Documents and the History of the Early Islamic World
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Islamic History
and Civilization
studies and texts
Editorial Board
Hinrich Biesterfeldt
Sebastian Günther
Wadad Kadi
volume 111
The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/ihc
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Documents and the History of the
Early Islamic World
Edited by
Alexander T. Schubert
Petra M. Sijpesteijn
leiden | boston
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This is an open access title distributed under the terms of the prevailing cc-by-nc
License at the time of publication, which permits any non-commercial use,
distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original author(s) and
source are credited.
An electronic version of this book is freely available, thanks to the support of libraries
working with Knowledge Unlatched. More information about the initiative can be found at
www.knowledgeunlatched.org.
Cover illustration: Leiden University Libraries, Cod. Or. 289, Folio 35a. Image of papyrus plant in manuscript
from Pedanius Dioscorides (11th century).
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
International Society for Arabic Papyrology. Conference (3rd : 2006 : Alexandria, Egypt)
Documents and the history of the early Islamic world / edited by Alexander T. Schubert, Petra M.
Sijpesteijn.
pages cm. – (Islamic history and civilization ; v. 111)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-90-04-24959-2 (hardback : alk. paper) – ISBN 978-90-04-28434-0 (e-book)
1. Manuscripts, Arabic (Papyri)–Congresses. I. Schubert, Alexander T. II. Sijpesteijn, Petra. III. Title.
PJ7593.I58 2006
492'.717–dc 3
2014038664
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issn 0929-2403
isbn 978-90-04-24959-2 (hardback)
isbn 978-90-04-28434-0 (e-book)
Copyright 2015 by Koninklijke Brill nv, Leiden, The Netherlands.
Koninklijke Brill nv incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Hes & De Graaf, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Rodopi and
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This book is printed on acid-free paper.
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Contents
Acknowledgements vii
List of Figures viii
Notes on Contributors ix
Notes on Editions and Dates xii
1 Introduction 1
Hugh Kennedy
Administration & Government
2 A Late Ayyubid Report of Death Found at Quṣayr al-Qadīm 11
Anne Regourd
3 On the Identity of Shahrālānyōzān in the Greek and Middle Persian
Papyri from Egypt 27
Jairus Banaji
4 Le monastère de Baouît et l’ administration arabe 43
Alain Delattre
5 Fiscal Evidence from the Nessana Papyri 50
Shaun O’Sullivan
Commerce & Travel
6 Travel in Coptic Documentary Texts 77
Anna Selander
7 Le transport de marchandises et de personnes sur le Nil en
823 a.h./1420 è.c. 100
Frédéric Bauden
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vi
contents
Language & Culture
8 P.Cair.Arab. iii 167: A Discussion of the Akhmīm Declaration 133
Mostafa El-Abbadi
9 Greek and Arabic in Nessana 143
Rachel Stroumsa
10 The Master Spoke: “Take One of ‘the Sun’ and One Unit of Almulgam.”
Hitherto Unnoticed Coptic Papyrological Evidence for Early Arabic
Alchemy 158
Tonio Sebastian Richter
11 Terms for Vessels in Arabic and Coptic Documentary Texts and Their
Archaeological and Ethnographic Correlates 195
Tasha Vorderstrasse
12 A Qurānic Amulet on Papyrus: P.Utah.Ar. 342 235
Matt Malczycki
New Editions & Collections
13 Les papyrus arabes de Heidelberg disparus. Essai de reconstruction et
d’ analyse 249
R.G. Khoury
14 Two New Arabic Editions: A Land Survey from Ihnās and Ḥadīths
Concerning Funerary Practice 261
Alia Hanafi
15 Sunshine Wine on the Nile
Nicole Hansen
291
Index 305
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Acknowledgements
The origins of this volume lie in the third congress of the International Society for Arabic Papyrology, held at the Bibliotheca Alexandrina (ba) in March
2006. We would like to thank the ba, and Mostafa El-Abbadi and Mona Haggag
in particular, for their hospitality and generosity during the conference. Other
sponsors were the British Academy, the Egypt Exploration Society, and Princeton University. We would also like to thank the Swedish Institute and the Centre
d’Études Alexandrines who welcomed us for a reception and lecture during the
conference.
The papers presented are the result of ongoing discussion and exchange
since that conference, and the authors have continued to update their work
and references during the editorial process. We would like to thank the series
editors, Wadad Kadi and Sebastian Günther, for their helpful remarks on this
volume, as well as the anonymous readers for their suggestions regarding the
individual papers. Olly Akkerman and Willem Flinterman also deserve special
thanks for their assistance during the editorial process at Leiden University, and
we would like to thank the Leiden Institute for Area Studies (lias) for making
the work of these student assistants possible. As our Brill editors, Kathy van
Vliet and Nienke Brienen-Moolenaar have offered unfaltering encouragement
throughout, and for this too we offer our thanks.
Leiden, 10 November 2014
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List of Figures
2.1
2.2
2.3
2.4
4.1
7.1
10.1
10.2
14.1
14.2
14.3
14.4
14.5
14.6
a inv. pa0386 23
b/1 inv. pa0381 23
b/2 inv. pa0381 24
c inv. pa0388 24
P.Camb. ul inv. 1262 49
Procuratori di San Marco, Commissarie miste, busta 180
British Library Oriental ms. 3669(1) 193
P.Bodl. MS Copt. (P) a.1 194
P. Haun. Inv. Arab. 21 recto 285
P. Haun. Inv. Arab. 21 verso 286
P. Haun. Inv. Arab. 22 recto 287
P. Haun. Inv. Arab. 22 verso 288
P. ACPSI (= P.Rag.) 126 recto 289
P. ACPSI (= P.Rag.) 126 verso. 290
101
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Notes on Contributors
Mostafa El-Abbadi
is professor emeritus of Classical and Greco-Roman Studies at the University
of Alexandria, Egypt, special advisor to the director of the Bibliotheca Alexandrina, president of the Archaeological Society of Alexandria, and president
of the Egyptian Association for Friends of the Bibliotheca Alexandrina. He is
the author of several books and articles, including Life and Fate of the Ancient
Library of Alexandria (Paris, 1990), which was translated into several languages.
Jairus Banaji
is a research professor at the School of Oriental and African Studies in London.
He is the author of Agrarian Change in Late Antiquity (2nd ed. Oxford, 2007) and
of Theory as History (Leiden, 2010). He is currently putting together a collection
of his papers for Cambridge University Press.
Frédéric Bauden
(Ph.D. 1996, Université de Liège) is professor of Arabic and Islamic Studies at
the Université de Liège. He is a Fulbright scholar and was visiting associate
professor at the University of Chicago (2008) and visiting professor at the
Università di Pisa (2009–2012). His main publications include articles dealing
with historiography, diplomatics, codicology and epigraphy. He is currently
preparing a critical edition of al-Maqrīzī’s notebook and a study of this author’s
working method.
Alain Delattre
is assistant professor at the Université Libre de Bruxelles. He is author of
Papyrus coptes et grecs du monastère d’apa Apollô de Baouît conservés aux
Musées royaux d’Art et d’Histoire de Bruxelles (Brussels, 2007).
Alia Hanafi
is professor of papyrology in the Department of Ancient European Civilisation
at Ain Shams University. She is the former director of the Center of Papyrological Studies and Inscriptions at Ain Shams University and is the author of
numerous articles in the fields of Greek and Arabic papyrology.
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x
notes on contributors
Nicole Hansen
has a Ph.D. in Egyptology from the University of Chicago and lives in Cairo. Her
research interests are focused on connections between ancient and modern
Egypt, with a particular emphasis on medicine, magic and daily life.
Hugh Kennedy
studied at Cambridge and lectured in Islamic History at the University of St
Andrews from 1972 to 2007. Since 2007 he has been professor of Arabic at
the School of Oriental and African Studies in London. He is the author of
numerous books on early Islamic History, including The Prophet and the Age of
the Caliphate (2nd ed. Harlow, 2004), The Courts of the Caliphs (London, 2004)
and The Great Arab Conquests (London, 2007).
Raif Georges Khoury
is a former professor at the Seminar für Sprachen und Kulturen des Vorderen
Orients at the University of Heidelberg. He is the author of a number of editions
and studies of Arabic historical and literary texts on papyrus.
W. Matt Malczycki
(Ph.D. 2006, University of Utah) is an associate professor in the Department
of History at Auburn University. His recent and forthcoming articles focus on
Arabic religious papyri. He is now working on a monograph that examines
pre-Aghlabid Islamic North Africa. Malczycki is president of the International
Society for Arabic Papyrology (isap).
Shaun O’Sullivan
completed his Ph.D. at the University of St Andrews. He taught at the University
of Balamand (Lebanon) and is currently teaching at Cork in Ireland. He has
published several articles on Christian-Muslim relations.
Anne Regourd
teaches Arabic Epigraphy at the University of Paris 4-Sorbonne, and is associée
at the cnrs. She has publications in the fields of history and philology dealing
with codicology/catalography, merchants’ letters and notes, and epigraphy.
Other specialisations are religious anthropology and history of sciences, and
she has published extensively on divinatory and magic practices in mediaeval
Islam and contemporary Yemen.
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notes on contributors
xi
Tonio Sebastian Richter
professor at Free University Berlin, Egyptological Seminar, received his Ph.D. on
Coptic legal documents (published as Rechtssemantik und forensische Rhetorik,
Leipzig, 2002; 2nd ed. Wiesbaden, 2008). His research interests include Coptic
linguistics, papyrology and epigraphy, and topics in the history of Byzantine
and early Islamic Egypt. He is co-editor of Archiv für Papyrusforschung and
of Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde and a member of the
editorial board of Lingua Aegyptia.
Anna Selander
studied Egyptology and Coptology in Vienna and Münster and wrote her master’s thesis about travels in Coptic documentary texts. She is currently working on her Ph.D. on the Coptic papyri of the seventh-century official Shenute
(Senouthios).
Rachel Stroumsa
studied Classics and Arabic at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem and earned
a Ph.D. in Classics from Duke University in 2008. Her dissertation describes the
varieties of identities—ethnic, social and linguistic—displayed in the Byzantine and early Arab Nessana papyri.
Tasha Vorderstrasse
is a research associate in the Oriental Institute at the University of Chicago.
She has written a book on the site of al-Mina, one of the ports of Antioch
(2005) and co-edited a volume on the archaeology of the Anatolian countryside
(Leiden, 2009). She has also written various articles that examine archaeology,
art history, and texts in the Middle East and beyond.
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Notes on Editions and Dates
Editions
References to edited papyrus and other documentary texts are indicated by
a number directly following the customary abbreviation of the edition (e.g.
P.GenizahCambr. 33; bku 124). References to discussions by the editors are by
reference to the line numbers of the edition or a page number in the edition
(e.g. Commentary to P.GenizahCambr. 33 ll. 2–3; bku, p. 25).
Abbreviations for Greek and Coptic documentary texts edited in monographic volumes are given according to the Checklist of Editions of Greek, Latin,
Demotic, and Coptic Papyri, Ostraca and Tablets, J.F. Oates and W.H. Willis which
may be consulted online at: http://www.papyri.info/docs/checklist.
Arabic papyrus editions are given according to the Checklist of Arabic Documents which appeared first as ‘Checklist of Editions of Arabic Papyri,’ by
P.M. Sijpesteijn, J.F. Oates and A. Kaplony, Bulletin of the American Society of
Papyrologists 42 (2005): 127–166. An updated electronic version can be consulted online at: http://www.naher-osten.uni-muenchen.de/isap/
isap_checklist/index.html.
In the edition of texts and quotations from text editions the following bracket system has been employed:
[]
Single square brackets indicate sections where the text is obliterated or
missing owing to a lacuna in the papyrus. Where it is possible to calculate the number of letters missing, these are indicated by the appropriate
number of dots or written in Arabic numerals within the brackets. Dots
outside square brackets indicate that the extant letters cannot be deciphered.
⟦ ⟧ Double square brackets enclose erasures.
( ) Round brackets indicate the solution of abbreviations. In the translation
they indicate additions provided by the editor.
⟨ ⟩ Angular brackets enclosure words or phrases which the writer omitted by
mistake and are supplied by the editor as a correction.
{ } Curly brackets enclose words or phrases which were written by mistake
and should be omitted in reading the passage, e.g. dittographies.
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notes on editions and dates
xiii
Dates
If not otherwise specified dates given in this volume are c.e. dates. However, if
a double date is given, i.e. 99/717, the first is the Muslim Hijri date (a.h.) and
the second is c.e.
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chapter 1
Introduction
Hugh Kennedy
The generally held and often-repeated generalisation that there are no documentary sources for the history of the first four centuries of Islamic history
is slowly being undermined as new discoveries are made and old texts revisited. It is interesting to reflect that a decade ago no one had any knowledge
of the existence or possible existence of the Arabic documents from Tukharistan recently published by Geoffrey Khan.1 From Iran itself we have the Pahlavi
economic documents from the late seventh and early eighth centuries, now in
the Bancroft Library at Berkeley, whose publication is just beginning.2 Greek
papyri from Petra in Jordan, containing Arab names and Arabic phrases, are
also in the process of being published.3 But despite this, it is Egypt that provides
by far the most important body of documentary evidence,4 and this volume is
essentially concerned with material from Egypt and southern Palestine. The
database of Coptic documents from the late antique and early Islamic periods
suggests that there are over 7,000 preserved items, while the Arabic papyri are
at least as numerous if not more so. The number of Greek documents from the
Islamic period continues to increase with the redating of material and a steady
broadening of focus among Greek papyrologists to include the Islamic period.5
This is a vast amount of material for any early medieval society, even if the fact
that they are not sorted or archived makes them difficult, and in some cases
frustrating, to use.
1 Khan, Arabic documents.
2 These are presently being catalogued by Philippe Gignoux and Rika Gyselen. See also on the
Pahlavi collection from Berlin, mostly from Egypt: Weber, Papyri and Weber, Berliner.
3 Frösén, Arjava, and Lectinen, The Petra papyri i.
4 Small numbers of documents have been found outside Egypt, most notably in Sāmarrāʾ in
Iraq, in Nessana and Khirbet al-Mird in Palestine (See P.Ness. iii and P.Mird). For an overview
of papyri found outside Egypt, see Sijpesteijn, Arabic papyri 453.
5 Most of the papyri edited at the beginning of the twentieth century by Carl Wesley in spp
iii were dated to the Islamic period in their reeditions by Claudia Kreuzsaler (Pap.Vind.
6), Fritz Mitthof (Pap.Vind. 3) and Sven Tost (Pap.Vind. 2). See also the two volumes of
Greek papyri published by Federico Morelli which contain exclusively texts from the Islamic
period (cpr xxii and xxx). For the inclusion of the Islamic Egypt in the grander Greek
papyrology enterprise, see for example the panel on papyri from Islamic Egypt planned
© Hugh Kennedy, 2015 | doi:10.1163/9789004284340_002
This is an open access chapter distributed under the terms of the prevailing cc-by-nc License
at the time of publication.
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2
kennedy
It would be easy to imagine that the papyrus record is essentially concerned
with administrative records, demands and receipts for tax payments, leases
on properties, etc., and to be sure all these things can be found in this collection. But the volume also demonstrates the contribution that documentary
evidence can make to wider social history, to intellectual history and to our
understanding of political events, where the documents can fill in gaps left by
the well-known narrative sources.
Many documents show the early Islamic administration of Egypt as ruthlessly efficient and oppressive, but Mostafa El-Abbadi’s paper reveals a rather
different side. On the one hand, the administration is shown maintaining a
strict control over freedom of movement. The Arab administration brought in
new restrictions: no one could go anywhere without the vital sigillion (Arabic
sijill) and perhaps the passport is one of the Islamic world’s gifts (if that is the
right word) to humanity. This system is already well known but here we learn
how meticulous this could be, with the example of a permit granted to a man
to move to another village for work which was only allowed because it would
enable him to pay his taxes. Anna Selander in her paper, looking at the short
texts requesting safe-conducts for travelers through particular roadblocks or
checkpoints in the Theban region and later reused by the monk Frange for
his bookbindings, shows how far down the administrative line this supervision
of movement went. Selander also discusses the effects of the system of passports required of the subject population for their travelling compared to the
pre-Islamic period.
The Arab administration is, on the other hand, shown to be anxious about
discontent among the tax-payers and a desire to be fair and just, if only to avoid
violent protests. El-Abbadi also shows how groups of Christian tax-payers could
nevertheless co-ordinate their opposition. Rather than a top-down managerial
state in which the subjects can only accept their lot and pay up, we see an
administrative environment in which there was considerable room for negotiation and in which the state and its employees had to take notice if they were
going to achieve anything at all.
If taxes were inevitable so too was the other of Benjamin Franklin’s famous
dyad of inevitable discomforts, death. In this volume the material dealing
with death is not on papyrus but on paper. It dates from the early thirteenth
century and comes from the Red Sea port of Quṣayr, already well known for
at the next International Papyrological Congress in Warsaw in 2013. See also the chapter
on Arabic Papyrology included in The Oxford Handbook for Papyrology (Sijpesteijn, Arabic
papyri).
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introduction
3
the collection of commercial documents found there.6 Anne Regourd shows
how such death certificates were issued to protect the interests of the heirs and,
more importantly perhaps, to secure the interests of the state in any parts of the
deceased’s property on which it might have a claim. Taxes again. Interestingly,
there do not seem to be any early Islamic records of such a procedure, and it
is likely that it was introduced in the Fatimid period. It also has implications
for Islamic burial practices as the mawārīth (inheritance) authorities decreed
that the burial of the dead could only take place after their officials had been
informed. If this was the case, it must often have held up burial beyond the
day prescribed by Islamic law. Perhaps the ultimate indignity was the fact that
the document was later recycled, like many administrative documents, and
reused for writing a letter about something completely different on the other
side.
The documents also reveal at least something about travel in Egypt in the
Islamic period, the sort of everyday travel of ordinary people which goes unremarked in narrative account. Anna Selander’s paper gives a useful introduction
to the exhaustive research she carried out for her Master’s. Most of the material
comes not from official records but from informal letters, including an encouragingly high number of invitations to feasts or other celebrations. But, as can
easily be imagined, there were gloomier reasons for undertaking the strains
and stresses of the road, confronting opponents in legal dispute, for example,
and there are many journeys we only know about when the intending traveler
sent apologies to explain how illness had obliged him to stay at home. We also
learn something of modes of transport and interestingly that water transport
was mostly used for moving goods, while individuals usually went by land, on
donkeys and, probably most commonly, on foot.
More light is shed on transport and travel by the early fifteenth-century Arabic paper retrieved by Frédéric Bauden from the Venetian archives. This is in
effect a contract for shipping and, as such, is unusual and even unique. In it
a soldier from the garrison at Alexandria, accompanied by a substantial collection of textiles, arranges to be taken by boat to the port of Cairo at Būlāq.
Bauden compares the document with near-contemporary legal formularies
and arrives at some important terminological precisions and with other, mostly
Italian, accounts of similar journeys in the late Middle Ages. Students of maritime history will be interested to find mention of what is, in effect, a plimsoll
line, showing how far the boat could be safely loaded, a device which did not
appear in the West until the nineteenth century.
6 On which see Guo, Commerce.
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All manner of interactions between tax-payers and the state are illustrated in
these documents. In his discussion of some of the material recovered from the
site of the monastery of Bawit, Alain Delattre draws attention to the evidence
of small amounts of produce paid by the Christians to people with Arab names.
Delattre argues that these are too small to represent tax payments but are more
likely goods to be handed over for the subsistence of travelling officials. This is
typical of the insights that the papyrological and other documentary evidence
can give into the day to day running of the administration, but perhaps the most
remarkable feature is the way in which these transactions, no matter how small
they were, were meticulously recorded and the receipts kept for posterity.
Alia Hanafi presents editions of two new texts. The first is a paper document
from the first half of the fourth/tenth century detailing the kharāj due from the
estate (ḍayʿa) of Drinja near Ihnās, reminding us yet again of the extraordinary
details that can be found in such documents. Not just the amount of tax to
be paid but the various different crops which were produced on one estate are
mentioned in the text. The second is a papyrus from the second/eighth century,
recording traditions about behaviour at funerals.
Shaun O’Sullivan’s paper is the most ambitious attempt to use papyrological
data to examine the wider economic and social history of Palestine under
the Umayyad period. His important conclusion is that taxation in Nessana
under Umayyad rule was significantly higher than it had been under late
Roman government and that a heavy burden of taxation was a major factor
in the effective abandonment of the settlement in the early eighth century.
O’Sullivan’s methodology may be refined in future scholarship, and some of his
conclusions disputed, but the paper shows how the documentary evidence can
be used to shed light on macro-economic questions.
This brings us on to the question of language itself. There are, of course, three
different languages in use in these documents, Coptic, Greek and Arabic. How
then are we to understand their different roles? How far does the use of language reflect ethnic or cultural difference within the wider population. Or are
they, by contrast, more a reflection of the different sorts of subject matter in the
texts themselves? In Rachel Stroumsa’s paper, she suggests some approaches to
these problems. Her material is taken from the Nessana papyri from southern
Palestine, so there is no Coptic but Nabataean, Syriac and even a little Latin
are added to the linguistic cocktail. In his edition of the Nessana papyri, on
which we all continue to depend, Casper J. Kraemer Jr. saw much of the Greek
used in the documents as “barbarous” and the product of a declining education system in seventh-century Palestine. Stroumsa, by refreshing contrast, sees
this as a natural evolution of the language, much as Latin evolved in seventhcentury Gaul. Instead of following a paradigm of declining Hellenism among a
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introduction
5
Semitic speaking people, she argues for a bilingual population using Greek for
official business, and to convey power, status and culture but naturally slipping
into Arabic for such agricultural matters as the names of fields. It was not until
late Umayyad and early Abbasid times that Arabic had acquired the prestige
to replace Greek as the language of authority. Multilingualism is also touched
upon by El-Abbadi who wonders how the three languages (Coptic, Greek and
Arabic) functioned in a mid-eighth-century trilingual document recording a
settlement between the Egyptian population and some Arab administrators.
The relationship between the evidence of the papyri and material culture
is the subject of Tasha Vorderstrasse. She is interested in trying to link the
names of pottery vessels found in documents with the different types of plates
and containers which have been recovered from archaeological contexts. The
relationship between textual and material evidence, whether in architecture,
ceramics or any other field, is often very problematic, and there is always the
temptation to make connections that have no basis in reality. Vorderstrasse
is very careful not to make rash or unfounded claims while at the same time
inviting us to consider exactly what the various containers mentioned might
have looked like. The terms jarra, qisṭ and qulla are all considered as well
as less common terms like iqniz. This paper shows just how difficult it is to
make firm connections. Some words, like qisṭ, can mean units of measurement
as well as containers; others have clearly changed their meaning through the
centuries. In the end, as Vorderstrasse remarks, we need more Arabic references
to containers and only further publication will supply these.
Papyri seldom shed much light on the history of political events but on some
occasions the material they contain may help to clear up long-standing puzzles.
Such a case is presented in Jairus Banaji’s paper on the identity of Shahrālānyōzān. This figure was a Persian official, active in the Persian administration of
Egypt in the 620s and attested in a number of papyri. Banaji uses a wide variety
of evidence to identify this figure with Shahrvaraz, the well-known general of
Khusrō ii (r. 590–628) and eventual short-lived usurper of the Sasanian throne.
The paper also gives us an interesting insight to the little known Persian occupation of Egypt, showing an important member of the Persian elite establishing
himself as a major landowner in the Fayyūm as the Apions had in the previous
century. He definitely expected that he and his family were there to stay. Banaji
finishes by reflecting that this new identification does, in a minor but significant detail, support the testimony of the early Arabic historian, Sayf ibn ʿUmar
(d. ca. 180/796), often suspected of fabricating his narratives.
One of the most important features of the papyrological evidence is the
light it can shed on the textual history of the Quran. Matt Malczycki presents
a Quranic fragment with some orthographic and verbal differences from the
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6
kennedy
canonical version ascribed to the caliph ʿUmar (r. 634–644) including the omission of two verses. He dates it to the late third/ninth century on the basis of the
letter forms. The question then arises as to whether this fragment represents a
genuinely alternative version of the text or simply a number of scribal mistakes.
Malczycki, almost certainly, takes a cautious point of view, suggesting that this
is a poor or careless copy, not “something more exciting.” He shows convincingly that the four suras copied were chosen because they were traditionally
recited at the burial of the dead and can be seen forming a sort of prayer book
for such occasions.
Intellectual history is also expanded and developed by the use of papyrological and other documentary sources, as can be seen from Sebastian Richter’s
paper. This addresses the important question as to whether there was a native
Coptic alchemical tradition, which might plausibly be a continuation of ancient Egyptian practice that fed into and influenced the emerging Arabic one.
After a detailed description of a small but important collection of alchemical manuscripts, including some important textual clarifications and emendations, Richter goes on to describe the place of these manuscripts in the alchemical tradition. He shows that they are not derived from the Greek tradition but,
on the contrary, show many more similarities with the earliest surviving Arabic alchemical writing which date from the early tenth century. These Coptic
writings are older than the earliest Arabic ones but, through careful linguistic analysis, Richter demonstrates clearly that they are, in fact, translations or
paraphrases of Arabic originals, that is to say that the Coptic alchemical tradition is ultimately derived from the Arabic, not the other way round. The
chapter by Nicole Hansen similarly shows how ancient Egyptian alchemical
and medicinal practices continued in later periods in Egypt in the realm of
food culture. Her study on two wine recipes shows the cultural and linguistic
interaction in medieval Egypt. The inclusion, incidentally, of these recipes in
al-Warrāq’s cookbook also show how far Egyptian practices spread throughout
the caliphate.
R.G. Khoury, the doyen of Arabic papyrologists, discusses aspects of the collection at Heidelberg where he has spent so much of his long and productive scholarly life. He discusses the history of the Schott-Reinhardt collection,
revealing that Reinhardt was an Orientalist who had worked as a dragoman in
the German consulate in Cairo while Schott was an industrialist who used some
of the money he made from his cement business to collect the papyri which
were then lodged at the university. Most of the documents are of types well
known from other collections but a few are distinctive and important, including some of the letters of the Egyptian governor Qurra ibn Sharīk (in office
709–715) and the famous scroll of Ibn Lahīʿa (d. 174/790), already edited and
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introduction
7
translated by Khoury (ʿAbd Allāh Ibn Lahīʿa). He also draws attention to some
159 pieces recorded by Adolf Grohmann which have mysteriously disappeared
from the collection and speculates as to their contents, finding most of them to
have been administrative texts of well-known forms.
The essays in this volume show once again the immense variety of information which can be gleaned from the Egyptian and Palestinian documentary material. They also show much interesting new work is appearing, greatly
encouraged by the International Society for Arabic Papyrology and its meetings, but also, of course, how much more needs to be done. We can only imagine
how much this will affect our understanding of pre-modern Islamic society.
Bibliography
Frösén, J., A. Arjava, and M. Lectinen (eds.), The Petra papyri i, Amman 2002.
Grohmann, A., Einführung und Chrestomathie zur arabischen Papyruskunde, von Adolf
Grohmann. i. Band. Einführung. Prague 1954.
Guo, L., Commerce, culture and community in a Red Sea port in the thirteenth century.
The Arabic documents from Quṣayr, Leiden 2004.
Khan, G., Arabic documents from early Islamic Khurasan, London 2007.
Khoury, R.G., ʿAbd Allāh Ibn Lahīʿa. Juge et grand maître de l’Ecole Egyptienne. Avec
édition critique de l’unique rouleau de papyrus arabe conservé à Heidelberg (Codices
Arabici Antiqui iv), Wiesbaden 1986.
Sijpesteijn, P.M., Arabic papyri and Islamic Egypt, in R.S. Bagnall (ed.), Oxford Handbook of Papyrology, Oxford 2009, 452–472.
Weber, D., Berliner Pahlavi-Dokumente. Zeugnisse spätsassanidischer Brief- und Rechtskultur aus frühislamischer Zeit, Wiesbaden 2008.
. Papyri, Pergamente und Leinenfragmente in mittelpersischer Sprache, London
2003.
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Administration & Government
∵
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chapter 2
A Late Ayyubid Report of Death
Found at Quṣayr al-Qadīm1
Anne Regourd
Reconstruction and Dating
This article presents a ‘report of death’ document unearthed in 2003 in Quṣayr
al-Qadīm on the Red Sea coast of Egypt by David Peacock and his team from
the University of Southampton.2 Roughly 1,040 fragments of paper documents
in Arabic were collected from Quṣayr al-Qadīm between 1999 and 2003,3 some
with writing on them, others without. The edition of and commentary on this
text appears below in appendix 1.
The document consists of two fragments and has been partially reconstructed (inv. nº pa0386, and pa0381, see text 1, and fig. 2.1 and 2.2). Both were
found in 2003 in the same archaeological trench and context (trench 13, context 5500). Both had been rolled up and use the same high-quality paper, thick
and smooth.4 Laid lines are not obvious, but cannot be entirely counted out
either. Both use the same open and regular script which, considering this was
an administrative document (see parts ii and iii) and therefore probably written by an official, can be taken as a sample of the script of a dīwān.5
1 I would like to thank Frédéric Bauden, University of Liège, for his useful remarks on my
reading of the private letter.
2 The reports of the excavations are available online at www.arch.soton.ac.uk/Research/
Quseir/. A survey of the excavations has been published by David Peacock and Lucy Blue, see
Peacock and Blue, Myos Hormos. For the Islamic burial sites of Quṣayr al-Qadīm, see ibid.,
‘Trench 1a’ 157–159.
3 For an overview of the Southampton collection of the Quṣayrī fragments, see Regourd, Trade.
A book is in preparation, which will contain the edition of ca. 50 items. The study of these
fragments has been made possible within the framework of the Reconstructing the Quseiri
Arabic Documents (rqad) project, funded by the uk’s Arts and Humanities Research Council
(ahrc).
4 I consulted the original documents kept by the Egyptian Antiquities Service at the end of
2004. I wish to thank the Service for giving me the four-week authorisation necessary for this
work.
5 A very closed script for the basmala is displayed in al-Qalqashandī (d. 821/1418), Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā,
© Anne Regourd, 2015 | doi:10.1163/9789004284340_003
This is an open access chapter distributed under the terms of the prevailing cc-by-nc License
at the time of publication.
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The same trench and context yielded another fragment bearing a witness
formula (inv. pa0388, see text 1, ‘witness clause’ and fig. 2.4). It too had been
rolled up, although it has traces of folding along the longer side (ca. 2cm from
the bottom edge). The paper has lost its starch. Its length of 11.1 cm roughly
corresponds to the length of the central part of the report of death (11.3 cm,
fig. 2.2). The script is different from text 1, suggesting that the three fragments
form together an original document, rather than a copy.
Trench 13 is an Islamic rubbish deposit, quite probably from Mamluk times,
but consisting mainly of Ayyubid material.6 a, b and c were found in the
same context as a paper from the “archives” of the Abū Mufarrij company.
These archives have been reconstructed by Li Guo in his study on the Arabic
documents from Quṣayr,7 and all the dated evidence in his material is from
the first four decades of the seventh/thirteenth century, namely, the period of
the reigns of the Ayyubid sultans al-Malik al-ʿĀdil (r. 596–615/1200–1218) and
his son al-Malik al-Kāmil (r. 615–635/1218–1238). In addition, the formula seems
to follow those of the Cairo Geniza papers dating from the seventh/thirteenth
century (see appendix 2), which would also place it in this time frame.
Six reports of death of Jewish women from the Geniza collection, published by Geoffrey Khan, were also all written according to the same formula.8
“Their dates fall within the last three quarters of the seventh/thirteen century,
spanning the Ayyubid and early Mamluk periods (from 621–629/1224–1231 to
697/1298).”9 The reports of death from other collections that I have been able
to locate were found at Qaṣr Ibrīm, but are late and have a different purpose.10
The missing part of the document is reconstructed according to the model
of the documents found in the Geniza. An idea about the width of the Quṣayr
al-Qadīm document is given by the piece bearing the basmala (22.5 cm), so that
we can probably reconstruct the missing part between a and b on side 1 as
having contained the name of the dead person and the date of his death.
6
7
8
9
10
3:132, al-ṣūra al-ūlā, assuming the printed text is correct compared to the manuscripts. The
section is devoted to the script of the basmala in the dīwān al-inshāʾ.
For trench 13, see Peacock and Blue, Myos Hormos 172–173.
Guo, Commerce.
P.GenizahCambr. 125, 126, 127, 128, 129, 130. No. 129 is mentioned by Rabie, The financial
system 130 and n. 4. No. 130 is mentioned in Goitein, A Mediterranean society 2:321, 473–480.
P.GenizahCambr., p. 473.
Hinds and Ménage, Qaṣr Ibrīm 68, 32–33, dated 1082/1672; ibid., 75, 48–49, dated 1100/1689.
Werner Diem presented a Report of Death in his contribution to the Fourth International
Society for Arabic Papyrology Conference, in Vienna, March 26–29, 2009, called, “Some
remarkable Arabic documents from the Heidelberg collection.”
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a late ayyubid report of death found at quṣayr al-qadīm
13
If my reasoning is correct, the deceased is a Muslim. Every published report
from the Geniza specifies the day on which the death occurred. But the date as
well as the reasons of the death do not appear in our document. Here the place
where the dead person died is mentioned as being sāḥil al-Quṣayr, i.e. ‘the coast
of Quṣayr,’ referring to ‘the anchorage of Quṣayr.’11 It can simply mean that the
man died in the anchorage of Quṣayr al-Qadīm or close to it, or the death could
have happened on a ship. Besides Quṣayr, sāḥil al-Quṣayr appears frequently in
the addresses of the Quṣayr letters.12 It also sometimes appears in the text of
the documents.13
The Quṣayrī Report of Death Bearing Mention of Heirs and the
Dīwān al-mawārīth al-ḥashriyya
Khan suggests that these reports of death were “presumably addressed to the
dīwān al-mawārīth al-ḥashriyya,”14 the office of intestate successions, which
kept a register of deaths.15 Ibn Mammātī (d. 606/1209) gives a precise statement
about the conditions under which this office was entitled to (a part of) the
inheritance: “If there were no heirs, or the heir or heirs were not entitled to the
whole of the inheritance, the whole estate in the first case, or its residue in the
second, would go to the bayt al-māl. As the sole Fatimid concession to remain
in force, the share of the absent heir would be kept in trust in the treasury until
his return.”16
11
12
13
14
15
16
Cf. the discussion in Regourd, Arabic. Access to the coast around Quṣayr al-Qadīm is
difficult because of a barrier of coral, which is, however, discontinuous at the level of
Quṣayr al-Qadīm (Peacock and Blue Myos Hormos 8, fig. 2.2). The recent excavations have
revealed evidence of industrial activity in particular what has been interpreted as the
repair and/or construction of boats in the channel from the sea to the south (ibid., 111–115).
The ‘natural’ elements that made it a place for the ships to stop are evident.
Guo, Commerce 10, 157; 13, 165; 16, 173; 18, 176; 25, 197; 26, 199; 55, 251; For the documents
found in Qusayr between 1999 and 2003, see Regourd, Trade on the Red Sea.
Guo, Commerce 52, 246, recto l. 3, and 54, 249, recto l. 1; and also in 70, 287, recto l. 3, “sāḥil”
being translated as “the aforesaid port.”
P.GenizahCambr., 125, 473.
al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ 4:33.
Rabie, The financial system 127–128, who summarises Ibn Mammātī’s Kitāb Qawānīn aldawāwīn, 319–325. However, an early document, dating to the 1st–2nd/7th–8th centuries,
which was produced in a time close to when Shafiʿite law was being shaped, refers to the
case of a woman who died without heirs and the legal arrangements that followed from it,
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From the time of the Ayyubids, the definition of those having a right to the
inheritance was, following Shafiʿite and Malikite doctrine, restricted. The office
charged with investigating and determining the succession of those without
heirs on behalf of the treasury was precisely the office of intestate successions.17
This system continued under the Mamluks with the dīwān being clearly linked
to the dīwān al-amwāl within the structure of the dīwāns.18 Outside Cairo and
Fusṭāṭ further dīwāns were located in the major cities of Egypt.19 Ayyubid
reports of death bear the same formula whatever the religious identity of
the deceased, as we saw above. And the inheritances for Jews were directly
supervised by the same authorities as inheritances for Muslims during our
period.20 In conclusion, the dīwān was supposed to register only the deaths
of those with taxable legacies.21 But in each published report of death in the
Geniza, the deceased does have some heirs to his estate, as does the deceased
of the Quṣayrī document. The next question then is how the dīwān functioned
in practice?
Rabie observes that “Baybars [Mamluk Sultan, r. 1260–1277] used to levy a
tax on a deceased person’s estate even if there were heirs,” and reaches the
conclusion that “it is very probable that the officials of the mawārīth had to
report each deceased case immediately and separately.” Rabie then refers to
one of the Geniza’s report of death documents, dated 682/1284, i.e. during the
reign of Sultan Qalāwūn (r. 1279–1290), which was later published by Khan
who, in his edition, referred to Rabie’s analysis.22 Generally speaking, for the
published Geniza reports of death, which usually concern Jewish women, Khan
refers to al-Nuwayrī’s (d. 732/1332) Nihāyat al-arab, where it is written that “the
heads of the dhimmīs had to notify the government of every death in their
communities.”23 This is confirmed by the works of Ibn Taghrī Birdī (d. 874/1470)
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
namely that in cases without legal heirs, the inheritance (here estate) goes to the highest
religious authority (Liebrenz, Eine frühe arabische, commentary to ll. 5–6).
Cf. al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ, 4:33; Tyan, Histoire de l’organisation 549, in comparison with
Fyzee, The Fatimid law 61–69, for the Fatimid law of inheritance.
Cf. Gottschalk, Dīwān (ii.- Egypte) 330.
Dols, The Black Death 171, 181.
Goitein, A Mediterranean society 3, 277–278; Dols, The Black Death 180, 175.
Dols, The Black Death 175.
Rabie, The financial system 130; P.GenizahCambr. 129, 478.
al-Nuwayrī, Nihāyat al-arab 242–243. Dols, who used the records of the mawārīth to assess
urban depopulation after epidemics in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, on the other
hand, argued that: “the dīwāns [referring to the Dīwān al-mawārīth al-ḥashriyya] of the
major cities registered only the deaths of those who died with taxable legacies. Cairo
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a late ayyubid report of death found at quṣayr al-qadīm
15
and al-Qalqashandī (d. 821/1418), who describe the general functioning of the
dīwān during the Mamluk period.24
As far as the understanding of the Quṣayrī document is concerned, which
dates to the first four decades of the seventh/thirteenth century, Rabie does
not discuss evolutions in the functioning of the mawārīth under the Ayyubid
rulers in as much detail as he does those changes under the Mamluks. He
has, however, carefully studied taxes and other sources of revenue going to the
treasury and discusses the functioning of the Māl al-mawārīth al-ḥashriyya.25
Ibn Mammātī’s description of the general functioning of the dīwān suggests
that during the Ayyubid period the mawārīth authorities decreed that the
burial of the dead could take place only after their officials have been informed,
suggesting that at that time each death was registered.26 It seems also that
a kind of co-ordination existed between the police and the judiciary, with
the police registering the death and then reporting to the qāḍī in the quarter
where the deceased lived.27 Ibn Mammātī describes the customary procedure
following a person’s death: the undertaker informed the mawārīth official who
in turn determined the identity of the heirs.28 The Quṣayrī document, if we
assume that the witness clause is part of it, looks more like a legal document
produced by the office of a qāḍī.
Also relevant is an iqrār document from the al-Ḥaram al-Sharīf collection
dating to the second half of the eighth/fourteenth century, i.e. under Mamluk
rule.29 In this document a “Turkish woman [called] Yulqaṭlū declares in writing
24
25
26
27
28
29
and Fusṭāṭ had separate dīwāns and included the deaths of Christians and Jews as well
as Muslims for both these cities” (Dols, The general mortality 397). Dols also takes into
account changes of the rules concerning dhīmmīs who had converted to Islam in order to
divert money from the legal heirs to the treasury (Dols, The Black Death, 175ff.; Dols, The
Black Death 397ff.).
As discussed by Lutfi, who criticised Dols’s argument especially because he did not define
what he meant by “taxable legacies” and did not substantiate other aspects of his argument (Lutfi, Al-Quds 16–17).
Rabie, The financial system 127ff.
Ibn Mammātī, Qawānīn al-dawāwīn 324–325, mentioned by Lutfi (Al-Quds 14) who analyses the reasons.
Lutfi, Al-Quds; Scanlon, Housing 185.
Ibn Mammātī, Qawānīn al-dawāwīn 325, mentioned by Lutfi (Al-Quds 14–15).
Published in Lutfi, Al-Quds. For the general functioning of the dīwān al-mawārīth alḥashriyya in Jerusalem during the Mamluk period through the documents of al-Ḥaram
al-Sharīf, i.e. the administration of the estate from the inventory of the inheritance and its
selling, until the administration of the following income for the dīwān, see Müller, QāḍīGericht und Rechtsadministration 391 ff. Some comparisons are made with the situation
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that her husband is her sole legal heir.”30 While the Ḥaram collection includes
both private and public documents, the iqrārs belong to the private legal
document type. That is to say, they were issued on behalf of private individuals
and the judiciary.31 This particular document had been drafted before the death
of the Turkish woman. Lutfi underlines the fact that it represents a different
use of the iqrār, compared to the five other pieces that she published together
with it, namely its use as a legal document. It has been written up according
to the Sharia, and its formalistic structure is similar to the others. But what
makes it a ‘legal document,’ she explains, is its judicial registration: “Because
the iqrār of Yulqaṭlū involved a unique case of inheritance, the legal document
had to be certified by the qāḍī so that the husband’s legal right would not be
contested in the future. Thus unlike the other iqrārs dealt with in this paper,
the present one is a judicial iqrār, witnessed and certified in court.”32 Lutfi then
discusses the judicial registration marks on its recto and the ishhād on its verso,
both witnesses to its being part of the judicial proceedings.33 This document
belonged to the strategies used by individuals to avoid attempts of all sorts to
divert money when it was possible according to the Sharia.34
Meanwhile our document may be considered in another way, that is to say
in connection with the abusive practices by or through the office of intestate successions. The mawārīth authorities were open to corruption as early
as Saladin’s reign (r. 1174–1193), says Rabie, who adds: “There exists a manshūr
written by [qāḍī] al-Fāḍil which reprimands a mushārif for his greed, and
warns him that the sultan knows of and is worried about the defects of the
administration of the mawārīth.”35 According to Rabie again, during the Mam-
30
31
32
33
34
35
in Cairo and, especially, the relation between this institution and Bayt al-māl. Cf. Lutfi,
Al-Quds 18–19.
Lutfi, A study of six; Lutfi, A documentary source 315, 278–287, and plate vii, recto and
verso, the quotation itself is taken from page 286.
Lutfi, A documentary source 149.
Lutfi, A documentary source 286.
Lutfi, A documentary source 281 ff.
Müller deals in his Chapter v with estates under judicial and public control (Müller, QāḍīGericht und Rechtsadministration 357ff.). He then studies the iqrārs of estate inventories
legalised through ishhād (witness citation) by a qāḍī and in what cases these were valid
and useful in front of the administration (ibid., 363–366). Twenty iqrārs with ishhāds are
mentioned, containing dispositions of goods belonging to couples (ibid., 363 no. 1501). The
procedure authenticating an inheritance by iqrār was especially prevalent in the case of
a single heir (ibid., 365).
Rabie, The financial system 128, and note 2, quoting Rasāʾil al-Qāḍī al-Fāḍil, ms. Add. 25757,
fol. 10r–v; also Lutfi, Al-Quds 14–15.
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a late ayyubid report of death found at quṣayr al-qadīm
17
luk period abusive practices also prevailed, but at another level. The mawārīth
became a way for the rulers to collect extra money, which was then conveyed
to them through Bayt al-māl. Rabie mentions in particular that the Mamluk sultan Quṭuz (r. 1259–1260), while preparing troops to fight the Mongols,
collected money from the estates of the deceased inhabitants for the treasury, without considering the number of heirs or the size of the estate. The
absence of the heirs at time of death of a relative was also a pretext for abusive
seizures.36 On the other hand, persons without legal heirs, but having daughters for instance, found strategies to avoid the seizure of their property by the
dīwān al-mawārīth after their death, in particular through the waqf institution,
as early as the Ayyubid period.37 This shows that people could find different
ways to get around the obstructive measures of the dīwān al-mawārīth. The
Quṣayrī report of death could then have been produced because of a dispute,
between the administration and individuals, as a witness to the existence of
heirs.
A Reused Report of Death
After our document was used as an administrative document, it was re-employed to write a letter (see text 2, and fig. 2.3). Here, the report of death, as well
as the witness clause, was written on one side, keeping the other side blank
(both a and c are indeed blank on the other side). The paper was rolled up
with the written part of the letter on the inside, which confirms that the report
of death was the first text to be written. a was also rolled up, surely from left to
right and with the text inside, but the way a was rolled up is different from b.
The report of death document was probably cut up before it was reused, that
is to say cut before the letter was written on the back of b. The upper edge of
b does not fit with the edge of a on the lower side. We know from the report
of death that part of the document is missing. But it can clearly be observed
that fragment a was cut with a sharp tool. In addition, the edges of b are neither clean-cut nor straight and we observe that the letter itself had been cut
off at a later stage (see the text missing on the left side). We can then postulate
one more step between the original shape of the letter and how it appears now.
Moreover, b is not as long as a. The beginning of the letter (b / 2) corresponds
roughly to the middle of the formula of the report of death, which is on the
36
37
Rabie, The financial system 131 and n. 3, and also Tyan, Histoire de l’organisation.
Rabie, The financial system 128–129, n. 1.
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other side. And as is usual, the name of the sender appears on the upper left
side, close to the left edge.
That administrative reports of death were subsequently used to write something else on the other side has been previously observed. The bulk of reports
of death published by Khan for example follow this model. No. 128 has been
reused to write Hebrew liturgical poetry on the other side. The back of no. 129
has a business account, mainly in Judaeo-Arabic with “Coptic” numerals (some
are written as well at the top and right of the report of death). The other side
of no. 130 contains Arabic pen trials. Finally, no. 131, a formulary for reports of
death, contains a letter in Arabic on the verso.38 We might remark from an
anthropological point of view that writing a letter on a report of death does not
seem to bring bad luck! Generally speaking the formulary, even with its witness
clauses, covers only one page, leaving the other side blank.39
The practice of recycling the archives of the administration has been studied by Petra Sijpesteijn for Abbasid Egypt,40 by Frédéric Bauden for Mamluk
chancery documents41 and by Jonathan Bloom for Yemen in the time of Imam
Yaḥyā in the early twentieth-century.42 If our hypothesis is correct and the fragment bearing the witness clause is part of the report of death (text 1, ‘witness
clause’ and fig. 2.4), it should be an original since the administration only kept
summaries of documents if at all. Dominique Valérian describes the importance of individuals involved in a case retaining documents, given the authorities’ practice of not keeping copies: “Dans sa plainte, déposée à Gênes, la victime déclare que les deux malfaiteurs ont brûlé ces documents pour effacer
les traces de leur dette et il ajoute qu’ils l’ont fait en sachant que les notaires
musulmans ne conservent pas les documents qu’ils ont.”43
There is one final remark to be made concerning the document. At least the
complete document, i.e. the report of death re-used for writing a private letter,
both mentioning Quṣayr and found in Quṣayr shows that the one who died in
Quṣayr was connected with a family settled in Quṣayr.
38
39
40
41
42
43
P.GenizahCambr. 128, 129, 130, 131.
Cf. the three other reports of death published by Khan in P.GenizahCambr. 125–127.
Sijpesteijn, Coptic and Arabic.
Bauden, The recovery.
Bloom, Paper before print 79–80, after Abbott, The rise 13–14.
Valérian, Bougie, port maghrébin 311–312.
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a late ayyubid report of death found at quṣayr al-qadīm
Appendix 1
Text 1. Quṣayr—Report of Death—Beginning of the 7th/13th Century
Arabic Text
[a] (Fig. 2.1)
… ﺑﺴﻢ اﻟﻠﻪ اﻟﺮﲪﻦ اﻟﺮﺣﲓ وﺻﲆ اﻟﻠﻪ ﻋﲆ ﺳـﯿﺪ ﶊﺪ وا وﲱﺒﻪ و]ﺳﲅ
1
…[ اﳌﺎﻣﻮﻧﲔ ﺷﻬﺪوا
[… ]وﻓﺎة ﻓﻼن ﺑﻦ ﻓﻼن ﰲ ﯾﻮم ﻛﺬا ﰲ ﺷﻬﺮ ﻛﺬا ﰲ ﺳـﻨﺔ ﻛﺬا
2
3
…]… ﯾـ[ـﺸﻬﺪون اﻧﻪ ﺗﻮﰱ ﺑﺴﺎﺣﻞ اﻟﻘﺼﲑ اﻟـ
4
… (… وﺗﺮك ﻣﻦ اﻟﻮرﺛﺔ اﻟـ[ـﻤﺴـﺘﺤﻘﲔ ﳌﲑاﺛﻪ اﳌﺴـﺘﻮﺟﺒﲔ زوﺟﺘﻪ ﺳﻬـ]ـﲈ )؟ ﺳﻬﻤﲔ ؟
5
[…
6
[b / 1] (Fig. 2.2)
Translation
1
2
3
4
5
6
[a] In the name of God, the Merciful and Compassionate—God bless our
Lord Muhammad, his family and his companions, and save him!—[…
…] the trustworthy have witnessed
[the death of so-and-so, the son of so-and-so, on such-and-such a day of
such-and-such a month, in such-and-such a year.]
