1 Introduction
This paper comprises a brief discussion of the text of the fragment classified as CUL T-S NSÂ 306.13,1 followed by a transcription, translation into English, and comments on some of the textâs notable orthographic and linguistic features. This small fragment, catalogued as an âApocalyptic legend about Jesusâ (Shivtiel and Niessen 2006), isâmore specificallyâa version of âThe Story of the Skullâ (â®
This narrative was popular among all three monotheistic faiths in the Arabic-speaking world. Versions of it survive in Arabic in several scripts (Arabic, Hebrew, and Syriac, for example), Syriac (Hall 1890), Neo-Aramaic (Pennacchietti 1991), Turkish (Bernardini 1999a; 1999b; Babacan Bursalı 2018), Urdu, Persian (Pennacchietti 1996), and several Indonesian languages, including Javanese (Brakel-Papenhuyzen 2002). Although the narrative is adapted to reflect each religious traditionâs prevailing views on punishment, resurrection, and the afterlife, the story may be briefly summed up as follows: ʿĪsá (or Ê¿AlÄ«, MÅ«sá, or an unidentified man)4 encounters a skull lying on the ground. He prays to God, asking that the skull be permitted to speak to him, answer his questions, and satisfy his curiosity. His prayer is fulfilled and there ensues a dialogue, in which the main protagonist poses questions about the skullâs life, death, and experiences in hell, to which the skull responds with detailed answers. Through this dialogue, the reader/listener learns that the skull was a great ruler, who enjoyed high status, employed swathes of decorated (and, sometimes, bejewelled) soldiers, had multiple wives and many children, and cared for the poor and needy. His one weaknessâand the reason for his disgraceâis that he worshipped idols. He thus falls ill, dies, and descends into hell, where he encounters Munkar, NakÄ«r, and the Angel of Death, and is subjected to the torments of hell. In Muslim and Christian versions of the tale, the skull is resurrected and permitted to live a reformed life on earth. In the Jewish tradition, the skull is simply allowed to rest in peace.
Tottoli (2003, 229) demonstrates that versions of this story are attested in more limited forms in some eleventh-century CE sources, such as AbÅ« NuÊ¿aym al-Iá¹£bahÄnÄ«âs (d. 1038â¯CE) Ḥilyat al-ʾawlÄ«yÄʾ. However, its non-canonical status is evident in its exclusion from Aḥmad b. Muḥammad al-á¹®aÊ¿labÄ«âs (d. ca. 1035â¯CE) contemporaneous Qiá¹£aá¹£ al-ʾanbiyÄʾ, and from its ready adaptation to the needs and interests of many different communities. It has no precedent in pre- or early Islamic poetry or in the Qurʾan (Tottoli 2003, 229, 232). Pennacchietti (1996, 102â103) also finds references to this more limited narrative in the twelfth-century CE works of al-Ä azzÄlÄ« (d. 1111â¯CE) and al-Ṭurá¹Å«Å¡Ä« (d. 1127â¯CE).
In the earliest extant adaptations of the tale, the skull does not give details of his life or status on earth, and no mention is made of Munkar and Nakir (Tottoli 2003, 231). By the twelfth century CE, these elements are encountered in some versions of the narrative,5 but as Tottoli (2003, 239) notes, the extended versions, preserved in many later manuscripts, are not yet in evidence at this time. The emergence of this fuller narrative (which includes many if not all of the elements mentioned above) is attributed to the composition of the Persian tale, Ǧumǧuma-nÄma, ascribed to FarÄ«d al-DÄ«n Ê¿Aá¹á¹Är (d. 1221â¯CE) (Pennacchietti 1995, 145; Tottoli 2003, 239; cf. Bernardini 1999a; Babacan Bursalı 2018).6 Although this version appears to have lent the story some literary authority, later learned figures mention it only rarely, and today the tale is found most commonly in unpublished manuscripts (Pennacchietti 1996, 103; Tottoli 2003, 241).
