Vol. VII, no. 1 (2003) - Mamluk Studies Review - University of Chicago

MAMLU±K STUDIES 

REVIEW 

VII 

2003 

MIDDLE EAST DOCUMENTATION CENTER (MEDOC) 

THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO


REVIEW 

Published by the MIDDLE EAST DOCUMENTATION CENTER (MEDOC) 

THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO 

Mamlu≠k Studies Review is an annual refereed journal devoted to the study of the Mamluk Sultanate 

of Egypt and Syria (648-922/1250-1517). The goals of Mamlu≠k Studies Review are to take stock of 

scholarship devoted to the Mamluk era, nurture communication within the field, and promote 

further research by encouraging the critical discussion of all aspects of this important medieval 

Islamic polity. The journal will include both articles and reviews of recent books. Submissions of 

original work on any aspect of the field are welcome, although the editorial board will periodically 

issue volumes devoted to specific topics and themes. Mamlu≠k Studies Review also solicits edited 

texts and translations of shorter Arabic source materials (waqf deeds, letters, fata≠wá and the like), 

and encourages discussions of Mamluk era artifacts (pottery, coins, etc.) that place these resources 

in wider contexts. Transliterated Middle Eastern languages should conform to the system utilized 

by the Library of Congress. All questions regarding style should be resolved through reference to 

The Chicago Manual of Style, 14th edition. All submissions should be typed double-spaced. 

Submissions must be made on labeled computer disk together with a printed copy. The print copy 

should have full and proper diacritics, but the disk copy should have no diacritics of any kind. 

Note: Readers of Mamlu≠k Studies Review who have access to the World Wide Web are referred to 

the MEDOC home page: http://www.lib.uchicago.edu/e/su/mideast. This site provides links to the 

searchable primary and secondary Mamluk bibliographies maintained by MEDOC. Authors may 

download editorial and style guidelines from the Mamluk Studies Review page. The site also has 

information about subscribing to the Mamluk listserv. The Mamluk listserv is an open forum for 

discussions of all aspects of the history and culture of the Mamluk Sultanate. The Editors of 

Mamlu≠k Studies Review encourage readers to use the listserv to comment upon and discuss issues 

raised in the Review. 

ISSN 1086-170X. Copyright © 2003 Middle East Documentation Center, The University of Chicago. 

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, in any form or by any means, 

electronic, photocopying or otherwise, without permission in writing from the Middle East 

Documentation Center. 

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© 2003, 2012 Middle East Documentation Center, The University of Chicago. 

http://mamluk.uchicago.edu/MamlukStudiesReview_VII-1_2003.pdf


REVIEW 

Editor 

BRUCE D. CRAIG, The University of Chicago 

Associate Editors 

MARLIS J. SALEH, The University of Chicago 

WARREN C. SCHULTZ, DePaul University 

Review Editor 

DAVID REISMAN, University of Illinois at Chicago 

Editorial Board 

REUVEN AMITAI, Hebrew University of Jerusalem 

DORIS BEHRENS-ABOUSEIF, School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London 

ANNE F. BROADBRIDGE, University of Massachusetts at Amherst 

W. W. CLIFFORD, The University of Chicago 

LI GUO, University of Notre Dame 

TH. EMIL HOMERIN, University of Rochester 

R. STEPHEN HUMPHREYS, University of California, Santa Barbara 

DONALD P. LITTLE, McGill University 

JOHN L. MELOY, American University of Beirut 

CARL F. PETRY, Northwestern University 

JOHN E. WOODS, The University of Chicago 



Editor's Note 

In the front matter of every volume of Mamluk Studies Review you will find a 

statement that ". . .the editorial board will periodically issue volumes devoted to 

specific topics and themes." With the partial exception of the first volume, with its 

heavy emphasis on "state of the art" essays, this is the first such volume. The topic 

addressed is the "literary culture" of the Mamluk era, and the hope of the editors is 

that these essays may serve to inspire a fresh and unbiased look at a topic that has 

too frequently been relegated to a sort of scholarly oblivion. 

It has been my good fortune to have had the assistance of Professor Th. Emil 

Homerin, of the University of Rochester, as my collaborator in the planning and 

execution of this volume. I want to take this opportunity to acknowledge his 

contribution as guest editor, and to thank him for his patience, energy, and insight. 

It should also be noted that Professor Donald P. Little lent a hand with the editing 

of several articles, and that his efforts have improved the volume substantially. 

Marlis Saleh has, as always, contributed significantly to the final product. Finally, 

thanks are due the individual contributors, who responded with enthusiasm to the 

opportunity to produce a volume on Mamluk literature. 



ARTICLES 

CONTENTS 

Mamluk Literature 1 

ROBERT IRWIN 

Poetry for Easy Listening: Insija≠m and Related 31 

Concepts in Ibn H˛ijjah's Khiza≠nat al-Adab 

GEERT JAN VAN GELDER 

Communication and Emotion: 49 

The Case of Ibn Nuba≠tah's Kindertotenlieder 

THOMAS BAUER 

An Alexandrian Age in Fourteenth-Century Damascus: 97 

Twin Commentaries on Two Celebrated Arabic Epistles 

EVERETT ROWSON 

Vindicating a Profession or a Personal Career? 111 

Al-Qalqashand|'s Maqa≠mah in Context 

MUHSIN JASSIM AL-MUSAWI 

The First Layer of the S|rat Baybars: Popular Romance 137 

and Political Propaganda 

THOMAS HERZOG 

The Shadow Play in Mamluk Egypt: 149 

The Genre and Its Cultural Implications 

AMILA BUTUROVI 

The Devil's Advocate: 177 

Ibn Da≠niya≠l's Art of Parody in His Qas˝|dah No. 71 

LI GUO 

Click any item in the Table of Contents to jump directly to its first page. 

Living Love: The Mystical Writings of 211 

‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠’u≠n|yah (d. 922/1516) 

TH. EMIL HOMERIN 



OBITUARY 

Laila ‘Ali Ibrahim, 1917–2002 235 

NASSER RABBAT 

BOOK REVIEWS 


H˛asan Raba≠bi‘ah, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah: Sha≠‘irah 

(Th. Emil Homerin) 237 

Moshe Hartal, The al-Sűbayba (Nimrod) Fortress: Towers 11 and 9: 

With Contributions by Reuven Amitai and Adrian Boas 

(Lorenz Korn) 239 

Shams al-D|n Muh˝ammad Ibn T˛u≠lu≠n, Mufa≠kahat al-Khilla≠n f| H˛awa≠dith al-Zama≠n, 

edited by S˛ala≠h˝ al-D|n Khal|l al-Shayba≠n| al-Maws˝il|, and 

Ah˝mad ibn Munla≠/Ibn T˛u≠lu≠n, Mut¸‘at al-Adhha≠n min al-Tamattu‘ bi-al-Iqra≠n 

bayna Tara≠jim al-Shuyu≠kh wa-al-Aqra≠n, 

edited by S˛ala≠h˝ al-D|n Khal|l al-Shayba≠n| al-Maws˝il| 

(Stephan Conermann) 242 

Jonathan P. Berkey, Popular Preaching and Religious Authority in the 

Medieval Islamic Near East 

(Th. Emil Homerin) 246 

Jean-Claude Garcin, ed., Grandes villes méditerranéennes du monde musulman médieval 

(Paulina Lewicka) 249 

‘Ima≠d Badr al-D|n Abu≠ Gha≠z|, Tat¸awwur al-H˝iya≠zah al-Zira≠‘|yah f| Mis˝r 

Zaman al-Mama≠l|k al-Jara≠kisah 

(Igarashi Daisuke) 254 

Ibn H˝ajar al-‘Asqala≠n|, Dhayl al-Durar al-Ka≠minah f| A‘ya≠n al-Mi’ah al-Tha≠minah, 

edited by Ah˝mad Far|d al-Maz|d|, 

Ibn H˝ajar al-‘Asqala≠n|, Dhayl al-Durar al-Ka≠minah f| A‘ya≠n al-Mi’ah al-Tha≠minah, 

edited by ‘Adna≠n Darw|sh, and 

Sulayma≠n Ibra≠h|m ibn Muh˝ammad Ibn Duqma≠q, Nuzhat al-Ana≠m f| Ta≠r|kh al-Isla≠m 

(Thomas Bauer) 257 

‘Az|z al-‘Az˝mah, Ibn Taym|yah 

(Jon Hoover) 262 




CONTENTS vii 

Sulayma≠n al-Madan|, T|mu≠rlank f| Dimashq 

(Zayde G. Antrim) 264 

Arnoud Vrolijk, Bringing a Laugh to a Scowling Face: a Study and Critical Edition 

of the "Nuzhat al-Nufu≠s wa-Mud˝h˝ik al-‘Abu≠s" by ‘Al| Ibn Su≠du≠n al-Ba£bug≥a≠w| 

(Cairo 810/1407–Damascus 868/1464), and 

‘Al| Ibn Su≠du≠n al-Yashbagha≠w|, Nuzhat al-Nufu≠s wa-Mud˝h˝ik al-‘Abu≠s, 

edited by Mah˝mu≠d Sa≠lim 

(Thomas Bauer ) 267 



ROBERT IRWIN 

LONDON, ENGLAND 

Mamluk Literature 

When the Mamluks took power first in Egypt and then in Syria, there must have 

been many who viewed their ascendancy with dread. During the 650s/1250s the 

S˛a≠lih˝| Bahri mamluks had acquired a reputation as rapacious thugs. The Mamluk 

Sultan Baybars (r. 658–76/1260–77), who was feared by his subjects rather than 

loved, had no literary culture and was, indeed, illiterate. Nevertheless, he did 

listen to readings of history. Specifically, he listened to the chronicle of his own 

exploits, the Rawd˝ al-Za≠hir f| S|rat al-Malik al-Z˛a≠hir, read to him by its author, 

the historian and senior chancery official Muh˝y| al-D|n ibn ‘Abd al-Z˛a≠hir. The 

sultan al-Mans˝u≠r Qala≠wu≠n showed little or no interest in literature and his Arabic 

was notably poor. However, as we shall see, even in that first generation of the 

Mamluk regime there were some amirs who took a serious interest in literature. 

More literate and literary mamluks emerged from the second and third generation 

of the military elite, for the Mamluk regime in Egypt and Syria relied on an 

unusually literate military elite. This was because the training of a young mamluk 

in the Cairo Citadel did not just include exercises with sword, lance, and bow. 

Twice every week, Arab scholars from the city came in to instruct the young 

mamluks how to speak and read Arabic, as well as the tenets of Islam. There was 

a faq|h assigned to each barrack (t¸abaqah) whose job it was to teach the young 

mamluks the Quran, the Arabic script, and elements of the shari‘ah. 1 Evidence 

survives from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries that the sultans' young mamluks 

in the Citadel were put to work copying manuscripts in the royal library. 2 

The Ayyubid library in the Citadel, the khiza≠nat al-kutub, had been destroyed 

by a fire in 1292, and it is not clear what steps were taken to replace the lost 

volumes. Subsequently, the wealthy amir and friend of Ibn Khaldu≠n, Jama≠l al-D|n 

Mah˝mu≠d ibn ‘Al| al-Usta≠da≠r, provided his Jama≠l| madrasah with a large collection 

of books purchased from the royal citadel. The sultans al-Mu’ayyad Shaykh and 

al-Z˛a≠hir Jaqmaq were fanatical book collectors, but it is not clear whether the 

books they collected ended up in the royal library of the Citadel. The chief 

concentration of institutional libraries was in the mosques and madrasahs of the 

©Middle East Documentation Center. The University of Chicago. 

1 

Ah˝mad ibn ‘Al| al-Maqr|z|, Al-Mawa≠‘iz¸ wa-al-l‘tiba≠r bi-Dhikr al-Khit¸at¸ wa-al-A±tha≠r (Bulaq, 

1853–54), 2:213–14. 

2 

Barbara Flemming, "Literary Activities in Mamluk Halls and Barracks," in Studies in Memory of 

Gaston Wiet, ed. Myriam Rosen-Ayalon (Jerusalem, 1977), 249–60. 



2 ROBERT IRWIN, MAMLUK LITERATURE 

Bayn al-Qas˝rayn. 3 To mark the restoration of the mosque of al-H˛a≠kim after the 

earthquake of 702/1302–3, Baybars II presented the mosque with a library of 500 

volumes on the religious sciences, literature, and history. 4 There were also private 

libraries amassed by some of the great amirs. The Cairo palace of Badr al-D|n 

Baysar| al-Shams| (d. 1298) had a grand collection of Arab books, as well as a 

certain "Turkish book" that so fascinated the historian Ibn al-Dawa≠da≠r|. 5 The 

wealthy vizier Amir Badr al-D|n Baydara≠ similarly amassed a great library. 

According to Ibn al-S˛uqa≠‘|, Baydara≠ liked adab and singing. 6 

Al-Maqr|z| once composed some verses in which he claimed that people who 

loitered about in markets were up to no good. The only exceptions he allowed 

were loitering in the weapons market or the book market. The main book market 

used to be in Fustat, east of the Mosque of ‘Amr. This market declined steeply in 

the fourteenth century, but al-Maqr|z| could still remember buying books there as 

a boy. In 700/1301, however, a new book market, the Su≠q al-Kutub|y|n, had been 

founded, close to the goldsmiths' market. This market was part of the waqf of the 

Mans˝u≠r| B|ma≠rista≠n. Another, smaller cluster of bookstalls was to be found close 

to the Azhar Mosque (and close also to the candle market, where the prostitutes 

used to hang out). In the fifteenth century, the Su≠q al-Warra≠q|n, or market of 

copyists, was close to Barsba≠y's madrasah. Bookshops were, of course, also copying 

shops and some of them also doubled as circulating libraries. 

Barracks, libraries, and bookshops apart, prisons also sometimes served as a 

somewhat unexpected learning environment for members of the Mamluk elite. 

Baybars al-Jashink|r studied Arabic in prison before becoming sultan. The sultan 

al-Na≠s˝ir Muh˝ammad already had Arabic when he was imprisoned, and he used it 

to study al-Bayhaq|'s eleventh-century writings on hadith. The theologian and 

jurist Ibn Taym|yah wrote copiously in prison. Shiha≠b al-D|n al-‘Umar| got much 

of his (rather inaccurate) information about Europe from a fellow-prisoner who 

was Genoese. Ibn ‘Arabsha≠h was presumably in prison when he wrote his unfinished 

eulogistic chronicle of the achievements of Jaqmaq. 

3 

On libraries of the Mamluk period, see Carl Petry, The Civilian Elite of Cairo in the Later 

Middle Ages (Princeton, 1981), index, s.v. "libraries." On medieval Muslim libraries more generally, 

see Youssef Eche, Les Bibliothèqes arabes publiques en Mésopotamie, en Syrie et en Egypte au 

moyen age (Damascus, 1967); Mohammed Makki Sibai, Mosque Libraries: an Historical Study 

(London, 1987). 

4 

Donald Little, "Religion under the Mamluks," Muslim World 73 (1983): 170. 

5 

Ulrich Haarmann, "Turkish Legends in the Popular Historiography of Medieval Egypt," in 

Proceedings of the VIth Congress of Arabic and Islamic Studies, ed. Frithiof Rundgren (Leiden, 

1975), 99, 102. 

6 

Fad˝l Alla≠h ibn Ab| al-Fakhr al-Suqa≠‘|, Ta≠l| Kita≠b Wafaya≠t al-A‘ya≠n, ed. Jacqueline Sublet 

(Damascus, 1974), 75. 



MAMLU±K STUDIES REVIEW VOL. 7, 2003 3 

Some amirs seem to have identified strongly with Arabic culture. Sanjar al- 

Dawa≠da≠r wrote poetry. Baybars al-Mans˝u≠r| wrote history. T˛aybugha≠ al-Ashraf| 

wrote a treatise on archery. The brutal amir Uzdamur al-Ka≠shif had memorized 

al-H˛ar|r|'s Maqama≠t, as well as much Arabic poetry. Quite a few amirs and 

mamluks interested themselves in Hanafi or Shafi‘i jurisprudence or in collecting 

and transmitting hadiths. However, although it is not uncommon to come across 

references to sultans, amirs, and mamluks who spoke and wrote in Arabic, there 

seems to be more evidence of this level of culture in the fifteenth century than in 

earlier periods. 7 

The literary culture of the Mamluk period was Turkish as well as Arabic, 

though the production of literary works in Turkish mostly seems to have been a 

late development that reached its peak in the Circassian period. Turkish works 

composed within the frontiers of the Mamluk Sultanate were written in Kipchak, 

Oghuz, or a mixture of the two. It is one of the curious features of the Circassian 

period that, on the evidence of what has survived, more works were then translated 

from Arabic or Persian into Kipchak or one of the other Turkish dialects than in 

the preceding Kipchak Turkish Mamluk period. It seems probable that, despite the 

increased numbers of Circassians imported into Egypt and Syria in the later Mamluk 

period, some form of Turkish remained the military lingua franca. It is difficult to 

consider the Turkish literature of Mamluk Egypt in isolation from that of the 

Golden Horde, Khwarizm, Anatolia, and Azerbaijan. The legacy of Khwarizmian 

Kipchak literary culture and its continuation in the lands of the Golden Horde was 

at first particularly important. Later on, translations into Oghuz Turkish, the dialect 

of the Anatolian and, more specifically, of the Ottoman Turks became more 

common. However, even towards the end of the Mamluk period, in the reign of 

Qa≠nsű≠h al-Ghu≠r|, a mamluk called Asanba≠y min Su≠du≠n copied a Hanbali religious 

treatise by Abu≠ al-Layth in the Kipchak dialect for the royal library. Much of 

what was translated into Turkish was instructional in nature, dealing with 

jurisprudence, hippology, or furu≠s|yah and hence of no interest to the student of 

literature in the narrow sense. 

It seems that the earliest text on Turkish grammar to circulate in the Arab 

lands was produced by an Andalusian immigrant. Ath|r al-D|n Muh˝ammad Abu≠ 

7 On the Arabic culture of the mamluks, see Ulrich Haarmann, "Arabic in Speech, Turkish in 

Lineage: Mamluks and Their Sons in the Intellectual Life of Fourteenth-Century Egypt and Syria," 

Journal of Semitic Studies 33 (1988): 81–114; Jonathan Berkey, "'Silver Threads Among the 

Coal': A Well-Educated Mamluk of the Ninth/Fifteenth Century," Studia Islamica 73 (1991): 

109–25; idem, "Mamluks as Muslims: The Military Elite and the Construction of Islam in Medieval 

Egypt," in The Mamluks in Egyptian Politics and Society, ed. Thomas Philipp and Ulrich Haarmann 

(Cambridge, 1998), 163–75; Robert Irwin, "The Privatization of 'Justice' Under the Circassian 

Mamluks," Mamlu≠k Studies Review 6 (2002): 69–70. 




H˛ayya≠n al-Gharna≠t¸| (654–745/1256–1344) was born in Granada, but like so many 

of his literary contemporaries, he ended up in Cairo, where he enjoyed the patronage 

of Sayf al-D|n Arghu≠n, the na≠’ib al-salt¸anah in Egypt. Although Abu≠ H˛ayya≠n 

was primarily a grammarian and linguist, he also enjoyed a considerable reputation 

as an elegant, stylish poet, who produced verses on a wide range of themes. In 

particular he made use of poetry to expound grammar. An expert linguist, he 

wrote in Turkish and Persian. His Al-Idra≠k li-Lisa≠n al-Atra≠k is an exposition of 

the Turkish language as it was spoken in Cairo. Bärkä Faq|h's translation of part 

of Khusraw and Shirin from Persian into Kipchak Turkish in 1386 was the first 

work of high literature to be produced in Turkish in the Mamluk lands. A few 

years later Sayf-ı Sara≠y| arrived in Egypt. Sayf-ı Sara≠y|, as his name suggests, 

came to Egypt from the capital of the Golden Horde and was the most prominent 

writer of Turkish verse to reside in the Mamluk lands. He translated Sa‘d|'s 

Gulistan into Kipchak Turkish, and added an appendix of poems, most of which 

were his own. 8 More generally, Turkish scholars and littérateurs were likely to 

receive a favorable reception from the Mamluk elite. Sayf al-D|n Sarghitmish 

al-Na≠s˝ir|, one of the most powerful amirs in the decades that followed the death 

of the sultan al-Na≠s˝ir Muh˝ammad and a fanatical partisan for the Hanafi madhhab, 

founded a Hanafi madrasah that became a magnet for fuqaha≠’ from all over the 

Turkish-speaking world. 9 Ibn ‘Arabsha≠h's and al-‘Ayn|'s knowledge of Turkish 

almost certainly helped bring them to the favor of the Mamluks. 10 

The sultan al-Z˛a≠hir Ta≠ta≠r (r. 824/1421), besides studying Hanafi jurisprudence and 

the shari‘ah in Turkish, was fond of listening to poetry, especially Turkish poetry, 

which he memorized, and he was said to understand the principles of its composition. 

He also collected books in Turkish. According to Ibn Taghr|bird|, he was the second 

Mamluk sultan, after al-Mu’ayyad Shaykh, to have had a taste for the sciences (‘ulu≠m), 

8 

On Turkish literature in the Mamluk lands, see András Bodrogligeti, "A Collection of Poems 

from the 14th Century," Acta Orientalia Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 16 (1963): 245–311; 

idem, A Fourteenth Century Turkic Translation of Sa‘di's Gulista≠n (Bloomington, Ind., 1970); 

idem, "A Grammar of Mamluke-Kipchak," in Studia Turcica, ed. L. Ligeti (Budapest, 1971), 

89–102; idem "Notes on the Turkish Literature at the Mamluke Court," Acta Orientalia Academiae 

Scientiarum Hungaricae 14 (1962): 273–82; János Eckmann, "The Mamluk-Kipchak Literature," 

Central Asiatic Journal 7 (1962): 304–19; Barbara Flemming, "Zum Stand der Mamluk-Türkischen 

Forschung," in XIX. Deutscher Orientalistentag 1975 in Freiburg im Breisgau: Vorträge, Zeitschrift 

der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft, Supplement 3, 2 (Wiesbaden, 1977), 1156–64. On 

Ath|r al-D|n Abu≠ H˛ayya≠n al-Gharna≠t¸|, see Th. Emil Homerin, "Reflections on Poetry in the 

Mamluk Age," MSR 1 (1997): 80–85. 

9 

Leonora Fernandes, "Mamluk Politics and Education: The Evidence from Two Fourteenth Century 

Waqfiyya," Annales Islamologiques 23 (1987): 87–98; Petry, Civilian Elite, 338–39. 

10 

Annemarie Schimmel, "Some Glimpses of the Religious Life During the Later Mamluk Period," 

Islamic Studies 7 (1965): 356–57. 




arts, and literature. 11 Ibn Taghr|bird|'s obituary of al-Mu’ayyad Shaykh states that that 

sultan was fond of poetry, though what kind is not stated. 12 Those military men who 

did interest themselves in literary culture were likely to write in both Arabic and 

Turkish—and, in a few cases, in Persian as well. Sayf al-D|n Taghr|birmish al-Jala≠l| 

(d. 1448), an expert in fiqh, composed in both Arabic and Turkish. 13 

The brutal Amir Yashbak min Mahd| (d. 1480), the terror of the Arabs of 

Upper Egypt and a notorious sadist, was also a key figure in the literary culture of 

the late fifteenth century. Besides bringing peace of a desolate sort to Upper 

Egypt, he presided over the defeat of Sha≠h Su≠wa≠r in Anatolia and opened hostilities 

against Uzun H˛asan in Iran. One can describe him as the power behind Qa≠ytba≠y's 

throne, though in fact he was such a prominent statesman and soldier that he 

could better be described as the power in front of the throne. Judged as a whole, 

Yashbak's personality and career are strongly reminiscent of his near-contemporary, 

John Tiptoft, Earl of Worcester (ca. 1427–70), for Tiptoft was notorious as England's 

chief torturer and impaler and famed, also, as a pious and cultured humanist. 14 

Yashbak wrote a genealogy of the Prophet, as well as soulful religious poems in 

Turkish. He was also a passionate collector of books and an important cultural 

patron. He was especially fond of Persian scholars. He was the patron of the 

Persians Ya‘qu≠b Sha≠h and P|r H˛ajj|. Yashbak commissioned the production of 

beautiful books, for example the copy of al-Bu≠s˝|r|'s poem of praise of the Prophet, 

Al-Kawa≠kib al-Durr|yah, which is preserved in the Chester Beatty Library. 15 This 

and other acts of religious patronage may raise doubts about Ibn Taghr|bird|'s 

claim that Yashbak hated religion. Much of what we know about Yashbak comes 

from his client, Shams al-D|n Muh˝ammad ibn Mah˝mu≠d ibn Khal|l Ibn Aja≠ al-H˛alab| 

(d. 881/1476). Ibn Aja≠, a former student of Ibn H˛ajar's, also wrote poetry in 

Turkish. Ibn Aja≠ served Yashbak as military qadi and envoy and he produced a 

fascinating chronicle of Yashbak's campaigning against the Dhu al-Qadrid prince 

Sha≠h Su≠wa≠r. He also translated al-Wa≠≠qid|'s Futu≠h˝ al-Sha≠m into Turkish for 

Yashbak. 16 Al-Sakha≠w|, who praised Yashbak's generosity to fuqara≠’, hajjis, and 

11 Abu≠ al-Mah˝a≠sin Yu≠suf Ibn Taghr|bird|, Al-Nuju≠m al-Za≠hirah f| Mulu≠k Mis˝r wa-al-Qa≠hirah 

(Berkeley, 1909–36), 6:517; Muh˝ammad ibn ‘Abd al-Rah˝ma≠n al-Sakha≠w|, Al-D˛aw’ al-La≠mi‘ 

li-Ahl al-Qarn al-Ta≠si‘ (Cairo, 1934), 4:8. 

12 Ibn Taghr|bird|, Nuju≠m, 6:428. 

13 Berkey, "Silver Threads." 

14 Rosamond J. Mitchell, John Tiptoft, 1427–70 (London, 1938). 

15 Chester Beatty MS 4169; c.f. Esin Atıl, Renaissance of Islam: Art of the Mamluks (Washington, 

1981), 47 and note. 

16 On Yashbak's political and literary career, see Muh˝ammad ibn Mah˝mu≠d ibn Khal|l Ibn Aja≠, 

Ta≠r|kh al-Am|r Yashbak al-Z˛a≠hir|, ed. ‘Abd al-Qa≠dir Ah˝mad al-T˛ulayma≠t (Cairo, 1974); Carl 

Brockelmann, Geschichte der arabischen Litteratur (Weimar and Leiden, 1898–1902, 1943–49), 

S2:78; Haarmann, "Turkish Legends," 98; Bernadette Martel-Thoumian, "Les dernières batailles 




plague victims, wrote the chronicle Al-Tibr al-Masbu≠k f| Dhayl al-Sulu≠k at his 

request, and al-Sakha≠w| added that Yashbak later carried the book about with him 

and showed it to other people. However, having celebrated Yashbak's discrimination 

and enthusiasm, al-Sakha≠w| gloomily and typically added that all that "is a thing 

of the past. Nothing now remains but stupidity, boorishness, and an interest in 

worldly trifles." 17 Yashbak's master, the sultan al-Ashraf Qa≠ytba≠y (r. 

872–901/1468–96), shared his henchman's literary interests. He composed Turkish 

ghazals, as well as Arabic religious poetry and muwashshah˝s, and he composed 

Sufi awra≠d and adhka≠r in Arabic. Muh˝ammad ibn Qa≠ytba≠y followed in his father's 

literary footsteps. As we shall see, the penultimate Mamluk sultan, al-Ashraf 

Qa≠nsű≠h al-Ghu≠r|, was at least as cultured as his former owner, Qa≠ytba≠y. 18 

The literacy in Arabic of many amirs and mamluks may explain the number of 

manuscripts produced in this period devoted to furu≠s|yah, hunting, hippology, and 

perhaps also chess (a game that was considered as a training in strategic thinking). 

Treatises on furu≠s|yah that aimed at the mamluk market were mostly of a practical 

nature and thus quite unlike the devotional treatises in what was nominally the 

same genre produced by such pious Arabs as Ibn Qayyim al-Jawz|yah. Even so, 

literary and antiquarian elements might creep in and, for example, al-Aqsara≠’|'s 

Niha≠yat al-Su’a≠l wa-al-Umniyah f| Ta‘l|m A‘ma≠l al-Furu≠s|yah recycled parts of 

Aelian's Tactica, a second-century A.D. Greek treatise on strategy that must have 

been of negligible use for fourteenth-century Mamluk cavalry. 19 

Evidently, the bookish tastes of the Mamluk elite had some part in shaping the 

literature of medieval Egypt and Syria. However, the role of the awla≠d al-na≠s was 

du grand emir Yasbak min Mahdi," in War and Society in the Eastern Mediterranean, 7th–15th 

Centuries, ed. Yaacov Lev (Leiden, 1997), 301–42, esp. 314–15; Flemming, "Literary Activities," 

252, 255; idem, "‹er|f, Sultan G˘avr| und die 'Perser,'" Der Islam 45 (1969): 87–89; Toufic Fahd, 

La Divination arabe (Paris, 1987) 202 n. 

17 Al-Sakha≠w|, Al-I‘la≠n bi-al-Tawb|kh li-Man Dhamma al-Ta≠r|kh, translated in Franz Rosenthal, A 

History of Muslim Historiography, 2nd ed. (Leiden, 1968), 329. 

18 On al-Ghu≠r|'s literary culture, see Mohammad Awad, "Sultan al-Ghawri: His Place in Literature 

and Learning (Three Books Written under His Patronage)," in Actes du XXe Congrès international 

des orientalistes (Louvain, 1940), 321–22; Flemming, "‹er|f," 81–93; idem, "Aus den 

Nachtgesprächen Sultan Gauris," in Folia Rara: Wolfgang Voigt LXV. Diem Natalem Celebranti 

ab Amicis et Catalogorum Codicum Orientalium Conscribendorum Collegis Dedicata (Wiesbaden, 

1976), 22–28. On Turkish literature of the Mamluk period more generally, see János Eckmann, 

"Die Mamluk-kiptchakische Literatur," in Philologiae Turcicae Fundamenta, ed. Jean Deny et. al. 

(Wiesbaden, 1959– ), 2:296–304; Omeljan Pritsak, "Das Kiptschakische," in ibid., 1:74–87; Ananiasz 

Zajaczkowski, Vocabulaire Arabe-Kiptchak de l'époque de l'État Mamelouk: Bulg≥at al-Mu£taq f| 

Lug≥at at-Turk wa-l-Qif¢aq (Warsaw, 1958); Bodrogligeti, "Collection of Turkish Poems"; Flemming, 

"Zum Stand der Mamluk-Türkischen Forschung." 

19 Geoffrey Tantum, "Muslim Warfare: A Study of a Medieval Muslim Treatise on the Art of 

War," in Islamic Arms and Armour, ed. Robert Elgood (London, 1979), 194–96. 




perhaps even more crucial. The awla≠d al-na≠s, sons of mamluks, many of whom 

had married into Arab elite households, acted as cultural intermediaries between 

the Mamluk elite and their Turkish subjects, and many of them also wrote books. 

The subject has been the subject of an excellent study by Ulrich Haarmann. 20 The 

ranks of the awla≠d al-na≠s included such writers as Ibn al-Dawa≠da≠r|, Na≠s˝ir al-D|n 

Muh˝ammad ibn Jankal| al-Ba≠ba≠, al-S˛afad|, Ibn al-Turkuma≠n|, Ibn Mangl|, Ibn 

Su≠du≠n, Ibn Taghr|bird|, and Ibn Iya≠s. In most cases, the identification of the awla≠d 

al-na≠s with Arabic culture was total. However, the historian Ibn al-Dawa≠da≠r| took 

an interest in Turkish legends and folklore and Ibn Taghr|bird| was famous for his 

expertise in Turkish matters, though some of his critics doubted that expertise. 

A remarkably large part of the literature of the Mamluk age was produced by 

Arab officials working in the employment of the state, either in the insha≠’ (chancery) 

or in one of the d|wa≠ns. The income from state employment may have cushioned 

their writing activities. On the other hand, in many cases the bureaucrats seem to 

have been producing literature in the expectation of advancing their careers. Ibn 

‘Abd al-Z˛a≠hir, ‘Izz al-D|n Ibn Shadda≠d, Sha≠f|‘ ibn ‘Al|, Ibn al-Mukarram, and 

Ibn Ab| H˛ajalah were among the chancery men who wrote chronicles celebrating 

the achievements of ruling sultans. 21 In the case of Ibn ‘Abd al-Z˛a≠hir, his chronicles, 

especially the one devoted to the deeds of Qala≠wu≠n, seem to have largely served 

as a framing device for Ibn ‘Abd al-Z˛a≠hir's own drafts of diplomatic pieces and 

occasional displays of fine prose. 22 (The elaborate official drafts produced earlier 

in the Ayyubid period by such figures as al-Qa≠d˝| al-Fa≠d˝il and ‘Ima≠d al-D|n 

al-Isfaha≠n| furnished the model for this sort of thing, and Ibn Nuba≠tah, who 

worked in the Syrian and Egyptian chanceries, was to produce a collection of 

al-Qa≠d˝| al-Fa≠d˝il's letters, as an act of literary piety.) That chancery prose was 

esteemed and enjoyed as a form of belles-lettres is indicated by the inclusion of a 

chapter on the subject in al-Ghuzu≠l|'s Mat¸a≠li‘ al-Budu≠r (on which see below). 

Besides histories, officials in the insha≠’ also produced extensive manuals on the 

running of the chancery and the adab, or culture, that the scribes who worked in it 

might be expected to have. Saladin's officials ‘Ima≠d al-D|n al-Isfaha≠n| and al-Qa≠d˝| 

al-Fa≠d˝il served as prose models for writers in the service of the Mamluk insha≠’. 

20 Haarmann, "Arabic in Speech." 

21 P. M. Holt, "Literary Offerings: A Genre of Courtly Literature," in Mamluks in Egyptian Politics 

and Society, 3–16; Otfried Weintritt, Formen spätmittelalterlicher islamischer 

Geschichtsdarstellung: Untersuchungen zu an-Nuwair| al-Iskandara≠n|s Kita≠b al-Ilma≠m und 

verwandten zeitgenössischen Texten (Beirut, 1992), 185–200. See also Robert Irwin, "Mamluk 

History and Historians," in the forthcoming volume of the Cambridge History of Arabic Literature 

edited by Roger Allan and Donald Richards and devoted to late medieval literature. 

22 P. M. Holt, "Three Biographies of al-Z˛a≠hir Baybars," in Medieval Historical Writing in the 

Christian and Islamic Worlds, ed. D. O. Morgan (London, 1982), 19–29. 




The chancery official Muh˝ammad ibn Manz˝u≠r's chancery treatise, Tadhkirat 

al-Lab|b wa-Nuzhat al-Ad|b, has not survived (though it was one of Ibn al-Fura≠t's 

and al-Qalqashand|'s sources). However, Muh˝ammad ibn Manz˝u≠r, also known as 

Ibn Mukarram (630–711/1233–1311), was also well known as a philologist and 

lexicographer, whose chief claim to fame was his compilation of one of the great 

dictionaries of the medieval period, the Lisa≠n al-‘Arab. The Lisa≠n was no mere 

glossary of words and their meanings. Because of its numerous citations of 

illustrative fragments of poetry and other material, it was in effect a literary 

chrestomathy. 23 

Shiha≠b al-D|n Ah˝mad al-Nuwayr| (667–732/1279–1332) worked in government 

service as a scribe and financial official. However, he only wrote his encyclopedia, 

Niha≠yat al-Arab f| Funu≠n al-Adab, after leaving government service. Successive 

volumes dealt with the universe, poetry, female singers and administration, fauna, 

flora, and history. (The historical section provided disproportionately a large tail 

to this learned dog.) The Niha≠yah, like some of its successors, was more of a 

copious display of knowledge than a seriously useful office manual. Similarly, the 

Masa≠lik al-Abs˝ar f| Mama≠lik al-Ams˝a≠r, by Shiha≠b al-D|n Ah˝mad ibn Fad˝l Alla≠h 

al-‘Umar| (700–49/1301–47), was pre-eminently a work of adab, rather than a 

serious work of reference for the scribe in office. (The same author's Al-Ta‘r|f 

bi-al-Mus˝t¸alah˝ al-Shar|f would have been more useful in the latter respect.) Like 

so many authors in this period, al-‘Umar| was a polygraph, and he wrote a history 

of his family of distinguished jurists, as well as various other shorter works, 

including poems. 24 Shiha≠b al-D|n Ah˝mad ibn ‘Al| al-Qalqashand| 

(756–821/1335–1418) compiled the S˛ubh˝ al-A‘shá f| Sina≠‘at al-Insha≠’, which 

contains an unusually large number of official documents in it, so that the work 

comes close to constituting an archive of templates for drafts of official documents. 

Al-Qalqashand| also wrote a maqa≠mah on secretaryship, as well as a treatise on 

Arab tribes. 25 Almost all the officials briefly discussed wrote on a disconcertingly 

wide range of matters. It was a feature of the age. Poets doubled as biographers 

and authors of religious treatises. Pornographers wrote poems in praise of the 

Prophet and treatises on dream interpretation. The disinclination of writers to tie 

23 

Walther Björkman, Beiträge zur Geschichte der Staatskanzlei im islamischen Ägypten (Hamburg, 

1928), 67; John A. Haywood, Arabic Lexicography: Its History and Its Place in the General 

History of Lexicography, 2nd ed. (Leiden, 1965), 77–82; Claude Cahen, La Syrie du nord à 

l'époque des croisades et la principauté franque d'Antioche (Paris, 1940), 76–77; Ulrich Haarmann, 

Quellenstudien zur frühen Mamlukenzeit (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1970), 77. 

24 

Etienne Quatremère, "Notices de l'ouvrage entitulé Masâlek-el-absâr," Notices et extraits des 

manuscrits de la Bibliothèque du roi 13 (1838): 151–384. 

25 

Björkmann, Beiträge; Clifford Edmund Bosworth, "Al-K˛alk˝ashand|," The Encyclopaedia of 

Islam, 2nd ed., 4:509–11. 




themselves down to any particular genre makes it more or less impossible to 

present an orderly picture of Mamluk literature. 

After the golden age of the Hamdanids in Northern Syria in the tenth century, 

there was little in the way of a sustained culture of poetry and belles-lettres in 

Syria or Egypt until the late twelfth century. There was, however, a literary 

renaissance in the Ayyubid and early Mamluk period. Like all true renaissances, it 

had a backward-looking flavor and it harked back to the manners and literary 

productions of eighth– and ninth-century Abbasid Iraq, so that al-Mas‘u≠d| and 

al-Ja≠h˝iz¸ served as models for Mamluk prose stylists. The poets of Cairo and 

Damascus studied the old Baghdadi prescriptions on how to court beautiful slave 

girls, cultivate male friendships, dress elegantly, and perfume themselves. There 

was then an antiquarian feel to much of Mamluk belles-lettres and poetry, as its 

authors looked back on the cult of the nad|m (cup-companion) and the z˝ar|f 

(dandy). Around the mid-thirteenth century, the poets Baha≠’ al-D|n Zuhayr and 

Taq| al-D|n ibn Daq|q al-‘¡d (who wrote poetry but was better known as a qadi 

and an alchemist) embraced fairly self-conscious roles as zűrafa≠’. In the following 

generation, Ibn ‘Af|f al-Tilimsa≠n|, the composer of elegant poetry about wine and 

love, was also known as al-Sha≠bb al-Z˝ar|f (the Young Dandy). Al-Ghuzu≠l|'s 

fifteenth-century belles-lettres compilation included a chapter on the nad|m, and 

another on the repertoire of stories of the nad|m, both of which drew largely on 

Abbasid material. Al-Suyu≠t¸|'s later treatise on women, Al-Mustaz¸raf, dealt mostly 

with slave girls of the Abbasid period and the passions they aroused, and this too 

was essentially part of the old culture of the z˝ar|f. The code of the z˝ar|f was not 

confined to the written page and, for example, the fifteenth-century Amir Ja≠nibak 

al-Ashraf| dressed and behaved like a z˝ar|f. 26 The personnel and manners of the 

zűrafa≠’ overlapped somewhat with those of the gay community. Al-T|fa≠sh| remarked 

how it had become fashionable in literary circles to affect homosexual mannerisms. 

Besides the cages of singing birds, the chessboard, and bottles of wine, the typical 

gay man's apartment contained books of poetry, love romances, and magical 

treatises. 27 

Apart from the example of old Baghdad, the court culture of al-Andalus and 

the Maghrib also provided models for the would-be courtier and writer. Sharaf 

al-D|n Abu≠ al-‘Abba≠s Ah˝mad ibn Yu≠suf al-T|fa≠sh| (580–651/1184–1253) was an 

immigrant from Tunisia whose Mut‘at al-Asma≠‘ was a treatise dedicated to the 

pleasures of music, dance, shadow theatre, and wine drinking. His account of the 

etiquette of court concerts, in which music, song, and wine came together, drew 

26 On the persistence (or was it a revival?) of the culture of the z˝ar|f, see Mhammaed Ferid Ghazi, 

"Un group sociale: 'Les Raffinés' (zűrafa≠’)," Studia Islamica 1 (1959): 59. 

27 Ah˝mad ibn Yu≠suf al-T|fa≠sh|, Nuzhat al-Alba≠b f|ma≠ la Yu≠jadu f| Kita≠b, ch. 5. René Khawam's 

translation of this work, as Les Délices des coeurs (Paris, 1981), should be treated with caution. 




sharp contrasts between eastern and western ways of holding these entertainments. 

Al-T|fa≠sh| was also author of a literary encyclopedia, Fas˝l al-Khita≠b f| Mada≠rik 

al-H˛awa≠ss al-Khams, and a well-known treatise on precious stones, Azha≠r al-Afka≠r 

f| Jawa≠hir al-Ah˝ja≠r, as well as various works of erotica. 28 He was one of several 

well-known North African immigrants who found a patron in the amir Jama≠l 

al-D|n Yu≠suf ibn Yaghmu≠r (d. 663/1265). Abu≠ al-H˛asan ‘Al| Ibn Sa‘|d al-Maghrib| 

(d. 673/1274), the poet, anthologist, and geographer, was another. Indeed Ibn 

Yaghmu≠r's salon, where poets used to compete with one another at capping lines, 

was known as ka≠hf al-magha≠ribah (or Cave of the Maghribis). 29 Ibn Yaghmu≠r was 

a friend of the father of the historian al-Yu≠n|n|. (Other writers and scholars from 

North Africa who found patronage in Egypt or Syria later on in the Mamluk 

period included such distinguished figures as Ibn Manz˝u≠r, Ibn Ab| H˛ajalah, and 

Ibn Khaldu≠n.) The strong interest of Egyptian and Syrian poets in the muwashshah˝ 

form is yet another indication of the literary influence of Andalusia. 

Since the poetry of the Mamluk period is still only partially explored, it is 

difficult to offer generalizations about its development or confidently to single out 

the important poets of the period. 30 At first at least, little panegyric poetry was 

written in praise of Mamluk sultans (presumably because those sultans were not 

really interested in poetry). Instead poetic praise (mad|h˝) tended to be addressed 

to the Prophet and to ulama and holy men. Baha≠’ al-D|n Zuhayr 

(581–656/1186–1258) wrote panegyrics in the hope of securing patronage, but 

with only modest and intermittent success, and in the end he died in poverty. His 

less grandiose lighter pieces, hedonistic, satirical, and urbane, are more pleasing 

to a modern sensibility. Above all his verses commemorated fleeting passions and 

regrets for wasted youth. 31 

The hedonistic celebration of love and wine gardens was continued by Baha≠’ 

al-D|n's successors. Only a few representative figures will be singled out here. 

S˛af| al-D|n al-H˛ill| (657–ca. 750/1278–ca. 1349) was born and died in Iraq. He 

also spent time in Egypt and Syria. He frequented the court of the Ayyubids of 

28 

For al-T|fa≠sh| on concerts and related matters, see M. B. al-T˛anj|, "Al-T˛ara≠’iq wa-al-Alh˝a≠n 

al-Mu≠s|q|yah f| Ifr|q|ya≠ wa-al-Andalus," Al-Abh˝a≠th 21 (1968): 93–116. On al-T|fa≠sh|'s oeuvre 

more generally see Ih˝sa≠n ‘Abba≠s's preface to al-T|fa≠sh| (as abridged by Ibn Manz˝u≠r), Suru≠r 

al-Nafs bi-Mada≠rik al-H˛awa≠s al-Khams (Beirut, 1980). 

29 

Jean-Claude Garcin, Un Centre musulman de la Haute-Égypte médiévale, Qu≠s˝ (Cairo, 1976), 

242 n. 

30 

On that poetry, see in particular Muh˝ammad Zaghlu≠l Salla≠m, Al-Adab f| al-‘As˝r al-Mamlu≠k|, 2 

vols. (Cairo, 1971); Homerin, "Reflections on Poetry," 63–85. 

31 

Edward Henry Palmer, Poetical Works of Behá-ed-D|n Zoheir, of Egypt (Cambridge, 1877); D. 

M. Dunlop, Arab Civlization to A. D. 1500 (London, 1971), 68–69; R. Stephen Humphreys, From 

Saladin to the Mongols: The Ayyubids of Damascus, 1193–1260 (Albany, 1977), 250–51. 




H˛ama≠h, and al-S˛afad| introduced him to the sultan al-Na≠s˝ir Muh˝ammad in Egypt. 

S˛af| al-D|n wrote playful and licentious verse (addressed to both sexes). Unlike 

Baha≠’ al-D|n, he was a master of word play and of the elaborate bad|‘ style, and 

more generally he seems to have delighted in displaying his versatility in all the 

forms of poetry in favor at the time. He wrote qas˝|dahs and muwashshah˝s. He 

also produced a treatise on popular Arabic poetry of his time, entitled Al-‘A±t¸il 

al-H˛a≠l|. However, by far and away his most interesting work is his Qas˝|dah 

al-Sa≠sa≠n|yah, in which he made use of a wide range of rather esoteric underworld 

jargon in order to describe the modus operandi of the Banu≠ Sa≠sa≠n (that is to say 

the beggars, charlatans, and low life entertainers). 32 (On the Mamluk preservation 

of the old literary cult of rogues, beggars, and freeloaders see below). 

S˛af| al-D|n al-H˛ill| also produced a panegyric qas˝|dah in honor of the Prophet, 

Al-Bad|‘|yah al-Nabaw|yah. This was modeled on an earlier qas˝|dah, the Burdah 

of Sharaf al-D|n al-Bu≠s˝|r| (608–ca. 694/1212–ca. 1294). Al-Bu≠s˝|r| was a minor 

figure in the Mamluk administration, who wrote khamr|yah, as well as poetry on a 

variety of other themes, including attacks on Copts and corrupt officials. The 

Burdah, though famous and still widely esteemed today for its wonder-working 

therapeutic properties, is of little literary interest. 33 S˛af| al-D|n al-H˛ill|'s version, 

however, was a much more elaborate and artful affair, which made use of a 

different rhetorical figure in each of its lines. The latter's way of emulating and 

outstripping the Burdah was to be widely imitated by poets who came after him, 

including Ibn H˛ijjah (whose version was so obscure that its author felt impelled to 

produce a commentary on it) and ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah (a learned Sufi who died 

in 922/1516). 34 

Jama≠l al-D|n Muh˝ammad Ibn Nuba≠tah (686–768/1287–1366) was, like S˛af| 

al-D|n al-H˛ill|, a poet who found patronage at the puppet court of the Ayyubids of 

H˛ama≠h. His edition of al-Qa≠d˝| al-Fa≠d˝il's letters has already been mentioned. The 

historian prince al-Mu’ayyad Abu≠ al-Fida≠’ was one of his patrons and the panegyrics 

Ibn Nuba≠tah wrote for him were collected and entitled Al-Mu’ayyada≠t. After the 

deposition and death of Abu≠ al-Fida≠’'s son and successor al-Afd˝al, Ibn Nuba≠tah 

wrote a lament for the end of the Ayyubid dynasty. Though he later briefly found 

employment in the service of the Mamluk sultan al-Na≠s˝ir H˛asan, it is hard not to 

feel that Ibn Nuba≠tah's growing interest in Sufism and his production of zuhd|ya≠t 

32 

See, above all, Clifford Edmund Bosworth, The Mediaeval Islamic Underworld: The Banu≠ 

Sa≠sa≠n in Arabic Society and Literature (Leiden, 1976), 1:132–49; also R.A. Nicholson, A Literary 

History of the Arabs (1907; reprint, Cambridge, 1966) 449–50. 

33 2 

Nicholson, Literary History, 326–7; Clifford Edmund Bosworth, "Al-Bu≠s˝|r|," EI Supplement, 

158–59. 

34 

See in this issue Th. Emil Homerin, "Living Love: The Mystical Writings of ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah 

(d. 922/1516)." 




(poetry of asceticism) indirectly at least reflected his straitened circumstances. He 

died in poverty. 35 

The impulse to demonstrate literary diversity is exemplified by the oeuvre of 

Shiha≠b al-D|n Ibn Ab| H˛ajalah (725–76/1325–1375). Born in Tlemcen, Ibn Ab| 

H˛ajalah was a poet, anthologist, and jack-of-all-literary-trades. He produced a 

much-admired anthology on profane love, the D|wa≠n al-S˛aba≠bah (Divan of ardent 

love), which covered roughly the same ground as the eleventh-century Andalusian 

Ibn H˛azm's famous work on the adab of love, T˛awq al-H˛ama≠mah, and which 

mostly drew on older materials. However, his literary production was quite diverse 

and also included qas˝|dahs in praise of the Prophet, a qas˝|dah on Peter of Cyprus's 

attack on Alexandria, a compilation designed to console those who mourn over 

the death of a child entitled Sulwat al-H˛az|n f| Mawt al-Ban|n, a chess maqa≠mah 

entitled Unmudhaj al-Qita≠l f| Li‘b al-Shatranj, several treatises on the plague, and 

a chronicle of the reign of the sultan al-Na≠s˝ir H˛asan, as well as an account of the 

revolt of the julba≠n (newly imported mamluks) against that sultan. The Sukkarda≠n 

al-Sult¸a≠n (Sugar-bowl of the sultan), dedicated to al-Na≠s˝ir H˛asan, is one of his 

most curious works, as it harps on the importance of the number seven to the 

history of Egypt. 36 

Abu≠ Bakr Taq| al-D|n Ibn H˛ijjah al-H˛amaw| (767–837/1366–1434) was another 

who spread himself widely in his literary productions. He started out as a buttonmaker, 

but later became a minor chancery official in Syria and, like so many of 

his colleagues, he produced his chancery treatise (entitled Qahwat al-insha≠’, or 

Intoxication of the chancery). His major work, however, was his anthology of 

poetry and prose, the Thamara≠t al-Awra≠q (Fruits of the leaves). This wonderfully 

miscellaneous compilation included an account of a journey that the author made 

from Cairo to Damascus and another trip through Anatolia, the history of Hu≠la≠gu≠ 

in Baghdad, as well as all sorts of curious anecdotes about Umayyad, Abbasid, 

and Mamluk personalities. Another of his anthologies, the Khiza≠nat al-Adab (The 

Ornate treasury), assembled the best-known poetry of his time. He wrote a treatise 

on bad|‘, which besides setting out the principles of this elaborately rhetorical 

form of poetry was also an anthology of contemporary bad|‘ poetry. He wrote 

35 Umar Mu≠sá Ba≠sha≠, Ibn Nuba≠tah al-Mis˝r|: Am|r Shu‘ara≠’ al-Mashriq (Cairo, 1963). See in this 

issue Thomas Bauer, "Communication and Emotion: The Case of Ibn Nuba≠tah's Kindertotenlieder," 

and Everett Rowson, "An Alexandrian Age in Fourteenth-Century Damascus: Twin Commentaries 

on Two Celebrated Arabic Epistles." 

36 Ah˝mad ibn Yah˝yá Ibn Ab| H˛ajalah, Kita≠b Sukkarda≠n al-Sult¸a≠n (Beirut, n.d.); Lois Anita Giffen, 

Theory of Profane Love Among the Arabs (New York, 1971), 38–41; Umberto Rizzitano, "Il 

diwan as-sababa dello scrittore magrebino Ibn Ab| H˛ajalah," Rivista degli studi orientali 28 

(1953): 35–70; Michael Dols, The Black Death in the Middle East (Princeton, 1977), 326–27; 

Weintritt, Formen, 192–200. 




bad|‘ poetry himself. He also collected jokes, and his decidedly miscellaneous 

writings include a risa≠lah on the burning of Cairo by Barqu≠q in 791/1389, as well 

as poetry in praise of chess and horses. 37 Ibn H˛ijjah's friend, al-Nawa≠j|, was 

unkind enough to write a study of his plagiarisms. 

Muh˝ammad ibn H˛asan Shams al-D|n al-Nawa≠j| (788–859/1386–1455) studied 

under al-Dam|r| (on whom see below), taught hadith at a couple of madrasahs and 

had Sufi links, but he is best known for his anthology devoted to wine, H˛albat 

al-Kumayt (The Racecourse of the bay). Kumayt refers both to a dark bay horse 

and to a reddish brown wine, cups of which, in al-Nawa≠j|'s metaphor, circulated 

round the convivial table like race horses. Besides celebrating the joys of wine, 

al-Nawa≠j|'s anthology also devoted a lot of space to the ambient pleasures, such 

as gardens, furniture, flowers, candles, and lamps that went best with an amiable 

drinking session. Al-Nawa≠j|'s Kita≠b al-S˝abu≠h˝ was devoted to the more specialized 

pleasure of drinking in the morning. Both works followed the conventions of an 

extensive earlier literature of khamr|yah (works devoted to wine), and it is unclear 

whether al-Nawa≠j|'s work reflected a genuine enthusiasm for alcohol or whether it 

was just another example of the literary antiquarianism that was so pervasive in 

the Mamluk period. The same question applies to his anthology devoted to beautiful 

boys, Mara≠ti‘ al-Ghazla≠n (The Prairie of gazelles), which also included some of 

his own poems on the subject. Al-Nawa≠j| also compiled the ‘Uqu≠d al-La’a≠l, 

strings of pearls, a muwashshah˝ anthology, that drew heavily on Ibn Sana≠’ al-Mulk 

and al-S˛afad|. 38 

Much of Mamluk poetry consists either of light-hearted verses d'occasion or 

of experiments with riddles, chronograms, and similarly artful and taxing devices. 

These sorts of productions have not survived well compared to the work of older 

poets—to, say, the more directly hedonistic poetry of an Abu≠ Nuwa≠s or to the 

warrior's rhetoric of an Abu≠ Fira≠s. It is hard to point to much that was distinctively 

original. Nevertheless, despite the general conservatism of Mamluk poetry (and 

the badi‘, or "original" poetry, was at least as conservative as anything else) there 

were some developments, including a growing readiness to experiment with folk 

genres, including the muwashshah˝, the zajal, and the mawwa≠l. Andalusian influence 

was a factor here. Panegyrics were generally to the Prophet and to the ulama 

rather than to the Mamluk elite. Panegyrics to members of the Mamluk elite, 

while not unknown, were not so very common. However, Mamluk taste may lie 

37 Clément Huart, A History of Arabic Literature (London, 1903), 324–25. See also Geert Jan van 

Gelder, "Poetry for Easy Listening: Insija≠m and Related Concepts in Ibn H˛ijjah's Khiza≠nat al-Adab" 

in this issue. 

38 Geert Jan van Gelder, "A Muslim Encomium on Wine: The Racecourse of the Bay (H˛albat 

al-Kumayt) by al-Nawa≠©| (d. 859/1455) as a Post-Classical Arabic Work," Arabica 42 (1995): 

222–34. 




behind the common choice of a Turkish boy rather than an Arab girl as the object 

of affection in the ghazal, or love poem. 

Though the Mamluk era was an age of compilations and anthologies, it was 

hardly more so than the centuries that preceded it. It seems to have been a point of 

pride to write upon any and every topic. Short treatises were written on all manner 

of subjects; al-S˛afad| wrote on tears, al-Maqr|z| wrote about bees, and al-Suyu≠t¸| 

wrote on the legality of wearing the furs of squirrels that had been strangled, on 

jokes about Saladin's governor Qara≠qu≠sh, and much else besides. However, the 

most popular topics for longer compilations of prose and poetry continued to be 

love and wine-drinking, and the most pious figures had no hesitation in writing 

about profane love and partying. Ibn Qayyim al-Jawz|yah, the Islamic rigorist and 

Sufi (on whom see below) compiled a treatise on love. So did ‘Ala≠’ al-D|n Abu≠ 

‘Abd Alla≠h Mughult¸a≠y ibn Qil|j al-H˛anaf| (ca. 690–762/ca. 1291–1361), who was 

a Hanafi professor and specialist in hadith, nasab (genealogy), and biography. His 

Al-Wa≠d˝ih˝ al-Mub|n f| Dhikr Man Ustushhida min Muh˝ibb|n (The Clear and eloquent 

in speaking of those lovers who became martyrs), as its title suggests, argued for 

the reliability of a hadith to the effect that those who die of love are martyrs on 

the path of God. 39 Al-T|fa≠sh|'s and al-Nawa≠j|'s compilations which dealt with 

wine-drinking and its attendant pleasures have already been mentioned. 

Much of that kind of material was also brought together by ‘Ala≠’ al-D|n ibn 

‘Al| al-Ghuzu≠l| (d. 815/1412), a citizen of Damascus, in his Mat¸a≠li‘ al-Budu≠r f| 

Mana≠zil al-Suru≠r (Risings of full moons regarding the pleasures of households). 

The Mat¸a≠li‘ is a literary anthology on the pleasures of life. These pleasures 

including sex, candles, speaking birds, slave girls, chess, animals, cooling breezes, 

wine, and visits to Birkat al-Rat¸l| (one of Cairo's pleasure lakes). One chapter, "F| 

al-S˝˝a≠h˝ib wa-al-Nad|m," dealt with what was expected of a friend in the way of 

elegant behavior and conversation. Such a friend was a latter-day z˝ar|f, whose 

uniform included the qalansuwah (a pointed hat), mand|l (handkerchief), expensive 

green silken belt, and so on. The next chapter consists of a collection of tales 

suitable to be told by nudama≠’ in the evenings. The stories date from Abbasid 

times or even earlier. 40 

A number of important story-collections were put together in this period, of 

which the best known (after Alf Laylah wa-Laylah, that is) was Al-Mustat¸raf f| 

Kull Fann Mustaz˝raf, compiled by the Egyptian Baha≠’ al-D|n Muh˝ammad ibn 

Ah˝mad al-Ibsh|h| (790–ca. 850/1388–ca. 1446). This was a vast anthology of 

prose and classical and folk poetry. The prose material included stories of the 

39 

GAL, 2:48; ibid., S2:47–48; Salla≠m, Al-Adab, 1:127; Giffen, Theory of Profane Love, 33–34, 80. 

40 

‘Ala≠’ al-D|n ibn ‘Al| al-Ghuzu≠l|, Mat¸a≠li‘ al-Budu≠r f| Mana≠zil al-Suru≠r, 2 vols. (Cairo, 1882–83); 

GAL, 2:55; GAL, S2:55; Salla≠m, Al-Adab, 2:32–34. 




Prophet and of Sufi saints, proverbs, animal fables, and entertaining stories. Many 

of the stories were of an improving nature and most of it fairly unsophisticated. 

Stories about simple saints and poor artisans carried a message that the reader 

should be patient with his lot and content with what God had decreed. However, 

some tales seem to have been included simply for the comic or erotic pleasure 

they afforded. 41 

By contrast with al-Ibsh|h|'s well-known collection, the Fakiha≠t al-Khulafa≠’ 

wa-Mafakiha≠t al-Z˝urafa≠’ of Ah˝mad ibn Muh˝ammad ibn ‘Arabsha≠h 

(791–854/1392–1450) has had little attention paid to it in recent centuries. The 

Fakiha≠t, in which animals tell entertaining and improving tales, was modeled on 

the Persian Marzuba≠n-na≠mah of al-Wara≠w|n|, and, like its prototype, it aimed at 

an exalted audience, for it was a work in the mirror-for-princes genre. It considerably 

expanded on its Persian original and included quite a lot of material concerning 

recent Mongol and Timurid history. Ibn ‘Arabsha≠h modeled his style as well his 

content upon Persian exemplars and wrote in a torturous and metaphor-laden 

rhymed prose. Having spent his youth in Samarkand, he had travelled widely 

since then, and he wrote copiously in both Arabic and Turkish (but it is dispiriting 

to find how little attention has been paid to his literary oeuvre). Ibn ‘Arabsha≠h's 

Al-Ta’l|f al-T˛a≠hir was both a royal biography and a mirror-for-princes, with the 

Sultan Jaqmaq as the model ruler that other princes should follow. Though it 

seems to have been written in the hope that the exemplary prince would release 

Ibn ‘Arabsha≠h from prison in Cairo, in fact its author was released only a few 

days before his death. His better-known ‘Aja≠’ib al-Maqdu≠r f| Nawa≠’ib T|mu≠r, a 

history of the career of the villainous T|mu≠r, or Tamerlane, was written in Arabic, 

but again in the Persianate manner. Although it was a popular subject of study for 

eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Orientalists, it seems to have had little or no 

influence on chroniclers of the Mamluk period, perhaps because of its rebarbative, 

ornate style, so different from the workaday prose of al-Maqr|z| or Ibn Taghr|bird|. 

Even so, it should be noted that Ibn Taghr|bird| was a fan of Ibn ‘Arabsha≠h and 

got an ija≠zah to teach his writings. 42 

41 Muh˝ammad ibn Ah˝mad al-Ibsh|h|, Al-Mustat¸raf f| Kull Fann Mustaz˝raf, trans. Gustave Rat, 2 

vols. (Paris and Toulon, 1899–1902); idem, Les Poètes amoureux, trans. René Khawam (Paris, 

1999); Octave Houdas, "Al-Mostatraf," Journal asiatique, 9th ser., 15 (1900): 388–90; Timo 

Paajanen, Scribal Treatment of the Literary and Vernacular Proverbs of al-Mustat¸raf in 15th–17th 

Century Manuscripts (Helsinki, 1995). 

42 Ah˝mad ibn Muh˝ammad Ibn ‘Arabsha≠h, ‘Aja≠’ib al-Maqdu≠r f| Nawa≠’ib T|mu≠r, ed. Ah˝mad Fa≠’iz 

al-H˛ims˝| (Beirut, 1986); idem, Fructus Imperatorum et Iocatio Ingeniosorum (Fa≠kihat al-Khulafa≠’ 

wa-Mufa≠kihat al-Z˝urafa≠’), ed. G. W. Freytag (Bonn, 1832); idem, Tamerlane; or Timur the Great 

Amir, trans. J. H. Sanders (London, 1936); Antoine Isaac Sylvestre de Sacy, "Liber Arabicus," 

Journal des Savants (1835): 602–12, 652–67; J. Pedersen, "Ibn ‘Arabshah," EI 2 , 3:711–12; Robert 

Irwin, "What the Partridge Told the Eagle: A Neglected Source on Chinggis Khan and the Early 




Ibn ‘Arabsha≠h has suffered from being treated by modern scholars as merely a 

historian. But the same is true of Badr al-D|n al-‘Ayn| (762–855/1361–1451) and 

his collection of entertaining stories about various classes of people, the Majmu≠‘ 

Mushtamil ‘alá H˛ika≠ya≠t wa-Ghayriha≠, has received even less attention than the 

Fakiha≠t. 43 His current reputation is based primarily on his authorship of the chronicle 

‘Iqd al-Juma≠n (Necklace of pearls), which he used to read in Arabic to the sultan 

Barsba≠y, and then explain in Turkish. Of more purely literary interest are his 

presentation chronicles, Al-Sayf al-Muhannad f| S|rat al-Malik al-Mu’ayyad and 

Al-Rawd˝ al-Za≠hir f| S|rat al-Malik al-Z˛a≠hir, addressed to the sultans al-Mu’ayyad 

Shaykh and al-Z˛a≠hir Ta≠ta≠r respectively, which have a belles-lettres quality, as 

they are not so much chronicles of the sultans' achievements as panegyrics to the 

qualities of an ideal ruler. The two texts include disquisitions on cosmology, 

numerology, genealogy, and pre-Mamluk history, as well as advice of the mirrorfor-princes 

type. 44 Much of al-‘Ayn|'s prestige among his contemporaries rested 

neither upon his historical nor on his more literary productions, but on his 

commentary on al-Bukha≠r|'s hadith collection, ‘Umdat al-Qa≠r|. The work of 

Muh˝ammad ibn al-Qa≠sim al-Nuwayr| al-Iskandara≠n| (fl. 670s/1370s) has similarly 

hitherto only attracted the attention of historians. His Kita≠b al-Ilma≠m f|ma≠ Jarat 

bihi al-Ah˝ka≠m al-Maqd˝|yah f| Waqi‘at al-Iskandar|yah, which has as its pretext 

an account of Peter of Cyprus's attack on Alexandria in 767/1365, is nevertheless 

better considered as adab, since documentary reporting is crowded out by 

information about early Arab shipping, stories about Alexander and Aristotle, and 

other dubiously relevant material. 45 

Although al-Nuwayr| al-Iskandara≠n|'s work may be cited as an instance of 

what may be called the "literarization of history," it is questionable whether there 

was a single trend. Sayf al-D|n Abu≠ Bakr Ibn al-Dawa≠da≠r| (d. 713/1313) inserted 

snippets of Turkish and Mongol folklore into his chronicles. 46 Ibn Iya≠s similarly 

History of the Mongols," in The Mongol Empire and its Legacy, ed. Reuven Amitai-Preiss and 

David O. Morgan (Leiden, 1999), 5–11. 

43 Hellmut Ritter, "Arabische Handschriften," Oriens 2 (1949): 285–87. On al-‘Ayn| in general, 

see William Marcais, "Al-‘Ayn|," EI 2 , 1: 790–91; Petry, Civilian Elite, 69–71; Anne F. Broadbridge, 

"Academic Rivalry and the Patronage System in Fifteenth-Century Egypt: al-‘Ayn|, al-Maqr|z|, 

and Ibn H˛ajar al-‘Asqala≠n|," MSR 3 (1999): 85–107. 

44 Badr al-D|n Mah˝mu≠d ibn Ah˝mad Al-‘Ayn|, Al-Rawd˝ al-Za≠hir f| S|rat al-Malik al-Z˛a≠hir Ta≠ta≠r, 

ed. Hans Ernst (Cairo, 1962); idem, Al-Sayf al-Muhannad f| S|rat al-Malik al-Mu’ayyad, ed. 

Muh˝ammad Shaltu≠t (Cairo, 1967); Holt, "Literary Offerings," 8–12; Weintritt, Formen, 185–92. 

45 Aziz Suriyal Atiya, The Crusade in the Later Middle Ages (London, 1938), 349–75; Rosenthal, 

Muslim Historiography, 155, 458–59; Weintritt, Formen. 

46 Haarmann, Quellenstudien, esp. 159–98; idem, "Auflösung und Bewahrung der klassischen 

Formen arabischer Geschichtsschreibung in der Zeit der Mamluken," Zeitschrift der Deutschen 

Morgenländischen Gesellschaft 121 (1971): 46–60; Barbara Langner, Untersuchungen zur 




enlivened his chronicle of sixteenth-century Egyptian affairs with stories of a 

folkloric nature. As has already been noted, some chroniclers used their histories 

as display books for examples of fine chancery prose. The Ba‘alabakk| chronicler 

Qutb al-D|n al-Yu≠n|n| (640–726/1242–1326) included a striking amount of poetry 

in what was formally an annals of Syrian history. In doing so, he was perhaps 

following the earlier example of Abu≠ Sha≠mah, the Syrian chronicler of Ayyubid 

times. (But al-Yu≠n|n|'s readiness to include satirical poetry and poetry which 

celebrated love and wine-drinking is curious given the chronicler's ascetic 

tendencies, his devotion to hadith studies and his admiration for the austere Ibn 

Taym|yah. 47 ) Muh˝ammad ibn Muh˝ammad Ibn S˛as˝ra≠'s late fourteenth-century 

chronicle of Damascus was peppered with fables, proverbs, and moralizing advice. 48 

Nevertheless, there were limits to the literarization of history writing, and most 

chronicles of the Mamluk period were rather uninterpretative, pedestrian chronicles 

of public affairs whose authors do not seem to have dreamt of emulating such 

earlier stylish writers of history as al-Mas‘u≠d| or Miskawayh. 

Like the chronicle, the bestiary could also serve as a pretext for the kind of 

erudition befitting an ad|b. For example the H˛aya≠t al-H˛ayawa≠n (Lives of beasts) 

by Kama≠l al-D|n Muh˝ammad ibn Mu≠sá al-Dam|r| (745–808/1344–1405) more 

closely resembles al-Ja≠h˝iz˝'s classic Kita≠b al-H˛ayawa≠n than it does a work of 

scientific zoology, as al-Dam|r| repeatedly digressed into literature and folklore 

and, for some reason, he chose to add the caliphs to his collection of beasts. 

However, he was more systematic than al-Ja≠h˝iz˝ in that he dealt with his creatures 

in alphabetical order. Al-Dam|r|, who ended up as a faq|h in Cairo, had started off 

as a tailor and his career, like that of al-Nawa≠j|, who also started as a tailor, 

indicates that the life of an alim was a career open to all the talents. 49 The earlier 

bestiary Kita≠b Mana≠fi‘ al-H˛ayawa≠n (Usefulness of beasts) of Ta≠j al-D|n ‘Al| Ibn 

Durrayhim (712–62/1312–66) is not so very scientific either, but in Ibn Durrayhim's 

historischen Volkskunde Ägyptens nach mamlukischen Quellen (Berlin, 1983), esp. 9–12, 127–30; 

Weintritt, Formen; Bernd Radtke, Weltgeschichte und Weltbeschreibung im mittelalterlichen Islam 

(Stuttgart, 1992); idem "Zur 'Literarisierten Volkschronik' der Mamlukenzeit," Saeculum: Jahrbuch 

für Universalgeschichte 41 (1990): 44–52; Li Guo, "Mamluk Historiographic Studies: The State of 

the Art," MSR 1 (1997): 33–37. 

47 Li Guo, Early Mamluk Syrian Historiography: Al-Yu≠n|n|'s Dhayl Mir’a≠t al-Zama≠n, 2 vols. 

(Leiden, 1998), 1, esp. 87–94. 

48 Muh˝ammad ibn Muh˝ammad Ibn S˛as˝ra≠, A Chronicle of Damascus, 1389–1397, ed. William M. 

Brinner, 2 vols. (Berkeley, 1963). 

49 József Somogyi, "Ad-Dam|r| H˛aya≠t al-H˛ayawa≠nja," in Semitic Studies in Memory of Immanuel 

Löw, ed. Alexander Scheiber (Budapest, 1947), 123–30; Manfred Ullmann, Die Natur- und 

Geheimwissenschaften im Islam (Leiden/Cologne, 1972), 39–40. 




case, discussion of the flora and fauna was skewed by the author's interest in the 

occult and healing properties of things. Ibn Durrayhim, an immigrant from Mosul 

who became a professor at the Umayyad Mosque in Damascus, wrote on a range 

of occult and related subjects, including code-breaking, dream interpretation, magic 

mirrors, and physiognomy. 50 

Al-S˛afad| took an interest in various occult subjects. The Egyptian chroniclers 

al-Maqr|z| and Ibn Iya≠s had a strong interest in the legendary history of ancient 

Egypt with its tales of talismans, treasures, and lost esoteric knowledge. But, in 

general, this was not a great age for occultism. Ibn Qayyim al-Jawz|yah and Ibn 

al-H˛a≠jj (on both of whom, see below) denounced the pursuit of such studies. 

Al-Suyu≠t¸| declared that all of the ‘ulu≠m al-awa≠’il, or ancient sciences, were forbidden 

by God. (These included not just the occult arts, but also logic.) From the thirteenth 

century onwards, learned magic, which drew on Greek and other non-Arab traditions, 

was giving way to a pietist Sufi magic that depended on invocations of the names 

of God, magic squares, manipulations of the mysterious letters at the heads of 

certain surahs of the Quran and similar procedures. In the early thirteenth century 

Muh˝y| al-D|n al-Bu≠n| had been the leading proponent of this kind of magic. 

Thereafter, Sha≠dhil| Sufis disseminated it. 51 It is true that there were still some 

interesting representatives of the older tradition of Islamic occultism, including 

Abu≠ al-Qa≠sim al-‘Ira≠q|, the author of the thirteenth-century magical compendium 

‘Uyu≠n al-H˛aqa≠’iq (Wellsprings of truth), and ‘Izz al-D|n Aydamur ibn ‘Al| al-Jildak| 

(d. ca.743/1342), the author of several alchemical treatises. However, though they 

were impressively learned, this knowledge was marginal to the concerns of the 

scholarly and literary elite, and such figures were rarely, if ever, accorded the 

dignity of an entry in a biographical dictionary. 52 

The boundaries between high and low culture were fluid—so much so that it 

hardly makes sense to speak of boundaries at all. Many writers took pride in 

demonstrating their command of both fus˝h˝á and colloquial Arabic. Piety and 

pornography were not mutually exclusive, and members of the elite in the Mamluk 

period imitated their Abbasid and Buyid predecessors in taking a curious interest 

50 Clifford Edmund Bosworth, "The Section on Codes and Their Decipherment in Qalqashand|'s 

S˛ubh˝ al-A‘sha≠," Journal of Semitic Studies 8 (1963): 17–33; Ullmann, Natur- und 

Geheimwissenschaften, 38–39. 

51 Armand Abel, "La Place des sciences occultes dans la decadence," in Classicisme et déclin 

culturel dans l'histoire de l'Islam, ed. Gustav von Grunebaum and Robert Brunschvig (Paris, 

1957), 291–311. 

52 On Abu≠ al-Qa≠sim al-‘Ira≠q|, see Eric Holmyard, "Abu≠’l-Qa≠sim al-‘Ira≠q|," Isis 8 (1926): 403–26; 

Ullmann, Natur- und Geheimwissenschaften, 125, 237, 391, 412. On Jildak|, see Eric Holmyard, 

"Aidamur al-Jildak|," Iran 4 (1937): 47–53; Ullmann, Natur- und Geheimwissenschaften, 237–42, 

413–14; Henri Corbin, L'Alchimie comme art hiératique (Paris, 1986). 




in the manners, customs, and argot of the Banu≠ Sa≠sa≠n and other disreputable 

types. In these respects, the career and writings of Shams al-D|n Muh˝ammad Ibn 

Da≠niya≠l (ca. 646–709/1248–1310) are instructive. Ibn Da≠niya≠l, who came from 

Mosul and who made a living as an oculist, with a shop just inside Cairo's Ba≠b 

al-Futu≠h˝, had distinguished friends. They included the historian Ibn al-Dawa≠da≠r|, 

Muh˝ammad ibn Jankal| al-Ba≠ba≠ (the cultured son of a wafid| amir, who was an 

expert on medicine, hadith, music, and grammar), and, above all, Qala≠wu≠n's son, 

Khal|l (later to rule as al-Ashra≠f Khal|l). Ibn Da≠niya≠l wrote a long medical poem, 

several verse panegyrics on Mamluk amirs, qas˝|dahs and muwashshah˝s, and a 

perfectly respectable and respected verse history of the judges of Egypt. But he 

also produced scripts for three shadow plays that deal with characters who live in 

or on the edges of the social underworld. T˛ayf al-Khaya≠l (Shadow of the imagination) 

is about the quest for marriage of a disreputable old soldier. ‘Aj|b wa-Ghar|b 

presents a parade of members of the Banu≠ Sa≠sa≠n and similar folk, each of whom 

in turn describes their precarious and disreputable modes of making a living. 

Al-Mutayyam wa-al-D˝a≠’|‘ al-Yutayyim (The Love-stricken one and the lost orphan) 

is about a homosexual passion, pursued while watching a series of fights between 

beasts. The plays celebrate most of the vices of the age, and their concluding 

scenes of repentance are perfunctory. The plays all have a strong pornographic 

content and make extensive use of low-life slang. (Ibn Da≠niya≠l also wrote several 

poems with a similar content, dealing with wine, hashish, and acting.) Even so, 

Ibn Da≠niya≠l's audience did not necessarily consist entirely or even primarily of 

the low-lifers who frequented taverns in the more disreputable parts of Cairo. The 

plays, though perfunctorily plotted, show considerable sophistication in the use of 

language and literary allusion and it is clear that Ibn Da≠niya≠l considered himself 

to be writing in the tradition of the maqa≠mahs. There are several explicit references 

in the plays to al-H˛ar|r|'s work. Certainly Ibn Da≠niya≠l was read and cited by 

al-S˛afad|, Ibn H˛ajar, al-Suyu≠t¸|, and Ibn Iya≠s, among others. Al-S˛afad| was probably 

his greatest fan. 53 

Ibn Da≠niya≠l's plays were composed at the request of ‘Al| ibn Mawla≠hum 

al-Khaya≠l|, a presenter of shadow plays in Cairo who was possibly the brother of 

53 Muh˝ammad Ibn Da≠niya≠l, Three Shadow Plays, ed. Paul Kahle, Derek Hopwood, and Mus˝t¸afá 

Badaw| (Cambridge, 1992); Haarmann, "Arabic in Speech," 109–110; Shmuel Moreh, Live Theatre 

and Dramatic Literature in the Medieval Arab World (Edinburgh, 1992); Everett Rowson, "Two 

Homoerotic Narratives from Mamluk Literature: al-Safadi's Law‘at al-shaki and Ibn Daniyal's 

al-Mutayyam," in Homoeroticism in Classical Arabic Literature, ed. J. W. Wright, Jr., and Everett 

K. Rowson (New York, 1997), 172–84; Li Guo, "Paradise Lost: Ibn Da≠niya≠l's Response to Baybars's 

Campaign against Vice in Cairo," Journal of the American Oriental Society 121 (2001): 219–35. 

See also the articles by Li Guo and Amila Buturovi in this issue of MSR. 




Muh˝ammad ibn Mawla≠hum al-Khaya≠l|, the author of two maqa≠mahs on tradesmen. 54 

An Ibn Mawla≠hum, as well as Ibn Da≠niya≠l and the disreputable twelfth-century 

Spanish poet Ibn Quzma≠n, is saluted as an esteemed predecessor by ‘Al| al-Baghda≠d| 

in the preface to his Kita≠b al-Zahr al-An|q f| Lubu≠s wa-al-Ta‘n|q (The Book of 

delicate flowers regarding the kiss and the embrace). ‘Al| al-Baghda≠d|'s collection 

of bawdy tales about wily women was written perhaps in the 1350s. Although the 

tales are mostly of considerable antiquity (and some have their analogues in The 

Thousand and One Nights), they are presented as having happened to real, named 

and often identifiable figures in the early Mamluk period. 55 

Khal|l ibn Aybak al-S˛afad| (d. 764/1363), a member of the awla≠d al-na≠s who 

worked as a government official, wrote in broadly the same tradition as Ibn 

Da≠niya≠l. Among much else, al-S˛afad| wrote Law‘at al-Sha≠k| (Plaint of the lovelorn), 

a languorous and elaborate commemoration in rhymed prose and poetry of the 

narrator's love for a Turkish horse-archer. Al-S˛afad| also compiled a homoerotic 

anthology on beautiful boys, a treatise on the kha≠l, or beauty spot, and a maqa≠mah 

on wine. However, he spread himself even more widely than his admired predecessor, 

Ibn Da≠niya≠l. He also produced a series of eminently respectable biographical 

dictionaries. Al-Wa≠f| bi-al-Wafaya≠t (The Abundant book on dates of death) is a 

comprehensive biographical dictionary of Muslim personalities, whereas A‘ya≠n 

al-‘As˝r (Leading figures of the age) was restricted to contemporaries. Al-S˛afad|'s 

fame and usefulness as a biographer has tended to eclipse awareness of his writings 

in other areas. Apart from composing and compiling works of belles-lettres and 

erotica, he also wrote about alchemy and mala≠h˝im (apocalyptic prophecies). 56 

Although it is not possible to cover in this short survey all those writers who 

devoted themselves to writing bawdy and entertaining pieces, nevertheless no 

survey of Mamluk literature would be complete without reference to ‘Al| ibn 

Su≠du≠n al-Bashbugha≠w| (ca. 810–68/ca. 1407–64). The son of a Circassian mamluk, 

Ibn Su≠du≠n was educated at the Shaykhu≠n|yah madrasah, but failed to establish 

himself as a successful alim and after serving as a poorly-paid imam at several 

mosques, he set about pursuing an alternative career as a satirical poet and buffoon. 

He acquired notoriety as a hashish addict and after he was expelled from Cairo, he 

moved to Damascus where he worked as a copyist, but supplemented that income 

by occasional poems and other literary exercises, including poetry readings and 

quasi-dramatic performances beneath the Damascus citadel. His collected work 

54 Moreh, Live Theatre, 109. 

55 Robert Irwin, "‘Al| al-Baghda≠d| and the Joy of Mamluk Sex," in The Historiography of Islamic 

Egypt (c. 950–1800), ed. Hugh Kennedy (Leiden, 2001), 45–57. 

56 Franz Rosenthal, "Al-S˛afad|," EI 2 , 8:759–60; Donald P. Little, "Al-S˛afad| as Biographer of his 

Contemporaries," in Essays on Islamic Civilization: Presented to Niyazi Berkes, ed. Donald P. 

Little (Leiden, 1976), 190–211; Rowson, "Two Homoerotic Narratives," 161–72. 




the Nuzhat al-Nufu≠s wa-Mud˝h˝ik al-‘Abu≠s (The Diversion of souls and the gloomy 

person's jester) is in two parts. The first part contains serious panegyrics and love 

poetry, followed by some humorous material. The second part includes comic 

qas˝|dahs, trumped-up stories, some (silly) muwashshah˝s, other popular verse forms, 

and brief accounts of wondrous curiosities and strange novelties. According to 

al-Sakha≠w|, Ibn Su≠du≠n's poetry was popular with the zűrafa≠’, who fought to get 

hold of copies of it. 57 

A great deal of literature of a broadly popular nature was produced in the 

Mamluk period that was devoted to such matters as heterosexual and homosexual 

love, jokes, the wiles of women, hashish-taking, and the jargon of (legal and 

illegal) crafts and trades. So far this vast body of literature by Muh˝ammad al-Bilbays|, 

‘Abd al-Rah˝|m al-H˛awra≠n|, Taq| al-D|n Abu≠ Bakr al-Badr|, and others has hardly 

been explored. 58 Whatever the literary merits of such materials, they are certainly 

of historical interest. Besides literary entertainments by named authors, the Mamluk 

age was pre-eminently a period in which anonymous epics and story collections 

were compiled, elaborated, and expanded. The oldest substantially surviving 

manuscript of Alf Laylah wa-Laylah (The Thousand and one nights) dates from 

the fourteenth or fifteenth century, and some of the stories contained in it reflect, 

in however fanciful a manner, the social and economic realities of life under the 

Mamluk sultans. The lengthy pseudo-historical epics, however, seem to have been 

more popular. Of these the most famous was the S|rat ‘Antar, which was put 

together sometime between 1080 and 1400. It was the favorite stock-in-trade of 

street-corner story-tellers. Despite this epic's notional setting in pre-Islamic Arabia, 

some of its episodes are based on the Muslims' encounters with the Byzantines 

and Crusaders. Similarly the S|rat Sayf ibn Dh| Yazan, though set in the Yemen in 

a fanciful version of the sixth century A.D., shows clear signs of having been 

composed in Egypt much later. This saga, like so many of its rivals, has an 

episodic plot, or rather a straggling series of plots. Its chief merit lies in its wild 

and colorfully inventive deployment of vivid imagery of a magical realist 

sort—including Snatcher the Jinn who has smoke instead of blood in his veins, 

the glass bed, and the woman who has been jointly impregnated by a wolf, smoke, 

and her husband. 59 The S|rat al-Z˛a≠hir, devoted to the legendary exploits of the 

57 Moreh, Live Theatre, index, s.v. "Ibn Sudun"; Arnoud Vrolijk, Bringing a Laugh to a Scowling 

Face: A Study and Critical Edition of "Nuzhat al-Nufu≠s wa-Mud˝h˝ik al-‘Abu≠s" by ‘Al| ibn Su≠du≠n 

al-Ba£bug≥a≠w| (Leiden, 1998). 

58 See, however, Bosworth, Mediaeval Islamic Underworld; Franz Rosenthal, The Herb: Hashish 

versus Medieval Muslim Society (Leiden, 1971); idem, Gambling in Islam (Leiden, 1975); Robert 

Irwin, The Arabian Nights: A Companion (Harmondsworth, 1994). 

59 The Adventures of ‘Antar, trans. H. T. Norris (Warminster, 1980); The Adventures of Sayf Ben 

Dhi Yazan: An Arab Folk Epic, trans. Lena Jayussi (Bloomington, Ind., 1995); Rudi Paret, S|rat 




Mamluk sultan al-Z˛a≠hir Baybars, has a similar lack of narrative sophistication that 

is only partially compensated for by its madly inventive energy. It is not clear 

how much of this epic was in existence in the Mamluk period. 60 (The oldest 

surviving manuscript is sixteenth century and the existing versions are full of 

Ottoman terminology, as well as mockery of the stupidity and thuggishness of 

Ottoman Turks.) One of the curious features of the story is the hostility shown to 

the amir (later sultan) Qala≠wu≠n. Equally curious is the co-option of the Ismaili 

Assassins to be Baybars' allies in his struggle against Franks, Mongols, sorcerers, 

and corrupt amirs. The relationship of the story of this epic to real historical 

events was very slight. 61 Nevertheless, as Franz Rosenthal has observed, it "was 

through these novels that history filtered deep down into the hearts of the people." 62 

The fantasies purveyed in these popular anonymous s|rahs was not so very 

different from the romances dealing with the origins of Islam, the exploits of ‘Al|, 

and the early Islamic conquests that were attributed to a certain Abu≠ H˛asan Ah˝mad 

al-Bakr| al-Wa≠‘iz˝. It seems likely, however, that attribution to "al-Bakr|" denoted 

a literary genre, rather than the real authorship of an actual individual. 63 Whatever 

the truth of the matter, al-Dhahab| and al-Qalqashand| denounced the lies found 

in this sort of material. The popular romances suffered the opprobrium of the 

intelligentsia. Ta≠j al-D|n al-Subk|, writing on the various offices and trades in the 

Mamluk lands, advised the na≠sikh (copyist) not to copy "those deceptive books 

. . . by which God does not offer any useful thing, such as S|rat ‘Antar and the 

books by the ahl al-muju≠n (the pornographers)." 64 Similarly Ibn al-H˛a≠jj, in his 

treatise against unacceptable innovations, inveighed against booksellers who traded 

in the stories of romantic heroes and most notably in the story of ‘Antar. 65 To 

those who thought like Ibn al-H˛a≠jj, it was reprehensible to trade in any books that 

sought merely to amuse. In this period, the literature of vulgar entertainment and 

Saif Ibn Dh| Jazan (Hannover, 1924); Peter Heath, "A Critical Review of Modern Scholarship on 

S|rat ‘Antar ibn Shadda≠d and the popular s|ra," Journal of Arabic Literature 15 (1984): 19–44; M. 

C. Lyons, The Arabian Epic, 3 vols. (Cambridge, 1995). 

60 See in this issue Thomas Herzog, "The First Layer of the S|rat Baybars: Popular Romance and 

Political Propaganda." 

61 M. C. Lyons, "The Sirat of Baybars", in Orientalia Hispanica: Sive Studia F. M. Pareja Octogenario 

dictata (Leiden, 1974), 1: 490–503; idem, Arabian Epic. 

62 Rosenthal, Muslim Historiography, 186. 

63 Rudi Paret, Die Legendäre Magha≠zi-Literatur (Tübingen, 1930), 155–58; Rosenthal, Muslim 

Historiography, 169–70. 

64 Ta≠j al-D|n ‘Abd al-Wahha≠b ibn ‘Al| al-Subk|, Kita≠b Mu‘|d al-Ni‘am wa-Mub|d al-Niqam, ed. 

David Myhrman (London, 1908), 51/186. 

65 Muh˝ammad ibn Muh˝ammad Ibn al-H˛a≠jj al-‘Abdar|, Kita≠b al-Madkhal ilá Tanmiyat al-A‘ma≠l 

bi-Tah˝s|n al-Niya≠t (Cairo, 1320/ 1902–3), 3:131. 




delight competed with its opposite, a literature of piety and rigorism (and there 

were even a few authors who tried their hands at writing both types of literature). 

Taq| al-D|n Ah˝mad Ibn Taym|yah (661–728/1263–1328) was the leading 

figure in the religious campaign against unacceptable innovations in religious and 

social practices. He issued fatwas and wrote to denounce a wide range of deviations 

from pure Islam, many of them of folkloric or Sufi origin. His attacks on Sufi 

deviations into heterodoxy (for example his assault on what he perceived to be the 

thirteenth-century Andalusian Sufi Ibn ‘Arab|'s monism) were particularly 

controversial, and many of the Mamluk elite supported Ibn Taym|yah's pro-Sufi 

opponents. However, Ibn Taym|yah was not a root-and-branch enemy of Sufism. 

Like his chief disciple, Ibn Qayyim al-Jawz|yah, he was a Qa≠dir| Sufi himself. 

Moreover, in engaging in polemical controversy with the other members of the 

religious elite and their Mamluk patrons, he offered at least one hostage to fortune, 

as his extreme version of Hanbalism allowed his enemies to accuse him of the 

heresy of anthropomorphism regarding the attributes of God. Despite occasional 

clashes with the Mamluk regime, he was in general a political quietist. "To demand 

ideal qualifications in a ruler is a sin against God" was one of his observations. He 

enjoyed a great following not just among the masses (who were ready to riot on 

his behalf), but also among prominent members of the Mamluk elite, including 

Kitbugha≠ al-Mans˝u≠r| and Arghu≠n al-Na≠s˝ir|. Even al-S˛afad| seems to have been an 

admirer of Ibn Taym|yah. 66 

Ibn Taym|yah's disciple Shams al-D|n Abu≠ ‘Abd Alla≠h Muh˝ammad Ibn Qayyim 

al-Jawz|yah (691–751/1292–1350) was a prolific writer on the Quran, the shari‘ah, 

and other spiritual matters. In particular, he wrote verse and prose to popularize 

Hanbali mysticism, and he denounced the occult sciences at length. His Rawd˝at 

al-Muh˝ibb|n (Garden of the lovers) is a fairly conventional treatise on profane 

love, only with a more spiritual slant than is common in the genre. His treatise on 

furu≠s|yah, though it assembles a number of religious precepts on the subject, 

would have been of no practical use whatsoever to a mamluk horseman. 67 Ibn 

66 The literature on Ibn Taym|yah is vast. See especially Henri Laoust, Essai sur les doctrines 

socials et politiques de Tak|-d-Din Ahmad b. Taim|ya (Cairo, 1930); Muhammad Umar Memon, 

Ibn Taim|ya's Struggle Against Popular Religion: with an Annotated Translation of His Kita≠b 

Iqtid˝a≠’ as˝-S˝ira≠t¸ al-Mustaqu|m (The Hague, 1976); Donald P. Little, "Did Ibn Taymiyya Have a 

Screw Loose?" Studia Islamica 41 (1975): 93–111; idem, "The Historical and Historiographical 

Significance of the Detention of Ibn Taymiyya," International Journal of Middle East Studies 4 

(1973): 311–27; Alexander D. Knysh, Ibn ‘Arab| in the Later Islamic Tradition: The Making of a 

Polemical Image in Medieval Islam (Albany, 1999), 87–111. 

67 Henri Laoust, "Ibn K˛ayyim al-Djawziyya," EI 2 , 3:821–22; Joseph N. Bell, Love Theory in Later 

Hanbalite Islam (Albany, 1979); Giffen, Theory of Profane Love, 34–38; John W. Livingston, 

"Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyya: A Fourteenth Century Defence against Astrological Divination and 

Alchemical Transmutation," Journal of the American Oriental Society 91 (1971): 96–103; Hilary 




Qayyim al-Jawz|yah was based in Egypt, but Ibn Taym|yah was also quite widely 

admired and supported by what has been called the "codex-swapping crowd" in 

Syria. Most fourteenth-century historians and compilers of biographical dictionaries 

in Syria, including al-Jazar|, al-Birza≠l|, al-Yu≠n|n|, and al-Dhahab| seem to have 

supported Ibn Taym|yah in his struggles with the authorities, even though by no 

means all of them were Hanbalis. Ibn Kath|r, who died in 774/1373, was the last 

important representative of this tradition. Generalizing rather broadly, this group 

of scholars conceived of history as the handmaiden of hadith studies. 68 

Egyptian chronicles tended to be somewhat more secular and court-centered in 

their orientation. However, plenty of treatises calling for a stricter observance of Islam 

were produced in Mamluk Cairo. The best known of such works was the Madkhal, a 

treatise on bida‘ by the Maliki jurist Abu≠ ‘Abd Alla≠h Ibn al-H˛a≠jj al-‘Abdar| (d. 

737/1336). The Madkhal's detailed evocation of hedonistic pursuits, albeit couched in 

the negative (silk carpets not to be displayed, pleasure gardens not to be visited, 

picnics not go to on and so forth), makes it an invaluable source on social history. Ibn 

al-H˛a≠jj denounced the corrupt practices of the Cairenes with all the vigor of an immigrant 

from the freshly purified Maghrib. However, his main target seems to have been the 

pleasures of the lower classes; the mamluks on the whole escaped criticism. 69 Idr|s ibn 

Baydak|n al-Turkuma≠n| also produced a treatise, the Kita≠b al-Luma‘ f| al-H˛awa≠dith 

wa-al-Bida‘, sometime in the fourteenth century, which took a similarly dour view of 

popular pleasures and local superstitions. Some of al-Turkuma≠n|'s targets were 

conventional, but others were unusual, even eccentric, such as his diatribes against 

crossbowmen. 70 In the Madkhal, Ibn al-H˛a≠jj had stressed on the importance of n|yah, 

or good intention, and this theme was taken up by Ta≠j al-D|n al-Subk| (728–77/1327–69 

or 70) in his Kita≠b Mu‘|d al-Ni‘am wa-Mub|d al-Niqam (The Restorer of favors and 

the restrainer of chastisements), which is devoted to good intention in the various 

Kilpatrick, "Some Late Abbasid and Mamluk Books about Women: A Literary Historical Approach," 

Arabica 42 (1995): 56–78. 

68 On Syrian historiography, see Little "The Historical and Historiographical Significance"; Guo, 

Early Mamluk Syrian Historiography, esp. 1:60–96; idem, "Mamluk Historiographic Studies," 

37–39. 

69 Ibn al-H˛a≠jj, Madkhal; Langner, Untersuchungen, Verfasserindex, s.v. "Ibn al-Ha©©"; Huda Lutfi, 

"Manners and Customs of Fourteenth-Century Cairene Women: Female Anarchy versus Male 

Shar‘i Order in Muslim Prescriptive Treatises," in Women in Middle Eastern History: Shifting 

Boundaries in Sex and Gender, ed. Nikki R. Keddie and Beth Baron ( New Haven and London, 

1991), 99–121. Since, in the Madkhal, Ibn al-H˛a≠jj denounced alchemy as a Sufi bid‘ah, the 

attribution of such occult works as the Shumu≠s al-Anwa≠r to him must surely be incorrect. 

70 Idr|s ibn Baydak|n al-Turkuma≠n|, Kita≠b al-Luma‘ f| al-H˛awa≠d|th wa-al-Bida‘, ed. S˛ubh˝| Lab|b 

(Cairo, 1986); S˛ubh˝| Lab|b, "The Problem of Bida‘ in the Light of an Arabic Manuscript of the 

14th Century," Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 7 (1964): 191–96. (But 

Lab|b misidentifies crossbowmen as musketeers.) 




ranks, offices, and crafts in Mamluk Egypt. "Be as the corpse in the hands of the 

washer" was the book's quietist, Sufi burden. 

A considerable quantity of edifying uncontroversial Sufi literature was produced 

in this period, mostly in the form of poems, sermons, or short biographies of Sufi 

holy men. Ibn Ab| H˛ajalah wrote Sufi poetry. ‘Abd Alla≠h ibn Asad al-Ya≠fi‘| (ca. 

700–ca. 768/1299–1367) compiled Rawd˝ al-Riya≠h˝|n f| H˛ika≠ya≠t al-S˛a≠lih˝|n, which 

contained the biographies of over five hundred Sufis. His collection was later 

drawn upon by al-Ibsh|h| and by the anonymous continuators of the Arabian 

Nights. The Sha≠dhil| Sufi Ah˝mad ibn Muh˝ammad Ibn ‘At¸a≠ Alla≠h (d. 709/1309) 

produced collections of spiritual aphorisms and sermons. Both al-Ya≠fi‘| and Ibn 

‘At¸a≠ Alla≠h were implacable opponents of Ibn Taym|yah. 71 However, the most 

heated debates throughout the whole Mamluk period concerned the disputed 

orthodoxy of two Sufis of the pre-Mamluk period, Sharaf a-D|n ‘Umar Ibn al-Fa≠rid˝ 

(576–632/1181–1235) and Muh˝y| al-D|n Ibn ‘Arab| (560–638/1165–1240). Fierce 

debates raged about the meaning of their poetic output and about whether it was 

legitimate to use apparently blasphemous metaphors in order to express holy 

things. Ibn al-‘Arab| and Ibn al-Fa≠rid˝ avoided official condemnation, and Ibn 

al-Fa≠rid˝'s verses in the bad|‘ manner were widely imitated by poets of the Mamluk 

age. 72 Even so, al-Dhahab| declared that Ibn al-Fa≠rid˝'s writings were "pastry laced 

with venom." Other distinguished hostile critics included Ibn Ab| H˛ajalah, Ibn 

Khaldu≠n, and Ibn H˛ajar. 

