Writing the Feminine: Women in Arab Sources (The Islamic Mediterranean)

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WRITING THE FEMININE

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The Islamic MediterraneanProgramme chair Robert IlbertSeries Editor Randi Deguilhem

Published and forthcoming

1. Writing the Feminine: Women in Arab SourcesEdited by Manuela Marın and Randi Deguilhem

2. Money, Land and Trade: An Economic History of the MuslimMediterraneanEdited by Nelly Hanna

3. Outside In: On the Margins of the Modern Middle EastEdited by Eugene Rogan

4. Crafts and Craftsmen of the Middle East: Fashioning theIndividual in the Muslim MediterraneanEdited by Suraiya Faroqhi, Randi Deguilhem and Sadok Boubaker

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WRITING THEFEMININE

Women in Arab Sources

Edited by

Manuela Marın

and

Randi Deguilhem

I.B.Tauris PublishersLONDON . NEWYORK

in association withThe European Science Foundation, Strasbourg, France

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Published in 2002 by I.B. Tauris & Co Ltd

6 Salem Road, London W2 4BU

175 Fifth Avenue, New York NY 10010

www.ibtauris.com

in association with The European Science Foundation, Strasbourg, France

In the United States and Canada distributed by St. Martin’s Press

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Copyright # Manuela Marın and Randi Deguilhem 2002

The right of Manuela Marın and Randi Deguilhem to be identified as the authors of this

work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act

1988.

All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in a review, this book, or any part thereof,

may not be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in

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without the prior written permission of the publisher.

ISBN 186064 697 2

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Typeset in Baskerville 11/12pt by Q3 Bookwork, Loughborough

Printed and bound in Great Britain by MPG Books Ltd, Bodmin

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Contents

Contributors ix

Acknowledgements xiii

Introduction: Visibility, Agency and the Consciousness ofWomen’s Actions: To What Extent? xvManuela Marın and Randi Deguilhem

Part One: Poetry, Popular Expression and Autobiography

1. Click of Needles: Polygamy as an Issue in ArabicPopular Epic 3Remke Kruk

2. Women in Medieval Classical Arabic Poetry 25Teresa Garulo

3. Andalusi Proverbs on Women 41Nadia Lachiri

4. Palestinian Autobiographies: A Source for Women’sHistory? 49Susanne Enderwitz

Part Two: Juridical Sources

5. Women’s Access to Public Space according toal-Muh.alla bi-l-Athar 75Camilla Adang

6. Juridical Sources for the Study of Women: Limitationsof the Female’s Capacity to Act According to Malikı Law 95Cristina de la Puente

7. Abandoned Wives and their Possibilities for Divorce inal-Andalus: The Evidence of the Watha’iq Works 111Amalia Zomeno

Part Three: Anthologies, Chronicles and BiographicalDictionaries

8. Women’s History: A Study of al-Tanukhı 129Nadia Maria El-Cheikh

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9. Women in Andalusi Biographical Sources 149Marıa Luisa Avila

10. A Borrowed Space: Andalusi and Maghribi Womenin Chronicles 165Marıa Jesus Viguera Molıns

Part Four: Religious, Social and Artistic Images

11. Women as Prophets in Islam 183Maribel Fierro

12. Images of Lalla ‘Awısh: A Holy Woman from Marrakech 199Mariette van Beek

13. Between Symbol and Reality: The Image of Womenin Twentieth Century Arab Art 221Silvia Naef

Glossary 237

General Bibliography 243

Index 267

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In fond memory of our highly esteemed colleague and friend

Ulrich Haarmann

Director of the Zentrum Moderner Orient, Berlin (1998–1999)Member of the Executive and Editorial Boards of the European

Science Foundation (ESF), Strasbourg (France)

Individual and Society in the Mediterranean Muslim World programme

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Contributors

Camilla Adang is Senior Lecturer in Islamic Studies at Tel AvivUniversity. She obtained her Ph.D. in 1993 from the University ofNijmegen, The Netherlands. Among her publications are: Islam frentea judaısmo: la polemica de Ibn H. azm de Cordoba (Madrid, 1994) andMuslim Writers on Judaism and the Hebrew Bible: From Ibn Rabban to IbnH. azm (Leiden, 1996).

Marıa Luisa Avila is a Tenured Scientist at the Escuela de Estu-dios Arabes (Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Cientıficas) inGranada. She has co-edited al-Khushanı’s Akhbar al-fuqaha’ wa-l-muh. addithın (Madrid, 1992), one of the oldest biographical diction-aries on Andalusi scholars. Among her other publications: La sociedadhispanomusulmana al final del Califato (Madrid, 1985) and several articleson Andalusi biographical literature. In her study on ‘‘Las ‘mujeressabias’ en al-Andalus’’ in M. J. Viguera (ed.) La mujer en al-Andalus:reflejos historicos de su actividad y categorıas sociales (Madrid-Sevilla, 1989,139–184), she collected and analysed all the women’s biographiesfound in Andalusi biographical dictionaries.

Mariette van Beek is a Ph.D. student at the Research School ofAsian, African and Amerindian Studies of Leiden University, TheNetherlands. She has done extensive fieldwork in Marrakech,Morocco, as part of her research project ‘‘Religious perception andoral tradition: images of Moroccan saints’’. Publications include‘‘The image of the Moroccan saint in oral and written hagio-graphy’’, The Arabist (Budapest) 18 (1996), 75–88.

Nadia Maria El-Cheikh is an Assistant Professor of History at theAmerican University of Beirut. Her research interests are focused onaspects of Arab-Byzantine relations and women’s history. Her pub-lications include ‘‘Describing the Other to Get at the Self: ByzantineWomen in Arabic Sources (8th–11th Centuries)’’, Journal of the Eco-nomic and Social History of the Orient, ‘‘S. urat al-Rum: A Study of theExegetical Literature’’, Journal of the American Oriental Society and‘‘Muh. ammad and Heraclius: A Study in Legitimacy’’, Studia Islamica89 (1999), 5–21.

Randi Deguilhem is a Tenured Researcher with the CNRS(Centre national de la recherche scientifique) at IREMAM/MMSHin Aix-en-Provence. She specialises in modern and contemporary

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cultural and social history of the Middle East, focusing on the reli-gious foundations (waqf) as well as on intellectual life in the 19th and20th centuries. She currently co-directs two international researchgroups based in Aix-en-Provence, Tunis and Algiers, focusing onwaqf. She has edited Le waqf dans l’espace islamique. Outil de pouvoir socio-politique (Damascus, 1995). Her latest publications include ‘‘State civileducation in late Ottoman Damascus: a unifying or a separatingforce?’’ in T. Philipp and B. Schaebler (eds), The Syrian Land, Stutt-gart, 1998, 221–250 and ‘‘Wak.f (in the Ottoman Empire up to1914)’’, Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2000, fas. 179–180, 87–92.

Susanne Enderwitz is a doctor in Islamic Studies from the FreeUniversity of Berlin where she is now Scientific Assistant. Herresearch covers the concept of ‘‘nations’’ in al-Jahiz., adab, Abbasidlove poetry, modern Arabic literature and Arab (especially Palesti-nian) autobiographies.

Maribel Fierro is a Research Scientist at the Consejo Superior deInvestigaciones Cientıficas, Madrid). She has edited Muh. ammad b.Wad.d. ah. ’s Kitab al-bida‘ (Madrid, 1988), translated and studied al-T. urt.ushı’s Kitab al-H. awadith wa-l-bida‘ (Madrid, 1993) and publisheda book on heretical movements during the Umayyad period in al-Andalus (Madrid, 1987). She has published in journals such as DerIslam, BSOAS, Annales Islamologiques, Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam,Studia Islamica and Israel Oriental Studies on subjects related to Islamiclaw and religious trends and movements in al-Andalus. She has con-tributed several articles to the Encyclopaedia of Islam and edited, withJulio Samso, vol. II of The Formation of al-Andalus (Aldershot, 1998).She is the editor of Historia de los Autores y Transmisores de al-Andalus/History of the Authors and Transmitters of al-Andalus (H.A.T.A.).

Teresa Garulo is Senior Lecturer in Arabic Studies at Complu-tense University, Madrid. Her main interest in research is Arabicpoetry which she has both studied and translated into Spanish.Besides many articles published on this topic, she is the author of sixbooks on Andalusi poetry and adab, among them Dıwan de las poetisasde al-Andalus (Madrid, 1986, 2nd ed. 1998). She has also translatedthe Kitab al-Muwashsha by al-Washsha’ (El libro del brocado, Madrid,1990).

Remke Kruk is Professor of Arabic and Islamic Culture at theUniversity of Leiden, The Netherlands. She publishes on a variety ofsubjects, mostly within the range of medieval Arabic philosophy,science and Arabic popular epic. Among her publications are an

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edition of the medieval Arabic version of Aristotle’s Parts of Animals(Amsterdam, 1979) and several articles on the role of women inpopular epic, among them ‘‘Warrior women in Arabic popularromance: Qannas.a bint Muzah. im and other valiant ladies’’, Journalof Arabic Literature 24 (1993) and 25 (1994).

Nadia Lachiri defended her doctoral dissertation at ComplutenseUniversity, Madrid. She now teaches at the University of Meknes,Morocco. She has published in Arabic and Spanish on the image ofAndalusi women through the literary legacy of al-Andalus.

Manuela Marın is a Research Scientist at the Consejo Superior deInvestigaciones Cientıficas (Madrid). She has published extensivelyon a variety of subjects, dealing mostly with the social history of al-Andalus, food history in Islamic culture and women’s history.Among her publications on this last subject: ‘‘Le role des femmesdans la litterature arabe : le cas d’Ibn al-Mugawir’’, Quaderni di StudiArabi 5–6 (1987–88), 518–27 and ‘‘Una vida de mujer: S. ubh. ’’, Bio-grafıas y genero biografico en el Occidente islamico (E.O.B.A., VIII), Madrid,1997, 425–445 and Mujeres en al-Andalus, Madrid, 2000. She is theeditor of The Formation of al-Andalus, I (Aldershot, 1998).

Silvia Naef is a Lecturer in the Universities of Geneva and Basel.Her main research interests are the reaction to the West and moder-nity as reflected in contemporary Arab fine arts, visual productionand the study of Muslim minorities. Her recent publications include:A la recherche d’une modernite arabe: l’evolution des arts plastiques en Egypte, auLiban et en Irak (Geneva, 1996), ‘‘L’expression iconographique del’authenticite (as.ala) dans la peinture arabe moderne’’ in G. Beaugeand F. Clement (eds), L’image dans le monde arabe (Paris, 1995), 139–149 and ‘‘Un reformiste chiite : Muh. ammad H. usayn Al Kashif al-Gita’’, Die Welt des Orients, 17 (1996), 51–86.

Cristina de la Puente (Ph. D. 1994) is a Tenured Scientist in theConsejo Superior de Investigaciones Cientıficas, Madrid. She workson Islamic law and Muslim worship and religiosity in al-Andalus.She has edited and translated Ibn Bashkuwal’s Kitab al-Qurba ila Allah(Madrid, 1995). Other publications include: ‘‘Vivre et mourir pourDieu : oeuvre et heritage d’Abu ‘Alı al-S. adafı’’, Studia Islamica 88(1998), 77–102.

Marıa Jesus Viguera Molıns’ doctoral dissertation on Los hechosmemorables de Abu l-H. asan, sultan de los Benimerines (al-Musnad de IbnMarzuq) was published in Madrid (1977) and Algiers (1981). Since

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1983, she has been Professor of Arabic and Islamic Studies in Com-plutense University, Madrid. She is the author or editor of 21 booksand more than a hundred articles, among them: Los reinos de taifas ylas invasiones magrebıes (Madrid, 1992), De las taifas al reino de Granada(Al-Andalus, siglos XI–XV), Madrid, 1995 and El Islam en Aragon (Zar-agoza, 1995). She coordinated and co-authored volumes VIII-1 andVIII-2 of the Historia de Espana founded by Ramon Menendez Pidal(Madrid, 1994 and 1997).

Amalia Zomeno is a researcher at the Escuela de Estudios Arabes(Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Cientıficas) in Granada. Herresearch concentrates on Islamic family law in the Western Medi-terranean during the medieval period, especially the economicaspects of marriage and its relationship with the intergenerationaltransmission of property. Among her publications: Dote y matrimonioen al-Andalus y el norte de Africa, Madrid, 2000.


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Acknowledgements

This book is the first volume to appear in the new series publishedby I.B.Tauris, London, under the title of The Islamic Mediterranean,series directed by Randi Deguilhem (CNRS, IREMAM, Aix-en-Provence). This book and the following volumes to appear in thisseries are the result of the five-year research programme (1996–2001), Individual and Society in the Mediterranean Muslim World, initiatedand chaired by Robert Ilbert (University of Provence and founder/director of the MMSH, the Maison Mediterraneenne des Sciencesde l’Homme in Aix-en-Provence).1 Sponsored by the EuropeanScience Foundation (ESF), headquartered in Strasbourg, France, thisbook, Writing the Feminine: Women in Arab Sources, is a product of ‘‘teamone’’ (Forms of belonging and modes of social integration), directedby Klaus Kreiser (Bamberg University) within the framework of theabove ESF research programme. Part of the studies included in thisvolume were first discussed in two seminar series organised byManuela Marın (CSIC, Madrid) at the Consejo Superior de Investi-gaciones Cientıficas (CSIC), Instituto de Filologıa in Madrid in 1996and 1997 and by Klaus Kreiser and Bernard Heyberger (Universityof Haute-Alsace) at the University of Haute-Alsace in Mulhouse,France in 1997. Other writers have contributed to the book withoutactually having been involved in the programme throughout itsdevelopment. It is indeed a pleasure to acknowledge that scholarsfrom seven countries, from both sides of the Mediterranean, arerepresented in this volume. We thank them all for their commoneffort. Many other persons have helped in the final production ofthe book, but no one deserves to be thanked more than RobertIlbert who made possible the research programme to which thisbook belongs.

1 The editors would like to thank the anonymous reader for the comments and sug-gestions which were most helpful in developing some of the ideas expressed in theintroduction.

Contributors to this book were, of course, free to express their own opinionswhich do not necessarily coincide with those of the volume’s editors.

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INTRODUCTION

Visibility, Agency and theConsciousness of Women’sActions: To What Extent?

Manuela Marın and Randi Deguilhem

Choosing deliberately to remain close to documentary sources inorder to allow original voices to be heard, this volume questions thealready shaken myth of the passive Arab Muslim woman who issubjected, without recourse, to the dual tyranny and misogyny ofboth her male relatives and her religion.1 Without aiming to mini-mise the hardships and institutionalised obstacles to which womenwere subjected not only in the Islamic Mediterranean world2 butalso in Europe,3 the contributions in this book examine indigenoussources which reveal the visibility, the agency and the consciousnessof women’s actions—and their limits—in the Islamic Mediterraneanand which show that these women exercised a certain amount ofeconomic, legal and intellectual freedom within defined areas in dif-ferent situations. The type and chronology of the sources used forthis book’s research range widely from popular cultural productionsuch as pre-Islamic and Islamic epics and modern-day proverbs tomedieval normative Islamic legal sources from al-Andalus to auto-biographies from present-day Palestine as well as paintings fromcontemporary Iraq, Lebanon, Syria, Palestine and Egypt in order toillustrate the various circumstances where women left and leave theirmark.

Care has been taken by the authors in this book to examine andanalyse primary data which is fundamental to the understanding ofthe reality and the plurality of women’s actions in different domainsof intervention within the public, private and semi-private spheres inIslamic Mediterranean societies. In a physical and spatial sense, the

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relevant spheres of possible intervention vary in relation to the urbangeography of a particular locale which accordingly reflect upon thewoman’s possibilities of movement.4 In a social and theoreticalsense, the extent of a woman’s activities also depend upon her socialsituation which may overlap various fields of action commensuratewith the cultural parameters of the given society in which she livesand operates.5 Unsurprisingly, as in other cultures, gradations ofautonomous behaviour and opportunities for individuality and indi-viduation of women in the Islamic Mediterranean were oftendirectly connected to the socio-economic status of the individualwoman whose breadth and depth of movement varied accordingto whether she lived in an urban or rural setting and whether shebelonged to the upper or lower reaches of society, the latter oftenoffering more freedom of personal activity to the woman thanthe former. In other words, her freedom of intellectual andpractical movement was in direct relation to her specific position insociety.

* * *

The primary sources examined here have been written in Arabicand most come from an Arab Islamic cultural context. Such sourcesimply an Islamic religious component which is naturally moreevident in texts produced by jurists or religious thinkers and which isonly present as an undercurrent in literary works and in other artis-tic creations such as paintings (cf. contribution by S. Naef). It isimportant, therefore, to underline that in choosing the label, ‘‘Arab’’,for the sources under examination in this volume, the intention is toemphasise the fact that Islam, as a religion, is only one of the factorsdetermining the cultural production of the societies under study.

Although authorship of most of the sources studied here, whetherindividual or collective, is predominantly male and represents aspecific discourse, it may be surprising to realise how extensivelywomen’s lives are represented in the work under examination.Despite the fact that other recent studies concentrate more onwomen’s own voices which can be heard more directly and morefrequently in the modern and contemporary periods as womenexpressed themselves through the written word6 than in medieval orearly Islamic times where women’s voices, although present, must besearched for within the context of less personal institutionalisedsources,7 this situation does not mean that everything written bywomen should automatically or necessarily be taken as a ‘‘better’’

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kind of source than those written by men. Understanding andinterpreting different representations is the task of the historian whomust deal with fragmentary evidence dispersed throughout differentkinds of sources which are mediated by the particular interests ofeach researcher. Moreover, since documents and other materialobjects issued from any one society inevitably reflect inner valueswhich inherently are only comprehensible from the interior of thatsociety, studying those objects as the reflection of empirical informa-tion may very well result in flawed and even erroneous judgements.Finally, in the past as in the present, no kind of documentary mate-rial may serve as a historical source if isolated from others and, ifany lesson may be drawn from this book, it is the unavoidable com-plementarity of the sources.

Although this is a book about women, the volume does not striveto be a study exclusively focused on gender which would risk settingaside the woman and her actions as constructed objects of study heldapart from the mainstream of society or, in the words of GerardNoiriel, in ‘‘opposition to the masculine sphere of activities’’.8 Thisrisk holds just as true, of course, for the study of women living in theIslamic Mediterranean as it does for those residing in Europe, Africaor elsewhere in the world. The present study seeks, instead, toanalyse women’s activities and pursuits—as well as their limits—within a wider historical context and to integrate their actions withina more general reference of male–female relationships in the differ-ent societies of the Islamic Mediterranean. In this regard, the iden-tity of any one specific woman, like that of a man, is multiple anddevelops according to numerous criteria determined by her personalrelations and her networks which connect her with other individualsinhabiting her social, religious, cultural, political and economicenvironment.

* * *

The increased number of publications on the history of the Muslimwoman bears witness to the awareness of the crucial interest of thissubject for a better understanding of past and present Islamic socie-ties. To this already significant production, much of it publishedwithin the last twenty years, this volume concentrates on the doc-umentary materials which allow the researcher to ‘‘write the femi-nine’’ from the viewpoint of primary sources. This brings up severalquestions, in particular, the methodology used to exploit the givensource, the real or imagined reflection of society through that source

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and the critical issue of positionality which all researchers face in oneway or another when dealing with the complex problem of recon-structing elements of any specific society which inevitably provokepersonal reactions and opinions. A careful consideration and judi-cious analysis of the source under question is an essential part of anyresearch; it is a preliminary and basic step. But, as particularly con-cerns the history of women in Islamic societies, this kind of analysishas not yet received enough attention or, rather, it has been tradi-tionally oriented to specific areas such as religious and literary texts.9

Other less-exploited sources are now being studied in order to fillthe gaps in our knowledge. For example, the fairly recent generalrevival of Islamic legal studies has brought about a renewal of inter-est in juridical texts and tribunal records which has led to a criticalappreciation of their contents as a source for the history of women.10

The present book, while also using juridical and religious norma-tive sources, puts a strong emphasis upon the study of lesser-utilisedsources such as epic poems, proverbs and paintings. It presents adiversified range of documentary evidence for the study of IslamicMediterranean women and examines the aims, potential values andlimits of those sources. But this could not be done, however, withoutsome self-imposed restrictions. Spatial boundaries in this book there-fore strongly emphasise the Western side of this wide geographicalentity since in other similar undertakings, the Western Mediterra-nean lands are usually not very well represented, but as this volumeshows, they have a rich written and oral tradition from which only asample has been studied here.

The texts analysed in this book show that women’s history in theIslamic Mediterranean lands does not suffer from a lack of sourcesand that there are some questions which go beyond the particularconditions of a given period: definition of public or private spaceand women’s access to the former, contrast and tension betweensocial and religious norms and practices, social change especiallywithin the modernisation context, public images and private beha-viour, the fashioning of individuality against socially accepted rules,the state’s intervention in private matters and other issues are just afew of the points raised by the contributions in this volume. One ofthe conclusions drawn from the book’s content is that while Islam, asa religion, played a fundamental role in society, a woman’s life wasjust as affected by her economic position and other elements whichconstituted her individual identity.

* * *

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Essays in this volume have been organised thematically for thepurpose of accentuating the different types of sources available toresearchers studying women in the Islamic Mediterranean.

Poetry, popular expression and autobiography constitute the firstsection of this book which opens with contributions by Remke Krukand Teresa Garulo, the first of whom turns her attention to tradi-tional Arab storytelling while the second author delves into classicalArabic poetry. Even though the source material may seem dissimilarfor these two studies, they have in fact much in common. Audiencereception of storytelling and poetry as well as the patronage networksfor the two genres are essential components for the very existence ofboth types of artistic expression. In other words, both storytelling andpoetry—in the sense that much of the latter was not only a form ofwritten expression but was also transmitted orally—depended highlyupon the population’s reaction to the work. Both Kruk and Garulotreat their material with original approaches: Kruk presents the epicstories of the various sıras as a sort of romantic fiction which mirrorssocial trends—very much like contemporary soap operas. She guidesthe reader into both men and women’s emotions in the midst ofpolygamous marriages which play an all-important role in the stories.The complications, dangers and blessings arising from polygamousmarriages are displayed for the benefit of listeners whose daily lifehad no connection with the fantastic adventures of the heroes inthese tales. In many ways, these stories reflect the male dream ofseducing and controlling a variety of women, all of them subject totheir master and husband, but they also portray an ideal of woman-hood, i.e. the faithful and forbearing wife who finally triumphs overher more independent and rebellious rivals.

Garulo’s source material likewise deals with ideal descriptions ofwomen which, she concludes, cannot be accepted as real portraitsbut which yield a reflection of prevalent social attitudes and of per-sonal reactions to them. Her analysis of classical Arabic poetry leadsher to assert that these kinds of poems attest to the progressive dis-appearance of free women from the public scene and the difficultieswhich poets experienced in giving voice to their love for this kind ofwoman. According to Garulo, evolution of love poetry from pre-Islamic times to the Abbasid period shows how the effacement of theindividual female presence in classical poetry was the result of socialchanges within Arab society and how this process, in turn, devel-oped into a depersonalisation of women in poems written in theAbbasid period. She maintains that, at this time, a free woman, ascompared with a slave girl, could not appear in public, even in a

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poem, without risking that her honour be stained. Yet, this evolutionof social mores in the Abbasid period did not preclude women fromtaking an active part in social life as other texts show.

This section continues with Nadia Lachiri’s study of cultural ste-reotypes of women which find expression in the form of Andalusiproverbs. Lachiri presents two collections of Andalusi popularsayings from the Late Middle Ages which feature different categoriesof women: slaves, free women, girls, married women, old womenand prostitutes. Not surprisingly, many of the views expressed inthese proverbs agree with the evidence found in higher literaryworks but, as popular expression of certain societal realities, theyalso show that there existed a possibility for mobility from one cate-gory to another. The proverbs also provide surprising insight intothe difficulties of married life, the sexual awareness of young girlsand the problems of spinsterhood.

This section closes with a fascinating study by Susanne Enderwitzof fifteen autobiographical works written both by Palestinian womenand men born during the first half of the 20th century. Historicaland social conditions permeate the image of the self and the selvingprocess as rendered by their authors in their works whose main aimis to reconstruct the Palestinian collective identity.11 This explainswhy many of these autobiographical authors are not professionalwriters of fiction and why their works may be described as moredocumentary than literary. In their effort to recover the Palestiniancollective memory, these autobiographies sometimes approach oralhistory and even ethnographical accounts; this is precisely what givesthem an added value as sources for women’s history. Highly perso-nal accounts written by authors of different backgrounds, these textsalso have a historical dimension. Since they present life stories ofwomen from the late 19th century up to the 1970s, these Palestinianautobiographies closely reflect developments in family and social lifeaffecting women during this period. Among other subjects which theauthors discuss, these works show how religious affiliation to Chris-tianity or Islam has played a much lesser role in this history than isgenerally supposed.

As a counterpart to the first section in this book which analysespopular images of women, whether canonised within proverbs, epicsor classical poetry, or individualised via the autobiographical techni-que, the second part of the volume turns to juridical sources whichnot unexpectedly also reveal women’s visibility, agency and con-sciousness of action or, rather, the limitations of them through theprism of normative parameters.

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Thus, Camilla Adang examines the al-Muh. alla bi-l-Athar by IbnH. azm, the well-known Andalusi polygraph. As testimonial to theopinions of a single author and one who belonged to a minorityschool of law, the Z. ahirı, a madhhab which did not function in al-Andalus as an operable school of law, the source material studied byAdang may be described as theoretical. This source, namely, IbnH. azm’s personal interpretation of the Quran and the Prophetic Tra-ditions is, nonetheless, highly related to the actual lives of womenbecause their access to public spaces was conditioned by religiousdemands as much as by social customs. Since Ibn H. azm harshly cri-ticised those who interpreted Quranic injunctions in a restrictiveway, he disapproved of those who considered it inappropriate thatwomen attend, for example, public prayers in the mosque, defendingwomen’s rights to do so. But, since Ibn H. azm suffered so many per-sonal and political setbacks in his life, it is difficult to ascertain theextent to which his opinion mirrored or differed from those of hiscontemporaries; it is likewise problematic to label Ibn H. azm as asort of proto-feminist.

Continuing the study of normative texts as a source for research-ing the boundaries of women’s movement, a study supplemented bythe analysis of model marriage contracts from the 10th and 11thcenturies, Cristina de la Puente investigates a section of the doctrinalcompendia of Malikı law, the predominant school of Islamic law inal-Andalus and North Africa. In this contribution, de la Puente isespecially concerned with legal developments surrounding the limita-tions of women’s capacity to act as expounded in the Muwat.t.a’ ofMalik b. Anas and other Malikı works. That the husband was legallyallowed to forbid his wife to leave the house was one of the mainhindrances for women to exercise rights otherwise offered to themby the same law such as carrying out business transactions. Thepractical case concerning whether the married woman was allowedto go to the public bath is also examined in this study. The case isimportant since it reflects the ambivalent position of Malikı juriststowards the free circulation of women outside their homes and itshows to what extent their opinions reflect social restraints that weremodelled into legal opinions. To a large degree, this study showsthat social status determined and conditioned women’s activitiesmore than religion.

Amalia Zomeno presents a second kind of legal source, the Anda-lusi notarial models, the watha’iq works. One of the principal interestsof these documents for ‘‘writing the feminine’’ lies in the fact thatthey represent the means by which the general principles of law

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were translated into specific legal procedures. This allows the con-temporary researcher to understand the daily work carried outwithin the legal apparatus and its effects on the individual lives ofmen and women. Through these documents, Zomeno examines thepossibilities for divorce offered to a woman in al-Andalus who wasabandoned by her husband. If properly advised by the notary andable to find witnesses in relation to her plight, the woman couldhave applied for a legal procedure which would have declared themdivorced and thus able to remarry. Usually only considered for itstheoretical nature, the notarial models show the interest for this kindof source as a means of knowing the practical application of legalnorms and, more to the point, about knowledge of how these normsaffected individual women.

Anthologies, chronicles and biographical dictionaries comprise thesources which are studied in the third section of this volume.

Nadia Maria El-Cheikh shows that adab (belles-lettres) works,when textually analysed beyond their repetitive and idealistic char-acter, can indeed be used as a fruitful source of information forresearching women’s visibility and agency.12 With this objective inmind, El-Cheikh examines al-Tanukhı’s Nishwar and his Faraj, adabworks written in the Abbasid period (4th/10th century) which depictsocial uses in Baghdad that are closely related to the developmentsattested by poetry. Moral standards (especially for free women),family and marital relationships, household scenes, women’s level ofeducation and participation in political and economic life are sub-jects illustrated by al-Tanukhı’s work. In her textual analysis of lit-erary anecdotes in which women appear, El-Cheikh concludes thatthe stereotype of the secluded, docile, male-dominated woman doesnot stand up to evidence found in these particular texts in whichwomen are represented as individuals coming from a great variety ofsocial backgrounds and who have different life styles. Perhaps one ofthe most interesting conclusions drawn by El-Cheikh is that al-Tanukhı documents a tendency in 10th century Abbasid wealthyurban households towards a succession of monogamous marriagesinstead of polygamous ones, a tendency also noted, by the way, inturn of the 17th century Damascus.13 Sources of a literary character,such as the ones studied by El-Cheikh, clearly show the distancebetween official morality and social reality through which a spacewas created for the manœuvring of the individual.

Turning to the biographical dictionary genre,14 Marıa Luisa Aviladirected her attention to the entire corpus of Andalusi biographicaldictionaries in which a small number of women’s biographies are

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contained. Within the framework of a controversial question, that ofthe supposedly more emancipated status of the Andalusi woman ascompared to her North African and Middle East counterpart, a viewwhich Avila does not share, the biographical evidence offered bythese sources points towards the enormous difference, with someexceptions, between men and women in the areas of education andparticipation in cultural activities.15 The analysis of these biographiesof women scholars shows how limited their possibilities were of beingintegrated into the field of official culture, hindered as they were bytheir gender (women’s access to education in medieval and modernEurope was, of course, equally restricted). Yet, even in the male-dominated world of officially-sanctioned knowledge, some women’snames and lives were deemed worthy enough to appear in the bio-graphical record for the transmission of science.16

Out of the huge legacy of historical chronicles written in Arabic,Marıa Jesus Viguera Molıns analyses several Andalusi and medievalNorth African texts. As with chronicles written in other periods ofIslamic Mediterranean history, women seldom appear in thesechronicles and, when they are present, it is in relation to men, theusual actors in public life and holders of political power. Writers ofchronicles did, nonetheless, mention the fact that, in exceptional cir-cumstances, women belonging to ruling families played an importantrole. When this happened, and when the chronicle recorded it, thepresence of women in public affairs is almost always criticised andmen who allowed this situation to occur are accused of weakness. Itseems absolutely vital, in the historical chronicles, that politicalwomen are portrayed as a threat to men and to the establishedorder. Even the woman’s stereotyped weapons of submission andintrigue are shown as harmful to society. However, Viguera Molınsends her contribution by warning against insisting upon the perma-nence of these cliches in contemporary research.

Source material which transmits religious, social and artisticimages of women in the Islamic Mediterranean compose the finalsection in this book.

From the standpoint that religion permeated life in premodernsocieties in many profound ways and Islam was no exception,Maribel Fierro poses the question of women as prophets in Islamthrough the examination of exegetical sources (tafsır) and a casestudy from al-Andalus. Although of a theoretical nature, the discus-sion in Islamic medieval literature about the existence of womenprophets created a heated controversy that was connected directlywith polemics about saints’ miracles and thereby with the Prophet

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Muh. ammad’s miracles. It can be said, then, that the whole questionof women’s prophethood was discussed as a side effect of a moregeneral problem, but Fierro points out the striking fact that, in al-Andalus, the polemic was about the specific case of Mary, mother ofJesus. As a possible explanation for this, Fierro suggests that theinflux into the Islamic community of new converts from Christianityat the very time of the controversy may have influenced the generalappreciation of a figure such as Mary, thus showing how theolo-gians’ discussions may reflect social as well as intellectual develop-ments.

Female sainthood has left a historical written record in Arabichagiographical texts, but Mariette van Beek, through her field workin Morocco, realises that Arabic hagiographers hardly ever wroteabout certain saints who are nevertheless remembered by oral tradi-tion; this case is all the more frequent when the saint is a woman.Van Beek analyses traditions about Lalla ‘Awısh, a woman saintfrom Marrakech, with the intention of exploring the mystical sym-bolism in the stories and in the rituals that take place at the sanc-tuary of this woman. This is done within the framework of thehistory of Muslim mysticism, something quite infrequently done inanthropological research.

The feminine may also be recorded through artistic creation otherthan the written word. Thus, Silvia Naef’s paper on Arab con-temporary art and its image of women brings the volume to an end.She shows the changing value of the depiction of the female fromthe 1930s to the end of the 20th century. While questioning thevalue of a painting as a ‘‘historical’’ document, Naef is able todemonstrate how the symbolic use of female images closely followsother intellectual and political pursuits. Representations of women incontemporary Arab art, furthermore, inform us about the role inwhich society prefers to see its women in spite of the existence of an‘‘official’’ discourse on women’s emancipation.

* * *

Writing the Feminine thus contributes to the new trend of scholarshipabout and by women which studies them within their society fromthe angle of inner sources, analysing primary material from theregions under study in order to understand the evolution of women’sroles within those societies from the interior. In tracing the produc-tion and transformation of different sources which reflect women’ssocietal activities within shifting contexts of reception, the essays


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implicitly and explicitly participate in on-going discussions about thepolitics of individuation and the selving process and women’sattempts to control portions of their lives as subjects of their owndestiny.17

Notes

1 This volume, which has largely developed out of two seminar seriesheld in Madrid (Spain) and in Mulhouse (France), focuses almostexclusively on the Muslim Arab woman. Studies which take intoaccount the roles played by Christian, Jewish and other non-Muslimwomen in the Mediterranean societies within the dar al-islam wouldhave certainly given another dimension to the present work (the excel-lent study presented at the Mulhouse seminar by Bernard Heybergeron the Christian mystic Hindiyya ‘Ajamı is forthcoming in Amira Son-bol’s collective volume on women in the Middle East, Syracuse Uni-versity Press).

2 For example: Paris, 1989; Walther, 1995; Marın, 2000.3 Amt, 1993; Duby and Perrot, 1991; Perrot, 1998.4 See, for instance, N. Hanna (1991) who has studied different para-

meters and aspects of intermediate use of space in 17th and 18thcentury homes in Cairo where, for example, the courtyard and roofarea have both private and semi-private uses. She has studied this useof space in Cairo in relation to Aleppo and other cities in the Arabworld.

5 Pinto, 1998.6 Prime examples are found in Badran and Cooke (1990) as well as

references mentioned in the bibliography (non-exhaustive).7 Such as within waqf documents which, although formulaic, contain

personal elements of the founder’s wishes—both male and female—ina gender-blind manner. Thus, women’s consciousness and agency aregiven voice through the institution of waqf from the early Islamic cen-turies to the present day: Fay, 1997; Deguilhem, in press.

8 Noiriel (1997) where he comments that such an approach for the studyof women’s history would invariably slant the understanding of theplace of women within society as a whole.

9 As so aptly discussed over twenty years ago in Keddie, 1979.10 See, for instance, Fay (1997) and the various relevant articles published

in A. Sonbol (1996 and ibid., in press) and the work edited by H.Bodman and N. Tohidi (1998).

11 Joseph, 1999, pp. ix–x, and the articles by Jean Said Makdisi, SuadJoseph, Maysoon Melek and the anonymous author, Scheherazade, in

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part one of Suad Joseph’s book which study ‘‘Intimate Selving as aPractice of Biography and Autobiography in Arab Families’’ (pp. 21–105). For recent work on autobiography as a literary genre in MiddleEastern Arab countries: Badran and Cooke, 1990; Philipp, 1993;Booth, 2001.

12 In the way of al-Qattan (1994) for the study of women and ibid (1996)for dhimmıs.

13 Establet and Pascual, 1994, 50–57. Meriwether (1999, 122–132) whodiscusses the bibliography on polygynous marriages in various parts ofthe Ottoman Empire.

14 Cf. Roded, 1994.15 Marın, 2000 for a comprehensive study of women in al-Andalus.16 Kahf, 2000.17 Joseph, 1999; Touraine and Khosrokhavar, 2000.


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Part One:

POETRY, POPULAR

EXPRESSION AND

AUTOBIOGRAPHY

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CHAPTER 1

Click of Needles: Polygamy as an

Issue in Arabic Popular Epic

Remke Kruk

In her autobiographical The Harem Within: Tales of a Moroccan Child-hood,1 Fatima Mernissi describes her grandfather’s polygamoushousehold, a household in which nine wives and concubines had tolive together and where the special position of the first wife, hergrandfather’s paternal cousin, had to be accepted by all. Not thatthey always did so without grumbling; the first wife herself also didnot seem as happily secure in the situation as might be supposed.Mernissi’s account brings out the various aspects of life in a poly-gamous situation: the jealousy and competition, the insecurity, butalso the occasional solidarity and mutual support that the womenmight find among one other.

Mernissi’s observations, sometimes put in the words of her grand-mother, Yasmına, show, not unexpectedly, considerable ambivalencetowards polygamy as an institution. This is in no way surprising,given the fact that these observations were placed within the contextof a new and more enlightened social order that was about to arrive.Yet, it makes one curious to see whether and how such sentimentswere explicitly expressed in more conventional contexts. TraditionalArabic literature is such a context.

The literary material selected for examination in the present studyis the type of romantic fiction that formed part of traditional Arabstorytelling handed down by professional storytellers. The materialwas, at the same time, also widely circulated in handwritten and,later, in printed copies in which linguistic standards were not ofparamount concern. This material includes the stories of A Thousand

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and One Nights as well as many others, among them the vast popularsıras with their endless intrigues and adventures, the soap operas ofpremodern days.

Love intrigue is a major topic in this kind of literature with poly-gamy implicitly present. After all, story development in epic narra-tives, especially in long narratives featuring a central hero, would begreatly hampered if the hero were allowed to get romanticallyinvolved with just one female, his leading heroine. Within theIslamic cultural sphere, this is made easier by the official Islamicattitude towards polygamy or, rather, polygyny: the hero can getinvolved with any number of women without losing his virtuousimage.

In popular fiction, this may result in quite idyllic pictures of poly-gamous married life such as in the A Thousand and One Nights story ofQamar al-Zaman and Budur: H. ayat al-Nufus who, as the thirdparty, could have posed problems, but instead becomes Budur’s co-wife and the three live happily together. Elsewhere, too, positiveimages are projected. In the huge Sırat al-amıra Dhat al-Himma (orSırat al-mujahidın), the various wives of the main hero, ‘Abdal-Wahhab, all of them redoubtable warrior women, work closelytogether during raids into enemy territory, showing considerablesolidarity and also concern for one another’s safety.2

But the picture is not always so idyllic. In the Sırat Sayf ibn DhıYazan,3 the rivalry between Sayf’s wives sometimes becomes veryserious. Death threats are uttered and irritation about her husband’s(albeit legal) relations with other women incites his wife Munyat al-Nufus to pick up her baby and leave, warning Sayf that he will haveto work hard to win her back.4

The Sırat al-amıra Dhat al-Himma, referred to above as reflecting apositive view, also demonstrates the other side of the matter. In oneepisode, Ibrahım, one of the sons of the hero, ‘Abd al-Wahhab, iscaptured by the enemy. ‘Abd al-Wahhab reports this to his wife‘Ulwa, the mother of the boy, who is returning from a foray (likehim, she is a respected warrior who usually goes on joint expeditionswith their son). ‘Ulwa weeps and says to her husband that of coursethe loss of their son does not affect him because he has still manysons left. She, however, only has Ibrahım and her loss is unbearable.If he does nothing to rescue Ibrahım, she will call in the help of allthe Arab tribes. Shocked, he tries to console her, saying that emo-tions do not work that way: why does she have to suppose that lovefor one person must necessarily be at the cost of love for another?5

Could the essential disadvantage of woman versus man have been


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highlighted better? For there is no way in which a woman may havethe biological resources of a man regarding the production of chil-dren and, thus, for spreading out one’s emotional risks; ‘Ulwa is verymuch aware of this. Yet, her underestimation of fatherly involve-ment may cause her to be too harsh on her husband and this mayresult in an unnecessary and painful rift. This fact was clearly recog-nised, since this is a topos that turns up repeatedly within the contextof Arabic popular epic. In the Sırat H. amza al-Bahlawan, the marriageof H. amza and his beloved Mihrdukar actually breaks up over theirinability to share each other’s grief over the death of their son, anevent which brings out Mihrdukar’s latent feelings of unhappinessover her husband’s interest in other women and the sons whom hehad fathered in a succession of marriages.

The views expressed here must have been widely common withinpolygamous relationships. This is all the more interesting since thesenarrative cycles were intended for male audiences in coffeehousesand in other public gathering places although denigrating remarks in‘‘high’’ literary texts qualify them as material for women and chil-dren. Thus, the attention paid to the complications of polygamousrelationships offer a glimpse of male views on the matter, views thatare sometimes considerably more sensitive than one might beinclined to expect.

It may seem ludicrous to attach so much importance to viewsexpressed in romantic and highly-stereotyped fiction. Clearly, theadventures of the heroes and heroines of popular storytelling bearlittle connection to the daily life of the average listener, no morethan do the soap operas of today. Nonetheless, the very popularityof the material reveals something about the predilections and pre-occupations of the audience/readership. Current issues of concernare quite frequently introduced and highlighted in popular narrative.The medium of modern ‘‘soaps’’ is nowadays even consciously usedas a means of manipulating public opinion and attitudes.

Against this background, this work will analyse the way in whichpolygamy is dealt with in Arabic popular epic. The available mate-rial is vast, thus the following examination will be restricted to just afew trends discernable in the Sırat ‘Antar and Sırat Sayf ibn Dhı Yazan.This is done on the basis of Lyon’s surveys of those cycles.6 Thefocus will then turn to the Sırat H. amza al-Bahlawan, which is, asearlier findings have shown, reasonably explicit in its views on therole of women.7 The somewhat hazardous question of the value thatthis material may have for the study of present day social trends andattitudes will also be briefly discussed.

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‘Antar

‘Antar, the legendary pre-Islamic Arab hero, has always been thearchetype of manly virtue. The ‘Antar of popular narrativeundoubtedly has little in common with the historic ‘Antar, the pre-Islamic poet about whom very little is known. However, fiction andfact concerning ‘Antar have become completely amalgamated in thepopular imagination.

In Arab tradition, the name of ‘Antar is automatically linked withthat of his beloved ‘Abla. This is also true in Sırat ‘Antar where ‘Ablais the woman who, after many vicissitudes, becomes ‘Antar’s wife. Inthe narrative, ‘Antar is depicted foremost as the bedouin knight andhero of many battles with enemy bedouins as well as with all sorts offoes in strange and foreign parts. This notwithstanding, the strand of‘Antar’s relationship with ‘Abla is so important throughout the epicthat it is also possible to characterise the figure of ‘Antar through theperspective of his relationships with various women. Time andagain, he becomes involved with girls and women who cross hispath. It is not even beyond him to quench his desire by raping a girlwhich he would justify due to his long sexual abstinence as a resultof a quarrel with ‘Abla or because of alcohol intoxication.8 In severalcases, the involvement leads to marriage or, at least, to a marriage ofsorts. The marriage between ‘Antar and ‘Abla remains childless, buta vast number of children from other relationships are born to‘Antar. With one exception, all of them are sons, usually bornwithout their father’s knowledge after a brief liaison with theirmothers. These sons simply turn up when they are grown warriors.

This, of course, is not at all an uncommon pattern in this type ofliterature, but it may be of interest to examine how the women con-cerned put up with the situation. ‘Abla, for instance, does not like itat all and sometimes becomes quite bitter. ‘Antar is certainly awareof this and he tries to escape her wrath by keeping his romanticaffairs and even marriages a secret from her. This pattern repeatsitself in subsequent marriages. For example, ‘Antar tries to hide hismarriage to the warrior princess, Ghamra,9 from ‘Abla and, when helater becomes involved with a woman named Sarwa whom he alsomarries,10 he tries to keep both Ghamra and ‘Abla in the dark aboutthis liaison. Discussions about such matters take place from time totime between ‘Antar and ‘Abla, for instance, on the occasion of yetanother child of ‘Antar’s turning up and having to be provided for.Such episodes illustrate ‘Antar’s macho attitudes toward honour: ashe says to ‘Abla, it is a man’s duty to ‘‘cover up his faults’’.11


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‘Abla does not shun a quarrel with ‘Antar: ‘‘You have afflicted mewith numbers of fellow wives. When the women of the tribe meetme, they laugh at me.’’12 Haughtily, ‘Abla tells other women thatshe may well send ‘Antar to herd camels, should the fancy take her.In order to make up for her loss of face, she urges ‘Antar to kiss herfeet in the presence of the other women which causes him to walkoff. In another case,13 ‘Abla vilifies ‘Antar for having married threedaughters of important men and for having become too proud toherd camels. He counters this attack by saying that she is the onlyone whom he really ever wanted, but that he cannot send awaythese women who have all born him brave sons.

Sayf

As mentioned before, Sayf ibn Dhı Yazan, hero of the sıra bearinghis name, was another multi-marrying hero of popular epic. Hismany affairs with women are varied, with the story’s approach tothe emotions involved on both sides not lacking in psychologicalsubtlety. Without treating all the details of his many affairs, suffice itto mention that the issue causes frequent protests among his womenwhich become more or less violent according to the character of thewoman concerned. The hotheaded T. ama threatens to kill herrivals,14 Munyat al-Nufus leaves him and his first beloved, Shama,tries to put up with the situation. Sayf and Shama’s son, Damar, bit-terly reproaches his father for his philandering which greatly hurtshis mother15 and even takes up the sword against his father.

However, as compared with ‘Antar, Sayf’s attitude towardswomen is less dominating. The women that he is involved with oftenplay leading roles and he frequently depends on them to rescue himfrom trouble. Although this attitude is evident in his various rela-tionships, it does not prevent Sayf from steering clear of new invol-vement.

H. amza16

Sırat H. amza al-Bahlawan is of a different nature from the precedingnarratives. Unlike ‘Antar’s liaisons, all of H. amza’s affairs withwomen are sanctioned by marriage. Noteworthy in this narrativecycle is the fact that, in all the hero’s relationships with women, it isthe woman who takes the first step in the affair and, often, it is thewomen who propose marriage. As already mentioned, this epic issometimes quite explicit in its views on the role of women. A good

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example may be found in the discussion between H. amza and hisson, al-Yunanı, about the behaviour considered appropriate for al-Yunanı’s wife, T. urban, after she killed her arch-enemy. H. amza hada serious talk with her:17 now that she has attained her goal, sheought to give up fighting ‘‘for we do not like it said that we seek helpfrom our women nor is there any need to do so for we are allknights and warriors and perfectly able to defend ourselves’’. T. urbanpromises to accede to his request. H. amza also tells his son that, fromnow on, he should no longer allow his wife to go out into battle. Sheshould stay in the women’s quarters just like other women. ‘‘I obeyyour command,’’ says al-Yunanı, ‘‘but I do not want to go againsther wishes by doing one of the things you ask. For she is a noblelady, prudent, well-bred, intrepid and wise. Women like her do nothave a master, but are their own mistress (la yumlaku bal yamliku).’’

A comment about the dating of Sırat H. amza should be made here,as it is relevant to the possible use of these texts as sources for socialhistory. The composition of the Arabic H. amza is usually placed inMamluk Cairo, but much is still unclear about the existence of dif-ferent versions. It is also obvious that the storytellers were in thehabit of ‘‘updating’’ their material. In the printed editions, whichapparently are all based on the same manuscript, the impression of agirl on the hero’s mind is described as being ‘‘photographic’’ ( futugh-rafı ). Extensive study of the manuscripts is needed to discover theimportance of this influence. Such study will also shed light on thepresence of certain Christian elements in the story such as the quo-tation of Genesis 1:2, which describes marriage in terms of ‘‘holymatrimony’’ and ‘‘they became one flesh; what God has joined, letno man put asunder.’’18 The present state of research only allowsone to say that the text, as found in the printed versions, dates backat its earliest to the 19th century.

* * *

Even more than the epics discussed above, Sırat H. amza reflects whatso often happens in love affairs. Women, as well as men, may startout full of idealism about true love, but their ideals soon tend tobecome frayed. Men are unable to resist the attractions of otherwomen and women turn out to be less immune to loneliness andjealousy than they had expected to be.

All these things come to the fore in H. amza: polygamy and, moregenerally speaking, the promiscuity of men is often brought intofocus in this epic. The theme is so prominent in H. amza that this


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heroic cycle might be characterised as an epic of true love whichends with the happy reunion of a couple that had become estrangedon account of the less than flawless moral behaviour of one of thepartners.

There are different attitudes towards polygamy in this story asclearly seen in the behaviour of two of the leading ladies. Both aremarried to H. amza. One of them, Asmabarı, is a female jinn whoforces H. amza into marriage and who does not bother to hide herjealousy of his other wives. In trying to get what she wants, Asma-barı does not hesitate in her scheming nor in her nagging of H. amza.The second lady is H. amza’s beloved Mihrdukar who is loving,patient and forbearing and who wins him exclusively for herself inthe end (with the obvious blessing of the story’s author).

The central theme of the epic—the confirmation of Arab versusPersian power—is expressed in the trials of love between H. amza,the Arab prince and Mihrdukar, the daughter of the fire-worship-ping Persian king, Khusrau (Kisra) Anushirwan. Their love startswhen H. amza visits the court of Anushirwan in Teheran (sic). Mihr-dukar, famed for her beauty and not yet fourteen (a familiar theme)writes H. amza a letter expressing her interest in meeting him.19

When, not long after, he sees her at her window,20 he is irretrievablylost to her charms. After having won a number of dangerous con-tests in order to prove his martial prowess, H. amza asks Khusrau forMihrdukar’s hand (at her instigation). The king had agreed to grantH. amza any requests that he may desire and, thus, cannot refuse, buta jealous vizier urges Khusrau to send H. amza away on a series ofdangerous quests in the hope that he may be killed. Mihrdukar,whilst hating her father, has no choice but to stay home, writingletters, waiting and worrying not only about her lover’s safety butalso about the temptations that may come his way.

Thus, a long period of waiting begins for the lovers while theirwedding is postponed again and again because of intervening events.Mihrdukar’s lot, however, is considerably harder than that ofH. amza since time and again he runs into beautiful princesses eagerto marry him, a temptation that he cannot always resist. He hadeven foreseen such a development and discussed it in his correspon-dence with Mihrdukar. Upon reading one of her letters,21 he realisesthat ‘‘the feelings of women are more subtle than those of men, theirhearts more inclined to keep and cherish their love, their mindsmore inclined to truthfulness; God has created them so that if theyhave decided to be true, they can do so better than any man’’. Aftersome thought, he answers her, confirming his love and complaining

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about her father’s efforts to prevent their marriage, saying that it isher love and endurance that gives him strength to endure all thosehardships. H. amza promises Mihrdukar that even if he takes anotherwife, she will always come first. Meanwhile, the two cannot meetbefore it is clear that her father will actually allow their wedding totake place.

H. amza’s cautious reply turns out to be appropriate. Not longafterwards, he becomes involved with the beautiful and sophisticateddaughter of the Greek king, Ast.un, whom he visits in the course ofhis expedition to Constantinople.22 Her name is Zahrban. She fallsin love with H. amza, but he hesitates because of Mihrdukar. Hisinseparable companion, the wily ‘Umar, encourages him, saying thatthis will help him to forget Mihrdukar. H. amza’s love for the Persianprincess is not much appreciated by his Arab companions. That willnever happen, says H. amza, but he agrees to receive Zahrban.Zahrban is cautious because she knows that, unlike the Greeks, theArabs do not approve of women ‘‘running after the men theylove’’.23 H. amza says that he has realised that she is in love with himand he would respond to her love were it not for Mihrdukar.Zahrban, however, says that she has no objection to marrying himeven if she takes second place to Mihrdukar because she knows thathe will always treat her well and ‘‘being a servant to you will be likebeing a mistress with somebody else’’.24 H. amza then asks Zahrban’sfather for her hand, confessing to him that he had never thought itpossible that he would fall in love because his heart was bound toMihrdukar.25

The marriage takes place and, in due time, Zahrban will becomethe mother of H. amza’s son, ‘Umar al-Yunanı, whose respectfultreatment of his valiant and independent wife, T. urban, will, in duecourse, bear witness to the traces of his Greek upbringing (seeabove).

Yet, H. amza cannot be unequivocally happy with Zahrban eventhough he loves her. Thoughts of Mihrdukar and her grief uponhearing about his marriage with Zahrban keep troubling him, eventhough he tries to suppress them: ‘‘Jealousy will have her in his gripno matter how excellent and praiseworthy her ways. For the hearthas its own claims in these matters.’’26

Soon afterwards, H. amza and his band must continue theirexploits whereupon he decides to send Zahrban, who is devastated,back to her people.27 She makes him promise not to forget her,which he readily promises. It will be a long time before they meetagain. When, many years later, Zahrban and her father bring his


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grown-up son to him,28 the sight of Zahrban brings tears to H. amza’seyes and his old love for her makes him rush over to talk with her.Zahrban tells H. amza how she has raised their son and how she haskept track of his exploits during all those years of separation. H. amzathen takes Zahrban over to meet his other wife Mihrdukar and fes-tivities are organised for the guests. No further role is played byZahrban in the sequel of the story.

But even before Zahrban is sent away, another woman enters thescene. This is Maryam, a princess who saves the lives of the Arabswhen they are trapped by her father Qays.ar (Caesar) in a bathhousewhich is intended to collapse. Maryam has seen H. amza29 and hasfallen in love with him. After she had helped the Arabs escape fromthe death trap, H. amza kills her father.30 Maryam expects H. amza’svisit in her palace, but when H. amza does not appear, she goes to seehim, beautifully dressed with her head covered by a veil of black silk.She confesses her love to ‘Umar, H. amza’s companion, and promiseshim money if he can persuade H. amza to marry her. ‘Umar consentsand talks to H. amza, referring, among other things, to the sacrificesthat Maryam had made for their sake. H. amza is reluctant tobecome involved with yet another girl: ‘‘I cannot go and marry awoman in every town I enter for, with the passing of days, I will endup with a large number of wives.’’31 Nevertheless, ‘Umar sees noobjection. Finally, H. amza gives in and Maryam is allowed to enter.H. amza promises to marry her, saying that he owes his life to her.32

But he must make something clear to her first: he is engaged toMihrdukar, on whose account he must suffer many hardships andshe will always come first with him. There is also his wife Zahrbanwho is the second woman in his life. Maryam will thus be third.Does that not worry her? H. amza goes on to say, however, that thesethings happened before Maryam appeared on the scene. Jealousy,Maryam answers, is totally alien to her; she just wants H. amza tomarry her because nobody else is worthy of her. He can considerher his servant in every respect. Christians, Maryam says, do onlymarry once and, for that reason, cannot easily accept sharing theirspouses. But, Maryam knows that it is different with Arabs and sheis quite prepared to adapt to their customs, all the more so since, asa Christian woman, she has been taught to obey her husband.Maryam then leaves, after having received H. amza’s promise that thewedding will soon take place which, however, is delayed because of‘Umar. Soon after the wedding, H. amza has to depart, leavingMaryam behind to reign as her father’s successor.33

It is not long before H. amza falls in love again. This time, it is

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Salwa, the beautiful sister of a horseman who has come to servehim. Salwa is quite a spirited girl: she even manages to capture‘Umar who has sneaked into her house although ‘Umar quickly freeshimself again and carries her off in a sack. H. amza agrees to marrySalwa, but she stipulates that she will only be married in Mada’in atthe same time that he marries Mihrdukar. Until then, she will justbe his companion. He agrees, promising Salwa that she will beallowed to accompany him and to join him in battles as she is quiteaccomplished in the use of arms.

H. amza tosses sleeplessly about in his bed, worrying about his longseparation from Mihrdukar and about his marriages to Zahrban andMaryam, girls to whom he feels very much attracted.34 God mayhave had a hidden purpose in letting him marry these women,which he thinks will be a valid excuse in the eyes of his beloved.And then there is Salwa who accompanies him, cheering him upand consoling him—so unlike Mihrdukar who just frets and yearnsfor her beloved!35 H. amza and Mihrdukar, separated by a long dis-tance, both recite a poem about their separation.

When her father starts to make plans to marry her to the trea-cherous Zubın, Mihrdukar decides to flee. She arrives in H. amza’scamp just in time to nurse him back to health after he has beenseverely wounded.36 She is so overcome by her immense love forhim that she faints and is put to bed by H. amza who regards her,lying there with compassion. Seeing the havoc that love has wroughtupon Mihrdukar, H. amza would gladly marry her forthwith to putan end to her suffering.37 But, the time has not yet come. Theirtrials are not at an end. H. amza is fated to spend three more yearsaway from Mihrdukar and yet another marriage will take placebefore he finally marries her.

This next marriage is one into which H. amza enters unwillingly.The woman involved is not human but, rather, a female jinn whohas fallen in love with him. Her name is Asmabarı (derived from thePersian, Asma Perı, the Fairy Asma). She offers to marry H. amzaand he declares himself willing to do so in Mecca, together withMihrdukar.38 Asmabarı, however, does not want to wait and, finally,H. amza has to give in because he depends on her to escape from themountain Qaf, the land of the jinn where the adventure which led totheir meeting had brought him. He makes it a condition that shewill send him home after fifteen days.39 The miraculous visit of hisfriend, ‘Umar, offers him an opportunity to send a letter of apologyto Mihrdukar.40

Of course, Asmabarı does not keep her promise. She keeps him


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with her month after month until H. amza is so fed up that hedeparts on foot even though he knows that it will take him years toget home.41 Asmabarı keeps pestering him along the way, urginghim to return to her and the daughter who has been born to themin the meantime. Thus, H. amza stays away a long time and Mihrdu-kar is convinced that Asmabarı will never allow him to return to her.

Finally, H. amza returns, after having won a victory over the Per-sians. His wedding to Mihrdukar and Salwa is prepared. Mihrdukaris very optimistic. She wants ‘‘to bury the past’’42 and looks forwardto a life of happiness even though she will have to manage withoutthe support of her female relatives. She does not worry aboutH. amza’s other women, being sure that ‘‘even if H. amza took a thou-sand wives, he would not prefer any one of them to her’’.43

Salwa, however, has her doubts. She resents the presence ofMihrdukar44 and is afraid that H. amza will visit her only from timeto time while he will never pass a night without visiting Mihrdukar.Salwa decides that she will demand to be sent home if H. amza doespay more attention to Mihrdukar than to her. The wedding nightbrings undiluted bliss for both women45 and, afterwards, Salwa triesher utmost ‘‘to divide the amır equally between them’’. She does notsucceed and her fears turn out to be well-founded. H. amza is totallywrapped up in his love for Mihrdukar and visits Salwa only once aweek. Even though she is pregnant, she insists on going back to herfather. H. amza consents, although he sheds tears on their parting.46

Later on, he visits her in Mecca47 and spends the night with her.This will be their last meeting for, not long after, Salwa—still preg-nant—is abducted48 and forced to accept the marriage proposal ofanother man. She says that the wedding has to be postponed untilafter the birth of her baby. When her son is born, she puts him outto sea in a chest after forty days (by that time, he already looks like athree year old), praying to God to let him live and bring him back tohis father. Then, she kills her suitor and herself.

Mihrdukar’s outlook on marriage remains positive. When hercousin, T. urban, is considering marrying H. amza’s son, al-Yunanı,Mihrdukar extols the virtues of Arab husbands. Thanks to their reli-gion (i.e. monotheism, not yet Islam), they treat their women withrespect and protect them against harm unlike the Persians who maytreat them with respect but may also treat them as complete stran-gers, easily replacing them with others.49

Some time later, Mihrdukar gives birth to a son.50 H. amza, who isdelighted, accords her the honour of naming the boy.

Then, Asmabarı, the jinn wife, turns up again,51 literally dropping

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out of the sky. She wants him to come back to her for a couple ofdays so that she may have her share of him just like his other wives.He tries to excuse himself, but to no avail: Asmabarı takes him homewith her, promising to let him go after seven days. Of course, shekeeps extending this period week after week, giving various excusessuch as that their daughter, Quraysha, is eager to keep him with hersomewhat longer.52 H. amza is miserable since he is sure that theArabs are in trouble and need him. His daughter finds him weepingand asks whether his tears are because her mother is away for theday. Upon hearing the real reason, Quraysha decides to oppose hermother and take H. amza to a place from where he can easily reachhis own country. Then, she goes home to confront her mother whois furious. ‘‘If you cannot bear to part from him,’’ says Quraysha,‘‘you can go and live with him as one wife among his other wives.’’‘‘I cannot bear to see him with others,’’ answers her mother. ‘‘Howcan I agree to be with Mihrdukar while he loves her better thanme?’’ She threatens to go and fetch H. amza back. Quraysha, who, asopposed to her mother, is the epitome of virtuous womanhood,insists that she will always take H. amza back to where he belongs.Asmabarı sees that it is no use trying to convince her daughter and,for the moment, gives up.53

Meanwhile, H. amza finds himself in strange lands where he soonhas the opportunity to take symbolic revenge on Asmabarı. Heencounters a man who is pursued by a female jinn who wants tomarry him54 and, this time, showing his supremacy over a jinnıya,H. amza kills her. Subsequently, he becomes involved with anothergirl,55 Law‘a al-Qulub, whom he marries after he has helped herfather subdue rebellious tribes.56 Law‘a had fallen in love withH. amza simply on account of his reputation and had her own por-trait displayed everywhere in the land in the hope that H. amzawould see it and come to her. When there is talk of marriagebetween them, H. amza promises to wed her and take her away to hispeople where she will be ‘‘the wife of their amır’’. No mention ismade at all of the other women in H. amza’s life.

Law‘a conceives a son. Soon afterwards, together with her femaleservant, Fanus, with whom H. amza’s companion, ‘Umar, has fallenin love, Law‘a is abducted by enemies. H. amza is very upset, all themore so when he hears that, back home, his wife Mihrdukar, hisdaughter-in-law, T. urban, and their sons have been abducted by thePersians (they will later be rescued by ‘Umar).57

Asmabarı now re-enters the scene in a new role, namely, as theaccidental rescuer of H. amza’s wives. Asmabarı just happened to fly


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by, followed by her daughter Quraysha (who is keeping a close eyeon Asmabarı in case she tries to abduct H. amza again), when Law‘aand Fanus were abducted in a ship. When she saw them crying, sheswooped down and picked them up, only to find herself face-to-facewith yet another rival wife.58 Asmabarı becomes incensed. A con-versation between mother and daughter follows in which Qurayshaagain voices traditional views on the attitude of wives:

Turning towards her daughter, Asmabarı says: ‘‘What do youthink of your father, you who chide me? He marries wherever hegoes, stays with his women for months [and] fights wars on theiraccount whilst he only stays with me unwillingly, forced by trickery.I have a good mind to kill these two girls and kill all his women sothat he has no other wife left but me! My father [Quraysha answers]is free to do as he wants and you cannot force him against his will. Iwill not let you lay a hand on this girl who is my aunt (i.e. step-mother), the wife of my father. To kill her would make my fathervery angry. Go away and leave her and her companion alone!’’59

Quraysha takes the two girls to a place from where they can go backto their own country and then joins her mother to return home withher.

Of course, it is not only H. amza who undertakes multiple marry-ing; the same can be said of many of the heroes. One of his pala-dins, for instance, finds himself in a situation where he is coveted bythe three daughters of three enemy (Turkmen) kings. Each daughterplans to get the paladin for herself but, in the end, he marries allthree of them.60 No misgivings on their part are reported; the sameis seen in the various marriages of Rustam, one of H. amza’s sons.

Clearly, the pattern is that multiple marriages or love affairs areonly presented as problematic when a significant leading lady isinvolved. The love affair between H. amza and Mihrdukar is soimportant that side affairs cannot be ignored. Something similar canbe observed in the case of H. amza’s (Greek) son, al-Yunanı, and hiswife, T. urban. Theirs is a moving love affair and al-Yunanı showsher the utmost respect. The story also involves his harbouringdoubts about giving in to his feelings for other women61 as in thecase of Hudla, leader of a Kurdish tribe, who wants to marry him,after having nursed him for six months after he was wounded.62

T. urban, he fears, will be painfully vexed and this stops al-Yunanıfrom showing his attraction to Hudla by any word or gesture.Hudla, who has great perspicacity, knows exactly what is the matterwith him and secretly grieves that another woman has preceded her.She hopes that time will be on her side and will eventually make her

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the first of his wives. Hudla and al-Yunanı are very close and feelcomfortable in each other’s company. Finally, he gives in andmarries Hudla. After a few days, however, he declares that this hasto end: worry about his people incites him to depart.

Mihrdukar’s idealistic outlook on marriage to the much-marryingH. amza gradually becomes frayed. Their relationship is not asuntroubled as it used to be; H. amza even bitterly remarks that hemight as well send her back to her father63 so that her troubles maybe over. Mihrdukar hides her shock and manages to keep smiling,expressing her conviction that ‘‘he would rather see the world awasteland, the earth an empty desert and ‘the spirit of God hoveringover the waters’ (Genesis I:2) than to see her far away from him’’.She ends the painful conversation and leaves the room, wonderingwhether H. amza, after all, is really all that much different from othermen who start to dislike their wives after prolonged marriage, espe-cially if they do not bear sons.

As time proceeds, her sadness deepens. When H. amza is seriouslywounded, Mihrdukar never leaves his side even though his otherwives come daily to visit him.64 It is in her nature to remain lovingand faithful and never to complain about the comfort and luxurythat she has given up for H. amza’s sake in order to lead the hard lifeof an Arab wife. She has to bear with occasional coldness and indif-ference on his part as well as with the fact that ‘‘every time he sees abeautiful girl, he feels attracted to her and seeks to marry her. Hedoes this without paying attention to her feelings or heeding herfondness and love although he, as a powerful amır of manly virtue,courage and good manners ought never to look at another womanbut her or feel inclined to another than her so that he would prop-erly value her love.’’65 Yet, Mihrdukar knows that Arabs have a dif-ferent outlook on these matters and do not consider polygamyincompatible with manly virtue. Also, God had intended H. amza tohave many sons who could support and help him. When H. amzatook other wives and begat other sons, she always used to keep inmind ‘‘that she had with him the unique tie which a girl expects inher life, hoping afterwards to live in peace and happiness, safelyembedded in the support of a companion who shared her hardships,pleasures and misery and took part in her joys and grief ’’. Thus, shemanaged to keep herself going and whenever H. amza married a newgirl, Mihrdukar used to tell herself that circumstances had forcedhim to do so. She tries to be happy with the kind of love thatH. amza is able to give her and to convince herself that his occasionalharsh words to her are only spoken in anger.66


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Some time later, H. amza, wounded in battle, is again taken awayby the indefatigable Asmabarı67 to the Mountain Qaf where shetakes care of his medical treatment. Quraysha, their daughter, is alsopresent. The sharp edges of H. amza’s relationship with Asmabarı areapparently wearing off since when he wants to leave, Asmabarıcomplains that he does not even seem prepared to spend a fortnightwith her. H. amza complies with her wish. At the end of two weeks,Asmabarı brings H. amza back at his request, even helping him tofind his horse.68

Then, a terrible event happens which brings matters betweenH. amza and Mihrdukar to a head. Their son Qabbat. is killed inbattle.69 Mihrdukar is prostrate with grief and bitterly reproachesH. amza for Qabbat. ’s death. H. amza also deeply mourns their lossand, in his turn, accuses Mihrdukar and her father of having causedtheir son’s death. For in her motherly concern and protectiveness,she had not allowed Qabbat. to learn the art of war. This made himhighly vulnerable. Mihrdukar loses all restraint, and all the accumu-lated bitterness of the preceding years now erupts. She accepts noresponsibility for Qabbat.’s death—if she had stayed with her father,all this would not have happened to her. She has given up every-thing for H. amza, hoping that he would value her, but now shewould rather be dead. The underlying reason for her anger, explainsthe story, lies in his many marriages: ‘‘for it is not unknown that thismakes women angry and causes them to be bitter. Nothing is worsefor them than seeing a rival with their husbands for they are just likemen. As a sensitive and valiant husband is jealous of his wife’s even-tual suitors, a clever and worldly-wise wife is jealous of her hus-band’s. How angry she gets when she has to share him with anotherwoman depends on how attached she is to him and how stupid sheis.’’ Estrangement may get even more serious, the storyteller says,when a couple does not have children for they strengthen the bondbetween spouses.70

H. amza and Mihrdukar, thus, are unable to share their grief andconsole each other. H. amza, who has also recently lost two othersons,71 expresses his feelings by reciting a long poem at the grave-side. He is followed by ‘Umar while Mihrdukar is consoled by herstepson, Rustam, who is very fond of her. Rustam decides that ifH. amza goes through with his plan to send Mihrdukar back to herfather, he will also take his mother (H. amza’s wife, Maryam, who isCaesar’s daughter) and companions back to their own country.72

H. amza lies awake at night, thinking about Mihrdukar’s words, buthis mental state is such that he is not prepared to make allowances

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for the terrible grief that has caused her to say these harsh words.He sticks with his decision that she must go home to her father.

As for Mihrdukar, the story continues,73 she knows that H. amzanever goes back on his word. She has done her utmost all theseyears to be a good wife to him, avoiding everything that might causehim displeasure or that might create the impression that her lovehad waned. For had she been as weak in following her inclinationsas he and had shown as little respect for the holy bonds (al-rawabit.al-muqaddasa) that unite husband and wife, their relationship wouldnot have lasted as long as it did.

In any case, Mihrdukar does not care about life any longer sincethe loss of her son. She remains, however, painfully conscious of herhonour.74 She regrets her restraint and the fact that she had spokento H. amza as she did in front of his paladins for she does not like theidea of being talked about in public except in positive terms. Shealso hates the idea of being sent home to her father in disgrace.

In the morning, ‘Umar tries to persuade H. amza not to gothrough with his decision.75 His paladins certainly will not like itsince she has done nothing wrong and, moreover, her father is likelyto kill her. H. amza is, however, adamant and ‘Umar secretly decidesto take Mihrdukar elsewhere. (The close friendship and intimacybetween ‘Umar and Mihrdukar is a noteworthy aspect of the story.)‘Umar goes to inform her about H. amza’s order and Mihrdukarbewails her husband’s harshness and injustice.

Her stepson, Rustam, also goes and pleads Mihrdukar’s case withH. amza,76 saying what a good woman she is. This fact is amply illu-strated by the love that Mihrdukar feels for her stepson, ‘‘for it veryrarely happens that a wife loves the sons of her co-wives’’. Rustamalso threatens H. amza with his own departure and that of many ofhis faithful Arabs. All this is, however, to no avail. H. amza remarksthat a husband is free to do as he likes with his wife, ‘‘to let her liveor make her die’’ and that his orders have to be carried out.

Mihrdukar tries to persuade Rustam not to carry out his threat,because she does not want anything bad to happen to the Arabs.‘Umar will take her to Aleppo, she says, and there she will wait forthem. Thus, she parts from Rustam, after a long and emotional con-versation.77

H. amza thinks that Mihrdukar has been taken to her father. It isnot long before he starts to regret his harshness and injustice.78

H. amza’s repentance makes him turn away from worldly pleasuresand interest in warfare; he longs for peace with the Persian king. Hesoon gets to the point where he bitterly reproaches ‘Umar for having


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carried out his order to take Mihrdukar back to her father. With allthe risks involved, ‘Umar tells him that she is in Aleppo. He imme-diately departs to fetch her back before anything may happen toher. It is too late, however; H. amza finds her dying.79 She has takenpoison in order to avoid being taken back to her father by the Per-sians. Her last words to him are words of love and the hope of areunion after death. H. amza is beside himself with grief. When hecomes to his senses after two days,80 H. amza finally dares to look athis dead wife and is surprised to find her so changed that he doesnot recognise her any more. It must be the effect of death, he con-cludes.

H. amza decides to stay at Mihrdukar’s tomb until he dies and canbe buried beside her.81 He refuses to leave, even when Mihrdukarappears in a vision and tells him to take up his life again. Finally, heis drugged and abducted by the Persians.82 He is saved by, amongothers, another son of his who turns up, Badı‘ al-Zaman, the son ofSalwa who, unlike Mihrdukar, was not prepared to accept a back-ground role in a polygamous marriage. H. amza now hears for thefirst time about Salwa’s sad fate and weeps.83

After Mihrdukar’s death, H. amza completely loses his interest inwomen. Not unexpectedly, the only one of his wives whom we hearprotesting is Asmabarı. As usual, she appears out of the blue andhelps the Arabs gain a victory.84 At H. amza’s request, Asmabarı goesto help ‘Umar bury the dead and tries to enlist his help in gettingH. amza to sleep with her. ‘Umar tells her that H. amza has notthought of women at all since Mihrdukar died. Asmabarı thencomes with the amazing news that Mihrdukar is not dead at all andthat she, Asmabarı, had saved her life at the last minute. She hadcarried her off and substituted, in her place, the corpse of a womanliving nearby whom she had quickly strangled for the purpose andhad dressed in Mihrdukar’s clothes.85 She then brought Mihrdukarto a doctor who treated her and left her with this venerable shaykh.

