One Thousand and One Nights

by Richard Burton

  In the dark regions (Eẓ-Ẓulumát, from which, perhaps, the above-mentioned portion of the Moḥeeṭ takes its name),[] in the south-west quarter of the earth, according to the same author, is the Fountain of Life, of which El-Khiḍr[] drank, and by virtue of which he still lives and will live till the day of judgment. This mysterious person, whom the vulgar and some others regard as a prophet and identify with Ilyás (Elias, Elijah), and whom some confound with St. George, was, according to the more approved opinion of the learned, a just man or saint, the Wezeer and counsellor of the first Dhu-l-Ḳarneyn, who was a universal conqueror, but an equally doubtful personage, contemporary with the patriarch Ibráheem (Abraham). El-Khiḍr is said to appear frequently to Muslims in perplexity, and to be generally clad in green garments; whence, according to some, his name (which signifies “green”). The Prophet Ilyás is also related to have drunk of the Fountain of Life. During the day-time, it is said, El-Khiḍr wanders upon the seas, and directs voyagers who go astray; while Ilyás perambulates the mountains or deserts, and directs persons who chance to be led astray by the Ghools: but at night they meet together, and guard the rampart of Yájooj and Májooj,[] to prevent these people from making irruptions upon their neighbours. Both, however, are generally believed by the modern Muslims to assist pious persons in distress in various circumstances, whether travelling by land or by water.

  The Mountains of Ḳáf, which bound the Circumambient Ocean and form a circular barrier round the whole of our earth, are described by interpreters of the Ḳur-án as composed of green chrysolite, like the green tint of the sky.[] It is the colour of these mountains, said the Prophet, that imparts a greenish hue to the sky. It is said, in a tradition, that beyond these mountains are other countries; one of gold, seventy of silver, and seven of musk, all inhabited by angels, and each country ten thousand years’ journey in length, and the same in breadth.[] Some say that beyond it are creatures unknown to any but God:[] but the general opinion is, that the mountains of Ḳáf terminate our earth, and that no one knows what is beyond them. They are the chief abode of the Jinn, or Genii.

  It has already been said that our earth is the first, or highest, of seven earths, which are all of equal width and thickness and at equal distances apart. Each of these earths has occupants. The occupants of the first are men, genii, brutes, etc.; the second is occupied by the suffocating wind that destroyed the infidel tribe of Ad; the third, by the stones of Jahennem (or Hell), mentioned in the Ḳur-án in these words, “the fuel of which is men and stones;”[] the fourth, by the sulphur of Jahennem; the fifth, by its serpents; the sixth, by its scorpions, in colour and size like black mules and with tails like spears; the seventh, by Iblees and his troops.[]

  Whether these several earths are believed to be connected with each other by any means, and if so how, we are not expressly informed; but, that they are supposed to be so is evident. With respect to our earth in particular, as some think, it is said that it is supported by a rock, with which the Mountains of Ḳáf communicate by means of veins or roots; and that when God desires to effect an earthquake at a certain place, He commands the mountain (or rock) to agitate the vein that is connected with that place.[] But there is another account, describing our earth as upheld by certain successive supports of inconceivable magnitude, which are under the seventh earth; leaving us to infer that the seven earths are in some manner connected together. This account, as inserted in the work of one of the writers above quoted, is as follows: — The earth [under which appellation are here understood the seven earths] was, it is said, originally unstable; “therefore God created an angel of immense size and of the utmost strength, and ordered him to go beneath it [i.e. beneath the lowest earth] and place it on his shoulders; and his hands extended beyond the east and west, and grasped the extremities of the earth [or, as related in Ibn-El-Wardee, the seven earths] and held it [or them]. But there was no support for his feet: so God created a rock of ruby, in which were seven thousand perforations, and from each of these perforations issued a sea, the size of which none knoweth but God, whose name be exalted; then he ordered this rock to stand under the feet of the angel. But there was no support for the rock: wherefore God created a huge bull, with four thousand eyes and the same number of ears, noses, mouths, tongues, and feet; between every two of which was a distance of five hundred years’ journey; and God, whose name be exalted, ordered this bull to go beneath the rock; and he bore it on his back and his horns. The name of this bull is Kuyootà.[] But there was no support for the bull: therefore God, whose name be exalted, created an enormous fish, that no one could look upon on account of its vast size, and the flashing of its eyes, and their greatness; for it is said that if all the seas were placed in one of its nostrils, they would appear like a grain of mustard-seed in the midst of a desert: and God, whose name be exalted, commanded the fish to be a support to the feet of the bull.[] The name of this fish is Bahamoot [Behemoth]. He placed, as its support, water; and under the water, darkness: and the knowledge of mankind fails as to what is under the darkness.”[] — Another opinion is, that the [seventh] earth is upon water; the water, upon the rock; the rock, on the back of the bull; the bull, on a bed of sand; the sand, on the fish; the fish, upon a still, suffocating wind; the wind, on a veil of darkness; the darkness, on a mist; and what is beneath the mist is unknown.[]