A student of Ibn H˛ajar's, Burha≠n al-D|n Ibra≠h|m al-Biqa≠‘| ibn ‘Umar (ca. 

809–85/ca. 1407–80) was perhaps the most interesting and certainly the most 

venomous of the critics of the two famous Sufi poets. Al-Biqa≠‘| can be considered 

as a writer as man of action, since he participated in Mamluk raids against Cyprus 

and Rhodes. He was a stylish and embittered author who wrote on a great range of 

subjects, including hadith, history, biography, famous lovers, and mathematics. 

Given the Mamluk court's tendency to look kindly on Sufism, his onslaught on 

monism and other alleged Sufi excesses was doomed, and he died in disgrace in 

Damascus. Since no one else was likely to, he had written his own eulogy. 73 

71 On Sufism in the Mamluk period, see Annemarie Schimmel, "Sufismus and Heiligeverehrung 

im spätmittelalterlichen Ägypten," in Festschrift Werner Caskel zum siebzigsten Geburtstag 5. 

März 1966 gewidmet von Freunden und Schülern, ed. Erwin Graf (Leiden, 1968), 274–89; Donald 

P. Little, "Religion under the Mamluks," The Muslim World 73 (1983): 165–81; Leonor E. Fernandes, 

The Evolution of a Sufi Institution in Mamluk Egypt: The Khanqah (Berlin, 1988). 

72 Th. Emil Homerin, From Arab Poet to Muslim Saint: Ibn al-Fa≠rid˝, His Verse, and His Shrine 

(Columbia, S.C., 1994), 55–75; Knysh, Ibn ‘Arab|, 49–140, 201–23; Michael Winter, Society and 

Religion in Early Ottoman Egypt (New Brunswick, N.J., 1982), 160–65. 

73 Giffen, Theory of Profane Love, 41–42; Homerin, From Arab Poet to Muslim Saint, 62–75; 

Knysh, Ibn ‘Arab|, 209–23; Li Guo, "Al-Biqa≠’|'s Chronicle: A Fifteenth Century Learned Man's 

Reflection on His Time and World," in Kennedy, The Historiography of Islamic Egypt, 121–48. 




Although al-Biqa≠‘| was unusual in the range and quality of the enemies he 

accumulated, the ninth/fifteenth century was a great age for odium theologicum 

and scholarly rancor. Ibn H˛ajar and al-Maqr|z| hated al-‘Ayn|, a sentiment that 

was reciprocated. Al-Maqr|z| and al-Sakha≠w| attacked Ibn Taghr|bird|. Al-Suyu≠t¸| 

and al-Sakha≠w| feuded. 74 The intensity of these and other feuds reflected the 

intensity of the competition for patronage. Writers of ability, or, if not actual 

ability, at least ambition, flooded into Cairo from Syria, Upper Egypt, Iraq, Anatolia, 

and North Africa. Many of the leading (and feuding) intellectuals of the fifteenth 

and early sixteenth century are esteemed today as compilers of useful chronicles 

and biographical dictionaries. It is certainly true that history writing had a more 

central role in the literary culture of this period than it had, say, under the Abbasids 

or the Ayyubids. Even so, few of those who compiled the useful chronologies and 

obituaries were merely chroniclers of their times and, in some cases, their main 

interest lay elsewhere. Shiha≠b al-D|n Ah˝mad ibn H˛ajar al-‘Asqala≠n| 

(773–852/1372–1449) was the leading intellectual figure of the fifteenth century. 

He had started out on his literary career as an ad|b and poet. His D|wa≠n starts with 

panegyrics of the Prophet, then of rulers and other members of the elite, followed 

by love poems, followed by verses on miscellaneous themes, and finally 

muwashshah˝s. Horribly industrious, he wrote some 250 books. He is known today 

chiefly for his biographical dictionary of fifteenth-century people, the Durar al- 

Ka≠minah, and his much-read chronicle Inba≠’ al-Ghumr (Informing the uninstructed). 

But in his own time, the reputation of Ibn H˛ajar rested on his expertise in hadith 

studies and on the many distinguished students he had taught in this field, including 

al-Sakha≠w|, al-Biqa≠‘|, Ibn Taghr|bird|, al-Qalqashand|, and al-Nawa≠j|. 75 

Ibn H˛ajar, while a political quietist, was anti-Turkish and hostile to those who, 

like al-‘Ayn|, identified themselves too closely with the interests of the Mamluk 

regime. The same was true of Ah˝mad ibn ‘Al| al-Maqr|z| (766–845/1364–1442). 

It is clear that al-Maqr|z|'s main interest was history, though he wrote more 

widely than that, including works on various occult and cosmological matters, 

Arab tribes, the Sudan, lives of the artists, and, of course, like almost every writer 

of the Mamluk period, he fancied himself as a poet. His masterpiece, the Kita≠b 

al-Mawa≠‘iz¸ wa-al-I‘tiba≠r f| Dhikr al-Khit¸at¸ wa-al-A±tha≠r (The Book of warning 

and taking example from places and ruins) is a survey of Cairo and Egypt more 

generally, in which topography serves as the pretext for literary nostalgia and 

lamentations about the corruption of the age the author lived in. 76 Al-Maqr|z|'s 

74 On some of these feuds, see Broadbridge, "Academic Rivalry." 

75 Franz Rosenthal, "Ibn H˛adjar," EI 2 , 3:776–78; Ah˝mad A±fta≠b Rah˝ma≠n|, "The Life and Works of 

Ibn H˛ajar al-Asqala≠n|," Islamic Culture 45 (1971): 203–12. 

76 The literature on al-Maqr|z| is vast, but see, for a general orientation, Franz Rosenthal, "Al- 

Mak˝r|z|," EI 2 , 6:193–94 and, on one aspect of al-Maqr|z|'s literary output, Ah˝mad al-Ghawaby, 




rival Abu≠ al-Mah˝a≠sin Yu≠suf Ibn Taghr|bird| (ca. 812–74/ca. 1409 or 1410–69) 

was similarly primarily a historian, but he also wrote a treatise on the errors that 

Arabs and Persians make with Turkish names, a collection of proverbs, a treatise 

on music, and, of course, poetry. 77 Shiha≠b al-D|n Muh˝ammad ibn Ah˝mad Ibn Iya≠s 

(852–ca. 930/1448–ca. 1524), besides writing a well-known chronicle, the Bada≠’i‘ 

al-Zuhu≠r f| Waqa≠’i‘ al-Duhu≠r, was a prolific poet. 

Ibn Iya≠s had studied with al-Suyu≠t¸|, but, true to the rancorous age he lived in, 

he did not think much of him. The latter has already been referred to several times 

above. This is hardly surprising, for Jala≠l al-D|n al-Suyu≠t¸| (849–911/1445–1505) 

was one of the last Muslim scholars who aimed to cover everything. His 

autobiography Al-Tah˝adduth bi-Ni‘mat Alla≠h (Speaking of God's bounty), despite 

its moralistic exordium, which offered the work as thanks to God and the life as 

an example for others to emulate, was a sustained piece of boasting riding on an 

academic's curriculum vitae. In the Tah˝adduth, al-Suyu≠t¸| listed 283 of his works. 

Al-Sakha≠w| accused him of being too bookish. Certainly al-Suyu≠t¸|'s scholarship 

was of a backward-looking nature, and most of the books he boasted of having 

read were written at the beginning of the Mamluk period or even earlier. If 

modern scholars have regarded the Mamluk age as one of intellectual and literary 

decline, it is worth bearing in mind that this view was widely shared in the 

Mamluk age itself. Al-Suyu≠t¸| deplored what he perceived to be an unprecedented 

dearth of scholarship and concomitant spread of ignorance throughout the Mamluk 

lands. Despite his faith in himself as a mujaddid, or renewer of the religious 

sciences, al-Suyu≠t¸| shared al-Maqr|z|'s gloom about the future. Fires and earthquakes 

were omens of further troubles to come and, although he loved Egypt, he predicted 

the land's ruin. 78 

In the Indian summer of the Mamluk sultanate, a number of literary salons 

flourished under the presidency of members of the Mamluk court. One such was 

established by Na≠s˝ir al-D|n Muh˝ammad ibn Jaqmaq (847/1444), the son of the 

Sultan al-Z˛a≠hir Jaqmaq and the heir apparent to the Mamluk sultanate. According 

to Ibn Taghr|bird|, the main source here, the prince was learned in history, rare 

anecdotes, and Turkish and Arab poetry. He was also fond of the Sufi practice of 

sama≠‘ (and this passion for music and song may have been part of a youthful 

revolt against his learned but austere father, who certainly disapproved of that sort 

"Al-Maqr|z| as a Poet," Minbar al-Isla≠m 2 (1962): 28–30. 

77 Gaston Wiet, "L'Historien Abul Mah˝a≠sin," Bulletin de l'Institut d'Égypte 12 (1930): 89–105; 

Ah˝mad Darra≠j, "La vie d'Abu≠’l-Mah˝a≠sin et son oeuvre," Annales Islamologiques 11 (1972): 163–81; 

William Popper, "Abu≠ al-Mah˝a≠sin Jama≠l al-D|n ibn Yu≠suf ibn Taghr|bird|," EI 2 , 1:138. 

78 There is an extensive literature on al-Suyu≠t¸|. See in particular Elizabeth Sartain, Jala≠l al-D|n 

al-Suyu≠t¸|, 2 vols. (Cambridge, 1975); Jean-Claude Garcin, "Histoire, opposition politique et piétisme 

traditionaliste dans le H˛usn al Muh˝a≠darat de Suyûti," Annales Islamologiques 7 (1967): 33–91. 




of thing). The prince seems to have held soirees almost every evening, for Ibn 

H˛ajar attended regularly two evenings a week, while one of his enemies also 

attended two nights a week, but on different nights. The prince was the patron of 

both Ibn H˛ajar's Inba≠’ al-Ghumr and Ibn Taghr|bird|'s Al-Nuju≠m al-Za≠hirah. 

According to Ibn Taghr|bird|, Na≠s˝ir al-D|n Muh˝ammad "almost flew for joy" 

when he heard that Ibn Taghr|bird| had commenced work on his chronicle. 79 Alas 

for Ibn Taghr|bird|'s hopes, the prince died of a diet that involved drinking vinegar 

on an empty stomach. 

Although we have no detailed account of the way in which Na≠s˝ir al-D|n 

Muh˝ammad's salon conducted its affairs, at the very end of the Mamluk period 

the sultan Qa≠ns˝u≠h al-Ghu≠r| presided over one of the grandest and best-recorded 

salons. The sultan has already been mentioned as a poet in Turkish and Arabic. 

He also boasted of fluency in several other languages, and he commissioned the 

translation by Shar|f H˛usayn ibn H˛asan of Firdaws|'s Sha≠hna≠mah into Ottoman 

Turkish. 80 According to Shar|f's preface to the Sha≠hna≠mah, al-Ghu≠r| knew Persian 

well, but he wanted to make the great work accessible to his amirs. He also 

presided over regular soirees, of which records were kept and placed in the royal 

library. The subjects that came up in the sultan's soirees ranged over history, 

geography, mythology, current affairs, and jest, but most commonly the topics 

bore upon religion. How can Ramadan be observed in the Arctic Circle? When 

and in what circumstances has the hajj ever been suspended? Is there anything in 

the hadith to license the playing of chess? The soirees were recorded in two 

sources: the Nafa≠’is al-Maja≠lis al-Sult¸a≠n|yah by H˛usayn ibn Muh˝ammad called 

Shar|f, covering a few months in 910/1505, and the Kawkab al-Durr| f| Masa≠’il 

al-Ghu≠r|, set in 915/1513–14, of which the first half is missing. Despite the 

participation of leading Egyptian Arab ulama in these sessions, one thing that 

emerges is the Turco-Persianate formation of court culture, and there are many 

references to Mah˝mu≠d of Ghaznah, the Sha≠hna≠mah, and the ideal ruler, Alexander 

(as featured in the Sha≠hna≠mah). Al-Ghu≠r|'s salon does not seem to have been 

particularly interested in the famous poets and prose writers of traditional Arab 

literary culture. 81 Like al-Ghu≠r|'s enthusiasm for gardening on a grand scale in the 

Ottoman Turkish manner, the soirees provide evidence of the openness of the 

sixteenth-century Mamluk court to foreign exemplars and, more broadly, of the 

spread of an international court culture throughout the eastern Islamic lands. 

The debt in all the above to the still scanty and patchy secondary literature 

79 

Ibn Taghr|bird|, Nuju≠m, 8:211. 

80 

Flemming, "‹er|f"; Atıl, Renaissance of Islam, 264–65; Doris Behrens-Abouseif, "Sultan al-Ghawr| 

and the Arts," MSR 6 (2002): 77. 

81 

Awad, "Sultan al-Ghawr|," 321–22; Flemming, "Aus den Nachtgesprächen Sultan Gauris," 22–28; 

Berkey, "Mamluks as Muslims," 170–73; Behrens-Abouseif, "Al-Ghawr| and the Arts," 76–78. 




must be evident and it is certain that many important and exciting discoveries 

remain to be made in the terra incognita of Mamluk literature. Although the 

backward-looking nature of so much Mamluk poetry and prose has been stressed 

here, this feature should not necessarily be identified with decadence. 82 For if 

Mamluk authors imitated and sought to surpass their Abbasid predecessors, it was 

also true that Abbasid authors had looked back on and imitated their pre-Islamic 

and Umayyad precursors. In both periods originality was only valued within quite 

close constraints. In his Literary History of the Arabs, R. A. Nicholson, while 

confessing to "a desultory and imperfect acquaintance with their work," ventured 

that even the best of the poets of the Mamluk period were "merely elegant and 

brilliantly accomplished artists, playing brilliantly with words and phrases, but 

doing little else." 83 In Arabic Literature, Sir Hamilton Gibb characterised the 

literary production of the Mamluk age as follows: "the output was enormous 

throughout, but the qualities of originality, virility, and imagination, weak from 

the first, die away completely by the sixteenth century." 84 While it is hard to 

dissent from these timeworn verdicts, it is nevertheless the case that modern 

western literary theory accords originality and "virility" a status that writers and 

critics of the Mamluk period would have found excessive. On the other hand the 

versatility, erudition, and literary stamina of most of the writers mentioned above 

is quite astonishing. 

82 See in this issue Bauer, "Communication and Emotion." 

83 Nicholson, A Literary History, 448. 

84 Hamilton Gibb, Arabic Literature: An Introduction, 2nd ed. (Oxford, 1962), 142. 



GEERT JAN VAN GELDER 

UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD 

Poetry for Easy Listening: Insija≠m and Related Concepts in Ibn 

H˛ijjah's Khiza≠nat al-Adab 

If one considers the history of the indigenous Arabic tradition of poetics and 

rhetoric one cannot help being impressed by the ever-growing terminological 

sophistication in the study of figures of speech, the schemes and tropes of ‘ilm 

al-bad|‘. In the late third/ninth century the poet and prince Ibn al-Mu‘tazz set the 

trend in his modest but seminal treatise with a mere handful of terms: five principal 

"novel" kinds called bad|‘ and some thirteen further "embellishments" (mah˝a≠sin). 

Ibn Ab| al-Is˝ba‘, who died early in the Mamluk period, in 654/1256, discusses 

125 kinds, 1 claiming to have discovered thirty of them himself. From then on, the 

rate of growth decreases. Nearly two centuries later, Ibn H˛ijjah al-H˛amaw| (d. 

837/1434) lists 142 kinds, 2 and another three hundred years on ‘Abd al-Ghan| 

al-Na≠bulus| distinguishes 150 kinds. 3 

A study of these works, which also serve as anthologies of prose and above all 

poetry, might give an impression of the increasing sophistication and artfulness of 

the poetry itself, or even its growing artificiality and obscurity. To some extent 

there is truth in this, although the poetry in these works is carefully selected in 

order to illustrate the schemes and tropes, the puns and ornaments, and is therefore 

not truly representative of poetic practice as a whole. It is well known that general 

works on Arabic literary history often speak of "decadence" after the Abbasid 

period. This decadence is seen, on the one hand, in the alleged ornateness and 

flowery rhetoric of elite style, and on the other hand in the alleged influence of 

so-called Middle Arabic and the colloquial language, resulting in simplification 

and the infringement of "pure" syntax and style by "vulgarisms." In short, according 

to this view one either finds what is obscure and difficult but vapid and trivial, or 

what is simple but stylistically marred and, as often as not, equally empty, trivial, 


1 He himself says 121; see Tah˝r|r al-Tah˝b|r (Cairo, 1383), 621. 

2 I have used the edition Bu≠la≠q 1291 [1874] of the Khiza≠nat al-Adab along with a modern (but 

uncritical) one by ‘Is˝a≠m Sha‘aytu≠, 2 vols. (Beirut, 1987). The references are given to both, 

separated by a slash. 

3 ‘Abd al-Ghan| al-Na≠bulus|, Nafah˝a≠t al-Azha≠r (Bu≠la≠q, 1299); Pierre Cachia, The Arch Rhetorician 

or The Schemer's Skimmer. A Handbook of Late Arabic bad|‘ drawn from ‘Abd al-Gha≠n| an- 

Na≠bulus|'s Nafah˝a≠t al-Azha≠r ‘ala≠ Nasama≠t al-Ash˝a≠r (Wiesbaden, 1998). 



32 GEERT JAN VAN GELDER, POETRY FOR EASY LISTENING 

and banal. "The best of them," said Nicholson in his Literary History of the Arabs, 

speaking of poets in the Mamluk era, "are merely elegant and accomplished 

artists, playing brilliantly with words and phrases, but doing little else." 4 These 

words are quoted by Homerin, reviewing the neglect of poetry from the Mamluk 

period; 5 in fairness to Nicholson, one should add that he admits that "until they 

have been studied with due attention, it would be premature to assert that none of 

them rises above mediocrity." 

It is extremely unlikely that the reigning view on the superiority of the older 

poets will ever change, but the generally negative and disparaging remarks on 

post-Abbasid poetry may well be replaced by more balanced judgements as post- 

Abbasid poetry is slowly beginning to be investigated in more detail. Here I shall 

concentrate on the concept of stylistic and poetic "easiness" as we find it in Ibn 

H˛ijjah's work on bad|‘. Ibn H˛ijjah, poet and ka≠tib, wrote his Khiza≠nat al-Adab on 

the model of Sharh˝ al-Ka≠fiyah al-Bad|‘|yah by the well-known poet S˝af| al-D|n 

al-H˛ill| (d. 749/1349): both works are commentaries on bad|‘|yah poems composed 

by the authors themselves, in bas|t¸ meter and rhyming in -m|, in praise of the 

Prophet (like, before them, al-Bu≠s˝|r|'s celebrated ode), each verse of which 

exemplifies a particular figure of speech or stylistic embellishment. Khiza≠nat 

al-Adab contains a large quantity of poetry from all ages, much of it from post- 

Abbasid or Mamluk times. Since normally a figure of speech or trope does not 

exceed the compass of one or two lines, most of the quotations are short, but one 

also finds longer fragments and poems, including muzdawijahs of 133 and 158 

couplets. 

Most of the "embellishments" are thought of as features that are somehow 

changed from or added to an underlying basic utterance: a metaphor instead of the 

literal word, a pun, antithesis, syntactical or semantic parallelism that can be 

superimposed on plain expressions. Instead of adding, one could presuppose other 

mutations: suppression in the case of ellipsis and conciseness, permutation in the 

case of some syntactic rearrangements. There are also "figures" that cannot so 

easily be described, for instance the more impressionistic concepts of naza≠hah, 

"chaste diction," particularly when in biting lampoons one manages to avoid 

obscenities, 6 or sala≠mat al-ikhtira≠‘, "originality." 7 The same is valid for a few 

chapters that deal with easy diction and smooth style, which form the subject of 

this article. 

4 

R. A. Nicholson, A Literary History of the Arabs (1907; reprint, Cambridge, 1966), 448. 

5 

Th. Emil Homerin, "Reflections on Arabic Poetry in the Mamluk Age," Mamlu≠k Studies Review 

1 (1997): 63–85. 

6 

Khiza≠nah, 95–96/1:172–74. 

7 Ibid., 493–98/2:362–69. 




The most important of these is the section on insija≠m, "fluency." 8 It is obviously a 

concept that is dear to Ibn H˛ijjah, for the section is the longest of all by a wide 

margin, apart from the only section that surpasses it, the very extensive chapter on 

tawriyah. 9 A later author, Ibn Ma‘s˝u≠m, who completed his large-scale bad|‘|yah 

commentary Anwa≠r al-Rab|‘ in 1093/1682, goes even further, making insija≠m by 

far his longest chapter. 10 The term insija≠m is derived from a root denoting flowing, 

streaming, and pouring forth of water. In the metalanguage of bad|‘, the dominant 

semantic fields are those of jewelry, embroidery, and other sartorial imagery; 11 it 

is appropriate that the limpidity of streaming water is used for what comes down 

to the absence of ornament. For, paradoxically, insija≠m is a kind of bad|‘ that is 

defined by being devoid of bad|‘. 12 "Water" implies not only smoothness and 

fluency, but sparkle and lustre: in Arabic, as in English, one speaks of the "water" 

of a sword. It is unique among drinks and food in that its tastelessness is praised 

and called sweetness. Ibn H˛ijjah's description of insija≠m, given at the beginning 

of the chapter, is as follows: 

By insija≠m is meant that [the text] flows like water when it runs 

down (inh˝ida≠r), because it is free from complexity (‘aqa≠dah), so 

that it would almost stream forth (yas|l) in its elegance (riqqah), 

because of the smoothness of its construction (suhu≠lat tark|bih) 

and the sweetness of its diction (‘udhu≠bat alfa≠z˛ih). . . . The scholars 

of bad|‘ are unanimous in defining this kind of bad|‘ as being 

remote from artificiality and free from kinds of bad|‘ (an yaku≠na 

8 

Ibid., 236–74/1:417–76. See also Usa≠mah ibn Munqidh, Al-Bad|‘ f| Naqd al-Shi‘r (Cairo, 1960), 

131–32; Ibn Ab| al-Is˝ba‘, Tah˝r|r, 429–32; idem, Bad|‘ al-Qur’a≠n (Cairo, 1957), 166–67; Najm 

al-D|n Ah˝mad ibn Isma≠‘|l Ibn al-Ath|r, Jawhar al-Kanz (Alexandria, 1983), 297–77; S˝a≠f| al-D|n 

al-H˛ill|, Sharh˝ al-Ka≠fiyah al-Bad|‘|yah (Damascus, 1982), 264–65; al-Suyu≠t¸|, Sharh˝ ‘Uqu≠d al-Juma≠n 

(Cairo, n.d.), 153 (wrongly claiming the introduction of insija≠m into c ilm al-bad|‘ for himself); 

‘Abd al-Ghan| al-Na≠bulus|, Nafah˝a≠t al-Azha≠r, 295–303 (cf. Cachia, The Arch Rhetorician, 118–19, 

no. 162). 

9 

Khiza≠nah, 295–435/2:39–251. 

10 

‘Al| ibn Ah˝mad Ibn Ma‘sű≠m, Anwa≠r al-Rab|‘ f| Anwa≠‘ al-Bad|‘, ed. Sha≠kir Ha≠d| Shukr (Karbala≠’, 

1968–69), 4:5–194. 

11 

Among the few who have dealt with this topic is Abdelfattah Kilito, "Sur le métalangage 

métaphorique des poéticiens arabes," Poétique 38 (1979): 162–74. 

12 

Khiza≠nah, 236/1:417; cf. Ibn Ab| al-Is˝ba‘, Tah˝r|r, 429; idem, Bad|‘ al-Qur’a≠n, 166; al-H˛ill|, 

Sharh˝, 264; al-Na≠bulus|, Nafah˝a≠t, 295. 




ba‘|d min al-tas˝annu‘ kha≠l| min al-anwa≠‘ al-bad|‘|yah), except when 

this happens easily and unintentionally. 

He adds that insija≠m in rhymed prose means that the rhymes appear to be 

unintentional and spontaneous. In the Quran it is seen in the occasional short 

passages that scan as poetic meters; Ibn H˛ijjah gives examples at some length. 13 

Another paradox seems to be lurking here: insija≠m in metrical speech implies that 

it sounds almost like prose, and conversely, when prose chances to come out 

according to one of the recognized poetic meters, it is insija≠m too. As far as we 

can judge, insija≠m, as a separate section in lists of bad|‘, started its life precisely 

as the last-mentioned kind: prose that fortuitously turns out to be metrical, for this 

is how Usa≠mah Ibn Munqidh, the first to do so, defines and illustrates the term in 

his work on bad|‘. 14 Insija≠m in its broader sense is first found in Ibn Ab| al-Is˝ba‘. 

Immediately after defining insija≠m Ibn H˛ijjah says that "most of the poetry of 

al-Shaykh Sharaf al-D|n ‘Abd al-‘Az|z al-Ans˝a≠r|, shaykh al-shuyu≠kh of H˛ama≠h . . . 

corresponds to this definition." This poet, also known as Ibn al-Raffa≠‘, died early 

in the Mamluk period, in 662/1264; 15 later in the chapter, Ibn H˛ijjah quotes six 

fragments or short poems by him, with a total of 57 lines, which illustrate his 

"amatory fluency" (insija≠ma≠tuh al-ghara≠m|yah). 16 It appears that insija≠m and love 

poetry are closely connected, for Ibn H˛ijjah says at the outset that the masters of 

this style are ahl al-t¸ar|q al-ghara≠m|yah, "the people of the amatory path," 17 or 

as˝h˝a≠b al-madhhab al-ghara≠m|. 18 This love may be profane or mystical, or even 

both at the same time; it is not always possible to distinguish between the two 

categories. Before we look at the poetry in more detail, consider the following 

short text, a lover's complaint: 

Khabbiru≠hu≠ tafs˝|la h˝a≠l| jumlatan; fa-‘asa≠hu≠ yariqqu l| wa-la‘allah! 

Kam tanah˝nah˝tu idh tabaddá, h˝idha≠ran min raq|b|, wa-kam takallaftu 

13 Khiza≠nah, 236–38/1:417–21. 

14 Usa≠mah, Bad|‘, 131–32; he discusses prose that is unintentionally metrical but does not mention 

the Quran. Ibn Ab| al-Is˝ba‘, Tah˝r|r, 429 discusses the Quranic phenomenon and refers to a book 

of his, Al-M|za≠n, on this topic. See also Ibn Qayyim al-Jawz|yah, Al-Fawa≠’id (Cairo, 1327), 

219–20; al-Suyu≠t¸|, Al-Itqa≠n f| ‘Ulu≠m al-Qur’a≠n (Cairo, 1975), 3:296–97 (ch. 58). 

15 Ibn al-Raffa≠‘, ‘Abd al-‘Az|z ibn Muh˝ammad ibn ‘Abd al-Muh˝sin, was born 586/1190; see 

Khal|l ibn Aybak al-S˝afad|, Al-Wa≠f| bi-al-Wafaya≠t, 18:546–56, where he is highly praised for his 

beautiful and artful poetry, full of wit (nukat), punning (tawriya≠t), easy rhymes, "sweet syntax" 

(al-tark|b al-‘adhb), correct diction, and eloquent ideas. 

16 Khiza≠nah, 249–51/1:436–39. 

17 Ibid., 236/1:417. 

18 Ibid., 238/1:421. 




su‘lah! Laysa l| ‘an hudá hawa≠hu d˝ala≠lun, akthara al-lawma ‘a≠dhil| 

aw aqallah. Rukkibat f| jibillat| nashwatu al-‘ishqi; wa-s˝a‘bun 

taghy|ru ma≠ f| al-jibillah. 

Sa≠dat|, ‘a≠widu≠ rid˝a≠kum wa-‘u≠du≠ ‘an jafa≠kum, fa-ma≠ baqiya 

f|ya fad˝lah! Dhubtu shawqan, fa-‘a≠liju≠n| bi-qurbin; muttu ‘ishqan, 

fa-h˝annit¸u≠n| bi-qublah! Wa-ishghulu≠n| ‘an la≠’imin ma≠ ata≠n| birasha≠din 

atat'hu a≠fatu ghaflah: Qultu, "Billa≠hi, khallin|!", fa-tama≠dá. 

Wa-qal|lun man yatruku al-sharra lillah. 

[Tell him the details of my state, and all of it; perhaps he will have 

pity on me, maybe . . . ! How often did I say "Ahem" when he 

appeared, being wary of my watchful guard; how often did I feign 

a cough! I do not stray from the right path of loving him, however 

much or little critics may reproach me. Intoxication by love's passion 

is a part of me by nature: and it is hard to change what's in one's 

nature. 

My masters, let me have your favor once again, after your 

harshness, for I cannot bear it any longer! I've pined away with 

passion; cure me now with nearness! I've died of love; embalm me 

with a kiss! Distract me from a censurer—as soon as he tells me 

how to behave, he's plagued by inattentiveness: I say, "For God's 

sake, leave me!" But he perseveres. Few people will abandon evil 

"for God's sake."] 

A pleasant piece of literary prose? Perhaps the recurrent rhyme in -lah has given 

the game away: it is in fact poetry, by the above-mentioned Ibn al-Raffa≠‘, as the 

following layout makes clear. 19 

Khabbiru≠hu≠ tafs˝|la h˝a≠liya jumlah 

fa-‘asa≠hu≠ yariqqu l| wa-la‘allah 

Kam tanah˝nah˝tu idh tabaddá h˝idha≠ran 

min raq|b| wa-kam takallaftu su‘lah 

Laysa l| ‘an hudá hawa≠hu d˝ala≠lun 

akthara al-lawma ‘a≠dhil| aw aqallah 

Rukkibat f| jibillat| nashwatu al-‘ishqi 

wa-s˝a‘bun taghy|ru ma≠ f| al-jibillah 

Sa≠dat| ‘a≠widu≠ rid˝a≠kum wa-‘u≠du≠ 

19 Ibid., 249–50/1:438. In the "prose" version I have cheated a bit in giving prose forms instead of 

"poetic" deviations and rhymes (thus h˝a≠l|, jumlatan, ‘ishq, baqiya, whereas the poem has h˝a≠liya, 

jumlah, ‘ishqi, baq|). 




‘an jafa≠kum fa-ma≠ baq| f|ya fad˝lah 

Dhubtu shawqan fa-‘a≠liju≠n| bi-qurbin 

muttu ‘ishqan fa-h˝annit¸u≠n| bi-qublah 

Wa-ishghulu≠n| ‘an la≠’imin ma≠ ata≠n| 

bi-rasha≠din atat'hu a≠fatu ghaflah 

Qultu billa≠hi khallin| fa-tama≠dá 

Wa-qal|lun man yatruku al-sharra lillah 

[Tell him the details of my state, and all of it; 

perhaps he will have pity on me, maybe . . . ! 

How often did I say "Ahem" when he appeared, being wary of 

my watchful guard; how often did I feign a cough! 

I do not stray from the right path of loving him, 

however much or little critics may reproach me. 

Intoxication by love's passion is a part of me by nature: 

and it is hard to change what's in one's nature. 

My masters, let me have your favor once again, 

after your harshness, for I cannot bear it any longer! 

I've pined away with passion; cure me now with nearness! 

I've died of love; embalm me with a kiss! 

Distract me from a censurer—as soon as he 

tells me how to behave, he's plagued by inattentiveness: 

I say, "For God's sake, leave me!" But he perseveres. 

Few people will abandon evil "for God's sake."] 

This gives an idea of what Ibn H˛ijjah calls "fluency": no intricate word-play, the 

few antitheses are simple (line 3: hudá/d˝ala≠l, akthara/aqalla; line 5: 

rid˝a≠kum/jafa≠kum), as is the syntactic, semantic, and phonetic parallelism in line 6. 

Both halves of the poem (lines 4b and 8b) end with a maxim-like sentence, the 

latter being a little joke in that it gives a twist to the imprecation billa≠h in 8a, and 

using the colloquial lillah with short a in the last rhyme. If, as the earliest known 

treatment of insija≠m, by Usa≠mah Ibn Munqidh, suggests, the "figure" was originally 

conceived as prose unintentionally coming out metrically, as poetry, then an 

important criterion is apparent artlessness. A test for poetry would consist in 

writing it out as prose, as I have done above, and see how long it takes for a new 

reader to discover that it is in fact poetry. 

Ibn H˛ijjah quotes some 112 different poets in the chapter (including himself, 

with a piece of 19 lines). 20 Many are well-known, others are obscure or wholly 

20 Ibid., 274/1:475. 




unknown. The majority are late, but there are some lines by early poets: Imru’ 

al-Qays, with a line from his Mu‘allaqah ("A-gharraki minn| anna h˝ubbaki qa≠til| 

. . .") and the line that ends with the well-known words ". . . wa-kullu ghar|bin 

lil-ghar|bi nas|bu≠" [a stranger is related to every other stranger]. 21 Many other 

early poets are also represented by a few lines. Poets from the Abbasid era are 

better represented, some by longer quotations, such as al-Shar|f al-Rad˝| (30 lines) 

and Mihya≠r al-Daylam| (26 lines). High scores among pre-Mamluk poets are for 

Baha≠’ al-D|n Zuhayr (d. 656/1258), with 48 lines, and especially Ibn al-Fa≠rid˝ (d. 

632/1235), with 130 lines (half of them from what looks like a conflation of his 

two Ta≠’|yahs), which is remarkable in view of the profusion of figures of speech 

in his verse. Among the Mamluk poets are al-Sha≠bb al-Z˛ar|f and his father ‘Af|f 

al-D|n al-Tilimsa≠n|, Jama≠l al-D|n Ibn Nuba≠tah, Ibn al-Ward|, and Burha≠n al-D|n 

al-Q|ra≠t¸|. I shall quote and translate short poems or fragments by all five of these. 

Shams al-D|n Muh˝ammad ibn al-‘Af|f al-Tilimsa≠n|, nicknamed al-Sha≠bb al- 

Z˛ar|f, "the Decent Young Man" (z¸ar|f also means "elegant, witty, charming") was 

born in Cairo in 661/1263 and died at Damascus at the very young age of 26, in 

688/1289, two years before his father. 22 Ibn H˛ijjah quotes seven pieces or fragments 

by him, with a total of 51 lines, all of them love lyrics. His verse is indeed smooth 

and fluent, though not without obvious rhetorical craftsmanship. An example: 

La≠ takhfi ma≠ fa‘alat bi-ka al-ashwa≠q_u≠ 

wa-ishrah˝ hawa≠ka fa-kulluna≠ ‘ushsha≠qu≠ 

Fa-‘asá yu‘|nuka man shakawta la-hu al-hawá 

f| h˝amlih| fa-al-‘a≠shiqu≠na rifa≠q_u≠ 

La≠ tajza‘anna fa-lasta awwala mughramin 

fatakat bi-hi al-wajana≠tu wa-l-ah˝da≠qu≠ 

Wa-is˝bir ‘alá hajri al-h˝ab|bi fa-rubbama≠ 

‘a≠da al-wisa≠lu wa-lil-hawá akhla≠qu≠ 

Kam laylatin as'hartu ah˝da≠q| bi-ha≠ 

wajdan wa-lil-afka≠ri b| ih˝da≠qu≠ 

Ya≠ rabbu qad ba‘uda al-ladh|na uh˝ibbuhum 

21 D|wa≠n, ed. Abu≠ al-Fad˝l Ibra≠h|m (Cairo, 1969), 357; it does not sound very authentic. 

22 Carl Brockelmann, Geschichte der Arabischen Litteratur (Leiden, 1949), 1:258, S1:458; J. 

Rikabi, "Ibn al-‘Af|f al-Tilimsa≠n|," The Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2nd ed., 3:697; F. Krenkow-[M. 

Yalaoui], "Tilimsa≠n|," EI 2 , 10:499-500; D. J. Wasserstein, "Ibn al-‘Af|f al-Tilimsa≠n|," Encyclopedia 

of Arabic Literature, ed. Julie Scott Meisami and Paul Starkey (London and New York, 1998), 

1:308; Shawq| D˛ayf, ‘As˝r al-Duwal wa-al-Ima≠ra≠t: Mis˝r wa-al-Sha≠m, Ta≠r|kh al-Adab al-‘Arab|, 

no. 6 (Cairo, 1984), 695–97; Ibn Sha≠kir al-Kutub|, Fawa≠t al-Wafaya≠t (Beirut, 1973–74), 3: 372–82; 

al-S˝afad|, Wa≠f|, 3:129–36. D|wa≠n al-Sha≠bb al-Z˛ar|f, ed. Sha≠kir Ha≠d| Shukr [thus in preface; on 

title page and cover: Shakr] (Beirut, 1405/1985), with some 2500 lines. 




‘ann| wa-qad alifa al-rifa≠qa fira≠qu≠ 

Wa-iswadda h˝az˛z˛| ‘indahum lamma≠ sará 

f|h| bi-na≠ri s˝aba≠bat| ih˝ra≠qu≠ 

‘Urbun ra’aytu as˝ah˝h˝a m|tha≠qin lahum 

an la≠ yas˝ih˝h˝a ladayhimu≠ m|tha≠qu≠ 23 

[Don't hide what love has done to you: 

display your passion; we are lovers all. 

If you complain of love to someone, he 

may help you bear it: lovers are all friends. 

You must not grieve, you're not the first who loves 

and has been killed by murderous cheeks and eyes. 

Be steadfast when your love deserts you, for 

you may be reunited. Passion has its ways. 

So many nights I kept my eyes awake, 

love-sick, besieged by thoughts all round. 

Lord! Those I love are far from me; 

parting from friends is part of normal life. 

My luck with them has blackened, with 

the scorching fire of passion burnt. 

They're Bedouin nomads, most reliable, I find, 

in that one never can rely on them.] 

The "fluency" consists in the absence of difficult words and intricate syntax. The 

few instances of word-play are simple: ah˝da≠q and ih˝da≠q (line 5), rifa≠q and fira≠q 

(line 6). A sprinkling of antitheses adds clarity to the ideas expressed 

(hiding/displaying, grief/steadfastness, parting/union). As in the poem quoted above, 

several lines end with a general statement resembling a maxim (lines 1, 2, 4) and 

the poem is rounded off (at least in the curtailed version given in the Khiza≠nah) 

with a neat paradox, a line that stands out in being the only one that does not 

contain a reference to love or lovers. 24 There is a contrast or even a conflict, not 

resolved, between on the one hand the optimistic and consoling first four lines, 

addressed to the lover (or perhaps spoken by the lover to himself), and on the 

23 

Khiza≠nah, 252/1:441; cf. D|wa≠n, 161, which adds one line after vs. 1 and three more at the end. 

In line 6, Khiza≠nah has al-fira≠qa fira≠qu≠, which does not make sense; the version of the D|wa≠n has 

been followed instead. In the last line one might read yas˝ih˝hű, instead of the subjunctive, since no 

wish or effect is involved. 

24 

Vs. 1 has ashwa≠q, hawá and ‘ushsha≠q, vs. 2 hawá and ‘a≠shiqu≠n, vs. 3 mughram, vs. 4 h˝ab|b and 

hawá, vs. 5 wajd, vs. 6 uh˝ibbuhum, vs. 7 s˝aba≠bat|. 




other hand the unredeemed misery described in the second half of the poem, 

where the second person singular (comfortingly included in "all of us") is replaced 

by the first person singular throughout, apparently isolated from "them." It could 

be argued, of course, that such sudden changes of mood are normal in the lovestricken. 

Ibn H˛ijjah also quotes the following four lines by him: 

Bi-tathann| qawa≠mika al-mamshu≠q| 

wa-bi-anwa≠ri wajhika al-ma‘shu≠q| 

Wa-bi-ma‘nan lil-hűsni mubtakarun f|ka 

wa-qalbin ka-qalbiya al-mah˝ru≠q| 

Jud bi-was˝lin aw zawratin aw bi-wa‘din 

aw kala≠min aw waqfatin f| al-t¸ar|q| 

Aw bi-irsa≠lika al-sala≠ma ma‘a al-r|h˝i 

wa-illa≠ fa-bi-al-khaya≠li al-t¸aru≠q| 25 

[By the swaying of your slender body, 

and the lights of your beloved face, 

By a rare and novel beauty in you, 

and a heart burnt black like my own heart: 

Come live with me, or visit me, or promise me, 

or say something, stop briefly on the street, 

Or send a greeting with the wind; if not, 

then visit me at least at night in dreams!] 

This little poem is more unified than the previous one; it consists of only one 

sentence that is long but transparent, neatly divided into two equal halves. The 

lines are devoid of any puns, and employ none but the simplest metaphors; the 

only art lies in the artless diction and the pleasing anticlimactic series in the last 

two lines, in which the requests become, on the whole, progressively longer and 

emptier. 

More intricate word-play and greater frequency of it are not incompatible with 

insija≠m. Here is a piece by the father of al-Sha≠bb al-Z˛ar|f, ‘Af|f al-D|n al-Tilimsa≠n| 

(610–690/1213–1291). 26 By calling him one of the ‘a≠rifu≠n, Ibn H˛ijjah indicates 

that the verses should be given a mystical interpretation: 

25 Khiza≠nah, 252/1:441. In the D|wa≠n (167–68) the poem has 13 lines, of which Ibn H˛ijjah offers 

1, 2, 4, and 5. Instead of wa-qalbin ka-qalbiya al-mah˝ru≠q| the D|wa≠n has wa-khas˝rin ka-qalbiya 

al-masru≠q|. 

26 Krenkow-[Yalaoui], "Tilimsa≠n|"; Brockelmann, GAL, 1:258, S1:458. 




Ludh bi-al-ghara≠mi wa-ladhdhati al-ashwa≠q| 

wa-ikhtar fana≠’aka f| al-jama≠li al-ba≠q| 

Wa-ikhla‘ sulu≠waka fa-huwa thawbun mukhlaqun 

wa-ilbas jad|da maka≠rimi al-akhla≠q| 

Wa-tawaqqa min na≠ri al-sűdu≠di bi-shurbatin 

min ma≠’i dam‘ika fa-huwa ni‘ma al-wa≠q| 

Wa-idha≠ da‘a≠ka ilá al-s˝iba≠ nafasu al-s˝aba≠ 

fa-ajib rasu≠la nas|mihi al-khaffa≠q| 

Wa-idha≠ sharibta al-s˝irfa min khamri al-hawá 

iyya≠ka taghfalu ‘an jama≠li al-sa≠q| 

Wa-ilqa al-ah˝ibbata in aradta wisa≠lahum 

mutaladhdhidhan bi-al-dhulli wa-al-imla≠q| 

A-wa-laysa min ah˝lá al-mat¸a≠mi‘i f| al-hawá 

‘izzu al-h˝ab|bi wa-dhillatu al-‘ushsha≠q| 27 

[Take refuge in love and the pleasure of passion 

and seek your extinction in beauty that lasts. 

Take off the old cloak, now worn out, of your solace; 

and get yourself dressed in a new set of virtues. 

Seek protection 'gainst fire of rejection by drinking 

the water of tears: they're the safest protection. 

When the zephyr invites you to amorous folly, 

obey then the messenger sent in its fluttering breeze. 

And when you have drunk the unmixed wine of passion, 

be careful to notice the cupbearer's beauty. 

And meet those you love, if you wish to be one with them, 

while you relish in being submissive and poor. 

For isn't this one of the sweetest ambitions in love: 

the beloved exalted, and humbled the lovers?] 

The poem is based on an often-expressed paradox: a lover's true happiness exists 

in being miserable, and it ought to be his highest ambition to be lowly and 

submissive. This is expressed through various instances of paronomasia: 

ludh/ladhdha, mukhlaq/akhla≠q, tawaqqa/wa≠q|, s˝aba≠/s˝iba≠, mutaladhdhidh/dhull, 

and of antithesis: fana≠’/ba≠q|, ikhla‘/ilbas, mukhlaq/jad|d, na≠r/ma≠’, ‘izz/dhillah. 

Combined, these two figures suggest a punning antithesis of ladhdhah "pleasure" 

and dhillah/dhull "submission" that here, exceptionally, goes beyond the confines 

27 Khiza≠nah, 260/1:453. 




of a single line (see lines 1, 6 and 7) and is reinforced by the fact that the very first 

word, ludh (from a different root), is a palindrome of dhull. Yet, in spite of all this 

apparent artifice, one can understand that Ibn H˛ijjah cites it as an example of 

insija≠m "that stirs the passions and ardent emotions." 

Not all poems quoted are on love secular or mystical. The longest poem, by 

Ibn Nuba≠tah (686–768/1287–1366), is a muzdawijah of 158 rajaz couplets in 

praise of the ruler of H˛ama≠h, al-Malik al-Afd˝al. After a brief description of 

nature, it turns into a hunting poem, with a brief panegyric at the end. 28 The poem 

reads smoothly indeed, and approaches prose not only in being relatively free of 

obscure diction and far-fetched imagery, but also because it is basically a narrative, 

from the beginning of the hunt (line 23: "When the time for the shoot 29 approached, 

we set out . . .") until the returning, with a heavy bag (lines 137–39: "God, what a 

fine and blessed sight, the manner we returned from the mountain's summit, our 

hands filled with the spoils, thankful for the bounty bestowed upon us, thronging 

round the Victorious King, al-Malik al-Mans˝u≠r 30 like comets round the luminous 

moon"). Within a framework of verbs in perfect tense at intervals (sirna≠ . . . h˝attá 

nazalna≠ . . . wa-ibtadara al-qawm . . . wa-aqbalat mawa≠kibu al-t¸uyu≠r . . . sirna≠ . . 

., etc.), the action and scenes are depicted in the intervals by means of circumstantial 

clauses, extended attributive clauses, similes (ka-annaha≠ . . .), exclamative sentences 

(fa-ya≠ la-ha≠ . . ., fa-h˝abbadha≠ . . ., kam . . ., wa≠han la-ha≠ . . .) and other 

constructions. Shooting turns to hawking and to hunting with hounds and cheetahs, 

and all of it underlines both the bounty and the bloodshed that is customarily 

ascribed to rulers in panegyric poetry. Ibn H˛ijjah, praising the poem, says that "If 

the Shar|f could have seen it, he would have sponged off of (tat¸affala) the breeze 

of its verses [i.e., plagiarized them], and he would have acknowledged that The 

Chanter and the Groaner does not chant and warble as sweetly." He refers to Ibn 

al-Habba≠r|yah (d. ca. 509/1115) and his collection of poems in rajaz meter with 

mostly animal fables, even though Ibn Nuba≠tah's poem is more akin to the model 

set by Ibn al-Mu‘tazz and Abu≠ Fira≠s. 31 

Ibn H˛ijjah is enthusiastic, too, about a poem by Ibn al-Ward| 

(691–749/1292–1349) which is a versified deed of purchase, improvised when 

challenged on 14 Ramad˝a≠n of the year 715/1316. 32 It begins as follows: 

28 

Ibid., 267–72/1:466–72. The edition of the poem by Muh˝ammad As‘ad T˛alas in Majallat 

al-Majma‘ al-‘Ilm| al-‘Ira≠q| 2 (1952): 302–10 has 177 couplets. 

29 

With pellets, ramy al-bunduq, for shooting birds. 

30 

Ibn H˛ijjah explains that al-Malik al-Afd˝al's earlier name was al-Malik al-Mansű≠r. 

31 

See, e.g., James E. Montgomery, "Abu≠ Fira≠s's Veneric Urju≠zah Muzdawijah," Arabic and Middle 

Eastern Literatures 2 (1999): 61–74, esp. 69. 

32 

Khiza≠nah, 272–73/1:473–74. The date, as can be expected here, is given in the poem itself. 




Bi-ismi ila≠hi al-khalqi ha≠dha≠ ma≠ ishtará 

Muh˝ammadu ibnu Yu≠nusa ibni Sunqura≠ 

Min Ma≠liki ibni Ah˝mada ibni al-Azraq| 

Kila≠huma≠ qad ‘urifa≠ min Jilliq_| 

[In the name of the God of all creatures: this is what has been 

bought 

By Muh˝ammad Ibn Yu≠nus Ibn Sunqur 

From Ma≠lik Ibn Ah˝mad Ibn al-Azraq, 

Both known persons from Damascus.] 

Truly fluent like prose, it is versification, naz˛m, but not everyone would call it 

poetry, shi‘r. It is perhaps not strange that the poem is not found in Ibn al-Ward|'s 

D|wa≠n. 33 Ibn H˛ijjah could have used the second and third hemistichs of this 

fragment as illustrations of another "figure" of bad|‘, called it¸t¸ira≠d (lit. "uninterrupted 

sequence"), which consists in using personal names in poetry in a seemingly 

artless manner. 34 

The Egyptian poet Burha≠n al-D|n al-Q|ra≠t¸| (726–81/1326–79), 35 a friend of 

Ibn Nuba≠tah, is represented with three fragments taken from one poem, the first 

two being the following: 

Akhadhat Ba≠bilu ‘anhu≠ / ba‘da tilka al-nafatha≠t| 

Fa-huwa ghus˝nun f| in‘ita≠fin / wa-ghaza≠lun f| iltifa≠t| 

H˛asana≠tu al-khaddi minhu≠ / qad at¸a≠lat h˝asara≠t| 

Kullama≠ sa≠’a fa‘a≠lan / qultu «Inna al-h˝asana≠ti . . .» 

Wa-li-su≠’i al-h˝az˛z˛i s˝a≠rat / h˝asana≠ti sayyi’a≠t| 

A‘shaqu al-sha≠ma≠ti minhu≠ / wa-hiya asba≠bu mama≠t| 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Bi-ab| lah˝z˛u ghaza≠lin / q_a≠’ilin f| al-khalawa≠ti: 

"Inna lil-mawti bi-aqda≠- / h˝i jufu≠n| sakara≠t|" 

Qultu "Qad mittu ghara≠man" / Qa≠la l| "Mut bi-h˝aya≠t|" 36 

33 D|wa≠n Ibn al-Ward|, ed. Ah˝mad Fawz| al-Hayb (Kuwait, 1986). 

34 Khiza≠nah, 199–201/1:351–53; cf. H˛asan Ibn Rash|q al-Qayrawa≠n|, al-‘Umdah f| Mah˝a≠sin al-Shi‘r 

wa-A±da≠bihi wa-Naqdih, ed. Muh˝ammad Muh˝y| al-D|n ‘Abd al-H˛am|d (Beirut, repr. 1972), 2:82–84; 

Ibn Ab| al-Is˝ba‘, Tah˝r|r, 352–54, Cachia, The Arch Rhetorician, 43 (no. 64), where it is rendered 

"flowing identification." 

35 D˛ayf, ‘As˝r al-Duwal, 292–95; Brockelmann, GAL, 2:14, S2:7. 

36 Khiza≠nah, 273/1:474. 



[Babylon took from him 

some of these magic spells: 37 

He is a twig the way he bends, 

a gazelle the way he turns. 

The beauties of his cheek 

have prolonged my miseries. 

Whenever he behaves badly 

I say, «Surely the good deeds . . .» 38 

But to my misfortune my good deeds 

have turned into evil deeds. 

I am in love with his moles 

though they be the causes of my death. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

O, how dear to me is the glance of a gazelle 

saying in the desert, 39 

"Death's throes 40 are in 

the cups of my eyelids" 

I said, "I am dying of passion!" 

He replied to me, "Die, by my life!"] 


The usual motifs—the twig, the gazelle, magic charms, cheeks, moles or beauty 

spots, and finally death by love—make for easy listening, together with the smooth 

syntax, short lines, and easy diction. There is hardly anything deep in such a 

poem, although one notices little touches that lift it above the wholly trite. By 

saying that the "prehistoric" Babylonians derived their magic from the beloved, it 

is suggested that he 41 is a timeless, primeval being, perhaps an angel fallen from 

heaven like Ha≠ru≠t and Ma≠ru≠t. The lover, in turn, pretends to have fallen: in love 

and into sin. His beloved's bad deeds have literally been "taken away" by the 

incompleteness of the Quranic quotation as well as by his beauty; conversely, the 

lover's goodness has turned into badness as stated in the next line and implied by 

37 

Babylon is associated with the fallen angels Ha≠ru≠t and Ma≠ru≠t and with magic. 

38 

« . . will take away the evil deeds» (Quran 11:114). 

39 

D˛ayf, who quotes these lines (‘As˝r al-Duwal, 293, omitting vss. 4–5), places this line at the 

beginning. He interprets qa≠’il as from the root qyl ("taking a midday nap"), which is possible. In 

the version quoted by Ibn H˛ijjah "saying" is more appropriate, since the following line must be 

spoken by the "gazelle." 

40 

Literally, "intoxications," hence the "cups." 

41 

D˛ayf, child of his time, assumes that the beloved is female. 




the mention of drunkenness further on. There is an obvious play on the two 

meanings of h˝asana≠t, aesthetic and moral "beauties." The last word is a linguistic 

joke, playing on two meanings of the preposition bi- in "by my life": either an 

implied oath: "(I swear) upon my life," or literally "by means of my being alive." 

There are two other sections in bad|‘ lists, including Ibn H˛ijjah's Khiza≠nah, that 

are not wholly unlike insija≠m. Ibn H˛ijjah deals with them in two much shorter 

consecutive sections. The first is suhu≠lah, 42 which means, of course, "easiness, 

smoothness, facility"; as we have seen, Ibn H˛ijjah uses the word when describing 

insija≠m. He is aware that the concepts are related, as appears from the following: 

Suhu≠lah is mentioned by al-T|fa≠sh| in connection with the figure 

of z˛ara≠fah ("elegance"); 43 some people associate it with insija≠m. It 

is mentioned by Ibn Sina≠n al-Khafa≠j| in his book Sirr al-Fas˝a≠h˝ah 

(The Secret of Eloquence), where he says that it consists of the 

words being free from artificiality, complexity, and tortuousness in 

the expression (khulu≠s˝ al-lafz˝ min al-takalluf wa-al-ta‘q|d wa-alta‘assuf 

f| al-sabk). 44 Al-T|fa≠sh| defines suhu≠lah as "easy expressions, 

that are distinguished from others even to those literate people who 

have the least taste, and which bespeak of a sensitive feeling, a fine 

nature, and a sound reflective mind." 45 

Almost all the illustrations are from Baha≠’ al-D|n Zuhayr, "who holds the reins of 

this kind." No attempt is made to distinguish between insija≠m and suhu≠lah and it 

is doubtful that Ibn H˛ijjah would insist on a distinction; he is bound to follow his 

42 Khiza≠nah, 554–7/1:478–81; cf. al-H˛ill|, Sharh˝, 311–13; Ibn Ma‘s˝u≠m, Anwa≠r, 6:270–78 (calling 

it tas'h|l); al-Na≠bulus|, Nafah˝a≠t, 311–16; Cachia, The Arch Rhetorician, 119 (no. 163), where it is 

translated as "smoothness." 

43 Ah˝mad ibn Yu≠suf al-T|fa≠sh| (d. 651/1253), author of works on precious stones and sex, also 

wrote a work on bad|‘ which has not been preserved. See al-H˛ill|, Sharh˝, 72; Ibn Ab| al-Is˝ba‘, 

Tah˝r|r, 91; Ah˝mad ibn Mus˝t¸afá Ta≠shkubr|'za≠dah, Mifta≠h˝ al-Sa‘a≠dah wa-Mis˝ba≠h al-Siya≠dah 

(Hyderabad, 1977–1980), 1:182 (spelled as al-T.gha≠sh|); Baha≠’ al-D|n Ah˝mad ibn ‘Al| al-Subk|, 

‘Aru≠s al-Afra≠h˝ f| Sharh˝ Talkh|s˝ al-Mifta≠h˝, in Mas‘u≠d ibn ‘Umar al-Tafta≠za≠n| et al., Shuru≠h˝ al-Talkh|s˝ 

(Cairo, 1937) 4:467 (here spelled as al-Sha≠sh|). Before al-T|fa≠sh|, Usa≠mah Ibn Munqidh (Bad|‘, 

134–39) offered a chapter on al-z˝ara≠fah wa-al-suhu≠lah. 

44 Not found in the consulted editions of Ibn Sina≠n al-Khafa≠j| (d. 477/1074), Sirr al-Fas˝a≠h˝ah 

(Cairo, 1932 and Beirut, 1982). Until this point, Ibn H˛ijjah is quoting, or near-quoting, al-H˛ill|'s 

commentary (Sharh˝ al-Ka≠fiyah, 311), which has t¸ara≠fah instead of z˝ara≠fah). 

45 Khiza≠nah, 554/1:478. 




model, al-H˛ill|, who, in turn, merely collected those terms of bad|‘ that were 

current. Judging by the examples, suhu≠lah seems to be applied even more than 

insija≠m to poetry that is "easy," in that it avoids difficult words, difficult syntax, 

and difficult thoughts. One example, by al-Baha≠’ Zuhayr, is on the old conceit of 

offering to return a kiss as if it were a present that could be given back: 46 

Man l| bi-qalbin ashtar|- / hi min al-qulu≠bi al-qa≠siyah 

Wa-ilayka ya≠ malika al-mila≠- / h˝i waqaftu ashku≠ h˝a≠liyah 

Inn| la-at¸lubu h˝a≠jatan / laysat ‘alayka bi-kha≠fiyah 

An‘im ‘alayya bi-qublatin / hibatan wa-illa≠ ‘a≠riyah 

Wa-u‘|duha≠ la-ka la≠ ‘adim- /ta bi-‘ayniha≠ wa-kama≠ hiyah 

Wa-idha≠ aradta ziya≠datan / khudhha≠ wa-nafs| ra≠d˝iyah 47 

[Who has a heart for me that I could buy, a hard one! 

To you, O king of pretty ones, I've come with my complaint. 

I want one thing; it will not be unknown to you: 

Please make me happy with a kiss: a gift, or else a loan; 

You'll have it back precisely as it was, my dear! 

But if you'd like some more, please take them, it's my pleasure.] 

The other, following section is entitled h˝usn al-baya≠n, 48 a term that should be 

taken in a vague and general sense, such as "beautiful exposition, or clarity of 

expression." Ibn H˛ijjah describes it as follows: 

They say that it means the clear expression (iba≠nah) of what is in 

the soul in eloquent words that are remote from intricacy (lubs), 

since the intention of it is to utter the sense by means of a lucid 

picture (ikhra≠j al-ma‘ná ilá al-s˝u≠rah al-wa≠d˝ih˝ah) and to convey it 

to the understanding of the recipient in the easiest manner. 

46 Cf. the joke told in Ibn Qutaybah, ‘Uyu≠n al-Akhba≠r (Cairo, 1925–30), 2:55 and other sources; 

see Ulrich Marzolph, Arabia Ridens (Frankfurt am Main, 1992), 2:47 (no. 175). 

47 Khiza≠nah, 556/2:480–81; Baha≠’ al-D|n Zuhayr ibn Muh˝ammad, D|wa≠n, ed. and transl. Edward 

Henry Palmer (Cambridge, 1876–77), 1:297–98 (text), 2:331 (rhymed translation, changing the 

gender of the addressee). The D|wa≠n's version has ten lines (Ibn H˛ijjah quotes 2–3, 5–8). Some 

lines are quoted in The Thousand and One Nights (Alf Laylah wa-Laylah [Cairo, n.d.], 2:42–43). 

48 Khiza≠nah, 557–58/2:482–83; see al-H˛ill|, Sharh˝, 309–10; Ibn Ma‘s˝u≠m, Anwa≠r, 6:290–95; al- 

Na≠bulus|, Nafah˝a≠t, 321–22; Cachia, The Arch Rhetorician, 112–13 (no. 153, translated as 

"articulateness"); Ibn Ab| al-Is˝ba‘, Tah˝r|r, 489–93; idem, Bad|‘ al-Qur’a≠n, 203–6; Badr al-D|n Ibn 

Ma≠lik, Al-Mis˝ba≠h˝ (Cairo, 1341), 92–93, al-Suyu≠t¸|, ‘Uqu≠d, 140. 




In view of the more precise sense of "imagery" that the term baya≠n carried in Ibn 

H˛ijjah's time, according to the more formal and scholastic study of eloquence and 

style, one might believe that here, too, he refers above all to imagery, seeing 

moreover that he speaks of a "picture/image." Yet in the rest of the chapter and its 

illustrations this is not borne out. 

Although insija≠m and related terms were introduced in studies on bad|‘ at a 

relatively late stage, this does not mean that the concepts of fluency and seeming 

ease were absent from earlier phases. Both terms for eloquence, baya≠n and bala≠ghah, 

near-synonyms before they acquired more specialized technical meanings, stress 

the clarity and communicativeness of eloquence that seem to favor easiness over 

obscurity. Ja‘far Ibn Yah˝yá al-Barmak| is reported to have described true baya≠n 

as "what is far from artifice (s˝an‘ah), free of complexity (ta‘aqqud), and not in 

need of interpretation (ta’w|l)"; this view was endorsed by al-Ja≠h˝iz˛ and many 

others. 49 Suhu≠lah is mentioned often, usually favorably. It is the first of forty-six 

stylistic traits of the poetry of ‘Umar Ibn Ab| Rab|‘ah listed in Al-Agha≠n| and 

attributed to Mus˝‘ab Ibn ‘Abd Alla≠h al-Zubayr| (uncle of al-Zubayr Ibn Bakka≠r, 

d. 256/870). 50 Particularly common is the concept of the "seemingly easy," often 

expressed as al-sahl al-mumtani‘, or al-mut¸mi‘ al-mumtani‘ but found in other 

expressions. Ibn al-Muqaffa‘ is reported to have defined eloquence as "what an 

ignorant person hears and thinks (mistakenly) he can do equally well." 51 Ish˝a≠q 

al-Maws˝il| (d. 235/850) called the poetry of Mans˝u≠r al-Namar| "easy of diction, 

difficult to aspire to" (sahl kala≠muh, s˝a‘b mara≠muh). 52 Isma≠’|l, son of ‘Abd al-H˛am|d 

Ibn Yah˝yá al-ka≠tib (d. 132/749), defined a good prose writer as "he who writes a 

letter so that people reading it imagine they can do as well, but when they try they 

cannot." 53 Al-As˝ma≠‘| is credited with a definition of poetry as "what is concise, 

easy, delicate, and subtle of meaning; if you hear it you think you can reach that 

level, but if you try it, you find it far from your grasp. All the rest is mere 

versification." 54 Ibra≠h|m, son of al-‘Abba≠s Ibn al-Ah˝naf, describing his father's 

49 

Al-Ja≠h˝iz˛, Al-Baya≠n wa-al-Taby|n (Cairo, 1968), 1:106; Ibn Qutaybah, ‘Uyu≠n al-Akhba≠r, 2:173. 

50 

Abu≠ al-Faraj al-Is˝faha≠n|, Kita≠b al-Agha≠n| (Cairo, 1927–74), 1:120–21. 

51 

‘Alam al-Hudá ‘Al| ibn al-H˛usayn al-Shar|f al-Murtad˝á, Ama≠l| al-Murtad˝á: Ghurar al-Fawa≠’id 

wa-Durar al-Qala≠’id (Cairo, 1954), 1:137. 

52 

Abu≠ Nuwa≠s, D|wa≠n, ed. Ewald Wagner (Wiesbaden, 1958– ), 1:17. 

53 

From ‘Abd Alla≠h al-Baghda≠d|, Kita≠b al-Kutta≠b, ed. by Dominique Sourdel as "Le «Livre des 

secrétaires» de ‘Abdalla≠h al-Bag≥da≠d|," Bulletin d'Etudes Orientales 14 (1952–54): 149. 

54 

Al-Muz˛affar ibn al-Fad˝l al-H˛usayn|, Nad˝rat al-Ighr|d f| Nus˝rat al-Qar|d˝ (Damascus, 1976), 10. 




poetry, said he had never found anything by a modern poet that was "more 

difficult while being easy" (as˝‘ab f| suhu≠lah). 55 Similar sayings abound. 

This preference for easy comprehension in poetry seems to contrast with the 

opinion that the basic difference between poetry and prose is that the former tends 

to obscurity and the latter to limpidity. In his epistle on the difference between 

prose and poetry, Abu≠ Ish˝a≠q Ibra≠h|m Ibn Hila≠l al-S˝a≠b| (d. 384/994) wrote that as a 

consequence of its prosodic restrictions "the most splendid (afkhar) poetry is what 

is obscure (ma≠ ghamud˝a) and only gives up its purport after some delay," whereas 

"the most splendid epistolary prose (tarassul) is what has a clear meaning and 

gives up its purport as soon as one hears it." 56 Al-S˝a≠b|, himself a prose writer, 

exaggerates: certainly in his day, the prestigious epistolary style tended to rival or 

surpass poetry in obscurity and ornateness. The issue of obscurity in Arabic 

literary criticism, from the scattered remarks by al-Ja≠h˝iz˝ to the important contribution 

on the topic by the sixth/thirteenth-century theorist H˛a≠zim al-Qart¸a≠jann|, has been 

studied by Albert Arazi in his article on this epistle. 

Although critics and theorists, ancient and modern, often pay lip-service to the 

ideals of clarity and easiness in general terms, these are not very rewarding 

concepts to them since, like happy families to novelists, they offer few opportunities 

to show one's critical and analytical skills. Easy poetry offers not enough of a 

challenge, nor does the concept of easiness itself. We must be grateful to Ibn 

H˛ijjah and other writers of bad|‘|yah commentaries that they did not disdain to 

deal at length with easy poetry, stooping from being critics to being "merely" 

consumers of pleasant verse. To them, insija≠m and related "figures" are an excuse 

for quoting good or occasionally excellent poetry which does not depend primarily 

on artifice. The chapters serve to redress the balance to some extent between the 

artful and the seemingly artless. It is not strange that the insija≠m chapter is so 

extremely lengthy in Ibn H˛ijjah's Khiza≠nah and Ibn Ma‘s˝u≠m's Anwa≠r al-Rab|‘: it 

helped them to give their works more of the character of a representative anthology. 

"Fluency" is neither absent from the poetry of the Mamluk period, nor particularly 

common in it: it is found in all periods. The phrase "easy listening" in the title of 

55 Abu≠ al-Faraj, Agha≠n|, 8:365; cf. Abu≠ Hila≠l al-‘Askar|, Kita≠b al-S˝ina≠‘atayn (Cairo, 1971), 67; 

Ibra≠h|m ibn ‘Al| al-H˛us˝r|, Zahr al-A±da≠b (Beirut, 1972), 685. 

56 Baha≠’ al-D|n Muh˝ammad ibn al-H˛asan Ibn H˛amdu≠n, Al-Tadhkirah al-H˛amdu≠n|yah, ed. Ih˝sa≠n 

‘Abba≠s and Bakr ‘Abba≠s (Beirut, 1996), 6:357; Albert Arazi, "Une épître d'Ibra≠h|m b. Hila≠l 

al-S˝a≠b| sur les genres littéraires," in M. Sharon, ed., Studies in Islamic History and Civilization in 

Honor of Professor David Ayalon (Jerusalem, 1986), 473–505 (see 498); Ziya≠d al-Zu‘b|, "Risa≠lat 

Ab| Ish˝a≠q al-S˝a≠b| f| al-Farq bayna al-Mutarassil wa-al-Sha≠‘ir: Dira≠sah Tawth|q|yah Naqd|yah," 

Abh˝a≠th al-Yarmu≠k 11 (1993): 129–65 (see 156). 




this paper suggests pleasant rather than great poetry, and it is true that many of the 

poems that show insija≠m do not seem to tax the listener, just as some muzak, 

meant to be relaxing and reassuring, has been purged of dissonants or "difficult" 

features. Nevertheless, there are many other poems that, though easy to listen to, 

hide deeper layers of meaning and thought for those listeners who make an effort. 



THOMAS BAUER 

UNIVERSITÄT MÜNSTER 

Communication and Emotion: 

The Case of Ibn Nuba≠tah's Kindertotenlieder 

THE SPEECHLESSNESS OF DEATH 

Ibn Nuba≠tah said, bewailing the death of his son: 

Qa≠lu≠ "fula≠nun qad jafat afka≠ruhu≠ / naz˝ma al-qar|d˝i fa-la≠ yaka≠du 

yuj|buhu≠" 

Hayha≠ta naz˝ma al-shi‘ri minhu≠ ba‘dama≠ / sakana al-tura≠ba wal|duhu 

wa-h˝ab|buhu≠ 

["This man," they say, "has turned away his thoughts from verse, he'll 

barely give an answer." 

Composing poetry? Impossible for him whose child / Wal|d, whose 

dear beloved / H˛ab|b has settled in the earth! 1 ] 

Speechlessness is a natural reaction to the death of one's own child, and it seems 

as if it was the normal reaction for most Arabic poets, too. Only a small number 

of elegies on the death of a poet's child has come down to us. Most, however, are 

remarkable indeed. The Hudhaylian poet Abu≠ Dhu’ayb (d. ca. 28/649) composed 

an elegy on the death of his sons (A-min al-manu≠ni wa-raybiha≠ tatawajja‘u≠, meter 

ka≠mil), which is not only Abu≠ Dhu’ayb's unquestioned masterpiece, but also one 

of the finest and most famous poems of the early Islamic period in general. 2 In the 

Abbasid period, Ibn al-Ru≠m|'s (d. 283/896) elegies on his relatives stand out, 

especially his exceedingly long dirge commemorating the death of his mother. 

But he also composed several shorter poems on the death of two of his sons. 3 

Even more famous, however, are two of several cases in which poets were induced 

by the loss of their children to compose a whole series of dirges. The first case is 


1 

Ibn Nuba≠tah, D|wa≠n (Cairo, 1333/1905), 51 (meter ka≠mil). Tawriyahs are noted in my translations 

in the following way: The primarily intended meaning is underlined, the secondarily suggested 

meaning written in italics. In reading aloud, the words in italics should be omitted. 

2 

Another early poem ascribed to a certain Bint al-H˛a≠rith is discussed in Gert Borg, Mit Poesie 

vertreibe ich den Kummer meines Herzens: Eine Studie zur altarabischen Trauerklage der Frau 

(Istanbul-Leiden, 1997), 199–204. Borg considers this poem as "one of the peaks of Arabic 

literature" (203). 

3 

Pieter Smoor, "Elegies and Other Poems on Death by Ibn al-Ru≠m|," Journal of Arabic Literature 

27 (1996): 49–85. 



50 THOMAS BAUER, IBN NUBA≠TAH'S KINDERTOTENLIEDER 

Abu≠ al-H˛asan al-Tiha≠m| (d. 416/1025), whose three poems on the death of his son 

Abu≠ al-Fad˝l became the pillar of his fame, especially the ode rhyming in –a≠r| 

(meter ka≠mil) to which we will return later. The second case is Ibn Nuba≠tah 

al-Mis˝r| (d. 768/1366), who doubtlessly was, after S˝af| al-D|n al-H˛ill|, the greatest 

Arabic poet of the eighth/fourteenth century. His d|wa≠n, which was compiled by 

his pupil al-Bashtak| from several smaller collections published previously by Ibn 

Nuba≠tah himself, contains seven poems on the death of a child. At least three of 

these poems commemorate the death of a son named ‘Abd al-Rah˝|m, but the 

others are so similar in tone and content that one may well assume that most of 

them were composed on the same occasion. Three of them are epigrams comprising 

two lines (one of them was quoted above), one is a seven liner, probably from Ibn 

Nuba≠tah's collection al-Sab‘ah al-Sayya≠rah, 4 and the remaining three poems are 

long, sophisticated odes comprising 34 (askanta qalbiya lah˝dak, meter mujtathth), 

38 (abk|ka li-al-h˝asanayni al-khalqi wa-al-khuluq|, meter bas|t¸), and 57 (Alla≠hu 

ja≠ruka inna dami‘ya ja≠r|, meter ka≠mil) lines respectively. Here I will focus on the 

last one. 

Al-Tiha≠m| and Ibn Nuba≠tah are not the only cases in which a poet composed a 

series of poems on the death of a child. One can name at least three other Arabic 

poets, 5 but there are also two such collections in German literature. Nearly 

simultaneously (without knowing of each other's enterprises) Joseph von 

Eichendorff wrote a cycle of ten poems (Auf meines Kindes Tod) after the death of 

his daughter in 1832, 6 and Friedrich Rückert reacted to the death of two of his 

children in 1833–34 with the composition of an ensemble of more than five 

hundred (!) so-called "Kindertotenlieder," 7 a term that seems suitable to me also 

for the (albeit much smaller) collections of al-Tiha≠m| and Ibn Nuba≠tah. Obviously, 

the death of one or more children may have caused a similar reaction in completely 

different epochs and cultures. Instead of losing their speech, poets may seek 

recourse to speech itself, or rather, an artistic transformation of speech. Composing 

poetry could have complied with the emotional needs after the tremendous 

experience of losing a child; in other words, it could have had a cathartic effect on 

the poet. 

4 ‘Umar Mu≠sá Ba≠sha≠ assumes that all seven lines in al-Bashtak|'s recension stem from Ibn 

Nuba≠tah's collection Al-Sab‘ah al-Sayya≠rah; see ‘Umar Mu≠sá Ba≠sha≠, Ibn Nuba≠tah al-Mis˝r|: Am|r 

Shu‘ara≠’ al-Mashriq (3rd ed., Cairo, 1992), 250–51. 

5 Other poets who composed similar sets were Ibn ‘Abd Rabbih (d. 328/940), ‘Uma≠rah al-Yaman| 

(d. 569/1174), and Usa≠mah ibn Munqidh (d. 584/1188), but since there is nothing to suggest that 

Ibn Nuba≠tah's poems presuppose knowledge of these poems, we will not dwell upon them. 

6 Joseph von Eichendorff, Werke, ed. Jost Perfahl (3rd ed., Düsseldorf-Zürich, 1996), 1:243–48. 

7 Friedrich Rückert, Kindertodtenlieder, ed. Hans Wollschläger (Nördlingen, 1988); cf. also Eda 

Sagarra, "Friedrich Rückert's Kindertotenlieder," in Representations of Childhood Death, ed. Gilian 

Avery and Kimberley Reynolds (New York, 2000), 154–68. 




At first sight, this process seems easy to understand. A poet is shaken by 

overwhelming emotions, whereupon he sets about to express them in a poem. The 

resulting poem would thus reflect the poet's emotions. But things are not so 

simple. Yet it is this simplification that made Ibn Nuba≠tah's Kindertotenlieder 

attractive to some literary historians who are accustomed to criticizing Mamluk 

poetry for its allegedly mannered and unnatural style and are glad to find in Ibn 

Nuba≠tah's elegies on the death of his son(s) poetry that conveys the immediate, 

unaffected expression of "genuine feelings." 8 Close inspection will reveal, however, 

that neither assumption is tenable: Mamluk poetry is not extraordinarily mannered, 

and Ibn Nuba≠tah's dirges are highly rhetorical. Of course, nobody can seriously 

doubt the sincerity of Ibn Nuba≠tah's feelings. But to transform emotions into 

literature means not only to transform them into speech, but also to transform 

them into an act of communication that conforms both to the rules of everyday 

communication and, furthermore, to the rules of a far more complex communication 

system of literature. 

This can be shown clearly by the epigram initially quoted. Its two lines follow 

exactly the pattern of an ideal apologetic epigram. In line one, the problem is 

identified: in this case, the poet is reproached for his speechlessness. In line two, a 

justification for the criticized behavior must be given, usually in the form of a 

point which is often based on linguistic or literary ambiguity. In our sample, the 

poet justifies his silence by the death of his child. This justification is given a 

pointed form by the use of a tawriyah (double entendre). The words which designate 

the child, wal|d "child" and h˝ab|b "beloved," have a double meaning. They are 

also the names of the two classical poets al-Wal|d al-Buh˝tur| and Abu≠ Tamma≠m 

(whose name was H˛ab|b ibn Aws). Together with the child, so we can understand 

the line, the poet lost his Buh˝tur| and his Abu≠ Tamma≠m. One can hardly imagine 

a better expression of the fact that a very individual, personal grief is not easy to 

communicate by means of a culturally prefigured and historically shaped set of 

rules. Ibn Nuba≠tah's epigram is an accurate and intelligent (as well as intelligently 

ambiguous) formulation of this experience. The epigram is remarkable in another 

respect. Its point is achieved by a tawriyah, a form of witty wordplay, which in 

modern eyes would hardly be considered appropriate to the somber occasion. But, 

as this poem shows, one has to be very careful about generalizing our own 

prejudices and applying them to other times and cultures. As is shown by the 

Kindertotenlieder of the Arab poets as well as by those of Rückert and Eichendorff, 

poetry—including its artistic and playful element—can be helpful in coping with 

the grief of the loss of one's own beloved, for poets as well as for their public. It 

8 

See my review of Al-Ghazal f| al-‘As˝r al-Mamlu≠k| al-Awwal, by Majd al-Afand|, Mamlu≠k 

Studies Review 3 (1999): 214–19. 




may help the poet to prove his own abilities to create a work of art, and by way of 

the act of active creativity he may cope with the experience of loss. He may find 

relief from the experience of helplessness and passive suffering and prove to 

himself that he still has a share in life. Even more important may be the fact that a 

poem (or any other work of art) is a means to break the speechlessness of death, 

to resume communication and thereby to reassume a social role without having to 

interrupt the process of mourning. 9 Several such attempts to communicate about 

the death of one's own child proved to be successful, as the collections of dirges 

on childhood death in Arabic and German literature show. Obviously, the public 

was willing to lend these poets an attentive ear. 

COMMUNICATION WITH THE PAST: IBN NUBA≠TAH AND AL-TIHA≠M| 

Arabic poetry is not only a communication with contemporary (and future) 

audiences, it is always also a communication with the past. From pre-Islamic 

times onwards, Arabic poetry displays an extraordinary intertextual density. Every 

line and every concept refers back to many other lines and concepts in a more 

complex but often direct way than is the case in most Western literatures. Scholars 

at first had difficulty understanding that a seeming similarity between individual 

poems and lines was not due to impotence or a lack of originality or the inflexibility 

of an all-pervading convention, but was rather the result of a closely woven net of 

intertextual strands that was deliberately cultivated and consciously achieved by 

the poets. Arabic poems were expected, at all periods, to be original. But the 

notion of originality was different from that of early modern and modern Europe. 

After all, there was no hereditary nobility in the Islamic world against which a 

bourgeoisie had to revolt by setting its own norms of individualism in opposition 

to the class consciousness of nobility, as was the case in Europe. And since this 

factor did not exist, there was no need to abolish a poetic tradition that was 

considered satisfactory and perfectly fulfilled the needs of its participants. 

Instead, in premodern Islamic societies an extraordinary importance was given 

to poetry that can only occasionally be found in European societies. Since the 

degree of institutionalization was rather low in Islamic societies and social groups 

were only loosely organized, the most important strategy for the formation of 

social groups, the integration of their members, and their separation from other 

groups or social layers, was communication, that is, qualified participation in the 

group's dominant discourses. The rank of the individual member was established 

by his excellence in mastering the respective discourses rather than by the posts 

9 Since the psychological aspects of poetry as a reaction to one's relative's death have been dealt 

with extensively by Th. Emil Homerin, I will touch on this subject only peripherally, see Th. Emil 

Homerin, "A Bird Ascends the Night: Elegy and Immortality in Islam," revised ed., Journal of the 

American Academy of Religion 59 (1991): 247–79. 




and positions he (often all too shortly) held. Now even a brief glance into any 

collection of biographies of the a‘ya≠n in the Arab world from the later Abbasid 

period onwards shows that obviously poetry was one of these discourses, and this 

is small wonder, since communication was the basic mechanism of the constitution 

of social groups, and poetry was the most privileged and prestigious form of 

communication. Therefore, the group of the ulama was equally characterized by 

their mastering the principles of Islamic law as well as by their participation in 

permanent poetic communication between its members, as the countless ikhwa≠n|ya≠t, 

mut¸a≠rah˝a≠t, taha≠ni’, and ta‘a≠z| 10 show with sufficient clarity—genres that have 

been deliberately avoided by the scholars of our days (since for experts in the 

field of literary studies these genres are not "poetic" enough, whereas experts in 

the field of social studies customarily skip poetry anyway). And since this mechanism 

persisted well into the nineteenth—if not even right into the twentieth—century, 

there was no reason to abolish the communicative potential that arose from the 

intertextual nature of Arabic poetry for about one and a half millennia. On the 

contrary, any fundamental break in tradition would have meant the loss of one of 

the most important social communication systems and therefore would have led to 

a social disintegration to nobody's benefit—a consequence hardly believable in a 

society for which literature is at best a useless pastime, as it has become in our 

own times. 

Therefore, it is no wonder that the Arabic-speaking—and rhyming—world 

tried at one and the same time to maintain a common poetic system as a 

communicative basis for a broad layer of society, as well as to demand originality 

as one of the most important qualities of a poem. To be original meant to be able 

to display a creative handling of tradition that surprised the educated public by its 

novelty and at the same time confirmed the value of tradition. This system functioned 

perfectly well until the forced introduction of Western literary norms in the second 

half of the nineteenth century. The fact that in the Mamluk and even in the 

Ottoman period many of the norms of early Arabic poetry were still considered 

valid, so that we find lots of poems that are not terribly different from those 

written by al-Mutanabb|, was ammunition for the European colonial enterprise in 

the nineteenth century to disparage contemporary Arabic literature and to construct 

the idea of a period of cultural stagnation and decadence lasting for many centuries 

in order to justify colonialist intervention (which could not have been sufficiently 

justified by economic and technological superiority alone). Western nineteenth- 

10 Because of the neglect of the Mamluk period and prejudices towards occasional poetry, these 

genres are so little studied that they even lack entries in The Encyclopaedia of Islam and the 

Encyclopedia of Arabic Literature. 




century standards of originality are still prevalent among contemporary Arabic 

scholars and lead to many misinterpretations. 11 

A characteristic misunderstanding is M. Muh˝ammad's treatment of Ibn 

Nuba≠tah's ra≠’|yah, the intertextual component of which he simply overlooked, 

though he did note some pre-Islamic lines, the alleged transformation of which by 

Ibn Nuba≠tah he considered unsuccessful. 12 In general, however, he regarded the 

poem as sufficiently original, but criticized its seemingly rather unorganized 

structure (a point which will be discussed extensively later). He could discern 

neither a well-formed introduction nor several clearly separated text paragraphs. 

But in this case he was prepared to excuse the poet for these shortcomings (which 

they doubtlessly are in his eyes), since they gave testimony to the spontaneity, 

immediacy, and veracity of the poem: "He did not allow himself to contemplate 

the structure of his poem. . . ." 13 "When Ibn Nuba≠tah started to elegize his son, he 

did not reflect upon the way in which he would carry out his elegy and relied on 

his natural disposition that would bring about the elegy in a form inscribed in his 

imagination. . . ." 14 All these speculations turn out to be futile when we discover 

that Ibn Nuba≠tah's poem was not a spontaneous, unpremeditated reaction, but a 

consciously and very carefully elaborated work of art that was the artistic 

transformation of another poem. 

Ibn Nuba≠tah's choice was not spontaneous at all. He took as his model the 

only poem on the death of a child that had really gained fame, and, at the same 

time, dealt more extensively with the subject of childhood death itself. 15 It is a 

poem by Abu≠ al-H˛asan al-Tiha≠m|, a poet who was born in the Yemen, but spent 

most of his life in Iraq, Syria, and Palestine, before he died as a prisoner in 

Fatimid Egypt. 16 During his stay at Ramlah, where he held the office of a preacher, 

his son Abu≠ al-Fad˝l died as a child. Al-Tiha≠m| reacted by composing three elegies 

on Abu≠ al-Fad˝l's death, a short one of 13 lines (ka≠mil, rhyme –3q| 17 ) that need not 

11 In the case of elegies, the focus on immediacy and originality "ignores the importance of 

standardized themes and their repetition, which are crucial to successful elegies as poets attempt to 

place their personal sorrow within more universal contexts." (Th. Emil Homerin, review of A±fa≠q 

al-Shi‘r al-‘Arab| f| al-‘As˝r al-Mamlu≠k|, by Ya≠s|n al-Ayyu≠b|, MSR 3 [1999]: 238). 

12 Mah˝mu≠d Sa≠lim Muh˝ammad, Ibn Nuba≠tah, Sha≠‘ir al-‘As˝r al-Mamlu≠k| (Beirut, 1420/1999), 225. 

13 Ibid., 221. 

14 Ibid., 222. 

15 In contrast to Abu≠ Dhu’ayb's ‘ayn|yah, which had gained fame enough, but only very superficially 

deals with the fact that the deceased were children. 

16 On al-Tiha≠m| see Fuat Sezgin, Geschichte des Arabischen Schrifttums (Leiden, 1967– ), 2:478–79; 

Wolfhart P. Heinrichs, "Al-Tiha≠m|," The Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2nd ed., 10:482; G. J. H. van 

Gelder, "Al-Tiha≠m|, ‘Al| ibn Muh˝ammad," Encyclopedia of Arabic Literature, ed. Julie Scott 

Meisami and Paul Starkey (London and New York, 1998), 2:772–73. 

17 -3q| means that the poem rhymes in -q| where -q| is preceded by one of the three short vowels, 




concern us here, and two lengthy sister poems, 18 one of 81 lines (t¸aw|l, rhyme 

–xr|) that was obviously an intertextual reaction to a poem by Abu≠ ‘Abd al-Rah˝ma≠n 

al-‘Utb| (d. 228/842–3) with the same rhyme and meter, 19 and a poem of 90 lines 

(ka≠mil, rhyme -a≠r|), which was to become al-Tiha≠m|'s most famous poem, in fact, 

the pillar of his fame. 20 

The lifetime of al-Tiha≠m|, the later Buyid period, featuring such poets as al-Shar|f 

al-Rad˝| (d. 406/1015), his brother al-Murtad˝á (d. 436/1044), and Mihya≠r al-Daylam| 

(d. 428/1036–37), is the first period that was considered by Western scholars as a 

period of decadence and stagnation, and were it not for al-Ma‘arr| (d. 449/1058), 

its literature would have remained more or less unstudied. For Ibn Nuba≠tah, however, 

who lived almost three and a half centuries later, al-Tiha≠m| was a classical author. 

In Ibn Nuba≠tah's programmatic anthology Mat¸la‘ al-Fawa≠’id, this period is 

represented by three authors (of fifteen altogether): al-Shar|f al-Rad˝|, al-Tiha≠m|, 

and al-Ma‘arr| (who, contrary to a common prejudice, was never neglected or even 

suppressed). 21 Al-Tiha≠m|'s fame rested, as already mentioned, on his elegies for his 

son, especially on his ka≠mil ra≠’|yah. His poems in this field were well known to 

Ibn Nuba≠tah, who quotes four lines from al-Tiha≠m|'s ka≠mil ra≠’|yah and six lines 

from al-Tiha≠m|'s t¸aw|l ra≠’|yah in the chapter on ritha≠’ in his Mat¸la‘ al-Fawa≠’id. 22 

He may have quoted these lines without envisaging that one day he would come 

back to them after having experienced the same loss as their author. 

Al-Tiha≠m|'s elegy in –a≠r| is quoted in a great number of sources, to mention 

only al-S˝afad|'s Wa≠f| and al-Ba≠kharz|'s Dumyah. 23 One can assume, therefore, 

a, u, or i, while -xr|, the next rhyme scheme mentioned, means that -r| is preceded by any 

consonant. 

18 

So called in Ya≠qu≠t al-Ru≠m|, Mu‘jam al-Bulda≠n, ed. Ferdinand Wüstenfeld (Leipzig, 1866–70), 

2:819 (article "Al-Ramlah"). 

19 

The poem is quoted (probably fragmentarily) in al-Khat¸|b al-Baghda≠d|, T≠a≠r|kh Mad|nat al-Sala≠m, 

ed. Bashsha≠r ‘Awwa≠d Ma‘ru≠f (Beirut, 1422/2001), 3:564, and in other sources. 

20 

Its text is quoted according to the following edition: D|wa≠n Ab| al-H˛asan ‘Al| ibn Muh˝ammad 

al-Tiha≠m|, ed. Muh˝ammad ibn ‘Abd al-Rah˝ma≠n al-Rab|‘ (Riyadh, 1982). The t¸aw|l poem is found 

on pp. 338–43, the ka≠mil poem on pp. 308–22. In this poem, line 86 is a combination of two 

originally separate lines. The text has to be corrected according to al-Ba≠kharz|, Dumyat al-Qas˝r 

wa-‘Us˝rat Ahl al-‘As˝r, ed. Muh˝ammad al-Tu≠nij| (Beirut, 1414/1993), 1:140–49. Note that in my 

quotations of this poem, from line 86 onwards the number of the line in al-Rab|‘'s edition has to 

be augmented by one. 

21 

Jama≠l al-D|n Ibn Nuba≠tah, Mat¸la‘ al-Fawa≠’id wa-Majma‘ al-Fara≠’id, ed. ‘Umar Mu≠sá Ba≠sha≠ 

(Damascus, 1392/1972). My study on the Mamluk literary anthology with special reference to Ibn 

Nuba≠tah's Mat¸la‘ al-Fawa≠’id is in press: "Literarische Anthologien der Mamlukenzeit," in Die 

Mamluken: Studien zu ihrer Geschichte und Kultur im Gedenken an Ulrich Haarmann (1942–1999), 

ed. S. Conermann and A. Pistor-Hatam (Hamburg, 2002). 

22 

Ibn Nuba≠tah, Mat¸la‘ al-Fawa≠’id, 342–43. 

23 

Further quotations are listed in al-Tiha≠m|, D|wa≠n, 320–22. 




that the contemporary audience of Ibn Nuba≠tah's poem realized that this poem is a 

mu‘a≠rad˝ah to al-Tiha≠m|'s famous ode, even upon hearing only its first line. Al- 

Tiha≠m|'s dirge starts with the following words: 

H˛ukmu al-man|yati f| al-bar|yati ja≠r| / ma≠ ha≠dhih| al-dunya≠ bi-da≠ri 

qara≠r| 

[Death's judgment makes its rounds among the creatures. This world 

is not a permanent home.] 

Ibn Nuba≠tah's introductory line refers to his model with the word ja≠r(|), the most 

prominent word in al-Tiha≠m|'s text, because it is its first rhyme word. He does not 

simply quote it, however, but makes it the object of the hearer's reflection, since 

Ibn Nuba≠tah's ja≠r| is a tawriyah (the first tawriyah in the poem). It can mean "my 

helper" or "running," and at the same time the less probable meaning "helper" is 

suggested by the preceding word ja≠ruka≠, which yields a jina≠s ta≠mm with the 

rhyme word. One may perhaps also mention the jina≠s mud˝a≠ri‘ between man|yah 

and bar|yah in al-Tiha≠m|'s verse, which is echoed by another jina≠s mud˝a≠ri‘ in Ibn 

Nuba≠tah's poem (awt¸a≠n/awt¸a≠r), to which again more prominence is given in this 

poem, since it includes the second rhyme word: 

Alla≠hu ja≠ruka≠ inna dam‘iya ja≠r| / ya≠ mu≠h˝isha al-awt¸a≠ni wa-al-awt¸a≠r| 

[God be your helper as my tears are flowing / my helpers, oh you 

who have forsaken both my home and hope!] 

As we can see, Ibn Nuba≠tah uses rhetorical devices here to direct the hearer's 

attention to the transformation of his model. But this is not their only function. 

Al-Tiha≠m|'s line is a very clear, straightforward, even proverbial statement that 

brings about sadness and comfort at the same time, for it reaffirms that whatever 

happens is part of an eternal and stable world order. 24 With Ibn Nuba≠tah's line, we 

enter into a troubled world. The first pronoun (in ja≠ruka) does not refer to the 

hearer, as one might first think, but to the deceased child, but this only becomes 

clear at the end of the line. As unclear as the pronominal reference is the meaning 

of the first rhyme word, and the prominent similarity between awt¸a≠n and awt¸a≠r 

adds to the impression of uncertainty and ambiguity that is evoked in the hearer's 

mind. But this is exactly the main difference between the two dirges. A grave and 

stately, well-constructed ode by al-Tiha≠m| is contrasted with a poem that presents 

a mind that cannot find a way out of a world of despair, uncertainty, and ambiguity. 

Ibn Nuba≠tah manages to convey this message with his very first line, in which 

rhetorical devices are obviously far more than embellishments, for they serve not 

24 The most common motif of comfort in Arabic elegies is the statement that everybody must die; 

cf. Thomas Bauer, "Todesdiskurse im Islam," Asiatische Studien 53 (1999): 5–16. 




only to refer to the poet's model, but also to transform it into the poet's own 

perspective. 

References to al-Tiha≠m|'s poem permeate the whole of Ibn Nuba≠tah's ra≠’|yah, 

but it may suffice here to mention only two. The word mid˝ma≠r "race course," the 

rhyme word of line 5, sticks out. The comparison of life to a race course may be 

more familiar to the reader of German baroque poetry 25 than to the reader of 

Arabic poetry, where it is—if my memory does not fail—not very common. It 

occurs, however, in al-Tiha≠m|'s poem, again with mid˝ma≠r as rhyme word (al-Tiha≠m|, 

line 27): 

La-qad jarayta kama≠ jaraytu li-gha≠yatin / fa-balaghtaha≠ wa-abu≠ka f| 

al-mid˝ma≠r| 

[Towards a goal you ran like me and reached it, while your father is 

still on the race course.] 

Al-Tiha≠m|'s striking and concise image of the experience of premature death of a 

beloved person is too good a line to be neglected by Ibn Nuba≠tah. And at first 

sight his line (line 5) even seems strikingly similar to that of al-Tiha≠m|: 

Layta al-radá idh lam yada‘ka aha≠ba b| / h˝attá nadu≠ma ma‘an ‘alá 

mid˝ma≠r| 

[Would that destruction had summoned me as well, when it did not 

refrain from you, so that we could have pursued the same race course!] 

Again al-Tiha≠m| supplies an interpretation of what happened. Life is a race course 

that inevitably leads to the same goal. The fact that some runners arrive first even 

if they had started later is nothing extraordinary; the child's death is therefore 

again embedded in the cosmic order. In Ibn Nuba≠tah's line, the poet and the child 

are no more on the same race course. Instead, radan "destruction" (a word common 

in pre-Islamic poetry but not occurring in the Quran), which is personified here, 

has summoned only the child and left the father on a road of his own. Only 

destruction, appearing here as a vague promise, could have united them, but even 

this hope proved to be futile. Hopeless despair has taken the place of al-Tiha≠m|'s 

trust in the cosmic order. 

The experience that the body of the deceased is still present in the grave but 

cannot communicate anymore is cast into the following words by al-Tiha≠m| (line 

24): 

25 

"Abend" in Andreas Gryphius, Gedichte, ed. Adalbert Elschenbroich (Stuttgart, 1968), 11: "Diß 

Leben koemmt mir vor als eine Renne-Bahn." 




Ashku≠ bi‘a≠daka l| wa-anta bi-mawd˝i‘in / law-la≠ al-radá la-sami‘ta 

f|hi sira≠r| 

[How much I complain that you are so far, though you lie in a place 

in which you could hear my most secret talks were it not for destruction's 

work!] 

The situation of the father at the grave is transformed into a paradox: although the 

child is near, it cannot hear nor answer. Ibn Nuba≠tah liked the line and quoted it in 

his Mat¸la‘ al-Fawa≠’id. 26 But when he reverted to the ma‘ná in his own poem, it 

sounds rather different (line 12): 

Na≠’| al-liqa≠ wa-h˝ima≠hu aqrabu mat¸rah˝an / ya≠ bu‘da mujtami‘in waqurba 

maza≠r| 

Though the rhyme word is different in this case, al-Tiha≠m|'s model is clearly 

visible. But whereas al-Tiha≠m| explains the paradox ("if there were not destruction 

. . ."), it remains unresolved in Ibn Nuba≠tah's line. Further, it is condensed to the 

first mis˝ra≠‘ of the verse: "A long way 'tis to meet him, though his shelter is the 

nearest spot." There remains a second mis˝ra≠‘, but again Ibn Nuba≠tah gives no 

explanations. Instead, he simply repeats the ma‘ná in different words in the 

intensified form of an exclamation: "How far is union, yet how close the place to 

visit him!" This repetitiveness, this persistence in one and the same thought without 

suggesting to the hearer that there is a way out which is exemplified in this single 

line, is one of the main characteristics of the poem as a whole, as we shall see. 

The two t¸iba≠qs in this line (na≠’in/qar|b; bu‘d/qurb) are again not embellishments, 

but appear as a logical consequence of the sense the poet wants to convey, just as 

is the case with his tawriya≠t and jina≠sa≠t, as we have already seen. 

Several other lines in Ibn Nuba≠tah's poem turn out to be transformations of a 

line by al-Tiha≠m|, 27 but these three examples may suffice for the moment to show 

that Ibn Nuba≠tah's ra≠’|yah was in no way a spontaneous creation, but a well-planned 

and deliberately-composed intertextual response to another poem. And since the 

author spared no effort in directing attention to exactly this fact, the poem 

presupposes a reader/hearer who is equally prepared and willing to invest 

considerable effort to decipher not only the complex poetic language of the poem 

itself, but also its many intertextual relations. For many readers, however, these 

efforts must have been rather satisfying, as the fame of this poem proves. 

26 P. 342. 

27 Cf. the chart below, p. 78. 




THE TOPICS OF COMMUNICATION: PRIVATE SPHERE AND HEROIC AFFAIRS 

As the single lines of the poem are most carefully elaborated, it is hard to believe 

that the structure of the poem—or rather, the obvious lack of an easily discernible 

structure—came about by accident. Again a glance at al-Tiha≠m|'s poem may be 

helpful. 

If Ibn Nuba≠tah's ra≠’|yah leaves the impression of being more or less unstructured, 

one can hardly imagine a more clearly structured poem than al-Tiha≠m|'s ra≠’|yah. 

The poem starts with an introduction contemplating the transitoriness of human 

life in general, culminating in a line that is the versification of a famous hadith 

(line 6): 

Fa-al-‘ayshu nawmun wa-al-man|yatu yaqz˝atun / wa-al-mar’u 

baynahuma≠ khaya≠lun sa≠r| 

[Life is sleep, death is awakening, and man between them is a fleeting 

vision.] 

