it together was hardly possible so long as its purely Arab character was
retained. The reigning house of the Omayyads had to contend with very
dangerous political and religious antipathies; and, perhaps a greater
danger, the Arabs, who now controlled a world-empire, kept up without
abatement the old untractableness and exaggerated zeal for the honour of
family and tribe which they had developed in their desert life. The only
difference now was, that their tribal patriotism had reference not so
much to the small subdivisions in which the Bedouin lives, as to large
tribal groups, the unity of which was in part no more than a fiction. If
a governor leaned upon the Yemenites, the Modarites forthwith became his
open or secret foes; any prominent official who belonged to the Kais
group was hated by the Kelb. And almost every one in authority was ready
to overlook in his tribesmen even those offences which, in members of
another tribe, he severely, and rightly, punished. The Omayyad Caliphs
accordingly found the utmost difficulty in keeping down the private
feuds even of the Arabs of Syria, who were generally loyal; and their
troubles were much greater in the remoter provinces, where there was
little or no sympathy with the reigning house. The kingdom of the
Omayyads was never in a state of tolerable order and prosperity unless
there was an eminently astute and energetic governor in Babylonia (Irák)
as well as a capable sovereign in Syria. For the seat of supreme power
was tied to Syria by the circumstances under which the dynasty had
arisen; while the eastern provinces, too remote to be controlled from
Damascus, were necessarily administered from Irák. All steady order
ceased with the reign of the talented but utterly profligate Walíd II.
(743-744). The struggles of various Omayyads with one another did the
rest.
The ground had long before been undermined by the efforts of a religious
party hostile to the Omayyads. The descendants of Alí, who, as
blood-relations, in fact descendants, of the Prophet (through his
daughter Fátima), considered themselves to have the nearest right to the
throne, alienated from the Omayyads the hearts of many of their
subjects. There was an expectation that the house of Mohammed, should it
once attain to the supreme authority, would fill the earth as full of
righteousness as it was now full of iniquity. The pious professors and
followers of the divine law had little liking for the rule of the
reigning house, which, for all its forms of religion, was purely
secular. And though the risings of the Alids were unsuccessful through
the bungling of their leaders, the very failure cost the Omayyads dear;
for the incapable grandchildren of the Apostle of God, who had fallen or
been put to death, in the eyes of the people became martyrs, whose blood
cried to heaven for vengeance.
In perfect quietness, meanwhile, another family was setting itself to
work to gather in the fruits of the efforts of the Alids for its own
behalf,—their cousins, the Abbásids. Abbás, from whom they traced their
descent, had held a somewhat ambiguous attitude towards his nephew the
Prophet. His son Abdalláh passes for one of the strongest pillars of
religious tradition; but, in the eyes of unprejudiced European research,
he is only a crafty liar. Abdalláh’s grandson Mohammed, and the sons of
the latter, so far as they are known to us, combined considerable
practical vigour with their hereditary cunning and duplicity. They lived
in deep retirement in Humaima, a little place to the south of the Dead
Sea, seemingly far withdrawn from the world, but which, on account of
its proximity to the route by which Syrian pilgrims went to Mecca,
afforded opportunities for communication with the remotest lands of
Islam. From this centre they carried on the propaganda in their own
behalf with the utmost skill. They had genius enough to see that the
best soil for their efforts was the distant Khorásán,[20]—that is, the
extensive north-eastern provinces of the old Persian empire. The
majority of the people there had already gone over to Islam; many had
embraced the new faith with ardour, and had even fought bravely on its
behalf against the unbelieving populations to the north and east. But
the converted Persians were held in little esteem by the dominant Arabs,
who looked on them as “clients,”[21] and refused to accord to them the
full rights to which they had a claim as Moslems. The internal wars of
the Arabs, moreover, raged in those parts with exceptional violence. To
the Persians it was a matter of indifference whether the Yemenites or
Modarites or Rabía were victorious; but they keenly felt the devastation
of their country, and their own subordinate position; and thus a great
proportion of the newly-converted Persians were filled with hatred
towards their Arab “brethren in the faith.” This hatred was easily
turned against the reigning house, which was named as the source of all
unrighteousness, and whose secular disposition must certainly have been
very offensive to the truly pious. The Persians, moreover, were
naturally inclined to legitimism, and to enthusiastic attachments to
spiritual leaders. Accordingly they were drawn over in multitudes to the
doctrine that “the house of the Prophet” alone is called to dominion
over his kingdom and his Church. Well-chosen emissaries of the Abbásids
canvassed for the family of the Prophet, for the Háshimids, by which
expression were understood, in the first instance, the descendants of
Alí. Other watchwords and fictitious sayings of Mohammed were also
successfully put in circulation. Gradually and furtively the place of
the Alids was taken by the Abbásids, who undoubtedly also were
descendants of Háshim, and who, since descent from Mohammed in the
female line was represented as unimportant, could claim to be just as
nearly related to the Prophet as the others.[22] The main point was,
that the adherents secured for the cause became entirely attached to the
persons of the emissaries, so that the latter were able in the end to
direct their followers as they pleased. To secure adherents there seems
to have been no scruple about favouring all sorts of objectionable
opinions (partly due to a mixing up of the old with the new religion)
inconsistent with the fundamental laws of Islam. Of details of the
progress of the agitation we know little; but so much is certain: that
it was very active, that the emissaries had a regular organisation, and
that frequent communication was maintained between Khorásán and the
centres from which the wires were pulled—Cufa, the residence of the
supreme agent, and Humaima, the home of the Abbásids. The yearly
pilgrimages gave special opportunities for meeting without arousing
suspicion; many important consultations may possibly have taken place in
Mecca itself. Operations had long been carried on in this way, when the
head of the Abbásids—either Mohammed, who died in 743, or his son
Ibráhím, it is not quite certain which—discovered the man who was
destined to bring the movement to a successful issue. This was Abú
Moslim, a freedman whose country and descent are unknown, but who in any
case was not of Arabian blood. This quondam slave united with an
agitator’s adroitness and perfect unscrupulosity in the choice of his
means the energy and clear outlook of a general and statesman, and even
of a monarch. Within a few years he brought it about that the black
banner of the Abbásids was openly unfurled (in the beginning of summer,
747). In a perfidious but masterly manner he contrived still further to
foment the mutual antipathies of the Arab parties which were openly at
war with each other, although Nasr, the governor, was not the only one
who clearly saw that nothing less was at stake than the supremacy, and
even the very life, of the Arabs. Ibráhím is even said to have given
orders to Abú Moslim that, so far as possible, no Arab should be left
alive in Khorásán. Soon the brave Nasr was compelled to quit the
country; and immediately afterwards he died (November 748). The
Khorásánians pressed steadily forwards. The chief control was in the
hands of Abú Moslim, although he remained in Khorásán; not only the
Persians, but also the Arab leaders, put themselves under the command of
the freedman, a thing unheard-of for Arab pride. It should be added,
that the Arabs of Khorásán undoubtedly had a strong strain of Persian
blood, and that they had taken on much that was Persian.
A large portion of Southern Persia had not long before been seized by
another of the Háshimids, Abdalláh, son of Moáwiya, a descendant of
Alí’s brother Jaafar. He had had the support of the Abbásids. But this
thoroughly unworthy person (for such he seems to have been) was overcome
by the generals of the Omayyad Merwán II., and betook himself in flight
to Abú Moslim. He had served his turn, in so far as he had thrown the
empire into wilder confusion, and called the attention of the people to
the family of the Prophet; now as a rival he might prove inconvenient.
Abú Moslim therefore first cast him into prison, and afterwards took his
life.
Babylonia, the most important province of the empire, was occupied by
the troops of the Abbásids. Once more a great battle took place close to
the field where Alexander had gained his final victory over Darius
(middle of January 750). The men belonging to Yemenite tribes, who
formed the majority of the Omayyad troops, were disinclined to stake
their lives on behalf of Merwán, who was not favourably disposed towards
them; and accordingly the battle was lost. Over and above this, there
now arose internal struggles in Syria and Egypt, which facilitated the
work of the Abbásid troops. Merwán, a tried warrior, had to flee from
place to place, and soon afterwards fell, almost deserted, at the
village of Búsír,[23] in Middle Egypt (August 750).
The head of the Abbásids was now no longer Ibráhím; he had been thrown
into prison by Merwán when his complicity with Abú Moslim was
discovered, and, shortly before the triumph of his party, had either
died or been murdered in captivity. His brothers had fled to Cufa, and
kept themselves in hiding there. Here, immediately after the occupation
of the city by the Khorásánians, and before the last blow had been
struck against Merwán, Abul-Abbás, now the head of the house, was
proclaimed Caliph (November or December 749). In his inaugural sermon in
the principal mosque, Abul-Abbás designated himself as Saffáh, _i.e._
“the bloodshedder;” and to this dreadful name, which has since been his
standing title, he did ample justice. All Omayyads were ruthlessly
struck down. The watchword was: “Vengeance for the Háshimids slain by
the Omayyads.” It is, of course, possible that the Abbásids, themselves
Arabs, may really have had Arab feelings in the matter, and required
vengeance for the blood of their relations as such. But the actual
motives were nevertheless other than these; their object was to excite
the mob against the Omayyads, as being impious men and worthy of death,
and to make their whole house absolutely harmless. To this end no
violence or treachery was spared. Even those members of the house who
had fled for mercy to the conquerors, and had been received by them, nay
more, even those who had yielded only on the solemn promise that no harm
should befall them, were put to death; and the Abbásids, the Caliph
himself, as well as his uncles, and particularly Abdalláh, who led the
pursuit of the defeated Merwán, personally gloated over the murder of
their adversaries. And yet Abdalláh had only a short time before
experienced an act of clemency when, while taking part in the rebellion
of the Jaafarids, he had fallen into the hands of Merwán’s general.
