Medieval Andalusian Courtly Culture in the Mediterranean: Three Ladies and a Lover (Routledge Studies in Middle Eastern Literatures)

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MEDIEVAL ANDALUSIAN COURTLY CULTURE IN THE MEDITERRANEAN Medieval Andalusian Courtly Culture discusses the thirteenth-century unicum manuscript the only illustrated manuscript to have survived from of the more than eight centuries of Muslim and Arabic-speaking presence in present-day Spain. The manuscript is of paramount importance as it contains the only known illustrated version of the love story of The study will place this manuscript within the context of late medieval Mediterranean courtly culture and offers: • a translation into English of the entire text • reproductions of its images • an analysis of both text and images in a series of progressively broader contexts including that of al-Andalus (Arabic-speaking), “reconquista” Iberia, and the larger Mediterranean world. Texts and images will not, as is often the case, be analyzed in separate chapters; rather, the analysis will serve to point to the cohesion of what might be referred to as the currency of Mediterranean courtly culture, with this latter much changed from the earliest days of its existence as a cultural code in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. Medieval Andalusian Courtly Culture in the Mediterranean is essential reading for scholars with interests in medieval Spain, Islamic art and Mediterranean courtly culture. Cynthia Robinson is Associate Professor of Medieval and Islamic Art History, Near Eastern Studies and Medieval Studies at Cornell University. She researches issues of cultural interaction in the medieval Mediterranean, focusing on the interfaces between literature, courts, religion and visual culture.

ROUTLEDGE STUDIES IN MIDDLE EASTERN LITERATURES Editors James E.Montgomery University of Cambridge Roger Allen University of Pennsylvania Philip F.Kennedy New York University

Routledge Studies in Middle Eastern Literature is a monograph series devoted to aspects of the literatures of the Near and Middle East and North Africa both modern and pre-modern. It is hoped that the provision of such a forum will lead to a greater emphasis on the comparative study of the literatures of this area, although studies devoted to one literary or linguistic region are warmly encouraged. It is the editors’ objective to foster the comparative and multidisciplinary investigation of the written and oral literary products of this area. 1. Sheherazade Through the Looking Glass Eva Sallis 2. The Palestinian Novel Ibrahim Taha 3. Of Dishes and Discourse Geert Jan van Gelder 4. Medieval Arabic Praise Poetry Beatrice Gruendler 5. Making the Great Book of Songs Hilary Kilpatrick 6. The Novel and the Rural Imaginary in Egypt, 1880–1985 Samah Selim 7. Ibn Abi Tahir Tayfur and Arabic Writerly Culture A ninth-century bookman in Baghdad Shawkat M.Toorawa

8. Religious Perspectives in Modern Muslim and Jewish Literatures Edited by Glenda Abramson and Hilary Kilpatrick 9. Arabic Poetry Trajectories of modernity and tradition Muhsin J.al-Musawi 10. Medieval Andalusian Courtly Culture in the Mediterranean Cynthia Robinson 11. Writing and Representation in Medieval Islam Muslim horizons Julia Bray

MEDIEVAL ANDALUSIAN COURTLY CULTURE IN THE MEDITERRANEAN Cynthia Robinson

LONDON AND NEW YORK

First published 2007 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 270 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2007. “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.ebookstore.tandf.co.uk.” © 2007 Cynthia Robinson All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN 0-203-96118-8 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 10: 0-415-32244-8 (Print Edition) ISBN 13: 978-0-415-32244-7

FOR FAITHFUL LOVERS AND ABLE ALCAHUETAS EVERYWHERE

CONTENTS List of figures

ix

Acknowledgements

xii

Introduction

1

1

translation 2 Love localized, science from afar: the image program of the

3 Alfonso, the Almohads and the the courtliness and culture in thirteenth-century Iberia 4 Wandering in Babylon: the

13 72 110

and the roman

162

idyllique Bibliography

198

Index

205

FIGURES Figures 1-14 from the

(Vaticano Arabo Riservato 368)

1.1 Frontispiece with dramatis personae, f. 1v 1.2 The counsels I, f. 2r 1.3 fainting, attended by the slave girls and the f. 3v 1.4 The Sayyida’s majlis, I; Shamnjl performs, f. 5r 1.5 The Sayyida’s majlis, II; performs, f. 7v 1.6 The Sayyida’s majlis, III; performs, f. 9r 1.7 The Sayyida consults with the after throwing an inkwell at f. 13v 1.8 The counsels II, f. 15r 1.9 Shamnjl delivers a letter from to beside the banks of the river TharthƗr, f. 17r 1.10 fainted dead away beside the banks of the river TharthƗr; a funerary lament is intoned by the relative (qarƯb), f. 19r 1.11 receiving letter from the Sayyida’s slave girls in a house beside the river, f. 22r 1.12 prostrate at the Sayyida’s feet, while the slave girls and the look on, f. 27r 1.13 engaged in a game of chess with the relative, while the observes, f. 29r

13 16 17 19 26 30 32 41 45 49 55 64 67

1.14

asleep, with the Old Woman reciting verses at the head of 68 his bed, f. 28r Comparanda (Figures 15–25 appear between pp. 201–213)

15 Leaf from a manuscript of Dioscorides’ De Materia Medica. Dated 1229, 19.2×14 cm. Topkapi Sarayi Library, Istanbul, Ms. Ahmet III 2127, f. 2v 16 The uninvited guest at an outdoor gathering, MaqƗmƗt, thirteenth century, Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale (BN) Arabe 5847, f. 69v 17 KitƗb al-DiryƗq (Book of Remedies), early thirteenth century, Paris BN Arabe 2964, f. 27 18 Alfonso X of Castile, Libros del Ajedrez (Book of Chess and Games), finished 1284, frontispiece, San Lorenzo del Escorial, f. 1r 19 Alfonso X of Castile, Libros del Ajedrez (Book of Chess and Games), finished 1284, Wheel of Fortune, San Lorenzo del Escorial, f. 96r 20 Alfonso X of Castile, Libros del Ajedrez (Book of Chess and Games), finished 1284, ff. 48v–r; Alfonso plays chess with slave girls 21 Alfonso X of Castile, Cantigas de Santa María, mid- to late thirteenth century 22 Pillow of Berenguela, al-Andalus, thirteenth century, Museo de Telas, Monasterio de Santa Maria de las Huelgas, Burgos 23 “Drinking Ladies” silk, al-Andalus, thirteenth century, CooperHewitt; National Design Museum, Smithsonian Institution. Gift of John Pierpoint Morgan, 1902–1–82. Photo: Scott Hyde

24 “Courtly” ceiling paintings, I, “Hall of Justice,” Palace of the Lions, Alhambra, 1360s. From Jesús Bermúdez Pareja, Pinturas sobre piel en la Alhambra de Granada (Vich: Colomer Munmany, 1987) 25 “Courtly” ceiling paintings, II, “Hall of Justice,” Palace of the Lions, Alhambra, 1360s. From Jesús Bermúdez Pareja, Pinturas sobre piel en la Alhambra de Granada (Vich: Colomer Munmany, 1987)

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS As and the know only too well, all worthy undertakings require collaboration and mediation, constructive criticism and friendly encouragement. This one is no different, and thanks are due to many friends and colleagues, starting with grateful acknowledgement of the time for research, constructive criticism and initial travel grant provided by Oleg Grabar and the faculty and fellows at the Institute for Advanced Study’s School of Historical Studies during the time I spent in residence there (1998–2000). Warm appreciation goes to Ursula Hawlitschka for lodging, excellent food, wine (on which alcahuetas thrive) and friendship during my initial research trip to Rome. Thanks are due to David Roxburgh and the Friends of Islamic Art at Harvard University for the opportunity to test the waters with an initial presentation of some of this material. Also immensely useful have been the occasions for presentation and discussion offered by conferences organized by Anna Contadini of SOAS and Frédéric Bauden of the Université de Liège on Arab Painting and the Arab Story, respectively. Generous funding for travel and for photographs has been consistently forthcoming from Cornell University, both from my own department of Art History and from the College of Arts and Sciences; likewise, the extended collegial exchange and time for writing which came with my appointment as a Faculty Fellow to Cornell’s Society for the Humanities during the fall semester of 2004 was invaluable and much appreciated. Next, I gratefully acknowledge the efforts and assistance of our series editors Roger Allen, Phillip Kennedy (especially for his initial invitation to submit the project) and James Montgomery, as well as the anonymous readers’ constructive comments. Nadia Seemungal of Routledge, likewise, deserves praise for her many virtues, including good humor, patience, thoroughness and forbearance. Penultimately, sincere appreciation is due to Remie Constable, María Judith Feliciano, Salah Hassan, Thomas Leisten, María Rosa Menocal, Francisco Prado-Vilar and Everett Rowson for their encouragement, constructive criticism and support. Finally, extra-special thanks and recognition go to Leyla Rouhi, a great authority on Iberian and their doings, for her scholarship, her friendship and her unflappable interest in this project.

INTRODUCTION This study has as its centerpiece the only surviving manuscript copy of the thirteenthcentury version1 of the (Vat. Ar. Ris. 386; hereafter, BR); A tale of love with happy ending highly unusual for the slave-girl story on which it is almost certainly based, BR has formed part of the collection of the Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana since AD 1535, and quite possibly earlier.2 It is an unicum in terms of both its text and its program of images; it is also an unicum in that it is the only surviving illuminated manuscript dealing with secular topics—in this case, “courtly” and “uncourtly” love treated as part of a sustained narrative—to have been almost certainly produced in al-Andalus, almost certainly during the first third of the thirteenth century.3 The “almosts” appear here as caveats because the thirty paper folios and fourteen illustrations which today remain of BR are incomplete;4 the manuscript is missing both beginning and end folios and we must thus, in the end, remain ignorant, not only of just how the Old Woman managed to wangle her way into the majlis5 in the first place, but also of any information the object might originally have contained concerning either patrons or provenance.6 Although the present study offers a complete translation of BR’s text, given that the narrative contained in Vat. Ar. Ris. 368 is likely to be unfamiliar to most readers, I will provide here (which seems as good a place as any) a brief summary of the plot, relying largely on a similar summing up offered in an earlier publication.7 Nykl, in his 1941 edition and Spanish translation, refers to BR as a “love epic.” Although the term “epic” is not the one which springs most readily to mind, given the complete absence in BR of expeditions and battles, the first word in Nykl’s phrase could not have been more aptly chosen: BR’s plot is entirely centered around love, and more particularly around the proper and improper (or, “courtly” and “uncourtly”) ways in which one might approach love’s practice. The story concerns a pair of young lovers, a merchant’s son from Damascus, a slave girl who belongs to a powerful or minister, in an unidentified and has fallen hopelessly in love with but almost certainly Andalusian city. after having seen her only once, and has enlisted the help of the Old Woman, in whose voice the story is also narrated, in securing a rendez-vous with her. Following a series of is housed, the lovers meet in a visits by the Old Woman to the palace in which Lady (hereafter, the Sayyida, as she is referred to in the majlis organized by to whom ultimately “belongs.” text), who is the daughter of the Following an extended session of singing and wine-drinking (the songs in question are recorded in their entirety; moreover, love and drinking lyrics occupy a significant amount along with the of the page space throughout the first half of the manuscript8),

Medieval andalusian courtly culture in the mediterranean

2

rest of the assembled company, listens enraptured to description of her, first in prose and then in verse. The verse version is given somewhat reluctantly, probably due to his knowledge of the portentous nature of the tashbƯb he is about to “commit.” After performance, loses control of herself and, amid tears and sighs, imprudently (i.e., sincerely, and in a decidedly uncourtly fashion, according to the text’s standards of courtliness, at any rate) declares her love for him in a dubiously lengthy series of songs and verses.9 The fact that she commits her indiscretion—understood in the text and, presumably, by the audience as much more indiscreet, somehow, than —in such public and elegant company serves, as comments to that effect by the Sayyida and the Old Woman underline, to exacerbate the gravity of her misdeed. Although what has gone on and been said would in no way fit beneath the rubric of mujnjn (lewdness), “courtly” norms have been transgressed, as we are given to understand in no uncertain terms. The Sayyida is gravely offended, and makes her anger publicly known by shouting and rending her costly robe. The majlis breaks up immediately, with the Old Woman resorting to disguising her protégé as a slave girl in order to get him home without further mishap. Much of the rest of the story consists of exchanges of impassioned letters in verse between and through a series of third parties. These include fellow slave girls of as well as a relative of the Old Woman’s, referred to simply as the “qarƯb,” whose mission is to distract through inducing him to engage in courtly and noble pastimes. Failing the success of this, he should tail the hero and keep him from falling into harm’s way, particularly when he heads for the river where he is wont to meet up with the Sayyida’s slave girls, and beside which, while he wandered alone amidst the gardens, he caught his first glimpse of Also key in the resolution of the situation produced by indiscretion are the Old Woman’s manipulations of situations, and particularly of language, in service of the two distraught and lovesick lovers. She, however, has her work cut out for her. At one point, we are even led to doubt the devotion, and to consider the possibility of her having, sincerity of or to the herself, taken another lover (this, of course, unbeknownst to despite the debilitating case of lovesickness from which she labors to recover). The efficiency of the is thus placed into question, a matter of interest for her portrayal in the text in general. There are equally mysterious lapses of weeks and, once, even of receives no word from his beloved, and this after a months during which and her Sayyida has been mistress-fully orchestrated by reconciliation between the on the occasion of which a second meeting for the pair has been promised. A modern audience, because of the manuscript’s incomplete state, is in the end left wondering as to the ultimate results of the Old Woman’s machinations, but the final lines again disguised as a slave girl, being spirited of the last surviving folio present away from the dwelling, where he has lodged throughout the whole unfortunate herself triumphantly heads series of events, through town toward the palace. The

Introduction

3

the procession, composed of the bevy of slave girls and their one male interloper. Our hero will then be introduced into another majlis, again organized by the Sayyida and again in her father’s convenient absence, at which he will be united in festive song and and at which it is hoped that both young lovers will wine-consumption with conduct themselves properly. *** Reconstructing an entire AndalusƯ culture of illustrated books on secular themes in Arabic on the basis of one surviving example is a delicate business, but nevertheless, I feel, a worthwhile one:10 BR is certainly not the only illustrated Arabic manuscript to have been produced in al-Andalus. It is impossible to imagine the absence of this facet from an otherwise thriving book culture. Moreover, as amply demonstrated in recent scholarship concerning the multifaceted culture of Iberia during the Middle Ages, it has become apparent that without an accurate understanding of al-Andalus, we will not achieve an accurate understanding of the medieval, and particularly the late medieval, Mediterranean world. Thus, it is doubly incumbent upon scholars to, as it were, get their money’s worth out of this one surviving example. Nevertheless, despite agreement among scholars concerning the basic facts of the manuscript’s early-thirteenth-century date,11 the likelihood of its AndalusƯ provenance and the general murmurs of consensus to be heard when its “importance” is mentioned, BR is practically unstudied. The first two publications to appear following BR’s discovery in 1940 were by A.R.Nykl12 and U.Monneret de Villard.13 Monneret de Villard’s article provided a summary analysis of the images as they measure up to (or don’t, as the case may be) “Eastern” standards. Nykl’s study included a translation of the text into Spanish, two pages of introductory study and small black-and-white reproductions of only a selected number of the illustrations; these latter are not discussed in terms of relevance to the text. The only further significant publications to date, other than a handful of essays by the present author in edited collections and journals, are an article by R.Arié concerning AndalusƯ costume based on Iberian manuscript illustrations, and several cameo appearances in survey texts and in the Al-Andalus catalogue.14 It is certainly the manuscript’s condition as an unicum which has resulted in its marginalization vis-à-vis the larger categories, on the one hand, of Islamic art (within which it can hardly seem to work its way out of its type-casting as second-fiddle to the larger compendium of thirteenth-century MaqƗmƗt illustrations15) and, on the other, of later medieval literature concerned with courtly love, into which category it has not yet (again, with the exception of the published preliminary studies by the present author) been completely integrated—such, indeed, is one of the primary objectives of this study. Despite the exiguous bibliography of works of modern scholarship that specifically address BR, however, both the manuscript and the present project are relevant to the growing body of studies centered on medieval Iberia and the theme of “cultural interactions.” Recent scholarship has begun to critically examine the comparative approach which conceives of late medieval Iberian culture as an interacting but discrete triangular three (i.e., Jewish, Muslim and Christian cultures), and this study, in many ways, takes up where a recent volume, edited by the present author with Leyla Rouhi, leaves off.16 The field as we addressed it in the introduction to that volume may be characterized as follows: in art historical terms, the Iberian panorama is presently defined by the three major exhibition catalogues produced in or around the centennial year of

Medieval andalusian courtly culture in the mediterranean

4

1992. Each deals separately with one of the perceived “components” of medieval Iberian visual culture.17 BR appears as a catalogue entry in the Al-Andalus catalogue and is therefore implicitly viewed as a purely “Islamic” object, given that it does not appear, as do several other objects, in either of the “Other” two catalogues. The issue, however, of BR’s “belonging” to any particular ethnic or religious pocket of culture is a great deal more complex than it might at first appear and, as will be demonstrated in Chapters 3 and 4, a detailed examination of its text casts considerable doubt on this “purist” definition of the manuscript as a uniquely or universally “Islamic” object. Several authors (mostly specialists in the Iberian peninsula) have recently argued for a more central place for Iberia within the larger panorama of medieval studies (its place in Islamic or Near Eastern Studies remains marginal, and this is a matter urgently in need of scholarly attention).18 In somewhat striking contrast, critical reassessments of the “state-of-the-field” by prominent, non-Iberianist medievalists who specialize in both literature and visual culture19 propose just about everything but the broadening of the canon of material considered relevant to the (French, English and Italian) “centers.” Because of the “European” connections which will be argued for BR in the final chapter of the present study, it will be possible for our manuscript to open up new paths for comparative discussion. In fact, however, the publications among recent scholarship that might be said to be most directly relevant to BR do not mention it. Several are by specialists in medieval Castilian literature. Most prominent among these are two which are dedicated especially to the theme of the go-between in Spanish and Mediterranean literature: L.Rouhi’s 1999 study, Mediation and love, and F.Márquez Villanueva’s Orígenes y sociología del tema celestinesco, published in 1993.20 This is a discussion in which BR, by all rights, should figure, given that its narrator is its Old-Woman go-between. The manuscript, however, is cited but not discussed in a footnote by Márquez Villanueva; Rouhi does not mention it. I have addressed this issue in a previous publication, and it will figure in the discussion of larger issues surrounding BR and its Iberian context to be undertaken in the second chapter of this study. Perhaps, though, given the state of the larger field of medieval studies (areas outside of France, Italy and England, long perceived as marginal, are still largely perceived that way, despite the striking changes the field has witnessed in other areas, such as the theoretical), it is not surprising that BR does not figure in discussions of the wider field of “European” literature. It is more worthy of note that it is not present in discussions of Arabic literature, or even of AndalusƯ literature. This is partly to be explained by the current position of al-Andalus within the larger field of Arabic literature. In “Islamic” or “Arabic literature” terms, I believe that it would be agreed by most that AndalusƯ literature is studied and perceived as “something different entirely” from production in the so-called “Central Islamic Lands.”21 While it is indeed arguable that “not much was going on” in the way of literary production in al-Andalus in the period, taifa as well as poets of the eleventh century were faithful disciples of the innovators on their models, a fact which scholarship’s (rather unfortunate and almost obsessive) focus on AndalusƯ lyrical compositions in the dialectical register azjƗl) has until very recently obscured.22 Chapter 3 of this study will ( undertake the task of situating BR within the larger panorama of late medieval Arabic literature concerned with courtly themes in the Mediterranean world. It will be argued

Introduction

5

that, in many senses, it represents something of a “missing link,” given that it belongs to a register of Arabic literature on courtly themes largely lost to us. Finally, one art historical publication deserves particular mention here, given that its methodology will prove key to one of the most important of the overall tasks set by this study, to be undertaken in Chapter 4: that of situating BR against the larger backdrop of the courtly culture of the Mediterranean world during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. C.J. Campbell’s excellent analysis of the frescoes of San Gimignano’s Palazzo Pubblico23 parallels this study in terms of its concentration on “courtly” culture as a phenomenon of social interaction in a late thirteenth- and early fourteenth-century context, dealing with complex relationships between the literary and visual manifestations of this culture of narratives which mirror, in many ways, the concerns and issues raised by BR. The most important concept highlighted by Campbell is the idea of narratives, such as those which form the basis of Boccaccio’s wildly popular text, being transmitted, not as complete units under the consistent titles by which we recognize them today but, rather, in the form of discrete units or “building blocks” which were in fact separable from the “story line.” The radical alterations made to the short, probably narrative which were key to the production of Vat. Ar. Ris. 368 are ample proof of this characteristic extending across perceived linguistic boundaries. Thus, the visual narratives in San Gimignano examined by Campbell may “look like” stories collected by Boccaccio but, because of certain features which they do not share with the stories as recorded by that author, she does not make the assumption that either painters or patrons were “illustrating stories from Boccaccio.” Rather, she proposes that these narratives— namely the Prodigal Son, the story of young Andreuccio da Perugia, and Aristotle and Phyllis—circulated in a range of forms, with perhaps a much larger variety of variants than we assume today. This, coupled with arguments advanced by P.Grieve24 concerning the greater flexibility of some genres than others, will provide the basis for my theories concerning BR’s generic classification. Campbell’s references, however, are exclusively to perceived “European” spheres of “courtly” culture; acknowledgement of the relevance of Arabic culture and literature, despite the proximity of Sicily and its use by Boccaccio as a setting for his story25 is, indeed, conspicuous because of its absence.26 *** The chapters to follow will offer, first, a translation into English of the text of the Only one translation into a Western language has been undertaken to date. This is the aforementioned Spanish version produced by Nykl, published in 1941 by the Hispanic Society of America, long out of print.27 The translation offered here will adhere more to the spirit, as it were, than to the letter of the text: its primary objective is to communicate the rather pedestrian tone of both prose and poetry. Therefore, I will relieve readers of a ponderous critical apparatus, allowing full attention to be given to the pleasure and entertainment value of the story and verses, just as—I now feel certain—was the intention of BR’s author(s). In fact, the poetry represents a largely lost register of what could very comfortably be called “popular” verse. Significantly, it is composed, not in dialect (indeed, the and azjƗl have long been 28 categorized—perhaps mistakenly—as representatives of “popular” culture ), but in extremely humdrum and most often very inelegant It will be argued in Chapter 3 that, in its altered thirteenth-century version, BR represents a possibly unique

Medieval andalusian courtly culture in the mediterranean

6

manifestation of an otherwise scantily preserved romance genre (and this is true, certainly, at the relatively late date of the manuscript’s production), and one that I feel was probably at least partly a “popular” one. Following the English translation of the text, it will be proposed in the second chapter of this study, as I have argued more extensively elsewhere, that BR was produced for an audience which was non-royal, and perhaps non-noble (i.e., potentially but not necessarily members of the merchant class), and that it served both as a basis for performance and as a point of departure for debate and discussion of “courtliness,” here to be understood as a set of guidelines for “elegant” behavior. The second principal object of Chapter 2 the history of the visual culture of medieval Iberia and, on the other, within the history of Islamic art, most specifically, within the context of a part of that tradition which has long been termed “Arab Painting.” Particularly in the first sections of this second chapter, arguments will be elaborated with will be to evaluate the place of BR’s image program, on the one hand, within only a minimal discussion of BR’s text.29 This decision has been made principally in order to underline one particular point: the art historical literature in which BR has to date figured has concerned itself very little and only superficially with the text, and it is my contention that such a stance has severely hampered our understanding of the manuscript. Therefore, this first analysis of the images in terms of the art historical issues of “stylistic comparison” and origin will follow the time-honored tradition of ignoring the text in order that the differences between this and the methodologies to be adopted in subsequent pages might be highlighted. If the text of BR has not been seriously considered in scholarship since Nykl’s Spanish translation in 1941, the images are scarcely better understood. When they are mentioned at all, it is in an offhand and superficial manner; this generally happens, as observed earlier, in surveys of Islamic art or in articles on textiles or Almohad architecture, when its images are brought forward as comparanda or examples of a “style.” In terms of their place within the broader panorama of the history of Islamic art, the images are almost always qualified, as in Monneret de Villard’s very first discussion of them, as retardataire with respect to developments in the “Islamic world” further east. This is largely due, as mentioned and as will be discussed in greater detail in Chapter 1, to Monneret de Villard’s evaluation of them. It also, however, owes something to a later publication by R.Ettinghausen entitled, simply, Arab Painting.30 Although later scholarship has at times, and in many ways rightly, taken issue with the racial or stereotypical implications which might easily be inferred from such a categorization, O.Grabar, in an inaugural address recently presented before an assembled group of Islamic art historians at a conference bearing (with a certain degree of implied irony) the same title as Ettinghausen’s study,31 recently made a plea for the category’s viability—with certain qualifications, which he proceeded to outline and which, for the most part, I would like to adopt. Grabar opines that, unlike other commonly employed art historical categories such as “Gothic,” which he qualifies as artificial and misleading, “Arab Painting” in the end is valid as a category. Specifically, Grabar agrees with Ettinghausen concerning a certain “formal continuity” beginning with images produced during the Umayyad period and lasting all the way, in some cases, into the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, though he would expand the category from one limited to painting on paper or parchment to include other media (textiles, ceramics, metal-work, etc.), a

Introduction

7

proposal with which I agree. In other words, according to this argument, one may detect striking formal similarities between wall paintings produced in Samarra during the ninth century, the figural decorations on Fatimid ceramics, the famed ceiling paintings of the mid-twelfth-century Cappella Palatina in Palermo, Italy (widely acknowledged to exhibit striking Fatimid influences), and the even better-known image programs which accompany some of the manuscript copies of MaqƗmƗt produced most probably in Baghdad and Mosul during the middle decades of the thirteenth century, and BR’s image program. These similarities become even more apparent when they are considered alongside early examples of the other principal category of Islamic image-making, “Persian Painting.” The concept of these long-lived and widespread formal similarities will here serve me as one of the bases from which, in Chapter 2, to argue that the presence of an actual “Central Islamic” model before the artists who carried out the illustration program of BR is not necessary in order to explain it. Grabar also opines that the development of the scholarly field of Arab Painting has been hampered by a number of theoretical stances (many concerning perceived “centers” and “peripheries,” an issue of obvious relevance to the case at hand), which were often taken a priori to the studies later carried out, and which have obscured one of the issues surrounding “Arab Painting” which is of greatest interest for further study. He suggests that, rather than the burgeoning book culture of the Islamic world during the later centuries of the Middle Ages being a by-product of the taste and demand for images which many would see as characterizing Arabic culture during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, the proliferation of images, in which BR’s illustration program participates, is in fact a by-product of this burgeoning book industry. One of the questions to be asked, then, is what happens culturally, during the last half of the twelfth century and the first half of the thirteenth, which results in this “industry of the book”? Second (and to this we shall find at least a partial answer in our considerations of BR, which does not conform to what appear, with the exception of the decidedly not “courtly” MaqƗmƗt, to be the largely “scientific” criteria of book culture in the “Central Islamic lands”), what are the impulses that dictate the illustration of a book such as BR? Are they the same as those, for example, that drove the creation of an image program for the Dioskorides Medica? Next, asks Grabar, is this change and its products a princely or an urban phenomenon? The answers to these questions with respect to BR’s image program and particular context, to be undertaken in the chapters to follow, will lead us, likewise, to the conclusion that BR is in fact quite different from the “Eastern” books so long held to be its model: the sorts of texts chosen, in both cases, for illustration could not be more different. Grabar also questions the widely accepted truism concerning the “centers” out of which, as currently accepted by scholarship, emanated the tastes and products related to this book industry: Baghdad, Syria, Spain, Aleppo and Northern Iraq/Mosul. Most specifically relevant to this study, he asks whether we are right in continuing to see Baghdad, despite its widely perceived, long-lived and prestigious status as the “center” of Arabic culture for most of the Muslim and Arabic-speaking world, as the (only) origin of this cultural phenomenon. On the other hand, and perhaps despite the “realities on the ground,” as Grabar notes, it is likely that the producers and audience of all of these books saw all of their paintings as “BaghdadƯ” in spirit, as participating in a sort of “imagined

Medieval andalusian courtly culture in the mediterranean

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community” based on language that had long ceased to reflect reality. Of particular importance to this study is the fact that this “imagined community” is characterized by local particularities and differences without, however, that sense of community being in the least compromised. Again, this point supports arguments for a less direct dependency of the AndalusƯ images on their supposed Eastern prototypes than has previously been allowed. It is very rare, as also observed by Grabar, that we ever have the name of a specific patron (especially a non-royal one) for any of the manuscripts making up this group; thus, discussions of patronage within the larger field of studies of “Arab Painting” are at present rather vexed. To this question belongs the problem of the frontispiece, which was considered by several of the papers presented at the SOAS symposium. Manuscripts with elaborate frontispieces are often discussed as being generally connected to “princely patronage,” and probably often rightly so (although Grabar now would perhaps argue that they are not related to the patronage and/or intended as portrayals of individual and specific princes but, rather, that they should be viewed as part of a generalized statement concerned with “wealth and power”). As we shall see, however, the questions asked must be different ones when we consider the frontispiece, badly damaged as it is, of BR, for it demonstrates an absolute lack of the characteristics often employed to associate Eastern frontispieces with princely circles. Rather, it concentrates on the dramatis personae of the narrative, thus opening up questions to which it has, thus far, been impossible to provide a satisfactory answer: Does the absence of reference to a patron in the images have to do with its not being, as I believe to be the case, an object produced for a particular court sphere? Was BR, perhaps, produced on spec, for sale to a larger market, and thus no allusion to a patron was possible? In the final sections of Chapter 2, it will be argued that, despite the theory of “Eastern origins” for the image program so deeply embedded in the meager scholarly literature which has been produced to date on BR, its most immediate sphere of relevance is the AndalusƯ and larger Iberian context in which it was produced. Similar observations concerning “Spanish” or AndalusƯ features apparent in the images have been made previously, but the larger cultural implications of these features have not been thoroughly explored. Departing from these earlier observations made by other scholars, I will direct the discussion toward the “courtly” subject matter that I believe to be the principal theme with which both BR’s image program and the larger visual culture of luxury objects to which it is related are concerned. Indeed, as will be the subject of Chapter 3, the manuscript may be placed into two successive but overlapping Iberian contexts. The first of these is that of its probable early thirteenth-century moment of production. Contrary, however, to the prevailing scholarly consensus, I will propose that BR is best understood as a product, not of (official) “Almohad” culture but, rather, of one of the smaller court contexts which peppered the Iberian dƗr al-IslƗm of the first half of the thirteenth century, many of which existed on the fringes of, or even in direct opposition to, the Almohad center of Seville. The second Iberian context I shall propose for BR is that of the mid to late thirteenth century, by which date it had almost certainly been produced, and by which moment the Almohad empire had for the most part disintegrated. By 1250, great chunks of its former territories, including the key capitals of Valencia, Murcia, Córdoba and Seville, had been (re)conquered by Christian forces led by Jaume I and his son, in Aragón, and in Castile

Introduction

9

first by Fernando III and, slightly later, by his son Alfonso X. The father, of course, would eventually become known as San Fernando, although similar elevation to saintly status has thus far eluded his son. Striking resonance with texts and images of Alfonsine production exists between both of those respective elements of BR. It is my contention that these objects were produced with a high degree of political and cultural selfconsciousness concerning the dialogues that were being established on the parts of Muslim, Jewish and Christian patrons and audiences. Many of these dialogues continued well into the earliest years of the sixteenth century, throughout the centuries viewed by many as the key ones to the process of “reconquista” and the progressive “Christianization” of the Iberian peninsula. No geographical indications besides Syrian origins are given in the text. During his interview with the Sayyida, following his performance at her majlis which was such a hit, he simply says that he has come to rest “in your country”—fƯ baladikum (f. 8r). The only other possible evocation of “real” place comes in the form of the designation of the Old Woman as “from Babylon” (16v). This, however, is probably more an indication of an exotic or somehow marginal or other quality which both narrator and public attach to her, a view clearly communicated throughout the text. It might also be an indication that the story (or the character) had, indeed, migrated into al-Andalus from elsewhere and had, even for AndalusƯ speakers of Arabic, an aura of the exotic about it. This does not, however, mean that I will argue an exotic “eastern” origin for the tale; quite the contrary—references to “Babylon” as imaginary site are much more common in Castilian literature (e.g., in the Libro de Alixandre), and this in fact represents the first of a series of larger Mediterranean and “European,” in addition to “Islamic,” connections to courtly culture and literature I shall be arguing for Vat. Ar. Ris. 368 in the fourth and final chapter of this study. Crucial, indeed, to its conception is a group of romances known as the “romans idylliques,” or the “idyllic romances,” a genre which is generally agreed to include the Old French Floire et Blanchefloire and Aucassin et Nicolette. BR, as preserved in its early thirteenth-century version, exhibits particularly striking connections to the former, and it is quite probable that the AndalusƯ text would never have been composed in the form in which we possess it today, were it not for contact with these “European” narratives concerning courtly love, but—as shall be seen—a courtly love which is definitively not an “Arthurian” one. Notes 1 As this study was reaching its completion, a seventeenth-century MaghrebƯ manuscript in the collection of the Chester Beatty Library in Dublin (CBL 4120) was brought to my attention by the organizers of a colloquium on the Arab story held in Liège in September of 2005— they opined that it “might contain” a version of BR. Upon traveling to Dublin, I discovered that the manuscript does indeed contain what is probably a much earlier (and definitely a much different) version of the narrative. Similarities, differences and the implications thereof are discussed in C.Robinson, “Re-Writing Genre: The and Mediterranean Courtly Narrative in the thirteenth Century,” in the proceedings of The Arab Story, an international symposium held at the Université de Liège, Belgium, 15–17 September 2005, ed. F.Bauden, A.Chraïbi and A.Ghersetti (forthcoming, 2006), and, briefly, in the final two chapters of the present study. Thanks, in particular, are due to Aboubakr Chraïbi, whom I suspect of being the source of the anonymous tip.

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2 The manuscript’s dimensions are in. (28.2×20 cm). Publications on BR include R.Arié, “Le Costume des Musulmans de Castille au XIIIe siècle d’après les miniatures du Libro del Ajedrez,” in Mélanges de la Casa de Velazquez, 2(1966), pp. 59–66; S.Khemir, in Al-Andalus: The Art of Islamic Spain, ed. J.D.Dodds (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, distributed by H.N. Abrams, 1992), pp. 312–313; U.Monneret de Villard, “Un codice arabo-spagnolo con miniature,” La Bibliofilia, XLIII (Ottobre-Dicembre 1941), pp. 209–223; A.R.Nykl, Historia de los amores de Bayad y Riyad, una chantefable oriental en estilo persa (Vat. Ar. 368) (New York: The Hispanic Society of America, printed by order of the Trustees, 1941); C.Robinson, “The Path to Perdition, or How to Get Lovesick: Preliminary Considerations of the {Vat. Ar. 368}”, in Seeing Things: Textuality and Visuality in The Islamic World, special issue of Princeton Papers (Princeton, NJ: Markus Wiener Press, 2001); (Vat. Ar. Ris. 368; al-Andalus, sig. XIII=VI), in Enciclopedia de al-Andalus, an encyclopedia of Andalusian texts and literature, ed. J.Lirola Delgado and J.M.Puerta (Granada: Fundación el Legado Andalusí, 2003), pp. 111–117; C.Robinson, “Going Between: Literary Types and the Construction of Female Identity in thirteenth-Century Spain,” in C.Robinson and L.Rouhi, eds., Under the Influence: Questioning the Comparative in Medieval Iberia (Leiden: Brill, 2004); eadem, “Preliminary Considerations on the Illustrations of Qissat [Vat. Ar. Ris. 369]: Checkmate with Alfonso X?,” in M.Müller-Wiener, C.Kothe, K.H.Golzio and J.Gierlichs, eds., Al-Andalus und Europa: Zwischen Orient und Okzident (Petersberg: Michael Imhof Verlag, 2004), pp. 285–296. Nykl (Chantefable, introduction) believes that BR might have been temporarily removed to Paris’s Bibliothèque Nationale during the early nineteenth century; one of the folios bears a stamp from that institution. Monneret de Villard (“Un codice arabo-spagnolo,” p. 211), for his part, suggests that it may have entered the Vatican’s collection during the first half of the sixteenth century along with “other Arabic mss.;” these mss. are not specified, and I have not yet identified them. 3 Neither Ibn al-NadƯm (fl. 987), al-Fihrist (Beirut: DƗr al-Kutub 1996), nor Carl Brockelmann, Geschichte der arabischen litteratur, 2 vols (Weimar: Felber, 1898–1902), nor F.Sezgin, Geschichte des arabischen Schrifttums (Leiden: Brill, 1967–) lists BR or any work which appears to be a version of it. 4 Given that what appears to be conceived as a frontispiece survives, however, it is likely that most of the initial folios have been preserved. 5 This is clarified somewhat by CBL 4120, assuming this is the version BR’s composers have appropriated. See Robinson, “Re-Writing Genre.” 6 The same is also true of most of the Arabic manuscripts to which BR is most often compared and to which it will be compared in this study. Thus, this is not necessarily an impediment to its study. 7 See Robinson, “The Path to Perdition.” 8 Works in which songs and stories are combined in Arabic literature have not yet been the object of a monographic study. Similar texts in French literature were the object of a monographic study by M.Bolton in The Song in the Story: Lyric Insertions in French Narrative Fiction, 1200–1400 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1993). The earliest Romance texts with lyric insertions analyzed by Bolton are either immediately contemporary to or slightly later than BR. 9 It is at this point that the story, as told in CBL 4120, ends: excessive singing of love songs brings about her sudden death! 10 Indeed, in a publication concerning the wall paintings originally in the Alhambra’a Palacio del Partal (late thirteenth or early fourteenth century) lists several references in AndalusƯ texts to such books, implying that they were far from uncommon, and were

Introduction

11

present in the Iberian peninsula as early as the caliphal period. See (Madrid, 1951). Al-Rusnjm al-JidƗrƯya al-IslƗmƯya 11 With the exception of Monneret de Villard (Bibliofilia), the first publisher of the images, who dated the manuscript to the early fourteenth century. Later scholarship, including this study, takes exception with this dating; this issue will be addressed in greater detail in the following chapter. 12 Nykl, Historia de los amores. 13 Monneret de Villard, “Un codice arabo-spagnolo.” 14 See above, note 2. 15 For the illustrations, see O.Grabar, The Illustrations of the Maqamat (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984), and for more accessible reproductions of some images (Grabar’s come in the form of microfilm), see S.Guthrie, Arab Social Life in the Middle Ages: An Illustrated Study (London: Saqi Books, 1995). For the MaqƗmƗt themselves, see (1054–1122), KitƗb al-maqƗmƗt al-adabƯyah (Egypt: 1326 [1908 or 9]); for an English translation, The Assemblies of al-HarƯrƯ, student’s edition of the Arabic text, with English notes, grammatical, critical, and historical introduction, by F.Steingass (London: Sampson Low, Marston & Co., 1897). The differences between the BR and MaqƗmƗt illustrations are implicitly characterized by Monneret de Villard (Bibliofilia, esp. pp. 212–213) as qualitative ones. The dependence of AndalusƯ cultural products on Eastern models is also assumed by Nykl, despite his expertise in matters AndalusƯ, in his characterization of the text, in the title of his publication, as “una chantefable oriental en estilo persa.” See also the facsimile edition of Paris BN arabe 5847, published by Touch@rt, London, 2004. 16 C.Robinson and L.Rouhi, eds., Under the Influence; L.Rouhi, Mediation and Love: A Study of the Medieval Go-between in Key Romance and Near Eastern Texts (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 1999). 17 “Islamic”: Dodds, Al-Andalus; “Jewish”: eadem, with V.B.Mann and T.F.Glick, eds., Convivencia: Jews, Muslims, and Christians in Medieval Spain (New York: G.Braziller in association with the Jewish Museum, 1992); “Christian”: The Art of Medieval Spain, AD 500–1200 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, distributed by H.N.Abrams, 1993). 18 Some of these include F.Márquez Villanueva, Orígenes y sociología del tema celestinesco (Barcelona: Anthropos, 1993); M.R.Menocal, Shards of Love: Exile and the Origins of the Lyric (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1994); M.R.Menocal, Ornament of the World: How Muslims, Jews, and Christians Created a Culture of Tolerance in Medieval Spain (Boston: Little, Brown, 2002); F.Prado-Vilar, Under the Shadow of the Gothic Idol: The Cantigas de Santa Maria and the Imagery of Love and Conversion (Ph.D. dissertation, Harvard University, 2002); Robinson and Rouhi, Under the Influence. 19 For example, M.Brownlee, K.Brownlee and S.G.Nichols, eds., The New Medievalism (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1991); for art history, the “great theorizer” has indisputably been the much-regretted M.Camille, e.g., The Medieval Art of Love: Objects and Subjects of Desire (New York: Abrams, 1998), and especially The Gothic Idol: Ideology and Image-making in Medieval Art (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 1989). 20 See above, note 2. 21 Witness the publication of an entire Cambridge anthology dedicated to the literature of al-Andalus (M.R.Menocal, R.Scheindlin, and M.Sells, eds., The Literature of Al-Andalus (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2000)); conversely, in the well-thumbed belles-lettres (ed. J.Ashtiany; Cambridge and New York: Cambridge anthology, University Press, 1990), al-Andalus is barely mentioned at all. Neither is BR mentioned in the AndalusƯ anthology.

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22 See C.Robinson, In Praise of Song: The Making of Courtly Culture in al-Andalus and Provence, AD 1065–1135 (Leiden: Brill, 2002). 23 C.J.Campbell, The Game of Courting and the Art of the Commune of San Gimignano, 1290–1320 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1997). 24 P.Grieve, Floire and Blancheflor and the European Romance (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997), pp. 4–8 and 159–181. 25 In the late thirteenth-century frescoes from the residence of the podestà at San Gimignano, Italy, discussed by Campbell, there appears a representation of what is almost certainly an AndalusƯ textile. A very luxurious pillow figures as a prop in the scene in which Andreuccio da Perugia is seduced and bedded by a “Sicilian” prostitute. Meanwhile, her servant robs Andreuccio blind. The setting is Palermo. 26 The same might be said for Camille’s The Medieval Art of Love, mentioned above. 27 Nykl, Historia de los amores. 28 See O.Zwartjes, Love Songs from al-Andalus: History, Structure, and Meaning of the Kharja (Leiden and New York: Brill, 1997); Zwartjes argues in favor of the representing the equivalent of “going slumming” for the classical Arabic AndalusƯ poets of the late eleventh and twelfth centuries, who he believes authored the “popular” compositions. 29 Some discussion of plot will necessarily take place as arguments are offered for the didactic function of the images in terms of their ability to impart desired courtly norms to their audience. 30 R.Ettinghausen, Arab Painting (Geneva: Skira, 1962). 31 The conference was organized by Prof. A.Contadini of the School of Oriental and African Studies at the University of London; it took place on September 17 and 18 of 2004. I would like to extend my sincere gratitude to Prof. Grabar for sharing the text of his unpublished paper with me and giving me permission to cite it here.

1 Translation [1v] …And time passes day by day through its ups and downs, Bringing nothing but tortures and destruction.

Figure 1.1 Frontispiece with dramatis personae, f. 1v Note: Images have been placed in the translation as they appear in the Arabic

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text, with one exception corresponding to the final very badly damaged folios, two of which are bound out of order. 1

The Old Woman said: When the servant girl had finished her song, the said to ”2 She said, “Indeed it is, her, “Indeed your heart is cross with your beloved, Oh looked at me and said to me: “Oh, Sister, is not by your life, my Lord!” Then the this young woman [slave girl] beautiful?”3 I said, “Indeed she is, and may God make you ” Then he called, “Oh, ” and another slave girl thrive, my Lord approached, with her two breasts appearing [lit., “on her chest”] like a pair of apples of pearl served up on a marble platter, pale-skinned and blonde, and I looked at her legs, and there were on them a pair of golden khƗl-khƗl, inlaid with priceless precious stones. When she walked, the way she moved plundered all rationality, in spite of her few years, with her grace, coquettishness, and perfection. She said, “Here I am, O, my Lord and ” Master!,” and he said to her, “Call The Old Woman said: And I said to myself, “Oh, dear God!,” then I said,“ presented herself to the and are many among the servant girls!” And when inclined herself before him, she almost broke in two because of the heaviness of her haunches and the firmness of her bosom, and the slenderness of her waist, with the elegance and lightness of her youth. And the saw me looking at her and said to me, “Tell me the truth, is she not beautiful?” And I said to him, “If this one’s not beautiful, then where are grace and beauty to be found?” And while we were talking thus, a slave girl approached. On her right were four servant girls, and on her left the same, and there were no words equal to the task of describing the beauty of her appearance, nor could they get to the truth of her innermost essence. And she wafted perfume, bending and swaying proudly like bamboo as she walked, flexible and pliant, silent and haughty. {Here a part of the story is missing—from the context we can gather that was the favorite, and that had seen her and fallen in love with her. The Old Woman has been called upon to act as a “Celestina,” and hasn’t been able to come might have liked…} through as rapidly as [2r] … And he stood and he sat, and he sat and he stood, and then finally he sat down and stayed still until I was sorry I had even told him the news. I thought he was going mad, and I didn’t speak to him [lacuna; probably “until he had calmed down”]… Then he said to me: “And what else?” And I said to him: “What more do you want than that?! I told you the news, and you became pale and speechless, and you got all worked up, and you stood up and sat down, and if you had a bit more sense, you wouldn’t have done what you’ve done! By God, you’ve got a feeble brain, and the proof of your feeble brain is that you fell in love with the favorite, in the own house, knowing his power and his high position and the greatness of his influence and his great love for and

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15

her importance to him, and you being a foreigner, and obviously not from around here. You were really way off base there!” The Old Woman said: And when he heard that from me, he fell facedown on the ground, and blood ran down his face, and when I saw him in that state, I said to myself, “This is indeed a great wrong that I have committed; I gave this poor stranger to eat and to drink and nourished his hopes, and then I cut him off. I should never have encouraged him at all…” And there we were for a while, until he raised his head, with the blood still running from the wound, and when I saw his state, I felt sympathy for him, and he said to me, “Oh, mother, what is the solution to this?!” And I said to him, “Oh, my son, Love without misfortune and shame is only possible through secrecy; indeed, from what we 4 know of great lovers [“ahl ”] like Qays and Kuthair and and the of passion—listing all of them would take forever—they were all put to the test through speaking of their beloveds in poetry, through divulging secrets and making themselves notorious, and they fell into madness and fainting, following the wrong road until they lost all possibility of being pardoned, while of those who conceal their secrets, and veil them, not one thing is known of them! There is no mention of them—a lot of people fall in love but the only ones we know about are the ones who disclose their secrets and make them known.” The Old Woman said: And he said to me, “Oh, mother, what can I say to you, since you have told the truth? But Love is the invited guest of the honorable, and the ornament of the educated, and the companion of the elegant!” And I said to him, “But what are you going to do? By God, you saw that is just as weak as you are, and firmly devoted to you. She’s showing all the symptoms of love and conviction. Her Mistress is fond of those who might please her in refinements and pleasures. She requests your attendance for the betterment of her majlis,5 and we have a rendez-vous for Friday, God willing. If you attend, control yourself and govern your soul, like one who is owner of his reason, and if you look at anyone, let your gaze be toward the Lady, or at me, as though nothing at all were going on, for the best men are those who measure before cutting, those who plan before acting. If you see that your beloved is possessed of gravity and silence, and gentleness and discretion, like someone who knows how to control herself, you may have hope of her, but if you see her behaving in a frivolous, flirtatious manner, forget about her and turn your heart from her, for reason is the best of God’s creations ” (see and the best of God’s gifts to his servants. Remember my counsel, oh, figure 1.2) [3r] The Old Woman said: When I had given my counsel, he stood before me and then kissed the ground in front of me, and I said to him, “Oh, my son, I don’t want this from you! What I want from you is that you keep your head about you and weigh your words and mind your elegant manners when you enter the castle of a noble woman!” And he said to me, “If everything must be as you say, then I’ll never be able to enter the castle!” And I said to him, “By God, it must be like that! The Lady thinks it is all for pleasure and enjoyment and for forgetting sorrows, and all this is to make happy, because of her Mistress’s love for her, because kings absolutely adore taking refined pleasures in a garden.”

Medieval andalusian courtly culture in the mediterranean

Figure 1.2 The f. 2r

counsels

16

I,

The Old Woman said: And he said to me, “Oh, mother, may God reward you! Do you think you can find out if the meeting will truly take place, and what has happened in the palace since you were last there, and find out the truth about these matters?” I said, “Yes,” and then I went to the palace and asked for permission to enter and was granted it. Then, once I was inside the palace, out came looking just like a star shining in the blackness of the night, wearing a thin green tunic and wrapped in a shawl of colored stripes over green, so slender I was afraid she’d break right in two, and the girl just about…as she moved first left and then right, getting everything ready for the majlis, with the slave girls there in front of her with flasks of perfume and wine, and different sorts of sweets. She had a cane in her hand, and she was using it to order the other girls around, half serious and half joking. I took her by the hand and drew her aside…and said to her, sends you his greetings…for love of you, so tell me, what ruse “Oh, ?” And I said, “The shall we use and how shall it be?” And she said, “Who is young man, a very literary sort—you know, the poet you saw from atop the tree…you two had a rendez-vous for Friday! The Old Woman said: And when I told her that [3v], she fainted dead away, and the ? By God, our slave girls hurried up, saying, “What has happened to our friend, lives will be dark and all hope will have fled if anything serious has happened to her!” Then they brought rosewater and camphor and splashed her face with it. (see figure 1.3) The Old Woman said: And when she came to, she said to the other slave girls, “Don’t say a word to the Sayyida about what you’ve seen here [4r]; I just moved a bit more quickly than I usually do.” So they didn’t say another word, and went back to their tasks. So I was alone with her again, and I said to her, “So, what have you decided?” And

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she said, “Okay, when we reach the garden, let him be nearby, and when he hears us, let him make a signal with refined movements, so that we may know where he is, just in case someone might happen along the path and hear us.”

Figure 1.3 fainting, attended by the slave girls and the f. 3v The Old Woman said: And I put my confidence in her and left her presence and the castle; and I went to him and told him the news, and we passed that night. And so the next morning we went toward the appointed meeting place. I walked ahead a ways, and let him walk toward the river, to the garden I mentioned earlier. I saw that he had brought a lute of very good quality, and I hadn’t realized that he was a lutenist. When I reached the garden [lacuna]… I found [lacuna]…carpets, cushions, stools, and different types of

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delicacies, food and drink…as befits women of their class…and I sat down for a moment, and the whole group of girls approached me and laid out silken beds and furnishings…worldly and young and by God I thought the garden…[this lacuna undoubtedly had the word “paradise” in it somewhere]…from what I saw of their beauty and their astonishing appearance and their splendor and magnificence and…the painful wooing of his two cheeks…after that the Lady said to them, “Be seated!”… Then they sat down, and excellent food was brought, and different kinds of fruit were offered, all of which were astonishing, then she ordered more of all of that…and the male slaves stood guard at the garden gate. Then pleasure made its rounds, and the playing and singing began. Then the Lady said to one of her slave girls named Shamnjl, “Sing something for us!” She said, “Yes, I’d be honored!,” and she took up the lute and tuned it and jumped in6 and began to sing these verses: [wƗfir] (see figure 1.4)

[5r] Love enslaved me and I melted into flowing passion And it obsessed me; my heart died loving. Love emaciated me, and I was given a cup to drink That stopped my pain, but with grief and agonies. I was struck with love and its arrow of death, And nothing is left to us while they abide. I have nothing save eyelids from which tears flow, Running over two cheeks. From the eyes of a delicate young girl desperately seeking, Came her deadly lids to stir up turbulent wars in my heart. If she looks at the lovesick one from beneath her eyelids, Death creeps stealthily through his bowels. The Old Woman said: And when the slave girl had finished her song, the Sayyida said to her, “May God protect me, Shamnjl! I was filled with sadness by your song; would you sing something else for us?” She said, “Yes, my Lady, I’d be honored!,” and she tuned her lute and sang these verses, saying: [kƗmil]

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19

Figure 1.4 The Sayyida’s majlis, I; Shamnjl performs, f. 5r

Passion toyed with me, girded as I was with patience, So that I buried my secrets in a tomb. And I started to complain of the pains I suffer, Which burn like embers between my sides.

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Then my tears flowed like burning fire Down my breast like torrential rain. And I complained of the affection hidden in my mind, Whose burnings flash back and forth between my heart and my breast! When a lover such as I suffers from passion, No one forgives him if he’s able to sleep! And the Lady said: “Well said!,” and then she called, “Oh, Ghaida!” And a very young girl answered her, who looked like the shining sun up in the sky, and the Sayyida said to her, “By the obedience you owe me, take up the lute and sing something for us!” So the girl took up the lute, tuned it, and began to sing these verses where it says: [kamƯl]

[5v] An ill one is melting from the terrible sorrow That’s burning up his sides and his innards; And from the heat of his sighs, whose vehemence melted The veils from his heart, his body and his bones! “As God is my witness! How passion torments me, my patience wanes and my innards break! My beloved’s heart is perfectly peaceful While my love for him makes my tears flow! Then wine made the rounds among them for a while, and the Sayyida said, “Oh, by the obedience you owe me, sing for me!” The girl said, “Yes, my Lady, I’d be greatly honored!” Then she took up the lute and sang these verses, where it says:

Oh, you who scold me so bitterly, your criticisms Are like fire in my entrails—Don’t leave me tormented by passion! Have pity on a slave of passion, consumed by flames, Sick, who finds only sorrows and is tyrannized by pain and insomnia! He gets up and goes to bed drowning in the seas of pain—

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Who will come to the aid of the one who has drowned in the seas of desire? He was flooded by passion’s tears and they appeared on his cheeks— Then he tried to warm himself at the fires of desire and he got burned! The Old Woman said: Then another slave girl called (Remedy) took up the lute and tuned it and sang, with great gusto, some verses that go like this: [kƗmil]

I never before knew what love was, Until I learned; {Love} made me her prisoner. In love I found sickness, I knew its painful pleasures, its burning thirst, and its torments. My body clothed itself in transparent paleness; Forever upon me is its gauntness and emaciation. Oh, do not rebuke me, for I am a slave of love And my heart is aggrieved by the one it loves. [6r] And the Lady said: “How beautiful! Sing something else for us!” The girl said, “Yes, my Lady, I’d be honored!” Then she started singing, where it says: [kƗmil]

I am drunk on love, but wine has no effect on me, Even if it were a lot. Wine travels through the veins, But love does not drag the harnesses of wine from me when it’s flowing through. Love is a fire in the entrails, and there’s no avoiding it, And no drunkenness from it like wine. Drunkenness can be rooted out, but love won’t be ousted And wine is all fun, while infatuation makes for heavy thinking. He who drinks wine sees its sweet pleasures, But as for the wine of passion, although it’s bearable, it doesn’t offer consolation.

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The Lady said: “May God protect us from a passion with no sweetness because of its bitterness, from one that can’t be withstood because of its strength; the best way through through the straightest part of it, and moderation this matter is the middle way should always come first. Then she said, “Oh, MudƗm!7 Take the tambour and sing us a song! The slave girl took up the tambour and tuned it, and immediately began to sing these verses, where it says: [kƗmil]

I had a rendez-vous with the one I love, and there’s nothing wrong in it— I even saw uprightness in exposing myself to shame and critics; I reached the limits of love and of my resistance to it. I forsook my joys, so that they became forbidden to me, So I was united with my sorrows, and I spent the night in wakefulness, Forbidding my eyes to taste of sleep. I cut the cords of patience, obedient to passion, And made obligatory to myself the spilling of tears in shame: There is no consolation for me, and I’ll have no rest, Until I shall find the death that is predestined for me! The Lady said: “I’ll seek refuge in God from the moans and sighs of love, and the loss of reason, for to him to whom befalls such a thing, is truly befallen a great disaster.” The singing stopped when the Lady began to speak, and coughed [6v] twice lightly. and go see At this sign, the Sayyida said, “By God, our guest is with us! Get up, if our guest has found us!” And while we were thus, we heard hands clapping and beating rhythm, then a kƗmil, and then we heard someone, a man, singing these out a verses, where it says: [kƗmil]

What’s wrong with the critic? May the fires of passion sear him! And may ardent passion roast his heart and his sides, And tomorrow may he long for union with a tyrannical beloved Until tears run down his cheeks! May he be wretched and each day meet with the torments Of his lot, of his sickness and his laments. May his heart be tortured and his entrails steadfast in their torment;

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His eyes will well forth his forlorn tears. May sleep flee him, and may he keep nightly vigil in the darkness, With its stars, its planets and its suns And, sleepless, may he not wrest any slumber from the night; And when morning comes, may it bring him renewed pain! May his days find him biting his fingernails because of his desire, And may night reveal to you his humiliations! And may this description of a heart made slave to love be enough for you: Passion circumambulated it8 and made pieces of it! (And the Old Woman said:) And when heard that, she recognized the song, and it was as if she bowed her head in embarrassment, afraid that her Lady would find her out through it. She was on the point of climbing up into a tree, and her clothing got caught in its branches, and she was afraid that she might fall to the ground. The Lady called out to her, “By the rights I have over you, why don’t you come down from there?!” And then she called to another slave girl, “Help me and get down from there, and then look and see who that is singing!” The slave girl climbed up into the highest part of the tree, and when she had gotten a look and seen him, she climbed down and said, “Oh, my Lady, I saw him and by God he is a lovely guest—young, intelligent, handsome in appearance, and if you think that maybe he could stay with us until sunset, we could enjoy him on this day, for he is [7r] [here there is a lacuna, possibly of an entire page]. came down after me, then the Lady offered food, and said to me, …And “Give him something to eat, Oh, my Aunt!” And he ate very elegantly, in an exemplary and noble manner [zarƯf]. Then the food was cleared away, and she said to him, “Will you have something to drink?,” and he said, “Yes, I’d be honored!” Then the Lady said to one of her slave girls named “Oh, take the lute and sing something for our guest!” She said, “Yes, I’d be honored to!” Then she took the lute and tuned it and jumped in and started to sing the one that goes like this:

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The arrows of a glance split my entrails; My patience was exhausted and my body was weakened. And sleep fled me and love kept me awake, With the pains of grief and sadness. What ails me is terrible, and I see no one Who might help me, in all of Creation. Leave off your criticizing, then, I beg you, for God’s sake! For it is the greatest of torments to me! (And the Old Woman said:) And when the slave girl had finished with her poem, she and placed the lute in his lap and said to him, “Do, my kissed the ground before took the lute and jumped in Lord, that which I know you to be capable of doing!” and began to sing these verses, where it is said:

I forbade my eyelids to suffer through a vigil, And I charged them to never allow me to know relief. I cleaved ceaselessly to my insomnia, and then I said to my sighs, “Move your burning embers to my breast! And you, my liver, melt away; and you, oh, fire of my sighs, Grow even bigger, so that love may better pounce!” And loving bewitchment indeed wounded my heart And ignited my desires and loosened their reins. (And the Old Woman said:) He was silent for a second, and then he started singing these verses, where it says:

[7v] Passion and desire shot deadly arrows at me And thus what there was of them already in my heart was doubled! I came down then with the sickness that was in my heart, And the key to it all was the glance of an eye!

