. 243, 4-5 (ed. I. Poonawala). 22 See R. ṢALĪBA, Al-muʻjamal-falsafī, Bayrūt 1978, 2 vols, vol. 1, pp. 689-690. 23 See Iftikhār, p. 118, 13-14 (ed. M. Ghālib); p. 243, 17-18 (ed. I. Poonawala).

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This knowledge is regarded as “the noblest” (ashraf) because it is nearest to the origin, consequently it is not achievable by all. Through the prayer performed at mid-afternoon, true believer gives thanks to God who granted him the Soul that is “a substance (jahwar) between the light of the Intellect and the darkness of the Nature”. 24 According to al-Sijistānī, the ṣalātal-ẓuhr is a means to thank God for having granted the community the assistance of His messenger who is qualified as “the Lord of the manifested aspect of the Law” (ṣāḥibẓāhiral-sharī‘a)25 and “the one who rises” (qā’im) to announce the Word of God. It has to be noted that this Word can be understood only by those who are able to achieve the essence of the Soul and, in so doing, they can interpret the form of the Intellect. Since it is impossible for all men to achieve this higher knowledge, because of the disparity (tafāwut) that exists among them,26 God installed a qā’im,at the end of every prophetic cycle. He is charged with the transmission of the Word of God that is only one although its way of diffusion is twice: “a manifest (ẓāhir) way that avails both the learned man and he who ignores (al-ʻālim wa l-jāhil) and an allegorical (amthāl) way that disguises its [scil. the Word] realities (ḥaqā’iq) that avails only the learned and wise men (al-ʻulamā’wal-ḥukamā’) …”.27 The relationship between the prayer performed at midday and the transmission of the Word of God to both ʻulamā’ and juhhāl can be deduce from the linguistic belonging of the term “midday” and “manifest”. Both words share the same roots, ẓhr, so, as at midday (ẓuhr) the sunlight manifests its full brightness, in the same way the prophet proclaims the Word of God openly, that is in a manifest (ẓāhir) way. The fourth canonical prayer, the ṣalātal-ʻaṣr, is performed after sunset when the darkness growths, although it is still illuminated by the light of the day. According to al-Sijistānī, the twilight is the symbolic representation of the wise and learned men (ʻulamā’ and ḥukamā’) who were installed by God who did not neglected His servant nor left him as “unenlightened blind” (lit.ʻamyā’muẓlima), actually “He installed for us he who illuminated (anāra) our substances by means of his esoteric interpretation (ta’wīl) and the explanation of its [scil. esoteric interpretation] true realities (ḥaqā’iqihi)”.28

24

Iftikhār, p. 118, 17-18 (ed. M. Ghālib); p. 244, 4 (ed. I. Poonawala). Iftikhār, p. 119, 4-5 (ed. M. Ghālib); p. 244, 15 (ed. I. Poonawala). 26 “Among them [scil. people, al-nās] there are learned men (ʻulamā’) and those who have insight and discernment (ahlal-baṣīrawal-tamyīz) and among them [scil. people] there are those who ignore (juhhāl) who have no insight nor discernment”. Iftikhār, p. 119, 11-12 (ed. M. Ghālib); p. 245, 4-5 (ed. I. Poonawala). 27 Iftikhār, p. 119, 14-15 (ed. M. Ghālib); p. 245, 7-8 (ed. I. Poonawala). 28 Iftikhār, p. 119, 19 (ed. M. Ghālib); p. 245, 12 (ed. I. Poonawala). 25

THE CALLING TO THE ROOTS OF TRUTH

43

Al-Sijistānī reaffirmed here that there is a disparity among men: there are those who have insight and discernment (ahlal-baṣīrawal-tamyyiz) and those who ignore (juhhāl).29 The first known in a total and true way, that is they understand the exoteric as well as the esoteric, while the second know only the exoteric because they are not able to “see” behind the “manifest”. So, they need wise and learned men whose insight and discernment seem to evoke the sunset: like the twilight glimpses the light, in the same way the learned and wise men let the minds of the common believer glimpse the light of knowledge. Through this prayer, the believers thank God for having granted them those who, in illuminating the darkness of ignorance, dissipated them. One of the backbone of the Ismaili teaching is the necessity for the imām because he is the repository of Truth, this is why he was charged with the guiding of the believers on the “right path”. The ṣalātal-ʻishā’, which is connected to him, is performed in the evening, in total darkness that here seems to have not the negative meaning that darkness usually evokes, that is ignorance. Dark, in concealing light, which symbolizes knowledge, performs the same role played by the imām, this means that as darkness conceals the light trough its obscurity, in the same way the imām, acting as ṣāmit (“silent”) keeps the Truth secret, safeguarding so the inner meaning of the Revelation until the advent of the Qā’im. The last of the five canonical prayers is a way to thank God for “the last of [His] gift through which the benefits of the religion become complete during the cycle”.30 In the Sijistanian view, the positions that the believers do during their performance of the canonical prayers disguise an inner meaning too. Al-Sijistānī did not enter into the details of this subject because, as he explicitly affirms, this issue falls outside the topic discussed; notwithstanding, he dwells on two of the position, namely: the bowing (rukūʻ) and the prostration (sujūd), that he put in correspondence with, respectively, the asās and the prophet.31 As for the rukūʻ, it is related to the asās because the number of bowing during the prayer is one, just like the Truth shielded by the asās is only one. 29

See note 26. Iftikhār, p. 120, 5-6 (ed. M. Ghālib); p. 246, 3-4 (ed. I. Poonawala). 31 Iftikhār, p. 120, 11-14 (ed. M. Ghālib); p. 246, 10-13 (ed. I. Poonawala). Al-Sijistānī demonstrates these further relations by resuming the Qur’an, in particular Q. III,43 that quotes: “O Mary! Worship thy Lord devoutly: Prostrate (usjudī) thyself, and bow down (in prayer, irkaʻī) with those who bow down”. Ivi, p. 121 (ed. M. Ghālib); pp. 247-248 (ed. I. Poonawala). In this context the prostration of Mary symbolizes the moment in which ʻĪsā achieves the rank of prophet, while her bowing represents the installation of his “legatee” (waṣīy). 30

44

A. STRAFACE

On the other hand, the two sujūd performed during the prayer match the double dimension of the Revelation brought by the prophet, that is the exoteric and the esoteric, ẓāhir and bāṭin. Under this regards, al-Sijistānī highlights that this “duality” of the Scripture does not imply a dichotomy within the sharīʻa, since the prophet and the imāmqā’im reveal one and the same Law, as quoted in the following passage: “Indeed the prophet and the mahdī […] conform to one sharīʻa because the mahdī is not a messenger nor does he bring a [different] sharīʻa, but his sharīʻa[…] is the sharīʻaof Muḥammad, for this reason the names of both [scil. Muḥammad and Muḥammad b. Ismāʻīl] are in accordance”.32

Prostration and bowing symbolize the same knowledge shared by the prophet and the asās; in particular, the sujūdrepresents the prophet who, through the prostration, gives the asās the “knowledge of what nobody, except him, knows about the mysteries of the Kingdom of Heaven”.33 On the other hand, the rukūʻsymbolizes the imām who, in bowing, represents his turning in the direction of the prophet, or his leaning toward him, so as to receive the portion of knowledge (ḥazz) that God have destined to the imām, as we have previously seen.34 This privileged status depends on the belonging of the imām-qā’im to the Members of the House, (ahlal-bayt) because he is a descendent of the Prophet, or he is “blood of his blood”, an expression that in Arabic quotes “min ṣulbihi”. Under this regard, al-Sijistānī highlights that the double meaning of the term ṣulb (“spinal column” as well as “offspring”), can demonstrate the reason why the rukūʻ is the symbol of the asās, as the following passage shows: “We have imposed the bowing to the Foundation (asās) […] because bowing is the curving of the spinal column (inḥināal-ṣulb) and the Foundation (asās), who was blood of his blood (minṣulbihi), turned toward (anḥā) the prophet […]”.35

CONCLUSION Some conclusive remarks on the topic here analyzed. As we have seen, according to al-Sijistānī, the five prayers symbolize, through their position and the canonical time of their fulfillment, the gifts that God granted the believers, i.e. the Intellect, the Soul, the Prophet and the Imām. 32 Iftikhār, p. 121, 2-5 (ed. M. Ghālib); p. 247, 6-9 (ed. I. Poonawala). As for Muḥammad b. Ismāʻīl, he is the seventh imām recognized by the Ismailis who went into hiding, acquiring so the name of the al-Maktūm (the “hidden one”). According to the Qarāmiṭa, he was the last imām who will return as qā’im(the “riser”). 33 Iftikhār, p. 120, 20-22 (ed. M. Ghālib); p. 247, 1-3 (ed. I. Poonawala). 34 See supra, p. 40 and note 16 where the term is waṣīy, that is the immediate successor to the prophet, who explains and interpret the message brought by him. In the course of time this term was replaced by the term asās, “foundation”. 35 Iftikhār, p. 120, 17-18 (ed. M. Ghālib); p. 246, 14-16 (ed. I. Poonawala).

THE CALLING TO THE ROOTS OF TRUTH

45

Moreover, the order in which al-Sijistānī analyzed the canonical prayers does not follow the normal sequence of their fulfilment; as a matter of fact al-Sijistānī examined the prayer of mid-afternoon (connected with the Soul) before the prayer of midday (related to the Prophet). Most likely, it has been intentionally done this way to reflect the existence of symmetric correspondences between the prayers and the ranks of the Ismaili spiritual and religious hierarchy, at the top of which the Ismailis put, respectively, the “spiritual pair” of the Intellect and the Soul, and the “religious pair” of the Prophet and the Imām, that is the gifts for which believers must be grateful to God. These gifts are considered as the “roots of Truth” that ensure a moral direction to the community of believers so as to achieve the “redeeming return” to the One, that is assured thanks to a symmetric system of correspondence between the two spiritual archetypes (Intellect and Soul) and two religious archetypes (prophet and imām).36 In this redeeming return, learned and wise men (ʻulamā’ and ḥukamā’) deserve a high consideration, up to the point that they are considered as a divine gift; their insight and discernment glimpse the light of knowledge, so dissipating ignorance. The important function Ismāʻīlism recognized to these learned and wise men in achieving its sotiriological goal seems to evoke the Ikhwānian assumption that recognizes the “ʻulamā’ as the heirs of the prophets and the ḥukamā’ as the best men among the ʻulamā’”.37

36 This symmetric correspondence was represented by al-Sijistānī through the image of a cross: along the vertical line the Intellect was placed up and the imām was put down, while on the horizontal line the Soul was on the left side and the prophet was on the right side. See for details ABŪ YAʻQŪB AL-SIJISTĀNĪ, Kitāb al-yanābīʻ, in H. CORBIN (ed.), Trilogie ismaélienne, Teheran-Paris 1961, pp. 75-76. Each “root” is charged with a peculiar function, for a detailed discussion see: P.E. WALKER, AbūYa̔qūbal-Sijistānī: intellectualmissionary, in part. ch. 2. 37 See Rasā’ilIkhwānal-Ṣafā’waKhullānal-Wafā’, ed. M. GHĀLIB, Bayrūt 1957, XL, p. 347. This expression occurs in other Epistles of the Encyclopedia. For details see C. BAFFIONI, Appunti perun’epistemologiaprofetica.L’EpistoledegliIḫwānal-Ṣafā’«Sullecauseeglieffetti», Napoli 2008, p. 13, note 1.

HISTORY

HOW AḤMAD AL-NĀṢIRĪ QUOTED EUROPEAN SOURCES THE CASE OF DESCRIPCIÓNHISTORICADEMARRUECOS BY MANUEL P. CASTELLANOS*

Marek M. DZIEKAN I. INTRODUCTION Although the history of writing in Arabic includes numerous literary gems, there are still areas which have been treated unfairly until today. One such area is undoubtedly the 19th-century Morocco — even among the scholars of Arabic few are convinced that that period produced interesting literature. A Polish scholar, Józef Bielawski (1910-1997) wrote: “When in the 19th century the Arab East was already in the midst of political, national, and cultural renaissance, Morocco was still asleep in the spiritual atmosphere of the Middle Ages. The winds of new reform trends and ideas of renewal, either from the Arab East or from Europe, were reaching Morocco with difficulty and could not significantly spur the changes in the traditional spiritual atmosphere of that country”1. It is hard to deny that the modernisation trends were spreading to West Maghreb late, but even they — with modernisation understood very widely — had their followers over there. The statement made by Bielawski, who was no different from other Western scholars from the end of 20th century, nevertheless needs to be verified. This also applies to the entire, so-called Ottoman period in Arabic literature. One of the representatives of the Moroccan renaissance was Aḥmad al-Naṣirī, known primarily as a historian of Morocco, a man of vast knowledge, a versatile scholar and writer, considered as one of the most prominent representatives in this country’s literary history. It is his most important work, a history of Morocco titled Kitābal-istqisāthat is the subject of analysis in this article; one must remember, however, that Al-Nāṣirī was not the only one writer of his time that is deserving of attention. Despite the opinions until now, also Maghreb actively participated in the modernisation process of the Arab world in the 19th century. These individuals and their works deserve to be revisited as they can astonishingly enrich our image of the culture in that part of the world in that era. * Article written with the support of National Science Centre (Narodowe Centrum Nauki), Poland, project no. 2014/15/B/HS3/02260. 1 J. BIELAWSKI, J. KOZŁOWSKA, E. MACHUT-MENDECKA, K. SKARŻYŃSKA-BOCHEŃSKA, Nowa i współczesnalietarturaarabska19i20w.LiteraturaarabskiegoMaghrebu, Warszawa, 1989, p. 87.

50

M.M. DZIEKAN

II. AḤMAD AL-NĀṢIRI AND

HIS OEUVRE

Abū l-ʽAbbās Aḥmad b. Khālid al-Nāṣirī al-Salāwī2 was born in Salé in 1835. He was educated in the Muslim sciences in his hometown, which at that time was one of the prominent scientific centres in the country. In 1875 Al-Nāṣirī entered the makhzan service (the native Moroccan government) and served various government roles in Casablanca, Marrakech, Salé, El Jadida (Mazagan), Tangier, and Fez, and at the end of his life he was giving lectures in Salé, where he died in 1897. While Al-Nāṣirī’s biographers list approximately 30 titles of works he penned, undoubtedly one of the most important ones is the book titled Kitābal-istiqṣā li-akhbārduwalAl-Maghribal-Aqṣā(AnanalysisoftheeventsofthedynastiesofthefarMaghreb)3, a work crucial for the history of the west and middle Maghreb. It was published for the first time in 1895 in Cairo. Since then, several more editions have been published, the last one known to me in 2010, in Beirut. Al-Istiqṣā is one of the first examples of a country’shistory in Arab historiography — in this case, of Morocco. As Bernard Lewis writes, in Arab historiography “we do not find many histories of countries, and when we do, it is really city history. A history of Egypt usually means a history of Cairo; a history of Syria, Shām, usually means a history of Damascus. One will find local histories of a city and a province, mostly biographical, but no histories of countries in the sense that, further west, people were writing the history of England and the history of France.”4 Although in its formal aspect, this is a classical work, in my opinion Al-Nāṣirī presents a style of writing that is not entirely traditional. Al-Istiqṣā is more on the threshold between traditional and modern Arab historiography. His work includes numerous attempts at critique or verification of information, the writer 2 Compare: É. LÉVI-PROVENÇAL, Les historiens des chorfa. Essai sur la littérature historique etbiographiqueauMarocduXVIeauXXesiécle, Paris, 1922, p. 350-368; J. EN-NÂÇIRI, M. ENNÂÇIRI, Biographiedel’auteurduKitâbel-istiqçâ,lecheikhAhmedBenKhâleden-Nâçiriel-Selâoui, Archivesmarocaines XXX (1923); K. BROWN, Profile of a Nineteenth-Century Morrocan Scholar, in N.R. KEDDIE (ed.), Scholars,Saints,andSufis.MuslimReligiousInstitutionssince1500, BerkeleyLos Angeles-London, 1978, p. 127-148; B. DENNERLEIN, Entre restauration et (ré-)ordonnance. L’appropriation savante de la réforme chez Ahmed b. Khaled an-Nasiri (1835-1897), in O. MOREAU (ed.), Réformesdel’EtatetréformismesauMaghreb(XIXe-XXesiècles), Paris, 2009, pp. 197-210; E. CALDERWOOD, The Beginning (or End) of Moroccan History: Historiography, Translation, and Modernity in Ahmad B. Khalid an-Nasiri and Clemente Cerdeira, InternationalJournalofMiddle EastStudies 44 (2012), p. 399-420. 3 A. B. KH. AL-NĀṢIRĪ, Kitāb al-istiqṣā li-akhbār duwal al-Maghrib al-Aqṣā, Cairo, 1895; Casablanca, 1954-1956, 1997, 1997, 2001; Beirut, 2010. This article uses the first edition, which is treated as the original, unpolluted by later editions and supplements. The later editions are referred to only in special cases. 4 B. LEWIS, Reflections on Islamic Historiography, in idem, FromBabeltoDragomans.InterpretingtheMiddleEast, New York, 2004, p. 409.

HOW AḤMAD AL-NĀṢIRĪ QUOTED EUROPEAN SOURCES

51

also allows external literature to speak — he includes Portuguese and Spanish works, which is especially important for the analysis herein. It is one of the first cases in Maghreb, and first in Morocco where an Arab author referred to European historiographies describing his region. This is a unique case of a writer, who was never in Europe, and additionally was very sceptical about Western culture, unlike e.g. Khayr al-Dīn al-Tūnusī or some intellectuals of the Arab East. Al-Istiqsa was fully translated into French from the first edition published in Cairo.5 The translations into Spanish, English, and Polish are only fragmentary. In his work Al-Nāṣirī refers to two European authors: the Portuguese, Luís Maria do Couto d’Alburquerque da Cunha (1828-1880) and the Spaniard, Manuel Pablo Castellanos (1843-1911). It is worth adding, a detail not mentioned until now, that he referenced other foreign authors, not mentioned herein, on two more occasions. In his description of the battle of Oued El-Makhazeen, also known as the Battle of Three Kings or the battle of Alcácer Quibir6 (4th August 1578) except Arab authors, Castellanos, and da Cunha, he also mentions that he had had read a book by another historian — one of Al-Faranjal-Injiliziyyīn. Elsewhere he makes another even more cryptic reference. It cannot be completely ruled out that he is not mentioning another author, but Castellanos. The passage speaks about the Fonti fortress being overtaken by the Portuguese. This short fragment (quote 9, below) is based on information drawn from the Spaniard’s work, but the description proper, introduced directly by qālaManuwīl is preceded by an introduction which begins with the phrase dhakarabaʽḍal-mu’arriẖīnminalFaranj. As Lèvi-Provençal pointed out, Al-Nāṣirī makes a reference to these vague tawārīkhal-Ifranj7 on three other occasions. Most likely Al-Nāṣirī did not speak any western language, but information concerning that fact is quite ambiguous. In the introduction to the French translation of Al-Istiqṣā, Al-Nāṣirī’s sons write: “il aimait l’étude des langues étrangères”, and then on page 26 state that: “Il […] ne conaissait aucune langue étrangère.”8 European historiographical works about Morocco, as the author’s son, Jaʽfar al-Nāṣirī, writes, were obtained by the author from one of the consuls — most likely Spanish — who resided in Al-Jadīda during his service there as an official of the makhzan. This consul provided him with d’Albuquerque da Cunha’s work as well as the monograph by Castellanos. The translator for the 5

Kitabel-IstiqçaliakhbardoualEl-Maghribel-Aqça(HistoireduMaroc)par Ahmed Ben Khaled en-Naciri es-Slaoui. The edition began in Archivesmarocaines IX (1906) and X (1907) with translation of 4th volume of Al-Istiqṣā; next parts in vol. XXX (1923), XXXI (1925), XXXII (1927), XXXIII (1934), XXXIV (1936). 6 A. B. KH. AL-NĀṢIRĪ, Kitābal-istiqṣā, vol. III, p. 40. 7 É. LÈVI-PROVENÇAL, Historiens, p. 364. This includes the follwoing: vol. I, p. 32, vol. II, p. 170 and vol. III, p. 32. 8 J. EN-NÂÇIRI, M. EN-NÂÇIRI, Biographiedel’auteurduKitâbel-istiqçâ, p. 7.

52

M.M. DZIEKAN

Moroccan was a Jew who worked at the Spanish consulate, a man named Yūsuf. In return, Al-Nāṣirī was helping Yūsuf with the translations of poems by the Andalusian author Ibn Sahl al-Isrā’ili. As Jaʽfar writes, the collection of writings left by his father included fragments of these translations from works by European historians9. III. MANUEL PABLO CASTELLANOS OFM Manuel Castellanos was a Franciscan,10 an apostolic missionary, a professor of theology and the head of the Franciscan mission seminary for the Holy Land and Morocco (CollegiodemissionesparaTierraSantayMarruecos) in Santiago.11 He obtained a doctoral title at the Universidad Eclesiástica Compostelana. Castellanos was a student of one of the most important religious thinkers in the 19th century Spain, Francisco Manuel Malo y Malo, who was the head of the Moral Theology studies.12 Later on our Author was a corresponding member of the Royal Academy of History13 (RealAcademiadelaHistoria) and the Royal Sevillian Academy of Belles Lettres (RealAcademiaSevillanadeBuenas Letras). The Moroccan matters were described by Castellanos in Descripciónhistórica deMarruecosybrevereseñadesusdinastíasóApuntesparaservirálahistoriadelMagreb, published in Santiago in 1878 (the second edition was published in 1884). An extended version of that monograph (twice the original size) was published in 1898, under the title HistóriadeMarruecos14. This version was not just expanded by the author, but also verified. The Spaniard also mentions there Al-Nāṣirī’s work, referring to him as “ilustrado e inteligente moro de Salé” and “inteligente cronista moderne de Salé”.15 The second monograph connected with Morocco was Apostolado seráfico en Marruecos: ó sea historia de las 9 J. B. A. AL-NĀṢIRĪ, Kayfajamaʽaal-mu’allifKitāb al-istiqṣā, in A. B. KH. AL-NĀṢIRI, Kitāb al-istiqṣā, vol. I, Casablanca, 2001, p. XLII-XLIII. 10 The history of the Franciscan order in Morocco reach as far back as 1234, when the first diocese was created in Marrakech. It was only in 1859 that an apostolic prefecture was established there, led by Franciscans from Spain, compare: M.P. CASTELLANOS, HistoriadeMarruecos,Tánger, 1898, p. 637-655;idem, ApostoladoseráficoenMarruecos:óseahistoriadelasmisionesfranciscanasenaquelimperiodesdeelsigloXIIIhastanuestrosdías, Madrid-Santiago, 1896. 11 M. DE CASTRO, Diplomacia y missión del P. Lerchundi, OFM, en Marruecos (1836-1896), BoletindelaRealAcademiadelaHistoria CXCIII/III (1996), p. 526, 528-529. 12 G. DÍAZ DÍAZ, Hombres y documentos de la filosofía española, Madrid, 1995, vol. 5, p. 86-87. 13 Compare Estado personal de la Academia y antigüedad de sus individuos, Boletín de la RealAcademiadelaHistoria, 1889, T. 14, http://www.cervantesvirtual.com/obra-visor/boletin-dela-real-academia-de-la-historia--33/html/025e6a60-82b2-11df-acc7-002185ce6064_182.html (24.01.2016). 14 M.P. CASTELLANOS, HistoriadeMarruecos, Tánger, 1898. 15 M.P. CASTELLANOS, Historia, p. 341, 345.

HOW AḤMAD AL-NĀṢIRĪ QUOTED EUROPEAN SOURCES

53

misionesfranciscanasenaquelimperiodesdeelsigloXIIIhastanuestrosdías (1896). The works of Castellanos discussing Morocco are among the most valuable in Arab studies of 19th century Spain.16 This particular one comprises an introduction, two proper parts and two annexes. The first part describes the history of Morocco by presenting the histories of each cities-regions, second part shows the chronology by dynasties and rulers. The annexes are devoted to the history of Franciscan missions in Morocco, a bibliographical, annotated review of books about Morocco, both by Arab as well as European authors, which proves that Castellanos was an expert in this matter, and lastly — an outline of the differences between literary Arabic and the Moroccan vernacular. Undoubtedly these works are part of the same stream as Said’s influential Orientalism, but regardless of Castellanos’ occasionally questionable views on the role of Spain and Catholicism in Morocco17, the writings themselves should be considered valuable even today. IV. AL-NĀṢIRĪ AND CASTELLANOS — A GENERAL OUTLINE OF REFERENCES Al-Nāṣirī clearly used Description históricadeMarruecos. He refers to Castellanos for first time in the second volume, as he writes: “I have obtained a work by a Spaniard named Manuwīil Bawlū al-Qashtīlī titled ‘Description of the history of Morocco’ (MawḍūʽfīakhbārAl-Maghribal-Aqṣā) and from his work I quoted some information which I found only there. Although he provides information of both great and little value, great and little importance, an observant critic can tell stones from pearls and healthy fruit from rotten.”18 It can therefore be seen, that the Moroccan clearly refers to the value of the quoted work and his opinion is rather ambivalent. Al-Nāṣirī does not always provide the Spaniard’s full name and often seems satisfied, as it is the Arab custom, with stating only the first name and quotes his work referring to the author as ‘Manuel’. Al-Nāṣirī makes as many as 30 references to Castellanos 19. In the majority of cases, where he either quotes or refers to Castellanos, the matter concerns events in which Europeans participated, this of course means mainly the Portuguese and the Spaniards, as well as some matters relating to Andalusia. From among the 30 references, a quarter only can be considered as 16 R. ROBERT, Contribution à l’étude du mouvement africaniste en Espagne de 1860 à 1912, BulletinHispanique 48/3 (1946), p. 257-258. 17 R. CASTILLO LARRIBA, Los Franciscanos y el Colonialismo Español en Marruecos: José MaríaLerchundiyFranciscoMaríaCervera(1877-1926), doctoral dissertation, Universidad de Alcalá, Alcalá de Henares 2014, p. 584, http://dspace.uah.es/dspace/bitstream/handle/10017/22600/ Tesis%20Ricardo%20Castillo.pdf?sequence=1 (24.01.2016). 18 A. B. KH. AL-NĀṢIRĪ, Kitābal-istiqṣā,vol. II, p. 142. 19 É. LÉVI-PROVENÇAL in Leshistoriens, p. 365 states it is 20 times. His information, however, is imprecise, compare table below.

54

M.M. DZIEKAN

those describing Morocco’s internal events. At the same time, it does not mean that there was no information about these occurrences in Arabic sources, as on more than a few occasions these sources are quoted alongside the Arabic ones, e.g. Al-Yafranī or Al-Zayyānī. This treatment of sources can be regarded as an attempt to create a more objective narrative of the events, although it would be difficult to draw any conclusions concerning the selection of specific issues. The manner in which Al-Nāṣirī uses his sources can be illustrated through several selected examples, which are not just simple references to Castellanos’ writing, but can be to a greater or lesser degree described as quotes. As can be seen below, it is not so straightforward, however. Al-Nāṣirī refers to Castellanos by introducing his words most frequently through a verb typical for Arabic historical narrative qāla— ‘said’ (17 times) or dhakara— ‘mentioned’ (7 times). A less frequent phrase is sāqa…al-khabar — ‘tells… a story’ (4 times). Twice he introduces Castellanos’ opinion using the verb zaʽama— ‘maintains that’, where once it is after the phrase indicating a beginning dhakara(dhakara…fa-zaʽama), and once more — basaṭa — here ‘explains, elaborates’. Therefore in general, the Moroccan historian accepts the narrative; however, it is not always so. In volume II, p. 146 Al-Nāṣirī clearly disagrees with Castellanos’ statement as he introduces the reference using the verb zaʽama — the passage describes the pirate activities of the Tetuán population during the reign of Enrique III, but he does not add his own interpretation of these events. In the same volume, on p. 138, the Arab historian is definitely critical of the information related by Castellanos. The news concerning the Marīnid sultan, ʽAbdallāh, who was supposedly reigning between Abū Saʽīd and ʽAbd al-Ḥaqq, is dismissed as specious and baseless. This accusation is addressed later in Historiaby Castellanos himself.20 It turns out that this misunderstanding most likely arose as a result of mistranslation or errors in Al-Nāṣirī’s notes, and Castellanos did not add another sultan at all. The table below locates the references to Descripciónin Kitābal-istiqṣāin the majority of its editions. Only two editions have been excluded: the 1997 in nine volumes, which is in fact a re-edition of the 1954 version, and the 1997 in three volumes, which is a reprinted version of that edition without the commentary. No edition lists in indexes all the locations identified hereunder. The first such concordance was produced by Évariste Lèvy-Provençal, but for some unfathomable reason he compared Al-Istiqṣāwith the extended edition of Castellanos’ work21, mentioned above, which as it is known was published after Al-Nāṣirī’s death.22. M.P. CASTELLANOS, Historia, p. 345. É. LÈVY-PROVENÇAL, Leshistoriens, p. 399. 22 Herein I mentioned only the references suggested by Al-Nāṣirī himself, but in fact there may be more. Such conclusion can be drawn, e.g., from the information on the Spanish-Moroccan tractate of 1799, which is not mentioned by other Moroccan sources from that era, known to me, 20 21

55

HOW AḤMAD AL-NĀṢIRĪ QUOTED EUROPEAN SOURCES

No.

Descr.

Ist. 1894

Ist. 1954

Ist. 2001

Ist. 2010

1.

200

II/142

IV/81

IV/281

II/155-6

2.

23

II/146

IV/89

IV/290

II/162

3.

202

II/147

IV/92

IV/292

II/163

4.

283-4

II/148

IV/93

IV/293

II/164

5.

202-3

II/149

IV/94

IV/294

II/165

6.

202-3

II/149

IV/95-6

IV/295

II/166

7.

203-4

II/160

IV/120

IV/336

II/185

8.

23-4

II/162

IV/124-5

IV/340

II/188

9.

124

II/170

IV/139-40

IV/355

II/200

10.

97-100

II/171

IV/141

IV/356

II/201

11.

39-40

II/171

IV/142

IV/357

II/202

12.

73-4

II/171-2

IV/142-3

IV/357

II/203

13.

210-11

II/178

IV/157

IV/377

II/214

14.

206

III/4-5

V/8-9

V/16

II/225-6

15.

207-10

III/5-6

V/10-12

V/17

II/226-8

16.

76

III/9

V/20

V/28

II/233

17.

214-15

III/39

V/82-4

V/85-8

II/280-1

18.

236-7

III/106

VI/23

V/239

II/387

19.

230-1

III/131

VI/77

V/283

II/429

20.

233

III/133

VI/82

V/287

II/433

21.

235

III/134

VI/84

V/291

II/434

22.

238-9

III/146

VI/109

V/313

II/453

23.

33

IV/14

VII/28

VI/38

III/21

24.

46

IV/34

VII/ 73, 74

VI/99, 100

III/52, 53

25.

270-71

IV/126-7

VIII/81

VII/108

III/196

26.

275

IV/151

VIII/133

VII/170-1

III/235

27.

48

IV/183

IX/25

VIII/31

III/285

28.

283-284

IV/197

IX/53

VIII/64

III/306

29.

285-6

IV/202

IX/63

VIII/78

III/313

30.

290

IV/220

IX/99

VIII/113

III, 342

and which could have been used by Al-Nāṣirī (compare Kitāb al-istiqṣā, vol. IV, p. 136 and M.P. CASTELLANOS, Descriptión, p. 274-275). This fact can suggest an extrenal source, but also possibly oral tradition.

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V. QUOTES AND PARAPHRASES —

SELECTED EXAMPLES

V. 1. As noted above, the first time Al-Nāṣirī refers to Castellanos in volume II, and introduces the information using the above quoted phrase (quote no. 123). The fragment describes the reign of the Marīnid ruler Abū ʽĀmir ʽAbdallāh (ruled 1387-1393) and the relations between the Marīnid and the Naṣrid dynasty of Andalusia (from the chapter Al-Khabarʽandawlatas-sulṭānAl-Mustanṣir bi-AllāhAbīʽĀmirʽAbdallāhb.Abīl-ʽAbbāsb.SālimraḥimahuAllāhTa’ala —“Record of the reign of sultan Al-Mustanṣir bi-Allāh Abū ʽĀmir ʽAbdallāh b. Abī l-ʽAbbās b. Sālim24, may God protect him”). Arabictext: Kānatmurāsalātal-sulṭānal-marīnīyaʽnīal-sulṭānAbāl-ʽAbbāsmaʽl-sulṭān Yūsufb.al-Ghanībi-AllāhṣāḥibGharnāṭaḥasanafīl-ẓāhirtadulluʽalāl-muwāfaqa wa-l-maḥabba. Wa-kāna l-Marīnī fī l-bāṭin yuḥibbu l-istīlā’ ʽalā mamlakat Gharnāṭa. Wa-lammā lam yumkinhu dhalika bi-s-sayf ʽadala ilā aʽmāli l-ḥīla fa-hdāilāl-sulṭānAbīl-ajjājkisārafīʽaaḥaduhāmasmūmafa-labisahāfa-halaka liḥīnihiwa-maʽdhalikafa-lamyadrakAl-Marīnīgharaḍahufa-innahulamyalbath illāyasīranḥattātuwuffiyaayḍan. Translation: “The diplomatic relations between the Marīnid sultan, Abū l-ʽAbbās and sultan Yūsuf b. al-Ghanī bi-Allāh25, the ruler of Granada, were seemingly good, indicating concord and respect, but the Marīnid secretly wanted to conquer the kingdom of Granada. When he could not do it by sword, he resorted to trickery and sent to the sultan Abū l-Ḥajjāj magnificent garments among which one was poisoned. When the sultan put it on, he immediately died. However, despite this, the Marīnid did not achieve his goal, because he himself soon passed away.”

Spanishtext: “Sus relaciones con el rey moro de Granada Yusef II eran muy cordiales al parecer, pero era grande el sentimiento que tenia de no poder mandar España, por lo cual, en el año de 139526, como viese que por la fuerza nada podria conseguir contra el granadino, le asesinó traidoramente enviándole entre varios regalos, un precioso y magnífico vestido, que impregnado de un sutil venedo, le causó la muerte casi repentinamente.” 23 24 25 26

Here and below references to the above table. Ruled 1396-1398. Abū l-Ḥajjāj Yūsuf II al-Mustaghnī bi-Allāh, ruled 1391-92. It should be 1393, but it is so in Descriptionand in Historia…, p. 326.

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Translation: “His relations with the Moor king of Granada, Yūsuf II were seemingly quite cordial, but he desired to conquer the Spanish land. Therefore, in 1395, when he realised that he could not accomplish anything against Granada by force, he decided to treacherously murder its ruler. He sent him gifts, among which was a magnificent robe, imbued with poison, which killed him right away.”

In this case Castellanos’ record is quite accurately translated; however the “separating” and then complementing of the Naṣrid King’s name, unfortunately, complicated the story. In Castellanos’ work, there is only Yūsuf II, while in Al-Nāṣiri’s — Yūsuf b. al-Ghanī and Abū al-Ḥajjāj, although they are one and the same person. V. 2. Another fragment (quote 9), which merits presentation herein, is the khabar titled Istīlā’Al-BurtuqālʽalāsawāḥilAl-Sūswa-binā’uhumḥiṣnFūntīqurb Akādīrwa-māqīlafīdhalika (“On taking of the Al-Sūs coast by the Portuguese and construction of the Fonti fortress near Agadir and what was said about it”).27 Arabictext: Lammā ʽalima ṭāghiyat Al-Burtughāl Manuwīl anna marsā Ākādīr jayyida limunāʽatihāwa-kathrattijāratihābi-sababmujāwarātihāli-qabā’ilAl-Sūsarāda l-istīlā’ ʽalayhā. Wa-kāna yaẓunnu anna dhalika lā yata’attā lahu liḥiṣānatihā wa-kathratil-qabā’ilil-mujāwirīnlahā.Thummakhaṭarawa-baʽathailayhājayshanfa-stawlūʽalayhāʽalāḥīnighaflaminahlihā. Translation: “When the ruler of Portugal, Manuel28 learned that the port in Agadir is favourable, because of its inaccessibility and extensive trade, and this was caused by the proximity of Al-Sūs tribes, he decided to take it. He thought it would not be easy, because of the fortifications and the number of neighbouring tribes. However, he took the risk and sent his army there, which took over the town, using indifference on part of its inhabitants to their advantage.”

27 Al-Sūs: a plain between High Atlas, Lesser Atlas and the Atlantic coast; Fūntī, Fonti, a small fortress near Agadir; the name comes from Portuguese and referst to a fountain or source located there — compare: commentary in LEO AFRICANUS, TheHistoryandDescriptionofAfrica, transl. J. PORY, ed. R. BROWN, London, 1896, vol. II, p. 346. 28 Manuel I the Fortunate (1469-1521), House of Aviz, from 1495 king of Portugal.

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Spanishtext: “Informado del rey de Portugal D. Manuel, de la importancia de este punto, ya por su natural fortaleza, ya por la preponderancia que habia adquirido á causa de su extenso comercio con Europa, pensó en apoderarse de Agadir: empresa dificil, por no decir imposible, siendo un sitio de tan fácil como segura defensa. Pero la fortuna fué pródiga en esta ocasion con los portugueses, premiando su espíritu valiente y emprenderor. Contra lo que todos esperabanen Portugal, la conquista se llevó casi sin combatir: los moros no habian imaginado que su rica ciudad pudiese ser objeto de attaque por parte de los cristianos, juzgando que jamás incurrirían en semejante temeridad.”

Translation: “King Manuel of Portugal was told of the importance of that place, which was a natural fortress that, owing to its location, developed extensive trade with Europe. Hence the thought to size Agadir, which could be difficult, but not impossible: as this was a place easy and sure for defence. However, fortune was favourable for the Portuguese on this occasion and their brave and enterprising spirits were rewarded. Despite all expectations, the Portuguese seized [Agadir] almost without a fight: the Moors had not imagined that such a rich town could be subjected to an attack by Christians, judging that they would not act with such temerity.”

The above fragment should be considered as a summary of a corresponding fragment from Castellanos’ writing, while Al-Nāṣirī added his own information concerning the As-Sus tribes and elaborated on the doubts of the Spanish monarch. The text is however, very close to the original. V. 3. Another example (quote 15) comes from chapter titled Al-Khabarʽandawlat al-amīrAbīʽAbdallāhMuḥammadal-Qā’imbi-AmrAllāhwa-bayʽatihiwa-s- sababfidhalika(“Record of the reign of Abū ʽAbdallāh Muḥammad al-Qā’im bi-Amr Allāh29, his oath and its reasons.”) This passage describes the events connected with the beginnings of the Saʽdi rule in Morocco, who in 1505 seized Taroudant and established their first governing centre, and who gained the support of the south Moroccan population, among others, by fighting the Portuguese, with whom their predecessors, the Wattasid dynasty signed a peace agreement. In this particular case, the passage concerns the actions of Abū ʽAbdallāh’s sons: Muḥammad ash-Shaykh and Aḥmad al-Aʽraj, who later strengthened the rule of the Saʽdites. This khabar is not dated, but the next one describes year 922/ 1516.

29

Ruled 1509–1517, emir, founder of the Saʽdi dynasty.

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Arabictext: Wa-kāna akthar shuhra amruhum bi-l-Sūs al-Aqṣā wa-Darʽa wa-aʽmālihā wa-ṣārū yarfaʽūn ilayhim zakātahum wa-aʽshārahum thumma bāyaʽūhum. Wa-nahaḍa hawlā’ al-ashrāf ilā Tārūdānt fa-stawlū ʽalayhā wa-ḥasunūhā thummazaḥafūilāĀkādīrli-ḥarbAl-Burtuqālfa-qatalūmudda.Wa-lamyuftaḥ lahumwa-kānūyashīʽūnannahumlāqaṣdalahumillāfīl-jihādwa-muḥārabat ʽaduww ad-dīn wa-man huwa salim lahu min al-muslimīn idh lam yata’atti lahumidhdhākal-taṣrīḥbi-khalʽil-sulṭān. Translation: “Their most famous campaign took place in Al-Sūs and the Darʽa region. Their inhabitants began to pay them tributes and tithes, and afterwards they pledged an oath to them. These Sharifs invaded Tārūdānt, seized it, and surrounded it, then went towards Agadir to battle the Portuguese and fought them for a while. However they did not manage to seize [Agadir]. So they started a rumour that their aim was only jihad and a battle against the enemies of the religion, including Muslims with whom they had already made peace. At the same time they did not reveal they intended to overthrow the sultan.”

Spanishtext: “De este modo se aumentaban sus secuaces, y pocodespues los países del Draa y del Sus el-Aksa se decidieron á darles el diezmo de todos sus frutos, y á reconocerles por señores. Viendo los Xerifes la buena disposicion del pueblo, procuraron aprovercharse de ella y fortificaron á Tarudant, despues de haber intentado inutilmente conquistar á Santa Cruz de Agadir, plaza y puerto muy importante en la época de que vamos hablando, que estaba entonces en poder de Portugal. Como los Xerifes tenian que aperentar que no hacian la guerra sinó a los cristianos y á sus aliados, puesto que aún no habia llegado el tiempo de manifestar su verdadero fin.”

Translation: “Thus, the numbers of his followers increased and soon after the Darʽa and Al-Sūs inhabitants decided to give them tithes of all its fruits and recognised them as their lords. The Sharifs saw the favourable will of the people, sought to use it and strengthened Taroudant. They also attempted in vain to conquer Santa Cruz de Agadir, a settlement and port which were very important at the time we are speaking of, and which then held by Portugal. The Sharifs pretended that their aim was only a war against the Christians and their allies, since a favourable moment to announce their true aim had not yet arrived.”

In this case, the quotation is almost direct. The only fragment which has been omitted (underlined) was entirely redundant for a local reader.

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V. 4. When describing a famous battle which took place on 15th August 1844 near the Isly River between the French and Moroccan forces (quote 28), from the chapter titled: Intiqāḍ al-hadana maʽ Al-Faransiyyīn wa-tamhīd al-muslimīn bi-Islī qurb Wajda wa-l-sabab fī dhalika (“Collapse of the truce with the French, the defeat of the Muslims at Isly near Wajda and the reasons thereof”), while both historians devote substantial space to this event, Al-Nāṣirī writes more extensively and his reference to Castellanos is only an small fragment of this passage. Arabictext: Wa-dhakara Manuwīl hadhihi l-waqʽa fa-zaʽama anna ʽasākir al-Fransīs kānat yawma’idhin ʽashrat ālāf wa-annahu kāna gharaḍuhu muḥārabat al-ladhīnakānūyuḥāribūnahuʽalāaṭrāfal-bilādḥattālaqadaʽṭākhaṭṭyadihi li-l-Injilīzannahuidhāḥārabawa-ghalabalāyatamallakminarḍAl-Maghrib shay’an.Qālafa-li-dhalikalammāwaqaʽatal-hazīmabaʽathabi-ithrihārusulahu yaṭlub al-ṣulḥ maʽ anna l-sulṭān al-Mawlā ʽAbd al-Raḥmān lam yaẓhar ʽajzanwa-lāfalladhalikminghurbihibalista’nafaal-jiddwa-sharaʽafījamʽ al-ʽadadwa-l-ʽadad. Translation: “Manuel recalls the battle and claims that the French army was 10 000 men strong on that day and that its aim was to fight those who opposed them on the country borders. In this situation, even the French promised the British that should they win, they would not take a bit of Moroccan land. That was why, as he said, when they were defeated, [the French] sent a letter with their offer of peace. However, the sultan, Mawlay ʽAbd al-Raḥmān showed no weakness and was not undermined by it — quite to the contrary, he steeled himself and decided to gather a greater [army].”

This fragment is in fact not a direct quote, but a summary of a longer passage from Castellanos’ work, which will not be quoted here due to its length (about two pages). A good illustration of how the Moroccan historian used his Spanish source is presented in the above fragment — the information about the size of the army (underlined). It can also be found in the following sentence from Castellanos’: “Por el 3 de Agosto el mariscal Bugeaud, que mandaba las tropas francesas en numero de 10.000 hombres de todas armas, levantó silenciosamente su campamento y fué á al ojarse en el rio Isly, que corre entre Uxda y Tremecen.” “On 3rd of August, the Marshal Bugeaud, who commanded the French forces numbering 10 000 men of all weaponry, he quietly set up camp and swiftly went to the Isly River which flows between Oujda and Tlemcen.”

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It is clear that Al-Nāṣirī used here only the information which was significant to him, while omitting any of secondary importance as well as those which an Arab reader would not need, or those which appeared earlier (it is already obvious that as the passage discusses the battle of Isly, it is not necessary to explain the location of the river). CONCLUSIONS A significant portion of the references to Castellanos’ writings in Al-Nāṣirī’s work concerns the contacts between Moroccans and Europe, although not exclusively. It is interesting, however, that in case of Morocco’s internal affairs, Al-Nāṣirī resorts to mentions and references which, although they can be placed in the context of Castellanos’ writings, would be hard to trace to specific borrowed phrases or wording. It is rather the knowledge of an issue that is used by the Moroccan historian. In case of European-Moroccan matters, the works contain paraphrases and even direct quotes. However, they are seldom devoid of any interference from Al-Nāṣirī. Among others, he omits any explanations — intended for the Spanish reader — of various Moroccan affairs. Occasionally, although seldom, he corrects inaccurate information that he found in Castellanos’ work. The Moroccan writer sometimes juxtaposes quotes against passages from works by Moroccan historians concerning both matters in earlier history as well as the events of 19th century.

AL-ṬĀ’IFAAL-BĀĠIYAON THE ONE SIDE ANDMUŠRIKŪNAON THE OTHER. THE IDEOLOGICAL DISPUTE BETWEEN OTTOMAN SYRIAN GOVERNORS AND WAHHABIS IN THE EARLY 19th CENTURY. A HISTORICAL AND TERMINOLOGICAL ANALYSIS OF SOME SYRIAN-LEBANESE DOCUMENTS AND THETĀRĪKHNAĞDBY IBN BIŠR Antonino PELLITTERI University of Palermo

INTRODUCTION The birth of the Wahhabi movement or al-da‘waal-wahhābiyya in the Naǧd during the half of the 18th century, the alliance with Muḥammad b. Su‘ūd from the Āl al-Su‘ūd of al-Dir‘iyya and the Saudi-Wahhabi expansion towards the North of the peninsula, mainly Iraq and Syria, caused — at the beginning of the 19th century — relevant political, military and ideological problems to the Ottoman State1. Both Western and Arabic Contemporary historiography, especially the Egyptian one, has underlined the political and military conflict between the Sublime Porte and the Saudi-Wahhabis of the Naǧd, particularly focusing on the figure of the governor of Egypt, Muḥammad ‘Alī Bāšā (1769-1849), who captured the political interest of the European powers of the time2. He was asked from the sultan Maḥmūd II to organize the expedition against the first SaudiWahhabi State of the Naǧd. My contribution, stimulated by the well-known contemporary situation, will focus on the dispute and the ideological polemics that mobilized ‘ulamā’ and Ottomans governors of Syria and Lebanon (Bilād al-Šām), but also Iraq, against the Saudi-Wahhabi da‘wa, whose community was defined al-millaor al-ṭā’ifa al-bāġiya. On the one side the Syro-Ottoman governors, on the other the Naǧdis, who claimed to accuse as mušrikīnathose Muslims who did not accept to follow the strict reform of the šaykh Muḥammad b. A ̔ bd al-Wahhāb (1703-1792). I will start from the analysis of some Syro-Lebanese documents of the time and the work of the Naǧdī historian Ibn Bišr al-Ḥanbalī (1210-90H/1796-1873)3. 1 See ‘ABD ALLĀH AL-ṢĀLIḤ AL-‘UTHAYMĪN, Storiadell’ArabiaSaudita.DalmovimentoriformatorediMuhammadIbn‘Abdal-Wahhabalre‘Abdal-‘Aziz, it. tr. by A. Pellitteri, Palermo, 2001. 2 The European and Arabic historiographical production on the subject is wide. I would like to quote RA’ŪF ‘ABBĀS (ed.), Iṣlāḥ am taḥdīth. Miṣr fī ‘aṣr Muḥammad ‘Alī, Nadwat al-ǧam‘iyya al-miṣriyya li’l-dirāsāt al-ta’rīkhiyya bi-munāsabat murūr mi’a wa khamsīn ‘ām ‘alā raḥīl Muḥammad ‘Alī Bāšā al-kabīr, 9-11 mars 1999, al-Qāhira, 2000. 3 ‘Unwān al-maǧd fī ta’rīkh Naǧd, 2 vols. ed by ‘ABD AL-RAḤMĀN IBN ‘ABD AL-LAṬĪF IBN ‘ABD ALLĀH AL-ŠAYKH, Riyādh, 4th ed. 1982.

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Among the Syrian documents I will take into account an interesting answer letter (kitāb)sent in 1810 by Sulaymān Bāšā, wālīaqālīmal-Šām, to Ibn Su‘ūd, who had invited Syrian ‘ulamā’ to adhere to the reform of the šaykh Muḥammad b. ̔Abd al-Wahhāb4. The letter is kept inside the private archive of Ḥaydar Aḥmad al-Šihābī (1761-1835), Emir of the Šūf, who witnessed the events and whose history represents the most valuable document about the history of the Lebanese territories between the 18th and the beginning of the 19th century5. Two more letters (1808 and 1810) concern the tripartite military coalition (Egypt, Syria and Iraq) against the Saudi-Wahhabis of the Naǧd. The first is a letter sent on April 16th 1808 from the governor of Damascus Yūsuf Kanǧ or Kunǧ, who ruled the wilāya between 1807 and 1810, to the governor of Egypt Muḥammad ‘Alī6. In this regard it is worth noting that in 1808 the Pilgrimage caravan had been forced to come back to Damascus without getting Mecca “because the Wahhabis prevented the caravan from continuing along the way to Mecca and the pilgrims were deprived of their goods, clothes and weapons”7. Ibn Bišr added that in that year “no muslim coming from far countries made the Pilgrimage…, nor from al-Šām or from other countries”8. The second letter is from Sulaymān Bāšā al-‘ādil9, governor of Sidon first, then wālīof Damascus between 1810 and 181210. He was, of course, favourable to the expedition against the Naǧdīs but in the meantime he was also worried about Cairo’s expansionistic aims towards Bilādal-Šām. Sulaymān Bāšā was able to mobilize an army composed by maġāriba, who were numerous in the Bilādal-Šāmand especially in Damascus, Kurds, Turks, Arabs and Albanians. In this regards it 4 See also MIKHĀ‘ĪL MIŠĀQA, Mašhad al-‘ayān bi-ḥawādith Sūriyya wa Lubnān, in Bilād al-Šāmfī’l-qarnal-tāsi‘‘ašar (ed. by Suhayl Zakkār), Dimašq, 1982, p. 108. The Christian author, who lived between the end of the 18th and the beginning of the 19th century, wrote that in 1817 troups sent by Muḥammad b. ̔Abd al-Wahhāb came from the Ḥiǧāz for the call for caliphate. In a letter to ahlal-Šāmit was stressed that the Turks were mušrikīnaand that it urged a claim to Islam andcompliance. 5 ASAD RUSTŪM (ed.), Maǧmū‘ātal-duktūrAsadRustūm.It represents the most precious document concerning the 18th-19th century history of the Lebanese territories. The letter (kitāb) by Sulaymān Bāšā is included in ASAD RUSTŪM (ed.), Lubnānfī‘ahdal-umarā’al-šihābiyyīna, part III, Bayrūt, 2nd ed. 1984, pp. 567-570. See also Ta’rīkhal-amīrḤaydarAḥmadal-Šihābī, Lubnānfīẓillal-imārātal-šihābiyyīna, particularly the 4th volume (by MARŪN RA‘D), Bayrūt, ed. 1993. 6 Yūsuf Kang was substituted by the Sublime Porte because he was not able to avoid the siege of Damascus by the Saudi-Wahhabis in 1809. He was replaced by Sulaymān Bāšā al-‘ādil, who was appointed wālī (MIKHĀ‘ĪL MIŠĀQA, Mašhadal-‘ayān, p. 109; A. PELLITTERI, I Wahhabiti e il Bilad al-Sham, in Alifbà n. 8/9 1987, pp. 71-80). 7 Lubnānfī‘ahdal-umarā’al-šihābiyyīna, part II, p. 534. 8 IBN BIŠR, ‘Unwānal-maǧdfīta’rīkhNaǧd,vol. I, p. 295. 9 ḤANANIYA AL-MUNAYYAR (1756-1823), al-Durral-marsūffīta’rīkhal-Šūf, Bayrūt, 1st ed. 1984, p. 149. 10 See IBRĀHĪM IBN ḤANNA AL-‘AWRAH, Ta’rīkhwilāyatSulaymānBāšāal-‘ādil(1804-1819): yaštamilu‘alàta’rīkhFilastīnwaLubnānwamudunihiwabilādal-‘Alawiyyīnawa’l-Šām, Saydà, 1936.