This amazing story turns out to be true although it will take awhile before H. amza hears about it. The tale slowly builds up to theirreunion by putting in an episode featuring a young man who tellsH. amza that he knew him more than fifty years ago when he wascourting Mihrdukar in Mada’in.86 (This young man later turns outto be Mihrdukar.87) At last, H. amza hears that his wife is still alive.When he is finally allowed to meet her, she waits for him dressed inthe red silk robe that she wore when he first saw her. H. amza doesnot fail to interpret this gesture as it is to be meant.88 Before he saysanything else, he asks for her forgiveness. They assure each other of

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their everlasting love and after their reconciliation with the Persianking (no longer Mihrdukar’s father, but now her brother) they returntogether to Mecca.89 Asmabarı, in spite of her jealousy, is respon-sible for this happy end. She does not appear again in the storyexcept once when she suggests that the Arabs are under her con-tinuing protection: the marid who serves the villain, Bakhtiyar, doesnot dare to harm the Arabs for fear of Asmabarı.

Thus, the story comes to a conclusion. On the basis of the mate-rial presented, a few points may be noted. First, there is a possibleChristian bias in this version of the narrative. Research into theentire textual history of the H. amza stories will show whether this isan incidental phenomenon in this particular version.90 Second, theanonymous storyteller manages to use familiar stereotyped narrativematerial to voice his personal opinions about married relationships.Highlighted aspects include the virtuous behaviour of both partners,the emotional vulnerability of the female partner and the partners’mutual responsibility. More research into the textual tradition isneeded in order to date these views.

That the Sırat H. amza gravitates towards traditional views on therole of women has already been shown in earlier work on the treat-ment of the ‘‘warrior women’’ motif in H. amza.91 The story’s endbrings this out very clearly. It is the faithful and forbearing wife whofinally triumphs and who has her husband all to herself. This con-clusion clearly illustrates the kind of female behaviour which meetswith the storyteller’s approval. It is completely in line with what hasbeen expressed all along in the story: patience and virtue are thebest attributes for a wife. Quraysha, the daughter of H. amza and therebellious Asmabarı, explicitly voices those views. Bossiness andthe refusal to take a subordinate position do not pay off in the longrun. The cases of Asmabarı and Salwa are clear demonstrations ofthis. The husband himself must also try to rein in his impulses out ofrespect for his wife. If he does not manage to do so, time and ageingare likely to do it for him, leaving him chastened. In this way, thefaithful wife will reap her reward in the end.

All this brings to mind the remarks made by one of Nancy Mit-ford’s characters in The Blessing: ‘‘I had a cousin, a terrible Don Juan,whose wife retrieved him, really, with her knitting. She sat througheverything with this eternal ball of wool and click of needles—howwe used to mock at her for it. But it was not stupid. In the end itbecame a symbol to him I think, a symbol of home life, and he soturned to her again that when they were old he seemed never tohave cared for anybody else.’’92


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Notes

1 London, 1994.2 See, for instance: Sırat al-amıra Dhat al-Himma wa-waladi-ha ‘Abd al-

Wahhab wa-l-amır Abu Muh. ammad al-Bat.t.al wa-‘Uqba shaykh al-d. alal wa-Shumadris al-muh. tal, Cairo n. d., 7 vols., 70 parts, part XXXVI, 37.

3 Sırat faris al-Yaman al-malik Sayf ibn Dhı Yazan al-bat.al al-karrar wa-l-farisal-mighwar S. ah. ib al-bat.sh wa-l-iqtidar al-ma‘ruf bi-l-ghazawat al-mashhura,Cairo, Maktabat wa-mat.ba‘at al-mashhad al-H. usaynı, n. d., 4 vols.

4 On this affair, see Remke Kruk, ‘‘Clipped Wings: Medieval ArabicAdaptations of the Amazon Myth’’, Harvard Middle Eastern and IslamicReview I, 2, November 1994, 132–151.

5 Sırat al-amıra Dhat al-Himma, part XXIII, 30–31.6 M. C. Lyons, The Arabian Epic. Heroic and Oral Storytelling, vol. I: Intro-

duction, vol. II: Analysis, vol III: Texts, Cambridge, 1995.7 Remke Kruk, ‘‘Back to the Boudoir: Arabic Versions of the Sirat al-

amır H. amza, Warrior Princesses, and the Sıra’s Literary Unity’’ in LudoJongen and Sjaak Onderdelinden (eds), ‘‘Der muoz mir suezer wortejehen’’, Liber amicorum fur Norbert Voorwinden, Amsterdam-Atlanta(Georgia, U.S.A.), 1997, 129–148. Amsterdamer Beitrage zur alterenGermanistik, Band 48—1997.

8 M. C. Lyons, Epic, vol. III, synopsis of Sırat ‘Antar, episode 40.9 Ibid., III, ‘Antar, ep. 44.

10 Ibid., III, ‘Antar, ep. 56.11 Ibid., III, ‘Antar, ep. 50.12 Ibid., III, ‘Antar, ep. 56.13 Ibid., III, ‘Antar, ep. 64.14 Ibid., III, Sayf, ep. 26.15 Ibid., III, Sayf, ep. 91.16 The edition of the Sırat H. amza used here is Sırat al-amır H. amza al-Bahla-

wan al-ma‘ruf bi-H. amzat al-‘Arab, Cairo, Maktabat wa-mat.ba‘at al-mashhad al-H. usaynı, n. d., 4 vols. For a detailed outline of the wholestory see Lyons, Epic. For other details, see Ph. S. van Ronkel, DeRoman van Amir Hamzah, Leiden, 1895; G. E. Meredith-Owens,‘‘H. amza b. ‘Abd al-Mut.t.alib’’, E.I.2, III, 152–154; Ulrich Marzolph,‘‘H. amza-Name’’, Enzyklopadie des Marchens, Band 6, Berlin-New York1990, 430–436 and Remke Kruk, ‘‘Back to the Boudoir’’.

17 H. amza, II, 258.18 Ibid., III, 229.19 Ibid., I, 72–75.20 Ibid., I, 78.21 Ibid., I, 157.

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22 Ibid., I, 180–188.23 Ibid., I, 185.24 Ibid., I, 186.25 Ibid., I, 187.26 Ibid., I, 189.27 Ibid., I, 205.28 Ibid., II, 114–115.29 Ibid., I, 193.30 Ibid., I, 197.31 Ibid., I, 199.32 Ibid., I, 20.33 Ibid., I, 205.34 Ibid., I, 234.35 Ibid., I, 235.36 Ibid., I, 281.37 Ibid., I, 284.38 Ibid., II, 29.39 Ibid., II, 41–42.40 Ibid., II, 46.41 Ibid., II, 49.42 Ibid., II, 84.43 Ibid., II, 85.44 Idem.45 Ibid., II, 91.46 Ibid., II, 92.47 Ibid., II, 146.48 Ibid., III, 144.49 Ibid., II, 129.50 Ibid., II, 138.51 Ibid., II, 148.52 Ibid., II, 154–155.53 Ibid., II, 156.54 Ibid., II, 159.55 Ibid., II, 158.56 Ibid., II, 167.57 Ibid., II, 178.58 Ibid., II, 179.59 Ibid., II, 180.60 Ibid., II, 242.61 Ibid., II, 203.62 Ibid., II, 105.63 Ibid., II, 224.


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64 Ibid., II, 266.65 Ibid., II, 267.66 Ibid., II, 268.67 Ibid., III, 55.68 Ibid., III, 58.69 Ibid., III, 81.70 Ibid., III, 85.71 Ibid., III, 73.72 Ibid., III, 89.73 Ibid., III, 90.74 Idem.75 Ibid., III, 91.76 Ibid., III, 92.77 Ibid., III, 93.78 Ibid., III, 94.79 Ibid., III, 101.80 Ibid., III, 10.81 Ibid., III, 104.82 Ibid., III, 108.83 Ibid., III, 153.84 Ibid., III, 270.85 Ibid., III, 271.86 Ibid., IV, 118.87 Ibid., IV, 273.88 Ibid., IV, 198.89 Ibid., IV, 311.90 All the available printed editions go back to the same manuscript

version which contains elements dating it to the nineteenth century:see Remke Kruk, ‘‘Back to the Boudoir’’.

91 Idem.92 Nancy Mitford, The Blessing, London, 1976 (originally published 1951),

209.

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CHAPTER 2

Women in Medieval Classical

Arabic Poetry

Teresa Garulo

One of the most famous definitions of poetry to be provided bymedieval Arab literary critics is the one recorded by Ibn Qutayba inthe ‘Uyun al-akhbar:

Poetry is the mine of knowledge of the Arabs and the book of their wisdom,the archives of their history, the reservoir of their epic days, the wall thatdefends their exploits, the impassable trench that preserves their glories, theimpartial witness for the day of judgement.1

Although, as Vicente Cantarino has pointed out,2 Ibn Qutayba wasreferring almost exclusively to poetry from the pre-Islamic periodand the early years of Islam—poetry that reflected the values oftribal society and spoke of the conflicts and rivalry between Arabtribes—the fact that this particular definition or other very similardefinitions were constantly repeated down through the Middle Agesin works such as Ibn Rashıq al-Qayrawanı’s ‘Umda, Ibn Khaldun’sMuqaddima or al-Suyut.ı’s Muzhir has created the belief that Arabicpoems have documentary value.3 Hence, the orientation of thisresearch whose intended objective is, in part, to examine medievalclassical Arabic poetry as a source for the history of the Arabwoman.4

The present study will focus on poetry that is written or composedin classical Arabic, thereby excluding areas that might, in fact, proveto be far more fruitful such as literary prose which, as a source forthe history of women, may, nevertheless, present certain problemsbeyond the scope of this research. The first problem concerns

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selecting the type of work to be considered. Adab prose, for example,is a vast dumping ground that contains everything, but always inutter disorder. Literary genres, as they are generally understood inWestern literature, are completely overwhelmed by this hodgepodgeof verse and prose, quotations from the Quran and h. adıth, historicaland pseudo-historical anecdotes and stories (sometimes very brief) ofall sorts: tales of love, witty rejoinders, satirical or apologetic texts,etc. Virtually all medieval Arabic prose, with the exception ofchronicles and biographical dictionaries—both of which also includeanecdotes—fall within the heading of adab. Works with a clearlynarrative purpose such as the maqamat, might make up a separatemore manageable group, but everything that remained would stilldefy neat definition. In the works of adab that have an encyclopediccharacter such as Ibn Qutayba’s ‘Uyun al-akhbar, the subject ofwomen tends to be relegated to the end; in this case, it is found inbook 10 (vol. 4, 1147), following the section that deals with food.This placement of the chapter/book on women precisely at the endof the work is symptomatic of the hierarchy which clearly reflects theposition of women within society. It is, moreover, the usual patternfor organising topics and materials, even in biographical dictionaries,beginning with al-T. abaqat al-Kubra by Ibn Sa‘d (d. 230/845). It canalso be found in works which are basically collections of stories suchas Kitab al-adhkiya’ by Ibn al-Jawzı (d. 597/1200) in which thechapter on the wit of women (chapter 31) precedes the book’s finaltwo chapters—chapters which record anecdotes about the intelli-gence of animals. The prose works which, at first glance, wouldappear to be most relevant for the history of women are, logicallyenough, those that fall within the category of akhbar al-nisa’; yet,there are very few works indeed that bear this title.5 In the case ofAkhbar al-nisa’ by Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyya (d. 751/1350), a book thatis centred in a general way on the subject of women and theirnature, the author, under the pretext of illustrating his theme, bringstogether a large number of stories about love or those related to loveand marriage, the areas where the male and female worlds comeinto closest contact. This leads us to the treatises on love, a genrethat was widely cultivated among the Arabs. Most such works fre-quently contain large collections of love stories in which the femalecharacters occasionally achieve a certain degree of prominence. Ifused properly as sources, these works could conceivably provide afair amount of information on the life of women and, sometimes, ontheir sentiments and ways of expressing such sentiments. Oneexample is The Dove’s Neck Ring by Ibn H. azm of Cordoba.6


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Limiting the investigation to poetry in classical Arabic also meansexcluding the interesting area of the zajals composed by IbnQuzman (d. 555/1160) in which many more types of female char-acters are depicted than those appearing in poems in classicalArabic. Colloquial Arabic, with its inclination towards realism,allowed the poet to free himself from the tendency of idealisingreality, a characteristic of classical poetry, and let him describe situa-tions and walks of life whose lowliness or baseness relegated them tosatirical poetry. As opposed to the jidd (seriousness) of adab writers,something of satire, sometimes social satire as well as humour,known as hazal, pervade, for example, Ibn Quzman’s dıwan andother works of popular tendency such as the shadow plays of IbnDaniyal (d. 710/1310) in Egypt, where elderly brothel keepers talkabout their sexual experiences and cheat their clients who, never-theless, praise the many virtues of the brothel women. This is aninteresting area for research, though one must recognise the distor-tion inherent in satire by which reality and character are made toseem worse than, in fact, they are7 since such works dispense withthe norms of propriety which, in classical Arabic poetry, conceal theactivities of women.

In order to let the poems themselves speak about women, anec-dotes and information which generally accompany the poems,describing the circumstances in which they were recited or whichgave rise to their composition, will not be treated in this analysis.

Arabic Poetry and its Documentary Value

As for the documentary value of poetry, E. Garcıa Gomez’s reac-tions8 to H. Peres’s book La poesie andalouse en arabe classique au XIesiecle,9 in which ‘‘. . . the word documentary not only appears in the titlebut also dominates the entire development of the text. . .’’10 arethought provoking. E. Garcıa Gomez admits that

. . . Arabic Andalusi poetry may provide information about politicalevents. . . it may prove the existence of a particular country estate, luxuryitem, weapon or dish. . . Nevertheless, with regard to, say, astronomy orbotany, it is a different matter altogether. When all is said and done, wemay infer from the poems that the Andalusi Muslims of the eleventhcentury recognised or sang about this and that star or this and that varietyof plant. But, the descriptions or metaphors that the poets dedicated to suchstars or flowers have documentary value only for the poem itself. . . If not forthe study of the poetic form itself. . . what documentary value do these itemsrepresent?11

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Something similar could be said with respect to the subject ofwomen as they appear in the poems. Peres reproduces numerousverses which provide the physical description of a woman; amongthe more unusual that seem to break away from the common imageof the moon hanging above a branch overlooking a dune, is the caseof the short-haired slave in Ibn Shuhayd’s poem.12 Weighing themin terms not of their documentary value but rather the possibilitiesthat they reveal in terms of metaphor or the creation of images, theexistence of medieval anthologies containing verses which describewomen should be pointed out. An example of such an anthology isthat by al-Sarı al-Raffa’ (d. 362/972).13 His first volume, entitledKitab al-mah. bub (whose order of presentation partly recalls that of IbnQutayba’s ‘Uyun al-akhbar), devotes sections to hair, sideburns, moles,cheeks, eyebrows, eyes, nose, teeth, breath, conversation, softness ofskin, blackness or paleness of complexion, signs of smallpox, fingersdyed with henna, necks, throats and jewels, bosoms, hips, legs,figures, styles of walking, clothing and so on. But do these versesdescribe real women or do they merely depict an ideal of timelessfeminine beauty? More than that, they are, in reality, like Peres’sbook, splendid collections of metaphors and images whose startingpoint is the female figure. In a poem that is held in great esteem byanthologists, Abu Nuwas describes a woman in these terms:

To pour the water, she took off her gownand her intense shyness brought a flush to her face.Naked, she gave to the aira harmonious figure more delicate than air,and a hand like water stretchedtoward the water in the waiting bath.She completed her taskand, getting ready to pick up her robe,she saw nearby the face of the spyand released darkness over the light;the dawn hid itself beneath the nightand water went on dripping into water.May God be praised who has createdthe fairest of all women!14

But does such a poem document anything more than its author’stalent for creating images around the whiteness of skin, the transpar-ency of water and the blackness of hair? It was this talent that madethe poem stand out in the minds of Arab literary critics who com-piled the poet’s dıwan or included the poem in their anthologies—notthe fact that it describes a woman washing herself.


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Love Poems and Society:The Individual Woman and Her Literary Image

Even if we have doubts about its documentary value, there is noquestion that poetry and literature, in general, reflect the societyfrom which they arise and, in the case of women, confirm what isknown by way of other sources. Most striking is the disappearance offree women from poems and their replacement by slave girls. Inpre-Islamic poems,15 the women of whom the poets sing aremembers of another tribe or tribal group. When the poem begins,these women are not usually present but have already departed withtheir tribe. Besides eliciting a memory which may strike the con-temporary reader as romantic and which gives rise to a lengthyenumeration of place names, the women leave no trace of their pre-sence beyond this youthful past evoked by the poets.16 While men-tioning women whom one knew in the past during one’s youth isseen as acceptable, a different attitude is taken toward clinging toamorous themes in one’s adulthood, a perspective viewed as a lackof maturity.17 Furthermore, the poet may expose himself to risksderived from offending the woman’s tribe or family who aresomehow dishonoured by having the name of one of their womenon the lips of a stranger.

This is what occurs, after a fashion, in the mu‘allaqa by Imru’ al-Qays who is, not without reason, regarded as the first to havecreated the theme of tarrying at the abandoned camp site and recal-ling the beloved. Nearly half the poem (verses 7–43 out of a total of82) is devoted to recounting various amorous episodes,18 first withtwo women who seem to be married, later with ‘Unayza and Fat.imaand, finally, with a young girl (bayd. at khidr). In all cases, the womenare equal in social rank to the poet; indeed, the description of theyoung girl suggests luxuriant surroundings (she has delicate whiteskin, is enveloped in perfumes and sleeps till noon) which are verymuch in keeping with one of the themes serving as background tothe poet’s amorous adventures, namely, the fakhr, the boastful showthat he makes of his successes with women. Moreover, in stressingthat these are free women or those who are carefully protected bytheir families, the poet highlights his own worth and audacity.

The mu‘allaqa of Imru’ al-Qays, with its insistence on clinging tothe sentiments that the poet experienced in his youth:

[Grown] men find consolation fromthe follies of their youth,

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but my heart refuses solace forits love for you,19

serves as an apt transition to pass to the Umayyad period with thecreation of an independent genre of love poetry which, in spite of itssuccess at a popular level, was always regarded as frivolous. LikeImru’ al-Qays, the Umayyad authors of love poems refused to turntheir backs on a preoccupation—women and the obsession that theyinspire—that society considered unworthy of serious consideration oronly justifiable during the poet’s youth when he was still unburdenedby concerns felt by the tribe as more serious and appropriate for anadult male.

Love poetry is logically the genre in which women are spoken ofmost frequently. It is the genre into which descriptive poems such asthose collected by al-Sarı al-Raffa’ in his Kitab al-mah. bub, tend to fitbest. The men who mentioned and took pleasure in the singing oftheir beloved always suffered the censure of their contemporaries forhaving violated the taboo of feminine propriety. To a large extent,this explains the problems faced by these men such as beingdeprived of direct contact with the women whom they loved or suf-fering persecution at the hands of the women’s family or the autho-rities. Moreover, this theme eventually gave rise to the ‘‘novelised’’biographies of many poets and the creation of love stories to whosesuccess Ibn al-Nadım alludes in the fourth/tenth century and whosedisappearance from ‘‘official’’ and ‘‘serious’’ Arabic literature wasthe object of a study by M. F. Ghazi.20 Among the most well-knowncases are Jamıl, threatened with death by Buthayna’s family, MajnunLayla, Wad. d. ah. al-Yaman and ‘Umar b. Abı Rabı‘a who, at onepoint, had to go into exile in Yemen. This was likewise the situationfor al-Numayrı whose amorous verses, dedicated to Zaynab bintYusuf, sister of the governor, al-H. ajjaj b. Yusuf, provoked the latter’sanger which was ultimately appeased only by the direct interventionof the caliph ‘Abd al-Malik.21

These and other examples illustrate how love poetry was per-ceived at the time. It was often understood as satire directed at thefamily of the woman mentioned in the poems22 for a free womancould not appear in public, even in a poem, without leaving a stainon her honour.23 This perception persisted for centuries. It explainsIbn Bassam’s comment regarding Ibn S. ara al-Shantarını whom hedescribed as a specialist in satires wrapped in the clothes of lovepoetry by which means he dishonoured the families of those whowere the targets of his invectives.24


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One of the characteristics of love poems is the frequent use ofdialogue, especially in the Umayyad period, through which one cansometimes catch a glimpse of a real woman of flesh and blood. Aparticular example is Buthayna, Jamıl’s beloved, who often revealsher concern about the dangers to which Jamıl exposes himself,25

shows interest in knowing Jamıl’s destination when he travels26 andwants to end their relationship in order to avoid a situation full ofrisks for both of them. But, the extraordinary popular success whichgreeted this kind of poetry associated from a very early time withsinging which, for this reason, quickly spread through all levels ofsociety, canonised an image of the woman as the ever-cruel andungrateful object of love to such a degree that poets were neverthereafter able to free themselves of this image when speaking oflove. All attempts to give individuality to a woman as a real-lifeperson to whom a poem was addressed and whose personality mighthave taken form through her dialogue with the poet, was thus nulli-fied. By a different route, ‘Umar b. Abı Rabı‘a ended up with thesame result. The women whom he describes are nearly always inlove with him and they stop but a little short of flirting with him,something for which his friends taunted ‘Umar by saying: ‘‘You donot compose love poems to women but to yourself.’’27 Indeed, morethan poems of love, they seem to be poems of fakhr, good-humouredself-laudatory poems wherein any claim to realism is misplaced.

The types of women depicted in the love poetry of this epoch arefree as are the women portrayed in pre-Islamic poems. Buthaynaand ‘Azza are from the same levels of society as the poets who singtheir praises, Jamıl and Kuthayyir. This is also true for the womenwho appear in the poems by ‘Umar b. Abı Rabı‘a, aristocrat andwooer of women from his own social class: Fat.ima (daughter of thecaliph Marwan b. al-H. akam), Sukayna (granddaughter of ‘Alı),Thurayya, Hind bint al-H. arith al-Murrı, etc.

The situation begins to change in the poetry of the early Abbasidperiod. This may be a somewhat delayed reflection of changes insociety. A tendency to restrict women’s freedom of movement maybe seen through some of the biographies of women contemporarywith the Prophet Muh. ammad or who lived slightly later. Forexample, the biography of ‘Atika bint Zayd28 shows that she isallowed to leave the house to go to the mosque. However, after-wards, when she is married to ‘Umar, he, as her husband, attemptsto dissuade ‘Atika from going to the mosque, but he does not none-theless forbid her from going as long as she asks his permissionfirst.29 It is clear that, at the time that this anecdote was recorded

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(Ibn Sa‘d died in 230/845), ‘Atika’s conduct was considered repre-hensible for the writer adds that ‘Umar was murdered when ‘Atikawas at the mosque. This condemnatory attitude is even more explicitin accounts collected somewhat later that do not fall within therigidly structured confines of biographical dictionaries. In the collec-tions of anecdotes, approval is expressed for the underhandedapproach adopted by ‘Atika’s husband who, beginning with the‘Uyun al-akhbar of Ibn Qutayba (d. 276/889), is no longer referred toas the caliph, but rather as al-Zubayr b. al-‘Awwam when heattempts to impede ‘Atika’s future sorties to the mosque. Theserestrictions on women’s freedom of movement must have taken rootwell before these works were written and seem to have been a con-sequence of the changes brought about by the Muslim conquestsand the spread of the Arab empire. This must have particularly beenthe case with the growth of the cities where individuals belonging todifferent tribal groups lived side by side. If, within the tribe, womengenerally found themselves surrounded by men from the samefamily or clan, they might find themselves among strangers in thecities, a situation which Arab society, even in the pre-Islamic period,does not seem to have accepted as socially appropriate. The verysame anecdotes that apparently prove that women had freedom ofmovement within the city can be interpreted as meaning just theopposite, a state of affairs seen in the oft-recounted anecdote con-cerning al-Andalus and the poet Yusuf b. Harun al-Ramadı andKhalwa (or H. alwa). The story relates that al-Ramadı encounteredKhalwa at the Gate of the Perfumers in a place where women meet.In other words, it is a place reserved for women where men, in prin-ciple, do not go: thus, segregation of the sexes is maintained.Although not reported in Ibn H. azm’s The Dove’s Neck Ring (chapter5), al-H. umaydı’s Jadhwat al-muqtabis mentions that Khalwa was a freewoman who went to her tryst in disguise, claiming to be a slave girlfor, as a free woman, she could not have gone there and spokenwith a man. Al-Ramadı, who did not see Khalwa again in thatplace, continued to write love poems celebrating her, believing herto be a slave girl. When he later found out that she was the sister ofa friend of his, al-Ramadı ceased mentioning her in his verses.30 Todo so would have been to offend the honour of his friend’s family.

There were ways to get around this problem. Jamıl promisesButhayna, worried about what might happen to him:

I will let my eyes look at other womenwhenever we meet, so that they may believe

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my passion is directed at the object of my gaze;I will call you by other names. . .31

Indeed, one way to avoid offending the family of the beloved wasto use an assumed name or pseudonym although this also implies adepersonalisation of the woman. This was always the case amongauthors of love poetry in the Abbasid period who tended to choosenames which have already appeared in pre-Islamic poetry likeAsma’ (which, according to Ibn Rashıq, was one of the poets’favourites),32 Layla, Salma, Hind, Da‘d, Lubna, ‘Afra’, Juml, Nu‘mand so on—names that had jealously guarded the secret of theidentity of the women behind the poems. Who was ‘Abda, thebeloved woman in the poems of Bashshar? Who was Fawz33 inthe poems by al-‘Abbas b. al-Ah. naf? In these instances, it has beenassumed that, given their inaccessibility, these were free women ofhigh rank. But, these same names could be given to slaves.Knowing this, it is impossible to say to which social class belongedthe women who were sung about in poems of love. However, thepredominance of slave girls as the source of literary inspiration isfairly well attested from the beginning of the third/ninth century.Slave girls were, above all, prominent in male society from whichfree women had virtually disappeared. This explains the complaintsand diatribes against slave girls by al-Jah. iz. or al-Washsha’. Addi-tionally, such names frequently conceal mere fantasies which arethe incarnation in verse of the ideal type of the beloved woman.The existence of a real ‘Abda or Fawz has been called into questionmore than once.

Likewise, this progressive depersonalisation of women affected thenasıb of polythematic qas. ıdas where the influence of love poetry madeitself felt from a very early period. In this sense, that which GarcıaGomez wrote when discussing the nasıb of al-Mutanabbı’s poems canbe applied to almost all of the poets:

Women. . . are conventionalised shadows, ethereal spectres to which nogreat passions attempt to add flesh; subtle anthropomorphic motifs on whichthe bard. . . tries out his inspiration before taking on the central motif of thepoem.34

This is habitually the case. Thus, it comes as a surprise when a poetspeaks of a real woman in the nasıb of a qas. ıda. In al-Andalus, the‘‘originality’’ of Ibn Darraj al-Qast.allı’s poetry may have somethingto do with his Berber origins. R. Blachere had already pointedout in 1933 that, in some of his poems, Ibn Darraj, tired of the

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vagueness of the traditional nasıb, replaced it with a personal theme:his sadness at leaving behind his wife and young son.35 Blachere isechoing a passage from the Dhakhıra36 in which Ibn Bassam, partiallyreproducing a panegyric dedicated to al-Mans.ur, gave prominenceto the relatively lengthy section (twelve verses) which describes thepoet taking leave of his wife (expressed with far greater dignity inArabic: ‘‘bidding farewell to the one left behind’’) and young son, allthe while claiming that this was something ‘‘in which Ibn Darraj hadneither peer nor fellow nor rival nor equivalent’’—highlighting thissingularity with four adjectives. After publishing and becomingfamiliar with Ibn Darraj’s dıwan, James T. Monroe reached the con-clusion that such references to his personal life were habitual in IbnDarraj’s panegyrics.37

This atypical mention of the poet’s wife implies something morethan a personal or original touch. According to Monroe, Ibn Dar-raj’s panegyrics underlines the idea of the importance of theUmayyad dynasty as a centralising principle above and beyondtribal and family values. However, it is possible to see, in this lack ofreserve, a reflection of the position of women among Berbers whowere far less reticent than Arabs when it came to talking about theirwomen.38 This can likewise explain the steady growth in the numberof elegies dedicated to women during the Almoravid and Almohadperiods.39 In his study of these elegies, Forneas calls special attentionto the relatively small number of elegies which mourn the death ofwomen. Within that number, he notes the existence of two sorts ofelegies with themes related to women: the official sort intended tolament the death of a woman belonging to the ruler’s family or thatof the poet’s patron and the personal sort in which a woman fromthe poet’s own family is mourned. The latter is usually most highlyregarded for its unsurprising sincerity. In both types of poems, thepoet avoids mentioning the name of the woman40 although there areexceptions,41 particularly if the lamented woman is a slave. Onceagain, it is a matter of ensuring that the woman does not becomethe centre of scandal simply by having her name on the lips of thepublic, an argument already put forward by al-Farazdaq (d. 110/728) when he criticised Jarır for composing an elegy on the death ofhis wife.42 This concept of women as the fragile repositories offamily honour underlies many elegies in which the grieving father orhusband (or the friends who offer their condolences) consoles himselfwith the thought that the death of his daughter or wife has put anend to a thorny problem. The idea of death as the only honourablefate for a woman is a time-honoured theme in Arabic poetry. In his


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H. amasa, Abu Tammam (d. 231/845) records a poem whose author,faced with the realisation that his death would leave his daughterdefenceless, wishes death for her since dying is the noblest fate thatcan befall a woman. Moreover, the medieval commentators regar-ded this as a poem that was replete with tenderness!43 The reap-pearance of this theme in al-Andalus, precisely in the Almoravidperiod, leads one to think that it was intended as an implicit criti-cism of the Berbers and the position occupied by women amongthem.44

Much less common are satires directed against women. In earliersatires, the dishonest behaviour of women was one more reason todiscredit and dishonour the tribe that was the butt of the poem.Naturally, such satires only reflected the woman’s role as the trusteeof male honour and not the specific conduct of one woman in parti-cular. A somewhat more highly differentiated image appears in atype of satire which began to be composed in the early years ofIslam and which continued to bear fruit sporadically over the cen-turies: satires against a wife who has just been repudiated.45 In them,the woman’s chief defects usually denounced are excessive spendinghabits and a certain avidity in sexual matters.46 These are defectswhich are also condemned in slave girls, in particular, in singingslave girls who bring ruin upon the incautious youths who showerthem with gifts; but this criticism is, however, more often found inprose works47 than in poetry.

Anecdotes are also found in prose which accompany certainpoems giving some idea of the small value attached to slave girls,even those that could sing, although their price in the market couldreach high figures indeed. Through an extreme view of the notion ofproperty, these slave girls present in wine poetry as the object of therevellers’ flirtations or in the mujun poems as the poets’ companionsin scenes of profligacy, might even lose their lives at the hands oftheir masters. The most famous case is that of the poet Dık al-Jinn(161/777–235/849) who killed a slave girl and a male slave whobelonged to him and with whom he was in love because he foundthe idea intolerable that, upon his death, they would become theproperty of another master.48 In the poems, Dık al-Jinn expressedmourning but no proof of repentance for their deaths. According tosome reports, he used to recite the poems when he missed his twoslaves. In these poems, Dık al-Jinn seems to confuse the personalitiesof a man and a woman who had become but beautiful remi-niscences of a past infatuation. It could even be said, that there ismore evidence of sorrow in the poem dedicated to the man while, in

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the poem composed for the slave girl, the prominent emotion is theassertion of personal ownership which had led the poet to destroyher.

This story is included by Ibn Abı H. ajala in the chapter of hisbook dedicated to different kinds of jealousy (al-ghayra). Ibn AbıH. ajala’s introductory comments on the story adequately reflectdominant attitudes in the Arab society of his time. For example,he says that it is stupid as well as unwise to describe the beautyand qualities of one’s wife in front of others since, besides themost obvious consequences of such behaviour, namely, to loseone’s wife to the love of another man, what is most relevant inIbn Abı H. ajala’s comment is the fact that a man’s honour islinked to his wife’s good name and reputation. This concept ofhonour seems to explain the images of women in Arab poems andthe evolution of these images throughout historical periods as hasbeen presented in these pages. For instance, in pre-Islamic times,poems generally depicted free women. The woman who is some-times described in this poetry represents a lover from the past whovaguely appears in the nasıb of the polythematic qas. ıda. On otheroccasions, the section on fakhr or on madıh. (panegyric) in the poemalludes to a man’s duty as a protector of women. Free women inthe tribe, whose honour is to be defended by men, are exposed tosatirical attacks in poems destined to discredit rivals. This is doneby accusing women of immoral behaviour; the accusation ishowever always general and does not pinpoint any particularwoman.

This situation was maintained throughout the Umayyad periodin which poetry acquired a new dimension, that of real love poetry.But speaking in a poem of a specific woman as the partner in alove relationship was such a scandal that this kind of poetry couldonly be understood as satirical. Even so, authors of love poemswere occasionally persecuted. To protect the honour of the lovedwoman and also to avoid persecution, poets were obliged to dis-guise women’s real names. False names not only concealedwomen’s true identities, but they also served to play a determinantrole in the evolution of love poetry. By using false names, the poettransferred real personalities to an ideal world where generic fea-tures (beauty, modesty, reserve) were perpetuated and depersona-lised. Moreover, false names hid women’s social positions and it isonly through the poem’s context, its genre or the prose commentswhich introduce it that it is possible, on occasion, to guess thewoman’s real name.


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Notes

1 Ibn Qutayba, ‘Uyun al-akhbar, Cairo, 1973, 2, 185; V. Cantarino, ArabicPoetics in the Golden Age. Selection of Texts Accompanied by a Preliminary Study,Leiden, 1975, 24 (his second chapter is entitled ‘‘Poetry: Dıwan of theArabs’’).

2 Cantarino, Arabic Poetics, 24–26.3 In fact, Arabic poetry has often been used to such ends. To cite one

example among the work of Spanish Arabists, this is what F. Corrientedoes in his ‘‘Comentario historico’’ on Las mu‘allaqat: Antologıa y pan-orama de Arabia preislamica, Madrid, 1974. In connection with the topic ofwomen, a classic book in this respect is Ah.mad Muh. ammad al-H. ufı’sAl-Mar’a fı l-shi‘r al-jahilı, Cairo, 1963.

4 Victoria Aguilar treats this subject in her recent article, ‘‘Mujeres yrepertorios biograficos’’, Biografıas y genero biografico en el occidente islamico(Estudios Onomastico-Biograficos de al-Andalus, VIII), Madrid, 1997, 127–139.

5 The only such work to appear in C. Brockelmann’s Geschichte der ara-bischen Litteratur, Supplementbande, Leiden, 1937–1942, is that by IbnQayyim al-Jawziyya.

6 Some of these works are used by Fedwa Malti-Douglas in Woman’sBody, Woman’s Word. Gender and Discourse in Arabo-Islamic Writing, Prince-ton, 1992.

7 As in the definition of comedy given by Aristotle in his Poetics (Aristoteles,Poetica, trans. by V. Garcıa Yebra, Madrid, 1974, 131–132.)

8 Emilio Garcıa Gomez, ‘‘Una obra importante sobre la poesıa arabi-goandaluza. Resena del libro del Prof. H. Peres’’, Al-Andalus IV (1936),283–316.

9 Henri Peres, La poesie andalouse en arabe classique au XIe siecle. Ses aspectsgeneraux et sa valeur documentaire, Paris, 1937. The Spanish translation,Esplendor de al-Andalus. La poesıa andaluza en arabe clasico en el siglo XI. Susaspectos generales, sus principales temas y su valor documental, transl. by Mer-cedes Garcıa-Arenal, Madrid, 1983, was based on the second edition(Paris, 1953).

10 Garcıa Gomez, ‘‘Una obra importante’’, 292 (‘‘la palabra documentalno solo figura en el tıtulo, sino que preside todo el desarrollo de laobra’’).

11 Ibid., 294 (‘‘la poesıa arabigoandaluza puede suministrar datos sobrelos acontecimientos polıticos. . .; que puede probar la existencia de unafinca de recreo, de un objeto de lujo, de un arma o de un manjar. . .Ahora bien: el caso no es el mismo, referido, por ejemplo, a la astro-nomıa y la botanica. En ultima instancia, podremos deducir delas poesıas que los andaluces musulmanes del siglo XI conocıan -o

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cantaban- tantas y tales estrellas o tantas y tales variedades de plantas.Pero las descripciones o metaforas que los poetas dediquen a esosluceros o a esas flores ya no tienen valor sino para la poesıa misma. . .Si no es para el estudio de la propia forma poetica. . ., ¿que valordocumental presentan esos datos?’’).

12 James Dickie, El Dıwan de Ibn Suhayd al-Andalusı. 382–426 H/992–1035C. Texto y traduccion, Cordoba, 1975, poem 10, 108–111, verses 58.

13 Al-Sarı al-Raffa’, al-Muh. ibb wa-l-mah. bub wa-l-mashmum wa-l-mashrub,Mis.bah. Ghalawibjı (ed.), Damascus, [1406/1986].

14 Sometimes these verses are attributed to Ibn al-Mu‘tazz (m. 296/908),as al-Sarı al-Raffa’ does in Kitab al-mah. bub, 56.

15 Here, I refer exclusively to the image of women as depicted in theamorous prelude (nasıb) of qas.ıdas. Aside from the beloved, there maybe found other female types whose social position is not easy to definesuch as street vendors or tavern maids. Occasionally, there is alsoreference to the women of the tribe over whose honour and safety themenfolk must keep guard: see Daniela Amaldi, ‘‘Women in pre-IslamicPoetry’’ in Frederick De Jong (ed.), Verse and the Fair Sex. Studies in ArabicPoetry. A collection of papers presented at the 15th Congress of the Union Europe-enne des Arabisants et Islamisants (Utrecht-Driebergen, September 1319, 1990),Utrecht, 1993, 77–84.

16 Renate Jacobi, ‘‘Time and Reality in Nasıb and Ghazal’’, Journal ofArabic Literature 16 (1985), 117.

17 In tribal societies which still follow this model, the same attitudes con-tinue to prevail: Steve C. Caton, ‘‘Peaks of Yemen I Summon.’’ Poetry asCultural Practice in a North Yemeni Tribe, Berkeley, 1990, 53. In the regionof Khawlan al-T. iyal where the author carried out his field research,the first poems composed by young men are usually love poems (ghazl).Later on, after some of these men become famous poets, they tend todismiss these earlier compositions because their theme is not ‘‘serious’’enough—even when they concede that a particular poem is a finecomposition. But while they are young, love is virtually the only topicthat young men can talk about since they are not listened to in otherforums where they are regarded as lacking the necessary experienceand authority to address social or political subjects.

18 Here, I follow the interpretation given by Suzanne Pinckney Stetkevychfor the poem in The Mute Immortals Speak. Pre-Islamic Poetry and the Poeticsof Ritual, Ithaca, London, 1993, 241–285 (‘‘Part Four: The MasterPoem. Regicide and Retribution: The Mu‘allaqah of Imru’ al-Qays’’).

19 Ibid., 253 (verse 42).20 Mohammed Ferid Ghazi, ‘‘La litterature d’imagination en arabe du

IIe/VIIIe au Ve/XIe siecles’’, Arabica 4 (1957), 164–178.


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21 There are bibliographical references to all these poets in R. Blachere,Histoire de la litterature arabe des origines a la fin du XVe siecle de J.-C., Paris,vol. 3, 1966, 599–660.

22 A. K. Kinany, The Development of the Gazal in Arabic Literature (Pre-Islamicand Early Islamic Periods), Damascus, 1950, 157ff.

23 S. Stetkevych, The Mute Immortals, 165, even compares it to beingseduced or raped; as a consequence, it demanded vengeance frommale relatives.

24 Ibn Bassam, al-Dhakhıra fı mah. asin ahl al-jazıra, Ih. san ‘Abbas (ed.),Beirut: Dar al-Thaqafa, 1398/1978, 2, 834–850.

25 Francesco Gabrieli, ‘‘Gamıl al-‘Udrı. Studio critico e raccolta dei fram-menti’’, Rivista degli Studi Orientali 17 (1937), 40–71 and 133–172, esp.no. 50.

26 Ibid., 27.27 Ibn Rashıq, Al-‘Umda, Muh. ammad Muh. yı l-Dın ‘Abd al-H. amıd (ed.),

Cairo, 1353/1934, 2, 118.28 Teresa Garulo, ‘‘Fidelidad e infidelidad femeninas: dos ejemplos para-

digmaticos’’ in F. De Jong (ed.), Verse and the Fair Sex, Utrecht, 1993,114–138.

29 Ibn Sa‘d, T. abaqat, E. Sachau (ed.), Leiden, 1904, vol. 8, 193–195.30 In the words of al-Ramadı himself, describing his adventure to a friend:

‘‘And it was as if God had erased from my breast the love which I felt forher’’: al-H. umaydı, Jadhwat al-muqtabis, [Cairo], 1966, biography no. 878.

31 Gabrieli, ‘‘Gamıl al-‘Udrı’’, no. 50.32 Ibn Rashıq, ‘Umda, 2, 116.33 This is the title of one of the chapters in Susanne Enderwitz’s Liebe als

Beruf. Al-‘Abbas ibn al-Ah. naf und das Gazal, Stuttgart, 1995; see also idem,‘‘Wer ist Fauz? Zur Realitat der Geliebten im Arabischen Gazal’’ in F.De Jong (ed.), Verse and the Fair Sex, Utrecht, 1993, 56–65. Previously, J.C. Vadet also dealt with this theme in L’esprit courtois en Orient dans lescinq premiers siecles de l’Hegire, Paris, 1968, especially 197–205.

34 ‘‘Las mujeres. . . son sombras convencionales, espectros vaporosos, alos que ninguna gran pasion intenta corporeizar; sutiles motivos antro-pomorfos en que el cantor. . . ensaya su inspiracion antes de abordar elmotivo central del poema’’ (E. Garcıa Gomez, ‘‘Al-Mutanabbi. Elmayor poeta de los arabes (915–965)’’, Cinco poetas musulmanes, Madrid,1959, 38).

35 R. Blachere, ‘‘La vie et l’oeuvre du poete-epistolier andalou IbnDarrag al-Qas.tallı’’, Hesperis 1933, 99–121 (also in idem, Analecta,Damascus, 1975, 475–497, where Blachere translates several versesfrom this passage (477–478). Ibn Darraj, Dıwan, Mah.mud ‘Alı Makkı(ed.), Damascus, 1961, poem no. 78, verses 9–20.

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36 Ibn Bassam, Dhakhıra, 1, 83.37 J. T. Monroe, Risalat at-Tawabi‘ wa z-Zawabi‘. The Treatise of Familiar

Spirits and Demons by Abu ‘Amir ibn Shuhaid al-Ashj‘ı al-Andalusı, Introduc-tion, Translation and Notes by James T. Monroe, Los Angeles, 1971,89, where there is a translation of verses 36–43 of poem no. 3 in whichthe poet speaks of his wife and an eight year-old daughter.

38 T. Garulo, La literatura arabe de al-Andalus durante el siglo XI, Madrid, 1998.39 Jose Marıa Forneas, ‘‘Acerca de la mujer musulmana en las epocas

almoravid y almohade: elegıas de tema femenino’’ in M. J. Viguera(ed. and intr.), La mujer en Al-Andalus. Reflejos historicos de su actividad y cate-gorıas sociales, Madrid-Sevilla, 1989, 77–103.

40 In the elegy which he composed on the death of Khawla, elder sisterof Sayf al-Dawla, al-Mutanabbı replaces her name with the wordFa‘la: Forneas, ‘‘Acerca de la mujer musulmana’’, 78, footnote 4.

41 One of the most notable such exceptions from the Almoravid period isthe elegy composed by al-A‘ma al-Tut.ılı, the blind poet of Tudela, onthe death of his wife whom he invokes by the name Amina in severalverses: Forneas, ‘‘Acerca de la mujer musulmana’’, 91–94.

42 Ibid., 80–81.43 S. P. Stetkevych, Abu Tammam and the Poetics of the ‘Abbasid Age, Leiden,

1991, 343–345.44 For more details in this regard: see Teresa Garulo, ‘‘Los poemas del

fuego de Ibn S. ara de Santarem’’, Al-Andalus-Magreb, 4 (1996), 169–187,where there is a discussion of one of these terrible elegies and its impli-cations.

45 A. K. Kinany, The Development of the Gazal, 156.46 This can be seen in the satire by Ibn S. ara al-Shantarını: see Garulo,

‘‘Los poemas del fuego’’, 7.47 See, for example, al-Washsha’, Kitab al-muwashsha, Beirut, 1385/1965

(Spanish translation by T. Garulo, El Libro del Brocado, Madrid, 1990,chap. 20).

48 Ibn Abı H. ajala (725/1325–776/1375), Dıwan al-s.ababa, Beirut, 1404/1984, 97. Ibn Rashıq, in the chapter of his ‘Umda devoted to elegies,records a different version about this tragic case as an introduction tothe verses that the poet composed to mourn their deaths (Forneas,‘‘Acerca de la mujer musulmana’’, 78). On the following page, Ibn AbıH. ajala recounts the story of a king (malik) of Egypt: a slave girl enter-tained this man and his guests with song to such effect that one of thediners requested an encore; after the meal was over, the king offeredthe girl’s head to his guest as a warning: Dıwan al-s.ababa, 98.


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CHAPTER 3

Andalusi Proverbs on Women

Nadia Lachiri

Proverbs are one of the sources which give information aboutwomen. They offer data difficult to find in other sources and theyalso provide an interesting insight into social views on individualbehaviour. Indeed, proverbs reflect not only social practices, but alsosocial models and ideals of behaviour.

There are two different kinds of proverbs: those of the social elite(amthal al-khas.s.a) and those of popular origin (amthal al-‘amma). Whilethe former are very similar in all the collections of proverbs and adabcompilations, popular proverbs more accurately reflect the socialbackground from which they have emerged, thereby being the morepertinent kind of the two for this study.

The following pages will concentrate on Andalusi popular pro-verbs found in two works. The first one is Rayy al-awamm wa-mar‘a l-sawamm fı nakt al-khawas.s. wa-l-‘awamm by Abu Yah. ya al-Zajjalı(Cordoba, 617–618/1220–1222, Marrakech 694/1294).1 The workcontains information on al-Andalus as well as on Morocco, probablybecause the author began his compilation while living in al-Andalusand completed it during his stay in Marrakech. There is also thepossibility that Moroccan proverbs were in use in al-Andalus andvice-versa.

The second and not least important work is that by Ibn ‘As.imAbu Bakr Muh. ammad b. Muh. ammad al-Qaysı from Granada (760–829/1395–1426), author of the famous H. ada’iq al-azahir fı l-ajwibawa-l-mud. h. ikat wa-l-h. ikam wa-l-nawadir.2 More than 800 proverbs arefound in this work, written in the Andalusi Arabic dialect.

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As a first step, all the proverbs related to women were selected. Athematic classification of them shows that the main categories ofwomen are slaves, free women, young women, married women, oldwomen and prostitutes. Other proverbs reflect, more generally, theimage of women in Andalusi society.

Proverbs on Slaves

As in other medieval societies, the slave trade flourished in al-Andalus. Blond and beautiful slave women of European (Slav)origin, destined to royal palaces and aristocratic households, couldattain the status of a legitimate wife. There were also black slaves ofAfrican origin and, as Joaquın Vallve has noted, they were highlyappreciated as good cooks and excellent concubines.3

Proverbs contain interesting information about slaves. Some treatthe topic in a general way: ‘‘Those who frequent slaves will regretit’’. On a more particular subject, a proverb indicates that a blackslave woman should not be allowed to participate in social occasionssuch as the offering of condolences. If she does participate in thisway, the slave woman would be dealt with as an intruder: ‘‘She (theblack woman) went to offer condolences and she was sold in order toobtain money for the shroud.’’ According to another proverb, slavewomen had to accept all kinds of domestic work, even the mostunexpected. For example, a lady asks her slave: ‘‘ ‘Afra, take yourmaster’s hand, he wants to go to the toilets.’’ Proverbs give a nega-tive image of slaves’ behaviour. Anything can be expected from ablack slave for whom adultery is a banal occurrence: ‘‘A blackwoman committed adultery and it was said: the jar is broken.’’ Inline with evidence from proverbs, it is clear that slave women didnot wear the veil. If they did, they were considered to be as ridicu-lous as ‘‘a lock on a jar’s handle’’. Black slaves used to walk barefoot,as according to the proverb: ‘‘A black woman wearing shoes is avery strange thing’’.

Ibn H. azm, in his T. awq al-h. amama, classifies women slaves into twocategories: those who were employed in household duties and thosewho were kept for reproduction, pleasure and the good life.4 Whena slave became pregnant, she was considered as a umm walad andthus acquired a higher rank as confirmed by the proverb: ‘‘The slavewho is pregnant has found her way.’’ Proverbs reflect the commonbelief about the sexual value of black slaves: ‘‘Black women are forthe master and white women for the kitchen’’ or ‘‘Before sleepingwith a black woman, a man does not know how to value women.’’


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Finally, it is interesting to note a proverb expressing slaves’ feelingsof deprivation, hate and contempt towards their masters: ‘‘Normaster nor mistress are of any value.’’

Proverbs on Free Women

In contrast with the strong presence of slaves in these collections ofproverbs, free women hardly appear in them and when they do, theinformation about them is quite scarce. This is probably due to theMuslims’ image of free women who are considered to be h. urma, thatis, ‘‘inviolable’’. The following proverb fits perfectly into this ideal ofwomanhood: ‘‘A hidden prostitute is better than a well-known freewoman’’. A free woman, according to this proverb, should notattract people’s attention nor be talked about. Public opinion, for afree woman, was of paramount importance, well beyond her actualdoings and behaviour.

A second proverb on free women which refers to ‘‘a free womanwith her dress rolled up’’ may be interpreted in two different ways.A possible interpretation suggests that free women did not usuallyroll up their dresses in order to perform domestic duties. However,this proverb probably praises those free women who are capable ofworking by themselves. This is confirmed by another proverb: ‘‘Afree woman who is ugly and dirty is not appreciated’’. Proverbs arenot very explicit on the manner in which husbands value their freespouses. But social appreciation is evident in the proverb: ‘‘If onlythis world would never lack sons of free women!’’

Proverbs on Unmarried Women

As in many other societies, unmarried young women were con-sidered in al-Andalus as an overwhelming problem for their parents:‘‘Worry for girls ends only in the grave’’.

People thought that girls should be married as early as possible toavoid problems. It was assumed that, on reaching puberty, girlsbecame conscious of their own bodies as the following proverbinforms: ‘‘When a girl says dadda, she needs a pillow and when shebrings the glass to her mouth, she needs what her mother needs’’.Sexual awareness in young girls is also acknowledged in thisproverb: ‘‘First, the unmarried woman of Banu Marzah. invited herlover to come in and then she began to scream’’. Girls trying to hidetheir knowledge of sexual matters are criticised in other proverbs:‘‘When the unmarried girl of Luk saw a man’s testicles, she asked if

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they were cherries!’’ and ‘‘An unmarried woman who has just deliv-ered a child’’.

These proverbs eloquently show the fact that women couldexperience sexual activity before marriage. Going against social andreligious rules, this activity was not easy to practice, but the follow-ing proverb shows how women took advantage of the few possibleopportunities that they found: ‘‘She went to the public baths andwas away for seven days’’.

Virginity was, however, the most appreciated quality in anunmarried woman who should remain physically intact for herhusband-to-be. Girls are therefore recommended to behaveaccordingly: ‘‘Kiss and pinch, but let the husband’s place be un-touched’’.

Proverbs on Married Women

As in other Islamic and non-Islamic societies, marriage was valuedin al-Andalus as the best situation for a woman: ‘‘Marry the onewho asks you’’ and ‘‘A bad husband is better than no husband’’.Marriage, however, also implied a choice, even if this was limited tomen: ‘‘He who does not choose may be dishonoured’’ or ‘‘Look forfreckles’’. This last proverb reflects a taste for blonde women alsoattested by Ibn H. azm in his T. awq al-h. amama.

5 The great Andalusiwriter made this observation when writing on the Umayyad rulingfamily, but the proverb quoted above seems to indicate that thistaste was quite general in al-Andalus.

People were aware that, in marriage, luck plays an important role.A careful choice of a partner is not a guarantee against failure inmarriage as implied in this proverb: ‘‘Find me a husband and guar-antee me good luck with him’’. Other proverbs show that expensesfor weddings were high: ‘‘Marriage would be more beautiful withoutits expenses’’ and that married life could lead to poverty: ‘‘give himin marriage and he will find himself in need’’, ‘‘He who is married,is in need’’, ‘‘If a dog was married, he would not bark’’. Marriedwomen expected their husbands to give them jewels: ‘‘Cover mewith jewels or leave me!’’ Among the proverbs giving advice to hus-bands regarding the way that they should treat their wives from thebeginning of their married life: ‘‘Strike the little cat and the bridewill be afraid’’. Obviously, this is advice for the husband to be toughwith his wife and to impose his own personality on her. In a similarway, husbands are recommended: ‘‘Do not praise a free womanduring the first year of marriage, neither a slave woman during her


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first year with you’’. Here, it is implied that at least a year is neces-sary to properly understand the real character of a woman.

Married women should not be trusted to behave properly in theabsence of their husbands: ‘‘The master of the house is absent andmusic is heard in his house’’ or ‘‘Between this one and that otherone. . . and her husband just arrived’’. As a rule, men ought tosuspect women: ‘‘Too much trust and you are a cuckold’’. A womanis difficult to control: ‘‘Although the keys are in my pocket, there arepeople in my room’’. This last proverb implies that men acknowledgethe difficulties of guarding women; even when locked up in theirhouses, women will find ways of cheating their custodians. Differencein age is another subject found in proverbs as in: ‘‘The old husband’swife is spoilt and the young husband’s wife is scared’’. Negativeaspects of marriage between an old man and a young girl are reflec-ted in this proverb: ‘‘When an old man marries a young girl, youngmen in the village are happy’’, meaning that the new wife willdeceive her husband and look for adventures with young men.

Polygamy is hinted at in various proverbs. In a general way, itwas considered as a source of problems: ‘‘Sons born to the samefather and different mothers cause hostilities’’. Put in the mouth of awoman, a second proverb shows how polygamy was felt to be a dis-grace for women: ‘‘It is better to enter the grave than to go toanother woman’s house’’.

To conclude this section on proverbs about married women, aproverb advises men: ‘‘To marry in Granada and to die in Velez’’, areference to the renown of the women of Granada for their beauty.6

Proverbs on Old Women

The image of old women in our proverbs is totally negative whetherin relation to their physical aspect: ‘‘Old and crippled, she is notworth a pence’’ or to their personal qualities: ‘‘An old woman whospeaks, lies’’. It was believed that old women had enormous capacityfor evil: ‘‘What the devil does in a year, the old woman does in anhour’’. Even those who appear to be good and pious were nottrusted to be sincere as a proverb says: ‘‘When you see an oldwoman, invoke God’s name and run!’’

Proverbs on Prostitutes

Some proverbs attest that prostitution was very common in al-Andalus: ‘‘When you ask for prostitutes from Charchara, you ask for

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one and you find ten’’. Prostitution was practised in special premisesas is known from other sources and proverbs: ‘‘When Christians,Jews and Muslims want pleasure, they frequent the funduq of IbnRago’’.

Other proverbs allude to the presence of procurers as in: ‘‘Thewoman who accepts being touched does not need a pimp’’. Prosti-tutes were expected to be trained in singing and dancing: ‘‘Thisdamned prostitute does not sing nor dance’’, but were never inten-ded to become mothers: ‘‘A prostitute with a child is not toleratedanywhere’’. Marriages to prostitutes occurred, but they were stronglydisapproved by society: ‘‘He who marries a prostitute acknowledgesbeing a cuckold’’.

Even when a prostitute wanted to abandon her trade, there werefew possibilities open to her: ‘‘Look at the penance of Khalida, sheabandoned prostitution and became a go-between’’. In spite of allthat, it is significant to note that: ‘‘A hidden prostitute is better thana well-known free woman’’.

Black slave women, as mentioned, were particularly noted asbeing prostitutes. There were obviously many different kinds ofwomen in this activity; not all of them were beautiful or skilled insinging and dancing. There is even a proverb that reduces prosti-tutes to a mere recipient for male physical enjoyment: ‘‘desire can besatisfied even with a lame woman’’ thus probably reflecting thelowest kind of womanhood in the eyes of its author.

Women’s Professions Mentioned by Proverbs

Some proverbs mention women’s activities by which they were ableto earn money. Weaving, normally practised at home, is the mostcommon trade mentioned by proverbs. Some of them simulta-neously reflect the well-known Andalusi love for cleanliness: ‘‘Every-thing is acceptable, except dirty weaving’’ or ‘‘While the blearywomen put on her veil, the weaving market is dispersed’’. Mourningprofessional women and midwives also appear in proverbs: ‘‘OhMuhja, delay your delivery until the salary of midwives is lower!’’Prostitution should be added to this short list of professional acti-vities.7

Social Aspects of Women’s Lives

Proverbs occasionally give the impression that al-Andalus may havesuffered from a crisis in the marriage market. It seems that it was not


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always easy to find husbands, especially in the case of women whowere not rich: ‘‘There are three things which can be bought but notsold, the first is a husband for a woman. . .’’ or ‘‘A bad husband isbetter than remaining unmarried’’.

This question has been analysed by ‘Abd al-‘Azız al-Ahwanı whotried to find the reasons for these difficulties. According to al-Ahwanı, continuous wars have caused a reduction in the number ofmen in Andalusi society, a situation aggravated by the existence of agreat number of slave women imported from Europe and Africa.8 Itshould be added that great expense was involved in wedding cele-brations and dowries which might have deterred men of modestmeans. Therefore, spinsters were not an uncommon fact of life in al-Andalus as reflected in this proverb: ‘‘Like a spinster who cannotbelieve that she will embrace a husband’’. The marriage crisis couldhave been aggravated by the practice of homosexuality, also attestedby proverbs.

A woman without any property or an ugly woman did not havemany chances for marriage in al-Andalus: ‘‘Meat without offal is likea woman without furniture’’ or ‘‘She is not beautiful and she doesnot own a house’’. Poverty appears in proverbs reflecting extremesituations of need: ‘‘What have we eaten to drink afterwards?’’ andthis may explain why some women looked for rich men to marrythem: ‘‘Cover me with jewels or leave me!’’ Economic pressure onmen caused them to react against the requests of women: ‘‘You willbe the mistress of my house if you content yourself with bread andolives’’.

The Ideal Woman in Andalusi Proverbs

An ideal of feminine beauty can be drawn from these collections ofproverbs. One of them ironically says: ‘‘What a splendid beauty,small eyes and a big nose!’’ The reverse (big eyes and a small nose)was a basic element in the canonical image of a lovely face. As wasalready mentioned, a proverb such as ‘‘Look for freckles’’ indicates apreference for blonde women.

A small woman was not highly appreciated: ‘‘Three things areconsidered a loss: building a small house, grease in a small womanand dining when inebriated’’. Shapely legs were considered a neces-sary requirement in a beautiful woman who, nevertheless, shouldtrust luck more than handsomeness: ‘‘It is not enough to haveshapely legs, you need luck and what God has destined for every-body’’.

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Proverbs also mention bodily care such as the use of depilatoriesfor legs: ‘‘To pluck legs is a good thing’’. Other sources mention thatwomen used henna to decorate their hands and feet as well as siwak(walnut tree bark) to whiten their teeth.

Finally, the external appearance of women would not be completewithout a veil. A proverb says: ‘‘The value of what is hidden to theeye is incalculable’’ and ‘‘Would a woman who does not cover herface be able to educate anybody’s child?’’ Both proverbs clearlyshow the social value of veiled women who are the only respectableones that may become useful members of society.

As a conclusion, I would like to pinpoint the interest of proverbsas a source for social history. Reflecting general and accepted values,they even offer useful insights into the knowledge of the actual livesof women. In some cases, this information can be checked againstthat provided by other sources. Occasionally, however, it is very dif-ficult to understand the real meaning of proverbs, given that theyare recorded in collections without any context or explanation. Diffi-culties increase when the proverb is no longer in use as is the casewith Andalusi proverbs, some of which may allude to contemporaryevents or persons about which no other information is available. Buteven with these limitations in mind, proverbs as a source for thehistory of women have proved their usefulness.

Notes

1 Edited by Muh. ammad Ben Cherifa, Fez, 1975.2 Edited in Beirut, 1987. See Emilio Garcıa Gomez, ‘‘El refranero de

Ibn ‘As.im en el manuscrito londoniense’’, Al-Andalus 35 (1970), 241–314.

3 Joaquın Vallve, ‘‘Libertad y esclavitud en el califato de Cordoba’’,Actas de las Segundas Jornadas de Cultura Arabe e Islamica (Madrid, 1980),565–584.

4 Ibn H. azm, T. awq al-h. amama, ed. al-T. ahir Ah.mad Makkı, Cairo, 1993,111.

5 Ibn H. azm, T. awq al-h. amama, 48–49.6 Ibn al-Khat.ıb, al-Ih. at.a fı akhbar Gharnat.a, Cairo, 1973, I, 144.7 Marıa Jesus Rubiera, ‘‘Oficios nobles, oficios viles’’ in M. J. Viguera

(ed. and intr.), La mujer en al-Andalus: reflejos historicos de su actividad y cate-gorıas sociales, Madrid-Sevilla, 1989, 71–76.

8 ‘Abd al-‘Azız al-Ahwanı, ‘‘Amthal al-‘amma fı l-Andalus’’ in ‘Abd al-Rah.man Badawı (ed.), Ila T. aha H. usayn fı ‘ıd mıladi-hi al-sab‘ın, Cairo,1962.


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CHAPTER 4

Palestinian Autobiographies:

A Source for Women’s History?1

Susanne Enderwitz

In the nearly classical definition of Philippe Lejeune, autobiographyis ‘‘a retrospective prose story that a real person relates about his orher own existence, in which he or she gives emphasis to his or herindividual life, and to the history of his or her personality in parti-cular’’.2 For the purposes of this study, this definition contains twoproblematic assumptions, one with regard to autobiography, ingeneral, and the other with regard to Palestinian autobiographies, inparticular. Firstly, Lejeune implies that autobiography tells things asthey were, in ‘‘historical’’ terms, if only in terms of the history of apersonality. Nonetheless, nearly all writers on autobiography regardit as a kind of ‘‘fiction’’, if not an outright ‘‘illusion’’. Secondly,Lejeune emphasises the overall importance of the ‘‘personality’’ or,as one could also say, of the personal identity or the self. Palestinianautobiographies, however, do not predominantly endeavour touncover the personal self. They aim, rather, at defining a ‘‘collec-tive’’ identity, thus re-entering the ‘‘historical’’ field.

Palestinian Autobiography as a Historical Source

Contrary to current approaches, former generations found nothingunusual in the attempt to use autobiographies as a historical source.When the term ‘‘autobiography’’ or ‘‘self-biography’’ was coined inthe late eighteenth century, no clear distinction was drawn betweenhistoriography and biography nor between biography and auto-biography. Some held the view that biography is the better part of

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historical writing as in the famous words of Benjamin Disraeli:‘‘Read no history; nothing but biography, for that is life withouttheory.’’ Others even preferred autobiography to other forms of his-torical writing. Samuel Johnson put it clearly: ‘‘(Historical narrativeis) of most value in which the writer tells his own story. He thatrecounts the life of another, commonly dwells most upon con-spicuous events, lessens the familiarity of his tale to increase itsdignity, shews his favourite at a distance decorated and magnifiedlike the ancient actors in their tragick dress, and endeavours to hidethe man that he may produce a hero.’’3

In the twentieth century, scholarship on autobiography graduallyabandoned the thought that autobiography, with its first-handknowledge, comes closer to factual history than biography. It was ahistorian who first excluded autobiography from the field of historywriting when he pointed towards the strong affinity of auto-biography and novel as opposed to autobiography and history. Asearly as 1903, Hans Glagau stated: ‘‘It is erroneous to believe thatself-biography is an offshoot of memoirs [seen as the most historio-graphical form among personal account literature] and to deny itsindependence. In such a case, one refers to its remote cousin andoverlooks its legitimate father, the psychological novel, which livesand breathes in quite an unpolitical atmosphere. Modern self-bio-graphy is a daughter of the novel.’’4

From the sixties onward, literary criticism set about to turn itsattention to autobiography in order to pull it increasingly into theproper field of literature, i.e. fiction. In recent times, autobiographyis conceived, in effect, as a novel written in the present with one’spast life as its subject. Roy Pascal was perhaps the first to announceit: ‘‘I wish to go beyond the normal understanding of autobiographyas a biographical source and to emphasise the independent qualityof this literary form. . . The special view point and the individualcharacter of the autobiographer, which reduce its value for the his-torian, are, in my view, exactly the pre-condition of its being a pieceof art. Autobiography is not the history of a life, but a concurrenceof past and present in the consciousness of the author.’’5

Calling autobiography an art instead of a historical account is onething, deconstructing it is quite another. What is questioned indeconstruction is not the objective (historical) truth of the text, butthe truth of the producing (auto, self) subject itself. In 1979, Paul deMan severely questioned the homogenous nature of the self in auto-biography: ‘‘We assume that life produces the autobiography as anact produces its consequences, but can we not suggest, with equal


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justice, that the autobiographical project may itself produce anddetermine the life and that whatever the writer does is in fact gov-erned by the technical demands of self-portraiture and thus deter-mined, in all its aspects, by the resources of his medium?’’6

In the eighties and nineties, others followed this theme. Theychallenged the idea of a subject with a stable identity which pos-sesses an almost Cartesian self-assuredness and can fully and ration-ally organise itself. Going back to Jacques Lacan’s re-reading ofSigmund Freud, an analysis that radicalised Freud’s theory up to thepoint that the subject or self is split into different parts from its verybeginnings, deconstructivism or postmodernism denies the mere pos-sibility of autobiography. The autobiographical subject, like anyother subject, is nothing but ‘‘a ‘discursive effect’, fashioned as thegrille through which various discrete institutional discourses radiatetheir power. But since those discourses are themselves contradictoryand irregular, rupture, heterogeneity, duplicity. . . is the conditio sinequa non of autobiography. Consequently, the notion of auto-biography as a self-referential document is somewhat untenable;autobiography is an intertext.’’7

These statements, claiming that the writing of autobiography is anart or an illusion, conform with reality. Within the last thirty years,the genre underwent not only a transformation into a highly fictio-nalised form, but also a form in which the ‘‘auctorial’’ narration hasbeen given up. In the Arab world, this holds especially true for theNorth African autobiographical novel written in French. Here,instead of relating events which took place in the past, the narratorand his or her protagonist tend to mix into one. Instead of followinga chronological order, the writing becomes ecstatic. Instead ofshowing a consistent character, the autobiographer’s voice mingleswith the voices of others.8 The same tendency is also apparent inArabic autobiography, in general. Arabic autobiography, whichstarted only in the late twenties with T. aha H. usayn’s al-Ayyam (TheDays, 1929), passed over five more or less subsequent stages withregard to the self-awareness of its authors: exemplarity (Ah.madAmın, H. ayatı, My Life, 1950), individuality (Salama Musa, TarbiyatSalama Musa, The Education of Salama Musa, 1947), subjectivity(Tawfıq al-H. akım, Sijn al-‘umr, The Prison of Life, 1964), sensitivity(Jabra Ibrahım Jabra, al-Bi’r al-ula, The First Well, 1987) andfictionality (Idwar Kharrat., Turabuha Za‘faran, City of Saffron, 1986).In order to illustrate the last point, Kharrat. warned the reader at theoutset of his autobiographical novel: ‘‘These writings are not anautobiography nor anything like it; the flights of fancy and the

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artifice herein bear them far beyond such bounds. They are illu-sions, incidents and visions, figures and the kernels of events whichare but dreams; [they are] the clouds of memories which shouldhave taken place but never did. It is perhaps a ‘becoming’ of a lifebut it is not my life.’’9

However, in an article about Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’sPoetry and Truth, its author rightly points to the fact that, alongsidewith literary autobiographies, ‘‘functional forms’’ (Zweckformen) ofautobiography never ceased to be written. The term refers to auto-biographies of scholars and the like who focused on action ratherthan on reflection.10 Palestinian autobiographies, indeed, representsuch ‘‘functional forms’’.11 With a few notable exceptions, theirauthors are not professional writers of fiction, but rather are tea-chers, lecturers, journalists, university professors and diplomats.Their general aim is documentary rather than literary, an impres-sion which is supported by the fact that nearly all of them include anumber of photos, maps, documents, certificates, letters, entries ofdiaries and (self composed) poetry. Last not least, the question ofidentity in these autobiographies is less an individual than a collec-tive one centred, as are their authors, on the loss of Palestine to theIsraelis and the wish for the creation of a Palestinian state. In theseautobiographies, the notions of ‘‘nation and narration’’ (Homi K.Bhaba) are clearly intertwined.

A Palestinian historian underlined a certain peculiarity of Palesti-nian identity when he compared it with the identity of people whoare endowed with a powerful, generations-old historical nationalnarrative. While in most cases, he argued, the identity of a French-woman would be determined today both by herself and by othersprimarily in terms of her identification with the French nation (not-withstanding important differences among the French in terms ofregion, religion, politics, race, gender, class and broader Europeanaffiliations), it would be normal for a Palestinian today to identifyprimarily as an Arab in one context, as a Muslim or Christian inanother, as a Nabulsi or Jaffan in yet another and as a Palestinian ina fourth context.12 But he did not mention the fact that this patternof ‘‘multiple foci of identity’’ is counteracted by an increasing aware-ness, if sometimes only a desire, for a distinct cultural Palestinianidentity, a ‘‘Palestinianness’’ which is cultural rather than political.13

Palestinianness is bound to Palestine as the place from where itstems, no matter whether one lives in Israel, the West Bank orabroad. When the Palestinian poet Mah.mud Darwısh stated:‘‘Whoever writes the story (of the place) first, owns the place,’’14 he


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referred, however, to the weakness of a Palestinian narrative ofPalestine. This weakness is due to a number of reasons, mainly therule of foreign powers (in the twentieth century alone: Ottoman,British, Israeli and Jordanian), the preponderance of a peasantry-based oral tradition and, last but not least, the long development ofan exceptionally powerful Jewish and Zionist narrative of the place.

The situation changed considerably after the defeat of 1967 whenIsraeli forces occupied the West Bank and Gaza and when the PLOemerged as the sole representative of Palestinian nationalism. Along-side the opening of research centres, the founding of journals andthe organising of conferences exploring the past, present and futurehistory of Palestine, a strong sense for cultural and ethnic distinctnessvis-a-vis Israel developed. From the seventies on, an observer of thesituation states that Palestinian society witnessed a rebirth andrevival movement which brought about the flourishing of old waysand techniques of its rural past such as the art of embroidery, folkdancing, popular poetry, traditional music and regional cooking.15

From the seventies on, the autobiographical genre also developedas a conscious attempt to contribute to the establishment of a ‘‘col-lective memoire’’ (Maurice Halbwachs) via individual memories.One of the autobiographers even expressedly claims to have writtena ‘‘Palestinian narrative to reveal in human terms our side of thetruth’’.16 The subject or self in Palestinian autobiographies is notprimarily individualistic in its outlook: out of the two pillars of auto-biography, i.e. individuality (I am unique) and identity (I am thesame), clear precedence is given to the latter over the former.17 Thisis achieved by the transformation of the original question posed inthe genre of autobiography, ‘‘Who am I and how did I becomewhat I am now?’’, into a modified ‘‘Where am I and where do Ibelong to?’’ The place, then, replaces the essence.18 Being pre-dominantly a narrative of place, these autobiographies sometimescome closer to oral history and ethnographic accounts or even tosociological and historical analysis than autobiographies usually do.Their keen awareness for common traits and shared facts behindparticular life stories renders them useful as a source for Palestinianexperiences in the twentieth century, in general, and for the historyof women, in particular.

Autobiographies, by their very nature, describe a society or com-munity composed of individuals, families and larger groups formedwithin the population. For this reason, they have always been takeninto account by historians, notwithstanding the theoretical discussionabout their historiographical value. For Palestinian history, they are

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an even more important source if it were only because of the scar-city of other material. Palestinian society, in the first half of thetwentieth century, was largely traditional and rural where few peopleknew how to read and write. Therefore, not many traces of writtenpersonal documents such as letters, diaries, contracts, etc. are pre-served.

Focusing on the developmental aspects of a person, Western scho-larship has characterised autobiographical accounts of childhoodand youth as ‘‘the purest form of autobiography’’.19 This predilec-tion for memories of childhood and youth is not, however, aWestern peculiarity, but extends to the Palestinian autobiographiesas well. They depict family life and the role of grandmothers,mothers and sisters within it in great detail. Here, one encounterswomen within the sphere in which they were usually brought up andconfined to. This is especially true for rural peasant society, but it isalso a feature, to some extent, of the urban bourgeois classes.

Palestinian autobiographies were written by authors from differentstrata of society who lived in different regions of the world. Theyinclude men and women from urban and rural origin, Muslims andChristians and exiles and authors from the West Bank. It goeswithout saying that the texts differ from one another in language,style and aim. They also differ with regard to the depicted environ-ment, be it personal or social. They depict a wide range of livingconditions under which Palestinian women fulfilled their tasks andcontinue to do so.

Unlike scientists, autobiographers rely on their own subjectivity inorder to classify their personal experience. With regard to the historyof Palestinian women, this subjectivity is especially interesting in theautobiographies of women which present different temperamentsand assessments, especially in relation to what is proper conduct fora woman. The male autobiographers mention the desirability ofwomen’s emancipation without going into great detail. The femaleautobiographers, on the other hand, are more explicit and judgeArab society in a more varied, although equally critical way.

