by Robert Irwin
The reed served as a kind of hobby-horse used by this Lord of Misrule.
Abu Bakr al-Siddiq (reigned 632-4) became caliph after the death of the Prophet Muhammad. He was succeeded by ‘Umar ibn al-Khattab (reigned 634-44), who was succeeded by ‘Uthman (reigned 644-56).
‘They mixed a good deed with another evil. It may be that God will turn towards them’: a quotation from the Qur’an, sura 9, verse 103.
‘Ali ibn Abi Talib (reigned 656-61) was the last of the ‘Rightly Guided Caliphs’.
The umma is the Muslim community.
Mu‘awiya (661-80) was the first of the Umayyad caliphs and as such abhorred by Shi’ites.
The Sunna is the practice of the Sunni Muslim community as established by precedent.
Yazid, Mu‘awiya’s son, was caliph from 680 to 683.
‘Umar ibn ‘Abd al-Aziz (reigned 717-20) was the Umayyad caliph with the greatest reputation for piety – but there does not seem to have been much competition.
The Umayyad caliphate found itself in difficulties from the opening of the eleventh century onwards. Between 1017 and 1030 a series of puppet caliphs pretended to rule, while insubordinate generals and armies contended for real power. In 1013 Cordova was sacked by Berber armies and the fiction of a continuing Ummayad caliphate was abandoned. The palace complexes of Madinat al-Zahra and Madinat al-Zahira outside Cordova were also sacked. The princely libraries were dispersed. The ruin of Cordova was a favourite subject for poets in the centuries that followed. For example, Ibn Shuhayd (see pages 261–5) wrote of his birthplace:
A dying hag, but her image in my heart is one
of a beautiful damsel.
She’s played the adulteress to her men,
yet such a lovely adulteress!
A friend of Ibn Shuhayd’s, the Cordovan writer IBN HAZM,wrote:
A visitor from Cordova informed me, when I asked him for news of that city, that he had seen our mansion in Balat Mughith, on the western side of the metropolis; its traces were well-nigh obliterated, its way-marks effaced; vanished were its spacious patios. All had been changed by decay; the joyous pleasaunces were converted to barren deserts and howling wildernesses; its beauty lay in shattered ruins …
Ibn Hazm went on to relate how he remembered the beautiful youths and maidens of his youth (now all in exile, if not dead) and how he saw in his mind’s eye that his noble house had become a ruin fit only for habitation by owls. Ibn Hazm lived through the ruin of the Umayyad caliphate and his masterpiece, The Ring of the Dove, can be read as a commemoration of the courtly ways of old Cordova. Abu Muhammad ‘Ali ibn Muhammad ibn Sa’id ibn Hazm was born in 994 and raised in the harem of the palace of Madinat al-Zahira until the age of fourteen. Possibly this harem upbringing gave him a lifelong interest in female psychology. His father maintained a lot of concubines and Ibn Hazm was taught the Qur’an and poetry by harem women. After the political disgrace of his father who had held the office of vizier, Ibn Hazm moved from Madinat al-Zahira to Cordova, but then, after the sacking of Cordova by Berbers in 1013, he had to adopt a peripatetic existence. Having abandoned an early abortive career as a politician, he wrote Tawq al-Hamama, or The Ring of the Dove, in 1027. It is therefore a young man’s book. In this book (whose title alludes to the fact that messenger-pigeons were used by lovers, as well as by husbands and wives, to communicate with one another), Ibn Hazm expounded the code of love. After a preface in which he condemned traditional ways of writing about love, he went on to discuss signs of love, falling in love with a person seen in a dream, other more common modes of falling in love, means of communicating with the beloved, concealment of the secret one’s love, revealing the secret, compliance or resistance of the beloved, and so on. ‘Love, my friends, begins jestingly, but its end is serious.’ In keeping with this maxim, the final chapters of The Ring of the Dove are moralistic and are entitled ‘The Vileness of Sinning’ and ‘The Virtue of Continence’.
