posted 16 August 2004 01:13 PM            

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Originally posted by supercar:

The Egyptians who post are Egyptians, even if you fail to recognize that reality. You claim you are half African and half Czech Republic. I guess I should also dismiss you into irrelevance, and say that you are neither, since you are obviously a poster on the internet!

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Again, you are corrupting my words, I didn´t say that these people are not Egyptians,however, it´s foolish to think that "many" Egyptians don´t consider themselves Arabs only because a few people in an internet discussion did it.The best way is to know any Egyptians personally and to speak with them. But from my experience I can say that usually they don´t care much about it!

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I don’t need to define North African cultures to know that they have indigenous cultures, history proves this. Besides, North African cultures are diverse, one definition won’t cut! You earlier stated that North African indigenous cultures were replaced, now you are saying that you never said such a thing. Just for the sake of amusement, I will quote you on what supports this hypocrisy of yours:

Ayazid said: “The "indigenous Kemetian culture" is not being practiced or preserved.”

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It´s evident that your reluctance to define "indigenous" North African cultures is a result of your total ignorance.You are constantly stating that North African cultures are "indigenous",but you didn´t submit any evidence what is "indigenous" in them.

I said that the "indigenous Kemetian culture" is not being practiced or preserved, because it isn´t! The contemoprary Egyptian Arab culture is so different from Ancient one("Kemetian"),so the question is what do they have in common? Some survivals of Ancient Egyptian traditions don´t mean that the culture of contemporary Egyptians is simply "Kemetian".

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So now you acknowledge North Africans have indigenous cultures? If that is the case, then we may be making some progress after all! But you say Arab culture is dominant, and yet you still don’t know what it is, besides the fact that the language is Arabic. You also recognize Coptic Egyptians and Fellahs won’t call themselves Arabs, yet you still justify calling them Arabs. Something isn’t correct about you? Ah, it’s your mind!
You are once again, mixing oranges with apples when you compare the “barbaric” Celts, with a “cradle of civilization”, which happens to be Kemetian culture. If this comparison don’t make you second guess the way your mind works, then clearly your problem is much more serious than you think!

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It seems that you are unable to read my posts carefully.I said: "Actually, the indigenous culture has assimilated with Arab-islamic one and contemporary Egyptian culture is basically a mix of both cultures,however an Arab elements are dominant." so it´s foolish to say that contemporary Egyptian culture is simply "indigenous" or "foreign".The Arab elements are Egyptian colloquial Arabic,Classical Arabic which is used in administration,media and literature,Arab-islamic are traditional fine arts,architecture and "West Asian" is also religion - mostly Islam. I am not "mixing oranges with apples",when I compare the “barbaric” Celts, with a “cradle of civilization”.The fact that Coptic and Byzantine inhabitants of Egypt were more advanced than Arabs doesn´t mean that their culture haven´t been almost completly assimilated with new Arab-islamic one.Not to mention that the Coptic culture in 7th was clearly different from Classical "pharaonic" one.

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Well if your Egyptian aren’t informed of their heritage, you take it to mean that every Egyptian is suffering from the same mental weakness! Please leave “polling” to people who know how to best do the job!

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Your logic is ridiculous. Do you think that an average Egyptian fellah or worker does anything know about Ancient Egyptians, except the fact that they were his ancestors,builded pyramids,tombs,temples and that they had such things as sarcophags and hieroglyphes? He probably knows also some famous names as Ramsees,Tutankhamon or Kleopatra.That´s probably all. It´s obvious,because an average Egyptian haven´t studied Egyptology! Do you think that he has time and enthusiasm to learn anything about Ancient Egyptian history,culture and religion? It´s very remote period + non-islamic and non-christian.I am sure that an average Egyptian Christian and Muslim is much more interested in history and doctrine of his own religion and not in "pagan" religion and culture of his ancestors. For anybody from Europe or USA it must be strange,but that´s a fact! It doesn´t mean that these people(probably most Egyptians) are "suffering from a mental weakness", their mentality is only different from Euro-american one.

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Boy, if I am slow-witted, than that simply means that you have NO witt! If your “exhaustive” work, which is actually a simple “copy & paste” material, describes the Arab culture that is supposedly the dominant culture of the Egyptians, then you aren’t simply delusional, but you are suffering from a mental breakdown. You are good at copying and pasting other people’s work as a representation of your own. This is called plagiarism. That is what you did with my question here. Yet another sign of a weak mind. The onus is really on you to prove that the Upper Egyptians, Berbers, Copts, etc, don’t have indigenous cultures!

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It´s not important if the material is "copy & paste" or not. Important is that I presented an evidence of my statements.However,you haven´t presented any evidence of your statement that contemporary North African cultures are simply "indigenous",so your attitude is extremely hypocrite and foolish.Please,present any proofs that North African nations haven´t been mostly arabized and what is still "indigenous"(concerning literature,fine arts,architecture,philosophy,traditions,religion,way of life etc.)

posted 16 August 2004 01:34 PM            

The Arabian Caliphtes were actually kicked out of Egypt by a Turkish commander named Ibn Tulun who declared Egypt's independence. Shortly after you had another Turkish dyansty called the Ikhansid which could never controlled Upper Egypt.

What made these regines opressive for the common Egyptian[the Fellahin] was the fact these people made a land tax where peasents had to pay. Sometimes these peasents could not pay so they revolted,and usually the revolters were sold into slavery in to the farthest Caliphate in Iraq. This is well documented in Arab sources about the revolts. The rulership was very opressive on the commoners.

Also what happened was Arab soliders were dumped into Middle and Upper Egypt to guard the Fellahin to make sure they could crush revolts. None of these bedouin groups were allowed to own or contoll land so most never settled down for a sedenatary life,but chose to raid the Fellahin in Upper Egypt. Untill eventually the Arabs were replaced by the Abbasaid with slave soliders of Turks.

The rulership of Egypt changed from Arabian Caliphates to Turkish Dyansties to slave armies of the Mamelukes,and back to Ottoman Turks. Very few Egyptians filled the elite positions in these administrations except for some urban Copts. The rural Egyptians suffered the most during these periods with people often stealing their land or raids from fleeing bedouins from the north.

Most Sudanese Arabs have their origins in the bedouins taken to Egypt by the Caliphtes and tend let loose during the Mameluke era.

The bedouins in ancient Egypt did come in close contact with the Egyptians but literature written in the 12th dyansty makes it clear these people were not related. You might have read a text called the Tales of Sinuhe where Sinhue flees Egypt to befriend a Bedouin family somewhere in modern Palestine. Despite his friendship,Sinuhe refuses to be burried in Palestine nor burried in sheep skin which was their traditional burial. Kemetians called them sand dwellers and during the 6th dyansty were pretty hostile with them.

Libyans reffered to assorted nomadic Imazigh [Berber] tribes like the Tamahou. The Tehennu were indigenous Saharan people that some scholars affilate actually with Fulani pastorials. Rameses II built fortresses around the Delta to keep them out. By this time,however,lots of the Delta were already full of Libyan nomads that settled down and intermarried with Egyptians.

posted 16 August 2004 02:59 PM            

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Ayazid posted:
Again, you are corrupting my words, I didn´t say that these people are not Egyptians,however, it´s foolish to think that "many" Egyptians don´t consider themselves Arabs only because a few people in an internet discussion did it.The best way is to know any Egyptians personally and to speak with them. But from my experience I can say that usually they don´t care much about it!

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I only wish I could successfully corrupt your words to make them make sense. I don’t deny some Egyptians may not mind being called Arab at first instance, simply because they are aware that Arabic is their official language, and the geo-political ties to other Arabic-speaking nations. But if you go into the racial details, you would find more varied answers concerning their identity. Most Upper Egyptians are likely to reject the notion of being Arab, while some Egyptians in the urban cities of Lower Egypt, due to stronger admixture of European and West Asian foreigners, might not ardently reject being called Arab. I too have friends, who consider themselves just Egyptians, and then Africans. Period. I am not going to use their stance as that of the entire Egyptian population, but I will recognize not to insist calling them Arabs!

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Ayazid posted:
It´s evident that your reluctance to define "indigenous" North African cultures is a result of your total ignorance.You are constantly stating that North African cultures are "indigenous",but you didn´t submit any evidence what is "indigenous" in them.

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My “total ignorance” is the answer to your total slow wittedness. One ought to know that if North Africans had indigenous cultures before the advent of foreigners, then certainly they are going to keep their cultural values, and “some” traditions, no matter what foreign influences that come to bear on their cultures. How can you measure Arab culture as the dominant culture of North Africans, without knowing what Arab culture is, what foreign cultures in turn influenced the Arab culture, not to mention not taking into account other foreign influences, such as those of other Africans and Europeans?

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Ayazid posted:
I said that the "indigenous Kemetian culture" is not being practiced or preserved, because it isn´t! The contemoprary Egyptian Arab culture is so different from Ancient one("Kemetian"),so the question is what do they have in common? Some survivals of Ancient Egyptian traditions don´t mean that the culture of contemporary Egyptians is simply "Kemetian".

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Whatever elements have been carried on from Kemetian culture, whether modified or not, is still Kemetian. I don’t know what part of that is difficult to understand.
Of course contemporary Egyptian culture is different from the Ancient one, due to both modernization and globalization. Various foreign cultures, including European, African and West Asian, have influenced Egyptian culture throughout the ages, but they still have their core indigenous cultural values and traditions, that continue to make Egyptian culture still distinct. Not withstanding that fact, you still call Egyptian culture “Arab” .

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Ayazid writes:
It seems that you are unable to read my posts carefully.I said: "Actually, the indigenous culture has assimilated with Arab-islamic one and contemporary Egyptian culture is basically a mix of both cultures,however an Arab elements are dominant." so it´s foolish to say that contemporary Egyptian culture is simply "indigenous" or "foreign".The Arab elements are Egyptian colloquial Arabic,Classical Arabic which is used in administration,media and literature,Arab-islamic are traditional fine arts,architecture and "West Asian" is also religion - mostly Islam. I am not "mixing oranges with apples",when I compare the “barbaric” Celts, with a “cradle of civilization”.The fact that Coptic and Byzantine inhabitants of Egypt were more advanced than Arabs doesn´t mean that their culture haven´t been almost completly assimilated with new Arab-islamic one.Not to mention that the Coptic culture in 7th was clearly different from Classical "pharaonic" one.

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You are right about my not being able to comprehend your “mixed up” message. One moment you say that the Arab culture and indigenous culture have been fused together, and the next minute you say that Arab elements are more dominant, only to later on conclude that it is “foolish to say contemporary Egyptian is simply indigenous or “foreign”. On that note, then you are foolish. So, I suppose calling Egyptian culture “Arab”, is not using a “foreign” label to identify it?
You also fail to understand that even if Egyptians incorporated foreign elements to their indigenous culture, that new byproduct would still be indigenous to Egypt, as it is still distinct from that of the influencing culture!
You are mixing apples with oranges, when comparing a barbaric society with an already civilized society. One culture (Celts) was considered “barbaric” , and later on developed into a more advanced society through foreign influences and modernization (modern France). Whereas, the other culture was “a cradle of civilization” (Kemetian), which influenced others, but through foreign contact, in turn absorbed other foreign elements, and then underwent significant transformations through technological advances and modernization (contemporary Egyptian culture).

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Ayazid writes:
Your logic is ridiculous. Do you think that an average Egyptian fellah or worker does anything know about Ancient Egyptians, except the fact that they were his ancestors,builded pyramids,tombs,temples and that they had such things as sarcophags and hieroglyphes? He probably knows also some famous names as Ramsees,Tutankhamon or Kleopatra.That´s probably all. It´s obvious,because an average Egyptian haven´t studied Egyptology! Do you think that he has time and enthusiasm to learn anything about Ancient Egyptian history,culture and religion? It´s very remote period + non-islamic and non-christian.I am sure that an average Egyptian Christian and Muslim is much more interested in history and doctrine of his own religion and not in "pagan" religion and culture of his ancestors. For anybody from Europe or USA it must be strange,but that´s a fact! It doesn´t mean that these people(probably most Egyptians) are "suffering from a mental weakness", their mentality is only different from Euro-american one.

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Your logic is twisted in using your“assumptions” or “stereotypes” of Egyptians as fact, and acknowledging that they practice their distinct traditions, without being aware of the heritage. You must be some genie hovering in the minds of every Egyptian. How do you think they pass on those traditions to new generations, or maybe they simply practice them without having to explain why? Has it occurred to you that stories of the past might be both orally and literally passed on to younger generations, and that they are also aware of their various ancient traditions which are no longer practiced, but useful to know, so as to simply be aware of their heritage?

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Ayazid writes:
It´s not important if the material is "copy & paste" or not. Important is that I presented an evidence of my statements.However,you haven´t presented any evidence of your statement that contemporary North African cultures are simply "indigenous",so your attitude is extremely hypocrite and foolish.Please,present any proofs that North African nations haven´t been mostly arabized and what is still "indigenous"(concerning literature,fine arts,architecture,philosophy,traditions,religion,way of life etc.)

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It so happens that your “evidence” describes a culture, that doesn’t remotely resemble contemporary Egyptian culture, much less to be even considered the dominant culture. The only thing remotely familiar in that essay of yours, is the mention of Arabic language and Islam, as well as Vendetta (which is hardly unique to Arab culture)! I have presented adequate explanations for my stance on North Africans having indigenous cultures. I can’t help it, if you were too blind to have noticed it. If you consider me foolish or a hypocrite, then that would definitely make you the “mother/father of all hypocrites and fools” !

posted 16 August 2004 09:14 PM            

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Originally posted by ausar:
Homeylu,the Arab army comprised of mostly Yemani arabs did not actually invaded Egypt by force.

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The bedouins in ancient Egypt did come in close contact with the Egyptians but literature written in the 12th dyansty makes it clear these people were not related. You might have read a text called the Tales of Sinuhe where Sinhue flees Egypt to befriend a Bedouin family somewhere in modern Palestine. Despite his friendship,Sinuhe refuses to be burried in Palestine nor burried in sheep skin which was their traditional burial. Kemetians called them sand dwellers and during the 6th dyansty were pretty hostile with them.

Libyans reffered to assorted nomadic Imazigh [Berber] tribes like the Tamahou. The Tehennu were indigenous Saharan people that some scholars affilate actually with Fulani pastorials. Rameses II built fortresses around the Delta to keep them out. By this time,however,lots of the Delta were already full of Libyan nomads that settled down and intermarried with Egyptians.

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The nomadic tribes that you are referring to ae not the same ARABS as we know them in the modern sense. "bedouin" and "arab" are not synonomous. One is the "type" of the other.

posted 17 August 2004 07:28 AM            

Once you conquer a people, you rewrite their history imposing yourself upon it and negating the natives as an active agency in their own story.

The Arab mythmaker uses the Bible/Quran and semitic mythology to invent "himself" at points in time before he even exists.

The European uses caucasian pseudoscience to the same effect.

posted 17 August 2004 10:36 AM            

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Originally posted by supercar:

I don’t deny some Egyptians may not mind being called Arab at first instance, simply because they are aware that Arabic is their official language, and the geo-political ties to other Arabic-speaking nations. But if you go into the racial details, you would find more varied answers concerning their identity. Most Upper Egyptians are likely to reject the notion of being Arab, while some Egyptians in the urban cities of Lower Egypt, due to stronger admixture of European and West Asian foreigners, might not ardently reject being called Arab. I too have friends, who consider themselves just Egyptians, and then Africans. Period. I am not going to use their stance as that of the entire Egyptian population, but I will recognize not to insist calling them Arabs!

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The "racial details"? Your logic is simply amazing. It´s absurd to think that Upper Egyptian fellah doesn´t consider himself Arab,because his blood is more "pure",than blood of Lower Egyptian townsman.It´s hard to say, what does an average Egyptian villager think about his "ethnic identity".For them is the most important thing their religion and not racial,national or ethnic identity.Probably he hasn´t problem to identify himself as "masree","3araby",sometimes "sa3eedee" and even "ifriqy",but it´s not the most important thing of his life. In the fist place,he is Muslim.These people don´t know any nationalism and don´t care about it,because they are the most conservative people in Egypt. The people in the urban cities are probably more nationally conscious than "fellahin",but I doubt that nationalism or nationalist thoughts are their main concern.

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My “total ignorance” is the answer to your total slow wittedness. One ought to know that if North Africans had indigenous cultures before the advent of foreigners, then certainly they are going to keep their cultural values, and “some” traditions, no matter what foreign influences that come to bear on their cultures. How can you measure Arab culture as the dominant culture of North Africans, without knowing what Arab culture is, what foreign cultures in turn influenced the Arab culture, not to mention not taking into account other foreign influences, such as those of other Africans and Europeans?

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You are constantly stating that contemporary North African cultures are basically "indigenous",without enormous foreign("West Asian") influences,however you haven´t submited any evidence what is still "indigenous" and what is not and you are only making quite vague statements about it. Please present any evidence what is still indigenous in North African cultures concerning language,literature,arts,traditions,etc.

Arab culture has been influenced especially by Byzantinians,Persians,Turks,Syrians,in Egypt by Copts,in Maghreb by Berbers,in Sudan by Nubians.Finally has been the Arab culture influenced by Europeans. I never said that Arab culture is "pure",because it would be the same nonsense as to say that contemporary Egyptian Arab culture is "Kemetian",Lybian and Tunisian is Berber etc.

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Whatever elements have been carried on from Kemetian culture, whether modified or not, is still Kemetian. I don’t know what part of that is difficult to understand.
Of course contemporary Egyptian culture is different from the Ancient one, due to both modernization and globalization. Various foreign cultures, including European, African and West Asian, have influenced Egyptian culture throughout the ages, but they still have their core indigenous cultural values and traditions, that continue to make Egyptian culture still distinct. Not withstanding that fact, you still call Egyptian culture “Arab”.

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Again,you are making rhetorical but content-free statements. To say that contemporary Egyptian culture is still "Kemetian" and "indigenous" is the same as to say that contemporary French culture is basically "Celtic".It´s likely that among the French villagers have survived up to the modern times some traditions,which are originally Celtic,but the question is if does this fact mean that the French culture is simply "indigenous" and "Celtic". Archaic traditions and values are only one segment of the whole culture,besides language,religion,literature,arts,etc.

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You are right about my not being able to comprehend your “mixed up” message. One moment you say that the Arab culture and indigenous culture have been fused together, and the next minute you say that Arab elements are more dominant, only to later on conclude that it is “foolish to say contemporary Egyptian is simply indigenous or “foreign”. On that note, then you are foolish. So, I suppose calling Egyptian culture “Arab”, is not using a “foreign” label to identify it?

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Yes,the Arab culture and Coptic culture have been "fused together" and Arab culture elements(language,religion,arts)are dominant.Because Egyptian culture is actually a mix of "foreign" and "indigenous" elements it´s a primitive trivialization to say that it´s simply "indigenous Kemetian" or "foreign Arab".

"Arab" is not a foreign label to identify Egyptian culture. Egyptian culture is Arab,just as Egyptian.

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You also fail to understand that even if Egyptians incorporated foreign elements to their indigenous culture, that new byproduct would still be indigenous to Egypt, as it is still distinct from that of the influencing culture!

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Your "sophisticated" logic is enchanting. That "new byproduct" would be still distinct from that of the influencing culture,just as from Egyptian original one.It would be their "child",both Arab and Coptic("Kemetian" - BTW, I doubt that an average Egyptian knows this word),probably more Arab-islamic. It could be be also formulated: Arabic culture in Egypt incorporated "Kemetian" elements to it´s structure.

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You are mixing apples with oranges, when comparing a barbaric society with an already civilized society. One culture (Celts) was considered “barbaric” , and later on developed into a more advanced society through foreign influences and modernization (modern France). Whereas, the other culture was “a cradle of civilization” (Kemetian), which influenced others, but through foreign contact, in turn absorbed other foreign elements, and then underwent significant transformations through technological advances and modernization (contemporary Egyptian culture).

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The fact is that the foreign influences were so enormous, that the question is what is still "Kemetian" in contemporary Egyptian culture. Your idea that a culture which is heavily influenced by foreign culture elements,which have immensely modified it´s character,is still simply indigenous is at least questionable. However,because you haven´t presented any concrete evidence of your "theory" it´s futile to argue about it.

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Your logic is twisted in using your“assumptions” or “stereotypes” of Egyptians as fact, and acknowledging that they practice their distinct traditions, without being aware of the heritage. You must be some genie hovering in the minds of every Egyptian. How do you think they pass on those traditions to new generations, or maybe they simply practice them without having to explain why? Has it occurred to you that stories of the past might be both orally and literally passed on to younger generations, and that they are also aware of their various ancient traditions which are no longer practiced, but useful to know, so as to simply be aware of their heritage?

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You are evidently speaking about some survivals of Ancient Egyptian traditions in the culture of Egyptian villagers. Actually,it´s unprobable that these people are aware of their "pagan" origin,alike it´s unprobable that Russian or Romanian villagers knew that some of their traditions and customs,which have survived up to the 20th century were originally "heathen",because these people have adopted "foreign" religion,which completely modified their religious concepts.I think that they would be very angry, if anybody told them that some of their traditions are "pagan".I doubt that an average Egyptian fellah knows that he is keeping traditions of "kuffar".You are incredibly naive,if you think that "fellahin" anything know about Ancient Egyptian history or culture from oral and literare tradition,which was christianized and later islamized and arabized.It´s theoretically possible that some very rare survivals of Ancient Egyptian("pharaonic") oral tradition have survived up to present,but they must be heavily misrepresented by later Christian and Islamic tradition.Those Upper Egyptians probably know much more about "West Asian" and "foreign" Arab hero Abou Zeid el Hilali and his fight against "North African" and "indigenous" Berber hero Khalifa al-Zanati,than "Kemetian" and "indigenous" hero Kamose and his fight against Hyksos.
BTW,Have you any examples of such Ancient "Kemetian" oral tradition?

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It so happens that your “evidence” describes a culture, that doesn’t remotely resemble contemporary Egyptian culture, much less to be even considered the dominant culture. The only thing remotely familiar in that essay of yours, is the mention of Arabic language and Islam, as well as Vendetta (which is hardly unique to Arab culture)! I have presented adequate explanations for my stance on North Africans having indigenous cultures. I can’t help it, if you were too blind to have noticed it. If you consider me foolish or a hypocrite, then that would definitely make you the “mother/father of all hypocrites and fools”!

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The article was about Arab pre-islamic culture.However,Arabs who invaded Egypt were muslims and the new culture was Arab-islamic - a mix of Arab,Persian,Byzantine and later Turkish elements.
The problem is that you never explained or defined contemporary Egyptian culture.You are constantly speaking about some tradtions of "fellahin",so it seems that the Egyptian culture is for you only that and nothing else. I will post some interesting articles about various aspects of Arab culture, so, Inshallah, your knowledge will be better,because now it´s pitiable.

posted 17 August 2004 10:18 PM            

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Ayazid writes:
The "racial details"? Your logic is simply amazing. It´s absurd to think that Upper Egyptian fellah doesn´t consider himself Arab,because his blood is more "pure",than blood of Lower Egyptian townsman.It´s hard to say, what does an average Egyptian villager think about his "ethnic identity".For them is the most important thing their religion and not racial,national or ethnic identity.Probably he hasn´t problem to identify himself as "masree","3araby",sometimes "sa3eedee" and even "ifriqy",but it´s not the most important thing of his life. In the fist place,he is Muslim.These people don´t know any nationalism and don´t care about it,because they are the most conservative people in Egypt. The people in the urban cities are probably more nationally conscious than "fellahin",but I doubt that nationalism or nationalist thoughts are their main concern.

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I don’t know what is so “amazing” about many Upper Egyptians or some other Egyptians for that matter, not identifying with “Arab”! Your logic is the perverted one, in thinking that there are no Egyptians who deny being “Arab”!

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Ayazid writes:
You are constantly stating that contemporary North African cultures are basically "indigenous",without enormous foreign("West Asian") influences,however you haven´t submited any evidence what is still "indigenous" and what is not and you are only making quite vague statements about it. Please present any evidence what is still indigenous in North African cultures concerning language,literature,arts,traditions,etc.
Arab culture has been influenced especially by Byzantinians,Persians,Turks,Syrians,in Egypt by Copts,in Maghreb by Berbers,in Sudan by Nubians.Finally has been the Arab culture influenced by Europeans. I never said that Arab culture is "pure",because it would be the same nonsense as to say that contemporary Egyptian Arab culture is "Kemetian",Lybian and Tunisian is Berber etc.

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If a living and breathing Egyptian in front of you, in Egypt, told you that he was Egyptian and he isn’t Arab, you’ll still ask him for proof for his stance! That seems to be the kind of warped direction you take in asking people bizarre questions. I can’t help you with this problem of yours, you need a lettered psychiatrist for that. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to accept that Egyptians still have their own values and traditions, that continue to make their culture unique or indigenous to them!

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Ayazid writes:
Again,you are making rhetorical but content-free statements. To say that contemporary Egyptian culture is still "Kemetian" and "indigenous" is the same as to say that contemporary French culture is basically "Celtic".It´s likely that among the French villagers have survived up to the modern times some traditions,which are originally Celtic,but the question is if does this fact mean that the French culture is simply "indigenous" and "Celtic". Archaic traditions and values are only one segment of the whole culture,besides language,religion,literature,arts,etc.

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I have only one thing to say about your misdirected response: Re-read the comment you are responding to, because it doesn’t say anything you have thus said in this comment of yours! Suffering from our understanding of the English language?

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Ayazid writes:
Yes,the Arab culture and Coptic culture have been "fused together" and Arab culture elements(language,religion,arts)are dominant.Because Egyptian culture is actually a mix of "foreign" and "indigenous" elements it´s a primitive trivialization to say that it´s simply "indigenous Kemetian" or "foreign Arab".
"Arab" is not a foreign label to identify Egyptian culture. Egyptian culture is Arab,just as Egyptian.

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So Arabs were not foreigners who came to Africa, but were always Africans who never left the continent? I always thought that you were a confused individual, but I am beginning to think that you are an extra-terrestrial who doesn’t know what he says about events on our planet Earth!

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Ayazid writes:
Your "sophisticated" logic is enchanting. That "new byproduct" would be still distinct from that of the influencing culture,just as from Egyptian original one.It would be their "child",both Arab and Coptic("Kemetian" - BTW, I doubt that an average Egyptian knows this word),probably more Arab-islamic. It could be be also formulated: Arabic culture in Egypt incorporated "Kemetian" elements to it´s structure.

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Like I said earlier about you, “he doesn’t know what he says”! If only your logic was as sophisticated as the rest of us, normal human beings, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.

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Ayazid writes:
The fact is that the foreign influences were so enormous, that the question is what is still "Kemetian" in contemporary Egyptian culture. Your idea that a culture which is heavily influenced by foreign culture elements,which have immensely modified it´s character,is still simply indigenous is at least questionable. However,because you haven´t presented any concrete evidence of your "theory" it´s futile to argue about it.

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You’ll never grasp my idea, even if it were as simple as “1+1=2”. You would find the answer being 2, questionable and ask evidence for it. This is the kind of ridiculous example I have to use, for you to perhaps (a big perhaps) understand the kind of peculiar direction your logic seems to take!

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Ayazid writes:
You are evidently speaking about some survivals of Ancient Egyptian traditions in the culture of Egyptian villagers. Actually,it´s unprobable that these people are aware of their "pagan" origin,alike it´s unprobable that Russian or Romanian villagers knew that some of their traditions and customs,which have survived up to the 20th century were originally "heathen",because these people have adopted "foreign" religion,which completely modified their religious concepts.I think that they would be very angry, if anybody told them that some of their traditions are "pagan".I doubt that an average Egyptian fellah knows that he is keeping traditions of "kuffar".You are incredibly naive,if you think that "fellahin" anything know about Ancient Egyptian history or culture from oral and literare tradition,which was christianized and later islamized and arabized.It´s theoretically possible that some very rare survivals of Ancient Egyptian("pharaonic") oral tradition have survived up to present,but they must be heavily misrepresented by later Christian and Islamic tradition.Those Upper Egyptians probably know much more about "West Asian" and "foreign" Arab hero Abou Zeid el Hilali and his fight against "North African" and "indigenous" Berber hero Khalifa al-Zanati,than "Kemetian" and "indigenous" hero Kamose and his fight against Hyksos.
BTW,Have you any examples of such Ancient "Kemetian" oral tradition?

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Only you would think that Egyptians would be “mad” about being told the fact that they have their own identity. Your phantasm take precedence before facts! How hard could it be for any one with average intelligence, to understand that younger generations will at some point in time be told stories about their heritage from their immediate ancestors?

quote:

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Ayazid writes:
The article was about Arab pre-islamic culture.However,Arabs who invaded Egypt were muslims and the new culture was Arab-islamic - a mix of Arab,Persian,Byzantine and later Turkish elements.
The problem is that you never explained or defined contemporary Egyptian culture.You are constantly speaking about some tradtions of "fellahin",so it seems that the Egyptian culture is for you only that and nothing else. I will post some interesting articles about various aspects of Arab culture, so, Inshallah, your knowledge will be better,because now it´s pitiable.

