OF BREAKING OFF
AMONG the misfortunes of Love there is also to be counted Breaking Off. This is of various sorts. The first variety is that breaking off which common caution requires when a spy is present: this is indeed more delicious than any union, and were it not for the fact that the outward meaning of the expression, and the rules of nomenclature, oblige me to introduce it in the present chapter I would have put it off to elsewhere, feeling it to be too sublime to be inscribed here.
In the circumstances now under discussion you will see the beloved drawing away from the lover, addressing her observations to another person, and employing the most refined allusions, lest her purpose be already suspected and her intentions gravely doubted. You will also see the lover acting in the same way, except that he is more under the influence of his natural instincts, more drawn on by his passion despite himself; and so he appears even while drawing away to be advancing, speaking though ostensibly silent, his eyes turned in one direction and his heart in another.
The shrewd and intelligent man discovers the inward meaning of the lovers' talk through the exercise of his imaginative faculty, and is therefore aware that the secret intention of their conversation is quite different from its apparent purport, advertisement being not at all the same thing as sober fact. This then makes a Most exciting spectacle, a scene at once stirring and inspiring, arousing the deepest emotions and evoking all the instincts of chivalry.
Here I should like to quote some verses of mine, which touch on these things a little, even though the actual topics with which they deal are sometimes beside the present point; but I have already bargained with you over this kind of irrelevancy.
But of his nature does not wot:
So might the fish the ostrich blame
For having thirst, which he has not.
Again:
How oft have I obliged a friend,
Not over willing to that end
Nor yet reluctant so to do,
But having other aims in view.
Here is an extract from a long poem of mine, which comprises a variety of wise aphorisms and rules of natural behaviour.
For those I count my friends apart,
And bare my fangs to smile on those
I reckon my especial foes.
The colocynth's disgusting juice
Is taken for its healing use,
And honey pure, although endued
With sweeter properties, eschewed.
So in like case, when need dictates
The very thing my spirit hates
I make it do, and turn my lust
From what I would to what I must.
The jewels hidden in the deeps,
And all the pearls that ocean keeps
In its dark dungeon, none may gain
Except he dive, and dive again.
I strive to drag my soul away
From where its natural instincts lay,
When I am sure another route
Would sooner lead to my pursuit.
So Allah abrogated laws
That served our forefathers, because
His newer revelation brought
Men nearer to the good He sought.
I suit my manners to the crowd
And do the things by them allowed,
While keeping still intact and whole
The pristine virtue of my soul.
So water changes colour to
Accord it with the vessel's hue,
Although its element for sure
Is wonderfully white and pure.
The following stanza also comes from the same composition.
My faculties, and those I love
By these and those alike live I,
Because of both I fear to die.
Later in the ballad these verses occur.
And affability impress,
And neither cold aloofness aught
Determines what is in my thought.
Within my soul I purpose then
To keep my distance from such men,
But outwardly I smile, and bow,
And cry, "Thrice welcome to you now!"
I have observed the fire of war,
That spreads destruction wide and far,
When first its tinder bursts aflame
Seems nothing but a jest, a game.
The speckled serpent looks to be
A beautiful embroidery,
But underneath the woven thread
Dire poison lurks, to strike men dead.
The scimitar's refulgent blade
Is most attractively arrayed,
Yet, flourished by a cunning arm,
Its steel inflicteth mortal harm.
And so I count humility
Renown pre-eminent to be,
When it procureth for a man
Complete fulfillment of his, plan.
The proudest warrior, when he must,
Will rub his forehead in the dust,
That on the morrow he may rise
High-honoured in the sultan's eyes.
Submission leading on to fame
I reckon this a nobler aim
Than too quick glory to attain
With mean abasement in its train.
To oft the overladen board
Has won starvation as reward,
And self-denial sometimes brings
Abundance of delicious things.
No spirit ever tasted fame
That thought humility a shame,
Nor that sweet savour of repose
Which only he who labours knows.
To win to waters far away
When thirsting through the livelong day
Is more delightful and more sweet
Than sitting lazily replete.
Later still I proceed thus.
Some portion manifest of good;
So if the best should be denied,
With what is well be satisfied.
