Vladimir Bartol - Alamut

“Dummy! Why do you think you’re trying them on?” Miriam laughed.

“I’ll feel ashamed.”

Each one collected her finery and took it to her room.

Suddenly the horn sounded.

Apama came rushing in from the kitchen.

“Hurry everyone, get ready! Sayyiduna is coming.”

During this time Hasan had been having an extensive discussion with the grand dais in his chamber. He lit several lamps and drew curtains over the windows. A eunuch brought in a large jug of wine. The men dropped down on the pillows and the jug made a circuit from mouth to mouth.

Hasan began.

“I’ve had you summoned from Rudbar, Buzurg Ummid, to familiarize you and Abu Ali with my last will and testament. I had wanted Husein Alkeini to be here too, but events got ahead of me and Khuzestan is too far away for me to send for him. This concerns the principles of succession within our institution.”

Abu Ali laughed.

“You talk as though you were planning to bid the world farewell tomorrow. Why the hurry with this? Maybe Buzurg Ummid and I will bite the dust before you do.”

“You mentioned Husein Alkeini,” Buzurg Ummid remarked, “but what has happened to your son Hosein that you’ve forgotten about him? After all, he’s your natural heir.”

Hasan jumped to his feet as though he’d been bitten by a snake. He began pacing around the room and shouting.

“Don’t remind me of that oafish calf! My institution is founded on reason, not on idiotic prejudices. Son! Son! What son? Do you expect me to dash my beautiful plan to pieces, to leave it to some idiot whom dumb luck made my son? I prefer to follow the example of the Roman church, which puts only its most capable in charge. Realms built on blood and kin soon go into decline. The institution of Rome has been standing for a thousand years! Sons? Brothers? In spirit you’re all my sons and brothers. It was spirit that conceived my plan.”

The grand dais almost took fright.

“If I had known I was going to upset you so much with my remark, I would have kept quiet,” Buzurg Ummid said. “But how was I to know that your views on kinship and succession were so… well, so unique?”

Hasan smiled. He was a little ashamed that he’d lost control.

“I also continued to put stock in blood relations when I came back from Egypt,” he replied, seemingly in apology. “They brought me my son, who was so beautiful and strong it was a joy to look at him. ‘I’ll see my own youth in him,’ I thought. I took him into my house and… how can I make you understand my disappointment? Where was that passion for finding the truth, where was that higher calling that shook my soul when I was his age? I couldn’t find even a trace of it in him. To begin with I told him, ‘The Koran is a book with seven seals.’ His response was, ‘It’s not up to me to unseal them.’ ‘But aren’t you just a little moved to discover a mystery known to only a few?’ ‘No, not even the slightest bit.’ I found this indifference incomprehensible. To stir him, I told him about the struggles of my youth. ‘And what has all your trouble gotten you?’ That was all the impression his father’s confessions made on him. In order to shock him, in order to jolt him out of his torpor, I decided to tell him our ultimate secret. ‘Do you know what our faith teaches as the highest wisdom?’ I called out to him. ‘Nothing is real, everything is permitted.’ He brushed it off. ‘I dealt with that when I was fourteen years old.’ The realization that I had struggled my whole life long to make, for whose ultimate confirmation I risked all dangers, visited all schools, studied all the philosophers—he had figured out and was done with by the age of fourteen. ‘Maybe he was born this wise,’ I thought. But he didn’t understand even the most elementary lessons of science. I was exasperated at so much dimwittedness. I handed him over to Husein Alkeini to serve as a foot soldier.”

The grand dais exchanged glances. Buzurg Ummid had been thinking of his son Mohammed, whom he loved dearly. Had he really been planning to send him to Hasan for schooling as a feday? He felt goose bumps down his spine.

Abu Ali asked, “Ibn Sabbah, earlier you said that our institution is based on reason. What exactly do you mean by that?”

Hasan clasped his hands behind his back and started pacing slowly back and forth.

“The concept of my rule isn’t entirely new,” he said. “Ninety years ago Caliph Hakim the First tried something similar in Cairo, when he proclaimed himself the personification of God. But apparently the self-willed distinction affected his reason. He went soft in the head and ended up believing in his divine origins. On the other hand, his dais left us with a legacy that’s all the more valuable. I’m thinking of our supreme motto, which Hakim made use of to support his doings.”

“Don’t you think, ibn Sabbah,” Abu Ali continued, “since so many people have found out about this principle of ours, that its value has depreciated?”

“There’s a strange double edge to the maxim that nothing is real and everything is permitted, as I just showed you with the pathetic example of my son. For those who by nature aren’t meant for it, all it means is a heap of empty words. But if someone is born for it, it can become the north star of his life. The Carmatians and Druzes, to which Hakim the First belonged, recognized nine grades that their novices had to fight their way through. Their dais courted new adherents with tales of Ali’s family and the coming of the Mahdi. Most of these converts were satisfied with simple legends like those. The more ambitious ones pressed the dais for more answers and were told that the Koran is a kind of wondrous metaphor for higher mysteries. Those who still weren’t satisfied had their faith in the Koran and Islam undermined by their teachers. If somebody wanted to press even further, he learned that all faiths are equal in their accuracy or inaccuracy. Until, finally, a small, elite handful was ready to learn the highest truth of all, based on the negation of all doctrines and traditions. That grade required the greatest courage and strength from a man. Because it meant that he would spend his whole life without any firm ground beneath his feet and with no support. So there’s no need to worry about our principle losing its effectiveness, even if a lot of people find out about it. Most of them won’t understand it anyway.”

“Now I see,” Abu Ali said. “Earlier you said you’d summoned us on account of your testament and the succession. What moved you to start thinking about those issues? You’re still strong and healthy.”

Hasan laughed. He continued to pace the room with deliberate steps. The grand dais followed him closely with their eyes.

“Nobody knows what the next day will bring,” he replied. “The testament I plan to leave behind is such that the one who executes it will have to familiarize himself thoroughly with certain details. And because I’ve chosen you and Husein Alkeini as my heirs, today I want to reveal the plan that will become the foundation of our institution at least to the two of you who are present. True, my idea is based in part on the experience of Hakim the First and the Roman church. But its real essence is entirely my own invention. Let me explain.”

He lay down near them and a kind of childlike smile played across his face—the kind of smile that people have when they know what they have to say could make others laugh or even view them as crazy. Grinning like this, he spoke.

“Do you recall that Mohammed promised heavenly luxuries in the beyond to those who fell fighting for Islam with sword in hand? He said they would stroll over meadows and fields and lie next to gurgling springs. Flowers would blossom around them and they would inhale their intoxicating scent. They would consume delicious foods and choice fruit. Lovely-limbed, dark-eyed maidens would serve them in glass pavilions. And despite the services these maidens would provide them, they would remain modest and virgin forever. They would pour them wine from gilt pitchers, wine that would never make them drunk. The days of eternity would pass for them in luxury and incessant pleasure…”