The years which led to the foundation of the Israeli state, i.e. inparticular, the thirties and forties, seem to be of paramount impor-tance for autobiographers who belong, however, to two differentgenerations born in the first half of the century. Moreover, as theyinclude the experiences of grandparents, parents and children, theyroughly comprise four to five generations. This fact introduces thehistorical aspect into the study of Palestinian autobiography as itpresents life stories of women born between the late nineteenth


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century and the 1970s. Achievements and setbacks of women fromOttoman times to the Palestinian proto-state can be traced throughthese autobiographies.

Women in Palestinian Autobiographies

The extended family (h. amula), with its institutions of solidarity andhospitality, is of utmost importance in most of the childhood mem-ories. For instance, Yasmın Zahran uses her autobiographical novelto describe her youth in a remote village in the mountains. It was avillage with mixed peasant and nomadic origins: ‘‘Solidarity (‘as.a-biyya) was a pillar which rendered our existence secure and our livesmeaningful. . . Our esteem of solidarity and lineage (nasab) was aheritage; from the moment we opened our eyes to the world, wewere trained in it. [Sitting] on the bench in the lower house where Iwas born, people always spoke about it. Likewise, on the mattressesspread on the mats, one would talk about lineage and roots (us.ul).Here, the individual members of the same h. amula boasted aboutthemselves and disputed with others. . . Here, I heard in the morningas well as in the evening, that we were the most ancient familywithin the most ancient branch of the most ancient h. amula in ourvillage. Our world recognised only the h. amulas in neighbouring vil-lages with whom we had friendly contact. This was the same inevery house, but especially in ours because we had a guesthouse(mad. afa). The mad. afa was where the h. amula gathered, it was theh. amula’s club and newspaper at the same time. The shaykh ofthe h. amula held a position which had already been recognised by theOttomans and later the British.’’20

The h. amula/mad. afa tradition, however, was not confined to remotetimes and to rural Palestine or conservative cities like Nablus. It stillhad its place in a modern, educated and bourgeois family as HananAshrawi depicts hers: ‘‘Both my mother and father had their distinctcodes of hospitality. Every afternoon, and in the best of all Britishtraditions, my mother would have guests over for afternoon tea. Wewould come home from school to a living room full of friends par-taking of delicate little crustless sandwiches and a delicious variety offinger food rolled out on a linen-covered trolley. When it came towearing white gloves, we all rebelled. My father’s hospitality wentback to the ancient madafah tradition, or the hospitality-guesthousethat each hamoulah or clan maintained to house and feed travellersand guests. My grandfather had maintained the madafah of the‘Awwad clan and my father upheld the tradition in our house. No

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guest would be refused food or shelter, and it would be unforgivablehad anyone been allowed to leave the house without having joinedus for at least a meal.’’21

Certainly, h. amula and hospitality go together, but the h. amula or thefamily system in general had other important tasks such as to settledisputes, watch over its honour, maintain the hierarchies of oldversus young and male versus female, distribute goods and posts andnegotiate with external authorities. The family became particularlyactive when it came to marriage since it prevented and establishedmarriages. Zahran recounts the impossibility of meeting a youngman with whom she fell in love at a distance: ‘‘What a shame! Henever came to our house and I never went to his. Although we wereneighbours, our families saw no reason to meet with one another.Neighbourhood, even such a close one as ours, does not bring aboutpersonal contacts as we belonged to two different h. amulas.’’

22 With acertain amount of criticism, Sumaya Farhat-Naser states: ‘‘In formertimes, marriage was the responsibility of the family. Although a girlcould agree to a marriage or refuse it, she could not decide indepen-dently. Social and familial pressure tended to be extremely strong.‘Don’t you trust your family?’ they used to say. ‘We know what isbest for you and we will always support you.’ Or: ‘Don’t risk thehonour of the family! You will not find a better man!’ ’’23

As is expected, several autobiographers refer not only to them-selves, but also to parents, siblings or other relatives who contracteda marriage of the most traditionally recommended type in Arabsociety, i.e. with a paternal (and sometimes maternal) cousin (ibn‘amm). Fadwa T. uqan even states that the women of her family eithermarried a cousin or remained virgins for ever.24 To be sure, therewere other possibilities as well, but they remained within the samesystem. Said Aburish recounts how his father had to take into con-sideration the demands of the cousins of the girl whom he wished tomarry: ‘‘Soraya had a number of eligible first cousins on hermother’s side who were entitled to ‘first refusal’ rights by traditionand were thus able to stop outsiders from poaching on their rela-tions. An unsatisfied first cousin could force a bride to dismountfrom the horse carrying her to her husband-to-be on the day of herwedding. . . Paying the young men was aimed at acknowledging theiresteem for the bride: they would not ‘let her go cheap’, as the higherthe demand the greater their regard for her.’’25

In the larger cities, at least, marriages between children of neigh-bours or, in the case of girls, with friends of elder brothers werecommon, too.26 Other autobiographies remind us that pressure was


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not confined only to girls, but could extend to boys as well. Ih. san‘Abbas, for instance, mentions a kind of levirate in his family. Hisgrandmother forced his father to marry the widows of his two broth-ers who had died in World War I.27 His father did the same withhim when, in 1943, he proposed a marriage to his son with a girlwhom he had chosen for him.28 Although ‘Abbas belonged to ageneration which already challenged the authority of their fathers,29

he gave in, if only after a long struggle. In his autobiography, hedescribes his life as a prison because he rejected polygamy on per-sonal grounds and divorce on religious ones.30

In general, however, boys enjoyed more personal freedom thangirls. The reason given by the autobiographers is that women andmen contributed in different ways to maintain the honour of thefamily. Boys or young men were considered to be actively and pub-licly engaged in family honour or, as Farhat-Naser puts it: ‘‘The son,the bearer of the family name, was and still is looked upon as thedefender of the household; he protects its maintenance and posses-sions.’’31 Aburish adds: ‘‘Boys carried the family or tribal name,helped their fathers with their work and in their old age, and,importantly, were useful in fights with other families, which oftendeveloped into blood feuds.’’32

With regard to this role, boys were given preference over girlswhich is critically commented upon by some of the autobiographers.Again, with the words of Farhat-Naser: ‘‘People gathering at thedoor of a woman were happy when the midwife shouted: ‘Pray toHoly George! It is a boy!’ Immediately, the whole village wasinformed. However, when a girl was born, the midwife said: ‘Pray toour Mother Mary. A girl!’ And silence spread.’’33 Yusuf Haykal, nota feminist, involuntarily confirms this state of affairs when he startshis autobiography with a description of how his mother, beforegiving birth to him, moved to his grandmother’s house. After havinggiven birth to four girls successively, she wanted to exert an influ-ence on the sex of her next child.34

There were rebels with regard to the preference for boys such as‘Abbas and Hanan Ashrawi’s father. ‘Abbas, halfway caughtbetween conformity and revolt, proudly admits that he dearlywished his first child to be a girl.35 Equally proud, Ashrawi recallshow her father went around in the hospital on the day of her birthand distributed sweets to everybody. When asked whether he got ason at last, he replied: ‘‘No. . . Wadi’a and I have just received thegift of our fifth daughter. But she’s the one we’ve been waiting for.’’And Ashrawi adds: ‘‘He later told my mother: ‘I’m glad she’s not a

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boy. How would we treat him after four girls? Would we be able notto discriminate? And in this culture, he’s sure to be treated differ-ently and that wouldn’t be fair to his sisters’.’’36

Girls who, unlike boys, had to defend the honour of the family ina passive and retracted way, were considered to be more exposed todangers than boys. Aburish, indeed, refers to a deeply rooted con-tradiction within the normative system of his village. He states thatpromiscuity on the part of male youths was more encouraged thanin the West, but the premarital loss of virginity for female youthsmeant certain death. Only the fact that honour demanded that thegirl’s family kill the male perpetrator as well acted as a deterrent.37

Therefore, girls were married off when they were still young, some-times at seventeen38 and sometimes even earlier as in the case ofFadwa T. uqan’s mother who was given into marriage when she waseleven and who gave birth to her first son at fifteen.39 Haykalbluntly states: ‘‘My father, Mus.t.afa Haykal, married my mother,Zakiyya Sakajha, in the year 1890 when she was fifteen and heabout twenty years older. My mother was very pretty, the prettiestgirl in town, and smart.’’40

Both ‘Abbas and T. uqan, belonging to the older generation ofautobiographers, relate an incident from their school days whichfirmly illustrates the vulnerability of a girl’s honour at least up untilthe thirties of our century. Going to school in Acre, ‘Abbas was oncesuspected of having an affair with a schoolmate. In the end, acertain schoolmate proved that he, himself, had tried to get incontact with her. He apologised, but the girl’s school career hadnevertheless come to an end.41 T. uqan, for her part, had an innocentlove affair whose consequences turned out to be disastrous: ‘‘He wasa sixteen year old boy and the affair did not go beyond his followingme daily as I came and went. . . The only contact between me andthe boy was the jasmine flower which a little boy came running andhanded to me one day in al-Aqaba Alley. . . Then came the cursethat puts an end to all lovely things! Someone who had been watch-ing us denounced me to my brother, Yusuf. . . He issued his magis-terial sentence: compulsory confinement to the house till mydeath.’’42

One should not forget that transgression of unwritten laws wasnot so much directed towards female tourists and girls from lowerorigins, but rather towards relatives and daughters from reputablefamilies. Such transgression could likewise be dangerous for a boy orman. Aburish states that celebrating a son’s sexual adventures in oldtimes was part of the tradition. But he also refers to a man of his


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village who remained in hiding for eleven years after having madeadvances to a girl from a decent family.43

Girls, whether from poor or rich families, were usually kept underthe protection of their families and were not sent to school. Know-ledge for women, as Aburish states, would have threatened their tra-ditional roles as housewives and child bearers and was not eventaken into consideration neither among the poor nor among thewealthy.44 This is also the impression given by T. uqan who refers to‘‘the female community that surrounded me in my town during thethirties and forties’’ as ‘‘an unlettered bourgeois society [referring tothe wealth and standing of her family] in which I appeared a pecu-liar antisocial creature.’’45 Other autobiographers also mention theilliteracy of their mothers.46

Judging from the whole range of autobiographies, however, thingswere more complex. With the partial exception of T. uqan, all ofthe female autobiographers received a formal education47 as well assome of their mothers. Although she lived in the conservativeMuslim society of Nablus, Yusra S. alah. ’s mother could read andwrite.48 Haykal’s sisters, also born at the beginning of the century,went to English schools.49 And Hala Sakakini notes that her motherand aunt were among the first girls sent to the recently foundedboarding school of the ‘‘Friends’’ in Ramallah.50

Certainly, this was not the rule, but neither was it for boys. Ingeneral, men’s education was only a short step ahead of women’s.Most people in the Palestinian countryside made a living out of thesoil and therefore had no need of education. They tended theirsmall family plots of one to three acres, a task made all the more dif-ficult because of the primitive methods used. For most people, therewere no newspapers to be read, letters to be written or legal docu-ments to be examined.51

If girls, in general, received less education than boys, this holdstrue for Muslims and Christians. Under the Mandate, despite someBritish efforts to establish state schools (exclusively for boys), the edu-cational system remained unsatisfactory.52 Although the first secularschool was founded as early as 1921, education remained by andlarge in the hands of the French Jesuits, the Russian Orthodox, theItalian Catholics and even the pioneering Quaker missionaryschools. As one of the primary aims of missionary schools was theconversion of Muslim students to Christianity, very few Muslimfamilies took advantage of their presence.53 The most renownedschools for girls were the Friends school in Ramallah and Schmidt’sschool in Jerusalem. The Friends school was run by American

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Quakers and had a good reputation among both Muslims andChristians for emphasising the teaching of housekeeping.54

Girls were not encouraged to develop a strong personality, butwere expected to obey. In this context, T. uqan blames the strictlypatriarchal outlook of the Arab family for promoting the weakness ofwomen: ‘‘The man dominated family life as in all homes of oursociety. The woman had to forget that the word ‘no’ existed in thelanguage except when she repeated, ‘There is no God but God’, inher ablutions and prayers. ‘Yes’ was the parroted word instilled inher from infancy, to become embedded in her consciousness for therest of her life.’’55 T. uqan refers to a segregated society where mengathered in the family’s reception hall (dıwan)56 and women wereconfined to the harem (h. arım): ‘‘The reality of life in that bottled-upharem was humiliating submission. Here the female lived out herdark pinched existence. Looking around me, I saw nothing but face-less victims with no independent life.’’57 Segregation dominatedevery aspect of the daily routine, even sleeping habits. T. uqan recallsthat her father had a sleeping room of his own while her motherslept in another room with her children.58 The same situation is toldby both ‘Abbas who used to sleep with his father in the guest roomwhen it was not occupied59 and by Haykal who shared his mother’sbed while his younger sister slept in a bed nearby.60

The segregation of the sexes also becomes apparent when auto-biographers reflect upon the other sex in its allegedly complete andrejected otherness. For T. uqan, the heads of her family represented‘‘in the most flagrant manner possible, the rigidity of the Arab maleand his absolute inability to maintain a personality that was healthyand whole’’.61 ‘Abbas, on the other hand, recalls how he, as a youngteacher, used to compose lots of poems on women in which hedepicted them as ‘‘enslaved by their concupiscence’’.62

S. alah. , however, challenges the picture of the segregated family asthoroughly cruel on the men’s side and no less thoroughly ignoranton the women’s, something so vividly drawn by T. uqan. Like T. uqan,S. alah. came from one of the leading families in Nablus. Her family,famous for their quest of religious learning, was linked with the morepolitically influential T. uqans. In sharp contrast to Fadwa T. uqan andperhaps in direct response to her, she depicts a thoroughly happychildhood, due to a devoted father and caring mother as well as thefriendly atmosphere within the extended family.63 The difference inS. alah. ’s and T. uqan’s families is perhaps best illustrated by the factthat, while T. uqan was not even allowed to take English lessons athome with a graduate from the Friends school,64 S. alah. was sent to


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this school, although it was Christian, and later became the firstwoman of Nablus to study at the American University of Beirut.However, in contrast to the rebellious T. uqan, she emphasises herproper behaviour and eagerness to observe the rules set up for awoman of her time: ‘‘In fact, I was always anxious not to violate therules of my community and my family, in order to please them. . . Idid not allow myself to attend mixed gatherings. . . and I did not goin for sport. I observed the traditions of my land and my family, andI was convinced that, in doing so, I would clear the way for otheryoung women from Nablus to leave and study abroad.’’65

Although obedience was the rule for the generation of themothers, there are exceptions of strong mothers, especially seen inthe autobiographies of Sakakini and Haykal. Sakakini, on one hand,came from a secular and Westernised family whose life style wasthoroughly bourgeois. As there was no segregation of the sexes, shefulfilled her duties as a housewife and mother along familiar Westernways: ‘‘Mother was loved by all who knew her, yet her friends werefew. As a busy housewife and mother she had no time for society,neither was she inclined towards social life. However, Mother didnot lack good company. She was more than compensated by myfather’s many friends who frequented our house. People dropped inalmost every day of the week.’’66

Haykal, on the other hand, depicts a modestly modernisedMuslim family where the daily dinner was taken within the intimatecircle of parents and children. Remnants of segregated society,however, gave his mother seemingly more freedom of action withinthe household than in the previous example. Though very much tothe dissatisfaction of her husband, Haykal’s mother more often thannot received her female relatives and friends in the reception room(s. alun) together with her seven daughters.67

Nevertheless, grandmothers or rather the mothers of fathers, playa more significant role in the memory of the autobiographers bothas mothers-in-law and as grandmothers. This is consistent withreality, given the overall importance of mothers-in-law. ‘‘It is nearlyimpossible,’’ Farhat-Naser states, ‘‘to hold aloof from a mother-in-law. Often, they interfere in everything. In order to maintain peace,then, the daughter-in-law is almost always on the retreat. If not, sheis reproached by her husband who wishes to satisfy his mother. For-tunately, some mothers-in-law, such as mine, never interfere and area blessing for the household.’’68 In the family of ‘Abbas, however,the grandmother exerted such an influence that her grandson feelsinclined to speak of her ‘‘matriarchal rule’’ (sult.an al-umuma).69

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At the same time, grandmothers seem to be natural allies or care-takers of their grandchildren. They tell stories about their youth,70

keep up the tradition of folktales71 and are always on the side of thechildren.72 Hisham Sharabı who, in his childhood, used to spendsummer vacation at the house of his maternal grandparents in Acre,gives a humouristic and sympathetic description of his stubborngrandmother who firmly watched over the daily routine of herhusband, the hierarchy of her s. alun and, last but not least, the physi-cal and spiritual health of her grandson: ‘‘My grandmother, God’smercy upon her, loved me deeply. She had never given birth to ason so I, after my grandfather, God’s mercy upon him, was the onlymale in her life. Whenever she saw me sitting alone every day forhours in order to read and write, she was worried about me. In hereyes, this was an unnatural behaviour. She also was worried when Isat motionless at the veranda, looking at the sea. . . Her sole treat-ment for any disease, be it psychological or corporal, was camomiletea, which she forced upon every member of the family, especiallyupon my grandfather and me. . . Daily, I had to drink at least threeor four cups of it.’’73

The dominant position of the grandmother in family matters isclearly revealed in Aburish’s recollection of the past: ‘‘(My grand-mother’s) role during the late 1930s was an intriguing one whichbelied the accepted outside view of the place of the woman. Shewas in her sixties during this period but had refused to move intothe background with the loss of ‘her man’. She had been her hus-band’s trusted partner, her children’s adored mother and, likemany others, she did interfere and exert influence. Her childrenwere ‘the face’ of the family, but they listened to her, particularlyMahmoud in his position as head of both the family andvillage.’’74

According to T. uqan, the year 1948 brought a profound changein the conditions under which women in traditional Palestine hadlived. As she sees it, the two years after the Palestinian catastrophe in1948, with the exodus of thousands of Palestinians from their homesto neighbouring Arab states, gave rise to social changes of the kindthat often occur after wars. The most significant indications of thesechanges were the removal of the veil from women’s faces, mixedattendance at cinema shows and mixed family visiting. With theremoval of the veil, the formidable barrier separating the sexes inthe city was removed. After T. uqan’s father had died the same year,‘‘Mother was the first woman of her generation in Nablus to removethe veil and, from that moment, she began to breathe the air of

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freedom as the chapter of generations of fanaticism was brought to aclose. Seeing her vitality increase, due to her release from theconfining chains in that detestable ancient prison, filled me withjoy.’’75

This point of view has to be slightly modified. T. uqan herself refersto the fact that even in conservative Nablus, the veil had been pro-gressively vanishing by the twenties.76 The spirit of women’s eman-cipation, though not widespread in predominantly rural Palestine,was not completely absent prior to 1948. But the removal of the veilin the early fifties did not result in an immediate disappearance oftradition. On the contrary, the feeling of uprootedness after 1948even strengthened it. Fawwaz Turki, for instance, who grew up in arefugee camp on the outskirts of Beirut, reports the sad fate of hisyounger sister, Jasmine. Her rebellion against tradition which culmi-nated in a love affair with a boy from the neighbourhood wasavenged by her elder brother. Turki reports: ‘‘When Mousa foundout, we all knew what drastic fate awaited her. Her punishment wasgoing to be a terrible, terrible one indeed. It was just a question ofthe manner in which she would receive it. My sister had committedan unspeakable act beyond all understanding. Since time immemor-ial, women guilty of it were returned to their Glorious Maker, forpresumably only He knew how to deal with them. Even Jasmineherself seemed to see no injustice in the fate that awaited her. At thetime, even I saw nothing despotic or venomous in the verdict passedon my sister. I did not turn away in nauseated disbelief. I did notflinch with horror. I did not try to stop it. Tradition had long sincedevoured our autonomy. We could no more get outside it than wecould jump out of our own skin. Mousa chose poison. He handed itto Jasmine in a cup.’’77

There were, indeed, remarkable changes for women after 1948,mainly due to the loss of Palestine and the dispersal of the Palesti-nians. After the defeat, education became almost ‘‘an obsession’’ andperformance in school ‘‘the sole topic in conversation’’. Aburishexplains this by the fact that people reasoned ‘‘that the Israelis beatthe Arabs because they were better educated’’ and ‘‘this is the onlyway we are going to equal the Israelis and eventually beat them’’.78

But there were other reasons in this new interest in education sinceeducation was the sole means for hundreds of thousands of refugeesto acquire a certain position in life.79 The longing for educationextended to girls as well. Raymonda Tawil unequivocally states:‘‘Ever since 1948, there had been a great upsurge in women’s edu-cation. Even in villages and the more conservative towns, there was

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a greater awareness of the need for education, and girls in the thou-sands left to study at foreign universities. Leaving behind the tradi-tional passivity of the Arab woman, these girls went off—with theconsent of the most conservative families—to undertake vocationaltraining, to pass their exams and qualify as teachers or in other pro-fessions.’’80

The defeat of the Arab armies in 1967, as Tawil continues,brought about a new stage in the emancipation of women due to thesevere blow that the defeat gave to patriarchal society. Before Pales-tinian eyes was the example of Israeli gender relations which tookroot within the emergence of the armed resistance of the Fedayin:‘‘For a Palestinian woman it was a revolutionary act to join activelyin the armed struggle. Weapons are man’s monopoly; war is hisdomain. . . But under the shock of the occupation these younggirls—many of them teenagers—threw off the modesty and submis-siveness that are the conventional virtues of Arab women. In takingup arms against Israel, they were simultaneously rebelling againstour own society and its repressive traditions. Arab conventions weresuddenly confronted with a new and splendid image of a genuinelyemancipated woman.’’81

Tawil presents a thoroughly optimistic interpretation both of thearmed struggle and of the role of women in it which, as she per-ceives it, will result in an everlasting impact on the role of women inPalestinian society. She seems to have drawn too bright a picturewhen seen from the perspective of the next wave of confrontationbetween Palestinian and Israeli forces, namely, the Intifada from1987 to 1993. Both Farhat-Naser and Ashrawi claim that, duringthe Intifada, women were more active than men. Women organiseddemonstrations, visited prisoners, employed lawyers, kept in touchwith the Red Cross and founded projects for self-help.82 At least,Farhat-Naser, however, is sceptical regarding the effects that theseinitiatives have on women’s emancipation. She insists that men will-ingly accepted the participation of women in the struggle fornational independence, but were reluctant in granting them moresocial rights: ‘‘Many men enthusiastically welcomed the activities ofwomen. . . But as soon as the women opened their mouths in orderto demand social rights and equality, they heard the usual slogans:national liberation first, social liberation later. . . Therefore, anumber of independent women’s centres were founded, starting withthe Centre for Women’s Affairs in Nablus.’’83

Farhat-Naser is not the only one who points out that a form of‘‘social regression’’ affected the lives of women in Palestinian society

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when she condemns disregard for questions of gender in theirdebates. Sah. ar Khalıfa, a founding member of the above mentionedCentre for Women’s Affairs, describes at length in her auto-biographical novel how, by the internal dynamics of the Intifada, thepolitically motivated reproach of ‘‘collaboration’’ with Israelismerged with the religiously underlined accusation of ‘‘indecentbehaviour’’, aimed especially at putting women under pressure.84 AliH. Qleibo, on the other hand, observed an increasing importance ofthe h. amula due to external Israeli pressure on the West Bank whichprevented the emergence of a civil society and, with it, a redefinitionof gender relations: ‘‘In the villages as well as in the cities, thehamuleh became the sole legal institution. . . The social legal systembecame a family-administered affair held in the hands of individualfamilies rather than being state-administered. This social phenom-enon may be attributed to the unwritten principle of s.umud [stead-fastness] which barred Palestinians living under occupation fromdealing with Israeli institutions. In the absence of a central legalsystem, individuals with legal conflicts had no choice but to revivenomadic laws; the phenomena of the hamuleh and the related diwan,the family club, filled an important social function.’’85

Conclusion

These autobiographies cover the history of individual womenthroughout the entire twentieth century. Most of them, however,explore the role of women in the Palestinian household prior tothe proclamation of the state of Israel. They show a whole rangeof varieties in the living conditions of women in MandatoryPalestine. Three patterns essentially emerge in which difference ofreligion plays a much less significant role than is usually assumed.

First of all, the traditional rural household is described by ‘Abbasand Jabra, where women’s tasks are clearly defined and transgres-sions are unlikely. The second pattern is the urban yet conservativeextended family, seen in the autobiographies of T. uqan and S. alah. ,where segregation of the sexes is the rule with women being mostlyconfined to the house. Finally, there is the urban bourgeois familyrelated by Sakakini and Haykal, where women act mainly asmothers and wives in a more or less Westernised way. Being perso-nal accounts, however, the autobiographies remind the reader thatliving conditions are not only shaped by social forces, but can alsodiffer considerably according to individual experiences. The sadstory of ‘Abbas’ submissive mother who was under the tutelage of

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her mother-in-law is contrasted by Jabra’s account of a thoroughlyhappy family life; the same holds true for other autobiographers.Most conspicuously, S. alah. disagrees outrightly with T. uqan in herevaluation of the extended family, male dominance and the value oftradition.

Seen from the perspective of the younger generation of auto-biographers, much has been achieved since 1948, including theavailability of education for women, the independent choice of one’spartner and the practice of a profession as described in the auto-biographies of Ashrawi and Farhat-Naser, as compared with theslightly older Tawil who describes her life as a struggle both in per-sonal and political terms. The youngest of the autobiographers,however, is the most sceptical regarding the current developmentin gender relations in Palestinian society at large. In this context,Israel plays a highly ambivalent role. On one hand, it is seen as amodel concerning gender relations as analysed by Tawil, but on theother hand, its continued occupation of the West Bank seems tofoster all kinds of ‘‘neo-patriarchy’’ in Sharabı’s view, ‘‘neo-back-wardness’’ according to Turki and ‘‘social regression’’ in the eyes ofQleibo.

Appendix

1. Yusuf Haykal, born in 1907 into a wealthy family of mer-chants in Jaffa. After having finished his education in Jaffa and Jer-usalem, he studied law and sociology in France and England. In theforties, he was mayor of Jaffa until 1948. Later, he served the Jorda-nian government as an ambassador in several countries. Haykalwrote his autobiography in two volumes: Ayyam al-s.iba (Days ofChildhood): S. uwar min al-h. ayat wa-s.afah. at min al-ta’rıkh, Amman, 1988and Rabı‘ al-h. ayat (The Spring of Life), Amman, 1989.

2. Fadwa T. uqan, born in 1917 into a landowning family inNablus. Revolting against most members of this strictly patriarchalhousehold, she sympathised with only one of her elder brothers, thenationalist poet Ibrahım. She started to write romantic poetry andonly later became one of the leading Palestinian national poets. Shestill lives in Nablus today. T. uqan published her autobiography intwo volumes: Rih. la jabaliyya, rih. la s.ab‘a (Mountainous Journey, Diffi-cult Journey), Amman, 1985 and Al-Rih. la al-as.‘ab (The Most DifficultJourney), Amman, 1993.

3. Jabra Ibrahım Jabra, born in 1920 into a poor family inBethlehem. After having received his formal education in Jerusalem,

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he studied English literature at Oxford. He spent all his adult life inBaghdad where he taught English literature at the university. Jabrais one of the most distinguished Palestinian writers of short storiesand novels. His autobiography was published in two volumes: al-Bi’ral-ula (The First Well): Fus.ul min sıra dhatiyya, London, 1987 and Shari‘al-amırat (The Street of the Princesses): Fus.ul min sıra dhatiyya, Beirut,1994.

4. Ih. san ‘Abbas, born in 1920 to a poor peddler living in avillage near Haifa. Like most other male autobiographers, he wentto a secondary school in Jerusalem. One of the leading Arabhistorians of classical Arabic literature, he has taught at the uni-versities of Khartoum, Cairo and Beirut. In 1986, he moved toAmman. He published his autobiography under the title: Ghurbat al-ra‘ı (The Exile of the Shepherd): Sıra dhatiyya, Amman, 1996.

5. Hala Sakakini, born in 1924, to a renowned Palestinian intel-lectual active in the thirties and forties, Khalıl Sakakını. After herchildhood and youth in Rehavia, the German Colony and Katamonin Jerusalem, she fled with her family to Cairo in 1948. In 1953,Hala and her sister returned to Palestine where she started teachingin Ramallah. They are still residents of Ramallah. Sakakini’s auto-biography is entitled Jerusalem and I. A Personal Record, Amman, 1987,1990.

6. Hisham Sharabı, born in 1927, to a well-to-do family withorigins in Jaffa. After his family fled to Beirut in 1948, he himselfhad to leave Lebanon because of his ties with the Syrian NationalParty under Ant.un Sa‘ada. In the USA, he made a distinguishedcareer as professor of political philosophy. His plans to resettle inBeirut in 1975 were frustrated by the civil war. He wrote two auto-biographies: al-Jamr wa-l-rimad (Embers and Ashes): Dhikrayat muthaq-qaf ‘arabı, Beirut, 1978 and S. uwar al-mad. ı (Images from the Past): Sıradhatiyya, Beirut, 1993.

7. Fawwaz Turki, born in 1940 in Haifa into the family of asmall shopkeeper. In 1948, the family fled to Beirut where Turki wasbrought up in a refugee camp. After world-wide travels and severalyears in an Indian ashram, he moved to the USA where he becamea PLO activist. Today, however, he is a decided critic of the PLO.He published three versions of his autobiography: The Disinherited:Journal of a Palestinian in Exile, New York-London, 1972, 1974; Soul inExile: Lives of a Palestinian Revolutionary, New York-London, 1988 andExile’s Return. The Making of a Palestinian American, New York, 1994.

8. Raymonda Tawil, born in 1940 into an educated family inAcre. After her parents separated, she was sent to a boarding school

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in Nazareth and later to Haifa and Jerusalem. In the fifties, shevisited her brother in Amman where she met her husband. In 1958,the couple moved to Nablus, then still under Jordanian rule. Shepublished an account of her political and feminist activities underthe title: My Home, My Prison, New York, 1980.

9. Hanan Ashrawi, born in 1946 into a well-established familyfrom Ramallah. She studied English literature in Beirut and Ohiowhere she obtained her Ph. D. In 1991, she took part in the MadridConference on the side of the Jordanian delegation. She is one ofthe five female members of the Palestinian National Congress andwas, until recently, minister for higher education. She published herautobiography under the title: This Side of Peace: A Personal Account,New York, 1995.

10. Sumaya Farhat-Naser, born in 1948 into a poor family ofBirzeit. After having obtained her education in a Christian boardingschool in Bethlehem, she studied chemistry in Germany. During theIntifada, she was actively engaged in establishing a dialogue betweenJewish and Arab women. In 1997, she was appointed managingdirector of the Centre for Palestine Women in East Jerusalem. Herautobiography appeared under the title: Thymian und Steine: Einepalastinensische Lebensgeschichte. Basel, 1995, 1996.

Five other books were added to this corpus which are not auto-biographies in the strict sense, but which are also personal accounts.In several respects, they provide important information about thehistory of women:

11. Yusra S. alah. , Tadhakkurat (Memories), Birzeit, 1992. It is anautobiography based on interviews and is part of the series S. afah. atmin al-dhakira al-filast.iniyya (Pages from Palestinian Memory) which iscurrently published by the University of Birzeit.

12. Yasmın Zahran, al-Lah. n al-awwal (The First Tune), Amman,1991. Zahran’s book is a novelised autobiography in which sherecounts her youth in a village in the mountains.

13. Said K. Aburish, Children of Bethany: The History of a PalestinianFamily, London, 1988. Aburish wrote the history of his family overthree generations from the end of the Ottoman regime until theeighties.

14. Ali H. Qleibo, Before the Mountains Disappear, n. pl., 1992. Thebook is an ethnographic chronicle of the Palestinians, a part ofwhich is the history of Qleibo’s family.

15. Sah.ar Khalıfa, Bab al-sah. a, Beirut, 1990. An auto-biographical novel, the book’s subject concerns the first years of theIntifada in Nablus.

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Notes

1 I wish to express my thanks to the Volkswagen and Minerva Founda-tions, the Wissenschaftskolleg in Berlin and the Van Leer JerusalemInstitute that invited me for two academic years during which thisstudy could be concluded.

2 Philippe Lejeune, Le pacte autobiographique, Paris, 1975, 14.3 Robert Folkenflik, ‘‘Introduction’’ in Robert Folkenflik (ed.), The Culture

of Autobiography. Constructions of Self-Representation, Stanford, 1993, 7.4 Hans Glagau, ‘‘Das romanhafte Element der modernen Selbstbio-

graphie im Urteil des Historikers’’ in Gunter Niggl (ed.), Die Auto-biographie. Zu Form und Geschichte einer literarischen Gattung, Darmstadt,1989, 58.

5 Roy Pascal, ‘‘Die Autobiographie als Kunstform’’ in Gunter Niggl(ed.), Autobiographie, 156.

6 Paul de Man, ‘‘Autobiography as De-facement’’, Modern Language Notes94 (1979), 919–930, 920.

7 Robert Smith, Derrida and Autobiography, Cambridge, 1995, 64.8 For instance, Susanne Heiler, Der marokkanische Roman franzosischer

Sprache. Zu den Autoren um die Zeitschrift Souffles (1966–1972), NeueRomania 9, 1990 and Pierre van den Heuvel, ‘‘Mehrsprachigkeitund Ekstase’’ in Ernstpeter Ruhe (ed.), Europas islamische Nachbarn.Studien zu Literatur und Geschichte des Maghreb (vol. I), Wurzburg, 1993,47–60.

9 Idwar Kharrat., Turabuha Za‘faran, Cairo, 1985, preliminary remark.10 Klaus-Detlef Muller, ‘‘Die Autobiographie der Goethezeit. Historischer

Sinn und gattungsgeschichtliche Perspektiven’’ in Gunter Niggl (ed.),Autobiographie, 459–481.

11 See the list of authors and texts which I have consulted for this paperin the Appendix.

12 Rashid Khalidi, Palestinian Identity. The Construction of Modern NationalConsciousness, New York, 1997, 146.

13 Touching this point, Edward Said relates the following anecdote: ‘‘Aclose friend of mine once came to my house and stayed overnight. Inthe morning we had breakfast, which included yogurt cheese with aspecial herb, za‘tar. This combination probably exists all over the Arabworld, and certainly in Palestine, Syria, and Lebanon. But my friendsaid: ‘There, you see. It’s a sign of a Palestinian home that it has za‘tarin it.’ Being a poet, he then expatiated at great and tedious length onPalestinian cuisine, which is generally very much like Lebanese andSyrian cuisine, and by the end of the morning we were both convincedthat we had a totally distinct national cuisine.’’ Edward Said, The


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Politics of Dispossession. The Struggle for Palestinian Self-Determination, 1969–1994, New York, 1995, 115–116.

14 Yosefa Loshitzky, Exile and Anxiety, draft paper, presented 30 May 1997at the Van Leer Jerusalem Institute.

15 Ali H. Qleibo, Before the Mountains Disappear, n. pl., 1992, XXI.16 Hanan Ashrawi, This Side of Peace. A Personal Account, New York, 1995,

5.17 Manfred Fuhrmann, ‘‘Rechtfertigung durch Identitat—Ueber eine

Wurzel des Autobiographischen’’ in Odo Marquard and KarlheinzStierle (eds), Identitat, Muchen, 1979, 686.

18 Loshitzky, Exile. The importance of the place can already be discernedfrom most of the title pages of autobiographies with titles like Mountai-nous Journey, The First Well, Jerusalem and I, Images from the Past andThymian und Steine.

19 Tetz Rooke, In My Childhood. A Study of Arabic Autobiography, Stockholm,1997, 6.

20 Yasmın Zahran, al-Lah. n al-awwal, Amman, 1991, 49–50.21 Ashrawi, 166.22 Zahran, 30.23 Farhat-Naser, Thymian und Steine. Eine palastinensische Lebensgeschichte,

Basel, 1996, 61.24 Fadwa T. uqan, Rih. la jabaliyya, rih. la s.a‘ba, Amman, 1985, 130.25 Said K. Aburish, Children of Bethany. The History of a Palestinian Family,

London, 1988, 57–61.26 Hala Sakakini, Jerusalem. A Personal Record, Amman, 1987, and Yusuf

Haykal, Ayyam al-s.iba. S. uwwar min al-H. ayat wa-s.afah. at min al-tarıkh,Amman, 1988, 116 and 128.

27 Ih. san ‘Abbas, Ghurbat al-ra‘ı. Sıra dhatiyya, Amman, 1996, 23.28 Ibid., 155.29 Ibid., 77–78.30 Ibid., 163.31 Farhat-Naser, 17.32 Aburish, 22.33 Farhat-Naser, 17.34 Haykal, Ayyam, 7.35 ‘Abbas, 165.36 Ashrawi, 47.37 Aburish, 81–82.38 Hisham Sharabı, S. uwar al-mad. ı. Sıra dhatiyya, Beirut, 1993, 77 and

Farhat-Naser, 17.39 T. uqan, Rih. la jabaliyya, 12.40 Haykal, Ayyam, 8.


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41 ‘Abbas, 105–106.42 T. uqan, Rih. la jabaliyya, 55.43 Aburish, 81–82.44 Ibid., 130.45 T. uqan, Rih. la jabaliyya, 117.46 Jabra Ibrahım Jabra, al-Bi’r al-ula: Fus.ul min sıra dhatiyya, London, 1987,

31 and Haykal, Ayyam, 60.47 S. alah. , Sakakini and Zahran, although belonging to the older genera-

tion of autobiographers, accomplished their studies at the AmericanUniversity of Beirut.

48 Yusra S. alah. , Tadhakkurat, Birzeit, 1992, 7. T. uqan, Rih. la jabaliyya, 115,however, has only bitter words for the elementary education of womenduring her mother’s time: ‘‘There were a few who had completed theirstudies in the government teachers’ training college in Jerusalem. . .The young woman teacher knew, for the first time, the value of eco-nomic independence, and shared with her father or her brothers in thesupport of the family. . . However, that did not mean that she wasemancipated from the prevailing backward social concepts. She stillhad to submit to restrictions, traditions and subordination to men. Herlevel of learning was so very limited that it was not enough to makeher personally independent, an individual confident in her capabilitiesand potentialities.’’

49 Haykal, Ayyam, 49.50 Sakakini, 2–3. Her aunt on her father’s side was not married; she lived

with Sakakini’s family and gained her living by teaching.51 Aburish, 130–131.52 S. alah. , 24 and Aburish, 134.53 Aburish, 133. At the end of the first decade of the twentieth century

and in the early twenties, however, the two local colleges of Birzeit andNablus were founded. They are universities today.

54 S. alah. , 13.55 T. uqan, Rih. la jabaliyya, 40.56 Ibid., 28.57 Ibid., 129.58 Ibid., 21.59 ‘Abbas, 15.60 Haykal, Ayyam, 44.61 T. uqan, Rih. la jabaliyya, 97.62 ‘Abbas, 153.63 S. alah. , 7.64 T. uqan, Rih. la jabaliyya, 96.65 S. alah. , 19.

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66 Sakakini, 29.67 Haykal, Ayyam, 45.68 Farhat-Naser, 66.69 ‘Abbas, 39.70 Farhat-Naser, 15.71 ‘Abbas, 18.72 Jabra, Bi’r, 29.73 Hisham Sharabı, al-Jamr wa-l-rimad: Dhikrayat muthaqqaf ‘arabı, Beirut,

1978, 94.74 Aburish, 54–55.75 T. uqan, Rih. la jabaliyya, 27 and S. alah. , 24.76 T. uqan, Rih. la jabaliyya, 138.77 Fawwaz Turki, Exile’s Return. The Making of a Palestinian American, New

York, 1994, 59 and ibid., The Disinherited: Journal of a Palestinian in Exile,New York-London, 1972, 54.

78 Aburish, 138 and 129.79 Fawwaz Turki, Soul in Exile: Lives of a Palestinian Revolutionary, New York-

London, 1988, 42.80 Raymonda Tawil, My Home. My Prison, New York, 1980, 130.81 Ibid., 128.82 Ashrawi, 47 and Farhat-Naser, 140.83 Farhat-Naser, 140–141.84 Sah. ar Khalıfa, Bab al-Sah. a, Beirut, 1990, 7275 and passim.85 Qleibo, 27.


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Part Two:

JURIDICAL SOURCES

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CHAPTER 5

Women’s Access to Public Space

according to al-Muh. alla bi-l-Athar

Camilla Adang

In his only remaining literary work, T. awq al-h. amama fi l-ulfa wa-l-ullaf,1 the famous legal scholar and theologian, Ibn H. azm ofCordoba (d. 456/1064),2 has the following observation about thewomen in his father’s harem:

‘‘As for the reason why this instinct [this preoccupation with sexual matters]is so deeply rooted in women, I see no other explanation than that theyhave nothing else to fill their minds, except loving union and what brings itabout, flirting and how it is done, intimacy and the various ways of achiev-ing it. This is their sole occupation, and they were created for nothing else.’’

He goes on:

‘‘I have myself observed women, and got to know their secrets to an extentalmost unparalleled; for I was reared in their bosoms, and brought upamong them, not knowing any other society. I never sat with men until Iwas already a youth, and my beard had begun to sprout. Women taught methe Koran, they recited to me much poetry, they trained me in calligraphy;my only care and mental exercise, since first I began to understand any-thing, even from the days of earliest childhood, has been to study the affairsof females, to investigate their histories, and to acquire all the knowledge Icould about them. I forget nothing of what I have seen them do. This allsprings from a profound jealousy innate in me, and a deep suspicion ofwomen’s ways.’’3

This passage has led Ibn H. azm’s Spanish biographer, Miguel AsınPalacios, to talk of the author’s ‘‘antifeminismo’’.4 However, Asın’scomments are based on only one of Ibn H. azm’s works and not the

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most representative (even if the most popular) one at that. A. M.Turki has shown that quite different results are obtained when, inaddition to T. awq al-h. amama, one looks at Ibn H. azm’s theological andlegal writings.5 On the basis of Ibn H. azm’s opinions on women’smatrimonial rights, the portion of an inheritance to which they areentitled, the existence of female prophets before the coming of Islamand the status of the wives of the Prophet Muh. ammad—whom herates higher than ‘‘ordinary’’ Companions—Turki feels justified incalling him a virtual feminist.6

My purpose here is not to assess the extent of Ibn H. azm’s sup-posed feminism or misogyny; rather, this work is part of an ongoinginvestigation whose aim is to determine to what extent Ibn H. azm’sZ. ahirı views posed a challenge to the fuqaha’ of the Malikı schoolthat was dominant in al-Andalus. A number of issues discussedneither by Asın nor by Turki will be presented below, which arerelated to the place accorded to women in the public sphere.Emphasis will be on women’s access to the religious domain, i.e. themosque and the cemetery for, while the public sphere includesplaces such as markets and baths,7 Ibn H. azm does not explicitlyrefer to them. The main source used in this study is the author’smultivolume code of Z. ahirı law, al-Muh. alla bi-l-athar.8

Al-Muh.alla bi-l-athar

Al-Muh. alla bi-l-athar is a product of the Z. ahirı school of law, themadhhab to which Ibn H. azm attached himself after having beenraised in the Malikı school and having gone through a brief Shafi‘ıphase.9 As their name indicates, the Z. ahirıs advocate the literal inter-pretation of the revealed sources, the Quran and the Sunna of theProphet, without speculations about any underlying meaning. Fur-thermore, they recognise a restricted form of ijma‘ (consensus),namely, that of the Prophet’s Companions, as an additional sourceof law. In principle, these are the only sources from which legal opi-nions may be derived. Devices such as reasoning by analogy (qiyas),juristic preference (istis.h. ab) and personal opinion (ra’y), etc., that wereused by the other madhhabs, are rejected as being too arbitrary. Noris it allowed to rely on the opinions of earlier masters (taqlıd); rather,every case is to be examined as if it were for the first time, withoutreverting to earlier jurisprudence.10 As we shall see, this exclusiveappeal to the revealed texts could sometimes yield surprising results,surprising perhaps even to Ibn H. azm himself.

Al-Muh. alla contains over 2,000 mas’alas (case, issue).11 A mas’ala is

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usually structured as follows: After briefly stating his view on acertain matter and the sources on which it is based (verses from theQuran or traditions of the Prophet), Ibn H. azm lists the opinions ofearlier authorities such as Abu H. anıfa, Malik, al-Shafi‘ı and, attimes, Ah.mad b. H. anbal and Abu Sulayman, that is, Dawud al-Is.fa-hanı, the ‘‘founder’’ of the Z. ahirı school. This is followed by a pre-sentation of the texts on which these imams based their views.Subsequently, Ibn H. azm criticizes their use of the texts cited, oftenrejecting large numbers of traditions, even those appearing in thecanonical collections because of some presumed flaw in their isnad.Finally, the author frequently, although not always, recapitulates hisown view.

Al-Muh. alla is not a collection of fatwas nor a manual of h. isba andtherefore its use as a source for reconstructing social reality in al-Andalus is limited, all the more so since Z. ahirı law was never actu-ally put into practice.12 It contains extremely few references to con-temporaries other than as transmitters of traditions. The personalopinions of legal scholars and their decisions reached by analogicalreasoning have no value for Ibn H. azm as he makes clear throughoutthe work. Hence, it tells us more about Ibn H. azm’s views thanabout women in Andalusi society in the 5th/11th century, for hisconcern is not with actual reality. His Z. ahirı method leads him todescribe the ideal situation, the way things should be, i.e. as theywere in the days of the Prophet Muh. ammad and the Companions.We can thus only speculate what ‘‘applied Z. ahirism’’ would havemeant for Muslim women.

The Condition for Entering the Public Space:Covering the ‘Awra

Before going further into the question of which public locations maybe visited by women, we should consider the foremost conditionrelated to venturing into the outside world, namely, that womenshould be dressed appropriately, covering their ‘awra (the parts of thebody that must be hidden from view). Since there are different inter-pretations of the term ‘awra, there are different ideas of what con-stitutes appropriate attire. The requirement to cover parts of one’sbody is based on Quran 24:301 which states:

‘‘Tell the believing men to lower their gaze and guard their private parts.That is purer for them (. . .) And tell the believing women to lower their gazeand guard their private parts, and to display of their adornment only thatwhich is apparent, and to draw their veils over their bosoms, and not to

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reveal their adornment except to their own husbands or fathers or hus-bands’ fathers, or their sons or their husbands’ sons, or their brothers ortheir brothers’ sons or sisters’ sons, or their women attendants, or theirslaves, or male attendants who lack vigour, or children who are not yetaware of women’s nakedness. And let them not stamp their feet so as toreveal what they hide of their adornment (. . .).’’13

Ibn H. azm addresses the issue of appropriate attire for women inhis chapter on ritual prayer (Kitab al-s.alat). Although, in this context,he only speaks of the proper dress for the prayer situation, deman-ding that women conceal their ‘awra from the eyes of possible on-lookers for the whole duration of the prayer—whether there isactually someone there or not—we may assume that this dress codewas not limited to the mosque or the mus.alla only, but was requiredalso for other outdoor activities. In support of his view, Ibn H. azmcites Quran 24:301 and adds that whoever shows his private parts toothers than those to whom it is allowed disobeys God who also says:‘‘Attire yourselves at every time of worship’’ (Quran 7:31). It is com-monly agreed that this means concealing one’s ‘awra.14

But what is ‘awra in Ibn H. azm’s view? In the case of women, it isher whole body, apart from her face and her hands.15 On the basisof Quran 24:31, Ibn H. azm rules that a woman should cover herwhole body, including her hair, with a khimar (a type of cloak) exceptthe face and the hands. This rule applies to free women and slavegirls alike without any distinction between them. On this point, hediffers from Abu H. anıfa according to whom ‘awra is a flexible term:for a free woman, it is her whole body except her hands, her feetand her face. For the slave girl, however, it is exactly the same as formen, i.e. everything between the navel and the knees, the knee being‘awra while the navel is not. If a slave girl prays, it is with uncoveredhead, with the whole of her body uncovered except for a wrapwhich hides only what is between the navel and the knee.

Ibn H. azm dismisses Abu H. anıfa’s views on ‘awra as being tooridiculous for words. He then moves on to Malik who holds that thefree woman and the slave girl are equal with regard to the parts oftheir bodies that are considered ‘awra, except for the hair of thelatter which is not ‘awra and which may therefore be uncovered. Asimilar view is held by al-Shafi‘ı.16

Unlike Abu H. anıfa, Ibn H. azm considers the feet to be part of awoman’s ‘awra. As proof, he adduces Quran 24:31 quoted above. Inhis view, the passage about her not stamping her feet proves that thefeet and legs are part of what must be hidden and cannot beexposed. In addition, God orders the women in this verse to put a

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covering over their breasts as well as their necks. He encountersfurther proof for this in a number of traditions.17

In the first one, Umm ‘At.iyya says that the Messenger of Godordered that on ‘ıd al-fit.r and ‘ıd al-ad. h. a, they should take out pu-bescent girls, women who had reached the age of menstruation and‘‘secluded women’’ (dhawat al-khudur).18 When she asked what was tobe done if one of them did not have a jilbab, the Messenger replied:‘‘Let her sister clothe her in one of hers.’’ This tradition, then, showsthat the Prophet ordered the women to wear a jilbab for prayer. Ajilbab is a garment that covers the whole body, not just part of it.19

The same tradition, incidentally, is used elsewhere to prove that theProphet approved of women attending prayer at the festivals.

Ibn H. azm cites a tradition in which Ibn ‘Abbas reports that he sawwomen with uncovered hands. This confirms once again that thehands are not ‘awra, but the rest of the body, except the face, is ‘awraand, hence, must be concealed from view. This is followed by tradi-tions in which beautiful women appear. How could one tell that theywere beautiful if their faces were hidden from sight, Ibn H. azm askshimself. This shows that women did not cover their faces and that thiswas accepted practice.20 Other traditions from Ibn ‘Abbas, as well asfrom Ibn ‘Umar and Anas b. Malik, further strengthen this view.21

As additional proof for his contention that women should covertheir whole bodies except their faces and their hands, Ibn H. azmadduces several traditions. According to ‘A’isha, the Prophet saidthat God would not accept the prayer of a women who was havingher period (i.e. who had come of age) unless she was wearing thekhimar. And Umm Salama, when asked in how many pieces of cloth-ing a woman should pray, replied: ‘‘In a long, loose-fitting chemise(dir‘) which conceals the upper part of the feet and in the khimar.’’Ibn ‘Abbas likewise mentioned the dir‘ and the khimar. ‘A’isha wasasked the same question as Umm Salama. She said to the manwho asked her: ‘‘Ask ‘Alı b. Abı T. alib, then come back and tell me.’’He asked ‘Alı who said: ‘‘The khimar and the loose-fitting dir‘.’’ Whenhe reported back to ‘A’isha, she said, ‘‘He is right.’’22

Ibn H. azm quotes traditions by Mujahid, ‘At.a’ and others whichshow that any woman who has reached the age of menstruationmust cover her head with the khimar if she wants her prayer to beaccepted by God. This applies to slave girls as well as to free womenfor neither the Quran nor the Sunna differentiates between the twoas far as prayer is concerned. They are equally bound by all its rulessuch as the laws of purity, the direction of the prayer, the number ofrak‘as, etc.23

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Those who differentiate between free women and slave girls pointto the fact that the sharı‘a distinguishes between these two categoriesof women with regard to the h. add punishments in that punishmentfor the slave girl is milder than that of the free woman. This, IbnH. azm admits, is correct but the sharı‘a also differentiates on thispoint between the free man and the slave. Yet, when it comes todetermining what is ‘awra, no distinction is made between the freeman and the slave, so why then distinguish between the free womanand the slave girl? Not only do these proponents of qiyas not go bythe revealed texts, but even their analogical reasoning is weak!24

The Female Voice

In this context, mention should be made of Ibn H. azm’s attitude tothe female voice. While it is not a visible part of the body that canbe covered, many scholars disapprove of women making their voicesheard, for the female voice, like her body and her hair, may be asource of seduction and ultimately of sedition (fitna). Ibn H. azm doesnot share this view as is apparent from his discussion of the rituals ofthe pilgrimage to Mecca. According to most jurists, a woman’stalbiya25 should be loud enough for her to hear herself but not, it isimplied, so loud that is audible to others, that is, to men.26 IbnH. azm states that pilgrims in Mecca should recite the talbiya27 andsince no specific instructions are given for women, this means thatthey should act no differently from men and that they should raisetheir voices.

Additional proof that the female voice is not something thatshould be hidden like her ‘awra can be found in Ibn H. azm’s discus-sion of s.alat al-‘ıdayn

28 where the author states that singing, playingand dancing on the days of the two festivals are h. asan (good,approved acts) both in the mosque and elsewhere. The author citesa number of traditions which feature Muh. ammad’s favourite wife,‘A’isha. In the first tradition,29 she comes in to see her husband onthe day of the festival with, in her wake, two singing girls performingsongs from Bu‘ath. The Prophet lay down on his bed and turned hisface away. Then Abu Bakr came in and scolded his daughter forapproaching the Prophet with musical instruments of the devil,whereupon the Prophet turned towards him and told him to leaveher alone. ‘A’isha signalled to the girls and they left. In a similaraccount, Abu Bakr came to see his daughter when she had two girlswith her during the days of Mina (‘ıd al-ad. h. a). They sang and playedinstruments while the Prophet was there huddled in his cloak. Abu

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Bakr scolded her, but the Prophet said, ‘‘Leave her alone, Abu Bakr;these are the days of the festival.’’

While these accounts make it clear that the Prophet did not carefor all this frivolity, he did not put a stop to it, thus, in fact, condon-ing it. For Ibn H. azm, anything that has not been expressly for-bidden by the Quran, the Sunna or ijma‘ is allowed: if God hadwanted to forbid it, He would have done so explicitly.

A further example of Ibn H. azm’s tolerant attitude towards thefemale voice is his Risala fı l-ghina’ al-mulhı a-mubah. huwa am mah. z.ur or‘‘Epistle about whether singing accompanied by musical instrumentsis allowed or forbidden’’.30 In this tract, Ibn H. azm argues that lis-tening to singing girls accompanying themselves or being accom-panied on musical instruments is allowed, provided one’s intentionsare pure and no lewd pleasure is derived from it. This tract con-tinued to arouse heated discussions and, as recently as 1953,Muh. ammad Nas.ir al-Dın al-Albanı wrote an impassioned refutationof it.31

Women’s Presence as a Possible Impedimentto the Prayer of Men

The canonical collections of h. adıth contain a number of traditionsabout things that break off a man’s prayer without, however, ren-dering it invalid. Ibn H. azm quotes with approval a tradition accor-ding to which a man’s prayer is broken off when a dog, whetherwalking or not walking, young or old, alive or dead, is foundbetween himself and the qibla; the same goes for a donkey of anydescription and for a woman, walking or not walking, young or old,except if she is lying down since in that case, prayer is not brokenoff. The Prophet himself is known to have prayed while ‘A’isha waslying on her bed in front of him between himself and the qibla. Thepresence of a woman in front of female worshippers does not affecttheir prayer.32

The tradition about dogs, donkeys and women has been taken bylegal scholars as proof that the latter should not come near themosque when congregational prayer is taking place, for they wouldonly distract the men. For Ibn H. azm, however, it means no morethan that women should not interpose themselves between a prayingman and the qibla. This, again, means that she cannot act as animam for men. But if women pray and one of them leads them inprayer, it is h. asan for there is no explicit revealed text preventingthem from this.33 They do not interrupt one another’s prayers.

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‘A’isha, mother of the believers, led the women in the mandatoryprayer and the same is said about Umm Salama, another one of theProphet’s wives.

Another activity that is off limits for women is calling the men toprayer (adhan) or reminding them that prayer is about to begin(iqama). However, this is not because her voice may be seductive, butbecause the Prophet has directed the command to call the wor-shippers to prayer only to those whose duty it is to perform the con-gregational prayer, i.e. the men. This excludes the women.34 Theymay, however, call their fellow women to prayer.35

S. alat: at Home or in the Mosque?

There is no disagreement among scholars, says Ibn H. azm, thatwomen who have come of age36 are required to perform the s.alatunless they are menstruating or have just given birth for then theyshould wait until they have recovered their ritual purity.37 However,opinions differ as to the place where they can perform this religiousduty.

Among legal scholars, a tendency may be observed to restrictwomen’s participation in congregational prayers and to have thempray at home. Ibn H. azm devotes numerous pages to the refutationof this tendency which, in his view, is unjust since, from the actualwalk to the mosque, ajr (a reward for pious deeds) can be derived,38

for the way to the mosque may be full of inconveniences like themidday heat, the cold, the rain, the dark or the multitudes of people.Going to the mosque and suffering hardships to get there add toone’s ajr. God would not deprive women of the possibility of earningextra credit for the afterlife. Therefore, Ibn H. azm encourages themto go to the mosque. Whereas others prefer to limit the freedom ofmovement of attractive young women for fear of fitna, Ibn H. azmimposes no special restrictions on young women nor does he makesspecial allowances for older women for, in his view, they are equal.39

He adduces a number of traditions that prove that, in the days ofthe Prophet, women frequented the mosque together with men. Oneof them says that if anything should happen during prayer (anythingto which the worshipper wants to draw attention like an error com-mitted by the imam), men should praise God and women should claptheir hands.40

Ibn H. azm concedes that women are not obliged to be presentduring the congregational prayer (jama‘a) and that there is no dis-agreement on this.41 But in his view, it is h. asan for a woman to

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attend prayer together with the men for it has been reliably trans-mitted that women would attend prayer with the Prophet with hisknowledge.42 A woman’s guardian or a slave girl’s master cannotprevent her from attending congregational prayer in the mosque ifhe knows that she wishes to perform s.alat. The women are notallowed to leave all dressed up and perfumed and if they do, theguardian or master should keep them from going.43

In support of this, Ibn H. azm quotes various traditions, the first ofthem being: ‘‘Do not deny the slave girls of God access to themosques of God.’’ And another one: ‘‘Do not deny your womenaccess to the mosques if they ask your permission to go there.’’ Bilal,the son of ‘Abd Allah b. ‘Umar who supposedly transmitted thish. adıth, wanted to prevent women from going and was sternlyrebuked by his father for this would be in contravention of the Pro-phet’s wishes.44

A third h. adıth runs as follows: ‘‘Do not prevent the women fromgoing out to the mosques at night.’’ And another: ‘‘Do not deny theslave girls of God access to the mosques of God, but they shall notgo out unless they are unperfumed.’’45 In a related tradition, theProphet tells the women to abstain from perfume if they go tothe mosque. ‘A’isha said: ‘‘When the Messenger of God would praythe morning prayer, the women would wrap themselves in theircloaks and he would not recognise them because of the darkness.’’46

According to an additional h. adıth, the best row for men is thefront one and the worst is that at the back; the best row for womenis that at the back and the worst one is that at the front. Women areto avert their glances when the men bow down, and not to look attheir ‘awra when their clothes ride up. Moreover, the Prophetassigned a special entrance door to the mosque for women only and‘Umar forbade men to enter through this door.47

All these accounts prove that in the days of the Prophet and thefirst four caliphs, it was common and accepted practice for womento attend congregational prayer. Therefore, Ibn H. azm suggests thatit should also be common practice during his time. He places greatemphasis on the desirability for women to pray with the congrega-tion in the mosque rather than at home.

If the prayer of women in their homes were preferred (afd. al), heasks, why then did the Messenger of God tell the men not to preventthe women from going to the mosque and why did he order thewomen to go out unperfumed?48

He refers to the views of Abu H. anıfa and Malik who thought itpreferable if women prayed at home. For Abu H. anıfa, it is said that

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he disapproved of women going out to the mosques for the con-gregational prayer, the Friday prayer and the two festivals, but thathe made allowances for old women, especially in the late eveningand at daybreak, presumably because they would not be seen orrecognised in the dark. It is also related, however, that Abu H. anıfadid not disapprove of their going out during the two festivals. Malikis quoted as saying that he did not prevent women from going out tothe mosques and even allowed the older woman (mutajalla) to attendthe prayers for the two festivals and the prayer for rain (istisqa’).Malik also allowed the young woman (shabba) to go to the mosque,but only from time to time. A woman advanced in years may go tothe mosque although she, too, should not frequent it.49

Ibn H. azm says that those who disapprove of women’s participa-tion in congregational prayer have suggested that the Prophet’sorder to take women out on festival days may have been aimed atintimidating the enemy, to make it look as though there were moreMuslims than there actually were at the time. According to IbnH. azm, this is a terrible thing to say, for the Prophet made it clearthat he ordered the women to go out to pray in order that they reapbenefits. Moreover, the menstruating women kept away from theprayer site which means that the number of Muslims present wasreduced even further. Besides, the only enemies that the Prophetfaced personally were the Jews and the hypocrites of Medina whowould identify the women as such.50

The opponents also argue on the basis of a tradition to the effectthat if the Prophet had seen which sins the women would commit(ah. dathat, especially used for sins in the sexual sphere) after him,he would have prevented them from going to the mosque. In addi-tion, they cite a tradition of H. umayd b. Mundhir in which theProphet says: ‘‘Your prayer at home is more excellent (afd. al) thanyour prayer with me.’’ They also mention a long tradition, the gistof which is that the most suitable place for a woman to pray andthe one which will yield the most ajr, is her bedchamber (makhda‘);the least appropriate place for her to perform her prayer andwhich yields a minimal ajr is the congregational mosque (masjidjama‘a).51

Ibn H. azm subtly defuses all these traditions. He devotes an espe-cially detailed discussion to the tradition about women’s future ih. dathwhich is repeated in full elsewhere in the Muh. alla, an indication ofthe importance which he attaches to this issue.52 According to IbnH. azm, there are six reasons why the fear of future sins contains noproof: (1) The Prophet did not know which sins the women would

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commit and did not prevent them from going to the mosque. If hedid not prevent them from going, then it is a sin and bid‘a to doit on one’s own authority; (2) God did know what the womenwere going to do; whoever denies this is an unbeliever. He neverinspired His Prophet to prevent women from going to the mosquebecause of whatever sins they committed and He never inspired himto say, ‘‘Tell the people that if the women sin, you should preventthem from going to the mosques.’’ If God did not do this, thenadhering to such a view is a fault and an offence. (3) Certain sinswere already being committed in the days of Muh. ammad. There isno ih. dath more horrendous than zina (fornication, adultery) and thisalso took place in the days of the Messenger of God when the adul-terers were stoned or whipped for it. But he never prevented womenfrom entering the mosque because of this. Zina is forbidden to menas it is to women, with no difference. What makes zina a reason fordenying all women access to the mosques when it never became areason for denying all men access to the mosques? (4) Ih. dath may beattributed to some women to the exclusion of others and it is incon-ceivable that a beneficial thing would be withheld from someonewho did not sin on account of someone who did unless there is atext from God transmitted via His Messenger to this effect. Quran6:164 says that no man shall bear another’s burden. (5) If ih. dath wereindeed a reason for forbidding women to go to the mosques, then itwould also be even more appropriate to prevent them from goingout to the market or on any street. Why do people prohibit visits tomosques because of ih. dath without denying women access to thestreets? Ibn H. azm expresses his surprise at Abu H. anıfa who allowedwomen to travel alone, to go to the desert and the open country at adistance of two and a half days, but would not allow women to go tothe mosque. (6) ‘A’isha did not think that women should be for-bidden from visiting mosques because of ih. dath nor did she say:‘‘Prevent them from going because of the sins they will commit’’, butshe merely reported that if the Prophet had lived, he would haveprevented them from going.

Ibn H. azm concludes by saying that if the Prophet in his life-time had indeed forbidden women from going to the mosque,then he, too, would have forbidden it. But the Prophet did notforbid this and therefore neither does he. Those who do can onlydo so contradicting the Sunna and contradicting ‘A’isha. Theymislead the ones who follow them when they say that ‘A’ishaforbade women to go out for she did not.

The remaining traditions favoured by those who want to keep

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women at home are rejected by Ibn H. azm because of the weaknessof their isnads.

Ibn H. azm proceeds with reports on the Rashidun. ‘Umar, thesecond caliph, appointed someone to lead the women in prayer atthe back of the mosque in the month of Ramadan. According toanother report, ‘Atika bint Zayd used to go to the mosque to pray.‘Umar said; ‘‘You know I don’t like this’’ to which she replied: ‘‘Ishall stop going if you forbid me to,’’ but ‘Umar did not do so.‘Umar, says Ibn H. azm, would certainly have stopped her fromgoing to the mosque if he had thought that no ajr was to be derivedfrom it for her, all the more so if he had felt that her going actuallyreduced her ajr and annulled her meritorious acts. The fourth caliph,‘Alı b. Abı T. alib, appointed an imam for the men and another forthe women.53 This, too, shows that women were praying in themosque and not or not only at home.

Limitations Imposed on Menstruating Women

A special issue is that of the rights and duties of the menstruatingwoman. We have seen that a woman who has started having herperiod is required to pray. But what about women who are actuallyhaving it? In order to know this, we have to define first what ismeant by menstruation. Ibn H. azm defines it as ‘‘dark, thick andparticularly unpleasant smelling blood’’. If it is seen coming out of awoman’s uterus, she is not allowed to perform the s.alat, to fast or tocircumambulate the Ka‘ba (t.awaf) nor may her husband or masterhave intercourse with her until she is clean again.54 If she sees a reddischarge or something resembling water in which meat has beenrinsed or a yellow, brownish, white or dry secretion, it means thatshe has become clean and she is obliged to wash her whole headand body with water or, if no water is available, with sand. There-after, she can pray, fast, perform the t.awaf around the Ka‘ba andher husband or master may have intercourse with her. All theabove-mentioned discharges may be encountered before and aftermenstruation and all are clean. Blood coming directly from the veinsdoes not cause impurity like menstrual blood and discharges otherthan dark menstrual blood do not render prayer forbidden.55 There-fore, if a pregnant women sees blood before delivery, she cannot beconsidered like the menstruating woman, so nothing is forbidden toher. Neither can she be likened to the woman who has recentlygiven birth and whose blood renders forbidden the same things thatare rendered forbidden by menstrual blood, the only exception


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being the t.awaf which is allowed to a woman who has given birth,provided she has performed the ghusl.56

The prohibition of performing the ritual prayer, the t.awaf and ofhaving sexual intercourse during menstruation is a clear ijma‘.According to ‘A’isha, the Messenger of God told her that she shouldleave her prayer when her period started and to wash off the bloodand to pray when it went away.57 When a woman sees that she isclean, she cannot perform the prayer or the t.awaf until after she hascompletely cleansed herself with water or sand.58 The same goes forintercourse.59

According to Ibn H. azm, a woman’s period does not render herwhole body impure. He quotes a tradition from ‘A’isha in which theProphet asked her to bring him a mat from the mosque (in anothervariant, a robe). When she objected that she had her period, he said:‘‘Your period is not in your hand.’’ This, says Ibn H. azm, proves thatthe only place where a woman is to be avoided during her period isthe place where the menstruation is actually located.60 This viewgoes against other interpretations of Quran 2:22261 which suggestthat the company of women is to be avoided or that one may notshare a bed with them. Ibn H. azm allows the husband or master awide range of activities in the sexual sphere, only excluding penetra-tion.62

Entering the Mosque for Purposes other than Prayer

Prayer, then, is forbidden to the menstruating woman and thewoman who has recently given birth. But this does not mean thataccess to the mosque for other purposes is to be denied them. Onthe contrary, they are free to enter the mosque. The same goes forsomeone with a major ritual impurity for there is nothing forbiddingany of this.

Some people say that someone in a state of major ritual pollutionor a menstruating woman cannot enter the mosque unless it is onlypassing through. They base themselves on Quran 4:43 which tellsthe believers not to come near the prayer when they are drunk orimpure. They claim that this refers to the place where the prayermeeting is being held. Ibn H. azm does not consider this convincing.If God had wanted to prohibit their approaching prayer sites ratherthan prayer itself, He would have said so explicitly.63 As has beenseen, this is an important principle of the Z. ahirı school.

Those who hold an opinion contrary to that of Ibn H. azm argueon the basis of traditions in which the Prophet forbids menstruating

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women access to the mosques. For Ibn H. azm, the fact that thesetraditions appear in the canonical collections does not mean a thing:he rejects them on the grounds that the transmitters are eitherunknown or unreliable. In corroboration of his own view, he quotesa report about a woman who converted to Islam and who wasallowed by the Prophet to live in the mosque. Now, surely she musthave menstruated during her stay in the mosque because that is thelot of women!64

Moreover, it has been transmitted that the Messenger of Godsaid: ‘‘The whole earth has been made into a mosque for me’’. Thissaying is taken to mean that, with few exceptions, prayer is allowedin any location. There is no dispute that menstruating women maywalk the earth which is a mosque! It is forbidden to prohibit accessto certain mosques and not to others. If access to the mosque wereforbidden to menstruating women, then the Messenger would surelyhave informed ‘A’isha of this when she had her period, but he didnot forbid her anything except the t.awaf around the Ka‘ba.65

Supererogatory Devotions

Both public and private supererogatory recitations of the Quran, atnight and in the daytime, are allowed for men and women for thereis nothing that is either an explicitly revealed text or an ijma‘ toforbid any of this. Those who say that women’s involvement in thispractice ought to be restricted will be asked why, for no Muslimdisputes that the people were allowed to hear the words of theProphet’s wives and there is no text expressing disapproval ofhearing things from women other than the Prophet’s wives.66

Another form of supererogatory devotion is i‘tikaf: seclusion in themosque for prayer, meditation, fasting, etc. Before entering themosque for this purpose, the mu‘takif decides upon the number ofhours, days or weeks for which he wishes to retreat. From thatmoment onwards, he cannot leave except for performing his naturalfunctions.67 I‘tikaf is open to men and women alike; the wives of theProphet, too, practised it.68 Retreat may be to any mosque, says IbnH. azm, except one which is part of a private house.69 This means, inpractice, that a woman who wishes to take this form of super-erogatory devotion upon herself must leave her living quarters andgo to a more public place of worship. However, if she wishes tofollow the example of the wives of the Prophet, she will be residingin a screened-off section of the mosque. If, in the course of her i‘tikaf,she should get her period, she is to remain in the mosque until the

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time that she committed herself to be in seclusion runs out. Men-struation, then, does not invalidate i‘tikaf nor does it require her tovacate the mosque.70

Funeral Processions and Cemeteries

Another important opportunity for women to leave the domesticsphere were funerals and visits to cemeteries. This practice was con-demned by many legal scholars. From the disapproval expressed inthe h. isba manuals, we may conclude that it was quite common in al-Andalus.71

Ibn H. azm allows women to take part in funeral processions72

provided they can control their emotions: self-command at funeralsis prescribed. This also goes for men. Crying is allowed as anexpression of grief as long as it does not come to loud weeping forthis is forbidden as are uttering cries, scratching, beating one’s faceand breast, tearing out one’s hair or shaving it off, rending one’sclothes since these are inappropriate expressions of anger at God’sdecree.73 Grief may thus be expressed, but within the bounds ofwhat is proper. From this, we may conclude that Ibn H. azm dis-approved of professional mourners, usually women.

Admittedly, there are reports in which women’s participation infuneral processions is forbidden, but, according to Ibn H. azm, theseare not sound because they are either mursal (the isnad lacks a linkbetween the Prophet and the Successor) or transmitted on theauthority of a majhul (unknown person) or of someone whose wordcannot be accepted as proof. As an example, he quotes a h. adıthgoing back, ultimately, to Umm ‘At.iyya who says that women wereforbidden to follow funeral processions.74 Ibn H. azm rejects thisaccount because it does not identify the person who forbade thewomen to attend. On the other hand, there is a sound traditionwhich supports his own view. According to Abu Hurayra, the Mes-senger of God attended a funeral and ‘Umar spotted a womanthere. He yelled at her, but the Messenger told him to leave heralone for he said, ‘‘The eye is tearful, the soul is stricken and thetime is near’’.75

Ibn H. azm thinks it commendable to visit graves; it is even a dutyto be performed at least once. There is not even an objection, in hisview, to a Muslim visiting the grave of a close friend who was amushrik. This applies equally to men and to women.76 Although theProphet first forbade visits to graves, he allowed it at a later stage,thus abrogating his earlier decision. As proof, our author cites a

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tradition going back to Abu Hurayra which has the Prophet visitingthe grave of his mother. He cries and those who are with him crywith him. The Prophet explains: ‘‘I have asked my Lord permissionto ask forgiveness for her, but He has not allowed it. I asked Himpermission to visit her grave and this He permitted me. Visit thenthe graves for they are a reminder of death.’’77 Although women arenot specifically addressed or mentioned in this tradition, it is a rulewith general value for, according to the Z. ahirıs, when no exceptionhas been specified, a rule must be taken as generally valid for allMuslims.

Concluding Remarks

In conclusion, one may say that Ibn H. azm’s Z. ahirı system, ifapplied, would have resulted in a greater visibility (and, on theappropriate occasions, audibility) of women in religious and sociallife through participation in congregational prayer at the mosque, atfestive occasions and at funerals. It would have given women a moreactive role than might have been expected on the basis of theauthor’s comments in T. awq al-h. amama quoted at the beginning ofthis study. However, since the madhhab of Ibn H. azm’s choice nevergained acceptance, one can only speculate, on one hand, as to theextent to which ‘‘applied Z. ahirism’’ would have differed from hisideal construct, and, on the other hand, from Malikism as it waspractised in al-Andalus. His emphasis on the equality in certain reli-gious matters for free women and slave girls is interesting. One mayquestion, however, whether this attitude results from a deep respectfor women and belief in the essential equality of the sexes, as is sug-gested by Turki, or whether Ibn H. azm was led to these views simplyby his Z. ahirı principles. Whatever the case may be, the mas’alas dis-cussed here do show that in order to draw any reliable conclusionsabout the author’s attitude to women, one should not limit oneself toone single work, but should also use other writings of a differentnature which reflect a different agenda.78

Notes

1 Ibn H. azm, T. awq al-h. amama fı l-ulfa wa-l-ullaf, ed. S. alah. al-Dın al-Qasimı, Tunis, 1980. English translations: A. R. Nykl, A book containingthe Risala known as the Dove’s Neck-Ring about Love and Lovers, Paris, 1931and A. J. Arberry, The Ring of the Dove, London, 1953.

