When SulaymÄn [al-MustaÊ¿Ä«n] established himself in Cordoba ⦠those that remained of the Ê¿Ämirid poets (shuÊ¿arÄʾ Ê¿ÄmiriyyÄ«n) that were still residing in Cordoba at that time began to compose panegyric for him in the hope of tapping the stores of his generosity. So they composed in his praise good poems in which they appealed to religion (dÄ«n) and manly virtue (murūʾa), and most of them recited them openly in his public audience. He listened with manifest delight, but then defrauded them in accepting the panegyric, for he neither rained down generous rewards upon them nor even sprinkled. Because of this the dispersal of the group [of poets] from Cordoba was completed and most of them abandoned his protection. Thus every trace of culture (adab) was erased there and was vanquished by barbarism, and the Cordobans reverted from their customary humanism to blatant vulgarity, and nobility was abandoned.
Ibn ḤayyÄn, apud Ibn BassÄm 1989, I, i:501
âµ
This passage, which describes the state of literary patronage in Cordoba immediately after the Ê¿Ämirid period, is telling of what Andalusi poets had come to expect under Ê¿Ämirid patronage: a two-way relationship, in which the patron provided a captive audience for their panegyrics, and in turn rewarded them amply. As Stetkevych puts it, âthe role of a panegyric qaṣīda in a ritual exchange of poem and prize is ⦠a sacred trust upon which courtly culture is foundedâ.2 When al-MustaÊ¿Ä«n did not fulfil his side of the bargain, the dÄ«wÄn of Ê¿Ämirid poets was forced to find patronage elsewhere. As the passage quoted above goes on to say, Ibn DarrÄj was one of the poets to leave Cordoba at this time, finding patronage at the TujÄ«bid court in Zaragoza.3 Ibn ḤayyÄn credits this diaspora for the flourishing of Arabic literature at Taifa courts in the eleventh century, led by such charismatic and creative individuals as Ibn Shuhayd and Ibn Ḥazm. But, as this passage implies, the only place that Andalusi poets could have come to expect such a level of patronage, and where the seeds for the later flourishing were sown, was at the Ê¿Ämirid court. In fact, for Salma Khadra Jayyusi, the âḥijÄba periodâ was the start of âthe greatest literary age of al-Andalusâ.4
While there is little textual evidence for al-Manṣūrâs artistic patronage, there is substantial evidence in the primary sources to demonstrate active literary patronage during his ḥijÄba. Indeed, a new âcourtlyâ style of courtier was born from al-Manṣūrâs policy of surrounding himself with an informal dÄ«wÄn of boon companions (nudamÄʾ), a practice which likewise reached its full development at Taifa courts, as Cynthia Robinson has discussed.5 The focus in this chapter will be on the development of an Ê¿Ämirid literary culture, since a study of the influence of literary patronage on the cultural environment of the Ê¿Ämirid court suggests ways in which the visual arts produced for these same patrons may be read. These personal and intimate gatherings with members of the Cordoban elite, who tacitly legitimised their regime, developed bonds of loyalty to al-Manṣūr and his sons; these were also the target audience of the messages contained in the decoration of the objects which furnished the spaces in which they gathered. These objects will be discussed in detail in the following chapters, while the relationship of poetic imagery to particular Ê¿Ämirid objects or visual motifs is discussed in Chapter 8.
1 Elegance and Eloquence: the Literary Court
The literature patronised by the Ê¿Ämirid court falls into two types: public poetry, that is panegyric which was composed for the express purpose of recitation during the types of ceremonial occasions discussed in the previous chapter; and private poetry, created and sung in intimate majÄlis hosted by al-Manṣūr and his sons, as we will discuss below. This atmosphere of literary patronage invites a broader consideration of the place of books and learning at this period.
Every ceremony in al-RÄzÄ«âs Annals ends with a short paragraph containing a phrase similar to the following example: âDuring [the ceremony] the orators and poets stood extemporising and reciting many long and excellent [orations and poems], and among the best of what the poets recited that day was â¦â.6 Al-RÄzÄ« then relates the âgreatest hitsâ of the panegyric poems recited on that occasion. In this way, a substantial quantity of panegyric poetry from the last years of al-Ḥakamâs reign has been preserved. Studies of this poetry show that it was âessentially politicalâ, and that poets used it to make statements about â[Andalusi] foreign policy and [its] expansionist plans vis-à -vis the Islamic worldâ.7
The rhetorical vehicle for these political statements was the panegyric qaṣīda, which was transferred to al-Andalus from the Abbasid court âas an integral element of courtly ceremony and the insignia of authorityâ.8 This is reflected not only in the incorporation of panegyric recitation as an essential element of Andalusi ceremonial, but also in the practice of muÊ¿Äraá¸a, âimitationâ or âresponseâ to a well-known, earlier, usually Abbasid poem.9 Such was the case in the qaṣīdas recited at the Ê¿Ä«d al-fiá¹r ceremony of 363/974: al-Muhannadâs offering imitated a poem by AbÅ« al-Ê¿AtÄhiya, and that of Ibn Shukhayá¹£ was based on poetic quotation from AbÅ« TammÄm.10 Thus, Cordoban poets strove to identify âqaṣīda with qaṣīda and caliphate with caliphateâ â in other words, to identify poetically with their Muslim rivals, all the better to compete with them politically.11 The court poetâs presentation of a panegyric qaṣīda was thus âan act of allegiance that [was] both politically and ritually obligatory and, as a bodily performance, [was] part of the iconography of powerâ.12
As al-Manṣūr adopted the forms of caliphal ceremonial and diplomatic relations in the articulation of his court, so he adopted the all-important element of panegyric poetry. The transmission of much of Ibn DarrÄjâs dÄ«wÄn indicates that these poems were publicly recited, in gatherings like those recorded in the Anales Palatinos. Al-Manṣūr was skillful in his manipulation of public poetry, in the audience hall as well as on the battlefield, and his military entourages usually included poets âso that they might record his high deedsâ.13 He was accompanied on his campaign against Count Borrell of Barcelona in 375/986 by no fewer than forty poets, whose names have been preserved by Ibn al-Khaá¹Ä«b as illustrative of the âpomp and splendour with which [the ḥÄjib] generally marched, and the cultivation of letters during his administrationâ.14 His own political propaganda depended in large part on the panegyrics that these poets composed about him, which were widely circulated, projecting a particular image that he himself designed.15
It is apparent from what MakkÄ« calls his âvivid realismâ that Ibn DarrÄj also accompanied al-Manṣūr on several campaigns: in poem 111, for example, which was written about al-Manṣūrâs campaign against León in 995, he gives a vivid description of the Muslim armies marching through the hardships of winter and his impressions of the horrors of war.16 In poem 4, he says unequivocally, âWith my own eyes I saw, on the day of the battle of Clunia â¦â (l.33); in poem 126, âI saw how you made a star fall and I was a witness of what they call the lion raceâ (l.23).17 Ibn DarrÄj was also employed to write in rhymed prose the official account (risÄla) of the Santiago campaign in 387/997, a work which was considered by contemporary critics to be a masterpiece of Arabic prose. Ibn Ḥazm relates that at the end of the campaign, al-Manṣūr summoned his most favoured poet-scribes, Ibn DarrÄj and AbÅ« MarwÄn al-JazÄ«rÄ«, and ordered them to write immediately their accounts of the battle. While al-JazÄ«rÄ« complied, Ibn DarrÄj waited a few days, and in consequence his work was the âobject of the greatest admiration ⦠as much for its accuracy as for its magnificent literary styleâ.18 Though now lost, it is possible that it is partly preserved in Ibn Ê¿IdhÄrÄ«âs account of this campaign, which is âmuch more detailed, with a profusion of toponymic and geographical facts, precise dates and details which we do not encounter in [his] accounts ⦠of the other campaignsâ.19