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must be observed that according to Mikhā’īl Mišāqa, the Syrian bāšās could count on special troops composed by “al-maġāriba, al-takārita, al-dalāt (Kurds), al-arna’ūt (Albanians) and others”11. The letter was sent on February 21st 1810 to his ally Bašīr al-Šihābī II, prominent figure in the government of the Lebanese Jabal12. This letter too is kept in the private archive of Ḥaydar Aḥmad al-Šihābī13, and a copy of the letter by Yūsuf Kanǧ is kept in al-‘Ābidīn Archive (Dār alKutub al-Miṣriyya, Cairo)14. I will take into account both the Syrian documents and the work by Ibn Bišr, focusing on those terms and concepts which can be considered as “islamic”. I will omit to talk about the role played by Muḥammad ‘Alī Bāšā; of course it was a fundamental role also because the Egyptian troops led by his son, Ṭūsūn Bāšā, were about thirty thousand: “al-‘asākir al-kathīra wa’l-ğuyūš al-ġazīra”, as we can read in the Syro-Lebanese histories of the period15. Anyway, I need to make some brief methodological preliminary remarks. The history of Modern Egypt and the reign of Muḥammad ‘Alī pose some historiographical problems, as showed by a recent essay by the Egyptian scholar Muḥammad ‘Afīfī16. Muḥammad ‘Alī, in fact, “who was the revivifier, the real maker of Modern Egypt, attracted the political interest of European Powers who claimed to moderate his imperialistic ambitions”, as Rizzitano pointed out in his “Storia degli Arabi”17. He is also connected to the historiografical problems concerning modernity (ḥadātha) and modernization (tağaddud), as well as Europeanization (tafarrunğ). Finally, Muḥammad ‘Alī’s reforms played an important role in the whole Arab Near East. According to the European historiography, Muḥammad ‘Alī’s reforms although having a progressive mark had heavy effects on the population. Muḥammad ‘Alī was a soldier and a genial political leader; he was smart, unscrupulous, ambitious and sometimes cruel. He did not consider himself as Egyptian or Arab and he did not speak Arabic. In the well-known work by Edouard Driault, it is underlined that “nul mieux que lui ne personnifia le régime du dispotisme éclairé”, and concerning his espansionistic politics the author added with a sort of exaggeration: “De la Crète, Mohamed Aly étendait de larges vues sur la Méditerranée orientale, de MIKHĀ’ĪL MIŠĀQA, Mašhadal-a‘yān,p. 50. Bašīr al-Šihābī II was able to organize against the Wahhabis a multi-confessional force composed by Sunnis, Shiis, Druzes and Christians coming from Lebanon and the Tiberias region (Palestine). See Ta’rīkh al-umarā’ al-šihābiyyīna bi-qalam aḥad umarā’ihim min Wādī al-Tīm (ed. by SĀLIM ḤASAN HIŠĪ), Bayrūt, 1984, p. 159. 13 Ibid. 14 Both the letters were published in an essay entitled Wathā’iqasāsiyyaminta’rīkhLubnān al-ḥadīth1517-1920, edited by ‘ABD AL-‘AZĪZ SULAYMĀN NAWWĀR, Bayrūt, 1974. 15 Lubnānfī‘ahdal-umarā’al-šihābiyyīna,p. 571. 16 MUḤAMMAD ‘AFĪFĪ, ‘Arabwa‘uthmaniyyūna,ru’ayāmuġāyra, al-Qāhira, 2005. 17 U. RIZZITANO, Storiadegliarabi:Dall’epocapreislamicaadoggi, Palermo, 1971. 11

12

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l’Atlas au Liban: on songe, en étudiant son histoire, aux Ptolémées, aux Pharaons; comme eux, il suivait la direction du Nile au delà de ses embouchures”18. The well-known Egyptian historian al-Ğabartī did not feel a real liking for the Albanian governor. In his work, ‘Ağā’ibal-athār, Muḥammad ‘Alī is depicted as a schemer, arrogant person. The Egyptian and Arabic production following alĞabartī is quite different also because it conveys the European historiographical tendencies. Also the Damascene historian Nu‘mān al-Qasāṭilī talking about the Egyptian expedition in Syria, said: “in 1831 important events concerned Syria. The country was transferred to the Egyptian government and to the light of civilization”19. In the considerations made by the Christian Orthodox Qasāṭilī we can find two ideas, government and progress, that connoted the Arabic historiographical debate. From such a perspective Muḥammad ‘Alī played the role of re-constructing the unity of Arabic Asia. Contemporary Arab-Egyptian historiography points out another important aspect that is the one regarding waṭaniyya or patriotism and the specificity of Egypt in the Regional and Arab framework20. The Egyptian expedition in Arabia is considered as a starting point of a process of independence achieved through war on behalf of the Sublime Porte21. Contemporary Arab-Saudi historiography on the subject appears specular. It underlines the expansionistic and imperialistic politics of Muḥammad ‘Alī and his sons, Ṭūsūn and Ibrāhīm, in a framework of European political intrigues, with regard to the colonial interests of France and Great Britain. Saying that, a question should be opportune: Why the studies concerning the expedition against the Saudi-Wahhabis of the Naǧd do not take into account the role played by the governors of the Syrian and Iraqi provinces? Nevertheless there are interesting local histories or ḥawādithyawmiyya which are barely explored, as well as documents, just like those included in the work by Ḥaydar Aḥmad al-Šihābī and in Awrāqlubnāniyya,arba‘ataǧzā’ (1955-58) by Yūsuf Ibrāhīm Yazbek, besides 18 E. DRIAULT, L’expéditiondeCrèteetdeMorée(1823-28),CorrespondencedesConsulsde FranceenEgypteetenCrète, Le Caire, 1930, pp. VIII and XIII. See also Laformationdel’Empire de Mohamed Aly: de l’Arabie au Sudan (1814-23), Le Caire, 1927. For the first period, the one concerning the affirmation of Muḥammad ‘Alī’s power, Driault, starting from the analysis of the documents, underlined that “il avait un sentiment profond, non seulement de ses devoirs envers la Porte, mais de la solidarité de l’Islam, de ce qu’il appelait, dans un sens très fort, la » (L’expèdition de Crète et de Morée, p. XXII). 19 See NU‘MĀN QASĀṬILĪ, al-Rawda al-ġannā’ fī Dimašq al-fayḥā’, Bayrūt, 1982 (2nd ed.), p. 87. 20 ‘UMAR AL-ISKANDARĪ, SĀLIM ḤASAN, Ta’rīkh Miṣr min al-fatḥ al-‘uthmānī ilà qubayl al-waqt al-ḥāḍir, al-Qāhira, 2nd ed. 1996). See the chapter “Al-ḥurūb al-wahhabiyya fī Bilād al-‘Arab. Muḥammad ‘Alī was appointed by the Sublime Porte to fight the Wahhabis (p. 129). The end of the expedition in 1819, the success of Muḥammad ‘Alī and his son Ibrāhīm led to the conquest of Sudan for political, economical and military reasons (p. 134). 21 See ‘ABD AL-RAḤMĀN AL-RĀFI‘Ī, ‘AṣrMuḥammad‘Alī, al-Qāhira, 1982: “al-ḥarb al-wahhabiyya”, pp. 118-53.

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Syrian local histories such as ḤawādithBilādal-Šāmby Ḥasan Aghà al-‘Abd, who lived at the time of the narrated events and whose style is a direct one, as showed by the abundant use of dialectal terms. Finally, another kind of historical source not to be neglected is the coheval Saudi historiographical production that we are also going to take into account22. MAIN HISTORICAL EVENTS The above mentioned documents offer precious information about the military aspect of the expedition against the Wahhabis of the Naǧd as well as on the ideological nature of the conflict. As we have already said, from a military point of view the Syrian army was composite, multi-ethnic and multi-confessional: Kurds, Albanians, Maġāriba, Sunnis, Shiis and Druzes23. As far as the Egyptian troops were concerned al-Ğabartī provides plenty of information. Such an organization takes into account not only the specificities of the Bilād al-Šām but also the different interests of those who participated in the expedition’s organization. The Sublime Porte was undoubtedly interested in keeping safe the Pilgrimage caravan but also in reinstating the taxes payment by the Arabs of the peninsula. Muḥammad Alī Bāšā’s final aim was to control the entire Near Eastern Region. The Syrian and Lebanese local élites as well as the Ottoman governors of Iraq and Bilādal-Šāmseemed to be interested not only in the military threat represented by the Saudi-Wahhabis but also in the ideological and economic danger connected to the conflict. The Pilgrimage way was interrupted again and again, as related by the above mentioned History by Ḥasan Aghà al-‘Abd, who lived between the end of the 18th and the beginning of the 19th century, and who was a serviceperson of the wālī of Damascus since the reign of ‘Abd Allāh Bāšā Ibn al-‘Aẓm (1804-1807), the last great al-‘Aẓm bāšāwho lived between 1783 and 1810. In 1798 ‘Abd Allāh Bāšā Ibn al-‘Aẓm, who was the leader of the Pilgrimage caravan (amīral-ḥağğ), fought with the Wahhabis “wa qatala min al-wahhabiyyah khalq kathīr”, and the caravan could come back to Damascus “bi’l-salāma”24. But the damages caused by the Wahhabi ġazawāt against the rich rural region of Hawran in the Southern Syria were huge. Also in the South of Iraq the SaudiWahhabi aggression was disastrous. Ibn Bišr describes it when he relates the 22 Among others: IBRĀHĪM B. ṢĀLIḤ B. ‘ISĀ (dead at the beginning of the 20th century), Ta’rīkh ba‘daal-ḥawādithal-wāqi‘afīNağdwawafāyātba‘daal-a‘yānwa-ansābihimwa-binā’ba‘da al-buldān, Riyādh, al-ṭab‘a al-ūlā, 1966. 23 See A. PELLITTERI, Magharibah nel Bilad al-Sham nel secolo XVIII: soldati e ulema maghrebini secondo fonti arabo-siriane e l’opera biografica di Khalil Efendi al-Muradi (m. 1795), in IlMediterraneonelSettecento:identitàescambi, 2014, pp. 429-448. 24 ḤASAN AGHÀ AL-‘ABD, ḤawādithBilādal-Šām (1771-1826), ed. by Yūsuf Ğamīl Nu‘aysah, Dimašq, 1986, p. 86.

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events occurred in Ğumādā I 1223H. He refers that Ibn Su‘ūd with a big army went to Kerbelà (baladal-Ḥusayn) to fight the local population, destroy and loot and then went to Bassora and Zubayr: “wa sāra al-muslimūna ‘alà ğanūbihā wa nahabū fīhi wa qatalū qatlan”25. The governors of Damascus considered fundamental to re-establish a safe climate among the Syrian populations of the frontier zones: Bādiyyatal-Šām, theHawran region and Damascus. The Damascene governors could count on the help of the local governors as well as on that of the emirs of the Mountain of the Druzes and the Šūf, who were continuously solicited against the SaudiWahhabis26. In this regard, the work Lubnānfī‘ahdal-umarā’al-šihābiyyīna relates: “in Ğumādā II (1809-1810) a group of Arab Wahhabis came into several zones of the Hawran because of the food and water penury raging in their country”. Also Ibn Bišr describes this aggression (hadhihial-ġazwa) in the Hawran territories and Bosra al-Šām by saying: “wa qutila min ahl al-Šām ‘iddat qaṭli”27. Yusug Kang, who could count on insufficient forces, turned to Sulaymān Bāšā al-‘ādil, the governor of Sidon, and the Lebanese emir Bašīr al-Šihābī II. After gathering a composite army of choosen troops or a̔ skarnaẓīf,according to Ḥasan Aghà al-‘Abd, he attacked the Arabs of the Naǧd (tilkaal-̔arbān) by deploying himself in al-Muzayrib fortress in Southern Syria which was besieged by the Wahhabis28. But in the face of the resistance and the Syro-Lebanese military actions the Wahhabi Arabs were forced to retreat29. While escaping: “they set villages on fire and killed many men and women”30. In the History by the emir Ḥaydar Aḥmad al-Šihābī we can read: “after that, they did barbaric (barbariyya) things in the Hawran. They raped women, killed children, robbed and set fire to houses and farms”31. Similar events are also described in other Nağdī local histories, such as Ibn Bišr’s work32. Now, if we would make a comparison with our contemporary situation we could say that the coalition organized against the Saudi-Wahhabis of the Nağd was composed by regular or niẓāmiyyatroops, led by Ṭūsūn and Ibrāhīm Bāšā, who were sons of the governor of Egypt — the only country able to bear a conflict which would probably be long and difficult — and by troops al-hašdal-ša‘bī (according to the today definition referred to the militia allied to the regular armies in Iraq and Syria), which were controlled by local and military leaders solicited by the Syro-Ottoman governors. 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32

IBN BIŠR, ‘Unwānal-maǧdfīta’rīkhNaǧd,vol. I, pp. 295-96. ḤASAN AGHÀ AL-‘ABD, ḤawādithBilādal-Šām,p. 151. IBN BIŠR, ‘Unwānal-maǧdfīta’rīkhNaǧd,vol. I, pp. 309-310. ḤASAN AGHÀ AL-‘ABD, ḤawādithBilādal-Šām,pp. 149-51. MIKHĀ’ĪL MIŠĀQA, Mašhadal-a‘yān,p. 108. Lubnānfī‘ahdal-umarā’al-šihābiyyīna, p. 556. Ta’rīkhal-amīrḤaydarAḥmadal-Šihābī,p. 1157. IBN BIŠR, ‘Unwānal-maǧd, pp. 235-439.

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Analysis of the documents Before analysing the terminology used in the letters that we have taken into account, I would give a brief hint about the modalities through which the Arabs represented the Wahhabis and their movement. I agree with my friend and colleague al-‘Uthaymin, who is considered the official historian of the Saudi monarchy, when he says that: “those two words, or terms (Wahhabiyyunaand Wahhabiyya), were first introduced by the Shaykh’s rivals and opponents of his teachings in an evident attempt to deter others frim accepting his doctrines by implying that he was preaching a new religion or, at least, a fifth madhhab (school), thus contravening the four recognized Sunni school. That is to say he was a Kharijte”33. An important evidence is given in the fourth volume of the above-mentioned ‘Ağā’ibal-athārby the Egyptian historian al-Ğabartī,who used ideologicallyorientedterms such as al-wahhābiyya and ğamā‘atal-wahhābiyya and considers it a new juridical madhhab, as confirmed by al-‘Uthaymin. The Nağd was defined as bilādal-wahhābiyya, and the Egyptian historian underlined the ideological nature of the term madhhabiyyah besides the traditional geographical one34. Moreover he proposed terms expressing the aggressive Wahhabis’ character. For example while describing the ġazawātagainst Southern Syria in July 1810, alĞabartī used the terms ṭa’ifa min al-wahhābiyyīna and firqa min al-‘arban al-wahhābiyyīna, with an evidently negative doctrinal and juridical judgement35. In this regard it must be observed that also in the History by Ḥasan Aghà al-‘Abd, Su‘ūd Ibn ‘Abd al-‘Azīz is often described as “al-wahhābī” and rarely as “the lord of al-Dir‘iyya”36. Among the Syro-Lebanese documents concerning the “Egyptian” expedition, there are some important rasā’il from Muḥammad ‘Alī to the Sublime Porte aimed at convincing the sultan to remove Sulaymān Bāšā and nominate Yūsuf Kang as governor of Damascus in order to lead the expedition against the Wahhabis (25 Ša‘bān 1225H/September 25th 1810 and November 3th 1810)37. The above-mentioned Sulaymān Bāšā was in fact considered by the Egyptian bāšā as a supporter of the Mamluks in Egypt. Special attention should be paid 33 ABD ALLAH S. AL-UTHAYMIN, The Call of Ibn Abd al-Wahhab and the Magrib, in Magazculture econtattinell’areadelMediterraneo.Ilruolodell’Islam, 21st UEAI Congress (ed. by A. Pellitteri), Palermo, 2003, pp. 171-78. I do not agree with the Saudi author, who died recently, who asserted that the Wahhabi preaching was pacific and that the al-Ahsà elites and the Iraqi governors were aggressive against the Saudi-Wahhabi alliance. 34 ‘ABD AL-RAḤMĀN IBN ḤASAN AL-ĞABARTĪ, ‘Ağā’ib al-athār fī’l-tarāğim wa’l-akhbār, al-Qāhira, 1998, vol. IV, p. 447. 35 Ibid., vol. IV, pp. 193, 197. See also Ta’rīkh al-amīr Ḥaydar Aḥmad al-Šihābī, ch. VIII, p. 1157. 36 ḤASAN AGHÀ AL-‘ABD, ḤawādithBilādal-Šām,p. 143 et passim. 37 Ibid., pp. 154-57.

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to a long letter (risāla) written by Yūsuf Kang, wālīDimašq, to Muḥammad ‘Alī Bāšā, wālīMiṣr. The letter, dated 19th Ṣafar 1223H/April 16th 1808, concerns the trilateral action Egypt-Syria-Iraq aimed at punishing the movement of the so-called muwaḥḥidīna. The reasons that pushed the sultan Maḥmūd II to ask to the nā’ibal-sulṭān of Cairo to lead the expedition concerned: the internal situation of the Ottoman Empire and particularly the excessive power of the Janissaries; the complicated relationships between Ottomans and Persians, the problematic Ottoman presence in the Arabic peninsula; the danger of a French return to the Arab Asia and the increasing conflict with Russia, which was interested in extending its influence to the Balkans and the Caucasian region. It is well-known that the expedition was useful to the Egyptian bāšā to enhance his power in Egypt; it is no coincidence in fact that soon after the expedition in Arabia it was organized the expedition in Sudan. But what we need to stress out is that, as showed by the important document of Yūsuf Kang, for the first time in the Modern Era there was a military cooperation among Cairo, Damascus and Bagdad. Yūsuf Kang was convinced that the tripartite expedition against the Wahhabis was li-maṣlahatal-dīnwa’l-dawla38. He defined the self-proclaimed “muwaḥḥidūna” as ṭā’ifatal-wahhābiyyīnaand khawāriğ, who leaved the sabīlal-ṭā‘awasalakū sabīlal-‘isyān. They had usurped the holy places of Islam and made terrible actions of fasād. The wālīof Damascus then proposed an agreement (ittifāq) and an unitarian response39. It is no coincidence that in the text are used the following expressions: bi-tawḥīdal-ğuhūd,niẓāmtawḥīdal-huğūmfīğayšwāḥid ḥattàyakūnaal-huğūmmuwaḥḥidanmunaẓẓiman. The principal aims of the feat were to set free the holy places, to restore the pilgrimage caravan’s safety, to reinstate the taxes from the Arabs of the peninsula. Such aspects recur also in the letter of Sulaymān Bāšā, dated Rağab 1225H (1810), where the muwaḥḥidūna are considered ṭā’ifa, ğāhilūna, khawāriğand propagators of fiṭna. The bāšā of Damascus asked them to: arğa‘ūilàawṭānikum, as if to emphasize the importance of the regional stability. The military-political and ideological matter and the legal issues related to the problem of the relationship between ruler and ruled Ottoman sphere are here closely intertwined. A great relevance is given to the problem of obedience (al-ṭā‘a), of the agricultural production in the important region of Hawran — under fire from the incursions of Nağdis — of the security of communication routes in 38

Wathā’iqasāsiyyahminta’rīkhLubnānal-ḥadīth 1517-1920, p. 185. Also Ḥasan Aghà al-‘Abd in his History referred that in 1813 the Syrian governor, ḥadrat al-wazīr, met the wazīrMiṣrto plan the action against “al-wahhābī” and his capital “al-Dir‘iyya” and “ğama‘a ‘asākir kathīr”. See ḤASAN AGHÀ AL-‘ABD, Ḥawādith Bilād al-Šām, pp. 15657. 39

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the region, of the protection of the holy places, with particular regard to the Ḥiğāz. The History by Ḥasan Aghà al-‘Abd, interested in the pilgrimage caravan and in the role it played in the system of power of the governors of Damascus, often referred to the pilgrims dangers caused by the Saudi-Wahhabis aggressiveness. So in 1805 (Dhū’l-Hiğğa 1219) “because of the Wahhabis the pilgrimage caravan had to experience increasing prices, food and water shortages and fear”40. A few years later, in 1809, under the government of Yūsuf Kang, the military historian al-‘Abd informed that news came to Damascus in the month of Muḥarram that “al-Wahhabi forbade the pilgrimage” and the visit to the Mosque of the Prophet in Medina41. Nevertheless, it was not recorded concern about the danger of propagation of the Wahhabi ideology in the area. Under this aspect interesting is the consideration of the Spanish traveller Domingo Badia y Leblich who by the name of Ali Bey el Abbasi between 1803 and 1807 visited the region and Damascus. He wrote: “The lives of most of the inhabitants of Damascus depend on industry and silk trade… and even if there is a favorable party to the Wahhabis, the Damascenes do not ignore that the members of this sect prohibit the use of tobacco, etc., placing an insuperable obstacle to the activity of manufacturing and trade ... If the Wahhabis do not loosen the severity of their principles, it can not happen that their ideology will spread in countries bordering the desert”42. The work of Ibn Bišr deals with the issue of the Egyptian expedition in Arabia from the point of view of the Nağdī historian, with interesting historiographical but also terminological and conceptual notes. It is worth mentioning here some expressions used as significant of a particular vision of historiography and politics. In the chapter “Wuṣūl al-Fransīs ilà Miṣr” the author stresses out that: waṣalaal-Fransīsminal-FranğilàMiṣrwakānaal-Anqrīzmusā‘idīnali-‘asākir al-ṣulṭān. Ḥawādith 1226H, beginning of the expedition led by Muḥammad ‘Alī: wa fīhādhihial-sanaağma‘aumarā’al-Rūm‘alàmasīrilà’l-Ḥiğāz…faiğtama‘a al-‘asākirminIṣṭanbulwanawāhihāwamādunahāilà’l-ŠāmwaMiṣrwa’l-ra’īs al-maqūmbi-hādhāal-amrminğihatal-RūmṣāḥibMiṣrMuḥammad‘Alī. The army coming from Egypt: min al-turk wa ahl al-Maġrib wa ġayrihim naḥwa arba‘at‘ašaralfmuqātilawyazīdūna,and al-‘asākiral-miṣriyyawa’l-turkiyya / al-turkwaġayrihim/ al-‘asākiral-miṣriyyūna. It seems that the troops coming from the Nağd were composed by 1,950 knights and 5,600 knaves43. 40

Ibid., p. 119. Ibid., p. 143. 42 ViajesdeAliBeyelAbbasi, Barcelona, 1943, pp. 21-22. 43 Cfr. ṬĀRIQ ‘ABD AL-‘ADĪ GHUNAYM BAYŪMĪ, Siyāsat Miṣr fī’l-baḥr al-Aḥmar fī al-niṣf al-awwalminal-qarnal-tāsi‘‘ašar1811-1848, Cairo, 1999, pp. 86-87. The author takes into account documents kept in theDāral-wathā’iqal-qawmiyyah in Cairo. 41

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The supporters of the imam Su‘ūd Ibn ‘Abd al-‘Azīz were defined by Ibn Bišr simply as “al-muslimūna” (fa-nazila‘askaral-Rūmmuqābil‘askaral- muslimīna); al-quwwāt min al-muslimīna min al-ḥāḍir wa’l-bādiyya; ğunūd al-muslimīna. Analisys of the Kitāb of Sulaymān Bāšā al-‘Ādil written as an answer to the letter from Su‘ūd Ibn ‘Abd al-‘Azīz to Yūsuf Bāšā Kang (Rağab 1225H/ 1810) Shortly before two letters arrived from Su‘ūd Ibn ‘Abd al-‘Azīz and from his commander ‘Ulyān al-Dubaynī to the governor of Damascus, Yusuf Kung. Sulaymān Bāšā al-‘Ādil was at that time wālī of Sidon. The latter after consultation with the emir Bašīr al-Šihābī answered to Su‘ūd Ibn ‘Abd al-‘Azīz with the aforesaid letter. If the letter signed by ‘Ulyān al-Dubaynī dwelt on ethical and social aspects such as those concerning the prohibition of raising maqāmāt in the tombs, drinking wine and allow prostitution and homosexuality, smoking and attend maqāhī,and ordered the governor of Damascus the acceptance of the requests, in the letter of Su‘ūd Ibn ‘Abd al-‘Azīz were expressed the main aspects of the doctrine of šaykh Muḥammad Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhāb, as the call to tawḥīdbi’llāh, the return to the sources or uṣūlal-dīn, rigorous practice of obligations (al-farā’id); the prohibition of reprehensible innovation (al-bid‘) and each share of širk. The letter — that is not long — with which Su‘ūd Ibn ‘Abd al-‘Azīz peremptorely asked the Syrian governor to accept what he had been pointing out, is full of references to Quranic verses supporting the proposed thesis. The two letters, probably written after consultation between the two writers, have to be considered jointly, as we can see by the style and the common semantic field44. The answer of Sulaymān Bāšā al-‘Ādil was severe and precise. It followed the formal register dictated by the Sublime Porte and answered the contents of the letter by Su‘ūd Ibn ‘Abd al-‘Azīz. Here we report the most relevant passages from the Arabic text.

44

Wathā’iqasāsiyyahmintārīkhLubnānal-ḥadīth, cit., pp. 218-224.

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For a critical reading of the text is useful to divide the kitāb, i.e. the long letter of the governor of Sidon, into sections, and analyse the technical and specific terminology used by the writer in order to offer a faithful interpretation of the communicative will of Sulaymān Bāšā al-‘Ādil. In the first part Sulaymān Bāšā rebuts Su‘ūd Ibn ‘Abd al-‘Azīz’s accuse by affirming that “we are ahlal-sunnawa’l-ğamā‘awhile the Saudi-Wahhabis are out of obedience”. He accuses them to be ignorant and to foment the fitna within the Sunni muslim community. “We fight the religion’s enemies” — affirms the governor of Syria, and quotes a verse of the Sura of Women (IV/36). “We are faithful to the four juridical schools...fa-naḥnu muslimūna ḥaqqan... We are not the khawāriğ who went out mindā’iratal-islam by contrasting the doctrine of ahlal-sunnawa’l-ğamā‘a”. In the second part, the governor of Damascus refused the accuse of širk and points an accusing finger at the ignorance of the Saudi-Wahhabis, supporters of fitna. The wahhabi movement is compared to the fitna musaylimiyyah, with a refer to the movement of Musaylima Ibn Ḥabīb, an arab of Yamāma who in the 7th century proclaimed himself prophet and was later defined “the liar (al-kadhdhāb)”. In this regard it is worth noting that the Āl al-Su‘ūd claimed descent from the Banī Ḥanīfa tribe, the same whose Musaylima belonged to45. Hence the accuse of al-ṭā’ifaal-bāġiya (rebel community) and khawāriğ‘an‘ibādawai‘tiqād. Moreover Sulaymān Bāšā underlines the Wahhabi political-ideological choice to fight the millaislāmiyya, instead of fighting the religion’s enemies. “How can you presume to be people of faith and islam if you fight against the qawmal-mu’minīna as you do in Syria instead of fighting against the kuffār? The conclusive part of the kitāb is dedicated to the biggest ẓulm acted by the Wahhabis: the military aggression against Syria. Sulaymān Bāšā stresses out that al-Šām is “khayrat Allāh fī arḍihi” by referring to a ḥadīth included in several faḍā’ilworks, such as the one of the damascene Abū’l-Baqā’ ‘Abd Allāh al-Badrī (d. 1479)46. Against the excesses of the Saudi-Wahhabis the governor of Sidon quotes a verse of the Sura of the Private Apartments (49/ 9) which recits: “If two parties among the Believers fall into a quarrel, make ye peace between them: but if one of them transgresses beyond bounds against the other then fight ye (all) against the one that transgresses until it complies with the command of Allah; but if it complies then make peace between them with justice and be fair: for Allah loves those who are fair (and just)”. It is from this verse that Sulaymān Bāšā al-‘Ādil derives the use of al-milla and/or al-ṭā’ifaal-bāġiya (rebel community) to define the wahhabi da‘wa. The Syrian governor reaffirmed: how can you appeal to “al-‘ilm” if you are ignorant (ğāhilūna) and khawāriğfīqulūbikum? 45 46

See L. CAETANI, Annalidell’Islam, Milan, 1907, vol. II, pp. 727-38. AL-BADRĪ, Nuzhatal-anāmfīmaḥāsinal-Šām, Bayrūt, 1980, p. 9.

ISLAMIC INSTITUTIONS IN THE SOCIO-POLITICAL PROCESS AND DEVELOPMENT OF CIVIL SOCIETY IN TURKEY: THE CASE OF CEMAATS Pavel SHLYKOV Associate Professor, PhD (History) Moscow State University Institute of Asian and African Studies Middle East History Department

The special role of traditional Islamic institutions and Muslim organizations in the development and transformation of civil society represent one of the key features in the evolution of civil society in Turkey. Turkish Muslim communities have a reputation of the most developed and highly adjusted to the Modern religious communities in the World. The dynamics of their expansion both inside Turkey and abroad are constantly rising. For example, Fethullah Gülen’s Hizmet movement has more than 1,300 schools in 140 countries while the İsmailağa Cemaati opened 20 mosques in 20 Muslim countries. The overall number of people engaged in cemaats’ activities in Turkey amounts to more than 6% of population or 5 million people. The five most widespread and influential Turkish cemaats are FethullahGülenCemaati with its Hizmet movement, the Suleymanci Cemaati (the followers of Suleyman Tunahan), MenzilCemaati, ErenköyCemaati, and İsmailağaCemaati. Despite some substantial differences these cemaats have similar development trajectories and models. All these cemaats have Sufi roots, some cemaats even define themselves as tariqa, i.e. a Sufi order, though cemaats in general differ from tariqas essentially. Current highly unstable and unpredictable domestic political process in Turkey made crucially important both understanding and conceptualization of modernized traditional social institutions (like waqfs, cemaats, etc.), their functioning mechanisms, forms of their participation in the political, economic, spiritual, and cultural life of Turkey in different periods of its modern history. Despite the increasing interest in the topics of modern Islam — especially among Turkish scholars living in Europe and the USA (Hakan Yavuz, Brain Silverstein, Zeki Sarıtoprak, Şerif Mardin, Helen Rose Ebaugh, Ahmet Yükleyen) the phenomenon of Turkish cemaats is not a well-studied one. Beyond the cemaat of Fethullah Gülen, which is relatively well-known, the number of research works on the cemaat of Süleyman Tunahan, cemaat of İsmailağa or İskenderpaşa is extremely small. There are no published papers on the ErenköyCemaati or MenzilCemaati. International Turkish Studies lack a complex research study on the Turkish cemaats focusing mainly on the problems of interrelations between

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Turkish Islam, Turkish politics and modernization (Jenny White, John Esposito, Kemal Karpat, Ahmet Kuru, Nilüfer Göle, Söner Çagaptay)1. In Turkey the number of research publications on Islam that have appeared since the early 1990s is impressive, though the number of works analyzing particular Islamic communities is much more limited (Ali Bulaç, Hayrettin Karaman, Ruşen Çakır, Yaşar Nuri Öztürk, Enes Ergene)2. Despite the real heap of publications on Fethullah Gülen, GülenCemaati and Hizmet movement, the number of research papers on other well-known Turkish cemaats remains law. This analytical gap makes a complex study of the Turkish cemaats and their role in the socio-political process and development of civil society in Turkey an intellectually important task. TURKISH CEMAATS — WHAT IS IN THE NAME? Turkish cemaats (Arabic jamā‘a;community) is mainly an “urban phenomenon”, an important consequence of the rapid urbanization that started in the 1950s and caused a big trauma in the Turkish society in the 20th century3. The mass migration from villages to towns, which took place in that period, had a twofold effect on Turkey. First, it dramatically changed the country itself by spurring the dissemination of squatter’s houses (gecekondu). Second, it also caused a radical socio-political transformation evoked by the emergence and re-emergence of new identities in the urban milieus. Traditional social networks (like hemşehrilik)based on the informal mutual assistance among immigrants from the same village, town, county or region were unable to face the challenge of creating a modern urban identity. As a result the cemaats took over the solidarity function meeting both religious and social needs of newly emerged townsfolk. Besides, the cemaats managed to form their own organizational patterns in accordance with the specific contexts and have created “societal spaces” that are free from the hegemonic discourse of the Turkish state4. 1 J.B. WHITE, Islamist mobilization in Turkey: a study in vernacular politics, Seattle, 2002; TurkishIslamandtheSecularState, (eds.) J.L. ESPOSITO & H.YAVUZ, Syracuse, 2003; K.H. KARPAT, The politicization of Islam, New York, 2001; K.H. KARPAT, Elites and Religion: From Ottoman EmpiretoTurkishRepublic,London, 2010; A.T. KURU, Secularismandstatepoliciestowardreligion: theUnitedStates,France,andTurkey, Cambridge, 2009; Islam in Public: Turkey, Iran and Europe, (ed.) N. GÖLE, İstanbul, 2006; S. ÇAĞAPTAY, Islam,secularism,andnationalisminmodernTurkey: WhoisaTurk, London, 2006. 2 A. BULAÇ, Din, Kent ve Cemaat: Fethullah Gülen Örneği, İstanbul, 2008; H. KARAMAN, Türkiye’deislamlaşmaveönündekiengeller, İstanbul, 2004; Y.N. ÖZTÜRK, TasavvufunRuhu VeTarikatlar, Istanbul, 1999; Y.N. ÖZTÜRK, TasavvufveTarikatlar.2Cilt, Istanbul, 2014; M.E. ERGENE, TraditionWitnessingTheModernAge, Istanbul, 2008. 3 A. BULAÇ, Dinvemodernizm, İstanbul, 2012, pp. 193, 217. 4 B. AGAI, ZwischenNetzwerkundDiskurs——DasBildungsnetzwerkumFethullahGülen: DieflexibleUmsetzungmodernenislamischenGedankengutes, Berlin, 2008, pp. 51-52.

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The success of cemaats in developing these “societal spaces” was so significant that one could speak of the “age of cemaats” or even “cemaatization of Turkish Islam” and “cemaatification of Turkish society”5. Turkish cemaats not only created social spaces that are free of hegemonic state discourse, but they also fill the “moral vacuum” and bring more self-confidence in the cemaats’ ability to solve various social issues6. After the 1950s the dynamism behind the Turkish modernization project, initially imposed from above, shifted significantly to become a grassroots movement, powered from below. Uninterrupted migration from the villages to large cities completely altered the demography of modern Turkey and resulted in the state ceasing to be able to manipulate religion from the center. Within these circumstances Islam as a ‘cultural texture’ of Turkish society began to take over the lead7. In many cases cemaats have become the dynamo for social change in Turkey because “their values and morals also helped the individuals to mitigate the negative effects of capitalist and egoistic society.”8 At the same time, cemaats do not function in order to fulfill individual needs, but rather they exist with the aim of enforcing collective principles9. However, from the legal point of view no Muslim cemaat has a guaranteed legal status or rights in Turkey. In this sense, the term cemaat can only be officially used for the groups of non-Muslims only, such as Armenians, orthodox Greeks or Jews, all of whom enjoy guaranteed rights both domestically, through Turkish legislation, and internationally via the Lausanne treaty of 1923. THE ROLE

OF

TURKISH CEMAATS

IN CONTEMPORARY

TURKEY

Since it is illegal to establish an Islamic movement or gather people under the name of traditional religious orders in Turkey, it is impossible to talk of real data about Islamic movements in any area. According to the research of the early 2010s (before the open rift and conflict between current Turkish President and the then Prime-Minister Recep Erdogan and leader of the most influential Turkish cemaat of Fethullah Gulen) conducted by the Consensus Public Opinion Centre in 375 Turkish cities and population centers more than 6% of the overall Turkish population (about 5-6 million people) belonged to different cemaats. The most influential and numerous of them is GulenCemaati (almost 62%), followed by SüleymancıCemaati (16.3%), MenzilCemaati (15.2%) and İsmailağaCemaati A. BULAÇ, Dinvemodernizm, İstanbul, 2012, pp. 193, 217. M. BARLAS, Cemaatmi,devletmidahamodern?, “Yeni Safak”, 17.10.2000, http://www. yenisafak.com/Arsiv/2000/Ekim/17/dizi.html (Access date: 24.12.2016); A. BULAÇ, Cemaatvedevlet, “Zaman” 12.09.2000. 7 A. BULAÇ, DinveModernizm, İstanbul, 2012, p. 217. 8 M. GUIDA, The New Islamists’ Understanding of Democracy in Turkey: The Examples of AliBulaçandHayreddinKaraman, “Turkish Studies” 2010, No. 3 (11), pp. 354-355. 9 A. BULAÇ, Din-KentveCemaat:FethullahGülenÖrneği, Istanbul, 2008, pp. 27-33. 5 6

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(7.3%). Geographically the general trend is that Eastern regions of the country have much more cemaat members than the Western ones10. The Gülen Cemaati (of a Nurcu group) is the most modernized and adjusted to the modern economic life. Fethullah Gülen is a prominent religious figure emerged from the Nurcu movement. He began his activities in Izmir in the 1960s when a religious vacuum existed and took advantage of a more permissive environment of the 1960s. The GülenCemaati is well-known as the Hizmet movement, literally meaning “service,” a term taken from Said Nursi’s concept of “service to the faith and Quran” (Hizmet-iimaniyeveKur’aniye). Its aims include the creation of a “golden generation” through education. Already in the movement’s first publication — “The Fountain” journal (SızıntıDergisi), Gülen urged his followers to focus on the education sector. The Houses of light (Işık evleri), or private student residences, were the first education institutions of the movement. This is where the “Risale-iNur” was taught in a programmatic and systematic manner. In 1982, as Özal facilitated the establishment of private educational institutions, Gülen moved to turn a student dormitory into his first school, the College of Yamanlar (YamanlarKoleji), literally means “the college of capable ones”, in Izmir. The number of schools grew rapidly over time, attracting particularly the children of conservative and center-right elites who sought a better education than the state could offer in a culturally conservative setting. In the early 1990s, the collapse of the Soviet Union provided an opportunity to export this model to the predominantly Turkic-speaking states that had just gained their independence. Azerbaijan was the first among them, followed by Kazakhstan, where the movement rapidly built 29 schools. Today, the Hizmet movement runs an astounding 1300 schools in 140 countries. Before the coup-attempt of July 2016 the movement has operated hundreds of preparatory courses for Turkey’s university entrance exam, as well as several universities, including the flagship Fatih University in Istanbul. The movement has also controlled financial institutions such as Bank Asya and Asya Finans; a large business association, TUSKON; and a number of charitable organizations operating both in Turkey and abroad. The GülenCemaati has also controled a considerable media empire including Turkey’s largest-circulation newspaper, Zaman (until the government seizure on the 4th of March, 2016), as well as other newspapers, magazines, television, and radio stations. The GülenCemaati stands out compared to most other cemaats in Turkey not only for the large scale of activities both inside Turkey and abroad. The other distinguishing feature of the GülenCemaati is a pro-Western worldview (the 10 Türkiye’nincemaattablosu, “Milliyet”, 22.06.2011, http://www.milliyet.com.tr/turkiye-nincemaat-tablosu/gundem/gundemdetay/22.06.2011/1405297/default.htm (Access date: 24.12.2016). O. KONURALP, Türkiye’nin tarikat ve cemaat haritası, “Hürriyet”, 17.09.2006, http://www.hurriyet. com.tr/turkiye-nin-tarikat-ve-cemaat-haritasi-5097892 (Access date: 24.12.2016).

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private and social lives of Gülen followers differ little from other Turkish cemaats unlike their attitude toward the West). Gülen himself and his followers are generally pro-American and support Turkey’s European Union integration. In this sense, they diverge considerably from the Naqshbandi movement’s roots. The GülenCemaati openly stayed away from electoral politics, focusing instead on increasing its presence in the state bureaucracy. Considerable success of the Gülen Cemaati in this regard initially made it Erdoğan’s main partner before 2013, but also his eventual nemesis. The Süleymancı Cemaati or Süleymancılar today stands as one of the most broadly organized in Turkey and Europe — in Germany alone, the movement controls several hundred mosques and Quranic schools. The SüleymancıCemaati originates from the late 1920s. After a ban on the religious education in 1925 a group under the leadership of Süleyman Hilmi Tunahan (received his education in the Naqshbandi tariqa) vowed to continue teaching the Quran to individuals or small groups and keep mosques open. In a number of places where there were too few officially sanctioned imams, the cemaat dispatched its own to keep mosques functioning. After Quranic courses were permitted in 1947, students from the cemaat spread across Turkey. Upon his death in 1959, Tunahan was succeeded by his son-in-law, Kemal Kaçar, who accelerated the process of expanding Quranic courses and student dormitories. This was facilitated by the movement’s support for Süleyman Demirel’s Justice Party, through which Kaçar served as a member of parliament for three terms. Upon Kaçar’s death in 2000, a struggle for leadership broke out between the brothers Ahmet and Mehmet Denizolgun, Tunahan’s grandsons from his other daughter. This led to a split in the movement, but not to its withdrawal from politics: the brothers simply supported different parties. Mehmet became a founding member of the Justice and Development Party of Recep Erdoğan (Turkish: Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi, AKP), while Ahmet — who controlled most of the movement’s support — shifted political affiliations. He was elected to parliament in 1995 on the Welfare Party ticket, but quitted the party following the 1997 post-modern coup. He kept his seat in parliament, and was briefly appointed Minister of Communications for the Motherland Party (Turkish: AnavatanPartisi,ANAP) under Mesut Yılmaz’s government in 1998. The movement supported the shrinking ANAP in 1999 and 2002; in 2007, Ahmet Denizolgun ran on the ill-fated Democrat Party ticket; in 2011 and 2015, his block supported the Nationalist Movement Party (alternatively translated as Nationalist Action Party; Turkish: Milliyetçi HareketPartisi,MHP), with the movement’s vote purportedly a crucial factor in helping the MHP overcome the 10 percent threshold in 201111. Thus, the 11 Y. BAYER, MHP’yibarajaltındanSüleymancılarkurtarmış, “Hürriyet” 15.06.2011, http:// www.hurriyet.com.tr/mhp-yi-baraj-altindan-suleymancilar-kurtarmis-18034230 (Access date: 24.12. 2016).

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Süleymancı Cemaati unlike many other Turkish cemaats largely never supported the AKP. The Menzil Cemaati is a Naqshbandi community based in Adıyaman that quickly branched out into Ankara and Istanbul. It began to spread rapidly after the 1980 military coup, partly because of its reputation as a religious order supportive of the state. As a result, it spread across western Turkey as one of the fastest-growing religious orders in the country. Like many religious communities, it tended to support center-right parties until the creation of the AKP. The Adıyaman branch of the group has been close to the MHP, the Virtue Party (Turkish: FaziletPartisi,FP), and the Great Unity Party (Turkish: BüyükBirlik Partisi,BBP). The Istanbul and Ankara branches, on the other hand, supported the ANAP. In fact, many former right-wing activists whose death sentences were commuted after the 1980 coup joined the Menzil order. Moreover, the late founder of the National Unity Party, Muhsin Yazıcıoğlu, was close to the order. In the AKP government, two ministers have been known to represent Menzil: Energy Minister Taner Yıldız and Health Minister Recep Akdağ. The economic power of MenzilCemaati comes from companies established by its members. In 2005 the movement created a business association — All Industrialists’ and Businessmen’s Association (Turkish: TümSanayiciveİşAdamlarıDerneği, TÜMSIAD) which boasts 15,000 members. In 2015 then president of TÜMSIAD Hasan Sert was elected to parliament as an AKP member. The Erenköy Cemaati represents an example of a politically active Turkish cemaats. The leader of ErenköyCemaati Tahir Büyükkörükçü became a member of parliament from the National Salvation Party (Turkish: MillîSelâmetPartisi, MSP) in 1977. The ErenköyCemaati has always provided support to the Islamist parties and after the 2002 elections the cemaat became a loyal supporter of the AKP. The İskenderpaşa Cemaati is another important pattern of politically and economically active cemaat. It has become larger and more powerful with the help of the waqfs established by Esad Coşan, including the True Way Waqf (Hakyol Vakfı), the Waqf of Science, Culture, and Arts (İlimKültürveSanatVakfı), the Health Waqf (SağlıkVakfı), and the Ladies Associations (HanımDernekleri). İskenderpaşacemaatiattempted to form its own radio (AKRA), and television stations and newspaper “The Commonsense” (SağduyuGazetesi). However the cemaat faced significant difficulties of producing traditional discussion culture (sohbetkültürü) when disciples are increasingly using mass media to connect with the cemaat. The proliferation and increased access to media involve subtle shifts in the relationship between discourse and practice. Economically the television and newspaper projects of the İskenderpaşa Cemaati turned out largely ineffective and finally ended with bankruptcy. Deep involvement of the İskenderpaşaCemaatiinto Turkish politics rooted in the early 1970s when the leader of cemaat — Zahid Kotku encouraged Necmettin

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Erbakan to establish the National Order Party (Turkish: Milli Nizam Partisi, MNP), the first Islamist party in Turkey. The AKP leader Recep Tayyip Erdoğan and a number of high-ranking AKP officials — Minister of Finance Kemal Unakıtan, for example — are reportedly close to this community. Erdoğan went to one of its mosques for his first Friday prayer after the 2002 elections. At the same time some members of the İskenderpaşaCemaatialso supported non-Islamist parties. The young sheikh of the cemaat Nureddin Coşan attempted to form an independent political party in 2002 — the Party of Commonsense (SağduyuPartisi), however the party project followed the fate of media ones and ended with embarrassment. The İsmailağa Cemaati (founded by Mahmut Ustaosmanoğlu) is known as the most conservative Turkish cemaat, generally it belongs to the same Sufi tradition as other Naqshbandi branches such as İskenderpaşaCemaati or even the GülenCemaati (various branches differ from each other considerably — thus some are more narrowly traditionalist and closed, while others are more globalized and inclusive). Despite the fact that the İsmailağacemaati is a relatively closed community the number of its members is estimated at 100 000 (that includes community supporters with significant influence in society)12. The funding of the cemaat is provided through the Waqf of İsmailağa (İsmailağa Vakfı), other associations like the Association for Scientific Research and Culture (BilgiveHikmetEvi or İlimAraştırmaveKültürDerneği) also support the cemaat. The development and maintaining of traditional religious education stand among the main priorities of the İsmailağacemaati. The İsmailağa Quranic study centre (İsmailağa Camii Kuran Kursu) is considered among the largest Quranic school both in Turkey and in the Middle East. The site of this Quranic study centre building — about 2,800 square meters — was bought in the early 1980s. The building is located on the highest of seven of Istanbul’s hills and it has space for a maximum of 850 students13. Although the official decision issued in 1996 required the destruction of the eight storey edifice, which had been built without permission, in practice, the building has remained untouched. In the Turkish press the İsmailağa cemaati — as the most traditional and conservative Turkish cemaat — is largely accused of fanaticism, treachery, reactionary and anti-state activities. The prevailing extreme representation of the İsmailağacemaati in the media can be characterized by the claim that it “has turned into a state”. In the 1990s and 2000s some powerful Turkish media like Hürriyet, Radikal, Posta, Milliyet and Vatan dailies constantly demonized the community and labeled it as a center for reactionary force (so called “irtica”). 12 The İsmailağa community stands behind the Süleymancı and Menzil communities [Türkiye’nin cemaat tablosu, “Milliyet”, 22.06.2011, http://www.milliyet.com.tr/turkiye-nin-cemaat-tablosu/ gundem/gundemdetay/22.06.2011/1405297/default.htm (Access date: 24.12.2016)]. 13 “Dokunulamayan”KuranKursubinasi, “Hürriyet”, 07.09.2006, http://www.hurriyet.com. tr/dokunulamayan-kuran-kursu-binasi-5043357 (Access date: 24.12.2016).

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Various people referred to the members of İsmailağacemaati as anti-modernists, a folk group, and radical associates of Iranian fundamentalists. The İsmailağa cemaati was even accused of failing to pay taxes14. However, in the 2000s members of the cemaat were very much afraid of any activity that might weaken the state because of the anarchy that could follow15. SOME CONCLUSIONS – CEMAATS AND CURRENT TRANSFORMATIONS OF TURKISH ISLAMISM During the late Ottoman time and especially within the Second Constitutional period the Union and Progress Party’s positivist critique of Islam and their efforts to reduce it to a private faith had created serious reactions on the part of many Islamists groups. Similarly, the Republican elite also tried to continue the legacy of individualized Islam by strongly curbing its public dimension. One should also mention the effects of the discontinuity, which had strongly destroyed the ways of articulating Islam with modernity. This is why the new Islamisms of the 1940s were mainly defensive and flourished in the peripheral provinces rather than benefiting from the diverse traditions of the Ottoman urban Islam. Through the activation of cemaats Turkish migrants have step by step been able to adapt to city life, as well as to cope with both the material and emotional effects of mass migration. Group solidarity, personal loyalty, comradeship, networking, patronclient relationship or specific identity, have all played an important role within the Turkish cemaats, but the same is true in connection with other professional, religious, ideological or political groups in Turkey. Adaptation to modern social and public life is a problem, which various Turkish cemaats tried to handle in different ways. If GülenCemaati represents a sort of success story the İskenderPaşaCemaati on the contrary is a showcase of difficult or even partly failed adjustment. The tragedy of the İskenderPaşa Cemaati in attempting to reproduce its traditional face-to-face relations is inevitable and perhaps desirable since such changes are also strongly contributing to the transformation of Islam into a liberal project in Turkey. With the transformation of Turkish Islamism as represented by the AKP or the GülenCemaati, other segments of the Islamist milieu are also being pressed to react, not least by shifts in their identity. The nature of socio-religious movements in Turkey has changed significantly in the last decade and long established stereotypes are not reflected D. SARSAR, CemaatKonuşuyor, “Radikal”, 13.09.2006, http://www.radikal.com.tr/turkiye/ cemaat-konusuyor-791605/ (Access date: 24.12.2016). 15 R. ÇAKIR, Provokasyonolabiliramatutmasıimkansız, “Milli Gazete”, 04.09.2006, http:// www.milligazete.com.tr/provokasyon_olabilir_ama_tutmasi_imkansiz/31953 (Access date: 24.12.2016). B. ERGÜN, S. SEVINÇ, İsmailağaŞifresi, “Vatan”, 05.09.2006, http://www.gazetevatan. com/ismailaga-sifresi-86234-gundem/ (Access date: 24.12.2016). 14

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in reality anymore. The socio-political atmosphere after the ascent to power of the AKP government in 2002 has bolstered the more rationalist Muslim communities that rely on the use of pragmatic and non-confrontational methods on a large scale. This has been to the disadvantage of those cemaats which relay to a larger extent on the charisma engendered by their association with sheikhs, such as Mahmut Ustaosmanoğlu. This, together with the closing down of most Quranic study courses attributed to the İsmailağacemaati after the 1997 military intervention, has contributed to the falling number of their adherents. Although the İsmailağacemaati is representative of the most traditionalists, “authentic” and conservative communities in Turkey, it is at the same time marginal, eldersdominated, one of the weakest and remaining aloof from the power struggle. However the rising activities of different cemaats and the increasing participation of Muslims in public life contribute to the plural and heterogeneous temporality of the public. Since long-excluded Muslim masses are now able to be part of the ruling bloc, “it is arguably less important for a ‘parallel sphere of religiosity’ to exist outside of and alongside official, state sponsored Islam”16. One proof of this transformation is the ongoing vakıfication and cemaatification of the Sufi orders in Turkey as these orders have to adjust their discourse and practice to the necessities of a liberal public sphere. Attempting to hegemonize a liberal understanding of Islam is an ongoing process in Turkey. Hence it is not realistic to call it a completed one.