Notwithstanding the fierceness of the massacre, a few members of this
very numerous Omayyad family managed to escape. Some kept themselves in
hiding, and by and by were ignored or forgiven; others made their escape
into the far west, where the Caliph’s power did not extend. Nor was it
only Omayyad blood that was freely shed at the establishment of the
Abbásid rule, whether to excite terror among its subjects, or because
the new ruler was hardly able to control the lust for slaughter in his
victorious troops. Syria, however, did not accommodate itself to the new
dynasty without trouble. Various disturbances gave the conquerors a
great deal to do from the very first. In particular, it proved an
arduous task to suppress those insurgents who had placed at their head
Abú Mohammed, a descendant of the first two Omayyad Caliphs.
Shortly after the death of Merwán, his last powerful supporter, Ibn
Hobaira, who had taken possession of the important town of Wásit, on the
lower Tigris, made his peace after he had been blockaded for a long time
by Mansúr, the brother of the Caliph. By both these princely brothers he
had been promised not only life, but continuance in his high office. But
so lofty a personage, with a large body of adherents, who had already
asserted a very independent position as governor of Babylon, harmonised
ill with the new condition of affairs. Mansúr accordingly, in concert
with his brother, caused him to be put to death; solemn promises and
oaths had no meaning for these men. This was done, it is said, on the
advice of Abú Moslim. It is more probable that Abú Moslim had a hand in
making away with Abú Salama, “the vizier of the Háshimids,” who from
Babylonia had directed the movement in Khorásán, and who had rendered
great services in connection with the change of dynasty. It is alleged
that—perhaps in full consistency with his original orders—he had,
after the death of Ibráhím, shown more inclination to the Alids than to
the Abbásids. In any case he stood in the way of Abú Moslim.
Saffáh appears to have been a strong ruler, who, had he lived longer,
might perhaps himself have done for the empire what it was left for his
follower to achieve. Great differences between the caliphate of the
Abbásids and that of the Omayyads immediately emerged, due in part to
the manner in which it had been set up, and in part to the personal
character of the rulers. The seat of empire was transferred to
Babylonia, the true centre. The power of the sovereign rested primarily
on Persian troops, which were more amenable to discipline than Arabian.
The Caliph no longer needed to take much account of the tribal
jealousies of the Arabs, although he occasionally utilised them for his
own ends. Hence he could act much more autocratically than his
predecessors; the lands of the caliphate now formed much more of a
political unity than before. In short, on the old soil of the great
Asiatic empires, another was once more set up, which at the most was
only half Arab in its character, the rest being Persian.
Even in Saffáh’s lifetime Mansúr took a prominent place as an
influential counsellor, and as governor of great provinces, but it is
hardly likely that the Caliph allowed himself to be led entirely by his
brother.
Abú Moslim, whose people were blindly devoted to him, and who held sway
like a prince in Khorásán, in 754 desired to be the leader of the
pilgrimage, that is, to represent the Caliph himself before the entire
Islamite world. Saffáh, however, quickly instigated Mansúr to seek this
dignity for himself, so that he had to express his regret that the
office had been already bestowed, and that Abú Moslim could only go as a
companion to Mansúr. It seems that in the course of the pilgrimage
friction arose between the parvenu who had founded the new empire and
the no less self-conscious brother of the Caliph; in any case, Abú
Moslim did not by any means overdo the part of a devoted servant. By his
liberality he so won over the Bedouins that they declared it a pure
slander to call this man an enemy of the Arabs. The two were already on
their return journey when news arrived that Saffáh had died (on Sunday,
9th June 754)[24] at Anbár (north of Cufa), and that Mansúr had been
proclaimed Caliph on the same day.
Abú Jaafar Abdalláh al Mansúr (_i.e._ “the victorious”) was at that time
a man of over forty. Of his outward appearance we learn that he was tall
and thin, and that he had a narrow face, lank hair, thin beard, and
brownish complexion. What his inward character was is shown by his
deeds. His mother, the Berber slave Salláma, during her pregnancy
dreamed, it is said, that she had brought forth a lion, to which other
lions came from all quarters to render homage.[25] A lion, truly, who
tore in pieces all who came within his reach, unless they acknowledged
him as their master!
Mansúr can hardly have reached the neighbourhood of the Euphrates when
he learned that he had a very dangerous rival. His uncle Abdalláh,[26]
then posted in the far north of Syria ready to march against the
Byzantines, laid claim to the throne. His pretensions, perhaps, were not
altogether unfounded, for it is not so certain as is usually asserted
that Saffáh nominated Mansúr as his successor. It was indeed unfortunate
that the dynasty was hardly established before it was torn asunder by
disputes about the succession. As Abú Moslim with the Khorásánians held
by Mansúr, Abdalláh was compelled to rely upon the Arab troops of Syria
and Mesopotamia, and on this account caused thousands of Khorásánians
who were with him to be massacred. Humaid, son of the Arabian general
Kahtaba, who five years previously had led the Khorásánian troops from
victory to victory, suddenly went over from Abdalláh to Mansúr, and
rendered to the latter conspicuous service both in this and in many
subsequent wars. Abú Moslim brought an end to the war which had been
going on for some months in Mesopotamia by a victory gained on 26th (or
27th) November 754. Abdalláh fled to his brother Sulaimán, Mansúr’s
governor in Basra (near the mouth of the Tigris), and remained here in
hiding for some time.
Abú Moslim thus had not only set up the Abbásid dynasty, but also had
saved the throne for Mansúr. A man who had done so much could do still
more, and was a danger to his master. Mansúr resolved to get rid of Abú
Moslim, a course which is said to have suggested itself even to Saffáh.
How they first fell out is told in various ways. It is probable that the
Caliph nominated Abú Moslim to be the governor of the western provinces
of Syria and Egypt in order to keep him at a distance from Khorásán,
where his power had its root, but that the latter did not agree to this.
In any case he had noted that Mansúr wished to deprive him of influence,
and he resolved accordingly, without reference to Mansúr, to return to
Khorásán. Of his own soldiers he was perfectly sure, even in a campaign
against the Caliph. At this stage a correspondence took place between
the two. Abú Moslim in the end suffered himself to be befooled by the
sworn assurances of Mansúr (with a slight admixture of threats), and
came with but a small following to the Caliph at the “city of the
Romans,” a decayed place that had belonged to the Seleucia-Ctesiphon
group of Persian royal cities. Mansúr received him graciously, but after
having made sure of him, caused him to be slain before his eyes, and the
body to be cast into the Tigris (February 755).
The removal of the powerful individuality, of whom we hear that his
followers would have sacrificed their lives and their very souls for
him, but upon whose fidelity the Caliph could hardly rely, was a
political necessity. An intimate of Mansúr’s is said to have quoted to
him against Abú Moslim the verse of the Koran in which it is said that
if the world held other gods besides Alláh it would go to ruin (súra 21,
22). Such a prince as Mansúr could tolerate no rival in the kingdom. Nor
can any great claim upon our pity be made for Abú Moslim, who shrank
from no resource of violence or treachery, whether against enemies or
against inconvenient friends, and of whom it is said (no doubt with huge
exaggeration), that he caused as many as 600,000 prisoners to be slain.
Mansúr gave proof of admirable astuteness when he overreached the
cunningest of the cunning. But that his conduct was abominable goes
without saying.
The murder was by no means without danger for its perpetrator. The
soldiers indeed whom Abú Moslim had brought with him were restrained
from making any disturbance, partly by their dismay at the accomplished
fact, and partly by a lavish distribution of money. But mutterings were
heard in Khorásán. There the dead man had thousands who clung to him
with religious attachment. In fact, there were many who could not
believe in his death, and who expected him to return once more as a
Messiah. A Persian named Sampádh excited in that very year a great
revolt in Khorásán to avenge Abú Moslim. What is reported of him, that
he was a professor of the old Persian religion, is improbable; he may
have belonged to one of the half-Persian sects, which the majority
certainly could not regard as Mohammedan. In any case the revolt was a
popular movement. Sampádh advanced far towards Media, but thereupon was
defeated by Jahwar, whom Mansúr had despatched against him, and slain
somewhere near the spot where the last of the Dariuses met his end. The
victorious general had made himself master of the treasures of Abú
Moslim, and now in turn himself rebelled, but was quickly overcome, and
put to death (755 or 756). Khorásán was once more securely in the hands
of the Caliph.
In other directions also disturbances of various kinds occurred. The
Kharijites,[27] who had no reason for regarding the rule of the
Prophet’s kinsmen as juster or more in accordance with the laws of God
than that of the Omayyads, fought on for their ideals in various parts
of the empire, with few followers indeed, but with a courage that defied
death. Thus a certain Kharijite, Mulabbid, in Mesopotamia gave much
trouble to the armies of the Caliph, and was only at last overcome in
756 by Házim, perhaps the ablest of Mansúr’s generals.
A handful of strange mortals brought the Caliph into a very difficult
position, probably in 757-8. The Ráwendí, who are guessed to have been
connected with Abú Moslim, not only believed in the transmigration of
souls, but had also taken into their heads that Mansúr was God Himself.
They accordingly betook themselves to his capital, and set themselves in
an attitude of worship around his palace. Mansúr, indeed, was quite of
the mind that it was better to have people obey him and go to hell in
consequence, than earn heaven by rebellion against him; but the
Commander of the Faithful durst not tolerate such conduct as this of the
Ráwendí, unless he wished to provoke a universal rising of all Moslems
against him. He accordingly caused a number of the fanatics to be
imprisoned. But they did not take this well; they freed their comrades
and now assailed the life of the Caliph, who only had a limited guard at
hand. In mastering them, which he did only with difficulty, he displayed
great courage. In the struggle there came to the front one who had been
a conspicuous general under the Omayyads, afterwards had kept himself in
concealment, and now seized this opportunity to gain favour with the
Caliph. This was Maan, son of Záida, famed for his bravery, and still
more for his liberality, but at the same time stern and pitiless towards
his foes. Mansúr, whom it thoroughly suited to intermingle pure Arabs
with his Khorásán generals of mixed Arabian and Persian origin,
willingly took the fire-eater into his grace. Shortly afterwards he sent
him into Yemen, where, during his nine years’ governorship, he subdued
all opponents with much bloodshed. Subsequently he sent him to
south-eastern Persia, where he was surprised and slain by the
Kharijites.
