III. PRE-ISLAMIC POETRY, MANNERS, AND RELIGION…

III. PRE-ISLAMIC POETRY, MANNERS, AND RELIGION

"When there appeared a poet in a family of the Arabs, the other tribes round about would gather together to that family and wish them joy of their good luck. Feasts would be got ready, the women of the tribe would join together in bands, playing upon lutes, as they were wont to do at bridals, and the men and boys would congratulate one another; for a poet was a defence to the honour of them all, a weapon to ward off insult from their good name, and a means of perpetuating their glorious deeds and of establishing their fame for ever. And they used not to wish one another joy but for three things--the birth of a boy, the coming to light of a poet, and the foaling of a noble mare."[139]

As far as extant literature is concerned--and at this time there was only a spoken literature, which was preserved by oral tradition, and first committed to writing long afterwards--the Jáhiliyya or Pre-islamic Age covers scarcely more than a century, from about 500 A.D., when the oldest poems of which we have any record were composed, to the year of Muḥammad's Flight to Medína (622 A.D.), which is the starting-point of a new era in Arabian history. The influence of these hundred and twenty years was great and lasting. They saw the rise and incipient decline of a poetry which most Arabic-speaking Moslems have always regarded as a model of unapproachable excellence; a poetry rooted in the life of the people, that insensibly moulded their minds and fixed their character and made them morally and spiritually a nation long before Muḥammad welded the various conflicting groups into a single organism, animated, for some time at least, by a common purpose. In those days poetry was no luxury for the cultured few, but the sole medium of literary expression. Every tribe had its poets, who freely uttered what they felt and thought. Their unwritten words "flew across the desert faster than arrows," and came home to the hearts and bosoms of all who heard them. Thus in the midst of outward strife and disintegration a unifying principle was at work. Poetry gave life and currency to an ideal of Arabian virtue (muruwwa), which, though based on tribal community of blood and insisting that only ties of blood were sacred, nevertheless became an invisible bond between diverse clans, and formed, whether consciously or not, the basis of a national community of sentiment.

[Sidenote: Origins of Arabian poetry]

In the following pages I propose to trace the origins of Arabian poetry, to describe its form, contents, and general features, to give some account of the most celebrated Pre-islamic poets and collections of Pre-islamic verse, and finally to show in what manner it was preserved and handed down.

By the ancient Arabs the poet (shá‘ir, plural shu‘ará), as his name implies, was held to be a person endowed with supernatural knowledge, a wizard in league with spirits (jinn) or satans (shayáṭín) and dependent on them for the magical powers which he displayed. This view of his personality, as well as the influential position which he occupied, are curiously indicated by the story of a certain youth who was refused the hand of his beloved on the ground that he was neither a poet nor a soothsayer nor a water-diviner.[140] The idea of poetry as an art was developed afterwards; the pagan shá‘ir is the oracle of his tribe, their guide in peace and their champion in war. It was to him they turned for counsel when they sought new pastures, only at his word would they pitch or strike their 'houses of hair,' and when the tired and thirsty wanderers found a well and drank of its water and washed themselves, led by him they may have raised their voices together and sung, like Israel--

"Spring up, O well, sing ye unto it."[141]

[Sidenote: Satire.]

Besides fountain-songs, war-songs, and hymns to idols, other kinds of poetry must have existed in the earliest times--e.g., the love-song and the dirge. The powers of the shá‘ir, however, were chiefly exhibited in Satire (hijá), which in the oldest known form "introduces and accompanies the tribal feud, and is an element of war just as important as the actual fighting."[142] The menaces which he hurled against the foe were believed to be inevitably fatal. His rhymes, often compared to arrows, had all the effect of a solemn curse spoken by a divinely inspired prophet or priest,[143] and their pronunciation was attended with peculiar ceremonies of a symbolic character, such as anointing the hair on one side of the head, letting the mantle hang down loosely, and wearing only one sandal.[144] Satire retained something of these ominous associations at a much later period when the magic utterance of the shá‘ir had long given place to the lampoon by which the poet reviles his enemies and holds them up to shame.

[Sidenote: Saj‘.]

The obscure beginnings of Arabian poetry, presided over by the magician and his familiar spirits, have left not a rack behind in the shape of literature, but the task of reconstruction is comparatively easy where we are dealing with a people so conservative and tenacious of antiquity as the Arabs. Thus it may be taken for certain that the oldest form of poetical speech in Arabia was rhyme without metre (Saj‘), or, as we should say, 'rhymed prose,' although the fact of Muḥammad's adversaries calling him a poet because he used it in the Koran shows the light in which it was regarded even after the invention and elaboration of metre. Later on, as we shall see, Saj‘ became a merely rhetorical ornament, the distinguishing mark of all eloquence whether spoken or written, but originally it had a deeper, almost religious, significance as the special form adopted by poets, soothsayers, and the like in their supernatural revelations and for conveying to the vulgar every kind of mysterious and esoteric lore.

[Sidenote: Rajaz.]

Out of Saj‘ was evolved the most ancient of the Arabian metres, which is known by the name of Rajaz.[145] This is an irregular iambic metre usually consisting of four or six--an Arab would write 'two or three'--feet to the line; and it is a peculiarity of Rajaz, marking its affinity to Saj‘, that all the lines rhyme with each other, whereas in the more artificial metres only the opening verse[146] is doubly rhymed. A further characteristic of Rajaz is that it should be uttered extempore, a few verses at a time--commonly verses expressing some personal feeling, emotion, or experience, like those of the aged warrior Durayd b. Zayd b. Nahd when he lay dying:--

"The house of death[147] is builded for Durayd to-day. Could Time be worn out, sure had I worn Time away. No single foe but I had faced and brought to bay. The spoils I gathered in, how excellent were they! The women that I loved, how fine was their array!"[148]

[Sidenote: Other metres.]

Here would have been the proper place to give an account of the principal Arabian metres--the 'Perfect' (Kámil), the 'Ample' (Wáfir) the 'Long' (Ṭawíl), the 'Wide' (Basiṭ), the 'Light' (Khafíf), and several more--but in order to save valuable space I must content myself with referring the reader to the extremely lucid treatment of this subject by Sir Charles Lyall in the Introduction to his Ancient Arabian Poetry, pp. xlv-lii. All the metres are quantitative, as in Greek and Latin. Their names and laws were unknown to the Pre-islamic bards: the rules of prosody were first deduced from the ancient poems and systematised by the grammarian, Khalíl b. Ahmad († 791 A.D.), to whom the idea is said to have occurred as he watched a coppersmith beating time on the anvil with his hammer.

[Sidenote: The oldest extant poems.]

We have now to consider the form and matter of the oldest extant poems in the Arabic language. Between these highly developed productions and the rude doggerel of Saj‘ or Rajaz there lies an interval, the length of which it is impossible even to conjecture. The first poets are already consummate masters of the craft. "The number and complexity of the measures which they use, their established laws of quantity and rhyme, and the uniform manner in which they introduce the subject of their poems,[149] notwithstanding the distance which often separated one composer from another, all point to a long previous study and cultivation of the art of expression and the capacities of their language, a study of which no record now remains."[150]

[Sidenote: Their date.]

It is not improbable that the dawn of the Golden Age of Arabian Poetry coincided with the first decade of the sixth century after Christ. About that time the War of Basús, the chronicle of which has preserved a considerable amount of contemporary verse, was in full blaze; and the first Arabian ode was composed, according to tradition, by Muhalhil b. Rabí‘a the Taghlibite on the death of his brother, the chieftain Kulayb, which caused war to break out between Bakr and Taghlib. At any rate, during the next hundred years in almost every part of the peninsula we meet with a brilliant succession of singers, all using the same poetical dialect and strictly adhering to the same rules of composition. The fashion which they set maintained itself virtually unaltered down to the end of the Umayyad period (750 A.D.), and though challenged by some daring spirits under the ‘Abbásid Caliphate, speedily reasserted its supremacy, which at the present day is almost as absolute as ever.

[Sidenote: The Qaṣída.]

This fashion centres in the Qaṣída,[151] or Ode, the only form, or rather the only finished type of poetry that existed in what, for want of a better word, may be called the classical period of Arabic literature. The verses (abyát, singular bayt) of which it is built vary in number, but are seldom less than twenty-five or more than a hundred; and the arrangement of the rhymes is such that, while the two halves of the first verse rhyme together, the same rhyme is repeated once in the second, third, and every following verse to the end of the poem. Blank-verse is alien to the Arabs, who regard rhyme not as a pleasing ornament or a "troublesome bondage," but as a vital organ of poetry. The rhymes are usually feminine, e.g., sa_khíná_, tu_líná_, mu_híná_; mukh_lidí_, yadí, ‘uw_wadí_; ri_jámuhá_, si_lámuhá_, ḥa_rámuhá_. To surmount the difficulties of the monorhyme demands great technical skill even in a language of which the peculiar formation renders the supply of rhymes extraordinarily abundant. The longest of the Mu‘allaqát, the so-called 'Long Poems,' is considerably shorter than Gray's Elegy. An Arabian Homer or Chaucer must have condescended to prose. With respect to metre the poet may choose any except Rajaz, which is deemed beneath the dignity of the Ode, but his liberty does not extend either to the choice of subjects or to the method of handling them: on the contrary, the course of his ideas is determined by rigid conventions which he durst not overstep.

[Sidenote: Ibn Qutayba's account of the contents and divisions of the Ode.]

"I have heard," says Ibn Qutayba, "from a man of learning that the composer of Odes began by mentioning the deserted dwelling-places and the relics and traces of habitation. Then he wept and complained and addressed the desolate encampment, and begged his companion to make a halt, in order that he might have occasion to speak of those who had once lived there and afterwards departed; for the dwellers in tents were different from townsmen or villagers in respect of coming and going, because they moved from one water-spring to another, seeking pasture and searching out the places where rain had fallen. Then to this he linked the erotic prelude (nasíb), and bewailed the violence of his love and the anguish of separation from his mistress and the extremity of his passion and desire, so as to win the hearts of his hearers and divert their eyes towards him and invite their ears to listen to him, since the song of love touches men's souls and takes hold of their hearts, God having put it in the constitution of His creatures to love dalliance and the society of women, in such wise that we find very few but are attached thereto by some tie or have some share therein, whether lawful or unpermitted. Now, when the poet had assured himself of an attentive hearing, he followed up his advantage and set forth his claim: thus he went on to complain of fatigue and want of sleep and travelling by night and of the noonday heat, and how his camel had been reduced to leanness. And when, after representing all the discomfort and danger of his journey, he knew that he had fully justified his hope and expectation of receiving his due meed from the person to whom the poem was addressed, he entered upon the panegyric (madíḥ), and incited him to reward, and kindled his generosity by exalting him above his peers and pronouncing the greatest dignity, in comparison with his, to be little."[152]

Hundreds of Odes answer exactly to this description, which must not, however, be regarded as the invariable model. The erotic prelude is often omitted, especially in elegies; or if it does not lead directly to the main subject, it may be followed by a faithful and minute delineation of the poet's horse or camel which bears him through the wilderness with a speed like that of the antelope, the wild ass, or the ostrich: Bedouin poetry abounds in fine studies of animal life.[153] The choice of a motive is left open. Panegyric, no doubt, paid better than any other, and was therefore the favourite; but in Pre-islamic times the poet could generally please himself. The qaṣída is no organic whole: rather its unity resembles that of a series of pictures by the same hand or, to employ an Eastern trope, of pearls various in size and quality threaded on a necklace.

The ancient poetry may be defined as an illustrative criticism of Pre-islamic life and thought. Here the Arab has drawn himself at full length without embellishment or extenuation.

It is not mere chance that Abú Tammám's famous anthology is called the Ḥamása, i.e., 'Fortitude,' from the title of its first chapter, which occupies nearly a half of the book. 'Ḥamása' denotes the virtues most highly prized by the Arabs--bravery in battle, patience in misfortune, persistence in revenge, protection of the weak and defiance of the strong; the will, as Tennyson has said,

"To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."

[Sidenote: The Ideal Arab hero.]

[Sidenote: Shanfará.]

As types of the ideal Arab hero we may take Shanfará of Azd and his comrade in foray, Ta’abbaṭa Sharran. Both were brigands, outlaws, swift runners, and excellent poets. Of the former

"it is said that he was captured when a child from his tribe by the Banú Salámán, and brought up among them: he did not learn his origin until he had grown up, when he vowed vengeance against his captors, and returned to his own tribe. His oath was that he would slay a hundred men of Salámán; he slew ninety-eight, when an ambush of his enemies succeeded in taking him prisoner. In the struggle one of his hands was hewn off by a sword stroke, and, taking it in the other, he flung it in the face of a man of Salámán and killed him, thus making ninety-nine. Then he was overpowered and slain, with one still wanting to make up his number. As his skull lay bleaching on the ground, a man of his enemies passed by that way and kicked it with his foot; a splinter of bone entered his foot, the wound mortified, and he died, thus completing the hundred."[154]

The following passage is translated from Shanfará's splendid Ode named Lámiyyatu ’l-‘Arab (the poem rhymed in l of the Arabs), in which he describes his own heroic character and the hardships of a predatory life:--[155]

"And somewhere the noble find a refuge afar from scathe, The outlaw a lonely spot where no kin with hatred burn. Oh, never a prudent man, night-faring in hope or fear, Hard pressed on the face of earth, but still he hath room to turn.

To me now, in your default, are comrades a wolf untired, A sleek leopard, and a fell hyena with shaggy mane:[156] True comrades: they ne'er let out the secret in trust with them, Nor basely forsake their friend because that he brought them bane.

And each is a gallant heart and ready at honour's call, Yet I, when the foremost charge, am bravest of all the brave; But if they with hands outstretched are seizing the booty won, The slowest am I whenas most quick is the greedy knave.

By naught save my generous will I reach to the height of worth Above them, and sure the best is he with the will to give. Yea, well I am rid of those who pay not a kindness back, Of whom I have no delight though neighbours to me they live.

Know are companions three at last: an intrepid soul, A glittering trenchant blade, a tough bow of ample size, Loud-twanging, the sides thereof smooth-polished, a handsome bow Hung down from the shoulder-belt by thongs in a comely wise, That groans, when the arrow slips away, like a woman crushed By losses, bereaved of all her children, who wails and cries."

On quitting his tribe, who cast him out when they were threatened on all sides by enemies seeking vengeance for the blood that he had spilt, Shanfará said:--

"Bury me not! Me you are forbidden to bury, But thou, O hyena, soon wilt feast and make merry, When foes bear away mine head, wherein is the best of me, And leave on the battle-field for thee all the rest of me. Here nevermore I hope to live glad--a stranger Accurst, whose wild deeds have brought his people in danger."[157]

[Sidenote: Ta’abbaṭa Sharran.]

Thábit b. Jábir b. Sufyán of Fahm is said to have got his nickname, Ta’abbaṭa Sharran, because one day his mother, who had seen him go forth from his tent with a sword under his arm, on being asked, "Where is Thábit?" replied, "I know not: he put a mischief under his arm-pit (ta’abbaṭa sharran) and departed." According to another version of the story, the 'mischief' was a Ghoul whom he vanquished and slew and carried home in this manner. The following lines, which he addressed to his cousin, Shams b. Málik, may be applied with equal justice to the poet himself:--

"Little he complains of labour that befalls him; much he wills; Diverse ways attempting, mightily his purpose he fulfils. Through one desert in the sun's heat, through another in starlight, Lonely as the wild ass, rides he bare-backed Danger noon and night. He the foremost wind outpaceth, while in broken gusts it blows, Speeding onward, never slackening, never staying for repose. Prompt to dash upon the foeman, every minute watching well-- Are his eyes in slumber lightly sealed, his heart stands sentinel. When the first advancing troopers rise to sight, he sets his hand From the scabbard forth to draw his sharp-edged, finely-mettled brand. When he shakes it in the breast-bone of a champion of the foe, How the grinning Fates in open glee their flashing side-teeth show! Solitude his chosen comrade, on he fares while overhead By the Mother of the mazy constellations he is led."[158]

[Sidenote: The old Arabian points of honour.]

These verses admirably describe the rudimentary Arabian virtues of courage, hardness, and strength. We must now take a wider survey of the moral ideas on which pagan society was built, and of which Pre-islamic poetry is at once the promulgation and the record. There was no written code, no legal or religious sanction--nothing, in effect, save the binding force of traditional sentiment and opinion, i.e., Honour. What, then, are the salient points of honour in which Virtue (Muruwwa), as it was understood by the heathen Arabs, consists?

[Sidenote: Courage.]

Courage has been already mentioned. Arab courage is like that of the ancient Greeks, "dependent upon excitement and vanishing quickly before depression and delay."[159] Hence the Arab hero is defiant and boastful, as he appears, e.g., in the Mu‘allaqa of ‘Amr b. Kulthúm. When there is little to lose by flight he will ride off unashamed; but he will fight to the death for his womenfolk, who in serious warfare often accompanied the tribe and were stationed behind the line of battle.[160]

"When I saw the hard earth hollowed By our women's flying footprints, And Lamís her face uncovered Like the full moon of the skies, Showing forth her hidden beauties-- Then the matter was grim earnest: I engaged their chief in combat, Seeing help no other wise."[161]

The tribal constitution was a democracy guided by its chief men, who derived their authority from noble blood, noble character, wealth, wisdom, and experience. As a Bedouin poet has said in homely language--

"A folk that hath no chiefs must soon decay, And chiefs it hath not when the vulgar sway. Only with poles the tent is reared at last, And poles it hath not save the pegs hold fast But when the pegs and poles are once combined, Then stands accomplished that which was designed."[162]

[Sidenote: Loyalty.]

The chiefs, however, durst not lay commands or penalties on their fellow-tribesmen. Every man ruled himself, and was free to rebuke presumption in others. "If you are our lord" (i.e., if you act discreetly as a sayyid should), "you will lord over us, but if you are a prey to pride, go and be proud!" (i.e., we will have nothing to do with you).[163] Loyalty in the mouth of a pagan Arab did not mean allegiance to his superiors, but faithful devotion to his equals; and it was closely connected with the idea of kinship. The family and the tribe, which included strangers living in the tribe under a covenant of protection--to defend these, individually and collectively, was a sacred duty. Honour required that a man should stand by his own people through thick and thin.

"I am of Ghaziyya: if she be in error, then I will err; And if Ghaziyya be guided right, I go right with her!"

sang Durayd b. Ṣimma, who had followed his kin, against his better judgment, in a foray which cost the life of his brother ‘Abdulláh.[164] If kinsmen seek help it should be given promptly, without respect to the merits of the case; if they do wrong it should be suffered as long as possible before resorting to violence.[165] The utilitarian view of friendship is often emphasised, as in these verses:--

Take for thy brother whom thou wilt in the days of peace, But know that when fighting comes thy kinsman alone is near. Thy true friend thy kinsman is, who answers thy call for aid With good will, when deeply drenched in bloodshed are sword and spear. Oh, never forsake thy kinsman e'en tho' he do thee wrong, For what he hath marred he mends thereafter and makes sincere."[166]

At the same time, notwithstanding their shrewd common sense, nothing is more characteristic of the Arabs--heathen and Muḥammadan alike--than the chivalrous devotion and disinterested self-sacrifice of which they are capable on behalf of their friends. In particular, the ancient poetry affords proof that they regarded with horror any breach of the solemn covenant plighted between patron and client or host and guest. This topic might be illustrated by many striking examples, but one will suffice:--

[Sidenote: The story of Samaw’al b. ‘Adiyá.]