  It is generally believed that under the lowest earth, and beneath seas of darkness of which the number is unknown, is Hell, which consists of seven stages, one beneath another. The first of these, according to the general opinion, is destined for the reception of wicked Mohammadans; the second, for the Christians; the third, for the Jews; the fourth, for the Sabians; the fifth, for the Magians; the sixth, for the Idolaters; the seventh, by general consent, for the Hypocrites. Jahennem is the general name for Hell, and the particular name for its first stage.[] The situation of Hell has been a subject of dispute; some place it in the seventh earth; and some have doubted whether it be above or below the earth which we inhabit.

  At the consummation of all things, God, we are told, will take the whole earth in his [left] hand, and the heavens will be rolled together in his right hand;[] and the earth will be changed into another earth; and the heavens, [into other heavens];[] and Hell will be brought nigh to the [tribunal of God].[]

  CHAPTER VI.

  LITERATURE.

  Perhaps there are no people in the world who are such enthusiastic admirers of literature, and so excited by romantic tales, as the Arabs. Eloquence, with them, is lawful magic: it exercises over their minds an irresistible influence. “I swear by God,” said their Prophet, “verily abuse of infidels in verse is worse to them than arrows.”[]

  In the purest, or Heroic Age of Arabic literature, which was anterior to the triumph of the Mohammadan religion, the conquest which the love of eloquence could achieve over the sanguinary and vindictive feelings of the Arabs was most remarkably exemplified in the annual twenty days’ fair of ´Okáḍh.

  The fair of ´Okáḍh “was not only a great mart opened annually to all the tribes of Arabia; but it was also a literary congress, or rather a general concourse of virtues, of glory and of poetry, whither the hero-poets resorted to celebrate their exploits in rhyming verse, and peacefully to contend for every kind of honour. This fair was held in the district of Mekkeh, between Eṭ-Ṭáïf and Nakhleh and was opened at the new moon of Dhu-l-Ḳaạdeh; that is to say, at the commencement of a period of three sacred months, during which all war was suspended and homicide interdicted.... How is it possible to conceive that men whose wounds were always bleeding, who had always acts of vengeance to execute, vengeances to dread, could at a certain epoch impose silence upon their animosities, so as tranquilly to sit beside a mortal enemy? How could the brave who required the blood of a father, a brother, or a son, according to the phraseology of the desert and of the Bible,[] who long, perhaps, had pursued in vain the murderer, — meet him, accost him peacefully at ´Okáḍh, and only assault with cadences and rhymes him
whose presence alone seemed to accuse him of impotence or cowardice, — him whom he was bound to slay, under pain of infamy, after the expiration of the truce? In fine, how could he hear a panegyric celebrating a glory acquired at his own expense, and sustain the fire of a thousand looks, and yet appear unmoved? Had the Arabs no longer any blood in their veins during the continuance of the fair?

  “These embarrassing questions ... were determined [to a great degree], during the age of Arab paganism, in a manner the simplest and most refined: at the fair of ´Okáḍh, the heroes were masked [or veiled]. In the recitations and improvisations, the voice of the orator was aided by that of a rhapsodist or crier, who was stationed near him, and repeated his words. There is a similar office in the public prayers; it is that of the muballigh (transmitter), who is employed to repeat in a loud voice what is said in a lower tone by the Imám.... The use of the mask [or veil] might, however, be either adopted or dispensed with ad libitum; as is proved by the narratives of a great number of quarrels begun and ended at ´Okáḍh....