[b / 1] They witness that he died on the coast of Quṣayr […
… He left by way of] heirs having right to his inheritance who deserve it,
his wife a lo[t (?, or two?), …
…]
Commentary
4. There are only two dots under the first letter; what seems to be a third dot
is in fact a hole in the paper. The three dots on the top are on the original. The
nūn at the end of the first word, yashhadūna, has a dot, as does the nūn of the
following word, annahu.
5. Sahman: a reading, which does not explain the ligature between the hāʾ and
the sīn (compare with اﻟـﻤﺴـﺘﺤﻘﲔand )اﳌﺴـﺘﻮﺟﺒﲔ. Another possibility, following
the Geniza model, is that the name (ism) of the wife follows her mentioning as
an heir; but in this case the alif of ism would have been omitted.
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Witness Clause [c]
Arabic Text (Fig. 2.4)
• []اﳌﺎٔﻣﻮن ﯾﻌﲅ ﲱﺔ ذ
1
• [(وﻛﺘﺐ ﻋﻨﻪ اﻣﺮﻩ وﺣﴬﻩ اﺑﻦ ﻋﺒﺪ اﻟﻐﻔﺎر ]ﺑﻦ ﻋﺒﺪ اﻟﻠﻪ )؟
2
• ﰲ رﳜﻪ
3
Translation
1
2
3
[The trustworthy recognises the validity of this.]
Written for him, Ibn ʿAbd al-Ghaffār [ibn ʿAbd Allāh (?)] ordered it and
witnessed it
on its date.
Commentary
1. The same expression is found in Khan repeatedly; however, a slight change
has been made here, in order to be consistent with the beginning of the report
of death, which refers to al-maʾmūn, instead of al-mamlūk (compare with
P.GenizahCambr. 131).
2. Witness names are usually given with at least one generation of kunya
(P.GenizahCambr. 131).
Text 2. Quṣayr—A Letter—Beginning of the 7th/13th Century—[b / 2]
Arabic Text (Fig. 2.3)
واﻩ ا]ﺑـ[ـﻘﻰ اﻟﻠﻪ اﻻﺛﻨﲔ
ﺣﺴﲔ ﺑﻦ رﺿﻮان
[ﺑﺴﻢ اﻟﻠﻪ اﻟﺮﲪﻦ اﻟﺮﺣﲓ وﺻﲆ اﻟﻠﻪ ﻋﲆ ﺳـ]ـﯿﺪ ﶊﺪ
[وﻣﻦ ﻛﻨﺖ اﺷـﺘﺎﻗﻪ ﰲ اﻧﻮ ﻓﻜﯿﻒ اﱐ اﻣﺎ] ان اﻟﻮا
[
ﯾﻌﲅ اﻟﻮ اﻟﻌﺰﯾﺰ ﳏﲖ اﻟـ]ـﺪﯾﻦ
1
2
3
4
5
Right Margin
] (ﺑﯿﺪ )؟
1
] ﺧﺒﺎرﰼ ﻋﴗ ان ﯾ
2
ﻗﺒﻞ ﻫﺒﻮﻃﻲ )؟( ﻣﻦ اﻟﻘﺼﲑ
3
[
[
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Translation
1–2
3
4
5
(From) his father Ḥusayn ibn Riḍwān—God maintain both in life!—
In the name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate. God bless [our
Lord, the Prophet Muḥammad!]
and the one, I was missing being close to, but what [to do]? I …[(Your)
father]
is writing to inform (his) dear son Muḥyī al-[Dīn
]
Right Margin
1
2
3
to the care of (?) [so-and-so …
]
to hear from you all. Let us hope that he gives birth [
before I set down (?) coming from Quṣayr.
]
Commentary
1. The paper has some internal dark spots which appear to be dots, but are not.
This is a speculative reading.
3. The two dots at the last end of the line appear on the original as part of the
writing. The taṣliya has been shortened as is usual in the Quṣayrī documents;
the sender is mentioned at the top of the letter, close to the left edge.
4. The dot under kayfa appears on the original.
Right Margin
The stroke which appears under the three lines of text does not correspond to
any writing and seems to be connected with the text on the other side, quoted
here as text 1. The reading of lines 1 and 3 is a best guess.
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Appendix 2. The Geniza Model—7th/13th Century
)t-s Ar. 39.277 (After P.GenizahCambr. 131
Text
1
2
3
4
5
اﳌﲈﻟﯿﻚ ﯾﳯﻮا وﻓﺎة ﻓﻼن ﺑﻦ ﻓﻼن اﻟﳱﻮدي ﰲ ﯾﻮم اﻟﻔﻼن ﰲ ﺷﻬﺮ
اﻟﻔﻼن ﰲ اﻟﺴـﻨﺔ اﻟﻔﻼﻧﺔ وﺗﺮك ﻣﻦ اﻟﻮرﺛﺔ وﻩ اﳌﺴﲈ ﻓﻼن
واﺑﻨﺘﻪ اﳌﺴﲈة ﻓﻼﻧﺔ وزوﺟﺘﻪ اﳌﺴﲈة ﻓﻼﻧﺔ ﺑﻨﺖ ﻓﻼن واﺑﻦ ﲻﻪ
اﳌﺴﲈ ﻓﻼن ﺑﻦ ﻓﻼن ﻓﻠﲈ ﲢﻘﻘﻮا ذ ﻛﺘﺒﻮا ﺧﻄﻮﻃﻬﻢ ﺑﻪ
ﰲ اﻟﺘﺎرﱗ اﳌﺬﻛﻮر واﶵﺪ ﻟﻠﻪ اﻟﻮاﺣﺪ اﳊﻰ ااﰂ اﻟﺒﻘﺎ
Witness Clauses
1
اﳌﻤﻠﻮك ﯾﻌﲅ ﲱﺔ ذ
وﻛﺘﺐ ﻓﻼن ﺑﻦ ﻓﻼن اﳌﻤﻠﻮك
3
اﳌﻤﻠﻮك ﯾﻌﲅ ﲱﺔ ذ
وﻛﺘﺐ ﻓﻼن ﺑﻦ ﻓﻼن
5
اﳌﻤﻠﻮك ﻣﻘﺮ ﺛﺒﺎت ﺧﻄﻮط ﻫﺎوﻻي اﻟﺸﻬﻮد واﻣﺎ ﺑﺴﻢ
واﻣﺎ ﺑﻘﺮاﺑﺔ ﻋﺎرف وﻛﺘﺐ ﻓﻼن ﺑﻦ ﻓﻼن راﯾﺲ اﻟﳱﻮد ﯾﻮﻣﺌﺬ
2
4
6
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a late ayyubid report of death found at quṣayr al-qadīm
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Figures
figure 2.1 a inv. pa0386. © University of Southampton, Quṣayr al-Qadīm project
figure 2.2 b/1 inv. pa0381. © University of Southampton, Quṣayr al-Qadīm project
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figure 2.3 b/2 inv. pa0381. © University of Southampton, Quṣayr al-Qadīm project
figure 2.4 c inv. pa0388. © University of Southampton, Quṣayr al-Qadīm project
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a late ayyubid report of death found at quṣayr al-qadīm
25
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Bloom, J.M., Paper before print. The history and impact of paper in the Islamic world, New
Haven and London 2001.
Dols, M.W., The Black Death in the Middle East, Princeton 1977.
. The general mortality of the Black Death in the Mamluk empire, in A.L. Udovitch (ed.), The Islamic Middle East, 700–1900: Studies in economic and social history,
Princeton 1981, 397–428.
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documents, London 1991.
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women, in Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 26 (1983), 246–
294.
. Al-Quds al-Mamlūkiyya: A history of Mamlūk Jerusalem based on the Ḥaram
documents, Berlin 1985.
. A documentary source for the study of material life: A specimen of the Ḥaram
estate inventories from al-Quds in 1393 a.d., in Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft 135, 2 (1985), 213–226.
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Müller, C., Qāḍī-Gericht und Rechtsadministration in Jerusalem. Studie der mamlūkischen Dokumente des Ḥaram al-Sharīf, Habilitation degree, Halle-Wittenberg 2006,
ii: 5, 181–182; v: 1, 357–366, and 4, 391–403.
Peacock, D.P. and L. Blue, Myos Hormos—Quṣayr al-Qadim. Roman and Islamic ports
on the Red Sea. Volume i: Survey and excavations 1999–2003, Oxford 2006.
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The Quṣayr paper manuscript collection 1999–2003, first data in Proceedings of the
Seminar for Arabian Studies 34 (2004), 277–292+15 fig.
. Arabic language documents on paper, in D.P. Peacock and L. Blue (eds.), Myos
Hormos—Quṣayr al-Qadim. Roman and Islamic ports on the Red Sea. Vol. ii: The finds
from the 1999–2003 excavations, Oxford 2011, 339–344.
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A. Hourani and S.M. Stern (eds.), The Islamic city: A colloquium, Oxford 1970, 179–194.
Sijpesteijn, P.M. Coptic and Arabic Papyri from Deir al-Balāʿizah in P.Schubert (ed.),
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Rome 2006.
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chapter 3
On the Identity of Shahrālānyōzān in the
Greek and Middle Persian Papyri from Egypt
Jairus Banaji
‘Shahrālānyōzān’ appears in several Greek and Middle Persian papyri from
Egypt, as well as a couple of ostraca in Greek and at least one parchment in
Middle Persian.1 John Rea has published two of the Greek papyri as P.Oxy. 3637
and 3797, and noted that P.Oxy. 1843 (from vol. xvi), which does not mention
Shahralanyozan by name, is in the same hand and deals with the same transaction as P.Oxy. 3637.2 During the publication of this new material, Poethke
confirmed that Shahralanyozan also appears in bgu ii 377, and Worp suggested
that he could also be found in spp x 251 (in the Louvre), a suggestion confirmed
by Gascou.3 The Oxyrhynchite material contains more or less precise dates and
from this it is clear that this official, whoever he was, was active in Egypt in
the 620s, a period when the country was under Persian occupation. The Greek
material is also better preserved and more substantial in content than any of
the published Persian papyri or parchments. Three of the Greek papyri are
about the payment of large sums of gold, due for shipment out of Egypt, in a
twelfth indiction which is dated 623/4. A fourth one, and possibly a fifth one
as well, is part of the internal administration of a large Fayyumic estate that
had passed into Shahralanyozan’s control. One of the Fayyūm documents, an
account involving disbursements of cash, refers to the oikos of Shahralanyozan
1 P.Oxy. li 3637 (19(?).x.623); lv 3797 (26.iv–25.v.624); spp x 251 (626/7; 7c. in bl 9.343), and
bgu ii 377 (7th century) contain references to someone called Σαραλανεοζαν, transliterated
‘Saralaneozan’ in P.Oxy., while the presence of the same individual is implied in P.Oxy.
xvi 1843 (6.xi.623, bl 8.250). The most interesting published Middle Persian documents
that mention Shahrālānyōzān are cii Nos. 5, 58, and 81 in Weber, Ostraca 118, 161, and 185
respectively), P. 136 and P. 172 in Weber, Berliner Papyri, and the leather parchment Wien
P.Pehl. 373a (Weber, Eine spätsassanidische 185ff.).
2 Rea, P.Oxy. 3637.14n (li, p. 103f.), with Gershevitch’s suggestion that ‘Shahrālānyōzān’ should
be seen as a title with the (tentative) meaning ‘most powerful of commanders.’ Here Gershevitch derives -yozan from Av. aojah-, ‘power,’ e.g. Kellens and Pirart, Les textes 2:198, which I
find an odd interpretation in view of his commentary on Yasht 10, 36, see Gershevitch, The
Avestan hymn 187. Contrast my explanation below.
3 Ibid., and 3797.9n (lv, p. 78).
© Jairus Banaji, 2015 | doi:10.1163/9789004284340_004
This is an open access chapter distributed under the terms of the prevailing cc-by-nc License
at the time of publication.
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28
banaji
and refers to the estate as an ousía.4 It also mentions someone who appears to
be his wife or one of his wives, calling her endoxotatē kyría.5 She was based in
Alexandria. In contrast to all of this, the Middle Persian documents, which are
also from the Fayyūm, are simply scraps of papyrus or parchment and do not
directly concern the affairs of Shahralanyozan.6 The picture would probably
have been different, perhaps even radically different, if the very substantial collection of Middle Persian papyri acquired by the Nationalbibliothek in Vienna
in the late nineteenth century had not disappeared, almost in its entirety, following its loan to Berlin in the 1930s.7
To sum up, the Greek material falls into two groups: Oxyrhynchite documents, almost certainly from the former Apion estate,8 involving substantial
payments of gold, upwards of 150 lbs from just two districts, and the two Fayyūm
papyri which are less overtly public in tone. Now the most striking feature of
the Greek papyri and the two ostraca from Hermonthis is that Shahralanyozan
is described as paneuphēmos in almost all of them. I believe this is a fairly
strong clue that papyrologists have failed to pick up on. Absolutely no one but
the most powerful and wealthy section of the Byzantine aristocracy described
themselves in this way.9 In other words, if we approach the issue of the identity of this mysterious individual in a purely abstract, logical way, to begin with,
he would have had to have been a high-ranking Sasanian official with sufficient
stature to justify the extraordinary step of deploying the one epithet that distinguished the élite sections of the Byzantine aristocracy. This restricts the choice
to a handful of the highest ranking officials in charge of the Sasanian occupation of the eastern provinces.10 Of course, one can always assume that not all
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
spp x 251a.2, οἴκου Σαραλαν( ), b.7, τοῦ κελλαρ(ίτου) τοῦ οἴκου, b.6, ἀρουρ(ῶν) τῆς οὐσί(ας).
spp x 251b.1, δ(ιὰ) ἐπιστά(λματος) τῆς ἐνδοξ(οτάτης) κυρᾶς.
Wien P.Pehl. 373a (Weber, Eine spätsassanidische 185ff.) mentions the “seal of Šahrālānyōzān” in l. 10 (gilēnag pad muhr ī Šahr-Ālānyōzān āwišt).
See Weber, Pahlavi Papyri 27–28.
I cannot prove this, but the consolidation of the Oxyrhynchite and the Cynopolite for tax
purposes otherwise occurs only in Apion documents.
E.g. Flavius Strategius son of Flavius Apion i, his son Flavius Apion ii, and Flavius Athanasius from the sixth century; Flavius Strategius (the Fayyūm Strategius), Flavius Apion iii in
the seventh, including some lesser known aristocrats such as Leon in P.Laur. iii 110 (615);
an epithet typical of patricii.
On the military side, the chief rival to Shahrvaraz appears to have been the Sasanian commander called Kardarigas by Theophanes, Chronicle, 421 etc. am 6097. Although titles like
this came to be used as personal names, there is no indication in the sources of who this
person was. On the name, cf. Theophylact Simocatta, History, 32. 1.9.6), “This [the Kardarigan] is a Parthian title; the Persians like to be called by their titles, as if they consider it
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on the identity of shahrālānyōzān
29
of these officials are known to us, and so it is always possible that ‘Shahralanyozan’ conceals a powerful figure of Khusrō ii’s administration who has simply
escaped the attention of the sources. This is possible but unlikely. What I would
like to do in this paper is suggest grounds for identifying Shahralanyozan with
Shahrvaraz, the powerful general who led Khusrō’s invasion of Mesopotamia in
608/9 (probably earlier as well), of Syria in 610, and, most notoriously, of Palestine in 613.11 His actual name was Farrukhān, but as Movses Dasxurants‘i tells us,
Khusrō “called him various fancy names, now Ṙazmiozan and now Šahrvaraz,
on account of his advances, attacks and victories won by Persian cunning.”12
Shahrvaraz does not appear to have been from the more traditional layers of
the Sasanian aristocracy and, as much later events demonstrated, was in fact
hated by them.13 From the Syriac sources we can tell, first, that Shahrvaraz supported Khusrō in the conflict with Bahram Chobin late in 590 and much of
11
12
13
unworthy to bear their birth-names,” drawing on the History of John of Epiphania, who
was acquainted with members of the Sasanian ruling elite, as he tells us, see Olajos, Les
sources esp. 14ff. on John’s access to Persian sources and his visit to the country.
The assault on Mesopotamia was protracted and Shahrvaraz may not have been involved
throughout: Khuzistan Chronicle 19; Nöldeke, Die von Guidi 16–17; Chronicle of ad 1234
(henceforth ‘Dionysius’ = Dionysius of Tel-Mahré) 14, in Palmer, The seventh century 122;
Sebeos, The Armenian history 110f. (63); Syria: Chronicle composed ad 640, ag 921, in Palmer
The seventh century 17, “On 7 August of the same year [610] Shahrvarāz crossed to Zenobia
and took it,” our one precise date; Jerusalem: Sebeos, The Armenian history 115f. (p. 69),
precise details with the number of killed put at 17,000 (57,000 in later Armenian sources,
a misreading of Sebeos’ figure; 90,000 in Michael the Syrian and Bar Hebraeus).
Movses Dasxurants‘i, The history 77, based on a high-quality seventh-century source that
terminates its own narrative in the early 680s, cf. Howard-Johnston, Armenian historians, esp. 52ff. (Note Greenwood’s statement that the History of the Albanians has been
wrongly attributed to Dasxurants‘i, Greenwood, Armenian neighbours 339, n. 14.) Farrukhān, Khuzistan chronicle, 25; Nöldeke, Die von Guidi 31; al-Ṭabarī (d. 310/923), Taʾrīkh
al-rusul wa-l-mulūk 1:1062, ﻓُّﺮﺧﺎن, so too Ibn al-Athīr (d. 630/1233), al-Kāmil fī al taʾrīkh 1:475;
Xoṙeam etc. in the Armenian sources, cf. Hübschmann, Armenische grammatik 42, no. 78.
Cf. note 40 below. Pourshariati’s suggestion that Shahrvarāz turns up on one of Gyselen’s seals from the Saeedi collection as Pirag ī šahrwarāz (described as ‘spāhbed of the
Southern Quarter’ and a ‘grandee’, wuzurg, hailing from the Mihrān family), Pourshariati,
Recently discovered seals 175, with Gyselen, The four generals 40–41, seal 2d/2, is an
improbable one on several counts. (1) There is never any indication in the sources that
S. was from the Mihrān clan, which is odd if he had been and the fact was well-known.
(2) Gyselen is strongly inclined (on internal grounds) to date the spāhbed seals that have
the expression hujadag-Khusrō to the reign of Khusrō i, see Gyselen, Sasanian seals 49 ff.,
Gyselen, Primary sources 180ff., supported by Cereti, On the Pahlavi cursive esp. 184, n. 24.
(3) Al-Masʿūdī describes S. as spāhbed of the West.
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banaji
591,14 and second, that at the time of Maurice’s assassination in 602, Shahrvaraz/Farrukhān was already an experienced general.15
The main arguments for identifying him with Shahralanyozan are: (1) the
mainly Syriac (Syrian Jacobite) tradition that attributes the conquest of Alexandria in 619 to Shahrvaraz;16 (2) Sebeos’ crucial testimony that it was Shahrvaraz
who controlled Alexandria in 629 when Heraclius opened negotiations with
him for the treaty that was eventually concluded at Arabissus in July of that
year;17 (3) the curious if not striking coincidence in the morphology of the
names Shahralanyozan and Razmyozan, the latter being Shahrvaraz’s most
common appellation in the Armenian sources (which generally refer to him
as Xoṙeam, i.e., Farrukhān);18 (4) a tradition preserved in al-Ṭabarī which asso-
14
15
16
17
18
‘Dionysius’ 8, in Palmer, The seventh century 117, “When he [Bahram] heard of Chosroēs’
return, he made ready to do battle with him. When Chosroēs reached Persian territory, the
general Rōmēzān joined him, adding his 10,000 Persians to the army of the Romans, and
became his ally.” Khusrō succeeded Hormazd shortly after 27 June 591 and was restored to
the throne in autumn of that year, cf. Tyler-Smith, Calendars and coronations.
‘Dionysius’ 14, in Palmer, The seventh century 121, “… Rōmēzān, a powerful, dedicated man
with considerable experience in combat …”
‘Dionysius’ 24, in Palmer, The seventh century 128. “Shahrvarāz invaded Egypt and, with
much bloodshed, subjected it with Alexandria to the Persians” (Michael the Syrian, Chronique de Michel 2:401; Bar Hebraeus, The chronography 1:87).
Sebeos, The Armenian history 129 (p. 88), “Then Khoṙeam was easily persuaded, and
he abandoned Alexandria.” Stephanos Asoghig may have read this in Sebeos, if not, he
provides interesting corroboration, cf. Histoire 148–149: “Héraclius écrivit au général perse
Khorʾem qui était alors du côté d’Alexandrie pour l’inviter à venir le trouver …”
I shall suggest an interpretation of -y(a)ozan later (see below). For the name, cf. Delehaye, Vie anonyme, at 9 (p. 23), Ῥασμιοζαν δὴ τοῦ ἀρχόντος, ἢτοι τοῦ ἀρχιστρατήγου, Χοσρόου κτλ., (Cf. Leontius of Neapolis, Vie de Syméon le fou et vie de Jean de Chypre, 325),
Lappa-Zizicas, Un épitomé inédit at 9 (p. 276) (both based on the lost ‘Life’ of John by
John Moschus and Sophronius, so our two earliest references), Theophanes, (Chronicle
421), ‘Rousmiazan’; Sebeos, The Armenian history 110 (p. 62), “Khoṙeam called Ěṙazman”
115 (p. 68), “their general, called Ṙazmiozan, that is, Khoṙeam” (p. 69) “Khoream, that is
Ěrazmiozan” etc., Dasxurants‘i, History (n. 12 above), Thomas Artsruni, History 155–156,
“Ṙazmayuzan also called Khoṙeam,” and “Khoṙeam Ṙazmayuzan,” Stephanon Asoghig,
Histoire 146, “le général Khorʾem surnommé Razman;” Strategius [Georgian text], Prise de
Jérusalem, ix.2 (p. 16), “Rasmiozdan,’ xxiv. 3; 6 (p. 54), “Rasmiozan;” Garitte, Expugnationes
Hierosolymae 191, ( رﲰﯿﺴﺔrsmysa); ‘Dionysius’ 8, in Palmer, The seventh century 117, “the
general Rōmēzān,” 14 (p. 122), “Chosroēs exclaimed, ‘Then your name is not Rōmēzān but
Shahrvarāz, the Wild Boar!’”, Mich. Syr., Chronique de Michel (n. 16), 2, 377, “Romîzan,” Bar
Hebraeus, The chronography 1, 87, “Rûmîzân, the captain of the host, who was nicknamed
‘shahrbaraz’;” al-Ṭabarī, Taʾrīkh 1:1002, l. 3, ُرﻣﯿﻮزان.
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ciates the family of Shahrvaraz with Darband (on the Caspian coast) coupled
with the fact that Darband stood at the heart of a defensive system designed
to consolidate Sasanian control of the Caucasian region (k‘usti kapkoh) against
the incursions of the Alans and other tribal groups. There is some reason to
believe that šahr i Ālān referred to much of the territory to the north and west
of Darband, at least until the Khazars became a major force in the eastern
Caucasus.19 Finally, there is the extraordinary report which we owe entirely
to Nikephoros, patriarch of Constantinople, that at least one daughter and
one son of Shahrvaraz became Christians (with the names Nike and Niketas).
Indeed, the understanding between Heraclius and Shahrvaraz included the
betrothal of Shahrvaraz’s daughter Nike to Heraclius’ son Theodosius.20 This
remarkable integration into the Greek-speaking Christian circles of the Byzantine aristocracy accords well with the impression conveyed by spp x 251 of a
Sasanian official (‘Saralaneozan’) settling down to the ways of life of a local aristocrat, with an oikos, a substantial estate, in the Fayyūm and, who knows, many
other districts.
To rehearse some of these arguments as briefly as I can, the Syriac tradition
that it was Shahrvaraz who led the invasion of Egypt is prima facie contradicted
by a second, divergent source tradition that attributes the conquest of Egypt to
the Sasanian commander Shahīn. This tradition is found in Nikephoros and
al-Ṭabarī and in a passing reference in al-Dīnawarī.21 For the conquest and
evacuation of Alexandria we have precise dates in a Mesopotamian chronicle
composed c. 640 (known, misleadingly, as the ‘Liber calipharum’).22 This gives
us June 619 as the date of the capture of Alexandria. The later, ninth-century
Syriac chronicle of Dionysius of Tel Mahré dated Shahrvaraz’s invasion of Egypt
to 617/8.23 There is no conflict here if we assume that operations began in 618
19
20
21
22
23
Both Syriac and Arabic sources suggest that the Khazars were on the scene by the later
sixth century (e.g. al-Yaʿqūbī [d. after 292/905], Taʾrīkh 1:188, l. 2), but if so, it is hard to
disentangle them from their Turkish overlords, the Western or Kök Türks.
Nikephoros, Short history, at 17 (p. 65): “Now Herakleios conferred the dignity of patrician
upon Niketas, son of Sarbaros, and gave the latter’s daughter Nike in marriage to his own
son Theodosios, born of Martina;” cf. Mango, Deux études sur Byzance 105ff.
Nikephoros, Short History 6 (p. 45), calling him “Saïtos”; al-Dīnawarī (d. 281–289/894–901),
al-Akhbār al-ṭiwāl 112, ll. 14–15, al-Ṭabarī, Taʾrīkh 1:1002, l. 9 ff., followed by Ibn al-Athīr, alKāmil 1:475 (where al-Ṭabarī’s رﻣﯿﻮزانhas become ;)!ﺑﻮرانin an earlier passage al-Dīnawarī,
Akhbār 110f., l. 19ff. ascribes the capture of Alexandria and the search for the Cross (!) to
a second commander (neither Shahīn nor Shahriyar = Shahrvarāz) whose name is clearly
corrupt, cf. ﺑﻮﺑﻮذ( اﻟﻘﺎﺋُﺪ ﺧﺮ ﺑﻮذin the Cairo ed. of al-Dīnawarī).
Chronicle composed ad 640, ag 930, in Palmer, The seventh century 17–18.
‘Dionysius,’ 24, in Palmer, The seventh century 128.
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and culminated in the capture of Alexandria in the middle of 619, following
what appears to have been a prolonged siege. In 617 Shahrvaraz was in Pisidia.24
Sebeos tells us that Shahīn joined him there, and it is just possible that the
invasion of Egypt started as a joint operation in the next campaigning season,
which would explain why we have two traditions. In any case, if we do have to
choose, the Syriac tradition is more credible. The passage in al-Ṭabarī is a highly
compressed summary of events ranging from 610 to 626, and it is garbled.25 It
posits three Sasanian commanders, but two of them were the same individual.
Shahrvaraz appears first as “Rumiyūzān,” i.e., Razmyozan (Khusrō “sent him to
Syria which he then subdued and penetrated as far as Palestine”), and then as
“Farruhān,” i.e., Farrukhān, “with the rank of Shahrvaraz” (“He led an expedition
to attack Constantinople, until he halted on the bank of the strait just near the
city …”).26 al-Ṭabarī or the source he used had lost all narrative sense of these
events, but he/his source was correct in describing Shahīn as pādgōsbān of the
West and dating the start of the invasion to Khusrō’s 28th year.27 Finally, at least
one strand of the Arabic historical tradition also attributed the siege or capture
of Alexandria to Shahrvaraz, namely, the one found in al-Thaʿālibī and Abū ʿAlī
Miskawayh.28 This was clearly a different source to that used by al-Ṭabarī.
In short, if Shahrvaraz led the invasion of Egypt in 618/9 and was still in control of the country in 629 when, according to Sebeos, he “abandoned Alexandria,”29 he was clearly the highest-ranking Sasanian in charge of Egypt in the
620s, and probably used Egypt as his major base of operations throughout these
years. In 622 or 623 the Sasanians launched a naval offensive to seize Rhodes
and other Byzantine possessions in the Mediterranean.30 The Syriac sources
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
Sebeos, The Armenian history 113 (p. 66), with Howard-Johnston’s notes in pt. 2, 204.
al-Ṭabarī, Taʾrīkh 1:1002, ll. 3–15.
About Farrukhān: واّﻣﺎ اﻟﻘﺎﺋﺪ اﻟﺜﺎﻟﺚ ﻓﲀن ﯾﻘﺎل ﻓُﺮﻫﺎن وﺗﺪﻋﻰ ﻣﺮﺗﺒﺘﻪ ﺷﻬﺮﺑﺮاز واﻧﻪ ﻗﺼﺪ ﻗﺼﺪ اﻟﻘﺴﻄﻨﻄﯿﻨﯿﺔ ﺣﱴ
;اخ ﻋﲆ ﺿﻔﺔ اﳋﻠﯿﺞ اﻟﻘﺮﯾﺐ ﻣﳯﺎabout Rumiyūzān: اّﻣﺎ اﺣﺪﱒ ﻓﲀن ﯾﻘﺎل ُرﻣﯿﻮزان وﻪ اﱃ ﺑﻼد اﻟﺸﺎٔم ﻓﺪّوﺧﻬﺎ
ﺣﱴ اﻧﳤـﻰ اﱃ ارض ﻓﻠﺴﻄﲔ.
al-Ṭabarī, Taʾrīkh 1:1002, ﻓﺎذوﺳـﺒﺎن اﳌﻐﺮب, cf. Sebeos, The Armenian history 111 (p. 64), “Then
came Shahēn Patgosapan …,” also at 124 (p. 81). Note al-Balādhurī’s description of the
governor (marzbān) of Iṣfahān at the time of the conquest (al-Balādhurī [d. ca. 892], Futūḥ
al-buldān 309, وﰷن ﻣﺮزﳖﺎ ﻣﺴـﻨﺎ ﯾﺴﻤﻰ اﻟﻔﺎدوﺳﻔﺎن. Al-Balādhurī, Origins 486).
al-Thaʿālibī (fl. 412/1021), Histoire des rois des Perses, 701, ﻓﳯﺾ وﺣﺎﴏ ﺳﻜﻨﺪرﯾﺔ, Miskawayh
(d. 421/1030), Tajārib al-umam, 1:230. The earliest source is al-Zuhri (d. c.741) cited Ibn ʿAbd
al-Ḥakam, cf. Kaegi and Cobb 2008, 106, 108. So too in the anonymous author of the Nihāyat
al-arab fī akhbār al-Furs waʾl-ʿArab, cf. Dāneš-Pažūh 1996, 424, lines 17–18 (‘Shahriyār’), and
Eutychius, Ann., 28, ed. Breydy 1985, 121, lines 1–2 (Arabic).
Sebeos, The Armenian history 129 (p. 88).
Chronicle composed ad 640, ag 934, in Palmer, The seventh century 18, with n. 115,
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attribute these operations to Shahrvaraz, and Alexandria would have been a
perfect base from which to conduct them. From the summer of 624 to the start
of the 626 campaigning season when Persian troops massed for the invasion of
Anatolia, Shahrvaraz was back in Persia, pursuing Heraclius who had opened a
major counter-offensive in April of 624.31 In August 626, following the abortive
siege of Constantinople, Shahrvaraz withdrew, probably to Alexandria.32 By
this stage there was huge disaffection in the ranks of the Sasanian army and
Shahrvaraz’s return to Egypt and refusal to come to Khusrō’s aid the following year when Heraclius launched his second counter-offensive in September
627, were symptomatic of the crisis that culminated in the removal and execution of Khusrō in February 628.33 In other words, as the Persian counteroffensive of 626 faltered, tension seems to have developed between Shahrvaraz
and Khusrō,34 and it is even possible that there was a mutiny in the armies
stationed in Asia Minor. At any rate, a rumour circulated that Shahrvaraz had
come to a deal with Heraclius.35
Kavād ii, Khusrō’s son, who consented to his execution, sued for peace
within days of his accession.36 In April, in the presence of the Roman ambassador Eustathius, Kavad dictated a letter to Shahrvaraz, instructing him that
“he should collect his troops, come back into Persia, and abandon Greek territory.”37 Thus Shahrvaraz was still in former Byzantine territory in April 628
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
‘Dionysius’ 30, in Palmer, The seventh century 133, Mich. Syr., Chronique 2:408, Bar Hebraeus, The chronography 1:89.
See Howard-Johnston, Heraclius’ Persian campaigns, esp. 16–26, for a lucid discussion of
the chronology of these campaigns.
Cf. Mango, Deux études sur Byzance 109.
Disaffection: ‘Dionysius’ 34–35, 37, in Palmer, The seventh century 136f., referring to the
“general mutiny led by Shahrvarāz,” al-Ṭabarī, Taʾrīkh 1:1005, ﻓﺎﺧﺮﻢ ﲠﺬا اﻟﻜﺘﺎب اﱃ اﳋﻼف
ﻋﻠﯿﻪ وﻃﻠﺐ اﳊﯿﻞ ﻟﻨﺠﺎة اﻧﻔﺴﻬﻢ ﻣﻨﻪ. Refusal to aid Khusrō: Sebeos, The Armenian history 127
(pp. 84–85), “Heraclius arrived and camped nearby, outside the city of Ctesiphon; he
burned all the royal palaces around the city … However, Khoṙeam did not come to the aid
of king Khosrov, but remained right where he was in the west.”
For a sample of the legends that evolved around their tense relationship, see ps.-Jāḥiẓ,
Kitāb al-tāj 182ff., ps.-Jāḥiẓ, Livre 198ff.
The Syriac sources, Theophanes, etc. make much of a tradition that Shahrvaraz changed
sides or made a secret deal with the Byzantines: ‘Dionysius’ 35 (p. 137), 38 (p. 138), Theophanes, (Chronicle 452–453) am 6118, al-Masʿūdī (d. 345/956), Les Prairies d’or 1:242, Mich.
Syr., Chronique 2:408–409, Bar Hebraeus, The chronography 1:89, Histoire Nestorienne ii, 87
(p. 41).
Negotiations started on 3 April, about five weeks after Kavād’s accession, Chronicon
Paschale, 187, under the year 628; Sebeos, The Armenian history 127–128 (p. 85), Thomas
Artsruni, History 162.
Sebeos, The Armenian history 128 (p. 86).
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and reluctant to leave. In fact, no formal evacuation of the occupied territories
occurred till June 629, the date given for the evacuation of Egypt and Syria
by the chronicle of 640.38 This confirms Sebeos’ testimony that Shahrvaraz
evacuated Alexandria on the eve of his famous treaty with Heraclius which
is dated July 629. The largely Armenian and Greek tradition that Shahrvaraz
finally agreed to the withdrawal of troops because Heraclius offered to back a
bid for power against the ruling dynasty, now represented by the child Ardashir
(Kavād’s son), seems credible to me, but it does encounter the obvious difficulty
of why Shahrvaraz waited a whole nine months before the putsch of April 630
in which he murdered Ardashir and usurped power.39 He himself was hated by
the aristocracy and managed to survive for only forty days.40
To return to ‘Shahralanyozan,’ Dieter Weber’s suggestion that we should take
this as a name meaning “die Alanen bekämpfend” opens a new line of enquiry.41
Shahralanyozan-Farrukhan himself was clearly fond of nicknames that drew
attention to his reputation as an intrepid warrior. Both ‘Shahrvaraz’ (literally
‘Wild boar of the realm’ with the actual meaning ‘Hero of the realm’)42 and
‘Razmyozan’ (‘Stirring up the regiments’? ‘Throwing the battle lines into confusion’?)43 did precisely this, and so presumably did ‘Shahralanyozan.’ A form
of this name is attested in the Armenian aristocracy of the fourth century,
38
39
40
41
42
43
Chronicle, ag 930, in Palmer, The seventh century 17–18.
It is possible that he was busy fighting the Khazars and even used the Khazar threat as
the pretext for toppling Ardashir, as Movsēs Dasxurants‘i claims, The history 104–105 (cf.
Flusin, Saint Anastase 2:306 ff.). S. was clearly installed in power with Heraclius’ backing,
cf. Sebeos, The Armenian history 129 (p. 88; Heraclius bestows the throne on S. and his
offspring), and the discussion in Mango, Deux études sur Byzance 110ff., which concludes,
“c’est Héraclius qui décida d’installer Šahrvaraz sur le trône persan … il lui promit la
couronne et, après lui, à son fils.” The strongest formulation of this is in Vardan Arewelcʿi
(Thomson, The historical compilation 174), “When Heraclius heard this [news of Kavād’s
demise], he urged Xorem to seize the crown by murdering the youth [Ardashir]”(‼).
Disliked by the aristocracy: al-Thaʿālibī, Histoire 734, ﻓﺎﺗﻔﻘﺖ ﳇﲈت ﻋﯿﺎن واﳌﺮازﺑﺔ ﻋﲆ ﻛﺮاﻫﺘﻪ واﺟﳣﻊ
اﳌﺘﻔﺮﻗﻮن ﻋﲆ ﺑﻐﻀﻪ, cf. al-Dīnawarī, Kitāb al-akhbār 116, al-Ṭabarī, Taʾrīkh 1:1063, both attributing s.’s assassination to the nobility—( ﻛﺜﲑ ﻣﻦ اﻟﻌﻈﲈء واﻫﻞ اﻟﺒﯿﻮتal-Ṭabarī). Shahrvaraz’s
hostility to the aristocracy: Ferdowsī (d. 410 or 416/1019 or 1025), Shāh-nāma 9:2953, ﳘﻰ
دارد او ﱰان را ﺳـﺒﻚ, cf. Sebeos, The Armenian history 130 (p. 88), “All the principal men at
court or in the army in whom he could place no trust he commanded to be put to the
sword.” This corroborates al-Yaʿqūbī, Taʾrīkh 1, 197, ﻓﺎﺧﺬ ﻋﻈﲈء اﻟﻔﺮس ﻓﻘﺘﻠﻬﻢ, al-Ṭabarī, Taʾrīkh
1:1062, l. 14 ﻓﺎﺧﺬ ﺟﲈﻋﺔ ﻣﻦ اﻟﺮٶﺳﺎء ﻓﻘﺘﻠﻬﻢ.
Weber, Ein bisher unbekannter.
Cf. Monchi-Zadeh, Die Geschichte 63, ‘Phl. varāz, np. Gurāz “Eber” → “Held”.’
Justi, Iranisches Namenbuch 260, s.v. Ṛazmiozan, renders the meaning as ‘Kampf aufsuchend’, and most scholars have repeated this, e.g. Nyberg, A manual of Pahlavi 2:40:
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where it clearly implies a reference to the Alans to their north.44 In the sixth century much of the central and eastern Caucasus was dominated by the Alans,
Procopius says so in so many words,45 and Alan raids across the Caucasus
would undoubtedly have been a major reason for Khusrō Anoširavan’s massive
projects of construction and fortification in the sub-Caucasian region.46 The
Sasanian objective of holding the passes through the Caucasus against barbarian pressure from the north fructified in a vast defensive system which is in fact
best described in Arabic sources such as al-Balādhurī and Ḥamza al-Iṣfahānī,
and a valuable passage in Ibn Khurradādhbih. Darial in the Central Caucasus
and Darband on the western shore of the Caspian were pivotal to this system.47 The former, of course, derives its name from ‘Dar-i Alān,’ Ar. Bāb al-Lān.
Alan settlements were widely dispersed in the seventh century.48 The Arme-
44
45
46
47
48
MPrth rzmy(y)wz ‘eager for battle’; to me it seems likely that the name contains a stronger
Avestan allusion, esp. to Avesta, Yasht 14, 62 (n. 59 below), where the object of yaoz- is
rasmanō (rasman-, ‘regiment,’ ‘Schlachtreihe, Phalanx’; for y(a)ozan cf. n. 59). Note the
pronunciation implied in the earliest (almost contemporary) transcriptions of the name,
viz. ‛Ρασμιοζαν in the Lives of John the Almoner and Rasmiozan/Rasmiozdan in Strategius
(n. 18 above).
Cf. Garsoïan, The epic histories 344–345.
Procopius, Bell. 8.3.4, ταύτην δὲ τὴν χώραν ἣ ἐξ ὄρους τοῦ Καυκάσου ἄχρι ἐς τὰς Κασπίας
κατατείνει Πύλας Ἀλανοὶ ἔχουσιν, αὐτόνομον ἔθνος, οἳ δὴ καὶ Πέρσαις τὰ πολλὰ ξυμμαχοῦσιν.
One can get some sense of the scale of these investments from reports (especially in
Yāqūt and al-Yaʿqūbī) about the quality of Khusrō’s constructions at Darband, Yāqūt
(d. 626/1229), Muʿjam al-buldān 1:440, al-Yaʿqūbī cited Ibn al-Faqīh (fl. 289/902), Kitāb
al-buldān 290ff., cf. Yaʿḳūbī, Les Pays 232–233, with Barthold, Derbend esp. 941, Kettenhofen, Darband esp. 15–16, al-Ṭabarī, Taʾrīkh 1:895, says he built “towns, castles, ramparts
and numerous structures” throughout the region, with stone transported from Gurgān,
ﻓﺒﻨﯿﺖ ﰱ ﺣﯿﺔ ﺻﻮل ﺑﺼﺨﺮ ﻣﻨﺤﻮت ﰱ ﺣﯿﺔ ﺟﺮﺟﺎن ﻣﺪن وﺣﺼﻮن وا ٓﰷم وﺑﻨﯿﺎن ﻛﺜﲑ. Al-Thaʿālibī, Histoire
611 claims he built over 100 fortresses ( )ﻗﻠﻌﺔbetween Iran and the Caucasus.
Darial is listed among the provinces (hshtr) of the empire in Shapur i’s victory inscription
at Naqsh-e Rustam, where it is called ‘the Alan gate’ (Parth. ʾl ʾnn bbʾ), see Back, Die
sassanidischen 286–287 (text), 187–188 (commentary). It was a Sasanian stronghold in 466,
cf. Priscus fr. 37 in Müller, Fragmenta iv, 107, and Marquart, Ērānšahr nach der Geographie
99 ff., but subsequently lost to the Huns. Movses Dasxurants‘i, The history 66 refers to a
marzbān of Č̣ ołay in the mid-5th century, suggesting that much of the coastal region was
under Sasanian control by then, before the emergence of Darband as a substantial fortified
site.
From their strongholds in the Central Caucasus (Darial, etc.) to the western shores of
the Caspian, north of Darband. According to al-Balādhurī, Khusrō I met the Turks at
al-Barshaliyya, Futūḥ al-buldān 199 ()ﺑﺮﺷﻠﯿﺔ, not far north of Darband. This was Barsāliā
(= Bashli?), the name by which the Alan country was known in this region, cf. Mich. Syr.,
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nian Geography of Ananias of Širak tells us that the Massagetae (Alans) dwelt
“as far as the Caspian Sea to which a branch of the Caucasus extends. Here is the
wall of Darband, the town of the Chor pass (kʿałakʿ pahakin Čora), with its great
rampart built in the sea.”49 Armenian pahak Čora has an exact equivalent in the
Arabic Bāb Ṣūl, and al-Ṭabarī’s expression nāḥiyat Ṣūl wa-Alān can be read as
implying that Alan territory impinged on Darband.50 Both Kavād I and Khusrō
I invested massively in the fortification of Daghestan, constructing fortresses
throughout the region and assigning these and their garrisons to local rulers.51
Khusrō was responsible for the creation of a formal system of rulership, with
titles such as Sharvān-shāh, Ṭabarsarān-shāh, Alān-shāh, and so on.52 According to Ḥamza, these Transcaucasian rulers were assigned hereditary estates.53
Darband itself would undoubtedly have had a Sasanian in control. The History
49
50
51
52
53
Chronique 2, 364 and Marquart, Ērānšahr nach der Geographie 485ff., concluding, “Damit
ergibt sich die Lage des Landes Barsāliā von selbst: es muss sich im Süden bis Darband,
im Norden mindestens bis zu den Ebenen am Sulak und Terek erstreckt haben.” Repeated
Alan (Ossete, Mazkʿutʿkʿ) raids through Darband and the passes south of Darband (e.g.
Moses Khorenatsi, The history 9, Thomson, The historical compilation 161, etc.) is also
proof of a widespread Alan presence in this sector.
The geography 57; cf. Moses Dasxuranc̣i, The history 155, “the gate of Č̣ ołay which is near
Darband.”
al-Ṭabarī, Taʾrīkh 1:895, ﺣﯿﺔ ﺻﻮل ون, al-Ṭabarī, The history, 152.
al-Balādhurī, Futūḥ al-buldān 198; Ibn Khurradādhbih (d. ca. 300/911), Kitāb al-Masālik
123; Ibn al-Faqīh, Kitāb al-Buldān 344; al-Ṭabarī, Taʾrīkh 1:895, l. 7ff. Kavād’s foundations
describe an arc through eastern Albania/Arrān into southern Daghestan, up to the “long
wall called Apzutkawat” (Abzūd kavād, ‘Kavād extended this’) that connected the mountains to the Caspian north of Shapotran, Ananias of Širak, The geography 57 (long rec.);
Ḥudūd al-ʿĀlam 401. Kavād also seized Darial from the Huns and placed a permanent garrison there, against the Massagetai (= Alans, cf. Dio Cassius, lxix, 15, Amm.Marc. 23.5.16,
31.2.12), Procop., Bell., 1.10.12 (seizure), 1.16.4ff. (garrison). Darband was chiefly fortified
by Khusrō i, with the famous wall that protruded into the sea and the imposing network of forts in the mountains to the west, al-Iṣṭakhrī (wr. ca. 951), al-Masālik 184ff., n. i;
al-Balādhurī, Futūḥ al-buldān 199. In the Sīrat Ānūshirwān Khusrō claimed he settled thousands of Turkish auxiliaries in these regions, subordinating them to the marzbān of Ṣūl,
cf. Grignaschi, Quelques spécimens 19ff., 24. “Pērōzkhusrō”, ibid., 19, was surely Khusrō’s
name for Darband, cf. Miskawayh, Tajārib al-umam (n. 28) 192, l. 8ff., ﻓﻠﲈ ﺑﻠﻐﺖ ب اﻟﺼﻞ وﻣﺪﯾﻨﻪ
ﻓﲑوز ﺧﴩو.
al-Balādhurī, Futūḥ al-buldān 199–200, Ḥamza al-Iṣfahānī (ca. 350/961), Taʾrīkh sini mulūk
58, al-Masʿūdī, Les Prairies d’or 1, 160, and the ref. in the Sīrat Ānūshirwān to al-mulūk min
qibalanā hunāka (Miskawayh, Tajārib al-umam 192, Grignaschi, Quelques spécimens 19).
Ḥamza al-Iṣfahānī, Taʾrīkh sini mulūk 57, واﺳﻜﻦ ﰱ ﰻ ﻃﺮف ﻗﺎﺋﺪا ﯾﻘﻄﻌﻪ ﻣﻦ اﳉﯿﺶ واﻃﻌﻤﻬﻢ ﻣﻦ ﻣﺎ ﯾﲆ
ذ اﻟﺼﻘﻊ ﺿﯿﺎﻋﺎ وﺟﻌﻠﻬﺎ ﻣﻦ ﺑﻌﺪﱒ وﻗﻔﺎ ﻋﲆ اوﻻدﱒ.
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of Ṭabaristān mentions a nephew of Khusrō, Narsī, as the “lord of Darband”
(ṣāhib ḥurūb Darband).54 Before his own accession to power, Khusrō Parvez
bore the title ʿAlānshāh, underlining the centrality of Darband to the Sasanian defence system in the late sixth century.55 The eleventh-century Taʾrīkh
Bāb al-abwāb preserved in Münejjim-bashï’s Jāmiaʿ al-duwal makes repeated
use of the expression ‘al-Bāb and the Marches’ (Bāb al-abwāb wa-l-thughūr).56
This recalls the late Sasanian terminology preserved in a valuable passage of
the famous Letter of Tansar, a third-century original that was re-edited in the
sixth century, where the founder of the dynasty Ardashir is supposed to tell
his priests, “if any man come submissively before us, seeking to walk upright
upon the highway of obedience, we shall not deprive him of the title of king. No
other man, not being of our house, shall be called king, except the Lords of the
Marches—of the Alān and the western region, of Xwārezm and Kābul.”57 Thus
‘Alānshāh’ was one of the titles of the commander assigned to Darband and the
Marches, and it was this position, I suggest, that Hormazd conferred on Khusrō
Parvez, presumably to give him control of a substantial body of troops.58 More
speculatively, I suggest that on his accession to the throne, Khusrō transferred
this command to Farrukhān, who was not yet Shahrvaraz, perhaps modifying
the title to remove any reference to ‘king’. If ‘Shahralanyozan’ was another of
his fancy names for this general, it may have been an allusion to the Avestan
image of the goddess Anāhīt “stirring up the shores of the sea Vourukaša” (in the
Aban yašt or ‘Hymn to the waters’), or of Vərəθraγna, the god of Victory, throwing the battle lines into confusion.59 Among her various attributes, Anāhitā was
54
55
56
57
58
59
Ibn Isfandiyār (wr. 613/1216–1217), Tarikh-i Ṭabaristan 153, Ibn Isfandiyār, An abridged
translation 97.
Ferdowsī, Shāh-nāma 9, 2694, ﮐﻪ ﺑﺮ ﻣﺎ ز دام ﺗﻮ ازردە ﺑﻮد/ ;ن ﺷﺎە ﻣﺎرا ﭘﺪر ﮐﺮدە ﺑﻮدcf. Alemany,
Sixth-century Alania, who notes the parallel with Pahl. shṭʾlʾnywcʾn. There is an interesting
resonance of this in Juansher’s Life of Vaxt‛ang Gorgasali, Thomson, Rewriting Caucasian
history 228, ‘Then the king of the Persians Urmizd gave Ran and Movakan to his son, who
was called K‛asre Ambarvez. He came and resided at Bardav …’
Minorsky, A history of Sharvān, 41, 47; e.g. Ar. 16: ب ﻻﺑﻮاب واﻟﺜﻐﻮر.
Ibn Isfandiyār, Tansar’s Epistle to Goshnasp 9, l. 16 f. ﺟﺰ ان ﺟﲈﻋﺖ ﻛﻪ اﲱﺎب ﺛﻐﻮﻧرﺪ ن و ﺣﯿﺖ
ﻣﻐﻐﺮب و ﺧﻮارزم و ﰷﺑﻞ, Ibn Isfandiyār, The Letter of Tansar 35.
