III
The Adventurers
There is in some few men of every land a special hunger, one which will make them forego the safe pleasures of their own beds and tables, one which initiates them into that most mysterious and ruthless sect, The Adventurers. It gnaws at them, a worm or a wolf in the vitals of their minds, so that they must turn away from the things they know about and go to the farthest places of the world. They must face pain and fever, and starvation itself, to feed that other, inner hunger . . . and once having fed it, search for more food, like stuffed beggars under a banquet-table. And when they die, even if they live to do it in their old age and their beds, which is rare indeed, they still have their teeth set, their gullets yawning, for some new feast: a trip up one of the strange rivers of the Congo, a trek to the lost kingdom of Bui Yo Fan.
The little islands of Great Britain, for some reason, have given more initiates to the Adventurers than any other western country. The close small hills may seem too close and small for them, and send them searching for Everest’s top snows. Or perhaps it is the cold boiled mutton and the countless puddings that push Englishmen beyond their known horizons, to subsist or not on locusts and baked phoenix-eggs!
Fortunately, the common pattern of an English gentleman includes a certain amount of good education, so that many of the wanderers have been able to write of the strange things they have fed upon . . . and of the three I have chosen for this book, two are British: Richard Burton and T. E. Lawrence. The third, Marco Polo, happened to be born in Venice in 1254, but his veins were filled with the same feverish hunger.
When he was seventeen, and started on the long road to the capital of Kublai Khan, Emperor of the Tartars, Marco Polo was already a good merchant and a member of the company of Venetian noblemen, as well as a gay and thoughtful courtier. His uncle and father, with whom he traveled for three and a half years before he reached the fabulous court, were returning to tell the Khan that a new Pope, in answer to his request for a company of one hundred missionaries to convert China to Christianity, had seen fit to send but two disinterested and ill-taught priests.
It is true that the Emperor’s interest in the new religion was somewhat more political than holy, as inspired by his long talks with the two elder Polos about their own country and the effects there of Christianity, but, as Manuel Komroff says in the introduction to his edition of The Travels of Marco Polo, which I am using: “. . . regardless of the sinister motives of Kublai Khan, the Pope cannot be forgiven for having lost so welcome an opportunity; an opportunity for wisdom, if not for virtue. Had he sent a thousand men instead of a hundred, little impression would they have made in so vast a territory, but however little, that impression would have been important. A new religion might have resulted; for inasmuch as China has altered Buddhism, probably it would have distorted Christianity also.”
The theory is an exciting one, and seems more than possible when we see the picture of China as it was then, rising from the pages of Marco Polo’s long diary. It was a country far ahead of Europe, just then emerging from the Dark Ages, in almost every attribute of civilization, from the subtlety of its many arts and inventions to the natural courtesy of its people.
The charming Italian merchant soon became a favorite of Kublai Khan and special envoy to all parts of the Empire, and since he saw quickly that his ruler enjoyed his own detailed, amusing accounts of his missions, he kept from the beginning of his long stay there small books of comment. These were the skeleton of his final story, which he composed almost thirty years later in prison, a captive of the Genoese.
Marco’s character was so flamboyantly typical of The Great Adventurer that almost nobody believed a word of what he wrote, much less what he told in the halls of Venice for the rest of his life, and for several hundred years his Travels were laughed at as a collection of gargantuan whoppers. The miracles that so casually studded his matter-of-fact merchant’s recording of his adventures are commonplaces now, but in the thirteenth century it was incredible that the Chinese burned a black stone called coal, that there were coconuts as big as a man’s head . . . or even that Christians and Jews could live side by side in freedom and tolerance as they did then in Asia. . . .
The return of the three Polos to Venice, after twenty-six years in the mythical lands of the Orient, is in tune with their whole fantastic story. At first their families refused to recognize the filthy strangers, who had almost forgotten their own tongue, but finally they were admitted to be alive and genuine and, as Mr. Komroff writes:
From the Introduction to The Travels of Marco Polo, 15th Century
edited by Manuel Komroff, 1890–1974
A day or two later a grand feast was arranged to which all the old friends and relatives were asked. The three travellers were clothed in long robes of crimson satin, but these they removed before they sat down to the feast and they put on other robes of crimson damask, while the first were cut up and the cloth divided among the servants. Once during the course of the meal the travellers left the room and came back, this time in long robes of crimson velvet, and the damask garments were presented to some of the guests. When the dinner was finished the robes of velvet were removed and the travellers appeared dressed in the ordinary fashion of the day; and the velvet robes were likewise distributed to the guests in strict accordance with the Mongol custom.
This performance caused much wonder. But when the table had been cleared, and all the servants had been asked to retire from the hall, Marco Polo produced the coarse, shabby costumes which the three travellers had worn on their arrival. Then taking sharp knives they ripped the seams and pleats and let fall to the table quantities of rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, diamonds, emeralds, pearls, and other jewels of great value. Amazement bewildered and dumbfounded the guests; but if a shadow of doubt had remained in the minds of some regarding the identity of the travellers, it was now wholly dispersed. And all paid honour to the three gentlemen, agreeing that they could be no other than those of the merchant family.