Yet drink not of the muddy stream
Save in extremity extreme,
And when the whole round world contains
No other reservoir but drains.
And never let those lips of thine,
Though parched, approach the brackish brine;
Salt chokes the throat; far seemlier then
Is thirst endured to honest men.
These two stanzas from the same poem are quotable.
With ease enjoyed, contenting thee
Thereat, nor striving to attain
What only violence can-gain.
She is not bound to thee by bill
Of sale, to serve thee at thy will,
Nor, if thou win her, shall she prove
Possessed of a fond parent's love.
Here are another two stanzas.
Where far-fetched cunning may contrive
To bring thee: much before thee lies
To win the hard and distant prize.
Trust not the darkness of the night,
For dawn shall soon be breaking bright;
And be not dazzled by the sun
Its orb goes down on everyone.
Finally I will cite three more stanzas from this same masterpiece.
For waters flowing on their course
By sheer persistency alone
Wear down at last the granite stone.
Strive on, strive ever; slacken not,
And reckon little all the lot
Thou hast accomplished; drizzle rates
No deluge, yet it penetrates.
The man who trains himself to sup
On poison, finds it fills him up,
And in the end it does him good
As much as any well-tried food.
Then there is the breaking off which is provoked by coquettishness; it is more delicious than many a union. Consequently it never occurs except when both lovers have complete confidence in one another, and each is firmly convinced of the other's sincere loyalty. It is then that the beloved feigns to shun the lover, in order to prove the lover's patience, and that the sun may not be uninterruptedly shining on their romance. At such a time the lover despairs, if he is the victim of a grand passion, not so much on account of what has already happened, but because he fears that matters may develop and assume graver proportions, the break between himself and his beloved leading on to other ruptures; or he may also be afraid of that other great catastrophe, the beloved's growing weary of the attachment. I myself experienced in my youth a breaking off of this kind, in my relations with a very intimate friend. The rupture soon healed, but then it returned. When this happened frequently, I extemporised a poem as a sort of joke, inserting after each couplet of my original composition a couplet taken from the beginning stanzas of the Suspended Ode of Tarafa Ibn al-'Abd, which I had studied with commentary at the feet of Abu Sa'id al-Fata al Ja`fari, transmitting from Abu Bakr al-Muqri', from Abu Jafar al-Nahhas (God. have mercy on their souls!), in the Cathedral Mosque of Cordova.
For her, my heart's adored of yore,
That seems like Khaula's traces now
Wind-swept on Thahmad's rocky brow.
My memory of that firm bond
She pledged with me (and I so fond)
Still lasts as clear as the blue band
Tattooed upon an Arab's hand.
And there I paused, not knowing true
If she would come to me anew,
Yet not despairing, and I wept
Until the morn, nor ever slept.
Then long my kinsfolk chided me
And made reproach abundantly;
"Nay, perish not of grief", they cried,"
But be with courage fortified."
The divers moods and rages of
That fickle lady whom I love
Are like the wrecks of schooners spread
Along Dad's rocky torrent-bed.
Those alternations of repulse
And union, which my heart convulse,
Are as a ship some helmsman veers
To catch the wind, then forward steers.
First she was pleased a little while,
Then turned away in anger vile;
So children playing in the sands
Divide the parcels with their hands.
Her lips were smiling graciously,
But in her heart she raged at me
A double necklace, fashioned with
Gay pearls, and sombre chrysolith.