The ḥÄjibâs intention in employing poets in such capacities was clearly that he be praised and his exploits celebrated, but this begs the question: what was his intended audience? While military victories continued to be announced to the population at large from the minbars of the congregational mosques,20 a document written in complex rhymed prose was intended solely for an educated audience. Likewise, panegyrics were recited in gatherings of the stateâs elite, at ceremonies such as those discussed in the previous chapter, where al-Manṣūr received homage from his conquered enemies. We should also bear in mind that poetic celebrations of al-Manṣūrâs military successes would resonate among his political rivals, and we find in Ibn DarrÄjâs poems exaggerated and propagandistic statements vis-à -vis the Abbasids and Fatimids.21 For these reasons, Stetkevych characterises âthe qaṣīda as an objectâ as âone of the âroyal insigniaââ.22
To fulfil these ceremonial functions â but also for more private reasons, as we shall see â al-Manṣūr maintained a circle (dÄ«wÄn) of poets laureate, the shuÊ¿arÄʾ Ê¿ÄmiriyyÄ«n of Ibn ḤayyÄnâs passage above, or the âpensioned poetsâ as they are called by Ibn al-Khaá¹Ä«b.23 This seems to have come into being around 991â2.24 This group was formed by the most educated men of the day, who also held official posts at court. In addition to those names that have already been mentioned (Ibn DarrÄj, á¹¢ÄÊ¿id al-BaghdÄdÄ«, al-JazÄ«rÄ«), the following persons can be associated with the Ê¿Ämirid dÄ«wÄn: courtier-poets of al-Ḥakamâs reign such as al-MuṣḥafÄ« and HÄrÅ«n al-RamÄdÄ«;25 patricians (and fathers of poets) such as AbÅ« MarwÄn ibn Shuhayd and Aḥmad ibn Ḥazm;26 al-SharÄ«f al-ṬalÄ«q, an Umayyad prince of the blood, whom Ibn Ḥazm called âthe best Andalusi poet of his timeâ;27 savants such as Ibn al-Ê¿ArÄ«f (tutor to al-Manṣūrâs sons), Ibn DhakwÄn (grand qÄá¸Ä« of Cordoba), AbÅ« Hafá¹£ ibn Burd (author of Sanchueloâs succession risÄla),28 and ʿĪsÄ ibn SaÊ¿Ä«d (ḥÄjib to al-Muáºaffar). The á¹¢aqÄliba in al-Manṣūrâs retinue were also highly educated, and Ibn ḤayyÄn preserves the names of those who authored books or treatises;29 later, when several of them became rulers of Taifa states, they sponsored their own literary circles (Conclusion).30 In sum, âthe poets, theologians, orators and rhetoricians who flourished under [al-Manṣūrâs] reign ⦠were as numerous as the sands of the oceanâ, and in a chapter entitled âthe state of literature under HishÄmâ, the caliphâs name is not once mentioned by al-MaqqarÄ«.31
Access to this group was gained by competitive application. A prospective memberâs credentials were his education and wit, his talent at composing and preferably extemporising quality poetry, and his courtly comportment â qualities which Robinson embodies in the concepts of âeleganceâ and âeloquenceâ.32 However, he was still required to pass through a formal tribunal, as the experiences of both Ibn DarrÄj (958â1030) and á¹¢ÄÊ¿id al-BaghdÄdÄ« (c. 950â1026) demonstrate. Ibn DarrÄj al-Qasá¹allÄ« â whose kunya implies an association with Castile, but who may in fact have been a á¹¢anhÄja Berber â faced a tribunal composed of poets, literati and intellectuals, in which he was required to improvise a panegyric in al-Manṣūrâs honour. The panel considered his offering too perfect and accused him of plagiarism. In refutation of this charge, he improvised a second poem (preserved in his DÄ«wÄn as poem 100), with which he was successful. He was generously rewarded by al-Manṣūr, appointed to the position of kÄtib in the DÄ«wÄn al-InshÄʾ (Chancery), and on 3 Shawwal 382/2 December 992 âhis name was inscribed in the register of official poetsâ.33 The brilliance of his poetic skill led to Ibn DarrÄj being commissioned to compose the funeral elegy for á¹¢ubḥ, on her death in 998;34 eventually his reputation was such that he was known as âthe MutanabbÄ« of al-Andalusâ, after the Abbasid poet who lived 915â965.35
á¹¢ÄÊ¿id al-BaghdÄdÄ«âs âtrialâ was even more notorious. One of the cultured men attracted to Cordoba at this period from the Islamic East, he arrived from Baghdad in 990, where he was known as âal-LughawÄ«â, âthe Philologistâ.36 Before being awarded a place on al-Manṣūrâs dÄ«wÄn, he was put to the test by a âcabal ⦠of high officials, secretaries of the Chancery, literati and poetsâ,37 led by Ibn al-Ê¿ArÄ«f, al-ZubaydÄ« and al-Ê¿Äá¹£imÄ«, who posed questions of Arabic grammar and philology.38 As seems to be something of a topos, á¹¢ÄÊ¿id was also accused of plagiarism, and his skill was tested by being required to improvise a poem in description of an elaborately-laid tray:39
âA large tray, containing compartments ornamented with every variety of elegant designs ⦠On the roof of the compartments were toys of jasmine made in imitation of females, and under the roof a reservoir of transparent water, the bottom of which was paved with pearls instead of common pebbles; in the water was a snake swimming. [Upon showing this object to the poet, al-Manṣūr said,] âLook at that tray, the like of which I assert was never placed before any other king but me. If the charge brought against you be false, prove it by describing to me in verse both the tray and its contentsâ. [To meet this challenge, á¹¢ÄÊ¿id recited a composition that al-Manṣūr deemed beautiful but incomplete. He called á¹¢ÄÊ¿idâs attention to a detail he had failed to notice:] a ship, in which was a maiden rowing herself with oars of gold. Immediately á¹¢ÄÊ¿id started reciting new verses on the motif he had previously overlooked and, finally, al-Manṣūr regarded the poem worthy of the object described. For his ability to render images in poetic words, á¹¢ÄÊ¿id received a gift: one thousand dinars and one hundred robes.â
Francisco Prado-Vilar subjects this episode to an interesting analysis that has implications for our later discussions about al-Manṣūrâs engagement with the workings of the luxury arts industry (Chapter 6) and how the iconography of the objects he commissioned visualised specific messages about the Ê¿Ämiridsâ role (Chapter 8). This anecdote âreveals a model of viewing courtly portable objects that privileges close observation and attention to detailâ â it shows al-Manṣūr engaging with the materiality and physicality of the object before him, âfind[ing] pleasure in the discovery of nuances and variations on the commonplaceâ.40 It also highlights a privileged interrelationship between objects and poetry. As Prado-Vilar puts it, âWhen interpretation entered the public stage, the vehicle was poetry because it was understood that the essential challenge posed by the visual was a challenge to the limitations of language itself. Only the poet, the master of language, could attempt to come close to capturing the full significance of the objectâ.