Marco Polo’s own chronicle is a completely unimaginative and humorless one, but is full of clear-headed observations which make a wonderful picture of the Eastern world as it was then. He wrote of the animals and plants he saw, and especially of what people ate, whether they were peasants or the Great Khan himself, and it is difficult to choose one detail that is more interesting than another. Those that follow could have been a hundred others:
From The Travels of Marco Polo, 15th Century
edited by Manuel Komroff, 1890–1974
[The Tartars] subsist entirely upon flesh and milk, eating the produce of their sport, and a certain small animal, not unlike a rabbit, which during the summer season is found in great abundance in the plains. But they likewise eat flesh of every description, horses, camels, and even dogs, provided they are fat. They drink mares’ milk, which they prepare in such a manner that it has the qualities and flavour of white wine.
They make provision also of milk thickened and dried to the state of a paste, which is prepared in the following manner: They boil the milk, and skimming off the rich or creamy part as it rises to the top, put it into a separate vessel as butter; for so long as that remains in the milk, it will not become hard. The latter is then exposed to the sun until it dries. Upon going on service they carry with them about ten pounds for each man, and of this, half a pound is put, every morning, into a leathern bottle, with as much water as is thought necessary. By their motion in riding the contents are violently shaken, and a thin porridge is produced, upon which they make their dinner.
When his Majesty holds a grand and public court, those who attend it are seated in the following order: The table of the sovereign is placed on an elevation, and he takes his seat on the northern side, with his face turned towards the south; and next to him, on his left hand, sits the Empress. On his right hand are placed his sons, grandsons, and other persons connected with him by blood, upon seats somewhat lower, so that their heads are on a level with the Emperor’s feet. The other princes and the nobility have their places at still lower tables; and the same rules are observed with respect to the females, the wives of the sons, grandsons, and other relatives of the Great Khan being seated on the left hand, at tables in like manner gradually lower; then follow the wives of the nobility and military officers: so that all are seated according to their respective ranks and dignities, in the places assigned to them, and to which they are entitled.
The tables are arranged in such a manner that the Great Khan, sitting on his elevated throne, can overlook the whole. It is not, however, to be understood that all who assemble on such occasions can be accommodated at tables. The greater part of the officers, and even of the nobles, on the contrary, eat, sitting upon carpets, in the halls; and on the outside stand a great multitude of persons who come from different countries, and bring with them many rare curiosities.
In the middle of the hall, where the Great Khan sits at table, there is a magnificent piece of furniture, made in the form of a square coffer, each side of which is three paces in length, exquisitely carved in figures of animals, and gilt. It is hollow within, for the purpose of receiving a capacious vase, of pure gold, calculated to hold many gallons. On each of its four sides stands a smaller vessel, containing about a hogshead, one of which is filled with mare’s milk, another with that of the camel, and so of the others, according to the kinds of beverage in use. Within this buffet are also the cups or flagons belonging to his Majesty, for serving the liquors. Some of them are of beautiful gilt plate. Their size is such that, when filled with wine or other liquor, the quantity would be sufficient for eight or ten men.
Before every two persons who have seats at the tables, one of these flagons is placed, together with a kind of ladle, in the form of a cup with a handle, also of plate; to be used not only for taking the wine out of the flagon, but for lifting it to the head. This is observed as well with respect to the women as the men. The quantity and richness of the plate belonging to his Majesty is quite incredible.
Officers of rank are likewise appointed whose duty is to see that all strangers who happen to arrive at the time of the festival, and are unacquainted with the etiquette of the court, are suitably accommodated with places; and these stewards are continually visiting every part of the hall, inquiring of the guests if there is anything with which they are unprovided, or whether any of them wish for wine, milk, meat, or other articles, in which case it is immediately brought to them by the attendants.
At each door of the grand hall, or of whatever part the Great Khan happens to be in, stand two officers of a gigantic figure, one on each side, with staves in their hands, for the purpose of preventing persons from touching the threshold with their feet, and obliging them to step beyond it. If by chance any one is guilty of this offence, these janitors take from him his garment, which he must redeem for money; or, when they do not take the garment, they inflict on him such number of blows as they have authority for doing. But, as strangers may be unacquainted with the prohibition, officers are appointed to introduce and warn them. This precaution is used because touching the threshold is regarded as a bad omen. In departing from the hall, as some of the company may be affected by the liquor, it is impossible to guard against the accident, and the order is not then strictly enforced.
The numerous persons who attend at the sideboard of his Majesty, and who serve him with victuals and drink, are all obliged to cover their noses and mouths with handsome veils or cloths of worked silk, in order that his victuals or his wine may not be affected by their breath. When drink is called for by him, and the page in waiting has presented it, he retires three paces and kneels down, upon which the courtiers, and all who are present, in like manner make their prostration. At the same moment all the musical instruments, of which there is a numerous band, begin to play, and continue to do so until he has ceased drinking, when all the company recover their posture. This reverential salutation is made as often as his Majesty drinks. It is unnecessary to say anything of the victuals, because it may well be imagined that their abundance is excessive.
When the repast is finished, and the tables have been removed, persons of various descriptions enter the hall, and amongst these a troop of comedians and performers on different instruments. Also tumblers and jugglers, who exhibit their skill in the presence of the Great Khan, to the high amusement and gratification of all the spectators. When these sports are concluded, the people separate, and each returns to his own house.
One of those Englishmen who have most clearly gone out in the noonday sun was T. E. Lawrence, Lawrence of Arabia, probably the king of the peculiarly British race of Adventurers who have had to flee the cold-mutton limitations of their island for the hot, high-spiced intrigue of the Orient.