The Arabs say: "Awfá mina ’l-Samaw’ali"--"More loyal than al-Samaw’al"; or Wafáun ka-wafá’i ’l-Samaw’ali"--" A loyalty like that of al-Samaw’al." These proverbs refer to Samaw’al b. ‘Adiyá, an Arab of Jewish descent and Jew by religion, who lived in his castle, called al-Ablaq (The Piebald), at Taymá, some distance north of Medína. There he dug a well of sweet water, and would entertain the Arabs who used to alight beside it; and they supplied themselves with provisions from his castle and set up a market. It is related that the poet Imru’u ’l-Qays, while fleeing, hotly pursued by his enemies, towards Syria, took refuge with Samaw’al, and before proceeding on his way left in charge of his host five coats of mail which had been handed down as heirlooms by the princes of his family. Then he departed, and in due course arrived at Constantinople, where he besought the Byzantine emperor to help him to recover his lost kingdom. His appeal was not unsuccessful, but he died on the way home. Meanwhile his old enemy, the King of Ḥíra, sent an army under Ḥárith b. Ẓálim against Samaw’al, demanding that he should surrender the coats of mail. Samaw’al refused to betray the trust committed to him, and defended himself in his castle. The besiegers, however, captured his son, who had gone out to hunt. Ḥárith asked Samaw’al: "Dost thou know this lad?" "Yes, he is my son." "Then wilt thou deliver what is in thy possession, or shall I slay him?" Samaw’al answered: "Do with him as thou wilt. I will never break my pledge nor give up the property of my guest-friend." So Ḥárith smote the lad with his sword and clove him through the middle. Then he raised the siege. And Samaw’al said thereupon:--

"_I was true with the mail-coats of the Kindite,[167] I am true though many a one is blamed for treason. Once did ‘Ádiyá, my father, exhort me: 'O Samaw’al, ne'er destroy what I have builded.' For me built ‘Ádiyá a strong-walled castle With a well where I draw water at pleasure; So high, the eagle slipping back is baffled. When wrong befalls me I endure not tamely._"[168]

The Bedouin ideal of generosity and hospitality is personified in Ḥátim of Ṭayyi’, of whom many anecdotes are told. We may learn from the following one how extravagant are an Arab's notions on this subject:--

[Sidenote: Ḥátim of Ṭayyi’.]

When Ḥátim's mother was pregnant she dreamed that she was asked, "Which dost thou prefer?--a generous son called Ḥátim, or ten like those of other folk, lions in the hour of battle, brave lads and strong of limb?" and that she answered, "Ḥátim." Now, when Ḥátim grew up he was wont to take out his food, and if he found any one to share it he would eat, otherwise he threw it away. His father, seeing that he wasted his food, gave him a slave-girl and a mare with her foal and sent him to herd the camels. On reaching the pasture, Ḥátim began to search for his fellows, but none was in sight; then he came to the road, but found no one there. While he was thus engaged he descried a party of riders on the road and went to meet them. "O youth," said they, "hast thou aught to entertain us withal?" He answered: "Do ye ask me of entertainment when ye see the camels?" Now, these riders were ‘Abíd b. al-Abras and Bishr b. Abí Kházim and Nábigha al-Dhubyání, and they were on their way to King Nu‘mán.[169] Ḥátim slaughtered three camels for them, whereupon ‘Abíd said: "We desired no entertainment save milk, but if thou must needs charge thyself with something more, a single young she-camel would have sufficed us." Ḥátim replied: "That I know, but seeing different faces and diverse fashions I thought ye were not of the same country, and I wished that each of you should mention what ye saw, on returning home." So they spoke verses in praise of him and celebrated his generosity, and Ḥátim said: "I wished to bestow a kindness upon you, but your bounty is greater than mine. I swear to God that I will hamstring every camel in the herd unless ye come forward and divide them among yourselves." The poets did as he desired, and each man received ninety-nine camels; then they proceeded on their journey to Nu‘mán. When Ḥátim's father heard of this he came to him and asked, "Where are the camels?" "O my father," replied Ḥátim, "by means of them I have conferred on thee everlasting fame and honour that will cleave to thee like the ring of the ringdove, and men will always bear in mind some verse of poetry in which we are praised. This is thy recompense for the camels." On hearing these words his father said, "Didst thou with my camels thus?" "Yes." "By God, I will never dwell with thee again." So he went forth with his family, and Ḥátim was left alone with his slave-girl and his mare and the mare's foal.[170]

[Sidenote: Ḥátim's daughter before the Prophet.]

We are told that Ḥátim's daughter was led as a captive before the Prophet and thus addressed him: "'O Muḥammad, my sire is dead, and he who would have come to plead for me is gone. Release me, if it seem good to thee, and do not let the Arabs rejoice at my misfortune; for I am the daughter of the chieftain of my people. My father was wont to free the captive, and protect those near and dear to him, and entertain the guest, and satisfy the hungry, and console the afflicted, and give food and greeting to all; and never did he turn away any who sought a boon. I am Ḥátim's daughter.' The Prophet (on whom be the blessing and peace of God) answered her: 'O maiden, the true believer is such as thou hast described. Had thy father been an Islamite, verily we should have said, "God have mercy upon him!" Let her go,' he continued, 'for her sire loved noble manners, and God loves them likewise.'"[171]

Ḥátim was a poet of some repute.[172] The following lines are addressed to his wife, Máwiyya:--

"O daughter of ‘Abdulláh and Málik and him who wore The two robes of Yemen stuff--the hero that rode the roan, When thou hast prepared the meal, entreat to partake thereof A guest--I am not the man to eat, like a churl, alone--: Some traveller thro' the night, or house-neighbour; for in sooth I fear the reproachful talk of men after I am gone. The guest's slave am I, 'tis true, as long as he bides with me, Although in my nature else no trait of the slave is shown."[173]

[Sidenote: Position of women.]

[Sidenote: Arabian heroines.]

[Sidenote: Fáṭima daughter of Khurshub.]

[Sidenote: Fukayha.]

Here it will be convenient to make a short digression in order that the reader may obtain, if not a complete view, at least some glimpses of the position and influence of women in Pre-islamic society. On the whole, their position was high and their influence great. They were free to choose their husbands, and could return, if ill-treated or displeased, to their own people; in some cases they even offered themselves in marriage and had the right of divorce. They were regarded not as slaves and chattels, but as equals and companions. They inspired the poet to sing and the warrior to fight. The chivalry of the Middle Ages is, perhaps, ultimately traceable to heathen Arabia. "Knight-errantry, the riding forth on horseback in search of adventures, the rescue of captive maidens, the succour rendered everywhere to women in adversity--all these were essentially Arabian ideas, as was the very name of chivalry, the connection of honourable conduct with the horse-rider, the man of noble blood, the cavalier."[174] But the nobility of the women is not only reflected in the heroism and devotion of the men; it stands recorded in song, in legend, and in history. Fáṭima, the daughter of Khurshub, was one of three noble matrons who bore the title al-Munjibát, 'the Mothers of Heroes.' She had seven sons, three of whom, viz., Rabí‘ and ‘Umára and Anas, were called 'the Perfect' (al-Kamala). One day Ḥamal b. Badr the Fazárite raided the Banú ‘Abs, the tribe to which Fáṭima belonged, and made her his prisoner. As he led away the camel on which she was mounted at the time, she cried: "Man, thy wits are wandering. By God, if thou take me captive, and if we leave behind us this hill which is now in front of us, surely there will never be peace between thee and the sons of Ziyád" (Ziyád was the name of her husband), "because people will say what they please, and the mere suspicion of evil is enough." "I will carry thee off," said he, "that thou mayest herd my camels." When Fáṭima knew that she was certainly his prisoner she threw herself headlong from her camel and died; so did she fear to bring dishonour on her sons.[175] Among the names which have become proverbial for loyalty we find those of two women, Fukayha and Umm Jamíl. As to Fukayha, it is related that her clansmen, having been raided by the brigand Sulayk b. Sulaka, resolved to attack him; but since he was a famous runner, on the advice of one of their shaykhs they waited until he had gone down to the water and quenched his thirst, for they knew that he would then be unable to run. Sulayk, however, seeing himself caught, made for the nearest tents and sought refuge with Fukayha. She threw her smock over him, and stood with drawn sword between him and his pursuers; and as they still pressed on, she tore the veil from her hair and shouted for help. Then her brothers came and defended Sulayk, so that his life was saved.[176] Had space allowed, it would have been a pleasant task to make some further extracts from the long Legend of Noble Women. I have illustrated their keen sense of honour and loyalty, but I might equally well have chosen examples of gracious dignity and quick intelligence and passionate affection. Many among them had the gift of poetry, which they bestowed especially on the dead; it is a final proof of the high character and position of women in Pre-islamic Arabia that the hero's mother and sisters were deemed most worthy to mourn and praise him. The praise of living women by their lovers necessarily takes a different tone; the physical charms of the heroine are fully described, but we seldom find any appreciation of moral beauty. One notable exception to this rule occurs at the beginning of an ode by Shanfará. The passage defies translation. It is, to quote Sir Charles Lyall, with whose faithful and sympathetic rendering of the ancient poetry every student of Arabic literature should be acquainted, "the most lovely picture of womanhood which heathen Arabia has left us, drawn by the same hand that has given us, in the unrivalled Lâmîyah, its highest ideal of heroic hardness and virile strength."[177]

UMAYMA.

"She charmed me, veiling bashfully her face, Keeping with quiet looks an even pace; Some lost thing seem to seek her downcast eyes: Aside she bends not--softly she replies. Ere dawn she carries forth her meal--a gift To hungry wives in days of dearth and thrift. No breath of blame up to her tent is borne, While many a neighbour's is the house of scorn. Her husband fears no gossip fraught with shame, For pure and holy is Umayma's name. Joy of his heart, to her he need not say When evening brings him home--'Where passed the day?' Slender and full in turn, of perfect height, A very fay were she, if beauty might Transform a child of earth into a fairy sprite!"[178]

Only in the freedom of the desert could the character thus exquisitely delineated bloom and ripen. These verses, taken by themselves, are a sufficient answer to any one who would maintain that Islam has increased the social influence of Arabian women, although in some respects it may have raised them to a higher level of civilisation.[179]

[Sidenote: Infanticide.]

There is, of course, another side to all this. In a land where might was generally right, and where

"the simple plan That he should take who has the power And he should keep who can,"

was all but universally adopted, it would have been strange if the weaker sex had not often gone to the wall. The custom which prevailed in the Jáhiliyya of burying female infants alive, revolting as it appears to us, was due partly to the frequent famines with which Arabia is afflicted through lack of rain, and partly to a perverted sense of honour. Fathers feared lest they should have useless mouths to feed, or lest they should incur disgrace in consequence of their daughters being made prisoners of war. Hence the birth of a daughter was reckoned calamitous, as we read in the Koran: "They attribute daughters unto God--far be it from Him!--and for themselves they desire them not. When a female child is announced to one of them, his face darkens wrathfully: he hides himself from his people because of the bad news, thinking--'Shall I keep the child to my disgrace or cover it away in the dust?'"[180] It was said proverbially, "The despatch of daughters is a kindness" and "The burial of daughters is a noble deed."[181] Islam put an end to this barbarity, which is expressly forbidden by the Koran: "Kill not your children in fear of impoverishment: we will provide for them and for you: verily their killing was a great sin."[182] Perhaps the most touching lines in Arabian poetry are those in which a father struggling with poverty wishes that his daughter may die before him and thus be saved from the hard mercies of her relatives:--

THE POOR MAN'S DAUGHTER

"But for Umayma's sake I ne'er had grieved to want nor braved Night's blackest horror to bring home the morsel that she craved. Now my desire is length of days because I know too well The orphan girl's hard lot, with kin unkind enforced to dwell. I dread that some day poverty will overtake my child, And shame befall her when exposed to every passion wild.[183] She wishes me to live, but I must wish her dead, woe's me: Death is the noblest wooer a helpless maid can see. I fear an uncle may be harsh, a brother be unkind, When I would never speak a word that rankled in her mind."[184]

And another says:--

"Were not my little daughters Like soft chicks huddling by me, Through earth and all its waters To win bread would I roam free.

Our children among us going, Our very hearts they be; The wind upon them blowing Would banish sleep from me."[185]

[Sidenote: Treatment of enemies.]

"Odi et amo": these words of the poet might serve as an epitome of Bedouin ethics. For, if the heathen Arab was, as we have seen, a good friend to his friends, he had in the same degree an intense and deadly feeling of hatred towards his enemies. He who did not strike back when struck was regarded as a coward. No honourable man could forgive an injury or fail to avenge it. An Arab, smarting under the loss of some camels driven off by raiders, said of his kin who refused to help him:--

"For all their numbers, they are good for naught, My people, against harm however light: They pardon wrong by evildoers wrought, Malice with loving kindness they requite."[186]

The last verse, which would have been high praise in the mouth of a Christian or Muḥammadan moralist, conveyed to those who heard it a shameful reproach. The approved method of dealing with an enemy is set forth plainly enough in the following lines:--

"Humble him who humbles thee, close tho' be your kindredship: If thou canst not humble him, wait till he is in thy grip. Friend him while thou must; strike hard when thou hast him on the hip."[187]

[Sidenote: Blood-revenge.]

Above all, blood called for blood. This obligation lay heavy on the conscience of the pagan Arabs. Vengeance, with them, was "almost a physical necessity, which if it be not obeyed will deprive its subject of sleep, of appetite, of health." It was a tormenting thirst which nothing would quench except blood, a disease of honour which might be described as madness, although it rarely prevented the sufferer from going to work with coolness and circumspection. Vengeance was taken upon the murderer, if possible, or else upon one of his fellow-tribesmen. Usually this ended the matter, but in some cases it was the beginning of a regular blood-feud in which the entire kin of both parties were involved; as, e.g., the murder of Kulayb led to the Forty Years' War between Bakr and Taghlib.[188] The slain man's next of kin might accept a blood-wit (diya), commonly paid in camels--the coin of the country--as atonement for him. If they did so, however, it was apt to be cast in their teeth that they preferred milk (i.e., she-camels) to blood.[189] The true Arab feeling is expressed in verses like these:--

"With the sword will I wash my shame away, Let God's doom bring on me what it may!"[190]

It was believed that until vengeance had been taken for the dead man, his spirit appeared above his tomb in the shape of an owl (háma or ṣadá), crying "Isqúní" ("Give me to drink"). But pagan ideas of vengeance were bound up with the Past far more than with the Future. The shadowy after-life counted for little or nothing beside the deeply-rooted memories of fatherly affection, filial piety, and brotherhood in arms.

Though liable to abuse, the rough-and-ready justice of the vendetta had a salutary effect in restraining those who would otherwise have indulged their lawless instincts without fear of punishment. From our point of view, however, its interest is not so much that of a primitive institution as of a pervading element in old Arabian life and literature. Full, or even adequate, illustration of this topic would carry me far beyond the limits of my plan. I have therefore selected from the copious material preserved in the Book of Songs a characteristic story which tells how Qays b. al-Khaṭím took vengeance on the murderers of his father and his grandfather.[191]

[Sidenote: The story of the vengeance of Qays b. al-Khaṭím.]

It is related on the authority of Abú ‘Ubayda that ‘Adí b. ‘Amr, the grandfather of Qays, was slain by a man named Málik belonging to the Banú ‘Amr b. ‘Ámir b. Rabí‘a b. ‘Ámir b. Ṣa‘ṣa‘a; and his father, Khaṭím b. ‘Adí, by one of the Banú ‘Abd al-Qays who were settled in Hajar. Khaṭím died before avenging his father, ‘Adí, when Qays was but a young lad. The mother of Qays, fearing that he would sally forth to seek vengeance for the blood of his father and his grandfather and perish, went to a mound of dust beside the door of their dwelling and laid stones on it, and began to say to Qays, "This is the grave of thy father and thy grandfather;" and Qays never doubted but that it was so. He grew up strong in the arms, and one day he had a tussle with a youth of the Banú Ẓafar, who said to him: "By God, thou would'st do better to turn the strength of thine arms against the slayers of thy father and grandfather instead of putting it forth upon me." "And who are their slayers?" "Ask thy mother, she will tell thee." So Qays took his sword and set its hilt on the ground and its edge between his two breasts, and said to his mother: "Who killed my father and my grandfather?" "They died as people die, and these are their graves in the camping-ground." "By God, verily thou wilt tell me who slew them or I will bear with my whole weight upon this sword until it cleaves through my back." Then she told him, and Qays swore that he would never rest until he had slain their slayers. "O my son," said she, "Málik, who killed thy grandfather, is of the same folk as Khidásh b. Zuhayr, and thy father once bestowed a kindness on Khidásh, for which he is grateful. Go, then, to him and take counsel with him touching thine affair and ask him to help thee." So Qays set out immediately, and when he came to the garden where his water-camel was watering his date-palms, he smote the cord (of the bucket) with his sword and cut it, so that the bucket dropped into the well. Then he took hold of the camel's head, and loaded the beast with two sacks of dates, and said: "Who will care for this old woman" (meaning his mother) "in my absence? If I die, let him pay her expenses out of this garden, and on her death it shall be his own; but if I live, my property will return to me, and he shall have as many of its dates as he wishes to eat." One of his folk cried, "I am for it," so Qays gave him the garden and set forth to inquire concerning Khidásh. He was told to look for him at Marr al-Ẓahrán, but not finding him in his tent, he alighted beneath a tree, in the shade of which the guests of Khidásh used to shelter, and called to the wife of Khidásh, "Is there any food?" Now, when she came up to him, she admired his comeliness--for he was exceeding fair of countenance--and said: "By God, we have no fit entertainment for thee, but only dates." He replied, "I care not, bring out what thou hast." So she sent to him dates in a large measure (qubá‘), and Qays took a single date and ate half of it and put back the other half in the qubá‘, and gave orders that the qubá‘ should be brought in to the wife of Khidásh; then he departed on some business. When Khidásh returned and his wife told him the news of Qays, he said, "This is a man who would render his person sacred."[192] While he sat there with his wife eating fresh ripe dates, Qays returned on camel-back; and Khidásh, when he saw the foot of the approaching rider, said to his wife, "Is this thy guest?" "Yes." "'Tis as though his foot were the foot of my good friend, Khaṭím the Yathribite." Qays drew nigh, and struck the tent-rope with the point of his spear, and begged leave to come in. Having obtained permission, he entered to Khidásh and told his lineage and informed him of what had passed, and asked him to help and advise him in his affair. Khidásh bade him welcome, and recalled the kindness which he had of his father, and said, "As to this affair, truly I have been expecting it of thee for some time. The slayer of thy grandfather is a cousin of mine, and I will aid thee against him. When we are assembled in our meeting-place, I will sit beside him and talk with him, and when I strike his thigh, do thou spring on him and slay him." Qays himself relates: "Accompanied by Khidásh, I approached him until I stood over his head when Khidásh sat with him, and as soon as he struck the man's thigh I smote his head with a sword named Dhu ’l-Khurṣayn" (the Two-ringed). "His folk rushed on me to slay me, but Khidásh came between us, crying, 'Let him alone, for, by God, he has slain none but the slayer of his grandfather.'" Then Khidásh called for one of his camels and mounted it, and started with Qays to find the ‘Abdite who killed his father. And when they were near Hajar Khidásh advised him to go and inquire after this man, and to say to him when he discovered him: "I encountered a brigand of thy people who robbed me of some articles, and on asking who was the chieftain of his people I was directed to thee. Go with me, then, that thou mayest take from him my property. If," Khidásh continued, "he follow thee unattended, thou wilt gain thy desire of him; but should he bid the others go with thee, laugh, and if he ask why thou laughest, say, 'With us, the noble does not as thou dost, but when he is called to a brigand of his people, he goes forth alone with his whip, not with his sword; and the brigand when he sees him gives him everything that he took, in awe of him.' If he shall dismiss his friends, thy course is clear; but if he shall refuse to go without them, bring him to me nevertheless, for I hope that thou wilt slay both him and them." So Khidásh stationed himself under the shade of a tree, while Qays went to the ‘Abdite and addressed him as Khidásh had prompted; and the man's sense of honour was touched to the quick, so that he sent away his friends and went with Qays. And when Qays came back to Khidásh, the latter said to him, "Choose, O Qays! Shall I help thee or shall I take thy place?" Qays answered, "I desire neither of these alternatives, but if he slay me, let him not slay thee!" Then he rushed upon him and wounded him in the flank and drove his lance through the other side, and he fell dead on the spot. When Qays had finished with him, Khidásh said, "If we flee just now, his folk will pursue us; but let us go somewhere not far off, for they will never think that thou hast slain him and stayed in the neighbourhood. No; they will miss him and follow his track, and when they find him slain they will start to pursue us in every direction, and will only return when they have lost hope." So those two entered some hollows of the sand, and after staying there several days (for it happened exactly as Khidásh had foretold), they came forth when the pursuit was over, and did not exchange a word until they reached the abode of Khidásh. There Qays parted from him and returned to his own people.

[Sidenote: Song of Vengeance by Ta’abbaṭa Sharran.]

