Born about 1300.—Died after 1353.
This traveller, whose name and works were little known in Europe before
the publication of Professor Lee’s translation, was born at Tangiers,
in Northern Africa, about the year 1300. He appeared to be designed by
nature to be a great traveller. Romantic in his disposition, a great
lover of the marvellous, and possessing a sufficient dash of superstition
in his character to enable him everywhere to discover omens favourable
to his wishes, the slightest motives sufficed to induce him to undertake
at a day’s notice the most prodigious journeys, though he could reckon
upon deriving from them nothing but the pleasure of seeing strange
sights, or of believing that he was fulfilling thereby the secret
intentions of Providence respecting him.
Being by profession one of those theologians who in those times were
freely received and entertained by princes and the great in all
Mohammedan countries, he could apprehend no danger of wanting the
necessaries of life, and had before him at least the chance, if not
the certain prospect, of being raised for his learning and experience
to some post of distinction. The first step in the adventures of all
Mohammedan travellers is, of course, the pilgrimage to Mecca, as this
journey confers upon them a kind of sacred character, and the title of
Hajjî, which is a passport generally respected in all the territories of
Islamism.
Ibn Batūta left his native city of Tangiers for the purpose of performing
the pilgrimage in the year of the Hejira 725 (A. D. 1324-5). Traversing
the Barbary States and the whole breadth of Northern Africa, probably
in company with the great Mogrebine caravan which annually leaves those
countries for Mecca, he arrived without meeting with any remarkable
adventure in Egypt, where, according to the original design of his
travels, he employed his time in visiting the numerous saints and
workers of miracles with which that celebrated land abounded in those
days. Among the most distinguished of these men then in Alexandria was
the Imam Borhaneddin el Aaraj. Our traveller one day visiting this man,
“Batūta,” said he, “I perceive that the passion of exploring the various
countries of the earth hath seized upon thee!”—“I replied, Yes,” says
the traveller, “though I had at that time no intention of extending my
researches to very distant regions.”—“I have three brothers,” continued
the saint, “of whom there is one in India, another in Sindia, and
the third in China. You must visit those realms, and when you see my
brothers, inform them that they are still affectionately remembered by
Borhaneddin.”—“I was astonished at what he said,” observes Batūta, “and
determined within myself to accomplish his desires.” He in fact regarded
the expressions of this holy man as a manifestation of the will of Heaven.
Having thus conceived the bold design of exploring the remotest countries
of the East, Ibn Batūta was impatient to be in motion; he therefore
abridged his visits to the saints, and proceeded on his journey.
Nevertheless, before his departure from this part of Egypt he had a
dream, which, being properly interpreted by a saint, greatly strengthened
him in his resolution. Falling asleep upon the roof of a hermit’s cell,
he imagined himself placed upon the wings of an immense bird, which,
rising high into the air, fled away towards the temple at Mecca. From
thence the bird proceeded towards Yarren, and, after taking a vast sweep
through the south and the regions of the rising sun, alighted safely
with his burden in the land of darkness, where he deposited it, and
disappeared. On the morrow the sage hermit interpreted this vision in
the sense most consonant with the wishes of the seer, and, presenting
our traveller with some dirhems and dried cakes, dismissed him on his
way. During the whole of his travels Ibn Batūta met with but one man who
equalled this hermit in sanctity and wisdom, and observes, that from the
very day on which he quitted him he experienced nothing but good fortune.
At Damietta he saw the cell of the Sheïkh Jemaleddin, leader of the sect
of the Kalenders celebrated in the Arabian Nights, who shave their chins
and their eyebrows, and spend their whole lives in the contemplation
of the beatitude and perfection of God. Journeying onwards through the
cities and districts of Fariskūr, Ashmūn el Rommān, and Samānūd, he at
length arrived at Misz, or Cairo, where he appears to have first tasted
the pure waters of the Nile, which, in his opinion, excel those of all
other rivers in sweetness.
Departing from Cairo, and entering Upper Egypt, he visited, among other
places, the celebrated monastery of Clay and the minyet of Ibn Khasib.
Upon the mention of this latter place, he takes occasion to relate an
anecdote of a poet, which, because it is in keeping with our notions of
what a man of genius should be, we shall here introduce. Ibn Khasib,
raised from a state of slavery to the government of Egypt, and again
reduced to beggary, and deprived of sight by the caprice and cruelty
of a calif of the house of Abbas, had while in power been a munificent
patron and protector of literary men. Hearing of his magnificence and
generosity, a poet of Bagdad had undertaken to celebrate his praises
in verse; but before he had had an opportunity of reciting his work,
Khasib was degraded from his high office, and thrown out in blindness and
beggary into the streets of Bagdad. While he was wandering about in this
condition, the poet, who must have known him personally, encountered him,
and exclaimed, “O, Khasib, it was my intention to visit thee in Egypt
to recite thy praises; but thy coming hither has rendered my journey
unnecessary. Wilt thou allow me to recite my poem?”—“How,” said Khasib,
“shall I hear it? Thou knowest what misfortunes have overtaken me!”
The poet replied, “My only wish is that thou shouldst hear it; but as
to reward, may God reward thee as thou hast others.” Khasib then said,
“Proceed with thy poem.” The poet proceeded:—
“Thy bounties, like the swelling Nile,
Made the plains of Egypt smile,” &c.
When he had concluded, “Come here,” said Khasib, “and open this seam.”
He did so. Khasib then said, “Take this ruby.” The poet refused; but
being adjured to do so, he complied, and went away to the street of the
jewellers to offer it for sale. From the beauty of the stone, it was
supposed it could have belonged to no one but the calif, who, being
informed of the matter, ordered the poet before him, and interrogated
him respecting it. The poet ingenuously related the whole truth; and the
tyrant, repenting of his cruelty, sent for Khasib, overwhelmed him with
splendid presents, and promised to grant him whatever he should desire.
Khasib demanded and obtained the small minyet in Upper Egypt in which
he resided until his death, and where his fame was still fresh when Ibn
Batūta passed through the country.
Frustrated in his attempt to reach Mecca by this route, after penetrating
as far as Nubia, our traveller returned to Cairo, and from thence
proceeded by way of the Desert into Syria. Here, like every other
believer in the Hebrew Scriptures, he found himself in the midst of the
most hallowed associations; and strengthened at once his piety and his
enthusiasm by visiting the graves of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, as well
as the many spots rendered venerable by the footsteps of Mohammed. As
the believers in Islamism entertain a kind of religious respect for the
founder of Christianity, whom they regard as a great prophet, Batūta did
not fail to include Bethlehem, the birthplace of Christ, in the list of
those places he had to see. Upon this town, however, as well as upon
Jerusalem, Tyre, Sidon, and others of equal renown in Syria, he makes few
observations which can assist us in forming an idea of the state of the
country in those times; but in return for this meagerness, he relates
a very extraordinary story of an alchymist, who had discovered the
secret of making gold, and exercised his supernatural power in acts of
beneficence.
From Syria he proceeded towards Mesopotamia, by Emessa, Hameh, and
Aleppo, and having traversed the country of the Kurds, and visited the
fortresses of the Assassins, the people who, as he says, “act as arrows
for El Malik el Nāisr,” returned to Mount Libanus, which he pronounces
the most fruitful mountain in the world, and describes as abounding in
various fruits, fountains of water, and leafy shades. He then visited
Baalbec and Damascus; and, after remaining a short time at the latter
city, departed with the Syrian caravan for Mecca. His attempt to perform
the pilgrimage, a duty incumbent on all true Mussulmans, was this time
successful: the caravan traversed the “howling wilderness” in safety;
arrived at the Holy City; and the pilgrims having duly performed the
prescribed rites, and spent three days near the tomb of the prophet, at
Medina, Ibn Batūta joined a caravan proceeding through the deserts of
Nejed towards Persia.