2 On Ibn H. azm, see R. Arnaldez, ‘‘Ibn H. azm’’, E.I.2, III, 790–799;

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Miguel Asın Palacios, Abenhazam de Cordoba y su historia crıtica de las ideasreligiosas, vol. I, Madrid, 1927; Emilio Garcıa Gomez (transl.), El collarde la paloma. Tratado sobre el amor y los amantes de Ibn H. azm de Cordoba,traducido por Emilio Garcıa Gomez, con un prologo de Jose Ortega yGasset, Madrid, 1971, 1987, ‘‘introduccion’’; A. G. Chejne, Ibn H. azm,Chicago, 1982 and M. Abu Zahra, Ibn H. azm. H. ayatuhu wa-‘as.ruhu,ara’uhu wa-fiqhuhu, Cairo, n.d.

3 T. awq al-h. amama, 94ff. and translation Arberry, 100ff.4 Asın Palacios, Abenhazam, I, 39ff.5 A. M. Turki, ‘‘Femmes privilegiees et privileges feminins dans le

systeme theologique et juridique d’Ibn H. azm’’, Studia Islamica 47(1978), 25–82.

6 Turki, ‘‘Femmes privilegiees’’, especially 40, 50, 53, 59, 61, 81. Foranother sympathetic view of Ibn H. azm’s attitude to women, at least asreflected in T. awq al-h. amama, see Lois A. Giffen, ‘‘Ibn H. azm and theT. awq al-h. amama’’ in Salma Khadra Jayyusi (ed.), The Legacy of MuslimSpain, Leiden, 1992, 432ff.

7 Mıkel de Epalza, ‘‘La mujer en el espacio urbano musulman’’ in M. J.Viguera (ed.), La mujer en al-Andalus. Reflejos historicos de su actividad y cate-gorıas sociales, Madrid-Sevilla, 1989, 53–60 and Victoria Aguilar andManuela Marın, ‘‘Las mujeres en el espacio urbano de al-Andalus’’ inJulio Navarro Palazon (ed.), Casas y palacios de al-Andalus, Barcelona,1995, 39–44. Ibn H. azm does not specifically address the question ofwhether women are allowed to go to the market; he merely expressessurprise at those of his predecessors and colleagues who allow womento go out to the market and on other streets while disapproving oftheir visits to the mosque which is surely a more meritorious act.

8 Al-Muh. alla, ed. Ah.mad Muh. ammad Shakir, 11 vols., Cairo, 1351/1932 and Al-Muh. alla bi-l-athar, ed. ‘Abd al-Ghaffar al-Bandarı, 12 vols,Beirut, 1408/1988. The more recent edition will be used here.

9 Camilla Adang, ‘‘From Malikism to Shafi‘ism to Z. ahirism: the ‘‘con-versions’’ of Ibn H. azm’’ in Mercedes Garcıa-Arenal (ed.), Conversionsislamiques: identites religieuses en islam mediterraneen, Paris, in press.

10 On Z. ahirism, see Ignaz Goldziher, The Z. ahirıs. Their doctrine and theirhistory. A contribution to the history of Islamic theology, translated and editedby Wolfgang Behn, Leiden, 1971; R. Strothmann, ‘‘al-Z. ahiriyya’’,Shorter Encyclopaedia of Islam, Leiden, 1953, 649ff. and A. Kh. al-Zu‘bı,Z. ahiriyyat Ibn H. azm al-Andalusı. Naz.ariyyat al-ma‘rifa wa-manhij al-bah. th,Amman, 1417/1996.

11 There are 1,308 mas’alas according to the Shakir edition while theBandarı edition lists 2,312.

12 See the caveat in Marıa Luisa Avila, ‘‘La estructura de la familia en al-

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Andalus’’ in Julio Navarro Palazon (ed.), Casas y palacios de al-Andalus,Barcelona, 1995, 33.

13 With some adaptations, quotations from the Quran are from thetranslation by Mohammed Marmaduke Pickthall.

14 Muh. alla, 346, II, 240. (The first figure is the number of the mas’ala, thesecond is the volume and page number.)

15 Ibid., 349, II, 241.16 Ibid., 349, II, 253f.17 Ibid., 349, II, 247.18 Dhawat al-khudur refers to women who were secluded either because

they were nubile or because they had recently given birth: A. KevinReinhart, ‘‘When Women Went to Mosques: al-Aydini on the Dura-tion of Assessments’’ in Muhammad Khalid Masud, Brinkley Messickand David S. Powers (eds), Islamic Legal Interpretation. Muftis and theirFatwas, Cambridge, Mass.-London, 1996, 346.

19 Muh. alla, 349, II, 247ff.20 Ibid., 349, II, 248.21 Ibid., 349, II, 251ff.22 Ibid., 349, II, 249f.23 Ibid., 349, II, 248ff., 251.24 Ibid., 349, II, 251ff.25 Talbiya is a formula chanted by the pilgrims during the h. ajj, in which

they present themselves before God, praising him and acknowledgingthat He has no partner.

26 Ibn Rushd, Bidayat al-mujtahid wa-nihayat al-muqtas.id, ed. T. aha ‘Abd al-Ra’uf Sa‘d, Beirut, Cairo, 1409/1989, I, 575 and The DistinguishedJurist’s Primer. Bidayat al-Mujtahid, I, translated by Imran Ahsan KhanNyazee, reviewed by Mohammad Abdul Rauf, Reading, 1994, 398.

27 Muh. alla, 826, V, 77, 429.28 Ibid., 553, III, 307ff.29 Ibid., 553, III, 308.30 In Rasa’il Ibn H. azm, vol. I, ed. Ih. san ‘Abbas, Beirut, 1401/1980, 419–

439; translation and commentary in Elıas Teres, ‘‘La epıstola sobre elcanto con musica instrumental, de Ibn H. azm de Cordoba’’, Al-Andalus36 (1971), 203–214.

31 Muh. ammad Nas.ir al-Dın al-Albanı, Tah. rım alat al-t.arb, aw al-Radd bi-l-wah. yayn wa-aqwal a’immatina ‘ala ibn H. azm wa-muqallidıhi al-mubıh. ın li-l-ma‘azif wa-l-ghina’, wa-‘ala l-s.ufiyyın alladhına takhadhuhu qurbatan wa-dınan,Beirut, 1418/1997. I thank my colleague Avraham Hakim for drawingmy attention to this tract.

32 Muh. alla, 385, II, 320ff.33 Ibid., 319, II, 167.


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34 Ibid., 323, II, 178.35 Ibid., 320, II, 169f.36 In the book on ritual purity (Muh. alla, 119, I, 102), Ibn H. azm states

that religious laws become incumbent on males and females from themoment they reach sexual maturity (ih. tilam), but if there is no visiblesign of ih. tilam, then at the age of nineteen. All this applies to males andfemales. A decisive sign for females is menstruation (ibid., I, 104).

37 Muh. alla, 277, II, 8.38 J. Schacht, ‘‘Adjr’’, E.I.2, I, 209.39 As a result of this equality, an older woman who notices dark blood

coming from her uterus must abstain from prayer, fasting, t.awaf andintercourse since dark blood is, by definition, menstrual blood and thisrenders all the above-mentioned activities temporarily forbidden(Muh. alla, 265, I, 404).

40 Ibid., 301, II, 120. According to the translator of Muslim’s S. ah. ıh. , ‘‘thisshows that females should not unnecessarily raise their voices beforemales inviting their attention’’; see the S. ah. ıh. by Muslim, rendered intoEnglish by ‘Abdul H. amıd S. iddıqı, vol. I, Lahore, 1976, p. 234, n. 648 (f).

41 Muh. alla, 317, II, 167.42 Ibid., 318, II, 167.43 Ibid., 321, II, 170.44 Idem.45 Unperfumed or even malodorous, according to a gloss by Ibn H. azm

(Ibid., 321, II, 171).46 Idem.47 Ibid., 321, II, 171ff.48 Ibid., 321, II, 172.49 Idem.50 Ibid., 321, II, 173.51 Ibid., 321, II, 172ff.52 Ibid., 321, II, 173ff. and 485, III, 112ff.53 Ibid., 321, II, 177.54 Ibid., 354, I, 380ff.55 Ibid., 254, I, 383.56 Ibid., 264, I, 404 and 261, I, 400.57 Ibid., 254, I, 381.58 Ibid., 255, I, 391.59 Ibid., 256, I, 391.60 Ibid., 260, I, 399.61 ‘‘They question you concerning menstruation. Say: It is an illness, so

let women alone at such times and do not have intercourse with themuntil they are cleansed. . .’’

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62 Muh. alla, 262, I, 400.64 Ibid., 262, I, 401.65 Ibid., 262, I, 401f.66 Ibid., 295, II, 99.67 G. H. Bousquet, ‘‘I‘tikaf’’, E.I.2, IV, 280. According to Bousquet, it is

very seldom practiced.68 Muh. alla, 624, III, 411 and 634, III, 432.69 Ibid., 633, III, 428, 431.70 Ibid., 634, III, 432.71 Aguilar and Marın, ‘‘Las mujeres en el espacio urbano’’, 42ff.72 Muh. alla, 599, III, 387.73 Ibid., 589, III, 371.74 Ibid., 599, III, 387.75 Ibid., 599, III, 388.76 Ibid., 600, III, 388ff.77 Ibid., 600, III, 388.78 The same goes for Ibn H. azm’s attitude to non-Muslims which, on the

basis of his polemical writings against them, is generally considered tohave been extremely negative. A more balanced view is reflected in al-Muh. alla: C. Adang, Muslim Writers on Judaism and the Hebrew Bible, 253–255.

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CHAPTER 6

Juridical Sources for the Study of

Women: Limitations of the

Female’s Capacity to Act

According to Malikı Law

Cristina de la Puente

In recent decades, scholars have increasingly studied Islamic law notonly to interpret and broaden their knowledge about its ju-risprudence, but also to explore Islamic social reality in a particularhistorical period. Through the study of various juridical texts such ascompilations of legal cases (ah. kam) or legal rulings (fatwas), treatisesregulating activities in the public markets (h. isba), records of notaries(wathıqas) and manuals of good manners, the composition of socialstrata in a given community can be evaluated along with types ofrelationships established among individuals in terms of their rightsand responsibilities. In contrast to the incomplete image of societyoften offered by historical chronicles, these sources provide a largecast of characters, all of them subject to the law but all enjoying adifferent legal status which means that justice treats them in varyingways.

The value of legal texts (which necessarily must be studied in con-junction with other available documentary material) as a historicalsource is first of all derived from the fact that one may therein per-ceive various conflicts arising among diverse elements of society aswell as discover both the theoretical and real juridical capacity ofindividuals. The law is an organised regulation of the human com-munity which prescribes certain conduct and imposes sanctions withthe aim of making justice a reality. As a consequence, legal textsreflect the society to which they are directed but since they arecreated by humans, they are also the product of a given intellectualclimate and of the needs of the community which has developed,

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selected, imposed and practised them. Legal writings are composedwith the aim of modifying and regulating the conduct of the com-munity in which they are to be applied. However, in the MiddleAges, it is difficult to verify the range of influence of such regulationsand the degree of authority that they enjoyed within society. Yet,their ability to reform or initiate certain types of conduct, prejudicesand attitudes should not be underestimated.

Islamic law establishes that all human beings are ‘‘persons’’, thatis, that they possess certain rights, are subject to obligations andhave the capacity to establish juridical relationships (ahlıyat al-wujub).In contrast with other legal systems where the legal personality isderived from the legal order itself, in Islam, it is a divinely grantedattribute; the human being is a ‘‘person’’ from the moment of hisbirth. In this context, slaves were not considered as ‘‘persons’’ underRoman law, for example, and the concept of ‘‘civil death’’, a statusunknown in Islamic law, is present in other legal systems. Religion isthe only personal circumstance that can lead to juridical incapacity.1

The only human that does not possess legal capacity in Islam is theapostate and the adult pagan who has refused the chance to converteither to Islam or to one of the other two religions of the Book. Byrefusing, he loses his legal personality (dhimma) and his inherentability as a human to enjoy rights and responsibilities;2 he thereforeloses his right to life.

Furthermore, it is fundamental to distinguish between the con-cepts of ‘‘juridical capacity’’ and the ‘‘capacity to act’’. This last termrefers to the individual’s effective ability to carry out juridical acts(tas.arrufat), to exercise rights and to assume obligations. Even thoughlegal capacity in Islamic law is inherent to the person, capacity to actis not equal for all individuals at all times and may vary according tonumerous factors some of which are innate such as gender whileothers are either inherent or acquired such as religion, marriage orthe status of being a free individual or a slave. While the firstconcept is passive, that is, this attribute of personality is equal for allpersons, the second may be available to the person in varyingdegrees. The minimum degree would be the total absence of capa-city to act and the maximum would be complete and unhinderedcapacity. Diverse juridical situations exist between this minimum andmaximum degree in which the person is legally competent but thatperson requires a ‘‘complement’’ in order to exercise his legal capa-city for action which is limited or restricted in some way.

The capacity to act is determined by the civil status of the indivi-dual: Is he of age? Is he married or single? Is he deemed psychically

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competent? The civil status determines the manner in which theindividual belongs to the community; the law takes his civil statusinto account when attributing juridical effects to him, that is, hiscapacity to act as well as his rights and responsibilities. In this way,the same person may possess various types of civil status. Forexample, an individual may be a man, an adult, a slave or a slavewho will be freed by his master’s last will and testament (mudabbar),unmarried, etc. These conditions determine his legal capacity and,consequently, his social role in the community.

The question of one’s gender which, up until this century, hadbeen defined in Western law as civil status, must be considered assuch in Islamic law since it is a personal circumstance which con-stitutes the cause for different degrees regarding the individual’scapacity to act. In Islamic law, only free adult Muslim males havetotal and complete capacity to act. All other juridical persons havelimited or restricted freedom to act because they, by themselves,cannot realise certain legal acts which affect them personally or,even if they are able to carry these out, they are not permitted to doso on all occasions and in reference to all matters. The capacity toact, then, is not equal for all legal acts; limitations depend on theaction which is to be carried out. It would be necessary to analysethe individual’s role in every possible juridical act in which he maytake part in order to determine the possible restriction of his legalcapacity and the degree to which a complement of capacity isimposed on him. For example, in the case of the Muslim woman,the complementary action of a walı (a male tutor) may be necessaryor the authorisation of her husband.

In addition, it is necessary to determine if the absence of such acomplement of competence converts the juridical act into a void orvoidable action. If the law considers a person to be incapable ofacting on his own behalf, an accomplished act is void; if a person hasa restricted capacity to act, yet realises an act on his own, that act isvoidable. For example, in the case of marriage according to Malikılaw, the woman cannot contract her own marriage without the obli-gatory intervention of a walı. Such a consummated marriage withouta walı is null while that which is not consummated is voidable, that is,the walı may choose or not choose to ratify it.3 For the first of theselegal acts, the woman is considered to be inherently incapable; carry-ing out such an act therefore would be equivalent to committingfornication. In the second case, her legal capacity is restricted.

These restrictions or incapacities are expressed, on occasion, inboth the Quran and the sunna and thus have a long history of being

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interpreted and developed by the different schools of law. Thepresent research focuses on the need to further study the question ofthose limits placed on the individual’s capacity to act, especiallyregarding the Muslim woman in the medieval Islamic West. Westernauthors of general works on Islamic law have neglected gender as acause of restricted capacity to act. For example, J. Schacht dedicatesonly thirteen lines to the legal capacity of women, beginning withthe sentence: ‘‘The legal position of women is not unfavourable.’’4

Notwithstanding this optimistic beginning, he goes on to statevarious examples of decidedly unfavourable differences in the treat-ment of women compared to that of the male sex. L. Milliot and F.-P. Blanc, who have written an excellent introduction on the subjectof juridical capacity in Islam, nevertheless have forgotten gender asone of the principal causes of limitations on a person’s capacity toact (although they do note limitations, for example, concerningminors, of those suffering a mental aberration, of slaves, of beinginsolvent, etc.).5

This study will first present and assess the Malikı legal sourcesrelevant to the question concerning the Muslim female’s capacity toact. Subsequently, it will outline the sources which concern thefemale gender, noting, in particular, the categories of women whichare distinguished in terms of their legal capacity. Finally, the workwill present an example of the complex subject of limitation relevantto the Muslim female’s capacity to act, i.e. that of her freedom toleave her house. The circumstances in which she is free to go outwill be examined as well as how this freedom may affect her civilrights. Answering that apparently simple question is crucial in orderto imagine and reconstruct the urban landscape of any Islamic townin the Middle Ages. Since Peres’ work, much has been written onthe freedom enjoyed by Andalusi women in comparison with otherArab women. But, to which Andalusi women do literary sources andchronicles refer? Were all women the same? In the eyes of Malikılaw and its moral censors, they were not the same, of course.

Malikı Legal Sources and the Juridical Capacity of theMuslim Woman

This study must begin with an analysis of vocabulary and of pas-sages regarding women in the Malikı texts referred to as ummahat.These texts, which have formed the basis of all later jurisprudence,are the Muwat.t.a’ by Malik b. Anas (d. 179/795),6 al-Mudawwanaal-Kubra by Sah. nun (d. 240/854) and a widely circulated text from

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a later period called al-Risala by Ibn Abı Zayd al-Qayrawanı(d. 386/996).7 The latter, although not a principal source of law, isan especially useful work for it was written as a manual of goodconduct intended for the members of a Tunisian zawiya. Although itsauthor states that its aim is to instruct believers and not jurists, it is,after all, a veritable law treatise in which Ibn Abı Zayd explains andsummarises the main principles of the Mudawwana in order to makethem accessible to his readers.8 These works are considered to belegal doctrine9 in that they represent the collected opinions of thefirst Muslim jurists regarding those questions which the Quran andsunna do not mention. In spite of the fact that they consist primarilyof collections of hypothetical cases whose aim is to establish juridicalpractice, they should not be considered as merely theoretical works.The cases presented reflect the legal vacuum which existed in thesacred texts in terms of daily problem solving. They are, at the sametime, the origin of the fundamental principles of their legal schooland thus the starting point for all other Malikı works of furu‘ al-fiqhwhich always quote them either according to the title of the work or,in earlier times, by citing the oral transmission of the work (sama‘s)attributed to their authors or to their principal disciples. The legalopinions which the ummahat give us must necessarily be compared tothose opinions which appear in works of the various genres of furu‘.10

The vocabulary of the passages concerning women in the ummahatdemonstrates the first fundamental classification of the feminine sexaccording to three categories. The first refers to ‘‘free women’’ asopposed to ‘‘slave women’’ (both can be Muslims). The second cate-gory refers to slave women about to be granted freedom due tocertain circumstances such as having given birth to a child whomher owner has legally recognised as his own (umm walad), havingcompleted the conditions of a contract (mukataba), having been freedupon the death of her owner (mudabbara), etc. These categories ofslave women are opposed to the condition of a woman as being amere slave (ama/jariya). Thirdly, the category that is of special inte-rest to the present topic and possibly the one to which secondaryliterature has paid less attention concerns the free Muslim woman,h. urra (without any further attributes being given) as opposed to thefree Muslim woman who is also muh. s.ana, a category that could bedefined as a respectable, pious and discreet woman who carefullyobserves the precepts of the religion.11 The latter is confined to herhome, she avoids exposing herself to strangers and is compelled bysocial and moral imperatives not to attract gossip as she is the oneon whom family honour rests. For reasons of space, only one of

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these various categories will be referred to in this study, namely, thefree Muh. s.ana Muslim woman.

The subject of women in legal sources has been widely studied,but nearly all authors have centred their research on family law and,within this broad field, almost exclusively on matrimony. The reasonfor this is probably due to the fact that the woman is the true prota-gonist of the chapters dedicated to marriage law in the Islamicsources; these studies simply reflect the contents of the legal texts.Nevertheless, excluding women from those studies which are notdedicated to marriage, divorce or inheritance is erroneous becausethis amounts to assuming that a woman does not possess otherjuridical relations with members of her family and with the rest ofthe community. Even though it is true that no furu‘ text contains achapter dedicated specifically to women’s capacity of action, this isnevertheless the principle upon which her legal status rests.

The following points mention some of the peculiarities of theMalikı school of law, especially those closely related to women’sactual or effective capacity of action. From the study of the chaptersdealing with the mu‘amalat found in Malikı texts, one reaches theconclusion that women have, as do slaves and minors, a juridicalcapacity, but that it is not complete or total. The unmarried virginwoman has no legal capacity to act until she contracts marriage byway of a wilaya, that is, the tutelage of an adult male, preferably thatof her father.12 Thomas Rauscher has pointed out that, in contrastto other legal schools, Malikı law attaches great importance to thewalı, because, in this school of law, women acquire full legal capacityupon their marriage rather than during puberty.13 The mediation ofa close relative is therefore crucial in order to ensure that themarriage takes place in accordance with the social and economicinterests of the bride’s family.14 As is known, the woman theoreticallyacquires her maximum economic capacity at this time. The term‘‘maximum’’ is used here and not ‘‘total’’ or ‘‘complete’’ because, inspite of oft-cited opinions to the contrary, the married woman doesnot, in fact, have complete capacity to act in the economic sphere.She requires a complement to her capacity to act as will be shownbelow.

After marriage, the woman’s capacity for action is restricted bytwo factors. In the first place, she requires her husband’s authority inorder to carry out certain juridical acts. Although she does notrequire the tutelage of her husband (wikala) to manage her propertiesand goods, she does require his permission to go out of her housewhich, in practice, is equivalent to partial or complete inability to

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freely exercise her rights. In this way, the husband also becomes anecessary complement to his wife’s capacity to act. Thus, themarried Muslim woman is able to carry out certain juridical actsonly with the express consent of her husband such as performing thepilgrimage to Mecca,15 acting as guarantor for more than one-thirdof a given amount or reducing the price of an object or propertythat she may want to sell by more than one-third,16 etc. In these cir-cumstances, the woman is not legally incapable of acting since theseacts would not be considered void if carried out without the consentof the husband, rather they are considered voidable; the woman hasa restricted capacity to act in these cases.17

The second factor limiting a woman’s capacity to act as estab-lished by juridical doctrine concerns the right of the husband toforbid his wife from going out of the family home. In this case, thelack of the husband’s consent is equivalent to a physical impedimenttowards the wife’s ability to legally carry out certain actions. Thisprerogative of the husband to prevent his wife from going outsidethe family home may explain, for example, the lack of references towomen in the chapters of the ummahat devoted to buying and selling.The Islamic sources themselves relate the lack of consent of thehusband as a physical inability of the woman to act. Sah. nun, forexample, says: ‘‘The husband cannot forbid his wife to do businessalthough he can forbid her to go out.’’18 The husband is not con-sidered to be the tutor of his wife nor is he ever referred to by legalsources as walı; this is because his authority over his wife’s juridicalacts is exercised only indirectly. While the walı of an unmarriedwoman may legally forbid her from carrying out business, thehusband may not do so, although, as mentioned, he may physicallyimpede her ability to carry out business transactions. If a woman haspermission to go out of the home or if she is able to carry out thosejuridical acts permitted to her in Malikı law within her home, theseacts are valid.

The husband’s authority, however, is not absolute and is also cur-tailed by law. Wives possess rights whose basic conditions may beincluded in the marriage contract. Models for notary documentssuch as those of Ibn al-‘At.t.ar (4th/10th century), Ibn Mughıth (5th/11th century) and Ibn Salmun (8th/14th century), reflect theserights:19 the husband may not take a concubine without his wife’sconsent nor be absent from the marital home for more than sixmonths; he may not inflict damage on his wife or on her property;he must allow her to visit close relatives (mah. arim) with whom mar-riage would be illicit due to kinship bonds as well as permitting them

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to visit her20 and, finally, he must not force her to live in a differentplace—this condition is inextricably linked to the previous one sincesettling in a distant place away from her family would be like con-demning a woman to loneliness and depriving her of her family’ssupport. Ibn Mughıth, for example, stresses that there is nothingwrong about visiting any and all female relatives, but that thehusband must prevent his wife from seeing men who are not mah. arimrelatives. If one of them arrives at the door of the house, however,and stays at the threshold without entering, this would be licit andshould not be considered a visit.21

Is the Muh. s.ana Woman Confined to the House?

This section will analyse the situation whereby a husband forbids hiswife from leaving the house; the example used here is a husbandwho forbids his wife from visiting the public baths. As an illustrationof the coherence as well as the contradictions which may be foundin the various juridical sources, the opinions of the ummahat will becompared with those of the authors of various legal genres from dif-ferent historical periods.

The Mudawwana gives several revealing references to this subject.The translation of one of these passages reads: ‘‘Malik was askedabout a man whose wife had repeatedly asked him for permission togo to the h. ammam and to be allowed to go out of the house for thispurpose. [He was asked] about another woman who, being in herhusband’s house, had left to go to a room in a neighbour’s house inorder to spin. One of the two husbands told his wife: ‘Choosebetween me or the h. ammam’ and the other man told his wife:‘Choose between me or the room because you have tired meout’.’’22 The answer given by Malik is that if the wife chooses to goto the baths or to the neighbour’s house even though the husbandhas pronounced the above words, giving thereby an ultimatum,divorce is not obligatory unless the husband desires it. In the casewhere the husband forbids his wife from going out, the final decisionis determined by the husband’s will (irada) and the wife has no rightto choose.

Centuries later, the Cordoban Ibn ‘Abd al-Barr (5th/11thcentury) tries to explain the confinement in which free Muslimwomen live, claiming arbitrarily but expressly: ‘‘Women were bornout of weakness, they were then ‘righted’ through silence and rigidupbringing and by hiding them at home.’’23

Legal sources stress that a muh. s.ana woman is only allowed to leave

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her house for an urgent reason and, when she does so, she mustalways be veiled. The cliche of the slave girl depicted with loose hairand dressed in rich garments in opposition to the free womanwearing a head-dress, appears in medieval Andalusi miniatures.24

Passages in which it is argued that elegant dresses and golden jewelsare ‘‘slaves’ things’’ are innumerable.25

Apart from the visit to the baths to complete obligatory ablutions,funerals and weddings are the other main reasons for which Muslimwomen of irreproachable conduct are allowed to temporarily leavetheir houses. During weddings, women gather in a separate placefrom that occupied by men; their presence, however, at funerals iscriticised by jurists since they may attract the leering gaze of men.Ibn ‘Abdun, in his treatise on social and economic mores and rulesof the market (h. isba) in the early 6th/12th century, claims the follow-ing: ‘‘No seller should be allowed to sell his merchandise in ceme-teries for they do nothing but look at the faces of mourning womennor should young men, during holidays, be allowed to loiter alongthe paths that connect tombs, lurking until women pass by. Themarket inspector (muh. tasib) must prevent this from happening withstern resolve, aided by the local judge (qad. ı). The authorities mustalso ban people from remaining in empty spaces that separate tombsas they may be intent on seducing women. To prevent this, aninspection should be carried out twice a day; this duty is assigned tothe muh. tasib. Police are required to search the round enclosures thatsurround some graves for they sometimes turn into dens of iniquity,especially during the summer when pathways are empty during thenap hour.’’26 Ibn ‘Abdun continues: ‘‘The windows of military bar-racks must remain shut as well as those of rooms on the upper floorsand doors facing towards cemeteries so that women cannot be seen.The Quran reciter who prays for the deceased should neither be ayoung nor a single man (even if he is blind) for many evils stem fromthis. . .’’27

Criticism against women who go to other places suggest that someof them did go out but that this was seen as socially reprehensibleand that such visits were absolutely forbidden to muh. s.ana women.This is the case for the market (suq), the most common site for com-mercial transactions: ‘‘Soothsayers and storytellers must not be leftalone with women lest they talk to them in their tents. This is eithera subterfuge to assault them or a ruse to steal their money althoughthose women who go to such places are nothing but shameless inany case. If there are fortune tellers who receive such women athome, they must be prevented from doing so for this is even worse.

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Keep those individuals under surveillance for they are scoundrels.’’28

Ibn ‘Abdun insists: ‘‘Only honest and trustworthy men whose moralintegrity and loyalty are well known will deal with women regardingthe sale of goods. Guild members must make arrangements for thisto be so. Women who embroider29 should not be allowed into themarket as they are all prostitutes.’’30 In light of these judgements,one wonders which family wishing to preserve its honour wouldallow its women to go frequently out of the house.

Ibn ‘Abdun adds that those tasks that require leaving the housesuch as doing the laundry must be done in secluded places: ‘‘. . . theywill be ordered to wash the laundry in a place hidden from publicsight, forbidding onlookers as well as boatmen to arrive there beforethey do. It is also forbidden for women to sit on the river banksexcept if they do so in a place where men do not usually sit. . .’’31

Western historians of the Middle Ages assume that women visitedpublic baths (h. ammam) regularly, depicting them as places of leisureand conversation. Secondary literature on the topic takes forgranted that women went to the h. ammam on the days when it wasclosed for men.32 Perhaps their statements derive from a certainromanticism that fancies depicting Muslim women, both in paint-ings and literary works, in baths and harems or perhaps they havesimply been influenced by the image of modern Islamic towns.Malikı legal texts from the medieval period, however, provide adiametrically different account. Ibn Abı Zayd al-Qayrawanı claimsthat a muh. s.ana woman cannot go to the h. ammam unless she is ill.33

This idea, far from being an isolated opinion, appears frequently inseveral texts written in different historical periods. Two of al-Wan-sharıshı’s fatwas corroborate this. One was issued by the AndalusiYah. ya b. ‘Umar, resident in Ifrıqiya during the 3th/9th century. Inthis fatwa, he judges that the owner of a bath who permittedentrance to healthy women and those who had not just completedtheir convalescence period after childbirth must be punished by theimam.34 Likewise, a legal ruling issued much later by al-Qabbab (d.708/1310) in Fez rebukes men who give money to their wives sothat they can go to the h. ammam where, he says disapprovingly, ‘‘Allof them are naked nowadays.’’35 The same disparaging opinionabout public baths is shared by Ibn ‘Abdun who states that ‘‘Theclerk (who collects entrance payment) must not sit in the hall whenthis is open to women for the occasion is conducive to libertinismand fornication.’’36

These opinions demonstrate that the baths were indeed open towomen but the arrival of muh. s.ana women there was regarded as


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licit only on rare occasions. The five centuries which separate thementioned fatwas, together with the geographical distance separatingtheir muftıs, do not seem to offer a great diversity of opinion. On thecontrary, they confirm that, in both periods, the attitude shown inlegal texts corresponded to both Sah. nun’s and Ibn Abı Zayd al-Qayrawanı’s legal opinions. Nevertheless, only a minority of womenbelonging to wealthy families could actually carry out ablutions intheir own homes since only those women would have had runningwater in their houses and only they would have had slaves or ser-vants who could go out to the river for washing the laundry. Allother women, as the censors have shown, would have had no choicebut to go out in the street at some time for some purpose eventhough they might go veiled or at discreet hours. In the opinions ofsome jurists, ablutions should not be made with hot water in theh. ammam (in spite of the fact that it might be running water). IbnRushd, for example, believes that water from the well is sufficienteven in the cold days of winter.37

It is not difficult to imagine then that problems experienced bywomen when leaving their homes and thus exposing themselves toalien gazes, transcend the context of leisure activities such asbathing. These problems enter within the context of their civilresponsibility, specifically their capacity to defend themselves byseeking aid in the system of justice to which most of them appealthrough the offices of a legal representative (wakıl). Ibn Mughıthrefers, in his notarial records, to cases in which the husband does notfulfil some of the above-mentioned basic conditions imposed on himby the marriage contract as well as those in which the wife is forcedto lodge a claim by swearing the compulsory oath at the mosque.The author says the following: ‘‘. . . the wife will swear at the mosqueduring daytime if she is allowed to leave the house or at night if sheis not unless you (the husband) have said: ‘Let her make the oath athome in the presence of two reliable witnesses.’ For she has the rightto see that which has been agreed upon is heeded.’’ Subsequently,Ibn Mughıth warns that if discrepancies arise regarding the time ofday during which a woman can swear an oath at the mosque, ‘‘thecustomary practice of the country where both spouses live willprevail in conformity with her social status and rank in accordancewith nobility so that if a woman of identical rank usually goes outduring the day, this practice will be followed. . .’’.38 Ibn ‘Abdun alsoalludes to night, but merely to say that the police must never carryout a search in a private house neither during the day nor nightbecause this would expose women to the glance of strangers.39 And

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he goes on: ‘‘No lawyer should defend a woman for he would haveno qualms about going to see her at home in order to speak to herand the first thing he would do is to try to woo and seduce her,luring her away from the straight path and deliberately lengtheningthe lawsuit in order to have more time to court her. I have seen withmy own eyes and have heard one of them in a meeting boastingabout doing just such a thing.’’40 Again, these texts lead us to theconclusion that the higher the social position of a woman, the moredifficult it was for her to leave the house even if it was to make anoath at the mosque. In the same chapters dealing with prayer (s.alat),it is repeatedly stated that a woman is not obliged to go to themosque to pray. It is recommended, rather, that she does not go andit is also said that if she happens to be at the mosque during thesermon (khut.ba), she may pray with the others but she should not goexpressly to listen to it.

A woman cannot be taken away from her home in any circum-stances, not even in cases of extreme urgency. In this respect, oneshould note that, in spite of having the same penal responsibility asmen in the sense that a women is given identical canonical penalties(h. udud ) for the same infractions, a woman cannot be banished fromher homeland. This is the only difference that Malikı law establishesbetween men and women as far as their respective penal responsi-bilities are concerned.41

Conclusion

As seen in the preceeding pages, the medieval Muslim woman has arestricted legal capacity to act. Depending on the juridical act inquestion, she requires a complement to her legal capacity such asthe intermediary of a walı, wakıl and, on occasion, the consent of herhusband. In addition to this, her capacity to act is determined, to alarge degree, by her social status which could be interpreted as beinginfluenced by local custom (‘urf ).

To conclude, although juridical texts accurately reflect con-temporary social reality in both an implicit and explicit sense, onenevertheless must be cautious when drawing definite conclusionsfrom them. As in many other genres, the reflection of an urbansociety in the countryside where, doubtless, the tension between legalpractice (‘amal ) and custom (‘urf ) must have been more acute than inthe towns is more difficult to discern. To be able to draw overallconclusions concerning the degree of female participation in ruralsocieties in al-Andalus, the level of Arabisation and Islamisation of


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those areas and, most importantly, the characteristics of theirsystems of production must be better known.

Furthermore, it is difficult to determine the period in which thelegal cases described in ‘‘theoretical’’ texts belong for it is not aneasy task to establish when their authors are simply compiling pre-vious legal cases and when they are recording contemporary ones.The chronology of the fatwa compilations is, however, quite accu-rate. In any case, one must assume that all cases presented in thelegal texts, of whatever genre and of whatever period, have somekind of relevance. After all, it would be very strange to think thatthese fundamental texts include issues that are no longer relevantand that, because of their anachronism, are not of public interest.

In this chapter, I have tried to show an example of how thehistory of law, and especially the study of history through law,requires a thorough analysis of the legal institutions. It may be mis-leading to draw conclusions from the study of only one juridical text.Certainly, it is even worse to draw such conclusions from a few opi-nions mentioned in such a text. In order to know the legal effects ofa specific action, it is also necessary to study the rights and obliga-tions of all parties concerned.

Notes

1 Regarding the circumstances (‘awarid. ) which restrict juridical capacity:Louis Milliot and Francois-Paul Blanc, Introduction a l’etude du droitmusulman, Paris, 1987 (2nd ed.), 223.

2 Ibid., 207ff.3 Sah. nun, al-Mudawwana al-kubra, Cairo 1323/1905, vol. I, part IV (First

Book of Matrimony). Also Salma Abu-Ghosh, Abu Bakr Mas‘ud IbnAh. mad al-Kasanı, Das islamische Unterhaltsrecht nach al-Kasanı, eingeleitet ubers.und kommentiert, Frankfurt, 1989, 115–116.

4 Joseph Schacht, Introduction to Islamic Law, Oxford, 1964, 126–127.5 Ibid., 207–230. See the same omission in Y. Linant de Bellefonds,

Traite de droit musulman compare, Paris-The Hague, 1973, book IV, titleIV; Raymond Charles, Le droit musulman, Paris, 1982 (6th ed.), 61–63.For the analysis of the present-day juridical personality: Jamal J. Nasir,The Islamic Law of Personal Status, London-Dordrecht-Boston, 1990 (2nded.) where the author studies legal incapacity but not the capacity toact nor possible restrictions on the capacity to act.

6 Malik b. Anas, al-Muwat.t.a’, ed. ‘Abd al-Wahhab ‘Abd al-Lat.ıf, Beirut,n.d.

7 Ibn Abı Zayd al-Qayrawanı, La Risala ou Epıtre sur les elements du dogme et


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de la loi de l’Islam selon le rite malikite (texte arabe et traduction francaise avec unavant-propos des notes et trois index par Leon Bercher), Alger, 1968.

8 Jose Marıa Forneas Besteiro, ‘‘Recepcion y difusion de algunas obrasde Ibn Abı Zayd al-Qayrawanı’’, Homenaje al profesor Darıo Cabanelas ensu LXX cumpleanos, Granada, 1987, I, 318–329.

9 Marıa Arcas Campoy, ‘‘Valoracion actual de la literatura jurıdica deal-Andalus’’, Actas del II Coloquio Hispano-Marroquı de Ciencias Historicas‘‘Historia, ciencia y sociedad’’, (Granada, 6–10th November, 1989),Madrid, 1992, 31–49.

10 The reader who is interested in pursuing the study of juridical capacitythrough the works of us.ul al-fiqh may consult, for example, AbdurRahim, The Principles of Muhammadan Jurisprudence, London-Madras,1911, 203ff.

11 See J. Burton, ‘‘Muh. s.an’’, E.I.2, VII, 474–475 and Harald Motzki,‘‘Wal-muh. s.anatu mina n-nisa’i illa ma malakat aimanukum (Koran 4:24) unddie koranische Sexualethik’’, Der Islam 63 (1986), 192–212. Even thoughthe chaste and pure muh. s.ana woman could theoretically be a slave, thelegal texts normally refer to the free woman when they use this term; theslave who had such attributes must have been socially exceptional.

12 Mudawwana, vol. I, part IV, 5 and 7–8; vol. III, part IX, 167. Thewoman who is subject to her father’s tutelage but who is no longer avirgin (a divorced or an unemancipated widow) has the right to giveher consent to the walı at the time of contracting a new marriage.

13 Thomas Rauscher, Sharı‘a. Islamisches Familienrecht der sunna und shı‘a,Frankfurt, 1987, 19. The Shafi‘ı school is the only other school whichcoincides with the Malikı school.

14 Y. Linant de Bellefonds, ‘‘Kafa’a’’, E.I.2, IV, 404 and Amalia Zomeno,‘‘Kafa’a in the Malikı School. A Fatwa from Fifteenth Century Fez’’ inRobert Gleave and Eugenia Kermeli (eds), Islamic Law: Theory and Prac-tice, London-New York, 1997, 87–106.

15 Abu-Ghosh, 115–116.16 Mudawwana, vol. IV, part XIII, 134.17 For more information about some of these actions, Milliot and Blanc,

340–341.18 Mudawwana, vol. IV, part XIII, 72.19 Ibn al-‘At.t.ar, Kitab al-watha’iq wa-l-sijillat, ed. Federico Corriente and

Pedro Chalmeta, Madrid, 1983, 7–10; Ibn Mughıth, al-Muqni‘ fı ‘ilmal-shurut. (Formulario notarial), introduction, edition and translation byFrancisco Javier Aguirre Sadaba, Madrid, 1994, 72ff.; Ibn Juzayy, al-Qawanın al-fiqhiyya, Libya-Tunis, 1982, 223–226 and Ibn Salmun al-Kinanı, ‘‘Kitab al-‘iqd al-munaz.z.am li-l-h. ukkam’’ in Ibn Farh. un, Kitab tab-s.irat al-h. ukkam fı us.ul al-aqd. iya wa-manahij al-ah. kam, n. pl., n.d., 15–34.


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Also A. Zomeno, Dote y matrimonio en al-Andalus y el Norte de Africa,Madrid, 2000, 134 and Pedro Chalmeta, ‘‘El matrimonio segun elKitab al wata’iq de Ibn al-‘At.t.ar (s. X). Analisis y observaciones’’, Anaquelde Estudios Arabes 6 (1995), 29–70.

20 Caridad Ruiz de Almodovar, ‘‘La mujer en la legislacion musulmana’’in C. del Moral (ed.), Arabes, judıas y cristianas. Mujeres en la Europa medie-val, Granada, 1993, 63–75, 73.

21 Ibn Mughıth, al-Muqni‘, 26.22 Mudawwana, vol. II, part V, 62. There is an identical case on p. 63.23 Bahjat al-majalis, vol. II, 32, quoted by N. Lachiri in ‘‘La vida cotidiana

de las mujeres en al-Andalus y su reflejo en las fuentes literarias’’ in C.del Moral (ed.), Arabes, judıas, 108.

24 Leopoldo Torres Balbas, ‘‘Miniaturas medievales espanolas de influjoislamico’’, Al-Andalus XV (1950), 191–202 and Manuela Marın, ‘‘Lasmujeres en al-Andalus: fuentes e historiografıa’’ in C. del Moral (ed.),Arabes, judıas, 42.

25 See, for example, Ibn H. azm, Naqt. al-‘arus, C. F. Seybold (ed.) and L.Seco de Lucena (trans.), Valencia, 1974, 127 (trans.); Ibn ‘Abdun,Risala fi l-qad. a’ wa-l-h. isba, Documents arabes inedits sur la vie sociale et econo-mique en Occident Musulman au Moyen Age, publies avec une introduction et unglossaire par E. Levi Provencal, Cairo, 1955, 50–51; also the translation byEmilio Garcıa Gomez and Evariste Levi-Provencal, Sevilla a comienzosdel siglo XII. El Tratado de Ibn ‘Abdun, Seville, 1981, 156–157. ManuelaMarın, ‘‘Mujeres veladas: religion y sociedad en al-Andalus’’, Arenal:Revista de historia de las mujeres 4 (1997), 23–38.

26 Ibn ‘Abdun, 27 (ed.) and 96–97 (trans.).27 Ibid., 27 (ed.) and 97–98 (trans.).28 Ibid., 27–28, 50 (ed.) and 98, 155–156 (trans.).29 Maya Shatzmiller, ‘‘Women and Wage Labour in the Medieval Islamic

West: Legal Issues in an Economic Context’’, Journal of the Economic andSocial History of the Orient, 40 (1997), 174–202, especially 194–196.

30 Ibn ‘Abdun, 47 (ed.) and 146 (trans.).31 Ibn ‘Abdun, 32, 45 (ed.) and 109, 142 (trans.).32 A. Louis, ‘‘H. ammam’’, E.I.2, III, 144–146; A. Arjona Castro, La

sexualidad en la Espana musulmana, Cordoba, 1985, 21 and A. Ali BenMohamed, ‘‘Nazhun bint al-Qila‘ı’’, Studi Magrebini 18 (1986), 65.

33 Chapter XLI.34 Vincent Lagardere, Histoire et societe en Occident Musulman au Moyen Age,

Madrid, 1995, ch. 1, fatwa no. 169.35 Ibid. chap. 3, fatwa no. 4/0.36 Ibn ‘Abdun, 49 (ed.) and 151 (trans.).37 Abu ’l-Walıd Ibn Rushd al-Qurt.ubı, Al-Bayan wa-l-tah. s.ıl, Muh. ammad


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H. ajjı (ed.), Beirut, 1408/1988 (2nd ed.), vol. I, 117 (I thank AnaFernandez Felix for this reference); see also, vol. I, 141.

38 Ibn Mughıth, 28–29; A. Zomeno, ‘‘Femmes devant les tribunaux’’,paper on the issue of legal resorts available to Muslim women read atthe conference on Histoire des femmes du Maghreb (Tunis, October 1996).

39 See Ibn ‘Abdun, 17–18 (ed.) and 73 (trans.).40 Ibid. 12–13 (ed.) and 62 (trans.).41 Ibn Abı Zayd, ch. XXXVII.


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CHAPTER 7

Abandoned Wives and their

Possibilities for Divorce in

al-Andalus: The Evidence of the

Watha’iq Works1

Amalia Zomeno

From relatively early times in Islamic history, there emerged thepractice of recording, in writing, the most important legal transac-tions between individuals. This practice, perhaps the legacy of thejudicial systems of the peoples conquered in the early Islamicperiod,2 is sanctioned by the Quran3 which recommends the writingof contracts to avoid misunderstandings and further litigationsbetween the parties. Thus, the figure of the notary (muwaththiq), aspecialist in law and, in particular, in the science of contracts (‘ilm al-shurut.),

4 emerged within the justice administration. His main job wasto write the details of agreements between individuals.

In al-Andalus, notaries had their ‘‘offices’’ in markets and, wherepossible, near mosques.5 There, they would wait for individuals whowould request specific services from them such as writing an agree-ment or any kind of transaction as well as underwriting a contract.In practice, the function of the notary was twofold. First, he simplyhad to write the document requested of him, listening to the claimsof the contracting parties and giving these a judicial form. To thisend, he had to draw up the document in the most precise way possi-ble, trying to apply the relevant technical terms so that the intentionsand claims of the contracting parties were clearly represented.Clarity and precision in the redaction of this document were funda-mental not only to avoid judicial controversy that might arise from areading of the document, but also to ensure its validity in the qad. ıcourt.

Second, he was a witness,6 in fact, the first witness to the document

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that he himself wrote in that he had to verify the identity and thelegal capacity of the parties involved.7 Thus, the compilers ofthe watha’iq works recommended to the notary that he draft all thenecessary details for the correct identification of the contractingparties (personal names, names of the father or family, professionand place of residence). The notary also had the obligation ofinforming both parties about the legal significance of the agreementthat they were signing and the consequences of any actions theymight take thereafter.

For his daily work, the notary would consult his manual, a refe-rence work of watha’iq, in which he would search for a model of therequested contract as well as for possible explanations and variationswhich could be included therein. Theoretically, at least, the notaryonly had to find the relevant model in the manual and rewrite it,‘‘filling in the blanks’’. These blanks appear written in generic formso that one only had to replace fulan ibn fulan or fulana bint fulan withthe name of each one of the contracting parties. The same is true forother variables such as weights or monetary payments: kadha wa-kadha dınaran darahim. In light of his knowledge of ‘ilm al-shurut., thenotary then had to adapt the clauses contained within the modelwith the requirements of both contracting parties, ensuring thatthese new clauses did not contradict the general norms of Islamiclaw nor were against the spirit which the law confers on such a con-tract. Finally, the notary had to date the document and write thenames of the specific witnesses that were going to sign it.

As a practical guide for the notary and to make use of themeasier, the Andalusi watha’iq works have a fixed structure whichalmost always correspond to the chapter classifications of fiqh works.8

Within each fiqh classification, one first may find the most commonmodel contract for a given issue, followed by an explanation (sharh. )and the relevant jurisprudence ( fiqh), both of which serve to clarifythe proposed model. Second, one finds other possible models,perhaps less frequent, along with alterations which, in turn, may bemade to them for specific legal purposes. In this way, each expres-sion of the model and each clause introduced therein is linguisticallyand legally explained in order to justify its inclusion in the contractand to warn of the legal consequences if it is not mentioned in therequisite manner.

The structure of these watha’iq works and especially the theoreticalexplanations which the compilers included in these collections makekutub al-watha’iq especially valuable as a source for the history andevolution of Islamic law.9 For the historian of Islamic law, these


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works are not only compilations of model documents, but they alsoshow how Islamic legal doctrine was used to explain the daily prac-tice of law in the qad. ı courts and how documents were used in spe-cific judicial procedures. In such doctrinal explanations, one seeshow the qad. ı acted in his application of justice, the relationshipbetween the individuals concerned and with the documents that theypossess and, finally, what their position was vis-a-vis the judicialprocess in specific cases.10

For the study of the judicial process in al-Andalus, fortunately alarge number of Andalusi watha’iq works have survived. There arenow a number of secondary studies of this genre.11 The watha’iqworks to which I refer are the following:

– Muh. ammad b. Ah.mad b. al-‘At.t.ar (d. 399/1008), al-Watha’iq wa-l-sijillat. Formulario notarial hispano-arabe por el alfaquı y notario cordobesIbn al-‘At.t.ar (s. X), P. Chalmeta and F. Corriente (eds), Madrid,Academia Matritense del Notariado, Instituto Hispano-Arabe deCultura, 1983.

– ‘Abd Allah b. Fatuh. b. ‘Abd al-Wah. id al-Fihrı al-Buntı (d. 462/1070), Al-Watha’iq wa-l-masa’il al-majmu‘a [unpublished].12

– Ah.mad b. Mughıth al-T. ulayt.ulı (d. 459/1067), al-Muqni‘ fı ‘ilm al-shurut. (Formulario Notarial), introduction and edition by F. J.Aguirre Sadaba, Madrid, Consejo Superior de InvestigacionesCientıficas, Instituto de Cooperacion con el Mundo Arabe,1994.13

– Khalaf b. Muh. ammad b. Khalaf b. Fath. un (d. 505/1111), al-Watha’iq.14

– Abu l-H. asan ‘Alı b. ‘Abd Allah al-Matıt.ı (d. 570/1174), Kitab al-nihaya wa-l-tamam fı ma‘rifat al-watha’iq wa-l-ah. kam [unpublished].15

– Abu Ish. aq Ibrahım b. al-H. ajj al-Gharnat.ı (495–579/1101–1183),al-Watha’iq al-Mukhtas.ara, M. Najı (ed.), Rabat, Markaz Ih. ya’ al-Turath al-Maghribı, 1987.

– ‘Alı b. Yah. ya b. al-Qasim al-S. inhajı al-Jazırı (d. 585/1189), al-Maqs.ad al-mah.mud fı talkhıs. al-‘uqud, A. Ferreras (ed.), Madrid,Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Cientıficas, Agencia Espa-nola de Cooperacion Internacional, 1998.

– Abu Muh. ammad ‘Abd Allah b. ‘Abd Allah b. ‘Alı b. Salmun al-Kinanı (d. 767/1365), al-‘Iqd al-munaz.z.am li-l-h. ukkam in themargins of the Tabs.irat al-h. ukkam of Ibn Farh. un, Cairo, 1884–5.

16

The basic aim of this study is to determine the use of some ofthese Andalusi watha’iq works as a source for the investigation of

ABANDONED WIVES AND THEIR POSSIBILITIES FOR DIVORCE IN AL-ANDALUS

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the real possibilities which women had when confronted by themachinery of justice. To this end, a specific example of a legal casein which women played a fundamental role has been chosen. Thiscase, which is described in considerable detail in the watha’iq works,is one in which women are required to report to the notary beforeattending the qad. ı court and then to take a public oath in themosque in order to enjoy the support of the law and have full accessto their rights. In this study, the extent to which a woman could, inpractice, initiate and carry through such a process as an individualwill be analysed.

The Process of Divorce

According to Malikı law, a woman has the right to demand adivorce from her husband in a few specific cases. In my opinion, allthe instances in which a woman may dissolve the matrimonial bondmay be understood as exceptional since marriage in Islamic law,despite the frequency of and the legal possibilities for divorce, is con-sidered permanent. Only the husband has the right to divorce hiswife without having to legally justify his actions.

In Malikı law, there are two ways in which a woman can initiatedivorce. She may dissolve her marriage through khul‘, a divorce forwhich she must offer her husband some property or an amount ofmoney in order to obtain the dissolution of their marriage. In prac-tice, she obtains this kind of divorce by renouncing all or a part ofher s.adaq.

17 The presence of the qad. ı and his sentence is not requiredfor a khul‘ divorce. A woman may also ask the qad. ı for a divorce ongrounds concerning her husband under specific circumstances:1) when she can prove that her husband has certain physical defectssuch as skin diseases ( judham) or impotence; 2) when the husbandhas failed to pay the required s.adaq; 3) when the husband absentshimself from her for a long period of time and 4) when the husbandfails to pay her nafaqa, one of his matrimonial obligations imposed byMalikı law, that is to say, not maintaining her at the same economiclevel which she had enjoyed in her father’s house before gettingmarried.18

This study will focus on the cases where the woman asks fordivorce when her husband absents himself from her and when hefails to provide her with the required nafaqa. As will be seen, the caseof a husband’s absence is directly connected in the watha’iq works toa clause written in the marriage contract. Both cases result in thesame situation for the woman: she is abandoned with apparently no


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economic means of maintaining herself. Since the case concerns thelegal figure of the absent person (gha’ib), the matter must be broughtto the court of the qad. ı since the gha’ib and mafqud are his officialresponsibilities.19 Consequently, the woman is obliged to appear inthe court to carry out this requirement.

It is difficult to know exactly how frequently such cases of wifeabandonment occurred in al-Andalus in the medieval period. Sufficeit to say that the simple abandonment of one’s wife would have beena cheaper way of dissolving marital ties since, in the case of divorce,a husband would have been obliged to pay his wife the s.adaq in full,as stipulated in the marriage contract.

The Conditions in the Marriage Contract

The watha’iq works repeatedly recommend that one of the conditionsto be introduced into marriage contracts is one which obliges thehusband not to absent himself from the conjugal residence, that is,not to be away from his wife for more than six consecutivemonths.20 A good example of the most common model of those pro-posed in the Andalusi watha’iq works is the one collected by IbnMughıth:

that [the husband] not absent himself from her for more than six con-secutive months before or after the consummation of the marriage, neitherto a near nor to a distant place, neither by intention nor if he is forced to doso, except to perform the pilgrimage which is incumbent on him after hehas previously announced his intention to do so and in which case he hasthe right to be absent for two years.21

From the way in which this condition is drawn up, one mayinterpret that the intention here is to cover all possible reasons forthe absence of the husband: according to this watha’iq work neitherthe distance nor the reason for the journey has any bearing on thecase. In all instances of a husband’s prolonged absence, his wife maydissolve the marriage on the grounds that he is failing to fulfil hismatrimonial obligations.

Therefore, the compilers of the watha’iq works had to justify thecontent and framing of this clause. They claimed that, first, whilethe chosen period of time, i.e. six months is, in fact, arbitrary, it isnevertheless reasonable given that when ‘Umar b. al-Khat.t.ab askedhis daughter how long a woman could stand being without herhusband, she replied about six months.22 Second, regarding distanceand the inclusion in the contract of the phrase ‘‘neither to a nearnor to a distant place’’,23 one may interpret that on many occasions


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when her husband was absent in a place that was considered to belegally near, a woman could not exercise her right to divorce. Theexpression of a written condition which covered both ‘‘near’’ and‘‘distant’’ places would thereby avoid this problem. According to IbnSalmun, a place is considered to be ‘‘near’’ if it is about twelve milesaway or if the distance amounts to one or two days of travelling.24

The process of searching for the husband is the responsibility ofthe qad. ı who, should he find the husband in a distant place, has thejudicial powers to make him return to his conjugal residence.

Similarly, as we have seen, the watha’iq works recommend that thephrase ‘‘neither by intention nor if he is forced to do so’’ be includedafter the condition. This clause enables the woman to resort to thelaw so that she will not be left legally defenceless should her husbandbe forced to absent himself. The expression of this condition came asa result of a legal controversy which existed in al-Andalus betweenthe jurists of Cordoba and Toledo. The fuqaha’ of Cordoba under-stood that if the husband had left, for example, to serve the sult.an,then, in this case, the woman would not have the right to divorcehim. On the other hand, if the husband had left of his own free will,the woman had every right to do so. In contrast, the fuqaha’ ofToledo supported the idea that, for whatever reason the husbandhad left, the woman had the right to resort to the law and seek anannulment of the marriage.25 This is clearly the reason why, in themanual of Ibn al-‘At.t.ar, no mention is made of the phrase ‘‘neitherby intention nor if he is forced to do so’’ while, in that of IbnMughıth which Ibn Salmun follows centuries later, it is recom-mended that both eventualities be covered by the stipulations of themarriage contract in order to avoid any legal doubts and potentialproblems for the woman. Therefore, such variations in local practiceand opinion necessitated the inclusion of such a clause to guaranteewomen’s access to divorce without impediment unlike the situationin tenth-century Cordoba.

The one exception to this condition is when the husband wishesto make the pilgrimage since, in this case, the watha’iq works takeinto account the possibility that the husband might be absent for amuch longer period. Ibn al-‘At.t.ar claims that he may be away forup to three years26 while the rest of the Andalusi watha’iq worksrecommend a period of two years. Particular mention is made of thehusband’s obligations in this case: if he really wants to perform thepilgrimage, he must declare his intention before leaving and, accord-ing to Ibn al-‘At.t.ar, ensure that he has left food, clothing andaccommodation for his wife.27


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In general, after the mention of each one of the marriage condi-tions with its proposed formula in each case, the Andalusi watha’iqworks usually then add the following phrase: ‘‘leaving at the discre-tion of the woman the right to do as she pleases in case of breach ofcontract’’.28 With this written formula in the marriage contract, thewoman has the full right to ask for a divorce should the husband notfulfil the condition. The wife, in this case, is considered malika amri-haor rather malika amr nafsi-ha.29

Nevertheless, the compilers of the watha’iq works who appear to bewell aware of the procedure for divorce in case of non-fulfilment ofthis specific condition, that is, when the husband is absent, recom-mend that the following note be included in the marriage contract:

but if the husband’s absence exceeds these two periods of time or one ofthem, then the wife may act at her discretion and her statement regardingthe expiry of both terms will take precedence over any other claim. And ifyou wish, you may relieve the wife of having to explain [her husband’s]absence. I should add: her statement regarding the absence of her husbandand the expiry of the two periods of time will take precedence, [only] aftershe has sworn by God in the presence of two honest witnesses (shahida ‘adl)who know her, that [her husband] has been away from her for more thanthat to which he has the right according to the condition and, consequently,she may act at her discretion, reserving the right to wait for him without herwaiting invalidating her condition (la yaqt.u‘ talawwumu-ha shart.a-ha).

30

Thus, we observe that even the matrimonial contract itself, agreedupon by the husband and the wife’s guardian (walı), leaves the wayopen for possible legal action by the wife to petition for divorce.Through this second part of the condition written into the marriagecontract, one can see that the compilers of the watha’iq works intendto ensure the effectiveness of any marriage contract as written proofin case of the abandonment of the wife. They clearly state that thewife may invoke her right before a judge to have precedence in pos-sible legal action against her husband regarding this question. Simi-larly, they state that she will only enjoy such precedence if she has adocument signed by at least two witnesses saying that she has swornthat her claims are true.

Regarding the presence of the woman in the qad. ı court, IbnMughıth records an interesting ruling which deals with the possibi-lity of an absence of a qad. ı in the community in which both spouseslive. In this case, the woman will have to rely on the testimony ofhonest neighbours who will try to obtain news about the husband:‘‘because without the imam, what the community does is equivalentto what the imam decides’’.31


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Other Necessary Documents

Apart from the marriage contract itself in which the conditionimposed on the husband and the possible courses of action open tothe wife in case of breach of contract are clearly expressed, thewatha’iq works contain other documents which may help one followthe process of divorce undertaken by the wife. There are three prin-cipal models.

The first model is a document signed by two witnesses in whichthey testify in favour of the wife that they know both spouses andthat the husband has abandoned the wife. With the second model,the witnesses not only certify the absence of the husband, but alsothe existence in the marriage contract of a condition which willprevent him from being absent for more than the stipulated time.The final model is a document in which the witnesses state that thewife has sworn that her husband has been away and that she is notreceiving any kind of maintenance from him.

As concerns the first model, Ibn Mughıth and later, Ibn Salmun,each record a different example in which the only apparent objec-tive is to certify that the husband is absent and that his whereaboutsare unknown.32 The model which Ibn Mughıth compiles appearsnot to refer particularly to matrimonial cases, but its aim is simply toverify the absence of a disappeared man. It is recommended thatsuch a document be written especially in cases where the husbandhas been called away on a military expedition, recording, in thatcase, his age and the time that he left. His age is legally interestingbecause ta‘mır will be applied to him, that is, the average age fordeath of persons of the same age in order to know more or lesswhen he may be considered dead.33

Nevertheless, the explanation of this model appears to be sig-nificant since it mentions that, should the woman possess such adocument regarding the absence of her husband, the qad. ı must granta period of four years, during which time attempts will be made todetermine the whereabouts of the missing man and whether it ispossible for him to return. If, after these four years, they have heardno news of him, the qad. ı himself will thus authorise the wife torepudiate herself with a simple repudiation (t.alqa wah. ida).

However, the example of the first model recorded by Ibn Salmunis rather different and worth quoting in full:

The witnesses testify that they know fulan and fulana and that they arehusband and wife; that the husband, fulan, has been absent from his wife,


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the aforementioned fulana, and that they do not know his whereabouts fromsuch and such a date, that he has not returned until now and that they givethis testimony on such and such a date.34

According to Ibn Salmun, this first model is the only step that awoman must take to petition for divorce before she gives the finaloath which is expressed in a separate model.

The second model recorded in the watha’iq works is also signed bythe wife’s witnesses. But, the specific aim of this model is to relatethe absence of the husband with the condition written in the mar-riage contract in such a way that specifies that the wife will be ableto act as malika amr nafsi-ha and thus annul her marriage if she sowishes. The witnesses in this second document must mention thatthey personally know her husband and his name. They must testifythat there is a relevant condition written within the marriage con-tract and that, consequently, should the husband absent himself, hefails to fulfil this condition. They further testify as follows:

. . . that he [the husband] has been away from her in such and such a placeor in an unknown place in al-Andalus on a journey for a period exceedingthat stipulated [in the contract] which is not for the purposes of performingthe pilgrimage; that they do not know whether he has returned up to thetime in which they give their testimony in this document which takes placeon such and such a date.35

Unlike Ibn Mughıth, Ibn Salmun does not provide an example ofthis second model. The fact that he omits this second step maysuggest that he considered it unnecessary and that a woman waspermitted to report to the qad. ı court with her own marriage docu-ment which already certifies the existence of the condition.36

The substantial difference between the third model document,analysed below, and the first two, is that one sees how the womenact in the third one. In the first two models, the witnesses mentionthat they know both spouses, but the spouses themselves do not takeaction: their role in the legal process is passive. The sole action ofthe woman, which can only be presumed, is the act of bringing thewitnesses together and compiling the testimonies which support herclaims against her husband, after having been abandoned by him.

In this third model, especially in that recorded by Ibn Mughıth, itis once again the witnesses who appear to sign the document andnot the wife but, this time, they give testimony regarding actiontaken by the wife in the court. Again, after mentioning that theyknow the wife personally and her name, ‘‘fulana, daughter of fulanand wife of fulan, son of fulan’’, the witnesses affirm:


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She appeared before judge fulan (qamat ‘inda al-qad. ı) on such and such a dateand stated to him that her absent husband, the aforementioned fulan b. fulan,left her without providing her with nafaqa nor any other amount nor did hesend her anything that reached her, for which reasons she has brought thiscomplaint to the judge that he might look into it.37

According to the explanation of Ibn Mughıth, this document willserve the wife later should her husband return and claim that he hadindeed sent nafaqa to his wife. In this case, with the support of such adocument, the wife’s word would automatically be accepted overthat of her husband.38

The model which al-Gharnat.ı recommends differs significantlyfrom the corresponding one proposed by Ibn Mughıth. Al-Gharnat.ı’sis, in fact, a ‘aqd al-istir‘a’39 through which the wife reserves forherself the right to divorce her husband should he not return fromhis absence, but she may not necessarily be seeking an immediatedivorce. In this model, no mention is made of the fact that the wifehas appeared in court nor are her complaints even recorded. Thewitnesses simply declare that ‘‘they do not know that he [thehusband] has sent anything to the wife nor that he has left her nafaqanor anything through which he might fulfil his duty by her’’.40

However, a case may occur in which the woman, faced withabsence of her husband and his failure to pay nafaqa, does not wantto petition for divorce, but simply to prove his absence so that thejudge can authorise her to dispose of her husband’s property inorder to maintain herself. Through fatwas, one learns that, in somecases, the husband, although he did not leave payment as nafaqa nordid he send payment to his wife, did nevertheless leave or abandonan important part of his property. In this case, the wife has the rightto dispose of this property since her nafaqa is considered, in the eyesof the law, to be a debt contracted by her husband.41 Thus, thismodel of al-Gharnat.ı is not only of use to the wife in petitioning fordivorce, but also in cases where her husband fails to maintain her.

The Oath of the Wife

As was shown in the marriage contract, it appears that the womanhas no way out of taking the oath. She will have to swear that theabsence of her husband has exceeded the stipulated time and thatshe did not grant him any exemption from this condition. Further-more, she will have to swear that she has not received nafaqa fromhim in any form.

The watha’iq works are not unanimous regarding the place inwhich the oath should be taken. Ibn al-‘At.t.ar, for example, states


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that she should do it in her own home, albeit in the presence ofhonest witnesses, while Ibn Mughıth42 and al-Gharnat.ı

43 say that itis fitting that she take the oath in the communal mosque. IbnSalmun, for his part, does not appear to specify a particular place.The marriage contracts which state that the wife may take the oathin her own house once again serve to make such action easier forthe woman since the inclusion of this in the contract would spareher having to go out into the public domain to take the oath in themosque.

Only in al-Muqni‘ of Ibn Mughıth is there mention of the place,when not specified in the contract, in which the oath should betaken as well as the most appropriate time of day. The formula is asfollows:

The wife will swear in the communal mosque by day if she is a woman whocan leave her house or by night if she is a woman who cannot go out. . .44

It may occur, according to Ibn Mughıth, that the husband or hislegal representative disagrees with the wife regarding the oath thatshe must take. He may claim that she must take the oath in themosque by day while she claims that she may do it at night. IbnMughıth resorts to the dictates of local practice:

. . . oaths are only taken based on the local practice of the country [inwhich] they [the spouses] are in, according to their social position and rank(sharaf). So if a woman of her social status usually goes out by day, she willdo likewise and if the contrary is true, the situation will be judged accor-dingly.45

Similarly, there is mention in this work that the people present whowitness the oath testify that they know the wife and know that she is‘‘in good health and legally capable’’ to take the oath. Finally, it isstated that through her taking this oath, the wife declares that shehas repudiated herself in a way equivalent to a threefold repudiationsince this is stipulated in the marriage contract itself.46

The only watha’iq work which specifies the phrasing of the wife’soath is Ibn Salmun who recommends the following model:

. . . [I swear] by the one God that my husband, fulan, has absented himselffrom me as has been previously described and testified and that he has notreturned, neither secretly nor publicly, that I have not permitted him thisjourney, that I have not, for my part, failed to fulfil the conditions stipulatedfor his absence, that I have not approved [my husband’s absence] by mysilence when the stipulated period ended and that I have not exercised theright to prolong his absence.47


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The taking of the oath by the wife marks the end of the divorceprocess. Following the decision of the qad. ı, she may obtain a furtherdocument (tasjıl) registering her repudiation of her absent husband. Itis worth noting that in the Andalusi watha’iq works examined in thisstudy, only one model has been found which registered such adivorce initiated by a wife who was abandoned by her husband.48

With the permission of the qad. ı, once the process of divorce hasbeen carried out, the wife must then wait until the end of the ‘iddawhich is counted from the day on which she takes the oath. Afterthis waiting period, the woman is permitted to remarry. The hus-band’s abandonment of the wife usually means that the wife has noway of maintaining herself alone; it is therefore essential for her tocontract a new marriage.

Conclusion

In this study, I have analysed the legal procedure which a womanwho has been abandoned by her husband must follow in order topetition for divorce. The sources for this research were the mainAndalusi watha’iq works which can be said to reflect legal practice inCordoba and Toledo from the tenth to the twelfth centuries. In myanalysis, I have tried to show the importance of the watha’iq works asa source for investigating the real possibilities that individuals had inexercising their rights in the qad. ı courts. Malikı works of furu‘ mayinform us, as they informed the notaries of the day, of the generalnorms of the madhhab on a specific point of law. Furthermore, onlythese watha’iq works can show us how those notaries translated thesegeneral principles into specific legal procedures.

In the mentioned case, the abandonment of a wife by herhusband, one may reconstruct the course of action that a wife musttake as based on the model document contained in the watha’iqworks. We may infer that she must:

1. find two honest witnesses (shahida ‘adl) who know both spouseswell;

2. engage the notary to draw up the testimonies of these witnessesin a valid legal form;

3. submit her claims orally to the qad. ı along with the written testi-monies of her witnesses;

4. take an oath before witnesses, either at home or in the commu-nal mosque (jami‘), declaring that her claims and the testimoniesof her witnesses are true.


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If successful in her action, the wife is thus irrevocably divorced andfree to remarry.

In conclusion, the real possibilities by which an Andalusi womanof this period could initiate the process of divorce depended, first ofall, on what was written in her marriage contract and, consequently,on the notary to inform her of her rights and obligations at themoment that the contract was drawn up.

It is also clear that, apart from the correct stipulation of the rele-vant clauses of the marriage contract, the whole process of thewoman initiating a divorce depended upon her ability to gather thetestimonies of two independent witnesses, a fact which we may notnecessarily assume was always possible in practice.

Finally, the reconstruction of such individual legal actions throughthe watha’iq works may help us understand not only the specific legalprocedures of the day, but also the function that notaries playedwithin the administration of justice and, by extension, within Anda-lusi society. Besides drawing written documents according to thenorms of Islamic law, the notary’s task was also to inform and adviseindividuals of their obligations and rights and, one may assume, ofhow to exercise them with the written documents that they possessedor in the specific situation in which they found themselves. The fateof an abandoned wife, like any other individual seeking redress for abreach of written contract, depended on the good offices of thenotary.

Notes

1 I would like to thank Harry J. Bone for his translation of this paperinto English and for his generosity and friendship. I would also like tothank Leon Buskens for his valuable comments on the first draft of thiswork. This paper was written thanks to a postdoctoral grant given tome by the Ministerio de Educacion y Cultura (Spain) which fundedmy stay in Princeton University.

2 See Jose Lopez Ortiz, ‘‘Formularios notariales de la Espana musul-mana’’, La Ciudad de Dios 145 (1926), 262–270, especially 265–266;E. Tyan, Le notariat et le regime de la preuve par ecrit dans la pratique du droitmusulman, Lyon, 1945, 7; J. Wakin (ed.), The Function of Documents inIslamic Law, Albany, 1972, 2 and W. B. Hallaq, ‘‘Model shurut. worksand the dialectic of doctrine and practice’’, Islamic Law and Society 2(1995), 109–134, especially 113 and note 14.

3 Quran 2:282.4 On ‘ilm al-shurut., see the introduction of F. J. Aguirre Sadaba’s edition


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of al-Muqni‘ fı ‘ilm al-shurut., 11–12; Lopez Ortiz, ‘‘Formularios notar-iales’’, 266 and ‘‘Algunos capıtulos del formulario notarial de Abensal-mun de Granada’’, Anuario de Historia del Derecho Espanol 4 (1927), 321.

5 Jose Lopez Ortiz, ‘‘Algunos capıtulos’’, 319 and E. Tyan, Le notariat,39.

6 E. Tyan, Le notariat, 47.7 This function of the notary as first witness to the contract is shown by

the fact that he was entitled to remove the veil of a woman to verifyher identity (Tyan, Le Notariat, 61).

8 These watha’iq works only include the chapters devoted to mu‘amalatsince, in general terms, ‘‘ritual law’’ (‘ibadat) does not involve the use ofwritten documents.

9 Jose Lopez Ortiz, ‘‘Algunos capıtulos’’, 326 and S. Vila, ‘‘Abenmoguit.Formulario Notarial’’, Anuario de Historia del Derecho Espanol 8 (1931), 5.More recently, W. B. Hallaq, ‘‘Model shurut. works’’, 112.

10 Leon Buskens from Leiden University is now preparing a study on the‘adl as a ‘‘cultural broker’’.

11 Jose Lopez Ortiz, ‘‘Formularios notariales’’ and ‘‘Algunos capıtulos’’;Pedro Chalmeta, ‘‘De Historia Hispano-Musulmana: reflexiones y per-spectivas’’, Revista de la Universidad de Madrid 20 (1971), 129–160; F. J.Aguirre Sadaba, ‘‘Fragmentos de las Watha’iq de Ibn al-‘At.t.ar recogi-dos en los margenes del manuscrito XLIV (bis) de la ‘‘ColeccionGayangos’’ sobre el Formulario Notarial de Ibn Mugıt’’, Homenaje alProf. Jacinto Bosch Vila, I, Granada, 1991, 461–472 and W. B. Hallaq,‘‘Model shurut. works’’.

12 J. Ribera and M. Asın, Manuscritos arabes y aljamiados de la Biblioteca de laJunta, Madrid, 1912, 57ff. Professor F. J. Aguirre Sadaba informed methat he plans to prepare an edition of this manuscript. According to P.Chalmeta, al-Buntı used and based his compilation on Ibn al-‘At.t.ar’swork: Chalemeta’s introduction to Ibn al-‘At.t.ar, Watha’iq, XXV.

13 For a Spanish translation of the section of this work pertaining to mar-riage: S. Vila, ‘‘Abenmoguit. Formulario notarial’’, Anuario de Historiadel Derecho Espanol 8 (1931), 5–200.