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This statement is distorted, but even then still creepy: “the new culture was Arab-islamic - a mix of Arab,Persian,Byzantine and later Turkish elements.” So Arab,Persian,Byzantine, and Turkish elements = Arab?
Don’t project your own logic onto me, when you say that Egyptians are only Fellahin, for I sanely understand that Egyptians have Copts, Afro-West Asian admixtures, Afro-European admixtures, Fellahin, and small foreign communities who all have distinct traditions from one another. This is why calling “all” Egyptians Arabs, would be a delusion than reality! If my knowledge is “pitiable” now, I am afraid absorbing your knowledge will drop us all to the level of your insanity!

posted 17 August 2004 10:36 PM            

quote:

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Originally posted by rasol:
Arab myth-orians have learned from the European.

Once you conquer a people, you rewrite their history imposing yourself upon it and negating the natives as an active agency in their own story.

The Arab mythmaker uses the Bible/Quran and semitic mythology to invent "himself" at points in time before he even exists.

The European uses caucasian pseudoscience to the same effect.

Thus, while the European barbarian is running around in Europe proper, largely devoid of the necessities of civilised life.....we learn that their "caucasian" brethren in Africa, Mesapotamia, India and China are everywhere else, busy advancing the cause of civilization. Isn't science wonderful?

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posted 18 August 2004 03:52 AM            

quote:

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Originally posted by supercar:

I don’t know what is so “amazing” about many Upper Egyptians or some other Egyptians for that matter, not identifying with “Arab”! Your logic is the perverted one, in thinking that there are no Egyptians who deny being “Arab”!

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I didn´t say that all Egyptians consider themselves Arabs.But the fact is that you can´t say that "many" Upper Egyptians don´t consider themselves Arabs,if you haven´t any proofs of that.If you have any evidence,present it.

quote:

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Originally posted by supercar:

If a living and breathing Egyptian in front of you, in Egypt, told you that he was Egyptian and he isn’t Arab, you’ll still ask him for proof for his stance! That seems to be the kind of warped direction you take in asking people bizarre questions. I can’t help you with this problem of yours, you need a lettered psychiatrist for that. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to accept that Egyptians still have their own values and traditions, that continue to make their culture unique or indigenous to them!

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Your statements are emotional and offensive,but content-free.Some Egyptians don´t consider themselves Arabs,but it´s their choice.I doubt that these people are very numerous,but they exist.But it doesn´t mean that all Egyptians don´t consider themselves Arabs.

quote:

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Originally posted by supercar:

I have only one thing to say about your misdirected response: Re-read the comment you are responding to, because it doesn’t say anything you have thus said in this comment of yours! Suffering from our understanding of the English language?

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My response wasn´t misdirected.

quote:

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Originally posted by supercar:

So Arabs were not foreigners who came to Africa, but were always Africans who never left the continent? I always thought that you were a confused individual, but I am beginning to think that you are an extra-terrestrial who doesn’t know what he says about events on our planet Earth!

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Arabs who came to African in 7th century and later, were maybe "foreigners",but they (and their culture) have mixed with North Africans, so they became indigeous.To say that Arabs are "foreign" in North Africa it´s the same like to say that Turks are "foreign" in Anatolia,Slavic people are foreign in Balkan,North Americans(except Amerindians) are foreign in USA etc. because they didn´t evolved there.

quote:

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Originally posted by supercar:

Like I said earlier about you, “he doesn’t know what he says”! If only your logic was as sophisticated as the rest of us, normal human beings, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.

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Content-free and offensive.

quote:

---

Originally posted by supercar:

Only you would think that Egyptians would be “mad” about being told the fact that they have their own identity. Your phantasm take precedence before facts! How hard could it be for any one with average intelligence, to understand that younger generations will at some point in time be told stories about their heritage from their immediate ancestors?

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It seems that you have really big problem with logical argumentation.Again,have you any examples of Ancient Egyptian oral tradition among Egyptian villagers?

quote:

---

Originally posted by supercar:

This statement is distorted, but even then still creepy: “the new culture was Arab-islamic - a mix of Arab,Persian,Byzantine and later Turkish elements.” So Arab,Persian,Byzantine, and Turkish elements = Arab?
Don’t project your own logic onto me, when you say that Egyptians are only Fellahin, for I sanely understand that Egyptians have Copts, Afro-West Asian admixtures, Afro-European admixtures, Fellahin, and small foreign communities who all have distinct traditions from one another. This is why calling “all” Egyptians Arabs, would be a delusion than reality! If my knowledge is “pitiable” now, I am afraid absorbing your knowledge will drop us all to the level of your insanity!

---

Arab culture is a mix of Arab,Persian and other elements,alike English culture is a mix of Anglo-Saxon,Celtic,Danish and French elements, Persian culture is a mix of original Persian,Arab and Turkish elements. etc. Your problem is a lack of knowledge of medieval and contemporary Egyptian culture.You never said anything about Egyptian medieval and contemporary literature,arts etc.You was only speaking about Egyptian villagers,their traditions and values,but it´s only one segment of the whole culure.

posted 18 August 2004 04:34 AM            

In no other area of the Arabophone world has there been such a marked separation in time between the two stages of arabicisation. During the Arab conquests in the second half of the seventh century, the sedentary areas of North Africa were overrun by a relatively small group of invaders who settled mostly in existing urban centres, or in some cases in newly-established military camps, whence the new, urban varieties of Arabic were spread over the surrounding area. Some of the Jewish varieties of Arabic in North Africa go back to this early period, such as the Jewish Arabic of Tunis and Algiers. The greater part of the countryside remained entirely Berber-speaking. The second stage of arabicisation took place centuries later in the course of the invasion by the Banu Hilal (tenth and eleventh centuries; cf. above, p. 96). During this stage, the Arabic language reached the countryside and the nomadic areas of North Africa, although it never managed to oust the Berber language completely (cf. above, p. 96, and see Map 10.3).

The group of the Maghreb dialects includes the dialects of Mauritania (Hassaniyya), Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia and Libya. In the literature, the dialects belonging to the two stages are often referred to as pre-Hilali and Hilali dialects, respectively. All pre-Hilali dialects are sedentary dialects, spoken in cities and in those areas outside the cities that were arabicised early on, such as the Tunisian Sahel, and the regions north of some of the large urban centres, Constantine, Tlemcen and Fes. Usually two groups are distinguished:

the Eastern pre-Hilali dialects, spoken in Libya, Tunisia and eastern Algeria; these dialects are characterised by the preservation of the three short vowels.
the Western dialects of the pre-Hilali group, spoken in western Algeria and Morocco; these have only two short vowels and have developed an indefinite article from the Classical Arabic numeral wahid, e.g. in Moroccan Arabic wahd el-mra 'a woman', always used in combination with the definite article, possibly in analogy to the construction of the demonstrative with the article.
The Bedouin dialects of North Africa represent the Hilali dialects; they are divided into the Sulaym in the East (Libya and southern Tunisia), the Eastern Hilal (central Tunisia and eastern Algeria), the Central Hilal (south and central Algeria, especially in the border areas of the Sahara) and the Maqil (western Algeria and Morocco). One group from the Maqil confederation, the Banu Hassan, settled in Mauritania, where the local dialect is still known under the name of Hassaniyya (see below, p. 167). Bedouin dialects are spoken not only in the rural areas, but also in some of the cities that were bedouinised at a later stage, for instance Tripoli.

Libya is largely Bedouin-speaking; even the sedentary dialects of the urban centres such as Tripoli have been influenced by Bedouin speech. Tunisia is a transitional zone; its Bedouin dialects are related to those in Libya. Algeria is heterogeneous: in the Constantinois, both Bedouin and sedentary dialects are spoken, and this area is linked with Tunisia and with the Algerois; the Algerois is predominantly Bedouin; the Oranais has one important sedentary centre in Tlemcen, while the rest is Bedouin-speaking. In Morocco, Bedouin dialects are spoken in the plains and in recently-founded cities such as Casablanca; for the sedentary dialects, Rabat and Fes are the most important centres. In Mauritania, as we have seen, a Bedouin dialect is spoken. The dialect that was spoken in Spain (al-'Andalus) during the period of Islamic domination belonged to the Maghreb dialects, and so does the language of the linguistic enclave of Malta, which was conquered from Tunisia (cf. below, Chapter 13, p. 209).

The long coexistence between Arabic and Berber that is continued in the present countries of North Africa has marked these dialects (cf. p. 104). There has been a lot of discussion about the degree of interference in the Maghreb dialects, but the presence of loanwords from Berber is unmistakable, sometimes even in the use of certain nominal patterns. Of the latter, the pattern tafə'' alət is the most frequent; it serves to indicate professional activities, e.g. tahəbbazət 'the profession of a baker'. The Hassaniyya dialect in particular has taken over a large number of Berber words, some of them together with their original plurals, e.g. aragaz/arwagiz 'man', adrar/idrarən 'mountain', tamurt/timuratən 'acacia forest, with the typically Berber prefixes ä-/ā- (masculine) and ta-/ti (feminine).

In spite of the linguistic diversity of North Africa, it may be regarded as one dialect area because of the common features shared by these dialects, which set them apart from the rest of the Arabophone world. There is one morphological feature in the verbal system that has served to classify the Maghreb dialects as one group: the prefix n- for the first person singular in the imperfect verb (cf. above, Chapter 9, p. 134), for instance Moroccan Arabic nəktəb 'I write'/nkətbu 'we write'. The boundary between the n- dialects and the Eastern dialects lies somewhere in western Egypt (cf. above, p. 137).

All Maghreb dialects (except the Eastern sedentary dialects) have a very simple vowel system, with only two short vowels, /ə/ (< /a/ and /i/) and /u/, and three long vowels, /a/, /i/, /u/. In the dialect of Cherchell, this development has gone even further, with only one short vowel remaining.

Another striking feature in the phonology of all Maghreb dialects is the stress shift in words of the form fa'al, which among other things function as perfect verbs. Assuming that the original primary stress was on the penultimate, we may reconstruct the development as follows: kátab > katáb > ktəb, 'to write', and likewise zbəl < gabal 'mountain', rəb < 'arab 'Arabs', with elision of the short unstressed vowel. The only Maghreb dialect that has not undergone the stress shift is Maltese (cf. Maltese kiteb, gibel 'stone, hill [in place names]', both with stress on the penultimate).

With regard to syllable structure, many Maghreb dialects have undergone a restructuring in sequences of the type CvCC, which was changed to CCvC, for instance qabr > qbər 'grave'; saqf > sqəf 'roof'. Since in many dialects there is a constraint against short vowels in open syllables, when such a sequence is followed by a vocalic ending the vowel 'jumps', back one position, e.g. *ktəbət > kətbət 'she wrote'; *hməra > həmra 'red [feminine]. The constraint against short vowels in open syllables also operates in forms such as the second person plural of the imperfect verb, *təktəb-u 'you [plural] write'; in Moroccan Arabic this becomes tkətb-u. In other Maghreb dialects, the outcome of this rule is different. Some of them, such as the dialect of the Muslims of Tunis, elide the vowel (təktbu), or reduplicate the first radical, such as the dialect of the Muslims of Algiers (yəkkətbu); other dialects have chosen still other solutions (yəkkətbu, təkətbu, yəkətbu, yəkətbu; cf. Fischer and Jastrow 1980: 254-6). The verbal paradigm of Moroccan Arabic demonstrates the effects of the phenomena mentioned above, as shown in Table 10-5.

kteb yekteb
ketbet ketbu tekteb yketbu
tekteb
ktebti ktebtiw tketbi tketbu
ktebt ktebna nekteb nketbu

Table 10.5 The verbal paradigm of Moroccan Arabic.

The system of derived measures has achieved a greater symmetry in the Maghreb than in the Eastern Arabic dialects. In Moroccan Arabic, for instance, the most frequent derived measures are the second measure ('əlləm 'to teach'), the third measure (qatəl 'to fight') and the eighth measure (stgəl or stagəl 'to work'). From all measures, including the stem verb, a passive may be derived in t-, tt- or n-. Most Moroccan dialects have tt-, e.g. ttəktəb 'to be written', ttsaf 'to be seen', ttəqra 'to be recited', from the verbs ktəb, saf, qra. Passives with n- occur mostly in the north and in Jewish varieties of Arabic. In some dialects, a wide variety of combinations occurs, for instance in the dialect of Skura tt-, n-, ttən-, ttnə-, so that various forms have variants, e.g. ttnəktəb/ttəktəb 'to be written', ttəssəhsən/nəssəhsən/ttnəssəhsən 'to be approved' (Classical istahsana).

The origin of these new passive formations is disputed. Since they occur in the stem verb as well, they must be new dialectal formations, possibly on the analogy of the Classical Arabic fifth measure tafa' 'ala in the case of the t- forms, and from the Classical Arabic seventh measure infaala in the case of the n- forms. But it has also been proposed that these forms represent earlier Semitic categories, since a similar t- form occurs in Ethiopic and Aramaic. There may also be a connection with the Berber passive formation in t-, as Aguade (1995: 66) suggests.

A special position is taken up by the Hassaniyya dialect of Mauritania. It has all the characteristic features of a Bedouin dialect, but apart from that we find here a series of unique innovations. In the phonological system, the dialect has a voiced /v/ that continues the Classical Arabic /f/, e.g. vil < fil 'elephant', tovla 'girl'. The voiceless /f/ is restricted to certain environments: it occurs before a voiceless consonant, e.g. fsəd 'it was corrupted', in gemination, e.g. wäffä 'he terminated', and at the end of a word, e.g. raf 'he knew'. Both consonants have an emphatic allophone in certain environments, just like most of the other consonants. As in all Arabic dialects, the two Classical phonemes /d/ and /d/ have merged, and since the dialect is a Bedouin dialect the resulting phoneme is interdental, /d/. But in a number of words there is a phoneme /d/ as the reflex of Classical /d/, e.g. qadi 'judge', ramadan 'Ramadan'. These examples could be regarded as borrowings from the Classical language, but other words such as vadl < fadl 'favour', mrod < marida 'he became ill' seem to be original dialect words. In that case, Hassaniyya would be the only Western dialect to preserve traces of the original distinction. A third interesting feature is the presence of three palatalised phonemes, /t/, /d/, /n/ in a small number of words, most of them of Berber origin. Their phonemic status cannot be doubted, but their role in the language is minimal. Examples include kawktam 'to strike with the fist', kandya 'syphilis', Bannug '[proper name]'.

In the verbal system of Hassaniyya, apart from the usual derived measures there is a special measure with the prefix sa-, e.g. sagbäl 'he went south, sahmar 'he made red', säktäb 'he made someone his secretary'. The most probable explanation for this verbal form is a back-formation from tenth-measure verbs, e.g. from stäsläm 'to become a Muslim' a new form was created säsläm 'to make a Muslim'. This new measure then spread to all verbs. Another innovation is a new passive form that has developed for the second and third measure of the derived verb, and for the sa- forms (see Table 10.6). An unusual feature is the presence of a diminutive pattern for verbs, e.g. äkäytäb from ktäb 'to write', ämäysä from msä 'to leave'. Such forms are mostly used in combination with a diminutive noun subject.

perfect active passive
bahhar ubahhar
'to perfume' 'to be perfumed'
imperfect ibahhar yubahhar
perfect gäbel ugäbel
'to confront' 'to be confronted'
imperfect igäbel yugäbel
perfect sagbäl usagbäl
'to go south' 'to be directed south'
imperfect isagbäl yusagbäl

Table 10.6 The formation of the passive in Hassaniyya.

Text 9: Moroccan Arabic (after Caubet 1993)

1. gal-l-ha: hakda? ewa gles hna! zbed el-flus u-'ta-ha: hna tgelsi! ma-temsiw-shetta ngul-l-kum aziw 'and-i

He said to her: 'So? Then sit here!' He pulled out the money and gave it to her and said to her: 'You sit here! Don't go until I tell you: come to me!'

2. msa där wahed-el-bra 'and-el-ferran, gal-l-u: dir el-ferran yeshon, yeshon bezzäf, bezzäf!, gal-l-u: wahha!

He went to send a letter to the (attendant of the) oven, and told him: 'Heat it up, heat it up, very much!' He said to him: 'Alright!'

3. ewa 'ayyet l-zuz-d-el-bulis, gal-l-hum: refdu had-es-senduq!, refdu had-es-senduq u-ddaw-eh l-el-ferran, ddaw-eh rmaw-eh f-bit-nar

Then he called two policemen, and told them: 'Take this box!' they took this box and brought it to the oven, they brought itand threw it into the fire-place.

4. ewa, ya sidi, bqa ka-yttehreq hetta mat dak-el-'abd

Yes sir, it kept on burning until that slave died.

Text 10: Hassaniyya (after Cohen 1963: 252)

1. ya qeyr rkabnahöm m'a ssbah men 'and lhyam, madkuranna hayya v zerr Aftut men tall sarg; hada nhar, nhar mtin

But we rode in the morning from the tents, a camp site had been mentioned to us near Aftut ('the large plain') in the north east; this is a day, a long day.

2. rkabna m'a ssbah u gelna 'anna la beddanna men ngayyelu dik lhayya vih arwagiz ga' ashab enna u vih zad sadiqat ashabat emmwalli

We rode in the morning and we said to ourselves: 'We have to take a rest in that camp site'. In it were men that were friends of ours and there were moreover female friends, too.

3. rkabna men vamm u gemna mhar-rkin; hma ennhar' hada va'gab essayf, ennharat mahöm hamyin ya qeyr essams hayya

We rode from there and we got moving; the day became hot: it was the end of summer, the days were not hot, but the sun was strong.

4. mneyn hma e'lina ennhar, brek awsayrit, mnayn brek tbarekna m'ah u gam

When the day became at its hottest, our young animal broke down; when it broke down, we took care of it, and it stood up.

http://arabworld.nitle.org/texts.php?module_id=1&reading_id=113&sequence=5

posted 18 August 2004 09:50 AM            

Section I

The genesis of Islamic art is customarily linked with, indeed often attributed to, the whirlwind military conquests of the Arabs following the death of the Prophet Muhammad in AD 632. Such an idea is plausible enough. The creation of a world empire, the proclamation of a new faith, the formation of an art that bears its name -- all seem to belong together. But do they? Is there a causal connection, and -- if so -- what is the exact chronological sequence? Dazzling and exciting as the spectacle of the Arab conquests is, it in fact has relatively little to do with the early years of Islamic art. Yet the formative nature of those early years is plain. What, then, is the precise connection between the seismic political events of the seventh century and the earliest Islamic art?

The answer to such questions demands a refinement of the chronological and geographical focus. To view early Islamic art as even approximately representative of an empire that stretched from the Atlantic to India and the borders of China is grossly to misunderstand its context. In the two generations which saw the Arabs flood out of their desert homeland and overrun all of western Asia and North Africa there was, it seems, neither the desire nor the time to foster artistic expression. That was to be the achievement not of the first conquerors themselves but of their grandchildren. At all events, no major building or artefact survives from these early years. This sluggish start may owe something to the fact that in this period the nascent Muslim state was being ruled from Arabia, an environment in which the visual arts, though by no means absent -- as recent excavations at Qaryat al-Faw (frescoes of royal scenes) and elsewhere (figural sculpture) have shown -- nevertheless had no very significant role, though architecture flourished. Arabia certainly lagged far behind the Levant. Similarly, there can be no question of a 'universal' Islamic art at this early stage. The horizons of that art were effectively limited to Syria. The rest of the Islamic empire might as well scarcely have existed at all, except insofar as works of art or craftsmen from outside Syria were active within that province and thus exerted external influence on the art produced there.

These remarks might lead one to expect a somewhat parochial quality in the earliest Islamic art, and also a certain timidity or lack of purpose. Yet this is not so. Such characteristics might well have marked the very first monuments which the Muslims erected, for example in Fustat, Basra and Kufa -- although there is no way of clinching this, for they have not survived. But if Islamic art was slow to start, it was quick to gather speed. Certainly the first major monument to survive, the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem, radiates assurance. A new art has arrived. It established itself quickly and, for all that numerous experiments and changes of mind can be detected during the rule of the Umayyad dynasty (661-750), the pervasive confidence of the age remained undimmed.

This confidence, one of the most striking features of Umayyad art, was founded on several interrelated factors. Chief among them, perhaps, was the astonishing military success of the Arabs in their foreign campaigns. To their enemies they must have appeared to bear charmed lives, their winning streak seeming unassailable for much of the Umayyad period. Decade after decade the borders of the dar al-islam steadily expanded, until in 732 -- exactly a century after the Prophet's death -- the Arab defeat at Poitiers in central France signalled (though only with the hindsight of history) the end of substantial territorial gains for some centuries. But the splendid confidence of the Umayyads was not based entirely on military success abroad; it was founded also on the ability of the new dynasty to survive numerous challenges from within. Such challenges were at their most dangerous in the first thirty years of Umayyad rule. It may be no more than a coincidence that this same period was singularly barren so far as the production of works of art was concerned. Yet it is probable that the outburst of building activity which followed the consolidation of Umayyad power and the dynasty's triumph over its internal enemies should be seen at least partly in a political light -- in this particular case, as a celebration of Umayyad dominance. This propaganda dimension was frequently to reappear in Islamic art, especially in architecture, although it tended to be of secondary rather than primary significance.

Allied to the understandable confidence generated by spectacular military successes at home and abroad was a confidence based on a sense of secure dynastic power. The Umayyads had abrogated the primordial Islamic notion of an elective succession to the caliphate and replaced it by the dynastic principle. The internal political turmoil of the later seventh century was in large measure caused -- and maintained -- by that action. Once victorious over their enemies, however, the Umayyads were able to indulge a heady consciousness of family power for which history can offer few parallels. For several caliphs -- notably 'Abd al-Malik, al-Walid I and al-Walid II -- this sense of dynastic pride found its most public expression in ambitious building campaigns. The caliphs Sulaiman and Hisham were not far behind, and other princes of the royal family, such as al-'Abbas b. al-Walid and Ghamr b. Yazid, followed suit. Indeed, to judge by the quantities of religious and secular buildings erected in Syria between 690 and 750 under the direct patronage of the Umayyad royal house, architecture speedily became a family business. The immense financial resources of the Islamic state, whose exchequer was swollen by the accumulated booty of the Arab conquests and by the taxation revenue which came pouring in thereafter, were at the disposal of the Umayyad builders. Thus 'Abd al-Malik was able to set aside the tax revenues of Egypt for seven years to pay for the Dome of the Rock, while his son al-Walid I devoted the entire tax revenue of Syria for seven years to the building and embellishment of the Great Mosque of Damascus. There was thus both the will and the means to embark on grandiose building projects.

Section II

Enough has been said to account for the superb self-confidence which triggered and then fuelled the massive building programme of the Umayyads. Yet the geographical location of these buildings also requires explanation. Given that they are to be found, with very few exceptions, exclusively in Syria, how was an undue parochialism, peculiarly inappropriate to a world empire, avoided? The answer is three-fold. First, Syria under the Umayyads was beyond compare the most favoured land in the Islamic empire. Its inhabitants enjoyed privileges and concessions denied to those from other provinces. Its principal city, Damascus, was from 661 the capital of the empire. Here was established the Umayyad court and administration, when these were not to be found toiling in the wake of semi-nomadic caliphs. The massive caliphal investment in agricultural installations -- canals, dams, wells, gardens and so on, culminating in the planned but abortive diversion of the River Jordan itself -- made Syria perhaps even exceed Iraq as the richest province in the empire. Thus abundant wealth complemented its political prestige.

Parochialism in Umayyad art was further discouraged by the practice of conscripting labour and materials from other provinces. This custom ensured that Syrian material culture would be metropolitan. The caliphs could dip at will into an extensive labour pool within their own domains, and could supplement this by importing still more craftsmen and materials from outside the Islamic world, notably from Byzantium. The chance survival of a cache of papyri from Aphrodito in Upper Egypt documents the workings of an Islamic corvée system -- essentially the leiturgia practised by Rome and Byzantium -- in the early eighth century. The local governor, one Qurra b. Sharik, was responsible for sending a specified number of men to work on the Damascus mosque, and he had to provide money to cover their living expenses too. Such documentary proof of the corvée system can be supplemented by literary references -- for example, al-Tabari mentions the activity of Syrian and Coptic workmen in the building of the mosque at Medina -- and, above all, by the evidence of the buildings themselves. Stucco sculpture of Persian type, Iraqi techniques of vault construction, mouldings from south-eastern Anatolia, a figural style closely paralleled in Coptic sculpture -- all furnish unmistakable evidence that the style and building practice of Syria was enriched by ideas and traditions from much further afield. There was no danger that the local Syrian craftsmen would cling to their own traditions and thus risk stagnation.

Finally, the position of Syria, both geographically and politically, militated against parochialism. The province was uniquely placed to draw inspiration from the major cultures newly yoked together to form the Islamic empire. To the north, west and south-west lay lands in which Graeco-Roman culture was dominant and which were either Byzantine or, like Egypt and North Africa, had recently been wrested from Byzantine rule. To the south was Arabia, which at this early stage in Islamic history was still by no means a spent force in religious, cultural or political terms. To the east lay Mesopotamia and Persia, comprising the accumulated heritage of Assyria and Babylon, and of the Achaemenids, Parthians and Sasanians. Here the tradition of world empires died hard, though the horizons of these Middle Eastern states were appreciably narrower than those of the Umayyads.

Within the Umayyad empire, then, which stretched from France to the Indus, Syria was ideally placed to act as a central point from which metropolitan influences radiated to the outlying provinces. No other region of the Islamic world combined such a deeply rooted Hellenism with an openness to the ancient cultures of the Near East. By virtue of its geographical position and its political pre-eminence, Syria was a natural bridge between east and west, north and south. It was only to be expected that under the Umayyads its art should reflect this unique situation. The fact that those same Umayyads were not a family of local Syrian notables but the representatives of the greatest empire in the contemporary world gave their art a mission of the utmost seriousness. It had a public, an imperial, role. In the immediately pre-Islamic period Syria had perforce been constrained to yield centre stage to Constantinople and even Alexandria, and was thus to a certain extent an eastern appendage of a Mediterranean-centred empire. The emergence of Islam as a world power decisively changed all this and brought Syria its scant century of glory. Umayyad art was the public expression of that glory.

So far as the future of Islamic art was concerned, this was a crucial century, in which the face of the Mediterranean world and the Near East was permanently redrawn. This century established the principle that Islamic art, far from being intrinsically universal, could have (as it certainly began by having) a well-defined regional and dynastic character, a feature which it consistently retained in later centuries. The Umayyad period also ensured that the forms and ideas of classical art, which were much better understood in Syria than in the lands further to the east, would enter the bloodstream of Islamic art. As a result, Islamic architecture tends to feel familiar to a Western observer; it employs, after all, the familiar vocabulary of column and capital, pointed arch and dome, rib and vault. It was under the Umayyads, too, that a distinct iconography of princely life, centring around the formal, ceremonial activities of the monarch and his leisure pursuits, was developed and refined. This set of images was to become a leitmotif of secular art throughout the Islamic world. Similarly, the success of Umayyad solutions to many problems of religious and secular architecture ensured that the building types evolved during this period repeatedly recurred in one guise or another in subsequent centuries. This readiness of later generations to copy Umayyad prototypes was at least partly due to the unique glamour, which invested this, the first and most powerful of Islamic dynasties. As already noted, too, the Umayyads recognized the propaganda dimension inherent in splendid buildings and symbolic images; this also was to remain a constant of later Islamic art. Yet this same development was viewed with some mistrust at first, and Mu'awiya, the first Umayyad caliph, when challenged about his taste for ostentation on the Byzantine model, defended himself by asserting that 'we are at the frontier and I desire to rival the enemy in martial pomp, so that he may be witness to the prestige of Islam'.

Finally, the Umayyads' choice of Syria as their power base had tremendous consequences for later Islamic art, since the generative impact of Syria was greater than that of any potential rival among the other provinces in the Islamic empire. Islamic art would have developed in a very different fashion if the Umayyads had settled, for example, in Arabia, in Spain or in India. At the same time, lest too much be claimed for the art of this period, it is worth remembering that some of the media which were later to become most typically Islamic, such as glazed pottery, metalwork, carpets, book painting and textiles, are either totally or virtually absent from art of this period.

Section III

What, then, are the principal expressions of Islamic art under Umayyad dominion? The so-called 'minor arts' are quickly disposed of: the textile fragment which, if its attribution to Marwan II is correct, would be datable to c. 750, and whose arabesques and figural style would readily suggest Coptic work but for the Arabic inscription; some ivories for which Coptic and Byzantine as well as Umayyad provenances have been suggested, a controversy which itself sheds much light on the intrinsic nature of Umayyad art; and a little metalwork, much of it also of disputed date and provenance. The so-called 'Marwan ewer' in Cairo may be late Umayyad or early 'Abbasid; but its date, and indeed its provenance, is less important than its form, which is prophetic of much of later Islamic metalwork in that it typifies the preferred Islamic response to the sculpture of living creatures. The body of the ewer is occupied principally by a continuous arcade enclosing rosettes and animals, all lightly incised. A pair of dolphins in high relief support the handle; but the pièce de résistance is the fully three-dimensional crowing cockerel, craning forward eagerly with his beak open in full cry, who perches on (and then himself forms) the spout of the ewer. The utilitarian function of such sculpture may well have sufficed, from the standpoint of strict orthodoxy, to justify its otherwise impiously mimetic quality. Several similar but less ornate pieces testify to the popularity of this model. A new chapter in Umayyad metalwork was opened with the discovery in 1985, at the ancient site of al-Fudain, of a square bronze brazier on wheels. At each corner stands a naked girl, sculpted in the round and holding a bird; along the only complete side is a set of panels with erotic images and scenes of revelling. The piece bears close affinities to the sculptures of Khirbat al-Mafjar.