The dynasty of the Omayyads once overthrown, the Alids saw that they had
not gained much. It made no difference to them whether their nearer
cousins, the descendants of Abbás,[28] or whether their slightly more
distant kinsmen, those of Omayya, possessed the sovereignty; the name of
Háshim was not enough. When the house of the Prophet had been canvassed
for, every one in the first instance had thought of his actual
descendants; these last now deemed, not unrightly, that they had been
defrauded of their birthright. It is probable that even the Abbásids, in
the secret negotiations, at an early stage had at one time freely
acknowledged the Alid Mohammed, son of Abdalláh, as head of the entire
house, and as the future Caliph. Why this particular man should have
been selected from among the very numerous descendants of Alí, we are
unable to say. One advantage, which fell into the scale when a
legitimist claim was being urged, he undoubtedly had—namely, that the
females also who came into his genealogy were all free Arabs of good
family, and that the Hasanid Mohammed was through his grandmother a
descendant also of Husain, and thus in a twofold way descended from the
Prophet.[29] His father, who might have advanced still stronger claims,
was perhaps over-timid or too little ambitious.
The Abbásids knew too well how it was that they themselves had reached
the throne to be other than exceedingly jealous of the hereditary
advantages of their cousins. One and another Alid now and again
expressed tolerably openly his opinion of the situation. And the
Mohammed just mentioned, as well as his brother Ibráhím, had betrayed
themselves by refraining to come to pay their respects to Mansúr when he
made the pilgrimage during the lifetime of his brother. If Mansúr
actually had at one time acknowledged Mohammed’s right to the caliphate,
this would be to him a further motive for effort to have them in his
power. But neither promises nor threats availed; they hid themselves in
various quarters of Arabia, and are said to have wandered about in even
remoter lands. As their father when closely questioned persisted in
declaring that he had no idea where his sons were living, Mansúr, when
he came on pilgrimage once more to Mecca in April 758, caused him to be
imprisoned. But even this did not avail. The governors in Medina either
could not or would not find the fugitives. The inhabitants were attached
to the Alids as being children of the Prophet and children of their
city, and the majority of the officials even would doubtless have felt
it to be a crime to deliver them up to destruction. Riyáh, however, of
the tribe of Morra, who entered upon the governorship of Medina on 27th
December 761, was free from any such weakness. He threatened the
inhabitants with the same fate with which, sixty-eight years before, his
fellow tribesman Moslim, son of Okba, had visited their rebellion
against authority.[30] He caused all the nearer kinsmen of Mohammed’s
family, and many of his adherents, to be imprisoned, and also a number
of the Juhaina Bedouins, among whose mountains, to the west of
Medina,[31] it was supposed that the claimant was in hiding. When, at
the close of another pilgrimage (March 762), Mansúr visited Medina, he
took these captive Alids, including the father of the two brothers, and
various other persons of consideration, and carried them with him in
chains into Babylonia. Amongst these exiles was the step-brother of
Abdalláh, who secretly, and in violation of his plighted word, had given
his daughter in marriage to his nephew, the claimant, and is said also
to have himself seemed formidable by reason of his personal distinction
as a descendant of Caliph Othmán. A son of Mohammed’s fell into the
hands of the governor of Egypt, and was sent to the Caliph. We can
readily believe what we read, that the treatment of these hostages was
by no means indulgent;[32] several were put to death, many died in
prison. But popular imagination, or personal hatred, has raised the
colours of the picture; the story goes that the Caliph kept the bodies
of all the murdered Alids in a great chamber to which no one had access
but himself; in the ear of each was a label with his name and genealogy
neatly written. Mansúr’s son Mahdí ventured to use the key after his
father’s death, and, horrified at the discovery, caused them all to be
buried.
Riyáh’s diligent search seems at length to have led Mohammed to attempt
a premature revolt, which towards the end of 762 broke out in Medina.
Mohammed was proclaimed Caliph, the captives set free, the governor and
other adherents of Mansúr thrown into prison. The famous doctor of
Islam, Málik, son of Anas, gave his decision that the oath of allegiance
to the Abbásids, having been obtained by force, was of no binding
obligation. This is characteristic at once for the ethics of Islam and
for the view of the rule of the Abbásids which was taken by those
persons who were, properly speaking, the guardians of religion and of
the sacred law.[33] At Málik’s dictum everybody went over to Mohammed.
Even the descendants of Abú Bekr and other men of Koraish, who had
formerly distinguished themselves at the founding of the empire of
Islam, for the most part joined him. So also did the poet Abú Adí al
Ablí, who belonged to a side branch of the house of Omayya. These
individuals, however, seem to have inherited but little of the
statesmanlike and warlike ability of their ancestors. From the very
first many clear-headed men saw that the enterprise had small prospect
of success. When a volunteer courier, in the extraordinarily short space
of nine days, brought news of the insurrection to Mansúr at Cufa, he was
far from dissatisfied with this clearing of the situation. “Now, at
last,” said he, “I have the fox out of his hole!” Medina was of all
places least suited for the foundation of an anti-caliphate,—for this,
among other reasons, that the whole region was dependent on imports from
Egypt, the supply of which was now at once cut off. Mansúr sent his
cousin Isá, son of Músá, with a small but tried army against Medina.
Mohammed proved no more equal to his task than the other Alid pretenders
had done. Instead of taking the advice of persons skilled in war, and
assuming the offensive, he remained within the city of the Prophet, the
sanctity of which he took to be his best defence: once, in a dream, it
had appeared to the Prophet under the figure of a breastplate. By way of
fortification he caused the fosse of the Prophet to be restored; a work
which indeed had filled with astonishment the Arabs combined against
Mohammed,—men who had had no experience of war on a large scale, or
indeed of any kind of strenuous united action,—but which was mere
child’s play for the veterans of Khorásán. Isá had already, by letters,
won over from Mohammed various important persons. The great bulk of his
followers quietly melted away as the foe drew near. Isá paused for three
days before Medina, to obtain, if possible, an amicable settlement by
negotiation, and operations then began. The fosse was bridged with some
house-doors. A woman of the family of Abbás secretly caused a large
black cloth to be hoisted on the tallest minaret; upon this all the
pious townsmen immediately rushed to the conclusion that the
Khorásánians had entered the city by the rear, and there had planted the
black banner of the Abbásids. Only a few, including a company of Juhaina
Bedouins, stood by Mohammed. Mohammed, a tall and handsome man, fell
after a heroic struggle late on the afternoon of Monday, 6th December
762. He had caused the captive Riyáh to be put to death immediately
before. One more addition was thus now made to the roll of Alid
“martyrs,” who had inherited from their ancestors courage and bravery,
but with these also an incapacity for generalship and supreme command.
The supporters of the house surnamed Mohammed as “the pure soul.”
Isá, obeying orders, showed comparative clemency. It was of importance
to the descendants of Abbás that the sanctity of the city of the
Prophet, to whom they traced back their rights, should not be violated
too grossly. Some prominent participators in the rebellion, indeed, were
put to death, or else imprisoned or subjected to severe corporal
chastisement. The goods of that branch of the Alid family to which the
pretender had belonged were confiscated. According to the custom of the
time, his head was brought to the Caliph, who sent it by courier-post
round the provinces as an awful example. It arrived in Egypt in the
spring of 763, just in time to check a rising of the Alid party there.
While affairs in Medina were still undecided, the Caliph learned that
Ibráhím had risen in the interests of his brother Mohammed at Basra
(Monday, 22nd November 762). Mansúr had previously come to know that
Ibráhím was in hiding there, and had taken some precautionary measures
accordingly; but he nevertheless seems to have been greatly taken aback
by this new insurrection. Basra was not merely a wealthy trading city,
but also, from a military point of view, very different in importance
from Medina. To a man of enterprise it offered great opportunities; from
it as a basis, the Tigris and Euphrates could be blockaded, and the
maritime provinces to the east comparatively easily mastered. Nor was
this all; the very important city, in the immediate neighbourhood of
which Mansúr had his residence, the turbulent Cufa, was thoroughly Alid
in its sympathies. Should an Alid make his appearance in the
neighbourhood with an army, an outbreak might be expected within it at
any moment. In addition to this, the whole central province was in a
state of ferment. But Mansúr had at the moment only a very few troops at
hand. He afterwards confessed that it had been a great mistake to leave
himself so bare, and declared that in future he would always retain at
least 30,000 men beside him. He managed, however, to arrange them so
that the Cufans considerably overestimated the number of his forces. The
Cufans were, moreover, always much more heroic in words than in deeds.
Mansúr, however, was not yet able to take the offensive against Ibráhím;
but was constrained to suffer the latter, into whose hands the treasure
of the rich province of Basra had fallen, to become master of Susiana
and Persis also. Wásit also received the troops of Ibráhím. In the
neighbourhood of this city, indeed, he was encountered by an officer of
Mansúr’s; and here the two armies stood, facing one another, until the
whole struggle was ended.