This is implied in the reason Khusrō gives for his appointment, cf. Ferdowskī in n. 55
above.
Avesta, Yasht 5, 4: yaōzenti vīspe karanō zraiiā vōuru-kashaiiā, also in 8, 31 (Panaino, Tištrya,
i 55); 10,36: yaōzenti vīspe karanō rasmanō arezō-shūtahe (Gershevitch, The Avestan hymn
90, “all the flanks are surging of the battled-tossed regiments”), in all of which the verb
form is intransitive. (For the transcription of intervocalic ii, see Hoffmann and Narten,
Der Sassanidische Archetypus 39 ff.) The stronger, transitive use occurs in Avesta, Yasht 8,
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also the goddess of war.60 The yašts which have a more distinctly epic character were favourite songs sung by warriors, and the verb yaoz- which appears
repeatedly in the yashts should be taken in its late Avestan sense of ‘confounding,’ ‘throwing into turmoil’ or ‘stirring up.’61 Thus I would suggest ‘throwing the
land of the Alans into turmoil’ as a likely translation of ‘Shahralanyozan.’
Whatever one thinks of this reconstruction, it is interesting that according to a
tradition transmitted by Sayf ibn ʿUmar and reported in al-Ṭabarī, a descendant
of Shahrvaraz was ‘ruler of Darband’ (malik bi al-Bāb) at the time of the first
Arab incursion into Transcaucasia in 643.62 What should we make of this? In
Termination of Hostilities Donald Hill commented, “It is extremely unlikely that
any Muslim forces penetrated into the country of the Khazars at such an early
date.”63 This seems to imply that Darband was now under Khazar control. To
me it seems more likely that the Sasanian contingents called the Siyasikin or
Nishastagan retained control of Darband into the early 640s, when the rest of
the empire had fallen apart. The backbone of this isnād, one repeatedly used
by Sayf, may have been a compilation of reports reduced to writing by Ṭalḥah
ibn al-Aʿlam. In any case, the long-standing prejudice against Sayf’s reliability
as a transmitter has now begun to disintegrate. I only mention this report
in conclusion because it fits into the general framework of my argument so
well.
60
61
62
63
8 (Panaino, Tištrya, i 34): āpō yaozaiieiti (in tmesis with upā and aiβi), and most spectacularly in 14,62 (the hymn to Victory), where the god Vərəθraγna does various things
to the battle lines (rasmanō), including “throwing them into confusion”—yō rasmanō
yaōzaiieiti. Translations of the passage from Yasht 14 include Malandra, An introduction
87, “We worship Ahura-created Wərəthraghna, who destroys the battle lines, who cuts
the battle lines, who tramples the battle lines, who throws the battle lines into confusion..,” and Avesta 267, “der die Schlachtreihen zerstört, der die Schlachtreihen zerschneidet, der die Schlachtreihen ins Gedränge bringt, der die Schlachtreihen in Verwirrung
bringt.”
E.g. Chaumont, Le culte d’Anāhitā. The figure of Anahita presided over Khusrō’s expansion into the eastern provinces, see Malek, The Sasanian king, discussing Khusrō’s special
issues that begin c. 610, with reverse types that replace the fire altar with a facing bust of
the goddess. Malek notes that “The cult of Anāhitā was in its ascendancy under Khusrau ii”
(p. 35).
See Bartholomae, Altiranisches Wörterbuch 1231, s.v. yaoz-, 2a caus. ‘in Verwirrung bringen’,
Boyce, A word-list 103, ywz- [ yōz-] Pth. ‘agitate, set in motion, convulse; be agitated’.
al-Ṭabarī, Taʾrīkh 1:2663, وﳌﺎ اﻃﻞ ﻋﺒﺪ اﻟﺮﺣﲈن ﺑﻦ رﺑﯿﻌﺔ ﻋﲆ اﳌ ﻟﺒﺎب واﳌ ﲠﺎ ﯾﻮﻣﺌﺬ ﺷﻬﺮﺑﺮاز رﺟﻞ ﻣﻦ اﻫﻞ
ﻓﺎرس وﰷن ﻋﲆ ذ اﻟﻔﺮج وﰷن اﺻ ﻣﻦ اﻫﻞ ﺷﻬﺮﺑﺮاز اﳌ اى اﻓﺴﺪ ﺑﲎ اﴎاٴﯾﻞ.
Hill, Termination of hostilities 155.
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chapter 4
Le monastère de Baouît et l’administration arabe
Alain Delattre
Le monastère de Baouît a livré un grand nombre de textes papyrologiques
qui proviennent en partie des fouilles, mais surtout des pillages perpétrés sur
le site depuis la fin du xixe siècle1. Plusieurs publications ont permis, ces
dernières années2, de sortir de l’ombre les archives dispersées du monastère;
on doit notamment à Sarah Clackson d’avoir mis en évidence des formules
documentaires typiques de Baouît3.
La présente contribution est consacrée aux rapports entre le monastère de
Baouît et l’administration arabe. Il s’agira à la fois de mentionner les personnages qui portent un nom arabe dans la documentation papyrologique4 du
monastère, qui date principalement des viie et viiie siècles, et d’examiner le
contexte des relations entre l’administration monastique et l’administration
civile, notamment à la lumière d’un texte inédit et d’une lettre copte pour
laquelle je propose une nouvelle interprétation.
La plupart des documents du monastère où apparaissent des personnages
portant des noms arabes sont de nature économique et en particulier fiscale.
Il y a d’abord les entagia rédigés par l’administration arabe, souvent par le
pagarque lui-même. Quatre de ces entagia sont publiés (P.Mon.Apollo i, 28–30,
P.Clackson 45). On peut aussi mentionner P.Vat.Aphrod. 135, un compte grec
d’arriérés de réquisitions, où il est question de vêtements et de différents sacs
1 Sur le monastère, cf. P.Mon.Apollo i, pp. 6–8 et P.Brux.Bawit, pp. 29–109 ; sur les fouilles
récentes, cf. Bénazeth, Recherches.
2 On peut citer O.Bawit ifao, P.Bawit Clackson, P.Brux.Bawit et P.Mon.Apollo i.
3 On pense par exemple aux textes qui commencent par l’expression ⲡⲉⲛⲉⲓⲱⲧ ⲡⲉⲧⲥϩⲁⲓ, littéralement « c’est notre père qui écrit», formule utilisée par l’archimandrite de Baouît dans les
billets qu’il envoie à ses subordonnés. S. Clackson a rassemblé une soixantaine de documents
de ce type conservés dans de nombreuses collections de par le monde (cf. Clackson, It is our
father).
4 Je ne parlerai pas des inscriptions, peu importantes pour le sujet, à une exception près
cependant. Un graffiti du monastère a en effet fait couler beaucoup d’encre (mifao 59, p. 90,
nº 222). On a cru longtemps y voir deux musulmans convertis au christianisme; mais le texte
a été revu par Jean Luc Fournet, qui en a proposé une nouvelle interprétation (cf. Fournet,
Conversion).
5 Cf. Gonis, Two fiscal (= SB xxvi 16664).
© Alain Delattre, 2015 | doi:10.1163/9789004284340_005
This is an open access chapter distributed under the terms of the prevailing cc-by-nc License
at the time of publication.
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en poils, de clous, de bois d’acacia, d’ hepsèma et de raisins, tous produits
destinés à l’administration arabe.
On trouve également plusieurs mentions de personnages qui portent des
noms arabes dans des documents de nature économique produits par le monastère lui-même (et qui ne sont pas fiscaux). P.Mon.Apollo i 45, un compte
de distributions de vin, présente l. 5 un dénommé ⲣⲁⲍⲓⲇ (Rāshid ou Rashīd)
comme bénéficiaire d’un knidion de vin ou sans doute plutôt d’ hepsèma (le
terme, noté l. 4, a pu ne pas être répété). Le même texte mentionne le paiement
de trois kollatha d’hépsèma au shaliou de Ptèné (l. 4, 12, 15), que S. Clackson
interprète comme des contributions à l’administration arabe (cf. P.Mon.Apollo
i, pp. 25–26).
À côté des comptes qui récapitulent l’ensemble des paiements, nous possédons aussi un petit dossier d’une trentaine d’ordres de paiement bilingues du
monastère. Ces documents, qui datent du viiie siècle, suivent un formulaire
fixe : 1. le nom du bénéficiaire en copte, 2. la denrée qui fait l’objet du paiement
(le plus souvent du vin), en grec, 3. le nom du responsable de la transaction et
4. la date, en grec également6.
Je présente ici un sous-dossier de trois ordres de paiement écrits par le même
personnage et dont les bénéficiaires portent des noms arabes; ce sont P.Yale
inv. 1866 (1), l’inédit P.Camb. ul inv. 1262 (2) et P.HermitageCopt. 16 (3). Les trois
documents sont datés des mois de Phaôphi et Choiach d’une quinzième année
de l’indiction (1 : 26 Phaôphi; 2 : 28 Phaôphi ; 3 : 6 Choiach) et ont été rédigés
sous la responsabilité de l’économe Sérènos (présenté dans 1 comme prêtre,
dans 2 comme économe et dans 3 comme prêtre et économe). Les bénéficiaires
portent des noms arabes: ʿAmr (ou ʿĀmir) (1) et Ṣāliḥ (2 et 3). Les textes
sont pourvus d’un sceau qui sert à authentifier le document ; le monogramme
qui y est estampillé est peu lisible (peut-être un ⲙ traversé d’une croix). La
comparaison avec d’autres textes du dossier suggère qu’il s’agit du sceau du
supérieur monastique (voir notamment O.Brux.Bawit 4–27). Les marchandises
données aux bénéficiaires comprennent de l’ hépsèma et parfois du miel (dans
le texte 2, le miel a été ajouté après le texte, en copte).
1
Ordre de paiement d’ hépsèma et de miel (= P. Brux. Bawit 27)
P.Yale inv. 1866
5,6 ×9,7 cm Monastère de Baouît
Parallèle aux fibres
viiie siècle
6 Ce nouveau formulaire documentaire de Baouît a été étudié dans Delattre, Papyrus ; voir aussi
Delattre, Ordre.
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+ ⲉⲡⲗⲟⲅ(ⲟⲥ) ⲛⲁⲙⲉⲣ ἑψή(ματος) κ(όλλα)θ(ον) α ἓν
(καὶ) μέλιτ(ος) κάνν(ιον) α ἓν δ(ιὰ) Σερήνου πρε(σβυτέρου)
μ(ηνὶ) Φ(α)ῶ(φι) κς ἰ(ν)δ(ικτίωνος) ιε +
(sceau)
1 ⲉⲡⲗⲟⲅ pap., λόρος, εψη κθ pap. 2 s μελιτ δ/ σερηνου πρε pap. 3 μ/ φω ιδ/ ιε+ pap.
† Pour le compte d’Amer. Kollathon d’ hépsèma: 1, un; et kannion de miel:
1, un. Par Sérènos, le prêtre. Au mois de Phaôphi, le 26 ; 15e année de
l’indiction. †
2 κάνν(ιον) Ce terme est attesté dans P.Apoll.Anô 88, 8 et dans sb xxii 15300,
8 (cf. aussi Sophocles, 1887, ii, 626 et le commentaire dans Diethart, 1995, nº
4, l. 8). Il s’agit d’un récipient cylindrique, étroit et allongé. On trouve le mot
également dans le texte 2, où l’on lit après la date, une ligne ajoutée en copte:
ⲁⲩⲱ ⲧⲓ ⲟⲩⲕⲁⲛⲛⲓⲛ ⲛⲉⲃⲓⲱ ⲛⲁϥ «et donne-lui un kannion de miel».
2
Ordre de paiement d’ hépsèma et de miel (fig. 4.1)
P.Camb. ul inv. 1262 (inédit)7 7 ×8,7 cm Monastère de Baouît
Perpendiculaire aux fibres
viiie siècle
+ ⲉⲡⲗⲟⲅ(ⲟⲥ) ⲛⲥⲁⲗⲉϩ ἑψή(ματος) κ(όλλα)θ(ον) α ἓν
δ(ιὰ) Σερήνου οἰκο(νόμου) μ(ηνὶ) Φ(α)ῶ(φι) κη ἰ(ν)δ(ικτίωνος) ιε +
ⲁⲩⲱ ⲧⲓ ⲟⲩⲕⲁⲛⲛⲓⲛ ⲛⲉⲃⲓⲱ ⲛⲁϥ
(sceau)
1 ⲉⲡⲗⲟⲅ pap., λόγος, εψη κθ pap. 2 δ/ σερηνου οικο μ/ φω ιδ/ ιε+ pap.
† Pour le compte de Saleh. Kollathon d’hépsèma : 1, un. Par Sérènos,
l’économe. Au mois de Phaôphi, le 28; 15e année de l’indiction. † Et
donne-lui (aussi) un kannion de miel.
3 La ligne a été ajoutée dans un second temps, par une autre main. Sur le terme
ⲟⲩⲕⲁⲛⲛⲓⲛ, cf. texte 1, n. à la l. 2.
7 Je remercie la Cambridge University Library de m’avoir autorisé à publier ce texte.
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Ordre de paiement d’ hépsèma
P.Hermitage Copt. 168 8×7 cm Monastère de Baouît
Parallèle aux fibres
viiie siècle
+ ⲉⲡⲗⲟⲅ(ⲟⲥ) ⲛⲥⲁⲗⲉϩ ἑψή(ματος) κ(όλλα)θ(ον) α ἓν̣
δ(ιὰ) Σερήνου πρε(σβυτέρου) (καὶ) οἰκο(νόμου) μ(ηνὶ) Χοι(ὰκ)
ς ἰ(ν)δ(ικτίωνος) ιε +
(sceau)
1 ⲉⲡⲗⲟⲅ pap., λόγος, εψη κθ pap., αε ed. 2 δ/ Σερηνου πρε ς οικο μ/ χοι– pap. 3 ιδ/ pap.
Pour le compte de Saleh. Kollathon d’hépsèma : 1, un. Par Sérènos, le prêtre
et l’économe. Au mois de Choiach, le 6 ; 15e année de l’indiction.
1 ⲛⲥⲁⲗⲉϩ L’éditeur avait lu ⲛⲥⲁⲗⲉⲓ. La comparaison avec le texte 2 suggère qu’il
s’agit plutôt du nom arabe Saleh.
1 α ἓν̣ L’éditeur avait lu αε, ce qui représenterait 1.005 kollatha. Ce chiffre
énorme (plus de 12.500 litres) a été repris par S. Clackson, qui cite le papyrus
de l’Ermitage, mais sans l’attribuer aux archives de Baouît (P.Mon.Apollo i,
p. 26). N. Gonis a proposé avec plus de vraisemblance de comprendre λε «35 »
(cf. Gonis, Two fiscal 24). Je pense plutôt, par comparaison avec les ordres de
paiement du dossier, qu’il faut comprendre α ἓν «1, un» (le ν est souvent très
peu lisible, parfois il se réduit à une simple ondulation de la barre horizontale
du ε). L’édition présente une note, en russe, qui signale que l’α n’est pas
surmonté d’un trait à gauche (signe caractéristique pour signifier «1.000»).
Les trois textes de ce petit dossier nous laissent entrevoir quelques distributions de produits alimentaires à des personnages portant des noms arabes. Les
faibles quantités dont il est question me semblent exclure des paiements de
taxes (de même dans P.Mon.Apollo i 45, le versement du knidion à Rashid ou
des trois kollatha au shaliou). Il faut sans doute y voir davantage une contribution aux frais d’entretien de fonctionnaires locaux.
8 Le texte de l’édition est reproduit ici avec deux légères modifications (cf. commentaires),
suggérées par la comparaison avec le texte 2. En effet, il n’a malheureusement pas été possible
d’obtenir une photographie du document. – Je remercie Mme C. Aeby pour sa traduction du
commentaire en russe.
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47
Pour compléter le tableau, je voudrais mentionner la lettre P.Mich.Copt. 15
publiée en 1942 par W.H. Worrell et E.M. Husselman et dont voici la traduction:
«That you9 may know that I have appointed Serenus to complete the tax (?). I
do not appoint him over you that he may (?) give something in your behalf. But
give the allotment, your payment. Collect it. Take it. For if you seek to default (it)
respecting anything on it, I shall send one who will bring it out of your bones.»
Le verso de la lettre a été édité comme suit :
v. // ⲥⲩⲛ ⲑ ⲉⲣ̣ϥ̣ⲁⲕ̣ⲇⲣ
× ⲑⲉⲱⲇⲱⲣⲱ ⲁⲡ[..]ⲧⲓ̣ⲧ̣[]/
Un examen de la photographie disponible10 permet de lire plutôt :
v. // Σὺν Θ(εῷ) Ἐβρα(ιμ) υἱὸ(ς) Ἀβδερα̣μ̣α̣ν̣ Θεοδώρῳ ἀπὸ Τιτκώ(εως)
«// Avec Dieu, Ebrahim, fils d’Abderahman, à Théodôros, originaire de
Titkoïs.»
Je pense donc que nous avons ici une lettre adressée par un membre de l’administration arabe à un responsable du monastère, comme le suggèrent le toponyme de Titkooh, village en relation étroite avec le monastère, et la présence au
sein de la collection d’autres textes, avec des numéros d’inventaire proches, qui
proviennent assurément du monastère11. Le ton sec de la lettre (sans la moindre
formule de politesse, ni au début, ni à la fin) et la dernière phrase «je le prendrai sur tes os » nous donnent à voir que les relations entre l’administration et
le monastère pouvaient parfois être tendues et que le paiement des taxes ne se
faisait pas toujours sans difficulté. Ce texte, à côté des entagia et autres documents économiques, nous offre donc une image plus contrastée des relations
entre le monastère et l’administration arabe. Les nouvelles fouilles sur le site
et la poursuite des études sur la documentation du monastère permettront, je
l’espère, de compléter le tableau dans les prochaines années.
9
10
11
Les éditeurs ont lu ⲧⲁⲣⲉⲛⲉⲉⲓⲙⲉ et ont traduit « we (?)», ce qui ne convient pas pour le
sens. En dépit de la remarque que ⲧⲁⲣⲉⲧⲛⲉⲉⲓⲙⲉ « cannot be read», c’est bien ce qu’il faut
lire: le ⲧ est noté en ligature avec le ⲉ qui précède, comme le montre l’image disponible
sur internet (http://images.umdl.umich.edu/cgi/i/image/getimage-idx?cc=apis&entryid=
X-2965&viewid=6861r.TIF&quality=large).
http://images.umdl.umich.edu/cgi/i/image/getimage-idx?cc=apis&entryid=X-2965&
viewid=6861v.TIF&quality=large. (27-5-2011)
Notre texte porte le numéro d’inventaire 6861. Les P.Mich. inv. 6859 = P.Mich.Copt. 14 (cf.
Delattre, Une lettre), P.Mich. inv. 6860 = P.Mich.Copt. 20 = P.Mon.Apollo i 36 et P.Mich. inv.
6863 = P.Mich.Copt. 21 proviennent du monastère.
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Bibliographie
Bénazeth, D., Recherches archéologiques à Baouit: un nouveau départ, in Bulletin of the
American Society of Papyrologists 43 (2004), 9–24.
Clackson, S., It is our father who writes. Orders from the monastery of Apollo at Bawit,
Cincinnati 2008.
Delattre, A., Papyrus coptes et grecs de Baouît conservés aux Musées royaux d’Art et
d’Histoire de Bruxelles, Brussels 2007.
. Une lettre copte du monastère de Baouît. Réédition de P.Mich.Copt. 14, in
Bulletin of the American Society of Papyrologists 44 (2007), 87–95.
. Ordre de paiement bilingues du monastère de Baouît, in Chronique d’Égypte
83 (2008), 385–392.
Diethart, J., Fünf lexikographisch und realienkundlich wichtige Texte aus byzantinischer Zeit aus der Wiener Papyrussammlung, in Analecta Papyrologica 7 (1995),
73–91.
Fournet, J.-L., Conversion religieuse dans un graffito de Baouit? Révision de sb iii 6042,
in A. Boud’hors, J. Clackson, C. Louis et P.M. Sijpesteijn (eds.), Monastic estates in
late antique and early Islamic Egypt. Ostraca, papyri, and essays in memory of Sarah
Clackson (P.Clackson), Cincinnati 2009, 141–147.
Gonis, N., Two fiscal registers from early Islamic Egypt (P. Vatic. Aphrod. 13, sb xx 14701),
in Journal of Juristic Papyrology 30 (2000), 21–29.
Sophocles, E.A., Greek lexicon of the Roman and Byzantine periods (From b.c. 146 to
a.d. 1100), Cambridge, Mass. 1887.
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49
figure 4.1 P.Camb. ul inv. 1262. © Cambridge University Library
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chapter 5
Fiscal Evidence from the Nessana Papyri
Shaun O’Sullivan
In 1957, C.J. Kraemer published the non-literary papyri found in the 1930s at the
site of Nessana, about 70 kilometres south of Gaza.1 Leaving aside two hundred
small fragments almost all datable to the late Roman period (500–630), there
are eighty-four larger documents from late Roman and early Islamic periods.
Thus, forty-nine of these papyri are datable from 505 to about 630. They include
legal contracts, accounts, private letters and one fiscal register. The remaining
thirty-five documents are datable from 674 to about 690. They include fourteen non-fiscal documents—namely, two legal papers, ten private accounts
and two official accounts listing Arab soldiers, their assignments and annual
pay.
The remaining twenty-one papyri from the period 674–690 are fiscal documents. They include nine official demand-notes known as entagia, standardised documents requiring payment of money and foodstuffs, written in Arabic
with a Greek translation below. Two other special demand notes require the
provision of guides and porters. The fiscal documents also include eight official tax receipts and local tax accounts. Two unusual documents, finally, are a
register listing all adult male payers of poll-tax in Nessana and a letter sent to
Nessana from an unidentified nearby town. This letter informs of a planned
protest against high taxes, to be made by representatives from all the local
towns before the Arab governor in Gaza.
Almost the whole Nessana collection was found in a small room next to the
church and monastery of St Sergius. The clerics of St Sergius were among the
leading people in Nessana, and they came from a single family, following one
another successively from at least 550 until 690 and probably until Nessana
ceased to exist at some point during the early eighth century. The papers had
been deposited without arrangement in what was likely a church store-room
for miscellaneous documents.
It is known that churchmen did not enjoy fiscal exemptions in the Christian Empire and thus paid the ordinary taxes. But the forty-nine late Roman
papyri from Nessana include only one fiscal document, which suggests that the
1 Kraemer, Excavations.
© Shaun O’Sullivan, 2015 | doi:10.1163/9789004284340_006
This is an open access chapter distributed under the terms of the prevailing cc-by-nc License
at the time of publication.
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fiscal evidence from the nessana papyri
51
churchmen at Nessana during the Late Roman period were not concerned to
preserve fiscal papers. This may be explained by a law of the emperor Marcian
(r. 450–457) decreeing that a tax-payer who could produce receipts for three
consecutive years would be deemed to have paid all previous taxes.2 In contrast, the thirty-five papyri from the period 674–690 include twenty-one various
fiscal documents, which suggests that churchmen in this later period were concerned to preserve fiscal papers for a much longer period. A similar contrast
exists between papyri of the late Roman and Umayyad periods found at Qāw
al-Kabīr/Antaeopolis and Ishqūh/Aphrodito in Egypt.
The question arises why tax-payers in early Umayyad Palestine and Egypt
took care to preserve fiscal papers such as demand notes and receipts. Most
likely, they were obliged to deal with burdensome tax authorities that continually required proof of payment. The fact that the church of St Sergius kept
many fiscal papers during the period 674–690 is circumstantial evidence that
an exacting fiscal climate existed at Nessana. This suggests that the Umayyad
administration not only produced much administrative documentation but
also required tax-payers to present and reproduce documentation proving
that they had fulfilled their fiscal dues. Evidence of such close administrative
scrutiny of tax-payers and tax-payments also exists for Umayyad Egypt.3
The wider question of Late Roman and Umayyad taxation rates in the Near East
will not be settled until new material evidence is published, probably from the
numerous papyri stored in European libraries. But evidence already published
allows the construction of four models of local economies that may have wider
significance. Two of the four models represent the economy of Nessana in
the mid-sixth century and the late seventh century, and the other two models
represent the district of Antaeopolis in Lower Egypt during the same periods.
The models include a set of constant factors, given below, and they rest on three
basic assumptions.
The first assumption is that Nessana and Antaeopolis throughout the period
550–700 had agrarian economies based on grain production, in which the grain
fed cultivators and their dependents, 80–90% of the total population, and
the surplus was converted into all other activity through exchange, rents and
taxes. The importance of grain production becomes apparent when the agrarian economy is considered over the long term. Grain sustains the human and
animal labour required for all productive activity such as growing olives and
2 Jones, The decline.
3 Sijpesteijn, The Arab conquest.
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o’sullivan
vines, herding cattle, felling timber, mining metals, manufacturing pottery and
textiles, building houses and ships, transporting goods, undertaking administrative and domestic services, and raising children. The economic value of all
such non-grain production equals the grain consumption required for its realisation (consumption of water and air is not given economic value). This quantity of grain is the surplus remaining after the needs of the grain-producers have
been satisfied. Over the longer term, the economy’s grain production becomes
equivalent to total production. That is, all capital existing at any moment
equals the accumulated value of grain produced over previous decades and
centuries. Ultimately, the agrarian economy is the actualisation of grain, a concept grasped by Vico in the eighteenth century. He theorised that grain was the
only means of exchange and standard of value in the most primitive societies.
Gold was later substituted for grain, not because it was deemed to be intrinsically precious but because it best represented grain by its colour of bright
yellow.4
The second assumption, well supported by archaeological evidence, is that
cultivated land area had reached its Late Roman maximum by the early sixth
century in Egypt and Palestine. In consequence, grain production and population were also at their peak during this period. But all these factors diminished
owing to the plague that first appeared in 541 and returned several times before
the Arab conquest. The plague significantly reduced the population of Egypt
and Palestine.5 If it were as virulent as the medieval Black Death, which it
closely resembled according to contemporary accounts, then the population
of Egypt and Palestine may have fallen by one-third between 541 and the Arab
conquest. However, cultivated land area and grain production in Egypt and
Palestine probably fell by a lower proportion. As the economic models show,
the agrarian economy is elastic. The same level of grain production can be
maintained by a smaller labour-force if each cultivator works longer. The result
is a larger grain surplus that may be converted into higher taxes, higher rents,
or higher consumption by the cultivators, depending upon the prevailing relationship between the State, landowners and grain-producers. The Roman State
and its dominant landowning class rested upon the taxes and rents provided by
the cultivators. When the plague reduced the grain-cultivating population by as
much as one-third, the State and the landowners were concerned to maintain
cultivated land area and grain production as much as possible.6 The heavier
4 Vico, New science 539–547.
5 Sarris, The Justianic plague; Sarris, Procopius 217–219; Horden, Mediterranean plague.
6 For the effects of the plague on the economy, see Banaji, Agrarian change, Banaji, Aristocra-
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fiscal evidence from the nessana papyri
53
work-load necessarily placed upon the surviving grain-producers was probably
offset by their keeping a larger share of the surplus. In other words, there was
an effort to distribute equitably the economic burden imposed upon society by
the plague. Hence peasant unrest is not recorded in Egypt and Syria during the
period 541–630, and archaeological work reveals that the best quality of stone
housing and church mosaics in villages of Roman Syria is datable to the sixth
century.7
The third assumption is identical to the Malthusian law. In the agrarian
economy, the rural cultivators and dependents (80–90% of total population)
live slightly above subsistence level. Under normal circumstances, the cultivating population tends neither to decline nor to remain constant, but to increase.
As stated above, the elasticity of the agrarian economy permits a reduced population to maintain grain production if each cultivator works longer. Likewise,
if the population grows and the amount of grain produced remains the same,
then the work-load of each cultivator will diminish. A larger population thus
brings each member the benefit of an easier physical existence. Conversely,
there is normally little interest for the cultivators in having few children and
in working longer with the aim of maximizing grain-production. The conditions of agrarian life are simple and unchanging. Only so much food can be
consumed, and the close-knit society discourages the individual display of
wealth. Cultivators have little opportunity to invest a larger grain surplus except
through land purchase. Unless extracted through higher taxes and rents, a
larger surplus is likely to be amortised in church treasures or coin hoards, of
which examples dating to the Late Roman and Umayyad periods have been
unearthed in Syria.
The agrarian population tends to reach the highest number that can be supported by net product, defined as total grain production minus 1) the amount
that must be stored for the next year’s seed, and 2) amounts extracted in
outward-going rents (i.e. rents to landlords living outside the agrarian zone, in
cities or abroad) and in taxes to the State. Rents paid to landlords living inside
the agrarian zone are insignificant in Syria because most landlords live in cities.
An insignificant quantity of grain is also subtracted from total grain production
through spoilage. Outward-going rents and taxes together supply all the needs
of the urban population, which constitutes 10–20% of the total population and
includes the State apparatus of army and civil service. Most city-dwellers live on
cies and Sarris, The Justianic plague, Sarris, Rehabilitating the great estate and Sarris, Economy
and society. For measures taken by the Roman government to compensate for a loss of fiscal
revenue due to the plague, see also Ruffini, Social networks 146.
7 Foss, Syria in transition 199–202.
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small salaries that purchase little more than their needs in food, fuel and rent.
Rents and taxes tend to compete with each other for the grain surplus. When
one rises or falls, the other is likely to be affected, but in this period rents paid
to landowners were relatively inflexible because they were traditionally a fixed
proportion of the crop. In Late Roman Palestine and Egypt, the landowning
class was numerous and powerful, but it enjoyed little margin for rent increase
in the face of State fiscal requirements on the one side and a free sharecropping
peasantry on the other. The margin was further reduced in the later sixth century when plague losses threatened to reduce grain production. With the Arab
conquest, the class of city-dwelling large landowners was largely eliminated
in Palestine and Egypt. Many took flight to the Empire’s remaining territory.
Many of those who remained served in the administration of the conquerors,
but their former rents were now redirected as tax, for the grain surplus was
monopolised by the Islamic State.8
If rents were fixed in the decades before the Arab conquest and insignificant afterwards, the important variable in the models for both periods is the
tax. It may now be asked what happens to the agrarian economy of these
models if the tax rises significantly and permanently. Total grain production
(total product) remains the same, but the other factors change. The higher
tax reduces net product (total product minus seed, rent and tax). In order to
remain collectively above subsistence level, the population must fall correspondingly, which means that over the next generation more aged people and
infants will die and fewer children will be raised. Higher tax and lower population result in higher tax per capita. But since total product is unchanged,
higher tax per capita is offset by a higher share of total product per capita. In
the agrarian economy as seen over several decades, the real burden of higher
tax does not lie in the payment of more money per tax-payer (though individual tax-payers would often feel the burden as such) but in the fact that the
reduced number of cultivators must work more days in order to achieve the
same total product. Like the stretching of an elastic band, the tax may continue to rise and the population may continue to fall without affecting total
product, up to the point where the cultivators are working at full capacity.
This would be 365 days per year in theory, but in practice it would be considerably less in order to allow for sickness, injury and other incapacitating
8 For the position of Egyptian land-owners in post-conquest Egypt, see Sijpesteijn, Landholding
patterns. See also Frantz-Murphy, The economics of state and in cpr xxi on the significance
of the Umayyad condition of maintaining that all conquered land was collectively owned by
the Muslim community.
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factors. But once the tax rises above a certain maximum and net product correspondingly falls below a certain minimum, then the cultivators will become
too few to achieve the total product even when they are working at full capacity.
From that point, total product must fall, and the tax must fall with it. In practice, it seems unlikely that the cultivating population could bear the theoretical
maximum fiscal burden for long. Around the point of maximum exploitation,
the elastic band would snap. Grain production and tax payments would collapse together as cultivators abandon their lands and take flight.
Constant factors for the models are now introduced (Appendix a). Grain production is measured by the Roman modius, which has a capacity of 9 litres
and holds 6.55 kilograms of grain.9 An average person living at subsistence
would consume about 40 such grain-units per year, equivalent to just over
260 kilograms of grain.10 About two-thirds of the grain-units (26–27 units, 175
kilograms) are directly consumed at the rate of half a kilogram per day as
bread and other grain-based food. About 6.5–7 units (45 kilograms) are converted through exchange into other foods (oil, dairy-products, honey, fruit,
vegetables and wine) in order to reach a daily intake of at least 2,000 calories. The remaining 6.5–7 units (45 kilograms) are converted into fuel (mainly
firewood), clothing and miscellaneous items. Food and drink thus account for
over four-fifths of annual consumption and other necessities for less than onefifth.
The gold solidus or dīnār was used for paying taxes and salaries. Although
its purchasing power in the market varied greatly depending on local circumstances, the solidus had a nominal fixed value of 33 grain-units in the late
Roman period and 30 units in the Umayyad period.11 An annual net income
of around five solidi would just support a household of four persons, but citydwellers needed somewhat more in order to meet the cost of rent and higher
prices.12
Constant factors are also available for the productivity of grain-land. In the
ancient world, ordinary grain-land yielded on average between seven-fold and
eight-fold, such that twenty units are usually sown per hectare (10,000m²) to
yield 150 units. However, only half of ordinary land is cultivated each year, the
other half lying fallow to recuperate. Irrigated Egyptian land, on the other hand,
9
10
11
12
Jones, The decline 376.
Hopkins, Taxes and trade.
Jones, The decline 179.
Jones, The decline 290.
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normally yields ten-fold and it does not require a fallow period. However, fewer
grain-units, usually only twelve units per hectare, are sown to yield 120 units on
Egyptian land. One-eighth of the annual yield on ordinary land must be set
aside for next year’s seed; and one-tenth of the yield on Egyptian land must be
set aside.13
Finally, constant factors are given for labour. The first-century author Columella states that one hectare of ordinary grain-land requires about 60 mandays for efficient cultivation.14 In other words, one labour-unit, equivalent to
one adult male aged between fourteen and sixty, can cultivate six hectares per
year working at theoretical full capacity of 360 days per year. This factor may be
taken as roughly true for irrigated Egyptian land also, although its cultivation
probably required more than 60 man-days per hectare because of the need to
maintain irrigation works. Finally, the labour-units available for grain cultivation are assumed normally to be adult males. With women and children thus
excluded, the labour-units would equal about one-third of the total cultivating
population. The proportion would increase to one-half if the labour of women
and children were added, a woman being counted as half a labour-unit and a
child as one-quarter of a unit.
Model i: Antaeopolis ca. 550 (Appendix b)
For Antaeopolis at this time the papyri give key statistics for the total tax of
the district and its cultivated area. Of the total tax, 62% is paid in gold solidi
and 38% in grain-units. With units converted into gold, the total tax comes to
16,500 solidi. The cultivated area is 14,000 hectares (140km²), about 0.5 % of all
cultivated land in Egypt.15 Using the factors for productivity and labour, it can
be deduced that this area would yield a total product of 1,700,000 grain-units
requiring 840,000 man-days for cultivation. The total product is equivalent to
51,000 solidi at the standard rate of 33 units per solidus. The tax-rate is therefore
32.5 %, and another 10% for seed must be deducted from total product.
However, the evidence for Antaeopolis ca. 550 does not indicate how much is
deducted from total product by way of outward rents. Supposing at a guess that
deduction for rents amounts to another 7.5 % of total product, then net product
is 50% of total product, 850,000 grain-units. This amount would support 21,000
13
14
15
Jones, The decline 300; Kraemer, Excavations 237–240.
Jones, Census records 49–64.
Jones, The decline 179.
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people, of whom one-third, 7,000, are adult males engaged in cultivation. From
each of these labour-units, 120 days of work per year would be required to meet
the necessary 840,000 man-days. Finally, with the population of 21,000 grouped
into just over 5,000 households of four persons each, the annual tax paid by
each household reaches 3.1 solidi.
The model can be checked by extension to the whole country since we know
that the Antaeopolis district covered about 0.5 % of Egyptian cultivated land.
The result would be an Egyptian population of 4.2 million people excluding
Alexandria, which probably had a population of 300,000 at that time. The total
of 4.5 million people lies within the accepted range for Egypt in the Late Roman
period, but it might be somewhat high considering that the model reflects
the agrarian economy not long after the outbreak of the plague in 541.16 The
deduction of 7.5 % for rent is probably too low. If rent deductions are raised
to 16 %, equal to half of the tax, then net product falls from 50% to 42%,
yielding 714,000 grain-units supporting 18,000 people. Labour-units work 140
days per year, and tax per household rises to 3.7 solidi. The population of Egypt
would then reach 3.9 million including Alexandria. Lying in the middle of the
accepted range, this figure seems quite plausible.
Model ii: Nessana ca. 550 (Appendix c)
The second model represents Nessana in the same period of the mid-sixth
century, probably some time after the first outbreak of plague in 541. There
are two pieces of papyri evidence for this period.17 Papyrus no. 82, a list of
grain yields, confirms that Nessana’s ordinary grain-land yields sevenfold to
eightfold, a remarkable achievement for such an arid region. Papyrus no. 39
gives Nessana’s tax in gold at that time as just over 1400 solidi. We now make
the assumption that Nessana paid taxes in gold and grain in roughly the same
proportion as was paid by Antaeopolis during the same period, namely 62:38.
In that case, the total tax paid by Nessana is equivalent to 2,250 solidi. There is
no certainty here, but we know that Late Roman taxes were levied in gold and
in kind, and we can assume that during this period of plentiful gold coinage, the
proportion of the tax paid in gold was normally higher than the proportion paid
in grain. Therefore, the Antaeopolis ratio of 62:38 seems a reasonable standard
to apply elsewhere.
16
17
Allen, Justinian plague 5–20.
Kraemer, Excavations 119–125, 237–240.
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In the model for Antaeopolis, net product was at first taken to be 50%
of total product after deductions of 32.5 % in tax, 10% in seed and 7.5 % in
rent. Alternatively, rent was increased to 16 %, which reduced net product to
42%. The second alternative gave a population figure that seemed more likely
when extrapolated for all Egypt ca. 550. Let us follow the same procedure
for Nessana ca. 550, assuming at first that rent is 7.5 % of total product and
that net product is 50%. In the case of Nessana’s ordinary grain-land, seed
deductions are 12.5 % instead of 10% as at Antaeopolis, so the tax rate should
be reduced from 32.5 % to 30% in order to keep net product at 50%. The
other factors are calculated as follows. Total product is 248,000 grain-units,
equivalent to 7,530 solidi. Total cultivated area is 3,100 hectares, of which only
half is cultivated each year. The population is 3,100, with 100 days of labour
required from each cultivator, and the tax per head of household is 2.9 solidi. As
a check, the estimate of 3,100 people gives a density of 260 persons per hectare
in the town’s built-up area of 12 hectares. This seems high compared to the
widely accepted yardstick of 200 persons per hectare for ancient Near Eastern
settlements.18
Supposing now that rent in this model is 16 % of total product, then net
product falls to 42%, which would yield 104,000 grain-units supporting 2,600
people. Labour-units would work 115 days per year and tax per household would
rise to 3.5 solidi. Population density would fall to 190 persons per hectare, which
seems more likely for a straggling, unwalled settlement such as Nessana.
Model iii: Antaeopolis ca. 700 (Appendix d)
The third model represents Antaeopolis at the start of the eighth century. There
is no fiscal information for this period from Antaeopolis itself, but Umayyadperiod fiscal papyri have been found at the site of Aphrodito, a district lying
adjacent to Antaeopolis in the same part of Upper Egypt. Analysis of this documentation shows that the Umayyad tax was paid like the Roman tax, in both
gold and foodstuffs. But the single Roman tax in gold was now divided into two
separate taxes known in the Aphrodito papyri as diagraphon and demōsia. Diagraphon was assessed on land and payable by all landowners, whereas demōsia
was assessed on all adult males. In most cases, however, landowners were adult
males, the main exception being widows who had inherited their deceased
husbands’ estates. Likewise, each adult male was usually a household head. In
18
Zorn, Estimating the population 31–48.
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fiscal evidence from the nessana papyri
practice, then, the same people usually paid both diagraphon and demōsia, and
relatively few paid only one of these taxes.
The best piece of fiscal evidence from Aphrodito is P.Lond. iv 1420, a document listing tax payments in the village of Pente Pediades (Five Fields) for
the year 705. The village contained 95 adult males whose demōsia averaged 2.4
solidi each. The total diagraphon paid by the village in 705 is also listed, and
if we assume that this tax was paid by 95 people, then each paid on average
2.3 solidi. In addition, P.Lond. iv 1420 records that the village made regular payments of grain and oil during the same year. The grain is calculated in Roman
modii (mudd) and the oil in sextarii (qisṭ), one sextarius being equal in value
to one modius. Converting these foodstuffs into gold-equivalent at the rate of
30 grain-units per Umayyad solidus, and then dividing the result by the known
number of adult males in the village, we find that each tax-payer paid on average the equivalent of 2.1 solidi in foodstuffs. The combined total tax per household for the village of Five Fields in the Aphrodito district in the year 705 can
thus be estimated at 6.8 Umayyad solidi.19
It is assumed that this total figure can be applied to Antaeopolis. But we
make the prior assumption that rent payments to city-dwelling landlords in
Umayyad Egypt ca. 700 are negligible, not more than 0.5 % of total product
compared to 16 % in late Roman Egypt ca. 550, because the Umayyad State is
now acquiring the great bulk of the grain surplus. When applied to Antaeopolis,
the total tax per household of 6.8 solidi yields the following results: total
product for Antaeopolis is the same as it had been ca. 550, but the tax-rate rises
from 32.5 % to 50%; net product falls from 42% to 39.5 %, population falls from
18,000 to 16,800 and each labour-unit now works 150 days per year. The burden
on the agrarian economy is heavier than in the model for Antaeopolis ca. 550
but the economy remains viable.
Model iv: Nessana ca. 685–690 (Theoretical Maximum
Exploitation, Appendix e)
The last model represents Nessana in the 680s. The Nessana papyri show
three main pieces of fiscal evidence for this decade. First, various amounts
are recorded as payments for epikephaliōn (equivalent to diagraphon, the tax
paid by adult males) and demōsia (the tax paid by landowners). Papyrus 59
19
Simonsen, Studies in the genesis 90–92, 116, 124; Dennett, Conversion 86; Bell, Adminstration 278–286.
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records that for one year a person paid twelve solidi, six as epikephaliōn and
six as demōsia. Papyrus 55 records that a churchman paid another person’s
annual demōsia of 4.33 solidi. Papyrus 58 records that the priest Sergius paid
tax (probably demōsia for a single year) of 37.5 solidi for land assigned to him
by the Arab governor.20
The fragmentary papyrus 77 gives twenty-two other payments from individuals, varying from 0.5 to 23 solidi and averaging 7.5 solidi each. The payments
were all classified as epikephaliōn and demōsia. It is impossible to specify them
individually, but the larger payments (23, 21, 20, 20 and 15 solidi) probably represent epikephaliōn or demōsia payments in arrears for one year. It seems unlikely
that arrears for several consecutive years would be recorded as a lump sum. The
smaller amounts (0.5, 1, 1.5, 3.75 solidi) might also represent payments in arrears
for one year. More likely, though, they represent instalments of arrears payable
three or four times a year.21
The second piece of evidence is papyrus no. 69, which gives all grain and oil
payments paid by Nessana during the period September 680-September 681.
These payments are called rouzikon (rizq), and they total 87 solidi. The last,
crucial piece of evidence is papyrus no. 76, dated 689, which gives a list of adult
males liable for the epikephaliōn tax. The list is alphabetical and records only
names, not amounts. The papyrus is incomplete, but its original size can be
known and the number of missing names estimated. The list should have held
about 180 names in total.22
Each piece of evidence is significant. First, the rouzikon of 87 solidi per
year for Nessana as a whole is too small to have been a regular tax. Since
the Nessana papyri give no other record of payments in kind, it seems likely
that the Umayyad authorities in Palestine during the 680s no longer levied
tax in gold and grain on the Roman model. They were now levying the tax in
gold, divided about equally between demōsia and epikephaliōn. The rouzikon
then was only a small extra payment made to local Arab soldiers who, as
shown by papyrus 92, were already receiving annual salaries of about ten
solidi each.23 This conclusion would invalidate the theory, based in part on a
misinterpretation of the rouzikon demand-notes from Nessana, which argues
that the Arab administration in the conquered territories operated at first on
a decentralised and ad hoc basis and only became properly organised towards
20
21
22
23
Kraemer, Excavations 153–155, 168–171, 172–174.
Kraemer, Excavations 222–225.
Kraemer, Excavations 199–201.
Kraemer, Excavations 290–296.
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the end of the seventh century. This view corresponds well, however, with the
situation in Egypt.24
Secondly, the amounts paid in demōsia and epikephaliōn seem much higher
on average than the equivalent amounts paid at Aphrodito a little later. This is
certainly true for amounts known to have been single annual payments (4.3
solidi, 6 solidi, 37.5 solidi). It is probably also true for the 22 indeterminate
payments given in papyrus 77, which average 7.5 solidi each. In contrast, the
average demōsia payment at Aphrodito in 705 was only 2.3 solidi and the
average diagraphon payment 2.4 solidi. It is theoretically possible that the
recorded payments at Nessana represent payments by richer tax-payers only,
but it seems more reasonable to suppose that the taxes paid by household
heads were higher than at Aphrodito.
Finally, the population of Nessana in the 680s seems to have been much
smaller than it was in the mid-sixth century. Considering that poll-tax was
levied on all adult males from 14–65 years, the total of 180 persons liable to
poll-tax listed in papyrus 76 would indicate a total population of only about
800 in the 680s compared to about 2,600 in ca. 550 as deduced in Model ii.25
The papyri evidence for Nessana in the 680s thus points to a combination
of high taxes per head and low overall population. As explained above, this
combination is typical of the grain-based economy as it nears the point of maximum exploitation. Therefore, using the baseline figures in Model ii, it may be
revealing to describe Nessana’s economy at its theoretical -point of maximum
exploitation and then compare the results with the papyri evidence for the
680s. The same assumption is made here as for Antaeopolis in 705 (Model iii),
that outgoing rent payments to large private landlords are negligible, not more
than 0.5 % of total product because the Umayyad State has monopolised the
grain surplus.
Under conditions of maximum exploitation at Nessana, total product would
remain as before at 248,000 grain-units, equivalent to 8,270 Umayyad solidi,
and the required number of man-days remains at 93,000. The tax-rate under
these conditions must be 74%, so that after further deductions of 12.5 % for
seed and 0.5 % for rent, net product is only 13%, equivalent to just over 30,000
grain-units. This amount would support a population of 800, and 350 days of
24
25
Petra Sijpesteijn argued that a similar centrally organised financial administration of the
Arab administration was already in place in Egypt directly following the conquest (The
Arab conquest). See also Clive Foss’s discussion of the Greek papyri from Edfu which
show a well-organised Arab administration at the time of Muʿāwiya (Foss, Egypt under
Muʿāwiya. Part i and ii).
Kraemer, Excavations 31.
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labour, about the maximum possible number, would be required annually per
cultivator. The total tax per household is 30.5 Umayyad solidi.
This model of Nessana’s economy under theoretical conditions of maximum
exploitation corresponds with the available papyri evidence, and the evidence
can be interpreted by the model. In particular, there is a strong correspondence
between a total population of 800 under theoretical conditions and the total of
180 adult male tax-payers found in papyrus 76. There is also a weaker yet still
significant correspondence between the high household tax paid under theoretical conditions and the evidence of taxes actually paid at Nessana during
the 680s. The theoretical total tax of 30.5 solidi per household divided equally
between demōsia and epikephaliōn would give 15 solidi for each tax. Only four
annual tax payments at Nessana are specified as either demōsia or epikephaliōn, and they are recorded as 4.3, 6, 6 and 37.5 solidi. The average of these
four payments is close to 15 solidi, but the payment of 37.5 solidi was levied
on land transferred to the priest Sergius from an Arab clan and could therefore
have been an unusually large payment.26 However, the twenty-two payments in
papyrus 77 average 7.5 solidi each. If these were mostly instalments on arrears
(and the document probably is a register of tax arrears), then the twenty-two
payments may offer evidence for annual demōsia and epikephaliōn taxes of 15
solidi each per household. Indeed, taxes of that size would likely have been
paid in instalments rather than all at once. The indeterminate nature of these
twenty-two payments makes them inconclusive as evidence. But at any rate,
it can be stated firmly that the average of all payments recorded at Nessana in
the 680s is 8.4 solidi, which is about two and a half times as high as the average
tax paid at Aphrodito in 705. To recall, the recorded average taxes at Aphrodito
were 2.3 solidi demōsia, 2.4 solidi diagraphon, and 2.1 solidi foodstuffs, making
a total tax of 6.8 solidi per household. But for purposes of comparison, the 2.1
solidi for foodstuffs paid at Aphrodito should be allocated equally between the
two money taxes in order to reflect the absence of important taxes in foodstuffs
at Nessana. Thus each annual money tax at Aphrodito came to 3.4 solidi on
average, compared with an average recorded payment at Nessana of 8.4 solidi.
The picture outlined by the statistics and models is coloured by two other fiscal
items from the Nessana papyri. Papyrus 75, the letter organizing a tax protest,
is without counterpart in the body of papyri from the Late Roman and early
Islamic periods. It is undated but certainly contemporary with the other fiscal
papers from the 680s. The writer is from an unknown town in the district. He
26
Kraemer, Excavations 170.