The early part of this journey offered nothing which our traveller
thought worthy of remark; but he at length arrived at Kadisia, near Kufa,
anciently a great city, in the neighbourhood of which that decisive
victory was obtained by Saad, one of the generals of Omar, over the
Persians, which established the interests of Islamism, and overthrew
for ever the power of the Ghebers. He next reached the city of Meshed
Ali, a splendid and populous place, where the grave of Ali is supposed
to be. The inhabitants, of course, were Shiahs, but they were rich; and
Ibn Batūta, who was a tolerant man, thought them a brave people. The
gardens were surrounded by plastered walls, adorned with paintings, and
contained carpets, couches, and lamps of gold and silver. Within the city
was a rich treasury, maintained by the votive offerings of sick persons,
who then crowded, and still crowd, to the grave of Ali, from Room,
Khorasān, Irak, and other places, in the hope of receiving relief. These
people are placed over the grave a short time after sunset, while other
persons, some praying, others reciting the Koran, and others prostrating
themselves, attend expecting their recovery, and before it is quite dark
a miraculous cure takes place. Our traveller, from some cause or another,
was not present on any of these occasions, and remarks that he saw
several afflicted persons who, though they confidently looked forward to
future benefit had hitherto received none.
The whole of that portion of Mesopotamia was at this period in the power
of the Bedouin Arabs, without whose protection there was no travelling
through the country. With them, therefore, Ibn Batūta proceeded from
Basra, towards various holy and celebrated places, among others to the
tomb of “My Lord Ahmed of Rephaā,” a famous devotee, whose disciples
still congregate about his grave, and kindling a prodigious fire, walk
into it, some eating it, others trampling upon it, and others rolling in
it, till it be entirely extinguished, while others take great serpents
in their teeth, and bite the head off. From hence he again returned
to Basra, the neighbourhood of which abounded with palm-trees. The
inhabitants were distinguished for their politeness and humanity towards
strangers. Here he saw the famous copy of the Koran in which Othman, the
son of Ali, was reading when he was assassinated, and on which the marks
of his blood were still visible.
Embarking on board a small boat, called a sambūk, he descended the Tigris
to Abbadān, whence it was his intention to have proceeded to Bagdad; but,
adopting the advice of a friend at Basra, he sailed down the Persian
Gulf, and landing at Magul, crossed a plain inhabited by Kurds, and
arrived at a ridge of very high mountains. Over these he travelled during
three days, finding at every stage a cell with food for the accommodation
of travellers. The roads over these mountains were cut through the solid
rock. His travelling companions consisted of ten devotees, of whom one
was a priest, another a muezzin, and two professed readers of the Koran,
to all of whom the sultan of the country sent presents of money.
In ten days they arrived in the territories of Ispahan, and remained
some days at the capital, a large and handsome city. From thence he
soon departed for Shiraz, which, though inferior to Damascus, was even
then an extensive and well-built city, remarkable for the beauty of its
streets, gardens, and waters. Its inhabitants likewise, and particularly
the women, were persons of integrity, religion, and virtue; but our
singular traveller remarks, that for his part he had no other object in
going thither than that of visiting the Sheïkh Majd Oddin, the paragon
of saints and workers of miracles! By this holy man he was received with
great kindness, of which he retained so grateful a remembrance, that on
returning home twenty years afterward from the remotest countries of the
east, he undertook a journey of five-and-thirty days for the mere purpose
of seeing his ancient host.
The greater portion of the early life of Ibn Batūta was consumed in
visiting saints, or the birthplaces and tombs of saints: but his time was
not therefore misemployed; for, besides the positive pleasure which the
presence or sight of such objects appears to have generated in his own
mind, at every step he advanced in this sacred pilgrimage his personal
consequence, and his claims upon the veneration and hospitality of
princes and other great men, were increased. As he may be regarded as the
representative of a class of men extremely numerous in the early ages of
Islamism, and whose character and mode of life are highly illustrative
of the manners of those times, it is important to follow the footsteps
of our traveller in his whimsical wanderings a little more closely than
would otherwise be necessary.
Proceeding, therefore, at the heels of the honest theologian, we next
find him at Kazerun, beholding devoutly the tomb of the Sheïkh Abu
Is-hāk, a saint held in high estimation throughout India and China,
especially by sailors, who, when tossed about by adverse or tempestuous
winds upon the ocean, make great vows to him, which, when safely landed,
they pay to the servants of his cell. From hence he proceeded through
various districts, many of which were desert and uninhabitable, to Kufa
and Hilla, whence, having visited the mosque of the twelfth imam, whose
readvent is still expected by his followers, he departed for Bagdad.
Here, as at Rome or Athens, the graves of great men abounded; so that
Ibn Batūta’s sympathies were every moment awakened, and apparently too
painfully; for, notwithstanding that it was one of the largest and most
celebrated cities in the world, he almost immediately quitted it with
Bahadar Khan, sultan of Irak, whom he accompanied for ten days on his
march towards Khorasān. Upon his signifying his desire to return, the
prince dismissed him with large presents and a dress of honour, together
with the means of performing the pilgrimage to Mecca, which, as an
incipient saint, he imagined he could not too frequently repeat.
Finding, on his return to Bagdad, that a considerable time would elapse
before the departure of the caravan for the Holy City, he resolved to
employ the interval in traversing various portions of Mesopotamia, and
in visiting numerous cities which he had not hitherto seen. Among these
places the most remarkable were Samarā, celebrated in the history of
the Calif Vathek; Mousul, which is said to occupy the site of ancient
Nineveh; and Nisibēn, renowned throughout the east for the beauty of
its position, and the incomparable scent of the rose-water manufactured
there. He likewise spent some time at the city and mountain of Sinjar,
inhabited by that extraordinary Kurdish tribe who, according to the
testimony of several modern travellers, pay divine honours to the Devil.
This little excursion being concluded, Batūta found the caravan in
readiness to set out for Mecca, and departing with it, and arriving safe
in the Holy City, he performed all the ceremonies and rites prescribed,
and remained there three years, subsisting upon the alms contributed by
the pious bounty of the inhabitants of Irak, and conveyed to Mecca by
caravans. His travelling fit now returning, he left the birthplace of the
prophet, and repairing to Jidda, proceeded with a company of merchants
towards Yemen by sea. After being driven by contrary winds to the coast
of Africa, and landing at Sūakin, he at length reached Yemen; in the
various cities and towns of which he was entertained with a hospitality
so generous and grateful that he seems never to be tired of dwelling on
their praises. He did not, however, remain long among his munificent
hosts, but, taking ship at Aden, passed over once more into Africa, and
landed at Zaila, a city of the Berbers. The inhabitants of this place,
though Mohammedans, were a rude, uncultivated people, living chiefly
upon fish and the flesh of camels, which are slaughtered in the streets,
where their blood and offals were left putrefying to infect the air. From
this stinking city he proceeded by sea to Makdasha, the Magadocia of
the Portuguese navigators; a very extensive place, where the hospitable
natives were wont, on the arrival of a ship, to come down in a body to
the seashore, and select each his guest from among the merchants.—When
a theologian or a nobleman happened to be among the passengers, he was
received and entertained by the kazi; and as Ibn Batūta belonged to the
former class he of course became the guest of this magistrate. Here he
remained a short time, passing his days in banqueting and pleasure; and
then returned to Arabia.
During the stay he now made in this country he collected several
particulars respecting the trade and manners of the people, which are
neither trifling nor unimportant. The inhabitants of Zafār, the most
easterly city of Yemen, carried on at that period, he observes, a great
trade in horses with India, the voyage being performed in a month. The
practice he remarked among the same people of feeding their flocks and
herds with fish, and which, he says, he nowhere else observed, prevails,
however, up to the present day, among the nations of the Coromandel
coast, as well as in other parts of the east. At El Ahkāf, the city
of the tribe of Aād, there were numerous gardens, producing enormous
bananas, with the cocoanut and the betel. Our fanciful traveller
discovered a striking resemblance between the cocoanut and a man’s head,
observing that exteriorly there was something resembling eyes and a
mouth, and that when young the pulp within was like brains. To complete
the similitude, the hair was represented by the fibre, from which, he
remarks, cords for sewing together the planks of their vessels, as also
cordage and cables, were manufactured. The nut itself, according to him,
was highly nourishing, and, like the betel-leaf, a powerful aphrodisiac.