Ibráhím deemed himself already a sovereign, and spent his time with a
wife whom he had just married. Mansúr, on the other hand, never looked
on the face of woman till the conflict was over. A contemporary praises,
in eloquent words, the courage and determination which he maintained in
his critical position. The advice to incite Cufa to revolt was set aside
by Ibráhím because such a step would cause much harm to children, women,
and other non-combatants. In the same spirit he forbade pursuit of
fugitives, and so forth. All this sounds very well, but is out of place
in one who, for his own interests, is carrying on a rebellion which,
under any circumstances, must involve much bloodshed, and can ultimately
achieve success only by concentration of every energy. In such
tenderness there is more of weakness than of humanity. “Thou desirest
the sovereignty, yet darest not to slay!” some one said to him. _Pour
faire des omelettes il faut casser les œufs._
Soon after the middle of December 762, Ibráhím received the crushing
intelligence of his brother’s death. Yet if even now he had advanced
immediately, he would still have been able to put Mansúr to great
straits. But when he finally marched towards Cufa with barely 10,000
men, a sixth or a tenth of his strength on paper, Isá had already
arrived at the head of a superior army. The Caliph had ordered troops
from Media against Susiana, which soon captured the capital Ahwáz. In
Bákhamrá, only sixteen hours south of Cufa, the army of Ibráhím, who had
now assumed the title of Caliph, encountered the advancing host of Isá
(Monday, 14th February 763). Mansúr’s vanguard was driven back; but Isá
held his ground, and the fugitives soon rallied. Mansúr’s cousins, the
sons of Sulaimán, fell upon Ibráhím’s rear. After a fierce battle he
fell, mortally wounded with an arrow. The Caliph caused his head also to
be publicly exhibited, but would not suffer a bystander to treat the
dead with contumely. He punished with frightful cruelty a coarse person
who had spat on Ibráhím’s head in his presence.
A victory for Ibráhím seems to have been widely counted upon. The famous
blind poet, Basshár, no sectary, but an enlightened freethinker, had
sent him a poem, in which he was praised, and Mansúr violently attacked;
after the battle he so altered the poem, that he was able to give it out
as an earlier production directed against Abú Moslim.
Ibráhím’s death was a much greater relief to Mansúr than that of
Mohammed. He could now feel pretty sure that henceforth no Alid claimant
could be of danger to him. True, he caused the whole family of those
kinsmen of his to be strictly watched, but he was particularly willing
to receive into his service any members of it whom he thought he could
venture to trust. Perhaps in this the old Arab feeling for family ties
had still some part; however that may be, it produced a good effect, as
showing to subjects that both the main branches of the Háshimids still
held by one another.
In Medina these struggles were followed by a little after-piece. Persian
soldiers behaved with violence towards peaceful inhabitants. The people
complained to the chief authority, but received no attention. Then
active resistance began. The town butchers (black freedmen, it would
seem) killed a soldier; from this it grew to a general _melée_. The
negroes, who were numerous, both slaves and freedmen, drew together, and
killed part of the little garrison. The governor fled. They even seized
on the stores that had been set apart for the troops. The higher classes
trembled before the wrath of Mansúr. It is noteworthy that two who
specially exerted themselves for the restoration of order were a member
of the Omayyad family and an official who had been imprisoned for his
participation in the rising of Mohammed. The loyalty of the population
towards the sovereign was strongly insisted on. The stores that had been
plundered were given back or made good. The blacks suffered themselves
to be persuaded by the representations of the most prominent citizens,
and returned home. It was now seen to have been only a momentary
outburst of temper, not social revolution. The governor returned at the
earnest invitation of the notables. Four ringleaders had a hand chopped
off—the punishment of thieves. The chief mischiefmaker perished in
prison.
The rebellion of the Alids had interrupted Mansúr in a great
undertaking—the building of Bagdad. With the fall of the Omayyads it
had become quite a matter of course that the rulers of the enormous
empire, which extended from what is now Russian Turkestan and the Indus
to Aden, Algeria, and Eastern Asia Minor,[34] should have their seat in
Babylonia; but they had not as yet any definite capital. Mansúr lived a
great deal in Háshimíya, founded by his predecessor, in the immediate
neighbourhood of Cufa. But the Cufans, little attached as they were to
the Abbásids, were no desirable neighbours. After the death of Ibráhím,
Mansúr had preached them as sharp a sermon against their sins as any
Omayyad governor could have delivered, and expressed in it his
astonishment that the Omayyads had not long ago depopulated the accursed
place as an abode of unbelievers. Moreover, nothing but a creation of
his own could have satisfied Mansúr’s haughty nature. After long
deliberation he determined to build the new capital on a site on the
west bank of the Tigris, then occupied by a little place named
Baghdád.[35] So far as we can judge, the district had already before
this time been brought into communication with the Euphrates by means of
canals. Mansúr caused the connection to be notably extended and
improved. The official name of the city here planted was
Madínat-as-Salám (“the city of welfare”), but in practical use the old
name Bagdad maintained exclusive currency. Mansúr’s keen vision in the
selection of this site may well be compared with that shown by Alexander
when he founded the Egyptian Alexandria. At any rate, the situation of
this city, which he called into being out of nothing, is so favourable
that it soon became a world-city, with all the lights and shadows of
such; a place which, Constantinople apart, had no rival, and which, even
in the deep decline of all these countries since that time, and
notwithstanding the irreparable injury suffered by Bagdad itself when it
was destroyed by the Mongols in 1258, still remains a considerable city,
by far the most important in the whole region of the Euphrates and
Tigris. The work of building had been begun in early summer of 762. When
news came of Mohammed’s revolt, the walls were hardly six feet high.
When Ibráhím approached, the rumour spread that he had gained a great
victory. Hereupon the freedman who had been left in charge of the vast
accumulations of building materials set fire to the stores of timber,
that they might not fall into the hand of the enemy. As soon as the
empire was once more pacified, Mansúr caused operations to be resumed.
The building was carried out on a magnificent scale. Vast sums were
expended by the Caliph in building residences for himself, his
dependants, kinsfolk, and freedmen, as well as his officers and troops,
and also in constructing mosques, government offices, aqueducts, canal
bridges, and fortifications. He assigned allotments to the members of
the reigning house and the grandees on which to build their houses.
Troops of handicraftsmen, traders, and other settlers flocked to the
spot. Houses of sun-dried brick cost but little, and it is possible that
even directly, certainly indirectly, the trifling outlay of the builders
was in many cases made good out of the public exchequer. Traders had,
moreover, to pay a duty upon their shops. In 766 the great city was
practically finished; its walls were completed in 768. Mansúr’s city, as
already mentioned, lay on the west bank of the river. Yet even he caused
the opposite side, where now the main part of Bagdad lies, to be built
on. “The camp” of his son Mahdí was there. It seemed expedient to place
a portion of the garrison on the other side of the river, so that, in
case of necessity, the two divisions of the army might be able to hold
one another in check. A peculiar police regulation was introduced later
by Mansúr; he caused the markets, which were frequented by an excessive
number of strangers, whose supervision was not easy, to be removed
outside the city proper. Bagdad was strongly fortified. Mansúr caused
other important inland cities also to be fortified in such a way that
the garrisons might be able to cope with casual insurrections. This he
did also in the case of the city of Ráfika, founded by him in 772 in the
neighbourhood of Rakka (Callinicus), on the east bank of the middle
Euphrates, in which he placed a garrison of Khorásánians.
The active superintendence which Mansúr gave to the building of his
capital is only an instance of the whole system of his government, which
was, as far as possible, personal. Posts were still conferred on a
certain number of Arab nobles, who still sometimes showed the
insubordination and tribal patriotism of their race, but he took care
that they never overgrew himself. At the same time, he conferred the
most important governorships upon various members of his own family, and
made ample provision for all of them; but he kept them in strict
subjection, and on occasion chastised them severely. He had absolutely
trustworthy tools in his freedmen and clients of foreign extraction, to
whom, to the horror of the aristocratic Arabs, he sometimes gave even
the most important administrative offices. The governors and other high
officials of the provinces were strictly overseen by special officers,
entirely independent of them, who sent an uninterrupted series of
couriers with their reports to the Caliph.[36] When, for example, Mansúr
on one occasion learned through this channel that the governor of
Hadramaut (in the extreme south of Arabia) was more attentive to the
pleasures of the chase than to the duties of his office, he deposed him
at once. Even the actions of Mahdí, the heir-apparent, in his capacity
as governor of the lands of the east were subjected to this kind of
control. Thus, the Caliph having on one occasion learned that Mahdí had
given to a certain poet much too great a reward for a laudatory copy of
verses, he compelled the recipient to repay the greater part of the
sum.[37] These officers, in addition to their special duties, reported
all the more important law cases, and all occurrences of any particular
interest; they further apprised the Caliph of the price of provisions;
for, with a view to public peace and security, it was judged necessary
to take prompt measures for the prevention of dearths.[38] So well was
Mansúr informed as to the state of the provinces, that it was whispered
he had a magic mirror in which he could see all his enemies. Still
better is he characterised by his own words to his son: “Sleep not, for
thy father has not slept since he came to the caliphate; when sleep fell
upon his eyes, his spirit remained awake.” He was an excellent
financier. He is frequently reproached with avarice even; he was
surnamed “the father of farthings,”—a reproach which presumably came
chiefly from those whose interests would have been served by that
prodigality to favourites which has procured a very undeserved
reputation for many Oriental sovereigns. In the same way other eminently
good rulers, such as the Omayyads Abdalmelik and Hishám, have the
reputation of avarice. Mansúr was certainly strict in money matters. The
vast expenditures on the building of Bagdad he caused to be accounted
for down to the last farthing, and he compelled his officials to refund
little profits which they had made for themselves. He looked sharply
after his tax collectors. In payment of the land tax he commanded that
only certain kinds of the gold coins of the Omayyads which were quite of
full weight should be received. Of course he followed also the old
established principle of Oriental princes, according to which high
officers who had gorged themselves were compelled to give back their
accumulations.[39] Even one of such exalted position, and of such
conspicuous service in the establishment and support of the Abbásid
dynasty, as was the Persian[40] Khálid, son of Barmek, the founder of
the Barmecide power, was subjected to an operation of this kind. He was
called upon within a very short time to pay 3,000,000 dirhems (about
£57,000); the Caliph in the end was satisfied with 2,700,000. Nay, even
Mansúr’s own brother Abbás was compelled to give up the money which he
had squeezed from the people when governor of Mesopotamia, and was
imprisoned besides. An Oriental State can never altogether prevent the
abuse by which officials, small and great, enrich themselves in illicit
ways. On the occasion of a land survey at Basra it was discovered that a
family of consideration, the descendants of the Prophet’s freedman Abú
Bekra, had increased their estate to a prodigious extent; the Caliph cut
it down to a tenth. Here is a piece of the higher finance:[41] Mansúr
ordered every inhabitant of Cufa to pay five dirhems (nearly two
shillings); all, of course, complied. Having in this way ascertained
their exact number, he imposed on all a poll-tax[42] of forty dirhems
(fifteen shillings), and applied the money to the fortifications of the
city. Whether this story is exact we will not undertake to say; in any
case, it is probable that he sought by stringent measures to raise the
revenue as much as possible, especially as he left to his successor an
overflowing exchequer. It must, however, be considered that the
comparative measure of quiet which he secured for most of the countries
of his empire more than compensated for high taxation. How far the
Christians’ complaints of special fiscal oppression under Mansúr were
justified, is a point we can hardly clear up now; perhaps they arose
chiefly from the circumstance that he taxed churches and monasteries,
which was not so very unreasonable. If he again reduced the tribute of
the Cyprians to the sum originally fixed by treaty, this was probably
due, not so much to a sense of justice as to policy; it was expedient
that so exposed a possession should be considerately treated.