Following this introduction (lines 1–11), al-Tiha≠m| turns to the ritha≠’ proper 

(lines 12–39), in which he laments the death of Abu≠ al-Fad˝l, of which part we 

have already quoted lines 24 and 27. The third part, however, which stretches 

from line 40 to 63 and is the central part of the poem, comes somewhat as a 

surprise, for it is a formidable example of the fakhr genre, 33 lines in praise of the 

poet's "tribe" (whatever this may have been), introduced by the following lines 

(40–41): 

Law kunta tumna‘u kha≠d˝a du≠naka fityatun / minna≠ bih˝a≠ra ‘awa≠milin 

wa-shifa≠r| 

Wa-dah˝aw fuwayqa al-ard˝i ard˝an min damin / thumma inthanaw 

fa-banaw sama≠’a ghuba≠r| 

[If a chance were given to defend you, young heroes from us had 

waded into a sea of spear-heads and sword-blades, 

unfolding above the earth a second earth of blood, erecting then, 

when they return, a sky of dust.] 

This collective fakhr is followed by a fourth part, a sort of personal fakhr, that 

starts with a complaint about old age (64–75), leading into a passage (76–90) 

devoted to general wisdom (h˝ikmah), self-glorification, and a complaint about the 

vileness of the poet's time and his contemporaries (dhamm al-zama≠n). 

Whereas proverbial expressions of the transitoriness of human glory or the 

complaint about old age seem to be absolutely appropriate themes for elegies, 

self-glorification and a praise of military prowess can hardly be reconciled with 




our image of mourning. We must, however, take into account two basic premises 

of premodern Arabic poetry, first, its basically and consciously communicative 

nature, and second, the conception of the ritha≠’ genre. 

For Arabic literary theory, ritha≠’ was considered a subcategory of mad|h˝, since 

the essence of an elegy was praise. The only difference from panegyric poetry was 

that the object of praise is a dead person. 28 If, however, elegies are nothing but 

eulogies, it is inevitably difficult to compose elegies for people who could not have 

been the subject of an eulogy. Still in al-Tiha≠m|'s time, a poet who wanted to write 

panegyric poems on persons other than princes, rulers, governors, or generals had a 

difficult task. Basically, the mamdu≠h˝ should be praised for two qualities: generosity 

and military prowess. Still al-Mutanabb|, forced in his youth to compose poetry on 

several as˝h˝a≠b al-qalam, rarely and briefly mentions their professional proficiency, 

but instead tries to find some link to the theme of bravery, even if he has to go back 

to some real or imagined ancestors of the mamdu≠h˝, who may never have had a 

sword in their hands. If qud˝a≠h and kutta≠b are difficult to praise, it is easy to 

understand Ibn Rash|q when he stresses that "one of the most difficult tasks for a 

poet is to elegize children and women, for he cannot say much about them, since 

their distinguishing qualities are but few" (li-d˝|q al-kala≠m ‘alayhi f|hima≠ wa-qillat 

al-s˝ifa≠t), 29 which is not so much a misogynistic statement as a sober observation 

that the common poetic themes of madh˝ are hardly reconcilable with the reality of 

the life of women and children. Therefore, it is no wonder that earlier poems on 

childhood death confine themselves mainly to the subjects of death, transitoriness, 

and mourning, and do not talk much about childhood. Often such poems are more 

similar to zuhd poetry than to ritha≠’. There are basically two ways to bring in the 

subject of childhood. First, the poet may say that the feelings of a father towards 

his child are especially intense. This is done by Ibn ‘Abd Rabbih and al-Tiha≠m| 

several times, but it is a topic that can hardly be extended over more than one or 

two lines. The second, more important, strategy is the following: since the poetic 

tradition did not provide a stock of subjects and concepts to talk about what 

children were, poets instead talked about what the child did not become. If children 

did not achieve anything worth mentioning in poetry, the poet could nevertheless 

imagine what the child (in this case, of course, only sons come into question) 

would have achieved were he not deprived of his opportunities by premature death. 

By proceeding in this manner the poet was able to bring in all the conventional and 

indispensable themes of a eulogy and elegy proper and to compose a poem on a 

subject that was not given a recognized place in literary tradition. 

28 

Gregor Schoeler: "Die Einteilung der Dichtung bei den Arabern," Zeitschrift der Deutschen 

Morgenländischen Gesellschaft 123 (1973): 9–55. 

29 

Ibn Rash|q, Al-‘Umdah f| S˝ina≠‘at al-Shi‘r wa-Naqdih|, ed. al-Nabaw| ‘Abd al-Wa≠h˝id Sha‘la≠n 

(Cairo, 1420/2000), 2:843. 




Al-Tiha≠m| makes use of this device in the most extensive way. In his t¸aw|l 

ra≠’|yah the central part, beginning with line 39, starts with a complaint that the 

father's grief is doubled by the realization that his son could not take part in heroic 

military actions. To quote but one example (line 43), he could not prove his 

prowess: 

Bi-d˝arbin yut¸|ru al-b|d˝u min h˝arri waq‘ih| / shu‘a≠‘an ka-ma≠ t¸a≠ra 

al-shara≠ru min al-jamr| 

[With sword strokes so hot that beams are made to radiate like sparks 

that fly from live coal] 

After mentioning other heroic actions that the child could not carry out because of 

his premature death, al-Tiha≠m| leads predictably from the subject of military 

prowess to that of generosity, until he concludes this section in line 54. The only 

other subject besides military virtues is, in line 51, al-Tiha≠m|'s regret that his son 

never had the opportunity to bring forth the beauties of prose and poetry, a motif 

that was taken up by Ibn Nuba≠tah in his lines 17–18. This long, central passage 

from lines 39–54 in al-Tiha≠m|'s t¸aw|l poem is the counterpart to the fakhr section 

in the sister poem in ka≠mil. Obviously we will only be able to understand the 

innovative quality of Ibn Nuba≠tah's poem if we understand the function of these 

fakhr sections in al-Tiha≠m|'s poems and the complete absence of the subject of 

heroism in Ibn Nuba≠tah's poems. 

First of all, we must not fall into the trap of reading these poems as primarily 

autobiographical. Al-Tiha≠m| is said to have originated from a family of low 

birth, 30 for which reason alone one should be admonished not to take the praise of 

the heroic deeds of his "tribe" too literally. And one would certainly miss the point 

if the heroic passage in his t¸aw|l poem were interpreted as reflecting al-Tiha≠m|'s 

dream that his son would have pursued a military career. In all probability al-Tiha≠m| 

did not dream of a son as soldier. Instead, one can conceive of two reasons for the 

inclusion of the heroic passages. 

First, heroism is a good counterweight to the paralysis following the experience 

of a tremendous loss. Already in pre-Islamic poetry, heroic themes serve to 

counterbalance the loss of self confidence depicted in the nas|b, and the reassurance 

of one's own value in a social undertaking such as war is again a reasonable way 

to overcome the isolation, which is a consequence of the bereaved's retreat into 

his pain and his memories of past bliss. 

The second and, I think, more important reason is the fact that a premodern 

Arabic poem, even if it deals with such an intimate subject as the death of one's 

own child, still remains primarily an act of communication directed by its author 

30 Heinrichs, "Al-Tiha≠m|," 482a. 




to a specific public. From a communicative point of view, however, poems on 

childhood death are an extremely problematic genre. First, they have no immediate 

addressee. The child is already dead, the bereaved person is the poet himself (who 

is most affected, but cannot address a poem to himself), and since the child did 

not yet play a public social role, there is nobody other than the father/poet himself 

who can be consoled for having undergone a loss. In this respect, an elegy on 

children is different from genres like panegyric poetry or love poetry, in which 

there is an addressee (ruler, beloved) to whom the poem is (at least nominally) 

directed. In other genres in which there is no direct addressee, like wine, garden, 

or hunting poetry, still the recitation of the poems formed a part of special social 

occasions, whereas there was no special social situation for the performance of a 

poem on childhood death. Islamic funeral rites leave no room for the recitation of 

elegies. As a small poem, focussing on the subject of transitoriness, it may be 

used in the same way as any other zuhd poem and recited on occasions in which 

people used to exchange zuhd|ya≠t. But to make a great affair out of the death of a 

small child was more difficult. Al-Tiha≠m| wanted to make a monumental poem to 

match his monumental grief. Therefore he had to have recourse to the accepted 

"monumental" subjects like heroism and magnanimity, and he succeeded in 

composing a really impressive poem that gained wide circulation and indeed 

impressed its readers for centuries. 

Three and a half centuries later many things had changed. Gradually the 

kutta≠b had ceased to form a distinct social group with specific skills and knowledge 

and its own canon of literature. By the Mamluk period, their functions had been 

taken over completely by the ulama, a group of scholars who had undergone a 

more or less identical basic training and socialization. Ibn Nuba≠tah and, a century 

later, Ibn H˛ajar al-‘Asqala≠n|, to mention only two examples, had more or less the 

same sort of academic training. Both felt especially attracted to the fields of 

hadith and poetry, and it was by no means inevitable that the first should become 

a great poet and the other a great muh˝addith. And still Ibn Nuba≠tah was the 

primary transmitter of Ibn Ish˝a≠q's S|rah in Egypt, and Ibn H˛ajar left a small but 

fine d|wa≠n of excellent poetry. As poets, both of them seized the opportunity to 

get in contact with the last remaining Arabic-speaking dynasties. Ibn Nuba≠tah 

found a patron in al-Malik al-Mu’ayyad, the Ayyubid ruler of H˛ama≠h, whereas 

Ibn H˛ajar entered the court of the Rasulids in the Yemen. These patrons gave 

them plenty of occasions to compose panegyric poems with traditional structure 

and thematic content, but in the end even for them the poetic relations to their 

fellow ulama proved to be more important than the favor of princes. Though Ibn 

Nuba≠tah may have considered his Mu’ayyad|ya≠t as his primary achievement, his 

d|wa≠n contains more poems addressed to the Subk|yu≠n, the Abna≠’ Fad˝l Alla≠h and 

other ulama, and the same is, mutatis mutandis, also true for Ibn H˛ajar. Therefore, 




in the literary system, the ulama had not only taken over the functions of the 

kutta≠b, but also the functions of the princes as patrons, addressees of panegyric 

poetry, and as models of an ideal personality. Of course, Mamluk poets had no 

difficulty in praising a qadi, a muh˝addith, or a nah˝w| for his scholarly abilities, 

and had no need to resort to the subject of military prowess, which had largely 

lost its former importance in Mamluk literature anyway, since the Mamluks 

themselves were only peripherally part of the literary system, whereas the civilian 

elite had (and was supposed to have) little to do with warfare. 

The decreasing importance of the military elite in the system of literature did 

not lead, however, to a decreasing social importance of poetry in general or of the 

panegyric poem in particular. Just the opposite was the case. The former asymmetric 

poetic communication between a prince and patron as addressee on the one side 

and the poet as supplicant on the other had given way to a symmetric communication 

between ulama who were not only able to judge the literary merits of a poem 

addressed to them, but also to answer it with a poem of their own. And since the 

ulama had more or less monopolized poetic discourse, poetry became a means of 

integration with and delimitation from other social groups. 31 In addition, poetic 

skill could also serve as a means to distinguish oneself and to acquire social 

status. Therefore, in the Mamluk period we witness at one and the same time the 

disappearance of the professional poet as well as an increase in the social importance 

of poetry. 

This new social role of poetry had, of course, consequences for poetry itself. 

The most obvious consequence is the increasing importance of genres which 

immediately serve the poetic communication between the ulama, such as 

congratulation poems (taha≠ni’), poems of condolence (ta‘a≠z|), or poetic exchanges 

(mut¸a≠rah˝a≠t), not to mention the countless exchanges of riddles, epigrams (hence 

the unprecedented popularity of these forms in the Mamluk period), or rhymed 

fatwás and other, even more occasional, forms of poetry. Poetry in praise of the 

Prophet is another genre that was particularly successful in Mamluk times since it 

could satisfy the emotional and religious requirements of the ulama as well as 

present their values and concerns. 

Another consequence of the fact that poetry became more and more a means 

of communication among the members of a rather closely defined social group is 

its increasing intimacy. Obviously, ulama started to become interested in each 

others' family life. While we know virtually nothing about the wife/wives and 

children of the most outstanding poets and scholars from the early and middle 

Abbasid period, al-Sakha≠w| (to mention only one) provides the readers of his 

31 

Cf. Thomas Bauer, "Ibra≠h|m al-Mi‘ma≠r: Ein dichtender Handwerker aus Ägyptens Mamlukenzeit," 

ZDMG 152 (2002): 63–93. 




D˛aw’ al-La≠mi‘ with plenty of gossip about the family life of his contemporaries, 

and gives a very detailed account of the marital crisis of his venerated teacher Ibn 

H˛ajar in his biography. 32 Unfavorable as his description might appear at first, it 

was certainly not malicious, since al-Sakha≠w| honored his teacher almost as a 

saint. Instead, he might have considered the exposition of private details rather as 

a "human touch" that would add common interest to his biography and understanding 

for its subject. Ibn H˛ajar, in turn, was not devoid of this new interest in intimate 

matters. In one of the longest ghazal poems ever written, he made love of his wife 

and yearning for his child during his pilgrimage its main theme. 33 It is inconceivable 

that al-Buh˝tur| or even al-Mutanabb| could have composed a love poem about his 

own wife! A very striking example of this new tendency is also the fact that Abu≠ 

H˛ayya≠n al-Gharna≠t¸| (d. 745/1344), the greatest grammarian of the Mamluk age, 

composed a series of nine poems on the death of his daughter Nud˝a≠r, whereas 

elegies on daughters are hardly found before. 34 One may also mention the poet 

Ibra≠h|m al-Mi‘ma≠r (d. 749/1348), a craftsman who was not really accepted as an 

equal among the ulama, but whose poetry was nonetheless highly esteemed for its 

striking, witty, and satirical portrayal of the pangs and pleasures of everyday life 

in Mamluk Cairo. 35 Perhaps the most striking and moving example of this tendency 

is Ibn Su≠du≠n's (d. 868/1464) poem on the death of his mother, "a very personal 

and intimate picture of the tender loving mother figure who spoils her little boy 

and cannot let him go, not even when he is married. . . . There is a certain 

bitter-sweetness in this poem, a melancholy sense of humor, and certainly a very 

personal touch." 36 So unprecedented was this poem that Ibn Su≠du≠n could not help 

but include it in the section of hazal|ya≠t, because he could not find a "serious" 

traditional genre that would allow for such intimacy. 

32 

Al-Sakha≠w|, Al-Jawa≠hir wa-al-Durar f| Tarjamat Shaykh al-Isla≠m Ibn H˛ajar, ed. Ibra≠h|m Ba≠jis 

‘Abd al-Maj|d (Beirut, 1419/1999), 3:1207–27. 

33 

Thomas Bauer, "Ibn H˛ajar and the Arabic Ghazal of the Mamluk Age," in Migration of a 

Literary Genre: Studies in Ghazal Literature, ed. Thomas Bauer and Angelika Neuwirth (Beirut, 

forthcoming). 

34 

Th. Emil Homerin, "A Bird Ascends the Night"; idem, "'I've Stayed by the Grave': An Elegy/nas|b 

for Nud˝a≠r," in Literary Heritage of Classical Islam: Arabic and Islamic Studies in Honor of James 

A. Bellamy, ed. Mustansir Mir (Princeton, 1993): 107–18; idem, "Reflections on Poetry in the 

Mamluk Age," MSR 1 (1997): 63–85, esp. 80–85. These elegies display also a very private and 

intimate tone. Since Nud˝a≠r, a very educated woman, was already 28 years old when she died, these 

poems do not fall into the category of childhood death. Nevertheless it is remarkable that Abu≠ 

H˛ayya≠n composed a whole series of poems to commemorate her death, just as the poets who had 

lost their infant sons did. 

35 

Bauer, "Ibra≠h|m al-Mi‘ma≠r." 

36 

Arnoud Vrolijk, Bringing a Laugh to a Scowling Face: A Study and Critical Edition of the 

"Nuzhat al-Nufu≠s wa-Mud˝h˝ik al-‘Abu≠s" by ‘Al| Ibn Su≠du≠n al-Ba£bug≥a≠w| (Leiden, 1998), 45. 




As these examples show, people started not only to become interested in the 

private life of their fellows, but also came to think that other people's personal 

fate was relevant for their own life and could provide a model, an encouragement, 

or a comfort in individual situations. And, as a last step, they considered these 

topics worthy of being treated in the prestigious medium of poetry. As a consequence, 

poems on childhood death also acquired a new importance. For now it was no 

longer more or less unimportant what a person had to say about the death of his 

child, and one no longer had to have recourse to a topic such as heroism that was 

publicly accepted as important in order to draw attention to a poem on the death 

of one's own child. It seems as if this development had taken place even before 

recurrent epidemics of the plague made the death of children an everyday experience. 

If we consider the social, literary, and public-health circumstances of his time, 

it is little wonder that Ibn Nuba≠tah's poems on the death of his children have a 

conspicuously different starting point from those of al-Tiha≠m|. Ibn Nuba≠tah could 

take public interest in his poems for granted, even if he limited himself to the 

subject of the death of his own child. Therefore, his poems were never a soliloquy, 

nor can they be interpreted as the poet's most intimate expression of his own 

feelings, especially because such feelings met with general appreciation. Instead, 

these poems were part of a dialogue between the afflicted poet and the literary 

public of his time; there is no reason to doubt that Ibn Nuba≠tah was aware of this, 

and one may well assume that for Ibn Nuba≠tah this form of literary conversation 

added a lot to the comforting effect of the composition of his poems. Of course, 

these poems were intended for publication. Unfortunately Ibn Nuba≠tah's own 

collections of his poetry are not yet published and we only have an anthology of 

Ibn Nuba≠tah's pupil al-Bashtak| at our disposal. Nevertheless, we may assume 

that more than one of the books Ibn Nuba≠tah published himself contained 

Kindertotenlieder. The response given to his work corroborates our assumption. 

Already al-Bashtak| had enough material to include seven Kindertotenlieder in 

his recension of Ibn Nuba≠tah's d|wa≠n. Ibn Nuba≠tah's elegies were copied out and 

exist in manuscripts independent of Ibn Nuba≠tah's d|wa≠n. 37 Indeed, the most 

important and exhaustive consolation manual for parents who had lost their children 

was written by Ibn Ab| H˛ajalah (725–76/1325–75), a near contemporary of Ibn 

Nuba≠tah. In this book, entitled Salwat al-H˛az|n f| Mawt al-Ban|n, Ibn Ab| H˛ajalah 

quotes first al-Tiha≠m|'s ka≠mil ra≠’|yah, followed by 26 lines from Ibn Nuba≠tah's 

muna≠z˝arah on this poem. 38 And if Mamluk and Ottoman Arabic literature were 

better known, one would certainly be able to adduce many more examples of the 

37 To mention only Wilhelm Ahlwardt, Die Handschriften-Verzeichnisse der Königlichen Bibliothek 

zu Berlin: Verzeichnis der arabischen Handschriften (Berlin, 1887–99), 7:77, 277. 

38 Ibn Ab| H˛ajalah, Salwat al-H˛az|n f| Mawt al-Ban|n, ed. Mukhaymar S˝a≠lih˝ (Amman, 1994):143–49. 




reception of Ibn Nuba≠tah's poems. But the examples mentioned may suffice to 

show that Ibn Nuba≠tah's poems can only be properly understood when their 

function in the system of communication of the ulama is taken into account. 

TALKING ABOUT CHILDREN 

Mamluk society lacked the high degree of institutionalization of comparable Western 

societies. What was achieved here by institutions had to be achieved there by 

discourse, that is to say, by communication. This was true not only for scholars, 

but also for military rulers. As Al-Harithy has shown in a recent article, even the 

Mamluks themselves gave great weight to communication and tried by means of 

architecture, the most important form of art for them, "to enforce the dialogue 

between ruler and ruled" and developed the façades of their buildings "into a 

sophisticated means for addressing the urban environment and its dwellers." 39 It is 

amazing to see that this increasing importance of communication instead of 

representation had an effect on architecture that appears strikingly similar to the 

effect it had on certain forms of literature. Al-Harithy states that "the static 

symmetrical façades of the Fatimid period were replaced by dynamic façades in 

the Mamluk city . . ., and the emphasis on axial symmetry gave way to an 

emphasis on continuity." 40 This comparison with architecture does not, of course, 

imply that there was a general tendency towards less strictly structured poems in 

the Mamluk period. Rather, the bipartite qas˝|dah was still the prevalent model, 

which was applied even to the popular genre of praise of the Prophet. But it 

should demonstrate that it is not only in architecture that the message of works of 

art "is not literal or direct, but implied as part of the general Mamluk social 

discourse and practice." 41 In literature, this may mean a less ceremonial and 

representative attitude (one is even tempted to use the word "bourgeois," would it 

not imply too many false connotations); a great flexibility to meet the immediate 

communication purposes; an increasingly feeble delimitation between the official 

and the unofficial, the high and the low, the public and the private, the serious and 

the humorous; and a very high density of messages and signals the reader has to 

decode. 

In the case of Ibn Nuba≠tah's ra≠’|yah, the consequences are rather the same as 

noted by Al-Harithy for architecture. Al-Tiha≠m|'s representative 

structure—symmetrical, with heroism at its center—gives way to a supple structure 

that consists of small paragraphs of mostly three lines with a smooth transition 

between them. There is no clear thematic or structural break in the whole poem. 

39 Howayda Al-Harithy, "The Concept of Space in Mamluk Architecture," Muqarnas 18 (2001): 

87. 

40 Ibid., 90. 

41 Ibid. 




The theme of heroism is no longer present (lines 49–52 will be dealt with later). 

Instead, I know of no other poem in which the theme of childhood is treated so 

extensively as here. 42 First, it is present linguistically through the repetition of the 

address ya≠ / a-bunayya "my little son!" (lines 4, 20, 24, 25, 33, cf. also ban|ya line 

36, t¸ifl line 30, al-as˝a≠ghir line 53) that is scattered over the greater part of the 

poem. The prevailing notion in dealing with childhood death is its prematureness. 

In this respect, Ibn Nuba≠tah does not differ from al-Tiha≠m|. But of course the 

Mamluk scholar did not complain about heroism manqué. Instead, he focused on 

a general treatment of premature death. The first line in this series is line 6, which 

is the transformation of one of the heroic concepts of al-Tiha≠m|. In his self-praise 

we learn (line 81): 

Wa-al-na≠su mushtabihu≠na f| |ra≠dihim / wa-tafa≠d˝ulu al-aqwa≠mi f| alis˝da≠r| 

[When they are driven to the water-place, all people are alike. Their 

different ranks are only visible when they are driven back.] 

In this line, coming into life is compared to the cattle's coming to a watering 

place, and death, consequently, is the coming back from it. When Ibn Nuba≠tah 

transformed this famous line, he compared life to a sojourn at a watering place 

and left out everything heroic. The son should not have proved his rank; he should 

have simply been given the opportunity to experience the whole cycle of life. 

Nevertheless, al-Tiha≠m|'s model remains visible, and I doubt that Ibn Nuba≠tah's 

line can be fully understood if one doesn't know al-Tiha≠m|'s. Ibn Nuba≠tah says 

(line 6): 

Layta al-qad˝á al-ja≠r| tamahhala wirdahu≠ / h˝attá h˝asibta ‘awa≠qiba alis˝da≠r| 

[Would that destiny had delayed in its permanent course till you 

could have imagined the end of the route!] 

The theme of premature death is carried on with similar images in line 7 

(lightning that did not bring rain) and line 13 (a twig that did not bring forth fruit). 

42 I will not discuss here the importance of Ibn Nuba≠tah's poems for the study of the history of 

mentalities. There is, of course, no doubt that these poems reflect a far more intimate relation 

between fathers and their children than is posited by Philippe Ariès for pre-eighteenth-century 

Europe. But I suppose that this was already the case in the Abbasid period, even if a poet like 

al-Tiha≠m| still had difficulties in communicating it without recourse to motifs of heroism. A 

discernible change in mentalities between the time of al-Tiha≠m| and the Mamluk period cannot be 

established on the basis of the present material. On children in Islam see also Avner Giladi, 

Children of Islam: Concepts of Childhood in Medieval Muslim Society (London, 1992). 




Several lines later, Ibn Nuba≠tah for once expresses more concrete ideas. Again he 

seems to have followed al-Tiha≠m|'s example. In line 51 of his t¸aw|l poem, al-Tiha≠m| 

mentions a single non-military deed that his son was prevented from performing 

by his early death. It is the only concession to the fact that he himself is a poet, 

not a warrior: 

Wa-lam tukhjil al-rawd˝a al-an|qa bi-rawd˝atin / mufawwafati al-arja≠’i 

bi-al-naz˝mi wa-al-nathr| 

[Nor could you shame the graceful garden by a garden, the sides of 

which are variegated by poetry and prose.] 

In al-Tiha≠m|'s line, prose and poetry fit very well in the enumeration of heroic 

deeds of which they form a part, for they are seen as achievements the child failed 

to perform, and the child's achievements are obviously something of which to be 

proud. 

In Ibn Nuba≠tah's poem, the father does not complain about his son's unachieved 

accomplishments, but about the fact that the father never had the pleasure of 

hearing his son talk to him (line 17), and when Ibn Nuba≠tah states that his son's 

"feet of intelligence did not wade into the seas/meters of poetry" (line 18), it is 

again not the disappointment of a father's hopes, but rather the son's missed 

opportunities that are regretted. 43 There is no connection between the child and the 

public. The only counterpart to the son is his own father. In this way the more 

intimate and private nature of Ibn Nuba≠tah's poem as compared to that of al-Tiha≠m| 

becomes visible even in the transformation of a single motif. 

The motif of premature death undergoes several developments in the course of 

the poem. In lines 40 and 41 it is connected with the theme of grey hair that had 

its exposition in line 26. In lines 20 and 33, it is softened by stating that the son's 

fate is everybody's fate and the disparity between the lifespan of the son and that 

of the father became but small. In lines 21–22, finally, the motif is inverted 

altogether. The son's death was not premature at all, since he did not miss anything 

in this world, and his death came just in time. Al-Tiha≠m|'s versification of the 

hadith saying that man's life is "but a fleeting vision" (Ibn Nuba≠tah clearly alludes 

to this line by means of the words al-khaya≠li al-sa≠r|) is here pursued to its final 

consequence and applied to the son's short life. 

Premature death not only means missed opportunities but also avoided guilt. 

The child's innocence, which is expressed in line 11, is a theme unknown to me 

from al-Tiha≠m| or any other author before Ibn Nuba≠tah. As we see, the consequences 

43 Abu≠ H˛ayya≠n's daughter Nud˝a≠r lived long enough to develop a good command of literary 

language. Her father does not fail to mention this in a line with extraordinary rhetorical sophistication; 

see Homerin, "'I've Stayed by the Grave,'" 112. 




of an early death are illuminated from all angles in this poem, and the respective 

lines are scattered all over the poem and run through it like a thread. But premature 

death is not Ibn Nuba≠tah's only way to mention childhood. He could hardly have 

done without the old motif saying that the death of a small child must not mean 

small sorrows. Ibn Nuba≠tah presents this well-known motif, which was common 

already long before al-Tiha≠m|, skilfully in the form of a dialogue using very 

simple expressions (line 10). When the son is mentioned for the first time, it is 

said that he was a light burden when alive, whereas the grief for his death is heavy 

to bear (line 4). This is one of the few lines in which bodily features of the child 

play a role, as well as the father's way of dealing with his child. Paternal care is 

also mentioned in line 31. 

It is striking that religion hardly plays a role in this poem. There are several 

unspecific references to "fate" that could just as well be pre-Islamic, but only two 

references to Islamic concepts. The first is the statement of line 3 that the child is 

in paradise (which is also mentioned in lines 22 and 34). This line is, by the way, 

another transformation of a line of al-Tiha≠m|, and I cannot help but imagine that 

whoever grasped this relation must have found it rather funny, despite the earnest 

subject of the poem. In the final section of al-Tiha≠m|'s ka≠mil poem, the poet 

boasts of his insuperable virtues and tells us that he feels pity for those who envy 

him "for the heat of rancor gathered in their breast" (line 76), and he continues 

(line 77): 

Naz˝aru≠ s˝an|‘a Alla≠hi b| fa-‘uyu≠nuhum / f| jannatin wa-qulu≠buhum f| 

na≠r| 

[When they perceive how God acted towards me, their eyes dwell in 

heaven, their hearts in hell.] 

In Ibn Nuba≠tah's poem, it is the child who is in heaven, and the poet who is in 

hell. Children, of course, have no difficulties in entering heaven, since there is no 

concept of an original sin in Islam. As far as parents are concerned, there are 

several hadiths according to which those who lost several (or even only one) of 

their children will enter paradise or will at least be granted considerable advantages 

on the Day of Judgment. 44 These traditions have to be seen in the light of the 

tendency to grant martyrdom for causes of death that were considered especially 

cruel (pestilence, disease of the belly, death in childbed, etc.). Parents who lost 

their child are still alive. Nevertheless their fate was considered sufficiently cruel 

44 These hadiths are the main content of treatises for the comfort of parents who have lost a child 

to premature death. A bibliographical list is given in Thomas Bauer, "Islamische Totenbücher: 

Entwicklung einer Textgattung im Schatten al-G˘aza≠l|s," to appear in Akten des 19. Kongresses der 

Union Européenne des Arabisants et Islamisants, Halle 1998. 




to grant them conditions that factually come rather close to martyrdom. This 

concept is alluded to in line 24, in which the son is asked to serve his father on the 

Day of Judgment as a recompense for the father's "entreasuring" his son's body in 

the earth. Since this prerequisite is purely metaphorical, the line acquires a taste of 

bitterness and cannot be regarded as a straightforward expression of religious 

feelings. Obviously still in Mamluk times, in which religious poetry became 

increasingly popular, religious and poetic discourse remained as clearly 

distinguishable as they were in previous periods, 45 and not necessarily the same 

answers to a problem were given in poetry as in hadith or law. 

These are the main representations of childhood in Ibn Nuba≠tah's poem. Unlike 

al-Tiha≠m|'s ra≠’|yahs, there is no section devoted to childhood death, but the 

theme of childhood is present throughout the poem. Due to the ubiquity of the 

theme in this poem, even motifs that only accidentally have to do with childhood 

are given a new context in the mind of the audience. So it is conventional to 

compare the weeping of the bereaved with the cry of the pigeon, but in this poem 

one is again made aware of the fact that the pigeon weeps over its nestling (line 

8). And in countless elegies the clouds are asked to pour rain on the grave of the 

deceased with a lot of different images. In this poem, however, it cannot be 

incidental that the image of breastfeeding is chosen in line 56, the penultimate line 

of the poem. 

Taken together, the image of childhood and childhood death is present in this 

poem in more than forty per cent of its 57 lines, compared to about ten lines out of 

90 in al-Tiha≠m|'s ka≠mil ra≠’|yah. 46 Since the subject of childhood death permeates 

the whole poem, the audience/reader will connect all other themes and images to 

this subject as well, and this is what gives this poem an unprecedented intensity, 

which is enforced by the constant repetition of a small stock of themes and images 

and the use of rhetorical devices, as we will see in the following. 

THEME AND DEVELOPMENT 

Just as is the case with the theme of childhood, other themes and images recur 

over and over again. Instead of building separate blocks dedicated to different 

subjects, the poem is a constant play with a limited stock of themes and images. 

One is reminded of the musical technique of exposition and development. In fact, 

most of the concepts are presented in the first six lines of the poem, and developed 

in the following sections. The main themes besides childhood are: (1) tears, (2) 

45 

Bauer, "Todesdiskurse," and idem, "Raffinement und Frömmigkeit," Asiatische Studien 50 (1996): 

275–95. 

46 

His t¸aw|l ra≠’|yah contains more lines on childhood death, but since the whole passage on 

heroism is formally constructed as a complaint on premature death ("he did not march under the 

banner . . ."), it is hardly comparable. 




journey (and its counterpart: place of sojourn), (3) earth/grave, (4) light/stars (and 

its opposite: darkness), (5) water/garden. The following examples may show how 

these themes are developed. 

(1) Tears, an indispensable subject of every elegy, are already mentioned in 

line 1. In line 2 they are equated with theme (5) "river" and contrasted with theme 

(3) "dust." In line 7, "rain" (again theme 5) is provided by the eyes in the form of 

tears, but remains an unfulfilled promise of "lightning" (theme 4), to which the 

short life of the child is compared. Lines 8 and 9 provide explicit elaborations of 

the theme of "weeping." In line 14, the child is compared to a pearl that is covered 

(theme 4: light and darkness) by the "sea" (theme 5) of tears (but the bih˝a≠r of 

poetry in line 18 have nothing to do with weeping), whereas the tears are pearls 

themselves in line 19. If the dead son in paradise (theme 5) could know about his 

father's fate, he would himself weep (line 22). A perfect synthesis is given finally 

in line 34: the child in paradise will give his father a drink from the stream of 

paradise (theme 5) as a compensation for the father's watering the son's grave 

(theme 3) with his tears before. This line is not unproblematic from a religious 

point of view, since excessive weeping is interdicted in Islam and is by no means 

a reason for heavenly reward as it might seem from this line. But more important 

is the literary effect of bringing together the theme of weeping with the son's stay 

in paradise, thereby concluding a thematic circle that began in lines 2 and 3. 

Consequently, there is no further mention of weeping in the poem. 

(2) The theme of travel is initiated by the unmetaphorical mentioning of night 

journeys in line 4 and carried on with the image of the race course in line 5 and 

the comparison of life to a stop at a watering place in line 6. It therefore dominates 

the whole section from line 4 to 6. Subsequently, it is again modified and confronted 

with other themes such as "stars" (theme 4) in line 15, "seas" (theme 5) in line 18, 

and, as a final climax, with the theme of "grave" (theme 3) in line 38. In between, 

we find it in lines 12 and 21, direct echoes of al-Tiha≠m|, and in line 33, a direct 

echo of line 12. Its counterpart, the place of sojourn, is mentioned by words 

derived from the root sakan in lines 2 and 16 (cf. also awt¸a≠n in the very first line). 

In line 2, it is the grave where the child sojourns, whereas in the final line of this 

circle, line 38, the grave is only the mount that shows that the journey has not 

come to an end. Again we see that a cycle, which had started in line 2, is brought 

to an end more than thirty lines later. There is no further mention of travelling in 

the poem after line 38. 

(3) In contrast to themes (1) and (2), the theme of earth and grave, which 

starts in line 2, is carried on right to the end of the poem. In very different 

contexts it appears in lines 2, 12, 13, 16, 20, 24, 36, 37, 42, 46, 49, 50, 51, and 57. 

Since elegies conventionally end with the wish for copious rain to moisten the 

grave, it is not surprising that Ibn Nuba≠tah too ends his poem with this motif. 




(4) Stars have already been a recurrent theme in al-Tiha≠m|'s poems. In Ibn 

Nuba≠tah's poem, the theme of stars/light and darkness starts in line 7 with the 

image of lightning, is continued in lines 14 and 15, but assumes major importance 

in the second half (lines 28–30, 36, 41, 44, 45, 51, 52, 56). Since we have already 

seen how Ibn Nuba≠tah develops his themes by confronting them with different 

situations and with each other, we need not go into detail here. The same is true 

with theme (5) "water, garden, plants," which occurs in lines 2, 3, 6, 7, 13, 14, 18, 

22, 34, 53, and 57. 

Even themes of lesser importance are dealt with in the same way. In line 26, 

the theme of grey hair is introduced in the form of an antithesis. In this place, it 

has little more to say than that the pleasures of life are gone. Only in the paragraph 

comprising lines 41 to 43 do we realize the potential of the theme, since here it is 

confronted with the theme of premature death, and it turns out that with the help 

of a tawriyah this confrontation results in a quite interesting image. This is Ibn 

Nuba≠tah's method for the greater part of his ra≠’|yah. He takes a limited stock of 

themes and tries out what happens if these themes are confronted with each other 

or with different situations. So the same themes and motifs appear under constantly 

changing perspectives. On the other hand, the persistence of the same themes 

reflects a mind whose thoughts constantly dwell on the same matters, thus reflecting 

despair and hopelessness. 

This method is pursued until the beginning of the last passage in about line 40. 

Until then we have heard about the death of the boy and the father's despair. But 

an elegy has to address the subject of comfort and self-control. After all, s˝abr is 

one of the main virtues and one of the most important subjects of the Arabic elegy 

in general, and it is also the main subject of the final part of Ibn Nuba≠tah's 

ra≠’|yah. It starts with the statement that everybody must die (line 40), which is 

elaborated in the "grey hair" passage already mentioned (lines 41–43). The fact 

that everybody must die was obviously considered the most convincing argument 

for consolation, much more so than the prospect of paradise, which is only rarely 

mentioned in poetry. 47 In a group of again three lines, Ibn Nuba≠tah continues the 

elaboration of this theme in lines 44 to 46, leading from the celestial sphere to 

earthly tombstones. Two lines (47–48) admonish the hearer—and probably the 

father himself—to think about this fact and consequently to show s˝abr. The most 

common motif to express the fact of the inevitability of death is the ubi sunt qui 

ante nos motif, to which the following six lines are devoted. In an amazing 

climax, the poet adduces three groups of people, each of them presented in two 

lines. First, the former kings, the most commonly mentioned group in the ubi sunt 

passages, are all dead (lines 49–50). The second group are the war heroes, and 

47 Bauer, "Todesdiskurse," 12. 




these lines are of course Ibn Nuba≠tah's explicit answer to the heroic passages in 

al-Tiha≠m|'s poems. Even the sparks they let fly in the heat of battle are a reflection 

of a formulation of al-Tiha≠m| (cf. line 43 of his t¸aw|l ra≠’|yah, quoted above). All 

that is left from al-Tiha≠m|'s heroism are two lines that state that even heroes are 

doomed to death. But the most surprising passage is constituted by the following 

lines, in which a third group joins the princes and heroes: children. "Where have 

all the babies gone?" is a most extraordinary turn of the ubi sunt motif, and it is 

most remarkable that childhood death could be seen in one and the same line with 

the death of society's most prominent members. 

In the concluding passage of the last three lines, Ibn Nuba≠tah reverts to the 

notion of s˝abr from line 48. But something must have happened in between. 

Whereas the mood of line 48 is still rather optimistic as far as the achievement of 

s˝abr is concerned, this confidence must have been lost in the course of the following 

lines. Though it was exactly their aim to strengthen s˝abr, something must have 

gone wrong. Obviously the reference to the children has shattered the hopes of 

attaining equanimity. If s˝abr is shown, it is only pretence or constraint. The poem 

ends in hopelessness. 

Unorganized as the poem might seem at first glance, it turns out to match its 

emotional development perfectly. Two thirds of the poem are devoted to the 

father's grief about the loss of his beloved son. Its enormous density is achieved 

by a technique that may remind the audience of a composition technique utilized 

often by such composers as Brahms or Reger, who used to base long movements 

on short and at first inconspicuous motifs, which only gained their significance by 

the way they were treated and developed in the further course of the movement. 

In the same way, Ibn Nuba≠tah introduces five themes, which are neither especially 

conspicuous nor original, in the first six lines of his poem. But in the following 

thirty-three lines, this material is varied, modified, adapted, arranged in ever-new 

combinations, brought to reveal unexpected relations and shown to permeate every 

conceivable aspect. Presenting always new constellations of these themes, but 

hardly transgressing them, the poet may at the same time convey the impression 

of the inexhaustibility of paternal pain as well as that of its inescapability. The 

final part, the poem's last third, should display the harmonization of the conflicts, 

should present equanimity (s˝abr) regained, should bring comfort through the 

realization that everybody and everything is doomed to end. In order to achieve 

this, the tightly knotted, condensed structure of the first two thirds gives way to a 

more linear structure. But s˝abr cannot be gained. The sonata has no recapitulation 

but an open end. This is, to stick to the musical image, the melody. The harmony, 

which, as we will see, corresponds exactly to this structure and reinforces its 

emotional effectiveness, is provided by the rhetorical devices, which we will 

examine in the following. 




RHETORIC AND EMOTION 

Poetry is communication, and a poem is only meaningful if its communicative 

function is taken into regard. This has already been stated, but it must inevitably 

be repeated in a chapter dealing with emotions. Many contemporary Arabic scholars 

assume that it is the main function of a poem to "express feelings," and that the 

quality of a poem can be determined more or less according to the degree of 

directness by which a poet "expresses his true feelings." If a poet uses more than 

only a very limited number of rhetorical devices in his poem, it is considered an 

indication that the poet's feelings are not sincere and the poem is "a mere play on 

words" and of no further poetic relevance. 48 This attitude is sometimes considered 

to be a reflection of European romanticism, but I suppose that two other roots are 

more important. The importance given to the "sincerity" of emotions, the fact that 

emotions themselves are the focus of interest rather than their poetic transformation, 

and the postulate that these emotions should be spoken out in a direct and immediate 

way point to a Protestant origin of this attitude. 49 One of the entrance gates of such 

ideas may have been the Protestant mission of the Americans in Beirut, which 

during the nahd˝ah period played a major role in forming modern Arab attitudes 

towards literature. 

The other root of the enmity towards rhetorics in the modern Arab world is the 

European, especially French, enlightenment. One of the ideals of this movement 

was purity of language and clarity of expression, which resulted in a general 

devaluation of the literature of previous periods, especially of the era of the 

baroque, but proved rather disadvantageous for the production of poetry 

(romanticism was a major attempt to overcome the sterility and dullness of 

enlightenment poetry). When the French set out to colonialize the Arab world, 

they were faced with the problem that, contrary to sub-Saharan Africa, the Arab 

world already possessed what was considered civilization by European standards 

of that time. In this situation, the French made literature and language one of their 

main weapons. It was acknowledged that the Arab world had developed a great 

civilization in the "Middle Ages," 50 but afterwards this civilization was subject to a 

48 Bauer, Review of al-Afand|. 

49 On the Protestant origin of this attitude see Hans-Georg Soeffner, " Luther: Der Weg von der 

Kollektivität des Glaubens zu einem lutherisch-protestantischen Individualitätstyp," in Vom Ende 

des Individuums zur Individualität ohne Ende, ed. Hanns-Georg Brose and Bruno Hildebrand 

(Opladen, 1988), 107–49. 

50 The still current application of the term "Middle Ages" and "medieval" to Islamic history is a 

remnant of the colonialist degradation of Arabic and Islamic culture in that its whole premodern 

history is limited to the role of a transition period between the two really "valuable" periods, 

antiquity and modernity. At least, this was the reason for the coinage of this term in Europe. To 

use this designation for great parts of Arab history means to deprive the Arab world of the right of 




process of steady decline and decadence, and this decadence was considered to be 

especially visible in the case of literature with its "baroque" and over-ornate style. 51 

In fact, it was literature which gave the French one of the arguments for the 

justification of a mission civilisatrice in the Arab world. This went hand-in-hand 

with the propagation of the French language, which was considered an unsurpassable 

model on account of its clarté, 52 and it is small wonder that it set the norm for 

literary style in Arabic as well. And just as former (and, as we see it now, 

formidable) periods of European literature had been disparaged for the benefit of 

the bourgeois taste of enlightenment, now with the same arguments the 

overwhelming portion of Arabic literature was disparaged for the benefit of 

colonialism. 

Still, more than a century afterwards, a colonialized mind is clearly visible in 

contemporary Arab attitudes towards premodern Arabic poetry. But it is high time 

now to stop applying criteria to this literature that it can never match. In fact, no 

premodern Arab poet ever tried to "express true feelings"; he would not even have 

understood the words ‘abbara ‘an shu‘u≠r s˝a≠diqah, let alone applied them to judge 

literary texts. Instead, he might have used a formulation like that used by Ibn 

Rash|q, who, after having stated that it is particularly difficult to compose elegies 

on women and children, continues: "One of the best and most saddening (ashjá) 

elegies on women, one of those that have the deepest effect on the heart (ashaddih| 

ta’th|ran f| al-qalb) and in arousing grief (wa-itha≠ratan li-al-h˝uzni) is the poem 

by Ibn ‘Abd al-Malik on his umm walad. . . ." 53 Here, as in countless other 

statements, the poet is not judged according to the feelings he expresses, but 

according to the feelings he arouses in the audience/reader. 

This result should motivate us to ask what is meant by the formulation "to 

express one's feelings." To "express a thought" means to put it into words that 

match it as exactly as possible and therefore allow it to be communicated to others 

without causing misunderstanding. To "express a feeling," however, can hardly 

mean in a poetic context to put a feeling into words in order to inform the hearer 

as precisely as possible about the physical and psychic effects of it. This would be 

appropriate in a confession, an examination of one's conscience (I already mentioned 

the Protestant roots of this concept), or in a psychoanalysis, but not in a poem. Ibn 

Nuba≠tah very obviously did not want to inform his contemporaries of the fact that 

having a history of its own that is meaningful even if it is not constantly related to European 

history. Remarkably enough, historians do not speak of medieval Japan or China. 

51 

Thomas Bauer, "Die bad|‘iyya des Na≠s˝|f al-Ya≠zi©i und das Problem der spätosmanischen 

arabischen Literatur," in preparation. 

52 

Ulrike Freitag, Geschichtsschreibung in Syrien 1920–1990: Zwischen Wissenschaft und Ideologie 

(Hamburg, 1991), 83–89. 

53 

Ibn Rash|q, ‘Umdah, 2:846. 




he suffers insomnia and is forced to weep on account of the death of his son. Had 

he aspired to do so, he could have set out his emotional state of mind in plain 

prose and written a letter to the few people who might have been interested in his 

personal concerns. Instead, he composed a poem that was meant to be published 

and to be of relevance to many other people who were not the least interested in 

the "sincere feelings" of a certain Ibn Nuba≠tah. They were, however, interested in 

their own feelings (and the reflection of their own feelings in somebody else), and 

therefore it again seems that the old critics who regarded the effect of a poem 

rather than the sincerity of the poet's feelings were nearer to the reality of the 

literary communication system than the proponents of the notion of emotional 

expression. 

Nevertheless, the feelings of the poet himself are not completely irrelevant. 

Even Arabic literary theorists established that to be really in love or really filled 

with wrath does help a lot in composing good ghazal or hija≠’ poetry. 54 But they 

never use the notion of "expressing" these emotions, and therefore we may well 

ask where exactly the feelings and emotions are in a poem. The only possible 

answer is to state that, again, the emotions are nowhere else than in the 

audience/reader of the poem, and that the poem's function is to evoke these 

emotions in the recipient. Inevitably, the poet himself is not only the poem's 

producer, but also its first audience, and his emotional reaction to the poem is at 

least similar to that of the intended public. Therefore, the poet will test—consciously 

or not—whether the poem has more or less the same emotional effect on himself 

which it is supposed to have on its later hearers and readers. The notion of 

"expressing" a feeling is therefore hardly anything other than a metaphorical 

expression for arousing a feeling in the hearer that is similar to the feeling in the 

mind (or wherever feelings may be) of the poet himself. The emotions, therefore, 

are not somewhere in the poem, which is supposed to express them, but they are 

induced more or less successfully by the poem in the audience (the poet himself 

included). This is corroborated by the fact that the means to induce feelings by 

literary texts can be analyzed fairly well, whereas the question of whether a poem 

expresses the sincere feelings of its author must always remain pure speculation. 

In the case of Ibn Nuba≠tah's Kindertotenlieder, we have, of course, no reason to 

doubt the depth and sincerity of their author's feelings. It is beyond any doubt that 

these feelings helped a lot to create the masterly poem that we have before us. 

However, this does not help much to understand the poem, but rather leads in a 

wrong direction, as we have already seen. The poem is not a spontaneous outburst 

of uncontrolled emotion, but a carefully planned and executed text, as is shown by 

its structure, which may seem chaotic at first glance but turns out on closer 

54 Ibid., 1:194, 198, but compare ibid., 1:329–45. 




analysis to be structured in exactly such a way as to be able to induce an effect of 

helpless emotional tangle. 

If Ibn Nuba≠tah's elegy were a spontaneous creation, as M. Muh˝ammad thinks 

(but which it is not), and if it is a reflection of sincere feelings, as all previous 

interpreters think (and which it certainly is), 55 and if spontaneity and veracity are 

opposed to the use of rhetorical devices, as the adherents of the aforementioned 

school of "expression-of-sincere-feelings" believe, this poem should contain few 

rhetorical devices. However, the contrary is true. For those who think that rhetorical 

sophistication and deep feelings are irreconcilable and like Ibn Nuba≠tah's text, the 

chart on the following page may come as a surprise. It lists the more conspicuous 

figures of speech and rhetorical devices of the poem for every line: 56 

55 Therefore, Ibn Nuba≠tah's ra≠’|yah is said to "abound with images full of passion and poetic 

presentations full of heat," as is stated by Ya≠s|n al-Ayyu≠b|, A±fa≠q al-Shi‘r al-‘Arab| f| al-‘As˝r 

al-Mamlu≠k| (Tripoli, Lebanon, 1995), 174. An accurate review of this book is given by Th. Emil 

Homerin in MSR 3 (1999): 237–40. 

56 With the exception of anaphora I limited myself to the traditionally established rhetorical figures, 

which are at the same time clearly recognizable. Stylistic features like insija≠m (cf. the contribution 

of G. J. van Gelder in this volume), which would not be considered as foregrounding devices, are 

not represented in the chart. As a convenient reference and for an English translation of the names 

of rhetorical figures I use Pierre Cachia, The Arch Rhetorician or The Schemer's Skimmer: A 

Handbook of Late Arabic bad|‘ drawn from ‘Abd al-Ghan| an-Na≠bulus|'s Nafah˝a≠t al-Azha≠r ‘ala≠ 

Nasama≠t al-Ash˝a≠r (Wiesbaden, 1998) and Wolfhart P. Heinrichs, "Rhetorical Figures," EAL 

2:656–62. In the last column of the chart I noted the number of the line of al-Tiha≠m|s ka≠mil poem 

(in italics) and of his t¸aw|l poem (in parentheses) which was the model for the respective line of 

Ibn Nuba≠tah. I completely disregarded hyperbole, which plays only a minor role in the poem. One 

may add the rhetorical figure of qasam "oath" (Cachia, Rhetorician, no. 139) for line 39; iqtiba≠s 

(ibid., no. 169) for line 40 (it may be considered a vague allusion to Quran 38:3, but is rather a 

common formula); and al-madhhab al-kala≠m| "logical argumentation" (Cachia, Rhetorician, no. 

127; W.P. Heinrichs, "al-madhhab al-kala≠m|," EAL 2:482) for line 47. 




line 

anaphora 

mura≠‘a≠t al-naz˝|r 

isti‘a≠rah, tashb|h 

t¸iba≠q 

jina≠s 

tawriyah 

other 

cf. al-Tiha≠m| 

1 1 

2 

3 23 

4 

5 27 

6 80 

7 sh 

8 

9 

10 20 

11 

12 24 

13 

14 sh 

15 

16 sh 18 

17 

18 (53) 

19 sh 

20 

21 sh 6 

22 2 

23 

24 

25 

26 

27 

28 sh 

29 

line 

anaphora 

mura≠‘a≠t al-naz˝|r 

isti‘a≠rah, tashb|h 

t¸iba≠q 

jina≠s 

tawriyah 

other 

cf. al-Tiha≠m| 

30 14 

31 ? 

32 

33 

34 

35 

36 sh 

37 

38 

39 ? 

40 ? 

41 

42 sh 

43 

44 

45 

46 

47 18 

48 

49 ? 

50 

51 (43) 

52 

53 sh 

54 

55 

56 

57 




If we include the four lines marked with a question mark in column "jina≠s," but 

regardless of whether we regard the column "anaphora" or not (since anaphora 

was not a well established figure in indigenous Arabic rhetorical theory), we can 

conclude that every line with the sole exception of the very last contains one or 

more rhetorical figures. These figures are not distributed evenly in the text; rather 

their distribution reflects the structure explained above. While the first part is 

dominated by simile and metaphor, which are often used to form a mura≠‘a≠t 

al-naz˝|r, and the emotional intensity of this part is reinforced by several anaphoras, 

the final part is dominated by t¸iba≠q. Let us briefly consider the most important 

figures of speech and rhetorical devices: 

(a) Anaphora (like alliteration or the epigram) is one of those devices that 

were well known and consciously used by Arabic poets, but had no specific 

technical term and were not considered by literary theory. 57 To start several 

consecutive lines with the same word(s) is indeed one of the oldest and most 

characteristic devices of the elegy and can be traced back to the primitive forms of 

the pre-Islamic niya≠h˝ah. 58 This kind of anaphora, reflecting perhaps the repeated 

desperate cry of the wailer, is the most atavistic device of the marthiyah and 

maybe the most immediate expression of despair. In a highly sophisticated poem 

like that of Ibn Nuba≠tah it is, of course, no longer immediate to that degree, but in 

all probability the hearer will still associate it with overwhelming emotionality. 

This is most probably also its main function in Ibn Nuba≠tah's poem, where it 

seems to have been used very consciously. Starting with two relatively inconspicuous 

anaphoras in lines 5–6 and 8–9, which do not have any structuring function, there 

follows a lahf| passage (lines 13–15) featuring three images of premature death, 

and, interrupted by a line mentioning the grave and the place of the deceased boy 

in the father's memory, an a‘ziz ‘alayya passage, again mainly about premature 

death. The more complicated anaphoric words correspond to the more complicated 

images of premature death in this passage. The other lines marked as anaphoric 

are those beginning with a-bunayya. 59 They are scattered over the first part of the 

poem to remind the hearer constantly of the fact that the object of the poem is a 

child. One should mention that Ibn Nuba≠tah makes less use of the anaphora in his 

other elegies on his son, and in al-Tiha≠m|'s ka≠mil ra≠’|yah it is completely absent. 

57 

One may subsume it under the rubric takra≠r (cf. Cachia, Rhetorician, no. 53), but rhetoricians 

do not specify the unit within which the repetition has to take place. In most examples of takra≠r, a 

word or phrase is repeated within a single line. 

58 

See already Ignaz Goldziher, "Bemerkungen zur arabischen Trauerpoesie," Wiener Zeitschrift 

für die Kunde des Morgenlands 16 (1902): 307–39. 

59 

I did not mark the isolated lines starting with a-bunayya (lines 20 and 33) in the above chart. I 

am not sure if the anaphora was felt as such in these cases. 




(b) Simile (tashb|h) and metaphor (isti‘a≠rah) are the all-prevailing means of 

foregrounding in this poem. The first half especially is dominated by them. Three 

quarters of lines 1–39 contain one or more of these figures, whereas less than a 

third of the remaining lines do so. The following chart gives a list of the prima 

and secunda comparationis, arranged alphabetically according to the primum 

comparationis: 60 

babies blossoms 53 grey hair dust 42 

babies pearls 54 intestines earth 16 

boy flash of lightning 7 kings mountains 50 

boy eye 9 life race course 5 

boy twig 13 life rest at water place 6 

boy pearl 14 moon bow 45 

boy star 15 pain fire 3 

boy apparition 21 pain load 4 

boy treasure 24 pleasures whiteness 26 

boy intestines 35 poetry sea 18 

child stars 30 stars nails 28 

child moon 36 sun stars 29 

darkness trail 28 tears helpers 1 

dawn curtain 29 tears rivers 2 

dust clouds 36 tears rain 7 

earth clothes 20 tears gold 9 

face dinar 32 tears seas 14 

father pigeon 8 tears pearls 19 

fortune ruins 25 tears drink 34 

grave garden 2 tongue host 17 

grave shelter 12 words guest 17 

grave mount 38 

60 I omitted the isti‘a≠rah "feet of intelligence" of line 18. 




The main function of comparison in this poem is obviously to create and 

connect the five themes that form the basis of the major part of the poem. The 

experience of the boy's death is transformed into a world consisting of the elements 

tears, journeys, earth, stars, and gardens, which permanently interact. Many items 

occur more than once in one of the columns or in both of them. This world is 

based largely on comparison, but to attract the audience's attention to the act of 

comparing would have disturbed the impression. Therefore, the similes and 

metaphors are less interesting in themselves than in what is achieved by them. It 

is not surprising thus that the most original simile, the comparison of babies in 

their cradles with blossoms (line 53), is not found in the five-themes part of the 

poem but in its final section, in which there are only a few similes and metaphors 

anyway. Finally, one may note that apparently Ibn Nuba≠tah was keen to avoid 

monotony and to further conceal the extensive use of comparison by varying the 

formal means of comparison. Several types and constructions of metaphors and 

similes alternate, and there are never two consecutive lines that contain a particle 

of comparison (lines that contain such an a≠lat al-tashb|h are marked with sh in the 

chart above). 

(c) The same tendency is reflected in the remarkably high number of lines that 

form what is called mura≠‘a≠t al-naz˝|r, that is, consist of images and/or ideas that 

pertain to the same semantic sphere. 61 In most cases, the figure is brought about by 

two (or more) comparisons that lead into the same semantic realm. In this way Ibn 

Nuba≠tah produces lines that are entirely devoted to images like garden, thunderstorm, 

twigs, doves, pearls, night and stars (this image is even carried on over the three 

lines 28–30), etc. All these topics are part of the five themes that form the skeleton 

of the poem's first part. In these lines, the respective theme appears alone and 

undisturbed. But it is fascinating to see how Ibn Nuba≠tah repeatedly interrupted 

the sequences of mura≠‘a≠t al-naz˝|r by lines featuring a t¸iba≠q "antithesis." Neither 

the lines containing t¸iba≠q nor those containing mura≠‘a≠t al-naz˝|r exceed thematically 

the frame of the five themes mentioned previously. The poet thus dwells on the 

same subjects, but treats them with different stylistic devices. This conveys an 

image of density and insistence. Consequently, in the latter third of the poem no 

single instance of mura≠‘a≠t al-naz˝|r occurs. 

(d) T˛iba≠q (or mut¸a≠baqah) "antithesis," 62 is another extremely important figure 

in this poem. Of course, the contrast between life and death lends itself easily to 

61 Heinrichs, "Rhetorical Figures," 658–59; Cachia, Rhetorician, no. 73 (to include cases of phonetic 

resemblance seems to be a purely theoretical phenomenon in latter bad|‘ treatises and can be 

ignored here). 

62 Heinrichs, "Rhetorical Figures," 659; Cachia, Rhetorician, no. 79. Though Cachia is right to note 

that t¸iba≠q is wider in reach than antithesis, I cannot persuade myself to translate it as "parallelism." 

I wonder if "contrast" would be an adequate translation. 




the construction of antithetic contrasts, but Ibn Nuba≠tah's t¸iba≠qa≠t go far beyond 

that scope. Ambivalence and contrast dominate the father, the son, their destiny 

(on earth as well as in heaven), their mutual relation, and finally the whole of life 

and the whole of mankind, as the following chart (in the compilation of which the 

term t¸iba≠q was used in its most restricted way) shows: 

paradise hell 3 white black 41 

light heavy 4 shoot be hit 45 

warada s˝adara 6 rejection confirmation 46 

small big 10 revelation secret 47 

far near 12 mountain dust 50 

distant close 12 darkness sparks 51 

clothed naked 20 intactness destruction 52 

sleep sleeplessness 27 bones flesh 54 

highland lowland 35 pearls stones 54 

souls bodies 37 patience grief 55 

And again, the rhetorical figure not only corresponds with the structure of the 

poem but is, in fact, one of the main devices to structure it. While in the first part 

a few instances of t¸iba≠q are used to contrast a far greater number of mura≠‘a≠t 

al-naz˝|r, the second part of the poem with its more general reflections about life 

and death is largely dominated by t¸iba≠q. Starting with line 35, we can observe an 

antithetic accelerando culminating in the ubi sunt passage (lines 49–54) with its 

surprising climax kings/heroes/babies. The last t¸iba≠q in the poem is the contrast 

between s˝abr "patience" and jaza‘ "grief," a contrast that is shown in the end as 

insuperable. 

(e) The extensive use of jina≠s, the phonetic or graphic resemblance (or even 

identity) of two semantically different elements (words or word pairs), is not 

specific to any special period of Arabic literature. Even the pre- and early-Islamic 

poet al-A‘shá was extremely fond of it (not to speak of al-T˛irimma≠h˝ and the 

Umayyad rajaz poets), and Abu≠ Tamma≠m was notorious for his jina≠s excesses. 

Enthusiasm for jina≠s is neither a sign of decadence nor something particularly 

characteristic of the Mamluk period. In this time, however, it became the subject 

of a somewhat tragic dispute. I call it tragic because it seems as if this controversy 

destroyed the friendship of the two most important hommes de lettres of the 

eighth/fourteenth century, Ibn Nuba≠tah and al-S˝afad|. The latter had composed a 

collection of poetry of his own, in which he carried the potential of jina≠s to its 




extreme. 63 ‘Umar Mu≠sá Ba≠sha≠ may be right to assume that the reason he composed 

the book was his determination to counter Ibn Nuba≠tah's sophisticated and innovative 

treatment of the tawriyah with the propagation of another rhetorical figure. Al-S˝afad| 

was enormously proud of his achievement, sent his booklet to many fellow ulama, 

and proudly collected the accolades (taqr|z˝a≠t) he received. 64 Ibn Nuba≠tah, however, 

proved himself not to be amused by al-S˝afad|'s amassing of jina≠sa≠t, and "things 

too long to explain occurred between both on this account." 65 In the end, it seems 

as if al-S˝afad| fell in with Ibn Nuba≠tah's stylistic trend in favor of the tawriyah 

and composed a treatise on this subject 66 —only to be accused by Ibn Nuba≠tah of 

plagiarism (an accusation that was only too justified, if we accept Ibn H˛ijjah's 

judgement). 67 What a time, in which friendships broke apart not out of avarice, but 

out of a quarrel about rhetorical figures! 

Ibn H˛ijjah's position in this respect is quite clear, and it seems by and large to 

reflect Ibn Nuba≠tah's attitude. 68 Jina≠s is, he concludes, one of the more primitive 

rhetorical figures, and too much of it can spoil any poem. In right measure, 

however, it can add to a poem's value. According to Ibn H˛ijjah, it is especially 

effective in the first line of a poem, if the poet fails to produce a tawriyah, which 

would be the more elegant (and more modern) way to start. 69 Needless to say, in 

our poem Ibn Nuba≠tah succeeds in combining a jina≠s with a tawriyah, and at the 

same time alludes to his model, al-Tiha≠m|, in his first line. Aside from the 

introductory line, jina≠s in fact plays a minor role. It marks the climax of the lahf| 

series in line 15, where it is again combined with a tawriyah, thus again lending 

enormous prominence to the verse. Then we find it in a very marked way in line 

37, the emotional climax before the concluding part, and again combined with a 

tawriyah in the rather complicated line 43. As a result, we may note, in this poem 

Ibn Nuba≠tah uses jina≠s only very sparingly and consciously to emphasize lines of 

special importance for the content and/or the structure of the poem. 

63 

Al-S˝afad|, Kita≠b Jina≠n al-Jina≠s f| ‘Ilm al-Bad|‘ (Constantinople, A.H. 1299, reprint Beirut, 

n.d.). The edition by Sa≠mir H˛usayn H˛alab| (Beirut, 1407/1987) adds a lot of misprints in consequence 

of which the text acquires a certain dadaistic flavor. See also Ba≠sha≠, Ibn Nuba≠tah, 445–47. 

64 

Al-S˝afad|, A‘ya≠n al-‘As˝r wa-A‘wa≠n al-Nas˝r, ed. ‘Al| Abu≠ Zayd et al. (Damascus, 1987–88), 

1:397–98, 3:291, 374–76, 501–2, 5:361–63. 

65 

Ibn H˛ijjah al-H˛amaw|, Khiza≠nat al-Adab wa-Gha≠yat al-Arab (2nd ed., Beirut, 1991), 1: 56. 

66 

Al-S˝afad|, Fad˝d˝ al-Khita≠m ‘an al-Tawriyah wa-al-Istikhda≠m, ed. ‘Abd al-‘Az|z al-H˛inna≠w| 

(Cairo, 1399/1979). See also Ba≠sha≠, Ibn Nuba≠tah, 456–59. 

67 

Ibn H˛ijjah, Khiza≠nah, 2:121–29. This is only one of several possible reconstructions of the story 

between Ibn Nuba≠tah and al-S˝afad|. Further research is required. It should include a study of the 

relation between Ibn Nuba≠tah's Al-Saj‘ al-Mutawwaq and al-S˝afad|'s Alh˝a≠n al-Sawa≠ji‘ (both still 

unedited). 

68 

Ibn H˛ijjah, Khiza≠nah, 1:54–55. 

69 Ibid., 55. 




This is the case as far as real jina≠s is concerned. It is appropriate, however, to 

address here the problem of the four lines labelled with a question mark in the 

column jina≠s in the chart. In fact, when I drew up this chart, in the end five lines 

remained without entry. Apart from the final line, these were lines 31, 39, 40, and 

49. But when I compared these lines, I realized that all of them contained the 

same sort of paronomasia in a very similar way: h˝udhirtu . . . h˝idha≠r| (line 31), 

khat¸arin min al-akht¸a≠ri (line 39), ayna al-fira≠ru . . . h˝|na al-fira≠ri (line 40), and 

‘atharu≠ . . . ayya al-‘itha≠ri (line 49). Each of them contains a jina≠s al-ishtiqa≠q 

with the second word being the rhyme word. But a jina≠s al-ishtiqa≠q was not 

considered a jina≠s proper by the rhetoricians, since there is no semantic difference 

between its two elements. A poem, however, is not a work of theory, and one can 

hardly doubt that there is some sort of foregrounding in the four jina≠sa≠t al-ishtiqa≠q 

in Ibn Nuba≠tah's poem as well. Therefore, it seems appropriate to label these lines 

as indeed containing a rhetorical figure with, however, a rather low degree of 

rhetorical markedness. It seems as if the poet shunned the contrast between 

rhetorically marked and completely unmarked lines, and as if he wanted to reserve 

the effect of this contrast to the very last line. Therefore he provided the lines 

mentioned with at least an etymological jina≠s rather than letting them stick out by 

having no rhetorical prominence at all. 

(f) The tawriyah "double entendre" was the rhetorical figure par excellence for 

the Mamluk period, and Ibn Nuba≠tah was indisputably its greatest master. 70 It is 

hardly accidental that the career of the tawriyah coincided with the increasing 

participation of ulama in the system of literature, because in the tawriyah the 

ulama could create consciously the ambiguity they were used to detecting in the 

sacred texts during their exegetical activities. Therefore the tawriyah is far more 

than word play. It is—at its best—the reflection of the ambiguity of man's perception 

of the divine world order and a playful plumbing of the borders of human 

language—epistemology in the form of a poetical device. Unfortunately, the wellknown 

prejudices have prevented scholars so far from studying the usage of 

tawriya≠t in the texts of the Mamluk period. Many such studies would be necessary, 

however, to ascertain the proper place of this rhetorical figure, its achievements, 

and the specific usage made of it by different poets in different poems. So far, I 

can only judge impressionistically that in our sample poem Ibn Nuba≠tah uses the 

tawriyah in a comparatively modest way. In lines 1, 15, and 43 it is used together 

with a jina≠s to highlight three particularly important lines of the poem. Several 

times a tawriyah is used to connect themes. So in line 15, it connects the themes 

of travel and star, in line 56 clouds and stars. In line 33 it enables an antithesis. 

70 Ibid., 2:39–251; Seeger A. Bonebakker, Some Early Definitions of the Tawriya and S˝afad|'s 

Fad˝d˝ al-Xita≠m ‘an at-Tawriya wa-'l-Istixda≠m (The Hague-Paris, 1966); Ba≠sha≠, Ibn Nuba≠tah, 

448–64; Thomas Bauer, review of Ibn Nuba≠tah, by M. Muh˝ammad, MSR 6 (2002): 219–24. 




The theme of grey hair is treated in lines 41–43, where the term ashhab is used in 

several meanings, connecting this subject with the notion of horses in line 41 

(alluding to the notion of life as a "race course" of line 5) and connecting it again 

with the theme of stars in line 43. More independent is the use of the tawriyah in 

lines 32 and 45. A dinar and a moon are ordinary, harmless things, but the 

tawriyahs make the reader suddenly aware that transitoriness lurks behind them. 

In general, one may say that the great master of the tawriyah restrained himself 

considerably in this poem and assigned a purely subordinate function to this 

rhetorical figure. 71 

(g) To mention briefly the other more conspicuous rhetorical figures: in line 1 

both hemistichs rhyme (tas˝r|‘). This is not surprising, but nevertheless adds to the 

rhetorical fireworks of this introductory line. The small paragraph stretching from 

line 10 to 12 shows a beautiful variety of rhetorical figures. It starts with an 

antithesis that is cast in the form of a question and answer, a figure that is called 

mura≠ja‘ah. 72 The next line enumerates in logical order all organs with which men 

are wont to do evil. This is called tart|b. 73 Further, I wonder if lam yusi’ in this 

line suggests a non-actualized meaning of "sword" for ma≠d˝in, in which case we 

would have another tawriyah before us. Finally, the passage concludes with a 

double t¸iba≠q in line 12. With two rather uncommon figures (together with t¸iba≠q), 

Ibn Nuba≠tah interrupts two blocks of verses featuring anaphora and mura≠‘a≠t al-naz˝|r 

and thus saves the poem from monotony. A similar case is lines 22–23, in which a 

radd al-‘ajuz ‘alá al-s˝adr (repeating the rhyme word in the first hemistich) 74 and a 

muma≠thalah (metrical isocolon without rhyme) 75 conclude a paragraph of four 

lines in which the father complains to his son about his miserable life. In line 26, a 

"fanciful cause" (h˝usn al-ta‘l|l) 76 is given for the white hair of the father, which is 

introduced in this line. "Feigned ignorance" (taja≠hul al-‘a≠rif) 77 is the way to present 

the subject of sleeplessness in lines 29–30. Rather prominent is the figure of 

istikhda≠m 78 in line 44, in which the terms "scorpion" and "lion" must be interpreted 

as signs of the zodiac, if the genitives al-falak and al-buru≠j are considered, but as 

animals, if the adjectives lasu≠b and d˝a≠rin are considered. Finally, the subject of 

71 

One may perhaps add line 17, where qa≠rin "host" may also be interpreted as qa≠ri’ "reader," and 

line 11, where ma≠d˝in may be conceived as "sword." 

72 

Cachia, Rhetorician, no. 146. 

73 

Ibid., no. 68. 

74 

Heinrichs, "Rhetorical Figures," 660–61; Cachia, Rhetorician, no. 56. 

75 

Heinrichs, "Rhetorical Figures," 660; Cachia, Rhetorician, no. 7. 

76 

Heinrichs, "Rhetorical Figures," 657; Cachia, Rhetorician, no. 132 (his translation). 

77 

Heinrichs, "Rhetorical Figures," 659 (his translation); Cachia, Rhetorician, no. 135. 

78 

Heinrichs, "Rhetorical Figures," 657, Cachia, Rhetorician, no. 107, Bonebakker, Some Early 

Definitions, 18–20. 




s˝abr, with which the poem shall conclude, is introduced in line 48 by means of 

another radd al-‘ajuz ‘alá al-s˝adr, in which way it can be expressed very directly 

and clearly without abstaining entirely from rhetorical figures. 

Altogether, a great variety of rhetorical figures is applied in this poem, but 

none of them gains prominence. Nevertheless, the high number of rhetorical figures, 

the uninterrupted foregrounding, plays an important role in the communicative 

potential of the poem. At the end of the first section we asked why and how the 

composition of elegies could be of use for the poet himself. Part of the answer 

was that poetry enables communication. But this communication only works if 

there is a recipient. Therefore we have to ask what the use of hearing or reading 

an elegy on the death of somebody else's child may be. 

Of course, a natural group of potential readers of such poems are other people 

who have lost their children. This is corroborated by the fact that part of Ibn 

Nuba≠tah's ra≠’|yah is included in Ibn Ab| H˛ajalah's manual for the consolation of 

parents bereft of a child. In times of the Black Death, this group must not have 

been inconsequential. For them, the consoling effect of the poem is quite obvious; 

a trouble shared is a trouble halved. But this is only part of the story. After all, Ibn 

Nuba≠tah's dirges were included in his d|wa≠n, and this d|wa≠n was also read by 

people who had not lost a child. Further, the d|wa≠n contains other elegies, especially 

a famous elegy on the death of Ibn Nuba≠tah's patron al-Malik al-Mu’ayyad, and 

the number of people who grieved the loss of a prince was probably not too great. 

Nevertheless, they were moved by the poem. This is not difficult to understand if 

we consider the popularity of modern forms of art with which we are more 

familiar, for example, the opera. Though most people have never had problems 

and experiences like those of Rigoletto or Tosca, many are moved to tears by 

being confronted with them. Film enthusiasts will not have problems adducing 

similar examples from this medium. In general, it is again one of the prejudices of 

the school of "immediate expression of true feelings" that the experience of the 

artist is the most central point of a work of art, which requires that the ideal 

recipient must have undergone a rather similar experience in order to understand 

him and to judge the veracity of his expression. 

But it is not primarily interest in the experiences of the poet that makes the 

normal recipient turn to his works. A more important reason for confronting 

oneself with works about death and suffering is the aspiration of a therapeutic 

effect through catharsis, as Aristotle has noted. Nowadays a neuropsychological 

approach can help us understand this effect better. It can be shown that the effect 

of catharsis does not so much aim to make negative emotions disappear, but rather 

to put them into a new context, allowing one's emotions to be seen in the context 

of other emotions and experiences and thereby gaining more consciousness of 

them. For "the reader of a literary text is able to engage in abstraction, comparison, 




and analogy: in particular, the reader can be prompted by the internal logic of the 

text to place the literal meaning of a given negative feeling within a wider context 

provided both by other feelings encountered in the text as well as by her sense of 

prior and anticipated meanings. In this way, negative feelings, and the concerns of 

the self that may be implicated with them, can be relocated in a wider perspective. 

. . . In the literary response, negative feelings are contextualized or transformed 

rather than avoided: in comparison with the usual notions of purging or balance, 

this is perhaps a more appropriate way of understanding how a cathartic process 

might operate while reading." 79 

In order to make a text work in this way, i.e., in order to enable communication 

with an audience interested in the emotional potential of a text and desire a 

cathartic effect, the text has to arouse emotions. Its capacity to arouse emotions is 

therefore much more important than the question of whether or not the author 

himself experienced the emotions he talks about, helpful (and biographically 

interesting) as his own experience may be. It is consequently irrelevant and useless 

and even contradicts the nature of the literary communication process to ask if the 

usage of rhetorical devices in a poem corroborates or contradicts the veracity of 

the poet's utterances. Rather, one should ask if the rhetorical devices are effective 

in intensifying in the audience emotions that enable them to recontextualize their 

own experiences. 

As a matter of fact, foregrounding, i.e., the usage of parameters like meter and 

rhyme, poetic language, figures of speech, and rhetorical devices, does arouse 

emotions in itself. 80 The way this is achieved and the exact effect of the different 

factors is dependent on the past experiences and the expectations of the respective 

public. Since we can no longer conduct neuropsychological experiments on the 

literary public of the Mamluk period, we can only try to reconstruct their expectations 

and anticipations by carefully analyzing as many texts as possible and by scrutinizing 

the abundant theoretical and critical utterance of this time. Such studies have not 

yet been done. However, it is certainly no daring speculation to assume that the 

permanency of foregrounding by means of manifold rhetorical devices in Ibn 

Nuba≠tah's poem had the power to intensify energetically its emotional effect in 

the audience. This effect seems to be strengthened further by the fact that, despite 

its closely-woven carpet of foregrounding, no single device stands out to attract 

special attention. This permanent but rather subdued fuelling of emotions, together 

with the emotive structure discussed above, may have yielded an extremely 

emotional text. Its production will not have failed to produce a cathartic effect on 

79 

David S. Miall, "Anticipation and Feeling in Literary Response: A Neuropsychological 

Perspective," Poetics 23 (1995): 293–94. 

80 

David S. Miall and Don Kuiken, "Foregrounding, Defamiliarization, and Affect: Response to 

Literary Stories," Poetics 22 (1994): 389–407. 




the poet himself. To indulge in it may have contributed to emotional relief for 

many of its audience, whatever their personal sufferings may have been, and the 

whole group of participants in the Mamluk literary system may have experienced 

a feeling of solidarity resulting from shared emotions. 

CONCLUDING REMARKS 

Ibn Nuba≠tah al-Mis˝r|'s ra≠’|yah is one of at least seven poems he composed on the 

death of his son(s). We can discern several functions of the poem on multiple 

levels: (1) It contributes to the process of mourning of the poet himself. (2) It may 

serve as consolation for other people who have experienced a similar loss. (3) It 

allows the poet to overcome his absorption in grief and to resume his public role 

as homme de lettres. (4) As a work of art with its interpretative openness, it is the 

basis of communication between the poet and his audience in a more general 

sense. (5) As a highly emotional text it allows its recipients to experience a 

cathartic process of recontextualization of their own emotions. (6) For the 

participants in the Mamluk literary system (more or less identical with the ulama) 

it is considered a text of emotional and artistic relevance to them and in this way 

helps to stabilize the social group that is defined, in addition to other ways, by 

participation in the literary discourse. (7) For the members of this social group, 

who ascribe personal relevance to the text, it helps shape and communicate their 

attitudes and emotions about childhood death and gives them a language with 

which to speak about it. (8) All these functions are provided with an additional 

historical dimension by Ibn Nuba≠tah's transformation of a famous dirge by al- 

Tiha≠m|, who had lived three and a half centuries earlier. 

We know that two of Ibn Nuba≠tah's three long dirges were written on the 

death of his son ‘Abd al-Rah˝|m. His name is mentioned in line 3 of the qa≠f|yah 

and in the headline of the da≠l|yah (rhyming in -dak). I have hardly any doubt that 

the ra≠’|yah was composed on the same occasion. In all probability, Ibn Nuba≠tah, 

who greatly admired the poems of al-Tiha≠m|, wanted to respond to al-Tiha≠m|'s 

series of three long poems (two ra≠’|yahs and a qa≠f|yah) with a series of his own, 

comprising three long poems as well. One may try to order Ibn Nuba≠tah's three 

odes chronologically according to their position in the mourning process of the 

poet (in which case probably the poem rhyming in –dak would come first), but 

must at the same time avoid overlooking the literary enterprise these poems represent. 

As a matter of fact, Ibn Nuba≠tah presented three long and ambitious poems, each 

of them of very different character, to give his time a new corpus of poems on 

childhood death as an answer to the, by then, classical poems of al-Tiha≠m|. 

Thereby, Ibn Nuba≠tah gave a new voice to the experience of childhood death for 

his own contemporaries, thus confirming the value of the old classics and at the 

same time remodelling and supplementing (if not superseding) them. Of course, a 




further assessment of Ibn Nuba≠tah's Kindertotenlieder would have to take into 

account the whole set of poems. 

Literary ambition was probably also a reason why Ibn Nuba≠tah surrounded his 

three long dirges with several smaller ones. Again, only one of them mentions the 

name of ‘Abd al-Rah˝|m in the text, but others may also have been by-products of 

his composition of the long odes. By means of these small poems, Ibn Nuba≠tah 

could further transform the tradition to Mamluk conventions, since the epigram 

was extremely popular in his time. Again, he proved that he could adapt a multitude 

of literary forms and techniques to his theme, even the tawriyah-pointed epigram. 

In the preceding, we could ascertain several characteristics of the poem that 

can be considered typical for the Mamluk period. The fact that the rather homogenous 

group of the ulama became the bearer of the literary system contributed to a more 

private nature of literature; the exegetical preoccupations of the ulama favored the 

use of rhetorical devices of ambiguity such as the tawriyah; and their encyclopedic 

training might have fostered a tendency to combine many aspects in a small 

space, as a polydisciplinary, kaleidoscopic text like Ibn Muqri’'s ‘Unwa≠n al-Sharaf 

al-Wa≠f|, the multifold art of the bad|‘|yah, or the richness of allusions in many 

Mamluk poems may show. In our example, the extreme density of the poem in 

several respects may be a reflection of this tendency. However, our knowledge of 

Mamluk literature is extremely poor, and we are still far from comprehending its 

peculiarities or even the special characteristics of even its most important poets. 81 

Even the way a rhetorical device like the tawriyah functions in its poetic context 

and the kind of intellectual and emotional reactions it provoked are still difficult 

to state. I may simply conclude therefore by quoting another tawriyah-pointed 

epigram of Ibn Nuba≠tah. What for the modern reader might appear to be humorous, 

and therefore irreconcilable with mourning, is applied by Ibn Nuba≠tah to speak 

about his grief. The tawriyah, which forms the point of the epigram, is based on 

the double meaning of the word ka≠nu≠n, which is the name of two months of 

winter, in one of which ‘Abd al-Rah˝|m had died, but also a word designating an 

oven, a brazier, or a coal pan: 82 

Ya≠ lahfa qalb| ‘alá ‘Abdi al-Rah˝|m| wa-ya≠ / shawq| ilayhi wa-ya≠ 

shajw| wa-ya≠ da≠’| 

F| shahri ka≠nu≠na wa≠fa≠hu al-h˝ima≠mu la-qad / ah˝raqta bi-al-na≠ri ya≠ 

ka≠nu≠nu ah˝sha≠’| 

[Oh sorrow in my heart for ‘Abd al-Rah˝|m, oh yearning for him, oh 

81 

Homerin, "Reflections on Arabic Poetry." 

82 

Ibn Nuba≠tah, D|wa≠n, 18 (meter bas|t¸); I translate ka≠nu≠n as December, but it could also be 

January (ka≠nu≠n al-tha≠n|). 




my grief and malady! 

Death overtook him in December, but you, December / oven, burnt 

my intestines with fire!] 

TEXT AND TRANSLATION 

—UÞË_«Ë ÊUÞË_« ÓgŠu U¹ 

—UN½_UÐ Ô5F « pOKŽ X{U 

—UM « w w²−N Ë ÊUM'« apple·dž 

—«“Ë_UÐ ÔXKIŁ Ë wM²I³ 

—ULC vKŽ ÎUF ÂËb½ v²Š 

—«b ù« V «uŽ X³ Š v²Š 

—UD ùUÐ sH'« ÈÓdž√Ë v] Ë 

—U Ë_« v ≈ X]MŠ U ÒsŠ√Ë 

—UCÔMÐ U¼dOE½ ÊuOF « wJ³ð 

—UG dOž «d (« tÐ X½U 

—UL{≈ ôË Ìs ôË ÌbOÐ 

—«e »d Ë lL²− bFÐ U¹ 

—ULŁû Ô»d² « t²KN √ u 

—U×³Ð wF œ√ s UN²³Ò−Š 

—UÒO « V uJ UÐ wðdOŠ «Ë 

Í—UJ √ tÐ ÚXKGý U ◊d s 

Í—UIÐ ÊU K « „«– s Ók×¹ r 

—UFý_« d×Ð√ „dJ Â«b √ 

—U¦½ Ò—b wF œ s pOKŽË 

—UFÐ fO Ë UMFLł√ U¹Už 

Í—U « ‰UO)« V¼– UL ÚV¼–U 

Í—U³š√ s UÒM'« w ÓXOJ³ 

—«uł Ò‰– Ë WFÓOÚCÓ ÂUI Ë 

—U² ù« WŽU Ð „UÐ√ lH½U 

—UŁ¬ vKŽ qKÞ s ÓsH u 

Í—Uł ÓwF œ ÒÊ≈ „—Uł tÒK « 

WI¹bŠ »«d² « s ÓXMJÝ U* 

w X½√ p UŠË w UŠ U ÊUÒ²ý 

ÈdÔ « v « ÒwMÐ U¹ pÐ U−M « Ònš 

wÐ »U¼√ pÚŽb¹ r –≈ Èœd « XO 

Áœ—appleË q]N9 Í—U'« UCI « XO 

Ì‚—UÐ WL( q¦ Òô≈ XM U 

UNK¹b¼ ÔÂUL(« XJÐ U pOJÐ√ 

U/≈Ë Ÿu b « ÒdL×0 wJÐ√ 

U0—Ë ÒÊ≈ ÔXK Î«dOG «u U 

ÚT ¹ r Ì÷U Ê«eŠ_UÐ ÒoŠ√Ë 

ÎUŠdD »d √ ÁULappleŠË UIK « wzU½ 

tðU³MÐ wM «— sBG wHN 

wM½QJ ÚXHš …Ìd¼u' wHN 

ÍbÒK& tO Ó—UŠ Ì—U wHN 

UA(« sJÝ t½QJ Èd¦ « ÓsÓJÓÝ 

wF U nO{ ÒÊQÐ ÒwKŽ Ú“appleeŽ√ 

i ð r Ë ÓXKŠ— ÚÊQÐ ÒwKŽ “eŽ√ 

Èœd « vKŽ XI — ÊQÐ ÒwKŽ “eŽ√ 

t½S »«d² « ÓfJð Ê≈ ÒwMÐ√ 

ÎöÒ R Òd ¹ U p½U “ w U 

XKÒ uð pO ≈ Í—U³š√ Ê√ u 

ÌœdH ÔWAŠËË Ìd Òb Ê«eŠ√ 

Èd¦ « w pÔðeÓM b wÒ½≈ ÒwMÐ√ 

ÏÀœ«uŠ ÒwKŽ ÚXH Ë b ÒwMÐ√ 


http://mamluk.uchicago.edu/MamlukStudiesReview_VII-1_2003.pdf 

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Í—«cŽ ‚u t²IÐ√ UNMJ 

—U]LÔ « Ô5Ž√ X U½Ë Î«dNÝ 

—UL w r−M UÐ ÏYÒ³A² 

Í—«—œ —UNM « fLý XLÒ Â√ 

Í—U×Ý√ ôË UNO w³ u ô 

Í—«cŠ œU √ U Ë —cŠ bIK 

—UM¹b UÐ Õ«d ÊU e « ·d 

—UÒO² « ÔŸappled pMOÐË wMOÐ 

—«eGÐ wF «b p²IÝ bIK 

—«už√ v ≈ ÌœU$√ 5Ð U 

—UL √ vKŽ ÎUMJðd rOG U 

Í—«uÞ Âu '« pKð vKŽ dÞË 

—UHÝ√ vKŽ ÔrN]½QÐ ÎULKŽ 

—UDš_« s ÌdDš vKŽ UÒ½≈ 

—«d 5Š ôË —«dH « s¹√ 

—«Òd vłÔbK r¼œ√Ë ÎUC — 

—U³ž lIM ÌVOý s tOKŽË 

—«b ôUÐ VNA « »UBð bI Ë 

Í—UC « ÃËd³ « bÝ√ ôË u−M¹ 

—UðËôUÐ ”uI « »UB¹ bI Ë 

—UJ½ù«Ë —«d ù« sŽ ÚXÓOappleMÓž 

—«dÝ_« s ÒdÝ Á—uNE 

—UÒ³B « WÐu¦ Ë vM*« bI 

—U¦Ž ÒÍ√ À«bł_« v ≈ «Ëd¦Ž 

—U¼ Ì»dð UMHŠ Èœd « bOÐ 

—«dAÐ «uK{U½Ë Òw I « «uŠÓb 

—«uÓÐ Òq× v ≈ ÊuM*« wł«œ 

—U¼“√ vKŽ UNLzUL X]L{ 

—U−ŠôUÐ Ò—b « ÈËU ð v²Š 


UN³OÞ Ë …UO(« s ÷UO³ « vC Ë 

ÍdþU½ Õ]dIð bIK ÎUŽœ«Ë Ú+ 

t öþ q¹– ÒÊQ Ë vłÒb « vŽ—√ 

tH−Ý …Òd:« vKŽ ÕU³B « lKš 

w²ÒMłœ ÔdOš√ qHÞ Úl »Už Â√ 

v²H « vKŽ ÊU e « appleW¹œUF UÒÎ³ð 

v×²½U pNłu Î«—UM¹œ X¹uŠË 

UIK « Èb ÒÊS ÚbF³ð Ê≈ ÒwMÐ√ 

ÌdŁu WÐdý dA(« w wMI ð Ê≈ 

w×½«uł XM œ b Ë …UO(« nO 

oÒKłË dB »«dð ÒwMÐ ÈuŠË 

‚—«uÞ ”uHM « pKð vKŽ ÚX dÞ 

r¼—u³ ÒwD «bO³ « Èb bÐË 

W U ¡UMH « qFł s0 ÎUL 

rN U¦ √ X ÒbIð s¹cK q 

œËUF ÂöEK ÓVNý√ 5Ð U 

Úo×²K¹ dLF¹ s Ë dOGB « QD¹ 

U¼d¹bIð w VNA « V²ŽË w U 

Èœd « s »u K « pKH « »dIŽ ô 

UMŠ«Ë—√ tÝuIÐ ‰öN « w d¹ 

WÒ−Š b¼«uA « vKŽ ¡UMÓH « V² 

U¼e−Ž V «u¦ « sDH « dNE²K 

ULÒÐdK lÒ−H² d³DBO Ë 

vKF « v ≈ ÊuK «d « „uK*« s¹√ 

«u×³ Q Â«dÔð ô ÎôU³ł «u½U 

XLKþ√ WłU−F « –≈ …ULJ « s¹√ 

rNappleÐ vłœË vžu « VDŽ vKŽ «uLKÝ 

U/Q œuN*« w džU _« s¹√ 

rN u(Ë rN UEŽ ÂULapple(« jKš 



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—«cŽ√ sF wŽeł «bÐ s¾ Ë 

—«uł Âu−M « s p²HÒMJðË 

Í—«œ√Ë w²−N j Už√ sJ 

ÏdÒ³B² v Ë_« wH Ô d³ s¾K 

Ïl{«d ÂULG « s pOKŽ Ò—œ 

wF UMÐ „«– fO Ë „«dŁ wI ð 

1. God be your helper as my tears are flowing / my helpers, 

oh you who have forsaken both my home and hope! 

2. When you settled in a garden of dust, 

my eyes poured forth rivers over thee. 

3. Amazingly different is your condition and mine: While you 

dwell 

in the lofty chambers of paradise, my heart is in the fire of 

hell. 

4. When we set off on a night journey, you were a light burden, 

my little son, 

but you outstripped me, and I was burdened with a heavy 

load! 

5. Would that destruction had summoned me as well, when it did 

not refrain from you, 

so that we could have pursued the same race course! 

6. Would that destiny had delayed in its permanent course 

till you could have imagined the end of the route! 

7. You were only a flash of lightning from a cloud 

that rainless turned away but made the eyelids shed a copious 

rain. 

8. I'll weep over you as long as the doves weep over their 

nestling, 

and I'll yearn for you as long as they yearn for their nests. 

9. No wonder that with reddened tears I weep, 

for eyes only weep with gold over their own kind. 

10. 'Twas but a child so small, they said. True, I replied, 

but many times my grief for him was anything but small. 

11. And is not he who did no wrong with hand or tongue 

nor hid an evil in his heart the worthiest of grief? 

12. A long way 'tis to meet him, though his shelter is the nearest 

spot. 

How far is union, yet how close the place to visit him! 

13. O sorrow for a twig the growth of which delighted me— 

if only earth had given it the time to bring forth fruit! 



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14. O sorrow for a pearl once shining. 

It seems as if I'd veiled it now with seas of tears. 

15. O sorrow for a nightly traveller whose departure had caused 

my endurance to wane! 

How lost am I with the departed star / planet! 

16. He settled in the earth but occupies my thoughts so in excess 

as if he'd settled in my heart. 

17. How it distresses me that my ears' guest 

never enjoyed the hospitality of that tongue! 

18. How it distresses me that you departed ere the feet of your 

intelligence 

did wade into the seas / meters of poetry! 

19. How it distresses me that you behaved so gently with destruction 

while my tears are poured on you like scattered pearls. 

20. My little son, that you were clad in earth, 

well, 'tis the end of all of us and tis no shame / no one will 

remain naked. 

21. In times like these not much remains to make a man of great 

expectations happy, 

thence vanish like a fleeting apparition! 

22. If news about my state would reach you there, you'd weep in 

paradise 

over the news you hear: 

23. Sadness of memories, gloom of loneliness, 

an abode of perdition, contemptible protection. 

24. My little son, I buried you, my treasure, in the soil. 

Help then your father in the hour of indigence! 

25. My little son, misfortune after misfortune has afflicted me, 

and donated a fortune of rubble to ruins, 

26. And gone is the whiteness of life and its sweetness, 

though life left its whiteness on my beard. 

27. Sleep in peace, while my eyes are wounded by sleeplessness 

when the eyes of the night companions have long been 

closed in sleep, 

28. Staring at a night that seems as if the train of its darkness 

was nailed down by the stars. 83 

83 Probably by najm the Pleiades are meant. Cf. a line by S˝urr Durr quoted in Paul Kunitzsch and 

Manfred Ullmann, Die Plejaden in den Vergleichen der arabischen Dichtung (Munich, 1992), 83, 

in which the Pleiades are compared to the nails of a coat of mail. These nails are compared in 

al-Tiha≠m|'s ka≠mil ra≠’|yah with water bubbles. This line (49), rhyming in al-misma≠r|, is certainly 




29. Has morning yet veiled the Milky Way, 

or the light of day put the stars to flight? 84 

30. Or has an endless darkness, without stars or dawn for me, 

yet left me along with the child? 

31. May then perish the vicissitudes of time that befall noble men! 

Indeed, I made provisions, but all provisions are in vain, 

32. And I embraced in your face a dinar, 

but time's misfortune / money changing approached and 

took the dinar away. 

33. My dear son, though you are far from me / may you not perish, 

the time of our meeting 

draws quickly near. 85 

34. You will give me a draught of Kawthar's water on the Day of 

Judgment, 

for my tears will have given you to drink abundantly before. 

35. How can life be 

after I have buried my intestines between highland and 

lowland, 

36. And the dust of Cairo and Damascus encloses my sons 

like clouds heaped up around moons? 

37. Calamities have come upon these souls, 

unexpected misfortunes have befallen these bodies. 

38. The mounts of their graves appear in the wilderness 

as a sign that they are on a journey. 

39. I swear by him who postponed our end: 

We are always at some brink of destruction! 

40. Say to those the like of whom approached us asking " Where is 

escape?" : 

"Time is none to escape!" 

41. What is the difference between a white horse / grey-haired 

galloping with determination 

into darkness, and a black horse / black-haired jumping 

into gloom? 

42. The small child is trod under foot, whereas he who is granted 

long life will catch up 

alluded to by Ibn Nuba≠tah. His magnificent image was completely misunderstood by M. Muh˝ammad, 

Ibn Nuba≠tah, 225, who wrongly assumes a connection with a line by Imru’ al-Qays. 

84 Thus, if one reads qussimat; otherwise: "or had the sun of day distributed glistening stars." 

85 On the original meaning of the formula la≠ tab‘ad see Gert Borg, "Amma≠ ba‘du: The Meaning of 

'la≠ tab‘ad,'" Zeitschrift für Arabische Linguistik 37 (1999): 13–24. 




with grey hair as if he had whirled up a cloud of dust in his 

race. 

43. Why do I blame the stars / grey-haired and their assignments? 

The stars / grey-haired are struck by fate themselves! 

44. Neither the stinging celestial scorpion will escape destruction 

nor the rapacious zodiac lion. 

45. With his bow the crescent moon shoots at our souls, 

but the bow is struck by revenge / the strings in turn. 

46. Perdition inscribed a document on tombstones that is valid 

regardless whether it be rejected or confirmed. 

47. Let penetrating minds reveal their ignorance— 

its revelation is a secret great indeed! 

48. Let the afflicted bear the pain with calm— 

how often were a dearly loved and endurance's reward all 

lost at once! 

49. Where are the kings that strutted towards loftiness? 

They stumbled over their trails right into their graves! 

50. Mountains they were, unthinkable to ascend. 

Destruction's hand has turned them into a handful of wavering 

dust. 

51. Where are the well-armed heroes who, when the clouds of dusk 

darkened the battle field, 

ignited fire with their bows and shot with flashing sparks? 

52. Unharmed they survived disasters of battle 

until dark fate led them to a place of destruction to darken 

their light. 

53. Where are the babies who in the cradles lied 

like blossoms enclosed by their calyces? 

54. Death has permeated their bones and flesh until the pearls they 

were 

became transformed into mere stones. 

55. If I be patient, it is because I force myself to patience in all 

this; 

and if I show my grief, how manifold are my excuses! 

56. May nursing clouds bestow their copious stream upon you! 

May servant / moving stars from all sides be around you! 

57. They all will moisten the earth of your grave, but be of no avail 

for me. 

Instead, I'll try to cheat my heart and to deceive it. 



EVERETT K. ROWSON 

UNIVERSITY OF PENNSYLVANIA 

An Alexandrian Age in Fourteenth-Century Damascus: 

Twin Commentaries on Two Celebrated Arabic Epistles 

Superficially, at least, the traditional Western view of Arabic literature in the 

Mamluk period conforms rather closely to the hoary cliches about the Alexandrian 

Age of Greek literature, a millennium and a half earlier. Authors worked under 

the burden of a rich canon of classical texts, which they revered, and which they 

diligently collected, classified, commented, criticized, and epitomized. By 

comparison, their own literary efforts, while certainly copious, have been seen as 

derivative, lifeless, and smelling altogether too much of the lamp. 

Evidence for the first half of this picture—if not the second—is easy to come 

by, as can be seen from even a cursory look at some of the literary production of 

two of the more celebrated figures of the age, Ibn Nuba≠tah al-Mis˝r| (d. 768/1366) 

and his younger colleague Khal|l ibn Aybak al-S˛afad| (d. 764/1363). Ibn Nuba≠tah, 

known principally as a poet, published selections of the verse of a number of his 

predecessors, including Ibn al-Ru≠m| (d. 283/896) and the notorious Ibn al-H˛ajja≠j 

(d. 391/1001), as well as a collection of the epistles of the famous Ayyubid 

minister and stylist al-Qa≠d˝| al-Fa≠d˝il (d. 596/1200). 1 Al-S˛afad|, mainly a prose 

writer, composed commentaries on the famous poem La≠m|yat al-‘Ajam by al- 

T˛ughra≠’| (d. 515/1121) and the work of literary criticism entitled Al-Mathal al-Sa≠’ir 

by D˛iya≠’ al-D|n Ibn al-Ath|r (d. 637/1239), a series of monographs on individual 

literary tropes, and a number of biographical dictionaries, including one on the 

blind and one on the one-eyed. 2 

Particularly interesting as a manifestation of these two writers' "Alexandrian" 

qualities—as well as a curious link between them—is the fact that each wrote an 

elaborate work of commentary on a prose epistle (a different epistle in each case) 

by the fifth/eleventh-century Andalusian poet and littérateur Ibn Zaydu≠n (d. 