Despite its lack of literary prestige, the popularity of the tale during the pre-modern era is attested by the large number of manuscripts in which adaptations of it survive.7 These versions are rarely identical, showing variation in both narrative content and linguistic style. These differences have led Pennacchietti (1996, 91) and Tottolli (2003, 253) to conclude that the narrative was primarily transmitted orally, in all the languages in which it was recounted. Yet while these differences are significant, the plot isâwith the exception of the endingâlargely established by the fifteenth/sixteenth century CE. The majority of post-thirteenth-century CE texts include a detailed account of the skullâs life, mention of Munkar and NakÄ«r, and an in-depth discussion of the levels of hell, to which various sinners are banished (Tottoli 2003, 239).
Although we do not (as yet) possess more than a single leaf of this version of the narrative, the extant contents (missing the beginning and end) grant us some insight into its possible period of composition or copy and a (albeit rather vague) sense of its regional origin. In its extant form, it begins with the skullâs description of his wealth, generosity, and magnanimity as a ruler. At the behest of ʿĪsá, who asks the skull about its death, his experience of the grave, encounters with Munkar, NakÄ«r, and MÄlik, the skull goes on to describe his illness, descent into hell, and encounter with the Angel of Death. The narrative breaks off just after the skull has finished telling ʿĪsá about the six faces of the Angel of Death. Bearing these elements in mind, it seems likely that this text would have been committed to paper after the thirteenth century CE. The level of detail regarding the skullâs life is akin to that given in sixteenth- to early twentieth-century CE versions of the narrative. However, the composition of the material support renders a post-seventeenth-century CE date very unlikely (see below). As such, this fragmentâs text can be tentatively dated to between the thirteenth and late sixteenth centuries CE.
Moreover, this single leaf contains a detail which raises questions about its regional origin and the regional variants of the narrative. On the last line of recto and first line of verso, the skull recountsâsomewhat euphemistically8âhaving sexual intercourse with one of his wives, before heading to the ḥammÄm, where he falls ill. This personal detail is missing in many of the versions that can positively be identified as having been written down in Levantine and Egyptian contexts; I have only come across it in manuscripts of Maghrebi and West African origin.9 In Islamic teaching, individuals who engage in sexual intercourse are considered ritually unclean and are morally obliged to wash (Ä¡usl) themselves before partaking in any further activities, such as eating or drinking. This additional detail, therefore, provides important context for why the king/sultan went to the ḥammÄmâcontext that is omitted (if indeed it was ever included) in many of the extant versions of the narrative.
Does this text represent an earlier, coarser, but widely circulated version of the tale? Potentially, this lewd detail was gradually excluded in eastern adaptations of the narrative until there was no reason given for the king/sultanâs visit to the ḥammÄm. Or does this fragment represent a regional version of the tale popular in the Maghreb and West Africa, which differed from those recounted in eastern regions of the Islamicate world?
Unfortunately, this single leaf with no colophon does not provide us with concrete answers to these questions. Indeed, it remains silent not only in relation to specificities of content, regional origin, and date, but also as to the reason for its presence in the Cairo Genizah collections; its Islamic origin cannot be doubted. As such, we can only speculate as to its inclusion in a genizah. It could have been bought by a Jew to be used as an exemplar from which to transliterate the narrative from Arabic into Hebrew characters; but the many differences between this version and the (possibly later) versions in Hebrew characters found in the Genizah collections render this improbable. Moreover, there is little that is exemplary about its execution. One possible clue to its use, if not its ownership, is that the leaf has been folded horizontally at least ten times, suggesting that it was rendered portable. As with some of the Arabic-script Qurʾan fragments contained in the Cairo Genizah collections (see Connolly and Posegay 2021), it may signify active and popular (if only at the non-elite levels of society) Jewish engagement in broader Islamicate society.10
2 Physical Description of the Fragment
2.1 Codicology
The material support, which is âbuff-colouredâ, soft, thick, and fibrous, is wove paper that measures 16â¯Ãâ¯10.7â¯cm. As Posegay and Da Rold (forthcoming, 19â20)11 find in their study of watermarked paper in the Cairo Genizah collections, it is extremely rare to find wove paper in Cairo Genizah material after about 1600â¯CE.12 As such, it is likely that this paper was produced before this period. The outside edge of the recto is more fibrous than the inner edge, suggesting that it has been separated from a bifolium without the use of a knife; this may indicate that the text was written on the leaf after it had been removed from a bifolium. There are a few dark stains, some evidence of humidity damage, two small tears to the top margin, and five small holes. The leaf has been folded horizontally ten times. The colour of the ink varies a little and is notably darker in the latter ten lines of verso.