Still pursuing his journey through Arabia, he crossed the desert of
Ammān, and met with a people extraordinary among Mahommedans, whose wives
were liberal of their favours, without exciting the jealousy of their
husbands, and who, moreover, considered it lawful to feed upon the flesh
of the domestic ass. From thence he crossed the Persian Gulf to Hormuz,
where, among many other extraordinary things, he saw the head of a fish
resembling a hill, the eyes of which were like two doors, so that people
could walk in at one eye and out at the other! He now felt himself to
be within the sphere of attraction of an object whose power he could
never resist. There was, he heard, at Janja-bal, a certain saint, and
of course he forthwith formed the resolution to refresh himself with
a sight of him. He therefore crossed the sea, and hiring a number of
Turcomans, without whose protection there was no travelling in that part
of the country, entered a waterless desert, four days’ journey in extent,
over which the Bedouins wander in caravans, and where the death-bearing
simoom blows during the hot months of summer. Having passed this desolate
and dreary tract, he arrived in Kusistān, a small province of Persia,
bordering upon Laristān, in which Janja-bal, the residence of the saint,
was situated. The sheïkh, who was secretly, or, as the people believed,
miraculously, supplied with a profusion of provisions, received our
traveller courteously, sent him fruit and food, and contrived to impress
him with a high idea of his sanctity.
He now entered upon the ancient kingdom of Fars, an extensive and fertile
country, abounding in gardens producing a profusion of aromatic herbs,
and where the celebrated pearl-fisheries of Bahrein, situated in a
tranquil arm of the sea, are found. The pearl divers employed here were
Arabs, who, tying a rope round their waists, and wearing upon their faces
a mask made of tortoise-shell, descended into the water, where, according
to Batūta, some remained an hour, others two, searching among forests of
coral for the pearls.
Ibn Batūta was possessed by an extraordinary passion for performing the
pilgrimage to Mecca; and now (A. D. 1332), the year in which El Malik
El Nāsir, sultan of Egypt, visited the holy city, set out from Persia
on his third sacred expedition. Having made the necessary genuflexions,
and kissed the black stone at the Kaaba, he began to turn his thoughts
towards India, but was prevented, we know not how, from carrying his
design into execution; and traversing a portion of Arabia and Egypt,
entered Room or Turkey. Here, in the province of Anatolia, he was
entertained by an extraordinary brotherhood, to whom, as to all his
noble hosts and entertainers, he devotes a portion of his travels.
This association, which existed in every Turcoman town, consisted of a
number of youths, who, under the direction of one of the members, called
“the brother,” exercised the most generous hospitality towards all
strangers, and were the vigorous and decided enemies of oppression. Upon
the formation of one of these associations, the brother, or president,
erected a cell, in which were placed a horse, a saddle, and whatever
other articles were considered necessary. The president himself, and
every thing in the cell, were always at the service of the members, who
every evening conveyed the product of their industry to the president, to
be sold for the benefit of the cell; and when any stranger arrived in the
town, he was here hospitably entertained, and contributed to increase the
hilarity of the evening, which was passed in feasting, drinking, singing,
and dancing.
Travelling to Iconium, and other cities of Asia Minor, in all of which
he was received and entertained in a splendid manner, while presents of
slaves, horses, and gold were sometimes bestowed upon him, he at length
took ship at Senab, and sailed for Krim Tartary. During the voyage
he endured great hardships, and was very near being drowned; but at
length arrived at a small port on the margin of the desert of Kifjāk,
a country over which Mohammed Uzbek Khan then reigned. Being desirous
of visiting the court of this prince, Ibn Batūta now hired one of those
arabahs, or carts, in which the inhabitants travel with their families
over those prodigious plains, where neither mountain nor hill nor tree
meets the eye, and where the dung of animals serves as a substitute for
fuel, and entered upon a desert of six months’ extent. Throughout these
immense steppes, which are denominated _desert_ merely in reference to
their comparative unproductiveness, our traveller found cities, but
thinly scattered; and vast droves of cattle, which, protected by the
excessive severity of the laws, wandered without herdsmen or keepers
over the waste. The women of the country, though they wore no veils,
were virtuous, pious, and charitable; and consequently were held in high
estimation.
Arriving at the _Bish Tag_, or “Five Mountains,” he there found the
_urdu_ (whence our word _horde_) or camp of the sultan, a moving city,
with its streets, palaces, mosques, and cooking houses, “the smoke of
which ascended as they moved along.” Mohammed Uzbek, then sovereign
of Kifjāk, was a brave and munificent prince; and Ibn Batūta, having,
according to Tartar etiquette, first paid a visit of ceremony to each of
his wives, was politely received by him.
From this camp our traveller set out, with guides appointed by the
sultan, for the city of Bulgār, which, according to the Maresid Al Etluā,
is situated in Siberia. Here, in exemplification of the extreme shortness
of the night, he observes, that while repeating the prayer of sunset he
was overtaken, though he by no means lagged in his devotions, by the time
for evening prayer, which was no sooner over than it was time to begin
that of midnight; and that before he could conclude one voluntary orison,
which he added to this, the dawn had already appeared, and morning prayer
was to be begun. Forty days’ journey to the north of this place lay the
land of darkness, where, he was told, people travelled over interminable
plains of ice and snow, on small light sledges, drawn by dogs; but he was
deterred from pushing his researches into these Cimmerian regions by the
fear of danger, and considerations of the inutility of the journey. He
returned, therefore, to the camp of the sultan.
Mohammed Uzbek had married a daughter of the Greek Emperor of
Constantinople, who, being at this time pregnant, requested his
permission to be confined in her father’s palace, where it was her
intention to leave her child. The sultan consented, and Ibn Batūta,
conceiving that an excellent opportunity for visiting the Greek capital
now presented itself, expressed a desire to accompany the princess, but
the sultan, who regarded him apparently as something too gay for a saint,
at first refused to permit him. Upon his pressing the matter, however,
representing that he should never appear before the queen but as his
servant and guest, so that no fears need be entertained of him, the
royal husband, relenting, allowed him to go, and presented him, on his
departure, with fifteen hundred dinars, a dress of honour, and several
horses; while each of his sultanas, together with his sons and daughters,
caused the traveller to taste of their bounty.
The queen, while she remained in her husband’s territories, respected the
religion and manners of the Mohammedans; but she had no sooner entered
her father’s dominions, and found herself surrounded by her countrymen,
than she drank wine, dismissed the ministers of Islamism, and was
reported to commit the abomination of eating swine’s flesh. Ibn Batūta
was still treated with respect, however, and continuing to be numbered
among the suite of the sultana, arrived at length at Constantinople,
where, in his zeal to watch over the comfort of his royal mistress, he
exposed himself to the risk of being squeezed to death in the crowd.
On entering the city, his ears appear to have been much annoyed by the
ringing of numerous bells, which, with the inveterate passion of all
Europeans for noise when agitated by any joyous emotions, the Greeks of
Constantinople substituted for their own voices in the expression of
their satisfaction.
Remaining about five weeks in Constantinople, where, owing to the
difference of manners, language, and religion, he does not appear to
have tasted of much pleasure, he returned to Mohammed Uzbek, whose
bounty enabled him to pursue his journey towards the east in a very
superior style. The country to which his desires now pointed was
Khavāresm, the road thither traversing, during the greater part of the
way, a barren desert, where little water and a very scanty herbage were
to be found. Crossing this waste in a carriage drawn by camels, he
arrived at Khavāresm, the largest city at that period possessed by the
Turks. Here he found the people friendly towards strangers, liberal,
and well-bred,—and no wonder; for in every mosque a whip was hung up,
with which every person who absented himself from church was soundly
flogged by the priest, besides being fined in five dinars. This practice,
which Ibn Batūta thought highly commendable, no doubt contributed
greatly towards rendering the people liberal and well-bred. Next to
the refinement of the people, the most remarkable thing he observed at
Khavāresm was a species of melon, green on the outside, and red within,
which, being cut into thin oblong slices and dried, was packed up in
cases like figs, and exported to India and China. Thus preserved, the
Khavāresm melon was thought equal to the best dried fruits in the world,
and regarded as a present worthy of kings.