14 P. Chalmeta, ‘‘De Historia Hispano-musulmana’’, 158–159.15 M. Garcıa-Arenal, ‘‘Algunos manuscritos de fiqh andalusıes y nortea-

fricanos pertenecientes a la Real Biblioteca de El Escorial’’, Al-Qant.ara1 (1980), 9–26.

16 There is also a partial Spanish translation of this work: J. Lopez Ortiz,‘‘Algunos capıtulos del formulario notarial de Abensalmun deGranada,’’ Anuario de Historia del Derecho Espanol 4 (1927), 319–375.

17 On this kind of divorce in the Malikı school: Quran 2:229; Ibn Juzayy,al-Qawanın al-fiqhiyya, Tunis, 1982, 237–238; Khalıl, Abrege de la loi


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musulmane selon le rite de l’imam Malek, translated by G.-H. Bousquet,Alger-Paris, 1958, 55ff; Ibn ‘As.im, Traite de droit musulman. La Tohfatd’ebn Acem, edited and translated by O. Houdas and F. Martel, Alger,1882, no. 527 and Y. Linant de Bellefonds, Traite de droit musulmancompare, Paris-The Hague, 1965, II, 419–447.

18 Y. Linant de Bellefonds, Traite de droit musulman compare, II, 449–470.19 E. Tyan, ‘‘Gha’ib’’, E.I.2, II, 995–996; ibid., Histoire de l’organisation judi-

ciaire, II, p. 41 and G. Ammar, ‘‘De la representation en justice del’absent. Definition du caractere periodique de l’absence’’, RevueMarocaine de Droit 12 (1960), 391–399.

20 Ibn al-‘At.t.ar, Watha’iq, 8; Ibn Mughıth, Muqni‘, 21; al-Gharnat.ı,Watha’iq, 17 and Ibn Salmun, al-‘Iqd al-munaz.z.am, 17. Al-Gharnat.ı’swork does not explain this question in detail. He just mentions thepossibility of including this clause, among others.

21 Ibn Mughıth, Muqni‘, 21.22 Ibid., 25 and Ibn Salmun, al-‘Iqd al-munaz.z.am, 19.23 Idem.24 Ibn Salmun, al-‘Iqd al-munaz.z.am, 19.25 Ibn Mughıth, Muqni‘, 25 and Ibn Salmun, al-‘Iqd al-munaz.z.am, 19.26 Ibn al-‘At.t.ar, Watha’iq, 8.27 Idem.28 Wa-in fa‘ala shay’an min dhalika, fa-amru-ha bi-yadi-ha; for example, Ibn al-

‘At.t.ar, Watha’iq, 7 and Ibn Mughıth, Muqni‘, 21.29 Ibn Mughıth, Muqni‘, 22.30 Ibid., 21.31 Fi‘l al-jama‘a fı ‘adam al-imam ka-h. ukm al-imam, Ibn Mughıth, Muqni‘,

120.32 Ibn Mughıth, Muqni‘, 119 and Ibn Salmun, al-‘Iqd al-munaz.z.am, 19.33 Ibn Mughıth, Muqni‘, 119.34 Ibn Salmun, al-‘Iqd al-munaz.z.am, 19.35 Ibn Mughıth, Muqni‘, 118.36 Ibn Salmun, al-‘Iqd al-munaz.z.am, 19.37 Ibn Mughıth, Muqni‘, 117.38 Ibn Mughıth, Muqni‘, 119 and Khalıl, Mukhtas.ar (trans. Bousquet), 136.39 A ‘aqd al-istir‘a’ is a written declaration in which a witness declares to

have knowledge about the situation of an individual. For this kind ofdocument as opposed to an as.l document: J. Lapanne Joinville, ‘‘Lesactes adoulaires marocains sont-ils authentiques?’’, Revue Marocaine deDroit 9 (1957), 337–384, esp. 352.

40 Al-Gharnat.ı, al-Watha’iq, 23.41 Khalıl, Mukhtas.ar (trans. Bousquet), 136.42 In fact, as will be seen later, Ibn Mughıth considers both the commu-


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nal mosque and the wife’s home as possible places for her to take theoath (Muqni‘, 28 and 118).

43 Al-Gharnat.ı, al-Watha’iq, 23 and 51.44 Ibn Mughıth, Muqni‘, 28.45 Ibid., 28–9.46 Ibn Salmun, al-‘Iqd al-munaz.z.am, 19.47 Ibid., 19–20.48 Al-Gharnat.ı, al-Watha’iq, 51.


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Part Three:

ANTHOLOGIES,

CHRONICLES AND

BIOGRAPHICAL

DICTIONARIES

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CHAPTER 8

Women’s History: A Study of

al-Tanukhı

Nadia Maria El-Cheikh

The belief that the Quran, the Traditions of the Prophet and thewritings of theologians and jurists were the chief determinants ofwomen’s positions has been one of the main problems of women’shistory in Islam.1 The information gathered from such material islimited and fails to assess the historical reality of women’s lives, theirbehaviour and status as well as the actual perception of their roles.They are prescriptive rather than descriptive.2 The chronicles of theAbbasid period rarely mention women and even if al-T. abarı andothers record information about the wives of caliphs, the portraitsthey provide are limited in scope to their patronage and philan-thropic works.3 Generalisations about the position of women inIslam abound but vivid individual portraits are, by and large,lacking. Such portraits are essential for investigating women as asocial group living and functioning within specific conditions andconstraints as well as for attempting to grasp male-female relations inall their complexity. Adab texts are invaluable for providing suchindividual portraits. This study will concentrate on the potentials andinsights that adab texts can offer into the history, condition and per-ception of women both as a group and as individuals.

The term adab is difficult to define, encompassing, as it does,various literal and metaphorical meanings. Recently, S. A. Bone-bakker has stated that the current definitions of adab are ‘‘too broadto provide a workable analytic framework’’, suggesting that a morerestricted definition be used.4 Traditionally, adab has been used torefer to profane literature as distinct from ‘ilm which sums up the

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religious sciences. It has been defined to include the ‘‘best’’ of whathad been said in the form of verse, prose, aphorism and anecdoteson every conceivable subject which an educated man, an adıb, issupposed to know.5 Adab also purports to deal with a wide range ofproblems concerning language, literature and ethical and practicalbehaviour.

Adab has been neglected as a main historical source due to its nor-mative and repetitive nature. In his Introduction a l’histoire du mondemusulman medieval VIIe–XVe siecles, Claude Cahen had very little to sayabout the use of adab as a source for medieval Muslim history.6

Similarly, Stephen Humphreys, in his comprehensive work whichprovides the bibliographical and methodological elements for histo-rical research on the Muslim medieval world, mentions this type ofsource in a condensed way.7 Although problematic, adab can intro-duce us to contemporary concerns and underlying attitudes andyield important information for historical investigation pertaining tomedieval Muslim women. For adab literature, as F. Rosenthal hasstated, ‘‘holds by far the greatest promise of serving as a source forus to get behind official attitudes and gain an insight into what realpeople thought and how they judged actions’’.8 The works of adab,varying in character and subject matter and not being professedlyideological, reflect the more commonly held beliefs which allow us torecapture the mentality and values of Islamic society as well as to seeepisodes of history as it was lived. Despite its repetitiveness, its trans-mission of universal values and its idealistic character, adab readjustsand actualises its images and metaphors, recording the modificationsand changes in society, its attitudes and sensibilities.9 Adab workscontain valuable information on diverse topics including dailyactivities and problems of the common people,10 sometimes provid-ing poignant portraits of individuals and their actions.

A number of works have women as their sole subject such as al-Ima’ al-shawa‘ir by Abu al-Faraj al-Is.fahanı, Nisa’ al-khulafa’ by Ibn al-Sa‘ı (593/1196–674/1276) and al-Mustaz.raf min akhbar al-jawarı byJalal al-Dın al-S. uyut.ı (691/1292–751/1349).

11 At times, women areassigned a special section in the work. The last portion of IbnQutayba’s Kitab al- ’uyun, entitled Kitab al-nisa’, defined women’s phy-sical and moral qualities. However, women are not, by and large,the central subject matter in adab literature. While female characterspopulate the medieval Arab anecdotal literary corpus, the occasionswhere they are mentioned are, on the whole, incidental. The maininterest of the authors in including women in their material isoften the presentation of elegant verses as well as female witticisms


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and ruses which revolve around female sexuality and women’sbodies.12

Two adab anthologies will be analysed in looking for the type andquality of information about the history of women that they contain.Al-Muh. assin b. ’Alı al-Tanukhı (329–384/940–994) is the author ofthese two brilliant works containing material for the social history ofthe second half of the ninth and first part of the tenth centuries,namely, Nishwar al-muh. ad. ara wa-akhbar al-mudhakara and al-Faraj ba ’dal-shidda.13 Although distinct in intention and content, both belong toa literary genre within adab, quite popular in the ninth and tenthcenturies, that is to say, compilations of edifying and entertaininganecdotes. Such books of anecdotal narratives convey not only his-torical information but also social values and the art of socialconduct.14 These compilations are particularly useful because theydeal not only with the elite, including bureaucrats, generals and‘ulama’, but with ordinary folk as well.

Al-Tanukhı presented, in both works, accurate and detailed refe-rences to historical personalities, events and places, encompassing awide spectrum of society. The relevant anecdotes, rich in details onvarious aspects of Abbasid society, including that of women, vividlyillustrate many practices and attitudes.15 Al-Tanukhı reported hisaccounts in Nishwar and al-Faraj as historical events providing fullchains of transmitters for his anecdotes and using phrases such as ‘‘Iheard. . . I was told. . . I read. . .’’, phrases that confirm his directconnections with the sources from which he drew. The anecdotes’framing follows the formal pattern of historical reports. The fact thathe often mentions the place where the action takes place adds to hiscredibility. It is, of course, typical of all anecdotal literature that it begiven an air of truth by an isnad connected to historical personagesor by verisimilous detail.16 Whether the account is historical or not,however, does not subtract from the fact that nothing in the majorityof these anecdotes hinted at anything which was impossible in itself.The audience was familiar with the discourse.

In his introduction to Nishwar al-muh. ad. ara, al-Tanukhı lists thesources from which his information is derived, suggesting that thesereports of actual experience cover the whole gamut of society.Although they do not conform to the common definition of whatconstitutes history,17 Dominique Sourdel, in writing his history of theAbbasid vizirate, made use of al-Tanukhı’s works stating that if oneis to consult adab works, ‘‘the most significant mine of historicalanecdotes is found in the works of al-Tanukhı’’. Sourdel pointed outthat the accounts in the Nishwar, based on contemporary reports,

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have the value of authentic testimony. Even if one is not to acceptthese anecdotes literally, it is not difficult to extricate their historicalsignificance.18 More recently, Hartmut Fahndrich has also empha-sised the valuable historical information that can be extracted fromthe Nishwar.19 In addition to supplying us with an image of thepolitical and administrative life of the caliphate, the compositecontent of the Nishwar presents a rich variety of examples of socialbehaviour framed within anecdotes of contemporary Iraqi Muslimlife and society. While it is difficult to place strict chronologicallimitations, the Nishwar’s anecdotes are contemporaneous or near-contemporaneous with the life and times of al-Tanukhı.

Al-Faraj ba ’da l-shidda is a more difficult compilation to use. Asboth Francesco Gabrieli and, more recently, Julia Ashtiani havestressed, al-Tanukhı cannot be called the author of al-Faraj, butrather its editor ‘‘since many of the stories are taken from verifiablesources’’.20 Al-Faraj includes anecdotes of various epochs centred onthe theme of relief after adversity. Although these anecdotes aremainly concerned with political and administrative personalities andevents, they also include stories about less significant people belong-ing to various social classes. Certain anecdotes include fictionalevents and personalities as well as obvious folkloric elements.21 Whatis particularly important about this compilation is that the informa-tion included does not concentrate on actions but on situations,hence, its attention to detail. Francesco Gabrieli stressed the impor-tant historical value of such a literary compilation as al-Faraj whichconstitutes a mine for the reconstitution of, among others, privateand economic life, institutions and customs.22 One limitation to keepin mind is that adab literature had its own rules and its own concernsand that reports were, at times, part and parcel of a literary systemthat governed these anecdotes. As is the case with Arabic texts ingeneral, there was a re-adaptation of earlier material. More particu-larly, the image of women in adab literature was subject to literaryconventions, complicated by the presence of topoi which have thepotential of substantially deforming reality. Another constraint is thatwhile both works give multiple glimpses of women’s social and psy-chological reality, there is no systematic and thorough study aboutany one aspect of women’s positions. While a numberof subjects are broached, the information provided remains incom-plete and in need of further corroboration. An analysis of thecontent of these works merely offers one way of sketching a pre-liminary map towards understanding women’s roles and genderrelations in the society that produced them. Ultimately, the weight of


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the investigation will have to be carried by the sheer accumulationof evidence from a multitude of adab and other works.

By examining al-Tanukhı‘s texts internally, the analysis will focuson the issues which the author chose to discuss, the stories that heselected for inclusion in his works and the terms in which the storiesand the issues were presented. Al-Tanukhı’s texts contain a richvariety of anecdotal narratives which touch on a number of issuesdealing with various aspects of women’s lives. Whilst it is difficult toorganise the scattered and disjointed data found in al-Tanukhı’smany volumes, this study will gather the information under anumber of headings which try to answer the following questions:What did women do in their daily life? What was the nature ofmale-female interaction? How is one to evaluate the real distancebetween official morality and social reality? What were women’slevels of literacy? What was the nature of women’s intervention ineconomic activity? What was the extent of their political role?

Morality and Values: The Social Reality

Both the Nishwar and al-Faraj inform us of a serious social conditionduring a particular period when the daughters of important notablesin Baghdad were reported, by the police, to have been caught per-petrating immoral acts:

One of my neighbours was Abu ‘Ubayda. . . He used to be a companion(nadım) of Ish. aq b. Ibrahım al-Mas.‘abı. He told me that one day Ish. aq sum-moned him in the middle of the night. . . He [Ish. aq] threw at me [Abu‘Ubayda] papers that he was holding in his hands and said: read these. Iread them all. They were the reports of the police chiefs. . . each one relat-ing the day’s events. All the reports mentioned raids undertaken againstwomen who were found fornicating. They were the daughters of vizirs,umara’ and notables who had died or who had lost their positions. . . [Ish. aqsaid] I am afraid lest a similar fate befalls my five daughters and I havegathered them in this room to kill them immediately and find rest.23

The passage informs us about raids undertaken by the police andabout the implication of free women of a certain standing engagedin immoral activities. What connection does this story about fornica-tion bear to reality? Does it indicate that debauchery among upperclass women was commonplace and usual? Or does it actuallyrepresent a reversal of reality? While these questions are difficult toanswer, it is highly doubtful that the story reproduces reality in anystatistically significant way. What this story clearly implies is that inthe absence of constant vigilance, the natural depravity of women

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would necessarily lead to their downfall. Indeed, this anecdote pre-sents, in an almost obsessive way, a testimony to the precariousnessof the lives of even elite women and the profound fears of humilia-tion that their male relatives permanently had. The Nishwar alsomentions the daughter of Ibn Abı ‘Awf, a wealthy and influentialman belonging to the close circle of ‘Ubayd Allah, the vizir of bothal-Mu ’tamid (256/870–279/892) and al-Mu ’tad. id (279/892–289/902): ‘‘It was mentioned that the news spread in Baghdad that he[Ibn Abı ‘Awf] entered his home to find his daughter with a manwho is not her mah. ram. . .’’

24 This text likewise suggests the possibilityof illicit sexual relations implicating upper class women in tenth-century Baghdad. His daughter’s act had significant repercussions onthe powerful Ibn Abı ‘Awf. In fact, his very downfall is tied to theactions of his daughter. This anecdote, in conjunction with theearlier one, illustrate a certain freedom of morals among the upperclasses that legal and religious texts do not provide.

The official strict morality upheld for free women was furthercontradicted by the widely tangible presence of slave girls of variousethnic origins who were trained as singers, dancers and musicians.The concept of seclusion and isolation of Muslim women was not afunctional reality for slave girls. There were no restrictions on thejawarı regarding their circulation while unveiled and in dealing withmen in the markets and shops. The slave girls and, in particular, theqiyan (singing girls), tended to be educated, cultivated, unveiled andthey frequented men. They followed, on the whole, an alternative setof moral standards.

One aspect revealed by our texts which relates to slave girls con-cerns the large amounts of money that men spent on concubines,especially on the singing girls. A number of men became destitute afterhaving spent all their money which, at times, was considerable ontheir passion over a singing girl. Abu Ah.mad al-Shırazı al-Katib said:

I was a katib for. . . Ibn Muqla while he was a vizir25 and my situation wasmodest. I used to like a qayna on whom I used to spend all my earnings. . .26

Reference is also made to a young student from Khurasan whosefather sent him his yearly expenses:

He bought a jariya, liked her and they became fond of each other. Shestayed with him for years. His pattern was to take up a loan. . . and as soonas his father’s money would reach him he would settle his debt.27

Ibrahım b. al-Mudabbir states that he was enamoured with ‘Arıb fora long time and spent significant amounts of money on her.28


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Al-Faraj mentions a prosperous man in Baghdad who ‘‘had inheriteda considerable amount of money from his father. He fell passionatelyin love with a jariya and spent a lot of money on her. He bought herand they loved one another. He kept spending his money on heruntil he went bankrupt.’’29 Mention is also made of a man whoinherited 50,000 dirhams and spent it all on a jariya.30 References,thus, abound regarding money squandered on concubines, moneythat could have well been spent on the family. The huge sums men-tioned by al-Tanukhı point to a socially significant development inAbbasid society, namely, the channelling of money in considerableamounts to a particular group of women. Moreover, it was not onlywealthy men who indulged in this practice, but also people belon-ging to all walks of life such as the student from Khurasan and AbuAh.mad al-Shirazı. A group of jawarı seems to have acquired a de factosituation that largely compensated for their condition, in spite of atradition dating from the ninth century accusing singing slave girls ofinsincerity, perfidy and ruse. Al-Jah. iz. (d. 255/868–9) had stated inhis Kitab al-Qiyan (The Epistle of Singing Slave-Girls) that:

The singing-girl is hardly ever sincere in her passion, or whole-hearted inher affection. For both by training and by innate instinct her nature is to setup snares and traps for the victims, in order that they may fall into hertoils. . . For the most part singing-girls are insincere, and given to employingdeceit and treachery in squeezing out the property of the deluded victimand then abandoning him. . .31

Al-Washsha, similarly, accused the qiyan of mercenary love.32

Although attacks against the jawarı were directed by male authors attheir cupidity and self-interest, the fact of the matter is, if one judgesby the evidence of al-Tanukhı, that vast sums of money continued tobe spent on concubines, particularly on the singing slave girls.

It was these jawarı who had become central in Muslim imaginativelife and who came to represent the actual and symbolic centre ofanxieties of tenth-century Baghdadi society. The kind of passion thatthese jawarı could kindle is reflected in the story of Abu al-H. usayn b.Maymun al-Aft.as, the vizir of al-Muttaqı (329–333/940–4). Theprotagonist fell in love with a beautiful singer who was bought forthe caliph al-Muqtadir (295/908–320/932): ‘‘I was then a katib forthe mother of al-Muttaqı when he was still in his youth and Irefrained for days from calling in. . . I was neither eating nor drink-ing, doing nothing but crying. . .’’.33

A money changer similarly divulges the arduous love that he felttowards a jariya whom he bought:

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I was possessed by her love, and could not part with her for a singlemoment; if I went to the shop, I would be driven into frenzied insanity untilI came back to spend the rest of my day with her.34

The overwhelming passion that jawarı stirred in the hearts of thesemen leads us to uphold Bouhdiba’s contention of a double status forwomen: in appearance, the legitimate wife benefits from a superiorstatus, but in appearance only. For the concubine ended by becom-ing a true ‘‘anti-wife’’.35 The concubines’ presence led to a rolereversal profoundly affecting the position of free women on theactual and affective levels. It is vital to explore the discrepancybetween theoretical and real restrictions on women and to obtainfurther detailed information about free women and slave girls inorder to appreciate the respective role and position that societyassigned to them and sort out the multiplicity of social and moralpossibilities available to diverse categories of women.

Family Life: Mothers and Wives

The only kind of family which is described in any way in our sourcesis the urban one. Our texts reveal an important dimension of familyrelationships during this period by emphasising the affective strengthof the ties between mothers and their sons. Abu al-Qasim b. al-Hawarı, a man close to the circle of power of al-Muqtadir, is said tohave been extremely devoted to his mother. He was not comfortableeating anything unless she ate with him and it was his habit that ifhe tasted any delicious dish, he would send it over to her table.36

Although this story cannot be taken at face value and may beunderstood primarily as a topos, it suggests, nonetheless, that strongrelations could exist between an adult male and his mother and thata son’s fondness for his mother did not necessarily diminish after hebecame completely independent, having reached high positions ofpower.

Our texts also reveal the other side of this close relationship,namely, the disapproval of a mother’s remarriage. A conversationthat took place in the presence of the Hamdanid ruler Sayf al-Dawla(333/945–356/967) made mention of a man whose mother hadremarried. Sayf al-Dawla is said to have ordered his katib to writehim a letter of condolence.37 A second anecdote has Abu Ish. aqIbrahım b. Hilal al-S. abi’ writing a letter to a man whose mother hadremarried in which he congratulated him for his ‘‘firm endur-ance’’.38 A mother’s remarriage, thus, warranted comforting words


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in the context of the prevalent value system which seems to havefrowned upon her decision to enter into a new marriage. The textsof the letters reflect society’s severe condemnation of such an action.While we have no way of knowing the percentage of mothers whoremarried, these passages, nevertheless, show that some of themwent ahead and remarried anyway. Indeed, the katib Abu al-Fad. l‘Ubayd Allah was famous, or rather infamous, for the fact that hismother married repeatedly both before and after she had marriedhis father.39

A number of anecdotes, both in Nishwar and al-Faraj, provide inti-mate details concerning the private life of husbands and wives. Weare told of a young man, Bishr b. ‘Abd Allah, who fell in love with awoman. Being jealously guarded by her husband, a ploy was devisedto allow her to spend a night out with Bishr. Bishr secured the helpof a male friend who masqueraded as the woman by wearing herclothes and returning to her house. Unfortunately, the fake wifebroke a household utensil and her husband took a whip and lashedher back. She was saved by the intervention of the husband’smother and sister.40 The story places us in the midst of a familyquarrel. The fact that this anecdote belongs more to the realm offiction than to any solid reality is inconsequential. The point is thatmarital quarrels were likely and that violence in the household wasconceivable. In addition, we get a scenario of external involvementin such quarrels, i.e. female relatives who intervene on the wife’sbehalf. The usual presence of the man’s mother, sisters and otherfemale relatives had a constant and permanent impact on the wor-kings of the family.

Women did not always accept marital disharmony passively. Theyare seen to be capable of defending themselves by resorting to avariety of stratagems. One man mentions his marriage to a womanhe loved. They lived happily for a long time:

Then it went our way the way it goes in a couple. She got angry at me andclosed the door to her room forbidding me to enter it. She communicatedto me that I should divorce her. I tried to conciliate her to no avail. I askedher female relatives to mediate on my behalf but it did not work. . .41

The husband, overtaken by grief and distress, camped at her doorweeping and crying until his wife was finally appeased. The wife hadused the double strategy of denying her husband sexual pleasurecoupled with the threat of separation. This story supplies us with anidea of the sentimental life of the times revealing that husbands andwives could and did love each other. The husband is enamoured of

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his wife and willing to go to any length to conciliate her. We also geta detailed description of family quarrels and, as in the previousanecdote, of the role played by other women in the family who actas mediators in such circumstances.

Al-Tanukhı divulges other household scenes. Abu al-H. asan b. al-Furat, before he became vizir, once knocked at someone’s door.Impressed by Abu al-H. asan’s demeanour, the head of the householdinvited him in. The text goes on to mention something that haspractically nothing to do with the substance of the encounterbetween the two men: the host ‘‘gave the guest’s clothes to his wife(zawjatu-hu) to wash them while he conversed with him’’.42 Thisunique reference to the wife, made in such a casual way, shows theatmosphere and daily actions of women in their household. Domesticwork was clearly a woman’s affair. The house was the centre of heractivities which included, among many others, to serve as hostess forher husband’s guests. Significantly, this story refers to a single wife.The text does not say that the host gave the guest’s clothes to one ofhis wives or one of the household’s women. Similarly, the man who,in the preceding anecdote is shunned by his wife, acts in ways thatmake the presence of other wives highly unlikely. From these limitedreferences, it is impossible to conclude with any confidence whetherthe protagonists were engaged in a monogamous or polygamous typeof marriage. It is however necessary to look into all kinds of evidenceimplying such occurrences in order to discern the frequency of poly-gamous marriages and envision the possibility of the existence of awidespread system of monogamous serial marriages.43

Anecdotes emphasise the central importance of marriage in thesociety as represented in the texts. In the previously mentioned storyinvolving the raids undertaken by the police against upper classwomen, Abu ‘Ubayda appeased Ish. aq’s alarm by pointing to theperfect solution, namely, marrying his daughters off as soon as possi-ble. This is the pitch line of the anecdote. Marriage, especially earlymarriage, is the morale of the story. The solution offered to Ish. aq,that he marry his five daughters immediately, was observed. Mar-riage was the one viable alternative. His advisor on this matter, Abu‘Ubayda, told him:

You should call the military commander so and so for he has five sons, allgraced with handsome faces. . . and well brought up. You should marryeach of your daughters to one of them.

Abu ‘Ubayda, now charged with this mission, went to the comman-der, discussed the matter with him and came back with the father


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and the five sons. The marriages were contracted at once.44 Mar-riage was, thus, a highly regulated activity. That the daughters hadno choice in the matter is clear. However, this lack of freedom tochoose their spouses did not have women as their exclusive target.The five sons do not seem to have been consulted either. Theconsent of both the young men and women does not play a roleduring any phase of the story. This lack of freedom reflects an orga-nising principle among, at least, upper class Baghdadis whichimposed limitations on freedom of action and choice on all depen-dants, young men and women alike.

Literacy or the Education of Women

Although the majority of female slaves were destined for domesticoccupation, the physically attractive ones were retained for gratifyingtheir masters’ pleasures. Those who showed an aptitude for studywere given a musical and, at times, a literary education by the slavedealer or a rich master.45 At some point, the slave dealers ceased tosell jawarı merely for their beauty, focusing their energy on produ-cing cultivated jawarı.46 Anecdotes pertaining to singing slave girlsinform us that the qiyan were capable of writing short poems and ofimprovising plays.47

Ja‘far b. Yah. ya al-Barmakı asked us for a loquacious slave girl who possessesadab and refinement (z.urf). A shaykh from Kufa who heard our conversa-tion. . . said: I have the vizir’s desire. He brought out a jariya. . . who readverses of the Quran. . . and recited a good poem.48

Al-Tanukhı includes an informative anecdote involving the educa-tion of a slave girl. A son of an eminent personality relates the fol-lowing:

My father had handed me over to the kuttab. My mother owned a younggirl whose age was close to mine. She is my present slave girl. She used toattend the kuttab with me, learning what I learn. . . She then stopped goingto the kuttab and learned singing. . .49

The slave girl thus began her education by accompanying her mis-tress’ son to classes. Then, she had to stop attending the kuttab inorder to tend to other aspects of her education as a singing slave girl.The slave girl was thus given a purposeful education solely gearedfor men’s entertainment. Her education was not thorough and wasnever intended for her own self-improvement.

The eclectic and non-specialised nature of the slave girls’

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education is contrasted with that of the privileged ‘A’ida al-Juhay-niyya, a learned woman and a katiba (scribe). She was the wife of thevizir al-Muhallabı’s uncle, who succeeded him as a scribe forBajkam, amır al-umara’, in Baghdad between 326–329/938–940 andthe Turkish leader, Sabustakın (d. 364/974).50 The term katib/katibawas used for anyone whose function consisted of drafting officialletters or administrative documents.51 An Abbasid katib had topossess a thorough knowledge of the Arabic language, a familiaritywith the proverbs as well as the accounts of the ayyam and similarstories, wide reading in all branches of prose and poetry, soundknowledge of state and administrative theory and absolute familiaritywith the Quran and the Traditions.52 The list is not complete. Thekatib had to be nothing less than an erudite. His, or in this case, herknowledge had to be encyclopedic. Al-Tanukhı, personally acquain-ted with ‘A’ida, states that she composed excellent poetry.53

The evidence thus reveals that there were several types of educa-tion and varying degrees of literacy. Women at the lowest echelon ofsociety, such as the slave girls, had access to some kind of educationand could, at times, be quite learned.54 Opportunities for educationfor the more privileged was available to some women who managed,at times, to function in society as scribes.

Economic Activity and Political Power

Al-Tanukhı includes references to women’s participation in eco-nomic life, providing some details concerning the type of economicactivity in which women of the various classes were engaged. Wehave, for instance, evidence of women selling their yarn in themarket place.55 One anecdote mentions a bedouin woman whosecrop was wasted by hailstone.56 Another involves a woman healerliving in a remote area, indicating the significant role that womenplayed in the field of health care:

‘Alı b. Muh. ammad al-Ans. arı stated: I had pustules on my leg. . . I went outto the village of Mabrawan in the district of al-Anbar and stayed with afarmer whose name was Ibrahım b. Sham ’un. Seeing my pustules, he said:there is an old woman who uses spells to cure them. I had her brought inand she said: this a disease called al-duruk and I can cure it for you. She castspells lengthily and then spread. . . ointments and said: Do not remove itbefore three days. Three days later, I removed it and was cured.57

The system of segregation created employment opportunities forwomen in the service of harems in upper class households.58 Unin-hibited by the strict rules of female segregation, these women moved


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around in the public space usually occupied by men. Particularlysignificant, a number of such economic activities gave women accessto power. One of the occupations that seems to have been relativelywidespread was that of wet-nursing. Abu al-H. asan al-Katib refersto an old woman who raised him.59 Another story takes place inthe palace of Harun al-Rashıd (170/786–193/809): a son was bornto the Prince of the Faithful, Harun al-Rashıd. The newbornrefused to accept all the wet-nurses who were brought to the palaceuntil he finally accepted one specific wet-nurse. The child in ques-tion was the future caliph, al-Ma’mun, whose wet-nurse held a loftystanding.60 The wet-nurses of the caliphal palaces, were at times,able to involve themselves in the politics of the day. Ibrahım b.H. amdan al-Shırazı was appointed vizir following the joint decisiontaken by caliph al-Muktafı (289/902/295–908) and Faris, the caliph’swet-nurse.61 Umm ‘Ubayda, the wet-nurse for Ja ’far, son of caliphal-Mans.ur (136/754–158/755), troubled by the caliph’s appoint-ment of a certain Fad. ıl to manage Ja ’far’s affairs, conspired success-fully to have him removed.62 Poor women, hired by the palace aswet-nurses, managed, thus, to have significant influence within thepersonal politics of the harem as well as in the public politicalsphere.

One of the most influential female activities involved them in theharems as qahramanas. This was the stewardess of the harem, the onewho had the privilege of going in and out of the palace to get thingsfor her mistress since the harem women, even the concubines, werenot allowed to leave the palace. One story reported in al-Faraj con-cerns a maiden who ‘‘was brought up by al-sayyida, mother of thePrince of the Faithful, al-Muqtadir bi-Allah. She was her favouritemaiden. . . Longing to see people and circulate freely, she managedto become a qahramana and started to go out for everyday necessitiesand see people.’’63 The same account relates her repeated contactswith a shop owner, implying the possibilities and dealings that a qah-ramana could have with men in the market. She even proposedherself in marriage to the Baghdadi shop owner.

The qahramanas are seen to act as intermediaries for Umm al-Muqtadir by mediating her orders and carrying messages from andto her.64 Umm Musa, one of the most influential qahramanas, is men-tioned below as a go-between in an episode involving the mother ofcaliph al-Muqtadir and a judge. Another qahramana of Umm al-Muqtadir was Nuz.m who ‘‘recompensed whomever she pleased, ele-vating Abu al-Qasim until he acquired a high degree of wealth’’.65

The qahramanas thus had significant political power and a number of

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them became infamous for the influential role that they attained.The institution of the qahramana also points out that the harem wasnot an idle place but rather an organised social unit that distributedspecific tasks to designated women.

Naturally, the females closest to the centre of power were theruler’s mother, sister, wife or daughter. The Hamdanid princessJamıla, daughter of Nas.ir al-Dawla (317/929–358/969), is men-tioned in Nishwar where her powerful and predominant role is high-lighted:

I saw Abu al-H. asan al-Maws.ilı writing to Abu Taghlib b. Nas. ir al-Dawla. Atsome point in the letter, he wrote praiseworthy matters (umur h. amıda). I toldhim: in this context, the appropriate expression is ‘‘beautiful matters’’ (umurjamıla). . . He answered: you are right but I wrote a letter to Abu Taghlibwhile I was still in Mosul in which I said umur jamıla. It reached him whilehe was with his sister Jamıla who dominated him. . . He never took anydecisions without consulting her and never rendered judgment unless hetook her advice. . . She disapproved so strongly of my usage of the wordjamıla, as it was her name, and so I had to present my apologies and havesince ceased to write the word jamıla.66

This description places Jamıla as the real power behind the‘‘throne’’. She is consulted by her brother on all matters of impor-tance influencing the politics and affairs of the Hamdanid princi-pality of Mosul. Indeed, these words assign her a predominant andhighly powerful position. The mother of Jamıla, wife of Nas.ir al-Dawla and mother of Abu Taghlib, also held significant power asreflected in a story in which she accused one of her agents of chea-ting her of her money. She had him captured and imprisoned in herfortress.67

Al-Tanukhı includes a number of anecdotes about Umm al-Muq-tadir, a caliph’s most influential mother. Known also in our texts asShaghab or sayyida (lady), Umm al-Muqtadir plays a remarkablyimportant role in the history of the period. A Greek by birth, shehad been bought by al-Mu ’tad. id (279/892–289/902) and was freedas umm walad on al-Mu ’tad. id’s death, becoming the most influentialperson at the court.68 Indeed, her queen-motherhood status was theclimax of her career. Al-Tanukhı lists Lady Shaghab along with theqahramana Umm Musa, al-Muqtadir’s aunt, Khat.if, and Dastanbu-wayh (umm walad of al-Mu ’tad. id) as al-sada who conducted businessduring al-Muqtadir’s youth. He fell completely under their sway.69

Muslim historians have tended to pass over such unpalatable refe-rences to women’s rule as briefly as possible and have usually repor-ted such influence negatively, making it synonymous with decadence


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and decline. Keeping in mind the problematic contexts in whichwomen had a chance of emerging on to the political scene, a re-reading of the texts is in order.

Al-Tanukhı‘s anecdotes of Umm al-Muqtadir reflect her author-ity, wealth and power:

Abu al-H. asan ‘Alı b. al-Qad. ı Abu T. alib. . . told me that al-Sayyida Umm al-Muqtadir asked my grandfather for a waqf deed for a village she hadbought. The deed was in the dıwan of justice and she wanted to retrieve it inorder to tear it and cancel the waqf. My grandfather, not knowing herintent, brought it to the palace and told the qahramana: I have brought thedeed as she has ordered, what does she want? They answered: we want tokeep the deed. He realized what they were up to and told Umm Musa, theqahramana,: please tell the Sayyida. . . that this, by God, is totally out of ques-tion. . . The qahramana conveyed the letter to al-Sayyida who complained toal-Muqtadir. . . It has come to our ear that when she brought it up again,[al-Muqtadir] told her. . . if this was permissible, he would not have for-bidden you. Al-Sayyida asked for the opinion of her katib Ibn ‘Abd al-H. amıd, explaining the matter to him. . . He told her that this was a knownstratagem. . . and is unlawful. She then retrieved her money, annulled thepurchase and returned to thank my grandfather. . .70

That Umm al-Muqtadir’s attempt at falsification failed only helps toemphasise the power to which she seems to have been accustomedand which is checked this time by the personal intervention of herson, the caliph. The anecdote reflects Umm al-Muqtadir’s importantpublic role. The strong-minded Umm al-Muqtadir is seen givingorders to judges and high administrators, even to vizirs. She had herown staff, including secretaries, and enjoyed considerable personalfreedom. Umm al-Muqtadir was an extensive property owner whichis reflected in her ownership of a village. Other texts, indeed, exposeher wealth which became almost proverbial.

Shaghab, mother of al-Muqtadir. . . enjoyed a life of luxury like no one elseand played with the fortunes of this world in ways that have been relatedabundantly.

When al-Muqtadir was killed, al-Qahir (320/932–322/934) had herarrested and inflicted all types of torture upon her in attempting toreclaim her money.

She said to him: Oh you, if we had money, we would not be suffering andyou would not be in your position so that you may chastise me in such amanner. I am your mother according to the Book of God. . . I am the onewho saved you from my son the first time, thus enabling you to get to thisposition.71

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Al-Qahir managed to force her to authorise him to sell her property.For that, he brought in two witnesses to the caliphal palace. Thewitnesses needed to see her and the caliph gave them permission.One of the witnesses said:

I heard weeping and lamentation behind the curtain which was thenremoved. I asked her, are you Shaghab?. . . She cried for a while andanswered yes. . . When I saw her, I found her an old woman with a delicateface, a brown complexion verging towards paleness and manifesting varyingmarks [on her body] and dressed in shabby cloths.72

Although historical sources discuss the important political role thatUmm al-Muqtadir played, our texts bring out her individuality in amuch more pronounced way. We see her as a lively person, speak-ing, acting and giving orders. We also see her crying, worn downand humiliated. The alternate sets of descriptions provide a humaneportrait of the slave woman who once was an Abbasid queen. Theanecdotes show her in all her glory and in her ultimate misery as ifto illustrate the fickleness of destiny.

Conclusion

This study has tried to offer indications as to the type of informationthat adab works can provide on our subject. While recognising thelimitations of using literary sources as historical documents, the evi-dence adduced here is intended as a preliminary step towards eluci-dating some aspects of women’s social, economic and political rolesas well as providing insightful descriptions of their behaviour andattitudes.

By scrutinising adab compilations, we do not see women as a face-less mass, but rather as a great variety of individuals acting, speakingand defining relations. While our sources do not inform us about thewhole range of women’s economic activity, they allow for an appre-ciation of the variety of economic roles in which women were activeand the possibilities they had to attain power. The previously accep-ted stereotype of the secluded, docile, male-dominated woman doesnot stand up to the limited evidence in our texts. For, while al-Tanukhı’s society was patriarchal in all senses, this did not precludeit from producing powerful women such as the wet-nurse Faris, theqahramana Umm Musa and Lady Shaghab. Of particular value areanecdotes revealing aspects of the private life of women which helpus answer the question about how relations were conducted betweenthe sexes in the privacy of the shared domicile. Moreover, we get to


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appreciate the rich rapport that united women and men since theanecdotes include a large variety of feelings, ranging from passionatelove, to tender love, to nostalgia and to bitterness. Adab texts enableus to look behind the screens at a panorama that still lies almostentirely in shadow.

The information dispersed in the works of adab thus has a specialvalue for discovering and reconstructing the female experience inmedieval Muslim society and culture. Al-Tanukhı’s works are impor-tant for informing us that a particular sentiment existed, that it waspossible for women to be involved in specific productive activitiesand that a number of them could become quite influential andwealthy. Most especially, the Baghdad of al-Tanukhı is peopled withvivid and lively female characters whose lives the reader is made toshare in their most intimate detail.

Notes

1 Nikki Keddie, ‘‘Problems in the Study of Middle Eastern Women’’,International Journal of Middle East Studies 10 (1979), 225–240.

2 Huda Lutfi has tackled one such ‘‘ideal’’ source successfully in‘‘Manners and Customs of Fourteenth-Century Cairene Women:Female Anarchy Versus Male Shar’i Order in Muslim PrescriptiveTreatises’’ in Nikki Keddie and Beth Baron (eds), Women in MiddleEastern History: Shifting Boundaries in Sex and Gender, New Haven, 1991,99–121.

3 Judith Tucker, ‘‘Gender and Islamic History’’ in Michael Adas (ed.),Islamic and European Expansion, Philadelphia, 1993, 37–73.

4 S. A. Bonebakker, ‘‘Adab and the Concept of Belles-Lettres’’, TheCambridge History of Arabic Literature: Abbasid Belles-Lettres, Cambridge,1990, 16–30.

5 See F. Gabrieli, ‘‘Adab’’, E.I.2, I, 175–176.6 Claude Cahen, Introduction a l’histoire du monde musulman medieval VIIe–XVe

siecles, Paris, 1982.7 Stephen Humphreys, Islamic History: A Framework for Inquiry, Princeton,

1991.8 Franz Rosenthal, ‘‘Fiction and Reality: Sources for the Role of Sex in

Medieval Muslim Society’’ in Afaf Lutfi al-Sayyid (ed.), Society and theSexes in Medieval Islam, Malibu, 1979, 2–22.

9 Abdallah Cheikh-Moussa, ‘‘L’historien et la litterature arabe medie-vale’’, Arabica 43 (1966), 152–188. In this article, he used adab sourcesto elucidate information about the poor, beggars and the ‘ayyarun.

10 By closely examining al-Jah. iz.’s al-Bukhala’, Roberto Marın Guzman

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was able to sort out significant material dealing with the social historyof medieval Islam in ‘‘La literatura arabe como fuente para la historiasocial: el caso del Kitab al-Bukhala’ de el-Jahiz’’, Estudios de Asia y Africa28 (1993), 32–83.

11 For a description of these works see Hilary Kilpatrick, ‘‘Women asPoets and Chattels. Abu l-Farag al-Is.bahanı’s al-Ima’ al-Shawa’ir’’, Qua-derni di Studi Arabi 9 (1991), 161–176 and ibid., ‘‘Some Late ‘Abbasidand Mamluk Books about Women: A Literary Historical Approach’’,Arabica 42 (1995), 56–78.

12 Fedwa Malti-Douglas, Woman’s Body, Woman’s Word: Gender and Discoursein Arabo-Islamic Writing, Princeton, 1991, 31–33 and Jankoo Hameen-Anttila, ‘‘Some Notes on Women in Classical Arabic Literary Tradi-tion’’, The Arabist 15–16 (1995), 133–141.

13 Both appeared in reliable editions by ‘Abbud al-Shaljı in Beirut in the1970s.

14 Stefan Leder and Hilary Kilpatrick, ‘‘Classical Arabic Prose Literature:A Researcher’s Sketch Map’’, Journal of Arabic Literature 23 (1992), 2–25.

15 D. S. Margoliouth, who did a partial translation of the Nishwar, states:‘‘In no case could the diwans, even if we had them complete, give us soclear a picture of contemporary life as can be gleaned from Tanukhi’spages’’, The Table-Talk of a Mesopotamian Judge, London, 1922, vi.

16 A. F. L. Beeston, ‘‘The Genesis of the Maqamat Genre’’, Journal ofArabic Literature 2 (1971), 1–12.

17 Tarif Khalidi, Arabic Historical Thought in the Classical Period, Cambridge,1994, 113.

18 Dominique Sourdel, Le vizirat Abbaside de 749 a 936, Damascus, 1959,vol. 1, 35–36.

19 Hartmut Fahndrich, ‘‘Die Tischgesprache des Mesopotamischen Rich-ters-Untersuchungen zu al-Muh. assin al-Tanukhıs Nishwar al-Muh. a-d. ara’’, Der Islam 65 (1988), 81–115.

20 Julia Ashtiani, ‘‘Al-Tanukhi’s al-Faraj ba‘da al-Shidda as a LiterarySource’’ in Alan Jones (ed.), Arabicus Felix: Luminosus Britannicus: Essays inHonour of A. F. L. Beeston on His Eightieth Birthday, Ithaca, 1991, 108–128.

21 Andras Hamori, ‘‘Folklore in Tanukhı, the Collector of Ramlah’’,Studia Islamica 7 (1990), 65–75 and Muh. ammad H. asan ‘Abdallah,‘‘Kitab al-faraj ba‘da al-shidda li-l-qad. ı al-Tanukhı: dirasa fanniyyatah. lıliyya’’, ‘Alam al-fikr 14 (1983), 71–125.

22 Francesco Gabrieli, ‘‘Il valore letterario e storico del farag ba‘da s-siddadi Tanuhı’’, Rivista degli Studi Orientali 19 (1940–1), 16–44.

23 Kitab al-faraj ba‘da al-shidda, ‘Abbud al-Shaljı (ed.), Beirut, 1978, vol. 4,5–6.

24 Nishwar al-muh. ad. ara wa-akhbar al-mudhakara, ‘Abbud al-Shaljı (ed.), Beirut,


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1971, vol. 2, 117. The mah. ram is someone belonging to one’s con-sanguinity precluding marriage.

25 Ibn Muqla was vizir three times: during the Caliphate of al-Muqtadirin 306/918, under al-Qahir in 320/932 and under al-Rad. ı in 322/933: Sourdel, Le vizirat abbaside, vol. 2.

26 Nishwar, vol. 2, 60.27 Al-Faraj, vol. 4, 345.28 Nishwar, vol. 1, 27.29 Al-Faraj, vol. 4, 316.30 Nishwar, vol. 1, 187.31 Trans. by A. F. L. Beeston, The Epistle on Singing-Girls, Warminster,

1980, 31–33.32 Reference to Kitab al-Muwashsha in Jean-Claude Vadet, L’esprit courtois

en Orient dans les cinq premiers siecles de l’Hegire, Paris, 1968, 341–346.33 Al-Faraj, vol. 4, 310–311.34 Ibid., vol. 3, 315.35 Abdelwahab Bouhdiba, La sexualite en Islam, Paris, 1986, 131.36 Nishwar, vol. 1, p. 122.37 Ibid., vol. 2, p. 264.38 Ibid., vol. 3, p. 211.39 Ibid., vol. 8, p. 147.40 Al-Faraj, vol. 4, 354–356.41 Ibid., vol. 4, 426.42 Nishwar, vol. 1, 66.43 The conclusions of a recent quantitative study of al-Sakhawı’s Kitab

mu‘jam al-nisa’ point to a low incidence of polygamy in late Mamluksociety in favour of serial monogamy: Aliya Al-Saidi, Marriage Patterns ofUrban Muslim Women in the Ninth/Fifteenth Century, American Universityof Beirut, M.A. thesis, 1996.

44 Al-Faraj, vol. 4, 6–7.45 R. Brunschvig, ‘‘‘Abd’’, E.I.2, I, 24–40.46 Abd al Kareem al-Heitty, ‘‘The Contrasting Spheres of Free Women

and Jawarı in the Literary Life of the Early Abbasid Caliphate’’, Al-Masaq 3 (1990), 31–51.

47 Charles Pellat, ‘‘K. ayna’’, E.I.2, IV, 820–824, where he mentions that

A. Chirane, in his unpublished thesis entitled Recherches sur la poesie desqiyan, Paris-Sorbonne, 1970, brought forward the names of more thana hundred qiyan to whom verses were attributed.

48 Al-Faraj, vol. 4, 339–340.49 Ibid., vol. 4, 333.50 Nishwar, vol. 2, 222. See also al-S. uyut.ı, Nuzhat al-julasa’ min ash‘ar al-

nisa’, S. alah. al-Dın al-Munajjid (ed.), Beirut, 1958, 75.

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51 R. Sellheim and D. Sourdel, ‘‘Katib’’, E.I.2, IV, 754–757.52 Gustave Von Grunebaum, Medieval Islam: A Study in Cultural Orientation,

Chicago, 1947, 253–254. The passage occurs in al-Mathal al-sa’ir of Ibnal-Athır (d. 637/1239).

53 Nishwar, vol. 2, 224.54 Kitab al-aghanı and various other adab works reveal an important level

of literacy among the jawarı. Abu Mans.ur al-Tha‘alibı, in Lat.a’if al-lut.f,ed. ‘Umar al-As‘ad, Beirut, 1980, 97 and 99, mentions jawarı whoanswer back letters in writing.

55 Nishwar, vol. 1, 118.56 Al-Faraj, vol. 1, 181.57 Nishwar, vol. 2, 94.58 Leila Ahmed, Women and Gender in Islam: Historical Roots of a Modern

Debate, New Heaven, 1992, 84.59 Nishwar, vol. 2, 230.60 Al-Faraj, vol. 3, 317.61 Nishwar, vol. 3, 268.62 Al-Faraj, vol. 2, 357.63 Ibid., vol. 4, 362. Muhsin Mahdi compared this account with a similar

tale found in the Thousand and One Nights in ‘‘From History to Fiction:The Tale Told by the King’s Steward in the Thousand and OneNights’’, The Thousand and One Nights in Arabic Literature and Society, Cam-bridge, 1997, 78–105.

64 Nishwar, vol. 1, 242–244.65 Ibid., vol. 4, 145–146.66 Ibid., vol. 1, 193–194.67 Al-Faraj, vol. 2, 108. It is notable that the same Jamıla occurs in

another adab source, namely, in Lat.a’if al-ma‘arif of Abu l-Mans.ur al-Tha‘alibı (d. 429/1038). In the chapter entitled fı l-ghayt min t.abaqat al-nas, the author includes a detailed description of the great pomp andlavishness with which Jamıla performed the pilgrimage to Mecca in366/976–977. Al-Tha‘alibı then gives the story of Jamıla’s sad fate atthe hand of the Buyid ruler, ‘Ad. dud al-Dawla, vanquisher of herbrother.

68 Harold Bowen, The Life and Times of Ali b. Isa, Cambridge, 1928, 100–122.

69 Al-Faraj, vol. 2, 44–45.70 Nishwar, vol. 1, 242–244.71 Ibid., vol. 2, 76.72 Ibid., vol. 2, 77–79.


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CHAPTER 9

Women in Andalusi Biographical

Sources1

Marıa Luisa Avila

A thorough analysis of the output of Spanish Arabism over the lastcentury reveals one prevailing preoccupation: that of casting, bywhatever means, the Andalusi civilisation within the Western world.

As with all categorical and generalised assertions, this requiressubstantial qualification. Not all Spanish Arabists have been influ-enced by such a preoccupation; an increasing number of others tendtowards the other extreme, going so far, on occasion, as to considerthe whole Islamic world as a monolithic and unchangeable culturalunity, thus accepting Islam’s own vision of itself as valid. At the sametime, we should recognise that the desire to Westernise al-Andalushas been reflected more in the selection of subjects for study bychoosing those which best tend to support such a theory, rather thanan erroneous interpretation of data. But even this selection of topicsis often involuntary or unconscious. What can be more natural thanto focus more attention on original and peculiar aspects of Andalusicivilisation, rather than on the ordinary and uniform? Without con-sidering the importance and prevalence of these peculiar and dis-tinctive features, the problem arises when general theories are basedupon a magnified emphasis of such features and neglecting—inten-tionally or through ignorance—all those areas which situate al-Andalus with respect to the Islamic world.

Such a tendency has most often been shown by scholars of al-Andalus whose fields are other than Arabism; it is they who havebeen the most fervent supporters of the idea of an al-Andalus whichis, in fact, not only Western but radically Hispanic or even Spanish.

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They set this vision of al-Andalus against an Islamic world to whichthey attribute common features throughout all its regions, from theAtlantic Ocean to Iraq. Using this method, scholars select an aspectfor study from the Andalusi civilisation and then look for ante-cedents or concomitants in any period of the history of the IberianPeninsula, from the time of the Iberians to the Visigoths. At thesame time, they search the length and breadth of the Islamic worldfor one fact—no matter where it comes from—which shows that inthe East, ‘‘things were different’’. It is hardly necessary to point outthat in the opposite camp, that of the defenders of an Easternised al-Andalus, methods do not greatly differ: they also take advantage ofthe diversity of Muslim civilisation in order to find the desired simi-larity wherever possible.

It will be appreciated that with such a methodology, it is impos-sible to draw conclusions acceptable to everybody; arguments mayalways be found in favour of one or another theory. The ideal solu-tion would be to bring together all the existing data and to achievean overview which goes beyond the anecdotal and allows for aproper evaluation of cases which, in spite of their great interest, aremere exceptions. In this way, anyone who really wishes to establishwhether al-Andalus was more Western or Eastern (a wish that I donot share) would have a more complete basis for making judge-ments. Unfortunately, such a systematisation of historical informa-tion is possible only in rare instances, owing to the difficulty offinding, in most areas suitable for study, a large set of data which arehomogenous and comparable within themselves.

The following pages, nevertheless, attempt a modest study of sucha methodological approach. It deals with an issue about which muchhas been written: the role of the woman in al-Andalus. Althoughother antecedents may be found, the author who contributed mostto the theory of the specificity of the Andalusi woman was HenriPeres.2 On the basis of data taken from Andalusi poetry, Peresdeclares: ‘‘In this society upon which Islam imposed certain externalforms without shaping it profoundly, the woman, in spite of all thereligious coercion, played a highly prominent role. . .’’.3 The exten-sive review of Peres’ book by E. Garcıa Gomez,4 while not enteringinto the question in any great detail, exposes the weakness of Peres’arguments, describing his ideas as neo-Simonetist in allusion to theSpanish Arabist Francisco Javier Simonet, a diehard nationalist andanti-Muslim. Nevertheless, the fair and considered criticism ofGarcıa Gomez had little effect, for the defenders of a Westernised al-Andalus seized upon these theories and, from this time onwards, the


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high degree of liberty enjoyed by Andalusi women became one ofthe three or four basic tenets of ‘‘Andalusi Hispanicism’’, a line ofhistoriography most notably expounded by Sanchez Albornoz.Recently, many voices have been raised against this theory. PierreGuichard offers a wide compilation of writings on the issue and,with convincing arguments, demonstrates the frail basis of traditionalideas—as he calls them—concerning the ‘‘Westernism’’ of Andalusisociety and the role of women within it.5 In her study of women’spoetry in al-Andalus, Teresa Garulo also opposes the ideas of Peresand claims that it was normal, at least in the higher classes, forwomen not to associate freely with men outside the family circle.6

The present work does not pretend, in any way, to provide the defi-nitive answer to the question nor even to offer conclusions otherthan those which may be deduced—one would almost say ‘‘auto-matically’’—from the classification and analysis of the data com-piled. Nevertheless, within the limited field of work to which thisresearch is restricted (a minimal part of one of many areas open toresearch), the study may be described as exhaustive.

Curiously, certain similarities may be observed among defendersof very contrasting ideas as to the degree of liberty enjoyed byAndalusi women. For some ‘‘Westernists’’, considerable libertyexisted due to the wholly Hispanic character of al-Andalus societywhile some ‘‘Orientalists’’ declare that women enjoyed relativeliberty throughout the entire Islamic world. This almost unnaturalalliance between two such antagonistic groups might lead us tosuppose that, since both groups accept that women enjoyed a certainfreedom in al-Andalus, this is a fact which may be accepted withoutfurther argument. However, the following data do not appear topoint in this direction; indeed they indicate a vast difference betweenmen and women in specific areas such in their participation in cul-tural and scientific life, education, etc.

Biographical Dictionaries and Women

The work presented here consists of an analysis of data concerningwomen supplied by Andalusi (and some non-Andalusi) biographicaldictionaries. The principal biographical sources used in this studyare: Ibn al-Abbar, al-Takmila li-kitab al-S. ila (ed. F. Codera, Madrid,1887 and ed. M. Alarcon and A. Gonzalez Palencia, Miscelanea deEstudios y Textos Arabes, Madrid, 1915, 147–690); Ibn ‘Abd al-Malikal-Marrakushı, al-Dhayl wa-l-Takmila (vol. VIII-2, ed. M. Bencherifa,Beirut, n.d.); Ibn Bashkuwal, Kitab al-S. ila (ed. F. Codera and

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J. Ribera, Madrid, 1885); Ibn Dih. ya, al-Mut.rib min ash‘ar ahl al-Maghrib (Cairo, 1955); Ibn al-Farad. ı, Ta’rıkh ‘ulama’ al-Andalus (ed.F. Codera and J. Ribera, Madrid, 1891–92); al-H. umaydı, Jadhwatal-muqtabis (ed. Ibn Tawıt, Cairo, 1953); al-Maqqarı, Nafh. al-t.ıb(ed. I. ‘Abbas, Beirut, 1968); Ibn al-Qad. ı, Jadhwat al-iqtibas (Rabat,1973–74); Ibn Sa‘ıd, al-Mughrib fı h. ula al-Maghrib (ed. Sh. D. ayf,Cairo, 1964); al-Suyut.ı, Nuzhat al-julasa’ fı ash‘ar al-nisa’ (ed. S. . al-Munajjid, Beirut, 1978) and Ibn al-Zubayr, S. ilat al-s.ila (in Ibn‘Abd al-Malik al-Marrakushı, al-Dhayl wa-l-Takmila, vol. VIII-2,appendix).

In 1983, Maribel Fierro published an article devoted to thewomen appearing in the Jadhwat al-muqtabis by al-H. umaydı, the S. ilaby Ibn Bashkuwal and the Bughya by al-D. abbı.

7 There followed astudy of my own entitled ‘‘Las mujeres sabias en al-Andalus’’ inwhich the work conducted by Fierro was expanded by using thebiographies of women taken from the entire compendium of worksconcerning al-Andalus.8 In addition, Victoria Aguilar, who hadstudied the Takmila manuscript in the Royal Library of Rabat, pub-lished an annotated account of the women who appear in it.9 Thisnew manuscript extended the total of ‘‘learned women’’ by five.

Biographical dictionaries have recorded information about thou-sands of distinguished people in every period from al-Andalus, whowere ‘‘cultivators of knowledge’’, particularly in the legal-religioussciences as well as authors. The exact number of scholars whichappears in the biographical sources has not been established yet, butit surely exceeds six thousand.10

The reader who hears mention of biographies of women mightsuppose that they constitute a goldmine. Those reading this studywho have some knowledge of the data which these types of sourcesactually supply, know that this is not the case. The long series ofmasculine biographies in the sources are, without doubt, far moreinformative. With certain exceptions, they all seem to have beenedited according to the same pattern, so that—exaggerating some-what—only three variables may be distinguished for people of thesame generation: the name, place of birth and date of death. Such ageneralisation may seem excessive, but there indeed exists a series ofbiographies which merely repeat that the individual in questionstudied in such and such a city, with so and so as teachers and per-formed the rih. la passing through the same cities and studying thesame works as everybody else. However, in spite of this uniformity,the possession of a large series of data of the same type has made itpossible to carry out studies, often frequency-based, concerning the


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mobility of ‘ulama’,11 or the principal teachers and influences.12

Families have been reconstructed,13 while onomastics have beenused in a variety of ways to study the most frequent names or therelation between the ism ‘alam and the kunya, the laqab and so on,and even to deduce which forebears of a distinguished person hadconverted to Islam.14

In the case of women, however, one should point out that suchample studies cannot be undertaken, owing to the small number ofbiographies in our possession. Below is a list of biographies ofwomen taken from the Andalusi biographical dictionaries. Thename of the author is in the left-hand column while the number ofwomen who feature in the dictionary is found towards the right:

Ibn al-Farad. ı 2 (no. 1020 and 1042)Ibn Bashkuwal 16 (no. 1411–1426)al-H. umaydı 3 (no. 985–987)al-D. abbı 13 (no. 1583–1595)Ibn al-Abbar

ed. Codera 17 (no. 2113–2129)ed. Alarcon 44 (no. 2849–2892)ms. Rabat 515

al-Marrakushı 46 (VIII, no. 235–290)Ibn al-Zubayr 5 (suppl. no. 111–115)

As a curiosity, we may note that the biographies of women generallyappear at the end of a biographical dictionary, with the exception ofIbn al-Farad. ı who includes the biographies of only two women intheir corresponding alphabetical order. We do not know if this con-vention of situating women’s biographies appeared parallel with thedevelopment of the biographical genre in al-Andalus, given that themost ancient dictionary, that by Ibn H. arith, does not contain anywomen’s biographies. Perhaps more striking as an evolutionaryfeature is the mere fact of including women. Feasibly, Ibn al-Farad. ı,so meticulous in his methodology, did not pause to think about thequestion as it concerned only two biographies. W. al-Qadi16 notesthe same tendency in Eastern dictionaries as if it were a reflection ofthe situation or role played by the woman in Islam, i.e. to be physi-cally separated from men.

In total, these sources describe one hundred and twenty-onewomen, a number which, in itself, reveals great differences betweenwomen and their male companions. Moreover, if we look a littledeeper at the qualitative aspects of the descriptions, the differencebecomes yet more accentuated.

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The authors of Andalusi biographical dictionaries normally hadstrict criteria for deciding whether to include an individual.However, this is only the case in periods which the author coversexclusively. For earlier periods covered in other works, there is anoticeable relaxation in the requirements for entry in a biographicaldictionary, a consequence of the later authors’ eagerness to extendand complete the work of their predecessors. Thus, in dictionariessuch as the Takmila by Ibn al-Abbar or the Dhayl by al-Marrakushı,both from the 13th century, we find biographies of people from theera covered by Ibn al-Farad. ı in his Ta’rıkh ‘ulama’ al-Andalus (up tothe beginning of the 11th century)17 but who do not appear in thiswork. This is not due to forgetfulness or omission by earlier authors,but because, in reality, these people could not be considered personsof knowledge. Many of them are individuals mentioned in passing inhistorical chronicles, chiefly in the Muqtabis and the Matın by IbnH. ayyan, and of whom nothing is known except their participation—sometimes their mere presence—in certain historic events; no intel-lectual or scientific merit can be attributed to them.18

This is the case with a high proportion of the women from thefirst centuries of Muslim domination who are cited by biographers.Of the forty-one women living up to the end of the 10th century (theperiod covered by Ibn al-Farad. ı), only two are mentioned by him;19

the rest appear in later dictionaries and many of them are includedsimply for having been the wife or slave of some distinguishedperson.20

Of all the one hundred and sixteen women studied,21 a goodmany had only a slight connection with science or literature; theymerely studied a certain discipline with their own fathers, recitedpoems composed by other people or were even singer slaves. Morethan a tenth of the total (fifteen women) did not even attain thishighly tenuous connection with the arts and sciences.

On other occasions, curious accounts are found such as that ofAsma’ al-Rushat.ıya, paternal aunt of the father of Abu Muh. ammad‘Abd Allah b.‘Abd Allah b.‘Alı, author of the Iqtibas al-anwar who, inthis work, tells the story of the origin of the nisba al-Rushat.ı: ‘‘I sup-posed that it was the patronymic of some place or region and Iasked my father about it who said: ‘‘Both our generation and ourforebears have been known by this name, but I do not know itsorigin.’’ Then I asked Asma’, paternal aunt of my father, and shetold me: ‘‘One of our ancestors had a great mole on his body of thetype known as a ‘‘rose’’ (al-warda) which the Christians call roseto. Inhis childhood, he had a Christian maid who nursed him and


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brought him up, and when she played with him, she called himRushat.ello which later became Rushat.ı.’’

22 Al-Marrakushı observesthat he does not consider Asma’ to be a learned person and that hementions her only because she explained to her great-nephew theorigin of his family nickname, al-Rushat.ı.

As stated earlier, the aim of this study is to increase the under-standing of the role of women in al-Andalus, particularly in refe-rence to the degree of liberty they enjoyed. With this in mind,further analysis will focus on female activity within society, apartfrom family life. This is for two reasons: first and most important,the material which forms our starting point scarcely throws any lightupon family life and, second, the norms of behaviour within thehome are much more variable and less rigid than those which arefollowed under the gaze of society. To a certain extent, these normsdepend on the psychology and character of individuals and, as longas everything is kept strictly behind closed doors, what happensinside the home does not affect family or personal honour.

The work is, therefore, limited to the study of women’s activity inrelation to society and, bearing in mind the type of material con-cerned, such activity is shown to be reflected in three areas: studies,teaching and what one might call today, professional activity. In thefirst two cases, the focus is more on the persons with whom thewomen related, that is to say, on teachers and students respectively,rather than on the disciplines to which they devoted themselves,since such a focus is more revealing of women’s interaction withtheir social environment.

Teachers

The teachers’ names or identity for thirty-nine of these women isknown. The first point to note is the small number of teachers perwoman. Most had only one while some had two; those with moreare a minority. This contrasts very markedly with the educationreceived by their male contemporaries who travelled from town totown and from country to country in order to attend the classes ofthe largest possible number of prestigious learned men.23 Never-theless, on learning the identity of those who passed on their knowl-edge to the women, it is perfectly easy to understand the reasons forthese reduced figures. No fewer than twenty-one women in the bio-graphies studied exclusively with close family members nor is thereany indication that they ever left the family circle to receive tuition.

According to Rubiera, access of women to the world of cultureresulted from what she calls the ‘‘lack of sons’’ phenomenon, citing,

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as an example, the case of the women Andalusi poets Zaynab andH. amduna banat Ziyad al-Mu’addib, Nazhun al-Qula‘ıya and H. afs.aal-Rakunıya, ‘‘the brotherless only daughters of well-off and culturedfathers who gave them the education that they would have given totheir male children, if they had had any.’’24

Analysing this group a little further, one can establish the follow-ing classification:

Studied exclusively with father: 12With father, brother and husband: 1With father and grandfather: 1With father, grandfather and paternal uncles: 1With husband: 2With grandfather: 1With master (in the case of slaves): 3

The remainder, that is to say, eighteen women, attended thelessons of teachers outside the family circle, but here, too, it is neces-sary to make some important distinctions.

First of all, it is known that, for certain, in five of these cases, thewoman who received tuition from a person outside her family wasaccompanied by her father (three cases), her brother or her husband.There is also one case of a woman whose only teacher was, herself, awoman. This leaves twelve instances where one may suppose that thewoman attended, without family escort, the lessons of a male whowas not related to her, thus receiving an education similar to thatgiven to men of her age and social situation. However, if one looks alittle deeper into each of these twelve cases, it is discovered that,although the subjects or disciplines might have been the same, theactual form in which tuition was received was clearly distinct betweenmen and women. A few examples will demonstrate the point.

In Almerıa, Rayh. ana attended the classes of a noted Quranicreader, Abu ‘Amr al-Danı (d. 444/1053), but she did so hiddenbehind a curtain. The teacher signalled the pauses that she had tomake in the reading by means of hitting the curtain with a stick.25

Umm al-H. asan bint Abı Liwa’, a member of the Berber family ofthe Banu Wansus, travelled twice to the East on pilgrimage and diedin Mecca. In al-Andalus, she studied with one of the most importanttraditionists of the 3rd/9th century, Baqı ibn Makhlad, who, in spiteof having a large number of students, reserved one day a week togive individual classes to Umm al-H. asan.

26 Baqı’s son, Abu l-QasimAh.mad, records that he held the teacher’s book for her while sheread Kitab al-Duhur with her teacher.


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Although the remainder of the women’s biographies studied donot mention any further cases of receiving tuition alone with theteacher or behind a curtain, this cannot have been exceptional inany way. In the case below, the woman teacher also hides behind acurtain when imparting classes to students. One should also notethat the subject taught by this woman is the same as that studied byRayh. ana, the reading of the Quran. This is the most favouredsubject among the group of twelve women studied here, a total offive devoting themselves to it.27

Disciples

Small though the number is of women who received tuition inliterature or science in al-Andalus, the number of those who impartedtheir knowledge to other people is even smaller. Moreover, as occur-red in the case of the teachers, the identity of the students is perhapsmore significant than their numbers. We know of eleven women whogave tuition. Four of these taught members of their own family circle(two taught their sons; one taught her husband and the fourth taughther nephew, accompanied by another student). Another four taughtonly women. When one of these teachers, tutor to the women of theroyal family, had to abandon teaching for three years for reasonsunknown to us, her post was filled by her two daughters.

Another specialist in teaching women was Ibnat Sa‘ıd al-Ballut.ı,sister of the qad. ı Mundhir b. Sa‘ıd. She lived in Los Pedroches,leading a life of devotion in the mosque. According to her bio-grapher,28 the old women of the area and virtuous women came toher to pray and to study fiqh and the life (siyar) of the ‘abidun.

The three remaining women taught males who were not relatedto them.

Ishraq, the black slave of ‘Abd al-Rah.man ibn Ghalbun, was edu-cated by her master in Cordoba where she studied grammar, lan-guage and lexicography. The biographical sources state that shesurpassed her teacher and master in these disciplines and that, whenhe died in 443/1051, she took on the job of teaching his classes. Shedied in Denia a few years later (ca. 450/1058) in the house of Asma’,daughter of Mujahid de Denia and wife of the ruler of Valencia,‘Abd al-‘Azız ibn Abı ‘Amir. Among her students was the ValencianAbu Da’ud al-Muqri’ who studied metrics with her (‘arud. ), a subjectin which Ishraq excelled to the point of becoming known as ‘‘al-‘Arud. ıya’’.

29

The second woman is Sara al-H. alabıya (7th/13th century), a poetfrom Aleppo, who established herself in the Maghreb, composing

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panegyrics in honour of Andalusi and North African princes. Weknow that she granted ijaza (a licence to pass on received tuition) to‘Abd Allah ibn Salmun from Granada who had first met her inFez.30

Finally, Umm Shurayh. from Seville (5th/11th century) was ateacher of Quranic reading who taught the reading of Nafi‘ hiddenbehind a curtain. One of her students, who attended her classes as achild was ‘Iyad. ibn Baqı.31

These three cases present highly significant peculiarities. First ofall, the manner in which the classes are given, with the earlierobserved practice of physically concealing the woman, appliedequally to the woman teacher and student. Equally striking is theidentity of one of the women teachers: she was a slave whose legalstatus and social situation were wholly different from those of theh. urra, the free woman, and whose activity in society cannot thereforebe considered typical of the Andalusi woman in any way—a pointwhich many commentators have missed. The third case is that of anEasterner who, curiously, is the only free woman of those studiedhere who may be said to have led a ‘‘Western’’ life-style in terms ofthe freedom with which she seems to have moved.

Professional activity

Professional activity signifies here the performing of any duty or thecarrying out of any function in society which involves the applicationof technical or scientific knowledge and which implies direct contactwith other members of society. On this basis, the large number ofslave singers are excluded because of the non-intellectual nature oftheir work; copyists and writers of documents are also excluded sincetheir work did not involve professional contact with other indivi-duals.

It goes almost without saying that there is no information aboutany woman who exercised an official post. In the area of privateactivity, only two women fulfil all the criteria required to be men-tioned in this category.

Of Rashıda, the preacher, it is only known that she travelledthroughout al-Andalus preaching to and admonishing women. Theera in which she lived and her place of origin are equallyunknown.32

Umm ‘Amr (6th/12th century), daughter of Abu Marwan ibnZuhr, of the illustrious medical family Banu Zuhr (Avenzoar), con-tinued the tradition of the family by practising medicine. Heronly direct patients were women and children; nevertheless, her


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knowledge was so extensive that she was also consulted for the treat-ment of illnesses in men.33

A woman astronomer and katiba of great intelligence who was aslave of al-H. akam II and servant in the royal palace is also known.She was sent by the caliph to Sulayman b. Ah.mad al-Rus.afı al-Qassam whom he entrusted to teach her astronomy (ta‘dıl), the usethe astrolabe and other knowledge. In some three years, she hadbecome an expert and she returned to the palace, provoking theadmiration of the caliph who employed her to work in her specialty.A further curiosity lies in the fact that, despite all the praise devotedto her gift for astronomy, the name of this woman is not evenknown.

All the analysed data point in the same direction: the Andalusiwoman played a completely different role in society from that of hermale contemporary. Her active orbit is essentially the family and, onthe very limited occasions when she left this environment, socialnorms obliged her to stay as far away as possible from men, whetherby restricting her relations to children and other women or byplacing barriers between her and adult males. These barriers couldbe physical, i.e. the curtain behind which she was hidden when shegave or took lessons or it could be moral such as the vigilant pre-sence of father, brother or husband.

A further point concerns the medieval Islamic cultural world inwhich the ‘‘passing-on’’ of knowledge was highly personalised to theextent that there could be no knowledge which had not beenreceived directly from the teacher. In such a world, the presence ofthe woman constitutes a factor which is highly unusual and mar-ginal, almost distorting. A young man studying a book with histeacher would pass it on to a large number of other students who, inturn, would teach it to others, so forming an uninterrupted humanchain across the centuries, with a continual ramifying effect as gen-eration follows generation. When a female link appears in the chain,it very frequently marks the beginning of a dead end. The womandoes not normally pass her knowledge on to anybody. If she does so,it is to another woman until sooner or later—most probably,sooner—one of the women breaks the chain.

Notes

1 This study simply aims to give a composite view of the role of theAndalusi woman as it appears in various biographical dictionaries. Fora more thorough study referring to the Eastern Islamic world: Ruth

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Roded, Women in Islamic Biographical Collections: from Ibn Sa‘d to Who’sWho, Boulder, London, 1994. See also Huda Lufti, ‘‘Al-Sakhawı Kitabal-Nisa’ as a Source for the Social and Economic History of Muslimwomen during the Fifteenth Century A.D.’’, The Muslim World 21(1981), 104–124 and Arlette Negre, ‘‘Les femmes savantes chezDahabı’’, Bulletin d’Etudes Orientales 30 (1978), 119–126.

2 La Poesie andalouse en arabe classique au XIe siecle, Paris, 1937, Spanishtrans. by M. Garcıa-Arenal, entitled Esplendor de al-Andalus, Madrid,Hiperion, 1993.

3 Spanish translation, 399.4 Al-Andalus 4 (1936–39), 283–316.5 Pierre Guichard, Al-Andalus. Estructura antropologica de una sociedad islamica

en Occidente, Barcelona, 1976, 141–179.6 Dıwan de las poetisas de al-Andalus, Madrid, 1986, commenting on the

article by Manuela Marın, ‘‘Las mujeres de las clases sociales supe-riores: Al-Andalus, desde la conquista hasta finales del Califato deCordoba’’ in M. J. Viguera (ed. and intr.), La mujer en al-Andalus: reflejoshistoricos de su actividad y categorıas sociales, Madrid-Sevilla, 1989, 105–127.