Another significant expression of Umayyad art deserves brief mention here: the coinage of the period. To a quite remarkable degree this coinage mirrors and encapsulates the artistic tendencies traceable in the much more complex field of architecture. Umayyad coins faithfully reflect the long fallow period which preceded the serious involvement of Umayyad patrons with ambitious works of art. The significant innovations in coinage are almost exactly contemporary with the Dome of the Rock (completed in 691). As in architecture, so in coins the evolutionary trend is clear: an initially slavish dependence on classical models gives way to an increasing preference for themes and techniques inherited from the ancient Near East, and the resultant period of experiment produces some unexpected reworkings of old ideas in new contexts. Finally an originally and distinctively Islamic solution is fashioned from these heterogeneous elements. This entire process of acculturation and innovation was, it seems, telescoped into little more than a decade; perhaps the limited physical scope offered by coinage resulted in Islamic forms being introduced at an accelerated pace. The evolution of coins therefore epitomizes a process which in other media, notably architecture, occurred much more slowly and tentatively.

In Iraq, Persia and areas even further east, Sasanian silver coins were copied with virtually no alteration. The favourite design featured on the obverse a portrait head of Khusrau II, one of the last Sasanian rulers before the Islamic conquest of Persia, and on the reverse a fire altar with attendants. Even the name of the Sasanian ruler in the Persian Pahlavi characters was retained, as were the Pahlavi mint marks, while the date was given successively in the two Sasanian calendars and then in the Islamic or Hijra reckoning. When the Muslim governor's name was given, it was also written in Pahlavi characters. The only distinctively Islamic feature was the addition of pious expressions in Kufic script, such as 'in the name of God' or 'praise be to God'. Thus presumably Persian die makers continued to work under the Muslims. These Arab-Sasanian coins, then, show the willingness of the Muslims to maintain the status quo.

In Syria, with the spectre of a weakened but unconquered Byzantine state just north of the border, the situation was different. Here the Arabs naturally encountered not Sasanian but Byzantine coinage. They were already familiar with this, since the words dinar and dirham (from denarius and drachma respectively) occur in the Qur'an. Despite the Greek derivation of its name, the dirham mentioned in the Qur'an, in the chapter of Joseph, is probably a Sasanian coin since this was by far the most widespread silver coin in the Near East -- the dollar of late antiquity. The Sasanian economy was based on silver just as that of Byzantium was based on gold. Under the caliph 'Umar I, for example, the Syrians paid their taxes in gold while the Iraqis paid theirs in silver. The Arabic copper coin, the fals, is the Greek follis in disguise; here, too, the Byzantine designs were copied. At first Byzantine types were used without any alteration; this was sound economic sense, for the Arabs had long been familiar with these coins in commerce. Indeed, a Syriac chronicle records that when in 661 the caliph Mu'awiya minted gold and silver 'the populace did not accept it as there was no cross on it'. Several well-known Byzantine types were copied, some of single standing imperial figures, others showing the emperor Heraclius and his two sons. Soon, however, tiny but momentous changes were introduced; on the reverse, the cross on a stepped podium lost its horizontal bar, the monogram denoting Christ was deprived of its initial letter and hence its meaning, and the crosses surmounting the imperial crowns were removed. The intention behind these changes was clearly to de-Christianize the coins, but to do so as unobtrusively as possible, retaining their Byzantine look.

By degrees the Muslims embarked on bolder innovations, replacing for example the Byzantine ruler with orb and sceptre by a recognizably Arab figure, bearded, wearing the traditional Bedouin headdress, and clasping a sword -- a pose evocative of the caliph delivering, as his office demanded, the khutba or bidding prayer at the congregational mosque on Fridays. In other experimental issues this 'standing caliph' was replaced by other images with an even more unmistakably Islamic religious significance, such as the caliph flanked by attendants and with his hands raised in prayer, or a mihrab enclosing the Prophet's lance. Finally, in a far-reaching currency reform which extended to most of the Islamic world and was carried out between 695 and 697, all figural images were expunged, to be replaced by the quintessential Islamic icon: Qur'anic epigraphy. In these coins, which were minted in their millions, inter-confessional rivalries took on a new and explicit edge. A direct attack on the Christian doctrines of the Incarnation and the Trinity can be seen in the words emblazoned on the field of these coins: 'There is no god but God; Muhammad is the Messenger of God. He has no associate; He does not beget, nor was He begotten.' Seldom in world history has the propaganda potential of coinage been so fully exploited.

Despite the unquestioned significance of Umayyad coins as historical documents, and the curiosity value of the minor arts datable to this period, there can be no doubt that the intrinsic nature of Umayyad art can be gauged only by means of the architecture of the time. Sadly, some of the finest Umayyad mosques have vanished, like the Mosque of the Prophet at Medina, constructed in 707 on the site of his house as part of a far-sighted programme of major mosques at sites of key importance; in its time this must have rivalled the very finest of Umayyad religious monuments. Others have been totally rebuilt, like the Great Mosque of Aleppo, built by the caliph Sulaiman, or the Aqsa mosque in Jerusalem, possibly founded by al-Walid I. Nevertheless, two supreme masterpieces of religious architecture do survive. They show that, while early Islamic art was still in the thrall of the Byzantine and classical heritage, the Muslims were already developing their own visual language and were well able to use inherited forms for their own ends. These buildings confidently proclaimed that the new faith had come to stay in the formerly Christian strongholds of the Near East.

Section IV

The Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem was completed after a turbulent decade in which the Umayyads briefly lost control of the Hijaz, and with it the holy cities of Mecca and Medina, and survived further serious challenges from religious opposition groups. This particular historical background has prompted some scholars to explain it as a victory monument and even as a place of worldwide Muslim pilgrimage to supplement, if not to supplant, Mecca itself. Yet its site and its form also suggest other interpretations. It stood on what was incontestably the prime plot of real estate in all Jerusalem -- the vast high platform on which Solomon's Temple had rested, shunned by Jew and Christian alike since the destruction of that Temple by Titus in AD 70. It marked an enigmatic outcrop of rock traditionally associated with the Creation itself and with the near-sacrifice of Isaac by Abraham, the prelude to God's covenant with man. Later Muslim belief identified this as the place of the Prophet's Ascent to Seven Heavens (his mi'raj ) in the course of his miraculous Night Journey. In form the building is a domed octagon with a double ambulatory encircling the rock; in essence, then, a centralized structure of a type long familiar in Roman mausolea and Christian martyria. The choice of form probably stems from a desire to upstage the nearby domed church of the Holy Sepulchre, perhaps the most sacred shrine of Christianity, also built over a rock; the diameters of the two domes differ by only a centimetre. Nevertheless, the earlier building was confined within the urban fabric of Jerusalem, while the Dome of the Rock enjoyed, as it still does, a matchlessly uncluttered and highly visible site. In much the same way, the quintessentially Byzantine medium of wall mosaic was used to decorate the interior and exterior of the Dome of the Rock on a scale unparalleled in any surviving earlier Byzantine church. The pervasive motifs of jewelled plants, trees and chalices have been interpreted as references to Muslim victory, Solomon's Temple and Paradise itself, while the earliest epigraphic programme in Islamic architecture comprises lengthy Qur'anic quotations exhorting believers and attacking -- as did contemporary coins -- such Christian doctrines as the Trinity and the Incarnation. (Additional images of the Dome of the Rock can be found in the gallery.)

The Great Mosque of Damascus (705-15) offers the natural pendant to this great building -- again, a royal foundation occupying the most public and hallowed site in its city. Here too its topographical dominance has clear political overtones. It too is of impressive size and splendour, and uses Qur'anic inscriptions (now unfortunately lost) for proselytizing purposes. The caliph al-Walid I purchased the entire site, comprising the walled enclosure of the temple of Jupiter Damascenus and the Christian church of St. John the Baptist within it, and forthwith demolished that church and every other structure within the walls. The revered model of the Prophet's house in Medina -- the primordial mosque of Islam -- as refined by slightly later mosques built in the garrison cities of Iraq and elsewhere, seems to have inspired much of what now followed. An open courtyard filled most of the rectangle created by this wholesale demolition, with the covered sanctuary of the mosque on its long south side. Yet this arrangement is not entirely Muslim. It boldly recast the standard components of a typical Christian basilica to secure a new lateral emphasis in keeping with the needs of Islamic worship. The three aisles remained, but the direction of prayer ran at right angles across them and was marked in elevation by a towering domed gable which clove through the pitched roof to form a central transept. Its façade was a free variation on the standard west front of Syrian churches. This T-shaped partition of the sanctuary was destined to have a long posterity in the mosques of the western Islamic world.

Carved marble window grilles with elaborate geometrical patterns loosely inspired by late antique wall mosaics presage the enduring geometric bias of much Islamic ornament. Quartered marble, so cut that the veining of the stone continues from one slab to the next, formed dados in typical Byzantine fashion. Above them unfolded the glory of the mosque: hundreds of square metres of wall mosaic in the predominantly green and gold tonality already encountered in the Dome of the Rock mosaics. The caliph seems to have obtained artists and materials from Byzantium itself for this great work; certainly the technical standard of the mosaics is beyond reproach. Along the inner wall of the ancient enclosure, above a continuous golden vine-scroll (now lost) which functioned like a religious cordon sanitaire for the entire mosque, is unveiled a vast panoramic landscape. Along the banks of a river regularly punctuated by gigantic trees rises a fantasy architecture of villages and palaces in endless profusion. The link with Roman wall-paintings of the type found at Pompeii is unmistakable; but here the idea is put to new and unexpected use, for it strikes the dominant note in a huge monument of religious architecture. Some of these multi-storey structures also evoke South Arabian vernacular architecture. Human and animal figures are conspicuously absent, indicating -- as at the Dome of the Rock -- that a distaste for figural ornament in a religious context had already taken root. Despite the obvious success of these mosaics as pure decoration, many meanings have been proposed for them: topographical references to Damascus or to Syria in general, wish-fulfilling depictions of a world at peace under Islamic sway, or evocations of Paradise itself. Perhaps such ambiguity is intentional. (Additional images of the Great Mosque can be found in the gallery.)

Clearly, these two buildings belong together as a considered Muslim response to the splendours of classical and Christian architecture around them, and an assertion of the power and presence of the new faith. The same message issues from the much more numerous desert establishments founded under royal patronage. The Umayyad princes -- chafing under the moral and physical restraints of city life, apprehensive of the plague which recurrently menaced those cities, and perhaps atavistically drawn to desert life -- moved restlessly from one of these desert residences to another. With a few exceptions -- among them a khan or travellers' lodging place at Qasr al-Hair al-Gharbi and perhaps one at Qasr al-Hair al-Sharqi too, and a miniature city at 'Anjar laid out on a Roman grid plan -- these foundations fall into a well-defined category. Here, too, pre-Islamic forms are pressed into service.

Yet much more than mere imitation is involved. Where the Dome of the Rock sedulously copied Christian martyria and the Damascus mosque reworked the Christian basilica, the desert residences radically refashioned inherited forms. They combined two familiar building types whose origins are Roman, not Byzantine -- and this association with the remoter but more prestigious imperium (rather than its still unconquered successor) is surely significant. The two building types in question -- the villa rustica and the frontier fort -- are intrinsically unrelated and are thus quite naturally segregated in their parent culture. This unawaited combination springs from the need, peculiar to this group of patrons, to integrate two essentially dissimilar functions. These residences served at once as the nerve centre of a working agricultural estate, in which the caliph was -- so to speak -- lord of the manor, and as outward symbols of conspicuous consumption and political power. The shell of the Roman frontier fort, complete with salient gateway, corner towers, battlements, and even its favoured Roman dimensions, was retained. But now it was shorn of virtually all its functioning defensive devices, and contained both luxury royal apartments and service quarters grouped in two stories around a central courtyard. Qasr al-Hair al-Gharbi, Usais and Khirbat al-Minya all attest this type.

A rather different kind of establishment is represented by a pair of sites north-east of 'Amman in the Jordanian desert -- Qusair 'Amra and Hammam al-Sarakh. These also make free with a classical building type -- in this case, the bath. In approved Roman fashion, cold, warm and hot rooms, all variously vaulted, succeed each other. The novelty lies in adding a ceremonial vaulted hall, complete with royal niche, to this humble ensemble and thereby exalting it to a new dignity. Qusair 'Amra is especially notable for its matchless series of wall-paintings, the most extensive sequence of true frescoes to have survived from the late antique and early medieval world. Shot through with techniques and iconographical allusions of classical origin, they celebrate the pleasures of wine, women and song -- to say nothing of the dance, the bath and the hunt -- in a remarkably uninhibited idiom. Among several images in a more serious vein, some of them with Solomonic echoes as at Khirbat al-Mafjar (see below), a scene of six kings in submissive pose, identified by inscriptions as the monarchs of the earth, is especially notable. It symbolizes the entry of the Umayyads into the exclusive club of world leaders, and implies the dominant role of their dynasty in that club. The epicurean lifestyle conjured up by the main body of frescoes has to be seen within the context of this overt bid for imperial status. Thus political concerns infiltrate even the carefree atmosphere of this remote hunting lodge, to which the anonymous prince occasionally repaired for a few days of recreation -- there was no provision for him to live at this site permanently.

At the very end of the Umayyad period, in response to the increasingly extravagant ambitions of the playboy caliph al-Walid II, greatly enlarged multi-functional palaces were built. Khirbat al-Mafjar (unfinished; before 743) is a free variation on the loosely planned agglomeration of discrete units found in the Roman and Byzantine palaces of Tivoli, Piazza Armerina and Constantinople. Here, in the fertile valley of Jericho, and linked by little more than their proximity within an enclosing wall, are disposed a palace, a mosque, an underground bath with shower, a courtyard with an imposing central tholos (a circular colonnaded structure) over a fountain, and finally the jewel of the site -- a huge domed and vaulted bath hall, a precocious forerunner of the Byzantine cross-in-square church. A peerless array of thirty-nine adjoining panels together create the largest single floor mosaic to survive from the medieval or indeed the ancient world, and provide a fitting match for the spatial subtleties of the elevation. Other amenities include a bathing pool, a plunge bath which held wine, a luxurious royal retiring-room perhaps used for private audiences, for banqueting or as a tribunal, and finally a splendidly appointed latrine designed to accommodate some thirty-three visitors at a time. Fresco and tempera paintings and, above all, stucco carving of unexampled vigour and resource complemented the splendours of the architecture and floor mosaic. The sculptures of athletes and serving girls in particular seem to epitomize the joie de vivre which the entire establishment exudes.

Mshatta is altogether more sober, not to say gloomy. Its size -- 144 m (472 ft) per side -- is unprecedented among Umayyad palaces and greatly accentuates its sombre, dominating impact. Though it was never finished, enough survives to reveal the basic principle of its layout -- a sequential subdivision into three parts on an ever-diminishing scale. An iron logic governs the working out of this scheme. While the caliph's own quarters, at the far end of the central tract, were no doubt as lavishly appointed as their counterparts in other Umayyad palaces, they are not enough to explain the overwhelming scale of the ensemble; indeed, they are sufficiently small to underline the fact that this was no mere pleasure palace. The key to the building, therefore, must lie in the side tracts, which were scarcely begun when work on the whole complex was abruptly stopped. Their huge size suggests that Mshatta, unlike the other Umayyad residences, was intended to accommodate large numbers of people -- perhaps the entire Umayyad court complete with administration and bodyguard, or even pilgrims returning from the hajj, the pilgrimage to Mecca, though this is less likely since it would happen only once a year. If Mshatta really was a palace city it would be the natural precursor to the Round City of Baghdad, built barely a generation later. Whatever its function, there can be no doubt that Mshatta draws inspiration from the tradition which produced Diocletian's palace at Split, itself no villa but the apotheosis of the castrum or Roman military camp. Once again, then, the source is Roman rather than Byzantine. Yet Mshatta is no mere copy. Its tightly regimented square design is subtly orchestrated to assert the absolute power of the monarch; the language of military architecture is made to serve the ends of political propaganda. Not even the celebrated carved facade which extends along the outer face of the central or royal tract, and that tract only, can mask this grim political message.

Section V

What conclusions as to the nature of Umayyad art can be drawn from the material surveyed in this chapter? Three consistent characteristics can be isolated: it is eclectic, experimental and propagandist. The eclecticism is easily explained. The fact that Umayyad art developed in Syria meant that it was open to the influence not only of the local school of late antique art but also to the art of contemporary metropolitan Byzantium, Coptic Egypt and Armenia, and of course imperial Rome, whose monuments were ubiquitous. Borrowings from the East -- Mesopotamia, Sasanian Iran, Central Asia, even India -- waxed as classical influences waned in response to the increasingly definitive alignment of the Umayyad state towards its eastern territories. Given the relatively primitive stage of artistic expression which characterized much of the Arabian peninsula in pre-Islamic times, there was no question of the Umayyads importing their own ready-made indigenous Arabian art into Syria. Thus they had perforce to adopt the initially alien styles of the people they had conquered. Their practice of conscripting labour from provinces outside Syria ensured the meeting of widely divergent styles.

This helps to account for the second hallmark of Umayyad art -- its experimental nature. Virtually limitless funds were set aside for architectural projects; and the speed with which they were completed shows that large teams of workmen laboured side by side. Naturally they learned from, and competed with, each other. It is thus scarcely surprising that, in the heady atmosphere created by a continuous building spree, and in response to the urgings of patrons who delighted in all-over decoration, the sense of restraint integral to classical art and its descendants was soon thrown off. Experiment became the watchword. It has its serious side, as shown in the austere geometric wall-paintings of Hisn Maslama, an Umayyad residence and settlement on the Euphrates in Syria. But in general one is struck by the infectious gusto of Umayyad decorative art, especially its figural stucco and painting, where the effect is heightened by bold, even garish, colours. Unshackled by convention, open-minded, endlessly inventive, artists delighted to turn old ideas to new account, equally ready to trivialize important motifs by dwarfing them and to inflate essentially minor themes so as to lend them an unexpected significance. Umayyad artists were far less inhibited than their contemporary counterparts elsewhere in the Mediterranean world. Hence they freely combined themes and media which tradition had hitherto kept apart; at Mshatta, for example, brick vaults of Sasanian type are found a few feet away from a classically-inspired triple-arched entrance in cut stone. Transpositions are equally common: cornice designs are used for plinths, epigraphy overruns both capital and shaft of a column and patterns normally created by quartered marble are imitated in plaster. In this high-spirited and often vulgar art, parody is never far away.

Yet alongside this robustness, this often wayward originality, Umayyad art consistently strikes a more serious note. Virtually all the significant buildings to survive were the result of royal patronage, and their political and proclamatory dimension cannot be ignored. Sometimes, as in the references to Paradise in the lost inscriptions of the Damascus mosaics, or in the frontal attacks on Christianity in the inscriptions of the Dome of the Rock and later Umayyad coinage, the message is religious. More often it is political, asserting -- as in the ground plan of Mshatta -- the lonely pre-eminence of the caliph, or -- as in the floor frescoes of Qasr al-Hair al-Gharbi -- Umayyad dominance over east and west alike. The apse mosaic in the diwan at Khirbat al-Mafjar goes further still in its unmistakable warning of the sudden death which awaits the enemies of Islam. It is peculiarly fitting in this context that it should be Umayyad Syria, not Rome or Byzantium, that can claim the most extensive programme of wall mosaics and the largest single floor mosaic to survive from ancient or medieval times. From 'Abd al-Malik onwards, the masters of the new Arab imperium needed no instruction in the prestige value of such glamorous decoration.

The historical and geographical setting of Umayyad art made it inevitable that some of the directions it took turned out to be dead ends. Such classical or Byzantine borrowings as figural sculpture and wall mosaic, for example, struck few chords in later Islamic craftsmen. Yet it was the Umayyad period which integrated the classical tradition into Islamic art, which devised some of the basic types of mosque and palace destined to recur repeatedly in later generations, which established the sovereign importance of applied ornament -- geometric, floral and epigraphic -- in Islamic art, and finally which showed that a distinctive new style could be welded together from the most disparate elements. In so doing it moulded the future development of Islamic art

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. The Oral Narrator

A history of theatre and drama in Arab Middle Eastern and Maghrebian countries would not be complete without discussing the fundamental importance of local oral narrating and performing traditions. Although theatre scholars and historians correctly cite the 19th century as the time when European-style theatre production was introduced formally in most of the Arabic-speaking world, local oral narrating and performing traditions were clearly "institutions" in Middle Eastern and north African Maghrebian societies that helped prepare the terrain for the public to accept and artistically adapt the Western dramatic form. These traditions existed alongside the more conventional performance modes such as song, dance, rituals, ceremonies, and instrumental orchestration. They have served, to one degree or another, as sources of inspiration for modern and contemporary playwrights in these regions.

This section will briefly discuss the importance of the traditional oral narrator in terms of performer and "historian" articulating a social collective identity in the context of the region, and then proceed to describe some of the most salient examples of oral narration-based performance activities in existence in these regions before the institutionalization of Western European-style theatre production. The oral narrator clearly fulfilled the important roles of performer-entertainer and historian-narrator, but there is no doubt that oral narration also articulated and transmitted diverse notions of identity in various social groups. This articulation of group identity can be linked beyond the local to the phenomenon of Islamization in areas outside the Arabian Peninsula, to the spread of the Ottoman Turkish empire, and to the periods of modern colonialism, the latter coinciding with the birth of modern drama in most of these areas. The figure of the oral narrator provided continuity with the old and an opportunity to articulate the new, and in so doing managed to shape a part of the history of theatre, performance and dramatic art in the Middle East and Maghreb.

The tradition of the oral narrator: the narrator as performer

The performance functions traditionally associated with the oral narrator and oral tradition were valuable enough to modern theatre that it has sought to replicate some of them. It has done so by taking advantage of the fundamental components that make up an orally-founded tradition: an orally-narrated "text", the human narrator (body and voice, or gesture and word), the transmission of the "text" through the human medium in dialogue with the spectator, and the history of the transmission of these "texts" as they pass through successive narrators in different times and places. Traditionally, the oral narrator used voice to narrate a series or sequence of events, whether factual, legendary or fictitious. Dramatic or theatrical quality was added to the narration by imitation, mimicry, impersonation and rhetorical manipulation of language in order to create verbal imagery. Through this imagery and theatrical play, the oral narrator created a "place", a fictional or theatrical space in which the spectator or auditor was invited to enter into a special relationship of complicity, one that implicitly acknowledged a space maintained through the faculty of the imagination.

Through a language of cultural and symbolic codes, manifest in gestures and words, and drawn from a common pool of sources like conventions, social customs, political or religious practices and taboos, both oral narrator and spectator engage in dialogue and in essence co-create a "text". Within the Arabic-Islamic oral tradition, the spectator has characteristically been an active one, insofar as the audience has been accustomed to playing a participatory role in the reception of the poem or narration. Spectators, auditors or interlocutors are not merely passive receivers or consumers of a product (like in the "produced" performance), but rather are active participating "performers" themselves, with a certain bargaining power in the narrating event. 1

The performance dynamics between narrator and spectator have always been largely dictated, of course, by the individual personality of the oral narrator, who is the personalized medium through which this constant re-synchronizing of "narrator--text--public" takes place. Techniques of suspense, personal references to audience members and community events, musical cadence, character imitation and mimicry, details extrapolated from collectively familiar sources and embellished, all interact and intermingle with responses, criticisms and encouragement freely offered by the public. The oral narrator draws on "inherited" or learned techniques, and mixes them with his or her own creative and spontaneous personality, in order --through imaginative improvisation and intervention-- to elicit emotions and reactions from the audience. As "producer" of the interactive transaction, he or she consciously manipulates and directs the performed story or tale, soliciting feedback that often narrates itself into the text being created. Sustaining the narrative ultimately depends on the ability and skill to entertain and maintain audience interest. It becomes a particular mark of individual creative styles, indeed, of one's "authorship".

As Youssef Rachid Haddad 2 points out in his study on the Arab oral narrator as "theatre", the individual personality of the traditional Arab narrator is "profoundly linked to the substance of the narration, much more so than is the personality of the classical [western] actor to the role he plays".3

The narrator is a..."master of ceremonies", director, actor and artist (he recreates and animates, and transforms a fixed text into a living one). The public's participation is an extremely important element for the enrichment of the narrator's exercise and art. Far from being an inert audience, the Arab public has always made its presence known. It makes criticisms and objections, always rendering each session passionate and unpredictable; it has played an undeniable role in modifying texts, and aided in the evolution and enrichment of the narrator's techniques. Furthermore, the life of the public [audience] continues, as people smoke, drink, eat, take a seat, stand up, come and go, always milling about but always attentive. On the other hand, the western theatre space mandates that the public be seated, silent, static, focused on a single point of interest. More constrained than the Arabic public, there is no formulating criticisms, commentaries or questions.4

By virtue of this creative personality and audience participation, the "text" --no matter how familiar a local, historical or religious story or text it might be-- is always reinventing itself. It is both re-creation of the familiar and unique creation of a single public narrative event at each performance.

The tradition of the oral narrator: the narrator as historian

In addition to adapting some of the performance techniques of the traditional oral narrator, modern theatre likewise has sought to replicate and rework some of the functions traditionally associated with the oral narrator and oral tradition in terms of historical narration. These include the process of the narration of history itself and the process of authorial legitimization. The narration of events as they relate to each other within an (ideological) framework, and the contextualization necessary to re-enact those events as they presumably would have happened are the usual tasks of the historian. In a like manner, the deliberate selection, prioritization and hierarchization of events according to specific criteria also reflect the task of the creative narrator. Both historian and narrator recount and depict a series of events or happenings. Both rely on a diverse pallet of literary tropes and rhetorical devices to generate a "legitimate text", with both narrator and narration undergoing a process of legitimization so that they may be recognized as "authorized" to represent or speak on behalf of a "truth" or story value, be it for its utility, relevancy, didactic message or simply the value of entertainment. As Ong (Orality...35) has noted, the oral narrating tradition also includes frequent use of proverbs and sayings which characteristically embrace such domains as: "moral-legal" (defining "right" or "wrong"; "honor" and "shame"); "ethical" (defining "good" or "bad"); "spiritual" (promulgating sacred belief systems); and "patrimonial" (disseminating "collective history"). All depict the relationship of the individual to society and to specific perceptions of the Divine, important for any group's historical "location" in space and time.

Read and re-written through the prism of the present, in a dialectical relationship with the past, historical narration can be problematized in terms of the pillars that constitute its very production, i.e. its process of interpretation and its structure of narration. This can apply to oral narration as well. Because of the characteristics that inherently enhance performance, and because of the vital role as news-bearer and carrier of tradition, the oral narrator of historical events and stories has at times been associated with questions that emerge with regard to truthfulness and faithful interpretation and representation. What was the degree of flexibility to be allowed to a narrator recounting events grounded in officially legitimized history? If a text was creatively embellished, might not those details take on a life of their own and generate the creation of an ultimately "false" text? If we assume that an orally narrated text carries inherently within itself the possibility of generating a new text at each successive site of narration -- through its dialogue with diverse narrator-mediums and publics-- then what kind of criteria are to be established to determine fact from fallacy or imagination? Newly generated "texts" or accounts were often vulnerable to pronouncements of moral judgment, and to questions of their "acceptability" (in conformity with status quo, hegemony, tradition, ideological agenda) or "unacceptability" (heresy, or disruptive of status quo, hegemony and tradition, ideological agenda). Innovation, or originality, then, could be judged ultimately in terms of being compatible with a previous tradition, pattern or ideology, or subversive of a given system or canon. These questions, commonplace in our revisiting of literary histories today, actually provoked similar debates in oral narration-based societies undergoing diverse forms of Islamization and colonization. On a broader scale, these kinds of questions align themselves with the concepts of what constitutes collective identity and the manner in which this identity is transmitted, and they were effectively incorporated into the agendas and content of some playwrights in the modern era.

Oral narration and social-collective identity

Because it is negotiated socially (through narrator-audience--performance dynamics) and historically (through communities as entities in space and time), the orally narrated "text" becomes linked to the concept of social-collective identity and representation. The orally narrated text, within oral tradition, has the capacity to act either as a stabilizing force (consolidating, reaffirming and reinforcing identity and "roots") or as a force of disruption, capable of change in order to deal with strange or foreign elements encountered by the community. As such, it functions as a tool of survival and organization, or adaptation through re-organization -- of social values, norms and practices. Through its appropriation of new or different elements and its re-appropriation of previously transmitted material, oral narration defines the historical identity and socio-cultural values of "community", and reinforces community identity through the very act of its representation and narration. Active agency within the oral narrating tradition defies our often commonplace notion of oral narration as "passive transference."