These last sections do not sit easily with earlier parts of the treatise in which Ibn Hazm looks back at his own amorous affairs and those of people he has known or heard of. Admittedly these dalliances were not with women of his own class. A slave-girl was the most favoured object of affection for a courtly lover (and he liked his slave-girls to be blondes, if possible). ‘Humiliation before the beloved is the natural character of a courteous man.’ The lover was exalted and refined by abasing himself and by suffering the agonies of unrequited love. To some extent, Ibn Hazm tried to break away from the Eastward-looking traditional formulations of unrequited love. ‘Spare me those tales of Bedouins and of lovers long ago! Their ways were not our ways.’ But despite his effective, even enchanting, use of autobiographical material, he also drew on more traditional sources and wrote within a conventional genre. In his approach to the ennobling power of love, even when – especially when – the object of that love was unworthy of it, he was following in the path of that arbiter of taste in the ‘Abbasid period, Ibn Washsha. Some of the figures Ibn Hazm wrote about, such as the reproacher, the spy and the trusted confidant, had routinely featured in Arabic love poetry for centuries. Moreover, Ibn Hazm tended to illustrate the propositions in his philosophy of love with supporting verses, many of which were of Eastern origin.
Ibn Hazm’s philosophy of love was, like that of its Eastern exemplars, Neoplatonic. According to him, ‘true Love is a spiritual approbation, a fusion of souls’. He mingled traditional Islamic teachings with Platonic myths. Thus he could cite a saying of the Prophet in favour of elective affinities: ‘Spirits are regimented battalions: those which know one another associate familiarly together, while those which do not know one another remain at variance.’ On the other hand, Ibn Hazm also knew of the Greek myth that humans were originally created as perfect spheres, before being split into sexually differentiated halves. Love is the quest of the sundered sexes to find oneness again (or ‘The Desire and Pursuit of the Whole’, as the novelist Baron Corvo was later to term it).
Ibn Hazm was quite literally interested in the ‘code’ of love and his book includes chapters entitled ‘Of Allusion by Words’, ‘Of Hinting with the Eyes’, ‘Of Correspondence’ and ‘Of Concealing the Secret’. (Incidentally, The Thousand and One Nights tale of Aziz and Aziza contains fascinating examples of the sign language used by lovers. The mysterious lady loved by Aziz communicates in gestures which have to be interpreted by his sister Aziza: ‘As to the putting of her finger in her mouth, it showed that thou art to her as her soul to her body and that she would bite into union with thee with her wisdom teeth. As for the kerchief, it betokeneth that her breath of life is bound up in thee. As for the placing her two fingers on her bosom between her breasts, its explanation is that she saith: The sight of thee may dispel my grief.’)
As can be seen from the extracts which follow, Ibn Hazm’s style was brisk and unadorned:
On Compliance
One of the wonderful things that occur in Love is the way the lover submits to the beloved, and adjusts his own character by main force to that of his loved one. Often and often you will see a man stubborn by disposition, intractable, jibbing at all control, determined, arrogant, always ready to take umbrage; yet no sooner let him sniff the soft air of love, plunge into its waves, and swim in its sea, than his stubbornness will have suddenly changed to docility, his intractability to gentleness, his determination to easy-going, his arrogance to submission. I have some verses on this.
Shall I be granted, friend,
To come once more to thee,
Or will there be an end
Of changeful destiny?
The sword (O strange to tell!)
Is now the baton’s page,
The captive, tame gazelle
A lion full of rage.
These verses tell the same story.
Though thou scoldest me, yet I
Am the cheapest man to die,
Slipping swiftly like false gold
Through the tester’s fingers rolled.
Yet what joy i
t is for me
To be slain for loving thee!
Marvel, then, at one who dies
Smiling pleasure from his eyes.
I have still another trifle on this topic.
Were thy features shining fair
Viewed by critics Persian,
Little would they reck of their
Mobedh and their Hormosan!
Sometimes the beloved is unsympathetic to the manifesting of complaints, and is too impatient to listen to tales of suffering. In those circumstances you will see the lover concealing his grief, suppressing his despair, and hiding his sickness. The beloved heaps unjust accusations on his head; and he is full of apologies for every fault he is supposed to have committed, and confesses crimes of which he is wholly innocent, simply to submit to what his loved one says and to avoid resisting the charge. I know a man who was afflicted in just this way; his beloved was continually levelling accusations against him, though he was entirely blameless; he was evermore being reproached and scolded, yet he was as pure as driven snow. Let me quote here some verses which I addressed once to one of my comrades; though they do not exactly fit this context, still they come very near to the topic under discussion.
Once thou wouldst greet me with a smile,
Delighted at my near approach,
And if I turned from thee awhile
Thy features registered reproach.
My nature is not so averse
To listen to a little blame:
White hairs are ugly, but no worse,
Yet they are always called a shame.