  “It was in this congress of the Arab poets (and almost every warrior was a poet at the age which I am considering) that the dialects of Arabia became fused into a magic language, the language of the Ḥejáz, which Moḥammad made use of to subvert the world; for the triumph of Moḥammad is nothing else than the triumph of speech.”[] The Ḳur-án is regarded by the Arabs as an everlasting miracle, surpassing all others, appealing to the understanding of every generation by its inimitable eloquence. A stronger proof of the power of language over their minds could hardly be adduced; unless it be their being capable of receiving as a credible fact the tradition that both genii and men were attracted by the eloquent reading of David, when he recited the Psalms; that the wild beasts and the birds were alike fascinated; and that sometimes there were borne out from his assembly as many as four hundred corpses of men who died from the excessive delight with which he thus inspired them![] It may be added, that the recitation or chanting of the Ḳur-án is a favourite means of amusing the guests at modern private festivities.

  In what may be termed the Middle Age of Arabic literature, beginning with the triumph of the Mohammadan religion and extending to the foundation of the Empire of Baghdád, the power of eloquence over the educated classes of the Arabs probably increased in proportion as it became less familiar to them: for early in this age they began to simplify their spoken language in consequence of their intercourse with strangers, who could not generally acquire the difficult, old dialect of their conquerors, which consequently began to be confined to literary compositions. That such a change took place at this period appears from several anecdotes interspersed in Arabic works. The Khaleefeh El-Weleed (who reigned near the close of the first century of the Flight), the son of ´Abd-El-Melik, spoke so corrupt a dialect that he often could not make himself understood by the Arabs of the desert. A ridiculous instance of the mistakes occasioned by his use of the simplified language which is now current is related by Abu-l-Fidà. The same author adds that the father and predecessor of this prince was a man of eloquence, and that he was grieved by the corrupt speech of his son, which he considered as a defect that incapacitated him to be a future ruler of the Arabs, who were still great admirers of purity of speech, though so large a proportion of them spoke a corrupt dialect. So he sent him to a house to be instructed by a grammarian; but after the youth had remained there a long time, he returned to his father more ignorant than before. Vulgarisms, however, would sometimes escape from the mouth of ´Abd-El-Melik himself; yet so sensible was he to eloquence, that when a learned man, with whom he was conversing, elegantly informed him of an error of this kind, he ordered his mouth to be filled with jewels. “These,” said his courteous admonisher, “are things to be treasured up, not to be expended:” — and for this delicate hint he was further rewarded with thirty thousand pieces of silver and several costly articles of apparel.[]

  It may be added that this Khaleefeh was in the beginning of his reign an unjust monarch, but was reclaimed to a sense of his duty by the following means. Being one night unable to sleep, he called for a person to tell him a story for his amusement. “O Prince of the Faithful,” said the man thus bidden, “there was an owl in El-Móṣil, and an owl in El-Baṣrah; and the owl of El-Móṣil demanded in marriage for her son the daughter of the owl of El-Baṣrah: but the owl of El-Baṣrah said, ‘I will not, unless thou give me as her dowry a hundred desolate farms.’ ‘That I cannot do,’ said the owl of El-Móṣil, ‘at present; but if our sovereign (may God, whose name be exalted, preserve him!) live one year, I will give thee what thou desirest.’” This simple fable sufficed to rouse the prince from his apathy, and he thenceforward applied himself to fulfil the duties of his station.[]

  In the most flourishing age of Arabic poetry and general literature and science, beginning with the foundation of the Empire of Baghdád and extending to the conquest of Egypt by the ´Othmánlee Turks, the influence of eloquent and entertaining language upon the character of the Arab sovereigns was particularly exemplified, as the following anecdotes will show.

  It is related by El-Aṣma´ee that Hároon Er-Rasheed, at a grand fête which he was giving, ordered the poet Abu-l´Atáhiyeh to depict in verse the voluptuous enjoyments of his sovereign. The poet began thus: —

  “Live long in safe enjoyment of thy desires under the shadow of lofty palaces!”