16

B. SILVERSTEIN, IslamandModernityinTurkey, New York, 2011, p. 182.

TOOLS OF TIME: DEVICES FOR ORGANIZING PUBLIC AND PRIVATE LIFE IN THE PREMODERN ISLAMIC WORLD Johannes THOMANN University of Zurich Institute of Asian and Oriental Studies [email protected]

Since more than a century, the topic of time is a major theme in cultural history.1 Some of such studies became famous in their disciplines.2 Jacques Le Goff’s brilliant article “Temps de l’Eglise et temps du marchand“ (“Church’s Time and Merchant’s Time”), published in 1960 is still classical in medieval studies.3 His example of the city tower of Aire-sur-la-Lys, built in 1355 AD stands for the beginning of a new kind of time, the professional time. Its bells did not ring for prayers, but for commercial transactions and the labour of the workers. For the merchand, the time of business gave structure to his daily life, while the bells of the church served as another horizon of existence. There was at the same time essential separation and contingent encounter of professional and supernatural time.4 The source on which Le Goff based his famous thesis of the time of the merchand is a decree of the royal governor of Artois, who autorized the people of Aire-sur-le-Lys to construct a beffroi with bells ringing the hours.5 This reminds of another decree, issued more than two hundred years earlier by King Roger II of Sicily, in which the construction of a clock was ordered. It is the famous trilingual inscription on display at the entrance to the Capella Palatina.6 The Latin text speaks only of a horologium in general.7 In the Arabic See P. BURKE, Reflection of the cultural history of time, Viator 35 (2004), pp. 617–626, on the idea of “social time” with references du Durkheim and Weber. 2 N. ELIAS, ÜberdieZeit (Arbeiten zur Wissenssoziologie 2), Frankfurt, 1984 (engl. N. ELIAS, Time:anEssay, Oxford, 1992). 3 J. LE GOFF, Au Moyen Age: Temps de l’Eglise et temps du marchand, Annales.Histoire, SciencesSociales 15, 3 (1960), pp. 413–433, see p. 424 (engl. in J. LE GOFF, Merchant’s time and church’s time, in Time,WorkandCultureintheMiddleAges, Chicago, 1980, pp. 29–42). 4 LE GOFF, Temps de l’Eglise, p. 428. 5 J. ROUYER, Aperçu historique sur deux cloches du beffroi d’Aire, MémoiresdelaSociétédes AntiquairesdelaMorinie7, 2 (1845), pp. 233–255, see pp. 253–254; G. ESPINAS and H. PIRENNE, Recueildedocumentsrelatifsàl’histoiredel’industriedrapièreenFlandreI, Bruxelles, 1906, pp. 5–6. 6 M. AMARI, LeepigrafiarabichediSicilia:trascritte,tradotteeillustrate (Edizione nazionale delle opere di Michele Amari, ser. 1, [2]), Palermo, 1971, p. 30. 7 HOC OPUS HOROLOGII PRECEPIT FIERI DOMINUS ET MAGNIFICUS REX ROGERIUS. ANNO INCARNATIONIS DOMINICE MCXLII. MENSE MARTIO INDICTIONE V. ANNO VERO REGNI EJUS XIII. FELICITER; AMARI, Leepigrafi,p. 30. 1

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text it is called a “machine for the observation of the hours” (al-ālali-rasad al-sā῾āt).8 More technical information is given in the Greek text: “New miracle! To the powerful prince, King Roger, God gave the scepter that controls the flow of the liquid element, dispensing precise knowledge about the time of the year.”9 This makes clear that the machine was a water clock, probably with an anaphoric dial on which the variable seasonal hours were indicated.10 Water clocks with such devices were common in antiquity.11 In the early Middle Ages this technology fell into oblivion, but had its revival in 9th century AD in Baghdad.12 There can be no doubt that King Roger’s clock was built by technicians from the Islamic World, and he was not the only ruler of his time, who installed a public clock. Around the year 1075 AD two water-clocks were installed in Toledo.13 A contemporary of king Roger on the other side of the Byzantine war front, Nūr al-Dīn al-Zangī (d. 1174 AD) in Syria ordered the construction of a mechanical clock in Damascus at the Jayrūn gate close to the Umayyad mosque. The hours during the day were indicated by the sound of two metal balls falling down into a beaker. The hours during the night were indicated by lights behind red colored glass windos.14 Nūr al-Dīn al-Zangī’s personal portable sundial is preserved (Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Cabinet des Médailles, no. F 6909).15 It is said in its inscription that the sundial was made “for the knowledge of the seasonal hours and the times of the prayers” (li-ma῾rifat al-sā῾āt al-zamāniyya wa-awqāt al-ṣalawāt). Thus it had a double function. The first function was to indicate the seasonal hours as was the case for the Palermo clock. The second function was to indicate the times of the daily prayers. The first function of indicating the seasonal hours was primordial, since on the other side only these were shown. These two functions of the clock corresponded to two systems of time managment. Seasonal hours were necessary for business, work and all kind of social activities in civil society. Prayer times were signals for interrupting 8 ‫المعظمية الرجار ّية العلية أ ّبد ال ّله أ ّيامها و أ ّيد أعلامها بعمل هذه الآلة لرصد الساعات‬ ‫الملكية‬ ‫خرج أمر الحضرة‬ ّ ّ ‫ست و ثلثين و خمسمائة‬ ‫ ;بمدينة صقلية‬AMARI, Leepigrafi,p. 30; E. COMBE, J. SAUVAGET and ّ ‫المحمية سنة‬ ّ G. WIET, Répertoirechronologiqued’épigraphiearabe VII, Cairo, 1936, pp. 224–225, no. 3106; L. Kalus, Thésaurus d’épigraphie islamique, online at http://www.epigraphie-islamique.org (retrieved 8.1.2017), no. 6300. 9 Ὦ θαῦμα καινόν ὁ κραταιὸς δεσπότης Ῥογέριος ῥὶξ ἐκ θεοῦ σκηπτροκράτωρ τὸν ῥοῦν χαλινοῖ τῆς ῥεούσης οὐσίας γνῶσιν νέμων ἄταιστον ὡρῶν τοῦ χρόνου τῷ ιβ τῆς βασιλείας χρόνῳ μηνί μαρτίῷ ἰνδ. ε ἐτ. ϛχν. M.Amari, LeepigrafiarabichediScilia,Palermo, 1971, p. 30. 10 I. WEINRYB, ThebronzeobjectsintheMiddleAges, Cambridge, 2016, p. 166. 11 A. J. TURNER, The anaphoric clock in the light of recent research, in M. FOLKERTS and R. LORCH (eds.), Sicituradastra:StudienzurGeschichtederMathematikundundNaturwissenschaften:FestschriftfürdenArabistenPaulKunitzschzum70.Geburtstag, Wiesbaden, 2000, pp. 536–547. 12 D. R. HILL, Arabicwater-clocks, Aleppo, 1981. 13 D. R. HILL, The Toledo water-clock, HistoryofTechnology 16 (1994), pp. 62–71. 14 HILL, Arabicwater-clocks, pp. 69–88. 15 P. CASANOVA, Le montre du sutan Noûr ad Dîn, Syria 4, 4 (1923), pp. 282–299.

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these activities and to fulfill a religious duty. This has much in common with Le Goff’s “church’s time” and “merchand’s time ” . In the context of Islamic society it is appropriate to use more generical terms such as “ritual time” and “civil time”. Devices for organizing “ritual time” have been studied in great detail by David King, and there is no need to discuss them here.16 The same is true for “ritual space”.17 “Civil time” is present in documentary sources. In legal and business documents hours where used to indicate a precise time, as for example in a certifcate of discharge for a high rank slave (P.Cair.Arab. 137): “when five hours were left of Saturday, when 14 (nights) were left of the current Sha῾bān of the year 348” (῾alākhamsatisā῾ātinbaqiyatminyawmil-sabtili-arba῾a῾ashratabaqiyatmin sha῾bānal-ǧārīfīsanatithamāninwa-arba῾īnawa-thalāthi-mi᾿atin).18 The date and time corresponds to 22 October 959 AD, one hour p .m. However, another type of time existed, different from “ritual time” and “civil time”. There are special texts among early paper documents from the 4th/10th century onwards, which testify how time managment was organized in every day life. These are the so-called almanacs, which contain daily entries for a particular year with various kinds of information. The earliest available example is a paper fragment of an almanac for the year 297 AH/ 909–910 AD.19 The first column to the right contains the positions of the Sun and the planets in the zodiacal signs. The middle column contains the date in the Arabic month and the position of the Moon in the zodiac. After that follows a list of the astrological aspects which the Moon formes with the Sun and the planets, together with advices for which activities the day is favorable. The last column to the left contains the corresponding dates in the Persian, Roman and Coptic calendars, the position of the moon in the lunar mansions, and the time of dusk. Among these various informations the aspects of the moon and their astrological interpretation played a central role. Aspects, Arabic munāẓarāt occur when two heavenly bodies form angles of 180°, 120°, 90° and 60° degrees or are in conjunction. The aspects of 180° and 90° — opposition and quartile — were regarded as conflictual, while 16 D. KING, Insynchronywiththeheavens:studiesinastronomicaltimekeepingandinstrumentationinmedievalIslamiccivilization I (Islamic philosophy, theology and science 55), Leiden, 2004, pp. 191–622. 17 D. KING, World-maps for finding the direction and distance to Mecca: Innovation and traditioninIslamicscience (Islamic philosophy, theology and science 36), Leiden, 2000; D. KING, Insynchronywiththeheavens I, pp. 741–846. 18 A. GROHMANN, ArabicpapyriintheEgyptianLibrary II, Cairo, 1936, pp. 197–198, no. 137, pl. XXII. 19 J. THOMANN, A Fragment of an unusual Arabic almanac for 297 AH/910 CE (P.Berl.inv. 12793), in W. MALCZYCKI et al. (ed.), NewfrontiersofArabicpapyrology:Arabicandmultilingualtexts fromEarlyIslam, Leiden, 2017, pp. 179-196. J. THOMANN, ArabischeEphemeriden,Almanacheund Horokope, Wien [forthcoming].

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the aspects of 120° and 60°, — trine and sextile — were regarded as harmonious. Conjunction was regarded as neutral.20 A similar almanac, made for the year 334 AH/932–933 AD, contains additional information, by adding the hour of day or night when the aspects take place.21 This seems to allow for even more precise scheduling of actions or the avoidance of actions at particular hours. In these early examples of almanacs the actions which are the object of recommendation or warning are only broadly described: Business matters, medical treatment, or even more generally: “favorable” without further characterization. More concrete descriptions are found in an almanac for the Coptic year 707.22 Besides more general judgments there occur such advices as “accountances of the adminsrators” (muḥabāsātli-l-wukalā᾿), and “to accomplish messages” (infādhal-rusul).23 The tendency towards more precise predictions is continued in later almanacs. In an almanac for the year 523 AH / 1128–1129 AD, the aspect of trigon between Moon and Sun is said to be favorable for speaking with the Sultans. The Moon in sextile to Mars is significant for contacting the leaders of the army, which is appropriate if the god of war is involved.24 In the 10th century existed also Arabic astronomical yearbooks, which had a more technical character and were similar in their layout to ancient Greek ephemerides.25 These were lists with the daily positions of Sun, Moon, and the planets. They were exclusively astronomical in content and did not contain any astrological interpretations. In the following century we find for the first time a combination of ephemerides and almanacs. On a double page the data of a month were arranged. The right page had the layout of an ephemeris, while the left page contained the astrological aspects and their interpretations in a form similar to the almanacs.26 20 ABŪ MA῾SHAR, Theabbreviationoftheintroductiontoastrology:TogetherwiththeMedieval Latin translation of Adelard of Bath, ed. Ch. BURNETT, K. YAMAMOTO and M. YANO, Leiden, 1994, pp. 40–41; AL-QABĪṢĪ, Theintroductiontoastrology, ed. Ch. BURNETT, K. YAMAMOTO and M. YANO, London, 2004, pp. 26–27. 21 J. THOMANN, ArabischeEphemeriden,AlmanacheundHorokope [forthcoming]. 22 J. THOMANN, Almanach für das koptische Jahr 707 (990/991 n. Chr.), in A. ZDIARSKY (ed.), Orakelsprüche,MagieundHorokope:wieÄgyotenindieZukunftsah, Wien, 2015, pp. 140–141; J. THOMANN, ArabischeEphemeriden,AlmanacheundHorokope [forthcoming]. 23 J. THOMANN, ArabischeEphemeriden,AlmanacheundHorokope [forthcoming]. 24 J. THOMANN, ArabischeEphemeriden,AlmanacheundHorokope [forthcoming]. 25 J. THOMANN, An ephemeris for the year 931–932 CE, in A. KAPLONY, D. POTTHAST and C. RÖMER (eds.), FromBāwīṭtoMarw:DocumentsfromtheMedievalMuslimWorld:Proceedings ofthe4thConferenceoftheInternationalSocietyforArabicPapyrology,Vienna,March26-29,2009, Leiden, 2015, pp. 115–153; J. THOMANN, Ephemeride für das persische Jahr 300 (931/932 n. Chr.), in A. ZDIARSKY (ed.), Orakelsprüche,MagieundHorokope:wieÄgyotenindieZukunftsah, Wien, 2015, pp.124–135; J. THOMANN, Arabische Ephemeriden, Almanache und Horokope, pp. 19–49; J. THOMANN, An Arabic ephemeris for the year 954/955 CE and the geographical latitude of al-Bahnasā/ Oxyrhynchus (P.Stras. Inv. Ar. 446), Chroniqued‘Egypte 88, 176 (2013), pp. 385–396; J. THOMANN, ArabischeEphemeriden,AlmanacheundHorokope [forthcoming]. 26 J. THOMANN, Ephemeride für das persische Jahr 413 (1044/1045 n. Chr.), in A. ZDIARSKY (ed.), Orakelsprüche,MagieundHorokope:wieÄgyotenindieZukunftsah, Wien, 2015, pp. 138– 140; J. THOMANN, ArabischeEphemeriden,AlmanacheundHorokope [forthcoming].

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This layout became standard for astronomical yearbooks.27 An example of 1182 AD shows the aspects in a highly abbreviated form.28 The earliest extant complete yearbook of this type was made for the year 727 AH / 1326–1327 AD.29 Its form was in use until the late Ottoman epoch.30 It was imitated in a Greek year-book for the year 1336 AD.31 It was also adapted in Western Europe in the 13th century AD.32 The “Ephemerides” of Johannes Regiomontanus, printed in 1474 AD had an analogous form.33 The same layout is still found in the “Ephemerides of the nine heavenly motions” published by Johannes Kepler in 1617 AD.34 The title of the astrological part in such combined tables was “al-ikhtiyārāt” (“choices”) in Arabic and “electiones” or “aspectus” in Latin.35 The term ikhtiyārāt is also the name of a literary genre. Works with this title deal with a subdiscipline of astrology in which a technique is explained how to find a favorable time for a particular task. One of the earliest works is that of Sahl ibn Bishr (d. 845 AD).36 He arranged his book by the twelve astrological houses. In this system the zodiac is divided into twelve sections with the ascendent at the beginning. Each house is devoted to a part in an individuals life. The houses one to six concern the private sphere of life. The houses seven to twelve concern the public sphere. According to Abū Ma῾shar the first six concern: 1. Life, 2. Wealth, 3. Brothers, 4. Fathers, 5. Children, 6. Illness; and the last six concern: 7. Women, 8. Death, 9. Journey, 10. Authority, 11. Good Fortunes, 12. Enemies.37 Sahl ibn Bishr followed this scheme and discussed corresponding activities. Some of them are relevant for all people, as “When to form a partnership in property”, “When 27 J. THOMANN, The Arabic ephemeris for the year 1149/1150 CE (P. Cambridge UL Inv. Michael. Charae D 58) and the Arabic Baḫnīṭas, Greek Παχνίτης and Coptic ⲡⲁϣⲟⲛⲥ, Chronique d’Egypte 90, 179 (2015), pp. 207–224. 28 J. THOMANN, ArabischeEphemeriden,AlmanacheundHorokope [forthcoming]. 29 D. KING, In synchrony with the heavens I, p. 421; J. THOMANN, Arabische Ephemeriden, AlmanacheundHorokope [forthcoming]. 30 G. KUT, KandilliRasathanesiElyazmaları:1.Türkçeyazmaları (Kandilli Rasathanesi ve Deprem Araştırma Enstitüsü astronomi, astroloji, matematik yazmaları kataloğu), İstanbul, 2007, pp. 199–279; G. KUT, KandilliRasathanesiElyazmaları:2.Arapça-farsçcayazmaları (Kandilli Rasathanesi ve Deprem Araştırma Enstitüsü astronomi, astroloji, matematik yazmaları kataloğu), İstanbul, 2012, pp. 517–536; M. KURZ, Ein osmanischer Almanach für das Jahr 1239/1240 (1824/1825), Berlin, 2007. 31 MS Munich, BSB, graec. 525; R. MERCIER, AnalmanacforTrebizondfortheyear1336 (Corpus des Astronomes Byzantins 7), Louvain-la-Neuve, 1995. 32 MS Paris, BnF lat. 16210 and MS Vatican, Lat. 4572; for a description see F. S. PEDERSEN, WilliamofSaint-Cloud:Almanachplanetarum:Aneditionofthecanons,afewsamplesfrom thetablesandaforayintothenumbers (Cahiers de l‘Institut du Moyen-Âge grec et latin 83), Copenhague, 2014, pp. 58–59. 33 J. REGIOMONTANUS, Ephemeridessivealmanachperpetuus, Nurenberg, 1474. 34 J. KEPLER, Ephemeridesnovaemotuumcoelestium,abannovolgarisaeaeMDCXVII, Prague, 1617. 35 J. THOMANN, ArabischeEphemeriden,AlmanacheundHorokope [forthcoming]. 36 C. M. CROFTS, Kitābal-Iḵtiyārāt‘alāl-buyūtal-iṯnai‘ašarbySahlibnBišral-Isrā’īlīwith itsLatintranslationDeElectionibus, PhD thesis University of Glasgow, 1985. 37 ABŪ MA῾SHAR, Abbreviation, pp. 28–31.

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to marry” or “When to make a testament”.38 Other are only relevant for higher rank people, as “When to buy a slave”, “When to build a house” or “When to enhance your reputation to the ruler”.39 Some are only relevant for the highest political and military elite, as “When to install a ruler into the seat of his power” or “The times for going out to war”.40 What concerns the public sphere, there are historical records which indicate the use of ikhtiyārāt methods for planning important tasks. A famous case is the foundation of the new Baghdad by the Caliph al-Manṣūr in the year 762 AD. Al-Bīrūnī stated explicitly about this event that the time was chosen by an astrologer using the ikhtiyārāt practice:41 “It was Nawbakht who was in charge of the choice (ikhtiyār) of the time (waqt). ” There is also another account of this event by Ibn al-Faqīh al-Hamadhānī, who wrote a century earlier than al-Bīrūni.42 There is a long chain of predecessors of the ikhtiyārāt. They start with a list of favorable and unfavorable days of the Egyptian Middle Kingdom, and continue in the Greek world with a Mycenaean day list.43 In the first century BCE a new system based on astrological elements was invented and called katarchai. Its first description is found in book 5 of the astrological work of Dorotheus of Sidon.44 There is also documentary evidence for the practical use of the katarchai. In three Greek ephemerides of the 4th century AD an additional column is found which contains astrological judgements of the days.45 The system of katarchai found its way to Indian astrology, and from there it was introduced in early Abbasid time to the Islamic East, and became their name ikhtiyārāt.In the later tradition, most authors of astrological works wrote on the ikhtiyārāt. One of the most extensive texts is book 7 of the Kitābal-Bāri᾿ of Ibn Abī Rijāl. In the 13th century it was translated into Spanish, and from that into Latin.46 Abraham Ibn Ezra wrote on elections, the mivḥarim in Hebrew.47 CROFTS, Kitābal-Iḵtiyārāt, p. 104 § 32a, p. 117 § 78a, 122 § 97a. CROFTS, Kitābal-Iḵtiyārāt, p. 116 § 71a, p. 106 § 43, 129 § 124. 40 CROFTS, Kitābal-Iḵtiyārāt, p. 129 § 125a, p. 119 § 85. 41 AL-BĪRŪNĪ, ChronologieorientalischerVölker, ed. byC. E. SACHAU,Leipzig, 1878, p. 270; AL-BĪRŪNĪ, Thechronologyofancientnations:anEnglishversionoftheArabictextoftheAthâr-ul- BâkiyaofAlbîrunî,or,“VestigesofthePast”,collectedandreducedtowritingbytheauthorin A.H.390-391,A.D.1000, transl. by C. E. SACHAU, London, 1879, p. 262. 42 IBN AL-FAQĪH AL-HAMADHĀNĪ, Kitābal-buldān, ed. by Y. AL-HĀDĪ, Bayrūt, 1996, p. 291. 43 F. LL. GRIFFITH,HieraticpapyrifromKahunandGurob, London, 1998, pl. XXIV–XXV; J. CHADWICK and M. VENTRIS, DocuemtsinMycenaeanGreek (2nd ed.), Cambridge, 1973, pp. 170–172. 44 DOROTHEUS SIDONIUS, Carmenastrologicum, ed. by D. PINGREE, Leipzig, 1976, pp. 106–158, 262–322. 45 A. JONES, Astronomical papyri from Oxyrhynchus (P. Oxy. 4133-4300a) (Memoirs of the American Philosophical Society 233), Philadelphia, 1999, p. 176. 46 G. Hilty, Ellibroconplidoenlosiudiziosdelasestrellas,partes6a8:traducciónhechaen lacortedeAlfonsoelSabio (Estudios árabes e islámicos 3), Zaragoza, 2005, pp. 87–190; Ibn Abī l-Rijāl, AlbohazenHalyfiliiAbenragellibrideiudiciisastrorum:summacura&diligentistudiode extremabarbarievindicati,aclatinitatidonati, Basilea, 1551, pp. 296–351. 47 Sh. SELA, AbrahamIbnEzraonelections,interrogations,andmedicalastrology:Aparallel Hebrew-EnglishcriticaleditionoftheBookofelections(3versions),theBookofinterrogations (3Versions),andtheBookoftheluminaries, Leiden, 2011. 38 39

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All these texts on the ikhtiyārāt differ in one respect significantly from the ikhtiyārāt part in the almanacs and ephemerides. The literary texts described methods which were based on a complete horoscope with the astrological houses. The almanacs considered only the daily aspects of the moon. A literary description of this system is found in a brief text ascribed to al-Kindī.48 It describes a system based on the aspects of the moon, which has direct parallels in the judgments found in the almanacs. However, this system seems never have been integrated into the general literature on astrology were the top level system prevailed. Nevertheless, it had a literary predecessor in a Greek text, possibly by Theon of Alexandria (4th century AD), in which the process of producing an ephemeris is describe. For the astrological judgments the harmonious and disharmonious aspects of the moon with the planets are used as indicators, filled into a special column.49 Besides the two systems, there was an even simpler method, which did not involve any astronomical data. The concept of the planetary week did not only attribute a planet as a ruler to each day of the week, but the planets were also thought to be the rulers of the hours of the day and the night.50 This scheme was fixed and repeated itself every week. The concept of the planetary week is described in the astrological literature.51 However, traces are also found in documentary material. The ruler of the day and the ruler of the hour are written in the middle of a horoscope for the year 1002 AD.52 These three levels of astrological methods, the ikhtiyārāt based on the individual nativity, as found in the astrological literature on the top, the ikhtiyārāt based on planetary aspects as found in the ephemerides and almanacs in the middle, and the planetary ruler of the hours, as found in the scheme of the planetary

48 MS Leiden, UB, Or. 199; German translation: E. Wiedemann, Über einen astrologischen Traktat von al Kindi, ArchivfürGeschichtederNaturwissenschaftenundderTechnik 3 (1912), pp. 224–226. 49 N. B. Halma, PtolemaioukaiTheōnosprocheiroikanones:Tablesmanuellesastronomiques dePtoleméeetdeThéon III, Paris, 1825, pp. 38–42 (edition of the text and French translation); H. D. CURTIS and F. E. ROBBINS, An ephemeris of 467 A. D., Publicationoftheobservatoryof theUniveristyofMichigan 6,9 (1934), pp. 77–100, p. 83 (partial edition and partial English translation); A. TIHON, Le“PetitCommentaire”    deThéond’AlexandrieauxTablesfacilesdePtolemée: Histoiredutexte,éditioncritique,traduction(Studi e testi 282), Rome, 1978, p. 359 (manuscripts); J. B. J. DELAMBRE, Histoiredel’astronomieancienne, Paris, 1817, pp. 635–637. 50 For the planetary week in Antiquity and in de Indian tradition see S. BENNEDIK, DieSiebenplanetenwocheinIndien, Diss. Univ. Bonn, 2007 (electronic publication: http://hss.ulb.uni-bonn. de/diss_online). 51 ABŪ MA῾ŠAR, Abbreviation, pp. 66–69; QABĪṢĪ, Introduction, pp. 88–89; ABŪ MA῾ŠAR, Liber introductoriimaiorisadscientiamjudiciorumastrorum, III, ed. R. LEMAY, Naples, 1995, pp. 417– 418 [Arabic text]; for a German translation of this text see THOMANN, ArabischeEphemeriden, AlmanacheundHorokope [forthcoming]. 52 J. THOMANN, An Arabic horoscope on parchment with a square diagram for AD 1002 (P. Vind. Inv. A. Perg. 236), in T. DERDA, A. ŁAJTAR and J. URBANIK (eds.), Proceedingsofthe 27th International Congress of Papyrology, Warsaw, 29 July – 3 August 2013 (The Journal of Juristic Papyrology, Supplement 28), Warsaw, 2016, pp. 1085–1094.

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week at the bottom correspond to different levels of competence on the side of the astrologer. These levels of competence were well described in a special treatise by al-Qabīṣī.53 On the top level the astrologer must have been trained to operate with general astronomical tables, the Zījes, and to do heavy calculations. In the middle it sufficed to be able to read an almanac. At the bottom everybody could count the hours with his fingers in order to find the ruler of the hour. On the side of the costumers, the three levels could well correspond to a certain degree to his social status. The documentary examples have no archaeological context. We know only that they were probably found in the region of the Fayyūm or further to the South. However, a number of almanacs were found among the documents from the Cairo Geniza.54 They are very similar in layout and content to the almanacs shown earlier. There is one singular case in which an astrological document was found in a regular excavation. Some hundred Arabic documents were excavated in al-Fustat, among them an astrological responsory.55 The building where it was found belonged to a group of houses, which have been characterized as “the worker’s quarter” and “low-income housing”.56 These houses had less stable fundaments and were lacking any ornaments. The presence of an astrological document at such a place seems to indicate that astrology of a middle level was not limited to the elite or the rich bourgeoisie but found its way to the proletarians. In conclusion, some further thoughts shall be briefly outlined. This study has taken as its staring point the concept of two types of time, “ritual time” and “civil time”, which were displayed in the public sphere by clocks. In the following, documentary evidence made it clear that a third type of time has to be taken into consideration: “cosmic time”. It had its public appearance too. On the Talisman Gate in Baghdad the divine person of the moon as the dominant ruler of “cosmic time” was presented, between the divine beings of the lunar nodes.57 In this model “civil time” serves interaction with society, “ritual time” 53 S. SHALHŪB and N. AL-QĀDIRĪ, Taḥqīq naṣṣ “Risāla fī imtiḥān al-munajjimīn” li-῾Abd al-῾Azīz ibn ῾Uthmān al-Qabīṣī al-munajjim, JournalfortheHistoryofArabicScience 15, 1 (2011), pp. 105–186; see also J. THOMANN, The Second Revival of Astronomy in the Tenth Century and the Establishment of Astronomy as an Element of Encyclopedic Education, AsiatischeStudien 71 (2017), pp. 907–957, especially pp. 923–928. 54 B. GOLDSTEIN and D. PINGREE, Astrological almanacs from the Cairo Geniza, Journal of NearEasternStudies 38 (1979), pp. 153–175, 231–256. 55 D. S. RICHARDS, Written documents, in W. B. KUBIAKL and G. T. SCANLON (eds.), Fusṭāt excavationfinalreport II (American Research Center in Egypt Reports 2), Wiona Lake, 1989, pp. 64–80, especially p. 68. 56 G. T. SCANLON, Fustat, in TheOxfordencyclopediaofarchaeologyintheNearEast, New York, 1997, pp. 365–368, especially p. 367; W. B. KUBIAKL and G. T. SCANLON (eds.), Fusṭāt excavationfinalreport II, p. 11. 57 F. SARRE and E. HERZFELD, ArchäologischeReiseimEuphrat-undTigris-Gebiet III (Forschungen zur islamischen Kunst 1), Berlin, 1911, pl. X–XI.

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is directed towards the transcendental, and “cosmic time” keeps contact with the cosmos, but is directed to the individual itself. Each type of time has its own rulers, structures and management targets. Concerning rulership “civil time” is implicitly atheistic, “ritual time” is decidedly monotheistic, and “cosmic time” is glaringly polytheistic. In structure “civil time” is homogeneous, “ritual time” is dichotomic, and “cosmic time” is highly inhomogeneous. “Civil time” serves to manage interpersonality, “ritual time” serves to manage otherwordliness, and “cosmic time” promisses to manage self-fulfillment.58

58 For the “egocentric perspective” of astrology see S. M. MOZAFFARI, The effect of astrological opinions on society: A preliminary view, Trames 4 (2012), pp. 359–368, especially p. 359.

ALLIES OF THE SULTAN? TRACES OF THE PLAN OF A RUSSIAN MILITARY EXPEDITION TO OTTOMAN SYRIA IN THE 1830S Dmitry R. ZHANTIEV

“From Europe to Africa there is only one way — through Syria. Since the spread of the Ottoman rule in Africa, Syria became necessary for the Turkish Empire for keeping in subjection the remote areas, the relationship with which was always questionable. On the other hand, Egypt, not depending on the existence of foreign countries, was always ready to cut off from the dominion of Turkey, which it had obeyed only by the reason of common faith and spiritual authority of the Sultan. These circumstances are the reason of the fact that Syria has been the subject of claims by rulers of Egypt who were very concerned about the protection of their possessions from the side of the dry path, only available through this area”1. This estimation of the strategic importance of Syria was stated by General N. Muravyov, special envoy of Russian emperor Nicholas I in his work “Turkey and Egypt in 1832 and 1833” which was the time of the first Egyptian-Ottoman war, the military conflict between Muhammad Ali Pasha of Egypt and the Sublime Porte. During that conflict the Russian army and navy provided military assistance to Sultan Mahmoud II and landed on the Asian coast of the Bosphorus near Constantinople, defending the Imperial capital from the advancing Egyptian troops of Ibrahim Pasha. The uniqueness of this situation was that for the first time in history, a European great power openly sided (in the military way) with the Sultan Caliph against his Muslim subjects. Previously, in 1800 Russian Emperor Paul I offered military support to the sultan Selim III not only against the French but also against the rebellious Ayan Osman Pazvandoglu of Vidin, but the Sultan refused. For Syria in particular, it can be noted that by the first half of the 19th century the special attention of the Russian state towards Ottoman Syria had an extensive history. This history includes the interaction of the official of St. Petersburg with the Middle Eastern Orthodox churches to protect the interests of Russian pilgrims on their way to the Holy Land. Military and political interests of the Russian Empire in the Eastern Mediterranean were also quite evident during the RussianTurkish war of 1768-1774, when the squadron under the command of count Alexei Orlov defeated the Ottoman fleet in the battle of Chesma (1770), and the landing party captured Beirut in 1773. 1 [N. N. MURAVYOV], TurkeyandEgyptin1832and1833 [Turtsiya i Egipet v 1832 i 1833 godah], Vol. II, Moscow, 1869, p. 79.

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The actions of the Russian Imperial fleet and troops took place with the support of two Muslim allies — the actual Mamlouk ruler of Egypt Ali Bey and the Palestinian Sheikh Ẓāhir āl-῾Umar. However, in 1774 the Russian fleet had to leave the coast of Syria under the terms of Kucuk-Kaynarca Peace Treaty negotiated between Russia and the Ottoman Empire. In the beginning of the next Russo-Turkish war (1787-1791) the Russian command again planned to send a large fleet to the Eastern Mediterranean and capture coastal towns on the Levantine shores. These plans were altered due to the entry of Sweden into war with Russia which distracted the main forces of the Russian Navy back to the Baltic against the Swedish threat. The next phase of the revitalization of Russian policy towards the Ottoman Syria belongs to another historical period, namely the 1830s. This was the time of confrontation between Mahmoud II and his most powerful Muslim vassal — Muhammad Ali Pasha. “The conquest of Turkey by Mehmet Ali Pasha (...) with the enthronement of a new ruler on the Turkish throne, could have revived a new force in this declining monarchy and diverted the attention of our forces from Europe, that’s why the Emperor was especially concerned about holding the Sultan on his wavering throne,”2 — such was Russian assessment of the conflict between Muhammad Ali and the Sultan in the autumn of 1832. It was obvious that establishment of the Muhammad Ali’s control of Syria created opportunities for an attack on the capital of Empire — Constantinople. The Pasha was able, if not to overthrow the Ottoman dynasty, as a minimum, to subdue the Sultan and his government to his direct influence. Nicholas I preferred to deal with the weak Ottoman Empire on the southern borders of Russia, not with the victorious power of Muhammad Ali. The occupation of Syria by the army of Ibrahim Pasha was seen in St. Petersburg as the intersection of a form of “red line”. The decision to send Lieutenant-General N. N. Muravyov to Constantinople and then to Egypt on a special mission was taken in the autumn of 1832 after the receipt of the news of the victories of Ibrahim Pasha over Ottoman troops at Homs and Beilan and pursuing the Ottoman troops on their way from Syria to Anatolia. Ironically, Muravyov arrived at the Ottoman capital December 9, 1832, the same day when Ibrahim Pasha defeated the Ottoman army in the battle of Konya and captured its commander Sadrazam Reshid Mehmed Pasha. It is believed that the warning transferred by Muravyov to Muhammad Ali during his visit to Egypt forced the Egyptian ruler to stop the advance of Ibrahim Pasha in the direction of Constantinople. This happened before Muhammad Ali received the news of the arrival of Russian Black sea fleet and troops at the shores of Bosphorus. The mission of N. N. Muravyov was far from complete. He took command of the detachment of Russian troops and continued sending to St. Petersburg intelligence 2

Ibid., vol. III, p. 2.

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information on the location and condition of the troops of Ibrahim Pasha in Anatolia and Syria. He also gave valuable advice to the Ottoman Serasker Husrev Mehmed-Pasha concerning the preparation of the shores of the Bosphorus for the defense.3 The situation in Syria remained the focus of his attention. The envoy of Nicholas I explained to the Ottoman serasker that even with the small military forces that remained in the possession of the Porte after the defeat at Konya it was possible to organize a landing on the Syrian coast and to raise there a rebellion of the local population against the Egyptian rule. In this case, communications between the army of Ibrahim Pasha in Anatolia and Egypt would have been cut, creating a different atmosphere in the peace talks4. Muravyov’s memoirs, compiled during the mission in Constantinople Muravyev provide a detailed description of Syria. It is a special work containing analysis of the most convenient routes for landing from the sea on the Syrian coast, and a land invasion from the North, from Eastern Anatolia via Aleppo. He concludes that, from a military point of view, the best point for landing troops in Syria is not Beirut, but Tyre, and it is also the most convenient starting point for the advance to the country’s interior, cutting off Damascus from Egypt. The Russian General rightly pointed out that “holding Syria in subjection poses more difficulties than the invasion of it “due to the mountainous terrain in coastal areas and difficulties in predicting the behavior of the warlike mountaineers”5. Muravyov’s plan of possible military intervention in Syria is particularly valuable because it involves offensive military action not only on the part of the rightful owner of the Syrian provinces of the Ottoman Empire, the Sultan, but also further analysis. The General noted the importance of the trade routes passing through Syria, connecting Europe with Iran and India, and, of course, a special sacred significance of the Holy Land. He further concludes that “the liberation and protection of the Holy places would be reason enough to acquire this country by “one of the Christian monarchs”6. Knowing the loyal zeal of Muravyov clearly manifested throughout his military career, it is easy to understand whom he meant by “one of the Christian monarchs” as a possible liberator of Jerusalem. So, the approach of the troops of Ibrahim Pasha towards Constantinople and the Russian border in the Caucasus made the prospect of Russia’s war against Muhammad Ali in the winter and in the spring of 1833 quite real, regardless of the outcome of the negotiations between the Porte and the rebellious Egyptian Viceroy. In order to gain first hand information about the situation in Syria Colonel of the Guards General Staff Duhamel was sent to Syria. He failed to 3 Russian State Military Historical Archive [Rossiyskiy Gosudarstvenniy Voenno-istoricheskiy Archiv, РГВИА], fund 846, inventory 16, book 5303, p. 42. 4 [N.N. MURAVYOV], Turtsiya i Egipet…, vol. III, p. 55. 5 Ibid., vol. II, p. 83. 6 Ibid., vol. II, p. 80.

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reach the destination in 1833 because of illness, but managed to negotiate with Ibrahim-pasha in Konya. Later colonel Duhamel was appointed Russian Consul General in Egypt and travelled to Syria in 1836. The Russian officer and diplomat closely followed reports coming from Syria on the uprisings of the local Muslim population against the “ruler of Egypt”. Besides Duhamel, two more officers of the Russian General staff visited Ottoman Syria in the 1830s. Colonel of the General Staff Lvov (1833-1834) and in 1838, the captain of the Pavlovsky Life guards regiment, assistant Quartermaster General of the army Iosif (or Josef) Dainese (in 1838). Colonel Lvov was probably the first Russian military officer who crossed the greater part of Syria with a reconnaissance mission. According to the results of his trip he made up and submitted to the Department of the General staff a detailed geographic description of Syria7, as well as detailed military map. His main conclusion was that “The conquest of Syria, under the condition of loyalty of the locals to the advancing army, is quite possible along the line of advance from Anatolia during one seven or eight month campaign”. But in case of the resistance from the local population it would take much more time and money for the donations8. As for the descriptions, compiled in French by the Guard’s Captain Dainese and entitled “Memoire sur la Syrie en 1838”9 special attention should be paid to this archival source. Both Lvov and Dainese’s sources remain unpublished. Unlike Lvov, who concentrated attention on the topography, geographical and climatic features of Ottoman Syria, Dainese describes in detail the administrative, judicial and tax system, and also gives detailed information on the number, location, armaments, training, logistics and command of the Egyptian troops stationed in the area from Aleppo to Gaza, analyzes the professional quality of the officer corps and the combat readiness soldiers of Muhammad Ali. The Russian officer does not describe the route of his trip and does not even mention himself in the text, but the information collected by him leaves no doubt in his broad outlook and vision. The final part of the report contains a thoughtful analysis of the policies of Muhammad Ali and Ibrahim Pasha in Syria, including the results of recruiting, the mood of the local population and the possibility of new uprisings against Egyptian rule10. The information collected by the Consul General Colonel Duhamel, Colonel Lvov and Captain of the Guard Dainese complements each other, forming together an objective picture of the situation.

7

Syria,LebanonandPalestineinthedescriptionsofRussiantravelers,Concularandmilitary reviewsofthefirsthalfofthe19thcentury[Siriya, Livan I Palestina v opisaniyah rossiyskih puteshestvennikov, konsulskih I voennih obzorah pervoy polovini 19 veka], Moscow, 1991, pp. 182-233. 8 Ibid., p. 181. 9 Russian State Military Historical Archive, fund 444, inventory 1, book 55. 10 Ibid., pp. 16-24.

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CONCLUSION Some of the researched archival sources indicate the plan of the use of the Russian armed forces in 1830s not only on the shores of the Bosphorus, with the aim of defending the Imperial capital against Muhammad Ali’s forces, but also in Anatolia and Ottoman Syria. The uniqueness of this military plan was that if implemented, Russian troops, for the first time could have engaged in battle with Muslim subjects of the Sultan as an ally, not the enemy of the Sultan-Caliph. Unprecedented attention of the Russian General staff to Syria under the rule of Muhammad Ali and the mentioned visits of Russian officers during 1833-1838, can hardly leave a doubt that Syria was considered in St. Petersburg as the theater of a new possible impending war. We can assume that according to this plan, a Russian expeditionary force, acting to the South from the Caucasus through Anatolia could have been used, along with the Ottoman troops, against the Egyptian Pasha. These sources indicate that the attention of Russian military intelligence was focused on the two major themes: the best routes of advance of troops from Anatolia to Syria and attitude of the local Muslim population of Syria towards the Egyptian occupation.

LITERATURE

FROM SPAIN TO SYRIA: WHAT DID AL-JILYĀNĪ BRING WITH HIM? Julia BRAY

Abū l-Faḍl ʽAbd al-Munʽim b. ʽ Umar al-Jilyānī, from Jilyāna near Guadix in southern Spain, was a physician, mystic and poet. He lived from 531/1136 to 602/1206. At a date, and for reasons unknown to his biographers,1 he migrated to Syria, and we also find him in Egypt. He never returned home, and died in Damascus. He attached himself to Saladin both as a physician and as a poet, writing two kinds of poem for him: firstly, panegyric accounts of sieges and battles in standard Arabic verse forms, extracts of which are quoted by Ibn Abī Uṣaybiʽa and Abū Shāma2 and in some modern scholarship. Secondly, for Saladin, for Saladin’s brother Tūrān Shāh, and, after Saladin’s death, for the son who succeeded him in Egypt, al-Malik al-Ẓāhir, and for two other Ayyubids,3 he produced panegyric picture-poems or puzzle-poems: poems which interweave with each other within linear frames, forming geometric figures or figures that combine geometric designs with tree-like or foliate finials. These visual surprises in turn combine with a hidden content that has to be decoded by the reader, who must follow the contours of the figures so as to derive from a parent poem new poems that differ from it in rhyme and metre. Rhymed prose (sajʽ) is treated in the same way. Tadbīj (interweaving) is the word al-Jilyānī used for this process of composition, mudabbaja (brocaded) the term he applied to the often very large works he produced by this method. As well as forming figures, the mudabbajāt are colour-coded as an aid to decipherment. After al-Jilyānī’s death, his son ʽAbd al-Mu’min, a poet and oculist in the service of the Ayyubid ruler of Damascus al-Malik al-Ashraf Mūsā (r. 626635/1229-1237),4 gathered together all the mudabbajāthe could find (“I have heard that there are mudabbjāt of his elsewhere (fī baʽḍi l-bilād). If I find them, I will add them,” he says) and recopied them,5 together with his father’s 1 IBN ABĪ UṢAYBIAʽ, NIZĀR RIḌĀ’ (ed.), ʽUyūnal-anbā’fīṭabaqātal-aṭibbā’, Beirut, 1965, pp. 630635; AL-KUTUBĪ, I. ῾ABBĀS (ed.), Fawātal-wafayāt, Beirut, 1973, II, pp. 407-409; AL-MAQQARĪ, I. ῾ABBĀS (ed.), Nafḥal-ṭīb, Beirut, 1968, II, pp. 614, 635-636 (information gathered orally in Damascus in 1037/1627-8), pp. 636-637 (abridged from al-῾IMĀD AL-IṢFAHĀNĪ, Kharīdatal-qaṣr). 2 IBN ABĪ UṢAYBIʽA, ʽUyūn, pp. 630-634; ABŪ SHĀMA, Kitābal-Rawḍataynfīakhbāral-dawlatayn, Cairo, 1287, II, pp. 103, 115-118, 151. 3 A. MINGANA, Catalogue of Arabic Manuscripts in the John Rylands Library Manchester, Manchester, 1934, pp. 939-943. 4 IBN ABĪ UṢAYBIʽA, ʽUyūn, p. 630. 5 MINGANA, Catalogue, pp. 941-942. The colophons of the Manchester and Paris MSS reproduce the same passage.

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explanations of how to decipher them and versions of the coded passages in ordinary verse or prose. This copy seems to have been the basis for three subsequent copies, one early Mamluk (Manchester, John Rylands 690, dated 735/ 1334), and two undated, probably mid-Ottoman: one in Paris (BnF 3140 arabe, of which a black-and-white reproduction can be consulted online at http://gallica. bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b11001842t), and one in Uppsala (Uppsala 142). An edition whose introduction discusses these three MSS was published in Oxford in 2010 by Kamal Abu Deeb with Dalal Bakhsh under the title Dīwānal-Tadbīj. Possibly the earliest MS, and the most sumptuous, in its use of gold leaf, is one owned by the Khālidiyya Library in Jerusalem, to which I shall return. In addition to these MSS, in his entry on al-Jilyānī in al-Aʽlām, Khayr al-Dīn al-Ziriklī describes a MS of 731/1330-1 in his possession, of apparently overlapping, but not identical, contents.6 Its present whereabouts are unknown. The Abu Deeb edition is essentially a reading of the John Rylands MS, whose colour coding it copies. It reproduces as colour illustrations many folios of the MS, and some from the Paris and Uppsala MSS. Nevertheless, it does not give a complete account of the text and figures; and although the introduction contains valuable observations, it touches on only some of the aspects of the mudabbajāt to which the editor states he intends to devote in-depth studies. Nor is the context of the mudabbajāt discussed. As regards the text, as Abu Deeb observes, al-Jilyānī did not give plain versions of all of the figures in his mudabbajāt: a few, not the least interesting, remain to be deciphered.7 Also, the surviving manuscripts are all codices, but it is clear, from the breaks in the continuity of the linear frames and their wording that occur throughout the codices, that the mudabbajāt were originally scrolls, sometimes very long ones. In order to be fully legible and for their components to develop out of each other in visually coherent sequences, the folios need to be reconstituted as scrolls. (This can be done by juxtaposing printouts of JPGs of the folios of the John Rylands MS, which has the fullest text.) As regards context, the mudabbajāthave yet to be considered in relation to al-Jilyānī’s surviving output, or, more generally, to the literary and visual culture of Saladin’s court. Lastly, their historical and ideological significance remains to be investigated. While the poetry of the counter-Crusade is an established field in Arab scholarship, it has received far less attention in the west, and to my knowledge, the only non-Arab historian to mention al-Jilyānī’s poetry in this context is Konrad Hirschler.8 ZIRIKLĪ, Aʽlām, Beirut, 1992 (10th edition), IV, p. 167. See note 50 below. JILYĀNĪ, Tadbīj, p. 65. Two such figures are discussed in J. BRAY, A self-appointed propagandist for Saladin: the poet ʽAbd al-Munʽim al-Jilyānī, in C. HILLENBRAND (ed.),SyriainCrusader Times, Edinburgh, forthcoming. 8 K. HIRSCHLER, MedievalArabicHistoriography.Authorsasactors (SOAS/Routledge Studies on the Middle East), London, 2006, pp. 68, 148. 6 7

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I address some of these textual and contextual issues in a companion paper to this one.9 The questions this paper addresses are much narrower. It asks: did al-Jilyānī develop his mudabbajāt in al-Andalus (which could be the “elsewhere” referred to by his son) and bring them with him to the east, or did he devise them in the east? Did he invent them by himself, or was anything similar already being done? What was their legacy? I had hoped that some answers to the first question might lie in an unpublished collection of mystical sayings of al-Jilyānī’s, Adabal-sulūk, of which I consulted four MSS in the Staatsbibliothek in Berlin.10 Al-Jilyānī prefaces each of these 60 sets of sayings (each set is called a mashraʽ) with its date, and the earliest, no. 31, was composed in 553/1158-9 when he was 22, quite probably before his emigration. Unfortunately, no places of composition are given for any of the mashraʽs. In form, they share none of the compositional devices of the mudabbajāt, although, as Ahlwardt noted, an autobiographical dībāge (Ahlwardt’s term) has been copied on to ff.61a and b of MS Landberg 74511 and f.58b gives instructions for reading a complex figure similar to those that al-Jilyānī gives in Dīwān al-Tadbīj. The layout of the dībāge, however, is not that of a mudabbaja. Since al-Jilyānī was a mystic, it is tempting to speculate about a connection with Ibn ʽArabī, and indeed Claude Addas says that the two men met;12 but this throws little light on the mashraʽs, for which al-Jilyānī claims direct divine inspiration (e.g. Landberg 745, f.3b: mimmāanṭaqanībihirabbī), and whose content awaits study. Al-Jilyānī prefaces both Adabal-sulūkand Dīwānal-Tadbīj with a bibliography of his own works, without saying when or where he composed them. Like Adabal-sulūkand Dīwānal-Tadbīj, they may have been collections of pieces written at different times. None of the poems by al-Jilyānī quoted from by Abū Shāma pre-dates his association with Saladin; and — strangely, since he is concerned with al-Jilyānī as a physician — the only pieces quoted by Ibn Abī Uṣaybiʽa are also about events in Saladin’s campaigns. As against this, there are several autobiographical passages in the mudabbajāt from which we can glean something about their reception at the court of Saladin and elsewhere, and something about the course of al-Jilyānī’s life before and after his emigration. A mudabbaja written in 569/1173,13 following a meeting BRAY, A self-appointed propagandist for Saladin. Landberg 745, Sprenger 889, Sprenger 890, Wetzstein II 1692. See W. AHLWARDT, Die Handschriften-VerzeichnissederköniglichenBibliothekzuBerlin, vol. IX, ArabischeHandscriften,3, Berlin, 1891, pp. 184-185. I should like to thank the staff of the Staatsbibliothek, and especially the Orientabteilung, for their kindness in assisting me and in providing digitised copies of the MSS. 11 AHLWARDT, ArabischeHandscriften,3, p. 185. 12 C. ADDAS,IbnʽArabīouLaquêteduSoufreRouge (Bibliothèque des Sciences humaines), Paris, 1989, p. 369, referring to IBN ʽARABĪ, al-Futūḥātal-Makkiyya (edition unspecified), II, p. 129. So far I have been unable to trace her reference. 13 Thus JILYĀNĪ, Tadbīj, p. 146; p. 145 instead reads [5]59/[11]63. 9

10

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with Saladin that had been foretold to al-Jilyānī in a dream, seems to be the earliest securely internally dated example of tadbīj. It contains a sequence of 12 maqāma-like pieces, of which al-Jilyānī is the eloquent hero. They are problematic as evidence since maqāmāt as a genre flirt with ambiguity and fictionality. In the fifth piece, he praises the rulers of al-Andalus who were muwaḥḥadūn ʽalāʽaqīdatal-tawḥīd (Almohads), and refers to glorious deeds of theirs, such as the victory of Zallāqa (October 1086), which, however, belong to the century before al-Jilyānī’s own.14 In the sixth piece, he refers obscurely to the reason why he never returned to Spain after setting out on Pilgrimage with his wife, or family (ahl):15 “we found the land had been convulsed; there had arisen a preacher of strife…” (innāraḥalnābil-ahlina’ummul-ḥajjafa-alfaynāhādhā l-ṣuqʽaqadirtajjawa-qāmakhaṭībul-fitnatifīhi…). This is what he confides to an Andalusian merchant whom he had met on the seafront at Alexandria, to whom he praises Saladin as his “second home.” The merchant asks him to compose a letter for him to send to a friend in Murcia, adding: “Why not make it a mudabajja?” (wa-in ra’ayta an takūna mudabbajatan)16 — which might suggest that the form, or al-Jilyānī himself as its exponent, was familiar in alAndalus. But later, in Cairo, in the seventh piece, when the same merchant meets al-Jilyānī again, he says that he has heard that he has made a naẓmmudabbaj (interwoven verse composition) for Saladin, and asks if he may have a copy for his friend, so that he can have it read out (tutlā) in al-Andalus like suras [of the Quran] and transmitted (turwā) like Hadith (al-athar).17 This might suggest, to the contrary, that a mudabbaja would be a sensational novelty in Spain. Al-Jilyānī complies, and reports that the mudabbaja became famous, but does not say where.18 Did the merchant’s letter reach Murcia? Was the mudabbaja genre exported to Spain? There are suggestions that it was a novelty in Egypt. After this episode, in the eighth piece, set in the Mosque of ʽAmr in Fusṭāṭ, al-Jilyānī hears a group of people saying that this composition must have been a fluke.19 Likening himself to the Prophet being taunted by the pagans or Moses being reviled by the nobles of Egypt, he is stirred to surpass himself with a composition of enormous complexity for presentation to Saladin, which he lists as a work separate from Dīwān al-Tadbīj with the title of Manādiḥ al-mamādiḥ. After the presentation, once again he hears that a scoffer has cast doubt on his abilities. In the presence of Saladin, al-Jilyānī confronts and confutes him by “extemporising” a mudabajja20 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

JILYĀNĪ, JILYĀNĪ, Ibid. JILYĀNĪ, JILYĀNĪ, Ibid. JILYĀNĪ,

Tadbīj, pp. 163-164. Tadbīj, p. 167. Tadbīj, p. 169. Tadbīj, p. 184. Tadbīj, pp. 208-209.