As Sabra Webber notes in her research on Tunisian oration, oral narration creates a sense of personal communal control over larger historical events as they are interpreted by the community. In confronting foreign elements, it generates "alternative solutions" that reveal "coping mechanisms", manifesting a certain internal dynamism as the community adjusts to inevitable changes from without and within.5 It does so precisely through its unique combination of narrative content and form, bound inextricably to each other by means of personal performance techniques, creating a dialogue that is both psychological and physical with the spectating-participating public. John Renard expands this notion in his study on the heroic image as narrated in the Islamic world, by noting that these very kinds of psychological strategies for dealing with local situations and the world at large are specifically revealed in the particular depictions of heroes and other characters in the texts.6 The qualities, values and strategies of the heroes undergo continuous (re-)translation as they are contextualized and re-contextualized during their passage from one age, and even one culture, to another. The re-ordering, re-prioritization, and re-hierarchization of events and details within the narrative juxtaposes personal artistic vision with the vision that society has of itself. Much like information retrieval, some material--be it historical, religious, literary, popular wisdom-- is ultimately deemed useful, relevant, important and thus worthy of transmission. The identity of a community is passed on in concert with the changing historical circumstances. It both narrates and historicizes itself in the narration.

The oral narrator, then, by virtue of his or her relationship to the orally transmitted "text" and the relationship ensuing from performance dynamics during the process of (re-)creating the "text", takes on a dual nature of performer-historian. Within the context of "community", oral narration serves as a tool for survival and continuity. It is instrumental for adaptation and reorganization of communal values and priorities. Narrations and their histories become yoked to a community's location in space and time, to its very identity, in a number of interesting ways. The articulation and representation of identity through a format of dramatization, was likewise incorporated into the content and performances of modern playwrights.7

Oral narration on the move during Islamization

Oral narration and the process of Islamization bound together in a historical relationship that would have important ramifications on the development of specific literary traditions, emerging in an ongoing interaction of cultures, stories, languages, historical accounts and traditions initiated from the time of the 7th century Qur'anic revelations to the Prophet Muhammad. It is often noted that the oral narration tradition of Islam denotes not only the transmission of the Qur'anic text, but also the history and lore of the early Islamic community itself as it extended beyond the boundaries of the Arabian peninsula, into areas as remote as Asia and Northwest Africa. During this early period of its history, and continuing on through medieval times, oral narrators permeated all social classes, from the literate and ruling elite to the illiterate and popular communities. They conveyed a sense of history, tradition, morality and humor through the transmission of their "texts" and accounts. Many of these oral narrators (court, elite, popular, itinerant) traveled on pilgrimages to Mecca and other Muslim holy sites. They literally became transmitters of culture and commentators on society. It is useful to keep in mind this overall active and "fluid" context when noting the movements of and within the oral and written literary traditions, even as they "transgressed" the boundaries between elite and popular discourses. This factor, especially due to the geographical extension of the Islamic empire, would evoke a number of historical particularities, created by the interacting dynamics --linguistic, aesthetic, ideological, historical, social-- of local narrating practices and traditions as they overlapped and converged in diverse types of societies undergoing a process of Islamization. In his discussion on "tracing the hero", Renard --reminiscent of Jeyifo's dialectical "foreignizing" and "indigenizing"-- creates for literary histories a viable working definition of "Islamization" and "Indigenization", whereby:

Islamization is the process by which the religious tradition of Islam becomes a major factor within a culture or ethnic group or region, and an originally non-Islamic heroic figure (Rustam, Antar) gradually takes on an Islamic religious cast, for once Islamized it participates in the legitimation of a religious tradition by conferring on it the kind of credibility it needs to take hold in new cultural circumstances.
Indigenization is the process by which a culture, ethnic group or region puts its own stamp on Islam, and the receiving culture makes acceptable to itself stories from other cultures, so that an originally Islamic hero or hero previously Islamized en route to a farther destination (such as Hamza or Iskandar) begins to take on the features of a local character. (14-16)

Orality and Literacy, Indigenization and Islamization

As often pointed out by scholars, the articulated spoken word was already highly valued in populations throughout the Middle East and northern Africa in pre-Islamic times. This early characteristic was significantly heightened by the injunction to "recite" the Qur'an vocally. The emphasis on rhetorical devices used to conjure images through verbally articulated words served as a basis for both the pre-Islamic and Arab-Islamic poetic tradition.8 At the same time, the proclaimed status of inimitability and unique oral/written nature of the Qur'an would legitimize the Arabic language and literary expression of the Quraysh, tribe of the Prophet. The sacred character of the Qur'an and its status as a revealed text would give impetus to a long tradition of textual and philological commentary and exegesis similar to the Christian Biblical tradition. This scholarly exegesis (tafsir) would inform and form the critical perspectives applied to both pre-Islamic and Islamic poetry, and canonize works deemed of high literary merit. From the 7th-10th centuries --a time period corresponding essentially to Umayyad (centered in Damascus) and 'Abbasid (centered in Baghdad) rule-- the movement to proselytize religion and history clashed with longstanding oral and literary traditions from civilizations like the Persian, Greek and Syriac. Conscious of the need to define an "Islamic character", and desirous to incorporate certain bodies of knowledge within the expanding canon, state elites borrowed and Islamized, to varying degrees, such works as manuals on statesmanship and just rulership (Persian) and treatises on philosophy and science (Greek). This movement would grant a cosmopolitan character to the compiled and consolidated repertory of works. These works, which would become the core of formal Muslim education, included Qur'anic studies, Hadith (collections of words and deeds of the Prophet and early Islamic community, second in authority to the Qur'an), Adab (literary cultivation and cultural refinement), and the Natural and Philosophical Sciences. By the 9th century, specific schools of Islamic jurisprudence (such as Maliki, Shafi'i, Hanafi, and Hanbali in Sunni Islam) had also become firmly established.

All indicated the need to underscore authoritative transmission of specific codes of morality and ethics to both the elite and public at large. These authorized Islamic sources and bodies of knowledge were backed by legitimizing official religious-political institutions, and were disseminated through formal classical schooling. Concurrent with the trend to homogenize and consolidate were the significant debates taking place as to the means by which to "control" this engagement with diverse foreign cultures. These included the Shu'ubiyya controversy and the debate over isnad, which took place during the 8th and 9th centuries. The need of the expanding empire to record, document, legitimize and authorize, provoked a revision in the methodology that had been used up to that point to authenticate the sources of (usually oral) authorial transmission of "texts", stories and histories. On one hand, the "chain" (isnad) of authorities that guaranteed authenticity and veracity of both transmitted text and transmitter had lengthened considerably and was no longer manageable. On the other hand, the proliferation of texts and stories as cultural patrimonies that intermingled with each other had created a problem of trying to determine who or what would constitute a legitimate source and why. How were "foreign" traditions and stories being Islamized to be authenticated?9 Likewise, as Sufism developed and spread, another chain of authorities known as the silsila was established to authenticate and legitimize sufi spiritual knowledge and masters.

During the period of the expanding Islamic empire, "elevated" (official, religious, literary elite) literature regularly employed formulaic devices specifically extracted from the isnad or silsila chain authentification genre in order to subscribe to convention, circumscribe historical or spiritual fact or truth, and legitimize authorship and authority. But at the same time another phenomenon had been taking place. Popular oral narrative, through the storytellers, likewise had begun to employ these devices in order to give an air of legitimacy or authority to their own legends and accounts. Oral narrators had also begun to use these formulaic devices for parody. This phenomenon would have ramifications on historiography and the oral narrating tradition, as they mutually influenced each other through time. The conflation of official history and popular oral narration types such as pre-Islamic chronicles, sirat10 legends and stories, would create a unique "social institution": that of the oral storyteller-cum-historian, who drew from a repertory of previous narrations, official authenticating tropes, embellishing devices, and entertaining performance techniques in order to creatively fuse history, story and legend. Haddad notes,

[...] Our storyteller [...] exercises his profession and storytelling art through accounts, tales, legends, stories, anecdotes, in verse or in prose, of all types: religious, historical, epic, mystical, courtly and social. He sings poetry, narrates, imitates living beings (humans and animals) and things, interprets diverse typical characters through beat, rhythm, musical instruments (rabab and the flute, etc.), accessories, and sometimes make-up and dance. Throughout the centuries, nourished from this free, spontaneous and authentic activity, the storyteller evolved such that he embodied two aspects of the profession: the "historian"-teller and the "popular" teller of tales, alternating between favoring one over the other.11

The ruling authorities would come to exercise authority over the material being narrated and diffused, and at specific times the need to separate fact from fiction resulted in policies of censoring some of the more "prolific" oral narrators. Official historical record often explains this censoring as the need to prevent certain oral narrators --especially the qussas or popular preachers-- from "conning" the benevolent-minded public into almsgiving12 . In addition, as Haddad (77-8) clearly notes, popular preachers and storytellers were not only active participants in the actual narrating of "history", but they were also creating a vehicle of popular expression through which the public could both laugh at itself and at those in authority, and expressing --as any creative storyteller hoping to capture an audience naturally would-- personal and non-orthodox perceptions of reality and events through the narrating devices of embellishment and humor. Indeed, the existence of popular socio-cultural institutions embodied in figures such as the storytellers, popular preachers and poets, shadow and puppet players, and some popular sufi poets13, would allow for singular and flexible kinds of subversion of the official religious discourse and political or state rhetoric of the institutional authorities. During Islamic medieval times, the qussas-narrators, despite their overall popularity, would generally be condemned by the official religious authorities who sought to keep "dangerous interpretations" away from the public at large.14

The qussas were designated officially in the first centuries of Islam to recount edifying stories to the illiterate majority (and not the dialectical subtleties of legal niceties of the scholastic theologians and traditionists/lawyers) for religious and moral instruction. They did so in the mosques, streets, markets and public spaces. There appears to be general approval of the qussas until the mid-9th century, when a degeneration of the profession apparently occurred after Jahiz's [776-868/9] time, and when their activities became labeled as abuse of the believing public.15

As depicted through their diversified social histories, the means by which the Islamic literate and oral culture from the Arabian peninsula actually diffused and engaged with the local cultures it "colonized", reveal a wide margin of maneuverability whereby in fact the "static" vision (official or "state" version) of Islam often coexisted with and was transformed by a dynamic, creative world of multiple narrations at the popular level. While entertainment and humor were on one hand the means by which to teach the serious and difficult principles of doctrine, morality or law, they also on the other hand became vehicles through which to subvert any overly oppressive fields of discourse born of demagogic state institutions and regimes. By challenging subtly or at times radically in this way those institutions established in the name of Islam, some oral narrators sought to undermine authoritarian discourse and instigate thoughts of rebellion, reform or change, critiquing authoritarianism as well as the social mores (abuses or traits of character) of both higher and lower classes.

The history of narration and performance in Islamized regions has clear links to this dynamic interplay. Oral narration, with its characteristic didactic and entertaining nature, was in certain aspects a continuation of the already familiar pre-Islamic narrating practices, and could therefore assimilate, incorporate and amalgamate new elements. At the level of imperial ideology and "high" literature, official authorities employed teachers, poets and narrators in their service to instruct the general population in the necessary matters of religion, history, literature and public policy. But concurrently, especially at the level of popular poets and narrators, there were distinct trends of satirizing (often in colloquial Arabic) the ruling elite, of rebellion against authority and propagation of "false" histories and stories, and of the promotion of certain values underscoring identities of various ethnic groups within the Islamized communities. Performance thus acquired a certain reputation that aligned it with notions of non-truth, non-trustworthiness, and non-conformism. On all levels, however, oral narration instructed and entertained; it consolidated social ties and often advocated some degree of control and order --especially through the depiction of various social roles-- in families and societies. In this context, performed narrations and oral narrators fulfilled a vital community function, that of reaffirming social-collective values and identity, perceptions and stereotypes, which was reinforced among all classes at the level of local communities or regions but indeed also at the Islamic imperial level.

Thus far, we have discussed the general character and importance of the oral narrator in Middle Eastern and north African Maghrebian societies that had a significant oral tradition component. This oral narrator was traditionally a performer-entertainer and historian-news-bearer for the local community. As the Islamic empire grew and expanded out of the Arabian peninsula, the oral narrators assisted in the Islamization and Indigenization of the content of their stories and narrations. They were entrusted with the goal of spreading Islamic precepts and manners, yet they were distrusted for the same skills that rendered them prolific and engaging storytellers able to captivate and enchant their audiences. They were hailed for their abilities to exhort and subvert, and to consolidate community and collective identity on one level yet undermine authority and control on another. The following section will describe the various genres of artistic expression within the Arabic-Islamic tradition that contained significant elements of oral narration and performance. Many of these genres would be used by modern playwrights, who crafted them into theatrical performances designed to comply with their diverse objectives and agendas as artists and social commentarists.

II. Artistic expression and its ties to oral narration and performance

The dominant and officially institutionalized genre par excellence of classical Arabic letters and criticism was poetry. Pre-Islamic poetry, which finds its roots in orally transmitted song16, recitation and chant, rapidly became just as highly regarded and emulated as the later classical poetry tradition, imbibed with Qur'anic literary sources and sacred language, and accompanied by descriptive and explanatory scholarly exegesis17 . Both became legitimized within the corpus of Islamic literature. The principal model18 for excellent poetry, qasida (ode), traditionally combined poetic personal experience with subject content familiar to the social collectivity. It was often recited publicly in accompaniment with a second person, the rawi (transmitter or narrator)19 who commentated and supplied additional details or background. The subject theme (gharad) varied functionally from an expression of "genuine sentiment to propagandistic"20 . The characteristic public and performance-oriented quality, as well as the prevalent nature of its subject content and style --panegyric (madih) and satire/lampoon (hija')-- make it relevant to the history of Arabic theatre. First, these styles --usually transmitted in an entertaining and didactic vein-- characteristically defined the repertories of many official or patronized poets and popular public oral narrator-storytellers. They would later inform and influence the tone and style of early modern drama. Second, both the terms madih and hija' were the linguistic choices made in the 10th century by Arabic translator-commentators of Aristotle's Poetics in order to translate the Greek drama terms tragoidia ("goat song") and komoidia ("revelry song")21 . This early translation of these terms would subsequently initiate some of the theoretical, critical and historical perspectives and debates on the developing genre of modern drama in the Arab world. The tradition of poetry --including recitation and musical poetry-- would remain one highly esteemed and firmly rooted in classical conventions until the late 19th century inception of al-Nahda and early 20th century modernist tendencies by avant-garde poets.

The genres of narration that emerged in the Arabic "prose" (often rhymed) tradition began to overlap as early as the 7th century during the Islamization of many diverse regions. These genres included the: risala (epistle, essay), ustura (fable, legend, myth), sira, qissa, khabar (historical-biographical accounts and parables), hikma (wisdom, theoretical-historical writing), maqama, haditha (discourse), naba (news, edifying story), and mathal (proverb, fable). Of these genres, the sira, qissa and maqama would acquire a distinctive performance personality in popular storytelling, as their oral transmission was often accompanied by imitation, music and impersonation. We will describe them here in more concrete detail. Some scholars find clear antecedents to the sira genre in the period preceding Islam, i.e. in the form of the earliest lore and chronicles of pre-Islamic Arab historical accounts, but it came to denote a "way of life" or biographical story,22 and would gradually include --during the process of Islamization-- the long narrated accounts or records of stories surrounding the Prophet Muhammad and the early community. As the empire expanded, it would embrace the exploits and conquest narratives of the early caliphates. The actual oral narration of a popular sira (saga or epic) --sira sha'biyya-- is noted by Heath to have sometimes lasted for up to one year23 . This popular genre later combined both historical and fictitious frames of reference, as comparative studies on the variations of a single sira throughout Islamized regions testify.24

In every maqama there is a narrator (rawi) called 'Isa Ibn Hisham, and a hero, Abu'l-Fath al-Iskandari, who generally appears as a disguised beggar (mukaddi) trying to earn his living by his wits, his linguistic virtuosity and rhetorical talent. Nearly every maqama begins with the sentence haddathana 'Isa Ibn Hisham, qala... ('Isa Ibn Hisham narrated to us, saying...) suggesting a parody of hadith and other genres which use the isnad (sc. the chain of authorities on which the Islamic tradition is based); and nearly everyone ends with the narrator's realisation that the hero is, in fact, the same Abu'l-Fath al-Iskandari, disguised in various roles.27

Likened to the early one actor/chorus Greek drama28, the maqama was traditionally written in saj' (rhymed prose) until the 19th century. Picaresque in tone, composed in dialogue, and dependent on impersonations, it featured marginalized characters -"living off their wits and eloquence"-- and the social underworld, providing as it were, "both social commentary and, mostly through inverse implication, moral enlightenment"29 . The second most well-known classical writer of maqama was al-Hariri ('Abu Muhammad al-Qasim al-Hariri; 1054-1122), who, according to Moreh (107), had to defend his maqamat "against the accusation that they were false stories forbidden by Islamic law". Building on the earlier maqamat's characteristic display of eloquence --albeit through picaresque or underworld characters-- al-Hariri ultimately amplified and consolidated its stylistic highly lexicographical form, which he prioritized over content30 . Al-Hariri has also been credited with creating parodies of the sira (for example, that of Antar and of the Persian epic Shahnama), and with having introduced the character of the woman-beggar-trickster, of which he made ample use31 . Both al-Hamadhani and al-Hariri were extensively imitated through their works in many areas of the Islamized world, including the Maghreb and al-Andalus. The genre itself came to fulfill a number of varied objectives, ranging from debates on specific issues to advice; descriptive travel itineraries and logs; journalistic-type commentaries or simply: extraordinarily eloquent displays of rhetorical erudition32 . The maqama was often employed by educated and literary elite poets in a somewhat vainglorious attempt to both vaunt rhetorical and semantic knowledge and teach a moral lesson33 . This genre was revitalized in the 19th century al-Nahda for prose and likewise later adapted for modern drama, notwithstanding the fact that it had already probably been adapted for theatrical form much earlier in the 13th century shadow plays (khayal al-zill) of the Egyptian ophthalmologist, Ibn Daniyal (1248-1310)34

Other genres of narration include: nadira (humorous anecdote), khurafa (superstitious, marvelous), riwaya (transmission of an account), samara (stories told at evening-time), waqi'a (yarn), and hikaya. While most of these genres have significant performative aspects themselves, we will concentrate here on the "general" narration genre of hikaya, which may have historical links to the "dramatic" genre of maqama (and risala) within the classical Arabic literary tradition.35

The genre hikaya ("story" or "tale") --found in the early Hadith literature-- originally meant "imitation", and was specifically linked to the accompanying performances of mimicry and parody36 within the orally narrated account or story. It is mentioned and described in several early Islamic treatises37 and is part of the title as well of an extant artistic work of the 11th century: Hikayat Abi'l-Qasim al-Baghdadi, a series of lively tableaux ("suggesting a repertoire of theatrical scenes played in 10th c. Baghdad...to mock Shi'ite piety and depict everyday life in Baghdad") (Moreh 96), attributed to Muhammad b.Ahmad Abu'l-Mutahhar al-Azdi38 . By the 14th century, the term had shifted in meaning from this early definition as a performative referent ("imitation"), to embrace a broader one as "tale, story, narrative, or legend"39 . Conceptualized in this spirit of general "tale" or "story", hikaya is employed by some scholars to refer to the complete and organic production of the narrated oral account (known as hakawati performances), i.e. the lively imaginative and interactive (narrator-public40 ) storytelling sessions by oral narrators, usually in prose but also in rhyme, that depicted the adventures of historical figures and fictitious legendary heroes through verbal articulation and extensive mimicry and imitation. As Moreh (116) notes, specific genres like the hikaya and maqama conclusively manifest a dramatic-theatrical character.

What can be said definitely is that the hikaya imposed its structure on the high literary genres of maqama and risala which were written in classical Arabic. The maqama in colloquial Arabic, on the other hand, may have been plays written for theatrical performance. The use of the terms maqama and risala as synonyms for hikaya and khayal in these plays seems to point to such a conclusion. The highbrow maqamat and risalas, including the dialogue epistles of Rasa'il Ikhwan al-Safa were deliberately composed as "dramatic literature", for didactic purposes, but were not necessarily intended for performance.

The terminology characteristically used to refer to the popular oral narrating storytellers varies in scholarship on the subject. Besides hakawati, some prefer to use the term rawi (ruwat), given that both words historically (synonymously interchangeable in some documents) came to denote storytellers who used extensive imitation and mimicry. Others, like Haddad, prefer to use the more precise historical term qussas41, with their dual connotation of both the early "transmitter" of religious and historical material and the popular storyteller who used song, imitation, mimicry, accessories and character interpretation in order to relate an effective story. As the two functions converged in time, in all likelihood due to the co-existence of religious story narrators (technically the first qussas42 ) and narrators of Arab historical tribal "epics" (muqallid43 ), the qussas seem to have become synonymous with hakawati44 . The terms converged throughout the histories of Arab-Islamic and Islamized societies, as the diverse choices by scholars indicate.

It is possible to add still another familiar term for oral narrator in these performance traditions: maddah ("panegyrist"), which can figure in accounts on the Ottoman Turkish empire as meddah, in the context of professional urban storyteller. Faizo compares the maddah with the hakawati, noting that the original difference between the term hikaya and maddah/meddah was one focused on content. While hakawati related the spirited adventures of legendary (and fictitious) heroes, maddah originally sung the praises of "pious Muslims".45 The functions of heroic tale-telling and religious praise-giving --both panegyric in tone-- would seem to have existed, and most likely co-existed, as Boratav notes, in the figure of the meddah in North Africa, who would appear in both urban and rural settings.

In North Africa,[...] the meddah is a kind of "religious minstrel who goes to festivals to sing the praises of saints and of God and holy war, and who is accompanied on the tambourine and flute" (Dozy, Supplément); he is also the heir of the kass [qussas], who at a late date tours the countries and cities, recounting heroic legends and stories drawn from the repertoire of the story-tellers of the Middle Ages, sometimes aided today by bands, and which are sketched out very often without any connection with the subject of the story. The activity of the meddah, his technique and his sources, would merit being made the object of thorough research.46

As mentioned by And, Faizo, and Boratav, at some point the meddah substituted their repertories with stories and tales more secular than religious47 during their itinerant travels. In doing so, they popularized such characters as Djuh'a48 and the tales and heroic legends deriving from Persian epics and early Islamic history49 . They finally came to specialize --specifically under the Ottoman Turks-- in entertaining narratives based on realistic themes in 18th century Istanbul50, where they played an important political and social role during the 19th century, due to their precise and accurate depictions of both court life and popular social life. Like the hakawati51, and rawi, the meddah either invoked pleasure or incurred displeasure from the audience, a response on which their potential censorship (usually of themes or words) hinged, and their livelihood and prosperity depended. Like the qussa, the meddah functioned as a transmitter of religious, secular, heroic, historic and popular story material.

It is possible that the power these oral narrators had at the popular level was in fact somewhat significant, due to the number of historical occasions cited which, under the rubric of religious injunctions conferred upon the ruling elite to control and guide the public in matters of "good morals", indicate their censorship or even eradication, depending on the nature of the performance and the expectations of the elite. In terms of theatrical style, as Faizo (28-9), Boratav (952-3) and al-Shetaiwi (16-17) point out, the narrative technique of the meddah would include him well within the category of "one-person (often ambulant) theatre", "projecting each character (including accent and attire) as fits the role in the play" and performing in a public place, usually on a small platform. It is a theatre --as Haddad mentions often with regard to oral narration and its narrators-- that is constantly brought to the public space of the people, unlike the classical Western theatre protocol dictating a fixed proscenium stage, to which spectators are invited and pay to attend. Descriptions by many scholars given in connection to the other denominated oral narrators would appear to reveal the same characteristics and performance styles, including the inclusion of song, music and dance. Along these lines, it is possible to consider such theatrical activities as the Egyptian samir (And 112) and the Moroccan halqa as genuine "precursors" to some modern Maghrebian drama as well.52

Alongside the human bodily narrative that depended on skillful rhetoric, verbal articulation, gestures, mimicry, impersonation and a few props, two kinds of performance traditions in the Arab-Islamic and Islamized Ottoman Turkish (13th-19th centuries) worlds included puppet figures: khayal al-zill ("shadow play"), the genre most frequently directly attributable to a dramatic precedent of modern Arabic and Turkish drama; and karagöz. Scholars such as And, Bosworth, and Moreh have investigated the artistic travels, exchanges, borrowings and cooptation of techniques by various itinerant entertainers and performers in the Arab-Islamic and Islamized medieval world53, linking such groups as mime performers, clowns, jesters and popular storytellers to troupes like commedia dell'arte54, all of which probably influenced the later Arab and Turkish performance traditions of khayal al-zill and karagöz55 . While it is not the purpose here to explore this linkage, it does suggest that the cultural influences between "East" and "West" may have been occurring at the popular level more frequently than previously thought56 . In this vein, And points out the mixed entertainment environment of Byzantium and the close commercial and cultural contacts between Italians and Ottoman Turks57 ; while Moreh mentions the "close link between the shadow play karagöz and the live play ortaoyunu, the Turkish commedia dell'arte"58 . In terms of extant works, we note the plays by Ibn Daniyal59 in the 13th century60, which indicated a historically earlier Arab tradition of khayal al-zill in Egypt.

Nevertheless, as And reiterates, shadow plays became popularized in the Arab world most specifically under Ottoman Turkish rule61, particularly through their presentation through the main character, Karagöz (the Turkish word for "black eye"), which may have already mingled with other types of Turkish puppet theatre in existence before the 16th century, due to contacts with Central Asia and Persia.62 Documented in colonial archives, travel literature, and Orientalist literature as having been regularly performed in the Maghreb (especially during Ramadan) during the 19th and even early 20th centuries, khayal al-zill and karagöz came to refer to "puppet performance" in general63 . Staged in public squares or coffee-houses, or in private residences for special occasions to celebrate circumcisions, weddings, etc., khayal al-zill and karagöz were popular among both elite and popular classes. Their particular performance aspects seem to mirror significantly those of the storytellers working within the oral tradition:

The shadow player used a stand, like the European marionette theatre; instead of an open stage a canvas was stretched across and illuminated from behind by an oil-lamp. The shadow player pressed brightly coloured figures, about a foot high made of leather, against the canvas, by means of guiding rods inserted into the figures. Usually all the figures were controlled by one player (muqaddam); sometimes he had hired assistants or pupils to move them. On grander occasions he might be accompanied by three or four musicians, playing tambourines, a reed flute and a drum. In the prelude to the performance, Karagöz, the principal character, would greet the public, praise the government, and announce the subject of the piece. The performance was composed of short comic dialogues, dances, and set-piece scenes, characterised by linguistic misunderstandings, uproar, violence and sexual innuendo[...]. Puppet shows were also common and the Turkish term karagöz applied equally to puppet theatre. The exhibition was presented upon a very narrow stage, which the puppet man could easily carry about. The performer hid in a wooden box and could see both the stage and the spectators through holes without being seen. The little, poorly-made, wooden or plaster figures appeared through holes in the box-stage, and were controlled by means of brass wires passing through grooves in the lid of the box. Like the shadow player, the presenter gave his voice a shrill for the dialogue of the characters, by putting a special instrument in his mouth. As with their British counterparts, Punch and Judy, the puppets began by paying each other compliments, quarrelled by degrees, and invariably ended by beating one another.64

Given that shadow play productions were mounted in both "elite" and popular milieus, one would expect both similar common features and an expected corresponding difference in the degree of "abusive" or explicitly sexual language that could appropriately be used for each occasion. Some research indicates a more moralistic and didactic nature within the presentation of religious and historical themes65 of the earlier shadow plays. It also, according to Hopwood and Badawi66, reveals a visible intertextuality with the maqama genre, especially in terms of: dialogue; "characterization" (portrayal of social "stock types"); an episodic structure of "tableaux" linked through the common protagonist; and language that corresponds appropriate linguistic register to each different character type)67 .

With the passage of time, and concurrent loss of status as a literary genre, by all accounts shadow plays began to prioritize the more popularized elements of satire, comicity, obscenity and farce, aimed at articulating social criticism and attacking "court officialdom, high and mighty ruling classes, excessive taxation, and the abuse of minorities" as well as the "gullibility of the common man" (Sadgrove 23). The appropriation of the genre by popular storytellers, then, would allow karagöz shadow-puppet theatre to function particularly effectively --however obliquely-- in the domain of popular political commentary. This political commentary was not always so obscure, as attested by its history of condemnation and prohibition by the authorities. From the legend in the Maghreb claiming that karagöz was developed to reveal official state corruption to the Sultan (And 75), to the documented prohibition of this puppet theatre in Cairo by British authorities in 1908 (Sadgrove 24), in Tunisia by French authorities (Resident General René Millet)68, in Algiers by French authorities in 1843 and again in 191169, due to clearly anti-colonial and politically subversive intentions by the puppets, this popular theatre clearly maintained its tradition of social and political satire intent on undermining oppressive and ruling authorities.

Finally, as alluded to earlier, certain links to karagöz have been made to the popular improvisatory theatre in the Arab-Islamic world. This may be the most decisive "live" theatrical form in existence before French and British colonial domination in the 19th century.

