In brief, von Gähler graciously patted Niebuhr on the back and allowed him to share in his own well-tried device of how best to dress things up to mean two things at once. But that must suffice. From now on he begged to be excused any further bulletins about the quarrels among the members of the expedition. The origin of it all—von Haven’s buying of the arsenic—he decided was without significance: “Your thoughts and fears concerning the much-discussed medicine are based on sheer imagination and misunderstanding. Please believe me in this, and have no fear. The world is not as evil as one thinks. I cannot and will not say anything more about it.”
The whole thing is nothing. The world is not as evil as one thinks. This was the gist of the letters Forsskål, von Haven and Niebuhr went to their rooms to read that June afternoon as the great Egyptian summer enveloped Cairo. Their hopes had been dashed. After their repeated approaches to von Gähler and to Bernstorff, after they had waited almost a year in Egypt, and after page upon page of diplomatic elegance, it had now been decided at the highest level that there was nothing to decide and that everything was to continue as before.
7
“The sole danger to human liberty comes from those who by their office, rank or wealth, have become all-powerful in the country.” It is not improbable that when the official directive from Denmark reached Peter Forsskål he was reminded for a moment of this bold aphorism in his monograph on civil liberties which had been banned three years before. In contrast to von Gähler, Forsskål had never succeeded in meaning more than one thing at a time; and in his reply to the Danish diplomat he blandly contradicted the Court, just as he had in Sweden during the controversy about the freedom of the press. The command from the Danish king, wrote Forsskål, had plunged them from highest hopes to deepest disquiet. He refused to allow von Haven’s purchase of arsenic to be played down, and roundly declared that the Danish Court was simply unwilling to face up to the man’s ignorance and defective character. “For if he were really recognised for what he is, we would have to take it that in order that the reputation of some spineless compatriot might be saved, honest and decent people had been exposed and sacrificed to the most infamous of dangers. It seems we cannot expect even that much understanding from a gracious Government.” Strong words, from which Forsskål turned to von Gähler’s prohibition against revealing any of their suspicions. On this point, too, the diplomat heard some plain speaking. It would obviously be much better, said Forsskål, to let von Haven know that they were on their guard against him, and that any attempt he might make on their lives would also prove dangerous for himself. Up to now, Forsskål had put up with his attacks in the anticipation of their soon being rid of him; but now that this hope had been dashed, he must request von Gähler to issue a reprimand to the Dane; and if this was not forthcoming, he would feel obliged to take a hand in things himself.
Behind Forsskål’s stubborn insistence there is an unmistakable disappointment that seems to have been general among the three subscribers to the Rhodes letter. Even the easy-going Baurenfeind was depressed. He did not have Forsskål’s courage in standing up to the authorities, yet he nevertheless ventured to put his dissatisfaction into words. “It is with the greatest respect that I submit to the will and command of the King,” he wrote to von Gähler, “but at the same time I must say that for me and my two colleagues an expedition of this kind will be a bitter draught to swallow. However, it is the King’s will. He must be obeyed. As far as I am concerned, I will do all I can to maintain calm and peace among the group—only I pray that Heaven will help us.”
Nor was Niebuhr convinced by the diplomat’s arguments. In his reply he claimed that everybody must admit that Professor Forsskål had always been conscientious in his work, had never been touchy, and that he also possessed deep insight into many things. Such things were not found on the other side, said Niebuhr. “Disregarding the fact that I would gladly perfect my French and my Italian, I nevertheless find it impossible to adapt myself to Professor von Haven’s methods. His Arabic is still not particularly admirable, even though when I am alone with him he speaks a lot about poets. All his political prophecies have so far turned out to be wrong yet he still remains so certain of his views that he regards all who do not share his ideas as ignoramuses. For these reasons, Your Excellency cannot reproach me if I prefer being in the company of the former than of the latter.”
Simultaneously Niebuhr wrote to von Gähler that he had as little confidence in Forsskål as he had in von Haven. In the opening passages of his letter he had already elaborated on this; commenting on the ambassador’s desire to see him acting as mediator between the two parties, Niebuhr said: “I have not succeeded in bringing them to agreement; and as I am much less of a philosopher than either of them, both having high degrees in philosophy, I have always been much more agitated by it all than the antagonists themselves—for as they take a philosophical view of all things, they can turn straight round and in the next moment carry on their studies as though nothing had happened.”
Compared with the naïve enthusiasm for “learning and true knowledge” which found expression that summer’s day when Niebuhr wondered aloud to Professor Kästner whether he was fully competent to take part in the expedition, these ironic remarks bear witness to a profound change of attitude. Much water had passed under the bridge since that youthful enthusiasm in Göttingen, when Professor Mayer introduced the self-taught young man from the marshlands to the glories of astronomy and mathematics. In the eighteen months that had passed since the Greenland’s departure from Copenhagen, Niebuhr had had a wealth of opportunity for studying at close quarters “learning and true knowledge.” He had witnessed Forsskål’s persistent attempts to reshape the expedition in accordance with Linnaeus’ ideas, and he had watched von Haven’s paroxysms of rage at the slightest hint of his own incompetence. The one was unscrupulous enough to invent codes to cheat the Danish Government; the other went in for intrigue and arsenic. Each in his own way was obstinate and arrogant, petulant and demanding. The one was energetic, the other lazy, but each was unshakably convinced of his own conspicuous excellence. Even though in this matter one had more right on his side than the other, it was still an exhausting business for more hesitant temperaments to be in their company. This was what “learning and true knowledge” proved to be upon closer inspection: a mixture of silent ambition and vociferous complaint, little intrigues and tremendous conceit.