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How sad is the heart which is tormented and pained, Agitated by day and lost, by night, in the sea of mortal anguish! Before, I knew not what passion and its torments were, But here I am now, in love, with passion for my companion. I headed toward desire, exhausted by passion, And because of that calamity my heart fell into disgrace! And the Old Woman said: And when he had finished his poem, he breathed a sigh and began to sing these verses, where it says:

Because of passion, flaming fires of love burn in my chest, And desire slips furtively to the furthest reaches of my heart. Love holds absolute power over my soul, A power that would make the hardest iron melt. Nevertheless, I consent to make Love my intimate companion, Even though it makes my entrails burn! Its terrible power breaks me to pieces through desire, Causing me pain and tears! (see figure 1.5) (And the Old Woman said:) And when his paroxysm had passed, he kissed the lute and he put in on the carpet, saying, “That’s the extent of my knowledge of singing,” and the Sayyida said to him, “It was beautiful—you offered us something truly marvelous…true 9 10 It’s no wonder your name is Tell me something about yourself, whose son you are and all that…” ibn ibn ibn IdrƯs,11 from the city of Damascus, “I am 12 in the bilƗd al-shƗm. I was traveling with my father until we reached your country, because of business, and my father left to go and work. He left me alone to enjoy myself, and I was amusing myself greatly here at the shore of this river, consoling myself and delighting my eyes in the views and the scenery, when, at some moment during the day, there appeared to me from among the trees a girl, [8r] and I have not been able to see her again since that day, since that moment.” And the Sayyida said, “Well, come here to us each Friday, because we are always here,” and then she said, “Oh, would you recognize the young girl with whom you spoke if you saw her?,” and he said, “No, by your life.” The Sayyida said to him, looked at her, and “Well, this is the one, my good sir!,” and pointed to said, “Without a doubt, this is the one.” Then the Sayyida said to him, “By God, is she not beautiful?” And he said to her, “Oh, Sayyida, truly the moon and the stars shine because of her light!,” and the Sayyida said to him, “By your merit, and the truth of your

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affection and the superiority of your origins and the acuteness of your intellect, keep secret all that you see here, and don’t go making yourself all hoarse about it—do the right said: “Oh, Sayyida, nothing at all will be said about thing, and the proper thing!” this, for your servant is of the ones who accept wise counsel and allow themselves to be taught; I trust in God and in his Prophet to preserve me from such an error!” (And the Old Woman said:) And then the Sayyida ordered one of her slave girls to sing, and she took up the lute and tuned it and immediately began to sing these verses where it says: [kƗmil]

Figure 1.5 The Sayyida’s majlis, II; performs, f. 7v

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I saddled up love’s gaze, and headed down the road toward the travails of desire. Passion has decreed that I be humiliated for all time, But I made of my humiliation a triumphal crown! I sink my cheek to the dust because of passion, Because I no longer wish to maintain my pride. I agreed to suffer what I suffer now, And because of this passion, I suffer a sea of sorrows! But, although passion has tormented my body, My heart will not turn away from it! And when the slave girl finished her poem, the Sayyida said, “Very nice, may God bless you!” [8v] And then she said, “Oh, Surnjr!13 Sing something for us so that our guest does said to her, “By God, Sayyida, not at all!” and not change his idea of us!” And (And she [the Old Woman] said:) the slave girl took up the lute and tuned it and threw herself into singing these verses where it says:

I let go my reins and my downfall appeared! I allowed my tears to run and prudence was washed away. I became the companion of love, and I made it public— I exchanged the sweetness of sleep for insomnia! In my ignorance, I held tight to the shudderings of love, And the evils of passion wounded my heart. My friend shot at me arrows from beneath her languid lids, Which hit my heart, to humiliate me in my haughtiness! (The Old Woman said:) And when heard the Sayyida’s command and Surnjr had finished her poem, he took up the lute and tuned it and began to sing these verses where it says:

Passion called me and I responded, And it gave me to drink from a detestable cup.

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It placed between my breast and my entrails Sighs and fire, whose flames never go out. How pitiable is the eye, when night comes— It watches all night, though the tears never stop! How pitiable is the body that suffers for so long— And the eye that is tormented by the pains of love! (The Old Woman said:) And when the poem was finished the Sayyida said, “Oh, by my dominion over you, why don’t you sing something touching for us? Because I love you, and I love to hear you sing.” She said, “Yes, I’d be honored,” and took up the lute and tuned it and threw herself into singing these verses where it says:

The eyelids’ arrow aimed at that which is in the heart, [9r] And the torrent of tears caused it humiliation and torment. To him who is the victim of passion, it is shameful— The water falling from those eyelids, when it runs and spills over! To the one who is victim of the disdain that torments him, He feels its burning, and the flames of desire burn in him— During the night, he watches, and his soul is mad with love. He suffers sorrow, anguish, torments and worries. Oh, you two lauzengiers, stop reproaching me, because the ruins Of patience and the madness of love have covered over that which was. (see figure 1.6) [9v] (The Sayyida said:) “Very pretty—your song pleased us!” She said, “Yes,” and then immediately began to sing the one that goes: [khafƯf]

What’s wrong with the love-mad one, That his tears run thus down his cheeks? In his entrails are anguish and lovelorn care, And his chest holds sighs.

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Because of this, the lover’s day begins with torment, And during the night sleep mistreats him. His body is emaciated and fire is found in his heart— Because of this he is wounded—destroyed! The Old Woman said: And when finished her verses, said, “It’s quite natural that his body becomes emaciated and that his heart is rent apart, and that he goes right ahead in his passion and doesn’t turn back!” Upon hearing these words, smiled, sighed, and recited these verses:

My heart complained about my eyes and my eyes accused my heart— The one is the slave of the others because of desire and love! My eyes wounded my heart and he threw back at them a river of tears That fall in drops, like pears, down the cheek. Giving away hidden passion and its torments, He shouts, “Is there no one who will treat with justice one who loves as much as I?” And when finished reciting her poem, grabbed the lute from her hands and tuned it and rashly began to sing these verses, where it says:

It is right that love be pleasant to the lover, If the one who should treat him justly in love does so. If not, then there is no sincerity, and the lauzengier Cannot censure him, if he strays from the truth. There is no love except in confidence and sincerity, For the lauzengier is unjust in his deeds. How sad is the lover whose heart melts In his breast, and is exhausted by passion’s sorrows.

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Figure 1.6 The Sayyida’s majlis, III;

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performs, f. 9r

[10r] And when finished his poem, said to him, “make God make miserable those who deceive and abandon and flee from and unjustly treat their beloveds, and do not fulfill wishes even though the possibility exists for union,14 or for finding a said, “Trustworthy ones are few.” way to make one happen,” and

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Then the Sayyida said, “Oh, you are a true poet and a proficient man of letters15—we only recite what we have learned or memorized and that which we know by heart, and that which we have heard from others, but you say that which you find within yourself, may God bless you and protect you, and reward you with the goodness of happiness, and all of us beg you [10v] to lend to us awhile your intellect and your being and your presence and your knowledge of poetry. We wish you to describe for us our garden,16 for there is no doubt of your capacities—by God, we only ask you because now said to her, “Yes, I’d be greatly honored!,” we’re on friendly terms with you.” and then he lowered his head thoughtfully for a while, and composed, saying:

Oh, you who are covered with myrtles and fresh narcissus, And with red and white roses, each mixed with the other! It seems that the color of the roses is the confusion of a virgin, With which love plays, kissing and biting. It seems that the yellow paleness of the narcissus as it grows Is like coins minted of pure gold. It seems that the eyes of the lily as they open Are the eyes of a virgin just waking from sleep. It seems that the pure cup is a star that has appeared to us; At times, it rises and at others it sets. It seems that the cheeks of the drinkers, after the wine has run down them, Are embers burning on the ground. (The Old Woman said:) And when he had finished his poem, the Sayyida said, “This is 17 stood up and kissed the ground before truly adab!” Then a young girl named the Sayyida and said, “Oh, Sayyida, might I be permitted to ask an improvisation from this elegant poet?” And the Sayyida said, “I fear that our guest might find that too much.” on hearing this, said, “Order her, Oh, Sayyida, to ask for whatever she wishes, for whoever stands up to improvise, and whoever requests improvisation before you has been elevated in rank by God himself,” and the Sayyida said, “Well, then, ask the adƯb, I give you permission.” The slave girl kissed the ground and said, “Oh, sir, praise our said, “Yes, I’d be greatly honored!,” and Sayyida and Honored Mistress for us!” he improvised, saying:

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Figure 1.7 The Sayyida consults with after throwing an inkwell at the f. 13v [11r] Oh, you who achieved with beauty both discretion and royalty, To such an extent that you are higher than the stars when they appear!

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Her qualities are excellent upbringing and education, nobility and splendor! Her complexion is more beautiful than the bud of the rose! The force of her soul is higher than the constellations, And she has no equal in all of humanity! Whenever she appears among the virgins of haughty breast, The best of them envies her! (The Old Woman said:) And the slave girls all stood up and kissed the ground before on hearing those verses, and they said to him, “Well the Sayyida and before done, by God, that was beautiful, but there’s one thing left that you must do…” The Sayyida said, “What might that be? What is left for him to do, you playful ones?” And to the point they said to her, “Without a doubt he must describe for us our sister that such a thing is possible, since she is beyond description in her true essence.” And said, “Let this be by your orders, Oh, Sayyida.” The Sayyida said, “Yes,” and said, “But what might I be able to say in this matter, Oh, Sayyida?” And the said, “Truly I am not able; my Sayyida said to him, “Do the best you can!” And cannot reach the heights of her charms.” The Sayyida said, “Let it be to you said, “And if I were to something between a request…and a DEMAND!” So describe her shyness, her splendor, her beauty, or her excellence, or her perfection, or her silence, or her charms, or her completeness, or her gaze, or her paleness, or her neck, or the redness of her cheeks or her silence, or her stature, or her tenderness, or her neck or her breasts or her hips or her coquettishness or her beauty or her elegance, for truly I am ” But the confused, and am really able to do nothing… I can do nothing with this Sayyida said to him, “Oh, sir, no poetry could be more beautiful than that which you have said to her, “Order me to say whatever I might, by means of just said in prose!” my capabilities and the eloquence of my tongue, and my intellect; and with luck, my words will not offend.” The Sayyida said to him, “Say whatever you wish; truly I have learned that you are not lacking in strength in what you say.” responded, “Yes.” And then he sighed deeply and composed, saying: [kƗmil]

[11v] Oh, you of the languid glances, genteel and of soft skin, Moon of the night and more resplendent than the sun, Delicate of complexion and slim!

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Her tunic of silk and her mantle are the very embodiment of beauty, White skin, of a fresh, patent loveliness! She shoots a glance and her eyes wound all mortals. In her cheeks is a most pleasant garden of beauty, And in her neck there is charm, how beautiful it is! If she looked at the heart of an indifferent one, she would shoot into it Arrows of death, and he would never love another! Or if she touched a hard stone, water would flow from it! Or if she spoke to a dead man, he would say to her, “Here I am!” Beauty is resplendent in the rays which shine from her forehead, And from her wafts a breeze of camphor and musk. She deprived me of the forces of my patience and I do not hope For remedy for my love in this world, if it come not from her. (The Old Woman said:) And when he finished the somewhat troubled recitation of his and the Sayyida and the slave girls said, “That was truly beautiful, by God, poem, oh, we loved it!” said, “By God, there is nothing further left concerning 18 this matter!” But said, on hearing this, “Oh, bring me the lute,” and she took up the lute and tuned it and began rashly to sing these verses, where it says:

Truly the fires of love have burned in my heart And melted my body from the pains of love— I was left without my soul, and I spent the night sleepless, Trying to contain the tears caused by the ardor of love. There is an amorous passion in my soul, whose flames never go out, And my patience has betrayed me, as did my good sense. Sorrows torment me with burning sighs, Together with a love lodged between my breast and my heart. There is no one to help me in the torment of my love, Except tears that flow from my eyes like rain.

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What consolation, what patience, can I expect for my passion, Since there is no remedy which can free my heart from the torment of love? Why is he whom I love distant and far? And why is there no possibility of reunion? What ruse must the lover employ? [12r] Then she began to cry, and her eyes filled with tears, and the entire majlis fell silent, right down to the last one. Then she got control of herself and swallowed her tears and impetuously began to recite these verses, where it says:

I am afflicted and put to the test—my eyes have been sickened By the friend whom I see close to me, but who does not come close. I have reached the height of passion, My sickness is my shroud, and my eyelids my mourning. I find no patience; my soul melts with love. I cannot hide it, for my tears are like torrential rain. This passion—has taken hold of me and melted me, So that my body is sick and has grown weak. Before, I had a great aid in my patience, but now It is broken, and I have neither patience nor aid, And there is no one but tears and eyelids To aid me against the torments of passion! (The Old Woman said:) And when she finished her poem, the Sayyida said to her, “By ? And what have you ever asked of me God, in what have I not aided you, Oh, which I have not given to you? By God, I have sought your favor and your pleasure, even to the point of uniting you here with your beloved, the two of you here together in one majlis, with me present! I even took pleasure in the matter, just as if nothing at all were going on, and I said to myself, may God judge, may his will be done, for only He knows the length of my time, or of hers. And my father has asked me to give you to him, but I couldn’t bring myself to do that, but by God, now I’ll sell you in the market for nothing!”

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Then she tore her gown and stood up, enraged, and behaved in a most violent manner. The slave girls fled toward the interior of the garden. But they couldn’t find the way out, and they were afraid of betrayal and shame. came over to me and said, “My Lady, I have made a grave mistake, and now will come the rumors, and the disclosing [of the secrets]!” The Old Woman said: And I said to her, “You did not do right by us…you ruined the majlis and the loveliness of the day,” then I took and examined him closely, and I took his lute with me and left with him, as though he were one of [12v] the slave girls. The guards didn’t realize what had happened in the garden, and stayed there crying, sad and sorry for what she had done. We arrived home without further incident, and said, “Do you see, Oh, my Mother, what has been God’s will, may the glory be his?” I said, “Yes, I see.” And he said to me, “And what now?,” and I said to him, “I don’t know,” and thus we spent that perfidious night. When God decreed dawn, I went to the Sayyida’s palace, and the first thing I saw was the slave girls standing there, and they greeted me and kissed my hands. They were crying, lamenting they begged me to intercede in her favor for her with the Sayyida but I said, “I don’t know if I’ll have much luck with what I’m going to say in her favor, because she got herself into this one and got into real trouble with the Sayyida.” And they all answered me, “Yes, you’re right, but please just do us this favor!” I said to them, “I’m going to employ all of my powers, if I get a good excuse to do it, that is—if not, I’m making my excuses beforehand.” They said: “Oh, Lady, that’s wonderful, and may God bless you!” Then I went on my way until I reached the place where the Sayyida was seated at the edge of the pond, and was standing before her, with her face scratched and her clothing torn. I greeted the Sayyida and she returned the greeting, and said, “I had thought of sending for you, and then I really couldn’t face this matter, since I left your presence and the garden in that state, which Our Lady created for us… It wasn’t enough for her that I united her with her beloved in my presence and with my benediction! She catapulted me toward destruction, risking all sorts of danger with my father, and she didn’t even consider that, until she shamed herself and made her love public in front of me, and in front of you!” Then the Sayyida took an ivory inkwell that she had in her hands and threw it at face, and it hit her on the forehead. The blood ran down her cheek, and she didn’t move from where she was; she said nothing to express her pain and humiliation. And when the Sayyida saw her that way, she took me by the hand to another building on the palace grounds. Then she closed the door [13r] and said to me, “Did you see what is happening with this? By God, please be my intermediary in this matter because she has committed no crime at all against me—it was my fault and my soul is full of anguish for her because of all this, and in truth my entrails have been split, and my body has melted!” (The Old Woman said:) I said to her, “Oh, my Lady, I really hope that God changes hearts and puts an end to all of this ill will…[13r] for we are all women and we have no reason and so we don’t know how to guide ourselves—how can we guide ourselves, then? There’s no blame in what did, because in fact it was you who began with the playing and singing, relaxing the norms and disregarding precaution, and you entered with us into the sport of it, and then the poor thing, wound up with the blame for

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what SukrƗ and KhamrƗ and and So-and-So and What’s-Her-Name said, even though there was more talk of love in what they sang than in what she did, but sang what she felt and then you blamed her and reproached her for it! What they all said was from the outside, while what she said was from within. Did you ever stop to think that maybe all of them, when they recited their poems and their ghazal, did just the same thing that she did?” The Sayyida said, “Yes, you’re right, but the crime that I committed, I committed against my very soul and against her, because of my indulgence and willingness to grant her every wish,” and then she composed [these verses], saying: [kƗmil]

If I had not opened the door to bad luck, She would not have been able to enter my stronghold. Time betrayed me, when I considered it Serene, and this is truly a grave and serious thing! I did not consider myself the possible victim of my own neglect, And just as destiny decreed, my blood is spilled by my own hand! By God, I will never again know delight without her, Since she has left—For this reason separation seems so intolerably long! (The Old Woman said): And when lamented, and improvised, saying: [kƗmil]

heard her, she moaned and cried and

My heart is tormented by the pains of love, And my body made thin by my illness’s excess. Sadness has covered me with its roof, And I became agitated and began to pace beneath it. My sorrow made sleep impossible for my eyes, And my torment, because of my long separation from my friend, is long. In my breast there is a fire that burns [14r] And its torrent spills from my eyelids to my chest. My tears mix with blood and with persistent love, Lodged deep in my heart, never to leave!

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And then she grabbed a whole fistful of her hair and ripped it out, and it fell into her palm, and she improvised, saying: [kƗmil]

God knows how much pain is in my heart, And perhaps He who has afflicted me will relieve that which I suffer. Passion has infected my entrails and has shattered their firmness, So that I have dressed myself in sickness beneath my clothing. You are my Lady, and the desire of my soul, And your fear-inspiring word is my greatest torment. I can stand no more, for passion Sets the flames of my sorrows on fire in my entrails! (The Old Woman said:) And the Sayyida looked at her and turned red and improvised, saying:

I had a good opinion of you, Oh, and I was deceived by My thoughts, because it was predestined: You were kept guarded in my palace beneath an ornate veil, So that no eyes would happen upon you, and so that you might see nothing. But things transpired which I could not avoid, And this only happened because of God’s preordained decree! (The Old Woman said:) And when heard that, the words of her Sayyida, she fell down to the ground, unconscious, and the wound in her face opened again. The blood started to flow again. The Sayyida stood up and cleaned the blood from face with her hand, and improvised, saying:

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Oh, you were very close to me, And after being so close, you distanced yourself; I began {my versus? My involvement in this} hoping to reach a happy end, was not bad. And my opinion, oh, I believed that there was no error in what you did, And, unfortunately, you did not understand me well. [14v] I believed that you were, oh, very strong, From whence one may hope for help along the roads of passion. And when… heard that, she stood up, cleaning the blood from her face and, sobbing, she improvised, saying: [wƗfir]

I was strong when my heart Was free, without knowing what love is. But passion enslaved me, and desire, Until I fell into all the sorrows of love. Torment and suffering excite my desire— What a shame, what a long burning! I myself was the key to my torment— For this reason, Oh, my Lady, I deserve my punishment! Pardon me or scold me—in truth, my soul Is tortured with many torments! I can no longer stand the pain by which Tears fall in torrents from my eyes. I “caught” love through ignorance, And illness clothed me beneath my garments. For this reason, take me by the hand and cool the fire of my desire For, by the greatness of your power, what I suffer is terrible! (The Old Woman said:) And the Sayyida looked at her, sobbing, and improvised, saying:

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How may a man propose to run his own life, given that his affairs Are ruled by He who disposes, in his wisdom, of all things? He either decrees for him happiness and good fortune, or torment— Such is the decree that he disposes and ordains. Do what you will, pay attention to it or not, It is necessary—imperative—that God’s will be done! I watched over you, oh, as well as I could, but I could not avoid the foreordained will of God! (The Old Woman said:) And I said her, “Oh, my Lady, is under your protection, and within your palace, and she didn’t realize the extent of your favor and your power over her. Leave her to her thoughts and her state,” and then I stood up and took my leave of her… [There seems to be as much as an entire page missing here.] [15r]…and I said to him, “Well, I don’t know, but perhaps God has caused all of this for his own reasons, and I can’t be there promoting your affairs every day—I’m afraid they’ll think I’m a pest, and there’ll be a lot of talk and problems.” When he heard my words, he walked out as though he were angry with me, and I went to him and scolded him and helped him to get himself together, and I said to him, “We wanted only good, and we got bad; we wanted only the pious, correct and appropriate, and what came out was ugly, and I’ve practically turned into a pimp here, but I didn’t do what I did with you in order to bring you disaster, and not because I want anything from you either. Rather, I did it because this is the way free and noble people behave, and I did it for that reason—this is the way Honorable People behave, and the noble ones of ancient times! But you don’t even thank me, and you don’t see the matter clearly either.” He left me, sobbing and muttering these verses to himself: (see figure 1.8)

My love afflicted me and my tears ran Like torrents which fall from rain clouds [15v] And excited my travails, and great was my disgrace! The arrows of desire split my chest open; I spent the night wakeful, watching over the stars because of you, Desiring that the planets which appeared would set,

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Helped in this by a soul moved by torment, And the limbs of my body fleeing from my bed.

Figure 1.8 The

counsels

II, f. 15r

My heart is anguished and its wounds pain me, And my eyes do not sleep from such a long jag of crying. I wish I had news of my Friend because of whom disaster has come upon me, If I could just stop crying for a moment so I could see! I complain, and I have no spirit for rest, even for a moment! Oh, that someone would come to the aid of my always-tormented heart! It is constantly agitated by torment, Like the leaves on the branch in the winds that blow! How will I survive, if my heart is thus pained, And my patience has betrayed me, so that it will never return?

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(The Old Woman said:) And I said to him, “My son, stop this—don’t make yourself a statistic of lovesickness. There is much good to be gained in keeping the secret…and if you keep on like this it’ll be Fate that you have a rendez-vous with, and Harm, and you won’t get any of what you desire. is in the same state that you are, and she will be sure to have news of you and your comings and goings, and if we can’t manage to get you…, and if we see that we can’t stand it any more, I’ll go myself to the palace and I’ll get in there by hook or by crook, and put you on the road to hope… If the Sayyida asks me about you, I’ll tell her everything I can, and God willing her heart will soften toward since she loves her so much, and you two can be united in another majlis. Great lovers are happy with letters and even less than that! You even have news of your beloved, and you are sure of her affections, so I don’t know what you’re complaining about!” And then he left me and stayed out until late in the afternoon, and when he came in to where I was, in his hands was a letter, on which were written these verses:

May God make ashamed the lying, betraying friend, And may He preserve the sincere and affectionate lover! By your life, oh, most noble and high of all beings, The only one of whom I have hope for a doctor! [16r] And whose love I consider, although it is killing me, As the most desired destiny, as the most lovely fate. May God bring near to me a visit from him, To ease the constant pain of my love and the beating of my heart! I fled from sleep, and during the night I see the stars; In my entrails, the pains of love cause burning, So that my night is turned into day and my day to suffering, So that I try to relieve my anguish and my sorrows! I am astonished I am still alive because, in truth, It is marvelous that one afflicted by such sorrows may still live! I became a victim in the hands of misfortune, And from her, I suffered horrors, because it was God’s will; Before, I knew nothing of the contrariness of fate— Nor did I taste of the blowings of disgrace’s breeze. Now the madness of love has become my companion, And I do not see the setting of passion’s sun near.

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You are my soul and the memory of you came to be My sweet companion, oh doctor, for the ills which ail my heart! For this reason, when you see a message from me, I beg you, By everything that there is in all creation, don’t fail to answer me! With this, I will relieve the love hidden in my entrails— There it lives, tranquilly, strange and sweet to the heart! (The Old Woman said:) And I said to him, “Where did you get that?!?” And he cried so hard that in the end I cried, too, may God bless him, and then I welcomed him and said to him, “Are you sure that no one saw you?” And he said, “No, I was seated in a field in the shade, and I was repeating these verses over and over to myself: [kƗmil]

There are terrors and torments in love— The least of these is that the lover’s heart burns! Perhaps He who, in his knowledge, foreordains things Will decree that we shall be together, never again to be separated, [16v] In a rendez-vous, a tête-à-tête, under a delightful shadow, Taking mutual delight in our reunion through words and embraces! Blessed are the eyes able to see the one they love, And blessed is the lover who achieves his desire from his beloved! And he said: While I was muttering those verses, lo and behold a young girl came toward me, beautiful, succulent and with tender skin. She walked at a leisurely pace until she stopped just before me and greeted me, and I responded, returning the greeting. And then she uncovered her face, and it was like the full moon, and she said to me, “Don’t you know me?” And I said to her, “No, by God! Where would someone like me, a foreigner and far away from everything, meet someone like you?” And she said, “I am Shamnjl, your majlis companion…from this very garden!” And I said, “What garden? What garden was I ever in with you, as a majlis companion?” And she said, “By the Glory of God! In this very garden, when you were with us and the lute vibrated, and the glasses made the rounds, and you spoke of whom no tongue may hope to ever

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describe, and the Sayyida was with us in the garden, and the Old Woman from Babylon… Don’t you remember??!: [kƗmil]

Oh, you of the languid glances, genteel and of soft skin, Moon of the night, and more resplendent than the sun!…

And on and on like that, to the end of the And I said, “AHH!! Yes, you’re right! She said, “All So how are you? And how is the noble Sayyida? And how is well, she is completely worn out healthy and well, thanks be to God, but as for by passion, and by melting longing, and she is full of fear and desperation and bitterness is very difficult for the Sayyida in every and sorrow, and this whole business with divulged her love to her and fell into disgrace, [17r] and way—for love of you, she has grown too thin, to the point that she looks like a ghost! If you could only see the way the color has gone out of her cheeks and they have turned yellow, and her plumpness has turned to skin-and-bones, and the redness of her lips has become white, and how her tender eyelids have turned all red and full of ulcers, and the flowers of her cheeks have wilted, and her laughter has turned to sobs—by God, if your heart was a stone it would soften, if it were of iron it would melt! And the Sayyida is so worried about her. She’s made all sorts of promises and threats to her, but has cut herself off from everything except the terrible thirst of her passion, so the Sayyida has ordered that some chambers19 be cleared for her in the very center of the palace, so that she may sorrow and mourn there until she dies. And there she is, and no one goes in there except me, and she’s in the chambers with a right-minded and trusted servant, and a trustworthy door-keeper is seated at the door, and the Sayyida never opens her mouth unless it’s to finds out about this, she announce her worries and her dismay—she says that if the won’t be able to offer a single excuse, she says, “because I’ve committed a crime before him such as no one has committed before and no one will ever commit again.” (see figure 1.9) [17v] And the girl said, “Well, yesterday I went in to where is with a tray of fruit from the Sayyida, because she won’t eat anything unless the Sayyida makes her, and I found her seated with her cheek in the palm of her hand, and I said to her, ‘Okay, Missy, what’s wrong with you? You act as though no one had ever suffered before in love! Like you’re the only one who’s ever been put to the test by the matter that has brought you to this state! When the gets wind of this, then it will really be bad and it will never get better, and then for sure you’ll never find the road to your beloved because you belong to a really powerful guy—then you’ll be in heavy chains for sure! It would be a lot better if you’d have a little patience, and if you made a little effort, because in the end of it, kings are very jealous!’ And she said to me, ‘I don’t ask anything more than to receive a letter from him, or a response—if I could only find someone to be

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my messenger, I’d be their slave until the end of the world!’ And I said to her, ‘By God, I’ll do it, and I’ll persevere unto the end; I’ll put my very life on the line!’ And she said, ‘May God reward you for me with the best reward possible! Take this letter and go with it, taking every care in the world to jealously guard the secret; be careful!’ And I said to her, ‘By God, have no idea where he is, or even where he’s staying!’ And she said to me,

Figure 1.9 Shamnjl delivers a letter from to beside the banks of the river TharthƗr, f. 17r

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‘Ask around for the house of the Old Woman of Babylon, and there you’ll find him, or at least she’ll be able to tell you where he is.’ And I left her and went out, and walked to the canal and I found you right here, and this is her letter to you, and if you answer her, let it be here, because I can’t go any further. You can’t always reach me…” And I gave her a little scrap of paper and I said to her, “Make sure this little message reaches her, and may this matter not try you and put you to the test as it is doing with us, and may you always remember our friendly meeting; please behave with me according to the good opinion I have of you. God knows I didn’t divulge my secret until I knew I could trust you!” And she said, “By God, if I didn’t love her the way I do, I wouldn’t risk my very own blood in her affairs,” and then the girl bid me goodbye, and I left, and I came running, for fear of slandering and evil eyes, until I arrived right here where you see me.” (The Old Woman said): And I said to him, “Oh, don’t give up, since she has had pity on you and agreed…[18r]…and the tears flow, relieving the eyes, because with desperation, consolation enters the soul.”

Sing: [khafƯf] He gave me to drink…of pure death, In cups of sickness, and I found my end; And the drink slipped through my veins, Increasing the fire of my pains and sorrows! …the glance of the eye, It made me thin and my tears cannot be hidden; My sighs and laments are heard, Because of the fire which never goes out! How much longer will I complain of that which I suffer, Of this amorous thirst which is never cured? (The Old Woman said:) And I said to him, “I’m going to go out with your message, by God, on Friday, God willing… And perhaps there will be something there that will bring joy to you.” But he left in the morning, only coming back at night, and I had no idea what was going on with him during all his comings and goings. Finally, I said to a relative of mine, “By God, my son, when this stranger goes out again, you follow his trail, to see what he’s doing,” and he did as I said, and when evening came and he returned, I said to my relative, “What did you see?” And he said, “I followed his tracks, and when he walked, I walked, and when he stopped, I stopped, and I went with my face covered, until I arrived at the TharthƗr. He went to the river and leaned against a wall and I followed him stealthily, staying behind him so he wouldn’t realize I was following him. He didn’t notice I was there, so I went closer to him and I heard him muttering these verses: [kƗmil]

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What pain there is in his entrails, caused by desire! And because of his love, his fears have harmed his heart! What sadness because of passion and its torment, And the sorrow that makes the body melt with its terror! Passion severed the ties of consolation and remained there— Sorrow like fire in the breast because of such turbulence! [18v] What torment from passion and its cares! …her favor! Illness came to my breast when … And unsheathed a sharp sword, to kill me! … And when will I see from you that which I desire, My Desire, While Fate drags me along in its yoke? I became sick because of Passion, victim of sorrows, A captive who cannot be freed of his passions!” And he said: And he didn’t stop repeating those verses until I saw him falling on his face—he’d fainted dead away—and he stopped moving completely…his color turned to yellow, and I didn’t have a single doubt that he had dropped dead right in front of me! I went close to him, ready to get to work with the duties of mourning. I stood there looking at him, astonished by what had happened. I began to weep over him, and made up these verses of lament, where I say:

A foreigner for whom destiny had decreed separation, And distance, and did not leave him without making him a captive of love! This trance came upon him by force and he could find neither Doctor nor remedy for his attack! Here you see him, sick, prostrate on the ground, While the fires of passion burn his entrails!

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If his parents only knew what had harmed him With certainty, and that his heart is annihilated by pain, They would weep for him and would loudly spill tears over him! And they would remain worried because of the intensity of his sufferings, Over the loss of the poor boy who died in a foreign land, Far from his family, very distant from his country! He (the qarƯb) said: And I stayed that way for a good while, repeating these verses all the while, and him all passed out like that, not moving, and not coming to. (see figure 1.10) And he said: And I stayed there until he opened his eyes and stood up by himself, embarrassed in front of me. I cleaned off his face and said, “Never you mind, may God bless you! What you did, others have done before you—you are one among innumerable thousands!” When he heard that, he said to me, “Forgive me!,” [19v] and then recited, saying: [tawƯl]

By the passion I suffer, oh, Lord of All Things Good, And flower among all friends and of the elect, And the best of all beings, will you not understand my torment, And my long illness and prolonged travails? Because I am, by the Merciful One, a poor, lovesick lover, Victim of an intense love, who lives always weeping!

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Figure 1.10 fainted dead away beside the banks of the river TharthƗr; a funerary lament is intoned by the relative (qarƯb), f. 19r And he said: And I said to him, “No, for God’s sake, that’s not honorable! You’re not a lovesick lover, you’re my friend and my companion who trusts me! Do you know me?” And he said to me, “No, I wish I knew you!” And I said to him, “I’m the relative;

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she sent me after you so that I could keep an eye on what you were doing,” and when he heard that from me he trusted me affectionately, and told me all about the pains and sorrows he experienced in love. And I consoled him, and advised him to be patient, until I brought him back here just as you see him.” The said: And I got myself up and went to see him, and I found him reciting these verses where it says:

Passion revealed the love I was hiding— My eyelids did not divulge the secret hidden in my breast. I kept my concerns brief, and I committed no profanity in divulging it, But the sickness that invaded my entire body revealed it. If it were not for the sobs and for the fire in my entrails, People would never know of my sorrows and my pains! And the Old Woman said: And I greeted him and he returned the greeting, saying, “May God reward you for sending your relative to find me. He’s been wonderful to me, and I’d really like it, if he doesn’t have anything else to do, if he could stay with me a bit and help me to forget my sorrows!” I said to him, “Really, it’s no trouble for him; he’s got nothing to do, and if he did, he’d drop it to help you!,” and he said, “May God repay you with even greater blessings than those with which he repays all those who do good works as you do!” They would go out every day at lunch time and return at dinner time, and I would ask my relative every evening about what he did and he would say, “Sometimes he is consoled, and sometimes he weeps, and sometimes he sighs and sometimes he cries, and I console him with all my efforts and my powers.” [20r] My relative and I sat with him every night, and we told him all the news about everyone. He stayed with us thus, and he would tell us about his country and his home and his house and his family and what he used to do at work, and what he used to do with his friends, and we would stay with him that way until we judged that he had been distracted and consoled. Two months or so passed like that, and I finally thought his heart had begun to cool down a little. But one night I couldn’t sleep, and so I got up in the middle of the night and went toward his bed, so that I might take stock of his progress and see what he was doing. I said to myself, “If I find him sleeping, I can rest assured that he has been consoled, and if not, well, then at least I’ll know.” I crept up little by little, and I heard him moaning weakly and weeping excessively, which was a sign to me of his burning torture, and he was reciting these verses: [khafƯf and munsarih]

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The tenderness of hearts was awakened and there is no one Who will come to my aid in this passion! If these are not tears caused by the torment, And by the fire in my heart which harms me, then I don’t know what they are! Just like the flaming fire that burns in my entrails, Because of desire, whose long illness keeps me awake. I went mad because of love from the very moment I was afflicted by it, And because of the harshness of the torment, my body melted. I wish to God I had died before I knew This! And I wish to God I had never known the pain of sadness! And I wish I had never seen that beautiful maiden, And I wish to God I had been wrapped in a shroud! (And the Old Woman said:) And when he had finished his verses, he sighed deeply and recited, saying: [tawƯl]

I wish I knew when I will be apprised of whether I will be granted some part of my desire By Fate, or I shall soon find my death! I wish I knew whether my eyes will enjoy sleep A bit, and if I will find some pleasure in sleeping! Great is my pain, and I wish to God I could find someone To sympathize with me so that I might complain of my pain and my torment! [20v] Oh, you started a fire in my heart, And there is no one to save me from the pains of my illness! if you knew how in love I am, And you, oh, You would weep over my humiliation and my state!

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(And the Old Woman said:) And when he finished reciting his verses, he lay down on his side and his voice became very faint, and I said to myself, “He’s fainted!” When I heard his sighs and his moans, I went toward him very cautiously, and saw that he had fallen asleep. He was snoring very slightly, and I gave great thanks to God for that and then I returned quickly so that he wouldn’t realize I was there, but it wasn’t long till I heard him get up suddenly and go out of the room. I stayed there, listening to what he was saying, and I heard him sigh and moan a great deal, and recite, saying: [tawƯl]

I did not sleep because I consider sleep a reprieve, But because I hoped that the vision of my friend would visit me. And when sleep came over me, she visited me in my sad state** And then returned hurriedly, and the visit was delightful! I wish to God I knew whether Fate would concede to me a moment In which I might see my beloved, since time runs forward and changes things! (And the Old Woman said:) Then it was dawn outside, and he returned to the house and sat down in the place where he was accustomed to pray and remember Allah, and then he recited, saying: [tawƯl]

My God, You see my condition, and You have decreed it, So that I have no further argument to add! My spirit broke forth out of my entrails, and the wounds Of the entrails wounded my heart, making it ill in turn. I directed to you, oh Lord of the Throne, the plea of a desperate man, Who wishes that the pains of his torments be relieved! The fire of love cleaved onto my spirit, And you, Lord, if you wish, can have mercy on me! (And the Old Woman said:) And I went then to my bed, and I didn’t know what he was doing for the rest of the night. When it was morning I went in to him and greeted him, and he returned the greeting and was extremely welcoming in the way he received me, and he said to me, [21r] “I was really hoping to see you!” And I said to him, “Don’t you see me every day?” And he said, “Well, yes, but I really need to talk to you!” And I said, “I’m right here beside you, ready, so say anything you like!” And he said, “Oh, my lady,

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you see the horrible state of longing and desire in which I find myself, and how I am at the end of my patience. In my opinion, I have only you to turn to with my cares, and no one to collaborate with me in my affairs, and I can only reveal my secrets to you. If it weren’t for you, I never would have lasted this long—what do you think about this business now? She whose love has baffled me and the distance from whom has clothed me in illness and emaciation? I was content with her letters and messages for awhile, but now my reason has become befuddled and patience has fled from me, and I don’t even know what’s up and what’s down—I wish death would come to my aid and free me from all this!” (And the Old Woman said:) And I said to him, “Oh, my son, now what?,” and he said to me, “I don’t know—your judgment is better and you’re a lot sharper than I am!” And she said: And I said to him, “I think the most healthy thing would be for you to go alone to the river TharthƗr, for when you are there alone, the messengers will come to you, but if they see you with someone they flee from you.” He said, “It is as you have said, but by God, I had in your relative companionship and rest and relaxation, and I had really grown fond of him and become affectionate toward him.” So I said to him, “Let him go with you, but he should lag behind you a bit, and if anything happens, or if the messenger leaves, your friend can come back to you,” and he said, “Yes, you have really spoken the truth, your advice is excellent! I see that this is truly the right thing to do.” And then both of them went out of my house with just the plan I had proposed, and they stayed out until evening, and then my relative came back alone, and I said to him, “Where is our guest, my son? What has God done with him?” And he said, “By God, I don’t know where he is, and I couldn’t think of any possibility except that he had perhaps got here before I did.” I said, “Oh dear, this is what God has willed; he was a foreigner in our house—that’s why this really bothers me. Didn’t you go with him?” [21v] And he said, “Yes, I did. I followed him to the ThƗrthƗr and I sat down a bit away from him, where I could see him, and while he was there in the garden there came two slave girls, erect and provocative, and along they came until they were right there beside the river, and behind them there was another slave girl with a bundle of clothes on her head, and then she began washing them, one by one, in the river, but the other two were sitting down near her, and when he saw them, he went toward them. When they looked up and saw him, they went toward him, too, and sat down next to him and spoke to him for a very long time. Then they stood up and one of them took him by the hand and the other took hold of his sleeve. They walked with him until they were out of my sight, and they took such a long time that I finally went to the place where they had been sitting, but I found no one, and then I came back here, just as you see.” (And the Old Woman said:) And I said, “Lord have mercy, what can have happened to that foreigner? I can’t imagine anything except that he must have been killed, and all of his traces erased, I just know it! Oh, heaven help us, heaven help us if that is what has happened!” And while we were there like that, talking about the matter, he burst in on us and in his hand was a letter, and he was drying his tears and making a great show of patience. When I saw him, I went to him and took him by the hand, and I sat him down and said to him, “Whatever happened to you, my son? By God, you really had us worried, eh? That’s not good!” And I said to him, “Who were the three women you were with? Where did they take you? Where did you go with them, so that their deception scared you this way, and you a young man that doesn’t understand these things!” And I

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gave him a good scolding, and when what I said to him became too much for him, he looked up at me and sobbed, and then he recited these verses, saying: [kamƯl]

Do not scold me, for I cannot Console myself with forgetting, nor with strength in love; Passion ripped out my sense and understanding and made me sick with pain, And the tears fell like torrential rain from my eyes! If you knew how in love I am, you would take pity on me— God pities and pardons those he wishes to! (And the Old Woman said:) And I said to him, “By God, if I hadn’t given you the benefit of the doubt, I would never have entered with you into this frightening matter. And I never would have done it without warning you about the wiles of women! But tell me all about it, so that I may truly understand it.” And he said, “Yes, when I reached the garden, I recited some poetry, a small, insignificant bit, and while I was there like that, along came two women with their faces all covered up by their tunics, [22r] and one of them had a bundle of clothes on her head, and they went down to the river and signaled to me to approach them after they had looked at me for a while. So I walked toward them, and they stood up and came toward me and uncovered their faces, and one of them said, ‘Don’t you recognize me?,’ and I said, ‘No, by God, who are you?’ ‘The one who took the letter from you the other day,’ she said. Then I recognized her, and I greeted her and then I said, ‘And who is this?’ She said, ‘She’s our dear friend—don’t worry one bit about her.’ And I said, ‘And this other one?,’ and she said, ‘Her maid.’ And I said, ‘And where does this woman live, may God preserve her?’ She said, ‘Very close by—come with us so you can see her house and meet her. Her dƗr is a much better place to conceal our secret doings than this field,’ and so I went with them to the dƗr, and there it was, close by the river, in a lovely place. I went inside with them and they gave me news of and then they gave me this letter and, as God is my witness, I have no idea what is in it.” (see figure 1.11) [22v] Then he opened up the letter and read it, and in it were these verses: [kamƯl]

Oh, my heart is mad with love! Long thoughts have now mocked it, how many sighs Oh, Agitate within my breast!

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receiving letter from the Figure 1.11 Sayyida’s slave girls in a house beside the river, f. 22r

I do not have in my passion Oh, Strength nor help nor patience! Oh, I reach the extreme of that which I suffer Until my very tears argue over it! Oh, passion has made me ill, And the tears flow from my eyes! Oh, all of this is something That God has decreed for us. Oh, if you could see me When the darkness of night becomes most dense, You would feel sorry for me and take pity on me, Even if your heart were made of stone! My body is no longer visible to the sight, because of my illness, And in my heart, embers burn! My body’s illness has been divulged And the thinness of my cheeks appeared—

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My anguish and my lamentations grow greater, And my heart is broken into pieces. I watch over the stars all night, and I do not have, When I sleep, a delightful companion, Except for the tears that flow, Like rain, down my cheeks! Oh my Lord, oh my sustenance! You are the doctor for all my ills, You are the Loved One, in spite of being far away! You are the friend, if you remember me! Until when, oh my Lord, Will I wait faithfully for another encounter with you? You were for me the fruit of desire, And they prohibited me from harvesting that fruit! If I only had someone in whom I could confide, So that she or he might bring me news of you, [23r] I would be content with that, if I had no other ruse, Until the tomb closes over me! (And the Old Woman said:) And when he finished the verses, I said to him, “Answer her and make her happy and you’ll find great consolation in it, for many of the elegant ones and lovers of yore find writings and letters sufficient and are content with them, finding great benefit in them! Indeed, as some of the poets have said: [tawƯl]

It is enough for me that, in the land we both inhabit, The moon appears above the horizon between white clouds! Whenever the moon appears, our eyes see it Together, and this, by God, is the greatest honor! And when the south wind blows, or that of the east, I breathe in them from you relief for my illness! Or as others of them have said: [tawƯl]

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It is enough for you that the light of the sun shines Upon us—and that is something which will never happen! So that even if half of the earth were Hers and the other half mine, I would say to myself, “In truth, she is close!” It is delightful whenever reunion is near for us— And this most desired thing is difficult both for men and for jinn! And isn’t it enough for you, my son, that letters traced by her hand come to you, along with her verses, and that the breeze of her writing reaches you, soaked with her tears and her saliva—indeed, this is truly good, and the letter speaks of this especially, among all other matters! I believe that joy and happy endings are near, and that bad luck is moving on away! The way God brought you here from your country and your land, and you not knowing anything about her and her not knowing anything about you, and then you two were brought together on a single carpet, in the presence of the Sayyida, behind the curtain of her royalty and power… He is about to provide a happy ending to this story, God willing! But as for what she wrote, keep quiet and secret about that which you have decided, and the news in it. The two of you must seek help from secrecy! For wise men say, “He who keeps silent about his secret will have good things in his hands.” He said to me, “Do you not think, oh, mother, that I should take the letter to the usual place? What do you think?” And I said to him, “If you see something in it that points toward fraternity and the purity of love, then yes; if not, then no.” He said, “Why?” [23v] And I said to him, “Best to be forewarned.” He said, “No doubt, but I have to do this, necessity impels me, for there is no doubt that destiny must be the way God has decreed it, and I will either be destroyed or I will triumph.” And I said to him, “You are very right, my son, may God make you strong, give you help, have mercy on you and give you took a bit of paper and wrote on it these verses, which his protection.” And then go like this: [tawƯl]

I saw a letter, the sight of which filled me with love— And it would have fulfilled my desire, if I could but see the one who wrote it! Thus, for my heart it was sweeter than the desire of a Lover mad with love, prevented from making a visit! Oh, my refuge, I am hopelessly in love with you— Because of you, sorrow and I have become close companions;

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I saw your handwriting on the letter and there ran from my eyelids A torrential rain of tears! Oh, goal of my desires, I am a man madly in love, Deprived of his understanding, and you are the one who robbed me of it! A letter came to me as proof of your sincerity, And of the sweetness of your love—I don’t wish to contradict it! If you are burning, then so am I! And I am battling with the armies of passion in my heart, And if you are in a difficult situation, then I am desperate— And my patience is defeated by the pain of love! The love that torments me has written in my entrails That the author will not permit the sadness and sorrows to cease! I spend the night watching over the stars, and I do not taste sleep In the darkness of a night whose stars never set. By my life, if so much distance remains between us, I am afraid I will meet my death, and I fear it! Nevertheless, I don’t see the possibility of the reunion I once desired— Because of this, I am death’s intimate companion and friend! (And the Old Woman said:) And when he had finished, I said to him, “Well said, by at describing your true God! You’re really a born poet, and you are excellent at is too, but by God, my son, why feelings, at dispelling the shadows of night, and didn’t you handle the matter the way sensible people do?” [24r]…[lacuna]…uncovered to me her lovely face and asked me about myself, saying, “How are you?” And I said, “My state is linked to your state, and I am fine as long as you are fine,” and she said to me, “Oh, my aunt, I am not doing very well because of this matter about the young girl who is so afflicted by love despite her young age, and I was the cause of her fall from grace and the key that opened up the door to her troubles. Please, for God’s sake, go and speak to her, because when I speak to her, she gets very upset.” And I said to her, “Oh, my lady, leave me out of this because it’s not appropriate for me, an old woman, to try to persuade anyone in this matter.” The lady said, “You’re all she has in place of her father and her mother.” was, and at the door (The Old Woman said:) So I went to the house where there was a slave girl who could easily have been guarding the gates of paradise, very young, soft and delicate of movement, elegant of speech, and on her head she wore a yellow silken veil. She stood up and greeted me, and I said to her, “Sit down so that I can

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hear all about what’s wrong with and what’s happening with her.” The slave girl sighed deeply until I thought sorrow would split her soul in two, I said to her, “My daughter, what is this?” And she said, “Well, yes, our Lady got angry with without her being guilty of anything—it was she who was cruel to And I said has committed no crime, nor did she intend to her, “Don’t go on that way, for to!” And she said to me, “Of course she didn’t! And neither did she step out of the bounds of decorum, nor did she do anything disorderly!” (And the Old Woman said:) And I said to her, “I can understand that minds refuse to consider something impossible, and it is forbidden to obtain vain things. Therefore, the obligation of sensible people is to turn to what is right and to have patience in the face of misfortune, as the poet said:”

Desperation is the greatest consolation to the sensible man! He who wishes to nourish vain hopes And appeal to one whom he does not possess, Will be called a fool, even though that which he desires be permitted by religion! But the sensible man is guided by reason. And at that, the doorkeeper said, “So, those who have suffered a misfortune without intending ill, or those whom necessity has obliged to bear hardship to just bear up under it, and those who are not able to console themselves in this manner should trust in patience.” ?” And the doorkeeper (And the Old Woman said:) I said to her, “How is said, [24v] “Oh, my God, she is really bad, just as the poet said:”

Desire, pain and constant sadness and sorrow Between my chest and my entrails torment me! And sighs, and permanent burning ardor, and passion, Fire and heart, crazed and in love! Through the flames of love, my blood was transformed And it became the tears of love, which now run over my tunic! The absence of the beloved pained my entrails and set them on fire—

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How shall the one rest, then, whose entrails are on fire? This absence has emaciated and tormented me; The absence of the beloved has made me to keep awake nights— it should not be this way! I desire death, and I want no more of life! It’s strange, by my life, that I’m still alive! (And the Old Woman said:) “Let’s go and see the poor thing!” She said, “Yes, alright,” and then she went in ahead of me and I followed her steps, and when we arrived at the center of the house, we heard her sobbing and lamenting and reciting these verses:

My enemy was gladdened and began to mock me, But he felt pity for me when he saw my state. Tears began to run down my cheeks With such force that they dyed my chest the color of blood! I am pale, thin and ill, And my body is invaded by illness. He felt pity for me then, and what must be the state Of a man, when his enemy takes pity on him after taking vengeance?

(And the Old Woman said:) And when we heard her, we stopped in our tracks until she had finished her recitation and remained quiet and pensive for a while, and then I went in to her, and when she saw me, she tried to stand up and come to me, but she couldn’t—she couldn’t get up. She fell down on her face, and I fell upon her, embracing her. It seemed as though there was no body inside her clothes, just as the poet has said: [tawƯl]

[25r] My flesh separated from my bones, and they were left There, without flesh or blood!

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Sunk, wounded and devastated, ground to dust by passion, she is— One can see how illness shatters her nerves! Whenever the wind’s breeze blows It is stopped because of its difficult conditions, and thus it does not speak. When I saw her that way, I took my arms from around her, and I sat down with her and kissed her cheeks like the cheeks of a dead person, and by God, her emaciation adorned her like jewels! I kissed her mouth and about her I smelt a fragrance more delightful than musk. Her kisses were sweet, and my soul felt pity for her, so I moved closer to her and said, “My daughter, how are you?” And she said, “Oh, my lady, how can the state be of one who has grown thin because of love, and into whom love’s grief has introduced itself and of whom sadness has taken hold, and whom passion has made a slave, and to whom sorrow has associated itself, and whose sufferings have reached the point you see of sickness, so that my nights are spent in sleeplessness and my days are all sorrow and sighing in mourning? When I move, I suffer, and when I don’t move, I feel weak; my bones are like milled wheat, suffering is my food and weakness my drink. Can you see the absence, the desperation, anger and disdain that I suffer? I am very sorry that my Lady takes no pity on me, and doesn’t sympathize with my condition. When she was with me and I saw her face, and how content she was with me, I felt fortunate, but by separating herself from me, she cut off my hopes and my days. If you think it well, oh my Lady, I beg you that you ask her to come and see me, even if it is only once a month. Her visit would be a real consolation to me.” I said to her, “Yes, I will do it, willingly; maybe her heart will be softened, for, by there is not on the face of the earth anyone as sad and afflicted, and God, oh, who sorrows and suffers and weeps more than she for you! Without you, life is no joy to for you know her, and she cannot sleep; but in spite of all this, she is afraid of the how much he desired you in the past.” She said, “All this I know well, but fate’s arrow was twisted in the bow, and things got out of my control. What, then, my Lady should I prefer? Health or sickness? The pain, sorrow and suffering anguish and madness of love, the giving away of secrets, the crying—or, on the other hand, coquetry and pleasantry [25r], the easy life, pleasure and happiness of the past?” And I said to her, “All is as you have said, but it would be good if you would try to console yourself as your beloved does. Though he loves you very much and is crazy about you, and remembers you and is dying to be reunited with you, nevertheless, he takes walks and tries to console himself, and sees the inevitable. And if you would just try to do the same…” But she said, “If he does that, it must be because he is not a prisoner as I am a prisoner. But how does he get through it? How is he? What is he doing?”

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I said to her, “Well, just as I described to you and more! And he sent me so that I might see how you are and what your state is!” She said, “My God!” And I said to her, “My God!” In that moment she became very pale; she trembled and sobbed and her tears began to flow, so that I had no doubt that she had stopped breathing, and I said to myself, “Without a doubt, she has died!” Then the girl who was with me said, “This happens to her morning and night, and no doubt it’s going to kill her. Maybe this time she won’t wake up!” But while we were there talking, she opened her eyes and her tears ran down her cheeks, and she recited, saying: [khafƯf]

Where is my beloved, my delight and my companion? Where is my soul, my life and my death? Where is the one whose love has made my heart melt? He who threw me into the fire of pains and torment? Passion has exhausted me, and has caused the emaciation of my body; It has clothed me in the garments of sickness and weakness! I have melted to such a point that I have become invisible to the gaze Of eyes because of my thinness, and I cannot describe it! It wasn’t passion who left me because of the terrible horrors Of emaciation I suffer, but my speech and my vision! Desire has made its home in me, to the left and to the right, And passion has established itself in front of me and behind! I was the moon, and I disappeared beneath the rain cloud! I was the sun, and my light disappeared because of the eclipse! I do not have the strength to defend myself from that which I suffer, And who will come to my aid, bringing ruse or cleverness? I had all things good before me, And—oh, disgrace!—it wound up in other hands. [26r] Pardon me, then, because my forgiveness is evident; Go ahead and scold me harshly, or just back off and don’t scold me at all!

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(And the Old Woman said:) When she finished her recitation, I said to her, “What do you want me to say about your condition?” She said, “Say whatever you like, for you are the one who understands it best.” So I left her and went in to where the Sayyida was, and she said to me, “What did you see, may God reward you richly?” And I said to her, “Oh, my Lady, what can I say? I saw, by God, a young girl with no ruse or trick in her, in such and such a state, and there is not in her much more place for life.” She said, “No, by God, there’s no ruse or trick in her!” Then she wept bitterly and she said, “To God we belong, and to Him we must return!” The Old Woman said: And I said to her, “Have patience, as befits a woman of such high status as yourself.” She said, “By God, I have got to get her together with her beloved, any way I can, and maybe God will relieve her, or decree whatever he wishes, because my heart will not permit me to abandon her in the state in which she is. I resisted until the knife reached the bone: by God, she is in love with her beloved, and I am in love with her, and if I saw her in that state, I believe it would be the death of me! But you go back to her and tell her, ‘Get yourself together, because she has decided to grant you and your beloved the favor of uniting you again!’” and told her. She stood up and she The Old Woman said: So I went back to sat down, and she took off her gown and put another one on, and she laughed and she cried and she acted like a mad woman, and I said to her, “This is worse than the way we were before!,” and then she remained perplexed for a long while and I got up to leave her. Then she said to me, “What are you trying to do?” And I said, “It is a sin to come here to see you; I want the correct thing, and you want the corrupt thing, and I can’t stand this!” She said to me, “My Lady, I have already told you that this thing is out of my hands!” And then I said to her, “If you can walk, come with me, and I hope that, when your Lady sees you, she will fulfill your wish just as you desire it, if God is willing!” And then she went to a room that she had [26v] and brought out of it a most beautiful garment. She combed her black hair and perfumed herself with the best perfume. Then she took me by the hand and we went to the Sayyida. And when we went into the Sayyida’s palace, a young slave named stood up to bring the good news to the Sayyida. She hurriedly threw the dress she herself was wearing, and then received us among the other slave girls. She said to them, “May God give you happiness your whole lives long!” And then we went in to the Sayyida, who pretended to be angry, and prostrated herself before her, adoring her. (see figure 1.12) [27r] And the Sayyida said to her, “Lift your head, oh, and said, “No, by God, I won’t raise my head until you tell me before I die that you are truly pleased with me!” The Sayyida said, “Raise your head, by the right I have over you, for I have pardoned you, and I will give you what you want, even if it kills me!” And said, “No, by your right, no, I won’t lift up my head until you come and lift it up!” So the Sayyida stood up, between laughter and tears, and fell upon and lifted up her head, saying to her, “Oh, consolation of my eyes, oh, delight of my heart, how thin you have become…so in love as you are, by God, how sorry I am! Where is your splendor and your exuberance, where is the beauty and brightness, where are the hips, the back,

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the rounded breast, where the black hair, where the roses in the cheeks, where the splendid charms?” And recited, saying: [khafƯf]

Figure 1.12 prostrate at the Sayyida’s feet, while the slave girls and the look on, f. 27r

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Desire made my spirit ill and invaded me, And clothed my waist in emaciation. It left no more to me of beauty and splendor than My tears and the words pronounced by my tongue, So that my days are all sorrowing and sobbing, And the tears run from my eyelids, And when the dark night envelops me, I do not find The sweet friend whom I have waited to see! The sighs of love fired up my breast, And the pain of desire made my heart melt! Oh, what pain I suffer, and how I weep Because of the friend to whose love I have abandoned myself! (The Old Woman said:) And at that, the Sayyida said, “Stop that, because you are was silent. Then the Sayyida ordered that food giving sorrow to your Lady!,” and and drink be brought, and everyone ate, except who didn’t eat anything, except for what the Sayyida put in her mouth—only the tiniest bit—and she said, “Oh, my Lady, I can’t bear to eat in any manner other than that which you see.” (The Old Woman said:) And then all who were there drank [27v], except the Sayyida insisted, and then she drank a bit, but since she was weak, she got drunk, and then fell asleep on the Sayyida’s lap. And every now and then the Sayyida brushed her hair from her cheeks and kissed her between the eyes, over her heart, and on her cheeks, saying, “How sorry I am, oh, delight of my eyes!” And then she recited, saying: [khafƯf]

My heart broke into pieces when I saw the emaciation In body persist until she wilted. And I said to my eyes, “Don’t taste the sweetness of sleep, And let blood flow from you in rivers!” You were for me a delightful companion at all times, And I didn’t see in all the world another for which I would exchange you! I will cry when I see even one of your tears, Thus beginning permanent weeping and sobbing. I will don a tunic of pain and of sickness And I will hide wounds in my heart.

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(The Old Woman said:) And when she had finished her poem, she took in her arms and laid her down on the bed, closing the curtain around her, weeping again and wiping her tears. The slave girls came then to kiss the ground in front of her; they kissed her hands and her feet and said to her, “Congratulations, congratulations!” And she answered them, “May God give you happiness all your lives long!” They stayed that way didn’t wake up from her drunkenness. The Sayyida came and went, all night, and and came in to see her from time to time. (The Old Woman said:) And I said to her, “Oh, my Lady, what do you think of this matter, and what should be done?” She said, “Don’t speak at all about this, until my messenger, God willing, comes to you again.” Then I went home and found with my relative playing chess, just as I had left them…[lacuna]…(see figure 1.13) [28r] [I sat down] at his head and said, “Wake up, oh, sleeping one, who claims he’s…” and I recited these verses: [kƗmil]

…so wake up, oh lover, for reunion with the beloved is the sweetest thing a lover could desire, I have come to you with a clear explanation! Listen, then, to what I will tell you, for what I say is true! (see figure 1.14) I only went to sleep because I hoped to see my friend Who would make my heart melt if she visited me as a vision while I sleep. And it happened just as I had wished, And I saw the one I love, but I was not near to her— I wished I had seen her when I wasn’t asleep, And then had found death in that very instant! This is the one whose love annihilated my heart, And, because of her, my patience and consolation have vanished! (The Old Woman said:) “Stop that, because God has already opened a door through which you will see success and relief, God willing!” He said, “Which is that, may God have mercy on you?” I said, “This and that,” and I described the matter to him as it had happened: the incident with LƗ’ib and KƗ’ib, and what happened to me with all of the slave girls, and the part about the and his love for and the love of lady for her, how much she spoiled her and she wanted to see her happy, and I told him the news of the rendez-vous. Then he got all agitated and worked up, and he said, “How can we verify this?” I said to him, “The matter will go well, God willing.

