Von Haven’s failure is, like Doctor Kramer’s inefficiency, an established fact. The only two Danes on the Danish expedition cut a miserable figure, which is no doubt the main reason why nothing has been written about them in Denmark. Once this has been unambiguously established, however, it is nevertheless possible for us to glimpse a few extenuating circumstances which have not been brought out before, not even by von Haven himself.
First was the realisation that he stood alone, both as a scholar and as a man. On an expedition composed exclusively of natural scientists, he was the one humanist. This contrast probably contributed more to the tension between him and the others than the fact that he was a Dane and Forsskål a Swede. They did not speak the same language in their attitude to life—something which in the long run is of far greater significance.
Secondly, the expedition’s route and all its practical arrangements were principally designed to meet the wishes of the majority of its members, drawn from the natural sciences. Forsskål and Niebuhr could do their research everywhere. Von Haven was a linguist, and his work was therefore essentially linked with libraries. There were no libraries in Djidda, Loheia and Beit el-Fakih. Apart from the Monastery of St. Catherine, they were to be found only in capital cities. But when von Haven was struck down by malaria, the expedition had stayed in only two capital cities, Constantinople and Cairo, and in both places he had purchased valuable manuscripts. The most important thing to remember in connection with his rather modest results is that when the expedition at last arrived tattered and miserable at Sana, the capital of Arabia Felix—and the third capital on their long journey—von Haven was dead.
This seems obvious enough, but it has never before been stressed. While largely condemned to long periods of enforced leisure, he had to endure the spectacle of Forsskål and Niebuhr developing an activity in their own fields which could easily have drained the enthusiasm of stronger personalities than his. It is true that he suffered from an almost chronic laziness, but it is also true that this unfortunate quality was reinforced by external conditions which he never quite succeeded in altering. He tried, several times. But conceit and vanity complicated the issues, and the one result of his attempts was to render relations between himself and the others hopeless from the start. Apart from that one moment of desperation, it is unlikely that he ever had serious designs with the arsenic. Behind his letters and diaries one detects a weak man, a little man, but no murderer. The arsenic can perhaps be seen as a scare, the last means open to a weak and isolated man to assert himself, a defiant gesture from someone already down. Forsskål could be quite ruthless. If von Haven had seriously intended what Niebuhr and Forsskål alleged in their letters to von Gähler, it is miraculous that they ever reached Arabia Felix alive. They themselves emphasised the untold opportunities any real murderer would have had in those outlandish conditions. Von Haven dared not kill anybody. It took some time for Niebuhr and Forsskål to realise this, but even if they had known it from the start, it would have made no difference. In the discovery that von Haven had been buying arsenic they found a pretext for forcing a decision, for trying to rid themselves of the man who had made himself impossible long before there was any hint of murder. This seems to have been the intention behind the two importunate letters they sent to von Gähler and Bernstorff. The conflict, played down in Constantinople and in Copenhagen to the point of distortion, was no bagatelle, but neither was it the one-sided drama that Forsskål and Niebuhr wanted to make it out. When Niebuhr realised this, he withdrew from the game and offered to accompany von Haven to Djebel el-Mokateb. But by then the battle was over. In Suez von Haven was pitilessly confronted with his own weakness, and forced word by word into a confession of his own fears, and this he never survived.
During these last months Forsskål seems at moments to have taken pity on him. But the true depths of his hatred may be judged from a letter which, despite all his other ceaseless activity, he still found time to write from Mocha: not the brief report of von Haven’s death which he sent to Bernstorff, but a letter to Linnaeus, which shows the contempt Forsskål still felt for the man who now lay six feet under the sand in the European churchyard outside the town. Peter Forsskål writes: “One member of our group, Professor von Haven, died here on 25th May, and by his demise made the expedition incomparably easier for the rest of us. He was of a very difficult disposition.”
For once in his life Forsskål was wrong. Their expedition did not become easier. And barely a month later—a misfortune for Scandinavian scholarship and a catastrophe for the expedition—Peter Forsskål died.