His book, Seven Pillars of Wisdom: A Triumph, is one of the most exciting prose poems in our language, for the oftentimes extraordinary phrases in it, magic ones: “this self-regardant picture,” and then for the picture itself, of a short-boned man, abstemious as a monk making his retreat from the dangers of the world and the flesh, and yet still able to write of the “quick and delicate meals,” the hot pools of yellow fat in others’ feastings.
He wrote the story of the Arab Revolt, which was largely a machination to help the Arabs rebel against the Turks and thus aid England to defeat both Turkey and Germany at the same time. The detailed history of the astounding little agent provocateur’s subtleties for his country among the rebelling people is mysterious to an average human being in the same way that a perfect spider web is mysterious, but its unwavering humanity keeps it comprehensible, as in the following cool descriptions of how a ruler and his subjects nourished themselves:
From The Seven Pillars of Wisdom by T.E. Lawrence, 1888–1935
The routine of our life in camp was simple. Just before daybreak the army Imam used to climb to the head of the little hill above the sleeping army, and thence utter an astounding call to prayer. His voice was harsh and very powerful, and the hollow, like a sounding-board, threw echoes at the hills which returned them with indignant interest. We were effectually roused, whether we prayed or cursed. As soon as he ended, Feisal’s Imam cried gently and musically from just outside the tent. In a minute, one of Feisal’s five slaves (all freed men, but refusing discharge till it was their pleasure: since it was good and not unprofitable to be my lord’s servant) came round to Sharraf and myself with sweetened coffee. Sugar for the first cup in the chill of dawn was considered fit.
An hour or so later, the flap of Feisal’s sleeping tent would be thrown back: his invitation to callers from the household. There would be four or five present; and after the morning’s news a tray of breakfast would be carried in. The staple of this was dates in Wadi Yenbo; sometimes Feisal’s Circassian grandmother would send him a box of her famous spiced cakes from Mecca; and sometimes Hejris, the body slave, would give us odd biscuits and cereals of his own trying. After breakfast we would play with bitter coffee and sweet tea in alternation, while Feisal’s correspondence was dealt with by dictation to his secretaries. One of these was Faiz el Ghusein the adventurous; another was the Imam, a sad-faced person made conspicuous in the army by the baggy umbrella hanging from his saddle-bow. Occasionally a man was given private audience at this hour, but seldom; as the sleeping tent was strictly for the Sherif’s own use. It was an ordinary bell tent, furnished with cigarettes, a camp-bed, a fairly good Kurd rug, a poor Shirazi, and the delightful old Baluch prayer-carpet on which he prayed.
At about eight o’clock in the morning, Feisal would buckle on his ceremonial dagger and walk across to the reception tent, which was floored with two horrible kilims. Feisal would sit down at the end of the tent facing the open side, and we with our backs against the wall, in a semicircle out from him. The slaves brought up the rear, and clustered round the open wall of the tent to control the besetting suppliants who lay on the sand in the tent-mouth, or beyond, waiting their turn. If possible, business was got through by noon, when the Emir liked to rise.
We of the household, and any guests, then reassembled in the living tent; and Hejris and Salem carried in the luncheon tray, on which were as many dishes as circumstances permitted. Feisal was an inordinate smoker, but a very light eater, and he used to make-believe with his fingers or a spoon among the beans, lentils, spinach, rice, and sweet cakes till he judged that we had had enough, when at a wave of his hand the tray would disappear, as other slaves walked forward to pour water for our fingers at the tent door. Fat men, like Mohammed Ibn Shefia, made a comic grievance of the Emir’s quick and delicate meals, and would have food of their own prepared for them when they came away. After lunch we would talk a little, while sucking up two cups of coffee, and savouring two glasses full of syrup-like green tea. Then till two in the afternoon the curtain of the living tent was down, signifying that Feisal was sleeping, or reading, or doing private business. Afterwards he would sit again in the reception tent till he had finished with all who wanted him. I never saw an Arab leave him dissatisfied or hurt—a tribute to his tact and to his memory; for he seemed never to halt for loss of a fact, nor to stumble over a relationship.
If there were time after second audience, he would walk with his friends, talking of horses or plants, looking at camels, or asking someone the names of the visible land features. The sunset prayer was at times public, though Feisal was not outwardly very pious. After it he saw people individually in the living tent, planning the night’s reconnaissances and patrols—for most of the field-work was done after dark. Between six and seven there was brought in the evening meal, to which all present in headquarters were called by the slaves. It resembled the lunch, except that cubes of boiled mutton were sorted through the great tray of rice, Medfa el Suhur, the mainstay of appetite. We observed silence till all had eaten.
This meal ended our day, save for the stealthy offering by a barefooted slave of a tray of tea-glasses at protracted intervals.
. . . The chiefs of the Fitenna waited on us, and said that they were honoured to feast us twice a day, forenoon and sunset, so long as we remained with them; and they meant what they said. Howeitat hospitality was unlimited—no three-day niggardliness for them of the nominal desert law—and importunate, and left us no honourable escape from the entirety of the nomad’s dream of well-being.