7 M. I. Fierro, ‘‘Mujeres hispano-arabes en tres repertorios biograficos:Yadwa, S. ila y Bugya’’, Las mujeres medievales y su ambito jurıdico, Madrid,1983, 177–182.

8 Marıa Jesus Viguera (ed. and intr.), La mujer en al-Andalus: reflejos histo-ricos de su actividad y categorıas sociales, Madrid-Sevilla, 1989, 139–184.While I was working on this study, I was fortunate to have had contactwith Teresa Garulo who, at the time, was studying Andalusi womenpoets.

9 Victoria Aguilar, ‘‘Mujeres de la Takmila de Ibn al-Abbar en un manu-scrito de Rabat’’, Estudios Onomastico-Biograficos de al-Andalus I, Madrid,1988, 413–417.

10 The three principal dictionaries, the Ta’rıkh by Ibn al-Farad. ı, the S. ilaby Ibn Bashkuwal and the Takmila by Ibn al-Abbar give this totalfigure; however, a certain number of scholars have biographies inmore than one work.

11 Manuela Marın, ‘‘Des migrations forcees: les ‘ulama’ d’al-Andalus facea la conquete chretienne’’, L’Occident Musulman et l’Occident Chretien auMoyen Age, Publications de la Faculte des Lettres et des SciencesHumaines (Rabat, 1995), 43–59. See also Luis Molina, ‘‘Lugares dedestino de los viajeros andalusıes en el Ta’rıj de Ibn al-Farad. ı’’, EstudiosOnomastico-Biograficos de al-Andalus I, Madrid, 1988, 585–610.

12 Manuela Marın, ‘‘Los ulemas de al-Andalus y sus maestros orientales(93–350/711–961)’’, Estudios Onomastico-Biograficos de al-Andalus III,Granada, 1990, 257–306.


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13 Volume V of the series E.O.B.A. (Estudios Onomastico-Biograficos de al-Andalus) is devoted to al-Andalus families. Here we are not concernedwith citing all the articles on this topic, but we would mention, for itsgeneral character, the study by Luis Molina, ‘‘Familias andalusıes: losdatos del Ta’rıj ‘ulama’ al-Andalus de Ibn al-Farad. ı’’, E.O.B.A., II (1989),19–99; III (1990), 13–58 and IV (1990), 13–40.

14 Once again, we cannot be exhaustive; by way of example, we wouldcite the studies on onomastics by M. Marın. Of particular interest are‘‘Onomastica arabe en al-Andalus: Ism ‘alam y kunya’’, Al-Qant.ara 4(1983), 131–150 and ‘‘Notas sobre onomastica y denominacionesfemeninas en al-Andalus (siglos VIII–XI)’’, Homenaje al Prof. Darıo Caba-nelas Rodriguez, O.F.M., con motivo de su LXX aniversario, Granada, 1987,37–52. Regarding conversion to Islam, see the previously cited articleby L. Molina.

15 Only those women who do not appear in other works are listed; inAguilar’s account, these are nos. 1, 2, 4, 10 and 12:1. ‘A’isha al-Andalusıya, wife of ‘Abd Allah b. ‘Umar al-Andalusı. It

is not possible to identify her as the daughter of Ibn Qadim whoappears in Ibn Bashkuwal, no. 1412, as this woman is said to havedied unmarried.

2. ‘A’isha bint Ibrahım b. Musa b. Jamil al-Andalusı. Her father, anative of Tudmir, is no. 48 in M. Marın, ‘‘Nomina de sabios deal-Andalus (93–350/711–961)’’, E.O.B.A. I (Madrid, 1988), 23–182.

4. Baraka, mu‘taqa by Ibn al-Qassam al-Faqıh.6. Khawla bint ‘Alı b. ‘Abd Allah b. Tamım al-Fihrıya (possibly

Khulla).9. Muhja bint al-Khat.ıb Abı Muh. ammad ‘At.a’ b. al-Khat.ıb Abı

Ja‘far Ah.mad b. Muh. ammad (the same woman who appears inDhayl VIII, no. 277 and M. L. Avila, La sociedad hispanomusulmana alfinal del califato: Aproximacion a un estudio demografico, Madrid, 1985,no. 65; the only difference being that Dhayl has ‘Is.am instead of‘At.a’).

10. Maryam Umm al-H. akam al-Mustans.ir bi-llah.12. Umm al-Walıd bint al-Nas.r b. Salama b. Walıd b. Abı Bakr b.

‘Ubayd Allah b. ‘Alı b. ‘Iyad. .14. Judhur, jariya of Abı l‘Ajuz.

16 ‘‘Biographical Dictionaries: Inner Structure and Cultural Significance’’in G. Atiyeh (ed.), The Book in the Islamic World: The Written Word andCommunication in the Middle East, New York, 1995, 93–122.

17 Ibn al-Farad. ı contains people who died up to 395/1004–5. See Avila,La sociedad hispanomusulmana al final del califato, 31 and n. 8.

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18 One example among many is that of Khalaf b. Yamın who appears inthe Takmila for having saved the life of Almanzor when he wasattacked by Ghalib; see M. L. Avila, ‘‘Sobre Galib y Almanzor’’, Al-Qant.ara 2 (1981), 449–452.

19 The women are Fah. r al-mu‘allima (d. 317/929) and Ghada’ bint ‘AbdAllah b. H. amdun (IX–X c.); see Ibn al-Farad. ı, Ta’rıkh, nos. 1042 and1020.

20 This is the case, among many others, of Asma’, the celebrated wifeof Almanzor and daughter of General Ghalib whom her husbandassassinated. We cannot say that she had any scientific merit whatso-ever.

21 The five women recorded by Aguilar are not included, for we areunfamiliar with the content of their biographies.

22 Ibn al-Abbar (Takmila, ed. Alarcon, no. 2879) and Ibn ‘Abd al-Malik(Dhayl, VIII-2, no. 237). The story may be found in al-Rushat.ı and Ibnal-Kharrat., Al-Andalus fı Iqtibas al-anwar wa-fı Ikhtis.ar Iqtibas al-anwar, E.Molina Lopez and J. Bosch (eds), Madrid, 1990, 18.

23 The famous traditionist Baqı b. Makhlad (d. 889) had no fewer than284 teachers; see M. Marın, ‘‘Baqı b. Majlad y la introduccion delestudio del h. adıt en al-Andalus’’, Al-Qant.ara 1 (1980), 165–208 and M.L. Avila, ‘‘Nuevos datos para la biografıa de Baqı b. Majlad’’, Al-Qant.ara 6 (1985), 321–367.

24 Marıa Jesus Rubiera, ‘‘Oficios nobles, oficios viles’’, La mujer en al-Andalus, 72.

25 Al-D. abbı, Bughya, no. 1592; see also Teresa Garulo, Dıwan de las poetisasde al-Andalus, Madrid, 1986, 36.

26 Ibn al-Abbar, Takmila, ed. Alarcon, no. 2863 and Ibn ‘Abd al-Malik,Dhayl, no. 241.

27 This fact may be due to historiographical factors: Sulayman b. Najjah. ,the celebrated Valencian muqri’, wrote a Majmu‘ about women fromwhich the data of some of them were taken. This presumably explainsthe fact that a considerable number of the women who appear in thedictionaries are from Valencia or nearby areas.

28 The biography of Umm al-H. asan appears in Ibn al-Abbar, Takmila,ed. Alarcon, no. 2863, at the end of that of Umm al-H. asan bint AbıLiwa’ to whom she is compared; the data seem to originate from IbnH. ayyan.

29 Ibn al-Abbar, Takmila, ed. Codera, no. 2115; ed. Alarcon, no. 608; Ibn‘Abd al-Malik, Dhayl, no. 240; al-Maqqarı, Nafh. , IV, 171; al-Suyut.ı,Bughyat al-wu‘a’, Cairo, 1964, I, 458 and ‘U. R. Kah. h. ala, A‘lam al-nisa’,Beirut, n.d., II, 136–137 and III, 319–321.

30 Ibn ‘Abd al-Malik, Dhayl, no. 290; Ibn al-Qad. ı, Jadhwa, II, 522–529;


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Ibn al-Khat.ıb, al-Ih. at.a, ed. M. A. ‘Inan, Cairo, 1973–77, III, 402–403and Kah. h. ala, A‘lam, II, 136–137 and III, 319–321.

31 Ibn al-Abbar, Takmila, ed. Alarcon, no. 2874; Ibn ‘Abd al-Malik,Dhayl, no. 284.

32 Ibn al-Abbar, Takmila, ed. Alarcon, no. 2885; Ibn ‘Abd al-Malik,Dhayl, no. 251.

33 Ibn ‘Abd al-Malik, Dhayl, no. 245.

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CHAPTER 10

A Borrowed Space: Andalusi and

Maghribi Women in Chronicles

Marıa Jesus Viguera Molıns

The study of women in al-Andalus had been hardly treated in Spainsince the beginning of the present century until the mid-1980s and itwas only at the end of the 1980s that publications first began toappear on this subject in Spain.1 This opened a new field of researchwhich, until then, had been forgotten by Spanish Arabism of thiscentury.2 Since then, the subject has been studied in depth.3 Thisresearch has shown that the basic and clear difference between menand women consists of performing a leading role as a producer-con-sumer.4 With very few exceptions, Andalusi women did not have arole as producer-consumer.

The Restriction of Female Roles

The restriction of a woman’s role as a producer-consumer in al-Andalus is characteristic of their confinement to the private sphere,not only in Islamic societies, including the Andalusi one, but also inthe ancient, medieval, modern and contemporary Christian society.Such confinement is conditioned in a general way by the level ofeconomic development. With its cultural and ideological con-sequences, this development is rooted in the concerned social struc-ture. These conditions more or less restrict the number of roleslimited by specific conditions such as gender (positive for male,negative for female),5 age (limits between majority and old age) andfreedom or the lack of it (excluding slaves from any social role). As inthe Andalusi case, this leads to a social structure which can be

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defined as patriarchal and agnatic whereby a woman depends uponher male relatives.

In relation to this female subordinate position, Robert Brunschvig,whom no one would consider a subjective ‘‘feminist’’ wrote: ‘‘Thelower that one descends in the social scale, both in the city and thecountry, the more freely could a woman come and go, within acertain distance from her house as this was necessary for her work.Her reclusion in the harem, a strict and continuous watch over herand her idle indolence only took place in noble or bourgeois fami-lies. But, independent of the differences in her condition, the societywhich structured entire branches of economic activity as well asruling the society from the political, intellectual and religious point ofview was essentially a male society in which the female element wasalmost absolutely excluded.’’6

Brunschvig’s analysis refers to another medieval Islamic region,namely, H. afs.id Tunis in the late Middle Ages. However, it can beapplied to al-Andalus as much as to any other agnatic patriarchalcircle. In any society of male prevalence, a man’s role as producer-consumer is revealed by all kinds of actions (political, religious,social, economic, cultural, etc.) in that he possesses more or lessexclusively the essential ruling and acting capacities. Moreover, sucha role is also sanctioned by the values, laws, structures, ideals andprototypes in the society.7

Public Roles

Chronicles, among other written sources, describe values in theArab-Islamic context, al-Andalus being only a part of it, which areprototypes of social public roles8 devoted per se to sovereign power.

Sources reveal that social roles are occupied by those who havewitnessed the divine word as well as those who defend Islam, decideits politics, know the religion and teach its doctrine, practice itdevoutly and enrich it, i.e. prophets, warriors, monarchs, scholars,saints and merchants.

These six categories fill in the social scenery and monopolisepublic activities and prestige; the personalities which belong to thesecategories are described as great men. Women make for littleshowing here since their presence in these spheres would contradicta patriarchal agnatic society which was so common in history andcertainly not limited to the Arab Islamic context. A woman does notessentially play a role as producer or consumer apart from excep-tional circumstances.


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A woman in the Arab Islamic context was rarely a prophet, amonarch or a warrior, roles which required more or less explicitlyand legally a male condition (dhukuriyya). There have been a fewMuslim queens in uncommon circumstances, but never in al-Andalus and in North Africa. These queens include two Turkish-Mamluk women sultans, Rad. iyya (‘‘Joy’’) and Shajarat al-Durr(‘‘Tree of Pearls’’), a few Mongol khatuns and several queens in theMaldive islands and in Indonesia as well as the queens of Yemen.These women belong to the dozen sultanes oubliees whose exceptionaland always restricted lives have been analysed by Fatima Mernissiwith respect to the Arab-Islamic context.9

There was seldom a warrior woman in this context. In fact, thiswas so strange that sources mention them singularly: ‘‘famous forher bravery, courage and chivalric virtues, she encountered knightsand fought them in the army’’ as Ibn H. azm remarked with extra-ordinary emphasis in his genealogical treatise on the 5th/11thcentury10 when he deals with the warrior woman, Jamıla, whobelonged to the Berber family, the Banu Tarıf of Osuna. Althoughsettled in al-Andalus and therefore included in the process of Anda-lusi ‘‘Arabisation’’, Jamıla’s behaviour should be studied within therelatively higher social roles attributed by Arabic sources to Berberwomen. The first example is the well-known Kahina, a heroinebelonging to the North African Berber resistance movement againstArab expansion at the end of the 1st/7th century. Other out-standing Berber women include Zaynab who married several Berberemirs, among them the first Almoravid emir of al-Andalus in the5th/11th century, Yusuf ibn Tashufın. Zaynab and other women ofthe Almoravid period were so significant on the political scene thatthe enemies of the dynasty, entrenched in pro-Almohad historio-graphy, accused that empire of being perverted because they gavepower to their women.11

When a woman fulfilled a role of prophet, sovereign or warrior, itwas so exceptional as to be abnormal and limited in all ways, mar-ginal and with no continuity in the social substrate; that is, it is not tobe. Neither was the woman a veritable merchant because ethic rulesdid not give her the capacity to act in that field, since limitations onher included the restriction not to wander too long in public areas.The authors of h. isba manuals warned those women who went to themarket, meaning not very far from their homes, to sell their craftsonly with reliable commissioners in safe places.12

By contrast, however, one can find among women’s personal namesthe pleasing13 but ineffective surname, ‘‘Lady of the Merchants’’

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(Sitt al-Tujjar), as well as ‘‘Lady of the Royal Power’’ (Sitt al-Mulk).The latter was borne by a woman who was the daughter, sister andaunt of three subsequent Fat.imid caliphs in Egypt and who occa-sionally played an almost sovereign role. This fact, however, wasnever mentioned on coins or official invocations despite her de factoexercise of sovereignty for four years. Sitt al-Mulk remained, ofcourse, behind the scenes during the reign of her nephew, thecaliph, between 1020 and 1024 when he was a minor. This unex-pected ‘‘regency’’ was not even plainly shown.14

There is only one means of a female public personage15 whichcan be compared to the male one, namely, that of women saints andwise women.16 Among the 116 wise women in al-Andalus for whomdocumentary evidence remains,17 none surpassed a discrete exis-tence as they were kept within learned family spheres.18 Likewise,the poetesses in al-Andalus19 lacked legal, social and economic struc-tural capacities, immersed, as were all women, in the conditions setup by society. In spite of a figurative emancipated initiative shownby some of these women’s verses, they do not reveal a special eman-cipation, but only a pseudo-leading role which is reduced to just asocial game or an aesthetic embellishment.20

A public projection of a certain relevance may nonetheless bedetected in some mystic women in the Arab Islamic context. This isthe case for a certain Shams Umm al-Fuqara’ (‘‘Sun, Mother of thePoor’’), who lived in Marchena de los Olivos (Seville). Her regularvisitor, the Sufi Ibn ‘Arabı,21 remembered her at the beginning ofthe 7th/13th century: ‘‘I have never found among God’s men onewho resembles this woman concerning the fervour with which shemortified her soul. She was great in her ascetic exercises and mysticrevelations. She was a woman of brave heart. . .’’ The analysis of theexceptional public situation of mystic women22 noted in some studiesby A. Schimmel,23 J. Elias,24 G. Lopez de la Plaza,25 N. and L.Amri26 and G. Scattolin27 shows the high price that Ibn ‘Arabı hadto pay, i.e. an accusation of heterodoxy because ‘‘he refused toexclude the female gender from the superior levels of Sufi hierarchyand from the fundamental theological essence’’.28

For the better understanding of information written in the chroni-cles, it is necessary to emphasise the general seclusion of womenfrom the public hierarchy. ‘‘If, in Islamic religious and moral fields,a woman is equal to a man, in the civil field, that is, political andlegal, she is considered rather inferior as stated by Ibn Khaldun. . .and especially in public law. According to the Malikites and Sha-fi‘ites, as a rule, a woman is excluded not only from supreme power,


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but from all public offices; a woman cannot be a judge, [she cannot]direct the prayer [nor can she] be a preacher or a marriage tutor;she can only be the tutor of her children and, this, only when thefather has appointed her for tutorial purposes.’’29

Leading Roles and Written Evidence

Prophets, warriors, monarchs, wise men, saints and merchants saw awritten account of their outstanding deeds reproduced in severalclassical literary genres, in prose and in verse, such as chronicles,bio-bibliographical repertoires and literary works which emphasisedthe attitudes in use and diffused their paradigms, a situation similarin most ideological societies. Chronicles are not an exception in thewritten sources and they do not ascribe inexisting public roles towomen. More precisely, chronicles record the actions of kings andthose groups which control public power, that is, those which pre-scribe the social rulers. Women were reserved for the private spaceand were, thus, absent from the above spheres of action.30 Chroni-cles deal systematically with those active in society, i.e. men. In thiskind of text, women only appear when related to men and in non-leading roles. Moreover, this type of written source strongly empha-sises their always mentioned lack of training, conditions and ways ofexpression within the public scenery.

In contrast with this limited version in the chronicles, some Anda-lusi authors proposed a critical view on this subject.31 This is thecase of a passage written by the great Cordoban philosopher, Aver-roes, who offers, in his extraordinary contrasting judgement, all thedimensions concerning the lack of leading roles for Andalusi women.Averroes wonders whether ‘‘there are some women whose nature issimilar to that of [male] citizens (. . .) or whether a woman’s nature isdefinitely different from that of a man’s. If the natures are similarand from the point of view of the activities which take place in thecommunity, a woman should enjoy the same situation as a man inthe order of things and so she would be a warrior, philosopher,ruler, etc. If male and female natures are the same (. . .), it is obviousthat a woman should do the same things as a man in that society(. . .) However, in our societies, the abilities of women are unknownbecause they are only used for procreation so that they are bound toserve their husbands and reduced to taking care of procreation, edu-cation and breeding. But this renders their other possible activitiesuseless. As women are not prepared for any human virtue in thesecommunities, it sometimes happens that they become like plants in

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these societies. They represent a burden for men and this is one ofthe reasons why these communities are poor since women doublethe population while at the same time and, because of their lack oftraining, they do not contribute to any other necessary activityexcept for spinning and weaving which women perform when theyneed money to subsist.’’32

Averroes’s above text is almost ‘‘feminist’’33 in character or rather‘‘humanistic’’. It confirms how the behaviour of women in medievalIslam, namely, in al-Andalus and also in North Africa, essentiallydeveloped within the private sphere, within the family group.Indeed, family continued to be the social cell and was ‘‘under maledomination’’ as Claude Cahen put it.34

Women in Chronicles

What do chronicles reflect about these creatures who lacked publicleading roles? On one hand, this kind of source devoted to courtesansceneries mentions some women who formed the family backgroundand/or luxurious and strategic pageantry for a king or a perso-nage.35 One knows, thereby, if only due to the fact of being in theright place at the right time, names of wives and concubines,mothers, daughters, grandmothers, granddaughters and sisters of thesuccessive Andalusi sovereigns, the Umayyad from Cordoba,36 theTaifa rulers, Almoravids, Almohads and Nas.rids. One also knowsthe names of some women from noble families, albeit in a smallerproportion. Apart from their names, little is known about themunless some exceptional circumstances occurred. Yet, rifts in publicstructures ruled by men in their own image, permitted some of thesewomen who lived at the court to succeed in having a leading role inevents taking place in the political scenery.

Sometimes chronicles show this unexpected intervention such aswith the fascinating woman, I‘timad, who influenced her husband,al-Mu‘tamid, whom she ‘‘dominated’’, according to Ibn al-Abbar inhis chronicle al-H. ulla al-siyara’.37 Such was also the case of al-Mus-takfı, caliph of Cordoba, who was criticised because ‘‘he let himsefbe ruled by a perverse woman’’ according to the Cordoban historianIbn H. ayyan in his Matın.38 Other times, the texts insinuate a con-notation of disorder39 when drawing attention to the presence ofwomen living within the harem of royal personages. Ibn H. ayyanrelates, for example, in al-Muqtabis-V,40 the rivalry between Fat.imaand Marjan, mother of the heir, al-H. akam, to win over their royalhusband, ‘Abd al-Rah.man al-Nas.ir. The chronicler depicts the


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struggle caused by love for the caliph that was to be attained and theprize in winning this love. Ibn H. ayyan details: ‘‘Slander caused bythe mother slaves placed Marjan after Fat.ima who overwhelmed herby means of calumniating her with envy, but as the other [Marjan]noticed how proud of herself [Fat.ima] was, (. . .) she was on thewatch to set a trap to humiliate her in order to attract her lord’sdespise upon her [Fat.ima].’’

There can be no clearer reference to dishonest behaviour. Itseems that when these women function on the political scene, theirconduct is shown as anti-institutional, with chronicles referring totheir actions as ‘‘intrigues’’.

Political treatise writers such as al-Ghazalı,41 warn against ‘‘femi-nine intrigues’’. One of the so-called ‘‘intrigues’’, discredited by thechronicles, consisted of a mother trying to assure the succession tothe throne for her own son. Politics are more severely criticisedwhen played by women such as the efforts of the sult.ana T. arub togain the Cordoban caliphate for her son, emir ‘Abd Allah, in the3rd/9th century,42 those of al-Mans.ur’s wife, al-Dhalfa’, called a‘‘conspirator’’, because she favoured her son al-Muz.affar’s politicalcareer43 and the bidding of Qamar, concubine of the Almoravidemir, ‘Alı b. Yusuf, pushing him to appoint their son, Sır, as heir in522/1128.44

The harshest criticism about the somewhat relatively importantposition of women in the political sphere occurs in relation to Almor-avid women, the most prominent being Zaynab,45 wife of emir Yusufb. Tashufın and ex-wife of the deposed emir of Agmat as well as thatof the Almoravid emir Abu Bakr. The political importance of thiswoman was interpreted in later Almohad sources as due to a sort offatal masculine idleness. The pro-Almohad chronicler, al-Marra-kushı, whose official view was against the Almoravids,46 reproachedemir ‘Alı of not being able to control ‘‘those Almoravid personageswho became independent. . . women themselves obtained privilegesand intervened in different issues; the most distinguished [women]among the Lamtuna and Masufa tribes protected those who wereprovocative and evil and those who were bandits, innkeepers or whoowned brothels. The Muslims’ negligence increased and their weak-ness rose’’.

The reference cannot be more expressive regarding the connec-tion between ‘‘weakness’’ and ‘‘feminine power’’ which is also men-tioned in this passage. This is likewise the case when chronicles speakof a weak king with a strong mother, such as ‘Abd Allah al-Zırı, emirof the t.a’ifa of Granada, who mentions his mother’s important role in

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his memoires, Kitab al-Tibyan.47 He speaks about her strong influenceand control and the access that the sult.ana had to the royal treasure.‘Abd Allah says: ‘‘If the emir [of the Almoravids] lets me go fetcheverything in person, I will do so; otherwise, my mother will takecare of that in the company of the sovereign’s reliable men so thatthere is nothing left.’’ And he added: ‘‘Then, he ordered my motherto climb to the castle to remove the treasure.’’ He finishes speakingabout his mother’s prominence by saying that ‘‘indeed, when leavingGranada, the idea of being taken to prison made me fear that Iwould remain apart from my mother if I left her in the castle, so Ileft with her without worrying about anybody else’’.

Another occasion for motherly political hyper-performance is thatof S. ubh. towards her handicapped son, caliph Hisham II ofCordoba. A chronicle reports how this sult.ana enjoyed the royaltreasure as she pleased.48 It is interesting to note that the difficultiesof another sovereign, the last of his line and the last Muslim king ofal-Andalus, Abu ‘Abd Allah (‘‘Boabdil’’), are intertwined with hismother’s strange political prominence.49 According to the revealingstory, she reproached his crying like a woman and the fact that hehad not defended his power like a man, to the very point of losing it.

The soothsaying appearance of a king’s wife before a defeat is inline with this negative portrayal of women. The Gran cronica de AlfonsoXI recounts with suspicious deliberateness about ‘‘some visions seenby Queen Fat.ima, ‘‘La Horra’’ (al-h. urra), wife of king Alboacen [Abul-H. asan al-Marını], about this queen’s vision as rendered by theArab Moor Clarife and how it happened’’. It records how the ‘‘kingof Benamarin’’ spent an evening talking about king Alfonso XI witha Muslim, converted from Christianity, and who praised the Casti-lian king: ‘‘When night arrived and it was time to sleep, the king[Abu l-H. asan] lay together with his wife, lady Fat.ima. And thequeen, lying asleep, dreamt that a lion entered the royal camp andran against the king of Benamarin.’’50 Queen Fat.ima, in this way,shares the ill fame of being a conveyor of bad news.

Chronicles do not include a single reference, even a legendaryone, about a female warrior without adding some signs of dis-credit.51 Such is the case of the legendary passage about womenarchers who, according to the Primera Cronica General, were com-manded by a Moorish woman who was ‘‘so clever and so keen onshooting her Turkish bow that it was wonderful’’; for this reason, itis said that the Moors called her in Arabic nugeymat turquia,52 whichmeans ‘‘Star of the Turkish Archers’’ [in fact her name reads ‘‘LittleStar, the Tuareg’’]. The most interesting detail in this legendary tale


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is that these women warriors are described as ‘‘black women ofshaved curls’’, an image opposed to the conventional feminine typein the Christian Middle Ages; compared to them, Christians were‘‘all whiter than snow’’. This is a description made by Christiansliving in the north of the Iberian Peninsula whereby the NorthAfrican women warriors who figure as fighting the Christians on thewalls of Valencia, appear typified in a strange and abnormal leadingrole.

Even negative leading roles do not occur frequently in the chroni-cles. A few female characters are taken as negative examples inorder to warn against their danger and to help maintain establishedvalues. Most often, women mentioned in chronicles appear as unim-portant sequels attached to a great personage whom, for example,they followed to war more or less officially (such as the seventywomen taken to war by Sanchuelo, al-Mans.ur’s son)53 or whoseparties they attended, as the chronicler emphasises, ‘‘dressed in partygowns’’.54 Luxury, according to Ibn Khaldun, who explains the keypoint of the argument,55 ‘‘increases a dynasty’s strength’’ andwomen had to display it. Women possessed goods,56 thereby con-tributing towards the representation of their lineages for posterity, anaspect also mentioned by Ibn Khaldun.57 Such a ‘‘decorative role’’is also performed by women servants and brilliant slaves who com-plete the pleasant scene around great personages; this is the reasonfor which they are remembered in some chronicles.

In addition to this, chronicles also emphasise the subject role ofwomen, as was the case of Zaynab, sister of the Almohad Mahdı IbnTumart, who could subsist thanks to Zaynab’s work as a spinner.The sources praise her, making Zaynab into a model of self-sacrificeon behalf of the closest male relative.58

As with other written sources, chronicles contribute towardsmaintaining and justifying the private situation of women, theirincapability, lack of resources, institutional background, possibilitiesand decency. . . in any public activity that they dare undertake. Thisis the reason why the space that chronicles devote to women issimply borrowed.

Writing History Without Perspective

This study concludes with the warning that a historian should notfall into the trap of reading texts without employing a perspectiveanalysis. He must understand those peculiar views of women in thechronicles after having identified the aims, interests and strategies of

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the chronicle, taking care to relativise the attitudes and conditionswhich formed its cliches. A modern historian must not take at facevalue the connection, justified in chronicles, between ‘‘weakness’’and ‘‘public female activity’’, nor the inevitable ‘‘disastrous con-sequence’’ of women’s actions.

Historiography stands out, nowadays, for its skill in analysing anddecoding approaches used in sources. Two examples will be referredto below in order to analyse them, since they fall, to a certain point,within the sphere of uncritical interpretation.

A recent book entitled Invasion e islamizacion de al-Andalus explains:‘‘I want to note some strange parallelisms about the disappearanceof Troy, of the Roman kings and the Visigoths with the beginning ofthe long, no less than eight centuries, decay of the Saracens-Arabs-Chaldeans-Ishmaelites. All of them were due to affairs with women.Helena’s kidnapping by Paris provokes Menelaos’ anger, promptingthe war between the Acheans and the Trojans, immortalised byHomer. The suppression of Roman monarchy started with a fatherand a husband’s anger at the vile rape of Lucretia by Sextus Tarqui-nius. The public denouncement made by Lucretia and her sub-sequent suicide provoked the arrival of the Republic. The ‘‘loss ofSpain’’ was motivated by King Rodrigo’s rape of Count Julian’sdaughter (Florinda, also called La Cava).’’59

In this long passage, there is no trace of a critical distance towardsthe chronicles’ attitude of attributing the ‘‘loss of Spain’’ to ‘‘affairswith women’’ as the author calls it in his attempt to update thetypical condemnatory vocabulary of chronicles with the mention of apublic appearance of a woman in history. The key to these so-called‘‘strange parallelisms’’ when blaming women for such a number oflosses is, and the author simply forgets this, the story of the loss ofParadise. This, of course, was due to Eve’s fault,60 making her themother of all losses.

Another example of how one can fall into the chronistic clicheconcerning ‘‘weakness’’ and ‘‘female power’’ appears in a paragraphwritten by L. P. Harvey, saying that ‘‘in the Mancebo of Arevalo’sworks, there are plenty of references to women such as the Moorfrom Ubeda, Nuzeyla Calderan, the antecihra (the white witch). Thosewomen are usually referred to as spiritual and even political leaders.‘The city of Granada and all its area are governed by this Moor,’ hesays. It is not necessary to remind you that, in general, a woman’srole in Islamic society has never been very outstanding and, exceptfor a few exceptions, women have not devoted themselves to intel-lectual, literary and, even less so, to theological erudite activities.


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However, in Mancebo’s work, we can find several strong womenwho preached before male audiences ‘in quite public places’ andtaught men the interpretation of the Quran and who advised highpolitical personages, etc. In Mancebo’s Spain, there was certainly nolack of men in Morisco society, but there were perhaps no men ofinitiative and with the needed ruling capacities. After all, the word‘mudejar’ comes from mudajjan, that is, ‘made like a chicken’, i.e. likea hen and so it is not strange to see that in this ‘hennish’, ‘coward’society, there has been an inversion of values with an hypertrophy ofthe female role.’’61

The social history of al-Andalus and the role performed by someof its members can only be understood if one studies them from theperspective of the inner codes of the available sources.

Notes

1 La mujer en al-Andalus. Reflejos historicos de su actividad y categorıas sociales,Actas de las Quintas Jornadas de Investigacion del Seminario de Estudios de laMujer de la Universidad Autonoma, Madrid-Sevilla, 1989, edited with anintroductory study (17–34) by Marıa Jesus Viguera. The book includes:‘‘La mujer y el trabajo en el Coran y el Hadiz’’ (M. I. Fierro); ‘‘Lamujer en el espacio urbano musulman’’ (M. de Epalza); ‘‘The Imageand Social Status of Urban Labour in al-Andalus’’ (M. Shatzmiller);‘‘Oficios nobles, oficios viles’’ (M. J. Rubiera); ‘‘Acerca de la mujermusulmana en las epocas almoravid y almohade’’ (J. M. Forneas);‘‘Las mujeres de las clases sociales superiores. Al-Andalus, desde laconquista hasta finales del Califato de Cordoba’’ (M. Marın); ‘‘Pre-sencia de la mujer en la Corte de al-Mu‘tamid b. ‘Abbad de Sevilla’’and ‘‘Tres maestras sevillanas de la epoca del Califato Omeya’’ (R.Valencia); ‘‘Las mujeres ‘sabias’ en al-Andalus’’ (M. L. Avila); ‘‘Sobrelas poetisas de al-Andalus’’ (T. Garulo); ‘‘Las actividades de las escla-vas segun Ibn But.lan y al-Saqat.ı de Malaga’’ (P. Coello); ‘‘Mujeres,campesinas, mudejares’’ (C. Barcelo) and ‘‘La mujer morisca: sus acti-vidades’’ (A. Labarta).

2 Nineteenth-century writers had devoted some pages to the subject suchas Francisco Javier Simonet, ‘‘La mujer arabigo-espanola’’ in 1891 andLuis Gonzalvo, ‘‘La mujer musulmana en Espana’’ in 1904; seeViguera, 1989, 21.

3 The latest being Rafael Valencia, ‘‘La mujer y el espacio publico de lasciudades andalusıes’’ in Marıa Isabel Calero Secall and Rosa FranciaSomalo (eds), Saber y vivir: mujer, antiguedad y medievo, Malaga University,1996, 115–125; Historia de las mujeres, directed by G. Duby and M.

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Perrot (Spanish trans., Madrid, 199l, where important chapters aboutAndalusi women (vol. II by M. Marın) and ‘‘moriscas’’ (vol. III by B.Vincent) have been added); Celia del Moral (ed.), Arabes, judıas y cristi-anas. Mujeres en la Espana medieval, Granada, 1993; M. Marın, ‘‘Una vidade mujer: S. ubh. in M. L. Avila and M. Marın (eds), Biografıas y genero bio-grafico en el Occidente islamico, Madrid, 1997, 425–445 and VictoriaAguilar, ‘‘Mujeres y repertorios biograficos’’, ibid. 127–138.

4 Further explained in M. J. Viguera, ‘‘Reflexiones historicas sobre lamujer en al-Andalus’’ in V. Alfaro Bech and L. Taillefer de Haya(eds), Nueva Lectura de la mujer: crıtica historica, Malaga University, 1995,63–84.

5 Avner Giladi, ‘‘Gender differences in child rearing and education:some preliminary observations with reference to medieval Muslimthought’’, Al-Qant.ara 16 (1995), 291–308.

6 Robert Brunschvig, La Berberie Orientale sous les H. afsides des origines a la findu XVe siecle, Paris, 1947, II, 175: ‘‘Plus on descendait dans l’echellesociale, a la ville comme a la campagne, plus la femme pouvait libre-ment, dans un certain rayon autour de sa demeure, aller et venir:c’etait souvent une necessite pour son travail. La claustration dans legynecee, la surveillance stricte et continue, l’indolence oisive n’etaientde mise que dans les familles de grands, ou de bourgeois. Mais, quellesqu’aient ete les differences de condition, il faut poser que la societeagissante dans des branches entieres de la vie economique, la societedirigeante au point de vue politique, intellectuel et religieux, c’etaitessentiellement une societe masculine, dont l’element feminin etaitpresque entierement exclu.’’

7 Susan L. Smith, The Power of Women: A Topos in Medieval Art and Litera-ture, University of Pennsylvania Press, 1995, 22–28.

8 More references are found in M. J. Viguera, ‘‘El heroe en el contextoarabo-islamico’’, Cuadernos del CEMYR I, Los Heroes medievales, LaLaguna University, 1994, 53–74.

9 Fatima Mernissi, Sultanes oubliees. Femmes chefs d’etat en Islam, Paris, 1990.10 Ibn H. azm, Jamharat ansab al-‘arab, Cairo, 1961, 500.11 ‘Is.mat Dandash, ‘‘Adwar siyasiyya li-l-nisa’ fı dawlat al-murabit.ın’’,

Actas del II Coloquio Hispano-Marroquı de Ciencias historicas: Historia, ciencia ysociedad, Madrid, 1992, 49–65 and Gabriel Camps, L’Afrique de Nord aufeminin. Heroınes du Maghreb et du Sahara, Paris, 1992, 140–150.

12 M. J. Viguera, ‘‘La censura de costumbres en Ibn al-Munas.if’’, Actas delas II Jornadas de Cultura Arabe e Islamica (1980), Madrid, 1985, 598.

13 On the enormous and revealing diffusion of such types of gallantries inother contexts: K. Whinnom, The Spanish Sentimental Romance 1440–1550: A Critical Bibliography, London, 1983.


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14 Laura Bariani, Sitt al-Mulk. Signora del regno, signora del potere (359–415/970–1024–1025), unpublished Degree Thesis for the Pontificio Istitutodi Studi Arabi e d’Islamistica (Roma, 1990) and ibid., ‘‘Parentela epotere: uso ed abuso. Indagine sulle ‘madri’ del califfo al-H. akim bi-Amr Allah al-Fat.imı’’, Al-Qant.ara 16 (1995), 357–367.

15 One should remember the comparison between the expressions‘‘public man’’ and ‘‘public woman’’: the positive connotation isapplied to a man as opposed to the negative one about a publicwoman associated with a ‘‘whore, a woman of bad reputation,prostitute’’. For more significant and generalised positions referring tothe representation of restricted female access to public things, begin-ning in classic antiquity: Deborah Levine Gera’s introduction to heredition and translation of The Anonymus Tractatus De Mulieribus, Leiden,1997.

16 Interesting general aspects are found in Ronald E. Surtz, WritingWomen in Late Medieval and Early Modern Spain: The Mothers of Saint Teresaof Avila, University of Philadelphia Press, 1995.

17 Marıa Luisa Avila, ‘‘Las mujeres ‘sabias’ en al-Andalus’’ in M. J.Viguera (ed.), La mujer en al-Andalus, 139–184; Manuela Marın offersinteresting ideas in ‘‘Parentesco simbolico y matrimonio entre losulemas andalusıes’’, Al-Qant.ara 16 (1995), 335–356 and, in general,Ruth Roded, Women in Islamic Biographical Collections. From Ibn Sa‘d toWho’s Who’s, London, 1994.

18 Similar situations are recorded by Fernando R. Mediano, ‘‘Una socia-bilidad oblicua. Mujeres en el Marruecos moderno’’, Al-Qant.ara 16(1995), 385–402.

19 Mahmud Sobh, Poetisas arabigo-andaluzas, Granada, [1985], 2nd ed.,1995; Teresa Garulo, Dıwan de las poetisas de al-Andalus, Madrid, 1986(Arabic trans. A.‘A. Da‘dur, Sha‘irat al-Andalus, Cairo, 1996); MarıaJesus Rubiera Mata, Poesıa femenina hispanoarabe, Madrid, 1990. For thegeneral background including observations about the kharajat and theAndalusi conditions: Lucy A. Sponsler, Women in the Medieval SpanishEpic and Lyric Traditions, University Press of Kentucky, 1975; DorisEarnshaw, The Female Voice in Medieval Romance Lyric, New York, 1988and Pilar Lorenzo Gradın, La cancion de mujer en la lırica medieval, San-tiago de Compostela, 1990.

20 M. J. Viguera, ‘‘As.luh. u li-l-ma‘alı: On the Social Status of AndalusiWomen’’ in S. Kh. Jayyusi (ed.), The Legacy of Muslim Spain, Leiden,1992, 709–724.

21 Vidas de santones andaluces, trans. and annotated by Miguel Asın Palacios,Madrid, 1935 (reprint Madrid, 198l), 180–181.

22 General aspects in Barbara Newman, From Virile Woman to Woman

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Christ: Studies in Medieval Religion and Literature, University of PhiladelphiaPress, 1995.

23 Annemarie Schimmel, ‘‘Women in Mystical Islam’’ in A. al-Hibri (ed.),Women and Islam, Oxford, 1982, 146–152 and ibid., Mon ame est une femme.La femme dans la pensee islamique, Paris, 1998 (French trans. by S. Thiel ofMeine Seele ist eine Frau, Munich, 1995), especially the chapter ‘‘Femme ou‘homme de Dieu’. De l’education de l’ame nafs’’, 81–94.

24 J. Elias, ‘‘Female and Feminine in Islamic Mysticism’’, The MuslimWorld 78 (1988), 209–224.

25 G. Lopez de la Plaza, Al-Andalus: mujeres, sociedad y religion, Malaga Uni-versity, 1992.

26 N. and L. Amry, Les femmes soufies ou la passion de Dieu, St-Jean-de-Braye,1992.

27 G. Scattolin, ‘‘La mujer en el misticismo islamico’’, Encuentro, n. 282(October 1995).

28 Gloria Lopez de la Plaza, Al-Andalus: mujeres, 93.29 David Santillana, Istituzioni di diritto malichita, Rome, 1926, 96–97.30 A. Rassam, ‘‘Women and Domestic Power in Morocco’’, International

Journal of Middle East Studies 12 (1980), 171–179.31 In general, see Alcuin Blamires (ed.), Woman Defamed and Woman Defen-

ded: An Anthology of Medieval Texts, Oxford, 1992.32 Averroes (Ibn Rushd), Exposicion de la ‘‘Republica’’ de Platon, trans. and

annotated by Miguel Cruz Hernandez, Madrid, 1987, 57–59.33 Mahmud Ali Makki, ‘‘Contribucion de Averroes a la ciencia jurıdica

musulmana’’ in Andres Martınez Lorca (ed.), Al encuentro de Averroes,Madrid, 1993, 37–38; M. J. Viguera, ‘‘Reflexiones historicas sobre lamujer en al-Andalus’’ and Rafael Valencia, ‘‘La mujer y el espaciopublico de las ciudades andalusıes’’ have also noticed this passage inAverroes’s work.

34 Claude Cahen, El Islam. I: Desde los orıgenes hasta el comienzo del Imperiootomano (Spanish trans.), Madrid, 1972, 122–123.

35 M. Marın, ‘‘Las mujeres de las clases sociales superiores’’ and R.Valencia, ‘‘Presencia de la mujer’’ in M. J. Viguera (ed.), La mujer en al-Andalus, 105–127 and 129–137.

36 Joaquın Vallve, ‘‘Sobre demografıa y sociedad en al-Andalus (siglosVIII–XI)’’, Al-Andalus XLII (1977), 323–340.

37 Ibn al-Abbar, al-H. ulla al-siyara’, ed. H. . Mu’nis, El Cairo, 1963, II, 62.38 Mentioned by Ibn ‘Idharı, al-Bayan al-mughrib, III, ed. E. Levi-Pro-

vencal, Paris, 1930, III, 141 (trans. F. Maıllo, La caıda del califato deCordoba y los reyes de taifas, Salamanca, 1993) and by Ibn Bassam, al-Dhakhıra fı mah. asin ahl al-Jazıra, ed. I. ‘Abbas, Beirut, 1979, 8 vols, I,433.


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39 Jacob Lassner, Demonizing the Queen of Sheba: Boundaries of Gender andCulture in Postbiblical Judaism and Medieval Islam, University of ChicagoPress, 1993.

40 Ibn H. ayyan, al-Muqtabis-V, trans. and notes by M. J. Viguera and F.Corriente, Zaragoza-Madrid, 1981, 13–14.

41 E. Laoust, La politique de Gazalı, Paris, 1970, 151–152.42 Ibn H. ayyan, al-Muqtabas, ed. M. ‘A. Makkı, Beirut, 1973, 114.43 Ibn ‘Idharı, al-Bayan al-mughrib, III, 52–53, 63–64.44 Ibn al-Khat.ıb, Ih. at.a, ed. M.‘A. ‘Inan, Cairo, 1973, I, 447.45 ‘Abd al-Hadı al-Tazı, Femmes celebres de l’Occident musulman, Casablanca,

1991 and G. Camps, L’Afrique du Nord au feminin, 140–150 (‘‘Zeıneb desAlmoravides’’).

46 Al-Marrakushı, Al-Mu‘jib, 260–261 (see M. J. Viguera, Los reinos de taifasy las invasiones magrebıes, Madrid, 1992, 186); ‘I. Dandash, ‘‘Adwar siya-siyya’’, 49–65 (also published in his book: Ad. wa’ jadıda ‘ala l-murabit.ın,Beirut, 1991, 163–185) and ibid., al-Andalus fı nihayat al-murabit.in wa-mustajill al-muwah. h. idın, Beirut, 1988, 377 (on Taj al-Nisa’) and 29, 316,436 (on Tamıma).

47 ‘Abd Allah al-Zırı, El siglo XI en primera persona, trans. by E. Levi-Pro-vencal and E. Garcıa Gomez, Madrid, 1980, 271–275.

48 Laura Bariani, ‘‘Sobre las relaciones entre S. ubh. y Muh. ammad IbnAbı ‘Amir al-Mans.ur, con particular referencia a su ruptura en 386–388/996–998’’, Qurt.uba 1 (1996), 39–57.

49 Emilio de Santiago, ‘‘El final del Islam granadino’’ in E. Sarasa (ed.),Fernando II de Aragon. El rey Catolico, Zaragoza, 1995, 509–518, 510,footnote 3.

50 Gran cronica de Alfonso XI, Critical edition by D. Catalan, Madrid, 1976,2 vols., II, 355–361, chap. CCXCVIII.

51 Perhaps a reminiscence of the heroic combats of Almoravid womensuch as Fannu who died defending the Qas.r al-H. ajar against the defi-nitive Almohad attack on Marrakech according to al-Baydhaq, KitabAkhbar al-Mahdı wa-btida’ dawlat al-muwah. h. idın, ed. and trans. by E. Levi-Provencal, Documents inedits d’Histoire almohade, Paris, 1928, 103 (Arabictext) and 170 (French trans.).

52 L. P. Harvey, ‘‘Nugeyma Turquia: Primera Cronica General, Chapter956’’, Journal of Semitic Studies 13 (1968), 232–241.

53 Ibn ‘Idharı, Bayan, III, 72.54 Joaquın Vallve, ‘‘Una fuente importante de la historia de al-Andalus:

la ‘Historia’ de Ibn ‘Askar’’, Al-Andalus XXXI (1966), 252.55 M. J. Viguera, introductory essay to La mujer en al-Andalus, 32, note 94.56 Joaquina Albarracın, ‘‘Un documento granadino sobre los bienes de

la mujer de Boabdil en Mondujar’’, Actas del I Congreso de Historia de

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Andalucıa (1976), Cordoba, 2nd ed., 1982, 341–342 and Maya Shatz-miller, ‘‘Women and Property Rights in al-Andalus and the Maghrib:Social Patterns and Legal Discourse’’, Islamic Law and Society 23 (1995),219–257.

57 M. J. Viguera, introduction to La mujer en al-Andalus, 32, note 97.58 Ibid., 27.59 Pedro Chalmeta, Invasion e islamizacion de al-Andalus, Madrid, 1994, 47.60 Abdellah Bounforu, ‘‘Sexe, parole et culpabilite dans le recit coranique

de l’origine’’, Studia Islamica 81 (1995), 43–70.61 ‘‘El mancebo de Arevalo y la literatura aljamiada,’’ Actas del Coloquio

Internacional sobre Literatura aljamiada y morisca, Oviedo, 1978, 21–42.


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Part Four:

RELIGIOUS, SOCIAL AND

ARTISTIC IMAGES

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CHAPTER 11

Women as Prophets in Islam1

Maribel Fierro

That all prophets recognised by Islam were male is an opinion towhich many, Muslims and non Muslims alike, suscribe. An exampleis the anthropologist M. E. Combs-Schilling who, talking aboutIslamic ritual, states:

The ritual establishes a hierarchy of connection to universal truth which isat the same time a hierarchy of power in the world, and it excludes themale-female sexual connection from the hierarchy. Islam (like Christianity)minimizes the heterosexual bond by building a supranatural dimension andexcluding female sexuality from it. . . This is not an inevitable constructionin culture. Some cultures use sexual intercourse and the heterosexual bondas a template for connection with the divine. . . Yet Islam and Christianity intheir dominant forms do not. . . in neither case is the sexual act itself con-sidered to be something of lasting importance, itself an embodiment ofdivine truth. As culturally defined, sexual intercourse and the heterosexualbond are undervalued in relation to more enduring things—truth, God,ultimate connection—envisioned in male terms. Male power and male con-nection is valorized over heterosexual love.

The Qur’anic text excludes women from the hierarchy of authority. Godsent his truth to earth through the male archangel Jibrıl, who conveyed it tothe prophets, all of whom were male, including the last prophet, Muham-mad, who is the recipient of the complete words of truth and light. . . TheMoroccan practice of the Prophet’s Birthday excludes women from the ulti-mate hierarchy of authority as well.2

Reference to the prophets as having been male does not reflect thecomplete picture given by Muslim sources. The following pages willinvestigate tafsır material regarding the possibility of women being

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prophets and explore to what extent this issue was related to aconcern for women’s position in the Islamic hierarchy of authority(to follow Combs-Schilling’s expression). It will also examine thereasons for the specific interest devoted to that issue in al-Andalus.

The Polemic About the Prophecy (Nubuwwa)of Women in al-Andalus

In the second half of the 4th/10th century, the Andalusi jurist AbuBakr Muh. ammad b. Mawhab al-Tujıbı al-Qabrı (d. 406/1015)3

created a controversy by asserting that women could be and indeedhad been the recipients of prophetic inspiration. He specificallymentioned the case of Mary, mother of ‘Isa ( Jesus).

Among those who held opposing opinions was Abu Muh. ammad‘Abd Allah b. Ibrahım b. Muh. ammad b. ‘Abd Allah b. Ja‘far al-As. ılı(d. 392/1001),4 who considered the doctrine of the nubuwwa of Maryto be erroneous, saying that she was only s.iddıqa according to Quran5:75 and not a prophet.

This disagreement among scholars gave rise to discord ( fitan) inCordoba. The controversy must not have been limited to scholars,but must also have had repercussions in wider circles of societybecause al-Mans.ur b. Abı ‘Amir, who was the de facto ruler since hecontrolled the Umayyad caliph of the time, decided to put an end tothe dispute by expelling from al-Andalus some of the scholarsinvolved, both those in favour and those against the nubuwwa ofMary.

Some years later, the famous Ibn H. azm (d. 456/1064) mentionedthe polemic that had taken place during his youth, stating that it hadnot been so intense in any other region of the Islamic world. Hisown belief was that there had been female prophets, but heacknowledged the existence of three groups of thinking on thisissue.5

The first group comprised those who denied the possibility ofwomen being prophets and accused those who were in favour of thisof heresy and innovation. This group based itself on Quran 12:109and 16:43 where those who received revelation by God (wah. y) arereferred to as ‘‘men’’ (rijal ).6 This group claims that these verses allpoint to male prophets to the exclusion of women. Ibn H. azm’s replyto this group was that while it is true that God never chose a womanas Messenger (rasul ), a Messenger and a Prophet were two differentcategories.7


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The second group maintained that there have been women pro-phets; Ibn H. azm included himself among these people. He says thatnubuwwa derives from inba’ which means information. Therefore,whoever is informed by God of what will happen before it happensor receives the revelation of a command from Him is a prophet.This must be distinguished from inspiration (ilham) which is a naturalstate (t.abı‘a) of the type that even happens to animals and which isdescribed in Quran 16:68 regarding bees. Ibn H. azm also establishesa difference between prophecy and z.ann (supposition), tawahhum (illu-sion), kahana (divination) and astrology. That which is left is wah. y ornubuwwa, that is, a deliberate intention on the part of God to informa certain person of His Message. God creates a necessary knowledgeof the authenticity of the revelation received in that person. Thereare two different ways to transmit revelation: by means of angels ordirectly. The cases in which revelation happened to women are:

– Abraham’s wife to whom the birth of both Isaac and Jacob wasannounced by angels (Quran 11:71–3);

– the mother of Moses whom God instructed to cast her son uponthe waters and revealed to her that He would make a Messengerand a Prophet of him (Quran 28:7, 20:38). If the mother hadbeen uncertain of the authenticity about that prophecy, she wouldnot have cast her son upon the waters. It was therefore a revela-tion similar to the one that Abraham received regarding thesacrifice of his son;

– Mary to whom the angel Gabriel announced the birth of Jesus(Quran 19:19). The objection to her being a prophet in light ofthe fact that Mary is referred to as s.iddıqa (Quran 5:75) does nothold since the same term is used for Joseph in Quran 12:46 andthere is no doubt that Joseph is a prophet;

– the tradition according to which Mary, daughter of ‘Imran (andmother of Jesus), and Asiya, daughter of Muzah. im and wife ofPharaoh, are perfect indicates that they are prophets since perfec-tion is a privilege exclusive of certain anbiya’.8

The third group includes those who do not commit themselves toany specific opinion on the matter.

Subsequent authors paid attention to the same issue. Ibn H. azm’sposition was adopted by another Andalusi, al-Qurt.ubı (d. 671/1272)9 who, although he was not a Z. ahirı like Ibn H. azm, wrote histafsır under the Almohads whose doctrines were, in some cases, closeto those of Z. ahirism. The same position was adopted by the famous

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Sufi Muh. yı ’l-Dın Ibn al-‘Arabı (d. 638/1240) who even had theexperience of a teophany (tajallı ) in the form of a woman.10

But most authors adopted the position of the first group. ForFakhr al-Dın al-Razı (d. 606/1209), the revelation received byMoses’ mother ‘‘is absolutely not a prophetic revelation, because shewas not a Prophet and a woman has never been a prophet’’; therevelation was of another kind similar to the one received by thebees.11 It was inspiration which is not equivalent to revelation andtherefore the apostles of Christ, Moses’ mother and the bees werenot sent by God as prophets.12 Al-Razı also considers that themiraculous provision of food received by Mary was a miracle ofthe karama type (see below) and not a probatory miracle (mu‘jiza).The story reported by Ibn Hisham in the Sıra according to whichthe angel Gabriel disappeared when Khadıja removed her veilwould prove, according to Ibn Khaldun (d. 808/1406), that theangel never approaches women.13 It is thus clear that the nubuwwa ofwomen has remained a minority opinion within Islam, upheld bygroups such as Z. ahirites, Almohads and some Sufis. A contemporaryof Ibn H. azm, the Cordoban al-T. arafı (d. 454/1062), wrote a workon qis.as. al-anbiya’. No mention is made in it about women prophets:the story of Mary, mother of Jesus, is narrated with much detail,but it has no separate entry, being part of the section devoted toJesus.14

The Prophecy of Women and Its Relationshipto the Miracles of the Saints

The prophecy of Mary is discussed not only in connection with thefact that the angel spoke to her, but also in the context of the provi-sion of food.15 In Quran 19:26 and 3:37, mention is made of amiraculous provision of food. Following her withdrawal to a farawayplace, Mary experiences pain and sadness and is in labour near thetrunk of a palm tree. A voice of Gabriel or Jesus calls to console herand tells her of the appearance of a river at her feet and of therevival of the trunk of the palm tree, now full of fresh and ripe dates.The excellence of Mary16 is expressed here through the grace of thegift of food. In this provision ( fa’ida) of dates and water, some exege-tical works see an element of election and proof of veracity given toMary by God which made her stand up firmly against those whodoubted her. That provision is therefore a mu‘jiza, a miracle thatvalidates prophecy which is different from karama, i.e. a miraclegiven to a saint. Al-T. abarı (d. 310/923)

17 explains that the palm tree


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had no fruits because, if it had, Mary would have eaten beforereceiving the command. Moreover, it was winter and dates were outof season and, since all of them were ripe, it meant that a mu‘jizatook place. Al-Razı records the opinion that there were two miracles(mu‘jizatani): food and drink on one hand and comfort for the hearton the other hand. He adds that, according to the Mu‘tazilites, thosewere miracles of Mary’s tutor, the prophet Zakarıya’. But al-Razı, asan Ash‘arite, answers that this is false because Zakarıya’ did notknow that those events had taken place; they were karamat of Maryand predictive signs (irh. as) of the advent of Jesus.

For al-Alusı (d. 1270/1854),18 the provision of food referred to inQuran 3:37 demonstrates the possibility of karama, the miracle of thesaints, because it is the general opinion that Mary did not receivethe dignity of a prophet. This is the opinion of both Sunnites andShi‘ites whereas the Mu‘tazilites (who do not believe in the possibi-lity of karama, i.e. in the existence of the miracles of the saints) dis-agree. Therefore, al-Balkhı (d. 319/931) saw in it a predictive sign ofthe coming of Jesus and al-Jubba’ı (d. 303/915) saw in it a propheticmiracle (mu‘jiza) on the part of Zakarıya’.19 Al-Alusı objects to theMu‘tazili al-Balkhı, that predictive signs precede the proclamation ofthe prophetic mission as happened when the stones spoke toMuh. ammad. Against al-Jubba’ı, al-Alusı makes the objection thatthe angels talked to Mary and not to Zakarıya’ and that it is notpossible to speak of mu‘jiza in the absence of a challenge to theunbelievers (tah. addı ). Al-Alusı adds that this verse is used by thosewho believe in the nubuwwa of Mary, a belief which is reinforced bythe fact that the angels talked to her (Quran 3:42 and 19:19).

The term karamat in the present context has the specific meaningof ‘‘miracles’’ performed by people other than prophets, i.e. thesaints (awliya’ ), that is, ‘‘every act that is contrary to custom per-formed by someone whose religion is considered sound’’ (kull fıl-khariq li-l-‘ada jara ‘ala yad man z.ahara s.alah. ahu fı dınihi ).20 For someMuslim scholars, the existence of such miracles is proved by Quranicstories such as in the example of the food sent to Mary in the mih. rab(Quran 3:37) or the transportation of Bilqıs’ throne from Yemen bya companion of Solomon (Quran 27:40). In fact, these scholarswould say that as neither Mary nor Solomon’s companion wereprophets, the miracles could not be considered mu‘jizat, the termreserved for the miracles performed by prophets. The mu‘jizat are‘‘manifest miracles’’, they are miracles granted by God to the pro-phets as proof of their mission accompanied by a da‘wa, a proclama-tion and by a tah. addı, a challenge to the unbeliever. While the

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miracles of the prophets must be as widely known as possible, thesaint must try to conceal his karamat.21 L. Gardet has described thefour different attitudes towards karamat in Islam:

– The Mu‘tazilites deny the reality of karamat on the basis of Quran72:26–7 where it says that only God knows the ‘‘unknown’’ (al-ghayb) and that He grants such knowledge only to him whom heaccepts as his messenger (rasul ).22 Al-Jubba’ı already pointed outthe problem: if the awliya’ had the power to perform miracles,how could they be distinguished from prophets?

– The falasifa do not see the miracles as gifts freely granted byGod. The power to perform miracles is the outcome of theperfection which the soul can achieve according to its ownnature.23

– The Ash‘arites, in general, admitted the authenticity of karamat.The mu‘jizat are not dependent on the moral perfection of theprophet, but on the will of God. Miracles can be granted topeople other than prophets. This was the case of Mary in thealready mentioned Quranic verse 3:37. Mary, of course, was in thisway denied the status of prophet. While miracles are proof of the pro-phets’ mission, miracles are granted to saints by God in order tohonour them and confirm their piety.

– The Sufis who do not fall into extremism (ghuluww) have a posi-tion very similar to that of the Ash‘arites, stressing the fact thatthe saint who performs miracles must not be taken as a prophetand must submit himself to the religious law given to Muh. am-mad. The saint must also conceal his miracles while the prophetmust proclaim them. If a saint boasts or proclaims his miracles,as al-H. allaj did, he could be suspected of pretending to be aprophet. For some Sufis, miracles are not the proof of prophecy,such proof being the mission only given to the prophet byGod.24

The existence of the miracles of the saints was also discussed inWestern Islam. The polemic started with the refutation written byIbn Abı Zayd al-Qayrawanı (d. 386/996) against the sect called al-fikrıya or al-bakrıya. This sect was the followers of the doctrines of AbuMuh. ammad ‘Abd al-Rah.man b. Muh. ammad b. ‘Abd Allah al-Bakrı(4th/10th century), a Sicilian settled in Qayrawan who maintainedthat saints could see Allah while awake25 and that they could changethe ordinary course of events (kharq al-‘adat).26 Ibn Abı Zayd andthose who sided with him were accused of rejecting the possibility ofsaints performing miracles at a time when there were North Africans


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who performed them.27 Their rejection was born out of a concern toprotect prophecy (tah. s. ın al-nubuwwa). The miracles performed byprophets were the proof that they were such. To have other peopleperforming miracles as well would threaten the position of the pro-phets. Nevertheless, it was judged that Ibn Abı Zayd had gone toofar in his condemnation of karamat al-awliya’. Some authors com-mented that, afterwards, he nuanced his opinion in the sense that hedid not deny the possibility that saints perform miracles as long asthose miracles (karamat) were clearly differentiated from the mu‘jizator miracles of the prophets and that a distinction was also made withfalse miracles of impostors. Such a nuanced position was that of theAndalusi al-As. ılı, a disciple of Ibn Abı Zayd al-Qayrawanı.

The North Africans and Andalusis who accepted karamat al-awliya’show a tendency to accuse their opponents of being innovators (s. ah. ibbid‘a)28 which may be seen as an attempt to emphasise their beliefthat the ‘‘miracles of saints’’ themselves were not an ‘‘innovation’’ inthe Muslim community, but something well-rooted in its very tradi-tion. Ibn Abı Zayd’s opponents are defined by Qad. ı ‘Iyad. as al-mutas.awwifa and as constituting the majority of the as.h. ab al-h. adıth.

29

One of them bears the nisba ‘‘al-Murji’’’ and says that stating theexistence of karamat al-awliya’ is a way of referring to the Mu‘tazi-lites.30

In the case of the Andalusi al-As. ılı, it is said that he disapprovedof the exaggeration concerning karamat al-awliya’, but accepted thosewhich were established according to all the necessary guarantees oftransmission or those that sprang from the prayers of pious people(du‘a’ al-s. alih. ın).

The polemic concerning karamat al-awliya’ in al-Andalus wasclosely connected to the polemic concerning prophecy (nubuwwa) ofwomen. Ibn Mawhab al-Qabrı, who admitted the existence of pro-phecy among women, was one of the scholars who was against themiracles of saints. Al-As. ılı, who held an ‘‘intermediate’’ positionbetween Ibn Mawhab and his opponent Ibn ‘Awn Allah (who sup-ported the existence of the miracles of saints), denied the capacity ofwomen to receive prophetic inspiration.31 As shown in the fatwascollected by Ibn Rushd and al-Wansharısı, those who accepted theexistence of karamat al-awliya’ put forward as proof the example ofMary,32 the recipient of a miracle attested in the Quran, and who,as a consequence of this argument, could not possibly have been aprophet. A way to counteract this assertion by those who wereagainst karamat al-awliya’ was to state that Mary, together with otherwomen, were ‘‘prophets’’. It is thus clear that the main reason for

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discussing nubuwwat al-nisa’ was to strengthen the position of thefollowers of the ‘‘miracles of the saints’’ (Mary was not a prophet) orthe position of its opponents (Mary was a prophet). Abu ‘Umar al-T. alamankı (d. 429/1037) was another Andalusi involved in thediscussion of karamat al-awliya’ who was in favour of their existence.Al-T. alamankı was a crucial figure in the development of Ash‘arismand Sufism in al-Andalus whose ideas on who should be the rulerled him to be put on trial.33

The polemic concerning karamat al-awliya’ was especially importantin relation to the prophet Muh. ammad. The performance of miracleswas and, still is, a debated feature of his personality. Among otherfactors, it was given more importance and greater stress as a result ofthe interfaith controversies with Jews and Christians since the mira-cles of Muh. ammad are probatory value of his prophecy. Miraclesperformed by prophets other than Muh. ammad are mentioned in theQuran, as in the case of Jesus, and some Quranic verses were inter-preted as establishing certain miracles performed by Muh. ammad.However, in Islam, the attribution of miracles to Muh. ammad wasnot taken for granted. The predominant tendency was to considerthat the sign which authenticated Muh. ammad’s mission and whichwas proof of his prophetic character was the Quran itself34 becauseof its inimitability (i‘jaz). One of the most debated issues is whetherMuh. ammad had knowledge of the ‘‘unseen’’ (‘ilm al-ghayb). Theanswer among authors living in 5th/11th century al-Andalus seemsto have been positive.35

Mention of the miracles of Muh. ammad can already be found inthe Sıra of Ibn Hisham and the T. abaqat of Ibn Sa‘d. Later on, aspecial genre, the dala’il and the a‘lam al-nubuwwa developed.36 In thesecond half of the 4th/10th century, a book of this genre waswritten in al-Andalus by Ibn Fut.ays (d. 402/1011) and afterwardsby Abu ‘Ubayd al-Bakrı (d. 487/1094). Both are lost, but theymust have included a list of miracles performed by the Prophetand probably also references to the mention of Muh. ammad in theBooks of the Jews and Christians. In the Andalusi literature com-posed during the 5th/11th century, several examples of lists andtexts on the Prophet’s miracles are found which show an increasinginterest in this aspect of Muh. ammad’s personality. This is connectedboth to the growing veneration of the Prophet and with the need todefend Islam against the expansion and threat posed by Chris-tianity.37

The dangers to the Prophet Muh. ammad involved in the issue ofkaramat al-awliya’ are clearly stated by Ibn H. azm who was their


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opponent and, consequently, a supporter of the prophecy of women.The many references to this problem that are found throughout hisFis.al

38 can be summarised as dealing with the following points:Who are the most excellent Muslims after the Prophet Muh. am-

mad? Can there be Muslims more excellent than the Prophet? ForIbn H. azm, the answer is clear: nobody was or could be more excel-lent than the Prophet. He also stresses that impeccability (‘is.ma) wasa privilege only granted to Muh. ammad. Not all Muslims shared thisview. According to Ibn H. azm, the Ash‘ari al-Baqillanı (d. 403/1013)was of the opinion that there could be people more excellent thanthose to whom risala or nubuwwa were granted, including Muh. am-mad. Ibn H. azm also points out that a Sufi group (t.a’ifa) maintainedthat, among the saints, there could be a person more excellent thanall the prophets and messengers ( fı awliya’ Allah ta‘ala man huwa afd. almin jamı‘ al-anbiya’ wa-l-rusul ). He mentions that two Eastern Chris-tian followers of Ibrahım al-Naz.z.am insulted the Prophet for hispolygamy and observed that the Companion Abu Dharr al-Ghifarıwas more ascetic than he.39 This must have been an open issue inal-Andalus in the 5th/11th century. One of the accusations broughtagainst Ibn H. atim al-T. ulayt.ulı, accused of zandaqa and ilh. ad in 457/1064, was his saying that the asceticism of the Prophet was notsought after, but was imposed by the circumstances in which helived. Had opportunity arisen, he would have behaved in a differentway (law istat.a‘a ‘ala raqıq al-t.a‘am lam ya’kul khashınahu wa-inna zuhdahulam yakun ‘an qas.din).

40

Are the miracles of the Prophet a proof of his prophecy?41

According to Ibn H. azm, they are proof, but he points out that theAsh‘arite doctrine undermines this belief. Among other examples,the Ash‘arites would maintain that miracles are such only on condi-tion that a challenge (tah. addı ) had been made to the unbelievers.This was not what Muh. ammad did in all cases.

Can men who are not prophets perform miracles? For Ibn H. azm,they cannot do so, but he deals extensively with those who thoughtotherwise.42

On each of these three points, Ibn H. azm demonstrates hisopposition to the doctrines elaborated by the Ash‘arı-Malikı al-Baqillanı, but he agrees with the doctrines developed by the Ash‘arı-Shafi‘ı al-Isfara’inı (d. 418/1027).43 The basic problem was this:where is the line to be drawn between prophets (anbiya’ or rusul ) andsaints (awliya’ ) if both can perform miracles? Will not the performerof miracles end up by claiming prophethood or by being takenfor a prophet? Precedents were known in al-Andalus of persons who

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had tried or were alleged to have tried to present themselves as‘‘prophets’’ as had happened in other parts of the Muslim world.44

One of those who undertook the defence of karamat al-awliya’ is anexample of the political implications involved in this religious issue.The Andalusi al-T. alamankı was concerned with the spiritual reno-vation of Islam in a direction similar to that later undertaken by al-Ghazalı. He can be described as a representative of shar‘ı mysticism,that is, a mysticism that rejected the extremes of the bat.inıya butwhich also went further than asceticism (zuhd ) which was alreadyassimilated by the orthodoxy. On one hand, al-T. alamankı refutedIbn Masarra and the bat.iniyya, accusing the former of having claimedto be a prophet. On the other hand, he supported karamat al-awliya’and his name appears in the Sufi isnad that joins al-H. asan al-Bas.rı tothe Andalusı mystic Ibn al-‘Arıf (d. 536/1141) through al-Fud. ayl b.‘Iyad. . In Zaragoza which al-T. alamankı visited after the collapse ofthe Umayyad caliphate of Cordoba, a group of fuqaha’ and notables(Umayyad clients among them) testified against him. They broughtupon him accusations of heresy (khilaf al-sunna), of being a follower ofthe doctrines of the first Kharijites (the H. arurites) and of holding theopinion that in the fight against those considered as unbelievers orinnovators, it was of no importance if virtuous people were alsokilled. The qad. ı of Zaragoza granted al-T. alamankı the possibility ofchallenging the witnesses who had accused him. The qad. ı eventuallydeclared him innocent. The whole affair took place in 425/1034when the Tujıbı kings of Zaragoza acknowledged the last Umayyadcaliph, Hisham III, who had taken refuge in Lerida. After beingabsolved, al-T. alamankı left Zaragoza for Talamanca where hedevoted himself to ribat. life and where he died in 428/1036 or 429/1037.

The available data concerning the trial against al-T. alamankı arescarce and of such a nature as to make it very difficult to ascertainthe real issues at stake. Since there is no mention at all that the amırof Zaragoza intervened in the trial, this could lead to the conclusionthat al-T. alamankı’s doctrines or activities were not seen as a threatto the political power. If so, the conclusion could be that the trialwas born out of rivalry between ‘ulama’ who held different views ontheir interpretation of the religious and legal doctrines of Islam. Butin the sense that the accusation of Kharijism is always associatedwith the question of the imamate, it could also have been so in thecase of al-T. alamankı. The most disturbing aspect of his teachingsmust have been his doctrines which were close to Sufism and/orAsh‘arism. The defence of karamat al-awliya’ was seen by some groups


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as a threat to the figure of the Prophet Muh. ammad as it could ulti-mately lead towards saints becoming rivals of the prophets. Theemphasis on karamat was, at the same time, a threat to the absoluteseparation between God and man as it implied that the channellinking believers with God was not severed. The accusation of beinga h. arurı and a saffak al-dima’ (extremist Kharijıs) could then have beeninterpreted as a way of disqualifying al-T. alamankı’s moral rigorismand his ideals of spiritual perfection. But al-T. alamankı’s doctrinescould also have led him to give a ‘‘dangerous’’ answer to theproblem of the caliphate, one of the main issues of 5th/11th centuryal-Andalus (collapse of the Umayyad caliphate, appearance of theH. ammudı caliphs, existence of numerous pretenders to the imamate,etc.). I have advanced the hypotheses that al-T. alamankı proposedthat the imam should be the most excellent Muslim, freeing therebythe caliphal institution from its ties of genealogy. This doctrine fitsthe accusation of Kharijism and the fact that it seems that a group(jama‘a) of followers had been constituted around al-T. alamankı whowas its leader and was considered awwal al-jama‘a.

Conclusion

In the polemic concerning the prophecy of women, A. M. Turki hasseen a reflection of the high position occupied by women in al-Andalus.45 I cannot agree with this opinion. On one hand, it is notreally possible to say that the situation of women in al-Andalus wasdifferent from that in other parts of the Islamic world.46 On theother hand, even if it is true that Ibn H. azm arrived at original con-clusions regarding women by applying his Z. ahirı principles to thestatus of women,47 the discussion about the nubuwwa of women didnot really arise from a concern about the position of women regar-ding men, but, rather, from a preoccupation about the integrity ofprophecy.

The polemic about the nubuwwa of women was closely connectedwith the polemic about the miracles of saints. This, in its turn, wasclosely connected with the place of the Prophet Muh. ammad in hisrelationship to other religious figures and, ultimately, with theproblem of leadership of the community. It could then be concludedthat the discussion on prophecy of women had no separate entity ofits own and was only an offshoot of the debate about who were con-sidered to be the most excellent of men.

However, I would like to draw attention to a striking aspect. Thereferences to the polemic in Cordoba stress the fact that the polemic

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was about the specific case of Mary, mother of Jesus. It is not neces-sary to insist on the special place held by Mary in Islam; therefore,the discussion about the prophecy of women on her is not necessa-rily striking. But it can be stressed that this polemic in al-Andaluscoincides with the moment when the curve of conversion to Islamreached its highest point according to Bulliet’s data.48 Is it too far-fetched to see a relationship between these two events? Can we seethe polemic as a reflection of the attempt by the group defending theprophecy of Mary to approach Christian sensibilities by reinforcingthe figure of Mary within the Islamic context and, by so doing, sup-porting the high position that Mary occupies in Christianity, even ifrejecting her image as mother of God?49 The influx of recentbelievers into the Muslim community who had, until then, beenChristians and for whom Mary’s position was mother of God, couldhave temporarily led to stress being placed on certain commonaspects between Christianity and Islam.50 A result might have beenthat while preserving Islamic doctrine, part of the converts’ formerattachments were also preserved. In this specific case, while main-taining the opposition to the Christian figure of Mary as mother ofGod, Mary’s high status was nevertheless stressed by insisting thatshe was one of the most excellent women and also one of the veryfew women prophets before the arrival of the seal of prophecy,Muh. ammad.

Many centuries later, the Iberian Peninsula witnessed a situationreverse to that of the 4th/10th century. In the sixteenth century,Muslims were forced to become Christians, even if only in name. Agroup of Muslim converts to Christianity planned a series of for-geries, the so-called ‘‘Libros plumbeos del Sacromonte’’ in the formof alleged Christian writings that came midway towards Islamic sen-sibilities by focusing on both the figures of Mary and Jesus and bygiving them an image that would be acceptable to both Muslims andChristians. The attempt failed.51 As in the rest of the Islamic world,in al-Andalus, the question of the prophecy of women became aminority opinion.