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— a simple one, consisting of a single circle with an inscribed star, but nevertheless a tourdeforce,21 however executed (something that is not explained). Mudabbajas bear a marked visual resemblance to the (much smaller) Egyptian block-printed talismanic scrolls (ṭarsh) that are dated paleographically to around this period.22 It may have been the scale and complexity of al-Jilyānī’s tadbīj that surprised Egyptian audiences, rather than complete unfamiliarity. Could al-Jilyānī have been inspired by ṭarsh? There is no evidence of his having written mudabbajāt before he left Spain: al-Maqqarī’s passages about him do not mention them at all. He may, on the contrary, have sent examples back to Spain, if the merchant from Murcia is not purely a fictional device. But al-Jilyānī settled in Damascus. What of possible Syrian antecedents on the one hand, and the reception of al-Jilyānī’s mudabbajāt in Syria on the other? The most plausible Syrian antecedents so far are the Damascus Quran scrolls published by Solange Ory.23 On paleographic grounds, she dates the earliest to Umayyad and the latest to Ayyubid times. They share none of the decorative features of al-Jilyānī’s scrolls, and are written on parchment, whereas the surviving copies of al-Jilyānī’s scrolls are paper (we do not know the medium of the originals). Some of the Quran scrolls are long — over half a metre, or even a metre — but this is not much in comparison to al-Jilyānī’s scrolls, some of which may have been easily three metres long, if we go by the dimensions of the John Rylands manuscript, each folio of which approximates, at 30.5 cm by 21 cm, to modern A4 format. The later BnF MS is on a larger scale at H 40.5 cm × L 28 cm. Ibn Abī Uṣaybiʽa, born ten years before al-Jilyānī’s death, whose father knew al-Jilyānī in Damascus, mentions the term tadbīj, but without explaining it.24 Does this mean that it was already locally familiar in al-Jilyānī’s lifetime? Or does it mean his son’s copy of Dīwānal-Tadbīj made it familiar to the next generation? Al-Jilyānī’s contemporary Yāqūt, who met him in Damascus and was shown by him how he made mudabbajāt, describes the process as a novelty, but without using the term, which was evidently unknown to him.25

21 Reproduced JILYĀNĪ, Tadbīj, p. 211, deciphered and translated in BRAY, A self-appointed propagandist. 22 K. R. SCHAEFER,EnigmaticCharms:medievalArabicblockprintedamuletsinAmerican and European libraries and museums (Handbuch der Orientalistik. Erste Abteilung, Nahe und Mittlere Osten; Bd. 82), Leiden, 2006. 23 S. ORY, Un nouveau type de muṣḥaf. Inventaire des Corans en rouleaux de provenance damascaine conservés à Istanbul, RevuedesÉtudesIslamiques 33 (1965), pp. 87-149. From the same period and of the same provenance, pilgrimage certificates may also be mentioned, but more relevant are prayer scrolls. See D. SOURDEL and J. SOURDEL-THOMINE, À propos des documents de la Grande Mosquée de Damas conservés à Istanbul. Résultats de la seconde enquête, Revue desÉtudesIslamiques 33 (1965), pp. 73-85. 24 IBN ABĪ UṢAYBIʽA, ʽUyūn, p. 635. 25 YĀQŪT, F. ʽA. ʽA. al-JUNDĪ (ed.), Muʽjamal-Buldān, Beirut, 1990, II, p. 182, s.n. Jilyāna.

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We still cannot say, then, what al-Jilyānī brought with him from Spain. In terms of available formats and technologies, the fashion for scrolls in Egypt and Damascus may have provided him with ideas and opportunities, but accounting for the genesis of the mudabbaja with all its complexities calls for a wider survey of its literary, artistic and intellectual background, and is beyond the scope of this paper. What, if any, was the legacy of the mudabbajāt? In addressing this question, we have a larger body of evidence and scholarship to draw upon. It has three strands: – the Arabic puzzle-poetry or prose, or colour-coded poetry, produced in both west and east from the fifteenth century AD, and its imitators up to the sixteenth or seventeenth century AD, as documented by the Arabic sources of these periods available in modern editions; – the emergence in late Ottoman Syria and neighbouring regions of picturepoems and similar genres, as documented in late nineteenth and twentiethcentury Arabic scholarship; – evidence for the existence and distribution of MSS of al-Jilyānī’s mudabbajāt and their Syrian reception, as documented in (mainly) early twentieth-century Arabic scholarship. In the remainder of this paper, I shall offer a brief survey of this material, and draw some provisional conclusions. In the Introduction to his edition of Dīwānal-Tadbīj, Abu Deeb points out a parallel between it and a work produced some two centuries later in Rasulid Yemen: the famous polymath Ismāʽīl b. Abī Bakr al-Muqrī’s (754-837/13531433) ʽUnwān al-sharaf al-wāfī fī ʽilm al-fiqh wa-l-ʽarūḍ wa-l-ta’rīkh wa-lnaḥw wa-l-qawāfī.26 In addition to its formal characteristics — it is arranged in columns, in such a way that the texts that discuss the five disciplines that it expounds can be read out of each other — we should note two things about it: firstly, that al-Maqqarī (d. 1031/1632) cites it as a possible influence on the Andalusian poet Ibn ʽĀṣim (Abū Yaḥyā Muḥammad b. Muḥammad, d. after 857/ 1453), of whom more shortly; and secondly, that it was widely copied (MSS are extant in both European and Middle Eastern collections) and lastingly popular, being printed in Calcutta, Aleppo and Cairo.27 Its latest editor reproduces its visual features of colour and layout, and cites several, mainly late ninth/ fifteenth-century, prose authors who emulated it. They include al-Suyūṭī; and there is also a poetic imitator.28

26 27 28

JILIĀNĪ, Tadbīj, p. 42. AL-MUQRĪ, ed. ʽA. A. I. AL-ANṢĀRĪ, ʽUnwānal-sharaf, [n.p.], 1406/1986 (5th edition), p. 17. AL-MUQRĪ, ʽUnwānal-sharaf, p. 21.

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Ibn ʽĀṣim, however, offers a closer parallel with al-Jilyānī, in a qaṣīda which, through red and green colour coding, redistributes the original text in such a way as to produce two further qaṣīdas, and from them two muwashshaḥs, all differing from the parent poem in rhyme and metre, all of them meaningful and metrically sound. (Indeed, al-Maqqarī, who shows how this is done, is himself able to derive two more, “abridged” muwashshaḥs from the parent muwashshaḥs.)29 Soundness of meaning and metre are exactly the characteristics of the derived poems in al-Jilyānī’s mudabbajāt, of which he makes frequent boast. The visual features are lost, however, in the 1939 Cairo edition of al-Maqqarī’s text of Ibn ʽẠṣim’s poems, whose editors were constrained by existing technology to substitute quotation marks and brackets for the colours present in the manuscript from which they copied.30 This suggests one reason why the earlier phases of the genre are obscure: the difficulty, until recently, of transferring the shapes and colours of manuscripts into print. Perhaps other published texts like that of Ibn ʽĀṣim remain to be rediscovered. For now, al-Jilyānī appears to be the earliest exponent of Arabic picture-poetry, prose and rhymed prose. The one stimulus that he freely acknowledges is al-Ḥarīrī’s (446-516/1054-1122) poetic wordplay.31 Al-Muqrī, too, was influenced by al-Ḥarīrī,32 and like al-Jilyānī, he derived visual as well as verbal applications from al-Ḥarīrī’s example, although unlike al-Jilyānī he limited his text-framing devices to parallel columns linked by arches. On the other hand, his ʽUnwānal-sharaf pushes the device of reading one text out of another to extremes, in that the subject-matter of the five texts is entirely different. A point to be noted is that al-Muqrī’s ʽUnwānand Ibn ʽĀṣim’s qaṣīda share a common purpose with al-Jilyānī’s mudabbajāt: they were intended for presentation to rulers, ʽUnwānal-sharaf for the Rasulid al-Ashraf Ismāʽīl II (r. 830831/1427-1428),33 Ibn ʽĀṣim’s qaṣīda for the Naṣrid ruler of Granada Abū l-Ḥajjāj Yūsuf III b. Naṣr (r. 810-820/1408-1417).34 Al-Maqqarī took the text of Ibn ʽĀṣim’s qaṣīda from a copy made from the author’s autograph by a family member.35 By filling in a lacuna of some lines,36 and by deriving two “abridged” muwashshaḥs from Ibn ʽĀṣim’s, al-Maqqarī joins the list of writers who continued the tradition of producing one text out of another. In the late nineteenth/early twentieth century, the Kurd Aḥmad Fā’iz 29 AL-MAQQARĪ, ed. M. AL-SAQQĀ, I. AL-ABYĀRĪ, and ʽA. Ḥ. SHALABĪ, Azhāral-riyāḍfīakhbār ʽIyāḍ, Cairo, 1939, I, pp. 146-153, 155, 157-158. 30 AL-MAQQARĪ, Azhāral-riyāḍ, I, p. 146. 31 JILIĀNĪ, Tadbīj, pp. 131-134. 32 AL-MUQRĪ, ʽUnwānal-sharaf, p. 12. 33 Ibid., p. 16. 34 AL-MAQQARĪ, Azhāral-riyāḍ, I, p. 146. 35 Ibid. 36 Ibid.

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al-Barzanjī (1868-1918) composed two such works, one in a grid pattern and presumably in the intellectual lineage of ʽUnwān al-sharaf, since it concerns different fields of knowledge,37 while his Kanz al-lasan, laid out in eleven columns, can be read in five different ways, in six languages, on the subject of eleven Islamic and Arabic linguistic sciences. It includes two qaṣīdas (one in Persian and one in Turkish) in praise of the Ottoman Sultan ʽAbd al-Ḥamīd II (r. 1876-1909), and ends in a four-line macaronic poem in Kurdish, Russian and French. The manuscript was endorsed with encomia by the literati of Istanbul, and was last reported in the private collection of Muḥammad al-Khāl.38 Meanwhile, in the eighteenth century, there appeared in Syria a kind of poem very like some of the individual figures of al-Jilyānī’s mudabbajāt in that it consists of a circle inscribed with arcs and so on, in which are written words and phrases that generate multiple poems in different metres and rhymes. Two of these were published by Louis Cheikho in schematic form in al-Mashriq in 1899, and were said to have been invented by an Aleppan Maronite of Crusader descent, hence known as Ibn al-Ifranjiyya.39 Subsequent scholars have agreed or disagreed with this attribution, but no-one, including most recently Muhsin Al-Musawi, has offered an explanation of their origin, and none of these authors refers to al-Jilyānī.40 This is the best known, but not the only example of such verse. Outside Syria, ʽAbdallāh b. Muḥammad al-Baytūshī (1161-1221/1748-9/1806-7), who was born in Persian Kurdistan, moved to Baghdad, and died in al-Aḥsā’,41 wrote a poem “of which the words are like chessmen in play, and can be moved around” to form new poems, all of them on the theme of love and loss. Muḥammad al-Khāl discovered two MSS of the poem, both of them lacking the explanations of how to derive 16 qaṣīdas and 11 qiṭʽas, some of them in non-classical forms and metres, from the parent poem.42 Al-Khāl nevertheless managed to decipher them,43 and surmised that the inspiration for them is to be found in al-Ḥarīrī’s 23rd maqāma, al-Baghdādiyya. He found a fellow-scholar’s suggestion that they might have been influenced by Ibn ʽĀṣim’s qaṣīda far-fetched, given that he ZIRIKLĪ, Aʽlām, I, pp. 192-193. M. AL-KHĀL, Qaṣīda tataḍammanu qaṣā’id ʽadīda lil-Baytūshī, Majallatal-Majmaʽal-ʽIlmī al-ʽIrāqī 4 (i) (1375/1956), p. 155. 39 L. CHEIKHO, Shāʽir Ḥalabī majhūl, al-Mashriq 2 (x), pp. 442-447. Diagrams of two poems are given on pp. 444 and 445. These diagrams are reproduced by subsequent authors. B. S. AMĪN, Muṭālaʽātfī-l-shiʽral-Mamlūkīwa-l-ʽUthmānī, Beirut, 1392/1972, p. 214 reproduces a further figure which is closer to al-Jilyānī’s mudabbajāt in that the figure forms a frame to the wording. Its source is not identified. 40 U. ʽĀNŪTĪ, al-Ḥarakaal-adabiyyafīBilādal-Shāmkhilālal-qarnal-thāminʽashar, Beirut, 1970, p. 72; AMĪN, Muṭālaʽāt, pp. 213-214; M. AL-MUSAWI, The Medieval Islamic Republic of Letters, Notre Dame, Indiana, 2015, fig. 7 (between p. 146 and p. 147). 41 ZIRIKLĪ, Aʽlām, IV, p. 131. 42 KHĀL, Qaṣīda tataḍammanu qaṣā’id ʽadīda, pp. 139-140. 43 Ibid., pp. 139-153. 37 38

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knew of only two MSS in which the qaṣīda was to be found, the ones “recently discovered in the Cairo Dār al-Kutub and the Taymūriyya Collection.”44 On the subject of dates rather than distribution, in style, the undated Paris and Uppsala MSS of al-Jilyānī’s mudabbajāt appear to be mid-Ottoman, but Abu Deeb has deciphered extra-textual notes that provide a closer dating. The Uppsala MS was purchased in Tunis in 1103 (1691-2) and bears a reader’s note of 1034 (1624-5).45 It also bears an ownership mark of ca. 700 or 900 (1300 or 1504). However, on paleographic grounds, Abu Deeb judges it to be more recent than the Paris MS, which bears a reader’s note of 25 Muḥarram 1063 (26 December 1652).46 At around these dates, in the first half of the seventeenth century AD, Ḥājjī Khalīfa listed four or five individual mudabbajāt or collections of mudabbajāt by al-Jilyānī.47 We know that the Manchester MS John Rylands 690 continued to be read for longer than this, for on its last folio, f.117b, it bears readers’ notes not only of 955/1548-9 but of 1225/1810 and 1227/1812.48 Finally, glimpses of the distribution of MSS of al-Jilyānī’s mudabbajāt and of the reception of the mudabbajāt in Ottoman Syria have been documented by Ṣalāḥ al-Dīn al-Munajjid. He notes copies of what he refers to as al-Jilyānī’s Manādiḥ al-mamādiḥ in Paris (presumably he means MS BnF 3140 arabe, of which Manādiḥal-mamādiḥ forms part), but also in the private library of Aḥmad Zakī Pasha (1867-1934) in Cairo and in the Ẓāhiriyya library in Damascus.49 He calls it a “famous” work, and goes on to describe the MS of it owned by the Khālidiyya library in Jerusalem, which he says is the basis for the Ẓāhiriyya MS 228 ādābmanthūra, which “the Ottoman governor of Syria, Ra’ūf Pasha” (Mehmed Emin Rauf Pasha, 1780-1859, governor of Damascus October 1828July 1831) ordered made, and which was described and partly transcribed in 1929 by ʽAbdallāh Mukhliṣ.50 44 KHĀL, Qaṣīda tataḍammanu qaṣā’id ʽadīda, p. 154. Aḥmad Taymūr (1871-1930) formed a personal collection which he left to Dār al-Kutub. 45 JILIĀNĪ, Tadbīj, pp. 55, 57. 46 Ibid., pp. 54, 56. 47 ḤĀJJĪ KHALĪFA, ed. G. FLÜGEL, Kashf al-ẓunūn ʽan asāmī al-kutub wa-l-funūn, Leipzig and London, 1835-1858, III, pp. 268, 294: Dīwānal-Tadbīj, III, pp. 294-295: DīwānofʽAbdal-Munʽim, containing ten dīwāns, of which one is Dīwānal-Tadbīj, III, p. 305: Dīwānal-Mubashshirātwa-lQudsiyyāt “in verse (naẓm) and tadbīj, containing (?) edicts… issued by Saladin, conqueror of Jerusalem in 583”; V, p. 471: MudabbajatBurhānal-adhhān, “which is the MudabbajaQudsiyya written in Gaza in 589, and the first piece in Dīwānal-Mubashshirātwa-l-Qudsiyyāt.” See also VI, p. 128: Manāral-mamāriḥ (sic) “written for Saladin on the conquest of Jerusalem; in it he presents him with marvellous madīḥāt (praise poems)”, probably a misreading for mudabbajāt. 48 MINGANA, Catalogue, p. 943. 49 Ṣ. D. AL-MUNAJJID, al-Makhṭūṭātal-ʽarabiyyafīFilasṭīn, Beirut, 1982, p. 64. See also ʽA. MUKHLIṢ, Kitāb Manādiḥ al-mamādiḥ, Revuedel’AcadémieArabedeDamas 9 (i) (1347/1929), p. 237. 50 MUNAJJID, al-Makhṭūṭāt al-ʽarabiyya fī Filasṭīn, p. 40; see MUKHLIṢ, Kitāb Manādiḥ al-mamādiḥ, pp. 236-239, who points out that the piece is not in praise of Saladin, but of his son al-Malik al-Ẓāhir. Mukhliṣ lists four MSS: in the Ẓāhiriyya, Damascus; in Dār al-Kutub, Cairo;

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The latest addition to this strand of scholarship is Konrad Hirschler’s study of the catalogue of the Damascus Ashrafiyya library,51 which he dates to the 670s/ 1270s. The Ashrafiyya catalogue lists a copy of al-Jilyānī’s Manādiḥal-mamādiḥ.52 This manuscript may well have remained in the library until the Ottoman conquest, when the Ashrafiyya books were carried off to the Sülemaniye library in Istanbul, where some 150 of them have been identified by Hirschler. The Khālidiyya library in Jerusalem is a modern library founded in 1899. Its copy of Manādiḥal-mamādiḥ is undated, but early Mamluk in style, and attributed in the summary catalogue to around the 8th/14th century.53 Could this MS in fact be the Ashrafiyya copy, left behind by the Ottomans, or subsequently brought back to Greater Syria? To conclude, provisionally: al-Jilyānī’s mudabbajāt are claimed by their author and by their modern editor as unique and unprecedented. As yet, no fully-fledged precursors have been uncovered in either Andalusian or Syro-Egyptian sources. The same claim of uniqueness has been made, both in their own time and in modern scholarship, for the fifteenth-century AD Yemeni al-Muqrī’s ʽUnwānalsharaf, for the Andalusian Ibn ʽĀṣim’s qaṣīda, which al-Maqqarī speculates may have been inspired by ʽUnwān but which seems to have been composed fractionally earlier, and for the eighteenth and late-nineteenth-century poems of the Syrian Ibn al-Faranjiyya, the Kurdish al-Baytūshī, and the works of the Kurdish Aḥmad Fā’iz al-Barzanjī. The geographical and chronological distribution of these examples seems to me to argue as much against as for each being an entirely independent invention. There is a possibility that mudabbajāt found their way from Egypt to Spain in al-Jilyānī’s lifetime, and a picture is beginning to emerge of the extent to which Dīwānal-Tadbīj or separate mudabbajāt continued to be copied and read during the sixteenth, seventeenth and early nineteenth centuries, with a possibility of local continuity and influence in Syria.

in the private collection of Aḥmad Zakī Pasha; and in the Bibliothèque nationale, Paris. MINGANA, Catalogue, p. 941 refers to what appears to be a further copy in Gotha (Orient no. 2259), which can now be read online: http://archive.thulb.uni-jena.de/ufb/receive/ufb_cbu_00005651. I am indebted to Feras Krimsti for this link. Manādiḥal-mamādiḥ also seems to be among the contents of al-Ziriklī’s untraced MS, see text to note 3 above. 51 K. HIRSCHLER, Medieval Damascus. Plurality and diversity in an Arabic library: the Ashrafīyalibrarycatalogue (Edinburgh Studies in Classical Islamic History and Culture), Edinburgh, 2016. 52 Ibid., p. 296, no. 1094. 53 N. A. AL-JUʽBA, [Catalogueofal-Maktabaal-Khālidiyya,Jerusalem], Jerusalem 1998/1418, pp. 629-30, no. 1631 adabʽarabī 238. The catalogue entry and six colour photographs of the MS can be viewed online: http://www.khalidilibrary.org/manuscript3e.html

ǦUḤĀ: A TRICKSTER ACROSS DIFFERENT CULTURAL BORDERS Francesca Maria CORRAO LUISS Roma

In our time the conviction is widespread that we belong to a specific group rooted in a territory; we take it that we have a fixed identity, and go on to dream of an isolated space and separation from the others1. Virtual borders are set by language and discourse, but notwithstanding this evidence the stories of a fool, a simple descendant of the mythological trickster, undermine our illusion of separateness to reveal to us the possibility to grasp that most important point of unity that is based on a simple principle of identity: humanity. Ǧuḥā is a well-known Mediterranean trickster, although anecdotes about him have circulated throughout the world, or at least from India to the Middle East for more than a thousand years2. Throughout the Mediterranean area in the transition from paganism to the monotheistic religions — and Christianity in particular — the function of the trickster has been associated with that of a little devil since he calls God’s great work into question. In particular, the Islamic conception of God almighty prevented the spread of a powerful image of the devil, God is the “One who gives life and causes death”3, and the devil is an angel who lost his standing because he refused to bow before the being God had created, the human being. Ever since it has been believed that the devil inspires bad behaviour in human beings to show up their weakness4. Later in the Middle age, as Michail Bachtin pointed out, these carnival-like demons had the role to overturn the natural order, its rules and roles, but only for a limited period of time, thus bringing some relief to the worries of daily life5. 1 J.M. BENOIST, Sfaccettature dell’identità, in C. LÉVI-STRAUSS, L’identità, Palermo, 1996, p. 15. 2 M.R. AL-NAǦǦĀR, Ǧuḥāal-‘arabī(The Arab Ǧuḥā), Kuwait, 1979, pp. 80-82; F.M. CORRAO, StoriediGiufà(Giufa’s stories), (1st ed. 1989) Palermo, 2009, pp. 22-25; S. MICELI, Ildemiurgo trasgressivo (The Trickster), Palermo, 1984. 3 TheHolyQur’an, Sura 2: 258; and also “There is no god but He: It is He Who gives life and gives death, — the Lord and Cherisher to you and your earliest ancestors”, Sura 44: 8; translation YUSUF ALI, London, 2000. 4 S. MICELI, Ildemiurgotrasgressivo; A. BAUSANI, Note sul “pazzo sacro” nell’Islam, in Studi ematerialidistoriadellereligioni, Roma, 1958, vol. XXIX, fasc. I. 5 M. BACHTIN, L’operadiRabelaiselaculturapopolare.Riso,carnevaleefestanellatradizione medievaleerinascimentale (The Work of Rabelais and the Popular Culture. Laughter, Carnival and Festivals in Medieval and Renaissance Traditions), Torino, 1979.

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According to the Egyptian scholar Muḥammad Raǧab al-Naǧǧār, on the other hand, the humorous anecdotes of the fool served as a “safety valve”, helping to get over those critical moments in history when no direct criticism of the political system is admitted6. In particular, the stories of the Arabic Ǧuḥā range over various topics, by no means limited to social criticism. From the earliest collections the main function of the Ǧuḥā anecdotes had been to warn the wise against having anything to do with the foolish lest they be tricked, as is evident from Ibn Dāniyāl’s (13th cent.) comment on Ǧuḥā’s foolishness7. From the numerous studies on the Ǧuḥā stories it emerges that the Arab version is a cunning Fool (once he has fooled, and once he has been fooled) can find a solution to defend social justice; as for the Turk, Nasreddin Hoca is more spiritual; his behaviour often indicates a wise path to transcend earthly sufferings and transform them into a wise approach to life. The Sicilian version is a poor fool, at times cunning enough to defend the poor from the abuse of the Landlords. Ǧuḥā, wittingly or not can always draw on his own personal resources to solve his problems and help people. We may take it for granted that a considerable percentage of the Ǧuḥā stories as well as Nasreddin’s contemporary narrative repertoire had been added over the centuries in the course of the character’s development. Under the Ottomans the anecdotes of the Turkish Nasreddin were added to the Arab Ǧuḥā, as was mentioned by the Egyptian jurist al-Ṣuyūṭī (17th cent.), who named the fool Nasreddin Hoca al-mulakkab bi-Ǧuḥā al-rūmī (named the Anatolian)8. As a matter of fact, the earliest Arabic collections mentioned only 11 anecdotes attributed to Ǧuḥā; there the fool succeeded in turning to his favour situations that only boded ill, exploiting now his vein of folly, now his decency9. The more recent Arabic collections of anecdotes includes almost 300 stories; there we find under his name stories imported from the Turkish and other traditions across a vast geographical area and different historical periods. The Ǧuḥā story compiler’s technique usually creatively combined different strategies such as adding to the pre-existent collections new stories heard from the oral tradition or adapted from anecdotes attributed to other fools. The reason could be, as for Galland’s collection of “The Thousand and one night”, the need to inflate the Ǧuḥā repertory in response to popular demand. This is a worldwide phenomenon; as an example, I will recall the Indian collection of fables, TheOceanoftheStreamsofStory,by the Brāhmaņ Somadeva (11th century), which also includes a sections of stories attributed to the fool AL-NAǦǦĀR, Ǧuḥāal-‘arabī, pp. 86-88 F.M. CORRAO, Il fantasma della fantasia, Messina, 2002, p. 56; P. KAHLE, Three Shadow PlaysbyIbnDaniyal, ed. D. HOPWOOD, 1992, E.J.W. Gibb Memorial, p. 46. 8 F.M. CORRAO, Il caso Giufà, in TunisiaSicilia.Incontrotradueculture, Atti e Materiali (3), Palermo, 1995, pp. 117-126. 9 CORRAO, StoriediGiufà, pp. 22-25. 6

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that later we find in the Ǧuḥā stories10 . There the fool is often a Brahman, or a servant. The stories, as in the Mediterranean area, have since the Middle Ages been recounted for pedagogic ends. In an earlier collection of the 6th cent. Panchatantra, written by a Brāhmaņ, we find another Ǧuḥā story; the book was compiled for the young heirs to the throne illustrating the art of government11. Comparing the Indian and Arabic collections, a significant difference emerges: the Indian fool is a weak man who succumbs to his own weakness or to the powerful and cunning man. In the Arabic and Islamic cultures Ǧuḥā proves cunning most of the time and gets into difficulties only when he is by the side of his wife. In both the Sicilian and the Arabic tales the fool succeeds in turning to his favour situations that only boded ill, exploiting now his foolishness, now his decency. Furthermore, while in the Indian tales women are always mean, cunning and treacherous, in the Arabic anecdotes the fool’s wife is crafty — she hoodwinks the fool and denies him food — but she is not plain treacherous. In a Tunisian collection of oral stories published in Sidi Bu Said in 1994 Ǧuḥā’s name is Jha and his wife is calm and obedient12. In most Sicilian and Tunisian anecdotes the woman is the wise and patient mother able to save Ǧuḥā when he gets involved in difficult situations. Furthermore, it emerges that the Jha, like the Sicilian character, has a very protective mother, at times desperate but resigned to help the foolish son. Another important element common to both the Sicilian and the Tunisian anecdotes is the relation between the fool and some religious authorities elsewhere sanitized in other Arab collections. In these anecdotes we do not find the Sufi approach of the Turkish Nasreddin Hoca; Giufà\ Ǧuḥā contains social and moral criticism. It is important to recall that in a third of the Sicilian anecdotes Giufà’s antagonist is a priest. A possible reason could be that some time after the Arabs left the Island (1072), under the reign of Frederick II (1198-1250), B. SOMADEVA, TheOceanoftheStreamsofStory, Torino, 1993, pp. 697-826. F.M. CORRAO, Indian and Budhdhist Influence in Islamic anecdotes, in TŌYŌTETSUGAKU KENKYŪJOKIYŌ, pp. 159-169; Giovanni BECHIS (ed.), Panchatantra, Milano, 1983. A collection of Sanskrit fables in prose and verse, it has been translated in many languages. The oldest English version is by Sir Arnold EDWIN, TheBookofGoodCounsels,fromtheSanskritofthe“Hitopadeśa”, London, 1861. The story is also quoted in a book of Sanskrit grammar, see Ashok AKLUJKAR, Sanskrit.Aneasyintroductiontoanenchantinglanguage, Richmond, 1992, 3rd vol., pp. 25-6. 12 The story tellers of the book are mentioned as the authors and only by name, except Othman Khadraoui who is the only one with the complete family name, the others are Henda, Ali, Mohamed, Hella, Hassen, Bornia, Si Mokhtar, Si Rchid, Si Sami, Si Gilbert. It is evident that among them there is at least a non-Muslim. Othman, Henda, Mohamed, Bornia… et les autres, racontent, Les très filoutes.HistoiresdeJha, Sidi bu Said, 1994. AL-NAǦǦĀR dedicates a whole section to the subject of Juhā and the women. See F.M. CORRAO, L’ospite di Ǧuḥā [Ǧuḥā’s guest], La moglie di Ǧuḥā [Ǧuḥā’s wife], Le due mogli di Ǧuḥā [Ǧuḥā’s two wives], Un parto veloce [A quick birth], La dote della figlia [The daughter’s daughry], in StoriediGiufà, pp. 67, 81-2, 99, 101. See also F.M. CORRAO, L’eros nella tradizione anedottica islamica: i matrimoni di Ǧuḥā [The Eros in Islamic Anecdotes: Ǧuḥā’s weddings], in C. RUTA (ed.), Le parole dei giorni. Scritti per Nino Buttitta, Palermo, 2005, vol. II, pp. 1192-8. 10 11

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the clergy were granted land properties once owned by the Muslims. This was partly due to the fact that the Pope had excommunicated Frederick II; therefore the Emperor strengthened the ties of alliance with the Bishop of Monreale (Sicily) to maintain good relations with the local community. Historical archive documents show that the poor Muslim land workers passed from the control of the Arab landlords to that of the Christian religious landlords13. In Arab society people used Ǧuḥā’s anecdotes to express indirectly their criticisms of the religious and political powers. According to the Egyptian scholar Muḥammad Raǧab al-Naǧǧār, the anecdotes serve as a “safety valve”, helping to get over those critical moments in history when no direct criticism of the system is admitted. Ǧuḥā and Nasreddin’s stories in Arab and Turkish written traditions have always been sanitised, even if due to an unaware censorship14; while the political anecdotes belong mostly to the oral tradition. Across the centuries there have been some exceptions: in the Arab tradition The Ǧuḥā stories with the terrible Khorasanian leader Abū Muslim or the Caliph al-Mahdī; in the Turkish tradition Nasreddin’s stories with the “enemy” Timurlank. On the evidence of a Tunisian edition based on the transcription of the Jha (the Tunisian name for Ǧuḥā) oral stories we can analyse how the social and political pressures act on the freedom of expression15. I will analyse an anecdote mentioned in this collection, giving first the classical version as we find it in both Arabic and Sicilian collections; I will then compare it to the versions of the Sicilian writer Leonardo Sciascia (1921-1989), the Tunisian story teller Othman Khadraoui (‘Uṯmān Ḵadrawī), and the Lebanese writer Georges Schéhadé (1905-1989). The story tells of a “Street morning singer” that is a man who wakes people up early every morning. Ǧuḥā\ Giufà was so annoyed that one day he killed the man and threw the corpse into a well. Ǧuḥā’s father saw him, killed a goat and put it there instead of the corpse. The family of the “Street morning singer” went to look for the man and Ǧuḥā said he had thrown a corpse into the well;

13 F. GIUNTA, U. RIZZITANO, Terra Senza Crociati, Palermo, 1991; U. RIZZITANO, Storia e culturanellasiciliasaracena, Palermo, 1975; DE SIMONE, NellaSiciliaArabatrastoriaefilologia; Id., SpoglioantroponimicodelleGiaride(Ğarā’id)arabo-grechedeiDiplomieditidaSalvatore Cusa, Palermo, 1979, Parte 1. 14 MARZOLPH, Sanitizing Humour Islamic Mediterranean Jocular Tradition in a Comparative Perspective, in M. BERNARDINI, C. BONELLI, A. CERBO, E. SÀNCHEZ GARCIA, eds., EuropaeIslam traiSecoliXIVeXVI, Napoli, Collana “Matteo Ripa” XVIII, 2002, vol. II, pp. 757-782. 15 AL-NAǦǦĀR already indicated these three figures as special antagonists on whom the blame could be placed, and at the same time it shows that the stories appeared in a time of a difficult political crisis; cf. AL-NAǦǦĀR, Ǧuḥāal-‘arabī, pp. 80-2; GÜRSOY, Nasreddin Hoca’nin düsünce sistemi, in AA-VV., Uluslarası Yunus Emre, Nasreddin Hoca, KaramanoğluMehmetBeyveTürk DiliSemineriBildirileri, Konya, 1977, pp. 174-7. OTHMAN, Lestrèsfiloutes.HistoiresdeJha.

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they asked him to search the well. He went down and described the animal, then he pulled it out from the well and the family let him go16. Leonardo Sciascia in his book Il mare color del vino (The wine-coloured sea, 1973) wrote a short story entitled Ǧuḥā. The Sicilian writer gave a political interpretation of the story, placing a Bishop in the place of the “Street morning singer”17. The story is almost the same, but according to Sciascia the Bishop went out early in the morning to go hunting, and when Giufà saw his red skullcap, thinking it was a bird, killed him, and then threw the corpse into the well. It is worth noting that in the Sicilian tradition there are other stories telling of Giufà as an unwitting killer of priests, and the sinful action is explained as a mistake due to his foolishness. Sciascia explicitly wrote that Giufà is able to revenge because he is unaware of his deeds, so he is unpunishable18. The reason why Sciascia chose a bishop is due to the fact that Giufà, like other protagonists of medieval carnival literature, is a fool, and this condition gives him the freedom to infringe moral codes. The poor people, once a year, could imagine a sinful thought, like taking revenge against the unjust deeds of the landlords, because it was an action that only a fool could perform. As I mentioned earlier, in the Middle Ages the church owned extensive landed property and many Muslim workers fell under the rule of the Catholic clergy who tended to put pressure on them to convert them to the Christian religion, which was a good reason to hate them. Furthermore, Sciascia wrote this Giufà story in a particular period of Italian history, when secular writers finally gained greater intellectual freedom after a long period of religious censorship. The Sicilian writer was also well versed in French literature and was to some extent influenced by its secular approach. A general open-mindedness pervaded cultural production after the 1968 students revolts in other countries in Europe and in the Mediterranean area. The situation in Lebanon, Egypt and Tunis was slightly different because the six days war of 1967 had profoundly affected the attitude of the Arab intellectuals vis-à-vis their Governments: from enthusiastic support there was a gradual shift to criticism. This is particularly evident in Schéhadé’s Ǧuḥā, but first I will examine the Tunisian version of the Ǧuḥā story. The authors of the Tunisian collection are not professional storytellers except Othman Khadraoui, while their names reveal a composite French speaking community of different cultural origins. The aim of the authors of the book, as we read in the introduction, is to save the traditional Tunisian Jha’s anecdotes from oblivion. French is the Lingua Franca of the authors who feel they are Tunisian even if they belong to different religious communities. It is important to recall 16 THOMPSON, MotiflndexFolkLiterature, vols. 1-6, reprint, Bloomington, Indianapolis, 1989, 1741; O. SORGI, Preti,fratiemonacheneiraccontipopolarisiciliani, Palermo, 1989, Archivio delle tradizioni popolari siciliane, n. 22. 17 SCIASCIA, Ilmarecolordelvino, Milano, 1995. 18 SCIASCIA, L’arte di Giufà, in CORRAO, StoriediGiufà, p. 15.

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that in Tunis, even after the independence, there was an atmosphere of peaceful coexistence between the different communities. Evidence of this situation is offered by the film by Ferid Boughedir, ṢayfḤalqal-wādī (Asummertimein “La Goulette”, 1996). The film director shows the harmony existing among the Muslim and the well-rooted Christian and Jewish communities just before the Six-Days War, as was never to be again after that date. The stories collected in the book convey the idea that Jha’s identity is Tunisian and he is the most cunning fool that ever there was, even when compared to other fools like the Turkish Nasreddin, the famous Bahlul from Iraq and other fools known in different Tunisian villages19. Most of the stories are similar to the Arabic one, except for the fact that the storytellers supply more details, adapting them to the modern life, for instance mentioning the telephone20. The story of the “Street morning singer” has a structure similar to the original Arabic one, except for one important difference: Jha’s antagonist is the Mu’aḏḏin. Here Jha shows his direct link to the ancient demons of pagan folklore; as a little devil he is disturbed by the Mu’aḏḏin: Jha kills the man praying so early in the morning and takes his head to the astonished mother. She is a good Muslim and feels very sorry for the dead man, so she hides the head, kills a goat and gives the animal’s head to Jha. Later the people of the village went to look for the Mu’aḏḏin and found some blood on the ground that led them to the house of Jha. When they asked him where the man was, Jha showed them the head of the goat and they let him go. This story is sanitized in other Arab collections: there is no mention of Ǧuḥā killing a Mu’aḏḏin. It would seem that in Tunisian secular culture it was possible to print a story where the famous fool kills a Mu’aḏḏin — at the time of Ben ‘Ali’s regime. It is an exception that reveals the specific atmosphere of the period. The transgressive character of Ǧuḥā inspired the Lebanese writer Georges Schéhadé, who attributed him with another outrageous action rare in the traditional collections of anecdotes. Ǧuḥā has often inspired writers in the course of time and in various countries; here I have chosen for comparison Schéhadé’s Ǧuḥā’s because the fool infringes the moral and religious code. The story was written for the film “Ǧuḥā” directed by Jacques Baratier (1918-2009). The French film director was inspired by “Le Livre de Juha le simple” composed by the Jewish Egyptian Albert Adès (1893-1921) and Albert Josipovici (1892-1932), an Ottoman citizen of Romanian origin — a book that met with great popularity and was awarded second place for the Prix Goncourt, after 19 KHADRAOUI, OTHMAN, Plus Jha que Jha, MOHAMED, Jha et Jha, SAFIA, Un tour de Jha, in OTHMAN, Lestrèsfiloutes.HistoiresdeJha, pp. 19-20, 27-30, 47-49. 20 SAMI, La souris de Jha, inOTHMAN, Lestrèsfiloutes.HistoiresdeJha, pp. 57-59.

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Proust in 191921. In the late 1950s Baratier made the film with Omar Sherif and Claudia Cardinale, it was the first Tunisian national production and was awarded the prize “Une certain regard” at Cannes Film Festival in 1958. Schéhadé saw in Ǧuḥā’s foolishness a relation with the madness of the famous poet Maǧnūn, who was madly in love with Laylā. In the film Ǧuḥā is presented as the typical stereotype: he is always on his donkey going around the village followed by kids laughing at him. The author introduces an exception: Ǧuḥā falls in love with a girl, who reciprocates, but she recently married a faqīh. The educated old man is exactly the opposite of the ignorant young boy, and for the girl’s family he represents a respectable religious authority. The two young people secretly meet but the crime is discovered, the family kills her and Jha is left with his foolishness. A thousand years have elapsed since the times of Maǧnūn Laylā but a large part of Arab society is still governed according to ancient tribal rules; Schéhadé denounces that violating the patriarchal code is still considered a crime, the family chooses the bride and a religious old man is better than a penniless and foolish young man. An anecdote in the Tunisian collection confirms this tradition. The story “Le Saint Homme” tells of Jha’s young sister married to the old shaykh of the Mosque thanks to their mother’s intrigues.22 The written versions of the humorous anecdotes are rarely innovative, and even the foolish Ǧuḥā confirms the validity of customs and manners according to the tradition. This is the rule and of course there are, as we have seen, some exceptions, but it is the individual author who makes the exception, taking on the responsibility of breaching the moral code. To infringe the moral code in literature is possible even without falling back on metaphors, but this can happen in particular historical periods; today, in the aftermath of the 2011 Arab revolutions, in some countries it would be even more difficult.

21 Other Egyptian collections are mentioned in CORRAO, StoriediGiufà, 2001, and in MARZOLPH, Sanitizing Humour Islamic Mediterranean Jocular Tradition in a Comparative Perspective, pp. 757782. A. ADÈS et A. JOSIPOVICI,LeLivredeJuhalesimple, introduction by Octave MIRBEAU (1st ed. Paris, 1919) 2010; the first English version was Juhathefool, 1924, See R. BLUM, Anthologie desécrivainsd’Égypted’expressionfrançaise, Le Caire, 1937; L. PARRIS, AlbertAdèsetAlbert Josipovici — Ecrivains d’Égypte d’expression française au début du XXe siècle, Paris, 2010, collection: Espaces littéraires. 22 HENDA, Le Saint Homme, inOTHMAN, Lestrèsfiloutes.HistoiresdeJha, pp. 40-43.

ARABIC POETRY AMONG CHRISTIANS IN THE EARLY OTTOMAN PERIOD* Hilary KILPATRICK Lausanne

The conventional view of Arabic poetry in the later Mamluk and early Ottoman period as repetitive and not worth studying is gradually changing, thanks to the efforts of some independent-minded scholars.1 The following observations are intended as another contribution to a better understanding of this period of Arabic poetry. They start out from the recognition that the community of writers and readers of literature in fuṣḥāwas joined by new members towards the end of the 17th century, Christians in Bilād al-Shām and particularly Aleppo.2 While there are scattered references to Christian poets earlier,3 the Maronite Jirmānūs Farḥāt and the Melkite (Greek Catholic) Niqūlāwus al-Ṣā’igh are the first Christians for several centuries to have produced a substantial Dīwān in fuṣḥā; poems by them and by the slightly later poets Ibrāhīm al-Ḥakīm and Anṭūn Bīṭār form the subject of this paper. Jirmānūs Farḥāt (1670-1732) belonged to the first generations of Maronites to have been educated entirely in Aleppo.4 He spent 30 years in Lebanon, mostly in the Lebanese Order of which he became the superior, before returning to Aleppo in 1725 as the archbishop of the Maronite community. His dictionary and works on grammar and rhetoric are recognised as landmarks, but judgements of his poetry are less unanimous. He has been criticised for being much given to poetic license in metre and vocabulary; on the other hand, despite some weaknesses he is recognised as having a fine natural * I thank Dr. Carsten Walbiner for valuable information and criticisms. 1 To mention just two examples, the volume EssaysinArabicLiteraryBiography1350-1850, edited by JOSEPH E. LOWRY and DEVIN J. STEWART, Wiesbaden, 2009, includes studies of major writers of the period based on original research. More recently, MUHSIN MUSAWI’S Themedieval Islamicrepublicofletters.Arabicknowledgeconstruction, Notre Dame, Indiana, 2015,examines literary systems and networks within the Arabic-speaking world. 2 See HILARY KILPATRICK, From Literatur to adab: the literary renaissance in Aleppo around 1700, Journal of Eastern Christian Studies 58 (2006), pp. 195-220; its conclusions need to be modified as more is known about the literary scene earlier in the 17th century. 3 Passages from earlier poets are quoted by LUWĪS SHAYKHŪ, Shu‘arā’al-qurūn al-muta’akhkhira mubāsharatan bil-qarn al-rābi‘ ‘ashar, in idem, Shu‘arā’ al-naṣrāniyya ba‘d al-islām, 2nd ed., Beirut, 1967, pp. 399-455. Jibrā’īl ibn al-Qilā‘ī’s dīwān in Lebanese dialect is described in JOSEPH MOUKARZEL, GabrielIbnal-Qilā‘ī(✝ca.1516).Approchebiographiqueetétudeducorpus,Kaslik, 2007, pp. 301-430. 4 On his life and works, see NIHĀD RAZZŪQ, JirmānūsFarḥāt—ḥayātuhwa-āthāruh, Kaslik, 1998; KRISTEN BRUSTAD, JIRMĀNŪS Jibrīl Farḥāt, in LOWRY and STEWART (eds.), EssaysinArabic LiteraryBiography, pp. 242-251 and the bibliography given there.

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disposition and a wide range of themes.5 Most of his poetry is on religious themes, but a handful of panegyrics are addressed to individuals he knew, all but one of them friends of his own age or younger.6 The exception is Athanāsiyūs Dabbās,7 the Greek Orthodox Patriarch of Antioch. Jirmānūs addressed a madīḥ to him in 1712 while Athanāsiyūs was Archbishop of Aleppo, on the occasion of Athanāsiyūs’s visit to Tripoli.8 This panegyric significantly modifies the conventions of praise poetry. The introductory section departs from the traditional nasīb, obviously problematic for monastic poets. But instead of choosing the customary alternative beginning, philosophical or ethical reflections related to the later themes of the poem, Jirmānūs starts with recollections of a friend: Tanabbahadahrīmin‘uhūdimu‘āhidī fa-as‘adanītadhkārutilkal-ma‘āhidī Ḥalaltubihīfīburjisa‘dinka’annanī ḥalaltubihīfawqal-suhāwa-l-farāqidī Ra‘āllāhuayyāmanḥamidtujadīdahā bi-tajdīdihāiḥsānatilkal-maḥāmidī Wa-adhkaranīminunsihāmānasītuhu wa-ḥāshāyaanansādhimāmal-musā‘idī(ll. 1-4) (Mydestinystirred,recallingpromisessharedwithmyfaithfulfriend   andrememberingwherewemadethembroughtmehappiness ThatmemorysetmeinaMansionofGoodFortune   asifIwerehighabovethestarsofheaven Godpreservetherecentdayswhichearnmypraise   fortheirrenewingthefavoursofthosepraiseworthydeeds Theyrecalltomeforgottenmomentsoffriendship;   farbeitfrommetoforgettheprotectionofmyhelper)

The brief riḥla, the transitional passage, reflects on the importance of having friends around one, with the passage of time not so much increasing the pain of separation as nourishing the desire to benefit from the virtues of the friend already referred to, who is now the subject of eulogy and thus the patron, mamdūḥ. Athanāsiyūs is praised first of all as a leader (imām) and guide in the path of truth, seated in glory among the sun and stars. With his birthplace Damascus and his episcopal see Aleppo, he is linked to important cities of Christianity, past or present; moreover he is the successor of St. Peter as head of the Church in Antioch 5 MĀRŪN ‘ABBŪD, Ruwwād al-nahḍa al-ḥadītha, Beirut, 1952, p. 34; SHAYKHŪ, Shu‘arā’ al-naṣrāniyya, p. 457. 6 For the genres of Jirmānūs Jibrīl Farḥāt’s Dīwān, see RAZZŪQ, JirmānūsFarḥāt, pp. 191-226, and for the various types of eulogy pp. 255-271. 7 See for his life and works GEORG GRAF, Geschichte der christlichen arabischen Literatur (henceforth GCAL), 5 vols., Vatican City, 1944-1953.Vol. III:DieSchriftstellervonderMittedes 15. bis zum Ende des 19. Jahrhunderts. Melchiten, Maroniten, pp. 127-8; JOSEPH NASRALLAH, Histoiredumouvementlittérairedansl’ÉglisemelchiteduVeauXXesiècle.Contributionàl’étude delalittératurearabechrétienne (henceforth HMLEM), Vol. IV, Tome 1, Périodeottomane.15161724, Louvain, 1979, pp. 132-146; ANṬŪN QAYṢAR DABBĀS and NAKHLA RASHSHŪ, Tārīkhal-tibā‘a al-‘arabiyyafīal-mashriq.Al-baṭriyarkAthanāsiyūsal-thālithDabbās(1685-1724), Beirut, 2008, pp. 37-105. 8 JIRMĀNŪS FARḤĀT, Dīwānal-MuṭrānJirmānūsFarḥāt, ed. and comm. SA‘ĪD AL-SHARTŪNĪ, Beirut, 1894, pp. 170-172.