A man, when looking in the glass,
May think himself uncommon plain;
But moles and spots for beauty pass,
And do not need to give such pain.
They are an ornament, when few,
And only count for ugliness
When they exceed a measure due:
And who has ever praised excess?
A little later in the same poem I have the following verse.
O come thou to his succour, then;
By so great cares his soul is gripped
That 10, he moves to tears the pen,
The ink, the paper, and the script!
Let no man say that the patience displayed by the lover when the beloved humiliates him is a sign of pusillanimity: that would be a grave error. We know that the beloved is not to be regarded as a match or an equal to the lover, that the injury inflicted by him on the lover should be repaid in kind. The beloved’s insults and affronts are not such as a man need regard as dishonouring him; the memory of them is not preserved down the ages; neither do they occur in the Courts of Caliphs and the salons of the great, where endurance of an insult would imply humiliation, and submission would lead to utter contempt.
Sometimes you will see a man infatuated with his slave-girl, his own legal property, and there is nothing to prevent him from having his way with her if he so desires; what point would there be then in his revenging himself on her? No; the real grounds for being angered by insults are entirely different; anger is fully justified when the insults are offered as between men of high rank, whose every breath is studied, whose every word is examined closely for its meaning, and given a most profound significance. For such men do not utter words at random, or let fall remarks negligently; but as for the beloved, she is at one time an unbending lance, at another a pliant twig, now cruel, now complaisant, just as the mood takes her and for no valid reason. On this theme I can quote an apposite poem of mine.
It is not just to disapprove
A meek servility in love:
For Love the proudest men abase
Themselves, and feel it no disgrace.
Then do not marvel so at me
And my profound humility;
Ere I was overthrown, this state
Proud Caliphs did humiliate.
No peer is the beloved one,
No parfit knight, no champion,
That it should shame to thee procure,
Her hateful insults to endure.
An apple falling from the tree
Struck and a trifle injured thee:
Would it be triumph worth thy pain
To cut the apple into twain?
Abu Dulaf the stationer told me the following story, which he heard from the philosopher Maslama ibn Ahmad, better known as al-Majriti. In the mosque which lies to the east of the Quraish cemetery in Cordova, opposite the house of the vizier Abu ‘Umar Ahmad ibn Muhammad ibn Hudair (God have mercy upon him!) – in this mosque Muqaddam ibn al-Asfar was always to be seen hanging about during his salad days, because of a romantic attachment which he had formed for 'Ajib, the page-boy of the afore-mentioned Abu 'Umar. He gave up attending prayers at the Masrur mosque (near where he lived), and came to this mosque night and day on account of 'Ajib. He was arrested more than once by the guard at night, when he was departing from the mosque after praying the second evening prayer; he had done nothing but sit and stare at the page-boy until the latter, angry and infuriated, went up to him and struck him some hard blows, slapping his cheeks and punching him in the eye. Yet the young man was delighted at this and exclaimed, ‘By Allah! This is what I have dreamed of; now I am happy.’ Then he would walk alongside of ‘Ajib for some minutes. Abu Dulaf added that he had been told this story by Maslama several times in the presence of ‘Ajib himself, when observing the high position, influence and prosperity to which Muqaddam ibn al-Asfar had attained; the latter had indeed become most powerful; he was on extremely intimate terms with al-Muzaffar ibn Abi ‘Amir, and enjoyed friendly relations with al-Muzaffar’s mother and family; he built a number of mosques and drinking-fountains, and established not a few charitable foundations; besides all which he busied himself with all the various kinds of benevolent and other activities, with which men in authority like to concern themselves.