The poems relating to blood-revenge show all that is best and much that is less admirable in the heathen Arab--on the one hand, his courage and resolution, his contempt of death and fear of dishonour, his single-minded devotion to the dead as to the living, his deep regard and tender affection for the men of his own flesh and blood; on the other hand, his implacable temper, his perfidious cruelty and reckless ferocity in hunting down the slayers, and his savage, well-nigh inhuman exultation over the slain. The famous Song or Ballad of Vengeance that I shall now attempt to render in English verse is usually attributed to Ta’abbaṭa Sharran,[193] although some pronounce it to be a forgery by Khalaf al-Aḥmar, the reputed author of Shanfará's masterpiece, and beyond doubt a marvellously skilful imitator of the ancient bards. Be that as it may, the ballad is utterly pagan in tone and feeling. Its extraordinary merit was detected by Goethe, who, after reading it in a Latin translation, published a German rendering, with some fine criticism of the poetry, in his West-oestlicher Divan.[194] I have endeavoured to suggest as far as possible the metre and rhythm of the original, since to these, in my opinion, its peculiar effect is largely due. The metre is that known as the 'Tall' (Madíd), viz.:--

⌣ |⌣ | - ⌣ - -|- ⌣ -|- ⌣ - -

Thus the first verse runs in Arabic:--

_Inna bi’l-shi‘ | bi ’lladhi |‘inda Sal‘in la-qatílan | damuhú | má yuṭallu._

Of course, Arabic prosody differs radically from English, but mutatis mutandis several couplets in the following version (e.g. the third, eighth, and ninth) will be found to correspond exactly with their model. As has been said, however, my object was merely to suggest the abrupt metre and the heavy, emphatic cadences, so that I have been able to give variety to the verse, and at the same time to retain that artistic freedom without which the translator of poetry cannot hope to satisfy either himself or any one else.

The poet tells how he was summoned to avenge his uncle, slain by the tribesmen of Hudhayl: he describes the dead man's heroic character, the foray in which he fell, his former triumphs over the same enemy, and finally the terrible vengeance taken for him.[195]

"In the glen there a murdered man is lying-- Not in vain for vengeance his blood is crying. He hath left me the load to bear and departed; I take up the load and bear it true-hearted. I, his sister's son, the bloodshed inherit, I whose knot none looses, stubborn of spirit;[196] Glowering darkly, shame's deadly out-wiper, Like the serpent spitting venom, the viper. Hard the tidings that befell us, heart-breaking; Little seemed thereby the anguish most aching. Fate hath robbed me--still is Fate fierce and froward-- Of a hero whose friend ne'er called him coward: As the warm sun was he in wintry weather, 'Neath the Dog-star shade and coolness together: Spare of flank--yet this in him showed not meanness; Open-handed, full of boldness and keenness: Firm of purpose, cavalier unaffrighted-- Courage rode with him and with him alighted: In his bounty, a bursting cloud of rain-water; Lion grim when he leaped to the slaughter. Flowing hair, long robe his folk saw aforetime, But a lean-haunched wolf was he in war-time. Savours two he had, untasted by no men: Honey to his friends and gall to his foemen. Fear he rode nor recked what should betide him: Save his deep-notched Yemen blade, none beside him.

Oh, the warriors girt with swords good for slashing, Like the levin, when they drew them, outflashing! Through the noonday heat they fared: then, benighted, Farther fared, till at dawning they alighted.[197] Breaths of sleep they sipped; and then, while they nodded, Thou didst scare them: lo, they scattered and scudded. Vengeance wreaked we upon them, unforgiving: Of the two clans scarce was left a soul living.[198]

Ay, if they bruised his glaive's edge 'twas in token That by him many a time their own was broken. Oft he made them kneel down by force and cunning-- Kneel on jags where the foot is torn with running. Many a morn in shelter he took them napping; After killing was the rieving and rapine.

They have gotten of me a roasting--I tire not Of desiring them till me they desire not. First, of foemen's blood my spear deeply drinketh, Then a second time, deep in, it sinketh. Lawful now to me is wine, long forbidden: Sore my struggle ere the ban was o'erridden.[199] Pour me wine, O son of ‘Amr! I would taste it, Since with grief for mine uncle I am wasted. O'er the fallen of Hudhayl stands screaming The hyena; see the wolf's teeth gleaming! Dawn will hear the flap of wings, will discover Vultures treading corpses, too gorged to hover."

[Sidenote: Honour conferred by noble ancestry.]

All the virtues which enter into the Arabian conception of Honour were regarded not as personal qualities inherent or acquired, but as hereditary possessions which a man derived from his ancestors, and held in trust that he might transmit them untarnished to his descendants. It is the desire to uphold and emulate the fame of his forbears, rather than the hope of winning immortality for himself, that causes the Arab "to say the say and do the deeds of the noble." Far from sharing the sentiment of the Scots peasant--"a man's a man for a' that"--he looks askance at merit and renown unconsecrated by tradition.

"The glories that have grown up with the grass Can match not those inherited of old."[200]

Ancestral renown (ḥasab) is sometimes likened to a strong castle built by sires for their sons, or to a lofty mountain which defies attack.[201] The poets are full of boastings (mafákhir) and revilings (mathálib) in which they loudly proclaim the nobility of their own ancestors, and try to blacken those of their enemy without any regard to decorum.

It was my intention to add here some general remarks on Arabian poetry as compared with that of the Hebrews, the Persians, and our own, but since example is better than precept I will now turn directly to those celebrated odes which are well known by the title of Mu‘-allaqát, or 'Suspended Poems,' to all who take the slightest interest in Arabic literature.[202]

[Sidenote: The Mu‘allaqát, or 'Suspended Poems.']

Mu‘allaqa (plural, Mu‘allaqát) "is most likely derived from the word ‘ilq, meaning 'a precious thing or a thing held in high estimation,' either because one 'hangs on' tenaciously to it, or because it is 'hung up' in a place of honour, or in a conspicuous place, in a treasury or storehouse."[203] In course of time the exact signification of Mu‘allaqa was forgotten, and it became necessary to find a plausible explanation. Hence arose the legend, which frequent repetition has made familiar, that the 'Suspended Poems' were so called from having been hung up in the Ka‘ba on account of their merit; that this distinction was awarded by the judges at the fair of ‘Ukáẓ, near Mecca, where poets met in rivalry and recited their choicest productions; and that the successful compositions, before being affixed to the door of the Ka‘ba, were transcribed in letters of gold upon pieces of fine Egyptian linen.[204] Were these statements true, we should expect them to be confirmed by some allusion in the early literature. But as a matter of fact nothing of the kind is mentioned in the Koran or in religious tradition, in the ancient histories of Mecca, or in such works as the Kitábu ’l-Aghání, which draw their information from old and trustworthy sources.[205] Almost the first authority who refers to the legend is the grammarian Aḥmad al-Naḥḥás († 949 A.D.), and by him it is stigmatised as entirely groundless. Moreover, although it was accepted by scholars like Reiske, Sir W. Jones, and even De Sacy, it is incredible in itself. Hengstenberg, in the Prolegomena to his edition of the Mu‘-allaqa of Imru’u ’l-Qays (Bonn, 1823) asked some pertinent questions: Who were the judges, and how were they appointed? Why were only these seven poems thus distinguished? His further objection, that the art of writing was at that time a rare accomplishment, does not carry so much weight as he attached to it, but the story is sufficiently refuted by what we know of the character and customs of the Arabs in the sixth century and afterwards. Is it conceivable that the proud sons of the desert could have submitted a matter so nearly touching their tribal honour, of which they were jealous above all things, to external arbitration, or meekly acquiesced in the partial verdict of a court sitting in the neighbourhood of Mecca, which would certainly have shown scant consideration for competitors belonging to distant clans?[206]

[Sidenote: Origin of the collection.]

However Mu‘allaqa is to be explained, the name is not contemporary with the poems themselves. In all probability they were so entitled by the person who first chose them out of innumerable others and embodied them in a separate collection. This is generally allowed to have been Ḥammád al-Ráwiya, a famous rhapsodist who flourished in the latter days of the Umayyad dynasty, and died about 772 A.D., in the reign of the ‘Abbásid Caliph Mahdí. What principle guided Ḥammád in his choice we do not know. Nöldeke conjectures that he was influenced by the fact that all the Mu‘allaqát are long poems--they are sometimes called 'The Seven Long Poems' (al-Sab‘ al-Ṭiwál)--for in Ḥammád's time little of the ancient Arabian poetry survived in a state even of relative completeness.

[Sidenote: Difficulty of translating the Mu‘allaqát.]

It must be confessed that no rendering of the Mu‘allaqát can furnish European readers with a just idea of the originals, a literal version least of all. They contain much that only a full commentary can make intelligible, much that to modern taste is absolutely incongruous with the poetic style. Their finest pictures of Bedouin life and manners often appear uncouth or grotesque, because without an intimate knowledge of the land and people it is impossible for us to see what the poet intended to convey, or to appreciate the truth and beauty of its expression; while the artificial framework, the narrow range of subject as well as treatment, and the frank realism of the whole strike us at once. In the following pages I shall give some account of the Mu‘allaqát and their authors, and endeavour to bring out the characteristic qualities of each poem by selecting suitable passages for translation.[207]

[Sidenote: Imru’u ’l-Qays.]

The oldest and most famous of the Mu‘allaqát is that of Imru’u ’l-Qays, who was descended from the ancient kings of Yemen. His grandfather was King Ḥárith of Kinda, the antagonist of Mundhir III, King of Ḥíra, by whom he was defeated and slain.[208] On Ḥárith's death, the confederacy which he had built up split asunder, and his sons divided among themselves the different tribes of which it was composed. Ḥujr, the poet's father, ruled for some time over the Banú Asad in Central Arabia, but finally they revolted and put him to death. "The duty of avenging his murder fell upon Imru’u ’l-Qays, who is represented as the only capable prince of his family; and the few historical data which we have regarding him relate to his adventures while bent upon this vengeance."[209] They are told at considerable length in the Kitábu ’l-Aghání, but need not detain us here. Suffice it to say that his efforts to punish the rebels, who were aided by Mundhir, the hereditary foe of his house, met with little success. He then set out for Constantinople, where he was favourably received by the Emperor Justinian, who desired to see the power of Kinda re-established as a thorn in the side of his Persian rivals. The emperor appointed him Phylarch of Palestine, but on his way thither he died at Angora (about 540 A.D.). He is said to have perished, like Nessus, from putting on a poisoned robe sent to him as a gift by Justinian, with whose daughter he had an intrigue. Hence he is sometimes called 'The Man of the Ulcers' (Dhu ’l-Qurúḥ).

Many fabulous traditions surround the romantic figure of Imru’u ’l-Qays.[210] According to one story, he was banished by his father, who despised him for being a poet and was enraged by the scandals to which his love adventures gave rise. Imru’u ’l-Qays left his home and wandered from tribe to tribe with a company of outcasts like himself, leading a wild life, which caused him to be known as 'The Vagabond Prince' (al-Malik al-Ḑillíl). When the news of his father's death reached him he cried, "My father wasted my youth, and now that I am old he has laid upon me the burden of blood-revenge. Wine to-day, business to-morrow!" Seven nights he continued the carouse; then he swore not to eat flesh, nor drink wine, nor use ointment, nor touch woman, nor wash his head until his vengeance was accomplished. In the valley of Tabála, north of Najrán, there was an idol called Dhu ’l-Khalaṣa much reverenced by the heathen Arabs. Imru’u ’l-Qays visited this oracle and consulted it in the ordinary way, by drawing one of three arrows entitled 'the Commanding,' 'the Forbidding,' and 'the Waiting.' He drew the second, whereupon he broke the arrows and dashed them on the face of the idol, exclaiming with a gross imprecation, "If thy father had been slain, thou would'st not have hindered me!"

Imru’u ’l-Qays is almost universally reckoned the greatest of the Pre-islamic poets. Muḥammad described him as 'their leader to Hell-fire,' while the Caliphs ‘Umar and ‘Alí, odium theologicum notwithstanding, extolled his genius and originality.[211] Coming to the Mu‘allaqa itself, European critics have vied with each other in praising its exquisite diction and splendid images, the sweet flow of the verse, the charm and variety of the painting, and, above all, the feeling by which it is inspired of the joy and glory of youth. The passage translated below is taken from the first half of the poem, in which love is the prevailing theme:--[212]

"Once, on the hill, she mocked at me and swore, 'This hour I leave thee to return no more,' Soft! if farewell is planted in thy mind, Yet spare me, Fáṭima, disdain unkind. Because my passion slays me, wilt thou part? Because thy wish is law unto mine heart? Nay, if thou so mislikest aught in me, Shake loose my robe and let it fall down free. But ah, the deadly pair, thy streaming eyes! They pierce a heart that all in ruin lies.

How many a noble tent hath oped its treasure To me, and I have ta'en my fill of pleasure, Passing the warders who with eager speed Had slain me, if they might but hush the deed, What time in heaven the Pleiades unfold A belt of orient gems distinct with gold. I entered. By the curtain there stood she, Clad lightly as for sleep, and looked on me. 'By God,' she cried, 'what recks thee of the cost? I see thine ancient madness is not lost.' I led her forth--she trailing as we go Her broidered skirt, lest any footprint show-- Until beyond the tents the valley sank With curving dunes and many a pilèd bank, Then with both hands I drew her head to mine, And lovingly the damsel did incline Her slender waist and legs more plump than fine;-- A graceful figure, a complexion bright, A bosom like a mirror in the light; A white pale virgin pearl such lustre keeps, Fed with clear water in untrodden deeps. Now she bends half away: two cheeks appear, And such an eye as marks the frighted deer Beside her fawn; and lo, the shapely neck Not bare of ornament, else without a fleck; While from her shoulders in profusion fair, Like clusters on the palm, hangs down her coal-dark hair."

In strange contrast with this tender and delicate idyll are the wild, hard verses almost immediately following, in which the poet roaming through the barren waste hears the howl of a starved wolf and hails him as a comrade:--

"Each one of us what thing he finds devours: Lean is the wretch whose living is like ours."[213]

The noble qualities of his horse and its prowess in the chase are described, and the poem ends with a magnificent picture of a thunder-storm among the hills of Najd.

[Sidenote: Ṭarafa.]

Ṭarafa b. al-‘Abd was a member of the great tribe of Bakr. The particular clan to which he belonged was settled in Baḥrayn on the Persian Gulf. He early developed a talent for satire, which he exercised upon friend and foe indifferently; and after he had squandered his patrimony in dissolute pleasures, his family chased him away as though he were 'a mangy camel.' At length a reconciliation was effected. He promised to mend his ways, returned to his people, and took part, it is said, in the War of Basús. In a little while his means were dissipated once more and he was reduced to tend his brother's herds. His Mu‘allaqa composed at this time won for him the favour of a rich kinsman and restored him to temporary independence. On the conclusion of peace between Bakr and Taghlib the youthful poet turned his eyes in the direction of Ḥíra, where ‘Amr b. Hind had lately succeeded to the throne (554 A.D.). He was well received by the king, who attached him, along with his uncle, the poet Mutalammis, to the service of the heir-apparent. But Ṭarafa's bitter tongue was destined to cost him dear. Fatigued and disgusted by the rigid ceremony of the court, he improvised a satire in which he said--

"Would that we had instead of ‘Amr A milch-ewe bleating round our tent!"

Shortly afterwards he happened to be seated at table opposite the king's sister. Struck with her beauty, he exclaimed--

"Behold, she has come back to me, My fair gazelle whose ear-rings shine; Had not the king been sitting here, I would have pressed her lips to mine!"

‘Amr b. Hind was a man of violent and implacable temper. Ṭarafa's satire had already been reported to him, and this new impertinence added fuel to his wrath. Sending for Ṭarafa and Mutalammis, he granted them leave to visit their homes, and gave to each of them a sealed letter addressed to the governor of Baḥrayn. When they had passed outside the city the suspicions of Mutalammis were aroused. As neither he nor his companion could read, he handed his own letter to a boy of Ḥíra[214] and learned that it contained orders to bury him alive. Thereupon he flung the treacherous missive into the stream and implored Ṭarafa to do likewise. Ṭarafa refused to break the royal seal. He continued his journey to Baḥrayn, where he was thrown into prison and executed.

Thus perished miserably in the flower of his youth--according to some accounts he was not yet twenty--the passionate and eloquent Ṭarafa. In his Mu‘allaqa he has drawn a spirited portrait of himself. The most striking feature of the poem, apart from a long and, to us who are not Bedouins, painfully tedious description of the camel, is its insistence on sensual enjoyment as the sole business of life:--

"Canst thou make me immortal, O thou that blamest me so For haunting the battle and loving the pleasures that fly? If thou hast not the power to ward me from Death, let me go To meet him and scatter the wealth in my hand, ere I die.

Save only for three things in which noble youth take delight, I care not how soon rises o'er me the coronach loud: Wine that foams when the water is poured on it, ruddy, not bright. Dark wine that I quaff stol'n away from the cavilling crowd;

"And second, my charge at the cry of distress on a steed Bow-legged like the wolf you have startled when thirsty he cowers; And third, the day-long with a lass in her tent of goat's hair To hear the wild rain and beguile of their slowness the hours."[215]

Keeping, as far as possible, the chronological order, we have now to mention two Mu‘allaqas which, though not directly related to each other,[216] are of the same period--the reign of ‘Amr b. Hind, King of Ḥíra (554-568 A.D.). Moreover, their strong mutual resemblance and their difference from the other Mu‘allaqas, especially from typical qaṣídas like those of ‘Antara and Labíd, is a further reason for linking them together. Their distinguishing mark is the abnormal space devoted to the main subject, which leaves little room for the subsidiary motives.

[Sidenote: ‘Amr b. Kulthúm.]

‘Amr b. Kulthúm belonged to the tribe of Taghlib. His mother was Laylá, a daughter of the famous poet and warrior Muhalhil. That she was a woman of heroic mould appears from the following anecdote, which records a deed of prompt vengeance on the part of ‘Amr that gave rise to the proverb, "Bolder in onset than ‘Amr b. Kulthúm"[217]:--

[Sidenote: How ’Amr avenged an insult to his mother.]

One day ‘Amr. b. Hind, the King of Ḥíra, said to his boon-companions, "Do ye know any Arab whose mother would disdain to serve mine?" They answered, "Yes, the mother of ‘Amr b. Kulthúm." "Why so?" asked the king. "Because," said they, "her father is Muhalhil b. Rabí‘a and her uncle is Kulayb b. Wá’il, the most puissant of the Arabs, and her husband is Kulthúm b. Málik, the knightliest, and her son is ‘Amr, the chieftain of his tribe." Then the king sent to ‘Amr b. Kulthúm, inviting him to pay a visit to himself, and asking him to bring his mother, Laylá, to visit his own mother, Hind. So ‘Amr came to Ḥíra with some men of Taghlib, and Laylá came attended by a number of their women; and while the king entertained ‘Amr and his friends in a pavilion which he had caused to be erected between Ḥíra and the Euphrates, Laylá found quarters with Hind in a tent adjoining. Now, the king had ordered his mother, as soon as he should call for dessert, to dismiss the servants, and cause Laylá to wait upon her. At the pre-arranged signal she desired to be left alone with her guest, and said, "O Laylá, hand me that dish." Laylá answered, "Let those who want anything rise up and serve themselves." Hind repeated her demand, and would take no denial. "O shame!" cried Laylá. "Help! Taghlib, help!" When ‘Amr heard his mother's cry the blood flew to his cheeks. He seized a sword hanging on the wall of the pavilion--the only weapon there--and with a single blow smote the king dead.[218]

‘Amr's Mu‘allaqa is the work of a man who united in himself the ideal qualities of manhood as these were understood by a race which has never failed to value, even too highly, the display of self-reliant action and decisive energy. And if in ‘Amr's poem these virtues are displayed with an exaggerated boastfulness which offends our sense of decency and proper reserve, it would be a grave error to conclude that all this sound and fury signifies nothing. The Bedouin poet deems it his bounden duty to glorify to the utmost himself, his family, and his tribe; the Bedouin warrior is never tired of proclaiming his unshakable valour and recounting his brilliant feats of arms: he hurls menaces and vaunts in the same breath, but it does not follow that he is a Miles Gloriosus. ‘Amr certainly was not: his Mu‘allaqa leaves a vivid impression of conscious and exultant strength. The first eight verses seem to have been added to the poem at a very early date, for out of them arose the legend that ‘Amr drank himself to death with unmixed wine. It is likely that they were included in the original collection of the Mu‘allaqát, and they are worth translating for their own sake:---

"Up, maiden! Fetch the morning-drink and spare not The wine of Andarín, Clear wine that takes a saffron hue when water Is mingled warm therein. The lover tasting it forgets his passion, His heart is eased of pain; The stingy miser, as he lifts the goblet, Regardeth not his gain.