463/1070). These commentaries are far more than philological glosses; in each 


1 

On Ibn Nuba≠tah al-Mis˝r|, see The Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2nd ed., s.v.; Carl Brockelmann, 

Geschichte der arabischen Litteratur (Leiden, 1949), 2:10–12, S2:149–50; ‘Umar Mu≠sá Ba≠sha≠≠, 

Ibn Nuba≠tah al-Mis˝r| (Cairo, 1963); Mah˝mu≠d Sa≠lim Muh˝ammad, Ibn Nuba≠tah: Sha≠‘ir al-‘As˝r 

al-Mamlu≠k| (Damascus and Beirut, 1999). The most useful list of Ibn Nuba≠tah's works is in 

Muh˝ammad Abu≠ al-Fad˝l Ibra≠h|m's edition of his Sarh˝ al-‘Uyu≠n f| Sharh˝ Risa≠lat Ibn Zaydu≠n 

(Cairo, 1964), 18–24. 

2 2 

On al-S˛afad|, see EI , s.v.; GAL, 2:31–33, S2:27–29; Josef van Ess, "S˛afad|-Splitter," Der Islam 

53 (1976): 242–66, and 54 (1977): 77–108. 



98 EVERETT K. ROWSON, AN ALEXANDRIAN AGE 

case the original epistle takes up less than ten pages, while the commentary 

extends to more than four hundred. Both works are thus highly digressive, and 

they manage to incorporate in their compass vast swathes of traditional Arabic 

literary culture and thereby offer the reader a far richer plate than the occasion of 

a single epistle would seem to promise. 

A first question to pose about these two texts, then, concerns their status as 

commentaries. If they are not just offering a simple explication du texte, what are 

they doing, and why? Where do they fit in the larger context of commentary 

writing in the Mamluk age? In particular, what was the impetus for commenting 

literary works in prose, as opposed to the long-established tradition of commenting 

poetry? Another obvious question, given the wealth of information these works 

contain on the Arabic literary heritage as a whole, is what they can tell us about 

the canon in their own day. What was "classical," and what was not? Are they 

working to define that canon, to reinforce it, or perhaps to expand it? And who 

was their intended audience? Were they intended for students, for a general educated 

(or semi-educated) public, or perhaps for other scholars, who would be dazzled by 

their erudition? More generally, what do they tell us about the role of intertextuality 

in Mamluk literature, the supposed attendant "anxiety of influence," and its general 

"Alexandrian" qualities altogether? 

The author of the two epistles around whom Ibn Nuba≠tah and al-S˛afad| chose 

to build their works is, of course, very well known. Ibn Zaydu≠n was a Cordoban 

aristocrat whose life reflects the turbulence of eleventh-century Andalusia under 

the "Party Kings." In his youth he served as vizier to the governor of Cordoba, Ibn 

Jahwar, but then fell foul of him and was thrown into prison, where he languished 

for some time before escaping, returning to the city only after Ibn Jahwar's death. 

Later he again fell from favor and left Cordoba for Seville, where he spent many 

years at the Abbadid court of al-Mu‘tad˝id and his son al-Mu‘tamid, returning to 

Cordoba only with the Abbadid conquest of the city. Probably the most famous 

poet of his time, he composed verses in many genres; among the most famous are 

his love poems on Walla≠dah, daughter of the erstwhile caliph al-Mustakf|, with 

whom he had a stormy affair in his youth, as well as his poetic pleas (isti‘t¸a≠f) to 

Ibn Jahwar to release him from prison during his first confinement in Cordoba. 3 

But Ibn Zaydu≠n was also known as a prose stylist, and his two most famous 

epistles are concerned with these same wrenching youthful experiences. The first, 

later christened the "humorous epistle" (al-risa≠lah al-hazl|yah), was occasioned by 

an attempt by his enemy and rival Ibn ‘Abdu≠s to supplant him in the affections of 

3 On Ibn Zaydu≠n, see EI 2 , s.v.; Devin Stewart, "Ibn Zaydu≠n," in The Cambridge History of Arabic 

Literature: The Literature of Al-Andalus, ed. María Rosa Menocal, Raymond P. Scheindlin and 

Michael Sells (Cambridge, 2000), 306–17. 




Walla≠dah (an attempt which, by the way, later proved successful); speaking in 

Walla≠dah's voice (‘an lisa≠niha≠), he has her peremptorily reject Ibn ‘Abdu≠s's 

advances and pour scorn on him for his presumption. The second, the "serious 

epistle" (al-risa≠lah al-jidd|yah), is a prose companion to his isti‘t¸a≠f poems, 

attempting to move Ibn Jahwar to pity and persuade him to let him out of jail. 

These are the two epistles commented by, respectively, Ibn Nuba≠tah and al- 

S˛afad|, and their choice of them is perhaps a bit surprising. Commentary as a 

general enterprise was, of course, a growth industry in this period, especially in 

religious scholarship; indeed, in jurisprudence (fiqh) it had become perhaps the 

most dominant form of writing altogether. Commentaries on works of grammar, 

lexicography, and literary criticism also abounded. Within the realm of pure 

literature, the commenting of poetry—both d|wa≠ns of individual poets and 

anthologies such as Abu≠ Tamma≠m's H˛ama≠sah—was a long-established and still 

thriving tradition. But for commentators to apply their skills to works of prose 

literature was far less common. 

Three prominent examples of such commentaries may, however, be cited from 

the pens of our authors' predecessors. The Sharh˝ Nahj al-Bala≠ghah by Ibn Ab| 

al-H˛ad|d (d. 656/1258), commenting the collection of the purported sermons, 

speeches, and other dicta of ‘Al| ibn Ab| T˛a≠lib put together by al-Shar|f al-Rad˝| 

(d. 406/1015), parallels their works not only in being a commentary on prose, but 

also in its outsize dimensions and highly digressive character; on the other hand, 

Ibn Ab| al-H˛ad|d's base text is essentially a religious one, and his objectives 

correspondingly diverge significantly from those of Ibn Nuba≠tah and al-S˛afad|. 4 

Perhaps more apposite, and certainly more obvious, is the tradition of commenting 

the Maqa≠ma≠t of al-H˛ar|r|; at least nine such commentaries were produced in the 

sixth/twelfth and seventh/thirteenth centuries, including those of Ibn Z˛afar (d. 

565/1169), S˛adr al-Afa≠d˝il (d. 617/1220), al-Shar|sh| (d. 619/1222), and al-Bayd˝a≠w| 

(d. 680/1281), and of these the one best known today, that of al-Shar|sh|, again 

displays the qualities of disproportionate length and intentional digressiveness 

evinced by the two later authors. 5 It is striking to what degree al-H˛ar|r|'s fame 

eclipsed that of Bad|‘ al-Zama≠n al-Hamadha≠n| (d. 398/1008), the inventor of the 

maqa≠mah genre, whose own Maqa≠ma≠t were, so far as is known, never commented 

at all. On the other hand, al-Hamadha≠n|'s contemporary, al-‘Utb| (d. ca. 412/1022), 

who applied the euphuistic prose style developed in the chanceries (insha≠’) to the 

writing of history rather than fiction, produced in his laudatory biography of 

Mah˝mu≠d of Ghaznah, the Kita≠b al-Yam|n|, a work that seems to have cried out for 

4 Ibn Ab| al-H˛ad|d, Sharh˝ Nahj al-Bala≠ghah, ed. Muh˝ammad Abu≠ al-Fad˝l Ibra≠h|m, 2nd ed., 21 

vols. (Cairo, 1965–67); on Ibn Ab| al-H˛ad|d, see EI 2 , s.v. 

5 For the commentaries on al-H˛ar|r|, see GAL, 1:276 f., S1:486–88. On al-Shar|sh|, see EI 2 , s.v., 

and his Sharh˝ Maqa≠ma≠t al-H˛ar|r|, ed. Muh˝ammad Abu≠ al-Fad˝l Ibra≠h|m, 5 vols. (Cairo, 1970). 




commentaries, of which at least four are known from the following three centuries, 

including one by S˛adr al-Afa≠d˝il, who also commented al-H˛ar|r|'s Maqa≠ma≠t. All 

of these are, however, soberly philological, sticking quite close to al-‘Utb|'s original 

text rather than using it as a pretext for striking out in unexpected (and entertaining) 

directions. 6 

None of these earlier commentaries were directed at epistles (rasa≠’il) in the 

narrow sense of a relatively brief letter addressed from one individual to another, 

despite the fact that such letter-writing had been recognized as an art form since 

the third/ninth century, when the "collected letters" of recognized prose stylists 

began to be published. The earliest such collections are now lost to us, but preserved 

collections from the second half of the fourth/tenth century enable us to track a 

real efflorescence in the art of correspondence (tarassul), as part of, and a major 

contributor to, a general enhancement of the status of prose vis-à-vis its rival, 

poetry, at that time. Writers of both official letters, such as Abu≠ Ish˝a≠q al-S˛a≠bi’ (d. 

384/994) and the S˛a≠h˝ib Ibn ‘Abba≠d (d. 385/995), and private individuals, such as 

Abu≠ Bakr al-Khwa≠razm| (d. 384/994) and al-Hamadha≠n| himself, cultivated a 

new, intricate style, characterized by the constant employment of rhetorical tropes, 

careful attention to phrasal rhythm, and above all patterns of prose rhyme (saj‘), 

which was to determine the direction of fine letter-writing for centuries to come, 

as well as to spawn such new genres as the maqa≠ma≠t. While this trend was at first 

particularly associated with the eastern Islamic world, it rapidly spread west, as 

can be seen in the correspondence of Abu≠ al-‘Ala≠’ al-Ma‘arr| (d. 449/1058) in 

Syria and—albeit to a less extravagant extent—of Ibn Zaydu≠n in Andalusia. 7 

This now-established euphuistic tarassul style enjoyed further development at 

the hands of two outstanding representatives in the Ayyubid and then Mamluk 

realms. The first was Saladin's right-hand man, al-Qa≠d˝| al-Fa≠d˝il (d. 596/1200), 

whose voluminous correspondence is preserved in collections made by a number 

of later authors. Two of these have been published, one of them compiled by the 

second major epistolographer of the age, the Mamluk chancery head Ibn ‘Abd 

al-Z˛a≠hir (d. 692/1292), who is best known today for his biographies of the sultans 

Baybars, Qala≠wu≠n, and al-Ashraf Khal|l, and whose own correspondence is available 

only through (extensive) quotations in later authors. 8 Both men were certainly 

6 2 

On al-‘Utb|, see EI , s.v., and GAL, 1:314, S1:547 f. The one published commentary on the 

Kita≠b al-Yam|n| is the eleventh/seventeeth-century one by al-Man|n| (d. 1172/1759), Al-Fath˝ 

al-Wahb| ‘alá Ta≠r|kh Ab| Nas˝r al-‘Utb|, 2 vols. (Cairo, 1869). On the rather neglected S˛adr 

al-Afa≠d˝il (al-Qa≠sim ibn al-H˛usayn al-Khwa≠razm|), see Ya≠qu≠t, Mu‘jam al-Udaba≠’, ed. Ah˝mad 

Far|d Rifa≠‘| (Beirut, 1979), 16:238–53. 

7 

For basic orientation on these developments, see Zaki Mubarak, La prose arabe au IVe siècle de 

l-Hégire (Xe siècle) (Paris, 1931). 

8 2 

On al-Qa≠d˝| al-Fa≠d˝il, see EI , s.v., and GAL, 1:316, S1:549. The published collections are Ibn 




models for Ibn Nuba≠tah and al-S˛afad|; while the latter appended a letter by Ibn 

‘Abd al-Z˛a≠hir to his own commentary, Ibn Nuba≠tah manifested his admiration for 

al-Qa≠d˝| al-Fa≠d˝il by preparing his own collection of his letters, entitled Al-Fa≠d˝il 

min Insha≠’ al-Fa≠d˝il. 9 

Ibn Nuba≠tah was born in Cairo in 686/1287, five years before the death of Ibn 

‘Abd al-Z˛a≠hir. As a young man he emigrated to Syria, where he spent most of his 

life, returning to Egypt only when in his seventies and dying in Cairo in 768/1366. 

In Syria, he was especially patronized by the Ayyubid ruler of H˛ama≠h, Abu≠ 

al-Fida≠’, and his son; later, resident in Damascus, he was appointed supervisor 

(na≠z˝ir) of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, making an annual trip 

there at Easter. While he was known primarily as a poet, his prose was also much 

appreciated, and he served for a time as head of the chancery in Damascus. In a 

sense, he had a birthright to his eloquence, priding himself on, and taking his 

name from, his ancestor Ibn Nuba≠tah al-Fa≠riq| (d. 374/984), a famous preacher at 

the court of Sayf al-Dawlah in Aleppo, whose sermons—yet another exemplar of 

the efflorescence of euphuistic prose in the late fourth/tenth century—had been 

not only collected but also commented on, at least twice, in the seventh/thirteenth 

century. 10 

Many of Ibn Nuba≠tah's works survive in manuscript, but only a few of them 

have been published, including, besides his poetic D|wa≠n, 11 his collection of al-Qa≠d˝| 

al-Fa≠d˝il's epistles, an adab collection entitled Mat¸la‘ al-Fawa≠’id wa-Majma‘ al- 

Fara≠’id, 12 and his commentary on Ibn Zaydu≠n's "humorous" epistle, all three 

composed at the behest of his patron Abu≠ al-Fida≠’. Certainly it is the latter, 

entitled Sarh˝ al-‘Uyu≠n f| Sharh˝ Risa≠lat Ibn Zaydu≠n (The Pasture for eyes in 

explanation of the epistle of Ibn Zaydu≠n), that has always been his most popular 

prose work, first printed as early as 1861 in Beirut and many times since. 13 

In his preface to the Sarh˝ al-‘Uyu≠n Ibn Nuba≠tah indicates that the work was 

commissioned by Abu≠ al-Fida≠’, but supplies no details elucidating the reason for 

the amir's choice of the text to be commented. He does recount, somewhat 

‘Abd al-Z˛a≠hir, Al-Durr al-Naz˝|m min Tarassul ‘Abd al-Rah˝|m, ed. Ah˝mad Ah˝mad Badaw| (Cairo, 

1959); and Muwaffaq al-D|n Ibn al-D|ba≠j|, Rasa≠’il al-H˛arb wa-al-Sala≠m, ed. Muh˝ammad Naghash 

(Cairo, 1978). On Ibn ‘Abd al-Z˛a≠hir, see EI 2 , s.v., and GAL, 1:318f., S1:551. The biography of 

Baybars has been edited by ‘Abd al-‘Az|z al-Khuwayt¸ir, Al-Rawd˝ al-Z˛a≠hir f| S|rat al-Malik 

al-Z˛a≠hir (Riyadh, 1976); most recently, Ibn ‘Abd al-Z˛a≠hir's topographic work on Cairo has been 

edited by Ayman Fu’a≠d Sayyid, Al-Rawd˝ah al-Bah|yah al-Za≠hir|yah f| Khit¸at¸ al-Mu‘izz|yah al- 

Qa≠hirah (Cairo, 1996). 

9 

Extant in manuscript but unpublished. 

10 2 

On the earlier Ibn Nuba≠tah, see EI , s.v.; GAL, 1:92 f., S1:149 f. 

11 

Most recently edited by ‘Abd al-Am|r Mahd| H˛ab|b al-T˛a≠’| (Baghdad, 1977). 

12 

Ed. ‘Umar Mu≠sá Ba≠sha≠ (Damascus, 1972). 

13 

I have relied on the 1964 edition by Muh˝ammad Abu≠ al-Fad˝l Ibra≠h|m; see note 1 above. 




disingenuously, how he protested that he was "only" a poet, unqualified to deal 

with the rich material presented by Ibn Zaydu≠n's epistle, but was overruled by the 

amir, who remarked that "stories" (qis˝as˝) are not far removed, in any case, from 

the poet's bailiwick. He goes on to say that there were copious resources for this 

undertaking available in a waqf library in Damascus—which, alas, proved 

inaccessible to him, so he was forced to rely on materials at hand. He also insists 

on how short he has kept his commentary (although it runs to 476 pages in the 

most recent printed edition). 

After his prefatory remarks, and before launching into his sharh˝ proper, Ibn 

Nuba≠tah supplies a brief biography of Ibn Zaydu≠n and a short selection of his 

verses. Such capsule biographies-cum-verses were of course standard in his day in 

a variety of contexts, most notably in biographical dictionaries, and they loom 

large in the body of this commentary itself. Ibn Nuba≠tah then explains who 

Walla≠dah was, adding some of her verses as well, and delineates the precise 

curcumstances that occasioned the letter, namely, Ibn ‘Abdu≠s's attempt to horn in 

on Ibn Zaydu≠n by sending a slave girl to Walla≠dah to sing his praises and sound 

out his chances. Ibn Nuba≠tah is fairly explicit about his sources, saying that he has 

taken his information from Ibn Bassa≠m, Ibn H˛ayya≠n, and other standard Andalusian 

writers. 

The commentary itself constitutes the rest of the work. The original epistle is 

not presented integrally, but taken phrase by phrase. Odd words are glossed, less 

than obvious syntactical constructions elucidated, and other expected philological 

work performed. That is, however, only a minor part of the commentary. What 

Ibn Nuba≠tah is really interested in doing is using the epistle—which happens to be 

exceptionally replete with historical and literary allusions—to open a window on 

the entire literary-historical tradition. 

The tone is set from the beginning. The "amma≠ ba‘d"—the traditional phrase 

of transition from the invocation to the body of the message—is discussed in 

terms of who first employed it in Arabic epistolography, and the following phrase, 

"O you whose intellect is impaired [because you think you can win me over]," 

leads to a full discussion of the intellect (‘aql) in Islamic theology and other 

contexts, including its etymology, al-Ja≠h˝iz˝'s thoughts on it, verses by ‘Al| ibn Ab| 

T˛a≠lib, two prophetic hadith, considerations of foods that strengthen it, and a 

conventional sideswipe at schoolmasters, who are thought to lack intellect altogether 

because they spend all their time with children. 

The real backbone of the work, however, is its more extended excursus, most 

of them biographical and introduced with the rubric "tarjamah." The first of these 

concerns the famous pre-Islamic sage Aktham ibn Sayf|, whom Ibn Nuba≠tah 

identifies as the source of a proverb cited in Ibn Zaydu≠n's letter; two pages follow, 

providing general information on Aktham and reviewing the long past controversies 




about his possible adoption of Islam. The second such tarjamah is much longer: a 

verse quoted anonymously by Ibn Zaydu≠n is identified as being by al-Mutanabb|, 

and Ibn Nuba≠tah adds, "Since the discussion has led to our mentioning al-Mutanabb|, 

it cannot hurt (la≠ ba’s) to mention some basic information about him (nubadh min 

akhba≠rihi)." Seven pages follow, offering a brief biographical sketch as well as 

extensive selections, with running commentary, from the qas˝|dah from which 

comes the line quoted by Ibn Zaydu≠n. 

But Ibn Nuba≠tah's real opportunity for this kind of lore- and verse-mongering 

in the guise of "biography" comes a few lines later in the letter, where Ibn Zaydu≠n 

has Walla≠dah say to Ibn ‘Abdu≠s that his slave girl messenger had praised him to 

the skies, "to the point that she would have me imagine that Joseph (peace be 

upon him) vied with you in beauty and you put him in his place 14 ; that the wife of 

al-‘Az|z 15 saw you and forgot about Joseph; that Qa≠ru≠n 16 amassed only a fraction 

of the fortune you have stored away, and that al-Nat¸if 17 only stumbled on the stray 

bits of the money you have buried; that Chosroes carried your train, Caesar 

shepherded your flocks, and Alexander killed Darius only on your orders. . . ." 

and so forth, mentioning altogether fifty-two different historical figures, for each 

of whom Ibn Nuba≠tah supplies a tarjamah or sketch. 

These biographies fall into distinct groups. Pre-Islamic personages, both Arab 

and non-Arab, are followed by a group specifically of pre-Islamic and early 

Islamic poets, with some variation offered by accounts of famous pre-Islamic 

Arab battles. Then come Umayyad governors and generals (al-H˛ajja≠j gets a full 

eleven pages); then ancient Greek thinkers (including Plato, Aristotle, Ptolemy, 

Hippocrates, and Galen); a few Islamic scientists, philosophers, and theologians 

(al-Kind|, al-Naz˝z˝a≠m); literary figures such as ‘Abd al-H˛am|d and Ja≠h˝iz˝; and 

finally the legal scholar Ma≠lik ibn Anas. The choice of names is of course determined 

by Ibn Zaydu≠n, not Ibn Nuba≠tah; but Ibn Nuba≠tah exercises considerable ingenuity 

in keeping up the pace of tarjamahs in the second half of the epistle as well, 

partly by identifying the authors of quoted lines of verse (including, for example, 

Abu≠ Nuwa≠s and Abu≠ Tamma≠m), partly by paralleling proverbs with other lines of 

verse by other poets—and partly on the basis of sheer thematics, as when Ibn 

Zaydu≠n makes a passing reference to shorthand (mu‘ammá), which Ibn Nuba≠tah 

tells us was invented by al-Khal|l ibn Ah˝mad, adding, "It cannot hurt (la≠ ba’s) to 

mention some basic information about him . . . and I will maintain this procedure 

throughout the rest of this commentary." In fact this results in another thirty-six 

14 On Joseph as the paradigm of male beauty in Islam, see EI 2 , s.v. "Yu≠suf." 

15 That is, the equivalent of the Biblical Potiphar's wife; see EI 2 , s.v. "‘Az|z Mis˝r." 

16 The Biblical Korah (Numbers 16), famed for his wealth; see EI 2 , s.v. "K˛a≠ru≠n." 

17 A pre-Islamic Arab fabled for his wealth; see the explanation by Ibn Nuba≠tah himself, Sarh˝ 

al-‘Uyu≠n, 54 f. 




tarjamahs altogether, somewhat more randomly assorted, including more poets, 

notorious heretics, and persons famous for their stupidity and inarticulateness, 

interspersed with discussions of proverbs, technical terms in hadith, grammar, and 

theology, disquisitions on the world's religions and the seven seas, and various 

other miscellaneous material. 

In many ways—except for its length—this commentary would make an ideal 

text for a contemporary graduate seminar in Arabic literature, or Islamic studies, 

since so much basic ground regarding Islamic political, cultural, and literary history 

gets covered; in short, this text can serve as an introduction to the basic lore, and 

poetry, with which an ad|b or littérateur—not a disciplinary specialist—was expected 

to be equipped. Not that it is by any means comprehensive (for one thing, there is 

little offered later than the third/ninth century), but Ibn Nuba≠tah certainly does 

cover a lot of basic ground. Such thoughts lead to some obvious questions: what 

is Ibn Nuba≠tah doing here, and what kind of audience is he positing (beyond the 

royal addressee who "commissioned" the work)? Clearly, he is not just making the 

text comprehensible to the average educated reader. Ibn Zaydu≠n had assumed an 

audience that would catch his allusions without need for an interpreter; and while 

Ibn Nuba≠tah may well in some cases be intending to clue in the clueless where 

Ibn Zaydu≠n is particularly allusive, he is certainly also using the epistle simply as 

an occasion for presenting vast quantities of information that can simultaneously 

teach the neophyte, entertain the more sophisticated reader, and manifest his own 

wide reading and erudition. In all these ways, presumably, he is offering what he 

calls fawa≠’id, literally, "benefits," that justify the incorporation of what it "can't 

hurt" to add to the exposition. But before posing more questions (or answers) of 

this general nature, it will help to look at this commentary's "twin," al-S˛afad|'s 

Tama≠m al-Mutu≠n f| Sharh˝ Risa≠lat Ibn Zaydu≠n (The Complete texts in explanation 

of the epistle of Ibn Zaydu≠n), commenting the poet's "serious" epistle, in which he 

pleads with his erstwhile patron, now jailer, Ibn Jahwar, to set him free. 18 

Al-S˛afad| was ten years younger than Ibn Nuba≠tah. The son of a Mamluk, he 

was born in S˛afad in 696/1296, but spent most of his life shuttling back and forth 

between Cairo and Damascus. He was a prolific writer on a broad variety of 

topics, but most fundamentally an ad|b, although he is undoubtedly best known 

today for his massive and wide-ranging biographical dictionary, Al-Wa≠f| bi-al- 

Wafaya≠t. Rather surprisingly, the latter includes a fairly extensive entry on Ibn 

Nuba≠tah, 19 despite the fact that the work's very title indicates that it was restricted 

to personages no longer living and we know in fact that Ibn Nuba≠tah (d. 768/1366) 

18 I rely on the edition by Muh˝ammad Abu≠ al-Fad˝l Ibra≠h|m (Cairo, 1969). 

19 Khal|l ibn Aybak al-S˛afad|, Al-Wa≠f| bi-al-Wafaya≠t, vol. 1, ed. Helmut Ritter (Wiesbaden, 1962), 

311–31. 




outlived al-S˛afad| (d. 764/1363) by three years. One can only assume that this 

biography (which mentions no specific dates later than 743/1343) was inserted at 

a time when one of the two was in Cairo and the other in Damascus and al-S˛afad| 

was assuming that the older man was either dead or soon to be so; but the 

situation is unclear. In any case, aside from basic biographical facts (about the 

first half of Ibn Nuba≠tah's life) and general praise (including the statement that in 

his prose he followed the model of al-Qa≠d˝| al-Fa≠d˝il and "snuffed out the light" of 

Ibn ‘Abd al-Z˛a≠hir), al-S˛afad|'s entry on him is primarily devoted to sketching out 

the relations between the two men. 

From what he has to say, these seem to have been very cordial indeed. Pride 

of place is given to an epistle al-S˛afad|, then thirty-two and living in Cairo, 

addressed to Ibn Nuba≠tah in Damascus, requesting from him permission (in formal 

terms, an ija≠zah) to transmit his works—both past and future; this request is 

preceded by a long passage of fulsome praise, explaining how Ibn Nuba≠tah has 

outdone, or put to shame, the classical masters in various fields, such as al-‘Abba≠s 

ibn al-Ah˝naf in love poetry, al-Mutanabb| in panegyric, and al-Qa≠d˝| al-Fa≠d˝il 

himself in epistolography, and followed by a further request for a brief curriculum 

vitae (dhikr nasabihi wa-mawlidihi wa-maka≠nihi). Ibn Nuba≠tah begins his equally 

fulsome, and lengthier, reply with praise for his correspondent, dropping even 

more famous names along the way than had al-S˛afad|, rather archly describes 

what he calls his quandary (he is unworthy of this honor, but does not want to be 

impolite), but then proceeds to offer his young admirer a general ija≠zah, to which 

he appends an autobiographical sketch, naming his early teachers (and models, 

including both al-Qa≠d˝| al-Fa≠d˝il and Ibn ‘Abd al-Z˛a≠hir), citing his precocious 

exchanges of verse with some of them, and giving us a valuable list of his works 

to date (including both the Sarh˝ al-‘Uyu≠n and al-Fa≠d˝il min Insha≠’ al-Fa≠d˝il). 

The two men must have met personally very shortly thereafter, since we know 

that al-S˛afad| travelled to Damascus later the same year, and he mentions two of 

Ibn Nuba≠tah's works that he "heard" directly from him. The rest of his biography 

is then devoted to his later correspondence with Ibn Nuba≠tah, in both prose and 

verse, the latter including a series of riddle-poems posed by each to the other 

(with the solutions also offered in verse) as well as Ibn Nuba≠tah's request to 

borrow a book from al-S˛afad| with a promise to return it within three days and 

al-S˛afad|'s (mild) poetic reproach when he failed to do so. Al-S˛afad| gives no 

indication of any serious difficulties in this relationship, but one must wonder 

whether he is being entirely straightforward, since our only information from the 

other side looks quite different. According to the littérateur Ibn H˛ijjah al-H˛amaw| 

(d. 837/1434), Ibn Nuba≠tah complained that every time he came up with an 

original image or idea (ma‘ná) in his poetry al-S˛afad| would "emulate" or "imitate" 

it (mu‘a≠rad˝ah) in a verse of his own, with the same meter and rhyme, in effect 




stealing it (sariqah). (Both mu‘a≠rad˝ah, generally evaluated positively as an act of 

hommage, if also rivalry, and sariqah, generally evaluated negatively as an act of 

larceny, were well-established and much-discussed phenomena in the literary 

tradition by this time. 20 ) Finally Ibn Nuba≠tah became so exasperated with this 

situation that he compiled an anthology specifically of those poems of his which 

al-S˛afad| had stolen and entitled it "Barley-Bread" (Khubz al-Sha‘|r), referring to 

the well-known proverb "Barley is eaten and despised," applied to someone from 

whom one profits and then does an ill turn. Ibn H˛ijjah was so taken with this little 

work that he incorporated in its entirety into his Khiza≠nat al-Adab. 21 

Although we have no explicit testimony to confirm it, there would seem to be 

every reason to believe that al-S˛afad|'s commentary on Ibn Zaydu≠n's "serious" 

epistle, the Tama≠m al-Mutu≠n, was itself an "emulation" of Ibn Nuba≠tah's Sarh˝ 

al-‘Uyu≠n, carried out on a rather larger scale. Rather suspiciously, Ibn Nuba≠tah's 

name does not appear anywhere in al-S˛afad|'s work; on the other hand—and one 

can only assume a fairly heavy dose of deliberate irony here—"emulation" in 

general is virtually a leitmotif throughout its introductory sections. Al-S˛afad| 

begins by describing the splendor of Ibn Zaydu≠n's letter to Ibn Jahwar, noting in 

one phrase that its beauties are an inexhaustible resource for potential emulators 

(wa-al-fada≠’il allat| la≠ taza≠l mah˝a≠sinuha≠‘alá man h˝a≠wala mu‘a≠rad˝ataha≠ manna≠na), 

and declares his humble intention to ride on its coattails with a modest commentary. 

This is followed, as in Ibn Nuba≠tah's work, by a brief biography of Ibn Zaydu≠n 

and a selection from his verses; the two biographies are very similar, including 

some verbatim parallels, but that is probably due to the authors' use of the same 

sources. Al-S˛afad| mentions the "humorous" letter, but only in passing, adding 

that "All his epistles are stuffed full of all sorts of adab, scintillating historical 

anecdotes, and striking proverbs, in both prose and poetry." He offers rather more 

information on Walla≠dah than does Ibn Nuba≠tah, and more of both her verses and 

Ibn Zaydu≠n's to and about her. 

Regarding the most famous of the latter, Ibn Zaydu≠n's celebrated Nu≠n|yah, 

al-S˛afad| has some supplementary remarks to add, reverting to the topic of emulation: 

"People emulated it (‘a≠rad˝aha≠) both in his lifetime and after his death, but could 

not come close to it (in quality). I believe that Ibn Zaydu≠n in this poem was 

himself emulating verses by al-Buh˝tur|. . . . The shaykh S˛af| al-D|n al-H˛ill| [d. ca. 

750/1349] composed a takhm|s 22 on this qas˝|dah of Ibn Zaydu≠n's, making it an 

elegy (marthiyah) for al-Malik al-Mu’ayyad ‘Ima≠d al-D|n [Abu≠ al-Fida≠’], the 

20 See EI 2 , s.vv. "mu‘a≠rad˝a" and "sarik˝a." 

21 Ibn H˛ijjah al-H˛amaw|, Khiza≠nat al-Adab wa-Gha≠yat al-Arab (Bu≠la≠q, 1291 [1874]), 285–89. 

22 That is, an expansion of the original poem made by adding three half-verses to each original two 

for each line, thereby totalling five; see EI 2 , s.v. "takhm|s." 




ruler of H˛ama≠h, and succeeded admirably. . . . And I myself, in my youth, 

composed an elegy on one of my dear friends in S˛afad, using the meter and rhyme 

of this qas˝|dah by Ibn Zaydu≠n. . . ." Al-S˛afad| proceeds to quote his own poem in 

its entirety (twenty-seven lines); clearly the process of shifting in a mu‘a≠rad˝ah 

from one genre to another (here, in the cases of both al-H˛ill| and al-S˛afad|, from 

love to death) was intended as an additional indication of the poet's dexterity. He 

then concludes his introduction by offering a rather large selection of Ibn Zaydu≠n's 

other verses, in several different genres—altogether more than twice as many as 

those provided by Ibn Nuba≠tah. He also, unlike Ibn Nuba≠tah but conveniently, 

presents the integral text of the epistle to be commented on before launching into 

his phrase-by-phrase treatment of it. 

Whether or not al-S˛afad| was being deliberately coy by referring so extensively 

to mu‘a≠rad˝ah in what was in fact an unacknowledged mu‘a≠rad˝ah of Ibn Nuba≠tah's 

book (and given Ibn Nuba≠tah's fame it seems likely the intended audience would 

have got the point), the idea of commenting Ibn Zaydu≠n's other famous epistle 

was certainly a happy one. Despite its very different (serious) tone, this letter 

offered al-S˛afad| much the same scope for displaying his wit and erudition as did 

the "humorous" epistle to Ibn Nuba≠tah. More specifically, it even included a 

stretto passage, with a string of famous names and historical incidents, not dissimilar 

to "Walla≠dah's" litany in the "humorous" epistle referring to Joseph, the wife of 

al-‘Az|z, and so forth. Here, protesting his innocence to Ibn Jahwar, Ibn Zaydu≠n 

says, "Have mercy! The floodwaters have reached their crest, and I have suffered 

all I can endure! All I can say about my situation is that if I had been commanded 

to bow down to Adam, but pridefully refused, 23 or if Noah had said to me 'Board 

(the ark) with us!' and I had said 'I will take refuge on a mountain that will protect 

me from the water' 24 . . . there might be justification for calling what has happened 

to me an exemplary punishment (naka≠l) and dubbing it, if only figuratively, an 

(appropriate) requital (‘iqa≠b)." The hypothetical situations envisaged by Ibn Zaydu≠n 

in the prodosis of this sentence (beginning with Adam and Noah) total altogether 

twenty-three, and march in a fairly organized fashion through episodes in prophetic, 

then pre-Islamic Arab, then Islamic history, concluding with al-H˛ajja≠j's 

bombardment of the Ka‘bah in 73/692, and thus providing al-S˛afad| with an ideal 

opportunity for extensive digression. 

And digress he does, not only on this passage but throughout the risa≠lah, to an 

extent that significantly outdoes Ibn Nuba≠tah. As opposed to the latter's reliance 

on "tarjamahs," al-S˛afad| casts his nets much wider, devoting sections not only to 

famous people, and events, but also to (for instance) various rhetorical tropes 

23 

As did Ibl|s (Satan), according to Quran 2:34; cf. 7:12. 

24 

Quoting Quran 11:42–43. 




(such as tah˝s|n al-qab|h˝, "making the bad seem good"), character and behavioral 

traits (including loyalty, slander, and Schadenfreude [shama≠tah]), points of 

theological and legal controversy (for example, Mutazilite views on the superiority 

of angels to prophets, and an excursus on judicial conservatism [taql|d]), and such 

unclassifiable topics as the behavior of hungry cats and the perception that "It's a 

wide world!". He also has a much broader field of vision chronologically than Ibn 

Nuba≠tah: while the latter included in his book virtually nothing later than the 

fourth/tenth century, al-S˛afad| seems to be making an effort to give early and 

recent writers "equal time"—he very frequently cites al-Qa≠d˝| al-Fa≠d˝il, for example, 

and also a whole range of Fatimid, Ayyubid, and Mamluk poets, while by no 

means neglecting the older heritage, from pre-Islamic through Abbasid times. 

Also unlike Ibn Nuba≠tah, al-S˛afad| is generally inclined to name his direct sources, 

which range very widely over the tradition and testify to his extraordinary learning. 

This is not the only time al-S˛afad| engaged in such an exercise in wholesale 

"browsing" through the entire Arabic literary tradition from the beginning to his 

own times. Perhaps even more striking an example is his massive commentary on 

al-T˛ughra≠’|'s La≠m|yat al-‘Ajam entitled Al-Ghayth al-Musajjam. 25 In that work, 

which uses each line of the commented poem to launch into a ten- to thirty-page 

digression on the most varied topics imaginable, al-S˛afad| actually felt compelled 

in his introduction to include a long defense of his use of such digression (istit¸ra≠d), 

appealing to al-Ja≠h˝iz˝ (one must never bore the reader) and al-Buh˝tur| (as espousing 

the generalist ideal of the ad|b, as opposed to the specialist ideal of the scholar), 

among others. He does not drift quite as far from his primary topic in his commentary 

on Ibn Zaydu≠n's letter as he does in that work; but it is still abundantly clear that 

the letter commented is serving primarily as a vehicle, to a degree that one would 

hesitate to attribute to Ibn Nuba≠tah. 

Not that al-S˛afad| neglects the requisite philological, and to some extent thematic 

and aesthetic, analysis of Ibn Zaydu≠n's words themselves. This task is performed 

conscientiously throughout the commentary, and at its conclusion al-S˛afad| actually 

goes so far as to add an appendix listing fifteen weak points in the risa≠lah's 

language and style—together with suggestions for improvement. A second appendix, 

seemingly more gratuitous and introduced by the phrase "la≠ ba’s" ("it cannot hurt 

[to add it]"), which al-S˛afad| otherwise avoids, reproduces a rather long epistle by 

Ibn ‘Abd al-Z˛a≠hir to the poet Ibn al-Naq|b (d. 687/1288), defending himself 

against criticism from an unnamed Shi‘ite for having shown himself excessively 

humble in a scholarly gathering. Playing extensively with Shi‘i themes, Ibn ‘Abd 

al-Z˛a≠hir includes in this letter a number of "stretto" passages that bring it into 

25 

Al-S˛afad|, Al-Ghayth al-Musajjam f| Sharh˝ La≠m|yat al-‘Ajam, 2nd ed., 2 vols. (Beirut, 1990). 

On al-T˛ughra≠’|, see EI 2 , s.v. 




parallel with Ibn Zaydu≠n's efforts, including a name-dropping section to the effect 

of "Do you think I agreed with Ibn Muljam (when he assassinated ‘Al|) . . .?" and 

so forth. The more general effect of al-S˛afad|'s adding this text to the end of his 

commentary is to stress the continuity of the tradition of rhetorical epistolography, 

from Ibn Zaydu≠n and his likes, through al-Qa≠d˝| al-Fa≠d˝il and Ibn ‘Abd al-Z˛a≠hir, 

and perhaps by implication on to (the unmentioned) Ibn Nuba≠tah and al-S˛afad| 

himself. 

The heightened status of epistolography and of artistic prose generally in the 

Mamluk era, and its suitability for commentary, is the first of four points on 

which this quick survey of these two texts may offer food for thought, if not more 

specific conclusions. The relative merit of prose and poetry had been itself a 

standard topos in adab literature since the fourth/tenth century, when the former 

first attained a level of rhetorical development that made real competition with the 

latter plausible. Yet the level of complexity, and ambiguity, involved in artistic 

prose rarely attained that of poetry, and that most specific form of homage, the 

commentary, was relatively rarely applied to prose—the primary exception being 

the maqa≠ma≠t. On the other hand, commenting prose offered a unique way of 

presenting miscellaneous information, true to the Ja≠h˝iz˝ian formula for entertaining 

digression, that began to be exploited in the seventh/thirteenth centuries, as 

represented by Ibn Ab| al-H˛ad|d's Sharh˝ Nahj al-Bala≠ghah and al-Shar|s|'s Sharh˝ 

Maqa≠ma≠t al-H˛ar|r|. Ibn Nuba≠tah saw such an opportunity in Ibn Zaydu≠n's risa≠lah 

hazl|yah, and grabbed it; and the young, brash, and competitive al-S˛afad| proceeded 

to outdo him with his commentary on the risa≠lah jidd|yah. Ultimately, nevertheless, 

al-S˛afad|'s own commentary on the La≠m|yat al-‘Ajam demonstrated that the same 

technique could be applied at least as effectively to poetry, and the commenting of 

artistic prose never developed into a full-fledged major genre of Arabic adab. 

Second, both Ibn Nuba≠tah and al-S˛afad| are clearly concerned with the canon 

of Arabic literature. Ibn Zaydu≠n, in both his epistles, had relied on, rehearsed, and 

indeed to some extent pinned down, the canon in his own day (a canon that was 

for him, significantly, entirely Eastern—there is nothing specifically Andalusian 

in either risa≠lah). Ibn Nuba≠tah emphatically reinforced this canon with his tarjamahs, 

inducting students into, and reminding peers of, a significant cross-section of 

what every respectable littérateur should know. Al-S˛afad| went further, giving full 

credit to "modern classics" alongside their hoary predecessors, and demonstrating 

the continuing vitality of the literary tradition by citing recent and indeed 

contemporary poets and udaba≠’ in the context of a three hundred year old epistle. 

Third, it seems safe to say that both Ibn Nuba≠tah and al-S˛afad| were addressing 

several audiences, and accomplishing several intentions, at once. Their 

commentaries offered students a panorama of the world of literary learning, and a 

potted lesson in the basics of their heritage. At the same time, peers had this 




lesson reinforced, or, perhaps more plausibly, were expected to congratulate 

themselves on recognizing, and even anticipating, the information and allusions as 

they were presented, while being impressed by the elegance with which this was 

done. A broader audience was offered a smorgasbord of "fawa≠’id," "useful bits," 

which they could savor and incorporate into their dinner conversation. And of 

course—perhaps particularly in al-S˛afad|'s case—the authors were establishing 

their own impressive credentials as experts for everyone to admire. 

Fourth and finally, to come back to the "Alexandrian" character of the literary 

culture reflected in these works, there can be no question of the centrality of 

erudition to these authors and their audiences. All were conscious of a weighty 

tradition behind contemporary literary efforts, which acknowledged it at every 

turn. There is, however, little or no evidence for this fact being perceived as any 

kind of burden—the "anxiety of influence" becomes acute only when originality is 

prized in a way that would be completely foreign to our authors. What we seem to 

find instead is a real delight in influence. For Mamluk writers, one is tempted to 

say, intertextuality was what literature is all about; and the more of a past one has 

to deal with, the more one can glory in reproducing, ringing changes on, and 

playing with that past, to the ongoing enrichment of the Arabic literary tradition. 

That, I think, is how we should understand the achievements of Arabic literature 

in the Mamluk period, and perhaps if we assess it on that basis it will look less 

jejune and "derivative" (in an assumed negative sense) than the consensus of past 

scholarship would insist was the case. 



MUHSIN JASSIM AL-MUSAWI 

AMERICAN UNIVERSITY OF SHARJAH 

Vindicating a Profession or a Personal Career? 

Al-Qalqashand|'s Maqa≠mah in Context 

Al-Qalqashand|'s maqa≠mah in praise of his patron Badr al-D|n ibn Fad˝l Alla≠h 

al-‘Umar| and the epistolary art was written as a manual on secretaryship. 1 The 

maqa≠mah is a summation of the art that predated the voluminous compendium 

S˝ubh˝ and draws attention to its author as an epistolographer of great literary 

caliber. 2 While introducing his S˝ubh˝ with a specific mention of this maqa≠mah, 3 

al-Qalqashand| is unequivocal in glorifying this piece, terming it an art of "allusion 

and suggestion," attuned to "brevity" that renders it beyond the reach of the common 

reader and the less erudite in the art of literary composition. He specifically 

intimates that it was due to the precision and conciseness of this maqa≠mah that 

many missed its focused argument, and hence a certain person of sound judgment 

and indisputable advice, perhaps his patron, "directs me to follow it up with a 

thorough compilation covering essentials and rules." 4 The maqa≠mah, therefore, 

complements the compilation of the Sűbh˝ as it drew attention to al-Qalqashand| 

and his mastery of literary composition. It was the achievement and proof of his 

proficiency in the art, and the marker of his merits as prose writer. 

This introductory note in Sűbh˝ is of great significance, not only because it sets 

the date of composition for the maqa≠mah, in 791/1389, "when I settled at the 

chancery . . . ," 5 but also because it was written with a focused purpose to bring the 

maqa≠mah genre once and for all within the orbit of literary composition in which 

the author aimed to demonstrate his mastery. His maqa≠mah, then, may be read as 

an autobiographical piece as the self-made epistolographer is keen on drawing a 


1 

On this maqa≠mah, see C. E. Bosworth, "A Maqa≠ma on Secretaryship: Al-Qalqashand|'s Al- 

Kawa≠kib al-Durr|yah fi’l-Mana≠qib Al-Badriyya," Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African 

Studies 27 (1964): 291–98, reprinted in the author's Medieval Arabic Culture and Administration 

(London, 1982), 292–98. 

2 

See S˝ubh˝ al-A‘shá f| S˝ina≠‘at al-Insha≠’, ed. Muh˝ammad H˛usayn Shams al-D|n (Beirut, 1988), 

1:34–35. 

3 

Ibid. 

4 

Ibid., 34. 

5 

Ibid. Bosworth notes that the author "entered the d|wa≠n in 791/1389, the date when he composed 

his maqa≠ma in praise of insha≠’ and of his master Badr al-D|n." See Medieval Arabic Culture, 293. 



112 MUHSIN JASSIM AL-MUSAWI, AL-QALQASHAND|'S MAQA≠MAH 

sustained parallel between the ‘isa≠m| (the self-made person or survivalist) and 

‘iza≠m| ("of honorable ancestry"). 6 But the comparison, between nepotism and 

merited chancery emplacements and appointments, is carried out within a maqa≠mah 

convention, which is also intentionally underlined to highlight the speaker's position 

as al-Na≠thir ibn al-Naz¸z¸a≠m, "the prose writer son of the versifier," 7 according to a 

systematic prioritization of genres. 

In the following pages, I will argue for the significance of al-Qalqashand|'s 

maqa≠mah in relation to both epistolography and maqa≠ma≠t conventions and 

professional and cultural engagements. 

In his maqa≠mah, al-Qalqashand|'s protagonist-narrator establishes his identity 

as a prose writer with poetic grounding, whose credentials and talent secure him a 

chancery position despite rampant nepotism and mediocre competitors. While 

striving for recognition through his panegyrics, his growth as a learned prose 

writer entitles him to debate forebears in an "anxiety of influence" pattern. This 

recognition is justified by the voluminous Sűbh˝, completed in 814/1412, and his 

earlier maqa≠mah of 791/1389, which secured him a textual lineage among learned 

prose writers and epistolographers. Although his maqa≠mah, Al-Kawa≠kib al-Durr|yah 

f| al-Mana≠qib al-Badr|yah, was the prototype for the larger compendium, its place 

in the last volume among other maqa≠ma≠t may have been assigned by design to 

hold the Sűbh˝ together. The maqa≠mah acts like an autobiographical postscript, 

which concludes a voluminous work in order to draw attention to the author after 

a long and laborious journey among impersonal accounts, epistles, biographies, 

and achievements of others. Although Bosworth thinks that the author sounds 

boastful 8 in saying that maqa≠mah "includes an exposition of all the material points 

which the ka≠tib al-insha≠’ needs to know and all the well-trodden paths which he 

must follow," 9 al-Qalqashand| offers more than one reason to justify this position, 

as will be shown. 

Al-Qa≠d˝| Shiha≠b al-D|n Ah˝mad ibn ‘Abd Alla≠h al-Qalqashand| 

(756–821/1355–1420) served as ka≠tib darj, "scribe of the scroll," 10 in the chancery 

or d|wa≠n al-insha≠’ during the reign of the first Circassian sultan, al-Z˛a≠hir Barqu≠q 

(784–90/1382–88). At that time, al-Qa≠d˝| Badr al-D|n Muh˝ammad ibn Muh˝y| 

al-D|n ibn Fad˝l Alla≠h and his brother al-Qa≠d˝| ‘Ala≠’ al-D|n, from Banu≠ Fad˝l Alla≠h 

6 

See Sűbh˝, 14:145. 

7 

Ibid., 127. 

8 

Bosworth, Medieval Arabic Culture, 295. 

9 

Sűbh˝, 14:147. 

10 

The "scribes of the scroll or the roll" refers to the pieces of paper or parchment joined together 

to become a darj or scroll for writing. See J. H. Escovitz, "Vocational Patterns of the Scribes of 

the Mamluk Chancery," Arabica 23 (1976): 55. Also, Sűbh˝,1:138. 




al-‘Umar|, were in charge of the d|wa≠n. Al-Qalqashand|'s maqa≠mah, Al-Kawa≠kib 

al-Durr|yah, dates his formal entry into the chancery in 791/1389. Badr al-D|n 

was in charge of the d|wa≠n al-insha≠’ on three occasions: 784/1382, 786–92/1385–90, 

and 796–801/1394–99. 11 It was during his patron's life that al-Qalqashand| also 

compiled his voluminous Sűbh˝ al-A‘shá f| S˝ina≠‘at al-Insha≠’, though it was finalized 

in 814/1412. 

Al-Qalqashand| was very proud of the Kawa≠kib, as he noted in a number of 

places. 12 It has an autobiographical aspect, which is quite valuable in view of 

socio-political mobility. On the other hand, it is structured in a specific way to 

cater to the maqa≠mah convention while engaging issues of topical interest. It is 

perhaps worthwhile to discuss its form and textual engagements, so as to assess 

the author's claims to both thoroughness and precision. It is structured as follows: 

(1) the concept and meaning of maqa≠mah; (2) history of composition; (3) the 

prologue; (4) the ha≠tif, or voice; (5) the dialogue between the speaker and his 

companion; (6) the discussion of prioritization between scribes in the finance 

department and the literary division in the d|wa≠n; (7) elaboration on the priority of 

literary composition and epistolography at large; (8) the qualifications of the 

epistolographer; (9) the d|wa≠n and its present secretary; (10) panegyrics; (11) 

self-glorification. 

It is worth mentioning that the author devotes a paragraph to explain the 

meaning of the genre. The explanation is significantly drawn in spatial and cultural 

terms to relate the maqa≠mah as assembly to the d|wa≠n as place for literary and 

educational activity. Maqa≠ma≠t, he notes, "is the plural for maqa≠mah, which 

etymologically denotes the name for an assembly or a group of people. A narrative 

unit is called as such, if it occurs in one assembly where a group gathers to listen 

to it. This is different from muqa≠mah, which means sojourn or settlement." 13 This 

explanation leads to the history of the genre with a laudatory mention of al- 

Hamadha≠n|, followed by al-H˛ar|r|, whose maqa≠ma≠t "were so well-received and 

met with so much luck, that they relegated to oblivion those of al-Bad|‘ [al- 

Hamadha≠n|] as if they were obsolete." 14 The subsequent argument on al-H˛ar|r| 

relates to prioritization of genres and will be discussed in order. But the Kawa≠kib 

is intentionally and vigorously launched as a maqa≠mah, and it deserves to be 

considered as such, especially for its attention to language and rhetorical 

embellishments. Other reasons are as follows: 

11 Bosworth, Medieval Arabic Culture, 292. 

12 

Sűbh˝, 14:124–27. 

13 

Ibid., 124. 

14 

Ibid., 125. 




1. The protagonist is a maqa≠mah figure, who is keen on using 

his skill, talent, and knowledge against uncongenial 

circumstances of nepotism, political opportunism, and 

competitiveness. Even after being appointed as ka≠tib darj, it 

took him time to adjust and receive due recognition. 15 

2. There is a narrator and a narratee (a double) or a ha≠tif 

("voice") whose role complements the narrator's own. On the 

other hand, there is an addressee, too, in this case the Qa≠d˝| 

Badr al-D|n, who is meant to hear and enjoy the eloquence of 

his scribe. This narrative grows in a maqa≠mah fashion with 

great emphasis on dialogue. Speech is the means and the reward 

here, as in every other maqa≠mah. 

3. The narrator, as protagonist, uses the encounter with the 

narratee mainly to offer justifications for his endeavor to be at 

the chancery. The narratee, the voice, is a deus ex machina, 16 

for he shares with the narrator an agenda and a register to 

describe the Mamluk chancery and its glory and requirements. 

But the narratee is more than a double, however, as he grows in 

textual space as a competing protagonist, the one who mediates 

for the narrator, arranges his entry, and provides him with enough 

intelligence and information to enable him to secure a position. 

4. The narrator-protagonist, al-Na≠thir ibn al-Naz˝z˝a≠m, "the prose 

writer son of the versifier," is designated so by design, not only 

to echo al-H˛ar|r|'s al-H˛a≠rith ibn al-Hamma≠m, but also to offer 

another genetic trajectory whereby the article "al" adds influence 

and prestige to the name, the prose writer, in comparison to the 

versifier who suffers in this prioritization. The act is closely 

related to the ongoing controversy regarding the significance of 

each genre, as we shall see. 

In another sense, the structure of al-Qalqashand|'s Maqa≠mah is also similar to 

the Bildungsroman as a novel of education, especially as its history of composition 

culminates a life of apprenticeship and challenge, viewed and assessed 

retrospectively. The aspiring young protagonist, with divided aims and great 

anxieties, must pass through some test and prove efficiency. In a moment of 

hesitation and great perplexity, he must choose between the search for knowledge 

for its own sake and the profession that enables him to make a living, and he 

15 Ibid., 145. 

16 Bosworth, Medieval Arabic Culture, 296, n. 16. 




intimates in a manner fashionable in confessional autobiographies: "I was so 

distressed and stunned as to act aimlessly. Perplexity kept me suspended between 

the two courses. If I pursue knowledge for its material benefits, then I commit a 

reprehensible act, and if I commit myself to study regardless of livelihood, then I 

should perish in destitution and die of hunger." 17 Yet, his education in a hierarchical 

society should be geared towards a post which pays well while preserving his 

integrity as a writer. Devoid of family connections and in need of money, there 

must be a patron, or godfather, to offer support and guidance. The hero must 

search and make connections before coming upon the ideal patron. Also, the 

internal conflict should conclude in a way that suits the hero's aspirations in order 

to offer us a narrative of some edification and educational value. 

Yet the Kawa≠kib is not wholly fictional, as we gather from the introductory 

note in the first volume, 18 for it is al-Qalqashand|'s life story, presented to the 

patron and the reader, to be read and enjoyed. The author is so proud of his career 

that he wrote it down together with shows of allegiance that act as rites of passage 

to the chancery proper. Glorifying the vocation and highlighting his own career 

against mediocrity and conflictual attitudes, he feels empowered enough to submit 

his maqa≠mah to the public. Although the author's transition stage of perplexity 

and hesitation in this Bildungsroman has a "romanticized autobiographical element" 

that Bosworth notes, 19 the account in general fits into narratives of education that 

communicate a moral and educational message to the reader. Such details may 

prove helpful in reading the Kawa≠kib as autobiographical in the first place. 

Knowing full well the role of power relations, especially among close-knit 

relatives with sima≠t irth|yah ("hereditary attributes"), 20 al-Qalqashand| recognizes 

the need to demonstrate efficiency and competence in performance, along with 

self-possession and restraint, in order to gain his patron's support: 

And as I became assured that I am established in his d|wa≠n, and 

listed as one of his pages, I refrained from further search for gain; 

and neither need nor affluence became of consequence to me, for to 

catch sight of him suffices to substitute for food and drink, and I am 

assured that a look from him could promote me to the clouds. . . . 21 

With an eye on his patron, al-Qalqashand| divides his narrative between the narrator 

and the narratee, engaging the latter in a dialogue concerning the patron. This 

17 Sűbh˝, 14:128. 

18 Ibid., 1:34–35. 

19 Bosworth, Medieval Arabic Culture, 295. 

20 

Sűbh˝, 14:141. 

21 

Ibid., 145. 




division of labor enables the author to collect and cite information about the ruling 

caste, while providing him with enough space to justify allegiance and map out a 

career. The narratee's answers amount to a full account of chancery dealings and 

responsibilities, as the patron assumes his importance in chancery context. But 

drawn to the patron's character, the speaker is overwhelmed by the awe-inspiring 

presence of Qa≠d˝| Badr al-D|n, which is hereditary, for the patron descends from 

the caliph ‘Umar ibn al-Khat¸t¸a≠b (d. 23/644), the great "grandfather." 22 These 

"hereditary attributes," along with his patron's munificence, emphasize nepotism as 

positively rewarding, as it ensures cultural continuity and professional expertise. 

Indeed, Badr al-D|n is of "great lineage, and unsurpassed family," inheriting the 

position with merit, "though it is his by lineage." 23 The emphasis on nepotism and 

merit makes up the last part of the maqa≠mah. It corresponds to the panegyric of the 

ode, to be sure, 24 but it is also a culmination of a long narrative journey of discontent, 

training, and search. Working out his way in poetry and prose, the author attempts 

to show his resourcefulness in launching this panegyric while glorifying himself to 

be worthy of the patron's station. In the panegyric section and its rite of passage, 

there is more autobiography than a cursory reading may indicate, for every 

glorification of the patron and patronage is imbued with self-glorification. 25 

The panegyric as a rite of passage comes in response to the narratee's explanations 

of chancery dealings. In his discourse on Banu≠ Fad˝l Alla≠h al-‘Umar|, the narrator, 

as al-Qalqashand|'s alter ego, thus avoids clear-cut discussions of nepotism. But 

there is an underlying belief that familial connections and nepotism kept chancery 

posts within the family, in a de facto manner, which is summed up in the phrase 

"bi-al-as˝a≠lah," or familial succession. 26 Filiatory ties are a defensive strategy, 

however, a preemptive procedure to evade penetration, rivalry, and competition. 

But, on the positive side, this nepotism ensured some continuity in chancellery 

correspondence, which, paradoxically, led to its subsequent imitativeness, verbosity, 

and artificiality. The Banu≠ Wahb, Banu≠ ‘Abd al-Z˛a≠hir (especially Muh˝y| al-D|n, 

620–92/1223–92) and Banu≠ Fad˝l Alla≠h (especially Shiha≠b al-D|n Ah˝mad, d. 

749/1349) were among the most prominent dynastic epistolographers. But al- 

Qalqashand| also refers to chanceries as schools for apprenticeship, for to have 

epistolographers like Badr al-D|n manifests "God's favors." 27 

22 

Ibid., 143. 

23 

Ibid., 141. 

24 

See Bosworth, Medieval Arabic Culture, 297. 

25 

On the rite of passage, see Suzanne P. Stetkevych, The Mute Immortals Speak: Pre-Islamic 

Poetry and the Poetics of Ritual (Ithaca, 1993), 5–8. 

26 

Sűbh˝, 14:141. 

27 Ibid., 142. 




It is at this point that al-Qalqashand|'s narrator asserts homage and allegiance 

to his patron and to the family at large. The panegyric ensues as an answer to the 

narrator's rhetorical question whether there is "a necklace" or a string to hold this 

prestigious office together. 28 His companion is ready with an elaborate answer to 

glorify the patron and his family. He goes so far as placing the patron ahead of all 

chancery writers, including the ones he is known for emulating in his literary 

composition, such as al-Qa≠d˝| al-Fa≠d˝il ‘Abd al-Rah˝|m al-B|sa≠n| ("the honorable 

magistrate," 529–96/1135–1200). 29 In response, the narrator "recited in public with 

sincerity" a verse from the Quran: "Say it is because of God's favor [fad˝l Alla≠h] 

and His mercy, let them rejoice for this, for he is better than whomever they 

choose." Set against al-Qalqashand|'s discursive corpus, this piety sounds too 

contrived to be taken seriously. It is calculated, however, to impress Badr al-D|n 

himself, and to draw his attention to al-Qalqashand|'s readiness of mind, his wit, 

insight, and mastery of Quranic verse. Thus, al-Qalqashand| helps to consolidate 

the position of the learned who enlisted religious discourse to give legitimacy and 

authority to their present occupations. 30 

The maqa≠mah sections on the patron are carefully placed within a chancery 

context to show the merits of both the patron and the scribe. In terms of discussion 

and analysis of the chancery occupation, al-Qalqashand| subtly penetrates into the 

fabric of the familiar to represent it anew, drawing attention to his resourcefulness. 

In a number of places, for example, al-Qalqashand| proves epistolary competence 

in coming upon the exact Quranic verse, which fits the very name of Badr al-D|n 

ibn Fad˝l Alla≠h. Both the recurrence of Fad˝l Alla≠h (God's favors) in the specific 

Quranic verse and its prosification in discourse are meant to demonstrate eloquence 

and mastery of epistolography usually associated with al-Qa≠d˝| al-Fa≠d˝il and his 

Fatimid master Ibn al-Khalla≠l. While embedded within meticulous prosifications 

that are bound to impress Badr al-D|n, the overall design of the panegyric is to 

establish a career, which may be secured by the less merited by mere allegiance or 

nepotism. Indeed, al-Qa≠d˝| al-S˝ayraf|, who wrote in praise of Badr al-D|n ibn Fad˝l 

Alla≠h, said of him "he was biased towards some and they gained; and he was 

against others who made no headway." 31 

28 

Ibid., 141. 

29 

Ibid. 

30 

On the dynasties and their role in the Mamluk period, see Donald P. Little, "Historiography of 

the Ayyu≠bid and Mamlu≠k Epochs," in Cambridge History of Egypt, ed. Carl F. Petry (Cambridge, 

1998), 1:412–44. On the role of the elite, Jonathan P. Berkey, "Tradition, Innovation and the 

Social Construction of Knowledge in the Medieval Islamic Near East," Past and Present 146 

(February 1995); and Carl Petry, The Civilian Elite of Cairo in the Later Middle Ages (Princeton, 

1981), esp. 17–18. 

31 

See the editor's note, Sűbh˝, 14:126, n. 1. 




Especially when considered in this context, al-Qalqashand|'s panegyric makes 

use of a poetic tradition in a changing milieu of great mobility and precariousness. 

His tools should be as good as a great poet's to complete his rites of passage. The 

rites of passage to the chancery include many things, to be sure, as the maqa≠mah 

itself explains, beginning with training in the art and the acquisition of knowledge. 

But the aspirant must prove that his talent exceeds average requirements. Along 

with wit and mastery of prosification, he must be a poet too. Thus, upon being 

appointed, he plays on his patron's name and its meaning again, implying throughout 

that both name, designation, and meaning fit each other in natural, irrevocable 

order. 32 After the ceremonial "honor of kissing his [the patron's] hand," the narrator 

specifies that he "devoted" his utmost praise and benedictions to him. 33 A survivalist, 

a self-made professional scribe, he must demonstrate talent in the absence of 

lineage. "I was self-made in this profession (‘is˝a≠m|yan) not born to it (‘iz˛a≠m|yan)," 

he says. 34 Thus his first encounter with the d|wa≠n professionals was not easy or 

smooth, for "I took my seat as a stranger, with a desolate demeanor." 35 Yet, he 

nevertheless strove hard to hold onto the position, for "I clung to it by every 

means, and I ignited its fire from the least spark," so as to be welcomed accordingly 

with "charity and fairness." 36 

But patronage is still required in the first place to establish oneself and tackle 

the work at hand, if the marginalized intellectual is to show competence and talent 

in a chancery of professionals and functionaries. Hence, the narrator's question to 

his companion: "Has he [Badr al-D|n] followers, retinue, from among the scribes 

whom one should ask for aid and moral support in speech and action, so as to be 

marked as a scribe and among Badr al-D|n's pages?" 37 The question is rhetorical, 

for "Badr al-D|n's brother is the head of the dast." The chancery is a close-knit 

foundation then, and nepotism runs deeply into its making, performance, and 

achievement. The chancery is divided between the "kutta≠b al-dast, [who] are of a 

higher station, and the kutta≠b al-darj, [who] are the more suitable for writing and 

eloquence." 38 The prioritization here is political and bureaucratic, which, in the 

narrator's oblique reading, carries no intellectual or cultural weight. 

We are told the "second division" is the right place for the narrator despite its 

subordination to the first. The prose writer, al-Na≠thir, who narrates and interrogates 

32 

Sűbh˝, 14:144. 

33 

Ibid. 

34 

Ibid., 145. 

35 

Ibid. 

36 

Ibid. 

37 

Ibid., 144. 

38 Ibid. 




the whole scene, needs not only to justify a choice, but also to place it in context. 

Now, he is allied with kutta≠b of literary writing—as his account of them 

demonstrates, 39 a post that had a prestigious, though hazardous, history. Moreover, 

it has contemporary luster whenever related to the learned as different from 

functionaries, a point which he discusses in detail when analyzing and describing 

the typology of chancery writers. 40 

To lead the reader into the profession of the ka≠tib within the Mamluk chancery 

of state, al-Qalqashand| surveys writers and scribes 41 who are meant to substantiate 

the panegyric, but this also highlights the speaker's affiliation with such prestigious 

names. Badr al-D|n is the ka≠tib sirr, the confidential secretary in charge of the 

d|wa≠n, including the kutta≠b al-darj. There is reason to compare him to predecessors 

dating back to the Umayyads (40–132/661–750), for the latter used to have a ka≠tib 

as secretary of state, instead of the vizier, a designation which the Abbasids 

(132–333/750–945) favored. In the Fatimid period in Egypt (358–566/969–1171), 

this was the ka≠tib al-dast (secretary of the bench). In the Mamluk period, there 

was the d|wa≠n al- insha≠’, with its two divisions: the dast (bench) and darj (scroll). 

It was only in the times of al-Mansű≠r Qala≠wu≠n (678–91/1279–92) that the magistrate 

Fath˝ al-D|n ibn ‘Abd al-Z˛a≠hir was appointed as confidential secretary, ka≠tib al-sirr, 

or "recorder of the sultan's secrets," a word which people corrupted into ka≠tim or 

"keeper" of secrets. 42 The office of vizier was then abolished by al-Na≠s˝ir ibn 

Qala≠wu≠n (r. 693–741/1294–1340), who divided the office in 710/1310 among 

four officers, including the "recorder of the secrets." 

In respect to the specific mention of the post he desires, the narrator says: 

"The second division is the more suitable to my status, and the closer to my 

inclinations." 43 Reaching the targeted post, he can dispense with his companion. 

The double is no longer needed, and "I bade him farewell, thanking him for his 

help and appreciating his courtesy, and I left him and embarked on my way. That 

was the last I heard of him." 44 To dispense with the deus ex machina is to assert 

identity and independence. The speaker or narrator is on his own now, and must 

proceed in a formal manner to attain this post. Having learned the nature of the 

chancery and its network, "I returned to him [Badr al-D|n], and raised my petition, 

39 Ibid., 141. 

40 Ibid., 1:31. See Petry, Civilian Elite, 204–5, but also Sűbh˝, 1:80–81, on the confusion between 

the learned and the functionary and the ignorant. In relation to the learned, see Jonathan P. 

Berkey, "Culture and Society during the Late Middle Ages," in Cambridge History of Egypt, 

1:375–411. 

41 Sűbh˝, 14:141. 

42 Ibid., 1:138. 

43 Ibid., 14:144. 

44 Ibid. 




and requested his approval of my application, which he accepted. What a munificent 

master he is, and he assigned me to the honorable kita≠bat al-darj." 45 Although 

al-Qalqashand| speaks of credentials and suitability, insofar as his choice is 

concerned, the chancery builds on hierarchy. His very language regarding his 

patron betrays as much, for he "delves into his domains, and swerves to his abode 

to have a glimpse of him, who appears glowing and glittering as light, and his 

moons shine with glory, brimming with dignity, submerged in quietude, imbued 

with authority, and endowed with happiness." 46 Even the design of place and seats 

was meant to assert this gradation. Kutta≠b al-dast, or scribes of the bench, sat on a 

raised platform or bench so as to present or respond to petitions offered to the 

sovereign in the House of Justice. Sometimes they were called muwaqqi‘s, for 

they used to append or inscribe the royal signature on petitions. By contrast, 

kutta≠b al-darj were primarily concerned with letters of fief grants, appointments, 

explanations, salutations, and their likes, which might not demand the immediate 

involvement of the chief scribe. 

Hierarchy, gradation, and hegemony manifest themselves in the nature of 

discourse, then, whenever the narrator is on his own. He accepts subordination, 

but, ostensibly, because he thinks of the ka≠tib al-darj post as the most fitting for 

his credentials. But while the darj post is not the highest in the d|wa≠n, al-Qalqashand| 

attempts cleverly to add to it its lost prestige. 47 Indeed, the narrator's effort in this 

direction strives to combine a personal sense of importance and the patron's 

reputation as ka≠tib with the aspiration to regain the glorious past of the profession. 

It is part of the biographical design, after all, to glorify oneself within loyalty to 

the profession in its epistolary dimension and historical context. 

When ‘Abd al-H˛am|d al-Ka≠tib (d. 132/750) is mentioned, 48 for instance, there 

is along with him some allusion to the Umayyads. The same applies to eleven 

scribes whom al-Qalqashand| mentions in this respect. The office and practice of 

al-ka≠tib gained power and prestige in the Umayyad period not only due to interaction 

with the culture of other civilizations, but also for the needs of legitimacy in the 

context of the rivalry with the Prophet's descendents, known as among the most 

eloquent Arabs. Their discourse posed serious problems to the Umayyads, who 

spent enormous amounts of money and energy to compete with them. Falsification 

of records and pretensions to wit were widespread in order to impose legitimacy 

in a period of great political dissent. In the footsteps of their ostensible precursors, 

the descendents of the Prophet, the Fatimids elevated their ka≠tib to a vizierate, a 

45 

Ibid. 

46 

Ibid. 

47 

See ibid., 1:63–81. 

48 

Ibid., 14:141. 




position belonging "to the men of sword and sometimes to the men of the pen," 

with "full delegated powers." 49 Some of their scribes, like al-Qa≠d˝| al-Fa≠d˝il 

(529–96/1135–1200), were to rise to the highest positions. So was their vizier 

S˝ala≠h˝ al-D|n. The Ayyubid period (589–658/1193–1260) brought along with it, 

through this combination of the sword and the pen, a great deal of the Fatimid 

preoccupation with culture and faith. Although a Kurdish warrior-chief, with little 

concern for the Fatimid protocol and hierarchical structures, S˝ala≠h al-D|n inherited 

their keen interest in culture. But instead of looking for a chief missionary to 

propagate a faith, he came upon al-Qa≠d˝| al-Fa≠d˝il ("The Excellent Magistrate") 

‘Abd al-Rah˝|m al-B|sa≠n|, to join him in his endeavor to regain conquered lands 

from the Crusaders. The testimony to the power of the word was more eloquent 

coming from a warrior. Sibt¸ ibn al-Jawz| reports that S˝ala≠h˝ al-D|n cautioned his 

ruling elite not to assume that he conquered his enemies by their swords but by 

the pen of al-Qa≠d˝| al-Fa≠d˝il. 50 This reference is not out of place here, especially as 

al-Qalqashand| specifically chooses al-Qa≠d˝| al-Fa≠d˝il to head the list of writers and 

scribes cited for comparison with his patron: "Had the Excellent ‘Abd al-Rah˝|m 

seen him, he would never have claimed for himself excellent traits and would 

never have had recourse to writing." 51 Every other scribe or writer is of secondary 

significance in comparison, and every other glory fades in the presence of the 

overwhelming magnitude of Badr al-D|n. 

Such comparisons and discursive attempts at balanced discussions are part of 

the autobiographical structure of the maqa≠mah, and should be seen in their subtle 

ramifications. Every muwa≠zanah ("balanced assessment and debate") is a strategy 

of evasion or assertion, for al-Qalqashand| lauds the art of writing in each of these 

to glorify the patron and himself. The comparison of the patron to his precursors, 

for example, 52 is functional in more than one sense. It is attuned to the panegyric, 

and to the personal need to demonstrate allegiance and affiliation to be sure. By 

implication, it sets the patron and the writer in a genealogy of writers which 

derives its power from expertise, value, and connection to the sovereign. 53 But it is 

also an attempt to set the record straight in terms of a response to challenges, 

professional and political. Aside from the encroaching presence of the d|wa≠n 

al-jaysh, i.e., the military department, there is also the challenge of kutta≠b al-ma≠l, 

i.e., of the financial or treasury department. 54 Therefore, enumerating the merits of 

49 

From al-Qalqashand|, tr. Bernard Lewis in Islam (Oxford, 1987), 1:203. 

50 

Yu≠suf ibn Qizughl| Sibt¸ ibn al-Jawz|, Mir’a≠t al-Zama≠n (Mecca, 1987), 8:472. 

51 

Sűbh˝, 14:141. 

52 

Ibid. 

53 

Ibid., 131–32. 

54 

See also his view on the urgent need for such a discussion, ibid., 1:83. 




the art of literary composition, the narrator recapitulates: "These are the traits of 

kings, and kingly traits, of the best merits, and the highly merited, for I never 

thought that writing as art had such a magnificent role and station." 55 

Al-Qalqashand|'s deliberate discourse on the art of prose writing clearly intends 

to underscore the role of epistolographers among the learned, for there was a 

tendency to look upon the functionary side of the profession as less qualified for 

refined knowledge and elitist presence. 56 Thus, he argues that the chancery ka≠tib is 

a learned person, ‘a≠lim. 57 He cites the philologist al-Muba≠rak ibn Muh˝ammad ibn 

al-Ath|r (d. 606/1209) to explain the Prophet's use of the term "scribe" as a 

learned person, a point which al-Qalqashand| has already made in the maqa≠mah, 

when citing Quranic verses and the Prophet's sayings, in order to place 

epistolography and literary writing ahead of every other vocation. 58 The amount of 

emphasis laid on the significance of this writing as profession makes it not only 

the most prestigious, but also the most needed for statecraft and culture. Indeed, 

his vindication of kita≠bah as a vocation is so carefully and meticulously argued 

that it almost convinces the reader that the speaker is not that desperate for the 

post, and that the post is offered to him because of a dire chancery need for his 

services. 59 Yet the maqa≠mah is careful in pointing out that this craft is adequate to 

preserve one's integrity. As Bosworth notices, the thesis lies in the contention that 

there must be a profession or a vocation for a living. 60 As for "the student of 

science," i.e., learning, this vocation is "writing," or epistolography, and the scribe 

should never veer away from it. 61 

As the phrase kita≠bah includes chancellery correspondence in general, al- 

Qalqashand| unequivocally sides with "kita≠bat al-insha≠’," or literary prose. 62 The 

art itself, kita≠bah, is a "conceptual" or "spiritual" craft, meaning in al-Qalqashand|'s 

terms "utterances imagined by the writer whereby he images through combinations 

an inner picture that exists deep in the recesses of the mind." 63 This ru≠h˝a≠n|yah 

("conceptualization") materializes into juthma≠n|yah, or bodily form, via inscription. 

He adds, "the pen turns it from a conceptualized notion into a concrete [i.e., 

55 

Ibid., 14:129. 

56 

See Petry, Civilian Elite, 204–5. 

57 

Sűbh˝, 1:82. 

58 

Ibid., 14:129–30. 

59 

Ibid., 129. 

60 

Bosworth, Medieval Arabic Culture, 292–93. 

61 

Sűbh˝, 14:126. 

62 

Ibid. 

63 

Ibid., 1:82, also 64. 




substantial] one." To al-Qalqashand| and other authorities, inscription is insha≠’, 

inclusive of every artistic composition. 64 

As a result, al-Qalqashand| takes great care to draw a line between kita≠bat 

al-insha≠’ and kita≠bat al-daywanah, or the department of finance. In the Sűbh˝, he 

pointedly argues that "in Egypt the word scribe came to refer solely to the scribes 

of the treasury. When it is used, nothing else is meant. As for the craft of composition, 

it began to have two meanings, a private one used by the people of the d|wa≠n, 

denoting kita≠bat al-insha≠’, and a public one for the people, which is tawq|‘. As for 

naming it kita≠bat al-insha≠’, it is . . . insha≠,’ or literary composition, [which] is at 

the root of its subject." 65 

Aside from the known arguments in support of literary or artistic prose, al- 

Qalqashand|'s references to the patron and his family, as well as the whole inventory 

of support for prose as such are deliberately couched in a register of royalty and 

war to cover and account for nepotism, affiliation, and rivalry among professions 

in times of mercurial politics. Badr al-D|n is "the close advisor of the king and his 

companion." He is "his keeper of secrets" and the one in charge. "He is the closest 

to him when others are away, and the one endowed with the highest post when 

others are thrown out." He is the king's secretary who speaks for him. "He is the 

one who comes forth with the decisive saying when others are mute, and he is the 

warrior who fights gallantly with the sword of his tongue and the spear of his 

pen." Hence, he "is the defender of kingdoms with the battalions and armies of the 

line of his inscription and the soldiers of his language. He is the one who scatters 

the enemy with the originality of his utterance and delicacy of maxims. . . . " 66 

This panegyric derives its effectiveness from al-h˝ama≠sah poetry, with its 

emphasis on glorious wars, and battles where the human element derives significance 

and volume from both courage and weapons. It is not surprising that al-Qalqashand| 

enlists a verse from Abu≠ Tamma≠m (d. 231/846), renowned for his chivalric poetics: 

A stroke from a writer's hand is deeper and more cutting than a 

smooth sword. They are a tribe who, when provoked by the hostility 

of the jealous, shed blood with the blades of pens. 

The text as a whole sets this kita≠bah as the "canon for politics." In Bosworth's 

version of this passage, this "encomium of secretaries" runs as follows: "they are 

the far-seeing eyes of kings, their all-hearing ears, their eloquent tongues, and 

their all-embracing intelligences . . . indeed, kings have more need of secretaries 

64 Ibid., 82. 

65 Ibid., 83. 

66 Ibid., 14:142. 




than secretaries have need of kings." 67 Al-Qalqashand|’s maqa≠mah, then, aims at 

making a case for the learned among writers. Its urgency of tone and immediacy 

of purpose could have something to do with the Circassian period, and its failure 

to recognize the critical role of the learned since the times of al-Z˛a≠hir Barqu≠q 

(783–801/1382–99). 68 The emphasis on reciprocal benefits is not hard to follow, 

for, as W. W. Clifford notices, "Through such patronage networks the Mamluk 

political elite functionally exchanged economic benefits for social validation from 

the cultural elite." 69 

But emphasis on the use of epistolographers and the learned at large is only 

one side of the coin. In more than one sense, they were the intermediaries between 

Mamluk oligarchies and the people. "Seeking legitimacy through the support of 

intellectuals," argues Donald P. Little, the Mamluk sultans "spent enormous sums 

on their salaries and patronage, sometimes in return for their specific services to 

the court but often for their function as devotional and educational intermediaries 

with the public." 70 Quoting ‘Al| ibn Khalaf (d. 455/1063) in Mawa≠dd al-Baya≠n, 

al-Qalqashand| asserted such a role. Writers are "the medium between kings and 

subjects," as they are "the only class which shares with kings grandeur and great 

significance while they are like the rest of the people in modesty and restrained 

expenditure." 71 For this reason, they are indispensable "to protect the interests of 

people while securing the rights of sultans and maintaining the adequate connection 

between the two." 72 Al-Qalqashand| never tires of quoting authorities that endorse 

the view that epistolographers are "the ornament of the kingdom and its beauty." It 

is the epistolographer's discourse which "uplifts its [the kingdom's] value and 

raises its reputation, magnifies its power, and indicates its merits." He contends 

further that, "On the sultan's behalf, he warns and persuades, praises or chastises. 

He articulates words to ensure the subordination and obedience of supporters, and 

drives away the intentions of foes to disobey or to continue hostility." 73 While 

relying on Ibn Khalaf in theory, al-Qalqashand| also enlists the views of kings and 

sultans on his side, as these are more acceptable among their equals. Abu≠ al-Fida≠’, 

al-Malik al-Mu’ayyad of H˛ama≠h (d. 732/1331) describes the role of epistolographers 

and writers as "the most noble profession after the caliphate, as it is the best of 

67 

Bosworth, Medieval Arabic Culture, 296. 

68 

Petry, Civilian Elite, 20. 

69 

W. W. Clifford, "Ubi Sumus? Social Theory and Mamluk Studies," Mamlu≠k Studies Review 1 

(1997): 51. 

70 

Little, "Historiography," 413. 

71 

Sűbh˝, 1:73. 

72 

Ibid., 73–74. 

73 

Ibid., 86. 




favors and the most ultimate desire." 74 As for the Abbasid caliph al-Mustarshid 

Abu≠ Ja‘far (caliph in 512/1118), he was reported to have described writing as the 

"root" and the "pillar" of the kingdom, "separate branches of one tree." 75 These and 

similar opinions are also found in the maqa≠mah. 76 

But there is a third side in this delicate intersection between epistolographers, 

prose writers, and intellectuals in general. In gratuitous comments, writers are 

never short of anecdotes and reports which address sultans and kings as liking to 

"own something of eloquence and good writing," as the Fatimid ‘Al| Ibn Khalaf 

stipulates. Al-Qalqashand| uses this notion to forward his contention that 

epistolography is the "best of crafts," 77 or, as he puts in the maqa≠mah, it is "the 

canon of politics." 78 Obviously, statesmen and sultans needed a powerful bureaucracy 

in the early pre-modern periods, and this materialized in the growth of a "class of 

secretaries," which Bosworth is right in describing as "numerous and powerful." 79 

But, as J. H. Escovitz notes, this class was rather professional, with no absolute 

loyalty to the chancery. 80 Loyalty is ambiguous as a term, however, and we need 

to set the whole issue in terms of competitiveness, interests, and patterns of 

independence and subordination. In the maqa≠mah, then, al-Qalqashand| has an 

eye, too, on his present times, their precariousness and confusion. In assessing the 

situation, there is a need to maintain a divide between functionaries as part of 

bureaucratic and financial apparatus, usually inherited and developed by the 

Ayyubids and Mamluks, and the learned who were simultaneously needed, feared, 

and challenged by circumstance and division. 81 The period itself had a mixture of 

authoritarianism, eclecticism, and sentimentalism towards knowledge. Sultans like 

Baybars could well intervene, for instance, in the judicial system, altering the 

judiciary by appointing four qadis for every Sunni school. The intervention was 

not whimsical, for the very structural change in centers of power in the Islamic 

world impelled him to meet this diversity in predilections, loyalties, and outlooks. 

The attitude itself should be seen as signifying a centralizing tendency, which 

involved a drive towards homogeneity and sameness through a wider 

accommodation of schools and sects in a Cairo which was growing as the center 

for Da≠r al-Isla≠m. What Berkey signaled in architectural monuments as "statements 

74 

Ibid., 65–66. 

75 

Ibid., 66. 

76 

Ibid., 14:129–30. 

77 

Ibid., 1:67. 

78 

Ibid., 14:130. 

79 

Medieval Arabic Culture, 292. 

80 

Escovitz, "Vocational Patterns," 62. 

81 

Berkey, "Culture and Society," 398. 




of integration into an urban society which valued knowledge and piety, and which 

relied upon the private exercise of power and wealth to generate its cultural 

tradition and to protect its social order" 82 should be seen as a manifestation of a 

centralizing outlook. Nelly Hanna is surely right in suggesting that "the [Mamluk] 

sultans and their ruling amirs for over two centuries created the models and set the 

fashions, in the arts and in architecture. 83 

Similarly, rulers' interest in writing, epistolography, and eloquence should not 

be seen as the whim of dilettantes, but as a drive for power and control through 

appropriation. Upon noticing his chancery potential as manifested in the maqa≠mah, 

al-Qalqashand|'s patron, or some other authority, directed him to write a manual, 

more elaborate and extensive than the existing ones, including those by Shiha≠b 

al-D|n Ah˝mad and Ibn Na≠z¸ir al-Jaysh, which, for all their merits, "could not 

compensate for others," nor could they be comprehensive enough to "go beyond 

the science of rhetoric" which is the staple of other manuals. 84 The increasing 

production of compendiums, manuals, and teaching material in the art of 

epistolography was meant to meet a demand, which was also impelled and 

perpetuated by the sovereign whose power was to be sustained through a 

sophisticated bureaucracy and financial apparatus. 

"Al-kita≠bah qa≠nu≠n al-siya≠sah" (literary composition is the canon of politics), 

says the maqa≠mah, and we need to assess the interrelatedness of the two in 

contextual terms. While alienating other departments of the army and treasury, for 

instance, al-Qalqashand| valorized the art of chancellery correspondence in its 

literary dimension. Although we have no information regarding specific royal 

orders for manuals or compendiums, these could be seen as ultimate markers of 

professional grounding and knowledge, which could have secured their authors a 

good, and, perhaps, lasting position in the chancery. In these manuals on procedural 

matters, formats, varieties of address, samples of polished correspondence, and 

stylistic needs and applications, the emphasis is laid on conformity, not deviation. 

Although knowledge admittedly varies between one person and another, the whole 

idea of a guide and a manual is to ensure symmetry and uniformity. Patronage by 

Mamluk sultans and ruling groups involved elite culture in some sameness, for, as 

Bakhtin argues, "The ruling class strives to impart a supraclass, eternal character 

to the ideological sign," in order to render it "unaccentual". 85 

82 

Ibid., 397. 

83 

Nelly Hanna, "Culture in Ottoman Egypt," Cambridge History of Egypt, ed. M. W. Daly 

(Cambridge, 1998), 2:87. 

84 

Sűbh˝, 1:31–35. 

85 

M. M. Bakhtin, "On Dialogic Discourse," in The Bakhtin Reader, ed. Pam Morris (London, 

1997), 55. 




Using these manuals and theoretic readings of the profession, al-Qalqashand| 

certainly catered to this centralizing drive while participating intellectually in 

defining culture and its magnanimous interest in and use of prose. Linking himself 

to such illustrious names and authorities as Quda≠mah ibn Ja‘far (d. 326/938), Ibn 

Qutaybah (d. 275/889), ‘Abd al-H˛am|d al-Ka≠tib, Lisa≠n al-D|n ibn al-Khat¸|b (d. 

775/1374), al-Qa≠d˝| al-Fa≠d˝il, al-S˝a≠b| (d. 383/994), Ibn Nuba≠tah, Ibn al-Ath|r, along 

with Ibn Khalaf, Ibn Mama≠t|, and the dynasties of Banu≠ Fad˝l Alla≠h, Banu≠ ‘Abd 

al-Z˛a≠hir, and many others, 86 al-Qalqashand| as a self-made scholar established for 

himself a professional lineage in the absence of reputed familial and blood 

connections. On the other hand, this subtext of belonging also highlights his 

patron's achievement, for he surpassed all in competence and grandeur. But by so 

doing, al-Qalqashand| also glorifies his own role and achievement for he, after all, 

claims to have improved even on al-Qa≠d˝| Shiha≠b al-D|n ibn Fad˝l Alla≠h al-‘Umar|. 87 

Saying as much, al-Qalqashand| proves that, based on his hard work and skill, he 

deserves great acknowledgment and merit. 

Yet to emphasize value and use for the state is not enough, especially among 

the literati. Poetic leanings and achievements were still in vogue, and the maqa≠mah 

never loses sight of this. The ka≠tib is addressed as a flowering and ultimate 

maturation from poetry, and al-Qalqashand| could find no better lineage to allegorize 

his career than al-Na≠thir ibn al-Naz¸¸z¸a≠m (The Prose Writer Son of the Versifier). 

Sealing a tradition, he pointedly elevated prose to the highest position, and he is at 

pains to enlist every authoritative view on this subject, particularly ‘Al| ibn Khalaf 

(d. 455/1063) and his Mawa≠dd al-Baya≠n. ‘Al| ibn Khalaf is one of the illustrious 

figures in Sűbh˝ for the simple reason that he divides the "art of composition" in 

three: kita≠bah, oratory, and poetry, emphasizing superiority in sequence, a point 

which al-Qalqashand| endorses, especially in his maqa≠mah. 88 Moreover, in his 

third chapter, al-Qalqashand| entitles his discussion unwaveringly "Prioritization 

of Prose to Poetry." This prioritization takes for granted that powerful prose 

should make intensive use of other styles and genres so as to reach large audiences, 

while keeping to the Quranic tradition of restrained and balanced use of assonance 

and figurative language. 

It is within this prioritization of genres and the valorization of epistolary art 

that al-Qalqashand| targeted poetic license as an invitation to laxity, and openness 

to all including the "rabble" and the "reprobates." 89 But he is for the positive sides 

of poetry, too, especially its poetics of style. Indeed, "h˝all," poetic prosification, 

86 Sűbh˝, 14:141, 1:35, 135–45, etc. 

87 

Ibid., 1:35. 

88 

Ibid., 14:130. 

89 

Ibid., 1:92. 




was repeatedly emphasized as a prerequisite to epistolography. Abu≠ ‘Uthma≠n ibn 

Ibra≠h|m al-Na≠bulus| (d. 685/1286) was strongly drawn to the practice in his Luma‘. 

The scribe or clerk in d|wa≠n al-insha≠’ should be "well acquainted with sciences, 

especially literature, to reach the highest station in verse and prose, even to reach 

that stage of rhetoric to be able to put poetry into prose, or vice versa. . . ." 90 

‘Abd al-Malik ibn Muh˝ammad al-Tha‘a≠lib| (d. 429/1038) explains in detail 

his practice of nathr al-naz¸m, or the turning of poetry into prose. But D˛iya≠’ al-D|n 

ibn al-Ath|r (d. 636/1239) goes even further, for his book Al-Washy al-Marqu≠m f| 

H˛all al-Manz¸u≠m is meant as a manual for prosification. This tendency was never 

incidental, for even the application of the method itself to the Quranic verse was 

meant to manipulate classical poetics into epistolography. Further in Al-Mathal 

al-Sa≠’ir f| Adab al-Ka≠tib wa-al-Sha≠‘ir, Ibn al-Ath|r is unequivocal in prioritizing 

prose in keeping with the spirit of the age. Insofar as Arabic poetics is concerned, 

the attempt falls within a larger drive to account for change and intercultural 

inroads which also imply leaving Abbasid poetics behind, alienating classical 

poetry, its centripetal power and unifying tradition. Al-Qalqashand|'s focused 

appropriation of Ibn al-Ath|r, along with other authorities in epistolography, is 

carefully done in order to underscore the notion of change in state machinery and 

the corresponding priority of prose. 

In his maqa≠mah as well as in his elaborate discussion of the qualifications of 

the epistolographer, 91 al-Qalqashand| again enlists authoritative writers on the 

prerequisites and attributes of the ka≠tib. 92 He must be a male, a free person, who is 

just and decent, knowledgeable in the Quran and hadith. He must be a rhetor, for 

he is the "sultan's tongue and hand, and an effective scribe may well replace 

battalions, and his pen could substitute for the most sharp and cutting swords." 93 

He is to be sensible, mindful, insightful, and reasonable. He should be well acquainted 

with the Islamic judiciary and law in general. His knowledge of the sciences is to 

be wide and extensive, including relevant branches and disciplines. He is to be of 

solid caliber, respectable and daring to be effective in address. Efficiency and 

resolution are required, too, to ensure high morale among Muslims. But these are 

among the basic requirements which he terms ‘ulu≠m, or the requisites that cover 

the following: the Quran and its sciences; principles of statecraft; the heritage of 

90 

Luma‘ al-Qawa≠n|n, ed. C. Becker and C. Cahen (Port Said, n.d.), 24–25. Also see in this issue 

Geert Jan van Gelder, “Poetry for Easy Listening.” 

91 

Sűbh˝, 1:95–98. 

92 

Along with Abu≠ al-Fad˝l al-Su≠r|, al-Madan| (d. 849), al-‘Askar| (d. 1009), Ibn Mama≠t| (d. 

1209), Ibn Khalaf and Ibn al-Ath|r, documentation is drawn from the Quran and the Prophet's 

tradition, and the sayings of his companions and other notables. 

93 

Sűbh˝, 1:98. 




the Arabs; their orations and epistles; history of their dynasties and chivalry; their 

rhetoric and grammar and chancery skills. 94 As for the rusu≠m, as delineated in the 

Kawa≠kib, 95 they are no less varied and diversified, covering calligraphy, knowledge 

of chancellery correspondence, geography and cultures of other nations. The list 

is ambitious and demanding, and, perhaps, smacks of self-glorification. 

Al-Qalqashand| further implies in the listing of the qualifications and their 

complementary procedures and acquisitions that he is not only endowed with 

these, but also qualified enough to assess and set guidelines for others in the field. 

In a word, he shines as one of the most illustrious epistolographers in this maqa≠mah. 

But this should not be surprising. Since the middle of the twelfth century many 

epistolographers had been called upon to write down "the official histories of the 

dynasties in whose chanceries they held important positions" as Makdisi argues, 96 

and on many occasions they were unable to remain as ghostwriters. In keeping up 

with their sovereigns and their feats and conquests, they found themselves too 

closely involved and intimately entangled to sustain a low profile. Those 

epistolographers who began an early career as ka≠tibs in the chancery of state 

were, as al-Na≠bulus| argues, asked to be "of distinctive merits to be ahead of the 

rest, of wonderful naz¸m [poetry] and wonderful prose that shines in the vast 

domain of writing, bringing about a light of unfamiliar literature whose secret is 

somewhere like the heart of a wise, reasonable and intelligent person." As for the 

rest, they are "copyists or embellishers, job holders of some talent in literary or 

colloquial utterance." 97 

In such a context, the Kawa≠kib speaks then for epistolographers of some 

renown against reputed poets and maqa≠mah writers, and a post at the chancery 

was the desire of no less talented poets than Ibn Sana≠’ al-Mulk (d. 607/1211) and 

Ibn Nuba≠tah (d. 766/1365). Prose writers were to vie with poets. Thus, in the 

manner of exemplary maqa≠mah, the Kawa≠kib engages issues of immediate interest 

to the literati, and particularly scribes, epistolographers, and poets. The naming of 

the protagonist “the prose-writer son of versifier” is meant to carry on the argument 

that prose grows out of poetry and outgrows it. His contention is that prose 

maturates out of verse in order to cope with expanding undertakings, issues, 

domains of interest, and extensive knowledge. Indeed, the ‘ulu≠m and the rusu≠m 

which al-Qalqashand| enumerates make epistolography comprehend every other 

genre and field of knowledge and technique. Further, drawing on antecedent 

authority, including Ibn Qutaybah, Shiha≠b al-D|n Mah˝mu≠d, and al-‘Askar|, al- 

94 

Ibid., 14:133–37. See also Bosworth, Medieval Arabic Culture, 296. 

95 

Sűbh˝, 14:137–40. 

96 

The Rise of Humanism in Classical Islam and the Christian West (Edinburgh, 1990), 166. 

97 Luma‘ al-Qawa≠n|n, 25. 




Qalqashand| is keen on establishing a genealogy of ancestors, among whom the 

narrator aspires for a distinguished presence despite his post as ka≠tib darj. We 

should remember that he resolves to put aside personal inhibitions and expectations 

and settle for a place where Badr al-D|n and his brother were in charge. 98 But the 

outcome, in terms of literary writing, demonstrates also that he is so well-qualified 

that he can uplift the whole darj profession to the station of the ulama and the 

learned. 99 

On the other hand, this maqa≠mah’s literary value also lies in its subtle attempt 

to undermine ancestry. Indeed, if we accept the earlier contention that the effort to 

prioritize prose implies a decentralization of a classical tradition of poetic supremacy, 

it is even more tenable to see al-Qalqashand| fighting back against his literary 

father, al-H˛ar|r|. Indeed, no matter how eloquent al-Qalqashand| is in relying on 

antecedent authority, he is no exception in betraying a great anxiety of influence. 

But he sets a theory for that, for, like poetry, epistolography is a negotiatory 

textual space. Writing as craft is a "growth," and "construction should have a base, 

and branch should have a root," he says 100 upon improving on his immediate 

epistolary precursors, al-Qa≠d˝| Shiha≠b al-D|n and Ibn Na≠z¸ir al-Jaysh. As a growth, 

the craft of writing is bound to outgrow the precursor, namely the former 

epistolographers. By the same token, he, in the present maqa≠mah, has to outgrow 

al-H˛ar|r|. Since the literati had been very receptive to al-H˛ar|r| and his art, al- 

Qalqashand| should have experienced some anxiety of influence. His argument 

for prose is applied also against the maqa≠mah of al-H˛ar|r|. Relying on Ibn al-Ath|r's 

derogatory remarks against al-H˛ar|r|, 101 al-Qalqashand| sided with the former's 

conclusion that al-H˛ar|r| was not an adept in epistolography, a conclusion that is 

rife with implications, for Ibn al-Ath|r was no less anxious to prove his literary 

prestige at a time when al-H˛ar|r|'s reputation was so overwhelmingly present as 

to allow little space for the rest. Ibn al-Ath|r used the disputed anecdote of Ibn 

al-Khashsha≠b (d. 567/1172) to imply that al-H˛ar|r| was good only as a maqa≠mah 

writer, but not as epistolographer. 102 

Al-Qalqashand| argues that Ibn al-Ath|r "had not given him [al-H˛ar|r|] his due 

and had not treated him fairly." 103 Yet al-Qalqashand| mentions, nevertheless, the 

whole story of al-H˛ar|r|'s failure to write epistles, along with the vindictive poetry 

against him. He goes so far as to quote Ibn al-Ath|r's suggestion that to write a 

98 

Sűbh˝, 14:145. 

99 

Ibid., 147. 

100 

Ibid., 1:34. 

101 

Ibid., 86, 14:125. 

102 

Ibid., 14:125. 

103 Ibid. 




maqa≠mah does not entail good style and acumen, for "all maqa≠ma≠t have only one 

orbit revolving around a tale with a conclusion, unlike epistolography which is a 

sea with no borders, for its themes are endless and are renewed in pace with time 

and events." 104 Still, in his attempt to outgrow his ancestor, al-Qalqashand| comes 

to internalize him, and on occasion, to recollect his style and highlight al-H˛ar|r|'s 

stylized diction. In such a game there is, in Bakhtin's words, "intensification of 

others' intonations in a certain discourse or a certain section," delivered in such a 

manner "so that his own present writer's direct or refracted word might ring out all 

the more energetically." The tendency throughout is to keep al-H˛ar|r| in 

subordination, "a passive tool in the hands of the author wielding it," to use 

Bakhtin on parody again. 105 

Yet, while al-H˛ar|r|'s own profession and career drew sharp criticism from 

professional kutta≠b of literary prose, his elegant prose put many of them to shame. 