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and a defender of the true faith like his namesake St. Athanasius of Alexandria. He preserves his flock from enemies, equipping it with the armour of faith and the sword of the Gospel, and he bestows favours on every sincere worshipper. In a daring parallel he is even said to have sanctified any place where he settled as the Lord of Glory (rabbal-majd) sanctified the Promised Land. His learning bears fruits wherever he may be; those who serve him are fortunate, as is the poet who has the honour to praise him. A father to his people, he will inherit the Kingdom of Heaven through his ascetic way of life, and destiny itself recognises his uniqueness. This poem departs from the conventions of Arabic poetry in two ways. It refers to generosity and help not only in the main section, the madīḥ proper, but also at the beginning of the poem with its mention of iḥsān and the unnamed musā‘id. And the same person is the focus of the (reinterpreted) nasīb and the madīḥ.9 This unusual identification can be explained with a look at the relations between Jirmānūs Farḥāt and Athanāsiyūs Dabbās. Athanāsiyūs Dabbās lived from 1647 to 1724; he was therefore a generation older than Jirmānūs Farḥāt. He has attracted scholarly attention mostly because of his tortuous path between acceptance and rejection of the Pope’s authority.10 When Jirmānūs Farḥāt praises him in this poem composed in 1712 for his firm defence of the true faith and his arming his flock against heretics, he evidently has in mind Athanāsiyūs’s apparent acceptance of the Catholic teachings spread by the missionaries. 11 In the nasīb, Jirmānūs Farḥāt is very likely referring obliquely to personal experiences of Athanāsiyūs’s generosity. Firstly, by 1705, the year when he returned from Wallachia to establish the printing press in Aleppo, Athanāsiyūs had rendered into Arabic the Greek version of the Moldavian prince Dimitrie Cantemir’sethical and philosophical workDivanulsauGâlceavaÎnțeleptuluicu lumeasauGiudețulsufletuluicutrupul (The Council, or: The dispute between the wise man and the world, or: The arbitration between the soul and the body), under the title Ṣalāḥal-ḥakīmwa-fasādal-‘ālamal-dhamīm(The probity of the wise man and the depravity of the reprehensible world).12 He is known to 9 JULIE SCOTT MEISAMI notes that in ‘Abbāsid and later poetry aghrāḍ such as gardens, urban ghazal, spring or autumn became part of the repertoire of the nasīb, while ascetic and homilectic poets employed sententious openings. An analogy could also be established between the lady and the patron (StructureandMeaninginMedievalArabicandPersianLyricPoetry:OrientPearls, London, 2003, pp. 69, 73). She does not, however, note any case where the person in the nasīb and the patron are identical. 10 A balanced evaluation of Athanāsiyūs’s character and hesitations is given in CONSTANTIN A. PANCHENKO, ArabOrthodoxChristiansundertheOttomans:1516-1831,tr. BRITTANY PHEIFFER NOBLE and SAMUEL NOBLE, Jordanville, 2016, pp. 377, 381, 457-8 (Russian original: Blizknevostochnoe Pravoslaviepodosmanskimvladychestvom.Pervyetristoletiya, Moscow 2012, pp. 438, 442, 529-30). 11 RAZZŪQ, JirmānūsFarḥāt, p. 265, refers to him as the Patriarch of the Greek Catholics. 12 The Arabic text with an English translation has twice been published by IOANA FEODOROV. The revised and enlarged version is: IOANA FEODOROV, DimitrieCantemir,SalvationoftheSage

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have enlisted Jirmānūs’s help in completing this translation. The terms with which Jirmānūs designates his rôle are not entirely clear, but he certainly contributed the beginning of the preface with its inflated praise of Athanāsiyūs and prayer for his welfare, and almost certainly the Arabic verses in the third part of the text which replace the original Romanian poetry (the equivalent passages of the Greek intermediary are in prose).13 Secondly, when Jirmānūs journeyed to Italy and Spain in 1711, Athanāsiyūs gave him a list of titles he wanted from Rome, probably with a view to printing them;14 it is possible that in return he helped to finance the journey. Whatever Jirmānūs’s part in these projects, however, his references in the first lines of the poem to iḥsān (beneficence) and al-musā‘id (the helper) are no doubt allusions to a reward he had received. And this reward must have been welcome. For Jirmānūs, who had moved from Aleppo to Lebanon to join a handful of friends engaged in founding a new Maronite monastic order, had left the community in 1700 over disagreements about how far the monks should follow the ancient tradition of withdrawing from the world and how for their rule should resemble that of Latin Catholic congregations. He supported himself for five years chiefly as a preacher and schoolmaster, rejoining the community in 1705,15 presumably shortly after he had cooperated with Athanāsiyūs on the Cantemir translation.16 Given this relationship, his introducing this poem of praise in such an unusual fashion is entirely appropriate. What Jirmānūs could also have included as praiseworthy in this poem but did not was Athanāsiyūs’s introduction of the Arabic printing press into the Near East in 1705. Admittedly the books published in Aleppo were intended for the Rūm community17 and in the earliest years probably did not circulate outside it. But the press, or at least its productions, appears in a poem some decades later. This was the elegy the Aleppine Greek Catholic Ibrāhīm al-Ḥakīm (d. after 1782)18 composed on ‘Abdallāh Zākhir (1680-1748), the second major actor in andRuinoftheSinfulWorld. With a contribution to the Arabic edition and English translation by YULIA PETROVA, Leiden, 2016). Curiously, Athānāsiyūs Dabbās’s contribution as the translator into Arabic is not acknowledged on the title page. 13 See FEODOROV, Dimitrie Cantemir, pp. 64-70 on the authorship of the Arabic work and Jirmānūs Farḥāt’s involvement with it, which at one point she describes as a “complete revision” (p. 66). It can probably never be established exactly how important his contribution was, but when works written independently by Athānāsiyūs Dabbās have been studied a clearer idea may be formed of the latter’s mastery of Arabic and thus of how much he relied on Jirmānūs. 14 VERA TCHENTSOVA, Les documents grecs du XVIIe siècle: pièces authentiques et pièces fausses. 4. Le patriarche d’Antioche Athanase IV Dabbâs et Moscou: en quête de subventions pour l’imprimerie arabe d’Alep, OrientaliaChristianaPeriodica 79 (2013), p. 182. 15 RAZZŪQ, JirmānūsFarḥāt, p. 36. 16 Of the three journeys which RAZZŪQ mentions Jirmānūs made to Aleppo in 1705, 1713 and 1720, he links only the third one to Athānāsiyūs, and the request was then to “polish” the Arabic translation of St. John Chrysostom’s sermons; RAZZŪQ, JirmānūsFarḥāt, pp. 38-39. 17 DABBĀS and RASHSHŪ, Tārīkhal-tibā‘a, pp. 77-78. 18 For Ibrāhīm al-Ḥakīm see GCAL III, pp. 208-209; NASRALLAH, HMLEM, Vol. IV: Période ottomane1516-1900. Tome 2: 1724-1800. Louvain, 1989, pp. 271-273. From a family of doctors,

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developing printing in Bilād al-Shām.19 A highly gifted all-rounder, ‘Abdallāh Zākhir belonged to Athanāsiyūs Dabbās’s circle in Aleppo after his return from Wallachia and no doubt assisted him in establishing the press. The two men fell out in 1719/20 when ‘Abdallāh, adopting a Catholic standpoint, engaged in antiOrthodox polemics while Athanāsiyūs was reaffirming his Orthodox identity. ‘Abdallāh sought refuge in Lebanon and in 1731 established a press at the Melkite Monastery of St. John at Shuwayr. This rithā’ on him begins conventionally: Halmanyaruddumawāqi‘al-aqdāri

awmanyakuffuyadal-ridā’al-qaddāri

After this reference to the inevitability of death in general, Ibrāhīm mentions his specific loss, interestingly using an image associated with the nasīb: ‘afā bi-fiqdāni l-waḥīdi diyārī (with loss of him my abode has become deserted). After general praise of ‘Abdallāh Zākhir as an exceptional being, Ibrāhīm al-Ḥakīm addresses the deceased’s literary gifts and eloquence (ll. 16-20) and his learning, his achievements in writing and printing, and he lists titles he published. Ṭaba‘al-qulūba‘alāmaḥāsiniṭab‘ihi kutubanafādatsāmi‘anma‘aqārī Fa-tarāhufīkutub(al-abāṭīli)btaghā tabṭīlamajdil-‘ālamil-gharrārī Wa-kadhā(bi-mīzānil-zamāni)abāna ‘anabadīyatil-ashrāriwa-l-akhyārī (Wa-l-murshidil-khāṭī)li-yurshidanābihā wa-kadhālika(l-jisrī)al-bahīyil-anwārī (Heimpressedonourheartsthebeautiesofhisprinting,   booksbringingbenefittolistenersandreadersalike. Asyousee,inthebooksof“TheVanities”heaimed   toconfoundthegloryofthedeceitfulworld Andin“TheScaleoftheTime”heshowedclearly   theeternalfateofthewickedandthegood. His“Guideforthesinner”heprintedtogiveusguidance,   andlikewisedaPonte’sdazzlingwork)20(ll. 23-27)

Al-abāṭīl, Mīzān al-zamān and Murshid al-khāṭi’ are all titles produced in ‘Abdallāh Zākhir’s press at Shuwayr, while al-Jisrī is the Spanish Jesuit Luís de la Puente, the Arabic translation of whose meditations ‘Abdallāh Zākhir partly revised.21 Subsequently Ibrāhīm mentions the subjects of the polemics ‘Abdallāh he was one of the Christian poet-secretaries who gravitated round governors and local rulers in Syria and Mount Lebanon during the 18th and early 19th centuries. 19 For ‘Abdallāh Zākhir, see HMLEMIV (2), pp. 119-139 and EI2 art. ‘Zākhir, ‘Abd Allāh’ (HILARY KILPATRICK) and the bibliography given there. For a recent summary of the relations between ‘Abdallāh Zākhir and Athanāsiyūs Dabbās, see PANCHENKO, ArabOrthodoxChristians, pp. 457-458 (BlizknevostochnoePravoslavie, pp. 529-30). 20 IBRĀHĪM AL-ḤAKĪM, Dīwān, MS AUB 892.71 H 151, pp. 56-59. I thank the Jafet Library of the American University of Beirut for giving me access to this manuscript. Excerpts from the Dīwān were published by ‘ĪSĀ ISKANDAR MA‘LŪF in Al-mashriq 10 (1907), pp. 833-44, 890-897, 10171026, 1110-1120; they are taken from MS Ma‘lūf 162. 21 Iḥtikārabāṭīlal-‘ālamwas translated by Raphael Ventayol and others from Diego d’Estella’s (d. 1578) VanidaddelMundo, a mystical work,and printed in Dayr al-Shuwayr in 4 volumes in

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engaged in with Orthodox opponents, for instance on the use of leavened or unleavened bread for the communion and on the status of the Councils of the Early Church (ll. 31-37). The poem continues with praise of ‘Abdallāh’s powers of argument and persuasion and then moves to the poet’s own sense of loss and that of the world at this exceptional man’s death. Mentioning a deceased scholar’s bibliography in an elegy on him may not be entirely unknown, although until ‘Abdallāh Zākhir the texts would only have been handwritten. But making a martyr the subject of a marthiya composed according to elite conventions is unprecedented, as far as I know. This, however, is what two poets, Anṭūn Bīṭār22 and Nīqūlāwus al-Ṣā’igh,23 did when they commemorated Ibrāhīm ibn Dimitrī al-Dallāl, who met his end in 1742. In Syria sporadic instances of martyrdom from the time of the Muslim conquest are known.24 Under Muslim rule, a martyr, to whose name the qualification ‘new’ is sometimes attached, refers to a person who apostatized from Islam, who sought to convert Muslims to Christianity or who insulted Islam. Usually such people were brought before the qāḍī and, if they showed no change of heart, were executed.25 1739-40 (GCAL, vol. IV, p. 184). Mīzānal-zamānwa-qisṭāsabadīyatal-insānwas translated by Pierre Fromage with ‘Abdallāh Zākhir’s help via an Italian version from J. E. Nieremburg’s (d. 1658) DeladiferenciaentreloTemporalyEterno. It was the first book to be printed in Dayr al-Shuwayr (1734) (GCAL, vol. III, p. 201; IV, p. 228).Murshidal-khāṭi’fīsirral-tawbawa-li‘tirāf, (Dayr al-Shuwayr 1747), was also translated by Fromage from P. Segneri’s (d. 1694) handbook for confession,Ilpenitenteistruitoabenconfessarsi. Al-Jisrī is the Spanish Jesuit Luís de la Puente (d. 1624). His meditations were translated into several languages. Pierre Fromage rendered the Italian translation, Meditazioni sopra i principali misterj della nostra santa fede into Arabic. (GCAL vol. III, p. 200). I thank Joseph Moukarzel for identifying al-Jisrī. 22 For Anṭūn Bīṭār (early 18th century-after 1780) see GCAL III, pp. 209-210; HMLEM IV (2), p. 273 and SHAYKHŪ, Shu‘arā’al-naṣrāniyya, pp. 488-498. He was a poet-secretary in the circle of various Ottoman dignitaries in Aleppo. 23 For Nīqūlāwus al-Ṣā’igh (1692-1756) see GCALIII, pp. 201-207; HMLEMIV(2), pp. 109111, 268-270. Some poems of his are discussed in HILARY KILPATRICK, The Inter-communal Poetry of Niqūlāwus aṣ-Ṣā’iḡ (1692-1756), RocznikOrientalistyczny LXIV (2011), pp. 60-79. 24 TŪMĀ BĪṬĀR (ed.), Al-qiddīsūnal-mansīyūnfīl-turāthal-anṭākī, [Beirut], 1995, mentions 19 martyrs in the Patriarchate of Antioch in the period from the conquest up to 1500. I thank Dr. Salam Rassi of the American University of Beirut for drawing my attention to this work. 25 The ‘new martyr’ is a more familiar concept in the history of Greece and Balkan countries during Ottoman domination; cf. art. “New Martyrs” (DIMITRI BRADY and DAVID J. MELLING), TheBlackwellDictionaryofEasternChristianity, Malden, MA and Oxford, 1999, pp. 341-3. For a more extensive discussion of the phenomenon in the Greek-speaking world from an anthropological perspective see SÉVERINE REY, Dessaintsnésdesrêves, Lausanne, 2009, pp. 191-194 and the references given there. Some names of martyrs in the Arab provinces of the Ottoman Empire are given in JEAN MAURICE FIEY, Martyrs sous les ottomans, AnalectaBollandiana 101 (1983), pp. 387-406. This type of martyrdom is not discussed in the otherwise interesting and varied volume, Martyrdominliterature.VisionsofDeathandMeaningfulSufferinginEuropeand theMiddleEastfromAntiquitytoModernity, ed. FRIEDERIKE PANNEWICK, Wiesbaden, 2004, but certain parallels with accounts of New Martyrs can be found notably in DOROTHEE ELM’s contribution, Martyrdom Performed: On the Interrelation of Roman Comedy and Christian Martyrdom, ibid., pp. 77-89.

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The story of Ibrāhīm ibn Dimitrī al-Dallāl is documented.26 He apparently belonged to a prominent family of Aleppine dragomans and businessmen.27 A psychologically unstable young man, he came to believe that his family was trying to poison him, and so he went to the qāḍī and declared himself a Muslim. He later tried to return home but his family rejected him. He spent some time wandering in the city but finally thought better of his decision to convert and started to shout out: “I’m a Christian!” Bystanders set on him, beat him and took him before the qāḍī. Despite imprisonment and torture he stood firm in his faith and was in the end beheaded.28 There was a move to have him canonised, and the correspondence between the Greek Catholic archbishop of Aleppo Maksīmūs Ḥakīm and the Vatican about this has been published. Although the two poems commemorate the same event and are working within the same tradition, they are far from identical. Anṭūn Bīṭār’s dīwān has not been published, so only the excerpts quoted by Shaykhū are accessible. The elegy starts: Yāṣāḥibīmābālusukkānil-ḥimā kullanarāhuwālihanyabkīl-damā (Friend,whatailsthedwellersinthisrefuge?   Iseeeachonedistraughtandweepingblood.)

The friend tells the grim news that Ibrāhīm has died the death of a martyr, and he wonders if the poet is a stranger or absent from Jerusalem, not to know what has happened.29 He urges him to approach Ibrāhīm’s tomb with reverence, and the poet does so (ll. 1-8), but then reproaches the mourners because Ibrāhīm’s death is a cause of joy, not sorrow; his blood has given life to Aleppo, and he died not from any fear of hell or desire for the Kingdom of Heaven but out of longing for the love of his Lord (ll. 9-14). After Shaykhū’s characteristic “ilāan yaqūl”, referring to an omitted passage, he gives the concluding lines in which the poet calls down blessings on Ibrāhīm for enduring insults on earth but gaining honour among the pure in heaven, and he asks for his intercession on the Day of Judgement. The whole is rounded off with a chronogram. As far as can be judged, this is a fairly restrained evocation of Ibrāhīm’s martyrdom, emphasizing his piety. FIEY, Martyrs sous les ottomans, pp. 392-393; CARSTEN M. WALBINER, The martyrdom of Ibrāhīm al-Dallāl (1742) as reflected in contemporary Christian Arabic writings, Christian-Muslims Relations.ABibliograpicalHistory, volume in preparation on the 18th century. 27 For the family’s standing and its composition in 1755 see MAURITS H. VAN DEN BOOGERT, TheCapitulationsandtheOttomanLegalSystem.Qadis,Consulsand Beratlısinthe18thCentury, Leiden, 2005, pp. 179-192. It took 25 years for Dimitri’s estate to be settled, which suggests that family relations were less than harmonious. 28 BERNARD HEYBERGER (Sainteté et chemins de la perfection chez les chrétiens du ProcheOrient (XVIIe-XVIIIe siècles, Revuedel’histoiredesreligions 215 (1998), p. 129) observes that the temptation to convert seems often to have been connected with psychological fragility. 29 Cf. the meeting on the road to Emmaus (Luke XXIV: 18-20). 26

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Niqūlāwus al-Ṣā’igh’s elegy,30 which is a fine example of its author’s art, makes full use of the rhetorical devices customary at the time, in particular antithesis, paradox and forms of paronomasia. It starts: A-yun‘āqatīlunqadqaḍāmustashhidan

a -yubkā shahīdun ṣāra li-l-ḥaqqi mashhadā A-yurthālladhīlamyarthiyawmanli-nafsihi w  a-lam yughwihi wa‘dun wa-waghdun tawa‘‘adā(ll. 1, 2) (Shouldamanwhodiedwitnessingtohisfaithbemourned?   Shouldamartyrtestifyingtothetruthbelamented? Shouldanelegybespokenoversomeonewhoshowedhimselfnopity   norwashemisledbypromisesoramenial’sthreats?)

It defends Ibrāhīm from the charge of apostasy, since he was not in his right mind when he committed it. When he came to his senses he ‘set straight what had been crooked’: Azālabi-ṣaḥwil-‘aqliwaṣmataghaflatin

wa-thaqqafa ghibba l-ṣaḥwi mā qad ta’awwadā(l. 9)

Gradually the references become clearly religious: Wa-‘ādabi-ḥamdillāḥi‘awdatasādimin

r a’āl-‘awdathummal-‘awdhabi-llāhi aḥmadā(l. 14)

(Godbepraised!Hecamebackcontrite,   seeingreturnandseekingGod’sprotectionasmostlaudable)

Unlike others, Ibrāhīm does not fear death or wish for a long life (ll. 17, 18) while he does not shun torture (ta‘dhīb) which is sweet (‘adhb) (l. 25). Whereas before he trembled at the flash of lightening, he spurns fear of death’s lightening (the flash of the executioner’s sword) when it threatens (l. 27): Wa-mankānalam‘ul-barqiyur‘iduqalbahu a bā l-khawfa min barqi l-radā ḥīna ar‘adā

So he offers his neck to the sword, which on the morning of his death gives him a dyed garment, the most splendid cloak he has even worn: Kasāhughirārul-sayfithawbanmuṣabbaghanghadāta l-radā asnā ridā’in bihi rtadā (l. 32).

The mention of the dyed garment introduces references to the Old Testament patriarchs, first Joseph and Jacob and then Abraham. Unlike his namesake, however, who offered his son and then sacrificed a ram, Ibrāhīm sacrificed himself (ll. 33-37). His blood is the greatest sign (al-āyaal-kubrā), shed on the earth in contempt, but given glory in highest heaven: 30 NIQŪLĀWUS AL-ṢĀ’IGH, Dīwān[ed. IBRĀHĪM AL-YĀZIJĪ], Beirut 1890, pp. 80-83. It is included as an appendix to the correspondence between Archbishop Maksīmūs Ḥakīm and the Vatican in al-Masarra 8 (1932), pp. 227-230.

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Hiyal-āyatul-kubrādamun‘alāl-tharā muhānan wa-fī awji l-samā’i mumajjadā (l. 40)

For God (al-raḥmān) has honoured Ibrāhīm’s tomb with working miracles, healing the paralysed, the crippled and those held captive by illness (ll. 41-44). So Ibrāhīm is blessed, and he has also brought blessings on his family, his forebears and his community, for he has revived sainthood when its trace had been lost and through his piety raised again a building which had become a shell: Wa-aḥyaytaminrasmil-qadāsatimā‘afā w  a-shayyadtabi-l-taqwābinā’anmumarradā (l. 49).

Having trod the winepress of death31 without denying his faith, he has earned a place at God’s right hand in his glory: Wa-dustabi-ḥubbillāhima‘ṣaratal-radāwaḥīdanwa-lamtushrikfa-kuntamuwaḥḥidā Li-dhāka staḥaqqayta [kadhā] l-julūsa bi-majdihi yamīnan wa-sāmī suddati l-majdi maq‘adā(l. 54-55)

And so the poet asks for his intercession on the Day of Judgement, appealing to him as one who died a martyr to love. The poem concludes with the date of Ibrāhīm’s death given in a chronogram: A-yākhayraḥibbinmātabi-l-ḥubbishāhidanbi-ta’rīkhiyāḥibbanqaḍāmustashhidā (l. 58)

These few quotations show that Niqūlāwus al-Ṣā’igh was drawing on the familiar vocabulary and motifs of elite Arabic poetry, echoes of the Qur’an and images from the Bible to compose this elegy.32 Yet the succession of themes, culminating in the designation of Ibrāhīm as a saint and intercessor, departs radically from the conventional elegy and must make this one of the most original marāthī. As it happens, the four poems I have discussed are all by Christians. There is nothing specifically Christian, however, in Jirmānūs Farḥāt’s mentioning in the nasīb the same person to whom he addresses his panegyric, nor in Ibrāhīm al-Ḥakīm’s including the list of books which ‘Abdallāh Zākhir printed in his elegy on him. I prefer to see these poems with their original elements as the work of men who were at some distance from the learned circles of mosques and the administration, although Ibrāhīm al-Hakīm and Anṭūn Bīṭār worked as secretaries and Niqūlāwus al-Ṣā’igh had contact with ‘ulamā’. In tracking down Ottoman poems which go against the still widely held view that canonical 31

Cf. Isaiah 63: 3. It is noteworthy that both poets take for granted the Islamic punishment of death for an apostate. 32

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Ottoman literature was uninspired and repetitive, I think it is useful to look at the productions of such ‘outsiders’. They may be Christians, but they may also be Muslims like Ibrāhīm al-Ḥārīṣī al-‘Āmilī (d. 1766), who praised the Shī‘ī leader Nāsīf al-Naṣṣār in epic style. For the study of non-canonical poetry too, more material may have been preserved among the ‘outsiders’. And I have spoken only about Syria. How much interesting and unusual poetry remains to be discovered in other parts of the Arabic-speaking world?

«DE CURIEUX NOTABLES». ÉTUDE SUR LE MUT‘ATAL-ADHHĀN D’IBN AL-MALLĀ (937-1003/1530-1595) Bernadette MARTEL-THOUMIAN

Le dictionnaire biographique est un des fleurons de la littérature historique arabo-musulmane. Ce type d’ouvrage est un classique à l’époque mamlouke, aussi, bien des chroniqueurs ont-ils compilé qui des tarājim qui des ṭabaqāt. Né à Alep en 937/1530 Ibn al-Mallā n’a pas connu l’État mamlouk disparu en 927/ 1523. La prise de pouvoir par les Ottomans n’a en rien entamé l’activité et le rayonnement intellectuel des savants syriens au nombre desquels figure le damascain Shams al-Dīn Muḥammad ibn Ṭūlūn. Ce dernier étant décédé en 953/1546, il est peu probable qu’Ibn al-Mallā ait eu l’opportunité de le rencontrer. Toutefois, la notoriété du shaykh est parvenue à ses oreilles et c’est pour lui rendre hommage qu’il a entrepris le Mut‘at al-adhhān minal-Tamattu‘bil-iqrānbayntarājimal-shuyūkhwal-aqrān, ouvrageconçu comme un compendium de celui d’Ibn Ṭūlūn intitulé al-Tamattu‘bil-iqrānbayn tarājimal-shuyūkhwal-aqrān. 1 — IBN AL-MALLĀ,

UN LETTRÉ ALÉPIN DU

Xe/XVIe

SIÈCLE

Aḥmad ibn Muḥammad ibn Aḥmad ibn Yūsuf ibn Ḥusayn ibn Yūsuf ibn Mūsā, Shihāb al-Dīn al-Ḥaṣkafī al-Ḥalabī al-Shāfi‘ī est né à Alep en 937/1530, il est connu selon les auteurs sous le nom d’Ibn al-Munlā1, Ibn al-Mullā2 ou Ibn al-Mallā3. Ces derniers signalent que sa famille paternelle est originaire de Ḥiṣn Kayfā dans la région du Diyārbakr, son grand-père paternel officiait comme qāḍī à Tabriz et son grand-père maternel était Sharaf al-Dīn Yaḥyā ibn Muḥibb al-Dīn ibn Ajā, son père Muḥammad n’est pas mentionné.4

1 AL-GHAZZĪ, Al-Kawākibal-sā’irabi-a‘yānal-mi’aal-‘āshira, Beyrouth, 1997, III, pp. 99101, n° 1348; IBN AL-̔IMĀD, Shadharātal-dhahabfīakhbārmandhahab, Beyrouth, 1979, VIII, pp. 440-442. 2 AL-ṬABBĀKH, I‘lāmal-nubalā’bi-tā’rīkhḤalabal-shahbā’, Damas, 1988, VI, pp. 135-148, n° 936; U. R. KAḤḤĀLA, Mu‘jamal-mu’allifīntarājimmuṣannifīl-kutubal-‘arabiyya, Beyrouth, s.d., II, p. 133; AL-ZIRIKLĪ, al-A‘lām, Le Caire, 1999, I, p. 235. 3 L’éditeur du texte, Kh. al-Mawṣilī vocalise Mallā. IBN AL-MALLĀ, Mut‘at al-adhhānmin al-Tamattu‘bil-iqrānbayntarājimal-shuyūkhwal-aqrān, Beyrouth, 1999. 4 AL-ṬABBĀKH répertorie un autre personage apparenté aux Banū l-Mallā, Muḥammad ibn ‘Alī ibn al-Mallā qui aurait eu le même grand-père qu’Aḥmad, I‘lāmal-nubalā’, VI, pp. 53-54, n° 897.

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Son parcours d’études à Alep est des plus classiques (Coran, exégèse coranique, logique, grammaire, etc.), il se rend à deux reprises à Damas pour suivre les enseignements de divers savants. Il est difficile de dater avec exactitude ses déplacements, mais ils semblent postérieurs à 954/1545. Il voyage également à Constantinople (dans le texte) en 958/1551 où il étudie, puis il revient à Alep. En 964/1556-1557, il enseigne à la Bulāṭiyya d’Alep, zāwiya fondée par le Ḥājj Bulāṭ, dawādār du Ḥājj Īnāl vers le milieu du IXe/XVe siècle5. Il est assassiné par des paysans (des voleurs?) dans le village de Bathanā ou Bārīshā (district de Ma‘arrat Maṣrīn6) dans les environs d’Alep en 1003/1595 (en 1000/1591-1592 d’après Ibn al-‘Imād). Cette mort violente lui vaut la qualité de martyr, sa dépouille est transportée à Alep et il est enterré dans le tombeau familial auprès de son grand père le khawājā Iskandar ibn Abjaq dans le cimetière al-Jubayl. Il a eu deux fils qui sont également des historiens, Muḥammad mort en 1010/1601-16027 et Ibrāhīm mort en 1032/1622-16238. Ibn al-Mallā laisse de nombreux ouvrages et notamment des poèmes, toutefois parmi les œuvres qui lui sont attribuées, on ne trouve aucune trace du Mut‘a. 2—DUTAMATTU‘ AU MUT‘A:

ITINÉRAIRE D’UN DICTIONNAIRE

Dans la muqaddima du Mut‘a, Ibn al-Mallā énonce son objectif: Je me suis intéressé à l’ouvrage intitulé al-Tamattu‘ bi l-iqrān dont l’auteur est l’imam le savant Shams al-Dīn Muḥammad ibn Ṭūlūn al-Ḥanafī al-Dimashqī et j’en ai tiré ce qu’il m’incombait comme choix et j’ai intitulé ce livre Mut‘atal-adhhān minal-tamattu‘bil-iqrānbayntarājimal-shuyūkhwal-aqrān(Le délice des esprits à partir du plaisir de la réunion des biographies des shaykhs et des pairs)9.

L’auteur signale dans la khāṭima(colophon) qu’il a terminé cet ouvrage le lundi 18 dhūl-qa‘da 993/mercredi 11 décembre 1585. Il ajoute qu’il a retenu les notices des ḥūffāẓal-bilādal-shāmiyya10. Cette expression doit être comprise dans une large acception: dans la mesure où certains sont décédés quelques années après Ibn Ṭūlūn, la compilation de leurs notices est le fait d’Ibn al-Mallā, du moins leur continuation.

5 SIBṬ IBN AL-̔AJAMĪ, Lestrésorsd’or.Matériauxpourserviràl’histoired’Alep, trad. J. Sauvaget, tome II, Beyrouth, 1950, pp. 119-120. Le Ḥājj Zayn al-Dīn Bulāṭ était au service du Ḥājj Īnāl, gouverneur (kāfil) d’Alep, AL-ṬABBĀKH, I‘lāmal-nubalā’, VI, p. 8. 6 Cf. M. GAUDEFROY-DEMOMBYNES, LaSyrieàl’époquedesMamelouksd’aprèslesauteurs arabes, Paris, 1923, p. 109, n. 3. 7 AL-ṬABBĀKH, I‘lāmal-nubalā’,VI,pp. 163-167, n° 940. 8 Ibid., pp. 200-203, n° 953. 9 IBN AL-MALLĀ, Mut‘at al-adhhān, I, p. 39. 10 Ibid., II, p. 884.

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Quoi qu’il en soit,al-Tamattu‘bil-iqrānbayntarājimal-shuyūkhwal-aqrān d’Ibn Ṭūlūnest perdu, c’est dire l’importance du Mut‘a. Dans son ouvrage, Ibn Ṭūlūn fait allusion à de nombreuses reprises à des biographies écrites par Ibn ‘Abd al-Hādī (840-909/1436-1503)11 et cite également al-Nu‘aymī (845-927/14411521)12, deux personnages dont il a suivi les enseignements et qui figurent parmi ses maîtres. Si Ibn al-Mallā a extrait du Tamattu‘ d’Ibn Ṭūlūn des biographies présentant à ses yeux un intérêt, Ibn Ṭūlūn a pour sa part conçu le Tamattu‘ comme un dhayl de l’ouvrage de Burhān al-Dīn Ibrāhīm al-Biqā‘ī (809-885/1406-1480) intitulé ‘Unwān al-zamān fī tarājim al-shuyūkh wa l-aqrān. Al-Biqā‘ī avait d’abord classé les biographies des personnages en fonction de leur date de naissance, mais tous les individus recensés n’en ayant pas, il a préféré l’ordre alphabétique, et il a lui-même abrégé cet ouvrage en lui donnant le nom de ‘Unwānal-‘Unwān13. Dans le registre alphabétique, le Mut‘a est également original: ce sont les individus prénommés Aḥmad qui ouvrent le dictionnaire, suivis par les Ibrāhīm, idem pour la lettre bā’, Bashīr vient avant Barāka. Cet ordre pour le moins «fantaisiste» est dû à Ibrāhīm ibn al-Mallā qui a privilégié le ism de son père lorsqu’il a recopié l’ouvrage14. Le Mut‘a renferme 1031 biographies, mais seules dix-sept sont consacrées aux personnes de sexe féminin. Toutes les classes d’âge sont représentées. L’intérêt de l’ouvrage est d’offrir un panorama complet d’une population urbaine, majoritairement originaire de Damas ou d’al-Ṣāliḥiyya (quartier cher à Ibn Ṭūlūn), voire de Syrie, du moins y ayant séjourné, ou parfois y ayant fini ses jours. Certains sont étrangers à la région, mais ont droit de citer en vertu de leur position politicoreligieuse tels les derniers sultans mamlouks15 et les califes abbassides16. À l’instar des autres dictionnaires, tous les milieux sont représentés, militaire (sultans et émirs), religieux (califes, qadis, savants, muftis, muezzins…), administratif (secrétaires, contrôleurs/nāẓir), quelques commerçants et artisans, mais également des personnages qui n’y figurent pas systématiquement, «les curieux notables».

11 Ibid., II, pp. 838-840, n° 968. Il cite l’ouvrage d’Ibn ‘Abd al-Hādī intitulé al-Riyāḍal-yani‘a fīa‘yānal-mi’aal-tāsi‘a. 12 Ibid., I, pp. 443-444, n° 459. Il mentionne l’ouvrage d’al-Nu‘aymī intitulé al-‘Unwānfīḍabṭ mawalīdwafayātahlal-zamān. 13 LI GUO, Tales of Medieval Cairene Harem: Domestic Life in al-Biqā‘ī Autobiographical Chronicle, MamlūkStudiesReview IX/1 (2005), pp. 107-121. 14 IBN AL-MALLĀ, Mut‘atal-adhhān, I, p. 32. 15 Ibid., Qā’itbāy (II, pp. 575-577, n° 643), Muḥammad ibn Qā’itbāy (I, pp. 420-422, n° 429), Qānṣūh min Qānṣūh (I, pp. 384-385, n° 378), Jānbalāṭ (I, pp. 316-317, n° 289), Ṭūmānbāy (I, pp. 388389, n° 384) et Qānṣūh al-Ghawrī (I, pp. 319-325, n° 293 et pp. 377-378, n° 371; II, p. 578, n° 646). Il n’y a aucune biographie au nom du dernier sultan circassien, Al-Ashraf Ṭūmānbāy II. 16 Ibid., ‘Abd al-‘Azīz al-Mutawakkil (mort en 903/1497), I, pp. 431-432, n° 440 et Muḥammad al-Mutawakkil (mort en 945/1539 ou 950/1543-1544), II, pp. 756-757, n° 862.

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Le Mut‘a présente également un autre intérêt, et non des moindres. En effet, même dans son autobiographie al-Fulkal-mashhūn, Ibn Ṭūlūn s’épanche peu sur sa vie privée17. Dans cet ouvrage, ne sont signalés nommément que sa mère Azdān, son oncle paternel Jamāl al-Dīn Yūsuf ibn Ṭūlūn18 et son oncle maternel Burhān al-Dīn ibn Qindīl. Son père est anonyme, même si l’auteur rappelle qu’il l’a élevé (intasha’a fī katif wālidihi), toutefois, ‘Alī ibn Muḥammad al-Zira‘ī al-Ṣāliḥī bénéficie d’une biographie dans le Mut‘a19. Dans cet ouvrage figurent également ses trois enfants. Or, al-Ghazzī dans le Kawākib note qu’Ibn Ṭūlūn n’avait ni descendance ni épouse jusqu’à sa mort (walamya‘qubaḥadān,walamlahuzawjatḥīnmāta). La phrase est ambiguë et a conduit les chercheurs à penser qu’il était un célibataire sans enfant20. Dans les faits, Ibn Ṭūlūn est mort seul puisque son épouse et ses enfants sont décédés de son vivant21, mais il fut un époux et un père. Dans le Mut‘a le nom de son épouse n’est pas mentionné, toutefois, alMawṣilī note qu’il a convolé avec Karīma, la fille d’un de ses maîtres Ibrāhīm ibn ‘Awn al-Shāghūrī al-Dimashqī al-Ḥanafī. Ce personnage figure dans la longue liste des enseignants mentionnés dans le Fulkal-mashhūn22. Par ailleurs, il bénéficie ainsi que son fils Muḥammad ibn Ibrāhīm ibn ‘Awn al-Dimashqī al-Ḥanafī d’une notice dans le Mut‘a, toutefois celle de Muḥammad est incomplète23. Leurs liens de parenté avec Ibn Ṭūlūn ne sont pas signalés. Ces biographies figurent-elles dans le Tamattu‘, ou Ibn al-Mallā a-t-il pris la liberté de les inclure dans son ouvrage? Les trois enfants issus de son union avec Karīma bint ibn ‘Awn bénéficient d’une notice dans le Mut‘a, ce sont Khadīja dite Sitt al-‘Ulamā’ morte à l’âge de cinq ans de la peste (rabī‘ II 915/juillet 1509 – dhūl-qa‘da 920/décembre 1513)24, Ā‘isha décédée à l’âge de 17 ans (23 rabī‘ I 926/13 mars 1520 – 13 rabī‘ I 943/30 août 1536)25 et ‘Uthmān ayant rendu l’âme à l’âge de sept ans (4 jumādā I 931/ IBN ṬŪLŪN, al-Fulkal-mashhūnfīaḥwālMuḥammadibnṬūlūn, Beyrouth, 1996, p. 27. IBN AL-MALLĀ, Mut‘atal-adhhān, II, pp. 843-844, n° 974. 19 IBN ṬŪLŪN, al-Fulk al-mashhūn, p. 27; IBN AL-MALLĀ, Mut‘at al-adhhān, I, p. 501, n° 534. 20 B. MARTEL-THOUMIAN, L’auteur et les siens: éléments autobiographiques dans l’œuvre d’Ibn Ṭūlūn, A-M. EDDÉ, E. GANNAGÉ (éds.), RegardscroiséssurleMoyenÂgearabe,Mélanges àlamémoiredeLouisPouzets.j.(1928-2002) (Mélanges de l’Université Saint-Joseph LVIII), Beyrouth, 2005, pp. 475-496 et EADEM, «À mes maîtres» Enseignement, savoir et compagnonnage à Damas à la fin du IXe/XVe siècle, M. MEOUAK, C. DE LA PUENTE (éds.), Vivir de tal suerte.HomenajeaJuanAntonioSoutoLasala (Cordoba Near et Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas – Oriens Academic), Cordoba Madrid, 2014, pp. 275-289. S. CONNERMAN, Ibn Ṭūlūn (d. 955/1548): Life and Works, Mamlūk Studies Review VIII/1 (2004), pp. 115139. 21 IBN AL-MALLĀ, Mut‘atal-adhhān, p. 27. 22 Il a étudié les Uṣūlal-fiqh auprès de lui, IBN ṬŪLŪN, Al-Fulkal-mashhūn, p. 44 et IBN ALMALLĀ, Mut‘atal-adhhān, I, pp. 282-283, n° 235. 23 IBN AL-MALLĀ, Mut‘atal-adhhān, II, p. 605, n° 682. 24 Ibid., II, p. 870, n° 1015. 25 Ibid., II, pp. 876-877, n° 1023. 17 18

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27 février 1525 – 9 dhūl-qa‘da 938/13 juin 1532)26. Toutefois, ils ne sont pas les seuls jeunes gens à être mentionnés dans le Mut‘a. ‘Abd al-Raḥmān ibn Ḥijjī n’avait que treize ans lors de son décès le 9 muḥarram 983/20 avril 157527. 3 — TARĀJIM AL-SHUYŪKH WA L-AQRĀN? Ni le Tamattu‘ ni le Mut‘a ne renferment dans leur énoncé le mot a‘yānqui figure dans bien des titres de recueils biographiques, ce sont les termes shuyūkh et aqrān qui sont privilégiés. On peut donc s’interroger sur le sens à leur accorder. Il est évident que tous ceux qui ont été en relation avec Ibn Ṭūlūn (maîtres, élèves, condisciples), mais également avec Ibn ‘Abd al-Hādī et al-Nu‘aymī sont présents ainsi que bon nombre de savants28 et de personnages ayant eu une conduite jugée par l’auteur exemplaire. Ces divers personnages entrent sans problème dans la catégorie shuyūkh wal-aqrān. Ainsi Muḥammad ibn Qāḍī ‘Ajlūn qui a détenu pendant 40 ans le poste de prêcheur (khaṭīb) à la mosquée des Omayyades est-il dans le Mut‘a29. La présence des jeunes enfants d’Ibn Ṭūlūn, contrairement à celles de son beau-père et de son beau-frère qui appartenaient de facto au milieu des shuyūkh et des aqrān, peut susciter un étonnement, or tous trois ont fait des études qui leur donnent droit de citer. Chacun a reçu une ijāza (plusieurs dans le cas de Ā ̔ ‘isha), attestant de sa réussite dans les études, celle de ‘Uthmān ayant été rédigée par son père. Viennent ensuite les militaires bien souvent présentés comme des individus ayant eu des conduites iniques, mais qui par leur statut social sont en quelque sorte incontournables. Ils sont nombreux dans le Mut‘a. Le gouverneur de Damas, Kurtbāy al-Aḥmar, dont l’injustice était moindre que celles des autres [gouverneurs?]30, côtoie Jānibak al-Ṭawīl le porte-écritoire du sultan (dawādār al-sulṭān) qui fut d’une grande iniquité vis-à-vis de la population d’al-Mizza31. Les émirs mamlouks voisinent dans la catégorie «des injustes (ẓālim,pl. ẓullāma)» avec le qadi hanafite Muḥammad ibn al-Quṣayf qui avait vendu des waqfs et dont la mort avait réjoui bien des gens32 et avec le maître d’école indélicat, Muḥammad ibn ‘Uṣfūr al-Kināwī qui avait fait main basse sur les revenus des orphelins dont il avait la charge33. 26

Ibid., I, p. 492, n° 522. Ibid., I, p. 401, n° 398. Cette biographie est un ajout d’Ibn al-Mallā. 28 On peut signaler les biographies de savants syriens, Ibid., al-Buṣrawī, I, pp. 540-541, n° 591 ou Ibn al-Ḥimṣī, I, pp. 166-168, n° 111, mais également celles de grands noms égyptiens, par exemple al-Sakhāwī, II, pp. 681-685, n° 778 ou al-Suyūṭī, I, pp. 394-396, n° 389. 29 Ibid., II, p. 600, n° 675. 30 Ibid., II, p. 587, n° 659. 31 Ibid., I, pp. 314-315, n° 286. 32 Ibid., II, pp. 711-712, n° 813. 33 Ibid., II, p. 711, n° 812. 27

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Enfin, il y a les «curieux notables» et on en a retenu quatre, classés d’après leur date de décès: – Fawwāz al-Ḥārrī était le shaykh du village d’al-Ḥārrā (Hauran), un homme certes courageux, mais surtout injuste et violent, il fut assassiné en 894/ 148834. – Ḥasan ibn Ḥasan al-‘Azqī al-muqaddam (commandant) est présenté comme un dépravé (fājir). Cet individu déclarait licite la fornication et la consommation de boissons enivrantes, mais il avait également du sang sur les mains. Il mourut en 898/1492-1493. La cause de son décès n’est pas signalée, toutefois l’auteur y voit la main de Dieu qui a délivré les musulmans de sa présence35. – Suyūr al-Maghribī al-Mālikī al-Dimashqī était un délinquant, un zu‘ar qui officiait dans le quartier de Shāghūr où il volait et tuait en toute impunité de jour comme de nuit. Il est mort en 900/1494-1495, toutefois la biographie est incomplète, et d’après Ibn Ṭawq il aurait été pendu le 3 sha‘bān 899/9 mai 149436. – Enfin ‘Abd al-Raḥmān ibn Aḥmad ibn Zurayq avait appris le Coran. Il avait écouté les enseignements délivrés par son père Shihāb al-Dīn, son oncle paternel Nāṣir al-Dīn et bien d’autres personnes sur les hadiths. Puis il a rejoint les zu‘ar de Damas. Il a été assassiné le 24 shawwāl 902/25 juin 149737. La biographie est incomplète, cependant dans son Tā’rīkh, al-Buṣrawī mentionne qu’il avait commis de nombreuses injustices38. CONCLUSION Quels critères justifient la présence de ces quatre personnages dans le Mut‘a? Leur statut social, leur éducation, leurs actes? Certes, Fawwāz al-Ḥārrī en tant que shaykh d’un village est un notable local, Ḥasan al-‘Azqī appartient à la puissante famille des Banū l-‘Azqī de la Biqā‘ et Ibn Zurayq est issu d’un milieu cultivé et a étudié. Toutefois, aucun de ces critères ne s’applique à Suyūr, alors comment expliquer la présence de ce dernier? Il est vrai que leszu‘‘aront un statut à part dans la société damascaine. Le pouvoir les utilise quand le besoin s’en fait sentir, même s’ils sèment le désordre dans la ville de temps à autre. Ces personnages évoqués à maintes reprises dans les chroniques ont désormais droit de citer dans les ouvrages biographiques, du moins certains d’entre eux. Doit-on voir dans ces présences une évolution du 34 35 36 37 38

Ibid., I, p. 574, n° 642. Ibid., I, p. 329, n° 299. Ibid., I, p. 372, n° 361; IBN ṬAWQ, al-Ta‘līq, Damas, 2004, III, p. 1490. IBN AL-MALLĀ, Mut‘atal-adhhān, I, p. 400, n° 397. AL-BUṢRAWĪ, Tā’rīkh, Damas, 1988, p. 219.

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dictionnaire biographique, un élargissement du spectre des personnages susceptibles d’y figurer? Mais alors comment justifier le titre? En particulier les mots shuyūkh et aqrān? Toutefois, Suyūr n’est pas le seul «marginal» à figurer dans le Mut‘a, le sultan des gueux (sulṭānal-ḥarāfīsh) Muḥammad ibn Ḥasan al-Qaranfulī a également droit à une biographie39. D’ailleurs, le mariage de la fille de ce personnage est signalé par Ibn Ṭawq40. Peut-être que pour Ibn Ṭūlūn et Ibn al-Mallā, ces individus s’ils ne sont pas des shuyūkhdans l’acception traditionnelle du terme n’ensont pas moins des personnages éminents dans leur milieu social, c’est notamment vrai dans le cas du sulṭān al-ḥarāfīsh, leur présence dans leurs dictionnaires n’est alors en rien surprenante.

39 40

IBN AL-MALLĀ, Mut‘atal-adhhān, II, pp. 655-656, n° 754. IBN ṬAWQ, al-Ta‘līq, III, p. 1197.

RECONSIDERING THE ORIGINS OF THE THOUSANDAND ONEDAYS1 Ulrich MARZOLPH

Lesmilleetunjours:Contespersans (henceforth ThousandandOneDays), published by the French author François Pétis de la Croix in 1710–17122, is largely an adapted translation of tales, episodes, or elements that have been selected, adapted, and rearranged from the fifteenth- or late fourteenth-century anonymous Ottoman Turkish compilation Ferecba῾deş-şidde (Relief after Hardship)3. In turn, most of the tales in Ferecba῾deş-şidde have been translated from one or several earlier representatives of the Persian collections of entertaining and instructive tales classified under the generic title Jāmi῾al-ḥikāyāt (Collection of Tales)4. Although the general circumstances of the related process of transmission have been studied, a detailed reconsideration of the ThousandandOne Days and its tales open up new horizons for assessing the impact of “Oriental” tales on international tradition. Pétis de la Croix’s ThousandandOneDays was compiled and published in the aftermath of Antoine Galland’s ThousandandOneNights (Lesmilleetune nuits; 1704–1717). Pétis de la Croix’s preface5 states that he owed the tales he presented to the famous dervish Moclès (= Mukhliṣ), whom he introduces as one of the great persons of Iran and chief of the mystics in Isfahan. In his youth, 1

The present essay is a condensed and updated version of the introductory sections to my recent publication ReliefafterHardship:TheOttomanTurkishModelforTheThousandandOneDays, Detroit, 2017. I would like to thank the late György Hazai and the heirs to the joint estate of Tietze and Hazai for permitting me to make use of Andreas Tietze’s unpublished German translation. Out of respect for Tietze’s work, the Ottoman Turkish title is here transcribed in his preferred mannner. Special thanks go to Nasrin Askari for sharing her recent findings with me, in particular her rediscovery of the Mu᾿nis-nāma. 2 F. PÉTIS DE LA CROIX, Lesmilleetunjours:Contespersans, ed. P. SEBAG, Paris, 1980 (2nd rev. ed., Paris, 2003); id., HistoiredelasultanedePerseetdesvizirs, ed. R. ROBERT, and Lesmilleet unjours:Contespersans, ed. P. BRUNEL, C. BAHIER-PORTE, and F. MANCIER, Paris, 2006, pp. 211– 905, 1283–1292; id., HistoireduPrinceCalafetdelaPrincessedelaChine:Contedes“Mille etunjours,” ed. P. SEBAG, Paris, 2000; U. MARZOLPH, Tausendundein Tag, in Enzyklopädiedes Märchens, vol. 13, Berlin, 2011, cols. 288–302. 3 A. TIETZE, Das türkische Ferec ba῾d eş-şidde als Medium der Wanderung orientalischer Stoffe ins Abendland, in Proceedings of the 22nd Congress of Orientalists, Held in Istanbul September15thto22nd,1951, vol. 2, Communications, ed. Z. V. TOGAN, Leiden, 1957, p. 412– 420; reprinted in ArchivumOttomanicum 22 (2004), pp. 65–74. 4 D. KARGAR, Jāme῾ al-ḥekāyāt, in EncyclopædiaIranica, vol. 14, New York, 2008, cols. 459– 461; P. KHADĪSH, Jāmi῾ al-ḥikāyāt, in Dānishnāma-yifarhang-imardum-iĪrān, vol. 3, Tehran, 1394/ 2016, pp. 126–129. 5 See PÉTIS DE LA CROIX, Lesmilleetunjours, ed. SEBAG, pp. 33–34.

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this Moclès is said to have translated a number of Indian “comédiesˮ that he rendered as entertaining tales in Persian. In order to distinguish his translation from the Ottoman Turkish version titled Ferecba῾deş-şidde, a copy of which is stated to be in the Royal Library in Paris, Moclès titled his work Hizārva yakrūz (A Thousand and One Days). As Pétis had close relations with Moclès during his sojourn in Isfahan (1674–1676), Moclès kindly lent him his Persian translation and permitted him to prepare a copy for future use. Subsequent research has proved that most of Pétis de la Croix’s assertions concerning the origin of his work constitute arguments in his scheme of mystification. Moclès is undoubtedly a historical character whom Pétis de la Croix had met. But first, a Persian work titled Hizārvayakrūz has never been proved to exist; second, for the majority of tales Pétis de la Croix most likely did not translate from the Persian but from the Ottoman Turkish; and third, instead of preparing a more or less faithful translation he used his source material as an inspiration, selecting and rearranging motifs, elements, plots, characters, and whole stories at will. As for the collection’s title, TheThousandandOneDays, Pétis de la Croix obviously invented it by himself, and equally obviously he did so to match the title of The ThousandandOneNights, a work that enjoyed tremendous popularity in his day. From Pétis de la Croix’s Isfahan diary we know that he studied the Mathnavī of the thirteenth-century Persian mystical poet Jalāl al-Dīn Rūmī with Moclès, apparently a leader of the Moulavi order in Isfahan6. But the diary does not mention a word about Moclès possessing the manuscript under consideration. Consequently, research has presumed from the very beginning that both Pétis de la Croix’s claim of having received the original manuscript from Moclès and the sheer existence of a Persian manuscript titled Hizārvayakrūz are later mystifications, intended to authenticate his work. Although doubts concerning the veracity of Pétis de la Croix’s assertion were voiced at an early stage7, some scholars, and notably scholars of Persian literature, preferred to trust the author’s claim, such as William Alexander Clouston8, Arthur Christensen9, Fritz Meier10, 6 PÉTIS DE LA CROIX, Lesmilleetunjours, ed. SEBAG, pp. 12–16; id., Voyage du Sieur François Petis, en Syrie et en Perse, in RelationdeDourriEfendy,ambassadeurdelaPorteOthomaneauprès duroidePerse,traduiteduturk,etsuividel’ExtraitdesVoyagesdePétisdelaCroix,rédigépar luimême, Paris, 1810,pp. 123–124. 7 See the quotations collected in PÉTIS DE LA CROIX, Lesmilleetunjours, ed. SEBAG, pp. 513– 520. 8 W. A. CLOUSTON, Additional Notes, in Originals and Analogues of Some of Chaucer’s CanterburyTales, ed. F. J. FURNIVALL, E. BROCK, and W. A. CLOUSTON, London, 1887), pp. 541– 544; id., Variants and Analogues of the Tales in the Supplemental Nights, in R. F. BURTON, ArabianNights:WithIntroductionandExplanatoryNotes, vol. 13, London, 1885 (repr., Beirut, 1966), pp. 553–554. 9 A. CHRISTENSEN, PersischeMärchen, Düsseldorf and Cologne, 1953, p. 281. 10 F. MEIER, Turandot in Persien, ZeitschriftderDeutschenMorgenländischenGesellschaft 95 (1941), pp. 1–27, 415–421.