Next comes the breaking off which is occasioned by reproach on account of some fault committed by the lover. This situation involves a certain hardship; but the happiness engendered by a restoration of relations, and the joy, which the beloved's renewed approval evokes, counterbalances everything that has passed. The beloved's approval, following upon her anger, affords a delight unequalled by any other pleasure, and moves the spirit to an ecstasy of gladness far exceeding anything that mundane circumstances can occasion. Has any spectator ever witnessed, or any eye beheld, or has it entered into, the thoughts of man to conceive a more delicious and exciting situation than this? The spies have departed; all hateful influences are far away; the slanderers have vanished from the scene. The lover and the beloved are met together again; they have been parted for a time because of some fault committed by the lover, and that breaking off which ensued has lasted a little while; but now there is nothing to prevent them from enjoying a long talk. The lover begins by apologizing humbly, submitting with all diffidence his clear proofs and arguments-either boldly, or with self abasement, professing a shame over what he has done. Now he declares his innocence; now he asks for pardon and begs to be forgiven, confessing to all the faults of which he is accused even though he be entirely faultless. Meanwhile the beloved all the time fixes her eyes on the ground, occasionally stealing a furtive glance at the lover, or sometimes steadily regarding him for a long moment. At last, seeing him smile, she smiles surreptitiously; and that is the sign that she approves and is satisfied. So the atmosphere of the interview brightens up; the clouds of misunderstanding roll away; his excuses are accepted, his argument is admitted. The faults reported by the talebearers are expunged; the last traces of anger disappear. Now her answers are all " Yes ", and " Your fault would be forgiven, even if you really did act so; how much the more, seeing that you are guiltless." They conclude the whole proceedings with union more firmly joined than ever; reproaches are done with; everything is happiness again; and on this charming note they disperse. Such a scene defies description; the tongue is too halting adequately to do justice to the topic.
I have trodden the carpets of caliphs, and attended the courts of kings, and yet never have I seen reverential awe equal to that which the lover manifests to his beloved. I have observed conquerors triumphing over vanquished princes, viziers exulting in their authority, statesmen rejoicing in their power, and in all this I have beheld nothing to exceed the happiness and hilarity of the lover when he is sure that the beloved's heart is in his keeping, and is confident that she is drawn towards him and loves him truly. I have been present when subjects are excusing themselves before their sovereign, and witnessed how men charged with grave offences comport themselves in the presence of arrogant tyrants, but I have not seen anything more abject than the distracted lover confronting the enraged beloved, transported with anger and mastered by uncompromising fury.
I have myself experienced both situations. In the first I was; harder than steel, more trenchant than sword, unresponsive to abject humility, unconceding to self-abasement. In the second I was more yielding than a garment, and softer than cotton cloth, making haste to submit myself to the last degree of humiliation if it should profit me, eager to seize every opportunity of prostrating myself if that should be of avail, caressing with my tongue, plunging into every manner of deep and subtle fancy in my exposition, contriving all the tricks of eloquence, in short attempting every means of winning the beloved's favour again.
False accusation is one of the familiar features of breaking off, and this may occur both at the beginning and at the end of a love affair. In the former case it is a sign of true affection, whereas in the latter it indicates that the passion has cooled off, and is the gateway to forgetting.
In this connexion I recall that one day I was passing by the cemetery of Bab `Amir in Cordova, with a crowd of students and Traditionists; we were on our way to the class of Shaikh, Abu 'l-Qasim `Abd al-Rahman Ibn Abi Yazid al-Misri my revered teacher, in Rusafa, and with us was Abu Bakr `Abd al-Rahman Ibn Sulaiman al-Balawi of Ceuta, a most talented poet. He was reciting some verses of his own composition, describing a certain known person given to making false accusations. This was what he was saying.
Regardless what ahead may lie;
He hurries swiftly to unfray
Love's cords that took so long to tie.
A weary labour it will be
To patch affection's cloak anew,
If, fast as I am patching, he
Makes speed to rip the cloth in two.
The recitation of the first of these two stanzas coincided with the arrival on the scene of Abu `Ali al-Husain Ibn `Ali al-Fasi (God have mercy upon him!), who was also on his way to Ibn Abi Yazid's lecture. Hearing the verses, he smiled in our direction and joined us as he went along, remarking, " Nay, rather to knot Love's cords, God willing, for that would be more becoming! " This Abu 1-Husain said despite his gravity, his virtue, his saintliness, his innocence, his piety, his self-denial and his learning. Thereupon I composed the following lines.
The cords of my fond love to rend,
O cruel tyrant, and relent,
Our union's broken threads to mend.
Thou shalt assuredly return,
Whether thou wishest it or no;
Spite thy unwillingness to learn,
The prudent lawyer tells us so.