Ibn al-Ath|r repeats the story that his own output in writing equals thousands of 

maqa≠ma≠t. Yet al-H˛ar|r| (445–515/1054–1122) and his maqa≠mah signify a turning 

point in the history of belles lettres. His contemporaries and immediate followers 

were so impressed by his stylistic virtuosity and use of narrative that they, like Ibn 

H˛amdu≠n (d. 495/1102), collapsed maqa≠mah and risa≠lah, using them 

interchangeably. More importantly, al-H˛ar|r| leaves al-Hamadha≠n|'s ingenious 

and eloquent beggars behind to be replaced by scholars and marginalized 

intellectuals with extensive knowledge in mystical, geographical, medical, and 

other professional engagements. Thus, his protagonists speak for epistolographers 

of the self-made kind. The shrewd forebear anticipates his grandsons who will try 

to keep his ghost in the background. No wonder he is so much present in al- 

Qalqashand|'s maqa≠mah, despite the counter presence of Ibn al-Ath|r and Ibn 

al-Khashsha≠b. 

In particular, al-Qalqashand| calls upon al-H˛ar|r|'s Al-Fura≠t|yah, which recalls 

a mission up the Euphrates when scribes were engaged in debates identical with 

those of al-Qalqashand|. As al-H˛ar|r|'s maqa≠mah goes, Abu Zayd al-Saru≠j| is in 

the boat in the company of secretaries who are busy arguing for or against chancery 

vocations. His intervention is not welcome at first. But, upon listening to him, 

they find it worth attention. Insofar as the chancellery correspondence is concerned, 

he argues: "The munshi’ is the confidant of the mighty and an important figure 

amongst the boon-companions. His pen is the tongue of sovereignty and the 

knight of the skirmish, the Luqma≠n of wisdom and the interpreter of resolution. It 

bears good tidings and warnings alike, it intercedes and acts as an envoy. By it 

impregnable fortresses are won and key-points conquered." On the other hand, he 

104 Ibid., 126. 

105 "Dialogic Discourse," 109. 




defends the treasury scribe with equal force, for the financial secretary has a pen 

which is "always firm." He adds, "accountants are the guardians of wealth, the 

bearers of burdens, the reporters of attested statements, the trustworthy envoys, 

the ones prominent in meting out justice and securing it for others, the legal 

witnesses whose testimony is adequate in disputes." 106 Although seemingly attracted 

to this balanced argument, al-Qalqashand| follows a stylization process which is 

subtly placed in a context of other competing views and reviews. In the process, 

al-H˛ar|r|'s views on the benefit of each profession enjoy some activation in order 

to prepare for the postmaturation of al-Qalqashand|'s ultimate triumphal note in 

respect to epistolography, which Ibn al-Ath|r thought of as too wide-ranging for 

al-H˛ar|r|. The concluding note of triumph only supports Bakhtin's discussion of 

parody at large: "Every struggle between two voices within a single discourse for 

possession or dominance in that discourse is decided in advance." 107 

While there is self-glorification, al-Qalqashand|'s maqa≠mah ultimately is a 

testimonial epistle whose comprehensive overview and literariness stand for an 

outgrowth, a maturation that surpasses and supersedes earlier practices. Indeed, 

by citing Badr al-D|n as unprecedented, whose merits supersede al-Qa≠d˝|'s fad˝a≠’il 

(merits), 108 al-Qalqashand| the epistolographer glorifies his own achievement, too. 

Playing on the meaning of fad˝l (favor and merit) in Badr al-D|n's nisbah or 

lineage, and the somehow identical connotation in al-Qa≠d˝| al-Fad˝il's attribute (the 

excellent or the erudite magistrate), al-Qalqashand| asserts both his own stylistic 

skill in coining the right comparison, his mastery of puns and metaphors, and his 

faith in the growth of chancellery correspondence, whose theory and practice is 

attested to by the summation and the compendium at hand. 

Yet the mere use of the maqa≠mah genre betrays resignation to al-H˛ar|r|'s 

powerful presence. Further, al-Qalqashand| concludes that what his maqa≠mah 

"includes in respect to the tributes of kita≠bah and the honor of writers [scribes] 

excludes the need for any other." 109 But the conclusive remark is belied by his text 

full of citations to maqa≠ma≠t and epistles, and so alludes to a cultural climate rife 

with controversy and difference. His maqa≠mah is meant to sum up a profession 

and map out a career, which it aptly does. However, success on a personal level is 

set within other accounts and significations of achievement and failure, like the 

epistles and maqa≠ma≠t, which he cites and includes before and after his own maqa≠mah. 

106 

Cited in Bosworth, Medieval Arabic Culture, 293–94, from T. Chenery's translation of the 

Assemblies. 

107 

"Dialogic Discourse," 112. 

108 

Sűbh˝, 14:141. 

109 

Ibid., 145. 




While al-Qalqashand|'s compendium is the largest and most extensive 

encyclopedic effort in epistolography, his maqa≠ma≠t are of great cultural relevance, 

too. Further, al-Qalqashand|'s highly spirited account of chancery posts and scribal 

vocations should not blind us to his intentional design to set his own maqa≠mah 

among others that reveal a great deal about the history of epistolography, its 

achievements and failures. Against his seemingly balanced argument to promote 

the profession, there stands Yah˝yá ibn Sala≠mah al-H˛as˝kaf|'s (d. 551/1156) epistle. 110 

This "supreme orator" and "crown of the learned" wrote an epistle, in a maqa≠mah 

fashion, entitled ‘Ita≠b al-Kutta≠b wa-‘Iqa≠b al-Alqa≠b, to chastise those who "settled 

for lowliness instead of striving for requisite knowledge." 111 Al-H˛as˝kaf| holds the 

chief chancery clerk and his staff responsible for the deterioration of prose, and he 

castigates the vizier and secretaries of the bench and their deputies, along with 

secretaries of finance and keepers of secrets, for unwarranted arrogance and failure 

in performance. By so doing, al-H˛as˝kaf| provides a counter treatise and devastating 

account that reveals a chancellery of reprobates headed by "our master the minister 

who is lapsing into vice." 112 

Of no less significance is Abu≠ al-Qa≠sim al-Khawa≠rizm|'s (d. 387/997) maqa≠mah, 

which al-Qalqashand| contrasts with his own panegyric maqa≠mah. 113 Al- 

Khawa≠rzm|'s maqa≠mah, which is originally cited in full by Ibn H˛amdu≠n, is written 

in lofty prose with an ornate style and elevated rhetoric to attack the pretensions 

of a certain pedant named al-H|t|, who undeservedly gained the reputation as one 

of the learned and the ulama among his community. The argumentation is carried 

out smoothly, with great serenity and vigor, to explode the myth which al-H|t| 

had perpetrated about himself. Incorporating it in full, al-Qalqashand| balances 

his own positive appraisals of the profession. 

Moreover, al-Qalqashand|'s citations of such criticism make up a body of 

texts with a historical and political referentiality that endow his maqa≠mah with 

some discursive strategies of oblique criticism, indirection, parody, and stylization. 

Indeed, al-Khawa≠rizm|'s maqa≠mah is not alone in its biting sarcastic tone and 

pointed exposure, for Ibn Nuba≠tah held similar views of his critics among chancery 

clerks who, "except for the turban, had nothing in their heads." They "were ignorant 

of tarassul (epistolography) and unqualified in rhetoric." 114 These remarks came in 

a letter of gratitude addressed to Ibn Fahd, Shiha≠b al-D|n Mah˝mu≠d al-H˛alab|, who 

was in charge of the d|wa≠n in Damascus, after he made an eloquent defense of Ibn 

110 

Ibid., 230–36. 

111 

Ibid., 231. 

112 

Ibid., 233. 

113 

Ibid., 146–56. 

114 

Ibid., 279. 




Nuba≠tah against his critics. Al-Qalqashand| himself was critical of the style and 

language of a number of letters 115 which he criticizes for "coarse utterance" and 

structural lapses despite the fact that they were drawn up in the reign of both 

al-Z˛a≠hir Baybars and al-Mans˝u≠r Qala≠wu≠n who "were among the most magnificent 

of kings." 116 

These epistles and maqa≠ma≠t cited by al-Qalqashand| act as paratexts for his 

Kawa≠kib al-Durr|yah. They recapitulate the common view of the degeneration of 

epistolary practice, for which al-Qalqashand| offers two explanations. First, 

following Ibn H˛a≠jib al-Nu‘ma≠n (d. 951/1031), al-Qalqashand| argues that "scribes 

used to compete in earning the right merit, aloof from any vice of ignorance, 

striving to gain whatever improves utterance, and beautifies their performance, in 

order to reach the highest station and to win the best of favors." 117 Presently, things 

took the opposite direction, for the ignorant and the greedy received advancement. 

Thus, "arts were shunned as taboos and sciences were discarded as if the greatest 

sins." 118 Second, while leveling blame on generations of scribes with little grounding 

in arts and sciences, 119 al-Qalqashand| believes that the domination of non-Arabs 

(a‘jam) led to this confusion between the "dumb" and "unversed" in Arabic and 

the learned. Nevertheless, the maqa≠mah is keen on forwarding epistolography as 

the best of arts, that subsumes every genre without loss of its own richness. It 

befits a growing empire in its official discourse, for Egypt "still grows in stature 

and reputation until it has become the abode of the Abbasid caliphate, and the 

base for the Islamic kingdom. Its kingdom takes pride in serving the two holy 

shrines, and the rest of kings and nations served it for this reason." 120 

Finally, then, al-Qalqashand|'s defense of the profession and the craft should 

not be taken at face value. Employment in the chancery had its many ups and 

downs, and competition among other secretarial occupations was intense at times. 

If earlier records testified to gain and loss, the later periods were no less rife with 

competitiveness, malice, and cruelty. 121 A pertinent illustration is the allegorical 

115 

Ibid., 83. 

116 

Ibid., 70. 

117 

Ibid., 1:80. 

118 

Ibid. 

119 

Ibid., 78. 

120 

Ibid., 31. 

121 

Zamrak's (d. 1393) hatred led to Ibn al-Khat¸|b's death. Indeed, many writers of prose, like Ibn 

Ab| al-H˛ad|d (d. 656/1257) and ‘Ima≠d al-D|n al-Is˝faha≠n| al-Ka≠tib (d. 597/1201) blamed, for 

instance, D˛iya≠’ al-D|n ibn al-Ath|r (d. 637/1239) for his negative influence on S˝ala≠h al-D|n's son, 

Al-Afd˝al. In his book on the latter, Ibn Ab| al-H˛ad|d traced in D˛iya≠’ al-D|n's Al-Mathal negative 

and positive sides. On the negative side, he found Ibn Al-Ath|r "highly proud of himself," to the 

extent of "raising objections against the honorable." See Al-Falak al-Da≠’ir ‘alá al-Mathal al-Sa≠’ir, 




tale reported by ‘Uthma≠n ibn Ibra≠h|m al-Na≠bulus|. 122 There was a merchant who 

was so learned that a certain sultan was advised to choose him as vizier, for the 

kingdom had lost so many. According to tradition, each minister was deported to 

an empty and deserted island upon terminating a year in that position. The merchant 

asked to see the island, and in a very discreet manner moved his family and 

servants there along with manufacturers and laborers so as to make it habitable in 

preparation for such an end. 123 The anecdote speaks of the other side in the life of 

ka≠tibs and viziers. 

In all, al-Qalqashand|'s vindication of the profession, his autobiographical 

review of his own career, and his expressions of homage and allegiance set his 

maqa≠mah in a ramified engagement of great socio-political, cultural, and textual 

richness. Brief like any other maqa≠mah, its referentiality extends in time and 

space, while its textual registers go beyond the compendium, at times, to involve 

the whole controversy on genres and their prioritizations. It offers a literary history 

in a nutshell and draws attention to chancery rivalry in its professional dimension, 

too. Its markers of argumentation, debate, and engagement, and its register of 

figures and issues testify to its complexity and richness beyond the mere shows of 

homage or expressions of need and choice. On the other hand, this very extensive 

referentiality grants al-Qalqashand| another cultural lineage, an intertext of wideranging 

contributions, "embellished" inscriptions with figures who still argue and 

debate issues and attitudes. The self-made scribe who ironically bewails his lack 

of lineage survives the ordeal and emerges with another ancestry which is still 

alive among readers and scholars of Mamluk history and culture. 

ed. Ah˝mad Al-H˛u≠f| and Badaw| T˛aba≠nah (Cairo, n.d.), 32. 

122 Luma‘ al-Qawa≠n|n. 

123 Ibid., 24–25. 



THOMAS HERZOG 

UNIVERSITY OF HALLE 

The First Layer of the S|rat Baybars: 

Popular Romance and Political Propaganda 

We know quite a lot about the setting of the S|rat Baybars and of other popular 

siyar, 1 the Arabic popular romances. European travellers and scholars of the 

eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, among others Carsten Niebuhr, 2 Edward 

William Lane, 3 and the authors of the Description de l'Egypte, 4 reported that 

storytellers recited in the coffeehouses of the big cities. In Damascus and Cairo, 

for a "trifling sum of money," 5 they related different sorts of entertaining stories, 

especially the popular siyar, S|rat ‘Antarah ibn Shadda≠d, S|rat Ban| Hila≠l, S|rat 

Sayf ibn Dh| Yazan, and the S|rat al-Malik al-Z˛a≠hir Baybars. This last text is the 

subject of this essay. 

We know next to nothing about the genesis and the development of these 

texts. Most of the complete s|rah manuscripts at our disposal are relatively late 

versions of these texts. Of the older layers of the siyar sha‘b|yah only fragmentary 

remnants have survived. The nature of the siyar texts poses further problems: the 

siyar sha‘b|yah are clearly anonymous stories, created by several authors who 

regularly revised and recreated their texts, thus adapting them to the expectations 

and taste of their audience. In this sense, the popular romances are the structural 

opposites of texts representing classical Arabic literature, which were created by 

single authors and which show the influence of their socio-political milieu. 


1 Plural of s|rah, meaning in this context account of life history, biography. The most famous 

example of a learned s|rah is the S|rat al-Nab|, the biography of the Prophet Muh˝ammad. See 

Marco Schoeller, Exegetisches Denken und Prophetenbiographie (Wiesbaden, 1998), 37–49. The 

term siyar sha‘b|yah (popular siyar) was "coined by Arab folklorists in the 1950s for a genre of 

lengthy Arabic heroic narratives that in Western languages are called either 'popular epics' or 

'popular romances.'" See Peter Heath, "S|ra Sha‘biyya," The Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2nd ed., 

9:664. 

2 Carsten Niebuhr, Beschreibung von Arabien aus eigenen Beobachtungen und im Lande selbst 

gesammelten Nachrichten abgefasst (Copenhagen, 1772), 106–7. 

3 Edward William Lane, An Account of the Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians 

(London, 1846), 2:103–44. See also Alfred von Kremer, Ägypten: Forschungen über Land und 

Volk während eines zehnjährigen Aufenthalts (Leipzig, 1863), 2:305–6. 

4 Charles Louis Fleury Panckoucke, ed., Description de l'Egypte ou recueil des observations et 

des recherches qui ont été faites en Egypte pendant l'expédition de l'armée française, vol. 18, Etat 

Moderne (Paris, 1821–30), 161–62. 

5 Lane, Modern Egyptians, 2:103. 



138 THOMAS HERZOG, THE FIRST LAYER OF THE S|RAT BAYBARS 

In order to establish the time, place and social context of the genesis of a text 

such as the S|rat Baybars, we have to rely on the indirect evidence provided by 

the text itself, such as specific references to the social or political points of view 

of its creators. Such an analysis gives us insight into the different functions that 

the s|rah acquired in the course of its development. 

Evidence shows that the S|rat Baybars is a composite text in which three 

layers of text development can be distinguished; those layers originated in three 

different eras and social environments that merged in a process we can no longer 

reconstruct. For this article, we will not concentrate on the "adventure-romance" 

from the fifteenth century, which forms most of the s|rah. Nor will we talk about 

Baybars' youth and ascent in the s|rah, a part of the text in which Baybars is built 

up as a counter-image to the despotic sultans of the fourteenth and fifteenth 

centuries and in which the ummah's anger found its expression regarding corruption 

and abuse of power at the time of the great crisis of the Mamluk Empire (at the 

end of the fourteenth and the beginning of the fifteenth century). 6 Instead, we shall 

concentrate on the oldest layer of the legendary biography of the great Mamluk 

sultan Baybars I. Although initially assumed to be a product of the second half of 

the fourteenth and of the fifteenth century, we established in the course of our 

investigation that—judging by the representation of Sultan Baybars and of several 

other historical figures—the s|rah seems to have been inspired by the spirit of the 

second half of the thirteenth century, thus the early period of the Mamluk Empire. 

Our line of argument is based essentially on two elements: first on the representation 

of Sultan Baybars as the virtuous guardian of Ayyubid legitimacy, and second on 

the representation of a series of historical rivals to Baybars and the Z˛a≠hir|yah 

Mamluks. 

One of the greatest problems facing the Mamluks at the beginning of their rule 

was that of legitimacy. If the Ayyubid house, which had ruled before them, had 

been legitimized by its descent and by investiture by the caliph of Baghdad, the 

military slaves that finally came to power with Baybars could not legitimize 

themselves either by descent—having been born in non-Islamic lands—or, for a 

transitional period after the Mongol seizure of Baghdad, by the religious authority 

of the caliph. In this context, if we examine the representation of Baybars in the 

s|rah, his origins, his rise, and how he finally took over power, details that at first 

seem merely to glorify the hero of an adventure story suddenly form a coherent 

unity. 

Indeed, from his introduction in the romance, the representation of Baybars 

seems entirely motivated by the idea of the legitimation of Mamluk rule. Although 

6 

For this, see my Ph.D. thesis to be published in 2002 ("Genese, Überlieferung und Bedeutung 

der S|rat Baibars in ihrem sozio-politischen Kontext"). 




he is shown as a military slave—it would have been unconvincing to try to 

disguise it—Baybars is in the s|rah Muslim by birth, bears the name of Mah˝mu≠d, 

and is the son of the king of Khurasan, who became a slave after he had been 

betrayed by his brothers. 7 Baybars does not stay a slave for long: in Damascus, 

where he is first brought after having been enslaved and where he is serving as a 

house slave, a rich widow "adopts" 8 him because he resembles her deceased son. 

She names him after her son Baybars and makes him the master of her fortune. 9 It 

is in Damascus that the four aqt¸a≠b, in Sufi belief the mystical poles of the universe 10 

(in the s|rah Ah˝mad al-Badaw|, al-Dasu≠q|, al-J|la≠n|, and the s˝a≠h˝ib al-waqt 11 ), 

appear to Baybars and pray for him. It is also in Damascus that during the Laylat 

al-Qadr, the Night of Destiny in which people believe that God determines the 

fate of men for the following year, the gates of heaven open to Baybars. He is told 

that he will become sultan of Egypt and Syria. 12 Having come to Cairo, Baybars 

quickly rises in rank, becomes commander of a Mamluk regiment, wa≠l|, muh˝tasib, 

and governor of several provinces. Finally, Baybars is "adopted" by the Ayyubid 

sultan al-S˛a≠lih˝ and his spouse in the s|rah, Shajarat al-Durr, 13 thus recovering a 

7 

S|rat al-Malik al-Z˛a≠hir Baybars, ed. Jama≠l al-Gh|t¸a≠n| (Cairo, 1996), 469. This is a re-edition in 

five volumes with new pagination of the first edition by al-H˛a≠jj Muh˝ammad Am|n Dirba≠l (Cairo, 

1326–27/1908–9) and the second edition by Muh˝ammad ‘Abd al-Lat¸|f al-H˛ija≠z| (Cairo, 

1341–44/1923–26). Whereas the betrayal of Baybars' brothers shows obvious borrowings from the 

story of Joseph in the Bible and the Quran (Genesis 37:4 and Quran 12:5), Baybars' fictitious 

origins go back to the origins of his predecessor Qut¸uz al-Muz˝affar as related by some Arab 

historians. Ibn Iya≠s reports, citing Ibn al-Jawz|, that Qut¸uz had once been beaten by his master Ibn 

al-Za‘|m, over which he bitterly wept. Being asked why he wept so bitterly because of a single 

blow he answered: "'I only weep because he cursed my father and my grandfather, whilst they are 

more deserving than he is.' He was asked: 'But who are your father and grandfather, aren't they 

Christians?' He said: 'No, on the contrary, I am a Muslim son of a Muslim and my name is 

Mah˝mu≠d, son of Mamdu≠d, nephew of the Khwarizm Shah, from the progeniture of the kings of 

the east. The Mongols took me as a boy, after they had defeated them.' This is why Qut¸uz was not 

a slave." (Ibn Iya≠s, Bada≠’i‘ al-Zuhu≠r f| Waqa≠’i‘ al-Duhu≠r, ed. Muh˝ammad Mus˝t¸afá as Die Chronik 

des Ibn Ija≠s [Cairo/Wiesbaden, 1960–84], 1:1:303). See also: Donald P. Little, "K˛ut¸uz," 

Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2nd ed., 5:571. 

8 

We put the word "adopts" in quotation marks, because in Islamic law full adoption does not 

exist. 

9 

Fa≠t¸imah al-Aqwas|yah was a widow and without a male descendant following the death of her 

son. There is a certain resemblance to the s|rah of the Prophet, although it differs from it in that 

Baybars does not marry Fa≠t¸imah, which would not have suited the s|rah's story. 

10 2 

See F. de Jong, "Al-K˛ut¸b: 2. In Mysticism," EI 5:543. 

11 

"S˝a≠h˝ib al-waqt" or "S˝a≠h˝ib al-zama≠n," the temporary qutb (pole, axis; the head in the hierarchy of 

the "saints"). See de Jong, "Al-K˛ut¸b," 543. It is also one of the names of the mahd|. See Heinz 

Halm, Shiism (Edinburgh, 1991), 77. 

12 

S|rat al-Malik al-Z˛a≠hir, 159 ff. 

13 Ibid., 462. 




double royal descent, that of his father, king of Khurasan, and that of al-S˛a≠lih˝ 

Ayyu≠b, the last great Ayyubid on the throne of Egypt. 

It is interesting to observe how the s|rah's authors relate the upheaval during 

the transition from Ayyubid rule to that of the first great Mamluk sultan, al-Z˛a≠hir 

Baybars: as al-S˛a≠lih˝ dies, it is Baybars to whom he limits his succession, asking 

God to have all those who were due to become sultan before Baybars die by an 

unnatural death. 14 By this strategy, the s|rah takes into account the historical 

succession of rulers and simultaneously confirms Baybars as the true heir and 

undoubted guardian of the Ayyubid dynasty's legitimacy. In fact, Baybars refuses 

the sultanate each time a successor to al-S˛a≠lih˝ is nominated—‘¡sá al-Mu‘az˝z˝am 

Tu≠ra≠nsha≠h, al-Ashraf, al-S˛a≠lih˝ al-S˛agh|r ibn al-Ashraf (a fictive sultan), Aybak 

al-Turkuma≠n|, and al-Muz˝affar Qut¸uz, who are all shown as Ayyubids in the 

s|rah—with the vehement words: "God forbid that I take the dignity of a sultan 

under the eyes of the Ayyubid princes! Who am I to divest them of their right to 

the throne, I who once used to be their slave?" 15 

It is equally interesting to observe how the s|rah diverts historical responsibility 

from Baybars for the murder of two of al-S˛a≠lih˝'s successors, ‘¡sá al-Mu‘az˝z˝am 

Tu≠ra≠nsha≠h and Qut¸uz. The case of the first of al-S˛a≠lih˝'s successors is that of ‘¡sá 

al-Mu‘az˝z˝am Tu≠ra≠nsha≠h, al-S˛a≠lih˝'s son and immediate successor. He was apparently 

more interested in the fine arts and wine than in government or the army, and he 

was murdered by the Bah˝r|yah Mamluks under the leadership of Baybars following 

the battle of al-Mans˝u≠rah against the Crusader army of Louis IX. According to a 

number of historians it was a group probably headed by Baybars himself which 

carried out the assassination of the young sultan. 16 The authors of the s|rah, 

14 Ibid., 965–66, and the manuscript versions: Forschungs- und Landesbibliothek Gotha MS 2628, 

fol. 18a (catalogue listing: Wilhelm Pertsch, Die orientalischen Handschriften der Herzoglichen 

Bibliothek zu Gotha, pt. 3, Die arabischen Handschriften, vol. 4 [Gotha, 1883], no. 2628); British 

Library London MS Or 4649, fol. 13a (catalogue listing: Charles Rieu, Supplement to the Catalogue 

of the Arabic Manuscripts of the British Museum [London, 1894], no. 1191); Staatsbibliothek 

Berlin MS We 572, fol. 76b (catalogue listing: Wilhelm Ahlwardt, Die Handschriften-Verzeichnisse 

der Königlichen Bibliothek zu Berlin, vol. 20, Verzeichniss der arabischen Handschriften, vol. 8 

[Berlin, 1896], no. 9155 [We 561–586]); Forschungs- und Landesbibliothek Gotha MS 2600, fol. 

79a (catalogue listing: Pertsch, Die orientalischen Handschriften, no. 2600); Le roman de Baïbars, 

translated by Georges Bohas and Jean-Patrick Guillaume from a nineteenth-century Aleppo 

manuscript (Paris, 1985– ), 6:76 f. 

15 Bohas/Guillaume, Roman, 6:83 f. 

16 The following historians state that Baybars was the leader of the group that murdered Tu≠ra≠nsha≠h 

or, alternatively, that he assassinated him personally: Muh˝ammad ibn Sa≠lim Ibn Wa≠s˝il, "Mufarrij 

al-Kuru≠b f| Akhba≠r Ban| Ayyu≠b," Paris Bibliothèque Nationale MS Ar 1702, fol. 371a–b; Muh˝y| 

al-D|n Ibn ‘Abd al-Z˛a≠hir, Al-Rawd˝ al-Za≠hir f| S|rat al-Malik al-Z˛a≠hir, ed. ‘Abd al-Az|z Khuwayt¸ir 

(Riyadh, 1396/1976), 50; Isma≠‘|l ibn ‘Al| Abu≠ al-Fida≠’, Al-Mukhtas˝ar f| Akhba≠r al-Bashar 




however, do not make ‘¡sá al-Mu‘az˝z˝am Tu≠ra≠nsha≠h die directly by Baybars' hand 

but rather show his death as God's punishment for a sinful way of life. In the 

s|rah, ‘¡sá becomes completely drunk while sitting on an elevated seat he had 

built in order to be able to watch the battle of al-Mans˝u≠rah against the Frankish 

troops and falls, breaking his neck. 17 

The case of the second successor of al-S˛a≠lih˝ for whose death Baybars is 

responsible is that of al-Muz˝affar Qut¸uz, the hero of the battle of ‘Ayn Ja≠lu≠t 

against the Mongols, a Mamluk just like Baybars. While the historical Qut¸uz was 

trapped by Baybars in an ambush and killed in cold blood, 18 the s|rah's Qut¸uz is 

murdered by Frankish spies. 

Obviously the s|rah had to convince its audience of Baybars' innocence; it 

could not entirely suppress his historical role in these events, but it skilfully 

integrated the allegations against Baybars and invalidated them. So ‘¡sá does not 

die at the hands of the future sultan, but gets caught in the ladder of his elevated 

seat, stumbles and falls while fearing the anger of Baybars, who furiously approaches 

him in the middle of the battle, having seen him drinking while watching the 

battle. In the case of Qut¸uz, Baybars' historical responsibility for the murder finds 

expression in the account that the Frankish spies who murder Qut¸uz leave by the 

side of the corpse a slip of paper on which Baybars declares his responsibility for 

the crime. 19 

Further, the account of al-S˛a≠lih˝'s different Ayyubid successors in the s|rah not 

only depicts Baybars as the altruistic guardian of Ayyubid legitimacy, it also 

shows that after al-S˛a≠lih˝ Ayyu≠b the Ayyubids could no longer provide a sovereign 

able to rule the empire and thus rightly lost their power to the Mamluks. All the 

(Constantinople, 1286/1870; repr., Cairo 1325/1907–8), 190–91; Abu≠ Bakr ibn ‘Abd Alla≠h Ibn 

al-Dawa≠da≠r|, Kanz al-Durar f| Ja≠mi‘ al-Ghurar (Cairo and Freiburg, 1972), 7:382–83; Isma≠‘|l ibn 

‘Umar Ibn Kath|r, Al-Bida≠yah wa-al-Niha≠yah f| al-Ta≠r|kh (Cairo, 1993–94), 13:202; Ibn Khaldu≠n, 

Kita≠b al-‘Ibar wa-D|wa≠n al-Mubtada’ wa-al-Khabar f| Ayya≠m al-‘Arab wa-al-‘Ajam wa-al-Barbar 

(Bu≠la≠q, 1284/1867), 360–61; Ah˝mad ibn ‘Al| al-Maqr|z|, Kita≠b al-Sulu≠k li-Ma‘rifat Duwal al-Mulu≠k, 

ed. Muh˝ammad Mus˝t¸afá Ziya≠dah (Cairo, 1934– ), 1:2:359–61. 

17 See: S|rat al-Malik al-Z˛a≠hir, 984; British Library MS, fol. 28a–b; Staatsbibliothek Berlin MS 

We 562, fol. 78a (catalogue listing: Ahlwardt, Handschriften-Verzeichnisse, no. 9155 [We 561–586]); 

Gotha MS 2628, fol. 19a–b. 

18 Ibn Wa≠s˝il, "Mufarrij al-Kuru≠b f| Akhba≠r Ban| Ayyu≠b," Paris Bibliothèque Nationale MS Ar 

1703, fol. 163b; Mu≠sá ibn Muh˝ammad al-Yu≠n|n|, Dhayl Mir’a≠t al-Zama≠n f| Ta≠r|kh al-A‘ya≠n 

(Hyderabad, 1374–80/1954–61), 1:370–371; al-Maqr|z|, Sulu≠k,1:2:435. Ibn ‘Abd al-Z˛a≠hir stresses 

the point that Baybars murdered Qut¸uz himself without any help: Rawd˝, 68: "The sultan al-Malik 

al-Z˛a≠hir did what he did on his own and reached his aim alone, in the midst of a powerful army 

and massive protection. And nobody was able to speak and nobody could resist him." 

19 S|rat al-Malik al-Z˛a≠hir, 1079: "It was no one else but the amir Baybars who accomplished these 

deeds and attained this destiny, [my] writing and seal testify to this." Nota bene the proximity to 

the account of Ibn ‘Abd al-Z˛a≠hir, Rawd˝, 68, cited above. 




successors of al-S˛a≠lih˝ that the s|rah calls Ayyubids are shown to be either unworthy 

of the sultanate (‘¡sá Tu≠ra≠nsha≠h, Aybak), or unsuitable for it due to their youth 

(al-S˛a≠lih˝ al-S˛agh|r), gender (Shajarat al-Durr 20 ), or finally to be entranced saints 

(awliya≠’) (al-Ashraf Khal|l, Qut¸uz) who were equally unsuited for the office of 

sultan of the Ayyubid Empire. So the s|rah depicts the transition from the Ayyubids 

to the Mamluks not only as legitimate, but also as consistent. 

In my opinion, the important place that Ayyubid legitimacy occupies in those 

parts of the s|rah dealing with the transition to the Mamluks points to the beginning 

of the Mamluk period. Whereas the vita of Baybars composed by the court biographer 

Ibn ‘Abd al-Z˛a≠hir shows him as the spiritual heir of al-Malik al-S˛a≠lih˝ Najm 

al-D|n Ayyu≠b, 21 the picture of the great sultan that Ibn ‘Abd al-Z˛a≠hir's nephew 

Sha≠fi‘ ibn ‘Al| draws some thirty years after his uncle 22 already shows the 

consolidation of Mamluk power. As P. M. Holt put it, "The Baybars of H˛usn 

al-mana≠qib is still an impressive, even an heroic figure, whose military achievements 

secured the future of Islam in Syria against the threats from the Mongols and the 

Franks. He appears, further, as an autocratic but just ruler, who was (to use a 

cliché) the true founder of the Mamluk sultanate. What he has lost is the aura of 

legitimacy as the true heir of al-S˛a≠lih˝ Ayyu≠b, by which Ibn ‘Abd al-Z˛a≠hir sought 

to disguise his twofold usurpation. But when Sha≠fi‘ wrote, Ayyubid legitimacy 

had long ceased to be a political issue, and Baybars could stand justified by his 

deeds." 23 

It is not only the picture of Baybars drawn by the s|rah that makes us presume 

that a first layer of the S|rat Baybars dates from early Mamluk times. If we look 

at the representation of several historical characters of the s|rah, we note that they 

are shown in a certain number of purely fictitious episodes of the romance in an 

extremely negative light. This evidence gains further importance since these 

characters were all historical rivals or opponents of Baybars and his Z˛a≠hir|yah 

Mamluks. Their negative representation thus faithfully reflects the conflicts of 

interest and power of the time of Baybars' rule or of those of his immediate 

successors and that from a "Baybarsian" point of view. 

The most prominent examples of this representation are those of al-Mu‘izz 

Aybak and of al-Mans˝u≠r Qala≠wu≠n. Al-Mu‘izz Aybak, who was, like Baybars, a 

Mamluk and before him—from 648/1250 to 655/1257—sultan, is shown in the 

20 

Although she is not of Ayyubid descent, the s|rah represents her nearly as such. 

21 

Ibn ‘Abd al-Z˛a≠hir, Rawd˝, 46. 

22 

Sha≠fi‘ ibn ‘Al| finished his Kita≠b H˛usn al-Mana≠qib al-Sirr|yah al-Muntaza‘ah min al-S|rah 

al-Z˛a≠hir|yah (ed. ‘Abd al-‘Az|z Khuwayt¸ir [Riyadh, 1396/1976]) in 1316. 

23 

P. M. Holt, "The Sultan as Ideal Ruler: Ayyubid and Mamluk Prototypes," in Süleyman the 

Magnificent and His Age: the Ottoman Empire in the Early Modern World, ed. Metin Kunt and 

Christine Woodhead (London and New York, 1995), 136–37. 




s|rah as a crypto-Christian and ally of the Franks, who nourishes in his heart 

hatred towards Muslims. He is introduced into the romance as king of Mosul, who 

wants to attack al-S˛a≠lih˝ Ayyu≠b's empire, but finally enters into the sultan's service 

and conspires against the Muslims from the heart of their state. 24 After the death 

of al-S˛a≠lih˝ he wants to seize power and pretends that Baybars had murdered his 

master, but his words turn out to be lies. 25 Nevertheless, Aybak threatens to "make 

the blood cool in floods" if Baybars should become sultan. 26 After the death of ‘¡sá 

Tu≠ra≠nsha≠h, Khal|l ibn ‘¡sá as al-Ashraf and al-S˛a≠lih˝ al-S˛agh|r ibn al-Ashraf 

successively become sultan, and Aybak poisons both of them and seizes power. 27 

He finally tries to assassinate Baybars as well. 28 Baybars leaves for Syria where he 

installs a counter rule. 29 It quickly comes to a conflict between Baybars and Aybak 

as the coins minted by Baybars in Damascus have a higher value and render those 

minted by Aybak worthless in the market. 30 People mock Aybak, who falls in love 

with a Bedouin girl and no longer shows any interest either in state affairs or in 

his spouse Shajarat al-Durr, who finally murders him out of jealousy. 31 

This extremely negative and, except for his death, totally unhistorical 

representation 32 of Aybak in the S|rat Baybars goes back, in my mind, to the 

historical struggle for power, to the time between the death of the last great 

Ayyubid sultan al-Malik al-S˛a≠lih˝ and the first great Mamluk sultan Baybars. 

Al-Malik al-Mu‘izz Aybak, the first Mamluk on the throne of Egypt, recognized 

the Bah˝r|yah Mamluks, one of whose leaders was Baybars, correctly as a permanent 

threat. It is true that the Bah˝r|yah did not dare to seize power immediately after 

the assassination of ‘¡sá Tu≠ra≠nsha≠h and preferred to accept temporary and unstable 

24 S|rat al-Malik al-Z˛a≠hir, 71–75, 87–92. During Baybars' rise to power in Cairo, Aybak acts 

regularly on the side of the qadi Jawa≠n, a crypto-Christian and the main evil character of the 

romance, trying to get Baybars executed (e.g., ibid., 270 ff., 744 ff.). The corrupt wa≠l| H˛asan A±gha≠ 

and his nephew the muh˝tasib (market-superintendent) Qara≠ju≠dah are also crypto-Christians from 

Aybak's entourage (ibid., 506 ff., 586 ff.) who try to harm Baybars. According to his status as 

crypto-Christian, Aybak deserts the Muslims during the battle against the Mongols and tries to 

collaborate with the latter (ibid., 773 ff.). 

25 As Aybak pretends after al-S˛a≠lih˝'s death to become the future sultan, the vizier Sha≠h|n reprimands 

him, saying that someone like him could never merit the sultanate: "And the vizier said: 'Please 

preserve a sense of decency in this matter. Somebody like you will never deserve the sultanate.'" 

(ibid., 966 ff.). 

26 British Library MS, fol. 14a. 

27 S|rat al-Malik al-Z˛a≠hir, 985 ff., 992 ff. 

28 Ibid., 1007 ff. 

29 Ibid., 1034 ff. 

30 Ibid., 1061 ff. 

31 Ibid., 1069–74. 

32 Aybak's rule over Egypt, his marriage with Shajarat al-Durr, and his neglect of her for another 

woman are the only historical elements in the s|rah's account of Aybak. 




solutions such as the rule of the female Shajarat al-Durr with Aybak as atabeg. 33 

But this circumstance did not hinder them enough to cause them to deny soon 

afterwards the legitimacy of Aybak's sultanate and to act more and more in a 

self-assured and arrogant way. 34 Fa≠ris Aqt¸ay, the leader of the Bah˝r|yah-Jamda≠r|yah 

Mamluks, began to act as the true ruler of Egypt and finally asked Aybak and his 

spouse to leave the citadel, in order to permit him to accommodate his own 

spouse, the daughter of the ruler of H˛ama≠h, in keeping with her station. 35 Aybak 

then decided to eliminate Fa≠ris and his Mamluks. On 1 January 1254 (10 Dhu≠ 

al-Qa‘dah 651), he ordered Fa≠ris Aqt¸ay to visit him at the citadel. As soon as 

Fa≠ris entered, he was captured and murdered by a troop of Aybak's personal 

Mamluks. In spite of Aybak's immediate attempt to capture the remaining Bah˝r|yah- 

Jamda≠r|yah Mamluks, the majority managed to flee. 36 

Al-Mans˝u≠r Qala≠wu≠n is the second historical figure whose extremely negative 

representation in the s|rah makes me believe that parts of the S|rat Baybars go 

back to the struggle for power in the early Mamluk period. Qala≠wu≠n, who historically 

was one of Baybars' comrades, is depicted in a number of manuscript and printed 

versions of the s|rah as a Mamluk who hates Baybars from their first encounter. 37 

On their way with a slave caravan from Bursa to Damascus, Baybars and Qala≠wu≠n 

share the same mount. Baybars, who is severely ill, suffers from diarrhea 38 and 

asks Qala≠wu≠n to help him to dismount. Qala≠wu≠n is disgusted by Baybars and 

pushes him at dawn from the animal and so Baybars nearly dies in the desert. 39 

Later, when Baybars has already become sultan, Qala≠wu≠n becomes one of his 

33 

A Turkish term used from Saljuq to Mamluk times designating a military leader mostly of slave 

origin who was acting as a tutor for a young prince. He typically married the mother of the minor 

prince and thereby acquired great power. The tutorate of Aybak for Shajarat al-Durr as regent-spouse 

of the heir and widow of al-S˛a≠lih˝ Ayyu≠b is a special case. See Cahen, "Atabak," EI 2 1:731. 

34 

Peter Thorau, The Lion of Egypt, trans. P. M. Holt (London, 1992), 47. 

35 

Amalia Levanoni ("The Mamluks' Ascent to Power in Egypt," Studia Islamica 72 (1990): 

143–44) writes: "Being the accepted candidate of the Bah˝riyya-Jamda≠riyya Emirs, Aqt¸ay began 

behaving like a pretender to the throne. Riding through Cairo, he acted like a sovereign. His 

Mamluk comrades already called him al-Malik al-Jawa≠d among themselves and addressed their 

requests of Iqta≠‘ to him. The climax of this process came when Aqt¸ay asked Aybak al-Turkma≠n|, 

Ata≠bak al-‘Asa≠kir, and his wife Shajar al-Durr to leave the palace of Qal‘at al-Jabal in order to 

house his bride, daughter of the ruler of Hamah, in a residence befitting a princess." 

36 

See Thorau, The Lion of Egypt, 47. 

37 

See, for instance, Staatsbibliothek Berlin MS We 561, fol. 39b (catalogue listing: Ahlwardt, 

Handschriften-Verzeichnisse, no. 9155 [We 561–586]). 

38 

"Batņatuhu ma≠shiyah," ibid. 

39 

See also Vatican Library MS Barberiniani Orientali 15, fol. 4a (catalogue listing: Giorgio Levi 

Della Vida, Elenco dei manoscritti arabi islamici della biblioteca vaticana: Vaticani, Barberiniani, 

Borgiani, Rossiani [Vatican City, 1935]); Gotha MS 2628, fol. 5b; and Bohas/Guillaume, Roman, 

1:80–81. 




permanent opponents. He tries to seize power by any means, even murder. So he 

poisons Baybars 40 and then his two sons al-Sa‘|d 41 and Ah˝mad Sala≠mish. 42 When, 

after the murder of al-Sala≠mish, the people of Cairo hear that Qala≠wu≠n has become 

the new sultan, they decide to kill him on his triumphant entry into the city. 43 They 

throw stones at Qala≠wu≠n even before he enters Cairo, so the vizier Sha≠h|n advises 

him to enter the city by night from behind the citadel. After having entered the 

city secretly, Qala≠wu≠n sends the army, which slaughters one third of Cairo's 

population. The vizier advises Qala≠wu≠n to declare peace, but the latter does not 

listen to him. The vizier responds: "This man is a traitor. He cannot hope for 

anything else than the sword from us. [Indeed] he must be put to death!" 44 Following 

the printed version of the s|rah, the people of Cairo make fun of Qala≠wu≠n at his 

entry into the city: "Who for heaven's sake has put this one on the throne?" 

Furious, Qala≠wu≠n orders the ulama to draw up a fatwá declaring that such behavior 

is to be punished by the sword, and he lets his soldiers loose on the people of 

Cairo for three days. Qala≠wu≠n himself tries to rape Ta≠j Bakht, Baybars' spouse, 

but she flees to a poor woman who gives shelter to her and her children. 45 The 

famous hospital Qala≠wu≠n constructed in Cairo is also shown as a diabolic invention: 

having realized his sinful way of living, 46 Qala≠wu≠n builds a hospital. In spite of 

healing sick people, Qala≠wu≠n forces the doctors to concoct a poison, which he 

gives to a man who tries to approach one of his concubines. The man dies in a 

spectacular way and the sultan's concubine is driven crazy. There is little doubt 

that this story excited the erotic imagination of the storytellers' audiences. Qala≠wu≠n 

then builds a hospital for lunatics where the patients are healed by music. 47 

According to the s|rah, the son of al-Mans˝u≠r Qala≠wu≠n, al-Ashraf Khal|l, who 

reigned after his father's death from 689/1290 to 693/1293, did not inherit his 

40 

S|rat al-Malik al-Z˛a≠hir, 3078–80. 

41 

Paris Bibliothèque Nationale MS no. 4997, pt. 24 (catalogue listing: Edgar Blochet, Catalogue 

des manuscrits arabes des nouvelles acquisitions [Paris 1925], nos. 4981–97); Forschungs- und 

Landesbibliothek Gotha MS 2609, fol. 67b (catalogue listing: Pertsch, Die orientalischen 

Handschriften, no. 2609); S|rat al-Malik al-Z˛a≠hir, 3071. 

42 


43 

Gotha MS 2609, fol. 70a–b: "We'll kill him, if he enters [the city]." 

44 

Ibid., fol. 70b: "This man is a traitor. The only thing he can await from us is the sword. He must 

be killed." 

45 


46 

Ibid., 3112: One of the ulama who interpreted his dream for him said: "You did wrong and you 

used unlawful violence against your Muslim subjects." 

47 

Ibid. 




father's wickedness, but was inclined to the dawlat al-Z˛a≠hir 48 and is therefore 

placed by his father in the relatively remote post of governor of Damascus. 

In searching for the reasons for this extremely negative representation of 

Qala≠wu≠n in the s|rah, we can first ascertain that it neither corresponds to the 

historical record nor does it go back to an actual enmity between Baybars and 

Qala≠wu≠n. On the contrary, Qala≠wu≠n enjoyed Baybars' full confidence. 49 According 

to Sha≠fi‘ ibn ‘Al|, Baybars made a great effort to consolidate Qala≠wu≠n's position. 

Therefore, he had raised the number of soldiers under his command, given a 

better iqt¸a≠‘ to him, and increased his salary. Baybars had made Qala≠wu≠n his chief 

counsellor (ra’s al-mashu≠rah) and had "depended on him as no king had ever 

depended on an amir and as no sultan had ever depended on a counselor." 50 

Matters become clearer only if one establishes a link between Qala≠wu≠n's 

relations to al-Malik al-Z˛a≠hir Baybars' Mamluks. Qala≠wu≠n had indeed deposed 

the young sultan al-Sa‘|d with the backing of the S˛a≠lih˝|yah Mamluks and had 

therefore kept the younger Z˛a≠hir|yah Mamluks away from state power. 51 During 

the next sultanate of Baybars' underaged son al-Sala≠mish, Qala≠wu≠n de facto already 

ruled the empire 52 and made use of the time to place his men from among the 

S˛a≠lih˝|yah Mamluks—his comrades in having served al-Malik al-S˛a≠lih˝ Najm al-D|n 

Ayyu≠b—in a series of key positions. 53 Having thus consolidated his power, Qala≠wu≠n 

finally put himself on the throne through the S˛a≠lih˝|yah amirs, who definitely 

invited the enmity of the Z˛a≠hir|yah Mamluks. Indeed, he suffered during most of 

48 

Ibid., 3115: Khal|l asks the Ismailian Ibra≠h|m al-H˛awra≠n| what he should do against his father's 

behavior: "O my commander, my father used violence and did wrong against the dynasty of 

al-Z˛a≠hir; he is anxious to turn me away from the dynasty of al-Z˛a≠hir. [So] he banished me to 

Damascus and made me [his] governor there. Indeed I hate injustice and immoderateness! Al-Malik 

al-Z˛a≠hir did not harm us in any way; he even let my father kill his sons." See also S|rat al-Malik 

al-Z˛a≠hir, 3118: "The deeds of King Khal|l after his father ['s death] and how he was inclined to the 

dynasty of al-Malik al-Z˛a≠hir." 

49 

Several anecdotes from the year 661/1262–63 prove this. Ibn ‘Abd al-Z˛a≠hir, Rawd˝, 148, 166–69, 

181; al-Maqr|z|, Sulu≠k, 1:2:480–81, 501. (Cited from Linda S. Northrup, From Slave to Sultan 

[Stuttgart, 1998], 72). 

50 

Sha≠fi‘ ibn ‘Al|, "Al-Fad˝l al-Ma’thu≠r min S|rat al-Sult¸a≠n al-Malik al-Mans˝u≠r," Oxford Bodleian 

MS Marsh HS 424, fol. 4a; Ibn ‘Abd al-Z˛a≠hir, Rawd˝, 166–69, 181; David Ayalon, "Studies on the 

Structure of the Mamlu≠k Army, part III," Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 16 

(1954), 69. (Cited from Northrup, From Slave, 73). 

51 

See Northrup, From Slave, 78–80. 

52 

Ibid, 78–83. 

53 

As atabeg, Qala≠wu≠n had many of the rights of a sultan. His name was included along with 

Sala≠mish in the khut¸bah and was minted on one side of the coins. See: al-Yu≠n|n|, Dhayl, 4:5; Ibn 

Kath|r, Bida≠yah, 13:322; Muh˝ammad ibn Sha≠kir al-Kutub|, "‘Uyu≠n al-Tawa≠r|kh," Da≠r al-Kutub 

MS 949 ta≠r|kh, vol. 21, pt. 1, fol. 191; Muh˝ammad ibn ‘Abd al-Rah˝|m Ibn al-Fura≠t, Ta≠r|kh Ibn 

al-Fura≠t, ed. Qust¸ant¸|n Zurayq (Beirut, 1936–42), 8:148. (Cited from Northrup, From Slave, 81). 




his regency from their opposition. 54 It is for this reason that Ibn Taghr| Bird| 

reports that the Mamluks despised Qala≠wu≠n, for they believed that Qala≠wu≠n had 

poisoned al-Sa‘|d. 55 In fact, Qala≠wu≠n did not assassinate al-Sa‘|d after his deposition, 

but banished him to al-Karak, where the latter died in March of the following year 

(1280) under unclear circumstances. The following year Qala≠wu≠n authorized al- 

Sa‘|d's mother to bury her son in Baybars' mausoleum in Damascus, a ceremony 

that took place during Qala≠wu≠n's stay in the city. It is highly probable that this 

public mise en scène of his attachment to the deceased and his family was supposed 

to stop rumors of Qala≠wu≠n's responsibility for al-Sa‘|d's death. 56 

Not only the Z˛a≠hir|yah Mamluks, but also a certain number of elderly S˛a≠lih˝|yah 

amirs had reason to feel themselves ignored. It is true that they had been rewarded 

by Qala≠wu≠n for their backing, but in principal they had the same rights to the 

throne as he had. It is not astonishing then that al-Maqr|z| reports that Qala≠wu≠n, 

having become sultan, did not dare to ride out in public because of his fear of the 

S˛a≠lih˝|yah and the Z˛a≠hir|yah Mamluks' jealousy. According to al-Maqr|z|, the 

people heard about it and began insulting him at night, shouting in the dark under 

the citadel. They defiled his coat-of-arms and insulted his amirs, so that he finally 

avoided contact with the people. 57 

As we can see, the authors of the episodes focussing on al-Mans˝u≠r Qala≠wu≠n 

have adopted quite faithfully the critique of the Z˛a≠hir|yah Mamluks, who felt 

betrayed by Baybars' successors. It seems as if these authors belonged to the 

milieu of the Z˛a≠hir|yah or the S˛a≠lih˝|yah Mamluks who were mourning their old 

sultan. 

It is of course possible that the negative image of Qala≠wu≠n did not focus on 

Qala≠wu≠n as the rival of the Z˛a≠hir|yah Mamluks but was rather created only at the 

end of the thirteenth century and aimed at Qala≠wu≠n as the ancestor of the Qalawunid 

"dynasty." This view is expressed by Ibn Iya≠s at the beginning of the sixteenth 

century in his commentary on the seizure of power by the first Circassian sultan, 

al-Z˛a≠hir Barqu≠q, in 1382. He notes that the last sultan of the Qalawunids, al-Malik 

al-S˛a≠lih˝ al-H˛ajj|, took the regnal name of al-Mans˝u≠r as did his ancestor Qala≠wu≠n 

and that Barqu≠q had snatched power from the descendents of Qala≠wu≠n just as 

Qala≠wu≠n had snatched it from Baybars' sons with the words: "Just as one takes, it 

is taken from him." 58 

54 Northrup, From Slave, 87. 

55 Abu≠ al-Mah˝a≠sin Yu≠suf Ibn Taghr| Bird|, Al-Nuju≠m al-Za≠hirah f| Mulu≠k Mis˝r wa-al-Qa≠hirah 

(Cairo, 1929–72), 7:272. (Cited from Northrup, From Slave, 88). 

56 Northrup, From Slave, 89. 

57 Al-Maqr|z|, Sulu≠k, I:3:672; see also the French translation by Etienne Quatremère, Histoire des 

sultans mamlouks de l'Egypte (Paris, 1837–45), 2:14–15. (Cited from Northrup, From Slave, 88). 

58 See Ibn Iya≠s, Kita≠b Ta≠r|kh Mis˝r al-Mashhu≠r bi-Bada≠’i‘ al-Zuhu≠r f| Waqa≠’i‘ al-Duhu≠r (Bu≠la≠q, 




The thesis that parts of the S|rat Baybars initially go back to a propaganda text 

of early Mamluk times, and the view that they aimed at legitimizing Barqu≠q's 

seizure of power by shedding a negative light on Qala≠wu≠n, are not mutually 

exclusive. Texts like the S|rat Baybars are complex structures in constant 

development. They integrate new elements, conserve or eliminate old evidence, 

and interpret such elements in new contexts and in a new manner. 

In my view, the evidence indicates that the first layer of the S|rat Baybars was 

created in the last decades of the thirteenth century by persons or their descendants 

whose accounts obviously still testify to the conflicts of the time of Baybars and 

his immediate successors, and who therefore clearly take a political stand in them. 

1311/1893/94), 1:290, lines 5–8. I thank Jean-Claude Garcin for identifying this passage. 



AMILA BUTUROVI 

YORK UNIVERSITY 

The Shadow Play in Mamluk Egypt: The Genre and Its Cultural 

Implications 

The growing, albeit still meager, scholarship on Ibn Da≠niya≠l brings him into focus 

as one of the wittiest men of letters in medieval Arabo-Islamic culture, and hails 

his work as a pioneering expression of Arabic drama. Such complimentary 

proclamations of Ibn Da≠niya≠l's artistic stature counteract a long-standing textual 

and contextual marginalization of Ibn Da≠niya≠l: "textual," due to a habitual scholarly 

neglect of non-canonical genres, including the shadow play; and "contextual," thanks 

to an enduring notion that the Mamluks had a rather unimpressive cultural and 

literary record that does not merit comprehensive analysis. 1 As both areas are now 

being reassessed and Ibn Da≠niya≠l has started to attract interest, he emerges as one 

of the most challenging and exotic authors of medieval times. Even so, the conceptual 

ambiguity related to the development of dramatic art in medieval Arabo-Islamic 

culture, the semantic difficulties of his idiom, and a critical apparatus inadequate to 

tackle the peculiarities of the genre have resulted in the ongoing neglect of Ibn 

Da≠niya≠l as a playwright. Instead, when studied, his work is usually compared or 

related to the mainstream literary heritage of the medieval Arabs at the expense of 

a more complex assessment of his dramaturgy. Although the merits of such an 

approach need not be belittled, the main feature of Ibn Da≠niya≠l's work—namely, 

its dramaturgy—has been seriously overshadowed by concerns about its textuality. 

To be fair, such scholarly tendencies are not surprising. Ibn Da≠niya≠l's plays 

come to us as texts, not as performances, and as such, they raise a series of textual 

questions. For example, the syntactical and lexical intricacies resulting from Ibn 

Da≠niya≠l's hopscotch between colloquial and standard Arabic, numerous 

orthographic and phonetic alterations for the sake of rhythm and rhyme, his parodic 

references to great men of letters, and his masterful leaps between prose and 


1 For example, Ibn Da≠niya≠l is only briefly referred to in studies such as Ah˝mad ‘Abd al-Ra≠ziq, La 

femme au temps des Mamlouks en Égypte (Cairo, 1973); Boaz Shoshan, "High Culture and 

Popular Culture in Medieval Islam," Studia Islamica 73 (1991): 67–107; Ulrich Haarmann, "Regional 

Sentiment in Medieval Islamic Egypt," Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 43 

(1980): 55–66; idem, "Arabic in Speech, Turkish in Lineage: Mamluks and Their Sons in the 

Intellectual Life of Fourteenth Century Egypt and Syria," Journal of Semitic Studies 33 (1988): 

81–114; Barbara Flemming, "Literary Activities in Mamlu≠k Halls and Barracks," in Studies in 

Memory of Gaston Wiet, ed. M. R. Ayalon (Jerusalem, 1977), 16; whereas in Reynold A. Nicholson's 

Literary History of the Arabs (London, 1907) there is no mention of Ibn Da≠niya≠l at all. 



150 AMILA BUTUROVI, THE SHADOW PLAY IN MAMLUK EGYPT 

poetry, all make textual analysis a quite formidable task. Moreover, the manuscripts 

themselves—the Istanbul, the Madrid, and the two Cairo ones—reveal an array of 

incongruities arising from the copyists' errors in transcribing Ibn Da≠niya≠l's 

colloquialisms, puns, and occasional gibberish. In this sense, the literary challenge 

is profound and the overall findings still incomplete. In short, nobody has managed 

so far either to edit or translate the texts of Ibn Da≠niya≠l's plays with full confidence 

and total satisfaction. 

This article, however, aims to transcend strict textual concerns in order to 

highlight the performative quality of Ibn Da≠niya≠l's khaya≠l al-z˝ill, the shadow play. 

The article proposes a joint assessment of content and form while both 

acknowledging the difficulty, and highlighting the necessity, of understanding the 

shadow play's triangular mode of dramaturgic communication that involves the 

puppets, the puppeteer, and the audience. Moreover, since Ibn Da≠niya≠l's trilogy 

T˛ayf al-Khaya≠l is discussed first and foremost as performance art, its relational 

qualities are enhanced. This enables us to look at the shadow play as an interactive 

genre and to shift its analysis from textual to a performative production of meaning. 

It is my contention, therefore, that a more appropriate understanding of Ibn Da≠niya≠l's 

shadow plays must lie in the discussion of the khaya≠l al-z˝ill as performance art 

situated in the larger context of Mamluk society and culture. This, in fact, is the 

will of the author Ibn Da≠niya≠l himself. In the prologue to his trilogy, he makes a 

plea to the commissioner of the plays to suspend any critical judgment of his work 

until the performance is carried out in full: 

You wrote to me, ingenious master, wanton buffoon, may your 

position still be lofty and your veil inaccessible, mentioning that 

khaya≠l al-z˝ill lost its popularity as its quality slackened due to 

repetitiveness. You therefore asked me to produce something in 

this genre with fine and original characters. Modesty overcame me 

because of the subject of your request—which you would later 

introduce as mine—but then I realized that my refusal would lead 

you to assume that either I was not interested or that I lacked ideas 

and talent, regardless of my ample inspiration and natural gift. So I 

indulged in the domain of their unruly dominion and decided to 

comply with your request. I thus composed witty ba≠ba≠t of high, 

not low, literary quality. When you sketch the characters, cut out 

their parts, put them together, and then project them before the 

audience through a candle-lit screen, you will see that they are an 

innovative example, surpassing other such plays in truth. 2 

2 Ibn Da≠niya≠l al-Maws˝il|, "Kita≠b T˛ayf al-Khaya≠l," Istanbul, Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi MS 648 




KHAYA≠L AL-Z˛ILL AS PERFORMANCE ART: THE ANALYTICAL FRAMEWORK 

Standing above the analysis of Ibn Da≠niya≠l's khaya≠l al-z˝ill is the question of 

whether the Arabs ever knew drama. Traditionally answered in the negative, this 

question is probably as old as the criticism of the Arab intellectual heritage itself. 3 

Based on Aristotelian models, scholarly negations are quick in pointing out the 

medieval Arab lack of both cultural and analytical frameworks to understand 

Aristotle's terminology associated with this mimetic genre. But sticking to the 

Aristotelian definition of drama as a representation of life excludes rather sweepingly 

a whole range of performative genres of the non-Hellenic kind in which form and 

content are more fluidly, or just differently, engaged than they are in the Greek 

drama. In fact, a variety of such fluid possibilities exists in the Arab heritage, 

from the maqa≠mah to the h˝ika≠yah, and even, as Michael Sells suggests, to the 

qas˝|dah improvisations that can be likened to jazz performances where individual 

renderings dictate the tenor of any given tune. 4 More than these, however, the 

khaya≠l and its derivatives are the most widespread performative phenomena that 

speak to the presence and relative ubiquity of dramatic art. To that end, in his 

study on medieval Arab live theater, Moreh argues that 

The term khaya≠l/khiya≠l is well established in the sense of "live 

play" from at least the ninth century; in the tenth century it is 

employed as a synonym for h˝ika≠ya, which it eventually supersedes. 

The shadow play, on the other hand, receives its first mention only 

in the eleventh century, in Ibn al-Haytham, and then, specifically 

as khaya≠l al-z˝ill, in Ibn H˛azm. The qualification of khaya≠l by al-z˝ill, 

al-iza≠r, al-sita≠ra, etc., is reasonably clear evidence for the reference 

of the simple term to a type of performance from which it was 

necessary to differentiate this new import from the Far East. 5 

Moreh draws attention to several issues of immediate relevance: first, there is a 

historical continuity within the dramatic heritage in medieval Islam, in which the 

shadow theater plays a prominent role; second, Ibn Da≠niya≠l greatly benefited from 

Ali Pa∑a Hekimo©lu Collection (henceforth MS 1 ); Madrid, El Escorial MS 469 Derenburg Collection 

(henceforth MS 2 ); Cairo, Da≠r al-Kutub al-Mis˝r|yah MS 16 Ah˝mad Taymu≠r (henceforth MS 3 ). 

3 

Shmuel Moreh, Live Theatre and Dramatic Literature in the Medieval Arab World (New York, 

1992), Preface. 

4 

Michael Sells, Desert Tracings: Six Classic Arabian Odes (Middletown, CT, 1989); also, for 

example, Régis Blachère and Pierre Masnou, Maqa≠ma≠t (séances)/al-Hamada≠ni (Hamadhâni): 

choisies et traduites de l'arabe avec une étude sur le genre (Paris, 1957). 

5 

Shmuel Moreh, "Live Theatre in Medieval Islam," in Studies in Islamic History and Civilization: 

in Honour of Professor David Ayalon, ed. M. Sharon (Jerusalem, 1986), 60–61. 




the continuity of performative genres by deploying the term khaya≠l "in all its 

shades of meaning for puns and paronomasia" 6 ; third, medieval Muslim writers 

distinguished well among different types of performance arts, which exposes the 

misconception that their usage of the terms was random because of a general lack 

of popularity of these genres; and fourth, that there exists a whole series of 

literary sources indicating the diversity of themes employed by performative artists. 

Arguing that khaya≠l al-z˝ill is best understood as a performative genre, this 

article takes the approach that shadow theater can be assessed from the perspective 

of theatrical semiotics, which defines dramatic art through the specification of 

four indispensable elements: (1) the presentation of human relationships (2) 

organized into a story (3) to an audience (4) by conscious and present agents. 7 The 

presence of all these necessary elements in the shadow play, though not always in 

an obvious and linear way, points to its integrity as dramatic art and highlights 

relational modes in the enactment of text and the assignment of meaning. 

This proposition lends itself to the question about the ways in which theatrical 

interaction takes place, especially in the shadow play. Here, the theory of Possible 

Worlds may give a useful insight. As Darko Suvin explains, "in theatre, dramaturgic 

story and spacetime induce, by the interaction between the existents, events, and 

relationships being ostended and the audience for which they are ostended, a 

specific Possible World." 8 In other words, the audience, positioning itself within 

the existing system of values, interacts with the dramatized state of affairs by 

inducing a world in which such relations are possible, not actual. The emphasis on 

the interaction between the stage and the audience is therefore significant not only 

to make sense of the text but of its visual representations through the prism of a 

shared cultural repertoire. While differences among individual spectators will 

generate a certain level of divergence in this interpretive process, the attempt is to 

highlight the aspects of the performance that could possibly relate to the actual 

world. To that end, common cultural denominators are required for the recognition, 

de-semantization, and re-semantization of all theatrical signs. Here a cue can be 

taken from Umberto Eco's argument that "in the mise-en-scène an object, first 

recognized as a real object, is then assumed as a sign in order to refer back to 

another object (or to a class of objects) whose constitutive stuff is the same as that 

of the representing object." 9 

6 

Ibid., 46. 

7 

Darko Suvin, "Approaches to Topoanalysis and to the Paradigmatics of Dramaturgic Space," 

Poetics Today 8 (1987): 312. 

8 

Darko Suvin, "The Performance Text as Audience-Stage Dialog Inducing a Possible World," 

Versus 42 (1987): 15. 

9 

Umberto Eco, "Semiotics of Theatrical Performance," The Drama Review 21 (1977): 111. 




By analogy, the shadow plays of Ibn Da≠niya≠l also offer an alternative vision 

of the actual world through the creation of an imaginary state of affairs represented 

by shadow figures. Of course, the specificity of the shadow theater calls for 

further elucidation of the nature of theatrical signification. The most recognizable 

feature of this genre, from which the name itself derives, is the casting of shadows 

of flat, leather figures (usually ashkha≠s˝ in Arabic) onto a white screen (usually 

sita≠rah, sitr, or iza≠rah in Arabic) by means of a lamp (fa≠nu≠s), candle (sham‘) or 

other source of light. The settings used for this purpose are usually of two kinds: 

portable and permanent. The portable consists of a box into which the puppeteer 

(usually khaya≠l|, muqaddim, or muh˝arrik in Arabic) enters and maneuvers the 

source of light and the figures so as to create a shadow-play effect without being 

seen himself. In contrast, the permanent (and the more complex) setting involves 

a large screen as the stage that divides the audience and the puppeteer. A curious 

deviation from these common methods of casting shadows is a technique described 

by Ibn H˛azm (d. 456/1064), involving a rapidly revolving wheel onto which the 

figures are fastened in the order of appearance in the play. 10 As the wheel, interposed 

between the source of light and the screen, spins, the figures consecutively cast 

their shadows and thus carry out the performance. Although the human factor 

cannot be excluded in the realization of the action, it is plausible that such a show 

was silent and the role of the puppeteer confined to a mere tah˝r|k function. This 

mode of performance, however, seems to have been rather uncommon. 

The absence of human beings as visible dramaturgic agents and their replacement 

with one-dimensional shadows certainly carries some drawbacks that have to be 

compensated for at another level of theatrical communication. Here, action happens 

as the puppeteer animates the figures through a range of audio-visual effects. 

Because the function of the stage is assumed by a white screen onto which the 

shadows are projected, the screen determines the boundaries of "a spatio-temporal 

elsewhere represented as though actually present for the audience." 11 The set of 

relations on that stage is threefold: the puppeteer, the figures, and the shadows. 

Their synchronization is not only semiotic but mimetic, since it is the puppeteer's 

conscious "acting," along with the figures' signification, that ultimately achieves 

an "elsewhere" which resembles as well as points to the actual world. The usage 

of props is considerably reduced, and their presence only vaguely marks the space 

of action (e.g., indoors/outdoors; sea/land; city/countryside, etc.). A more complex 

communication, because of such limited usage of props, is therefore achieved 

through the deployment of additional narrative markers. 

10 ‘Al| ibn Ah˝mad Ibn H˛azm, Kita≠b al-Akhla≠q wa-al-Siyar (Beirut, 1985), 30. 

11 Keir Elam, The Semiotics of Theatre and Drama (London, 1980), 99. 




Furthermore, as I have argued elsewhere, 12 the verisimilitude of stage signs, or 

what semioticians refer to as "iconic identity," 13 can hardly be achieved in the 

shadow play, whereas theater proper allows it often in a rather convincing fashion. 

Similarly, the subtlety of human relations or psychological processes that can 

evolve on the stage in theater proper are hardly possible in the shadow play where 

only clumsy and rudimentary representations of human interaction can take place. 

Furthermore, the figures representing human beings in the shadow theater often 

assume grotesque representations or stereotypes based on culturally assumed 

attributes. The Turkish Karagöz is an excellent example of ethnic, gender, or 

social typifications of various Ottoman subjects. The shortcomings of the shadow 

play are thus manipulated as modes of strengthening, if problematically, the 

embedded societal relations. It is therefore very difficult, even impossible, to be 

experimental or innovative in the shadow theater. The innovation cannot come 

through spontaneity but through careful rearrangement of the long-term and familiar 

modes of representation. Thus, the deployment of leather figures as dramaturgic 

agents evokes playful yet often immediate associations between the shadows and 

the objects they iconically designate. In the majority of shadow plays, then, it is 

collectivities or types of people that are represented, not individual characters. 

The collectivity is given a primordial quality singled out and objectified in the 

shadow figure's physical trait, the accent, or the costume. The audience is thus 

placed in servitude to its own beliefs and experiences. This degree of condensation 

of collective traits into shadow representations takes to an exceptional degree one 

of the basic principles of theatrical interaction, which Umberto Eco defines as the 

transposition of stage signs from the rhetorical to the ideological level. 14 

As the one-dimensionality of its bearers of action limits the figures' mobility, 

gestural communication is often successfully compensated by the puppeteer's 

persuasive rhetorical and acting skills. In his study of the medieval Arabic shadow 

play, Ibra≠h|m H˛ama≠dah observed that "the puppeteer has to have good narrative 

skills; must know the basic principles of verse composition and be able to sing; 

must feel a special affection towards popular story-telling, riddles, and zajals. All 

in all, he must know what the audience enjoys and loves." 15 With the puppeteer's 

help, the spectators are reminded that they are already familiar with the possible 

world of the play, be it through its system of values (as in the wayang kulit, or 

12 

Amila Buturovi, "'Truly, This Land is Triumphant and Its Accomplishments Apparent!': 

Baybars's Cairo in Ibn Da≠niya≠l's 'T˛ayf al-Khaya≠l,'" in Writers and Rulers: Perspectives from 

Abbasid to Safavid Times, ed. Beatrice Gruendler and Louise Marlow (Wiesbaden, forthcoming). 

13 

Elam, The Semiotics of Theatre and Drama, 23. 

14 

Eco, "Semiotics of Theatrical Performance," 116. 

15 

Ibra≠h|m H˛ama≠dah, Khaya≠l al-Z˛ill wa-Tamth|l|ya≠t Ibn Da≠niya≠l (Cairo, 1963), 18. 




Indonesian shadow play, for example) or through recognizable contours of animate 

and inanimate objects. Thus, it is mainly the puppeteer who activates the modes 

of recognition as he animates the figures, allowing the audience to look at the 

stage not as an unknown reality but something possibly familiar. For all its limitations 

and one-dimensionality, then, the shadow theater possesses the capacity of 

intimating, if not recreating, any number of possible relations. In that process, the 

puppeteer's role is pivotal. 

While at one level, the theatrical frame is meant to be easily recognized, the 

two worlds—the actual and the possible—are sharply delineated. The audience is 

thus pulled into the production of meaning first by virtue of visual recognition of 

the contents in the theatrical frame and, secondarily, by drawing analogies and 

commentaries between the theatrical frame and the outside world. A full awareness 

of the theatrical frame and the action that happens within it ascertains the flow of 

the stage-audience dialogue, even in the case of the portable type where the stage 

would come to the audience rather than in the fixed theater setting. In fact, other 

props and markers that inaugurate and assist the production of the play—the 

lantern, the rhetorical interventions, or the music—help to confirm that "the frame 

of an activity" is established and the audience's engagement is initiated. As Erving 

Goffman argues in his study on framing devices in social life, "Given their 

understanding of what it is that is going on, individuals fit their actions to this 

understanding and ordinarily find that the ongoing world supports this fitting." 16 

Therefore, despite the seeming drawbacks and a limited scope of performance 

of action, "we are," as Suvin puts it in reference to theater at large, "in final analysis 

always dealing with human relationships." 17 In fact, the condensation of human 

qualities in shadow representations often accelerates rather than hampers this process. 

Eco's argument that every sign, "after being a mere presence, a figure of speech, 

becomes an ideological abstraction," 18 can be demonstrated quite well in the shadow 

play where only the contours of the figures are visually functional whereby their 

completeness calls for instantaneous group identifications, or evocation of "types." 

In the case of Ibn Da≠niya≠l's types, the process of association is most readily 

conducted on ethnic, professional, and gender lines. The assumed power relations 

in Mamluk society—about which a word will be said shortly—when transferred 

onto the white screen demand the bracketing off of those group traits that the 

16 

Erving Goffman, Frame Analysis: An Essay on the Organization of Experience (New York, 

1974), 247. However, in certain extraordinary mental experiences even this conspicuous framing 

may not be sufficient. Goffman thus mentions an instance of a drunken spectator who shot a 

puppet portraying the devil, 363. 

17 

Suvin, "The Performance Text," 4. 

18 

Eco, "Semiotics of Theatrical Performance," 16. 




society treats as stereotypical and therefore constant. This gives a more sociological 

orientation to an argument made already by the Prague School of semiotics, which 

says that stage semiotization occurs the moment any object is put on the stage, and 

from then on the audience's assumption is a signifying function of all that they see 

therein. 19 The significance of such "bracketing" of human form and action within 

the dramaturgic space, when perceived through the context of the Mamluk audience 

for which Ibn Da≠niya≠l wrote, raises an important concern: since we cannot determine 

the character of the audience for lack of historiographical sources, the best we can 

do is project the target audience on the basis of the plays and the milieu. 

In that sense, while the semiotic definition discloses an internal integrity of 

the shadow theater, a broader-based, sociocultural perspective demands that the 

shadow play be treated as a dynamic and rich social phenomenon that creates a 

sense of collectivity by engaging the audience in decoding the dramaturgic message. 

As the formal structure of the art demands, any successful shadow performance 

must evoke a set of associations that are both accessible and shared by the target 

audience. Unlike our current efforts to address the textual challenges of Ibn Da≠niya≠l's 

plays, the actual audience was faced with a task of quite different proportions, 

namely, of engaging actively and collectively in the production of the three plays. 

A cue here can be taken from Ward Keeler who in his study on the wayang 

kulit—the Indonesian shadow play—argues the following: 

To understand a performance as a relationship does not simply 

permit investigation to challenge commentary with observed 

reactions, however. It permits them, much more significantly, to 

integrate the art form with other kinds of relationships that obtain 

among the members of that culture. It is here that aesthetics, 

sociology, and ideology meet: in recurrent patterns in the mediation 

of self and other. 20 

Keeler's integrative approach suggests that we should not look for a cause-and-effect 

paradigm in the development of the shadow play as art performance in any given 

culture; rather, our task is primarily to discern the mechanisms that sustain the 

relationship between this art form and social life. In a similar vein, the aim here is 

not to create a causal link between Mamluk culture and the shadow-play tradition 

but to probe the relations through which Ibn Da≠niya≠l's text comes to life. To be 

sure, the challenge of this task is rather daunting: after all, unlike the Indonesian 

19 For elaborate discussion on the theatrical principles set up by this school see Ladislav Matejka 

and Irwin R. Titunik, Semiotics of Art: Prague School Contributions (Cambridge, MA, 1976). 

20 Ward Keeler, Javanese Shadow Plays, Javanese Selves (Princeton, 1987), 17. 




shadow play, which continues to thrive as performance art—thus remaining 

accessible to researchers—the Mamluk shadow play is a dead form, surviving 

only descriptively, through scant historical and literary references, and 

prescriptively, through the text by Ibn Da≠niya≠l. Although in the absence of sufficient 

data about the staging and attending of such performances we can never imagine 

these events with full confidence, we can nevertheless take up the challenge of 

"dramatizing" the possible modes of interaction and interpretations of the text. 

Ultimately, then, the intention is to analytically envision the larger picture of 

societal relations that are animated as the leather figures communicate, through 

the agency of the puppeteer, the text of Ibn Da≠niya≠l's plays to the Arabic-speaking 

audience of Mamluk Egypt. 

KHAYA≠L AL-Z˛ILL IN HISTORY: THE MAMLUKS AND BEYOND 

A historical question comes to mind: is the medieval Arabic shadow play necessarily 

tied to any particular aesthetic, ideological, or cultural framework? What is its 

historical function? What are its themes? Unlike the Chinese shadow play, which 

has a liturgical place in popular Chinese religion, 21 the Indonesian wayang kulit, 

which enacts the stories of the Ramayana and the Mahabarata, or the Ottoman 

Karagöz, which focuses on themes from everyday life through slapstick humor, 

the medieval Arabic shadow play had a more diverse, yet probably less ubiquitous 

presence in cultural history. On the one hand, it appears quite difficult to trace 

chronological and textual connections among different styles of shadow-play 

performances—and we know that there were several—in the medieval Islamic 

world. On the other hand, the extant historical evidence demonstrates the flexibility 

of this genre and its ability to adjust to the specificity of its different sociohistorical 

contexts. 

While not indigenous to Islamic cultures, the shadow play found in Da≠r al-Isla≠m 

a rather receptive ground. That the Fatimids already knew this theater is inadvertently 

documented by the ophthalmologist Ibn al-Haytham. 22 It was also known in another 

corner of the Arab world, as is attested by the Andalusian Ibn H˛azm (d. 456/1064), 

who also alludes to a type of shadow play that appears to be unknown in the 

Mashriq. Commonly, the argument is made that the shadow play was a low and 

popular form of entertainment. For example, Jacob Landau states: 

For generations the "Shadow-Play" was nearly the only amusement 

which even the humblest could enjoy. The Shadow-Theatre, the 

artistic level of which is not high, could flourish even in a country 

21 

Fan Pen Chen, "The Chinese Shadow Theatre: Popular Religion, and Women Warriors," an 

unpublished monograph, 10–15. 

22 

Ibn al-Haytham, Kita≠b al-Mana≠z˝ir, ed. A. I. Sabra (Kuwait, 1983), 3:6, 408. 




torn by internecine wars and strifes, which delayed its cultural 

development and impoverished its inhabitants. Hence the popular 

character of the Shadow Theatre in the Arab countries, especially 

in Egypt and Syria. 23 

However, the themes of the shadow play, as well as extant historical evidence, 

point to a different situation. The historian Ibra≠h|m H˛ama≠dah is inclined to believe 

that, at least in Fatimid times, this theater penetrated into both popular and courtly 

milieux because it explored themes that appealed to both types of audience. 24 This 

view can certainly find theoretical justification: as Stuart Hall remarks, "popular 

forms become enhanced in cultural value, go up the cultural escalator—and find 

themselves on the opposite side. Other things cease to have high cultural value, 

and are appropriated into the popular, becoming transformed in the process." 25 

Indeed, labeling the medieval shadow play as either popular or courtly, rather than 

both, obscures a whole range of historical evidence that points to the criss-crossings 

of its social and cultural frameworks. Thus, we know that in Ayyubid Egypt court 

functionaries had access to the shadow play just as common people did, as is 

attested by the ambivalence shown towards the shadow play by Saladin and 

al-Qa≠d˝| al-Fa≠d˝il in 567/1171. 26 

In Egypt under the Mamluks, local historiographers treat the shadow play as 

one of the common forms of entertainment. Ibn al-Dawa≠da≠r| speaks of Ibn Da≠niya≠l 

as one of his friends from literary circles, 27 while Ibn Taghr|bird| speaks offhandedly 

of the staging of various shadow plays before and in his lifetime. 28 In his chronicle 

23 

Jacob Landau, "Shadow Plays in the Near East," Edoth ("Communities") 3 (1947–48): 23. This 

view is also shared by ‘Abd al-H˛am|d Yu≠nus, Mu‘jam al-Fulklu≠r (Beirut, 1983), 11–12, 24–25. 

24 

H˛ama≠dah, Khaya≠l al-z˝ill, 34. 

25 

Stuart Hall, "Notes on Deconstructing 'the Popular,'" in People's History and Socialist Theory, 

ed. Raphael Samuel (London, 1981), 234. 

26 

Ibn H˛ijjah al-H˛amaw|, Thamara≠t al-Awra≠q (Beirut,1983), 1:47, writes: "This resembles what 

al-Qa≠d˝| al-Fa≠d˝il said when the sultan al-Malik al-Na≠s˝ir S˛ala≠h˝ al-D|n brought to his castle a 

performer of khaya≠l, I mean, khaya≠l al-z˝ill, for the qadi to be entertained. But al-Fa≠d˝il stood up to 

leave when the performer began. Al-Na≠s˝ir said to him: 'If it was forbidden, we would not attend 

it.' Since he had been in al-Na≠s˝ir's service even before the latter took over the sultanate, the qadi 

did not want to create trouble so he sat until the end. Al-Malik al-Na≠s˝ir asked him what he thought 

of the performance and the qadi answered: 'I thought it was a great lesson. I saw dynasties come 

and go. And when the curtain went up there was but one mover.' And so, with the help of his 

eloquence, he produced something serious out of something so trivial." 

27 

Ibn al-Dawa≠da≠r|, Durar al-T|ja≠n wa-Ghurar Tawa≠r|kh al-Zama≠n, ed. and trans. Gunhild Graf 

(Berlin, 1990), 57–58. 

28 

Ibn Taghr|bird|, H˛awa≠dith al-Zama≠n, as quoted by Moreh, Live Theatre, 139. 




Bada≠’i‘ al-Zuhu≠r, Ibn Iya≠s writes that in the year 779/1375 Sultan Sha‘ba≠n took a 

shadow-play performer as an entertainer during his pilgrimage to Mecca. 29 As we 

learn from the composition of the pilgrimage caravans, various functionaries used 

to accompany the Mamluk sultans on their way to Mecca. Among them were 

judges, but also entertainers (t¸ubu≠lkha≠nah) and professional poets. 30 Manifestly, 

nothing in the themes of these shadow performances was offensive to the sultan 

and the religious elite as they made their way to Mecca. 

We also learn that the shadow play at least once fell out of grace with the 

authorities. In the year 855/1451, Sultan Jaqmaq had all figures collected in a pile 

and incinerated. Per his decree, no performer was to stage either live or shadow-play 

performances any longer. 31 Although the extent of the damage to the props and 

possibly written texts is impossible to estimate, it is evident from later accounts 

that the shadow play outlived Jaqmaq's assault. As we are informed by Ibn Iya≠s, 

its popularity continued even on the courtly level: in the year 904/1489, Sultan 

al-Malik al-Na≠s˝ir "sent someone to fetch Abu≠ al-Khayr with his props for a shadow 

play, the group of Arab singers, and the chief buffoon, Burraywah." 32 Even as the 

Mamluks were about to fall, the shadow play emerges as a form of cultural 

activism. In 923/1517, as Sultan Selim was taking over Egypt, his victory was 

marked by a shadow-play performance. According to Ibn Iya≠s: 

On several evenings [the sultan Selim] attended the shadow 

performances. When he sat for the entertainment he was told that 

the performer was going to produce for him the figure of Ba≠b 

Zuwaylah and the figure of T˛u≠ma≠n Ba≠y as he was hanged and as 

the rope was cut twice in this process. This delighted Ibn ‘Uthma≠n. 

That evening he rewarded the performer with 200 dinars, presented 

him with a velvet robe embroidered in gold, and said to him: 

"Travel with us to Istanbul and stay with us to entertain my son 

with this." 33 

Reflecting on this account, is it possible to argue that the Mamluk shadow 

play ceased in Egypt in its existing form and became reincarnated as, or at least 

absorbed into, the Ottoman Karagöz? While it is hard to speculate on the historical 

29 

Ibn Iya≠s, Bada≠’i‘ al-Zuhu≠r f| Waqa≠’i‘ al-Duhu≠r, ed. Muh˝ammad Mus˝t˝afá (Cairo, 1982), 1:174. 

30 

‘Abd Alla≠h ‘Ankaw|, "The Pilgrimage to Mecca in Mamlu≠k Times," Arabian Studies 1 (1974): 

163–66. 

31 

Ibn Iya≠s, Bada≠’i‘ al-Zuhu≠r, 2:33. 

32 Ibid., 3:401. 

33 Ibid., 5:192. 




journey of the performance art, the above references make it important to 

acknowledge the shadow play's integration into the cultural fabric of Mamluk 

Egypt at both popular and courtly levels. Ibn Da≠niya≠l's plays may be the only 

surviving testimony to the relative popularity of this genre, but its historical 

association with different spheres of Mamluk public life requires us to acknowledge 

its accessibility to both illiterate masses and educated elite both before and during 

Mamluk times. While the contents of Ibn Da≠niya≠l's play certainly reveal a rich 

referential value for reconstructing popular life in Cairo, the awareness of the 

shadow play by dignitaries and intellectuals—including, somewhat earlier, the 

great Sufi poet Ibn al-Fa≠rid˝ who mentions in some detail different shadow 

plays 34 —testifies to its thematic and social diversity. 

MANY STORIES, ONE SPACE-TIME: IBN DA≠NIYA≠L'S TRILOGY T˛AYF AL-KHAYA≠L 

Kita≠b T˛ayf al-Khaya≠l is composed of three plays reconstructing the exuberant 

popular culture of Mamluk Cairo. In all available manuscripts, the plays appear in 

the following order: (1) T˛ayf al-Khaya≠l; (2) ‘Aj|b wa-Ghar|b; and (3) Al-Mutayyam 

wa-al-Da≠‘| al-Yutayyim. The three plays share several common features; one is 

the spatial and temporal coordinates of the plays' possible world: Cairo under the 

rule of Baybars (1260–77). As this space-time coincides with Ibn Da≠niya≠l's empirical 

world, it is the plays' theatrical frame that transforms the historical here-and-now 

into a fictional one. Another common feature relates to the plays' themes: all three 

revolve around the everyday life of Baybars' Cairo, depicting people and relations 

that constitute the social and cultural reality of the Mamluk polity. Finally, the 

three plays are textually linked through the same prologue and executed by the 

same presenter (rayyis), the puppeteer ‘Al|, which suggests that they must have 

been jointly staged. In that respect, it is important to establish a sense of continuity 

not just in the inner composition of the plays but in their production as well, since 

they prove to complement each other in matters of agential relations, dramaturgic 

style, and the target audience. 

At the same time, however, the plays are configured independently in that 

they are marked by their own beginning and end and focused on unrelated stories 

and situations. The first play, T˛ayf al-Khaya≠l, bears the name of the entire trilogy. 

It is the most complex and mature piece with a well-conceived plot, action, and 

dialogue. It takes its name from a character, a narrator of sorts, T˛ayf al-Khaya≠l. 

The character blurs the otherwise clear line between the plays. In fact, he introduces 

them all by virtue of epitomizing, or embodying, in his shadowy presence, the 

potency of the genre in framing the reality that surrounds the audience. The 

34 See Ibn al-Fa≠rid˝'s Nazm al-Sulu≠k, vv. 679–714, translated by Th. Emil Homerin in ‘Umar ibn 

al-Fa≠rid˝: Sufi Verse, Saintly Life (New York, 2001), 269–79. 




paronomastic associations are unmistakable: on the one hand, the world of khaya≠l 

al-z˝ill is animated as the character of T˛ayf al-Khaya≠l appears on the scene, showing 

and telling the framework of the play. On the other, different associations of 

"khaya≠l" as an immaterial and deceptive motif in Arab poetic and philosophical 

tradition are evoked, teasing the imagination of the audience. Yet, although presented 

as an elusive shadow image—like all other characters in the play—T˛ayf al-Khaya≠l 

tells a story of a very visible world: Baybars' Cairo. All around the audience, the 

reality of Baybars' Cairo is made daunting. The ambiguity and tangibility of 

everyday life are thus both foregrounded as T˛ayf al-Khaya≠l, the shadow figure, 

exclaims: "Inna ha≠dhihi dawlah qa≠hirah wa a≠tha≠ruha≠ z˝a≠hirah." Make no mistake, 

in other words: what you see may or may not be what it is, for it is both concrete 

and elusive, both visible and invisible. The contrasts established by the framing of 

the palpable and immediate reality of Mamluk Cairo through the white cloth of the 

shadow theater are not just an optical challenge but a test in epistemology. As it 

turns out, the actual and the possible are not oppositional in any ideological or 

political sense. Rather, they are complementary, coexisting through clear visual 

boundaries yet blurred through the mimetic depictions of potentially real people as 

shadow figures. This allows the audience to participate in the critique and commentary 

about the actual through the mediation of the plays' possible worlds. In that sense, 

the appearance of T˛ayf al-Khaya≠l at the beginning of the first play inaugurates the 

tone of the relationships that Ibn Da≠niya≠l wishes to establish with his audience: in 

all three plays, the audience is asked to draw analogies, make comparisons, and 

create contrasts. In fact, in all three plays this is achieved by positing main characters 

as pairs that can either evolve into irreconcilable polarities or supplements. I will 

return to this pairing after a brief story line of each play has been laid out. 

In the first play, as the setting is established and connections to the outside 

world drawn, a humorous story evolves around a friend of T˛ayf al-Khaya≠l, a jund| 

by the name of Am|r Wis˝a≠l. It is through his story that the first play develops as 

an independent and well-rounded unit. Threatened by Baybars' moral standards 

that clash deeply with his own, Wis˝a≠l informs the dismayed T˛ayf al-Khaya≠l that 

he has decided to abandon his wanton lifestyle—something the two friends have 

always shared—and settle down. Umm Rash|d, a go-between, is summoned to 

find Wis˝a≠l a bride. After much slapstick humor and comic speeches by the clerk 

in charge of Wis˝a≠l's finances, 35 Ta≠j Ba≠bu≠j, and a court poet S˝urrah Ba‘r, a bride is 

brought in with her entourage, including a boy—her grandson. Wis˝a≠l lifts the veil 

and discovers the ugliest woman staring at him, a nemesis contrived by Umm 

35 The mention of poor finances, according to Mus˝t˝afá Badaw|, must have been the moment in the 

performance that signaled to the audience to reward the performers with money. See his "Medieval 

Arabic Drama: Ibn Da≠niya≠l," Journal of Arabic Literature 13 (1982): 97. 




Rash|d for her long grudge against male behavior of which Wis˝a≠l is the worst 

example. Wis˝a≠l is furious and, appealing to his military power and authority, 

demands the punishment of Umm Rash|d and her husband ‘Aflaq. Only the aging 

and pitiful ‘Aflaq appears, oblivious to the reality around him and suffused in the 

memories of his youth and sexual vitality. He remarks, rather casually, that Umm 

Rash|d had just passed away at the inept hands of the local doctor Yaqt¸|nu≠s. 

Yaqt¸|nu≠s is summoned to confirm the news, which he does by adding a sexually 

suggestive remark that Umm Rash|d has just been buried with full honors, "in the 

drain of the bath, behind the exit and near the entrance." Umm Rash|d's demise 

inspires Wis˝a≠l and T˛ayf al-Khaya≠l to repent and to make the pilgrimage to Mecca. 

In contrast, the second play, ‘Aj|b wa-Ghar|b, has no discernible story line. 

Rather, it is structured as a funfair comprising an episodic succession of different 

personae representing various trades and professions in Mamluk Egypt. Within 

such a scheme of representation, the audience acts as a crowd gathered to observe 

the skillful demonstrations of the fair exhibitors. 

The title of the play derives from the names of two dramaturgic 

personalities—one Ghar|b and the other one ‘Aj|b—who stand for two disparate 

societal groups and thus define the play's social boundaries. A brief authorial note 

introduces the play as "giving an account of the ways of quaint and fraudulent 

people . . . who use the language of Banu≠≠≠ Sa≠sa≠n." 36 A character appears on the 

stage, identifying himself as Ghar|b. His name is a pun, foregrounding thus not 

only his belonging to the underground classes, but also the stereotypical visions of 

his kinfolk. 37 In many respects, Ghar|b is the mainstay of the actual structure of 

the play, central to any analysis. 

After a brief self-introduction, Ghar|b withdraws and his partner, the preacher 

‘Aj|b al-D|n, appears. Opening his sermon with the basmalah, he compliments 

the show by praising God for creating humor, and choosing the Prophet "who 

knew how to joke yet spoke only the truth." 38 Though ‘Aj|b stands as the ideological 

antipode of Ghar|b, the two are not in an antagonistic but complementary 

relationship. In fact, their juxtaposition reconciles social polarities in a way that 

makes it possible for the audience to see the necessity for social and cultural 

diversity that is so vibrantly captured in the play. 

Following the introduction, the parade of figures starts as a parade of different 

professions. The name of each persona is a salient pun on her/his trade, referring 

thus to a whole system of values culturally associated with any given profession. 

36 1 2 3 

MS , fol. 86a; MS , fol. 30; MS , fol. 67. 

37 

For a thorough discussion on the Banu≠ Sa≠sa≠n, see Clifford Edmund Bosworth, The Medieval 

Islamic Underworld (Leiden, 1976). 

38 1 2 3 

MS , fol. 95; MS , fol. 32a; MS , fol. 74. 




From the dramaturgic perspective, we are here clearly dealing not with characters, 

but types. We are thus introduced to a snake charmer, a quack doctor, an herbalist, 

a surgeon, an artist, a magician, an astrologer, a fortuneteller, an animal tamer, 

and many other entertainers and professionals who disclose secrets of their skill 

and trade and tell us about their successes and failures. The atmosphere is fully 

carnivalesque, bringing to the fore what Mikhail Bakhtin describes as "an ancient 

connection between the forms of medicine and folk art which explains the 

combination in one person of actor and druggist, [whereby] medicine and theater 

are displayed side by side in the marketplace." 39 Given the lack of narrative 

progression, the ending of the play is neither a resolution nor otherwise. The play 

simply ceases as the last exhibitor withdraws and Ghar|b reappears, announcing 

in verses composed in mutaqa≠rib that "Ghar|b is strange and ‘Aj|b is odd." 40 

Finally, the third play of the trilogy, "Al-Mutayyam wa-al-Da≠‘| al-Yutayyim," 

like the first one, has an organized story-line. The third play, in fact, is a burlesque 

portrayal of amorous conventions in Arabic literary discourse, yet with 

overwhelming sociological value related to popular practices in Mamluk Egypt. 

In the words of Ibn Da≠niya≠l himself: "This is a play entitled 'The Enthralled One 

and the Enthralling Wretch.' It speaks partly of the condition of lovers, partly of 

dalliance that is a certain kind of bewitchment, partly of playing games, and partly 

of wondrous and odd buffoonery that is not disgraceful." 41 

The play begins with the appearance of "a shakhs˝ visibly distressed by ardent 

love," whose name—Mutayyam—betrays his pathos. Similar to the names of 

many other characters in Ibn Da≠niya≠l's plays, the name Mutayyam is associated 

with a whole set of values that both belong to and transcend the immediate 

context. As in earlier plays where binaries are created as a framing device, 

Mutayyam's role is related to Yutayyim, who, as his name implies, is the reason 

of Mutayyam's distress. 

Mutayyam opens his speech with a poem lamenting the condition of ahl 

al-ghara≠m—love-stricken people—which mocks the amatory themes in classical 

Arabic poetry. He then turns to the audience and, having introduced himself, 

reveals the sorrowful story of his unrequited love towards a beautiful young 

man—Yutayyim—whom he had seen in a public bath in all his seductive nakedness. 

Mutayyam then composes a muwashshah˝ah exalting the young man's beautiful 

features that supersede any woman's and cause all men to fall in love with him. 

39 

Mikhail Bakhtin, Rabelais and His World, trans. Hélène Iswolsky (Bloomington, IN, 1984), 

159. 

40 1 3 2 

MS , fol. 138; MS , fol. 109. Here, the word ghar|b is repeated 4 times, while in MS , fol. 47a, 

the first two are ghar|b and the last two, ‘aj|b. 

41 1 2 3 

MS , fol. 138a; MS , fol. 48; MS , fol. 110. 




As he completes his eulogy, a deformed person comes in, introducing himself as 

Mutayyam's former lover. He is devastated that Mutayyam has dumped him for a 

younger and taller man, having thus "replaced with jasmine the thorns of tragacanth." 

From their conversation, we learn that Mutayyam had spotted Yutayyim in a 

public bath, where he managed to steal a kiss. He also confesses that he is now 

busy trying to seduce Yutayyim through the latter's servant Bayram, who seems 

to exercise a great control over his master. Indeed, Bayram appears, explaining 

that he has taken matters into his own hands. A typical story of unrequited love 

and quest for the beloved unfolds, with Bayram assuming the role of the go-between, 

in a way similar to Umm Rash|d in the first play. Here too, "little people" are 

given prominence as agents of action and change. 

Bayram organizes a fight between Yutayyim and Mutayyam's pet animals. 

Three matches follow, arbitrated by one and the same judge, Zayhu≠n, and attended 

by many. The build-up of tension carries strong comic and erotic effects: as the 

tension increases, so does the size of the animals in the fight: first roosters, then 

rams, and, finally, bulls. Mutayyam's ascension to victory is toned down by a 

desire to appease his lover whose animals do not perform well. The game is about 

class as much as it is about erotic gain. 

Each match is preceded by a formulaic speech by the judge Zayhu≠n, starting 

with a pious eulogy and ending with an explanation of the importance of such 

noble sports. 42 Finally, Yutayyim's bull wins, which temporarily throws Mutayyam 

into despair but gives him a chance to sacrifice the bull and throw a feast. As the 

feast goes on, unknown people pour in, introducing themselves to the host Mutayyam 

through peculiar stories of their lives, satisfying their hunger—both physiological 

and erotic—and eventually falling asleep. As in the second play, the succession of 

people is the succession of particular trends, and in this case, these trends relate to 

clandestine erotic interests and sexual practices. At the end of the play, amidst the 

pile of drunken and unconscious bodies, Mutayyam is visited by another, the 

Angel of Death. In a tragicomic confrontation with his departure from this world, 

Mutayyam rushes to repent, uttering all necessary formulaic expressions of piety 

and submission to God and the Prophet. 

INDUCING A POSSIBLE WORLD: RECOGNITION AND CRITIQUE 

As indicated by the contents of the plays, it is the heterogeneity of the Mamluk 

milieu that comes to life in Ibn Da≠niya≠l's work. Individual plays, then, are not cast 

as singular events that stand apart from the real world. Rather, teasing out the 

audience's common perception and attitudes, Ibn Da≠niya≠l expropriates common 

42 

Curious is his remark before their beginnings that the fights are carried out "as the custom of the 

play requires" (‘alá ‘a≠dat al-khaya≠l). 




knowledge to explore some of the possible relations in the surrounding world. In 

that sense, Ibn Da≠niya≠l appeals to issues and relations that already belong to the 

audience but assigns to them unconventional values and humorous overtones. 

Among the most prominent and recurrent issues in all three plays of T˛ayf 

al-Khaya≠l, for example, are the ambiguous relationship between the military and 

religious elite, the ethnic composition of Mamluk Cairo, and the criss-crossings 

between high and low cultures. As suggested earlier, these issues are problematized 

rather humorously through repetitive pairings of characters that belong to different 

walks of life. Political rivalries are presented as correlative rivalries. In real life, 

the Arabs and the Turkic-speaking Mamluks kept a distance and each nurtured a 

sense of superiority over the other. The local ulama looked down on Mamluks as 

soldiers with no skill in matters of culture and often blamed them for the decline 

of Arabic literature and arts. 43 In turn, Mamluks resented the ulama's sense of 

superiority for it seemed unrealistic in the face of their lack of political power. 