Pass round from left to right! Why let'st thou, maiden, Me and my comrades thirst? Yet am I, whom thou wilt not serve this morning, Of us three not the worst! Many a cup in Baalbec and Damascus And Qáṣirín I drained, Howbeit we, ordained to death, shall one day Meet death, to us ordained."[219]

In the next passage he describes his grief at the departure of his beloved, whom he sees in imagination arriving at her journey's end in distant Yamáma:--

"And oh, my love and yearning when at nightfall I saw her camels haste, Until sharp peaks uptowered like serried sword-blades, And me Yamáma faced! Such grief no mother-camel feels, bemoaning Her young one lost, nor she, The grey-haired woman whose hard fate hath left her Of nine sons graves thrice three."[220]

Now the poet turns abruptly to his main theme. He addresses the King of Ḥíra, ‘Amr b. Hind, in terms of defiance, and warns the foes of Taghlib that they will meet more than their match:--

"Father of Hind,[221] take heed and ere thou movest Rashly against us, learn That still our banners go down white to battle And home blood-red return. And many a chief bediademed, the champion Of the outlaws of the land, Have we o'erthrown and stripped him, while around him Fast-reined the horses stand. Our neighbours lopped like thorn-trees, snarls in terror Of us the demon-hound;[222] Never we try our hand-mill on the foemen But surely they are ground. We are the heirs of glory, all Ma‘add knows,[223] Our lances it defend, And when the tent-pole tumbles in the foray, Trust us to save our friend![224]

O ‘Amr, what mean'st thou? Are we, we of Taghlib, Thy princeling's retinue? O ‘Amr, what mean'st thou, rating us and hearkening To tale-bearers untrue? O ‘Amr, ere thee full many a time our spear-shaft Has baffled foes to bow;[225] Nipped in the vice it kicks like a wild camel That will no touch allow-- Like a wild camel, so it creaks in bending And splits the bender's brow!"[226]

The Mu‘allaqa ends with a eulogy, superb in its extravagance, of the poet's tribe:--

"Well wot, when our tents rise along their valleys, The men of every clan That we give death to them that durst attempt us, To friends what food we can; That staunchly we maintain a cause we cherish, Camp where we choose to ride, Nor will we aught of peace, when we are angered, Till we be satisfied. We keep our vassals safe and sound, but rebels We soon force to their knees; And if we reach a well, we drink pure water, Others the muddy lees. Ours is the earth and all thereon: when we strike, There needs no second blow; Kings lay before the new-weaned boy of Taghlib Their heads in homage low. We are called oppressors, being none, but shortly A true name shall it be![227] We have so filled the earth 'tis narrow for us, And with our ships the sea![228]

[Sidenote: Ḥárith b. Ḥilliza.]

Less interesting is the Mu‘allaqa of Ḥárith b. Ḥilliza of Bakr. Its inclusion among the Mu‘allaqát is probably due, as Nöldeke suggested, to the fact that Ḥammád, himself a client of Bakr, wished to flatter his patrons by selecting a counterpart to the Mu‘allaqa of ‘Amr b. Kulthúm, which immortalised their great rivals, the Banú Taghlib. Ḥárith's poem, however, has some historical importance, as it throws light on feuds in Northern Arabia connected with the antagonism of the Roman and Persian Empires. Its purpose is to complain of unjust accusations made against the Banú Bakr by a certain group of the Banú Taghlib known as the Aráqim:--

"Our brothers the Aráqim let their tongues Against us rail unmeasuredly. The innocent with the guilty they confound: Of guilt what boots it to be free? They brand us patrons of the vilest deed, Our clients in each miscreant see."[229]

A person whom Ḥárith does not name was 'blackening' the Banú Bakr before the King of Ḥíra. The poet tells him not to imagine that his calumnies will have any lasting effect: often had Bakr been slandered by their foes, but (he finely adds):--

"Maugre their hate we stand, by firm-based might Exalted and by ancestry-- Might which ere now hath dazzled men's eyes: thence scorn To yield and haughty spirit have we. On us the Days beat as on mountain dark That soars in cloudless majesty, Compact against the hard calamitous shocks And buffetings of Destiny."[230]

He appeals to the offenders not wantonly to break the peace which ended the War of Basús:--

"Leave folly and error! If ye blind yourselves, Just therein lies the malady. Recall the oaths of Dhu ’l-Majáz[231] for which Hostages gave security, Lest force or guile should break them: can caprice Annul the parchments utterly?[232]

[Sidenote: ‘Antara.]

‘Antara b. Shaddád, whose father belonged to the tribe of ‘Abs, distinguished himself in the War of Dáḥis.[233] In modern times it is not as a poet that he is chiefly remembered, but as a hero of romance--the Bedouin Achilles. Goddess-born, however, he could not be called by any stretch of imagination. His mother was a black slave, and he must often have been taunted with his African blood, which showed itself in a fiery courage that gained the respect of the pure-bred but generally less valorous Arabs. ‘Antara loved his cousin ‘Abla, and following the Arabian custom by which cousins have the first right to a girl's hand, he asked her in marriage. His suit was vain--the son of a slave mother being regarded as a slave unless acknowledged by his father--until on one occasion, while the ‘Absites were hotly engaged with some raiders who had driven off their camels, ‘Antara refused to join in the mêlée, saying, "A slave does not understand how to fight; his work is to milk the camels and bind their udders." "Charge!" cried his father, "thou art free." Though ‘Antara uttered no idle boast when he sang--

"On one side nobly born and of the best Of ‘Abs am I: my sword makes good the rest!"

his contemptuous references to 'jabbering barbarians,' and to 'slaves with their ears cut off, clad in sheepskins,' are characteristic of the man who had risen to eminence in spite of the stain on his scutcheon. He died at a great age in a foray against the neighbouring tribe of Ṭayyi’. His Mu‘allaqa is famous for its stirring battle-scenes, one of which is translated here:--[234]

"Learn, Málik's daughter, how I rush into the fray, And how I draw back only At sharing of the prey.

I never quit the saddle, My strong steed nimbly bounds; Warrior after warrior Have covered him with wounds.

Full-armed against me stood One feared of fighting men: He fled not oversoon Nor let himself be ta'en.

With straight hard-shafted spear I dealt him in his side A sudden thrust which opened Two streaming gashes wide,

Two gashes whence outgurgled His life-blood: at the sound Night-roaming ravenous wolves Flock eagerly around.

So with my doughty spear I trussed his coat of mail-- For truly, when the spear strikes, The noblest man is frail--

And left him low to banquet The wild beasts gathering there; They have torn off his fingers, His wrist and fingers fair!"

[Sidenote: Zuhayr.]

While ‘Antara's poem belongs to the final stages of the War of Dáḥis, the Mu‘allaqa of his contemporary, Zuhayr b. Abí Sulmá, of the tribe of Muzayna, celebrates an act of private munificence which brought about the conclusion of peace. By the self-sacrificing intervention of two chiefs of Dhubyán, Harim b. Sinán and Ḥárith b. ‘Awf, the whole sum of blood-money to which the ‘Absites were entitled on account of the greater number of those who had fallen on their side, was paid over to them. Such an example of generous and disinterested patriotism--for Harim and Ḥárith had shed no blood themselves--was a fit subject for one of whom it was said that he never praised men but as they deserved:--

Noble pair of Ghayẓ ibn Murra,[235] well ye laboured to restore Ties of kindred hewn asunder by the bloody strokes of war. Witness now mine oath the ancient House in Mecca's hallowed bound,[236] Which its builders of Quraysh and Jurhum solemnly went round,[237] That in hard or easy issue never wanting were ye found! Peace ye gave to ‘Abs and Dhubyán when each fell by other's hand And the evil fumes they pestled up between them filled the land."[238]

At the end of his panegyric the poet, turning to the lately reconciled tribesmen and their confederates, earnestly warns them against nursing thoughts of vengeance:--

"Will ye hide from God the guilt ye dare not unto Him disclose? Verily, what thing soever ye would hide from God, He knows. Either it is laid up meantime in a scroll and treasured there For the day of retribution, or avenged all unaware.[239] War ye have known and war have tasted: not by hearsay are ye wise. Raise no more the hideous monster! If ye let her raven, she cries Ravenously for blood and crushes, like a mill-stone, all below, And from her twin-conceiving womb she brings forth woe on woe."[240]

After a somewhat obscure passage concerning the lawless deeds of a certain Ḥusayn b. Ḑamḍam, which had well-nigh caused a fresh outbreak of hostilities, Zuhayr proceeds, with a natural and touching allusion to his venerable age, to enforce the lessons of conduct and morality suggested by the situation:--

"I am weary of life's burden: well a man may weary be After eighty years, and this much now is manifest to me: Death is like a night-blind camel stumbling on:--the smitten die But the others age and wax in weakness whom he passes by. He that often deals with folk in unkind fashion, underneath They will trample him and make him feel the sharpness of their teeth. He that hath enough and over and is niggard with his pelf Will be hated of his people and left free to praise himself. He alone who with fair actions ever fortifies his fame Wins it fully: blame will find him out unless he shrinks from blame. He that for his cistern's guarding trusts not in his own stout arm Sees it ruined: he must harm his foe or he must suffer harm. He that fears the bridge of Death across it finally is driven, Though he span as with a ladder all the space 'twixt earth and heaven. He that will not take the lance's butt-end while he has the chance Must thereafter be contented with the spike-end of the lance. He that keeps his word is blamed not; he whose heart repaireth straight To the sanctuary of duty never needs to hesitate. He that hies abroad to strangers doth account his friends his foes; He that honours not himself lacks honour wheresoe'er he goes. Be a man's true nature what it will, that nature is revealed To his neighbours, let him fancy as he may that 'tis concealed."[241]

The ripe sententious wisdom and moral earnestness of Zuhayr's poetry are in keeping with what has been said above concerning his religious ideas and, from another point of view, with the tradition that he used to compose a qaṣída in four months, correct it for four months, submit it to the poets of his acquaintance during a like period, and not make it public until a year had expired.

Of his life there is little to tell. Probably he died before Islam, though it is related that when he was a centenarian he met the Prophet, who cried out on seeing him, "O God, preserve me from his demon!"[242] The poetical gifts which he inherited from his uncle Basháma he bequeathed to his son Ka‘b, author of the famous ode, Bánat Su‘ád.

[Sidenote: Labíd.]

Labíd b. Rabí‘a, of the Banú ‘Ámir b. Ṣa‘ṣa‘a, was born in the latter half of the sixth century, and is said to have died soon after Mu‘áwiya's accession to the Caliphate, which took place in A.D. 661. He is thus the youngest of the Seven Poets. On accepting Islam he abjured poetry, saying, "God has given me the Koran in exchange for it." Like Zuhayr, he had, even in his heathen days, a strong vein of religious feeling, as is shown by many passages in his Díwán.

Labíd was a true Bedouin, and his Mu‘allaqa, with its charmingly fresh pictures of desert life and scenery, must be considered one of the finest examples of the Pre-islamic qaṣída that have come down to us. The poet owes something to his predecessors, but the greater part seems to be drawn from his own observation. He begins in the conventional manner by describing the almost unrecognisable vestiges of the camping-ground of the clan to which his mistress belonged:--

"Waste lies the land where once alighted and did wone The people of Miná: Rijám and Ghawl are lone. The camp in Rayyán's vale is marked by relics dim Like weather-beaten script engraved on ancient stone. Over this ruined scene, since it was desolate, Whole years with secular and sacred months had flown. In spring 'twas blest by showers 'neath starry influence shed, And thunder-clouds bestowed a scant or copious boon. Pale herbs had shot up, ostriches on either slope Their chicks had gotten and gazelles their young had thrown; And large-eyed wild-cows there beside the new-born calves Reclined, while round them formed a troop the calves half-grown. Torrents of rain had swept the dusty ruins bare, Until, as writing freshly charactered, they shone, Or like to curved tattoo-lines on a woman's arm, With soot besprinkled so that every line is shown. I stopped and asked, but what avails it that we ask Dumb changeless things that speak a language all unknown?"[243]

After lamenting the departure of his beloved the poet bids himself think no more about her: he will ride swiftly away from the spot. Naturally, he must praise his camel, and he introduces by way of comparison two wonderful pictures of animal life. In the former the onager is described racing at full speed over the backs of the hills when thirst and hunger drive him with his mate far from the barren solitudes into which they usually retire. The second paints a wild-cow, whose young calf has been devoured by wolves, sleeping among the sand-dunes through a night of incessant rain. At daybreak "her feet glide over the firm wet soil." For a whole week she runs to and fro, anxiously seeking her calf, when suddenly she hears the sound of hunters approaching and makes off in alarm. Being unable to get within bowshot, the hunters loose their dogs, but she turns desperately upon them, wounding one with her needle-like horn and killing another.

Then, once more addressing his beloved, the poet speaks complacently of his share in the feasting and revelling, on which a noble Arab plumes himself hardly less than on his bravery:--

"Know'st thou not, O Nawár, that I am wont to tie The cords of love, yet also snap them without fear? That I abandon places when I like them not, Unless Death chain the soul and straiten her career? Nay, surely, but thou know'st not I have passed in talk Many a cool night of pleasure and convivial cheer, And often to a booth, above which hung for sign A banner, have resorted when old wine was dear. For no light price I purchased many a dusky skin Or black clay jar, and broached it that the juice ran clear; And many a song of shrill-voiced singing-girl I paid, And her whose fingers made sweet music to mine ear."[244]

Continuing, he boasts of dangerous service as a spy in the enemy's country, when he watched all day on the top of a steep crag; of his fearless demeanour and dignified assertion of his rights in an assembly at Ḥíra, to which he came as a delegate, and of his liberality to the poor. The closing verses are devoted, in accordance with custom, to matters of immediate interest and to a panegyric on the virtues of the poet's kin.

Besides the authors of the Mu‘allaqát three poets may be mentioned, of whom the two first-named are universally acknowledged to rank with the greatest that Arabia has produced--Nábigha, A‘shá, and ‘Alqama.

[Sidenote: Nábigha of Dhubyán.]

Nábigha[245]--his proper name is Ziyád b. Mu‘áwiya, of the tribe Dhubyán--lived at the courts of Ghassán and Ḥíra during the latter half of the century before Islam. His chief patron was King Nu‘mán b. Mundhir Abú Qábús of Ḥíra. For many years he basked in the sunshine of royal favour, enjoying every privilege that Nu‘mán bestowed on his most intimate friends. The occasion of their falling out is differently related. According to one story, the poet described the charms of Queen Mutajarrida, which Nu‘mán had asked him to celebrate, with such charm and liveliness as to excite her husband's suspicion; but it is said--and Nábigha's own words make it probable--that his enemies denounced him as the author of a scurrilous satire against Nu‘mán which had been forged by themselves. At any rate he had no choice but to quit Ḥíra with all speed, and ere long we find him in Ghassán, welcomed and honoured, as the panegyrist of King ‘Amr b. Ḥárith and the noble house of Jafna. But his heart was in Ḥíra still. Deeply wounded by the calumnies of which he was the victim, he never ceased to affirm his innocence and to lament the misery of exile. The following poem, which he addressed to Nu‘mán, is at once a justification and an appeal for mercy[246]:--

"They brought me word, O King, thou blamedst me; For this am I o'erwhelmed with grief and care. I passed a sick man's night: the nurses seemed, Spreading my couch, to have heaped up briars there. Now (lest thou cherish in thy mind a doubt) Invoking our last refuge, God, I swear That he, whoever told thee I was false, Is the more lying and faithless of the pair. Exiled perforce, I found a strip of land Where I could live and safely take the air: Kings made me arbiter of their possessions, And called me to their side and spoke me fair-- Even as thou dost grace thy favourites Nor deem'st a fault the gratitude they bear.[247] O leave thine anger! Else, in view of men A mangy camel, smeared with pitch, I were. Seest thou not God hath given thee eminence Before which monarchs tremble and despair? All other kings are stars and thou a sun: When the sun rises, lo, the heavens are bare! A friend in trouble thou wilt not forsake; I may have sinned: in sinning all men share. If I am wronged, thou hast but wronged a slave, And if thou spar'st, 'tis like thyself to spare."

It is pleasant to record that Nábigha was finally reconciled to the prince whom he loved, and that Ḥíra again became his home. The date of his death is unknown, but it certainly took place before Islam was promulgated. Had the opportunity been granted to him he might have died a Moslem: he calls himself 'a religious man' (dhú ummatin),[248] and although the tradition that he was actually a Christian lacks authority, his long residence in Syria and ‘Iráq must have made him acquainted with the externals of Christianity and with some, at least, of its leading ideas.

[Sidenote: A‘shá.]

The grave and earnest tone characteristic of Nábigha's poetry seldom prevails in that of his younger contemporary, Maymún b. Qays, who is generally known by his surname, al-A‘shá--that is, 'the man of weak sight.' A professional troubadour, he roamed from one end of Arabia to the other, harp in hand, singing the praises of those who rewarded him; and such was his fame as a satirist that few ventured to withhold the bounty which he asked. By common consent he stands in the very first rank of Arabian poets. Abu ’l-Faraj, the author of the Kitábu ’l-Aghání, declares him to be superior to all the rest, adding, however, "this opinion is not held unanimously as regards A‘shá or any other." His wandering life brought him into contact with every kind of culture then existing in Arabia. Although he was not an avowed Christian, his poetry shows to what an extent he was influenced by the Bishops of Najrán, with whom he was intimately connected, and by the Christian merchants of Ḥíra who sold him their wine. He did not rise above the pagan level of morality.

It is related that he set out to visit Muḥammad for the purpose of reciting to him an ode which he had composed in his honour. When the Quraysh heard of this, they feared lest their adversary's reputation should be increased by the panegyric of a bard so famous and popular. Accordingly, they intercepted him on his way, and asked whither he was bound. "To your kinsman," said he, "that I may accept Islam." "He will forbid and make unlawful to thee certain practices of which thou art fond." "What are these?" said A‘shá. "Fornication," said Abú Sufyán, "I have not abandoned it," he replied, "but it has abandoned me. What else?" "Gambling." "Perhaps I shall obtain from him something to compensate me for the loss of gambling. What else?" "Usury." "I have never borrowed nor lent. What else?" "Wine." "Oh, in that case I will drink the water I have left stored at al-Mihrás." Seeing that A‘shá was not to be deterred, Abú Sufyán offered him a hundred camels on condition that he should return to his home in Yamáma and await the issue of the struggle between Muḥammad and the Quraysh. "I agree," said A‘shá. "O ye Quraysh," cried Abú Sufyán, "this is A‘shá, and by God, if he becomes a follower of Muḥammad, he will inflame the Arabs against you by his poetry. Collect, therefore, a hundred camels for him."[249]

A‘shá excels in the description of wine and wine-parties. One who visited Manfúḥa in Yamáma, where the poet was buried, relates that revellers used to meet at his grave and pour out beside it the last drops that remained in their cups. As an example of his style in this genre I translate a few lines from the most celebrated of his poems, which is included by some critics among the Mu‘allaqát:--

"Many a time I hastened early to the tavern--while there ran At my heels a ready cook, a nimble, active serving-man-- 'Midst a gallant troop, like Indian scimitars, of mettle high; Well they know that every mortal, shod and bare alike, must die. Propped at ease I greet them gaily, them with myrtle-boughs I greet, Pass among them wine that gushes from the jar's mouth bittersweet. Emptying goblet after goblet--but the source may no man drain-- Never cease they from carousing save to cry, 'Fill up again!' Briskly runs the page to serve them: on his ears hang pearls: below, Tight the girdle draws his doublet as he bustles to and fro. 'Twas the harp, thou mightest fancy, waked the lute's responsive note, When the loose-robed chantress touched it and sang shrill with quavering throat. Here and there among the party damsels fair superbly glide: Each her long white skirt lets trail and swings a wine-skin at her side."[250]

[Sidenote: ‘Alqama.]

Very little is known of the life of ‘Alqama b. ‘Abada, who was surnamed al-Faḥl (the Stallion). His most famous poem is that which he addressed to the Ghassánid Ḥárith al-A‘raj after the Battle of Ḥalíma, imploring him to set free some prisoners of Tamím--the poet's tribe--among whom was his own brother or nephew, Shás. The following lines have almost become proverbial:--

"Of women do ye ask me? I can spy Their ailments with a shrewd physician's eye. The man whose head is grey or small his herds No favour wins of them but mocking words. Are riches known, to riches they aspire, And youthful bloom is still their heart's desire."[251]

[Sidenote: Elegiac poetry.]