Each morning, between eight and ten, a little group of blood mares under an assortment of imperfect saddlery would come to our camping place, and on them Nasir, Nesib, Zeki, and I would mount, and with perhaps a dozen of our men on foot would move solemnly across the valley by the sandy paths between the bushes. Our horses were led by our servants, since it would be immodest to ride free or fast. So eventually we would reach the tent which was to be our feast-hall for that time; each family claiming us in turn, and bitterly offended if Zaal, the adjudicator, preferred one out of just order.
As we arrived, the dogs would rush out at us, and be driven off by onlookers—always a crowd had collected round the chosen tent—and we stepped in under the ropes to its guest half, made very large for the occasion and carefully dressed with its wall-curtain on the sunny side to give us the shade. The bashful host would murmur and vanish again out of sight. The tribal rugs, lurid red things from Beyrout, were ready for us, arranged down the partition curtain, along the back wall and across the dropped end, so that we sat down on three sides of an open dusty space. We might be fifty men in all.
The host would reappear, standing by the pole; our local fellow-guests, el Dheilan, Zaal, and other sheikhs, reluctantly let themselves be placed on the rugs between us, sharing our elbow-room on the pack-saddles, padded with folded felt rugs, over which we leaned. The front of the tent was cleared, and the dogs were frequently chased away by excited children, who ran across the empty space pulling yet smaller children after them. Their clothes were less as their years were less, and their pot-bodies rounder. The smallest infants of all, out of their fly-black eyes, would stare at the company, gravely balanced on spread legs, stark-naked, sucking their thumbs and pushing out expectant bellies toward us.
Then would follow an awkward pause, which our friends would try to cover by showing us on its perch the household hawk (when possible a sea-bird taken young on the Red Sea coast) or their watch-cockerel, or their greyhound. Once a tame ibex was dragged in for our admiration: another time an oryx. When these interests were exhausted they would try and find a small talk to distract us from the household noises, and from noticing the urgent whispered cookery-directions wafted through the dividing curtain with a powerful smell of boiled fat and drifts of tasty meat-smoke.
After a silence the host or a deputy would come forward and whisper, “Black or white?”—an invitation for us to choose coffee or tea. Nasir would always answer “Black,” and the slave would be beckoned forward with the beaked coffee-pot in one hand, and three or four clinking cups of white ware in the other. He would dash a few drops of coffee into the uppermost cup, and proffer it to Nasir; then pour the second for me, and the third for Nesib; and pause while we turned the cups about in our hands, and sucked them carefully, to get appreciatively from them the last richest drop.
As soon as they were empty his hand was stretched to clap them noisily one above the other, and toss them out with a lesser flourish for the next guest in order, and so on round the assembly till all had drunk. Then back to Nasir again. This second cup would be tastier than the first, partly because the pot was yielding deeper from the brew, partly because of the heel-taps of so many previous drinkers present in the cups; whilst the third and fourth rounds, if the serving of the meat delayed so long, would be of surprising flavour.
However, at last, two men came staggering through the thrilled crowd, carrying the rice and meat on a tinned copper tray or shallow bath, five feet across, set like a great brazier on a foot. In the tribe there was only this one food-bowl of the size, and an incised inscription ran round it in florid Arabic characters: “To the glory of God, and in trust of mercy at the last, the property of His poor suppliant, Auda abu Tayi.” It was borrowed by the host who was to entertain us for the time; and, since my urgent brain and body made me wakeful, from my blankets in the first light I would see the dish going across country, and by marking down its goal would know where we were to feed that day.
The bowl was now brim-full, ringed round its edge by white rice in an embankment a foot wide and six inches deep, filled with legs and ribs of mutton till they toppled over. It needed two or three victims to make in the centre a dressed pyramid of meat such as honour prescribed. The centre-pieces were the boiled, upturned heads, propped on their severed stumps of neck, so that the ears, brown like old leaves, flapped out on the rice surface. The jaws gaped emptily upward, pulled open to show the hollow throat with the tongue, still pink, clinging to the lower teeth; and the long incisors whitely crowned the pile, very prominent above the nostrils’ pricking hair and the lips which sneered away blackly from them.
This load was set down on the soil of the cleared space between us, where it steamed hotly, while a procession of minor helpers bore small cauldrons and copper vats in which the cooking had been done. From them, with much-bruised bowls of enamelled iron, they ladled out over the main dish all the inside and outside of the sheep; little bits of yellow intestine, the white tail-cushion of fat, brown muscles and meat and bristly skin, all swimming in the liquid butter and grease of the seething. The bystanders watched anxiously, muttering satisfactions when a very juicy scrap plopped out.
The fat was scalding. Every now and then a man would drop his baler with an exclamation, and plunge his burnt fingers, not reluctantly, in his mouth to cool them: but they persevered till at last their scooping rang loudly on the bottoms of the pots; and, with a gesture of triumph, they fished out the intact livers from their hiding place in the gravy and topped the yawning jaws with them.
Two raised each smaller cauldron and tilted it, letting the liquid splash down upon the meat till the rice-crater was full, and the loose grains at the edge swam in the abundance; and yet they poured, till, amid cries of astonishment from us, it was running over, and a little pool congealing in the dust. That was the final touch of splendour, and the host called us to come and eat.
We feigned a deafness, as manners demanded: at last we heard him, and looked surprised at one another, each urging his fellow to move first; till Nasir rose coyly, and after him we all came forward to sink on one knee round the tray, wedging in and cuddling up till the twenty-two for whom there was barely space were grouped around the food. We turned back our sleeves to the elbow, and, taking lead from Nasir with a low “In the name of God the merciful, the loving-kind,” we dipped together.
