Bensalem Himmich - The Polymath

If the postulant in attendance is wealthy, he should use some of it to purchase means of defense and prestige from the sultan. Otherwise he’ll end up deprived of his entire wealth and sitting naked and bare-headed on the floor. The waiting person who comes from the intellectual sphere should not expect to use his scholarship in order to give himself airs or as a means of interceding on his own behalf; otherwise he’ll be told that his knowledge is so many piles of wastepaper, and he can go away and sit on them. If this postulant happens to make a living by sword or pen, then he needs to cultivate an entrepreneurial approach. He needs to work out a way of reconciling an aspiration to hold an office above that of other people with the absolute requirement that he devote his attention totally and slavishly to the sultan with both tail and wings completely clipped; otherwise, of all people, he is the one whose head is the quickest to encounter the executioner’s axe.

As the time crept toward later afternoon, I began to get tired of all this waiting and started looking at the faces of people passing by, sitting down, and waiting. Just like me, they all looked completely fed up with hanging around and guessing when their turn would come. Some of them were undoubtedly amirs and holders of high office, while others were merchants, poets, detectives, and murderers, all united in being slaves to salaries and boot-licking. They were all looking after their own interests with quaking heart and shaking hand, trying their level best to get more but forever scared of losing what they already had; it almost seemed as if on the one hand they regarded their possessions as being as valuable as their own eyesight and children, while on the other they were scared of them like some plague or evil personified. Under this particular regime more than others, the sultan neither confides nor trusts. His practice is to use a totally individualized method of turning the wheel of fortune or deprivation, something involving procedures that do not exclude treachery and death as means of dealing with people who had expected to find refuge in his shadow.

Fortunately for me, I didn’t know a single one of the people waiting, nor they me — even though certain heads bowed in my direction from afar, no doubt acknowledging my judicial garb, that being the usual way I look to government personnel and its other denizens.

Once time started to weigh on me like lead, I went over to the chief guard and made it clear that I would really like my audience with the sultan to be hurried up. He gave me a withering look and led me to understand that he was deeply offended by my remark. I should wait my turn even if it took days.

The arts of being sultan are many, and the means of putting people down are no less numerous. Anyone given the honor of meeting the occupier of the throne will inevitably feel a sense of diminished respect and personal self-esteem; he feels an overpowering sense of insignificance. This is best effected by making people wait for ages until their shoulders sag and their backs are bent. At that point the best thing to do is to bend low and give up.

In order to fend off this growing sense of humiliation and contempt I developed a strategy of my own. I sat up straight, closed my legs, and cleared my throat. Staring up at the ceiling, I started putting a gloss on my particular virtues while dismissing any enumeration of my faults. I recalled that I had been treated with tremendous respect. In my own approach to the forthcoming meeting I chose to place the Circassian sultan within his own frame of reference, one removed from all the trappings of the sultanate and monarchical rule. As a result, he emerged as a slave who would have been bought and sold before being manumitted. It had only been by purest chance that he had then managed to seat himself on his throne. I imagined this exemplar of the sultanate, named Barquq, staring at me with his bulging eyes and asking me the question that he had been keeping for me: “During your pilgrimage, what was it that you prayed for on my behalf?” In my mind I started concocting a whole chorus of entreaties that I had framed in rhymed prose, the majority of them culled from things I had omitted to say about him when I was serving as professor and judge.

What brought me back from these mental ramblings was a voice calling out my name and rank, with instructions to proceed. I immediately gathered myself together and headed toward the door. Escorted by two slaves, I made my way through and reached a small hall lit by a number of candles. I was greeted by someone holding onto the dividing curtain, called the burdadar . He started embracing me in a most peculiar fashion and rubbing my body with his hands as though searching for weapons or the like. It was only when I made clear my annoyance that he stopped. Such extreme caution and security measures have now become a normal procedure with the Mamluks — heaven help us all!

Suddenly the curtain was pulled back, and my name and rank were called out twice. The man gestured to me to follow him into a large arcade, punctuating his steps with bowings as he did so, while for my part I bowed slightly in the general direction of the sultan who was seated on his throne. The arcade was of the kind I had come to recognize in this huge palace, with windows looking out onto the stables. As was usual on occasions such as this, al-Zahir Barquq was surrounded by a cohort of amirs and scribes who were standing, while behind him were arrayed yeomen, guards, and retainers.

The sultan gestured to me to take some things from his food table, so I did so, choosing just a little of what was available. I chewed and swallowed it all as fast as possible, then washed the traces of meat, cheese, and sweetmeats off my fingers. I was then invited to step forward and did so. He greeted me in his usual fashion by banging his sleeve on my shoulder and asking in Turkish how I was. In reply I expressed my profuse thanks and my great pleasure at seeing him again, going to enormous lengths in acknowledging my gratitude to him as the great provider and sustainer, the all-powerful shepherd of his people. The pupils of the sultan’s roving eyes looked moist and sleepy, as though he had been spending some of the time while I was waiting for an audience with him having a delicious nap or else consorting with a group of women from his harem. With those same two eyes he pronounced me blessed for completing my pilgrimage.

“So what precisely did you pray for on our behalf,” he asked, “in these times when dark clouds are gathered and strife and unrest are raising their ugly heads again?”

“Overcoming my sense of panic, I contrived an utterly artificial response: “My lord, may you be pleased, between Safa and Marwa, on Mount ‘Arafat, in every holy place and on every occasion, I prayed that you be granted victory over your foes and power to implement your plans and projects. I yelled: Ό God, Answerer of Prayers, bolster with Your glory “Sultan al-Zahir, the mighty, the powerful, great leader of federations and peoples, inspirer of all kinds of glory, very sword of God unleashed against the infidel foe, source of mercy for his servants administered with a gentle care.” With Your great power, O God, enable “the lord of crowns, thrones, and pulpits, of lofty arcades, palaces, and colleges, the monarch, supported by sharp-edged swords, pointed spears, and pens that suckled their glory from the inkwell’s cradles.” O Lord, bring under Your protection “the Commander of the Faithful, and acquaint him with the fruits of Your care in what he receives and dispenses; in this world, provide him with a happy outcome and in the next, the joys of those who dwell in paradise. O Lord, make good fortune his constant companion and glory his confidant. Be his protector and helper as he carries out his duties toward Muslims. Let them learn that his days will be long and his rule will be everlasting.”’ Later in the ceremonies, I proclaimed: “Ό God, in the sacred name of Your Prophet, Lord of the Messengers, I beg You to protect our sultan against the adversities of fate and to grant the realms of Islam the boon of his standards, spears, and swords. Provide him with comfort in himself and his children, in his entourage and grandees, his own coterie and his people as a whole.” Amen, Amen, O Noblest of Answerers, O Lord of the Universe.”’