Arcades at the AljaferÃa, Zaragoza, late eleventh century
© Kent Rawlinson
It is not surprising that the admission process to the Ê¿Ämirid dÄ«wÄn was so tightly controlled and jealously guarded by those who were already in it, since it meant the making of oneâs career and was accompanied by generous remuneration. It presumably also ensured that only poetry and literature of the highest calibre was seen to be patronised by the court. However, it also symbolised admission to al-Manṣūrâs closest circle, for a poet who passed the tribunal thus became one of the ḥÄjibâs nudamÄʾ (boon companions), with whom he chose to relax in intimate majÄlis on his return from campaign. While the patronage of court panegyrists can be interpreted in the context of Ê¿Ämirid âappropriationâ of caliphal ceremonial, this second, more private, level of the dÄ«wÄn would appear to have been a personal innovation by al-Manṣūr.
2 Private Poetry
As Cynthia Robinson has discussed, in her work on the Taifa court of the TujÄ«bids of Zaragoza and its home among the intricately-decorated halls of the AljaferÃa (Figure 14), by the early eleventh century, the primary forum for interaction between king and courtier had become the majlis al-uns, âelegant and intimate soirées at which wine was drunk, physical and spiritual beauties contemplated, and lyrical poetry and song improvised and sungâ.41 Such was the environment out of which arose the treatises on adab by Aḥmad al-Aá¹£ghar ibn Burd, grandson of the Ê¿Ämirid kÄtib;42 Ibn Ḥazmâs work on âcourtly loveâ; and the poems of Ibn Shuhayd in which the poet adopts the role of the âloving subjectâ.43
These new âcourtlyâ relationships were not forged according to traditional virtues, but rather by âthe possession of certain qualities which could be cultivated (knowledge, elegance in person, deportment and speech)â.44 This differentiated them from the traditional relationships between caliph and courtier-poet, and thus allowed the creation of an âalternate nobilityâ. The main protagonists of this âcourtlyâ interaction were the kuttÄb of the DÄ«wÄn al-InshÄʾ, members of Cordobaâs patrician families. As discussed in Chapter 1, al-Manṣūr was conscious of needing the support of these âmandarin dynastiesâ and cultivated their support by finding new positions of power for them in the administration. The development of a private aspect to the relationship between ruler and courtier was perhaps the most important way in which the Ê¿Ämirids sought to build support for their position. What Robinson describes as the âÊ¿ÄmirÄ« rulersâ perspicacious currying of the favor of âold nobilityââ through âties of loyaltyâ,45 and of occasionally solidifying those relationships through marriage,46 bound the Cordoban elite to the Ê¿Ämirid dynasty. Though this bond was forged in the intimate setting of literary majÄlis, it was publicly and regularly affirmed through the practice of caliphal-style ceremonial.
The new privileging of written culture in al-Andalus can again be compared to the cultural coming-of-age of the Abbasid court in the late eighth/early ninth centuries, when writing and literature were growing in sophistication and importance, increasing in complexity and âmetaphorical encodingâ, and reflected in the newly self-conscious practice of history-writing.47 Von Grunebaum attributes this development to the increasing urbanisation of Abbasid society, which led to what he calls âthe ritualisation of lifeâ,48 that is, the codification of an intricate social etiquette as embodied, for example, in the KitÄb al-MuwashshÄʾ.49 It is generally accepted that the Abbasid culture of áºarf, âeleganceâ, was introduced to al-Andalus in the ninth century by figures such as ZiryÄb, who brought to Cordoba ânot only the courtly music traditions of Baghdad but also the art of elegant living, with its manners, fashions and etiquetteâ.50 áºarf also accompanied the adoption of the âcourtlyâ persona in al-Andalus, and literary anthologies show that the âcult of physical elegance and verbal eloquenceâ was firmly entrenched at the Taifa courts. However, Robinson argues that the foundations of this âcultâ were laid at the Ê¿Ämirid court.