The upshot of Niebuhr’s new realisation, indirectly expressed in his letter to von Gähler, was that he now stood back from the quarrel between Forsskål and von Haven that had threatened to split the entire expedition and which continued to subject every single member to a quite unwarranted threat. Just as we once saw Niebuhr, quite unruffled, observing Venus while the guns of the man-o’-war were made ready for battle, so he now continued with his work on the expedition while the curses and abuse of the doctors of philosophy flew over his head. When he talked to Mohammedans about their religion, he had no wish to proselytise; now he wanted to withdraw from the internecine war within the expedition. He was disposed to think that the one, viewed as a human being, might be as good as the other; but this attitude in itself made it impossible for him to continue involving himself in their affairs. In future he would be neither for nor against. Von Gähler had asked him to wear his cape on both shoulders. Niebuhr responded by letting it fall to the ground.
Diplomatically speaking, the result of his attitude was the same as if he had followed von Gähler’s advice; and we shall soon see what surprising consequences this had. As far as he personally was concerned, however, the situation developed quite differently from the way it would have done if he had attempted to follow the ambassador’s advice. He wrote to von Gähler that he had confidence neither in Forsskål nor in von Haven. He attached himself neither to the one nor the other, nor even to both of them together, as he had been advised to do. He was alone. Something similar also seems to have happened to the others, although it is less apparent. If it did,
then it is the first visible result of Bernstorff’s intervention. The intention was to make them all equal; the result was that they all became equally isolated. The intention had been to eradicate internal conflict, but it was like dealing with a dragon that grew two heads for each one chopped off. All the members had become equally isolated; but all this meant was that the expedition’s two factions had become five.
Here perhaps is the real cause of the despondency affecting the group during the last remaining weeks in Cairo. We have now reached the month of August, 1762. At the end of September the ships left Suez for Djidda in Arabia. There was no time to lose if von Haven was now to carry out the important but constantly postponed expedition from Suez to Mount Sinai. Each of the five men separately prepared to leave Cairo with the caravan for Suez. During their preparations they received bad news; a tribe of robbers, the Sawalha from the Sinai peninsula, were ravaging the district round the port; the July caravan to Suez had been attacked and plundered; several people had been killed.
Meanwhile, everything else was ready for carrying on with the expedition. Carsten Niebuhr in his diary conveys indirectly a picture of the mood prevailing among the members during those last few days in Cairo, when all preparations were complete and they were only waiting for the word to leave for the caravan assembly point. To fill in time, they hired some Egyptian dancing girls to come and dance for them; but since all five of the men were unmarried, the dancing girls were forbidden to perform in their house:
“We had to content ourselves with letting them dance in the open street. As most of the European merchants’ houses in Cairo lie alongside a canal that runs obliquely through the town, the dancing girls earn a great deal from the Europeans during certain days of the year when this canal has just been cleaned but before the Nile has risen high enough to permit the canal dams to be broken. We now tried as far as possible to dispel any alarming thoughts about our impending journey by getting one troupe of dancing girls after another to sing and dance and play in the dried-up bed of the canal in front of our house. And although at first we did not find particular pleasure in watching that sort of thing, both because the instrumental and vocal music was very poor, and because the women assumed what were to any right-thinking man’s eyes all kinds of highly indecent postures; and although to begin with we found them all equally ugly by reason of their yellowed hands and their blood-red nails, the black or blue ornaments about their faces, arms or necks, the large rings round their ankles, in their ears or in their nostrils, the abundance of pomade on their hair that one could smell from far away—although all this was not altogether to our taste, and although none of them had a pleasant voice, nevertheless we gradually came to be persuaded that one or other of them sang very nicely, indeed that they were actually very pretty, until finally we were watching and listening to them as though they were the finest singers and dancers in Europe.”
Baurenfeind’s sketch of the young dancers who performed for the members of the Danish expedition on the eve of their departure for Suez
Baurenfeind made a touching drawing of the scene, done no doubt on one of the later occasions when the young women seemed nicest. The foreground shows a veiled Arab smoking a pipe about a yard in length, while the background is occupied by a few palm trees, together with a man and a woman playing on some primitive musical instruments. Between the musicians and the pipe-smoker can be seen the dancing girls, four young women bare-footed in the sand, unveiled, but dressed in long enveloping garments that fall nicely open to reveal their well-shaped breasts.
Such were the consolations with which the members of the expedition sought to dispel alarming thoughts about their impending journey; such were the young girls who seemed to become prettier and prettier the closer the day of departure approached. The situation was reminiscent of the experiences Forsskål and Niebuhr had had with the slave-girls on board the ship to Alexandria. Once again the sight of a few young women was able to make them forget the dangers that threatened; once again it was as if they were living for the moment in Arabia Felix.