In view of these slighting verses it is proper to observe that the poetry of Arabian women of the Pre-islamic period is distinctly masculine in character. Their songs are seldom of Love, but often of Death. Elegy (rithá or marthiya) was regarded as their special province. The oldest form of elegy appears in the verses chanted on the death of Ta’abbaṭa Sharran by his sister:--

"O the good knight ye left low at Rakhmán, Thábit son of Jábir son of Sufyán! He filled the cup for friends and ever slew his man."[252]

"As a rule the Arabian dirge is very simple. The poetess begins with a description of her grief, of the tears that she cannot quench, and then she shows how worthy to be deeply mourned was he whom death has taken away. He is described as a pattern of the two principal Arabian virtues, bravery and liberality, and the question is anxiously asked, 'Who will now make high resolves, overthrow the enemy, and in time of want feed the poor and entertain the stranger?' If the hero of the dirge died a violent death we find in addition a burning lust of revenge, a thirst for the slayer's blood, expressed with an intensity of feeling of which only women are capable."[253]

[Sidenote: Khansá.]

Among Arabian women who have excelled in poetry the place of honour is due to Khansá--her real name was Tumáḍir--who flourished in the last years before Islam. By far the most famous of her elegies are those in which she bewailed her valiant brothers, Mu‘áwiya and Ṣakhr, both of whom were struck down by sword or spear. It is impossible to translate the poignant and vivid emotion, the energy of passion and noble simplicity of style which distinguish the poetry of Khansá, but here are a few verses:--

Death's messenger cried aloud the loss of the generous one, So loud cried he, by my life, that far he was heard and wide. Then rose I, and scarce my soul could follow to meet the news, For anguish and sore dismay and horror that Ṣakhr had died. In my misery and despair I seemed as a drunken man, Upstanding awhile--then soon his tottering limbs subside."[254]

_Yudhakkiruní ṭulú‘u ’l-shamsi Ṣakhran wa-adhkuruhú likulli ghurúbi shamsi._

"Sunrise awakes in me the sad remembrance Of Ṣakhr, and I recall him at every sunset."

[Sidenote: The last poets born in the Age of Paganism.]

To the poets who have been enumerated many might be added--e.g., Ḥassán b. Thábit, who was 'retained' by the Prophet and did useful work on his behalf; Ka‘b b. Zuhayr, author or the famous panegyric on Muḥammad beginning "Bánat Su‘ád" (Su‘ád has departed); Mutammim b. Nuwayra, who, like Khansá, mourned the loss of a brother; Abú Miḥjan, the singer of wine, whose devotion to the forbidden beverage was punished by the Caliph ‘Umar with imprisonment and exile; and al-Ḥuṭay’a (the Dwarf), who was unrivalled in satire. All these belonged to the class of Mukhaḍramún, i.e., they were born in the Pagan Age but died, if not Moslems, at any rate after the proclamation of Islam.

[Sidenote: Collections of ancient poetry.]

The grammarians of Baṣra and Kúfa, by whom the remains of ancient Arabian poetry were rescued from oblivion, arranged and collected their material according to various principles. Either the poems of an individual or those of a number of individuals belonging to the same tribe or class were brought together--such a collection was called Díwán, plural Dawáwín; or, again, the compiler edited a certain number of qaṣídas chosen for their fame or excellence or on other grounds, or he formed an anthology of shorter pieces or fragments, which were arranged under different heads according to their subject-matter.

[Sidenote: Díwáns.]

Among Díwáns mention may be made of The Díwáns of the Six Poets, viz. Nábigha, ‘Antara, Ṭarafa, Zuhayr, ‘Alqama, and Imru’u ’l-Qays, edited with a full commentary by the Spanish philologist al-A‘lam († 1083 A.D.) and published in 1870 by Ahlwardt; and of The Poems of the Hudhaylites (Ash‘áru ’l-Hudhaliyyín) collected by al-Sukkarí († 888 A.D.), which have been published by Kosegarten and Wellhausen.

The chief Anthologies, taken in the order of their composition, are:--

[Sidenote: Anthologies. 1. The Mu‘allaqát.]

1. The Mu‘allaqát, which is the title given to a collection of seven odes by Imru’u ’l-Qays, Ṭarafa, Zuhayr, Labíd, ‘Antara, ‘Amr b. Kulthúm, and Ḥárith b. Ḥilliza; to these two odes by Nábigha and A‘shá are sometimes added. The compiler was probably Ḥammád al-Ráwiya, a famous rhapsodist of Persian descent, who flourished under the Umayyads and died in the second half of the eighth century of our era. As the Mu‘allaqát have been discussed above, we may pass on directly to a much larger, though less celebrated, collection dating from the same period, viz.:--

[Sidenote: 2. The Mufaḍḍaliyyát.]

2. The Mufaḍḍaliyyát,[255] by which title it is generally known after its compiler, Mufaḍḍal al-Ḑabbí († circa 786 A.D.), who made it at the instance of the Caliph Manṣúr for the instruction of his son and successor, Mahdí. It comprises 128 odes and is extant in two recensions, that of Anbárí († 916 A.D.), which derives from Ibnu ’l-A‘rábí, the stepson of Mufaḍḍal, and that of Marzúqí († 1030 A.D.). About a third of the Mufaḍḍaliyyát was published in 1885 by Thorbecke, and Sir Charles Lyall has recently edited the complete text with Arabic commentary and English translation and notes.[256]

All students of Arabian poetry are familiar with--

[Sidenote: 3. The Ḥamása of Abú Tammám.]

3. The Ḥamása of Abú Tammám Ḥabíb b. Aws, himself a distinguished poet, who flourished under the Caliphs Ma’mún and Mu‘taṣim, and died about 850 A.D. Towards the end of his life he visited ‘Abdulláh b. Ṭáhir, the powerful governor of Khurásán, who was virtually an independent sovereign. It was on this journey, as Ibn Khallikán relates, that Abú Tammám composed the Ḥamása; for on arriving at Hamadhán (Ecbatana) the winter had set in, and as the cold was excessively severe in that country, the snow blocked up the road and obliged him to stop and await the thaw. During his stay he resided with one of the most eminent men of the place, who possessed a library in which were some collections of poems composed by the Arabs of the desert and other authors. Having then sufficient leisure, he perused those works and selected from them the passages out of which he formed his Ḥamása.[257] The work is divided into ten sections of unequal length, the first, from which it received its name, occupying (together with the commentary) 360 pages in Freytag's edition, while the seventh and eighth require only thirteen pages between them. These sections or chapters bear the following titles:--

I. The Chapter of Fortitude (Bábu ’l-Ḥamása). II. The Chapter of Dirges (Bábu ’l-Maráthí). III. The Chapter of Good Manners (Bábu ’l-Adab). IV. The Chapter of Love-Songs (Bábu ’l-Nasíb). V. The Chapter of Satire (Bábu ’l-Hijá). VI. The Chapter of Guests (Hospitality) and Panegyric (_Bábu ’l-Aḍyáf wa ’l-Madíh_). VII. The Chapter of Descriptions (Bábu ’l-Ṣifát). VIII. The Chapter of Travel and Repose (Bábu ’l-Sayr wa ’l-Nu‘ás). IX. The Chapter of Facetiæ (Bábu ’l-Mulaḥ). X. The Chapter of Vituperation of Women (_Bábu Madhammati ’l-Nisá_).

The contents of the Ḥamása include short poems complete in themselves as well as passages extracted from longer poems; of the poets represented, some of whom belong to the Pre-islamic and others to the early Islamic period, comparatively few are celebrated, while many are anonymous or only known by the verses attached to their names. If the high level of excellence attained by these obscure singers shows, on the one hand, that a natural genius for poetry was widely diffused and that the art was successfully cultivated among all ranks of Arabian society, we must not forget how much is due to the fine taste of Abú Tammám, who, as the commentator Tibrízí has remarked, "is a better poet in his Ḥamása than in his poetry."

[Sidenote: 4. The Ḥamása of Buḥturí.]

4. The Ḥamása of Buḥturí († 897 A.D.), a younger contemporary of Abú Tammám, is inferior to its model.[258] However convenient from a practical standpoint, the division into a great number of sections, each illustrating a narrowly defined topic, seriously impairs the artistic value of the work; moreover, Buḥturí seems to have had a less catholic appreciation of the beauties of poetry--he admired, it is said, only what was in harmony with his own style and ideas.

[Sidenote: 5. The Jamhara.]

5. The Jamharatu Ash‘ári ’l-‘Arab, a collection of forty-nine odes, was put together probably about 1000 A.D. by Abú Zayd Muḥammad al-Qurashí, of whom we find no mention elsewhere.

[Sidenote: Prose sources.]

Apart from the Díwáns and anthologies, numerous Pre-islamic verses are cited in biographical, philological, and other works, e.g., the Kitábu ’l-Aghání by Abu ’l-Faraj of Iṣfahán († 967 A.D.), the Kitábu ’l-Amálí by Abú ‘Alí al-Qálí († 967 A.D.), the Kámil of Mubarrad († 898 A.D.), and the Khizánatu ’l-Adab of ‘Abdu ’l-Qádir of Baghdád († 1682 A.D.).

[Sidenote: The tradition of Pre-islamic poetry.]

[Sidenote: The Ráwís.]

[Sidenote: The Humanists.]

We have seen that the oldest existing poems date from the beginning of the sixth century of our era, whereas the art of writing did not come into general use among the Arabs until some two hundred years afterwards. Pre-islamic poetry, therefore, was preserved by oral tradition alone, and the question arises, How was this possible? What guarantee have we that songs living on men's lips for so long a period have retained their original form, even approximately? No doubt many verses, e.g., those which glorified the poet's tribe or satirised their enemies, were constantly being recited by his kin, and in this way short occasional poems or fragments of longer ones might be perpetuated. Of whole qaṣídas like the Mu‘allaqát, however, none or very few would have reached us if their survival had depended solely on their popularity. What actually saved them in the first place was an institution resembling that of the Rhapsodists in Greece. Every professed poet had his Ráwí (reciter), who accompanied him everywhere, committed his poems to memory, and handed them down, as well as the circumstances connected with them, to others. The characters of poet and ráwí were often combined; thus Zuhayr was the ráwí of his stepfather, Aws b. Ḥajar, while his own ráwí was al-Ḥuṭay’a. If the tradition of poetry was at first a labour of love, it afterwards became a lucrative business, and the Ráwís, instead of being attached to individual poets, began to form an independent class, carrying in their memories a prodigious stock of ancient verse and miscellaneous learning. It is related, for example, that Ḥammád once said to the Caliph Walíd b. Yazíd: "I can recite to you, for each letter of the alphabet, one hundred long poems rhyming in that letter, without taking into count the short pieces, and all that composed exclusively by poets who lived before the promulgation of Islamism." He commenced and continued until the Caliph, having grown fatigued, withdrew, after leaving a person in his place to verify the assertion and hear him to the last. In that sitting he recited two thousand nine hundred qaṣídas by poets who flourished before Muḥammad. Walíd, on being informed of the fact, ordered him a present of one hundred thousand dirhems.[259] Thus, towards the end of the first century after the Hijra, i.e., about 700 A.D., when the custom of writing poetry began, there was much of Pre-islamic origin still in circulation, although it is probable that far more had already been irretrievably lost. Numbers of Ráwís perished in the wars, or passed away in the course of nature, without leaving any one to continue their tradition. New times had brought new interests and other ways of life. The great majority of Moslems had no sympathy whatever with the ancient poetry, which represented in their eyes the unregenerate spirit of heathendom. They wanted nothing beyond the Koran and the Ḥadíth. But for reasons which will be stated in another chapter the language of the Koran and the Ḥadíth was rapidly becoming obsolete as a spoken idiom outside of the Arabian peninsula: the 'perspicuous Arabic' on which Muḥammad prided himself had ceased to be fully intelligible to the Moslems settled in ‘Iráq and Khurásán, in Syria, and in Egypt. It was essential that the Sacred Text should be explained, and this necessity gave birth to the sciences of Grammar and Lexicography. The Philologists, or, as they have been aptly designated, the Humanists of Baṣra and Kúfa, where these studies were prosecuted with peculiar zeal, naturally found their best material in the Pre-islamic poems--a well of Arabic undefiled. At first the ancient poetry merely formed a basis for philological research, but in process of time a literary enthusiasm was awakened. The surviving Ráwís were eagerly sought out and induced to yield up their stores, the compositions of famous poets were collected, arranged, and committed to writing, and as the demand increased, so did the supply.[260]

[Sidenote: Corrupt tradition of the old poetry.]

[Sidenote: Ḥammád al-Ráwiya.]

[Sidenote: Khalaf al-Aḥmar.]

In these circumstances a certain amount of error was inevitable. Apart from unconscious failings of memory, there can be no doubt that in many cases the Ráwís acted with intent to deceive. The temptation to father their own verses, or centos which they pieced together from sources known only to themselves, upon some poet of antiquity was all the stronger because they ran little risk of detection. In knowledge of poetry and in poetical talent they were generally far more than a match for the philologists, who seldom possessed any critical ability, but readily took whatever came to hand. The stories which are told of Ḥammád al-Ráwiya, clearly show how unscrupulous he was in his methods, though we have reason to suppose that he was not a typical example of his class. His contemporary, Mufaḍḍal al-Ḑabbí, is reported to have said that the corruption which poetry suffered through Ḥammád could never be repaired, "for," he added, "Ḥammád is a man skilled in the language and poesy of the Arabs and in the styles and ideas of the poets, and he is always making verses in imitation of some one and introducing them into genuine compositions by the same author, so that the copy passes everywhere for part of the original, and cannot be distinguished from it except by critical scholars--and where are such to be found?"[261] This art of forgery was brought to perfection by Khalaf al-Aḥmar († about 800 A.D.), who learned it in the school of Ḥammád. If he really composed the famous Lámiyya ascribed to Shanfará, his own poetical endowments must have been of the highest order. In his old age he repented and confessed that he was the author of several poems which the scholars of Baṣra and Kúfa had accepted as genuine, but they laughed him to scorn, saying, "What you said then seems to us more trustworthy than your present assertion."

[Sidenote: Other causes of corruption.]

Besides the corruptions due to the Ráwís, others have been accumulated by the philologists themselves. As the Koran and the Ḥadíth were, of course, spoken and afterwards written in the dialect of Quraysh, to whom Muḥammad belonged, this dialect was regarded as the classical standard;[262] consequently the variations therefrom which occurred in the ancient poems were, for the most part, 'emended' and harmonised with it. Many changes were made under the influence of Islam, e.g., 'Allah' was probably often substituted for the pagan goddess 'al-Lát.' Moreover, the structure of the qaṣída, its disconnectedness and want of logical cohesion, favoured the omission and transposition of whole passages or single verses. All these modes of depravation might be illustrated in detail, but from what has been said the reader can judge for himself how far the poems, as they now stand, are likely to have retained the form in which they were first uttered to the wild Arabs of the Pre-islamic Age.

[Sidenote: Religion.]

[Sidenote: The Fair of ‘Ukáẓ.]

Religion had so little influence on the lives of the Pre-islamic Arabs that we cannot expect to find much trace of it in their poetry. They believed vaguely in a supreme God, Allah, and more definitely in his three daughters--al-Lát, Manát, and al-‘Uzzá--who were venerated all over Arabia and whose intercession was graciously accepted by Allah. There were also numerous idols enjoying high favour while they continued to bring good luck to their worshippers. Of real piety the ordinary Bedouin knew nothing. He felt no call to pray to his gods, although he often found them convenient to swear by. He might invoke Allah in the hour of need, as a drowning man will clutch at a straw; but his faith in superstitious ceremonies was stronger. He did not take his religion too seriously. Its practical advantages he was quick to appreciate. Not to mention baser pleasures, it gave him rest and security during the four sacred months, in which war was forbidden, while the institution of the Meccan Pilgrimage enabled him to take part in a national fête. Commerce went hand in hand with religion. Great fairs were held, the most famous being that of ‘Ukáẓ, which lasted for twenty days. These fairs were in some sort the centre of old Arabian social, political, and literary life. It was the only occasion on which free and fearless intercourse was possible between the members of different clans.[263]

Plenty of excitement was provided by poetical and oratorical displays--not by athletic sports, as in ancient Greece and modern England. Here rival poets declaimed their verses and submitted them to the judgment of an acknowledged master. Nowhere else had rising talents such an opportunity of gaining wide reputation: what ‘Ukáẓ said to-day all Arabia would repeat to-morrow. At ‘Ukáẓ, we are told, the youthful Muḥammad listened, as though spellbound, to the persuasive eloquence of Quss b. Sá‘ida, Bishop of Najrán; and he may have contrasted the discourse of the Christian preacher with the brilliant odes chanted by heathen bards.

The Bedouin view of life was thoroughly hedonistic. Love, wine, gambling, hunting, the pleasures of song and romance, the brief, pointed, and elegant expression of wit and wisdom--these things he knew to be good. Beyond them he saw only the grave.

"Roast meat and wine: the swinging ride On a camel sure and tried, Which her master speeds amain O'er low dale and level plain: Women marble-white and fair Trailing gold-fringed raiment rare: Opulence, luxurious ease, With the lute's soft melodies-- Such delights hath our brief span; Time is Change, Time's fool is Man. Wealth or want, great store or small, All is one since Death's are all."[264]

It would be a mistake to suppose that these men always, or even generally, passed their lives in the aimless pursuit of pleasure. Some goal they had--earthly, no doubt--such as the accumulation of wealth or the winning of glory or the fulfilment of blood-revenge. "God forbid" says one, "that I should die while a grievous longing, as it were a mountain, weighs on my breast!"[265] A deeper chord is touched by Imru’u ’l-Qays: "If I strove for a bare livelihood, scanty means would suffice me and I would seek no more. But I strive for lasting renown, and 'tis men like me that sometimes attain lasting renown. Never, while life endures, does a man reach the summit of his ambition or cease from toil."[266]

[Sidenote: Judaism and Christianity in Arabia.]

[Sidenote: The ‘Ibád of Ḥíra.]

[Sidenote: ‘Adí b. Zayd.]

These are noble sentiments nobly expressed. Yet one hears the sigh of weariness, as if the speaker were struggling against the conviction that his cause is already lost, and would welcome the final stroke of destiny. It was a time of wild uproar and confusion. Tribal and family feuds filled the land, as Zuhayr says, with evil fumes. No wonder that earnest and thoughtful minds asked themselves--What worth has our life, what meaning? Whither does it lead? Such questions paganism could not answer, but Arabia in the century before Muḥammad was not wholly abandoned to paganism. Jewish colonists had long been settled in the Ḥijáz. Probably the earliest settlements date from the conquest of Palestine by Titus or Hadrian. In their new home the refugees, through contact with a people nearly akin to themselves, became fully Arabicised, as the few extant specimens of their poetry bear witness. They remained Jews, however, not only in their cultivation of trade and various industries, but also in the most vital particular--their religion. This, and the fact that they lived in isolated communities among the surrounding population, marked them out as the salt of the desert. In the Ḥijáz their spiritual predominance was not seriously challenged. It was otherwise in Yemen. We may leave out of account the legend according to which Judaism was introduced into that country from the Ḥijáz by the Tubba‘ As‘ad Kámil. What is certain is that towards the beginning of the sixth century it was firmly planted there side by side with Christianity, and that in the person of the Ḥimyarite monarch Dhú Nuwás, who adopted the Jewish faith, it won a short-lived but sanguinary triumph over its rival. But in Yemen, except among the highlanders of Najrán, Christianity does not appear to have flourished as it did in the extreme north and north-east, where the Roman and Persian frontiers were guarded by the Arab levies of Ghassán and Ḥíra. We have seen that the latter city contained a large Christian population who were called distinctively ‘Ibád, i.e., Servants (of God). Through them the Aramaic culture of Babylonia was transmitted to all parts of the peninsula. They had learned the art of writing long before it was generally practised in Arabia, as is shown by the story of Ṭarafa and Mutalammis, and they produced the oldest written poetry in the Arabic language--a poetry very different in character from that which forms the main subject of this chapter. Unfortunately the bulk of it has perished, since the rhapsodists, to whom we owe the preservation of so much Pre-islamic verse, were devoted to the traditional models and would not burden their memories with anything new-fashioned. The most famous of the ‘Ibádí poets is ‘Adí b. Zayd, whose adventurous career as a politician has been sketched above. He is not reckoned by Muḥammadan critics among the Fuḥúl or poets of the first rank, because he was a townsman (qarawí). In this connection the following anecdote is instructive. The poet al-‘Ajjáj († about 709 A.D.) said of his contemporaries al-Ṭirimmáḥ and al-Kumayt: "They used to ask me concerning rare expressions in the language of poetry, and I informed them, but afterwards I found the same expressions wrongly applied in their poems, the reason being that they were townsmen who described what they had not seen and misapplied it, whereas I who am a Bedouin describe what I have seen and apply it properly."[267] ‘Adí is chiefly remembered for his wine-songs. Oriental Christianity has always been associated with the drinking and selling of wine. Christian ideas were carried into the heart of Arabia by ‘Ibádí wine merchants, who are said to have taught their religion to the celebrated A‘shá. ‘Adí drank and was merry like the rest, but the underlying thought, 'for to-morrow we die,' repeatedly makes itself heard. He walks beside a cemetery, and the voices of the dead call to him--[268]

"Thou who seest us unto thyself shalt say, 'Soon upon me comes the season of decay.' Can the solid mountains evermore sustain Time's vicissitudes and all they bring in train? Many a traveller lighted near us and abode, Quaffing wine wherein the purest water flowed-- Strainers on each flagon's mouth to clear the wine, Noble steeds that paw the earth in trappings fine! For a while they lived in lap of luxury, Fearing no misfortune, dallying lazily. Then, behold, Time swept them all, like chaff, away: Thus it is men fall to whirling Time a prey. Thus it is Time keeps the bravest and the best Night and day still plunged in Pleasure's fatal quest."