Vignettes of these ârelationships of loyaltyâ are preserved by the sources. One source which Robinson uses extensively in her discussion is the KitÄb al-BadÄ«Ê¿ fÄ« Waá¹£f al-RabÄ«Ê¿, written c. 1040 by al-ḤimyarÄ« and dedicated as a gift to the Taifa ruler of Seville, al-MuÊ¿tadid ibn Ê¿AbbÄd.51 This anthology of lyric verse drew on the âprivateâ correspondence of Ê¿Ämirid courtiers, and the qualities and accomplishments which these men praised in each other help us to define a portrait of the ideal courtier: for example, a qaṣīda written by AbÅ« Hafá¹£ ibn Burd to á¹¢ÄÊ¿id al-BaghdÄdÄ« lauds his general knowledge (Ê¿ilm), elegance (áºarf), knowledge of and prowess in literature (adab), agreeableness (á¹Ä«b), and linguistic skills (lughÄt).52 Ê¿Ämirid nudamÄʾ were thus âunited by their nobility, their intelligence, their education and their peerless dominion over that most noble tool of their trade, the Arabic languageâ.53
The context for the propagation of these âcourtlyâ virtues was al-Manṣūrâs majlis, a word qualified in the texts by al-uns or al-muʾnis, meaning (abstractly) a gathering or (physically) a place, for leisure, sociability or intimacy. Such gatherings had long since given rise to their own lyrical genre â the khamriyya.54 The favoured setting was a locus amoenus which evoked nature but was usually an artificial, cultivated environment which accorded better with the tastes of contemporary urban society. The favoured time was night â all night â and wine was passed round by a wine-pourer (sÄqÄ«) or Ganymede, a young boy selected for his looks, and âspecially trained to perform his office with flirtatious charm and in accordance with prescribed rules of etiquetteâ.55 The sÄqÄ« played an important role in creating the requisite atmosphere, and was often the subject in games of poetic improvisation with which the participants entertained themselves; other entertainment was provided by dancers and singers, accompanied by musicians.
If we look at the scenes on the front of the Pamplona casket (Figure 120), we can start to visualise what these gatherings might have looked like. Together with the anecdotal testimony of poetry and literature, the material evidence can help to build a picture of the physical setting of the Ê¿Ämirid majlis. It is said that on his return from campaign, al-Manṣūr liked to relax in the palace of al-MadÄ«nat al-ZÄhira, or in one of the various nearby Ê¿Ämirid munyas (Chapter 4), âsurrounded by cool gardens, filled with the murmur of fountains, fragranced with the perfume of flowersâ.56 He was joined in these leisure hours by his nudamÄʾ, members of his dÄ«wÄn who had likely also accompanied him on campaign. As at the AljaferÃa, the settings were probably pavilions surrounded by gardens, where the distinction between inside and outside was blurred. The luscious vegetation framed by architectural ornament which is presented as the main decoration on both al-Manṣūrâs fountain basin (Figure 114) and the Braga pyxis (Figure 15) seems to capture the sense of looking out through the arches of a pavilion at a verdant garden. These gardens were watered by fountains and canals, and perhaps âinhabitedâ by sculptures of animals, which could also provide a source of inspiration for improvised verses. A poem by al-JazÄ«rÄ«, for example, describes one of these âsalonsâ:
âIn the centre of the hall is a large basin of green water in which the turtles continually make sounds.
The water pours from the jaws of a lion whose mouth could only be more terrible if it spoke.
It is of scented aloeswood (nadd) and around its neck one sees a handsome necklace of pearls â¦
In this hall, a king, whose riches are without number, has gathered all happiness for his people.â57
Pyxis, datable 1004â8, ivory; Braga Cathedral, Portugal
Photo: Bruce White / Image © The Metropolitan Museum of Art, reproduced with permission of the Tesouro-Museu da Sé de Braga
Similarly a poem by á¹¢ÄÊ¿id al-BaghdÄdÄ« alludes to the presence of water animals, presumably turtles, as âaquatic troops, inexpertly suited in their armour and displaying cuirasses and shieldsâ.58 This rather militaristic imagery accords with the Ê¿Ämirid self-image as mujÄhid, visualised especially on their marble fountain basins (Chapter 8).
Several such basins have survived, which must originally have furnished these settings (Figures 113â118, 128â135, 156â158). Their production contexts, materials, inscriptions and decoration will be discussed in more detail in Chapters 6â8, but for now it is significant to note their obvious original function as fountain basins, indicated not only by their size and shape, but also by the holes carved into many of them for input and output pipes. The three largest basins also have a plain, uncarved area on each of their short sides, between the eagles, which indicates that a fountain-head was once affixed here, one on each end (Figures 116, 131, 132, 158). These fountain-heads were presumably in the shape of animals, such as the lion of aloeswood described in al-JazÄ«rÄ«âs poem, or the twelve which Ê¿Abd al-RaḥmÄn III commissioned to adorn his green marble basin from the Byzantine emperor (Figures 10, 108â109). The prevalence of iconography relating to water on these and other surviving marbles associated with the Ê¿Ämirids â for example, the designs of ducks, fishes and turtles on the small basins from Seville and Granada (Figures 164â168) and in the borders of the three large basins, or the aquatic plants which seem to be waving as if in the current of a stream â is appropriate for objects whose function was associated with water. They also suggest a relationship between lions and water, which will be discussed in Chapter 8.
An eleventh-century risÄla by Ibn JabÄ«r, courtier of the BanÅ« DhÅ« al-NÅ«n, then Taifa rulers of Toledo, describes fountain basins which appear to have been similar in form and decoration to the extant Ê¿Ämirid basins, in a palatial setting which helps us to conjure a picture of how the Ê¿Ämirid basins were originally installed and viewed (Figures 108â109). This risÄla presents an eye-witness account of the festivities held by al-MaʾmÅ«n (r. 1043â1075) in honour of the circumcision of his grandson, and to which the highest men of the state were invited:59
âIn this salon there were some ponds at whose corners were raised up figures of lions forged in gold with great art which startled those who looked at them with their sombre faces, and they threw forth water from their mouths into the ponds with the softness of drops of rain or phials of silver. In the [middle] of each pond was a basin of marble in the form of an altar, of great size, of wondrous form and extraordinarily engraved, for on each of their sides they were worked with figures of animals, birds and trees. The water of the two basins surrounded two trees of silver, tall and of extraordinary form and finished manufacture, which were fixed in the middle of each basin with the most refined technique. The water mounted up them from the basins and cascaded down from the highest point of their branches like light rain or dew. Upon entering it produced a murmuring which inclined the soul, and it went up to the top of a heavy column, produced by pressure, then slipping down from openings and moistening the figures of birds and fruit with a tongue which was like a polished phial, and whose beauty ignited the gaze.â
It should be remembered that the ceremonial and perhaps even some of the physical furnishings at al-MaʾmÅ«nâs court very likely inherited a model that had been developed under the Ê¿Ämirids. We can imagine, then, that the palace halls and gardens where al-Manṣūr liked to relax with his nudamÄʾ would have been watered by such basins, and the existence of al-JazÄ«rÄ«âs verses demonstrates that such objects were seen and remarked upon. As a result, these gatherings became a form of âprivate displayâ, in which the nudamÄʾ â those members of the Cordoban elite whose personal loyalty to the Ê¿Ämirids tacitly legitimised their regime â were the target audience of the messages contained in these objectsâ decoration.