The first dip, for me, at least, was always cautious, since the liquid fat was so hot that my unaccustomed fingers could seldom bear it; and so I would toy with an exposed and cooling lump of meat till others’ excavations had drained my rice-segment. We would knead between the fingers (not soiling the palm), neat balls of rice and fat and liver and meat cemented by gentle pressure, and project them by leverage of the thumb from the crooked forefinger into the mouth. With the right trick and the right construction the little lump held together and came clean off the hand; but when surplus butter and odd fragments clung, cooling, to the fingers, they had to be licked carefully to make the next effort slip easier away.
As the meat pile wore down (nobody really cared about rice: flesh was the luxury) one of the chief Howeitat eating with us would draw his dagger, silver hilted, set with turquoise, a signed masterpiece of Mohammed Ibn Zari, of Jauf, and would cut crisscross from the larger bones long diamonds of meat easily torn up between the fingers; for it was necessarily boiled very tender, since all had to be disposed of with the right hand, which alone was honourable.
Our host stood by the circle, encouraging the appetite with pious ejaculations. At top speed we twisted, tore, cut, and stuffed: never speaking, since conversation would insult a meal’s quality; though it was proper to smile thanks when an intimate guest passed a select fragment, or when Mohammed el Dheilan gravely handed over a huge barren bone with a blessing. On such occasions I would return the compliment with some hideous impossible lump of guts, a flippancy which rejoiced the Howeitat, but which the gracious, aristocratic Nasir saw with disapproval.
At length some of us were nearly filled, and began to play and pick; glancing sideways at the rest till they too grew slow, and at last ceased eating, elbow on knee, the hand hanging down from the wrist over the tray edge to drip, while the fat, butter, and scattered grains of rice cooled into a stiff white grease which gummed the fingers together. When all had stopped, Nasir meaningly cleared his throat, and we rose up together in haste with an explosive “God requite it you, O host,” to group ourselves outside among the tent-ropes while the next twenty guests inherited our leaving.
Those of us who were nice would go to the end of the tent where the flap of the roof-cloth, beyond the last poles, drooped down as an end curtain; and on this clan handkerchief (whose coarse goat-hair mesh was pliant and glossy with much use) would scrape the thickest of the fat from the hands. Then we would make back to our seats, and re-take them sighingly; while the slaves, leaving aside their portion, the skulls of the sheep, would come round our rank with a wooden bowl of water, and a coffee-cup as dipper, to splash over our fingers, while we rubbed them with the tribal soap-cake.
Meantime the second and third sittings by the dish were having their turn, and then there would be one more cup of coffee, or a glass of syruplike tea; and at last the horses would be brought and we would slip out to them, and mount, with a quiet blessing to the hosts as we passed by. When our backs were turned the children would run in disorder upon the ravaged dish, tear our gnawed bones from one another, and escape into the open with valuable fragments to be devoured in security behind some distant bush; while the watch-dogs of all the camp prowled round snapping, and the master of the tent fed the choicest offal to his greyhound.
Just as there is little difference between the Chinese cuisine of today and four thousand years ago (except perhaps in some such a minor matter as canned pineapple!), so the Arabs and the other tribes who for uncounted centuries have roamed the lands south and east of the Mediterranean celebrate their feast-days and fastings much as they always have. It does not matter whether photographers cover a meeting of princely oil magnates in Saudi Arabia for the next issue of Life magazine: the intricately simple manners of the diners will be the same as they were yesterday in 1986 B.C.
And in the village streets the same stinking dust still rises, and the same music still tinkles and clashes, as when Ma’aruf the Cobbler hated his wife in Cairo and a handsome young porter was seduced in Baghdad, perhaps eighteen hundred years ago, and were told about by Shahrazad in the thousand and one stories she unfolded to the Sultan to save her life.
Of course never were men so bold and potent as when she spoke of them, nor women so dazzling and generous; never did gold gleam so richly, nor wine flow in such deep rivers, nor feasts spread so many fabulous courses before such hungry superhuman beings. Flying carpets, and thrones cut from a single ruby, and six lovely virgins carved each from a diamond and standing on a golden pedestal: they all seem as real when Shahrazad speaks of them as does the man whose life was ruined because he broke wind on his marriage night, or the nagging Fatimah, “a whorish, worthless wretch” who wanted only bees’ honey on her vermicelli cake. They are all part of the long dream, the completely impossible but comprehensible fairy tale, The Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, where each of us who reads can lead his best secret life of adventure and love and satisfaction.
One of the reasons why this “book of a thousand nights and a night” can still transport us is that the Englishman whose version we read now was not only a great Orientalist but also one of that fabulous breed, a Great Adventurer. The same hunger that held Marco Polo in the court of Kublai Khan, and turned Lawrence into an Arab, drove Richard Burton all his life to explore and ask and struggle.
He went to Mecca, a pilgrim; he cut new paths in to the lakes of Central Africa, and risked his life in Somaliland, and wandered in South American jungles. Always he was working on his own “full, complete, uncastrated” translation of the Thousand Nights and a Night, and tingeing it with the exaggerated richness of his whole character.