In addition, And, al-Kozai, and Moreh (64-72) note the historical accounts of the mudhikun ("jesters") who not only entertained through impersonation, imitation and anecdote-telling but also ridiculed and criticized authority figures. These "jesters" became noted for their abilities of improvisation while "acting" during their itinerant travels throughout Arab countries (al-Kozai 23) and Islamized regions, and are claimed to have even played "higher" "standard" roles in major cities like Cairo (And 137). Likewise, the muhabbazzun ("live performers")70 were players of itinerant acting troupes, similar to the Turkish ortaoyuno, performing farcical sketches in wealthier private places as well as public spaces. (Moreh 152-60) Recent research has brought to light extant plays of this nature probably performed by the muhabbazzun, for example: one written in Egyptian colloquial Arabic dated 1654, and another written in Algerian colloquial Arabic dated 1847. The former is considered strictly of the muhabbazun type. The latter is "the first Arabic printed play known to us, and its popular theme and its Arabian Nights milieu serve as a link between medieval indigenous Arabic drama and modern Arabic drama modeled according to European tradition".71 Indeed, khayal al-zill, karagöz and the itinerant improvisatory comedian troupes, would all contribute in style or content to the development of early colloquial Arabic theatre and resonate thematically and formally with the public in later avant-garde plays.

As this cursory view of some of the most significant oral- and performance-based genres that historically developed within the Arabic-Islamic tradition show us, both elite and popular actors of the population enjoyed dramatized stories, accounts, poetry recitals, performances, shadow and karagöz puppet theatre. Al-rawi and al-hakawati were well-known figures and cultural institutions appreciated for their abilities to recount, recite, debate, imitate, improvise, perform and enliven matters of importance to the local community, engaging it in an event more appropriately deemed "communicative" than spectatorial. The same can be said for khayal al-zill and karagöz. These performances complemented a myriad of ceremonies, rituals, and even dramatic religious events such as the Shi'ite ta'ziyah. Throughout the Arabic-Islamic world, oral narration and performance were a vibrant visible aspect of daily life that continually integrated artistic personality with fundamental functions of communication.

III. Oral narrating and performing traditions in the Maghreb

The Maghrebian countries of northern Africa is one region in particular influenced historically by the Middle East, especially through the Islamic empire's western province of al-Andalus (Muslim Spain). The political, social and cultural exchanges that flourished between the 8th and 14th centuries between the Middle East, Maghreb and al-Andalus had some noticeable impacts on their respective artistic and literary histories.72 Al-Andalus adopted the Arabic language, classical system of education, and Islamic Maliki school of law. It patronized the Arabic poetic form qasida, and developed the Arab-Hispanic-Romance (often sung) poetic form known as zajal73 . The zajal poetry of writers such as Ibn Quzman (d.1160) from Córdoba was popular and, in addition to its content of courtly love, would often embrace the themes of daily local life and the underworld. In terms of classical education, a significant body of Middle Eastern culture was transferred to the Maghreb through the urban elite of al-Andalus, which had cultivated strong systems of education in traditional Adab, Hadith and the sciences. Musical poetry would spark a long-lasting tradition of Andalusian music in the Maghreb, and Abu l-Salt of Denia (d.1134) would introduce the secular musical form known as nawba (or nouba) --still popular today-- from al-Andalus into northern Africa. 74

During the period of the Ottoman Turkish empire, which exerted its influence over the Maghreb, the official ruling elite retained its use of the Turkish language (as well as Islamic Hanafi law) in administration. Literary cultural expression (known as divan literature) among members of the elite group focused on classical-style panegyric and satirical poetry that was a continuation and reformulation of the Arab-Persian literary tradition. The Turkish contribution to this literary tradition would essentially manifest itself through the prolific writing of chronicles, geographies75, biographies, histories and essays76, which attained a level of excellence, and reached its apogee in the 16th and 17th centuries. Meanwhile, cultural expression throughout the Ottoman empire as a whole at the popular level found its vehicle through the widespread influence of the mystic77 and popular poets, oral narrators and storytellers. Likewise, ortaoyuno and karagöz shadow puppet theatre performers became extremely common.

The seventeenth century ...was a golden age for Turkish popular literature, with poetry and stories exhibiting particular vitality. The mystic tekke78 poets continued to be popular and a number of new poets writing and singing in the style of Yunus Emre emerged, the most renowned of whom was Mehmet Niyazi-i Misri (d.1693)...who as part of the continuing government efforts to suppress the dervish orders was banished several times but still retained a wide popularity. Often living among the Janissaries, Sipahis79 -and even among the Levents, who so often were scourging the countryside-these poets reflected these groups, intermingling with the local population, singing their poems in army encampments, coffeehouses, fairs, and other places were the masses gathered. The popular poets filled the need for information as well as consolation in an age of uncertainty and sometimes despair. [...] The destan (epic)...which continued for considerable lengths, related heroic tales of past glories, traditions, or conditions. It formed an important tradition of oral history reflecting the language of the people. The türkü (folk song)...was used to recite tales of love, perceptions of nature, or the daily events of ordinary life in the village or among the nomads; the listeners adding lines of their own to express their particular experiences and interests.80

"Folk" literature was immensely popular and widespread due to the itinerant poet-"troubadours" who recited --usually in accompaniment to a stringed musical instrument known as the saz-- long repertories of heroic "epics" and hikaye ("stories") based on Turkish folk tales.81 By the 18th century, artistic expression had become more decidedly "Turkish" in character, with themes set in both court and popular life. 82 The extent to which expressions of Turkish popular culture actually found its way into some Maghrebian popular or elite culture, is --thus far-- only quantifiable in terms of the histories of oral narrators and their respective oral narration traditions, with accounts of Turkish-style storytelling and puppet shows being documented in Tunisia and Algeria as late as the early 20th century. The oral narrating and performing traditions of the Maghreb are a unique combination of indigenous, Arab-Islamic, Islamized, Turkish and Mediterranean traditions. In the following section we will discuss some of these more salient traditions in Tunisia, Algeria and Morocco.

Tunisia. By all indications, the period preceding the Egyptian al-Qardahi's 190883 theatrical tour to Tunisia manifests the existence of deeply-rooted oral narration traditions and puppet shadow theatre within the popular culture of Tunisians. Majid El Houssi --basing some of his research on the earlier works of Jacob Landau and Hamadi Ben Halima-- gives the most comprehensive view of traditional oral narration (in terms of their theatricality) and puppet shadow theatre in Tunisia.

First, the storyteller-oral narrator in Tunisia, known as rawi, fdawi or meddah, was highly respected and appreciated by both the traditional Islamic elite (including caliphs and walis) and the popular classes. These narrators were often itinerant performers, wandering on foot from city to city (El Houssi 1982, 47) They would use the tambourine (bendir), flute, and a few puppets as accompaniment. Their narrating performances --highly theatrical by virtue of their techniques of imitation and impersonation of a variety of characters-- usually took place in sessions or "circles" (halqa) comprised of two or three narrators (offering suggestions and replies) who in turn engaged the public by provoking them to answer and participate in the recounting of the story,84 stopping the narration sporadically for an "offering" (obole) from the public. Other forms of narration include the telling of traditional Antar "tale cycles" by the meddah. There were also boussadia (with a masked character) and stambali performances, both of which related to sub-Saharan African communities.85

Second, according to El Houssi, the institutionalized genre of "publicly narrated story" recounted by the narrators has been referred to and distinguished through the following terms in Tunisia: nadira, hikaya, qissa, and khurafa. The nadira (anecdote, proverbial), alongside the Qur'an and its recitation, would be considered the genre par excellence by Arab Muslim Tunisian elite and popular societies. It essentially grouped together into "cycles" a wide repertory of stories based on the vulgar, clever, altruistic and witty character "Jha" (Djuh'a). Other narrators would specialize in recounting hikayat, the Tunisian designation for the cycles of Antar and Bani Hilal sirat (sagas or epics), which narrated the stories of villages and cities in Tunisia from the time of the 11th century.86 El Houssi (1982, 37), like Renard (Islam heroic...), notes that these epics in Tunisia placed special emphasis on female characters, in particular Zazia, who would represent the "Tunisian woman archetype", embodying values of courage and virtue. Hikayat, as Webber's (Romancing...) research in Kelibia (Tunisia) indicates, were a fundamental part of community oral narrating, and would incorporate elements of local circumstance and custom into the traditional "framework" provided by the historical or legendary epic. Meanwhile, qissa came to be defined in Tunisia in terms of classical-oriented Qur'anic stories and sirat.87 Didactic in nature, it was considered the patrimony of religious Arab-Islamic literature, therefore sacred and "non-recreatable" by the popular public. Finally, khurafa (tale), reiterates El Houssi, would become the most imaginative and popular vein of Tunisian oral narration. Often functioning as the Tunisian "collective memory", it constituted not only a unique "narrating event", but also a "co-production" of a story (through words and mime) between narrators and public. The narrations served to transmit important values. Widely practiced by both men and women, the most familiar repertories would include: Bent-As-Soltane; Djaja-'Amia; Qobqab Rommana; and Um Rahmunia88

Third, puppet shadow theatre (karagöz) --present in northern Africa from the time of the 14th century-- and the Sicilian teatro dei pupi (puppet theatre) enjoyed popularity in Tunisia until the early 20th century. The performances in Tunis generally took place at the square of Bab Souika-Halfaouine during the month of Ramadan. According to early travel literature, karagöz was performed in Turkish (with a smattering of other languages) until the early 19th century when it passed into colloquial Tunisian Arabic. The Tunisian karagöz types were quite regular by all accounts. The main characters were Karagöz and Haziwaz ("Hadj 'Iwad or Hadj Ouez"), the first a lively, clever, vulgar type and the second a bourgeois, well-educated conservative. Other typical characters would include: the "state civil servants", the kif smoker, "Madama" the (French) European woman, Salbi, Nina, al-Haj Qandil (seller of baqlawa), and Bayram Agha (of Albanian origin). The theatre played heavily on double meanings, puns, satire, caricatures, and included words in many different languages. Specific pieces such as Li'bat al-laymun, Li'bat al-hammam, and Li'bat al-hut were well-known in Tunisia, and respectively dealt with popular superstition, picaresque adventures at the public baths, and sexuality and women. The teatro dei pupi, performed in local Tunisian Arabic, had three main characters: the Jewish woman Nina, the Maltese man Nekula, and Isma'il Pasha-- a valiant warrior who fought against the Christian kings.89

Algeria. The history of dramatic literature and theatre in Algeria also has significant components in the local popular oral narrating and performing tradition, song, local festivals and early karagöz theatre. As in the case of Tunisia, popular oral narrators and storytellers --commonly known as meddah and quwwal-- transmitted popular historical (like the Bani Hilali), religious and community stories in a circle with the aid of a few props and remarkable talents of imitation and impersonation. In keeping with the oral tradition, the re-creation of these stories was simultaneously a "creation" between individual narrators and their respective publics. Also prominent were the urban and rural traditions of melhun poetic verse recited and sung in performances.90

A significant part of oral Algerian tradition was, according to Youssef Nacib91, practiced by the women's communities: Rural, "spontaneous" and "collective", it was often performed in colloquial Arabic or Berber. This feminine oral "literature" would be connected to important traditional life-events such as childbirth, circumcision, marriage, pilgrimages, famine or drought, etc. One "genre" of sung poetry, the "berceuse", reveals a psychological rapport between "destiny" (mektoub) and the mother's intervention in that destiny if it was to be so. A second type of poetry, the anonymous and ancient "work poem" was traditionally sung by women at home, in a type of collective dialogue. A third type, the "buqala game" invokes religious blessings for a ritual that attempts to anticipate fate and events. Finally, a fourth known as the "feminine hagiographic poem" reveals the strong links to maraboutic participation in daily life and the frequent pilgrimages to saintly shrines. All told, the oral tradition served functionally both to transmit collective identity and historicize events. It acted as a bridge to link tradition and modernity. As socio-political events transpired and local circumstances changed, oral narrations would incorporate contemporary words, expressions and "news items" into their production. Nacib (74-8) mentions that most of traditional culture, particularly in the mountainous regions, was transmitted orally, with experience and previously narrated "texts" input into popular collective poetry recitations and meetings.92

Also common in Algeria were the dramatic sketches regularly performed (often by students of the madrasas) during pilgrimages to local holy shrines of saints, and during religious festivals such as the 'Ashura or Mouloud, all of which apparently greatly diminished early in the 20th century.93 Often accompanied by music, these sketches were satirical, humorous, and "burlesque". These dramatic sketch performances were considered "subversive" by the French authorities who would ban them in the Sahel in 1864, after the Ben Rhadaham revolt. (Siagh 76)

Also similar to the traditions found in Tunisia were such genres as the nadira and karagöz. The nadira in Algeria essentially would encompass the cycle of stories told around the popular and very familiar character Djuh'a ("Jeh'a"), and was articulated in both Algerian colloquial and Berber languages. Djuh'a, as in the rest of the Maghreb, contemporaneously depicted popular wisdom, humor, and the wit and intelligence used to articulate the unexpected comicity of a situation or to outmaneuver the diverse authority figures and structures of power in society. He would provoke, according to Jean Déjeux94, the vital need to laugh both individually and collectively at oneself and circumstances. The anecdotes and stories of Djuh'a were long a substantial part of popular culture. The popular karagöz theatre of was also a familiar part of the oral narrating tradition in Algeria, and was performed intermittently until the 1920s, after which it was forced to go underground.95

Morocco. Comparable to Tunisia and Algeria, Morocco also had a long tradition of oral narrating and narrators, both in colloquial Moroccan Arabic and in Berber. Also important in performance traditions (of both men and women) were dance, songs and chants, ranging from religious sects to pre-Islamic rituals and ceremonies. Duvignaud (1969, 196) mentions the magic or mystical festivals and ceremonies of the zawiyas. However, as noted in both Louassini (72-8) and Ouzri (20-1), the traditional performance forms that would most significantly influence modern theatrical expression --especially "patrimonial" and "popular" theatre96 -- would be four: al-halqa; al-bsat; Sidi al-Katfi; and Sultan al-Talaba. All four forms would rely heavily on interdialogical exchanges between the narrator/actor and spectator/participator. All four forms precede the modern era of drama and theatre, and link intimately with tradition.

Al-halqa ("circle") might best be defined as popular theatre-in-the-round. Initiated by the hlayqi (principal narrator) in accompaniment of a daff (drum-tambourine), the halqa has traditionally been conceived as a co-creation of familiar tales and stories in well-known squares and marketplaces. The hlayqi traditionally either narrated in prose or in sung verse (accompanied by music), or combined both techniques. In addition, as Kapchan97 writes, women "orators" --as marketers and hawkers-- have recently entered the performance halqa section of the marketplace. "The halqa", she notes, "is the public arena for social license, a site where almost anything can be said with impunity".

Al-bsat is a popular performance form that probably has its origins during the 18th century under the reign of Sultan Muhammad Ibn 'Abd-Allah (1757-1790). The word itself has been linked both to the classical Arabic al-bisat meaning "carpet" and to the Moroccan Arabic meaning "to joke around with". The "actor" was known as buhu in the north and al-msih in the south. Similar in style and technique to the commedia dell'arte, al-bsat would rely substantially on quick improvisation, sharp and witty spontaneous answers, character typologies, and comic or burlesque gestures. In this regard, its humor derived from its capacity to represent well-known figures in society which would --at the same time-- provoke the need to use oblique commentary and symbolism. However, it was also a particular favorite of the ruling elite, for it carried the inherently didactic goal of simultaneously informing and advising the authority figure (often the sultan) of certain injustices or abuses of the functionaries of the court.

Sidi al-Katfi is described most aptly by Louassini (76). Considered as an offshoot of al-bsat, it developed exclusively in the Rabat area. Originally linked to the "comic sect" of Maymu'at Sidi al-Katfi, the group is comprised of twelve people who are presided over by a muqaddam. The "ritual session" (termed al-majlis), which usually takes place in a home of an actor or notable or the sultan's palace, proceeds in consonance with well-defined regulatory directives. The muqaddam finds a place in the center, after which each actor enters in turn, greeting him and kissing his hand. The last one to enter opens the jalsa which contains instructions as to the procedure of the performance. All actors --under threat of "punishment" and after invocation of God's blessings has been asked -- must perform their roles seriously without laughing. It is a "kind of qasida tamtiliyya where criticism and 'dishonor' are hurled on some familiar people in the city, for example one who might have been identified as a 'traitor' or an excessive kif or rgila user, or a frequent patron of bars and bordels".98

Finally, the Sultan al-Talaba appears to have its origin during the reign of Sultan Mawlay al-Rashid (1666-1672; founder of 'Alawi dynasty), and is based on a historical event. Louassini (77-8) reveals the most details as to this performance. According to the story, Mawlay al-Rashid had been fleeing persecution from his brother Mawlay Muhammad after the death of their father Mawlay al-Sharif, Emir of Tafilelt. Finding refuge and assistance from students at the zawiya "monastery" in Taza, he was able to kill Ibn Mash'al, a feudal lord who had been terrorizing the area and making a fortune out of robbing the rural folk. This allowed Mawlay Rashid (now wealthy) to constitute an army and purchase weapons, after which he fought and killed his brother in Fez. In compensation, the Sultan Mawlay Rashid would organize a festival-parade for the students (leading to the Wad Fas, "river of Fez"), which was kept as a yearly tradition by the students of al-Qarawiyyin university. Each spring, a week-long festival is held whereby a "young sultan" (whoever offers the most money for the "crown") --to be known as the "Sultan of the Tolbas"-- elects a governing body and presides as "king" for seven days. On Friday, prayer is celebrated at the al-Andalus mosque, after which processions are held to the mausoleum of Sidi Harazim (in Bab al-Ftuh) and the tomb of Mawlay Rashid.

As has been remarked in many colonial writings, Morocco was still practicing many of its performance, celebratory and festival traditions well into early 20th century. These included masquerades, which Abdellah Hammoudi (15) notes as follows:

The celebrations take place just about everywhere: in the Atlas Mountains, the plains of northern Morocco, the Jbala, and the Rif. And they are not confined to rural areas, for observations are equally abundant concerning traditionally great urban centers such as Fez and Marrakech. In Algeria they occur in Ouargla, in the Aurès mountains, and elsewhere. Laoust describes them in Tunisia, following the example of Monchicourt, who witnessed them in the Karouan region. Their trail leads into Lybia and beyond into Egypt.

Hammoudi99, in his observations of festivals and dramatic presentations, in particular that of the Bilmawn ("the man dressed in skins"), notes first that the performed representations "resemble a kind of review devoted to anecdotes or events that have taken place in the village during the preceding year", and that some scenes but not all tend to be re-enacted each year. However, he also stresses the "non-linearity" of the dramatized "narration", performed as it is within a general structural framework upon which improvisations can be made.

In reality the scenes are sketched out, begun over and over again, aborted, then replayed in an atmosphere of freedom and relative disorder that reveals an underlying suppleness. The only constants are the general scenario, which dictates the order as well as the themes of the first series of scenes. Those grouped under the name of tiguryu occur in no particular order and require additional improvisation. Likewise the names can change [...]. Lastly, there are the playlets ...which are frequently repeated, without any connection to the main action, as well as characters who perform some task without attracting any attention. (Hammoudi, 87)

The various "actors" --besides the phallic Bilmawn in this case -- include characters masquerading as qadis, qa'ids, demons, monsters, men and women, and in later years Europeans, French army officers and settlers. The procession acts out daily village scenes while it mocks the local and colonial authorities, often in accompaniment of musical instruments.

As stated earlier, the oral narrating and performing traditions of the Maghreb are a unique combination of indigenous, Arab-Islamic, Islamized, Turkish and Mediterranean traditions. In Tunisia, the prevalent oral narrating and popular performance traditions included such genres as the nadira (Djuh'a cycles), hikaya (Bani Hilal and Antar epics), qissa (classical Qur'anic sirat), khurafa (popular stories), karagöz (puppet theatre) and khayal al-zill (shadow puppet theatre), practiced in the colloquial Tunisian Arabic by popular performers and oral narrators known as the rawi and meddah. In Algeria, prevalent oral narrating and performance traditions would include such genres as popular historical epics (Bani Hilal), religious stories, the nadira (Djuh'a cycles), melhun (popular oral poetry, often sung), women's orature (the "berceuse", "work poems", "buqala game", "hagiographic poem"), dramatic sketches performed by madrasa students during festivals, and karagöz puppet theatre. These genres were narrated in the popular colloquial Algerian Arabic and Berber languages by popular performers and by oral narrators known in Algeria as the meddah and quwwal. In Morocco during this same period, there was also a flourishing tradition of oral narrating and performance practices. The rawi narrators would recount popular and religious stories in colloquial Moroccan Arabic and Berber. Magic and mystical ceremonies and festivals, often patronized by the zawiyas, were also prevalent. Dramatized narrations and masquerades (the Bilmawn for example) were documented by colonial and foreign sources. Theatrical precedents found in traditional performance rituals such as al-halqa (theatre-in-the-round), al-bsat (commedia dell'arte genre), Sidi al-Katfi (comic performance and social lampooning), and Sultan al-Talaba (annual festival based on historical accounts) would later be used by the theatre movement promoting al-turath (legacy, patrimony, heritage).

Finally, the oral narrating and performing traditions of the Arab-Islamic Middle East, in dialogue with the multifarious local indigenous traditions they encountered as they emerged from the Arabian peninsula and traveled the globe, translate into the fascinating and vibrant backdrop that European-style theatre production experienced when it first opened its curtains in the region. It bears witness to myriad communities exerting and modifying their identities in the face of change and is a lasting tribute to the oral narrators and performers who have always graced our human imagination and creativity.

posted 18 August 2004 10:03 AM            

Introduction

In May 1989, an eighteen-year-old woolcarder set fire to the Husayn Mosque in Cairo. The incident was written up in an Islamic newspaper by a journalist who deplored the act. The article began by asking why this young man would travel from his northern suburb all the way downtown to pray in a mausoleum-mosque--a place where, because of his stance on saint veneration, he believed prayer would be invalid; could he not instead have gone to any of the many mosques of Cairo that did not have tombs? In the remainder of the article, the journalist presents authoritative opinions by establishment figures on the specific requirements of order and decorum during mausoleum visits and on ordinary Muslims wrongly taking the law into their own hands. The article concluded that the woolcarder's act was indefensible. 1

This incident illustrates a typically modern conflict in northern Africa. A Muslim accepting the teaching of absolute separation between God and his creation literally takes drastic action to end the deeply rooted popular tradition of saint veneration in Egypt. And a believer in the traditionally broad Sunni orthodoxy defends saint veneration, provided it occurs in an orderly fashion according to accepted custom ( adab ). The conflict is not without precedent in earlier centuries, but it is only today that the two positions are seen as irreconcilable.

This chapter deals with, first, the formation (700-1250 C.E.) and dominance (1250-1800 C.E.) of a broad Sunni orthodoxy as the religion of the majority of the inhabitants of northern Africa; and second, modern efforts at political centralization and a narrowing of orthodox Sunnism, both of which have contributed to the rise of contemporary Islamism (1800 to the present).

The Formation and Dominance of Sunni Orthodoxy (700-1800)

The promotion of a specific religion as orthodoxy by an empire is a relatively late phenomenon in world history. The first to be so promoted was Zoroastrianism, adopted by the Persian Sasanids (224-651 C.E.) as their state religion. Islam, supported by the Arab caliphal dynasties of the Umayyads and 'Abbasids as the religion of their far-flung empire after their rise in the seventh century C.E., was the most recent. In all cases--be it Zoroastrianism, Buddhism, Confucianism, Christianity, or Islam--the endorsed religion was attributed to a founding figure who preceded the empire. These religions went through more or less extended formative phases in the empires before they crystallized into dominant orthodoxies and a variety of heterodoxies that either died out or became marginal. 2

Christianity, the state religion of the Roman-Byzantine Empire from the fourth century C.E., was in the last stage of its doctrinal evolution toward imperial orthodoxy when the Arabs occupied Byzantine Syria and Egypt in 634-55. It appears that it was the still unsettled question of a Christian orthodoxy for the Byzantine Empire that inspired the rulers of the new Arab empire to search for their own, independent, religion. Caliph 'Abd al-Malik (685-705) was the first to leave us an idea of the beginnings of this new religion in the inscriptions of the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem (691). He called this new religion "Islam" and proclaimed its superiority over Christianity. 3

During the early seventh century, Byzantium had been racked by the controversy between the patriarchs of Constantinople and Alexandria over the orthodox interpretation of Christology. Constantinople advanced the doctrine of Christ's mysteriously double nature, divine as well as human (the Nicene Creed). Alexandria insisted on the more rational doctrine of God's single, divine nature descending into the human form of Jesus (Coptic monophysitism). While the emperors vainly sought to impose a compromise formula, the caliphs took advantage of their disarray. "Do not speak of three (gods)," warns one of the inscriptions on the Dome of the Rock, disposing of Christology altogether. 4 Islam was presented as the new, superior religion, built on a clear, rational separation between a single, non-Trinitarian God and the world.

Proclaiming a new religion was one thing; turning it into an orthodoxy was another. Inevitably Islam underwent the same process of rancorous divisions as did Christianity before orthodoxy eventually emerged. The rancor began over the nature of the caliphate and its ability to define doctrine. The caliphs interpreted themselves as representatives (caliphs) of God, and said that their decisions, therefore, were divine writ. On the other hand, it was claimed that because the divine word was laid down (probably by the 700s) in scripture, in the Quran, no one was privileged over anyone else to make law; the interpretation of scripture was held, in this view, to be a collective right.

At first the caliphs continued to issue laws and formulate dogma as they saw fit, but in the ninth century the tide turned. Pious critics, claiming to speak for all Muslims, increasingly gained the initiative. What had hitherto been caliphal law now was turned into the alleged precedents ( hadiths ) established by the prophet Muhammad. Ad hoc dogmas promulgated by the caliphs were replaced by a progressively systematic theology formulated by the critics. By the mid-thirteenth century, the separation between religion and state was complete: the critics, now officially recognized as the autonomous body of "religious scholars" ( 'ulama' ), controlled dogma and law; the rulers had been demoted to the position of executive organs of religion. 5

While the 'ulama' were busy establishing the basics of scriptural orthodoxy, a parallel development was occurring on the level of religious practice. Early evidence comes from what began as a military institution during the period of the Arab conquests--the sentry post ( ribat ). Such posts--towers, forts, castles--existed by the score in northern Africa, along the Mediterranean coast, and in Anatolia, for protection against Byzantine counterattacks. In the ninth century, many of these posts lost their military purpose and evolved into autonomous religious foundations ( waqfs ), in conjunction with agricultural enterprises, mosques, and meeting rooms, and supported by alms and gifts. In the ribats, committed Muslims met for Quran recitation and ascetic practices, imitating the prophet Muhammad's life. (The Quran and the biography of the Prophet became available as scriptures probably in the early 700s and 800s, respectively.) Many were mystics ( sufis ) and wrote manuals on how to acquire divine knowledge ( ma'rifa ), or were revered as "friends of God" ( walis )--that is, saintly figures whose prayers and rituals for rain, healing, or exorcism were reported as effective and who attracted pilgrims and religious fairs to their ribat. 6

As orthodoxy was being hammered out during these early centuries, dissenters essentially had two choices. Either they rejected the authority of caliphs and scholars altogether, a position taken by the so-called Kharijis ("Seceders"), and made the fulfillment of all laws and duties incumbent on Muslims as individuals. Or they deplored the caliphal retreat from law and dogma as a betrayal and labored for the reestablishment of the true caliphate, or "imamate" [(true) leadership], whose holder was held to be divinely empowered. The latter position was taken by the Shi'is ("partisans" of 'Ali, who is traditionally listed as the fourth caliph). At the center of the Islamic Empire, adherents of both positions were ruthlessly persecuted and they therefore generally mounted their oppositional movements on the periphery.

North Africa, or the Maghrib (the "West"--that is, Tunisia, Algeria, and Morocco) was one such peripheral refuge for dissenters. It was a sparsely inhabited imperial province of limited agricultural resources located on the coastal plains along the Mediterranean and the Atlantic, the adjacent mountains (the Kabylia in eastern Algeria, the Atlas in northern Morocco), and the oasis clusters of the northern Sahara. The steppes of the vast interior high plateau supported only pastoralists. The sedentary, mostly Christian population of indigenous Berbers in Byzantine Tunisia and Morocco (Tangier and Ceuta) had officially surrendered to the Arabs by 711 after half a century of intermittent fighting. The mountain villagers, high-plateau pastoralists, and desert nomads, fiercely devoted to their independence, either avoided the new Arab conquerors or fought them, stirred into action by Khariji refugees from the Arab heartlands.