The description of their long stay in Cairo thus finishes on the same double chord as that which concluded the description of their journey by sea from Copenhagen. It is not difficult to imagine the young and earnest astronomer, standing in front of M. Clément’s house as evening falls, lost in his contemplation of the dancing girls. We can picture the young girls dancing barefoot on the warm sand; we can almost hear the music, the same long drawn-out lament repeated over again and again, as though it were merely the desert wind blowing through the instruments. Niebuhr remains standing in the dusk, looking at the dancers and listening to the songs. Perhaps the song was one of love, perhaps of heroes riding to war. Perhaps it was only the old story of him who went searching happiness, of whom it was said that death followed on his heels until finally, when he reached his goal, death bent over his shoulder as though also interested in seeing what he had found.
4. No news from Mount Sinai
In Cairo the expedition left behind the last traces of European civilisation. Now the real desert journey began. Before leaving, Carsten Niebuhr drew up in his diary a short account of the equipment with which they were to get along in the new and primitive circumstances. Apart from their books and their scientific instruments—Forsskål’s Ellis microscope and Niebuhr’s Hadley astrolabe—it comprised a tent, a number of camp beds, and some copper cooking utensils, solidly tinned both inside and out. Their provisions consisted of flour, rice, dry biscuits, butter, coffee beans and edible oil. They reckoned on being able to buy meat from the Arabs, as the caravans always carried with them sheep, goats and chickens, which were slaughtered on the journey. Their butter they carried in a thick leather container. A circular shaped skin served as their table; and as it had iron rings attached to the edges, it could be drawn together like a sack and hung on a camel. Their cups were carried in a leather-bound wooden chest, and their candles were in a similar kind of box, the inside of which had a little socket that could take one of the candles and thus allow the box to function as a lamp. Salt, pepper and other condiments were kept in another wooden chest that had small drawers arranged one above the other. In place of mirrors, which might easily break, they took with them a number of beautifully tinned copper plates. Their travelling lantern was of linen and could be folded up rather like a paper lantern, except that it was much bigger and was fitted with a cover and base of sheet iron. Each man carried a water-bottle of thick leather, and, mindful of the days when they would not find any drinking water en route, they also took along with them several goat-skins filled with water. They carried their wine in large glass flasks, each of which contained the equivalent of twenty bottles. This arrangement turned out to be very unpractical, however, for the flasks were too easily broken when the camels carrying them fell over or bumped against others with their loads. They therefore quickly adopted the Arab system by which wine also was kept in goat-skin bags. The bags used for carrying water had the hairy side facing outwards, while those used for wine had the hairy side turned inwards, and were so thoroughly dubbined that the wine did not acquire any unpleasant taste. Niebuhr remarks that “even if for a European there is something repellent in keeping his drinks in such containers, at least one does not have to worry about losing them en route.” Only seldom did they carry wood or other fuel with which to cook their meals, because at the caravan halts they almost always found dried animal dung being sold as fuel.
With the journey across the desert in mind they had appointed, in addition to their Swedish servant Berggren who with time had become a valuable assistant for Niebuhr when using his astrolabe, a cook from the Greek Archipelago, and also a young Jew who had been born in Sana, the capital of Arabia Felix, and who had been both in India and in Persia. Unfortunately, as a Jew he was disliked by the Arabs, and Niebuhr felt it was a mistake not to have found a Mohammedan servant too. To make up for this, Dr. Kramer had engaged a private interpreter, “because he has not yet got very far in his stud
y of Arabic”; this man was also a Greek, though Mohammedan by faith.
This motley group, its packing complete, was ready to leave Cairo when, in the afternoon of 27th August, 1762, they heard a cannon shot from the town’s citadel. This shot signified that a courier had arrived from the great Mecca caravan, bringing news that it could soon be expected in Cairo; this gave people who had friends and kinsmen among the returning pilgrims time to meet the arrivals. Niebuhr knew that this report of the arrival of the Mecca caravan was also an indication that the desert between Suez and Cairo was again free of the marauding bands that had been ravaging the region in recent months; and this meant in turn that a caravan would be dispatched as soon as possible to Suez.
The same afternoon that the members of the expedition heard the shot from the citadel they therefore hired camels to carry them and their baggage to the Suez caravan assembly point; this lay outside the town in a desert valley not far from the village of Matara, where in the early days of their stay in Cairo Forsskål had so often gone on his botanical excursions. When they arrived there, they found the valley teeming with life: tents everywhere, surrounded by bales and camels, and the Arabs busy getting everything in order for the journey. Nobody knew for certain when the caravan would leave. To be safe, Forsskål hired the necessary camels, arranging for more than the expedition strictly needed. Then the last rays of the sun, still visible in Cairo to the north-east, vanished from the walls of the citadel; and the expedition made ready for the night in the valley near Matara. Darkness fell; the sky was thickly strewn with stars, and peace descended upon the enormous crowd of men and animals. Only occasionally was the silence broken: a child began to cry in one of the tents, or a donkey on the outskirts of the camp suddenly started braying at the rising moon.
Arabia Felix Page 15