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has addressed his letter to someone in another unknown town, who forwarded
it finally to Nessana:
We wish to inform your Noble Magnificence, Beloved of God, that we
have received a letter from His Magnificence, Lord Samuel. He personally
invites both you and us at the same time to appeal to our most esteemed
Governor to grant us relief, for they have caused us both serious distress
and we cannot bear the burden of such taxation (panu gar ebaresan
hēmas kai humas kai ou dunōmetha bastaze tō toiouto phortion). Note
therefore, that tomorrow, Monday, we shall be in Gaza. There are twenty
of us. Will you too please come immediately so that we may all be of
one mind and one accord? After you have read the present letter, send
it to Nessana. We have written to Sobata. Good luck and good health to
you!27
According to the analysis of the editor, C.J. Kraemer, at least four towns are
involved in the protest—the writer’s and the recipient’s towns, plus Sobata and
Nessana. The twenty people mentioned do not come from any of the last three
towns, but probably only from the writer’s town. Samuel himself, the originator
of the protest, probably raised more people from elsewhere. Therefore, the
protest could have easily have involved up to a hundred people. Kraemer
implicitly admits but does not emphasise the “serious distress” revealed by this
letter. In fact, he interprets the document
not merely as evidence of burdensome taxation but of the machinery
which had been devised to protect the tax-payer […] This delegation
knows the force of concerted protest, and the availability of the symboulos (the Arab governor) for an interview has a parallel from Egypt: in a
letter written in 710 (P.Lond. iv 1356), the governor Qurra ibn Sharīk reprimands his subordinate Basileios for not paying sufficient attention to the
complaints of his people.28
Yet Papyrus 75 does not give the impression that the Arab governor is normally available to hear complaints from tax-payers. Nor, supposing that he
were available on this occasion, does Papyrus 75 suggest that he is likely to
27
28
Kraemer, Excavations 212–214. See also the discussion of this text and its context of redress
of public complaints in El-Abbadi’s paper in this volume.
Kraemer, Excavations 212–213.
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reduce the taxes significantly. The document indicates that the protesters are
taking an unusual course of action, one that may have had no precedent and
whose outcome could only be guessed. The only clear conclusion to be drawn
from Papyrus 75 is that the tax was so high as to prompt a widespread protest
by representatives of the conquered Christian population of southern Palestine. This evidence and the statistics in Model iv corroborate each other, reinforcing the impression that the tax levied in Palestine in the 680s was very
high. In that case, it would be reasonable to interpret the phrase ‘we cannot
bear the burden of such taxation’ as a plain statement that the local agrarian economy had reached the point of maximum exploitation theorised in
Model iv.
The last piece of fiscal evidence from the Nessana papyri is a letter in Arabic on the verso of Papyrus 77, the register of twenty-two indeterminate payments datable 685–690. The letter must therefore have been written in the
same period or soon afterwards. Kraemer did not publish this letter along with
the other eighty-four documents that he edited. He only refers to it briefly
in his commentary to Papyrus 56, dated January 687, a curious Arabic-Greek
document worthy of mention in itself.29 The fragmentary Arabic part is witnessed by four Arabs, and the Greek section, full of errors, is written by the
archdeacon Father George and witnessed by his superior, the priest Sergius.
The document states that an Arab named al-Aswad ibn ʿAdī has received fifty
solidi from Father Cyrin in exchange for releasing Father Cyrin’s son, and that
from this amount al-Aswad returns twenty solidi to Father Cyrin “for the sake
of God” (ṣadaqa ʿalayhi bi-ʿishrīn dīnār/nomismata eikosi echarisato alasouad
to abba kurin). Al-Aswad also promises that both father and son can go where
they want, al-Aswad has no authority over the father, and neither he nor his
heirs have any claim over the son. It seems that the father is in effect paying thirty dīnārs to redeem his son from a period of forced labour or outright
slavery, al-Aswad having returned part of the original redemption as an act of
liberality. Yet Kraemer relies on the interpretation of previous scholars, that
al-Aswad had originally advanced fifty dīnārs to Father Cyrin for the indentured employment of his son. The indenture is now over and al-Aswad receives
the money, but he gives back twenty dīnārs to Father Cyrin in lieu of salary.
But if this is the correct interpretation, the wording of the document is very
misleading.
In any case, the first of the four Arab witnesses to this document is Yazīd
ibn Fāʾid, and here Kraemer notes that this name also appears in the Arabic
29
Kraemer, Excavations 15660.
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verso of Papyrus 77: “There Yazīd ibn Fāʾid receives a letter from a superior
official, Nabr ibn Qays, rebuking him in very strong terms for injustice and
oppression to the people of Nastān [Nessana], for he [Nabr ibn Qays] remarks,
‘the people of Nastān are under the protection of God.’” Kraemer thinks that
Yazīd was probably the qāḍī or judge of Nastan because “dealing with contracts
was one of the duties of the qāḍī.”30 If so, that would indicate that by the 680s
Nessana had a significant Arab-Muslim population. But Nabr ibn Qays’ remark
that “the people of Nastān are under the protection of God” (dhimmat allāh)
suggests instead that Nessana remained an entirely Christian town in the late
680s. In that case, al-Aswad and other Arabs mentioned in Papyrus 56 were
not inhabitants of Nessana itself but probably belonged to tribal groups now
settling in the vicinity, the same who supplied the soldiers listed in Papyrus
92. The qāḍī’s authority was restricted to the Muslim community, so if Yazīd
ibn Fāʾid was oppressing the Christian population of Nessana, it is more likely
that his function in relation to them was fiscal. He was probably the fiscal
administrator (ʿāmil) of the local district (iqlīm) of Elusa.
But according to Kraemer’s brief summary, the main point of this unpublished letter was Yazīd’s fiscal oppression of Nessana, which establishes a clear
connection with the contemporary Papyrus 75, the tax protest letter. We thus
have two pieces of documentary evidence indicating that Nessana’s agrarian
economy at that time was heavily strained. Indeed, it seems that the economy was now exploited beyond its limit because the town of Nessana likely
ceased to exist soon after 700. Apart from the papyri, other early Islamic evidence from the town is limited to a little pottery and glass classified as Umayyad
and ten undated bronze coins.31 The pottery and glass probably predate 700, for
the glazed ceramic wares classified as Abbasid became widespread in the later
Umayyad decades after 700. On the other hand, the coins are of the aniconic
type not minted before 696–697. But coins are easily deposited in transit, and
without accompanying evidence these examples do not confirm that Nessana
was permanently occupied after 700. Much more significant is the abrupt termination of the papyrological evidence. The list of poll-tax payers, written in
689, marks the end of the extant tradition going back to 505.
Papyri 55, 58, 59, 76 and 77 altogether corroborate the maximum-exploitation
model theorised in Model iv. And Papyrus 75, the tax protest letter, shows that
in the 680s fiscal oppression was common to the whole province (kūra) of
30
31
Kraemer, Excavations 159. This text is being prepared for publication by Robert Hoyland.
Kraemer, Excavations 30.
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southern Palestine governed by the Arab symboulos at Gaza. On the other hand,
the verso of Papyrus 77 shows Nabr ibn Qays, a higher official and probably
the symboulos himself, reprimanding a subordinate Arab official for oppressing the people of Nessana. The question arises whether the fiscal oppression
was mainly caused by the private depredations of local district officials such
as Yazīd ibn Fāʾid, or whether it derived mainly from the general fiscal policy administered by Gaza and ultimately decided by the central government
in Damascus. The latter alternative seems more likely, for the wording of the
tax protest letter gives the impression that the central authorities are directly
responsible for the heavy taxation. It gives no hint of corrupt local tax-officials.
Also, it is notable that Arab-Muslim tax-collectors are attested only in the
entagia or demand-notes for foodstuffs, which raised small sums by comparison with the two main taxes. A typical example of an entagion from Nessana
reads:
Al-Ḥārith ibn ʿAd (the local district official or ʿāmil based at Elusa) to the
people of Nestana, district (iqlīm) of Elusa, province (kūra) of Gaza: pay
quickly to ʿAdī ibn Khālid of the Banī Saʿd ibn Mālik for the five months
Dhū al-Qaʿda, Muḥarram, Ṣafar and the two Rabīʿs, seventy modii of wheat
and seventy sextarii of oil.32
But the demōsia and epikephaliōn amounts recorded in Papyri 55 and 59 were
paid to John and Victor, tax-collectors who had come to Nessana from Gaza, and
the documents were dated by the calendar of Gaza. The evidence indicates that
the main taxes were set and raised by the central authorities using their own
Christian officials.
It remains to consider what factors lay behind an official policy to impose
taxation so high as to threaten the Palestinian agrarian economy. Such a policy
was not generalised in the Umayyad State, for the case of Aphrodito in 705
(Model iii) indicates a high yet sustainable level of taxation. Generalisation
of the policy evidenced at Nessana would have rapidly destroyed the agrarian
economy upon which the State rested. Yet this destruction is what seems to
have happened in large areas of Palestine and Syria during the late seventh
and eighth centuries, according to the evidence of site occupation in four areas
covered by archaeological survey:33
32
33
Kraemer, Excavations 183.
Compiled from reports in MacAdam, Settlements 80–82; Dauphin, Jewish 132.
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fiscal evidence from the nessana papyri
Survey area and date
Number of sites
Late
Early
Roman Islamic
ʿAraq al-Amir (near Amman, 1980s)
Tell Hisbān (near Amman, 1968–1976)
Tell al-ʿUmayrī (Madaba Plains, 1987)
Golan (1972)
83
133
21
90
30 (all Umayyad)
33 (29 Umayyad, 4 Abbasid)
1 (Umayyad)
13 (undistinguished)
In these four survey areas, the extent of site abandonment in the Umayyad
period ranges from 70–95%. Other surveyed areas include the Limestone Plateau, the plateaux east and north-east of Hama, the southern Hawran, the
Negev and the ʿAraba and Wādī al-Hasā valleys in southern Jordan. These areas
likewise show a large drop in the number of sites occupied during the early
Islamic period.34
The difficulty of dating ceramic styles to within a period of less than fifty
years means that, relying on material evidence alone, we can be certain only
that the agrarian economy in Palestine and Syria was substantially reduced
during the period 640–800. Yet it seems likely that this decline was marked by
three important stages: the Arab conquest, the late seventh and early eighth
centuries, and the collapse of Umayyad rule in 750.
The second stage is of particular interest in the case of Nessana. Several possible factors are connected with the super-taxation of the agrarian economy
in Palestine and Syria from the end of Muʿāwiya’s caliphate in 680 if not earlier. Except during the period of civil war from 684–692, the early Umayyad
State was undertaking a relentless attack against the Byzantine Empire. The
campaigns included especially the naval and military expeditions against Constantinople in 654, 674–678 and 716–717, but also the annual invasions of Asia
34
Finkelstein and Perevolotsky, Processes of sedentarization 80, for the northern Negev
(there is separate evidence of new settlements, probably of Arab nomads, in the southern
Negev during the Umayyad period: Haiman, Agriculture and nomad-state 30–46; Avni,
Early mosques 91–93.) See Schick, The settlement 135 for the surveys in southern Jordan,
and Foss, Syria in transition 233 for surveys in the regions east and north-east of Hama,
where ‘no identified remains or inscriptions of either the Umayyad or Abbasid periods
have been reported …’ For a slightly different view on the pattern of flourishing and decline
in this period in this area, see Walmsley, The village ascendant and Walmsley, Early Islamic
Syria.
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Minor, the conquest of Byzantine North Africa during the 690s and the conquest of most of Spain in the years 711–718. All these efforts were undertaken
largely by Syrian Arab forces, and their expense was borne disproportionately
by the conquered population of Syria and Palestine, the only such group that
was directly administered by the Umayyad State. Domestic factors also tended
towards heavy taxation during this period in Syria and Palestine. From his
accession in 685 to 692, the caliph ʿAbd al-Malik (r. 685–705) fought the second Arab civil war against opponents based in Iraq and Arabia. He and his
successor al-Walīd (r. 705–715) supervised a building program that included
the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem, the Umayyad Mosque in Damascus, roads
and post-houses in Palestine, and a dozen or so palace complexes in Transjordan. Finally, Christians in western Syria were involved in a long revolt against
the Umayyad State that began with the destruction of the Arab expedition
against Constantinople in 678 and lasted until the mid-690s. Known as the Mardaïte revolt from the account given by Theophanes, this uprising permitted the
establishment of a short-lived Christian state in the coastal mountain ranges
of Amanus and Lebanon. The revolt was supported by the Byzantine Empire,
which apparently profited from it by the temporary recapture of Antioch in
686.
The fiscal evidence from Nessana during the 680s thus reflects a time of great
disturbance in Palestine and Syria, a time of civil war among the Arab conquerors and revolt among the conquered population. In the midst of this confusion, in 686–687, Theophanes records, ‘there was a famine in Syria and many
men migrated to the Roman country’.35 All this provides the background for an
unusually heavy tax regime that submerged the agrarian economy it exploited.
To repeat, this tax regime was not generalised in the early Islamic State, nor
could it be if the State were to survive. Nevertheless, periods of fiscal oppression accompanied by revolts and social disturbances recur in different regions
during the course of early Islamic history. Well-recorded examples come from
Egypt during the last three decades of Umayyad rule and especially from Upper
Mesopotamia during the period 750–775, a time of troubles described in eyewitness detail in a long passage of the Zuqnin Chronicle.36 Claude Cahen’s
standard discussion of this passage in a 1950s article is generally misleading,
focusing much more on the element of urban-rural and class conflict than on
the more fundamental factor of fiscal oppression.37 It would be a useful task to
35
36
37
Theophanes, The chronicle 507.
Chronique de Denys de Tell-Mahré.
Cahen, Fiscalité.
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fiscal evidence from the nessana papyri
combine the documentary fiscal evidence from Nessana with the literary detail
from the Zuqnin Chronicle in order to gain insight into this recurrent aspect of
early Islamic history.
Appendices
a
Constant Factors Used for Economic Models
Unit of grain is the Roman modius (9 litres), holding 6.55 kilograms of
grain
Average consumption per person is 40 grain-units per year (260
kilograms grain-equivalent)
33 grain-units equals one Roman solidus at the standard fiscal rate
30 grain-units equals one Umayyad solidus at the standard fiscal rate
On ordinary grain-land, 20 grain-units sown per hectare yield sevenfold
or eightfold (150 units) every other year.
On irrigated Egyptian land, 12 units sown per hectare yield tenfold (120
units) every year.
Cultivation of one hectare requires 60 man-days.
One adult male cultivates 6 hectares at full capacity (360 days per
year).
Ordinary grain-land and irrigated land are assumed to require a similar
amount of labour.
Grain cultivation is normally undertaken by adult males only.
One adult male equals one labour-unit.
One adult female equals one half labour-unit.
One child equals one-quarter labour-unit.
Cultivating labour-units (adult males only) equal one-third of total
population.
b
Model i: Antaeopolis ca. 550
Papyri Evidence
Cultivated area
Tax
14,000 hectares (ha)
16,500 solidi of which 62% in gold, 38% in grain
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Deductions
Total product in grain
Total product in gold
Man-days required
Tax-rate
1,700,000 units
51,000 solidi
840,000
32.5 %
Assuming
Net product
Net product in grain
Total population
Labour-units
Days per labour-unit
Tax per household
7.5 % total product in rent, then
50%
(100%–32.5 %–10%–7.5 %)
850,000 units
(1,700,000×50%)
21,000
([1,700,000×50%]÷40)
7,000
(21,000×33 %)
120
(840,000÷7000)
3.1 solidi
(16,500÷[21,000÷4])
Check
Total population of
Egypt
4.5 million
Assuming
Net product
Net product in grain
Total population
Labour-units
Days per labour-unit
Tax per household
16 % total product in rent, then
42%
(100%–32.5 %–10%–16 %)
714,000 units
(1,700,000×42%)
18,000
([1,700,000×42%]÷40)
6,000
(18,000×33 %)
140
(840,000÷6,000)
3.7 solidi
(16,500÷[18,000÷4])
Check
Total population of
Egypt
3.9 million
c
(14,000×120)
(1,700,000÷33)
(14,000×60)
([16,500÷51,000]×100)
(21,000×0.5 %+300,000
Alexandria)
(18,000×0.5 %+300,000
Alexandria)
Model ii: Nessana ca. 550
Papyri Evidence
Tax in gold
Grain-yield
Assuming
Total tax
1,400 solidi
Sevenfold to eightfold
Tax at the proportion 62% gold, 38% grain
Rent at 7.5 % total product
Net product at 50% total product, then
2,260 solidi
(1,400+[[1,400÷62]×38])
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fiscal evidence from the nessana papyri
Tax-rate
Total product in gold
Total product in grain
Cultivated area
Man-days required
Net product in grain
Total population
Labour-units
Days per labour-unit
Tax per household
30%
7,530 solidi
248,000 units
1,650 ha per year
3,310 ha total
100,000
124,000 units
3,100
1,030
100
2.9 solidi
(100-50-12.5 seed-7.5 rent)
(2,260+[[2,260÷30]×70])
(7,530×33)
(248,000÷150)
(1,650×2)
(1,650×60)
(248,000×50%)
(124,000÷40)
(3,100×33 %)
(100,000÷1,030)
(2,260÷[3,100÷4])
Check
Population density
260 persons/ha
(3,100÷12ha built-up area)
Assuming
Net product in units
Total population
Labour-units
Days per labour unit
Tax per household
16 % total product in rent and
42% net product, then other factors are unchanged
except
104,000 units
(248,000×42%)
2,600
(104,000÷40)
870
(2,600×33 %)
115
(100,000÷870)
3.5 solidi
(2,260÷[2,600÷4])
Check
Population density
190 persons/ha
d
(2,260÷12ha built-up area)
Model iii: Antaeopolis ca. 700
Papyri Evidence
(Aphrodito P.Lond. iv 1420, village of Pente Pediades, 95 adult males in the
year 705)
Average diagraphon
2.4 Umayyad solidi
Average demōsia
2.3 Umayyad solidi
Average foodstuffs
2.1 Umayyad solidi
equivalent
Total
6.8 Umayyad solidi
Assuming
Tax per household
0.5 % rent, then
6.8 Umayyad solidi
(2.4+2.3 +2.1)
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Total product in grain
Total product in gold
Cultivated area
Man-days required
Deduction for seed
Tax-rate
Total tax in gold
Net product
Net product in grain
Total population
Labour-units
Days per labour-units
1,700,000 units
56,670 Umayyad solidi
14,000 ha
840,000
10%
50%
28,335 Umayyad solidi
39.5 %
672,000 units
16,800
5,600
150
(as Model i)
(1,700,000÷30)
(as Model i)
(as Model i)
(as Model i)
(trial and error)
(56,670×50%)
(100-50-10–0.5)
(1,700,000×39.5 %)
(672,000÷40)
(16,800×33 %)
(840,000÷5,600)
Check
Tax per household
6.75 Umayyad solidi
(28,335÷[16,800÷4])
e
Model iv: Nessana ca. 685–690 (Theoretical Maximum Exploitation)
Papyri Evidence
Annual payment of epikephaliōn
Annual payments of demōsia
22 indeterminate payments
List of grain and oil payments for one year
List of poll-tax payers
Assuming
Total product in grain
Total product in gold
Cultivated area
Man-days required
Tax-rate
Total tax in grain
Total tax in gold
Net product
Net product in grain
Total population
Labour-units
Days per labour-unit
Tax per household
6 solidi
4.3 solidi, 6 solidi, 37.5 solidi
0.5–23 solidi, averaging 7.5 solidi
Total 87 solidi
Total about 180 persons
0.5 % rent, then
248,000 units
8,270 Umayyad solidi
3,100 ha
93,000
74%
183,500 units
6120 Umayyad solidi
13%
32,250 units
800
265
350
30.5 Umayyad solidi
(as Model II)
(248,000÷30)
(as Model II)
(as Model II)
(trial and error)
(248,000×74%)
(183,500÷30)
(100-74-12.5–0.5)
(248,000×13%)
(32,250÷40)
(800×33 %)
(93,000÷265)
([6,120÷[800÷4])
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73
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Commerce & Travel
∵
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chapter 6
Travel in Coptic Documentary Texts
Anna Selander
Introduction
This article seeks to provide a brief overview of the evidence for travel in Coptic
documentary texts in late antique and early Islamic Egypt.1 To be able to form
a representative source base for research on travelling it was necessary to read
across all the published material, which amounted to over 7,800 texts.2 Of the
486 texts that I was able to collect from the sources that contain information
about different aspects of travel, the earliest date is from the fourth century c.e.,
the latest from the ninth century.3 As is usual with the surviving Coptic material, most documents belong to the seventh and eighth centuries c.e. From the
beginning it was clear that letters would be the best source to find out about
the journeys people made. In fact, without these letters we would not—to a
very significant degree—know that these journeys had been undertaken at all.
Various reasons existed why one would mention a journey in a letter, including
letting the addressee know that someone was on his or her way, or bidding the
addressee pray for the traveler, etc. Often the addressee was asked to come or to
send somebody. Problems encountered en route were also reported in letters,
and in quite a number of them the writer announces that he has to cancel the
planned journey.
In all, 88% of the data was drawn from letters, and the rest from other
kinds of documents. The relative lack of documents dealing with journeys
is due to the loss of relevant material (shipping contracts, etc.). What does
1 This article is based upon my master’s thesis: Reisetätigkeit nach den koptischen dokumentarischen Texten, University of Vienna, 2006.
2 Since October 2005 there exists an online database of Coptic documentary texts, from
which this estimate has been drawn (currently the number of documents is given to be
more than 8,000). See http://dev.ulb.ac.be/philo/bad/copte/base.php?page=rechercher.php
(25-08-2014).
3 Taken into account were all texts about private journeys written in Coptic. Since the range
of dates runs to the ninth century, a few texts are included which are written in Coptic
presumably by Muslims and/or people with Arabic names. E.g. cpr ii 228 (8th century) where
a certain Jazīd writes to someone called Abū ʿAlī.
© Anna Selander, 2015 | doi:10.1163/9789004284340_007
This is an open access chapter distributed under the terms of the prevailing cc-by-nc License
at the time of publication.
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selander
survive tends to deal principally—and this is the case with most of them—with
some other subject. Sometimes, however, we can learn from the signatures of
witnesses why a particular person signed the document including the reasons
for making a journey.4 In the case of letters, certain information that can
tell us about travelling has not been transmitted or has been lost altogether.
This includes, in particular, the address. Place names for the addressee are
also rarely mentioned in the body of the text since this was information both
the addressee and recipient would have known anyway. The duration of a
journey is also hardly ever given. Similarly, the mode of transport is seldom
thought worthy of mention. Nevertheless, even if some details are missing,
these texts offer a broad view across time of the nature of—and changes
in—the experience of the Coptic-speaking part of Egypt’s population as seen
through their access to resources and freedom of movement.
The most common motives for travel in this period were, not surprisingly,
trade and the dispatch of goods. However, I have excluded texts that treat
mainly these subjects from the text corpus and have concentrated instead on
private journeys, since these bring us closer to the personal priorities, motivations and day-to-day experience of Copts at this time. Also, we find a mass
of texts among the Coptic documentary material, mainly letters, which deal
with the transportation of goods, mostly requests for goods to be sent. But these
texts hardly ever tell us anything about travel routes taken or the distances covered, so they have been excluded because of their low informational value. The
large quantity of these (mostly short) texts, which number some thousand, was
another reason for their exclusion. Of course, there are also texts in which a person travels and takes a small amount of goods with him. In these cases the text
was taken into account because it documented the journey of a specific person,
and therefore does not have the impersonality that one dealing with an unidentified messenger would have.5 For Coptic documentary texts dealing with trade
and the dispatch of goods, a separate study is necessary, which would illustrate
the economic aspects of trade in Egypt.
Besides the strictly private motivations for travel (journeys made on one’s
own initiative), I have also taken into account texts that document trips by
agents on behalf of officials, clerics, estate owners or other employers.
4 E.g. p.kru 65 (second half of the 7th century), in which Pekosch writes that he had just come
to the monastery to visit the father Jacob.
5 Texts that treat the transportation of wheat and corn in general have not been taken into
account.
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Reasons for Travel
Travel was, in many ways, integral to life in Egypt. One common reason to
undertake a journey was to deliver tax payments and such journeys could even
stretch from Upper Egypt (e.g. Balāʾizah, Ishqūh/Aphroditō) to Babylon.6 Other
reasons for travelling were the collection of money and also moving to another
place,7 as is attested in the documents. The clergy were especially mobile since
they tended to visit fellow monks and sometimes had to travel to celebrate
masses for other villages.8 The bishops also regularly sent their staff on tours
to inspect church personnel.9
A well-documented group concerns trips made to attend a feast. Nineteen
texts10 give us information about the different feasts attended, including feasts
of martyrs, divine services, Easter, as well as other feasts whose nature we cannot precisely determine.11 One especially interesting example is an invitation
to a feast from the ninth century, written on the verso of an earlier Arabic text.12
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
In P.Bal. 240 (dating to between 675 and 775, like all other texts from Balāʾizah), for
example, the trip starts at Ishqūh/Aphrodito and ends in Babylon, a distance of about
410km. Two other examples of long journeys are P.Lond. iv 1628 (beginning of the 8th
century), where the same destinations are documented, and cpr ii 228 (8th century),
which attests a journey from Fayyūm/Arsinoe to Babylon (about 135km).
The letters O.Crum 385, 386 (both undated), O.Brit.Mus.Copt. ii 27 (beginning of the 7th
century), and most likely O.Crum vc 67 (dating to between 619 and 629). Cf. also the
letters concerning Frange discussed below. In documents e.g. P.Lond.Copt. i 449, 452 (both
undated), etc.
E.g. O.Brit.Mus.Copt. ii 22 (beginning of the 7th century), P.Mon.Epiph. 154 (7th century),
O.Crum 53 (dating to about 600), etc. For further texts relating to this topic, see Schmelz,
Kirchliche 79–83.
Krause, Die ägyptischen Klöster 225–236.
sb Kopt. ii 897 (= P.Pisentius 71, undated); P.Mon.Apollo 52 (6th–7th centuries); P.Ryl.Copt.
390 (9th century); O.Vind.Copt. 214 (7th–8th centuries); sb Kopt. ii 814 (8th century);
P.Sarga 94 (7th century?); O.Vind.Copt. 266 (7th–8th centuries); P.Mon.Epiph. 105; 131; 245
(all three 7th century); O.CrumVC 53; P.Lond.Copt. i 547; O.CrumST 243 (all three undated);
O.Ashm.Copt. 17 (7th–8th centuries); O.Brit.Mus.Copt. ii 22 (beginning of the 7th century);
P.MoscowCopt. 55; 59; O. CrumVC 88; sb Kopt. ii 893 (all undated).
Interestingly, pilgrimage travel is a notable blank spot in the documents (see below). For
this, inscriptions, archaeological sources and Greek papyri have instead to be brought into
play.
P.Ryl.Copt. 390. Crum states: “Recto: an Arabic text (earlier), showing the name Naṣr, ﻛﺘﺎب
اﱃ ﻧﴫ.” We do not know the further content of the text on the recto or whether the texts
on recto and verso are related. Could “Naṣr” be the sender of the invitation, or is the text
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Paul E. Kahle discussed elsewhere that the opening phrase (ⲧⲏⲣⲏⲛⲏ ⲛⲁⲕ) indicates that a text is probably written by a Muslim,13 as we find in P.Bal. 256
(end of 7th/8th century) at the end of the text (line 5): ⲁⲩⲱ ⲧⲓⲣⲏⲛⲏ ⲛⲁⲕ. This
is also how the ninth-century invitation starts. Also the lack of the usual cross,
instead of which two diagonal lines appear, indicates that the text was possibly
not written by a Christian or that the addressee was a Muslim.14 If we accept
that one party was a Muslim, we can determine that the feast was certainly not
a Christian religious one. The word ⲡϣⲁ can stand for various feasts, most of
them religious. But it was also used for birthdays,15 so maybe this text represents an invitation to a birthday party. Since the text itself is an invitation to a
feast, which takes place the same day as the addressee receives the letter, the
sender and the addressee must have lived relatively near to one other. ⲉⲓ ⲉϩⲣⲁⲓ
means “come north” or “come south.” As the practice in Upper Egypt was to use
ⲉϩⲣⲁⲓ by itself,16 we cannot be sure whether coming up or down is meant, and
hence whether the traveler was going north or south. Walter Crum, the editor,
could not interpret the words at the end of the text. Through a comparison of
the formulary used in other texts, however, a plausible reading can be found.
P.Mon.Apollo 16 (7th century) contains a parallel formula in line 10: ⲙⲡ̅ⲣ̅ⳓⲱ ⲛ̅ⲁⲧⲉⲓ ⲉⲣⲏⲥ, meaning: “Stay not longer without coming south” (better expressed
by “do not delay to come south”). This gives us the sentence, “Stay not longer
without coming” (i.e. “do not delay to come”). So the writer of the ninth-century
invitation again asks the addressee to come in any case!
13
14
15
16
of the recto earlier, as Crum states, and therefore not relevant? Due to renovation work in
the past in John Rylands Library in Manchester, the text was not accessible.
As Kahle writes in the introduction to the letter P.Bal. 256: “the greeting at the end of
the letter is ‘peace unto you’ which is the normal phrase found in letters written by
Muslims.”
See for this complicated and not yet completely satisfactorily solved question: Richter,
Spätkoptische 213–230, especially 223 ff.
This meaning e.g. in P.Mon.Epiph. 253.13 (7th century).
It is interesting that ⲉⲓ ⲉⲡⲉⲥⲏⲧ (which actually means to come down) is used only five times
in three texts: P.Lond.Copt. i 547, provenance Fayyūm; 1128 and 1124, both originating from
Hermopolis, all undated. Whereas P.Lond.Copt. i 1124 remains undated, it can be said that
P.Lond.Copt. i 1128 is to be dated sometime after the Arab conquest (here also the two
strokes are used, and the name is Arabic. Here we also find the rendering ⲧⲓⲣⲏⲛⲏ ⲛⲁⲕ). Due
to the limited sources we cannot determine why ⲉⲓ ⲉⲡⲉⲥⲏⲧ was used only very seldomly.
The reason could be of a geographical nature: it seems that in Lower Egypt to Hermopolis it
was used even though not often, whereas up till now from Hermopolis to Aswan explicitly
ⲉⲓ ⲉϩⲣⲁⲓ (in connection with travel) was applied.
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Another important Coptic stimulus to travel was the settling of arguments.17
As a first step one party would invite his opponent to come and try to settle
the quarrel. In cases where an arrangement could not be reached the matter was then referred, either via a letter or in person, for example to a senior
cleric who would be asked to adjudicate.18 O.Vind.Copt. 258 (7th–8th centuries), in which a certain Anup and a woman are engaged in a dispute, is
a good example of this procedure. To make his case, Anup travels south to
report the details of the disagreement to a person who is addressed as “your
fatherhood”—presumably a high-ranking cleric, most likely to be the abbot of
a monastery. Reacting to Anup’s testimony and to present her side of the story,
the woman then writes a letter to the cleric. As well as cases such as this, we
have instances of divorces and the dissolution of marriages precipitating similar journeys.19
A well-represented group of texts shows that travelling to find work or to
get to a place of work was an important inducement to travel in late antique
Egypt. The texts show that for this reason larger distances were also covered.
P.Mon.Epiph. 296 (7th century20) gives, for example, a distance of 40km that
had to be covered first by the messenger and then by the baker, who was asked
to come from Koptos to Thebes to make bread and butter for the monastery. Of
course, there must also have been a considerable number of official trips, but
these are not so well attested in the Coptic documentary texts.
17
18
19
20
P.KölnÄgypt. 17 (provenance unknown); P.Mon.Epiph. 96; 189; 262; 267; 300 (Thebes, monastery of Epiphanius); 438 (all 7th century); O.Vind.Copt. 212; 218; 258 (all three 7th–8th
centuries); O.CrumST 181 (provenance unknown, end of 6th–7th centuries); bku iii 338
(during Persian occupation); 403 (undated); O.Crum 48 (dating to about 600); O.Crum Ad.
46 (undated).
E.g. P.Mon.Epiph. 189 (7th century). For the role of monks and clerics in settlement of
arguments, see Schmelz, Kirchliche 272–288.
P.Mon.Epiph. 161 (7th century). To ligitation see futher: Allam, Civil jurisdiction 4.
Peel (Dayr Epiphanius 800–802) assumed (according to Crum and Winlock) that all texts
from the so-called Monastery of Epiphanius date between 580 and 640. That this is not the
case could be shown through the excavation of tt 29 (see page 89), which makes clear that
Frange lived there in the eighth century. And since Frange is corresponding with members
of the monastery, they are contemporaneous, and therefore the monastery still existed at
least in the eighth century. All texts, in which Frange is mentioned, are therefore to be
redated to the eighth century. Of course, also other texts from the monastery might be
from a later date.
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Modes of Transport
The mode of transport, where it is known or can be inferred, also offers important insights, but, surprisingly, only a few texts give us clear information on this.
This is because in most texts—as seen in the case of P.Ryl.Copt. 390 above—
only vague co-ordinates, such as “to go north” and “to go south,” are given, even
in the case of journeys between the Nile Valley and the oases, since this was the
primary axis of geographical orientation for Egyptians.21 In Old Egyptian the
usual words for going north and south were determined by the sign of a ship.
But the Coptic expression offers no clues as to whether these trips were made
by ship, camel or donkey. Indeed none of the texts surveyed using the phrase
explains the employed method. Here only the distance or the time span needed
for the trip—if known—can help to determine what is more likely. From the
reading of the texts in which no remarks about the time required or the distance covered have been made, the cumulative impression is that most of the
documented trips were made on foot.
About forty documents in the corpus relate to ships, ferries and sailors, but
as the texts show, the use of ships was largely restricted to the transportation
of goods, whereas private journeys by boat are not often attested. The most
important role for the use of a ship was the transportation of goods, especially
corn. That the ship was not the first choice for private individuals is indicated
by the much higher price paid for boat travel than transportation by donkey or
camel, or on foot. An additional reason for this result is probably the nature of
the source material, which, for the most part, deals with journeys that covered
a distance of less than one day’s travel. The texts also speak of the Arab naval
fleet, for which Egyptians from all parts of Egypt were recruited.22
Only three texts speak of the use of a ferry, and from them we see that
crossing the Nile was relatively cheap.23 This shows on the other hand what
a limited view the extant corpus gives us, since ferries were naturally very
important in Egypt. Therefore, it can be inferred that a receipt was not issued
for every crossing, and for this reason we mostly get information—as is the case
of P.Bal. 291 (end of seventh-eighth centuries)—only if a receipt was needed for
21
22
23
See Alcock and Funk in P.Kellis v, p. 13: “The oasis dwellers regarded themselves as separate
from Egypt, which was conceived as a north-south axis stretching from the area where the
trade routes reached the valley.”
See for these texts, P.Lond. iv.
P.Bal. 291 (end of the 7th century-beginning of the 8th century); P.Ryl.Copt. 334 (8th
century); sb Kopt. ii 889 (9th century).
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the account books of a monastery, or as a bill for a business partner or employer.
After all, most of the texts in the corpus are letters, in which a mention of having
taken a ferry would not be especially important, except perhaps for business
reasons.
The best source we have for travelling by boat is O.Medin.HabuCopt. 82
(seventh-eighth centuries), which documents the 390km journey from Thebes
to Antinoe. This shipping contract is unique among the Coptic documentary
texts for the large amount of information it contains, including the journey’s
starting point and destination, the names of the people involved, the costs and
even the means of travel. Such a quantity of data is a result of its nature as a
document, since letters tend only to transmit information that is necessary and
not yet known by the addressee.24 Steve Vinson comments as follows: “This
text is a short shipping contract, in which a captain agrees to charter his vessel
for the hauling of an unspecified cargo. It appears as though the arrangement
actually makes the captain and charterer into temporary partners. After the
captain has collected his freight fee (¾ solidus), any additional revenues from
passengers and any operational expenses incurred en route are to be shared on
a 50–50 basis. The upshot is that, at least from the Graeco-Roman period into
the early Arab period, vessel income seems often to have been split on a 50–50
basis by the owner and crew.”25
Attestations of the use of camels and donkeys are also not often found in the
letters.26 But since most of the distances covered are rather small (less than a
day’s travelling), it is very likely that most of the small-scale travel was done
by camel, donkey or on foot. Even larger distances were covered that way. As
texts show, monasteries hold a key position in such travel, since they had their
own camels and donkeys along with camel drivers. Often monks from other
monasteries, and perhaps private people too, borrowed an animal to go on a
trip. In this way camels played a critical role in long-distance travel, especially
from an oasis to the Nile Valley. For journeys from an oasis to the Nile Valley, the
most important sources are the texts from Kellis in the Dakhla Oasis, where a
Manichaean community had its base. Although the distance was long—130km,
24
25
26
See below, for the edition and translation.
Vinson, The Nile 75–76.
At least with regard to travel by those whose main priority is not the transportation of
goods. Examples of texts in which donkeys and camels appear are O.CrumVC 68, O.Theb. 27
(both 7th–8th centuries, see for this text also P.Mon.Epiph. 1, p. 182), very likely P.Lond.Copt.
i 590 (undated, paper), and 529 (Arab period). In Spiegelberg, Besprechung 68–69 we find
a text in which it is stated that the journey fails because no donkey could be found (the
translation was corrected by Crum in Winlock and Crum, The monastery 182).
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and one would have needed six to ten days with a donkey and less with a
camel,27 which was preferred—it seems to be the case that travel, and in turn
communication, occurred regularly between the oases and the Nile Valley.
Travel Difficulties
However one travelled, making trips in Egypt was never entirely easy. Generally in the texts it is considered to be difficult, wearying and often demanding
significant effort and sacrifice. This attitude tends to be reflected in the oftenused phrase, “be so kind and trouble yourself to come,” or its variants, “find a
way to come,” “find an opportunity to come,” and so on.28 It was not only the
Copts who conceived of trips in this way, as Greek texts in which the sender
asks the addressee likewise to “trouble himself to go somewhere” revealed.29
That this phrase was not only used as a courtesy is also shown in some texts in
which the writer explicitly says that complications on the journey, especially
the roads, prevented him from getting somewhere.30 The text O.Crum Ad. 59
(dating from between 578 and 605) even demonstrates that a whole monastery
was shifted from a somewhat inaccessible site in the desert behind Jeme for
this reason. The order was given by the patriarch Damianos (in office 578–605)
himself to improve the accessibility for the messengers who had to deliver the
festal epistle throughout the whole country every year.31
Illness
Another major thematic group of texts reveals planned trips that had to be
cancelled due to illness. In 12 instances the letter-writer says he cannot make a
journey because he has become ill.32 Among these illnesses we find problems
27
28
29
30
31
32
P.Kellis v, 12.
E.g. like P.MoscowCopt. 55 (undated), v. 20–22 ⲁⲣⲓ ⲧⲁⲅⲁⲡⲏ | ⲛ̅ⳓⲃⲱⲕ ⲡⲉⲥⲕⲩⲗⲙⲟⲥ ⲛ̅ⲧⲉⲧⲛ̅|ⲉⲓ …,
or P.Pisentius 48 (end of the 6th century or beginning of the 7th century), 27 ⲛ̅ⲅⳓⲛ ⲑⲉ ⲛⲃⲱⲕ,
or a construction with ⳓⲛ ⲧⲩⲡⲟⲥ, etc.
E.g. P.Oxy. i 123, 10 (3rd–4th centuries) σκυλῆναι πρὸς Τιμόθεον “trouble yourself to go to
Timotheos.”
P.Mon.Epiph. 473 (7th century) and O.Crum 253 (provenance unknown, undated).
Krause, Die ägyptischen Kloster 204.
P.Mon.Epiph. 162; 168; 277 (all three 7th century); O.CrumVC 38 (undated), P.Sarga 93 (7th
century?); P.Bal. 245 (end of the 7th century, 8th century); P.Mich.Copt. 13 (8th century?);
P.Ryl.Copt. 273 (4th–5th century); sb Kopt. ii 893; O.CrumST 363; P.MoscowCopt. 59; sb Kopt.
ii 854 (all undated).
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with the feet33 and in sb Kopt. ii 854 (undated) the sender complains that he
has been seriously ill for two weeks with fever. Two texts inform us that the
parties have become ill during the journey.34 O.CrumVC 35 (undated) even tells
us about the death of a man’s business partner during a trip that had led them
north. The text is an oath in which the man had to swear that he did not conceal
any of the deceased’s belongings from his heirs. Unfortunately, we do not learn
what happened to the dead man’s body. Many of these texts show that it was
important for the one who fell ill to have a cleric pray for him so that God might
relieve him of his illness.35
Crime
Brigandage and robbery were also persistent concerns for travelers. O.CrumST
390 (undated) seems to indicate an example of mugging. In this short and
enigmatic text, a monk recounts to a fellow monk an episode on the road to
Alexandria in which he was waylaid by six “devils” and only in the last moment
managed to escape. The monk takes no chances: “I ran,” he says. That he must
have survived the incident is, of course, shown by the fact that he was writing
at all. But how the story ends we do not know, since the letter is unfortunately
broken and the end is missing.36
Three other letters document the dangers of leaving home.37 In these the
writers declare their wish to go on a journey, but claim they cannot do so
for fear that their homes and belongings would be robbed in their absence.
That only four texts among the Coptic letters deal with criminality of this type
does not mean, of course, that crimes did not occur more often. In fact, the
opposite seems to be the case: “Zieht man die bereits im 7. Jh. herrschenden
Verhältnisse in Betracht, wofür belegt ist, daß viele Menschen durch Überfälle
herumstreichender Banden (im 8. Jh. auch durch hohe Steuerlasten) in Not
gerieten,”38 we can assume that a lot of incidents of mugging took place.
33
34
35
36
37
38
P.Mon.Epiph. 277 (7th century); O.CrumVC 38 (undated).
P.MoscowCopt. 11 (4th–5th century); P.Mon.Epiph. 249 (7th century).
E.g. O.CrumVC 38 (undated), P.Ryl.Copt. 273 (4th–5th century), 4–5 (ⲧⲉⲛⲟⲩ ϣⲗⲏⲗ ⲉϫⲱⲉⲓ
| ⲛⲧⲉⲡⲛ[ⲟⲩⲧⲉ ϯⳓ]ⲟ̣ⲙ ⲛⲁⲓ̣ ϯⲛⲏⲟⲩ ϣⲁⲣⲟⲕ: “now pray for me that god gives me strength that I
come to you”), and O.CrumST 186 (undated). About illness among the Copts, cf. P.Harrauer
213–222.
See below for the edition and translation.
P.Mon.Epiph. 222 (7th century), O.CrumVC 98, and O.Crum Ad. 46 (both undated).
O.Brit.Mus.Copt. II 27.
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Travel across Time
Pre-Conquest Egypt
From the fourth and fifth centuries only a few texts have survived, leaving us
with a limited picture of travel in this period.39 The most important group
comprises the letters and documents from the Manichean community in Kellis
in the Dakhla Oasis, which date from the fourth century.40 The texts—mostly
letters—document the correspondence between family members who had
stayed behind in Kellis and the men who were in the Nile Valley. They show
us journeys made from Kellis to Antinoe, Hermopolis and Assiut, and the trips
made by the men while they were in the Valley, again mostly from Antinoe
to Hermopolis and to Assiut.41 As well as this, the letters inform us about
the small-scale journeys between the different villages of the oasis. Especially
interesting, because of his frequent travels in the Nile Valley, is the person
called “the master” (ⲡⲥⲁϨ). We hear, for example, of him taking Piene, who
joins his entourage, with him to learn Latin,42 and in another letter we find
out where their journey led, namely Alexandria.43 Yet another letter tells us
that Piene and the master left Antinoe, so we know that the trip went from
Antinoe to Alexandria.44 That Piene and the master arrived in Alexandria, and
that Piene continued to live there safely, is reported again in another letter,
which reports that fellow brothers come from Alexandria to the south bringing
news and a letter from him. We also hear that Piene intends to come south
again.45
Just as is the case for the forth and fifth centuries, only a few Coptic papyri
have survived from the sixth century. An additional problem is the uncertain
dating, which concerns above all the placing of the texts between the fifth and
the sixth centuries. Judging from those few and often not exactly dated texts,
it seems that travelling was equally possible as before this age and that no
significant changes or restrictions took place.
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
E.g. P.MoscowCopt. 11 (4th–5th century); P.Ryl.Copt. 273 (4th–5th century).
From the 45 letters and documents published in P.Kell. v, 11 texts deliver information on
travelling, which are: 19, 20, 22, 24, 25, 28, 29, 31, 39, 40, 50.
The most important group of letters in respect of travelling is those of Makarios (staying
in the Nile Valley) who writes to Maria in Kellis.
P.Kellis v 20.
P.Kellis v 29.
P.Kellis v 25.
P.Kellis v 24.
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The next period which is closely defined again and about which several
papyri give us valuable information is the Persian occupation.46 Under Persian
rule the relative good mobility of the people in Egypt seems to have been
somewhat curtailed. As some texts make fairly clear, during the occupation
finding transport and undertaking journeys could be complicated. Document
sb Kopt. i 36 informs us that a woman with the name Thekla, having sold part of
her house in Edfu, made preparations to leave the city. The text reports that she
wanted to travel by ship, but could not find one anywhere, and so was forced to
go instead by foot. Given that her final destination was a village named Great
Beschin (today’s al-Fashn) 32km north of Oxyrhynchos, she would have had
to have walked an extraordinary 472km, which would have taken her at least
15 and a half days. The letter P.Mon.Epiph. 324 raises the question of whether
travel restrictions were imposed on the population, since the writer reports to
a monk that he has asked someone to write a letter to “the Persian” in Thebes
in order to let him go south to fetch some corn. This person indeed wrote the
letter to the Persian official. But because the letter is very short—a part of
it seems to be missing—we do not know the relationship of the man to the
Persian.
O.CrumVC 67 from the Persian period shows clearly—and the background
of another text makes it likely—that at this time there were problems with
the food supply in Upper Egypt. The man reports in a letter that he travelled
north because, with no corn coming south, he could not feed his children.
So a trip was made to keep the family alive. Furthermore, we get indications
from the sources that there had been riots directed against the Persians. A text
confirming this is bku iii 338, in which someone, presumably a bishop, tries to
find a way to settle a quarrel between the Persians and the leaders of the riots,
which had already resulted in the partial destruction of the city of Hermopolis.
That the bishop was not totally free in his decisions is shown by the fact that
the Persians told him they would take his son as a hostage until the matter was
resolved. The texts from the Monastery of Epiphanius show that the invasion
was remembered so well by the people that an incident that had happened
before the invasion and was reported somewhat later was referred to as “before
the Persians came south.”47
46
47
For a compilation of the Greek, Coptic and Persian documents which date from the time
of the Persian occupation, see MacCoull, Coptic Egypt 307–313. The Coptic sources can be
found on page 312. To these have to be added O.CrumVC 67 and sb Kopt. ii 846.
P.Mon.Epiph. 300.9 (ϩⲁⲑⲏ ⲅⲁⲣ ⲙ̅ⲡⲁⲧⲉⲙ̅ⲡⲉⲣⲥⲟⲥ ⲉⲓ ⲉⲣⲏⲥ). In P.Mon.Epiph. 433 the arrival of the
Persians in Thebes is imminent.
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The impact of the Persian occupation on Egyptians’ mobility and prosperity
provides a useful model against which to assess the effect of the Muslim conquest. How did the new order under which Egypt’s Christians found themselves
affect their access to resources and freedom of movement? Did the nature of
travel change?
Travel under the Arabs
One of the most significant Muslim innovations affecting the flow of people
was the introduction in the eighth century of the so-called sigillion (σιγίλّ )ﲭ49 or kitāb ()ﻛﺘﺎب.50 This was a sort of passport
λιον),48 or, in Arabic, sijill (ﻞ
or permit that authorised someone to leave his or her tax district.51 The best
evidence we have that the sigillion cannot be underestimated as an obstacle
to mobility comes from p.clt 3 (728/729 or 743/744), which deals with a group
of Theban monks who wanted to go on a business trip to the Fayyūm to sell
their ropes and wares, but could not do so without having first been equipped
with a passport.52 As an Arabic source informs us,53 getting such a document
could take up to two months, for the applicant had to meet various requirements beforehand. First, he had to prove (through a tax receipt) that he had no
tax liabilities. Then he had to nominate, for the future tax that would accrue
during his absence, someone who would be willing to sign a document guaranteeing his tax payments. “Diese Bürgschaftsurkunde mußte dem Pagarchen
(Amīr) vorgelegt werden, dann konnte der Reisepaß unter Mitwirkung der
Ortsbehörde beantragt werden und durch den Pagarchen (Amīr) ausgestellt
werden.”54 This procedure had to be strictly followed. To date, no evidence has
been found that suggests the idea of a passport had existed before the beginning of the eighth century.
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
For all documents with a sigillion in the meaning of “passport,” see Förster, Wörterbuch
726.
Term used by Sāwīrus ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, History 69, 70.
Schaten, Reiseformalitäten 93 n. 11.
Rāġib, Sauf-conduits 145–146 favours the translation ‘permit’ because “il ne permettait au
porteur que de se rendre en un lieu désigné du pays et d’y séjourner pour y travailler pendant une période déterminée, alors que le passport appelé ğawāz ou barāʿa lui conférait
le droit de franchir les frontières.”
The excavation of Deir el-Bachit in Draʿ Abu el Naga, ongoing since 2004, of the Ludwig
Maximilian University of Munich could identify the site as the monastery of Apa Paulos,
from where the monks mentioned in this text, came from.
Sawīrus ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, History 69–70.
Schaten, Reiseformalitäten 93.
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During the excavations of the Mission archéologique dans la nécropole
thébaine (mant)55 a number of Coptic papyri were found in Theban tomb
tt 29. This old Egyptian tomb of the vizier Amenemope was inhabited in
the first half of the eight century by the semi-anachorite and monk Frange.