  “Well said!” exclaimed Er-Rasheed: “and what next?”

  “May thy wishes be abundantly fulfilled, whether at eventide or in the morning!”

  “Well!” again said the Khaleefeh: “then what next?”

  “But when the rattling breath struggles in the dark cavity of the chest,

  Then shalt thou know surely that thou hast been only in the midst of illusions.”

  Er-Rasheed wept; and Faḍl, the son of Yaḥyà, said, “The Prince of the Faithful sent for thee to divert him, and thou hast plunged him into grief.” “Suffer him,” said the prince; “for he hath beheld us in blindness, and it displeased him to increase it.”[]

  The family of the Barmekees (one of the most brilliant ornaments of which was the Wezeer Jaạfar, who has been rendered familiar to us by the many scenes in which he is introduced in the “Thousand and One Nights”) earned a noble and enduring reputation by their attachment to literature and the magnificent rewards they conferred on learned men. It was peculiarly hard, therefore, that literature contributed to their melancholy overthrow. Poets were employed by their enemies to compose songs artfully pointed against them, to be sung before the prince to whom they owed their power. Of one of these songs, the following lines formed a part: —

  “Would that Hind had fulfilled the promises she made us, and healed the disease under which we suffer!

  That she had once, at least, acted for herself! for imbecile, indeed, is he who doth not so.”

  “Yea! By Allah! Imbecile!” exclaimed the Khaleefeh, on hearing these verses: his jealousy was roused; and his vengeance soon after fell heavily upon his former favourites.[]

  One of the Khaleefehs having invited the poets of his day to his palace, a Bedawee, carrying a water-jar to fill at the river, followed them, and entered with them. The Khaleefeh, seeing this poor man with the jar on his shoulder, asked him what brought him thither. He returned for answer these words: —

  “Seeing that this company had girded on the saddles

  To repair to thy overflowing river, I came with my jar.”

  The Khaleefeh, delighted with his answer, gave orders to fill his jar with gold.[]

  It has long been a common custom of Eastern princes to bestow dresses of honour upon men of literature and science, as well as upon their great officers and other servants. These dresses were of different kinds for persons of different classes or professions. The most usual kind was an ample coat. With dresses of this description were often given gold-embroidered turbans, and sometimes to Emeers (or great military officers) neck-rings or collars (called ṭóḳs), some of which were set wit
h jewels, as also bracelets and swords ornamented with precious stones; and to Wezeers, instead of the ṭóḳ, a necklace of jewels.[]

  The following striking record will convey an idea of the magnificence of some of these dresses of honour, or in other words of the liberality of a Muslim prince, and at the same time of the very precarious nature of his favour. A person chancing to look at a register kept by one of the officers of Hároon Er-Rasheed, saw in it the following entry:— “Four hundred thousand pieces of gold, the price of a dress of honour for Jaạfar, the son of Yaḥyà, the Wezeer.” A few days after, he saw beneath this written,— “Ten ḳeeráṭs, the price of naphtha and reeds, for burning the body of Jaạfar, the son of Yaḥyà.”[]

  Arab princes and other great men have generally been famous for highly respecting and liberally rewarding men of literature and science, and especially poets. El-Ma-moon and many others are well known to us for their patronage of the learned. Er-Rasheed carried his condescension to them so far as to pour the water on the hands of a blind man, Aboo-Mo´áwiyeh, one of the most learned persons of his time, previously to his eating with him, to show his respect for science.[] We have already seen how a Khaleefeh ordered the mouth of a learned man to be filled with jewels. To cram the mouth with sugar or sweetmeats for a polite or eloquent speech, or piece of poetry, has been more commonly done; but the usual presents to learned men were, and are, dresses of honour and sums of money. Ibn-´Obeyd El-Bakhteree, an illustrious poet and traditionist who flourished in the reign of El-Musta´een, is said to have received so many presents that after his death there were found, among the property which he left, a hundred complete suits of dress, two hundred shirts, and five hundred turbans.[] A thousand pieces of gold were often given, and sometimes ten, twenty, or thirty thousand, and even more, for a few verses; nay, for a single couplet.