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Figure 1.13 engaged in a game of chess with the relative, while observes, f. 29r the

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Figure 1.14 asleep, with the Old Woman reciting verses at the head of his bed, f. 28r is in love, but I don’t know if it’s with you or with another. I spoke with and was in love, and they only mentioned a young man…during the walks, and I was among them in the garden, and they gave me the promise…the cause of

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this: and perhaps that which was distant now comes near, and that which was hard, softens…and the rendez-vous for Friday, God willing!” (The Old Woman said:) And I said to the Sayyida, “By God, it really weighs on me that people speak about your affairs and know what you are doing, and that your secrets are profaned in this manner. It is a serious thing.” had a crystal goblet in her (The Old Woman said:) And when I said this, hand, full of wine, and she dropped it on the ground and it broke. She scratched her face with it in disgust and, crying, recited these verses, saying: [tawƯl]

By my life, I never wanted to go for a walk On the shores of the river TharthƗr in order to do anything vile or immoral! I only wanted games and diversion, And they interpreted it with bad intentions, unjustly, with no right! If I lived for 1,000 years and had for my soul No other sustenance than such a walk as they think, I would have nothing to do with it—I would go another way! And the best thing a man can tell is the truth!

And then she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. (The Old Woman said:) And, by God, there was no one who saw her crying who didn’t weep, too. The Sayyida rose from her throne to go to her. By God, I saw before she began to cry, and I couldn’t imagine in all the world a more beautiful girl than she, and when she cried, she seemed more lovely than before, because her two cheeks became red, and the tears ran down them like aljofar, doubling her beauty so that it almost ripped out souls and broke them into pieces, so much were we astonished by her beauty and loveliness. We all got up and went to her and begged her to calm herself, but she wept even harder: [29v] for this reason, the Sayyida said to her, “By God, I will stand here until is happy again!” And when she heard this, she smiled the smile of an angry person, and this smile was like a white cloud…and as if the sun shone on her face, it will be as you wish, God when she smiled. Then the Sayyida said, “Oh, willing, even if it’s the death of me!” (The Old Woman said:) “I wish I had never come, because I’m the cause of all this!” The Sayyida said, “May God preserve me, you’re just the opposite! You have relieved me of my grave worries, because I’ve been furious with her ever since you-know-what happened!” And I didn’t leave until she had ordered all the slave girls who were there to take their posts and watch over all that went on along the path, and ordered that all that was necessary be done…with respect to the perfumes and the other things too many to enumerate here. She ordered that the wine be mixed and clarified, and that the crystal goblets be washed, the carpets prepared, and the cushions and pillows of wool and of silk wrapped in gold be distributed around.

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before the Sayyida and recited

I greet you, Oh, because I love you, While the doves sing in the branches. I came to greet you before the one who has over you the right of property—if this is courtly: I do not do it because I wish to dishonor her, but only because I saw that her heart is a raiment in your hand; And I was afraid that if I gave away your secret for a moment, I might die, and I was afraid they might wrap me in a shroud! The Lord of all servants greets you…while the doves sing in the branches. (The Old Woman said:) Then I left and followed me out, saying, “Oh, my Lady, may God reward you with all things good!” And I bid her goodbye, and then I went to my house and found your son standing there [30r] (The Old Woman said:) And when he saw me, he came toward me and said, “Oh, Mother, what do you bring?” I said to him, “I bring to you, by God, much good, and I fear that I have penetrated…?… God!” He began to cry, saying, “By God, I didn’t receive any answer from her and, by God, I only want those things which are permitted! Who can help me out of this bind!?”…“But God has a hidden plan and great power, and what happened…is this way and that way.” I told him the whole story and I said to him, “… You will see her and she will see you…for you are the beloved,” and he said, “…the Sayyida [30v], God willing.” (The Old Woman said:) But we saw no messenger from her for about two months, and I finally began to suspect the worst of her, and I said to myself once, “She’s having a has died and I haven’t received good laugh at me!” But another time I thought, “ news of it!” Meanwhile, was as wriggly as a snake—he came in, he went out, he stood up and sat down, saying, “I don’t know about this…” and, “I know it’s because of my bad luck that this doesn’t get worked out!” (The Old Woman said:) And things stayed that way for awhile, until one day a girl, slim of form, very young, entered the house bearing in her hand a letter, and she said, “I greet you, you who are the Unnamed One in solitude—truly, yours is a special place in solitude!” And when he heard these words, he fainted, and I said to her, “You’ve killed him! And what did you mean by that anyway?” She said, “My God, I didn’t know he was so delicate!” And when he came to from his faint, I said to him, “What is this?” He said, “I was astonished by what the girl said, and my heart was all stirred up, and I began to have doubts!” And I said to the girl, “Don’t say anything about this to the Sayyida.” Then the girl left and I took the letter and opened it, and here is what it said: “Oh, my Lady,

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what kept me from sending you a message was that the may God make greater his power, charged us with attending to his affairs having to do with a trip he was about to undertake, and thus we were occupied with that until he left, protected by God most high. Tomorrow I will send you a group of slave girls, so that the Unnamed One may disguise himself as one of them and, among them, come with them, God willing.” When dawn came at last, we were anxious and excited. We sat there waiting impatiently until we saw the slave girls, with the girl who had come the day before leading them toward the house. Then they came in and kissed my hand…and they said to him, “You have now achieved that which you desire, and the moment of reunion has arrived!” (The Old Woman said:) Then I disguised him and made him join together with the group…and I (was) at the head of the slave girls, until we entered the palace and encountered the guards…obsequious, just as they had been ordered to be, and we reached the reception hall, and began…then the Sayyida came out, and she looked like the sun appearing from behind the clouds… Notes 1 Vizier or minister—to whom, we are not quite sure. 2 This word, while it is the girl’s name, and may be translated as “she who has full breasts,” also triggers associations of “object of veneration,” and even virginity (doubtful, in this case, given that she belongs to the notoriously lecherous 3 Can also have associations of “witty,” “charming.” 4 is also used to refer to the four companions of the Prophet. 5 A majlis is a gathering at which elegant food and wine are consumed, and poetry is sung to the lute. 6 to begin to, in the sense of throwing oneself into something, with gusto and perhaps without thinking first. 7 This word can also be translated as “wine.” is circulated. 8 Just as the 9 Here, probably has to do with eloquence, although the term is usually expressed differently, using a derivative of the root 10 can connote the possession of a fine character or a good reputation. associations. 11 These are all names of prophets, and at least two of them have 12 Name for the region of the Islamic world (approx. modern Syria) where Damascus is located. 13 Happiness or gaiety. 14 15 AdƯb. 16 —use of this term here is significant for it differs from those used earlier to refer to the garden. It comes from the same root from which name is derived, and its proximity to her own description probably explains the choice. 17 Passionate love. 18 This name can be translated, literally, as “threshold.” 19 DƗr.

2 LOVE LOCALIZED, SCIENCE FROM AFAR The image program of the This chapter has as its principal purpose the resolution of one of the contradictions most characteristic of the small extant body of scholarship concerned with BR. This, in turn, in the second section, will permit an extended discussion of the function and purpose of the image program in light of the text’s content, which will be argued to be the factor that most directly influenced the images’ production. Since the manuscript was discovered in 1940, art historians have seen in its illustrations connections both to visual production in BR’s most immediate geographical and chronological context, and to visual production further east, proceeding from the so-called “Central Islamic lands.” Particular attention has been paid to the possibility of direct influence upon the AndalusƯ images’ patrons and makers from the image programs of a small number of illustrated copies of MaqƗmƗt, most of which are agreed to have been produced in the cultural centers of Baghdad and Northern Mesopotamia (possibly in Mosul) during the thirteenth century.1 While acknowledging the validity of the relationship of the BR images to elements of visual culture produced closer to the perceived centers of the “Islamic world,” I will take issue with the idea that specific illustrated copies of the MaqƗmƗt or of any other eastern text provided models for the AndalusƯ image program. I will instead suggest an alternate path through which these “Eastern” concepts of image-making might have reached alAndalus, one which will allow us to acknowledge and explain the importance of contacts with the eastern part of the dƗr al-IslƗm to the manuscript’s conception and production, while at the same time permitting us to satisfactorily describe and explore the uniqueness of the BR illustration program vis-à-vis the images which have long been assumed to have been its model. The interpretation to be offered here will thus nuance received wisdom concerning the “east to west” movement of cultural topoi widely (and often unconditionally) accepted as an adequate explanation for cultural developments in al-Andalus and in the western regions of the Islamic world. I propose, instead, a conscious selectivity on the part of AndalusƯ authors, patrons and artists, one which did not necessarily require a specific Eastern model—be this a text, an object or an image—to “imitate” in order to produce the books, textiles, buildings and songs which were to their own tastes or those of their intended audiences. Rather, it seems that, while al-Andalus participated quite selfconsciously in the culture of what it imagined (and, certainly, in part knew) to be the larger community of Arabic-speaking Muslims in the eastern regions to which so many of the AndalusƯs traveled for trade, pilgrimage, study or some other purpose,2 it also almost immediately adapted cultural forms “from the East” to fit its own specific and

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localized concerns and tastes, and in so doing, often significantly altered them. Also of great interest and importance to this study is the fact that these transformations were frequently carried out with significant input from other cultural entities (the Pyrenees; the Christian kingdoms and courts in the north of the Iberian peninsula) much closer to home than Baghdad or Damascus. As has been observed in previous scholarship, BR’s illustration program also evidences a clear and intimate relationship to objects of roughly contemporary Iberian (that is, both “Christian,” or perhaps better said, Castilian, and AndalusƯ) production. It is at present not clear whether the manuscript’s specific site of production should be imagined as Seville, the principal capital of the Almohad empire during the final decades of the twelfth century and the first years of the thirteenth,3 or one of the other Arabicspeaking cultural nuclei throughout the Iberian peninsula. Particularly in the eastern regions of the peninsula (sharq al-Andalus) many local leaders participated in antiAlmohad uprisings and were engaged in negotiations and alliances with the Christian kingdom of Castile. Although, as will be discussed in greater detail in later sections of this chapter, many of the objects of material culture to which the BR images are most obviously related were found or used in Castilian contexts, it is to the architectural remains from sharq al-Andalus—those which have been uncovered in the region of Murcia, particularly—that BR’s images appear most closely linked. Therefore, and the possibility of the manuscript’s having been produced in that region sometime between the final quarter of the twelfth century and the first quarter of the thirteenth should definitely not be discarded.4 On the other hand, it is also true that the Almohad-period patio of the Casa de la Contratación in the Reales Alcázares of Sevilla exhibits striking similarities to a number of the palace and garden spaces portrayed in the BR images.5 We will return to consider this point from a variety of angles throughout this study, although a definitive pronouncement concerning production site will, in the end, not be offered. Although both strains—the Eastern and the local—have been previously acknowledged as informing the production of BR’s image program, they have never been reconciled. Once this matter has been examined from a different point of view, it will be possible, in the final section of this chapter, to direct the discussion away from purely formal and stylistic concerns—where it is, to a great extent, presently stagnated—and toward a consideration of the images’ courtly subject matter. Indeed, it is their courtly subject matter, in addition to visual similarities or stylistic concerns, that both unites the Iberian objects as a group and separates the BR images from their supposed “Eastern” prototypes. Not one of the objects or manuscript paintings of “Eastern Arab” or “Central Islamic” origin to which the BR images are so frequently compared is concerned with matters of courtly love and its practice, whereas, to a one, the BR images are devoted to the visual explication of that topic. *** Before entering into a discussion of the relationships of BR’s images to their Eastern and AndalusƯ counterparts, it is necessary to offer a description and analysis of each of the illustrations, an exercise not undertaken in any previous publication concerned with the manuscript. The purpose of this will be to establish a series of characteristics that typify the image program as a whole, which will then serve as the basis for the comparative investigations to be undertaken in the following two sections.

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F. 1 contains a fragmentary and severely damaged image (figure 1.1, see p. 15) which almost certainly originally functioned as the frontispiece of the manuscript; if it did not, then it was placed very close to the opening folios. Positioned next to the part of the text at which the that recounts the first majlis at the Sayyida’s place attended by the was also present and during which she caught her first glimpse of it might also have functioned as an illustration of this moment in the narrative. Its contents do not entirely match up to the text as it survives, but it is also worth noting, again, that parts of this section of the narrative have been lost. What survives of the image appears to be divided into two contiguous and probably connected scenes. To the left we find an interior, framed by a distinctly “Almohad”-style arch behind which hangs a luxurious red curtain, embroidered with what is probably intended to represent golden In the foreground, a badly damaged figure plays a lute; this is one of the Sayyida’s slave girls, and is perhaps intended to represent Behind her, symmetrically arranged and contemplating her as she performs, stand two figures, one of which sports a large turban. Their faces, as well as the remainder of the figures, are too damaged to permit definitive identification, but it would be a fair guess that the turbaned figure is (given that were he represented, would probably not be placed in this secondary sort of the position). The other might be the Old Woman’s relative, the qarƯb. In essence, we appear to have a sort of representation of dramatis personae, something that, as noted in the introductory chapter, is not typical of the frontispieces of better-studied manuscripts. As Grabar has pointed out, frontispieces are found in both scientific and narrative manuscripts. As to content or iconography, Grabar makes the following observation: “There seems to be no hard and fast rule, but scientific treatises are generally introduced by ‘author portraits,’ while works of belles-lettres frequently included idealized ‘portraits’ of rulers, sometimes of the patrons of the books.”6 In this case, BR would definitely be atypical, a point worth remembering when, later in this chapter, we undertake the task of determining just how to define the relationship of its image program to works produced further east. The right compartment represents either an interior or a garden scene. A knotted, blue curtain hangs from the only visible arch of what appears once to have been a continuous arcade, leaving the possibility open for either. Visible in the middle ground is a low table, topped by an ostentatiously displayed or wine flask. In the foreground is what appears to be one side of the sort of low, platform-like throne on which the Sayyida, in other images, is often shown reclining, topped by a cushion wrapped in some costly textile. This would perhaps be the setting of the majlis. In terms of potential relationships with other Arabic manuscripts produced further east, it must be said that, upon first glance, this image gives very little evidence of this. Its curtains, arches and props are all, as will be discussed in a later section of this chapter, of markedly local appearance. The second image (figure 1.2) appears on f. 2v, and will be discussed together with the one appearing on f. 15r (figure 1.8, see p. 40), given their similarities. Both represent the counseling her young protégé in the ways of noble lovers, both of today and of yore. F. 15r is the better preserved of the two images, both of which show the pair of

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characters as seated and facing one another. On 2v, they share a large red or orange cushion, ornamented with golden bands and placed directly on the floor, whereas on 15r, a low platform, possibly of marble, appears, onto which the larger red cushion on which the Old Woman is seated has been placed. however, has by this point in the narrative ascended several rungs of the ladder of courtliness, a fact perhaps indicated by his placement atop two extra striped cushions, one blue and the other green. The fabric represented here is arguably the notoriously costly washƯ, or striped silk, which inspired the title of one of the handbooks of courtly etiquette to be discussed in later sections of this study. The ambience, in other words, has gained in luxury, and thus in status. is shown in profile, as she is throughout the image program. In both cases, the Indeed, as will be discussed in the second section of the following chapter, it is this representation in profile that appears to serve as her identifier, whether in this manuscript or in others produced, a few decades later, under Alfonsine patronage. In both images, wears a pink or white chemise or tunic with a green over-garment, likewise, the including a veil which covers most of her head, only allowing a few, rusty grey locks to peep out, just where a younger woman’s side-locks would be. On 15r, she gestures animatedly with both hands, in the attitude of one who speaks or seeks to impart information. She was certainly also represented thus on 2v, but the central section of the image has been badly damaged. On 2v, also gestures with his right hand, as exactly befits the narrative moment to which the image corresponds—he and the are debating the nobility (or lack thereof) of love; in 15r, following the débâcle of the Sayyida’s first majlis, he inclines his head pensively and merely listens, his hands crossed in his lap. In both images, the hero wears an ample blue-green and red or orange jubba covered by an equally ample burnnjs—in 2v, the outer garment is green, and in 15r, it is red. The large turban, however, remains unchanged: it is pinkish red and probably striped, large, and closed with an ostentatious gold ornament. Outlines in all of the images are dark, clear and defined, as are facial features. large, dark eyes and carefully trimmed moustache and goatee are always easily identified. Flesh tones, as is the case throughout the image program, are beige, almost white, and tinged with pinkish accents. Again, in terms of models or “influences,” although this type of scene— a conversation, generally between one character who seeks to impart knowledge or information to another; sometimes the characters are portrayed as master and pupil—is certainly typical of many genres of illustrated texts produced in the Islamic world over, it is not my opinion that it directly evidences enough “influence” from any one of these for the latter to be considered the model of the former. On f. 3v (figure 1.3, see p. 19), and occupying most of the page, we find laid out in a dead faint, surely a portent of disasters to come, brought about by the mere mention of her soon-to-be beloved by the The image, most unfortunately, is very badly damaged toward the center, and we can just make out supine figure, front later speaks so and center. She is dressed in the costly green robe about which the approvingly as she observes the young girl supervising preparations for what will turn out to be an extremely fateful majlis. She is observed by a bevy of the Sayyida’s slave girls,

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the details of whose costumes are extremely difficult to read because of the damaged state of the image. All wear voluminous robes, surely of some costly substance, and the figure inclining over the swooning heroine would appear to have opted, on this particular occasion, for either warm or earth tones. Her companion, standing to the right rear of the composition, had similar inclinations, though the carefree moments of that morning’s toilette have certainly been left far behind, if her dramatic gestures of despair are any indication. She clutches her hands to her head, perhaps tugging at her jet black locks in desolation, and her round moon-face—typical, it should be observed, of all of the slave girls in all of the images; is only distinguishable from among them because of the correspondence between her pose and the narrative—is temporarily marred by the upturned eyebrows and widened eyes, indicative of her horror at the portentous spectacle taking place before her. The Old Woman appears, solicitous, in the background, recognizable now because of her profile and her signature green cloak and veil. The setting is an interior, some marble-appointed chamber (indicated by the pinkish mottling of column and floor, also observed in the treatment of the platform on 15r, the setting for the second set of courtly counsels for young of a palace appointed with all the signs and symbols of the ultimate in décor and luxury. The carefully closed door, framed by green marble columns topped with delicate white capitals, repeated in the interior, allows the painters to display their agility in the rendering of intricate interlace or taracea, and is but a foretaste of the rather fantastical, organic renditions of “Almohad” arches in the interior which frame the unfortunate scene before our eyes. Interior details are few, as is typical of the image program in general. The space is occupied almost entirely by the characters and their actions or predicaments, almost as though to focus the reader’s or audience’s attention as closely as possible on the drama taking place before them, the exterior of the palace clearly denotes status and luxury. This particular palace is equipped with, not one, but two towers topped by ghurafƗt (sing., ghurfa; small, upper room or rooms) and their corresponding miradors, the right of which boasts what appears to be a rather ostentatious set of colored glass windows.7 As in the case of the previous category of images, while the frontal rendering of interiors (which simultaneously gives information concerning setting and more perspectivally-rendered details of the building in which the scene is taking place) is typical of illustration programs produced during the thirteenth century in the so-called “Central Islamic Lands,” I do not consider the details of either of these groups sufficiently similar to warrant proposing one having served as the model for the other. The following three images (f. 4v, f. 9r, f. 10r; figures 1.4, 1.5 and 1.6) will be discussed as a group, for they all represent successive moments of the Sayyida’s majlis, during which love songs are sung, wine is drunk, and devastating cases of lovesickness are visited upon the two protagonists. In the first image, severely damaged, Shamnjl performs at the instigation of her Lady; we are informed of this fact, however, not by the image, whose middle section is missing, but by the title. The Old Woman, shown in profile and veiled in green, is seated at the Sayyida’s side; the latter sits, cross-legged and bare-footed, on a low platform or throne, topped by a cushion. She wears a red or orange jubba, its neck adorned with gold trim, a blue-green over-garment, and sports a noticeably large crown. No cups or bottles are apparent, though these might have been shown in the damaged part of the image, and it should be noted that mention is made in the text of the girls stopping every now and then to drink a round. It is more likely,

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however, that they were not represented here because was not yet among them, and his presence would have been understood by artists, patrons, poets and audience as directly linked to the dangerous “cup” offered round by love. In the second image, has arrived at the majlis, been interviewed by the Sayyida, and prevailed upon to perform. He sits to one side of the image, and all faces but that of the (who is occupied in administering drink to the guests, and is thus shown facing the opposite direction, again in profile) turn toward him. Cups are held in the hands of the two slave she is seated immediately next to her Lady, perhaps girls at the left of whom is implying that she is not quite out from under her protective wing…yet, for the cup in her hand signals that the trouble is about to begin. The placement of rather than the performing at the center of the composition perhaps signals the importance of her reaction to that performance, rather than that of the performance itself. As observed earlier, the slave girls are rendered consistently in an exactly identical fashion—round-faced, large-eyed, with smooth dark hair and pronounced lovelocks; their gowns are flowing, loose-sleeved with gold trim at the neck, only distinguished by color of the fabric (either an orange-to-red or blue-togreen) and skin tone (several of the slave girls are represented as being distinctly fairskinned, as is the Sayyida; is always represented as fair and is thus described in the text). The Sayyida holds no cup, but makes a speaking or ordering gesture with her right hand; whereas, in the preceding image, her gown was represented as red, with a blue over-garment or cloak, here she wears a blue-green jubba ostentatiously adorned with large gold bands around the sleeves (these are probably ) and neck. In the third pale-skinned, dressed in green and positioned almost at the exact center image, of the composition, performs. The Sayyida retains her ornate, blue-green gown, and the speaking or ordering gesture performed by her right hand indicates that she remains, at least nominally, in charge of the proceedings (though, of course, she is ultimately unable is seated to the to stop her favorite from overdoing it with the love songs). viewer’s left of the composition, facing in this image, he alone holds the fateful cup, implying that his lovesickness, inspired by her voice and her songs, is about to begin. The is seated at his side, no longer wielding the bottle (perhaps the damage, as it were, is already done!), and she, too, makes a speaking gesture with her right hand, though the text makes no mention of her words. This is perhaps an indication of her importance as narrator, or even a sort of “I told you so!,” given her proximity to The majlis is clearly considered by the authors and producers of the manuscript as the key moment in the narration, given that it receives more than six full folios of the thirty that survive (much of this space is, of course, occupied by the love lyrics which are to a great measure “responsible” for the cases of lovesickness), and merits three out of the manuscript’s fourteen extant illustrations. The setting is one of the gardens of the Sayyida’s palace (a protected place, carpeted with lush green grass, shaded, in each case, by two trees, and nestled between two towers, at least one of which is topped by ghurafƗt and miradores, almost identical to those described for the previous image), though its

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details (renditions of towers and in the case of the first image, one of the two trees is represented as a cypress) differ in each of the three paintings. Likewise, the assembled group is composed, in each case, of a different number of figures, though the principal characters—the Sayyida, her bevy of slave girls, (only in the last two images, following his arrival at the majlis), and the —are always present. As in the case of all images discussed thus far, I do not consider similarities between this group of majlis images and those which accompany a certain number of the thirteenth-century copies of MaqƗmƗt, produced in to be similar enough to even warrant a detailed discussion. Although there are images of slave girls and of performance among this large corpus, none immediately suggests itself as a model for BR’s renditions of the Sayyida’s fateful majlis. BR’s images have very clearly been conceived with this particular narrative, as well as its accompanying verses, in mind, and the overriding importance of the garden as a suitable setting for the activities depicted (and one might even say a suitably courtly setting—as the comments that “kings [and royalty] love parties in gardens!”) is a characteristic which finds no immediately obvious parallel among the Eastern corpus of images. Rather, this is a characteristic which, as will be discussed in greater detail in the final chapter of this study, gives us particularly important clues as to the group of texts with which BR’s anonymous author(s) were most likely familiar and in which they were interested, and MaqƗmƗt does not figure among them. tragic separation from her Lady is depicted. On f. 13r (figure 1.7, see p. 32), The setting, again, is the palace gardens, but a different area from that which witnessed the disastrous events of the majlis. The centerpiece is a pond, upon whose deep blue surface a pair of ducks swim happily. Bronze stags, highly reminiscent of actual fountain ornaments which have survived from the archeological context of the caliphal-period MadƯnat al-ZahrƗ’, spout copious streams of water into the birka, which, given the presence of delicately curving sets of steps on either side of the water, apparently forms part of a sunken garden, perhaps surrounded and made quadripartite by raised walkways. Almagro, Navarro and Ruggles have all remarked on the “typically AndalusƯ” features of this garden8—its tall, lush cypress, its layout, the pavilion beneath which the Sayyida sits (the semi-circular arch of which, nonetheless, does rather stand out as an unexpected feature with potentially Christian antecedents, as will be discussed in a later section of this chapter), the little greenhouse-like structure housing delicate vines. stands on one side of the pond, atop one of the small flights of symmetrically placed steps (a rabbit, possible signal of lasciviousness, frolics beneath the other). She is “dressed to the nines,” with a costly, striped washƯ forming her orange-and-red-striped gown, and another, of a slightly paler hue, serving as her shawl, or Her posture, however, as well as her inclined head and her bloody face (her Sayyida has thrown an ivory inkwell at her, and has not missed her mark) give ample evidence of her ostracism and her sorry state. The Old Woman, in profile, in green, and “marginally” hovering (as is her wont) just at the entrance to the Sayyida’s pavilion, attempts to reason with the latter, in order to effect some sort of reconciliation between the two estranged women. This, however, will not prove an easy task, and it will take her several folios to make any headway whatsoever

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with this particular aspect of her task of mediation. Here again, no detailed comparison with any “Central Islamic” image is warranted, given the absolute faithfulness of image both to details of the text and to well-known characteristics of AndalusƯ palaces of the period and their gardens, so I will give none. A similar, “absolutely AndalusƯ” pronouncement may be made concerning the image, appearing on f. 17r (figure 1.9, see p. 44), of a forlorn but now cautiously hopeful receiving the first of what are to prove several heart-rending missives from his lovesick beloved, whose health has deteriorated—as the veiled messengeress, Shamnjl, informs him during the interchange which takes place during this encounter—to the point of near-death. The girl’s veil probably represents several things at once: the dubiousness of her wandering alone beside a river among gardens, this being a typical setting for trysts between men and women,9 and the consequent necessity for secrecy, as well as own failure to recognize her until she recites back to him, talented slave girl has that she is, verses which he himself had improvised at the Sayyida’s majlis. taken to wandering beside the river TharthƗr, partly in hopes of encountering some news of his beloved, and partly because he has nothing else to do (he has yet to be introduced relative, under whose tutelage he will undertake the ‘courtly’ process of his to the own recovery). fainted dead away beside a noria, or waterThe very well-known image of wheel, while the Old Woman’s relative intones an improvised rithƗ’ over his prostrate form (f. 19r; figure 1.10) is similarly specific to the story and representative of what appears to be a distinctly AndalusƯ tradition of “Arab Painting.” The palace beside which after intoning the same love lyric an unspecified but undoubtedly large number of times, has succumbed to his despair is indisputably an Almohad-period one. The Old Woman’s relative, sporting a turban just as large as disheveled one, as well as bands at his sleeves, appears to possess gold trim around the neck of his jubba and the requisite nobility and elegance for his task. It is interesting to note that, given that the robes have faded and one can see through them to the layer beneath, colors of the backdrop, including the palace, was probably painted in its entirety before the figures were added, a practice perhaps indicative of a large, organized workshop. The following image, on f. 22r (figure 1.11, see p. 53), represents the intimate interior of a “dƗr,” or house, again with typically AndalusƯ, Almohad-period features located has gone, again, in hopes of having news of his beloved. beside the river, where through the mediation of three of the Here, he receives another message from Sayyida’s slave girls. Again, as is typical of the BR image corpus, very little attention is given to the particular details of the interior setting; rather, it is focused on interaction between the personages. The message itself, complete with representation of handwriting, is shown changing hands, while the slave girl to the hero’s right gestures with her left hand, as she imparts news of the beloved. On f. 27r (figure 1.12, see p. 61), we are presented with the final of the garden scenes, and her Sayyida, largely thanks to the in which the long-awaited reunion between

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mediation, takes place. Attention is focused exclusively on the dramatic moment at hand—not even the usual architectural details detract from the pathos of the prostrate (there is perhaps, in this image, a carpet, thus saving the heroine from the indignity of lying directly on the ground). Her head rests on her Sayyida’s feet, which are refuses, despite the number of times she is delicately covered by her robe. implored to do so by her Lady, to raise her head until the latter rises from the platformthrone on which she is seated and does it for her. The tenderness of the contact between head and the Sayyida’s feet, emblematic of the great love which exists between them, is emphasized by the placement of a single tree, exactly at the center of the head. composition and immediately behind The Sayyida gestures, not speaking or ordering this time, but pointing toward her prostrate favorite with both hands, open and palms facing upward, as though to echo the comments she makes in the text concerning the terrible events which have befallen them being God’s will, and her own impotence to deny either the events or her beloved favorite’s desires for a reunion with her beloved. The Old Woman and the slave girls, two of whom have invoked her mediation as a desperate last measure, face the Sayyida and observe, elated, the joyful reunion. The is foregrounded, because of the importance of her mediation, against a group of four slave girls; both she and the foremost of the girls effect speaking gestures with their right hands, indicative of the importance of their pleas and machinations in having effected at least one part of the “happy ending” desired by all.10 Again, there appears to be no reason to discuss particular relationships between this image and any putative model from among the corpus of manuscript illuminations produced during the thirteenth century in the “Central Islamic Lands,” for it was clearly made to order for the narrative, and formal characteristics do not warrant our attribution to it of direct Eastern precedents or models. asleep, lying on his side (just as On f. 29r (figure 1.13, see p. 64),11 we find the text specifies) atop a stack of luxurious cushions, having given in to his exhaustion as he composed a letter to his beloved. Writing implements and a bookstand (the text does not inform us whether he was reading poetry or the holy text) are clearly visible in the has tiptoed in to observe him, and is rather disheartened at the background. The spectacle of lovesick agony she finds; she had harbored hopes of his great progress along the road to recovery, and must confront the fact that her protégé has suffered something of a relapse. The setting, however, is clearly not of the category of the Sayyida’s palace— gone are the fanciful arches, towers and upper rooms with miradors and colored glass. Both interior and exterior are sparse and unornamented, indicative of the humbleness of the urban dwelling. Neither the preceding image nor the final one to appear in the manuscript (on f. 31r; probably bound out of order; figure 1.14), despite the fact that they are interiors (as will be seen slightly further on, this category tends to inspire the most frequent comparisons of this sort), may be attributed to “Eastern models.” Both are extremely faithful and specific to the details of the narrative, a fact that would certainly have been appreciated by the manuscript’s audience. In this final image, in a slightly more ornate setting (but still one which cannot hope to hold a candle to the splendor of the Sayyida’s palace),

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plays a game of chess with the Old Woman’s relative. Both men are dressed in their accustomed courtly finery, seated on the floor, bare-foot and facing a chessboard, displayed vertically. observes as his dear friend, his “brother,” makes a move, and the in turn, approvingly observes the pair of them from the “margins”. She is shown; to the left of the picture plane, just as she enters the room in profile and veiled in green, wielding a crooked stick and unmindful of the grizzled “lovelocks” which peep from beneath her head covering. She is pleased because the “plan” appears to be working—chess playing, along with taking walks and engaging in soulful and healing conversation with a confidant, is mentioned in the text as one of the appropriate distractions in which a lovesick but courtly man may engage as he attempts to remedy his plight. Though the image does not find any particularly compelling parallels among the Eastern corpus to which BR’s images are so often compared, similarities with Alfonsine images, as will be discussed in the following chapter (namely, of course, the Libros del Ajedrez, the Book of Chess and Games), are striking, and a similar portrayal of an upturned chessboard may also be noted in one of the so-called Sala de Justicia ceiling paintings at the Alhambra in Granada, probably executed during the third quarter of the fourteenth century. The images are easily divided into groups, a fact certainly indicative of their having been produced by an “illumination industry” accustomed to large projects. Interiors fainting spell, f. 3v; receiving letter, f. 22; asleep, ( f. 29r; playing chess with the Old Woman’s relative, f. 31) are presented frontally in almost identical size and proportions, with similar treatment of turrets or other exterior architectural features. Garden scenes (the three majlis scenes, ff. 4v, 9 and 10, with reunion with the Sayidda, f. 27r, constituting a potential variant on this theme) are similar and at times identical in their use of architectural features to frame a group of figures, as well as in their presentation of water, grass or other details of setting. Likewise, the two scenes depicting receiving counsel or advice from the Old Woman (ff. 2v and 9) conform to a type (in this case, moreover, the specifics for each narrative situation are provided solely by the text). As will be seen in a later section of this chapter, these categorizations will prove fundamental to the theory to be proposed concerning the varied relationships exhibited by the BR images to images produced further east. For the moment, however, and in the following section, we will consider the question from the angles that typify previous scholarship.

and the “Central Islamic Lands” Tanti caratteri dunque del Vaticano arabo 368 ci ricondurrebbero ad un prototipo della Mesopotamia di cui il nostro codice sarebbe una copia od una imitazione. Però copia non del tutto fidele, libera in un certo senso…12 Ugo Monneret de Villard

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I open this section of the chapter with a reference to the first analysis made in any scholarly forum of BR’s image program. It appeared in the journal Bibliofilia in 1941, shortly following the manuscript’s “discovery”13 in the collection of the Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, in an essay by the renowned historian of Islamic art, Monneret de Villard. The Italian scholar posits a derivative position for the AndalusƯ images vis-à-vis their Eastern counterparts, and proposes that the artist or artists had access to a putative (I insist on “putative” because no such object is known to have existed in the “Central Islamic Lands,” and this is a very important observation for the arguments to be offered below) illustrated copy of BR, presumably produced in the “Central Islamic Lands,” which “he…kept before him” throughout the time during which he was engaged in the production of the BR images.14 The BR images also, however, represent, for Monneret, a “not entirely successful” copy of the “Mesopotamian tradition,”15 given that they possess a number of characteristics that are “uniquely Spanish.”16 Among these, he gives particular attention to the architectural details. In other words, according to Monneret, an Eastern model of BR was kept before the artist as he or she labored to produce the BR images, but the model, whether at the instance of the patron or as a result of a decision of the artist him- or herself, was “edited,” principally in order to introduce elements of “local flavor” (the possible reasons for this inclination, however, are not examined). Monneret does not appear to find problematic the idea of an artist’s selective use of a model in this way,17 nor does he appear to see the weaknesses introduced into his theory by the fact that there is no evidence whatsoever that any illustration program ever accompanied the earlier version of BR represented in CBL 4120, or that any similar literary phenomenon may be cited for the East at such a late date. He should perhaps, however, have paid greater attention to dates, because they in fact prove to be the most serious problem for the “direct Eastern influence” argument. The “Baghdad school,” at least as far as manuscript painting is concerned, is very much a phenomenon of the middle decades of the thirteenth century rather than the early ones. Certainly, no scholar has ever argued that any of the extant illustrated copies of the MaqƗmƗt—or Easternmanufactured, illustrated copies of the other key, non-scientific and non-religious texts, such as the KalƯla wa Dimna, for that matter—date prior to the first decades of the thirteenth century. As we shall shortly see, this indeed proves to be the Achilles’ heel for the positing of any direct, derivative relationship between the BR images and those which are so frequently suggested as their models, for, in order to facilitate or enable the scenario he has sketched, it was necessary for Monneret to propose, seconding an opinion offered earlier by Giorgio Levi della Vida, an early fourteenth-century date for the BR images, and thus for the manuscript. Most subsequent writers have disagreed with this theory (e.g., Grabar, Khemir and the present author);18 this is true even of Nykl, whose translation of the text into Spanish was published in the same year as Monneret’s study. The proposed fourteenth-century date, of course, has no particular basis other than the idea that any AndalusƯ product which resembles Eastern ones, even superficially, must a fortiori, first, owe its existence to its patrons’ and/or producers’ direct knowledge of these latter and, second, be sufficiently later in date than those objects in order to allow time for their “migration.”

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More seriously problematic for the “direct Eastern influence” theory, however, is the fact that even the more commonly accepted thirteenth-century (and most scholars actually say early thirteenth-century) dating for BR poses significant problems for the presence of any putative illustrated copy of a full-fledged example of the “Baghdad school” of illustration, for example, of MaqƗmƗt, before the artists responsible for the AndalusƯ book’s visual program. Rather, it is probable that the BR images were produced at a moment exactly contemporary to, or even slightly earlier than, the “Central Islamic” ones. Despite their almost unanimous dating of the BR images to the thirteenth century instead of the fourteenth, and despite the fact that even those dates don’t add up (in Monneret’s defense, it should be noted that his dates do add up), later scholarship has nonetheless concurred with Monneret’s “derivative” assessment, generally evidencing either an implicit or an explicit privileging of the MaqƗmƗt images (again, in Monneret’s defense, it should be noted that this particular slant was not part of his original argument). After enumerating the “local” characteristics evidenced by the BR images, Grabar, for example, as did Monneret before him, ultimately returns to the question of Eastern influences: “Nevertheless, in composition and imagery,19 the miniatures betray close connections with the central Islamic lands.” And within that category of imagery, Grabar unquestionably privileges those of the MaqƗmƗt: Whatever their sources, these MaqƗmƗt miniatures must be regarded as outstanding pictorial creations of the period and the finest ever produced in the Arabic-speaking world. The style had so much vitality that it survived the sack of Baghdad in 1258 and the collapse of the ruling caliphate.20 Indeed, the MaqƗmƗt illustrations appear to have been here accorded a canonical status that they do not entirely deserve; the survival of these illustrations (and the failure to do so of others) has certainly played a part in the fabrication of this myth. It is critical to note, therefore, that there are at least 100 surviving manuscripts of MaqƗmƗt which are not illustrated, and that there is absolutely no guarantee that, when the texts of maqƗmƗt were transmitted to al-Andalus, as we know they were, they arrived in the form of one of the de luxe illustrated copies of the text which represent such an infinitesimal percentage of those that actually survive. Indeed, a comparison between certain features of a randomly chosen image from Paris BN 5847 (fig. 16, p. 203), produced in Syria and dated to AD 1237, with images attributed to al-WƗsitƯ, and those of the BR image program reveals more differences than similarities. While both images might be said to represent elements of what is easily recognized to be “an Islamic culture,” details of fabrics are different in each image, and the techniques for representing them contrast markedly. Also, it should be noted that the figure types, especially in terms of the rendering of faces, are markedly different, as are the ornamental details that characterize textiles and building exteriors.21 Plants, admittedly, are similar, but this is a matter that will be taken up separately in just a bit. Grabar does, however, also consider the possibility of other central Islamic texts and their illuminations having informed the production of the AndalusƯ program. He notes,

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“[t]wo of the figures in one of the [BR] paintings, for example,22 echo the two students on the double-page frontispiece in the 1229 Dioskorides manuscript in the Topkapi Sarayi Library” (fig. 15, p. 202).23 Here, Grabar refers to the two images in which the are shown, seated and facing, while the Old Woman counsels him in the and proper, cautious approach to love, giving examples and dictums from the tradition of the noble lovers of yore, the ahl There are, however, chronology problems with this argument as well: in order for the BR images to “echo” the composition of the double-page frontispiece in the 1229 Dioskorides manuscript, of course, the former would need to postdate the latter, something which is far from indisputable. Similarities between Eastern and Western Arabic manuscript painting are also often discussed in terms of general composition principles and renditions of the details or props of daily life. In terms of the former, interiors are often mentioned, and it is true that the “curtained” frontispiece from the Dioscorides Medica (fig. 15, see p. 202) is in some ways reminiscent of the frontispiece from BR. Again, however, this frontispiece is contemporary to or later than the BR images, and thus a directly derivative relationship should definitely not be imagined. In terms of the latter, bottles, curtains and ceramic objects are often mentioned. Typical of the similarities noted by Monneret, for example, is the following: in his discussion of the image in which the Old Woman observes a slumbering, drooling who has apparently dozed off during an attempt to write a love letter to his beloved, he signals the presence of a bookstand behind the snoozing Syrian Romeo, lost and bewildered among the perils of AndalusƯ slave girls and unsolicited cases of love-sickness. The Italian scholar cites an illustration from Vaticano Siriaco 559, dated to AD 1219–1220, noting that the AndalusƯ bookstand is “identical” to those rendered in Eastern examples.24 Bookstands, however, are rather ubiquitous possessions among the literate sectors of medieval Arabic-speaking (and reading and writing) culture the Islamic world over. One might (though I shall not here) occupy several lines of this page with a list of images from a variety of provenances and sorts of texts that include them. Moreover, the two images cited by Monneret do not evidence larger similarities, and again, I would insist on the importance of taking into account the accompanying texts, which have nothing to do with one another. Rather than providing evidence of slavish copying of Eastern examples by AndalusƯ artists, then, I would suggest that the bookstands (and pen-boxes and quill-cutters represented in the same BR image), as well as cups, bottles, and other accoutrements of a life which has attained a certain status, level of education or refinement (and which, when examined closely, are not really “identical” at all), are items indicative of a loosely shared material culture resulting from shared religion, language, trade, etc., but whose particularities, unless imported, would probably be traceable to their geographic points of origin. In other words, although striking parallels between the two bodies of images (i.e., those of the MaqƗmƗt, as well as other, generally scientific, manuscripts produced in the eastern parts of the Islamic world during the first decades of the thirteenth century) are maintained by most scholars to be present, once one closely scrutinizes the rendering of drapery folds, facial types, architectural details and other particulars, the importance of these—to my mind at any rate—diminishes. Moreover, particularly when the issues of text categories (BR is a courtly romance and none of the others are) and chronology (BR is almost certainly contemporary to or earlier than all of its supposed models) are

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taken into account, it becomes rather difficult to argue, on the basis of the information we presently possess, for the presence of an “Eastern original” before the artists responsible for producing BR’s image program. If this model no longer serves, then, as an adequate explanation for the AndalusƯ images, does this mean that “Eastern influence” is to be discounted altogether as a factor? Not at all, as will be seen in a later section of this chapter. The arguments, though, need to be based on grounds other than (shaky) assertions of imitative intent deduced from (perceived) stylistic “influence” and those of scholarship’s assumed tendency for the driving forces of AndalusƯ culture to always want or need an Eastern product to “get them started.” First, however, the other “strain” of the BR images’ pedigree must be introduced and analyzed.

BR and the local culture of courtly images and objects In addition to the supposed “Eastern influences” they see manifested by the BR images, most scholars likewise acknowledge the heavy sprinkling of local AndalusƯ flavor they evidence. This direction of discussion begins with Monneret de Villard’s first analysis of the image program. He notes the particularly local resonance of renderings of architecture and its ornament;25 many of these characteristics were later also signaled by Grabar and Khemir. Monneret’s Iberian comparanda come exclusively from the medium of manuscript painting. Grabar, for his part, signals particularly strong similarities between BR’s image program and the images which adorn other luxury objects produced in the Iberian peninsula during the approximate period of BR’s production, particularly textiles: Among the fourteen surviving miniatures are several in which a garden party with musicians [sic] is depicted. In one, an old lady in profile holding up a bottle to pour is nearly identical to one of the “drinking” ladies [represented on a textile to be discussed below], and any of the young handmaidens with goblets could have served as a model for the other. The similarities are further underscored by the shape of the platforms in miniature and textile, the concentric arrangements of the folds on the sleeves in both, and even the cross patterns that decorate garments on the textile and window grilles in the miniature.26 Moreover, signaling the highly developed illustrated-book culture certainly exemplified by the manuscript, Grabar notes the probable strong links of the image program of BR, given the similarities he has pointed out with textiles, to a place in which the textile industry was advanced, such as Granada, or the former Almohad capital of Seville itself. Scholarship does not acknowledge—let alone attempt to resolve—the problems posed by this acceptance of late twelfth- and early thirteenth-century “Almohad” characteristics in BR’s images for Monneret’s model, dependent, it is important to remember, on a fourteenth-century date for the BR images in order to allow what Monneret considered sufficient time for the influences of the “Baghdad school” to work their magic in alAndalus. Grabar, for instance, makes the following statement, a small portion of which was quoted above. Here, I give it in full in order to emphasize the unresolved nature of

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the contradictions posed by this sort of formal analysis of the images, in which Monneret’s privileging of Eastern models, based on images much too late for such a relationship to be established, is cobbled together with an enumeration of their “Almohad” characteristics: This manuscript was first identified as Spanish because of the architecture depicted in its miniatures: the frequent miradores, the serpentine lobed arches, and the courses of stone laid in alternating colours, are all typical of the medieval Islamic architecture of Spain. Nevertheless, in composition and imagery, the miniatures betray close connections with the central Islamic lands. Two of the figures in one of the paintings, for example,27 echo the two students on the double-page frontispiece in the 1229 Dioskorides manuscript in the Topkapi Saray Library… Details of architecture and paleography suggest that this manuscript was illustrated in the Almohad period, probably just at the end of the twelfth or beginning of the thirteenth century.28 For Monneret, of course, the chronological issue was not problematic because he dated the images to the fourteenth century; he proposed two possible explanations that might account for the presence of the peculiarly “Spanish” characteristics of the BR images. The first of these (the second will be addressed at the end of this section) is that the copyist had, as explored in the preceding section, an actual “Mesopotamian” manuscript before him as he or she planned and executed the illustrations which would accompany the text of BR, and consciously elected to alter certain details according to his or her own, his or her patron’s, or possibly his or her audience’s tastes. Although Monneret himself did not address them, these tastes are amply illustrated by the group of objects briefly invoked by Grabar. I will discuss them and the points of similarity they share with the BR images in a bit more detail, given that they form the basis for an argument concerning the importance of content or subject matter—both that of the text and of the images. The most striking comparisons are, in fact, offered by three textiles, two of which fall squarely within the Almohad period in terms of their chronologies; the third is almost certainly evidence of workmanship of the early fourteenth century (fig. 22, see p. 209). The first is the object known as the “Pillow (almohada) of Queen Berengaria.” It is housed today in the Museo de Telas (Textile Museum) of the royal Cistercian convent, Santa Maria de las Huelgas. The convent was founded by Queen Berengaria’s parents, Alfonso VIII of Castile and Leonor of England (note 29). Berengaria was buried there, and the pillow was found in her tomb. Berengaria herself was the grandmother of Alfonso X, and mother of “San” Fernando, to whom the Christian conquest of Seville is owed.29 Against a red silk velvet background crossed by two gold bands containing pseudo-kufic inscriptions, a roundel is located in the center of the piece, where two female figures with facial features strikingly similar to those which characterize the and the Sayyida dance round a central stem or tree of life. visages of One plays a tambourine. It is probably roughly contemporary to, or perhaps slightly earlier than, the production of BR. The use of these themes in secular luxury objects for a Christian female patron

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should probably be given more case-specific consideration than it has received in the past. Berengaria was the infanta of Castile, and was a key player in some very complex political situations during the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries. These included a marriage to Alfonso IX of León which was later effectively annulled with the excuse of consanguinity by Pope Innocent III—he placed the kingdom under threat of excommunication until the matter was resolved. Thus, the creation and propagation of a royal identity would have been part of the agenda of any object commissioned by and/or for her. The second two pieces were probably hangings (fig. 23, see p. 210). Almost certainly dating to the thirteenth century is a well-known, tapestry-woven silk, a fragment of which is now in the collection of the Cooper-Hewitt Museum in New York, known to scholarship (as referenced in the citation quoted from Grabar earlier) as “The Drinking Ladies”.30 At the center of brightly colored roundels separated by bands of star and floral motifs are symmetrical and facing pairs of large-eyed, dark-haired ladies. Shown in profile, they are strikingly reminiscent both of the dancers on Queen Berengaria’s pillow and of the bevy of slave girls who populate BR’s images. They alternately toast with cups identical to those fateful ones represented, in the majlis scenes, in the hands of BR’s two equally reminiscent young protagonists, or serve one another drink from bottles of the material culture which informed the production of those same images. Each woman’s round, moon-like face is framed by luxurious lovelocks, also reminiscent of the hairstyles preferred by both the Sayyida and her jawƗrƯ, and each is dressed in what are clearly intended to represent a large variety of patterned, and doubtless costly, fabrics. They, like the rest of the textiles, are brightly colored; outer garments, identical to the wears in the image which portrays her tragic separation from her Lady, are striped silk (washƯ), while jubbas are represented as patterned, woven of combinations of bright, contrasting colors. The “drinking ladies” sit with knees bent to one side beneath voluminous folds of fabric, sharing low thrones, again, strikingly reminiscent of those occupied by BR’s Sayyida. These constitute in an AndalusƯ tradition which dates as far back as the well-known caliphal- and fitna-period “Córdoba ivories” (both the pyxis of al-MughƯra and the arc of Sayf al-Dawla show relevant examples). Grabar even suggests that the textiles were possibly inspired by the manuscript paintings, with the usual alterations that result from change in medium (in this case, details such as facial expressions and drapery folds lose a bit in spontaneity upon their translation from the painting to textile medium). At any rate, whether chicken preceded egg or vice versa, the relationship between paintings and silks is clearly a direct one.31 silk curtain, most probably dating, as noted The final example is a above,32 to the early fourteenth century. Although they are here placed against a striking, green background and combined with geometric interlace and other ornamental themes, which have here replaced the roundels and secondary bands of star and floral ornament of the earlier silk, the small roundels and their “drinking lady” content are clearly a direct quotation from the other fabric. It should be noted that all three of these textiles were part of the material culture, but probably not of the vestments, of members of the upper rungs of the AndalusƯ social ladder. None of the characters in BR are shown wearing figured fabrics and, for the most part, with the exception of “author portraits” of Alfonso X in the

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Libros del Ajedrez (hereafter, LA) or the Cantigas de Santa María (hereafter, CSM), in which the crowned king is often dressed in silks covered with roundels which appear to portray traditional themes of heraldic eagles or lions (certainly not, one imagines, drinking ladies!), they are not represented as being used for clothing. Similar garments are recorded by a court poet as having been worn by Queen Berengaria’s mother— another royal personage—during court festivities.33 They are not worn, however, by any figures other than the king (or the Virgin) in any of the Alfonsine texts.34 The “Arabness” of the textiles has not often been questioned, but a recent study by María Feliciano places them within a decidedly Castilian cultural sphere. At any rate, taking Queen Berengaria’s pillow into consideration, the objects bearing these images which have come down to us indicate that, at the very least, the aesthetic was a shared one between the Christian Castilian court and at least some members of AndalusƯ society. Members of the Almohad court, however, were probably not among them, given their propensity to avoid just such sumptuary ostentation as that engaged in by Berengaria’s dancers, BR’s characters and both thirteenth- and fourteenth-century “Drinking Ladies.” These latter exhibit many more similarities with the pre-Almohad paintings from the al-SaghƯr, in the region of Murcia, whereas it would seem that silks and representations of drinking or dancing personages were spurned by the notoriously repressive (not to mention repressed) Berber dynasty.35 Again, then, we are drawn to consider extra- (or even anti-) Almohad centers of cultural production as the probable provenance for our manuscript and its image program. Not only does this appear to be true in terms of the ostentatious qualities of both silks and paintings, but the same might be affirmed for their subject matter: both paintings and objects are consistent in their representations of the AndalusƯ majlis al-uns: the drinking of wine, dancing and the singing of love and wine songs by courtiers and slave girls who fit the topoi of medieval AndalusƯ desirability—according to its literature and poetry of courtly love, at any rate—to a “t.” These objects would almost appear to represent an AndalusƯ lyric come to life in a garden setting worthy of description by the most discerning taifa poet. It is important to emphasize, moreover, that they do not simply form part of the often invoked “courtly” or “princely” cycle of the larger context or category of “Islamic Art”. These are representations of activities engaged in both by royalty and by the fortunate members of the nobility with whom they associate, or by any member of society aspiring to such social associations. Activities including hunting, wrestling and scarf dancing. These are joined by representations of more strictly majlisoriented drinking and singing in order to evoke the full panorama of the pleasures of princely life. Representations of the “courtly cycle” may be found in Fatimid-period wooden friezes and ivory furniture ornament or book covers, Ayyubid glass, on the famed ceiling of Palermo’s Cappella Palatina, etc. The AndalusƯ taste that produced these textiles and paintings, however, selected the courtly majlis as a focus, probably during the fitna period and at roughly the same historical and cultural moment at which the courtly culture of love became a court one in al-Andalus. They remain a coherent group of motifs in this “Almohad” context, despite the fact that they are probably no longer welcome at court. In other words, what distinguishes the BR images from those to which they are most often compared, and what most strongly unites them with the material culture of the region in which they were produced, are the topoi or thematics—love, lovers, wine, verse and song—of a courtly

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love lyric. As we shall see, this characteristic provides us with one of the most significant keys for the interpretation of our manuscript, its text and its images, whether in an AndalusƯ or in a broader Mediterranean context.