From hence Ibn Batūta departed for Bokhāra, a city renowned throughout
the east for the learning and refinement of its inhabitants, but at this
period so reduced and impoverished by the long wars of Genghis Khan and
his successors, that not one man was to be found in it who understood
any thing of science. Leaving this ancient seat of oriental learning,
he proceeded to Māwarā El Nahr, the sultan of which was a just and
powerful prince, who received him hospitably, and furnished him with
funds to pursue his wanderings. He next visited Samarkand, Balkh, and
Herat, in Khorasān; and scaling the snowy heights of the Hindoo Koosh,
or Hindoo-Slayer, so called because most of the slaves attempted to be
carried out of India by this route are killed by the severity of the
cold, he entered Kabul. Here, in a cell of the mountain called Bashāi,
he found an old man, who, though he had the appearance of being about
fifty, pretended to be three hundred and fifty years old, and assured Ibn
Batūta that at the expiration of every hundred years he was blessed with
a new growth of hair and new teeth, and that, in fact, he was the Rajah
Aba Rahim Ratan of India, who had been buried in Mooltam. Notwithstanding
his innate veneration for every thing saintly, and this man bore the name
of _Ata Evlin_, or “Father of Saints,” our honest traveller could not
repress the doubts which arose in his mind respecting his extraordinary
pretensions, and observes in his travels that he much _doubted_ of what
he was, and that he continued to doubt.
Ibn Batūta now crossed the Indus, and found himself in Hindostan, where,
immediately upon his arrival, he met, in a city which he denominates
Janai, one of the three brothers of Borhaneddin, the Egyptian saint,
whose prediction, strengthening his natural bent of mind, had made a
great traveller of him. Traversing the desert of Sivastān, where the
Egyptian thorn was the only tree to be seen, and then descending along
the banks of the Sinde, or Indus, he arrived at the city of Lahari, on
the seashore, in the vicinity of which were the ruins of an ancient
city, abounding with the sculptured figures of men and animals, which
the superstitious natives supposed to be the real forms of the ancient
inhabitants transformed by the Almighty into stone for their wickedness.
At Uja, a large city on the Indus, our traveller contracted a friendship
with the Emīr Jelaleddin, then governor of the place, a brave and
generous prince, whom he afterward met at Delhi. In journeying eastward
from this place, Batūta proceeded through a desert lying between two
ridges of mountains, inhabited by Hindoos, whom the traveller terms
infidel and rebellious, because they adhered to the faith of their
ancestors, and refused submission to the power of the Mohammedan
conquerors of their country. Ibn Batūta’s party, consisting of twenty-two
men, was here attacked by a large body of natives, which they succeeded
in repulsing, after they had killed thirteen of their number. In the
course of this journey he witnessed the performance of a suttee,
and remarks upon the occasion, that these human sacrifices were not
absolutely required either by the laws or the religion of Hindostan; but
that, owing to the vulgar prejudice which regarded those families as
ennobled who thus lost one of their members, the practice was greatly
encouraged.
On arriving at Delhi, which, for strength, beauty, and extent, he
pronounces the greatest city, not only of all Hindostan, but of all
Islamism in the east, he resorted to the palace of the queen-mother and
presenting his presents, according to custom, was graciously received
and magnificently established by the bounty of that princess and the
vizier. It is to be presumed, that the money he had received in presents
from various princes on the way had exceeded his travelling expenses,
and gone on accumulating, until, on his arrival at Delhi, it amounted
to a very considerable sum; for with his house, costly furniture, and
forty attendants, his expenditure seems greatly to have exceeded the
munificence of his patrons; indeed, he very soon found that all the
resources he could command were too scanty to supply the current of his
extravagance.
Being of the opinion of that ancient writer who thought a good companion
better than a coach on a journey, Ibn Batūta appears to have increased
his travelling establishment with a mistress, by whom he seems to have
had several children, for shortly after his arrival at the capital,
he informs us that “a daughter of his,” evidently implying that he had
more than one, happened to die. At this time our worthy theologian
was so deeply intoxicated with the fumes of that vanity which usually
accompanies the extraordinary smiles of fortune, that, although by no
means destitute of natural affection, nothing in the whole transaction
appears to have made any impression upon his mind except the honour
conferred upon him by the condescension of the vizier and the emperor.
The latter, then at a considerable distance from the capital, on being
informed of the event, commanded that the ceremonies and rites usually
performed at the funeral of the children of the nobility should now
take place; and accordingly, on the third day, when the body was to be
removed to its narrow house, the vizier, the judges, and the nobles
entered the chamber of mourning, spread a carpet, and made the necessary
preparations, consisting of incense, rose-water, readers of the Koran,
and panegyrists. Our traveller, who anticipated nothing of all this,
confesses ingenuously that he was “much gratified.” To the mother of the
child the queen-mother showed the greatest kindness, presenting her with
magnificent dresses and ornaments, and a thousand dinars in money.
The Emperor Mohammed having been absent from Delhi ever since our
traveller’s arrival, he had hitherto found no opportunity of presenting
himself before the “Lord of the World;” but upon that great personage’s
returning, soon after the funeral, the vizier undertook to introduce
him to the presence. The emperor received him graciously, taking him
familiarly by the hand, and, in the true royal style, lavishing the most
magnificent promises. As an earnest of his future bounty, he bestowed
upon each of the many travellers who were presented at the same time,
and met with the same reception, a gold-embroidered dress, which he
had himself worn; a horse from his own stud, richly caparisoned with
housings and saddle of silver; and such refreshments as the imperial
kitchen afforded. Three days afterward Ibn Batūta was appointed one
of the judges of Delhi, on which occasion the vizier observed to him,
“The Lord of the World appoints you to the office of judge in Delhi. He
also gives you a dress of honour with a saddled horse, as also twelve
thousand dinars for your present support. He has moreover appointed you
a yearly salary of twelve thousand dinars, and a portion of lands in the
villages, which will produce annually an equal sum.” He then did homage
and withdrew.
The fortune of Ibn Batūta was now changed. From the condition of a
religious adventurer, wandering from court to court, and from country to
country, subsisting upon the casual bounty of the great, he had now been
elevated to a post of great honour and emolument in the greatest city
then existing in the world. But it is very certain he was not rendered
happier by this promotion. The monarch upon whose nod his destiny now
depended was a man of changeful and ferocious nature, profuse and lavish
in the extreme towards those whom he affected, but when provoked,
diabolically cruel and revengeful. In the very first conference which our
traveller held with his master after his appointment, he made a false
step, and gave offence; for when the emperor had informed him that he
would by no means find his office a sinecure, he replied that he belonged
to the sect of Ibn Malik, whereas the people of Delhi were followers of
Hanīfa; and that, moreover, he was ignorant of their language. This would
have been a good reason why he should not in the first instance have
accepted the office of judge; but, having accepted of it, he should by no
means have brought forward his sectarian prejudices, or his ignorance, in
the hope of abridging the extent of his duties. The emperor, with evident
displeasure, rejoined, that he had appointed two learned men to be his
deputies, and that these would advise him how to act. He moreover added,
that it would be his business to sign all legal instruments.
Notwithstanding the profuse generosity of Mohammed Khan, Ibn Batūta,
who seems to have understood nothing of domestic economy, soon found
himself prodigiously in debt; but his genius, fertile in expedients, and
now sharpened by necessity, soon hit upon an easy way of satisfying his
creditors. Observing that, like most of his countrymen, Mohammed Khan was
an admirer of Arabian poetry, more particularly of such as celebrated his
own praises, our theological judge, whose conscience seems to have been
hushed to silence by his embarrassments, composed in Arabic a panegyric
upon his patron, who, to borrow his own expression, “was wonderfully
pleased with it.” Taking advantage, like a thoroughbred courtier, of
this fit of good-humour, he disclosed the secret of his debt, which the
emperor, who now, no doubt, perceived the real drift of the panegyric,
ordered to be discharged from his own treasury; but added, however, “Take
care, in future, not to exceed the extent of your income.” Upon this the
traveller, whether pleased with his generosity or his advice we will not
determine, exclaims, “May God reward him!”