It is said that the recitation of these verses induced Nu‘mán al-Akbar, one of the mythical pagan kings of Ḥíra, to accept Christianity and become an anchorite. Although the story involves an absurd anachronism, it is ben trovato in so far as it records the impression which the graver sort of Christian poetry was likely to make on heathen minds.

[Sidenote: Pre-Islamic poetry not exclusively pagan in sentiment.]

The courts of Ḥíra and Ghassán were well known to the wandering minstrels of the time before Muḥammad, who flocked thither in eager search of patronage and remuneration. We may be sure that men like Nábigha, Labíd, and A‘shá did not remain unaffected by the culture around them, even if it seldom entered very deeply into their lives. That considerable traces of religious feeling are to be found in Pre-islamic poetry admits of no denial, but the passages in question were formerly explained as due to interpolation. This view no longer prevails. Thanks mainly to the arguments of Von Kremer, Sir Charles Lyall, and Wellhausen, it has come to be recognised (1) that in many cases the above-mentioned religious feeling is not Islamic in tone; (2) that the passages in which it occurs are not of Islamic origin; and (3) that it is the natural and necessary result of the widely spread, though on the whole superficial, influence of Judaism, and especially of Christianity.[269] It shows itself not only in frequent allusions, e.g., to the monk in his solitary cell, whose lamp serves to light belated travellers on their way, and in more significant references, such as that of Zuhayr already quoted, to the Heavenly Book in which evil actions are enscrolled for the Day of Reckoning, but also in the tendency to moralise, to look within, to meditate on death, and to value the life of the individual rather than the continued existence of the family. These things are not characteristic of old Arabian poetry, but the fact that they do appear at times is quite in accord with the other facts which have been stated, and justifies the conclusion that during the sixth century religion and culture were imperceptibly extending their sphere of influence in Arabia, leavening the pagan masses, and gradually preparing the way for Islam.

IV. THE PROPHET AND THE KORAN

With the appearance of Muḥammad the almost impenetrable veil thrown over the preceding age is suddenly lifted and we find ourselves on the solid ground of historical tradition. In order that the reasons for this change may be understood, it is necessary to give some account of the principal sources from which our knowledge of the Prophet's life and teaching is derived.

[Sidenote: Sources of information: I. The Koran.]

[Sidenote: How it was preserved.]

[Sidenote: Value of the Koran as an authority.]

There is first, of course, the Koran,[270] consisting "exclusively of the revelations or commands which Muḥammad professed, from time to time, to receive through Gabriel as a message direct from God; and which, under an alleged Divine direction, he delivered to those about him. At the time of pretended inspiration, or shortly after, each passage was recited by Muḥammad before the Companions or followers who happened to be present, and was generally committed to writing by some one amongst them upon palm-leaves, leather, stones, or such other rude material as conveniently came to hand. These Divine messages continued throughout the three-and-twenty years of his prophetical life, so that the last portion did not appear till the year of his death. The canon was then closed; but the contents were never, during the Prophet's lifetime, systematically arranged, or even collected together."[271] They were preserved, however, in fragmentary copies and, especially, by oral recitation until the sanguinary wars which followed Muḥammad's death had greatly diminished the number of those who could repeat them by heart. Accordingly, after the battle of Yamáma (633 A.D.) ‘Umar b. al-Khaṭṭáb came to Abú Bakr, who was then Caliph, and said: "I fear that slaughter may wax hot among the Reciters on other battle-fields, and that much of the Koran may be lost; so in my opinion it should be collected without delay." Abú Bakr agreed, and entrusted the task to Zayd b. Thábit, one of the Prophet's amanuenses, who collected the fragments with great difficulty "from bits of parchment, thin white stones, leafless palm-branches, and the bosoms of men." The manuscript thus compiled was deposited with Abú Bakr during the remainder of his life, then with ‘Umar, on whose death it passed to his daughter Ḥafṣa. Afterwards, in the Caliphate of ‘Uthmán, Ḥudhayfa b. al-Yamán, observing that the Koran as read in Syria was seriously at variance with the text current in ‘Iráq, warned the Caliph to interfere, lest the Sacred Book of the Moslems should become a subject of dispute, like the Jewish and Christian scriptures. In the year 651 A.D. ‘Uthmán ordered Zayd b. Thábit to prepare a Revised Version with the assistance of three Qurayshites, saying to the latter, "If ye differ from Zayd regarding any word of the Koran, write it in the dialect of Quraysh; for it was revealed in their dialect."[272] This has ever since remained the final and standard recension of the Koran. "Transcripts were multiplied and forwarded to the chief cities in the empire, and all previously existing copies were, by the Caliph's command, committed to the flames."[273] In the text as it has come down to us the various readings are few and unimportant, and its genuineness is above suspicion. We shall see, moreover, that the Koran is an exceedingly human document, reflecting every phase of Muḥammad's personality and standing in close relation to the outward events of his life, so that here we have materials of unique and incontestable authority for tracing the origin and early development of Islam--such materials as do not exist in the case of Buddhism or Christianity or any other ancient religion. Unfortunately the arrangement of the Koran can only be described as chaotic. No chronological sequence is observed in the order of the Súras (chapters), which is determined simply by their length, the longest being placed first.[274] Again, the chapters themselves are sometimes made up of disconnected fragments having nothing in common except the rhyme; whence it is often impossible to discover the original context of the words actually spoken by the Prophet, the occasion on which they were revealed, or the period to which they belong. In these circumstances the Koran must be supplemented by reference to our second main source of information, namely, Tradition.

[Sidenote: 2. Tradition (Ḥadíth).]

[Sidenote: Biographies of Muḥammad.]

[Sidenote: General collections.]

[Sidenote: Commentaries on the Koran.]

Already in the last years of Muḥammad's life (writes Dr. Sprenger) it was a pious custom that when two Moslems met, one should ask for news (ḥadíth) and the other should relate a saying or anecdote of the Prophet. After his death this custom continued, and the name Ḥadíth was still applied to sayings and stories which were no longer new.[275] In the course of time an elaborate system of Tradition was built up, as the Koran--originally the sole criterion by which Moslems were guided alike in the greatest and smallest matters of public and private interest--was found insufficient for the complicated needs of a rapidly extending empire. Appeal was made to the sayings and practice (sunna) of Muḥammad, which now acquired "the force of law and some of the authority of inspiration." The Prophet had no Boswell, but almost as soon as he began to preach he was a marked man whose obiter dicta could not fail to be treasured by his Companions, and whose actions were attentively watched. Thus, during the first century of Islam there was a multitude of living witnesses from whom traditions were collected, committed to memory, and orally handed down. Every tradition consists of two parts: the text (matn) and the authority (sanad, or isnád), e.g., the relater says, "I was told by A, who was informed by B, who had it from C, that the Prophet (God bless him!) and Abú Bakr and ‘Umar used to open prayer with the words 'Praise to God, the Lord of all creatures.'" Written records and compilations were comparatively rare in the early period. Ibn Isḥáq († 768 A.D.) composed the oldest extant Biography of the Prophet, which we do not possess, however, in its original shape but only in the recension of Ibn Hishám († 833 A.D.). Two important and excellent works of the same kind are the Kitábu ’l-Maghází ('Book of the Wars') by Wáqidí († 822 A.D.) and the Kitábu ’l-Ṭabaqát al-Kabír ('The Great Book of the Classes,' i.e., the different classes of Muḥammad's Companions and those who came after them) by Ibn Sa‘d († 844 A.D.). Of miscellaneous traditions intended to serve the Faithful as a model and rule of life in every particular, and arranged in chapters according to the subject-matter, the most ancient and authoritative collections are those of Bukhárí († 870 A.D.) and Muslim († 874 A.D.), both of which bear the same title, viz., al-Ṣaḥíḥ, 'The Genuine.' It only remains to speak of Commentaries on the Koran. Some passages were explained by Muḥammad himself, but the real founder of Koranic Exegesis was ‘Abdulláh b. ‘Abbás, the Prophet's cousin. Although the writings of the early interpreters have entirely perished, the gist of their researches is embodied in the great commentary of Ṭabarí († 922 A.D.), a man of encyclopædic learning who absorbed the whole mass of tradition existing in his time. Subsequent commentaries are largely based on this colossal work, which has recently been published at Cairo in thirty volumes. That of Zamakhsharí († 1143 A.D.), which is entitled the Kashsháf, and that of Bayḍáwí († 1286 A.D.) are the best known and most highly esteemed in the Muḥammadan East. A work of wider scope is the Itqán of Suyúṭí († 1505 A.D.), which takes a general survey of the Koranic sciences, and may be regarded as an introduction to the critical study of the Koran.

[Sidenote: Character of Moslem tradition.]

While every impartial student will admit the justice of Ibn Qutayba's claim that no religion has such historical attestations as Islam--laysa li-ummatin mina ’l-umami asnádun ka-asnádihim[276]--he must at the same time cordially assent to the observation made by another Muḥammadan: "In nothing do we see pious men more given to falsehood than in Tradition" (lam nara ’l-ṣáliḥína? fí shayin akdhaba minhum fi ’l-ḥadíth).[277] Of this severe judgment the reader will find ample confirmation in the Second Part of Goldziher's Muhammedanische Studien.[278] During the first century of Islam the forging of Traditions became a recognised political and religious weapon, of which all parties availed themselves. Even men of the strictest piety practised this species of fraud (tadlís), and maintained that the end justified the means. Their point of view is well expressed in the following words which are supposed to have been spoken by the Prophet: "You must compare the sayings attributed to me with the Koran; what agrees therewith is from me, whether I actually said it or no;" and again, "Whatever good saying has been said, I myself have said it."[279] As the result of such principles every new doctrine took the form of an Apostolic Ḥadíth; every sect and every system defended itself by an appeal to the authority of Muḥammad. We may see how enormous was the number of false Traditions in circulation from the fact that when Bukhárí († 870 A.D.) drew up his collection entitled 'The Genuine' (al-Ṣaḥíḥ), he limited it to some 7,000, which he picked out of 600,000.

The credibility of Tradition, so far as it concerns the life of the Prophet, cannot be discussed in this place.[280] The oldest and best biography, that of Ibn Isḥáq, undoubtedly contains a great deal of fabulous matter, but his narrative appears to be honest and fairly authentic on the whole.

[Sidenote: Birth of Muḥammad.]

If we accept the traditional chronology, Muḥammad, son of ‘Abdulláh and Ámina, of the tribe of Quraysh, was born at Mecca on the 12th of Rabí‘ al-Awwal, in the Year of the Elephant (570-571 A.D.). His descent from Quṣayy is shown by the following table:--

Quṣayy. │ ‘Abd Manáf. │ ┌────────┴───────────┐ │ │ ‘Abd Shams. Háshim. │ │ Umayya. ‘Abdu ’l-Muṭṭalib. │ ┌───────────+─────────────┐ │ │ │ ‘Abbás. ‘Abdulláh. Abú Ṭálib. │ MUḤAMMAD.

[Sidenote: His childhood.]

Shortly after his birth he was handed over to a Bedouin nurse--Ḥalíma, a woman of the Banú Sa‘d--so that until he was five years old he breathed the pure air and learned to speak the unadulterated language of the desert. One marvellous event which is said to have happened to him at this time may perhaps be founded on fact:--

[Sidenote: Muḥammad and the two angels.]

"He and his foster-brother" (so Ḥalíma relates) "were among the cattle behind our encampment when my son came running to us and cried, 'My brother, the Qurayshite! two men clad in white took him and laid him on his side and cleft his belly; and they were stirring their hands in it.' When my husband and I went out to him we found him standing with his face turned pale, and on our asking, 'What ails thee, child?' he answered, 'Two men wearing white garments came to me and laid me on my side and cleft my belly and groped for something, I know not what.' We brought him back to our tent, and my husband said to me, 'O Ḥalíma, I fear this lad has been smitten (uṣíba); so take him home to his family before it becomes evident.' When we restored him to his mother she said, 'What has brought thee, nurse? Thou wert so fond of him and anxious that he should stay with thee.' I said, 'God has made him grow up, and I have done my part. I feared that some mischance would befall him, so I brought him back to thee as thou wishest.' 'Thy case is not thus,' said she; 'tell me the truth,' and she gave me no peace until I told her. Then she said, 'Art thou afraid that he is possessed by the Devil?' I said, 'Yes.' 'Nay, by God,' she replied, 'the Devil cannot reach him; my son hath a high destiny.'"[281]

Other versions of the story are more explicit. The angels, it is said, drew forth Muḥammad's heart, cleansed it, and removed the black clot--i.e., the taint of original sin.[282] If these inventions have any basis at all beyond the desire to glorify the future Prophet, we must suppose that they refer to some kind of epileptic fit. At a later period he was subject to such attacks, which, according to the unanimous voice of Tradition, often coincided with the revelations sent down from heaven.

[Sidenote: His meeting with the monk Baḥírá.]

‘Abdulláh had died before the birth of his son, and when, in his sixth year, Muḥammad lost his mother also, the charge of the orphan was undertaken first by his grandfather, the aged ‘Abdu ’l-Muṭṭalib, and then by his uncle, Abú Ṭálib, a poor but honourable man, who nobly fulfilled the duties of a guardian to the last hour of his life. Muḥammad's small patrimony was soon spent, and he was reduced to herding sheep--a despised employment which usually fell to the lot of women or slaves. In his twelfth year he accompanied Abú Ṭálib on a trading expedition to Syria, in the course of which he is said to have encountered a Christian monk called Baḥírá, who discovered the Seal of Prophecy between the boy's shoulders, and hailed him as the promised apostle. Such anticipations deserve no credit whatever. The truth is that until Muḥammad assumed the prophetic rôle he was merely an obscure Qurayshite; and scarcely anything related of him anterior to that event can be deemed historical except his marriage to Khadíja, an elderly widow of considerable fortune, which took place when he was about twenty-five years of age.

[Sidenote: The Ḥanífs.]

During the next fifteen years of his life Muḥammad was externally a prosperous citizen, only distinguished from those around him by an habitual expression of thoughtful melancholy. What was passing in his mind may be conjectured with some probability from his first utterances when he came forward as a preacher. It is certain, and he himself has acknowledged, that he formerly shared the idolatry of his countrymen. "Did not He find thee astray and lead thee aright?" (Kor. xciii, 7). When and how did the process of conversion begin? These questions cannot be answered, but it is natural to suppose that the all-important result, on which Muḥammad's biographers concentrate their attention, was preceded by a long period of ferment and immaturity. The idea of monotheism was represented in Arabia by the Jews, who were particularly numerous in the Ḥijáz, and by several gnostic sects of an ascetic character--e.g., the Ṣábians[283] and the Rakúsians. Furthermore, "Islamic tradition knows of a number of religious thinkers before Muḥammad who are described as Ḥanífs,"[284] and of whom the best known are Waraqa b. Nawfal of Quraysh; Zayd b. ‘Amr b. Nufayl, also of Quraysh; and Umayya b. Abi ’l-Ṣalt of Thaqíf. They formed no sect, as Sprenger imagined; and more recent research has demonstrated the baselessness of the same scholar's theory that there was in Pre-islamic times a widely-spread religious movement which Muḥammad organised, directed, and employed for his own ends. His Arabian precursors, if they may be so called, were merely a few isolated individuals. We are told by Ibn Isḥáq that Waraqa and Zayd, together with two other Qurayshites, rejected idolatry and left their homes in order to seek the true religion of Abraham, but whereas Waraqa is said to have become a Christian, Zayd remained a pious dissenter unattached either to Christianity or to Judaism; he abstained from idol-worship, from eating that which had died of itself, from blood, and from the flesh of animals offered in sacrifice to idols; he condemned the barbarous custom of burying female infants alive, and said, "I worship the Lord of Abraham."[285] As regards Umayya b. Abi ’l-Ṣalt, according to the notice of him in the Aghání, he had inspected and read the Holy Scriptures; he wore sackcloth as a mark of devotion, held wine to be unlawful, was inclined to disbelieve in idols, and earnestly sought the true religion. It is said that he hoped to be sent as a prophet to the Arabs, and therefore when Muḥammad appeared he envied and bitterly opposed him.[286] Umayya's verses, some of which have been translated in a former chapter,[287] are chiefly on religious topics, and show many points of resemblance with the doctrines set forth in the early Súras of the Koran. With one exception, all the Ḥanífs whose names are recorded belonged to the Ḥijáz and the west of the Arabian peninsula. No doubt Muḥammad, with whom most of them were contemporary, came under their influence, and he may have received his first stimulus from this quarter.[288] While they, however, were concerned only about their own salvation, Muḥammad, starting from the same position, advanced far beyond it. His greatness lies not so much in the sublime ideas by which he was animated as in the tremendous force and enthusiasm of his appeal to the universal conscience of mankind.

[Sidenote: Muḥammad's vision.]

In his fortieth year, it is said, Muḥammad began to dream dreams and see visions, and desire solitude above all things else. He withdrew to a cave on Mount Ḥirá, near Mecca, and engaged in religious austerities (taḥannuth). One night in the month of Ramaḍán[289] the Angel[290] appeared to him and said, "Read!" (iqra’). He answered, "I am no reader" (má ana bi-qári’in).[291] Then the Angel seized him with a strong grasp, saying, "Read!" and, as Muḥammad still refused to obey, gripped him once more and spoke as follows:--

THE SÚRA OF COAGULATED BLOOD (XCVI).

(1) Read in the name of thy Lord[292] who created, (2) Who created Man of blood coagulated. (3) Read! Thy Lord is the most beneficent, (4) Who taught by the Pen,[293] (5) Taught that which they knew not unto men.

On hearing these words Muḥammad returned, trembling, to Khadíja and cried, "Wrap me up! wrap me up!" and remained covered until the terror passed away from him.[294] Another tradition relating to the same event makes it clear that the revelation occurred in a dream.[295] "I awoke," said the Prophet, "and methought it was written in my heart." If we take into account the notions prevalent among the Arabs of that time on the subject of inspiration,[296] it will not appear surprising that Muḥammad at first believed himself to be possessed, like a poet or soothsayer, by one of the spirits called collectively Jinn. Such was his anguish of mind that he even meditated suicide, but Khadíja comforted and reassured him, and finally he gained the unalterable conviction that he was not a prey to demoniacal influences, but a prophet divinely inspired. For some time he received no further revelation.[297] Then suddenly, as he afterwards related, he saw the Angel seated on a throne between earth and heaven. Awe-stricken, he ran into his house and bade them wrap his limbs in a warm garment (dithár). While he lay thus the following verses were revealed:--

THE SÚRA OF THE ENWRAPPED (LXXIV).

(1) O thou who enwrapped dost lie! (2) Arise and prophesy,[298] (3) And thy Lord magnify, (4) And thy raiment purify, (5) And the abomination fly![299]

Muḥammad no longer doubted that he had a divinely ordained mission to preach in public. His feelings of relief and thankfulness are expressed in several Súras of this period, e.g.--

THE SÚRA OF THE MORNING (XCIII).

(1) By the Morning bright (2) And the softly falling Night, (3) Thy Lord hath not forsaken thee, neither art thou hateful in His sight. (4) Verily, the Beginning is hard unto thee, but the End shall be light.[300] (5) Thou shalt be satisfied, the Lord shall thee requite. (6) Did not He shelter thee when He found thee in orphan's plight? (7) Did not He find thee astray and lead thee aright? (8) Did not He find thee poor and make thee rich by His might? (9) Wherefore, the orphan betray not, (10) And the beggar turn away not, (11) And tell of the bounty of thy Lord.