Sometimes breaking off is accompanied by reproaches; and by my life, that is a delicious situation provided it does not go too far. But if it assumes momentous proportions, then the omens are far from happy; it is a most unhealthy symptom, presaging evil to follow. In brief, it is the carrier of separation, the forerunner of severance, the consequence of false accusations, the prelude to troublesomeness, the messenger of dismissal, the provoker of hatred, and the vanguard of aversion. It is only to be approved when it comes in a gentle form, and springs out of tender anxiety. I have these verses on the subject.
Thou wilt be generous to me,
Forgiving all that thou didst, blame,
And adding blessings on my name.
How often has a day begun
(As we have seen) with shining sun,
Yet, ere the afternoon was o'er,
We heard the dreadful thunders roar.
And then again the weather cleared,
The clouds dispersed, the sun appeared;
And so, by that analogy,
I hope once more to look on thee!
I was inspired to compose- the above poem by some reproaches of which I was the target, upon just such a spring day as I have described; I wrote them that very time.
Once I had two friends who were brothers. The went away on a journey, and when they returned was suffering from ophthalmia. They were remiss in visiting me, and so I wrote to them in rhyme, m communication being addressed to the elder. Permit me to quote from this letter.
Thy brother o'er and o'er
Things whose recitals do
Distress the hearer sore.
But if the clouds outspread
Obscure the sun at noon,
What is there to be said
About the rising moon?
Then there is the breaking off which is the result of the slanderers' activities. I have already spoken about these gentry earlier in this essay, and the foul infection spread by their poisonous tongues. This may often lead to a final rupture.
Next I must speak of that breaking off which is caused by weariness. To grow tired of a thing is an inborn human characteristic: a man afflicted by this failing deserves all the more not to receive the sincere and undiluted affection of any friend, and that none should engage himself to him in true brotherhood. For he is not constant in any covenant; he perseveres in no association; the succour he may render to the lover is of but brief duration; neither his love nor his hatred is to be trusted. The best way with such a man is not to attach him to oneself, and rather to flee from his company and his society, for one will never derive any advantage from his friendship. It is for this reason that we have excluded this quality from our analysis of lovers, and put it in the category of the beloved's attributes; for the latter are in general apt to level false accusations, to entertain dark suspicions, o address themselves to rupturing relations. The person who decks himself out with the name of love, and is easily wearied, is no true lover at all: it is right that the very taste of him should be shunned, and that he be banished from the roll of lovers, and never admitted into their society. I never saw any man so completely dominated by this quality as Abu 'Amir Muhammad Ibn 'Amir (God-have mercy upon him'!). If anyone had described to me a fraction of what I knew of him, I would never have believed him. People of such a temperament are the quickest of beings to fall in love, and the least patient with those they love, also with those they detest vice versa. They change as rapidly from adoration as they gallop into it. So never put your trust in anyone who is given to weariness, neither occupy your thoughts with him; entertain no false hopes that he will be faithful to you, and if you are constrained by necessity to love him, know him for what he is, a creature of passing fancies, and adapt yourself to suit his varying moods as you observe him to change from moment to moment, conforming in general with all his fickle whims.
Abu 'Amir, whose name I have just mentioned, whenever he clapped his eyes on a slave-girl could scarcely restrain his impatience; he was so overcome by anxiety and trepidation that he wellnigh expired, until at last he possessed her, even if a veritable forest of tragacanth bushes stood between him and his object. Yet as soon as he was certain that she was his for the having, love turned to revulsion, intimacy to aversion, agitation to be with her into agitation to be without her, longing to have her into longing to be rid of her. So he would sell her at the most ridiculous price. Such was his wont, so that he squandered in this way many tens of thousands of gold dinars. Yet for all that, God bless him, he was a man of culture, intelligent, sagacious, noble and sweet in his ways; he had a penetrating wit, and was withal a great aristocrat, of highly exalted rank, and enjoyed a position of vast prestige. His handsome features and perfect physique were beyond all definition; the imagination boggles to describe even the least part of his manly beauty, and none could adequately accomplish the task of picturing him as he was. The boulevards of the city were all deserted of promenaders, the whole population being intent to pass the door of his house, which stood in the street running up from the little river, by the gate of my own residence on the eastern side of Cordova, and leading to the avenue adjoining the palace of al-Zahira; his house was in this avenue, quite close to mine. All, as I have said, thronged his door, for no other reason than simply to catch a glimpse of him. Many a slave-girl died of a broken heart on his account; infatuated by his charm, they would deck themselves out in all their finery to attract his fancy; but he betrayed their hopes, so that they became the victims b of wasting passion, and were slain by solitude. I knew one of these girls, whose name was `Afra'; she did not trouble to conceal her love for him, in whatever company she found herself, and the tears never dried on her cheeks. She passed from his household to Abu '1-Barakat al-Khaiyali, the prefect of the royal buildings.