2
The five remaining members left the freshly turned grave on the outskirts of Mocha with a bitter taste in their mouths—less by reason of any sympathy they felt for the deceased than because of the warning his sudden death had given them all. They could all see that the situation was likely to become intolerable. Von Haven had died shortly after the critical days of their arrival in Mocha, when they were saved only by the presence of the Englishmen and by Forsskål’s determined conduct. Niebuhr was only a shadow of his former self. Von Haven’s fate had made a deeper impression on him than on any of the others. He knew in his heart that he was suffering from the same thing, and that it was only by chance that he was not the one whom they had just buried. Apart from the tireless Forsskål, the others were not good for much either. The humid heat of Mocha had left them completely enervated; and they were all bitterly regretting that they had not moved up into the hills instead of remaining in Tehama. On the other hand, the trackless hilly regions were not particularly inviting, and it was said in Mocha that the Imam in Sana was a grim and moody man.
They had small reason to feel secure in Mocha either. So long as the armed vessels of the Englishmen lay out in the roads, they would presumably be safe, but what when the ships weighed anchor in the first half of August and left for India?
It was dangerous to remain, and dangerous to leave. The situation was full of uncertainty and it was therefore not surprising that voices were now raised advocating the abandonment of any further exploration of Arabia Felix. But not all the members shared this point of view, and this time the question had to be debated before a decision could be reached. Niebuhr mentions the two main points of view: “One side wants to leave Mocha for India with the Englishmen in the middle of August, and then go by ship to London; the other wants to go to Sana and stay for a further year in the Yemen.” He does not say who thinks what; and the fact that in another context he mentions that Kramer and Baurenfeind were keen to see the Imam’s residence in Sana should not necessarily be taken as evidence that it was Forsskål and Niebuhr who voted for giving up. It does not sound probable.
The question is nevertheless of secondary interest; the main thing is that the discussion ended in compromise. It was decided to leave for India with the English ships; but as there were still two months before they sailed, there was a possibility of taking a quick trip to Sana and still being back in Mocha before they weighed anchor. This decision meant that both sides had their desires partly fulfilled; they also bore an equal responsibility for the consequences, which were grave.
In Beit el-Fakih they could still have been saved by journeying to Sana. Now things were different. When they finally decided to move up to the cool hill climate, it was in the face of their exhaustion after more than a month in the unhealthy town of Mocha, and with the further prospect of a forced march. Even if they rode swiftly, they could not catch up on what they had lost. For malaria rode with them.
Moreover, the dola in Mocha would not allow them to leave. His foot was still troublesome and he could not do without Doctor Kramer. Forsskål pointed out that they had already lost one of their colleagues and that another was gravely ill, and that therefore they must leave as quickly as possible for a cooler climate. His arguments made no impression. The dola claimed that he could not let them leave before receiving permission from the Imam in Sana. As they were forced to hurry if they were to be back before
the English ships left Mocha, Forsskål proposed that they should meantime move on to Taaes and wait there for the Imam’s permission to proceed. The dola refused to co-operate in this, preferring to accept an offer from Kramer, who suggested that he should stay in Mocha and treat the dola while the others went off.
A chance event decided the matter. An itinerant miracle-doctor arrived in the town and declared that he could cure the dola’s foot in a few days. Kramer, who believed that a cure was still some way off, was allowed to withdraw, receiving a donkey as honorarium. The expedition was given permission to leave; the dola gave them a letter of recommendation to his colleague in Taaes, and also assigned to them one of his servants. The latter aroused little enthusiasm among the members of the expedition; he seemed shifty and unreliable, and they suspected that his prime task was to operate as a spy for his master in Mocha. But now there was no time for further negotiation. They deposited the greater part of their money with the Englishmen, but took sufficient equipment with them to enable them if need be to spend a whole year up in the hills. At sunset on 9th June, 1763, Niebuhr, Forsskål, Baurenfeind, Kramer and Berggren left Mocha for the town of Sana, the capital of Arabia Felix.