No great length of time had elapsed, however, before Ibn Batūta perceived
that his grandeur had conducted him to the edge of a precipice. Having,
during a short absence of the emperor, visited a certain holy man who
resided in a cell without the city, and had once been in great favour
with Mohammed himself, our traveller received an order to attend at the
gate of the palace, while a council sat within. In most cases this was
the signal of death. But in order to mollify the Fates, Ibn Batūta betook
himself to fasting, subsisting, during the four days in which he thus
attended, upon pure water, and mentally repeating thirty-three thousand
times that verse of the Koran which says, “God is our support, and the
most excellent patron.” The aquatic diet and the repetitions prevailing,
he was acquitted, while every other person who had visited the sheïkh
was put to death. Perceiving that the risks incurred by a judge of Delhi
were at least equal to the emolument, Ibn Batūta began to feel his
inclination for his own free roaming mode of life return, resigned his
perilous office, bestowed all the wealth he possessed upon the fakeers,
and bidding adieu to the splendid vanities of the world, donned the tunic
of these religious mendicants, and attached himself during five months to
the renowned Sheïkh Kamāleddin Abdallah El Ghazi, a man who had performed
many open miracles.
Mohammed Khan, conceiving that the ex-judge had now performed sufficient
penance for his indiscretion, sent for him again, and receiving him more
graciously than ever, observed, “Knowing the delight you experience
in travelling into various countries, I am desirous of sending you on
an embassy into China.” Ibn Batūta, who appears by this time to have
grown thoroughly tired of a fakeer’s life, very readily consented, and
forthwith received those dresses of honour, horses, money, &c. which
invariably accompanied such an appointment. Ambassadors had lately
arrived from the Emperor of China with numerous costly presents for the
khan, and requesting permission to rebuild an idol temple within the
limits of Hindostan. Mohammed Khan, though, as a true Mussulman, he
could not grant such permission unless tribute were paid, was now about
to despatch ambassadors to his brother of China, “bearing, in proof of
his greatness and munificence, presents much more valuable than those
he had received.” These presents, as highly illustrative of the manners
of those times and countries, we shall enumerate in the words of the
traveller himself; they consisted of the following articles:—One hundred
horses of the best breed, saddled and bridled; one hundred Mamlūks; one
hundred Hindoo singing slave girls; one hundred Bairami dresses, the
value of each of which was a hundred dinars; one hundred silken dresses;
five hundred saffron-coloured dresses; one hundred pieces of the best
cotton cloth; one thousand dresses of the various clothing of India; with
numerous instruments of gold and silver, swords and quivers set with
jewels, and ten robes of honour wrought with gold, of the sultan’s own
dresses, with various other articles.
Ibn Batūta was accompanied on this mission by one of the chief of the
Ulema, and by a favourite officer of the emperor, who was intrusted with
the presents; and a guard of a thousand cavalry was appointed to conduct
them to the seaport where they were to embark. The Chinese ambassadors
and their suite returned homeward in their company. The embassy left
Delhi in the year 1342, but had not proceeded far before they encountered
a serious obstacle to their movements, and found themselves engaged
in warlike operations. El Jalali, a city lying in their route, being
besieged by the Hindoos, Ibn Batūta and his companions determined, like
true Mussulmans, to unite with their distressed brethren in repelling
the infidel forces, and in the commencement their valour was rewarded
by success; but a great number of their troop suffering “martyrdom,”
and among the rest the officer who had been intrusted with the care of
the present, it was judged necessary to transmit an account of what
had taken place to Delhi, and await the further commands of the “Lord
of the World.” In the mean while the Hindoos, though, according to Ibn
Batūta, thoroughly subdued, if not exterminated, continued their attacks
upon the Moslems; and during one of these affrays our valiant traveller
was accidentally placed in the greatest jeopardy. Having joined his
coreligionists in pursuing the vanquished Hindoos, he suddenly found
himself and five others separated from the main body of the army, and
pursued in their turn by the enemy. At length his five companions,
escaping in different directions, or falling by the sword of the Hindoos,
disappeared, and he was thus left alone in the midst of the most imminent
danger. Just at this moment the forefeet of his horse sticking fast
between two stones, he dismounted to set the beast at liberty, and
observed, that having entered the mouth of a valley his pursuers had lost
sight of him, as he had of them. Of the country, however, the towns, the
roads, and the rivers he was totally ignorant; so that, thinking his
horse as good a judge of what was best as himself in the present dilemma,
he permitted the animal to select his own path. The horse, imagining,
perhaps, that shade and safety were synonymous, proceeded towards a part
of the valley where the trees were closely interwoven, but had no sooner
reached it than a party of about forty cavalry rushed out, and made our
ambassador prisoner.
Ibn Batūta, who immediately alighted from his charger, now began
to believe that all his journeyings were at an end; and that,
notwithstanding his dreams, and the predictions of many saints, he
was doomed never to behold China, or the second and third brothers of
the Sheïkh Borhaneddin. To corroborate his apprehensions the Hindoos
plundered him of all he possessed, bound his arms, and, taking him
along with them, travelled for two days through a country unknown to
our traveller, who, not understanding the language or manners of his
captors, imagined they intended to kill, and, perhaps, to eat him.
From these fears he was soon delivered, however, for at the end of two
days, the Hindoos, supposing, no doubt, that they had terrified him
sufficiently, gave him his liberty, and rode away. The shadows of his
past apprehensions still haunting him, he no sooner found himself alone
than plunging into the depths of an almost impenetrable forest he sought
among the haunts of wild animals an asylum from the fury of man. Here he
subsisted seven days upon the fruit and leaves of the mountain trees,
occasionally venturing out to examine whither the neighbouring roads
might lead, but always finding them conduct him towards ruins or the
abode of Hindoos.
On the seventh day of his concealment he met with a black man, who
politely saluted him, and, the salute being returned, demanded his name.
Having satisfied the stranger upon this point, our traveller made the
same demand, and the stranger replied that he was called El Kalb El Karīh
(the “Wounded Heart”). He then gave Ibn Batūta some pulse to eat, and
water to drink, and, observing that he was too weak to walk, took him
upon his shoulders and carried him along. In this position our traveller
fell asleep, and his nap must have been a long one, for, awaking about
the dawn of the next day, he found himself at the gate of the emperor’s
palace. What became of his extraordinary charger he does not inform us;
but the emperor, who had already received by a courier the news of his
misfortunes, bestowed upon him ten thousand dinars, to console him for
his losses, and once more equipped him for his journey. Another officer
was sent to take charge of the present, returning with whom to the city
of Kul, he rejoined his companions, and proceeded on his mission.
Proceeding by the way of Dowlutabad, Nazarabad, Canbaza, and Pattan, he
at length arrived at Kalikut in Malabar, where the whole party were to
embark for China. Here, not having properly timed their arrival, our
sage ambassadors had to remain three months, waiting for a favourable
wind. When the season for departure had arrived, the other members of
the embassy embarked with the present; but Ibn Batūta, finding the
cabin which had been assigned him much too small to contain his baggage
and the multitude of slave girls, remained on shore for the purpose of
bargaining for a larger vessel, and hearing divine service on the next
day. During the night a tempest arose, which drove several of the junks
upon the shore, where a great number of the crew and passengers perished.
The ship which contained the imperial present weathered the storm until
the morning, when our traveller, descending to the beach, beheld her
tossed about upon the furious waves, while the officers of the emperor
prostrated themselves upon the deck in despair. Presently she struck upon
the rocks, and every soul on board perished. A part of the fleet, among
the rest the vessel containing our traveller’s property, sailed away, and
of the fate of the greater number of them nothing was ever known. The
whole of Ibn Batūta’s wealth now consisted of a prostration carpet and
ten dinars; but being told that in all probability the ship in which he
had embarked his fortune had put into Kawlam, a city ten days’ journey
distant, he proceeded thither, but upon his arrival found that his hopes
had been buoyed up in vain.