The texts found in tt 29 shed more light on the circumstances of travel in
the Theban region. In a clay-basin, in the hall of this tomb (in layer 159),
more than a dozen fragmentary papyri were discovered—some with preserved
seal—that Frange had used to stuff book covers. One of the papyri is completely preserved and shows that the documents contained in them were short
and businesslike: “N’empêche pas Papas et Theodorake de se rendre à Djémé,
car c’est pour leur travail (?) qu’ils y vont. Mois d’Athyr, le 3. 3e (année de)
l’indiction. A remettre à Halakotsé, de la part de Pha …”.56 While the exact
circumstances in which these documents were issued is not known yet, it is
likely that they had something to do with taxes comparable with the above
mentioned permits. Whereas the Arabic safe-conducts57 are very precise concerning the time and place that they covered, these Coptic “permits” in the
form of short requests for passage are not. Nevertheless we should probably
follow Rāġib in understanding these texts as the Coptic equivalence of the
Arabic jawāz or barāʾa, that is to say passports, which allow the population
to cross frontiers.58 Boud’hors assumes that there must have been a certain
road check (or toll station) around Jeme.59 Since the documents were written
on papyrus and were sealed, their character was certainly official. They were
written—in a number of cases the name of the addressee is preserved—to an
official named Halakotse, obviously the person in charge of the checkpoint
allowing people into Jeme and/or to go on a trip to the south. The writer of
the letters must have been an official, too, who forwarded the request ensuring that the person or persons mentioned in these documents could go to the
places they wanted, to Halakotse. Some of the letters mention a reason for those
travels, like work or the need to pay taxes. In one text (p.tt 29 inv. 295028),
it is stated that Halakotse allowed Schenute to go home to the south, since
he was living in the nome of Hermonth. Since these letters were of short use
(after processing the request, the letter was not important anymore), Halakotse
55
56
57
58
59
Under the auspices of the universities of Brussels and Liège. See http://www.ulb.ac.be/
rech/inventaire/projets/4/PR3344.html and http://www.egypto.ulg.ac.be/necropole.htm.
Boud’hors, L’apport de papyrus 120 (p.tt 29 inv. 291972).
For the safe-conducts written in Arabic, see Rāġib, Sauf-conduits 143–168.
For the passport, see above note 51.
Boud’hors, L’apport de papyrus 123.
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gave or sold the papyri at some point to Frange, who then applied them in making book covers.60
Another late phenomenon is the logos (λόγος,61 “Schutzbrief ”) in the Coptic
documentary texts, which functions as a guarantee of unimpeded passage.62
Most of these documents were written to ensure that those whose freedom was
in some danger—for example, a debtor or opponent in a quarrel or a leader of
a riot—could return safely to their home villages. Sometimes, in the case of
debtors, the debts were even forgiven; in other cases, a reduction of the debt
or postponement of payment was granted. The purpose of these logoi was to
prevent members of a community’s tax-paying population being lost, since the
tax burden of the person who had fled would then fall on the village. In Greek
texts, the logoi (λόγοι), which are related to the logoi asylias (λόγοι ἀσυλίας), also
appear rather late, although earlier than their Coptic equivalent—sometime in
the middle of the sixth century.63 The Greek documents, by contrast, were only
issued by officials.
Although Coptic logoi texts are quite numerous, they only offer limited
information about travelling. We can infer that someone fled and possibly
returned, but the distances they travelled and the places in which they sought
refuge remain unknown. Only one related pair of texts, P.Schutzbriefe 53 b and
53 c (= O.Vind.Copt. 65 (7th–8th centuries)), supplies the information that the
addressee of the logos is permitted to come south to the people of the island of
Ombos.
Most of the logoi tell the addressee to come home without fear. But two texts
use an identical and special form of request. O.Brit.Mus.Copt. i s. 99, 2 [5894]
(7th–8th century), v. 2–3, says: ⲛⲅ̅ⲃⲱⲕ ⲁⲛϩⲏⲧ̅ | ⲛ̅ⲅⲃⲱⲕ ⲉⲣⲏⲥ, which means: “you
may go north, you may go south.”64 Since other texts use this phrase as well in a
similar wording, its meaning is fairly clear. The person who requests an official
or cleric to write a logos promise wants to indicate by this phrasing that the
debtor or the like is free to go wherever he wishes.
60
61
62
63
64
Both texts, and excavated material of the tt 29, prove that Frange not only produced
textiles and ropes, but also made bookbindings and bookcovers (O.Frangé 19–20).
For documents of this kind, see Förster, Wörterbuch 478–479.
The Coptic logoi texts (Schutzbriefe) range from the seventh to the ninth centuries. sb Kopt.
ii 914 is dated to the first half of the seventh century. See on the Schutzbriefe, Delattre, Les
“lettres de protection” 173–178 and lately Selander, Die koptischen.
Palme, Asyl und Schutzbrief 229.
The other text is also a Schutzbrief : O.Crum 108 (= P.Schutzbriefe 40, undated) lines 3–4
say: ⲛⲅⲃⲱⲕ ⲉⲛϩⲏⲧ | [ⲛ]ⲅⲃⲱⲕ ⲉⲣⲏⲥ.
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Remarks on Time and Place in the Texts
Nomenclature is often not as helpful in fixing places as one might hope. Typically people are identified by their father’s name and only occasionally by their
place of origin. For determining the route of a journey, this practice has to be
treated very cautiously since it means that a person’s current whereabouts, and
especially the starting point of a trip he is undertaking, cannot be inferred from
his name alone. In the case of the man named Frange, who says he is “the man
from Medamoud” (ⲡⲣⲙ̅ⲡⲉⲧⲉⲙⲟⲩⲧ) but now residing in an old Egyptian tomb on
the hill of Jeme,65 the place of origin and place of residence are not far away
from each other. But from deeds, for which an individual’s personal data were
more relevant, we know that the place of origin and the current whereabouts
could differ enormously.66
About some aspects of travel in the Coptic period we are, however, only
scarcely enlightened by the Coptic documentary texts, or not at all. For example, this is the case with journeys which led the travelers abroad. Here only a
single mention has been found. The above mentioned Frange is known to have
travelled to Jerusalem. From the text O.Frangé 20 we learn that Frange wanted
to go to Jerusalem, which was forbidden by the Elders. We also hear that Frange
had planned to travel together with the correspondent of the letter on this far
trip. When Frange was stopped from going, he writes the addressee that he
too should stay home this year. That Frange was able to travel to Jerusalem at
some other point we learn through the text O.Frangé 51, where he states that
the addressee David should send him two things that Frange had brought earlier from Jerusalem. We do not know exactly why Frange was not allowed to go
to Jerusalem in the first context. Boud’hors and Heurtel assume that either an
administrative reason (leaving the tax district) might have prevented Frange
from leaving or that the religious authorities prohibited it. We can only assume
that his trip to the Holy City was a pilgrimage, but as we learn from the latter
text Frange also brought home useful devices.
The Coptic term ϣⲙⲙⲟ, translated with ‘abroad’ or ‘foreign,’ does not, however, necessarily mean a place outside Egypt. Rather, it generally denotes a
place that is unknown to the traveler but that is located within Egypt. Even a
65
66
For Frange, see e.g. Heurtel, Que fait Frange 177–204 and O.Frangé. And for his designation
of origin and current whereabouts, see Heurtel, Que fait Frange 187: o. 29840, and O.Frangé
10–12.
E.g. P.Lond. iv 1628 (beginning of the 8th century), where two witnesses have Aphrodito
as place of origin, but sign the document in Babylon; sb Kopt. i 242 (Edfu, 649c.e.), where
the sailor is after all from Edfu and signs a receipt in Esna, etc.
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place or region in the vicinity of a well-known city but with which the traveler
or city-dweller was unfamiliar could be described as ϣⲙⲙⲟ. ‘Abroad’ was also
used when someone went into the desert to live as a hermit.
About a tenth of the texts surveyed specify the time at which the sender of
the letter intends to visit the addressee. Sometimes even the main purpose of
the letter was to transmit this information. Mostly we find announcements of
what time somebody will come, or requests that the addressee should meet the
writer of the letter on a certain day or at a certain time. We also find statements
that somebody plans to go to a certain place to inform the other party that
he will not be at home for a certain period of time. Not that often we find the
statement that somebody should have come at a certain time, but could not
come and now writes when he will come instead. At last we find letters where
the writer tells the addressee when he went to a certain place.
For these texts, where the writers speak of coming to the addressee on the
following day, we can determine that the duration of the journey cannot have
been longer than one day and therefore a short distance was covered. In some
texts, in which a specific date is mentioned, this is usually because it is a date
on which an agreement has been made to start work. Five texts even document
that the journey would be undertaken at night if the circumstances made it
necessary.67
Comparison to Greek Texts
To get additional information about travelling in Roman and late antique Egypt
it would also be necessary to undertake a thorough study of the Greek texts
related to travel.68 This has still to be done. But from Chrisi Kotsifou’s work69
it can already be seen that certain aspects, which are not to be found in the
Coptic text corpus, are present in the Greek texts. In the Greek texts we find
information about the travels of athletes and entertainers, travels whose goal
was tourism, holidaying, escaping the hot weather (P.Oxy. xxxiv 2727, 3rd–4th
centuries) or oracle-questioning, and travels abroad. We also find prayers that a
trip will take place and will be safe, information about the weather and sailing
conditions (favourable winds, Nile level), information that sailing at night was
67
68
69
P.Lond.Copt. i 529 (Arab period); O.Mich.Copt. 7 (7th century); 9 (6th century?); P.Pisentius
5 (end of the 6th century or beginning of the 7th century); P.Mon.Epiph. 134 (7th century).
For transportation in general, see e.g. Bagnall, Egypt 34–40.
Kotsifou, Papyrological evidence 57–64.
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prohibited and that attacks from pirates were taking place. For the lack of such
references in the Coptic documentary texts various reasons can be assumed.
For example, change in religious practice accounts for the absence of questions
to oracles. The almost complete absence of references to pilgrimages though is
harder to explain, since pilgrimage was an important reason for undertaking a
journey, and one would expect this to be reflected more strongly in the letters.
But we probably have to assume a simple gap in the record, remembering
that about six times as many Greek than Coptic documentary texts have been
published to date.
Conclusion
Travel has been essential for the economic and social life of Egypt from pharaonic times70 up until the present day. We can say that most of the conditions
of travel, such as the available means of transport, did not change much (technically) from the pharaonic period up to and including the pre-modern age.
Only in the more industrialised conditions of our own age have the speed, ease
and cost of travel significantly changed. In the time span covered here it can be
said that although travelling was somewhat arduous, since no official transport
system existed for the rural and non-élite populations of Egypt, it is noteworthy
that people were to a great extent mobile. For the common citizen, who did not
have access to the transport system controlled and supported by the state, travelling meant taking responsibility for his or her own arrangements, including
finding suitable donkeys or a ship’s captain willing to take on passengers (and
in this case, concluding the necessary contract).
Another possibility for those not able to afford a ship’s passage or not needing one—since only longer distances were covered this way due to the expense—was to hire a transport animal from a monastery. The church and the
monasteries had their own stock of animals—including camels and ships71—
which could be rented. These were needed to fulfill their many pastoral duties,
including, for example, distributing the annual festal epistle of the archbishop
of Alexandria across the breadth of Egypt, a significant operation. It is not
surprising, therefore, that the clergy and monks were especially mobile. Only
monks had to ask for allowance before they wanted to travel from their superiors in the monastery. For small-scale journeys—and in some cases also for long
70
71
Köpp-Junk, Reisen.
For ships in the property of churches and monasteries, see Bagnall, Egypt 37 with footnote
157.
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distances if no other mode of transport was available or affordable—common
Egyptians went by foot. The exact amount of travelling done with each mode
of transport remains unfortunately unclear in most of the Coptic documentary
texts. Also, the duration of a single trip is hardly ever stated in the texts.
The reason for our poor knowledge of the respective usage of different
modes of transport and the duration of journeys lies in the nature of the source
material, which consists mostly of letters. In letters, people in antiquity tended
to transmit only the most necessary information to the addressee, making it
necessary, for example, for the receiving party to know when the traveler would
reach his destination but not how long the whole trip would last. Also, the mode
of transport would not be of special interest to the reader of a letter. What we are
very well informed about, however, was why people undertook their journeys.
Whereas the overall conditions of travelling stayed pretty much constant
during the whole of antiquity, it is especially interesting to see what impact
the changing governments of Egypt had on the conditions of travel.72 As we
already have seen, the Persian period is marked by the shortages in the supply
of ships. At this time the supply of food also ceases to be regular in southern
Egypt, leading people to want to leave Upper Egypt. The situation becomes so
critical people are forced to walk if they want to reach their destination. As
some texts suggest, there also seems to have been restrictions on travelling.
After the Arab invasion of Egypt there is another period of reduced mobility.
The worsening of the economic situation in the seventh and eighth centuries
can be seen in the increasing number of fugitives attempting to escape the
increasing tax load. The logoi, although already starting to be issued in the
first half of the seventh century, become more common after the Arab invasion. In order to better control the flow of people—rural exodus has been a
long-standing problem in Egypt since Ptolemaic times—the Arab government
introduced the permit or passport. Whereas the necessary papers could be put
together with the help of local officials and were written in Coptic, the actual
passport document could only be issued in the office of the pagarch and was
therefore only in Arabic. This meant, of course, undertaking a journey required
considerable expenditure. Such passports were restricted in time span, most
often to three months, and had to be kept during the whole time of the journey,
since losing the document could have severe consequences. They include the
names of the issuing official of the amīr (pagarch), the name of the passport72
The Coptic material does not give enough information to be able to say if the transport
infrastructure (e.g. quality of the roads, frequency of way-stations, control of brigandage,
etc.) improved or deteriorated in the Arab period. For this dimension official documents
are more likely to be revealing.
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holder, a physical description, the reason for travel (usually for the bearer to
be able to earn his living and hence pay the next poll-tax), and the areas in
which he was permitted to travel. At the end followed a statement that no harm
should be done to him during the document’s specified span of validity.73 But
whereas the time span granted for a journey was restricted, the distances a
traveler was allowed to cover were obviously not. As we see in p.clt 3 (728/729
or 743/44), the monks wanting to travel from Thebes to Fayyūm had already
been recommended by the local authorities, which suggests that the officials
of the amīr would most likely have agreed to issue the passport. Although the
passport system gave the government absolute control over (legal) travel, its
aim was more to ensure the tax-payment of the population of Egypt. Less formal
laissez-passers in Coptic, found in an ancient Egyptian tomb, seem to have
functioned at a very local level and were used to allow the population from
Jeme free passage in the early eighth century.
In the seventh century gangs roaming the countryside became an increasing
danger. At times in the Muslim period too there seem to have been shortages in
the supply of donkeys or at least an increase in the amīrs’ request for donkeys to
be provided by the people for official use.74 Consequently, people were afraid
of losing their animals for certain periods, which meant, of course, economic
discomfort. Taking all this together, it seems to be clear that travelling in the
seventh and eight centuries was even more difficult than in the times before.
The example of the passport also shows the necessity of combining sources
of different languages to be able to draw a more complete picture of travel
in late antiquity. The Greek material serves above all to illuminate the earlier
period, whereas the Coptic material is somewhat scarce, and the inclusion
of Arab sources is necessary to gain greater insight into the official issuing of
documents and state policy. This is also true for the earlier Greek documents,
since they too give us insight into official policy. Coptic texts only start to
overtake Greek documents in quantity in the seventh and eighth centuries,
when all kinds of documents are issued in Coptic. Through the Coptic material
we also gain additional information about church affairs and the organisation
and daily management of the monasteries. At this time it can be said that the
vast majority of people was speaking Coptic, and Coptic therefore offers the
best window onto the daily life and experiences of ordinary Egyptians.
73
74
See Rāġib, Sauf-conduits and also Diem, Einige frühe 141 ff., and, especially for the usual
formulary for a passport, 144.
As a special levy? That the amīr is looking for donkeys is stated in P.Lond.Copt. i 529.5–6.
The writer George gives careful instructions how to bring the donkey (not to go on the
road, to go at night, not to tell anybody in the monastery) to avoid being seen by anyone.
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Appendix 1: Three Texts (with some additions and emendations)
1
P.Ryl.Copt. 390
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
// ⲧⲏⲣⲏⲛⲏ ⲛⲁⲕ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ
ϩⲓⲧⲛ ⲡⲛⲟⲩⲧⲉ ⲧⲓⲧⲁⲙⲟ
ⲙⲙⲟⲕ ϫⲉ ⲡϣⲁ
ⲡⲟⲟⲩ ⲗⲟⲓⲡⲟⲛ
ⲁⲙⲟⲩ ⲉϩⲣⲁⲓ ϣⲁⲕ
ⳓⲱ ϩⲁϩⲧⲏⲓ ⲙⲡⲟⲟⲩ
[ⲁⲩⲱ?] ⲙⲡⲉⲣⳓⲱ ⲛⲁⲧⲉⲓ (or ⲛⲁⲧⲓ)75
(1) “Peace (είρήνη) unto thee (2) from God. I (would) inform (3) thee that
the festival (4) is today. Then (λοιπόν) (5) come up/down (and) (6) stay
today with me. (7) [And?] stay not (longer) without coming (= do not
delay to come).”
2
O.CrumST 390
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
ϯⲡ[ⲣ]ⲟⲥⲕⲓⲛⲉ ⲙ̣̅
ⲡⲁⲙⲉⲣⲓⲧ ⲛ
ⲥⲟⲛ ϫⲉ ⲁⲓ̈ⲉⲓ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ
ϩⲓⲧⲟⲟⲧ̅ⲕ ϫⲉ ⲉⲓⲛⲁⲃ̣ⲱⲕ̣
ⲉⲣⲁⲕⲁⲧⲉ ⲁ.//.ϩ̣ⲓⲉ
ⲛϩⲏⲧ ⲁⲓ̈ϩⲉ ⲉⲥⲟⲟⲩ ⲛ
ⲇⲓⲁⲃⲟⲩⲗⲟⲥ ϩⲛ ⲧⲉϩⲓⲏ
ⲛⲧⲉⲣⲓⲁⲡⲁⲛⲧⲁ ⲉⲣⲟⲟⲩ
ⲁⲓⲃⲱⲕ ‹ⲉ›ϩⲉ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ
ⲁⲓⲡⲱⲧ
5 for ⲁ. //ⲉⲓⲉ (Crum) 5 read ⲁⲓⲉⲓ ⲉ? 9 ϩ changed (Crum)
9 in edition: ⲁⲓⲃⲱⲕ ϩⲉ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ
(1) I greet (προσκυνέω) (2) my beloved (3) brother. When I left (4) you to
go (5) to Alexandria i went (?) (6) north and met six (7) devils (διάβολος)
75
For a photograph, see P.Ryl.Copt. pl. 6. Unfortunately the end of line 7 is not visible on the
plate. Therefore it could either read ⲛⲁⲧⲉⲓ or ⲛⲁⲧⲓ (which is only an orthographic variant
and does not affect the meaning).
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travel in coptic documentary texts
on the road (8) and while I met (άπαντάω) them (9) I was about to vanish
(run away) (10) and I ran [
3
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
O.Medin.HabuCopt. 82
⳩ ⲁⲛⲟⲕ ⲡⲉⲥⲛⲧⲉ
ⲡϣⲛⲥⲓⲁ ⲡⲛⲏϥ ⲡⲣⲙⲉⲗⲉⲙⲟⲩ ϩⲙⲡⲛⲟⲙⲟⲥ ⲛⲕⲃⲧ
ⲉϥⲥϩⲁⲓ̈ ⲛⲉⲛⲱⲭ ⲡϣⲛⲡⲗⲏⲉⲓⲛⲉ ⲡⲣⲙϫⲉⲙⲁ ϩⲙⲡⲛⲟⲙⲟⲥ ⲛⲉⲣ
ⲙⲟⲛⲧ ϫⲉ ϩⲙⲡⲟⲩⲱϣⲉ ⲙⲡⲛⲟⲩⲧⲉ ϯⲱϩⲉⲧⲉⲙⲱⲥ ⲛⲧⲁ
ⲧⲁⲗⲟⲕ ⲙ̅ⲛⲛⲉⲕⲥⲕⲏⲩⲉ ⲛ̅ⲧⲁⲃⲟⲕⳓ ⲉⲁⲛⲧⲓⲛⲟⲟⲩ
ⲙⲉⲧⲁ ⲅⲁⲗⲟⲩ ⲭⲱⲣⲓⲥ ⲑⲉⲱⲃⲓⲁ ⲁⲩⲱ ϯⲕⲓⲛⲇⲩⲛⲉⲩ
ⲉ ϩⲁⲡⲥⲧⲟⲩⲗⲁⲣⲭⲏⲥ ⲛⲕⲱⲥ ⲙ̅ⲛⲕⲃⲧ ϫⲓⲛⲛⲉⲓ
ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ϩⲱⲃ ⲉϥⲛⲁϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲉⲛⲁⲙⲟϩϥ ϩⲙⲡⲕⲓ
ⲛⲟⲛ ⲁⲩⲱ ϩⲱⲫⲧ ⲛⲓⲙ ⲉϥⲛⲁⲧⲁⲗⲟ
ⲛⲁⲛ ⲧⲡⲏϣⲉ ⲉⲣⲟⲓ̈ ⲧⲡⲏϣⲉ ⲉⲣⲟⲕ
ⲁⲩⲱ ⲛ̅ⲅϯⲙⲛⲧϣⲙⲏⲛ ⲛⲕⲉⲣⲁⲧ
ⲥⲉ ⲛⲛⲟⲩⲃ ⲛⲁⲕ ⲙ̅ⲡϣⲓ ⲛϫⲉⲙⲁ
ἔγραφ(η) μηνὸς χιάχ ιζ ἰντ(ι)κ(τίονος)
ιγ
9 r. ϩⲟⲩⲏⲧ (Till76) 12 r. ⲛⲁⲓ (Till) 13 εγραφ/ pap. 13 ιντκ/ pap.,
r. ἰνδ(ι)κ(τίονος)
(1) “I, Pesenthius, (2) son of Sia, the sailor, the man of Elemou, in the
district (νομός) of Koptos, (3) write to Enoch, son of Pleine, the man of
Jēme, in the district (νομός) of Ermont, (4) saying: By the will of God, I
am prepared (ἑτοῖμος) (5) to take you and your chattels (σκεῦος) aboard
and convey you to Antinoe (6) safely (μετὰ καλοῦ), barring an act of
God (χωρίς θεοῦ βίας), and I answer (κινδυνεύω) (7) for the stolarches
(στολάρχης) of Kos and Koptos. From the departure (8) we shall pay jointly
(κοινός) every expense, (9) and every passenger that will come aboard (10)
to us—half shall be for me and half for you. (11–12) And you shall pay
for yourself eighteen gold carats (κεράτιον) (12) in the standard of Jēme.
(13–14) Written (γράφω) on the 17th of [the month (μήν)] Khoiakh, 13th
indiction (ἰνδικτιών).”77
76
77
Till, Zu den Coptic 151.
Translation according to O.Medin.HabuCopt. 82, p. 17, with the addition of Till’s corrections
and the adding of the Greek terms (and line numbers).
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98
selander
Bibliography
Primary Sources
Sawīrus ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, History of the patriarchs of the Coptic Church of Alexandria iii
(Patrologia Orientalis 5), ed. B. Evetts, Paris 1910.
Secondary Sources
Allam, S., ‘Observations on civil jurisdiction in Late Byzantine and Early Arabic Egypt,’
in J. Johnson (ed.), Life in a multi-cultural society: Egypt from Cambyses to Constantine
and beyond (Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilization 51), Chicago 1992, 1–8.
Bagnall, R.S., Egypt in late antiquity, Princeton 1993.
Boud’hors, A., L’apport de papyrus postérieurs à la conquête arabe pour la datation
des ostraca coptes de la tombe tt29, in P.M. Sijpesteijn et al (eds.), From Al-Andalus
to Khurasan: Documents from the medieval Muslim world, Leiden and Boston 2007,
115–129.
Delattre, A., Les “lettres de protection” coptes, in B. Palme (ed.), Akten des 23. Internationalen Papyrologen-Kongresses. Wien, 22.-28. Juli 2001, Vienna 2007, 173–178.
Diem, W., Einige frühe amtliche Urkunden aus der Sammlung Papyrus Erzherzog
Rainer (Wien), in Le Muséon 97 (1984), 109–158.
Förster, H., Wörterbuch der griechischen Wörter in den koptischen dokumentarischen
Texten (Texte und Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der altchristlichen Literatur,
vol. 148), Berlin and New York 2002.
Heurtel, C., Que fait Frange dans la cour de la tomb tt 29? Fouilles dans la cour de
la tombe tt 29, in C. Cannuyer (ed.), Cahiers de la Bibliothéque Copte 13: Études
Coptes viii, Lille and Paris 2003, 177–204.
Köpp-Junk, H., Reisen im Alten Ägypten. Reisekultur, Fortbewegungs- und Transportmittel in pharaonischer Zeit (Göttinger Orientforschungen, iv. Reihe: Ägypten 55),
Wiesbaden 2014.
Kotsifou, C., Papyrological evidence of travelling in Byzantine Egypt, in A. McDonald
and C. Riggs (eds.), Current research in Egyptology 2000 (bar International Series
909), Oxford 2000, 57–64.
Krause, M., Die Kirchenvisitationsurkunden. Ein neues Formular in der Korrespondenz
des Bischofs Abraham von Hermonthis, in S. Wenig (ed.) Studia in honorem Fritz
Hintze (Meroitica 12), Berlin 1990a, 225–236.
. Die ägyptischen Klöster. Bemerkungen zu den Phoibammon-Klöstern in Theben-West und den Apollon-Klöstern, in W. Godlewski (ed.), Coptic studies. Acts of
the Third International Congress of Coptic Studies, Warsaw 1990b, 203–207.
MacCoull, L.S., Coptic Egypt during the Persian occupation: The papyrological evidence, in L.S. MacCoull (ed.), Coptic perspectives on late antiquity, Aldershot 1993,
307–313.
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Palme, B., Asyl und Schutzbrief im spätantiken Ägypten, in M. Dreher (ed.), Das Antike
Asyl. Kultische Grundlagen, rechtliche Ausgestaltung und politische Funktion (Akten
der Gesellschaft für griechische und hellenistische Rechtsgeschichte 15), Köln 2003,
203–236.
Peel, M.L., Dayr Epiphanius, in A.S. Atiya (ed.), The Coptic encyclopedia 3, New York 1991,
800–802.
Rāġib, Y., Sauf-conduits d’Égypte omeyyade et abbasside, in Annales Islamologiques 31
(1997), 143–168.
Richter, T.S., Spätkoptische Rechtsurkunden neu bearbeitet (iii): P.Lond.Copt. i 487—
Arabische Pacht in koptischem Gewand, in Journal for juristic papyrology 33 (2003),
213–230.
Schaten, S., Reiseformalitäten im frühislamischen Ägypten, in Bulletin de la société
d’archeologie Copte 37 (1998), 91–100.
Schmelz, G., Kirchliche Amtsträger im spätantiken Ägypten nach den Aussagen der
griechischen und koptischen Papyri und Ostraka (Archiv für Papyrusforschung Beiheft 13), Munich and Leipzig 2002.
Selander, A.K., Reisetätigkeit nach den koptischen dokumentarischen Texten, Unpublished Master’s Thesis, Vienna 2006.
. Die koptischen Schutzbriefe, in C. Kreuzsaler, B. Palme, and A. Zdiarsky (eds.),
Stimmen aus dem Wüstensand. Briefkultur im griechisch-römischen Ägypten (Nilus
17), Vienna 2010, 99–104.
Spiegelberg, W., Besprechung von O.Crum, in Oriental Literaturzeitung 6 (1903) 59–69.
Till, W.C., Zu den Coptic Ostraca from Medinet Habu, in Orientalia 24 (1955), 146–155.
Vinson, S., The Nile boatman at work. 1200bc – 400ce (Müncher ägyptologische Studien
48), Mainz 1998.
Winlock, H.E. and W.E. Crum, The monastery of Epiphanius at Thebes. Part i. The
Metropolitan Museum of Art Egyptian expedition, New York 1926.
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chapter 7
Le transport de marchandises et de
personnes sur le Nil en 823a.h./1420è.c.*
Frédéric Bauden
La première ville que nous rencontrâmes s’appelle Fua [Fuwwa]. C’est
une très grande ville et riche de toutes les choses que vous pouvez nommer. Elle se situe à l’opposé de l’île de Rosseto [Rashīd] […]. Dans cette
ville de Fua, nous nous arrêtâmes pour la nuit et mangeâmes à bord; dans
la soirée, tous ceux de la ville, hommes et femmes, jeunes et vieux, vinrent
pour [nous] voir, car ils sont peu habitués à voir des personnes comme
nous […]. Nous nous arrêtâmes dans cette ville pour la nuit et dormîmes
à bord; puis nous quittâmes la ville en question à neuf heures le vendredi
7 octobre et nous continuâmes de remonter le Nil.1
Cette brève description d’un voyage sur le Nil donnée par Sigoli, pèlerin florentin qui souhaitait se rendre au Sinaï via Le Caire en 1384, fournit des indications précieuses sur les modalités qui régissaient un tel périple. Il faut bien
avouer que de tels témoignages restent trop rares pour la période considérée et
que nous sommes quelque peu démunis lorsqu’il s’agit d’étudier comment un
voyage sur le Nil était organisé, dans quelles circonstances celui-ci se déroulait
et à quel prix. Le document dont je propose la lecture et l’interprétation dans
cette étude me permet précisément d’aborder la nébuleuse question du transport fluvial sur le Nil à l’époque mamlouke et d’apporter quelques réponses
aux questions restées sans réponse jusqu’à ce jour.
* Je tiens à exprimer ma plus vive reconnaissance à Werner Diem pour sa lecture attentive et
ses nombreuses remarques judicieuses. Il va de soi que je reste responsable des choix faits en
dernier ressort.
1 Frescobaldi, Visit 165. J’ai traduit le texte italien.
© Frédéric Bauden, 2015 | doi:10.1163/9789004284340_008
This is an open access chapter distributed under the terms of the prevailing cc-by-nc License
at the time of publication.
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101
figure 7.1 Procuratori di San Marco, Commissarie miste, busta 180, fascicolo ix, no. 8.
© Archivio di Stato di Venezia (ASVe)
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102
bauden
Description2
Le texte est écrit, par une même main, à l’encre noire sur une feuille de papier
mesurant 213 sur 155 mm. La marge de droite occupe un espace qui oscille entre
29mm (partie haute) et 24mm (partie basse). La marge du haut, dans sa partie
la plus large située au-dessus du bāʾ de la basmala, mesure 25 mm. Le papier
est occidental avec fils de chaînette distants de 39mm et parallèles au sens
d’écriture. Les vergeures sont peu serrées. Le filigrane, coupé, ne permet plus
son identification3. Le document porte quatre pliures horizontales séparées les
unes des autres par un espace d’environ 52–55 mm. Ces pliures ne résultent
2 Une description sommaire du document avait été fournie dans l’inventaire des documents
mamlouks conservés aux Archives de l’État à Venise. Voir Bauden, The Mamluk 152–153 (nº
xi). Bien plus tôt, un résumé en avait été donné par Labib, Handelsgeschichte 502 (nº 9).
Celui-ci comportait plusieurs erreurs qui sont corrigées dans la lecture qui suit.
3 Outre ce document, la même busta en compte deux autres écrits en arabe sur du papier
occidental, parfois filigrané (les nos 2 et 7). Voir Bauden, The Mamluk 150–151 (nº v) et 152
(nº x).
J’ai déjà souligné l’importance de l’étude du matériau d’écriture pour les documents
remontant à cette époque (Bauden, L’Achat d’esclaves 272). On connaît en effet encore fort
peu dans quelle mesure le papier occidental était utilisé par la chancellerie d’état mamelouke ou pour la rédaction des actes privés, comme c’est le cas ici. Une étude d’ensemble des
documents d’époque mamelouke permettrait sans doute de mieux appréhender la question,
mais elle n’est pas sans soulever d’insurmontables problèmes techniques et administratifs,
la majeure partie d’entre eux étant conservés dans des endroits fort peu accessibles aux
chercheurs. Pour contourner ce problème, on peut avoir recours à l’étude des manuscrits
datés ou datables à titre de comparaison. Une étude, qui a porté sur un ensemble cohérent (490 manuscrits du monastère de Saint-Macaire au Wādī l-Naṭrūn en Égypte), offre un
éclairage qui n’est pas inintéressant (voir Zanetti, Filigranes). Au sein de cette collection,
il apparaît que 80 manuscrits sont datés ou datables du xiiie au xve siècle. (xiiie siècle: 7;
xiiie–xive siècle: 4; xive siècle: 47; xive–xve siècle: 7; xve siècle: 15), mais un seul, daté de
1420–1421, a été écrit sur du papier occidental (vénitien, en l’occurrence). À partir du xvie
siècle, la balance s’inverse en faveur du papier occidental (essentiellement vénitien) avec
deux manuscrits uniquement écrits sur du papier oriental (encore sont-il datés du début
du xvie siècle!). Voir Zanetti, Filigranes 446. On peut difficilement tirer des conclusions en
l’absence d’analyses plus vastes. Pour les documents mamlouks conservés à Venise, j’avais
déjà indiqué l’étrange absence de papier occidental avant le consulat de Biagio Dolfin (1418–
1420), alors qu’il devient largement majoritaire pour les deux années en question. Ici encore, il
faut se garder de conclusions hâtives, mais il est indéniable que l’importation de papier occidental est devenue plus importante qu’elle ne l’avait jamais été au tout début du xve siècle.
Voir Ashtor, Levant trade 210 et 597 (sub « paper exported to the Levant»). Intéressant à noter
à plus d’un titre, le papier produit dans la péninsule ibérique n’apparaît pas dans les échanges
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103
pas de l’écrasement du document après avoir été roulé sur lui-même4: il a
d’abord été plié en deux, puis en quatre. On constate la présence d’une trace
de mouillure dans le coin supérieur gauche qui doit être ancienne puisqu’on la
retrouve sur plusieurs des documents arabes d’époque mamelouke conservés
dans la busta 1805. Il est plus que probable que ces documents ont pris l’eau
après leur arrivée à Venise où ils sont restés dans les mains de Lorenzo Dolfin
avant d’entrer en possession des Procureurs de Saint-Marc6. Malgré cette tache,
le texte est préservé dans sa totalité et la lecture n’en est pas entravée. Quelques
points diacritiques sont indiqués, mais on ne trouve aucune signe orthoépique.
Dans l’ensemble, il s’agit d’une écriture cursive aisément déchiffrable qui
présente toutefois de nombreuses ligatures et abréviations qui sont détaillées
dans le commentaire. Le verso est blanc.
Analyse7
Le 17 du mois de rabīʿ i en l’an 823 (1er avril 1420), le patron Nāṣir ibn ʿUmar
ibn Abū (sic) Bakr, connu sous le nom de Ibn al-Kādd [ ?] et originaire de
Būlāq, a conclu un contrat avec un militaire en poste dans le port d’Alexandrie
nommé Shihāb al-Dīn Aḥmad ibn Fakhr al-Dīn ʿUthmān. Celui-ci prévoit que
ledit militaire sera transporté avec ses bagages et le tissu qui l’accompagne de
la rive de Fuwwa à celle de Būlāq sur le bateau, du genre ʿaqaba, appartenant
audit patron, pour un montant de 5 ducats vénitiens. La moitié exigible de cette
somme avant le départ est fixée à 3 ducats. Le solde sera versé à l’arrivée. Un
seul témoin, le notaire, a attesté la validité de la transaction.
4
5
6
7
commerciaux entre la Catalogne et les territoires mamlouks pour la période qui va de ca. 1330
à ca. 1430. Voir Coulon, Barcelone 307–427.
Contrairement à d’autres documents conservés dans la même busta. Voir Bauden, L’Achat
272.
Voir Bauden, L’Achat 272 et 304.
Voir Pedani, The Mamluk 141.
Cf. Labib, Handelsgeschichte 502: « Ein Transportvertrag zwischen einem Soldaten der
alexandrinischen Garnison und dem Kapitän eines Nilschiffes, in dem der letztere sich gegen
ein Entgelt in Höhe von 5,5 Golddukaten verplifchtet, Güter, Stoffe und Menschen (Einzelheiten werden nicht genannt) von Fuwwa (am Nilzweig Rosetta) nach Būlāq, dem Hafen Kairos,
auf seinem Schiff zu transportieren. Bei Vertragsabschluß wurden 2,5 Dukaten bezahlt, die
übrigen 3 Dukaten sollte der Kapitän nach der Ankunft in Būlāq erhalten. Der Vertrag wurde
laut Gesetz und in Anwesenheit eines Zeugen aufgesetzt und mit dessen Unterschrift versehen. Datum 17. Rabīʿ i 803/6. November 1400».
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104
bauden
Texte
(١ﺑﺴﻢ اﻟﻠﻪ اﻟﺮﲪﻦ اﻟﺮﺣﲓ ﻟﻄﯿﻒ
(٢ﻋﺎﻗﺪ اﻟﺮﯾﺲ ﴏ ﺑﻦ ﲻﺮ ﺑﻦ اﺑﻮ ﺑﻜﺮ ﻋﺮف ﺑﻦ اﻟﲀد }ﻣﻊ{ ﻣﻦ اﻫﻞ ﺑﻮﻻق واﳊﺎﴐ
ﺑﺸﻬﻮ]دﻩ[
(٣ﯾﻮﻣـ⟩ـﯿـ⟨ـﺬ ﺑﻔﻮة ﺷﻬـ)ـﺎب( اﯾﻦ اﲪﺪ ﺑﻦ ﳀﺮ اﯾﻦ ﻋن اﺣﺪ ﺟﻨﺎد ﺑﺜﻐﺮ ﺳﻜﻨﺪرﯾﺔ
(٤اﶈﺮوس ﻋﲆ ﲪ ﻋﲆ ﻇﻬﺮ ﻣﺮﻛﺒﻪ اﻟﻌﻘﺒﺔ اﶈﻤ اﻟﻌﺪة و واﻟﺮﺟﺎل
(٥ﻋﲆ اﻟﻌﺎدة واﻣﺘﻌﺘﻪ واﻟﻘﲈش وﻟﻼﻧﻔﺎر رﻗﺒﺔ وﺳﻖ اﻟﺴﻼﻣﺔ
(٦ﳛﻤﻞ ذ ﻣﻦ ﺳﺎﺣﻞ ﻣﺪﯾﻨﺔ ﻓﻮة واﱃ ﺳﺎﺣﻞ ﺑﻮﻻق ﻣﻊ ﺳﻼ⟩ﻣـ⟨ـﺔ اﻟﻠﻪ ﺗﻌﺎﱃ
(٧ﺟﺮة ﻣﺒﻠﻐﻬﺎ ﻋﻦ ذ ﻣﻦ اﻫﺐ اﰷت اﻟﺒﻨﺪﰶ اﳌﺸﺨﺺ ﲬﺲ دﰷت ﻧﺼﻒ 8ذ
(٨دﰷن وﻧﺼﻒ اﳊﺎل ﻣﻦ ذ ﺛﻼث دﰷت ﻣﻘﺒﻮﺿﺔ ﺑﯿﺪ اﻟﺮﯾﺲ اﳌﺬﻛﻮر ﻋﱰاﻓﻪ ﺑﺬ وﺑﻘﯿﺔ
(٩ﺟﺮة اﳌﺬﻛﻮر⟩ة⟨ اﱃ اﻟـ⟩ـﺎ⟨ﺑﻼغ .ﺗﻌﺎﻗﺪا ﻋﲆ ذ ﻣﻌﺎﻗﺪة ﴍﻋﯿـ⟩ـﺔ⟨ ﻻﳚﺎب واﻟﻘﺒﻮل
ﺣﺴﺐ ﻣﺎ ]ﻓﯿﻪ\ﺑﻪ[
(١٠وﺷﻬﺪ ﻋﻠﳱﲈ ﺑﺬ ﺑﺘـ)ـﺎر(ﱗ ﺳﺎﺑﻊ ﻋﴩ ﺷﻬﺮ رﺑﯿﻊ ول ﺳـﻨﺔ
(١١ﺛﻼث وﻋﴩﯾﻦ 9وﲦﺎن ﻣﺎﯾﺔ
ﺷـ)ـﻬﺪ(ت ﻋﻠﳱﲈ ﺑﺬ
ﻛﺘﺒﻪ ﶊﺪ ﺑﻦ ﻋﺒـ)ـﺪ اﻟـ(ـﺮﲪﻦ اﻟﳢﺎﰄ
Points diacritiques
(١اﻟﺮﲪﻦ ؛ اﻟﺮﺣﲓ ؛ ﻟﻄﯿﻒ (٢ﻋﺎﻗﺪ ؛ اﺑﻮ (٣ﯨﻔﻮة ؛ ﻋن ؛ ﺣﻨﺎد (٤ﻣﺮﻛﺒﻪ ؛ اﻟﻌﻘﯩﻪ (٥واﻣﺘﻌﯩﻪ ؛
واﻟﻘﲈس ؛ وﻟﻼﻧﻔﺎر ؛ رﻓﺒﻪ ؛ وﺳﻖ (٦ﻓﻮﻩ ؛ ﯨﻮﻻف ؛ ﺗﻌﺎﱃ (٨وﯨﺼﻒ ؛ ﻣڡﯩﻮﺿﻪ ؛ وﯨﻘﯩﻪ (٩ﺟﺮﻩ ؛ اﱄ.
S. Labib s’est fourvoyé lorsqu’il parle d’un montant de 5,5 ducats d’or. Son erreur vient
de ce qu’il a cru que la moitié payée était de 2,5 ducats et que le solde était de 3 ducats,
alors que l’acompte est de 3 ducats et la moitié de la somme totale n’est indiquée que pour
éviter toute falsification de cette somme. Le solde de deux ducats était payable à l’arrivée.
Voir Labib, Handelsgeschichte 502.
823 et non 803 comme proposé par Labib, Handelsgeschichte 502.
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9
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105
Notes textuelles
1. Il peut arriver qu’une formule laudative adressée à Dieu ou invoquant sa
bénédiction sur le prophète soit ajoutée à la basmala, bien que cette pratique
reste relativement rare. On peut citer à titre indicatif les exemples suivants:
ḥasbunā llāh wa-niʿma l-wakīl (P.Cair.Arab. v 309, datable du iiie/ixe siècle);
al-ḥamd li-llāh waḥdahu (Chrest.Khoury. i 78, datable des iiie–ive siècles/ixe–
xe siècles); tawakkaltu alā llāh (P.Cair.Arab. i 37 = Chrest.Khoury. i 21, daté de
393/1003); al-ḥamd li-llāh wa-ṣallā llāh ʿalā nabiyyinā Muḥammad wa-ʿalā ālihi
al-ṭayyibīn wa-sallama taslīman (Chrest.Khoury. i 25, daté de 419/1028); wa-mā
tawfīqī illā bi-llāh ʿalayhi tawakkaltu wa-huwa rabb al-ʿarsh (Chrest.Khoury. ii 1,
daté de 444/1052); wa-mā tawfīqī illā bi-llāh ʿalayhi tawakkaltu wa-ilayhi unību
(P.Cair.Arab. i 68, daté de 459/1067); allāh al-muwaffiq li-l-ṣawāb (P.Cair.Arab.
i 72, daté de 460/1068); wa-l-ḥamd li-llāh taʿālā (Bauden, L’Achat daté de 818/
1415); wa-bihi nastaʿīn (ASVe, Commissarie miste, busta 180, fascicolo ix, no. 2,
daté de 821/1418); wa-l-ḥamd li-llāh waḥdahu (Bauden, L’Achat daté de 822/
1419); wa-ṣalātuhu ʿalā sayyidinā Muḥammad wa-ālihi (Bauden, The role daté
de 822/1419); wa-huwa ḥasbī (cpr xxvi 45, daté de 874/1470); wa-l-ḥamd li-llāh
(cpr xxvi 35, daté de 887/1482).
La basmala est ici suivie d’une invocation consistant en la particule du
vocatif et un des quatre-vingt-dix-neuf noms de Dieu (laṭīf )10. Cette formule,
au moins attestée dans deux documents découverts au Ḥaram de Jérusalem,
reste rare11.
2. Al-Rayyis. Comme le précise S. Hopkins12, les mots respectant le schème faʿīl
se transforme, en moyen arabe, en fayīl qui donne ensuite fayyil. Il ne relevait
qu’un hapax (layyim), mais la forme que nous avons ici pour raʾīs ⟩ rayyis est
bien connue puisqu’elle figure même dans les dictionnaires classiques13. Le
mot est répété avec le même ductus à la ligne 8.
Ibn Abū Bakr. Pour le non-respect de la déclinaison du mot abū en état
d’annexion, voir Hopkins, Studies §162.i.
10
11
12
13
Elle n’a pas ici le sens de « Ô mon Dieu! », « Pour l’amour de Dieu! », qui est attesté par
ailleurs. Voir Wehr, A dictionary 868 (s.v. )ﻟﻄﻒ.
Jérusalem, al-Ḥaram al-Sharīf, docs. 1 et 308. Voir Little, A catalogue 31 et 34. On en trouvera
un autre exemple dans un document rédigé par Ibn Ḥijja al-Ḥamawī (m. 1434), Qahwat
al-inshāʾ, 120 (laṭīf sans la particule du vocatif).
Hopkins, Studies §24a.
Voir Lane, vol. iii, 996. Cette forme était d’ailleurs utilisée en chancellerie. Voir al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā, 6 :14.
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Ibn al-Kādd [maʿa]. Il s’agit d’une lecture conjecturale. La lettre située après
l’alif ressemble plus à un dāl/dhāl qu’à un rāʾ tandis que la lettre finale présente
un tracé souvent rencontré pour le ʿayn/ghayn dans cette position (voir toutefois la forme que prend précisément cette lettre dans la même position dans les
mots maʿa (l. 6), sābiʿ et rabīʿ (l. 10)). On peut alors considérer que maʿa ne fait
pas partie de la nisba et que la préposition fut écrite erronément par le notaire
qui n’avait plus en tête qu’il avait introduit son texte par le verbe ʿāqada (transitif direct). Il n’aurait toutefois pas raturé le mot fautif au moment de la lecture.
Une telle nisba n’est attestée ni dans les répertoires onomastiques ni dans les
documents publiés jusqu’à présent. S. Labib l’avait interprétée comme étant
al-Kārimī, lecture qui s’en rapproche, bien que moins convaincante, et qui fait
référence à la catégorie des marchands d’épices, les Kārim14. La nisba est par
ailleurs attestée15 et il n’aurait pas été impossible que le fils de l’un d’entre eux
eût dû se reconvertir dans le transport fluvial pour des raisons économiques16.
Il n’en reste pas moins que cette hypothèse perd tout son crédit quand on étudie attentivement le ductus.
Bi-shuhū[dihi]. Le mot est écrit en bout de ligne, légèrement surélevé,
comme cela arrive fréquemment dans les documents de cette époque. Les deux
dernières lettres ne sont pas visibles sur le document, mais elles pourraient être
contenues dans le trait droit qui part de la base inférieure du wāw. Le notaire a
manifestement manqué de place et il est probable qu’il a dû ajouter ce mot a
posteriori.
3. Yawma(ʾi)dh. Le ductus ne présente aucune marque visible de la lettre yāʾ
utilisée dans ce cas pour comme support de la hamza.
14
15
16
C’est ce que démontre une note de Fischel 1958, Über die Gruppe 168 (note 2: « According
to another communication from Prof. Cahen, Dr. Labīb has found in the Archives of Venice
a document of the year 1400 pertaining to an agreement between a Kārimī and a shipcaptain for the transportation of commodities to Egypt with many interesting details»).
Il s’agit bien du document décrit pas S. Labib dans son ouvrage sur le commerce en
Égypte (Labib, Handelsgeschichte) dont j’ai cité le résumé plus haut (voir note 8). S. Labib
avait lu la date comme étant 803/1400, mais il avait passé sous silence cette interprétation de la nisba. D’autre part, c’est le patron de l’embarcation qui porte cette nisba,
contrairement à ce qui est avancé par Fischel sur base d’une communication orale de Cl.
Cahen.
Voir Wiet, Les Marchands 107 et al-Ashqar, Tujjār 472 (Maḥmūd ibn al-Kuwayk ibn Karīmī
[ !]). Voir aussi Sublet, ʿAbd al-Laṭīf.
Sur les Kārimīs, voir ibid. ; Fischel, Über die Gruppe; Labib, Handelsgeschichte ; Ashtor, The
Kārimī; Fischel, The spice; Goitein, New light; Labib, Les Marchands; al-Ashqar, Tujjār.
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Shihāb al-Dīn. Le ductus de ce laqab correspond à une abréviation où l’ alif
et le bāʾ ont manifestement disparu, les deux mots étant liés ensemble.
Fakhr al-Dīn ʿUthmān. Le laqab aurait aussi pu être lu Muḥyī l-dīn17, mais ce
dernier n’est jamais combiné avec l’ ism ʿUthmān alors que Fakhr al-Dīn l’est
presque systématiquement18.
Aḥad. L’alif est lié au ḥāʾ.
6. Dhālik. Le mot fut clairement ajouté après lecture du document. Le notaire
n’a cependant pas pris la peine de signaler cet ajout supralinéaire en fin de
document comme l’exigent les règles en vigueur en ce domaine19.
9. Al-Madhkūr(a). La tāʾ marbūṭa a été oubliée par le notaire qui ne semble pas
s’en être aperçu au moment de la lecture ou plutôt n’a-t-il pas considéré cette
faute d’accord comme rédhibitoire.
Al-[I]blāgh. L’alif initial manque indubitablement et doit être restauré, car
le mot balāgh ne signifie jamais «arrivée, destination. » On trouverait plutôt,
pour cette acception, le terme bulūgh. Iblāgh laisse sous-entendre l’idée de
livraison, de mener à destination qu’on ne peut traduire ici que par «arrivée»
ou, dans un sens plus libre, «débarquement.»
Sharʿīy(a). L’adjectif ne semble pas porter la marque de l’accord féminin
avec le nom dont il dépend (muʿāqada). Le yāʾ descend manifestement sous
la ligne. S’il avait été suivi de la tāʾ marbūṭa, sa forme eût été différente.