The Mamluks thus nurtured their own sense of cultural authenticity by insisting 

on using Turkish in oral communication and often requiring it from all state 

employees. 44 In the early period of their rule in particular, the local religious elite 

was biased against the pagan origins of the Mamluks, which almost automatically 

dismissed them as unsuitable for the traditional Arabo-Islamic cultural circles: 

"‘Ulama≠’ continued to write about ‘ulama≠’ and for ‘ulama≠’ paying little or no 

attention in their works to all those who stood outside their own circles." 45 Despite 

this attitude of entrenched cultural stereotyping, the ties of the religious elite with 

the Mamluk aristocracy increased. Gradually, a partial integration of the ulama 

into the political apparatus occurred through the appointments of the chief qadi, 

army judges, market inspectors, official preachers, administrators of schools and 

hospitals, and so on. 46 In the domain of culture, however, the Mamluks' interest 

and contributions were perceived as motivated purely by political gain. 47 

43 

Haarmann, "Arabic in Speech, Turkish in Lineage," 82. 

44 

Flemming, "Literary Activities," 250, 259. 

45 

Haarmann, "Arabic in Speech, Turkish in Lineage," 84. This attitude was not shared by the 

masses, who saw the Mamluks as their protectors. Ulrich Haarmann, "Ideology and History, 

Identity and Alterity: The Arab Image of the Turk from the ‘Abbasids to Modern Egypt," International 

Journal of Middle East Studies 20 (1988): 183–84. 

46 

Ira Lapidus, Muslim Cities in the Later Middle Ages (Cambridge, 1984), 130–41. 

47 

Ibid., 191; Haarmann, "Arabic in Speech, Turkish in Lineage," 83. This prejudice, however, 

seems to have been a two-way street. Ibn al-Dawa≠da≠r|, for example, who cultivated both Turkish 

and Islamic sentiments, contemptuously speaks about how superstitious the Arabs were. See 

Ulrich Haarmann, "Turkish Legends in the Popular Historiography of Medieval Egypt," in 

Proceedings of the VIth Congress of Arabic and Islamic Studies, ed. Frithiof Rundgren (Leiden, 

1975), 105. Also, the Mamluks were often criticized for not caring about the names of the Prophet 




The ongoing tension between the Mamluk military aristocracy and the Arab 

religious notables was complicated by the presence of other minorities that were 

disadvantaged by such precarious internal relations, so it is generally argued that 

this period witnessed a significant decrease in the Coptic population. 48 While on 

the one hand the Mamluks established important political and economic relations 

with a number of non-Muslim countries extending from the Kingdoms of Aragon 

and Castile in the west to South India in the east, they carefully monitored potential 

ties between their own non-Muslim communities and external ones. 49 However, 

both Jews and Christians frequently occupied important positions in the Mamluk 

bureaucratic apparatus, mainly as scribes and tax collectors. In spite of that practice, 

the dhimm|s were obliged to observe certain rules of conduct that clearly defined 

them as second-class citizens. Thus, they had to bow their heads when passing 

Muslims, were not allowed to crowd Muslims in public places, were allowed to 

use their temples for quiet religious services only, had to display emblems on their 

turbans in a clear manner, and had to preserve the color of their garments by 

regular dyeing. 50 We also know of occasional public outbursts: during the reign of 

al-Ashraf al-Khal|l, for example, Muslim dissatisfaction with Coptic influence on 

public affairs resulted in a series of assaults on Coptic houses and churches. When 

the sultan eventually yielded to public demand and ordered the hanging of a 

number of Christian scribes, he was cautioned by an amir that these scribes were 

indispensable, as they ran all financial affairs. 51 

This strained yet functional state of affairs was contingent on the sense of 

political stability, though many rules and habits were often bent in the name of 

that stability. Principles often gave in under the pressures of practical concerns. 

For example, common folk negotiated such tensions with much more fluidity and 

openness to compromise. As Haarmann points out: "The people in the street did 

not share this feeling of suffocation and threat of selfishness and dishonesty. They 

declared, 'Rather the injustice (or tyranny) of the Turks than the righteousness (or 

and his Companions, and maintaining their Turkish names as first names. See David Ayalon, "The 

Muslim City and the Mamluk Military Aristocracy," Proceedings of the Israel Academy of Sciences 

and Humanities 2 (1968): 322. 

48 Clifford Bosworth, "Christian and Jewish Religious Dignitaries in Mamlu≠k Egypt and Syria," 

IJMES 3 (1972): 59–74 and 199–216; Donald P. Little, "Coptic Conversion to Islam under the 

Bah˝r| Mamlu≠ks, 629–755/1293–1354," Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 39 

(1976): 552–54. 

49 Bosworth, "Christian and Jewish Religious Dignitaries," 64. 

50 Ibid., 215. 

51 Little, "Conversion to Islam," 554. 




self-righteousness) of the Arabs (z˝ulm al-turk wa-la≠ ‘adl al-‘arab).'" 52 For Ibn 

Da≠niya≠l, Arab but not Egyptian born, black-and-white choices and unbending 

allegiances were never a serious option, and his biographical data reveal an unfettered 

freedom of action and movement through different circles. 53 Accordingly, in the 

possible worlds of his plays, the social and cultural boundaries are not fixed but 

porous, despite the squad of distinct and seemingly incompatible shadow figures 

that perpetually mock and trick each other, undermine each other's authority, and 

explicitly care only for their own self-interest. The representation of their mutual 

dissociation is tackled in a dramaturgic process which in carnivalesque festivities 

correspond to travesty, defined by Michael Bristol, in a different context, as "code 

switching" and "grotesque exaggerations" whereby "identity is made questionable 

by mixing attributes." 54 For Ibn Da≠niya≠l, visual stereotypes remain as the figures 

cast their shadows with recognizable traits—attire, physical features, demeanor, 

and so on. The world of seemingly polar oppositions is turned into a world of 

complementary attributes—the mutable is at once immutable, the sacred is profane, 

the moral is immoral. Code switching happens in the matters of language as well, 

as the characters move randomly and with ease from prose to poetry, from 

eschatology to scatology, from grammatical sophistication to colloquial 

simplification, even gibberish. The overall effect becomes intentionally humorous, 

and it is through laughter that the audience participates in a critique of its own 

perceptions and representations of group identities. 

To enhance this process, dramaturgic agents are constructed around 

paronomasia. It has been pointed out that in the second play almost all agential 

names appear as metaphoric constructs built directly around the types of represented 

trades: H˛unaysh al-H˛uwa≠h (Little Snake Charmer), Maymu≠n al-Qarra≠d (Monkey 

the Ape Trainer), Hila≠l al-Munajjim (Astrologer's Crescent), and so on. Similarly, 

when removed from the dramatic frame and placed back into the frame of actual 

historic circumstances, most of the names of other of Ibn Da≠niya≠l's personae 

reveal a number of cultural allusions: in the first play, these are, for example, the 

names of Am|r Wis˝a≠l (The Prince of Sexual Union), T˛ayf al-Khaya≠l (the Spirit of 

Imagination—the leitmotif of early Arabic poetry), D˛abbah bint Mifta≠h˝ (Latch 

Daughter of Key), Ta≠j Ba≠bu≠j (Crown of Slippers), S˝urrah Ba‘r (Pile of Dung, also 

an allusion to the poet Sarrah D˛˝urrah). In the third play, the names of the 

52 

Ulrich Haarmann, "Ideology and History," 183. 

53 

See, for example, Khal|l Ibn Aybak al-S˝afad|, Al-Wa≠f| bi-al-Wafaya≠t, ed. Sven Dedering 

(Wiesbaden, 1981), 3:51–52; Muh˝ammad ibn Sha≠kir al-Kutub|, Fawa≠t al-Wafaya≠t, ed. Muh˝ammad 

‘Abd al-H˛am|d (Cairo, 1951), 2:384–85; Ibn al-Dawa≠da≠r|, Durar al-T|ja≠n, 57–58. 

54 

Michael Bristol, Carnival and Theater: Plebeian Culture and the Structure of Authority in 

Renaissance England (New York, 1985), 65. 




protagonists—Mutayyam and al-Da≠‘| Yutayyim—stand in opposition vis-à-vis 

each other. The other appearing personae, such as Abu≠ Sahl (Father of the Easy 

One), Badda≠l (Substitute), Da≠’u≠d al-Qabba≠d˝ (Da≠’u≠d the Gripper), and Jalla≠d 

‘Umayrah (lit., the one who skins his member, i.e., Masturbator), are all associated 

with specific sexual practices and lifestyles. 

Groupings of characters are also done on ethno-professional lines: Am|r Wis˝a≠l 

is a Mamluk prince; Na≠tu≠ is a Sudanese slave boy; al-Ta≠j Ba≠bu≠j is a Coptic 

secretary; S˝urrah Ba‘r is an Arab court poet; Yaqt¸|nu≠s is a Greek doctor; S˝a≠ni‘ah 

is a Gypsy tattooing woman; Bayram is a Turkish servant. There are also vocational 

groupings, such as the trade exhibitors in the second play, ‘Aj|b the preacher, or 

Umm Rash|d as a go-between; the lines of social lifestyle, such as Ghar|b, ‘Aj|b, 

‘Aflaq, and different personae appearing as sybaritic guests at Mutayyam's party; 

or gender lines, such as Umm Rash|d as a cunning marriage broker, D˛abbah bint 

Mifta≠h˝ as a victim of imbalance in sexual politics, ‘Aflaq as a bamboozled husband, 

Yutayyim as an accessible aesthetic ideal. These groupings are not rigidly separated 

and their complicated interaction reinforces the overall effect of such puns. Given 

that all three plays explicitly share the historical frame with Ibn Da≠niya≠l's own 

life, it appears worthwhile to reflect on Ibn Da≠niya≠l's articulation of that frame 

through such paronomastic appellation. 

As proposed above, the main carriers of action in all three plays come in pairs, 

complementing each other in a dialectic interplay. 55 Although the function of other 

agents should by no means be underestimated, it seems that the skeletal function 

of the leading pair supports Ibn Da≠niya≠l's interpretive axis. These pairs do not 

necessarily function in the protagonist/antagonist constructs, but they do tend to 

articulate their concerns through conceptually different frames, allowing the viewers 

to observe polarities through the grey area of mutual dependence rather than as 

fixed and isolated entities. In the first play, the pair is Am|r Wis˝a≠l and Umm 

Rash|d; in the second, as the title itself indicates, Ghar|b and ‘Aj|b; and in the 

third, again as the title suggests, Mutayyam and Yutayyim. Let us consider them 

all on their own terms. 

Am|r Wis˝a≠l and Umm Rash|d reflect the most visible polarities: Wis˝a≠l is a 

Mamluk soldier, that is, a man of the sword. He wears a sharbu≠sh, the headgear 

reflecting his status with Mamluk chivalry; here he displays an impressive knowledge 

of different breeds of horses. 56 He carries a mace (dabbu≠s) and wears a bristling 

mustache. The physical features of a Mamluk soldier are condensed on a leather 

55 

This is also the case with the Ottoman gölge oyunu, which is built around the characters of 

Karagöz and Hacivat. 

56 1 2 3 

MS , fols. 48a–51; MS , fols. 18–21; MS , fols. 38–41. 




figure, bringing Wis˝a≠l to the forefront of social stereotyping. As a personality, he 

embodies power and has no pardon for anything or anyone: 

I am a boxer and a slanderer, a thug and a caviler, a rebuker and a 

sneaker, a quarreler and a menacer, a believer and a murderer. I've 

been rubbed and stroked. I am a pimp and a shoveler. 57 I dress well 

and socialize, I turn into a gentleman, I juggle, I dye my hair, I 

limp, I dance, I report, and I tell stories. So don't disregard my 

value, now that I've disclosed my secrets to you. 58 

His mainstream Mamluk upbringing is reflected in the social circles of his childhood: 

he has grown up "among Da≠ku≠sh and Diqla≠sh, and Qa≠mu≠z and Zamlaksh." 59 The 

juxtaposition of the opposites—power on the one hand and its total mismanagement 

on the other—creates a fierce yet comic character in Wis˝a≠l. His secretary ridicules 

his courtly and financial affairs. 60 The courtly poet praises Wis˝a≠l for turning 

"waste land into an earthly paradise governed by justice." 61 Wis˝a≠l takes his power 

for granted, expecting it to help him reach a quick marriage settlement in order to 

avoid political repercussions and demonstrate his common sense. Taking a shortcut 

to morality is his privilege as a fearsome jund|. Although mocked by his servants 

and inferiors, Wis˝a≠l is never challenged by them: after all, they are part of the 

same system, and they do not step out of their designated roles. The challenge can 

only come from outside that sociological space, and who better to offer it than 

Umm Rash|d? 

Umm Rash|d belongs to a world that Wis˝a≠l tries to infiltrate without any 

respect for its internal workings. The trade that Umm Rash|d personifies —that of 

go-betweens—is an anathema to Wis˝a≠l's lifestyle. Her description in the play is in 

fact a subtle description of that underground world that functions through strict 

codes of behavior that are inaccessible to and spurned by Wis˝a≠l: 

Summon Umm Rash|d, the marriage agent, even though she is one 

who goes out by night into the bush. But she knows every honorable 

woman and every adulteress and every beauty in Mis˝r and al-Qa≠hirah. 

For she lets them go out from the baths, disguised in servant's 

clothes, and guarantees the prostitutes for whom the police are 

looking in secret places, providing them with clothes and jewelry 

57 

Karuk, probably from Turkish körek, shovel. 

58 1 2 3 

MS , fols. 12a–14; MS , fols. 5–5a; MS , fols. 10–11. 

59 1 2 3 


60 1 2 3 

MS , fols. 22–26; MS , fols. 8–10; MS , fols. 18–21. 

61 1 2 3 





without fee. . . . She also knows how to deal in a friendly way with 

the hearts of lovers, and she sells the enjoyment of love only on the 

condition of trial. She does not break her promise, she does not 

haggle over a price. She does not visit a drinking bout in order to 

appropriate what drips down from the candles, nor does she ransack 

the clothes of the guests for money. And she does not take the 

fragrant flowers around the bottles, pretending it is to decorate the 

clothes of the sinning women. And she does not filch the pieces of 

meat from the plates, nor does she pour together what has cleared 

from the dregs of the wine. She does not exchange old slippers for 

new ones, and she does not criticize the clothes of customers, as a 

housewife would do. Mostly she goes round to the houses of the 

women of rank and sells balls of material, raw and unbleached, and 

all kinds of spices and incense. She sells on credit and makes 

appointments for Thursdays and Mondays. And she does not haggle 

over price. And she keeps her appointments even if it is the Night 

of Fate (laylat al-qadr). So it is, and her pocket is never empty of 

chewing-gum and mirrors and rouge and powder and Maghribine 

nutmeg and powder for coloring the eyebrows and a lime preparation 

for the armpits and perfumed wool, and skin cream and "Beauty of 

Joseph" and pomade and Barmakide scent and hair-dyes and violet 

scent. The devil kisses the ground before her daily, and he alone 

wakes from her slumbers. 62 

Gradually, we learn that the two have a long history: Umm Rash|d remembers 

little Wis˝a≠l as a stubborn and dirty boy, and bitterly adds that he managed to get 

seduced even by her own husband. In fact, Wis˝a≠l seems to be a true menace, 

intruding into her affairs for a long time. She takes revenge by offering him in 

marriage a very ugly and aged bride. Outraged, he tries to gain the upper hand by 

responding with force—the only weapon he truly knows. However, she dies before 

he sets his dabbu≠s on her and her husband. Her death, ironically, is not her 

punishment but his. Her trade is reborn—and so is she—as her mantle is passed 

on to her disciple just before Umm Rash|d passes away. Finally, her death is a 

cause for repentance—Am|r Wis˝a≠l submits his powers to God by virtue of having 

lost his military vanity to Umm Rash|d. But neither Umm Rash|d's triumph and 

62 Based on the translation by Paul Kahle in "The Arabic Shadow Play in Egypt," Journal of the 

Royal Asiatic Society, n.s., 4 (1940): 32–33. For an interesting study on the character of Umm 

Rash|d, see Maria Kotzamanidou, "The Spanish and Arabic Characterization of the Go-Between 

in the Light of Popular Performance," Hispanic Review 48 (1980): 91–109. 




death nor Wis˝a≠l's repentance belong to them as individuals. On the contrary, both 

roles are developed as part of the same death and rebirth cycle through which two 

collective bodies are reconciled after mutual endangerment: the underworld that 

Umm Rash|d jealously guards, and the political authority of Am|r Wis˝a≠l. 

A similar binary structure exists in the second play as well, here even more 

explicitly: Ghar|b, who personifies the underworld, and ‘Aj|b al-D|n, who represents 

the religious discourse. The common people's allegiances stay in between, revolving 

around both layers, much in the same way as the common people congregate 

around the stalls of exhibitors throughout the play. Though linear, the arrangement 

of the play is such that its beginning and end eventually join, enclosing the folk 

spirit in a jovial, if tension-filled, way. 

Ghar|b's name reveals his social alienation. Literally meaning "strange, quaint, 

foreign, etc.," this name draws attention to the undefined social status of its bearer 

and his kinfolk. Ghar|b is one of the Banu≠ Sa≠sa≠n, which is a collective reference 

to the various groups of people who made up the medieval Islamic underworld: 

The underworld classes of which we have information include the 

fully criminal ones, like skilful thieves and burglars, footpads and 

brigands, and also those in the no-man's land between criminality 

and conventional behaviour, like entertainers and mountebanks of 

diverse types, beggars of differing degrees of ingenuity, quack 

doctors, dentists and herbalists, and so forth. 63 

Ghar|b's alienation is rooted in a somewhat accommodating yet hostile political 

milieu which created out of the Banu≠ Sa≠sa≠n perpetual wanderers who claim all 

lands, disregarding the political and social boundaries: "The whole world is ours, 

and whatever is in it, the lands of Islam and unbelief alike." 64 Ghar|b reveals the 

secrets of a conniving and trouble-making lifestyle on his numerous journeys 

through Egypt, Syria, and Iraq. We learn what it means to be one of the Banu≠ 

Sa≠sa≠n: sleeping outdoors by the fire with one's head laid on the kashku≠l instead of 

a pillow; visiting prostitutes; indulging in various sexual practices; making a 

living by faking knowledge of religion, philosophy, chemistry, medicine, and 

herbalism; training animals for fights; and undertaking many other cryptic practices 

"during numerous travels around the revolving heavens so as to find a homeland 

and fulfill wishes." 65 Ideologically, as Ghar|b himself confesses, his attitude has 

been prompted by loss of faith in people: 

63 

Bosworth, The Medieval Islamic Underworld, ix. 

64 

Abu≠ Dula≠f, as quoted in ibid. 

65 1 2 3 

MS , fol. 90; MS , fol. 31; MS , fols. 69–70. 




When there was nobody left whose generosity could be desired and 

no one whose gain would be hoped for, we started to trick you 

having no need for you, we surrendered ourselves to leisure and 

idleness, became unique in manipulation and dispersed in many 

bands. No danger and no institution could divert us. . . . 66 

Ghar|b thus openly declares war on political and religious institutions and 

seeks refuge in trickery, admitting that his success in effect depends on these 

institutions. The Banu≠ Sa≠sa≠n are thus part of the cycle in which political power 

and moral values meet in the institutions that both impose rules and accentuate 

social problems. The articulation of this standpoint comes not from Ghar|b but as 

a roundabout communique in the speech of his partner, ‘Aj|b al-D|n the preacher, 

and is then exemplified through episodic models. Ghar|b thus posits himself as 

both the vehicle and the tenor of the narrative. 

In contrast to Ghar|b, the preacher ‘Aj|b al-D|n—the wonder of 

religion—represents the very same institutions Ghar|b rejects. Though a popular 

preacher, ‘Aj|b is a sociopolitical antipode to Ghar|b. Yet, like Ghar|b who admits 

the necessity for religious institutions for the Banu≠ Sa≠sa≠n to exist, ‘Aj|b too 

reveals tolerance for the values he tries to uproot through his preaching. As a 

bearer of official religious values, he explores venues for the accommodation of 

the Banu≠ Sa≠sa≠n's underworld without endangering the dignity of the authorities in 

whose service he is employed. A theological justification of the Banu≠ Sa≠sa≠n's 

practices follows, and so does the need to bring closer together the official and 

unofficial systems of values: 

May God have mercy on the one who seeks to heal his sorrows 

with the beauty of the character that embellishes him, and transforms 

his grief with something that amuses him. Wherever there is 

amusement, melancholy is driven away. . . . Gaiety is beautiful if it 

is not excessive, so give yourselves to hope and be engaged in this 

matter. You are the troops of strangers and others among the Banu≠ 

Sa≠sa≠n. Be kind in asking and beg for generosity. Take advantage of 

union because separation will happen, and get united with humankind 

before what must happen happens. . . . Travel through the countryside 

and con people, for strangers evoke pity, and man moves about 

while his livelihood is determined for him. You should know, may 

God be with you, that small coins attract gold coins. . . . Pretend to 

66 MS 1 , fols. 90a–91; MS 2 , fols. 31–31a; MS 3 , fol. 71. 




be blind while seeing, and deaf while hearing. Pretend to be lame 

because a lame person wins favors. Wear your worn-out leather 

gowns and drink some fig juice so that your faces may turn yellow 

and your stomachs inflate. Find your rows in the mosques and 

harass the dumb by begging in the streets. Let rags be your most 

precious garment and the collection of goods your greatest worry. 

Go around with both of them and feel safe from bankruptcy and 

debt. The health of the eye is in the human being, and the health of 

the human being is in the eye. 67 

A full awareness of their trickery yet a surprising justification, even outright 

encouragement, of it makes ‘Aj|b al-D|n an odd preacher—yet nevertheless a 

preacher. In many respects, the complementary functions of the two members of 

society are projected in their being ‘aj|b and ghar|b. In blending the metaphoric 

themes of societal outcasts and religious guardians, the happy ending is imminent, 

allowing all exhibitors to rally around the mutual approval of the two seeming 

antagonists. 

In the third set of binary relations, the thematic focus revolves around the 

concept of profane love. Al-Mutayyam, the enthralled one, and his counterpart 

Yutayyim, the enthralling one, personify the common poetic amatory trends and 

translate them into sociological concerns of Baybars' Egypt. The play evolves 

against two discourses: one poetic and the other religious. Each of Ibn Da≠niya≠l's 

heroes carefully reflects both of these trends. Mutayyam, the enthralled party, 

introduces himself through typical ‘udhr| imagery, occasionally infusing it with 

pre-Islamic ghazal style: 

O people of passion, gather, beseech, and implore. 

Knock at the door for response with prayers, and listen, 

Die and live in longing, burst open, get torn apart, 

Consider Mutayyam's story about his captor, or discard it. 

Lover is the one whose sky of tears never dries up. 

Nothing is left of him but bones clattering from affliction. 

From a gorge under his eyelids tears gush forth. 

O you who blame me, there is no place in my heart for blame. 

I have no consolation, and no expectation to unite with my love. 

Mutayyam is the one who, even if he appeases his thirst, will not 

sleep peacefully. 68 

67 MS 1 , fols. 95a–97; MS 2 , fols. 32a–33a; MS 3 , fols. 74–76. 

68 MS 1 , fols. 110–111; MS 2 , fol. 48; MS 3 , fols. 139–139a. 




The progression of the play, however, brings about change. As Mutayyam 

grows impatient with his "poetic" self, he plots a breakaway from it. The emotional 

surrender to unrequited passion that makes him feel as if he were "slain with no 

knife" gradually gravitates towards a carefully choreographed sensual fulfillment. 

The movement from agape to eros is comically developed through an erotic 

dance with Yutayyim. 

Yutayyim, the object of Mutayyam's passion, stands at the opposite pole. His 

formidable physical beauty, exposed in all its distinctiveness during "the bathroom 

scene," evokes an emotional reaction, bringing Mutayyam into existence. In other 

words, Mutayyam is a consequence. If there were no Yutayyim, Mutayyam would 

not be. This causal relationship becomes significantly polarized as their meanings 

begin to expand. Mutayyam appears as a metaphor for excessive sentimentality. 

He is governed by desire. Yutayyim, on the other hand, signifies cool reason. His 

presence in the first part of the play is more distant than palpable. We know of 

him indirectly, after Mutayyam's appearance on the stage. Gradually, the knowledge 

of him, though still second-hand (mainly via Mutayyam but also via Bayram), 

becomes vaguely personalized, as his looks, his style, his tastes and his strengths 

and weaknesses are told. As the knowledge of Yutayyim becomes more particular, 

Mutayyam's passion grows more carnal. It solicits recognition and reciprocation, 

breaking away from the debilitating causal dependence on Yutayyim. Mutayyam 

takes his life into his own hands, develops independence, rejects submission that 

keeps him apart and unable to act. This shift in the relation between the two men 

is masterfully achieved in a poetic dialogue which, on the one hand, questions the 

polarity between love and passion, ideals and reality, sacred and profane, and 

reason and emotion. 

With each party articulating quite opposite views of love, we are left to think 

that they are not engaged in dialogue but unrelated sermons that reflect abstract 

concepts rather than thoughts, principles rather than feelings. The burlesque 

reflection on poetic amatory trends is replied to in a detailed yet dispassionate 

pontification on sexual mores. The final stanza, however, brings comic relief. The 

whole imagery is uncrowned through a literal and metaphoric demystification 

when Mutayyam, in a suggestive description, gives an account of the pathetic 

condition of his pet cock. In a grotesque inversion, formulaic speech and concepts 

give in to the object of shared passion: cock fights. On the one hand, this inversion 

spirals the abstraction of love into its carnal fulfillment; on the other, it returns 

emotions to human kind in all its manifestations and practices. When, upon the 

celebration of the union between the two protagonists a feast is thrown and many 

lecherous guests welcomed, a new space is opened to integrate many different 

understandings and practices of love. As in the previous plays, the meaningfulness 




of the play lies primarily in allowing the different relations to be established, 

rather than in the verity of the relations themselves. 

CONCLUSION 

Because of a lack of relevant historical evidence, questions have been raised as to 

whether the trilogy was in fact ever staged, or whether indeed it was intended for 

performance. 69 It seems, however, that nothing in the dramaturgic organization of 

the trilogy T˛ayf al-Khaya≠l suggests the contrary, namely, that the plays were only 

intended to be read as texts. Besides, as Ibn Da≠niya≠l's own statement makes clear, 

the plays' value was to be assessed first and foremost in relation to their performance. 

Their eclectic style and linguistic vitality, as well as some pointers to the interaction 

between the stage and audience, all suggest that the plays' meaning was to evolve 

in the course of their performance. Part of that process, as this article has tried to 

argue, has to do with the fact that Ibn Da≠niya≠l's protagonists embody some of the 

common stereotypes about different collectives—ethnic, religious, professional 

—that are readily recognized by the audience. As such, they are often 

paronomastically defined, emphasizing collective social expectations rather than 

individualistic traits. While their representation as leather figures betrays both the 

shortcomings and advantages of the genre, Ibn Da≠niya≠l skillfully singles out the 

physical traits associated with certain types of people, then shuffles them through 

grotesque representations of cultural and social interactions at large. The goal of 

such dramaturgic strategy is a narrative and visual immediacy that allows different 

relations and situations to be realized through the audience's interactive response: 

laughter, tipping, and/or cheering in approval or disapproval. This leads to the 

collectivization of the aesthetic experience of the plays. The assignment of meaning 

is unmediated in that it is constructed as a stage-audience dialogue, rather than as 

an individual endeavor. 70 Individual reflection is relevant insofar as the shadow 

performances strike a chord regarding one's own attitudes toward the relations in 

the actual world. 

To that end, it is important to acknowledge that the depth of any representation 

resides not in its inner but its outer value. Psychological dramas are not Ibn 

Da≠niya≠l's cup of tea: on the contrary, all experiences are exteriorized and all 

situations presented as belonging to a collective domain. This is a typical 

carnivalesque mode, which, as Bakhtin suggests, centers around the body and its 

69 See Everett K. Rowson, "Two Homoerotic Narratives from Mamlu≠k Literature: al-S˝afad|'s 

Lawa≠t al-Sha≠k| and Ibn Da≠niya≠l's al-Mutayyam," in Homoeroticism in Classical Arabic Literature, 

ed. J. W. Wright and Everett K. Rowson (New York, 1997), 173–74. 

70 In a similar vein, Keeler argues that meaning in the wayang kulit performances need not 

develop out of or after the event, because a performance of wayang need not be mulled over in 

exegetical rumination to yield up its significance, Javanese Shadow Plays, Javanese Selves, 266. 




liberation "from the oppression of such gloomy categories as 'eternal,' 'immovable,' 

'absolute,' 'unchangeable,'" emphasizing instead "the gay and free laughing aspect 

of the world, with its unfinished and open character, with the joy of change and 

renewal." 71 Laughter, as Bakhtin further explains, creates an atmosphere in which 

nothing is taboo or static but everything is fluid and changeable. Laughter "purifies 

from dogmatism, from the intolerant and the petrified; it liberates from fanaticism 

and pedantry, from fear and intimidation, from didacticism, naivete and illusion, 

from the single meaning, the single level, from sentimentality. . . . It restores this 

ambivalent wholeness." 72 

The body in the shadow plays, of course, is reduced to shadow silhouettes that 

reflect a whole array of common attitudes, and laughter is embedded in the very 

process of audio-visual associations. As people and places are represented by 

one-dimensional leather figures, the puppeteer translates the written text into a 

live performance with incomplete clues, forcing the audience to make its own 

associations between the projected shadows and real life. Since all three plays by 

Ibn Da≠niya≠l are set in Baybars' Cairo, the challenge of relating the shadow images 

to actual people and events has satirical implications. Within such a scheme of 

relations, the aesthetic and interpretive contribution of the plays' possible worlds 

is an attempt to "play with" the contradictions and polarities generated by political 

culture yet without attempting to offer either explanations or resolutions. The line 

between individual authority and collective participation is again erased, both in 

form and in content. Ibn Da≠niya≠l thus subversively displaces the authorial "I" in 

the production of meaning in favor of a more interactive and clamorous link 

between the stage and the audience. 

71 Bakhtin, Rabelais and His World, 123. 

72 Ibid. 



LI GUO 

UNIVERSITY OF NOTRE DAME 

The Devil's Advocate: 

Ibn Da≠niya≠l's Art of Parody in His Qas˝|dah No. 71 

Muju≠n, or "licentious verse," as a genre of Arabic poetry has always gotten a bad 

rap and thus tended to be overlooked. Not only have the muju≠n verses been 

"cleaned up" from major anthologies, but scholars seem to have shied away as 

well. This self-imposed ban on the part of the literati elite poses serious obstacles 

when it comes to dealing with poets like Ibn Da≠niya≠l (1248–1311), for whom 

"getting dirty" is an integral, and inseparable, part of their artistry as a whole. As a 

matter of fact, Ibn Da≠niya≠l, the flamboyant Cairene eye doctor-turned-entertainer, 

made a name for himself as a larger-than-life "libertine poet," famous, or infamous, 

for his profuse output of muju≠n verses. Paradoxically, it is perhaps for the same 

reason that he should remain an enigma of sorts; while anecdotal tales about this 

Marquis de Sade of Mamluk Cairo abound, his works have remained virtually 

unknown outside a small circle of admirers. Recent research, however, has taken 

a significant and encouraging turn in examining and reassessing his legacy: not 

only have his shadow plays been given extensive treatments, 1 but his poetry has 

begun to receive attention as well. 2 But when it comes to his muju≠n verse, the 


Special thanks go to Th. Emil Homerin and to Everett Rowson for their insightful comments on an 

earlier version of this article. I also wish to acknowledge the financial support of the National 

Endowment for the Humanities and the American Research Center in Egypt. 

1 Three Shadow Plays by Muh˝ammad Ibn Da≠niya≠l, ed. by Paul Kahle with a critical apparatus by 

Derek Hopwood (Cambridge, 1992); it contains a bibliography of earlier scholarship on Ibn 

Da≠niya≠l as well. For recent studies, see Rosella Dorigo Ceccato, "Un diverso approccio al apple˛ayâl 

al-z˝ill nella letteratura Araba tra ottocento e novecento," Quaderni di Studi Arabi 5–6 (1987–88): 

208–25; Peter D. Molan, "Charivari in a Medieval Egyptian Shadow Play," Al-Masa≠q 1 (1988): 

5–24; Amila Buturovic, "Sociology of Popular Drama in Medieval Egypt: Ibn Da≠niya≠l and his 

Shadow Plays," Ph.D. diss., McGill University, 1994; Francesca M. Corrao, "La fantasmagoria 

delle ombre di Ibn Da≠niya≠l," Ph.D. diss., Università degli studi di Roma, 1990; idem, "Laughter 

Festival and Rebirth: Ibn Da≠niya≠l's Shadow Plays, an Example of Cultural Tolerance in the Early 

Mamluk Ages," The Arabist (Budapest) 18 (1996): 13–28; Everett K. Rowson, "Two Homoerotic 

Narratives from Mamlu≠k Literature: al-S˝afad|'s Law‘at al-sha≠k| and Ibn Da≠niya≠l's al-Mutayyam," 

in Homoeroticism in Classical Arabic Literature, eds. J. W. Wright and Everett K. Rowson (New 

York, 1997); Jacqueline Sublet, "Nom écrit, nom dit: Les Personnages du théâtre d'ombres d'Ibn 

Da≠niya≠l," Arabica 44 (1997): 545–52. 

2 Ibn Da≠niya≠l's d|wa≠n is apparently lost. Nearly three hundred poems, or parts of them, have 



178 LI GUO, IBN DA≠NIYA≠L'S ART OF PARODY 

taboo is still very much intact. Many questions remain: Just how "dirty" can the 

poet get? What is the relation of the muju≠n|ya≠t to his overall lyricism, and on a 

larger scale, what can one say about muju≠n as a literary genre and its place in the 

medieval Arabic poetic tradition? It goes without saying that an examination of 

his muju≠n verses will help to pave the way for a better understanding, and 

appreciation, of the legacy of Ibn Da≠niya≠l, arguably one of the finest, and most 

exciting, poets in the history of medieval Arabic literature. 

In this article I take one step in this direction, in an attempt to sample and 

examine Ibn Da≠niya≠l's muju≠n verse. The poem to be analyzed was composed by 

the poet in response to the Mamluk sultan La≠j|n's (r. 1296–99) campaign against 

vice in Cairo. 3 Several factors underscore the choice of this particular poem. First, 

among a number of poems by the poet on the Mamluk prohibition in Cairo, 4 the 

poem in question, listed as Qas˝|dah No. 71 in the Mukhta≠r anthology, 5 is perhaps 

the "dirtiest" and thus provides an ideal case study for the present purpose. Secondly, 

in an earlier study I have studied his mock mad|h˝-panegyric, 6 while the poem in 

question, with its unique structure, offers a different angle from which to view the 

poet's mock nas|b, or the elegiac section in a qas˝|dah. Finally, the choice is also 

highlighted by the fate of this poem that illustrates the kind of dilemma that any 

serious attempt at studying Ibn Da≠niya≠l's work is to face: replete with bawdy 

language and overt sexual references, scatological to the point of pornography, 

the poem is so troublesome that it is doomed to be left outside the bounds of 

serious scholarship. Preserved in a single manuscript, 7 the full text was published 

survived in his shadow plays and in al-S˝afad|'s Al-Tadhkirah al-S˝afad|yah, vol. 14, Cairo, Da≠r 

al-Kutub microfilm 1762. Al-Mukhta≠r min Shi‘r Ibn Da≠niya≠l, ed. Muh˝ammad Na≠’if al-Dulaym| 

(Mosul, 1979), contains two hundred eighteen poems from Al-Tadhkirah al-S˝afad|yah, and sixty-four 

more supplemented from other sources. His Qas˝|dah No. 69 is the subject of Li Guo, "Paradise 

Lost: Ibn Da≠niya≠l's Response to Baybars' Campaign against Vice in Cairo," Journal of the American 

Oriental Society 121 (2001): 219–35. 

3 Ibn H˛ajar al-‘Asqala≠n|, in his Al-Durar al-Ka≠minah f| A‘ya≠n al-Mi’ah al-Tha≠minah (Cairo, 

1966), 4:55, cites the opening line of the poem. This is the only mention of the poem, to my 

knowledge, in a major Mamluk chronicle/anthology. For modern studies of the poem, see Shmuel 

Moreh, "The Shadow Play (Khaya≠l al-z˝ill) in the Light of Arabic Literature," Journal of Arabic 

Literature 18 (1987): 56; al-Dulaym|, Introduction to the Mukhta≠r, 13–14. 

4 Muh˝ammad Zaghlu≠l Salla≠m, for example, discusses "the two lengthy qas˝|dah-odes on two 

important events," namely Qas˝|dah No. 69, on Baybars' prohibition, and Qas˝|dah No. 72, on that 

of La≠j|n. Salla≠m also mentions in passing Qas˝|dah No. 71, with a citation from Ibn H˛ajar 

al-‘Asqala≠n|; see Salla≠m, Al-Adab f| al-‘As˝r al-Mamlu≠k| (Cairo, 1971), 2:168–70. 

5 Mukhta≠r, 119–21. 

6 Guo, "Paradise Lost." 

7 See Appendix below. 




once, but only after one fifth, that is, thirteen lines out of a total of fifty, was 

omitted on the grounds that the verses were too "obscene and lecherous" (alfa≠zűha≠ 

badh|’ah). 8 

Despite such controversy, the poem nevertheless merits serious treatment. 

Social and historical significance aside, it represents, in my opinion, a high point 

in the art of satire and parody in the post-classical, or post-Abu≠ Nuwa≠sian, era. 

Based on a preliminary reading of the text, which is translated here in its entirety, 

I will discuss two related issues. First is the overall theme, or "purpose" (gharad˝), 

of the poem, which I consider to be more parody than social satire. I argue that the 

outburst of "trash talk" as witnessed in the poem has less to do with the poet's 

conscientious effort to criticize the Mamluk regime than with his compulsive 

desire to relive suppressed memories. In literary terms, it represents a mock version 

of the elegiac nas|b, with the eternal theme of the departed beloved and happiness 

lost. But this time the "beloved" is none other than Ibl|s, the Devil, while the 

yearning is for the forbidden fruits left in the lost garden. The second issue has to 

do with artistic features, or textual aspects, of the muju≠n elements in the poem. 

Through an analysis of selected samples and a comparison with parallels from the 

poet's predecessors, especially Abu≠ Nuwa≠s (d. ca. 814), the dean of the genre, I 

propose that Ibn Da≠niya≠l's, and for that matter Abu≠ Nuwa≠s', muju≠n verses are 

perhaps better understood, and appreciated, as parodies of the antecedent idioms 

and topoi of the ghazal genre in the nas|b convention. I further suggest that these 

parodies are operating around a jesting interplay between the language of purification 

and its antithesis, that of deliberate pollution. 

THE POEM 

1. Suddenly, in a dream, I saw Ibl|s 

sad and broken hearted, 

2. Blind in one eye, the other red and sore, 

tears falling, drop by drop, 

3. Screaming, "Woe is me, what a pity, 

such pain, like no other!" 

4. Around him is a gang of his cronies; 

though few, they are plenty. 

5. Among them is every queer lad, priceless, 

like the full moon in darkest night. 

6. He makes his glance victorious over those who love him, 

but behind his eyes is sorrow. 

8 Mukhta≠r, 119, note *. 




7. The noon-day sun, a pliant branch, his stature; 

its shadow, the pubic hair at its base. 

8. Caressing him is sweet fruit to those who embrace him 

and screw the fig with the date. 

9. What's money to union with him 

whose lucky horoscopes are Libra and Venus? 

10. Among them is every seductress, with enchanting eyes, 

a soft girl, prettier than the sun. 

11. She tells her lovers, "Stroll 

amidst streams and green meadows!" 

12. If a lover saw her cunt, 

he would love to suck her pussy. 

13. Every pimp is farting at the mouth, 

and following up with a snort. 

14. He [i.e., the pimp] would break into the lover's house by force 

in his search for the snatch, 

15. Saying—farting from his rear, 

his breath filled with fennel—: 

16. "Weigh out a thousand dinars, if you want her, 

though you won't want her shit! 

17. "Praise be to the One who created in her pure cheeks, 

white with red on top. 

18. "Come on, enjoy, take your fill, 

let no reveler stay hard!" 

19. Every bugger craves 

the beefcake in the tablecloth/anus. 

20. When a fart is wafted his way, 

he would say, "O, fragrant incense!" 

21. Every adulterer sees in whore's piss 

a charm guaranteeing his health. 

22.Every virgin has no excuse for (keeping) her virginity, 

though her passion might be of the ‘Udhr| type. 

23. She is a dyke with a calloused clit 

and little pubic hair, thanks to rubbing, 

24. While every tavern-keeper holds a cup in hand, 

and a jar on his shoulder, 

25. Every stoned hashish eater is high, 

green sprouts had grown on his mustache. 

26. Some Sudanese is having a barley beer, 

poured with care by his friend. 




27. Every "bottom boy" has a stud, 

who could also screw like a needle, 

28. Everyone who jerks off alone 

was aroused by a headscarf. 

29. And many shadow play performers, singers, 

and flutists have come in droves. 

30. So I said, "O Ibl|s, 

what has caused your tears? 

31. "What has upset your dim disciples, 

those wicked ones full of mischief?" 

32. And Ibl|s replied, "Idiot! You are trapped 

in your sister's cunt – how awful! 

33. "My troops have diminished, my position sapped. 

I am no longer in command! 

34. "The tavern-keeper no longer finds 

cups and jars in his place. 

35. "The beer maker's house is leveled, 

upon its roof the yellow sign of disgrace. 

36. "The boot-legger is depressed, 

his heart a blazing coal. 

37. "The hashish addict is near crazy, 

ready to assault with dagger and knife. 

38. "And all the girls working for us 

would rather stay home today. 

39. "They would rather have husbands, 

not a whore among them, as if they were free! 

40. "And every gambler, who had her often, 

now pays the dowry! 

41. "How hard I've worked to seduce and mislead. 

How many times I've combed somebody's hair. 

42. "How many times I've seen eyes colored with kohl, 

for those who cast bewitching glances. 

43. "How many, O how many times have I stayed up at night, 

to serve lovers from dusk to dawn. 

44. "But the market of rebellion is stagnant: 

no wine, no revelry, no sex. 

45. "Yet I'm inclined to keep pimping, 

and free of charge, no less!" 

46. Then I said, "O Ibl|s, take us away 

on a long journey, far, far from here. 




47. "But do take care, don't live in Egypt! 

Don't even come near, though you know it well, 

48. "For there in that country is a just grand vizier, 

blessed with good looks and a blaze on his forehead. 

49. "His advice helped the sultan 

in his ruling, now famous far and wide, 

50. "And he who breaks this decree 

is disgraced in public and beaten with a whip!" 

REMEMBRANCE OF THINGS PROHIBITED: POETRY AS MEMORY 

The poem is built around a narrative of the poet's dream encounter with Ibl|s, the 

Devil. At first glimpse, the overall structure is a little odd, in that the typical 

tripartite qas˝|dah is proportionally out of balance: the nas|b, wherein Ibl|s and his 

"gang" (‘is˝bah) are described as a departing "beloved," occupies most of the space 

(lines 1–45), while the rah˝|l (line 46) and mad|h˝ (lines 47–50) make up a few 

meager verses. On the other hand, one may break the poem down to three thematic 

units: first is a description, through the poet's and Ibl|s' voices, of the state of 

affairs before the prohibition (lines 1–29). Then it is Ibl|s doing more talking, in a 

conversation with the poet, about the situation after the prohibition (lines 30–45). 

After a hurried rah˝|l transition, the narrative voice switches back to the poet, who, 

in a quasi-mad|h˝, lashes out at the ill-advised sultan and his unnamed prime 

minister (lines 46–50). 

The nas|b begins with an unconventional tone. Instead of the usual recitative 

prelude, it cuts to the narrative from line 1. The dramatic tension is immediately 

felt as the phrase f| marrah, "all of a sudden," serves not only as the rhetorical 

device of partial jina≠s between marrah and murrah, in abu≠ murrah, "Father of 

Bitterness," the epithet of Ibl|s, 9 but also underscores the unexpected cruelty of the 

event. This sense of sudden catastrophe is also found in Ibn Da≠niya≠l's Qas˝|dah 

No. 69, on Sultan Baybars' campaign, which opens with a famous line, "O people! 

suddenly (fuj’atan) Ibl|s is dead, / his familiar abode now empty." 10 

The dramatic moment is further captured by the repetitions, with a typical 

nas|b flavor, in line 2, of tears dropping from the eyes of the departing "beloved" 

(qat¸ratan qat¸rah), and, in line 3, of Ibl|s' self-inflicted pain and despair (a jina≠s 

between h˝asrat| and h˝asrah). The odd image of Ibl|s being "blind in one eye" is 

not only a vivid depiction of his pitiful appearance, but also, and more important, 

9 It may have its origin in a hadith wherein the Prophet proclaims that Murrah is among "the most 

hateful" names to God (abghad˝uha≠ ilayhi); see Ibn H˛anbal, Al-Musnad (Cairo, n.d.), 4:178, 345; 

S˝ah˝|h˝ al-Bukha≠r|, ed. and trans. Muh˝ammad H˛asan Kha≠n (Beirut, n.d.), 8:134, 144. 

10 Guo, "Paradise Lost," 220. 




a warning for his followers of the grim future that lies ahead. Bodily mutilation as 

a result of catastrophe and divine punishment is a recurrent motif in medieval 

Arabic literature. One famous example is the three "one-eyed" dervishes and the 

forty "one-eyed" ghostly wandering figures who paid an uninvited night visit in 

the tale of "The Porter and the Three Ladies of Baghdad" in the Arabian Nights, a 

corpus of tales that took its final shape during Ibn Da≠niya≠l's own time. 11 The eerie 

appearances not only underline the unpredictable vicissitudes in the fate of those 

who lost their sight but also evoke fear and uneasiness on the part of those who 

observe them. 12 As for Ibn Da≠niya≠l's night visitor, Ibl|s, and his followers, the 

punishment cannot be crueler and the horror cannot be more grave: the ability to 

see is essential to Ibl|s' enterprise; it is his "enchanting gaze" that provides the 

ultimate protection for his followers. 13 The fact that Ibl|s is "blind in one eye," 

while the other eye is covered with tears and unable to see well, suggests that all 

the good things under his "gaze/protection" must pass away. 

In the medieval Arabo-Islamic tradition, dreams are "signs" to the dreamer, 

and dreams depicted in literary texts can be, therefore, the focal point for the 

interaction of various codes and different meanings, in our case of punishment 

and redemption. The poet's dream rendezvous with Ibl|s also works on yet another 

level of the adab tradition, and that is the night visit by the phantom of the 

beloved (t¸ayf al-khaya≠l) to the poet. In the classical nas|b, the phantom usually 

appears in the guise of a she-demon (ghu≠l), and the poet is often wide awake, 

suffering acute anxiety. 14 His evoked memory is more of a conscious effort under 

11 The Arabian Nights, trans. Husain Haddawy (New York, 1990), 66–150. The motif of body 

mutilation, especially the loss of one eye, and metamorphoses as punishment in the Arabian 

Nights is discussed in Andras Hamori, On the Art of Medieval Arabic Literature (Princeton, 

1974), 164–80, esp. 174–79. 

12 On the motif of losing sight, in dreams, as punishment in Arabo-Islamic literature, see Fadwa 

Malti-Douglas, "Dreams, the Blind, and the Semiotics of the Biographical Notice," Studia Islamica 

51 (1980): 137–62, esp. 154–61. Malti-Douglas has also noted the interaction between losing 

sight, as punishment, and its recovery, as a mercy, "surrounding an apparent purification with 

water," in what she calls "the "blindness dreams." For the theme of "water of purification," see 

below. 

13 For "the gaze of Ibl|s," see Guo, "Paradise Lost," 220 f, 230–31. 

14 Michael Sells, "Guises of the Ghu≠l: Dissembling Simile and Semantic Overflow in the Classical 

Arabic Nas|b," in Reorientations/Arabic and Persian Poetry, ed. Suzanne P. Stetkevych 

(Bloomington, 1994), 130–64; John Seybold, "The Earliest Demon Lover: The T˛ayf al-Khaya≠l in 

al-Mufad˝d˝al|ya≠t," in ibid., 180–89, esp. 184. Seybold's claim that "the t¸ayf al-khaya≠l is no dreamimage 

or dream-vision" and that "the poet is not sleeping" is perhaps too broad a generalization, 

for there is an abundance of textual evidence indicating that the t¸ayf al-khaya≠l indeed appears in 

the poet's sleep, or dream; see, for example, Renate Jacobi, "Al-Khaya≠la≠n|: A Variation of the 

Khaya≠l Motif," Journal of Arabic Literature 27 (1996): 2–12, esp. 5–7, 10–11. 




control. In our poem, however, the poet is not only in a real dream, as is clearly 

indicated by the stock phrase ra’aytu f| al-nawm (line 1), 15 but also in a "wet" 

dream, one that is erotically charged. The dream provides a venue for the poet's 

self-indulgence: it is the dream that triggers his elegy of Ibl|s and the latter's 

outburst of grievance in blatant trash talk. Only in a dream is the poet able to meet 

the "dead," and more importantly, able to relive the experience passé, and retrieve 

the memory suppressed. It is this memory, or perhaps fantasies of memory, that 

stands out as the poem's real theme, or "purpose" (gharad˝). 

From a narrative viewpoint, it is also a double dream, and thus double memory: 

one for the poet, and one for Ibl|s, whose dream is within the poet's dream, and 

whose memory is intertwined with the poet's own. Ibl|s' raucous dream-vision 

memory constitutes the building blocks of the entire poem whereas the role of the 

poet, the "lyric I," is reduced to that of a side-kick, whose main job is to give some 

feedback, stimulating more from his "lord." From line 5 to line 29, the poet, 

through Ibl|s' "memories," sets out a wild roller-coaster ride, with an outburst of 

descriptions of the hedonistic underworld in Cairo prior to and during the campaign 

against vice. Compared with Qas˝|dah No. 69, where the lamentations of the 

victims of the prohibition are limited to a select few, 16 the juxtaposition of the 

various groups in Qas˝|dah No. 71 does not seem to follow any particular order. 

Here Ibl|s' first "list of vices" is on display at random: delectable young buyable 

boy (lines 5–9); female seductress (lines 10–12); pimp (lines 13–15); female 

prostitutes (lines 16–18); gay men (lines 19–20); adulterer (line 21); lesbian (lines 

22–23); tavern-keeper (line 24); hashish eater (line 25); Sudanese wine-bibber 

(line 26); male "active" and "passive" prostitutes (line 27); masturbation addict 

(line 28). Topping the list are, curiously, entertainers (line 29), among them shadow 

play performers, singers, and flutists (the "flute" seems to have some sexual 

connotation as well). 17 The mosaic-like collage is effective in depicting the chaotic 

atmosphere, and conveying a sense of lax morality, which were perhaps the order 

of the day. 

To incorporate bawdy material in a "high" adab context is one of Ibn Da≠niya≠l's 

trademarks. This is seen in the use of the muqa≠balah, or opposition, between the 

contrasting images of Ibl|s' followers who are "few" in number but "plenty" in 

spirit and enthusiasm (qillah/kathrah, line 4); between "white" (makeup powder? 

15 

The use of these phrases is discussed in Malti-Douglas, "Dreams," 144; also Jacobi, "Al-Khaya≠la≠n|," 

5–7, 11. 

16 

In Qas˝|dah No. 69, the lamentations are confined to four subjects: wine, beer, hashish, and 

prostitution; see Guo, "Paradise Lost," 220–24. 

17 

Cf. Abu≠ Nuwa≠s, "Wanna have some fun? / I'll bring you my 'flute'" [Fa-in ah˝babtum lahwan / 

atayna≠kum bi-mizma≠r], Al-Fuka≠hah wa-al-I’tina≠s f| Muju≠n Ab| Nuwa≠s (Cairo, 1316/1898), 8. The 

poet is boasting that he has the "tool" to entertain, be it musical instrument or penis. 




sperm? pure cheeks?) and "red" (lipstick? makeup? blood? tongue?) on the lover's 

cheeks (baya≠d˝/hűmrah, line 17). It can also be seen in the intricacy of the jina≠s, or 

paronomasia, such as the sexually-accessible boy being portrayed as a "full moon" 

and a "priceless treasure" (badr/badrah, line 5); in his company, money has lost 

"weight" (i.e., value), while his zodiac sign Libra is rising (wazn/al-m|za≠n, line 9). 

At times, the jina≠s is no more than a recycled cliché, such as the contrast of the 

‘udhr| and ‘udhrah, in line 22. But more often one is struck by Ibn Da≠niya≠l's 

brilliant imaginative innovation and rhetorical prowess. This is best illustrated in 

verses 26–29, which mark the end of the poet's nostalgic laments. Herein every 

line is endowed with one pair of the jina≠s. The mouthful, tongue-twister kind of 

juxtaposition of the cognate words with different, sometimes contrasting, meanings 

helps bring about an intensity that pushes the tempo to a climax. To be sure, there 

is a lot of word play here, where deliberate ambiguity and intentional sabotage of 

balance seem to be the rule. In line 26, the joy of beer (mizrah) is now reduced to 

very undesirable soaked millet (mizrah). In line 27, the contrast is between baghgha≠’, 

a male prostitute who plays the "passive" role in sex, and the cognate 

superlative/comparative abghá, whose exact meaning, derived either from bagh| 

("whore") or from ba≠ghin ("desiring, striving, oppressive, tyrant"), remains 

ambiguous until it is compared with "needle" (al-ibrah), perhaps a reference to the 

penis and its size, a universal butt for locker room jokes, or perhaps alluding to 

the penetrating power of a needle. This interplay is a recycled idiom that was used 

by al-Jurja≠n| (d. 1089) in his famous "vice list." 18 An even more outlandish word 

play is seen in the ensuing line 28, where the contrast is between one's daily habit 

of masturbation (‘umayrah) and the annual "lesser pilgrimage" (‘umrah), during 

which any sexual act is strictly forbidden. The word ‘umrah also means, according 

to Edward Lane, "a visit in which is the cultivation (‘ima≠rah) of love or affection." 

Moreover, this may well be a triple pun in that the reading of the word can also be 

‘amrah, "turban." So in the final analysis, the fellow would be aroused and seek to 

relieve himself, be it during the pilgrimage, or at the thought of a rendezvous with 

a lover, or simply seeing somebody's headwear. 

The poet then proceeds to a conversation with Ibl|s. His presumptuous "moral" 

point of view would surely further infuriate the bitter Old Man: "What has upset 

your dim disciples, / those wicked ones full of mischief?" To this Ibl|s angrily 

replies: "Idiot! You are trapped / in your sister's cunt—how awful!" The rhetorical 

18 Al-Qa≠d˝| Abu≠ al-‘Abba≠s Ah˝mad ibn Muh˝ammad al-Jurja≠n|, Al-Muntakhab min Kina≠ya≠t al-Udaba≠’ 

wa-Isha≠ra≠t al-Bulagha≠’ (Hyderabad, 1983). A detailed discussion of the vice list in al-Jurja≠n|'s 

book is found in Everett Rowson, "The Categorization of Gender and Sexual Irregularity in 

Medieval Arabic Vice Lists," in Body Guards: The Cultural Politics of Gender Ambiguity, eds. 

Julia Epstein and Kristina Straub (New York, 1991), 64. Rowson rendered the phrase abghá min 

al-ibrah as "He is more devoted to bigha≠’ than a needle," i.e., which is threaded (64, 78, n. 41). 




question raised by the fictionalized "lyric I," the poet, is designed for multiple 

purposes. With regard to the poem's overall structure, it serves as a transit point to 

sum up the first round of lamentation and move on to the next, which is more or 

less a revisiting of the same theme, with more twists, thus giving the supposedly 

polythematic qas˝|dah a tangible rhythm. This transition is also aimed at the changing 

of mood and tone, from one of lamenting to one of provoking, from one of pity to 

one of confrontation, from one of narrative to one of recitation. Further, from a 

narrative viewpoint, by posing seemingly "stupid" questions, the poet is providing 

ammunition for Ibl|s. 

And shoot he does. The reference to "Manichaean," as Ibl|s so labels the poet 

in line 32, denotes a ridiculed sense of "heresy," "pagan," or "Satanic cult," and it 

was used by earlier poets such as Abu≠ Nuwa≠s. 19 In both Ibn Da≠niya≠l's and Abu≠ 

Nuwa≠s' uses, the expression occurs in the qultu-wa-qa≠la, or question-and-response, 

discourse as a rebuttal to someone who is obviously pathetic or simply stupid as is 

often seen in the hija≠’-invective verses. Obviously, it is Abu≠ Nuwa≠s' and Ibn 

Da≠niya≠l's way of saying "O you moron!" or "O you idiot!" 

For Ibl|s, it is not an option to admit to self-loathing or express a desire for 

purification and deliverance, a topic to be discussed below. The poet's question 

simply gives him another opportunity to cry and whine. The strategy here is the 

old tried-and-true one: a random display of the suffering endured by Ibl|s' "troops" 

(line 33), the victims of the prohibition. The reader and audience watch spectral 

figures jerk into place, expose themselves one more time, and disappear. The 

cumulative picture of idleness, frustration, and nostalgia is etched in acid. Thus 

the reader is invited, again, to peruse the painful experiences of Ibl|s' "vice list": 

tavern-keeper (line 34), beer maker (line 35), bootlegger (line 36), hashish addict 

(line 37), call girls (lines 38–39), and gambler (line 40). The reader is well aware 

that the list here is more than a mechanical juxtaposition: the "categories" actually 

interact, and, occasionally, overlap with each other. The gambler, for example, 

was also a John, and his effort to "free" one call girl, by paying her "dowry," is 

itself a re-working of the existing topos, 20 which adds more cynicism: that a 

gambler should be relied upon for, of all things, money! 

19 See, for example: "I said: 'Praise be to my Lord!' / And he replied: 'Praise be to my Manes!' I 

said: 'Jesus is a prophet!' / And he replied: '[But] sent by Satan!'" [Fa-qultu subh˝a≠na rabb| / 

fa-qa≠la subh˝a≠na ma≠n|; fa-qultu ‘|sá rasu≠lun / fa-qa≠la min shayt¸a≠ni], D|wa≠n des Abu≠ Nuwa≠s, ed. 

Ewald Wagner (Stuttgart, 1958– ), 2:79; "If the joke is to be reversed, then you would be 

[considered] the moral one, / a secret believer in the religion of Manes, the last drop of cream" 

[Idha≠ quliba al-hija≠’u fa-anta khulq| / wa-mud˝miru d|na ma≠n| zubdu baqqi], ibid., 2:145. 

20 Al-Ba≠dha≠n| al-Is˝baha≠n|: "My bride is a slave girl set free; / I got her without paying a penny for 

dowry" [L| ‘irsun hűrrah mamlu≠kah / hűztuha≠ min ghayri mahrin wa-thaman], Al-Fuka≠hah, 17. 




In addition, the two "vice lists" provide vivid descriptions of various people 

and their outrageous acts and scurrilous behavior, and so amount to mimics of the 

conventional practice in medieval Arabic literature of composing verses for the 

purpose of conveying specific information or knowledge. In a wicked sense, these 

"lists" could thus be read as a how-to manual of sorts, another attempt on the 

poet's part to poke fun at traditions. 

The second round of lamentation, and the second "vice list," end with a string 

of ubi sunt, from line 41 to line 43, each led by a rhetorical question (How hard 

I've worked . . . ! How many times I've . . . !), through which Ibl|s cries out 

forcefully, reflecting on his "hard work" at the service of the revelers. Ibl|s' praise 

to himself ends on a high note, more self-congratulatory than self-pitying. The 

reality is painful, and the Old Man is cranky, but he is not ready to give up and he 

never will. Indeed, his sense of dark humor is intact and his defiance more evident 

than ever: "But the market of rebellion is stagnant; / no wine, no revelry, no sex. / 

Yet I'm inclined to keep pimping, / and free of charge, no less!" (lines 44–45). 

The blunt declaration of being "rebellious and reckless" (al-ma‘a≠s˝|) may be a 

commonplace Abu≠ Nuwa≠sian cliché, 21 but the brilliant imagery of "the market of 

rebellion is stagnant" is definitely Ibn Da≠niya≠l's own. 

Ibl|s' bitter and wry outcry prompts a visceral response from the poet: "Then I 

said, 'O Ibl|s, take us away / on a long journey, far, far from here'" (line 46). Here 

one may note the attempt at a rah˝|l transition toward the mad|h˝ panegyric proper 

in the classic qas˝|dah tradition, 22 but it is too little, too late. The sense of exhaustion 

and frustration is clearly felt here as far as the overall structure of the poem is 

concerned: the poet seems to have lost interest and energy to go on. Instead of a 

full-blown mad|h˝, a mere four lines (lines 47–50) were rushed into place, bringing 

the poem to an end. The panegyric itself employs the same strategy utilized 

repeatedly by the poet, namely, the rhetorical game of ta’k|d al-dhamm bi-ma≠ 

yushbihu al-madh˝ (blame through what looks like praise). 23 Nevertheless, it is not 

without its own values and novelty. From a historical perspective, the quasipanegyric 

contains references, some vague and some explicit, that may shed light 

on the historicity of the poem and other related issues. 24 One also learns some 

21 For example, ibid., 106; D|wa≠n Ab| Nuwa≠s (Cairo, 1322/1904–5), 324. 

22 Compare Qas˝|dah No. 69, where the "going-away" call is raised much earlier, in line 22, and 

then reiterated in line 30; see Guo, "Paradise Lost," 223. 

23 Ibid., 230. 

24 A curious discrepancy is observed in that the poem, which is on La≠j|n's (r. 1296–98) prohibition, 

also appears in a slightly different version in the shadow play T¸ayf al-Khaya≠l, which is believed to 

describe street life under Baybars' reign (1260–77), thus raising the issue of who was the exact 

target of the mad|h˝. I plan to address this issue in a separate study, with special references to 

historical reality vs. poetic truth in Ibn Da≠niya≠l's writings, his relationship with the Mamluk 




details concerning the events that led to the prohibition, as well as what may have 

actually happened during the prohibition. The sultan, we are told, listened to the 

vizier's "advice" and issued a "decree" (marsu≠m) to launch the prohibition. Any 

offender caught would be paraded on the back of a horse, wine jars hanging from 

his neck, and would be beaten by "huge sticks." A sad finale to a dark, chaotic, 

and scabrous episode in Cairo's never-ending saga. But the poet would not let the 

audience leave without a last laugh. For the general audience, the fact that the 

revered vizier in fact resembled a horse, "that is blessed with good looks and a 

blaze on his forehead" (line 48), is funny enough, but for Ibn Da≠niya≠l's pals, there 

is more: riding on horseback has long been, in Arabic poetry, associated with 

sexual, especially homosexual, intercourse. The punch line is, therefore, in the 

final analysis, a "fuck you" note to the authoritarian establishment, Ibn Da≠niya≠l-style. 

And the vizier is the sultan's queer! 

SATIRE OR PARODY? THE ART OF MUJU≠N 

Although some problems still remain regarding the interpretation of certain rare 

words and vague expressions, the above reading still allows a general appreciation 

of the poem. It is obvious that the quasi-mad|h˝ panegyric targeting the sultan, or 

the vizier, or whoever was responsible for the prohibition, is reduced to a minimum 

of four lines and is never fully developed; the focus is exclusively on the quasi-nas|b, 

that is, on Ibl|s', and the poet's, memory. In other words, it is less a political 

allegory, or social satire, than a parody where the game is wordplay and rhetoric. 

Some recent studies of pre-modern Arabic literature and popular culture have 

challenged, and moved away from, the traditional approach of treating certain 

texts of the so-called "adab of transgression" 25 as mainly social satire. These texts 

range from al-H˛ar|r|'s (d. 1122) and al-H˛amadha≠n|'s (d. 1008) Maqa≠ma≠t, Ibn 

Da≠niya≠l's shadow plays and poetry, and al-Nafza≠w|'s (d. 1422) erotica, to Ibn 

Su≠du≠n's (d. 1464) and al-Shirb|n|'s (fl. seventeenth century) colloquial poetry and 

prose. Armed with the Freudian notion of "repetition compulsion" and Mikhail 

Bakhtin's conception of parody, these studies propose new readings of the 

aforementioned texts as psychic drama in the form of parody, "whose purpose," in 

Daniel Beaumont's definition, "is the consumption and reshaping of antecedent 

texts," and whose "key concepts will be repetition and rhetoric." 26 In providing a 

theoretical conceptual focal point for this new approach, Mohamed-Salah Omri 

patrons, and his working method in recycling existing texts. 

25 The term was coined by Mohamed-Salah Omri, defined as "literature that goes beyond the 

normal conventions and codes by representing them in a parodic manner"; see "Adab in the 

Seventeenth Century: Narrative and Parody in al-Shirb|n|'s Hazz al-Quh˝u≠f," Edebiya≠t 11 (2000): 

182, 193 (note 27). 

26 Daniel Beaumont, "The Trickster and Rhetoric in the Maqa≠ma≠t," Edebiya≠t 5 (1994): 1–14. 




begins by making the distinction between satire and parody, in that, according to 

The Princeton Encyclopaedia of Poetry and Poetics, "[W]hile satire has as a 

purpose to make the object of the attack abhorrent or ridiculous," parody "usually 

makes its point by employing a serious style to express an incongruous subject 

thus disturbing the balance between form and matter." 27 

Inspired by this theoretical framework and dealing with one of the banner-carriers 

of this "adab of aggression," I intend to look at Ibn Da≠niya≠l's socially-conscious 

poetry from both sides, that is, from historical and literary readings of the text. 

My premise is that these poems, unlike the more fictional shadow plays, undeniably 

bear specific historical elements, as they were prompted by certain actual events 

and were therefore meant to comment on certain issues, or send certain messages 

in the first place. At that level, to treat them as expressions of public sentiment in 

the form of social satire is indeed a helpful concept to work with. However, close 

reading of these poems has revealed that besides the poet's social consciousness, 

there is something more pressing and more urgent for him to react to and speak 

out against. Instead of being obsessed with a sultan, or a vizier, or the Mamluk 

regime, the poet is more concerned about himself, about his memories of the 

now-prohibited sensual pleasures in his lost paradise, his lost garden. If the universal 

theme of "sensual pleasure vs. repression"–-and in the Islamic context, the mantra 

of "commanding right and forbidding wrong (al-amr bi-al-ma‘ru≠f wa-al-nahy ‘an 

al-munkar)—is at play here, then the poem in question is more about celebrating 

the forbidden pleasures, the munkars, than condemning the "righteous" repression, 

the ma‘ru≠fs. True to Ibn Da≠niya≠l's poetic persona, it is more about joy than about 

anger, about having a good time than about staging a protest. In literary terms, 

this hardly fits in a conventional hija≠’, where the target is always the enemy. Here 

in the muju≠n, the joke is on everybody. 

The fact that the poet was, as the above reading of the poem has amply 

demonstrated, indeed working within the high adab domain further allows us to 

compare him with his predecessors in the same domain. An attempt will be made 

to show how by means of reprocessing and reshaping the antecedent themes, 

idioms, and topoi in the Abu≠ Nuwa≠sian muju≠n tradition, 28 Ibn Da≠niya≠l was able to 

27 Omri, "Adab," 193, n. 28. 

28 Editions of Abu≠ Nuwa≠s' d|wa≠n usually omit the muju≠n|ya≠t altogether. The few exceptions I have 

come across are (1) D|wa≠n Ab| Nuwa≠s bi-Riwa≠yat al-S˝u≠l|, ed. Bahjat ‘Abd al-Ghafu≠r al-H˛udayth| 

(Baghdad, 1980). It contains a sanitized muju≠n|ya≠t section (899–937) wherein all the "dirty" words 

were omitted; (2) Al-Fuka≠hah, a slim volume printed privately by one Mans˝u≠r ‘Abd al-Muta‘a≠l 

and one H˛usayn Afendi Sharaf; (3) D|wa≠n Ab| Nuwa≠s (Cairo, 1322/1904–5), published by Mus˝t¸afá 

al-Ba≠b| al-H˛alab|; less than ten pages (339–47) contain a section entitled "verses blending [ja≠’a 

bayna] khamr|ya≠t and muju≠n," which turns out to be largely of the khamr|ya≠t genre. As for the 

editorial efforts in the West, the long-awaited fifth volume, the muju≠n|ya≠t, of Der Diwa≠n des Abu≠ 




stay ahead in this rhetorical game. It is further argued that many of the muju≠n 

elements had their roots in ghazal conventions. 

Abu≠ Nuwa≠s' 29 influence, and, more accurately, the tradition he represents, is 

unmistakably traceable in Ibn Da≠niya≠l's poetry. In addition to the examples cited 

above, such as the curse of "Manichaean" (line 32), the analogy of "dowry/fee" 

paid to "bride/whore" (line 40), and the simile of "flute/penis" (line 29), there are 

many more. Some items on his "vice lists," for example, such as tribadism (lesbian 

sex act), were attributed to Abu≠ Nuwa≠s as well. 30 Ibn Da≠niya≠l's parodies of the 

Quranic verses were directly inspired by, or simply borrowed from, Abu≠ Nuwa≠s. 

One example is his Qas˝|dah No. 69, line 7: "Many a rake declares: 'This is a day 

that is, / as they say, 'Dismal and calamitous!'" (yawm qamt¸ar|r ‘abu≠s). 31 A paraphrase 

of Quran, 76:10, it is found, verbatim, in Abu≠ Nuwa≠s' d|wa≠n. 32 In the present 

poem, a mimicking of the Quranic phraseology is seen in line 17, "Praise be to the 

One who created . . . " (subh˝a≠na man wallada . . . ), the like of which occurs 

frequently in Abu≠ Nuwa≠s' vocabulary. 33 The parody of the Quranic verses is 

particularly significant for the present discussion in that the intrinsic link between 

it and the muju≠n is underlined by the fact that such attempts by Abu≠ Nuwa≠s are 

considered as of the muju≠n type and are therefore classified, by medieval Arab 

anthologists, in the category of the muju≠n|ya≠t. 34 

In what follows, samples of Ibn Da≠niya≠l's muju≠n verses will be compared with 

the parallels from Abu≠ Nuwa≠s. After the thematic and linguistic linkage between 

the two is established, the discussion will proceed on two levels: first, the ghazal 

conventions, such as "the enchanting/enchanted gaze" and "the amorous union," 

used by Abu≠ Nuwa≠s and Ibn Da≠niya≠l as they are supposed to be, that is, as 

descriptions of the beloved, 35 although, as we are already aware, in this anything-goes 

Nuwa≠s, edited by Ewald Wagner, is to this day still in manuscript form. For further information, 

see Amidu Sanni, The Arabic Theory of Prosification and Versification: On H˛all and Naz˝m in 

Arabic Theoretical Discourse (Beirut, 1998), 167; Gregor Schoeler, "Ibl|s in the Poems of Abu≠ 

Nuwa≠s," Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft 151 (2001): 43–44, n. 1. 

29 

Here Abu≠ Nuwa≠s is treated as a name under which a reservoir of texts was formed; thus the 

issue of the authenticity of some poems attributed to him is not important. For more on this issue, 

see Schoeler, "Ibl|s," 43, n. 1. 

30 

Some medieval critics believed that Abu≠ Nuwa≠s was the first Arab poet to deal with the topic; 

see Al-Fuka≠hah, 17. 

31 

Guo, "Paradise Lost," 221. 

32 

"Wa-law f| yawmi hurmuza zurta mu≠sá / la-s˝ayyarahu≠ ‘abu≠san qamt¸ar|ran," Diwa≠n des Abu≠ 

Nuwa≠s, 2:89. 

33 

See, for example, text cited in note 22 above. 

34 

Amidu Sanni, Arabic Theory, 163–67. 

35 

Some scholars, especially those of the "Chicago school of Arabic literature," have long challenged 




territory, the "beloved" may be a girl or a boy for Abu≠ Nuwa≠s, a phantom or a 

devil in Ibn Da≠niya≠l's case. But overall the parody remains metaphorical, that is, it 

does not go beyond the language boundary, in that a kiss really is a kiss, and a 

gaze a gaze. Second, Abu≠ Nuwa≠s' and Ibn Da≠niya≠l's re-working of the ghazal 

elements, in that farting, urinating, and excrement replace the typical ghazal topoi 

such as the lover's "fragrant smell" and "sweet saliva," and so forth. Here everything 

is turned upside down, and the parody is operating on both metaphoric and linguistic 

levels. 

MOCKING THE GHAZAL CONVENTION: THE "ENCHANTING/ENCHANTED GAZE" 

In a quasi-nas|b style, with the conventions of the ghazal, the "departing beloved" 

is first introduced to the audience as, among other things, a "full moon," a "noon-day 

sun," and a "pliant branch," whose "enchanting gaze" is all over the place, to be 

witnessed through the lovers' "enchanted gaze." Not only do the motifs remain the 

same, but the wordings are in accordance with the stock repertoire as well: the 

badr al-dujá (line 5), the shams d˝uh˝á (line 7), the ghus˝n naqan (line 7), the lah˝z˛ 

(line 6), the suh˝u≠r al-‘ayn fatta≠nah (line 10), the ‘ayn wa-al-naz˛r (line 42), and 

the list goes on and on. 

Abu≠ Nuwa≠s uses the same stock similes of "full moon," "shining sun," "enchanting 

gaze," and so forth, in describing his beloved: 

His figure is like the full moon, his joyful face a shining sun; 

he has a gazelle's eyes and chest. 

Charm is his gaze, fine wine his saliva; 

his forelock is dark night and his skin is gold. 

[Al-badru sű≠ratuhu≠ wa-al-shamsu bahjatuhu≠ 

wa-lil-ghaza≠lati minhu al-‘aynu wa-al-lubab 

Wa-al-sih˝ru lah˝z¸atuhu≠ wa-al-khamru r|qatuhu≠ 

wa-al-laylu t¸urratuhu≠ wa-lawnuhu≠ dhahab 36 ] 

How come? O you with enchanting 

gaze and charming bright eyes! 

the traditional interpretation of the descriptive function of the nas|b; see, for example, Jaroslav 

Stetkevych, "Toward an Arabic Elegiac Lexicon: The seven words of the nas|b," in Reorientations, 

58–129; Sells, "Guises of the Ghu≠l." But this is beyond the scope of this study, for Ibn Da≠niya≠l's 

nas|b here is already in the form of parody; it nevertheless does reaffirm the point in that what is 

presented in these ghazal similes "is not in fact the beloved as an object of description," but rather 

"the mythopoetic world of the lost garden or meadow," to quote from Sells ("Guises of the Ghu≠l," 

130). 

36 Al-Fuka≠hah, 85. 




[Wa-kayfa ya≠ fa≠tira al-lah˝z¸i sa≠h˝ira al-‘ayni ah˝war 37 ] 

O [you] the heart-throb whose charm 

radiates from his enchanting gaze! 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Don't let me suffer 

from your enchanting gaze! 

[Ya≠ sa≠liba al-adhha≠ni 

bi-t¸arfihi al-fatta≠n 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

la≠ tatrukn| mu‘nan 

bi-t¸arfiki al-fatta≠n 38 ] 

MOCKING THE GHAZAL CONVENTION: THE "AMOROUS UNION" 

The influence of Abu≠ Nuwa≠s on Ibn Da≠niya≠l's poetic imagination and lyric 

expression can also be observed in descriptions of the acts of love-making. In the 

classical ghazal tradition, the notion of al-was˝l (or al-wis˝a≠l), "amorous union," is 

usually associated with the lover's tender touch, in the formulaic contrast with the 

painful experience of al-hijra≠n, "departure." Although the term does imply sexual 

intercourse, this function is not overtly emphasized (we will come back to this 

point later). However, in Abu≠ Nuwa≠s' vocabulary, not only is the term al-was˝l 

used explicitly for sexual intercourse, but it is also frequently paired with al-tajm|sh, 

a vague term that denotes a wide range of sex acts, from flirtation to rough 

foreplay and violent fondling. The juxtaposition of al-tajm|sh with al-was˝l and, 

occasionally, naql ("sweet" [kiss, hug, etc.]), became a fixation in Abu≠ Nuwa≠s' 

love-theme verses; and this is seen in Ibn Da≠niya≠l's poem as well. 

Abu≠ Nuwa≠s: 

37 Ibid., 51. 

38 Ibid., 55. 

8. Caressing him (tajm|shuhu) is sweet fruit (naql) to those who 

embrace him 

and screw the fig with the date. 

9. What's money to union with him (f| was˝lihi) 

whose lucky horoscopes are Libra and Venus? 

For ordinary folks ever since the Creation, it's foreplay before 

fuck. 

But in Moses' household, they fuck first, then fondle! 



[Al-jamshu f| al-na≠si qabla al-nayki mudh khuliqu≠ 

wa-al-nayku f| bayti mu≠sá qabla tajm|sh 39 ] 

Whenever you were aroused by an urge, 

or desired an intimate union . . . 

[Kullama≠ jammashaka al-ilh˝a≠h˝ 

aw an rumta was˝laka 40 ] 


And he said, "Fuck me! Blow me down! 

Keep quiet to your servant, and don't reveal the secret!" 

So I began to mess around with him, 

joking and flirting. 

[Fa-qa≠la s˝iln| wa-aqilla ‘athrat| 

wa-iktum ‘alá ‘abdika la≠ tufsh| 

Fa-qumtu bi-al-li‘bi fa-ma≠zah˝tuhu≠ 

‘alá t¸ar|qi al-mazh˝ wa-al-jamsh 41 ] 

Sweet as fruit is his kiss: 

ripe, to be harvested from his cheek; 

Waiting for watering, 

inviting a fuck! 

[Wa-al-naqlu min taqb|li ma≠ 

yaqt¸ifu min wajnatih| 

Saqyan laha≠ min da‘wati 

tud‘á ilá naykih| 42 ] 

From the seemingly compulsory way of paring and juxtaposing a fixed set of 

terms, it is evident that the classical notion of al-was˝l, the Platonic "amorous 

union," is transformed, in Abu≠ Nuwa≠s' use, to a synonymy for al-nayk (fuck). It is 

about sex, plain and simple. The same usage is also seen in Ibn Da≠niya≠l's work; in 

the shadow play version of the present poem, the two words was˝l and nayk are 

used in a virtually interchangeable manner (see Appendix below, line 18). 

To make erotic suggestions within the classical nas|b/ghazal tradition, the 

poet often appeals to the senses, and this becomes paramount in the overall 

texture of the poem. 43 For Abu≠ Nuwa≠s, for example, the joy of love, or love-making, 

39 

Diwa≠n des Abu≠ Nuwa≠s, 2:90. 

40 

Al-Fuka≠hah, 57. 

41 

Ibid., 58. 

42 

Ibid., 28. 

43 

For recent studies of the depictions of the five senses in the qas˝|dah tradition, see Michael Sells, 




is summed up in a formula that one may call the "smell, taste, and gaze" combination: 

In love one enjoys the lover's affection and tenderness, 

As well as that [pleasant] smell, [sweet] taste, and [enchanting] 

gaze. 

[Fa-f|hi mu’a≠ta≠tu al-h˝ab|bi wa-‘at¸fuhu≠ 

‘alayka wa-f|hi al-shammu wa-al-dhawqu wa-al-naz˝ar 44 ] 

Abu≠ Nuwa≠s makes it clear that these are the fundamental elements for a love 

affair, and a love poem. Among these, "sight" (seeing the lover's beautiful physique, 

"enchanting gaze") and "touch" (tender or otherwise) are discussed above. As for 

"smell," the lover's pleasant smell is usually associated with various fragrant 

perfumes he/she is wearing, but also the intoxicating smell of alcohol on his/her 

breath. "Taste" alludes to the sweet taste of the lover's rosy cheek, lips, and saliva, 

which the poet enjoys through deep kisses. Add "sound," that is, listening to love 

songs as well as the lover's sweet talk, and the poetic atmosphere is saturated with 

all five senses, and all aspects of human sensuality. A love affair, in the ghazal 

tradition, even within the Abu≠ Nuwa≠sian deviation, is such a whole package 

through which one is sure to get an eyeful, earful, noseful, mouthful, and handful. 

And in the muju≠n, this is even more the case, as the glorification of flesh and 

sensual pleasure in a coarse manner is the raison d'être of the genre. Bearing this 

context in mind, we now turn to the poem in question, which showcases the way 

Ibn Da≠niya≠l mimicked and subverted the ghazal topoi, turning them into muju≠n 

scatological farces. 

PARODY OF THE GHAZAL TOPOS: FARTING VS. FRAGRANT SMELL 

This seems to be a favorite trick of Ibn Da≠niya≠l. Two verses in the poem depict 

breaking wind while having sex, a far cry from the lover's "pleasant smell" in the 

ghazal. 

13. Every pimp is farting at the mouth (lahu≠ d˝art¸atun / min 

shidqih|), 

and following up with a snort. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

20. When a fart (faswah) is wafted his way, 

he would say, "O, fragrant incense!" 

Equally coarse and amusing is Abu≠ Nuwa≠s: 

"Guises of the Ghu≠l," 139–44, 156–57; Akiko Motoyoshi, "Sensibility and Synaesthesia: Ibn 

al-Ru≠m|'s Singing Slave-Girl," Journal of Arabic Literature 32 (2001): 1–29, esp. 15. 

44 D|wa≠n des Abu≠ Nuwa≠s, ed. Gregor Schoeler (Stuttgart, 1958– ), 4:390. 



Her breath stinks like farting, 

or rather as a bundle of garlic. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Out of my love for her, I broke wind, 

scaring away even the Byzantine king! 

[Ka-annama≠ nak'hatuha≠ faswatun 

aw hűzmatun min hűzami al-thu≠mi 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

D˛arat¸tu min hűbb| laha≠ d˝art¸atan 

afza‘tu minha≠ malika al-ru≠mi 45 ] 


I surely am getting the smell of that fuck. 

Screw that thing before you! It's the aroma of stew. 

[Inn| ashummu li-ha≠dha≠ al-nayki ra≠’ih˝atan 

fa-irhiz quda≠maka ha≠dha≠ r|h˝a sakba≠ji 46 ] 

It [i.e., his penis] cuts through the wind of asshole like the edge of 

a razor, 

screwing the balls, like the head of a spear. 

[Ashaqqa li-r|h˝i al-ust min h˝addi shafratin 

wa-anfadha f| al-khas˝yayni min ra’si mizra≠qi 47 ] 

The imageries are quite similar: to liken breaking wind to having bad breath, 

farting while having sex, etc. Also similar is the use of words such as faswah, 

d˝art¸ah, r|h˝, etc. Ibn Da≠niya≠l, however, adds some new, perhaps more outrageous, 

twists: the farting described in line 20, for example, involves oral and anal sex 

performed on men, which is not seen in Abu≠ Nuwa≠s' quotes. Further, in this 

regard, one may admit that while Ibn Da≠niya≠l's "farting" scenes are plainly coarse 

and scabrous, Abu≠ Nuwa≠s' descriptions are more subtle, with a nice touch of dry 

humor and literary elaboration; the smell of "garlic," the "Byzantine king," and 

"stew," are just a few examples. 

PARODY OF THE GHAZAL TOPOS: EXCREMENT VS. SWEET SALIVA 

The combination of excremental and the sexual themes has a long, if not quite 

respectable, tradition in medieval Arabic literature. Examples of the use of the 

oral-anal-phallus analogy abound in both the hija≠’ and muju≠n genres. In the mock 

45 

Ibid., 2:87. 

46 

Al-Fuka≠hah, 23. 

47 

Ibid., 39. 




ghazal context, it ought to be viewed as an antithesis of the lover's "sweet taste." 

Furthermore, the excremental elements, urine and dung, were also closely associated 

with food consumption in literature. 48 More often, they, and urine in particular (for 

its "water" imagery), have to do with sexual intercourse as well. When Ibn Da≠niya≠l 

veers into this verbal orgy, he surely would not miss the chance to give it a shot: 

Abu≠ Nuwa≠s: 

15. Saying—farting (al-k|fa≠kh) from his rear, 

his breath filled with fennel—: 

16. "Weigh out a thousand dinars, if you want her, 

though you won't want her shit (ba‘rah)!" 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

21. Every adulterer sees in whore's piss (bawlat / al-quh˝bah) 

a charm guaranteeing his health. 

If [your] pussy stretches wider, so will the territory of [my] 

sovereignty. 

In it, my piss should certainly go a long way! 

[Fa-in yaku t¸u≠lu al-baz˝r su’dud 

fa-bawl| ‘alayh| annahu≠ sa-yat¸u≠lu 49 ] 

They end up witnessing wind coming out their assholes, 

whose hair is braided with dried dung beetles. 

[Nataju≠ yarawna al-r|h˝ah min asta≠hihim 

wa-bi-ha≠ min al-ji‘ri al-yab|si ‘iqa≠s˝ 50 ] 

The originality lies in the two poets' respective attempts to link excremental 

movements with many other things. In Abu≠ Nuwa≠s' case, the oral-anal-phallus 

analogy is translated into one of piss-sperm-shit. The last couplet cited above also 

sets out a combination of the two topoi, that is, farting and excrement, that 

involves both "smell" and "taste." Ibn Da≠niya≠l, on the other hand, has his own idea 

for pushing the envelope: in line 15, the description of excrement goes beyond the 

usual sex association, in that he reverses the function of oral and anal in his 

portrait of a pimp: this time the "shit" is coming from the man's mouth, as he talks 

48 The most recent discussion of the topic of food and sex in Arabic literature is found in Geert Jan 

van Gelder, God's Banquet: Food in Classical Arabic Literature (New York, 2000), 3–4, 78–79, 

110–11. 

49 Al-Fuka≠hah, 22. 

50 Ibid., 21. 




trash, while "bubbles (? al-k|fa≠kh)," supposedly foaming saliva, come from his 

ass. In a reversed kind of excremental movement, things come from wrong places. 

The idea of the wrong kind of stuff coming from the wrong place is also entertained 

in line 21, where a mother's milk is replaced by a prostitute's urine. 

On account of their direct link to physical acts and bodily discharges, these 

two topoi have a broader implication for the general cultural concern with ritual 

purity and purification. In his elegant study of the art of simile in the classical 

nas|b, Michael Sells has noted what he calls "a dynamic polarity of sexual union 

and ablution or purification," 51 and "the interplay between nature and culture, 

sense fulfillment and purification," 52 in the poet's memory of the beloved gone and 

happiness lost: 

Not only do the description-of-the-beloved passages present 

elements that depict, through metonymic association, the lost garden, 

but they present a series of sense experiences as well. Not all five 

senses are actualized within each depiction of the beloved, but 

several of them usually are. Mention of the beloved generates a 

movement from sense to sense of excited rapidity. When this sense 

of excitement is taken into account, many of the same elements 

that make up the lost garden can be viewed as part of a performative 

reenactment of sexual union. Sexual union with the beloved is 

seldom mentioned and never described directly; rather it is intimated 

by the rapid movement through the sensorium that occurs with 

mention of her. Key to this series of associations and sensual 

evocations is the depiction of water that appears at the center of so 

many of the more erotically charged passages, especially the dynamic 

polarity of water as sexual and ablutionary [italics mine]. 53 

What occurs in the description passages of the nas|b, as Sells sees it, is a 

"four-part movement, from the sense image, through images of purification, of 

atmospheric ablutions, to a garden scene, to the s˝ah˝w or awakening from the 

dhikr." 54 The "water" metaphor is thus central in this interaction: it is water that 

runs from the mouth of the beloved (saliva), and the eyes of the lover (tears), to 

the lost garden (dew, rains), to purification (water for ablution). The sexual 

suggestions in the ghazal/nas|b are, according to Sells, therefore always balanced 

by the "language of purification." Coming back to the present poem, the imagery 

51 

"Guises of the Ghu≠l," 131. 

52 

Ibid., 144. 

53 

Ibid., 156–57. 

54 Ibid., 140. 




of water, too, is central in that ma≠’"water," and lush greenery, in the lost garden, 

first occur in line 11 (and twice in the shadow play version, lines 10, 11; see 

Appendix), together with Ibl|s' tears (line 2). The "water," nevertheless, turns bad 

rapidly as the poem progresses. 

The interplay between purity and pollution is also working at another, and 

more serious, level, for the idea of purity and purification has its deeply-rooted 

ramifications in the Islamic context: the notion of t¸aha≠rah, or ritual purity, is of 

paramount significance for one's physical and spiritual well being. "Purity is half 

the faith," as the Prophet Muh˝ammad declared. H˛adath, that is, ritual impurity 

caused by, among other things, sexual intercourse, breaking wind, evacuating 

urine or feces, or intoxication, is thus to be avoided and cursed. 55 As far as the 

notion of t¸aha≠rah vs. h˝adath is concerned, it can be argued that the ghazal as a 

system of lyric expression manages to stay "clean." Activities that frequent the 

ghazal poetry, such as kissing, tender touch, and embracing are not considered of 

the h˝adath type, and bodily discharges, some of which are part of the stock 

vocabulary, such as the lover's tears, sweat, saliva, mother's milk, etc. should be 

seen as clean as well. 

Needless to say, the boundary is violently, and deliberately, crossed in Ibn 

Da≠niya≠l's and Abu≠ Nuwa≠s' verses cited above. Whereas sexual union (was˝l, wis˝a≠l) 

is merely alluded to, but never described directly, in the classical ghazal, as Sells 

has convincingly pointed out, an abundance of violations is to be found in its 

antithesis, the muju≠n. Here the h˝adath acts, such as fornication, intoxication, 

farting, urinating, etc., are being accompanied by the naja≠sa≠t, the unclean wet 

discharges such as urine, sperm, pus, feces, and blood. Ibl|s, and the poet, never 

met a dirty thing they did not like. With these bad behaviors, bad smells, and bad 

leaks, all hell breaks loose. It is the domain of Ibl|s, the lost garden of the Devil. 

Here sexual suggestions are not balanced by the language of purification, as in the 

ghazal convention, but are further materialized and enhanced by the language of 

abuse and pollution. Furthermore, "the water of purification" is a leitmotif in 

Arabo-Islamic culture; it also carries an apocalyptic message of redemption, with 

the miraculous power of curing wounded sinners, including those who lost their 

sight as punishment. 56 However, this last chance of redemption, by means of 

"water of purification," is flatly rejected by the wounded sinner, Ibl|s, whose 

escalated swing towards the opposite constitutes a declaration of independence in 

the face of the religious establishment and authoritarian power. This point was 

55 There is a substantial literature on the subject. For more details and bibliography, see "H˛adath," 

"Nadja≠sa," and "T˛aha≠rah," in The Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2nd edition. My summary here is based 

on Frederick M. Denny's synthesis in An Introduction to Islam (New York, 1994), 113–18. 

56 See the discussion above, esp. note 12. 




surely not lost on Ibn Da≠niya≠l. This religious context is significant because the 

motivation of Baybars and La≠j|n, and for that matter all other Mamluk sultans, to 

prohibit vice was largely a political one, in the guise of religion. Their efforts, at 

least the appearance of them, in enforcing the shar|‘ah law would help to establish 

their puritanical image as warriors for the holy cause and thus the legitimate 

leaders of the Muslim community. 

In general literary terms, if scatology is, by nature, meant to break the rules 

and codes of ritual purity and purification, then Abu≠ Nuwa≠s' and Ibn Da≠niya≠l's 

muju≠n-topoi of farting and excrement have their share in this universal human 

farce. All together, here the reader runs into a fantasy land ruled by Ibl|s, the 

Devil, where all the sensual extremes are being tested, moving from one sense to 

another, but in parodic twist: sight (blindness vs. enchanting gaze), smell (farting 

vs. fragrance), taste (excrement vs. sweetness), touch (rough sex vs. tenderness), 

and sound ("shriek" and crying vs. love song and sweet talk). By relentlessly 

challenging the sense and sensibility of the audiences as they navigate the treacherous 

path of interplay between ghazal and muju≠n, beauty and ugliness, purity and 

pollution, the poets' comic assault on tradition and existing norms is completed. 

The assault is also seen on a socio-linguistic level, in that the frequent occurrence 

of dung, urine, and excrement in poetry is arguably an indication of the poets' 

testing of a new poetic vocabulary that would blend the "high" and "low." "These 

gross vulgarities," Jacques Berque writes, "constitute a poor excuse for an approach 

to what a 'people's' language might be. That they are resorted to indicates much 

less a lusty realism than a systematic search for incongruity, and still more a 

reaction against the language's increasing banality [italics mine]." 57 Although 

Berque's main concern here is the trend of "new language" in modern Arabic 

poetry, it does resonate to echoes in the past, in Abu≠ Nuwa≠s' and Ibn Da≠niya≠l's 

search for the "new" poetic language. But that, of course, is the subject of another 

study. 

CONCLUSION 

Ibn Da≠niya≠l's Qas˝|dah No. 71 combines the force of a manifesto, that deals with 

the universal theme of sensual freedom versus repression, with the comic relief of 

a farce, that glorifies all things prohibited through memory. By creating a series of 

excessively repellent poetic images that amount to parodies of classical and postclassical 

codes and idioms, the poet triumphed in elevating the art of muju≠n to a 

new level. Following his predecessors, especially Abu≠ Nuwa≠s, his central strategy 

is a constant interplay between the language of purification after erotic suggestions, 

57 

Cultural Expression in Arab Society Today (Langages arabes du présent), trans. Robert W. 

Stookey (Austin, 1978), 299. 




in the Platonic ghazal tradition, and between that of deliberate impurity and 

pollution, in scatological muju≠n parodies. The result is a tour de force that is 

alternately disturbing and entertaining. The present study is by no means a 

comprehensive treatment of the development of the muju≠n genre as a whole, but 

rather sets out to provide some textual evidence, and observations, for further 

investigation. In this regard, the poem in question shows not only a continuous 

development of the muju≠n genre in the post-classical era, but also the new ways to 

do it. In that sense, to say that Ibn Da≠niya≠l was working within the Abu≠ Nuwa≠sian 

tradition is perhaps an understatement. He is the one to relentlessly extend the 

limits, and take the genre to extremes. In many ways, Ibn Da≠niya≠l might lack Abu≠ 

Nuwa≠s' elegance and subtlety, and many of his ideas—such as the "wet dream," 

the night visit by the phantom (a. k. a. Ibl|s), the "vice lists," and parodies of the 

Quranic idioms and the ghazal topoi—were obviously inherited from the earlier 

tradition, including that of Abu≠ Nuwa≠s. Yet his unique style, characterized not 

only by its excessive aggression and intensity but also its adding new elements—such 

as Ibl|s as "the one-eyed beloved"—to the formula, sets him apart from many 

others writing in the genre. In this regard, and as is true in the general history of 

literature, the ideas might not always be original, but it is the presentation that 

matters. 




APPENDIX: EDITION AND TEXTUAL NOTES 

The edition is based on the sole manuscript of al-S˝afad|'s (d. 1362) Al-Tadhkirah 

al-S˝afad|yah, vol. 14 (Cairo, Da≠r al-Kutub, microfilm 1762, ff. 64 recto–65 verso). 

A slightly different version is to be found in the shadow play T˛ayf al-Khaya≠l. 58 

The Arabic letter da≠l, in the lower apparatus, stands for the Mukhta≠r edited by 

al-Dulaym|; and m|m for the manuscript. 

The abbreviations used in the textual notes are: 

Dozy = Reinhart Dozy, Supplément aux dictionnaires arabes 

(Leiden, 1927). 

Hans Wehr = Hans Wehr, Arabic-English Dictionary (Ithaca, 1976). 

Hava = J. G. Hava, Al-Fara≠’id al-Durr|yah f| al-Lughtayn 

al-‘Arab|yah wa-al-Injl|z|yah (Beirut, 1915). 

K = Three Shadow Plays by Muh˝ammad Ibn Da≠niya≠l, ed. Paul 

Kahle (Cambridge, 1992). 

Kazimirski = Biberstein Kazimirski, Dictionnaire arabe-français 

(Beirut, 197-). 

Lane = Edward W. Lane, Arabic-English Lexicon (Cambridge, 

England, c1984). 

Lisa≠n al-‘Arab = Ibn Manz˝u≠r, Lisa≠n al-‘Arab, 15 vols. (Beirut, 

1955). 

58 Three Shadow Plays (Arabic text), 9–13. 




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TEXTUAL NOTES 


2. Maqru≠h˝ah, lit., "covered with ulcers"; one MS in K has maftu≠h˝ah, "open." 

3. Yas˝|hű, one MS in K has yaqu≠lu, "he said." 

4. This line perhaps implies that although Ibl|s' followers are few, they represent 

a large section of the Cairene underworld. Or perhaps it implies that they 

are so bad that a few are enough. 

5. ‘Ilq: a slang word for "a sexually accessible boy"; the term is still used in 

Egypt. See Clifford Bosworth, The Medieval Islamic Underworld: The 

Banu≠ Sa≠sa≠n in Arabic Society and Literature (Leiden, 1976), 138, 361. I 

thank Everett Rowson for the reference. 

6–7. The order of the two lines is reversed in K. 

6. Kasrah, lit., "his eyelid is contracted," i.e., "languid." See Lane, kasara. 

7. For al-shi‘rah as "the hair of the pubes," or "the pubes" itself, see Lane. 

8. Al-tajm|sh: jammasha is given in the Lisa≠n al-‘Arab as a synonym of 

gha≠zala, "flirt, dally with some one" (A. F. L. Beeston, The Epistle on 

Singing-Girls by Ja≠h˝iz˝, [Warminster, England, 1980], 59, 65), whereas 

Hans Wehr has "to make love, caress, pet." From Abu≠ Nuwa≠s' use it is 

obvious that al-tajm|sh denotes some sex acts but not necessarily intercourse. 