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and Jiří Cejpek11. Meanwhile, critical scholarship, above all Paul Sebag’s conclusive comments to his 1980 edition of the Milleetunjours, documents beyond reasonable doubt that Pétis de la Croix used the Ottoman Turkish Ferec ba῾d eş-şidde as his main source of inspiration. Although Pétis de la Croix might easily have had access to Ottoman Turkish and Persian sources that would have enabled him to fill a full thousand and one days of storytelling, he claimed not to have translated the alleged Persian manuscript in full, as it contained numerous “false miracles” of the Prophet Mohammed as well as tales that were “so licentious that decency had not permitted him to render them in translation”12. In addition to serving as a confirmation of the suspected licentiousness of “Oriental” tales, this assertion absolved Pétis de la Croix from the responsibility of disclosing his actual source. Today, the evidence supporting Ferecba῾deş-şidde as the author’s main source is quite convincing, and no Persian manuscript with a repertoire corresponding to that of the ThousandandOneDays has so far been identified. But even so, it cannot be ruled out with absolute certainty that Pétis de la Croix might have possessed such a manuscript, although the main argument in this respect is the fact that a lack of evidence does not equal an evidence of lack. The first copy of Ferecba῾deş-şidde known to have reached a Western library was acquired for the Royal Library by Antoine Galland, then a young man in his mid-twenties, in Constantinople on January 9, 167313. In 1896, Jean-Adolphe Decourdemanche was probably the first one to present a detailed assessment of the relation between Ferecba῾deş-şidde and Galland’s Milleetunenuit as well as Pétis de la Croix’s Milleetunjours14. The ThousandandOneNightswere an obvious point of comparison, as the publisher of Galland’s translation of the Nights had introduced three tales from Pétis de la Croix’s translation of Ferec ba῾d eş-şidde into the eighth volume of Galland’s text — without, however, informing either Galland or Pétis de la Croix15. Although Galland requested that the publisher state this “infidelity” in the book’s subsequent edition, the three tales — Zaynal-Aṣnām and KhudādādandHisBrothers, with the embedded story ofThePrincessofDaryābār — have come to be read as an integral part 11 J. CEJPEK, The Thousand and One Days, in J. RYPKA, History of Iranian Literature, ed. K. JAHN, Dordrecht, 1968, pp. 666–669. 12 PÉTIS DE LA CROIX, Lesmilleetunjours, ed. SEBAG, p. 37. 13 A. GALLAND, Journald’AntoineGallandpendantsonséjouràConstantinople(1672–1673), ed. CH. SCHEFER, vol. 2, Paris, 1881 (repr., Frankfurt am Main, 1994), pp. 6–7; see also U. MARZOLPH, A Scholar in the Making: Galland’s Early Travel Diaries in the Light of Comparative Folk Narrative Research, MiddleEasternLiteratures 18,3 (2015), pp. 283–330. 14 J.-A. DECOURDEMANCHE, Lesrusesdesfemmes(Mikri-zenan)etextraitsduplaisiraprèsla peine(Feredjbadchiddeh), Paris 1896, pp. iv–vii. 15 M. ABDEL-HALIM, AntoineGalland,savieetsonœuvre, Paris, 1964, pp. 269–271; H. T. KARATEKE, The Politics of Translation: Two Stories from The Turkish Ferecba῾deŞidde in Lesmilleetunenuits,contesarabes, JournalofNearEasternStudies 74,2 (2015), pp. 211–224.

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of the Nights in most subsequent translations based on Galland. Ferec ba῾d eş-şidde was discovered as a source text for the study of early Ottoman Turkish by Ármin Vambéry16. Ettore Rossi studied three tales from Ferecba῾deş-şidde, paying particular attention to their relation with the ThousandandOneDays17. And Andreas Tietze in his 1951 conference presentation (published in 1957) discussed Ferec ba῾d eş-şidde as an important medium for the transmission of tales East to West18. Tietze’s plan of a comprehensive publication on Ferec ba῾deş-şidde has only after his death resulted in the publication of the book’s text in both facsimile and transcription, prepared by Tietze’s colleague and friend György Hazai (1932–2016)19. Tietze’s German translation of the work has only partly been published20, and his projected comprehensive commentary never materialized21. Efforts to trace tales from Ferecba῾deş-şidde to Persian sources have so far not succeeded in convincingly arguing for a single Persian source that might have served as the model for all of the tales in Ferecba῾deş-şidde. Ingeborg Baldauf has enlarged Tietze’s findings considerably by referring to Persian manuscripts of Jāmi῾al-ḥikāyātpreserved in the Uzbek Academy of Sciences in Tashkent and the Saint Petersburg Institute of Oriental Manuscripts that demonstrate a remarkably high number of matches to Ferecba῾deş-şidde22 and Helga Anetshofer has specified analogous tales in the Oxford manuscript of Jāmi῾al-ḥikāyātthat Tietze had only mentioned summarily23. If we consider these findings together with the Iranian folklorist Muḥammad Ja῾farī Qanavātī’s recent edition of the manuscript of Jāmi῾al-ḥikāyātpreserved in the Ganj-Bakhsh Library in Islamabad24, it appears to be increasingly likely that at least the initial tales of Ferecba῾d eş-şidde have been translated from one specific manuscript following the model H. VAMBÉRY, Alt-osmanische Sprachstudien, Leiden, 1901, pp. 37–111; id., Der orientalische Ursprung von Shylock, Keletiszemle 2 (1901), pp. 18–29. 17 E. ROSSI, La fonte turca della novella poetica albanese ‘Erveheja’ di Muhamet Çami (sec. XVIII– XIX) e il tema di ‘Florence de Rome’ e di ‘Crescentia’, Oriente moderno 28 (1948), pp. 143– 153; id., La fonte turca della novella-cornice dei ‘Mille e un giorno’ di Pétis de la Croix, Oriente moderno 29 (1949), pp. 28–33; id., La leggenda di Turandot, in Studiorientalisticiinonoredi GiorgioLevidellaVida, vol. 2, Rome, 1956, pp. 457–476. 18 TIETZE, Das türkische Ferecba῾deş-şidde. 19 GY. HAZAI and A. TIETZE (eds.), Ferecba῾deş-şidde:“FreudnachLeid”(einfrühosmanischesGeschichtenbuch), 2 vols., Berlin, 2006. 20 GY. HAZAI and H. STEIN, Proben aus dem Ferecba῾deş-şidde in der deutschen Übersetzung von Andreas Tietze, ArchivumOttomanicum 30 (2013), pp. 49–104. 21 See now MARZOLPH, ReliefafterHardship. 22 I. BALDAUF, Freude nach der Bedrängnis? Literarische Geschichten zwischen Osmanisch, Persisch und Tatarisch, in Armağan:FestschriftfürAndreasTietze, ed. BALDAUF and S. FAROQHI, Prague, 1994, pp. 29–46. 23 H. ANETSHOFER, TemporaleSatzverbindungeninaltosmanischenProsatexten, Wiesbaden, 2005, pp. 23–38. 24 M. JA῾FARĪ QANAVĀTĪ (ed.), Jāmi῾ al-ḥikāyāt: Nuskha-yi Kitābkhāna-yi Ganj-Bakhsh-i Pākistān, Tehran, 1391/2012. 16

RECONSIDERING THE ORIGINS OF THE THOUSANDANDONEDAYS

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manuscript’s specific arrangement, while the remainder has been compiled from a variety of sources. Unfortunately, all manuscripts of the Persian Jāmi῾al-ḥikāyātknown or studied until recently are comparatively young, the oldest one at best dating from the sixteenth century. If one argues that the Persian compilations might have served as a model for the Ottoman Turkish Ferecba῾deş-şidde, this argument leads us to presume that the currently known manuscripts of Jāmi῾al-ḥikāyātpreserve the repertoire of one or several Persian manuscript precursors that existed prior to the Ottoman Turkish translation, that is, sometime in the late or even early fourteenth century. At least one dated manuscript of Jāmi῾al-ḥikāyāt brings us close to the compilation of Ferecba῾deş-şidde. This is a Persian manuscript collection of a total of four tales preserved in the Bodleian Library in Oxford dating from the year 156525. The fine calligraphy, exquisite illumination, and beautifully executed illustrations prove the manuscript to be an elite product, raising the question of readership and audience for the tales. Ja῾farī Qanavātī has estimated the total number of existing manuscripts of the genre Jāmi῾al-ḥikāyātat some sixty items. Three items — the Tehran, Mashhad, and Islamabad manuscripts — have been published26. For my recent assessment, I have surveyed about 20 items, or roughly a third of the existing manuscripts. If we consider the long and often uncritical process by which compilers of collections lumped together the material in various ways with the fact that several of the preserved manuscripts do, in fact, document a clearly defined repertoire and sequence of tales, it does not appear to be far-fetched to surmise the existence of an “original” collection that might once have comprised a considerable number of the initial tales contained in Ferecba῾deş-şidde in the same order. At the very least, it appears safe to surmise that a Persian collection of tales must have existed prior to Ferecba῾deş-şidde in the fourteenth century, traces of which have been preserved in later Persian manuscripts of the genre Jāmi῾ al-ḥikāyāt. Moreover, the repertoire contained in that Persian collection to a considerable extent appears to have been the same as later documented in the Ottoman Turkish translation. At the same time, the older Persian collection probably did not contain the full set of tales as given in Ferecba῾deş-şidde. For roughly the first half, the list of corresponding versions in manuscripts of Jāmi῾al-ḥikāyātis so dense that See E. SACHAU and H. ETHÉ, Catalogue of the Persian, Turkish, Hindûstânî, and Pushtû ManuscriptsintheBodleianLibrary, pt. 1: ThePersianManuscripts, Oxford, 1889, pp. 430–431, no. 459. 26 See A. QĀŻĪ, Āvarda᾿andki . . .:Dāstānhā-yikuhan-iīrānī, Tehran, 1362/1983; P. KHADĪSH and M. JA῾FARĪ QANAVĀTĪ (eds.), Jāmi῾ al-ḥikāyāt bar asās-i nuskha-yi Āstān-i quds-i Rażavī, Tehran, 1390/2011; JA῾FARĪ QANAVĀTĪ (ed.), Jāmi῾al-ḥikāyāt. See also the study of the Mashhad manuscript by R. HAAG-HIGUCHI, UntersuchungenzueinerSammlungpersischerErzählungen: Čihilwa-šišḥikāyatyāǧāmi῾al-ḥikāyāt, Berlin, 1984. 25

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the origin of the tales from, or at least their wide dissemination in Persian tradition is highly probable. As for the following tales, many are documented in early Arabic sources or are otherwise so closely linked to Arab history and culture that one may presume the Ottoman Turkish translation to be based on Persian versions of tales originating from Arabic tradition. But while the earlier section of tales from a presumed Persian original is fairly homogeneous in various manuscripts of Jāmi῾al-ḥikāyāt, the tales in the latter section are so diverse that they appear to be compiled from a variety of sources. Whether this compilation was achieved by the Ottoman Turkish compiler or an earlier Persian precursor remains to be determined. The hypothetical old Persian precursor of Ferecba῾deş-şidde has now been identified in a unique manuscript preserved in the British Library, the Mu᾿nisnāma, a title that is probably best translated as “The Book as an Intimate Friend.” Presented to the public by G. M. Meredith-Owens in his 1971 essay “An Early Persian Miscellanyˮ27, the book’s pivotal importance for the present discussion has only recently been discussed28. The book’s author is a certain Abū Bakr b. Khusraw al-Ustād, about whom no information in addition to the titles of six of his other works mentioned in the book’s preface is available. Although the manuscript dates from the sixteenth century, the book was originally compiled at the end of the twelfth or the beginning of the thirteenth century. This is evident from the fact that the author has dedicated his work to the reigning sovereign, Nuṣrat al-Dīn Abū Bakr ibn Muḥammad Īldigiz, Atabeg of Azerbaijan, who reigned from 591/1194 to 607/1210. The Mu᾿nis-nāma was thus compiled some two centuries prior to the Ottoman Turkish Ferecba῾deş-şidde. The Mu᾿nis-nāma has a table of contents detailing the nature of its seventeen chapters. Chapters 1 to 16 (fol. 5a–61a) mainly pertain to the field of wisdom literature. Chapter 17 is titled “On the sayings of great men and stories which contain a moral truthˮ (darkalimāt-ibuzurgānvarumūzvaishārātvaamthāl-iparākanda [fol. 4a]). Starting on fol. 61a and finishing on fol. 365a, it contains a total of 31 tales. The listed titles of the tales (some of which are missing in the text due to lacunae) make it possible to determine equivalents for 27 (out of 31) tales from Mu᾿nisnāma in Ferecba῾deş-şidde. Meredith-Owens himself was perfectly aware of the fact that “all the tales belong to the anonymous cycle of forty-twoˮ in the Ottoman Turkish Ferec ba῾d eş-şidde29. Although the bearings of this new discovery will have to be considered with great care once the full text of Mu᾿nisnāma becomes available, they can hardly be overestimated. At the very least, it now appears safe to say that the majority of the tales in Ferecba῾deş-şidde 27 G. M. MEREDITH-OWENS, An Early Persian Miscellany, in C. E. BOSWORTH (ed.), Iranand Islam:InMemoryoftheLateVladimirMinorsky, Edinburgh, 1971, pp. 435–441. 28 MARZOLPH, ReliefafterHardship, pp. 47–48. 29 MEREDITH-OWENS, An Early Persian Miscellany, p. 438.

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(27 out of 42) are already documented more than two centuries before the compilation of the Ottoman Turkish work. The following table surveys the corresponding items between Ferec ba῾d eş-şidde and the currently known manuscripts of Jāmi῾al-ḥikāyātthat contain a considerable number of matches30. Ferec ba῾d eş-şidde no. Short title

Jāmi῾ al-ḥikāyāt Mu᾿nis-nāma A B

C D E

X

1 Abū’l-QāsimfromBasra

3

1

4

17 47

x

2 FażlallāhfromMosul

1

2

1

16 46

x

3 TheWifeoftheBuilderofBam

2

3

2

8

27 x

4 RiżvānandtheDameShahristānī

4

5

15 8

18 x

5 Farrukh-shād,Farrukh-rūz,andFarrukh-nāz

5

6

44

18 32 x

6 TheVizier,theKing’sDaughter,andtheWitch

4

6

7

7 The῾AyyārNaṣrandthePrinceofKhorasan

5

7

8

8 Zaynal-Aṣnām

6

8

9 Khudādād

7

9

x

42 46 x 12

x

21 50

x

8

10 10 23 29

x

11 TheCarefreeKingandtheSorrowfulVizier

9

11 11 19 19 1

x

12 TheWifeoftheGoldsmithandtheScholar

10

12 12 25 27

x

13 TheWeaverandtheCarpenter

11

13 13 26

x

14 IsḥāqfromMosul

12

15

15 Bilqīs

13

16

10 TheThreeYoungMenandthePrincess

9

16 Manṣūr,theSonoftheJeweler῾Abdal-῾Azīz

14

17

17 TheWitchShamsaandṬāhirfromBasra

15

19 14

18 TheThiefandtheKadi 19 ThePrincessofKashmirandtheMerchant

32 9

48 30 x 27 43

x

38 10 x 29 54

16

19 x

23 15

7

x 17 x

20 TheKadiofBagdadandHārūnal-Rashīd

17

20

21 ShābūrandtheMerchantMuẓaffar

18

21 16 22 33

x

22 TheThreeBrothersandtheKadi

19

22

x

23 TheKing,theVizier,andtheDogs

20

30

33 32 47 x 14

x

In addition to the Mu᾿nis-nāma, the surveyed manuscripts are A = Islamabad, Ganj-Bakhsh Library; B = Saint Petersburg, Institute of Oriental Manuscripts, A 103, and Tashkent, no. 7317; C = London, British Library, or. 237; D = Saint Petersburg, Institute of Oriental Manuscripts, B 256; E = London, India Office Library, no. 797, and Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Suppl. persan 907; X = tales from Ferecba῾deş-şidde for which there is a corresponding version in at least one existing copy of Jāmi῾al-ḥikāyāt.

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Ferec ba῾d eş-şidde

Jāmi῾ al-ḥikāyāt

no. Short title

Mu᾿nis-nāma A B

24 LavvāḥaandtheMoneychangerBishr

21

25 Khalaf

24

26 Badī῾al-JamālandSayfal-Mulūk

25

C D E

17 18

X x

7

10 20 x x

27 Tamīmal-Dārī

x

28 Dukayn,Ḥabīb,andtheYoungWoman

x

29 TheBarmakidYaḥyāandtheBlindMan

x

30 PiousŪrvīya

30

31 Solomon,thePhoenix,andTheirDispute

27

6

x

18 11

x

32 TheBaldheadedGardener

9

22

33 KhālidandtheGarrulousBarber

2

40 29 x

34 Dalla

5

56

35 Abū’l-Favāris

x x x

36 SultanMaḥmūdofGhazna

23

x

37 Ḥātim-iṬā᾿ī

22

x

38 TheMuslim,theJew,andtheKadiofḤimṣ

34 53 x

39 BānūandDustūr 40 SīmjūrandChīpūr

51 33 x

41 TheBārbāhandBukhtnaṣr’sVizier 42 TheMuch-TraveledMan

x

The vast majority of tales in Ferec ba῾d eş-şidde belong to a genre whose representatives in premodern Arabic literature (and, by extension, its representatives in the other premodern literatures of the Muslim world) are characterized by the terms ῾ajīb(marvelous or astonishing) andgharīb (strange)31. It is this genre that reigns in the 1001Nights and its sibling collections, the fourteenth-century Kitābal-Ḥikāyātal-῾ajībawa-l-akhbāral-gharība (translated as TalesoftheMarvellousandNewsoftheStrange)32 and Mi᾿atLaylawa-layla (A Hundred and One Nights), whose oldest manuscript probably dates to the thirteenth century33. 31 See A. CHRAÏBI (ed.), Arabic Manuscripts of the Thousand and One Nights, Paris, 2016, pp. 40–60. 32 M. C. LYONS (transl.), Tales of the Marvellous and News of the Strange, London, 2014; see also U. MARZOLPH (ed.), DasBuchderwundersamenGeschichten, Munich, 1999; see also A. CHRAÏBI, Lesmilleetunenuits:Histoiredutexteetclassificationdescontes, Paris, 2008, pp. 49–56. 33 U. MARZOLPH, Hundertundeine Nacht, in EnzyklopädiedesMärchens, vol. 14, cols. 1705– 1708; M. GAUDEFROY-DEMOMBYNES (transl.), Lescentsetunenuits, Paris, 1982; C. OTT (transl.),

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Tales that are either ῾ajīb or gharīb (or both) form a broad category. In addition to the entertainment value of this category, it aims to inspire awe and amazement by treating astonishing examples of characters, events, or objects that surpass the ordinary by far. Tales of the marvelous and strange demonstrate extraordinary human behavior or events surpassing the normal horizon of experience so as to teach the readers or audience that there is more to life and living reality than the ordinary experience. These tales of the extraordinary serve different functions: they constitute an outlet to soothe the audience and distract them from the routine and hardships of their daily chores; they present ideals that the listeners might strive to follow; and, above all, they demonstrate and teach that nothing at all is unimaginable or impossible, since the almighty God potentially allows all kinds of phenomena to exist, whether their moral and ethical connotations are positive or negative and whether the tales’ protagonists are magnanimous, hospitable, generous, or faithful to the extreme or are despicable, resourceful, and harmful to society beyond socially compatible norms. In this manner, tales of the marvelous and strange are not only entertaining and instructive but outright didactic. As Aboubakr Chraïbi has pointed out, understanding the common character of tales belonging to this category as “generic determinant” is key to understanding the raison d’être for the Ottoman Turkish Ferec ba῾d eş-şidde and other similar compilations34. Aiming to classify the tales of Ferecba῾deş-şidde according to this understanding, we see that the majority of tales belong to this functional genre. Its recurring themes are magnanimity, generosity, and hospitality; trickery, including envy, deceitfulness, and resourcefulness; love and faithfulness in love; and destiny, including the consequences of wise rule as well as tyranny. The study of Ferecba῾deş-şidde and the context in which the collection originated has a number of far-reaching consequences for the assessment of narratives in the Muslim world. As far as premodern Arabic narrative literature is concerned, at least three areas deserve to be explored in greater depth. First, the ThousandandOneNights were by far not as marginal a phenomenon in the Arab world as previous research would make one believe; second, a vast body of tales exists outside of the 1001Nights, mainly in anonymously compiled manuscripts dating from after the classical period of Arabic literature; and third, the concept of “middle literature,” suggested by Chraïbi for “middle-Arabic literature,” needs to be implemented in all its implications. In addition to their linguistic level, text of “middle-Arabic literature” share a number of criteria related to their content35. These criteria include the facts that they (a) are anonymously compiled, (b) are HundertundeineNacht, Zurich, 2012; B. FUDGE (ed. and transl.), TheBookofaHundredandOne Nights, New York, 2016. 34 CHRAÏBI, Lesmilleetunenuits, p. 51. 35 CHRAÏBI, Lesmillesetunenuits, pp. 15–20; id., ArabicManuscripts, pp. 60–62.

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of a narrative nature, and (c) mainly entail tales of the marvelous and strange. The Iranian scholar Muḥammad Ja῾far Maḥjūb has discussed anonymous Persian narrative literature in similar terms some fifty years ago, arguing that Persian literature also knows a register between elite literature and folk literature36. Ferecba῾deş-şidde now demonstrates beyond reasonable doubt that the generic concept of “middle literature” also holds valid for premodern Ottoman Turkish literature. In contrast to premodern Arabic narrative literature, the study of Persian narrative prose literature of the premodern Muslim period has not received adequate international attention. As is generally known, the origins of the 1001Nights go back to the pre-Islamic Persian collection Hazār afsān37. Unfortunately, the tenth-century Arabic sources from which we derive our knowledge only mention the frame tale of that collection, and not a single tale that can reliably be argued to have been included in the original Hazārafsān is known. Frustrating as this assessment is, the exploration of the literary genre of Jāmi῾al-ḥikāyātprobably brings us close to the genre of tales included in Hazārafsān, whose tales to a certain extent might well have been tales of the marvelous and strange such as preserved in Ferecba῾deş-şidde/Jāmi῾al-ḥikāyāt. This assessment might also help to explain the relatively late translation of the Arabic Alflaylawa-layla to Persian, which was achieved only in the nineteenth century38: since a collection of similar tales in Persian existed, readers might not have felt the need for a translation. Ottoman Turkish narrative literature deserves serious consideration primarily, but not only, for its translations from both Arabic and Persian. Ottoman Turkish translations of the ThousandandOneNightswere available several centuries before Galland’s French translation39. The least that the example of Ferecba῾d eş-şidde now shows is that the collection is also highly relevant for the reconstruction of lost narrative sources of early Persian literature of the Muslim period. Considering the vibrant political and commercial relations between Europe and the Ottoman empire, Ottoman Turkish literature is also a suitable candidate for the transmission of tales East to West long before the translation of the Thousand andOneNights. As research into the history of the Nights and similar collections 36 M. J. MAḤJŪB, Muṭāli῾a-yi dāstānhā-yi ῾āmmiyāna-yi fārsī, in Adabīyāt-i῾āmmiyāna-yiĪrān, ed. Ḥ. Dhū l-Faqārī, Tehran 1382/2003, pp. 121–160 (originally published in 1962). 37 CHRAÏBI, ArabicManuscripts, pp. 15–21. 38 ῾A. BŪDHARĪ, Nuskhahā-yi khaṭṭī wa chāpī-yi Hizār va yak shab dar Īrān, in Hizārvayak shab1261q., Qom, 1394/2016, pp. 27–57. 39 D. V. PROVERBIO, The Arabian Nights through Some Ancient-Osmanlı Translations, in CHRAÏBI, ArabicManuscripts, pp. 367–429; J. THOMANN, Die frühesten türkischen Übersetzungen von Tausendundeiner Nacht und deren Bedeutung für die arabische Textgeschichte, Asiatische Studien 70,1 (2016), pp. 171–219.

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has repeatedly argued40, tales from written collections could well have been transmitted from one culture to another by way of oral tradition, and there is no good reason to deny tales from a collection as widespread and influential in its local context as Ferecba῾deş-şidde this influence. In relation to the copy of Ferecba῾deş-şidde that Galland had bought in Istanbul in 1673, Tietze was convinced that the book was one of those items that booksellers would lend to customers for reading or copying41. In his catalogue of Turkish manuscripts in the Royal Library at Vienna, Gustav Flügel even labeled a copy of Ferecba῾d eş-şidde a “coffee-house copy”, since the introductory passage mentions a meddāḥ, that is, a professional entertainer in the urban context42. Tietze furthermore argued that by being lent out numerous times and by being read in public to considerable audiences, even a single manuscript could become a veritable “Volksbuch” — a term that in the European context is usually applied to printed books that potentially reached a wide audience because they were produced and read in hundreds of copies43. Public performances of the written text would thus potentially lead to oral retellings, and both ways of performance could in their turn result in the collection’s tales being transmitted to members of an international audience. And finally, if thoroughly explored, the “middle literatures” of the Muslim world might well reveal surprising insights relevant for the history of the European fairy tale. Obvious as it may be to experts of the literatures of the Muslim world, the concept of “relief after hardship” (Arabic al-farajba῾dal-shidda) that reigns in much of the “middle literatures” of the Muslim world corresponds to the basic structure of the European fairy tale. As in the European fairy tale, the protagonist undergoes a series of trials and tribulations before he attains a lasting amelioration of his status. Particularly the category of tales of the marvelous and strange in which supernatural characters or elements interfere are relevant in this respect. In these tales, as in the European fairy tale, the protagonist is often of royal descent but might also be of lowly origins; and in these tales, the permanent betterment of the protagonist’s status would usually result in marriage with a princess (or, according to Muslim law, with up to four different spouses) and the acquisition of wealth (as the ruler’s son-in-law) and power (as the ruler’s successor) — the three elements that document the attainment of ultimate happiness for the audience of the European fairy tale. The Ottoman Turkish Ferec ba῾deş-şidde dates at best from the late fourteenth century, and its probably source, 40 See, most recently, P. HORTA, Beautiful Men and Deceitful Women: The OneHundredand OneNightsand World Literature, NarrativeCulture 2,2 (2015), pp. 190–207. 41 TIETZE, Das türkische Ferecba῾deş-şidde, p. 416. 42 G. FLÜGEL, Diearabischen,persischenundtürkischenHandschriftenderkaiserlichenund königlichenHofbibliothekzuWien, vol. 2, Vienna, 1865, pp. 31–32, no. 798. 43 J.-D. MÜLLER, “Volksbuch,ˮ in EnzyklopädiedesMärchens, vol. 14, cols. 309–324.

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the Persian Mu᾿nis-nāma, dates from the twelfth century. The eventual sources of the tales in Persian and Arabic literature are still older, and probably much older, thus predating the European compilers of fairy tales such as Straparola or Boccaccio by far. The work’s importance thus not only lies in transmitting specific tales East to West in terms of content. In addition, the work might well have had an inspiring impact on the genre of fairy tales that subsequently was to enjoy international success.

AL-AḤNAF AL-῾UKBARĪ (CA. 301-385/914-995), A SUI GENERIS 10TH-CENTURY ARAB POET: MAJOR THEMES OF HIS COMPLAINT POETRY (SHAKWĀ) Nefeli PAPOUTSAKIS Münster

The 10th-century Iraqi poet al-Aḥnaf al-῾Ukbarī is widely known as the originator of the Sāsāniyyāt, a mini-genre of classical Arabic poetry. In those odes poets identified with beggars and various charlatans and tricksters, that is to say, with the Banū Sāsān, as such low-lifers were collectively named in medieval Islam, and described their ruses and vagabond life using their special jargon.1 Apart from ten lines from his Sāsāniyya which served his contemporary Abū Dulaf al-Khazrajī (fl. mid-late 4th/10th century) and the much later poet Ṣafī al-Dīn al-Ḥillī (ca. 677-749/1278-1348) as a model for their own Sāsāniyyāt, a small number of al-Aḥnaf’s verses survives in al-Tha῾ālibī’s (350-429/961-1038) Yatīmatal-dahr, the well-known late 10th/early 11th-century literary anthology. Al-Aḥnaf’s Dīwān was, and still is, generally thought to have been lost. It was nevertheless discovered and edited on the basis of a unicum manuscript in the late 1990s.2 The importance of this edition, which has so far escaped the attention of western scholars, cannot be overestimated. For it not only allows for a better understanding of the mini-genreof theSāsāniyyāt, but also enhances our knowledge of 10th-century Iraqi poetry; because al-Aḥnaf al-῾Ukbarī was a sui generis poet who deserves our attention on several grounds. Apart from the Sāsāniyya that is partly cited in the Yatīma, the dīwān comprises two more odes in which the Sāsānīargot is extensively used.3 Since I have dealt with his Sāsānī poems elsewhere, I should here like to focus on the major themes of his complaint poetry, which is the dominant genre of his dīwān. The dīwān contains 825 poems in total.4 There is hardly any genre of classical Arabic poetry that is not represented here. Next to complaint poetry (shakwā) voicing 1 On the Banū Sāsān and the Sāsāniyyāt, see C.E. BOSWORTH, TheMedievalIslamicUnderworld:TheBanūSāsāninArabicSocietyandLiterature, Leiden 1976. On al-Aḥnaf, see ibid, pp. 67-69 and index; N. PAPOUTSAKIS, Al-Aḥnaf al-῾Ukbarī: A Sui-Generis Tenth-Century Arab Poet. His Life and His SāsānīPoems, WienerZeitschriftfürdieKundedesMorgenlandes 107 (2017), pp. 251-259, *260-*299, where further references are given. 2 Dīwānal-Aḥnafal-῾Ukbarī, ed. Sulṭān b. Sa῾d al-Sulṭān, Riyadh 1999. 3 Both poems are elegies on beggar leaders. Al-Aḥnaf mourns and praises them for the leadership and guidance they offered to miscellaneous categories of fraudsters as well as for their personal achievements in the various specialisms of the begging craft: see my article referred to in note 1. 4 Eight more pieces, probably excerpts, gleaned from adab works, are included in the Appendix.

154

N. PAPOUTSAKIS

a range of grievances, reflective poetry, ascetic verse, love poems, self-praise, lampoons, reproofs and a few eulogies, the dīwān includes several poems with unusual topics: for instance, poems addressed to God, poems against astrology, against the blind, in praise of solitude, on paupers, on the venality of the poet’s beloved. Before looking at his work, however, a few words on the poet are apposite. In his note on him in the Yatīma, al-Tha῾ālibī dubs al-Aḥnaf “the poet of the beggars and their elegant wit”. In that same note, the Buyid vizier Ibn ῾Abbād is quoted saying: “he [i.e. al-Aḥnaf] is the nonpareil of the Banū Sāsān in Baghdad at present”.5 These comments, as well as al-Aḥnaf’s own claims in his Sāsāniyya, have misled several scholars into thinking that he was a beggar. Nevertheless, a closer look at the notes devoted to him in biographical dictionaries reveals a very different picture of the man; the study of his dīwān further corroborates this.6 Al-Aḥnaf was born in ῾Ukbarā, a town on the Tigris north of Baghdad, around 301/914. He apparently spent most of his life there, despite frequent visits to Baghdad and other nearby towns, and socialized with several prominent ῾Ukbarīs, who lived either in that city or in Baghdad, such as the great Ḥanbalī theologian Ibn Baṭṭa. As his sobriquet (al-aḥnaf) indicates, he was crook-footed, a physical deformity to which he repeatedly refers in his poetry. All sources state that he was a respected littérateur, but are silent regarding his profession; in his note on him in Ta᾿rīkh Baghdād, however, al-Khaṭīb al-Baghdādī labels al-Aḥnaf al-munajjim, ‘the astrologer’.7 Although in numerous poems al-Aḥnaf inveighs against astrology, in other poems he too states that this was his profession. Presumably, the disrepute in which astrology was held explains his complex attitude to his profession. For next to the famous astrologers-astronomers that were kept by rulers and high dignitaries, there were several others who practised on their own in public — usually in the streets — offering their services to the general populace. The distrust and the suspicion with which astrology was regarded concerned primarily this last category of practitioners, whose practices bordered on charlatanism and fraud.8 Surely many of them took astrology seriously, as did their customers, and believed its theoretical principles to be sound and its methods for predicting the future to be valid. Al-Aḥnaf, too, probably plied his craft in all good faith. It appears that he was not a high-profile astrologer. He repeatedly asserts that he practised on his own in the marketplaces and the streets, but, actually, he may have been employed in the retinue of some AL-THA῾ĀLIBĪ, Yatīmatal-dahrfīmaḥāsinahlal-῾aṣr, ed. Muḥammad ῾Abd al-Ḥamīd, 4 vols., Cairo 21956, p. 3:122. 6 For a more detailed exposition, see my article referred to in note 1. 7 AL-KHAṬĪB AL-BAGHDĀDĪ, Ta᾿rīkh Madīnat al-Salām, ed. Bashshār Ma῾rūf, Beirut 2001, pp. 14:247-248. 8 See G. SALIBA, The Role of the Astrologer in Medieval Islamic Society, Bulletind’Études Orientales 44 (1992), pp. 45-67. 5

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155

powerful patron. At any rate, whether he himself practised in the streets, as he claims, or had contacts to astrologers who did so, plying that craft would apparently have afforded him access to and knowledge of the underworld and allowed him to interact with different categories of conmen — hence his familiarity with their jargon. The small number of eulogies preserved in his dīwān suggests that poetry had never been his main source of income. These few eulogies, most of which are addressed to Ḥanbalī religious scholars (he evidently adhered to that school of law), intimate that his social status was well above that of beggars and cast doubts to his sporadic assertions that he earned his living from beggary. Al-Aḥnaf rather took a literary topos to extremes — because since the 9th century poets had started likening their craft to beggary or styling themselves ‘beggars’. Such statements were implicit plaints about their low status and lack of respectability and became very common in the Buyid era, that is, in al-Aḥnaf’s times. As his complaint poetry shows, al-Aḥnaf was very well acquainted with that poetic tradition and contributed to its further growth and enrichment. His identification with beggars evidently aimed at dramatizing his allegedly precarious financial situation.9 As I have said, complaint poetry is the dominant genre of al-Aḥnaf’s dīwān.10 Despite its importance shakwā or ‘complaint poetry’ is a rather understudied genre of classical Arabic poetry. In western scholarship it has actually been utterly neglected. As an independent genre shakwā first appeared in Umayyad times and grew in popularity and importance throughout the Abbasid era. Among the various kinds of grievances voiced in complaint verse, by far the most common and therefore important are general plaints about one’s times, contemporaries and milieu, as well as complaints about one’s financial predicament. These two categories of grievances are closely related. Because the general plaints about one’s times, contemporaries and milieu centre on the ignorance, baseness and stinginess of the poet’s coevals, the disregard of culture, merit and talent, and the unprosperousness and misery of the learned. All these themes, which became literary clichés and should therefore not be taken at face value, implied that the poet faced financial difficulties. These clichés grew popular since the 9th century and flourished especially in the 10th and beyond. It is no coincidence that al-Tha῾ālibī was the first to anthologize such poetry and to clearly recognize shakwā as a genre.11 Along with the Basran poet Ibn Lankak 9

See my article referred to in note 1. On al-Aḥnaf’s complaint poetry, see also A. RIFĀ῾Ī, Shi῾r al-shakwā fī Dīwān al-Aḥnaf al-῾Ukbarī:DirāsaNaṣṣiyya, (unpublished) M.A. Thesis, Kulliyyat al-Ādāb, University of Zaqāzīq 2010 – not seen by me, except for the Introduction and pp. 1-5, which have been published online at: http://main.eulc.edu.eg/eulc_v5/Libraries/Thesis/BrowseThesisPages.aspx?fn=PublicDrawThes is&BibID=379680 (last accessed 1.12.2016). 11 Since the early 10th century, the word shakwā had been used as a technical term to signify, in the first place, plaints about one’s times and contemporaries as well as about one’s financial 10

156

N. PAPOUTSAKIS

(d. ca. 360/970), who is widely known for his bitter complaints about the times — this being his specialization, so to speak — and who treated all related topoi in irate epigrams, al-Aḥnaf was one of the most important exponents of this kind of literature in the 10th century. Apart from general plaints about his decadent times and his mean and ignorant coevals, al-Aḥnaf composed several monothematic poems of various length in which he grumbled about his penury. In one such poem (no. 21, Dīwān pp. 101-102), for example, he complains that his situation is worse than that of a performing monkey which he had once seen at al-Ḫuld, a poor quarter of Baghdad, and to which he compares himself. The monkey was mounted on a sheep and escorted by a dog and another monkey. The show brought its owner abundant earnings, so that he loved the monkey and cared for it. By contrast, al-Aḥnaf was despised by all for plying the astrologer’s craft, shamefully trying to attract female clients in the streets. He had no furniture and no luxury items at home, nobody cared or visited him when he fell ill; nobody would mourn him if he died. Unlike the monkey, he was crook-footed and lacked a riding beast. The poem is worth quoting in full: ّ ‫إنّي‬ ‫وتسبيب‬ ‫ت في ُح ْرفي على أدبي  وكلُّ َش ْي ٍء له ِع ْل ٌم‬ ُ ‫تفك ْر‬ ُ ‫سوب‬ ‫وم ْح‬ ُ ْ‫َو َجد‬ ٌ ‫ت َحظِّي من الدُّنيا وزِينتها  وكلُّ َش ْي ٍء ف ََم ْك‬ ُ َ ‫توب‬ ‫بوب‬ ‫َب‬ ٍ ‫رد ذو َذن‬ ُ ُ ‫أَ َقلَّ من َحظِّ ِق ْر ٍد في وقاح ِت ِه  وال ِق‬ ُ ْ‫والقرد َمق‬ َ ِ ‫ردا‬ ‫بوب‬ ‫وله‬ ُ ‫ت في‬ ُ ‫راك ًبا‬ ً ‫الخ ْل ِد ِق‬ ُ ‫َرأ ْي‬ ُ ‫وم ْل‬ َ ‫  س ْر ٌج على الشا ِة َمثْفو ٌر‬ َ ِ ‫جام َو ْه َو‬ ‫ومطلوب‬ ‫بوب‬ ‫راك ُب‬ ٌ ‫ها  م َكرَّ ٌم َو ْه َو َم ْح‬ ُ ُ ٍ ‫قد ع ّنها ب ِل‬ ِ ‫َض ِل َم ْك َسبِه  و َيغْ َت ِدي‬ ‫محجوب‬ ‫والقرد‬ ‫راك ًبا‬ ْ ‫أه ِل ِه من ف‬ ْ ‫ُي ْج ِدي على‬ ُ ُ ِ ‫حوب‬ ‫ودفٌّ َو ْه َو َم ْص‬ ‫رد‬ ‫ب‬ ‫قدّ َام ُه‬ ٌ ‫كلب و َي ْت َب ُع ُه   ِق‬ ُ ‫كبير‬ ُ ٌ ٌ ‫حاج‬ ٌ ‫ومنسوب‬ ‫ملقوب‬ ‫  م َعظ ٌَّم َو ْه َو‬ ‫بج ْم ِعهِ ُم‬ ‫وه َو‬ ٍ ‫في َم ْو ِك‬ ٌ ْ ‫ب‬ ٌ ُ ُ َ ‫محسود‬ ‫مركوب‬ ‫ت إلى  حالي وما لي كما لل ِقر ِد‬ ‫لم َأ ْح ُس ِد‬ ُ ‫القرد لكنِّي ن ََظ ْر‬ َ ُ ُ ‫معاش عليه‬ ٌ ٌ ‫ب  إ‬ ‫ولا‬ ‫منصوب‬ ُّ‫الذل‬ ُ ٌ ‫معاش كما لل ِقر ِد ُم ْك َت َس‬

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

‫بيب‬ ‫تي  أد ُعو‬ ‫وم ْح َب َر‬ ْ ُ ‫ إذا َج َل ْس‬11 َ ‫ت ِب َتقْ ِويمي‬ َ ُ ‫النساء ولي في القولِ ت َْش‬ ِ ‫ومسبوب‬ ‫مبغوض‬ ‫حاربتي  وع ْندَ ُه ْم أنا‬ ‫ وكلُّ َم ْن َمرَّ بي َي ْن ِوي ُم‬12 ٌ ُ predicament. In the course of time, it ended up being used very broadly to denote the most diverse sorts of complaints made in verse or prose, including plaints about old age, ill health, the pangs of love and homesickness, about injustice and ill-treatment suffered at the hands of the authorities, or about sham friends and unfeeling relatives – to name some common themes of poetic grievances –, in addition to general complaints about the times or about one’s poverty. Generally on shakwā, see E. AL-MUFTI, ShakwāinArabicPoetryDuringthe῾AbbāsidPeriod, (unpublished) Ph.D. Thesis, SOAS, University of London 1990; Ẓ. AL-SHAHRĪ, al-Shakwāfīl-shi῾ral-῾Arabī ḥattānihāyatal-qarnal-thālithal-hijrī, Riyadh 2002. On complaints about the times and about one’s circumstances, see N. PAPOUTSAKIS, Classical Arabic Begging Poetry and Šakwā, 8th12thcenturies, Wiesbaden, 2017. As I show in that book, the poets’ complaints cannot be taken as evidence for their real-life circumstances.

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157

ٍ ‫ بلا حصي ٍر ولا َث ْو‬13 ‫طيب‬ ‫طبيب ولا في البيت لي‬ ‫ب ُي َمهَّدُ لي  ولا‬ ٍ ُ ِ ٌ‫ت فمسجون‬ ْ ‫ومكروب‬ ‫ب ال ِقر ِد مغمو ٌم ب ِعلَّ ِت ِه‬ 14 ُ ‫  فإن م ِر ْض‬ ُ ُ ‫وصاح‬ ِ ‫مرهوب‬ ‫الموت‬ ‫وباب‬ ‫ولا  م ْن بي ُي َعزَّى‬ َّ‫ ما لي إذا ِمتُّ َم ْن َي ْبكي ع َلي‬15 ُ ُ َ ْ ‫رد‬ ‫مكروب‬ ‫صاحب بالفقد‬ ‫مات لاقى بعده ُك َر ًبا  لِفَ قْ ِده‬ ‫إن‬ َ ُ ‫ وال ِق‬16 ُ ٌ َ ٌ ‫الخ ْلقِ ما في ر ِْج ِل ِه َح َن‬ ‫ومقلوب‬ ٌّ‫  وظ ْه ُر ر ِْج ِل َي َم ْل ِوي‬ ‫ف‬ َ ‫رد في‬ ُ ‫ وال ِق‬17 ُ 1. I have been brooding over my lack of success despite my erudition — surely, there is a reason for everything, everything imparts knowledge. 2. I’ve come to the conclusion that my share of this world and its trimmings — everything being preordained and reckoned — 3. Is smaller than that of a monkey in all its impudence and even though a monkey has a tail and is lean-bellied. 4. At al-Ḫuld I once saw a monkey ridden on a sheep, sitting on a firmly fastened saddle. 5. The monkey rode the sheep and steered it by means of a bridle, honoured, loved and desired. 6. The monkey benefits its owners with its abundant earnings, riding every morning well protected: 7. A dog, its guard (ḥājib), walks before it and a big ape follows it holding a tambourine — the monkey is accompanied 8. By an escort and is envied and revered among them and has an honorific and a pedigree (a laqab and a nisba). 9. I do not envy it, but unlike the monkey I do not have a mount — that’s my situation. 10. Unlike the monkey, I do not have a (decent) income, but only an ignominious one. 11. I sit down (in the streets) with my ephemeris and my inkwell and sweet-talk women and invite them to approach. 12. All passers-by are hostile towards me; in their opinion I am hateful und deserve abuse. 13. I have no mat or cloth to lie upon, no doctor (visits me) and I have no perfume at home. 14. When the monkey falls ill, its owner gets worried; but when I fall ill, I am (alone), restricted (masjūn, lit. ‘imprisoned’; read mashjūn=sad?) and sorrowful. 15. There is nobody to weep me, when I die, and nobody to receive condolences, although death’s door is scary. 16. But when the monkey dies, its owner will be grieved and distressed by its loss. 17. The monkey was created sound, with no crookedness in its foot, but the top of my foot is crooked and contorted.

As can be seen from this poem, al-Aḥnaf’s diction is simple, if not un-poetic, and lacks all sorts of rhetorical embellishments, but his ideas are for the most part very original. In this case, the idea of negatively comparing his own seedy existence to that of a pampered performing monkey is as striking as was his identification with professional beggars in his famous Sāsāniyya. To be sure, poets very often donned a humble persona in complaint poetry, but the extent of self-deprecation in these poems of al-Aḥnaf is rare. Equally unusual and therefore

158

N. PAPOUTSAKIS

remarkable is his line of reasoning in another complaint poem (no. 442, Dīwān pp. 327-328): here, he addresses his wife, who had rebuked him for neglecting his prayers, and eloquently defends his stance blaming his negligence on his penury. To his mind, prayers were right for the rich grandees of the Buyid state, the emir, his vizier and the Daylamī generals, not for poor men like himself: ُ ِ ‫فقلت لها َهب‬ ‫ت مت َِّش ًحا ِشقاعي‬ 2 ُ ‫أص َب ْح‬ ُ ْ ‫ِلت ِلما أ َصلِّي  وقد‬ ُ ِ ‫لعقا ِر ِأم‬ ‫تاع‬ ‫الم َمه َِّد‬ ِ ‫ياع  أ ِو الفَ ْر‬ َ ‫ أ َصلِّي ِل‬3 َ ُ ‫ش‬ ِ ‫والم‬ ِ ‫الض‬ ِ ‫ات‬ ِ ‫ب الشَّهِ ّي‬ ِ ‫راع‬ ‫هات‬ ‫ب‬ ِ ‫قولي  أم الن ُُّج‬ ِ ‫الخدَ ِم الصقا ِل‬ َ ‫ِأم‬ ِ ِ ‫الس‬ ِ ‫الحو ِر‬ ٍ ‫الجيا ِد ُمسو‬ ِ ‫الخ ْي ِل‬ ‫ناع‬ ‫َّمات‬ َ ‫ِأم‬ ْ ‫الحسانِ َذ ِوي‬ ُ ‫  أم‬ ِ ِ ِ‫اصط‬ َ ِ ُّ‫ُي َصلِّي الدَّ ْيلمي‬ ِ ‫ياع‬ ‫القطائع‬ ‫حاب‬ ُ ‫وش َير َم ْر َدى  وأ ْص‬ ِ ‫والض‬ ِ َ ‫ف ِت ْل‬ ِ ‫الع ْر ِي‬ ‫ياع‬ ‫ت‬ ْ ‫ك ِعصاب ٌة ُك ِت َب‬ ُ ‫عليهم  صلا ٌة لا على‬ ْ ِ ‫الج‬

4 5 6 10

2. I said to her: Are you crazy? What shall I pray for, when I wrap myself up in my ragged head-cloth (this being my only garment)? 3. Shall I pray for the mansions or the lands or for the spread carpets and the furniture? 4. Or for the Russian slaves — tell me! — or the noble, swift-running camels of goodly make? 5. Or for the marked, excellent horses or the elegant, beautiful, dark-eyed slave girls? 6. Let the Daylamīs pray (for all this) and let Shīramardā pray and those possessing fiefs and estates! (…)

After listing a number of very rich and powerful Buyid dignitaries, he concludes: 10. Prayers are obligatory for that gang, not for the hungry and the naked!

Al-Aḥnaf’s ostentatiously irreverent posture serves to bring out his indignation at the sight of the affluence that the Daylamīs enjoyed. As is true of his sympathy towards the poor, his hatred of the profligate rich was apparently consistent with his Ḥanbalī leanings. Because more than any other madhhab, the Hanbalīs condemned “the lifestyle of the courtly hedonists and their middle-class imitators” and adopted a moderately abstemious outlook so as to reach out to and earn the sympathy of the poorest social strata.12 Al-Aḥnaf’s rhetorically unambitious diction and his simplistic reasoning, too, fitted well with the anti-intellectualism of this legal school. It is further worth noting that the above ten-liner was imitated by the slightly later poet al-Mutayyam al-Ifrīqī (d. ca. 400/1010), who composed an eleven-line poem adjusting the theme to his own, Transoxanian, milieu. Rebuffing his wife, he too lists a number of rich and powerful Samanid generals and grandees, for whom he thought prayers and thanksgiving were 12 See N. HURVITZ, From Scholarly Circles to Mass Movements: The Formation of Legal Communities in Islamic Societies, TheAmericanHistoricalReview 108/4 (2003), pp. 985-1008.

AL-AḤNAF AL-῾UKBARĪ, A 10TH-CENTURY ARAB POET

159

proper, and protests his own impecuniousness, declaiming that it would be hypocritical to pray as a pauper. “The pauper’s prayer is all fibs completely destitute of truth”, he concludes. Cited as it is in the Yatīma (p. 4:157-158), his poem became widely known and has received much scholarly attention due to its unusual line of thought.13 As a result, it made al-Aḥnaf’s poem, which served as a model for it, to fall into oblivion. Apart from a humorous 56-line long poem (no. 185,Dīwān pp. 195-199), in which he grumbles about the squalor of his home and neighbourhood, his debts, and the sordidness of his neighbours and wife, al-Aḥnaf’s poems on his poverty are of medium length, as the two pieces quoted above. However, he also lamented his financial predicament in numerous epigrams, in which he exploited various stock as well as less common topoi of complaint verse. In the following triplet (no. 204, Dīwān p. 209), for example, he dramatizes his poverty claiming that he lacked the necessary goods to celebrate the feast; this is a recurrent theme of his dīwān and was also popular with his contemporary Baghdadi poet Ibn Sukkara (d. 385/995), another important exponent of complaint poetry in Buyid times:14 َ ‫ قيلَ لي ما َلدَ ْي‬1 ِ ‫ك ِلل ِع‬ ‫يد َش ْي ٌء  لا طعا ٌم ولا‬ ُ‫لباس جديد‬ ٌ ٌ ‫ت لا ت ُْك ِثروا عليَّ فإن‬ ُ‫ِّي  قائل ما على َمقالي َم ِزيد‬ ُ ‫ ُق ْل‬2 َ ‫قوت فذ ِل‬ ‫ك‬ ‫عافى   ِل َي‬ ُ‫اليوم ِعيد‬ ٌ ُ ٍ ُّ‫ كل‬3 ً ‫يوم أكونُ فيه ُم‬ They said to me: You have nothing for the (coming) feast — neither food nor new clothes! I replied: Say not another word! What I myself say says it all: To me every day I am healthy and have something to eat is a feast!