They covered the first few stages across the Tehama desert at night because of the heat. For the purposes of his map, Niebuhr had to establish the direction of their route solely by aid of astronomical observations, since it was too dark for him to take exact bearings with his compass. After two nights’ journeying, they reached the village of Musa and were into the hills, where the road now became so stony and unsafe that they no longer dared allow themselves to travel in the dark; even in daylight the hill paths were dangerous, as violent thunderstorms accompanied by a heavy downpour were a daily occurrence, and these transformed the roads into foaming rivers. On the other hand the temperature dropped noticeably; in the mornings Forsskål read barely 14 degrees on his Réaumur thermometer (60 degrees Fahrenheit). The landscape changed character, and they found themselves among fertile hills with distant views over terraced green fields of corn. Along the road the peasants brought their cattle to drink from large troughs, set up to catch the rainwater. They were now able to shelter from the midday sun in the shade of fig trees and tamarind trees, and at night they could sleep in big caravanserais that lay along their route; these had surrounding walls, so the travellers could ride in with their camels, buy durra bread, coffee, rice and butter, and spend the night in complete safety since the gate was shut every evening and not opened again until the following morning, after each of the visitors had assured himself that he had not lost anything.
As time was precious, they rode on quickly; and on 13th June, only four days after their departure from Mocha, they arrived at the hill city of Taaes. Forsskål and Niebuhr had already been there once before on their long reconnaissance from Beit el-Fakih, when they found the Mecca balsam tree. On that occasion they travelled incognito; now they came as official guests and were received in audience by the dola, who seemed uncertain and worried at their appearance because he had heard rumours that they carried with them whole chests full of living snakes. Niebuhr noted dryly in his diary that news apparently grew of its own accord in Arabia. Once again it was Forsskål who pacified the terrified governor. The dola directed them to a house whose owner he had just put in prison, and sent them as a sign of his hospitality two sheep and a couple of sacks of flour and barley groats. In exchange he accepted a roll of Indian linen, which Niebuhr carefully entered in his account book at twenty-four Speciedaler. In fact, it was Berggren who had the task of taking the gift to the dola. At the entrance to the house he was stopped by the porter, who would not let him pass without a tip. The impassive Swede asked with amusement whether it was usual in that country for servants to tip each other, in which case he must also ask the porter for a little something for his trouble in bringing the master a gift from his own masters. The porter laughed and let him pass. For the moment everything seemed in the best of order in the hill town of Taaes.
Niebuhr’s sketch of the town Taaes. The road to the left leads towards Sana, and the road to the right towards Mocha
The members of the expedition were also content. The cool climate had raised their spirits, and instead of the heavy heat in Mocha they now had daily showers. Niebuhr noted from his regular temperature readings that the thermometer in Taaes never rose higher than the lowest it had registered in Mocha. Their one worry was the servant whom the dola in Mocha had given them before they left. Time after time he meddled with their affairs, took decisions on his own, and insinuated himself into the party when they called on important residents in the town to gain information. Finally Forsskål had to point out to him that his presence on these occasions was superfluous, with the result that the Arab took offence. He kept away when the expedition’s members paid visits to the residents, but they soon realised that the dola’s spy had quietly taken measures to influence matters in other ways.
For the moment work occupied all their attention. Niebuhr began collecting information about the town’s history and its form of government; he drew a sketch plan of the buildings within the town walls and as Baurenfeind was occupied at all hours of the day with drawing plants for Forsskål, he himself made a little prospect of the town seen from the north. It lay at the foot of Mount Sabr, which had the reputation locally of being covered with all the flowers in the world. Needless to say, Forsskål could not bear to hear such a report about a mountain which was daily in view without moving heaven and earth to get there. To his great anger, the dola would not give him permission to go. The governor was at war with a robber tribe in that district; and whatever happened he had worked out that it would not be good for his authority in the town. If Forsskål were killed, he would get into trouble with the Imam in Sana because a European scholar had lost his life in his region; and if Forsskål returned safely, the inhabitants of the town would find it ridiculous that a foreigner could apparently wander unharmed in a district where the dola’s own soldiers did not dare venture.