2.2 Palaeography
The writing cannot be described as professionally executed. The lines of writing slope variously upwards and downwards towards the end of the textline, suggesting that no misá¹arah was employed in its production. The hasty execution is also evident in the omission of words (see, e.g., verso, line 11) or a letter (see, e.g., recto, line 6), and the writerâs attempt to fit just one more word onto the end of a textline; after writing the first few letters of the word, the writer realises that they cannot complete it, so abandons it, and re-writes the word again on the following line (see, e.g., verso, lines 9â10).13
Each word slants diagonally downwards in a manner reminiscent of taÊ¿lÄ«q and nastaÊ¿lÄ«q script-styles, but the script itself does not replicate any particular style and can only be describedâsomewhat unhelpfullyâas âcursiveâ. Of particular note, á¹£Äd and á¸Äd are written without a âtoothâ (or âdenticleâ). In word-medial and word-final positions, kÄf is rendered as an s-shape (kÄf mabsÅ«á¹ah), but in word-initial position, its form oscillates between kÄf mabsÅ«á¹ah, a straight-lined form without a top stroke, and a curved-base with a straight, diagonal top stroke (kÄf maÅ¡kÅ«lah). The generous sweep of word-final nÅ«n alternates between a semi-circle and a bowl-like shape. LÄm followed by ʾalif is written as a ligature, which most closely resembles lÄm-ʾalif al-muḥaqqaqah, in so far as it has a gentle, curved bottom, but it sometimes has a closed, as opposed to open, loop.
In isolation, the absence of a âtoothâ on the letters á¹£Äd and á¸Äd could be considered indicative of a Maghrebi originâor at least of Maghrebi influence (Gacek 2009, 149). However, many of the other palaeographical features are reminiscent of (eastern) nasḵī script styles and the overall impression is mixedâeven miscellaneous.
There are several instances of unorthodox ligatures, such as in the joining of wÄw to the following mÄ«m in the word â®
3 Transcription and Translation15
Key:
| {Â } |
superscript word or letter. |
| â¨Â â© |
reconstruction based on another version.16 |
| [Â ] |
reconstruction based on this text. |
| (Â ) |
addition to the translation intended to aid readability. |
3.1 Recto
|
(And on their heads, they wore crowns of) gold and silver, studded with pearls, rubies, and gems. |
â® â® |
â®â1â¬â¬â |
|
And there were under my control four thousand (soldiers) in whose hands were un-sheathed swords, |
â® â® |
â®â2â¬â¬â |
|
so (that) no one was able to reach me. But I (and) theyâwe were worshipping idols and |
â® â® |
â®â3â¬â¬â |
|
and none of us declared: âthere is no god except Him!â I had a thousand servant girls |
â® â® |
â®â4â¬â¬â |
|
and a hundred wives from among the daughters of kings. I was the handsomest |
â® â® |
â®â5â¬â¬â |
|
and funniest person (in the world)! I was generous in the world; I loved the weak (and vulnerable) |
â® â® |
â®â6â¬â¬â |
|
and I clothed the orphans and the widows. Then ʿĪsá, peace be upon him, said, |
â® â® |
â®â7â¬â¬â |