Notes

1 This paper was first read at the Middle East Studies Association(MESA) 31st annual meeting, San Francisco, 22–24 November 1997within the session ‘‘Women’s issues in Islamic Law’’, organised by V. J.Cornell, who asked me to present my research on Muslim discussionon the prophecy of women. Research for this article was done within


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the projects PB96-0867 and PS93-0008 of the Spanish Ministry ofEducation.

2 M. E. Combs-Schilling, Sacred Performances. Islam, Sexuality, and Sacrifice,New York, Columbia University Press, 1989, 171.

3 See his biography in M. Fierro, La heterodoxia en al-Andalus durante elperiodo omeya, Madrid, 1987, 168.

4 See his biography in ibid, 162.5 Part of the material presented here has been already discussed in my

previous article, ‘‘The polemic about the karamat al-awliya’ and thedevelopment of S. ufism in al-Andalus (4th/10th-5th/11th centuries)’’,Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 55 (1992), 236–249. Thefirst scholar to draw attention to the importance of Ibn H. azm’s mate-rial on the issue of the prophecy of women was A. M. Turki in hisarticle ‘‘Femmes privilegiees et privileges feminins dans le systemetheologique et juridique d’Ibn H. azm’’, Studia Islamica 47 (1978), 25–82,to which mine is indebted.

6 According to al-T. abarı, this means that they were not angels norwomen: Turki, ‘‘Femmes privilegiees’’, 35, note 1. See also M. Chod-kiewicz, ‘‘La saintete feminine dans l’hagiographie islamique’’ in D.Aigle (ed.), Saints Orientaux, Paris, 1995, 107.

7 For definitions of the difference, see Y. Friedmann, Prophecy Continuous.Aspects of Ah. madı Religious Thought and its Medieval Background, Berkeley-LosAngeles-London, 1989, 69: ‘‘Several commentators define a messenger(rasul) as a person to whom Allah revealed a book and a law; a prophet(nabı), on the other hand, is said to be a person who was commandedby Allah to propagate a law brought by someone who had precededhim. In theory, this distinction could have enabled the Muslims toaccept the possibility that prophets (as distinguished from messengers)would appear after Muh. ammad’s death: not only would they notsupersede his law, but they could also reaffirm it. It seems, however,that only late Sufi thinkers availed themselves of this intriguing oppor-tunity and drew this conclusion from the classical distinction betweenlegislative and non-legislative prophecy.’’ See also ibid., 88.

8 On the issue of the most excellent women, see also D. A. Spellberg,Politics, Gender, and the Islamic Past: The Legacy of ‘A’isha bint Abi Bakr, NewYork, Columbia University Press, 1995, whose chapter 5 deals withthe debate surrounding the most excellent women in the Islamic com-munity. She discusses other women who have played significant rolesin Muslim history, namely Khadıja, first wife of Muh. ammad, andFat.ima, daughter of Muh. ammad, as well as Maryam, daughter of‘Imran and mother of the Prophet Jesus, and Asiya, wife of Pharaoh.

9 Al-Jami‘, Cairo, 1936, IV, 83.

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10 Chodkiewicz, ‘‘La saintete feminine’’, 109, 111.11 Mafatih. al-ghayb, 3rd ed., Beirut 1405/1985, XXI, 207. Also see F.

Jadaane, ‘‘La place des anges dans la theologie cosmique musulmane’’,Studia Islamica 41 (1975), 32 and Jane Dammen McAuliffe, ‘‘Chosen ofall women: Mary and Fat.ima in Qur’anic exegesis’’, Islamochristiana 7(1981), 19–28, especially 21 and 25.

12 F. Jadaane, ‘‘Revelation et inspiration en Islam’’, Studia Islamica 26(1967)’’, 31–33.

13 Turki, ‘‘Femmes privilegiees’’, 29.14 See the translation by Tottoli in al-T. arafı, Qis.as. al-anbiya’, Italian

trans., Storie dei Profeti, ed. R. Tottoli, Genova, 1997, 297–316. It is ofinterest to note that the polemic about the prophecy of women has leftcurious traces. For example, ‘‘in the discussion of deeds constitutingapostasy and the punishments incumbent upon such offenders, there isa category of people ‘cursing prophets whose prophethood is notuniversally recognised’’’, and one of the three examples given is Mary:E. Landau-Tasseron, ‘‘Unearthing a pre-Islamic Arabian Prophet’’,Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam 21 (1997), 46.

15 The divine provision of food was also attributed to Fat.ima: see I. ZilioGrandi, ‘‘Maria nel Corano: la silenziosa, nutrita da Dio’’, Annali di Ca‘Foscari, 35/3 (1996), 72, which points to the relationship establishedbetween Mary and Fat.ima studied by L. Massignon, La mubahala deMedine et l’hyperdulie de Fatima, Paris, 1955.

16 J. D. McAuliffe, Qur’anic Christians. An Analysis of Classical and ModernExegesis, Cambridge, 1991, 205–206.

17 Al-T. abarı, Jami‘ al-bayan, ed. Shakir, Cairo, Dar al-ma‘arif, n. d.18 Al-Alusı, Ruh. al-ma‘anı, Beirut, Dar al-turath al-‘arabı, n. d.19 Al-Zamakhsharı, al-Kashshaf ‘an h. aqa’iq jawamid al-tanzıl, Beirut, Dar al-

kitab al-‘arabı, n. d., I, 360, for the Mu‘tazili position.20 Al-Wansharısı, al-Mi‘yar al-mu‘rib wa-l-jami‘ al-mughrib ‘an fatawı ahl Ifrı-

qiya wa-l-Andalus wa-l-Maghrib, Rabat, 1401/1981, II, 388. See also IbnRushd al-Yadd, Fatawa, ed. al-Mukhtar b. al-T. ahir al-Talılı, Beirut,1987, I, 583–584.

21 D. B. Macdonald, ‘‘Karama’’, E.I.1, II, 788–789.22 For this, oft-debated issue: al-Wansharısı, Mi‘yar, II, 394–395.23 Also see J. L. Kraemer, Philosophy in the Renaissance of Islam. Abı Sulayman

al-Sijistanı and his Circle, Leiden, 1986, 243–246.24 L. Gardet, ‘‘Karama’’, E.I.2, IV, 615–616.25 It was admitted that a Muslim could see God in his dreams. On

dreams as a way of continuation or substitution of prophecy: Fried-mann, Prophecy Continuous, 83–86 and J. G. Katz, Sufism and Sainthood.The Visionary Career of Muhammad al-Zawawı, Leiden, 1996.


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26 See the biography of al-Bakrı al-S. iqillı in Ibn Najı, Ma‘alim al-ıman,Tunis, 1978, III, 244, no. 267; al-Wansharısı, Mi‘yar, II, 392 and H. R.Idris, ‘‘Deux maıtres de l’ecole juridique Kairouanaise sous les Zirides(11e siecle): Abu Bakr b. ‘Abd al-Rah.man et Abu ‘Imran al-Fası’’,Annales de l’Institut d’Etudes Orientales 13 (1955), 146–147.

27 For example, the case of Ibn Abı Zayd’s contemporary, Zahrun b.H. asrun al-H. ammal in al-Malikı, Riyad. al-nufus, Beirut, 1983, II, 383–8.

28 That is the case of three scholars from Ifrıqiya, Muh. ammad b. al-Fath.al-Murji’ (d. 334/945), H. asan b. Muh. ammad b. H. asan al-Kanishı (d.347/958 who was himself a performer of miracles) and Ibn AbıHisham al-Raba‘ı al-H. annat. (d. 371/981): al-Malikı, Riyad. , II, 314;Qad. ı ‘Iyad. , Tartıb al-madarik, Rabat, n. d., VI, 46 and 213 and IbnRushd, Fatawa, I, 579.

29 Qad. ı ‘Iyad. , Tartıb, VI, 219.30 This is an idea repeated again and again in the fatwas collected by al-

Wansharısı on the issue of miracles of the saints: Fierro, ‘‘The polemicabout the karamat al-awliya’’’.

31 Qad. ı ‘Iyad. , Tartıb, VII, 141.32 Al-Wansharısı, Mi‘yar, II, 391 and Ibn Rushd, Fatawa, I, 580.33 M. Fierro, ‘‘El proceso contra Abu ‘Umar al-T. alamankı a traves de su

vida y de su obra’’, Sharq al-Andalus 9 (1993), 93–127.34 A. Bouamama, La litterature polemique musulmane contre le Christianisme

depuis ses origines jusqu’au XIIIe siecle, Alger, 1988, 218. This modernscholar is an example of a Muslim who rejects the miracles ofMuh. ammad, especially 219.

35 Ibn H. azm, Jawami‘ al-sıra, ed. Ih. san ‘Abbas and Nas.ir al-Dın Asad,Cairo, n. d., p. 10, no. 10 and al-Bajı’s answer to the letter of the‘‘Monk of France’’: A. M. Turki, ‘‘La lettre du ‘Moine de France’ a al-Muqtadir billah, roi de Saragosse, et la reponse d’al-Bagı, le faqihandalou (presentation, texte arabe, traduction)’’, Al-Andalus 31 (1966),73–153, 144–145 and 148–149.

36 S. Stroumsa, ‘‘The Signs of Prophecy: the emergence and early devel-opment of a theme in Arabic theological literature’’, Harvard TheologicalReview 78 (1985), 101–104.

37 M. Fierro, ‘‘Religion’’ in vols. VIII/1 (Los Reinos de Taifas) and VIII/2(El retroceso territorial de al-Andalus. Almoravides y almohades. Siglos XI al XIII)de la Historia de Espana fundada por R. Menendez Pidal y dirigida por J. M.Jover, Madrid, Espasa Calpe, 1994, 423 and 1997, 466–478.

38 Ibn H. azm, al-Fis.al fı l-milal wa-l-ahwa’ wa-l-nih. al, Cairo, 1371 H., IV,126–129, 150, 169–171 and V, 14–18; Spanish trans. by M. AsınPalacios, Abenhazam de Cordoba y su Historia Crıtica de las ideas religiosas,Madrid, 1929, V, 21–26, 88, 137–141, 182–184. For related questions,

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also see Fis.al, IV, 155, 161–162 trans., Asın Palacios, Abenhazam, V,118–119, 120–121 and 103.

39 Fis.al, IV, 150, trans., Asın Palacios, Abenhazam, V, 88.40 M. Fierro, ‘‘El proceso contra Ibn H. atim al-T. ulayt.ulı (anos 457/1064–

1464/1072)’’, Estudios onomastico-biograficos de al-Andalus VI, Madrid,1994, 187–215.

41 Fis.al, IV, 164 and 167–168, trans., Asın Palacios, Abenhazam, V, 124and 134–137.

42 Fis.al, V, 2–11, trans., Asın Palacios, Abenhazam, V, 147–175.43 On him see W. Madelung, ‘‘Al-Isfarayını’’, E.I.2, IV, 107–108. Ibn

H. azm and al-Isfara’inı seem to have reached the same conclusionsindependently.

44 Friedman, Prophecy Continuous, 65–68; H. Ferhat and H. Triki, ‘‘Fauxprophetes et mahdis dans le Maroc medieval’’, Hesperis-Tamuda 26–27(1988–89), 5–24 and Fierro, ‘‘The polemic about the karamat al-awliya’’’.

45 Turki, ‘‘Femmes privilegiees’’, 33, where he deals with the situation ofwomen during the Taifa kingdom in the 5th/11th century: ‘‘siecle oula femme paraıt avoir occupe une place de premier plan’’. See also: G.Martinez-Gros, ‘‘Femmes et pouvoir dans les memoires d’‘Abd Allahb. Zırı’’, La condicion de la mujer en la Edad Media: Actas del Coloquio cele-brado en la Casa de Velazquez, del 5 al 7 de novembre de 1984, Madrid,1986, 371–378.

46 M. Marın, ‘‘Mujeres veladas: religion y sociedad en al-Andalus’’,Arenal: Revista de Historia de las Mujeres 4/1 (1997), 23–38 and her newbook Mujeres en al-Andalus, Madrid, 2000 (EOBA XI ), especially 565–597.

47 See C. Adang’s research included in this volume.48 R. Bulliet, Conversion to Islam in the Medieval Period, Harvard, 1979.49 It might be worth exploring the references to Mary found in Andalusi

literature. See, for example, the poem directed by al-Muhannad toMaryam bint Abı Ya‘qub al-Fays.ulı al-Ans.arı where she is comparedto the Virgin Mary because of her fear of God: T. Garulo, Dıwan de laspoetisas de al-Andalus, Madrid, 1986, 102.

50 For a thoughtful study of how Islam can be said to have influencedcertain tendencies among Christians in the Iberian Peninsula: D.Urvoy, ‘‘Les consequences christologiques de la confrontation islamo-chretienne en Espagne au VIIIe siecle’’, Kristallisationspunkt KarolingischerKultur (1997), 981–992.

51 Details in J. Caro Baroja, Las falsificaciones de la historia (en relacion con lade Espana), Barcelona, 1992.


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CHAPTER 12

Images of Lalla ‘Awısh: A Holy

Woman from Marrakech1

Mariette van Beek

One day a stranger came to Marrakech because he wanted to countall the saints2 of the city. Not only the Seven Patrons, but all thesaints. He went to a shop owner in a street called Derb Dabachi.‘‘Good day!’’ he said. ‘‘Good day! Give me a pen!’’ the man said.‘‘What do you need a pen for?’’ the store keeper asked. The mananswered: ‘‘I want to write down every one of the Seven Saints.’’3

‘‘Only those seven?’’ the boss asked. ‘‘No, all the saints.’’ The shopkeeper said: ‘‘Look,’’ while he was pointing at the pen, ‘‘that is asaint, too. Do not take away its blessing!’’ The man answered:‘‘Okay.’’ He said to him: ‘‘Now, I need ink,’’ and went to anotherstore. He said to the store keeper: ‘‘Give me a small ink bottle!’’ Theboss asked him: ‘‘What do you need the ink bottle for?’’ The mananswered: ‘‘I want to write down all the names of the Seven Saints.’’The shop keeper said: ‘‘Look, this ink bottle is a saint, too!’’ Theman responded: ‘‘I have had enough of it. This pen is a saint andthis ink bottle, too.’’ Thereupon, he went to the man who sells paperand said to him: ‘‘Give me a piece of paper! I want to write downon it all the saints.’’ The paper seller said: ‘‘This piece of paper is asaint, too.’’ The man responded: ‘‘Stop it, sir! I have heard enoughfrom you. I am fed up with it!’’

This story heard so often during field research in Marrakech4

makes one thing very clear: there are saints who are well known andvisible and saints who are unknown and hidden.

This research focuses on the image of the Moroccan saintin oral and written tradition. In 1997, orally transmitted saints’legends in Marrakech were collected during my field work,

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yielding the observation that a number of saints remembered bypeople are nonetheless hardly even written about by Arab hagio-graphers.

The absence of the lives of many saints in the hagiographiescan be explained by the hagiographers’ preference to write aboutthe more important (and also, up to a certain period, the moreorthodox) saints only. Most contemporary scholars from Moroccoare not interested in studying so-called minor saints either.Whether a saint is called important seems to depend on if heachieved a position in history. He could be, more or less, an influ-ential writer, philosopher, politician or king. Since the peoplethemselves tend to give more importance to the ritual role which asaint played and still plays than the historical one,5 oral sourcessometimes have much more to tell about a particular saint thanwritten sources.6 This incongruency is even more evident in thecase of female saints. Michel Chodkiewicz attributes the reason forthis to the more secluded life that Muslim women lead in generaland an attitude of fuqaha’ as well as mystics that would now becalled sexist.7 An overview made by the same author confirms thesmall amount of attention that biographers pay to women.8 Hestates that it is especially true in their cases since, in order to get agood idea about them, one has to look for the ‘‘vox populi’’.Although Chodkiewicz’s use of this term indicates that he onlymeans the rituals that occur around saints,9 oral literature shouldalso be included.

Both sources show that women saints did indeed play a role.10

The case mentioned above also holds true for Lalla ‘Awıshal-Majdhuba, a female saint who has her sanctuary in the quarter ofAssouel in the old madına of Marrakech. Al-Sa‘ada al-Abadıya byIbn al-Muwaqqit11 is (as far as I know) the only source written inArabic that mentions Lalla ‘Awısh;12 it gives, however, little infor-mation. It relates one of Lalla ‘Awısh’s miracles (karamat):

One day, she was herding her sheep next to the Ka‘ba when a manpassed by who was crying. She felt pity for him and asked him about hisstate. He answered that he had lost everything. Thereupon, she sent himto a certain person who stood nearby. The man also told him about hissituation and the other asked him who had sent him. He told him: ‘‘Thatwoman’’. The man told him he was not able to do anything and advisedhim just to follow Lalla ‘Awısh. So he did. When she noticed him follo-wing her, she gave him her stick and told him to follow the sheep. Theythen found themselves next to one of the bıban (gates) of her city [Marra-kech].


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Some remarks in the margins mention that this episode explainsLalla ‘Awısh’s state of holiness and that she moved to and fromMecca daily. She was finally buried in Marrakech; the date onwhich she passed away is unknown.13

The information given here does not exceed one third of a page,but, fortunately, oral tradition has much more to say about Lalla‘Awısh. The caretakers of Lalla ‘Awısh’s shrine also describe thesaint’s daily trips to Arabia. According to them, it was the jinn(ghosts) who used to take her there:

On one such occasion, Lalla ‘Awısh was praying, but her child, whom shehad left behind in Marrakech, was crying. She, being aware of this, movedher leg in order to rock the cradle and to comfort him. This happenedduring the s.alat in Mecca, other people were present and one man amongthe men saw her behaving like this in the middle of her prayer. He talked tothe other people about her: ‘‘Look at that woman over there!’’ Lalla ‘Awıshnoticed what was going on and she did not like it. It is not nice to havepeople gossiping about you. So she took away his belief, his iman. His beliefdisappeared because she emptied his breast. He went to the Islamic scholars(the ‘ulama’) for advice and they told him that he had done wrong to awoman. He knew whom they meant, he knew it was Lalla ‘Awısh and wentto look for her. He found her in her cave in Marrakech and asked her toforgive him. She wanted to help him and put a piece of bread in her mouth,threw it outside and told him to see what he would first find when leaving.He found the piece of bread, ate it and got his belief back.

The story told to me by a middle-aged woman from the old city isquite different:

Lalla ‘Awısh was a virgin and whenever a party took place, she went thereand let herself be carried away into ecstasy. Her parents confined her andtold her: ‘‘Stay at home, do you not want to stay home? Every time youleave, you dress yourself and you go to wherever a party or the like takesplace and let yourself be carried away into ecstasy.’’ In the end, Allah, theBlessed and Exalted, wanted to punish her and she fell down a well. This isthe well from which they pull up water nowadays in order to take a bath.This is the very same well in which Lalla ‘Awısh died. People call her Lalla‘Awısh al-Majdhuba, Lalla ‘Awısh the Ecstatic. Every Friday, she is visitedand, on that occasion, a h. ad. ra takes place. Then, the girls take a bath there.We know her and we know Lalla Raqıya. Lalla Raqıya bint bi-l-Ah.mar alsodied through ecstasy. Well, this is what we heard, this is what people tell usand this is what we repeat on hearsay.

Many more anecdotes can be added. They vary from real stories tobits and pieces of information about the saint’s character and acts.

Although now provided with more information about the saint in

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question, the information is partly contradictory. Lalla ‘Awısh is saidto have died a virgin, but is portrayed as a mother too. In additionto this, the anecdotes do not entirely treat Lalla ‘Awısh as a positivefigure. On one hand, she appears to be a pious and righteouswoman who punishes others who do wrong, but, on the other hand,she is judged to be so rebellious that she herself deserves punish-ment.

This lack of concurrence is so common to oral histories thatsome people prefer not to call them h. ikayat but khurafat: superstition,fables or fairy tales,14 even though it is more correct to speak oflegends. A legend can be defined as follows: it is, more or less, ahistorical story about a human hero from the relatively recent pastthat concerns this world. Since a solid basis for historiographycannot be found in this oral genre, in the present study of saints’legends, the imaginary was preferred to the historical figure of thesaint.

There are many ways to analyse pictures of saints in legends.Since a female saint of ambiguous status is examined here, the wayin which other researchers dealt with images of holy women and themeanings and contradictions that they found attached to them islooked at first. Their approach was either sociological or anthropo-logical. Although many of their feminist ideas could be easily appliedto Lalla ‘Awısh’s case, the outcome is unsatisfactory. Attention mustbe paid to the feminine element in Islamic mysticism for a properappreciation of the legends. Several studies have pointed to thiselement.15 In the present case, this means that proper attention mustbe paid to the mystical symbolism in the stories and in the ritualsthat take place at the sanctuary. This aspect and its possible implica-tions are explored in the following section.

Social Images of Women and Sainthood

As seen, the first two legends about Lalla ‘Awısh in Mecca viewedher in a favourable light, but the third one did not. Looking at thislast legend, the one narrating her death in the well, one evenwonders why a woman like Lalla ‘Awısh is considered a saint. Herlifestyle contradicts the prevailing standards of traditional Islamicsociety as represented by her parents. The story is not exceptional,however. Similar stories exist about many other female saints in theMaghreb. The last story teller mentioned already gave the exampleof Lalla Raqıya, another female saint from Marrakech.

Not all researchers who came upon stories of such rebellious holy


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women have tried to interpret them. Some just give a translation ofthe legends that were recorded about them and leave it at that.16

Fatima Mernissi is one of the scholars who tried to do more.Within the framework of a study on Moroccan women and theveneration of saints,17 she studied the important hagiographic work,Al-Tashawwuf ila rijal al-tas.awwuf, written by al-Tadilı.18 She statesthat female saints lead a far more active life than is usual for theaverage Moroccan woman. The saints do not bother about segrega-tion of the sexes or traditional patriarchal relations. Some prefer toremain virgins and refuse to marry while others prostitute them-selves. In addition, they can play an active role in religion or politics.They, thus, behave in ways usually reserved for men. Many malesaints, on the other hand, exhibit feminine characteristics and non-male behaviour. This easy crossing of gender boundaries is supposedto explain why women feel at ease in sanctuaries. Men and womenare on equal terms there, a situation that contrasts markedly withthe world outside the shrines.19

Mernissi concludes that the popularity of saints expresses a revoltagainst the established patriarchal order. However, she says, themere fact that women can utter their grievances inside the sanctu-aries does not bring about changes in this order. On the contrary:exactly because they can express their sorrows every now and then,they can adapt themselves more easily to the status quo.20 In thisway, Mernissi defines the meaning of the special relation betweenwomen and saints and of images such as those surrounding Lalla‘Awısh.

Daisy Hilse Dwyer, who did research on Moroccan concepts ofmanliness and womanliness,21 states that the way in which femalesainthood is regarded does not differ from the way in which women,in general, are regarded. A woman who marries does not only loseher physical virginity, but also some virtues on the sexual and sociallevel, that is, she loses her highly esteemed innocence by changing,in due time, from a timid and cautious bride into a wife who devel-oped ‘‘a callous self-servingness’’.22

For women, there are only two alternatives to escape this lot. Areal female saint avoids loss of virginity and marriage while thewoman who already passed that stage can limit or compensate thedamage done through certain superhuman actions. Dwyer givesan example of the latter option by presenting an oral story fromTaroudant about an unmarried prostitute who spends the money thatshe has inherited in order to provide her pregnant neighbour withbouillon and chicken. Thereupon, the Angels of Death come to take

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the prostitute to paradise.23 According to the author, this remarkableending shows how female sainthood is looked upon: a sexuallyexperienced woman is only capable of preserving her exalted state toa certain extent and runs the risk of sliding back again. To protect herfrom this, God may quickly let her return to Him. In the case of aman, the change in his life would have indicated the start of a con-tinuous pious life.24 This contradicts Mernissi’s assertion that maleand female saints have the same characteristics.25

Consequently, Dwyer concludes that female sainthood is in con-flict with female development. According to her, this explains thesmall number of female saints in Morocco and the limited detailsabout these saints’ lives because, however venerated saints may be,family, friends and acquaintances will always try to prevent a girlfrom choosing a life of total piety. Virginity comes close to the idealof the Moroccan woman, but such a definitive denial of her tasks inthe fields of sexuality, reproduction and maternity would, if followedon large scale, form a threat to the continuity of society.26

If Mernissi’s approach is compared to that of Dwyer, it becomesclear that the former puts more emphasis on the rebelliousness ofthe female saint while the latter stresses the piety of women who,before their spiritual change, went through several phases of moraldecay. Accordingly, Dwyer explains much better than Mernissi whythese ‘‘unacceptable’’ women also end up being venerated as saints.Besides, the difference between the pious and the rebellious is not asgreat as it appears to be at first sight: both deviate from the ordinaryway that things are organised and so they can both be considerednon-conformists.27

Further Exploration

Taking these theories as points of departure, Lalla ‘Awısh’s life canbe further explored.

The last legend about Lalla ‘Awısh leaves the impression of anunhappy end: she dies in the well. Mernissi states that it is possiblethat story tellers sometimes give a distorted picture of the femalesaints’ final lot just to discourage other women from following thesame path,28 but, if one compares Lalla ‘Awısh’s story with Dwyer’sstory about the holy prostitute, one may take it to imply that Godalso took Lalla ‘Awısh directly to heaven and that her death is incor-rectly explained as a punishment.

Consequently, the legend about Lalla ‘Awısh can be explainedboth in a positive and a negative way. If one follows the explanation


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of the story teller, it remains unclear why Lalla ‘Awısh is considereda saint. Dwyer’s ideas about female sainthood, however, do makethis clear. Lalla ‘Awısh’s love of transgressive socialising can still beseen as negative and deviating behaviour, but the state of ecstasybecomes a means to achieve something positive. This was also thecase of a Tunisian female saint in a legend recorded by the Dutchscholar, Edien Bartels, where, since the saint reacts in a positive wayto the h. ad. ra and is led into ecstasy, the people become convincedthat she is a good woman instead of being possessed by the devil.29

Interpretation of the second legend, the one in which Lalla ‘Awıshpunished the man who slandered her, confirms some of Dwyer’sother statements in a very direct way: Islamic society (as representedby the man) looks upon piety and maternity (as represented by Lalla‘Awısh) as two things that cannot be combined. It is remarkable thatLalla ‘Awısh turns out to be more powerful than the man who mustadmit that he was wrong, a fact that is even confirmed by theIslamic scholars to whom he went for advice.

However, the problem remains that Lalla ‘Awısh is representedalternately as a virgin and as a mother in these two stories. Whenthe caretakers at her shrine were asked to help out, they said thatshe was married. People said that Sıdi Wih. lan, another saint fromMarrakech who has his sanctuary in the same street as Lalla ‘Awısh,was her husband, but this was denied by the caretakers. Accordingto them, people only thought so because of the vicinity of his shrineto Lalla ‘Awısh’s shrine. It was unknown who had been her realhusband.30 Her child was a boy who died prematurely.

Bartels showed, however, that these kinds of contradictory imagesabout one and the same saint frequently occur. Even if the saint hasa line of descendants, his or her celibacy may be confirmed. In thisway, the image of the perfect saint is preserved.31

Contradictions in the stories of Lalla ‘Awısh were dealt with up tonow in accordance with methods used by researchers who were pre-viously cited in their approach to the saints whom they studied, i.e.following their basic assumption that life stories of female saintsreflect the divergent attitudes towards the position of women.However, the dogmatic way in which Mernissi analyses these atti-tudes suggests that holy women are depicted today as a kind of rolemodel for repressed women. The role that Islamic society assigns towomen, in general, which concerns aspects of repression as well asfemale protest against this, constitute the major part of the vocabu-lary of this approach. This explanation of female saints’ legends isinsufficient. Instead of exploiting all the different aspects in the

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legends, one-dimensional ideas of an elite, which could quickly andeasily be nuanced, are projected back into time and superimposedon the saints while, apparently, no trouble is taken to verify whetherthe women who usually visit saints’ sanctuaries do actually associatetheir saints with the ideas just mentioned. This is doubtful.

First and foremost, saints and their lives represent a religious orspiritual reality to the visitors of the shrines. Indeed, when peopleare asked what they find to be the most important or the most beau-tiful aspect of their saints’ legends, they quite unanimously come upwith a religious concept, that is, the nıya (intention) of the saint.Therefore, they often express a longing for the good old days whenpeople still behaved like good Muslims unlike those of today: ‘‘Al-nıyama-bqat-sh.’’32 Aspects that may strike us as unreal or as contra-dictions do not seem to bother them. God is capable of everything.That is why, when doubt is sometimes raised by researchers, forexample, with regard to the holy status of the saint concerned, theanswer often judged to resolve matters is: ‘‘Allahu a‘lam’’, ‘‘Godknows best’’. Additionally, a special category of saints’ legends con-firms their point of view in which saints seem to behave in a waythat contradicts their rank or status, something that turns out to beonly an outward appearance.33

This brings one to another way of looking at the stories, namely,an analysis that concentrates on the spiritual and mystical imageryin the legends, an imagery that also occurs in the simple visitationof saints or other rituals related to them.34 Since most saints wereSufis, this seems to be the appropiate context in which to talkabout them. Such a situation is confirmed when looking again atLalla ‘Awısh’s case. However, another look at the points alreadydiscussed, namely the rebellion of holy women and their virginity,marriage and motherhood in relation to piety, provides necessarybackground.

Spiritual Images of Women and Sainthood

Annemarie Schimmel’s assertion that Sufism has created morechances than other branches of Islam for women to take an activepart in religious and social life35 is affirmed by other researchers whopaid particular attention to the feminine element in Islamic mysti-cism.

Michel Chodkiewicz states that, in spite of the limitations thatsome fuqaha’ and Sufis put on female spirituality, the Quran andh. adıth can be interpreted in such a way that women are given full


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access to the highest degrees of spirituality. This is the basis of themost coherent doctrine within Islam with regard to female saint-hood, the one that can be ascribed to Ibn ‘Arabı (d. 638/1240).The forty-nine spiritual degrees that constitute the hierarchy ofsainthood which he describes are accessible to both men andwomen.36

Su‘ad al-H. akım also stresses the equality of men and women inthe doctrine of al-Shaykh al-Akbar. According to her, Ibn ‘Arabı’sideas are those of true Islam and that is why these ideas should playan important role in current discussions about the position ofMuslim women.37

Valerie J. Hoffman states that most women in Islam who suc-ceeded in overcoming social barriers were indeed Sufis. Sufi ordersadmitted women to their ranks and their gatherings, be it undersome or many restrictions. Moreover, some women were Sufishaykhs themselves and could also guide pupils of the opposite sex.The segregation of the sexes was disregarded in many cases not, asin Mernissi’s interpretation, out of rebellion against society, but as aresult of the joint attainment of a certain spiritual level, a level onwhich sexual differences and attraction do not play a role anymore.38 Accordingly, women are no longer seen as a threateningfactor in the sense of being the ‘‘femme fatale’’ who creates chaos insociety by way of her seductive devices, further described by Mer-nissi elsewhere.39 As a result, sexual union with a woman is not per-ceived as a threat to man’s essence but as a means to reach an ideaof the relation between God and man.40

The idea regarding the mystical meaning of sexuality also camefrom Ibn ‘Arabı. According to Ibn ‘Arabı, God comprises all notionsand contradictions which meet in Him: He is, at the same time,active/man and passive/woman. Therefore, if one wants to knowGod, one must know both aspects. But God can only be knownthrough His manifestation in creation. If man wants to know Godthrough knowledge of himself (he exists in the capacity of a creatureof God), he will only know the passive aspect because he is passive inhis relation to Him. But, in his relation with the woman, man isactive in the way in which God is active towards him. Sexual unionis valuable in this sense.41

In addition to this, it produces so much pleasure that the partnersnot only acquire an idea of the pleasures of Paradise, but also loseconsciousness of themselves to such an extent that duality no longerexists and they become one. This experience is related to the dis-appearance of the self in God. Ibn ‘Arabı added the recommendation

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that the disciple becomes like a woman: passive in the hands of God.That men should take on female characteristics was an idea thataroused much opposition.42

Thus, when Mernissi talked about male saints who exhibited non-male behaviour, she overlooked the possibility of this containing aspiritual connotation. The same applies to female saints who, bybeing more (or, rather, differently) active than the average Muslimwoman, stimulated their male side in order to realise spiritual per-fection.43 That may be one of the reasons why holy women likeRabi‘a were considered to be men.44 But, as Su‘ad al-H. akım stated,Ibn ‘Arabı considered women, in general, to be more perfect thanmen to begin with because they naturally comprise active andpassive elements. With the addition of their beauty, it becomes clearwhy he suggested that the mystic could best contemplate the womanin order to get an idea of God, however partial it may be. Theaureole of sacredness that thus surrounds women45 seems to be farremoved from the mere negative attitudes towards women thatMernissi and Dwyer ascribed to Islamic society.46 But, the divergentideas that people can have are also reflected within Sufism itselfbecause many Sufis did not agree with Ibn ‘Arabı either. They con-sidered women to be the source of all evil in both the world andreligion and some expressed their negative attitude by giving pre-ference to celibacy. Some even went so far as to reject the food pre-pared by women.47 While Mernissi seems to consider thephenomenon of men who cook for themselves as an expression ofmale emancipation,48 this example proves that the opposite may bethe case as well.

Although the majority of Muslims see marriage as a necessity,those who seek to be reunited with God could consider marriage topose too much of a distraction from achieving their goal. But, it isnot only men who chose celibacy. Many women among the earlySufis did, too.49

Because Dwyer did not take the context of Sufism into account,she overlooked the fact that the choice for celibacy also concernsholy men and, consequently, put too much stress on female celibacy.The question whether the service of God can be combined withmarriage concerns women only because they are mystics, not due totheir being female. Therefore, Mernissi was right when she, unlikeDwyer, stated that male and female saints share the same characte-ristics. And, whether or not they opt for marriage, fatherhood ormotherhood, they can attain sainthood anyhow. Sainthood, be itmale or female, is not incompatible with such developments. That is


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probably why Chodkiewicz and al-H. akım did not even find it neces-sary to touch upon the subject of celibacy.

At the same time, it cannot be denied that the majority of Sufiwomen were indeed celibate,50 something that cannot be said of Sufimen. Celibacy somehow seems to be more important or profitablefor women, whether this corresponds with Hoffman51 or Mernissiwho hypothesise that women who chose this option rejected maleoppression, obedience towards men and the responsibilities of mar-riage, or according to Dwyer, because of the importance of thesocial concept of virginity. However, the positive values that sheconnects with virginity do not appear to play an explicit role in thechoice made by women or men in favour of celibacy.

Nevertheless, the notion of virginity plays an important role inSufism. First and foremost related to the purity of the virgin Mary,virginity is conceptualised in terms of man functioning as a blankpage that is perfectly open to receive divine knowledge.52 Dwyer’sstatement about married women somehow being ‘‘wiser’’ throughsexual experience and not as able to preserve exalted states meansexactly the same, be it in the opposite direction, but should not betaken as literally as she did. For, it is true that marriage provides newexperiences and that the knowledge derived from them may indeedbe an obstacle to access the true knowledge of God, but then this riskis inherent in every engagement and is also applicable to men.

In contrast to the considerable attention that Mernissi paid to theconnection between rebellion and sainthood, whether male orfemale, hardly anything is said about this subject according to theSufi approach treated thus far. Some ideas and practices of Sufismwere considered offensive by other Muslims and the celibacy of Sufiwomen could be interpreted as a rejection of the traditional maledominion, but they were not originally meant as such.

However, there are Islamic mystics who expressly behave as non-conformists. They are often associated with the malamatıya. There aremany types of them, but all the malamatıya have the common desirethat they want to stay hidden like saints. Many of them just led aquiet life like other people in order to avoid the revelation of theirextraordinary state, but some went a step further: they encouragednegative reactions from people by making them believe that they didnot pray the obligatory five ritual prayers or misbehaved in otherways.53 The eagerness of these malamatıya to be blamed by otherpeople is sometimes called an indication of their imperfection54

while the quiet ones are often said to represent the most perfectform of sainthood.55

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In Morocco, the term malamatı is often interpreted in the formersense and therefore associated with the buhlul (the insane saint) or themajdhub.56 This last predicate finally leads us back to Lalla ‘Awıshand her nickname al-Majdhuba. Majdhub can either mean that aperson is in a trance57 of a rather advanced and extreme stage58 orit can indicate a saint who is illuminated through ecstasy.59 Thatthere is a connotation of weirdness connected to the majdhub60 isconfirmed in Lalla ‘Awısh’s case by one group of visitors to hersanctuary of whom it is said that the saint is particularly fondbecause she feels connected to them: people who suffer from mentalillnesses or psychosomatic disorders.

Further Exploration

The nicknames that are explained in saints’ legends are usually con-nected to the miraculous qualities of the saints concerned.61 Withregard to Lalla ‘Awısh, this means that the reason for her holinessmust be located in ecstasy. The definition that Khadija Naamounigives for the term majdhub confirms this by connecting the ecstaticstate with miracle working: ‘‘chrif [descendant of the prophetMuh. ammad or a saint] qui tombe dans cet etat mental appeleJadhba, transe, au cours duquel il accomplit des pratiques surna-turelles.’’62

The story about Lalla ‘Awısh who fell down the well explains hernickname, but does not discuss miracles while, on the other hand,the anecdotes about her voyages to Mecca do not say anythingabout ecstasy but rather give some idea of her supernaturalpowers.63 The mystical symbolism imbedded in those legends,however, shows that they are consistent.

Lalla ‘Awısh’s daily trip to Mecca indicates her continuous con-templation of God: everything she does is directed to Him. Distancesin space and time are no longer important because her intensefeeling of being near God actually transports her to Mecca: a feelingthat must be easily recognisable to the common people since theyare said to experience Mecca as even physically very close because itis so dear to them.64

Not only deep religious feelings but also rituals of ordinary belie-vers prove to be valuable in the explanation of the legends aboutLalla ‘Awısh. Many of the elements found in the stories repeatthemselves in the rituals around her sanctuary. It is exactly in theserepetitions that are found the keys to understanding the nature ofher sainthood.


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In this way, the times during which both Lalla ‘Awısh’s flight andthose rituals take place can be conceived as meaningful: they are thetimes of ritual prayer. Lalla ‘Awısh always went to Mecca at the timeof al-maghrib: bathing near the well currently takes place on Friday atthe hour of al-waqfa (in Moroccan dialect) when the whole Muslimcommunity directs itself towards Mecca for communal prayer in themosque. The same day, between al-‘as.r and al-maghrib, trancedances, called jadhba or h. ad. ra, are held next to the saint’s grave.65

The times mentioned do not only indicate moments during whichthe presence of God is felt more strongly but the presence of othersupernatural beings as well. For example, al-‘as.r is said to be thetime when the jinn (spirits) become active.

The connection of daily prayer and ascension into the divine pre-sence which can now be made on the basis of both legends andrituals around Lalla ‘Awısh is an important one among Sufis andgoes back to the Prophet Muh. ammad himself. The description ofecstatic experiences in terms of ascension is also widespread.66 Thismakes the story about Lalla ‘Awısh’s mystical journey practicallyidentical to the story about her ecstasy. There is great significance inthe saying that for the majdhub, the ravi, the way to God is a shortone.67 Consequently, the well in which Lalla ‘Awısh disappeared isjust an allusion to her (definite) return to God. Dwyer was rightwhen she talked about the direct transfer of holy women to heaven.

In keeping with this connection, the symbolic gate to the divineworld is considered to be not only the well but also the cave in Lalla‘Awısh’s sanctuary.68 The cave is said to have been situated at thesite of the actual grave and many parallels can be found between thecave and the well. Caves, like wells, are resorts that are well knownto be favoured by jinn. In both of them, Lalla ‘Awısh establishedcontact with the supernatural, but only after being somehow purifiedand thus being better able to receive the divine: the roots of theArabic word for cave, kh-l-w, indicate that she was not only secludedbut also ‘‘emptied’’ while the water in the well refers more directly topurification as does the state of virginity which is ascribed to her.Lalla ‘Awısh is thus prepared for the transition to a new and higherstate and, in fact, contemporary visitors who come to visit her inorder to have some problem solved do not aim for less, even thoughit is on a different level. They neither lose themselves nor staybehind in the divine world like Lalla ‘Awısh who stayed behind inthe well, but they do leave behind personal things like a comb, a braor underwear near the well or the grave so as to prolong contactwith the divine.

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The mystical journey of Lalla ‘Awısh is not something belongingto the past. The legends that are still told about Lalla ‘Awısh bearwitness to that fact such as one of the rituals that still takes placeevery year during the saint’s annual feast: the well is closed for onenight because the saint herself is said to abide in it. With regard tothe grave, some of the caretakers say that Lalla ‘Awısh is not buriedthere but in Sebta (North Morocco) and that they are uncertainwhether the saint used to pray in Mecca or in Sebta during her lifetime. Sebta is also known as ‘‘small Mecca’’. Since Lalla ‘Awısh’s sitehas not been fixed yet, the saint still ‘‘moves’’ about in the minds ofpeople.

Both the saint’s movement through space, which was a basicelement in all three legends presented here, and the so-called rebel-lious aspects can be explained in a spiritual way.

Lalla ‘Awısh was criticised by her parents as well as by society, ingeneral, because of her participation in the jadhba. Since her atten-tion is focused on another world, she does not seem to care aboutthis very much. In this sense, it is noteworthy that her only child issaid to have died early. He was the one who kept her from totaldevotion to God during the ritual prayer in Mecca. He was her tieto this world with which she had to break and he was taken away.Although this incident can be seen as an affirmation of the incom-patibility of motherhood with piety, the son, in himself, is not impor-tant and could be exchanged for other persons or objects thatdistract people from complete devotion to God. In Marrakech, thestory about Lalla ‘Uda, who is so captivated by her beautiful gardenthat she forgets that she is fasting for Ramadan and picks some fruitand eats it, is a good example in this respect. Consequently, she hasto give away her garden. Lalla ‘Awısh’s fate had consequences thatalso reached into the future: without children (awlad) who can takecare of her sanctuary, even her present-day ties to this world arereduced to a minimum.

With regard to the motherhood of Lalla ‘Awısh, suffice it to saythat the ambiguous attitude which people may have about the celi-bacy of saints, discussed above in the context of Sufism, is clearlyreflected in the variants of her legends. Such variants, often seen as aconfirmation of the lack of veracity inherent in saints’ legends, thusprove to be not so much deviations of the truth as reflections of dif-ferent images of what saints ought to be.69

Whether Lalla ‘Awısh ever was an actual mother will probablynever be known for sure, but the legends also depict her in the roleof spiritual mother when she showed the way (t.arıq) to two men. This


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becomes clear through her gestures. Her handing down the stick tothe first one indicates mystical initiation70 while the piece of breadthat is thrown before the second man symbolises the passing downof knowledge. Food is often used in this way in Moroccan saints’stories71 as are the bodily fluids of saints in their capacity as carriersof baraka. Lalla ‘Awısh also added some of her spittle to the bread byputting it in her mouth before throwing it out of the door. Thedivine blessing that was materialised in this way played a role in aritual that, until a few decades ago, seems to have taken place inLalla ‘Awısh’s sanctuary: on the place where Lalla ‘Awısh hadthrown her piece of bread, a curious kind of sand was said to con-tinously erupt from the earth, much like a flowing ant hill. Peopleused to put some of it in their mouth and, in this way, copied thebehaviour of the man from the story who was being fed by his spiri-tual mother. But, when the sanctuary was tiled, this piece of earthwas also covered and the habit ceased to exist.

However, in spite of the disappearance of the site where the barakaof Lalla ‘Awısh was transmitted, people still relate how she appearsin visions or dreams to direct them to come to her sanctuary or tofollow her advice.

But, it is not only through the transference of the stick, the pieceof bread or other devices that Lalla ‘Awısh acts like a Sufi shaykhtowards his followers. It is also the way in which she makes her stu-dents completely open to her message and education. They shouldbecome blank, innocent, pure or virginal, all images that occurredbefore and that are repeated here through descriptions that differonly superficially, not intrinsically. The first man is already bereavedof everything before he meets her, but is, nevertheless sent away atfirst, while the second man is ‘‘emptied’’ by her after his misconducttowards her.

The bathing rituals near the well in Lalla ‘Awısh’s sanctuary canbe considered in the same way. They are as purification rituals inorder to be in a state that is appropriate to receive divine inter-ference which is not to be confused with the state of ritual purityrequired for every visit to a sanctuary. At the same time, the bathingcan be seen as a ritual repetition of Lalla ‘Awısh’s fall in the well.

Both men have first sought advice from other men but did notfind a satisfactory solution and eventually returned to Lalla ‘Awısh.This reminds us of the wandering Sufi who, in search of knowledge,contacts various authorities before finding his ultimate master. Thefact that, in their case, the master is a woman does not seem tomatter nor does the disregard of sexual segregation.72

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Conclusion

An approach that tries to bring out emancipatory and rebelliousaspects in legends and rituals around both male and female saintsreveals something about the preoccupations of today’s intellectualelite, but it does not suffice, however, in capturing the full meaningof the stories concerned. For this latter purpose, the anecdotes mustbe interpreted within their proper religious and spiritual context,namely, that of Islamic mysticism. The legends about Lalla ‘Awıshcould thus be accounted for by interpreting the mystical symbolsfound in both Sufi thought and rituals that still take place aroundher sanctuary. Explanation of the legends in this way shows, amongother things, that Lalla ‘Awısh’s ‘‘rebellion’’ was not so much direc-ted against patriarchal society as against ties to this world, her ulti-mate purpose being a reunion with God. The goal of this study wasto point this out.

Notes

1 I express thanks to Remke Kruk for reading and commenting on thedrafts of this paper several times. I also want to express my gratitudeto the caretakers at Lalla ‘Awısh’s shrine: Lalla Aisha, Lalla Mina andSi Mohamed, for their endless patience in telling me time and againabout their saint, and to Jaafar Kansoussi and Abdelilah Tabit, bothspecialists in Sufism, for pointing out to me the importance of themystical imagery in the saints’ legends of their city, something forwhich I will always be indebted to them.

2 Although there are objections to the use of the term, saint, in anIslamic context, (Michel Chodkiewicz, ‘‘La saintete et les saints enislam’’ in Henri Chambert-Loir and Claude Guillot (eds), Le culte dessaints dans le monde musulman, Paris, 1995, 13), it is nevertheless usedhere for the sake of the readability of the text. The saint stands for walıllah.

3 It should be noted that the expression ‘‘the Seven Saints’’ can havedifferent meanings: it either means the Seven Patrons of Marrakech,all the saints of the city or Marrakech itself. See H. De Castries, ‘‘Lessept patrons de Marrakech’’, Hesperis 4 (1924), 279; Gaston Deverdun,Marrakech, des origines a 1912, I, Rabat, 1959, 573; ‘Abbas b. Ibrahım al-Marrakushı, al-I‘lam bi-man h. alla Marrakush wa-Aghmat min al-a‘lam X,Rabat, 1983, 366 and D. Jemma, Les tanneurs de Marrakech, Memoiresdu C.R.A.P.E. XIX, Algiers, 1971, 11.

4 In fact, many people started their remarks about the saints of their city

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with this story. In this way, to some extent, it can be considered tofunction as a starting formula.

5 See my forthcoming article, ‘‘Lieux et contes des saints de Marrakech’’in the collection of papers presented during the seminar ‘‘Le culte dessaints dans le sud marocain’’, 12–13 February 1998, Le Centre deRecherche sur les Cultures Maghrebines, Universite Cadi Ayyad,Marrakech.

6 Although the separation between oral and written tradition is not rigidas may be understood from this remark. Illiterate people sometimes tellstories that can be found in books while literate people may tell storiesthat are never noted down. Besides, written hagiographies are based toa large extent on oral sources (see note 14). This remark does notsuggest that the ritual importance of a particular saint is always reflec-ted in oral tradition because this is not the case. Some saints are fre-quently visited by people while hardly any stories are told about themor even none at all, yet the opposite may occur, too.

7 Michel Chodkiewicz, ‘‘La saintete feminine dans l’hagiographie islami-que’’, Saints orientaux, Paris, 1993, 105.

8 Ibid., 101–103. See also the remarks of Annemarie Schimmel, Mysticaldimensions of Islam, Chapel Hill, 1975, 433.

9 Chodkiewicz, ‘‘La saintete feminine’’, 103.10 With regard to Marrakech, the researcher Malika el-Assimi makes it

clear that the many streets named after female saints lead to the sameconclusion. Personal communication, spring 1996.

11 Muh. ammad b. Muh. ammad Ibn al-Muwaqqit al-Marrakushı, Al-Sa‘adaal-abadıya fı l-ta‘rıf bi-mashahır al-h. ad. ra al-marrakushıya wa-l-ishara li-ba‘d.mazaya-ha l-bahıya I, Lithograph, Fes, 1336/1918, 145–146.

12 That is, next to the z.awahir of the caretakers which, however, give onlyan idea of the history of the management of her sanctuary and the dis-tribution of income that is related to it.

13 Ibn al-Muwaqqit, Al-Sa‘ada I, 145–146.14 In contrast, the written word is generally more accepted as represen-

ting the truth although the oral origin is often clear: see, for instance,the phrases in Moroccan dialect found in Ibn al-Muwaqqit’s storyabout Lalla ‘Awısh. Ibn al-Muwaqqit, by the way, is not certain aboutthe veracity of the tale: he ends with ‘‘wa-llahu a‘lam’’. In the printedsummary of al-Sa‘ada (Casablanca, n. d.), this story is omitted alto-gether. The only information given is the location of Lalla ‘Awısh’ssanctuary (ibid. 103).

15 Chodkiewicz, ‘‘La saintete feminine’’; Su‘ad al-H. akım, ‘‘Al-mar’a ...walıya wa-untha. Qira’a li-l-mar’a fı nus.us. Ibn ‘Arabı’’, paper presentedduring the international conference ‘‘Mawsimıyat marrakushıya’’,

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Marrakech, 6–11 May 1997; Valerie J. Hoffman, ‘‘Le soufisme, lafemme et la sexualite’’ in Alexandre Popovic and Gilles Veinstein (eds),Les voies d’Allah: les ordres mystiques dans l’Islam des origines a aujourd’hui,Paris, 1996, 254–257 and A. Schimmel, Mystical dimensions, 426–435/appendix 2: ‘‘The feminine element in Sufism’’.

16 Francoise Legey, Contes et legendes populaires du Maroc recueillis a Marrakech,Paris, 1926, 304–306; Annie Verdelet-Lamare and Abdelouahab Ben-sultane, La fontaine des gazelles. Contes populaires d’Algerie, Paris, 1989, 95–96.

17 Fatima Mernissi, ‘‘Women, saints, and sanctuaries’’, Signs. Journal ofWomen in Culture and Society 3 (1) (August 1977), 101–112.

18 Abu Ya‘qub Yusuf b. Yah. ya al-Tadilı, Al-Tashawwuf ila rijal al-tas.awwuf.See, for example, the edition by Ahmed Toufiq, Casablanca, 1984;this biography was also mentioned by Chodkiewicz as being anexample of local hagiographies which, in general, pay less attention towomen than do hagiographies with a more general character. SeeChodkiewicz, ‘‘La saintete feminine’’, 102.

19 Mernissi, ‘‘Women, saints’’, 108–111.20 Ibid., 111–112.21 Daisy Hilse Dwyer, Images and self-images. Male and female in Morocco,

New York, 1978.22 Ibid., 66, 73–75.23 In Marrakech, the same story was recorded but with regard to other

saints: Lalla Mimuna and Rabi‘a al-‘Adawıya. A variant is also foundin F. Legey, Contes et legendes, 304–306.

24 Dwyer, Images and self-images, 79–81.25 Mernissi, ‘‘Women, saints’’, 108.26 Dwyer, Images and self-images, 68, 81–82.27 For a similar situation elsewhere: Vijaya Ramaswamy, ‘‘Rebels—con-

formists? Women saints in medieval South India’’, Anthropos: Interna-tional Review of Ethnology and Linguistics 87 (1–3) (1992), 133–146.

28 Mernissi, ‘‘Women, saints’’, 109.29 Edien Bartels, ‘‘Een dochter is beter dan duizend zonen’’. Arabische vrouwen,

symbolen en machtsverhoudingen tussen de sexen, Amsterdam, 1993, 112.Although Bartels also devoted a chapter (in English) in her work towomen and the veneration of saints, no special mention of it is madehere since Bartels just tried to test Mernissi’s assumptions in the case of‘‘her’’ Tunisian village while mentioning Dwyer, too.

30 Lalla ‘Awısh is, like many other female saints, sometimes mentioned asbeing the wife of Sıdi Abu l-‘Abbas, one of the Seven Patrons of Mar-rakech.

31 Bartels, ‘‘Een dochter is beter’’, 112.32 Many people add to this by stating that the world is spoiled because

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people stopped paying respect to their saints by visiting them and par-ticipating in the rituals around their sanctuaries. They sometimes raisean accusing finger in the direction of those who, in the Moroccancontext, are called sunnıyın or fundamentalists. The fundamentalistsobject strongly to veneration of saints and examples are known of theirchasing away visitors to saints’ sites in Marrakech.

33 Or, as Bartels puts it in her ‘‘Een dochter is beter’’(103, 112), these ‘‘idealpeople’’ make the impossible possible in their behaviour.

34 This, by the way, is an indication that the line that is often drawn betweenSufism of the common people and that of initiates is a vague one.

35 Schimmel, Mystical dimensions, 426.36 Chodkiewicz, ‘‘La saintete feminine’’, 107–110.37 Al-H. akım, ‘‘Al-mar’a’’, 3–4, 7.38 Hoffman, ‘‘Le soufisme, la femme’’, 254, 257.39 Fatima Mernissi, Beyond the veil. Male-female dynamics in modern Muslim

society, Bloomington-Indianapolis, 1987, 31, 41–42, 44, 53–54.40 Hoffman, ‘‘Le soufisme, la femme’’, 257.41 Ibid., 256.42 Ibid., 256–257.43 Al-H. akım, ‘‘Al-mar’a’’, 3–4.44 Hoffman, ‘‘Le soufisme, la femme’’, 255; another reason is that by

reckoning exceptional women like her to the male world, the old defi-nitions of predicates like male and female were no longer challengedand did not need to be changed.

45 Al-H. akım, ‘‘Al-mar’a’’, 7 and Schimmel, Mystical dimensions, 431.46 Although, on one occasion, Mernissi gives the example of a saint who

positively associated a beautiful woman in the street with the h. urıyat inparadise.

47 Schimmel, Mystical dimensions, 428.48 Mernissi, ‘‘Women, saints’’, 110.49 Hoffman, ‘‘Le soufisme, la femme’’, 254.50 Ibid., 254.51 Idem.52 Schimmel, Mystical dimensions, 218, 429.53 Hamid Algar, ‘‘Malamatiyya 2: In Iran and the Eastern lands’’, E.I.2,

VI, 224–225; F. De Jong, ‘‘Malamatiyya 1: In the Central Islamiclands’’, E.I.2, VI, 223–224. See also the remarks made above about thespecial category of legends that depict saints with deviating behaviour.

54 Schimmel, Mystical dimensions, 87.55 Chodkiewicz, ‘‘La saintete et les saints’’, 19 and ibid., Le sceau des saints.

Prophetie et saintete dans la doctrine d’Ibn Arabı, Paris, 1986, 138.56 A. L. de Premare, Sıdi ‘Abd-er-Rah. man el-Mejdub. Mysticisme populaire,

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societe et pouvoir au Maroc au 16e siecle, Les Cahiers du Centre de Recher-ches et d’Etudes sur les Societes Mediterraneennes 16, Paris-Rabat,1985, 91–93.

57 Fenneke Reysoo, Des moussems du Maroc. Une approche anthropologique defetes patronales, Enschede, 1988, 104.

58 Vincent Crapanzano, ‘‘The Hamadsha’’ in Nikki R. Keddie (ed.),Scholars, Saints and Sufis. Muslim religious institutions in the Middle East since1500, Berkeley-Los Angeles-London, 1972, 340–342 and FrankMaurice Welte, Der Gnawa-Kult. Trancespiele, Geisterbeschworung und Beses-senheit in Marokko, Frankfurt am Main-Bern-New York-Paris, 1990, 180,183, 185, 318.

59 de Premare, Sıdi ‘Abd-er-Rah. man, 55, 92.60 See also Schimmel, Mystical dimensions, 19, 105.61 Reysoo, Des moussems du Maroc, 51.62 Khadija Naamouni, Le culte de Bouya Omar. Sanctuaire de la possession et de

la hadra Rahhaliyya, Casablanca, 1993, 10, 202.63 The formula mulat al-nuba is often added to her nickname,

al-Majdhuba, and refers more directly to her supernatural powers.When asked about the meaning of this additional predicate, some ofthe people answered that, depending on whether it is Lalla ‘Awısh’sturn to bestow favours on people, requests directed to her may or maynot be fulfilled. She belongs to a community of saints who cannot actof their own accord but are dependent on stronger powers that rulethem. This calls to mind the mystical hierarchy of saints.

64 See the example in Mohamed Boughali’s study, La representation del’espace chez le marocain illettre. Mythes et tradition orale, Paris, 1974, 188–189: when asked to draw a map of Marrakech, many illiterate peopledraw Mecca next to their city.

65 Trance dances are also held during the annual feast, mawsim, for Lalla‘Awısh during the Islamic month of Sha‘ban—just before the yearlybut temporary non-activation of the jinn and their disappearanceunderground during the holy fasting period of Ramadan.

66 Schimmel, Mystical dimensions, 218–219; see Abdelahad Sebti, ‘‘Hagio-graphie du voyage au Maroc medieval’’, Al-Qant.ara 13 (1992), 167–179for the mystical interpretation of the voyage in Moroccan hagio-graphies.

67 Genevieve Gobillot, ‘‘Michel Chodkiewicz : itineraires’’, Horizons magh-rebins. Le droit a la memoire 30 (1995), special edition: La walaya, Etudessur le soufisme d’Ibn ‘Arabı, Hommage a Michel Chodkiewicz, 21.

68 E. Weber and R. Gauthier, Paroles d’Arabie et d’Afrique. Violences dans lesecret de dire, Paris, 1990, 28–29.

69 Which confirms the appropriateness of my research approach.

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70 Sebti, ‘‘Hagiographie du voyage’’, 170–171.71 As is shown earlier, Mernissi understood the preoccupation of male

saints with food in quite another way.72 It is an issue of discussion in some stories about male saints in Marra-

kech who have encounters with women.

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CHAPTER 13

Between Symbol and Reality:

The Image of Women in

Twentieth Century Arab Art1

Silvia Naef

That which is generally designated ‘‘modern Arab art’’ (al-fann al-‘arabı al-h. adıth) began to appear in the main centres of the Arabworld at the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twen-tieth century. Inspired by Western models, this art began to replacetraditional Islamic art in some spheres which, with the exception ofcalligraphy, began to decrease.

Contrary to what occurred in music and literature where the tra-ditional genres survived with relatively few modifications, the breakwith tradition in the fine arts was a radical one for both material andcultural reasons. In fact, Islamic art was an applied art practiced bycraftsmen. When their production diminished, they ceased produ-cing, their art began to decline. Culturally, meanwhile, the ideabegan to spread that Islamic art which did not satisfy the naturalisticcriteria then in vogue in the West, was a non-art. This real or sup-posed absence of art was perceived as one of the numerous signs ofArab ‘‘cultural backwardness’’ while adoption of Western art wassupposed to constitute proof that Arabs could adapt to modern civili-sation. During the first half of the twentieth century, the dominantconcept within this tendency was that of ‘‘catching-up’’ with Eur-opean civilisation. For the artists of this period, it was a matter ofdemonstrating their physical ability to produce figurative works of artcomparable to those of European artists; the European modelseemed so overwhelmingly ‘‘superior’’ to them that they could butreproduce it. Having adopted the nineteenth-century Westernconcept of progress in the fine arts—progress believed to manifest

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itself in an ever more exact and perfect naturalism—some believethat Arab artists had come to consider that traditional Arab art,overly schematic and abstract, corresponded to a less advanced stageof development.2

To enable Arab art to ‘‘catch up’’ with the West, art schools werefounded and students were sent to Europe, primarily to France andItaly but also sometimes to England, usually on state scholarships.The oldest art school in the Arab world, the School of Fine Arts inCairo (Madrasat al-funun al-jamıla), opened on 13 May 1908. Althoughit was a private Egyptian institution, financed by a member of theruling family, Prince Yusuf Kamal, the first professors were, withoutexception, European, mainly Italians and Frenchmen. The Frenchsculptor, Guillaume Laplagne, was the school’s first director; hiscountryman Gabriel Biessy (1854–1935) succeeded him in this posi-tion, followed by the Italian Camillo Innocenti (1871–1961). Indigen-ous portrait painters educated in Europe began opening professionalstudios in Beirut at the end of the nineteenth century. A full fledgedlocal art movement did not develop, however, until the 1920s and1930s with the establishment of the Academie Libanaise des Beaux-Arts(ALBA) in 1937. After Iraq gained independence in 1932, young menwere sent from there to study in Europe. In 1941, an Institute of FineArts (Ma‘had al-funun al-jamıla) was inaugurated in Baghdad, followedby an Academy (Akadımiyyat al-funun al-jamıla) in 1962. Academicpainters were already active in Syria during the first half of thecentury, but the first scholarly institution, the Kulliyyat al-funun al-jamıla, was not opened until 1959 in Damascus. In North Africa, thesituation differed from place to place. Easel painting became quitepopular in Tunisia in the first decades of this century whereas, inAlgeria, native students had no real access to formal art studiesthroughout the French occupation. In Morocco, a form of local finearts developed only after the country acquired independence in 1956.And in the Gulf states, fine arts were not practiced until the 1970s.

In general, two periods can be distinguished in modern Arab art:a period of adopting Western art which lasted until around 1950and a period of adapting it from 1950 until today. In the firstperiod, the dominant intention was to ‘‘catch up’’ in that certainArab artists perceived indigenous artistic production to be qualita-tively ‘‘behind’’ that of the West. Stylistically, this phase was essen-tially academic with landscapes and picturesque scenes being thefavourite subject matter.

The thrust during the second period was, on the contrary, to inte-grate local traditions to this adopted art. Beginning in the 1950s,

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artistic production was subject to a new priority, namely, the questfor authenticity (as.ala). Two factors contributed to this phenomenon:independence which was attained by most Arab states during thisperiod and the discovery of the various revolutions that Western artitself had undergone since the turn of the century. With indepen-dence, the will to develop an indigenous culture intensified on everylevel. Coupled with the widespread development of Arab nationa-lism (Nasserism and Ba‘thism), this led to a heightened interest indifferent forms of local cultural expression and, after a long period ofWesternisation among some Arab artists, to the demand for a returnto Arab ‘‘roots’’. This need was insistently felt in the fine arts wherethe break with all forms of traditional art had been radical. An effortwas made to integrate aspects of local traditions into the henceforthdefinitively adopted language of Western art. In this sense, one canspeak of adapting elements derived from local tradition to Westernartistic forms. Local here does not refer strictly to Islamic tradition,but rather the arts of all civilisations that had been present in a givencountry before Europeans took hold. This quest is far from over.The return-to-roots movement can nonetheless be loosely situatedbetween 1950 and 1980; these decades will thus be the special focusof the second part of this analysis.

The Sources: Availability, Accessibility andDocumentary Value

The fact that Western-style fine arts were only recently introducedinto the Arab world has important consequences on the accessibilityof art work. The ‘‘love of art’’, an integral part of the cultural prac-tices of elites in Western society as shown by Pierre Bourdieu,3

is new in the Arab world. This means that conservation and classifi-cation of artwork as well as archiving, cataloguing and, to a lesserextent, the publication of specialised works on fine arts are not fullydeveloped. Since the beginning of the 1990s, however, there havebeen changes, including the opening of the new Museum of ModernEgyptian Art in Cairo in 1991 and the comprehensive art centreDarat al-funun in Amman in 1993.4 With the return of peace inLebanon, art galleries, which were flourishing before the civil war,have been able to take up their activities once again. But, the Arabworld has still not yet shown its contemporary artistic patrimony toits best advantage.

In fact, in the few museums in the Arab world dedicated tomodern Arab art, there is not much in the way of systematic

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presentation of art work or pedagogical efforts aimed at a widerpublic. For instance, in the Museum of Modern Art in Cairo, nowritten information is given in the exhibits for over half the paint-ings. The museum catalogue,5 edited in 1992 by the Ministry ofCulture, is not exhaustive; works are listed without being reproducedor dated. The same is true of other catalogues edited by the Egyp-tian Ministry of Culture, namely the catalogue for the Mah.mudMukhtar Museum.6

However, beginning in the 1970s, Iraq made a concerted effort inthe areas of archiving and art conservation, opening fine artsarchives that house written documents about the art movement. But,given the current political situation, there is little cause for hope thatthis effort will be followed up. As for Lebanon, despite its long andimportant fine arts movement, it still has no public museum with apermanent contemporary art exhibition and the situation is similarin Tunisia.

During the first years of its existence in the 1980s, the Institut duMonde Arabe (IMA) in Paris had its collection of modern Arab art onpermanent display; it also published a catalogue of the works.7 Sincethen, the collection has been taken down to make room for exhibitsaimed at a larger public.

In addition to studio visits, family archives and temporary exhi-bits, art publications are a major source of information. Thoughnumerous, they are often written by non-specialists and lack impor-tant details. All Arab countries publish texts of uneven quality on thehistorical development of the fine arts. Monographs on importantartists have also been published. But, systematic catalogues such asthe one prepared for the exhibit ‘‘200 Years of Lebanese Art’’ pre-sented in London and Paris in 19898 are relatively rare. Besides thatfound in the still too rare specialised museums, there is a goodamount of published material available—enough to get an idea ofthe artistic production in the Arab world from the turn of thecentury to the present.

The Representation of Women in Arab Art

The importance of modern art for an understanding of recentwomen’s history in the Arab world certainly cannot be grasped in asuperficial overview. In the case of academic painting, the existenceof clearly defined genres and artistic conventions limits its docu-mentary value. Such artwork does, however, tell us about how tastesevolved and, although it does not necessarily reflect the position of


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women in a given society at a specific historical moment, the chosenthemes, their reccurrence and the way of representing certain sub-jects all attest to the ‘‘spirit of the time’’ in that society. It alsoreflects the way that this same society wants to see and be seen and,therefore, addresses the issue of the place that it grants, consciouslyor unconsciously, to women.

Modern Arab art is an imported product in more ways than one:Arab painters not only adopted the techniques of their Europeanmasters, but also the gaze that they turned on the Oriental world—they painted what seemed ‘‘exotic’’ to foreign eyes. The Orientalwoman, by virtue of her startling otherness to European painters,was therefore a frequently treated subject among indigenous pain-ters.

As for European artists, in spite of the naturalism and docu-mentary pretensions of Western academic Orientalist painting, theirwork was far from realistic. This was true even though most Eur-opean artists had actually been in the countries that they claimed tobe representing (it is also true that many Orientalists began to paintin this style before visiting the Orient).9 Needless to say, the Orientalwoman, so inaccessible, different and ‘‘mysterious’’, quickly capturedtheir imagination. Many European artists painted street scenes fea-turing veiled women; another favourite theme was villages, believedto still retain a kind of ‘‘biblical purity’’. Western artists came to theOrient to find such purity: natural landscape and traditions that hadnot been lost to industrialisation as they had in the West. But theirfavourite subject was the harem, the forbidden place for maleWestern painters.10

Women in Academic Painting (1900–1950)

As students of European artists, the first generation of Arab paintersborrowed the general iconography of Orientalist painting whileavoiding lascivious scenes of harems and odalisques. This may beexplained in part by the fact that they were still strongly tied tosocial and family contexts for which such subjects were unac-ceptable. The only example of this type seems to have been paintedby a Syrian artist of nationalistic subjects, Tawfıq T. ariq (1875–1940)* which represents the last king of Grenada, Muh. ammad XII(Boabdil). The painter’s goal was not to create an erotic fantasy, butrather to show how the decadent customs of the last members of thedynasty had led to its defeat by the Catholic Kings—an indirectcondemnation of the practice of polygamy seen as one of the ills that

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had weakened Arab civilisation (an idea often put forward at thetime by modernists influenced by European thought).

But it was not solely the lascivious nature of harem scenes thatcaused Arab painters to avoid them. Created by the imagination ofEuropean painters, who in all likelihood had no access to suchplaces, they may simply have appeared ridiculous to the eyes of anArab public familiar with these places. This seems all the more plau-sible in that painting of nudes, in fact much more ‘‘scandalous’’, wasactually already part of the iconography of Arab painting at thistime.

Throughout the first half of the century, landscapes and genrescenes dominated. As mentioned, Arab artists borrowed not onlytheir masters’ techniques, but also their way of seeing. In fact, Arabartists used Orientalist painting’s aesthetic canon and its ‘‘discourse’’to express the Orient. They also concentrated on rural scenes andcity neighbourhoods that had not yet been touched by modernisationso that they, too, might exercise a ‘‘modern’’ Western profession.

In this newborn art, there are scarcely any representations of theurban world that was coming into existence. Likewise, there arehardly any modern city-dwelling women in Western dress. (Thesame is true for men, but women are represented much more often.)The Lebanese painter Qays.ar al-Jumayyil [Cesar Gemayel] (1898–1958)* is an exception. Al-Jumayyil studied in Paris in the 1930s andlater became director of the Lebanese Academy of Fine Arts. Hewas nicknamed the ‘‘painter of women’’ because they were one ofhis favourite subjects. Besides scenes of village life in Lebanon, al-Jumayyil painted scenes from the life of the bourgeoisie. He paintedwomen from live models in an opulent, Westernised, urban atmo-sphere. Similar themes are to be found in the work of the EgyptianAh.mad S. abrı (1889–1995)*, a painter who belonged to the firstgeneration of students at the School of Fine Arts in Cairo.

Most of the artists of this period concentrated on areas that hadkept their premodern character, places where they themselves didnot belong (or no longer belonged). Women in traditional dress areone of the basic elements in these types of compositions. Thesewomen were from the poorest segments of the population, but theirpoverty or their daily difficulties are not seen; they are shown insteadin a romantic light. Women constitute a predominant subject in thework of Mah.mud Sa‘ıd (1897–1964)*, a jurist from an aristocraticEgyptian family. Sa‘ıd, a self-taught painter who travelled in Italyand France, is stylistically remote from the Orientalists. His useof tubular elements strongly suggests that he was aware of the


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experiments by Malevich and the Italian Futurists. He nonethelesschose stereotypical Orientalist subjects. Except for his portraits offamily members, the women whom he painted belonged, withoutexception, to the working classes which may explain why a latercritic cited Sa‘ıd’s work as ‘‘includ[ing] a record of the heroic strug-gle of the fishermen, workers, peasants and native women’’.11

Rural life was the main source of inspiration for Sa‘ıd’s country-man, the sculptor Mah.mud Mukhtar (1891–1934)*, who was firsteducated at the School of Fine Arts in Cairo, then in Paris by thesculptor Antoine Bourdelle (1861–1929). In his work, Mukhtarreverts to elements of ancient Egyptian art. He did not execute por-traits, but rather, represented types: the peasant woman, the womanwater-carrier or the woman cheese-seller. He was also the first toconfer a symbolic value on a female subject. In The Awakening of Egypt(Nahd. at Mis.r), the model of which was sculpted during the anti-British demonstrations of 1919, a peasant woman unveiling herselfsymbolises the Egyptian nation’s rediscovered pride.12

Women are not often represented as individuals but rather assymbols of rural or traditional life. Whereas men are generallyshown carrying out an activity, women become ‘‘part of the land-scape’’: they are passive, sitting or just passing by. It would none-theless be unfair to attribute this to any male chauvinism particularto Arab art.

Another area that clearly shows the degree to which Arab paintersconformed to the European model is nude painting. Needless to say,this genre entirely infringed on the indigenous moral codes. But,because it was an integral part of academic art, numerous Arabpainters adopted it despite the difficulties that they encountered inpresenting this type of artwork to the public. The Lebanese painterMus.t.afa Farrukh (1909–1957)* explained how he gave up exhibitinghis nudes in a show organised in Beirut in 1929, deeming the Leba-nese public insufficiently mature.13 In the early 1930s, an exhibit byhis countryman, al-Jumayyil, which included nudes provoked ascandal.14 Still, nudes were a frequent subject in academic painting.At the School of Fine Arts in Cairo, for example, artists were able towork from nude models who posed until the beginning of the 1980swhen pressure from Islamic fundamentalist groups led to the abol-ishment of the practice.

To summarise, during the first half of the century, the image ofwomen in Arab painting is largely indebted to European modelseven if themes like that of the harem were generally avoided.

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Back to the Roots (1950 to the 1980s)

In the formative period of contemporary Arab art, the goal was tosuccessfully rival European production while demonstrating the skillof Arab painters to produce a ‘‘true’’ art. Beginning in 1950 andcontinuing up to the 1980s, the idea of a return to the roots, a questfor authenticity (as.ala) came to the fore. Authenticity was to beexpressed not only through form but also content. This explains whyvillage scenes and views of working class urban neighbourhoodscontinued to abound: these were the places where traditional culturehad presumably been the best preserved. But, this time, the choiceof these subjects was often motivated by political or social beliefs andcommitments. Contrary to the previous decades, the painters nowwanted to denounce the hardships endured by the working class.