During these private gatherings, the ḥÄjib is portrayed in intimate têtes-à -têtes with his companions while strolling among his palace gardens: on one occasion, for example, al-Manṣūr requested that the poet he was with improvise a description (waá¹£f) on a certain aspect of the gardenâs beauty.60 Ibn Shuhayd recalled how, in the âhalcyon daysâ of his childhood, savants and literati gathered at al-MadÄ«nat al-ZÄhira for durÅ«b al-Ê¿ulÅ«m, âpaths to enlightenmentâ, conversations on subjects such as adab (culture), khabr (history), fiqh (jurisprudence) and á¹ibb (medicine).61 New lyrical genres developed, especially the nawriyya, descriptions of flowers which often ended with a few lines of panegyric, a genre that was particularly favoured by al-Manṣūrâs son, Ê¿Abd al-Malik.62 Furthermore, al-Manṣūr himself participated in the activity of poetic composition and recitation: on one occasion the ḥÄjib recited verses from a qaṣīda by AbÅ« NÅ«wÄs (c. 747âc. 813), the archetypal poet of the wine-party genre.63 He is also known to have corresponded in verse with his courtiers,64 and to have composed at least one short poem on the subject of his own bravery, to which we shall return in Chapter 8.65
On occasion, al-Manṣūrâs gatherings became quite raucous. Blachère portrays a place where âanything goesâ, of âlong banquets where they ate well and drank better ⦠One even sees high officials getting up to dance and singing bacchic songsâ66 â such as the time when AbÅ« MarwÄn ibn Shuhayd became âso carried away with wine and mirthâ that he disported himself, in spite of his age and his gout, with three young serving women.67 According to Robinson, al-Manṣūrâs majÄlis had a larger attendance than those of the Taifa period and may have included women, in contrast to the purely homosocial world of Taifa courts.68 The majÄlis hosted by Ibn Shuhayd (grandson of Ê¿Abd al-RaḥmÄn IIIâs boon companion) in the eleventh century were notorious for their debauchery, and they shared many elements with al-Manṣūrâs drinking parties, not least the participation of many of the same people.69 However, Robinson argues from the differences between them that al-Manṣūrâs era represented âa point of transition, an initial stage in the development of the persona of the âcourtlyâ kingâ.70
How do these Ê¿Ämirid majÄlis compare, then, to the private conduct of the caliphal court? As Robinson notes, âThe lyrical, or pleasurable, realm clearly existed during the caliphate, and was prizedâ.71 Indeed, the caliphal panegyrist Ibn Ê¿Abd RabbihÄ« (858â940) is known to have composed lyrical poetry on themes of âboys, wine and loveâ,72 whilst al-MuṣḥafÄ« composed lyrical poetry which showed the first glimpses in al-Andalus of the âloving subjectâ â some of his verses were even addressed to his protégé, al-Manṣūr.73 This raises the intriguing possibility that, just as with the institution of the ḥijÄba itself, the development of a private facet to the conduct of the court might have begun under al-MuṣḥafÄ«. Another poet, YÅ«suf ibn HÄrÅ«n al-RamÄdÄ« (d. 1022), whose career spanned four reigns, is known to have excelled in poetic description (waá¹£f), though not much of his poetry has survived.74 Al-RamÄdÄ« was also a notorious satirical poet, who kept falling foul of his own verses, which may be one reason why so little of his poetry was transmitted by later writers.
The difference between the two scenarios lies in the presence or absence of the sovereign. Al-MuṣḥafÄ«âs compositions are situated in the context of majÄlis al-uns attended by his nudamÄʾ, but the caliphâs absence from the festivities is implied. As Monroe notes, âThe caliphal dignity had brought great pomp to state ceremonies, and to maintain this pomp the caliph kept aloof from mingling with poets on too free a levelâ.75 It seems, then, that during the caliphal period, the lyrical genre and the first appearance of âcourtlinessâ belonged exclusively to the private âsub-culture of literati (kuttÄb), who also did their duties in the public sphereâ â but these two spheres did not meet.76 On the other hand, it was in this very âsub-cultureâ that al-Manṣūr had built his early career (Chapter 1): his first rung on the ladder was as kÄtib, and his prominent position at al-Ḥakamâs court would have allowed him to mix with the very circles of educated nobility who were engaged in developing the new literary genres. It is therefore not surprising that al-Manṣūrâs tastes in literature and the way in which he chose to relax in private should reflect the social environment in which he was raised. This was his peer-group and what bound him to it was exactly what kept the caliph apart from it:77 intimate majÄlis would threaten the divinely-ordained hierarchy that was affirmed through caliphal ceremonial. Al-Manṣūr exploited this ceremonial as a useful stage on which to act out the public face of his role as de facto ruler; however, he could retire backstage at the end of the act, something the caliph could not do because, in a sense, he was the theatre itself.
3 A Culture of Learning
As BallestÃn notes, the majority of the court officials, fuqahÄʾ and kuttÄb of al-Andalus shared the same culture that al-Manṣūr had imbibed from a young age, and thus literary discussion formed part of their daily existence.78 EchevarrÃa, more cynically, associates the formation of a literary circle at al-ZÄhira with al-Manṣūrâs aim to âgain the friendship of the influential intellectual class, at the same time as controlling its meetings, which were celebrated in his halls, and preempting his criticsâ.79 Nevertheless, it seems clear that al-Manṣūr had a genuine love of literature, and its interplay with the world around. Al-ḤumaydÄ« stated that âhe loved science, he dedicated himself to literature and he entertained those who dedicated themselves to both subjects and taught them; he was grateful and he paid themâ.80 Indeed, the Ê¿Ämirid period was an intensely and self-consciously literary time, the start of âthe greatest literary age of al-Andalusâ.81
Despite al-Manṣūrâs purge of the âphilosophicalâ content of al-Ḥakamâs library (Chapter 1), there was flourishing literary patronage at this period, during which Andalusis began to record their own history, as evidenced by Ibn ḤayyÄnâs great lost works. But he is not the only one to have written histories of al-Andalus, nor to have written books dedicated to al-Manṣūr. It was also at this period that ʿĪsÄ ibn Aḥmad al-RÄzÄ« (d. 989) compiled the chronicle of the reign of al-Ḥakam II, which has survived in the fragment translated into Spanish as the Anales Palatinos; he also wrote the only Andalusi equivalent of manuals of office, the KitÄb fÄ«âl-wuzarÄʾ waâl-wizÄra and KitÄb fÄ«âl-ḥujjÄb, sometimes referred to as KitÄb al-ḥujjÄb liâl-khulafÄʾ bi-l-Andalus, both now lost.82 It is significant that a book about Andalusi ḥÄjibs should have been written during al-Manṣūrâs tenure of that office. Al-Manṣūrâs own librarian, Ibn MaÊ¿mar, was the author of a lost dynastic history of the Ê¿Ämirids (Chapter 6).83 In RabÄ«Ê¿ I 385/April 995, á¹¢ÄÊ¿id al-BaghdÄdÄ« dedicated to the ḥÄjib the KitÄb al-Fuṣūṣ fÄ« al-LughÄt wa al-AkhbÄr, a âchrestomathy of classical texts in prose and verse, with a commentary from a grammatical and literary perspectiveâ, which he wrote sitting in the courtyard of the congregational mosque of the Ê¿Ämirid palace-city, al-MadÄ«nat al-ZÄhira.84 According to the sources, it was commissioned in order to outdo the KitÄb al-NawÄdir, or Philological Rarities, which had been written âin praise of the Umayyad dynastyâ by AbÅ« Ê¿AlÄ« al-QÄlÄ« al-BaghdÄdÄ« (901â967) and dedicated to al-Ḥakam.85 It is significant that al-Manṣūr also engaged in the time-honoured royal practice of commissioning works of literature, and especially so if such works were deliberately intended to outdo those produced under Umayyad patronage.