Science before love Although Monneret ultimately rejects his second explanation for the perceived “dual nature” of BR’s images—in favor of the actual presence of an “Eastern model” in front of the AndalusƯ artists or artisans, it is in fact the one I find the most viable. He considers the possibility that the “Mesopotamian” characteristics apparent in the illustrations of BR had already entered into the manuscript illumination practices of al-Andalus, and thus were in a sense “naturalized” at the point in time when the manuscript was produced. Although the suggestion, again, is based on purely stylistic and formal considerations, as will be argued in the following section, this is indeed an explanation which appears to successfully account for the presence of both Eastern and local characteristics in the images, for the discrepancy between content and subject matter between Eastern and AndalusƯ products, and for the “chronological problem.” It also accounts for the historical and cultural processes that blended features both local and foreign. Representations of interiors, bookstands and books, while hardly “identical” as Monneret claimed, are suggestive in terms of connections between “Arab painting” in the eastern and western regions of the Islamic world. None, however, of the “Eastern influences” observed and explicated in the extant scholarship on BR are as convincing, or seem to require an explanation as insistently, as do the trees which grace the Sayyida’s garden in all three of the majlis scenes and one which appears in an image from the Paris MaqƗmƗt (fig. 16, see p. 203).36 The trees in question are slender of trunk, with sinuously curved branches sprouting individually delineated leaves, not thick enough to obscure the bright sky. At the tip of each branch is a round, red-orange-tinted fruit, perhaps a pomegranate or an orange. The reasons for my privileging of these similarities over those exhibited in renditions of the objects of daily life (bottles, bookstands, cups, curtains or textiles) can be summed up as follows. Both eastern and western representations of the objects of material culture mentioned above are generally fairly accurate, as can be determined upon comparison between the representations of the objects in their respective Eastern and AndalusƯ contexts and actual, corresponding objects produced in those regions. The same however, cannot be said for the trees, highly stylized and not easily identified as a particular sort of tree through the examination of leaves, fruit or other characteristics. Indeed, the most notable similarities they evidence—despite other important points of dissimilarity between the two groups of images in question—are with one another! Therefore, these are probably the result of some sort of contact between the two traditions of manuscript illumination, and their elucidation will hold the key to the nature of the “Eastern influence” which informed the production of the BR illustration program. Building on Monneret’s “prior naturalization” argument, I will offer, in this section, suggestions about how to account for these relationships. Several scholars concur concerning the tendency, in the medieval Islamic world, for scientific book illustration to precede by some decades the documentable presence and

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popularity of illustrations in “literary” books, much as the illustration of bibles, psalters and Christian liturgical books preceded the systematic production of image programs for literary texts such as the Arthurian romances of Chrétien de Troyes. Both Grabar and Guthrie posit a similar chronological order—from the illustration of scientific manuscripts to that of secular ones for the purposes of edification and entertainment37— as a partial explanation for the MaqƗmƗt illustrations; Grabar suggests the particular importance of two illustrated copies of the Arabic translation of Dioscorides’ treatise on the pharmacological principles of plants, De materia medica, one dated 1224, the other 1229 (fig. 15). A productive comparison for BR is the case of the unicum illustrated copy of Varqa va Gulshah, probably produced in Anatolia during the thirteenth century, given that, unlike the MaqƗmƗt, it may be qualified unequivocally as a courtly text. Grabar mentions as a possible source for the images an illuminated copy of Pseudo-Galen, dated to 1199 and housed today in Paris, pointing, yet again, to an earlier tradition of scientific and medical illustration having heavily impacted the emerging characteristics,38 both regional and international, of images produced to accompany secular narratives designed to entertain and/or edify. Moreover, an identical process can be proposed for Mamluk Egypt. An (Symposium medicorum), made in illustrated copy of Ibn Alexandria (Egypt) in 672/1273 and housed today in the Biblioteca Ambrosiana in Milan, represents what is often termed the earliest phase of Mamluk painting in Egypt, preceding by several decades the earliest illustration in that context of “literary” texts.39 Despite the fact that the survival of scientific manuscripts from an AndalusƯ context is much less well documented than it is for the “Central Islamic Lands,” the process was arguably similar there. Monneret de Villard cites at least two such manuscripts produced either in al-Andalus or within the MaghrebƯ cultural sphere that could easily occupy a position similar to the Syrian Dioscorides Medica discussed by Grabar as a probable precedent for the central Islamic illustrated copies of the MaqƗmƗt. One is an example of the Arabic translation of the Dioscorides Medica, which Monneret de Villard believed to have been copied in Spain, possibly during the twelfth century; the manuscript contains in AH plant illustrations.40 The second is an astronomical text, written in Ceuta ibn ibn al-KhafƗjƯ 62 1/AD 1224, by Abnj the Rajas fƯ al-KawƗkib by today in the Vatican.41 The codex contains several drawings of constellations, etc., and cannot necessarily be proposed as a direct antecedent or inspiration for the BR images, but it does signal the presence of a production industry for scientific texts which appears to have co-existed with and probably preceded the branch of the industry to which BR belongs. Indeed, the potential twelfth-century transmission of Eastern-produced illustrated copies of the Arabic translation of the Dioscorides Medica to al-Andalus (although we know the text was also translated there during the caliphal period) is of particular interest to the solution of the “tree problem” with which this section opened. Both this work and the two known illustrated copies of the KitƗb al-DhiryƗq, recently studied in a dissertation by J.Kerner42 are potential links in the chain of associations which would explain the striking similarities between the sinuous, fruit-bearing trees in the BR images and those of the MaqƗmƗt which, as observed earlier, exist alongside what I consider to

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be rather striking dissimilarities between the other components of the image programs in question, not to mention the textual traditions to which they belong (fig. 17, p. 204). Both of these texts would (at least partially, in the case of the KitƗb al-DhiryƗq) fit the categorization of illustrated “herbals,” recently discussed by Michael Rogers, 43 who notes that only a very small percentage of the herbals produced in Arabic-speaking contexts during the medieval period were illustrated. The majority known to us today date to the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries and appear to have been executed in Syria. Rogers qualifies these as “texts for professionals and professors, not for dilettantes or amateurs,” and also notes that the copyists or scribes were probably “members of the guild” (i.e., among those members of society interested in the acquisition, preservation and transmission of specifically medical or scientific knowledge, rather than the more generalized adab tradition), as opposed to the less specialized copyists we might imagine for works such as BR, or even for the MaqƗmƗt. Rogers also notes that the production of herbals probably involved at least a certain amount of “fieldwork,” carried out perhaps during voyages for other purposes such as diplomacy or commerce, thus implying a real drive to produce an accurate and usable text. He suggests, however, that, given that the majority of these texts were not illustrated, it is fair to argue that their “correctness” was rooted, not in their illustrations, but rather in the verbal descriptions given of specimens. This would perhaps account for the presence of stylized and ultimately rather unidentifiable, but strikingly similar, tree-bushes, not only in the herbal tradition itself—the illustrations of the KitƗb al-DhiryƗq contain trees which strikingly resemble those discussed above, although there is very little else about the three image programs that could be characterized as similar— but in the Eastern and AndalusƯ literary texts under consideration here. Leclerc, as well as Rogers, insists that this herbal tradition represents “learned copying for an already learned society.” I, however, would qualify this statement slightly, and observe that it is more likely that an illustrated copy of one of these texts would have been seen by a non-specialist than an un-illustrated one. This, in turn, suggests at least a possible scenario through which certain techniques and ways of representing plants could have been transmitted from regions further east to al-Andalus, probably at a date somewhat earlier than the actual production of BR, and certainly independently of whatever textual tradition we ultimately decide to link to BR. Given the wide variety of media in which similar trees appear in the East, their depiction appears to have generalized itself throughout all genres of images, and thus we should certainly not imagine, on the basis of similar renditions of trees, any particular link between the BR images and those which accompany the MaqƗmƗt. There are perhaps other reasons as well to envision at least certain ones from among this learned genre of texts, and perhaps particularly the illustrated ones, having been of interest to a wider reading public, with the result that the renderings of plants they contained became part of the common visual vocabulary exhibited by illustration traditions for both Eastern and Western literary texts. Kerner suggests that the KitƗb alDhiryƗq, in addition to being an herbal and functioning as a repository and transmitter of useful medical and botanical knowledge, may also be understood as a biographical 44 Moreover, as Kerner observes, the anecdotes are told in the dictionary or a first person and often contain dialogue, which would seem to support the relationships

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she suggests with the adab tradition, and which would make more likely a cross-over audience which might have included certain members of BR’s public. Other genres of texts that might, in their turn, have participated in the transmission of Eastern styles and tastes for image-making include the “Mirrors for Princes,” principal among which, as far as al-Andalus is concerned, at any rate, would undoubtedly be the KalƯla wa Dimna.45 Although we know of no extant illustrated Arabic copy of the text that was either transmitted to or produced in al-Andalus, the importance of the Alfonsine textual tradition surrounding it—the Wise King had it translated before he succeeded to the throne—argues strongly for such a possibility.46 Francisco Prado, moreover, has recently proposed, in a discussion of caliphal-period ivories, the knowledge of the illustration tradition of the text in al-Andalus as early as the reign of III.47 It is thus interesting to note that, in a number of the illustrations of Arabic copies of the KalƯla wa Dimna discussed by O’Kane (all of which postdate the production of BR by a significant period of time), representations of trees and other vegetation contain examples which are practically identical to the one whose discussion opened this section. Given that the genesis of Mamluk painting (a number of the texts analyzed by O’Kane have a Mamluk provenance) is also generally agreed to have involved consultation of image programs produced for scientific texts, it is not impossible that the vegetation therein proceeds from a process identical to that which we propose for the flora represented in BR. Likewise, the genre generally referred to as “wisdom literature,” including texts such as the ninth-century BaghdadƯ compilation, MukhtƗr later re-worked in Egypt during the eleventh century and illustrated there in a Mamluk context, during the thirteenth century is an excellent candidate for participation in the formation of the style of literary illustration exhibited by BR.48 According to D.Gutas, the particular manuscript in question was quite possibly dedicated to a military ruler. A collection of the sayings of wise men (including Greeks, and Byzantines such as Saints Basil and Gregory, as well as outstanding Islamic figures of culture), it is a text which appealed to a broad base of readers (reasons for its wide popularity certainly include the emphasis placed on wisdom, or in the As a testimony to its popularity, there exists an Alfonsine translation (in which incarnation the text became known as “Los Bocados de Oro,” a text plentifully represented in the fourteenth- and fifteenth-century Castilian holdings of the Biblioteca Nacional in Madrid and at San Lorenzo del Escorial) and subsequent tradition similar to that of the Calila y Digna.49 It was translated into most European languages, with Alfonso X’s Castilian translation serving as the basis for later Latin, and then French and Provençal, translations.50 Moreover, it is clear that contacts between the AndalusƯ/MaghrebƯ transmission of the text in Arabic and that taking place in Mamluk Egypt continued apace, independently of the Alfonsine tradition. Rosenthal notes the presence in Cairo of a copy of the MukhtƗr with marginal notes in a MaghrebƯ hand, dated AD 1389, and containing the name of a certain owner by the name of Abnj al-MaghrebƯ.51 Finally, Grabar and Guthrie concur on the probable importance of local Christian image-making traditions in the formation of the Arab illustration tradition represented by the MaqƗmƗt images. Guthrie posits the derivation of certain figures from local Christian traditions for the production of images of priests,52 while Grabar cites ancestors in Syrian

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Christian traditions of manuscript illustration: “The influence of Greek originals is especially clear in the three-dimensional modeling of figures by means of shading and the relatively natural fall of garment folds.” The colophon of the latter manuscript contains expressions in Syriac, alluding both to its provenance and to a hybrid context of production.53 Again, very similar contacts and processes appear to have been at work in the context which produced the illustration program of BR. As noted above, Monneret de Villard observed formal similarities between the AndalusƯ images and illustrated bibles produced at a slightly earlier period in the Christian regions of the Iberian peninsula. Moreover, he, as well as several other scholars (the present author included), has remarked important similarities between the BR images and those produced a few decades later under Alfonsine supervision and patronage.54 Although I consider the relationship between the Alfonsine illuminations and the earlier images which accompany the text of BR to be a slightly different problem, and will therefore reserve its examination until the final section of the following chapter, I would like to signal here other relations to local traditions of Christian image production, not to my knowledge remarked before.55 In particular, one notes striking similarities between the figure of the relative, the laid out beside a water-wheel along the shores qarƯb, in the image representing of the river TharthƗr in a dead, lovesick faint (figure 1.10, see p. 47), and carved wooden Calvary groups, produced for the most part in the Catalan regions of the peninsula beginning probably right about the time, or perhaps slightly before, our manuscript was produced.56 The heavy folds of drapery of the qarƯb’s yellow (saffron-dyed?) robe, arranged in rhythmic oval shapes, together with his clasped hands and sorrowfully inclined head, are strikingly reminiscent of the demeanor and posture of Saint John the Apostle as he is represented in these groups, whereas the figure has no immediately obvious Islamic precedent that I have been able to locate, and certainly none produced so “close to home,” as it were. Indeed, if—as was suggested earlier—we entertain the possibility of the manuscript’s having been manufactured, not in Seville or in Granada, but in the eastern regions of the peninsula, the possibility of such contacts becomes even greater. Moreover, the “influence” would not simply be one of styles and drapery folds, but of the AndalusƯ artists’ having understood perfectly the import and content of the scene in which the figure they chose to copy participates, and having appropriated, in addition to formal features, Jesus’ best friend’s pathos and drama. The same figural group (this time, however, the model would be the sorrowing Virgin), with much less success to be sure, was arguably manipulated to produce the awkward figure of Shamnjl in the image where she, veiled and secretive, hands over to his first letter from his beloved beside the shores of the same chatty river (figure 1.9). Finally, in the image that dramatizes tragic separation from her Lady (figure 1.7), the figure of the Sayyida appears crown-less, but veiled and seemingly also haloed. This detail renders this particular representation of her is strikingly different from all of the other images in which she appears wearing a large, ostentatious crown. Here she is shown frontally (though she turns her head, somewhat woodenly, to her right) and seated beneath the rounded arch of what is possibly either the window of a mirador or the entrance to a garden pavilion, and engaged in a tête-à-tête with the Her figure is strikingly reminiscent of the frontal, seated sculptures of the Virgin (in the sculptures,

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however, she generally holds the Christ child on her lap), produced everywhere in the Christian contexts of medieval Iberia from the twelfth through the first part of the fourteenth centuries AD. These sculptures, generally quite small, were kept in monasteries, cathedrals, parish churches, small shrines or ermitas (hermitages), and they were often believed to have miraculous origins, becoming the focus of intense devotions from the popular strata of Iberian society on up through the most regal. A perfect example is found in Alfonso X himself, who styled himself the Virgin’s troubadour. Moreover, Francisco Prado argues convincingly for the Cantigas de Santa María (literally brimming over with representations of such sculptures, often come to life) both as having had a conversionary function and as being representative of the potentially shared devotions inspired by the Virgin, devotions that crossed religious divides with surprising ease.57 Again, no immediately obvious Islamic parallel comes to mind, whereas the vast number of such sculptures potentially accessible to AndalusƯ artisans argues strongly for their having been seen and adapted to the purposes of representing the regal Sayyida (what more regal precedent, indeed, than the Queen of Heaven herself?). To sum up, then, I would characterize the probable sources for the BR illustrations as follows. As suggested earlier in this chapter, BR’s images are easily divided into a few distinct types—the frontispiece (figure 1.1); interiors (figures 1.3, 1.9, 1.13 and 1.14); counseling or teaching scenes (figures 1.2, see p. 18 and 8, see p. 40); and garden scenes in which the fateful majlis is represented (figures 1.4–6, see pp. 21, 27 and 30), at which unfortunate and most uncourtly indiscretion. are sung the songs that will lead to For our purposes, the “garden scenes” may also be said to incorporate such moments as separation from her lady” (figure 1.7), “ fainting, observed by the Old “ Woman’s relative” (figure 1.10), and “Shamnjl delivering a message from to (figure 1.9).” These latter three images are, as will be remembered, those for which I have suggested that the AndalusƯ artists, probably at least partially because of the specificity of the representational requirements for these scenes and the lack of Islamic precedents immediately to hand, had recourse to Christian sources. The first three of these categories—frontispiece, interior and teaching or counseling scenes (perhaps particularly the latter two)—are the ones from among BR’s images which have been most frequently compared to manuscript illustrations from the “Central Islamic Lands,” and this for one simple reason: they are the most similar. No one, to my knowledge, has suggested a “MaqƗmƗt copy” interpretation for any from among the “garden scene” category of BR’s image program, and I certainly have not been able to find any. The frontispiece, interior and teaching or counseling scenes do indeed find parallels among the MaqƗmƗt illustrations, but they also find parallels, as discussed earlier, in illustrations to earlier books on medical or scientific themes produced in the “Central Islamic Lands”—one might mention again here the Topkapi Dioscorides Medica, proposed by Grabar as a comparison with the two scenes in which the instructs The similarities, as observed, are not such that one would ever imagine the two manuscripts having been produced in the same workshop, or even in the same city. Rather, they appear, to co-opt a phrase from Samuel Armistead and James Monroe from a discussion of Celestina and her Muslim sisters (a topic to be taken up in the following chapter of the present study), to be “generic rather than genetic.”58 Such would

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undoubtedly not be the case, however, for copies of the Dioscorides Medica produced in Seville, or in Murcia. Teaching scenes were easily transformed into the two images of the counseling nd interiors were readily adapted to the fainting to the slave girls, some days later, delivering her latest missive to the hero; to the distraught relative; and to his “sleeping-and-drooling” young man’s chess game with the scene. BR’s majlis images, on the other hand, almost certainly find their most likely sources in the material tradition of ceramics and textiles discussed earlier (as mentioned, of course, it is equally possible that the manuscript images, or others like them, served as models and inspiration for the creation of a corresponding “courtly” material culture). Perhaps Almoravid-or pre-Almohad-period wall paintings similar to those of which fragments were found in Murcia, in which musicians and performers were portrayed, also contributed. What needed inventing, however, and practically from scratch (this, as will be explored in the following chapter, is probably because the slave-girl narrative at the tale’s core was completely re-written in order to produce the version contained in Vat. Ar. Ris. 368), were the more narrative garden scenes, all of which proceed from the re-written second half of the story. Certainly it is for these reasons that these scenes are the most “typically AndalusƯ” in the details they offer to the viewer’s gaze. Indeed, the uniqueness of the text as preserved in Vat. Ar. Ris. 368 perhaps explains the fact that arguments in favor of the “local influences” present in BR’s images are almost always based on the architectural details of the Sayyida’s garden and palace (those of the image in which she sits, Virgin-like and frontal, on a throne beneath an archway or a pavilion being invoked with particular frequency), or on the illustration of a tragically lovesick fainted dead away beside a distinctively AndalusƯ water-wheel, observed and lamented by the Old Woman’s qarƯb, himself curiously reminiscent of a Catalan Saint John the Apostle.

A question of courtliness…but whose? It is possible, but probably at present impossible to demonstrate, that the choice of precisely Vat. Ar. Ris. 368 as a text that should be illustrated had to do with the increasingly decentralized nature of political power and a resulting increase in the number of possible circles of patronage in early thirteenth-century al-Andalus. Courtliness as a path toward the achievement of noble status is one of the story’s principal themes. The members of the class to which aspires, tellingly, include the noble lovers of yore, the Sayyida’s bevy of poetically inspired and timeless slave but no girls, the Sayyida herself, and the Old Woman’s qarƯb, probably the member in any way identifiable as part of an Almohad ruling hegemony (contrast this, al-HamƗma, or “The Neck-ring for instance, with AndalusƯ author Ibn of the Dove,” composed during the first decade of the eleventh century, in which many of the anecdotes “name names,” as it were, and many of these names belong to well-known court figures, even to AndalusƯ caliphs).59 As mentioned earlier, it would seem unlikely that such an object would have been produced at the Almohad court. Nevertheless, one

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could easily imagine a renewed push of cultural energy taking place at one of the anti-Almohad centers of power, such as the lands controlled by the Bannj Hnjd, who would have rejoiced at the Almohads’ downfall, or in the context of a city, such as Murcia, not fully or comfortably under Almohad dominion. Moreover, although we will probably never identify the patron of BR there are further precisions we may make concerning the social milieu from which he or she probably proceeded. Given the text’s lack of concern for the representation of traditional court power structures (the Sayyida’s father, for example, is a minister, or but we are never told to whom) and its several explicit mentions of merchants ( for instance, tells the Sayyida that he is the son of a Syrian trader—tijjƗr—and that he has been left to enjoy himself in “their country” while his father carries out business), it certainly seems likely that the patron, whoever she or he was, was not a prince[ss]ly one. The text insists on courtliness as a path toward betterment. It is through his demonstration, and the assertions, for instance, that he is an adƯb and a littérateur that is able to enter the company of the Sayyida and her girls and, as will be seen, through his mastering of the courtly codes and mores that he is able to “redeem” himself following the first, disastrous majlis. Coupled with the markedly pedestrian quality of the language in which both “courtly” prose and poetry are rendered, this constitutes, to my mind, further proof of the non-princely nature of its patron and audience. As will be examined in greater detail in the following two chapters, the absence of chronologically and formally appropriate “courtly” comparanda from “Central Islamic Lands” would not appear to indicate that the concepts outlined above were imported from those regions. Indeed, the striking resonance of BR’s images with roughly contemporary AndalusƯ objects of local production, discussed in a preceding section of this chapter, argues strongly for the primarily local references and relevance of BR’s text and illustrations. If courtliness is the principal topic of both text and images, then, this was a courtliness with distinctly local resonance and relevance. Despite the fact that we lack any knowledge of BR’s original binding or of the other texts, perhaps also illustrated, with which it might originally have been combined, we may safely say that BR was clearly intended to function, on at least one level, as an expensive luxury object: fourteen illustrations in a book containing only thirty folios translate as a very labor-intensive project. Moreover, the amount of careful detailing in the images—apparent in the rendering of noses, folds of cloth, specifics of setting and architectural ornament—bespeaks high-quality work; touches of gold (on bottles, tirƗz bands, columns, capitals) suggest luxury, both for the manuscript’s owner and for the setting into which the story is placed. The consistent size and format of the BR images would also seem to be the product of a thoroughly organized enterprise of book production and illustration, as would the easy division of the BR images into several types, upon which variations, as discussed above, were then produced according to the specific needs of the narrative moment in question. In addition to image type and structure, the details which bring grass, hands, and particularities of clothing to life are handled in a consistent and self-assured manner which should put to rest any supposition concerning this manuscript’s having been a rarity in its original cultural context. Other than that of converting into a luxury object a manuscript that, under other circumstances, might have served simply as a repository of information, a place in which

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BR’s story might be stored so that it would not be lost or forgotten, what purpose might these images have served? As I have argued more extensively elsewhere, 60 I believe that BR’s images served four principal functions, all of which are intimately related to the courtly content of both the textual and visual components of the manuscript. The first is a narrative one, that of telling the story or of summing up the principal moments of it (and in this, the large, black titles appearing beneath each of the images play an important role), possibly in order to assist a performer or a storyteller. BR’s images occur consistently either in the middle of or following the section of text or the narrative moment to which they correspond. Together with the discursiveness of many of the titles—for example, that which appears beneath the well-known image of fainting fallen on his face in a dead faint, on the shore beside the water-wheel: “Image of of the river, and an image of the young man, the Old Woman’s relative, who has stopped above him, and is intoning a lament for him and weeping over him and the two of them are facing the river TharthƗr,” or the one that accompanies sleeping-andwas in her drooling scene: “Image of the Old Woman when she entered to where house and found him sleeping; that’s why she sat down at his head and recited these verses”—the images could easily have served a narrator as a basis for oral performance or improvisation, providing that she or he were well acquainted with text and plot and thus able to, as it were, fill in the blanks. The images alone do not tell BR’s story completely, but they consistently and accurately reflect events or descriptions related in the text. The second function, closely connected to the first, is a performative one, which will be examined in greater detail in the following chapter of this study. The summaries of narrative offered by the pictures and their subtitles probably served a mnemonic function for a performer or a storyteller, and the lyrics, recorded in their entirety, are infinitely sing-able; moreover, on a number of occasions the text instructs its readers to do just that. Third, the images offer commentary on the story, its events and its characters, signaling the moments considered most significant by either the patron or the artists, or both, and cluing the audience in to the reactions and responses they were expected to evidence. They also often contain details, at times piquant or amusing, which elaborate or comment on features of the narrative. These details, in turn, depend on an audience’s or a storyteller’s familiarity with the narrative in order to achieve their greatest effect. For instance, in the illustration of fainting spell upon the Old Woman’s mention of and his interest in her (figure 1.3), the room in which the action takes place is presented frontally, as is customary in the BR illustrations. The generic type—the interior—has here been adapted to the very specific purposes of the narrative, and has been further manipulated in order to gloss the narrative occasion to which it corresponds. In addition to representing fainting spell and the reaction of slave girls and Old Woman, the image’s details comment ironically on the necessity for secrecy (in the words of the Old Woman, kitmƗn; sitr) at such moments as the delicate one it depicts. The closed door, employed in the context of BR only in images of interiors in which secrecy might, on the basis of the text to which they correspond, be said to be an issue (for instance, it also appears in the image showing in a secret and secretive

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“dƗr,” receiving a message from through the mediation of the Sayyida’s slave girls, whom he has encountered beside the river), constitutes a visual implication that all gazes but the Old Woman’s, here in her capacity of narrator, and ours, are blocked. Up in the turret of the tower, though, is a small but very widely opened window (the only one thus depicted in the BR illustrations) which seems to hint at the shameful disclosures to come, a theme with which the text is imminently preoccupied; if an audience were already familiar with the story, such a detail might foreshadow or even amuse. Another instance of this visual glossing is found in the three consecutive majlis images (figures 1.4–6). Given that the majlis is the key moment of conflict in the narrative, and that all remaining events form part of attempts on the part of the principal characters to undo the harm which has been done there, a reader, member of the audience or storyteller would certainly have paid particular attention to this section of the text and its accompanying images. It is therefore noteworthy that the differences between the three images are seemingly so subtle—clearly they were meant to be examined closely and carefully. Moreover, this is the section that contains the thickest concentration of lyrics, all of which were arguably intended to be sung either by a performer, by members of the public or both. The Sayyida’s majlis, as will be remembered, constitutes the context in which all of the love songs proper in BR are sung, and through the singing of which, it seems, the miseries of lovesickness are visited upon the protagonists. It thus constitutes the very moment in which the protagonist pair of lovers, as it were, most thoroughly “put their foot in it” as far as the codes of courtliness are concerned. Nevertheless, the images themselves, upon first inspection, give no hint of impropriety, an important fact to which we will return repeatedly throughout the remaining two chapters of this study. They may, however, hint at the gravity of the encroaching cases of lovesickness about to be visited upon the young couple, through the metaphorical association of love with wine. As has been observed, all three majlis images, like the interiors and the counseling scenes, conform in their most general characteristics to a type. Upon closer inspection, though, an attentive observer might note that in the first of the majlis images, no props for wine-drinking (cups or bottles) appear. In the second, however, which corresponds to first performance, hand holds a cup from which he is clearly sipping as he, likewise, drinks in his beloved’s every word. In the third image, in which takes up the lute, now also holds a cup. drinking-and-listening gestures are ambiguously echoed by the unidentified slave girl at her side, and slightly later in the narrative it becomes clear that such a juxtaposition might have moral implications. hasn’t known how to keep her head about her, or perhaps the “wine” has gone to it, whereas the other slave girls were aware that the songs and their singing were not to be taken seriously, and thus were able, so to speak, to handle their liquor. Moreover, in the third majlis image the Old Woman (her profile is clearly legible toward the back left corner of the group of figures) ostentatiously wields a wine flask, which viewers might remember as sitting innocently to one side on a table in the first majlis scene (the frontispiece), at which the was present. She—in addition to, or perhaps despite, protestations concerning her noble intentions in bringing the two lovers together—has

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been distributing the ruby-red elixir consumed by and the unidentified slave girl, and perhaps fomenting a bit of metaphorical trouble to boot. These visual points would have been driven home for their audience by the text which, interspersed with the images, contains lyrics filled with pointed references to the contrast between drunkenness brought on by wine (remediable) and that resulting from love’s arrival (after a onslaught (irremediable). A song is performed just preceding break in the singing activities so that everyone could drink some more wine) by a slave girl named (“Remedy,” or “Cure,” an irony which is unlikely to have escaped any of those present at a reading of BR) on ff. 5v–6r. It likewise, refers to the bitter cup which Love has given her to drink (“Love enslaved me and I melted into flowing passion/And it obsessed me; my heart died loving./Love emaciated me, and I was given a cup to drink/That stopped my pain, but with grief and agonies”), and (as if that weren’t enough) is followed by:

I am drunk on love, but wine has no effect on me, Even if it were a lot. Wine travels through the veins, But love does not drag the harnesses of wine from me when it’s flowing through. Love is a fire in the entrails, and there’s no avoiding it, And no drunkenness from it like wine. Drunkenness can be rooted out, but love won’t be ousted And wine is all fun, while infatuation makes for heavy thinking. He who drinks wine sees its sweet pleasures, But as for the wine of passion, although it’s bearable, it doesn’t offer consolation. Finally, the slave girl called upon by the Sayyida to perform immediately following song (f. 6r) is named MudƗm, one of whose possible translations is “wine,” and whose multiple associations surely would not have been lost on an audience. Each of the two majlis images which follow appear to make a point of displaying the accoutrements of wine-drinking in the hands of the principal characters— and the Old Woman. By this time, moreover, the lyrics have become from f. 7v: full-blown evocations of (invitations to?) lovesickness—witness

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Passion and desire shot deadly arrows at me, And what there was of them in my heart already doubled. I was overcome by the illness installed in my heart; Indeed, the key to the illness was a glance, the wink of an eye. And, oh, the torment of the heart filled with distress and afflicted… In short, the images, in their function as illustrations—i.e., through their construction as specific units of summed-up narrative and their clear and forceful communication of this purpose to an audience, as well as their lack of marginalia or other potentially visually distracting devices—would thus lead a viewer to examine them closely, and to interpret the additional details as comments on the narrative and/or larger didactic messages born by the images. This process of the construction of meaning then leads the viewer, ultimately, back to the now-visually-glossed text with new levels of interpretation, both ironic and didactic, to apply. Finally, BR almost certainly functioned (possibly with a certain degree of implied irony) as an instructive handbook intended to guide its affluent, but perhaps not noble or extremely highly educated, readers and larger audience in the proper (“courtly”) manner in which to conduct a love affair. The elegant and literate class of (sing., ) to which many of BR’s principal characters are presented as belonging is vaguely defined as including kings (f. 3r: “…for kings love to take their pleasures in gardens…”), the 61 elegant ladies like the Sayyida and her singing, poetry-reciting largely absent f. 1r–1v, we are given to understand, is the most beautiful slave girls (of whom and accomplished), and the Old Woman’s relative, who consoles in his lovesick misery, first listening to his woes and then distracting him (as is proper in such cases) with conversation, outings and games of chess. The characters, although they do evidence individualities in their personal sentiments,62 conform in large measure to literary and/or social types which would have been clearly identifiable to members of a thirteenthcentury audience, and the plot centers around the potentially didactic dilemma of how to maintain socially accepted “courtly” norms when confronted with lovesickness (which perhaps translates in actual social terms as the temptation to transgress these norms). Each character might be read as constituting a lesson in loving elegantly and nobly. The Sayyida’s (despite her loss of control and her decidedly uncourtly hurling of an ivory inkwell at her favorite), the Old Woman’s relative’s, and the slave girls’ (from among whom Shamnjl is singled out) belonging to this class of noble lovers is never (whose case is special, punished and thus also questioned. With the exception of exemplary), each responds to the demands placed upon her or him by specific narrative situations in ways which are presented to readers as laudable and, implicitly, worthy of emulation. acceptance into the class of noble lovers, though, hangs somewhat in the balance during the opening pages (might his status as the son of a trader be at the root of this ambiguity?): the Old Woman appears to reserve judgment on this issue until she has observed his behavior at the Sayyida’s majlis. She does express her surprised

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approval, though, when she notes, as they walk along the river toward the appointed place for the majlis, that her young protégé is carrying a “nice” lute. This fact seems to bode well for potential as a courtier, and—at the end of the trials and tribulations to which his lovesickness subjects him—he does eventually prove himself to (or of their descendants, given that be a worthy member of the society of the ahl most of the names of famous lovers reeled off by the Old Woman, f. 2r, belong to figures from the earliest days of Islam). on the other hand, is presented as the antithesis of proper, or “courtly,” behavior in matters of love. She falls from grace despite her privileged beginnings (she, as the Old Woman and the Sayyida both note, was raised in the palace and given every advantage, so perhaps it could be argued that she should have known better). She is reinstated in her Lady’s good graces (and into the fold of the noble descendants of ahl ) only after much suffering and due to the Sayyida’s clemency. BR’s dictums and advice concerning proper (i.e., “courtly”) behavior are usually pronounced in the Old Woman’s voice. They are somewhat reminiscent in tone of early eleventh-century Tawq and find even more passages in Ibn ninth-century KitƗb to be specific resonances in discussed again in the following chapter. BR’s striking novelty, as will be discussed in the following chapter, with respect to these two texts, however, is constituted by its didactic passages’ having been seamlessly interwoven with the threads of narrative which both occasion and justify them, and having been illustrated. Thus, BR’s images are highly implicated in the manuscript’s didactic concerns and, equally importantly, in its novelty. Despite the already-noted high proportion of images in relation to text in BR, it is also certain that not every narrative moment which would seem to suggest illustration gets memorialized in an image.63 The Sayyida’s rending of her gown in anger, for instance, following disastrous revelation of her true love for the young foreigner, might easily have inspired a painter to pick up his or her brush, and cross-dressed as a slave girl (which happens twice in the narrative as it is preserved) would also potentially constitute interesting visual fodder. Nevertheless, neither moment is illustrated. Nor are in her languishing state, whereas, on the other hand, we we shown an image of are told, and in great detail, in the voice of Shamnjl (f. 12v), of the specific physical changes wrought in her companion by lovesickness, and we are also given a very exact has been enclosed, within the palace, to either description of the place in which recuperate or die. Instead, we are shown the scene in which her ostracism begins, following which is not pictured again until her reconciliation with the Sayyida. Moreover, in another example of visual glossing of the text, she is represented as already physically distanced from both the Sayyida and the Old Woman, who has appeared in order to set matters aright with her glib tongue, by a pond of which no mention is made in the text. Mention is made, rather, of the separate room into which the Old Woman coaxes the Sayyida following her outburst, which is also represented in the image. In other words, the authors of BR’s program of images appear to have consciously avoided depicting uncourtly behavior, with the one and certainly intentional exception of

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the separation from her Lady, which represents the moment immediately preceding exile as a result of her transgression of “courtly” norms. They concentrate, instead, on images of behavior considered worthy of emulation according to “courtly” standards. The choice of what (and what not) to illustrate reinforces a particular aspect of the text’s contents, and amplifies this message into a visual didactics similar to that proposed by Sandra Hindman for French manuscripts—most of which were produced during the final decades of the thirteenth century, and to which we will return briefly in the final chapter of this study—containing stories by Chrétien de Troyes. As is well known, these narratives are also very much concerned with “courtly” and uncourtly behavior, and Hindman suggests that they have been illustrated with a clear agenda of the glossing, emphasizing or elision of certain didactic or socially relevant aspects of the text’s content.64 Viewed as part of an instructive program concerned with courtliness, the BR images might be summed up as follows. Seven of the surviving images are dedicated to events and are united for the first surrounding the Sayyida’s majlis, at which time, with the disastrous results of loss of control depicted in the seventh. These are: the frontispiece or presentation of dramatis personae, which also corresponds to the majlis (where, incidentally, all behave properly); the first scene of fainting scene (which is still within the receiving advice from the Old Woman; realm of proper “courtly” behavior: upon being brought to consciousness by the rose water sprinkled on her cheeks, declares to the worried group that this “isn’t what they think,” and then enjoins her fellow slave girls to keep what they have seen a secret); the three consecutive images of performance at the Sayyida’s majlis, discussed above (exhibiting, when considered together, the progressive intrusion of wine flasks and cups, along with their implied dangers of a loss of control); and, finally, the image of ostracism. The second group of images—which also number seven—are devoted to the resolution (through, it is implied, exemplary “courtly” behavior) of the disaster wrought by and contain a programmatic laundry list of proper, “courtly” postures and activities for the lovesick lover. These images include: the second instance of receiving advice from the Old Woman; receiving a letter from his beloved at the fainting spell hands of her faithful intermediary and fellow slave girl, Shamnjl; beside the river (observed by the Old Woman’s relative, who begins to improvise verses playing a of rithƗ’ (elegy) because he assumes that the young foreigner is dead); game of chess with the Old Woman’s relative (the two are observed by the Old Woman herself, positioned—probably tellingly—at the very margins of the interior space in reception of yet another letter from which the two young men are depicted); through the of the Sayyida’s palace; reconciliation with her Lady; and the Old Woman’s observation of her protégé as he slumbers, having doubtless dozed off, as writing implements and a bookstand (not mentioned in the text; probably references to qualities as an adƯb; these references might be ironic, for the Old

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Woman notes that he was drooling as he dozed) prominently displayed in the background of the much-damaged image seem to suggest, while composing a “courtly” love letter to his beloved.65 As has been noted, the latter half of the manuscript in its surviving state is the most damaged; thus, even more images of these topics and approved postures for the lovesick but always “courtly” lover might originally have been included. Each half of the manuscript and its particular group of images contains, early on in its narrative sequence, being counseled by the Old Woman in the loving customs and mores an image of of the each group of images and the text they accompany is probably colored, governed or categorized as didactic by these scenes of the imparting and absorbing of information. The first group of images is especially preoccupied with two themes. First is the majlis itself (how to set it up, and how to behave at it): note again that four of the seven images contain majlis scenes which correspond to passages in which the Old Woman either admonishes concerning how he should behave at the Sayyida’s majlis, or describes approvingly the appointments—which are appropriate to “women such as they” (f. 4r)—of that majlis once she arrives with her charge. As the Old Woman notes when she arrives at the palace to set up the fateful majlis (f. 3r), is an expert at setting up for such festivities, and her narration also pays particular attention to is received, greeted, the manner in which, upon their arrival the following day, fed and given to drink (f. 7r). She likewise notes the fact that he receives these attentions 66 Second, and of ultimately greater import, as a theme of in a manner befitting a concern or emphasis in this first group is the nature of the engagement with love which behooves the In the passages of text most immediately surrounding the first counseling scene, the engage in something of a debate on this issue (ff. 2r–3r). Old Woman and champions love as the adornment of the elegant, while the Old Woman’s tone is reserved and cautionary. She counsels secrecy as the only way, pointing to the ultimate irony that it is precisely of those who couldn’t keep their mouths shut that we know, whereas those whose behavior was exemplary (i.e., who kept their secrets closely just moments before her decisive guarded) have fallen into oblivion. Likewise, performance, lauds the virtue of sincerity, and declares blameworthy those who (note that the “courtliness” of this next dictum is somewhat questionable), when the possibility presents itself, do not take the opportunities to unite themselves with their beloved; responds that those worthy of trust are few (f. 10r). Given the situation (a majlis) in which both characters and audience find themselves while this didactic material is presented and absorbed, it seems likely that these discussions between BR’s characters concerning love’s merits and disadvantages, and the most elegant ways to go about loving, might have constituted occasions for the assembled company to engage in similar debates based on the characters’ decisions and actions; as we know they did, for instance, at the court of French nobles such as Marie de Champagne, probable patroness of Andreas Capellanus’ treatise.67 We will return to these considerations in the final chapter of this study.

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The second group of images, as discussed earlier, constitutes a visual list of postures and actions for the lovesick lover who wants to remain this side of “courtly,” and it is in this second half of the manuscript, following emotional blunder, that shows himself to be a truly “courtly” lover even in lovesickness. The entire second half of the story, as will be remembered, was grafted by the compilers of Vat. Ar. Ris. 368 onto the slave-girl tale preserved in CBL 4120. Once it begins, the text, the is truly deserving of the title of images and the Old Woman are in agreement: “adƯb,” and he is to be accorded a place among the honorable descendants of the ahl The question, however, appears to be left open to debate by the audience throughout the manuscript. Once inside the castle on her mission to secure the first and to rendez-vous, for example, the Old Woman manages to speak alone with communicate to her the desires of a certain refined and educated young man for a meeting with her (f. 3r: “al-ghulƗm al-adƯb …”). Nevertheless, in her own memory, upon words, the Old Woman also informs us, by way of prompting her claims to have forgotten her first encounter with the Syrian dandy—the girl has asked ?”—that has already recited verses to her (f. 3r). guilelessly, “Who is She says, to be exact, that he is the one has seen from atop a tree, the one who recited verses to her. Given the problematic nature of such possible tashbƯb, and the dangers of betraying the secrets of one’s desire (expounded by the Old Woman herself as for the first time), the “courtliness” of first bold she counseled recitation, to which we have not been privy—either because it was not recorded, or because those pages of the manuscript have been lost—might well be called into question by an audience aware that they were permitted, or perhaps expected, to debate the courtliness of the characters’ actions. Also potentially of questionable (and debatable) propriety is the fact that there seems, according to the Old Woman at any rate, to already have been a meeting planned between the two lovers before their encounter at the Sayyida’s majlis: “…and you two had a rendez-vous for Friday!” she crows triumphantly in a final jarring of memory, at which point the latter drops onto the ground in a dead faint. Another utterance of which might appear to an audience to be of potentially debatable “courtliness” is his (descriptive poetry)/tashbƯb of his beloved, rendered at the Sayyida’s majlis in a nathr (rhymed prose) of decidedly lackluster quality which, comes in the form of a nonetheless, was lauded by the Sayyida as “real adab.” The telegraphic listing of laudable qualities. While starts off with attributes of the maidenly variety—things like silence, shyness, and the pallor of her skin, the roses then begins at a certain point to travel down and around the of her cheeks—his lovely body beneath the rosebud mouth and delicate chin, and to linger over such features as thighs and haunches (f. 11v), as well as her coquettish behavior. Although neither the fetishizing of his Sayyida nor anyone else appears to be in the least offended by beloved’s body, one does wonder a bit about how an audience might have reacted to it— and, for that matter, to the Sayyida’s failure to react.

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Following the upheaval caused by the trespassing of “courtly” norms by the consequent exile from the court, however, both protagonists at the majlis and “ redemption” through properly the images and the narrative (which recounts courtly deeds and behavior) work toward reinstating “courtly” order. The images carry this out through a consistent portrayal of the protagonist either under the influence of his lovesickness (e.g., fainting), stoically engaged in activities designed to ameliorate his state, contenting himself with letters from his beloved as a proper lover should, or, occasionally, tripping up and having to pick himself up, dust himself off and “get back in the saddle” (e.g., having fallen asleep over a letter he was in the act of composing). The process, is hardly a seamless one, nor is its happy conclusion foregone. Rather, it is a quest, involving great perseverance and effort on the part of the hero and a notinsignificant amount of help from friends and allies. In the end, it would appear that tenacity has paid off and that his reward will be a (chaste) reunion with the object of his desires. Indeed, perhaps we were too quick to reject Nykl’s choice of the word “epic” in the title of his Spanish translation, for it certainly might serve as a descriptor of journey.

Notes 1 For bibliography on the MaqƗmƗt, see Introduction, note 12. 2 For AndalusƯ’s who traveled extensively see the fifth chapter, or bƗb, of al-MaqqarƯ; R.Dozy, ed. and trans., Analectes sur l’histoire et la littérature des Arabes d’Espagne, I (Amsterdam: Oriental Press, 1967); J.Monroe, likewise, rightly signals the “pan-Islamic” scope and intended audience for al-AshtarkunƯ’s MaqƗmƗt al-LuznjmƯya; ibn Yusuf Ibn al-AshtarkunƯ; James T.Monroe, Al-Maqamat al-luzumiyah (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2002). 3 The images also resemble to some extent reconstructions of late Almoravid-or Almohadperiod dwellings excavated by J.Navarro Palazón in the region of Murcia (Cieza/SiyƗsa); see J.Navarro Palazón, “La DƗr as-SughrƗ’ de Murcia. Un palacio andalusí del siglo XII,” in Colloque international d’archéologie islamique, ed. R.-P.Gayraud, Textes Arabes et Études Islamiques, 36(Damascus, 1998), pp. 97–140. My admittedly somewhat unsystematic comparison of BR’s script with that of other AndalusƯ manuscripts also leads me to incline toward a thirteenth-century date. 4 On pre-Almohad, Almohad and architecture, gardens and visual culture in general in the region of sharq al-Andalus, see the helpful collection of studies edited by J.Navarro Palazón, Casas y Palacios de al-Andalus (Granada: E1 Legado Andalusí, 1995). 5 See El Jardín Musulmán de la Antigua Casa de Contratación de Sevilla, vols. 1 and 2(Seville, 1992), and A.Almagro, “El Patio del Crucero de los Reales Alcázares de Sevilla,” AlQantara, XX, fasc. 2(1999), pp. 331–376. 6 R.Ettinghausen, O.Grabar and M.Jenkins-Madina, Islamic Art and Architecture, 650–1250 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2001), p. 260. 7 This type of palace structure—two-story, with stragetically placed miradors, celosías and even stained glass—would be entirely in keeping with the categorizations of Almohadperiod palaces, known principally from the regions of sharq al-Andalus, though they almost certainly typified the Almohad capital, Seville, as well. See Navarro Palazón, Casas y Palacios. 8 Almagro, Al-Qantara; Navarro, Casas y Palacios.

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9 As discussed judiciously by Ibn Séville musulmane au début du XIIe siècle; le traité d’Ibn sur la vie urbaine et les corps de métiers, traduit avec une introduction et des notes par É.Lévi-Provençal (Paris: G.P.Maisonneuve, 1947). See the following chapter for more on the questions of propriety raised by BR. 10 Wishes for a “happy ending” to all of this are repeatedly expressed throughout the manuscript by several of the key characters; the importance of this fact to determining the piece’s genre and the most immediately important of its literary connections will be discussed in the final chapter of this study. 11 The image appears to have bled, probably due to moisture damage, onto f. 28v; this folio may have been left blank in order to accommodate an image that was ultimately never produced. These latter folios of the manuscript, in any case, are extremely poorly preserved. 12 Monneret de Villard, Bibliofilia, pp. 215–216. 13 By placing the word “discovery” between quotation marks, I mean to signal that the work appears in catalogues of the Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana long before 1940 (see Introduction, note 1), but the manuscript’s debut onto the scholarly scene unquestionably takes place with Nykl’s publication of his edition and translation into Spanish of the text and Monneret de Villard’s (still the only extant) analysis of its image program. 14 Monneret de Villard, Bibliofilia, p. 216. 15 Monneret de Villard, Bibliofilia, pp. 212–214. Also included is a discussion of the technical differences between the two principal schools of “Arab Painting” as this latter was conceived by Monneret’s generation: the Baghdad/“Mesopotamian” school appears to favor placing the scene represented directly onto the un-painted/ treated paper, whereas the “MawsilƯ”/Jazirah school evidences a distinct preference for covering the background with a single color, often red, or sometimes a tint of blue distinct from that which has been used in the composition of the image proper. Monneret notes, also, that this latter characteristic is typical both of Christian and Islamic manuscript production in the region, and that the two evidence many other traits in common (pp. 212–213), and names several other mss. in support of his point. In terms of the type of background preferred, BR is much more similar, of course, to the “Baghdad” school than it is to that of Mosul. The same is true for correspondences with this group in terms of the “absolute lack of perspective of any sort,” which Monneret appears to feel is more characteristic of the “Baghdad” school than that of Mosul. On p. 213, Monneret gives a detailed description of the path through which the artist[s] of BR transformed perspectivally-rendered buildings into the peculiarly flat, frame-like device which characterizes all represented interiors of the AndalusƯ manuscript. He also points out marked similarities with manuscript illustration techniques of the “Mesopotamian” school, making particular note of the of Ibn BaktƯshnj in the Morgan Library in New York, as well as the copy of the MaqƗmƗt belonging to the Oriental Museum in St.Petersburg (Russia; former USSR). Here, he mentions particularly the well-known barbershop scene from this manuscript, but notes that the latter is “…di valore pero infinitamente superiore al nostro [!].” 16 Monneret de Villard, Bibliofilia, esp. pp. 216–217. 17 I, on the other hand, do find it problematic and it is certainly not what usually happens when texts and their accompanying images are copied and transmitted. 18 Monneret de Villard, Bibliofilia, p. 210. See also G.Levi della Vida, Richerche sulla formazione del più antico fondo dei manoscritti orientali della Biblioteca Vaticana (Studi e Testi, 92) (Citta del Vaticano, 1939), pp. 169–170; citation apud Monneret. 19 It is not entirely clear to me just what Grabar means here by “imagery.” 20 Ettinghausen, Grabar and Jenkins, op. cit., p. 261. 21 These latter are, in fact, quite similar to the vegetation which provides the background to the image program of the one surviving copy of Varqa wa Gulshah.

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22 Here, Grabar undoubtedly refers to the two images, discussed above, in which the instructs in proper courtly behavior. 23 Dioskorides, De materia medica, dated 1229; Topkapi Sarayi Library, Istanbul; Ettinghausen et al., Islamic Art, p. 259. 24 Monneret de Villard, Bibliofilia, p. 213, n. 17. 25 Monneret de Villard (Bibliofilia, p. 215, n. 16) also cites interesting similarities with the Beatus manuscripts, as well as with the bibles of Roda and of León. 26 Ettinghausen et al., Islamic Art, p. 287, fig. 474. instructs in 27 Here, Grabar undoubtedly refers to the two images in which the proper courtly behavior. 28 Ettinghausen et al., Islamic Art, p. 289. 29 For the pillow, see Al-Andalus, no. 89, p. 321. 30 See Mann, Glick and Dodds, eds., Convivencia, cat. no. 106; it is also pictured on p. 10; its provenance is less certain than that of Berengaria’s pillow; see also Concha Herrero Carretero, Museo de Telas Medievales, Monasterio de Santa María la Real de Huelgas (Madrid: Patrimonio Nacional, 1988). 31 Ettinghausen et al., Islamic Art, pp. 281–282, f. 460. 32 See H.L.Ecker, Caliphs and Kings: The Art and Influence of Islamic Spain (Washington, DC and New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art; Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian Institution; Hispanic Society of America, 2004), cat. no. 43, HSA H909. 33 See C.Robinson, “Courtly Courts as Sites of Cultural Interaction: The Case of the Two Caskets,” in M.Aurell, ed., Culture Politique des PlantagenƝt (1154– 1224): Actes du Colloque tenu à Poitiers du 2 à 5 mai 2002 (Poitiers: CNRS, 2003), pp. 89–123; for the quote describing Queen Leonor’s vestments, see pp. 117–118. 34 On the exclusivity of royal vestments, and on the importance and significance of textiles of AndalusƯ manufacture at the Castilian court in general, see María Feliciano, “Muslim Shrouds for Christian Kings? A Reassessment of Andalusi Textiles in Thirteenth-Century Life and Ritual,” in Under the Influence, pp. 101–132. 35 See M.Viguera Molins, “Ceremonias y símbolos soberanos en al-Andalus: notas sobre la época almohade,” in Casas y Palacios, pp. 105–116. 36 See Guthrie, Arab Social Life, colorplate 18. 37 Ettinghausen et al., Islamic Art, pp. 260–262; Guthrie, Arab Social Life, pp. 20–21. 38 Ettinghausen et al., Islamic Art, pp. 260–262; see also n. 312. 39 R.S.Nelson, “An Icon at Mt. Sinai and Christian Painting in Muslim Egypt During the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries,” Art Bulletin 65(1983), pp. 201–217; the NaskhƯ script is from the pen of the calligrapher Ibn Qaysar al-IskandarƯ. The ms. in question is A. 125 inf.; SP 67 bis. See also B.O’Kane, Early Persian Painting: Kalila and Dimna Manuscripts of the Late Fourteenth Century (London and New York: I.B.Tauris, 2003). 40 Monneret de Villard, Bibliofilia, p. 212; Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris, Arabe 2850; see E.de Slane, Catalogue des manuscripts arabes, Bibliothèque Nationale (Paris, 1883–1895), pp. 513–514; citation apud Monneret. 41 Monneret de Villard, Bibliofilia, p. 212; Vaticano Rossiano 1033. In reference to astronomical and scientific manuscripts produced in the Maghreb, Monneret describes them as “copie di copie di prototipi orientali…” 42 J.E.Kerner, Art in the Name of Science: Illustrated Manuscripts of the Kitab al-diryaq, 2 vols. (Ph.D. dissertation, New York University, Institute of Fine Arts, 2004), with discussion of earlier bibliography; see also E.Hoffman, The Emergence of Illustration in Arabic Manuscripts: Classical Legacy and Islamic Transformation (Ph.D. dissertation, Harvard University, 1982); O.Pancaroglu, “Socializing Medicine: Illustrations of the Kitab

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al-Diryaq,” Muqarnas, 18(2001), pp. 155–172. The earlier and better known of the two manuscripts, written in kufic script, was copied in AD 1199; the second, less well studied copy was executed in the thirteenth century. The presence of which in al-Andalus is not, it should be pointed out, attested by any extant copy, although such a scenario is not only not impossible, but actually quite likely, given the tendency of such works to reach the farflung but cosmopolitan reaches of the western regions of the dƗr al-IslƗm. 43 M.Rogers, “Dioskurides and the Illustrated Herbal,” in an as yet unpublished paper presented at the September 2004 SOAS conference on Arab painting discussed in the introduction to this study; the papers are being edited in a collection by A.Contadini, in preparation. See also L.Leclerc, Histoire de la médecine arabe. Exposé complet des traductions du grec. Les sciences en orient, leur transmission à l’occident par les traductions latines, 2 vols. (New York: Burt Franklin, 1960). 44 She, however, argues against the “esoteric” interpretation of the illustrations, particularly the frontispieces, which was first proposed by Meyerhoff, and has been recently revisited by O.Pancaroglu, first in a conference paper presented in 2000 at the MESA session or majlis sponsored by the Historians of Islamic Art, and later in Pancaroglu, “Socializing Medicine.” 45 On these texts and their illustration, see O’Kane, Early Persian Painting. 46 El libro de Calila e Digna, edición crítica por John E.Keller y Robert White Linker (Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 1967). 47 F.Prado-Vilar, “Enclosed in Ivory: The Miseducation of al-Mughira,” Journal of the David Collection, 2.1(Copenhagen, 2005), pp. 138–163. 48 D.Gutas, “Textual Transmission and Reception of Mubashshir ibn FƗtik’s MukhtƗr ” unpublished paper presented at the aforementioned conference on Arab painting, held at SOAS in September 2004; F.Rosenthal, “‘Blurbs’ (taqrƯz) from FourteenthCentury Egypt,” Oriens, pp. 13–14, 27–28(1981), pp. 177–196. Mubashshir ibn FƗtik; Mechthild Crombach, Bocados de oro (Bonn: 49 Abu Romanisches Seminar der Universität Bonn, 1971); Emily C.Francomano, “Qué dices de las mujeres? Donzella Teodor as the Conclusion to Bocados de oro,” La Corónica: A Journal of Medieval Spanish Language and Literature, 30, no. 1 (Fall 2001), pp. 87–110; Alicia E.Ramadori, “La biografía en la literatura medieval castellana: el caso de Bocados de Oro,” Alba de América: Revista Literaria, 17, no. 32(March 1999), pp. 101–108; Harriet L.Goldberg, “Moslem and Spanish Christian Literary Portraiture,” Hispanic Review 45, no. 3(Summer 1977), pp. 311–326; Barry Taylor, “Old Spanish Wisdom Texts: Some Relationships,” La Corónica, 14, no. 1(Fall 1985), pp. 71–85. 50 F.Rosenthal, Greek Philosophy in the Arab World: A Collection of Essays (Aldershot, UK: Variorum; Brookfield, Vt.: Gower, 1990). 51 See Rosenthal, “‘Blurbs’ (taqrƯz) from Fourteenth-Century Egypt;” many thanks to D.Gutas for this reference. 52 Guthrie, Arab Social Life, pp. 18–20. 53 Ettinghausen et al., Islamic Art, pp. 260–262. 54 See above, pp. 85–90; notes 15, 40 and 41. 55 Many thanks to Neil Stratford, whose initial observations concerning a certain “Romanesque” quality to the BR images got me thinking along these lines. 56 These sculptural groups are very understudied; at present, the key publications still include Ars Hispaniae (Madrid, 1951). 57 See F.Prado-Vilar, Under the Shadow of the Gothic Idol (Chicago: Chicago University Press, forthcoming). 58 As in Samuel G.Armistead and James T.Monroe in “Celestina’s Muslim Sisters,” Celestinesca, 13, no. 2(1989), pp. 3–27. 59 See Chapter 3. 60 Robinson, “The Path to Perdition.”

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61 The is present in the scene with which the ms.opens, when the Old Woman casts an eye on for the first time, and is referred to several times, as the plot thickens, as an authority figure whose wrath is to be feared, but, for the most part, events take place in his absence, and his court connections remain unspecified. 62 The Old Woman is the most developed in this respect, a fact which suggests yet another intriguing parallel with Celestina. Note particularly her explanation of her own emotional reactions and intentions in the instances when spirits are at their lowest: ff. 2v–3r, 15r–15v. On the character development of Celestina, see J.Ricapito, “People, Characters and Roles: A View of Characterization in Celestina,” in I.Corfis and J.Snow, eds., Fernando de Rojas and Celestina: Approaching the Fifth Centenary: Proceedings of an International Conference in Commemoration of the 450th Anniversary of the Death of Fernando de Rojas, Purdue University, West Lafayette, Indiana, 21–24 November, 1991 (Madison: Hispanic Seminary of Medieval Studies, 1993), pp. 181–192; this issue will be discussed in greater detail in the following chapter. 63 Although, as already stated, an undetermined number of folios are missing from BR, the narrative moments signaled here as not illustrated are not located near problematic lacunae. 64 See S.Hindman, Sealed in Parchment: Rereadings of Knighthood in the Illuminated Manuscripts of Chrétien de Troyes (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994). 65 As mentioned earlier, the order of these last two images, I believe, is meant to be reversed: several of the final pages of the manuscript in its current state of preservation are bound out of order. Nykl’s 1941 edition presents the pages (and, thus, the images) in the order in which they have been bound, without comment. 66 Yet again, one wonders about the possibility of ironic or humorous intent—the Old Woman’s comment is that received the Sayyida’s attentions in an exemplary manner like a (f. 7r: “fa-akala aklan nabƯlan mathƯlan…”). The passage could really be interpreted either way, but given the ambiguities in play here concerning the characters’ observation of proper etiquette, the fact that his manners were considered at all probably indicates that the possibility of parody or irony should not be ruled out. 67 André le Chapelain, De amore et amoris remedio; English translation, The Art of Courtly Love, by J.J.Parry (New York: Columbia University, 1941 and 1990). More recently on the “Art,” see P.Cherchi, Andreas and the Ambiguity of Courtly Love (Toronto and Buffalo: University of Toronto Press, 1994). Spanish and Latin, De amore=Tratado sobre el amor, ed. and trans. I.Creixell Vidal-Quadras (Barcelona: Sirmio, 1990); in terms of parallels with potentially debatable narrative situations in BR, I am thinking specifically of the “iudicia” of ch. VII (pp. 324 ff.), particularly XVIII, “Quidam milites intima turpiter et secreta vulgavit amoris…”—“a certain soldier-gentleman shamefully disclosed the intimate secrets of his love….” The result, after judgment by a group of courtly ladies, is ostracism from the court of love (pp. 342–345). The offending party, of course, in the case examined by the Chaplain is male instead of female, but the parallel is nonetheless suggestive.

3 ALFONSO, THE ALMOHADS AND THE The

courtliness and culture in thirteenth-century Iberia

BR belongs, in terms of the moment of its production, to a historical context in which the Almohad state was the dominant, though hardly the only, sphere of Islamic political power in al-Andalus. The architectural and garden types and ornament that characterize its image program, as discussed in the previous chapter, do evidence particularly strong associations with Almohad-period architecture, and the manuscript has often, by common consensus, been labeled as “Almohad.”1 And yet, official Almohad literary culture’s engagement with themes of courtliness—and, more particularly, of courtly love—was, at least as far as the preserved sources reveal, negligible to nonexistent. Thus, rather than being labeled an “Almohad object,” BR should be seen as part of a cultural sphere which we might loosely denominate “Almohad,” with this designator referring to a chronological and geographical, rather than a cultural, entity. In fact, it is possible to imagine it as somewhat anti-, or extra-Almohad in its embracing of images and songs concerned with “frivolous” themes and courtly culture.2 Such themes, of course, do not disappear from Almohad period literature entirely: as will be discussed below, they continue to be cultivated at a high level by literati who are close to the Almohads and perhaps serve as fonctionnaires to members of the dynasty. Compositions on these themes, however, do not appear in official contexts or in official panegyric; rather, we might imagine ministers who are also poets engaging in these literary pastimes during their “off hours,” so to speak. It is therefore possible—but, as will be seen, not probable—that BR was produced under the patronage of an influential family such as the Banu important ministers to the Almohads and significant located a pleasant, players on the political scene, often operating from their bucolic and accessible day’s journey from Granada. One of their members, Ibn al-AndalusƯ, was the author of a number of literary compilations which will prove important in our analysis of BR’s text in its AndalusƯ, Arabic-speaking context. It is, likewise, possible that BR was produced at one of the courts of the Almohads’ opponents or successors, such as that of Ibn MardanƯsh and/or his allies, or Ibn Hnjd and/or his descendants or allies. Following soon on the heels of the battle of Las Navas de Tolosa, out of which Alfonso VIII emerged as victor, came a series of stunning conquests of AndalusƯ cities carried out under the leadership of Fernando III during the 1230s and 1240s. These conquests would change the distribution and power structure of “Muslim” and “Christian” parts of the Iberian peninsula, occasioning the Almohads’

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demise in the process. The eastern and coastal region of the Iberian peninsula was undergoing similar transformations. These years were characterized by “marriages of convenience” between the Christian rulers of Castile and Aragón and local Muslim lords whose most seductive charms, as far as the Christians were concerned, included, first, the fact that they were not the Almohads and, second, the fact that they didn’t like the Almohads. Political relations included the establishment of protectorates ratified by treaties—between, for example, Alfonso VII and Alfonso VIII and the Murcian taifa of Ibn MardanƯsh, “El Rey Lobo,” as well as with the latter’s brother-in-law and ally, Ibn Hamushko3—in which military protection in exchange for support in anti-Almohad endeavors played a large part. Relationships between these other-than-Almohad, AndalusƯ contexts and the Castilian courts to the north during the reign of Alfonso VIII were strategically convenient for both parties and, as will be considered in the final chapter of this study, the growing importance of courtly literary and cultural models at these Christian courts almost certainly impacted the conception of our AndalusƯ text. Ibn records numerous examples of panegyric and court poetry produced under the patronage of these “traitors” and “rebels,” as the anthologist describes them, which indicate, first, that they had access to some of the most able classical poets of their day and, second, that these latter were no strangers to their patrons’ Christian allies4. As was discussed in the preceding chapter, there are also significant reasons to consider the possibility of the manuscript’s proceeding from a more mercantile and less eminently literary social sphere. These will also be addressed in some detail below. A comprehensive consideration of the context of BR’s reception in Iberia, given its clear repercussions on key works of Castilian literature dating to the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, must also take into account the following period, dominated in Castile by Alfonso X’s political and cultural programs and patronage. Although these years, like the earlier decades of the century, were to a certain extent characterized by such practical relationships and alliances between Christian and Muslim political entities as those mentioned above,5 they were also marked by a politics of increasingly trenchant separation and deliberate segregation between Muslims and Christians. This new order first became apparent in the Levante and slightly later in Castile, following rebellions and troubles during the middle of Alfonso X’s reign. Guichard affirms that the years from 1245 into the 1260s were difficult ones, both in Castile and in the Levante.6 For example, al-Azraq’s rebellion in 1247 gave Jaume I the perfect pretext for exiling the Muslim population from Valencia.7 Important changes in attitude and tactics are notable in Castile beginning in 1242, and in Alfonso’s kingdom, now including the newlyconquered AndalusƯ territories surrounding Córdoba and Seville, the great moment of disillusion comes in the 1260s, resulting in the subsequent adoption of much more aggressive policies toward conquered Muslim subjects.8 The real crisis point of Alfonso X’s reign is often identified as 1272, a year that saw the rebellion of a number of the more prominent among the Castilian nobles and the defection of several of them to the Sultanate of Granada, which the king’s own father had helped to create, choosing this power nucleus over the rival Bannj AshqnjlƯlƗ as, certainly, the “lesser of two evils.”9 As will be argued in the second half of this chapter, it seems that the principal Alfonsine concerns of organizing and ruling a necessarily multi-confessional and multicultural society heavily informed the uses made in officially sponsored histories, poetry and other compilations of topoi, texts and motifs from all spheres of culture, and from all

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languages spoken in his kingdom. The results achieved were both didactic and totalizing, with widely recognized universal pretensions. In this way, “literary” topoi and their visual representations became tools in a wide-reaching program of cultural categorization with the good of the kingdom (as perceived, of course, from Alfonso’s Christian position) always in mind. Several of the characters and topoi that found their way into BR from both the “popular” and more “courtly” realms of Arabic literature and which were also common currency among Christian, Jewish and Muslim audiences of the mid-thirteenth century, were adroitly appropriated by the Wise King’s cultural machine and fashioned into a discourse which is decidedly socio-political, in which culture is wielded as one more useful arm in the larger Alfonsine cultural universe. The object of such appropriation and deployment was certainly that of addressing some of the more complex social and political issues presented by the “multi-cultural” panorama which, of necessity, typified Iberian society during the latter half of the thirteenth century. This was perhaps particularly true of the 1260’s and 1270s, a very problematic period of the “Wise King’s” reign. These were almost certainly the years during which one of the most important objects for this discussion, the Libros del Ajedrez (Book of Chess and Games), was conceived and produced.

and the Almohads? As discussed above, al-Andalus was, during the first decades of the thirteenth century, a very different place from that which it had become by 1284, the year of Alfonso X’s death. Given the radical revisions in power structures, as well as the specificities of cities and lands possessed by the respective Christian and Muslim powers, and given that the fourteenth-century date proposed for BR by Monneret may be discredited on stylistic grounds alone I believe that it is safe to assume that the manuscript was produced sometime between AD 1175 and 1230. It certainly does not appear likely that it would have been produced after the 1240s, years that saw, in both of the geographical locations proposed as a provenance (i.e., Seville and the Levante),10 major upheavals which would render unlikely the survival of the complex social and economic fabric that underlay a manuscript-production industry with all the markings of being a professional one. As stated above, however, it does not appear necessary, or even correct, to link BR directly to the Almohad court sphere. Rejection of the Almohad court itself as a likely site for BR’s production, while, at the same time, identifying the very years of the greatest cohesion of Almohad power in the Iberian peninsula as the manuscript’s most probable termini ante and post quem, allows us to further narrow the spectrum of possible patrons and original audiences. A very important socio-cultural characteristic of this period— particularly during the years between the battle of Las Navas de Tolosa in 1212 and the fall of the AndalusƯ capitals of Córdoba and Seville to Castilian forces in the 1230s and 1240s—is a rapidly increasing decentralization of AndalusƯ power and patronage structures. This period saw the return of a situation that has often been described as another “reyes de taifa.” This appears to be especially true of the Levante, or sharq al-Andalus,11 although the same can probably be affirmed for the regions of Seville and Granada, inhabited by local caudillos such as Ibn Hnjd.