|
âtell me, O Skull, what did you see of death and (its) appearance? |
â® â® |
â®â8â¬â¬â |
|
And the Angel of Death and his terrors? And the grave and its anguish? (What about) Munkar |
â® â® |
â®â9â¬â¬â |
|
and NakÄ«r and their tyranny? And the fire and its torment? And (what about) MÄlik and his agony?â |
â® â® |
â®â10â¬â¬â |
|
The Skull answered him, âO Prophet of God, you have indeed asked me about a prodigious matter. I shall tell you |
â® â® |
â®â11â¬â¬â |
|
O Prophet of God, that one day I (was with) my wives and I looked at one |
â® â® |
â®â12â¬â¬â |
3.2 Verso
|
of them and (then took place) that which is between (a) man and a wife. Then I entered the ḥammÄm. |
â®â® â®â® |
â®â1â¬â¬â |
|
I stayed there (in) the washtub (a while). Then (suddenly), pallor came upon me, so they carried me to my palace |
â®â® â®â® |
â®â2â¬â¬â |
|
and laid me on my bed, where I slept that night, sorrowful |
â® â® |
â®â3â¬â¬â |
|
and distressed. When I woke, every physician in the city came to me |
â® â® |
â®â4â¬â¬â |
|
to treat me with all the remedies for seven days, but they |
â®â® â® |
â®â5â¬â¬â |
|
were of no use to me. On the eighth day, my limbs |
â® â® |
â®â6â¬â¬â |
|
began to tremble and my tongue cleaved to the back of my throat. |
â® â® |
â®â7â¬â¬â |
|
Then they (lit. he) gathered all my possessions, for they (lit. he) were not concerned about me [â¦]. Then I fainted |
â®â® â®â® |
â®â8â¬â¬â |
|
and I saw the Angel of Death; for he was already present. His head was in the seventh |
â® â® |
â®â9â¬â¬â |
|
heaven and his feet were at the boundaries of the earth. He had spread his wings across East and West |
â® â®â® |
â®â10â¬â¬â |
|
and in his right hand (he held) a spear, while in his left (he held a chalice). I saw that he had six |
â®â® â®â® |
â®â11â¬â¬â |
|
faces; a face above his head, a face under his feet, a face |
â® â® |
â®â12â¬â¬â |
|
on his right (side) and a face on his left (side), a face behind his back and a face |
â® â® |
â®â13â¬â¬â |
|
in front of him.â ʿĪsá, peace be upon him, said, âdid you know what he did (with them)?â |
â® â®â® |
â®â14â¬â¬â |
4 Notes on Orthography and Grammar29
4.1 Orthography and Phonology
This un-vocalised and often un-pointed Arabic-script text perhaps conceals more than it reveals in terms of phonology. However, through, for example, the occasional graphemic substitution or omission of hamzah, an impression is gained of colloquial influence. In terms of orthography, the economical use of diacritical dots is not unusual for pre-modern Arabic-script texts (see, e.g., the documents reproduced in Khan 1993a; 1993b), but is perhaps more notable in a literary genre. Most folktales that I have seen copied in manuscripts produced in Egypt ca. sixteenth/seventeenth century tend to have pointed graphemes (albeit often incompletely). This omission may be indicative of an earlier date of production or simply be in keeping with the overall impression that the copyist of this particular fragment was not overly concerned with its appearance.