Ḥasaba mā [bihi/fīhi]. Le mot apparaît à la suite de la formule légale d’offre
et d’acceptation et juste avant celle de l’attestation. Il ne fait aucun doute qu’il
est lié à celle qui le précède. De plus, le ductus n’offre guère de possibilités
d’interprétation. Toutefois, la leçon que je propose reste conjecturale, car, à ma
connaissance, elle n’est corroborée par aucun autre exemple attesté20.
17
18
19
20
Comme je l’avais pensé dans un premier temps (Bauden, The Mamluk 153).
Voir Malti-Douglas, The interrelationship 41.
Voir al-Nuwayrī, Nihāyat al-arab 9 :8.
La leçon jazman, à laquelle j’avais pensé, est improbable. Elle n’aurait été corroborée par
aucun autre exemple, à l’exception de son emploi dans le langage juridique: on parle de
ḥukm jazm quand le jugement est irrévocable. Le terme aurait donc été employé comme
adjectif, mais sa forme correspond ici au maṣdar. Dans le cas qui nous occupe, ce dernier
eût donc apparu dans la fonction d’un ẓarf. On trouve encore l’adjectif jāzim couplé à
amr, pour désigner une chose décidée, ferme. Voir Amari, I Diplomi 209 (l. 5), 217 (l. 6), 229
(l. 2). Il faut corriger, dans ces trois occurrences, la lecture اﻣﺮا ﺣﺎزﻣﺎen اﻣﺮا ﺟﺎزﻣﺎ.
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10. Bi-t(ār)īkh. Abbréviation que l’on trouve couramment dans les documents
d’époque mamelouke21. La signature du notaire présente de nombreuses abréviations. La lecture de sa nisba est proposée par conjecture.
Traduction
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
Au nom de Dieu le Tout-miséricorde, le Miséricordieux. Ô [Toi qui es]
Bon!
Le patron Nāṣir ibn ʿUmar ibn Abū Bakr, connu sous le nom d’Ibn al-Kādd
{avec}, habitant à Būlāq et en présence de ses témoins
ce jour à Fuwwa, a conclu un contrat avec Shihāb al-Dīn Aḥmad ibn Fakhr
al-Dīn ʿUthmān, qui est soldat dans la place protégée d’Alexandrie,
pour le transporter sur le pont de son embarcation [du type] al-ʿaqaba,
qui est chargée de l’équipement, des accessoires et de l’équipage
comme à l’accoutumée, ainsi que ses effets et le textile, les individus ayant
des biens personnels/un capital, [et l’embarcation étant] chargée avec
sûreté.
Il portera cela de la rive de la ville de Fuwwa jusqu’à la rive de Būlāq à la
grâce de Dieu Très-Haut
pour un salaire dont le montant pour cela en ducats d’or vénitiens à
figures sera de cinq ducats, la moitié de cela étant
deux ducats et demi, la moitié de la partie exigible de cela étant de trois
ducats que le patron susdit reconnaît avoir reçus. Le solde
du salaire susdit sera [payé] à l’arrivée. Ils ont tous deux conclu un accord
légal sur cela par offre et acceptation selon ce qu’il [le document] contient.
Témoignage a été pris de cela pour eux à la date du dix-sept rabīʿ i de l’an
huit cent vingt-trois [/1er avril 1420].
J’ai témoigné de cela pour eux
Muḥammad ibn ʿAbd al-Raḥmān al-Bahāʾī l’a écrit.
Commentaire diplomatique
Dans sa récente étude sur le droit maritime, H. Khalilieh s’interroge, à juste
titre, sur l’existence de contrats de transport maritime mis par écrit étant
21
Voir Bauden, L’Achat 273.
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donné qu’aucun document de ce type n’a été mis au jour. Sur base de cet
argument ex silentio, il avance l’hypothèse que ces contrats maritimes devaient
être majoritairement conclus oralement, en partie aussi à cause de l’illettrisme
qui devait frapper les parties contractantes22. Ce dernier argument est battu
en brèche par la correspondance, plus qu’abondante, se référant aux activités commerciales des marchands que les documents de la Genizah du Caire,
et plus récemment de Quṣayr al-Qadīm, ont permis de mettre en évidence23.
La question de l’absence de contrats de transport trouve, quant à elle, une
réponse dans le document qui fait l’objet de cet article. Unique en son genre,
celui-ci démontre que de tels contrats écrits existaient bel et bien. Plus intéressant encore, il nous permet d’ étudier le formulaire de ce type de contrat
de location particulier. Pour le droit musulman, il appartient à la catégorie
des documents relatifs à la location (al-ijāra), matière à laquelle les juristes
ou les notaires consacrent un chapitre dans leurs textes juridiques ou leurs
recueils de modèles. Pour la période concernée, c’est l’ouvrage d’un auteur
presque contemporain, al-Asyūṭī (adhuc viv. 889/1484), qui fournit les données
les plus pertinentes24. Étant égyptien, ce dernier était confronté quotidiennement aux problèmes que posait la rédaction de ce genre d’actes, fût-ce pour
le transport fluvial ou maritime. Dans le chapitre consacré à la location, il
aborde brièvement cette question en fournissant deux modèles de contrats25:
un premier consacré à la location d’une embarcation26 et un second, plus restrictif, ne touchant que le transport de marchandises sur une embarcation27.
Ce sont ces modèles qui vont nous servir de fil rouge pour l’étude diploma-
22
23
24
25
26
27
Khalilieh, Admiralty 87: « The level of literacy probably played a key role in the ratification
of verbal contracts in courts. Since illiterates made up the great majority of the population,
they created difficulties for the legal and administrative systems. As a matter of fact, the
overwhelming majority of shipping contracts in the Mediterranean during this period
were probably oral and dependent upon consent of the parties. This would explain why
very little written evidence has survived. Written contracts were of course drawn up and
used as forms of proof in case of legal altercations among the contracting parties. In short,
whether the contract was to be oral or in writing was decided by the parties themselves».
Pour les documents de la Genizah, on verra Goitein, A Mediterranean society. Pour ceux
de Quṣayr al-Qadīm, voir Guo, Commerce.
al-Asyūṭī, Jawāhir al-ʿuqūd.
Goitein, A Mediterranean society 1 :233. Ces deux modèles ont été traduits par Khalilieh,
Islamic 60–61 ; Khalilieh, Admiralty 89–90.
al-Asyūṭī, Jawāhir: ṣūrat ijārat markab. Cf. al-Samarqandī, Kitāb al-Shurūṭ 279.
al-Asyūṭī, Jawāhir : wa-in kāna l-ittifāq ʿalā ḥaml shayʾ muʿayyan min makān muʿayyan ilā
makān muʿayyan dafʿa wāḥida.
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tique du document conservé à Venise. Ils nous permettront d’établir si celuici respecte le formulaire recommandé par al-Asyūṭī et, si oui, dans quelles
mesures.
2. ʿĀqada. Le terme introductif consiste en un verbe qui exprime la nature de
la transaction. Il s’agit d’un contrat synallagmatique comportant des clauses
réciproques, dont la plus importante est celle de l’offre et de l’acceptation28.
Par conséquent, les deux parties s’accordent pour remplir leurs devoirs et
obligations réciproques. La location (ijāra) constitue une des catégories qui
entrent dans le cadre du contrat (ʿaqd)29. Si le contrat concerne la location
d’une embarcation, donc d’un objet, celui-ci doit débuter par le terme istaʾjara.
Lorsqu’il ne porte que sur le transport de marchandises ou de personnes, en
conséquence d’un service, c’est le terme ʿāqada qui est préconisé30.
Al-Rayyis. Conformément aux règles juridiques portant sur l’identification
des parties, le document donne une description assez précise des deux personnes concernées. La première de ces parties correspond à la personne qui
est propriétaire du bien, en l’occurrence le patron de l’embarcation désigné
au moyen du terme rayyis. À côté des termes muʿallim, rubbān et nākhūdhā,
plus fréquemment employés dans la littérature touchant à la navigation ou
dans les documents, notamment de la Genizah, le mot rayyis s’est généralisé
pour désigner le chef du navire et, par conséquent, celui qui est responsable
de sa conduite, sans qu’entre en question le problème de la propriété31. Il est
attesté, avec ce sens, déjà dans un document de la Genizah32. La description
comporte l’obligation de donner le nom des personnes impliquées ainsi que
leur filiation. Dans cette filiation, il est rare de trouver le nom du grand-père33,
ce qui est pourtant le cas ici. À cela s’ajoute la shuhra, comme l’indique la formule ʿurifa bi («connu sous le nom de »), qui est aussi recommandée quand
elle existe34. Dans notre cas, il est probable que cette appellation courante
joue ici un autre rôle. Dans le cas des patrons et des propriétaires de navires,
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
Voir plus bas, commentaire pour la l. 9.
Pour la théorie légale du contrat, voir Rayner, The theory 87–88, 100–101.
al-Asyūṭī, Jawāhir.
Voir Khalilieh, Islamic 42; Diem et Radenberg, A dictionary s.r. rʾs. Le mot rayyis s’est
imposé au détriment des autres dans le dialecte égyptien. Voir Colin, Notes 75 (qui signale,
à côté de la prononciation usuelle, une prononciation emphatique du sīn).
t.s. 12.434 (rayyis al-markab). Voir Khalilieh, Islamic 43 (note 26).
Rāġib, Actes de vente 16 (§36).
Rāġib, Actes de vente 17 (§40).
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en effet, les documents de la Genizah prouvent que c’est souvent par leur
nom courant que l’on faisait référence à leur embarcation35. Il n’est donc pas
impossible que la shuhra qui figure dans notre document ait joué ce même
rôle.
2–3. Min ahl Būlāq wa-l-ḥāḍir bi-shuhūdihi yawmaʾidh bi-Fuwwa. La description
va plus loin encore en précisant le lieu d’origine du patron et en insistant sur
sa présence au moment de la conclusion du contrat. Excès de précaution dans
le chef du notaire ? En tout cas, il a clairement ressenti le besoin de préciser ce
point, bien qu’un contrat ne puisse être conclu en l’absence d’une des parties,
à moins que l’une d’elles ne soit représentée par un mandataire36.
La deuxième partie contractante, le passager, subit le même traitement. On
notera toutefois que seul le nom de son père est fourni, mais qu’au contraire
du patron, son surnom (laqab) ainsi que celui de son père sont donnés.
3–4. Aḥad al-ajnād bi-thaghr al-Iskandarīya al-maḥrūs. Le passager possède
une fonction: c’est un soldat ( jundī) en fonction dans le port d’Alexandrie.
4. ʿAlā ḥamlihi ʿalā ẓahr markabihi. Après la mention de la nature de la transaction (contrat, muʿāqada) et les noms des parties, al-Asyūṭī poursuit son
modèle par la formule ʿalā an yaḥmil lahu ʿalā ẓahr markabihi. Cette formule
est presque identique à celle qui figure dans le document, à la différence
que le notaire a préféré utiliser le maṣdar et qu’ici il s’agit d’un passager et
de ses bagages, et non du transport de marchandises uniquement, comme
l’envisageait al-Asyūṭī.
Al-ʿAqaba. Dans la section sur la vente, al-Asyūṭī traite des embarcations
dont il donne, d’ailleurs, une liste particulièrement détaillée pour la période
considérée37. Comme tout bien destiné à la vente, une embarcation devait
faire l’objet d’une description précise afin d’éviter toute plainte, quelle qu’elle
soit, après la conclusion de la transaction. Cette précaution est également
valable pour un contrat de transport, car le passager ou celui qui souhaitait
faire transporter des marchandises devait être assuré que le voyage se ferait
bien sur l’embarcation qu’il avait choisie. Le contrat était alors réputé conclu
35
36
37
Voir Goitein, A Mediterranean society 1 :309 (exemple d’une embarcation nommée Ibn alIskandar d’après son patron, ʿAlī ibn al-Iskandar), 312 (plusieurs exemples: Ibn al-Basmalī,
Mufarrij, Ibn Naʿīm, Ibn Khallāf); Khalilieh, Islamic 27–29 ; Khalilieh, Admiralty 40–43.
Rayner, The theory 110–111.
al-Asyūṭī, Jawāhir 1 :78.
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pour une embarcation bien définie (safīna bi-ʿaynihā)38. Dans ce cas, le type
d’embarcation devait être spécifié, sans entrer dans tous les détails requis
pour la vente. Al-Asyūṭī, dans son formulaire de contrat de transport, utilise
l’expression « markabihi al-fulānī,» renvoyant à la section sur la vente où il a
précisément donné les différentes possibilités d’appellations pour les embarcations, qu’elles soient fluviales, maritimes ou habilitées à circuler à la fois sur
le fleuve et en mer39. Dans le cas de ce document, l’embarcation correspond
au type dit « al-ʿaqaba.»40 Ce mot désignait un bateau qui ressemblait à une
grande barque et que le voyageur Vincent Stochove décrivit de la sorte en 1631 :
«Les riches ont des basteaux exprés qui ne servent que pour ceste réjouissance
publique [la crue du Nil], et les appellent Achaba, ils sont plats, la poupe en
comprend plus de la moytié, elle est quarrée et entourée de balustres afin que
ceux qui les mesnent n’incommodent les personnes qui sont assises dedans,
elles sont par le bas couvertes de beaux et riches tapis de Perse, et le haut
couvert de toile cirée, le dedans peint et diversifié par différentes sortes de couleurs, de façon que l’on y est comme dans une belle salle. »41 L’embarcation
en question était courte et plate mais large, avec un voile carrée attachée à un
mât central. La poupe était occupée par un château ou accastillage où se trouvait une grande salle garnie de tapis et de tissus. Il semble qu’à l’origine, elle
était réservée au transport de la paille mais, avec le temps, elle fut aussi utilisée ponctuellement pour les festivités, entre autres celles liées à la crue du
Nil42.
4–5. Al-Muḥammala al-ʿudda wa-l-āla wa-l-rijāl ʿalā l-ʿāda. C’est le mot alʿaqaba qui précède, d’où l’accord féminin. Toutefois, on peut considérer que
l’accord a été fait ici avec le mot markab qui, à cette époque, pouvait être des
38
39
40
41
42
Voir Khalilieh, Islamic 61–62; Khalilieh, Admiralty 89.
al-Asyūṭī, Jawāhir 1 :233.
Ce type est mentionné par al-Asyūṭī, Jawāhir 1 :78.
Stochove, Voyage en Égypte 34–35.
Voir Dozy, Supplément 2:146–147; Kindermann, « Schiff » 66–67; Colin, Notes 79; alNakhīlī, Al-Sufun 101–102. Voici la description précise qu’en donne le voyageur vénitien
Alessandro Magno, qui l’emprunta entre Rosette et Būlāq en juin/juillet 1561: « On en
trouve de deux sortes [germe]: l’une avec une voile latine se nomme cacabe, l’autre avec
une voile carrée se nomme acabe. Presque toutes ont un mât de misaine. Au dernier
niveau supérieur de la poupe, on érige des cloisons: il en est de même au niveau intermédiaire et les passagers construisent leurs propres abris sur cette poupe. Il en existe
beaucoup de grande taille qui ont quatre voire six cabines sur cette poupe et parmi elles
nombreuses sont celles qui jouent le rôle de navires.» Magno, Voyages 264.
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deux genres43, même si c’est le genre féminin qui s’est finalement imposé,
notamment dans le dialecte égyptien44.
Parmi les recommandations d’al-Asyūṭī pour la vente d’une embarcation,
il indique qu’il y a lieu de préciser quels sont les équipements (ʿudad) et les
accessoires (ālāt) faisant partie intégrante de celle-ci et donc de la vente45, sans
qu’il en dresse la liste. Celle-ci est par contre fournie par un autre formulaire
rédigé par al-Jazīrī (m. 585/1189)46: on y englobait le gréement, les voiles, le mât,
les grapins, les cordes, les rames, etc47. Notre document se contente de préciser
que l’ensemble de ces équipements et accessoires ainsi que l’équipage sont
présents, sans en donner le détail, puisque le notaire s’en dispense en précisant
que tous ces éléments sont conformes à l’usage (ʿalā l-ʿāda).
5. Wa-amtiʿatihi wa-l-qumāsh. Outre le passager, on se doit également de signaler ses effets personnels et ses bagages. En cas de problème dû à une faute, il
faut que le propriétaire des biens puisse obtenir réparation48. Le passager, dans
le cas qui nous occupe, embarquait avec ses effets personnels (amtiʿa) et du
tissu49. Ces marchandises devaient normalement faire l’objet d’une description plus précise, particulièrement en matière de poids et de mesures, car le
bon chargement de l’embarcation en dépendait50.
Wa-li-l-anfār raqaba. Cette expression n’est pas signalée dans les modèles de
formulaires consultés. Elle se réfère évidemment à une possession des passagers désignés à l’aide du terme «individus.» Le mot raqaba couvre plusieurs
acceptions. Il désigne, avant tout, le cou et, par synecdoque, une personne,
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
On trouve parfois des traces de cette ambivalence dans les textes où on passe du masculin
au féminin dans une même phrase! Voir, par exemple, Archivio di Stato di Venezia,
Procuratori di San Marco, Commissarie miste, busta 180, fascicolo ix, no. 5 (ll. 5–6 : waṣala
al-thaghr markab lahā ʿan al-Bunduqiyya muddat khamsīn yawm; l. 9 : hādhā l-markab).
Les mss. dits « Galland » des Mille et une nuits, datables du xve siècle et originaires de Syrie,
offrent d’autres exemples tout aussi parlants. Voir Halflants, Le Conte 116–117.
Colin, Notes 75 (note 3).
al-Asyūṭī, Jawāhir 1 :78. Cette recommandation est répétée succinctement dans la section
sur la location (al-Asyūṭī, Jawāhir 1 :233).
Dans al-Maqṣid al-maḥmūd fī talkhīṣ al-ʿuqūd. On en trouvera la traduction dans Khalilieh,
Admiralty 89.
Voir aussi Colin, Notes 62–75.
Voir Khalilieh, Admiralty 99–105.
Il ne semble pas que ce soit l’acception plus générale relevée par Amari qui soit d’application ici: marchandises en général ou petites choses. Voir Amari, I Diplomi 492 (« mercanzie
in generale e robe minute»).
Khalilieh, Admiralty 89.
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puis un esclave51. Par métonymie, on en arrive à l’idée du droit de propriété
(milk raqaba)52. On trouve aussi une autre acception plus technique tirée du
sens initial: la peau du cou53 du chameau servait à fabriquer un sac destiné
au transport de la poudre d’or54. Dozy mentionne encore l’expression raqabat
al-māl dans le sens de capital ou somme d’argent55. De toutes ces significations, seules celles de la propriété en général ou du capital me paraissent les
plus plausibles. On voit mal comment expliquer que tous les passagers étaient
accompagnés d’un esclave. Par contre, le fait de préciser que chaque passager
emportait avec lui des possessions, des biens personnels, ou encore que chacun
d’entre eux possédait une somme d’argent, va de pair avec la formule qui suit.
Entre ces deux possibilités, j’ai préféré ne pas trancher. En effet, les passagers
étaient censés emporter tous les éléments qui devaient leur permettre de passer le voyage dans les meilleures conditions : vêtements, nourriture, toilette et
couchage56 mais les passagers pouvaient aussi être soucieux de voir mentionner qu’ils voyageaient avec un capital. Dans les deux cas, ils devaient être en
mesure d’obtenir réparation en cas de naufrage.
Il reste une autre possibilité de lecture: wa-l-anfār. Dans ce cas, il était
accompagné de personnes, qui étaient peut-être celles qui gardèrent le contrat
à l’arrivée: le consul vénitien et ses hommes qui l’accompagnaient. L’interprétation du mot qui suit reste alors tout aussi problématique.
Wasq al-salāma. Cette formule apparaît dans le premier modèle relatif à la
location d’une embarcation que donne al-Asyūṭī dans son traité57. Elle vient
préciser les mots qui précèdent dans ce formulaire: le locataire pourra jouir du
bien loué en le chargeant avec sûreté. Cette clause est fondamentale : ici, elle
garantit que le patron de la barque s’engage à ne pas charger son embarcation
plus qu’il n’est permis. Pour éviter les surcharges, on marquait une ligne de
flottaison sur chaque bateau destiné au transport de marchandises et de personnes. Tant que cette ligne restait visible au-dessus de l’eau, le chargement
était considéré comme sûr58.
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
Lane, Madd al-Qāmūs 3 :299 (s.v. )رﻗﺒﺔ.
Khalilieh, Admiralty 47.
Lane, Madd al-Qāmūs 3 :300 (s.v. رﻗﺒﺔet )ﻣﺮﻗّﺐ.
Dozy, Supplément 1 :546 (s.v. )رﻗﺒﺔ.
Ibid.
Khalilieh, Islamic 56–57; Khalilieh, Admiralty 75.
al-Asyūṭī, Jawāhir 1 :233.
Khalilieh, Islamic 31–32; Khalilieh, Admiralty 36–37.
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6. Min sāḥil .. wa-ilā sāḥil. Après la mention des biens transportés, le formulaire prévoit que le contrat doit indiquer précisément les points de départ
et d’arrivée. Celui-ci étant conclu pour un parcours déterminé, le montant
réclamé couvre ce transport jusqu’à destination, quelles que soient les circonstances59. Al-Asyūṭī l’exprime en ces termes: min al-balad al-fulānī ilā l-balad
al-fulānī. Notre document met en évidence que le transport se fait d’un port
à un autre, exprimé au moyen du terme sāḥil (rive), plutôt que d’une ville à
une autre (balad). Dans le cas du point de départ, c’est de la rive de la ville
(madīna) de Fuwwa qu’il s’agit, alors que pour l’arrivée, on ne parle que de la
rive de Būlāq. Cela s’explique par le fait que Būlāq n’est pas une ville à part
entière, mais un simple quartier du Caire.
Maʿa salāmat allāh taʿālā. Ce transport est assuré à la grâce de Dieu. AlAsyūṭī préconise l’emploi de cette expression sous une forme plus complète:
maʿa salāmat allāh taʿālā wa-ʿawnihi (à la grâce de Dieu Très-Haut et avec Son
aide). En d’autres termes, le transport fluvial ou maritime n’est assuré que dans
la mesure où c’est Dieu qui est souverain. Le transport sur le Nil, à cette époque,
est loin d’être une croisière: les éléments naturels peuvent toujours être la
cause de retards ou de dégâts, parfois d’un naufrage. À ceux-ci s’ajoutent les
imprévus comme les attaques de pirates qui exerçaient cette activité y compris
sur le fleuve60.
7. Bi-ujra mablaghuhā. Les clauses du contrat déterminées, le notaire passe
ensuite à la détermination du salaire ou de la rétribution qui est prévu pour
le service rendu ou la location. La formule est conforme aux indications d’alAsyūṭī et se rencontre, par ailleurs, fréquemment dans les contrats.
Al-Dhahab al-dukāt al-bunduqī al-mushkhaṣ. Conformément aux règles juridiques, le montant est dû dans une devise ou un numéraire qui doivent être
spécifiés. Les documents conservés à Venise mettent en évidence, pour
l’époque concernée, la prépondérance du numéraire vénitien, en l’occurrence
le ducat61: ASVe, Commissarie miste, busta 180, fasc. ix, no. 2: dukāt dhahab
firanjī ; ASVe, Commissarie miste, busta 180, fasc. ix, no. 7 : al-dhahab al-dukāt
al-firanjī al-bunduqī al-wāzin; ASVe, Commissarie miste, busta 180, fasc. ix,
no. 9: al-dhahab al-dukāt al-firanjī al-bunduqī62. Que le numéraire, quand il
59
60
61
62
Khalilieh, Admiralty 132–133.
Khalilieh, Islamic 142–143.
Les propos d’un contemporain, E. Piloti, font écho à cette situation : « Et ne prent-on ducas
se non qu’ilz soyent venitians». Voir Piloti, Traité 108.
Sur les cinq contrats conservés, seul un prévoit un paiement dans une devise locale: ASVe,
Commissarie miste, busta 180, fasc. ix, no. 12: dirham fulūs.
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est étranger, soit uniquement vénitien et non florentin, n’a rien de surprenant
puisque les transactions concernaient des Vénitiens essentiellement. D’autre
part, le ducat vénitien jouissait à cette époque d’une renommée légèrement
surfaite dans tout le bassin méditerranéen, et particulièrement en Égypte, au
grand dam des sultans mamelouks. Deux ans avant la date de ce document
de transport, al-Mu’ayyad Shaykh décidait de faire interdire l’usage du ducat
pour les transactions ayant lieu sur ses territoires63. Cette prohibition ne fut pas
vraiment suivie d’effets puisque les documents conservés à Venise font état de
paiements effectués en ducats vénitiens dans les mois qui suivirent64.
Dans notre document, c’est toujours le ducat qui sert de monnaie de paiement, mais les termes utilisés pour le décrire diffèrent quelque peu de ceux rencontrés dans les trois autres témoins conservés aux Archives de l’État à Venise.
Dans ces derniers, le ducat est toujours qualifié de vénitien (bunduqī) tout en
étant décrit, préalablement, comme franc ( firanjī). L’appellation «vénitien»
vient donc préciser le terme de «franc». Cette origine plus générale n’est pas
soulignée ici. Par contre, la provenance vénitienne est renforcée par le mot
qui lui est adjoint (al-mushkhaṣ)65. Le ductus ne laisse aucun doute quant à
sa lecture. Ce terme fait référence aux figures qui ornaient le ducat vénitien
sur ses deux côtés: à l’avers, le doge en position assise recevant le gonfalon
des mains de saint Marc; au revers, le Christ. Al-Qalqashandī, dans la description qu’il en donne66, confond les deux personnages avec les saints Pierre et
Paul. Le terme arabe recouvrait donc une connotation négative et, lorsqu’il fut
décidé, en 829/1425, de mettre sur le marché une nouvelle monnaie d’or mamlouke, l’ ashrafī, pour contrer la popularité du ducat et des autres monnaies d’or
étrangères, c’est précisément ce terme qu’utilise Ibn Taghrī Birdī pour parler
du monnayage des Francs «qui porte les insignes de leur infidélité. »67
Niṣf dhālik. Afin d’éviter la falsification du prix, la mention de la moitié du
prix est requise, mais pas toujours respectée68. Elle apparaît bien ici.
63
64
65
66
67
68
Bacharach, The dinar 85–86.
Bauden, L’Achat 285.
Cf. Dozy, Supplément 1 :735 renseigne aussi une autre vocalisation d’après le Tāj al-ʿarūs
d’al-Zabīdī (mashkhaṣ). Popper (p. 46) donne mushakhkhaṣ sur la base d’Ibn Taghrī Birdī.
Au xixe siècle, ce terme (mushakhkhaṣ) est toujours en usage en Égypte où, en parlant de
monnaie, il signifie « comptant». Voir Von Kremer, Beiträge 1 : 82 (d’après al-Jabartī).
al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā 3 :441.
Popper, Egypt and Syria 1 :46–47.
Voir Bauden, L’Achat 286 ; Rāġib, Actes de vente 43–44 (§113).
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8. Al-Ḥāll min dhālik. Le premier terme désigne la partie exigible au moment
de la conclusion du contrat. Cette partie peut représenter le montant total
ou partiel du prix convenu. Dans le cas qui nous occupe, trois ducats ont été
réceptionnés par le patron qui reconnaît en avoir pris possession (maqbūḍa
bi-yad … bi-ʿtirāfihi bi-dhālik).
8–9. Wa-baqīyat al-ujra al-madhkūr[a] ilā l-[i]blāgh. Le montant payé ne représentant qu’une partie du prix total convenu, le solde sera versé à destination.
Dans sa majorité, la littérature juridique prévoyait, pour ce genre de contrat,
que le paiement total devait se faire à destination, du moins pour le transport maritime. Ce document établit que ce n’était pas toujours le cas. Bien au
contraire, un paiement partiel correspondant au moins à la moitié du montant total était généralement réclamé, comme le prouvent les documents de la
Genizah69. Al-Asyūṭī se démarquait en cette matière puisqu’il précise que le
montant peut être perçu avant le départ soit en entier, soit partiellement, soit
encore être payé en plusieurs fois70. La pratique contemporaine du document
confirme donc le formulaire de ce dernier.
9. Taʿāqadā … muʿāqada sharʿīya bi-l-ījāb wa-l-qabūl. Le contrat se termine par
cette formule consacrée. En effet, l’offre et l’acceptation scellent la transaction,
chacune des parties le faisant en connaissance de cause71.
11. Pour éviter tout ajout postérieur à la rédaction de l’acte, on constate que
les notaires prenaient soin de terminer la ligne soit par une formule religieuse
réservée à cet usage dans les documents (ḥasbunā llāh wa-niʿma l-wakīl), soit de
faire usage de la kashīda qui consiste à allonger le trait reliant les deux dernières
lettres du mot terminant la phrase72. C’est ce dernier procédé qui est visible
ici.
Dernier élément qui a son importance, deux témoins de sexe masculin73 au
minimum, dont l’un était généralement le scribe et l’autre un témoin profes69
70
71
72
73
En cela, la pratique correspondait à celle en vigueur dans le droit maritime byzantin.
Voir Khalilieh, Islamic 64–65; Khalilieh, Admiralty 125. Goitein avance plutôt l’idée que
la majeure partie du paiement du frêt se faisait à l’arrivée, sauf pour le transport maritime
où une avance était réclamée. Goitein, A Mediterranean society 1 :312 et 342.
al-Asyūṭī, Jawāhir 1 :233.
Bauden, L’Achat 286.
Ces deux systèmes sont indépendamment mis en œuvre dans les deux documents publiés
dans Bauden, L’Achat.
C’est un verset coranique qui en constitue la base juridique indiscutable (ii : 282).
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sionnel, du moins à l’époque qui nous concerne74, devaient attester de leur
présence au moment de la conclusion du contrat. Comme on peut le constater,
ce document a été rédigé par un unique témoin dont on trouve la signature au
bas à droite. En cela, il était dépourvu de valeur probatoire en cas de litige, mais
ne pouvait nullement être considéré comme caduc au regard du droit75.
Commentaire historique
Ce contrat de transport, conclu dans la ville de Fuwwa par un militaire en
garnison dans le port d’Alexandrie en 1420, prévoyait qu’il serait emmené à la
grâce de Dieu de cet endroit jusqu’à Būlāq, le principal point d’abordage à cette
époque dans la capitale de l’empire mamlouk. Document unique en son genre,
il permet de traiter la question du transport fluvial au début du xve siècle. Pour
ce faire, l’historien dispose de plusieurs sources que l’on peut classer comme
suit :
– des documents conservés évoquent le transport sur le Nil de manière fragmentaire : il s’agit de notes de compte, de lettres qui donnent des renseignements assez précis sur l’itinéraire, la durée et les conditions du voyage, mais
dont les données restent malheureusement parcellaires quant au coût du
transport des personnes et des marchandises, car elles sont généralement
globales76. De tels documents concernent essentiellement les périodes plus
anciennes et figurent dans les riches fonds de la Genizah. Ils ont été particulièrement bien étudiés depuis les travaux de Goitein77. Les papyrus peuvent
aussi apporter leur lot d’informations, bien que plus rarement78.
74
75
76
77
78
Il est incontestable qu’à l’époque mamelouke cette professionnalisation du témoin était
bien établie. Voir Bauden, L’Achat 318.
Rāġib, Actes de vente 105 (§282).
Goitein, A Mediterranean society 1 :339 (« The details required for an exhaustive study of
the subject – the ports of embarkation and destination, description of the consignment,
its weight and value, the freight and the customs paid – are rarely given in full, and very
often all the expenses incurred during a journey (namely, the freight, customs and other
dues) are lumped together»).
Goitein, A Mediterranean society vol. i, chapitre iv (Travel and Seafaring); Udovitch, Time,
the sea.
Sijpesteijn, Travel and trade (lettre datable de 117/735 donnant un itinéraire et la liste des
frais encourus).
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– les ouvrages à caractère juridique (théorie légale, pratique du droit, recueils
de modèles, collections de fatwā-s) fournissent le cadre dans lequel les
transactions liées au transport fluvial sont conclues. S’ils sont avares en
données factuelles (tous frais liés au transport), ils permettent de mieux
comprendre comment le contrat était établi et quels étaient les devoirs et
obligations des deux parties79.
– les ouvrages à caractère historique et géographique sont aussi particulièrement utiles pour les informations qu’ils donnent, fût-ce de manière anecdotique, sur les ports, les canaux et leur état, les itinéraires et les taxes80.
– enfin, les récits de voyage, rédigés soit par des voyageurs occidentaux, marchands ou pèlerins, ou par des musulmans généralement de passage en
Égypte au cours du périple qui les conduisait au pèlerinage à La Mecque,
restent des sources précieuses. Ces voyageurs étaient en effet souvent attentifs aux frais liés à leur séjour et ils ne manquaient pas une occasion pour se
plaindre des exactions dont ils avaient été victimes81.
Ces sources mettent en évidence que le trajet Alexandrie-Le Caire (port de
Fusṭāṭ, puis, plus tard, Būlāq) pouvait être accompli de différentes manières
et selon plusieurs itinéraires, selon les époques considérées :
– soit par voie fluviale d’un point à l’autre, en employant, entre Alexandrie et
le Nil (bras de Rosette dit branche bolbitine), un canal;
– soit un trajet mixte, par voies fluviale et terrestre, à dos d’âne, de mule ou de
chameau82, ou par voies maritime (Méditerranée) et fluviale83 ;
– soit, enfin, uniquement par voie terrestre, la plus longue, la moins sûre et la
plus coûteuse de toutes les possibilités.
79
80
81
82
83
Ces sources ont été particulièrement exploitées par Khalilieh, Islamic; Khalilieh, Admiralty.
Ces données ont été rassemblées assez exhaustivement par Toussoun, Mémoire sur les
anciennes et Toussoun, Mémoire sur l’histoire. On complétera par al-Makhzūmī, al-Minhāj.
On verra le panorama très complet qui est donné de ces sources dans Hairy et Sennoune,
Géographie historique et A. Graboïs, La Description.
C’était le cas de l’auteur de la lettre datable de 117/735: il voyagea de Fusṭāṭ à Rosette par
bateau et, ensuite, de Rosette à Alexandrie sur un âne ou une mule. Voir Sijpesteijn, Travel
and trade 116. Sur la route entre Rosette et Alexandrie, voir Combe 1929.
Voir, par exemple, pour cette deuxième possibilité, le témoignage de Bernard de Breydenbach en 1484 apud Combe, Alexandrie 121.
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L’élément décisif pour déterminer quel itinéraire serait suivi et quels
moyens de transport seraient employés était la saison. À l’époque considérée, la branche canopique qui reliait anciennement Alexandrie au fleuve était
insuffisamment irriguée et trop ensablée pour permettre sa navigation sur tout
son tracé. Outre le souci de permettre le transport des personnes et des marchandises de et vers Alexandrie par voie fluviale, considérée comme la plus
rapide, il s’agissait aussi d’alimenter la ville d’Alexandrie en eau douce84. La
solution apportée à diverses époques de l’ère musulmane consistait à augmenter le débit d’eau en procédant à des captages situés plus en aval85. Ces points
de captage partaient tous de la branche bolbitine qui se jette à la mer à hauteur de Rosette86. Sous le règne du sultan al-Nāṣir Muḥammad ibn Qalāwūn, en
1310 précisément, le besoin se fit sentir de procéder à de nouveaux travaux pour
combattre l’ensablement de la branche canopique. Un canal fut construit entre
la branche bolbitine, à hauteur d’al-ʿAṭf, bourgade située sur la rive gauche du
Nil vis-à-vis de la ville de Fuwwa, et l’extrême fin du parcours de la branche
canopique, plus en aval donc, longeant ainsi le lac d’Edkū87. Ce canal, qui prit
le nom de ce sultan (al-Nāṣirīya), joua son rôle pendant quelques décennies88
mais, en 1368, il fallut déjà procéder à un curage89, signe que l’ensablement
et la subsidence étaient inexorables. Si navigation il y avait, elle était indubitablement assurée pendant les mois de crue, entre avril et octobre90. En 1384,
Frescobaldi et ses compagnons florentins quittèrent la ville d’Alexandrie le 5
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
Les nombreuses citernes de la ville étaient remplies durant la crue, à partir du printemps,
et c’est sur ces réserves en eau que la ville vivait jusqu’à celle de l’année suivante. Voir
Piloti, Traité 65–66 (même information fournie par Ghillebert de Lannoy en 1422, Piloti,
Traité 65–66 note a).
Pour la géographie historique du Delta à l’époque musulmane, sur base des sources
anciennes, voir Guest, The delta. On trouvera un tracé des différents canaux qui ont
relié la ville d’Alexandrie au Nil à travers l’histoire dans Kahle, Zur Geschichte entre les
pages 82–83 ; Hairy et Sennoune, Géographie 276.
Voir Hairy et Sennoune, Géographie 250.
Les travaux ont sans doute remis en fonction un ancien bras puisqu’il existait déjà une
jonction entre Fuwwa et Alexandrie au xie siècle. C’est ainsi qu’elle est mentionnée dans
des documents de la Genizah. Goitein, A Mediterranean society 1 :295, 297, 299.
Sigoli signale la présence d’une écluse sur ledit canal en 1384, signe que l’on pouvait régler
le débit. Voir Frescobaldi, Visit 164.
Hairy et Sennoune, Géographie 250.
Il semble que ce fût le cas depuis au moins l’époque fatimide. Vers la fin du mois d’octobre
1140, un marchand informait son correspondant au Caire que d’ici peu le canal ne serait
plus praticable pendant plusieurs mois. Voir Goitein, A Mediterranean society 1 :298.
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octobre91. Ils firent l’équivalent d’un mille à dos de mule et arrivèrent au canal
où ils embarquèrent dans une germe (en ar. jarm, barque) qui les conduisit
jusqu’à Fuwwa d’une traite92. Ces propos sont confimés par un autre voyageur, Brancacci, qui voyagea deux ans après notre soldat (1422), en empruntant le même itinéraire que Frescobaldi, toujours au moment de la crue : parti
d’Alexandrie à cheval, le 30 août, il rejoignit un port situé, dit-il, à 3 milles de la
ville où il embarqua sur une germe qui le conduisit jusqu’à Fuwwa93. L’année
suivante (826/1423), le sultan Barsbāy décida d’entreprendre des travaux destinés à rendre ce canal navigable à nouveau toute l’année. L’entreprise dura 90
jours, mais son effet fut de courte durée94.
Sur base de ces données, il est donc établi que le canal partait à peu de distance d’Alexandrie et que le voyage se faisait en une traite jusqu’au point de
captage situé à al-ʿAṭf, sans changer d’embarcation. En chemin, les voyageurs
s’étonnent des nombreuses petites villes plus commerçantes qu’agricoles
situées en bordure, conséquence de l’incessant va-et-vient de barques transportant tant marchandises que passagers95. À ce stade, l’embarcation marquait un arrêt le long de la rive de la ville de Fuwwa, qui est la plus souvent mentionnée dans les récits de voyages96. Elle est décrite comme une ville
d’importance97 avec ses marchés et boutiques, entourée qu’elle est de nom-
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
En 1440, Piloti de Crète fait remarquer que les bateaux arrivent du Nil jusqu’à Alexandrie
par ce même canal. Il s’agit à nouveau de la période de crue (septembre). Voir Piloti, Traité
183 (« Au mois de septembre attendons en Dieu que aurons la terre d’Alexandrie, qui est au
temps que le flume est creu, et sez sarme [= jarm], par la voye du Calis [= khalīj], viennent
jusques aulx murs de la terre»).
Frescobaldi, Visit 42. C’était encore le cas un an plus tard. Voir Kahle, Zur Geschichte
77–78. On signalera que des bateaux musulmans pouvaient évidemment remonter le Nil
depuis la Méditerranée par l’embouchure de Rosette, et ce jusqu’au Caire. Voir Goitein, A
Mediterranean society 1 :296. Ce fut aussi le cas pour des bateaux provenant du dār al-ḥarb,
sans doute sous bonne escorte, mais cette facilité leur fut déniée à partir des croisades. On
en trouve encore des occurrences dans les documents de la Genizah (Udovitch, Time, the
sea 522).
Brancacci, Diario 169. S’il faut en croire Gucci, les chevaux étaient normalement réservés
aux militaires et aux gens d’un certain rang. Les voyageurs étrangers n’avaient le droit de
chevaucher que des ânes ou des mules. Voir Frescobaldi, Visit 96.
Kahle, Zur Geschichte 78–79.
Wiet, Les communications 244.
Graboïs, La description 533.
Belon du Mans, en 1553, exagère sans doute quand il la dit presqu’aussi grande que la
capitale. Apud Maspero et Wiet, Matériaux 141.
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breux vergers et de cultures en tout genre98, notamment de canne à sucre99.
En 1384, Frescobaldi la définit comme une forteresse sans murailles100. D’après
ses indications, on comprend que les bateaux qui arrivaient à cet endroit marquaient un arrêt pour remplir des obligations liées sans doute au fisc et à la
douane. Les passagers passèrent la nuit à bord, y prenant aussi leur repas, pour
éviter des frais supplémentaires ainsi que pour des raisons de sécurité101. Il n’y
eut pas de transbordement à Fuwwa et on comprend donc que c’est la même
embarcation qui les conduisit d’Alexandrie jusqu’au Caire.
Le soldat qui conclut le contrat de transport fluvial était en garnison à
Alexandrie. Si l’on considère qu’il a conclu ce contrat à Fuwwa, on peut légitimement se demander s’il a accompli le voyage séparant Alexandrie de la
branche bolbitine en bateau. La date du contrat (1 avril 1420) indique que
nous étions au tout début de la crue, à un moment où le débit du Nil n’était
pas encore suffisant pour alimenter le canal jusqu’à Alexandrie. Il a donc dû
prendre un autre moyen de transport, probablement le cheval, jusqu’à l’endroit
où la navigation était possible. Le fait qu’il a dû conclure un contrat de Fuwwa
au Caire démontre qu’il est soit arrivé directement à cheval à Fuwwa ou, s’il a
pris une embarcation, qu’il devait en changer à cette jonction, car un nouveau
contrat impliquait des frais supplémentaires et ne faisait qu’augmenter le coût
du transport jusqu’à la destination finale. Dans ce cas, cela signifierait aussi que
certaines embarcations étaient spécialisées dans la liaison reliant Alexandrie à
Fuwwa, ce qui n’est pas impossible. Les témoignages des pèlerins occidentaux
98
99
100
101
Labib, Handelsgeschichte 301.
Labib, Handelsgeschichte 319 et 421.
Frescobaldi, Visit 43. Pour les monuments historiques qu’on pouvait encore y voir en
1908, voir Massignon, Note 20–22 (la plus ancienne inscription relevée par Massignon fut
trouvée sur le minbar de la mosquée al-Sabāʿ. Elle datait de 817/1414–1415).
Frescobaldi, Visit 165. Brancacci, en 1422, mentionne lui aussi un arrêt à Fuwwa, pour
se rafraîchir et se reposer, jusqu’au départ pour Le Caire au moment des vêpres. Voir
Brancacci, Diario 169. Les passagers sont censés emporter leurs victuailles pour toute la
durée du voyage. Voir Khalilieh, Islamic 56 ; Khalilieh, Admiraly 75. Ibn Baṭṭūṭa apporte
des précisions à ce sujet: « Celui qui navigue sur le Nil n’a pas besoin d’emporter des
provisions de route, car toutes les fois qu’il veut descendre sur le bord du fleuve, il peut le
faire, soit pour vaquer à ses ablutions ou à la prière, soit pour acheter des vivres et autres
objets. Des marchés se suivent sans interruption depuis la ville d’Alexandrie jusqu’au
Caire, et depuis le Caire jusqu’à la ville d’Assouan ». Apud Wiet, Les communications
246. Dans le cas de voyageurs étrangers au dār al-islām, on comprend qu’il était plus
intéressant pour eux de partir avec leurs provisions de bouche acquises à Alexandrie, car
ils étaient conscients que le prix des marchandises serait immanquablement plus élevé
en chemin eu égard à leur origine.
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font état d’un transport fluvial dans une même embarcation d’Alexandrie au
Caire pour la simple raison que la saison y était propice.
S’agissant de la durée d’un tel périple, les différentes sources font état d’une
moyenne située entre 5 à 6 jours102, mais il n’était pas rare d’arriver à destination au bout de 8 jours. L’état de navigabilité du canal, la saison, le climat, la direction et d’autres facteurs externes pouvaient raccourcir ou allonger
cette durée. En 1384, Frescobaldi et ses compagnons quittèrent Alexandrie le
5 octobre et arrivèrent au Caire dans la nuit (2 h du matin) du 11 du même
mois. Toutefois, dès le 6 octobre au soir, donc le lendemain de leur départ, ils
arrivaient à Fuwwa, et ce en comptant le trajet effectué à dos de mule pour
rejoindre le canal103. En 1422, Brancacci ne mit pas plus de temps pour parcourir
la même distance. Il arriva au Caire après seulement quatre jours de voyage104.
Par contre, en 1447, un pèlerin musulman, al-Qalaṣādī, mit 8 jours pour rallier
Būlāq au départ d’Alexandrie105.
Quant au coût d’un tel voyage, les sources donnent aussi de précieuses informations, même si elles doivent être recoupées avec d’autres données. Dans les
documents de la Genizah, les frais mentionnés font toujours état d’une somme
globale dont il est difficile de retrancher avec précision le coût du transport.
Le frêt des marchandises comprenait, en effet, la plupart du temps, le prix
du transport de la personne accompagnante106. Notre document ne s’écarte
pas de cette pratique: le soldat paie 5 ducats pour le transport de sa propre
personne, ses effets personnels et une quantité de textile. En guise de comparaison, Frescobaldi et ses 11 compagnons de voyage payèrent, en 1384, pour le
trajet Alexandrie-Le Caire un total de 8 ducats, soit 3/4 de ducat par personne.
Deux ans avant notre soldat, Brancacci donna, pour deux personnes, 1 ducat
et 8 soldi pour le voyage jusqu’à Fuwwa107 et 6 ducats, 2 livres et 8 soldi pour
le trajet Fuwwa-Le Caire108. En 1481, Meshullam de Volterre, juif italien, paya
30 mu’ayyadī-s109 pour le voyage en bateau de Fuwwa au Caire. Seize ans plus
tard, Arnold von Harff acquitta un ducat pour le voyage par bateau de Rosette
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
Wiet, Les Communications 244; Goitein, A Mediterranean society 1 :299.
Goitein, A Mediterranean society 1 :43–45, 96–98.
Brancacci, Diario 169 (départ d’Alexandrie le 30 juillet, arrivée à Fuwwa le 31).
Qalaṣādī, Riḥla 125–126 (départ le 8 jum. ii 851/21 août 1447, arrivée le 16 jum. ii/29 août
1447).
Goitein, A Mediterranean society 1 :341.
Brancacci, Diario 329.
Brancacci, Diario 329.
En 1479, 25 mu’ayyadī-s équivalaient à 1 dīnār ashrafī. Ashtor, The Kārimī 279.
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au Caire110. Ces montants, qui s’étalent sur plus d’un siècle, permettent de
constater que le coût moyen du transport de Fuwwa au Caire oscillait entre un
à trois ducats, la différence devant s’expliquer par les marchandises qui accompagnaient les voyageurs. On constate donc, pour notre document, que le soldat
paya un prix largement supérieur à cette moyenne, ce qui laisse sous-entendre
que le textile qu’il transportait devait représenter une part importante dans
le calcul du coût du transport. Les données que fournissent les documents de
la Genizah nous permettent d’imaginer que la quantité de textile transportée
devait être conséquente. Ainsi, pour l’envoi d’une bale d’indigo d’une valeur
de 66 dīnārs et 1/4 du Caire à Rosette au xie siècle, l’expéditeur dû débourser 3
dīnārs (±5 %) pour les frais liés à l’expédition et 1 dīnār (= 1,5 %) pour le transport111. Ces pourcentages ne peuvent évidemment pas être invoqués pour du
textile transporté en 1420, mais ils nous autorisent au moins à considérer que
le textile emporté par le soldat représentait une somme importante.
Reste à savoir pourquoi un militaire en poste à Alexandrie qui se rendait
au Caire transportait une telle quantité de textile et comment ce contrat a
pu finir parmi les documents soit du consul de Venise de l’époque, Biagio
Dolfin, soit de son neveu, Lorenzo Dolfin, qui faisait office de vice-consul. Les
deux questions sont, à mon humble avis, liées. Biagio Dolfin avait été nommé
consul de la République de Saint-Marc à Alexandrie en 1418. Son mandat de
deux ans, comme à l’accoutumée112, devait donc prendre fin en 1420. En avril
de cette même année, nous savons qu’il se trouvait au Caire pour affaire.
C’est dans le courant de ce mois qu’il a dû y contracter la peste, maladie à
laquelle il ne survécut pas : il trépassa à la fin du mois, son testament étant
daté du 27 avril 1420113. Il n’est pas impossible que son départ survint au
tout début d’avril, à la même date que celle de notre document. Il faisait
d’ailleurs peut-être partie des passagers qui se trouvaient sur la barque qui
devait emmener le soldat de Fuwwa à la capitale114. Si le contrat a fini entre
ses papiers ou ceux de son neveu, cela signifie que le soldat rendait un service
110
111
112
113
114
Ashtor, The Kārimī 366.
Goitein, A Mediterranean society 1 :343.
Ashtor, The Kārimī 413.
Le testament fut rédigé le lendemain de sa mort. Pedani, The Mamluk 140–141. Voir aussi
désormais Christ, Trading conflict 101.
Dans ce cas, la lecture wa-l-anfār proposée pour la l. 5 se justifierait. Le prix de cinq ducats
pourrait alors correspondre au tarif exigé pour le transport de toutes ces personnes et de
leurs effets. En 1561, Alessandro Magno paya cinq ducats pour louer une germe qui devait
le transporter avec ses dix compagnons de Rosette à Būlāq (Magno, Voyages 263).