We are safe in saying that the rule of Mansúr, however hard,
treacherous, or ruthless it may often have been, was on the whole a
blessing to the empire. He could say of himself with truth, that he had
done for the mass of the people the one thing which the masses needed;
he had insisted on righteousness (in the administrative and judicial
acts of his officials), had protected them against external attack, and
had secured internal peace and quiet. The fruits of his exertions were
reaped by his successors, who were by no means on a level with himself.
The great prosperity of the empire under his grandson Hárún ar Rashíd is
mainly due to Mansúr. It must be borne in mind, of course, that when we
speak of an Oriental State, justice and internal peace must always be
taken with large qualifications. Even the best of Oriental governments
is extremely defective from our point of view.[43]
The personal requirements of Mansúr were few. Born and bred in the
deserts of Edom, he had no turn for such luxury as prevailed in the
court of his son, and which afterwards often passed into extravagant
profligacy. Like his predecessor, he seems to have been no slave of
women. He drank no wine, and did not tolerate at his court music and
song, which at that time were only too often the handmaids of
debauchery. On the other hand, he was a friend of literature; he
particularly admired the fine heroic histories of old Arabia. Himself a
man of high mental endowments, he liked to associate with people of
culture and intellect. He found pleasure also in the verses and drollery
of the talented bibulous and frivolous negro Abú Duláma, who seems to
have been more of a court fool than of a court poet. By natural gift and
by cultivation, he became one of the most famous of Arabic orators. He
it was, moreover, who first caused Greek scientific works to be
translated into Arabic. He had at least a share in the rise of Arabic
science which took place in his time.
The sovereign before whose wrath all the world bowed in shrinking fear,
and of whose bloody severity frightful things were told, was under his
own roof a kindly father and master. He knew how to appreciate frank,
dignified demeanour in cases where this did not appear to carry danger.
Thus he pardoned a Kharijite who was to have been beheaded in his
presence, and whom he had assailed with insulting language, when the
latter pointed out to him how unseemly such conduct was. And he fully
appreciated the Omayyad sovereigns Moáwiya, Abdalmelik, and Hishám, as
also that brave and unselfish servant of the Omayyads, the great Hajjáj.
The most devoted followers of the Alids were in the habit of asserting
that they had derived from the Prophet a hereditary wisdom; this was
one, or even the sole ground on which the sovereignty was claimed for
them. Among the Persians, in particular, views of this kind had great
currency. The first Abbásid claimants and sovereigns also made similar
pretensions. It was the part of the good subject to believe that the
heads of this house enjoyed a special divine illumination. But, apart
from the individuals who had been won over by their emissaries at the
beginning, this faith did not spread. Even the Arab Moslems were much
more inclined to attribute such an advantage to the Alids than to the
reigning family. Mansúr himself doubtless viewed this doctrine of his
own special enlightenment much as an intelligent Roman emperor regarded
the divine honours paid him by poets and subservient provincials. At any
rate, his nature was cool, and religious zeal will be imputed to him by
no one. So long as heterodox persons were not dangerous to the State he
left them unmolested. Under his reign there were no persecutions of
sectaries, such as his son Mahdí so soon afterwards instituted, and
still less of the supporters of unpopular school opinions, such as
occurred frequently at a later date. In his time, moreover, the
unanimity of a later age as to orthodox doctrine or orthodox practice in
Islam had not yet been attained; much leaven was still at work which was
afterwards cast out. His Christian physician was accustomed to wine;
Mansúr in his own palace caused the obnoxious liquor to be supplied to
him. On the other hand, he praised this functionary for his fidelity to
the now aged wife whom he had left behind at home, when he sent back the
beautiful female slaves presented to him by the Caliph because
Christianity enjoined monogamy. But, of course, Mansúr’s edicts and
letters, according to the fashion of the time, overflowed with pious
phrases and texts from the Koran; and this was most of all conspicuous
in the religious political discourses which, after the example of the
earlier Caliphs, he delivered on Fridays from the pulpit of some great
mosque. Mansúr was further led by the traditions of his family to assume
to some extent the part of a theologian, especially in giving forth
alleged sayings of the Prophet. Some characteristic specimens of such
oral traditions communicated by him to others have come down to us. Thus
he declared the Prophet to have said, that if he had appointed to a
governor a definite revenue, then everything which the latter took in
excess of this was unlawful spoliation. Unfortunately, not many of
Mansúr’s governors were so tender of conscience as to take seriously to
heart a word of the Prophet guaranteed on such authority. At the same
time, all things considered, I do not venture to maintain that Mansúr
was at heart an utter unbeliever. In the East, still less than in the
West, does one expect to find absolute consistency in matters of
religion. The man who in cold blood violated his most sacred oaths may
yet have argued with himself that Alláh the All-merciful would at last
forgive him, good Moslem as he was, all his sins. Perhaps he hoped even
that God would impute it to him for righteousness that he was the cousin
of the Apostle of God; that would have been a truly Arab thought. In the
same way it is also possible that his repeated pilgrimages, over and
above their political purpose, which is obvious, may have been designed
also to satisfy a personal need. It is conceivable, too, that the old
sinner may have counted on the divine favour because he had vigorously
carried on the holy war against unbelievers.[44]
The baneful frontier war, carried on for centuries between the caliphate
and the Byzantine empire, and interrupted only by short truces, pursued
its course under Mansúr, though mostly only in the form of plundering
forays, devastation of the open country, and destruction of single
fortresses and cities. Mansúr sought to make his frontier against the
Byzantines as secure as possible by freshly fortifying a number of
cities and supplying them with adequate garrisons. In this respect his
restorations of the ruined fortresses of Melatia in Lesser Armenia, and
of that of Massísa (Mopsuhestia) in Cilicia,—a town which he almost
founded anew,—were of special importance. These frontier fortresses
naturally served also as bases of operations against the enemy’s
territory. The maritime towns on the Syrian coast were in like manner
placed by Mansúr in a state of defence.
The other frontiers also gave enough to do. In 764 the wild Khazars (in
what is now Southern Russia) invaded the territory south of the
Caucasus, took Tiflis, devastated the country far and wide, and defeated
more than one army. Before a sufficient force could be sent against
them, they had again disappeared. But Mansúr now took precautions, by
defensive works, to check as much as possible the inroads of these and
other northern barbarians, at whose hands these lands had long suffered
severely. He took firm possession of the whole territory up to the great
mountain chain, and even levied a tax upon the naphtha-springs of Baku.
The mountainous districts on the southern margin of the Caspian, on the
other hand, remained unsubdued. The Dílemites (in Gílán) made frequent
plundering attacks on the adjoining country, as had been their
immemorial habit. The war against them was continual. We learn
incidentally that in 760-61 the Caliph summoned expressly the richer
inhabitants of Cufa to take arms against the Dílemites. Now,
theoretically, every Moslem capable of bearing arms is under constant
obligation to fight against unbelievers; but we may conjecture that what
Mansúr had chiefly in view was the money which those not very warlike
people would have to pay for exemption from service.—Tabaristán
(Mázenderán), which borders Gílán on the east, where a family of high
functionaries of the Sásánian empire had maintained themselves as an
independent dynasty and still kept up the religion of Zoroaster, was
almost entirely annexed for the first time under Mansúr.[45] A former
butcher of Rai (Rhagae, near the modern Teherán), who, on his own
responsibility, had collected a body of men, and at its head had fought
bravely against Sampádh,[46] received the appointment of governor. But
this conquest of Tabaristán was not yet final.
The struggle continued to be carried on—with many interruptions, it is
true—against the unbelievers (Turks and others) beyond the Oxus; so
also on the Indian frontier, where during Mansúr’s reign Kandahár, among
other places, was taken. But the extension of the Mohammedan empire in
these frontier regions was nowhere great. We do not know whether the
fleet which Mansúr despatched from Basra in 770 to chastise a tribe of
pirates in the delta of the Indus was successful. Two years before
members of this tribe had ventured up the Red Sea, and had plundered
Jiddah, the port of Mecca.[47]
In the repression of the Alid rebellion Isá, son of Músá, had, as we
have seen, specially distinguished himself, and, by a binding
arrangement, the succession to the sovereignty had been secured to him.