He was now in the most extraordinary dilemma in which he had ever been
placed. Knowing the fierce and unreflecting character of the emperor,
who, without weighing his motives, would condemn him for having remained
on shore; and being too poor to remain where he was, he could not for
some time determine how to act. At length, however, he resolved to visit
the court of Jemaleddin, king of Hinaur, who received him kindly, and
allowed him to become reader to the royal mosque. Shortly afterward,
having been encouraged thereto by a favourable omen, obtained from
a sentence of the Koran, he accompanied Jemaleddin in an expedition
against the island of Sindibur, which was subdued and taken possession
of. To console Ibn Batūta for the many misfortunes he had lately
endured, Jemaleddin presented him with a slave girl, clothing, and other
necessaries; and he remained with him several months. Still, however,
he was not reconciled to the loss of his pretty female slave and other
property which had been embarked in the Chinese ship, and requested the
king’s permission to make a voyage to Kawlam for the purpose of making
inquiries concerning it. His request being granted, he proceeded to
Kawlam, where, to his great grief, he learned that his former mistress
had died, and that his property had been seized upon by the “infidels,”
while his followers had found other masters.
This affair being thus at an end, he returned to Sindibur, where he found
his friend Jemaleddin besieged by an infidel king. Not being able to
enter the city, he embarked, without delay, for the Maldive Islands, all
parts of the earth being now much alike to him, and after a ten days’
voyage arrived at that extraordinary archipelago. Here, after dwelling
upon the praises of the cocoanut, which he describes as an extremely
powerful aphrodisiac, he informs us, as a commentary upon the above
text, that he had four wives, besides a reasonable number of mistresses.
Nevertheless, the natives, he says, are chaste and religious, and so
very peacefully disposed that their only weapons are prayers. In one of
these islands he was raised to the office of judge, when, according to
his own testimony, he endeavoured to prevail upon his wives, contrary to
the custom of the country, to eat in his company, and conceal their bosom
with their garments, but could never succeed.
The legend which ascribes the conversion of these islanders to
Mohammedanism, the religion now prevailing there, to a man who delivered
the country from a sea-monster, which was accustomed to devour monthly
one of their most beautiful virgins, strongly resembles the story of
Perseus and Andromeda. In order to keep up the fervency of their piety
the monster still appears on a certain day in the offing. Ibn Batūta,
who had little of the skeptic in his composition, saw the apparition
himself, in the form of a ship filled with candles and torches; and it
may, perhaps, be the same supernatural structure which still hovers about
those seas, sailing in the teeth of the wind, and denominated by European
mariners the “Flying Dutchman.” In these islands Ibn Batūta remained some
time, sailing from isle to isle through glittering and tranquil seas,
being everywhere raised to posts of honour and distinction, and tasting
of all the delights and pleasures which power, consideration, and a
delicious climate could bestow.
Neither riches nor honours, however, could fix Ibn Batūta in one place.
He was as restless as a wave of the sea. No sooner, therefore, had he
seen the principal curiosities of the Maldive Islands, than he burned
to be again in motion, visiting new scenes, and contemplating other men
and other manners. Embarking on board a Mohammedan vessel, he set sail
for the island of Ceylon, principally for the purpose of visiting the
mark of Adam’s footstep on the mountain of Serendib, the lofty summit of
which appeared, he observes, like a pillar of smoke at the distance of
nine days’ sail. Drawing near the land, he was at first forbidden by the
Hindoo authorities to come on shore; but, upon his informing them that
he was a relation of the King of Maabar, as he in some sense was, having
while at Delhi married the sister of that prince’s queen, they permitted
him to disembark. The king of the country, who happened at that time to
be in amity with the sovereign of Maabar, received him hospitably, and
bade him ask boldly for whatever he might want. “My only desire,” replied
the traveller, “in coming to this island is to visit the blessed foot of
our forefather Adam.” This being the case, the king informed him that
his desires might easily be gratified, and forthwith granted him an
escort of four Jogees, four Brahmins, ten courtiers, and fifteen men for
carrying provisions, with a palanquin and bearers for his own use.
With this superb retinue the traveller departed from Battalā, the capital
of his royal host, and journeying for several days through a country
abounding with wild elephants, arrived at the city of Kankār, situated
on the Bay of Rubies, where the emperor of the whole island at that time
resided. Here Ibn Batūta saw the only white elephant which he beheld
in all his travels; and the beast, being set apart for the use of the
prince, had his head adorned with enormous rubies, one of which was
larger than a hen’s egg. Other rubies of still greater magnitude were
sometimes found in the mines, and Ibn Batūta saw a saucer as large as
the palm of the hand cut from one single stone. Rubies were in fact so
plentiful here that the women wore strings of them upon their arms and
legs, instead of bracelets and ankle-rings.
In the course of this journey our traveller passed through a district
inhabited chiefly by black monkeys, with long tails, and beards like
men. He was assured by “very pious and credible persons” that these
monkeys had a kind of leader, or king, who, being, we suppose, ambitious
of appearing to be an Islamite, wore upon his head a species of turban
composed of the leaves of trees, and reclined on a staff as upon a
sceptre. He had, moreover, his council and his harem, like any other
prince; and one of the Jogees asserted that he had himself seen the
officers of his court doing justice upon a criminal, by beating him with
rods, and plucking off all his hair. His revenue, which was paid in kind,
consisted of a certain number of nuts, lemons, and mountain fruit; but
upon what principle it was collected we are not informed. Another of the
wonders of Ceylon were the terrible tree-leeches, which, springing from
the branches, or from the tall rank grass, upon the passing traveller,
fastened upon him, drained out his blood, and sometimes occasioned
immediate death. To prevent this fatal result the inhabitants always
carry a lemon about with them, which they squeeze upon the leech, and
thus force him to quit his hold.
Arriving at length at the Seven Caves, and the Ridge of Alexander,
they began to ascend the mountain of Serendib, which, according to the
orientals, is one of the highest in the world. Its summit rises above
the region of the clouds; for our traveller observes, that when he had
ascended it, he beheld those splendid vapours rolling along in masses
far beneath his feet. Among the extraordinary trees and plants which
grew upon this mountain is that red rose, about the size of the palm
of the hand, upon the leaves of which the Mohammedans imagine they can
read the name of God and of the Prophet. Two roads lead to the top of
this mountain, of which the one is said to be that of Bābā, or Adam; the
other, that of Māmā, or Eve. The latter is winding, sloping, and easy
of ascent, and is therefore chosen by the pilgrims impatient on their
first arrival to visit the Blessed Foot; but whoever departs without
having also climbed the rough and difficult road of Bābā, is thought not
to have performed the pilgrimage at all. The mark of the foot, which is
eleven spans in length, is in a rock upon the very apex of the mountain.
In the same rock, surrounding the impression of the foot, there are nine
small excavations, into which the pagan pilgrims, who imagine it to be
the print of Buddha’s foot instead of that of Adam, put gold, rubies,
and other jewels; and hence the fakeers who come hither on pilgrimage
strenuously endeavour to outstrip each other in their race up the
mountain, that they may seize upon those treasures.
In returning from the pilgrimage our traveller saw that sacred
cypress-tree the leaves of which never fall, or if they do, drop off so
seldom that it is thought that the person who finds one and eats it will
return again to the blooming season of youth, however old he may be. When
Ibn Batūta passed by the tree, he saw several Jogees beneath it, watching
for the dropping of a leaf; but whether they ever tasted of the joys of
rejuvenescence, or quickened the passage of their souls into younger
bodies, he does not inform us.
Returning thence to Battalā, he embarked on board the same ship which
had conveyed him to Ceylon, and departed for Maabar. During the voyage,
short as it was, a storm arose which endangered the ship, and put their
lives in jeopardy; but they were saved by the bravery of the Hindoo
pilots, who put out in their small frail boats, and brought them to
land. He was received by his relation, the Sultan Ghietheddin, with
great honour and distinction; but this prince being then engaged in war,
for the vicissitudes and dangers of which our traveller had never any
particular predilection, he departed on a visit to the Rajah of Hinaur.