Abu 'Amir told me much about himself, including the fact that he was weary among other things of his own name! As for his friends, he changed them frequently during his brief lifetime. Like the finch, he never remained constant to the same fashion long; sometimes he would dress in the robes of a king, tunes he got himself up like an assassin
It behoves any man who has the misfortune to be mixed up with someone of this description, not to expend all his energies in loving him; rather should he set up despair, which he might well entertain regarding the constancy of his companion's affections, as an adversary to do battle against his heart's inclinations. As soon as the first signs of weariness on his part exhibit themselves to him, he must avoid his company for several days, until his fickle friend's mind livens up again and his ennui departs; then he may safely resume relations with him. In that way the friendship may well endure. I have summed up this counsel in a little poem.
Whose love grows quickly dim;
The friend who wearies soon,
His love's a worthless boon.
Then have thou nothing of
A so inconstant love
It is a loan to lack
That must be rendered back.
Then again there is a variety of breaking off where the initiative is taken by the lover. This happens when the lover observes that the beloved has begun to treat him harshly, and is inclining away from him in favour of another fancy; or when some tedious intruder is always sticking to his side. In such a case the lover sees death standing before him; he gulps the choking draughts of despair; to bite the acid pulp of the colocynth would discomfort him less than to; look upon so hateful a spectacle. So he withdraws from his suit, though his heart is breaking. I have rendered this tragic situation very touchingly in verse.
Yet not because I hate
O wondrous shunning of
The lover passionate!
But that I cannot bear
To gaze (though I love well)
Upon her features fair,
My traitorous gazelle.
Death is a sweeter prize
Then vainly to desire
Her heart that opens lies
To all who may aspire.
The flames within my breast
Their fiery lances dart;
O strange, the vast unrest
Of my enduring heart!
Yet Allah has allowed
The captive, by His laws,
His secret thoughts to shroud
When in the captor's claws.
This merciful decree
Permits, in mortal fear,
Avowed apostasy
To faithful hearts sincere.
I will relate an instance of breaking off in its most extraordinary and frightful form. I knew a man whose heart was distraught for one who kept far away from him, fleeing before his passionate advances. My poor friend suffered agonies of his unrequited love for a considerable time then fortune vouchsafed him a remarkable opportunity of attaining union, so that he was within; sight of realizing all his fond hopes. In the moment when he was separated by but a hair's-breadth from the goal of his ambition, the beloved broke off relations once more, and withdrew further than even before from his reach. On that subject I composed the following verses.
For Fortune to concede,
That seemed as if it were
Remote as Jupiter.
Dame Fortune so far went
Her rigours to relent
As to display my prize
Before my very eyes.
Then she removed anew
My target out of view,
As if my heart's delight
Had never been in sight.
I invented a second poem on the same theme.
My hand, upon, my hope to lay;
But then my object swerved about
And vanished to the Milky Way.
So suddenly I, who was thus
So certain, fell into despair;
My hope was swept to Sirius
That seemed within my grasping there.
All men had envied my good chance,
And now I envied in my turn;
Desire had cast on me its glance,
Yet I was only left to yearn.
So Fate delights eternally
To vary good with ill surprise
None puts his trust in Destiny
Who is ambitious to be wise.