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à l’un des deux115. Ce service consistait probablement soit à les escorter, soit à
prendre en charge une quantité de textile qui devait être revendue au Caire, soit
encore les deux116. Le fait de confier de la marchandise à un passager musulman
pourrait sembler étrange et pourtant un document de la Genizah démontre
que c’était une pratique sinon courante, du moins attestée. Dans celui-ci, un
marchand indien conseille à son frère de confier ses biens à un voyageur
musulman afin d’éviter de payer des taxes douanières additionnelles que l’on
appliquait aux non-musulmans117. Ce stratagème était de bonne guerre, si l’on
ose dire : le non-musulman sortait gagnant de cet échange momentané tout
autant que le musulman qui se prêtait au jeu, car on imagine qu’il en tirait
un avantage pécunier. De ce genre de contrat, nous ne risquons pas de trouver
trace.
115
116
117
Lorenzo Dolfin, après la mort de son oncle, poursuivit sa carrière de marchand comme
l’attestent ses comptes. Voir Ashtor, The Kārimī 431.
Dans la première moitié du xve siècle, l’industrie textile d’Alexandrie était déjà sur le
déclin. On en trouve la preuve dans l’augmentation des importations de textiles des
Flandres, d’Italie, du Languedoc et d’ailleurs dont étaient responsables les Vénitiens.
Voir Ashtor, The Kārimī 270. Le témoignage d’un contemporain comme l’était Piloti est
éclairant à plus d’un titre. Parlant des marchandises importées à Alexandrie, au Caire,
à Beyrouth et à Damas, il déclare: « Et premièrement draps de laine de Flandres, de
Cathalogne, de Barseloigne, et de Venise». Voir Piloti, Traité 107. Pour les exportations de
tissus de Catalogne, voir Coulon, Barcelone 312–338.
Goitein, A Mediterranean society 1 :344–345. Les ḥarbī-s devaient payer un droit de passage à la frontière. Frescobaldi et ses compagnons, en 1384, payèrent chacun un droit de
passage de 4 ducats à la sortie d’Alexandrie et un autre d’un ducat par tête à l’approche
du Caire. Gucci signale que ces droits de passage rapportaient au sultan quelque cinquante mille florins chaque année. Frescobaldi, Visit 42, 98–99, 165. Il est possible que
le droit payé à l’approche du Caire ait en fait correspondu à la taxe de circulation sur le
Nil (ḥimāya) qui était due par chaque passager. Elle fut annulée sous le règne du sultan
al-Nāṣir Muḥammad ibn Qalāwūn (r. 1309–1341), puis réintroduite à sa mort. Labib, Handelsgeschichte 251. Al-Maqrīzī fait aussi état d’une taxe non islamique (maks) payable au
port de Būlāq et annulée par le même sultan. Voir Maqrīzī, al-Mawāʿiẓ wa-l-iʿtibār 1 :88–89.
En outre, les marchands non musulmans se voyaient souvent imposer des frais de douane
doubles. Goitein (A Mediterranean society 1 :344–345) estime que cela ne semble pas avoir
été d’application sous les Fatimides, mais que ce fut bien le cas pendant une brève période
sous le règne de Saladin.
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al-Nakhīlī, D., Al-Sufun al-islāmīya ʿalā ḥurūf al-muʿjam, s.l. [Le Caire] 1974.
Pedani, M.P., The Mamluk documents of the Venetian state archives: Historical survey,
in Quaderni di Studi Arabi 20–21 (2002–2003), 133–146.
Popper, W., Egypt and Syria under the Circassian sultans, 1382–1468a.d. Systematic notes
to Ibn Taghrî Birdî’s chronicles of Egypt, 2 vols., Berkeley et Los Angeles 1955–1957.
Rāġib, Y., Actes de vente d’esclaves et d’animaux d’Égypte médiévale, Le Caire 2006.
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Rayner, S.E., The theory of contracts in Islamic law: A comparative analysis with particular reference to the modern legislation in Kuwait, Bahrain and the United Arab
Emirates, Londres, Dordrecht et Boston 1991.
Sijpesteijn, P.M., Travel and trade on the river, in P.M. Sijpesteijn et L. Sundelin (éd.),
Papyrology and the history of early Islamic Egypt (Islamic history and civilization.
Studies and texts vol. 55), Leyde et Boston 2004, 115–152.
Sublet, J., ʿAbd al-Laṭīf al-Takrītī et la famille des Banū Kuwayk, marchands kārimī, in
Arabica 9 (1962), 193–196.
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Caire 1922.
. Mémoire sur l’histoire du Nil, 3 vols., Le Caire 1925.
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mediterranea nell’alto medioevo, Spoleto 1978, 503–545.
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Wehr, H., A dictionary of modern written Arabic, Édité par J. Milton Cowan, Ithaca 1976.
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(1933), 241–264.
. Les Marchands d’épices sous les sultans mamlouks, in Cahiers d’histoire égyptienne 7 (1955), 81–147.
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Language & Culture
∵
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chapter 8
P.Cair.Arab iii 167: A Discussion
of the Akhmīm Declaration*
Mostafa El-Abbadi
Arab Administration: Control and Responsibility
Multilingual documents usually are of special historical interest. Their value for
the study of the linguistic situation—multilingualism, linguistic inference and
the process of arabicisation—in early Islamic Egypt has recently been considered in a number of studies.1 P.Cair.Arab iii 167, a trilingual declaration, written
in Coptic, Greek and Arabic, is an exceptionally rich example of such documents. In the present paper, I shall be mainly concerned with its administrative
contents and what it reveals about how the new Arab administration reacted
to complaints presented against certain irregularities committed in connection
with the tax collection in Akhmīm and its surrounding area.
Early Arab rule tended to be practical and keen to avoid any interruption in
the smooth running of the administration. It was therefore consistent with the
framework of their polity to allow—for at least a century—the perpetuation of
two earlier practices: the Byzantine taxation system, and the use of the Greek
and Coptic languages in local administration. With regard to taxation, Ibn ʿAbd
al-Ḥakam states that “ʿAmr agreed to levy the same amount of taxes as the Rūm
(i.e. Byzantines).”2 Consequently, the new Arab administration in Egypt had to
deal with the same causes of discontent that had troubled the Romans and the
Byzantines before them.
Although fiscal pressure had often caused Egypt’s tax-payers to rise in revolt
already in the pre-Islamic period, the end of the first/seventh and first half of
the second/eighth centuries especially saw tension rising, with more conflicts
* I would like to thank Petra Sijpesteijn for making available her unpublished paper on the
relation between Coptic, Greek and Arabic in the early Arabic administration where this
document is also extensively discussed.
1 See especially Clackson and Sijpesteijn, A mid-eighth-century, Richter, Greek, Coptic, Richter,
Language choice, Sijpesteijn, Arabic-Greek archives and Cromwell, Aristophanes.
2 For a study of the changes and continuities in the Egyptian Arab administration, see Sijpesteijn, The Arab conquest and cpr xxx, introduction.
© Mostafa El-Abbadi, 2015 | doi:10.1163/9789004284340_009
This is an open access chapter distributed under the terms of the prevailing cc-by-nc License
at the time of publication.
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el-abbadi
appearing in the papyri. One of the problems that continued to worry the Arabs
was the custom of peasants and small farmers of taking flight and abandoning
their land, due to their inability to pay the taxes or for other reasons. Evidence
of this phenomenon is reflected in the instructions dispatched by the governor
Qurra ibn Sharīk (in office 90–96/709–714) concerning the tracking-down of
such run-away villagers and their treatment in their new place of residence.3
A principal cause of this phenomenon of fugitive peasants was the continued use by the Arabs of the former Byzantine practice of imposing a fixed corporate tax (capitatio) on each village.4 In the words of Ibn ʿAbd al-Ḥakam, it was
“a collective tax ( jizya) on each village to be paid by the villagers [together].”5
As a consequence, runaways created difficulties for the tax-payers and taxcollectors. On the one hand the authorities wanted to ensure that the same
amount of taxes continued to be levied collectively on the villages, while on
the other hand less hands were available to produce these taxes. In dealing
with such a situation, the Arab administration imposed restrictions on the free
movement or travel of villagers out of their villages. In practice, however, a villager in need could apply for a permit to make his living elsewhere in order to
pay off his poll-tax ( jizya) or other dues. In such cases, the villager would be
required to provide someone to stand surety for him during his absence.
In a Coptic document, we find such an act of surety in which three men (two
of them village scribes) acknowledge in a note addressed to the public treasury
(Gr. demosios logos) that they stand surety (enguē) for a certain Shenūda in case
of any enquiry concerning him.6 Once provided with such an act of surety, the
villager could apply for a travel permit, indicating his destination, reason for
travel, and the duration of his stay. The local ‘pagarch’ then issued the requested
permit, which would guarantee safe-conduct for its bearer at the hands of the
authorities. The translation of one such safe-conduct7 reads as follows:
In the name of God, the Merciful and Compassionate. This is a certificate
from ʿAbd Allāh ibn ʿAbd Allāh, the official in Upper Ashmūn for the
governor ʿUbayd Allāh ibn al-Ḥabḥāb, for Constantine Papostoulos, a
3 P.Cair.Arab. iii 151–153, dating to 90/709 and 91/710; P.Lond. iv 1332.4; 1333.5, provenance
of all is Ishqūh/Aphrodito. See also the discussion in Morimoto, The fiscal Administration,
Sijpesteijn, Shaping a Muslim state chapter 2 and Swanson, The popes of Egypt.
4 Jones, The later Roman empire 455.
5 Ibn ʿAbd al-Ḥakam, Futūḥ Miṣr 154; P.Cair.Arab iii 160–163, dating to 91–93/709–711; P.Ness.
60–67, dating to 54/681.
6 P.Cair.Arab. iii 164, dating to the end of 1st /7th century. See also Schiller, Ten Coptic legal texts.
7 P.Cair.Arab. iii 175.
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p.cair.arab iii 167: a discussion of the akhmīm declaration
135
youth with a scar on his cheek, two marks on his neck, straight hair, from
the village of Baskalon Baha in Upper Ashmūn. I hereby permit him to
work in Lower Ashmūn in order to pay off his tax ( jizya) and earn his
living. I therefore grant him two months respite from the 1st of the month
of Dhū l-ḥijja to the end of the month of Muḥarram of the year 116. Should
whosoever of the governor’s men or others encounter him, let them not
interfere with him during that period, except for his good. Greetings …
Written by Ṭalīq. 1st of Dhū l-ḥijja end of year 112.8 [Appended to the
document is ʿAbd Allāh’s seal and signature.]
It is worth noting that the reason given for issuing the travel permit was to
enable its bearer to earn enough to be able to pay his tax and cover his living expenses; the permit—as is stated—was also a warrant to protect him
from being bothered by officials and security men. This is why Gladys FrantzMurphy has made a connection between the disappearance of these kinds of
safe-conducts in the course of the second/eighth century and the appearance
of similar statements in tax receipts protecting the holder of the document
against interference by the authorities.9 As regard the payment of the poll-tax,
this had to be done in the place of origin and not in the place of temporary residence, as can be concluded from a document dated 113/732.10 In this document
a tax-collector from Ashmūn demands that a certain Girgis son of Longinos,
a native of Ashmūn but temporary resident in Fusṭāṭ, pay his poll-tax of two
dīnārs to him.
Taxation was often a cause of discontent among Egypt’s population in
Roman and Byzantine times, and it continued to be so under the Arabs. Several documents indicate how sensitive the early Arab administration was to
complaints about taxes. In a letter that has survived in Greek, the governor
Qurra ibn Sharīk admonishes Basileios, his subordinate in Ishqūh, not to torture tax-payers and to instruct the village headmen not to do so either.11 That
the governor was seriously concerned with such matters is reflected in another
8
9
10
11
As already noted by Frank Trombley (Sawirus ibn al-Muqaffaʿ n. 32) one of the dates in the
document should probably be corrected because of the unusual four year gap between
the date of issuing and the date of effectiveness. One other safe-conduct issued under
ʿUbayd Allāh is dated 112/731 (Diem, Einige frühe no. 9) and another one 116/734 (Rāġib,
Sauf-conduits no. 3). Unfortunately the publication does not contain a photograph of the
document to check the reading.
cpr xxi, introduction.
P.Cair.Arab. iii 180.
P.Ross.Georg. iv 16, dating from 710.
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letter, a year earlier, in 91/710, also addressed to the same Basileios and from
which we learn that Qurra did not only depend on what reached him of personal or communal complaints, but that he had his own sources of information,
namely, ṣāḥib al-barīd, the postmaster who was also head of the secret police. In
that letter, Qurra declares that he learnt from the postmaster that an additional
fine had illegally been imposed upon villages that were in arrears in paying their
taxes.12 Qurra peremptorily ordered the fine to be stopped immediately.
A final letter might be added to illustrate the governor’s concern that his
subordinates treat the tax-paying population fairly. It is a letter in which Qurra
warns Basileios to punish those tax-collectors showing fraudulent behaviour at
the expense of the Egyptians. Any collector found to have used a wrong measure or to have taken anything more than imposed by Qurra at the collection of
the wheat taxes is to be whipped with 100 lashes, to have their beard and hair
shaved off and to be fined thirty dīnārs.13
Of special interest also in this respect is a Greek document from Nessana
dating to a little earlier, namely the last quarter of the first/seventh century. It
shows how dangerous it was not to address communal discontent in matters
related to taxes and public duties. It is a letter sent by a group of individuals
to a church official inviting him to join their protest in an attempt to alleviate
public duties on the inhabitants. A translation reads as follows:
We wish to inform your Noble Magnificence, beloved of God, that we have
received a letter from his Magnificence, Lord Samuel, that he personally
invites both you and us at one and the same time to appeal to our most
esteemed Governor to grant us (a relief). For they caused us and you
serious distress and we are unable to bear the burden of such taxation.
Note therefore that tomorrow, Monday, we shall be in Gaza. There are
twenty of us. Will you please come (?) immediately so that all of us may
be of one mind and of one accord? After you have read the present letter,
send it to Nessana. We wrote to Sobata. Good luck and good health to
you.14
We have here a highly organised attempt to round up delegations from various
districts in Southern Palestine in order to descend in a body upon Gaza and
appeal to the governor. It reveals a long-practiced method of communication
12
13
14
Becker, Arabische Papyri 13 [= Becker, Neue arabische 6; P.Cair.Arab. iii 153; Abū Safiyya,
Bardiyāt no. 8].
P.Heid.Arab. i 3, 91/709.
P.Ness. 75.
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p.cair.arab iii 167: a discussion of the akhmīm declaration
137
among the chiefs of towns or districts as represented by their head churchmen.
We can count five of them by reading our letter carefully. First there is the prime
motivator, Samuel, who communicated with the second identified participant,
the writer of the present letter, who also wrote to Sobata; the final two are the
recipient of our letter and the one to whom he forwarded it in Nessana where
the papyrus was found.
Possibly, as the editor has suggested, others were also approached by Samuel.
The size of each delegation seems to have been quite considerable, if the 20 men
mentioned by the writer of our letter were the representatives of his own town
or village. Should 20 be the number of the average size of each delegation, it
might well be feasible that the total number of the representatives of the five
districts could be around a 100 men. This total figure might have been much
more, if the total of taxable villages in Palestina Tertia were nine, according to
the register preserved in P.Ness. 39. These representatives were undoubtedly
the landowners upon whom the taxes fell. This type of concerted protest,
undoubtedly, had its force as it could have led to communal commotion or even
revolt.
Civil Unrest in Upper Egypt
Thus, as we have shown above, the administration was quick to redress any
irregularities or acts of embezzlement in the collection of taxes and to avoid
any possibly alarming escalations. The Akhmīm trilingual declaration which is
the subject of this article is yet another, more detailed document that illustrates
a similar situation of communal discontent in Upper Egypt and the measures
taken by the Arab authorities in response. It consists of 101 lines: 80 in Coptic,
followed by a summary of 12 lines in Greek and at the end, another summary of
9 lines in Arabic. Unfortunately, no surely interpretable date is preserved, but
the text should probably be placed between 749 and 756 c.e.15
15
For the reconstruction of this date and the following discussion, I am grateful to Jelle
Bruning who discusses this document in his 2014 Leiden University dissertation The rise of
a aapital: Studies into the political, economic, and judicial relation between al-Fusṭāṭ and its
hinterland, c. 20/640–200/815. I would also like to thank Lajos Berkes for his comments on
the issue of the dating. Palaeographically the text should be dated around 750. The number
“3” following the name of the month Choiak both in the Greek and Coptic most probably
refers to the indication date. There are also two individuals mentioned in the text who
can be used to date it. Yazīd ibn ʿAbd Allāh al-Ḥaḍramī became deputee qāḍī in Fusṭāṭ in
Jumādā ii 140/October–November 757, a position he would keep until his death in Dhū
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The events that led to this document can be summed up as follows: complaints reached the governor in Fusṭāṭ (l. 5) concerning unspecified irregularities committed by the local tax-collector ʿAmr ibn Attas and his staff. The
governor instructed Yazīd ibn ʿAbd Allāh,16 head of the public treasury (l. 2)
demosios logos and the governor of Akhmīm and Ṭaḥṭā (ll. 3, 96) to investigate
the matter. Yazīd accordingly convened the local headmen (ll. 10, 82, 96) who
made their investigations and asked for a formal declaration (l. 9 homologia),
to the effect that neither ʿAmr ibn Attas nor any of his assistants had oppressed
them and that they were liable to a fine (l. 12 prostimon) should one of them
make a complaint to the contrary (ll. 11–12, 98).
We may never be able to find out whether this declaration of acquittal of
the accused officials was justified by evidence or was written under duress.
Yet, according to the words of the headmen, it seems that they did not sign
the declaration until ʿAmr and his assistants had refunded them their dues (l. 7
dikaion). This would imply that ʿAmr had indeed overtaxed them and that he
was forced to return the unjustly taken money.
This document is significant in illustrating the situation in the Akhmīm
region after the passage of almost a century of Arab rule. Worthy of note are
the following points. Firstly, the predominantly Egyptian Christian character
of the declaration is indicated by the fact that the Coptic text comes first and
occupies 80% of the whole document. The Christian invocation “In the name
of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost” is used even though the shorter “In
the name of God” version inspired by the Islamic basmala is widely attested in
Greek and Coptic documents at this time, issued by the offices of the governor
in Fusṭāṭ and the dukes.17 The predominance of Coptic is obviously explained
16
17
l-Qaʿda 140/March 758. The governor’s name is only partially preserved as ʿAbd which can
only refer to ʿAbd al-Malik ibn Marwān whose rule started in Jumādā ii 132/January 750.
The information from the papyrus, however, does not fit that of the narrative sources. We
either have to adjust ʿAbd al-Malik’s governorship to start in Rabīʿ ii 132/December 749,
taking us to the most likely date of Rabīʿ ii 132/December 749 or to discard the indiction
year 3 (reducing it to an indication of the day of the month) and date this document
to between 17 Jumādā ii/27 November and 17 Rajab/26 December of the year 138/755 or
between 28 Jumādā ii/27 November and 28 Rajab/26 December of the year 139/756. Adolf
Grohmann dated the text to the first half of the eighth century in P.Cair.Arab. iii, and to
137/754–140/757 at a later occasion (Beamtenstab 132).
Yazīd ibn ʿAbd Allāh al-Ḥaḍramī (d. 140/758). See for him, the previous note 15.
The invocation en onomati tou theou is attested only in documents issued by the chancery
in Fusṭāṭ or from the offices of the dukes (cpr xxii, pp. 53–54). Cf. Bagnall and Worp,
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p.cair.arab iii 167: a discussion of the akhmīm declaration
139
by the fact that this would have been the local language of communication
amongst the largest number of the people mentioned in the document.
The signatories to the declaration represent a fairly wide cross-section of
the population. The Coptic text includes the names of some 54 witnesses of
whom two bear Arabic names (l. 37, the two sons of Abdella). Amongst the
witnesses whose names appear in the Coptic part, we can identify 22 villagers,
ten townsmen of Akhmīm and nine church officials, namely one bishop (ll. 14,
87), one archimandrite (ll. 20 and 88), four deacons (ll. 58, 62, 63 and 84) and
three priors (ll. 21, 43 and 88).
We may also notice that of the 50 witnesses in the Greek section, 40 names
are repeated from the Coptic, prominent amongst which are that of the bishop,
the archimandrite and the other churchmen. The reason for the presence of
the Greek part, including the repetition of a large number of the witnesses’
names, may be the greater familiarity with Greek than Coptic at the central
administration.
The ten witnesses mentioned in the Arabic section all carry Arab names and
tribal affiliations, suggesting they were in fact Arabs having arrived with the
conquerors or Egyptians having been integrated into the Arab system. Judging
by their names, they belong to influential Arab tribes, two of whom (l. 95)
were the Umayyads. The Arabs signing this declaration might be personally
involved, as we can imagine that they owned land or had land assigned to them
in the district of Akhmīm and Ṭaḥṭā. It might explain their anxiety to allay
causes of discontent. The Arabic summary was intended presumably for the
Arab administration, both for practical and ideological reasons, as well as for
the Arab witnesses who were in some way involved in the agreement.
In general the document contains several elements suggesting the importance placed by the authorities on coming to some kind of solution and bringing about some lasting reconciliation. The inclusion of such a large number of
witnesses from the different constituencies in Akhmīm and Ṭaḥṭā would have
promoted a feeling of communal responsibility among the diverse elements
of the population. The largest number of names appears in the Coptic part
of the document and this list presumably comes closest to including all those
involved in the protest, both the more prominent members of society and those
less influential. By having them all sign, they were all personally beholden to
keep to the agreements stated in the document. The inclusion of a substantial
number of prominent members of this society, such as the Arab tribesmen as
Chronological systems 99; Cromwell, Variation and specificity. I would like to thank Marie
Legendre and Jennifer Cromwell for these references.
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well as the bishop and archimandrite, was no doubt intended to add weight to
the declaration. Legally these large lists of witnesses were not necessary and
their function is explainable rather from a social point of view.18
The predominantly Coptic character of the document in language and persons makes us question the validity of statements about developments in the
Arab administration as recorded in the literary sources. Al-Kindī (d. 350/961),
for example, states that in 88/707, the Umayyad Caliph al-Walīd (r. 86–96/705–
715), implementing the policy started by his father ʿAbd al-Malik ibn Marwān (r.
65–86/685–705), appointed his brother ʿAbd Allāh, the then governor of Egypt
(in office 86–90/705–709), over the dīwāns ordering “to have them written in
Arabic as they had been noted in Coptic before.”19 Ibn ʿAbd al-Ḥakam, however, stated the change was from ʿajamī.20 However, it is remarkable that in our
document, almost 50 years after the start of the apparent Arabicisation policy
in Egypt, Arabic was far from being the first language in Akhmīm. While Greek
continued to be used as an important language in the Arab administration as
well, the use of Coptic in this context and in this document confirms the observation that under Arab rule, Coptic advanced at the expense of Greek.21
As for the background of the personnel in the administration, al-Kindī
reports that the Umayyad Caliph ʿUmar ibn ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz (r. 99–101/718–720)
decreed that “the Coptic heads (mawāzīt, i.e. Gr. meizoteroi, village-heads) were
to be removed from the pagarchies and to be replaced by Muslims.”22 Daniel
Dennett took this statement at its face value and concluded that it led to
widespread conversion among Copts who wanted to maintain their position as
heads of their villages.23 But the Akhmīm declaration, written down a full generation later, disapproves such a conclusion, since out of 54 witnesses only two
bear Muslim names while the rest are Copts, 22 of whom were village-heads.
Indeed, this and other documents from Egypt do not reflect widespread conversion amongst the local population at this time.
Finally, we may observe a point of special interest for the survival of Egyptian
place names. The name of Akhmīm is used in the Coptic (l. 3 et saepe) and
18
19
20
21
22
23
For a similar use of large lists of witnesses in Coptic Arabic marriage contracts, see Abbott,
Arabic marriage.
Kitāb al-Wulāt 58–59.
Futūḥ 122.
I would like to thank Petra Sijpesteijn for this suggestion as discussed in her unpublished
paper (see above, n. 1)
Kitāb al-Wulāt 69. See for a discussion of the apparent disjuncture between these terms,
Sijpesteijn, Shaping a Muslim state chapter two.
Conversion and the Poll-tax.
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p.cair.arab iii 167: a discussion of the akhmīm declaration
141
Arabic sections, whereas the Greek uses the corresponding Greek appellation
Panopolis (l. 81). Ever since the establishment of Greek administration in Egypt,
practically every town and village of any significance was given a Greek name.
Examples are numerous and well known to specialists. Similarly, in Syria Greek
names were given to ancient sites. For almost a millennium, the new Greek
names were universally used in administration and Greek literature. The native
population, however, continued to use the Egyptian names. When the Arabs
visited these towns in the Byzantine realm, they apparently took over the
names for the towns from the indigenous population. This was already the
case in the pre-Islamic period as evidenced in pre-Islamic verse. Thus, ʿAmr ibn
Kulthūm (d. 584) recalls with nostalgia the beakers of wine he drank in Baʿlbak,
Dimashq, al-Andarīn and Qaṣrīn! The Arabic papyri show that the Arabs in
Egypt similarly indeed used the Egyptian names.24
No sooner, therefore, did the Arabs set up their rule in the seventh century
than the Greek names disappeared and the native ones came to the fore, as
illustrated in the Akhmīm declaration. The interesting aspect of this is that it
seems to have been a spontaneous action and not the result of an administrative decision. Perhaps a reasonable explanation of this phenomenon is that
it was due to the cultural affinity between the Arabs and the peoples of their
neighbouring countries long before the conquest began.
Bibliography
Primary Sources
Ibn ʿAbd al-Ḥakam (d. 257/871), Futūḥ Miṣr, ed. Ch. Torrey, New Haven 1922.
al-Kindī (d. 350/961), Kitāb al-Wulāt wa-kitāb al-quḍāt or the governors and judges of
Egypt, ed. R. Guest, Leiden 1912.
Secondary Sources
Abbott, N., Arabic marriage contracts among Copts, in Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft 95 (1951), 59–81.
Abū Safiyya, Bardiyāt Qurra ibn Sharīk al-ʿAbsī, Riyadh 1425/2004.
Bagnall, R.S. and K.A. Worp, Chronological systems of Byzantine Egypt: Second edition,
Leiden 2004.
Becker, C.H., Arabische Papyri des Aphroditofundes, in Zeitschrift für Assyriologie und
verwandte Gebiete 20 (1906), 68–104.
24
See for example the earliest dated Arabic papyrus which uses Ihnās as opposed to the
Greek half of the text which uses Heracleopolis (discussed in Sijpesteijn, The Arab conquest).
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. Neue arabische Papyri des Aphroditofundes, in Der Islam 2 (1911), 245–268.
Clackson, S. and P.M. Sijpesteijn, A mid-eighth-century trilingual tax demand to a
Bawit monk, in A. Boud’hors et al. (eds.), Monastic estates in late antique and early
Islamic Egypt. Ostraca, papyri, and essays in memory of Sarah Clackson (P.Clackson),
Cincinnati 2009, 102–119.
Cromwell, J., Aristophanes son of Johannes: An 8th-century bilingual scribe?, in A.
Papaconstantinou (ed.), The multilingual experience in Egypt from the Ptolemies to
the ʿAbbāsids, Aldershot 2010, 221–232.
. Variation and specificity in Christian invocation formulae from Thebes, in
Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 174 (2010), 151–155.
Dennett, D., Conversion and the Polltax, Boston 1950.
Diem, W., Einige frühe amtliche Urkunden aus der Sammlung Papyrus Erzherzog
Rainer (Wien), in Le Muséon 97 (1984), 109–158.
Grohmann, A., Der Beamtenstab der arabischen Finanzverwaltung in Ägypten in früharabischer Zeit, in H. Braunert (ed.), Studien zur Papyrologie und antiken Wirtschaftsgeschichte. Friedrich Oertel zum achtzigsten Geburtstag gewidmet, Bonn 1964, 120–
134.
Jones, A.H., The later Roman empire, Oxford 1964.
Morimoto, K., The fiscal administration of Egypt in the early Islamic period, Dohosha
1981.
Rāġib, Y., Sauf-conduits d’Égypte Omeyyade et Abbasside, in Annales Islamologiques 31
(1997), 143–168.
Richter, T.S., Language choice in the Qurra papyri, in A. Papaconstantinou (ed.), The
multilingual experience: Egypt from the Ptolemies to the ʿAbbāsids, Oxford 2010, 189–
219.
. Greek, Coptic, and the ‘language of the Hijra.’ Rise and decline of the Coptic
language in late antique and medieval Egypt, in H. Cotton et al. (eds.), From Hellenism to Islam: Cultural and linguistic change in the Roman Near East, Cambridge
2009, 402–446.
Schiller, I.A., Ten Coptic legal texts, New York 1932.
Sijpesteijn, P.M., The Arab conquest of Egypt and the beginning of Muslim rule, in
R.S. Bagnall (ed.), Byzantine Egypt, Cambridge 2007, 437–459.
. Arabic-Greek archives, in A. Papaconstantinou (ed.), The multilingual experience in Egypt, from the Ptolemies to the ʿAbbāsids, Burlington 2010, 105–126.
. Shaping a Muslim state: The world of a mid-eighth-century Egyptian official,
Oxford 2013.
Swanson, M.N., The popes of Egypt. The Coptic papacy in Islamic Egypt 641–1517, Cairo
2010.
Trombley, F., Sawirus ibn al-Muqaffaʿ and the Christians of Umayyad Egypt: War and
society in documentary context, in P.M. Sijpesteijn and L. Sundelin (eds.), Papyrology and the history of early Islamic Egypt, Leiden 2004, 199–226.
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chapter 9
Greek and Arabic in Nessana
Rachel Stroumsa
Introduction
Greek, Latin, Arabic, Nabataean and Syriac—all of these languages are found
among the Nessana documents, and to a greater or lesser extent, all of them
have left their mark on the Nessana community. The relative importance of
these languages, and the meaning of their presence in different types of documents, has been the source of many casual mentions since their discovery some
eighty years ago, though not of any sustained debate. This paper will attempt to
examine the role of Greek in the years covered by the papyri—from the early
sixth century to the late seventh century—and in particular the interaction of
Greek and Arabic in the community.1
An appropriate place to begin might be one of the least promising papyri
in the Nessana collection: a fragmentary papyrus, relegated by the editor of the
corpus, Casper Kraemer, to the tail end of the edition and lumped together with
other “minor documents.” P.Ness. 145 comes from the early seventh-century
church archive, and is not only fragmentary, but also incomplete. The writer
begins composing an official letter, apparently dealing with household provisions; but after seven lines—five of which are spent on salutations and courtesies—he becomes dissatisfied with his efforts. He then turns the papyrus over
and begins writing a letter again, only to grow discouraged at the difficulty of
the task, this time after only one line of salutation. Having given up on the
actual letter as a task beyond him, the writer then turns the papyrus around by
90 degrees and practices writing only one sentence over and over again, on both
sides of the papyrus, that sentence being ἐν ὀνόματι τοῦ κυρίου καὶ δεσπότου Εἰσοῦ
1 Compare the study on the relations between Arabic, Greek and Coptic in a corpus of papyri
from early eighth-century Egypt (Richter, Language choice). On multilingualism in early Arab
Egypt, see also el-Abbadi’s article in this volume. For a general discussion of the papyri found
in and near two churches in Nessana and a comparison with other multilingual dossiers found
in Egypt, see also Sijpesteijn, Arabic-Greek. See also in this volume O’Sullivan’s use of the same
papyri from Nessana to reconstruct changes taking place in the economic administration
after the Arab conquest.
© Rachel Stroumsa, 2015 | doi:10.1163/9789004284340_010
This is an open access chapter distributed under the terms of the prevailing cc-by-nc License
at the time of publication.
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Χριστοῦ, “in the name of the lord, the master, Jesus Christ.”2 The writer tries out
different spellings of ὀνόματι; he experiments with abbreviating Εἰσοῦ Χριστοῦ;
he fiddles with the formula, adding τοῦ θεοῦ in one version. What is so important about this sentence that this man concentrates on it, even when other
writing proves to be beyond him? Why would someone expend so much energy
on one particular phrase, given that he cannot complete a simple request for
more vinegar?
The standard interpretation of this document, exemplified in the first instance by the editor, Kraemer, is that the author is a “Hellenised” inhabitant
of Nessana, and that his shaky knowledge of written Greek proves the deterioration of education in the township.3 This interpretation is in line with a
more general trend, in which, by mapping out the interplay between various
cultures and identities in the Near East, scholars often attempt to describe a
socio-cultural reality by using linguistic evidence to yield a quantifiable result.
The central, unfounded assumption is that the use of language allows us to
determine ethnic, religious and cultural identities. This approach is problematic on two fronts, the abstract and the empirical; and a careful examination
of Greek and its usage in the Nessana corpus will allow us to reach a different
understanding both of this document and others.
On the theoretical level, reading language as a necessary and sufficient mark
of identity is anachronistic at best, relying, explicitly or not, on nineteenthcentury notions of personal and group identity.4 While scholars often speak
of the linguistic and cultural diversity of the region, there is still a tendency
to presume homogeneity within an identity, to assume that a person’s identity
2 The homogeneity of the writing and ink preclude any change in writers or the identification
of the papyrus scrap as used for pen tests.
3 Kraemer, Excavation 319.
4 The assumption of a one-to-one correlation between linguistic habits and ethnic groupings
stems from modern European notions of the nation-state and a Romantic understanding of
identity as a mystical, stable construct, whose existence is untouched by changing historical
and social situations. The roots of this identification of language and culture are found in
the eighteenth century with Herder’s prescription of one language per people, and obviously
one language per person. This notion was then picked up by philologists and historians
in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, who divided the world into distinct races
or cultures, assuming that group identity within a ‘society’ or a ‘culture’ was homogenous
and stable. Any particular group was understood to be unchanging through time and space,
and all individuals within that group were expected to participate equally in all facets of
that culture. The continuation of this mindset in modern scholarship has been criticised by,
among others, Jones, The archaeology; Hall, Ethnic identity; and Amory, People and identity
[2003].
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is defined and discrete. Though the region as a whole is often described as a
“mosaic” of languages and cultures,5 any particular individual is described as
either “Greek” or “Semitic,” either “Hellenised” or not. By assuming that identity has a monolithic nature, scholars are also prone to assuming that differing
indicia can be used as positive and certain criteria for determining an identity.
Thus we find scholars assuming that language is a straightforward indication
of identity, ethnicity or religion, rather than seeing language as one element
among many, used situationally in the construction of a fluid, shifting identity.
The deep-rooted assumptions underpinning such scholarly analyses have
led to a view that cultural identity can be quantified: if every individual has
a definite and definable identity, the cultural makeup of the population can be
divided and counted. This approach stands at the base of the debate between
the Hellenists and the Semiticists, who claim to distinguish the cultural
makeup of the area, based in great part on linguistic usage. Both parties start
from the same premise—that an answer is attainable, and that it will be one
identity or the other. Thus both Fred Donner and Glen Bowersock see late
antique Syria and Palestine as bifurcated into two communities, the Greek and
the Semitic, and the argument between them focuses on where the boundaries defining these two distinct and discrete communities lie.6 Both sides of
the modern debate accept as a given the existence of an unbridgeable gap
between the Semitic-speaking population and the Greek-speaking population.
Both sides take for granted that an individual would have had one genuine identity, and that the job of the scholar is to discern that identity, and then tally up
the number of “true Greeks” and “true Arabs.”
My argument here is that this view consists of a fundamental misconception,
leading to a false dichotomy between “Greek” and “Arab” and to a misleading debate as to the identity of particular people. As mentioned before, the
reliance on language as a marker of ethnic identity has been discredited, and
it is particularly inappropriate for the world of late antique Palestine. On the
empirical level, an examination of the papyrological testimony of Nessana, as
well as other evidence from sixth- and seventh-century Palestine and Syria, will
reveal that this approach is simply not borne out by the facts: linguistic, ethnic
and religious boundaries do not coincide so neatly.7
5 See for instance, Cameron, The Mediterranean 185.
6 Bowersock, Hellenism esp. 72–77; Donner, The early 94.
7 Similarly, scholars used to distinguish native Egyptian, Coptic speakers from Greek speaking Hellenes based on the Egyptian papyrological material. For a more nuanced picture, see
Papaconstantinou, Dioscore et la question; Fournet, Archive ou archives; Fournet, The multicultural environment; Boud’hors, Du copte; and to a certain extent already Wipszycka, Le
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If, then, language is not operative in distinguishing ethnic identity, we will
be left questioning its use, since it is very clear that more than one language was
in play in the community and that the choice of language was not random. The
question to be examined thus becomes what roles did the different languages
play: in what context and for what purposes were they used?
Greek in Nessana
Often the first characteristic to be commented upon, the Greek papyri contain
what are frequently described as “barbarisms”: many of the texts deviate substantially from standard Greek spelling, grammar and syntax. Kraemer, who
does not shy away from value judgments, reads this as evidence of a significant
decline in education: “the priest who wrote the text of 57 as well as the archdeacon author of 56 were both, as far as Greek was concerned, only semiliterate.
In fact, the carelessness or ignorance of the scribe George is rather noteworthy.”8 Kraemer describes a community where Greek used to be the primary language, whose inhabitants are still “Hellenised,” but no longer have the education to express themselves in “acceptable” standard Greek. This account leaves
us without an explanation for the insistence on writing in Greek, given the supposed massive decline in education. It also flies in the face of recent scholarship
on the evolution of language, and in particular, the parallel changes in contemporary Latin in the western Empire.9 Compared to the Latin of Gregory of
Tours, for instance, the Greek found in Nessana shows many of the same characteristics, suggesting that the problem is not an inability to write in “correct”
Attic Greek but that we see here an alteration in progress. Kraemer’s account of
declining knowledge is also at odds with what we know of Greek learning elsewhere in Palestine: Cyril Mango has demonstrated the vitality of Greek culture
in Palestine in the early eighth century, showing that this was “the most active
centre of Greek culture” at the time.10 Altogether, then, on both theoretical and
practical grounds, it appears that ignorance and slovenliness will not suffice as
explanations for the idiosyncrasies of the papyri.
8
9
10
nationalisme. See also Vieros, Bilingual notaries for a discussion of the fluidity of bilingual
Egyptian-Greek scribes in Egypt from the first century bce to the first century ce.
Kraemer, Excavation 157.
Banniard, Viva Voce.
Mango, Greek culture 149.
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Greek and Spoken Arabic
If we try to set aside any preconceptions and examine the documents in terms
of their functions, the Greek documents fall into two groups. Some documents
reflect an idiomatic, easily spoken Greek. Many of these papyri, such as P.Ness.
38 and 82, were evidently meant for personal use, and as such are little more
than aides-mémoire or notations for personal archives.
Naturally, the fact that Nessanites were comfortable in Greek, both spoken
and written, has no influence on whether they were also at ease in Arabic; and
indeed, the evidence does point to a widespread use of Arabic as a vernacular.11
The most obvious instance of this infiltration of Arabic into the Greek text
comes in the form of place names. Three places mentioned in the papyri
include obvious Arabic elements: Χαφρεα[…] in P.Ness. 54, Χαφρ in P.Ness. 94,
and Τουρσινα in P.Ness. 73. F.E. Day suggests that the use of Χαφρεα[…] in a Greek
document implies that the writer “ ‘did not realise the native usage, and took
kafr as a place name, omitting its relative word.’”12 Yet the opposite conclusion
may also be drawn, and as we shall see, it is more in keeping with the rest of
the evidence—viz., that the writers knew full well that kafr was a village, that
the place indicated was called Kafr x, and that the missing remainder of the
name would have supplied the full toponym. This is supported by the later
reappearance of a place called Kafr in the post-conquest P.Ness. 94. Given the
date of that manuscript, we can hardly assume the writers to be ignorant of the
meaning of the word kafr in Arabic, and yet we still find it used as a place name.
Clearly, then, it is rash to assume that this usage implies ignorance of Arabic
convention. A similar instance appears in an order from the Muslim governor,
dated to 683, where Mt. Sinai is called Τουρσινα (73.7). Here again we have the
identifier of a place (ṭūr) used as a portion of the proper name of a place, and
thus according to Day’s rationale, we ought to assume ignorance of Arabic; and
yet the date and context of this document assure us of the writer’s knowledge
of Arabic. We may then read the use of Arabic place descriptions as evidence
for knowledge of Arabic.
Even clearer proof of the widespread use of Arabic as a spoken language
is furnished by the Arabic words used to describe plots of land. Altogether,
fourteen fields are given proper names, in papyri ranging in dates from 512
(P.Ness. 16) to the late seventh century (P.Ness. 82). Thirteen of the names are
indubitably Semitic in origin, and have a meaning in Arabic. Day suggests that
11
12
Contra Wasserstein, Why did Arabic succeed 261.
Quoted in Kraemer, Excavation 152.
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alegrad in P.Ness. 24.6 is simply al-ajrād, plural of jarad, field.13 Two of the fields
mentioned have a similar name—abiathalbon in P.Ness. 16, and abiathalba in
P.Ness. 21, written 40 years later. These may refer to the same field or to two
separate fields; in either case we might suggest that the name is a reflection of
abī-thaʿlaba, i.e. the possessor of foxes, or the field (inhabited by) foxes. Two
fields are named after their master in P.Ness. 82—μαλαλκανι, i.e. māl al-kāni,
property of the short man, and μαλζημαρχε, or māl dhī māriq, property of the
deserter or the heretic.14 Another field is called βεραειν, i.e. the two wells (P.Ness.
82.1).15 The use of Arabic words, and not just proper names, to identify sections
of land, implies that Arabic served in daily life, particularly when discussing
elements of agricultural life such as the fields. This use is paralleled in the
papyri from Petra where we find over 100 Arabic toponymns and oikonyms
embedded in otherwise Greek texts—and there, too, it can be assumed that
Arabic was used in daily life especially in an agricultural context.16 Both in Petra
and in Nessana the documents disposing of the fields and naming heirs were
written in Greek, but the business of farming appears to have been conducted
in Arabic.
Greek and Written Arabic
The difference between the use of Greek and Arabic, then, does not lie in
who spoke which language, as we see that use of Greek does not preclude a
deep familiarity with Arabic as a vernacular. The difference between the two
manifests itself in the second category of Greek documents, those not meant
for private but for public consumption. In these cases Greek is used to convey
additional connotations of power and authority, serving as more than just a
straightforward, limpid tool for conveying the spoken words. This aspect is
particularly apparent in the post-conquest papyri, written well into Muslim
rule, in contracts like P.Ness. 56 and government communications like P.Ness.
73.
13
14
15
16
Kraemer, Excavation 79.
This could also be a transliteration of māl dhī mārikh, i.e. property of the proud man.
In view of these readings, we might propose that the field Kraemer reads as Αιρεγλα be
emended to اﻟﺮﺟ, i.e. al-rijla, the water-channel; this would allow us to transform it from
a meaningless name (and one, moreover, that does not follow either a Semitic or a Greek
form) to a meaningful description, consistent with other field names.
Daniel, P. Petra inv. 10.
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Observations relating to the function of languages in Palestine under late
Roman and Byzantine rule and Filasṭīn under Umayyad rule are more often
than not detached from each other, partly as a result of the disconnect between
scholars of Late Antiquity and scholars of the early Muslim period. Since, then,
pre-conquest documents are in Greek, and it is only through a closer analysis
that we see the spoken Semitic dialects, Umayyad historians tend to speak
of the “arabisation” of the Christian population, implying that until the latter
half of the seventh century the population spoke Greek as a matter of course.
The texts examined here suggest that this is only a partial truth; Christians
in the Shām were indeed familiar with Greek, but even before the conquest
it was used in situations where conveying power, status and culture were of
importance.
The Nessana papyri show that a people who seem to have spoken a version of
Arabic in daily life and nicknamed their fields in that language chose to resort
to Greek when drawing up various contracts (P.Ness. 16 and 30, for instance),
with the presumed intention of increasing the formality of the documents. This
division of languages according to their connotations continues in the Nessana
papyri after the Muslim conquest, when in fact we can see it even more clearly.
P.Ness. 92, a record of accounts involving orders from Damascus and Egypt,
represents the highest levels of Umayyad authority, including the governors of
Egypt and Palestine and the caliph ʿAbd al-Malik himself. Written at the very
end of the seventh century—probably around 690—the document is entirely
Arabic in content; in fact, it is nothing but a memo internal to the Umayyad
administration. All the names and titles mentioned are transliterated from
Arabic (note in particular Amīr al-Muʾminīn, commander of the believers, as
applied to the caliph); the institutions and administrative habits are all Arabic;
the record deals with payment for the Muslim army. And yet, this detailed and
formal text is composed entirely in Greek. Unlike the bilingual entagia from the
same period, it does not even have a translation into Arabic appended to it.
That the Umayyad regime used Persian, Coptic and Greek for its accounts is
well known; usually the phenomenon is explained as a result of the new regime,
relatively poor in administrative structure, choosing to take over the intricate
bureaucracy of the Byzantine and Persian empires wholesale, and maintaining
the scribes who therefore continued to write in Greek.17 This situation held
until the 690s, when Arabic gradually replaced all other languages.
17
See Sijpesteijn, The Arab conquest, for an argument in favour of Arab administrative
tradition based on the Egyptian papyrological material; and O’Sullivan in this volume
for the claim that the Nessana material similarly shows Arabic economic administrative
sophistication.
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Yet if we examine not just the use of Greek from 636 to the time of the
Abbasids, but look at these texts in the context of the preceding centuries,
another possibility emerges; namely, that the continuities in the use of Greek
reflect something other than a continued use of the same scribes. After the
conquest, as before the conquest, the use of Greek among a population fluent
in Arabic or Aramaic carries connotations of power and status. Thus although
we find inscriptions in Semitic dialects, these tend to be private, not public.
In the beginning of this chapter we saw how scholars often conclude from the
use of Greek for written documents and inscriptions that the writers’ cultural
identity must have been Greek. Clearly, this assumption will not hold when we
look at the Umayyad documents: their users and patrons could not possibly be
said to be “Hellenised.”
By this stage—well into Muslim rule in the 680s and 690s—Greek is no
longer a koinē; it is neither the language of the empire nor the language of
daily commerce. A common explanation is that Greek remained the language
of the administrators. Bowersock has shown that the limited number of Arabic
scribes is not a sufficient explanation.18 In addition, the entagia sent to Nessana
from Gaza preserve a different story—one of two parallel systems of scribal
notation and administration: the former, Greek-based and Byzantine in origin,
supplemented by a new cadre of Arabic scribes. Thus, by the last quarter of the
seventh century, there was a functioning Arabic administrative system, which
did not supplant but merely enhanced the existing Greek system. This means
that though commonsense would dictate that the new administrators were
likely to be bilingual—and indeed that has often been the assumption—the
administrative system itself did not require bilingualism, and in some sense
may be said to have discouraged it; such a skill may have come in useful, but
the system functioned without it.
It is worthwhile noting that the tendency to use a language other than
Arabic for formal communication is not unprecedented, but in fact continues
the practices of pre-Islamic Arabia and the Hauran. Before Islam, Arabic was
not used in writing; instead the script of prestige in the locality was chosen.19
In a multilingual society, where people were often fluent in more than one
dialect or language, the distinction between them becomes a matter of tone,
conveying a message by the very choice of language. It is this sensibility that
we see continued in the Greek papyri at Nessana. The so-called arabisation
of Syria and Palestine is only in part then a process by which Arabic became
18
19
Bowersock, Hellenism 77.
Hoyland, Language and identity 184.
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the spoken language: to a certain degree a dialect of Arabic was already the
colloquial language. More importantly, the transition from Greek to Arabic
reflects the growing prestige of the new Muslim rulers. By the time of the
Abbassids, there was no longer a need to use Greek to convey messages of power
and status: Arabic represented a powerful enough rule. Only at that point was
there no longer a need for public inscriptions in Greek, just as the coins then
demonstrate an independent style and Arabic legends.20
Parallels and Comparanda
Further confirmation for this view of language as a tool of status and a symbol
of imperial power is found in the few Latin papyri found in Nessana. Though
none of the documentary papyri is in Latin, or indeed shows any significant
knowledge of the language, the literary papyri include two singular exemplars:
a Latin-Greek glossary of the vocabulary in the Aeneid, and fragments of books
ii–vi from a papyrus codex of the Aeneid. Both these papyri are notable for
the abysmal quality of their Latin; indeed, the illiteracy of the glossary scribe
is such that Casson and Hettich speak of “monstrosities,”21 and describe the
scribe—not unfairly—as merely copying the shapes of the strokes to the best
of his ability, with no attempt to make sense of the letters. To give but a few
examples from the glossary, Peget stands in for pigebit (749); Efello for refello
(818); hortamuis for hortamur (445). This is not a question of making a mistake
in the use of the subjunctive, or using the accusative case where we would
expect a genitive. This is not a case of typical scribal error, or the mistaking
of one word for another. What we see in these papyri is only the outward
semblance of a language, comparable to the gibberish babbling of a child
imitating adults. We may be tempted to put this down to a novice apprentice or
to a phenomenally and singularly inept scribe, were it not for the fact that the
papyrus shows signs of extensive revisions by another hand, just as ill-informed.
The first scribe then passed on his efforts to be corrected by a superior, whose
knowledge of Latin proves to be just as execrable.
The insistence of the sixth-century scribes on going far beyond the limits of
their knowledge of Latin, and the continued use of such a poor text (as attested
by the careful, if unsuccessful, attempt at emendation) is even more incomprehensible in view of the limited usefulness of Latin. Kraemer, following Casson
20
21
Shboul and Walmsley, Identity and self-image 287.
Casson and Hettich, Excavations 11.