It is hard to choose a banquet from all its feasts, just as it would be hard to pick one jewel from among the ropes and baskets and piles of precious stones lying loose in every corner of the book. So here is a little crumb from the hilarious story of Ma’aruf the Cobbler, to show at least the beginning of his revenge against Fatimah over the vermicelli cake; here is the beginning of the incredible adventure of the Porter and the Three Ladies of Baghdad, to show that no matter how they may have exhausted him later, they took care to nourish him first in all his senses; finally, here is the whole sad story of what happened when Abu Hasan, a sensitive if greedy man, ate too much at his wedding:
From The Thousand Nights and a Night, circa 13th Century
translated by Richard Burton, 1821–1890
There dwelt once upon a time in the God-guarded city of Cairo a cobbler who lived by patching old shoes. His name was Ma’aruf and he had a wife called Fatimah, whom the folk had nicknamed “The Dung”; for that she was a whorish, worthless wretch, scanty of shame and mickle of mischief. She ruled her spouse and used to abuse him and curse him a thousand times a day; and he feared her malice and dreaded her misdoings; for that he was a sensible man and careful of his repute, but poor-conditioned. When he earned much, he spent it on her, and when he gained little, she revenged herself on his body that night, leaving him no peace and making his night black as her book; for she was even as of one like her saith the poet:
How manifold nights have I passed with my wife
In the saddest plight with all misery rife:
Would Heaven when first I went in to her
With a cup of cold poison I’d ta’en her life.
Amongst other afflictions which befell him from her one day she said to him, “O Ma’aruf, I wish thee to bring me this night a vermicelli-cake dressed with bees’ honey.” He replied, “So Allah Almighty aid me to its price, I will bring it thee. By Allah, I have no dirhams to-day, but our Lord will make things easy.” She rejoined, “I wot naught of these words; whether He aid thee or aid thee not, look thou come not to me save with the vermicelli and bees’ honey; and if thou come without it I will make thy night black as thy fortune whenas thou marriedst me and fellest into my hand.” Quoth he, “Allah is bountiful!” and going out with grief scattering itself from his body, prayed the dawn-prayer and opened his shop, saying, “I beseech thee, O Lord, to vouchsafe me the price of the Kunafah and ward off from me the mischief of yonder wicked woman this night!” After which he sat in the shop till noon, but no work came to him and his fear of his wife redoubled. Then he arose and, locking his shop, went out perplexed as to how he should do in the matter of the vermicelli-cake, seeing he had not even the wherewithal to buy bread. Presently he came up to the shop of the Kunafah-seller and stood before it distraught, whilst his eyes brimmed with tears. The pastry-cook glanced at him and said, “O Master Ma’aruf, why dost thou weep? Tell me what hath befallen thee.” So he acquainted him with his case, saying, “My wife is a shrew, a virago who would have me bring her a Kunafah; but I have sat in my shop till past mid-day and have not gained even the price of bread; wherefore I am in fear of her.” The cook laughed and said, “No harm shall come to thee. How many pounds wilt thou have?” “Five pounds,” answered Ma’aruf. So the man weighed him out five pounds of vermicelli-cake and said to him, “I have clarified butter, but no bees’ honey. Here is drip-honey, however, which is better than bees’ honey; and what harm will there be, if it be with drip-honey?” Ma’aruf was ashamed to object, because the pastrycook was to have patience with him for the price, and said, “Give it me with drip-honey.” So he fried a vermicelli-cake for him with butter and drenched it with drip-honey, till it was fit to present to Kings. Then he asked him, “Dost thou want bread and cheese?”; and Ma’aruf answered, “Yes.” So he gave him four half dirhams worth of bread and one of cheese, and the vermicelli was ten nusfs. Then said he, “Know, O Ma’aruf, that thou owest me fifteen nusfs; so go to thy wife and make merry and take this nusf for the Hammam; and thou shalt have credit for a day or two or three till Allah provide thee with thy daily bread. And straiten not thy wife, for I will have patience with thee till such time as thou shalt have dirhams to spare.” So Ma’aruf took the vermicelli-cake and bread and cheese and went away, with a heart at ease, blessing the pastry-cook and saying, “Extolled be Thy perfection, O my Lord! How bountiful art Thou!” When he came home, his wife enquired of him, “Hast thou brought the vermicelli-cake?”; and, replying “Yes,” he set it before her. She looked at it and seeing it was dressed with cane-honey, said to him, “Did I not bid thee bring it with bees’ honey? Wilt thou contrary my wish and have it dressed with cane-honey?” He excused himself to her, saying, “I bought it not save on credit”; but said she, “This talk is idle; I will not eat Kunafah save with bees’ honey.” And she was wroth with it and threw it in his face, saying, “Begone, thou pimp, and bring me other than this!” Then she dealt him a buffet on the cheek and knocked out one of his teeth. The blood ran down upon his breast and for stress of anger he smote her on the head a single blow and a slight; whereupon she clutched his beard and fell to shouting out and saying, “Help, O Moslems!” So the neighbours came in and freed his beard from her grip; then they reproved and reproached her, saying, “We are all content to eat Kunafah with cane-honey. Why, then, wilt thou oppress this poor man thus? Verily, this is disgraceful in thee!” And they went on to soothe her till they made peace between her and him. But, when the folk were gone, she sware that she would not eat of the vermicelli, and Ma’aruf, burning with hunger, said in himself, “She sweareth that she will not eat; so I will e’en eat.” Then he ate, and when she saw him eating, she said, “Inshallah, may the eating of it be poison to destroy the far one’s body.” Quoth he, “It shall not be at thy bidding,” and went on eating, laughing, and saying, “Thou swarest that thou wouldst not eat of this; but Allah is bountiful, and tomorrow night, and the Lord decree, I will bring thee Kunafah dressed with bees’ honey, and thou shalt eat it alone.” And he applied himself to appeasing her, whilst she called down curses upon him; and she ceased not to rail at him and revile him with gross abuse till the morning, when she bared her forearm to beat him. Quoth he, “Give me time and I will bring thee other vermicelli-cake.” Then he went out to the mosque and prayed. . . .