Other works are known to have been written during the Ê¿Ämirid period: unsurprisingly, one of these was the first book written in al-Andalus to be completely dedicated to the subject of jihad the KitÄb qudwat al-ghÄzÄ«, written by Ibn AbÄ« ZamanÄ«n (d. 1008).86 During al-Manṣūrâs ḥijÄba the works of Ibn AbÄ« Zayd al-QayrawÄnÄ« (d. 996) arrived in al-Andalus, one of the jurists who would strongly influence the interpretation of Maliki law in al-Andalus.87 Learned men who had come to prominence under al-Ḥakam II continued to work and flourish under al-Manṣūr. These included the physicians and pharmacologists, Ibn Juljul (d. 994), who had been involved in the translation of the De Materia Medica, and himself wrote an important work on the history of medicine, the ṬabaqÄt al-aá¹ibbÄâ waâl-hukamÄâ (Generations of Physicians and Wise Men);88 and al-ZahrÄwÄ« (d. 1013), known in the West as Abulcasis, who wrote a monumental medico-pharmacological encyclopedia, KitÄb al-taá¹£rÄ«f li-man Ê¿ajiz Ê¿an al-taʾlÄ«f.89 The Egyptian, Aḥmad ibn Faris, who had formed part of the corps of astronomers and astrologists around al-Ḥakam II, remained active until 981; and as Juan Vernet has discussed, al-Manṣūr also made use of astrology and horoscopes.90 One book may even have been dedicated to HishÄm II, implying that the caliph may not have been entirely aloof from certain subjects: the KitÄb fÄ« tartÄ«b awqÄt al-ghirÄsa waâl-maghrÅ«sÄt, a practical agricultural treatise containing âadvice on growing specific varieties of productive trees, vegetables and other plants, along with suggestions on matters of domestic economy like the cutting of wood and methods for preserving harvested fruits, [suggesting] that it was composed for the use of the gardeners associated with Cordobaâs suburban estatesâ.91 It is surely significant that of the ten earliest extant Andalusi manuscripts written in Maghribi scripts, all of them date from the Ê¿Ämirid period, with one exception â a ninth-century manuscript that was owned by a faqiÌh who died during the Ê¿Ämirid period.92 These manuscripts, and further aspects of scribal and intellectual activity at this period, are discussed in Chapter 6.
Apart from the poets and verse forms discussed above, other forms of literature flourished at this period â one particularly famous book, the KalÄ«la wa Dimna, might have had an impact on the way that certain motifs in Ê¿Ämirid art were visualised (Figure 173). Indeed, their visualisation might allude to the literary illustrations in a witty and intentional way that would have been understood and appreciated by the educated members of al-Manṣūrâs closest circle.
To an extent, the developments in âcourtlyâ tastes and demeanour which took place under al-Manṣūr mark the coming-of-age of a sophisticated and cultured society, and reflect the developments at the Abbasid court a century earlier. However, unlike his predecessors in power, al-Manṣūr was himself a member of the educated nobility that began to formulate these tastes, and this placed him in the unique position of directly overseeing their development. Al-Manṣūr and his sons therefore deliberately fostered the âcult of elegance and eloquenceâ in order to forge bonds of intimacy and affection with those whose approval they required to legitimise and maintain their ḥijÄba. As Robinson argues, this policy was so successful that it was imitated by the BanÅ« HammÅ«d, the ShiÊ¿i Berber dynasty who came to power briefly in Cordoba before settling in Málaga, as well as other Taifa dynasties.93 It is also seen in the fact that many of these elite nudamÄʾ supported and were even implicated in Sanchueloâs bid to inherit the caliphate from HishÄm II (Chapter 1). At the same time, these gatherings permitted the Ê¿Ämirids to reinforce the messages of legitimation embedded in the physical settings of their majÄlis and in the objects that furnished them. This highly refined and educated audience could fully understand the interplay between the imagery in the poetry sung at these gatherings and that visualised on the objects. This Ê¿Ämirid literary culture, then, provides the framework we need to understand the more fragmented material evidence, to which we now turn.
The text of this passage is also given by Blachère 1933, 108, n. 3, and discussed at p. 109. This translation is from Stetkevych 1997, 11.
Stetkevych 1997, 43.
Viguera 1983.
Khadra Jayyusi 1992a, 326.
Robinson 2002, 2007. I would like to express my gratitude to Cynthia Robinson for her generosity over the years in providing me with drafts of her unpublished work on this subject, some of which remains unpublished.
Stetkevych 1997, 3, from the Ê¿Ä«d al-fiá¹r celebration from 363/974 (Anales, §180; her translation). For other similar passages, cf. Anales, §§33, 68, 82, 127, 143, 198, 237.
GarcÃa Gómez 1949, 5, and Stetkevych 1997.
Stetkevych 1997, 28.
To form his response, the poet may adopt the same rhyme and metre as the original, employ the same rhyme-words, incorporate or quote an entire hemistich (tadmÄ«m), in addition to borrowing particular motifs and metaphors. See Stetkevych 1997, 28â29.
Stetkevych 1997, 30â34.
Stetkevych 1997, 22.
Stetkevych 1997, 22.
Al-MaqqarÄ«, 189â190.