In the middle of the eighth century, the Khariji refugees and local Berber converts founded a number of small mountain and oasis states that quickly supplemented their limited agricultural resources with camel-borne trans-Saharan trade. Baghdad, the capital of the 'Abbasid Empire, was in the process of developing into a cosmopolitan cultural and economic center with intensive trade interests in East Africa, India, China, Scandinavia, and the western Mediterranean. Cordoba, the capital of the Spanish Umayyads, was an almost equally impressive rival. The trade in both empires was based on a bimetallic monetary system of gold and silver coins. Most of the gold was obtained from Nubia, on the upper Nile to the south of Egypt, and West Africa, in the region of the upper Niger and Senegal Rivers. Nubia and West Africa were outside the Islamic empire. The merchants were Egyptian Copts and North African Kharijis who traded cloth and copperware for gold, ivory, and slaves. The Kharijis maintained permanent residences as well as mosques in the northern market towns of the Sudanic kingdoms and thus were the first carriers of Islam into West Africa.

As opponents of any strong central political authority, the Kharijis were content with small realms, far removed from the caliphs and religious scholars in Baghdad. By contrast, the Shi'is favored a return to the original concept of the caliph as the sole representative of God--a concept that was being transformed in emerging Sunni orthodoxy into the caliph-'ulama' coregency. When their emissaries preached the message of the mahdi to establish a realm of justice, peace, and unity on earth, they clearly had the replacement of the 'Abbasid caliphate and its clerical scholars in mind. 7

But even the Shi'is had to start their proselytizing far away, in the mountains of Lesser Kabylia in eastern Algeria. There, at the end of the ninth century, a missionary from Iraq converted the Kutama Berber villagers to the cause of the Isma'iliyya, a Shi'i branch devoted to immediate revolutionary action. The missionary Abu 'Abdallah was part of a worldwide network of missionaries ( da'i, plural du'at ). They carried a religious message in the name of the descendants of Isma'il, the eldest son of Ja'far the sixth imam of the Shi'a. Isma'il died before his father and his supporters, the more militant among the Shi'is, rallied around his son Muhammad, and split from the main stream of the Shi'a. 8

In the early 900s, the Kutama Berbers conquered Tunisia from a local dynasty of 'Abbasid governors. The original missionary relinquished leadership to 'Ubayd Allah the Mahdi, who had lived in an Isma'ili center in Syria before he was forced by 'Abbasid persecution to flee to the Maghrib. Once in power, the first Fatimid caliph began to implement his idea of the utopian realm of justice on earth (909-34). He and his descendants interpreted this to mean no less than the vanquishing of the 'Abbasid Empire--a feat they in fact almost accomplished. In 969, they conquered Egypt, Syria, and western Arabia; and in 1058/59, a Fatimid general briefly held power in Baghdad. Impressive as these conquests were, however, reality soon fell short of utopia: the justice of the Fatimids was no more equitable than that of the 'Abbasids. They collected the same heavy taxes from the peasants and confiscated the properties of merchants and officials with the same arbitrariness. Furthermore, in spite of major propaganda and conversion efforts, they never succeeded in supplanting the nascent, but tenacious, Sunni orthodoxy in their empire. When the Fatimids eventually collapsed in 1171, their version of Islam disappeared rapidly from the central Islamic lands. 9

Not surprisingly, while Fatimid imperialism was still dangerous it instilled militancy into the rising Sunni orthodoxy. From the mid-eleventh century onward, newly converted ethnic groups--Turks from Central Asia and Berbers from northern Africa--made themselves the champions of nascent Sunnism against the Shi'is, the Christian Crusaders in Palestine, and the Christian reconquistadores in Spain.

The rural Berbers in northern Africa had barely been touched by Islam prior to the eleventh century. However, camel-breeding nomads such as the Sanhaja Berbers in the western Sahara had been involved in the trans-Saharan trade ever since the Kharijis pioneered this trade. The Saharan merchant city of Awdaghost, which had Muslim residences and mosques, was initially in the Berbers' pastural territory, but around the turn of the tenth to the eleventh century it recognized the authority of the king of Ghana, a non-Muslim.

In 1035-36, a Sanhaja chief from near Awdaghost went on his pilgrimage to Mecca. On his return journey, seeking an Islamic instructor for his tribe, he met a Sunni scholar in Qayrawan, Tunisia. He recommended to him another scholar, the head of a school in southern Morocco, a sunni stronghold in the midst of a country infested with heresies. One of his disciples, Abdallah Ibn Yasin (d. 1059), accompanied the Sanhaja chief to the Sahara.

Ibn Yasin succeeded in harnessing the Sanhaja into a disciplined movement, the murabitun, known in Europe as Almoravids. They were committed to strictly observe the letter of the law, according to the Maliki madhhab . At its height, the Almoravid empire (1042-1148) encompassed Mauritania, Morocco, western Algeria, and the southern half of Spain. However, both Almoravid military power and religious orthodoxy were on shaky foundations: The original tribal troops were not easily transformed into a professional army, since most troops preferred settlement over continued service, and their nontribal replacements, recruited in the conquered territories or from abroad, failed to coalesce into effective units. As for Almoravid orthodoxy, "guardsman" Islam proved too narrow in comparison with theological developments in Islamic civilization generally. In the twelfth century, eminent scholars (e.g., Abu Hamid al-Ghazali; d. 1111) were proposing the limited use of philosophy, mainly for the interpretation of dogma, so as to combat more easily the counterorthodoxy of Shi'ism; they wanted to explain with the help of rational arguments the superiority of Sunni Islam. The Almoravid scholars, unfamiliar with philosophy, lacked theological sophistication and therefore found it difficult to defend their narrow Sunnism. 10

On both military and religious grounds, the Almoravids were thus unable to consolidate their empire. Their regime was challenged at the beginning of the twelfth century by the Almohads. The founder of the Almohad movement, Abu 'Abdallah Muhammad Ibn Tumart (d. 1130), a Masmuda Berber from the Anti-Atlas mountains in southern Morocco, staunchly supported Ghazali's theological position within rising Sunnism. Ibn Tumart's central doctrine was that of the unity of God as distinct from the multiplicity of the things making up the world. Since all-encompassing divine oneness is rationally incomprehensible Ibn Tumart proposed to interpret it with the help of the theological tool of analogy ( ta'wil ). The followers of this theological interpretation, called al-muwahhidun ( "Unitarians" ), or Almohads, built an empire that at its height was even more impressive than that of the Almoravids, comprising all of the Maghrib as well as Islamic Spain (1148-1269). 11 Like its predecessor, the Almohad empire disintegrated during the transition from fielding conquering armies to garrisoning troops, although its religious legacy--a broad Sunni orthodoxy--proved to be a lasting accomplishment. The empire was succeeded by a set of regional successor states in the Maghrib and Spain.

By this time (mid-thirteenth century), Sunni orthodoxy had reached its mature phase: law and theology had been fully formulated and the mystics and saints who had hitherto practiced Islam in the ribats began to move into lodges ( zawiyas ; lit. "retreats" ) in the countryside. Scriptural Islam was taught and studied in urban colleges, such as the Qarawiyyin in Fez and the Zaytuna in Tunis. Mystical and popular Islam began to include the population outside the cities and away from the coast. The zawiyas in the countryside, with their saint's mausoleums, guardian families, and religious rituals were supported by alms from the surrounding peasants or nomads and provided basic education in reading and writing to promising young men. The rituals were named after their patron saints and often became the distinctive practices of entire brotherhoods of lodges, called tariqas, with branches throughout the Islamic world.

The earliest saint whose full biography and writings we possess was Abu Madyan Shu'ayb Ibn al-Husayn (1126-90), a Spaniard who became the patron saint of Tlemcen in western Algeria. One of his disciples was Abu al-Hasan al-Shadhili (d. 1256), a Moroccan whose Shadhiliyya tariqa became one of the most influential and widespread brotherhoods in the Islamic world (today it has its own website). 12 Thus it is only from the thirteenth century and the establishment of Sunni orthodoxy onward that we can speak of the full Islamization of the Maghrib.

In Egypt, the final establishment of Sunni orthodoxy occurred when the Kurdish-descended Saladin (Salah al-Din; ruled 1171-93), with his Turkish cavalry troops, destroyed the Fatimid empire in 1171. Saladin was a champion of the Turkish-endorsed version of broad Sunni orthodoxy that Ghazali had formulated half a century earlier. Two types of new urban institutions were devoted to the promulgation of this orthodoxy, the college ( madrasa ) for the teaching of scripturalism and the seminary ( khanqa ) for the teaching of mysticism. Both were religious foundations similar to the ribats mentioned above, financially independent from the government and maintained by rents collected from urban real estate or villages. Both madrasas and khanqas maintained salaried professors and instructors and provided lodging and scholarships for their students. As in the Maghrib, the ribats gave way to zawiyas that dotted city neighborhoods and the countryside. Here the general population received oral instruction in the basics of Islam and congregated for the practice of local religious customs. 13

Saladin's descendants, the Ayyubids (1193-1250), and the Turkish Mamluks (1250-1517) further broadened orthodoxy by endowing sufi seminaries and encouraging the teaching of the Shafi'i law for the people of lower Egypt, the Maliki law for the people of upper Egypt and Alexandria, and the Hanafi law for Syrian residents and for the Turkish-speaking elite. 14 The same broad orthodoxy was maintained by the Turkish Ottomans who conquered Egypt in 1517 and established tributary regimes in Algeria (1518), Libya (1551), and Tunisia (1574). In fact, under the Ottomans the previously distinct career paths of 'ulama' and sufi shaykhs in Cairo and Alexandria merged, and only brotherhoods and lodges with distinctly local practices and customs remained separate. During the Ottoman period (1517-1798), religious scholars at the prominent Azhar University could be enrolled in as many as two dozen sufi circles, and many sufi shaykhs were distinguished teachers of law. 15

Only a small handful of 'ulama'/sufi shaykhs expressed discomfort with local saint cults or brotherhood practices that they considered to be beyond the pale of orthodoxy. On a theological level, they criticized the concepts of sainthood and miraculous powers as "associationism" ( shirk ), "unbelief" ( kufr ), and blameworthy "innovation" ( bid'a ), since God alone was all-powerful. On a moral level, they criticized the pilgrimages, processions, fairs, music, dances, self-mortifications, and exorcisms connected with a number of popular tombs and brotherhoods as unruly, disorderly, and against prevailing custom. However, combating heterodox minority movements of the Khariji and Fatimid variety was one thing; taking on heterodox popular religious customs supported by perhaps as many as 90 percent of the Egyptian population was quite another. Hence the absence of any resonance among the population at large.

Only one case is known where criticism provoked a commotion, and that was short-lived. This case involved a Turkish preacher, Ibrahim Gülsheni, who in 1711 incited his listeners to go out from his mosque and combat blameworthy innovations in the Turkish and Arab shrines. A crowd surged forth to the Zuwayla Gate (which was believed to be the seat of the unseen master of all saints) and attacked the dervishes (popular sufis) holding ad hoc sessions on the streets around the gate. The chief jurisconsults ( muftis ) issued legal opinions ( fatwas ) in which they affirmed the reality of miracles and refused to transform saintly retreats into law colleges. The chief judge ( qadi al-askar ) refused to debate the preacher and on the second day the government put down the riot. The Turkish preacher was exiled and his mosque closed down. A poet who witnessed the events cleverly turned the preacher's own moral argument against him: "He exceeded the proper bounds, he exaggerated, he incited the army against us!" 16

In Algeria, Libya, and Tunisia, the Ottomans pursued the same broad policy of Sunni orthodoxy. Since they were not numerous enough to impose a firm regime on the tribal populations of the interior, they tacitly allowed many zawiya shaykhs to assume rudimentary political functions, such as arbitration in tribal disputes, collection of taxes, and even maintenance of auxiliary cavalry troops. Morocco remained outside the Ottoman Empire, mainly thanks to the rise of the Sa'dids, a southern Moroccan family of zawiya shaykhs claiming descent from the Prophet.

The Sa'dids (1510-1613) were self-declared champions of the liberation of the country from the Portuguese, who had held all major ports for varying time periods (1415-1578). Unwilling to exchange one set of invaders for another, the Sa'dids vigorously repelled the Ottomans. In 1591 the Sa'di Sultan al-Mansur sent a Moroccan expedition force across the Sahara. With the superiority of firearms the Moroccans defeated the Songhay kingdom, and took possession of Timbuktu. The Pashalik of Timbuktu was ruled directly from Morocco during a short period (1591-1618), and then became autonomous until the second half of the eighteenth century. 17 After a period of disunity in the country, another Prophet-descended zawiya family, the 'Alawids from central Morocco, established a more modest regime (1668 to the present).

Political Recentralization and Religious Reform (1800 to the present)

By the 1700s, Europe had completely supplanted the Middle East and northern Africa as the main commercial hub of the world. Not surprisingly, after the Middle East had been relegated to secondary status, the ensuing financial crisis crippled the central institutions in the existing empires. Northern Africa was no exception. The Ottomans were barely able to hang on to control in Egypt, and they lost Algeria, Tunisia, and Libya to autonomous rulers or even dynasties whose own power, in turn, was largely limited to the coasts. In Morocco, the 'Alawids effectively controlled only about one-third of the country, largely on the central plain around Rabat. After the shock of Napoleon's invasion of Egypt in 1798, northern African rulers bestirred themselves and introduced reforms designed to recentralize their states' institutions.

Muhammad 'Ali (ruled 1805-48), the Ottoman governor in Egypt, set the pace for this recentralization. In the religious domain, in 1812 he issued a decree that installed the sufi shaykh Muhammad al-Bakri (d. 1880) as the head of all brotherhoods, lodges, and saints' mausoleums. Although al-Bakri's family had held the position since the seventeenth century--in part by virtue of their claim to be descendants of Abu Bakr, traditionally the first caliph--their role had been without executive power. The Bakris led the annual celebrations of the Prophet's birthday ( mawlid ); for the rest, religious institutions administered themselves as they saw fit. Now the position was given teeth: all shaykhs had to receive official appointments from al-Bakri before acceding to their positions as heads of their brotherhoods, lodges, or saints' mausoleums. Muhammad 'Ali's primary intention was to put some structure and organization into the diffuse amalgamation of theologically and financially autonomous religious organizations. But he also aimed at curtailing the reach of Azhar University, the country's flagship institution, whose professors in his view were double-dipping in a large number of religious brotherhoods. Finally, through this act of "divide and rule," Muhammad Ali sought to minimize resistance against his subsequent land- and tax-reform decrees of 1812-14, which affected the landholdings of all religious institutions. 19

Although intended to increase the supervisory control of the state, Muhammad 'Ali's decree changed very little in the intricate web of religious institutions. Furthermore, since his successors' energy slackened in the recentralization drive, the government's declared assumption of power over the religious appointments remained theoretical. Much more drastic was the centralization process in Algeria, where it was carried out by the French through their policy of colonial centralization. An initial French expedition in 1830 resulted in the removal of the autonomous Turkish regime on the coast, and further efforts in 1841-47 brought about the destruction of a state under the zawiya of 'Abd al-Qadir (d. 1883) in the interior; 20 but this system broke down when the zawiya embarked on his own centralization drive. Once fully in control, however, the French systematically destroyed the autonomy of the brotherhoods, sometimes with the help of military repression and land confiscation.

The most spectacular destruction of a brotherhood occurred in 1871, when France had been defeated in its war against Prussia. At this moment, when the colonial regime appeared to be vulnerable, a tribal leader, Muhammad al-Muqrani, and a Rahmaniyya shaykh, Haddad, concluded an alliance and led a powerful uprising that engulfed most of eastern Algeria. At first the rebels achieved surprising successes against the depleted French troops, but after the death of Muqrani in one of the battlefield encounters, the uprising lost its momentum, and a year later it was completely crushed. The consequences were devastating: some eight hundred thousand Algerians (one-quarter of the population) were condemned to fines of 35 million francs and the loss of 450,000 hectares of agricultural land (equivalent to 70 percent of their properties). Thereafter, the autonomy of the population in the interior of the country, including the lodges and brotherhoods, was essentially broken. 21

As recentralization took hold in Egypt and Algeria, lodge and brotherhood leaders who were determined to maintain the autonomy of their institutions had little choice but to establish themselves in regions traditionally outside the reach of northern African states, such as southern Libya, Mauritania, and Africa south of the Sahara.

Libya was a special case: the Ottomans, in pursuit of their own centralization program, deposed the provincial dynasty of governors in 1835 and reestablished direct rule. But after crushing a few rebellions in the north they dug in on the coast around Tripoli, Benghazi, and Derna and left the interior of the country (except for the Fezzan oasis) largely to its own devices. Thus, for the two hundred thousand or so inhabitants of the remote eastern province of Cyrenaica (Barqa), little was altered from the preceding century. In 1841, shaykh Muhammad Ibn 'Ali al-Sanusi (d. 1859) arrived there with his followers to found a brotherhood eventually known as the Sanusiyya.

Al-Sanusi was an Algerian from Mostaghanem who had spent nearly two decades in Mecca as a student of one of the most prominent scholarly sufis of the time, the Moroccan Ahmad Ibn Idris (d. 1838). Other students of Ibn Idris would become the founders of brotherhoods in Sudan, Somalia, and Eritrea; thus, Ibn Idris's mystical treatises became influential not only in Libya, Chad, and Niger, but also in eastern Africa. The Ottomans in Cyrenaica abandoned their initial suspicions after they had assured themselves of the immense learning of al-Sanusi; it was more advantageous for them to deal with one man seeking to maintain order than with hundreds of tribes playing hide-and-seek and disrupting the security of the country. The Sanusi family dutifully asked the Ottoman authorities for building permits and religious foundation status for its lodges dotting the oases of the Libyan Sahara. After their expansion to the Sahel, the Sanusis obtained similar permits from West African rulers. By 1900, there were close to 150 lodges. 22

The southward movement of another of the Algerian brotherhoods, the Tijaniyya, followed a different trajectory. The brotherhood was founded by Ahmad al-Tijani (d. 1815) in the western Algerian Sahara at the end of the eighteenth century. The Tijanis had successfully defied the Turks on the coast and--advancing an unusual bid for preeminence--they claimed to have superseded all previous brotherhoods. But after a failed bid for a Saharan state, they submitted to the French and one descendant even married a Frenchwoman. They established lodges in all the Maghribi countries and, via the affiliation of Mauritanian pilgrims returning from Mecca in 1789, extended their influence to the far southwest of the Maghrib. 23

Mauritanian society had undergone a drastic restructuring in the centuries after producing the Almoravids. Bedouin tribes had arrived from Arabia, Arabizing most of the Maghribian Berber nomads, except for the Tuareg, as they swept through North Africa. When they established themselves in Mauritania, a complex system of tribal dependencies emerged. On the one hand were the unarmed zawaya tribes claiming saintly status and supporting a high level of legal education and practice; on the other hand were the secular warrior tribes. The latter depended on the zawayas for the conclusion of truces and occasional periods of peace, but they also collected tribute from them, both in oases and when the zawayas were traveling as merchants. Both the zawayas and the warriors controlled the tributary farmers and pastoralists who made up the bulk of the population. Prior to the end of the eighteenth century, most zawayas were affiliated with the Qadiriyya, the oldest brotherhood in the Islamic world. The Tijanis, in spite of their efforts, managed to enroll only one, hitherto mostly unaffiliated, zawaya tribe in Mauritania. As proud believers in Tijani supremacy, they had no other choice but to carry their beliefs further south of the Sahara. There the Tijanis became spectacularly successful through the jihad-leader Hajj 'Umar (d. 1864). 24

To return to the situation in Egypt: al-Bakri worked diligently during his long and respected tenure to bring administrative order into the diffuse world of brotherhoods, lodges, and saintly mausoleums. What initially had been a purely administrative mandate of centralization gradually shifted into a government-led redefinition of what constituted Sunni orthodoxy. The traditional division between state and religion, in force since the thirteenth century, was attenuated. Few Egyptians seemed to mind, except perhaps those whom al-Bakri administered. In fact, a few Egyptian administrators and Western-educated professionals expressed embarrassment about "crude" popular religious practices that they viewed as incompatible with (Western) "civilized" life. Thus, during the turbulent years after 1876 when a heavily indebted Egypt lost its sovereignty to a French-British financial commission, a number of Azhar shaykhs, Western-educated journalists, and European consuls supported a drastic religious-reform decree devised by the new khedive of Egypt, Tawfiq (ruled 1879-92), and promulgated in 1881. 25

According to this decree, the following rituals were to be removed from all religious meetings and parades: the use of swords, needles, and other instruments for self-mortification; the eating of live coals, serpents, and glass; chanting the liturgy; hyperventilating while chanting the name of God; the alternate bowing of adepts facing each other in rows; jumping up and down from one foot to the other; beating drums and other musical instruments; carrying anything but banners; and riding on horseback over a carpet of prostrate adepts. The list amounted to a virtual outlawing of any ecstatic state, and hence of mysticism itself if a brotherhood's practices were deemed unbecoming to a modern, progressive, civilized nation. 26

As it turned out, the 1881 decree moved no further than the paper it was written on--as with its predecessor of 1812. Muhammad al-Bakri had died just prior to the promulgation of the decree and he was succeeded by his thirty-year-old son Muhammad Tawfiq al-Bakri (d. 1911), who lacked both the erudition and experience of his father. The government was in no position to enforce the decree, and even the British, who took over in 1882, were unwilling to assemble the totalitarian state that would have been necessary to suppress popular culture. The decree was reissued in 1905, but its only effect was a discreet disappearance of some brotherhoods from the streets into private homes. 27

It appears that the prominent religious reformers of the late-nineteenth century, Jamal al-Din al-Afghani (d. 1897) and Muhammad 'Abduh (d. 1905), had no influence on the 1881 decree, although they greeted it warmly, of course, and in their subsequent writings advocated similar reforms. Thus the important movement of the Salafiyya (from salaf ; "ancestors" ) that they inspired and that advocated a return to the allegedly pristine, rational, and progressive religion of the ancestors surrounding the prophet Muhammad was a consequence, rather than the fountainhead of the narrow orthodoxy that came to dominate the twentieth century. The line from the broad traditional to the narrow modern Sunnism of northern Africa clearly passed through the modern, centralizing state of Muhammad 'Ali. 28

Paradoxically, both 'Abduh and many Salafis of the subsequent generation of religious reformers were well trained in sufi practices. They therefore did not categorically condemn mysticism as unbelief, but they made clear that it was quite unnecessary for the faith of the reformed Muslim, just as were the detailed legal compendia from the time of broad orthodoxy (1250-1800). All a Muslim needed was the Quran, the Prophet's biography, and the precedents Muhammad set for living an Islamic life (called hadiths )--all as formulated by Islamic scholars in the period between the late-eighth and eleventh centuries.

In the 1930s, Egypt experienced its first stage of industrialization, with a beginning rural-urban migration, rising birth rate, and expanded literacy. But it also felt the effects of the worldwide economic crisis following the U.S. stock market crash of 1929. Islamic fundamentalism or "Islamism"--that is, the narrowed Sunni orthodoxy of the Salafiyya that was disseminated in the form of popular tracts--became an attractive alternative to the secular, formal democracy of the wealthy Egyptian landowners who were in control of Egyptian politics. Although there was still opposition to the alleged unbelief of mystics, Islamists were more concerned with condemning secular democracy and praising strict religious rule under a caliphate they wanted to see reestablished. (The Turks had abolished the caliphate in 1924 when they created the Republic of Turkey on the ruins of the Ottoman Empire.) By far the largest Islamist movement was, and is, that of the Muslim Brothers ( Ikhwan al-Muslimun ), founded in 1928 by Hasan al-Banna (d. 1949), a modern-trained school teacher. The movement expanded rapidly in the late 1930s and in the 1940s to several hundred thousand members. In the Maghrib, still under complete French colonial control, the tumultuous 1930s were experienced in more muted form, but even there, small Islamic associations devoted to adult education and social activities left their mark. 29

After World War II, these fundamentalists were overshadowed by nationalist parties fighting for independence in northern Africa. These parties recruited their militants from the nontraditional urban professional, student, and worker milieus. The members were usually at least nominal Muslims who, once in power after independence, focused on the pursuit of large, state-led industrialization programs and expanded education. The educational curricula included a strong dose of what one perhaps can call a secularized version of Islamism. In this version, it was not the allegedly original Islam of Muhammad, his companions, and the early caliphs that was emphasized, but the alleged Arabism of these figures. Arabism was assumed to have been corrupted in the later centuries, particularly during the period from 1500 to 1800, when the Ottoman Turks were said to have oppressed the Arab nation. Given the appropriate circumstances, however, it was easy for students to shift from Arabism to Islamism.

These circumstances arrived in the 1960s. Once again, urbanization, birth rates, and literacy rose, this time explosively. In contrast to the 1930s, the urban masses were much larger, crowded more densely together in dysfunctional cities, and 50 percent of them were youths under twenty-one years of age. Not surprisingly, Islamism experienced a rebirth, beginning in the late 1960s and expanding rapidly in the 1970s. Tracts were again written and distributed in large numbers. Nationalism and socialism were condemned as godless Western ideologies--alien to northern Africa--that had corrupted the Muslims. Mysticism was denigrated as a relic of the past. When the governments hastened to deemphasize their nationalist roots and socialist programs and expressed their support for a "moderate," broadly defined Sunni orthodoxy, small militant minorities went over to terrorism. In the eyes of these terrorists, the secular, Westernized government elites were composed of "hypocrites" ( munafiqun ) and unbelievers whom good Muslims had a holy duty to destroy.

The Tunisian and Moroccan governments succeeded in suppressing their small terrorist movements after brief episodes in the 1980s. In Egypt, too, terrorist organizations, operating since the early 1970s, were largely mastered by the late 1990s. Only Algeria was racked by a protracted stalemate between the government and Islamists. There have been more than seventy thousand victims of violence in Algeria since 1992, when the government canceled an electoral victory of the Islamists. The chances for an Islamic solution, however, seem to be dim since the Algerian government so far has been able to hang on to large revenues from exports of gas and oil. Behind the scenes, the military and its pervasive secret service have regained the initiative and since spring 1999 terrorism has declined sharply. 30

The ultimate problem for Islamists is that in spite of the huge demographic burgeoning in all northern African countries, they have failed so far to attract more than, at most, 20 percent of the populations. Particularly in Egypt, the broad orthodoxy of mysticism and popular Islam discussed above is alive and well. Today's Egyptian governments have retreated from Muhammad 'Ali's all-too-close control of religion in the name of administrative centralization. Short of becoming totalitarian, no government would be able to gain control over popular religion and destroy allegedly unorthodox practices. Consequently, the decrees of 1812 and 1905 were abrogated, and a much broader and more tolerant new decree concerning the organization and practice of religion was issued in 1976. Defenders of the traditional, broad orthodoxy feel far less intimidated now to engage in public debates, as the reaction to the mosque incident cited at the beginning of the chapter demonstrates. Perhaps traditional broad orthodoxy will weather the current Islamist assault. 31

posted 18 August 2004 10:10 AM            

INTRODUCTION

For reasons provided in the Prologue to Part II of this volume, the presentation of the medieval arts in central Islamic lands has been divided into two sections.

The first section deals with the rule of the Fatimid dynasty, which began in Ifriqiya (present-day Tunisia) around 908, moved its capital to Egypt in 969 under the leadership of the brilliant caliph al-Mu'izz, and ruled from there an area of shifting frontiers which, at its time of greatest expanse, extended from central Algeria to northern Syria, the middle Euphrates valley, and the holy places of Arabia. Its very diminished authority, affected by internal dissensions and by the Crusades, was eliminated by Saladin in 1171. The dynasties dependent on them vanished from North Africa by 1159, while Sicily had been conquered by the Normans in 1071.

The second section focuses on the art of the whole area in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries (at least until 1260), but only on its eastern part, essentially the Mesopotamian valley, in the eleventh. Several interlocking dynasties were involved in struggles and competitions which were as constant as they are difficult to describe and to recall. The lands of Iraq, the Jazira, Syria, Anatolia, Palestine, Egypt, Arabia, and Yemen were a mosaic of feudal rules enriched by the overall prosperity of the area, much involved in the elimination of the Crusaders' states, and largely committed to the revival of Sunnism and the destruction of what they considered to be a Shi'ite heresy. Although ideological opponents of the Fatimids, these feudal rulers shared with them both taste and material culture, and the visual distinctions between the arts of the two realms is not always easy to demonstrate.

PART I

The Fatimids In Egypt, Palestine, and Syria

The arts of this period of some 250 years are difficult to define on account of regional differences and of the growing complexity of Fatimid contacts with the rest of the Muslim world, the Christian West, Byzantium, and even India and China. The Fatimid era is North African, Egyptian, Syrian, and Arabian; but it is also Mediterranean and pan-Islamic.1

Politically, and in many ways culturally and artistically, Fatimid power and wealth were at their highest before the middle of the eleventh century. Shortly after 1050, however, in the middle of the long reign of the caliph al-Mustansir (1036-94), financial difficulties, famines, droughts, and social unrest led to two decades of internal confusion out of which order was not re-established until the 1070s. At the same time, in North Africa, an attempt by local Berber dynasties to shake off Shi'ite allegiance led to a new invasion by Arab tribesmen and to a thorough change of economic and political structure2, as Tunisia and western Algeria lost much of their agricultural wealth and entered by the twelfth century into a western rather than eastern Islamic and Mediterranean cultural sphere. During the last century of their existence the Fatimids controlled hardly anything but Egypt. Whether the major changes in Islamic art which they had earlier set in motion were the result of their own, Mediterranean, contacts with the classical tradition or of the upheavals which, especially in the eleventh century, affected the whole eastern Muslim world remains an open question.