In the next couplet, he alleges that he hardly ever ate meat (no. 414, Dīwān p. 310): ‫ض‬ ‫ض‬ ُ ‫ام َي ْنت ِق‬ ُ ‫الح ْمدُ لل ِه َق ْلبي ِم ْلؤُ ه َم َض‬ َ َ 1 ِ ‫  وح ْب ُل َع ْيشي على الأ ّي‬ َ َ ٌ ‫ض‬ ُ ‫َّحم َص ْو ٌم ليس َي ْنقَ ِر‬ ِ ‫ َص ْو ُم النَّصا َرى بلا ل ْح ٍم له أ َجل  ولي من الل‬2 Praise be to God! My heart aches and the thread of my life weakens day after day. Christians fast from meat for a certain period of time, but my fast from meat does not cease!

Christians serve him here as a foil, as they occasionally did to Ibn Sukkara; the comparison highlights his abject condition, which was supposedly worse than theirs, even though he was a Muslim and therefore deserved better. The 13 For a translation and brief discussion of this poem, see my ClassicalArabicBeggingPoetry andŠakwā,pp. 93-94. 14 See al-Aḥnaf’s Dīwān, nos. 291, 301, 406, 522, 727, 792. On Ibn Sukkara, see my Classical ArabicBeggingPoetryandŠakwā, pp. 86-88.

160

N. PAPOUTSAKIS

affluence of the protected peoples as opposed to the misery of learned and talented Muslims attested to the topsy-turviness of the times, which was a topos of complaint poetry. Another symptom of the supposed moral decadence decried in complaint verse was that money was the only thing that counted. The rich were honoured and heeded; the poor were disregarded and despised. The following epigram purportedly describes a personal experience, which illustrates this fact as well as the arrogance of the rich, who disdained and wronged al-Aḥnaf (no. 611, Dīwān p. 433): َ ِ‫ِأموالٍ وإقْبال‬ ‫ت َق ْو ًما في ُذ َرى َم ْس ِج ٍد‬ ُ ُ ‫ َرأ ْي‬1 ْ ‫  خصُّوا ب‬ ِ‫وا  فأو َض َع ْتني ِر ّق ُة الحال‬ ‫ت كالر َّْس ِم فما سل َُّم‬ ُ ‫ سل َّْم‬2 ْ ُ ّ ِ ‫وجاء َب ْعدي َر ُج ٌل ُم‬ ِ‫وس ٌر  فسلم المال على المال‬ 3 َ (One day) I saw some wealthy, affluent people occupying the best places at the mosque And greeted them, as custom requires, but they did not greet me back — my poor circumstances demoted me! Thereupon came a rich man and wealth greeted wealth!

In several poems al-Aḥnaf comments on the power of money, which could supposedly buy and achieve everything. His numerous poems on the venality of his beloved are to the same effect: nothing could make the young man to comply with his wishes except for cash.15 Another common topos of complaint poetry was bad luck. Bad luck was seen as the main cause of the supposed misery and unprosperousness of poets and other learned men. It was purportedly an inescapable fate and a permanent attribute of the learned; therefore, in the course of time it came to be considered as a token of erudition and talent.16 In the next quatrain (no. 255, Dīwān p. 239) al-Aḥnaf blames his poverty on his bad luck. His preordained livelihood share (rizq) is paltry, he complains, but what is more unfortunate is that he earns his life by his pen. His void, dilapidated house is an emblem of his squalid condition: ‫أص َبر ْه  ومن َشقا َب ْختي ما أ ْقذ َر ْه‬ ‫بت من‬ ُ ‫ َع ِج‬1 ْ ‫قلبي ما‬ َ ٌ ‫ضعيف وبه ِق ّل ٌة  كأنّه قد ُشدَّ في َمقْ َط َر ْه‬ ‫ ر ِْزقي‬2 ِ ‫الحرفة أنّي ا ْؐم ُر ٌؤ  معيشتي من‬ ِ ‫باط ِن‬ ‫الم ْح َب َر ْه‬ ُ ‫ َح ْسبي من‬3 ‫قبر ْه‬ َ 3 َ ‫وم ْن ِزلي مستهدَ ٌم ُمق ِف ٌر  منف ِر ٌد في َو َس ِط‬ َ ‫الم‬ 15 On the power of money, see Dīwān, nos. 103, 202, 447, 450, 620; on the venality of his beloved, nos. 20, 535, 648, 752 (a humorous 42-line poem: al-Aḥnaf tries to impress his beloved bragging about his intrepidity and alleged criminal activities, as well as about his erudition and poetic talent; nothing avails except for money), 804. 16 See my ClassicalArabicBeggingPoetryandŠakwā, pp. 62-66, 84-85, 206, 313.

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I am amazed at how much my heart bears and how squalid my wretched fortune is. My lot is weak and insufficient, as if put in the stocks. I have enough bad luck in that I earn my living by my pen (lit. ‘inkwell’). My home is void and crumbled, isolated in the middle of the graveyard.

Apart from a 17-line long poem on his unlucky star (no. 578, Dīwān pp. 419420) and repeated references to his bad luck, al-Aḥnaf composed three epigrams on the subject of his jinxed, rain-bringing clothes. In so doing, he followed in the footsteps of the 9th-century poet al-Ḥamdawī (ca. 200-270/816-884), who had thus illustrated his bad luck: making the best out of it, he offered his clothes to some drought-hit people who went out to pray for rain; because every time he washed and hung them out to dry, it rained. Al-Aḥnaf’s remakes testify to his good knowledge of this tradition; for despite the popularity of al-Ḥamdawī’s poetry the epigram on his jinxed clothes was seldom cited in the sources.17 A number of clichéd topics of more general grievances are found in the following nine-liner (no. 40, Dīwān p. 117), which deplores the topsy-turviness of the times. As the opening verse suggests, the supposed social and moral malaise originated from the neglect and disregard of culture, sciences and belles-lettres. This disregard was, in turn, the result of the sordidness and stinginess of the poet’s contemporaries, as implied in the last four lines of the poem: َ ‫ب‬ ‫الع ُل‬ َ‫ َز ِهد‬1 ْ ‫و  م وفي الش ِّْع ِر والأ َد‬ ُ ‫الناس في‬ ُ ِ ‫ب‬ ٍ ‫ َو َأتانا زمانُنا  ب َِع‬2 َ ‫جيب من‬ ْ ‫الع َج‬ ِ ‫ا  م ْس َت ِويًّا‬ ‫ب‬ ‫قائم‬ ُ ْ ‫قد ا ْنؐ َت َص‬ ً ‫ كلُّ ما كان‬3 ‫ب‬ ‫أسفَ لا‬ ْ ‫ صا َر‬4 ْ ْ ‫س قد ا ْنؐقَ َل‬ ْ ‫أعلاه‬ ٌ ‫ً  فه َو ِن ْك‬ ‫َب‬ ‫ِّما  غ فقد‬ ‫ كلُّ ما كان في الد‬5 ْ ‫صار في الذَّن‬ َ ِ ‫ب‬ ُ ‫الج‬ ْ ‫والع َر‬ ُ ‫ ُد ِف َن‬6 َ ‫الع ْج ُم‬ ُ َ‫ود والنَّدَ ى  ف ََسد‬ ِ ‫غير‬ ‫ب‬ ‫س‬ ِ ْ‫باخ ٍل  سا ِق ِط النَّف‬ َ ْ ‫والح َس‬ َ ‫ ما ترى‬7 ٍ ‫ في َيدَ ْي ِه ُصباب ٌة   ِمن ت‬8 ‫ب‬ ْ ‫ُراب و ِمن َذ َه‬ َ َ ‫ب ُد‬ ‫ َو ْه َو‬9 ‫ب‬ ِ ‫كالك ْل‬ ْ ‫ون ما  في َيدَ ْي ِه إذا َك ِل‬ People abstain from sciences, poetry and belles-lettres. Our time has brought us wondrous things. Everything that was rightly standing upright Has been turned on its head — upside down. Whatever was on top has now been lowered. Kindness and generosity have become extinct — both Arabs and non-Arabs have degenerated. 17 On bad luck see, e.g., Dīwān, nos. 88, 443 (a lampoon of the firmament, falak, for causing a reversal of his good fortune), 458, 557, 588, 775; the remakes of al-Ḥamdawī’s poem are nos. 17, 173 and 283. On al-Ḥamdawī, see my ClassicalArabicBeggingPoetryandŠakwā, Index.

162

N. PAPOUTSAKIS

You only see stingy people, mean and ignoble. Regardless whether they hold a little earth or gold in their hands, They defend what they have in their hands like mad dogs!

An age in which culture and letters are disregarded and the learned are ignored and demoted cannot but benefit and promote the ignorant and the silly. Therefore, poets routinely advise their audiences to fine-tune themselves to the prevailing ignorance and idiocy. Because in such times intelligence is a handicap. Al-Aḥnaf comments (no. 679, Dīwān p. 469): ُ ٌ‫العقْ َل ِح ْرمان‬ ‫وم‬ ُ ‫وش‬ َ َّ‫ إذا كان الزمانُ زمانُ َح ْمقَ ى  فإن‬1 ُ 2 ‫َدوم‬ ُ ‫الح ْمقَ ى فإنِّي  أرى الدُّنْيا بِدَ ْو َل ِتهِ ْم ت‬ َ ‫فك ْن َح ِمقً ا ِم َن‬ If this is an era of idiocy, intelligence is then deprivation and misfortune. Be an idiot among the idiot! For I think their ascendancy will last.

A recurrent theme of complaint poetry is sham friends, a further symptom of moral decline that poets lamented since the 9th century. People having degenerated, there was supposedly nobody one could trust, nobody to rely upon and turn to for help in hard times. Apart from blaming fake friends, al-Aḥnaf frequently praises solitude: one should avoid people altogether, he declares, because they are mean, selfish and unreliable; his cat is a better friend and company than all human beings are.18 Even drinking he preferred doing alone, he claims in a few poems, after describing in detail the excellent beverage he used to prepare for his solitary and therefore serene and enjoyable drinking sessions.19 Let me round off with what is perhaps al-Aḥnaf’s most famous epigram (no. 8 of the Appendix, Dīwān p. 543; cited in nine classical adab works). It is akin to his above-quoted piece on the monkey in that he again compares his situation negatively to that of some abject creatures. Here, however, he stresses his lonesomeness, which is a result of his poor circumstances: ‫ت بي ًتا على َو َه ٍن  تأوي إليه وما لي مثله َو َط ُن‬ ْ ‫العنكبوت َب َن‬ َ َ ٌ ‫والخنفساء لها من ِج ْن ِسها َسك ٌن  وليس لي مثلها‬ ‫إلف ولا َسك ُن‬ No matter how flimsy, a spider builds itself a home, to which it can repair, but I have no such home. A beetle has a mate of its own species, but I have neither friend nor mate.

The underlying idea, namely that a poor man has no friends, is often brought up in poems censuring fake friends and, more generally, the poet’s mean coevals. 18 On sham friends and, more generally, the baseness of his contemporaries, see, e.g., Dīwān, nos. 2, 26, 34, 66, 78, 102, 126, 148, 244, 508, 527, 598, 663, 749; on preferring solitude, nos. 142, 156, 206, 225, 226, 253, 264, 593; on preferring the company of his cat, nos. 206, 352, 388. 19 On drinking alone, see Dīwān, nos. 194, 355, 669.

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163

Nevertheless, as was customary, al-Aḥnaf also composed several poems preaching contentedness and patience and advising himself and his audience to avoid moaning and grumbling.20 Instead, he thanks God for all mishaps, even for his disability, especially in his reflective poetry, the second most important genre of his dīwān, and in the poems in which he addresses to God directly.21 The above was a synoptic presentation of the major themes of al-Aḥnaf al-῾Ukbarī’s complaint poetry. Even though his work is very diverse, shakwā is the dominant genre of his dīwān and he was one of the most important exponents of this kind of poetry in the 10th century. As I have tried to show, al-Aḥnaf owed much to the pre-existing tradition of shakwāand treatedallits clichéd topics again and again, but he also contributed to the creation and spread of numerous new themes and motifs. On the other hand, several thematic and formal peculiarities of his work seem to be related to his Ḥanbalī leanings. As is well known, the Ḥanbalīs posed as champions of the poorest social strata, to which they sought to reach out and from which they indeed attracted most of their followers. Moreover, they criticized the hedonistic opulence of the rich and avoided taking up public office, dissociating themselves from the ruling elites. Al-Aḥnaf’s shunning of panegyric poetry, his composing preponderantly shakwā and reflective poetry, his sympathy and frequent identification with paupers and his pronounced dislike of the rich, as well as the simplicity of his language and reasoning — all these peculiarities are perhaps best explained through his adherence to the Ḥanbalī movement.

20 21

See, e.g., Dīwān, nos. 310, 516, 561, 596, 637, 665, 812. I hope to discuss his reflective poetry in a future publication.

ARCHIVE ET RÉVOLUTION: ESPACES DE DÉBAT ET PRATIQUES CULTURELLES EN SYRIE DÈS 2011 Monica RUOCCO Università degli Studi di Napoli «L’Orientale»

L’explosion de la révolte syrienne éclatée en 2011 contre le gouvernement a libéré avec elle des énergies créatrices, intellectuelles et artistiques remarquables, plus ou moins spontanées et organisées, selon des modalités inédites pour la Syrie1. À travers les réseaux sociaux, les expériences de la vie associative, et les publications collectives, les intellectuels syriens en patrie et en exil, ont reconstitué le contexte de la révolte en dessinant le paysage mental, émotionnel, culturel propre à plusieurs générations de Syriens. Les éditeurs du volume collectif SyriaSpeaks, publié par Saqi Books en 2014, affirment que pour les intellectuels syriens, les écrivains, les peintres, les poètes syriens, «creativity is not only a way of surviving the violence, but of challenging it»2. Cette contribution se propose, d’abord, de présenter brièvement quelques-unes parmi les nouvelles typologies d’espaces de débat intellectuel syrien. En particulier, on analysera deux espaces crées sur le web et, dans la deuxième partie, nous nous concentreront sur l’analyse des certaines pratiques où la littérature et le texte écrit se mélangent à d’autres formes d’expression artistique. Notre propos est de montrer comment, dans un contexte de guerre, des pratiques culturelles et artistiques se transforment en pratiques sociales. L’object de cette contribution sont, donc, ces artistes et écrivains qui ont su transcender leur art à travers un mode d’expression qui «représente le réel et leur volonté de dire la vérité, sans que la question éthique compromette l’intention esthétique»3. Selon Yassin al-Haj Saleh, ancien prisonnier politique (1980-1996), et actuellement réfugié en Turquie où il dirige un centre de recherches, la guerre en cours en Syrie4 ne peut plus être définie intifada.Le conflit en cours a en effet perdu sa dimension de guerre «syro-syrien» pour acquérir une dimension régionale et internationale5. Étant donné le grand nombre de formations qui participent au 1 Sur créativité et révolution en Syrie voir M. COOKE, Dancing in Damascus: Creativity, Resilience,andtheSyrianRevolution, London-New York, 2017. 2 M. HALASA, Z. OMAREEN and N. MAHFOUD (eds.), SyriaSpeaks.ArtandCulturefromthe Frontline, London, Kindle ed., pos. 58. 3 Cette question a été analysée, à propos de la guerre civile algérienne, par NÉVINE EL NOSSERY dans son Témoignagesfictionnelsauféminin.Uneréécrituredesblancsdelaguerrecivilealgérienne, Amsterdam/New York, 2012. 4 Pour suivre le conflit syrien voir http://syriancivilwarmap.com (dernier accès 14/8/2017). 5 YASSIN AL-HAJ SALEH,Laquestionsyrienne, Paris, 2016, Kindle ed., pos. 185.

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conflit, je prendrai en considération les expériences des ces intellectuels qui — comme al-Haj Saleh, Ḥassān ‘Abbās, Samar Yazbek, Khalīl Yūnis (Khalil Younes), Khālid Khalīfa, Mahā Ḥasan, pour ne prendre que quelques exemples — manifestent leur opposition au régime d’un coté, et de l’autre coté au «nihilisme guerrier» des djihadistes6. LA

FORCE DE NE PAS OUBLIER

Les projets conçus pour le web par les activistes et les intellectuels arabes à partir de 2011, visent à créer une véritable archive de l’héritage national immatériel en regroupant des formes d’expression culturelles et artistiques7. Pour les activistes syriens, il s’agit d’écrire, d’enregistrer, de documenter, de réunir les histoires du peuple, ciblé entré la violence du gouvernement et la brutalité du sectarisme. Hala Kodmani, affirme que «l’hyper-activisme médiatique est une véritable révolution dans la révolution syrienne», après des décennies de censure et de propagande.8 Dans cette recherche, on n’a pas pris en considération les archives concernant l’information, les médias en ligne, les mouvements des journalistes-citoyens9, et les moyens d’information amateurs devenus aussi «des espaces d’expression, de communication et de création pour et entre Syriens à travers le monde»10. On a plutôt pris en compte ces pratiques dont l’aspect culturel est prédominant. En analysant les nouveaux espaces de débat intellectuel, on enregistre des 6 http://www.lexpress.fr/actualite/monde/proche-moyen-orient/un-appel-des-intellectuelssyriens-pour-arreter-le-carnage_1267848.html (dernier accès, 14/8/2017). Pour ce qui concerne le statut de l’intellectuel sous les régimes de Hafez et Bachar al-Asad, on renvoie à l’essai de MIRIAM COOKE, DissidentSyria:MakingOppositionalArtsOfficial,Durham, 2007.Dans ce texte Miriam Cooke souligne l’équilibre précaire vécu par les intellectuels Syriens, pris entre le compromis artistique sous un régime autoritaire et la collusion avec l’État, et les très réelles sanctions pour les transgresseurs des lignes rouges qui changeaient constamment et qui chaque artiste ou intellectuel syrien devait respecter. 7 Dans le monde arabe on a déjà assisté à une prolifération de l’activisme médiatique de ce type, visé a créer un «web archive» des expériences liées à un moment historique donné, comme dans le cas de la révolution égyptienne du 25 janvier, documentée, par exemple, par Lara Baladi dans son http://tahrirarchives.com (dernier accès, 14/8/2017); ou le projet Palestinian Podcast http:// palestinianspodcast.com de Jehan Bseiso (dernier accès, 14/8/2017). Sur ce sujet voir Y. GONZALEZQUIJANO, Arabitésnumériques.LeprintempsduWebarabe, Arles, 2012. 8 H. KODMANI, Recomposer un paysage médiatique libre, in Actes du Colloque ilasouria.01, 2014, http://www.ilasouria.org/, pp. 157-161 (dernier accès 12/9/2016); http://docplayer.fr/14545985Recomposer-un-paysage-mediatique-libre.html (dernier accès 14/8/2017). 9 F. SAI, The Limits of Representation. The Transformation of Aesthetics in Syrian Artistic and Social Discourse, LaRivistadiArablit, V, 9-10 (2015), pp. 106-113. 10 «Plusieurs publications qui ont démarré en ligne sont imprimées et obtiennent un succès grandissant tels des hebdomadaires socio-culturels comme Souriatnaou des publications locales comme EnabBaladià Daraya ou Oxygèneà Zabadani et bien d’autres, souvent diffusées clandestinement». KODMANI, Recomposer un paysage médiatique libre, p. 159.

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expériences réalisées en Syrie ou dans les pays voisins, ou encore à l’étranger, et surtout en France11; ainsi ils existent des sites qui reçoivent un soutien explicite par des organismes ou des associations internationales, et ceux qui se proclament indépendants. À partir de ces constats préliminaires, et en sachant qu’il n’est pas possible définir dans un corpus définitif une réalité si complexe et changeant comme celle de l’activisme révolutionnaire sur le web, on a pris en considération deux expériences qui constituent, à notre avis, des exemples significatifs des différentes typologies d’espace et de pratiques culturelles. Les deux axes autours desquelles ces sites sont organisés sont «art et témoignage» et «images et récits». L’un des sites parmi les plus actifs et intéressants pour sa capacité à intégrer les diverses expressions artistiques et culturelles est al-Dhākiraal-ibdā‘iyyalil-thawraal-sūriyya,LaMémoireCréativedelaRévolutionSyrienne12. Soutenu par l’Institut Français de Syrie, le Ministère Norvégien des Affairs Etrangers, le Friedrich Ebert Stiftung, la Ngo Ccfd-terre Solidaire, ce site crée par Sārā Yāzijī — graphic designer diplômé de la Faculté des Beaux-Arts de Damas — regroupe caricatures, graffitis, sculptures, peintures, affiches, photographies, mais aussi vidéos, publications, théâtre, cinéma, radio. Le site a pour objectif de regrouper toutes les formes d’expression intellectuelle et artistique produites pendant la révolution: «La grande majorité des oeuvres artistiques et culturelles en lien avec cette révolution est disponible à divers endroits sur la toile dès l’instant où elles sont produites. Cependant, il reste très difficile de retrouver ces oeuvres après un certain temps, tant leur diffusion est dense et momentanée. D’où l’importance de construire ce site réservé qui les regroupe tous»13. Un autre objectif de ce site est de soutenir la résistance artistique syrienne, de renforcer sa place et de diffuser son message, et d’aider à la mise en réseau de ses acteurs, qu’ils soient des personnes ou des groupes14, aussi bien entre eux qu’avec le reste du monde solidaire. Les participants à ce projet considèrent «qu’ils travaillent d’une manière ou d’une autre à l’écriture de leur histoire contemporaine, estimant que c’est une nécessité première afin de faire connaitre les circonstances et le sens de la révolution à ses contemporains et à ses acteurs, aux générations 11 Voir, par exemple, les Associations IlaSouria (https://www.facebook.com/pg/ila.souria/ about/?ref=page_internal), Syrie MDL (http://www.syriemdl.net); Polyphonies Syriennes (http:// www.nonfiction.fr/article-8100-polyphonies_syriennes__ecrivains_intellectuels_et_artistes_resistent.htm); Souria Houria (https://souriahouria.com) (dernier accès 14/8/2017). Voir également le numéro spécial dirigé par PAUL O’KEEFEE and ZSUZSANNA PÁSZTOR (eds.), Syrian Academics in Exile, in NewResearchVoices.InternationalJournalofResearchfromtheFront-line, I, 2 (2016). 12 http://www.creativememory.org/?lang=ar (dernier accès 14/8/2017). 13 http://www.creativememory.org/?page_id=29786 (dernier accès 14/8/2017). 14 Voir, par exemple les affiches conçues par le collectif al-Sha‘b al-sūrī ‘ārif tārīkhahu. Katelyn Fosset, Ink Spilled for the Revolution. Art from Syria’s front lines, http://www.politico. com/magazine/gallery/2014/09/ink-spilled-for-the-revolution/002038-028961.html#.V59-sGVi_1w (dernier accès 14/8/2017).

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futures et au monde entier. Constituer les archives de l’héritage national immatériel et le protéger est nécessaire car c’est notre mémoire, et c’est rendre son crédit historique à tout le peuple syrien»15. Si le site al-Dhākira al-ibdā‘iyya est surtout centré sur l’art et l’image, le projet Ḥikāyahmāinḥakat/ SyriaUntold16 met au centre les contes et les narrations d’expériences individuelles. Ḥikāyahmāinḥakat est un projet multimédia indépendant dont l’objectif est d’enregistrer la narration de la lutte syrienne et ses différentes formes de résistance17. Il est formé par des écrivains syriens, des journalistes et des programmeurs internationaux vivant dans le pays et à l’étranger, qui essaient de mettre en évidence les récits de la révolution, tout ce que les hommes et les femmes syriennes vivent et écrivent jour après jour, tous «les nombreux aspects de la lutte syrienne qui restent à découvrir, les nombreuses histoires que nous ne voudrions pas voir oubliées».18 Le premier élément qui met en commun les expériences qui essayent d’élaborer ces espaces alternatifs de débat est l’urgence de témoigner, d’avoir recours à la mémoire pour adapter les expériences personnelles à celles du milieu social. Le recours à la mémoire individuelle et à la mémoire collective répond, comme affirme Paul Ricoeur dans son essai Lamémoire,l’histoire,l’oubli, à la demande de vérité qui est à la base de toutes les expériences qui essayent des comprendre un événement traumatique, ce que le philosophe français définit «événement aux limites»19. Face à un réel qui a atteint une violence innommable, les promoteurs des ces expériences estiment qu’il est nécessaire de participer à la documentation de l’histoire contemporaine, et qu’il est également crucial que la révolution et ses réalités soient explicitement décrites, aussi bien pour les contemporains que pour les générations à venir. Le deuxième élément est le valeur collective des narrations individuelles qui acquièrent le pouvoir de «faire de l’histoire»20. En ce qui concerne le rapport 15

http://www.creativememory.org/?page_id=29786 (dernier accès 14/8/2017). SyriaUntold (http://www.syriauntold.com) est un a project de UntoldStories ASBL, une organisation sans but lucratif enregistrée en Belgique (dernier accès 14/8/2017). 17 Voir par exemple http://www.syriauntold.com/ar/work_group/‫كش‬-‫ملك‬/ (dernier accès 14/8/ 2017). WENDY PEARLMAN a collecté les témoignages des Syriens concernant la vie avant, pendant et après la révolte de 2011 dans son We Crossed a Bridge and It Trembled, Worthington, 2017; tandis que Taqāṭu‘nīrān.Minyawmiyyātal-intifāḍaal-sūriyya (Bayrūt, Dār al-Ādāb, 2012), et The Crossing,myjourneytotheshatteredheartofSyria (London, 2015) de SAMAR YAZBEK, sont, respectivement, des comptes rendus des premiers mois de la révolution et de ce qui s’est passé lorsque l’écrivaine syrienne est retourné en Syrie, faisant un passage illégal de la Turquie en 2012. 18 «Through grassroots campaigns, emerging forms of self-management and self-government and endless manifestations of citizen creativity, a new outspoken Syria has emerged, after decades of repression and paralysis. With mainstream media focusing increasingly on geostrategic and military aspects and less on internal dynamics developing on the ground, we believe there are many aspects of the Syrian struggle that remain uncovered, many stories that we would not like to see forgotten». Voir http://www.syriauntold.com/en/about-syria-untold/ (dernier accès 14/8/2017). 19 P. RICOEUR, Lamémoire,l’histoire,l’oubli, Paris, 2000, p. 337. 20 P. NORA, Le retour de l’événement, in J. LE GOFF et P. NORA (eds.), Fairedel’histoire, tome 1, Nouveauxproblèmes, Paris, 1974, pp. 285-308. 16

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entre mémoire et histoire,21 Ricoeur reprend les arguments de Maurice Halbwachs dans son Lamémoirecollective(1950), et affirme que mémoire et histoire sont désormais «condamnées à une cohabitation forcée»22. Cela est particulièrement vrai — continue Ricoeur — «dans la mesure où l’État-nation reste le pôle organisateur des référents ordinaires du discours historique»23, qui est sans doute la cas d’un pays comme la Syrie. Le discours sur la mémoire est strictement lié à la pratique de l’archive, analysée par Jacques Derrida dans son très connu Mal d’Archive24. Selon Derrida, «Une archive est l’enregistrement du passé […], elle renvoie à la consignation de la mémoire, à la fidélité de la tradition, mais c’est aussi un mouvement de promesse;25 […] est une question d’avenir, la question de l’avenir même»26. Les activistes syriens, à travers un besoin urgent de documenter leur lutte, montrent au monde leur aspiration à travailler à l’écriture de l’histoire contemporaine de la Syrie. Au même temps, ils cherchent une nouvelle forme de survie, une réponse, une promesse, mais aussi une responsabilité pour demain, conscients que «l’archive est une initiative d’autorité, de pouvoir, y compris pour l’avenir».27 En Syrie, dès 2011, la mémoire, les témoignages de la vie réelle, et les expériences subjectives se transforment également dans des pratiques artistiques28 et littéraires qu’on pourrait définir comme «écriture testimoniale», «littérature de témoignage» ou «témoignage fictionnel»29. Dans cette contribution on prendra en compte les oeuvres des deux narrateurs syriens Khalīl Yūnis et Khālid Khalīfa, pour montrer comment ils ont transformé les traumatismes de la guerre en tension créatrice30. 21 Dans un article sur l’analyse des récentes révisions des théories historiographiques, Gabrielle M. Spiegel affirme «those revisions have created a path for a return of the analysis of individual agency and experience in history, changes that, it is argued, constitute a form of neo-phenomenology as the governing philosophical orientation in historiography. To the extent that this is correct, it establishes a philosophical and theoretical basis for the integration of memory and memorial testimony into the study of the past». Voir G.M. SPIEGEL, The Future of the Past. History, Memory and the Ethical Imperatives of Writing History, JournalofthePhilosophyofHistory 8 (2014), pp. 149-179, p. 149. 22 RICOEUR, Lamémoire,l’histoire,l’oubli, p. 517. 23 Ibid., p. 354. 24 J. DERRIDA, Mald’archive.Uneimpressionfreudienne, Paris, 1995. 25 Ibid., p. 52. 26 Ibid., p. 60. 27 J. DERRIDA, Le cinéma et ses fantômes. Interview par A. De Baeque, T. Jousse, LesCahiers ducinéma 556 (2001), pp. 84-85. 28 Voir le projet de MALU HALASA, ARAM TAHHAN, LEEN ZYIAD, DONATELLA DELLA RATTA (eds.), Cultureindefiance.ContinuingTraditionsofSatire,ArtandtheStruggleforFreedomin Syria, Amsterdam, Prince Claus Fund for Culture and Development, 2012, http://www.slideshare. net/donadr/culture-indefiance (dernier accès 14/8/2017). 29 L. JURGENSON, Fictions contemporaines des violences de masse: le dispositif à l’épreuve du réel, in Revuecritiquedefixxionfrançaisecontemporaine 4 (2016), pp. 57-67 http://www.revue-critiquede-fixxion-francaise-contemporaine.org/rcffc/article/view/fx13.07/1082 (dernier accès 14/8/2017). 30 Voir le dossier al-Tanāwulal-sardīli-l-ḥarbwaal-‘unffīSūriyā publié par la revue Jadaliyya http://www.jadaliyya.com/pages/index/24932/‫التناول‬-‫السردي‬-‫للحرب‬-‫والعنف‬-‫في‬-‫( سوريا‬dernier accès 14/8/2017).

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Fig. 1. Khalil Younes, AleppoRiverMassacre 2013 (http://khalilyounes.com)

ART ET ÉCRITURE: KHALĪL YŪNIS Dans le cas de Khalīl Yūnis, les deux univers de l’art et de l’écriture se concentrent dans la même personne. Photographe indépendant, peintre, artiste visuel et vidéo artiste, Khalīl Yūnis est né à Damas. Il vit aux États-Unis depuis 1998, mais malgré ça, il a gardé un stricte lien avec son pays d’origine pendant tous les années vécues en exile. Sa série de dessins à la plume, Revolution2011, qui a suscité l’intérêt du British National Museum31, représente certains des personnages clés de l’insurrection syrienne32. Yūnis écrit également des nouvelles, qu’il publie régulièrement sur le web33. Ses récits, écrits en anglais, arabe littéraire et arabe syrien, comme ses tableaux, sont des petites histoires tirées de son expérience avec la révolution, et focalisées sur les personnages représentés. Les portraits de corps torturés, d’images de violence où la couleur rouge est dominante, font le paire avec ses micro-histoires qui transcendent sa propre littérarité et utilisent un mode d’expression très «visuel» pour représenter le réel. 31 http://orient-news.net/en/news_show/106070/0/British-Museum-possess-works-by-the-Syrianartist-«Khalil-Younis» (dernier accès 14/8/2017). 32 https://www.behance.net/gallery/7317033/The-Syrian-Revolution (dernier accès 14/8/2017). 33 Les récit qu’on analyse ici ont été tiré du profil Facebook de l’auteur (https://www.facebook. com/MrTstop), le blog Nftaleen (http://nftaleen.com), le site alhiwar.net (http://www.alhiwar.net/ ShowNews.php?Tnd=18571), le site http://www.syriauntold.com/ar/?s=‫خليل‬+‫( يونس‬dernier accès 14/8/2017).

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Son récit le plus connu est probablement Chickenliver, publié dans le déjà cité SyriaSpeaks, et rédigé sous forme de journal intime34. Ici, une série de souvenirs qui vont des années ’90 jusqu’à 2013, s’entremêlent à des conversations téléphoniques que l’auteur échange, presque tous les jours, avec son meilleur ami Hassan, qui a été enrôlé dans l’armée du régime et qui combat en première ligne à Alep. Yūnis suit les journées de son ami, qui sera tué en 2013, jusqu’aux derniers instants de sa vie. Les souvenirs d’enfance et la disparition sont les thèmes qui recourent dans plusieurs récits de Khalīl Yūnis, dont les protagonistes sont souvent des enfants. Dans Umm (Mère, 2015)35, la petite Zaynab, condamnée à perdre précocement ses cheveux noir, disparait tout à coup avec sa mère;al-Asmākal-blāstikiyya (Les poissons en plastique 2016)36, raconte l’histoire du jeune Noa lequel, pendant la nuit, entend la respiration lourde de ses animaux en plastique cachés sous son lit, et avec qui il partage l’angoisse et les cauchemars qu’il vit lors des bombardements. Dans d’autres récits, le conte se juxtapose à l’autobiografie, les souvenirs d’enfance à la réalité de la crise syrienne. Le factuel et le fictionnel se rencontrent à mi-chemin, en réalisant ce que Michael Riffaterre appelle le «fictional truth»37. C’est la cas du récit Māmā (Maman, 2013)38 qui raconte la destruction de la maison de famille dans le quartier al-Dīwāniyya à Damas, ou ‘Ālamsūrīṣaghīr (Un petit drapeau syrien, 2013)39 sur le système scolaire en Syrie et la propagande gouvernementale. L’importance du témoignage est le sujet du conte intitulé BāsilfaqaṭwaRiyāḍ al-Ṣāliḥ al-Ḥusayn (Bāsil seulement et Riyāḍ al-Ṣāliḥ al-Ḥusayn, 2015)40. Le narrateur de cette nouvelle nous raconte l’histoire de Abū Khaldūn, le vendeur de falafel du quartier al-Dīwāniyya. Pour envelopper ses sandwichs il utilise du papier qu’il achète habituellement chez les proches d’écrivains et de poètes, pauvres ou bien décédés, du quartier. Quand le Ministère de la Santé decide d’interdire l’utilisation de papiers écrits à l’encre pour envelopper les sandwiches, Abū Khaldūn depose toutes les feuilles qu’il avait ramassées pendant des années devant son magasin, et invite les habitants du quartier à en prendre gratuitement des stocks. Les enfants du quartier commencent, alors, à fabriquer des avions et des missiles en papier qui survolent les toits du quartier. Poèmes d’amour, rapports de torture, et confessions, se mélangent avec les pages de deux romans. 34 HALASA, OMAREEN and MAHFOUD (eds.), SyriaSpeaks.ArtandCulturefromtheFrontline, pos. 668 ss. 35 http://nftaleen.com/2015/08/14/‫أم‬/ُ (dernier accès 14/8/2017). 36 http://nftaleen.com/2016/01/14/‫الأسماك‬-‫البلاستيكية‬/ (dernier accès 14/8/2017). 37 M. RIFFATERRE, FictionTruth, Baltimore, 1990. 38 https://www.facebook.com/notes/khalil-younes/25953197596215101/‫( ماما‬dernier accès 14/8/ 2017). 39 https://www.facebook.com/notes/khalil-younes/‫علم‬-‫سوري‬-‫صغير‬/25901710975215101/ (dernier accès 14/8/2017). 40 http://nftaleen.com/2015/01/29/‫باسل‬-‫فقط‬-‫ورياض‬-‫الصالح‬-‫الحسين‬/ (dernier accès 14/8/2017).

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Les auteurs des deux textes son Riyāḍ al-Ṣāliḥ al-Ḥusayn et un écrivain qui a signé son oeuvre avec le nom de Bāsil Faqaṭ «Bāsil seulement». Les deux romans finissent par être réunis: une page de Bāsil et une page de Riyāḍ. Le livre voit le jour en 2011, un livre sans titre, sans couverture, sans corrections. En bas de la première page un trait de plume incertain a écrit: «Ici reposent Bāsil Faqaṭ et Riyāḍ al-Ṣāliḥ al-Ḥusayn»41. Très probablement Khalīl Yūnis évoque ici les figures de Riyāḍ al-Ṣāliḥ al-Ḥasan, et celle de Bassel Shehadeh (Bāsil Shahāda)42. Le premier était un poète de Daraa, mort en 1982 à l’âge de 28 ans, dont les poèmes et les articles ont été recueillis dans un archive virtuel43. Bassel Shehadeh était un jeune cinéaste syrien qui avait quitté l’Université de Syracuse aux Etats Unis pour rentrer dans son pays natal. En Syrie il avait participé aux manifestations et avait filmé les soulèvements populaires antigouvernementaux44. Il a été tué en 2012 au cours des combats dans la ville de Homs en enseignant aux activistes comment filmer et éditer des images du soulèvement syrien. Cette écriture mémorielle de l’urgence, concernée par la violence brutale et impitoyable de la guerre, se situe fatalement entre fiction et témoignage, en créant une véritable «fiction du réel». Les renvoies aux événements réels partagés et vécus par les lecteurs, et aux personnages réellement existants, donnent aux récits de Khalīl Yūnis une valeur que Klaus Scherpe définit de «fiction collective»45. REPRÉSENTER L’IRREPRÉSENTABLE: KHĀLID KHALĪFA ET KHALED BARAQUE L’une des conséquences les plus immédiates de la guerre en Syrie est le déplacement et le déracinement de millions de Syriens. Jusqu’à 2017, entre six et huit millions de personnes ont été déplacées à l’intérieur de la Syrie, cependant plus de quatre millions ont quitté le pays pour se réfugier à l’étranger46. 41

Ibid. L’une des œuvres les plus émouvantes réalisées par Shehadeh est un film appelé Saturday MorningGift. Il est basé sur des entretiens qu’il avait fait avec un jeune garçon survécu à la guerre entre Israël et le Hezbollah libanais en 2006. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9hVceFcBh8Y (dernier accès 14/8/2017). 43 Voir https://riyadalsaleh.wordpress.com (dernier accès 14/8/2017). 44 «Shawāri‘unā: iḥtifāl al-ḥurriyya — Our Street: The Celebration of Freedom» https://www. youtube.com/watch?v=7v5Rj3AwWy0 (dernier accès 14/8/2017). Ce film a d’abord été réalisé lors du premier anniversaire de la révolution syrienne 2012, mais il a été perdu en raison des problèmes techniques. Le projet de médias indépendants syriens Kayani a réussi à récupérer la dernière version éditée que Bassel Shehadeh avait faite du film avant sa mort, et à résoudre les problèmes techniques. Le film donne un aperçu intéressant des souvenirs des différents militants dans différentes villes syriennes pendants les premières mois de la révolution syrienne. 45 K.R. SCHERPE, J. GUSSEN, Reading the Aesthetics of Résistance: Ten Working Theses, New GermanCritique30 (1983), p. 97. 46 http://syrianrefugees.eu (dernier accès 14/8/2017). 42

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Khālid Khalīfa (Alep, 1964), auteur de Madīḥ al-karāhiyya (Éloge de la haine)47 et Lāsakākīnfīmaṭābikhhādhihial-madīna (Pas de couteaux dans les cuisines de cette ville)48, publie en 2016 le roman al-Mawt‘amalshāqq(La mort est un travail difficile)49. Dans son dernier texte, comme dans ses romans précédents, Khālid Khalīfa explore la vie d’une famille syrienne ballottée par l’histoire. Poussé par un état d’urgence, Khalīfa décrit, dans al-Mawt‘amalshāqq, une procession funéraire non seulement pour répondre à un besoin personnel de faire le deuil de ses défunts, mais aussi pour offrir une témoignage de la vie du peuple syrien pendant la guerre. L’histoire, racontée à la troisième personne, commence avec le père de Bulbul, surnom de Nabīl, qui vient de décéder dans un hôpital de Damas. Sa dernière volonté est d’être enterré dans sa petite ville natale de ‘Annābiyya, dans la province d’Alep. Bulbul decide de respecter la volonté de son père. Toutefois, si Damas, la capitale syrienne, est sous le contrôle du régime de Bachar al-Asad, Alep est sous le contrôle des rebelles et des factions extrémistes: se déplacer d’une région à l’autre, avec un corps dans la voiture, se révèle être une tâche assez difficile. Avec son frère Ḥusayn et sa soeur Fāṭima, Bulbul part vers ‘Annābiyya à l’aube: «Il avait pris la décision de sortir de Damas par la Place des Abbassides. […] Au milieu de la foule et du chaos, Ḥusayn pensait que, en temps de paix, le cortège funèbre attirait la bienveillance des gens. Les voitures cédaient la place, et les passants s’arrêtaient avec une véritable émotion dans leurs yeux. Mais, en temps de guerre, les funérailles étaient un événement normal qui ne suscitait que l’envie des vivants, dont l’existence n’était devenue qu’une douloureuse attente de la mort»50.

Les trois frères ne s’étaient pas réunis pendant des années, et Fāṭima voit dans ce voyage une occasion de réparer leurs liens brisés. Le mariage de Fatima avec un homme d’affaires opportuniste et médiocre qui lui avait donné l’illusion d’une réussite social, sera à l’origine du mépris de la part de sa famille. Ḥusayn, qui était le fils favori, un jeune intelligent avec beaucoup d’ambition et de potentiel, a cédé rapidement à la tentation de faire de l’argent facile. Bulbul avait était toujours le plus silencieux: il avait toujours vécu dans la peur, et il était terrifié par le récent profil révolutionnaire de son père. Normalement, jusqu’à ‘Annābiyya il ne faillait que quelques heures de voyage seulement, et les frères espèrent atteindre leur destination dans la nuit. Étant donné les circonstances, ils ne vont pas le faire en moins de cinque jours. 47 48

2015. 49 50

K. KHALIFA, Élogedelahaine, trad. de Rania Samara, Arles, 2011. K. KHALIFA, Pasdecouteauxdanslescuisinesdecetteville, trad. de Rania Samara, Arles, K. KHALIFA, al-Mawt‘amalshāqq, Bayrūt, 2016. Ibid., p. 11.

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L’identité du père et son implication dans la révolution est la cause du premier retard sur leur chemin. Son nom étant mis à l’index, un point de contrôle de l’armée décide d’ «arrêter» le corps, jusqu’à l’autorisation par l’autorité centrale51. Il est seulement après une nuit d’angoisse, et le tentatif réussi de corruption des soldats, que les trois frères sont autorisés à poursuivre leur voyage avec le cadavre. Cet épisode absurde et, en même temps douloureux, n’est certainement pas le dernier. La tension entre les frères et sœur s’accumule, exacerbant leurs différences. Ils finissent par rejoindre ‘Annābiyya, transformés, chacun d’entre eux ayant atteint un point de non-retour dans leur vies. Dans ce voyage, et à travers les souvenirs de Bulbul des dernières années de son père, on découvre le caractère complexe de ce dernier: un professeur austère transformé en un héros révolutionnaire dans une ville assiégée par l’armée de al-Asad. À la transformation du père durant les années du soulèvement syrien, correspond la transformation de Bulbul: lui aussi enfin peut vaincre sa peur, et dans ce contexte totalement absurde, il apprend à vivre. À travers ce voyage, Khalīfa décrit avec précision ce que la Syrie est devenue. La violence est monnaie commune dans le pays, et les protagonistes de l’histoire — avec la population syrienne — ont familiarisé avec la mort et ses multiples visages. En même temps, avec la «renaissance» du père en tant que révolutionnaire, et la transformation de Bulbul/Nabīl, le livre porte un message inattendu d’espoir. L’idée centrale du roman de Khalīfa, c’est à dire l’errance du corps, renvoie au projet artistique réalisé par Khaled Barakeh (Khālid Barakah)52 en 2013, intitulé RegardingthePainofOthers53. Né en 1976 dans la périphérie de Damas et actuellement basé à Berlin, Khaled Barakeh a conçu son oeuvre comme un défi qui exigeait la contrebande d’un na‘āsh (un cercueil ouvert utilisé pour le transport des cadavres) de la Syrie en Allemagne. Avec l’aide d’un cheikh de la ville de Dā‘il (Da’el), et d’autres partenaires, le na‘āsh a prudemment pris son chemin à travers la Syrie, puis en Jordanie et, finalement, au fil des mois, il est arrivé en Allemagne. En utilisant uniquement des matériaux de l’objet d’origine — bois et clous —, Khaled Barakeh a converti ce symbole de la transition finale de la vie à la mort, dans un trône tombé. Le processus de métamorphose a gardé, toutefois, les planches et la poussière qui restent comme partie de l’installation, un témoignage des 135 corps que le na‘āsh a conduit jusqu’à la tombe. Les histoires qui ont été racontées 51

Ibid., pp. 99 ss. Khaled Barakeh est diplômé de la Faculté des Beaux-Arts de Damas en Syrie en 2005. Il a complété son MFA à la Funen Art Academy à Odense, en Danemark, en 2010, et a terminé son Meisterschueler à la Städelschule Art Academy à Frankfurt am Main en 2013. Il a exposé en Allemagne, Turquie, Danemark, Nouvelle-Zélande. 53 http://khaledbarakeh.com/selected-projects/RegardingthePainofOthers_Damascus.html (dernier accès 14/8/2017). 52

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Fig. 2. RegardingthePainofOthers,2013, Wood, variable dimensions

et partagées le long du chemin sont également devenues une partie du projet. Les associés à cette performance itinerante, de leur propre gré, ont enregistré des vidéos en récitant des poèmes lors du chemin du na‘āsh hors de la Syrie à la frontière de la Jordanie, où il devait être démonté pour le transport54: «Regardez ce cercueil, il est parfumé avec du sang qui coule. Ecoutez. Je le jure, Vous pouvez entendre des pleurs et des cris. C’est quoi, ce cercueil? Celui qui pleure après l’enterrement des innocents. C’est quoi, ce cercueil? Da’el mère des martyrs […] Voici mon histoire. Je suis le cercueil, Mon sang, mes larmes et mon chagrin. C’est le cercueil, Son bois est coupé des arbres verts de Da’el. 54 Ces videos ont été téléchargées sur Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_ continue=41&v=NH8jfvi4I-Y et https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_3jqvsx1b5M (dernier accès 14/8/2017).

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C’est le cercueil, qui a amené 135 martyrs au cimetière des martyrs. C’est le berceau qui conduit notre peuple à la vie sépulcrale. Il porte, sur le dos, nos enfants, Amjad, Alma, Sanā’. Il porte les hommes de l’Armée syrienne libre, Nabīl, Ḥussām, Mu‘ayad et Ṭāhir. Il porte les femmes, Faryāl et Umm Nabīl.

Ce projet a réussi dans le but de convertir la représentation de la mort et d’objets vénérables comme le na‘āsh dans une critique du pouvoir politique et, comme le roman de Khalīfa, il ne manque pas d’une certaine amertume mêlé d’ironie et de sarcasme. Dans les deux cas, les auteurs défient la perception et la conscience du lecteur et du public. Tout en reconnaissant la difficulté de dire l’horreur, ces artistes et écrivains syriens conçoivent leur art comme «le seul moyen possible d’appréhender l’inimaginable, de représenter l’irreprésentable et surtout d’en rendre compte pour ceux qui ne savent pas, n’écoutent pas ou tout simplement refusent de le croire»55.

55

EL NOSSERY, Témoignagesfictionnelsauféminin,p. 10.

MEDITERRANEAN POETIC GEOGRAPHIES. CROSS-CULTURAL PATTERNS AND PATHS IN MUNṢIF AL-WAHĀYBĪ’S CITY POETRY Simone SIBILIO Ca’ Foscari University of Venice

In most of the discourse on contemporary Arab poetry, the adoption of spatial tropes, the rethinking of cultural paradigms or fixed normative parameters, sometime in the wake of an incessant and ineludible monitoring process of Western cultural and theoretical models, the emergence of new artistic codes and modes of signification and the consequent exploration of new creative boundaries enlarging the possibilities of language, have run parallel to a recourse to place writing and ‘imaginary maps’ in literature. The appearance of new poetic geographies that interrogate the self and the collectivity represents a relevant manifestation of Arab modernity; nevertheless, in some cases, these products may provide a prism through which we can see spatial representations that challenge dominant geopolitical assumptions and national historical narratives or rediscuss the relationship between place and identity. The poetic research of Tunisian Munṣif al-Wahāybī (Moncef Ouhaïbi, b. 1948), is a case in point of this trend. A large part of his lyrical work is devoted to the poetic writing of his country, an emblematic heart of Mediterranean civilization, a space for plural identities and encounter between different cultures across time. In this article, I will discuss Munṣif al-Wahāybī’s attempt to map the Tunisian, and more broadly the North African, historical and cultural geospace in verse, pinpointing the motif of the city as a key subject-matter in his work. Born in Ḥājib al-‘Uyūn, a little village in the surroundings of al-Qayrawān in 1949, al-Wahāybī teaches Arab language and literature at the University of Sousse (Sūsa). He has published several volumes of poetry, two novels, along with literary essays and film scripts.1 His lyrical production, with its assumptions and achievements in form and shape, is worthy of being placed at the international level, within the broader Arab poetic movement of shi‘ral-ḥadātha (Modernist poetry), and at the local level, within the process of poetic change in Tunisia, in which the avantgarde writers of the so-called movement of al-Ṭalī‘a (The 1 For a more comprehensive bio-bibliography of the author see S. SIBILIO, Tra gli echi del passato. Lo spazio aperto del testo di Munṣif al-Wahāybī, QuadernidiStudiArabi 10 (2015), pp. 237256, here p. 239.

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Avantgarde),2 — active at the turn of the ’60s and ’70s and whose main representative is ‘Izz al-Dīn al-Madanī (1938) — played a seminal role in fostering literary innovation.3 From the pages of the cultural magazine “al-Fikr” the intellectuals who advocated a break with conventional models (used so far) ushered in a new stage of development in Tunisian literature. In this process they made an important contribution in spreading the experimental poetry of the movement “Fī ghayr al-‘amūdī wa-l-ḥurr” (neither classical nor free verse). 4 The institutional affiliation of the magazine did not prevent it from guaranteeing pluralism and thus to serve as a launching pad for new writers.5 Al-Wahāybī himself played a leading part in the debates on literary innovation and in the reformulation of artistic and creative codes in his country in those years.6 His contribution to the process of poetic modernity, and particularly, his engagement with the transformation of poetic language in Tunisian literary scene has been widely acknowledged by critics. Since his first collection Alwāḥ (Tables, 1982) he sought to pursue poetic innovation in style and content, benefiting from the riches, intensity, and fervor of the old sufi poetry, as well as from the figural obliquity of experimentalism, with the ambition of projecting his text into new geographies of the imaginary. His poetic beginnings are commonly linked to the development of the so-called ‘cosmic trend’ (al-shi‘ral-kawnī) that distinguished itself for a peculiar poetic diction rich in metaphysical and mystical reverberations.7 The cosmic trend, generally associated with the ‘school of al-Qayrawān’, and with some later Faḍīla al-Shābbī’s works, was mostly regarded as an aestheticizing orientation invested with spiritual significance, emerged in the eighties as a reaction to the political crisis that erupted in the aftermath of the events of 26th January 1978 which inspired a wave of socio-politically committed literature.8

2 For further details see J. FONTAINE, La littérature tunisienne contemporaine, Paris, 1990, p. 73. 3 He is author of the experimental successful novel al-Insānal-ṣifr (The Zero Man, 1968-1971) and the literary manifesto of the new revolutionary trend “al-Adab al-tajrībī” (Experimental Literature) published in Tunis in 1972. 4 For further insight into “Fī ġayr al-‘amūdī wa-l-ḥurr” movement see Y. NĀWRĪ, al-Shi‘r al-ḥadīthfī-lMaghribal-‘arabī, v. 2, Dār al-Bayḍā’, 2006, pp. 15-24. 5 J. VEGLISON, Reflejo de la literatura occidental en la producción tunecina contemporánea, MEAH 45 (1996), pp. 295-311, here 298. 6 See A. BIN SALĀMA, al-Tayyārāt al-adabiya fī Tūnus al-mu‘āṣira, quoted in Y. NĀWRĪ, al-Shi‘r, op. cit., pp. 15-16. 7 See J. VEGLISON ELÍAS DE MOLINS, Poesíatunecinacontemporánea(1956-1990), Valencia, 1993; J. FONTAINE, The Tunisian Literary Scene, ResearchinAfricanLiteratures 28, 3 (Autumn, 1997), pp. 73-84; Regardssurlalittératuretunisienne, Tunis, 1991, p. 75, and al-Adabal-tūnsī al-mu‘āṣir, Tunis, 1989, pp. 122-127 (or in the French translation, Lalittératuretunisienne,op. cit., pp. 104-109). 8 J. FONTAINE, Regards, op. cit., p. 96.