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Following the disintegration of Almohad control, numerous historians, both medieval and modern, remark a phenomenon very reminiscent of the situation during the eleventh if”. They relate how numerous individuals, century, known as the first “mulnjk having amassed a certain amount of economic power and political clout, set themselves up as local rulers, amassing armies, declared themselves lord of all they surveyed and then took on the titles of “wazƯr,” or “minister,”12 despite the fact that they were attached to no official or stable political entity. Ibn Khaldnjn, too, notes this phenomenon, stating that everyone had his castle and his troop of men and became a king, an observation echoed in turn by Ibn Jubayr, Ramon Muntaner, Alfonso X himself, and the Crónica de San Juan de la Peña (fourteenth century): “muchos Saracenos teniendo castillos en {aquel reino} se quedaron hasta las próximas rebeliones….”13 In the eastern regions of the peninsula, the example of the local caudillo, al-Azraq, whose treaties with the new Christian overlords are analyzed by Burns and Chevedden, makes clear that, contrary to what is often stated, all of the nobility did not emigrate to Granada or abroad. Rather, many remained where they were and sought to make the best of things, a process which inevitably involved some degree of collaboration and collusion.14 These new relationships, necessitated some demonstra-tion of power, whether legitimate or not, on the part of the Muslim caudillos, hence the adoption of honorific titles under their own volition. I believe that we find this very situation reflected in the “power structure” (such as it is) sketched in BR. It is interesting to note that the only male power figure to appear a title that, as in the narrative is the Sayyida’s father, referred to simply as the noted by Viguera Molins, the Almohads themselves never used.15 Typical of the phenomenon described in the sources analyzed by Burns and Chevedden, our minister is not attached to any visible political structure or entity, and indeed is absent, both literally and figuratively, from the scene for all but the very beginning of the narrative. This contextualization may explain the social and political structures BR’s authors sought to replicate or to invoke but it does not necessarily imply that the text was produced for such a personage as the mysterious As noted, prominence is given in status as a merchant’s son, but one who seeks, and ultimately the narrative to attains, “courtly” status through the composition and performance of poetry and songs on the themes of courtly love and an adherence to its ethics in the face of terrible obstacles such as lovesickness. This also suggests an awareness of and an appeal a potential audience which was urban, commerce-oriented, and not of the most elite in terms of education and literary abilities. Moreover, it indicates a consciousness of, as well as an attempt (albeit, as will be seen, not always an entirely successful one) to “come up to the snuff of,” the tastes of a courtly and literary elite of which the text’s author(s) and potential public were very much aware, and with some of whose culture they were familiar. The production and reception of such a text, therefore, belongs both to the “top,” or “high,” and to the “bottom,” or “low,” registers of culture.16 Throughout the first half of the present chapter, we will examine the threads contributed by each register toward the formation of BR as a “whole” cultural product. In order to initiate this discussion, one of the first questions to be asked is that of how our text fits into the broader context of the thirteenth-century Arabic literary panorama of al-Andalus. Although it will be impossible to answer this question here with all the thoroughness that might be desired, given the vast terrains of later medieval Arabic

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literary history, both in general and specifically in terms of al-Andalus,17 that remain unstudied, enough is known to allow us to attain some idea of how and where BR “fits in.” Although some earlier and non-AndalusƯ sources will also be taken into account as necessary, our main source for this comparative enterprise will be the compilations of “literary” (i.e., “high-end”) prose and verse compiled by littérateur, poet and anthologist, Ibn al-AndalusƯ, who died in 1286, two years following the death of King Alfonso X “el Sabio” of Castile.18 Ibn family was from the region of Elvira, in the kingdom of Granada; the author describes it as a thaghr, or a “frontier” region, characterized by conflict between Christians and Muslims. He studied in al-Andalus, and often names those who instructed him, such as al-Sheikh al-AdƯb Abnj 19 As noted, many male members of the family were MusƗ secretaries to the Almohad dynasty. Ibn should be viewed, despite the fact that he writes several decades following their downfall, as an Almohad sympathizer. He has his own version of the events leading to the disentegration of their power. He mentions, for instance, the war between, on the one side, Ibn MardanƯsh and Ibn Hamushko (referred to as the former’s “qƗ’id”) and, on the other, al-Mu’min, alluding disdainfully to the “Christian allies” rustled up by the former two. In the year AH 557 (AD 1167) the matter was resolved in al-Mu’min’s favor, and Ibn MardanƯsh lost control of Granada in the process. In 588 (AD 1198), however, with the Almohad grasp on the situation weakening, it was necessary to call in Abnj from North Africa, and he promptly, as Ibn notes somewhat self-righteously, declared jihƗd against “Ibn Adfnjnish (the ‘Son of Alfonso’), the horrible and repugnant.” Ibn MardanƯsh and Ibn Hamushko are then reviled as rebels (thawwƗr) against the Almohad state.20 Faced with a waning Islamic power (and patronage) base in al-Andalus, like a number of his contemporaries and peers, Ibn did eventually emigrate. He spent time in Tunis, where it has been proposed that the majority of his works were written; there it is Ibn known that he was in the service of al-Mustansir al-Awwal (d. AH 685/AD 1295). He had also traveled extensively in the central regions of the Islamic world (fƯ-l-mashriq), returning there after the death of his Tunisian patron. It is speculated that Ibn most important work for the present study, was also written in Tunisia, while the poet lodged with his friend, Abnj al-TifƗshƯ, and was probably intended to be presented, as were a 21 Ibn compilations will serve as number of his compilations, to our principal point of reference in terms of the late twelfth- and early thirteenth-century AndalusƯ literary scene, for he is most representative of “what was out there” in terms of the different sorts of literary possibilities, although he is much more a contemporary of Alfonso X than he is of Alfonso VIII. How might we, then, begin to define BR’s relationship to Ibn compilations? First, the manuscript is certainly not part of the anthological genre so adeptly cultivated one whose roots, in al-Andalus, reach back into the taifa period if not by Ibn earlier. The anthological genre was clearly intended for a very literate and very literary

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audience, probably one composed largely of men (although some women, at the court level, were also involved; hence, in fact, the character of the Sayyida in BR22) who were themselves consummate poets. These are self-consciously critical compilations of verse and rhymed prose. While BR does include a variety of compositions in verse, whose detailed discussion will be undertaken in the final section of this first half of the chapter, the reasons for their inclusion are dramatic and plot-related rather than didactic, thematic or qualitative (all, indeed, despite their mediocre qualities, are presumed by the manuscript’s author(s) or compiler(s) to be “good poetry”). As briefly discussed in the introduction to this study, BR—that is, Vat. Ar. Ris. 368—is almost certainly a (substantial) rewriting of a short, pithy and cautionary tale found in a seventeenth-century MaghrebƯ compilation (CBL 4120). The story involves lovers of the same names, and attempts to drive home to an audience the dangers of lovesickness through the female protagonist’s sudden death at its end. Our manuscript, in essence, has altered the ending and added the entire second, “courtly” half, including numerous verse compositions, using the Sayyida’s majlis (the scene of the female protagonist’s sudden death in the earlier version) as a point of departure. In Ibn anthologies,23 by contrast, both verses and prose have been selected and categorized according to criteria and principles of taste (historical, geographical, genre, qualitative) which are plainly spelled out in the introductions to each, these latter often being composed in an agile and or rhymed prose, a technique which was clearly beyond the rather pedestrian lilting capacities of BR’s author or authors. Indeed, the only attempt at such a feat undertaken in the text comes in the form of bumbling (and not entirely courtly) description of his beloved. Following his is asked by his hostess concerning his first performance at the Sayyida’s majlis, akhbƗr (f. 7v). In answer to her query, the hero makes a point of the fact that he is the son of a Syrian merchant (tijjƗr). Elsewhere, the Old Woman has made it clear that he needs to be instructed in the paths which will lead him toward membership in the exclusive brotherhood of the ahl Thus, despite the fact that his lute is described by his Old-Lady mentor as “nice” and his manners, as he nibbles the delicacies offered him at the Sayyida’s majlis, as “elegant,” we all know where he’s really from. Thus it perhaps (descriptive poetry), or indeed tashbƯb (forbidden comes as no surprise that his poetic evocation of a member of the opposite sex) of his beloved, is rendered in a nathr (prose) of decidedly lackluster quality. In fact, what offers is a laundry list, nor rhymed, of her qualities, neither composed according to the principles of beginning with laudable aspects of her character, but finishing off with things like thighs and haunches, the mention of which in the context of such a polite gathering as that in which he finds himself would doubtless have been of questionable propriety. The improvisation is rendered in an Arabic which is, at most, pedestrian and, at worst, clumsy.24 So is this just inept, popular or “bad” literature? The problem is actually a great deal more complicated than the bi-polar categorizations of “high” and “low.” Indeed, BR appears to represent something of a missing link between the two, and its author or authors, while they may not have aimed at were clearly aware creating a potentially didactic compilation of verse like Ibn

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of the existence of such compilations and of at least some of their contents. The fact that an attempt (however maladroit) at is made, at the Sayyida’s request and at a gathering of the sort at which such things habitually occur, informs us of both authors’ and audience’s awareness of “the way they do things” at high-class literary salons. The text and its authors are also clearly conscious, at least to a certain extent, of “what constitutes good literature,” of what noble people do with that literature, and of how they were intended to respond to it. In terms of the narrative itself, we witness able—even clever—manipulation of the topoi of this “high” literary culture: the hero ingeniously presents himself as “getting around” the issue of tashbƯb by telling his audience what he would say if he were to undertake the task—which he modestly affirms to lie beyond the limits of his poetic capabilities—of his beloved’s description, or her The product of his efforts is, as has been noted, lauded by the Sayyida (whose discerning taste is certainly implied by her status and her regalia) as “real adab.” Finally, the images themselves are of a quality which bespeaks Bergdorff-Goodman, rather than Sears. So, exactly what kind of text is this? To what tradition does it belong? Is it legitimate (or possible) to label it as belonging to a particular genre, and if so, to which one? As discussed above, to the best of our knowledge, Vat. Ar. Ris. 368, with its courtly second half grafted onto what was almost certainly a brief, pithy and moralizing slave-girl story concerned with the evils and perils of passionate love from the period,25 is an unicum and comparable stories about courtly love from the Arabic-speaking world during the thirteenth century are not readily identifiable. Therefore, its assessment must be undertaken from a comparative point of view. To what texts may we relate it, despite the fact that we will probably never identify its identical twin? The following pages will explore our text’s relationships to love theory literature, writings concerned with the physical and psychological manifestations of lovesickness, the maqƗma, and stories about the Bannj proceeding from the pre-Islamic period and/or the very earliest years of the existence of Islam. These latter narratives were transmitted, first, through the KitƗb al-AghƗnƯ, (The Book of Songs), and, later, through key AndalusƯ texts which will be shown to be fundamental to the understanding of BR in its most immediate cultural context. First, our text demonstrates very clear and direct relationships with love theory literature and “how-to” treatises on the etiquette of courtly love and manners written in Arabic, first in BaghdƗd during the period, and later in other cultural centers and capitals throughout the Islamic world, including QairawƗn.26 First among these is the whose father is KitƗb al-ZahrƗ’, composed in the tenth century by BaghdƗdƯ Ibn school of interpretation.27 The text is often believed credited with founding the much better-known (to to be the most immediate predecessor of AndalusƯ Ibn al-HamƗma (Neckring of the Dove), composed Western medievalists, at any rate) during the first or second decade of the eleventh century, with one important difference. The object of Ibn desire was a young man, a close friend of his if we are to believe the author’s own explanation, for the love of whom this latter experiences a close brush with death and martyrdom as a long-suffering lover. Most, on the other hand, are heterosexual. although not all, of the situations discussed by Ibn

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Even a cursory perusal of the table of contents of Ibn treatise is enough to convince us of the close relationship between our text and this tradition. Chapter titles nawmahu, tƗla laylahu [For the One Whose Sleep is Disturbed, such as “Man wa kitmƗn shadid [The the Night is Long Indeed],” “ Road of Patience is Far, and the Veiling of Strong Love Is Difficult],” or “Man al-athar bi-l-dhikr [He Who Hides His (Love’s) Traces Amuses travails and the Himself By Mentioning It]” bring immediately to mind counsels in an attempt to aid him in finding solace and achieving his goal. Particularly relevant is the bƗb in which readers are admonished not to publicly shame or call through naming or describing them in verse. attention to their beloveds through (for some reason, not much is This, of course, is the fatal faux pas committed by made of sin of tashbƯb), after which her fall from grace and exile from paradise almost appears to follow a checklist of suggested remedies for were inevitable.28 lovesickness, all of which appear in one form or another in both the KitƗb al-ZahrƗ’ and the later AndalusƯ as well. He takes walks, has a mediator or a messenger in the (as doesv —she immediately seeks out Shamnjl and asks her to carry a message to her beloved), has a confidant in the relative, has conversations with him, plays chess, and is supposed—as the Old Woman specifies—to content himself with have done letters and verses from his beloved, as members of the noble ahl before him. BR’s text consistently maintains a delicate equilibrium between sage advice, most often given by the in an absolutely pedestrian and unadorned prose, and the untrammeled passions advocated (or bemoaned, but implicitly accepted) by the lyrics. Their powers of (i.e., inciting strong emotions, either positive or negative) are fully revelation, through which she throws confirmed a bit further on precisely in advice, to the wind. This juxtaposition—indeed, good sense, along with the contradiction—would doubtless have been noticed by BR’s audience, and they probably would have found it amusing. This constitutes yet another argument in favor of the theory that the text’s authors were astute manipulators of the courtly and anti-courtly discourses of their age and that, despite their lack of agility in the deployment of they “knew exactly what they were doing.” BR appears to be a valuable and—to our knowledge— unique AndalusƯ survivor of compositions concerned with courtly themes in a literary register which lies somewhere between the high and the low. Also worthy of note—and, given the fact that BR’s audience was clearly familiar with the etiquette treatises, also possibly intended as parodic or even comic—are the anticourtly dictates pronounced by (f. 10r) in the context of the Sayyida’s majlis, just before her inelegant revelation and definitive descent into lovesickness. While conversing with she praises sincerity, but rashly and even promiscuously denounces those who, having the chance to achieve union with their beloved, don’t take advantage of it.

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Indeed, we should perhaps not be surprised that is employed as BR’s anti-courtly exemplar or case study. She is a slave girl, and thus belongs to a social category of potentially questionable moral rectitude. Within the Arabic “love theory” genre, their positive and negative qualities are often debated,29 and the more trenchant among those who caution against their wiles affirm that they can ruin a man by, first, enslaving him to passion, and then contriving to bleed his pocketbook dry by demanding capricious and costly gifts and obsequies. With his reason and his heart thus enslaved, the lover will be powerless to resist any request of his beloved’s, and once he is thoroughly ruined, the slave girl will reject him and take another lover, trading his emptied pocketbook for another’s full one.30 is certainly not presented as this sort of mercenary minx (rather, she Although is an ingénue, victim to a power and a force she herself does not fully understand31), the Old Woman does evidence some caution about her. In the first session of counseling in which she engages with prior to the Sayyida’s majlis, she gives him a sort of checklist against which he should measure his beloved. If she shows herself to be flirtatious and flighty, he is advised to “turn his heart away from her,” for she will have returns from shown herself to be an unworthy of his affections. Likewise, when his fateful encounter with three of the Sayyida’s slave girls along the river TharthƗr, the is both worried and put out, exclaiming that she has already warned him about the “wiles of women,” and that he should have known better than to allow himself to be lured into the mysterious dƗr. Her preoccupations are, in fact, probably somewhat justified, and would have been understood as such by the manuscript’s late twelfth or early thirteenthcentury AndalusƯ audience. Encounters with slave girls along the liminal shores of a river are signaled by twelfth-century market regulator and moral policeman, Ibn as particularly dangerous.32 BR, however, cannot be classified as part of the love theory genre. Out of all of love’s potential contretemps—jealousy, oblivion, simple falling out of love, and disloyalty on and the the part of the beloved, to name merely a few—dealt with in the BR concentrates particularly (indeed, almost exclusively) on, and constructs its entire narrative around, the theme of lovesickness. There is no identifiable raqƯb, lauzengier or jaloux who attempts to foment trouble between the lovers. Quite the contrary, in fact, for the text is absolutely chock full of willing friends and mediators, all of whom are more than disposed to aid the lovers in achieving happiness in one another’s company and even arms, so long as this latter situation does not get out of hand. Even the Sayyida, provided the appearances of propriety are maintained, is ready to help. Rather, it is the illness itself (triggered by excessive declarations, in song and in verse, of her true feelings ), with its physically and emotionally debilitating effects, and always as a for destiny decreed by Allàh, which is to be feared and combated. Nor, however, is it part of the “lovesickness genre” per se. Lovesickness, of course, for the medieval world, was considered an actual illness treatable by medicines and current medical practices; as was typical of much of medieval medical knowledge, beliefs and techniques appear to have been shared among the three principal confessional groups.33 These, however, do not always have the desired effect, particularly if (as is the

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case in BR) the illness is God’s will. Our text, though it is clear that its authors are aware of the medical discourse surrounding lovesickness, does not enter into detailed discussion of the medical side of lovesickness’s treatment; rather, it simply mentions the manifestations of this illness and bemoans, while listing them, its effects, both in the verses and in the prose. Thus, it is probably not correct to assume specific knowledge of medicine on the part of BR’s authors. Rather, the knowledge they demonstrate of lovesickness, its woes and its cures, is more social than medical and could have been transmitted entirely through literary sources, whether via oral or textual transmission. Divine decree is also a significant factor in Majnnjn’s in the version of his akhbƗr recorded in the KitƗb al-AghƗnƯ. His unreasoning love for LaylƗ is a “spot,” something akin to a tragic and unavoidable flaw inherent in his character and, perhaps, for that reason irremediable.34 A crucial difference between BR’s and Majnnjn LalƯ’s (and CBL 4120’s, for that matter) treatment of the theme of lovesickness, however, comes in the didactic intentions evidenced by the former, which presents readers with both positive and negative examples of ways of dealing with the effects of the illness. is and noble lover worthy of emulation. Although the hero presented as an aspiring evidences himself to be in the final and even potentially mortal stages of the illness—he in the wilderness (or, in his case, along the shores of the river which, wanders according to twelfth-century AndalusƯ understandings of things, were probably perceived as equal in liminality to Majnnjn’s desert35), he forgets people’s identities, he faints, and forgets even verses of his own composition—he at least endeavors to fight against it. on the other hand, fatalistically succumbs. Shamnjl’s description to of the ailing beauty, who, as is made clear, is not really taking any of the steps recommended by those knowledgeable in matters either medical or social in order to fix things, is in effect taken straight out of the verses themselves, and a very lyrical lovedeath appears, at one point, to be a very real possibility for the heroine. Also relevant to an understanding of BR is a tradition of courtly love literature more concerned with manners than with madness. ibn ibn (d. 936) KitƗb offers an excellent example, of the later counseling readers in the dos and don’ts of BaghdƗdƯ elegants period.36 In contrast to Ibn and to this latter’s eleventh-century that they were—appear to AndalusƯ disciple (both of whom—like the good take the jƗhilƯ poets and the Bannj at their word when these latter insist on the possibility and even the viability of chaste and true love relationships), principal conerns are with appearances. Love was all the rage in the BaghdƗd of his time, and no self-respecting courtier, whether elegant dandy or high-ranking slave girl (these latter, rather than princesses, caliph’s daughters or Bedouin beauties, being conceded the female leads in most of the vignettes in the KitƗb ), would allow him or herself to be caught out of it. Nor, however, would she or he dream of taking the pathos of a Majnnjn or a JamƯl seriously. Verses were inscribed onto shoelaces rather than hearts (despite the heartwrenching nature of the compositions the wearers themselves improvised on the themes

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of love and its agonies). If anyone had the bad taste to actually swoon, like into a lovesick faint, rather than just singing or improvising verses about it, he or she had best do so while dressed in silks and styles appropriate to the season and, upon coming to, accept a quaff of vintage (rather than table) wine, or a nibble from a delicate (as opposed to hearty) breadcake in order to restore his or her forces. Although is clearly conscious of the alternative and more sincere model offered by pre-Islamic tales he also distances of the lovestruck, star-crossed and always chaste Bannj himself from them with a certain cynicism, even declaring, at one point, that “everyone knows it wasn’t really like this for them.”37 Finally we should mention a plethora of anecdotes involving slave girls very similar to those included in CBL 4120, many examples of which are found in the tenth-century KitƗb al-AghƗnƯ, and many of which are almost exactly mirrored in the eleventh-century in his The versions have AndalusƯ narratives collected by Ibn recently been studied and categorized by M.Gordon and H.Kennedy.38 These writings or others similar to them were transmitted to al-Andalus, almost certainly by traveling poets, and appear thoroughly integrated into what was a court culture of courtly love in the making by the early decades of the eleventh century.39 A possible link in the chain between both the AghƗnƯ and BaghdƗdƯ “manners” or “etiquette” literature and AndalusƯ literature is also the tenth-century Tunisian al-RaqƯq al-NadƯm’s al-surnjr fƯ al-khumnjr, a compilation of, among other majlis- and wine-related matters, drinking songs with isnƗd for both verses and music and performance instructions, composed sometime during the early years of the eleventh century.40 BR’s concerns, expressed in the voice of its narrator, the with the proper setting up and preparation of the majlis at which the lovers are to meet, as well as her comments concerning the props, food and drink which she encounters upon her arrival there, tell us that these themes were very much of interest to BR’s authors and public. Moreover, the percentage of majlis text, exhibits important relevance hostesses, as opposed to hosts, in the Tunisian to the Sayyida’s protagonism as “Hostess with the Mostess” in our text, and is certainly reflected in the thirteenth-century “Drinking Ladies” silks discussed in the preceding chapter. Shortly after the composition of these BaghdƗdƯ and North African texts, of course, the produced his al-HamƗma, a collection of anecdotes, Córdoban Ibn pronouncements, admonishments and verse on the themes of love, its manifestations, its triumphs, trials and tribulations, with a decidedly AndalusƯ slant—many of the anecdotes star members of Córdoban court society. 41 As noted above, he does indeed take the Bannj seriously, and the games of appearances so prominent in al-WashshƗ’s treatise find no place here. Thus, the love theory literature mentioned here, as discussed by Giffen, 42 offers two contrasting—not to say clashing (indeed, as Giffen notes, the authors belonging to the two opposing schools of thought make no real attempt to reconcile their differences)—models for love’s conception and practice. The idealization of a constant, chaste and stoic passion which accepts fate’s decrees of eternal unhappiness and chastity, hoping for a love-martyr’s death and ultimate bliss in the hereafter as a return, is seemingly irreconcilably juxtaposed to practical counsels on the theme

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of maintaining elegant appearances while in love (with successive or perhaps even simultaneous objects) at all costs. The gamut of adoptable personae suggested by these two opposing models, when taken with a helping of RaqƯq al-NadƯm’s recipes for a successful, pleasant (and pleasant-smelling) majlis, would make of even the most boorish tiller of fields a resplendently and tastefully dressed and perfumed, verse-spouting soirée companion. Both BR’s dictums and advice concerning proper (i.e., “courtly”) behavior (usually pronounced in the Old Woman’s voice) and its verses are strikingly reminiscent in tone of passages from all four of these treatises—in other words, as noted above, it appropriates discourse, seemingly evenhandedly, from the two conflicting models. This, however, is neither accidental nor evidence of a foggy understanding of the differences between them, which might be expected in a “popularizing” text such as BR’s language gives evidence of being. Rather, the AndalusƯ text plays savvily with both models, making of their clash the central conflict of the narrative. The conflict between the two whether models, in fact, is directly responsible for the moment of crisis in which willfully or innocently, but definitely under the influence of forces of lovesickness beyond her control, ruins the courtly tone of the majlis with her sincere declarations of love made in the form of excessive numbers of love songs. The conflict is finally resolved by a lowering of the standards in the Sayyida’s decision to disregard the norms of the “sincere” model in allowing the two lovers to be reunited under her protection in yet another majlis (remembering, all the while, the consequences of the first one). The Old Woman’s position is trenchant particularly against throughout the narrative: she consistently sides with the ahl her protégé when he declares that love is the proper companion of the elegant and literate man. She counters that love’s frivolities are fine for the slave girls, so long as they realize it’s all a game, but are nothing to be toyed with. Nonetheless, she, too, seems willing to go along with the scheme. In the final scene of the narrative in the manuscript as it (disguised survives, she joyfully leads the procession which will eventually place as a slave girl, and thus implicitly “lowered to their standards” in matters of love and its propriety) in the midst of a second majlis. Thus we must imagine that she, too, has come round to the ultimate impossibility of the Bannj model’s existence outside the confines of a love lyric or of ancient akhbƗr concerning the ahl Indeed, the into the narrative, not only as a principal character but as the very insertion of the story’s narrator, may, on some level, have to do with the culture’s perception of the impossibility of the love of the Bannj —one calls upon an in romantic situations of particular difficulty, and in most cases, in so doing, signals one’s interest in the baser concerns of the more practical model. Even though this is the exact opposite of what an audience might have expected her to be (see below in the second half of the chapter for more on this point), she, too, in the end, capitulates. Despite its ultimate rejection of the pure models of passion and love proposed by Ibn BR is an invaluable piece of evidence in a case for the continued survival and relevance, not only of that particular treatise, but of the larger genre to which it belongs, into the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries. For decades, scholars have observed

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the striking similarities between the and, on the one hand, Andreas Capellanus’ twelfth-century Latin treatise on similar themes and, on the other, the fourteenth-century Castilian Libro de Buen Amor, but the absence of definitive proof that might argue for somewhat cryptic response to these contacts left many doubtful.43 Indeed, rash declaration of desires for union—in essence, that truly trustworthy friends are few—is strikingly reminiscent of the first interchange undertaken, a century later, in the Libro de Buen Amor, by the Arcipreste de Hita and the object of his desires, Doña Endrina. It would seem that, yet again, BR provides us with the missing link. The idea of BR having been put together with an eye toward possible debates concerning properly “courtly” behavior on the part of the audience might also provide an explanation for certain ambiguities in the text, given that the text fails to do so. Perhaps they, because of their incongruity within the codified system of elegant or “courtly” behavior certainly very familiar to BR’s audience, were intended to call an audience’s attention to themselves and thus to elicit debate. There are particularly remarkable parallels with some of the potentially debatable narrative situations in BR in the mock trials set up by Andreas Capellanus.44 Now, those who argue for purely Ovidian inspiration for these later treatises on the courtly and uncourtly practices of love and lovers will have greater difficulty explaining away the idea of key AndalusƯ input. BR offers us concrete proof that the literary tradition of sage advice on love’s practice, combined with exemplary narratives, was very much alive and well among an AndalusƯ public during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries AD. This, moreover, as will be discussed in greater detail in the next and final chapter of this study, was an AndalusƯ public with substantial contact with and interest in their Romance- and Castilian-speaking neighbors and their sayings, doings and writings. The most striking novelty BR evidences, though, with respect to all of these love theory and courtly manners texts is that its didactic passages were seamlessly interwoven with the threads of a narrative sustained over more than thirty folios, including more than sixty poetic compositions. The narrative and verse both occasion and justify the didactic passages, and the entire product was illustrated; moreover, as noted in the previous chapter, BR’s images are highly implicated in the manuscript’s didactic concerns. These are characteristics for which the love theory genre is unable to account. Neither is the next piece of literary comparanda to be discussed, the maqƗma, able to explain them.45 Given the importance conceded by art historians to relationships between BR’s images and those elaborated to accompany thirteenth-century copies of the MaqƗmƗt of produced in the central Islamic lands, it is important to establish compilation (or the relationship between our text and, not only before him), but the maqƗma as a genre. MaqƗmƗt are short narratives, generally designed to be witty or clever, often—if their authors are to be believed—improvised on the occasion of a literary salon or soirée (a majlis, in fact). are on the theme of a picaresque protagonist, as wily as he is lazy, and his interactions with a dizzying gamut of personalities, many of whom are figures of authority, are culled from the very real social panorama of eleventh-century Syria, with the thirteenth-century illustrations serving to bring the amusing vignettes even further up to date. The fun is observed and recounted in the voice of a Sancho Panza-like

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straightman, sidekick and companion throughout a seemingly endless parade of (mis-) adventures. The picaresque protagonist, in the end, almost always triumphs, thanks to his able manipulation of his interlocutors through superior guile and powers of language. As I have already observed, however, even a superficial comparison of BR’s text with that which accompanies its supposed visual models brings us up short in the face of the fact that, other than a very general tendency of the protagonists of both texts to rely on their able manipulations of language in order to resolve problems, they have very little, if anything, to do with one another. This, however, does not mean that the maqƗma as a whole is irrelevant to our quest for comparanda and sources for BR. Although it is indisputable that text was known in al-Andalus at the time of our text’s composition—commentaries on it were circulated as early as the twelfth century and it occasioned a full translation into Hebrew in the thirteenth46—it alone does not reflect the full variety of themes which occasioned the composition of maqƗmƗt by AndalusƯ authors. Indeed, a significant portion of AndalusƯ maqƗmƗt deal with themes of courtly love, and it is often possible to relate them directly to AndalusƯ traditions of lyric production for both private and panegyric contexts, which had formed the basis for court and courtly discourse for approximately two centuries by the time of the creation of BR.47 A maqƗma by AndalusƯ poet and littérateur al-RundƯ, for example, on the beauties of, and his consequent and violent falling in love with, a slave girl he saw auctioned off in the market in Seville (he lost out in the bidding process, and hence the beginnings of his distress) represents BR’s almost exact contemporary—al-RundƯ died in 1284, the same year that witnessed Alfonso X’s demise and two years before Ibn al-AndalusƯ left this world for the next. 48 Moreover, early stages of the development of the genre in al-Andalus might also be argued to lie in the “majlis anecdote,” lines of intricate rhymed prose which both document and create idealized—even paradisiac—garden settings (much like the one presumed for the Sayyida and her guests) for the majƗlis al-uns of the mulnjk The centerpieces of these short prose compositions are almost always panegyric compositions, dedicated to the king or patron, on the most important topoi of the rhetoric of courtly love. 49 The maqƗmƗt collected by de la Granja, in turn, are doubtless expansions of shorter narratives or akhbƗr, such as those related in Ibn also concerned with the topoi and themes of courtly love.50 Other short narratives even deal with the theme of the a maqƗma, composed sometime in the 1270’s or 1280’s by MaghrebƯ poet al-MuhƯman in which an plays an important role, is on many levels comparable to BR,51 but the description—and consequent characterization—of her in this example is the exact opposite of BR’s progatonist and narrator. She is physically repulsive, and this, we are given to understand, reflects both strikingly her intentions and her character; as stated, we will return to BR’s squeaky-clean character in the second half of this chapter. And there is an even more significant difference between our text and these maqƗmƗt and the akhbƗr that historically preceded and inspired them. The latter—and this is true of both their AndalusƯ and their “Central Islamic” incarnations—are quite similar to BR in theme, but the length of BR vis-à-vis these almost vignette-like compositions signals that the two have very different purposes. The translation of BR offered here, in fact, is

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almost five times longer than the longest maqƗma collected by de la Granja. Furthermore, the complexity and sophistication of language employed in the shorter narratives, in both prose and verse, indicate very different training and capacities for their authors and text was audiences. For quite a long time it was claimed by scholars that empty of anything other than linguistic pyrotechnics. While this point of view is no longer accepted, it is also true that almost virtuosic manipulation of the Arabic language by an author in more than full command of all of the tricks and tools of the upper end of his trade, constitutes a large part of its attraction to its public. The same may be said about the AndalusƯ maqƗmƗt, but it is certainly not true of BR. Thus, we must reject the maqƗmƗt, whether Eastern or local, as direct sources for our text. BR does share with some of these texts the thematic concerns of courtly love, but these similarities do not suggest that BR’s authors had direct access to, or specifically intended to copy or imitate, these higher-end productions. Among the most direct and significant intertextual relationships exhibited by BR is that which it enjoys with the much beloved tales of the ahl so plentiful in the KitƗb al-AghƗnƯ. Many of these narratives date back to the pre-Islamic period, and their concerns with secrecy and revelation have recently been analyzed by Ruqayya Khan.52 The text contains numerous references to the noble lovers of yore, made both by and the to the “ahl ” as points of reference. Certain among them (those who did not divulge their secrets—and in this they are in sharp contrast to the hero as he is portrayed in CBL 4120) are presented as models to be imitated, particularly those from among the chaste Bannj who became martyrs to love, dying without ever having consummated (or even, in the cases of many, revealed) their passion. and of course, remain chaste throughout the entirety of the manuscript’s surviving folios, and there is no particular reason to believe that beds were shared in the ones that have gone missing, although, as has been observed, certain standards of propriety are well along their way to being lowered in the final preserved lines. Despite the urban (and, of course, garden) setting of BR, as opposed to the “long ago and far away” evocations of Bedouin camps, oases and bleak wilderness which typify the earlier corpus, it is clear that the AndalusƯ product is intended to evoke the earlier tradition.53 Lovesickness is divinely decreed and, as for Majnnjn, unavoidable.54 Its pains must be born stoically and, if possible, in silence—in the words of the Old Woman laments and complaints, “Stop that, my son, do not (f. 15r), in response to make your sorrows known, because there is great good in keeping them hidden. If you keep on like this, it’ll be Fate that you have a rendez-vous with, and Harm, and you won’t get any peace or hope.” There exists, moreover, an AndalusƯ text whose composition dates to the mid- to late thirteenth century which allows us to further cement the direct connection between BR and these ahl narratives dating to the period and earlier. We are thus saved from the scholarly pitfalls of reaching centuries back and continents away for comparanda, or of simply assuming that these narratives were popular at the time of BR’s composition. It should be observed, moreover, that, although these narratives clearly would have been known, on some level, to poets and patrons of the taifa period, given their enormous popularity throughout the Islamic world in all possible social and

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chronological contexts, the principal literary compilations of that period do not contain them. Here, however, we find them at the forefront of the late thirteenth-century literary scene, and we are thus correct in placing them at the forefront of our consideration for BR’s sources and parallels. The compilation in question is, again, owed to Ibn al-AndalusƯ, and it is known This translates roughly as “Compositions that Make as ” this latter being intense emotions of joy or sadness, You Dance and Experience most often induced by a well-turned verse or song (these concepts will be discussed in the following section of this chapter) on the themes of the ghazal or the khamrƯya. In case, of course, such lyrics are capable of spreading unthinkable havoc in the form of devastating cases of lovesickness…the composers of BR, then, took these concepts at their most literal level. Ibn compilation contains both verse and narrative on the themes of courtly love. In this particular section, we will concentrate on the latter, given that they provide us with the most relevant clues we have yet encountered to an evaluation of BR’s genre and to the intertextual connections the tale was intended to evoke for its public. To wit, the second part of the compilation is composed entirely of short narratives, of varying length and all recounted in the form of all of which are centered either around the ahl or on pairs of lovers, generally composed of a famous poet (famous, of course, for his ghazal and khamrƯyƗt) and his preferred slave girl. Right off, then, we encounter two of BR’s principal themes, which for love theorists in the tenth century were irreconcilable, linked in ways which are extremely revealing concerning our text’s probable composition and moreover, like BR’s is clear about the ethos of courtly love reception. Ibn his compilation evokes being something from the past. At the beginning of the section, he explains that he has collected these verses composed and transmitted by some of the “ahl ”55 using terminology exactly like that chosen by BR’s to refer to the models of good behavior and courtly love she proposes to her charge. When the poets and their beloveds are introduced, the anthologist explains that it is his aim to give as much information as possible concerning these latter, so that we might better understand the circumstances under which certain verses were composed.56 Among the examples of the noble lovers of yore invoked by the BR’s are Qays Qays, of y JamƯl, both of whose tragic stories occupy several pages of the course, is none other than Majnnjn of Majnnjn LaylƯ fame, and this latter narrative and its accompanying verses occupy by far the largest number of pages in this section of the compilation. Here, we again have the problem of language—BR’s pedestrian prose and clunky verses are a far cry from the elegance of Ibn composition, but our narrative clearly conforms to the tradition at least in part (although it should also be noted that the stories collected by Ibn do not include the mediation of ). The possibility also exists that BR represents yet another missing link, this time in the chain of transmission of a genre of courtly stories that, for all intents and purposes, have disappeared from the literary record;57 as we shall see, a similar theory—with greater grounds for argument, given the appearance of CBL 4120—may be proposed for BR’s verses. According to Ibn al-NadƯm’s Fihrist, courtly love stories were popular during the

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tenth century at the courts of the caliphs.58 Although very few of these have been preserved, the names listed by the anthologist are not those of well-known members of the bona fide ahl a circumstance which appears to imply that poets or authors were improvising their own narratives, possibly on the earlier model, but more likely taking into account as well, as BR’s authors did, other more pragmatic models proposed for the managing of love’s matters in a newly urbanized and urbane society. Although BR does not figure among a list of such stories that were in circulation during the mid-tenth century, it is certainly possible that it resembled these narratives; again, its inclusion in CBL 4120 renders at least possible an origin for the core, moralizing narrative. Reasons for such a story having continued to experience popularity in al-Andalus in the thirteenth century, while by all accounts it had fallen from favor in other areas of the Arabic-speaking Muslim world, probably have to do with the centrality of courtly topoi in the court and social spheres of “Christian” sectors of Europe and the Mediterranean, with which the AndalusƯ kingdoms, courts and states perforce had to interact. Whatever the potential connections of BR, however, Ibn avows only themselves. A number of the narratives collected by Ibn an interest in the ahl contain motifs that are strikingly resonant of BR. We find al-RashƯd, for example, organizing a parade of his slave girls, much like the défilé undertaken for the amusement at the court, recounted on our manuscript’s opening folio.59 In the akhbƗr of AllƗh ibn with the “JƗrƯya Hind,” the hero also suffers from love madness and soon finds himself wandering, not toward Najd, but, like through some unidentified gardens.60 A second poet wandering through the gardens in lovesick woe is also found in the in this case, the lover hears a woman’s he faints.61 Even more voice calling the name of his beloved, after which, like interestingly, performance instructions or indications for the songs and verses which accompany the narratives are given in the exact configuration of words used throughout BR: “thumma yughanni…,” “and then he or she broke into song….” This often occurs—much like the Sayyida’s majlis in BR—in the context of a majlis presided over by a certain lady by the name of SakƯna, who rewards the (male) poet for his songs. In this case, however, the women (SakƯna and along with the from among their slave girls) also perform, and we are given to understand that the caliber of their verses and skills is very much on a par with the poet, Ibn SarƯj. Ibn SarƯj, much like the Sayyida following the performances she requests, cries out, wa-Allahi, ya ”62 After a particularly satisfactory performance, SakƯna “ removes her costly bracelet and gives it to the poet in question, Ibn SarƯj. Indeed, this section is quite similar to BR—the male poet attends, on several successive days, a majlis hosted by the same women, at which he is the only male in attendance. Although the majlis takes place in MadƯna, it includes a scene which is is injured in the face unmistakably reminiscent of BR, in which Ibn SarƯj, like

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(a misfortune also experienced by this touch doubtless representing an effort on the part of the narrators to establish a mirroring between the sufferings of the two protagonists), and we watch the blood run down his face.63 One major difference, however, is that at SakƯna’s majƗlis, the poets who authored the lyrics traded by the protagonists are cited, whereas no author is cited in BR unless the composition is authored by one of the protagonists. Likewise, the akhbƗr concerning the (in)famous poet, Abnj NuwƗs, with his beloved, the slave girl JinƗn, with whom the poet went on pilgrimage, also bears certain similarities to BR,64 beginning with the social condition of the ladylove, as well as her evocative of gardens. As in the case of BR’s protagonists, name, which is, like the composition of verse is in many cases inspired by the poet’s separation (firƗq, ) from his beloved, and this occurs following a “divulgation of their secret [kitmƗn].” One gets a certain tongue-in-cheek feeling, however, when the poet appears surprised that this should have happened “so soon.” Not similar are the recurring comments concerning Abnj NuwƗs’ reputed homosexuality (or at the very least, penchant for young slave boys), which makes it rather unlikely, according to some, that his passions for JinƗn should have reached such extremes. Moreover, others of the AndalusƯ anthologist’s compilations evidence interest in these same themes. In the Mughrib, Ibn records compositions by two poetesses who 65 Likewise, a similar might well have also added to the characterization of narrative thread is followed by a poet whose verses Ibn collects in the same text— who suffers from lovesickness, and his face, like as we encounter a described by her messenger and fellow slave girl, Shamnjl, turns yellow.66 In the Ibn records other stories that find echoes in the contemporary Alfonsine literature—for example, the of the preacher (rendered, unlike BR, in sophisticated or rhymed prose) is reminiscent of certain personalities and situations of the is an Alfonsine Castilian translation of the “Calila y Digna.”67 Also found in the 68 anecdote concerning the poet and an Further similarities are found in the concerns evidenced in the narratives collected in the concerning the moments in which lovers’ secrets are revealed. The moment at which JinƗn unveils her secret love for Abnj NuwƗs provides an excellent example;69 interchanges of letters between separated lovers are similarly foregrounded in sage counsels concerning the second half of BR, and here we might recall the noble lovers being content with this sort of virtual contact.70 Slave girls, likewise, similar sings to his beloved—in this to Shamnjl, serve as intermediaries: the poet Ibn case, however, a free and noble woman named —through the slave girl Dunya.71 It will probably not surprise readers, however, to learn that the most striking similarities are to be sought and found specifically between BR and the early Islamic love narrative that receives the most attention from Ibn —that of Majnnjn LaylƯ. The narrative occupies numerous pages, double the number conceded to other legends of lesser status. Ibn is concerned only with narratives and compositions which would

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be qualified as “master-pieces” by himself and by his contemporaries. Therefore, we may deduce that, at the moment at which BR was compiled and illustrated, only a few decades before his own higher-end efforts, the story of Majnnjn LaylƯ (ML), in addition to lyrics concerned with the themes of lovesickness, was experiencing a moment of particular popularity. In her post mortem of the disasters that occurred at the Sayyida’s majlis, BR’s says that has done no more than recite verses in the style of “SukrƗ, y Fulana y fulana” (other slave girls), in whose verses there was even KhamrƗ, more (of love) than in those which she herself recited. The key, however, to the verses’ ability to visit lovesickness on their singer and their destinataire, lay in the fact that, whereas that which the others recited was “external,” what she recited was “internal,” transgression of “courtly” norms through the genuine, and therefore deadly.72 sincere use of verse to speak of her beloved exactly mirrors, of course, the transgression of that most famous of all famous lovers, Majnnjn. And there are even more striking is invited to a majlis, at which parallels between the two narratives. Majnnjn, like only women are present and at which he declaims verses (his own, just as in case), after which LaylƗ is left dazzled.73 In perhaps a slightly more clumsy or folksy fashion (e.g., the increasing visibility of cups and bottles in the images; little verses), BR also places great emphasis on “la sonjlerie de la parole” on the occasion of the majlis, and also with the end result that God’s anger is provoked, and a love “like madness” is visited upon the protagonist(s). In BR’s case, however, it is really both protagonists, whereas in ML it is more Manjnjn who suffers these woes, with LaylƗ fulfilling the more “exemplary” role played by in the AndalusƯ narrative. Also included is a scene in (who gives the same excuse to the when the latter which Manjnjn, like finds him snoozing), claims to go to sleep only in order to see his beloved in his dreams.74 The drama surrounding Majnnjn’s lovesickness unfolds, first in Bedouin camps and, and saga is essentially an urban and a later, in the wilderness, while cardinal sins sub-urban one. Nevertheless, the parallels between Majnnjn’s and of sincere tashbƯb, highlighted at the expense of all other motifs and segments in both narratives, would have been obvious to a thirteenth-century public, given that this occurrence provides the fulcrum around which both narratives revolve.75 The stories, however, are not identical. One of the most important differences between the two narratives, and one which will form the basis for a discussion of BR’s relationships to an entirely different category of romance narratives in the following chapter, is the extremes to which the central male characters of the respective stories are permitted to carry their sufferings and their reactions to the similar cases of lovesickness they suffer. Majnnjn is finally fully subsumed into the wilderness that both receives and symbolizes his selfimposed ostracism from society: he has irretrievably crossed the frontier from civilization into madness, from civilized poet to crazy one. Redemption and rehabilitation, despite occasional efforts on the part of his well-meaning family, is not possible, principally because Majnnjn does not desire it. Rather, he asks Allah to increase his madness and his sufferings because they bring him closer to his beloved. by contrast, although

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he hovers around this frontier, thanks to the ministrations of the and the qarƯb and to his own determination, survives the narrative without ever actually crossing it, eventually to be redeemed and reunited with his beloved.76 The two narratives share concepts of utopia (union) and hell (separation), although, again, they express these concepts in slightly different ways. Majnnjn is forever attached to Najd and Tawbad, yearned-for paradise is, literally, the garden where he attended the whereas Sayyida’s majlis. And again, unlike his predecessor, he does indeed find and conquer his “centre introuvable” entering the Sayyida’s palace—albeit disguised as a slave girl—in order to be triumphantly reunited with his beloved.77 Miquel, interestingly, notes that the Alf Layla contains the story of a man who is, literally, turned into a beast because of his on the other lovesickness, certainly reflective of Majnnjn’s transformation.78 hand, is made better by his process, a motif which one would more expect to find in the Arthurian corpus; again this will be taken up in greater detail in the following chapter. The embodiment of LaylƗ as poetry or ghazal, and as the actual animal, the “gazelle,”79 is also absent from BR. The conversion of female beloved into poetic symbol happens, instead, through a collapsing of with garden motifs and gardens, which, again, brings it closer to another Western or romance parallel, Aucassin et Nicolette, the importance of which will also be considered in the following chapter. Despite the clear evocations of an earlier, idealized time and love—a topos whose importance is underlined by the strong and self-conscious relationships exhibited by our text with the beloved courtly narratives in the earliest decades of Islam—apparent in BR’s text, it is also possible to situate its social concerns of propriety and courtliness within an immediately contemporary context. First, if only from the characters’ costumes, as these latter are rendered in the illustrations, this may be qualified as an “anti-,” or perhaps an “extra-,” Almohad cultural object. Written sources concerned with Almohad court regalia and ceremony examined by Viguera give great credence to the North Africans’ love for austerity and simplicity and their rejection of all the courtly trappings of luxury, rank and riches originally also eschewed by their predecessors, the Almoravids, but ultimately (to their detriment) embraced by them. Although, as Viguera notes,80 hints of pomp, circumstance and luxury do creep into texts compiled by court-employed chroniclers documenting events such as investiture ceremonies, for the most part the ruling classes maintained their distance from the voluminous garments known as jubba. They likewise eschewed equally ostentatious outer garments termed burnnjs and popular in al-Andalus since caliphal times for their lavish use of colored (particularly orange and green, two colors notably prominent among those which compose the palette of the BR and gold-embroidered illustrators). Also spurned were large turbans bands, not to mention large gold earrings such as those sported by the Sayyida in the image portraying her tragic separation from her beloved favorite as a result of the latter’s impropriety. All of these garments and adornments, according to textual sources, were typical of the crème de la crème of AndalusƯ society; likewise, they were clearly greatly beloved by BR’s illustrators, characters and certainly its intended public. As established by Viguera and by Raquel Arié, however, and as explored in greater detail in a monographic study by Marín,81 these garments would probably have been controversial because of their

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ostentatious luxury in a specifically or officially Almohad context. Thus the courtly pretensions of the manuscript and its public are made clear. There also appears to be some attempt to assign to the manuscript’s principal characters a social status somewhat above that which they, by rights, could claim. The strikingly large turbans worn by both and the Old Woman’s relative, for instance, as well as the bands that adorn their garments, would according to Marín, identify them as savants or scholars. Their own proclaimed social status, however, does not completely coincide with this pretension: is the son of a trader, and the qarƯb, although his occupation is never specified, can hardly have claimed royal blood, given that he is the nephew of the local alcahueta! It is also interesting to note that the use of all of the garments and adornments enumerated here was (repeatedly) prohibited to Muslims living under Castilian rule by Alfonsine ordinances such as those of Seville, but apparently without great effect if the illustrations of Alfonsine treatises such as the CSM and the LA, to be discussed in the second section of this chapter, are taken into account. In terms of current social mores and codes, we may also draw immediate, direct and contemporary connections between the concerns about propriety and courtliness evidenced by BR’s characters and those which preoccupied social regulators, doubtless under the sway of notoriously repressive Almohad desires for social control, such as 82 A recent publication by twelfth-century market supervisor Ibn Marín (appearing in the same collection of essays as Viguera’s) concerning the social circumstances of women in al-Andalus83 and based on a wide canvassing of twelfth- and thirteenth-century written sources, provides a checklist of dos and don’ts for Almohadperiod “nice girls” (and, perhaps, for not-so-nice ones). The Sayyida is the only truly free and noble woman among BR’s characters, and true to what was expected of women of her rank and class, she never leaves the luxurious and protected confines of her palace. Her slave girls, given the elegant garments they sport (only slightly less ornate, indeed, than her own), as well as their elegant manners and poetic capacities, are clearly far above the lowly rank of khƗdim. This latter term, in fact, never appears in BR’s text in and her companions are reference to any of the Sayyida’s entourage. Rather, grouped under the much more prestigious heading of jawƗrƯ, which would appear to correspond to the older classification of qiyƗn. The name—TharthƗr, or first catches a glimpse of “Chatterbox”—given to the river beside which attains greater resonance once we know that Ibn repeatedly cautions his readers to avoid unseemly interaction with members of the opposite sex in such a setting. Women, he says, should avoid riverside gatherings during the summer, because this is protestations of the when groups of men are often found there. Likewise, innocence of her own intentions on that fateful day when she set out for a walk along those pleasant shores which were clearly perceived as liminal by her own society take on an even more plaintive tone—will readers be convinced of her guiltlessness and the purity of her intentions?84 and the message-bearing slave girls along Similarly, the encounters between the shores of the same chattering stream gain in drama and in suspense once these local factors are taken into account. Most importantly of all, readers and an audience might

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question the very propriety, not of the Old Woman’s entrance into the palace (for women, and particularly older ones who were not noble and engaged in urban trades—it will be is lodged, is portrayed as being located in remembered that her house, at which the city—had much greater mobility than did their younger and more noble counterparts), to attend the majlis in the first place. This would but of the Sayyida’s allowing have been perceived as a flagrant violation of Ibn warnings concerning the temptations to be encountered in the lovely gardens along the river. Moreover, readers would have been aware of the potential impropriety of a majlis held on Friday. This latter circumstance, again according to Ibn constituted yet another potential pitfall, for feast and other holidays were particularly dicey for encounters between members of the opposite sexes. Of the danger of allowing a Syrian dandy to enter a gathering clearly originally intended as “girls only,” they would have no doubt. In other words, the codes of ethics and dress (of which, of course, they sometimes fall the and the short) set up for BR’s characters, at least three of whom ( qarƯb, her relative) would almost certainly have been understood by audience members as not necessarily belonging to the uppermost rungs of the AndalusƯ social ladder, are those triumph over lovesickness, his earning of the of nobility, and even of royalty. Sayyida’s approval, his getting the girl and his ultimate admittance into the inner circles both of the Lady’s majlis and of the noble ranks of the ahl suggest the possibility of similar social triumphs for others like him, perhaps Murcian or Sevillan merchants or their sons. This possibility, in fact, given the social uncertainties which had come by the Almohad period to characterize much of what remained of al-Andalus, might have appeared to BR’s public to be a very real and potentially attainable one! The most significant point of difference between BR and ML, however, is found in the presence of its narrator, and in many ways protagonist, the she, likewise, perhaps contains the key to an explanation of its ultimately didactic purpose. Although it is also true that in ML it is possible to see Majnnjn’s mother as performing certain of the (she serves as a go-between, to a certain extent, “Celestinesque” functions of BR’s in BR is far, far greater. Ibn and as the voice of reason),85 the importance of the version of ML retains its original format and details, whereas the context of BR has been “urbanized,” and it is this factor which may, at least partially, account for the into a model from which she is normally—both originally and in insertion of the all subsequent versions of that particular narrative—absent.86 It is my opinion that her insertion into BR, particularly when the pedestrian quality of the text’s language is taken into account, is representative of the non-elite spheres from whence the text proceeded. offers sensible advice, cautionary exempla and wise counsel, the Whereas BR’s Old Women in the “high-end” akhbƗr and maqƗmƗt mentioned here, as noted, were all nefarious. They are both physically and morally distasteful individuals whose mediation results in shameful and transgressive, rather than exemplary and ideal, interactions between lovers and beloveds; indeed, the authors of the pieces cited here appear to glorify in, and even to reserve linguistic pyrotechnics for, their vilification. The reason for a classification of BR’s Old Woman as popularizing is not because she is present, but

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because she is positive, a force for good and for moderation, for keeping up the standards in the face of all potential sorts of flooziness masquerading as courtly manners. She, a merchant’s son, in the ways, tastes and moreover, undertakes to instruct young mores of his social betters when they love and are loved, so that he might move among them as one of them… which, in the end, he does. *** But the narrative is, as it were, only half of it. The manuscript’s surviving thirty folios contain sixty verse compositions; these latter thus occupy a significant portion, if not the majority, of the manuscript. Those belonging to the first half of the manuscript correspond, for the most part exactly, to the verse compositions recorded in CBL 4120. Those belonging to the second half, which diverges so dramatically from the tale, do not. Almost all compositions, as noted, have to do specifically with the theme of lovesickness, and most are pronounced in the first person and thus serve to describe the character’s sorry state as a result of having contracted the illness. Although a few are short, most are eight lines or more in length, and some are between twenty and thirty. In addition to out-and-out declarations of lovesickness, the compositions also include verses in praise of the Sayyida improvised by the hero; Shamnjl’s brief recitation of two lines composed by at the Sayyida’s majlis in order to aid him in her from a in her, for the most part, recognition; and the moralizing bons mots uttered by the from the disastrous path of lovesickness he has unsuccessful attempts to divert chosen to follow. She admonishes him, for instance, that he should be content merely to receive letters from his beloved, and to breathe the same air as she does (these suggestions, of course, fall on deaf ears). Up until the disastrous moment of uncourtly excesses and revelation, and with the exception of panegyric to the all Sayyida and his (somewhat botched) rhymed-prose-wannabe description of compositions are sung and are not presented as the product of the singer’s own poetic gifts or inspiration. Rather, songs are introduced by words such as “the one that goes like this,” “where it says,” etc., probably an indication that these were songs expected to be familiar to the thirteenth-century AndalusƯ public for which BR was destined. One of the lyrics on lovesickness recited by the to just before he goes out on one of his aimless, lovesick an involuntary wanderings, in fact, is preceded by the imperative, “Sing!,” which would seem to suggest that the public was expected to join in the performances of the singable compositions. Although the lovers of yore—the ahl —are invoked numerous times by the Old Woman as examples of forbearance to be followed by the stricken pair, none of the songs sung in the first half of the manuscript are attributed to them. Indeed, no authors are named: the only mention of authors at all precedes the verses recited by the Old Woman in a cautionary vein to her protégé, and these latter are merely attributed to “a certain poet” or, on one occasion, “wise men.” Comparison with contemporary compilations and anthologies of poetry, particularly those authored by Ibn al-AndalusƯ, has indicated that none of the songs or soliloquies executed by BR’s characters in the second half of the manuscript are to be found among the compositions collected as particularly excellent examples of “high-end” poetry produced by AndalusƯ

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literati during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. We must, then, search for their origins elsewhere; this task will be undertaken in the present section. Following indiscretion, and beginning with the verses exchanged between the unfortunate girl and her Lady, most of the compositions are presented as being improvised on the spot (and, in contrast to the songs of the first half, their authorship is attributed to the character in question, and their inspiration to the ills they suffer), and none are sung. These are not compositions designed to advance the narrative of the story. Rather, they serve to express the speaker’s emotions and to communicate them to an audience. These are, in almost all cases, feelings caused by lovesickness or the beloved’s absence. A few examples of verse are statements concerning the disaster which has been visited upon the merry group having been God’s will; also included and expressed are secondary characters’ (most often the Sayyida’s) reactions to these events and circumstances. It is noteworthy, given the courtly preoccupations of BR, that there are no compositions which would accurately fit the classical genre of the khamrƯya (wine song). at the Sayyida’s majlis, With the exception of the clunky examples recited by genre, as these latter are understood by traditional, classical there are none in the Arabic poetics, at any rate. On no occasion in BR does a garden, a flower, a cup or a bottle serve as the occasion for a poet to engage in a bit of showmanship with the hope of being rewarded with a patron’s favors or his peers’ esteem. As will be seen, however, BR Moreover, we find practically no perhaps offers its own understanding of deployment of metaphor, and attempted use of high-end poetic devices on this compositions occasion is elementary and clumsy. Nor, it should be added, are noticeably different in quality from the verses sung by the qiyƗn, despite the fact that he is billed as a “true adƯb,” and his compositions as “real adab,” whereas the slave girls merely repeat the compositions of others which they have memorized. Indeed, they would have struck contemporary critics as mediocre at best, if in fact these latter would have dignified them with their consideration. To name only one of the compositions’ of the Sayyida begin with “ka’anna,” and what faults, six of the seven lines of his follows is a list of simple comparisons based on the colors of the flowers of the Sayyida’s garden. The instance of description of discussed above, requested by both the Sayyida and fellow slave girls, is yet another example of this mediocrity passed off, and quite possibly perceived, as high-end literature (f. 11r). The copyist, or perhaps the author, however, clearly intends for the audience to perceive they are separated by small circles with dots at their center, identical these words as to the graphic devices used elsewhere in the manuscript to signify pause or punctuation. Similar separations appear between the discrete segments of in manuscripts of ibn KhƗqƗn’s works filled with dextrously wrought rhymed prose, such as or the more closely contemporary Ibn which, contains quite competent examples of it. while not rendered entirely in