Finally there is the breaking off which is the consequence of hatred. Here all fictions go astray, all ruses come to an end; it is the great and final catastrophe. This is the disaster which leaves the reason utterly bewildered. He who is smitten by this calamity, let him apply himself to discover what may be his beloved's wishes, and let him endeavour to find out what his darling will approve; he must at all costs avoid whatever he may be aware that the object of his passion abhors. If he conducts himself in this manner, it may be that this will incline her sympathies again towards him, always provided that the beloved knows the value of concord and of striving to attain it. But if she does not know the value of this, then there is no hope of turning her from her hateful attitude; all your good deeds will be crimes in her eyes. If the lover is unable to convert the beloved, then let him resolve upon oblivion; let him examine his soul, and consider the misery and privation it is suffering, and forthwith labour to gratify his desire in whatever manner he can. I have seen- a man in these straits, and wrote a ballad to illustrate his case, beginning as follows.
One who, if I had chanced to save
Him from sure death that loomed before,
Would cry, "O were I in the grave!"
Later in the poem these stanzas occur.
My camels to the bubbling spring,
The world's vicissitudes contrive
To vitiate my homecoming.
What just complaint is there to find
Against the sun at noon ablaze,
If feeble eyes are stricken blind
And cannot look upon its rays?
I also have this trifle.
When union has been enjoyed;
But union seems O! divine
After avoidance has been thine.
The one is wealth that visits thee
When thou hast dwelt with poverty,
The other poverty, that on
Great wealth ensues, when it is gone.
I can quote a longer poem.
Into two parts doth go,
And Fate through thee doth play
Two separate roles today
Thou art as Nu'man was
In days of old, because
As Arab legend says
He, Nu'man, had two days.
One day was bliss for men,
And all were happy then;
But one was full of hate
And malice desperate.
Thy day of grace and glee
On others dawns, not me;
My day with woe is sent
And bitter banishment.
This troth I love thee by
Does it not qualify
To win, for recompense,
Some slight beneficence?
Here is a fragment.
All loveliness doth meet,
Like pearls in order strung
And on a necklace hung:
How comes it, death from thee
Assaults me brutally
By night, when in thy face
Shines forth my star of grace?
I have a formal ode which begins thus.
The Judgment Hour whereof men tell,
This night of parting and of gloom
The vigil of the Day of Doom?
My banishment, is it that woe
Believers for a season know
Who hope to meet their Lord again,
Or infidels' eternal pain?
Later I proceed as follows.
Those nights we joyed in, thou and I,
Memories that still fragrant are
And fresh as the sweet nenuphar.
The lily's petals are ablaze
With glittering beauty, like our days;
Its center is the night, whose knife
Cuts short our slender thread of life.
We passed our days and nights away
In heedless joy and folly gay,
And so they came, and so they fled,
And we knew not the way they sped.
But presently another time
Succeeded to that age sublime,
Fair promise of fidelity
Belied, alas! by perfidy.
Further on in the same poem I have these stanzas.
Perchance the times will yet be fair,
And Fortune, who has turned her face
Too long, renew her former grace.
For Allah, the All-Merciful,
Hath given the 0mayyads rule,
And I, like them, may therefore wait
In fortitude for better fate.
The foregoing verses are extracted from a panegyric which I composed in honour of Abu Bakr Hisham Ibn Muhammad, the brother of the Caliph `Abd al-Rahman al-Murtada, God have mercy on his soul! Allow me to quote further from this masterpiece.
Within its consciousness comprise
Things near and far, although compressed
In the dark dungeon of the breast?
So Time a body is, and he
Time's spirit and vitality,
Comprising in his knowledge all
(Prove this, and see!) that may befall.
Lastly I will cite these two remarkable stanzas.
Which he accepts, their gracious King?
And in accepting proves renewed
Regard, requiring gratitude.
So every river in the realm,
Although its waters overwhelm
Its narrow banks, impetuously
Debouches in the boundless sea
Ibn Hazm Home - E-mail - Guest Book
-
Page last modified on 2008-01-04.
-
Page url is: www.muslimphilosophy.com/hazm/dove/template.htm
-
Site © Copyright 2004 by Islamic Philosophy Online, Inc. A not-for-profit organization dedicated to the study of Islamic philosophy. Individual content may have its own individual copyrights. See copyright information.
-
Click Here for an Internet Citation Guide.
-
Page created on: 2004-03-03