4.1.1 Diacritical Dots
Diacritical dots are used rather sparingly by the composer or copyist; the only letters to receive diacritical dots (or horizontal dashes) are: fÄʾ, qÄf, nÅ«n, tÄʾ (for the pointing of ṯÄʾ see §â¯4.1.6.2), and yÄʾ. Among these, qÄf is marked with a supralinear horizontal dash in only one out of 20 occurrences (5â¯%). FÄʾ, which is marked with a single supralinear dot in the eastern tradition, is pointed in three out of the 35 instances in which it occurs (8.6â¯%). The grapheme tÄʾ, when representing the voiceless alveolar stop [t], is marked with two diacritical dots or a horizontal dash in four of 37 instances (10.8â¯%). The letter nÅ«n is marked with a supralinear diacritical dot in nine out of 59 instances (15.3â¯%). Finally, the grapheme yÄʾ, which is used to represent the consonant /y/ (voiced palatal glide [j]), the long vowel /Ä«/ ([iË]), and the diphthong /ay/ ([aj]), is pointed in 23 out of 90 occurrences (25.5â¯%). Of 22 instances in which yÄʾ represents /y/, only two of these are pointed. Of 53 instances in which yÄʾ represents /Ä«/, 17 of these are pointed. Of 14 instances in which yÄʾ represents the diphthong [ay] (assuming that it was pronounced as such), four of these are pointed.30
4.1.2 Representation of Final Long /Ä/ Vowel
The final /Ä/ vowel is represented in Modern Standard Arabic (henceforth MSA) orthography in one of two ways; with ʾalif á¹awÄ«lah (â®
4.1.3 Representation of Medial Long /Ä/ Vowels
The defectiva spelling of medial /Ä/ in demonstrative pronouns is consistent, e.g., â®
4.1.4 Representation of Final Short /i/ Vowel
In the following example, the 2.f.sg. subject suffix -ti (â®
4.1.5 The Glottal Stop
The glottal stop [Ê], which is represented with hamzah (â®
4.1.6 Graphemic Substitutions
4.1.6.1 ʾAlif, tÄʾ, and hÄʾ for tÄʾ marbÅ«á¹ah
The f.sg. nominal ending -ah is represented with tÄʾ marbÅ«á¹ah (â®
In the construct state, in which the first term ends with a tÄʾ marbÅ«á¹ah, hÄʾ is used, e.g., â®
4.1.6.2 TÄʾ for ṯÄʾ
In one of the rare instances of grapheme-pointing, the initial letter of the adverb â®
4.1.7 ʾAlif Tanwīn
The indefinite accusative marker -an is generally represented with two supralinear fatḥas, one atop the other (â®
Whether tanwÄ«n ʾalif would have been pronounced here as [an], [aË], [a], or indeed pronounced at all, is almost impossible to decipher. However, the substitution of hÄʾ (which is the most common representation of the f.sg. ending in this text, see above) with tÄʾ in a non-construct state noun does suggest that this vocalisation might have been read by the writer or copyist as either [tan], [ta], or [t].
4.2 Morphology
On the whole, the morphological features of note in this text are akin to those encountered in texts which are generally termed âMiddle Arabicâ, today.34
4.2.1 Form IV Verb
There is one instance in this fragment, in which a form IV suffix conjugation verb is used to convey the meaning of a form I verb; â®
4.2.2 Negation
Three different particles of negation appear in this text; lam (see, verso, lines 5â6) and lÄ (see, recto, line 3) are favoured for verbal negation, while the particles mÄ and lÄ are used in nominal negation (see, recto, line 4). With regards to lam, it is used before prefix conjugation verbs, but is not (as is evident in the following example) followed by the jussive, as one would expect in MSA; â®
4.2.3 Demonstrative Pronouns
Although we only have one example of demonstrative pronominal-noun agreement in this text, it would seem from this instance that the demonstrative pronoun (far deixis) is invariable; at least, it does not inflect for gender: â®
4.2.4 Accusative Case Marking
In this text, we encounter several instances of final ʾalif á¹awÄ«lah attached to indefinite nouns in the accusative case. Its use is not consistent, but where it does occur, it is used in accordance with MSA norms. For example, the indefinite adjective karÄ«ma(n) acts as the predicate (and thus takes the accusative case) of kÄn(a), with the subject being implicit within the verb; â®
5 Summary
Like so many items in the Cairo Genizah collections, this unimposing fragment belies a rich, complicated historyâwhether examined from a socio-religious or linguistic perspective. It is a fine example of the many Arabic-script texts in the Cairo Genizah collections that have yet to be properly identified and examined, and which mayâcumulativelyâhave profound significance for the understanding of non-standard written Arabic language in the medieval and pre-modern eras.