Beeston thus translates Ja≠h˝iz˝'s phrase wa-jammashat'hu bi-‘ud˝u≠d˝ tuffa≠h˝iha≠ 

as "[she] teases him with bites of her apples"; see Epistle, 33 (translation), 

19 (Arabic text). Naql: "sweet fruit," specifically the "munchies" that were 

a standard part of a drinking party. I thank Everett Rowson for the reference. 

D˛ammahu: K has dha≠qahu, "tasted it," with variant of h˝a≠zahu, "got hold of 

him." Jawwana, a standardized version of the Egyptian gawwin, "to cause 

to go deep or far" (El-Said Badawi and M. Hinds, Dictionary of Egyptian 

Arabic [Beirut, 1986]), derived from the basic meaning of the word gaww, 

"inside." K has jawwaza, that is, sodomy. The metaphor of "fig" for "anus" 

is quite common in medieval Arabic literature; see Rowson: "Two 

Homoerotic Narratives," 176, 189 (note 60). 

9. In K, one MS has hűbbihi, "his love," "his compassion," while all the three 

other have the same was˝lihi. This line is perhaps saying that one's association 

with Ibl|s is priceless for the fun and pleasures that money cannot buy. 

The significance of the two zodiac signs, Libra (al-m|za≠n) and Venus 

(al-zuhrah), is not clear; for al-m|za≠n, see Paul Kunitzsch, Untersuchungen 

zur Sternnomenklatur der araber (Wiesbaden, 1961), 81; for al-zuhrah, 

see Paul Kunitzsch and Manfred Ullmann, Die Plejaden in den Vergleichen 

der arabischen Dichtung (München, 1992), 109–10. The verse perhaps 




means it is appropriate to have Venus (love) and the Balance (weighing 

out money) in the ascendant with this delectable buyable boy. 

10. Khawd la-ha≠; K has li-hűsniha≠, "for its beauty," that is, the beauty of the 

seductress, who, lit., is "a soft girl who has the noonday sun as a co-wife 

(d˝arrah)," that is, she is the principal wife, while the sun has a lower rank 

in beauty, as merely a co-wife. 

10–11.One line is inserted between the two lines in K; it reads: Yah˝milu (variant: 

tah˝milu) dha≠ka al-naqsha min jismiha≠ / ma≠’u na‘|min qa≠ma bi-al-qudrah. 

[Cleaning up that tattoo (?) off her body is water of pleasure, overflowing 

with vigor.] 

11. Mi‘s˝am|, lit., "my wrist," that is, the lovers were released from the seductress, 

wandering in the fantasy garden of "water and green"; for the implications 

of "water" and "green" see the discussion in the article. "Green" also hints 

at hashish; see Guo, "Paradise Lost," 221 (note 9). 

12. Turd˝i‘uhu baz˝rah, lit., "so [her] clitoris would give him suck." 

13. Shidqihi, lit., "[through] the corner of his mouth"; K has famihi, "his mouth." 

14. I read the phrase mugha≠liban as a h˝a≠l clause, modifying the main verb 

yast¸u≠. The phrase li-ma≠ is to be understood here as related to the verbal 

noun sawm, "the going away for or after a thing" (Lane; compare the usage 

cited by Lane: khalla≠hu wa-sawmahu li-ma≠ yur|du, "he left him to do as he 

pleased"). Jadhr, the "snatch"; the word also can be understood as "what is 

to be uprooted," that is, hashish. This line is not in K. This is a difficult 

line, the reading of which is undertain. 

15–16.The two lines are condensed into one in K: Yaqu≠lu lil-k|fa≠khi min khalfihi 

/ an (in?) ka≠na ma≠ yard˝á bi-ha≠ ba‘rah [He speaks to the tall woman (?), 

dragging behind him, although he doesn't care about her dung]. 

15. All the manuscripts used in Mukhta≠r and K have al-k|fa≠kh, except one, 

which has al-afqa≠h˝, an alternate for the uncertain k|fa≠kh. Afqa≠h˝ appears to 

be a plural form for perhaps fuqqa≠h˝, "blossom of plants, tall, handsome 

woman" (Hava), or fiqa≠h˝, "a wide anus" (Lane, Kazimirski). As for k|fa≠kh, 

according to the Lisa≠n al-‘Arab the root k-f-kh has the basic meaning of 

d˝araba, "to strike, to squeeze (?)"; thus kafkhah means al-zubdah almujatama‘ah 

al-bayd˝a≠’, "the foam, or cream, on top of the butter," which 

is considered its best part (Lisa≠n al-‘Arab), or "Écume abondante" 

(Kazimirski). There is also the possibility of a corrupt spelling of q-f-h˝, 

thus qaf|h˝ah, "cream upon which milk is added" (Hava), or q-f-kh, thus 

qufa≠kh, which is similar to k-f-kh. I read the rest of the line, after wa-al-k|fa≠kh 

. . . , as a h˝a≠l clause, describing the circumstances under which the pimp 

was speaking. Shamrah, "fennel," perhaps alludes to hashish. 

16. Zin, lit., "weigh out!" 




17. Fawqahu: one MS in K has dabba f|, "(worms) crawl in," perhaps as in 

"white sperms, like worms, crawling around the red makeup (or blood?) on 

her cheeks," or the other way around, as in "red tongue, like a worm, 

crawling around white cheeks." 

18. K has a totally different line: Ya≠ ayyuha≠ al-na≠su (variant: ya≠ ma‘shara 

al-na≠s) ighnamu≠ was˝laha≠ / la≠ tatruku≠ al-nayka ‘alá fashrah [O men, seize 

the opportunity to screw her! Don't trade a real fuck for cheap talk!] Dh| 

sah˝q al-wafa≠’, lit., "those who wear the old garments of chivalrous loyalty 

(?)"; for sah˝q, "an old and worn-out garment," see Lane. Note the similar 

imagery of worn-out cloth (nashrah) in the next hemistich. Al-qas˝f: the 

fuller version of the expression is dhu≠ al-qas˝f, "folks of carousal, revelry," 

which also appears in Ibn Da≠niya≠l's Qas˝|dah No. 69 (line 6); see Guo, 

"Paradise Lost," 221, 232. The rendering of this verse is uncertain. 

19. Sam|t¸ al-lah˝m, lit., "a meat dish." Sufrah, "tablecloth," also means "anus" in 

modern Egyptian (Badawi and Hinds). I thank Everett Rowson for the 

reference. 

20. In washwashat f| wajhihi faswatun; K has in nasamat f| wajhihi d˝art¸atun. 

21. The first letter of the last word is erased in the manuscript, I read the word 

as ‘ishrah; K has nushrah, which does not make sense to me. 

22. ‘Udhrah; an ancient Arabian tribe famous for its folks' platonic love. 

23. Sah˝h˝a≠qah: K has sah˝h˝a≠tah, the meaning of which is unclear. 

24. K has slightly different wording: Wa-kullu khamma≠rin ‘alá ‘unqihi / ziqqun 

wa-f| ‘a≠tiqihi zukrah. 

26. K has slightly different wording: Wa-min ban| h˝a≠min akhu≠ mizrah / qad 

‘akkarahu al-waqtu lahu≠ mizrah (variant: s˝afa≠ lahu≠ s-n-d [sh-d-d] wa-lahu≠ 

mizrah). Al-mizrah, according to al-Dulaym|, means manqu≠‘ al-dhurah 

(Mukhta≠r, 120 [note 356]); since naq|‘ is a kind of "juice obtained from 

dried fruits soaked in water" (Hans Wehr), manqu≠‘ al-dhurah could probably 

be some kind of juice obtained from millet soaked in water. 

27. Baghgha≠’, an energetic form of bigha≠’, "passive prostitution," that is, a 

male prostitute who is penetrated; see Rowson, "Medieval Arabic Vice 

Lists," 54, 64–65. Both bigha≠’ and ubnah are listed by al-Jurja≠n| in the 

category of "passive male homosexuality." Muba≠dil, derived from bida≠l, 

namely, "taking turns at the active role in homosexual intercourse"; see 

Rowson, "Medieval Arabic Vice Lists," 66–67. Abghá is a superlative 

perhaps punning on ba≠ghin, "striving, oppressive," and bagh|, "whore." 

28. Mukhta≠r has ‘umrah, but the word may be read ‘amrah, "turban," as well. 

28–29.In K, two more lines are inserted between these two: 

Wa-kullu sha≠lu≠s˝i qima≠rin wa-qad / aja≠da bi-al-‘ufqi la-hu≠ qamrah 

Wa-kullu lis˝s˝in wa-‘ayya≠rin / wa-bat¸t¸a≠t¸in wa-f| tubba≠nihi sűrrah 




[Every gambler who is good at breaking wind (while having sex) has his 

target to shoot at (?). 

Every thief, bum, and (wine?) bottle maker, a money bag hangs in his 

pants.] 

The first line is somewhat similar to line 40 in the Mukhta≠r version. The 

meaning of qamrah, so vocalized in K, is unclear; Dozy has "coup de 

flèche qui atteint presque le but." Al-‘ufq, vocalized so in K, is also unclear; 

for al-‘afq, see note to line 40 below. 

31. Ma≠, K has man, "who caused . . . "; and man turá, "who do you think . . ." 

Dhaw| shirrah, K has dhaw| khibrah, "savvy, seasoned." 

32. Ma≠n|, "a Manichaean" (the common spelling is ma≠naw|); this reading is 

given in Mukhta≠r; the word appears in the manuscript, without dots, as 

either ba≠n| (?), or ba≠b| (?), likely bi-ab|, that is, "O you for whom I would 

ransom my father . . ."; one MS in K has s˝a≠h˝ib|, "my friend," while the 

other three have ba≠b|. Kuss (u)kht, lit., "sister's cunt," as in, "fuck your 

sister!" 

33. Qallat: K has fullat (variant: qallat). The second hemistich, lit., "I no 

longer have commanding power (amr) nor authority (imrah)." 

34. Yaltaq| in the manuscript; but the Mukhta≠r gives yaktaf|, "is satisfied with . 

. ."; K has yaltaq| as well. 

35. Sűfr, "yellow": under Mamluk ruling, Jews were forced to wear yellow 

turbans in public, and their shops were supposed to hang a yellow sign to 

distinguish themselves from the businesses run by Muslims. It could also 

be a pun on s˝ifr (empty, has been stripped bare) and sűfr (he is so humiliated 

that his face has turned yellow). 

36. Qal| (K has qalla≠, a verb) al-fa≠r, lit., " he who fries rat," or "fried rat"; for 

the possible meaning of al-fa≠r as the name of some hard liquor, see Guo, 

"Paradise Lost," 234 (line 14, t¸a≠jinat al-fa≠r, "Hot Pot of Rat"). F| h˝asrah: K 

has f| fa≠qatin, "in poverty." 

37. Yujrih˝a in the manuscript; Mukhta≠r and K have yakhruja, "is about to go 

out . . ." 

38. K has a different first hemistich: Fa-la≠ tasaln| ‘an bana≠ti al-khat¸a≠ [Don't 

even bother to ask me about the misguided girls . . . ]. 

40. This line is likely misplaced. The K version is closer to the right context; it 

has a different line: Wa-kullu qis˝s˝|fin yará sakrata / al-mawti wa-la≠ talqa≠hu 

f| sakrah [Every reveler would see the agony of death, which you may not 

find in drunkenness]. Sa≠ku≠s qima≠r: al-Dulaym| suggests the meaning of 

the word sa≠ku≠s to be al-mudmin, "addict" (Mukhta≠r, 120 [note 359]). I 

suspect it was perhaps a misspelling of sa≠lu≠s; for sa≠lu≠s, see Bosworth, The 

Medieval Islamic Underworld, 311 (sa≠lu≠s, sha≠lu≠sah). K has sha≠lu≠s˝. Al-‘afq 




bi-ha≠: the reading is uncertain; the basic meaning of the verb root ‘-f-q is 

"to come and go often," hence the current translation; however, according 

to the Lisa≠n al-'Arab, the verb ‘afaqa means d˝arat¸a, "fart," or al-d˝art¸ah 

al-khaf|yah, "breaking soundless wind"; cf. the use cited in the Lisa≠n: 

‘afaqa bi-ha≠ wa-khabaja bi-ha≠ idha≠ d˝arat¸a, "sodomize her while breaking 

wind." If that is the case, then we have one more example of the "farting 

vs. fragrant smell" topos. 

41. Both Mukhta≠r and K have aghw| wa-a‘w| ("howl," but it can also mean 

something like "lead into fitnah.") "To comb love-lock and forelock" perhaps 

strikes an image of Ibl|s constantly grabbing his hair, or his followers 

theirs, in desperation and despair, somehow an equivalent of "lending a 

shoulder for someone to cry on." It may also simply mean that Ibl|s helps 

his "clients" to get well-groomed and ready to go. 

45. La≠ ajrah, lit., "without fee, or charge." 

47. Taskuna: K has tadhkura, "[don't] even mention . . . ." "Mis˝r, "a country," a 

pun on "Egypt" or "Cairo" (mis˝r) and a "country" (mis˝r). 

48–50.K has a different ending: 

Iyya≠ka an tadhkura mis˝ra wa-an / taqrubaha≠ in kunta dha≠ khibrah 

Fa-inna f|ha≠ malika qa≠sit¸in / la≠ barih˝at ayya≠muhu≠ nas˝rah 

Ba≠ta al-qar|ru al-t¸arfi f| baladatin / amnuhu≠ a‘lá min al-nashrah 

[Don't you dare mention a place called Egypt, let alone come close to it, 

even if you know it well. 

In that country, there is a just ruler, whose reign continues to gain support. 

A gratified man will rest assured that in such a place, his safety is loftier 

(in status) than a royal decree!] 

48. Muba≠rak al-t¸al‘ah, that is, a handsome horse. 

50. For the torture of al-tajr|s, see Guo, "Paradise Lost," 221. Al-durrah, "bigheaded 

whip," Mukhta≠r, 121 (note 360). 



TH. EMIL HOMERIN 

UNIVERSITY OF ROCHESTER 

Living Love: 

The Mystical Writings of ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah (d. 922/1516) 

The summer of 922/1516 was a difficult time for Qa≠ns˝u≠h al-Ghawr|. The Mamluk 

sultan was in tense negotiations with Sultan Selim, his Ottoman rival, and fearing 

war, al-Ghawr| mustered an army at Aleppo. There, in the months of Juma≠dá II 

and Rajab/July and August, al-Ghawr| prepared his troops and ordered prayers 

recited on their behalf day and night. The sultan was reclusive and rarely appeared 

in public save for urgent military matters. 1 Yet, Qa≠ns˝u≠h al-Ghawr| took time to 

meet with an elderly woman. Accompanied by al-Badr al-Suyu≠f| (ca. 

850–925/1446–1519), an accomplished religious scholar, his student al-Shams 

al-Saf|r| (877–956/1472–1549), and several others, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah was 

granted an audience with the sultan. Shortly thereafter, ‘A±’ishah returned home to 

Damascus, while al-Ghawr| left Aleppo for his fateful day at Marj Da≠biq. 2 

I 

‘A±’ishah's meeting with the Mamluk sultan was an extraordinary event befitting 

her exceptional life. She was born in Damascus near the middle of the ninth/fifteenth 

century into a family of respected religious scholars and litterateurs. Originating 

in the village of al-Ba≠‘u≠n in southern Syria, the Ba≠‘u≠n| family served the Mamluks 

for several generations, holding a number of important religious and legal positions 

throughout the empire. 3 ‘A±’ishah's grandfather, Ah˝mad ibn Na≠s˝ir 

(751–816/1350–1413), was at various times the Friday preacher at the al-Aqs˝á 

Mosque in Jerusalem, the Friday preacher at the Umayyad Mosque in Damascus, 

the Shafi‘i judge of Damascus and, for two months, of Egypt, as well. During the 

reign of Sultan Barqu≠q (r. 784–801/1382–99), Ah˝mad was granted the eminent 

rank of shaykh al-shuyu≠kh, but he fell from royal grace for refusing to lend the 

sultan funds from religious endowments. Ah˝mad wrote a commentary on the 

Quran and a poem on proper religious belief, and was considered an excellent 

preacher. Likewise, his son Ibra≠h|m (ca. 777–870/1375–1464) served as the Friday 


1 Carl F. Petry, Twilight of Majesty (Seattle, 1993), 221–28. 

2 Muh˝ammad ibn Ibra≠h|m Ibn al-H˛anbal| al-H˛alab|, Durr al-H˛abab f| Ta≠r|kh A‘ya≠n H˛alab, ed. 

Mah˝mu≠d al-Fa≠khu≠r| and Yah˝yá ‘Abba≠rah (Damascus, 1973), 1:2:1061; 1:2:506–22, and 2:2:258–62. 

3 Concerning al-Ba≠‘u≠n, see H˛asan Raba≠bi‘ah, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah: Sha≠‘irah (Irbid, 1997), 

13–31. 



212 TH. EMIL HOMERIN, THE MYSTICAL WRITINGS OF ‘A±’ISHAH AL-BA≠‘U≠N|YAH 

preacher at the Umayyad Mosque, the Friday preacher of the al-Aqs˝á Mosque, 

and supervisor of the Muslim holy places of Jerusalem and Hebron (na≠z˝ir alh˝aramayn). 

His fine literary abilities won him the title "Master of Literature in the 

Land of Syria." Ah˝mad's second son, Muh˝ammad (780–871/1378–1466), was 

also the Friday preacher at the Umayyad Mosque, as well as a minor poet and 

historian. 4 

Ah˝mad's third son Yu≠suf (805–80/1402–75) was ‘A±’ishah's father. He received 

a religious and legal education similar to that of his brothers, and was appointed 

Shafi‘i judge in S˝afad, Tripoli, Aleppo, and, finally, in Damascus, where he also 

oversaw the reorganization and expansion of the hospital of Nu≠r al-D|n. Yu≠suf 

wrote both prose and poetry, and was regarded as an honest and pious man, and 

among the best judges to have served in Damascus. Shortly before his death in 

880/1475, he completed the pilgrimage to Mecca with his children and other 

family members, ‘A±’ishah presumably among them. 5 In addition to his daughter 

‘A±’ishah, Yu≠suf had at least five sons, the most prominent of whom was probably 

Muh˝ammad (857–916/1453–1510), a poet, historian, and legal scholar who served 

for a time as the Shafi‘i judge of Aleppo. 6 

Nevertheless, surpassing them all in talent, erudition, and fame was their sister 

‘A±’ishah. Several contemporaries left accounts of her, including the Damascene 

historian Muh˝ammad Ibn T˝u≠lu≠n (884–935/1479–1529), and the necrologist of 

Aleppo, Muh˝ammad ibn Ibra≠h|m Ibn al-H˛anbal| al-H˛alab| (908–71/1502–63). 

Drawing extensively from both sources are later notices by Muh˝ammad al-Ghazz| 

(977–1061/1570–1651), and ‘Abd al-H˛ayy Ibn al-‘Ima≠d (1032–89/1623–79). 7 

4 For information and sources on members of the Ba≠‘u≠n| family, see W. A. S. Khalidi, "Al-Ba≠‘u≠n|," 

The Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2nd ed., 1:1109–10; Fa≠ris Ah˝mad al-‘Ala≠w|, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah 

al-Dimashq|yah (Damascus, 1994), 20–31, and Raba≠bi‘ah, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah: Sha≠‘irah, 33–42. 

‘Ala≠w| should be used with caution; see my review of al-‘Ala≠w| in Mamlu≠k Studies Review 6 

(2002): 191-193. 

5 See the sources listed in the preceding note, as well as Muh˝ammad ibn ‘Abd al-Rah˝ma≠n al-Sakha≠w|, 

Al-D˛aw’ al-La≠mi‘ li-Ahl al-Qarn al-Ta≠si‘ (Cairo, 1934), 10:298–99; Muh˝ammad Ibn T˝u≠lu≠n, Al- 

Qala≠’id al-Jawhar|yah f| Ta≠r|kh al-S˝a≠lih˝|yah, ed. Muh˝ammad Ah˝mad Duhma≠n (Damascus, 1980), 

1:488–89; Ah˝mad ibn Muh˝ammad Ibn al-Mulla≠ al-H˛as˝kaf|, Mut‘at al-Adhha≠n min al-Tamattu‘ 

bi-al-Iqra≠n, ed. S˝ala≠h˝ al-D|n Khal|l al-Shayba≠n| al-Maws˝il| (Beirut, 1999), 2:832–33, and Mu≠sá 

ibn Yu≠suf al-Ans˝a≠r|, Nuzhat al-Kha≠t˝ir wa-Bahjat al-Na≠z˝ir, ed. ‘Adna≠n Muh˝ammad Ibra≠h|m and 

‘Adna≠n Darw|sh (Damascus, 1991), 2:13–40. 

6 Ibn al-Mulla≠ al-H˛as˝kaf|, Mut‘at al-Adhha≠n, 1:416, 464–65, 472, 2:792; Najm al-D|n Muh˝ammad 

al-Ghazz|, Al-Kawa≠kib al-Sa≠’irah bi-A‘ya≠n al-Mi’ah al-‘A±shirah, ed. Jibra≠’|l Sulayma≠n Jabbu≠r 

(Beirut, 1945), 1:72–73, 147; and Khalidi, "Al-Ba≠‘u≠n|," EI 2 , 1:1110. 

7 Ibn al-Mulla≠ al-H˛as˝kaf|, Mut‘at al-Adhha≠n, 2:878–79; Ibn al-H˛anbal| al-H˛alab|, Durr al-H˛abab, 

1:2:1060–69; al-Ghazz|, Al-Kawa≠kib, 1:287–92; and ‘Abd al-H˛ayy Ibn al-‘Ima≠d, Shadhara≠t al- 

Dhahab f| Akhba≠r Man Dhahab (Cairo, 1931), 8:111–13. 




Unfortunately, none of them mentions when ‘A±’ishah was born, though Ibn T˛u≠lu≠n, 

who knew her, quoted verses that ‘A±’ishah recited to her uncle Ibra≠h|m, who died 

in 870/1464. Perhaps ‘A±’ishah was ten at that time, and so born around 860/1455. 8 

For she was a precocious child, and in one of her writings, ‘A±’ishah stated that 

she had memorized the entire Quran by the age of eight. 9 ‘A±’ishah went on to 

study poetry, hadith, and jurisprudence, probably with her father and her uncle 

Ibra≠h|m, among others. 10 

‘A±’ishah also specialized in the study and practice of Islamic mysticism, which 

was important to the entire family. Her great uncle Isma≠‘|l had been a Sufi 

ascetic; her uncle Muh˝ammad composed a devotional poem of over a thousand 

verses on the prophet Muh˝ammad, while her uncle Ibra≠h|m had been the first 

director of the al-Ba≠sit¸|yah kha≠nqa≠h in Damascus. Moreover, many members of 

the Ba≠‘u≠n| family, including ‘A±’ishah's father, were buried in a family plot adjacent 

to the za≠wiyah of the Sufi master Abu≠ Bakr ibn Da≠wu≠d (d. 806/1403). This 

strongly suggests their attachment to this Sufi and his descendents, who were 

affiliated with the Urmaw| branch of the Qa≠dir|yah order. 11 

‘A±’ishah's own affection for the Qa≠dir|yah is evident in many of her writings, 

which include praise for the order's progenitor ‘Abd al-Qa≠dir al-J|la≠n| 

(470–561/1078–1166). 12 She was also influenced by ‘Abd Alla≠h al-Ans˝a≠r| 

(396–481/1005–89), composing a verse rendition of his popular Sufi guide, the 

Mana≠zil al-Sa≠’ir|n. 13 In addition, ‘A±’ishah read and made copies of Muh˝y| al-D|n 

al-Nawaw|'s (631–76/1233–77) book on prayer, the Kita≠b al-Adhka≠r, 14 and ‘Al| 

ibn Muh˝ammad al-Jurja≠n|'s (740–816/1339–1413) Sufi lexicon, the Kita≠b al- 

Ta‘r|fa≠t. 15 Further, she frequently praised her two spiritual masters, Jama≠l al-D|n 

Isma≠‘|l al-H˛awwa≠r| (fl. late ninth/fifteenth century), and his khal|fah, or successor, 

8 Ibn al-Mulla≠ al-H˛as˝kaf|, Mut‘at al-Adhha≠n, 2:878, and al-Ghazz|, Al-Kawa≠kib, 1:292. 

9 Ibn al-H˛anbal| al-H˛alab|, Durr al-H˛abab, 1:2:1060–61, and al-‘Ala≠w|, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, 

18–20. 

10 See the sources listed in the preceding note, as well as al-Ghazz|, Al-Kawa≠kib, 1:287–98, and 

Raba≠bi‘ah, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah: Sha≠‘irah, 44. 

11 Al-Sakha≠w|, Al-D˛aw’, 2:232, 308, 7:114; Ibn T˝u≠lu≠n, Al-Qala≠’id, 1: 274–78, 299–301, 489, 

2:593; ‘Abd al-Qa≠dir al-Nu‘aym|, Al-Da≠ris f| Ta≠r|kh al-Mada≠ris, ed. Ja‘far al-H˛asan| (reprint, 

Cairo, 1988), 2:196, 202–3; and Eric Geoffroy, Le Soufisme en Egypte et en Syrie (Damascus, 

1995), 225–28. 

12 See W. Braune, "‘Abd al-Qa≠dir al-Dj|la≠n|," EI 2 , 1:69–70, and D. S. Margoliouth, "K˛a≠diriyya," 

EI 2 , 4:380–83. 

13 See S. De Beaurecueil, "Al-Ans˝a≠r| al-H˛araw|," EI 2 , 1:515–16. 

14 C. Brockelmann, "‘A±’ishah Bint Yu≠suf," Encyclopaedia of Isla≠m, 1st ed., 1:217, and W. Heffening, 

"Al-Nawaw|," EI 2 , 7:1041. 

15 Ibn al-H˛anbal| al-H˛alab|, Durr al-H˛abab, 1:2:1062, and al-‘Ala≠w|, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, 35. 

Also see A. S. Tritton, "Al-Djurdja≠n|," EI 2 , 2:602–3, and Geoffroy, Soufisme, 90–91. 




Muh˝y| al-D|n Yah˝yá al-Urmaw| (fl. ninth-tenth/fifteenth-sixteenth centuries). 

‘A±’ishah states: 

My education and development, my spiritual effacement and 

purification, occurred by the helping hand of the sultan of the saints 

of his time, the crown of the pure friends of his age, the beauty of 

truth and religion, the venerable master, father of the spiritual axes, 

the axis of existence, Isma≠‘|l al-H˛awwa≠r|—may God sanctify his 

heart's secret and be satisfied with him—and, then, by the helping 

hand of his successor in spiritual states and stations, and in spiritual 

proximity and union, Muh˝y| al-D|n Yah˝yá al-Urmaw|—may God 

continue to spread his ever-growing spiritual blessings throughout 

his lifetime, and join us every moment to his blessings and succor. 16 

The relationship between ‘A±’ishah and Isma≠‘|l al-H˛awwa≠r| appears to have been 

particularly close, for in several of her works ‘A±’ishah described herself as "related 

to Yu≠suf ibn Ah˝mad al-Ba≠‘u≠n| on earth, and in truth to the axis, the unique and 

universal helper, Jama≠l al-D|n Isma≠‘|l al-H˛awwa≠r|." 17 

As a Qa≠dir| Sufi and a woman, ‘A±’ishah was expected to marry and have 

children. The Ba≠‘u≠n|s were a prominent family of the al-S˝a≠lih˝|yah district of 

Damascus, and several Ba≠‘u≠n| daughters, including ‘A±’ishah, married members of 

another distinguished family from the area. Known as Ibn Naq|b al-Ashra≠f, they 

were descendents of the prophet Muh˝ammad through his grandson al-H˛usayn. 

‘A±’ishah married Ah˝mad ibn Muh˝ammad Ibn Naq|b al-Ashra≠f (d. 909/1503), 

about whom we know little, while his more famous brother, the religious scholar 

and teacher ‘Ala≠’ al-D|n ‘Al| (852–910/1448–1504), married one of ‘A±’ishah's 

16 Ibn al-H˛anbal| al-H˛alab|, Durr al-H˛abab, 1:2:1063–64; also see Ibn al-Mulla≠ al-H˛as˝kaf|, Mut‘at 

al-Adhha≠n, 2:878; al-Ghazz|, Al-Kawa≠kib, 1:287–92; al-‘Ala≠w|, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, 18–19, 

124–25; and Raba≠bi‘ah, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah: Sha≠‘irah, 162–67. 

17 ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, "D|wa≠n ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah (=Fayd˝ al-Fad˝l)," Da≠r al-Kutub al-Mis˝r|yah, 

Cairo, microfilm 29322 of MS 431 (Shi‘r Taymu≠r), 4; her "Durar al-Gha≠’is˝ f| Bah˝r al-Mu‘jiza≠t 

wa-al-Khas˝a≠’is˝," Da≠r al-Kutub al-Mis˝r|yah, Cairo, microfilm 34329 of MS 558 (h˝ad|th), fol. 2a; 

and her "Al-Mawrid al-Ahná," ed. al-‘Ala≠w|, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, 124–25. Sources differ over 

Jama≠l al-D|n Isma≠‘|l's place of origin. Ibn T˝u≠lu≠n called him "al-H˛awra≠n|" from a village in the 

districts of Damascus, while Ibn al-H˛anbal| al-H˛alab|, al-Ghazz|, and Ibn al-‘Ima≠d called him 

"al-Khwa≠razm|;" Ibn al-Mulla≠ al-H˛as˝kaf|, Mut‘at al-Adhha≠n, 2:878; Ibn al-H˛anbal| al-H˛alab|, 

Durr al-H˛abab, 1:2:1063; al-Ghazz|, Al-Kawa≠kib, 1:288, and Ibn al-‘Ima≠d, Shadhara≠t, 8:111. 

However, surviving manuscripts of ‘A±’ishah's works clearly state that Jama≠l al-D|n Isma≠‘|l was 

"from H˛awwa≠r," a village near Aleppo. Also see Ma≠jid al-Dhahab| and S˝ala≠h˝ al-Khiyam|, "D|wa≠n 

‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah," Tura≠th al-‘Arab| (Damascus) 4 (1981): 110–21, esp. 112, and Ya≠qu≠t ibn 

‘Abd Alla≠h al-H˛amaw|, Mu‘jam al-Bulda≠n (Beirut, 1979), 2:315, 317. 




older nieces. 18 ‘A±’ishah had at least two children, including a daughter, Barakah 

(b. 899/1491), and a son, ‘Abd al-Wahha≠b (b. 897/1489). 19 

Together with ‘Abd al-Wahha≠b, ‘A±’ishah set out for Cairo in 919/1513. By 

this time ‘A±’ishah's husband and brothers were dead, and so she apparently took it 

upon herself to travel to Cairo in order to secure a job for her son in the Mamluk 

administration. 20 Unfortunately, during their journey they were robbed near the 

Egyptian city of Bilb|s, and ‘A±’ishah lost all of her writings. When they finally 

arrived in Cairo, ‘A±’ishah requested the assistance of Mah˝mu≠d ibn Muh˝ammad 

ibn Aja≠ (854–925/1450–1519), the confidential secretary and foreign minister of 

the sultan al-Ghawr|. Ibn Aja≠ treated ‘A±’ishah like an old friend to the extent of 

lodging her in his own harem and eventually employing her son in the chancery. 21 

Why Ibn Aja≠ was so generous to ‘A±’ishah and her son is open to speculation, 

though Ibn Aja≠ had previous close relations with at least one member of the Ibn 

Naq|b al-Ashra≠f family. In addition, Ibn Aja≠, who was originally from Aleppo, 

may have known ‘A±’ishah's brother Muh˝ammad, who had been a Shafi‘i judge 

there, or her Sufi shaykh, Jama≠l al-D|n Isma≠‘|l, who was also from the region. It 

may be, too, that ‘A±’ishah's poetic reputation had preceded her to Cairo, attracting 

the attention of Ibn Aja≠, to whom she would dedicate several glowing panegyrics. 22 

Whatever the case, Ibn Aja≠ gave ‘A±’ishah an apartment next to his wife, Sitt 

al-H˛alab (d. 933/1526). Sitt al-H˛alab was the daughter of an important Mamluk 

amir and official of Aleppo, and after her father's death, she became the overseer 

of the substantial religious endowments that he had created during his lifetime. 23 

Sitt al-H˛alab then appears to have conspired with Ibn Aja≠ to divorce her first 

18 Ibn al-Mulla≠ al-H˛as˝kaf|, Mut‘at al-Adhha≠n, 1:157, 483–84, 518; 2:716–17, 878. 

19 In comments at the end of one of her works, ‘A±’ishah names her husband, her two children, the 

dates of her children's births, and makes a few comments on the difficulty of receiving the stipend 

owed to her son as a descendent of the Prophet Muh˝ammad; see her "Al-Mawrid al-Ahná f| 

al-Mawlid al-Asná," Da≠r al-Kutub al-Mis˝r|yah, Cairo, MS 639 (Shi‘r Taymu≠r), 355–56, quoted in 

Raba≠bi‘ah, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah: Sha≠‘irah, 46–47; and also see ‘Abd Alla≠h Mukhlis˝, "‘A±’ishah 

al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah," Majallat al-Majma‘ al-‘Ilm| (Damascus) 16 no. 2 (1941): 66–72, esp. 69. Ibn 

al-‘Ima≠d (Shadhara≠t, 8:132) following al-Ghazz| (Al-Kawa≠kib, 1:257) referred to ‘Abd al-Wahha≠b's 

mother as "Zaynab bint al-Ba≠‘u≠n|." But I believe, as does Raba≠bi‘ah, that ‘A±’ishah is meant, due to 

the time and circumstances of ‘Abd al-Wahha≠b's stay in Cairo as discussed below. 

20 ‘A±’ishah may also have been attempting to secure her son's stipend; see n. 19; Raba≠bi‘ah, 

‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah: Sha≠‘irah, 47–52, and ‘Umar Farru≠kh, Ta≠r|kh al-Adab al-‘Arab| , 5th ed. 

(Beirut, 1984), 3:926–27. 

21 Ibn al-Mulla≠ al-H˛as˝kaf|, Mut‘at al-Adhha≠n, 1:483; 2:878; al-Dhahab| and al-Khiyam|, "D|wa≠n 

‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah," 112; and Ibn al-H˛anbal| al-H˛alab|, Durr al-H˛abab, 1:2:1064. 

22 Ibn al-H˛anbal| al-H˛alab|, Durr al-H˛abab, 1:1:1064; 2:2:456–60; also see Muh˝ammad Ibn T˝u≠lu≠n, 

Mufa≠kahat al-Khilla≠n f| H˛awa≠dith al-Zama≠n, ed. Muh˝ammad Mus˝t¸afá (Cairo, 1962), 1:315; al- 

Ghazz|, Al-Kawa≠kib, 1:101; and Raba≠bi‘ah, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah: Sha≠‘irah, 50–52, 250–51. 

23 Ibn al-H˛anbal| al-H˛alab|, Durr al-H˛abab, 1:2:575–78, 884–85, and al-Sakha≠w|, Al-D˛aw’, 5:125. 




husband, after which she married Ibn Aja≠. No doubt aided by Sitt al-H˛alab's vast 

wealth, Ibn Aja≠ became the Hanafi judge of Aleppo in 890/1485 and continued 

his rise to power until Qa≠nsű≠h al-Ghawr| appointed him confidential secretary and 

foreign minister in 906/1500. 24 Though frequently in poor health, Ibn Aja≠ held 

these important positions until the end of the Mamluk dynasty, as he enjoyed the 

high esteem and friendship of al-Ghawr|. Ibn Aja≠ threw lavish banquets for his 

sultan, who reciprocated with expensive gifts, and Sitt al-H˛alab, too, had elaborate 

meals prepared for al-Ghawr| and his entourage when the sultan came to Ibn Aja≠'s 

residence to visit his ailing minister. Not surprisingly, Sitt al-H˛alab was on friendly 

terms with al-Ghawr|'s wife, the Circassian princess Ja≠n-i Sukkar, whom she met 

at monthly soirees. 25 

Perhaps ‘A±’ishah attended some of these sessions and met the princess, for 

she certainly circulated among Cairo's elite. ‘A±’ishah studied and shared views 

with a number of the finest scholars of the time, who authorized her to teach, and 

give legal opinions of her own. Ibn Aja≠ also introduced her to the noted litterateur 

and religious scholar ‘Abd al-Rah˝ma≠n al-‘Abba≠s| (867–963/1463–1557), with 

whom she exchanged a number of friendly and witty poems. 26 ‘A±’ishah stayed in 

Cairo for several years enjoying Ibn Aja≠'s patronage, and she may not have left 

Cairo until 922/1516, when her son ‘Abd al-Wahha≠b, then an assistant secretary, 

accompanied Ibn Aja≠ to Aleppo, where ‘A±’ishah met the sultan. 27 Perhaps Ibn Aja≠ 

suggested the royal audience to al-Ghawr|, whose love of poetry is well known. 28 

But the sultan may have met with ‘A±’ishah to seek her blessings, as well. For in 

this time of crisis, al-Ghawr| was also gathering his spiritual forces for the days 

and battle ahead, and it is quite apparent from biographies of ‘A±’ishah and from 

her own comments in her writings that she was highly regarded as a pious woman 

and Sufi master. 29 

24 Ibn al-H˛anbal| al-H˛alab|, Durr al-H˛abab, 2:2:452–54, and Muh˝ammad ibn Ah˝mad Ibn Iya≠s, 

Bada≠’|‘ al-Zuhu≠r f| Waqa≠’|‘ al-Duhu≠r, ed. Muh˝ammad Mus˝t¸afá, 3rd ed. (Cairo, 1984), 3:219, 258, 

318, 426, 474. 

25 Ibn Iya≠s, Bada≠’|‘, 4:276, 394, 473–74, Ibn al-H˛anbal| al-H˛alab|, Durr al-H˛abab, 1:2:575–78. 

26 Ibn al-H˛anbal| al-H˛alab|, Durr al-H˛abab, 1:2:1064–65; Ibn al-Mulla≠ al-H˛as˝kaf|, Mut‘at al- 

Adhha≠n, 2:878; al-Ghazz|, Al-Kawa≠kib, 1:288–90; al-‘Ala≠w|, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, 37–42; and 

Raba≠bi‘ah, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah: Sha≠‘irah, 167–72. 

27 Ibn al-Mulla≠ al-H˛as˝kaf|, Mut‘at al-Adhha≠n, 1:483. 

28 Ibn Iya≠s, Bada≠’|‘, 5:89, and see Petry, Twilight, 119–22. 

29 ‘A±’ishah's biographers refer to her variously as "the intelligent, knowledgeable, and pious shaykhah, 

poet, litterateur and Sufi, one of the unique people of all time, and a rarity of the ages." Also see 

Raba≠bi‘ah, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah: Sha≠‘irah, 220–22; Th. Emil Homerin, "Saving Muslim Souls: 

The Kha≠nqa≠h and the Sufi Duty in Mamluk Lands," Mamlu≠k Studies Review 3 (1999): 59–83, esp. 

62–63; and Petry, Twilight, 224–25, who describes al-Ghawr|'s invocations for divine aid on the 

battlefield of Marj Da≠biq. 



II 


Indeed, by any standard, ‘A±’ishah's religious writings were extensive, but for a 

premodern woman, they were simply extraordinary. While a number of women 

were respected scholars and teachers in Mamluk domains, they rarely composed 

works of their own. 30 ‘A±’ishah, however, was a prolific author of both religious 

prose and poetry, and she probably wrote more Arabic works than any other 

woman prior to the twentieth century. In addition to copying earlier religious 

works, including al-Nawaw|'s Kita≠b al-Adhka≠r, and al-Jurja≠n|'s Kita≠b al-Ta‘r|fa≠t, 

‘A±’ishah composed verse abridgements of Muh˝ammad al-Sakha≠w|'s (d. 902/1497) 

Al-Qawl al-Bad|‘ f| S˝ala≠t ‘alá al-H˛ab|b al-Shaf|‘, 31 and Al-Mu‘jiza≠t wa-al-Khas˝a≠’is˝ 

al-Nabaw|yah by Jala≠l al-D|n al-Suyu≠t¸| (d. 911/1505). 32 Both were devotional 

works in praise of the prophet Muh˝ammad, and she also composed a panegyric on 

Muh˝ammad entitled Fayd˝ al-Wafa≠’ f| Asma≠’ al-Mus˝t˝afá, and several similar works 

combining prose and poetry, including the Madad al-Wudu≠d f| Mawlid al-Mah˝mu≠d, 

Al-Fath˝ al-Qar|b f| Mi‘ra≠j al-H˛ab|b, and Al-Mawrid al-Ahná f| al-Mawlid al-Asná. 33 

‘A±’ishah also wrote a number of works on Sufism, including her verse abridgement 

of al-Ans˝a≠r|'s Mana≠zil al-Sa≠’ir|n, 34 a spiritual guide entitled Al-Muntakhab f| Us˝u≠l 

al-Rutab, 35 a work entitled Mala≠mih˝ al-Shar|fah min A±tha≠r al-Lat˝|fah, an ode on 

mystical recitation and prayer called Tashr|f al-Fikr f| Naz˝m Fawa≠’id al-Dhikr, 

and two volumes of mystical and devotional poetry, Al-Fath˝ al-H˛aqq| min Fayh˝ 

al-Talaqq|, and her Fayd˝ al-Fad˝l wa-Jam‘ al-Shaml. 36 

Among ‘A±’ishah's favorite poets was Muh˝ammad al-Bus˝|r| (d. 694/1295), and 

she incorporated his famous panegyric to Muh˝ammad, Al-Burdah, into a takhm|s, 

which was among the dozen works stolen from her in 919/1513 on the road to 

30 

See al-‘Ala≠w|, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, 36–37; Huda Lutf|, "Al-Sakha≠w|'s Kita≠b al-Nisa≠’ as a 

Source For the Social and Economic History of Muslim Women During the Fifteenth Century 

A.D.," Muslim World 71 (1981): 104–24, esp. 121; and Jonathan P. Berkey, "Women and Islamic 

Education in the Mamluk Period," Women in Middle Eastern History, ed. Nikki R. Keddie and 

Beth Baron (New Haven, 1991), 143–57. 

31 

Ka≠tib Çelebi, Kashf al-Zűnu≠n (Istanbul, 1941–43), 2:1081, 1362. 

32 

‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, "Durar al-Gha≠’is˝ f| Bah˝r al-Mu‘jiza≠t wa-al-Khas˝a≠’is˝"; she completed this 

work in 902/1497 (fol. 1b.). 

33 

For a list of ‘A±’ishah's writings prior to 919/1513, see her "Fayd˝ al-Fad˝l," 218–20; also see 

Raba≠bi‘ah, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah: Sha≠‘irah, 59–65 and the partial list in al-Ghazz|, Al-Kawa≠kib, 

1:288. For her Al-Mawrid al-Ahná, completed in 901/1495, see the recent edition in al-‘Ala≠w|, 

‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, 44–47, 103–79. 

34 

‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, "Fayd˝ al-Fad˝l," 219, and Ka≠tib Çelebi, Kashf al-Zűnu≠n, 1:96. 

35 

Da≠r al-Kutub al-Mis˝r|yah, Cairo, microfilm 13123 of MS 318 (Tas˝awwuf Taymu≠r), 1074/1663. 

36 

‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, "Fayd˝ al-Fad˝l," 219, 297, and Ka≠tib Çelebi, Kashf al-Z˝unu≠n, 2:1232, 

1813. 




Cairo. Though devastated by this loss, ‘A±’ishah set to work composing a second 

takhm|s on Al-Burdah, and she collected it in a volume together with five additional 

odes in praise of the Prophet which she completed during her stay in Cairo. 37 This 

collection includes her most famous poem, the Fath˝ al-Mub|n f| Madh˝ al-Am|n 

(The clear inspiration in praise of the trusted prophet), which consists of 130 

verses, each containing an elegant example of a rhetorical device (bad|‘; e.g., 

paronomasia, antithesis, etc.), while lauding an attribute or action of Muh˝ammad. 

This work and ‘A±’ishah's commentary on it reveal her refined poetic skills and 

extensive knowledge of Arabic language and literature, and she referred to many 

of her literary predecessors including al-Buh˝tar| (d. 284/897), al-Mutanabb| (d. 

354/965), al-Ma‘arr| (d. 449/1057), and Ibn Ab| Is˝ba‘ (d. 654/1256). Further, 

‘A±’ishah consciously patterned her Fath˝ al-Mub|n on earlier bad|‘|yah poems 

praising the Prophet by S˝af| al-D|n al-H˛ill| (d. 749/1349) and Abu≠ Bakr Ibn 

H˛ijjah al-H˛amaw| (d. 838/1434); the poetic influences of al-Bus˝|r| and his literary 

forefather, ‘Umar Ibn al-Fa≠rid˝ (d. 632/1235), are evident as well. 38 

But ‘A±’ishah's praise of the prophet Muh˝ammad was more than a rhetorical 

undertaking, as she noted in her introduction to her second takhm|s on Al-Burdah, 

entitled Al-Qawl al-S˛ah˝|h˝ f| Takhm|s Burdat al-Mad|h˝: 

Praising the noble Prophet is a distinguishing feature of the pious 

and a sign of those who are successful. Those who desire the best, 

desire to praise him, while the pure of heart praise him without 

end, for this is among the best ways to achieve success and a 

means for doubling rewards! 39 

Further, in many poems, ‘A±’ishah extolled the spiritual and physical benefits of 

such pious praise: 

Praise of God's Prophet moves the soul; 

it drives away doubt, worries, and grief. 

37 

‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, "Fayd˝ al-Fad˝l," 219, and al-Dhahab| and al-Khiyam|, "D|wa≠n ‘A±’ishah 

al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah," 112–13, which also contains a description of this collection. A takhm|s is the 

expansion of an earlier poem by adding three stanzas in elaboration and/or commentary to each 

verse (two stanzas) of the original poem (= 5 stanzas = takhm|s); see W. P. Heinrichs, "Allusion 

and Intertextuality," in Julie Scott Meisami and Paul Starkey, Encyclopedia of Arabic Literature 

(London, 1998), 1:82–83, and Raba≠bi‘ah, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah: Sha≠‘irah, 123–38. 

38 

Al-Dhahab| and al-Khiyam|, "D|wa≠n ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah," 113–15; al-‘Ala≠w|, ‘A±’ishah al- 

Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, 44–47, 185–91; and Raba≠bi‘ah, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah: Sha≠‘irah, 56, who notes that 

‘A±’ishah cites at least fifty authors and poets in her commentary. Also see in this issue, G. van 

Gelder, "Poetry for Easy Listening: Insija≠m and Related Concepts in Ibn H˛ijjah's Khiza≠nat al-Adab. 

39 

Al-Dhahab| and al-Khiyam|, "D|wa≠n ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah," 112, and al-‘Ala≠w|, ‘A±’ishah 

al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, 44–47. 



Spirits find rest, eyes cry in delight, 

and bodies dance—you can't hold them back! 40 


In fact, ‘A±’ishah's own devotion to the Prophet was probably strengthened by her 

vision of him during her stay in Mecca. Though she does not relate the date of the 

event, it probably occurred around 880/1475 when ‘A±’ishah went on pilgrimage 

with her father. 

God, may He be praised, granted me a vision of the Messenger 

when I was residing in holy Mecca. An anxiety had overcome me 

by the will of God most high, and so I wanted to go to the holy 

sanctuary. It was Friday night, and I reclined on a couch on an 

enclosed veranda overlooking the holy Ka‘bah and the sacred 

precinct. It so happened that one of the men there was reading a 

mawlid of God's Messenger, and voices arose with blessings upon 

the Prophet. Then, I could not believe my eyes, for it was as if I 

was standing among a group of women. Someone said: "Kiss the 

Prophet!" and a dread came over me that made me swoon until the 

Prophet passed before me. Then I sought his intercession and, with 

a stammering tongue, I said to God's Messenger, "O my master, I 

ask you for intercession!" Then I heard him say calmly and 

deliberately, "I am the intercessor on the Judgment Day!" 41 

For ‘A±’ishah, then, praising the Prophet was akin to a religious vocation, and her 

devotion to this task is seen clearly in her popular prose work Al-Mawrid al-Ahná 

f| al-Mawlid al-Asná (The most wholesome source on the birth of the most brilliant 

prophet). In this reverential account of Muh˝ammad's birth and call to prophecy, 

‘A±’ishah's mystical tendencies are clear from the outset as she begins with a 

discussion of al-Nu≠r al-Muh˝ammad|, or Muhammadan Light, a type of Muslim 

logos principle. God was a hidden treasure who loved to be known, and so the 

Light came forth from His knowledge as the first emanation. With the Light, God 

produced the Pen and Tablet as instruments to bring about creation, and He then 

made the Light shine in Adam and the other prophets, culminating in Muh˝ammad, 

the most beloved of God and humanity's intercessor on the Judgment Day. 42 After 

40 

‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, "Fayd˝ al-Fad˝l," 26. 

41 

‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, "Al-Mawrid al-Ahná," 104–5, and quoted in Raba≠bi‘ah, ‘A±’ishah al- 

Ba≠‘u≠n|yah: Sha≠‘irah, 53. 

42 

‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, "Al-Mawrid al-Ahná," ed. al-‘Ala≠w|, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, 117–37; 

also see Raba≠bi‘ah, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah: Sha≠‘irah, 141–57. Concerning al-Nu≠r al-Muh˝ammad|, 

or the Muh˝ammadan Light, see Annemarie Schimmel, And Muhammad is His Messenger (Chapel 

Hill, NC, 1985), 123–43. 




this introduction, ‘A±’ishah recounts the noble lineage of the earthly Muh˝ammad 

from his ancestor Mud˝ar, the miracles surrounding his birth and early childhood, 

his travels and extraordinary encounters in Syria, and his marriage to the faithful 

Khad|jah. ‘A±’ishah then celebrates more of the Prophet's miracles, praises his fine 

moral and physical attributes, and concludes with a brief account of his death. 43 

Al-Mawrid al-Ahná closely follows the Arabic mawlid genre in that ‘A±’ishah selected 

and summarized events detailed in the s|rah, or hagiographical literature on 

Muh˝ammad. Further, her condensed references to many events, hadith, and Quranic 

verses suggest that her audience was quite familiar with the material. Obviously, 

‘A±’ishah did not intend her al-Mawrid al-Ahná to be a study of Muh˝ammad's life. 

Rather, it is a joyous hymn of praise for God's greatest Prophet to be recited 

publicly on the anniversary of his birth, and this performative aspect is underscored 

by ‘A±’ishah's many poems placed within the rhymed prose of the text: 44 

Pray for him, 

blessed and saved by God, 

his creator in pre-eternity! 

Bless this cosmic splendor, 

more praised than heaven, 

named before Tablet and Pen. 

Pray for him, 

and God will bless you ten times more 

and hold you in favor and grace! 

Pray, for God's blessings 

are His mercy from which 

all benefits flow. 

Bless him, for one who prays for him 

wins a share of favor 

and safety from misfortune. 

Pray for my master, bless my support, 

pray for my intercessor 

who grants my desire! 

Pray for the lord from Mud˝ar's line, 

bless the chosen one, 

43 

‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, "Al-Mawrid al-Ahná," 137–79; also see al-‘Ala≠w|, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, 

103–11. 

44 

In terms of Christian literature, this and similar works are comparable to Christmas hymns, 

more akin to Handel's Messiah than to the Gospels. For more of ‘A±’ishah's poetry on Muh˝ammad 

see Raba≠bi‘ah, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah: Sha≠‘irah, 141–62; for the Prophet's mawlid in general see 

Schimmel, Muhammad, 144–58. 



messenger to nations! 

Pray for him 

praising and praised from eternity; 

bless the best to walk the earth! 

God bless him always and forever, 

and his family and companions, 

knowing and wise, 

As long as the hawk's call at noon 

moves the riders with joy 

toward the House and Sacred Precinct, 

As long as the breeze blows at night 

from Ka≠z˝imah, lightning flashing 

on the slopes of Dhu≠ Salam. 45 


In the final verse, ‘A±’ishah recalls Ka≠z˝imah and Dhu≠ Salam, two sites on the 

pilgrim routes to Mecca. Here, she pays homage to Al-Burdah, which begins by 

invoking both places, and, perhaps, to a poem by Ibn al-Fa≠rid˝ that served as the 

model for al-Bus˝|r|'s famous ode. 46 The strong influence of both poets is evident 

throughout ‘A±’ishah's verse, whether in poems praising the prophet Muh˝ammad, 

or in her many poems on mystical themes. Though much of ‘A±’ishah's Sufi verse 

is lost, several manuscripts of her Fayd˝ al-Fad˝l wa-Jam‘ al-Shaml (The emanation 

of grace and the gathering of union) have survived. 47 This collection contains over 

three hundred "inspired poems on divine, intimate conversations, mystical meanings 

and states of grace, spiritual efforts, matters of desire, and passionate ways." 48 The 

poems in the volume appear to span much of ‘A±’ishah's life, from her "days as a 

novice and student to her mastery of the branches of mystical annihilation and the 

arts of effacement." 49 

45 

‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, "Al-Mawrid al-Ahná," 176. 

46 

See Stefan Sperl's recent translation and insightful comments on Al-Burdah, "Qasida 50," in 

Qasida Poetry in Islamic Asia and Africa, 2 vols., ed. S. Sperl and C. Shackle (Leiden, 1996), 

2:388–411, 470–76. For Ibn al-Fa≠rid˝'s poem see my translation and analysis in Th. Emil Homerin, 

From Arab Poet to Muslim Saint: Ibn al-Fa≠rid˝, His Verse and His Shrine, 2nd rev. ed. (Cairo, 

2001), 4–9. Also see Farru≠kh, Ta≠r|kh, 3:927. 

47 

Three manuscripts of her "Fayd˝ al-Fad˝l" may be found in Cairo's Da≠r al-Kutub al-Mis˝r|yah, and 

are listed as "D|wa≠n ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah," MS 431 (Shi‘r Taymu≠r), dated 1031/1622; MS 581 

(Shi‘r Taymu≠r), dated 1031/1622; and MS 4384 (Adab), dated 1341/1922. All references in this 

article are to MS 431, unless otherwise noted. Raba≠bi‘ah (‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah: Sha≠‘irah, 60) 

found a fourth manuscript in Cairo's Da≠r al-Kutub al-Mis˝r|yah, presumably under its correct title. 

This is MS 112 (Shi‘r Taymu≠r), also dated 1031/1622 and by the same scribe as MS 431. 

48 


49 

Ibid., 218–19. 




An odd feature of the Fayd˝ al-Fad˝l is that the collection seems to end at 

several places: 

‘A±’ishah—related to Yu≠suf ibn Ah˝mad al-Ba≠‘u≠n| on earth, and in 

truth to the axis, the unique and universal helper, Jama≠l al-D|n 

Isma≠‘|l al-H˛awwa≠r|, known as the axis of existence, may God bless 

his heart secret—when she finished with this conclusion—and she 

never concludes without a new beginning—the Real inspired her 

with an awesome book which she received from Him, may He be 

praised, the Real. He entitled it Al-Fath˝ al-H˛aqq| min Fayh˝ al- 

Talaqq|, and it has sublime, inspired verse not contained in this 

present volume, so be aware of that. God is the protector and my 

success, and He is the most wonderful companion! 50 

Yet, after this apparent ending, the Fayd˝ al-Fad˝l begins anew with a number of 

additional poems. One of them names, for the first time, ‘A±’ishah's second spiritual 

master and Isma≠‘|l al-H˛awwa≠r|'s successor, Muh˝y| al-D|n Yah˝yá al-Urmaw|, 

further suggesting that the Fayd˝ al-Fad˝l was an on-going compilation. 51 This may 

also explain why none of the manuscripts cite a completion date for the original 

work. Nevertheless, ‘A±’ishah may not have added poems to this collection after 

her arrival in Egypt in 919/1513, since the poems that she composed in Cairo are 

not cited in the Fayd˝ al-Fad˝l, as are her other works. 52 

Whatever the case, the Fayd˝ al-Fad˝l begins with a series of muna≠ja≠t or intimate 

monologues with God. This particular literary form had been popularized by the 

Persian Sufi ‘Abd Alla≠h al-Ans˝a≠r|, whose work ‘A±’ishah knew well. Each of 

‘A±’ishah's muna≠ja≠t usually consists of two or three verses, in which she assumes 

the position of the submissive believer before God. In one such poem from "her 

days as a novitiate," ‘A±’ishah says: 53 

Whenever the fates make your servant recall 

someone besides you, by God, it does no good. 

For memory of you is hidden deep in the heart, 

and you know what I reveal and conceal. 

50 

Ibid., 296–97, and 218–20. 

51 

Ibid., 314. 

52 

Ibid., 218–20, 296–97. 

53 

Ibid., 5. For the muna≠ja≠t of ‘Abd Alla≠h al-Ans˝a≠r| see Khwaja Abdullah Ansari: Intimate 

Conversations, translated by Wheeler M. Thackston (New York, 1978), 163–233. 



In a similar spirit of pious resignation, ‘A±’ishah wrote: 54 

I am content with what God wants for me; 

I commit my whole affair to Him. 

I turn to Him, seek refuge in Him, cling to Him 

for I can trust no one save Him! 


Preceding these verses and most of the other poems in the Fayd˝ al-Fad˝l is the 

phrase wa min fath˝i Alla≠h ‘alayha≠ or, more often, wa min fath˝ihi ‘alayha≠: "From 

God's/His inspiration upon her," declaring the deeply spiritual source and character 

of ‘A±’ishah's poetry. Further, in a number of instances, poems are introduced by a 

few additional words citing their occasion, theme, or ‘A±’ishah's mystical state 

when composing them, as in the following poem inspired when "rapture was 

intense:" 55 

With noble invocation of the One, Creator, 

refresh a heart melted by longing. 

Singer, lift up His praise and repeat it; 

Saqi, pass round His love's ancient wine. 

For life has passed in desire to drink it, 

though I never won a taste, no, not a taste. 

See how it revived impassioned souls 

brought to ruin and destruction. 

See how it made them disappear 5 

from all the world since they fell for it. 

See how it drove them love-mad and crazy, 

shattered by rapture and craving. 

See how it melted hearts now flowing down 

from tear ducts of large round eyes. 

See how it brought a dead lover back to life; 

O, how many strong lovers have died! 

It is a wine ever appearing 

to man as the rising sun, 

And when its bouquet spreads forth, 10 

it covers all the world and existence. 

When will I win its quenching draught 

passing me away in that abiding beauty? 

54 


55 

Ibid., 5–6 




Similar to Ibn al-Fa≠rid˝ and his famous wine ode, Al-Khamr|yah, ‘A±’ishah here 

links the memory and recollection (dhikr) of God to His love, which is likened to 

an ancient, intoxicating wine (vv. 1–3). The quest for it has destroyed many true 

lovers, yet a taste of this wine could resurrect the dead. Again like Ibn al-Fa≠rid˝, 

‘A±’ishah draws attention syntactically to the wine's miraculous effects, in this 

case by beginning five consecutive verses with the phrase wa-lakum bi-ha≠ ("Consider 

how it . . ." vv. 4–8). She further suggests the spiritual properties of this splendid, 

fragrant vintage in her final verses (vv. 9–11). There, in verse 11, ‘A±’ishah plays 

on the well-known Sufi terms for mystical union, fana≠’ ("annihilation," "passing 

away") and baqa≠’ ("abiding"), while, at the same time, alluding to the Quranic 

declaration (55:26–27): "All things on the earth are passing away, while the majestic 

and beneficent countenance of your Lord abides." 56 

This poem is representative of many others in the Fayd˝ al-Fad˝l with their 

devotional tone and uncomplicated diction and style. In these poems, ‘A±’ishah 

explored a full range of Arabic rhymes, meters, and poetic forms, whether to 

praise the Prophet and seek God's forgiveness, to instruct the Sufi novice, or to 

speak of longing and mystical union. 57 Further, inspired by earlier Sufi poets, 

‘A±’ishah composed a takhm|s on an ode ascribed to ‘Abd al-Qa≠dir al-J|la≠n| 

proclaiming his high saintly status, 58 and, in one of her longest poems, she dedicated 

over 250 verses to a variety of mystical themes, using as her model Ibn al-Fa≠rid˝'s 

Sufi classic the Naz˝m al-Sulu≠k (The poem of the Sufi way), also known as Al-Ta≠’|yah 

al-Kubrá (Ode in T - major). 59 Toward the end of her own ta≠’|yah, c ‘A±’ishah 

begins forty-three verses with the phrase a-la≠ ya≠ rasu≠la Alla≠h ("O messenger of 

God"), establishing a reverent rhythm and mood as she prays to and praises the 

Prophet. Such syntactical and phonemic patterning is common in many of her 

poems, suggesting that she may have intended them to be recited or chanted in 

Sufi gatherings and sama≠‘ sessions. This is particularly the case with ‘A±’ishah's 

many muwashshah˝ah, or strophic poems, which often feature refrains: 60 

56 For Ibn al-Fa≠rid˝'s wine ode, see my translation and analysis in Th. Emil Homerin, Ibn al-Fa≠rid˝: 

Sufi Verse, Saintly Life (New York, 2001), 41–51. For other examples of wine and its motifs in 

‘A±’ishah's poetry see Raba≠bi‘ah, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah: Sha≠‘irah, 207–20, 287, 306–14; 

unfortunately Raba≠bi‘ah nearly always misses her many references to Ibn al-Fa≠rid˝'s verse here and 

elsewhere. 

57 E.g. ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, "Fayd˝ al-Fad˝l," 29–30, 34–35, 84–85, 126–27, 205–8. For a good 

introduction to ‘A±’ishah's poetry, with examples drawn largely from the "Fayd˝ al-Fad˝l," see 

Raba≠bi‘ah, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah: Sha≠‘irah. 

58 ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, "Fayd˝ al-Fad˝l," 290–92, and see Braune, "‘Abd al-Qa≠dir al-Dj|la≠n|," 70. 

59 ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, "Fayd˝ al-Fad˝l," 139–51; also see Homerin, Ibn al-Fa≠rid˝: Sufi Verse, 

Saintly Life, 67–291, and Raba≠bi‘ah, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah: Sha≠‘irah, 287–88. 

60 ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, "Fayd˝ al-Fad˝l," 253–54; also see 172–78, 208–10, 294–96, 306–8, 327–28. 

For a survey and stylistic analysis of ‘A±’ishah's muwashshah˝ah and musical elements in her verse, 




I see no one but my love 

when I'm here or when I'm gone. 

I see him always with me, 

for he's my destiny. 

O my joy and happiness 5 

faithful love has graced me 

With passing away in abiding 

and abiding in passing away, 

For I have met my fate, 

and fate is my reunion. 10 

So my heart savor 

union with my love. 



He's my attributes, my essence; 15 

I see him and nothing else; 

He's my effacement, my endurance 

when I pass and then return. 

He's my union and dissolution 

in my aim and way of life; 20 

He's my substance and my meaning 

far away or near. 



Here, by God, and in my heart 25 

God made my bliss complete. 

I loved my lover and my lord, 

spring of my soul and being. 

So life was good, I was always near, 

and God made my vision last. 30 

So his brilliant flash, no other, 

appeared to me unbroken. 



My life was all delight, my separation sweet 35 

in love with beauty's lord. 

My union came, division left, 

my wide expansion stayed. 

see Raba≠bi‘ah, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah: Sha≠‘irah, 71–104, 335–400. 




My illusions gone, my truth proved true 

and unadorned appeared. 40 

A handsome moon beguiled me; 

he held all wondrous things. 



By my life, 45 

he is my highest goal! 

My art is passing away in him, 

passion, my food and drink. 

He's my reason, my religion, 

my doctrine and devotion. 50 

Wherever I turn my face, 

I see him alone with no one watching. 


for he's my destiny! 

Ostensibly, this poem tells of a lover's consuming passion for her beloved. 

Destiny has fated that she love him, and so, faithfully, she gives up all thought or 

care for herself. Yet this does not cause her ruin but, rather, her happiness and joy, 

as she finds blissful union with her handsome love. Enhancing this love theme are 

the underlying devotional and mystical elements of the poem, which contains 

several possible allusions to the prophet Muh˝ammad. ‘A±’ishah refers to her beloved 

as h˝ab|b (v. 1), a lover who is like the full moon (badr, v. 41), and both terms are 

standard poetic references to Muh˝ammad, the "beloved of God." Strengthening 

this reading is the first portion of ‘A±’ishah's refrain: kayfa la≠ ashhaduhu ("How 

can I not see him," v. 3 ff.), which may also be translated as "How can I not bear 

witness to him," echoing the Muslim profession of faith: ashhadu an la≠ ila≠ha illa≠ 

Alla≠ha wa ashhadu anna Muh˝ammada rasu≠lu Alla≠h, "I bear witness that there is 

no deity but God and that Muh˝ammad is the messenger of God." 61 However, this 

could equally imply that God is ‘A±’ishah's love, a reading supported by her use of 

the term rabb for her beloved, and her direct references to God (vv. 25–30). 

In addition, the poem contains over a dozen well-known Sufi technical terms 

regarding mystical states and stations. Central to this poem is union, and ‘A±’ishah 

frequently underscores the dialectic relation between passing away and abiding in 

union (fana≠’-baqa≠’, vv. 7–8, 18, 47; mah˝w-thiba≠t, v. 17; jam‘-shita≠t, v. 19; jam‘-farq, 

61 Concerning the shaha≠dah, or Muslim profession of faith, see Cyril Glasse, The Concise 

Encyclopedia of Islam (San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1989), 359–60; also see Homerin, Ibn 

al-Fa≠rid˝: Sufi Verse, Saintly Life, 57–58, and Schimmel, Muhammad, 124, 176–215. 




vv. 35, 37). Likewise, she makes distinctions between substance and meaning, 

and illusion and truth (ma‘ná-‘ayn, v. 21; wahm-h˝aqq, vv. 39–40) as spiritual 

contemplation and vision (shuhu≠d, v. 30) produce an expansive state of exhilaration 

(bast¸, v. 38). 62 Graced with illumination, the lover rests at ease with her beloved, 

whom she encounters within herself and everywhere she turns: 

Wherever I turn my face, 

I see him alone with no one watching. 


for he's my destiny! 

‘A±’ishah drew from both Arabic love poetry and the Quran for this final, climactic 

verse. In the classical poetic tradition, the raq|b, or "spy," stands guard to protect 

the beloved against the lover's advances. However, the spy may be avoided in a 

secret rendezvous or, of course, in the bridal chamber, where lovers meet alone. 

The sacred all-embracing nature of this union, as well as the divine identity of the 

beloved, is further suggested by ‘A±’ishah's phrase kayfa ma≠ wajahtu wajh| ara≠hu 

("Wherever I turn my face, I see him"), a clear reference to the Quranic declaration, 

often quoted by Sufis (2:115): "Wherever you turn, there is the face (wajh) of 

God." 63 Here again, ‘A±’ishah, unlike Ibn al-Fa≠rid˝, is explicit regarding the divine 

status of the beloved. This may be the result of her overtly devotional aims. Yet, 

as one of a very few medieval women publicly composing Arabic love poetry, 

‘A±’ishah may have wanted to avoid any ambiguity regarding the spiritual character 

of her love, so as to avoid controversy or scandal. 

III 

This poem and many others by ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah show clearly that her mystical 

quest revolved around love for God and his prophet Muh˝ammad. Her verses are 

replete with Sufi technical terms, and she often expresses her veneration for ‘Abd 

al-Qa≠dir al-J|la≠n| and her Sufi masters. 64 Following their Qa≠dir|yah way, ‘A±’ishah 

strove to keep God's commandments and accept His decrees, while seeking God's 

forgiveness and the Prophet's intercession on the Day of Judgment. Moreover, her 

spiritual discipline and mystical practice appear to have illumined her faith with 

moments of mystical union, ecstasy, and joy. Significantly, she alludes to these 

62 

Regarding many of these Sufi terms see ‘Al| ibn Muh˝ammad al-Jurja≠n|, Kita≠b al-Ta‘r|fa≠t 

(Beirut, 1983), 77, 89, 129, 169, 171, 255. For further examples of their frequent use in other 

poems by ‘A±’ishah, see Raba≠bi‘ah, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah: Sha≠‘irah, 284–86. 

63 

See Homerin, Ibn al-Fa≠rid˝: Sufi Verse, Saintly Life, 19; for Ibn al-Fa≠rid˝'s use of the "spy," 

74–75, v. 6. 

64 

For further examples, see Raba≠bi‘ah, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah: Sha≠‘irah, 187–202. 




powerful experiences in her comments preceding individual poems, and these 

autobiographical remarks, together with those found elsewhere in her writings, 

suggest ‘A±’ishah's sense of confidence and accomplishment in both her life and 

work. 

‘A±’ishah is also exceptional in that she attempted to articulate and clarify 

some of her mystical beliefs and practices in a separate Sufi compendium, Al- 

Muntakhab f| Usű≠l al-Rutab (Selections on the fundamentals of stations). ‘A±’ishah 

notes at the outset that the stages of the mystical folk are innumerable, yet all of 

them are based on four fundamental principles: tawbah (repentance), ikhla≠s˝ 

(sincerity), dhikr (recollection), and muh˝abbah (love). She then addresses these 

principles in four separate sections. 65 ‘A±’ishah begins each section with relevant 

quotations from the Quran, and she usually cites Arabic synonyms for each term, 

along with their extrinsic (z˝a≠hir) and intrinsic (ba≠t˝in) meanings. ‘A±’ishah quotes 

relevant traditions of Muh˝ammad and sayings from the early Muslim forefathers 

(s˝alaf), followed by extensive quotations from Sufi masters. To conclude, she 

sometimes adds an illustrative story or two, together with a few of her own 

observations and inspired verses on the subject. 

Thus, tawbah, or "repentance," explicitly means turning away from sinful acts 

toward praiseworthy ones, and away from evil speech toward good words. Inwardly 

for the Sufis, repentance also signifies turning away from all things save God. 66 

Repentance is effective on three conditions: (1) remorse for past misdeeds, (2) 

desisting immediately from current offenses, and (3) never returning to sin. ‘A±’ishah 

further notes that each member of the body has a share in repentance. The heart 

must resolve to leave sin and be remorseful, while the eyes should be down cast; 

the hands should cease to grasp; the feet should stop hurrying, and the ears should 

stop trying to listen in. This is repentance for the common people. The repentance 

of the elect goes further by opposing the lust of concupiscence (nafs), and by 

averting the gaze of the heart away from pleasure and prosperity, while abstaining 

from all transient things. Such repentance is required for the love for God, who 

said (2:222): "Verily, God loves those who turn in repentance. . . ." Higher still is 

65 ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, "Al-Muntakhab f| Us˝u≠l al-Rutab," Da≠r al-Kutub al-Mis˝r|yah, Cairo, 

microfilm 13123 of MS 318 (Tas˝awwuf Taymu≠r), 1074/1663, 1–5. Raba≠bi‘ah did not consult this 

work, believing it to be lost, though he had access to a short work entitled "Majmu≠‘ f| Kala≠m 

‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah f| Tas˝awwuf," Da≠r al-Kutub al-Mis˝r|yah, Cairo, microfilm 4059 of MS 319 

(Tas˝awwuf Taymu≠r); ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah: Sha≠‘irah, 62, 64. Based on Raba≠bi‘ah's citations of 

this work, I believe this "Majmu≠‘" consists of selections from ‘A±’ishah's "Al-Muntakhab." 

Unfortunately, because he did not know this, Raba≠bi‘ah ascribes to ‘A±’ishah statements made by 

earlier Sufis; see Raba≠bi‘ah, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah: Sha≠‘irah, 211, 257; ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, 

"Al-Muntakhab," 151–57; and Ibn ‘At¸a≠ Alla≠h al-Iskandar|, Lat˝a≠’if al-Minan (Cairo, 1979), 52–55. 

66 ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, "Al-Muntakhab," 5–7. 




the repentance of the elect of the elect. They turn away from considering anything 

but God, including spiritual states and blessings, until God reveals His beauty to 

them, eradicating everything but Himself. 67 

In her discussion of repentance, ‘A±’ishah relies heavily on the opinions of the 

respected Sufi master and scholar Abu≠ al-Qa≠sim al-Qushayr| (465/1072), and this 

is also the case regarding her second fundamental principle, ikhla≠s˝, or "sincerity" 

in word and deed. ‘A±’ishah quotes al-Qushayr| to the effect that sincere obedience 

to God should be motivated only by the desire to draw closer to Him. The believer 

should have no thought of attaining praise or glory among people, for sincerity 

requires the utmost humility. Therefore, concupiscence (nafs) is to be disciplined, 

while the heart must be blind to the opinions of others, as the spirit guards against 

pride. 68 To underscore the importance of sincerity, ‘A±’ishah cites numerous prophetic 

traditions, and stories regarding proper intentions and the grievous sin of hypocrisy. 

Sincerity, she says, is like water helping the tiny seeds of good works to grow, 

while hypocrisy is a cyclone that will sweep away the fields of one's labor. 69 

Essential to both repentance and sincerity is the third principle, dhikr, or 

"recollection" of God. ‘A±’ishah begins her section on this pivotal topic with God's 

promise in the Quran (2:152): "Remember Me, and I will remember you," and 

al-Qushayr|'s commentary on it. He notes that, for those who understand the 

Quran literally, this verse means: "Remember Me at the appropriate times, and I 

will remember you with acts of grace." However, those with insight also grasp the 

mystical import of this divine message: "Remember Me by leaving behind all 

thought of reward or punishment, and I will remember you by establishing you in 

My truth after your passing away from yourselves." 70 Following al-Qushayr|, 

‘A±’ishah elaborates on this reciprocal relationship of recollection between God 

and His faithful worshippers in a series of mystical interpretations: "Remember 

Me with sincerity, and I will remember you among the spiritual elect; remember 

Me in your striving, and I will remember You with witnessing; . . . remember Me 

in your passing away, and I will remember you in your abiding; . . . remember Me 

in your hearts, and I will remember you in nearness to Me; remember Me in your 

spirits, and I will remember you in moments of enlightenment; remember Me in 

your heart secrets, and I will remember you in illuminations!" 71 

67 

Ibid., 22–25; 45–46. 

68 

Ibid., 82–83. Also see Abu≠ al-Qa≠sim al-Qushayr|, Al-Risa≠lah al-Qushayr|yah, ed. ‘Abd al-H˛al|m 

Mah˝mu≠d and Mah˝mu≠d Ibn al-Shar|f (Cairo, 1972–74), 1:443–47, and 1:275–88; and H. Halm, 

"Al-K˛ushayr|," EI 2 , 5:526. 

69 

‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, "Al-Muntakhab," 89–90. 

70 

Ibid., 96–97. Also see Abu≠ al-Qa≠sim al-Qushayr|, Lat˝a≠’if al-Isha≠ra≠t f| Tafs|r al-Qur’a≠n, ed. 

Ibra≠h|m Basyu≠n| (Cairo, 1981), 1:137–38. 

71 





In context of the classical Sufi tradition, ‘A±’ishah regards dhikr as both a 

process and a mystical state. As a process, recollection of God is the means to 

purify oneself of selfishness and hypocrisy, and to ward off Satan. Though one 

will never be able to remember God constantly with one's lips, the sincere believer 

should strive always to recall God within the heart. As with repentance, recollection 

may differ in its effects depending on the believer's spiritual level; common 

people are soothed and receive blessings by praising God; religious scholars gain 

insight into God's names and attributes, while the spiritual elect who recollect 

God are purified and rest in Him. The ultimate goal of recollection, then, is a 

paradoxical state of forgetting everything while remembering God. 72 This results 

in absorption in Him, and ‘A±’ishah states that the most effective means to achieve 

this mystical state is to recollect the phrase: "There is no deity but God." Finally, 

Muh˝ammad is reported to have said: "One who loves something, remembers it 

often," and, so, ‘A±’ishah includes recollection among the signs of love. 73 

This leads naturally to mah˝abbah, or "love," the subject of the final and longest 

section of Al-Muntakhab. As in the preceding section on dhikr, ‘A±’ishah opens 

with verses from the Quran followed by al-Qushayr|'s commentary. God commands 

Muh˝ammad (3:31): "Say: 'If you love God, then follow me and God will love 

you.'" True love of God, al-Qushayr| observes, requires lovers to efface themselves 

completely as their beloved wears them out. This love relationship is possible 

because God created human beings in the best of forms and, so, He has a special 

affection for them. Further, God has said (5:54): "O you who believe, any of you 

who turns away from his religion, God will replace with a people whom He will 

love as they love Him." For al-Qushayr| and ‘A±’ishah, this verse declares to 

believers the wonderful news that if they keep the faith and love God, He most 

certainly will love them. 74 ‘A±’ishah then reinforces this point with several divine 

sayings (al-h˝ad|th al-quds|) on love, particularly the famous "Tradition of Willing 

Devotions," a standard Sufi text in support of mystical union: "God said: 'Whoever 

treats a friend of mine as an enemy, on him I declare war! My servant draws near 

to Me by nothing more loved by Me than the religious obligations that I have 

imposed upon him, and My servant continues to draw near to Me by acts of 

willing devotion such that I love him. Then, when I love him, I become his ear, 

his eye, and his tongue, his heart and reason, his hand and support." 75 

‘A±’ishah next cites a number of statements on love by Sufi masters, including: 

"love is the hearts' delight in the beloved's being," and "love is intoxication without 

72 

Ibid., 102–29. 

73 

Ibid., 130–40. 

74 

Ibid., 141–44. Also see al-Qushayr|, Lat˝a≠’if, 1:235–36, and his Al-Risa≠lah, 2:610–25. 

75 

‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah,, "Al-Muntakhab," 148. 




sobriety, an indescribable astonishment in meeting the beloved." Like a spell, 

God's love overwhelms the hearts of His loving worshippers, and reveals to them 

the light of His beauty and the sacred power of His majesty. Love's effects, 

however, will vary depending on the believers' spiritual capacities, and ‘A±’ishah 

quotes the North African Sufi Ibn al-‘Ar|f (d. 536/1141) on the levels of love. For 

the common believer, the seeds of love are planted by reading the Quran and 

following the custom of Muh˝ammad, and then nourished by complying with 

divine law. This love will thwart the temptations of Satan, provide solace in times 

of adversity, and make service to God delightful. By contrast, love among the 

spiritual elite strikes like a bolt of lightning, leaving the lovers dumbfounded and 

confused. This overwhelming love causes the spiritual elite to pass away in God's 

love for them, which is beyond any description or allusion. 76 

‘A±’ishah then turns to the signs of love, which include intimacy with God and 

estrangement from the world, awe before God and contentment with His will, 

performing pious deeds, loving others who love God, and passing away in the 

beloved from all things. 77 ‘A±’ishah adds that these are only a few of the many 

signs, as she moves on to traditions and stories about love. She observes that 

many people and religious communities have been touched by the irresistible love 

of God in the past, but that Muslims can bear more of it thanks to the enduring 

legacy of the most perfect and noble prophet Muh˝ammad. Still, God's love is 

all-consuming, as even Hell discovered. The great Sufi al-Junayd (d. 298/911) 

once said: "Hell fire asked, 'O Lord, if I don't obey You, will You punish me with 

something stronger than me?' God said, 'Yes, I will inflict on you My greater 

fire.' Hell asked, 'What fire is more intense and awesome than me?' God answered, 

'The fire of My love that I have placed in the hearts of My friends (awliya≠’)!'" 78 

Perhaps on a more personal note, ‘A±’ishah ends her section on love with two 

stories of pious women whose unwavering devotion and love for God are rewarded 

by His blessings. 79 She then concludes Al-Muntakhab with her own mystical truths 

(h˝aqa≠’iq ladun|yah) on love inspired by God. Love is the greatest secret of God; it 

is an endless sea. Those blessed with God's love are His saintly friends (awliya≠’) 

whose existence is eradicated in a state beyond description. They pass away and 

abide in Him, so that their hearts become a place of vision where the truth of the 

divine essence (dha≠t) is revealed. God then assumes His worshippers' senses as 

attested in the "Tradition of Willing Devotions." Though the worshippers' love 

draws them ever closer to the divine beloved, God bestows His love as an act of 

unearned grace. Ultimately, the lovers lose all sense of self (ana≠n|yah) when the 

76 2 

Ibid., 148–58. Also see A. Faure, "Ibn al-‘Ar|f," EI , 3:712–13. 

77 


78 

Ibid., 180. 

79 

Ibid., 185–90. 




truth of oneness (al-h˝aq|qah al-ah˝ad|yah) appears, but their mystical death leads 

them to eternal life, as ‘A±’ishah declares in verses from her closing poem: 80 

God looked with favor on a folk, 

and they stayed away 

from worldly fortunes. 

In love and devotion, they worshipped Him; 

they surrendered themselves, 

their aim was true. 

In love with Him, they gave themselves up 

and passed away from existence, 

nothing left behind. 

So He took pity 

and revealed to them 

His He-ness, 

And they lived again 

gazing at that living face 

when His eternal life appeared. 

They saw Him alone 

in the garden of union 

and drank from contemplation's cups, 

Filled lovingly with pure wine 

from the vision 

of true oneness. 

Throughout Al-Muntakhab, ‘A±’ishah consistently cites the Quran and carefully 

notes the sources of her hadith. Further, she relies on several major Sufi works, 

which she cites and accurately quotes. These works include Muh˝ammad al- 

Kala≠ba≠dh|'s (d. 385/995) Al-Ta‘arruf li-Madhhab Ahl al-Tas˝awwuf, 81 al-Qushayr|'s 

Al-Risa≠lah and his Quranic commentary Lat˝a≠’if al-Isha≠ra≠t f| Tafs|r al-Qur’a≠n, 

and writings by Muh˝ammad al-Sulam| (d. 412/1021), author of the T˛abaqa≠t al- 

Sű≠f|yah. 82 In addition to these classical sources, ‘A±’ishah occasionally draws 

selections from a few later works, in particular the ‘Awa≠rif al-Ma‘a≠rif by ‘Umar 

80 Ibid., 190–211. 

81 E.g. ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, "Al-Muntakhab," 16–18, 124–25, and Muh˝ammad al-Kala≠ba≠dh|, 

Al-Ta‘arruf li-Madhhab Ahl al-Tas˝awwuf (Beirut, 1980), 92–93, 103–104. Also see P. Nwiya, 

"Al-Kala≠ba≠dh|," EI 2 , 4:467. 

82 E.g., ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, "Al-Muntakhab," 89, 100, 145, and G. Bowering, "Al-Sulam|," EI 2 , 

9:811. 




al-Suhraward| (d. 632/1234), 83 and the Lat¸a≠’if al-Minan by Ibn ‘At˝a≠ Alla≠h al- 

Iskandar| (d. 709/1309), 84 and she quotes a poem by Ibn al-‘Ar|f, and one by 

Muh˝ammad Ibn Ab| al-Wafa≠’ (d. 891/1486). 85 Among these Sufi authorities, 

however, al-Qushayr| is clearly the most cited and easily the most influential. 

As indicated in its title, Al-Muntakhab f| Usű≠l al-Rutab is a "selection" ‘A±’ishah 

made from earlier works on Sufism. As such, it testifies to ‘A±’ishah's extensive 

reading on the subject, and records some of the mystical writings circulating in 

Sufi circles of her day. Notable by its absence is any reference to the popular 

works of Ibn al-‘Arab| (d. 637/1240) or those of his students. 86 Perhaps ‘A±’ishah 

consciously avoided these controversial authors, as well as difficult matters of 

mystical theology, which are rarely discussed in Al-Muntakhab. Further, ‘A±’ishah 

does not refer explicitly to her own teachers, nor does she mention the Light of 

Muh˝ammad, which figures prominently in her other works. These omissions, 

however, may reflect her particular focus in Al-Muntakhab on classical sources 

that are not primarily concerned with mystical prophetology. While ‘A±’ishah 

intended her Al-Muntakhab to be useful for fellow travelers on the mystic path, 87 

this work appears to be less of a formal guide-book than a collection of insightful 

and inspirational passages organized around the four basic principles of repentance, 

sincerity, recollection, and love. 88 As in her poetry, ‘A±’ishah's tone throughout the 

work is consistently positive and often up-lifting. She stresses repeatedly that 

divine mercy and grace are limited only by human heedlessness and recalcitrance, 

but that God will love and help all believers who sincerely try to reach Him: 

83 

‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, "Al-Muntakhab," 164–67, and ‘Umar al-Suhraward|, ‘Awa≠rif al-Ma‘a≠rif 

(Cairo, 1973), 461. 

84 

‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, "Al-Muntakhab," 151–57, and Ibn ‘At˝a≠ Alla≠h al-Iskandar|, Lat˝a≠’if al- 

Minan, 52–55. Also see G. Makdisi, "Ibn ‘At˝a≠ Alla≠h," EI 2 , 3:722–23. 

85 

‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, "Al-Muntakhab," 181–82, 206. For Muh˝ammad Ibn Ab| al-Wafa≠’ see 

al-Sakha≠w|, Al-D˛aw’ al-La≠mi‘, 7:197, and ‘Umar Kah˝h˝a≠lah, Mu‘jam al-Mu’allif|n (Damascus, 

1957), 9:117. In her section on "sincerity," ‘A±’ishah also cites (pg. 96) an animal fable from 

Muh˝ammad al-Dam|r|'s (d. 808/1405) famous animal encyclopedia H˛aya≠t al-H˛ayawa≠n (Cairo, 

1978), 2:10; see L. Kopf, "Al-Dam|r|," EI 2 , 2:107–8. 

86 

Concerning Ibn al-‘Arab| and his influence in the Mamluk period, see Homerin, From Arab 

Poet, 26–32, 55–75; Geoffroy, Soufisme, 437–503; and especially Alexander D. Knysh, Ibn al-‘Arab| 

in the Later Islamic Tradition (New York, 1998). 

87 


88 

Cf. Abu≠ Naj|b al-Suhraward|, Kita≠b A±da≠b al-Mur|d|n (A Sufi Rule for Novices), edited with an 

abridged translation by Menahem Milson (Cambridge, MA, 1975). 




I see love, 

an ocean without a shore. 

If you are love's chosen ones, 

plunge in! 89 

IV 

During the difficult summer of 922/1516, Qa≠ns˝u≠h al-Ghawr| met with ‘A±’ishah 

al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah. Later, the Mamluk sultan rode out with his army to meet the Ottoman 

sultan Selim at Marj Da≠biq. There, surrounded by his religious officials and 

spiritual advisors, al-Ghawr| suffered a stroke and died in the heat of battle. 90 His 

decimated forces fled the field, and some survivors eventually returned to Cairo, 

Ibn Aja≠ among them. Ibn Aja≠ was then retained as confidential secretary and 

foreign minister by the new Mamluk sultan Tu≠ma≠nba≠y, who was defeated and 

killed a few months later when Selim took Cairo. Selim, however, treated the 

elderly Ibn Aja≠ with respect and permitted him and his family to return to their 

native Aleppo, where Ibn Aja≠ died in 925/1519. 91 Ibn Aja≠'s widow, Sitt al-H˛alab 

(d. 933/1525), mourned her husband for a year and then remarried, taking delight 

in a considerably younger man. 92 

After Marj Da≠biq, ‘A±’ishah's son, ‘Abd al-Wahha≠b, did not follow his employer 

Ibn Aja≠ to Cairo. Instead, ‘Abd al-Wahha≠b returned to the al-S˝a≠lih|yah district of 

Damascus, where he studied jurisprudence and Sufism until his death, around the 

age of thirty, in 925/1519. 93 As for ‘A±’ishah, she too died in Damascus, on the 

sixteenth of Dhu≠ al-Qa‘dah, 923/December, 1517, the same year that the Mamluk 

dynasty passed away. 94 However, her prose and poetry lived on to be admired and 

copied for centuries, thereby preserving her extraordinary legacy. ‘A±’ishah al- 

Ba≠‘u≠n|yah remains of one of the greatest woman poets and writers in Islamic 

history, and she serves as a fitting testimony to the vibrant literary and religious 

culture of the Mamluk period. 

89 

‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, "Al-Muntakhab," 198. 

90 

Petry, Twilight of Majesty, 224–31. 

91 

Ibn al-Mulla≠ al-H˛as˝kaf|, Mut‘at al-Adhha≠n, 2:799; al-Ghazz|, Al-Kawa≠kib, 1:303; and Ibn al- 

H˛anbal| al-H˛alab|, Durr al-H˛abab, 2:2:455–56. 

92 

Ibn al-H˛anbal| al-H˛alab|, Durr al-H˛abab, 1:2:577–78. 

93 

Ibn al-Mulla≠ al-H˛as˝kaf|, Mut‘at al-Adhha≠n, 1:484, and al-Ghazz|, Al-Kawa≠kib, 1:257. 

94 

Ibn T˛u≠lu≠n, Mufa≠kahat al-Khilla≠n, 2:74. Most other sources list her year of death as 922/1516, 

however, Ibn T˛u≠lu≠n personally knew ‘A±’ishah and her son; see Raba≠bi‘ah, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah: 

Sha≠‘irah, 57–59. 



NASSER RABBAT 

MASSACHUSETTS INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY 

Laila ‘Ali Ibrahim, 1917–2002 

Laila ‘Ali Ibrahim passed away July 14. She was 85. Many students of Mamluk 

art and architecture have come to identify Laila with Cairo: she was the "Godmother" 

of the city and the guardian of its monuments. 

Laila learned her metier informally through exposure to the best minds concerned 

with the fate of historic Cairo in the 1940s and 1950s. These included her father, 

Dr. ‘Ali Ibrahim, a major Islamic art collector whom she adored, and K. A. C. 

Creswell, the eccentric Briton who spent most of his working life studying the 

Islamic architecture of Cairo. But she had one thing that most scholars of Cairo of 

her time did not have: total devotion to her subject. This showed not only in her 

publications, public lectures, and participation in countless organizations promoting 

the safeguarding of the monuments of Cairo, but also in her tireless efforts to gain 

new converts to the study and appreciation of Cairo. To that end, she taught the 

history of Cairo at the American University of Cairo (AUC) and made herself 

available to any researcher, Egyptian or foreign, interested in studying Mamluk 

Cairo. 

Laila's articles and one published book are solid, carefully researched, and 

clearly written pieces. She seemed to have focused mostly on little-studied aspects 

of Cairene architecture that lesser scholars avoided. She took special interest, for 

instance, in Mamluk residential architecture, about which she published a number 

of erudite articles. She also delved into writing on little-known or ruined monuments, 

such as the kha≠nqa≠hs of Amir Qawsu≠n and of Zayn al-D|n Yu≠suf or the madrasah 

of Badr al-D|n al-‘Ayn|. Her book on Mamluk building terminology, published in 

1990 and coauthored with the late Muh˝ammad Muh˝ammad Am|n, is an 

indispensable source for all students of Cairo. It is the distillation of the expertise 

of these two irreplaceable scholars: Laila with her intimate and extensive knowledge 

of the historic buildings and Am|n with his profound familiarity with the legal 

documents related to them. 

Laila spent more than half a century studying, teaching, and speaking for and 

on behalf of the architecture of Cairo. But she shunned all ceremonial social 

events and was interested only in constructive ones. Her admirers, however, 

managed to put together a collection of essays in her honor, The Cairo Heritage, 

which was edited by Dr. Doris Behrens-Abouseif and published by AUC Press in 




236 NASSER RABBAT, LAILA ‘ALI IBRAHIM, 1917–2002 

2001, although Laila unfortunately was unable to read it. Laila left a small but 

extremely valuable library that I hope will find an institutional home where it 

could be open to all researchers from all over the world. This is how Laila herself 

would have liked it to be. 



H˛ASAN RABA≠BI‘AH, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah: Sha≠‘irah (Irbid: Da≠r al-Hila≠l lil-Tarjamah, 

1997). Pp. 441. 

REVIEWED BY TH. EMIL HOMERIN, University of Rochester. 

‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah (d. 922/1517) left behind a rich legacy as one of the greatest 

woman authors in Islamic history. ‘A±’ishah's writings were extensive even by 

men's standards, and they are unparalleled for a pre-modern Muslim woman. 

Though women were respected scholars and teachers in medieval Islam, they 

generally did not compile their own independent works. However, ‘A±’ishah was 

very prolific. She dedicated a number of panegyrics to the prophet Muh˝ammad 

and composed several mawlids combining prose and poetry. ‘A±’ishah also wrote 

works on Islamic mysticism, including a spiritual guide and several volumes of 

mystical and devotional poetry. 

Despite ‘A±’ishah's extensive body of work and celebrated career among her 

peers and later generations, she has attracted only sporadic attention over the last 

century. More recently, Fa≠ris Ah˝mad al-‘Ala≠w| issued a new edition of her Al- 

Mawrid al-Ahná (1994; see my review in MSR 6), while I have published a study 

of her life and work (MSR 7). It was while completing this latter article that I 

came across H˛asan Raba≠bi‘ah's very useful book, ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah: Sha≠‘irah, 

published in Jordan in 1997. As an introduction, he begins with a chapter on 

‘A±’ishah's family origins in the town of al-Ba≠‘u≠n in the Mamluk province of 

‘Ajlu≠n in what is now southern Syria and the Jordanian province of Irbid (pp. 

13–31). Then, in chapter two, Raba≠bi‘ah gives a brief biography of ‘A±’ishah, who 

was born in Damascus, around 864/1459. Using ‘A±’ishah's own comments on her 

life found in several manuscripts, Raba≠bi‘ah notes her pilgrimage to Mecca, where 

she had a vision of the Prophet, her study of Sufism, her marriage to Ah˝mad ibn 

Muh˝ammad Ibn Naq|b al-Ashra≠f (d. 909/1503) and the names of their children. 

He also touches on her trip to Cairo in 919/1513, her meeting with the Mamluk 

sultan Qa≠ns˝u≠h al-Ghawr| in 922/1516, and her death the next year (pp. 33–59). 

Unfortunately, this biographical section is, at times, disorganized and incomplete, 

and Raba≠bi‘ah could have added significant information had he utilized his sources 

more thoroughly. Raba≠bi‘ah does a much better job when compiling a list of 

‘A±’ishah's writings and the location of her surviving works (pp. 59–65), with the 

exception of her Al-Muntakhab f| Us˝u≠l al-Rutab, which he believes to be lost, 

though a copy may be found in Cairo's Da≠r al-Kutub. 

Raba≠bi‘ah's main concern, however, is not ‘A±’ishah's life or religious beliefs, 

but her refined poetic skills and extensive knowledge of Arabic language and 

literature. This is evident in his third chapter, on ‘A±’ishah's versification in the 

popular forms of muwashshahah, zajal, du≠ bayt, and mawa≠l|ya≠ (pp. 67–121). Here 



238 BOOK REVIEWS 

as elsewhere, Raba≠bi‘ah quotes from a number of ‘A±’ishah's works, though he 

usually draws his examples from her Fayd˝ al-Fad˝l wa-Jam‘ al-Shaml (The 

Emanation of grace and the gathering of union), which contains over three hundred 

poems in various styles and forms. Raba≠bi‘ah pays particular attention to formal 

matters of rhyme and meter, compiling a series of tables summarizing these and 

other stylistic and structural elements as found in ‘A±’ishah's poems. In passing, he 

notes that the content of these poems revolves around the prophet Muh˝ammad, 

and the mystical themes of love and wine. Raba≠bi‘ah makes several brief but 

useful comparisons between ‘A±’ishah's muwashshahah and those of her Sufi 

predecessors Ibn al-‘Arab| (d. 637/1240) and al-Shustar| (d. 668/1268)(pp. 99–103). 

Raba≠bi‘ah follows this same pattern in chapter four on ‘A±’ishah's poems involving 

tasm|t¸ and takhm|s (pp. 125–37). 

In chapter five, Raba≠bi‘ah provides an overview of ‘A±’ishah's main poetic 

themes, including: praise of the prophet Muh˝ammad and accounts of his life and 

miracles, praise of his companions and Sufi masters, verse exchanged with some 

of her learned contemporaries (ikhwan|ya≠t), Sufi themes and states, love, longing, 

and beauty (pp. 139–224). Raba≠bi‘ah cites a few verses to illustrate each theme, 

which help to convey the range and depth of ‘A±’ishah's religious and poetic 

concerns, though Raba≠bi‘ah's commentary is very general. Further, he repeatedly 

fails to note the obvious influence on ‘A±’ishah of the great Sufi poet Ibn al-Fa≠rid˝ 

(d. 632/1235), while mistakenly ascribing to her statements by the Sufi master Ibn 

‘At¸a≠ Alla≠h al-Iskandar| (d. 709/1309) (p. 212, again on 252). 

In chapters six, seven, and eight, Raba≠bi‘ah turns to ‘A±’ishah's qas˝|dahs, 

again, following a structuralist approach. Central to chapter six is Raba≠bi‘ah's 

analysis of an ode by ‘A±’ishah (pp. 262–68). Raba≠bi‘ah notes that the encampments 

of this poem and others by ‘A±’ishah are not ruined or abandoned, as is the case in 

earlier classical odes, since she longs for the holy cities of Mecca and Medina and 

her beloved prophet. Strangely, Raba≠bi‘ah cites only 37 of the poem's 50 verses. 

Chapters seven and eight touch on ‘A±’ishah's use of Sufi technical terminology 

(pp. 269–300), the mystical themes of love and wine, and her devotion to the 

prophet Muh˝ammad (pp. 301–34). Raba≠bi‘ah underscores the thematic unity and 

harmony of ‘A±’ishah's poems and some of her sophisticated rhetorical strategies. 

Here, too, at last, he finally mentions her debt to Ibn al-Fa≠rid˝ though, unfortunately, 

Raba≠bi‘ah does not pursue this important aspect of ‘A±’ishah's thought and work. 

In his final chapter, Raba≠bi‘ah speculates on the musical qualities of ‘A±’ishah's 

verse. Taking several poems as examples, he examines in some detail their poetic 

structures and various formal elements including rhyme and meter, sound and 

rhythm, and ‘A±’ishah's creative use of antithesis, repetition, and phonemic patterning 

(pp. 335–400). 




‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah: Sha≠‘irah is a good general introduction to the verse of 

a fine poet. A major strength of the book is Raba≠bi‘ah's knowledge and extensive 

use of relevant manuscript resources, despite a few lapses, as noted above. Further, 

unlike many scholars of Arabic literature, Raba≠bi‘ah does not stereotype or denigrate 

Arabic poetry of the Mamluk period as pallid or unoriginal. On the contrary, 

H˛asan Raba≠bi‘ah is to be commended for his enthusiasm for and appreciation of 

the poetry of ‘A±’ishah al-Ba≠‘u≠n|yah, and I hope he continues to pursue this line of 

research in the future. 

MOSHE HARTAL, The al-S˛ubayba (Nimrod) Fortress: Towers 11 and 9: With 

Contributions by Reuven Amitai and Adrian Boas (Jerusalem: Israel Antiquities 

Authority, 2001). Pp. 130. 

REVIEWED BY LORENZ KORN, University of Tübingen 

Mamluk fortifications have attracted the interest of Near Eastern architectural 

historians only after a certain delay. Crusader castles and city walls had become 

objects of scholarly research and detailed documentation already before World 

War I. Exploration of their Saljuq/Zengid and Ayyubid counterparts started a few 

decades ago, and thanks to studies like the one by Paul Chevedden on the citadel 

of Damascus, we are able to assess the implications of the revolution in siege 

technique and military architecture which took place in the late sixth/twelfth 

century. Against this background, Mamluk military architecture received only 

perfunctory attention. The important fortresses of Gaziantep and Birecik, to cite 

only two major examples, are practically unexplored, and the same is true for 

most fortifications built between 1250 and 1517 in the Near East. Again, it has 

been the citadel of Damascus that exemplifies the possibilities of a detailed 

architectural study in the minute analysis of its Mamluk constructions by Hanspeter 

Hanisch. 

The fortress of Qal‘at al-S˛ubaybah (today often called Nimrod Castle), on the 

western margin of the Golan Heights, is one of those Mamluk military constructions 

that were built as a reinforcement to older Crusader or Ayyubid structures, and is 

similar in size and importance to the castles of al-Karak and al-Shawbak (of 

which the post-Crusader parts remain to be studied as well, despite valuable 

archeological soundings undertaken by Robin M. Brown). After the Mamluk 

takeover, al-S˛ubaybah was substantially rebuilt under Baybars, as earlier studies 

of the building inscriptions and architectural remains have already shown. 




The present study is the result of work carried out on behalf of the Israel 

Antiquities Authority and the Israel National Parks Authority. It covers two large 

towers and some other sections of the western front of the fortress. Since the spur 

on which the castle is built continues westward, this side was heavily fortified. 

The two towers are built on rectangular plans. Each of them consists of an Ayyubid 

core, which was encased by the Mamluk constructions. Heavy destruction, probably 

by an earthquake in the eighteenth century, left only the lower parts of the towers 

standing while the top storeys have almost totally disappeared. 

The remaining substance of the towers, the adjacent galleries, and the water 

reservoir in the southwest corner of the lower bailey of the fortress, is presented in 

great detail. Every room is described, detailing the masonry of its floors, walls, 

and ceilings, and including all openings, stairs, and installations, and is richly 

documented in photographs as well as architectural drawings. Highly interesting 

are the water installations, such as the latrines and the water lifting shaft in tower 

11, or the fountain in the outer wall of the reservoir. The presentation allows a 

comprehensive insight into the evidence, enabling the reader to test the conclusions 

of the author. These are mostly reasonable, but in a few points debatable. 

In general, Mamluk fortification technique appears as a direct continuation of 

Ayyubid military architecture. The layout of rectangular towers with vaulted halls 

and passages, firing chambers, and arrow-slits follows the same principles as in 

the fortresses of Tabor, ‘Ajlu≠n, Bosra, and Baalbek, to quote the nearest important 

examples; these elements were changed and improved in details. 

Tower 11 used an Ayyubid gate tower as a core around which a vaulted 

passage with firing chambers was laid. The gate function was given up. In the 

basement, a postern gate with a narrow passage was built into the new walls. The 

upper parts of the tower are difficult to reconstruct, but it is clear that a large 

building inscription was part of its eastern façade. For all these constructions, 

huge ashlars were used for which parallels in Mamluk fortifications are rare. This 

is all the more remarkable since the contemporary enlargement of tower 9 shows 

much smaller blocks. Hartal explains this feature partly with technical reasons, 

partly with a special function of tower 11. Considering the size of the tower and 

its position on the slope, he terms the Mamluk constructions "retaining walls" and 

suggests that they were necessary to "hold back quantities of earth" (p. 63). This 

might have been true, had there not been the earlier, Ayyubid tower. Its outer 

walls must actually have prevented any substantial horizontal pressure on the 

adjacent Mamluk constructions, and made a particular reinforcement less urgent. 

Similarly, it seems far-fetched to assume that the Mamluk builders of al-S˛ubaybah 

turned to the Temple Mount in Jerusalem as an example for the handling of huge 

blocks. The Ayyubid fortresses mentioned above, or perhaps the Herodian remnants 

in the citadel of Jerusalem, were probably more important in this respect. 




Hartal's assumption that the top floor of tower 11 served as a residence for the 

lord of the castle is convincing and gives a better explanation for the use of the 

large-scale masonry as a means to enhance the imposing appearance of the building. 

For the uppermost parts of the tower, one might discuss whether there might have 

been two-storeyed fighting galleries, with a row of vaulted fighting chambers 

surrounding the open platform, and a walk behind the crenellated parapet on top. 

Also, the question of machicouli galleries arises, since these appear prominently 

in Baybars' rebuilding of the Krak des Chevaliers. Under these circumstances, the 

reconstruction drawing Fig. 35 seems a little too assertive. 

The article by Reuven Amitai deals with the large building inscription from 

tower 11 and (fragments of) some other inscriptions which were found in the 

course of the work. Amitai not only gives a detailed examination of the protocol 

of the inscriptions, with appropriate comparisons, but also a historical commentary 

which is important for the understanding of the structural history of al-S˛ubaybah, 

with B|l|k al-Kha≠zinda≠r as the actual owner of Ba≠niya≠s and the northern Golan. 

The enlargement of the two towers was certainly due to his patronage. 

The reading of the one-line inscription band found near tower 16 (pp. 118 ff.) 

has to be corrected in one place (Fig. 194): Amitai's reading "na≠s˝ir (?) am|r 

al-mu’[min|n]" must be rejected. The letter in the center of the block cannot be a 

s˝a≠d, and the adjacent letters do not match either. Instead, I would suggest "almutha≠ghir," 

which is sometimes found in combination with the more common 

epithets "al-muja≠hid al-mura≠bit¸," missing in the present fragment. In this case, the 

following "al-mu’-" would then belong to the likewise more frequent "al-mu’ayyad." 

This sequence of titles is well attested for Ayyubid building inscriptions (cf. 

Répertoire chronologique d'épigraphie arabe, Publications de l'Institut français 

d'archéologie orientale du Caire [Cairo, 1931– ], vol. 10, no. 3664, vol. 11, nos. 

4057, 4246, 4417); an example in one of Baybars' inscriptions comes from Ramlah 

(cf. Max van Berchem, Inscriptions arabes de Syrie, Mémoires présentés à l'Institut 

égyptien 3 [Cairo, 1897], 473 f.). 

A contribution by Adrian Boas deals with the ceramics found during the 

removal of the fallen debris. Brief descriptions of the wares are supplemented by 

comparative material and thus add to a more complete picture of Mamluk ceramics 

in southern Bila≠d al-Sha≠m. At the same time, it becomes clear that the rough 

excavation technique used has limited the evidence in this case, since no stringent 

stratigraphy could be achieved. 

On the whole, this book is a highly valuable contribution to the recording and 

discussion of Mamluk military architecture. Difficulties in readability which might 

arise from the lengthy descriptions will not deter the reader to whom the book is 

addressed. They are far outweighed by the merits of the accurate documentation. 

This implies the wish that work on al-S˛ubaybah (also and especially the inner 




castle) be continued in the same manner. In this context, it should be remarked 

that the excavations of the western front were undertaken in the course of preparing 

a new visitor's exit out of the castle. In this way, the work presented here might 

constitute a precedence for future investigations into Mamluk fortifications, or the 

combination of site management with archaeological research. At least, the touristic 

appeal of Mamluk fortresses should not be underrated. 

SHAMS AL-D|N MUH˝AMMAD IBN T˛U≠LU≠N, Mufa≠kahat al-Khilla≠n f| H˛awa≠dith al-Zama≠n, 

edited by S˛ala≠h˝ al-D|n Khal|l al-Shayba≠n| al-Maws˝il| (Beirut: Da≠r al-Kutub 

al-‘Ilm|yah, 1998). Pp. 421. 

AH˝MAD IBN MUNLA≠ 

≠/IBN T˛U≠LU≠N, Mut¸‘at al-Adhha≠n min al-Tamattu‘ bi-al-Iqra≠n bayna 

Tara≠jim al-Shuyu≠kh wa-al-Aqra≠n, 2 vols., edited by S˛ala≠h˝ al-D|n Khal|l al- 

Shayba≠n| al-Maws˝il| (Beirut: Da≠r S˝a≠dir, 1999). Pp. 1116. 

REVIEWED BY STEPHAN CONERMANN, University of Kiel 

I was pleased to learn that two new works by Shams al-D|n Muh˝ammad Ibn 

T˛u≠lu≠n (d. 955/1548), the scholar and prolific writer from Damascus, are now 

available in print for the first time. But appearances are deceptive, because in the 

case of Mufa≠kahat al-Khilla≠n f| H˛awa≠dith al-Zama≠n this surely is a bogus claim, 

at least from my point of view. All that the editor, S˛ala≠h˝ al-D|n Khal|l al-Shayba≠n| 

al-Maws˝il|, did was simply to reproduce the exemplary two-volume edition of the 

unique Tübingen copy (MS MA VI,7) published by Muh˝ammed Mus˝t¸afá (Cairo, 

1962–64). The less than meager annotations are the only items actually penned by 

the editor himself. 

The other publication that I will review here deserves more attention. Even 

though it does not represent an original piece of writing by Ibn T˛u≠lu≠n, the edition 

does contain extracts from Al-Tamattu‘ bi-al-Iqra≠n bayna Tara≠jim al-Shuyu≠kh 

wa-al-Aqra≠n, a collection of biographies that has not been preserved in its entirety. 

This part of the work survived because Ibn T˛u≠lu≠n's student Ah˝mad ibn Munla≠ 

al-H˛askaf| al-H˛alab| (937–1003/1530–94) intended to write such a collection of 

short biographies himself and therefore made ample use of his teacher's works. 

Compiling these unique Who's Who handbooks was very much en vogue in 

the Mamluk period. 1 Scholars wished to portray the merits of famous men in order 

1 Franz Rosenthal, A History of Muslim Historiography, 2nd revised ed. (Leiden, 1968), 100–6. 

See also H. A. R. Gibb, "Islamic Biographical Literature," in Historians of the Middle East, ed. 




to present them as shining examples to their contemporaries. Moreover, general 

consensus among Muslims had always been that history and thus the renewal of 

religion was primarily shaped by individuals. The power elite—both rulers and 

religious scholars—for their part used these biographical accounts to assure 

themselves that their actions were legitimate. The genre thus satisfied the needs of 

the authors and the readership for which it was intended at one and the same time. 

It is therefore hardly surprising that biographical collections became one of the 

main forms of contemporary historical writing. 

Even though all of the biographical abstracts usually contain information about 

the date of the person's death, his ancestry, his teachers, his writings, and other 

important events in his life, the works differ regarding the particular common 

denominator shared by the people included in the anthology. Law schools were 

one such common denominator, as were the vizierate, blindness, poetry, Sufi 

congregations, cities, or cemeteries. During the last third of the eighth/fourteenth 

century, for example, a certain al-Faq|h ‘Uthma≠n wrote a biographical guide 

entitled Murshid al-Zu≠wa≠r ilá Qubu≠r al-Abra≠r in which he described all the people 

interred at Mount al-Muqat¸t¸am in Cairo, 2 while al-Da≠wu≠d| (d. 945/1538) focused 

on every known exegete of the Quran. 3 But the century in which the famous 

people had died constituted the most popular selection criterion for these 

biographical collections. 

When compiling a dictionary, the biographical writer made full use of the 

work done by his predecessors. Of course, one needs to be aware of the fact that 

plagiarism 4 in those days did not have the negative implications it does today, but 

rather was regarded as a completely legitimate narrative method at which nobody 

took umbrage. Previous historians were considered incontestable authorities, 

Bernard Lewis and Peter M. Holt (London, 1962), 54–58; Fedwa Malti-Douglas, "Controversy 

and Its Effects in the Biographical Tradition of al-Khatib al-Baghdadi," Studia Islamica 46 (1977): 

115–31; Tarif Khalidi, "Islamic Biographical Dictionaries: A Preliminary Assessment," The Muslim 

World 63 (1973): 53–65; Malak Abiad, "Origine et développement des dictionnaires biographique 

arabes," Bulletin d'études orientales 31 (1979): 7–15; and Bernadette Martel-Thoumian, "Le 

dictionnaire biographique: un outil historique: Etude réalisée à partir de l'ouvrage de Sakha≠w|: 

ad˝-D˛aw’ al-la≠mi‘ f| a‘ya≠n al-qarn at-ta≠si‘," Cahiers d'onomastique arabe (1988–1992): 9–38. 

2 

Cf. Carl Brockelmann, Geschichte der arabischen Litteratur (Leiden, 1949), 2:42 and S2:30. 

3 

Cf. ibid., 2:373 and S2:401. 

4 

The early attempts of Muslim writers at describing the concept of plagiarism were summed up 

by the Egyptian chief judge al-Qazw|n| (d. 739/1338) in his work Talkh|s˝ al-Mifta≠h˝ (ed. ‘Abd 

al-Rah˝ma≠n al-Barqu≠q| as Al-Talkh|s f| ‘Ulu≠m al-Bala≠ghah [Beirut, 1982]). Cf. Gustav von 

Grunebaum, "Der Begriff des Plagiats in der arabischen Kritik," in Kritik und Dichtkunst: Studien 

zur arabischen Literaturgeschichte (Wiesbaden, 1955), 101–29; A. F. Mehren, Die Rhetorik der 

Araber (Copenhagen and Vienna, 1853); and Ah˝mad Mat¸lu≠b, Al-Qazw|n| wa-Shuru≠h˝ al-Talkh|s˝ 

(Baghdad, 1967). 




especially regarding historical events that one had not witnessed personally. This 

was particularly so since one did not want to correct one's predecessors by presenting 

new insights or new interpretations of past events. It was not customary to mention 

the names of the true authors of the reports and hence this practice was not 

considered negligent. Some authors occasionally did cite the sources they had 

used in the preface to their work, but it was not considered absolutely necessary. 

The source material for Ah˝mad ibn Munla≠'s life provides some indication of 

the extent to which different biographical accounts depended on each other. Most 

of the information about our author can be found in the works of his teacher Ibn 

al-H˛anbal| (d. 971/1563), 5 yet al-Bu≠r|n| (d. 1024/1615) 6 is the first one to present 

a complete biographical sketch in his Tara≠jim al-A‘ya≠n min Abna≠’ al-Zama≠n. 7 

These two short biographies then served as the prototypes for all the following 

accounts, with the portrayals by Najm al-D|n al-Ghazz| (d. 1061/1651), 8 Ibn 

al-‘Ima≠d (d. 1089/1679), 9 and Muh˝ammad al-Am|n al-Muh˝ibb| (d. 1111/1699) 10 

differing only in style. 

All in all, the biographical descriptions give the following picture: Ah˝mad ibn 

Munla≠, whose ancestors came from Diya≠r Bakr, was born in Aleppo. Some of his 

family were notable members of the community: his grandfathers, Ah˝mad ibn 

Yu≠suf ibn Mu≠sá al-Sind| (d. 894/1488–89), who was known by the name of 

Munla≠ H˛a≠jj, 11 and Yah˝yá ibn ‘Abd al-Wahha≠b (d. 935/1528–29), 12 both belonged 

5 

Muh˝ammad ibn Ibra≠h|m Ibn al-H˛anbal|, Durr al-H˛abab f| Ta≠r|kh A‘ya≠n H˛alab, ed. Mah˝mu≠d 

Ah˝mad al-Fa≠khu≠r| (Damascus, 1972–74), 1:239–68. Ibn al-H˛anbal| wrote his Durr on famous 

individuals who had some kind of relationship with Aleppo, as a continuation of Muwaffaq al-D|n 

Abu≠ Da≠r| Ah˝˝mad ibn Ibra≠h|m al-H˛alab|'s (d. 844/1479) Kunu≠z al-Dhahab f| Ta≠r|kh al-H˛alab. 

Incidentally, it was Ibn al-H˛anbal|'s pupil Ah˝mad ibn al-Munla≠ who collected his d|wa≠n after his 

death. On Ibn al-H˛anbal|, see GAL, 2:368 and S2:495, and ‘Abd al-H˛ayy ibn Ah˝mad Ibn al-‘Ima≠d, 

Shadhara≠t al-Dhahab f| Akhba≠r Man Dhahab (Cairo, 1930–31), 8:364–65. 

6 

See GAL, 2:290 and S2:401 on al-Bu≠r|n|. 

7 

Al-H˛asan ibn Muh˝ammad al-Bu≠r|n|, Tara≠jim al-A‘ya≠n min Abna≠’ al-Zama≠n, ed. Sal˛a≠h˝ al-D|n 

al-Munajjid (Damascus, 1959–63) 1:180–85. 

8 

Najm al-D|n al-Ghazz|, Al-Kawa≠kib al-Sa≠’irah f| A‘ya≠n al-Mi’ah al-‘A±shirah, ed. Jibra≠’|l 

Sulayma≠n Jabbu≠r (Beirut, 1945), 3:109–11 and idem, Lut¸f al-Samar wa-Qat¸f al-Thamar min 

Tara≠jim A‘ya≠n al-T˛abaqah al-U±lá min al-Qarn al-H˛a≠d| ‘Ashar, ed. Mah˝mu≠d al-Khayr (Damascus, 

1981), 1:289–92. On al-Ghazz|, see GAL, 2:292 and S2:402. 

9 

Ibn al-‘Ima≠d, Shadhara≠t al-Dhahab, 8:440–42. On him, see GAL, S2:403. 

10 

Muh˝ammad al-Am|n al-Muh˝ibb|, Khula≠s˝at al-Athar f| A‘ya≠n al-Qarn al-H˛a≠d| ‘Ashar (Cairo, 

1284), 1:277–80 and idem, Nafah˝at al-Rayh˝a≠nah wa-Rashh˝at T˛ila≠’ al-H˛a≠nah, ed. ‘Abd al-Fatta≠h˝ 

Muh˝ammad al-H˛ulw (Cairo, 1967–71), 2:255–61. On this historian, see Carl Brockelmann, "Al- 

Muh˝ibb|", The Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2nd ed., 7:469–70; GAL, 2:293 and S2:403. 

11 

Ibn al-H˛anbal|, Durr al-H˛abab, no. 61. 

12 Ibid., no. 611. 




to the intellectual circles of Aleppo, as did his father, Muh˝ammad ibn ‘Al| al-Munla≠ 

al-H˛as˝kaf| (d. 935/1528–29). 13 

His father evidently took care of Ah˝mad ibn Munla≠'s education in its early 

stages. Later on he was sent to study with the local ulama. They instructed him in 

the subjects that were customary in those days—hadith, grammar, exegesis of the 

Quran, theology, jurisprudence. 14 Ah˝mad ibn Munla≠ took two extensive study 

trips to Damascus during his youth; he was accompanied by his father on one of 

them. In 958/1551, he went to the Ottoman court in Istanbul to take lessons with a 

number of well-known scholars. Ah˝mad ibn Munla≠ described his experiences in a 

book (Al-Rawd˝ah al-Ward|yah f| al-Rih˝lah al-Ru≠m|yah) that unfortunately has not 

survived. The scholar from Aleppo returned to his hometown later on and held 

various teaching positions. Ah˝mad ibn Munla≠ was particularly interested in 

linguistics. He wrote a number of treatises over the years. In addition to a number 

of studies on Arabic syntax and a historical narrative (Ta≠r|kh al-Isla≠m wa-T˛abaqa≠t 

al-Masha≠h|r min al-A‘la≠m), one should also mention his commentary on Ibn 

Hisha≠m's (d. 761/1360) famous Mughn| al-Lab|b ‘an Kutub al-A‘a≠r|b and a 

comprehensive commentary on al-Bayd˝a≠w|'s (d. after 685/1216) Anwa≠r al-Tanz|l 

wa-Asra≠r al-Ta’w|l in this context. Neither of the books has apparently been 

preserved. 

In his day, Ah˝mad ibn Munla≠ was evidently recognized not only as a scholar 

but also as a poet. Ibn al-H˛anbal| offers us a selection of his poetry. His life ended 

in a manner hardly befitting his social standing: farmers beat him to death near 

Aleppo. Ah˝mad ibn Munla≠ was buried in his grandfather's turbah at al-Jubayl 

Cemetery in Aleppo. He was survived by two sons, Ibra≠h|m (d. 1032/1622–23) 

and Muh˝ammad (d. 1010/1601–2). 15 

At the beginning of his Mut‘at al-Adhha≠n, Ah˝mad ibn Munla≠ tells us that he 

took extensive excerpts from Ibn T˛u≠lu≠n's Al-Tamattu’ bi-al-Iqra≠n bayna Tara≠jim 

al-Shuyu≠kh wa-al-Aqra≠n when preparing his manuscript. In doing so, he had 

selected every item that helped him compose his own handbook. 16 The book 

prepared by the alim from Aleppo contains 1,030 biographical sketches, with the 

month of Dhu≠ al-Qa‘dah 993/1585 being the last date mentioned. It is very difficult 

to tell from the content which parts were actually written by Ibn T˛u≠lu≠n and which 

13 Ibid., no. 529. 

14 Ibn al-H˛anbal| provides a long list of his teachers. 

15 On Ah˝mad ibn Munla≠'s sons, see al-Muh˝ibb|, Khula≠s˝ah, 1:11–12 (Ibra≠h|m) and 3:348–50 

(Muh˝ammad); and Ah˝mad ibn Muh˝ammad al-Khafa≠j| (d. 1068/1659), Rayh˝a≠nat al-Alibba≠ wa-Zahrat 

al-H˛aya≠h al-Dunya≠, ed. ‘Abd al-Fatta≠h˝ Muh˝ammad al-H˛ulw (Cairo, 1967), 1:97–98. Al-Khafa≠j|'s 

Rayh˝a≠nat al-Alibba≠ is an expansion of his own work Khaba≠ya≠ al-Zawa≠ya≠ f|ma≠ f| al-Rija≠l min 

al-Baqa≠ya≠; see GAL, 2:286 and S2:396. 

16 Ah˝mad ibn Munla≠, Mut‘at al-Adhha≠n, 39. 




parts were added by Ah˝mad ibn Munla≠. To answer this question it would be 

helpful to do a detailed study comparing the styles of his Mut‘at al-Adhha≠n with 

Ibn T˛u≠lu≠n's "Dhakha≠’ir al-Qas˝r f| Tara≠jim Nubala≠’ al-‘As˝r" (Gotha MS 1779), 

which is an appendix to his Al-Tamattu‘ written in his own hand and containing 

136 biographies of well-known Damascene citizens in alphabetical order. The 

original models upon which the two authors based their work also merit close 

analysis. Ibn T˛u≠lu≠n primarily used Yu≠suf ibn ‘Abd al-Ha≠d|'s (d. 909/1503) 17 Al-Riya≠d˝ 

al-Ya≠ni‘ah f| A‘ya≠n al-Mi’ah al-Ta≠si‘ah 18 and al-Bus˝raw|'s (d. 905/1500) 19 Ta≠r|kh 20 

as his models, while Ah˝mad ibn Munla≠ apparently referred not only to Ibn T˛u≠lu≠n's 

writings but also to the biographies compiled by al-Sakha≠w| and al-Bu≠r|n|. 

The Berlin manuscript (Berlin MS 9888) is the only available copy of Ah˝mad 

ibn Munla≠'s Mut‘at al-Adhha≠n min al-Tamattu‘ bi-al-Iqra≠n bayna Tara≠jim al- 

Shuyu≠kh wa-al-Aqra≠n. The manuscript is quite difficult to read, yet my cursory 

comparison of the original text and the present edition revealed hardly any mistakes. 

S˛ala≠h˝ al-D|n Khal|l al-Shayba≠n| al-Maws˝il| has evidently done a very good job. 

The detailed annotations and the comprehensive indexes are extremely useful, 

while the introduction could be a bit more detailed. 

JONATHAN P. BERKEY, Popular Preaching and Religious Authority in the Medieval 

Islamic Near East (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2001). Pp. 143. 

REVIEWED BY TH. EMIL HOMERIN, University of Rochester. 

In his The Transmission of Knowledge in Medieval Cairo (Princeton, 1994), Jonathan 

Berkey offered a detailed study of religious education in Mamluk Cairo. His main 

concerns were higher education, primarily Islamic jurisprudence, the scholarly 

elite (ulama) and their students, though he also discussed the place of women and 

the ruling Mamluk military elite in this educational system. Among his insightful 

conclusions, Berkey found that the transmission of religious knowledge in Mamluk 

Egypt was vital to easing certain social boundaries as it brought together individuals 

from groups that otherwise might not have mingled so easily. Now in his most 

17 2 

On this scholar see GAL, 2:107–8 and S2:130–31; Stefan Leder, "Yu≠suf b. ‘Abd al-Ha≠d|,"EI , 

9:354; and Ah˝mad ibn Munla≠, Mut‘at al-Adhha≠n, 838–40 (no. 968). 

18 

Yu≠suf ibn ‘Abd al-Ha≠d|, Al-Riya≠d˝ al-Ya≠ni’ah f| A‘ya≠n al-Mi’ah al-Ta≠si‘ah, ed. S˛ala≠h˝ al-D|n 

Khal|l al-Shayba≠n| al-Maws˝il| (Damascus, 1986). 

19 

On him, see Ah˝mad ibn Munla≠, Mut‘at al-Adhha≠n, 540–41 (no. 591). 

20 

‘Al| ibn Yu≠suf al-Bus˝raw|, Ta≠r|kh, ed. Akram H˛asan al-‘Ulab| (Damascus, 1987). 




recent book, Popular Preaching and Religious Authority in the Medieval Islamic 

Near East, Berkey again addresses the transmission of religious knowledge, but 

by those who were generally outside the small circle of religious professionals. In 

particular, he studies the many popular preachers and storytellers, and how their 

activities raised issues of the interrelationship between high and popular cultures, 

on one hand, and questions of religious authority, on the other. 

To start, Berkey discusses some of the key players involved. The khat¸|b was 

generally a state-appointed religious scholar who delivered the official Friday 

sermon, while the wa≠‘iz¸ ("preacher," "admonisher") and the qa≠s˝s˝ ("storyteller") 

were often independent and less educated though they, too, called the common 

people to lead a pious life. As such, this latter group, like the ulama, actively 

transmitted religious knowledge, but this became a major source of tension. For as 

Berkey notes, "the controversy that their activities engendered was in the final 

analysis about how the common people were to understand Islam." (p. 21) That 

much was at stake is clear from the many critiques of the popular preachers 

written throughout the medieval period by members of the religious establishment, 

including those by Ibn al-Jawz| (d. 597/1200), Ibn al-H˛a≠jj (d. 737/1336), Zayn 

al-D|n al-‘Ira≠q| (d. 806/1404), al-Suyu≠t¸| (d. 911/1505), and ‘Al| ibn Maymu≠n 

al-Idr|s| (d. 917/1511). Though these and other members of the ulama held a 

variety of theological and legal views, they were united in their stand against 

unlawful innovation in religion, which they sought to define and articulate in a 

system of proper Sunni belief and ritual. 

Yet this was a daunting task, for the popular preachers and religious storytellers 

were pervasive in medieval Muslim society, and they were often adored by the 

common people as sources of religious edification as well as entertainment. Their 

critics, however, warned of charlatans and fools, who might cheat the people out 

of their money, while leading them astray. Such imposters and ignoramuses lacked 

proper education and certification, and so they spread lies, weak hadith, and 

heresies, while their preaching sessions were thought to encourage the mixing of 

the sexes and other illicit activities. This was a crucial issue, for popular preaching 

and storytelling were acceptable, even honorable, activities provided that their 

practitioners were trained and regulated by the ulama. Indeed, many critics of the 

popular preachers and storytellers were, themselves, preachers as well as religious 

scholars. Their sermons were punctuated by quotations and allusions, traditions of 

the prophet Muh˝ammad, and stories of the earlier prophets (Isra≠’|l|ya≠t). 

Further, two themes central to all preaching were the renunciation of worldly 

goods and preparation for the Day of Judgment. Berkey reviews these and other 

themes found in the sermons of popular preachers, and their emotional impact on 

their audiences. He further observes that underlying much of this preaching was 

Sufism, which was a prominent feature of Islam in the Mamluk period. Poverty 




and death were major topics of medieval mysticism, which sought to foster the 

love between God and His servants. But some critics feared that public expressions 

of pious love would be misconstrued by common folk as blatant eroticism, while 

the public presentation of mystical teachings, such as those by Ibn al-‘Arab| (d. 

637/1240) could be even more dangerous. 

In response to such criticism, others defended popular preachers and storytellers 

as serving an essential religious service to the Muslim community. Here, Berkey 

focuses on an anonymous manuscript entitled Al-Ba≠‘ith ‘alá al-Khala≠s˝ f| Ah˝wa≠l 

al-Khawa≠s˝s˝ ("The Enticer to Liberation from the Concerns of the Elites"). Through 

a good piece of scholarly detective work, Berkey discovered that the author of this 

work is almost certainly ‘Al| Ibn Wafa≠’ (d. 807/1404), an important member of 

the Wafa≠’|yah Sha≠dhal|yah Sufi order, and a popular preacher. He wrote this 

treatise in response to Zayn al-D|n al-‘Ira≠q|'s polemic against popular preachers 

and their Sufi values. The two men squared off over "the fundamental issue 

surrounding the preachers and storytellers . . . control: who was to control their 

activities, their words, and their messages, and how was such control to be exercised" 

(p. 55). Al-‘Ira≠q|, fearing sedition and heresy, wanted to control and regulate what 

he believed to be illegal activity on the part of ignorant and unrestrained preachers. 

Ibn Wafa≠’ agreed that preachers who preached against the law would surely face 

divine retribution. But he noted that many preachers and storytellers had, in fact, 

been authorized to transmit legitimate religious knowledge. Further, for Ibn Wafa≠’, 

what truly mattered was the quality and sincerity of a sermon's ‘ibrah, or spiritual 

message. As Berkey points out on this and similar matters, Ibn Wafa≠’ and al-‘Ira≠q| 

held differing views regarding what constituted proper religious knowledge. While 

the conservative al-‘Ira≠q| attempted to circumscribe this knowledge and its 

transmission, Ibn Wafa≠’ pressed for openness, "for the possibility that humanity's 

understanding of the will of God was incomplete and susceptible to further 

refinement, even in the hands of individuals such as those preaching and telling 

stories to the Muslim masses" (p. 85). Berkey concludes that this debate over 

popular preachers and storytellers underscores the fact that while the ulama had 

emerged as the religious authorities of medieval Islam, precisely who qualified for 

membership in this elite group and on what basis remained somewhat ambiguous. 

Popular Preaching and Religious Authority in the Medieval Islamic Near East 

is a concise, well-argued, and well-written book. My only real criticism is that in 

a book about preaching, we never read an actual sermon. Either as part of his 

second chapter "Storytelling and Preaching in the Late Middle Period," or as a 

separate succeeding chapter, Berkey might have translated and analyzed several 

representative sermons. For example, reading a sermon by the conservative khat¸|b 

Ibn al-Jawz|, together with one by the respected Sufi preacher Ibn ‘At¸a≠ Alla≠h 

al-Iskandar| (d. 709/1309), and another by one of the popular preachers, such as 




Shaykh Shu‘ayb al-H˛urayf|sh (d. 801/1389–99), would have made for an interesting 

contrast, and provided a fuller picture of the types of material involved. Finally, to 

Berkey's extensive bibliography should be added liya≠ H˛a≠w|'s anthology Fann 

al-Khat¸a≠bah (Beirut, n.d.). These minor points aside, with Popular Preaching and 

Religious Authority in the Medieval Islamic Near East, Jonathan Berkey has 

presented a detailed and insightful discussion of the vibrant and dynamic activity 

of Muslim preaching and storytelling and so has made another important contribution 

to the study of medieval Islam. 

Grandes villes méditerranéennes du monde musulman médieval. Edited by Jean- 

Claude Garcin (Rome: Collection de l'École française de Rome, 2000). Pp. 

323. 

REVIEWED BY PAULINA B. LEWICKA, University of Warsaw 

This ambitious volume brings together a number of papers prepared by fourteen 

distinguished scholars who acted upon the request of Claude Nicolet, then the 

director of the École française de Rome and the organizer of a conference on the 

"megapoles" of the Mediterranean (Rome, May 1996). The contributors decided to 

examine nine cities—not all of them of the Mediterranean basin, despite the 

book's title. The list, which includes Damascus, Qayrawan, Cordoba, al-Fust¸a≠t¸, 

Aleppo, Cairo, Fez, and Tunis, is complemented by Baghdad, a center separated 

from the Mediterranean's eastern shore by over 800 km of desert routes. Baghdad, 

however, a great early medieval megapolis of the Arab-Muslim world, "could not 

be ignored," to use the editor's own words. Therefore it was included—on an 

equal basis—"for scholarly comparison." The magnitude of tenth-century Baghdad 

cannot be denied. To include it, however, among Mediterranean urban centers is 

somewhat confusing. Similarly, the need to compare the characteristics of Oriental 

cities with those of Mediterranean urban centers is indisputable. However, to 

claim regularity based on the comparison of those centers with the single model 

of Baghdad is somewhat misleading. 

The book presents nine Islamic cities. Thierry Bianquis examines post-Umayyad 

Damascus, while Mondher Sakly looks at Qayrawan, the capital of the province 

of Ifr|q|ya≠ until the mid-eleventh century. The flourishing Abbasid Baghdad is 

discussed by Françoise Micheau; this presentation, the only one in this volume 

that contains comprehensive footnotes, is followed by a plan of the city, prepared 

by Abdallah Cheikh-Moussa. The plan includes the toponyms recorded in the 




period between the foundation of Baghdad and the beginning of the tenth century. 

M. Acién Almansa and A. Vallejo Triano deal with tenth-century caliphal Cordoba. 

Ayman Fu’ad Sayyid and Roland-Pierre Gayraud, director of the archeological 

mission in al-Fust¸a≠t¸, examine the characteristics of this city in the Fatimid period. 

Anne-Marie Eddé's study presents Aleppo of the twelfth–thirteenth centuries. 

Two of the contributions deal specifically with the capital of the Mamluk state: 

the presentation by Doris Behrens-Abouseif, Sylvie Denoix, and Jean-Claude Garcin 

is followed by Garcin's evaluation of possible Cairo population figures in 1517. 

Halima Ferhat looks at fourteenth-century Merinid Fez. Finally, Mounira Chapoutot- 

Remadi examines fifteenth-century Tunis of the Hafsides. 

To make sure that the results of their work remain (to quote the editors' 

expression) at least in "minimum harmony," the contributors agreed that a set of 

twelve topics be addressed for each of the cities under study. The topics, inspired 

by those drawn up by scholars working in Claude Nicolet's project on the 

metropolitan areas of the northern Mediterranean, are: documentation and studies; 

quantitative evaluations; the forming of the population; distribution of the 

population; urban morphology; infrastructure and services; city authorities and 

administration; the city in its territory; the city and its long-distance links; religious 

and cultural topography; identity of the city. 

The presentations are preceded by Thierry Bianquis' and Jean-Claude Garcin's 

thoughts on the notion of "megapolis" and its meaning. In fact this interesting 

chapter, while shedding much light on the question of the proper understanding of 

the ancient Greek term, is also somewhat confusing to the reader, who expects 

that being a "megapolis" is an element connecting the cities under study and 

probably constituting one of the main threads of the whole volume. In reality the 

essay offers an otherwise absorbing presentation in which Jean-Claude Garcin 

argues that Cairo of the thirteenth–fifteenth centuries can be considered a 

"megapolis" (which in his view is also the case for Baghdad of the ninth–tenth 

centuries), but that cities like al-Fust¸a≠t¸, Aleppo, Qayrawan, and Cordoba should 

not be included in this category. Garcin's reasoning, apparently inspired by Claude 

Nicolet's project, is very convincing, if not too closely in line with the chapters 

that follow. 

Twelve topics, nine cities, an enormous abundance of secondary literature to 

study and sources to rediscover—and just one volume to contain it all. The title, 

the impressive format, and the preface appear promising, as do the table of contents 

and the names of the contributors, many of whom are internationally recognized 

experts on medieval Muslim cities. However, as soon as one reaches the bibliography 

(which precedes the presentations), confusion returns. In her bibliography for the 

essay on Baghdad, Françoise Micheau states that the list contains the most important 

works only and as for the sources, one should refer to the article itself (its footnotes 




are indeed detailed and exhaustive) or to the appropriate entry in the Encyclopaedia 

of Islam [sic!]. To compensate for this deficiency, the author includes in the list of 

secondary literature that follows one- or two-sentence descriptions of each work. 

A number of works also seem to be missing from the list of sources for the 

chapter on al-Fust¸a≠t¸ (compare it with the bibliographies included by Ayman Fu’ad 

Sayyid in any of his numerous editions of Arabic sources for the history of Cairo). 

For anybody acquainted with the enormous richness of sources for the history 

and topography of Mamluk Cairo (including the European travellers' accounts 

that are frequently quoted in Jean-Claude Garcin's presentation), the five items 

that constitute the list of sources seem at least odd; defining them as "sources 

essentielles" to some degree explains the brevity, but does not quite help to 

understand the number of works selected. The list of modern literature that follows 

omits a number of important works, a deficiency that becomes particularly manifest 

in the presentation itself, as the reader is rarely given a chance to see more details 

on literature or additional explanations that are usually placed in footnotes. The 

case of Mamluk Cairo, however, is not an extraordinary example: chapters on 

Cordoba, al-Fust¸a≠t¸, Qayrawan, Damascus, and Fez are hardly annotated at all. 

As for the articles themselves, their content is formed according to the pattern 

mentioned above and presented in an almost encyclopedically concise manner. 

For example, the chapter on Mamluk Cairo contains a very brief description of 

basic sources for topography of the city and mention of a few names of scholars 

who have studied its urban history (section "documentation and studies"), followed 

by "quantitative evaluations" by Jean-Claude Garcin in which the author discusses 

all known estimations concerning the population of Cairo and suggests 270,000 as 

the most probable number (this fails to correspond with what André Raymond and 

others have calculated, which Garcin explains in a separate chapter). In the same 

section the author, using the works by al-Maqr|z|, Leo Africanus, and the map of 

Cairo by Matheo Pagano, provides some more figures concerning the city's area 

and the density of population in certain parts of it. 

Doris Behrens-Abouseif presents the composition of the population and, pointing 

out the cosmopolitan character of Mamluk Cairo, explains that the emergence of 

the multinational mosaics that the city dwellers formed was a result of many 

factors, such as the original multi-religious character of the city, frequent 

immigration of conquering troops, and waves of refugees that followed various 

conquests and wars. The Mamluk system of recruitment, the widespread use of 

slaves, and the international character of shrines and religious academies of Cairo 

added new nationalities and new groups to the already differentiated society. 

In the following section the same author examines the distribution of the city 

population and notes that in Mamluk Cairo the separation of the Muslim and 

non-Muslim quarters was not very strict; a certain flexibility was permitted here. 




She also points out that despite the professional specialization of Copts and Jews, 

there did not exist a strict religious segregation as far as the workplaces or crafts 

were concerned. She also stresses that because of the lack of sources similar to the 

Geniza archives for the time of the Fatimids or to court registers for the Ottoman 

epoch, we know relatively little on the distribution by profession of the population 

of Mamluk Cairo. 

In the section dealing with infrastructures and services, Doris Behrens-Abouseif 

and Jean-Claude Garcin very briefly present the system of water provision and 

transportation of merchandise; they devote more space to Cairo bazaars. They 

examine the nature of commercial installations in the center of al-Qa≠hirah, explain 

the changing topography of the Cairene commerce that evolved according to the 

sultans' and amirs' orders, to economic crises, or to changing fashion. They also 

discuss the history of the founding of the bazaars along al-Qas˝abah, or the main 

axis of the Fatimid city, and explain the reasons for this development. 

In her presentation on the authorities and administration of the city, Sylvie 

Denoix first points to the fact that, contrary to its European counterpart, the 

medieval Islamic city did not have municipal institutions of any kind and that the 

absence of urban administration is one of the characteristic features of the "Islamic 

city." The author does not examine this interesting phenomenon further (which, 

considering the form of the volume, is quite understandable), but she also fails to 

mention fundamental studies on the subject, such as S. M. Stern's "The Constitution 

of the Islamic City" (in A. H. Hourani and S. M. Stern, eds., The Islamic City: A 

Colloquium [Oxford, 1970]) or I. M. Lapidus's "Muslim Cities and Islamic Societes" 

(in I. M. Lapidus, ed., Middle Eastern Cities [Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1969]). 

Sylvie Denoix goes on to say that the Islamic cities were governed by other 

institutions instead: by h˝isbah, by judicature of the qadis, by various types of 

police and by waqf—the system of "social solidarity," and she briefly presents 

each of them. Again, the omission of basic sources (the works of al-Maqr|z| and 

Ibn Duqma≠q do not constitute the fullest compendium on the Cairene h˝isbah 

system) and of at least a few important items from the long list of secondary 

literature on the subject (the literature on the institution of waqf in Egypt is fairly 

rich) is an element that can hardly be applauded. 

The author concludes the essay by stating that what in fact made Mamluk 

Cairo different from other Islamic cities was the duality of forces in power: there 

were local civilian elites responsible for religious and certain administrative issues 

on the one hand, and the army with the military and political power on the other; 

but as this duality was apparently the case with all Egyptian and Syrian cities 

where Mamluk troops were posted, this is not a distinguishing feature of the Cairo 

urban administration. This city was unique in being the seat of the Mamluk sultan, 

an officer who was not only the ruler of the kingdom, but also the one who often 




took a personal interest in, and gave dispositions as to, the order in the city, the 

safety of its gates and streets, control over its various legal and illegal businesses, 

as well as its urban development. It was he, finally, who presided over the maz˝a≠lim 

court sessions, so that the four Sunni judges were not the only institution that 

dispensed justice in the city. 

Perhaps the most thought-provoking part of the chapter on Mamluk Cairo, if 

not of the entire book, is Jean-Claude Garcin's "Note sur la population du Caire en 

1517." In his article the author, referring to various sources that indicate the 

number of dwellers in late medieval Cairo, comments on the results of contemporary 

studies on the subject (particularly those by André Raymond), draws his own 

conclusions, and attempts to establish his own figures. Garcin apparently does not 

agree with the methods of calculation applied by Raymond nor with his application 

of these methods to the pre-Ottoman epoch. 

Thus, trying to avoid the methodological confusion that an "Ottomanist" approach 

to medieval Cairo may cause, the author decides in the first place to redefine the 

term "Cairo" by incorporating al-Fust¸a≠t¸ within Cairo's medieval limits at the end 

of the fifteenth century—contrary to the "Ottomanists," for whom al-Fust¸a≠t¸ is just 

a ruined suburb. However logical this move may appear, the soundness of it is 

open to discussion, and not just on whether al-Fust¸a≠t¸ was already ruined or not. In 

the late fifteenth century, as before, the chief of police of al-Qa≠hirah was not 

responsible for order in al-Fust¸a≠t¸, and vice versa; the two officers did not have 

any common beat or share a common commander, which suggests that from the 

administrative point of view (whatever this may mean in the case of a city with no 

municipal authorities) the two urban entities were separate. Al-Qalqashand|, who 

in his encyclopedia devotes a section to describe mad|nat al-Fust¸a≠t¸, and another to 

describe mad|nat al-Qa≠hirah, apparently confirms the late medieval situation. 

At the same time, another proposition by the author, to include Bu≠la≠q and 

other extra-muros quarters within the city limits, seems to be rational. This said, 

one remark should be added, viz., that the poor of Cairo (if we consider them its 

inhabitants) seem not to fit the methods of counting valid for other inhabitants. 

Some of them lived in exceedingly overcrowded houses, where a "feu fiscal" 

could by no means be limited to five persons; some of them—usually homeless 

immigrant scholars and personnel of various and numerous religious institutions 

of Cairo—dwelled in the institutions' buildings or slept in front of them. Still 

others lived outside the walled city, on the ground or in some kind of temporary 

housing. How large a part of Cairo's population did they form? An absorbing 

study by Adam Sabra, Poverty and Charity in Medieval Islam (Cambridge, 2000), 

does not provide the answer either, but leaves this question tantalizingly open. 

The glossary of Arabic urban terms and a set of carefully prepared colored 

maps of the nine cities complete the book. There is no index. 




The approach the contributors have adopted in their study resulted in creating 

a reference volume, a kind of encyclopedia-style handbook consisting of nine 

large entries on nine medieval Mediterranean cities, including Baghdad. Indeed, 

much of this material covers—to use Carl F. Petry's words—ground thoroughly 

trodden by specialists in the field, especially in the case of Cairo, Damascus, and 

Aleppo, which over the preceding thirty years have been "worked over to a degree 

verging on excess." This, however, does not negate the value of the volume. As 

the editor states, the aim was to contribute to the work on the general history of 

Islamic urbanism. And the book, no doubt, satisfies all conditions to serve this 

purpose. It indeed paves the way for further work in this direction; what we need 

now is to rediscover, reread, reanalyze the sources, and interpret the data on 

Islamic urban and social history that the medieval works and documents contain. 

One can only praise the efforts of this group of distinguished scholars for placing 

their research on medieval Muslim cities in a framework that enables further 

comparative studies on a scale even larger than Mediterranean Muslim urbanism. 

‘IMA≠D BADR AL-D|N ABU≠ GHA≠Z|, Tat¸awwur al-H˛iya≠zah al-Zira≠‘|yah f| Mis˝r Zaman 

al-Mama≠l|k al-Jara≠kisah (Cairo: ‘Ayn lil-Dira≠sa≠t wa-al-Buhű≠th al-Insa≠n|yah 

wa-al-Ijtima≠’|yah, 2000). Pp. 155. 

REVIEWED BY IGARASHI DAISUKE, Chuo University 

It is generally agreed that the iqt¸a≠‘ system was a fundamental military and economic 

system of the Mamluk state providing the basic framework for the Mamluk regime 

and its society. However, even though this is a most important matter directly 

linked to the social and political power structures, only a few attempts have so far 

been made to understand the actual transformation process of the iqt¸a≠‘ system—that 

is, the land tenure system under the Circassian Mamluks that has been regarded as 

being in "a period of decline"—with the exception of C. F. Petry's recent studies 

using Mamluk waqf documents concerning the expansion of the sultans' waqf 

lands. 

The present book is a remarkable study that considers the land tenure system 

in Circassian Mamluk Egypt based on Mamluk documents in the Ministry of 

Waqfs and National Archives in Cairo, which have heretofore been used almost 

exclusively for waqf studies, and Ottoman land registers of rizaq (dafa≠tir al-rizaq 

al-jaysh|yah, dafa≠tir al-rizaq al-ah˝ba≠s|yah) that have never been used as historical 

sources for Mamluk studies. The author notices that there were many cases of 




state land sales from the state treasury (bayt al-ma≠l) to individuals during the 

Circassian Mamluk period. The data he examines is based on 570 cases of state 

land sales appearing in the documentation. The aim of the book, as the author 

describes it in the Introduction, is to consider the process of development, causes, 

and effects of the sale of state lands, which he regards as an important phenomenon 

influencing the traditional land tenure system in medieval Egypt. It argues against 

the common opinion that most agricultural land belonged to the state, and that 

private ownership had not developed in medieval Egypt, as attested by al- 

Qalqashand| and al-Maqr|z|, historians of the Circassian Mamluk period. They 

state in their works that there was neither much privately owned nor waqf land in 

Egypt in the early fifteenth century, the beginning of the Circassian period. 

Chapter 1 deals with the development of state land sales during the Circassian 

Mamluk period, in which most of the cases were found, although the practice had 

existed since the Fatimid period. Some 570 cases are arranged chronologically 

and according to sultanic reigns. In a table, the author shows that most state land 

sales were carried out during specific reigns, like those of Qa≠ns˝u≠h al-Ghawr| and 

al-Ashraf na≠l, but, in contrast, only few cases can be found under others, like 

al-Z˛a≠hir Barqu≠q and al-Mu’ayyad Shaykh, despite their long terms. Similarly, 

land sales are concentrated in particular periods, that is, the mid-fifteenth century 

and the last twenty years of Mamluk rule. Judging from this data, it is obvious 

that the state land sales did not occur equally throughout the Circassian Mamluk 

period. 

Chapter 2 focuses on the reasons for state land sales. In Mamluk documents, 

they were ordinarily legitimated "for expenditures on military expeditions and 

payments to soldiers," attempting to overcome the fact that the fuqaha≠’ had not 

agreed on the legality of selling land originally belonging to the state treasury. 

Therefore, the following three questions are considered by the author: did state 

land sales coincide with military expeditions or with other military activities? 

Were there fiscal circumstances that actually required selling land? Did land 

payments actually enter the state treasury's coffers? As a result of this investigation, 

no apparent relationships can be found between fiscal or military circumstances 

and the frequency of state land sales. Moreover, the documents frequently tell us 

that land payments from the state treasury were "awarded" to buyers. Consequently, 

the author concludes that the reasons for selling state land described in the 

documentation were not legitimate. 

In Chapter 3, entitled "Effects of state land sales under the Circassian Mamluks," 

the author assumes that state land sales influenced various aspects of society in 

medieval Egypt for the reason that agricultural land was the basis of state revenues 

as well as the iqt¸a≠‘ system, and therefore he examines the buyers of state lands 

and the subsequent transfer of that land after purchase. From this analysis, he 




reveals that a vast amount of agricultural land was turned into waqf through the 

sale of state lands, thus in effect transferring land ownership from the state to 

private hands. He points out that three important changes in the land tenure 

system and Egyptian society resulted from this. First, it may have caused a decline 

in the iqt¸a≠‘ system owing to a reduction of state land that could be awarded to 

mamluks and amirs as iqt¸a≠‘. He expects that the traditional loyalty between sultans 

and mamluks and amirs depended on the iqt¸a≠‘ system and may have collapsed as 

a result of the change in their land tenure status from muqt¸a‘s to private land 

owners, making them independent of the state to some extent. Secondly, a new 

landlord group consisting of awla≠d al-na≠s and Egyptians who had been excluded 

from the ruling class appeared, now that the state was no longer the exclusive 

source of land due to the free transfer of land as a result of the spread of sales 

from the state treasury. However, their social influence on their own land was 

reduced because it was necessary to turn it into waqf to avoid confiscation, in 

addition to the fact that they had been absentee landlords. Thirdly, nevertheless, 

the documentation makes clear that most of the land sold from the state treasury 

eventually fell into the hands of the sultans. That is, they became the greatest 

beneficiaries of state land sales. Consequently, the author concludes that the real 

reason for the state land sales was to benefit the sultans themselves, who used it to 

reward their followers and to conciliate their enemies, all of this due to the 

political corruption of the period. 

The most valuable features of this book are its numerous tables and graphs, 

which organize the data in archival sources statistically and quantitatively. In 

addition, the author compares these tools with narrative sources, examining the 

phenomenon of state-land sale from various aspects. His opinion that this 

unfortunately overlooked phenomenon was significant in causing great social 

transformation at the time is very interesting. However, his hypothesis in Chapter 

3 about the transformation of the land tenure system remains uncertain because it 

mostly depends on statistical analysis of the documents, and cannot be proven by 

the narrative sources. Furthermore, the sultans' intentions regarding state land 

sales and the contemporary political situation caused by it, or requiring it, are not 

examined satisfactorily, but only summed up as political corruption, despite possible 

effects on the political and power structure of the traditional Mamluk regime. We 

may recall that many state land sales occurred under particular sultanic reigns, 

despite the absence of pressing military and economic circumstances, as seen in 

Chapter 2. Therefore, we must look more carefully into the political circumstances 

of those reigns, including reconsideration of whether state land sales were transacted 

under similar situations and for the same purposes throughout the Circassian 

period, or were merely a part of some intentional policy by particular sultans for 

some special purpose. 




Even though the author's opinion leaves room for further investigation, especially 

from the aspect of political history, the importance of this book cannot be 

overemphasized. Most of all, it shows that Ottoman documents are applicable to 

Mamluk studies, which have usually been based on narrative sources due to an 

assumed lack of administrative documents, thus enabling scholars to explore further 

the land tenure system during the Mamluk period. Land systems are crucial elements 

of society, having close relationships to political, economic, and social conditions. 

The conclusions reached in this book will have an impact on other fields of 

Mamluk history, and will change the previously held historical image of the 

Circassian Mamluks. 

IBN H˛AJAR AL-‘ASQALA≠N|, Dhayl al-Durar al-Ka≠minah f| A‘ya≠n al-Mi’ah 

al-Tha≠minah, edited by Ah˝mad Far|d al-Maz|d| (Beirut: Da≠r al-Kutub 

al-‘Ilm|yah, 1419/1998). Pp. 376. 

IBN H˛AJAR AL-‘ASQALA≠N|, Dhayl al-Durar al-Ka≠minah f| A‘ya≠n al-Mi’ah 

al-Tha≠minah, edited by ‘Adna≠n Darw|sh (Cairo: Ma‘had al-Makht¸u≠t¸a≠t 

al-‘Arab|yah, 1412/1992). Pp. 452. 

IBN DUQMA≠Q, Nuzhat al-Ana≠m f| Ta≠r|kh al-Isla≠m, 628/1230–659/1261, edited by 

Sam|r T˛abba≠rah (Beirut: al-Maktabah al-‘As˝r|yah, 1420/1999). Pp. 320. 

REVIEWED BY THOMAS BAUER, Universität Münster 

Historiographical works are not only important for the facts they contain. Each of 

these works is also a document for the world view of the time of its composition 

and can tell a lot about the interests and predilections of its readers, about the 

scholarly life of that time, and the perception of history in it. Therefore, one 

should not be disappointed if the recently published works under review do not 

add many historical facts previously unknown. They are interesting nevertheless, 

each one in its own way. 

Ibn H˛ajar (773–852/1372–1449) hardly needs to be introduced in these pages. 

His Durar al-Ka≠minah, a collection of biographies of the important persons who 

died during the eighth century (701–800), is a basic tool for everyone interested in 

the Mamluk period. It is the first of a long series of works containing the biographies 

of important people who died within a certain century. But if we consider the date 

of Ibn H˛ajar's birth and death, he seems not to have been particularly predisposed 




to writing the biographies of the prominent people of the eighth century, because 

a book like this did not allow him to treat the biographies of all those who died 

after the author was only twenty-seven years old. It is therefore only too 

understandable that he planned a continuation to this book, a Dhayl al-Durar 

al-Ka≠minah. In the year 832 he noticed, as he writes himself, that already a third 

of the ninth century had elapsed. This inspired him to put together a volume 

containing short presentations of those who had died during the years 801 to 832 

in chronological order (different from the Durar). The volume contains the obituaries 

of 639 persons, ranging between a single line and two pages. Ibn H˛ajar finished a 

draft (musawwadah) only, which circulated among several ulama, among them 

Ibn al-Labu≠d|, in whose possession al-Sakha≠w| had seen the book, 1 and Ibn Qa≠d˝| 

Shuhbah, who left notes in the manuscript. This musawwadah in Ibn H˛ajar's own 

hand has survived and is probably the only manuscript of the text that ever 

existed. Ibn H˛ajar himself obviously never cared for the preparation of a fair copy 

(mubayyad˝ah). Probably he felt that his Inba≠’ al-Ghumr, a history of the 

h˝awa≠dith/wafaya≠t type, which he carried on until his death, made a further 

continuation of the Dhayl superfluous. 2 In any case, the whole material of the 

Dhayl can also be found in the Inba≠’ (and, additionally, in al-Sakha≠w|'s D˛aw’), so 

that the edition of the Dhayl yields only a very small number of hitherto unknown 

facts. However, the texts are not identical, and it is never devoid of interest to 

have the ipsissima verba of as great a scholar as Ibn H˛ajar in front of oneself. The 

edition is, therefore, to be welcomed. 

But which edition? The edition by Ah˝mad Far|d al-Maz|d| is meant to complete 

the two-volume set (four volumes in two) of Ibn H˛ajar's Al-Durar al-Ka≠minah 

issued by the Da≠r al-Kutub al-‘Ilm|yah (henceforth: DKI). The DKI does not 

mention an editor of the Durar, but presents the book as being "corrected" by a 

certain ‘Abd al-Wa≠rith Muh˝ammad ‘Al| (Beirut, 1418/1997). It has become common 

practice with the DKI to publish "remakes" of books published previously by 

other publishing houses. In these cases, the original edition (which is hardly ever 

specified) is simply retyped without consulting any manuscript. The new text 

(which is usually presented in a clumsy layout with small margins standing in 

marked contrast to a pompous cover) can, of course, never be better than the text 

from which it is copied, because it copies its mistakes and inevitably adds new 

ones. To give but one example, in the biography of al-S˛afad| in the new DKI 

edition of the Durar the reader comes across al-S˛afad|'s statement that he wrote 

"two hundred (mi’atayn) volumes" and may find it inconsistent with a later notice 

1 

Muh˝ammad ibn ‘Abd al-Rah˝ma≠n al-Sakha≠w|, Al-Jawa≠hir wa-al-Durar f| Tarjamat Shaykh 

al-Isla≠m Ibn H˛ajar, ed. Ibra≠h|m Ba≠jis ‘Abd al-Maj|d (Beirut, 1419/1999), 3:688. 

2 

Ibn H˛ajar al-‘Asqala≠n|, Inba≠’ al-Ghumr bi-Abna≠’ al-‘Umr, ed. Muh˝ammad ‘Abd al-H˛am|d 

Kha≠n et al., 9 vols. (Hyderabad, 1387≠–96/1967–76). 




that he wrote more than five hundred. Even more surprising is the enigmatic 

information that al-S˛afad| suffered from "a hardness of hearing in the hereafter (f| 

al-a≠khirah)". If this text is compared with the much superior Hyderabad edition, 

the reader will find out that al-S˛afad| claimed to have written "hundreds (mi’|n) of 

volumes," and that the problems with his hearing occurred "towards the end of his 

life (f| al-a≠khar)." This example proves the practice of the DKI not only to be 

ethically dubious but also detrimental to scholarly standards. It is only to be hoped 

that the easily available print of the DKI will not supersede the excellent Hyderabad 

edition. 

This practice arouses suspicion also for the edition of the Dhayl, a suspicion 

that turns out to be only too justified. Though al-Maz|d| certainly had a copy of 

Ibn H˛ajar's autograph in hand (as the plates on pp. 23–24 prove), everything 

points to the conclusion that this was not the main source for his edition. Six years 

before, another edition of the Dhayl had appeared in Cairo. Its editor, ‘Adna≠n 

Darw|sh, had done an impressive job. By comparing Ibn H˛ajar's musawwadah, 

which is written almost without diacritical dots, with the text of the Inba≠’, the 

D˛aw’, and other sources, he manages to decipher Ibn H˛ajar's text nearly completely. 

He even succeeds in reading most of the marginal notes by Ibn Qa≠d˝| Shuhbah. 

Further, he gives a comprehensive commentary in the footnotes identifying nearly 

every person and book title mentioned in the text. It may well be the case that 

Darw|sh's commentary proves to be more helpful than Ibn H˛ajar's own words. All 

these notes are lacking in al-Maz|d|'s edition, a fact that alone lends superiority to 

Darw|sh's edition. But really striking is the fact that al-Maz|d|'s version of Ibn 

H˛ajar's text is completely identical with Darw|sh's. By not mentioning Darw|sh's 

edition, al-Maz|d| implies that he did not know it. But it is hard to imagine that 

his reading of Ibn H˛ajar's sketchy text, which is extremely difficult to decipher (as 

the sample plates show), is always the same as that of Darw|sh and that he always 

had the same idea as to how to divide the text into paragraphs. Whenever Darw|sh 

could not read a word and therefore omits it, al-Maz|d| also could not read it. In 

many cases Darw|sh notes that a passage was extremely difficult to read, that he 

could only guess the right word, or that he had to put forward a conjecture. In all 

these cases, al-Maz|d|'s text is absolutely identical, but without admitting any 

textual problems. Even where there is a lacuna in the text of the Dhayl that 

Darw|sh tried to fill by adding the corresponding passage of the Inba≠’ in square 

brackets, al-Maz|d|'s text is identical —with the exception of the brackets. He 

thus presents passages which are definitely missing in Ibn H˛ajar's autograph as 

part of the original text. Therefore we can conclude with almost complete certainty 

that al-Maz|d| did plagiarize the edition of Darw|sh. It is a matter of course that 

only Darw|sh's erudite edition should be bought, used, and quoted. 




The author of the next book under review is S˛a≠rim al-D|n Ibra≠h|m, known as 

Ibn Duqma≠q, an elder contemporary of Ibn H˛ajar. He was born between 740 and 

750, and died in 809/1496. He was an important source for the historical works of 

Ibn H˛ajar and is the subject of an entry in Ibn H˛ajar's Dhayl (no. 274) and in his 

Inba≠’ (6:16–17). As his name shows, he belonged to the awla≠d al-na≠s, and as such 

had the usual problems of being accepted by the great ulama, because he could 

not comply with their linguistic standards, which required a flawless mastery of 

Classical Arabic. Though Ibn H˛ajar had a liking for him and drew heavily on his 

writings, he cannot help stating that Ibn Duqma≠q, "despite his passion for literature 

(adab|ya≠t) and history, was bare of the clothes of the Arabic language, and his 

speech was vulgar (‘a≠mm| al-‘iba≠rah)" (Dhayl, p. 182). Several works of Ibn 

Duqma≠q have been preserved at least partially, among them a collection of the 

biographies of Hanafi scholars, which caused him a lot of trouble, since he was 

accused of slandering al-Sha≠fi‘| in it, and a description of Cairo and Alexandria 

edited by Vollers in 1893 (Kita≠b al-Intis˝a≠r li-Wa≠sit¸at ‘Iqd al-Ams˝a≠r). A fine 

edition of a précis of Mamluk history up to the year 805 has appeared recently. 3 In 

this work, he refers to his Al-Ta≠r|kh al-Kab|r (p. 26), by which he certainly meant 

his history entitled Nuzhat al-Ana≠m f| Ta≠r|kh al-Isla≠m, a history in annalistic form 

following the h˝awa≠dith/wafaya≠t pattern. It seems as if at least more than half of it 

has been preserved. 4 Ibn H˛ajar states that this work was the most important source 

for Badr al-D|n al-‘Ayn| for the period not covered by Ibn Kath|r. Al-‘Ayn|, he 

says, copied Ibn Duqma≠q, including his linguistic mistakes and without mentioning 

his source in passages in which Ibn Duqma≠q presents himself as an eyewitness, 

thus pretending falsely to have been an eyewitness himself (Inba≠,’ 1:2–3). 

Sam|r T˛abba≠rah now has undertaken the task of editing the portion covering 

the years 628–59/1230–61, the end of the Ayyubid and the beginning of the 

Mamluk period. Obviously Ibn Duqma≠q used a great variety of sources, and 

though many of them are well known, his text provides different formulations, 

unknown details, and even some biographical entries which the erudite editor 

could not trace in any other source. But of course only a careful source-critical 

study will determine the Nuzhah's importance as a historical source for this period. 

Whatever the results will be, the part edited by T˛abba≠rah is interesting in any 

case, because it is based on Ibn Duqma≠q's autograph. Fortunately the editor did 

not obliterate the grammatical peculiarities of the manuscript, but only corrected 

3 

Ibn Duqma≠q, Al-Nafh˝ah al-Misk|yah f| al-Dawlah al-Turk|yah, ed. ‘Umar ‘Abd al-Sala≠m Tadmur| 

(Beirut, 1420/1999). 

4 

The most comprehensive survey of the surviving manuscripts is given in ibid., p. 26, where 

Tadmur| however fails to mention the Gotha manuscripts. Taken together and provided that all 

given dates are correct, we posses the parts dealing with the years 176–422, 436–552, 628–59, 

701–42, and 768–804. 




obvious errors, in which case he gives the original wording in the notes. In cases 

of grammatical and syntactic influences of the spoken language, he preserves Ibn 

Duqma≠q's text and gives the form complying with the rules of Standard Arabic in 

the notes. In some cases, for no obvious reason, he proceeds the other way 

around. However, the reader is always able to reconstruct the features of the 

autograph and is at the same time provided with a readable text. If only the editor 

had been more attentive and the considerable number of misprints been smaller, 

this edition could serve as a model for similar cases. 

T˛abba≠rah's edition allows us to assess Ibn H˛ajar's criticism, and we must 

admit that he was not entirely wrong when he questioned Ibn Duqma≠q's grammatical 

competence. Ibn Duqma≠q's mistakes, however, were by and large predictable. He 

starts sentences having a plural subject with a verb in the plural form, disregards 

accusative endings and mixes up the endings –u≠n and –|n. These completely 

unspectacular peculiarities are the main features of dialectal influence in Ibn 

Duqma≠q's text. Instead of mentioning these features, the editor in his introduction 

discusses the problem of hamzah orthography at some length (pp. 17–18). I would 

prefer that the subject of hamzah orthography disappear entirely from discussions 

of dialect influence in classical manuscripts or of the features of so-called Middle 

Arabic. Of course these people did not pronounce the hamz, but this fact cannot 

be derived from the manuscripts, because hamzah was also unnoted in manuscripts 

of purely classical texts written by educated writers. The standard orthography 

was always to write mas’u≠l with one wa≠w and no hamzah sign, and to write sa≠’ir 

with dotted ya≠’ and no hamzah sign either. This being so, nothing speaks against 

replacing this tradition with the modern standard orthography for hamzah in editions. 

This was also T˛abba≠rah's idea. Therefore his haphazard (and often simply wrong) 

way of writing hamzah comes as somewhat of a surprise. 

It is remarkable further, as Ibn H˛ajar had already noted, that Ibn Duqma≠q's 

unaccomplished grammatical training was no obstacle to his predilection for 

literature. It becomes very clear that Ibn Duqma≠q is occupied mainly with two 

fields, history and adab, to which one may add a certain interest in Sufism. For 

this reason, Ibn Duqma≠q treats the eventful year 648 in eleven pages and a half, 

but devotes nineteen pages to the year 632, in which nothing especially interesting 

seems to have happened, since the h˝awa≠dith of it are treated in only three lines. 

But 632 was the year in which the poets al-H˛a≠jir| and—above all—Ibn al-Fa≠rid˝ 

died. Ibn Duqma≠q gives a long biography of Ibn al-Fa≠rid˝ and quotes extensively 

from his and al-H˛a≠jir|'s poetic productions. Ibn Duqma≠q's history clearly is no 

instance of siya≠sah-oriented historiography, but rather a combination of political 

and cultural history with a conspicuous focus on adab. Ibn Duqma≠q obviously 

liked poetry. Repeatedly he gives his own judgments about the lines he quotes, 

thereby presenting himself as an adab expert. The poetry quoted pertains exclusively 




to high literature. There are no vernacular verses, and mirabilia play hardly any 

role. Therefore I think that the extraordinary role of poetry cannot be explained 

sufficiently by considering it part of a process of popularization, as Ulrich Haarmann 

suggested. 5 Taking into account the high prestige of adab in the Mamluk period 

and the overall process, which I call the "‘ulama≠’ization of adab" and the "adabization 

of the ‘ulama≠’," 6 one of the motives for adducing such a great amount of poetry 

may also be the desire of the author to prove his professionality and, in the special 

case of Ibn Duqma≠q, to make up for his incomplete linguistic training. In any 

case, Ibn Duqma≠q's book provides rich material for a new assessment of this and 

many other questions about the nature of Mamluk historiography. Therefore, though 

the edition is far from being faultless, one can only give the advice to buy it as 

long as the DKI has not plagiarized it and added even more mistakes. 

‘AZ|Z AL-‘AZ˝MAH, Ibn Taym|yah (Beirut: Riya≠d al-Rayyis lil-Kutub wa-al-Nashr, 

2000). Pp.499. 

REVIEWED BY JON HOOVER, Dar Comboni Arabic Study Centre, Cairo 

‘Az|z al-Az˝mah has published extensively in both English and Arabic, including 

the recent Muslim Kingship: Power and the Sacred in Muslim, Christian, and 

Pagan Politics (London: I. B. Tauris, 1997). In the Arabic book under review 

al-Az˝mah offers an anthology of texts drawn from Ibn Taym|yah's (d. 728/1328) 

vast corpus of writings. Many domains of the Hanbali jurist's thought are represented, 

although there is little from his spiritual writings. The first and shortest of three 

major parts is allotted to passages on "the true religion." The second part presents 

fatwás and other texts dealing broadly with legal matters, including the caliphate 

and popular religious innovations. Among these are excerpts from the jurist's 

rulings on the obligation to fight the Islam-confessing Mongols. These have been 

picked up by modern day radicals to justify violent opposition to governments in 

the Islamic world. The third part of the anthology includes discussions of religious 

epistemology and doctrine, as well as Ibn Taym|yah's Wa≠sit¸|yah creed, which 

5 Ulrich Haarmann, "Auflösung und Bewahrung der klassischen Formen arabischer 

Geschichtsschreibung in der Zeit der Mamluken," Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen 

Gesellschaft 121 (1971): 46–60. 

6 Thomas Bauer, "Literarische Anthologien der Mamlukenzeit," in Die Mamluken: Studien zu 

ihrer Geschichte und Kultur im Gedenken an Ulrich Haarmann (1942–1999), ed. S. Conermann 

and A. Pistor-Hatam (Hamburg, 2002), in press. 




remains in use to the present. While the texts chosen are interesting, they are not 

always taken from the best available printed editions, and they do not necessarily 

grant perspicuous access to the jurist's ideas. Moreover, al-Az˝mah provides no 

explanatory notation because, as he informs us in the introduction, this would 

have made the volume too unwieldy. Al-Az˝mah closes the book with an appendix 

containing six historical extracts dealing with Ibn Taym|yah's life and works and 

an index of names. 

In the appendix al-Az˝mah performs a sleight of hand that is inexcusable for a 

modern scholar of any repute. The first and only full account of Ibn Taym|yah's 

life presented is the late biography of Ibn H˛ajar al-‘Asqala≠n| (d. 852/1449), in 

which, contrary to several earlier sources, Ibn Taym|yah confesses Ash‘arism 

under duress and thereby admits that his view of God's attributes is heterodox. 

After this comes an abridgement of Ibn Rajab's (d. 795/1392) biography that has 

been divested of nearly everything that counters Ibn H˛ajar's account and a great 

deal more of substantial historical interest. The third selection, the biography of 

Kutub| (d. 764/1362), provides an extensive list of Ibn Taym|yah's works but 

little else, and the fourth is the late biography of Ibn ‘Ima≠d (d. 1089/1678), which 

also does not deal with Ibn Taym|yah's trials concerning God's attributes. The 

fifth excerpt in the appendix is a condemnation of Ibn Taym|yah's views on God's 

attributes by the Ash‘ari apologist Ta≠j al-D|n al-Subk| (d. 771/1370), and the final 

piece is Ibn Kath|r's account of the jurist's funeral. In short, al-Az˝mah has selected 

and edited texts so as to portray Ibn Taym|yah as heterodox on God's attributes 

while ostensibly providing important and informative historical sources. 

Despite its sophistication and occasional insight, the introduction confirms 

that one of al-Az˝mah's purposes in presenting this volume is polemical distortion. 

He does make the valid point that it is important to read what Ibn Taym|yah says 

in historical context instead of selectively quoting him for tendentious purposes, 

and he accuses radical Islamists who use the jurist's anti-Mongol fatwás to justify 

armed resistance of historical anachronism. However, al-Az˝mah demonstrates to 

excess that Ibn Taym|yah was out of step with the Sunni legal and doctrinal 

consensus of the day. He also makes no attempt to help the reader understand that 

Ibn Taym|yah's view of God's attributes is more sophisticated than Ash‘ari polemists 

have wished to acknowledge, a point that has been made by Henri Laoust and that 

an extended reading of Ibn Taym|yah's texts bears out. 

Al-Az˝mah closes his introduction by explaining that research on Ibn Taym|yah 

is still in its infancy. True as that may be, al-Az˝mah has taken little effort to avail 

himself of what research there is, and this and the book's polemical agenda render 

it misleading and nearly useless for those interested in Mamluk studies or the 




history of medieval Islamic thought. This anthology is regrettably little more than 

testimony to modern intra-confessional controversy, and the excerpted passages 

are better read in context in the original printed editions. 

SULAYMA≠N AL-MADAN|, T|mu≠rlank f| Dimashq (Damascus and Beirut: Al-Mana≠rah, 

2000). Pp. 192. 

REVIEWED BY ZAYDE G. ANTRIM, Harvard University 

It is surprising that Tamerlane's invasion of Syria at the turn of the ninth/fifteenth 

century and its devastating social, cultural, economic, and political repercussions 

have received so little attention from historians of the Mamluk period or of Bila≠d 

al-Sha≠m more generally. Indeed, I have not found a single monograph-length 

study in a European language dealing with the topic of Tamerlane's campaign in 

Mamluk Syria. Although in the broad context of Timurid history the Syrian invasion 

may be interpreted as a strategic side-note, an unresolved interlude, or a denouement, 

it undoubtedly plays a key role in the context of the history of Syria under 

Mamluk rule. A lone published monograph in Arabic, Akram H˛asan al-‘Ulab|'s 

Taymu≠rlank wa-H˛ika≠yatuhu ma‘a Dimashq (Damascus and Beirut, 1987), has 

filled this historiographical gap in the Arabic-speaking world until quite recently. 

A thorough survey of the contemporary Arabic source material, including a helpful 

annotated bibliography, al-‘Ulab|'s book offers, if not original analytical insight, 

then at least a solidly documented narrative account of the protagonists and major 

events that dominate this historical episode. The publication of Sulayma≠n al- 

Madan|'s T|mu≠rlank f| Dimashq raises hopes that a new contribution to this neglected 

area of study might update, complement, or expand upon al-‘Ulab|'s synthetic 

work. Unfortunately, it falls short of these expectations. 

The greatest weakness of al-Madan|'s work is its sloppy scholarly apparatus. 

Initially, a glance at the bibliography left me concerned. A brief list of ten works 

consisting of no more than author and title, this "bibliography" does not even 

cover all the major Arabic chronicles describing the historical events, much less 

include Persian chronicles or significant secondary works on the Mongols, 

Tamerlane, or Mamluk Syria published in the last few decades. The only secondary 

work listed is al-Sayyid al-Ba≠z al-‘Ar|n|'s 1967 monograph on the Mongols, and 

the only work originally published in a language other than Arabic that appears in 

the bibliography is Walter Fischel's Ibn Khaldu≠n and Tamerlane (1952). Although 

al-Madan| includes accurate, albeit abbreviated, entries for the important chronicles 




by al-Maqr|z|, Ibn Taghr|bird|, and Ibn Iya≠s, he erroneously records the title of 

Ibn al-Ath|r's earlier chronicle as Al-Bida≠yah wa-al-Niha≠yah and identifies the 

author of ‘Aja≠’ib al-Maqdu≠r f| Nawa≠’ib Ibn T|mu≠r by the obscure sobriquet Ibn 

Dimashq|, rather than by the well-known appellation Ibn ‘Arabsha≠h (and his 

inconsistent use of both names throughout the rest of the text contributes to this 

point of confusion). The other three works al-Madan| chooses to list are Muh˝ammad 

Kurd ‘Al|'s Khit¸at¸ al-Sha≠m, to which I found only one reference in the book as a 

whole, Ibn T˛u≠lu≠n's Mufa≠kahat al-Khilla≠n, to which I found no reference at all, 

and the mysterious Al-Mawsu≠‘ah al-‘Askar|yah, which I could neither identify nor 

find mentioned elsewhere in the book. 

As I began to read the text of T|mu≠rlank f| Dimashq, however, it quickly 

became clear that al-Madan| employs many sources not listed in the bibliography, 

including those by some of the more conspicuously absent chroniclers, such as 

Ibn Qa≠d˝| Shuhbah and others. Although this is good news on one level, al-Madan|'s 

idiosyncratic annotation style makes it frustratingly difficult to establish which 

source corresponds to which passage, where a quotation begins and ends, whether 

a marked passage represents a direct quotation or a paraphrase, to which edition 

the volume and page numbers in the notes refer, and, in the case of obscure 

secondary sources, what work is being referenced in the first place. For instance, 

he relies heavily on a source listed in the footnotes simply as "Shiha≠b," sometimes 

followed by a number. Only by referring back to al-‘Ulab|'s annotated bibliography 

did I discover that al-Madan| is most likely citing an (apparently) unpublished 

thesis entitled T|mu≠rlank submitted by Maz˝har Shiha≠b for a doctorate from the 

Université Libanaise in 1981. Finally, T|mu≠rlank f| Dimashq is peppered with 

passages clearly quoted or paraphrased without citation as well as passages 

introduced by a phrase within the body of the text, such as "according to al-Maqr|z|," 

without further annotation. 

The content of the book does not manage to redeem the weaknesses in its 

form. The first half of the work is characterized by a disjointed sequence of 

synthetic overviews of the life of Ghengis Kha≠n, the Mongol expansion, the 

Crusades, and the rise of Tamerlane. After a completely unannotated ten-page 

chapter on Tamerlane's early career and before a long discursion on Ayyubid 

history, al-Madan| inserts a brief chapter entitled "Tamerlane's Warning to the 

Sultan of the Mamluks" (pp. 37–40). This chapter consists almost entirely of a 

reproduction of the text of a communication between Tamerlane and "the Sultan 

of the Mamluks" without further identification, interpretation, or analysis. Although 

the full text of this missive may be found in al-Maqr|z|'s Kita≠b al-Sulu≠k and Ibn 

Taghr|bird|'s Al-Nuju≠m al-Za≠hirah, as well as in several of the other major 

chronicles, the only annotation al-Madan| provides for the extended quotation is 

the location of verses from the Quran appearing therein. Furthermore, he indicates 




that the "Sultan of the Mamluks" received this correspondence after Tamerlane's 

ravaging of Aleppo, which occurred during the reign of Sultan Faraj in 803/1400, 

despite the fact that it was Sultan Barqu≠q who received the message in 796/1394, 

years before Tamerlane invaded northern Syria. Al-Madan| returns to this letter in 

the proper historical context in a short statement fifty pages later (p. 89), without 

reference to or explanation of its earlier misleading, if not completely mistaken, 

presentation. 

The rest of the book proceeds more or less chronologically after this interruption, 

starting with an indictment of Ayyubid disunity, dissolution, and disregard for the 

Arab subject population. Next to be condemned are the barbarous and foreign 

military slaves whose coup in Cairo in 648/1250 led to the formation of the 

Mamluk Sultanate. Mongol and Crusader villains also play parts in this sweeping 

historical narrative of the victimization of the Arab inhabitants of Bila≠d al-Sha≠m 

at the hands of tyrants and armies leading up to their climactic manipulation, 

betrayal, and near annihilation at the hands of Tamerlane and his minions. The 

final half of the book, dedicated to a detailed account of Tamerlane's campaign in 

Syria, unfolds as a string of excerpts from the major contemporary chronicles 

without rigorous documentation or original analysis. The extent to which al-Madan| 

engages in source criticism may be illustrated by the handful of statements 

contrasting subject matter covered by Tamerlane's Persian court biographer, Sharaf 

al-D|n ‘Al| al-Yazd|, with that covered in the Arabic histories of Ibn ‘Arabsha≠h, 

al-Maqr|z|, Ibn Taghr|bird|, Ibn Qa≠d˝| Shuhbah, Ibn Iya≠s, and others. The book 

ends abruptly with Tamerlane's departure from Bila≠d al-Sha≠m, Syrian captives in 

tow, leaving behind a devastated human and infrastructural landscape. Al-Madan| 

does not provide his readers with a glimpse of the efforts at social, political, and 

economic reconstruction over the next decade or any insight into the repercussions 

of Tamerlane's invasion for the last century of Mamluk rule. 

One of the more provocative aspects of T|mu≠rlank f| Dimashq is the short 

preface in which al-Madan| sets out his ideological agenda (pp. 5–9). He blames 

Tamerlane's successful victimization of Syria on Arab disunity and Islamic 

sectarianism within the Arab population. He portrays the Ayyubids, Mamluks, 

Crusaders, and Mongols as ethnic strangers whose natural inclination was to 

prioritize their own aggrandizement at the cost of the well-being of the indigenous 

Arab inhabitants of Bila≠d al-Sha≠m. If the Arabs could only have united against 

these foreign rulers and armies, he implies, they would not have suffered as much 

during this period. Al-Madan| argues that this is a lesson that modern Arabs need 

to learn as they are still successfully manipulated, betrayed, divided, and conquered 

by outsiders, most notably Israel, today. Although al-Madan| does not apply this 

parallelism explicitly in the rest of the book, overtones of the ethnic determinism 

suggested by this preface resonate throughout. Politics aside, such a presentist 




attitude towards historiography combined with an uncritical approach to the sources 

and a sloppy scholarly apparatus make Sulayma≠n al-Madan|'s T|mu≠rlank f| Dimashq 

a disappointing contribution to the field of Mamluk studies. 

ARNOUD VROLIJK, Bringing a Laugh to a Scowling Face. A Study and Critical 

Edition of the "Nuzhat al-Nufu≠s wa-Mud˝h˝ik al-‘Abu≠s" by ‘Al| Ibn Su≠du≠n al- 

Ba£bug≥a≠w| (Cairo 801/1407–Damascus 868/1464) (Leiden: Research School 

CNWS, 1998). Pp. xiv, 203 (Engl.) + iv, 178 (Arab.). 

‘AL| IBN SU≠DU≠N AL-YASHBAGHA≠W|, Nuzhat al-Nufu≠s wa-Mud˝h˝ik al-‘Abu≠s, edited by 

Mah˝mu≠d Sa≠lim (Damascus: Da≠r Sa‘d al-D|n, 1421/2001). Pp. 352. 

REVIEWED BY THOMAS BAUER, Universität Münster 

The edition of Ibn Su≠du≠n's Nuzhah will change our understanding of Mamluk 

literature more deeply than would the edition of many other literary texts of this 

period. This work provides insight into a type of literature that was until now only 

peripherally known, but must have been rather omnipresent in the salons, gatherings, 

and streets of Mamluk and Ottoman Egypt and Syria. Besides representing a 

poorly-known current of Arabic literature, Ibn Su≠du≠n's poetry and prose display a 

very distinct personal character and prove again that in the Mamluk empire men 

of letters produced a lot of original and innovative works. 

Due to its relevance to many fields, Ibn Su≠du≠n's work has already attracted the 

interest of Arabists more than once, 1 though they had to rely on manuscripts or a 

Cairo lithograph from 1280/1863. Now within just three years, two editions of Ibn 

Su≠du≠n's Nuzhah have appeared. The Beirut edition is a serious attempt by an 

obviously able and diligent editor. But, unfortunately, he neither knew of Vrolijk's 

enterprise, nor did he use any manuscript that was not available in Syrian libraries, 

limiting himself to three manuscripts in Damascus and the lithograph. Whereas 

three manuscripts may be a reasonable basis for some other texts, this is not the 

case with Ibn Su≠du≠n's Nuzhah, which was obviously an extremely popular text 

right up to the eighteenth century. Vrolijk has traced 38 manuscripts, 33 of which 

he was able to study either on the spot or in a microfilm copy. The most important 

1 Vrolijk's edition provides a good bibliography. Not included is van Gelder's chapter on Ibn 

Su≠du≠n and food, cf. Geert Jan van Gelder, Of Dishes and Discourse: Classical Arabic Literary 

Representations of Food (Richmond, 2000), 90–96. A detailed review of Vrolijk's edition by 

Everett K. Rowson was published in Edebiyât 12 (2001): 128–38. 




result was that he detected two autograph copies written by Ibn Su≠du≠n himself, 

which he made, of course, the basis of his edition. In addition he used two other 

manuscripts close to the autograph tradition to help in cases in which the autographs 

proved defective. Since many of Ibn Su≠du≠n's texts are in colloquial Arabic for 

which no standard orthography existed, the author's own orthography (including 

his usage of vowel signs) is of primary importance, especially since the text 

provides interesting material for dialectologists. Therefore, the autograph tradition 

is even more important in the case of Ibn Su≠du≠n than in the case of texts in pure 

classical Arabic. Due to this textual basis of Vrolijk's edition, Mah˝mu≠d Sa≠lim's 

edition is deprived of much practical significance. At least, it presents a textual 

tradition slightly different from the autograph tradition which is not completely 

devoid of interest, and Sa≠lim also adds several notes which may help in understanding 

Ibn Su≠du≠n's often rather difficult text. Its main value, however, lies in the fact that 

a text like the Nuzhah has been published in the Arab world at all. For too long 

modern Arab intellectuals have been rather embarrassed by the existence of a 

humorous literary tradition instead of appreciating it. Now Mah˝mu≠d Sa≠lim's edition 

will certainly help make Ibn Su≠du≠n's texts more widely known in the Arab world. 

It is predictable that Vrolijk's edition will not fulfill this task, because it will 

probably not appear in bookshops in Arab countries, and because Vrolijk uses 

Latin abbreviations in his apparatus which might deter Arabic readers. I can see 

no reason for sticking to this antiquated tradition and would favor a purely Arabic 

apparatus. In any case, Vrolijk's diligent and impeccable edition remains the 

authoritative one. His edition is also accompanied by a thorough, profound, and 

well-written study of Ibn Su≠du≠n, which provides a solid starting point for further 

studies. 

As far as the content of the Nuzhah is concerned, I will limit myself here to a 

few words and refer to Vrolijk's introduction, Rowson's review, and van Gelder's 

study mentioned in note 1. Ibn Su≠du≠n's book is divided into two sections, a 

smaller one on "serious topics" (jidd), comprising mainly poems in praise of the 

prophet and ghazal, and a second one, more than three times as long, on "humorous 

topics" (hazl). This second section is subdivided into five subsections, mainly on 

formal criteria. It contains texts both in the classical language as well as in 

colloquial. Both speech forms are utilized in qas˝|d poetry, in strophic poetry 

(muwashshah˝ and zajal), and in rhymed and unrhymed prose (maqa≠ma≠t and other 

prose texts). Vrolijk is certainly right to consider some of the prose texts as 

dramatic sketches (pp. 36–38). Food and hashish are recurrent themes, but a wide 

range of other topics is also covered and makes Ibn Su≠du≠n's text an extraordinarily 

important source for the study of material culture in late Mamluk Egypt. Ibn 

Su≠du≠n's usage of the Egyptian dialect (studied by Vrolijk, pp. 137–59) and his 

interest in foreign languages (some poems contain Turkish and Persian elements) 




and strange dialects (a man from Baghdad makes his appearance, who speaks a 

dialect that can be clearly identified as qeltu Arabic of an Anatolian type) are also 

not devoid of interest. For comparative literature it will be especially interesting 

to analyze the specific kind of humor displayed by Ibn Su≠du≠n. Mah˝mu≠d Sa≠lim 

feels himself reminded of surrealism (p. 5), while I, myself, rather think of the 

absurd theatre of Ionesco, and Vrolijk draws a parallel to Monty Python (p. 37). 

The author of this fascinating text is ‘Al| ibn Su≠du≠n al-Bashbugha≠w| (this, not 

al-Yashbagha≠w| as is stated in al-Sakha≠w|'s D˛aw’, seems to be the right nisbah; it 

is discussed in Vrolijk, p. 3). He was born in Cairo (810/1407) and died in 

Damascus (868/1464). It is probable that his father, Su≠du≠n, was a mamluk of 

Circassian origin. ‘Al| therefore belonged to the group of the awla≠d al-na≠s which 

played an important role in the intellectual life of the Mamluk empire, though few 

of them completed the requisite scholarly training that would have allowed them 

to become fully accepted members of the established ulama. The same seems to 

hold true for Ibn Su≠du≠n. Vrolijk, who painstakingly traces Ibn Su≠du≠n's biography, 

overestimates Ibn Su≠du≠n's scholarly training. The memorizing of a Hanafi textbook 

and of a bit of hadith, 2 mathematics, and metrics is not really a "first class education," 

and if Vrolijk's assumption is right that Ibn Su≠du≠n took part in military campaigns 

as a member of the halqah, one may doubt even more that a "promising career" (p. 

9) as a scholar lay ahead of him, which was only thwarted by the economic 

conditions of the time. Instead, I would suggest that Ibn Su≠du≠n was one of the 

hundreds or even thousands of urban people who had acquired some sort of 

academic training without ever achieving a scholarly proficiency sufficient to 

enter the ranks of the great ulama. 3 If these people did not earn their livings as 

craftsmen or traders, they could only hope for unprestigious and poorly paid 

mansibs such as the post of muezzin or of imam in one of the smaller madrasahs. 

And this is exactly the position to which Ibn Su≠du≠n did rise. That he could ever 

have aspired to a more brilliant scholarly career remains very doubtful. 

Altogether, it seems that Ibn Su≠du≠n belonged to a layer of Mamluk society 

which was of enormous importance for its culture. It is the partially educated, 

urban middle class, consisting of people such as craftsmen, traders, and minor 

2 The phrase "sami‘a ‘alá al-Wa≠sit¸| al-musalsal wa-baq|yat masmu≠‘ih" (al-Sakha≠w|, Al-D˛aw’ 

al-La≠mi‘ [Cairo, n.d.], 5:229) does not refer to a philological textbook, as Vrolijk assumes (p. 8), 

but means that al-Wa≠sit¸| passed on to Ibn Su≠du≠n the traditions that were transmitted to him in the 

musalsal way as well as his other orally transmitted traditions. Ah˝mad ibn Muh˝ammad ibn Ab| 

Bakr al-Wa≠sit¸| (745–836) was "discovered" in the year 826 as a mine for hadith traditions from 

people long dead, thus providing hadiths with comparatively short isna≠ds (al-Sakha≠w|, D˛aw’, 

2:106–7). 

3 Jonathan Berkey, The Transmission of Knowledge in Medieval Cairo: A Social History of 

Islamic Education (Princeton, 1992), 193–216. Berkey mentions "minor scholars" explicitly on pp. 

198 and 204. 




ulama. The last group especially seems to have had a considerable proportion of 

awla≠d al-na≠s among its ranks. This group left behind more documents than is 

generally recognized, and these documents are of particular interest, since they 

allow us to see more deeply into the experiences, values, and attitudes of the 

people underneath the "turbaned elite," though we must always be aware of the 

fact that even through them we have not arrived at the "ordinary people," the 

urban lower classes and the peasants. Quite a lot of poetry from members of this 

social group has come down to us. Among scattered poems by craftsmen like 

‘Ayn Bas˝al al-H˛a≠’ik and al-H˛amma≠m| (who was the manager of a bath), the entire 

d|wa≠n of the architect Ibra≠h|m al-Mi‘ma≠r is preserved in several manuscripts. 4 As 

far as I can see, al-Mi‘ma≠r is the figure most closely resembling Ibn Su≠du≠n, 

though he lacks the "dramatic" side of Ibn Su≠du≠n, his love of the absurd, and his 

keenness for honey, sugar, and kuna≠fah. Instead, he is more satirical, more critical 

of social conditions, less pious, and more interested in erotica than in bananas. 

Al-Mi‘ma≠r is far more traditional in form, but less proficient in fus˝h˝á. With Ibn 

Su≠du≠n he shares a skill in dialect poetry, an addiction to the topic of hashish (not 

necessarily to hashish itself, since al-Mi‘ma≠r seems to have preferred wine), and 

the fact that both look at the world from a middle- or lower-class perspective. A 

comparison of these authors would be of great interest. 

Anthologies are another important source for the middle class, its interests and 

intellectual horizons. The Mamluk period was, in fact, the golden age of the 

anthology. More than a hundred of them are preserved in the libraries, but this 

source for Mamluk culture and society still remains untapped. An anthology such 

as the Kanz al-Madfu≠n, by a certain Yu≠nus al-Ma≠lik|, collects material destined 

for the education, edification, and entertainment of this group of people. 5 As 

Vrolijk shows (pp. 49–57), Ibn Su≠du≠n was also the author of such an anthology 

(besides the fact that the Nuzhah is an anthology itself, comprising a selection of 

Ibn Su≠du≠n's own works), in which—small wonder—Ibra≠h|m al-Mi‘ma≠r figures 

prominently (p. 52). Further studies are needed to determine to which type of 

anthology this book belongs. I would like, however, to note that it is absolutely 

4 Thomas Bauer, "Ibra≠h|m al-Mi‘ma≠r: Ein dichtender Handwerker aus Ägyptens Mamlukenzeit," 

Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft 152 (2002): 63–93 (cf. p. 67, note 14, 

on ‘Ayn Bas˝al al-H˛a≠’ik); idem, "Die Leiden eines ägyptischen Müllers: Die Mühlen-Maqa≠me des 

Ibra≠h|m al-Mi‘ma≠r (st. 749/1348)," in A. Blöbaum et al., eds., Ägypten Münster: 

Kulturwissenschaftliche Studien zu Ägypten, den Vorderen Orient und verwandten Gebieten 

(Festschrift Erhart Graefe) (Wiesbaden, 2003), 1–16. A poem on his bath by al-H˛amma≠m| and a 

zajal on the Nile festival by al-Mi‘ma≠r will be presented by Otfried Weintritt and myself in the 

Festschrift Heinz Grotzfeld (to appear 2003). 

5 Thomas Bauer, "Literarische Anthologien der Mamlukenzeit," in S. Conermann and A. Pistor- 

Hatam, eds., Die Mamluken: Studien zu ihrer Geschichte und Kultur im Gedenken an Ulrich 

Haarmann (1942–1999) (Hamburg, 2002). The Kanz was composed probably around 770–90. 




unremarkable that, as Vrolijk states (p. 52), "classical" authors are not represented 

in it. In fact, the vast majority of Mamluk anthologies focus on material from 

Ayyubid and Mamluk times. The reason for this is not that they reflect a "secondary 

tradition" (p. 54). Ibn Nuba≠tah, the author most often quoted in Ibn Su≠du≠n's 

anthology, must have been a "classical" author already for Ibn Su≠du≠n, and he 

remained a "classical" author until the end of pre-modern Arabic literature in the 

middle of the nineteenth century. Instead, literary anthologies in the Mamluk 

period are less monuments that preserve the heritage of the past than the reflection 

of an intense and vivid literary culture. In the Mamluk period, literature was not 

the domain of a small section of society, but an omnipresent means of 

communication. Poetry was an everyday commodity for the ulama as well as for 

the common people (perhaps with the sole exception of the Mamluks themselves). 

This fostered a great need for poetry that was up to date and en vogue and could 

be imitated or at least quoted whenever necessary. This need was met by the 

many anthologies of this period. Even the great ulama-poets like Ibn Nuba≠tah and 

al-S˛afad| published their work rather in the form of anthologies than in the form 

of a d|wa≠n. Therefore it is not surprising that so many anthologies of this period 

focus on material that was new and directed at contemporary taste rather than 

regurgitating a sanctified tradition. 6 

A second characteristic of Mamluk literature is of importance in this context. 

In the Mamluk era there existed a broad layer of people who were neither fullyfledged 

ulama nor illiterate yokels but something in between. In other words, 

social layers were not neatly separated, but there was a continuum ranging between 

the totally uneducated (who nevertheless may have been acquainted with rather 

sophisticated oral folk poetry) on the one end and the S˛afad|s and Ibn H˛ajars on 

the other end. This in turn led to the fact that what we call "popular literature" and 

"high literature" ceased to be two completely different phenomena separated by a 

broad gap. Instead, there was again a continuum stretching between the zajals 

sung by the peasants, which never transcended their purely oral existence, and the 

sophisticated odes by poets like Ibn Nuba≠tah with their many intertextual references 

to the poetic tradition of past centuries. Ibn Nuba≠tah was popular, as Ibn Su≠du≠n's 

anthology and the Kanz al-Madfu≠n show, also among the urban middle classes, 

and vernacular poetry by al-Mi‘ma≠r (and certainly also that by Ibn Su≠du≠n) was 

highly esteemed among the great ulama. They only seemingly were embarrassed 

by its ungrammatical features and considered its contents in conflict with their 

scholarly dignity—but they liked it and read it. 7 Ibn Su≠du≠n's work must be seen in 

this context. It is not popular literature in the sense that it is the pure voice of the 

6 

Anthologies of this kind existed nevertheless. I mention only Ibn Nuba≠tah's Mat¸la≠‘ al-Fawa≠’id 

and Ibn H˛ijjah's Thamara≠t al-Awra≠q, cf. ibid. 

7 

Bauer, "Ibra≠h|m al-Mi‘ma≠r," 69–72. 




common people, nor is it "high" literature. Instead, it reflects the literary taste of 

the urban (especially Cairene), semi-educated middle classes among which Ibn 

Su≠du≠n might have found his main public. There is little doubt, however, that his 

poems and maqa≠ma≠hs were esteemed by the high-brow ulama as well as by 

members of the lower classes. This explains the fact that at least 38 manuscripts 

of the Nuzhah have survived until the present day. 

Regardless of the work that has been done in the fields of history and economics, 

I suggest that the study of literature, especially of texts produced by and/or addressed 

to members of its middle classes, will help considerably in enhancing our knowledge 

of the Mamluk period. The edition of Ibn Su≠du≠n's Nuzhah is a great step in this 

direction. And, by the way, did I already mention that Ibn Su≠du≠n's book provides 

for extremely entertaining and amusing reading?

Vol. VII, no. 1 (2003) - Mamluk Studies Review - University of Chicago

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