Ibn al-Khaá¹Ä«b 1974, II: 106â107, quoted in al-MaqqarÄ«, 189â190. Though as Garulo 2008, 316, points out, the list provided by Ibn al-Khaá¹Ä«b is not necessarily totally reliable: he includes al-RamÄdÄ«, though this was just two years after the downfall of al-MuṣḥafÄ«, when al-RamÄdÄ« is likely to still have been persona non grata with al-Manṣūr, for his partisanship of al-MuṣḥafÄ«. Garulo asks: âEs lo que tenemos aquà un intento posterior de recuperar una figura relevante de la poesÃa andalusÃ, restableciéndolo en el lugar que le corresponderÃa por su arte, en el entorno del poder?â Ibn DarrÄj is also listed among the Barcelona poets, though he did not come to prominence at al-Manṣūrâs court until around 992. EchevarrÃa 2011, 197, believes his inclusion in the list for the Barcelona campaign implies that he was actually contracted earlier than we have come to believe.
EchevarrÃa 2011, 198, citing De la Puente 1997, 390.
MakkÄ« 1963â64, 70.
MakkÄ« 1963â64, 67. Poems 4 and 126 were both written about a campaign against Castile in 994, in which the forts of both San Esteban de Gormaz and Clunia fell to al-Manṣūrâs armies. Another campaign at which Ibn DarrÄj seems to have been present was that against the Christian coalition in 1000: see poem 105, MakkÄ« 1963â64, 78.
Ibn Ḥazm, apud al-ḤumaydÄ« 1966, 104 (biog. 186), cited by MakkÄ« 1963â64, 70â71; cf. Blachère 1933, 102. On al-JazÄ«rÄ«, see Continente 1969.
MakkÄ« 1963â64, 71. In total Ibn DarrÄj wrote three poems about the Santiago campaign (poems 102, 120 and 128), which MakkÄ« discusses at pp. 72â3.
GhÄlibâs victories are announced in this way throughout the Anales, see §§194 and 241; and as mentioned in the previous chapter, this was also how al-Manṣūr proclaimed the news of ZÄ«rÄ« ibn Ê¿Aá¹iyyaâs victory over AbÅ«âl-BahÄr in 384/994.
On the âimperialist propagandaâ in Ibn DarrÄjâs panegyrics that âargued for the reconquest of the eastern Islamic regions from the Fatimidsâ, see Monroe 1971a, 4ff.
Stetkevych 1997, 22.
Ibn al-Khaá¹Ä«b 1974, II, 106. He says that the 40 poets whom al-Manṣūr took with him on his Barcelona campaign were min al-shuÊ¿arÄʾ al-murtaziqÄ«n bi-dÄ«wÄni-hi. âMurtaziqÄ«nâ has the sense of âhiredâ or âkeptâ (Hans Wehr) with general overtones of good fortune and the receipt of gifts, though Edward Laneâs dictionary gives the definition of murtaziqa as âthose who receive subsistence money, pay, or settled periodical allowances of foodâ. It is therefore appropriate to translate it here as âsalariedâ or âpensionedâ.
EchevarrÃa 2011, 197.
On al-MuṣḥafÄ«, see Nykl 1946, 49â51. On al-RamÄdÄ«, see Nykl 1946, 58â60; Khadra Jayyusi 1992a, 330â331; and Garulo 2008.
On Ibn Shuhayd, see Nykl 1946, 47â49. Dickie 1964, 250 and 1975, 16, comments that the BanÅ« Shuhayd were one of the principal Cordoban families, on whom also see Meouak 1999, 129â139. On Ibn Ḥazm, see Puerta ViÌlchez 2013b; on the relationship between the BanÅ« Ḥazm and al-Manṣūr, see Behloul 2002, 225â229.
On whom see Nykl 1946, 61â64; GarcÃa Gómez 1945; Terés 1956, 420; Monroe 1974, 11.
On whom see Nykl 1946, 121â122.
Ibn ḤayyÄn apud al-MaqqarÄ«, 200. Cf. also al-Ê¿AbbÄdÄ« 1953, especially pp. 13â14.
Al-Ê¿AbbÄdÄ« 1953, 15â24; for example, on MujÄhidâs cultural patronage in Denia, see Sarnelli Cerqua 1964.
Al-Maqqarī, 200.
Robinson 2002, 11.
Blachère 1933, 101â102; La Chica Garrido 1979, 15â16; EchevarrÃa 2011, 197.
MarÃn 1997, 442. Al-Manṣūr walked barefoot at the head of the funeral cortège, presided over the elegy and offered alms of 500,000 dinars before her tomb: Dhikr BilÄd 1:184â5 [2:196].
EchevarrÃa 2011, 197. Ibn al-Khaá¹Ä«b 1974, II, 107 calls Ibn DarrÄj the âMutanabbÄ« al-Andalusiâ. See âal-MutanabbÄ«â, Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2nd Edition.
Blachère 1930, 16, 18â19.
Blachère 1930, 20â24. The anecdotes relating to á¹¢ÄÊ¿idâs âtribunalâ are found in al-MaqqarÄ«, 200â207, who gives Ibn BassÄm as his source (cf. Ibn BassÄm 1989, I:4:8â56).
Al-ZubaydÄ« (on whom see Fagnan 1904, 488, n. 3; HEM II:218, n. 1) was personal tutor to HishÄm, and one of the Maliki fuqahÄʾ who officiated at the purge of al-Ḥakamâs library (on which see BayÄn II:314â315 [translation, 487â488]; Wasserstein 1990â1991, and my discussion in Chapter 5). On al-Ê¿Äá¹£imÄ«, see Fierro 1986, especially 70â71.
Cf. Blachère 1930, 22â23, and al-MaqqarÄ«, 204â205 (Analectes, II: 55â56), most recently cited and discussed in Prado-Vilar 2005, 156.
Prado-Vilar 2005, 156â7.
Robinson 2002, 8.
On whom see Robinson 2002, 94 n. 15, 110. Aḥmad ibn Burd was one of the most brilliant literati at the Taifa court of AlmerÃa, and claimed to have learned everything he knew about literature and its âcraftâ (á¹£anaÊ¿at al-kalam) from his grandfather, AbÅ« Hafá¹£ ibn Burd, a member of the Ê¿Ämirid dÄ«wÄn. See also Nykl 1946, 121â122.
Robinson 2002, 105â116. The concept of the âloving subjectâ is already seen in the work of MutanabbÄ«, and is probably therefore another âborrowingâ from Abbasid poetry: my thanks to Julie Meisami for pointing this out.
Robinson 2002, 109.
Robinson 2002, 106, 121.