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It is also worthy of comment that, despite the preponderance of such themes in the contemporary verses compiled by Ibn no garden evocations in Arabic poetry’s time-honored tradition of the evocation of the locus amoenus grace the poems of BR, whether of the first or the second half. No singing birds perch atop bƗn trees, no sanddune hips or cypress-waists bewitch the eyes or the poetic prowess of courtiers, no cups glow like stars and we find no wine pressed from the beloved’s cheeks. Rather, the verses make simple statements, most often about melting entrails and sleepless nights, burning in other words, and in embers lodged in chests and eyes crying tears of blood. stark and notable contrast to his near contemporary Ibn was not a man (nor was his audience, for that matter, despite their clear awareness of it), who knew how to manipulate the intricacies of Given the circumstances described in the previous paragraphs, it is perhaps a bit surprising that the poetic compositions collected in both halves of BR are rendered (mediocre perhaps, but nonetheless). Our manuscript does entirely (strophic composition with a refrain not contain a single example of a rendered in colloquial Arabic, in Romance or, in some cases, in Hebrew), and certainly no azjƗl (sing., zajal—also a strophic composition which is rendered entirely in colloquial Arabic, verses included, and often with a refrain in either Hebrew or Romance). Despite the fact that the is considered a worthy poetic vehicle by Ibn —he records a number of them and lauds poets for being excellent 87 , and there is even mention of a young woman who studied with Ibn QuzmƗn, and therefore we might wonder why some of the songs sung by the Sayyida’s 88 —no mention of it is made in BR.89 Rather, the slave girls are not alignment sought by BR’s authors for their characters and their compositions, particularly in the second half of the narrative, is unquestionably a “classical” one. It is therefore necessary to attempt to define the nature of that relationship in order to arrive at an understanding of the place, importance, and intended allusions and intertexts of the BR compositions, both in that text and in the larger literary culture to which they belong. The first group of poetic compositions with which BR’s verses should be compared, of course, is that compiled by anthologists such as Ibn which belong to the immediate court context of, first, the Almoravid and then the Almohad capital. Despite the alreadynoted difference in quality between BR’s verses90 and the more literary products amassed such a comparison is valid because, as has already been and arranged by Ibn noted, it highlights important differences in the themes and topoi central to the two bodies of work. The context for the production of “state-sponsored” poetry during the taifa period was an unabashedly courtly one,91 in which the themes and topoi of courtly love served poets in the composition of panegyrics to their sovereigns and patrons. Traditional (i.e., caliphal) themes, such as the divinely granted right to rule, evocations and descriptions of battle, etc., if not exiled altogether, took a definite back seat to themes of loving friendship, appreciation of beauty (of both the flora and the fauna of the royally sponsored majlis al-uns), the consumption of wine, the pleasures of intimate companionship, etc. Moreover, if we are to take taifa-period anthologists such as

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ibn al-KhƗqƗn at their word, the style and themes most cultivated and favored, particularly as panegyric, at the taifa courts did not include What is certain, however, is that the format of what I have elsewhere termed the followed by verse “majlis anecdote”—a combination of garden evocation in compositions in the style and on the themes of courtly pleasures and love, most often with either explicit or implicit panegyric intent and whose coalescence as a literary form consciously cultivated under royal patronage I locate in the taifa period, with beginnings in the fitna—was of great influence in forming the poetic tastes of which Ibn anthologies give evidence.92 Indeed, although his tastes were also informed by —to be compositions on similar themes by Eastern poets (including bird song, discussed in greater detail below—pleasure and the desire to be near to the dwelling of the beloved), these taifa poets and compilations appear to constitute something of an ideal for Ibn On one occasion, he even states that QalƗ’id, filled as it was with heavily ornamented verses in the style and rhymed prose of dazzling complexity, had become famous among the (that is, among both the elite and the commoners of al-Andalus).93 Though the verses in BR contain not one single mention of a happily chirping bird in the gardens of love (such as we find both 94 among the taifa verses and in the collections of Ibn ), nor, as was observed above, a single description of these latter, it is possible that an oral or indirect knowledge on the part of someone belonging to the or at least not fully to the might have informed their composition. The taifa verses do, also, on occasion, speak of burning entrails and sleepless nights, themes of capital importance to the authors of the verses collected in BR. Despite their often declared intentions to clean up the lax moral environment created by their predecessors, the mulnjk the mulaththamƯn, or the Almoravids, generally maintained the poetic standards and tastes that held sway during the taifa period, though there also appear to have been significant changes in officially patronized for example, preserves a composition from the Almoravid period panegyric.95 Ibn concerning a qƗdƯ from Ronda who died in 1171.96 He was a majlis companion of “TashfƯn, AmƯr al-MulaththamƯn” and his tarjama contains verses about a “forbidden” love with a boy. This theme, thus, is definitely demoted from the central position it had occupied at the courts of the taifa rulers, and becomes more common in (e.g., those by Ibn Bajjah or Ibn QuzmƗn—indeed, it is really in this period and this context that they begin to be preserved consistently and in significant quantities97) arguably designed to mock, rather than to honor, Almoravid officials. At the very least they are to be taken in a comic rather than—as had been the case in taifa panegyric on homosocial themes—an entirely serious vein. Indeed, the largely homosocial pleasures to Ibn and his and merriments of the majƗlis al-uns of the mulnjk contemporaries, were apparently legendary, but because of the merriment to be had there rather than the potentially serious vein in which both literature and gathering could be taken in the eleventh century.98 It is not entirely correct, of course, to state that the theme was banned from all court or panegyric poetry under the Almoravids—indeed,

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al-MaqqarƯ records an example, precisely from the Almoravid period—but the court in question is unquestionably not that of any member of the upper echelons of the Almoravid hierarchy.99 Such, moreover, certainly remained the case during the period of Almohad hegemony. Following the downfall of the Almoravids, although the frivolous themes of courtly love continued to be associated with leaders of dynasties which opposed the Almohads— al-MaqqarƯ, for example, records poems about Ibn MardanƯsh’s passion for a slave girl100—all association with things courtly or amorous disappeared from panegyric dedicated to the puritanical Berber dynasty.101 Part of this may have been due to their caliphal pretensions, and part was certainly directly influenced by their much-touted fundamentalism.102 Our qƗdƯ of the previous paragraph, for instance, attempted to make the transition from the Almoravids to the Almohads, becoming the “jƗlis,” or majlis companion (though we should probably imagine Almohad majƗlis as being quite different from taifa festivities), of the first caliph. Then, however, he did something unspecified but naughty (composing poetry, perhaps, on frivolous or forbidden themes?) he wrote to the Almohad didn’t and was banished to Meknes. Moreover, the have much to do with the previously popular themes. During this period, the “beautiful boy” theme appears most often in compositions that almost or completely fit beneath the rubric of “mujnjn,” or “lewd,” and are often used for the purposes of hijƗ’, or ridicule. Rather typical is a short composition by a minister of the brother-in-law of Ibn MardanƯsh, Ibn Hamushko, member of an anti-Almohad alliance that also included Alfonso VIII of Castile, on the theme of a black slave holding which can mean a flowering branch in which there is ribald use of the word either “branch” or “penis” or both. Such compositions were intended as amusing pleasantries, and were certainly not intended or taken as panegyric.103 As for the Almohads themselves, there are exceptions in terms of compositions on this and other frivolous themes being produced for the delectation of their ministers, but never do they appear in the context of official panegyric or events at which a member of the Almohad dynasty is documented as present.104 Outside the court sphere, though, we have very little reliable evidence of what drove poetic production and taste. Following the “discovery” in the 1940s of the (and particularly their kharajƗt), or the even more “colloquial” zajal, the widely held view has been that these compositions represent this “popular” level. Since the publication of Otto Zwartjes’ study, however, which echoes in many ways certain studies published by James Monroe, it appears increasingly likely that the case is not quite so simple. Zwartjes’105 arguments in favor of the and their representing, not a popular register, but the products of sophisticated, Arabicspeaking poets connected to the powerful courts of the moment doing the eleventh- and early twelfth-century equivalent of “going slumming,” are quite convincing. Certainly, as may be deduced from the information provided in the preceding paragraphs, the percentage of “respectable” classical poets who are also described as a by Ibn would seem to question the perception of those genres as “popular,” certainly during the thirteenth century.106

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Why, though, we might ask, given that they were clearly acceptable to at least certain sectors of a “high-end” and “courtly” public, BR’s stony silence about the and azjƗl? Why these classical pretensions in a work which clearly was or an Ibn ? Why, not able to measure up to the poetic standards of an also, the striking discrepancy—despite the very direct relationships outlined above between the narrative thread of BR and the genre of “love theory” treatises by Ibn and Ibn —between the “quality” of verses included in these latter and those included in BR? My answer to the first question would be that BR’s authors, like their near-contemporary Ibn were intensely aware of the fashion for the stories and verses of the early Islamic “ahl ” which appear to have been particularly did not form important in thirteenth-century AndalusƯ culture, and the part of this cultural topos; the akhbƗr on the subject compiled by Ibn do not include any such compositions. Ibn compilation faithfully records both the narratives and the verses of the famed lovers of yore much as they appeared in the KitƗb al-AghƗnƯ. Whereas these verses exhibit basic similarities in terms of thematics with BR’s poetic compositions, BR’s verses, in both first and second halves of the manuscript, are a far cry from the elegant improvisations which Majnnjn, despite his crazed and debilitated state, managed to utter practically on command to anyone who wished to take away a poetic “souvenir.” How to explain this discrepancy? The explanation, in fact, is quite probably a simple one: we are witnessing the differences between oral (and, thus, more “popularizing”) and textual (and, thus, more “elite”) poetic and literary transmission of otherwise similar compilations, treatises and texts on otherwise similar themes; we have, in other words, two distinct linguistic registers of literature concerned with a similar subject. Ibn is very clear about the fact that his compilation of akhbƗr and verses on and by the ahl is based on a substantial consultation of bibliography.107 It appears likely that both BR’s verses and other information concerning courtly culture and lore which does link BR to these works were transmitted orally. CBL 4120 represents an example of the very late recording of such works, possibly in order to preserve them, and it is at present impossible to say whether they were recorded—frequently, infrequently or at all—during the intervening centuries between the ninth and the seventeenth. In fact, in terms of content and specific poetic themes and topoi (i.e., raw affirmations of harrowing and soul-wrenching emotions resulting from the beloved’s absence and lovesickness, largely unadorned by the poetic devices so beloved by the ), BR’s poems’ closest counterparts are found (predictably, again, given the probable affiliations of the narrative as preserved in CBL 4120) in works composed centuries earlier. These are the verses recited by the characters— courtiers and slave girls, for the most part—in BaghdƗdƯ tenth-century both those who had already achieved such a compilation for elegants, for distinction and those who aspired to it. It is unclear, however, just how such verses— which, it should also be emphasized, are hardly exactly identical to BR’s—were preserved textually in al-Andalus, particularly during a period such as the taifa one so enamored of poetic complexity and ornament. In terms of immediately contemporary and

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geographically relevant thematics, despite their absence from BR’s corpus of verses, it is and azjƗl—absence of the beloved, precisely those of the AndalusƯ wine, anguish because of separation, ecstasy at her or his presence, fainting spells, emaciation, lovesickness, etc.—which are the most reminiscent of BR. These same themes also appear, albeit with a larger dose of irony, given that he was also an extremely poet, and with a larger dose of properly classical themes, such as garden capable of BR’s almost exact descriptions and garden settings, in the Sufi contemporary, early thirteenth-century AndalusƯ mystic al-ShustarƯ.108 It has been frequently argued that these “vernacular” compositions, particularly in the earliest form in which they appear, are the result of verses in dialect having been transmitted orally for some time prior to their recording, beginning in the Almoravid If period, by poets who were also able composers of verses on courtly themes in this is the case, then they may provide at least a partial explanation for the survival of a on similar themes to those found in pedestrian register of poetic compositions in the KitƗb al-MuwashshƗ’. Therefore, given their presence in the context of a rather pedestrian “slave-girl” story in CBL 4120, BR’s poetic compositions almost certainly represent, yet again, a “missing link,” a less-than-perfect use of classical, rather than dialectical, Arabic to produce verses and songs on the themes of courtly love which are, ultimately, traceable to precedents. These verses, however, as has been remarked, also demonstrate a certain consciousness of the themes and topoi appropriate to that other, “high” register of composition. It is probable, in fact, and also a bit ironic, that the only reason these verses have been preserved at all is the company they kept: they traveled down the centuries accompanied by BR’s stunning, if cruelly damaged, images. It is unlikely that those who chose the objects which would form part of the early period of the Vatican collections, during the sixteenth century when it appears that our manuscript came into papal possession, would have chosen it were it not for the paintings. As was discussed in the preceding chapter, one of the functions the manuscript almost certainly fulfilled was that of a basis for performance. It was also remarked that all of the fateful revelation were in verse compositions included up until the moment of fact songs, designed to be sung; most appear and are sung in the actual context of the Sayyida’s majlis. Each lyric is introduced by the same formulaic phrase—“and she/he took up the lute, tuned it and began to sing these verses [haytha ta/yaqnjl[.” This phrase occupies an entire line of text, is written in larger letters, thick and heavy, of the same size and thickness as the titles for the images. They are also given more visual importance than the phrases which follow them—“qƗlit ” (the Old Woman said)—which serve to separate moments of song or verse performance from narrative, or alternately to separate discrete moments of narrative, as though to divide the text into paragraphs. Upon seeing these physical details, perhaps indicative of pauses or of the imminence of a song, a reader or performer would be prepared to adopt an appropriate tone for either song or prose, altering her or his tone or gestures according to the emotional exigencies of the text. It is equally possible that, when members of the public raised their voices to or a slave girl, accompany a narrator as the songs, in the personae of

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were sung at the Sayyida’s majlis, they enjoyed the somewhat ironic position in which they found themselves. They themselves sang the very lyrics implicitly presented by the text as agents of devastation, transmitters of the disastrous consequences of sincere declaration made in the form of one of the songs they were about to join in singing. The names of the slave girls, moreover, who, at the Sayyida’s request, perform the songs one after the other, serve to underline the impending disaster—the young girl disastrous poetic interchange with her beloved is called upon to sing just before or “threshold!” named The singing that goes on in BR (in the version in which it has been preserved in Vat. Ar. Ris. 368, that is—the majlis, in CBL 4120, is much shorter and ends in the tragedy of death) is both implicitly equated with frivolity and presented as dangerous. Indeed, it would appear to be the “excess of song” on the theme of lovesickness (almost as though it were being invoked), coupled with the wine with which it is metaphorically linked by the majlis images, that visits disaster upon the two unfortunate protagonists. The key lies in the fact that all of the singing is insincere (or “just for fun”), with the In her case, the sentiments expressed are sincere, and it is for this exception of reason that the full, albeit latent, potential of the lyrics is unleashed upon both her and her objet d’amour. What, though, is the particular potency perceived by BR’s authors and audience to be possessed by these verses that would allow them, if recited or sung with the sufficient degree of “sincerity,” to plunge both singer and addressee into the most desperate depths The word alludes of lovesickness? These powers may be summed up in one word: to the particular emotional effects—both positive and negative, and both highly implicated with love—produced by the singing or the hearing of a successful composition on the themes particular to the ghazal or the khamrƯya, ideally sung and accompanied by equally dextrous improvisation on the lute or the tanbour. The word, though largely and zajal corpus itself, is thickly sprinkled throughout absent from the dating to the fitna and taifa periods. This is verse compositions on those themes in exactly the historical moment at which panegyric on the themes of courtly love, and in the style, became all the rage at fitna and taifa courts, significantly later than the probable composition date of the ‘original’ version of the story, as reflected in CBL 4120, during the period.109 moreover, is key to the poetics recorded and set out in Ibn The concept of treatise; in fact, it serves as part of his title— Despite its exile from official panegyric during the Almoravid, and especially the appreciates as one of the most laudable and desirable Almohad, period, Ibn itself does not appear in BR’s compositions or in the qualities of verse.110 The word prose that precedes or follows them, but the idea of it is clearly present in the authors’ ascription of such extraordinary powers to lyrics on lovesickness. Although BR’s characters and authors never term what they are making, doing or experiencing as their evocations and sufferings of love’s pains, torments and sickness were certainly

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perceived by their composers and audience to possess the highly desired ability to incite deep emotions in their hearers, through the manipulation of the classical topoi of love and ), and for this reason were included. Again, we have wine songs (or, in other words, two registers of texts that appear to deploy similar topoi—in this case, “high-end” poetic theory on the emotive potential of well-turned poetic verses and phrases, and “popular” songs through whose performance, in a narrative context, a “popular” perception of the powers of such verses is acted out. Indeed, rather than oblige us to choose between “popular” and “elite” as possibilities for poetic categorization, BR’s verses suggest a great deal of interaction between these two supposedly separate spheres of operation. Earlier, it was observed that, with the exception of rather unsatisfactory attempts at what would have been understood as classical in the context of the Sayyida’s majlis where he “described,” in verse, the Sayyida and her garden and, in prose, his beloved, the poetic compositions compiled in our manuscript were devoid of descriptive verse. It might thus appear somewhat puzzling that, a bit further on in the story, the praises or at expressing his feelings. for precisely this ability, telling him he is excellent at Perhaps we have here again evidence of a “popular,” or imperfect, understanding of a “classical” concept, an adaptation of it to purposes which resonated more with BR’s storytelling and entertaining agenda than with those of an Ibn and his elite, courtpraising of the “realistic” connected poet colleagues. Or perhaps not, for the compositions, of the way in which he communicates (and perhaps effect of even transmits!) his emotions to his audience, resonates in a curious way with the dictums of another of the premier arbiters of AndalusƯ poetic taste during the thirteenth century, al-QartajƗnnƯ. Al-QartajƗnnƯ advocates evocative descriptions of the “real thing,” provided that these descriptions employ, of course, the most beautiful [to them] poetic form possible.111 One imagines that BR’s authors did their utmost to render and heart-rending laments in the “most beautiful poetic form possible”, and the result achieved was certainly one which more than pleased the narrative’s toughest critics, the Sayyida and the

Alfonso and the With the exception of the love lyrics composed by Alfonso X to the Virgin, the “top"112 portion of the Alfonsine cultural machine (by this I mean works either compiled, translated or illustrated directly under the aegis of royal patronage during this king’s reign) did not produce courtly, bowdlerized or popularizing literature on the theme of love per se. Nevertheless, as I have argued elsewhere,113 two of the personages from this realm of cultural production in an Arabic-speaking context—the alcahueta, or the and the slave girl—appear to have been of interest to the Wise King, or to those who produced and illustrated books for him. They were potential tools in the struggle he

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waged to control all aspects of the societies and cultures over which he ruled. Although the Alfonsine workshops produced translations and texts on an astonishing variety of themes, most scholars of Alfonsine culture would agree that the driving motivation behind this production was the appropriation and transmission of all of these varied discourses and forms of knowledge in the service of a state and of a ruler newly self-conscious of its power and universal importance. Our task in the following pages will be that of determining the place BR and other works like it may have occupied in that scheme. *** The Old Woman who narrates our story is, in the finest tradition of the medieval go-between, absolutely integral to the plot’s development. She is also clearly relevant to the ongoing discussion of literary themes of go-betweens and mediation in the Iberian peninsula, as well as in the larger Mediterranean and European world.114 Although she is unquestionably related to these wily bawds—indeed, she represents, yet again, a missing link in terms of our knowledge of the development of this character—it is important to emphasize one characteristic which she does not share with them: she is absolutely squeaky clean, promoting noble behavior, even in the face of extreme cases of lovesickness!115 With the exception of a previous publication by the present author,116 however, this fact has not been remarked in the extant scholarship. Not even BR’s first translator appears to be aware that its Old Woman narrator is atypical of the “typical” medieval go-between in almost every respect. Rather, Nykl, in his discussion of BR’s both in his introduction and in his reconstruction of some of the early lacunae in the manuscript, makes several unsubstantiated assumptions concerning her character. He states, for example, that has received “great promises” from the Old Woman, when, in fact, we know nothing of the promises he has received, nor of the manner in which they have been solicited or stated. He also assumes that she has in some way fallen expectations, an assumption for which the text offers absolutely no short of basis. Moreover, her characterization by Nykl as a “Celestina” blurs the very aspects of her character which the anonymous author(s) of the text almost certainly wanted readers or members of an audience to consider as most significant, due precisely to their discrepancies vis-à-vis well-established character traits for the persona with which a thirteenth-century Iberian audience, as mentioned above, would arguably have been familiar.117 Our capacity as narrator gives her numerous opportunities—a greater number, in fact, than is accorded to any of the narrative’s other principal characters. Principal among these is the opportunity for direct speech, and thus for presenting the motivations for her mediating actions. It is, indeed, on these occasions when she “speaks for herself,” as it were, that the differences between her own motivations (if not, perhaps, the unfortunate results of her actions) and those of her forebears, are most clearly stated. While the end result of these mediations, the most grievous of which is indiscretion and both consequent cases of lovesickness, constitutes a disruption of “courtly” protocol and norms which is at least initially disastrous for all concerned, both the reader/audience and the affected parties are assured repeatedly that the was “only trying to help” (especially f. 15r). Moreover, at the initial majlis at which the

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is present the merely observes and admires the riches and feminine pulchritude displayed before her—no indication is given that she recognizes an opportunity for either summons personal gain or vicarious pleasure. Again, a few lines on, when the we get our first glimpse into the Old Woman’s interior, into the workings of her emotions and motivations, and these are sincerely empathetic with the young girl’s situation—“and I said to myself, ‘Good Lord!,’ and then I said [in order to distract him], ‘There are many among the girls named ’” The fully recognizes the desire for his slave and realizes that the situation is a precarious one; she hopes that there might be “another” somewhere among the harem, so that “her” will remain free for In another striking deviation from the Old Woman’s stock set of characteristics, BR’s appears to have no need of artifice in order to successfully carry out her mediating activities—she is beloved by one and all, and welcome, or so it would seem, pretty much anywhere. Indeed, she avoids all discussion of ruses or tricks, implying that mediation with her honest purposes in mind has no need of them. Equally worthy of comment is the fact that the type of situation or interaction BR’s promotes can in no way be described as socially or sexually transgressive. Moreover, in order to assure that sexually transgressive behavior will not mar the elegant proceedings of the upcoming majlis, she finishes her counseling session by arming the would-be “courtly” lover with a “checklist” by which he may ascertain whether his beloved is, or is not, worthy of noble affection (f. 2v). Rather, she seeks to instill the (f. 2r). As the precepts of good sense and moderation, as well as noble love, into Old Woman notes, she found it prudent to wait for him to calm down a bit before beginning her counseling. Indeed, prudence is the operative term as far as our is concerned. Most of her advice serves to rein in her young friend, to make him think before he acts, and to assure that he is properly schooled in the etiquette of the noble lovers, both of yore and of today, rather than to add fuel to the fire of his passion and spur him on toward the commission of transgressions of that etiquette which he will later live to regret. These wise counsels, of course, are preceded by a scolding in which she tells her of all young charge what an idiot he has been to fall in love precisely with people. Although she might have expected some reaction on the part of her interlocutor to must have been surprised at the effects of her criticism on this harshness, even the He falls immediately to the ground in a dead faint, hitting his head on the way down and causing blood to run down his handsome face. This, as the Old Woman tells us, rather than inciting her derision in the face of someone who had, in a sense, fallen for the “oldest trick in the book,” aroused pity in her heart—she states to herself and, not entirely coincidentally, to her public, that she is to blame (f. 2r). She stays awhile watching over her charge as the blood continues to run down his face and, in her own words, “felt great pity for him.” When the young man awakens, there follows a discussion concerning love and its merits (f. 2r).

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Perhaps the most surprising deviation of BR’s from the typical features of her character type, however, is her resolute refusal to accept anything—even thanks—as recompense for her services. She acts, as she herself declares, in the service of the virtues of honesty, sincerity and (as was discussed in a previous section of this chapter, attempts to somewhat contradictorily) courtliness. In the scene in which the prepare her young charge for the encounter with his beloved at the Sayyida’s majlis, upon hearing her sage advice, kneels down at her feet and kisses the ground in a gesture of respect and gratitude, the same gesture, in fact, with which the qiyƗn demonstrate respect and admiration at the Sayyida’s majlis, both to the Lady and to himself. The Old Woman’s response to this represents the first of a series of iterations concerning her lack of desire for remuneration—or for any sort of recompense, for that matter—in exchange for her mediation (f. 3r): “My son, I don’t want this from you, I only want that you keep your wits about you, and that you weave well together your words when you enter the alcázar of a noble woman!” then suggests the only suitable reward he can think of: “May God compensate you for it!” Allah’s recompense will serve both as thanks for the advice, and as a preface to his next request—that she approach the castle one last time in order to get an idea of acquiesces without a second thought, but her monosyllabic how things stand. The response to both blessing and request (“Yes!”) does not communicate whether or not she accepts even divine remuneration for her efforts. This highly uncharacteristic lack of greed on the part of our Old Woman would make anyone suspicious. The complete lack of reference to money, baubles, clothing, perfume or any of the other sorts of remuneration generally coveted (and received) by alcahuetas the medieval world over, however, leaves us no choice but to accept, at least provisionally, the selflessness of the motivations at face value. Not a single gift or sum of money is mentioned (let alone given or received) in any of the tattered and timeworn folios, whether recto or verso, of BR. Power is mentioned in the context of but never wealth, and although we are told that is a discussions of the merchant’s son (which would seem an ideal place for a discussion of matters mercenary, were it not for the fact that the scene takes place in the Sayyida’s majlis), no mention either of goods or of money is made. Textiles, glasses, gardens and perfumes are enumerated and their quality is noted, and these comments do indeed most often come from the mouth of the but they are not made with a covetous intent. Rather, they are merely ejaculations of admiration (f. 4r). The Old Woman sees the goods, not as potential possessions, or as possible rewards for her services, but rather as appropriate to women of such noble standing as those with whom she has truck in the context of the narrative. Finally comes the most dramatic of all the Old Woman’s “statements of purpose”, the one which gives us the clearest indication of the mechanisms through which BR’s authors attempted to distinguish the squeaky-clean proceedings they narrate from the more seedy situations which result from tercería in Alfonsine texts (KalƯla wa

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Dimna, for example, or even the questionable intentions of terceras—with the exception, of course, of the Virgin Mary!118—in the Cantigas de Santa María). It occurs during the counseling session which most immediately follows the unhappy ending of the majlis and disastrous revelation of her true feelings of hopeless its gaiety as a result of is exhibiting all the classic signs of the lovesick lover, and the love for Old Woman not only does not gloat, but actually bemoans the fact that, despite her good intentions, such a disaster has come to pass. In the end, of course, BR’s proves herself to be worthy of the trust which has been placed in her, and—we are given to believe—the proceedings are brought to an honorable end. In a preceding section of this chapter, the ribald and distasteful portraits of the that typify high-end Arabic literature in al-Andalus were mentioned. Now, we might add that these characteristics (repulsive physical appearance and old age which are equated with morally reprehensible character and behavior) are common throughout literature produced in the language of choice of each of the Iberian peninsula’s principal confessional groups (Castilian, Arabic and Hebrew) during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.119 As summed up by both Márquez and Rouhi, the intermediary or the gobetween—almost always a woman, and generally old—appears in a myriad of contexts in both high and later medieval literature, and is particularly prevalent in Iberia. Indeed, as is everywhere illicit or extra-marital love is to Rouhi asserts, the alcahueta or the be found—she even posits illicit love’s dependence on this triangularity for much of its medieval existence, particularly in “Islamic,” or “Islamic-influenced,” contexts. The gobetween delights in bringing lover and beloved together, often it would seem for the sake of intrigue alone, and with the almost infallible result that said couple wind up in bed. Indeed, in many cases, the very clearly derives vicarious pleasure from these illicit intimacies. Though pleasurable in the short run, the spiral of sex and unbridled tercería generally has disastrous consequences; she, emotion set off by the however, is most often either unconcerned or unaware, or both, having received her reward prior to the completion of her duties. The mediator is glib of tongue and fond of good food and drink, preys on the innocent, the gullible, the unhappily married, veiled or tonsured, and generally makes it known that she expects free-handed recompense for her services. Kozbi, the alcahueta of the early thirteenth-century Hebrew Takhemoni, is a classic example of the treatment received by in high-end literary production the Iberian world over. One thinks here of the memorable scene in which a groom approaches his wedding bed only to find that his young, beautiful bride has, thanks to Kozbi’s wiles, been replaced with a repulsive hag, “quarrelsome,” “black as a crow, with lips like two inflated bladders—anyone who saw would gasp.” Her skin is covered with hair like “stubby brambles,” and she has a beard “like nettles.” She frightens babies with her “dark face” and “dismal eyes,” and has shriveled tits and long teeth. She is “plaintive, shrewish and contemptible,” and she fartes.120 Two examples of alcahuetas from Alfonsine textual production listed above come from the Castilian translation of the Arabic version of KalƯlah wa Dimnah carried out under Alfonso’s patronage prior to his ascension to the Castilian throne, and from the

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Cantigas. As we shall see in just a bit, the alcahueta is also pictured at least once in the illustration program of the Libros del Ajedrez, to be discussed in greater detail below. Although moralistic and moralizing purposes—and thus, perhaps, purposes of social control—might be found in the maqƗmƗt which compose the Takhemoni (in favor of this position, it is noteworthy that the text is chock-full of scriptural references, e.g., to the book of Exodus, in which the three obligations of the husband are outlined, or to the story of Job), it is also generally accepted that one of the principal functions of the compilation was that of entertainment. Tova Rosen notes, for example, the parodic—and, indeed, carnivalistic—relationship between the wedding night described above and real wedding festivities, often held during purim.121 Likewise, the Arabic maqƗmƗt mentioned above is strikingly reminiscent of that of the substitute (in which the description of the bride found in the Takhemoni), as well as BR, would certainly fall in large part, if not entirely, beneath the rubric of literary texts conceived first and foremost with literary merits and/or entertainment in mind. Not so her deployment in Alfonsine textual production. It is possible to categorize the context of the appearances in all of the texts mentioned above—the Calila y Digna, Cantigas de Santa María, the Libros del Ajedrez—as a didactic one. The Calila y Digna, of course, in its earlier Arabic incarnation, was conceived as a “Mirror for Princes,” a text which might instruct both young people and heads of state in examples of morally desirable comportment when faced with ethically complex dilemmas. But, as Sahar Amer has recently demonstrated, the text was also intended and understood, by generations of Arabic-speaking publics the Islamic world over, as an accomplished piece of high-end literature.122 It is precisely this literary aspect of the text, its viability as an artistic creation designed to entertain and give pleasure to its readers, which the Alfonsine translation rejects, replacing it with a didacticism which would come to color almost all of Alfonsine cultural production. Indeed, L.Girón has remarked on the literalness, precisely in the context of a story involving a go-between who gets her come-uppance, of the Alfonsine translation of KalƯlah wa Dimnah, particularly when compared to the more loose, and therefore arguably more literary, treatment of the same tale when it was rendered into Hebrew.123 Such literalness in the translation would appear to suggest a conception of the text as containing knowledge which Alfonso X wished to disseminate, in order to educate his subjects in proper behavior, rather than a group of engaging stories with which he wished to amuse them. In a very similar fashion, in the Cantigas, as has recently been argued by Francisco Prado, a well-known and loved genre of poetry—the courtly love song, unquestionably connected to the world of pleasures and court entertainment—is appropriated by the Wise King. His intentions, however, are not only to sing the Virgin’s praises from his adopted persona of troubadour, but also to, yet again, control the behavior of his subjects through instructing them in the proper ways to approach her and seek her aid. Castile, by virtue of its annexation of previously AndalusƯ territories, was now home to a very heterogeneous and multi-confessional population. Prado argues persuasively that, through the beauty of the CSM’s songs and images and the wisdom of its moral lessons, Alfonso hoped to lead Muslims and Jews, not only to the Virgin, but also to Christianity.124 Finally, as is well known, the Libros del Ajedrez is a text that seeks to instruct readers in the practices and principles of the most noble of all games, chess. We will return, in a moment, to consider the purposes of its images.

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In the literary sphere, the Iberian alcahueta is, at least initially, as Rouhi cogently argues, an amalgamation of the generally more benign “Islamic” type (pace the rough treatment she receives in the AndalusƯ maqƗmƗt) with, on occasion, and these occasions certainly included Alfonsine legal writings. The “European.” Society’s reception of her and her consequent portrayal in the literature(s) of the period is also representative of the entire gamut of attitudes possible in both “Western” and “Semitic” contexts, with many of these attitudes in fact being apparent in a single text. It is also important to remember, given the overt didacticism of the Alfonsine deployment of the in the previously mentioned texts, that, in addition to being a literary topos and character who would have been readily recognized by all members of Iberian society, she was also a social reality. Indeed, the was a figure so inextricably linked to the underworld of concubinage and prostitution that the Wise King made a not-insignificant number of attempts to “legislate” her. As noted by Rouhi and others, in contrast to the relative absence of the go-between from European legal texts concerned with proxenetism, the alcahueta is described in great detail in Iberian legal texts of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, many of which may be related either directly or indirectly to Alfonso X’s attempts at social regulation through legislation.125 The frequency of her appearance in Iberian legal texts is great even in comparison to an “Islamic” context. Moreover, Rouhi notes that, despite the negative portrayal she tends to receive in literary works not only in Castilian in medieval Islamic but also in Arabic and Hebrew, the presence of actual societies does not appear to have been considered problematic at all, and the same may be said for Jewish culture.126 Although there are certainly arguments to be made concerning Alfonso’s having “had in a personal kind of way, it is also certain that she was not the only it in” for the social figure or activity perceived as marginal over which the king attempted to exercise control through legislation. As remarked earlier, both mudéjares and his noble Christian subjects were (repeatedly, and thus one wonders about the efficacy of these efforts at control) subject to sumptuary legislation in an effort to curtail what Alfonso regarded as unseemly displays of wealth and ostentation in clothing. Similarly, both Keller and Prado remark on his attempts to control and, in effect, censure theatrical performances, limiting them to edifying religious subject matter.127 Moreover, the alcahueta and the literary genres to which she belongs were not the only categories of texts marshaled by the Wise King in a totalizing and universalizing effort to write Castilian history—and portray Castilian society—from the (Christian) victor’s standpoint. The same conversionary impulse which, according to Prado, in great part inspired the production of the CSM was, as recently demonstrated, behind not only the translation but the assembly of the Escala de Mahoma,128 and the vehicles deployed also include, as mentioned above, the courtly love lyric as it appears in the CSM. Numerous instances of Carolingian and courtly stories, such as the Cabellero del Cisne and Flore and Blanchefleur,129 were similarly marshaled. This is in notable contrast to the deployment and patronage of courtly themes and material at, for example, the courts of the Plantagenet or of Champagne. Rather than representing the most noble and positive aspects of royal and noble cultural identity, these stories and verses are transformed from literature into history, always at the service of a very evident Christianizing agenda. While I am not proposing a specifically

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“Christianizing” function for the in Alfonsine texts, I am suggesting that she, like so many other diverse elements and topoi from all regions of culture, was co-opted into a moralizing discourse which certainly did not operate at cross-purposes to such a program. A particularly productive vantage point from which to observe the transformation into an element of Alfonsine social discourse is in the realm of visual production. In short, and as I have suggested elsewhere,130 I believe that her representation in Iberia in programs of illustration or illumination was initially a product of Islamic or of Arabic-speaking culture. A strong argument in favor of this suggestion is found in the fact that in none of the numerous studies that treat, in a Hebrew context, the Takhemoni or, in a Castilian one, either the Libro de Buen Amor or Celestina is a tradition of illustration mentioned.131 Conversely, such a tradition is demonstrably present tercería. It is, of in two Iberian narrative works centered around the theme of an course, and as has been the focus of much of the present study, an integral part of the “whole product” which is BR. Moreover, there is evidence for the survival of this tradition having informed the creation and illustration of a similar story concerning the two star-crossed lovers, Bishr and Hind, in the aljamiado manuscript dated to the earliest years of the seventeenth century, discovered in Urrea del Jalón (Aragón).132 Although they have not survived, the intended presence of images in the manuscript from which the text in question was copied is indicated by the frequent interspersion in the text of such phrases as “fegura: Hindi escribiendo una carta a Bishr,” “fegura: Bishri leyendo la carta de Hindi,” etc.; these phrases do not appear in any of the other texts bound with the Bishr wa Hindi. It would thus appear arguable, first, as stated, that in Iberia the visual tradition of representations of an in narratives in which she figures was specifically linked with the Arabic tradition of such narratives. Second, when these images appear in Alfonsine treatises—particularly, as will be seen, in Alfonso X’s Libros del Ajedrez—they have almost certainly been consciously appropriated from the contexts and genres to which they originally belonged and marshaled to other purposes, much as in the case of the texts discussed in the preceding section. In the Cantigas, despite the fact that she is rendered in a style which, for the moment, we will term “European,” the (or, now, alcahueta) is always represented, just as she is in BR’s image program, in profile (fig. 21, see p. 208), a convention which was certainly purposefully retained in order to identify her as an alcahueta. She is, as was observed above, generally up to no good, and is here engaged in giving “bad advice/false information,” or “mal consejo.” Her clothing, however, is demure and, were it not for the large and rather unattractive nose to which the rendering of her in profile calls particular attention, we might easily confuse her with one of the other, more morally upstanding, matrons portrayed throughout the Alfonsine text. It is in the Libros del Ajedrez, probably executed somewhat later than the Cantigas and under slightly different political circumstances, that her portrayal achieves its full, demonizing potential. Indeed, if we compare the image on f. 22r of the LA (figure 20, see p. 207) with the description of the substitute bride from the Takhemoni, cited above, we note striking similarities: her burned-black skin, see-through garments and bladder-like lips do not bode well for her purity of character. This, in other words, is not a nice lady. The appears among a group of chess-playing black slaves, the starkness of whose architectural surroundings

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contrasts sharply, as it was doubtless intended to do, with the multimedia luxury amidst which Christian courtiers engage in the same game on the facing page. While the Christians appear intent on their next moves, absorbed in the intricacies of this most noble of all games, as observed by the Learned King in his introduction to the LA, their Muslim counterparts appear somewhat distracted by a game of seduction which is to involve one of them, although just which one is not clear. A young woman bearing a wine bottle of coarse brown material and a design rather suggestive of things phallic engages in secretive whispering with the perhaps a discussion of the price to ask in return is represented in profile, with coarse features for her favors. Just as in BR, the LA and crude, unadorned head covering. Her thick lips and squinty eyes are unmistakable to us, and would certainly have been equally so to thirteenth-century viewers. It seems, then, that there existed a visual typology that accompanied and played alongside the literary one for the depiction of the alcahueta, and that contemporaries were aware of the potential for manipulation contained in both registers. social condition as a slave girl would thus appear, at least potentially, to compromise her nobility and worthiness as a beloved for a young man who aspires to become one of the ahl …at least until she is compared with the version of the qiyƗn rendered in the LA. On f. 48r (figure 20, see p. 207) of the LA, the once-noble qiyƗn of classical Arabic poetry and literature are crudely portrayed (indeed, their features, at an undetermined moment in the manuscript’s history, were wiped away in an act of what must have been deliberate defacement). They are dressed in revealing garments and splayed before the gaze of the viewer, a chessboard between them, with a game in medias res. The woman closest to the king is further disturbed in her efforts to concentrate on that most noble of all games by a royal hand that crosses in front of, or perhaps fondles, her right breast. Pérez Higuera notes the presence, in the tympanum of the Puerta del Reloj of the Cathedral of Toledo,133 of nude dancing girls whose portrayal resembles in many ways that of the once-noble qiyƗn in the Wise King’s company in the LA. Likewise, al-MaqqarƯ records an anecdote from the Almoravid period in which, while drinking in the garden of one of Granada’s zƗwiya’s, the poet in question enjoyed the presence of a dancing slave girl (whether dressed or undressed or somewhere in between is not clear) during the gathering.134 It will be remembered that the Sayyida’s slave girls, although expert lute and tanbour players and singers of love songs, were not offered up as dancers, whether nude or dressed, for the entertainment of majlis guests. Therefore we may assume that, despite infractions, their public would definitely have perceived them as belonging to a different class from that occupied by Alfonso’s companions and the Toledo dancers. Moreover, R.Constable has proposed that the royal personage represented might in fact be Sancho IV “el Bravo,” rather than Alfonso X. If that is the case, then the representation of him in this dubious context and company would probably signify, given the late date of the manuscript’s production in the Wise King’s reign, a comment of the illustrators or of the king’s on his son’s defection and moral character, the dubious nature of the latter being expressed in the maxim, “you are the company you keep.”135 This, in fact, raises the as-yet unresolved question of the overall significance and program of meaning of the LA’s images.136 As a conclusion to this chapter and as further evidence of a notably adroit Alfonsine manipulation of themes from the literary and

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unofficial side of culture into a totalizing discourse of inevitable and rightly-guided statehood and Christian cultural and political domination, I would like to relate this discussion to that of the perceptibly distinctive visual styles of the illustration programs of the Alfonsine CSM and the LA, respectively.137 To wit, one (in many ways) “looks European” (but more on this below). The other, though it is book-ended by two “European-looking” images—a ruler portrait quite similar in many respects to those which open the CSM manuscripts, and an as-yet unexplained Wheel of Fortune at the end—evidences, in many of the images that constitute the middle, nagging similarities with some of the more salient characteristics of the BR images. Particularly salient are in terms of architectural details, the construction of each image around an upturned chessboard, and the size and placement of image on the page (figs. 18, see p. 205 and 20, see p. 207). Scholars have long preferred the task of analyzing, alongside the much-discussed “windows into thirteenth-century Castilian daily life” provided by their content, the “Gothic” (i.e., French), German and/or Italian stylistic “influences” present in the image program of the CSM, to that of even addressing the much more enigmatic message(s) contained in both the style and iconography of the LA images.138 While it is far beyond the scope of this present chapter to decipher each and every one of the LA images, I believe that I can offer here some suggestions concerning the overall message the program carries, based on certain of the observations made above concerning a few specific images. As has often been observed, the image program of the Libros del Ajedrez is characterized by a gamut of figural types that would seem to suggest interaction between members of Iberia’s three confessional and linguistic groups in an almost dizzying variety of combinations, architectural and social settings. All are readily identifiable by details of hair, skin color or clothing, as members of the group, and the social class or caste within that group, to which they belong. Indeed—and these distinctions are, as has also often been noted, equally readily apparent in the CSM—it is precisely in the use of figural types that the Alfonsine products differ most pointedly from BR, a matter which I believe to be of significance, and which I have addressed elsewhere.139 Both the CSM and the LA appear to be preoccupied with establishing classes and categories, using ethnicity, clothing and social class to emphasize social difference, something which is not of concern in the least to BR’s authors and illustrators. This Alfonsine impulse to categorize in order to differentiate and, ultimately, to control, apparent particularly in the LA, however, does not fully explain the very perceptible stylistic differences between the CSM and the LA. The differences may, first and foremost, be chronological. The CSM were produced during a period of particular peace and prosperity for the newly expanded Castile, from the conquest through about 1268. The great conquests of the third and fourth decades of the century had taken place, and there then ensued a brief period during which a crusade against Morocco was temporarily successful, leaving Castile in possession of Sala for two years; this was followed by a series of more or less successful invasions along the coast by Morocco in the years 1265 and 1278.140 Alfonso’s reign constitutes a context in which we may probably imagine BR, both as a tradition and as an object, still functioning but in a context that has shifted in terms of taste. As discussed by Cómez Ramos, this period of prosperity brought with it a taste, among both royals and nobles, for “exotic importations”141…from France, Belgium and Italy, quite possibly resulting from

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Alfonso’s newly broadened gaze toward strengthened ties to the Capetian monarchy, diplomatic contacts with various Italian republics, and the Wise King’s pretensions to assume the title of Holy Roman Emperor.142 Despite similarities between the techniques used to render architectural details, textiles and faces which one may note between BR and the illustrations of the CSM, the overall style of the latter group of manuscripts is arguably intended to look “European,” or at the very least, “International.” Images that exhibit strong and sustained similarities to those of BR are exiled altogether from the CSM, and relegated to the dice-playing section of the pages of the LA. The style of BR represents a taste which is typical of the preceding generation’s penchant for certain AndalusƯ luxury goods (such as Berengaria’s pillow or the “Drinking Ladies” silk; figs. 22 and 23, see pp. 209–210), perhaps independent of or in addition to its ties with “things Islamic.” These goods typified the aesthetic tastes of the generation which preceded Alfonso’s, for both Christians and Muslims143. It was probably rejected, not necessarily because it was “Islamic” (indeed, Feliciano’s recent research on the use of “AndalusƯ” textiles by Christian nobles, royalty and ecclesiastics has finally put to rest the concept that this style and these textiles represented something “exotic” for a Castilian public), but because it was not “new.” The LA, on the other hand, was produced significantly after this moment (it was finished in 1284, the year of Alfonso’s death), following a series of rebellions, defections and disappointments. And, as noted earlier, the crisis in Alfonso X’s reign may even be said to have begun as early as 1272. It is generally agreed that tight official control was exercised over the production of all four manuscripts of the CSM, whereas the late date, political bouleversements, and uncertain purpose or audience for the LA might allow for the possibility of less insistence on the consistent use of the up-to-the-minute style evidenced in the CSM. Perhaps the “old” style of BR and Berengaria’s pillow was allowed to creep into the pages of the LA, though it was exiled from the frontispiece, first folios and the Wheel of Fortune. Although I do not believe that the LA images represent a conscious or politically motivated choice of a “Christian” style (indeed, I would prefer to characterize the Alfonsine style as “International,” for reasons to be explained shortly) over an “Islamic” one, neither do I believe that such messages were absent from the LA. Bearing in mind Prado’s recent reading of the CSM’s controlling and conversionary purposes which result in the astute manipulation of Marian miracles and its audience’s emotions, I would like to suggest that certain of the LA images, independent of the overtly didactic project of which they form part (this is, it will be remembered, a treatise which instructs its readers in the intricacies of chess strategies and scenarios), also serve a second educational purpose. Particularly in the case of the two images considered in some detail above (i.e., the chess games of the black slaves and of the Moorish slave girls), it is possible to see the juxtaposition of the moral and the amoral in the placing side by side of “Christian” and “Muslim” games of chess. The Christians, as I have observed elsewhere,144 are ostentatiously dressed in a series of fabrics and colors very carefully specified by the images themselves. The crown attempted, through a series of sumptuary legislations whose repeated promulgation is perhaps an indication of their failure to achieve royal ends, to control access to these very fabrics and substances: their use was forbidden to Muslims and limited even for Christians.145 The reading I suggest here is slightly more nuanced than the scholarly commonplace of Christian appropriation of Muslim luxury

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goods in order to express domination of the latter by the former. Feliciano, in her recent revision of the question of Castilian “Christian” use of “Muslim” luxury fabrics, has emphasized the purely material (in every sense of the word) motivations behind these choices.146 Departing from an image of silk fibers wrapped in gold examined under a microscope, she establishes that the ethnic identity and religious affiliations of the weavers were of very little consequence to a Castilian purchaser (or receiver, in cases where the fabrics were, as they often were, given as a gift). Rather, it was the very costliness and rarity of the substance that produced the garment’s aura, not the idea of the wearer’s domination of its (infidel) weavers. Likewise, she establishes the direct correlation believed by contemporary theorizers of the Castilian monarchical essence to exist between the possession and use of such fabrics and the nobility of the royal person. It was, indeed, a king’s obligation to procure, possess and display such luxuries as those enumerated in the images of the LA (with much greater precision and emphasis, it should be noted, than in the CSM), and to ensure that such privileges only attained to those noble members of society worthy of them. The list of those worthy of such fineries, in the view of the king, would undoubtedly not include dancing slave girls and Old Lady pimps, two categories of citizens of Alfonso’s multi-cultural empire with whose morality he was particularly concerned and, particularly in the case of the latter, against whom he even attempted to legislate. Likewise, the unadorned surroundings of the black slaves are probably intended as a comment, not on their domination by Christians, but on their lack of moral character (and perhaps, consequently, the rightness of their domination by Christians, but this is another matter which we will not pursue here). Given the educational and ennobling value attributed to the game of chess, it does not appear too far-fetched to suggest that, through such juxta-positions of morally upright (indicated by the luxury with which they are dressed and surrounded) and questionable (indicated by the corresponding lack of such accoutrements) characters, Alfonso wished to educate and reform those elements of society which he perceived as imperiling the overall moral character of his kingdom. The genre of image adapted for this purpose might very well include the more “entertaining” category of “Old Lady stories” to which BR’s illustrations belong—striking similarities between the LA images and the (also ennobling) chess game taking place between and the Old Woman’s relative are readily apparent. As will be seen in the following chapter, the Wise King readily appropriated romance texts to the purposes of his Christianizing agenda, so it is not difficult to imagine the images being directed toward similar ends. The author portrait at the beginning, in which the king is cast as the purveyor of all of the knowledge contained in the treatise to follow, coupled with the Wheel of Fortune at the end, serves to cast all of the LA’s contents in didactic and moralizing terms. Although it is impossible to determine with exactitude the “target audience” for whom the LA was conceived in the thirteenth century, it does seem safe to suggest, given the generally well-preserved state in which the unicum manuscript finds itself today (and this is particularly noticeable when the manuscript is placed alongside the tattered and worn folios of BR), that, whatever the original motivations for its production, it was not widely circulated. A comparison with the Siete Partidas—Alfonso’s ultimate effort at social control and regulation, but one never actually promulgated during the king’s lifetime—is hard to resist.

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In conclusion, I would like to offer a partial response to a question posed in the previous chapter of this study, and left, in part, unanswered. Given that I rejected, largely for chronological reasons, their direct influence on the conception of the BR image program, what of the reception of images produced in the “Central Islamic Lands” in the successful style of the MaqƗmƗt images during the middle decades of the thirteenth century in an Iberian context? For such a relationship to be established, and for such reception to be successfully argued, international exchange at the highest levels is necessary. It is perhaps for this reason that it is difficult to trace the effects of the “MaqƗmƗt style” in properly “Islamic” art in al-Andalus. Given the effective power vacuum that characterized the Islamic political apparatus following the dissolution of the Almohad empire (the power in Granada was not yet stabilized to the extent that we may imagine engagement in organized foreign diplomatic operations), our eventual location of evidence of such contacts is in fact rather unlikely. A much more likely candidate as a setting for such exchanges, however, is found in the court of Alfonso X, and Prado has convincingly argued that a place be made for the MaqƗmƗt images among the wide variety of styles (French, Italian, German and others) and objects which likely impacted the formation of the Alfonsine style of the CSM.147 Indeed, the Alfonsine style’s hallmark is its internationalism, its refusal to be pinned down to a single “influence”. Like Alfonso’s foreign policy agenda itself, the style claims a place on the international stage at the highest and most cosmopolitan levels of diplomatic exchange, and in this way exists in stark contrast to the marked provincialism of BR.148 This realization, in turn, raises still other questions, such as that of the hermeneutic usefulness of scholarship’s placing of the BR and the MaqƗmƗt images into one (Islamic) category together, separate from those of the (Christian) CSM and the LA, simply on the basis of the religious affiliation associated with the language spoken by their authors. As has been demonstrated by the preceding two chapters, such categorizations do not get us very far.

Notes 1 Khemir, Al-Andalus, links it particularly strongly to the cultural sphere of the Almohads. 2 See Viguera Molins, “Ceremonias.” 3 J.González, El Reino de Castilla, en la época de Alfonso VIII, 3 vols. (Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, Escuela de Estudios Medievales, 1960), vol. 1, for a thorough historical study of the political situation between Castile and various Islamic political entities during Alfonso VIII’s reign. 4 For relevant citations and a brief discussion of courtly literature in this context, see Robinson, “Courtly Courts.” 5 R.I.Burns and P.E.Chevedden, Negotiating Cultures: Bilingual Surrender Treaties in MuslimCrusader Spain under James the Conqueror, with a contribution by Míkel de Epalza (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 1999), note that Jaume I and al-Azraq participated in an alliance against and mention another local caudillo, Abnj Zayd, with the Muslim ruler of Xativa, Ibn whom Jaume also pacted an alliance. 6 P.Guichard, Les musulmans de Valence et la ReconquƝte: XIe–XIIIe siècles, 2 vols. (Damas: Institut français de Damas, 1990–1991), II, pp. 412–413. Alfonso X’s assistance eventually becomes necessary in order to finally break the resistance to Christian domination in Murcia.

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7 Guichard, Musulmans, II, pp. 422, 425; he notes that Jaume I’s Llibre dels Feyts is suspiciously silent concerning many of the more violent events of these years. 8 Guichard, Musulmans, II, p. 414; this period often saw the introduction of Christian populatores into conquered lands. 9 See R.Menéndez Pidal and J.M.Jover Zamora, Historia de España (Madrid: Espasa-Calpe, 1931–); Historia del Reino de Granada, 3 vols., vol. 1 (Granada: Universidad de Granada, El Legado Andalusí, 2000). 10 Moreover, a further argument in favor of the sharq al-Andalus as the manuscript’s production site is constituted by the fact that the nearby region of Xátiva had been renowned for centuries as an important center for the production of paper. See Burns and Chevedden, Negotiating Cultures, p. 125. 11 Guichard, Musulmans, II, p. 313 ff. 12 Burns and Chevedden, Negotiating Cultures, p. 28. WazƯr appears to have been preferred by al-Azraq-; Burns and Chevedden also note the common use of “ra’Ưs,” and it is certainly possible, as discussed here, that BR’s reflects this phenomenon. 13 Citation apud Burns and Chevedden, Negotiating Cultures; the authors state that they are in and qurƯya were often fairly rigidly disagreement with Glick (who opines that madƯna, separated), and in agreement with the theories of Epalza, Acien Almasa and Azuar Ruiz concerning the multiplicity and interpenetration of social and political realities of the post-reconquista Levante. 14 Burns and Chevedden, Negotiating Cultures, pp. 24–25. 15 Viguera Molins, “Ceremonias.” 16 I use these terms here as defined in our introduction to Under the Influence, pp. 1–20. 17 E.Rowson, in an essay analyzing two Mamluk-period texts concerned with courtly and anti-courtly topoi and texts, published some fifteen years ago, makes a similar complaint literary universe of the “Central Islamic Lands;” see regarding the E.K.Rowson, “Two Homoerotic Narratives from Mamluk Literature: Al-Safadi’s al-shaki and Ibn Daniyal’s al-Mutayyam,” in E.K.Rowson and J.Wright, eds., Homoeroticism in Classical Arabic Literature (New York: Columbia University Press, 1997), pp. 158–191. The panorama has not changed much since then, and the same circumstances apply to al-Andalus. al-AndalusƯ (1213–1286), MurqisƗt fi-l-MutribƗt (Bayrnjt: DƗr 1973); idem, Al-Mughrib fƯ hulƗ al-Mughrib, ed. and intro., ZakƯ (Cairo: Fnj’Ɨd al-awwal, 1953–); idem, Jam’Ɨ l and MurqisƗt fi-l-MutribƗt, ed. Ibr’Ɨ him HindawƯ (al-QƗhirah: DƗr 2002); idem, MurqisƗt fi-l-MutribƗt (Beirut, 1973); idem, The Banners of the Champions: An Anthology of Medieval Arabic Poetry from Andalusia and Beyond, selected and translated by James A. Bellamy and Patricia Owen Steiner (Madison: Hispanic Seminary of Medieval Studies, 1989); idem, El libro de las banderas de los campeones de Ibn al-MagribƯ: antología de poemas arábigoandaluces’, editada por primera vez y traducida con introducción, notas e índices, por Emilio García Gómez (Madrid: Instituto de Valencia de Don Juan, 1942); idem, IkhtisƗr

18 Ibn

fƯ al-tƗrƯkh al-muhallƗ, anthologized and edited by Abnj AllƗh ibn AllƗh ibn KhalƯl and IbrƗhƯm al-AbyƗrƯ (Al-QƗhirah: al-Hay’ah li-Shu’njn 1959); idem, Al-Mughrib fƯ hulƗ al-Maghrib, ed. ShawqƯ Dayf, 2 vols. Mughrib, II, pp. 84–89.

DƗr

1955–1964). For reference, Ibn

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19 Ibn Mughrib, II, p. 214. pp. 443–446. 20 Ibn p. k; Ibn connections to the court are also 21 Ibn mentioned in p. 34. ibn ibn T.Garulo, ed. and trans., El Libro del 22 Brocado=KitƗb al-MuwashshƗ’ (Madrid: Alfaguara, 1990). 23 See above, note 17. 24 As Nykl observes in his introduction, BR contains several grammatical errors (although some are arguably due to carelessness in copying rather than to a faulty command of the language); Nykl, Historia de los amores, introduction. 25 See Introduction and Robinson, “Re-Writing Genre.” 26 See L.Giffen, Theory of Profane Love among the Arabs: The Development of the Genre (New York: University Press, 1971). For the genre’s reception in al-Andalus, see E.García Gómez’ introduction to his Spanish translation of Ibn al-hamƗmah. (AH 297/AD 909), KitƗb al-ZahrƗ’ (Book of the Flower), ed. from the unique 27 Ibn manuscript at the Egyptian library by A.R.Nykl, in collaboration with Ibrahim Tuqan (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1932); J.-C.Vadet, L’Esprit courtois en Orient dans les cinq premiers siècles de l’Hégire (Paris: G.-P.Maisonneuve et Larose, 1968). Much is belonging to the school of made in the scholarship concerning Ibn thought, particularly as regards its “sincerity” and the way we should interpret it. Nonetheless, it is fairly clear that the was compiled before the author’s conversion, and it is doubtful that Ibn religious preferences were a consideration to BR’s authors in their decision to base a large part of the narrative thread on an audience’s certain knowledge of, not a work, but a genre. 28 KitƗb al-ZahrƗ’, pp. 68, 82–85, esp. p. 85; also pp. 95–100. 29 See Giffen, Theory of Profane Love. 30 This is a particularly “Ovidian” characteristic of the topos of the slave girl in Arabic love theory, and exhibits striking similarities to discussions of the poet’s female object of desire in the Remedio Amoris. 31 This characterization of a slave girl as an ingénue is not at all typical of Arabic love theory or verse, and the reasons for its presence in BR will be discussed in the following chapter. A.ibn al-Ra’uf, 32 See Marín, “Mujeres,” and E.Lévi-Provençal, M.Ibn U.Jarsifi, Trois traités hispaniques de hisba texte arabe (Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale du Caire, 1955); hereafter, Ibn 33 M.Dols, Majnun: The Madman in Medieval Islamic Society, ed. Diana E.Immisch (Oxford: Clarendon Press; New York: Oxford University Press, 1992), and M.F.Wack, Lovesickness in the Middle Ages: The Viaticum and its Commentaries (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1990). For a discussion of the manifestations of the particular and advancing stages of lovesickness specifically as pertains to Majnnjn, see R.Khan, “On the Significance of Secrecy in the Medieval Arabic Romances,” Journal of Arabic Literature, 31, no. 3(2000), pp. 238–253, and eadem, Sexuality and Secrecy in the Medieval Arabic Romance of Majnun Layla (Ph.D. thesis, University of Pennsylvania, 1997). 34 Khan, Sexuality and Secrecy. 35 Marín, “Mujeres.” 36 KitƗb Spanish translation, Garulo, El libro del brocado. 37 Garulo, El libro del brocado=KitƗb pp. XLV–XLVI.