[Sidenote: The first Moslems.]

[Sidenote: Hostility of the Quraysh.]

[Sidenote: Emigration to Abyssinia.]

[Sidenote: Temporary reconciliation with the Quraysh.]

According to his biographers, an interval of three years elapsed between the sending of Muḥammad and his appearance as a public preacher of the faith that was in him. Naturally, he would first turn to his own family and friends, but it is difficult to accept the statement that he made no proselytes openly during so long a period. The contrary is asserted in an ancient tradition related by al-Zuhrí († 742 A.D.), where we read that the Prophet summoned the people to embrace Islam[301] both in private and public; and that those who responded to his appeal were, for the most part, young men belonging to the poorer class.[302] He found, however, some influential adherents. Besides Khadíja, who was the first to believe, there were his cousin ‘Alí, his adopted son, Zayd b. Ḥáritha, and, most important of all, Abú Bakr b. Abí Quháfa, a leading merchant of the Quraysh, universally respected and beloved for his integrity, wisdom, and kindly disposition. At the outset Muḥammad seems to have avoided everything calculated to offend the heathens, confining himself to moral and religious generalities, so that many believed, and the Meccan aristocrats themselves regarded him with good-humoured toleration as a harmless oracle-monger. "Look!" they said as he passed by, "there goes the man of the Banú ‘Abd al-Muṭṭalib who tells of heaven." But no sooner did he begin to emphasise the Unity of God, to fulminate against idolatry, and to preach the Resurrection of the dead, than his followers melted away in face of the bitter antagonism which these doctrines excited amongst the Quraysh, who saw in the Ka‘ba and its venerable cult the mainspring of their commercial prosperity, and were irritated by the Prophet's declaration that their ancestors were burning in hell-fire. The authority of Abú Ṭálib secured the personal safety of Muḥammad; of the little band who remained faithful some were protected by the strong family feeling characteristic of old Arabian society, but many were poor and friendless; and these, especially the slaves, whom the levelling ideas of Islam had attracted in large numbers, were subjected to cruel persecution.[303] Nevertheless Muḥammad continued to preach. "I will not forsake this cause" (thus he is said to have answered Abú Ṭálib, who informed him of the threatening attitude of the Quraysh and begged him not to lay on him a greater burden than he could bear) "until God shall make it prevail or until I shall perish therein--not though they should set the sun on my right hand and the moon on my left!"[304] But progress was slow and painful: the Meccans stood obstinately aloof, deriding both his prophetic authority and the Divine chastisement with which he sought to terrify them. Moreover, they used every kind of pressure short of actual violence in order to seduce his followers, so that many recanted, and in the fifth year of his mission he saw himself driven to the necessity of commanding a general emigration to the Christian kingdom of Abyssinia, where the Moslems would be received with open arms[305] and would be withdrawn from temptation.[306] About a hundred men and women went into exile, leaving their Prophet with a small party of staunch and devoted comrades to persevere in a struggle that was daily becoming more difficult. In a moment of weakness Muḥammad resolved to attempt a compromise with his countrymen. One day, it is said, the chief men of Mecca, assembled in a group beside the Ka‘ba, discussed as was their wont the affairs of the city, when Muḥammad appeared and, seating himself by them in a friendly manner, began to recite in their hearing the 53rd Súra of the Koran. When he came to the verses (19-20)--

"Do ye see Al-Lát and Al-‘Uzzá, and Manát, the third and last?"

Satan prompted him to add:--

"These are the most exalted Cranes (or Swans), And verily their intercession is to be hoped for."

The Quraysh were surprised and delighted with this acknowledgment of their deities; and as Muḥammad wound up the Súra with the closing words--

"Wherefore bow down before God and serve Him,"

the whole assembly prostrated themselves with one accord on the ground and worshipped.[307] But scarcely had Muḥammad returned to his house when he repented of the sin into which he had fallen. He cancelled the idolatrous verses and revealed in their place those which now stand in the Koran--

"Shall yours be the male and his the female?[308] This were then an unjust division! They are naught but names which ye and your fathers have named."

[Sidenote: Muḥammad's concession to the idolaters.]

We can easily comprehend why Ibn Hishám omits all mention of this episode from his Biography, and why the fact itself is denied by many Moslem theologians.[309] The Prophet's friends were scandalised, his enemies laughed him to scorn. It was probably no sudden lapse, as tradition represents, but a calculated endeavour to come to terms with the Quraysh; and so far from being immediately annulled, the reconciliation seems to have lasted long enough for the news of it to reach the emigrants in Abyssinia and induce some of them to return to Mecca. While putting the best face on the matter, Muḥammad felt keenly both his own disgrace and the public discredit. It speaks well for his sincerity that, as soon as he perceived any compromise with idolatry to be impossible--to be, in fact, a surrender of the great principle by which he was inspired--he frankly confessed his error and delusion. Henceforth he "wages mortal strife with images in every shape"--there is no god but Allah.

[Sidenote: Death of Khadíja and Abú Ṭálib.]

The further course of events which culminated in Muḥammad's Flight to Medína may be sketched in a few words. Persecution now waxed hotter than ever, as the Prophet, rising from his temporary vacillation like a giant refreshed, threw his whole force into the denunciation of idolatry. The conversion of ‘Umar b. al-Khaṭṭáb, the future Caliph, a man of 'blood and iron,' gave the signal for open revolt. "The Moslems no longer concealed their worship within their own dwellings, but with conscious strength and defiant attitude assembled in companies about the Ka‘ba, performed their rites of prayer and compassed the Holy House. Their courage rose. Dread and uneasiness seized the Quraysh." The latter retaliated by cutting off all relations with the Háshimites, who were pledged to defend their kinsman, whether they recognised him as a prophet or no. This ban or boycott secluded them in an outlying quarter of the city, where for more than two years they endured the utmost privations, but it only cemented their loyalty to Muḥammad, and ultimately dissensions among the Quraysh themselves caused it to be removed. Shortly afterwards the Prophet suffered a double bereavement--the death of his wife, Khadíja, was followed by that of the noble Abú Ṭálib, who, though he never accepted Islam, stood firm to the last in defence of his brother's son. Left alone to protect himself, Muḥammad realised that he must take some decisive step. The situation was critical. Events had shown that he had nothing to hope and everything to fear from the Meccan aristocracy. He had warned them again and again of the wrath to come, yet they gave no heed. He was now convinced that they would not and could not believe, since God in His inscrutable wisdom had predestined them to eternal damnation. Consequently he resolved on a bold and, according to Arab ways of thinking, abominable expedient, namely, to abandon his fellow-tribesmen and seek aid from strangers.[310] Having vainly appealed to the inhabitants of Ṭá’if, he turned to Medína, where, among a population largely composed of Jews, the revolutionary ideas of Islam might more readily take root and flourish than in the Holy City of Arabian heathendom. This time he was not disappointed. A strong party in Medína hailed him as the true Prophet, eagerly embraced his creed, and swore to defend him at all hazards. In the spring of the year 622 A.D. the Moslems of Mecca quietly left their homes and journeyed northward. A few months later (September, 622) Muḥammad himself, eluding the vigilance of the Quraysh, entered Medína in triumph amidst the crowds and acclamations due to a conqueror.

[Sidenote: The Hijra or Migration to Medina (622 A.D.).]

This is the celebrated Migration or Hegira (properly Hijra) which marks the end of the Barbaric Age (al-Jáhiliyya) and the beginning of the Muḥammadan Era. It also marks a new epoch in the Prophet's history; but before attempting to indicate the nature of the change it will be convenient, in order that we may form a juster conception of his character, to give some account of his early teaching and preaching as set forth in that portion of the Koran which was revealed at Mecca.

[Sidenote: The Koran.]

[Sidenote: Was Muḥammad poet?]

Koran (Qur’án) is derived from the Arabic root qara’a, 'to read,' and means 'reading aloud' or 'chanting.' This term may be applied either to a single Revelation or to several recited together or, in its usual acceptation, to the whole body of Revelations which are thought by Moslems to be, actually and literally, the Word of God; so that in quoting from the Koran they say qála ’lláhu, i.e., 'God said.' Each Revelation forms a separate Súra (chapter)[311] composed of verses of varying length which have no metre but are generally rhymed. Thus, as regards its external features, the style of the Koran is modelled upon the Saj‘,[312] or rhymed prose, of the pagan soothsayers, but with such freedom that it may fairly be described as original. Since it was not in Muḥammad's power to create a form that should be absolutely new, his choice lay between Saj‘ and poetry, the only forms of elevated style then known to the Arabs. He himself declared that he was no poet,[313] and this is true in the sense that he may have lacked the technical accomplishment of verse-making. It must, however, be borne in mind that his disavowal does not refer primarily to the poetic art, but rather to the person and character of the poets themselves. He, the divinely inspired Prophet, could have nothing to do with men who owed their inspiration to demons and gloried in the ideals of paganism which he was striving to overthrow. "And the poets do those follow who go astray! Dost thou not see that they wander distraught in every vale? and that they say that which they do not?" (Kor. xxvi, 224-226). Muḥammad was not of these; although he was not so unlike them as he pretended. His kinship with the pagan Shá‘ir is clearly shown, for example, in the 113th and 114th Súras, which are charms against magic and diablerie, as well as in the solemn imprecation calling down destruction upon the head of his uncle, ‘Abdu ’l-‘Uzzá, nicknamed Abú Lahab (Father of Flame).

THE SÚRA OF ABÚ LAHAB (CXI).

(1) Perish the hands of Abú Lahab and perish he! (2) His wealth shall not avail him nor all he hath gotten in fee. (3) Burned in blazing fire he shall be! (4) And his wife, the faggot-bearer, also she. (5) Upon her neck a cord of fibres of the palm-tree.

If, then, we must allow that Muḥammad's contemporaries had some justification for bestowing upon him the title of poet against which he protested so vehemently, still less can his plea be accepted by the modern critic, whose verdict will be that the Koran is not poetical as a whole; that it contains many pages of rhetoric and much undeniable prose; but that, although Muḥammad needed "heaven-sent moments for this skill," in the early Meccan Súras frequently, and fitfully elsewhere, his genius proclaims itself by grand lyrical outbursts which could never have been the work of a mere rhetorician.

[Sidenote: The Meccan Súras.]

"Muḥammad's single aim in the Meccan Súras," says Nöldeke, "is to convert the people, by means of persuasion, from their false gods to the One God. To whatever point the discourse is directed, this always remains the ground-thought; but instead of seeking to convince the reason of his hearers by logical proofs, he employs the arts of rhetoric to work upon their minds through the imagination. Thus he glorifies God, describes His working in Nature and History, and ridicules on the other hand the impotence of the idols. Especially important are the descriptions of the everlasting bliss of the pious and the torments of the wicked: these, particularly the latter, must be regarded as one of the mightiest factors in the propagation of Islam, through the impression which they make on the imagination of simple men who have not been hardened, from their youth up, by similar theological ideas. The Prophet often attacks his heathen adversaries personally and threatens them with eternal punishment; but while he is living among heathens alone, he seldom assails the Jews who stand much nearer to him, and the Christians scarcely ever."[314]

The preposterous arrangement of the Koran, to which I have already adverted, is mainly responsible for the opinion almost unanimously held by European readers that it is obscure, tiresome, uninteresting; a farrago of long-winded narratives and prosaic exhortations, quite unworthy to be named in the same breath with the Prophetical Books of the Old Testament. One may, indeed, peruse the greater part of the volume, beginning with the first chapter, and find but a few passages of genuine enthusiasm to relieve the prevailing dulness. It is in the short Súras placed at the end of the Koran that we must look for evidence of Muḥammad's prophetic gift. These are the earliest of all; in these the flame of inspiration burns purely and its natural force is not abated. The following versions, like those which have preceded, imitate the original form as closely, I think, as is possible in English. They cannot, of course, do more than faintly suggest the striking effect of the sonorous Arabic when read aloud. The Koran was designed for oral recitation, and it must be heard in order to be justly appraised.

THE SÚRA OF THE SEVERING (LXXXII).

(1) When the Sky shall be severèd, (2) And when the Stars shall be shiverèd, (3) And when the Seas to mingle shall be sufferèd, (4) And when the Graves shall be uncoverèd-- (5) A soul shall know that which it hath deferred or deliverèd.[315] (6) O Man, what beguiled thee against thy gracious Master to rebel, (7) Who created thee and fashioned thee right and thy frame did fairly build? (8) He composed thee in whatever form He willed. (9) Nay, but ye disbelieve in the Ordeal![316] (10) Verily over you are Recorders honourable, (11) Your deeds inscribing without fail:[317] (12) What ye do they know well. (13) Surely the pious in delight shall dwell, (14) And surely the wicked shall be in Hell, (15) Burning there on the Day of Ordeal; (16) And evermore Hell-fire they shall feel! (17) What shall make thee to understand what is the Day of Ordeal? (18) Again, what shall make thee to understand what is the Day of Ordeal?-- (19) A Day when one soul shall not obtain anything for another soul, but the command on that Day shall be with God alone.

THE SÚRA OF THE SIGNS (LXXXV).

(1) By the Heaven in which Signs are set, (2) By the Day that is promisèd, (3) By the Witness and the Witnessèd:-- (4) Cursèd be the Fellows of the Pit, they that spread (5) The fire with fuel fed, (6) When they sate by its head (7) And saw how their contrivance against the Believers sped;[318] (8) And they punished them not save that they believed on God, the Almighty, the Glorified, (9) To whom is the Kingdom of Heaven and Earth, and He seeth every thing beside. (10) Verily, for those who afflict believing men and women and repent not, the torment of Gehenna and the torment of burning is prepared. (11) Verily, for those who believe and work righteousness are Gardens beneath which rivers flow: this is the great Reward. (12) Stern is the vengeance of thy Lord. (13) He createth the living and reviveth the dead: (14) He doth pardon and kindly entreat: (15) The majestic Throne is His seat: (16) That he willeth He doeth indeed. (17) Hath not word come to thee of the multitude (18) Of Pharaoh, and of Thamúd?[319] (19) Nay, the infidels cease not from falsehood, (20) But God encompasseth them about. (21) Surely, it is a Sublime Koran that ye read, (22) On a Table inviolate.[320]

THE SÚRA OF THE SMITING (CI).

(1) The Smiting! What is the Smiting? (2) And how shalt thou be made to understand what is the Smiting? (3) The Day when Men shall be as flies scatterèd, (4) And the Mountains shall be as shreds of wool tatterèd. (5) One whose Scales are heavy, a pleasing life he shall spend, (6) But one whose Scales are light, to the Abyss he shall descend. (7) What that is, how shalt thou be made to comprehend? (8) Scorching Fire without end!

THE SÚRA OF THE UNBELIEVERS (CIX).

(1) Say: 'O Unbelievers, (2) I worship not that which ye worship, (3) And ye worship not that which I worship. (4) Neither will I worship that which ye worship, (5) Nor will ye worship that which I worship. (6) Ye have your religion and I have my religion.'

[Sidenote: The teaching of Muḥammad at Mecca.]

To summarise the cardinal doctrines preached by Muḥammad during the Meccan period:--

1. There is no god but God.

2. Muḥammad is the Apostle of God, and the Koran is the Word of God revealed to His Apostle.

3. The dead shall be raised to life at the Last Judgment, when every one shall be judged by his actions in the present life.

4. The pious shall enter Paradise and the wicked shall go down to Hell.

Taking these doctrines separately, let us consider a little more in detail how each of them is stated and by what arguments it is enforced. The time had not yet come for drawing the sword: Muḥammad repeats again and again that he is only a warner (nadhír) invested with no authority to compel where he cannot persuade.

[Sidenote: The Unity of God.]

1. The Meccans acknowledged the supreme position of Allah, but in ordinary circumstances neglected him in favour of their idols, so that, as Muḥammad complains, "When danger befalls you on the sea, the gods whom ye invoke are forgotten except Him alone; yet when He brought you safe to land, ye turned your backs on Him, for Man is ungrateful."[321] They were strongly attached to the cult of the Ka‘ba, not only by self-interest, but also by the more respectable motives of piety towards their ancestors and pride in their traditions. Muḥammad himself regarded Allah as Lord of the Ka‘ba, and called upon the Quraysh to worship him as such (Kor. cvi, 3). When they refused to do so on the ground that they were afraid lest the Arabs should rise against them and drive them forth from the land, he assured them that Allah was the author of all their prosperity (Kor. xxviii, 57). His main argument, however, is drawn from the weakness of the idols, which cannot create even a fly, contrasted with the wondrous manifestations of Divine power and providence in the creation of the heavens and the earth and all living things.[322]

It was probably towards the close of the Meccan period that Muḥammad summarised his Unitarian ideas in the following emphatic formula:--

THE SÚRA OF PURIFICATION (CXII).[323]

(1) Say: 'God is One; (2) God who liveth on; (3) Without father and without son; (4) And like to Him there is none!'

[Sidenote: Muḥammad, the Apostle of God.]

2. We have seen that when Muḥammad first appeared as a prophet he was thought by all except a very few to be majnún, i.e., possessed by a jinní, or genie, if I may use a word which will send the reader back to his Arabian Nights. The heathen Arabs regarded such persons--soothsayers, diviners, and poets--with a certain respect; and if Muḥammad's 'madness' had taken a normal course, his claim to inspiration would have passed unchallenged. What moved the Quraysh to oppose him was not disbelief in his inspiration--it mattered little to them whether he was under the spell of Allah or one of the Jinn--but the fact that he preached doctrines which wounded their sentiments, threatened their institutions, and subverted the most cherished traditions of old Arabian life. But in order successfully to resist the propaganda for which he alleged a Divine warrant, they were obliged to meet him on his own ground and to maintain that he was no prophet at all, no Apostle of Allah, as he asserted, but "an insolent liar," "a schooled madman," "an infatuated poet," and so forth; and that his Koran, which he gave out to be the Word of Allah, was merely "old folks' tales" (asáṭíru ’l-awwalín), or the invention of a poet or a sorcerer. "Is not he," they cried, "a man like ourselves, who wishes to domineer over us? Let him show us a miracle, that we may believe." Muḥammad could only reiterate his former assertions and warn the infidels that a terrible punishment was in store for them either in this world or the next. Time after time he compares himself to the ancient prophets--Noah, Abraham, Moses, and their successors--who are represented as employing exactly the same arguments and receiving the same answers as Muḥammad; and bids his people hearken to him lest they utterly perish like the ungodly before them. The truth of the Koran is proved, he says, by the Pentateuch and the Gospel, all being Revelations of the One God, and therefore identical in substance. He is no mercenary soothsayer, he seeks no personal advantage: his mission is solely to preach. The demand for a miracle he could not satisfy except by pointing to his visions of the Angel and especially to the Koran itself, every verse of which was a distinct sign or miracle (áyat).[324] If he has forged it, why are his adversaries unable to produce anything similar? "Say: 'If men and genies united to bring the like of this Koran, they could not bring the like although they should back each other up'" (Kor. xvii, 90).

[Sidenote: Resurrection and Retribution.]

3. Such notions of a future life as were current in Pre-islamic Arabia never rose beyond vague and barbarous superstition, e.g., the fancy that the dead man's tomb was haunted by his spirit in the shape of a screeching owl.[325] No wonder, then, that the ideas of Resurrection and Retribution, which are enforced by threats and arguments on almost every page of the Koran, appeared to the Meccan idolaters absurdly ridiculous and incredible. "Does Ibn Kabsha promise us that we shall live?" said one of their poets. "How can there be life for the ṣadá and the háma? Dost thou omit to ward me from death, and wilt thou revive me when my bones are rotten?"[326] God provided His Apostle with a ready answer to these gibes: "Say: 'He shall revive them who produced them at first, for He knoweth every creation" (Kor. xxxvi, 79). This topic is eloquently illustrated, but Muḥammad's hearers were probably less impressed by the creative power of God as exhibited in Nature and in Man than by the awful examples, to which reference has been made, of His destructive power as manifested in History. To Muḥammad himself, at the outset of his mission, it seemed an appalling certainty that he must one day stand before God and render an account; the overmastering sense of his own responsibility goaded him to preach in the hope of saving his countrymen, and supplied him, weak and timorous as he was, with strength to endure calumny and persecution. As Nöldeke has remarked, the grandest Súras of the whole Koran are those in which Muḥammad describes how all Nature trembles and quakes at the approach of the Last Judgment. "It is as though one actually saw the earth heaving, the mountains crumbling to dust, and the stars hurled hither and thither in wild confusion."[327] Súras lxxxii and ci, which have been translated above, are specimens of the true prophetic style.[328]

[Sidenote: The Muḥammadan Paradise.]