Passing on his way through the city of Fattan, he saw among groves of
pomegranate-trees and vines a number of fakeers, one of whom had seven
foxes, who breakfasted and dined with him daily, while another had a lion
and a gazelle, which lived together as familiarly as the dogs and angolas
in a cat-merchant’s cage on the Pont Neuf.
Before he could leave the Maabar country, he was seized with a
dangerous fever at Maturah, where the Sultan Ghietheddin died of
the same contagious disorder. On his recovery he obtained the new
sultan’s permission to continue his journey, and embarking at Kawlam
in Malabar, proceeded towards Hinaur. Ibn Batūta was seldom fortunate
at sea. Sometimes he was robbed; at other times nearly drowned. The
present voyage was the most unfortunate he ever undertook, for the ship
being attacked and taken by pirates, he, as well as the rest of the
passengers and crew, was robbed of all he possessed, and landed on the
coast penniless and nearly naked. He contrived, however, by the aid of
the charitable, we presume, to find his way to Kalicut, where, meeting
with several merchants and lawyers who had known him in the days of his
prosperity at Delhi, he was once more equipped handsomely, and enabled
to pursue his romantic adventures. He had at this time some thoughts
of returning to the court of the Sultan Mohammed, but fear, or rather
prudence, deterred him, and he took the more agreeable route of the
Maldive Islands, where he had left a little boy with his native mother.
It seems to have been his intention to have taken away the child; but as
the laws of the country forbade the emigration of women, he came away as
he went, abandoning his offspring to the affection of its mother.
From hence the bounty of the vizier enabled him to proceed to Bengal,
a country then, as now, renowned for its prodigious fertility, and the
consequent cheapness of provisions. He still, we find, regarded himself
as a servant of the emperor, for Fakraddin, the king or subahdar of
Bengal, being then in rebellion against Mohammed, Ibn Batūta avoided
being presented to him, and proceeded towards Tibet, for the purpose of
visiting a famous saint, who wrought “great and notable” miracles, and
lived to the great age of one hundred and fifty years. This great man,
who was accustomed to fast ten days at a time, and sit up all night,
foresaw supernaturally the visit of Ibn Batūta, and sent forth four
of his companions to meet him at the distance of two days’ journey,
observing, “A western religious traveller is coming to you; go out and
meet him.”
On arriving at the cell he found the sheïkh prepared to receive him;
and with this great saint and his followers he remained three days. On
the day of our traveller’s presentation the sheïkh wore a fine yellow
garment, for which in his heart Ibn Batūta conceived an unaccountable
longing; and the saint, who, it seems, could read the thoughts of men,
as well as the secrets of futurity, immediately went to the side of the
cave, and taking it off, together with his fillet and his sleeves, put
the whole upon his guest. The fakeers informed Batūta, however, that the
sage had predicted that the garment would be taken away by an infidel
king, and given to the Sheïkh Borhaneddin of Sagirj, for whom it was
made; but Batūta replied, “Since I have a blessing from the sheïkh, and
since he has clothed me with his own clothes, I will never enter with
them into the presence of any king, whether infidel or Moslem.” The
prediction, however, was accomplished, for the Emperor of China took away
the garment, and bestowed it upon the very Borhaneddin in question.
Descending from these mountains to the seashore, he embarked at
Sutirkawan for Sumatra, and touching on the way at certain islands,
which may, perhaps, have been the greater and lesser Andamans, saw a
people with mouths like dogs, who wore no clothing, and were totally
destitute of religion. Leaving these islands, they arrived in fifteen
days at Sumatra, a green and blooming island, where the frankincense,
the cocoanut, the Indian aloe, the sweet orange, and the camphor-reed
were found in great abundance. Proceeding to the capital, our traveller
was hospitably received by the Sultan Jemaleddin, a pious and munificent
prince, who walked to his prayers on Friday, and was peculiarly partial
to the professors of the Mohammedan law; while in the arts of government
and war he exhibited great talents, keeping his infidel neighbours in awe
of him, and maintaining among his own subjects a great enthusiasm for his
person.
After remaining here fifteen days, partaking of the hospitality of the
Sultan Jemaleddin, our traveller departed in a junk for China, where,
after a pleasant and prosperous voyage, he arrived in safety, and found
himself surrounded by new wonders. This, he thought, was the richest and
most fertile country he had ever visited. Mohammedanism, however, had
made little or no progress among the yellow men, for he observes that
they were all infidels, worshipping images, and burning their dead, like
the Hindoos. The emperor, at this period, was a descendant of Genghis
Khan, who seems to have so far tolerated the Mohammedans, that they had
a separate quarter allotted to them in every town, where they resided
apart from the pagans. Ibn Batūta seems to have regarded the Chinese with
a secret disgust, for he observes that they would eat the flesh of both
dogs and swine, which was sold publicly in their markets. Though greatly
addicted to the comforts and pleasures of life, the distinctions of rank
were not very apparent among them, the richest merchants dressing, like
the commonalty, in a coarse cotton dress, and all making use, in walking,
of a staff, which was called “the third leg.” In the extreme cheapness
of silks, our traveller might have discovered the reason why the richest
merchants wore cotton; for, as he himself observes, one cotton dress
would purchase many silk ones, which, accordingly, were the usual dress
of the poorer classes.
The internal trade and commerce of the country was carried on with paper
money, which, as Marco Polo likewise observes, had totally superseded the
use of the dirhem and the dinar. These bank-notes, if we may so apply the
term, were about the size of the palm of the hand, and were stamped with
the royal stamp. When torn accidentally, or worn out by use, these papers
could be carried to what may be termed their mint, and changed without
loss for new ones, the emperor being satisfied with the profits accruing
from their circulation. No other money was in use. Whatever gold and
silver was possessed by individuals was melted into ingots, and placed
for show over the doors of their houses.
The perfection to which the Chinese of those days had carried the
elegant and useful arts appeared extraordinary to our traveller, who
dwells with vast complacency upon the beauty of their paintings and the
peculiar delicacy of their porcelain. One example of their ingenuity
amused him exceedingly. Returning after a short absence to one of their
cities, through which he had just passed, he found the walls and houses
ornamented with portraits of himself and his companions. This, however,
was a mere police regulation, intended to familiarize the people with
the forms and features of strangers, that should they commit any crime
they might be easily recognised. Ships found to contain any article
not regularly entered in the custom-house register were confiscated;
“a species of oppression,” says our traveller, “which I witnessed
nowhere else.” Strangers, on their first arrival, placed themselves and
their property in the keeping of some merchant or innkeeper, who was
answerable for the safety of both. The Chinese, regarding their children
as property, sell them whenever they can get a purchaser, which renders
slaves both male and female extremely cheap among them; and as chastity
appears to possess little or no merit in their eyes, travellers are in
the habit of purchasing, on their arrival in any city, a slave girl, who
resides with them while they remain, and at their departure is either
sold again, like an ordinary piece of furniture, or taken away along
with them to be disposed of elsewhere. The severity of their police
regulations proves that their manners had even then arrived at that
pitch of corruption in which little or no reliance is to be placed on
moral influence, the place of which is supplied by caution, vigilance,
and excessive terror. Strangers moved about in the midst of innumerable
guards, who might, perhaps, be considered as much in the light of spies
as defenders. Fear predominated everywhere; the traveller feared his
host, and the host the traveller. Religion, honour, morals had no power,
or rather no existence. Hence the low pitch beyond which the civilization
of China has never been able to soar, and that retrogradation towards
barbarism which has long commenced in that country, and is rapidly urging
the population towards the miserable condition in which they were plunged
before the times of Yaon and Shan, who drew them out of their forests and
caverns.