Once upon a time there was a Porter in Baghdad, who was a bachelor and who would remain unmarried. It came to pass on a certain day, as he stood about the street leaning idly upon his crate, behold, there stood before him an honourable woman in a mantilla of Mosul silk, broidered with gold and bordered with brocade; her walking-shoes were also purfled with gold and her hair floated in long plaits. She raised her face-veil and, showing two black eyes fringed with jetty lashes, whose glances were soft and languishing and whose perfect beauty was ever blandishing, she accosted the Porter and said in the suavest tones and choicest language, “Take up thy crate and follow me.” The Porter was so dazzled he could hardly believe that he heard her aright, but he shouldered his basket in hot haste saying in himself, “O day of good luck! O day of Allah’s grace!” and walked after her till she stopped at the door of a house. There she rapped, and presently came out to her an old man, a Nazarene, to whom she gave a gold piece, receiving from him in return what she required of strained wine clear as olive oil; and she set it safely in the hamper, saying, “Lift and follow.” Quoth the Porter, “This, by Allah, is indeed an auspicious day, a day propitious for the granting of all a man wisheth.” He again hoisted up the crate and followed her; till she stopped at a fruiterer’s shop and bought from him Shami apples and Osmani quinces and Omani peaches, and cucumbers of Nile growth, and Egyptian limes and Sultani oranges and citrons; besides Aleppine jasmine, scented myrtle berries, Damascene nenuphars, flower of privet and camomile, blood-red anemones, violets, and pomegranate-bloom, eglantine and narcissus, and set the whole in the Porter’s crate, saying, “Up with it.” So he lifted and followed her till she stopped at a butcher’s booth and said, “Cut me off ten pounds of mutton.” She paid him his price and he wrapped it in a banana-leaf, whereupon she laid it in the crate and said “Hoist, O Porter.” He hoisted accordingly, and followed her as she walked on till she stopped at a grocer’s, where she bought dry fruits and pistachio-kernels, Tihamah raisins, shelled almonds, and all wanted for dessert, and said to the Porter, “Lift and follow me.” So he up with his hamper and after her till she stayed at the confectioner’s, and she bought an earthen platter, and piled it with all kinds of sweetmeats in his shop, open-worked tarts and fritters scented with musk and “soap-cakes,” and lemon-loaves and melon-preserves, and “Zaynab’s combs,” and “ladies’ fingers,” and “Kazi’s tit-bits,” and goodies of every description; and placed the platter in the Porter’s crate. Thereupon quoth he (being a merry man), “Thou shouldest have told me, and I would have brought with me a pony or a she-camel to carry all this market-stuff.” She smiled and gave him a little cuff on the nape saying, “Step out and exceed not in words, for (Allah willing!) thy wage will not be wanting.” Then she stopped at a perfumer’s and took from him ten sorts of waters, rose scented with musk, orange-flower, water-lily, willow-flower, violet, and five others; and she also bought two loaves of sugar, a bottle for perfume-spraying, a lump of male incense, aloe-wood, ambergris, and musk, with candles of Alexandria wax; and she put the whole into the basket, saying, “Up with thy crate and after me.” He did so and followed until she stood before the greengrocer’s, of whom she bought pickled safflower and olives, in brine and in oil; with tarragon and cream-cheese and hard Syrian cheese; and she stowed them away in the crate saying to the Porter, “Take up thy basket and follow me.” He did so and went after her till she came to a fair mansion fronted by a spacious court, a tall, fine place to which columns gave strength and grace: and the gate thereof had two leaves of ebony inlaid with plates of red gold. The lady stopped at the door and, turning her face-veil sideways, knocked softly with her knuckles whilst the Porter stood behind her, thinking of naught save her beauty and loveliness. Presently the door swung back and both leaves were opened, whereupon he looked to see who had opened it; and behold, it was a lady of tall figure, some five feet high; a model of beauty and loveliness, brilliance and symmetry and perfect grace. Her forehead was flower-white; her cheeks like the anemone ruddy bright; her eyes were those of the wild heifer or the gazelle, with eyebrows like the crescent-moon which ends Sha’aban and begins Ramazan; her mouth was the ring of Sulayman, her lips coral-red, and her teeth like a line of strung pearls or of camomile petals. Her throat recalled the antelope’s, and her breasts, like two pomegranates of even size, stood at bay as it were; her body rose and fell in waves below her dress like the rolls of a piece of brocade, and her navel would hold an ounce of benzoin ointment. In fine she was like her of whom the poet said:
On Sun and Moon of palace cast thy sight
Enjoy her flower-like face, her fragrant light;
Thine eyes shall never see in hair so black
Beauty encase a brow so purely white:
The ruddy rosy cheek proclaims her claim
Though fail her name whose beauties we indite;
As sways her gait I smile at hips so big
And weep to see the waist they bear so slight.