Women remained a favourite subject and, while styles weremodernised, the modern woman remained absent from the canvas—this, at the time when most political or intellectual discourse wasextolling the image of a new, liberated woman, working outside thehome and wearing Western-style clothing. That theme hardly everfigures in the art of this period. On the contrary, what the dominantdiscourse rejected for its backwardness had a positive connotation inart because of its authenticity. The debate on the role of turath (heri-tage) influenced not only the form but the content of art. Thereturn-to-roots implied recourse to female figures that the Arabworld had known before the arrival of modernism, itself perceived asa Western invention. In art, then, women were sent back to theirkitchens.

Does this mean that the artists of this period defended the tradi-tional division of gender roles? This seems improbable for severalreasons. First, these painters belonged to an intelligentsia that wasstrongly committed to the ideal of modernisation, an ideal that theythemselves lived by exercising a profession unknown in traditionalsociety. Secondly, for the most part, they considered themselves‘‘progressives’’. Whatever this term really means, it generally pre-supposes a positive attitude toward women’s emancipation, one thatprecludes any open proclamation of traditional values.

The reasons for the renaissance of the image of the ‘‘eternalwoman’’ at the beginning of the 1950s must be sought elsewhere.First, it must be said that the Arab woman in traditional dressconstitutes a rich plastic form; this much may be seen in the work ofthe Egyptian S. alah. T. ahir (born in 1912)* and the Iraqi Isma‘ıl al-Shaykhlı (born in 1924)*. Another relevant point is the reference to


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the socialist ideal, according to which the lower classes are thebearers of truth and suffering. It can also be assumed that the workof many painters born into the working class reflects a kind ofattachment to their original environment. But the main reason liesyet elsewhere. These images do not represent one woman or someparticular women, but rather, the Woman, endowed with all hertraditional attributes: love, compassion and passivity. Coming intobeing as the symbol of emancipation against the backdrop of thenational liberation movements of the 1950s, this image of womanwas transformed within the political and cultural context of the1970s into a symbol of the land and the suffering country, martyredby injustice and despotism or, in the case of Palestine where thisiconography is very frequent, into a symbol of foreign occupation.The woman, who in her traditional role suffers without rebelling,perfectly symbolised this situation. It is true that one sometimes seeswomen combatants, namely, in the work of the Syrian painterBurhan Karkutlı (born in 1932)*, but these are exceptions. Repre-sentations of men in traditional dress can also be found, but aremuch rarer. Moreover, they illustrate, first and foremost, the lostideal of bedouin life, historically real rather than symbolic, as in thelate works of the Iraqi Fa’iq H. asan (1914–1992)*.

Thus far, only male artists have been discussed. This is notbecause there are no women artists in the Arab world although theyare fewer than men. While there were not more than a handfulduring the first half of the century, the number of women active inthe area of artistic creation increased considerably starting in 1950.A 1974 Unesco report shows that most of the students at theAcademy of Fine Arts in Lebanon were, at that time, womenbecause their families considered that while the artistic profession didnot provide enough security to a young man, it was perfectly accep-table and even desirable for a young woman. Hence, the relativelyhigh number of women artists in Lebanon.15 In other countries aswell, the number of women artists is on the increase.16

To discern differences and shades of difference between men’sand women’s painting and to determine whether the manner ofrepresenting women encountered up to this point could somehow beattributed to male fantasy, it seems important to consider works pro-duced by men and women artists separately. But, it should be clari-fied beforehand that since the subject dealt with here is the image ofwomen, the study must be limited to figurative art despite the factthat, in recent years, women artists have sought to express femaleworlds through abstract compositions.17 Since the 1960s, the role of

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abstract art, in various forms, has increased for all Arab artists andhas inspired some of the most original among them. It is importantto keep this in mind because, as early as the 1950s, a movementinspired by socialist realism of the Soviet type claimed thatabstraction was a bourgeois decadent form of art unsuitable for themasses. In the 1970s, this movement would result in nationalistrealism, praised especially in Iraq by the Ba‘thi theorist, Ilyas Farah. .The choice of figurative representation is not, therefore, an innocentone; in many cases, the artists who practiced it sought to give theirwork an educational and literary quality. They were less interestedin aesthetic qualities than in artwork as message.

In this context, then, can one be surprised that, with few excep-tions, women artists gave an image of their fellow female citizensthat closely resembled the one offered by men? Like their male col-leagues, they painted women peasants, mothers and women dancersat weddings. Looking at Helen Khal’s book on Lebanese womenartists (published in 1987 but written in 1976), limiting oneself tofigurative works, one soon realises that all the works, with the excep-tion of the surrealist compositions of Juliana Seraphim (born in1934)*, represent traditional women. One looks in vain for a trou-bling note in the idyllic atmosphere of compositions by the IraqiNazıha Salım (born in 1927)*, the Egyptians Tah. iyya H. alım (born in1919)* and Jadhibiyya Sirrı (born in 1925)* and the PalestinianTamam al-Akh. al (born in 1935)*. Peasant women, brides anddancers give an idealised and harmonious image of daily rituals andpractices of yesteryear. The subjects are depicted in exclusively tra-ditional environments—there is no trace of the changes induced bythe eruption of modernism. There are, of course, some exceptions,notably the Egyptian Injı Aflat.un (1924–1989)* who was incar-cerated for several years under Nasser and who painted scenes ofprison life.

Contrary, then, to what can be observed in literature where thesituation of woman is a recurrent theme, Arab women artists did notproduce feminist art despite the widespread debate during the 1960sand 1970s on the political and social role of art. While female sub-jects express suffering in many paintings, it is not the suffering thatwomen undergo because of their status as women, but rather that ofthe society and the entire nation. It is the suffering of the mother forher children and of a submissive human being whose role is not toreact but to console. The woman comforts the warrior who leaves orreturns, sacrificing herself discreetly and playing a passive role.


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Conclusion

Despite important changes in the representation of women inArabic art since its beginnings at the turn of the twentieth century,all such art shares certain characteristics. Apart from bourgeoispainting of the 1930s and 1940s, women are not represented asindividuals or as specific persons. Woman’s role in the compositionis to embody traditional values and symbolise a world that, at leastin the academic period, was still intact. In the more recent period,she has been painted to incarnate suffering and, in some cases, theaspirations of an entire people. It can also be said that, from thebeginning, the women represented are most often from the workingand lower classes. In the first half of the century, this was due toefforts to emulate the Orientalist model. In the 1950s, with theback-to-the-roots movement, women came to embody all that wasunderstood to be authentically Arab, to the point of becoming asymbol of the land, i.e. the Arab land in its suffering and martyr-dom. These women are not, then, real and contemporary, butrather symbols of motherhood, comfort and security. Since the1950s, the image of woman has come to incarnate authenticity inan art questing for just that, as though all that is true and authentichad been swept away by modernism and could only be found onceagain behind the veil.

While such artistic production does not attempt to describe theactual situation of women or even to impose a specific female role, itnonetheless idealises and glorifies the traditional role, thus working,perhaps unintentionally, to reinforce it.

Another question remains. Can such works of art serve as histori-cal documents for the study of women in the Arab world in thetwentieth century? If one takes them at face value, as it were, theanswer must be negative because even in instances where a scrupu-lous naturalism seems to confer documentary value on these works,the image is, for the most part, a fictitious one. If one looks deeper,however, such representations can furnish interesting informationnot about women’s concrete situations, but rather about the rolein which society preferred to see them in spite of its discourse onliberation.

Biographical Notes

Aflat.un, Injı: 1924–1989. Egyptian. Student of the Egyptian Surrealistpainter Kamil al-Tilmisanı. Exhibited with the Surrealist group l’Art

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independant in Cairo in 1942. Political and artistic activities. Arrested in1959. In the 1960s, began painting scenes in the naive and folkloregenres.

al-Akh. al, Tamam: born in 1935. Palestinian. Studied in Lebanon. Withher husband, Isma‘ıl Shammut. (born in 1930), she worked to give Pales-tinian art a realistic, committed character.

Farrukh, Mus.t.afa: 1901–1957. Lebanese. Academic painter. First, astudent of H. abıb Surur*, then in Rome with Antonio Calcagnadoro.Author of several works, including an artistic autobiographical work,T. arıqı ila l-fann (Beirut, 1986), a description of a journey in the South ofSpain (Rih. la ila bilad al-majd al-mafqud, n. pl., 1982) and a compilation ofarticles (Al-Fann wa-l-h. ayat, Beirut, 1968). Also a collection of sketchesassembled by the artist’s son, Hanı Mus.t.afa Farrukh, Wujuh al-‘as.r bi-h. ibral-fannan Farrukh, Beirut, 1980

Gemayel, Cesar: see al-Jumayyil, Qays.ar.H. alım, Tah. iyya: born in 1919. Egyptian. Studied in Cairo in the studio

of the painter H. amıd ‘Abd Allah, then at the Academie Julian inParis (1949–1951). Guggenheim Prize in 1958, state scholar (1960–1961). Numerous exhibits.

H. asan, Fa’iq: 1914–1992. Iraqi. One of the founders of modern art inIraq. Studied at the Beaux Arts in Paris from 1935 to 1938. Upon returnto Baghdad, he became a professor of painting at the Institute of FineArts. Founder of the Pioneer Group ( Jama‘at al-Ruwwad ), also called thePrimitive Society or S. P. ( Jama‘at al-Bida’iyyın) which exhibited, for thefirst time, in 1950. Left the group in 1962 after his sixth show. An eclec-tic painter, he did figurative, abstract, modernist and, at the end of hislife, Orientalist work. See Shawkat al-Rubay‘ı, Fa’iq H. asan, Baghdad,1982.

al-Jumayyil, Qays.ar [French form: Cesar Gemayel]: 1898–1954. Leba-nese. Academic painter. Student of Khalıl S. alıbı*. Studied at the Acade-mie Julian in Paris from 1927 to 1930. First prize at the Expositioncoloniale in 1931. Upon return to Beirut, he taught at the LebaneseAcademy of Fine Arts from 1937. A museum is dedicated to him in thevillage where he was born, ‘Ayn al-Tuffah. a. See Cesar Gemayel, Le pinceauardent/The Ardent Brush, (French/English), Beirut, 1985.

Karkutlı, Burhan: born in 1932. Syrian. During 1952–1958, was at theSchool of Fine Arts in Cairo; in 1959, at the San Fernando Academy inMadrid. Studied graphic art and mural painting in East Berlin, 1961–1963. Lived and worked in Syria, Morocco and Lebanon. Has beenliving in Germany since 1970. Very active in the Palestinian cause whichis often present in his work. See Grafik der Revolution, Burhan Karkutli, Einpalastinensischer Kunstler, Frankfurt, 1981.


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Mukhtar, Mah.mud: 1891–1934. Egyptian. Sculptor. Graduate of theSchool of Fine Arts in Cairo in 1911, pursued his studies at the Schoolof Fine Arts in Paris. Gold medallist at the Grand Palais exhibit for themodel of Nahd. at Mis.r (1919). First Egyptian to have a one-man exhibit inParis in 1930. Inspired by ancient Egyptian heritage, his work includesrepresentations of rural life and monuments dedicated to Egyptianpersonalities of the time such as Sa‘d Zaghlul. A museum is dedicated tohim in Cairo on T. ahrır Street in Zamalek. See Ministry of Culture,National Centre for Fine Arts, Museum of Sculptor Mahmoud Moukhtar,Cairo, n. d. (English/Arabic) and Badr Abou Ghazi/Gabriel Boctor,Mouktar ou le reveil de l’Egypte, Cairo, 1949 (Arabic version: Badr al-DınAbu Ghazı, Mukhtar, H. ayatu-hu wa-fannu-hu, Cairo, 1988.)

Qurm, Da’ud [French form: Daoud or David Corm]: 1852–1930. Leba-nese. Studied at the Academy of Fine Arts in Rome (beginning in 1870)under Roberto Bompiani. Renowned portrait painter. Exhibited at theExpositions Universelles of 1889 and 1901.

S. abrı, Ah.mad: 1889–1955. Egyptian. One of the first students of theAcademy of Fine Arts in Cairo (opened 1908). Academic painter.

Sa‘ıd, Mah.mud: 1897–1964. Egyptian. Painter. Educated as a jurist, helearned to paint in the studio of the Italian artist Arturo Zanieri inAlexandria and at the Academie Julian in Paris. Great connoisseur ofWestern art. His own art reflects the influence of the Futurist and con-structivist schools while remaining Orientalist in content. Turned towardlandscapes near the end of his life. See Gabriel Boctor, Mahmoud Said,Cairo, 1952 (in French); Badr al-Dın Abu Ghazı, Mah.mud Sa‘ıd, Cairo,1972 (in Arabic) and Mahmoud Alnabawi Alshal, Mahmoud Said, Cairo,1982 (in English).

S. alıbı, Khalıl [English form: Khalil Saleeby]: 1870–1928. Lebanese.Began drawing at a very young age. Studied art in Edinburgh (1890),then in the United States. Visited Paris where he met Puvis deChavannes and Renoir, then London in 1898 where he became awell-known portrait painter. Returned to Lebanon and taught at theAmerican University from 1900. Opened a studio in 1922 where Qays.aral-Jumayyil* and ‘Umar al-Unsı (1901–1969) worked, along with otherartists. See Samir Saleeby, Khalil Saleeby. Un peintre du Liban/A Painter fromLebanon, Beirut, 1986.

Salım, Nazıha: born in 1927. Iraqi. Institute of Fine Arts in Baghdad,School of Fine Arts in Paris (1951). Member of the ‘‘Baghdad Group forModern Art’’, first modernist group of the country, founded in 1951 inBaghdad by her brother Jawad (1919–1961), one of the founders ofmodern art in Iraq. Her father, Muh. ammad Salım, was an amateurpainter who had learned his trade at the Military Academy of Istanbul.

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Seraphim, Juliana: born in 1934. Lebanese of Palestinian origin. Studiedfirst in Lebanon, then in Florence and in Paris. Numerous exhibits inLebanon and abroad. Illustrated many books in both the West and theArab world. Defined as a surrealist artist.

al-Shaykhlı, Isma‘ıl: born in 1924. Iraqi. Institute of Fine Arts inBaghdad, 1945; School of Fine Arts, Paris, 1951. Member until 1982 ofthe ‘‘Pioneer Group’’ founded by Fa’iq H. asan* in 1950. Numerous exhi-bitions in Iraq and abroad.

Surur, H. abıb [French form: Habib Srour]: 1860–1938. Lebanese. Aca-demic painter. Academy of Fine Arts in Rome. Renowned portraitpainter. Educated numerous Lebanese painters in his studio, namely,Mus.t.afa Farrukh*.

T. ahir, S. alah. : born in 1912. Egyptian. Graduate in 1934 of the School ofFine Arts in Cairo. Known as an academic painter for nearly 20 years,his journey to the United States in 1956 first introduced him to abstrac-tion. He later practiced and became known for his own particular semi-figurative, semi-abstract style. See Sobhi al-Charuni [S. ubh. ı al-Sharunı],Salah Tahir, Cairo, 1985 (in Spanish).

T. ariq, Tawfıq: 1875–1940. Syrian. Educated in technical drawing, Paris(1923). Portrait artist and history painter. A small museum is dedicatedto him in Damascus.

Notes

1 Asterisks refer to the biographical notes at the end of the text.2 On the notion of progress in art: Ernst Gombrich, The Ideas of Progress

and their Impact on Art, New York, 1971.3 Pierre Bourdieu and Alain Darbel, The Love of Art. European Art Museums

and their Public, Stanford University Press, 1990.4 On the Darat al-funun, see Jocelyn M. Ajami, ‘‘Jordan’s House of the

Arts’’, Aramco World 47/4 (1996), 2–7, and Darat al Funun, brochureedited by the Abdel Hameed Shoman Foundation, Amman, n. d. (inEnglish).

5 Wizarat al-thaqafa, al-Markaz al-qawmı li-l-funun al-tashkıliyya, Math. afal-fann al-mis.rı al-h. adıth, Cairo, 1992.

6 Wizarat al-thaqafa, al-Markaz al-qawmı li-l-funun al-tashkıliyya, Math. afal-maththal Mah. mud Mukhtar/Museum of Sculptor Mahmoud Moukhtar(Arabic/English), Cairo, 1984 (?).

7 Brahim Ben Hossain Alaoui (ed.), Art contemporain arabe, Collection duMusee, Paris, n. d.

8 See bibliography.9 The Swiss French painter, Charles Gleyre (1806–1874), offers a

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striking example. He was so disgusted by what he had seen in the realOrient that he ceased painting Oriental subjects after his return. OnGleyre, see Michel Thevoz, L’academisme et ses fantasmes. Le realisme imagi-naire de Charles Gleyre, Paris, 1980, particularly 75–94.

10 As Reina Lewis shows in Gendering Orientalism: Race, Femininity and Repre-sentation, London-New York, 1996. Women painters of the time didhave access to these areas and their painting reflects a completely dif-ferent view of them.

11 Mahmoud Alnabawi Alshal, Mahmoud Said (in English), Cairo, 1982.12 For reproductions of this work which can even be seen now on post-

cards: Liliane Karnouk, Modern Egyptian Art, Cairo, 1988, 35 and SilviaNaef, A la recherche d’une modernite arabe, Geneva, 1996, pl. no. II. For thehistory of the monument: Badr Abou Ghazi and Gabriel Boctor,Mouktar ou le reveil de l’Egypte, Cairo, 1949, 48–66.

13 Mus.t.afa Farrukh, T. arıqı ila al-fann, Beirut, 1986, 153.14 Edouard Lahoud, L’art contemporain au Liban-Contemporary Art in Lebanon

(French/English), Beirut-New York, 1974, XXII.15 ‘‘Les styles de l’art contemporain au Liban’’, Consultation collective sur les

problemes contemporains des arts arabes dans leurs relations socio-culturelles avec lemonde arabe, UNESCO, Hammamet, March 1974, unpublishedworking paper, 21 pages, 5. See also Helen Khal, The Woman Artist inLebanon, Beirut, 1987.

16 On recent developments concerning women artists in the Arab world,see bibliography.

17 Two important abstract women artists are the Saudi Mounirah Moslyand the Palestinian Jumana al-Husseini. Al-Husseini, who paintedmany figurative representations of Palestinian women in traditionaldress as well as views of Jerusalem, seeks henceforth to give expressionto the Holy City by means of abstract compositions. ‘‘Before I waspainting the houses, the people, the scenes of Jerusalem, but now I’mpainting what is under Jerusalem . . . To me it’s like the archaeologistwho’s brushing the layers of sand each day and what he can find fromthe days past, from our ancestors. . . I go back to the earth to see whatwe had in the past. . . to give me energy, feeling for the living.’’Jumana al-Husseini in S. M. Nashashibi, Forces of Change, Artists of theArab World, Washington, 1994, 25.

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Glossary

‘abid (pl. ‘abidun): a pious person, devoted to religious observance.adab: belles-lettres and, more specifically, a literary genre which developed

in the Abbasid period and which encompasses the narrative and eruditeprose production.

adıb: a cultured person; writer, author of adab works.ajr: reward in the world to come for pious deeds.akhbar al-nisa’: anecdotes and stories about women as a part of adab litera-

ture.‘alim (pl. ‘ulama’): scholar, expert in religious sciences.‘amal: judicial practice, jurisprudence.amır (pl. umara’): commander, prince.anbiya’: see nabı.‘aqd al-istir‘a’: a written declaration in which a witness declares to have

knowledge about the situation of an individual.‘as.abiya: originally, spirit of kinship; ethnic, tribal, group solidarity.as. ala: authenticity.as.h. ab al-h. adıth: experts of the Prophet Muh. ammad’s tradition.al-‘as.r: afternoon prayer.awliya’: see walı.‘awra: the parts of the body that must be hidden from view.awwal al-jama‘a: group leader.ayyam: literally, days; usually refers to the record (oral or written) of famous

battles and heroic deeds of the pre-Islamic Arabs.‘ayyar (pl. ‘ayyarun): literally, rascal, vagabond. It was the name given to

groups of fighters in Iraq and Iran who played an important role in theurban unrest and opposition to rulers.

baraka: blessing, benediction. A quality implanted by God in sacred per-sonages, like the Prophet Muh. ammad and, later on, in saints.

bid‘a: innovation, a belief or practice for which there is no precedent.da‘wa: proclamation, invitation addressed to men by God and the prophets

to believe in the true religion.dıwan: a collection of poems by one author; office of justice; reception hall.dunya: this world, as opposed to the hereafter.

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fakhr: vainglorious poetry.faqıh (pl. fuqaha’): a specialist in Islamic law.fatwa (pl. fatawa): opinion on a point of law. It is given by an expert on

Islamic law at the request of a private individual or a judge.fiqh: jurisprudence, the science of religious law, covering all aspects of

public and private life.fitna: sedition, revolt, civil war. In general, disturbance endangering the

purity of Muslim faith; thus, women behaving in a non-approved waymay be considered as originating it.

fuqaha’: see faqıh.furu‘ al-fiqh: applied law, body of positive rules derived from the sources of

legal knowledge.ghazal: love poetry, amatory elegy.ghusl: general ritual ablution, washing of the body before the prayer.h. adıth: the Tradition of the Prophet, texts narrating what the Prophet said

and did. The h. adıth is second in authority to the Quran as a source forIslamic law.

h. ad. ra: Sufi, mystical seance; trance dancing.h. ammam: public bathhouse. A basic feature of the Islamic city, because of

the need for ritual ablutions before prayer (see ghusl ), the bathhouse alsobecame a place for social intercourse and relaxing.

h. amula: extended family, a term used in some parts of the Middle East.h. asan: good approved acts.hazal: humouristic literature.h. ikaya (pl. h. ikayat ): story, tale, narrative.h. isba: (manuals of ) treatises regulating activities in the public markets.h. udud (pl. of h. add ): canonical penalties for certain acts forbidden in the

Quran and considered, therefore, as crimes against religion. These actsare unlawful intercourse, false accusation of unlawful intercourse, drink-ing wine, theft and highway robbery.

h. urra: free woman as opposed to a slave woman.ibn ‘amm: paternal cousin.‘ıd al-ad. h. a: the Feast of Immolation, on the 10th of Dhu ’l-h. ijja of the

Muslim year, celebrating the end of the pilgrimage to Mecca.‘ıd al-fit.r: the Feast of Fast Breaking, celebrated on the 1st of Shawwal at

the end of the fasting month of Ramad. an.‘idda: period of waiting during which a woman cannot remarry after being

widowed or divorced.ih. dath: sin, especially in the sexual sphere.i‘jaz: inimitability or uniqueness of the Quran, both in form and content.ijaza: a licence to pass on received tuition; the authorisation given by the

transmitter of a text to a person to transmit it in his turn.

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ijma‘: consensus. It is one of the bases of Islamic law and implies the una-nimous opinion of the recognised legal authorities at any given time.

ilh. ad: apostasy.‘ilm: knowledge, science; especially, religious knowledge.‘ilm al-shurut.: science or expertise on drawing legal contracts.imam: prayer leader; community leader.ism ‘alam: proper name, first name.‘is.ma: impeccability of prophets and specifically of the Prophet Muh. ammad.isnad: the chain of authorities on which a tradition is based.jadhba: see h. ad. ra.jama‘a: group, community (especially the Muslim community); congrega-

tional prayer.jami‘: communal mosque, the mosque where the Friday communal prayer

is performed.jariya (pl. jawarı ): slave girl.jawarı: see jariya.jidd: seriousness.jinn (fem. jinnıya): demon, ghost; one of the three kinds of intelligent beings,

the other two being mankind and angels.karama (pl. karamat): miracle performed by a saint.karamat al-awliya’: saints’ miracles.katib (fem. katiba): scribe, secretary.khul‘: a divorce for which women must offer their husbands some property

or an amount of money in order to obtain the dissolution of their mar-riage.

khurafat: fables, fairy tales.khut.ba: sermon, especially the one delivered during the Friday prayer in the

mosque.kunya: surname, consisting of abu (father of ) or umm (mother of ) followed by

the name of the son.kuttab: elementary school.kutub al-watha’iq: collections of legal formularies for the use of notaries.laqab: surname, family name.mad. afa: guesthouse.madhhab: rite of law.madıh. : panegyrical poem, panegyrical section of the qas. ıda (q.v.).madına: town, city. In Morocco, the old Arab part of any city, as opposed to

the ‘‘new’’ French or Spanish part.mafqud: lost, absent husband.al-maghrib: sunset, prayer at sunset time.mah. ram (pl. mah. arim): a woman’s male relative with whom she is forbidden

to marry; therefore she is able to interact socially with him.

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majdhub: a saint who is illuminated through ecstasy, a person in a trance.malamatıya: a Muslim mystical tradition based mainly upon disregard for

public approval and the hiding of good qualities and deeds. This maybring one to outwardly show only bad qualities.

malik: king. As a title, it was not used in early Islamic history, but it wasadopted by Muslim rulers from the middle of the 10th century.

malika amri-ha, malika amr nafsi-ha: legal capacity (of a woman) to act by herself.maqama (pl. maqamat): a literary prose genre of a narrative kind, usually

written in rhythmic prose.mas’ala: legal case, issue.mih. rab: prayer niche in the mosque indicating the direction of prayer.mu‘allaqa: one of the seven pre-Islamic Arab poems which are considered

the best collection of Arab poetry of their time.mu‘amalat: all the legal questions that arise in social life.muftı: expert in Islamic law who delivers legal opinions in answer to ques-

tions addressed to him.muh. s.ana: a respectable and pious woman.muh. tasib: market inspector.mu‘jiza (pl. mu‘jizat): prophetic miracle.mujun: impudence; a literary genre including entertaining stories with

obscene anecdotes.muqri’: reciter of the Quran.mus.alla: oratory, place of prayer in the open air as opposed to a mosque.mushrik: polytheist.mu‘takif: a person who performs i‘tikaf, seclusion in the mosque for prayer,

meditation, fasting, etc.mutas.awwifa: Sufis.muwaththiq: notary.nabı (pl. anbiya’): prophet.nadım: companion, friend; courtier of aristocrats and kings.nafaqa: support or maintenance owed to the wife by her husband.nasab: lineage.nasıb: amorous prelude of a qas. ıda (q.v.).nisba: surname, family name; usually related to geographical or tribal

origins.nıya: intention.nubuwwa: prophecy.nubuwwat al-nisa’: women’s prophecy.qad. ı: judge.qahramana: stewardess of the harem.qas. ıda: classical Arabic poem, with one rhyme and a uniform metre.qayna (pl. qiyan): singing slave girl.

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qibla: direction to which Muslims turn in praying (to the Ka‘ba in Mecca).qis.as. al-anbiya’: a literary genre dealing with prophets’ deeds.qiyas: reasoning by analogy (law).rak‘a: in Muslim prayer, the bending of the body from an upright position

followed by two prostrations while reciting the formula ‘‘Allahu Akbar’’(‘‘God is the greatest’’) and the first verses of the Quran.

rasul (pl. rusul ): messenger (of God), prophet.ribat.: a place usually situated on the frontiers of Islamic lands where devout

people used to stay. Originally of a military nature, the ribat. soonbecame a place for spiritual retreat.

rih. la: travel, journey; especially that made for seeking knowledge in differentparts of the Islamic world.

rusul: see rasul.s.adaq: dowry, marriage contract.s.alat: prayer, official Islamic prayer ritual.sharı‘a: the rules governing the lives of Muslims derived from the Quran

and the h. adıth (q.v.).shaykh: older man, elder, master, title of respect.al-shaykh al-akbar: ‘‘the greatest spiritual master’’, that is, Muh. yı ’l-Dın Ibn

al-‘Arabı.s. iddıqa (fem. of s. iddıq): honest, righteous, veracious.sult.an: power, rule, reign. Since the 10th century, this abstract noun came

to mean ‘‘the holder of rule’’ and was used for rulers other than theCaliph.

sunna: normative custom of the Prophet or of the early Muslim community.tafsır: commentary of the Quran.t.a’ifa: Sufi group. In al-Andalus, the fall of the Umayyad Caliphate of

Cordoba at the end of the 10th century was followed by the period ofta’ifa rulers, the petty kings.

talbiya: a formula chanted by the pilgrims during the pilgrimage to Meccain which they present themselves before God, praising him and acknow-ledging that He has no partner.

t.alqa wah. ida: simple repudiation.ta‘mır: average age for death of persons of the same age.tasjıl: document.t.awaf: circumambulation of the Ka‘ba during the pilgrimage ceremonies.turath: heritage.‘ulama’: see ‘alim.umm walad: a slave woman who is the mother of a child whom her owner

has legally recognised as his own.‘urf: local custom (law).us. ul al-fiqh: foundations of jurisprudence.

241

GLOSSARY

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wah. y: God’s revelation.wakıl: legal representative.walı (pl. awliya’): saint.walı: male tutor, guardian.waqf: religious endowment.watha’iq: records of notaries.wilaya: women’s tutelage by an adult male.zajal: Arabic poem in strophic form.zandaqa: heterodoxy, atheism.zawiya: a Sufi institution, usually a complex of buildings including a

mosque, a saint’s shrine, a school and a hospice for visitors.zina: unlawful intercourse, fornication, adultery.zuhd: asceticism.z.urf: refinement.

Note

The explanations give in this glossary correspond to the use made of theterms by authors in this volume. For further exploration of these terms, it isrecommended to consult the Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2nd edition.

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General Bibliography

Introductory Bibliography

AMT, EMILIE (ed.), Women’s Lives in Medieval Europe. A Sourcebook, NewYork/London, Routledge, 1993.

BADRAN, MARGOT and MIRIAM Cooke, ‘‘Introduction’’ in MargotBadran and Miriam Cooke (eds), Opening the Gates. A Century of Arab Fem-inist Writing, Bloomington/Indianapolis, Indiana University Press, 1990,pp. xiv–xxxvi.

BARON, BETH, The Women’s Awakening in Egypt: Culture, Society and the Press,New Haven, 1994.

BODMAN, HERBERT L. and NAYEREH TOHIDI, Women in MuslimSocieties: Diversity Within Unity, Boulder (Colorado)/London, LynneRienner Publishers, 1998.

BOOTH MARILYN, May Her Likes Be Multiplied: Biography and GenderPolitics in Egypt, Berkeley/Los Angeles: University of California Press,2001.

DEGUILHEM, RANDI (ed.), Individual and Society in the Mediterranean MuslimWorld. Issues and Sources, Aix-en-Provence, Imprimerie Paul Roubaud,1998 (introduction: pp. xv–xviii; programme background: pp. 123–132).

Ibid., ‘‘Consciousness of Self: The Muslim Woman as Creator andManager of Waqf Foundations in Late Ottoman Damascus’’ in Sonbol,in press.

DUBY, GEORGES and MICHELLE PERROT (eds), Histoire des femmes enOccident, Paris, 1991.

ESTABLET, COLETTE and JEAN-PAUL PASCUAL, Familles et Fortunesa Damas. 450 Foyers Damascains en 1700, Damacus, Institut Francaisd’Etudes Arabes de Damas, 1994.

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243

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HANNA, NELLY, ‘‘Le vocabulaire de la maison privee aux XVIIe etXVIIIe siecles’’, Egypte/Monde arabe no6, 1991, pp. 21–27.

JOSEPH, SUAD, Intimate Selving in Arab Families. Gender, Self, and Identity,Syracuse, Syracuse University Press, 1999.

KAHF, MOHJA, ‘‘Braiding the Stories. Women’s Eloquence in the EarlyIslamic Era’’ in Gisela Webb (ed.), Windows of Faith. Muslim WomenScholar-Activists in North America, Syracuse, Syracuse University Press, 2000,pp. 147–171.

KEDDIE, NIKKI, ‘‘Problems in the Study of Middle Eastern Women’’,IJMES 10 1979/2, pp. 225–240.

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MERIWETHER, MARGARET L., Family and Society. The Kin Who Count inOttoman Aleppo, Austin, University of Texas Press, 1999.

NOIRIEL, GERARD, ‘‘L’historien et l’objectivite’’, Sciences Humaines, 18(1997), pp. 18–20.

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PERROT, MICHELLE, Les femmes ou les silences de l’histoire, Paris, Flammar-ion, 1998.

PHILIPP, THOMAS, ‘‘The Autobiography in Modern Arab Literatureand Culture’’, Poetics Today 14/3, fall 1993, pp. 573–604.

PINTO, LOUIS, Pierre Bourdieu et la theorie du monde social, Paris, AlbinMichel, 1998.

QATTAN, NAJWA AL-, ‘‘Discriminating Texts: Orthographic Markingand Social Differentiation in the Court Records of Ottoman Damascus’’in Yasir Suleiman, ed., Arabic Sociolinguistics: Issues and Perspectives, London,Curzon Press, 1994, pp. 57–77.

Ibid., ‘‘Textual Differentiation in the Damascus Sijill: Religious Discrimina-tion—or Politics of Gender?’’ in Sonbol, 1996, pp. 191–201.

RODED, RUTH, Women in Islamic Biographical Collections. From Ibn Sa‘d toWho’s Who, Boulder (Colorado)/London, Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1994.

SONBOL, AMIRA EL AZHARY, ‘‘Law and Gender Violence inOttoman and Modern Egypt’’ in Amira El Azhary Sonbol (ed.), Women,the Family, and Divorce Laws in Islamic History, Syracuse, Syracuse UniversityPress, 1996, pp. 277–303.

Ibid. (ed.), A History of Her Own. Arab Women and the Deconstruction of Patriarchy,Syracuse, Syracuse University Press, in press.

TOURAINE, ALAIN and FARHAD KHOSROKHAVAR, La recherche desoi. Dialogue sur le sujet, Paris, Fayard, 2000.

244


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TUCKER, JUDITH E. (ed.), Arab Women. Old Boundaries, New Frontiers,Bloomington, Indiana University Press, 1993.

WALTHER, WIEBKE, Women in Islam: from medieval to modern times, intro-duction by Guity Nashat, Princeton, Markus Wiener Publishers, 1995.

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‘ABD ALLAH AL-ZIRI, al-Tibyan, trans. by E. Levi-Provencal and E.Garcıa Gomez, El siglo XI en primera persona, Madrid, 1980.

BAYDHAQ, AL-, Kitab Akhbar al-Mahdı wa-btida’ dawlat al-muwah. h. idın, ed.and trans. by E. Levi-Provencal, Documents inedits d’Histoire almohade, Paris,1928.

GHARNAT. I, AL-, al-Watha’iq al-Mukhtas.ara, M. Najı (ed.), Rabat, MarkazIh. ya’ al-Turath al-Maghribı, 1987.

H. UMAYDI, AL-, Jadhwat al-muqtabis, M. Ibn Tawıt (ed.), Cairo, 1953 and[Cairo], al-Dar al-Mis.riyya li-l-Ta’lıf wa-l-Tarjama, 1966.

IBN AL-ABBAR, al-H. ulla al-siyara’, H. . Mu’nis (ed.), Cairo, 1963.——, al-Takmila li-kitab al-s. ila, F. Codera (ed.), Madrid, 1887; M. Alarcon

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IBN ‘ABD AL-MALIK AL-MARRAKUSHI, al-Dhayl wa-l-Takmila, vol.VIII-2, M. Bencherifa (ed.), Beirut, n. d.

IBN ‘ABDUN, Risala fi l-qad. a’ wa-l-h. isba, Documents arabes inedits sur la viesociale et economique en Occident Musulman au Moyen Age, publies avec une intro-duction et un glossaire par E. Levi Provencal, Cairo, 1955; trans. by E. GarcıaGomez and E. Levi-Provencal, Sevilla a comienzos del siglo XII. El Tratado deIbn ‘Abdun, Seville, 1981.

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General Index

A Thousand and One Nights 3, 4Abbasid period 31, 33, 129, 131, 135,

140, 144‘Abbas b. al-Ahnaf 33‘Abbas, Ihsan 56, 60, 61, 65, 81–85

87, 88‘Abd al-‘Azız al-Ahwanı 47‘Abd al-‘Azız b. Abı ‘Amir 157‘Abd al-Malik 30‘Abd al-Rah.man al-Nas. ir‘Abd al-Rah.man b. Ghalbun‘Abd al-Wahhab 4‘Abd Allah (emir) 171, 172‘Abd Allah al-Zırı 171‘Abd Allah b. ‘ Umar 83‘Abd Allah b. Fatuh. b.‘Abd al-Wah. id

al-Fihrı al-Buntı 113‘Abd Allah b. Salmun 158‘Abda 33‘abidun 157‘Abla, wife of ‘Antar 6, 7ablutions, obligatory ablutions 60,

103, 105Abraham 185Abu ‘Abd Allah (Boabdil) (see

Muh. ammad XII) 172Abu ‘Amr al-Danı 156Abu Ah.mad al-Shırazı al-Katib 134,

135Abu al-Fad. l ‘Ubayd Allah 137Abu al-Faraj al-Isfahanı 130Abu al-H. asan al-Katib 141Abu al-H. asan al-Marını (Alboacen)

172Abu al-H. asan al-Maws. ilı 142Abu al-H. asan ‘Alı ‘Abd Allah al-Matıt.ı

113Abu al-H. asan ‘Alı b. al-Qad. ı Abu

T. alib 143Abu al-H. asan b. al-Furat 138Abu al-H. usayn b. Maymun al-Aft.as

135Abu al-Qasim Ah.mad 156Abu al-Qasim b. al-Hawarı 136

Abu Bakr 80, 81Abu Bakr Muh. ammad b. Mawhab al-

Tujıbı al-Qabrı 184Abu Bakr Muh. ammad b. Muh. ammad

al-Qaysı 41Abu Da’ud al-Muqri’ 157Abu Dharr al-Ghifarı 191Abu H. anıfa 77, 78, 83, 84, 85Abu Hurayra 89, 90Abu Ish. aq Ibrahım b. al-H. ajj al-

Gharnat.ı 113Abu Ish. aq Ibrahım b. Hilal al-S. abi’

136Abu Marwan b. Zuhr 158Abu Muh. ammad ‘Abd Allah b.‘Abd

Allah b. ‘Alı 154Abu Muh. ammad ‘Abd Allah b. ‘Abd

Allah ‘Alı b. Salmun al-Kinanı113

Abu Muh. ammad ‘Abd Allah b.Ibrahım b. Muh. ammad b. ‘AbdAllah b. Ja‘far al- As. ılı 184

Abu Muh. ammad ‘Abd al-Rah.man b.Muh. ammad b. ‘Abd Allah al-Bakrı185

Abu Nuwas 28Abu Sulayman 77Abu Taghlib b. Nas. ir al-Dawla 142Abu Tammam 35Abu ‘Ubayd al-Bakrı 190Abu ‘Ubayda 13, 138Abu ‘Umar al-T. alamankı 190Abu Yah. ya al-Zajjalı 41Aburish, Said K. 56–59, 62, 63, 68,

70–72Academie Libanaise des Beaux-Arts

(ALBA) 222Academy of Fine Arts in Lebanon 229Acheans 174Acre 58, 62adab 26, 27, 47, 129–133, 144, 145adhan 82adultery 42Aflat.un, Injı 230

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‘Afra’ 33agnatic 166Aguilhar, Victoria 152ah. dathat 84ah. kam 95ahlıyat al-wujub 96Ah.mad Amın 51Ah.mad b. Hanbal 77Ah.mad b. Mughıth al-T. ulayt.ulı 113Ah.mad S. abrı 226, 233‘A’ida al-Juhayniyya 140‘A’isha 79, 80, 82, 83, 85, 87, 88ajr 82, 84–86Akh. al, Tamam al- 230, 232akhbar al-nisa’ 26a‘lam al-nubuwwa (also see nubuwwa,

tah. s. ın al-nubuwwa) 190Alboacen, see Abu al-H. asan al-MarınıAlbornoz, Sanchez 151Aleppo 18–19, 157Alfonso XI (king) 172Algeria 222‘Alı 31‘Alı b. Yah. ya b. al-Qasim al-S. inhajı al-

Jazırı 113‘Alı b. Yusuf 171‘Alı b. Abı T. alib 79, 86‘Alı b. Muh. ammad al-Ans. arı 140Almerıa 156Almohad period 34, 170Almoravid period 34, 35, 167, 171,

172, 185, 186Alusı al- 187ama 106‘amal 99American University of Beirut 61Amri, N and L. 168amthal al-‘amma 41amthal al-‘khas.s.a 41s. alik 79anbiya’ 185Andalus al-, Andalusi (also see Spain)

27, 32, 33, 35, 41–48, 76, 77, 89, 90,98, 103, 106, 111–125, 149–159,165, 169, 173, 175, 184, 185, 189–194

anecdote(s) 26, 31, 32, 34, 35, 130–134, 136, 140, 142–144, 150, 201,202, 210, 214

angel, archangel (see Gabriel)

Angels of Death 203‘Antar, Sırat ‘Antar 5–7antecihra (the white witch) 174anthology 120antifeminismo, misogyny 28, 31Apostle 75, 76‘aqd al-istir‘a 186‘Arıb 134‘arud 157‘Arudıya al- (Ishraq) 157‘as.abiyya 55as. ala 223, 228as.h. ab al-h. adıth 189Ash‘arite, Ash‘arism 187, 188, 190–

192Hanan Ashrawi 55, 57, 64, 66, 68Ashtiani, Julia 132As. ılı al- 189Asın Palacios, Miguel 75Asiya (daughter of Muz. ah. im, wife of

pharaoh) 185Asma’ (favourite name in poetry) 33Asma’ al-Rushat.ıya 154, 155Asmabarı (Asma Perı, the FairyAsma,

wife of H. azma) 9, 12–15, 17, 19,20

Assouel 20Ast.un 10‘At.a’ 79‘Atika bint Zayd 31, 32, 86autobiography, self-biography 49–66Avenzoar (Banu Zuhr) 158Averroes (also see Ibn Rushd) 169,

170awliya’ 187–191‘awra 77–80, 83ayyam 140Ayyam al- (T. aha H. usayn) 51

Ba‘thism 223Badı‘ al-Zaman 19Baghdad 134, 135, 139, 141, 145Bajkam 140Bakhtiyar 20Balkhı al- 187Banu Marzah. 43Banu Tarıf (of Osuna) 167Banu Wansus 156Banu Zuhr (see Avenzoar) 158Baqı b. Makhlad 156

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Baqillanı al- 191Bartels, Edien 205baraka 213bat.inıya 192bayd. at khidr 29bedouin 6, 140, 229Beirut 61, 63Benamarin 172Berber 33–35, 156, 167Bhaba, Homi K 52bid‘a 85Biessy, Gabriel 222Bilal 83Bilqıs 187biographer, biographical dictionaries,

biographies, bio-bibliographicalrepertoires 49, 50, 143, 153–159,200

Bishr b. ‘Abd Allah 137Blachere, R. 33, 34Blanc, Francois-Paul 98Boabdil (see Abu ‘Abd Allah;

Muh. ammad XII)Bonebakker, S. A. 129Books of the Jews and the Christians

(also see dhimma) 190Bouhdiba, A. 136Bourdelle, Antoine 227Bourdieu, Pierre 223Brunschvig, Robert 166Bu‘ath 80Budur (in A Thousand and One Nights)

4Bughya (al-D. abbı) 152buhlul 210Bulliet, R. 194Buthayna 30–32

Cahen, Claude 130, 170Cantarino, Vicente 25, 37n.1&2,Cartesian 51Catholic kings 225Catholics 59cemetery, cemeteries 76, 89, 03Center for Women’s Affairs (Nablus)

64, 65Cesar, Gemayel 226, 232Chaldeans 174Chalmeta, P. 124Chodkiewicz, Michel 200, 206, 209

chrif 210Christ, Christian, Christians,

Christianity 8, 11, 46, 52, 54, 59–61, 154, 165, 172, 173, 183, 186,190, 191, 194

Combs-Schilling, M. E. 183, 184Companion(s) (Prophet’s Companions)

76, 77, 191congregational prayer 81–84, 90Constantinople 10Cordoba(n) 41, 116, 157, 169–172,

186, 192, 193Count Julian 174

D. abbı al- 152, 153Da‘d 33Da‘ud Qurm (David Corm) 233da‘wa 187dala’il 190Darat al-funun, comprehensive art

centre in Amman 223Dastanbuwayh (umm walad of al-

Mu‘tad. id) 142Dawud al-Isfahanı (Abu Sulayman)

77Denia 157Derb Dabachi 199Dhalfa’ al- (caliph al-Mans. ur’s wife)

171Dhayl wa-l-Takmila al- (Ibn ‘Abd al-

Malik al-Marrakushı) 151, 152,154

dhimma (also see Books of the Jews andthe Christians) 96

dhukuriyya 167diatribes 33Dık al-Jinn 35dir‘ 79Disraeli, Benjamin 50divorce 102, 111–123, 137dıwan 27, 28, 34, 60, 65, 143Dove’s Neck Ring, The (also see T. awq al-

h. amama) 26, 32, 90du‘a’ al-s. alih. ın 189duruk al- 140Dwyer, Daisy Hilse 203–206, 208,

209, 211

Eastern, Easternise 150, 153, 158,159, 191

269

GENERAL INDEX

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ecstasy, ecstatic 201, 205, 210education 63, 64Egypt, Egyptian 168, 226–228, 230elegy, elegies 34Elias, J. 168emancipation 54, 63epic, popular epic 3–5, 7–9Epistle of the Singing Slave Girls, The (Kitab

al-qiyan) 135European (influence on art) 222–226Eve 174extremism (ghuluww) 188extremist (Kharijıs, also see saffak al-

dima’) 193

fa’ida 186Fahndrich, Hartmut 132fakhr 29, 30, 36falasifa 188fann al-‘arabı al-hadıth al- 221Fanus (Law‘a’s servant) 14, 15faqıh, fuqaha’ 76, 116, 192, 20, 206Ilyas Farah. 230Faraj ba‘da l-shidda al- (al-Tanukhı)

131–133, 135, ‘37, 141, 147, 148Farazdaq al- 34Farhat-Naser, Sumaya 56, 57, 61, 64,

66, 68Farrukh, Mus.t. 227, 232Fat.ima (in Imru’ al-Qays’ poem) 29Fat.ima (Queen) 172Fat.ima (daughter of caliph) 31Fat.ima (wife of ‘Abd al-Rah.man al-

Nas. ir) 170, 171Fat.imid 168fatwa(s) 77, 95, 104–106, 120, 189Fedayin 64feminist 57, 166, 170, 202, 230festivals, days of festival 81, 84, 90Fez 104Fierro, Maribel 152fikrıya al- (al-bakrıya) 188fiqh 112, 157Fis.al (Ibn H. azm) 191fitna (fitan) 80, 82, 184Florinda (La Cava, daughter of Count

Julian) 174Forneas, J. M. 34free, free woman, freedom of women

29–33, 36, 43- 46, 62, 77, 79, 80, 82,

90, 96, 98, 99, 103, 131, 134, 136,158, 165

Freud, Sigmund 51Friday prayer 84Friends (school of the, see also

Quaker) 59, 60Fud. ayl b. ‘Iyad. al- 192funduq 46funeral 89, 90, 103furu‘, furu‘ al-fiqh 99, 100, 122Futurists (Italian) 227

Gabriel, archangel (Jibrıl, archangel),angel 183, 185, 186

Gabrieli, Francesco 132Garcıa Gomez, Emilio 27, 32, 109,

150Garulo, Teresa 151Gaza 53Genesis 8, 16Ghamra (wife of ‘Antar) 6Gharnat.ı al- 120, 121Ghazalı al- 30Ghazi, M. F. 30ghuluww (see extremism)ghusl 87Glagau, Hans 50Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von 52Gran cronica de Alfonso XI 172Granada 41, 45, 171, 172, 174Greek, Greeks 10, 142Guichard, Pierre 151

h. h. add, h. udud 80, 106h. adıth 26, 81, 83, 206h. ad. ra (also see jadhba) 201, 205, 211Hafsid Tunis 166hagiographer, hagiography 200, 203H. ajjaj b. Yusuf al- 30H. akam al- 170H. akam II al- 170Tawfıq al-H. akım 159H. alabıya, Sara al- (poet from Aleppo)

157Halbwachs, Maurice 53H. alım, Tah. iyya 230H. allaj al- 188H. alwa (see Khalwa) 32Hamdanid 136H. amduna bint Ziyad al-Mu’addib 156

270


revises 11/3/02

h. ammam 102, 104, 105H. ammudı caliphs 193Hamdanid 142h. amula, hamoulah, hamuleh 55, 56,

65H. amza, Sırat H. amza 5, 7–20harem, h. arım 60, 75, 104, 140, 141,

166, 225–227Harun al-Rashıd 141H. arurı, H. arurites 192, 193Harvey, L. P. 174h. asan 81, 82H. asan, al-Bas.rı al- 192H. asan, Fa’iq 229H. ayatı (Ah.mad Amın) 51Haykal, Yusuf 58–61, 65, 66hazal(s) 27Helena 174heterodoxy 168h. ikayat (also see storytelling) 202Hind bint al-H. arith al-Murrı 31h. isba 77, 89, 95, 103, 167Hisham II (caliph) 172Hisham III (caliph) 192Hispanic, Hispanicism 149, 151historiography, historical writing 49,

50, 167, 174Hoffman, Valerie J. 207, 209Homer 174homosexuality 47Hudla (leader of a Kurdish tribe, wife

of al-Yunanı) 15, 16H. ulla al-siyara’ al- (Ibn al-Abbar) 170humanistic170H. umayd b. Mundhir 84H. umaydı al- 32, 152, 153Humphreys, Stephen 130h. urma 43h. urra (also free, free woman) 99, 158H. urra al- (La Horra) 172hypocrites 84

Iberian (peninsula) 150, 173, 194Ibn ‘Abbas 79Ibn ‘Abd al-Barr 102Ibn ‘Abd al-H. amıd 143Ibn ‘Abd al-Malik al-Marrakushı 151,

153–155Ibn ‘Abdun 103–105Ibn Abı H. ajala 36, 40n. 48

Ibn Abı Zayd al-Qayrawanı 99, 104,105, 188, 189

Ibn Abu ‘Awf 134Ibn al-‘Arıf 192Ibn al-‘At.t.ar 101, 116, 120Ibn al-Abbar 151, 153, 154, 170Ibn al-Farad. ı 152–154Ibn al-Jawzı 26Ibn al-Muwaqqit 200Ibn al-Nadım 30Ibn al-Qad. ı 152Ibn al-Sa‘ı 130Ibn al-Zubayr 152, 153ibn ‘amm 56Ibn ‘Arabı, Muh. yı ‘l-Dın 168, 186,

207, 208Ibn ‘Awn Allah 189Ibn Bashkuwal 151–153Ibn Bassam 30, 34, 39n.24, 40n.36Ibn Daniyal 27Ibn Darraj al-Qast.allı 33, 34, 39n.35Ibn Dih. ya 152Ibn H. arith 153Ibn H. atim al-T. ulayt.ulı 191Ibn H. ayyan 154, 170, 171Ibn H. azm 26, 32, 42, 44, 75- 94, 167,

184, 185, 190, 191, 193Ibn Hisham 186, 190Ibn Khaldun 25, 168, 173, 186Ibn Masarra 192Ibn Mawhab al-Qabrı 189Ibn Mughıth 101, 102, 105, 115–121Ibn Muqla 134Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyya 26Ibn Qutayba 25, 26, 28, 32, 130Ibn Quzman 27Ibn Rago 46Ibn Rashıq al-Qayrawanı 25, 32, 33Ibn Rushd (also see Averroes) 105,

189Ibn Sa‘d 26, 32Ibn Sa‘ıd 152Ibn Salmun 101, 116, 118, 119, 121Ibn S. ara al-Shantarını 30Ibn Shuhayd 28Ibn ‘Umar 79Ibnat Sa‘ıd al-Ballut.ı 157Ibrahım al-Naz.z. am 191Ibrahım b. al-Mudabbir 134Ibrahım b. H. amdan al-Shırazı 141

271

GENERAL INDEX

revises 11/3/02

Ibrahım b. Sham‘un 140‘ıd al-ad. h. a 80‘idda 122Ifrıqiya 104ih. dath 84, 85i‘jaz 190ijaza 158ijma‘ 76, 81, 87, 88ilh. ad 191ilham 185‘ilm 129‘ilm al-ghayb 190‘ilm al-shurut. 111, 112Ima’ al-shawa‘ir al- (Abu al-Faraj al-

Is. fahanı) 130imam 77, 81, 82, 86, 104, 117, 193iman 201‘Imran 185Imru’ al-Qays 29, 30inba’ 185Indonesia 167Innocenti, Camillo 222Institut du Monde Arabe (IMA) 224Institute of Fine Arts (Baghdad) 222Intifada 64, 65Iqtibas al-anwar (Abu Muh. ammad ‘Abd

Allah b. ‘Abd Allah b. ‘Alı) 154irada 102Iraq, Iraqi 224, 228–230irh. as 187Isaac 185Ish. aq b. Ibrahım al-Mas. ‘abı 133Ishmaelites 174Ishraq (see al-‘Arudıya)Isfara’inı al- (Ash‘arı Shafi‘ı) 191ism ‘alam 153‘is.ma 191isnad 77, 86, 89, 131, 192Israel, Israeli 52–54, 63–66istiqa’ 84istis.h. ab 76i‘tikaf (also see mu‘takif) 88, 89I‘timad (wife of caliph al-Mu‘tamid)

170‘Iyad. b. Baqı 158

Ja‘far b. Yah. ya al-Barmakı 139Jabra Ibrahım Jabra 51, 65, 66Jacob 185jadhba (also see h. ad. ra) 210–212

Jadhibiyya Sirrı 230Jadhwat al-muqtabis (H. umaydı al-) 32,

152Ja‘far 141Jaffa(n) 52Jah. iz. al- 33, 135jama‘a 82, 193jami‘ 122Jamıl 30–32Jamıla (Berber warrior) 167Jamıla (sister of Abu Taghlib)142jariya, jawarı (also see slave) 99, 134–

136, 139Jerusalem 59Jesuits 59Jesus, ‘Isa 184, 186, 187, 190, 194Jews, Jewish 46, 53, 84, 190Jibrıl (see Gabriel)jidd 27jinn, jinnıya 9, 13, 14, 201, 211Johnson, Samuel 50Joseph 185Jubba’ı al- 187, 188judham 114Jumayyil al- 227, 232juridical capacity 96ff

Ka‘ba (also see tawaf) 86, 88, 200Kahina 167Khal, Helen 230karama, karamat 185-190, 192, 193,

200Karkutlı, Burhan 229, 232katib 134-137, 143katiba 140, 159Kharijı, Kharijites, Kharijism (also see

saffak al-dima’) 192, 193Khadıja 186Khalaf b. Muh. ammad b. Khalaf b.

Fath. un 113Khalıfa, Sah. ar 65Khalwa (see H. alwa)kharq al-‘adat 188Kharrat., Idwar 51khatuns 167khilaf al-sunna 192khimar 78, 79khul‘ 114khurafat 202Khurasan 134, 135

272


revises 11/3/02

Khusrau (Kisra) Anushirwan, Persianking 9

khut.ba 106King Rodrigo 174Kitab al-‘uyun, Kitab al-nisa (Ibn

Qutayba) 130Kıtab- aladhkiya’ (Ibn Jawzı) 26Kitab al-duhur 156Kıtab al-mah. bub (al-Sarı al-Raffa’) 28,

30Kıtab al-qiyan (al-Jah. iz. ) 135Kıtab al-s.alat (Ibn H. azm) 78Kitab al-s. ila (Ibn Bashkuwal) 151, 152Kitab al-tibyan (‘Abd Allah al-Zırı) 172Koran, see QuranKulliyyat al-funun al-jamıla

(Damascus) 222kunya 153Kurdish 15Kuthayyir 31kuttab 139kutub al-watha’iq (also see muwaththiq,

notary, watha’iq, wathıqa) 112

Lacan, Jacques 51Lalla ‘Awish al-Majdhuba 199–206,

210-214Lalla ‘Uda 212Lalla Raqıya bint bi-l-Ah.mar 201Lamtuna tribe 171Laplagne, Guillaume 222laqab 153Law‘a al-Qulub (wife of H. amza) 14,

15Layla 33Lebanon, Lebanese 224, 226, 229,

230Lerida 192Linant de Bellefonds, Y. 125Lopez de la Plaza, G. 168Lucretia 174

Mabrawan 140Mada’in 12, 19madafa 55madhhab 76, 90, 122madıh. 36Madrasat al-funun al-jamıla (see School

of Fine Arts in Cairo)mafqud 115

Maghreb (also see North Africa) 157,202

Ma‘had al-funun al-jamıla (see Instituteof Fine Arts, Baghdad) 222

Mahdı Ibn Tumart 173Mah.mud Darwısh 52Mah.mud Mukhtar 227, 233Mah.mud Mukhtar Museum 224Mah.mud Sa‘ıd 226, 227, 233mahram, maharim 101, 102, 134majhul 89Majnun Layla 30makhda‘ 84malamatı, malamatıya 208, 209Maldive 167Malevich 227Malik b. Anas 77, 83, 84, 98Malıkı (law, legal sources, school),

Malikism, Malikite 76, 90, 95, 97–102, 104, 106, 114, 168, 191

Mamluk, (Turkish-Mamluk) 8, 167Ma’mun al- (caliph) 141Mancebo of Aravelo 174, 175Mandate 59Mandatory Palestine 65Mans. ur al- (caliph) 34, 141, 171, 173Mans. ur b. Abı ‘Amir al- 184Maqamat 26Maqqarı al- 152Marchena de los Olivos 168Marrakech 41, 199-202, 205, 212Marrakushı al- 171marriage, married life, married 4–17,

19, 20, 26, 43–46, 56–58, 96, 100,105, 114–123, 137, 138, 141, 203,208, 209

Marwan b. al-H. akam 31Mary 57, 184, 186-189, 194, 208Maryam (wife of H. amza) 11, 12, 17mas’ala 76ff, 90masjid jama‘a 84Masufa tribe 171Matın (Ibn H. ayyan) 154, 170matriachal rule 61Mecca 12, 13, 20, 80, 101, 156, 201,

202, 210–212Medina 84Menelaos 174menstruating, menstruation 79, 82,

86-89

273

GENERAL INDEX

revises 11/3/02

Mernissi, Fatima 3, 167, 203-205,208, 209

Messenger, Messenger of God (also seeProphet, Prophet Muh. ammad) 79,83, 85, 87–89, 184, 185

mih. rab 187Mihrdukar (wife of H. amza) 5, 9-20Milliot, Louis 98Mina 80miracle(s) 186-191, 193, 210misogyny (see antifeminismo)Missionary (schools) 59Mitford, Nancy 20modern Arab art 221, 223, 225Mongol 167monogamous 138monograph 224monotheism 13Monroe, James T. 34Morisco 174Morocco, Moroccan 41, 200, 203,

204, 210-213Moses 185, 186mosque 31, 32, 80-90, 105, 106, 121,

211Mosul 142mother-in-law 61, 62, 66mu‘allaqa 29mu‘amalat 100mu‘jiza, mu‘jizat 186-189mu‘takif (also see i‘tikaf) 88Mu‘tazilite 187-189mudabbar 97mudabbara 99Mudawwana (Malik b. Anas) 99, 102Mudawwana al-Kubra al- (Sah. nun) 98muftı(s) 105Mughrib fı h. ula al-Maghrib al- (Ibn Sa‘ıd)

152Muh. alla bi-l-athar al- (Ibn H. azm) 75–77,

84Muhallabı al- 140Muh. ammad (see Prophet, Prophet

Muh. ammad)Muh. ammad b. Ah.mad al-‘At.t.ar 113Muh. ammad Nas. ir al-Dın al-Albanı 81Muh. ammad XII (see Abu ‘Abd Allah

[Boabdil]) 225Muh. assin b.‘Alı al-Tanukhı al- 131muh. s.ana 99, 100, 102-104

mus. tasib 103mujun 35

Mukataba 99Muktafı al- (caliph) 141

Mundhir b. Sa‘ıd 157Munyat al-Nufus (wife of Sayf) 4, 7Muqni‘ al- (Ibn Mughıth) 121Muqqadima (Ibn Khaldun) 25

Muqtabis (Ibn H. ayyan) 154, 170Muqtadir al- (caliph) 136, 141

mursal 89Musa, Salama 51mus.alla 78Museum of Modern Egyptian Art in

Cairo 223, 224Mushrik 89Mustakfı al- (caliph) 170Mu‘tad. id al- (caliph) 134, 142Mutajalla 84Mutanabbı al- 33mutas.awwifa al- (Qad. ı ‘Iyad. ) 189Mut.rib min ash‘ar ahl al-Maghrib al- (Ibn

Dih. ya) 152muwaththiq (also see kutub al-watha’iq,

notary, watha’iq, wathıqa) 111Muwat.t.a’ (Malik b. Anas) 98Muz.affar al- 171

Muz.ah. im 185Muzhir (al-Suyut.ı) 25mystic, mystical, mysticism 168, 200,

202, 206, 208, 211-214

Nablus, Nabulsi 52, 55, 59-61, 63, 64,66, 68, 71n.53,

nadım 133nafaqa 114, 120Nafh. al-t.ıb (al-Maqqarı) 152Nafi‘ 158nasab 55nasıb 33, 34, 36Nas. ir al-Dawla 142Nas.rid 170Nasser, Nasserism 223, 230nationalism 223naturalistic, naturalism 221, 222, 231Nazhun al-Qula‘ıya 156neo-patriarchy 66neo-Simonetist 150Nisa’ al-khulafa’ (Ibn al-Sa‘ı) 130Nıshwar al-muhadara wa-akhbar al-

274


revises 11/3/02

mudhakara (al-Tanukhı) 131–134,137, 142, 146–148

nıya 206North Africa (also see Maghreb) 51,

158, 167, 170, 173, 188, 189notary, notarial documents (also see

kutub al-watha’iq, muwaththiq, watha’iq,wathıqa) 101, 105, 111, 112, 114,122, 123

nubuwwa, nubuwwat al-nisa’ (also see a’lamal-nisa’, tah. s. ın al-nubuwwa) 184–187,189–191, 193

nugeymat turquia (Star of the TurkishArchers, Little Star, the Tuareg)172

Numayrı al- 30Nuzeyla Calderan 174

odalisque 225onomastic 153Orientalist 151, 225, 226, 231Orthodox 59Ottoman 53, 55

paladins 15, 18Palestine, Palestinian 49, 52ff,62ff,229,

230‘‘Palestinianness’’ 52panegyric 34, 36, 58paradigms 169paradise 174, 204, 207Paris 174Pascal, Roy 50patriachal order, outlook, society 60,

64, 144, 166, 214, 233Peres, Henri 27, 37n.9, 98, 150Persian, Persians 9, 10, 12–14, 18–20pharaoh 185pilgrim(s), pilgrimage 80, 101, 115,

116, 119PLO 53poetry, medieval poetry 25, 27–36, 52,

140, 150polygamy, polygamous, multiple

marrying 3–5, 8, 9, 15, 16, 19, 45,57, 138, 191, 225

polygyny 4Primera Cronica General 172profligacy 35Prophet, Prophet Muh. ammad (also see

Messenger, Messenger of God) 31,76, 77, 79–85, 87-90, 129, 183, 187,188, 190, 191, 193, 194, 210, 211

prophet(s) 166, 167, 169, 183-194prose 25, 26, 35, 36, 49, 30, 140prostitute, prostitution 43, 45, 46, 104,

203, 204proverbs 41-48, 140

Qabbab al- 104Qabbat 17qad. ı 103, 111, 113–119, 122, 157, 192Qadı ‘Iyad 189Qaf mountain 12, 17Qahir al- 143, 144qahramana 141–144Qamar (concubine of ‘Alı b. Yusuf)

171Qamar al-Zaman (in A Thousand and One

Nights) 4qas. ıda(s) 33, 36qayna, qiyan 134, 135, 139Qaysar al-Jumayyil (Cesar Gemayel)

226qibla 81qisas. al-anbiya’ 186qiyas 76, 80Qleibo, Ali H. 66, 68Quaker (missionary schools), also see

Friends 59, 60Quran 26, 75, 77–79, 81, 85, 87, 88,

99, 103, 111, 129, 139, 140, 156,157, 158, 174, 183–190, 206

Quraysha (daughter of Asmabarı) 14,15, 17, 20

Qurt.ubı al- 185

ra’y 76Rabi‘a 208Rad. iyya (Joy) 167Rakunıya, H. afs.a al- 59, 86, 212Ramadı, Yusuf b. Harun al- 32Ramallah 156Rashıda (preacher) 158Rashidun 86Rasul (also see Messenger) 184, 188Rauscher, Thomas 100Rayh. ana (learned woman in al-

Andalus) 156, 157Razı, Fakhr al-Dın al- 186, 187

275

GENERAL INDEX

revises 11/3/02

Red Cross 64ribat. 192rih. la 152Risala al- (Ibn Abı Zayd al-Qayrawanı)

99Roman kings 174Rosenthal, F. 130roseto,ˆrose¤ 154Royal Library of Rabat 152Rubiera 155Rushatello, Rushat.ı al- (also see roseto)

154, 155Rustam (son of H. amza) 15, 17, 18

Sabustakın 140Sa‘ada al-Abadıya al- (Ibn al-Muwaqqit)

200s.adaq 114, 115saffak al-dima’ (extremist Kharijıs, also

see Kharijı) 193s. ah. ib bid‘a 189Sah. nun 98, 101, 105saints, sainthood 168, 169, 186–191,

193, 199-210, 212-214Sakakini, Hala 59, 61, 65, 67S. alah. , Yusra 59, 60, 65, 66, 68salat 82, 83, 86, 106, 201salat al-‘ıdayn 80S. alıbı, Khalıl 233Salım, Nazıha 230, 233s. alun 61, 62Salwa (wife of H. amza) 12, 13, 19, 20sama‘(s) 99Sanchuelo (son of al-Mans. ur) 173sanctuary 202, 203, 205, 206, 210–214Saracens 174Sarı al-Raffa’ al- 28, 30Sarwa (wife of ‘Antar) 6satire, satirical poetry 26, 27, 35, 36Sayf al-Dawla 136Sayf, Sırat Sayf b. Dhı Yazan 4, 5, 7Scattolin, G. 168Schacht, Joseph 98Schimmel, Annemarie 168, 206Schmidt’s school (Jerusalem) 59School of Fine Arts in Cairo (Madrasat

al-funun al-jamıla) 222, 226, 227Sebta 212segregation (of the sexes) 32, 60, 61,

65, 140, 203, 206, 213

Seraphim, Juliana 230, 234Seven Saints (the), Seven Patrons (the)

199Seville 158, 168Sextus Tarquinius 174shabba 84Shafi‘ı al- 77, 79, 191Shafi‘ite 168Shajarat al-Durr (Tree of Pearls) 167Shama (wife of Sayf) 7Shams Umm al-Fuqara’ ˆSun, Mother

of the Poor) 168shar‘ı, sharı‘a 80, 192Sharabı, Hisham 62, 66, 67sharaf 121sharh. 112shaykh 19, 55, 139, 207, 213Shaykh al-Akbar al- (Su’ad al-H. akım)

207Shaykhlı, Isma‘ıl al- 228, 234Shi‘ites 187shrine 201, 205s. iddıqa 184, 185Sıdi Wih. lan 205

Sijn al-‘umr (Tawfıq al-H. akım) 51s. ila (Ibn Bashkuwal) 152

S. ilat al-s. ila (Ibn al-Zubayr) 152Simonet, Francisco Javier 150sıra(s) 4, 186, 190Sırat ‘Antar, see ‘AntarSırat al-amıra Dhat al-Himma 4Sırat al-mujahidın 4Sırat H. amza al-Bahlawan (see H. amza)Sırat Sayf b. Dhı Yazan (see Sayf)Sirrı, Jadhibiyya 230Sitt al-Mulk (Lady of the Royal

Power) 168Sitt al-Tujjar (Lady of the Merchants)

167–168siwak 48siyar 157slave(s), slave girls (also see jariya) 28,

29, 32–36, 42, 44, 46, 47, 77, 79,80, 83, 90, 96–99, 103, 105, 134–136, 139, 154, 156–159, 165, 171,173

soap operas,ˆsoaps¤ 4, 5Solomon 187Sourdel, Dominique 131Spain (also see al-Andalus) 165, 174

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revises 11/3/02

storytelling, storytellers (also seeh. ikayat) 3, 5, 8, 17, 103, 204, 205

H. akım, Su‘ad al- 207, 208, 209Sufi, Sufis, Sufism 168, 186, 188, 190–

192, 206-209, 211–213Sukayna (granddaughter of ‘Alı) 31Sulayman b. Ah.mad al-Rus. afı al-

Qassam 159sult.an al-umuma 61sult.ana 171, 172sunna 56, 57, 61, 64, 66, 68, 76, 79,

81, 85, 97, 99Sunnites 187suq 103Surur, H. abıb 234al-Suyut.ı, Jalal al-Dın 25, 130, 152Syria, Syrian 225, 229

T. abaqat al-Kubra al- (Ibn Sa‘d) 26, 190T. abarı al- 129, 186t.abı ‘a 185ta‘dıl 159Tadilı al- 203T. aha H. usayn 51T. ahir, S. alah. 228tafsır 183, 185tah. addı 187, 191t.a’ifa 171, 191ta‘mır 118Ta‘rıkh ‘ulama’ al-Andalus (Ibn al-Farad. ı)

152, 154tah. s. ın al-nubuwwa (also see a’lam al-nisa’,

nubuwwa, nubuwwat al-nisa’) 189Taifa 170tajallı 186Takmila li-kitab al-Sila al- (Ibn al-Abbar)

151, 154Talamanca 192T. alamankı al- 192, 193talbiya 80t.alqa wah. ida 118T. ama (wife of Sayf) 7Tanukhı al- 131-133, 135, 138–140,

142-146taqlıd 76Tarbiyat Salama Musa (Salama Musa)

51t.arıq 212T. ariq, Tawfıq 225, 234Taroudant 203

T. arub (sult.ana) 171tas.arrufat 96Tashawwuf ila rijal al-tas.awwuf al- (al-

Tadilı) 122tawaf (also see Ka‘ba) 86–88tawahhum 185Tawil, Raymonda 63, 64, 66, 67T. awq al-h. amama (Ibn H. azm, also see

Dove’s Neck Ring) 42, 44, 75, 76, 90teophany (tajallı) 186Toledo 116topos, topoi 5, 132, 136Troy, Trojans 174Tujıbı (kings) 192Tunisia 99, 205, 222, 224T. uqan, Fadwa 56, 58–63, 65, 66Turabuha Za‘faran (Idwar Kharrat.) 51turath 228T. urban (wife of al-Yunanı) 7, 10, 13–

15Turki, A. M. 76, 90, 91, 193Turki, Fawwaz 63, 66, 67Turkmen, Turkish 15, 167Tyan, E. 124, 125

‘Ubayd Allah 134Ubeda 174‘ulama’ 153, 192, 201‘Ulwa (wife of ‘Abd al-Wahhab) 4, 5‘Umar (companion of H. amza) 10-12,

14, 17-19‘Umar (husband of ‘Atika bint Zayd)

31, 32‘Umar b. Abı Rabı‘a 30, 31‘Umar b. al-Khat.t.ab 86, 89, 115umara’ 133Umayyad period, dynasty 30, 31, 34,

36, 44, 170, 184, 192, 193‘umda 133Umm al-H. asan bint Abı Liwa’ 156Umm al-Muqtadir, al-Sayyida Umm al-

Muqtadir 141–144Umm ‘Amr 158Umm ‘At.iyya 79, 89Umm Musa 141–144Umm Salama 79, 82Umm Shurayh. 158Umm ‘Ubayda 141umm walad 42, 99, 142ummahat 98, 99, 101, 102, 104

277

GENERAL INDEX

revises 11/3/02

umur h. amıda 142‘Unayza (in Imru’ al-Qays’ poem) 29Unesco 229‘urf 106us. ul 55‘Uyun al-akhbar 25, 26, 28, 32

Valencia 157, 173Vallve, Joaquın 42Velez 45virgin, virginity 44, 56, 58, 100, 201–

206, 209, 211, 213Visigoths 150, 174

Wad. d. ah. al-Yaman 30wah. y 184, 185wakıl 105, 106walı 97, 100, 101, 106, 117waqf 143Wansharıshı al- 104, 189Washsha al- 33, 135watha’iq (also see kutub al-watha’iq,

muwaththiq, wathıqa) 111–123wathıqa (also see kutub al-watha’iq,

muwaththiq) 95West Bank 52–54, 65, 66Western al-Andalus 149, 150Western art, (artist, concept, models,

style) 221, 222, 225Western authors 98Western dress 226Western historians 104Western law 97Western literature 26Western profession 226Westernisation, Westernised way,

atmosphere 65, 223, 226

Westernism in al-Andalus 151wet-nurse 141wikala 100wilaya 100wise women 168

Yah. ya b. ‘Umar 104Yemen 30, 167, 187Yunanı, al- (son of H. amza) 8, 10, 15,

16Yusuf b. Tashufın 167, 171Yusuf Kamal (rince) 222

Z. ahirı, Z. ahirism 76, 77, 87, 90, 185,193

Zahran, Yasmın 55, 56, 68Zahrban (wife of H. amza) 10–12zajal(s) 27Zakarıya 187zandaqa 191zann 185Zaragoza 192zawiya 99Zaynab bint Yusuf 30Zaynab bint Ziyad al-Mu’addib 156Zaynab (sister of the Almohad Mahdı

Ibn Tumart) 173Zaynab (wife of Yusuf ibn Tashufın)

167, 171Z. ahirite 186zina 85Zionist 53Zubayr b. al-‘Awwam al- 32Zubın 12zuhd 192z.urf 139

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Writing the Feminine: Women in Arab Sources (The Islamic Mediterranean)

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Transcript of Writing the Feminine: Women in Arab Sources (The Islamic Mediterranean)