But Mansúr wished to be succeeded by his own son Mahdí. He accordingly
wrote to his cousin a letter full of unction, in which he represented
the troops as having taken Mahdí to their heart to such a degree that
the former must of necessity yield to him. The claim had even a stronger
foundation, for the unscrupulous poet Mutí had produced before the
assembled court a prediction of the Prophet which clearly pointed to
Mahdí as the future pattern prince, and had even had the audacity to
call in Abbás, the Caliph’s brother, as a witness to the genuineness of
the announcement,—a testimony in which the latter had, against his
will, to concur. In spite of all this Isá held his own, and maintained,
certainly with good reason, not only that the Caliph and his officials
were obliged by the oath which they had tendered to him to protect him
in his rights, but that he had also bound himself by his oath, and dared
not abandon his claim. At last, by threats and all sorts of
importunities, he was rendered pliable, and renounced on condition that
he was to be the successor of Mahdí. Officials and people were in this
way released from the terms of their oath to Isá (764). The condition
attached was from the first rather illusory, for Mansúr’s son was much
younger than Isá, and actually survived him; but before Isá’s death
Mahdí as Caliph had already compelled him definitely to resign his
claims in favour of Mahdí’s son Hádí.
At this time also (764) Mansúr’s quondam rival, his uncle Abdalláh,
died. Abdalláh, as already related, had after his defeat taken refuge
with his brother Sulaimán at Basra (end of 754). When Mansúr came to
know that he was in hiding there, he demanded his surrender; but this
was not granted until after he had pledged himself in the most solemn
way that no harm should befall Abdalláh. In the deed in which this
security was promised,—a deed accepted by the Caliph,—it was
specified, among other things, that Mansúr, should he break the
agreement, would be held as renouncing the sovereignty, and as releasing
his subjects from their oath of allegiance. These clauses were little to
Mansúr’s taste: people might, perhaps, one day think of taking him at
his word! The author of the document, Ibn Mokaffa, famous as a stylist
and as a poet, and particularly meritorious as translator of older
Persian works, was accordingly, on account of the words in question, put
to death with cruelty on a hint from the Caliph. And when Abdalláh (12th
May 759) came to his nephew, in spite of every promise he was seized,
and his companions slain. Abdalláh himself also, according to accounts,
died a violent death. Yet it is difficult to see why Mansúr should have
spared his uncle for so long a time if imprisonment was not a sufficient
measure of security; a seven years’ imprisonment was of itself enough to
account for the death of a man no longer young. Still less can we rely
on the various rumours according to which the death of Mohammed, son of
Saffáh (beginning of 767) was due to violence; for Mansúr had no
occasion to be afraid of this dissolute nephew. The fantastic stories
that are told in connection with these things show us, at all events,
what the Commander of the Faithful was deemed capable of. On the other
hand, I am bound to point out that Mansúr, if he never shrank from an
atrocity that he deemed serviceable, hardly can have found his pleasure
in mere murder and bloodshed. Accordingly, he disapproved of Isá’s
having put to death a son of Nasr; for, bravely as Nasr had fought on
behalf of the Omayyad, his son was now no source of danger.
Though, after the defeat of the Alids, Mansúr had the empire as a whole
well in hand, yet in the remoter provinces all sorts of trouble still
arose, some of them very serious. For example, the Armenian nobles, who
had always been restless, had once more to be put down by force. In 767
there was another violent outbreak in Khorásán. Its leader[48] is said
to have claimed to possess the gift of prophecy; however this may be,
the movement undoubtedly was of a religious, strongly heretical
character. The histories do not recognise the insurgents as Moslems at
all. Kházim himself born or bred in Khorásán, was sent against them; but
could effect nothing until he got it arranged that the vizier of Mahdí,
the heir-apparent, who governed the eastern provinces from Rai as
viceroy, should no longer be allowed to interfere with the unity of the
command by giving separate orders to the subordinate officers. This
done, he brought the insurrection to an end by a brilliant victory and a
terrible massacre (768). He is said to have caused 14,000 prisoners to
be beheaded. If we consider that Charlemagne, fourteen years afterwards,
caused 4,000 captive Saxons to be massacred,[49] and that by command of
prince (afterwards Caliph) Hárún, who certainly was a man of much higher
culture than either Mansúr’s general or the Frankish king, 2,900
Byzantine prisoners were put to death in the year 765, the number just
given will not appear much too great. From other facts, also, we know
Kházim to have been a man of great severity. The wars with unbelievers,
especially with Turks and Byzantines, and the civil wars, had trained a
race of brave but pitiless fighters. The leader of the insurrection was
brought a prisoner before Mansúr, and executed.
Another great rebellion broke out soon afterwards in the province of
“Africa” (corresponding nearly to the modern Tripoli and Tunis), where,
indeed, matters had never been thoroughly quiet. It, too, had a
religious and also a national origin; the rebels were Berbers and
Kharijites. The Caliph’s governor, who shortly before had been
transferred to Africa from the Indian frontier,—a distance of about
sixty degrees of longitude,—fell in battle against them. Mansúr now
sent Yezíd, son of Hátim, with a great army upon the scene, and, to show
how important the matter was in his eyes, accompanied him in person as
far as to Jerusalem (770). In the following year Yezíd gained a decisive
victory, and triumphantly entered the capital, Kairawán, where he
remained as governor till long after Mansúr’s death. The Caliph’s
territory did not extend much farther than this. The regions more to the
west had been separated from the caliphate since the fall of the
Omayyads. In Spain the Omayyad Abderrahmán, a grandson of Caliph Hishám,
after surmounting innumerable dangers, and landing in the country
without resources and without allies, at the age of twenty-five, in the
spring of 756, had rapidly established an independent empire. All
efforts of Mansúr to shatter his power proved vain. Like Mansúr himself,
he was the son of a Berber slave-girl. The Caliph, who, as we have seen,
knew how to recognise valour and greatness even in enemies of his house,
called him “the falcon of the Koraish” (the tribe to which the Omayyads,
Abbásids, and many other families of consideration belonged).
Much less important than either of those just spoken of were the risings
in northern Arabia, which were quelled by Okba in 768 or 769. In doing
so Okba, a Yemenite Arab, out of tribal hostility shed an inordinate
quantity of blood. Wishing to give a handsome present to an official
whom the Caliph had sent to him, he handed over to him fifty prisoners,
whom he was to take with him to Basra, making as if he was about to
decapitate them and hang up their bodies; their tribesmen in that city
would then be ready to redeem them at 10,000 dirhems (nearly £200) a
piece. The pretty plan was unfortunately spoiled by the temper of the
populace and the interference of an intelligent Cadi. On the report of
the latter to the Caliph, he was thanked, and the prisoners let go.
It was while returning from a pilgrimage to Mecca that Mansúr had become
Caliph; on a similar journey to Mecca he was destined to die. In 775 he
once more set out; on the way he was seized with a disease of the bowels
(dysentery?), which was probably connected with troubles of the
digestive system from which he had formerly suffered. The heat of the
Arabian late summer, and the fatigues and privations of the journey (on
which even the Caliph must often have had to content himself with very
indifferent drinking water), can only have aggravated the malady in a
man now somewhat advanced in years, if they did not even occasion it. He
succeeded in reaching the holy territory, but not the sanctuary itself.
His death took place on Saturday, 7th October 775,—according to other
authorities, on the Wednesday before,—at Bír Maimún, about one hour’s
journey from Mecca, after a reign of twenty-one years and some months;
his age was over sixty, the authorities vacillating between sixty-three
and sixty-eight lunar (sixty-one and sixty-six solar) years.[50] The
only persons present were the freedman Rabí, an influential confidant,
and some servants. Rabí kept the death secret for some little time, with
a view to the arrangements necessary to secure the throne for Mahdí.
Mansúr lies buried near the holy city, the cradle of his family. Later
generations believed they knew his grave; but the statement is not
improbably correct that at the time a number of graves (“a hundred,” it
is said) were dug, in order that his true resting-place might remain
unknown. At this meeting-place of all restless spirits, where the power
of the central government was never able to assert itself so firmly as
in the lands of ancient civilisation, some embittered enemy of the
dynasty might easily one day gain the upper hand, in which case it was
not inconceivable that he might disinter and insult the body of its most
powerful and most hated member, as Mansúr’s own uncle Abdalláh had done
with the bodies of the Omayyads.
The East has seen many sovereigns who came near, or even surpassed,
Mansúr in duplicity and absolutely unscrupulous egoism, but hardly one
who was at the same time endowed with such commanding intellect, or who
(speaking generally and on the whole) had so strong an influence for
good on the development of his empire.
-----
[20] By the Khorásán of that period we are to understand, not merely the
modern Persian province of this name, but also extensive tracts to the
east and north. Its capital was Merv, now in the hands of Russia.
[21] At that time even the noblest non-Arabian convert, on his
acceptance of Islam, had to attach himself as “client” to some Arab
tribe; whereupon he was entitled to add to his own name another, which
designated him as belonging to this tribe.
[22]
H á s h i m
|
Abdalmuttalib
|
---------------------------
| | |
Abdalláh Abú Tálib A b b á s
| |
The Prophet Mohammed A l í
| /
| /
Fátima (daughter) /
[23] Probably on the right bank of the Nile, opposite Eshmúnein.
[24] According to others, on Saturday, 8th June.
[25] Compare the dream of Pericles’ mother, Herod. vi. 131.
[26]
Abbás
|
Abdalláh
|
Alí
|
----------------------------------------
| | | |
Mohammed A b d a l l á h Musá Sulaimán
| |
------------------ |
| | | |
Ibráhím Saffáh M a n s ú r Isá
|
Mahdí
[27] See above, p. 80.
[28]
Abd Manáf
|
--------------------------------
| |
Háshim Abd Shams
| |
Abdalmuttalib O m a y y a
|
-------------
| |
Abú Tálib A b b á s
|
A l í
[29]
Mohammed the Prophet
|
Alí-------------------Fátima (daughter)
|
-------------------------
| |
Hasan Husain
| |
Hasan--------------------Fátima (daughter)
|
Abdalláh
|
-------------------
| |
Mohammed Ibráhím
[30] See above, p. 81.
[31] The Juhaina (Jehéne) have their home there to this day.