When the Porter looked upon her his wits were waylaid, and his senses were stormed so that his crate went nigh to fall from his head, and he said to himself, “Never have I in my life seen a day more blessed than this day!” Then quoth the lady-portress to the lady-cateress, “Come in from the gate and relieve this poor man of his load.” So the provisioner went in followed by the portress and the Porter and went on till they reached a spacious ground-floor hall, built with admirable skill and beautified with all manner colours and carvings; with upper balconies and groined arches and galleries and cupboards and recesses whose curtains hung before them. In the midst stood a great basin full of water surrounding a fine fountain, and at the upper end on the raised dais was a couch of juniper-wood set with gems and pearls, with a canopy like mosquito-curtains of red satin- silk looped up with pearls as big as filberts and bigger. Thereupon sat a lady bright of blee, with brow beaming brilliancy, the dream of philosophy, whose eyes were fraught with Babel’s gramarye and her eyebrows were arched as for archery; her breath breathed ambergris and perfumery and her lips were sugar to taste and carnelian to see. Her stature was straight as the letter I and her face shamed the noon-sun’s radiancy; and she was even as a galaxy, or a dome with golden marquetry, or a bride displayed in choicest finery, or a noble maid of Araby. The third lady rising from the couch stepped forward with graceful swaying gait till she reached the middle of the saloon, when she said to her sisters, “Why stand ye here? take it down from this poor man’s head!” Then the cateress went and stood before him, and the portress behind him, while the third helped them, and they lifted the load from the Porter’s head; and, emptying it of all that was therein, set everything in its place. Lastly they gave him two gold pieces, saying, “Wend thy ways, O Porter.” But he went not, for he stood looking at the ladies and admiring what uncommon beauty was theirs, and their pleasant manners and kindly dispositions (never had he seen goodlier); and he gazed wistfully at that good store of wines and sweet-scented flowers and fruits and other matters.
They recount that in the City Kaukaban of Al-Yaman there was a man of the Fazli tribe who had left Badawi life and become a townsman for many years, and was a merchant of the most opulent merchants. His wife had deceased when both were young; and his friends were instant with him to marry again, ever quoting to him the words of the poet:
Go, gossip! re-wed thee, for Prime draweth near:
A wife is an almanac—good for the year.
So, being weary of contention, Abu Hasan entered into negotiations with the old women who procure matches, and married a maid like Canopus when he hangeth over the seas of Al-Hind. He made high festival therefor, bidding to the wedding-banquet kith and kin, Olema and Fakirs; friends and foes and all his acquaintances of that country-side. The whole house was thrown open to feasting: there were rices of five several colours, and sherbets of as many more; and kids stuffed with walnuts and almonds and pistachios and a camel-colt roasted whole. So they ate and drank and made mirth and merriment; and the bride was displayed in her seven dresses and one more, to the women, who could not take their eyes off her. At last, the bridegroom was summoned to the chamber where she sat enthroned; and he rose slowly and with dignity from his divan; but in so doing, for that he was over full of meat and drink, lo and behold! he let fly a fart, great and terrible. Thereupon each guest turned to his neighbour and talked aloud and made as though he had heard nothing, fearing for his life. But a consuming fire was lit in Abu Hasan’s heart; so he pretended a call of nature; and, in lieu of seeking the bride-chamber, he went down to the house-court and saddled his mare and rode off, weeping bitterly, through the shadow of the night. In time he reached Lahej, where he found a ship ready to sail for India; so he shipped on board and made Calicut of Malabar. Here he met with many Arabs, especially Hazramis, who recommended him to the King; and this King (who was a Kafir) trusted him and advanced him to the captainship of his body-guard. He remained ten years in all solace and delight of life; at the end of which time he was seized with home-sickness; and the longing to behold his native land was that of a lover pining for his beloved; and he came near to die of yearning desire. But his appointed day had not dawned; so, after taking the first bath of health, he left the King without leave, and in due course landed at Makalla of Hazramut. Here he donned the rags of a religious; and, keeping his name and case secret, fared for Kaukaban a-foot; enduring a thousand hardships of hunger, thirst, and fatigue; and braving a thousand dangers from the lion, the snake, and the Ghul. But when he drew near his old home, he looked down upon it from the hills with brimming eyes, and said in himself, “Haply they might know thee, so I will wander about the outskirts, and hearken to the folk. Allah grant that my case be not remembered by them!” He listened carefully for seven nights and seven days, till it so chanced that, as he was sitting at the door of a hut, he heard the voice of a young girl saying, “O my mother, tell me the day when I was born; for such an one of my companions is about to take an omen for me.” And the mother answered, “Thou wast born, O my daughter, on the very night when Abu Hasan farted.” Now the listener no sooner heard these words than he rose up from the bench, and fled away saying to himself, “Verily thy fart hath become a date, which shall last for ever and ever; even as the poet said:
As long as palms shall shift the flower;
As long as palms shall sift the flour.”
And he ceased not travelling and voyaging and returned to India; and there abode in self-exile till he died; and the mercy of Allah be upon him!