See my genealogy of the BanÅ« AbÄ« Ê¿Ämir (Appendix 1): some examples are al-Manṣūrâs unnamed daughter who was married to ʿĪsÄ ibn SaÊ¿Ä«d; and Ê¿Abd al-Malik al-Muáºaffarâs wife, KhayÄl, who later remarried al-QÄsim ibn ḤammÅ«d, the first âcaliphâ of that dynasty which rose to prominence in Cordoba during the Taifa period. Al-Muáºaffarâs son, AbÅ« Ê¿Ämir, was an intimate of Ibn Ḥazm: cf. Ibn Ḥazm 1953, 43; 50; 143â144; 248â249; also the discussion in Martinez-Gros 1997, 31â49.
See the introduction to Stetkevych 1991.
Von Grunebaum 1955, esp. 280â281.
Written by Muḥammad ibn IsḥÄq ibn YaḥyÄ ibn al-WashshÄʾ (d. 936): Robinson 2002, 68 n. 38.
Holod 1992, 42, citing al-MaqqarÄ«, 83â90.
On al-ḤimyarÄ«, see Nykl 1946, 123â124, and Robinson 2007, 110.
Robinson 2002, 114â115, citing Ibn BassÄm 1989, I, 1:108â109. On compositions âon lyrical themes of love and pleasureâ dedicated by Ibn DarrÄj to both á¹¢ÄÊ¿id al-BaghdÄdÄ« and ʿĪsÄ ibn SaÊ¿Ä«d, see Robinson 2002, 115â116 and n. 80 (Ibn BassÄm (1989): I, 1:57â62).
Robinson 2002, 115.
See Scheindlin 1986, 19â33; Von Grunebaum 1955; Hamilton 1988; Behrens-Abouseif 1997.
Scheindlin 1986, 20.
Blachère 1930, 20; also Robinson 2002, 119 n. 90, citing Ibn BassÄm 1989, I, 1, tarjama of Ibn Shuhayd.
Continente 1969, 131â132; Ruggles 2000, 124. See the full citation of this poem at the start of Chapter 8.
BayÄn II:297 [translation, 460].
Text transmitted by Ibn BassÄm (1975), V:vii:147â148, and translated with commentary in Robinson 1995, 448â459.
Robinson 2002, 118, citing Ibn BassÄm 1989, I, 4:12.
Robinson 2002, 116â117, citing Ibn BassÄm 1989, I, 1:186.
For a majlis al-uns hosted by Ê¿Abd al-Malik, which also preserves several nawriyyÄt, see BayÄn III:18â21 [translation, 25â28].
Robinson 2002, 118, citing Ibn BassÄm 1989, I, 4:13. On AbÅ« NÅ«wÄs, see Scheindlin 1986, 25.
On the poetic correspondence between al-Manṣūr and AbÅ« MarwÄn ibn Shuhayd, see Dickie 1964, 248â249; Ibn BassÄm 1989, IV, 1:18â19.
BayÄn II:293 [translation, 455]; Dhikr BilÄd 1:185â186 [2:197]; Terés 1956, 419.
Blachère 1930, 20 (citing al-MaqqarÄ«, 177). Nykl 1946, 48, says that at al-Manṣūrâs majÄlis, the âenthusiasm of the guests [would reach] the highest point and the viziers would rise in turn and danceâ.
Dickie 1964, 249; Robinson 2002, 119. This seems, from Nykl 1946, 47â48, to be a conflation of two separate incidents.
Robinson 2002, 119â120. She gives no sources for this statement, though Nykl 1946, 54â55, relates an occasion when a female singer entertained al-Manṣūrâs majlis; and also mentions that the poetess, Ê¿Aʾisha bint Aḥmad (d. 1009) improvised panegyric verses at an audience with al-Muáºaffar (pp. 64â65). She was said to be unequalled among free women, in âknowledge, literary talent and poetryâ.
See Dickie 1964, 260â261, for the list of those involved in Ibn Shuhaydâs literary movement.
Robinson 2002, 120.
Robinson 2002, 104.
Robinson 2002, 100. On Ibn Ê¿Abd RabbihÄ«, see Monés 1969, 223â224; Khadra Jayyusi 1992a, 328â330; Monroe 1974, 8.
Ibn KhÄqÄn 1983, 159â160.
See Monés 1969, 225â227; Monroe 1974, 8; Khadra Jayyusi 1992a, 330â331; Garulo 2008. While in prison (in 972?), al-RamÄdÄ« is known to have written an important collection of awá¹£Äf (descriptions) of different birds, a familiar motif of freedom. Garulo 2008, 312, says that this book, the KitÄb al-á¹ayr, was dedicated to the young HishÄm with the hope that he would intercede with his father al-Ḥakam to obtain al-RamÄdÄ«âs release. Unfortunately, the tactic was unsuccessful.
Monroe 1974, 10.
Robinson 2002, 100.
Monroe 1974, 10, suggests something similar when he says âal-Manṣūr ⦠was not of royal blood and could therefore mingle more intimately with his courtiersâ.
BallestÃn 2004a, 31.
EchevarrÃa 2011, 198.
Cited by De la Puente 1997, 389â90.
Khadra Jayyusi 1992a, 326â327.
Meouak 1994â5, 163. He comments that such texts or manuals of office are comparatively common in the Islamic East, in particular at the Abbasid period.
EchevarrÃa 2011, 16â17. This figure will be discussed in more detail in Chapter 6.
AsÃn Palacios 1933, 2, n. 4, see also al-MaqqarÄ«, 202.
See âal-Ḳaliâ, Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2nd Edition, and Khadra Jayyusi 1992a, 324. On the relation between the Fuṣūṣ and NawÄdir, see Blachère 1930, 23â24. According to al-MaqqarÄ«, 201, al-Manṣūr showed á¹¢ÄÊ¿id a copy of the NawÄdir, and the poet said, âIf thou givest me permission, I will compose a book in thy praise that shall be more valuable than thisâ.
EchevarrÃa 2011, 173â4. Ibn AbÄ« ZamanÄ«n was a religious man famed as a mystic, who also wrote poetry. This treatise had a strong religious content, highlighting the practice of jihad to put man in contact with God. It also included a section on the distribution of booty.
EchevarrÃa 2011, 216.
âIbn Djuldjulâ, Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2nd Edition; Vernet (1968).
Hamarneh 1965, esp. 309, and Hamarneh and Sonnedecker 1963.
Calvo 2012, 152 with references; Vernet 1970.
Anderson 2013, 114, citing López y López 1990.
Listed and discussed in Bongianino 2017, 41â50.
Robinson 2002, 124â133.