[32] During the journey Abdalláh is reported to have shouted to Mansúr:
“We did not so treat the prisoners we took from you at Badr!” This was a
bitter allusion to the fact that Abdalláh’s ancestor Alí had been a
champion of Islam in the Prophet’s very first battle, while the ancestor
of the Abbásids, who now wished to be taken as representing the rights
of the Prophet’s house, took at that period the side of the heathen, and
with many of his comrades had been taken prisoner, but had been
mercifully treated.
[33] Historical tradition, on the whole, is not indeed against the
Abbásids, but it is at the same time very favourable to the Alids. This
is shown even by the great fulness of detail with which it records all
Alid rebellions.
[34] In area Mansúr’s empire was much greater than that of Rome at its
greatest, in population much poorer, and, on that account, as well as
for geographical reasons, much more difficult to govern.
[35] In this choice of site one element that came into consideration was
the comparative absence of mosquitoes. Any one who has made acquaintance
with the gnats of the Rhine or of Venice can form some faint conception
of what the inhabitants of those hot countries, with their many pools
and marshes, have to suffer from these little bloodsuckers.
[36] The imperial posts were, as in the ancient Persian empire, well
managed,—not, however, for general use, but only for that of
government.
[37] As Caliph, Mahdí afterwards restored the whole sum once more to the
poet.
[38] It is much to be regretted that none of these reports have come
down to us. Altogether, we have extremely few original documents for the
history of the Arabian empire; nor are those very numerous even which
have been preserved for us, either wholly, or in substance, in extant
works. On the other hand, the narrative of the history of the caliphate
is copious.
[39] “At a time when no conception of any such thing as operation on the
credit of the State had been thought of, whenever receipts fell short of
expenditure, there was no other way of raising money but that of taking
it where it was to be had. The State, that is, the Caliph, did this in
the form of money fines, by taking from people of notorious wealth a
portion, or the whole, of their generally ill-gotten gains.. .. The
people, as a whole, found themselves under this system much better off
than if ever-increasing burdens had been accumulated upon them by a
universal raising of customs and dues, and for this reason, doubtless, I
find no word of complaint on the subject in any of the historians of the
period.” A. von Kremer, in his exceedingly instructive dissertation,
_Ueber das Einnahme budget des Abbasiden-Reiches vom Jahre 306_ H.
(Vienna 1887) p. 11.
[40] More correctly, Bactrian.
[41] It recalls the anecdotes in the pseudo-Aristotelic _Oeconomica_,
Bk. ii.
[42] So we read; but we may be sure that only heads of families are
meant.
[43] In saying this, I do not mean that we Europeans live in a political
Paradise.
[44] “Tantum relligio potuit suadere malorum,” wrote Lucretius, without
any inkling of the misery yet destined to come upon the world through
the aggressiveness of Semitic religious zeal.
[45] The exact year is unknown.
[46] See above, p. 118.
[47] At sea the great Arab dynasties, like the Roman, have seldom done
anything considerable.
[48] His name is now, owing to the ambiguity of the Arabic characters
and the mistakes of copyists, quite uncertain.
[49] The objections that have recently been urged against this statement
are hardly strong enough to invalidate it.
[50] Compare above, p. 70. Probably Mansúr himself did not know exactly
his own birth year, not to speak of his birthday.
V.
A SERVILE WAR IN THE EAST.
IMMEDIATELY after the tragic night in which the Caliph Mutawakkil was
murdered at the instigation of his own son (11th or 12th December 861),
the proud fabric of the Abbásid empire—already greatly shaken—began to
collapse. The troops, Turkish and others, raised and deposed the
Caliphs; the generals, for the most part quondam slaves, like those whom
they commanded, strove for a mastery which in turn was often dependent
on the humours of the soldiery. In the provinces new rulers arose, who
did not always think it necessary to acknowledge the Caliph as lord,
even in name. Claimants belonging to the house of Alí had success in
some places. In the great towns of the Tigris region there were serious
popular tumults. Peace and security were enjoyed only in those districts
where a governor, practically independent, held firm and strict rule.
This circumstance alone makes it in some degree intelligible how a
clever and unscrupulous adventurer, leaning for support on the most
despised class of the population, should have been able, not far from
the heart of the empire, to set up a rule which for a long time was the
terror of the surrounding regions, and only yielded at last, after
nearly fourteen years of effort on the part of the caliphate, which had
in the meanwhile recovered a little of its former strength.
Alí, son of Mohammed, a native of the large village of Verzenín, not far
from the modern Teherán, gave himself out to be a descendant of Alí and
of his wife Fátima, the daughter of the Prophet. The claim may have been
just; the descendants of Alí by that time were reckoned by thousands,
and were very far from being, all of them, persons of distinction. It
is, of course, equally possible that his alleged descent was a mere
invention. According to some authorities his family belonged to Bahrein,
a district of north-eastern Arabia, and was a branch of the tribe of
Abdalkais, which had its seat there. In any case, he passed for a man of
Arab blood. Before he became known to the world, Alí is said, among
other adventures, to have gone about for a while in Bahrein, seeking a
following there. This statement is made extremely probable by the fact
that several of his principal followers belonged to that district,
though it is far removed from the world’s highways, and but seldom
mentioned in history; among these was the black freedman, Sulaimán, son
of Jámi, one of his most capable generals. The ambitious Alí, utilising
the prevailing anarchy, next sought to secure a footing in Basra. This
great commercial city, next to Bagdad the most important place in the
central provinces, was suffering much at that time from the conflicts of
two parties, to all appearance the inhabitants of two different quarters
of the town.[51] Yet Alí gained little here; some of his followers, and
even the members of his own family, were thrown into prison, a lot which
he himself escaped only by flight to Bagdad. But soon afterwards, in
connection with a change of governor, new disturbances broke out in
Basra, the prisons were broken, and Alí was soon again on the spot. He
had already thoroughly surveyed the ground for his plans.
We are very imperfectly acquainted with the scene of the occurrences
which I am about to relate. Even if the modern condition of these parts
admitted of being represented on maps much more closely than defective
surveys allow, and were the surveys better, they would not help us very
much, for the whole face of the land has greatly changed since the times
we write of. At that time the Euphrates in the lowest part of its course
discharged itself into a region of lake and marsh, connected with the
sea by a number of tidal channels. The most important of these waters
was near Basra, which lay farther to the west than the modern much
smaller city of the same name (Bussorah). That place and its immediate
neighbourhood was intersected by innumerable canals (more than 120,000,
it is asserted). The chief arm of the Tigris was at that time the
southward flowing, now called Shatt al Hai, upon which stood the city of
Wásit. Farther down, the stream must have turned towards the south-east.
The present main arm, whose main course is to the south-east, was at
that time dry, or had a very limited volume of water. The lowest part of
the Tigris was connected with the stream on which Basra stood by
numerous canals, some of them navigable to large sea-going ships. All
these waters were reached by the tide. Floods and broken embankments had
even by that time converted much arable land into marshes; while, on the
other hand, by drainage and embanking, many pieces of land had been
reclaimed. Since that time, in common with all the rest of Irák
(Babylonia), this southern portion, in a very conspicuous degree, has
been so grievously wasted and neglected, that the forces of nature have
entirely gained the upper hand. What was a smiling country has been
turned into a wilderness by the spread of the marshes, or by the silting
up and stoppage of the drainage channels. The rivers have in part quite
changed their beds. On this account we can follow only in a vague way
the very precise topographical details which our sources give in
describing the campaigns against Alí and his bands.
At no great distance eastward from Basra there were extensive flats,
traversed by ditches, in which great numbers of black slaves, mostly
from the east coast of Africa, the land of the Zenj,[52] were employed
by rich _entrepreneurs_ of the city in digging away the nitrous surface
soil, so as to lay bare the fruitful ground underneath, and at the same
time to obtain the saltpetre that occurred in the upper stratum. An
industry of such magnitude in the open country is seldom met with in the
East. The work in such a case is very hard, and the supervision must be
strict. The feeling of affection which in the East binds the slave very
closely to the family in which he lives and has grown up, is here
altogether wanting. On the other hand, among such masses of slaves
working together there easily springs up a certain community of feeling,
a common sense of embitterment against their masters, and, under
favourable circumstances, a consciousness of their own strength; thus
are combined the conditions of a powerful insurrection. So it was in the
servile wars of the last century of the Roman republic, and so it was
here. Alí recognised the strength latent in those black slaves. The fact
that he was able to set this strength in motion, and that he developed
it into a terrible power which required long time and the very greatest
exertions to overcome it, conclusively shows that he was a man of
genius. The “leader of the Zenj,” the “Alid,” or the “false Alid,” plays
a very great part in the annals of his time—such a part, indeed, that
it is easy to understand why our main informant, Tabarí, should by
preference call him “the abominable one,” “the wicked one,” or “the
traitor.”
Once before in Babylonia a talented and unscrupulous Arab had utilised a
time of internal confusion to raise a sovereignty on religious pretexts
by the aid of a despised class; the cunning Mokhtár had appealed to the
Persian or half-Persian population of the great cities, particularly
Cufa, upon whom the dominant Arabs in those early days of Islam looked
down with supreme contempt (685-687 A.D.). But our hero went much
deeper, and maintained himself much longer, than Mokhtár.
Before openly declaring himself, Alí had sought out from among the
lowest strata of the population, and the freedmen in particular,
suitable tools for the execution of his plans. In the beginning of
September 869 he betook himself, at first under the guise of business
agent for a princely family, to the saltpetre district, and began at
once to rouse the slaves. Saturday, 10th September 869, is reckoned as
the date at which he openly declared himself. He represented to the
negro slaves how badly they were being treated, and promised them, if
they joined him, freedom, wealth, and—slaves. In other words, he did
not preach universal equality and well-being, but reserved the supremacy
for the particular class to which he addressed himself. All this, of
course, was clothed in religious forms. He proclaimed the restoration of
true legality. None but those who followed himself were believers, or
entitled to claim the heavenly and earthly rights of the true Moslem.