Instead, Forsskål had to be content with going on 18th June to a different mountain, called Soúrak, from which he had to return only three days later because all the villages were deserted following a battle with the robber tribe, which meant that Forsskål could not find food. Weary and bitter after three days’ vain search, he now made renewed application to the dola for permission to go to Sabr, and after several days of steady pressure, the governor finally agreed on 24th June to allow Forsskål and Niebuhr to visit the hill, the former to collect botanical specimens and the latter to copy inscriptions. As they had already wasted several valuable days in negotiations, the two men immediately made ready to leave the following morning. They were packing their things together when there was a knock at the door; it was the servant from Mocha. The Arab informed them impassively that they would have to abandon their plans. Forsskål answered abruptly that this was no concern of his. The servant smiled artfully. There was nothing for it—they must do as he said. His master had written to the dola in Taaes insisting on the immediate return the following day at daybreak to Mocha.
The next morning they found the camels for the journey tied up outside their door. Forsskål was convinced that the letter from the dola in Mocha was an invention, and managed to delay their departure on the pretext that they had not yet finished their packing. He told the servant from Mocha that the dola in Taaes would presumably expect a leaving present from them, and that he, Forsskål, therefore wanted to speak to him. An hour later the servant returned. The dola was sick.
Next morning the camels and donkey were again brought to their house and they were advised gently but firmly to make sure that they left. Forsskål listened a moment in silence. Then he went into action. He gave orders that the camels were not to be loaded and declared that he would not leave Taaes until he had spoken personally to the dola. As always, his stubborn insistence produced results. In the afternoon word was sent by a servant that the dola expected him. Forsskål realised the nece
ssity for putting forward some compromise proposal immediately: he was willing to renounce his trip to Mount Sabr if the expedition could remain in Taaes until they had heard from the Imam whether he would permit them to go on to Sana. But the dola did not wish to bargain. The expedition might neither visit Mount Sabr nor remain in Taaes. They must immediately pack their things and leave for Mocha. He would give them twelve hours in which to do this. When that time was up, they must be out of his town.
With this all hope of reaching Sana was gone. The expedition once again started packing its equipment and loading it on the waiting camels. When they were almost ready, a messenger rode up with a letter. Forsskål took it, opened it and read it out aloud, translating the contents for the others. It was from the dola in Mocha. He simply wished to inform them that his lord, the Imam in Sana, had given orders for them to continue to Sana without delay, bringing with them all the rare objects they had earlier displayed in Loheia and Mocha. Enclosed were other letters of recommendation, both to the Imam himself and his vizir, Fakih Ahmed, together with a communication to the dola in Taaes requesting him to be of help to them in their departure.
When Forsskål finished reading this letter, his first act was to ask to see the dola, more convinced than ever that the first letter from Mocha had been false. A few moments later he was halted at the entrance to the palace: it was impossible to speak to the dola, for he had retired to his harem and did not wish to be disturbed. Forsskål had to hand over to a servant the letter from the dola in Mocha.
The next morning Forsskål was firmly determined to lead the expedition to Sana, with or without the dola’s permission. Once again they packed their equipment and carried the chests out into the street. Now they could not get any camels. The dola, who had returned refreshed to his duties, informed them that his camels were ready to take them to Mocha, for his orders were to send them to that town and not to Sana. Niebuhr writes: “Now we no longer knew where to turn for help; for we were too weak to set ourselves up against a man who disposed of five to six hundred soldiers, and who would not even obey an order from the head of state.” For a moment it almost seems that Niebuhr lacked understanding of what was happening around him. It is surely more than likely that he could have resolved the situation by putting his hand into the expedition’s money-chest again—indeed, that everything had been arranged by the dola with this one object in view. But of course Niebuhr was not ignorant of this; it was the marsh-land peasant coming uppermost in him once more. He did not want to have to throw his money about again, and preferred to speculate instead on the possibilities of armed conflict.
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