ARCHITECTURE AND ARCHITECTURAL DECORATION: NORTH AFRICA

The Fatimids founded their first capital at Mahdiyya on the eastern coast of Tunisia.4 Not much has remained of its superb walls and gates or its artificial harbour, but surveys and early descriptions have allowed the reconstruction of a magnificent gate decorated on both sides with lions, of parts of the harbour, and of a long hall or covered street similar to those already found at Baghdad, Ukhaydir, and even Mshatta.5 The parts of the palace so far excavated6 have yielded two features of interest [286]. First, there was a curious entrance complex, consisting of a triple gate, its centre set out within a large rectangular tower. As one proceeds inwards, however, this gate ends in a blank wall. Two narrow halls on each side of the central axis lead into the court; the side entrances, on the other hand, proceed directly into the interior. The purpose of this odd arrangement could hardly be defensive; perhaps the four entries were to accommodate some of the extensive processions which, at least in later times, characterized Fatimid court life.7 Second, we cannot determine whether the decoration of some of the rooms with geometric floor mosaics sprang from memories of Umayyad palaces or imitated the many pre-Islamic mosaics of Tunisia.

A much restored mosque also remains from Fatimid Mahdiyya [287, 288].8 It was initially a rectangular hypostyle with a covered hall of prayer consisting of nine naves at right angles to the qibla. An axial nave led to a dome in front of the mihrab, and a portico in front of the covered hall served as a transition between open and covered areas and as part of a court with four porticoes. But the most significant novelty is the monumental fa?ade, involving the whole of the north western wall of the mosque. It consists of two massive salients at each corner, which emphasize and control the limits of the building, and three symmetrically arranged gates, the central one set within another salient decorated with niches. This earliest known instance of a composed mosque fa?ade gives a sense of unity not only to the outer wall but also to the building as a whole. Its origins should probably be sought in royal palace architecture, where such compositions were known as early as the Umayyad period.

From the second capital built by the Fatimids in North Africa, Sabra-al-Mansuriyya near Qayrawan, we know so far only of a very remarkable throne room which combines the eastern iwan with the characteristic western Islamic unit of two long halls at right angles to each other.9

The last two major monuments from North Africa to be attributed to the Fatimid cultural sphere are (if we except certain minor utilitarian structures) rarities in that geographical area. The first is the palace of Ashir, in central Algeria, where, under Fatimid patronage, the Zirid dynasty founded a capital around 947.10 It is a rectangle (72 by 40 metres) with towers of varying sizes [290]. The single outer gate of the complex is transformed into two entrances into the palace proper. On one side of the court is a portico. The presumed throne-room complex comprises a long hall with three entrances and a squarish room extending beyond the outer line of the wall and no doubt dominating the landscape. On each side of the central official unit, lining a courtyard, are two residential buildings consisting mostly of long halls. This symmetrical organization of living quarters around official areas recalls Mshatta or Qasr al-Hayr rather than the sprawling royal cities of Samarra and Madinat al-Zahra. Moreover, the palace is remarkable for its great simplicity: limited design, no columns, probably simple vaults, and very limited applied decoration. Though but a pale reflection of the architecture created on the Tunisian coast, Ashir is nevertheless precious for the completeness and preservation of its plan.

The second monument is the Qal'a of the Beni Hammad [291] in central Algeria, begun around 1007 by a Berber dynasty related by blood to the Zirids and also under the cultural impact of the Fatimid centres of Tunisia.11 It was a whole city with an immense royal compound comprising a huge tower with pavilions at the top [292], a complex of buildings crowded around a large (67 by 47 metres) artificial pool in which nautical spectacles took place, a bath, a mosque with a superb maqsura, and a series of individual houses and palaces. Neither the chronology nor the ceremonial or symbolic meaning of these buildings is clear; typologically, however, the Qala belongs to the succession of Samarra's or Madinat al-Zahra's sprawling ensembles, but with the emphasis on a setting for leisure and pleasure. A celebrated poem describing a lost palace of the eleventh century in Bijaya (Bougie) in present-day Algeria elaborates on this luxury and describes an imagery charged with heavenly and secular topics.12 It was possibly this ideal of luxury that inspired the twelfth-century architecture of the Norman kings of Sicily, about which more will be said in Chapter 8.

One group of fragments of unusual importance from the Qal'a of the Beni Hammad is a series of long ceramic parallelepipeds with grooves at one end; they must have projected unevenly from a ceiling or a cornice, looking like stalactites of a particularly unusual kind [452]13 . Other plaster fragments were certainly more typical muqarnas transitions. The origin and inspiration of these features is still unresolved. They could have been local inventions or, a more likely hypothesis, local interpretations of forms and ideas from the east, and prepared the way for the later vaults of Morocco and of Norman Sicily, especially the large ceiling of Roger II's Cappella Palatina at Palermo.14 Nearly all these examples occur in secular architecture, suggesting that the muqarnas may have been transmitted through the medium of private dwellings. But this matter also is not resolved, and we shall return to these very same fragments in Chapter 7

EGYPT UNTIL 1060

After their conquest of Egypt in 969, the Fatimids embarked on a truly grandiose program of building, some of which survives; much more has been recorded by later Egyptian compilers such as the invaluable al-Maqrizi.15 These accounts in turn led, already before the first World War, to a series of very important, although not complete, topographical surveys by members of the French School in Cairo16, supplemented by a study of epigraphical material by Max van Berchem and Gaston Wiet17 and Creswell's monumental work. Both archaeological and interpretive concerns are ongoing activities in Egypt18 and, thus, for once in the study of Islamic art, both original documents and scholarly studies are numerous.

The centre of the Fatimid world was the imperial and military city of Cairo (al-Qahira, 'the triumphant').19 Nothing has remained of the first foundation, inaugurated in great pomp in the presence of astrologers with the purpose of controlling the older Muslim town of Fustat and its communications with the east. Yet its size is known (almost a square, about 1000 by 1150 metres), as are its north-south, almost straight axial street (the present Mu'izz al-Din street), its two huge palaces more or less in the middle of each side of the central street, with a wide open space for parades between them. It was provided with eight irregularly set gates (two on each side). Even the sites and names of the quarters assigned to the military groups permitted to share the city with the caliph have been recorded, because so much of the later topography and toponymy of Cairo is based on that of the town built between 969 and 973. Thereafter, little by little, the whole area to the south and southwest was transformed so that by the year 1000 Cairo, with the old city of Fustat, had become one of the largest and most cosmopolitan urban complexes of the medieval world, with its markets, mosques, streets, gardens, multistoreyed apartments, and private houses. Fatimid urban developments elsewhere are less well known, except for Jerusalem, Mecca, and, to a smaller degree, Ascalon on the Palestinian coast. In most of these instances, religious considerations dictated new constructions, but it is probably justified to believe that the establishment of Fatimid authority included transformations in the urban fabric of all the cities controlled by the dynasty.

The buildings of the early Fatimid period can be divided into three groups. Of the first, the palaces, nothing has remained, but the lengthy compilation of al-Maqrizi and the on-the-spot descriptions of Nasir-i Khosrow (1047) and al-Muqaddasi (985), as well as archaeological data brought together by Herz20, Ravaisse21, and Pauty22, allow for a few remarks about these palaces. Most remarkable was the Great Eastern Palace, whose main Golden Gate opening on the central square was surmounted by a pavilion from which the caliph watched crowds and parades.23 Inside, a complex succession of long halls led to the throne room, an iwan containing the sidilla; this was 'a construction closed on three sides, open on the fourth and covered by three domes; on the open side there was a sort of fenced opening known as a shubbak'. Painted scenes, probably of royal pastimes since we know that they included hunting scenes, constituted much of the decoration.24 For all its brilliance, the Eastern Palace seems to have been comparatively rambling in planning; the Western Palace (c.975-96, rebuilt after 1055) was smaller but more regular, centred on a long court with halls and pavilions on both axes.

Fatimid secular architecture can be characterized by two further features. The first (an apparent novelty in Islamic palaces) consisted in the royal pavilions spread all over the city and its suburbs.25 To these, for amusement or for ritual purposes, the caliph repaired in the ceremonial processions which brought the practices of the Fatimid court so close to those of Byzantium26 . Their shape is unknown, but most seem to have been set in gardens, often with pools and fountains, very much like the remaining twelfth-century constructions of the Normans in Sicily. The second feature is the layout of a number of private houses excavated in Fustat [293]. They abut each other in very irregular ways, and the streets on which they are found are often both narrow and crooked. But the interior arrangement of the larger ones is often quite regular and symmetrical. In almost all instances, open iwans or else two long halls at right angles to each other, or even both, surround a central court.27 The forms themselves often recall palatial ones, and the quality of most construction and the sophistication of the civil engineering are at times quite amazing.

There also remain from the early Fatimid period in Cairo two large congregational mosques. The celebrated al-Azhar ('the splendid') was founded together with the city to serve as its main place for ritual gathering. Because it grew slowly into a great centre of religious learning, it has undergone frequent alterations (the court fa?ade, for example [294, 295, 296], is later, although still Fatimid). The original mosque can be reconstructed as a simple hypostyle (85 by 69 metres), with a prayer hall of five aisles parallel to the qibla wall and porticoes.28 The hall of prayer was bisected by a wide axial nave leading to a superb mihrab decorated with stucco [296]; in front of the mihrab was a dome, probably with two other domes framing it.29 The remaining dome now in front of the axial nave, built between 1130 and 1149, recalls, by its position, the one introduced in the mosque of Qayrawan. Throughout the mosque the supports were columns, single or double, often spoils from older and abandoned buildings. A great deal of decoration - mostly stucco - remains in the spandrels of the axial nave, on the qibla wall, and elsewhere. To its themes we shall return later; its position seemed to emphasize the main directions and lines of the building. The Fatimid exterior has not been preserved. Al-Maqrizi relates that there were royal pavilions and that a number of official ceremonies took place which were probably reflected in architecture. Without these accessories, the first Azhar Mosque appears almost as simple as the first hypostyles with axial naves known in Islam [297].

The second early Fatimid mosque in Cairo, the mosque of al-Hakim, redone and inaugurated by that caliph in 1013, was begun by his father in 990. Its original purpose is not evident, for it was outside the city walls to the north, in a sparsely populated area. Clarification is provided by a long passage in al-Maqrizi.30 Until 1266 (when it returned to the Azhar), the first and most splendid of a cycle of long and elaborate ceremonies of caliphal prayer, including the khutba or allegiance to the sovereign, took place here, to be followed on successive Fridays in Cairo's other large three mosques (early mosque of Amr, Ibn Tulun, al-Azhar). We may, then, interpret this building as an imperial foundation, whose primary function was to emphasize the religious and secular presence of the caliph and to serve as a setting for the ceremonial pageantry of the dynasty.31 While no doubt related to earlier mosques such as those of Damascus, Baghdad, and Cordoba, in all of which the nearby presence of the ruler played a part, the al-Hakim Mosque had a more restricted purpose as a royal sanctuary some way away from the city proper, not far from the mausoleums of the Fatimid family, and illustrating the very complex nature of Fatimid kingship. The private oratory in one of the minarets, and a possible mystical explanation of some of the decorative motifs like stars and a pentogram found on the masonry,32 lend credence to the idea of the building's special character.

The mosque of al-Hakim was a large and slightly irregular rectangle (121 by 131 metres) [298, 299]. At the west and south, on the corners of the fa?ade, are two minarets now partly enclosed in later constructions, a feature obviously related to Mahdiyya's mosque. The minarets are remarkable for their decoration and for being of different shapes, one cylindrical, the other square. Between them in the main fa?ade [300] is the monumental (15 by 6 metres) entrance; four more doors with flat arches and a very classical moulding complete the composition, and there is a further gate on each side of the mosque. The interior hypostyle combines features from the mosque of Ibn Tulun [25-27] (five-aisled sanctuary parallel to the qibla wall, large brick piers with engaged columns, single arcade on the other three sides) with innovations from North Africa (higher central nave, dome in front of the mihrab with two corner domes on squinches and drums). Thus, compared to the Azhar Mosque, al-Hakim's is much more carefully thought out, blending several architectural traditions and drawing especially on its North African roots. But it is still in most aspects traditional, and its most expressive features are the domes, whose outer appearance (square, octagon, cupola) is one step removed from the inside (octagon, drum, cupola), and the fa?ade, whose symmetry is so curiously broken by the different shapes of the minarets which frame it.

Both the Azhar and Hakim mosques are remarkable for their architectural decoration, although themes and style differ considerably. At the Azhar the stucco panels on the wall spaces provided by the arches and the qibla aim, like those at Samarra, to cover the whole surface. The comparison is all the more justified since - except for the epigraphical borders rarely found in Iraqi palaces - the shapes of the panels, the motif of constant interplay of leaves and flowers around symmetrically arranged rigid stems, and the techniques of outlining, notching, and dotting are all certainly related to the art of Samarra, probably through the impact of the latter on Tulunid Egypt.33 However, the floral element is more pronounced and more clearly recognizable, and the background again plays an important part. After the Samarra-inspired experiments, therefore, the Azhar stuccoes seem to indicate a preference for an earlier and more natural treatment of vegetal motifs. The inscriptions of the Azhar have been chosen to proclaim the ideological bases of the Fatimid dynasty.

The decoration of the al-Hakim Mosque is quite different. Flat ornamental panels are rarer; when they exist, as on certain niche-heads of the entrance or on the windows of the domes, they consist of symmetrical designs of stems and leaves or of more complex arabesques, always set off by a visible background. Most of the decoration is of stone and is concentrated in a series of horizontal and (more rarely) vertical bands which emphasize the minarets and the gateway block. The designs include vegetal as well as geometric and epigraphical motifs, almost always in relief leaving the stone background visible. As already mentioned, it may be that some of the devices, such as pentagrams or the heavily decorated medallions which occasionally replace the horizontal bands, had a symbolic significance.34 There is no doubt that the inscriptions of the mosque were meant to proclaim an ideological message of caliphal power, and the striking originality and novelty of the al-Hakim example is that this message occurs on the outside of the building in direct and immediate contact with all the inhabitants of the city rather than being restricted to those permitted to pray inside.35 The al-Hakim decoration as a whole, however, is most notable, especially when compared to the Azhar, for its sobriety. Both the sobriety and the complex composition recall North Africa rather than the East, although it is possible that the ubiquitous classical background of the Mediterranean was wilfully employed by the Fatimids both in the simplicity of ornamentation and in the revival of more naturalistic themes of design.

A last point about early Fatimid decoration is that it was not limited to stucco or stone. Wood was common, although little has remained in situ. Mosaics were also used, which we know mostly from texts and from the superb decoration of the large dome in front of the mihrab of the Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem (early eleventh century). The mosaics of the drum [301] probably copy much earlier Umayyad work,36 but those of the triumphal arch and of the pendentives are original Fatimid compositions [302], and their technical quality indicates that the older traditions picked up by the Muslim world in Byzantium were not yet totally lost or that, especially in Jerusalem, the Fatimids were reviving Late Antique techniques they knew as Umayyad.

The last group of monuments datable to the first Fatimid decades in Egypt consists of mausoleums, whose erection is attributable both to the Fatimid sense of imperial pomp and to their Shi'ite veneration of the descendants of Ali.37 The earliest royal and religious mausoleums are known through texts only, but two major early groups remain, a small one near Cairo,38 and another sixty-odd-strong in the great Aswan cemetery in southern Egypt [303].39 None is dated, but the indirect evidence of texts and certain details of construction indicate that they probably belong to the early decades of the eleventh century. By then the mausoleum was no longer either a royal prerogative or a place of religious commemoration, but a widely available form of conspicuous consumption. The social and pietistic conditions of the time suggest that the new patrons of architecture in this field were women and the middle class of merchants and artisans. There is, for instance, the very curious case of the Qarafa Mosque, sponsored by two noble women in 976 in the southern cemetery of Cairo; it shows that, quite early in Fatimid times, the place of the dead became a site for the expression of piety by another patronage than that of rulers.40

The mausoleums are simple squares with openings on one, two, or three sides. Built in brick or stone in mortar, or in combinations of the two methods, most of them probably had whitewashed walls with little decoration. All were covered with domes on simple squinches with an octagonal drum whose purpose was to give greater height and more light. Some of the mausoleums had over twelve windows, which emphasized their openness, perhaps in order to indicate that they were not full-fledged buildings and therefore did not entirely controvert the religious opposition to the expression of wealth or power after death.41 Their ultimate origin undoubtedly lies in the ancient mausoleums and canopy tombs of Syria and Anatolia, but how this form, which was rarely used in Christian and early Islamic times, came to be revived here in the tenth century is still unclear.

The early Fatimid period saw, then, not only the creation and growth of the new city of Cairo with its great congregational mosques but also some spectacular, if no longer available, secular and memorial building. Egypt was asserting itself as one of the great artistic and cultural centres of the Islamic world and a new and varied patronage for architecture came into being.

EGYPT: 1060-1171

Following the crisis of the middle of the eleventh century there was a marked change in the functions and plans of religious buildings in Cairo. Congregational mosques are few. Instead, the common building for prayers was the masjid, a small oratory, usually privately built and endowed, often with a specific commemorative or philanthropic purpose42 and without the city-wide significance of the first Fatimid mosques. Only much later did some of them acquire congregational status when they were assigned a special khatib or preacher to represent the state. In plan, the two remaining examples, the Aqmar Mosque, (1125)43 and that of al-Salih Tala'i (1160),44 are remarkable for their modest dimensions, their location within the urban fabric, and their external shape. The Al-Aqmar Mosque [304, 305] has a curious fa?ade which is not parallel to the qibla; the mosque of al-Salih could be reached only by bridges, since it was built over shops. In both instances, previously existing streets and monuments determined the shape of the building, for each is on or near the main north-south artery of Cairo, where property was expensive, and the religious monument had to adapt itself to the more consistent fixed order of the urban community. The internal arrangement was not very original, unlike that of the vanished Mosque of the Elephants built by al-Afdal in 1085-86. Its peculiar name derived from the nine domes over the sanctuary, which were surrounded by balustrades and from afar looked like the howdahs carried by elephants in caliphal processions.45 Nine-dome mosques are known elsewhere,46 and belong to a rare type whose significance remains unexplained.

Commemorative structures also changed. In addition to mausoleums, sanctuaries usually called mashhads (literally 'places of witnessing'), such as those of Sayyidah Ruqqayah (1133) and Aswan (c.1100),47 began to appear for purposes of prayer, pilgrimage, and private piety. They include the still somewhat mysterious so-called mosque of al-Juyushi [306, 307] on the Moqattam hills overlooking Cairo, dramatically restored in recent years. The dedicatory inscription, which dates the building to 1085, clearly calls it a mashhad, yet its function as such is unclear; it does not seem to have been associated with a tomb, and Badr al-Jamali built it during his own lifetime. Qur'anic inscriptions suggest that it was erected in commemoration of some event which has remained unrecorded and which could simply be the reestablishment of peace and order after decades of strife and turmoil.48 The plans of most of these buildings are closely related. An entrance complex (domed at Aswan, topped by a minaret at al-Juyushi) leads to a small courtyard; the sanctuary has a large dome in front of the mihrab [308], always with a vaulted room on either side and usually with halls or rooms between it and the court (at al-Juyushi, three vaulted halls, one of which opened on the court through an ill-composed triple arcade; elsewhere all the rooms were covered with domes). The domes, like the zones of transition, were of brick, covered with plaster, and almost always four-centred in section; their surfaces varied from plain to ribbed. We have no record of how this kind of building was used, but we can say that religious practices must have changed significantly to justify the growth of this new type.

The importance of domes in these mausoleums and martyria explains the second major novelty of the later Fatmid period: a new mode of transition from square to dome. At al-Juyushi, an octagonal drum with eight windows surmounted a classical squinch. But already at Aswan by the turn of the century, and then in most other mausoleums, a muqarnas [309] replaced the squinch. The muqarnas is tripartite. A central niche bridges the corner framed by two sections of vault; above it is a sort of squinch vault approximately equal to the two sections on the lower level. Unlike contemporary Iranian examples, no arch enclosed the composition. The outline of the motif became standard for windows, so that the openings of the late Fatimid mausoleums are remarkable for their variety and complexity.49 The Egyptian and Iranian motifs are not alike; yet in purpose and basic tripartite composition they are closely related. The Iranian examples, however, are probably earlier, and their function, ambiguous though it may sometimes appear, is more clearly structural than in the smaller Cairene mausoleums. These points suggest that the Egyptian muqarnas squinch was inspired by Iran, but not blindly taken over (although awkward imitations existed); rather, it was adapted and scaled to the needs and possibilities of the more modest Egyptian monuments.51 It is, in fact, in Egypt that a muqarnas niche in plaster was discovered, just as they existed50 in Nishapur in Iran, with painted representations of a youth with a cup [310]. It was found in the ruins of a bath house.

The most spectacular remaining features of Cairene secular architecture are three gates to the new and enlarged city whose walls were redone, according to tradition, by three Christian architects from Edessa working under Badr al-Jamali [311].52 The towers of the Bab al-Nasr [312]53 are square, those of the Bab al-Futuh and the Bab Zuwaylah massive and semicircular. In his masterly analysis Creswell not only pointed out their close connection with the military architecture of the northern Mesopotamian region but also showed that they introduce to Cairo the use of stone as the sole mode of construction, a new type of pendentive, the stone cross-vault, and the round arch, all features of pre-Islamic Mediterranean civilizations which continued to be used in the upper Jazira and Armenia.

The architectural decoration of the second Fatmid period is less impressive than that found in contemporary Iran or in the earlier Fatimid period. Much - especially in mihrabs - consisted of the wooden panels discussed later in this chapter, but older techniques such as stucco (especially remarkable at al-Juyushi) and stone-carving (especially on the gates) were still employed. The designs, almost always subordinated to architectural lines, were both geometric (the backbone of the design) and vegetal. One of the more interesting compositions is the fa?ade of the al-Aqmar Mosque [305], recently restored and in effect redone, in which a Romanesque effect of forceful projection of a religious monument into the city is produced by the central gate framed by two rows of niches, the false gates on the side, the upper band of decorative epigraphy, and the symmetrical arrangement on the walls of rectangular, circular, and rhomboid panels. Most striking are the peculiarly effective transformation of the conch motif in niche-heads, and the use of muqarnas as a flat decorative design. Both features occur also in mihrabs, and an investigation based in large part on the Quranic quotations of the mosque has proposed that all these motifs carried a Shi'ite message.53

Altogether, the later Fatimid period witnessed an extension of architectural patronage reflected in the growth of smaller monuments, the development of the mashhad, the use of the muqarnas in architecture and decoration, and a partial return to stone. Whether or not these features are of local origin is often still a delicate problem; but most of them are also characteristic of Muslim architecture elsewhere, strongly suggesting that, despite its heterodoxy, the Fatimid world fully partook of the pan-Islamic changes of the eleventh and twelfth centuries. In some cases, it is even possible to compare Fatimid architecture, especially in its second phase, with that of contemporary, more particularly western, Christianity.

THE ART OF THE OBJECT

The Fatimid period is of singular importance as the era when Egypt reached an outstanding position in the Muslim world, not only as the focal point of vast trading activities extending as far as Spain in the west and India in the east (as well as outside the Islamic regions) but also as a great manufacturing centre. The arts and crafts were so highly specialized during that epoch that it has been possible to establish no fewer than 210 different categories of artisans, compared to 150 in ancient Rome.54 Production for the lower and middle class was on a very large scale.55

Our most vivid and also most sumptuous picture of this period is provided by historical accounts, both contemporary and later, reporting on an event during the reign of al-Mustansir (r. 1036-94). In 1067-68 the great treasury of the Fatimids was ransacked when the troops rebelled and demanded to be paid. The stories of this plundering mention not only great quantities of pearls and jewels, crowns, swords, and other imperial accoutrements but also many objects in rare materials and of enormous size.56 Eighteen thousand pieces of rock crystal and cut glass were swiftly looted from the palace, and twice as many jewelled objects; also large numbers of gold and silver knives all richly set with jewels; valuable chess and backgammon pieces; various types of hand mirrors, skilfully decorated; six thousand perfume bottles in gilded silver; and so on. More specifically, we learn of enormous pieces of rock crystal inscribed with caliphal names; of gold animals encrusted with jewels and enamels; of a large golden palm tree; and even of a whole garden partially gilded and decorated with niello. There was also an immensely rich treasury of furniture, carpets, curtains, and wall coverings, many embroidered in gold, often with designs incorporating birds and quadrupeds, kings and their notables, and even a whole range of geographical vistas.57 Relatively few of these objects have survived,58 most of them very small; but the finest are impressive enough to lend substance to the vivid picture painted in the historical accounts of this vanished world of luxury.

There is no exception to the pattern we have been following now in our investigation, namely the cycle of adoption, adaptation and innovation, as regards the objects created for the Fatimids after their conquest of Egypt in 969. At first the artists working under the aegis of this dynasty seem to have continued to explore the possibilities inherent in forms long current in Egypt or more recently imported from the East. Only gradually do they seem to have introduced new decorative elements which had begun evolving in the western Islamic lands during the previous, Early Islamic, period under Umayyad, Abbasid, and indigenous influences. Once this innovative phase began, artistic problems were approached in an entirely new spirit.

As regards wood, treasured in Egypt because of its scarcity, early in the Fatimid period we can witness the continued popularity of the bevelled style first encountered in the Abbasid heartland and later in Tulunid Egypt [99]. The carved decoration on a tie-beam in the mosque of al-Hakim, dated 1003, is still based on the true Samarra Style C but it is also illustrative of a further development of that style in that the lines delineating the rather restricted number of motifs are wider, thus giving quite a different impression. Unlike the prototype, here the distinction between pattern and interstitial spaces is clearly defined.59 This feature is even more pronounced on the panels of a wooden door dated 1010, also inscribed to the caliph al-Hakim [313],60 where the individual bevelled patterns stand out clearly from a dark background. The major design elements are themselves decorated with small-scale surface patterns. The resulting textures, along with the contrast between light and dark, produce more varied, lively, and accented compositions than earlier on.61

By the third quarter of the eleventh century, however, a further evolution is discernible. The bevelled elements are reduced to thin, spiralling stems against a deeply carved background, and figural and animal designs begin to come to the fore. The early stages of this innovative trend are well illustrated by the panel [314]. Although the vegetal and figural designs can here be interpreted as being given equal treatment, the former motifs are beginning to be relegated to the background, and pride of place is moving toward the zoomorphized split palmette. Instead of starkly abstract, static, and purely sculptural qualities, there is now a dramatic interplay between abstract and more realistic parts, between elements conceived three-dimensionally and purely linear ones, and between light and shadow. In addition there is a new sense of movement.

This panel and another in the Museum of Islamic Art, Cairo, are closely related to those comprising a fragmentary door believed to have come from the Western Fatimid Palace, built by the caliph al-'Aziz and completely renovated by al-Mustansir in 1058.62 Destroyed by the Ayyubid conqueror Salah al-Din (Saladin) in the late twelfth century, it was bought in 1283 by the Mamluk sultan Qala'un, who then proceeded to build his great complex consisting of a school, mausoleum, and hospital. These were completed in fifteen months, and in this hasty project the amir in charge of the project took advantage of the already existing woodwork and other material on the site. Were it not for this medieval recycling, this beautiful panel and many others - some of which will be discussed presently - would probably have been lost to posterity.

Particularly important among these is a series of horizontally oriented carved wooden boards - some with decoration organized in interlaced cartouches containing designs of animals and human figures all carved against a background of formalized vine scrolls in lower relief [315] and others with a symmetrically arranged animal decoration [316].63 The horse protomes seen on the contemporary door panel discussed earlier, because their outline was made to conform to that of a split palmette, appear very stiff when compared to the liveliness of the varied motifs on these friezes and the realism conveyed by them. Human figures predominate now, and the rich repertory of subjects includes a number of male and female dancers portrayed in animated postures. In keeping with the new taste for scenes from everyday life, a woman peers out through the open curtains of a palanquin on the back of a camel, which is escorted by a man. In another compartment a drinking party is in progress. Two turbaned figures grasp goblets, one of them pouring from a bottle. From one side a servant approaches carrying a large vessel, presumably in order to replenish the bottle. Although the roughness of execution means that details are not as clear as those on similar representations in other media, traces of red and blue pigment suggest that specifics of facial features, costume, implements, etc. may have been precisely delineated in paint. Similar wood-carvings, more refined in workmanship but reflecting even more strongly the late Fatimid taste for observation from life, are to be found in a Christian context in Cairo, in the Coptic convent of Dayr al-Banat.64

Probably dating from about the same time is the fragmentary panel [317], decorated with a bird of prey attacking a hare, which must have originally functioned as one of the sides of a chest.65 This is a simpler but equally beautiful example of the technique known as marquetry that had a long life in Egypt [98]. Both the latter, more intricate, version of this art and the particular adaptation seen here were to be adopted later by the Almohads in al-Andalus and the Maghrib.66

Although the earliest extant datable woodwork with figural decoration from Muslim Egypt is from the third quarter of the eleventh century, architectural elements with such ornamentation were being utilized in Fatimid Ifriqiya more than one hundred years earlier. The fact that the capital Sabra al-Mansuriyya, founded in 947, contained buildings adorned with carved wood decorated with birds and stucco sculpture in human, bird, and animal form may indicate that early Fatimid structures in Cairo which no longer survive were similarly decorated.67 Thus, the vogue for carved wooden architectural elements with figural decoration may have been concurrent with that for the vegetal decoration that was evolving from the bevelled style.