My thanks to the syndics of Cambridge University Library for allowing me to publish this fragment. This work has been made possible by the generous support of the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation in the form of a Humboldt Post-doctoral Research Fellowship.
I came across this fragment while working as a Research Associate at the Genizah Research Unit (GRU) as part of my cataloguing duties. The experience of working at the GRU was invaluable and enormously enjoyable. I am grateful to Dr Ben Outhwaite and for all my colleagues at the GRU for making it such a positive and rewarding experience.
See, e.g., JTS ENAÂ 1275.5, 1275.12, 13, ENAÂ 2700.48, ENAÂ 3239.34, which comprise leaves which have been separated, but are all from the same version; and CUL T-SÂ Ar.37.39 For Judaeo-Arabic versions of the text, which are not from the Cairo Genizah collections, see, e.g., NLI Cairo Collection JCÂ 104 and Ãrum (2017).
The skullâs interlocutor is referred to by several different names, reflecting the religious or sectarian affiliation of the copyist/writer. For example, Tottoli (2003, 233) refers to several Å Ä«Ê¿Ä« versions of the tale in which the main protagonist is Ê¿AlÄ«, while Pennacchietti (2005, 298) discusses a Judaeo-Persian version, which features MÅ«sá. The versions in Arabic in Hebrew characters found in the Cairo Genizah collections do not identify the skullâs interlocutor by name, but simply call him âthat manâ. The skullâs own identity also changes; in some Christian versionsâbe they in Syriac, Neo-Aramaic, or Arabicâthe skull is identified as ArsÄnÄ«s (Hall 1890; Pennacchietti 1991; 2005). In most Muslim and Jewish Arabic versions, the skull is an unnamed King or Sultan, but Pennacchietti (1995) transliterates (into Latin characters) and translates (into Italian) a pre-modern rhymed-Arabic version (MS Gotha Orient. A 2212, fols. 2 versoâ9 recto), in which the skull is named as BÄlwÄn b. Ḥafá¹£ b. Daylam.
Tottoli (2003, 237) notes that al-Ä azzÄlÄ« (d. 1111â¯CE) refers to the skull as a kingâa detail absent in other pre-thirteenth-century CE versions of the narrativeâwhich he attributes to Å Ä«Ê¿Ä« influence.
Ritter (1960) attributes the Persian tale to Ê¿Aá¹á¹Är. This attribution has been recently challenged by Turkish Studies scholars (see Babacan Bursalı 2018).
Most of these textsâif not allâcan be dated to between the sixteenth and early twentieth centuries CE (Tottoli 2003, 242). To the 32 Arabic-script versions Tottoli (2003, 255â257) identifies, may be added CUL Qq. 173, fols. 148 rectoâ156 verso (dated 1124â¯AH/1712â¯CE) (see Connolly 2020) and more than 30 versions written in Maghrebi- and SÅ«dÄnÄ«-style scripts (on varieties of which, see van den Boogert 1989; Nobili 2011), which are now housed in three libraries (the Aboubacr Ben Said Library, the Mamma Haidara Library, and the Bibliothèque de Manuscrits al-Imam Essayouti) in Mali, and which are available to view via the Hill Museum and Manuscript Library (HMML) (
This version of the narrative states only that âI looked at one of my wives and [then took place] what is between the [sic.] man and a wife. Then I entered the ḥammÄm.â (CUL T-S NS 306.13, recto, line 12âverso, line 2). This ambiguous phrasing is also found in other manuscripts that contain this detail (see, e.g., MS Mali Bibliothèque de Manuscrits al-Imam Essayouti 15389, f. 3, lines 16â18), but in BnF Arabe 5616, the event is described explicitly:
â®
âOne day, I was with my wives, and I looked at one of (them) and my desire was aroused, so I had sex with her. Then I entered the ḥammÄm.â (BnF Arabe 5616, f. 67 recto, lines 23â25).