4. There is nothing spiritual in Muḥammad's pictures of Heaven and Hell. His Paradise is simply a glorified pleasure-garden, where the pious repose in cool shades, quaffing spicy wine and diverting themselves with the Houris (Ḥúr), lovely dark-eyed damsels like pearls hidden in their shells.[329] This was admirably calculated to allure his hearers by reminding them of one of their chief enjoyments--the gay drinking parties which occasionally broke the monotony of Arabian life, and which are often described in Pre-islamic poetry; indeed, it is highly probable that Muḥammad drew a good deal of his Paradise from this source. The gross and sensual character of the Muḥammadan Afterworld is commonly thought to betray a particular weakness of the Prophet or is charged to the Arabs in general, but as Professor Bevan has pointed out, "the real explanation seems to be that at first the idea of a future retribution was absolutely new both to Muḥammad himself and to the public which he addressed. Paradise and Hell had no traditional associations, and the Arabic language furnished no religious terminology for the expression of such ideas; if they were to be made comprehensible at all, it could only be done by means of precise descriptions, of imagery borrowed from earthly affairs."[330]

[Sidenote: Prayer.]

Muḥammad was no mere visionary. Ritual observances, vigils, and other austerities entered largely into his religion, endowing it with the formal and ascetic character which it retains to the present day. Prayer was introduced soon after the first Revelations: in one of the oldest (Súra lxxxvii, 14-15) we read, "Prosperous is he who purifies himself (or gives alms) and repeats the name of his Lord and prays." Although the five daily prayers obligatory upon every true believer are nowhere mentioned in the Koran, the opening chapter (Súratu ’l-Fátiḥa), which answers to our Lord's Prayer, is constantly recited on these occasions, and is seldom omitted from any act of public or private devotion. Since the Fátiḥa probably belongs to the latest Meccan period, it may find a place here.

THE OPENING SÚRA (I).

(1) In the name of God, the Merciful, who forgiveth aye! (2) Praise to God, the Lord of all that be, (3) The Merciful, who forgiveth aye, (4) The King of Judgment Day! (5) Thee we worship and for Thine aid we pray. (6) Lead us in the right way, (7) The way of those to whom thou hast been gracious, against whom thou hast not waxed wroth, and who go not astray!

[Sidenote: The Night journey and Ascension of Muḥammad.]

About the same time, shortly before the Migration, Muḥammad dreamed that he was transported from the Ka‘ba to the Temple at Jerusalem, and thence up to the seventh heaven. The former part of the vision is indicated in the Koran (xvii, 1): "Glory to him who took His servant a journey by night from the Sacred Mosque to the Farthest Mosque, the precinct whereof we have blessed, to show him of our signs!" Tradition has wondrously embellished the Mi‘ráj, by which name the Ascension of the Prophet is generally known throughout the East; while in Persia and Turkey it has long been a favourite theme for the mystic and the poet. According to the popular belief, which is also held by the majority of Moslem divines, Muḥammad was transported in the body to his journey's end, but he himself never countenanced this literal interpretation, though it seems to have been current in Mecca, and we are told that it caused some of his incredulous followers to abandon their faith.

[Sidenote: Muḥammad at Medína.]

Possessed and inspired by the highest idea of which man is capable, fearlessly preaching the truth revealed to him, leading almost alone what long seemed to be a forlorn hope against the impregnable stronghold of superstition, yet facing these tremendous odds with a calm resolution which yielded nothing to ridicule or danger, but defied his enemies to do their worst--Muḥammad in the early part of his career presents a spectacle of grandeur which cannot fail to win our sympathy and admiration. At Medína, whither we must now return, he appears in a less favourable light: the days of pure religious enthusiasm have passed away for ever, and the Prophet is overshadowed by the Statesman. The Migration was undoubtedly essential to the establishment of Islam. It was necessary that Muḥammad should cut himself off from his own people in order that he might found a community in which not blood but religion formed the sole bond that was recognised. This task he accomplished with consummate sagacity and skill, though some of the methods which he employed can only be excused by his conviction that whatever he did was done in the name of Allah. As the supreme head of the Moslem theocracy both in spiritual and temporal matters--for Islam allows no distinction between Church and State--he exercised absolute authority, and he did not hesitate to justify by Divine mandate acts of which the heathen Arabs, cruel and treacherous as they were, might have been ashamed to be guilty. We need not inquire how much was due to belief in his inspiration and how much to deliberate policy. If it revolts us to see God Almighty introduced in the rôle of special pleader, we ought to remember that Muḥammad, being what he was, could scarcely have considered the question from that point of view.

[Sidenote: Medína predisposed to welcome Muḥammad as Legislator and Prophet.]

The conditions prevailing at Medína were singularly adapted to his design. Ever since the famous battle of Bu‘áth (about 615 A.D.), in which the Banú Aws, with the help of their Jewish allies, the Banú Qurayẓa and the Banú Naḍír, inflicted a crushing defeat upon the Banú Khazraj, the city had been divided into two hostile camps; and if peace had hitherto been preserved, it was only because both factions were too exhausted to renew the struggle. Wearied and distracted by earthly calamities, men's minds willingly admit the consolations of religion. We find examples of this tendency at Medína even before the Migration. Abú ‘Ámir, whose ascetic life gained for him the title of 'The Monk' (al-Ráhib), is numbered among the Ḥanífs.[331] He fought in the ranks of the Quraysh at Uḥud, and finally went to Syria, where he died an outlaw. Another Pre-islamic monotheist of Medína, Abú Qays b. Abí Anas, is said to have turned Moslem in his old age.[332]

"The inhabitants of Medína had no material interest in idol-worship and no sanctuary to guard. Through uninterrupted contact with the Jews of the city and neighbourhood, as also with the Christian tribes settled in the extreme north of Arabia on the confines of the Byzantine Empire, they had learned, as it were instinctively, to despise their inherited belief in idols and to respect the far nobler and purer faith in a single God; and lastly, they had become accustomed to the idea of a Divine revelation by means of a special scripture of supernatural origin, like the Pentateuch and the Gospel. From a religious standpoint paganism in Medína offered no resistance to Islam: as a faith, it was dead before it was attacked; none defended it, none mourned its disappearance. The pagan opposition to Muḥammad's work as a reformer was entirely political, and proceeded from those who wished to preserve the anarchy of the old heathen life, and who disliked the dictatorial rule of Muḥammad."[333]

[Sidenote: Parties in Medína.]

There were in Medína four principal parties, consisting of those who either warmly supported or actively opposed the Prophet, or who adopted a relatively neutral attitude, viz., the Emigrants (Muhájirún), the Helpers (Anṣár), the Hypocrites (Munáfiqún), and the Jews (Yahúd).

[Sidenote: The Emigrants.]

The Emigrants were those Moslems who left their homes at Mecca and accompanied the Prophet in his Migration (Hijra)--whence their name, Muhájirún--to Medína in the year 622. Inasmuch as they had lost everything except the hope of victory and vengeance, he could count upon their fanatical devotion to himself.

[Sidenote: The Helpers.]

The Helpers were those inhabitants of Medína who had accepted Islam and pledged themselves to protect Muḥammad in case of attack. Together with the Emigrants they constituted a formidable and ever-increasing body of true believers, the first champions of the Church militant.

[Sidenote: The Hypocrites.]

"Many citizens of Medína, however, were not so well disposed towards Muḥammad, and neither acknowledged him as a Prophet nor would submit to him as their Ruler; but since they durst not come forward against him openly on account of the multitude of his enthusiastic adherents, they met him with a passive resistance which more than once thwarted his plans, their influence was so great that he, on his part, did not venture to take decisive measures against them, and sometimes even found it necessary to give way."[334]

These are the Hypocrites whom Muḥammad describes in the following verses of the Koran:--

THE SÚRA OF THE HEIFER (II).

(7) And there are those among men who say, 'We believe in God and in the Last Day'; but they do not believe.

(8) They would deceive God and those who do believe; but they deceive only themselves and they do not perceive.

(9) In their hearts is a sickness, and God has made them still more sick, and for them is grievous woe because they lied.[335]

Their leader, ‘Abdulláh b. Ubayy, an able man but of weak character, was no match for Muḥammad, whom he and his partisans only irritated, without ever becoming really dangerous.

[Sidenote: The Jews.]

The Jews, on the other hand, gave the Prophet serious trouble. At first he cherished high hopes that they would accept the new Revelation which he brought to them, and which he maintained to be the original Word of God as it was formerly revealed to Abraham and Moses; but when the Jews, perceiving the absurdity of this idea, plied him with all sorts of questions and made merry over his ignorance, Muḥammad, keenly alive to the damaging effect of the criticism to which he had exposed himself, turned upon his tormentors, and roundly accused them of having falsified and corrupted their Holy Books. Henceforth he pursued them with a deadly hatred against which their political disunion rendered them helpless. A few sought refuge in Islam; the rest were either slaughtered or driven into exile.

It is impossible to detail here the successive steps by which Muḥammad in the course of a few years overcame all opposition and established the supremacy of Islam from one end of Arabia to the other. I shall notice the outstanding events very briefly in order to make room for matters which are more nearly connected with the subject of this History.

[Sidenote: Beginnings of the Moslem State.]

Muḥammad's first care was to reconcile the desperate factions within the city and to introduce law and order among the heterogeneous elements which have been described. "He drew up in writing a charter between the Emigrants and the Helpers, in which charter he embodied a covenant with the Jews, confirming them in the exercise of their religion and in the possession of their properties, imposing upon them certain obligations, and granting to them certain rights."[336] This remarkable document is extant in Ibn Hishám's Biography of Muḥammad, pp. 341-344. Its contents have been analysed in masterly fashion by Wellhausen,[337] who observes with justice that it was no solemn covenant, accepted and duly ratified by representatives of the parties concerned, but merely a decree of Muḥammad based upon conditions already existing which had developed since his arrival in Medína. At the same time no one can study it without being impressed by the political genius of its author. Ostensibly a cautious and tactful reform, it was in reality a revolution. Muḥammad durst not strike openly at the independence of the tribes, but he destroyed it, in effect, by shifting the centre of power from the tribe to the community; and although the community included Jews and pagans as well as Moslems, he fully recognised, what his opponents failed to foresee, that the Moslems were the active, and must soon be the predominant, partners in the newly founded State.

[Sidenote: Battle of Badr, January, 624 A.D.]

[Sidenote: Battle of Uḥud, 625 A.D.]

[Sidenote: Submission of Mecca, 630 A.D.]

All was now ripe for the inevitable struggle with the Quraysh, and God revealed to His Apostle several verses of the Koran in which the Faithful are commanded to wage a Holy War against them: "Permission is given to those who fight because they have been wronged,--and verily God to help them has the might,--who have been driven forth from their homes undeservedly, only for that they said, 'Our Lord is God'" (xxii, 40-41). "Kill them wherever ye find them, and drive them out from whence they drive you out" (ii, 187). "Fight them that there be no sedition and that the religion may be God's" (ii, 189). In January, 624 A.D., the Moslems, some three hundred strong, won a glorious victory at Badr over a greatly superior force which had marched out from Mecca to relieve a rich caravan that Muḥammad threatened to cut off. The Quraysh fought bravely, but were borne down by the irresistible onset of men who had learned discipline in the mosque and looked upon death as a sure passport to Paradise. Of the Moslems only fourteen fell; the Quraysh lost forty-nine killed and about the same number of prisoners. But the importance of Muḥammad's success cannot be measured by the material damage which he inflicted. Considering the momentous issues involved, we must allow that Badr, like Marathon, is one of the greatest and most memorable battles in all history. Here, at last, was the miracle which the Prophet's enemies demanded of him: "Ye have had a sign in the two parties who met; one party fighting in the way of God, the other misbelieving; these saw twice the same number as themselves to the eyesight, for God aids with His help those whom He pleases. Verily in that is a lesson for those who have perception" (Kor. iii, 11). And again, "Ye slew them not, but God slew them" (Kor. viii, 17). The victory of Badr turned all eyes upon Muḥammad. However little the Arabs cared for his religion, they could not but respect the man who had humbled the lords of Mecca. He was now a power in the land--"Muḥammad, King of the Ḥijáz."[338] In Medína his cause flourished mightily. The zealots were confirmed in their faith, the waverers convinced, the disaffected overawed. He sustained a serious, though temporary, check in the following year at Uḥud, where a Moslem army was routed by the Quraysh under Abú Sufyán, but the victors were satisfied with having taken vengeance for Badr and made no attempt to follow up their advantage; while Muḥammad, never resting on his laurels, never losing sight of the goal, proceeded with remorseless calculation to crush his adversaries one after the other, until in January, 630 A.D., the Meccans themselves, seeing the futility of further resistance, opened their gates to the Prophet and acknowledged the omnipotence of Allah. The submission of the Holy City left Muḥammad without a rival in Arabia. His work was almost done. Deputations from the Bedouin tribes poured into Medína, offering allegiance to the conqueror of the Quraysh, and reluctantly subscribing to a religion in which they saw nothing so agreeable as the prospect of plundering its enemies.

[Sidenote: Death of Muḥammad, 632 A.D.]

Muḥammad died, after a brief illness, on the 8th of June, 632 A.D. He was succeeded as head of the Moslem community by his old friend and ever-loyal supporter, Abú Bakr, who thus became the first Khalífa, or Caliph. It only remains to take up our survey of the Koran, which we have carried down to the close of the Meccan period, and to indicate the character and contents of the Revelation during the subsequent decade.

[Sidenote: The Medína Súras.]

The Medína Súras faithfully reflect the marvellous change in Muḥammad's fortunes, which began with his flight from Mecca. He was now recognised as the Prophet and Apostle of God, but this recognition made him an earthly potentate and turned his religious activity into secular channels. One who united in himself the parts of prince, legislator, politician, diplomatist, and general may be excused if he sometimes neglected the Divine injunction to arise and preach, or at any rate interpreted it in a sense very different from that which he formerly attached to it. The Revelations of this time deal, to a large extent, with matters of legal, social, and political interest; they promulgate religious ordinances--e.g., fasting, alms-giving, and pilgrimage--expound the laws of marriage and divorce, and comment upon the news of the day; often they serve as bulletins or manifestoes in which Muḥammad justifies what he has done, urges the Moslems to fight and rebukes the laggards, moralises on a victory or defeat, proclaims a truce, and says, in short, whatever the occasion seems to require. Instead of the Meccan idolaters, his opponents in Medína--the Jews and Hypocrites--have become the great rocks of offence; the Jews especially are denounced in long passages as a stiff-necked generation who never hearkened to their own prophets of old. However valuable historically, the Medína Súras do not attract the literary reader. In their flat and tedious style they resemble those of the later Meccan period. Now and again the ashes burst into flame, though such moments of splendour are increasingly rare, as in the famous 'Throne-verse' (Áyatu ’l-Kursí):--

[Sidenote: The 'Throne-verse.']

"God, there is no god but He, the living, the self-subsistent. Slumber takes Him not, nor sleep. His is what is in the heavens and what is in the earth. Who is it that intercedes with Him save by His permission? He knows what is before them and what behind them, and they comprehend not aught of His knowledge but of what He pleases. His throne extends over the heavens and the earth, and it tires Him not to guard them both, for He is high and grand."[339]

[Sidenote: The nationalisation of Islam.]

The Islam which Muḥammad brought with him to Medína was almost entirely derived by oral tradition from Christianity and Judaism, and just for this reason it made little impression on the heathen Arabs, whose religious ideas were generally of the most primitive kind. Notwithstanding its foreign character and the absence of anything which appealed to Arabian national sentiment, it spread rapidly in Medína, where, as we have seen, the soil was already prepared for it; but one may well doubt whether it could have extended its sway over the peninsula unless the course of events had determined Muḥammad to associate the strange doctrines of Islam with the ancient heathen sanctuary at Mecca, the Ka‘ba, which was held in universal veneration by the Arabs and formed the centre of a worship that raised no difficulties in their minds. Before he had lived many months in Medína the Prophet realised that his hope of converting the Jews was doomed to disappointment. Accordingly he instructed his followers that they should no longer turn their faces in prayer towards the Temple at Jerusalem, as they had been accustomed to do since the Flight, but towards the Ka‘ba; while, a year or two later, he incorporated in Islam the superstitious ceremonies of the pilgrimage, which were represented as having been originally prescribed to Abraham, the legendary founder of the Ka‘ba, whose religion he professed to restore.

[Sidenote: Antagonism of Islamic and Arabian ideals.]

These concessions, however, were far from sufficient to reconcile the free-living and freethinking people of the desert to a religion which restrained their pleasures, forced them to pay taxes and perform prayers, and stamped with the name of barbarism all the virtues they held most dear. The teaching of Islam ran directly counter to the ideals and traditions of heathendom, and, as Goldziher has remarked, its originality lies not in its doctrines, which are Jewish and Christian, but in the fact that it was Muḥammad who first maintained these doctrines with persistent energy against the Arabian view of life.[340] While we must refer the reader to Dr. Goldziher's illuminating pages for a full discussion of the conflict between the new Religion (Dín) and the old Virtue (Muruwwa), it will not be amiss to summarise the chief points at which they clashed with each other.[341] In the first place, the fundamental idea of Islam was foreign and unintelligible to the Bedouins. "It was not the destruction of their idols that they opposed so much as the spirit of devotion which it was sought to implant in them: the determination of their whole lives by the thought of God and of His pre-ordaining and retributive omnipotence, the prayers and fasts, the renouncement of coveted pleasures, and the sacrifice of money and property which was demanded of them in God's name." In spite of the saying, Lá dína illá bi ’l-muruwwati ("There is no religion without virtue"), the Bedouin who accepted Islam had to unlearn the greater part of his unwritten moral code. As a pious Moslem he must return good for evil, forgive his enemy, and find balm for his wounded feelings in the assurance of being admitted to Paradise (Kor. iii, 128). Again, the social organisation of the heathen Arabs was based on the tribe, whereas that of Islam rested on the equality and fraternity of all believers. The religious bond cancelled all distinctions of rank and pedigree; it did away, theoretically, with clannish feuds, contests for honour, pride of race--things that lay at the very root of Arabian chivalry. "Lo," cried Muḥammad, "the noblest of you in the sight of God is he who most doth fear Him" (Kor. xlix, 13). Against such doctrine the conservative and material instincts of the desert people rose in revolt; and although they became Moslems en masse, the majority of them neither believed in Islam nor knew what it meant. Often their motives were frankly utilitarian: they expected that Islam would bring them luck; and so long as they were sound in body, and their mares had fine foals, and their wives bore well-formed sons, and their wealth and herds multiplied, they said, "We have been blessed ever since we adopted this religion," and were content; but if things went ill they blamed Islam and turned their backs on it.[342] That these men were capable of religious zeal is amply proved by the triumphs which they won a short time afterwards over the disciplined armies of two mighty empires; but what chiefly inspired them, apart from love of booty, was the conviction, born of success, that Allah was fighting on their side.

We have sketched, however barely and imperfectly, the progress of Islam from Muḥammad's first appearance as a preacher to the day of his death. In these twenty years the seeds were sown of almost every development which occurs in the political and intellectual history of the Arabs during the ages to come. More than any man that has ever lived, Muḥammad shaped the destinies of his people; and though they left him far behind as they moved along the path of civilisation, they still looked back to him for guidance and authority at each step. This is not the place to attempt an estimate of his character, which has been so diversely judged. Personally, I feel convinced that he was neither a shameless impostor nor a neurotic degenerate nor a socialistic reformer, but in the beginning, at all events, a sincere religious enthusiast, as truly inspired as any prophet of the Old Testament.

[Sidenote: Character of Muḥammad.]

"We find in him," writes De Goeje, "that sober understanding which distinguished his fellow-tribesmen: dignity, tact, and equilibrium; qualities which are seldom found in people of morbid constitution: self-control in no small degree. Circumstances changed him from a Prophet to a Legislator and a Ruler, but for himself he sought nothing beyond the acknowledgment that he was Allah's Apostle, since this acknowledgment includes the whole of Islam. He was excitable, like every true Arab, and in the spiritual struggle which preceded his call this quality was stimulated to an extent that alarmed even himself; but that does not make him a visionary. He defends himself, by the most solemn asseveration, against the charge that what he had seen was an illusion of the senses. Why should not we believe him?"[343]