Ivory carvings attributed to Fatimid craftsmen show close parallels in style and iconography to wood, but here the workmanship demonstrates the greater refinement appropriate to so expensive a material. The openwork plaque [318] that apparently once sheathed a casket or other small object repeats a long-common motif: the scarf dancer, skipping, her draperies swirling about her twisted body, her arms gesturing sinuously.68 Particularly noteworthy on this panel is the grace of the performer, her weight convincingly distributed, her headdress precisely knotted. The naturalism of all the figures on such plaques is heightened by the refined technique. Although there are two main levels of relief, as on the wooden boards, here the frames and figures are so delicately modelled that they appear fully rounded as if they were actually emerging from the vegetal scrolls that constitute the background.69 A device that contributes to this three-dimensional effect is undercutting. Furthermore, the leaves project forward from the vine scrolls in the background so that the two planes of the carving seem interconnected. These ivories are distinguished by the care lavished on detail, for example in the rendering of textile patterns, the texturing of animal fur and bird feathers, and the veining of leaves.

Because of their highly developed style, these ivories and comparable pieces in Berlin and Paris have been dated to the late eleventh or early twelfth century. However there appears to be no reason why they could not be contemporary in date with the carved wooden panels from the Western Fatimid Palace [315, 316], i.e. datable to c.1050. When the paint was intact on the latter decorative elements, these panels could have been as highly developed in detail as the ornament on the ivories.

The stylistic development we have been able to follow in the carved decoration of wood during the Fatimid period can be observed also in the ornamentation of lustre-painted pottery. Early in the period the designs adorning ceramic objects are often based on the bevelled style, but the motifs that took on sculptural qualities in carved wood had here to be rendered two-dimensionally. The earliest datable lustre-painted object so decorated is a fragmentary dish [319] bearing the name of a commander-in-chief of the caliph al-Hakim who held the title for only two years - November 1011 to November 1013.70 At this time as well, we know that this particular type of vegetal decoration was sometimes combined with figural designs. A fine example of such a transitional work is the bowl [320] signed by Muslim ibn al-Dahhan, a very productive artisan whose period of artistic output is known to us by means of a fragmentary dish in the Benaki Museum bearing an inscription stating that it was made by the above-named ceramist for a courtier of al-Hakim (r. 996-102171 ). The winged griffin in the centre of the bowl illustrated here is rendered basically in silhouette, but parts of its body structure are clarified and emphasized by keeping certain interior articulations free of the overglaze lustre paint. This attention to naturalistic detail represents a further departure from the caricature-like quality of the animals and human figures on the Iraqi monochrome lustre-painted pottery vessels of the Early Islamic period [107], as do the greater grace and innate movement in the griffin's body.

Although there are numerous lustre-painted bowls from Fatimid Egypt that bear figural designs as their principal decoration, there is only one such vessel known to us which can be securely dated [321], employed as a bacino in the Church of San Sisto in Pisa, Italy, dating to the last quarter of the eleventh century. We can be certain that the style of decoration exhibited on this bowl was current at this time since it must be assumed that this and the many other bowls from Egypt and elsewhere that once graced or still adorn the fa?ades of Romanesque churches and/or campaniles in Italy were installed at the time of the construction of these buildings. Two other bacini, in one instance adorned with an animal and in another with calligraphic designs, can be used to date another group of lustre-painted pottery [322]. On the basis of the evidence provided by these two bacini, this group, which has long been associated with Fatimid Syria, more specifically with Tell Minis - a village in the central part of the country - and dated to the middle of the twelfth century, must now be placed in the second half of the eleventh.73

The firmly datable bowl [321], however, appears to exhibit a somewhat different figural style from that found on the majority of the extant lustre-painted bowls with such decoration from Fatimid Egypt which are ornamented in a style closer to that found earlier at Samarra and in Ifriqiya. A dated or datable example of this latter category would be necessary before we could ascertain whether this type was contemporary with that exemplified by the bacino, or whether it preceded or succeeded that production.

Although the rendering of most of the faces and the coiffures on these so far not clearly datable vessels betrays descent from the Abbasid figural style - especially the large, round face, the staring eyes and small mouth, as well as the side curls - the animation of the body and exaggerated gestures of the limbs are illustrative, however, of an approach quite different from the frozen monumentality of even the most active figures in the wall paintings from Samarra [84]. As was the case vis-a-vis Fatimid woodwork from Egypt, the influence of the artists working under the aegis of this dynasty in Ifriqiya must be seen as an important inspiration for the new trends that can be documented in Egyptian pottery, foremost among them being an intensified interest in naturalistic representation of the human figure, which was always greater in the areas bordering the Mediterranean than in the eastern parts of the Islamic world.74

Whenever this innovation occurred on Egyptian ceramics, the craftsmen of this undated and so far not datable pottery group managed, by means of a number of devices, to achieve naturalistic effects quite far removed from the two-dimenslonal stylization of Mesopotamian lustre-painted designs, and even from the rather static vegetal and animal motifs [319, 320]. Among these devices were the use of an energetic line, off-balance poses, and dramatic gestures to convey a sense of movement and animation. In addition [323], greater attention was devoted to realistic details of costume, jewellery, and vessels. Furthermore, the ceramist of this bowl managed to accentuate the fullness of the arms, the grip of the fingers, and even the dissipation of the eyes.75 This group also explored the episodic nature of a theme, a convention we have already seen in the tile from Sabra al-Mansuriyya [141]; instead of human figures and animals presented singly or serially, some bowls in this category illustrate groups engaged in particular activities [324]. Here a lady with two female attendants reclines on a couch and the main protagonist seems to be taking up her lute or relinquishing it to the servant. In contrast to the ceremonious quality of courtly scenes on Spanish ivory boxes [145], the Fatimid pottery examples have the informal flavour of an event observed from daily life.76

Although the pottery decorated with lustre-painting was the most luxurious of the kiln production of Fatimid Egypt, it was not the only ceramic type manufactured during this period. The bowl [325] belongs to a type of pottery known as champlev? that until very recently was generally dated to the late twelfth or early thirteenth century and usually attributed to Iran. However, following the excavation of ten vessels of this type from a shipwreck in Serce Limani, a small natural harbour on the southern Turkish coast just opposite Rhodes, we can now confidently date this category to c.1025 and place its production either in Fustat, Egypt, or in a manufacturing centre somewhere in the Fatimids' Syrian province.77 The decoration of such wares was created by first applying a slip of light-coloured clay to the interior and part of the exterior surfaces. When dry, the slip was partially carved away to leave the desired design in relief. Details were then incised in the slip and the vessel was finally covered with a transparent, clear or coloured, lead glaze.78

The second type of glazed pottery found in this shipwreck was a variety of splash-decorated ware. It, too, was previously vaguely dated - in this case as early as the ninth to as late as the twelfth century. Thanks to this chance find, at least wares in this category with similar designs and shapes can now be given a secure time frame as well as place in the history of Islamic pottery.79 The vase [326] seems not only to be a variant of this splash-painted type but also to be representative of the Egyptian version of a category that was so popular in the western Islamic lands during the Early Islamic period. This was the type that imitated the opaque white-glazed group manufactured in Basra, Iraq, under the Abbasids [141, 142].80

The potters working in Egypt and Syria during this period also produced monochrome glazed carved and/or incised ceramics, decorative techniques previously met with on pottery produced during the Early Islamic period [102]. The Egyptian version [327] is much closer to its boldly deorated antecedent than are representatives of the group made in Syria and associated with Tell Minis.81 The latter appears to exhibit for the most part a more delicate decorative style which seems to lead directly into that produced slightly later in Iran [265].82 The Tell Minis carved and/or incised category is datable to the middle of the eleventh century by means of a bacino.83 Since the so-called lakabi ('glazed') type of pottery [328] shares not only principal decorative motifs but body profiles as well as a peculiar rim design with the Tell Minis variety, this group must be attributed to the same period in Syria as well.84

Near the end of the first millennium or at the very beginning of the second, Islamic glassmakers in the central Islamic lands85 inaugurated a second period of innovation86 that brought them increasingly further from Roman imperial glass and culminated in superb relief-cut vessels. Without question, the most beautiful Islamic object of this type extant is the cameo-glass ewer [329]. The artisan initially formed a clear-colourless glass blank around which was blown a gather (or viscous and extremely ductile melted batch of ingredients) of turquoise-blue glass. The surface was then selectively cut away with a wheel, leaving the design in relief, with the highest point of the decoration representing the original, in this case turquoise-blue, surface. Considering the difficulty of working with such thin and brittle material, high-relief glass cutting is a remarkable achievement and often - as here - a real tour de force87 . Unlike its highly creative technique, a commonly found earlier shape was adopted for this vessel [92].

Another fine and famous example of the relief-cut technique is the bowl [330] executed in opaque turquoise-coloured glass and obviously meant to imitate a bowl carved from a mineral88, further supporting the hypothesis that the flowering of the craft of cut glass - especially relief-cut glass - was an offshoot of the technique for working precious or semi-precious stones, be they turquoise, emerald, or rock crystal. The close relationship between cut glass and cut stone, especially rock crystal, had been fully understood by medieval Muslims, for they are repeatedly listed together in reports of the Fatimid treasures in Cairo; and, we are told by a medieval Iranian author that Syria and the Maghrib were known for a type of green glass used to imitate emeralds.89

The ewer [331], bearing the name of the early Fatimid caliph al-'Aziz (r. 975-96) and exemplifying the finest quality of workmanship possible at the time, belongs to a group of highly important rock-crystal objects, several of which are firmly datable90 . This vessel and several others in the group share not only the same traditional shape with the cameoglass vessel just discussed but also many iconographic and stylistic features. However, whether the relief-cut glass objects led up to, were contemporary with, or were made in imitation of the rock-crystal ones is yet to be determined91 . In addition to this tour de force, the five other very similar extant pouring vessels92, and a small group of objects of comparable calibre in other shapes, there are a good many non-epigraphic and non-figural rock-crystal objects with decoration in the bevelled style. Were these also made near the turn of the millennium for a more conservative clientele? Or was there an extended earlier development in this difficult medium leading to the accomplished style of the inscribed works - a hypothesis supported by some pieces decorated in the Samarra Style C, which reached European church treasuries in the period from 973 to 982?93 An overlapping of styles is possible, but it is more likely that a slow, unilateral growth led up to the climax of this art in the eleventh century, a development following fairly closely that which we have already outlined in this chapter vis-a-vis the decoration of wood, ivory, and lustre-painted ceramics.94

Very shortly after the technique of wheel cutting reached its Islamic zenith in the relief-cut glass just discussed, its gradual simplification began. It was not long before a totally bevel-cut decoration often with no foreground or background had evolved, a stage beautifully exemplified by the vessel [332], decorated with finely executed lions, which was found in the Ser?e Limani shipwreck previously mentioned in connection with the champlev? bowl [325] and is, therefore, firmly datable to the first half of the eleventh century.

The simplification of this lapidary technique as applied to glass was to reach its logical conclusion in totally plain but beautiful vessels with bodies faceted like gemstones.96

In addition to experimenting with wheel-cutting techniques, which could be employed after the glass had cooled, the glassmakers in the Medieval period continued to adapt techniques applicable only to a hot gather (viscous and extremely ductile portion of molten glass 'gathered' for use in glass-blowing) or parison (glass bubble): mould blowing and thread or coil trailing. The latter decorative device is beautifully exemplified in the Fatimid period by the cup [333] also excavated at Ser?e Limani. The less time-consuming technique of thread trailing employed here in a boldly contrasting colour to set off the rim of the drinking vessel was often used at this time as well to imitate relief-cut designs.97

Glass products and glassmakers themselves moved from country to country. Documents from the Cairo Geniza mention that in the eleventh and twelfth centuries glassmakers from Greater Syria, fleeing the almost permanent state of war there, came to Egypt in such masses that they were competing with local artisans. Further, in a document dated 1011 it is noted that thirty-seven bales of glass were sent from Tyre, presumably to Egypt. Such emigrations and importations make precise attributions risky and international styles more likely. However, it is generally assumed that the ill-fated ship that sank in Ser?e Limani took on its cargo at a port at the eastern end of the Mediterranean, thus indicating a Greater Syrian provenance for its contents.

The vessel [334] continues the tradition of lustre-painting on glass that we first met with in Egypt during the early Abbasid period [110]98 . While considerably simpler than the decoration found on Fatimid lustre-painted pottery, the style of the rinceau and the convention of setting off the ornamented bands with double (or single) plain lustre fillets, not to mention the shape of the vessel itself, are all familiar elements in the repertoire of the period.

Ample evidence for the importance of textiles during the Fatimid period is provided by the detailed descriptions of the dispersal of the imperial treasury in 1067-68 as well as by reports of contemporary geographers. These invaluable texts inform us as to the quantities and diverse origins of the numerous types of textiles being stored in various areas of the palace at the time of the catastrophe and the different types of textiles being woven in various parts of the Fatimid realm. We learn not only that this dynasty imported stuffs of many different kinds from al-Andalus, Mesopotamia, and Persia as well as from Byzantium, but that locally made products were also very highly valued both within and outside Egypt99 . The tiraz [335] was probably the back of an over-garment similar to modern 'abaya and belongs to a rare and deluxe group of Fatimid textiles datable to the reign of the caliph al-Mustali (r. 1094-1101) and to the factories of Damietta in the Delta100 . The decorative bands and ornamental roundels are tapestry woven in coloured silks and gold file (silk core wrapped with a gold wire) on a fine linen. This group has been associated with a type of textile called qasab described in 1047, by the medieval Persian traveller Nasir-i Khosrow, as being woven in Tinnis and Damietta for the sole use of the ruler.101 While the gazelles and prancing sphinxes reflect a figural style with which we have become familiar on other objects of this period executed in many different media, the layout as well as the style of the garment itself were adopted from the fashion of the Copts in pre-Islamic Egypt.

For the most part earlier and considerably more plentiful than the deluxe group just discussed were the group of Fatimid textiles adorned solely with epigraphic and narrow decorative bands [336]. This veil is particularly sumptuous and not only bears the name of the caliph al-'Aziz and the date of 373/983-84 but also informs us that it was made in the private tiraz in Tinnis. Its epigraphic ornamentation shows a continuation of the style begun under the last Abbasid ruler of Egypt, al-Muti' (r. 946-74), in which the hastae (vertical stems) of the letters of the large silk tapestry woven inscription bands end in very graceful half palmettes102 . These tirazes, like the group from the period of al-Musta'li just discussed, closely followed not only the layout and content of the decoration found on the textiles produced in pre-Fatimid Egypt but the styles of the earlier garments as well.

Growing out of a long tradition established during the Umayyad and Abbasid periods [100, 150], the vogue for small and large copper-alloy animal sculpture persisted in Egypt and the Maghrib at least until the end of the eleventh century. Representing griffins, stags, gazelles, lions, rabbits, eagles, and other types of birds, they were used as aquamaniles, incense burners, fountain spouts, padlocks, and possibly vessel supports, and they share not only a high degree of stylization, which, however, never impairs effective recognition of the subject, but also such secondary features as frequent all-over decoration and zoomorphic handles.103 The most famous as well as the most beautiful and monumental example of this tradition in the central Islamic lands is undoubtedly the celebrated so-called Pisa griffin [337], the immediate precursor of which is a quadruped from Ifriqiya.104 On this copper-alloy object (the orginal function of which is unknown) everything is formalized: not only the body and its parts but also the engraved decoration, which consists of roundels, inscriptions, and designs of small animals - none of them detracting, however, from the grandiose impression that this object, more than one metre high, makes on the beholder. Made under the Fatimid aegis most probably during the eleventh century, this object could very well have been part of the large booty taken by the Pisans after their successful invasion of the Zirid capital, Mahdia, in the summer of 1087.105

It is not yet possible to assign precise dates to these sculptures, and therefore it is not known whether or not the small, more realistic, copper-alloy hare [338] - which most probably served as a fountain spout - was contemporary with or made before or after the griffin.106 Whatever the style, the Fatimid works are impressive as animal sculptures. Furthermore, they seem to have served as prototypes for Romanesque pieces.107

Although we are informed that the Fatimid treasury contained silver articles with niello decoration, until recently we were at a loss as to the appearance of any of these items as none of them seemed to have survived. The box [339], therefore, bearing the name of a vizier of al-Mustansir who served only for three years - 1044-47 fills an important gap. As Geniza documents support the idea that large quantities of silver vessels were exported to the Maghrib and India from Egypt in the Medieval period, we can assume that this small container - most probably used as a box to keep jewels - was made in that country.108

Not only did Fatimid craftsmen excel in the making of objects of fine silver, as can be judged from contemporary sources and the above-mentioned object, but their goldsmiths' work was of the highest quality as well. The elements comprising the necklace [340], especially the biconical and two spherical beads near the centre of the ensemble that are totally fabricated from gold wire and decorated with granulation, were of a type known to have been executed during the first half of the eleventh century in either Greater Syria or Egypt and may very well have been of the variety described by the eleventh-century author Ibn Zubayr as 'unusual, very beautifully fashioned gold jewellery' that was sent to the Byzantine king Romanos I Diogenes in 1071.109

It has been suggested that the new imagery with its animation and fully realized observation of the details of everyday living that we have seen especially in the ornamentation of wood, ivory, and lustre-painted ceramic objects during the Fatimid period reflected developments that occurred first in painting.110 Unfortunately, only a few fragments of wall and ceiling painting and not many more drawings on paper survive from this era, none of which is dated or datable [341-3]. Therefore, it is impossible at this juncture of our knowledge to prove or disprove this suggestion.

THE ART OF THE BOOK

As to the drawings on paper from this period, the tattooed female figure [341] is perhaps the most accomplished picture that has come down to us. It shares with the undated and so far undatable lustre-painted pottery group, discussed above [323, 324], the new Fatimid imagery, exhibiting greater animation and interest in the naturalistic representation of the human figure. However, the rendering of the face and the coiffure still betrays a dependence on the figural style at the temporary Abbasid capital at Samarra.

Also exhibiting the new trends is the drawing [342]. This bears very close comparison to the decoration on tiles from Sabra al-Mansuriyya [141]. Such similarity provides proof of the important inspiration for the new imagery to be found in the output of the artists working under the aegis of the Fatimid dynasty in Ifriqiya.

The manner in which animals are depicted in this medium is no exception to the new sylistic trends we have been following from this period not only in the art of the book but also in that of the object. The hare [343] with its heavy body, long and large ears, snub nose, and short tail closely resembles those seen earlier in this chapter executed in the marquetry technique and in metal [317, 338]. However, this illustration shows an animal drawn even more realistically - owing, perhaps, to the medium checking his flank before hopping along. The verso of this folio is adorned with a lion.112

Other than the few drawings on paper, virtually no arts of the book produced in Egypt during the Fatimid period have up to now been identified. Because of the heightened interest in the human figure during this period to which so many of the decorative arts bear witness, it is difficult to imagine that the art of miniature painting was not highly developed. However, apparently no illustrated manuscript or fragment of one has survived. In fact, none has even been attributed to this period. We learn from the eleventh-century report by Ibn Zubayr of the dispersal of the Fatimid treasury during the reign of al-Mustansir that

the number of libraries (within the palace) was forty, including 18,000 books on ancient sciences. The books included also 2,400 complete copies of the Qur'an [kept] in Qur'an boxes. They were written in well-proportioned calligraphy of the highest beauty, and adorned with gold, silver, and other [colours]. This was besides [the books] kept in the libraries of Dar al-'Ilm in Cairo.113

None of these appears to be extant.114 The meagre knowledge we have of the arts of the book in the Fatimid realm, other than that found in texts, is that gleaned from those manuscripts produced under the aegis of this dynasty in Sicily [154] or under that of their governors in Ifriqiya [471]. This total lack of Fatimid Egyptian manuscripts has never been satisfactorily explained. The fact that none has been positively, or even seriously, identified after more than eight hundred years might indicate that all of them, even the Qur'an manuscripts, were methodically destroyed in the Sunni revival that followed the fall of this heterodox dynasty - the fulfilling of a duty to extirpate heresies and reinstate true orthodoxy and thus part of the systematic attempt at reeducation undertaken by the Sunnis. The solution to this puzzle has so far not presented itself.

CONCLUSION

The most striking feature of the arts under Fatimid rule was the establishment of Egypt, and more particularly of the newly created city of Cairo, as a major centre for artistic activities. The latter involved the construction of many buildings, their decoration in many techniques, the establishment of a brilliant art of lustre-painting ceramics and glass, carving ivory, rock crystal or wood, chasing and engraving (but apparently not inlaying) metalwork, and an elaborate art of textile weaving. Cairo also became a consumer for foreign goods, silks and ceramics from China, gifts from Christian rulers farther north. Expensive curios from many places were brought to the city as parts of an extremely active international trade in items that must have been considered works of art. All these things were available to a wealthy middle class best known through its Jewish component which left so many documents of private and professional life.115 Or else they were kept in an imperial treasury whose variety is demonstrated by the lists made after the looting in the middle of the eleventh century.116 Some of these sources even imply the existence of an art market, where new and old objects, sometimes outright frauds like the saddles attributed to Alexander the Great, were peddled by otherwise unknown dealers.117 Cairo became a major employer of artisans and technicians, and it is, for instance, to the importation of stone-cutters from Armenia and northern Mesopotamia that some of the novelties in late eleventh-century construction techniques have been attributed.

But beyond these economic and technical considerations, the detailed evolution of which still needs investigation, a more important and particularly original feature of the arts under the Fatimids is the blurring of the boundaries between public and private art. Many of the new artistic developments, especially the buildings in the city of Cairo but also the lustre ceramics, were made to publicize and to display power, ideology, wealth, taste, or whatever else a patron or an owner wished to proclaim. This novelty is particularly visible in the importance assumed by inscriptions, the 'public text' identified by I. Bierman,118 on the outside of buildings, by individualized images on ceramics, and in the colourful restoration of great sanctuaries like those of Jerusalem.119 Nasir-i Khosrow, the Persian traveller and propagandist for the Fatimids, was allowed to visit the imperial palaces in Cairo and described at great length their elaborate decoration.120

While it is easy enough to demonstrate the artistic vitality of Fatimid Cairo and some of the social and ideological functions of individual monuments or objects, it is much more difficult to identify and explain the characteristics of the art itself. Three of these may help to define the paradox of Fatimid art.121 One is the possibility of demonstrating a progression away from the dry and severe formalism of ninth-century vegetal decoration, as in the stucco ornament of the mosque of Ibn Tulun in Cairo and in many related pieces of woodwork, to a much more lively arabesque with highly naturalistic features in the eleventh century, and, eventually, in the twelfth, to an elaborate geometry with its own formalism. Whether an evolution which is apparent in woodwork and stucco ornament is true for all media remains to be seen. A second characteristic is the frequent appearance of representations of people and animals in almost all media. Sometimes hidden in vegetal ornament, animals and personages also appear as the motifs decorating muqarnas niches and lustre-painted ceramics. The motifs represented in the latter are quite varied both in style and in originality, but the essential point is that their range goes from traditional scenes of royal pastimes to very lively images of daily life. Stretching a point slightly, R. Ettinghausen even talked of 'realism' in this Fatimid art.122 It is unfortunate that we are not yet able to date accurately the appearance of these representations, but there seems to be little doubt that it preceded by almost a century the same phenomenon in Iraq, in Syria, and especially in the eastern Islamic provinces. It could be connected to a renewed awareness of Late Antique art and, in general, to the artistic explosion of the whole Mediterranean area in the eleventh century rather than to some uniquely Islamic developments, but the matter still requires further reflection.123 And, finally, the art of the Fatimids reflected and satisfied the needs of a stratified society. It is, at times, difficult to decide whether a given object, or even a building, should be attributed to a royal, aristocratic, or middle-class patron or user, or whether he or she was a Christian, a Muslim, or a Jew. But all these possibilities are open.

Thus, and therein lies the paradox, the art of the Fatimids is more difficult to explain than to describe or to define. Should it indeed be considered a Mediterranean art which may have picked up certain features from eastern Islamic lands, but which developed largely independently within a different context of civilization? Or was it the precursor and even possibly the inventor of changes, like the appearance of representations or the growth of a public art, which were soon to become common? There are as yet no answers to these questions which illustrate the second paradox of Fatimid art within the broad context of medieval Islamic art. It exhibited an aesthetic vitality which seems absent from the rest of the Islamic world during the same period. Is it an accident? Does it have something to do with the doctrines of Isma'ili Shi'ism and the ways in which they were applied to the rich and complex society of Egypt and of the provinces, like Ifriqiya or Syria and Palestine, under its domination in the eleventh century? Or, perhaps, Fatimid art and culture were an original phenomenon hatched in tenth-century Ifriqiya by a brilliant leadership around the caliph al-Mu'izz, which would have created its own synthesis of Islamic doctrines and practices with Mediterranean art and culture.

http://arabworld.nitle.org/texts.php?module_id=12&reading_id=118&sequence=1

posted 18 August 2004 11:37 AM            

Both the Tulunid and Ikhansids were Turkish in origin. Ibn Tulunid's mosque is based off designs in Iraqi mosque made to mimic the Tower of Babel.

Most of the mosques scattered around Damscus around Iraq were kept up by Egyptian[Coptic] carpenters. The Copts had profound knowleadge in masonary,carpentry,architecture from building their monasteries throughout the ages. Lot of the mosques across Cairo were built by Coptis[a general term for Egyptians],and their expertise was extremely valued.

posted 18 August 2004 04:52 PM            

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Ayazid writes:

I didn´t say that all Egyptians consider themselves Arabs.

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This argument is over with this admission: All I ever wanted to maintain in this thread, was the FACT that you can’t call all Egyptians “Arabs”, and I have clearly accomplished that job. I understand that you will never be educated about African cultures, and the fact that there is no such thing as “two categories” of African culture, namely : Sub-Saharan African cultures, and North African cultures. African cultures are diverse from North to South, and West to East!

quote:

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Ayazid writes:
Your statements are emotional and offensive,but content-free.Some Egyptians don´t consider themselves Arabs,but it´s their choice.I doubt that these people are very numerous,but they exist.But it doesn´t mean that all Egyptians don´t consider themselves Arabs.

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quote:

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Ayazid writes:
My response wasn´t misdirected.

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Denial can be a terrible thing: “the truth shall set you free”!

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Ayazid writes:
Arabs who came to African in 7th century and later, were maybe "foreigners",but they (and their culture) have mixed with North Africans, so they became indigeous.

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Ahah, there is the keyword “foreigners” I’ve been looking for in your comments, which you have used in this “forced” admission of yours. With that clarified, the accusation that you were using a “foreign” label to describe Egyptian culture has merit!

I feel yet another vindication from your admission here, that the Afro-Asian North Africans, and their “mixed” culture have become “indigenous” to Africa! There is always hope; we are getting somewhere, after all!

quote:

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Ayazid writes:
To say that Arabs are "foreign" in North Africa it´s the same like to say that Turks are "foreign" in Anatolia,Slavic people are foreign in Balkan,North Americans(except Amerindians) are foreign in USA etc. because they didn´t evolved there.

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How about the more relevant comparisons such as “English”, or the “French” or the “Africans” were foreign to North America! The keyword which your sharp radar missed was “WERE”!

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Ayazid writes:
Content-free and offensive.

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Paragraphs with “empty” meanings need to be responded to as such!

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Ayazid writes:
It seems that you have really big problem with logical argumentation.Again,have you any examples of Ancient Egyptian oral tradition among Egyptian villagers?

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Let me break it down “hopefully” into the simplest terms you might understand: Ayazid, do you have a culture? How were you taught about the culture, if not “orally” and “literally” ? Or maybe you are just another self-taught or observant individual, which might explain you contorted view of the world!

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Ayazid writes:
Arab culture is a mix of Arab,Persian and other elements,alike English culture is a mix of Anglo-Saxon,Celtic,Danish and French elements, Persian culture is a mix of original Persian,Arab and Turkish elements. etc. Your problem is a lack of knowledge of medieval and contemporary Egyptian culture.You never said anything about Egyptian medieval and contemporary literature,arts etc.You was only speaking about Egyptian villagers,their traditions and values,but it´s only one segment of the whole culure.

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Oops you forgot the “East African” modification of Arabs. Maybe “African” or even “Negroid” elements are too “stealthy” for your radar!
If Arab culture isn’t pure to begin with, what makes you think that some traditions that you credit Arabs for in North Africa, weren’t first practiced within the African continent before the huge influx of foreigner? All can say about your accusations of my not dealing with medieval or contemporary Egyptian literature, values and traditions, is that you ought to go back to my previous posts both in this thread and others and re-read them carefully, hopefully without that “selective” radar of yours!

Fact is that Ayazid, this discussion should be over, since we have all agreed that you can’t call “all” Egyptians Arabs! Be graceful and accept your defeat!