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38 Hugh Kennedy, When Baghdad Ruled the Muslim World: The Rise and Fall of Islam’s Greatest Dynasty (Cambridge, MA: Da Capo Press, 2005). ‘Courtliness’ and eadem, 39 See C.Robinson, “Love in the Times of Fitna: The Bannj In Praise of Song. Still More on the ‘Córdoban Ivories’,” in Glaire Anderson and Mariam Rosser Owen, eds., Revisiting al-Andalus: New Approaches and Perspectives to Material Culture (Leiden: Brill Academic Publishers, forthcoming, 2008). al-surnjr fƯ 40 Al-RaqƯq al-NadƯm al-QayrawƗnƯ, AbƯ IshƗq IbrahƯm Ibn al-QƗsim, al-khumur, ed. al-JundƯ (Dimashq: al-Muqaddimah, 1969). 41 See ibn Ibn (994–1064), al-hamƗmah fƯ al-ulfah wa-al-ulƗf, ed. KƗmil al-SƯrfƯ (Cairo: al-Maktabah al-TijƗrƯyah al-KubrƗ, 1964); English translation, The Ring of the Dove (New York: AMS Press, 1981); for further bibliography and a reassessment of its role in the creation of courtly court culture in al-Andalus, see Robinson, “Love in the Time of Fitna.” 42 Giffen, Theory of Profane Love; Vadet, L’Esprit courtois. 43 Márquez Villanueva, in Orígenes y sociología, for example, comments several times on this lacuna in the available evidence, but only mentions BR (not in the context of that particular discussion) in a footnote. 44 André le Chapelain, De amore et amoris remedio; English translation, The Art of Courtly Love, by J.Parry (New York: Columbia University Press, 1941 and 1990). On the “Art,” see P.Cherchi, Andreas and the Ambiguity of Courtly Love (Toronto and Buffalo: University of Toronto Press, 1994). Spanish and Latin, De amore= Tratado sobre el amor, ed. and trans. I.Creixell Vidal-Quadras (Barcelona: Sirmio, 1990); in terms of parallels with potentially debatable narrative situations in BR, I am thinking specifically of the “iudicia” of Chapter VII (Creixall, pp. 324 ff.), particularly XVIII, “Quidam milites intima turpiter et secreta vulgavit amoris…”—“a certain soldier-gentleman shamefully disclosed the intimate secrets of his love….” The result, after judgment by a group of courtly ladies, is ostracism from the court of love (Creixall, pp. 342–345). The offending party, of course, in the case examined by the Chaplain is male instead of female, but the parallel is nonetheless suggestive. 45 On the maqƗma in al-Andalus, see F.de la Granja, MaqƗmas y risƗlas Andaluzas (Madrid: Instituto Hispano-Árabe de Cultura, 1976); J.T.Monroe, “The Maqama,” in M.R.Menocal, R.P.Scheindlin and M.Sells, eds., The Literature of al-Andalus (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), pp. 190–210; J.T.Monroe, “Misinterpreting False Dreams: alSaraqusti’s Maqama of Tarif,” in S.G.Armistead, M.M.Caspi, M.Baumgarten and C.Noreña, eds., Jewish Culture and the Hispanic World: Essays in Memory of Joseph H.Silverman (Newark, DE: Juan de la Cuesta, 2001), pp. 415–435; idem, “Al-Saraqusti, Ibn al-Astarkuwi (Part II)” Journal of Arabic Literature, 29, no. 2(July 1998), pp. 31–58; idem, “Al-Saraqusti, Ibn al-Astarkuwi (Part IT)” Journal of Arabic Literature, 29, no. 2(July 1998), pp. 31–58; H.Nemah, “Andalusian Maqamat,” Journal of Arabic Literature, 5(1974), pp. 83–92; David A.Wacks, “The Performativity of Ibn al-Muqaffa’s Kalila wa-Dimna and Al-Maqamat al-Luzumiyya of al-Saraqusti,” Journal of Arabic Literature, 34, no. 1–2(2003), pp. 178–189. 46 Samuel G.Armistead and James T.Monroe, “Celestina’s Muslim Sisters,” Celestinesca: Boletin Informativo Internacional, 13, no. 2(1989), pp. 3–27. al-AndalusƯ, Abu Sahl ibn MƗlik, “lahu maqƗmƗt….” 47 Ibn 48 See Granja, MaqƗmas y risƗlas; most of the examples collected by de la Granja fit this description. 49 See Robinson, In Praise of Song.

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50 See p. 49, where we find one of a series of short akhbƗr in which a lady has a young falls in love; also, p. 50, where we find “bƗb maid or slave girl who, like ;” “bƗb al-RaqƯb.” 51 TarƯkh al-Adab al-AndalusƯ, vol. 6; pp. 445–447. 52 Khan, Sexuality and Secrecy. 53 Despite the striking parallels which it exhibits with them, however, BR does not figure among a list of such stories which were in circulation during the midtenth century, at the time Ibn al-NadƯm compiled his Fihrist; see Parte Octava, vol. II, pp. 713 ff., esp. pp. 721–723; there would seem to exist important similarities between BR and these lost tales. Vadet, L’Esprit courtois, contains detailed discussion of the place of stories of love’s in early Islamic society. chaste martyrs, the Bannj 54 See BR, f. 20v.; unlike in Majnnjn’s case, however, begs Allah to relieve him of these ills, whereas Majnnjn requests that they be increased. Differences between these two narratives will be further explored in the fourth and final chapter of this study. On lovesickness in Islamic culture and its place in medieval perceptions of madness, see Dols, Madman. 55

p. 211.

56 pp. 234–235. 57 From the literary record, that is, as it presently exists. There are certainly many, many more CBL 4120s in the world’s libraries awaiting scholarly attention, and their inclusion in what is at present an extremely limited canon will doubtless alter the picture in unforeseen ways. 58 Ibn al-NadƯm, Fihrist; see Parte Octava, vol. II, pp. 713 ff., esp. pp. 721–723. 59

p. 125.

60

p. 230.

61

p. 233.

pp. 117–118; performance instructions, pp. 108–109; songs are referred to as p. 119, instructions for singing the ghinƗ; other examples are found on p. 120. This is similar, again, to narrations of performance in the KitƗb al-AghƗnƯ—see vol. 1, pp. 288–298, where al-WalƯd utters the same words following a satisfactory performance by a poet. 63 pp. 112–115. 64 pp. 100–103. and Umm bint Ynjsuf 65 Mughrib, I, pp. 37–38; the poetesses are al-BarbarƯya. 66 Mughrib, p. 171. 67 Ibn pp. 173–175. See J.E.Keller and R.W.Linker, eds., El libro de Calila e Digna (Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Cientificas, 1967). 68 Ibn p. 61. 69 p. 99 pp. 100 and 109. 70 71 p. 107 72 Nykl, Historia de los amores, p. 20, f. 13. 73 A.Miquel, Majnnjn et LaylƗ: l’amour fou (Paris: Sindbad, 1984), pp. 31–35, esp. 33 and 35. 74 Miquel, L’Amour fou, p. 53. 62

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75 Secrecy was very much at issue in the redactions of Majnnjn LaylƗ: see R.Khan, “On the Significance of Secrecy in the Medieval Arabic Romances,” Journal of Arabic Literature, 31, no. 3(2000), pp. 238–253. recounts a lengthy version of Qays’ woes, pp. 240 ff. It is, of course, quite common for medieval romance narratives to exhibit multiple intertextualities through the presence of discrete topoi or narrative phonemes which have been culled and recast from other narratives, as opposed to one narrative evidencing wholesale plot, character and setting borrowings from another. The texts, in other words, are in constant “movement” in relation to a group of other, closely related texts, “each text maintaining a stable identity while deriving many thematic currents from contact with the other texts” (Rouhi, Mediation and Love, p. 69; P.Zumthor, “Intertextualité et mouvance,” Littérature, 41(1981), pp. 8–16, esp. p. 9, citation apud Rouhi). Rouhi argues that the gobetween is, in fact, particularly well elucidated by Zumthor’s “mouvance” as she “engages the notions of movement and contact between texts continually, for {she} relies as much on inherent, invisible presuppositions from outside each text as on the actual poetics employed within the work.” 76 Miquel, L’Amour fou, pp. 80, 52. 77 Nonetheless, for Miquel, the garden remains the “utopia of love” for Majnnjn, as it does for Miquel, L’Amour fou, p. 84. 78 L’Amour fou, p. 80 79 L’Amour fou, p. 52. 80 Viguera Molins, “Ceremonias.” 81 Viguera Molins, “Ceremonias;” Arié, “Le Costume des Musulmans;” M.Marín, M.J.de Azcárraga et al., Tejer y vestir: de la antigüedad al Islam (Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 2001). 82 Ibn . 83 Marín, “Mujeres.” 84 Probably so, given the happy ending accorded to the lovers and to the narrative, as will be discussed in the final and following chapter of this study. 85 Miquel, L’Amour fou, p. 54. 86 Rouhi, Mediation and Love, pp. 175 ff. 87 Mughrib, II, p. 19, with liberally sprinkled throughout both volumes. Compositions by Abnj Bakr Ibn BaqƯ MaghdalƯs et al. II, p. 95, no. 438, composed by a woman who was a student of Ibn 88 Ibn QuzmƗn’s. 89 On the the bibliographical possibilities are truly vast and seemingly endless. One might begin with F.Corriente, Poesía dialectal árabe y romance en Andalús: cejeles y xarajat de muwaššahat (Madrid: Gredos, 1998); idem, “The Metres of the A Bridging Hypothesis,” Journal of Muwassah: An Andalusian Adaptation of Arabic Literature, 13(1982), pp. 76–82; idem, Diwan Ibn Quzman al-Qurtubi: nassan wa(Madrid: al-Asbani lil-Thaqafah, 1980); lughatan idem, Cancionero andalusí, Ibn Quzman; edición íntegra de cejeles y fragmentos; traducción, introducción y notas de Frederico Corriente, 3a. ed., corr. y aumentada (Madrid: Hiperion, 1996); idem, Arabe andalusí y lenguas romances (Madrid: Editorial MAPFRE, 1992); J.Monroe, “Poetic Quotation in the Muwassaha and Its Implications: Andalusian Strophic Poetry as Song,” La Coronica, 14, no. 2(1986), pp. 230–250; idem, Hispano-Arabic Poetry: A Student Anthology (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1972); O.Zwartjes, Hispano-Arabic Poetry: A Student Anthology (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1972).

Medieval andalusian courtly culture in the mediterranean 90 Compare, for example, the compositions in 91 See Robinson, In Praise of Song. 92 E.g. (among many possible comparisons), themes of the majlis al-sharƗb or the majlis al-uns. 93

158

p. 15, with those preserved in BR. p. 12—these concentrate on the

p. 14, for compositions in which al-ZamƗn deploys topoi that are also basic to the culture of wadd (noble love or affection) in al-Andalus; for the plus other majlis anecdote-like rhymed prose and verse, p. 17. comment about

II, no. 346. 94 Ibn 95 See Robinson, In Praise of Song. 96 Ibn I, pp. 190 f. and 258, no. 240. 97 On Ibn QuzmƗn, see F.Corriente, Diwan Ibn Quzman; James Monroe, “Prolegomenos al estudio de Ibn Quzman: El poeta como bufón,” Nueva Revista de Filologia Hispanica, 34, no. 2(1985–1986), pp. 769–799; idem, “The Striptease That Was Blamed on Abu Bakr’s Naughty Son: Was Father Being Shamed, or Was the Poet Having Fun? (Ibn Quzman’s Zajal No. 133),” in J.W.Wright, Jr., and E.K.Rowson, eds., Homoeroticism in Classical Arabic Literature (New York: Columbia University Press, 1997), pp. 94–139. Mughrib, I, p. 190. In reference to the majlis al-uns, Ibn states that it was 98 Ibn .” “maidƗn lahwihim wa III, p. 507, where we find a poem about boys among the compositions 99 Al-Maqqari, ibn Muhalhal al-JalyƗnƯ, who wrote poems of praise to Abnj of a certain Abnj al-Hasan Bakr ibn “ fi dawlat al-mulaththamƯn” or “ruler of the of Granada,” during the Almoravid period. The patron in question, in fact, is an ancestor of our anthologist. 100 See, for example, al-MaqqarƯ, III, p. 492; other relevant examples of the survival of these themes are found on p. 507. 101 Despite an anecdote concerning a poet taking his pleasures in the garden (bustƗn) of the Almohad caliph, during the final decades of the twelfth century, compositions on frivolous themes do not figure in any recorded Almohad panegyric I have seen; see II, pp. 528–529. 102 See Viguera Molins, “Ceremonias.” 103 See Robinson, “Courtly Courts.” 104 For example, III, pp. 323 and 492–494;

II, p. 257, no. 563, as well as a

on p. 284, by Abnj contrast with the central topoi by the same poet on p. 260. In II, p. 272, no. 269, we find with to a al-Mu’min, but the caliph’s lyrical themes dedicated to ministers of Almohad caliph p. 15, for a risƗla on participation in these activities is not recorded. See also but, again, this is certainly not “loving” themes by a contemporary of Ibn attributable to an “official” Almohad context. 105 Zwartjes, Hispano-Arabic Poetry. Al-Mughrib, II, pp. 90–96, 194 ff. 106 See, for example, Ibn pp. 211, 232, where he affirms that he has consulted, as he affirms numerous 107 al-kutub.” Here he cites specifically the “ times, a “number of sources,” “fi Qnjt al-Qulnjb, fi AkhbƗr .”

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108 On al-ShustarƯ, see F.Corriente, ed. and trans., Poesía Estrófica (Céjeles y/o ) Atribuída al Místico Granadino al-ShushtarƯ (Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 1988). 109 See Robinson, In Praise of Song. 110 esp. p. 48; I, p. 214; see also majlis anecdotes, p. 220. The quality of is attributed to a composition produced during the Almoravid period by Ibn Dahiyya (d. 1193); see I, p. 225; II, p. 44, no. 368, where a poet’s compositions are divided compositions and his others (e.g., khamrƯyƗt), which are distinguished between the by tarb; also included is one on love or lovesickness. 111 Puerta Vílchez, José Miguel, Historia del pensmiento estético árabe: Al-Andalus y la estética árabe clásica (Madrid: Ediciones Akal, 1997), pp. 379–382. 112 I refer here, again, to the concepts elaborated in the introduction to Robinson and Rouhi, Under the Influence. 113 Robinson, “Going Between.” 114 I have chosen the term “Iberian” as a designator for all those texts produced in the Iberian peninsula which in some way foreground or treat the figure of the Old Woman go-between, whether these be written in Castilian, Arabic, Hebrew or Gallego-Portuguese (though this study will not deal with the latter two categories). 115 See Robinson, “Going Between.” 116 Robinson, “Going Between.” 117 See the discussion by Rouhi, Mediation and Love (p. 67), of Riffaterre’s “intertextuality” as applicable to medieval literature, where the importance of the “interpretation of the text in light of previous modes of representation” as regards the literature in which a mediator figures is discussed. 118 On the tercería of the Virgin, see John E.Keller, “Cantiga 135: The Blessed Virgin as a Matchmaker,” in Florilegium Hispanicum, pp. 103–118. As Keller makes clear in n. 2, it is to be noted that the Virgin, for the most part, attempts to steer her mortal children away from carnal love. 119 Márquez Villanueva, Orígenes y sociología; Rouhi, Mediation and Love. Substantial earlier bibliography exists—indeed, both María Rosa Lida and Américo Castro argued extensively for the importance of “non-Western” sources to the conception of both the Libro de Buen Amor and the Celestina—and is cited in the notes and bibliography of these two studies. 120 Translation, R.P.Scheindlin, from Judah ibn Shabbetia’s “The Misogynist,” in Rabbinic Fantasies, ed. D.Stern (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1990), pp. 269–294; on the treatment of women in high medieval Jewish literature, see, most recently, T.Rosen, Unveiling Eve: Reading Gender in Medieval Hebrew Literature (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2003). 121 From a lecture delivered to the Near Eastern Studies department at Cornell University on 20 September 2003; Exodus I: 10. 122 See S.Amer, L’Ésope au féminin: Marie de France et la politique de l’interculturalité (Paris: Faux Titres, 1999). 123 L.Girón, “Why the Go-Between Cut Off Her Nose,” in Under the Influence, pp. 231–260. 124 See F.Prado-Vilar, “The Anamorphic Gaze: Considering the Worth of Others,” in Under the Influence, pp. 67–100, and Under the Shadow. On the Virgin and alcahuetas in the CSM, see also Rouhi, Mediation and Love, pp. 221–222, n. 46; Márquez Villanueva, Orígenes y sociología, pp. 75–77; for examples, see L.Beltrán, trans., intro. and commentary, Cuarenta y cinco cantigas del Códice Rico de Alfonso el Sabio: textos pictóricos y verbales (Palma de Mallorca, 1997), cantiga no. 64, pp. 278 ff.; cantiga no. 94, in which a caballero who desires to seduce a married woman seeks the aid of an “alcayota” who, as in BR and the LA, is always shown in profile.

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125 Rouhi, Mediation and Love, pp. 205 ff., with discussion and ample notes concerning Celestina’s Iberian antecedents; see, especially, Francisco Sánchez Castañer, “Antecedentes celestinescos en las Cantigas de Santa María,” Mediterráneo, Guión de Literatura, 1, no. 4(1943), pp. 33–90. For alcahuetería, see M.Lacarra, “La evolución de la prostitución en la Castilla del siglo XV y la mancebía de Salamanca en tiempos de Fernando de Rojas,” in I.Corfis and J.Snow, eds., Fernando de Rojas and Celestina: Approaching the Fifth Centenary: Proceedings of an International Conference in Commemoration of the 450th Anniversary of the Death of Fernando de Rojas, Purdue University, West Lafayette, Indiana, 21–24 November 1991 (Madison: Hispanic Seminary of Medieval Studies, 1993), pp. 33–78, which contains discussion of several important passages from the Siete Partidas and other Alfonsine legal writings; and, of particular relevance to the case under discussion here, F.Vázquez García and A.Moreno Mengíbar, eds., Poder y prostitutión en Sevilla, siglos XIV al XX: tomo I: La edad moderna (Sevilla: Universidad de Sevilla, 1995). 126 See Márquez Villanueva, Orígenes y sociología, especially “Sociología de la alcahueta hispano-oriental,” “La legislación alfonsí,” “Siglos XIV y XV. La plaga social del proxenetismo,” pp. 111 ff. 127 R.I.Burns, ed., Emperor of Culture: Alfonso X the Learned of Castile and his Thirteenthcentury Renaissance (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1990), pp. 52–54, concerning the regulations enacted by Alfonso X of all aspects of the lives of his subjects, with mention of sumptuary laws, not only for the moros, but also for his Christian subjects. See also Joseph E.Keller, “Drama, Ritual and Incipient Opera in Alfonso’s Cantigas,” in Burns, Emperor of Culture, pp. 72–89, and Prado-Vilar, Under the Shadow. 128 See A.Echevarria, “Eschatology or Biography? Alfonso X, Mohammad’s Ladder, and a Jewish Go-Between,” in Under the Influence, pp. 133–152. 129 See the following chapter. 130 See Robinson, “Going Between.” 131 Nothing of the sort is discussed, for example, by J.Dagenais in The Ethics of Reading in Manuscript Culture: Glossing the Libro de Buen Amor (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994). 132 See F.Corriente Córdoba, Relatos píos y profanos del manuscrito Aljamiado de Urrea de Jalón; edición, notas lingüísticas e índices de un manuscrito mudéjar-morisco aragonés, introducción por M.J.Viguera Molins (Zaragoza: Institución Fernando el Católico, 1990). 133 T.Pérez Higuera, “Sobre una representación de ‘dançaderas’ en la Puerta del Reloj de la Catedral de Toledo,” in La Conditión de la Mujer en la Edad Media: Actas del Coloquio celebrado en la Casa de Velázquez, del 5 al 7 de noviembre de 1984 (Madrid: Casa de Velázquez; Universidad Complutense, 1986), pp. 461–474. See also eadem, La Puerta del Reloj en la Catedral de Toledo (Toledo: Caja de Ahorros de Toledo, 1987), “Temas de música y danza”, pp. 174–176. Many thanks to Juan Carlos Ruiz for his help in tracking down this citation. III, p. 497; beginning of the poet’s tarjama, no. 359, p. 492. 134 Al-MaqqarƯ, 135 Personal communication from Prof. Constable, for which I would like to thank her here. 136 A riddle which Remie Constable is also, at present, attempting to unravel. 137 See C.Robinson, “Preliminary Considerations on the Illuminations of wa [Vat. Ar. Ris. 368]: Checkmate with Alfonso X?,” in M. Müller-Weiner, C.Kothe, K.-H.Golzio and J.Gierlichs, eds., Al-Andalus und Europa: Zwischen Orient und Okzident (Petersberg: Michael Imhof Verlag, 2004), pp. 285–296. 138 See Prado-Vilar, Under the Shadow, for insightful and incisive criticism of the impact of scholarship’s treatment of these themes; he opines (and I concur), much to the detriment of our understanding of thirteenth-century visual culture in Castile. 139 Robinson, “Preliminary Considerations.”

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140 Burns, Emperor of Culture, pp. 24, 57–59, n. 47. 141 In the introduction to the facsimile edition of the Escorial’s T.I.1, it is argued that the degree of French influence apparent in the manuscript’s illustrations has been overemphasized and that they should perhaps be seen as more “Spanish” than they have been in the past, while in an essay entitled “Manuscript Illustration: The Cantigas in Contemporary Art Context,” in Burns, Emperor of Culture, pp. 46–58, Ellen Kosmer and James F.Powers argue for a conscious use of French, perhaps Italian, and German motifs. 142 R.Cómez Ramos, Las Empresas Artísticas de Alfonso X (Sevilla: Excma. Diputación Provincial de Sevilla, 1979), pp. xii–xiii, offers the theory of Alfonso X’s court nobles (and, one might add, the upper echelons of the ecclesiastical hierarchy, as evidenced by their patronage of Iberia’s three principal “Gothic” cathedrals, Toledo, León and Burgos), replaced for the most part during the reign of Pedro I “El Cruel” (and even in that of Alfonso XI) in the mid-fourteenth century by “mudéjar”-style architecture and decoration, in and of itself a stylistic and cultural problem much too large to be treated here; on this question, see C.Robinson, Mudéjar Revisited, and the collection of conference proceedings edited by M.Feliciano, C.Robinson and L.Rouhi, special edition of Medieval Encounters (forthcoming). One might also note here the “Gothic” character of the additions of Alfonso to the Alcazares. 143 Again, see Feliciano, “Muslim Shrouds.” 144 Robinson, “Preliminary Considerations.” 145 Arié, “Le Costume des Musulmans.” 146 Feliciano, “Muslim Shrouds.” 147 Prado-Vilar, Under the Shadow. 148 For yet another take on the models for the Cantigas images, see the interesting essay by J.Yarza Luaces, “Reflexiones sobre la iluminación de las Cantigas,” Metropolis Totius Hispaniae: 750 Aniversario Incorporación de Sevilla a la Corona Castellana, Real Alcázar de Sevilla, 23 de noviembre 1998 a 3 enero 1999 (Seville, 1999), pp. 163–179, where he convincingly discusses several possible French parallels. It should also be pointed out that the surviving illustrations of the Primera Crónica General, like those of the CSM—again, particularly in terms of page structure and figural style—are arguably intended to be similar to European products and different from the visual idiom spoken by the BR images. See, for example, Metropolis Totius Hispaniae, cat. no. 58.

4 WANDERING IN BABYLON The

and the roman idyllique

In the preceding chapter, relationships between BR as it is preserved in Vat. Ar. Ris. 368 and Arabic “love theory” literature, maqƗmƗt, and ahl alnarratives (particularly Majnnjn LeylƗ), as well as various genres of Arabic poetry, were explored. While our text undoubtedly makes use of aspects of each of these elements, there are also characteristics not explained by any of these comparisons. Perhaps principal among them is the length of the narrative, given that tastes, in an Arabic-speaking context (things are somewhat different in Persian literature, but there is to date no convincing evidence to suggest direct Persian influence on AndalusƯ literature1), run more toward shorter, linked narratives connected by a frame story, as in the cases of MaqƗmƗt, the KalƯlah wa Dimna, the Alf LaylƗ wa LaylƗ, or of the collection of slave-girl stories to which CBL 4120 belongs. This characteristic, particularly when considered in light of Vat. Ar. Ris. 368’s focus, in its second half, on themes of courtly love and the relative lack of interest in this material demonstrated by the medieval Arabic classics listed above, suggests that we must cast our net wider, or perhaps in a different direction, in a search for comparanda that might allow us to better understand BR both as a work of literature and as a functioning element of late twelfth- or early thirteenth-century AndalusƯ courtly culture. Although he limited his observations to the traditional realm of stylistic analysis and, as explored in the second chapter of this study, ultimately pronounced in favor of direct “east to west” (Islamic) influence on the BR images, Monneret de Villard was also conscious of a wider Mediterranean context within which the BR images were conceived, executed and received. Similarly, A.R.Nykl, in the brief introduction to his Spanish translation of BR, noted its striking parallels with the also thirteenth-century, also unicum, Old French Aucassin et Nicolette (hereafter, AN).2 In terms of the images, it must be said that the most convincing “Western” connections identified by this study—manuscript illustration produced in the scriptorium of Alfonso X—post-date rather than predate the BR image program; thus, it is certainly more correct to envision the former as having been impacted by the latter. As argued in the second chapter of this study, although there are some elements in the images that would, by process of elimination, almost have to be explained by contact between the Muslim or Arabic-speaking patrons, authors and artists who produced BR and local, specifically Christian traditions of image production, the objects and images exhibiting the closest relationships with the BR images were local and Islamic. They constitute a tradition of luxury objects which, while its reception may have included all religious spheres and linguistic groups of late twelfth- and early thirteenth-

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century Iberia, was unquestionably related to Arabic culture in terms of its production sites. In terms of the narrative, as it will be the task of this final and concluding chapter to argue, the relationships are more complex. As mentioned, in the earliest published analysis of the text, based exclusively on Vat. Ar. Ris. 368, Nykl, despite the subtitle of his translation (“Una Cantafable en Estilo Persa”), stressed the striking connections— particularly in terms of the two texts’ combinations of narrative3 and verse—to the Old French romance, Aucassin et Nicolette (AN). Subsequent scholarship on the text of BR, as has been observed, is practically nonexistent. Neither has the literature concerned with AN followed the specific line of inquiry suggested by Nykl, although the narrative’s consciousness of the Islamic world and Arabic culture is unquestionable, given Nicolette’s stated origins and the probable etymology of “Aucassin”. Indeed, such a suggestion might seem a bit of a red herring, given the difficulties presented by the task of firmly establishing specific ties between the two romances.4 The argument becomes more convincing, however, when we broaden the angle of the comparative lens to include other texts agreed by more recent critics of medieval French literature to belong to the same genre as AN, that of the roman idyllique, whose primary site of production, reception and cultural relevance has recently been located to southwestern France.5 Broadening the scope of comparanda to include the genre to which AN belongs will allow us to incorporate a comparative consideration of Floire et Blanchefleur (hereafter, FBF), a text whose similarities to BR as it is preserved in Vat. Ar. Ris. 368, in fact, and as will be demonstrated in this chapter, are far greater than those exhibited by AN. This, quite probably, is for good reason: in addition to the rather striking parallels in plot and themes that may be signaled between the romance and our text, to be analyzed in some detail below, there are historical circumstances which argue strongly for this particular connection as a valid one. The plot runs as follows; here I quote P.Grieve’s summary of it: Upon the death of her husband, a countess and her father set out on a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela in order to give thanks for the unborn child that the countess is carrying (in the Filocolo, the French popular version and the Spanish prose romance it is the father and mother who go on pilgrimage). A pagan King, Felix, and his soldiers kill the grandfather and take the mother, Berthe, prisoner. The pregnant Saracen Queen befriends the Christian captive, and the two women give birth on the same day, Palm Sunday (Pentecost in some versions), the Queen to a boy, Floire, Berthe to a girl, Blancheflor. The children fall in love, and they use their study time to write love poems in Latin and to daydream about each other. The King is dismayed, in some versions because he considers Blancheflor socially inferior to his son, in others because her Christianity poses a threat to his kingdom. The parents devise schemes to separate the children: they accuse Blancheflor of trying to poison the King, and then they sell her to slave merchants, who take her to Cairo (i.e., Babylon), where she quickly becomes the favorite in the Emir’s harem. The King and Queen order the creation of an elaborately decorated tomb so that Floire will believe that she has died. When the Queen

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realizes that her son may die of melancholy and despair, she admits that Blancheflor still lives, and Floire vows not to return to his father’s kingdom until he has found Blancheflor. Floire finally reaches Cairo, and discovers that Blancheflor is one of the many maidens kept in a tower by the Emir. There is a magic tree in the garden within the tower, the maidens walk beneath the tree each day, and the Emir takes to bed each night the maiden upon whom a flower has fallen that day. The next day the Emir has the maiden beheaded and the process continues. Floire challenges the tower’s porter to a game of chess. In order to bolster the porter’s confidence, Floire lets him win the first time, then roundly defeats him in subsequent games. The porter has agreed to help Floire enter the tower if he wins the chess game, so the porter carries Floire into the tower in a basket of flowers, or, in some versions, the basket is hoisted up outside the tower. Floire is discovered in the basket by Blancheflor’s friend Claris or Gloris, which leads to much merriment in the harem and joking about knowing this flower well. While Floire and Blancheflor enjoy each other in bed, Claris tries to deflect the Emir’s attention from Blancheflor’s absence by telling him that Blancheflor is tired because she had been up late reading the night before. However, the Emir soon tires of the excuses and goes to Blancheflor’s quarters, where he discovers the lovers in bed. He calls his advisors together, and after a lengthy trial, the lovers are vindicated, and they head for Spain. In most versions, Floire converts to Christianity, which removes the obstacle for their marriage, and the lovers live happily ever after.6 As has recently been proposed by Grieve, at least one version of FBF was almost certainly composed, not in France, but in Iberia.7 Critics had long suspected the presence of a version of the story in Spain and in Spanish that would date from significantly earlier than the extant sixteenth-century romance (Gaston Paris was a particularly strong proponent of this theory), most often studied in light of the tale’s supposed reception from France. The fourteenth-century Castilian manuscript that forms the centerpiece of Grieve’s argument now offers proof of this.8 Grieve even suggests that it may have been known there as early as the Cordoban caliphate, in which case its arrival or invention would roughly coincide with the most likely moment for the introduction of the original (if indeed the version of the narrative present in CBL 4120 is of origin) into al-Andalus; the importance of this coincidence will become clear shortly. References to Spain and its merchants and products contained in the “aristocratic” French version of the tale would seem to support the idea of a strong relationship between the narrative’s early history in Spanish and French contexts. The merchants to whom Blanchefleur was sold, for example, were from the Iberian peninsula, and Floire set sail from a Spanish port on his quest to recover her, armed with a luxurious saddle whose covering was woven there as well—according to the dictates of its patron, to be sure. Moreover, as Grieve notes, Floire’s father, Floris, is king of Almería, and moves his capital to yet another Iberian location of even greater renown, Córdoba. Likewise, it has been possible for Grieve to identify Montoire, the castle to which Floire is sent in order to remove him from the temptations of Blanchefleur’s charms: it is in fact

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a location in southern Spain, Montoro.9 Finally, in light of the awareness of language demonstrated in the Castilian version of the text analyzed by Grieve—it is stated that the countess instructed the queen in her language and the queen, in turn, taught the countess Arabic—it would certainly seem that one version was, at the very least, adapted for an Iberian context very much aware of itself as a multi-lingual and multi-cultural one. The earliest extant manuscript copy of the Spanish version of the text, which Grieve terms La Crónica de Flor y Blancaflor, appears in a fourteenth-century copy of the Primera Crónica General (hereafter, PCG), today in the Biblioteca Nacional in Madrid (BNM); Grieve also notes mention of the lovers and their story in the Gran Conquista de Ultramar.10 In the PCG, the story is interpolated with the history, as compiled by the Alfonsine historiographers responsible for its composition, of the Christianization of southern Spain, as well as that of the rulers of the emirate and early caliphate of Córdoba (information which is, as Grieve argues, largely accurate). The narrative, much in the manner discussed in the previous chapter for a large variety of cultural material similarly appropriated by the Alfonsine cultural machine, comes to form part of a universalizing and Christianizing apologetic11 concerning the divinely ordained ascendancy of Castile as an Iberian, European and Mediterranean power.12 Thus, although Nykl himself did not follow his inspiration to its ultimate conclusion, through a focus, first, on FBF rather than on AN and, second, on the characteristics of the genre as a whole, possibilities will be opened up for the inclusion of BR within a group of romances whose primary area of dissemination and production is centered between the French Pyrenees and Iberia. Without contact with the Romance narrative tradition of the roman idyllique, in other words, it is doubtful that the story contained in Vat. Ar. Ris. 368 would have been told in the manner that it was. This comparison allows us to better understand the place occupied by BR in the courtliness and courtly culture of a wider Mediterranean context. Both texts differ in important ways from what are presumed by scholarship to be the normative texts and cultures of courtliness in their respective linguistic contexts. In a medieval Islamic or Arabic-speaking context, for this late date, the “norm” is presumed to be the romances being written, and soon thereafter illustrated, in Persia or in spheres of Persian influence. Despite the fact that these tales are the almost exact contemporaries of BR, the similarities between them are superficial at best. The Persian texts are often full of tribal and warring motifs (Warqa wa Gulshah;13 Humay wa Humayun), royal personages or concerns (WƯs wa RamƯn) and falconing or hunting themes, which contrast markedly with BR’s urban and mercantile context and, more importantly, with its insistent focus on love itself. Neither does the “anti-courtly” stance exemplified by the reprehensible of the impudent shadow plays of Ibn DaniyƗl, written in a Mamluk context, offer any particular assistance in making sense of BR. As will be remembered, the romance tales which were demonstrably present in al-Andalus and were of greatest relevance were considerably earlier, and were then filtered and/or resurrected by Ibn al-AndalusƯ at a moment slightly later than BR’s composition. As was noted in the previous chapter, the closest Eastern parallels were probably the largely lost14 genre of courtly narratives—not necessarily concerned with the Bannj at least judging by the names of the protagonists—associated by Ibn al-NadƯm with courts, and exemplified by the stories collected in CBL 4120. Again, it is at present impossible to either confirm or deny

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the presence of those particular stories in al-Andalus during the middle-to-late decades of the thirteenth century.15 Likewise, for specialists in medieval French literature, the touchstone is widely recognized to be the feudally inspired Arthurian cycle. The roman idyllique was, during the mid-twelfth century, a serious competitor for the favor of patrons and publics, vying with Alexander the Great’s story, with classical tales and themes involving such heroes and heroic authors as Aeneas and Virgil, as well as with the Matière de Bretagne and the roman courtois.16 By the end of the thirteenth century, however, it is fair to say that these latter two groups of texts had achieved a position of dominance in the northern, Frenchspeaking aristocratic contexts addressed in Busby and Stone’s analysis of the extant corpus of illustrated Arthurian manuscripts.17 No comparable illustrated corpus of romans idylliques, for example, is known to have existed. The same, though, does not appear to be true of a Pyrenean context. Likewise, none of the illustrated Arthurian manuscripts discussed by Busby and Stones proceeds from this geographical area, and certainly does not hold for a Castilian context, for which we may only firmly assert the ascendancy of Arthurian material during the second half of the fourteenth century.18 Given the mention made of Floire and Blanchefleur in the Conquista de Ultramar and its incorporation into Alfonsine propagandistic historiography in the PCG, it appears safe to assume that the roman idyllique attained widespread fame in that context at least a century earlier. These geographical distributions are probably to be explained at least in part by the degree to which feudal19 social organization was rooted in the areas in question. Grieve cites Eugene Vance’s discussion of AN, which he characterizes in terms of the creation of an “equivocal” and distinctly “anti-feudal” discourse.20 Although FBF is concerned with kings, queens, princes and princesses, it—like BR—foregrounds love above all else, particularly in the “aristocratic” version of the narrative. The moralizing messages and socially grounded concerns of most of the Arthurian corpus—with, of course, the exception of Tristan and Isolde (hereafter, TI), which does not properly conform to the categorization on a number of points, constituting an exception to the norm which is, in many ways, comparable to the position occupied by ML vis-à-vis the larger panorama of Persian romance—are markedly absent from FBF. It would follow, then, that FBF relates to a cultural and/or historical reality different in many ways from that which produced and received the numerous copies of illustrated Arthurian material attributed to northern France during the late thirteenth century,21 and the same may certainly be affirmed for BR vis-à-vis the shadow plays of Ibn DaniyƗl and the Persian romances. The group of romans idylliques is generally agreed to include, in terms of Old French texts, FBF, AN and Flamenca, as proposed recently by Marla Segol.22 In the following pages, I will make a case for BR’s relationship to this group of texts, and would eventually like to add to the list some earlier version of the sixteenth-century El Abencerraje y la Bella Jarifa,23 whose plot line, preoccupation with love above all other themes, and characters are so strikingly reminiscent of FBF. The generic definition and description of both BR and FBF is a much more complex task than is the identification and description, on the Arabic side of things, of a “Bannj story,” or, on the French one, of a member of the Arthurian cycle. As was established in the preceding chapter, BR demonstrates a conscious intertextuality with a varied array of Arabic texts, all of which belong, in their turn, to clearly specified genres, but none of which fully

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“explains” BR. The same may be affirmed, not only for FBF, but also for the gamut of texts that make up the group of romans idylliques. It is well known among scholars of medieval literature that FBF exists in both a “courtly”—generally presumed to be the earlier of the two—and a “popular” version. The latter of the two, as numerous critics have noted, particularly when compared to Arthurian material, demonstrates a notable malleability, incorporating motifs and elements from genres as seemingly disparate as the epic and the courtly narrative.24 The parodic elements of AN, widely acknowledged by critics to be central to the narrative’s message, likewise constitute proof of the protean nature of the roman idyllique. This protean quality, likewise, defines FBF’s mouvance in an Iberian context. As noted above, as discussed by Grieve, the Alfonsine version of the narrative has been rendered didactic, incorporated into the teleologic “Christian” history of a newly empowered Castilian state. Indeed, an entire sequence of episodes appear at the end of the tale which are completely absent from either the “aristocratic” or the “popular” versions of the Old French text. Once the lovers have been reunited and are on their way back to rule over al-Andalus from their chosen capital of Almería, they are rerouted, thanks to a storm, to an island25 where they are brought into edifying (and Christianizing) contact with Saint Augustine, an interlude which results in Floire’s conversion to Christianity. Grieve specifically proposes a shrewd manipulation of this tale of love and conversion into a none-too-subtle political allegory during the Alfonsine period, and quite possibly with direct input from the sovereign himself. Floire and Blanchefleur, of course, are the grandparents of Charlemagne, according to the “Carolingian cycle,” a group of narratives concerned with the saint-king’s ancestry of which Floire et Blanchefleur forms part. Alfonso, in a word, may have seen (and seized) a window of opportunity for making a claim to Carolingian ancestry for the Castilian royal line thanks to a newly cemented “French connection” and, like the savvy opportunist that he demonstrated himself to be consistently throughout his reign, he made the most of the chance. Alfonso’s son, Fernando de la Cerda, was married in 1269 to the French princess, Blanche, named for her Castilian mother. She was a daughter of Louis IX, and a political alliance of great significance and potential was thus created. Given the insistent and very public claims on the part of the Capetian monarchy to direct descendance from Charlemagne, it was not a far stretch toward the envisioning of the Great Charles’s blood running through the veins of the next generation of candidates for the Castilian throne.26 The argument, however, did not manage to convince the nobility with whom Alfonso had always enjoyed a somewhat troubled relationship. Fernando de la Cerda died in 1275, leaving two small sons, the elder of whom would theoretically succeed his father in line to the throne. At the moment of Alfonso’s death, however, those nobles chose the Wise King’s second son Sancho IV “El Bravo” over the young prince, precisely in order to keep the Castilian throne from French hands, Charlemagne or no Charlemagne. Its deployment in the creation of a political allegory during the Alfonsine period, of course, is not what interests us here in terms of the tale’s potential relationships to BR. Rather, it is important to point out that the appropriation of the story in such a knowing way during the thirteenth century would appear to indicate, as Grieve argues, substantial knowledge of it in the Iberian peninsula prior to that date. Indeed, she makes a particular point of underlining, in opposition to most critics who study the tale from a Francocentric perspective, the distinct possibilities of an Arabic origin for the tale.27 Although

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this latter theory, unless further evidence comes to light, will probably be impossible to prove or disprove definitively, the similarities between BR as it is preserved in Vat. Ar. Ris. 368 (presumably the result of a re-writing of the slave-girl story) and FBF, to be outlined in detail below, strongly suggest a history of such connections. If the courtly concerns central to BR in its thirteenth-century version are any indication, the earlier romans idylliques known in Arabic-speaking contexts of the Iberian peninsula were probably of the courtly variety. At any rate, as demonstrated particularly forcefully by Grieve’s and Segol’s research, both story and genre are adaptable to any number of social contexts and are thus excellent candidates for “border crossing.” Moreover, the period proposed by this study as the most likely one for BR’s production corresponds in a number of its political and social characteristics to the previous “fitna,” that which preceded and, for some medieval Arab authors, included the mulnjk Particular among these conditions was an intensified interaction between Muslim (other than Almohad) and Christian courts due to progressive decentralization of Islamic power in the peninsula. The first taifa period was the one in which, as numerous scholars including the present author have argued, both troubadour poetry and courtly culture were created at Occitan courts of the eleventh and twelfth centuries along an AndalusƯ model.28 In the case central to this study, the cultural transfers might be envisioned as occurring in an opposite direction, or in both, and it is highly probable that the court of Alfonso VIII was a key agent in the process. Sahar Amer has proposed, on one hand, intensified interactions between England and Sicily in the twelfth century and, on the other, the presence at the English court of the translator of Arabic, “Alfred de Sareshal l’Anglais,” as an explanation for the marked similarities she notes between Marie de France’s fables and the KalƯlah wa Dimnah.29 Alfonso VIII’s queen was Lianor of England, a daughter of Eleanor of Aquitaine, and her importance, during the final decades of the twelfth century, in terms of the importation of Provençal troubadour culture into both Aragonese and Castilian courts, has been remarked by numerous scholars of literature.30 Similarly, the links recently proposed by Segol between the romans idylliques and the region of France from which Lianor’s troubadour guests most probably hailed make the introduction and popularity of such narratives into the Castilian court during the final decades of the twelfth century a distinct possibility, if in fact some—such as FBF—were not already known there, as appears to be strongly suggested by Grieve’s conclusions. Alfonso’s reign and court also witnessed, as was discussed in the preceding chapter, intense interactions with non-Almohad Muslim leaders, and this climate of collaboration and alliance (albeit perhaps born of necessity) manifested itself in literary terms, with “Adhfnjnish” receiving poems of praise in Arabic from Jewish poets. Given the chronological proximity of these years to those I believe to have witnessed the production of Vat. Ar. Ris. 368, Alfonso VIII’s court and those who interacted with it offer as good a frame and a set of protagonists as any for the Arabic narrative’s transformation into a roman idyllique.31 *** Rather than suggest comparison with the military and battle motifs that pepper contemporary Persian romances, or with the fantastical and magical elements so frequent in the narratives that comprise Scheherezade’s 1001 stories, several elements of BR’s narrative in its thirteenth-century version strongly suggest “contamination” as a result of a broad range of contacts with “Western” romances. Although the first surviving folio of

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BR in Vat. Ar. Ris. 368 plunges us into the narrative in medias res in the context of the majlis, it quickly becomes clear that other events have preceded this gathering. According to the when first caught sight of alongside the shores of the river TharthƗr, she was perched atop a tree, from which position she listened to the verses, not recorded by the manuscript’s compilers, that he improvised to her. In fact, they already had a date before the Old Woman was even engaged to promote the Syrian dandy’s cause—the pact had been made at the moment of that first encounter. The reasons for having climbed the tree in the first place are neither addressed nor clarified in the narrative as it is preserved, although when she does it for a second time in the context of the Sayyida’s majlis, immediately prior to arrival, it is probably intended as a manifestation of the symptoms of her impending lovesickness. It is an irrational and inelegant thing to do, and the Sayyida immediately sends another slave girl over to “get her down from there;” it is thus also potentially interpretable as a breach of courtly etiquette. Its meaning is not, however, immediately apparent, and its deployment does not make an enormous amount of sense in either of the two contexts in which it appears. The motif also appears in CBL 4120; if Vat. Ar. Ris. 368 is in fact an slave-girl story made courtly, it is possible that it was present in the original version of the story. It is also possible that it was added in the thirteenth century, and thus passed down through the centuries and included in the seventeenthcentury Maghrebi compilation in which CBL 4120 is preserved. Given that it is described, as I have analyzed in greater detail elsewhere, as it appears likely to me that it did not form part of the original core narrative.32 Much as in the case of our search, undertaken in the second chapter of this study, for specifically Islamic comparanda that might explain certain peculiar features of the manuscript’s image program, in an effort to find soon-to-be lovesick maidens up trees in any work of Arabic literature which might reasonably be proposed as an inspiration for BR’s use of the topos, I have come up empty-handed. It is not Qur’anic; nor is it a motif found in any of the Bannj narratives. Neither is it present in Majnnjn LeylƗ, and Yet, as noted, it it is likewise absent from Arabic love poetry, including is insisted upon twice in BR; therefore, it must, at the moment of the manuscript’s compilation, have been perceived as important. In fact, the most immediate comparison that comes to mind is King Mark’s spying down on Tristan and Isolde from atop a tree, a motif known to have had something of a life of its own in the realm of visual culture, appearing in manuscript illuminations and on luxury objects, often independent from the rest of the narrative.33 Indeed, as noted by Jerrilynn Dodds, a variation of the motif appears on the famous mid-fourteenth-century ceiling paintings of the so-called “Sala de Justicia,” whose “western” style has occasioned much omment among scholars.34 The topos is also intertwined with that of failure to remember (recognize?) a motif which finds several echoes in the second half of the narrative (in which, as I have suggested, it is rendered “courtly”). This is also a productive direction for comparative consideration, given the prominence accorded to themes of disguise and recognition in TI: following lapse of memory concerning their previous meeting and supposed fails then to recognize when he sees her at the majlis until tryst,

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prompted by the Sayyida. He later fails to recognize Shamnjl when she approaches him by the river; he also fails to recognize the garden as the one in which he was united with and appears to have forgotten the lines of his own composition, which Shamnjl recites to him in order to prove to him that she has indeed made his acquaintance continually climbing up trees, the lack-ofpreviously. Like the motif of recognition motif doesn’t really make a great deal of sense in the narrative contexts in which it occurs in BR (especially in the cases of and failing to recognize one another), a fact which might argue for its being foreign to the story’s tradition. The motif does, however, resonate with the concerns with secrecy as a necessary ingredient to a proper love affair, and might well have been incorporated for this reason. A third motif that seems to require explanation in addition to that which Arabic literature is able to offer is the character of the Sayyida—while she is present in CBL 4120, she has much greater visibility in Vat. Ar. Ris. 368. All of the ladies in the Arabic and Persian comparanda considered both in this chapter and the previous one have names (albeit perhaps allegorical or symbolic ones), as do all of the Lady’s slave girls. She, however, as in troubadour lyrics (and again, one thinks of the court of Alfonso VIII as a possible stage for the interchanges necessary to inspire BR’s authors to thus alter a tried and true motif35), is, simply, the Lady, and is thus reminiscent of “la dame,” “la dama,” “midons,” etc. Moreover, like the Ladies of the troubadour lyrics, she is mistress of her own court. She organizes her own majƗlis, requests performances when she pleases, receives her quota of praise and even invites strange men to participate when she sees fit. The idea of Ladies presiding over gatherings at which poetry was recited and wine drunk is certainly not absent from Arabic literature. Indeed, as will be remembered, the version of ML which is most likely to have directly impacted Ibn version portrays Majnnjn as being invited to a majlis organized by a Lady at which he interacts with LeylƗ, and Tunisian poet Al-RaqƯq al-NadƯm’s al-Surnjr contains numerous examples of the phenomenon. Nonetheless, all of these Ladies have names, whereas Lady is just that, the Sayyida. Also worthy of note is the designation of the Old Woman as being “from Babylon” Syrian origins—this (16v). Rather than a “locator”—as are, for example, “Babylon” reference is probably more an indication of an exotic or somehow marginal or a view clearly other quality that the narrator and her/his public attach to the communicated throughout the text. It might also be an indication that the story (or the character) had, indeed, migrated into al-Andalus from elsewhere and had, even for AndalusƯ speakers of Arabic, an aura of the exotic about it. Perhaps, however, BR’s authors and public did not envision this migration, as might easily be assumed, as having taken place in an east—west direction. References to “Babylon” (often intended, in European medieval romance, to refer to Cairo36) as imaginary site are common in Castilian literature (e.g., in the Libro de Alixandre37). Babylon, moreover, is central to the narrative thread of FBF, being the location to which Blanchefleur is taken once she has been sold to merchants, and from which Floire rescues her out of the evil emir’s palace. In the preceding chapter, it was possible to account for the benevolent importance through Islamic comparanda, and for her absence of malice through a consideration of

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the manuscript’s most immediate Iberian context. Nonetheless, she also takes on added resonance through a comparison with the roman idyllique. Mediation is, as has been noted, at the very core of BR’s plot, and it is similarly foregrounded in FBF. In all of the adventures contained in the aristocratic Old French version of the tale, Floire receives helpful advice and sage counsel—from merchants, from their wives, from funduq operators and from the emir’s palace guard, whose goodwill he secures through his astounding generosity and his talent for chess.38 And, of course, there is Claris, without whose complicity the story would never have arrived at its happy end. This happy resolution of conflicts and removal of all impediments to the protagonists’ union and happiness, in fact, is a key characteristic of the roman idyllique, and is not necessarily present (although it can be) in the Arthurian corpus. And it is certainly not a given in either the Persian romances referred to above or (more relevant, to our case) the narratives of the Bannj Indeed, the opposite is more often true, with ML offering a particularly poignant case in point. BR’s characters and narrator, however, make no secret of the fact that precisely this (a happy ending), rather than the tragic plight of a mad and love-martyred Majnnjn and an eternally mournful LeylƗ, is what they desire. Things, it is hoped by all, will be very different for the hero and heroine of BR: as has been observed, it appears likely, as the and set out for the promised majlis and reunion for the lovers on the final preserved folio, that they will get their wish. Romans idylliques are always characterized by a male and a female protagonist, often very young and always very innocent, who fall in love and then exist, initially, in an idyllic garden world that seems especially created to form a perfect backdrop to their happiness. BR fits this description to a veritable “t:” the youth, naïveté, and implied “protected” status of the protagonists at the narrative’s outset are key elements in the development of the unfortunate situation which represents the story’s principal conflict. And—bearing in mind the fact that we are, most unfortunately, missing the beginning folios of BR and, therefore, the similarities may initially have been even more marked— there are other parallels exhibited by the two romances from their respective very beginnings, starting with the characters of the emir, in FBF,39 and BR’s is the favorite slave girl, and he makes no secret of this fact. Indeed, he parades her before the with the intent of placing his stamp on her, and fear of retribution from her father gives the Sayyida pause at numerous points throughout the narrative (without, of course, ever managing to derail the chain of events set in motion by true, as opposed to courtly, love). In FBF, the emir buys Blanchefleur at an extremely high price and plans to make her his, after which her fate, had not Floire intervened, would have been similar to that of the favorites who had gone before her. Likewise, Floire and Blanchefleur shared an idyllic education during childhood, meeting each and every day until they had completed their fifteenth year in a lush and perfect garden—highly reminiscent, as recently emphasized by Segol, of paradise itself40—for lessons in Latin, Arabic (according to the fourteenth-century Castilian manuscript in the Biblioteca Nacional in Madrid, at any rate), chess and the composition of verses, for which they employed matching wax tablets of ivory.41 Although and only meet as adolescents, the story is careful to emphasize that both, though they have obviously completed their

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studies separately, are well educated and well versed in literature, in verses and in their composition. The importance given to love lyrics as central motifs in both narratives is also worthy of note. As for BR, it hardly needs to be repeated that they occupy at least half of the page space of the narrative as it is preserved in the Vatican’s unicum manuscript. It is worth emphasizing, though, that the verses are, for the most part, composed against the idyllic backdrop of a paradisiac garden which mirrors that in which the young Floire and Blanchefleur, prior to their “fall,” wrote such verses (this time, however, the “vers d’amour” were composed in Latin, as the “aristocratic” version specifies) on their wax tablets. It would also seem that the young people had an Arabic-speaking tutor. 42 This scene, incidentally, is very reminiscent of the education which, according to some versions of the study, Majnnjn and LeylƗ shared. ML’s relationships to BR have already been discussed, particularly as the narrative was transmitted through the KitƗb al-AghƗnƯ, and it might be observed in passing that ML reads rather like a roman idyllique gone bad! As was also mentioned in the previous chapter, given the presence of the in the narrative and the connotations of her character elsewhere in Arabic literature, the innocence of the two protagonists (particularly considering that one of them is a slave girl) is rather unexpected. When examined in light of the story’s possible relationships to the roman idyllique, however, this shift in characterization acquires a certain logic. Likewise, both narratives accord an enormous symbolic significance to gardens. As mentioned, the “vergier” of Floire’s father,43 where the young lovers-to-be were educated, acquires almost paradisiac importance, particularly given the contrast later provided by that belonging to the emir. Paralleling the importance of this motif and the setting’s symbolic significance is the “tree of love” which grows, during this period, in Floire’s heart, extending the already potent symbolic content of his name, which, of name course, mirrors that of Blanchefleur, just as the garden symbolism of mirrors both phonetically and symbolically connotations of brightness and, like Blanchefleur, of whiteness and thus of nobility.44 Indeed, both Grieve and Segol signal the primary importance of flower and plant symbolism throughout the French narrative, stating that both motifs are unequivocally evocative of love: 45 When Floire, hidden in a basket and covered with flowers, is raised by his accomplice, the emir’s guard, into the chamber where Blanchefleur is being held prisoner, he is covered over by, and in a sense becomes, the objects signified by his name, whose associations with (and even symbolization of) love are thus solidified in a particularly literal way. Although this insistent garden and flower symbolism is, for the most part, latent in the Arthurian corpus (at any rate, it could hardly be called a dominant motif), the echoes of the Arabic ghazal and khamrƯya (of which, as has been remarked, BR almost seems to be an incarnation) are difficult to ignore. Likewise, the garden is repeatedly employed as a positive motif or admonitions to her young charge concerning setting; here we may remember the the coming festivities at the Sayyida’s majlis—“kings are fond of festive parties in gardens.” This is in sharp contrast to the common topos in European vernacular literature of the garden as an intimate scenario for sinning and illicit seeing. In FBF and BR, the garden is a setting for events associated with the development of the amorous sentiments shared by the protagonists. Finally, this association between BR and FBF might allow us most appealing (according to the narrative, at to make greater sense of one of

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any rate) physical characteristics: on the occasion of her first appearance in the narrative majlis, although she is portrayed in the images as darkin the context of the haired and fair-skinned, she is described in the voice of the as fair-skinned and blonde, like Blanchefleur. The first, “idyllic,” phase of the roman idyllique, as also discussed by Segol, is generally followed by some specific occurrence which forces the protagonists’ separation. Blanchefleur is sold into slavery; Nicolette is hidden away from Aucassin in a palace with only an Old Woman to keep her company. Again, BR adjusts perfectly to this indiscretion—involuntarily committed, as will be paradigm. At the moment of (in Vat. Ar. Ris. 368, that remembered, because of the onslaught of “true love”— is—as will be remembered, in CBL 4120, she dies after her revelation!), like Nicolette, is locked away in a palace, this time, the Sayyida’s (with the mediating Shamnjl to care for her and watch over her), from where she will not be able to cause any more trouble. A further similarity is constituted by the importance given to merchants and commerce in both narratives. is the son of a merchant (a detail which distinguishes his portrayal in Vat. Ar. Ris. 368 from his presentation as the nephew of the wiseman in CBL 4120). Indeed, it was his father’s business which brought him across the Mediterranean from Syria to the Sayyida’s garden. He was probably being prepared for the moment when he would join the “family business,” so to speak, and at the Sayyida’s majlis, he is asked about his home, his work, and his friends. Floire, for his part, disguises his royal identity by assuming that of a merchant in order to undertake the long and treacherous quest to free his beloved from slavery, and funduqs form the setting for many of the encounters and advice sessions that help to lead him to her. Just as Blanchefleur is sold to Spanish merchants and then again in Babylon, so Sayyida, after the disastrous end of the first majlis, threatens to sell her (but for slightly different reasons, to be sure) “at the cheapest market in town” (again, this represents a Lady has departure from the version of the story preserved in CBL 4120—there, no need to sell her, because her punishment is taken care of by fate!)46 In her description of the most salient characteristics of the roman idyllique, Segol also lists the separation of the lovers, which constitutes the necessary obstacle that provides impetus for the rest of the plot development. In both AN and FBF, this is engendered by parental opposition to the love relationship developing between the two protagonists. In both of the French romances, likewise, the separation is accomplished by the forced physical displacement of both of the principal characters. Nicolette is banished to the interior of a castle and then, of her own volition, undertakes a journey of self-discovery; Aucassin’s father wishes to see him do battle “like a real man,” but only truly succeeds in inspiring him to undertake the even more arduous quest to recover his beloved. Blanchefleur’s faked death (and indeed near-death experiences on the part of the frustrated lovers constitute another motif shared among the romans idylliques, and which all, in turn, share with BR) and cruel banishment to slavery on the other side of the sea occasion Floire’s departure in search of her. In the Arabic narrative, although very little physical displacement is involved, the same results are achieved: lovesickness wreaks havoc and thus decrees, in Vat. Ar. Ris. 368, the protagonists’ separation for propriety’s sake. Though probably only separated by a few kilometers, the impossibility of reunion is

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just as implacably dictated by fate. And all, incidentally, of the female protagonists under that is, and her French colleagues Nicolette and consideration here ( Blanchefleur) wind up imprisoned in towers as a result. Indeed, although lovesickness is not the primary cause of the lovers’ separation in the French narratives, the attention given it in both AN and FBF suggests yet another point in common between the French narratives and our AndalusƯ “roman idyllique”— evidence particularly advanced significantly, both male protagonists, like cases.47 Beginning with Floire’s soliloquy before the false tomb of his beloved, the young man gives consistent evidence of suffering gravely from the dreaded illness. journey (in CBL 4120, on the Lovesickness is chosen as the ideal leitmotif for other hand, it provided an occasion for moralizing), a quest which will both validate his love and exalt it (also a necessary ingredient, by the way, for a roman idyllique, according to Segol’s checklist). The importance conceded to the motif, in turn, requires an acknowledgement of the importance of the classical Arabic ghazal and its attending culture of courtly love. The centrality of lovesickness as an almost independent force to the group of topoi characteristic of the Provençal lyric is, as I have suggested elsewhere, almost certainly related to contacts between this developing vernacular lyric tradition and the already established AndalusƯ Arabic one, with which it maintained intense contact during key formational phases. 48 In all three cases, disembodied lovesickness (almost, indeed, a character in its own right) triumphs, stronger than the social forces to which, were this an Arthurian context, the protagonists (or, at the very least, one of them) would be striving to conform. Floire’s different adventures also contain numerous allusions to his lovesickness, which is often noticed by the sympathetic wives of the merchants and funduq owners who direct him along his way. During the First Adventure, 49 Floire is distracted and sighs continually, allowing his hand to fall listlessly at his side. He is observed attentively by his hostess, who nudges her husband with her elbow and remarks on this behavior. Her husband responds that the young man’s behavior reminds him of “la dame Blanchefleur” and he then comments on this to Floire: “Elle revait aussi pendant le repas, regrettant son ami, Floire, dont on l’avait separée en la vendant dans ce port.” During both the Second and Third Adventures,50 he is lodged in a merchant’s hotel (probably a funduq), and during the Third Adventure, a festive dinner is organized by the host who, over the course of the evening, observes comportment similar to that detailed in the previous paragraph, eating little and seeming distracted. At first the host believes that his guest is consumed with worries about his merchandise and customs. Then he tells him, again, that he resembles a young woman named Blanchefleur whom he encountered a few days earlier. The Fourth Adventure finds Floire already on his way to Babylon in a boat; his last host has recommended him to a friend there,51 who does the same before sending him along on the Fifth Adventure, where he receives counsel, much like that imparted to by the At first the good man declares Floire’s quest to be that of a madman, but he soon sees that it will be impossible to dissuade him, and then begins to counsel him in ways that he might achieve his goal. — At this point in the narrative, love—again, much in the manner of BR’s begins to remonstrate with Floire, so that he does not become discouraged: “Retourner? Cela est insensé, abandoner ainsi ton amie!…Pense maintenant à ton pays. Si tu y étais