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In the case of al-Wahāybī, his concerns for natural-philosophical and unworldly dimensions, combined with the mystical depth of his versification that invokes his need to interiorize nature and plunge into boundless spirituality, are not to be interpreted as a pseudo-romantic withdrawal into the self, but as an attempt to explore the threshold of the transcendence, in order to dismantle the boundary between manifest reality and the unknown or the neglected. Such mystical inspiration fuels his poetry where the language is charged with expressing the depth of unrevealed spaces, both geo-historical and aesthetical, in diction and imagery. Language is the stronghold of knowledge that sets the locus of the lyrical self in the cosmos and guides him into myriad sites and realms of memory and imagination.9 Therefore, space and place are central axes of his research, subjected to constant inquiry, with particular regard to their historical dimensions: “Perhaps the connection between poetry and space is strengthened when the poetic space is geographical and historical at the same time,” confirms the poet, adding that “the basis of poetry, and in particular the Arab poetry, is the link between the rhythms of place and time. It suffices to think of the twofold meaning of the word bayt, both as abode and poetic verse.”10 The topographical mode is, thus, a fundamental feature of his poetry, and assumes particular relevance as early as in the second collection Minal-baḥr ta’tīal-jibāl(From the Sea Come the Mountains, 1992) in which he “draws his relationship with place”11 through the symbolic use of the city. This trope has also been focal in Arab modernity experiences. The representation of the urban setting in its multifaceted dimensions has gained a particular bearing in most modernist poetry since the 50s. As widely acknowledged, more or less explicitly, many poets were inspired by T.S. Eliot’s vision of the city, as expressed in the Waste Land: a paradigm of dehumanization and spiritual decay brought about by the individualism of modern life. The depiction of the city as a place of moral corruption, social degradation, and individual alienation had become a constant motif from 50s onwards, informing the personal experiences of poets coming from different countries who tackled the dichotomy between the town and the countryside.12 Notwithstanding, the widespread interest in mythological and utopic dimensions, particularly from the Tammuzian poetry on, gave the On his poetic language see also F. AL-NAṢRĪ, Shā‘ir yabḥathu ‘an lugha ḍā’i‘a, in M. ALWAHĀYBĪ, Dīwānal-Wahāybī, Ṣfāqs – Tūnus, 2010, pp. 9-10. 10 Interview with the poet, conducted on 11/20/2015. 11 I borrow this expression from Yūsuf Nāwrī. See Y. NĀWRĪ, al-Shi‘r al-ḥadīth, op. cit., p. 138. 12 There is a broad critical literature on this issue. For further development see the chapter ‘I. ISMĀʽĪL, al-Shā‘ir wa-l-madīna, in Id., al-Shi‘ral-‘arabīal-mu‘āṣir, al-Qāhira, 1994, pp. 277301; M. ʽALĪ ABŪ GHĀLĪ, al-Madīna fī-l-shi‘r al-‘arabī al-mu‘āṣir, Madīnat al-Kuwayt, 1996; R. OSTLE, The City in Modern Arabic Literature, BulletinoftheSchoolofOrientalandAfrican Studies 49, 1 (1986), pp. 193-202; S. MOREH, Town and Country in Modern Arabic Poetry from Shawqī to al-Sayyāb, AsianandAfricanStudies 18 (1984), pp. 161-185. 9

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city-poetry new vitality and depth. Likewise, the tragedy of Palestine inspired many poems addressing the feeling of injustice and irreversible loss. Longing for beloved cities is a constant motif in poems expressing the sense of displacement and uprooting from homeland as well as in those addressing the exilic experience. We can rightly posit that al-Wahāybī’s poetics is in dialogue with those prior works. In fact, he confessed to have steered his research in this direction, after having observed the impact of ancient history on the vision and originality of Levantine modernist poets.13 Eschewing from the realistic mode, he orients his research, rather, towards the construction of a broader poetic space where a different range of mythical, cultural, environmental, and historic signs coalesce and often overlap with the poet’s private experience of the self beyond time and space. His city-poetry can be classified into two prevailing tendencies: – The first suggests the symbolic connection between geographical and cultural spaces, where cities appear as sites of action of the poetic self within the intertextual network of references they are charged with. Here, his poetic mapping goes beyond the territorial boundaries of Tunisia, encompassing a plurality of spaces that belong to an affective geography; signs of this trend can be detected in the collections Minal-baḥrta’tīal-jibāl and in the later Mītāfīzīqā wardatal-raml(Metaphysics of the Sand Rose, 2000). – The second trend relates to the historical writing of Tunisian cities, which is attained through the poet’s exploration of his country’s rich heritage, digging into the memory and landscape of old cities and sites, into the traces of lost times. Here, his cosmopolitan vision of the homeland is transposed into the poetry as an articulated project of space-writing in transcultural and transhistorical terms. This aspiration is pursued in the third collection Makhṭūṭ Timbuktū (The Manuscript of Timbuktu, 1998) and, in part, in Mītāfīzīqā wardatal-raml. In both cases, his beloved al-Qayrawān lies at the heart of his poetic map. Indeed, the dīwān Minal-baḥrta’tīal-jibāl opens with the poemBadīlal-madīna al-ūlā.‘Indaabwābal-Qayrawān(The Substitute for the First City. At the Gates of al-Qayrawān),14 that draws inspiration from the portrait of the painter Paul 13

Conversation with the author on 11/20/2015. He particularly benefited from the poetic models of the Iraqi Badr Shākir al-Sayyāb, ‘Abd al-Wahhāb al-Bayyātī, and Sa‘adī Yūsuf in addition to Adūnīs, whose writings and views on poetry remain his main references. 14 Walking in his footsteps, the poet also writes some scenarios devoted to the painter, among which lie the documentary O Pays qui me ressemble (A Country that Resembles Me), shot by Hishām Jarbī in 1998. This title, drawn by a note that Klee wrote down in his Tunisian diary, has been later borrowed and adapted by al-Wahāybī for his prose poem Madīnatushbihunī (A City that Resembles Me), devoted to his relationship with al-Qayrawān and included in the collection Mītāfīzīqāwardatal-raml.See M. AL-WAHĀYBĪ, Dīwānal-Wahāybī, op. cit., pp. 347-367. For the use of the trope of the badīl and a further reading of this poem see: S. SIBILIO, Tragliechidel passato,op. cit.,pp. 237-256.

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Klee InFrontoftheDoorof Kairouan, realized in 1914, in the memory of his stay in Tunis.15 Here the poet, driven by the imaginary encounter with the painter, explores the deepest geography, both real and immaterial, of his beloved city, from different levels and angles, relying on the interplay between present and past. Al-Qayrawān stands as a reference frame also in following poems where we encounter the Aghlabid Emir Abū ‘Aqqāl bin Ghalbūn who lived in al-Qayrawān in the 3rd century of Hijra and abdicated his emirate in order to devote his life to Sufism and asceticism (zuhdiya); Muḥammad Ibn Masarra “al-Andalusī” (883-931 AD), the Cordovan Sufi philosopher and mystic who visited the city on his way back from the East and whose thought was of paramount importance for the spread of Sufi ideas in the North Africa.16 In the poet’s affective map, even the renowned Persian philosopher Shihāb al-Dīn Yaḥyā Sohravardī (11551191 AD) occupies a prominent space, thanks to his widespread legacy in the Arabic and Islamic World. The poet restores the city to historical dimension, immersing it in the brighter light of the traces recalling Sufi experiences. Different from other poetic experiences of self-identification with old Islamic mystics — think about al-Bayyātī’s identification with al-Ḥallāj — here Sufi personalities are only evoked in order to weave cross-cultural paths across the textual space. Yet, the Sufi heritage is not the only fulcrum around which the image of al-Qayrawān is built. In the eyes of al-Qayrawān, al-Wahāybī finds other cities of his own affective geography, shining on his poetic map as signs of time. Inside their space, he meets renowned poets and personalities of great importance to his cultural background. He reaches Tozeur (Tūzir) where he commemorates Abū-l Qāsim al-Shābbī, and Fez (Fās) where he meets Mawlāy Idrīs (743-793 AD), but his poetic itinerary also embraces some great Islamic centers of the East, such as Ṣan‘ā’, al-Kāẓimiyya, Baghdād, and al-Baṣra where he weaves a thread with Badr Shākir al-Sayyāb through a network of inter-textual references, and lastly Sarayevo. All these cities that enjoy the status of being highly important in the Islamic historiography, reflect, in the poet’s intention, the image of al-Qayrawān, as we can see from an excerpt of the poem Badīlal-madīnaal-thāniya:tilka Fās (The Substitute for the second city: That is Fez). Here, he draws, led by a dream, his excursion into the city’s vivid topography suspended between past and present:

15 This is not the only example revealing a certain ekphrastic attitude in his poetry as well as the profound influence the figure of the painter had on the poet, since we find the poem ManāzilSānJirmān (The Houses of Saint Germain), inspired by Klee’s painting, TheHouses ofSaintGermain, in the following collection. See M. AL-WAHĀYBĪ, Dīwānal-Wahāybī, op. cit., pp. 234-235. 16 M. EBSTEIN, MysticismandPhilosophyinal-Andalus.IbnMasarra,Ibnal-‘Arabīandthe Ismā‘īlīTradition, Leiden and Boston, 2014, pp. 7-9.

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Streets are interwoven in her hands Which of them was leading to al-Qayrawān? And which to the Timbuktu’s dawn? And which to Cordova? Streets scatter across our fingers Rugged and dusty streets When I left Mawlāy Idrīs At nightfall, I heard a rustle of leaves behind me But I did not turn around Slowly they would have walked in my footsteps Toward the al-Qarawiyyīn Mosque As for me, I have the right to carve words out To shape my dream As for him, he should redeem back his cult And smooth his wings of light and fly away (…) How much I’d have loved to meet You in Fes, By chance! How much I contemplated your face In the faces of the Moroccan women! How much I pursued your shadow Between the shadows! How much I was mistaken! Is that Fez or al-Qayrawān? Fez or Cordova? Fez or Timbuktu? The one, in whose hands, the threads intertwined One summer We stood at her door To spell her ancient stones And unravel the threads!17

And even when the action is set in the present, mostly a sad present marked by references to war and loss, as is the case of some poems addressed to Iraq and Palestine, (the poems included in this collection were composed between 1982 and 1990), the past and the legendary seem to remain the elective spaces for the poetic accomplishment of a nostalgic vision of unity as beautifully embodied in the metaphorical refrain of the poem devoted to Badr Shākir al-Sayyāb, Badīlal-madīnaal-sādisa:timthālal-Sayyāb (the Substitute for the Sixth City: al-Sayyāb’s Statue): His back toward the palms and the river And his eyes toward the waiting al-Baṣra!18

The following collection Makhṭūṭ Timbuktū provides elements that enable us to circumscribe the poetic material of the city within the second trend. Here, 17 18

M. AL-WAHĀYBĪ, Dīwānal-Wahāybī, op. cit., pp. 95-96. Id., pp. 104-106.

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al-Qayrawān emerges as the ideal starting point of the poet’s journey into the depths of the Tunisian historical, cultural, and civic heritage. Skilfully adopting a literary disguise, the poet hides it behind the mask of Timbuktū, a major cultural and Islamic scholarly center of the 13th-15th century Mali Empire, which the poet finds particular resemblances to. Different from the modernist use of the poetic mask as a persona, here the city plays the role of a mask.19 The poet vindicates this poetic choice by asserting that he “preserved everything of al-Qayrawān through the poetic image of the forgotten or neglected city.”20 This statement introduces a constitutive element of his city poetics as it has been articulated in MakhṭūṭTimbuktū: old cities are to be regarded as signposts against forgetfulness and the erasure of time. Cities become key-figures to probe the neglected history of Tunisia and preserve the memory of time and place. According to the poet Aḥmad Daḥbūr cities are the “keystone to understand al-Wahāybī”21, a functional tool for the poetic mapping of geo-historical space of his country, and thence for the restoration of what was left unheard or unwritten. The metaphor of keys seems particularly fitting in this regard, since mafātīḥ (Keys) are also those provided by the poet, as an exegetical apparatus, in the opening of his collection for the correct interpretation of references, places, events, and characters mentioned in the texts. This high toponymic frequency is a leading force for disclosing new geographies. We can detect manifold historical references and figures as well as the reiterated use of ancient place names — most of which date back to the preIslamic era. These poetic references aim to rehabilitate meanings and values of the broader cultural heritage of the Tunisian people. They are textual signs that, in the poet’s intention, inscribe and enclose historical traces, so as to claim the plural belonging and identity of the Tunisians. We encounter Miskiliyānī, the Roman name of the poet’s native village, Ḥājib al-‘Uyūn, in the surroundings of al-Qayrawān; Ūtīkā (Utica), the Phoenician port city north of Carthage; Ḥaḍramūt (Hadrumetum), the ancient Susa, founded by Phoenicians before Carthage; Hībūakrā (Hippo Accra), the ancient Bizerte, of Phoenician foundation as well; Tākābās, the ancient name of Gabes of Berber origin; Sīkāfinīriyā (Sicca Veneria), the name of the ancient Roman site, now the city of Le Kef, still preserved in the country through the Roman corrupted name of Chakbanaria, and others. Miskiliyānī enjoys a high value, being the poet’s native village as well as the 19 A critical development of Arab poetic masks, among which Adūnīs’ Aghānī Mihyār al- Dimashqī, al-Bayyātī’s ‘Umar al-Khayyām, ‘Abd al-Ṣabūr’s Mudhakkirāt al-Mālik ‘Ajīb bin al-Khaṣīb or al-Maqāliḥ’s SayfBinDhīYazan is provided in ‘A. BASĪSŪ, Qaṣīdatal-qinā‘fī-lshi‘r al-‘arabīal-mu‘āṣir.Taḥlīlal-ẓāhira, Bayrūt, 1999, and in particular, pp. 107-162. 20 Interview conducted with the poet, on 03.24.2016. 21 A. DAḤBŪR, Ziyāra ilā ‘ālam al-shā‘ir al-tūnusī Munṣif al-Wahāybī, al-Ḥayātal-thaqāfiyya 6560 (02/12/2014), p. 25.

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first city on his poetic atlas. The poem seems to open a hybridized space combining his childhood village memory with an imaginary timeless scenery dominated by gentle nature and harmonic environment: A dawn in 1955 A bell rings — in a distant school —Miskiliyānī The gift of the wheat that weaves the summer memory. Legacy of water and salt Bending shadows Like zebras standing in the silence of the spring A horse with ears erected in the wind Houses live in bricks and stones (Has the morning train or the Amazigh horse passed?) A wing has buzzed in the silky grass and a butterfly approached (…) I dreamt to be in my father’s garden in Miskiliyānī When I was taken to a washroom for the dead in Timbuktu.22

The city as a dream, along with the utopian or the mythical city, has been regarded as alternative trajectories the modernist poets revert to in order to escape the dreadful socio-political reality of the modern city.23 Here, the conventional literary device of the dream is used as a tool for shaping a spatial model in which all the dynamic components of the city-space or city-life can have a place and interact. At a formal level, most of the poems of this collection display the coexistence of different modes and tones, from the narrative to the meditative, from dialogue to soliloquy. We also have a wide array of representational strategies of the place ranging from the depiction of various sceneries and landscapes, to the description of different characters’ life events, up to the personal suggestions prompted by dream or memory. The alternation between the descriptive and the oneiric modes in cityscape sketches is a common strategy used by the poet with the aim to elude temporal continuity and accomplish the mingling of the objective and the subjective, the private stories and the collective history. Al-Wahāybī’s poetic cities, most often, epitomize timeless intersections of multiple narratives irradiating a wide-open space. The movement of History is integrated into the verse and informs the movement of the poem itself. The plural identity of Utica, key Mediterranean port city and first Phoenician settlement in Tunisia founded in the 1st millennium BC by seamen from Tyre, is clearly highlighted in the following lines: They were a mix of Phoenicians and Bedouins, Asbāṭ tribes24 and Amazighs And Ūtīkā was the port M. AL-WAHĀYBĪ, Dīwānal-Wahāybī, op. cit., p. 152 and p. 157. M. ‘ALĪ ABŪ GHĀLĪ, al-Madīnafī-l-shi‘ral-‘arabī, op. cit., p. 327. 24 The Asbāṭ are the descendants of the Prophet Ya‘qūb; here it is used with reference to the twelve tribes of the Israelites, mentioned in the Quran. See Qur: (2:136) and (7:160). 22 23

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Squares encircled by halls and gardens Tiled passages between the temple and the houses, And the ships coming and going across the Mediterranean Sea (…).25

If Makhṭūṭ Timbuktū highlights the Tunisian geo-historical space, the following collection Mītāfīzīqāwardatal-raml offers a more articulated reading, including places and spaces relating to the broader North African landscape and the poet’s affective geography. Indeed, his intimate connection with the evoked cities is tightly correlated with the epistemological and symbolic value they embody. Here, there is a resort to some structural and aesthetic features of his earlier “cosmic” poetry, as the poet seems inclined to probe the metaphysical dimension of life, the place of beings and things in the Universe. This work, therefore, opens to a new and broader spatiality as we transit from the geography of the desert, whose reconstruction takes place with the metaphor of the sand rose, into the cities of affective belonging. In the poet’s intention, the title synthetizes what he aspires to grasp in terms of metaphysical enquiry into “the ‘life of things’, whether the things that live with us, and by means of their various symbols we use to share our life, or those that, although their apparent stillness, seem to be inhabited by some kind of a spirit, as well as the things that condense our dreams, and our relationship with them and the other human beings with whom we interact.” 26

Fascinated with animistic conceptions, the poet tries to dig out the soul of things that may exist apart from their material bodies. He primarily draws on the metaphor of sand rose, highlighting the myriad iridescent nuances borne out by the enchanting play of lights irradiated in the desert space. This underlying philosophical and aesthetical concern cannot be lightened nor accomplished in verse but through language that, as al-Ghuraybī maintains, drawing on Heidegger’s view on poetry and thought, serves as “a shared tool between the poetic discourse and the philosophical one.”27 Language is a bridge between the metaphysical research into the life of things and the spiritual qualities they possess and the ceaseless pursuit of knowledge for a deeper geo-cultural and historical excavation. The animistic inspiration that permeates the opening long poem Wardatal-raml (The Sand Rose) is partly transferred into the following poems that mark the transition from the desert to the city, in the form of memory of things and names. This time, we enter his beloved cities in company with poets and friends, dear and influential to him, whose presence is, in fact, announced by the use of paratextual dedications that (along with memories) serve as a source of inspiration for different poems. We go through Ma‘arrat al-Nu‘mān, M. AL-WAHĀYBĪ, Dīwānal-Wahāybī, op. cit., p. 204. Conversation with the poet on 01.22.2017. 27 KH. AL-GHURAYBĪ, al-Shi‘ral-tūnusīal-mu‘āṣirbaynaal-tajrībwa-l-tashakkul, Ṣfāqs, 2005, p. 105. 25 26

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Sūr (Tyre), al-Mahdiya, Murcia/Dimashq, al-Qāhira, Aṣīla, Ṭanja (Tangier), Sfayṭla (Sbeitla), and, of course, al-Qayrawān. The latter city occupies a central role (with three poems thus entitled), and a last one, Madīnatushbihunī (A City that Resembles Me), characterized by a long prose poem in form of a poetic meditation on the array of values and meanings the city holds to him. Dedications or other surrounding materials of a literary text, as signs of homage, affiliation or self-identification, have a well-grounded tradition in Arab poetry, but in some cases can add a further value of knowledge, as Musawi explains drawing on Ibn ‘Arabī: “In paratexts, poems or citations introducing the text, there is a function that may be central to the text, or may stand for the text itself, as Derrida argues. The attitude is well recognized in Arabic writing. Ibn ‘Arabī (d. 1240) speaks as follows of the poetic pieces that introduce each chapter in his Meccan Revelations: ‘Consider carefully the verses placed at the start of each chapter of this book, because they contain knowledge which I have deliberately put in them. Indeed you will find in these verses things which are not mentioned in the exposition of the corresponding chapters.’ In keeping with this tradition, Arab poets have managed to cement an association between texts and figures.”28

Dedications are a frequently used device in modern Arab poetry too. They mostly serve as bridges for cultural dialogue or have a memorializing function if addressed to personalities not alive anymore. But they have also been used as paratextual forms of experience sharing or certificates of friendship when addressed to living characters.29 Al-Wahāybī’s poems bring light to a common ground the poets share. They voyage alongside him across cities sharing the cosmic breath of poetry and the piercing concern for language as a sign of the time. This we can see from the poem Aṣīla dedicated to al-Ṭāhir al-Bakrī: With you I stand in “Cap Spartel” We fraternize like the Mediterranean and the Atlas I say: The earth is a watery sphere. The sky and the earth were sisters. But! Where did they go? The Gods who in this isthmus Built her throne … One day From the first signs of the eternal? *** 28 M.J. AL-MUSAWI, ArabicPoetry.TrajectoriesofModernityandTradition, New York, 2006, p. 158. 29 An all-encompassing poetry collection, in this perspective, is Kitābal-aṣdiqā’ (The Book of Friends, 2002) by the Yemeni poet ‘Abd al-‘Azīz al-Maqāliḥ, composed of 79 poems entitled and dedicated to his dearest and poetically nearest Arab writers ranging from al-Mutanabbī to the contemporaries. Al-Wahāybī himself has been the addressee of one of his poems. See ‘A. AL-MAQĀLIḤ, al-A‘mālal-shi‘riyyaal-kāmila, v. 1, Ṣan‘ā’, 2004, pp. 442-444.

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By which name can we call her? Is she Zīlīs or Azīla? The first two passed as many names pass (Language is a cemetery, too) However, I am listening to the timbre of their voices In “Aṣīla” — that is the name that remained (Cities change their names, too).30

Echoes of the past resonate here through the clanging sound of ancient city names. The poet plumbs the historical and symbolic depths of the cities he crossed in his lifetime building an affective geography that transcends the imaginative space drawn on the page. To do this, he relies on the enchanting power of language, its phonic and graphic marks, where the signifier and the signified merge into one another to celebrate his beloved Qayrawān, shining in the mirror of other forgotten cities, like the Tunisian Hadrumetum, mentioned in the excerpt below: And al-Qayrawān? I saw its sun and moon letters And its spring in Tunisian Hadrumetum Shining in all creation. And the bodies on the sand were dotted fish The sea was howling, at ships, sound North, that were breaking waves like lunar coffins. “The refuge of dreamers”, I wrote Afloat on the water surface bottles, bags, and boards Blue algae and herbs, Sands, like stones, get filled with decayed leaves. A spider, sheltered in the web of its stars, appears and says to me: From a solitary sand grain rises the desert. 31

CONCLUSION The poetic research of al-Wahāybī revolving around the motif of the city represents a peculiar and innovative address in contemporary Tunisian poetry, and suggests both continuity and break with modernist Arab output on cityspace and city-scape. As Desmond Harding puts it, “Cities are old as the term civilization; indeed more than any other phenomenon the city has provided the critical mass which produces civilization”.32 M. AL-WAHĀYBĪ, Dīwānal-Wahāybī, op. cit., p. 290. See the poem: M. AL-WAHĀYBĪ, Q.Y.R.W.A.N. Sīrat al-hilālī al-ṣaghīr in Id., Mawsū‘at al-shi‘ral-tūnusīal-ḥadīth.Al-‘amalal-awwal:al-Munṣifal-Wahāybī.BanātQawsQuzaḥ, Tūnus, 2015, p. 41. 32 D. HARDING, WritingtheCity.UrbanVisions&LiteraryModernism, New York, 2003, p. 5. 30

31

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The city is the container of human achievements which have been passed on from generation to generation. In al-Wahāybī’s view living poetically this space, intended as a transmitter of culture and a sign of plural belonging, means investigating the issues of identity and relationship to the territory at the present. In the eyes of all the cities explored, he seeks the image of himself as part of an all-encompassing and wholesome process. Thus, writing cities is a creative act induced by the “fecundation of the poetic self with the place”, to use a sharp definition of the Moroccan poet Aḥmad al-Dumnātī.33 This poetic practice brings to the surface several other interrelated questions on the way we used to live the city and how the city lives inside us, but also, in a broader perspective, how cities may represent vectors of identity opening up a critical space on the feeling of human belonging to place, thus presupposing selective processes of inclusion and exclusion. In this regard, we have seen how much importance al-Wahāybī places on the plural representation of Tunisia as a space of mixing and dissemination of multiple traces and voices. His efforts to outline crosscultural paths in the poetic writing of his country in order to resonate it with multiple voices are theoretically explained: “My main ambition is the poetic rewriting of Tunisia, as a great civilization of the Western Mediterranean. My historical reinterpretation in the form of poetry has to take into account the legacy of all the civilizations that have prospered in this region.34

Cities, as a foci of wider networks of social, cultural, and historical connections, play a fundamental role, from a literary perspective. This results in them becoming ‘texts’ weaving the space of co-presence and interactions of all the different cultural components, human legacies and experiences, as well as patterns, stories, and characters evoked by poetic imagination. In using this trope, al-Wahāybī aims to give voice to the Tunisian plurality, since cities, “because of their role as foci, bring together different histories.”35 InMītāfīzīqāwardatal-raml he explores the space of cities alongside poets and writers, dear to him, “in order to link the text with the living experience, the ordinary and the present, but also combining memory and imagination in such a way to restore memory by selecting what is to be remembered and forgetting what is to be forgotten.”36

Here he aspires to build an intimate map of cities, dug out in their past and present essence, that are part of a wider collective cultural and emotional baggage. A. AL-DUMNĀTĪ, Munṣif al-Wahāybī. Shi‘riyyat tamjīd balāghat al-mudun, Nizwa 58 (2009), pp. 45-56 and also Id., Jamāliyyāt binā’ mutakhayyal al-mudun fī shi‘r al-Munṣif al-Wahāybī, Tūnus, 2016. 34 Interview with the poet, conducted on 11/20/2015. 35 D. MASSEY – J. ALLEN – S. PILE (Eds.), CityWorlds, London, 1999, p. 104. 36 Interview with the poet, conducted on 01/22/2017. 33

THE ESOTERIC ROOTS OF THE STORY OF THE ‘QUEEN OF THE SERPENTS’ Richard VAN LEEUWEN University of Amsterdam

Searching for the origins of literary motifs and narratives can be both an exciting and frustrating exercise. More often than not the sources of stories, plots and narrative elements lie hidden in the folds of history and trajectories of transmission are elusive and difficult to trace. Still, the effort to reconstruct such trajectories, even if inconclusive, can be rewarding, precisely because it lays bare the complexity of the evolution of narrative material and its possible defiance of commonly accepted historical patterns. On the one hand stories are involved in a continuous process of transformation, absorbing new elements, adopting new generic shapes and responding to external influences, resulting in an almost uncontrollable amalgamation of diverse elements. On the other hand, literary motifs, strategies and structures can be remarkably persistent, apparently containing such a strong literary appeal that they survive the constant drive towards adaptation and change. Therefore, in spite of its complexity, the question how the forces of change and preservation interact and how these forces can be perceived within specific stories remains pertinent. Among the difficulties of this kind of research is that on the one hand the rapid proliferation of narrative material is probable and obvious, while on the other hand it is usually difficult to reconstruct the historical framework in which transmission took place. Often the trajectories of narrative material leave no trace, so that the recognition of literary influence is dependent on the circumstantial evidence of historical encounters. In the ideal case, a reconstruction of literary influence rests on the similarity of literary motifs and formal structure, the similarity of meaning and interpretation, and a convincing historical framework. The application of this procedure, based on three kinds of connections, is especially difficult in the case of the Thousandandonenights, since the history of the texts still contains many uncertainties. Moreover, it is clear that as far as the history of the work is concerned, we cannot treat it as a single coherent text, but rather, at least partly, as a more or less accidental confluence of narrative material. So, even if the work as a whole can give us some information about individual stories, we should concentrate on individual or groups of stories to trace literary relationships.1 1

See fort he textual history etc. of the ThousandandOneNights, and further references: U. MARZOLPH / R. VAN LEEUWEN, TheArabianNightsEncyclopedia, 2 vols., Santa Barbara, 2004.

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In this essay we will discuss the possible sources and transmission of one particular story which is part of the corpus of the Thousandandonenights and which is best known by the title ‘The Queen of the Serpents’, but also as ‘Jāmaspnāma’, or the story of ‘Ḥāsib Karīm al-Dīn’. We will especially examine a possible connection between the story and the heritage of Greek philosophy and literature, based on the ‘triad’ of resemblances, form, interpretation, and historical framework. The influence of Greek sources on the Thousandand onenightshas often been discussed, but has not been resolved in a satisfactory way. The discussion has focused mainly on two issues: the similarities between the Polyphemus episode in the Odyssey and the cycle of ‘Sindbād of the Sea’, and the relationship between the Greek novels and the Arabic romances in the Nights, especially the stories of ‘Qamar al-Zamān’ and ‘‘Umar al-Nu‘mān’. Of course, the Greek counterparts in these discussions were part of different historical and cultural contexts, but these contexts, Antiquity and the Byzantine Empire, both belonged to the ancillary flows which fed Arabic-Islamic culture, or, more carefully, which represented the background in which Arabic literature developed. In the case of Homer we should perhaps refer to the translation movement of the Bayt al-Ḥikma period, in the ninth century, while in the case of the romances the context consists of the long rivalry between the Muslims and the Byzantines from the birth of Islam to the early Ottoman period. The case of Sindbād and Polyphemus has in the meantime come to a kind of stalemate. It is clear that a direct link between the Odyssey and ‘Sindbād’ is improbable, and that it is safer to assume that the motif of the giant in both texts is derived from a third, Oriental, source. There are indications that Homer’s work was known among Arabic literati and that partial translations existed in Arabic or Syriac, but it had no resonance in the Arabic tradition.2 As far as the romances are concerned, a link between the Greek, Arabic and Western European versions is quite obvious. An Arabic origin of these romances seems likely, although here, too, an Eastern provenance cannot be excluded. Sometimes Persian love romances are mentioned as a source of inspiration for Arabic storytellers, and even some Sanskrit stories show similarities to the Arabic romances. The material could have proliferated from Asia through Persia to Arabic literature and further West.3 See: A. CHRAÏBI, ‘Notes et documents sur un “abrégé” arabe de la guerre de Troie,’ Arabica, vol. 56 (2009), pp. 90-4. (2009); J.E. MONTGOMERY, ‘Al-Sindbâd and Polyphemus: Reflections on the Genesis of an Archetype,’ in: A. NEUWIRTH, B. EMBALÓ, S. GÜNTHER, M. JARRAR (eds.), Myths, Historical Archetypes and Symbolic Figures in Arabic Literature: towards a New Hermeneutic Approach, Stuttgart/Beirut, 1999, pp. 437-466; J.L. COMHAIRE, ‘Oriental Versions of Polyphem’s Myth,’ AnthropologicalQuarterly, vol. 31 (1958), pp. 21-28; the first association between Sindbad and Homer was made by Hole: R. HOLE, RemarksontheArabianNights’Entertainments,inwhich Sindbad’sVoyagesisParticularlyConsidered, London, 1797; see also U. HÖLSCHER, DieOdyssee. EposzwischenMärchenundRoman, München, 1990. 3 See G.E. VON GRUNEBAUM, ‘Greek Form Elements in the Arabian Nights,’ Journal of the AmericanOrientalSociety, vol. 62 (1942), pp. 277-292; R. BEATON, TheMedievalGreekRomance, London, 1996. 2

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In this paper we will examine a relatively neglected potential connection between the Greek heritage and the Thousandandonenights, the philosophy of Neoplatonism, as it can be found in the story of ‘the Queen of the serpents’. THE STORY OF THE ‘QUEEN OF THE SERPENTS’ The story of the ‘Queen of the serpents’ belongs to the narrative material that was probably not a part of the most consistent core of stories of Alflaylawalayla and that was added later to the collection, in the manuscripts of the eighteenth century. Even in the very diverse environment of the Thousandandone nights the story is rather eccentric and in spite of its late incorporation, it is likely that it is relatively old, going back to ancient narrative sources. It is not without significance that it was handed down within a cycle of stories for which it serves as a narrative frame: the stories of ‘Bulūqiyya’ and ‘Jānshāh’. The connections between these stories give us some information about their classification and interpretation, and about the considerations of the compiler to incorporate them. Why were these stories put together? How do they supplement each other and how do they mutually influence their interpretation? But before we go into questions such as these, we first have to examine possible sources of the ‘Queen of the serpents’ as a separate tale.4 The story of the ‘Queen of the Serpents’ can be summarized as follows: The Greek philosopher Danyāl suffers shipwreck and loses all his books, except five pages, which he stores in a small chest. Danyāl has one son, Ḥāsib Karīm al-Dīn, but he dies before Ḥāsib is born. The astrologers say about Ḥāsib that he will be exposed to many dangers, but if he survives, he will obtain knowledge of all sciences. However, Ḥāsib grows up as a good-for-nothing and appears incapable of learning anything. He joins a group of woodcutters to earn a living. One day the woodcutters have to take shelter in a cave during a heavy storm. Ḥāsib discovers a trap door and a crypt underneath the cave, which is filled with honey. He descends into the crypt and hands the honey over to his comrades, who take the honey and leave Ḥāsib behind in the crypt. After a while Ḥāsib sees a scorpion and he realizes that the crypt must have another exit. He finds a door of black iron, with a silver and a gold key. Outside he finds a great lake with on its bank a golden throne and twelve thousand golden en silver chairs. He falls asleep on one of the chairs and is awakened after some time by the hissing of a great multitude of snakes, with in their midst, carried on a golden plate, the Queen of the Serpents. Ḥāsib asks the Queen to bring him back to the human world, but she hesitates, because she knows that she will die if Ḥāsib, after his return to the human world, will enter a bathhouse. See for references, abstracts etc: MARZOLPH / the cycle covers the nights 482-536. 4

VAN

LEEUWEN (2004); in the Bulaq edition,

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Nevertheless, after she has told him two long and wondrous stories about the secret forces of creation, she concedes to take him back to the human world, but only after he has solemnly sworn never to enter a bathhouse during the remainder of his life. Of course the prediction is fulfilled: Ḥāsib neglects his promise, goes into a bathhouse with his friends, and is arrested and led before the king. The king is seriously ill and will only be cured after he has drunk the broth in which the flesh of the Queen of the Serpents has been boiled. The Queen is caught with Ḥāsib’s help, but before she is cut into pieces, she instructs Ḥāsib to pour the foam of the broth into two bottles. He has to give the first bottle to the vicious vizier and drink from the second bottle himself. Ḥāsib obeys, the king is cured, the vizier swells up and explodes after drinking the foam, and Ḥāsib is suddenly able to see the nature of creation and the sciences, medicine, astrology, magic, alchemy, kabbala, and mysticism. Thus, after being unable to learn anything as a boy, Ḥāsib has now miraculously become versed in all the known sciences. This story, which is unique in Arabic literature, is usually associated with the epic of Gilgamesh, mainly because it encloses another story, the story of ‘Būluqiya’, which seems to be related to Gilgamesh more directly, and because of the motif of the serpent. Būluqiya is also associated with the so-called Isrā’īliyyāt, the narrative material in the qiṣaṣal-anbiyā’ which is traced back to the Jewish tradition. This is mainly because of the character of the sage Danyāl, who was, however, a topical philosopher figure in ancient Mesopotamian tales.5 Here the interpretation stops, but this is not everything there is to tell. In this article we will investigate some clues as to the provenance of the story and its possible trajectories from an independent story to its incorporation into the cluster of stories which is in turn incorporated into the Thousandand onenights. THE GREEK ELEMENT A superficial reading of the story of the ‘Queen of the Serpents’, together with its association with ‘Bulūqiyā’, suggests that it is part of a corpus of esoteric material that dates back to ancient times. Although the influence of Gilgamesh should not be discarded, this connection is not very specific and too general to yield any meaningful analysis. There is, however, a more striking resemblance 5 See: S. SEGERT, ‘Ancient Near Eastern Traditions in The Thousand and one nights,’ in: R. HOVANNISIAN/ G. SABBAGH (eds), TheThousandandoneNightsinArabicLiteratureandSociety, Cambridge/New York, 1997; S. DALLEY, ‘The Gilgamesh Epic and Manichean Themes,’ ARAM, vol. 3 (1991), nos 1-2, pp. 23-33, p. 23; S. GROTZFELD, ‘Danyal in der Arabischen Legende,’ in: W. FISCHER (ed.), FestgabefürHansWehr, Wiesbaden, 1969, pp. 72-85; J. MAIER, ‘The Wisdom of the Serpent: Siduri, Yamlika and Aisha Qandisha,’ TheMaghrebReview, vol. 25 (2000), nos 3-4, pp. 227-241.

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between the story and a well-known passage in Homer’s Odyssey, in Book 13, which describes Odysseus’ return to Ithaca: ‘High at the head a branching olive grows, And crowns the pointed cliffs with shady boughs. A cavern, pleasant, though involv’d in night, Beneath it lies, the Naiades’ delight: Where bowls and urns of workmanship divine And massive beams in native marble shine; On which the Nymphs amazing webs display, Of purple hue, and exquisite array. The busy bees within the urns secure Honey delicious, and like nectar pure. Perpetual waters through the grotto glide, A lofty gate unfolds on either side; That to the north is pervious to mankind; The sacred south t’immortals is consign’d.’6

The similarity between these Homeric verses and the motif of the cave in the story the ‘Queen of the Serpents’ immediately jumps to the eye: In both cases a cave is described in which honey is stored and which has two entries/ exits; in both cases the cave is situated on a boundary between the earthly, human world and the domain of the supernatural, where a transition from one to the other is possible. As in the case of Polyphemus and Sindbād, the resemblances between the motifs are remarkable, but the differences cannot be neglected. In the version of the ‘Queen of the Serpents’ there are no nymphs, although the snakes could serve as a substitute for them; there is no light or flowing water, although these could be represented by the lake outside the cave; there is no olive tree at the entrance, although it is noteworthy that Ḥāsib earns his living as a woodcutter. The question, therefore, is: Can we assume a direct transmission of narrative material from Homer to the Thousandandonenights, or do we here have a motif which, like Sindbād and Polyphemus, was handed down in two versions which both go back to an older, Eastern source? Or can an alternative path of transmission be reconstructed, possibly through other texts? To answer these questions, we must first examine possible trajectories of transmission and situate them in a historical framework, and subsequently relate our hypothesis to a meaningful and coherent interpretation of the story. As said above, it is not likely that the work of Homer was generally known among Arabic literati. Therefore, if we surmise a relationship between the Odyssey and the ‘Queen of the Serpents’, it seems more probable that the passage from Homer entered the Arabic narrative through some intermediate text. A suitable 6 Book 13, 102-112; The quotation is from: T. TAYLOR (tr.), Porphyry:SelectWorksofPorphyry, ContaininghisFourBooksonAbstinencefromAnimalFood,hisTreatiseontheHomericCave oftheNymphs, London, 1823, p. 171.

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candidate would be a treatise by the Greek Neoplatonist philosopher Porphyry (3rd c. A.D.), who wrote an essay about this particular passage entitled Onthe caveofthenymphs. Porphyrywas known among Arabic philosophers, some of his texts were translated, and he was acknowledged as one of the pillars of the Neoplatonist school in Arabic-Islamic thought. This supposition is supported by the observation that the Queen of the Serpent in the Thousandandonenights story is called ‘Yamlīkhā’, which is the Arabic name of Iamblichus, the Greek Neoplatonist philosopher (died app. 330 A.D.) who was a pupil and adversary of Porphyry. Is it possible that Porphyry and Iamblichus were together responsible for the Homeric ‘intruder’ in the Thousandandonenights? There is no known translation of Porphyry’s treatise Onthecaveofthenymphs. We do know that the philosopher Fakhr al-Dīn al-Rāzī (Rhazes, 1149-1209) wrote a comment on a polemical essay by Porphhyry against Iamblichus and Iamblichus’ response to it (‘Letter to Anebo,’ Anebo being another name of Iamblichus). The letter does not refer to the cave of the nymphs, but is about a difference of opinion about the eating of meat, not only in everyday life, but especially as part of sacred rituals. The answer of Iamblichus is recorded in his famous work ‘On the Egyptian mysteries’, in which the philosophies of Pythagoras and Plato are combined with the so-called ‘Chaldean oracles’, a treatise about esoteric rituals. In this polemic the main difference between Porphyry and Iamblichus comes to the fore: Porphyry rejected the idea of theurgy, advocated by Iamblichus, that is the capability of man to achieve harmony with the gods and the cosmic forces through the performance of rituals, and even to reach a divine status. Iamblichus was well-known among Arabic philosophers because of his efforts to revive Pythagoreanism through comments on Pythagoras’ Golden verses and his treatise on the ‘Pythagorean life’. He had his school in Apamea, Syria.7 In the first centuries A.D. the Neoplatonist school moved from Athens to Alexandria and from there to Antioch and Ḥarrān in Syria. It is especially Ḥarrān which became and remained a centre of esoteric sciences, Neoplatonist thought and occult ritual practice. It was here, too, that the Neoplatonist ideas of Iamblichus, especially, were preserved and transmitted from the Greek to the ArabicIslamic philosophical tradition. Although various currents emerged from Neoplatonist thought, more specifically an academic tendency and a more ritually J. DILLON, ‘Iamblichus of Chalcis (c. 240-325 A.D.),’ in: W. HAASE (ed.), AufstiegundNiedergangderrömischenWelt, vol. 2, vol. 36, part 2, Berlin/New York, 1987, pp. 863-909; K. VAN BLADEL, TheArabicHermes:fromPaganSagetoProphetofScience, Oxford, 2009; G. SHAW, TheurgyandtheSoul:theNeoplatonismofIamblichus, Pennsylvania, 1995; H. DAIBER, NeuplatonischePythagoricainarabischenGewande;derKommentardesIamblichuszudenCarmina aurea; ein verlorener griechischer Text in arabischer Überlieferung, Koninklijke Nederlandse Akademie van Wetenschappen, Verhandelingen, Afdeling Letterkunde, Nieuwe Reeks, deel 161, Amsterdam etc., 1995, pp. 7-10. 7

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oriented tendency, a part of the Neoplatonist thinkers remained faithful to the combination of Eastern elements and the Greek heritage as proposed by Iamblichus. Later, these ideas would find their way to the thought of, especially, the Ikhwān al-Ṣafā, Ibn Sīnā and the Illumination philosophy of Suhrawardī. This would mean that a historical framework can be conceived to explain the transmission of the Neoplatonist ideas of Porphyry and Iamblichus within the Arabic-Islamic intellectual tradition. Particularly since Homer was venerated as a saint by the Ḥarrānians, it is certainly possible that material from the Odyssey ended up in the Arabic tradition through the works of these philosophers and the Neoplatonist school of Ḥarrān.8 But this is not the only argument. Among the corpus of ancient Greek novels that have been preserved is a fragment of a novel written by Iamblichus and titled ‘A Babylonian story’. A synopsis of the story by Photius, refers to a passage in which, after many adventures, the two heroes of the story are pursued by soldiers and seek refuge in a cave. While they are hiding the soldiers discover the cave and go inside. The fugitives enter more deeply into the cave and escape through another exit. The soldiers are attacked by swarms of bees, while honey drips on the fugitives. Both the honey and the bees are poisonous, because the bees have fed themselves on snakes.9 Here we clearly have a third version of the cave episode, with a cave having two exits, and references to honey and snakes. There is problem, however, because the novelist Iamblichus (2nd c. A.D.) is not the same person as the philosopher. Still, it is not inconceivable that the two were conflated in the course of time, consciously or not. The surviving evidence points at a crucial role of Iamblichus in the transmission of the motif of the cave and the story of the ‘Serpent Queen’. The evidence becomes stronger since the story contains a reference to Pythagoras, too: among the akousmata of Pythagoras, that is his rules for behaviour for his disciples, which are also discussed by Iamblichus, we find a prohibition to enter public baths and a strong commitment to oaths. It can hardly be a coincidence that the same oath and prohibition are crucial motifs in the story.10 We can now establish 8 J. WALBRIDGE, The Leaven of the Ancients: Suhrawardi and the Heritage of the Greeks, Albany, 2000, pp. 56-7; Id., TheWisdomoftheMysticEast:SuhrawardiandPlatonicOrientalism, Albany, 2001, pp. 21, 37-41, 64; T.M. GREEN, TheCityoftheMoonGod;ReligiousTraditions ofHarran, Leiden etc., 1992, pp. 94ff; M. TARDIEU, ‘Sabiens coraniques et “Sabiens” de Harran,’ Journalasiatique, vol. 274 (1986), pp. 1-44; D. PINGREE, ‘The Ṣābians of Ḥarrān and the Classical Tradition,’ InternationalJournaloftheClassicalTradition, vol. 9, No. 1 (Summer, 2002), pp. 835; D. MERKUR, Gnosis;anEsotericTraditionofMysticalVisionsandUnions, Albany, 1993; I.R. NETTON, AllahTranscendent;StudiesintheStructureandSemioticsofIslanmicPhilosophy, TheologyandCosmology, Richmond, 1989. 9 B.P. REARDON (ed.), CollectenAncientGreekNovels, Berkeley/Los Angeles, 1989, pp. 783797. 10 W. BURKERT, Weisheit und Wissenschaft; Studien zu Pythagoras, Philolaos und Platon, Nürnberg, 1962, pp. 156, 166; D.J. O’MEARA, PythagorasRevived;MathematicsandPhilosophy inLateAntiquity, Oxford, 1989, pp. 30, 109-110, 211; J.C. THOM, ThePythagoreanGoldenVerses;

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a connection between the esoteric purport of the story and the debates within the tradition of Neoplatonism in which Iamblichus and Porphyry played a crucial role. The interest in their ideas in the Arabic-Islamic tradition could have been the mechanism responsible for conveying the cave-motif of the Homeric passage to the tradition of Arabic literature. But does this reconstruction provide a plausible interpretation of the story? THE ‘QUEEN OF THE SERPENTS’

AS A

NEOPLATONIST STORY

In his treatise on Homer’s cave of the nymphs, Porphyry argues that the passage in the Odyssey is amusing and that the cave may possibly exist in reality, but that its function in the text is not merely descriptive. Undoubtedly Homer had a metaphorical, perhaps even esoteric meaning in mind. After all, the cave is a well-known metaphor of the ‘world’, for the Greeks (for instance Plato and Pythagoras), as well as for the Persians. For the Zoroastrians the descent of the soul into the subterranean realm is a form of initiation, and caves were the preferred locations for the sacred rituals of the Mithras cult. In Antiquity — and still, according to Porphyry — caves were not only a symbol of the world, but also the place where invisible powers converged. The presence of water and honey, without bees, indicates that the cave is an abode where souls linger and where the boundary lies between life and death.11 This interpretation of the cave metaphor is supported, according to Porphyry, by the direction of the exits: one to the north, to the constellation of Cancer, where the souls descend, and one to the south, to the constellation of Capricorn, where the souls ascend to the gods. The cave is thus a gateway to the realm of immortality. Porphyry links this interpretation to more practical wisdom, referring to the olive tree, the symbol of Pallas Athena, which suggests the obligation to leave everything earthly and material at the entrance of the cave and to relinquish all possessions to destroy the ‘hostile root of passion’ in the soul. The cave thus epitomizes the opposition between the earthly, material domain, and the spiritual and divine domain, as a corridor for man to reach his spiritual destination.12 At first sight this interpretation seems to conform quite well with the purport of the story of the ‘Queen of the Serpents’. Ḥāsib, a poor wretch, ends up in the cave filled with honey, that is, with earthly pleasures. Whereas his colleagues indulge their avarice and desire, and walk off with the honey, Ḥāsib is destined withIntroductionandCommentaries, Leiden etc., 1995, pp. 18, 20, 28-9, 107-9, 191; DAIBER (1995), pp. 16-7. 11 TAYLOR (1823), pp. 171-200. 12 ID. (1823), p. 197.

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to enter another, supernatural, domain at the other end of the cave. The story thus follows the ethical purport of the cave metaphor as proposed by Porphyry, representing the cave as a liminal space. The only element that is lacking is an indication of the nature of the transition: Ḥāsib has not died when he comes out of the cave on the other side but only enters the underworld. He has rather survived his ordeal and the mean avarice of the woodcutters. The explicit connotation of death, therefore, is to be found in the Serpent Queen, who rules over the snakes of hell. At this point we can turn to Iamblichus. As explained above, one of the essential differences between Porphyry and Iamblichus was the significance of ritual sacrifice. According to Iamblichus, it was possible, with the appropriate rituals, and more specifically through the consumption of sacrificial meat, to come into contact with the divine forces, if necessary through the mediation of demonic creatures who acted as their ‘assistants’ to realize the course of fate. It seems plausible to see Ḥāsib’s predicament as a transition in this sense, from an ordinary boy to a man in touch with the essence of the universe. The Serpent Queen can be identified as an instrument of the godly powers, fulfilling a role in the smooth functioning of the mechanisms of the cosmos and linked to the course of destiny. Ḥāsib is destined, perhaps pre-destined, to reach a state in which he has insight in the nature of creation. He acquires a semi-divine status, or at least a share in the knowledge that is normally beyond human comprehension. The Queen of the Serpents embodies the divine power which, through a theurgical ritual, is transposed to Ḥāsib, precisely as envisaged by Iamblichus and rejected by Porphyry: through the sacrifice and consumption of animal matter.13 By combining the references to Porphyry and Iamblichus, it seems possible to construct a sensible Neoplatonist interpretation of the story. But this is not all. In his survey of Thousandandonenights studies Heinz Grotzfeld mentions a manuscript version of the story of the ‘Queen of the Serpents’ which is virtually the same as the Thousandandonenights version, except that its main protagonist is not called Ḥāsib Karīm al-Dīn, but Jāmasp. Elsewhere this name is used as well, in the translations of Hammer-Purgstall and Burton, and in Chauvin. It is suggested that Ḥāsib may in fact be a corruption of Jāmasp. The figure of Jāmasp indicates a Persian background of the story and also suggests a connection with narrative material from Ancient Mesopotamia.14

SHAW (1995). H. GROTZFELD/ S. GROTZFELD, DieErzählungenaus>TausendundeinerNacht