Here is an even more outrageous example. Sa’id ibn Mundhir ibn Sa‘id, who used to lead the prayers in the cathedral mosque of Cordova during the days of al-Hakam al-Mustansir Billah (God be merciful to his soul!), had a slave-girl with whom he was deeply in love. He offered to manumit and marry her, to which she scornfully replied – and I should mention that he had a fine long beard – ‘I think your beard is dreadfully long; trim it up, and then you shall have your wish.’ He thereupon laid a pair of scissors to his beard, until it looked somewhat more gallant; then he summoned witnesses, and invited them to testify that he had set the girl free. But when in due course he proposed to her, she would not accept him. Among those present was his brother Hakam ibn Mundhir, who promptly said to the assembled company, ‘Now I am going to propose marriage to her.’ He did so, and she consented; and he married her then and there. Sa’id acquiesced in this frightful insult, for all that he was a man known for his abstinence, piety and religious zeal. I myself met this same Sa’id; he was slain by the Berbers, on the day when they stormed and sacked Cordova. His brother Hakam was the head of the Mu‘tazilites of Andalusia, their leader, professor and chief schoolman, as well as the most famous among them for his piety; at the same time he was a poet, a physician and a lawyer. His brother ‘Abd al-Malik ibn Mundhir was also suspected of belonging to the same sect; in the days of al-Hakam (God be well pleased with him!) he was in charge of the Office for the Defence of the Oppressed, but was crucified by al-Mansur ibn Abi ‘Amir on the charge, preferred against him and a whole group of Cordovan lawyers and judges, of secretly swearing allegiance to ‘Abd al-Rahman ibn ‘Ubaid Allah, grandson of Caliph al-Nasir (God be well pleased with them!) as lawful Caliph. ‘Abd al-Rahman himself was executed, ‘Abd al-Malik ibn Mundhir was crucified, and the entire faction accused of the conspiracy were liquidated. The father of these three brothers, the Lord Chief Justice Mundhir ibn Sa‘id, came under the same suspicion of holding Mu‘tazilite opinions; he was a most eloquent preacher, profoundly learned in every branch of knowledge, of the utmost piety, and withal the wittiest and most amusing of men. The son Hakam afore-mentioned is still living at the time of
writing this epistle; he is now very advanced in years, and quite blind.
A wonderful example of how the lover will submit to the beloved is provided by a man I knew who lay awake for many nights, endured extreme suffering, and had his heart torn asunder by the deepest emotions, until he finally overcame his beloved’s resistance, who thereafter refused him nothing and could no more resist his advances. Yet when the lover observed that the beloved felt a certain antipathy towards his intentions he forthwith discontinued relations, not out of chastity or fear but solely in order to accord with the beloved’s wishes. For all the intensity of his feelings, he could not bring himself to do anything for which he had seen the beloved had no enthusiasm. I know another man who acted in the same way, and then repented on discovering that his beloved had betrayed him. I have put this situation into verse.
Seize the opportunity
As it opens up to thee;
Opportunities depart
Swiftly as the lightnings dart.
Ah, the many things that I
Might have done, but let slip by,
And the intervening years
Brought me naught but bitter tears.
Whatsoever treasure thou
Findest, pounce upon it now:
Wait no instant: swoop to-day
Like a falcon on thy prey.
This very same thing happened to Abu ‘I-Muzaffar ‘Abd al-Rahman ibn Ahmad ibn Mahmud, our good friend: I quoted to him some verses of mine which he leapt upon with the greatest joy and carried off with him, to be his guiding star ever after.
When I was living in the old city at Cordova I one day met Abu ‘Abd Allah Muhammad ibn Kulaib of Kairouan, a man with an exceedingly long tongue, well-sharpened to enquire on every manner of subject. The topic of Love and its various aspects was under discussion, and he put the following question to me: ‘If a person with whom I am in love is averse to meeting me, and avoids me whenever I try to make an approach, what should I do?’ I replied, ‘My opinion is that you should endeavour to bring relief to your own soul by meeting the beloved, even if the beloved is averse to meeting you.’ He retorted, ‘I do not agree; I prefer that the beloved should have his will and desire, rather than I mine. I would endure and endure, even if it meant death for me.’ ‘I would only have fallen in love,’ I countered, ‘for my personal satisfaction and aesthetic pleasure. I should therefore follow my own analogy, guide myself by my personal principles, and pursue my habitual path, seeking quite deliberately my own enjoyment.’ ‘That is a cruel logic,’ he exclaimed. ‘Far worse than death is that for the sake of which you desire death, and far dearer than life is that for the sake of which you would gladly lay down your life.’ ‘But,’ I said, ‘you would be laying down your life not by choice but under compulsion. If it were possible for you not to lay down your life, you would not have done so. To give up meeting the beloved voluntarily would certainly be most reprehensible, since you would thereby do violence to yourself and bring your own soul to its doom.’ Thereupon he cried out, ‘You are a born dialectician, and dialectics have no particular relevance to Love.’ ‘In that case,’ I said, ‘the lover will certainly be unfortunate.’ ‘And what misfortune is there,’ he ended, ‘that is greater than Love?’