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sans Blanchefleur, tu reviendrais ici, bon gré mal gré. Pourrais-tu vraiment vivre sans undertakes the tortuous elle? Si tu crois cela, tu es fou….”52 Like Floire’s quest, series of trials through which he must pass before may be pardoned by her Lady coming of age and education and he may reclaim her. This, in effect, results in quest, though, does not require him to ride a horse, catch a as a courtly lover. boat, fight a battle, rescue his beloved from Babylon, or introduce himself, in a basket of flowers à la Floire, into his beloved’s bower under the very nose of the Evil Emir to whom she now belongs. Like the redemptive function of Floire’s and Aucassin’s quests, must become a courtly and truly noble lover, in order to reclaim his beloved and restore order to the narrative and to his world. His journey does not displace him physically, but it does require that he spiral down to the very abject depths of lovesickness and then, nourished (very much as happens in the later Abencerraje) only by occasional but ardent missives from his beloved, claw his way back up the precipice, under the guidance, to courtly respectability. Another fundamental characteristic shared by BR with the romans idylliques is the joyous reconciliation scene, at which the protagonists are reunited and their relationship receives blessings from the necessary authorities. Although the state of the manuscript prevents us from witnessing the majlis at which and will be reunited, the disguising of for a second time, as one of the Sayyida’s slave girls is strikingly similar to the ruse employed in order to introduce Floire into Blanchefleur’s chambers. Trials and tribulations ensue when the two lovers are discovered by the Evil Emir despite and Claris’s valiant attempts at dissemblance and mediation, but they—like —are saved and redeemed by their love itself. All romans idylliques, in the end, see the two young lovers reunited, but only after trials have been endured and arduous journeys undertaken. Indeed, as observed earlier, it is the certainty of this joyful and resolution that most distinguishes BR from the ill-fated lovers of the Bannj marks its similarities to the roman idyllique. BR also clearly shares a certain porous or permeable quality with the roman idyllique—its radical alteration at the hands of thirteenth-century creators is sufficient proof of that. AN and FBF, for instance, while recognizably related, also exhibit a considerable number of differences (primary among these, perhaps, being the widely recognized parodic qualities of AN, as well as the permeability of the “popular” version of FBF to the chanson de geste, the epic, etc.), many more than those exhibited by individual members of the Arthurian corpus. BR’s thirteenth-century second half, indeed, was similarly susceptible to the poetic genres most beloved among members of its public. Its characteristics might best be described in terms of the grafting of topoi from the classic Arabic love lyric onto a structure almost certainly borrowed from the roman idyllique; the resulting product was then topped off by a garnish of courtly adab. Such malleability, such porousness is probably to be explained by the characteristics of the genre, as noted by Grieve and as further explored by Segol. Segol also signals particular concerns with intercultural dialogue between, specifically, “French” Romance culture and the Arabic-speaking culture characteristic of regions just across the Pyrenees from

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the area of southwestern France she signals as key to the roman idyllique’s formation. It is also likely that the non-royal conditions of the roman idyllique’s composition and patronage in its initial stages (in terms of the known French versions,53 it hails, as has been observed, from a part of present-day France which historians have long characterized as “anti-Capetian”) contributed to its flexibility, and this, yet again, would suggest important points of comparison with the origins proposed in this study for BR. Despite its later manipulation at the hands of members of the Castilian royal house during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, at the moment of its composition the romance was unencumbered by the exigencies of a particular royal patron (such as the Countess of Champagne), or a particularly famous author (such as Chrétien de Troyes). As Segol has argued, this situation results in the deployment of “courtly” motifs of love and reconciliation outside the exigencies of a court context and concomitant social order, with a most unArthurian result. Likewise, BR escapes from under the thumb of Almohad court culture, to exalt themes and relationships which, at the moment of the romance’s creation, were not welcome at court. Finally, although it is not, at present, possible to document the reception of FBF among an Iberian Arabic-speaking public in textual terms, it does appear that the V Ibn sultan of the kingdom romance was known to of Granada, during the middle decades of the fourteenth century. As I will argue in greater detail in a forthcoming study, it is represented in the famously “enigmatic” paintings on leather, dated by scholarly consensus to V’s reign, found in the so-called “Hall of Justice” in the Alhambra’s famous Palace of the Lions (figs. 24, see p. 211 and 25, see p. 212).54 In the first of the four narrative iconemes55 which form the visual points of focus of the two “courtly” ceilings (these are surrounded by scenes of hunting, jousting and tribute, of probable allegorical significance), two royal couples are shown in conversation as they gaze out of the second-story windows of an elaborate palace. From the ground-floor doors, a young woman, beneath the first couple, and a young man, beneath the second, peer out and gesture, perhaps in preparation for an exit (presumably to encounter one another around the other side of the ceiling, in a tryst, on either side of a fountain). Although the young man is potentially identifiable as Tristan by the large twig he holds in his right hand (in this case, the fountain scene on the opposite side of the ceiling would be interpretable as the “Tryst Beneath the Tree”56), the story also—I argue—“announces itself” as potentially readable as FBF (and, thus, the young man is identifiable as Floire), due to the large, prominently placed and lavishly ornamented redgold cup57 placed, akroteria-like, atop the roof of the palace. Its appearance there has no logical explanation other than as a cue to viewers that the story of FBF is about to be told: this is the beautiful and costly cup for which Blanchefleur is sold into slavery to the Iberian merchants, and whose recovery by Floire allows him to successfully bribe the Evil Emir’s doorman, and thus places him on the way to the recuperation of his beloved. The decision to employ precisely this narrative in a context in which—much like the intercultural concerns of the roman idyllique in its original French context as explored by Segol—relationships (including alliance and collaboration) between the Muslim kingdom of Granada and Pedro I “El Cruel” ’s Castile were very much at issue is certainly significant. The question must remain open as to the exact chronological moment at which the story was transmitted to an Arabic-speaking context (did this occur as early as

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the reign of Alfonso VIII, or was it a phenomenon of the reign of Pedro and at roughly the moment of redaction of the manuscript of the PCG discussed by Grieve?). The striking similarities between BR and FBF examined in this study, however, combined with the able manipulation of the story by the painters under V’s direction, would appear to suggest a scenario similar to the one proposed by the story’s incorporation into the PCG under the patronage of Alfonso X. In order for manipulation and interpretation to occur, substantial prior understanding (and knowledge) must exist. The idea of narrative units or topoi that function and travel, in the words of art historian C.Jean Campbell,58 after the manner of building blocks is productively applied to both the creation and transmission of FBF, particularly in view of the shorthand form taken by the narrative images of the Alhambra ceilings, and of BR, given the rich intertextual allusions present in the Arabic narrative, as examined in the preceding chapter. According to Campbell’s assessment, some of these elements logically occur in the company of others, and recognizable configurations that correspond to more stable “stories,” as modern historians and critics know them, prevail in the written record. In the oral realm, however, it is possible, and even probable, that many more variations on a given narrative existed than we presently know of or acknowledge, variations which were turned to specific contexts or purposes with a flexibility that often surprises a modern academic audience inclined to privilege definitive versions of texts in written form. Campbell’s study, moreover, highlights the role visual narrative may have played, not only in the illustration, but also in the creation and dissemination of stories, adding to the possibilities of variants on a given theme. At times, they serve as the only surviving indicators of versions relegated to appendices or footnotes, or even forgotten along the way toward the edited, annotated and authoritative Tale. Instead of one FBF, in other words—as would certainly seem to be indicated by the evidence, both French and Iberian, discussed here—there may have been three, or five or eight. Likewise, there may and several (indeed, the discovery of CBL 4120 have been many would appear to confirm this suggestion), and as suggested in the second chapter of this study, it is almost certainly the image program, rather than the text, which assured the preservation of the only version of their triumph over lovesickness which has come down to us. A final case, with which I will conclude this study, indicates the ongoing and panMediterranean flourishing of the porous, mobile and adaptable “economy of stories” which produced the similarities that mark BR and the romans idylliques. It comes to us from Boccaccio’s Italy, retracing the path eventually taken by the unicum manscript of BR, prior to its introduction into the papal collection of books and curiosities. This final case, moreover, suggests that, in addition to appropriating the basic plot of the roman idyllique, the newly courtly thirteenth-century version of BR itself may have contributed to the very Mediterranean “economy of stories” that produced it. This case, unlike the visual representation of FBF in the Alhambra’s “Hall of Justice” ceilings, is one of appropriation without (discernible) political motivation. Rather, I propose that the similarities between BR and various components of the Decameron—particularly the use of the garden-performance cornice, or frame story, so often attributed to the influence of the Roman de la Rose59—suggest, at the very least, interesting parallels and, more

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probably, the traces of some contact between an Arabic- and an Italian-speaking world of storytelling whose history is almost certainly a largely oral one.60 It was visual evidence—a pillow, in fact—which first suggested to me the possibility of contact between BR and narratives concerned, whether ironically or not, with the issues of courtly culture and love produced at the same time or slightly later in the Italian peninsula, many of which ultimately wound up, in some incarnation or another, in Boccaccio’s Decameron. Campbell analyzes a cycle of paintings from the tower of the palazzo pubblico in San Gimignano, Italy, dating to the final years of the thirteenth century, in which she identifies visual renditions of the narratives of Phyllis and Aristotle, the Prodigal Son and Andreuccio da Perugia.61 Andreuccio’s story has been related by several scholars to French nouvelles and fabliaux 62 rewritten by Boccaccio (and, perhaps independently, by the patrons of the images in question) in terms that spoke directly to an Italian mercantile public. The program of images was commissioned by members of the commune and painted to adorn the private quarters of San Gimignano’s podestà by Memmo da Filippuccio, most probably around the turn of the fourteenth century, and thus significantly before the compilation of the Decameron. This fact, in turn, assures us that, in the case of this particular narrative, Boccaccio was dipping with a free hand into the store of such material readily available in oral form and certainly already widely known to his public. Campbell’s interpretation of these stories in this context is an admonitory one: advice is being given by the commune to its governor concerning the consequences of wanton wastefulness, the perfect setting for which is found in Naples. The plot, in the pictorial rendering of the tale as well as the textual one, is quickly maneuvered so that silly Andreuccio finds himself in the bath, and then in the bed, of a “bellissima” Sicilian prostitute-cumbarbiera, whom he has taken for a noble woman of good standing. Memmo da Filippuccio renders the setting as a luxurious one, and at least one of the most luxurious appointments on which Andreuccio’s head nestles in sweet slumber while he is being robbed blind is strikingly reminiscent of Queen Berengaria’s pillow, discussed in the second chapter of this study as particularly relevant to the image program of BR. The pillow represents a possible allusion to commercial contacts with al-Andalus, particularly through the kingdom of Granada, which were an important component of the trading networks in which at least some of the Italian republics were involved.63 There are, however, differences in the significance given to these luxurious accoutrements in the AndalusƯ and Italian contexts, respectively. Textiles, it will be remembered, were enumerated in the voice of BR’s as particularly appropriate to such a noble context as the Sayyida’s majlis, in which context their meaning is fairly transparent. Just as for Alfonso X, who endeavored so stringently to limit access to such textiles only to those whose bodies and characters were worthy of being so nobly adorned, for the these accoutrements faithfully reflect the status and moral character of the gathering and those in attendance. In the case of the Italian narrative, however, there is a slightly different spin on the luxuries depicted. Whereas in BR they denote nobility, here they aid in the duping of young Andreuccio: “per le quali cose, sì come nuovo, {Andreuccio} fermamente credetti lei dovere essere non men che gran donna” (“because of those things, just like an idiot, {Andreuccio} firmly believed that she must be a great lady”).64

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There are further points of similarity between Fiammeta’s story and both BR and the tales that make up the genre of the roman idyllique, discussed earlier, which, when added up, would appear to indicate that these stories, too, participated in the “exchange of building blocks” proposed by Campbell for the podestà’s palace decor. In Boccaccio’s rendering of the story, the Sicilian woman’s boudoir, into which Andreuccio, after the mediation of a vecchia (also “Siciliana” and, of course, reminiscent of the Old Lady Pimps to whom BR’s was compared in the preceding chapter), enters, is described in the following terms: “nella sua camera se n’entrò, la quale di rose, di fiori d’aranci e d’altri odori tutta oliva, la dove egli un bellissimo letto incortinato, e molte robe su per le stanghe, secondo il costume di là, e altre assai belli e ricchi arnesi vide….”65 One is reminded here of the transformation of Blanchefleur’s chambers into a garden by the introduction into them of Floire, in a basket and covered by flowers, and, indeed, numerous scholars have pointed out probable relationships between Boccaccio’s compilation and the Italian “version” of FBF, Il Filocolo.66 The proper interpretation of these and other signs, moreover, is at issue for the protagonists of all of the narratives in being equal to his task (though question. While there is some initial doubt as to he eventually shows himself to be fluent in the courtly languages of signs and of words), Andreuccio proves gullible, silly and easily duped by outward and ultimately empty manifestations of nobility (though he, perhaps, in the end, has the last laugh). It is with the frame story or cornice, however, that I believe specific similarities with BR may be argued for the Decameron, particularly in terms of the deployment made by both texts of garden motifs.67 Boccaccio’s cornice, in which songs are sung and stories both amusing and edifying are told against the backdrop of a series of idyllic gardens, is generally agreed by critics to closely resemble “previous evocations of the locus amoenus both classical and medieval.”68 Perhaps the most frequently cited precedent, though, is the Garden of Deduit in the Roman de la Rose. The two cases, however, are hardly identical. For instance, among the many differences, both large and small, which one might note is the fact that although the garden entered by the dreaming lover in the French text is indeed the setting for the performance of lyric and song, these latter activities are not the focus of the narrator’s attention; no specifics of performance are recorded. But the parallels between Boccaccio’s and BR’s gardens are sustained, striking and numerous. Similar paradisiac connotations to those attributed to the Sayyida’s garden are ascribed to Boccaccio’s idyllic settings, generally without irony in the case of the cornice gardens (as observed by Usher, the brigata and its temperate actions and uses of the garden in the cornice are presented as exemplary, whereas the transgressions—and punishments—are reserved for the novelle).69 Here, we might remember the version of her arrival, together with at the appointed place for the fateful majlis: And the next morning we went toward the appointed meeting place. When I reached the garden we found…carpets, cushions, stools, and different types of delicacies, food and drink…as corresponded to women of their class…and I sat down for a moment, and the whole group of girls approached me, and laid out silken beds and furnishings…and by God I thought the garden was paradise on earth…

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Moreover, the attention and activities in the Rose are concentrated around one walled garden, whereas in both Boccaccio’s text and BR, readers are led to imagine potentially endless series of gardens, linked by villas and perhaps separated by the more mercantile and populous parts of a city, some (especially in the case of BR) along a river, open to walks and to dallying, and others locked away in the privacy of palatial dwellings such as the Sayyida’s. In both texts, varied significations of differing moral import and consequence are accorded to the various gardens,70 with a particular parallel to the function and semiotics of the Sayyida’s garden being found in the seventh novella of the fourth day. The narrative involves Simona and Pasquino, two textile workers (and thus, much as in case, the question of their knowledge of, and agility in manipulating, courtly idioms becomes inevitable) who attempt to stage their love against the “proper” backdrop of a garden. The whole thing becomes—again, in the words of Usher—a “horrendous parody of the garden of Deduit in the Roman de la Rose” when Pasquino suggests an (excessive) second tryst. One is here reminded of “excessive” use of the love song, through which she manages to sully forever the rectitude and moral beauties of the Sayyida’s garden and her majlis, shifting their semiotic associations from the genteel, the gay and the refined to the lewd and the lascivious.71 Also of striking resonance, in the sixth story of the fourth day, are the drastic consequences of “excessive garden misuse” committed by Gabriotto and Andreuola, who appears to be in dally too frequently in her father’s garden: Gabriotto (much as danger of doing) dies in payment for his sins of excess.72 Suggestive comparanda are also offered, in the seventh story of the seventh day, by the manner in which the shamed husband of the adulterous wife is dressed in drag (and thus implicitly humiliated), and ultimately chased from the garden by his wife’s lover.73 This cross-dressing and punishment by expulsion is reminiscent of the ignominious manner in which exits the Sayyida’s garden following the disastrous breakup of the first majlis. crime, however, is more by association than because of anything he has done, whereas the adulteress’s husband is turned into a ridiculous scapegoat. The affair will go on as who has misunderstood their game of planned because he (in contrast to appearances implicit in the courtly code, according to BR’s assessment of these rules, at any rate, and fallen into the sin of sincerity) has taken the courtly code at face value. The parallel uses of the garden setting in each text for performance of songs and stories related to love extend, likewise, to the enjoyment of food and drink by a group of elegant companions, themes bearing clear resonance with BR. Although they may be present or alluded to, they are not central to the uses of gardens in the texts to which the Decameron’s gardens are most often compared.74 As observed by L.White, elegant feasting and drinking frequently directly precede singing in Boccaccio’s world, just as they do in and Particularly suggestive is the passage, from the beginnings of the third and seventh days, in which the festive lead-up to the performance of songs is described:

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e con grandissimo e hello e riposato ordine serviti e di buone e dilicate vivande, divenuti più lieti su si levarono, e a’ suoni e a’ canti e a’ balli da capo si dierono…75 White, interestingly, does not offer discussion of possible sources for the importance of this motif other than the Commedia delle Ninfe Fiorentine.76 It is certainly true, as observed above, that parallels for the prominence given to the convivial gathering in the Decameron—and to successive convivial gatherings (as observed by White, there is only one such gathering in the Commedia)—are difficult to encounter in the texts generally cited as sources for Boccaccio’s text. They are plentiful, however, in BR. Most striking of all, though, is the manner in which performance is brought about in the respective Arabic and Italian texts and contexts. For instance, for the prima giornata of the Decameron, the queen is Pampinea, at whose express instructions the performances are carried out. These are her orders to Neifile to tell the second story of the first day:77 “…commandò la reina che, una dicendone, l’ordine dello incominciato sollazzo seguisse. La quale, si come colei che non meno era di cortesi costumi che di bellezza ornate, lietamente rispuse che volontieri, e cominciò in quest a guisa…”78 In BR, performance in the garden comes about in an almost identical manner: “Then the Sayyida said to one of her slave girls named Shamnjl: ‘Sing something for us!,’ and she said: ‘Yes, I’d be honored!,’ and she took up the lute and tuned it and began to sing these verses…”—a textual sequence which (albeit for reasons we may never fully understand) is repeated, almost word for word, in the lead-up to Neifile’s narration. Pampinea’s orders to Panfilo to tell the first novella of the prima giornata are also reminiscent of BR: “…Laonde Panfilo, udito il comandamento, prestamente, essendo da tutti ascoltato, cominciò cosí…”79 In the Arabic description of Shamnjl’s reaction to the Sayyida’s orders is used to denote the alacrity with which the slave girl to perform, the verb responds, and certainly constitutes a striking (although at present unexplained) similarity to “prestamente” in the Italian text referring to Panfilo’s response to similar orders. And the queen is also able to command performances of song from individual members of the brigata. At the end of the fifth day, she makes such a request of Dioneo, who has, in the tenth story of that day, told a racy novella about a ménage à trois. Dioneo, in what would almost seem a parodic appropriation of the troubadour’s (or ?) ability to sing an endless series of pleasing songs on courtly themes, embarks on a songfest of lewd ditties, each of which is judiciously censured by the queen after the first however, who—although he clearly possesses what line has been sung. Unlike the Sayyida and her slave girls consider to be a prodigious amount of potentially performable material, as well as the ability to improvise more—declares, at a certain point (probably at the moment at which he believes the limits of modesty and good taste have been reached), that he has reached the limits of what he can do, Dioneo boasts, foolishly and tastelessly, of possessing a bottomless wealth of ribald and inappropriate entertainment material, with all of which he is prepared to regale the assembled company: La reina ridendo disse:—Deh in malora! Dinne una bella, se tu vogli, ché not non voglion cotesta—.

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Disse Dioneo: No, Madonna, non ve ne fate male; pur cual più vi place? Io ne so piu di mille…80 The comparison, and the temptation to read Dioneo’s misbehavior as a parodic rendering of a “building block” (to make use of Campbell’s terminology) appropriated from a narrative very similar to BR is difficult to resist. The decision made by Boccaccio, if my suggestion is correct, to appropriate the particularly AndalusƯ interpretation of the garden as place for love, conviviality and— most specifically—performance, would appear to have been dictated by concerns of aesthetics, narrative expediency and taste, rather than by politically motivated desires to appropriate the culture of a feared or a dominated “Other.” This, rather than the courtly “top” at which FBF was represented by the court, is the “bottom,” in the terms discussed in the previous chapter.81 In the case of the Decameron, the appropriations and mixtures are almost imperceptibly woven together, so that the components offered by each discrete culture are practically impossible to identify and to disentangle, a process similar to that which, as I have argued in this study, produced the Vat. Ar. Ris. 368 version of BR almost two centuries earlier. It is thus interesting, and perhaps even significant, to note that several fifteenth-century illustrations of the Decameron,82 executed around or shortly before the time of BR’s departure from al-Andalus, depict the brigata seated around their chosen Sovereign for the Day. The setting is a noble palace and the lush greenery indicative of the judiciously used locus amoenus, an echo (if not a copy) of the most frequently represented moment in BR’s image program—the Sayyida’s majlis.

Notes 1 Possible relationships between Persian romance traditions and some of the classic romances of the “western” tradition have long constituted a topic of discussion and debate for critics of medieval literature. The similarities are, in many cases, quite striking, though no connections have ever been proven or disproven conclusively. See Miquel, L’Amour fou; P.Gallais, Genèse du roman occidental: Essais sur Tristan et Iseut et son modèle persan (Paris, 1974); A.Miquel with J.E.Bucheikh, D’Arabie et d’Islam (Paris, 1992). None of the texts discussed in the above-listed works, at any rate, are among those for which I am arguing a relationship with BR; the version of ML which would appear to be relevant was transmitted, as discussed in the preceding chapter, independently of any Persian version of the tale. 2 J.Bédier, Aucassin et Nicolette, chante-fable du Xllème siècle (Paris: Fontemoing, 1901); it was later re-edited and re-dated to the thirteenth century by M.Roques in Aucassin et Nicolette, chantefable du XIIIe siècle (Paris: E.Champion, 1929; reprinted, 1973). A modern French prose translation by G.Cohen can be found in Aucassin et Nicolette: chantefable du XIIIe siècle (Paris: H.Champion, 1974); for suggestions on further reading, see B.Nelson Sargent-Baur and R.Francis Cook, Aucassin et Nicolette: A Critical Bibliography (London: Grant & Cutler, 1981). 3 Albeit AN’s narrative passages are rendered in verse. 4 Bolton, The Song in the Story, pp. 3, 77, actually excludes AN from her analysis because, as she points out, the verse components of AN are laisses, rather than actual songs. In any event, as will shortly be made clear, I do not consider AN to be as important a piece of comparanda as FBF, as will become clear as this chapter unfolds.

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5 For a definition and brief discussion of the genre, see H.Williams and M.Guillet-Rydell, Floire et Blanchefleur (University, MI: Romance Monographs, Inc., 1973), introduction, pp. 9–12; more recently, the Ph.D. thesis by M.Segol, Religious Conversion, History, and Genre in Floire et Blanchefleur, Aucassin et Nicolette, and Flamenca (Ph.D. dissertation, Rutgers University, 2001). The characteristics of the roman idyllique, particularly as regards FBF and its proposed relationship to BR, will be discussed in detail in this chapter. Williams and Guillet-Rydell (p. 9), without really supporting their claims, attribute the roman idyllique to “Byzantine influence,” grouping it with AN. Other origins—including Persian, “purely French,” and Arabic—have been proposed by numerous scholars for both AN and FBF. Here, it is not really a question of origins, and therefore I will not opine in favor of any particular camp; the provenance of both tales is undoubtedly multi-layered and varied. The parodic qualities of AN, recognized by the majority of its critics, make it a less likely candidate for direct relationships with BR, in my opinion, than FBF, notwithstanding formal similarities between the two tales (especially the combination of verse and prose). Williams and Guillet-Rydell (p. 10) place FBF at the beginning of the history of this genre of romance in a French context. They date the aristocratic version to 1160–1170, and the “popular” version to the end of the twelfth century, noting (p. 11) that the problem of whether the two versions come from the same source or from different ones has not yet been resolved. The “popular” version has long been recognized to contain a significant amount of elements linked with the chanson de geste or the epic, while the “aristocratic” version, much like BR, has love as its central theme. FBF also belongs to the group of tales known to critics as the “Carolingian Cycle,” whose interests in and positive attitudes toward Muslims and Arabic culture have long been noted by critics; see F.López Estrada, ed., Romancero del Abencerraje y la Hermosa Jarifa (Madrid: Ediciones Anaya, 1965), introduction, p. 6; and now S.Kinoshita, Medieval Boundaries: Rethinking Difference in Old French Literature (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2006). 6 Grieve, Floire et Blancheflor, pp. 1–2. 7 Grieve, Floire et Blancheflor, p. 16; the manuscript in question is BN Madrid 7583 (olim T-233), dated 1400–1500. 8 Grieve, Floire et Blancheflor, pp. 22–23 and ff. 9 Grieve, Floire et Blancheflor, pp. 45–48, 23; it should also be noted that, in the French aristocratic version, Floire and Blanchefleur are the king and queen of Hungary, whereas in the popular one, they are the king and queen of Almería. 10 Grieve, Floire et Blancheflor, pp. 28–29. 11 Grieve, Floire et Blancheflor, p. 35. 12 Grieve, Floire et Blancheflor, pp. 160–161, notes that the didacticism of the Old Norse and the Spanish chronicle are strikingly different from that of the other texts (“God and religion in general play an insignificant role in the Middle English and Old French tales;” as, we might note, they do in BR). Grieve also notes (p. 31, citing Gabrielle Spiegel, Diego Catalán, et al.) the surging popularity of the Carolingian narratives throughout the twelfth century, and the tendency before the fourteenth and fifteenth to incorporate this material into the writing of “history.” Nonetheless, it is important to underline that there is no certainty that the didacticism of the Spanish chronicle as it is preserved in the manuscript in question (almost certainly owing its coherence and message to the Alfonsine cultural agenda) was characteristic of earlier versions of the story known in the peninsula which have not survived in written form. 13 Varqa wa Gulshah; for provenance, Ettinghausen et al., Islamic Art, pp. 262–263, and note 310. Grabar agrees with Pancaroglu concerning a probable Anatolian origin for the manuscript, which might even be made more precise, given that the painter who signed one of the folios has been shown to have witnessed the document making official the donation of the Karatay madrasa in that city in 1252–1253. Moreover, the pre-Islamic ruler shown in a number of the images in Varqa wa Gulshah is depicted as a Turkic military ruler, while a

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number of the foot-soldiers who accompany him resemble contemporary (Christian) crusaders, particularly in terms of the sort of weapons they bear; likewise, Grabar has pointed out that several of the images show Christian knights. 14 Personal communication from both Julie S.Meisami and Shawkat M.Toorawa; thanks to both scholars and friends for their discussions and suggestions on this point. 15 Ibn al-NadƯm, Fihrist, Part Eight, vol. II, p. 713 ff.; esp. pp. 721–723. 16 Floire et Blancheflor, introduction, p. 9. 17 K.Busby, Les manuscrits de Chrétien de Troyes, 2 vols. (Amsterdam and Atlanta, GA: Rodopi, 1993). 18 Although the debate concerning whether Arthurian material, including Tristan and Isolde, reached Castile, Portugal or Cataluña first is not likely to be solved any time soon, it is probably correct to assume that, by the mid-to-late decades of the fourteenth-century, it was widely known. The debate is complex, but it is concisely summed up in María Luzdivina Cuesta Torre, Aventuras amorosas y caballerescas en las novelas de Tristan (León: Universidad de León, Secretariado de Publicaciones, 1994), pp. 27–31. 19 I make, of course, the loosest use possible of this term. 20 Grieve, Floire et Blancheflor, p. 160. 21 Busby, Les manuscrits. 22 Segol, Religious Conversion, History, and Genre in Floire et Blanchefleur, Aucassin et Nicolette, and Flamenca (Ph.D. dissertation, Rutgers University, 2001). 23 V.de Lama and E.Peral Vega, El Abencerraje y la Hermosa Jarifa (Madrid: Editorial Castalia, 2004); again, López Estrada, Romancero, p. 6, would appear to have come to similar conclusions in 1965. 24 E.g., according to Grieve, Floire et Blancheflor, pp. 159 ff., the Middle English version moves away from the roman idyllique genre toward “Greek New Comedy.” 25 Grieve, Floire et Blancheflor, p. 26; she notes that in this, the Spanish chronicle version is very different from all of the early versions of the tale, and that in this detail (the shipwreck of the protagonists as they leave to return to Almería) it is quite similar to the Italian Filocolo. 26 Grieve, Floire et Blancheflor, pp. 34, 169. Indeed, the specificity of these dates in terms of French alliances and “French connections,” when the production and illumination dates for the “European-looking” CSM are taken into consideration, might go a long way toward arguing for an intent, on the Wise King’s part, to associate himself, at least in some way, with what he perceived as the latest Parisian fashions in terms of visual culture. This, of course, is in no way intended to gainsay Prado’s (in Under the Shadow) very convincing arguments concerning the multiplicity of visual idioms and attitudes toward the visual that impacted the CSM illuminations’ conception and production. 27 Grieve, Floire et Blancheflor, pp. 11–12, 33. She attributes a late thirteenth-century compilation date to the crónica, noting that thus it definitely predates Boccaccio’s Filocolo, but also leaves the door very much open to an even earlier date. The problem of origins is, as is well known, a favorite topic of discussion among critics. Everything from Byzantine to Persian to “Oriental” to Arabic to “Latino-French” origins have been proposed, without any of these ever being deemed completely convincing by a quorum. Arab origins, however, are proposed and persuasively defended in U.Marzolph and R.van Leeuwen, eds., The Arabian Nights Encyclopedia; with the collaboration of H.Wassouf, 2 vols. (Santa Barbara, CA, 2004), vol. 1, p. 314 and vol. 2, pp. 551–552. 28 See Robinson, In Praise of Song, with a listing of the most relevant previous bibliography. 29 Amer, L’Ésope, p. 24. 30 See Robinson, “Courtly Courts.” 31 Again, my default position, unless proof to the contrary comes to light, is that an narrative, probably the one collected in CBL 4120, is the one being transformed.

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32 See Robinson, “Re-Writing Genre;” BR is the only one among the narratives collected in and/or “gharƯb” in the title. CBL 4120 whose contents are designated as 33 See the essay by M.Curschmann in A.Stevens and R.Wisby, eds., Gottfried von Strassburg and the Medieval Tristan Legend: Papers from an Anglo-North America Symposium (Suffolk, 1990); see also Michael Camille, in The Medieval Art of Love: Objects and Subjects of Desire (New York: Abrams, 1998), p. 15, fig. 7, for the “Forrer” casket, made in Cologne (today in the British Museum) c. 1180–1200, a bone casket which gives particular visual emphasis to the topos. 34 See J.D.Dodds, “The Paintings in the Sala de Justicia of the Alhambra: Iconography and Iconology,” Art Bulletin, 61(1979), pp. 186–197; and the essay in preparation for publication by the present author, to appear in a collection of essays on the ceiling paintings edited in collaboration with Simone Pinet, in which I argue for the conflation of TI with FBF in the narrative images on those ceilings. Indeed, BR appears to provide us with early evidence for this conflation. My argument, however, differs slightly from Dodds’s in that I insist on the Spanish and Italian strain of TI, rather than any of the known Old French versions, as a direct source for the images. We will return to these ceilings at the end of the present section of this chapter. 35 See Robinson, “Courtly Courts.” If, as was proposed in the preceding chapter, BR is indeed to be ascribed in its origins to more of a mercantile or urban context than a court one, a further step in the transferral process would then be necessary. 36 Grieve, Floire et Blancheflor, p. 46. Had the motif come from an Arabic source, it would probably have been referred to merely as “al-QƗhira.” 37 Amaia Arizaleta (“Le Centre introuvable: La Babylone castillane du Libro de Alexandre,” Licorne, 34(1995), pp. 145–153) has identified it, in the Libro de Alexandre, as a “centre introuvable” 38 Grieve, Floire et Blancheflor, pp. 32 ff. As Rouhi (Mediation and Love) has noted, moreover, in the European romance mediation is undertaken by a wide variety of characters; FBF is an excellent example, and one thinks here of the similarities suggested by the activities of sundry slave girls in the service of BR’s two lovesick protagonists. 39 Grieve, Floire et Blancheflor, pp. 24–25. 40 Segol, op. cit., pp. 35–60. Reference to the young people’s education in Arabic (apparently they were fluent in that language by the age of six) as well as Latin is found in BNM Ms. 7583, ff. 9r–10r. 41 Grieve, Floire et Blancheflor, pp. 20–21. In favor of a bilingual context for the story’s development in Iberia, the manuscript version of FBF analyzed by Grieve it is stated (f. 7r) that, “La condessa berta fablava françes y la reyna algaravia y una a otra se mostravan su lenguaje (The countess Berta spoke French and the Queen Arabic, and each one taught her language to the other).” And in terms of the children’s education (ff. 8v–9r), “Et segunt cuenta Sigiberto, un sabio que saco esta estoria del fecho de flores y de Blancaflor de aravigo diz que tan sotil engenio avien estos niños en aprender que en seys años aprendieron fablar en logica y fablar en latyn tanto como en aravigo…(and according to Sigibert, a wise man who translated this story of the deeds of Flores and Blancaflor from Arabic says that they were so gifted at learning that by the age of six, they learned to perform logic, and to speak in Latin as well as in Arabic).” 42 See previous note. 43 Grieve, Floire et Blancheflor, p. 20. 44 Nicolette, as Segol observes, is also associated with nature (though her name is not allegorically implicated), and particularly with its potentially healing qualities; see Segol, op. cit., pp. 44–57. 45 Grieve, Floire and Blancheflor, p. 71. 46 Grieve, Floire et Blancheflor, pp. 23–24.

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47 Grieve, Floire et Blancheflor, pp. 27–28 and ff. 48 See Robinson, In Praise of Song, Part Two. 49 Grieve, Floire et Blancheflor, pp. 33–35. 50 Grieve, Floire et Blancheflor, pp. 35–38. 51 Grieve, Floire et Blancheflor, pp. 38–40. 52 Grieve, Floire et Blancheflor, p. 38. 53 I leave aside here the possibility of an exclusively Iberian origin for the tale, accepting Grieve’s suggestion that a version of the romance originated on Spanish soil. 54 This position differs significantly from the presently accepted interpretation of the ceilings as representing misinterpreted and somewhat random “Arthurian scenes;” see Dodds, “Paintings in the Sala de Justicia” and Angus MacKay, “Religion, Culture, and Ideology on the Late Medieval Castilian-Granadan Frontier,” in Robert Bartlett and Angus MacKay, eds., Medieval Frontier Societies (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989), pp. 217–244. A study in preparation by the present author will argue that (perhaps among other narratives) the Alhambra ceilings represent both FBF and Tristan and Isolde—the four principal scenes, or vignettes, function equally well in the telling of both stories. The endings appear to have been significantly altered in order to suit the tastes of the Granadan court. 55 I borrow the term “iconeme” from J.Rushing, Images of Adventure: Ywain in the Visual Arts (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1995). An iconeme is a summing-up of important narrative content into a visual configuration which becomes, to a certain extent, codified, and thus transmittable independent of the rest of the cycle, as has been demonstrated by Michae l Curschmann, op. cit. For “Images of Tristan,” in A.Stevens and R.Wisby, eds., Gottfried von Strassburg and the Medieval Tristan Legend: Papers from an Anglo-North America Symposium (Suffolk, 1990). The scene involving Tristan and Isolde’s tryst beside a fountain, in the surface of which they see reflected King Mark’s face (he is hiding in the branches of the tree which shades the lovers, in hopes of catching his wife in the act, or the words, of infidelity). In the case of the Alhambra ceilings, the four iconemes are particularly rich in terms of the number of narrative moments summed up, and in terms of the multiplicity of interpretations they present. Again, these issues will be fully analyzed in the forthcoming study in preparation by the present author. 56 In this case, however, the reflection of King Mark’s face in the watery surface of the fountain, typical in visual renditions of the scene (see Curschmann, op. cit.), is absent from the Alhambra’s “Tryst,” replaced by an elaborate fountain structure including coy, naked female caryatids; the evil dwarf Frocin replaces King Mark atop the leafy branches of the Alhambra ceilings’ locus amoenus. Many, many thanks to Evelyn Peng, a student in my “Looking at Love” seminar during the Spring of 2004 at Cornell University, for the diligent research necessary to identify Frocin. 57 Thanks are due here to Lauren Butt, another member of the seminar mentioned in the preceding note, for the identification of the cup, and for taking the first steps toward “telling” FBF using the ceiling images. 58 Campbell, Game of Courting. 59 See below, note 67. 60 Several scholars have explored relationships between the Decameron and the Arabic storytelling tradition; see, among many possible choices, M.Gsteiger, “‘La Fiancée du roi de garbe’: De Boccace a la Fontaine,” in J.Riesz, P.Boerner and B.Scholz, eds., Sensus Communis: Contemporary Trends in Comparative Literature/ Panorama de la situation actuelle en litterature comparée (Tubigen: Narr, 1986), pp. 325–333; J.Levarie Smart, “Other Races and Other Places in the Decameron” Studi sul Boccaccio, 27(1999), pp. 113–136; and V.Kirkham and M.Menocal, “Reflections on the ‘Arabic’ World: Boccaccio’s Ninth Stories,” Stanford Italian Review, 7, no. 1–2(1987), pp. 95–110. To my knowledge, however, connections between Arabic literature and the frame story have not been proposed.

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61 Campbell, Game of Courting, pp. 95–90; 130–135. The story in question is the fifth novella of the giornata seconda of the Decameron, which concerns a young merchant by the name of Andreuccio da Perugia; see Decameron, pp. 99 ff., and esp. note 39, for discussion of possible Sicilian sources for the narrative. 62 In Andreuccio’s case the fabliau in question is “Boivin de Provins;” see M.Migiel, “How (Thanks to a Woman) Andreuccio da Perugia Became Such a Loser, and How (Also Thanks to a Woman) Reading Could Have Become a More Complicated Affair,” Romance Languages Annual, X(1999), pp. 302–307, esp. p. 302. 63 See O.R.Constable, Trade and Traders in Muslim Spain: The Commercial Realignment of the Iberian Peninsula, 900–1500 (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 1994), and eadem, Housing the Stranger in the Mediterranean World: Lodging, Trade, and Travel in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003). 64 Decameron, pp. 99–101. 65 “… Into her room he entered, which smelled of roses, orange flowers and other odors, where he saw a most beautiful, curtained bed, and many things on the shelves, according to the custom there, and other rather beautiful and rich furnishings…;” Decameron, pp. cit. 66 A similar “building block” explanation might apply to the often ironic or parodic interpretation made of Arthurian courtly narrative (here including TI) in the Decameron; see P.Squillacioti, “Tristano Risarcito e Folchetto Vendicato: Tracce di Tradizione Cortese in Decameron II 3 e IV 3,” Studi sul Boccaccio, 28(2000), pp. 73–86. 67 See, among the numerous publications to address the theme of the cornice, its gardens, and the topos of gardens in general in the Decameron: R.Ferreri, “Il motive eroticoosceno nella cornice del Decameron,” Studi sul Boccaccio, 26(1998), pp. 165–178; J.Usher, “Frame and Novella Gardens in the Decameron,” Medium Aevum, LVIII, no. 2(1989), pp. 274–285; T.Stillinger, “The Language of Gardens: Boccaccio’s delle Donne’,” Traditio, XXXIX (1983), pp. 301–321. Interesting parallels for our purposes are also suggested by the gardens of Il Filocolo, which would imply the input of the particular allegorizations made by the roman idyllique, including the gardens of Floire’s father, Blanchefleur’s false tomb, and the Evil Emir, from FBF, to which—as I have argued throughout this chapter—I believe BR to be closely related. 68 Usher, “Frame and Novella Gardens,” p. 274, and note 1 for further extensive bibliographical references. 69 Usher, “Cornice and Novella Gardens.” 70 Though most are, or are intended to be, in the words of Usher, “place[s] of order where love is earned through discipline;” see Usher, “Frame and Novella Gardens,” p. 280. 71 Usher, “Frame and Novella Gardens,” p. 281. 72 Usher, “Frame and Novella Gardens;” also worthy of note is Usher’s mention of the reward received by Dioneo in the Comedia delle Ninfe: in exchange for his temperate use of the garden, he (like whose temperance and struggles to become a truly courtly lover redeem both himself and his beloved) is granted eternal life. 73 Usher, “Frame and Novella Gardens,” pp. 282–283. 74 See J.Lacroix, “Éloge de la fête et de la convivialité: le vin et le feu du Décaméron” Cahiers du Cercic, 22(1999), pp. 533–557; L.Sanguinetti White, “Il convito come vettore narrative nel Decameron” Canadian Journal of Italian Studies, 5, no. 3(Spring 1988), pp. 157–162. 75 White, “Convito,” p. 159; citation apud White. 76 White, “Convito,” p. 157. 77 Decameron, prima giornata, p. 71. 78 Decameron, prima giornata, p. 38. 79 Decameron, prima giornata, p. 25. 80 Citation apud Ferreri, “Il motive erotico-osceno,” p. 173.

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81 Again, I refer here to the dialogue between “top” (the site of production of official or hegemonic discourse) and “bottom” (where, as we have argued, genuine “multiculturality” may, at times, exist), as established in the authors’ introduction to Robinson and Rouhi, Under the Influence. 82 See E.Beck, Singing in the Garden: Music and Culture in the Tuscan Trecento (Innsbruck: Studien Verlag; Lucca: LIM Editrice, 1998); V.Branca, “Interpretazioni visuali del Decameron” Studi sul Boccaccio, 15(1985–1986), pp. 87–119.

Figure 4.15 Leaf from a manuscript of Dioscorides’ De Materia Medica. Dated 1229, 19.2 × 14 cm. Topkapi Sarayi Library, Istanbul, Ms. Ahmet III 2127, f. 2v

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Figure 4.16 The uninvited guest at an outdoor gathering, MaqƗmƗt, thirteenth century, Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale (BN) Arabe 5847, f. 69v

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Figure 4.17 KitƗb al-DiryƗq (Book of Remedies), early thirteenth century, Paris BN Arabe 2964, f. 27

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Figure 4.18 Alfonso X of Castile, Libros del Ajedrez (Book of Chess and Games), finished 1284, frontispiece, San Lorenzo del Escorial, f. 1r

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Figure 4.19 Alfonso X of Castile, Libros del Ajedrez (Book of Chess and Games), finished 1284, Wheel of Fortune, San Lorenzo del Escorial, f. 96r

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Figure 4.20 Alfonso X of Castile, Libros del Ajedrez (Book of Chess and Games), finished 1284, ff. 48v-r; Alfonso plays chess with slave girls

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Figure 4.21 Alfonso X of Castile, Cantigas de Santa María, mid- to late thirteenth century

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Figure 4.22 Pillow of Berenguela, al-Andalus, thirteenth century, Museo de Telas, Monasterio de Santa Maria de las Huelgas, Burgos

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Figure 4.23 “Drinking Ladies” silk, al-Andalus, thirteenth century, CooperHewitt, National Design Museum, Smithsonian Institution. Gift of John Pierpoint Morgan, 1902–1-82. Photo: Scott Hyde

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Figure 4.24 “Courtly” ceiling paintings, I, “Hall of Justice,” Palace of the Lions, Alhambra, 1360s. From Jesús Bermúdez Pareja, Pinturas sobre piel en la Alhambra de Granada (Vich: Colomer Munmany, 1987)

Figure 4.25 “Courtly” ceiling paintings, II, “Hall of Justice,” Palace of the Lions, Alhambra, 1360s. From Jesús Bermúdez Pareja, Pinturas sobre piel en la Alhambra de Granada (Vich: Colomer Munmany, 1987)

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INDEX

(Abbasid; Abbasids): 5, 6, 8, 13, 120, 124, 129, 130–132, 136, 138, 143, 144, 145, 167, 174, 175, 178, 179, 197 version of BR (CBL 4120): 11, 174, 175, 179, 180, 184, 185, 189, 197 III ibn MarwƗn: 91 Almohad caliph: 118, 167 El Abencerraje y la Bella Jarifa: 176, 186, 195, 197 adab literature: 92, 93, 107, 120, 139, 164, 187 adƯb: 97, 106, 118 2–3, 72–80, 83, 94–96, 97, 99, 113, 121, 122, 124, 126, 128–138, 145–155 Alcahueta: 135, 147, 150–155, 168 Alf Layla wa Layla: 171 Alfonso VIII of Castille: 86–87, 118, 142, 179, 180, 188 Alfonso X of Castille: 10, 12, 86, 88, 93, 95, 113–116, 118, 128, 147, 151–154, 156–160, 169–171, 177, 178, 188, 190 Alfonso IX of León: 87 Alhambra: 12, 80, 187, 188, 189, 197, 198, 199 Almería: 174, 177, 196, 197 Almohad; Almohads: 7, 10, 71, 85, 88, 97, 113–146, 160, 167, 178, 187 Almohad style: 72, 75, 78, 85, 86, 88, 89, 96, 97, 107, 113, 115–146, 160 Almoravid; Almoravids: 135, 140–142, 144, 146, 156, 167 Almoravid-period style: 96, 107 Anatolia: 90, 196 Andreas Capellanus: 106, 126 Aquitaine: Eleanor of Aquitaine: 178 Arabic, classical: 3, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10, 12, 13, 14 Arabic literature, classical: 3, 5, 6, 12, 115, 117–119, 127, 129, 131, 139, 143, 144, 147, 151, 154, 155, 161–167, 171–176, 178, 179, comparison with European romance tradition: 180–190 Arabic manuscript painting: 83–110 Arabic speakers: 71, 83, 84, 113 123; ahl 83, 103, 106, 119, 121, 126, 129–131, 137, 138, 143, 155, 171 Aucassin et Nicolette: 11, 134, 171, 172, 186, 195 Aucassin: 172, 184, 186; Nicolette: 182, 184, 185 Ibn Azraq: 115, 116, 160, 162

Index

206

140–141, 146 BaghdƗd/BaghdƗdƯ: 8, 9, 70, 71, 83, 120, 123, 124, 125, 144, 163 “Baghdad school” of manuscript painting: 81, 85, 108, 109 Bannj Hnjd: 97 120, 124, 125, 126, 129, 164, 175, 176, 180, 181, 183, 186 Bannj Berengaria, Queen, pillow of: 86–88, 190 Bocados de Oro (MukhtƗr Boccaccio: 5, 189–194, 197, 200 botanical treatises: 92–99

) 93, 111

Cairo/al-QƗhira: 94; as Babylon, 173, 181 Calila y Digna (KalƯla wa Dimna): 93, 111, 132, 152, 164 Caliphate/caliphal period in al-Andalus: 12, 77, 87, 91, 93, 134, 140, 174 Campbell, C.Jean: 5, 6, 13, 14, 188, 189, 190, 194 Cantigas de Santa María (CSM): 88, 135, 150–160, 169, 170, 197 Celestina: 96, 111, 112, 148, 164, 168 Christian; 4, 10, 13, 71, 86, 88, 114–116, 118, 131, 153–156, 158, 159, 173, 174, Christians 177, 178 Christian images (influence on Islamic art): 77, 87, 90, 94–96, 108–111, 156–160, 172, 173 Colloquial Arabic: 140, 143 Constable, Olivia R.: 156, 169, 200 Cornice (frame story): 171, 189, 191, 200 Córdoba: 10, 115, 116, 125, 174 Corriente, F.: 166, 167, 169 Court: 9, 10; Castilian Christian courts, 71, 114, 178–180; Anti-Almohad courts: 114 Courtliness; courtly comportment: 2, 5–8, 10–14, 72–78, 80, 179, 186, 187, 189, 191–193; BR as courtly romance, 84, 91, 175, 176, 178, 179, 180, 189; BR’s images as guide to courtly comportment: 84–89; 94–107 courtly love: 1, 2, 4, 11, 72, 80; 94–107, 171, 182, 185, 187; courtly love and the Almohads: 113–136; courtly love lyric and the Almohads: 138–144 Damascus: 1, 71 Decameron, The: 189–194 De Materia Medica (Dioskorides): 8, 83, 86, 90 description; 2, 107, 119, 120, 138, 139, 144, 146 descriptive poetry desire: 13, 14 Dodds, Jerrilynn D.: 11, 13, 109, 180, 197 Escala de Mahoma ( Ladder): 154 Europe; European: 4, 5, 6, 11, 12, 14, 131, 153–154, 156, 157, 170, 174, 181, 183, 197, 198

Index

207

ibn KhƗqƗn: 139–141 Feliciano, María J.: 88, 110, 158–159, 170 Fernando, San: 86, 114 Il Filocolo: 172, 191, 197, 200 Floire et Blanchefleur: 11, 14, 172–177, 181–191 Frontier: 118, 134 see Arabic, classical garden; gardens: 2, 71, 73, 76–80, 85, 89, 90, 95–97, 102, 108, 113, 128, 129, 131, 132, 134, 136, 139– 141, 144, 146, 150, 156, 165, 167, 173, 180, 182–184, 189, 191–194, 200, 201 ghazal; see also love song: 12, 14 Go-between: 137, 147 Grabar, Oleg: 7–9, 13, 14, 72, 82–83, 85–87, 90, 91, 94, 96, 108, 109, 196 Granada: 80, 85, 94, 113, 115, 116, 118, 156, 160, 161, 167, 187, 188, 190, 199 Grieve, Patricia: 6, 14, 172, 173, 174, 176, 177, 178, 183, 187, 188, 196, 197, 198, 199 118, 162 1, 2, 72, 73, 97, 100–104, 112, 117, 131, 148, 150, 161, 179, 182, 183 Ibn Hamnjshko: 114, 118, 142 97, 103, 121, 124–126, 128, 143, 162, 163 al-QartajƗnnƯ: 147 Homosexuality: 132 Homosocial: 141 Humay wa Humayun: 175 Islamic Art: 4, 7, 8, 11, 13, 81, 89, 108–111, 160, 196 Islamic World: 7, 8, 11, 70, 74, 84, 90, 118, 120, 129, 152, 172 Jaume I of Aragón: 10, 115, 161 JihƗd: 118 John (St. John the Evangelist): 94, 97 KhamrƯya; khamrƯyƗt (wine song): 2, 88, 130, 139, 146, 167, 183 Kharja; pl., kharajƗt: 14, 142 KitƗb al-AghƗnƯ: 120, 123–125, 129, 143, 165, 183 KitƗb al-DhiryƗq: 91–92 KitƗb 103, 123, 124, 144, 162, 163 120, 121, 162 KitƗb lady; Lady: 2, 75, 76, 77, 79, 87, 95, 103–105, 131, 132, 137, 149, 164, 180, 181, 184, 186, 190 LaylƗ: 123, 133, 134, 162, 165

Index

208

León: 87, 109, 170 Lianor of England: 86, 110, 178 Libro de Alixandre: 11, 181 Libro de Buen Amor. 126, 129, 154, 168, 169 Libros del Ajedrez: 80, 115, 151–155, 157 locus amoenus: 139, 191, 194, 199 lovesickness: 2, 75, 76, 84, 100–103, 106, 107, 117, 120, 121, 123, 125, 129–134, 137–139, 144– 148, 163, 164, 167, 179, 185–186, 189 love songs or lyrics (see also ghazal): 12, 14, 75, 76, 100, 125, 130, 134, 145, 147, 156, 182, 183, 185 lyric; lyrical: 2, 5, 12, 13, 78, 89, 99–101, 121, 123, 126, 128, 130, 132, 133, 138, 145–147, 154, 167, 180, 182, 185, 187, 191 Maghreb, al- (North Africa); MaghrebƯ: 11, 91, 93, 110, 118, 125, 179 majlis; majƗlis: 1, 2, 3, 10, 72–78, 80, 87–90, 95, 98, 100, 101, 102, 104–107, 111, 119, 122, 124–127, 131–134, 136, 138–142, 145–149, 150, 156, 166, 167, 179, 180, 181, 182, 183, 184, 186, 190, 191, 192, 194 majlis anecdote: 128, 140, 141, 166, 167 Majnnjn, pre-Islamic poet: 123, 124, 129–134, 137, 143, 163, 164, 181, 182 Majnnjn LaylƗ: 123, 130, 133, 134, 165, 171, 180 maqƗma, pl., maqƗmƗt: AGREGAR BIB! in al-Andalus, 77, 107, 120, 127, 128, 137, 152, 153, 160, 164, 171; 8, 13, 70, 77, 83, 107, 171; maqamƗt images: 4, 13, 70, 77, 82, 83, 90–92, 94, 97, 107, 160, 164 al-MaqqarƯ: 107, 142, 143, 156, 167, 169 Ibn MardanƯsh: 114, 118, 142 Matière de Bretagne: 175 Mediation (tercería): 5, 13, 78, 79, 99, 130, 137, 147–151, 154, 165, 168, 181, 186, 190, 198 medieval studies; medievalists: 3–5 Meisami, Julie Scott: 196 Menocal, María Rosa: 13, 164, 200 Metaphor; metaphorical: 100, 101, 139, 145 ka’anna: 139 minister: 1, 97, 113, 116, 115, 142, 167 mirador. 75, 76, 80, 86, 95, 108 Monneret de Villard, Ugo: 81, 82, 84–86, 89–91, 94, 108–110, 116, 171 Montoro: 174 Mosul: 8, 9, 70, 109 V of Granada: 187, 188 5 Mujnjn: 2, 142 if (Taifa): 5, 89, 114, 116, 118, 129, 140–143, 145, 178 mulnjk

Index

209

Murcia: 10, 71, 88, 96, 97, 107, 114, 137, 161 118, 130–132, 139, 146, 162, 164–167 140–146, 162, 163, 166, 180 Ibn al-NadƯm: 175, 131, 164, 196 Las Navas de Tolosa: 114, 116 Noble; nobility: 2, 7, 73, 74, 78, 83, 89, 97, 101–103, 106, 115, 116, 120–121, 123, 129, 130, 132, 136, 147, 150, 151, 153, 156, 158, 159, 166, 170, 177, 183, 186, 190, 191, 194 Abnj NnjwƗs: 132 Occitan: 178 Oriental: 11, 13, 14, 197 Panegyric: 113, 114, 128, 138, 140–142, 146, 167 Paradise: 121, 134, 182, 191 Pimp: 159, 190 Pleasure: 6, 89, 101, 102, 140, 141, 148, 151, 152, 167 Podestà: 14, 190 Popular: 5, 6, 14, 95, 115, 119, 125, 137, 142, 143, 146, 147, 172, 176, 177, 187, 195, 196 Prado-Vilar, Francisco: 93, 95, 111, 152, 153, 158, 160, 168, 169, 197 Primera Crónica General (PCG): 170, 174, 176, 178 Provençal: 93, 178, 185 Pyrenees; Pyrenean: 71, 175, 187 139, 141 QairawƗn: 120 QiyƗn: 136, 139, 149, 155 93, 180 Ibn al-RaqƯq: 124, 125, 181 Reconquista: 10, 161 106, 119, 128, 132, 138, 139, 141, 166 rhymed prose Romance: 6, 11, 13, 14, 84, 90, 134, 159, 163, 165, 172–176, 179, 181–184, 187, 194, 195, 198 Roman Idyllique: 11, 172, 174–179, 181–190, 195, 195, 200 Roman de la Rose: 189, 191, 192 Rouhi, Leyla: 4, 5, 12, 13, 14, 151, 153, 165, 167, 168, 170, 198, 201 Rushing, James: 199 Ibn al-AndalusƯ: 113, 114, 117–120, 130–133, 137–143, 146, 162, 164, 165, 166, 167, 175, 181 Sancho IV “El Bravo” of Castille: 156, 177 San Gimignano: 5, 6, 13, 14, 189, 190 Seville: 10, 71, 85, 86, 94, 96, 108, 115, 116, 128, 135, 137 Sharq al-andalus (“Levante;” eastern regions of the Iberian peninsula): 71, 108, 114–116, 161, 166 Slave boys: 132, 141;

Index

210

as “beautiful boy” in poetry: 142, 165 Slave girls (see also jƗriya): 2, 3, 72, 74, 76–79, 84, 87, 88, 96, 97, 99–104, 120, 122, 124–126, 128, 130–136, 139, 140, 142, 144, 145, 147, 156, 158, 159, 162, 164, 178, 179, 180, 182, 183, 186, 193, 194, 198 Takhemoni: 151, 155 al-Hamama [“The Dove’s Neck-Ring”]: 97, 103, 120–122, 124–126, 128, 162–164 Textiles: 7, 8, 14, 71, 73, 83, 85–90, 96, 110, 150, 157, 190, 192 Burnnjs (voluminous outer garment): 74, 135; “Drinking Ladies:” 85, 87, 88, 125, 158; (turban): 72, 74, 78, 135; jubba (loose tunic): 73–76, 78, 87, 135; taylasƗn (scarf or shawl): 77, 87, 135 72, 76, 78; (striped silk): 73, 77, 87, 135 Toledo: Cathedral: 169; Puerta del Reloj: 156 tarb and other derivatives of 121, 141, 145, 146, 167 Tristan and Isolde: 180, 188, 194, 197, 199, 200 Troubadour: 95, 152, 178, 180, 193 Umayyad; Umayyads; Umayyad period: 8 Vernacular: 144, 183, 185, Virgin Mary: 88, 95, 97, 147, 150, 152, 168 Warqa wa Gulshah: 90, 109, 175, 196 CITAR NUEVA TRAD FRANCES: 103, 123–125, 144, 162, 163 see description Wine: 2, 3, 73, 75, 88, 89, 100, 101, 104, 124, 139, 140, 144, 145, 155, 181 wine song; drinking song: see khamrƯya WƯs wa RamƯn: 175 zajal; pl., azjƗl: 140, 143, 144, 146, 166, 167 pl. (elegant; the elegant ones): 102, 105, 106, 119, 121, 123, 125, 126, 135, 144, 148, 179, 192