See, for example, BnF Arabe 5616, fols. 67 rectoâ68 verso (
On popular literature recorded in Arabic script in the Cairo Genizah collections, see Ahmed (2018).
I am grateful to Dr Nick Posegay for allowing me to read the pre-print version of his forthcoming article.
Gacek (2009, 189â190) states that wove paperâs heyday was between the mid to late eighth century CE until the late thirteenth century CE, after which point European paper began to be widely imported into the region. As Posegay and Da Rold (forthcoming, 16, n. 48) note, this trajectory is corroborated by the findings of their study.
As Dr Nick Posegay points out (personal communication), the seeming haste with which this text was written down might indicate that it was transcribed during an oral performance.
These ligatures have not been replicated in the transcription, here.
I am grateful to both Dr Vevian Zaki and Dr Nick Posegay, who kindly read my transcription, making useful and insightful comments and suggestions. Any errors herein are mine (Editorâs note: Unless Nick messed something up, thatâs on him).
The versions of this narrative consulted in the transcription of this text are: (in Arabic script) CUL Qq. 173, fols. 148 rectoâ156 verso; BnF Arabe 5616, fols. 67 rectoâ68 verso; BnF Arabe 3655, fols. 110 rectoâ115 verso (incomplete); BnF Arabe 3652, fols. 90 versoâ94 recto; BnF Arabe 2761, fols. 64 versoâ78 verso; Vat.Ar.1747, fols. 145 rectoâ147 verso; Aboubacr Ben Said Library MS 4145; Aboubacr Ben Said Library MS 4023; Mamma Haidara Library MS 15387; Mamma Haidara Library MS 15389; Bibliothèque de Manuscrits al-Imam Essayouti MS 3776; and (in Hebrew characters) NLI Cairo Collection JC 104; CUL T-S Ar.37.39; and JTS ENA 1275.5, 1275.12, 13, ENA 2700.48, ENA 3239.34.
â®
The final letter could also be read as an additional dÄl or perhaps even a yÄʾ.
Based on alternative versions of this narrative, I have read this as â®
â®
â®
Could also be read as â®
Form IV used as form I (see §â¯4).
â®
I read this as â®
Although there appears to be an initial (additional) ʾalif after the definite article here, this should be read as â®
Reconstructed on the basis of CUL Qq. 173, 150 verso, line 15.
â®
In the examples from the text listed in §â¯4, I have pointed the non-pointed graphemes to ensure readability.
When not pointed with two sublinear dots or a single horizontal dash (i.e., â®
On the question of whether these two graphemes once represented two independent phonemes, see van Putten (2017; 2023). The symbols Ä and á are used here to represent ʾalif á¹awÄ«lah (â®
The interchangeability of ʾalif and hÄʾ in the representation of the f.sg. ending is also evident in pre-modern Arabic texts in Hebrew letters, in which the Hebrew graphemes heh and ʾalef are both used for this purpose (see Connolly 2024). The interchangeability of these graphemes in word-final position may indicate that the phonemes they represent were not distinguishable from one another in quantity or quality but may both have been understood to represent [a] (on this, see Lentin 2012, 217).
For a list of North-African urban dialects in which the interdental fricatives are heard today, see Aguadé (2018, 44); for a more detailed treatment of this phenomenon and its historical development, see Guerrero (2021).
On the difficult question of what âMiddle Arabicâ is, see Stokes (2021) and Connolly (2024). For an overview of âMiddle Arabicâ as it is widely understood among scholars today, see Lentin (2008).
References
Abdel-Massih, Ernest T., Zaki N. Abdel-Malek, El-Said M. Badawi, and Ernest N. McCarus. 2009. A Reference Grammar of Egyptian Arabic. Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press.
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