Alí thus appealed at once to the nobler and to the more vulgar feelings
of the rudest masses, and with complete success. We may accept the
statement that he gave himself out for inspired; at any rate to the
blacks he seemed to be a messenger of God. That he himself believed in
his own heavenly vocation is hardly to be assumed; all that we know of
him bespeaks a very cool understanding. We learn much more, it is true,
about his warlike deeds than about his true character; religious fancy
has often great influence even upon coolly calculating natures, and in
the East especially it is very difficult to draw the line between
self-deception and imposition upon others. That Alí was sincere when he
betook himself to astrology in important crises need not be doubted, for
this superstition at that time held sway over even the clearest heads
with hardly an exception.
Since the rebel leader claimed, as we have seen, to be descended from
Alí, Mohammed’s son-in-law, we should naturally have expected to find
him, like other Alids, appealing to the divine right of his house, and
coming forward as founder of a sect of Shíites. But instead of this he
declared himself for the doctrine of those most decided enemies of
Shíite legitimism, the Kharijites or Zealots, who held the first two
Caliphs alone to have been lawful, and rejected Othmán and Alí alike,
because they had adopted worldly views; who demanded that none but “the
best man” should wield the sovereignty, “though he were an Abyssinian
slave;”[53] who, moreover, in their ethical rigorism regarded as
idolatry every grave sin, and most of all, of course, opposition to
their own doctrine as the true Islam; and who accordingly regarded all
their Moslem enemies, with their wives and families, as lawfully given
over to the sword or to slavery. One of the most prominent officers of
the negro leader preached in this sense in Basra when it was taken; the
same idea lent fury to his black troops; and even his banner bore the
text of the Koran[54] which had been one of the chief watchwords of the
old death-defying Kharijites. It was certainly also with a purpose that
he called himself upon this banner simply, “Alí, son of Mohammed,”
without allusion to his high descent. With this it agrees that an
original document of the period shortly after his death designates him
as a Kharijite. His choice of party was in the highest degree
appropriate. The slaves were easily gained by a strong personality who
could condescend to them, but they were not to be inspired with
enthusiasm for a mystical hereditary claim. But that they themselves
were the true believers and the lawful destroyers or masters of all
others, the blacks were ready to believe; and they acted accordingly.
Perhaps their leader took this also into account, that in Basra (on the
lower classes of which place he seems at first to have reckoned), the
Shíite doctrine was at that time very unpopular, quite the opposite of
what it was in Cufa, the old rival of Basra. From what has been said it
will be abundantly clear why Karmat, one of the founders of the
Karmatians, an extreme Shíite sect which was destined soon after this to
fill the whole Mohammedan world with fear and dismay, should, on
religious grounds, have decided not to connect himself with the negro
leader, however useful this association might otherwise have been to
him.
The nature of the ground was highly favourable to a rising of the kind.
Indeed, some forty years before this, in the marshes between Wásit and
Basra, the Gypsies (Zutt) settled there had, augmented by offscourings
of humanity brought together from all quarters, lived the life, first of
robbers, and afterwards of declared rebels, and were only after the
greatest exertion compelled to capitulate; yet these were people who
neither in courage nor in numbers could be compared to the East
Africans, and that, too, at a time when the caliphate was still in
reality a world-empire.[55]
Of the beginning of the negro insurrection we have exceptionally minute
details from the accounts of eye-witnesses. We learn how one band of
slaves after another—a troop of fifty, a troop of five hundred, and so
forth—obeyed the call of the new Messiah. We even know the names of
those slaves who incited their companions to join the rebel leader. As
was natural, their wrath was directed, not merely against their masters,
who were mostly absent, but even more against the taskmasters, all of
them, we may suppose, themselves slaves or at most freedmen. Yet the
leader spared their lives and let them go, after they had first been
soundly beaten by their former subordinates. The owners more than once
begged him to let them have their slaves back again, promising him
amnesty and five gold pieces per head; but he refused all offers; and
when the blacks began to show uneasiness about such negotiations, he
solemnly pledged himself never to betray them, and to further their best
interests. This oath he kept.
The most numerous class of these negroes—the Zenj, properly so
called—were almost all of them ignorant of Arabic; for during their
common labours in the open air they had had no occasion to learn this
language, though the Oriental black, for the most part, very readily
drops his mother-tongue to take up that of his master. With these,
accordingly, Alí had to use an interpreter. But others of the
negroes—those from more northern countries (Nubia and the
like)—already spoke Arabic. With the saltpetre workers were undoubtedly
associated many fugitive slaves from the villages and towns, and
probably all sorts of fair-skinned people as well, but apparently few
representatives of the urban proletariat. A valuable accession to their
strength was contributed by the black soldiers who, especially after
defeats, went over to the Zenj from the government troops. So, for
example, at the very outset a division of the army fell upon the almost
unarmed rebels, but was beaten; whereupon three hundred blacks at once
went over to the latter.
Unfortunately we possess practically no particulars as to the internal
arrangements of this singular State, composed of fanatical warriors or
robbers who once had been, for the most part, negro slaves. With regard
to their great achievements in war, it is to be remembered that they
were excellently led; that they fought upon a favourable and familiar
soil, full of marshes and canals, of which they thoroughly knew how to
take advantage, while the enemy was equipped for an altogether different
kind of fighting; and, finally, that the East African blacks, as a rule,
are brave. It was not without reason that many negroes were at that time
enrolled in the troops of the empire; even at present the black
regiments of the Khedive are much more serviceable than those raised in
Egypt. We know, too, that the negro leader maintained strict discipline.
It would seem that he had exerted himself to win over the villagers
also, who for the most part, if not altogether, were dependent on
aristocratic or wealthy masters. Perhaps he was more successful in this
than our authorities say. He sometimes gave up hostile villages to
plunder; but the provisioning of his large masses of men was probably,
to a considerable extent, made easier for him through the connivance of
the peasants. And when, at the very outset, he allowed a band of Mecca
pilgrims to pass unharmed, this action was not only sagacious, but also
in accordance with the doctrine which he professed.
Hardly had the slaves’ revolt declared itself when troops upon troops
were sent for its suppression; but within a few weeks the Zenj had
gained several victories. The imperial armies were, it may be presumed,
not large enough, and were badly led; the enemy, as was natural, was
underrated. Here, at the outset, we find the Zenj’s peculiar mode of
fighting,—namely, out of concealed side-channels, heavily overgrown
with reeds, to fall suddenly upon the rear of the enemy’s troops as they
rowed along. In this war it is the regular thing that a number of the
vanquished are drowned. The leader of the Zenj was always well served by
his scouts.
Of the booty taken in the first encounters, the most important part
consisted of arms. Prisoners were remorselessly put to death. In fact,
according to Kharijite doctrine, they were unbelievers, and worthy of
death; while the women and the children, as non-Moslems, were made
slaves. When at last the negro chief had defeated an army consisting
principally of inhabitants of Basra, he marched in person against that
town; he calculated, it would seem, that one of the two town parties,
with which he had frequently had dealings, would declare itself for him;
but in this he was deceived. The people, high and low, stood together.
They faced him on Sunday, 23rd October 869 (full six weeks only after
the date of his first rising), and completely shattered his army; he
himself barely escaped death, fighting bravely. But the citizen-army,
though it had manfully defended hearth and home, was hardly fit to take
the offensive, and certainly had no leader who could be matched with
Alí, who quickly rallied his followers. When, on the second day, the
first division of the Basrans was advancing by water, bodies of Zenj
posted in ambush on both sides of the canal fell upon their rear. Some
vessels capsized. The negroes fought with fury; their women threw
bricks. Those also who were advancing by land were involved in the
disaster; many were killed or drowned. The defeat of the townspeople was
complete. A large number of members of the ruling family even,
descendants of Sulaimán,[56] the brother of the first two Abbásid
Caliphs, perished. Alí caused a whole ship to be laden with heads of the
slain and sent along a canal to Basra. His associates now urged him
immediately to fall upon the town; but his reply was, that they ought to
be glad that they might now count upon peace for some time, so far as
the Basrans were concerned. He had in the meanwhile no doubt satisfied
himself that he had no substantial following in Basra, and still felt
himself too weak to make himself master of the great city.
After these events the Zenj chief caused to be established, on a
suitable dry spot, impregnated with salt and thus without vegetation, a
settlement of his blacks, which he exchanged for another in the
following year. His people reared huts of palm branches, we may suppose,
or perhaps of mud. The “palaces” of the chief and of his principal
officers, the prisons for the numerous captives, the mosques, and some
other public buildings which were gradually added, may in some cases
have been relatively handsome and internally adorned with the spoils of
the enemy, but their material was certainly, at best, sun-dried brick.
In the broader sense, the city finally founded, called Mokhtára (“the
elect city”), covered a large area, and included extensive fields and
palm groves. It lay somewhat below Basra, abutted on the west bank of
the Tigris, and was intersected by the canal Nahr Abilkhasíb, the main
direction of whose course was from north to south (or perhaps from
north-east to south-west); other canals also surrounded, or, we may
suppose, traversed it. With the complete change of the water-courses in
that region, it is hardly likely that its site will ever be exactly made
out.
The inhabitants of this ephemeral capital for the most part, doubtless,
drew the necessaries of life from the immediate neighbourhood. Yet they
were also dependent to some extent on imports; so that in the end, when
the blockade was fully established and all communications cut off, they
were reduced to great extremity. Until then traders and Bedouins had
ventured to bring provisions to the negro city even in full sight of the
hostile army. The dates grown there served, in part at least, as payment
for the Bedouins. But as the home consumption of this chief article of
produce hardly left much over for trade, we must assume that the dealers
who thus risked their lives for the sake of gain must have been paid for
the flour, fish, and other provisions which they brought with articles
of plunder, and with money that had been accumulated by plunder and
taxation, or rather black-mail.