To proceed, however, with the adventures of our traveller. The first
great city at which he arrived he denominated El Zaitūn, which was the
place where the best coloured and flowered silks in the empire were
manufactured. It was situated upon a large arm of the sea, and being
one of the finest ports in the world, carried on an immense trade,
and overflowed with wealth and magnificence. He next proceeded to Sin
Kilan, another city on the seashore, beyond which, he was informed,
neither Chinese nor Mohammedan ever travelled, the inhabitants of those
parts being fierce, inhospitable, and addicted to cannibalism. In a
cave without this city was a hermit, or more properly an impostor, who
pretended to have arrived at the great age of two hundred years without
eating, drinking, or sleeping. Ibn Batūta, who could not, of course,
avoid visiting so great and perfect a being, going to his cell, found
him to be a thin, beardless, copper-coloured old man, possessing all the
external marks of a saint. When the worthy traveller saluted him, instead
of returning his salutation, he seized his hand, and smelt it; and then,
turning to the interpreter, he said, “This man is just as much attached
to this world as we are to the next.” Upon further discourse, it appeared
that the saint and the traveller had met before, the former being, in
fact, a jogee, whom Ibn Batūta had seen many years before leaning against
the wall of an idol temple in the island of Sindibur. Saints, as well
as other men, are sometimes imprudent. The jogee had no sooner made
this confession than he repented of it, and, retreating into his cell,
immediately disguised himself, so that the traveller, who he suspected
would forcibly follow him, could not upon entering recognise his person
in the least. To infuse into his visiter’s mind the belief that he
possessed the power of rendering himself invisible, he informed him that
he had seen the last of the holy men, who, though at that moment present,
was not to be seen. On returning to the city, our traveller was assured
by the judge of the place that it was the same person who had appeared to
him both within and without the cave, and that, in fact, the good man was
fond of playing such tricks.
Returning to El Zaitūn, he proceeded towards the capital, and halted a
little at the city of Fanjanfūr, which, from the number and beauty of
its gardens, in some measure resembled Damascus. Here, at a banquet to
which he was invited, the remembrance of home was forcibly recalled to
his mind by a very affecting and unexpected meeting. He was sitting at
table, among his jovial entertainers, when a great Mohammedan fakeer,
who entered and joined the company, attracted his attention; and as he
continued to gaze earnestly at him for some time, the man at length
observed him, and said, “Why do you continue looking at me, unless you
know me?” To this Ibn Batūta replied, by demanding the name of his
native place. “I am,” said the man, “from Ceuta.”—“And I,” replied Ibn
Batūta, “am from Tangiers.” By that peculiar structure of the mind which
gives associations of ideas, whether pleasurable or painful, so thorough
an empire over our feelings, the very enunciation of those two sounds
melted and subdued the temper of their souls. The fakeer saluted him,
and wept; and the traveller, returning his salute, wept also. Ibn Batūta
then inquired whether he had ever been in India, and was informed that
he had remained for some time in the imperial palace of Delhi. A sudden
recollection now flashed upon our traveller’s mind: “Are you, then, El
Bashiri?” said he; and the fakeer replied, “I am he.” Ibn Batūta now
knew who he was, and remembered that while yet a youth without a beard
he had travelled with his uncle, Abul Kasim, from Africa to Hindostan;
and that he himself had afterward recommended him as an able repeater
of the Koran to the emperor, though the fakeer, preferring liberty and
a rambling life, had refused to accept of any office. He was now in
possession, however, of both rank and riches, and bestowed many presents
upon his former benefactor. To show the wandering disposition of the men,
our traveller remarks that he shortly after met with the brother of this
fakeer at Sondan, in the heart of Africa.
Still proceeding on his way, he next arrived at the city of El Khausa
(no doubt the Kinsai of Marco Polo), which he pronounces the longest he
had ever seen on the face of the earth; and to give some idea of its
prodigious extent, observes, that a traveller might journey on through
it for three days, and still find lodgings. As the Chinese erect their
houses in the midst of gardens, like the natives of Malabar, and enclose
within the walls what may be termed parks and meadows, the population
of their cities is never commensurate with their extent; so that their
largest capitals may be regarded as inferior in population to several
cities of Europe. However, the flames of civil war, which then raged with
inextinguishable fury through the whole empire, prevented our traveller
from visiting Khan Balik, the Cambalu of Marco Polo and the older
geographers, and the Peking of the Chinese; and therefore he returned
to El Zaitūn, where he embarked on board a Mohammedan vessel bound for
Sumatra. During this voyage, in which they were driven by a tempest into
unknown seas, both our traveller and the crew of the ship in which he
sailed mistook a cloud for an island, and, being driven towards it by
the wind, suffered, by anticipation, all the miseries of shipwreck. Some
betook themselves to prayer and repentance; others made vows. In the mean
while night came on, the wind died away, and in the morning, when they
looked out for their island, they found that it had ascended into the
air, while a bright current of light flowed between it and the sea. New
fears now seized upon the superstitious crew. Escaped from shipwreck,
they began to imagine that the dusky body which they discovered
at a distance hovering in the sky was no other than the monstrous
rock-bird which makes so distinguished a figure in the Arabian Nights’
Entertainment; and they had little doubt, that should it perceive them,
it would immediately pounce upon and devour both them and their ship. The
wind blowing in a contrary direction, they escaped, however, from the
rock, and in the course of two months arrived safely in Java, where our
traveller was honourably received and entertained by the king.
Remaining here two months, and receiving from the sultan presents of
lignum, aloes, camphire, cloves, sandal-wood, and provisions, he at
length departed in a junk bound for Kawlam, in Malabar, where, after
a voyage of forty days, he arrived; and visiting Kalikut and Zafār,
again departed for the Persian Gulf. Traversing a portion of Persia and
Mesopotamia, he entered Syria; and the desire of visiting his native
place now springing up in his heart, he hastened, after once more
performing the pilgrimage to Mecca and Medina, to embark for Barbary,
and arrived at Fez in 1350, after an absence of twenty-six years. Though
received in the most distinguished manner by his native sovereign,
who, in his opinion, united all the good and great qualities of all the
great princes he had seen, and believing, like a true patriot, that his
own country of all the regions of the earth was the most beautiful,
the old habit of locomotion was still too strong to be subdued; and
imagining he should enjoy peculiar pleasure in warring for the true
faith, he passed over into Spain, where the Mohammedans were then engaged
in vanquishing or eradicating the power of the Christians. The places
which here principally commanded his attention were, the Hill of Victory
(Gibraltar), and Granada, whose suburbs, surpassing those of Damascus
itself, and intersected by the sparkling waters of the Xenil, appeared to
him the finest in the whole world.
From Spain Ibn Batūta again passed into Africa, apparently without at
all engaging in the war against the Christians, and, after traversing
the cultivated districts, entered the great desert of Sahara, through
which he proceeded, without meeting with village or habitation for
five-and-twenty days, when they arrived at Tagāzā, or Thagari, a place
built entirely of rock salt. Proceeding onwards through the desert, in
this portion of which there is neither water, bird, nor tree, and where
the dazzling burning sand is whirled aloft in vast clouds, and driven
along with prodigious rapidity by the winds, they arrived in ten days
at the city of Abu Latin, the first inhabited place in the kingdom
of Sondan. Here our traveller was so exceedingly disgusted with the
character of the negroes, who exhibited unmitigated contempt for all
white people, that he at first resolved to return without completing
his design; but the travelling passion prevailed, he remained at Abu
Latin fifty days, studying the manners and customs of the inhabitants.
Contrary to the general rule, he found the women beautiful and the men
not jealous; the effect, in all probability, of unbounded corruption of
manners.
Proceeding thence to Mali, or Melli, and remaining there a short time,
being honourably received and presented with valuable gifts by the king,
he next departed for Timbuctoo, which at that time appears to have
been quite an inferior place, dependent on Mali. Returning thence by
the way of Sigilmāsa to Fez, in the year 1353, he there concluded his
wanderings, and in all probability employed the remainder of his life
in the composition of those travels of which we merely possess a meager
abridgment, the most complete copy of which was brought to England by
Mr. Burckhardt. The translation of this abridgment by Professor Lee,
useful as it is, must be rendered greatly more valuable by extending
the English, and rejecting the Arabic notes; and by the addition of an
index, which would facilitate the study of the work. How long Ibn Batūta
survived his return to his native country, and whether the travels were
his own work, are facts of which nothing is known.