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and Hettich, suggests that the impetus is a Christian one, rooted in the view of
Virgil as Christian avant la lettre. It is difficult to accept a religious reason for
insisting on Virgil given that these texts are nearly unreadable; surely an appreciation of the subtle Christian interpretations of elements in the Aeneid would
have been difficult, if not impossible, given this mutilated and often incomprehensible copy. A Christian explanation also seems unnecessarily restrictive,
given the preponderance of pagan Hellenistic imagery elsewhere in the Christian communities of the region.22
As for practical reasons for a small school in the Negev to insist on Latin,
these are also hard to countenance: Latin had already become a “complete
anachronism” by the seventh century.23 It may be that what we see here is the
well-known phenomenon of lag between centre and periphery: although by
the time these papyri were written, at the end of the sixth century, Latin was no
longer necessary or even important for administrative or cultural prestige in the
imperial centres, this change in attitudes to the language had not yet reached
Nessana. Thus the glossary and the Aeneid codex still reflect the situation in
the late fifth and early sixth century, when Latin was the official language of
law, the administration and the army, and knowledge of Latin was useful for
aspiring bureaucrats and administrators. This remnant of an outdated outlook,
which saw in Latin the mark of a man educated beyond the common run,
would explain why such care was taken with the glossary in spite of the obvious
limitations of both the primary scribe and the secondary scribe attempting to
emend the former’s mistakes. Latin still stands here as one of the trappings of
imperial culture and power, just as it is still used in legends upon coins and in
the legal texts taught at the university of Berytus, even when the language of
instruction was firmly established as Greek.24
We see here a clear illustration that the prestige associated with a language
is not diminished through spelling, grammatical and syntactical mistakes. On
the contrary, the more incomprehensible a text is the more of an aura it gains.
As a symbol of status—an attempt to lay claim to a heritage of power and
prestige—the external appearance of a language, as expressed by an alphabet,
is sufficient. This phenomenon is motivated by the same forces which create
instances of pseudo-writing.
22
23
24
The popularity of Classical pagan cultural traditions such as Homeric stories and depictions of Pan and satyrs is amply demonstrated in the iconography of the Jerash bowls from
the same period: Shboul and Walmsley, Identity and self-image 281.
Cameron, The Mediterranean 310.
Geiger, How much Latin 41–42.
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In a sense, there is nothing new in this observation of a “division of labour”
between the languages; as a rule, it is recognised that the Christian communities of Palestine in Late Antiquity spoke a Semitic dialect, and that Greek
served as the primary language of worship and theology in the desert monasteries even among non-Greek speakers.25 So far, the scholarly discussion has
focused mainly on speakers of what was known to contemporaries as siriste,
or literally the Syrian language, and is conventionally labelled Christian Palestinian Aramaic (cpa),26 though the patterns are similar to those we have just
seen.
A fine example of this Greek-Aramaic code-switching comes from Madaba. There a sixth-century Greek inscription describes a miraculous rainfall
in Greek, but quotes the inhabitants’ reaction to it in Aramaic—“goubba bagoubba,” cistern for cistern. The inscription is seen as proving that the mass of
the residents spoke Aramaic to the exclusion of Greek, in contrast to the writers and readers of the inscription.27 I would suggest that, seen in the context of
other linguistic ‘incongruities,’ instances in which the language used does not
seem to correspond to the language spoken, another interpretation suggests
itself: that the shift in the text between Aramaic and Greek expresses a shift
in the situation and medium, rather than in the identity of the users. When
inscribing a formal document, the appropriate language is Greek; but when
quoting a spoken exclamation, said in surprise at a miraculous downpour of
rain, the appropriate vehicle is Aramaic. This is not bilingualism, but rather
code-switching, the use of different languages for different purposes: Greek,
Latin and Arabic are used as we would use different registers of the one language. This conclusion gains in plausibility when we look beyond Nessana and
sixth-century provinces of Palestine and Arabia to Umayyad al-Shām, where
we find several other instances of Greek used as a marker of power.
In Hammat Gader, the hot springs below Gadara (Umm Qays), a monumental and carefully cut Greek inscription informs us over nine lines that the bath
was thoroughly restored in the reign of the caliph Muʿāwiya (r. 661–680). As
Fowden has shown, the stone maintains both the conventions and even the
letterforms and general aesthetic of pre-Islamic inscriptions.28 The name and
title of the caliph and the name of the local governor are carefully transliterated
from the Arabic, while the governor’s title is translated. It is perfectly clear that
25
26
27
28
Griffith, From Aramaic.
Millar, Ethnic identity especially p. 162 for a review of the term cpa.
Wasserstein, Why did Arabic succeed 187.
Fowden, Quṣayr Amra 266
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no need was felt for a parallel Arabic version of the Greek inscription.29 The
use of Greek creates continuity with previous Byzantine and Roman dedications and public inscriptions, and continues the epigraphic tradition, linking
the new regime to the old ones and evoking imperial power. In contrast, the
Arabic inscriptions found in the vicinity are private inscriptions, prayers for forgiveness or commemoration, rather than statements of authority.30 Similarly,
Syriac inscriptions in Palestine, dating to the fourth and fifth century, are found
in private houses. This is significant in reinforcing the understanding that the
line of demarcation between the languages is not simply about the division
between written and spoken languages.
Conclusion
In the 2000 u.s. census, over 6.7 million Americans checked more than one box
in describing their race and ethnicity. To them, a constricting, exclusive understanding of ethnicity is nonsensical and out of touch with their lives. If we were
to confront the people of Nessana with a similar question—and if they understood what we meant by ethnicity, which is another question entirely—the
results of multiple definitions would surely have been even higher than in the
u.s. This paper argues that the Nessana papyri suggest that language use was
determined by context and situation; and that languages were used to make
claims of power, rather than ethnicity. In other words, the same man might well
use Greek in one context and Arabic in another, depending on the message he
wished to convey to his interlocutors and on the content of the communication. Linguistic usage alone cannot therefore be used to determine the ethnic,
religious, or cultural identity of the speaker/writer, but only that facet which is
being emphasised in a given situation.
If we return to the example with which we began—our discouraged and
frustrated letter writer—we can now see that this neglected papyrus affords
us a glimpse into people’s motives for insisting on Greek. This is a man who
is incapable of composing a simple letter in Greek; and yet there is one line
he considers important enough to practice over and over again, and that is
the standard formula beginning a formal letter, an appeal to authority or any
other kind of legal document. Greek writing is important to master not just
so that one may write formal letters (since this individual has shown that he
29
30
seg 30 no. 1687; seg 32 no 1501.
Sharon, Five Arabic inscriptions.
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greek and arabic in nessana
155
is incapable of doing so); the ability to string together Greek letters takes on
an almost magical meaning, creating the illusion of participation in the life of
influence. The standard epistolary formula declaring the writer’s literacy, with
which the abandoned letter begins—γραμμάτον παρόντον γράφω—literally, I
write to you since I possess letters—takes on an added poignancy. In this
case, the literal interpretation is applicable, but the meaning of the phrase—a
declaration of literacy and competence as a scribe—is not.
Both before and after the Muslim conquest, Greek was used for the overtones it carried as much as for its familiarity as a spoken language. Instead of
explaining the idiosyncrasies of Greek in late Roman Palestine and in Umayyad
Filasṭīn using two different models, one spectrum emerges. Averil Cameron has
already argued that the change from Greek to Arabic was neither as sudden nor
as complete as has been thought. The Nessana papyri uphold this insight, and
suggest that the nature of this change has been wrongly understood: this is not
a story of a shift from one spoken language to another, but of the change in the
connotations each language carried. Until Arabic was well established enough
to connote power and formality by itself, the Muslim administration continued
to use Greek as it had been used before them: not to signify cultural identity,
but to signal status and intentions.31 In trying to understand the complexities
of this society, imposing an anachronistic linguistic dichotomy can only be a
hindrance.
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chapter 10
The Master Spoke: “Take One of ‘the Sun’ and One
Unit of Almulgam.” Hitherto Unnoticed Coptic
Papyrological Evidence for Early Arabic Alchemy*
Tonio Sebastian Richter
Dedicated to the memory of Holger Preissler (1943–2006), in gratitude, admiration, and affection for an eminent Arabist, a truly humanistic scholar, and
a teacher in the best sense!
∵
Prolegomena: A Brief Account of Earlier Approaches to Coptic
Alchemical Manuscripts
A legend transmitted in the Kitāb al-fihrist of Abū al-Faraj Muḥammad ibn
Isḥāq al-Nadīm tells the story of the first translation of alchemical writings
into Arabic, focusing on the figure of the Umayyad prince Khālid ibn Yazīd
ibn Muʿāwiya, “who used to be called the ḥakīm of the Marwān family. Being
noble-minded and deeply enamoured of the sciences, particularly the alchemical arts, he ordered a number of Greek philosophers living in the town of Miṣr,
* During my work on Coptic alchemical texts, I enjoyed the aid of a number of colleagues. It is
a pleasant duty to express my gratitude to Susanne Beck, Charles Burnett, Stephen Emmel,
Bink Hallum, Thomas Hofmeier, Wilferd Madelung, James Montgomery, Peter Nagel, Holger
Preißler †, Fuat Sezgin, Emilie Savage-Smith, Petra Sijpesteijn, and Manfred Ullmann for
their advice. A number of lectures helped me to develop and improve my thoughts on the
topic as a whole, and on particular aspects of it. The talk presented at the 3rd conference
of the International Society for Arabic Papyrology in Alexandria (March 2006) was the first
occasion to receive questions and comments from a larger audience. I am grateful to John
Baines who granted me the opportunity to speak to a small but illustrious audience at
the Oxford Oriental Institute in September 2006, and to Joachim Quack for inviting me
to speak to the Deutsch-Ägyptische Gesellschaft at Heidelberg in December 2006. Finally,
© Tonio Sebastian Richter, 2015 | doi:10.1163/9789004284340_011
This is an open access chapter distributed under the terms of the prevailing cc-by-nc License
at the time of publication.
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the master spoke
159
who understood Arabic perfectly, to come to him and translate their books on
the art of alchemy from the Greek and Egyptian languages into Arabic. This was
the first translation from one language into another under Islam.”1
Julius Ruska, the famous German historian of sciences, commented on the
“Egyptian language” that “Man wird qibṭī hier im Sinne von altägyptisch, nicht
koptisch zu verstehen haben.”2 The way of conceptualizing ancient Egyptian
wisdom in the early and even earliest alchemical tradition3 seems to make
this meaning of qibṭī most probable indeed. Would Ruska have maintained
this view, however, had he known of the existence of Coptic alchemical manuscripts?
As early as 1885, the German Egyptologist Ludwig Stern edited the manuscript known today as British Library Oriental Manuscript 3669(1), a Coptic
I would like to express my esteem for a number of hardy students of Coptic—Susanne
Beck, Daniela Colomo, Franziska Dorman, Kathleen Händel, Susann Harder, Maike Ludwig,
Franziska Naether, Katrin Scholz, and Susanne Töpfer—who volunteered to read Coptic
alchemical texts with me. Last but not least I am indebted to my colleague and friend Eitan
Grossman who improved the English of this article.
After this paper was written several relevant pulications appeared. The type of alchemy
as attested by the Coptic manuscripts is discussed in T.S. Richter, What kind of alchemy
is attested by tenth-century Coptic manuscripts?, in Journal of the society for the history of
alchemy and chemistry 56 (2009), 23–35. The Greek and Egyptian scientific context of alchemical writing is dealt with in T.S. Richter, Naturoffenbarung und Erkenntnisritual. Diskurs
und Praxis spätantiker Naturwissenschaft am Beispiel der Alchemie, in H. Knuf, C. Leitz
and D. von Recklinghausen (eds.), Honi soit qui mal y pense. Studien zum pharaonischen,
griechisch-römischen und spätantiken Ägypten zu Ehren von Heinz-Josef Thissen, Leuven, Paris
and Walpole, ma. 2010, 585–605. The intellectual background of our manuscripts in terms of
scribal habits will be dealt with in T.S. Richter, A scribe, his bag of tricks, what it was for and
where he got it. Scribal registers, skills and techniques in the Bodl. mss. Copt. (p) a. 2 & 3, in
J. Cromwell and E. Grossman (eds.), Beyond free variation. Scribal repertoires in Egypt from the
old kingdom to the early Islamic period. Conference University College, Oxford September 14th–
16th 2009 (forthcoming).
1 Ibn al-Nadīm, Kitāb al-Fihrist 242.
2 Ruska, Arabische Alchemisten 9, n. 3; cf. also 3 Ullmann, Khālid ibn Yazīd. Linden, The
alchemy reader 71, favours the meaning ‘Coptic’: “Under his (i.e. Khālid’s), direction, Arabian
translations of Greek and Coptic treatises were completed.”
3 One need only remember the Greek and Arabic hermetic tradition, cf. Festugière, La révélation, Faivre, The eternal Hermes, Fowden, The Egyptian Hermes, Plessner, Hermes Trismegistos, Ruska, Tabula Smaragdina; Sezgin, Geschichte des arabischen 31–44, Vereno, Studien
zum ältesten 32–35, and the importance of figures such as Petesis, Isis and Kleopatra in
pseudepigraphic texts of the Corpus Chymicum Graecum and the Arabic alchemical literature, cf. Mertens, Une scène d’initiation and Mertens, Pourquoi Isis, Quack, Die Spur, Richter,
Miscellanea magica, Sezgin, Geschichte des arabischen 44 and 70; Ullmann, Die Natur- und
Geheimwissenschaften 179–183.
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richter
alchemical treatise on parchment.4 While Stern developed academic interests
far removed from Egyptology, and therefore did not deliver a translation, the
text remained scarcely noticed by Coptologists or by other scholars for the next
120 years.5 To my knowledge, there is just one work directly dealing with the
manuscript, MacCoull’s 1988 study.6 In the field of the history of science, there
is an exceptional note in Halleux’s Les textes alchimiques commenting on the
same detail of the Khālid ibn Yazīd legend, the translation from Coptic into
Arabic:7 “Cette tradition a été mise en doute par Ruska …, mais la voie égyptienne n’est pas pour autant impossible, car il existe des traités coptes.” “Voir, par
example, le traité publié par L. Stern.” As Halleux could not know, this text does
not provide evidence for the possibility of translations from Coptic to Arabic—
in fact, it does quite the opposite, as we will see.
Since 1890 an assemblage of three alchemical papyri has been kept in the
Bodleian Library, known only to a few outstanding British Coptologists, such as
Walter Crum,8 Paul Kahle Jr., and Sarah Clackson. Again, it was Leslie MacCoull
who in 1988 first publicised the existence of these manuscripts and provided
some preliminary information about their contents.9 As for myself, I came to
know of them only after Sarah Clackson’s premature death in 2003. Sarah, having been informed about my interest in Arabic words borrowed into Coptic,
transferred to me her materials on British Library Or. ms. 13885, an eleventhcentury monastery account book full of lexical borrowings from Arabic.10 Even
more surprising, her bequest also contained copies of Walter Crum’s and Paul
Kahle’s transcriptions of Bodl. mss. Copt. (p) a. 1, 2 and 3. As I prepared to
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
Fragment eines koptischen 102–119.
Stern moved in 1886 from Egyptology to Celtic studies (Dawson, Uphill and Bierbrier, Who
was who 404). In 1897, Ludwig Stern and Kuno Meyer founded the Zeitschrift für celtische
Philologie, where he also received an obituary (Meyer, Ludwig Christian Stern). See also
Magen, Ludwig Stern.
Apart from bibliographical items such as Crum’s entries on Or. ms. 3669(1) = nº 374 in
Catalogue of the Coptic manuscripts in the British Museum 175, and on Cairo catalogue
général 8028 in Coptic monuments 12, or occasional quotations in commentaries and
comprehensive coptological bibliographies.
Halleux, Les textes alchimiques 65 and n. 40.
Crum mentioned the Bodleian mss. in the entry on Or. ms. 3669(1) = no. 374 of his
Catalogue of the Coptic manuscripts in the British Museum, 175, n. 1, cf. below, and he utilised
them for his Coptic dictionary, where they are referred to as Bodl. mss. (p) a 1, 2, and 3.
MacCoull, Coptic alchemy, who had knowledge of at least two of the three Bodleian
manuscripts, quoted by her as a(2)p and a(3)p.
The edition of this manuscript, based on Sarah Clackson’s work, is under preparation by
Georg Schmelz and myself.
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the master spoke
include this new wealth of Arabic words into my glossary and pondered the
meaning of single lexical items, I could not help but think more and more about
the texts themselves and their significance. Thus a plain Coptic papyrologist
was nolens-volens won over to alchemy.
My intention here is to give an overview of the small but important Coptic
alchemical dossier, its nature, significance, and the related problems it presents
that have yet to be resolved. As a first step the Coptic manuscripts themselves
will be introduced, then I shall focus on aspects of their setting within the
Geistesgeschichte and of their transmission within the scientific tradition of
early Islamic Egypt.
1
The Coptic Dossier of Texts Relating to Alchemy
The Coptic alchemical dossier, as far as is known to me at present, consists
of no more than six textual items altogether,11 being quite different in length
and character. Two of them, although somehow related to alchemy, are not
alchemical texts in a proper sense: P.Berlin p 8316, because it is not really
alchemical; and Cairo Catalogue Général 8028, because it is not really a text
(and perhaps not properly alchemical as well).
11
I have not yet identified the whereabouts of the two manuscripts referred to by Chassinat,
Le manuscrit magique, 15 as “deux autres [sc. papyrus] de même nature [sc., alchimique]
en ma possession” and again, “les fragments alchimiques que j’ai acquis, il y a quelques
quarante ans, à Louxor.” I also do not yet know the alchemical papyrus brought from
el-Meshaikh, the ancient site of Lepidotonpolis, by Urbain Bouriant, according to the
account given by Chassinat, Un papyrus 1–2: “Après plusieurs semaines de pourparlers
et de marchandages durant lesquels sa patience fut soumise à de dures épreuves, Bouriant entrait enfin en possession du précieux manuscrit [sc. the Coptic medical papyrus of
the Institut français d’archéologie orientale (ifao)] et des restes d’un feuillet des papyrus
portant sur chacune de ses faces des recettes d’alchimie, qui avaient été recueillis avec lui.”
I recently suggested that this item could be identical with the medical papyrus Louvre AF
12530: Richter, Neue koptische medizinische, 167–168. Also Crum, Catalogue of the Coptic manuscripts in the British Museum 175, n. 1 ad no. 374, mentioned “other ‘alchemistic’
texts” such as “Zoega no. cclxxviii, Acad. des Inscr., Comptes rend. for 1887, 374 (Bouriant),
Berlin Aeg. Urk. Kopt. nos. 21, 25; also Bodleian Papyri a1, a2, a3 and several papyri in the
ifao at Cairo”; however, he subsumed clearly medical texts (Zoega, Bouriant, bku i 25)
under that category. So too did Tito Orlandi, Corpus dei Manoscritti Copti Letterari ⟨http://
cmcl.let.uniroma1.it⟩, Clavis Patrum Copticorum 0014, who claimed six manuscripts apart
from bl ms. Or. 3669(1) for alchimia, although their character and scope seem to be
rather medical and/or magical: 1. Berlin Papyrus Collection p 8117–8117 = bku i 26, from
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richter
P.Berlin p 8316,12 a manuscript belonging to the Berlin assemblage of mainly
magical Coptic papyri,13 provides a recipe for purple-dye14 under the seal of
strictest secrecy:
Ex. 1
P.Berlin p 8316, verso 16–18: 16 … ⲛ̅ⲕϭⲁⲗϥ ⲁⲩⲱ ϣⲁⲕ 17 ϩⲁⲃⲉⲥϥ̅ ⲉⲕⲃⲓ ⲙⲁϥ
ⲉⲡⲙⲁⲩ 18 ϫⲉⲛⲉⲣⲱⲙⲉ ⲛⲉⲩ ⲣⲁϥ ‘… and you shall wrap it and cover it when
you take it to the water, so that nobody can see it.’
Its content and aim vividly recall those of Papyrus Leiden i 397 and Papyrus
Holmiensis:15 two Greek papyri written around 300c.e., which are usually
12
13
14
15
the Fayyūm, paper, medico-magical recipes, the most alchemy-like one, P.8116a, 15–23, is
said to have been communicated by a wise man (ⲁⲩⲥⲉⲫⲱⲥsic ϫⲁⲁⲥ ϫⲉ) and deals with
the way of finding “the diamond-stone … being applicable to a number of tricks” (ⲡⲱⲛⲓ
ⲛⲁⲗⲙⲱⲉⲥ [⟨ Arabic al-mās] … ⲉϥⲡⲉⲧ ⲉϩⲟⲩⲛ ϩⲉⲩⲙⲉϣⲓ ⲛⲧⲉⲭⲛ[ⲏ]ⲙⲁ); 2. p 5530 (parchment,
according to Beltz, Katalog 108, iii 11: “Doppelblatt aus einem Codex, nach der Schrift
etwa 6. Jahrh. … Medizinischer Text.”); 3. p 15913 (papyrus, according to Beltz, Katalog 92, i 528: “Blatt aus einem Codex. Sammlung von Rezepten.”); 4. p 15918 (papyrus,
according to Beltz, Katalog 92, i 529: “Blatt aus einem Codex. Arzneibuch”; all of Beltz’s
attributions having turned out to be wrong, cf. Richter, Neue koptische medizinische,
156, n 16); 5. P.Ryl.Copt. 412 paper, actually belonging to the Fayyumic parchment quire
P.Lond.Copt. i 527), providing the same characteristic mélange of magical and medicomagical recipes as P.Berlin p 8116–8117 which it remarkably resembles in other respects as
well, cf. Crum, Catalogue of the Coptic manuscripts in the collection 187, n. 5: “A difference in
dialect alone prevents me connecting it also with Berlin, Kopt. Urk., No. 26 (P. 8116, 8119),
which is identical in script and measurements”; 6. Naples, Biblioteca Nazionale “Vittorio
Emanuele iii,” 14.06–07 (not seen). In any case, the aim of all these recipes is to cause an
impact on the state and behaviour, not of matter and substances, but on those of people. Although there are affinities between magic and alchemy even (or especially) in the
manuscript tradition (see Halleux, Les alchimistes grecs 5–6, Richter, Miscellanea magica, and below, n. 34), both kinds of practice should be distinguished as techniques in
their own right. Cf. Vereno, Studien zum ältesten 11–12 against their essential identity as
supposed by earlier historians of the sciences such as von Lippmann, Entstehung 275–
282.
Papyrus, h. 42cm × b. 9 cm; palaeographically datable to the seventh or eighth century;
edited by Erman in bku i 21.
Cf. Erman, Ein koptischer.
As to the affinity between dyeing and alchemy, see below; cf. also Pfister, Teinture and
MacCoull, Coptic alchemy who certainly over-emphasised the connection of the Bodleian
manuscripts to dyeing craft and dye-stuff trade (101): “As will be seen, much of what was
disguised with occult-sounding language as ‘alchemy’ was in fact simple craft technology–
trade secrets.”
Ed. Halleux, Les alchimistes grecs; cf. also Berthelot and Ruelle, Collection; Caffaro and
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the master spoke
163
regarded as the earliest extant manuscripts dealing with alchemy, although
they are concerned, in quite similar ways, with merely technical aspects of the
art—the production, imitation and even forgery of costly materials, such as
gold, silver, precious stones, pearls, and purple.16
Cairo Catalogue Général 8028,17 a single leaf of paper, supposedly from the
town of Akhmīm in Upper Egypt, provides a short list of eight Arabic names of
ingredients transcribed into Bohairic18 (i.e. Lower Egyptian) Coptic:
Ex. 2
(Entire text) ⲥⲏⲓⲗⲉⲕⲟⲩ ⲏ • • ⲥⲟⲩⲛϫⲟⲩϥⲉϥⲥⲓⲭ? ⲉⲥⲡⲏⲓⲧⲉϫ • • ⲁⲗⲙⲁⲅⲣⲁ • • ⲁⲥⲥⲉⲛϫⲁⲣ • • ⲁⲥⲉⲣⲛⲏϧ • • ⲁⲗⲗⲓⲛⲉⲕ • • ⲁⲗⲙⲓⲧⲉⲇ ⟦ⲡⲁⲥⲥⲏⲛϫⲁⲣ⟧ ‘syriac red (συρικόν)19
or cinnabar (zunjufr)—white lead (isbīdāj)—red chalk (al-maghra)—
verdigris (al-zinjār)—(red or yellow) orpiment (al-zirnīkh)— lapis lazuli (al-līnakh/al-līnaj)—ink (al-midād)—verdigris (deleted: al-zinjār)’
As was noted by Crum, this compilation of inorganic substances could have
served alchemical purposes of some kind.20 Indeed, as each of these substances
was common dye stuff and together they cover a good deal of the palette, we
may even have nothing but the shopping list of a dyer or painter.21
So in a way, P.Berlin p 8316 and Cairo Cat.Gén. 8028 are on the margins of our
dossier, while its core consists of the aforementioned alchemical manuscripts
16
17
18
19
20
21
Falanga, Il papiro di Leida; Caley, The Leyden papyrus and Caley, The Stockholm papyrus;
Halleux, Les textes alchimiques and Halleux, Indices chemicorum; Letrouit, La chronologie.
The operating instructions of P.Leid. i 397 and P.Holm. are ennobled, as it were, by the
occurrence of parallels in the properly alchemical treatise of Pseudo-Demokritus, Physika
kai mystika (although overlaid here by an additional symbolic layer); cf. Halleux, Les
alchimistes grecs 72–75, and Vereno, Studien zum ältesten 8. A new edition of PseudoDemocritus in now available: Martelli, The Four books.
Leaf of paper, h. 17cm × b. 12cm, ed. Crum, Catalogue général 12–13, nº 8028.
This dialectal tendency, rather amazing with regard to the assumed provenance of the
text, is indicated not only by the occurence of the letter ϧ, but also by the use of ϫ for
rendering Arabic ‘j’ ( )جwhere transcriptions of Arabic words based on Sahidic phonology
and orthography generally have ϭ, cf. Richter, Coptic 497.
The common written form in Greek pigment lists is σιρικου, cf. Mitthof, Pigmente 291.
Crum, Catalogue général 13: “Contents: Apparently Arabic alchemistic terms transcribed.”
Strikingly similar lists of dye stuffs in Greek have been edited and discussed by Fritz Mitthof, Liste von Pigmenten and Mitthof, Pigmente (providing an exhaustive bibliography
on 299–304); cf. also Halleux, Pigments et colorants.
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of London and Oxford, four extensive treatises written in Sahidic (Upper Egyptian) Coptic.
British Library Oriental ms. 3669(1)22 comprises 20 pages, forming a single
quire, a quinternion, of a palimpsest parchment codex.23 The beginning and the
end of the text are missing, and its first surviving pages are partly damaged, but
at least 10 pages are fully preserved. There is no pagination, but the page order
was originally fixed by the remains of the codex’s original binding.24 Ludwig
Stern estimated the age of the manuscript to be five or six centuries,25 which
would mean the thirteenth or even fourteenth centuries, but this seems to be
considerably too late a dating. The handwriting, even if not very careful and
therefore difficult to date (cf. Figure 10.1), does not indicate a time later than the
tenth or eleventh century; likewise, the language of the text, a non-archaic late
Sahidic, recalls tenth and eleventh-century Coptic texts.26 bl ms. Or. 3669(1)
was acquired by the German Egyptologist August Eisenlohr at Sōhāg in Upper
Egypt,27 the famous site of Shenoute’s monastery near the town of Akhmīm. But
22
23
24
25
26
27
h. 16 cm × b. 12 cm; ed. by Ludwig Stern, Fragment eines koptischen 102–119; described by
W.E. Crum in P.Lond.Copt. i, 374, p. 175, collated by myself in September 2006.
Traces of the earlier writing, a bimodular bookhand, are regularly visible on the flesh-sides
(cf. Figure 10.1), but nothing distinctive enough for identifying the erased text can be read
as yet.
Cf. Stern, Fragment eines koptischen 103: “… da sie noch in der ursprünglichen Heftung
hängen.”; W.E. Crum ad P.Lond.Copt. i, 374, p. 175: “threaded together in book form by a
small parchment thong.” Today the page fragments are fixed in frames of Japanese paper
and (together with the parchment fragment Or. ms. 3669[3] obviously not belonging to
3669[1]) have been re-bound in a hardbacked booklet. According to a pencil note at the
half-title, this may have happened in October 1907. The correctness of the present page
order can still be understood by conclusive codicological features.
Stern, Fragment eines koptischen 103: “Die Handschrift, welche immerhin 5–6 Jahrhunderte alt sein mag …”
Unexpected confirmation of my own impressions came from a handwritten acquisition
catalogue in the British Library Oriental Manuscripts Reading Room, the List of Oriental
manuscripts, 1879–1889, Or. 2091–4046. The entry on Or. 3669(1) among the 1889 acquisitions runs as follows (232): “Vellum fragment of an alchemical treatise in Coptic (see Stern,
Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache 102–119). A smaller Coptic fragment [i.e., probably, Or.
3669(3)]. 10th cent.” The authority the librarian may have been drawing upon is Crum,
who classified the handwriting of bl ms. Or. 3669(1) in P.Lond.Copt. i, 374, p. 175 in terms
of the palaeographical typology according, to the plates in Zoëga, Catalogus: “The text …
is written in a small, uneven, sloping hand of Zoega’s 9th class.”
Cf. Stern, Fragment eines koptischen 102; for Eisenlohr, cf. Dawson, Uphill and Bierbrier,
Who was who 139.
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the master spoke
165
if Sōhāg’s being the site of the manuscript’s purchase does not automatically
make it—or even its environs—the site of its discovery, at least it could have
been found there.
Bodleian mss. Copt. (p) a. 1, 2 and 3 were purchased, according to information available in the Bodleian Library Oriental Reading Room card catalogue
of “Manuscripts: Donors and Vendors,” in 1890 from “The Rev[erend] G[reville]
J[ohn] Chester,” a widely interested traveler, amateur archaeologist and collector of antiquities,28 who provided a number of British collections with objects
of amazing diversity. In the case of the Coptic Bodleian manuscripts (p) a. 1–3,
Chester’s source remains unknown; wherever it was, there is no doubt that all
three manuscripts were found and sold together, because they are as similar
to each other as they are different from other Coptic texts. We also know that
other Coptic papyri likewise kept in the Bodleian Library were bought by Rev.
Chester near Sōhāg.29 Based on information given by Chassinat, Le manuscrit
magique, Leslie MacCoull, Coptic Alchemy quoted the opinion of Crum that
the Bodleian manuscripts had been brought from el-Meshaikh, a site near the
modern village of Girga. However, this argument is clearly erroneous and must
be put aside.30 Even more striking as an argument than such fragmentary bits
28
29
30
Cf. Dawson, Uphill and Bierbrier, Who was who 96–97.
Such as Bodl. mss. Copt. (p) a. 4, edited by Crum, Coptic manuscripts appendix, 77–82,
which was brought from Sheikh Hammad near Sōhāg, although its dialect is Fayyumic
and its content is an account listing persons from villages in the Fayyūm.
MacCoull, Coptic alchemy 101, wrote that Crum “apparently … was of the opinion that they
[sc. Bodl. mss. Copt (p) a. 1–3], like the medical papyrus … now at the French Institute in
Cairo, were found at el-Meshaikh (Lepidotonpolis) near Girga, across the Nile just south
of Akhmim,” referring to Chassinat, Le manuscrit magique 15. The passage in question
runs as follows: “Le papyrus médical de l’Institut français a été découvert près du village
d’El-Méshaîkh (Lepidotonpolis), à quelques kilomètres au sud-est de Girga. Les fragments
alchimiques que j’ai acquis, il y a quelques quarante ans, à Louxor, m’ont été donnés
comme provenant de la même trouvaille. Celle-ci, au dire du marchand, comprenait
plusieurs autres pièces encore, de dimensions plus grandes. Je n’ai pu les acheter en
raison de leur prix élevé, ni les voir, leur propriétaire refusant de me les montre si je ne
lui versais préalablement la somme qu’il en demandait. Je pense qu’il s’agit des trois
papyrus conservés maintenant à Oxford, et dont je dois la connaissance à l’amabilité de
M. Crum.” However, Crum certainly knew the true circumstances of the acquaintance
of Bodl. mss. Copt (p) a.1–3 from Rev. Chester in 1890, and the same circumstances
disprove Chassinat’s assumption that the manuscripts withheld by his purchaser were
identical with the Bodleiean manuscripts, since these were already resident in Oxford
when Chassinat arrived in Egypt for the first time in 1895 (cf. Dawson, Uphill and Bierbrier,
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of external evidence is the actual resemblance of Bodleian mss. Copt. (p) a.
1–3 and the Papyrus Médical Copte of the Institut français d’archéologie orientale (ifao) in terms of layout and palaeography,31 which could indeed point
to a shared milieu for all of the manuscripts, if not necessarily to their shared
provenance in the same find. However, taking into account all of the evidence
for the provenance of Bodleian manuscripts (p) a. 1–3, bl ms. Or. 3669(1) and
Catalogue général 8028, I cannot help but at least raise the possibility that
all of these Coptic texts belong to a single assemblage, originating from the
same place of discovery. But even if this is not the case, the accumulation of
alchemical writings from a narrowly limited area remains remarkable.32 This
consideration leads me to a brief remark about the importance of the town of
Panopolis/Akhmīm and its surroundings as a likely site of alchemical practice
in the late antique and early Islamic period.
An ‘Alchemy Valley’ around Panopolis/Akhmīm?
The aforementioned fourth-century Papyri Leiden i 397 and Holmiensis originally belonged to the famous d’Anastasi collection purchased in 1828, which
means that they originally formed part of the huge papyrus assemblage discovered at Thebes (some 120km away from Akhmīm) that has yielded the vast
majority of all extant Greek, Demotic, and Old-Coptic magical manuscripts.33
Living at the time these manuscripts were composed, the Egyptian Zosimos,
who reached his prime around 300ce, is considered to be the earliest nonpseudepigraphic author of alchemical writings. Zosimos is usually referred to
as ὁ Πανοπολίτης in the alchemical tradition,34 and Mertens has adopted this
31
32
33
34
Who was who 95–96). A different argument for the shared provenance of Bodl. mss. Copt.
(p) a. 1–3 and P.Méd.IFAO is made by Richter, Neue koptische medizinische 167–168.
Especially the unusual format of the papyrus scrolls, written transversa charta—in the
case of the medical papyrus a strip of 248cm in length and 27cm in width, in the case of
the Bodleian manuscripts a. 2 and 3, strips of ca. 70 and ca. 80cm in length by ca. 25cm in
width.
As is also true of the still-missing alchemical manuscripts from el-Meshaikh, cf. above,
n. 11.
Cf. Halleux, Les alchimistes grecs 5–6. Preisendanz commented on nº xiii (P.Leiden j 395)
(Papyri 86): “Gleiche H[an]d in p Leid. j 397, p Holm,” cf. also Halleux, Les alchimistes grecs
12: “Il ne nous a pas été possible de vérifier cette hypothèse qui révèlerait dans la personne
du scribe une curieuse connexion des préoccupations alchimiques avec la magie.” On the
circumstances of this find and the history of the d’Anastasi papyri, cf. Tait, Theban magic
and Dieleman, Priests 11–20.
Cf. Mertens, Alchemy 165 and Mertens, Zosime de Panopolis xii–xix.
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the master spoke
167
as reliable biographical information, against the witness of the Suda.35 The
continuation, perhaps even concentration, of this hub of alchemical activity
in and around the Upper Egyptian urban centre of Akhmīm into early Islamic
times is indicated by the number of Arabic alchemists whose lives were somehow related to it in the literary biographical tradition.36 These include Dhū
l-Nūn, a mystic and alchemist who spent his entire life in Akhmīm (796–861);37
ʿUthmān ibn Suwayd Ḥarī al-Ikhmīmī (al-Nadīm, Fihrist 358; floruit around
900);38 a nameless disciple of Jābir ibn Ḥayyān called al-Ikhmīmī (al-Nadīm,
Fihrist 355.23, probably not identical with the preceding person);39 Abū ʿAbd
Allāh Muḥammad ibn Umayl (ca. 900–960);40 and Buṭrus al-Ḥakīm al-Ikhmīmī
(living in the ninth century or later).41 Indeed, there might be a relationship
between the broad stream of evidence for alchemical thought and practice in
Panopolis/Akhmīm on the one hand, and the town’s importance as a centre
of textile production and, accordingly, of dyeing, as was emphasised by MacCoull,42 on the other. If ‘honest’ alchemy was essentially a way of purifying and
improving one’s soul, it was hardly capable of making one a living. Alchemical
efforts therefore are usually found in symbiotic connection with professions
more appropriate for gaining a livelihood, be it the occupation of a physician
as in the—perhaps typical—case of the famous Abū Bakr Muḥammad ibn
Zakariyya al-Rāzī (d. 925 ce), or in a trade such as dyeing, in some respects a
close neighbour of the alchemical arts.
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
Mertens, Zosime de Panopolis 166.
Cf. Abt, Madelung and Hofmeier, Muḥammad Ibn-Umail xiii–xiv; Plessner, Vorsokratische
130–131.
Abt, Madelung and Hofmeier, Muḥammad Ibn-Umail xiv.
Abt, Madelung and Hofmeier, Muḥammad Ibn-Umail xiv
Ullmann, Die Natur- und Geheimwissenschaften 217.
Abt, Madelung and Hofmeier, Muḥammad Ibn-Umail xiv.
Sezgin, Geschichte 274, and Ullmann, Die Natur- und Geheimwissenschaften 235.
MacCoull, Coptic Alchemy 101: “From burials at Akhmim … have come a great many
of what art historians generically term Coptic textiles. Both Greek and Arabic papyri
attest to the presence of weaving and dyeing facilities in the city and its surrounding
area … Panopolis had gained the reputation of a continuing center of ‘arcane philosophy,’ i.e., craft technology, which combined with surviving Christianity and a memory
of Hellenistic philosophy.” The importance of that branch of trade is already mentioned
by Strabo xvii 1.41, and was still valid in Abbasid, Tulunid and Fatimid times, cf. FrantzMurphy 1981, A new interpretation. From the wealth of papyrological evidence, I only cite
the bilingual archive of the purple-dye trader Aurelius Pachymios (Wessely, Neue griechische 122–139).
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table 1
Synopsis: Correspondences
between Bodl. mss. Copt. (p)
a. 1 and 3
ms. a. 1
ms. a. 3
pag. 1 (Crum g)
pag. 2 (Crum a)
pag. 3 (Crum f )
pag. 4 (Crum b)
pag. 5 (Crum e)
pag. 6 (Crum c)
pag. 7 (Crum d)
pag. 8 (vacat)
(|| verso, 1–14)
recto, 1–12
recto, 13–24
recto, 24–35
recto, 35–49
recto, 50–64
recto, 64–78
verso, 1–14
Unlike bl ms. Or. 3669(1), the Bodleian mss. Copt. (p) a. 1, 2 and 343 are written
on papyrus. Bodl. ms. Copt. (p) a. 1 currently consists of four papyrus leafs of 91/4
by 93/4 inches, placed under glass in one large frame according to the direction
of the fibres (see figure 10.2). Two of them, pages e(ro)/c(vo) and d(ro)/vacat(vo),
are still joined together:
Frame, obverse:
page a (—)
page b (—) page c (—) = conjunction = page d (—)
Frame, reverse:
vacat (|) = conjunction = page e (|)
page f (|) page g (|)
Figure 10.2. Bodl. ms. Copt. (p) a. 1 as arranged in the frame
The original page order, albeit disarranged in the frame, can easily be reconstructed by comparison with the parallel text as attested in Bodl. ms. Copt. (p)
a. 3 (see Table 1).
The original ‘quire’ was made up, somewhat strangely from a codicological
point of view, of two single leaves (pages 1/2 and 3/4) and one folded double
leaf (pages 5/6+7/8) laid next to each other piece by piece.
43
Using the transcriptions of this unpublished mss. in Crum’s notebook 83 (Bodl. mss. Copt.
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the master spoke
169
Bodl. ms. Copt. (p) a. 1 is written in a sloping hand likewise far from usual book
writing as from business hands (cf. Figure 10.2). It can hardly be dated earlier
than the ninth century but surely not later than the tenth century, because
papyrus in Egypt fell rapidly into disuse after the mid-tenth century.
Bodl. mss. Copt. (p) a. 2 and 3 strikingly resemble each other not only in
measurements44 and layout, but in their handwriting—to an extent that it is
not unlikely to assume that the same scribe was responsible for both. Both
manuscripts are written in a sort of semi-uncial, clearly dependent on the
contemporary bimodular Coptic book hand (the type otherwise called Alexandrian majuscule, narrow style, or unciale copte), which permits us to date these
manuscripts with some confidence to the ninth or tenth century (cf. Figure
10.2). Both of them are written transversa charta in lines running parallel to the
kollaseis (bonds) of the papyrus leaves, a manner otherwise attested, apart from
documentary texts, in Papyrus Médical Copte ifao (cf. above, n. 31). Finally,
both pieces had been re-used and their recto sides are covered in Arabic letters
from an earlier text.45
After providing some information on the appearance and physical coherence of the Coptic alchemical dossier, a few words about its contents can
now be added. To start with, perhaps the most striking fact: we have four
manuscripts, but only three texts. As has already been mentioned briefly, Bodl.
mss. Copt. (p) a. 1 and 3 are witnesses of the same text (see table 1). While all four
Coptic alchemical treatises are plain compilations of alchemical recipes, more
or less free of theoretical reflections and philosophical considerations, the literary form of Bodl. mss. Copt. (p) a. 1 and 3 is shaped by an overriding narrative
idea. The text is presented as a record drawn up by a disciple who had observed
his teacher at work and written down what “the master” (ⲡⲥⲁϩ)—as he always
44
45
(p) a.1, 2, and 3) and Kahle’s notebook 33 (Bodl. mss. Copt. (p) a.1 and 3), I had the
opportunity to collate the texts in September 2004 and September 2006.
Bodl. ms. Copt. (p) a. 2 measures 81 cm in length by 25cm in width, Bodl. ms. Copt. (p) a. 3
measures 82cm in length by 25.5cm in width.
Petra Sijpesteijn was kind enough to have a look at these texts and was able to identify
them as P.Bodl.Arab. 1 (= verso of Bodl. ms. Copt. (p) a. 3) and 2 (= verso of Bodl. ms. Copt.
(p) a. 2), edited by Margoliouth in 1893, who only made a laconic note on the Coptic texts
(7): “The Coptic documents written on the back of both Papyri and partly within the lines
of Papyrus 1 have, I understand, no connexion with these letters.” Apparently P.Bodl.Arab.
1 is cut off at the lower part and P.Bodl.Arab. 2 at the upper part. In the case of Bodl. mss.
Copt. (p) a. 3, the last 14 lines of the Coptic alchemical text were placed on the |-side, using
the interlinear space between the first lines of P.Bodl.Arab. 1.
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calls him—did and said. The paragraphs of the text of Bodl. mss. Copt. (p) a.
1 and 3 are marked by opening phrases referring to this narrative framework,
such as “I saw the master,” “I heard the master,” “this is what the master let me
know” and, most frequently, “the master spoke” (ⲡⲉϫⲉ ⲡⲥⲁϩ). Thus, the voice
we hear telling us recipes is that of the master, but always quoted by a distinct
‘homodiëgetic’46 narrator, his pupil. See for instance ex. 3:
Ex. 3
Bodl. ms. Copt. (p) a. 1, pag. a, 1–7 || Bodl. ms. Copt. (p) a. 3, ro, 1–6: 1
ⲥⲛⲑ ⲡⲉϫⲉ ⲡⲥⲁϩ ϫⲉ ϫⲓ ⲁ ϩⲓⲡⲣⲏ ⲙⲛ ⲟⲩϣⲓ 2 ⲛⲁⲗⲙⲟⲩⲗⲅⲁⲙ ⲑⲛⲟϥ ⲕⲁⲗⲱⲥ ⲕⲁⲗⲱⲥ
ⲕⲁⲗⲱⲥ 3 ⲧⲁⲁⲩ ⲉⲩⲧⲟⲉⲓⲥ ⲉⲥⲕⲁⲣⲉϩ ⲙⲁⲣⲥ̅ ⲉⲩⲕⲁⲡ 4 ⲕⲁⲁⲥ ⲉⲥⲁϣⲉ ⲉϩⲣⲁⲓ ϩⲛ̅ⲟⲩⲕⲁⲣⲁⲉⲓⲉ 5 ⲉϥϩⲟⲃⲥ̅ ⲉϥϭⲟⲑ ⲉϥⲗⲁⲗⲏⲩ ⲛⲕⲁϩ ⲛ̅ⲥⲟⲫⲟⲥ 6 ⲉϥϩⲛ̅ⲟⲩⲕⲱϩⲧ̅ ⲉϥⲕⲉⲣⲁ ⲛ̅ⲥⲟⲧ
ⲉⲕⲡⲓⲥⲉ 7 ⲙⲙⲟϥ ⲛ̅ⲍ ⲛ̅ϩⲟⲟⲩ ⲛⲁⲧⲟⲩϣⲏ ϩⲓⲡⲉϥⲥⲱⲡ 8 ϣⲁⲛⲧⲉϥⲣ̅ⲟⲩⲱⲛⲉ ⲛ̅ⲟⲩⲱⲧ
‘The master spoke: Take 1 of “the Sun” [i.e., gold] and one unit (lit. measure) of ointment (al-mulgham), grind it very, very well, fill it into a
stretchy bag, tie it to a string, let it hang down in a covered, drilled
retort(?), smeared with “clay of the sages” [i.e., laboratory cement],
leaving it in a gentle fire of dung, while you cook it 7 days (without
nights) upon its broth, until it becomes one single stone.’
While it is amazing enough to have two copies of this text, it is even more
significant to see that both copies differ from each other at several textual
levels. While morphology and orthography of Bodl. ms. Copt. (p) a. 1 come near
to the standard of common literary (i.e., biblical) Sahidic, some spellings of
Bodl. ms. Copt. (p) a. 3 bear dialectal features pointing to its Upper Egyptian
origin. Both texts have entire phrases as well as single expressions of their own.
And even the general textual arrangement differs slightly but significantly (see
table 1): the initial paragraph of Bodl. ms. Copt. (p) a. 1, “I saw the master as he
sublimated, etc.” (see ex. 4) forms just the epilogue of the text transmitted in
Bodl. ms. Copt. (p) a. 3:
Ex. 4
46
Bodl. ms. Copt. (p) a. 1, pag. g, 1–6 || Bodl. ms. Copt. (p) a. 3 vo, 1–
5: 1 ⲁⲓⲛⲁⲩ ⲉⲡⲥⲁϩ ⲛ̅ⲧⲁϥⲥⲁⲉⲓⲇ ⲛ̅ⲡⲁⲥⲥⲁⲓⲡaⲕ ⲛ̅ⲍ ⲛ̅ⲥⲟⲡ 2 > ⲙⲛ̅ⲛ̅ⲥⲱⲥ ⲡⲁⲥⲥⲁⲣⲛⲏϣ [ⲛ̅]ⲁⲗⲗⲁⲥⲃⲁⲣ ⲉϥⲧⲥⲱ 3 ⲙ̅ⲙⲟϥ ⲛ̅ⲛⲉϩ ⲛ̅ⲁⲗⲗⲱ[ⲏ]ⲥ ⲁϥⲁϩⲙⲓ ⲙ̅ⲙⲟϥ ⲛ̅ⲇ ⲛ̅ⲥⲟⲡ
4 > ⲙⲛ̅ⲛ̅ⲥⲱⲥ ⲁϥⲥⲁⲉⲓⲇ ⲙ̅ⲙⲟϥ ϩⲓⲡⲁⲛⲛⲁⲑⲉⲣ ⲛ̅ⲇ ⲛ̅ⲥⲟⲡ 5 > ⲙⲛ̅ⲛ̅ⲥⲱⲥ ⲡⲁⲗⲭⲓⲡⲣⲓⲑ
[ⲛⲁ]ⲗⲗⲁⲥⲃⲁⲣ ⲁϥⲧⲁⲁϥ ⲉⲩⲥⲟⲩ 6 ⲙⲁⲣⲉⲥ ⲁϥⲟⲩⲁⲑϥ̅ ϩⲓⲁϣϣⲓⲣⲓⲭ ⲁϥⲁⲁϥ ⲛ̅ⲟⲩⲱⲛⲉ “I
saw the master as he sublimated (ṣaʿʿada) the quicksilver (al-zaybaq) 7
times,—thereafter the yellow (al-aṣfar) arsenic (al-zirnīkh) [i.e., orpiIn terms of Gérard Genette, Narrative discourse.
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ment], soaking it in oil of aloe, he heated (aḥmama) it four times—
thereafter he sublimated (ṣaʿʿada) it on the refined gold (al-naḍīr) four
times—thereafter the yellow (al-aṣfar) sulfur (al-kibrīt), he put it in a
ladle (σωμάριστρον), he melted it on al-sharīk (? ‘the partner’), he made
it a stone.”
So what we actually have are not just two copies of one text but copies of two
recensions of one text.
Further more, the text of Bodl. mss. Copt. (p) a. 1 and 3 makes use of so-called
Decknamen, substitute names, which are likewise attested in Arabic alchemical
texts,47 such as:
Ex. 5
Ex. 6
Bodl. ms. Copt. (p) a 1 a 12: ⲙⲟⲟⲩ ⲛⲁⲥⲉϭⲉϭ ‘glass (al-zujāj) water’: cf.
Siggel, Decknamen 51: māʾ al-zujāj ‘glass water’ as substitute name of
Hg.
Bodl. ms. Copt. (p) a. 1 g 9: ⲡⲁⲗϩⲁⲙⲏⲣ ‘ (silver-) [symbol: crescent] yeast
(al-khamīr)’: cf. Siggel, Decknamen 39: khamīr al-dhahab ‘gold yeast’
and khamīra ‘yeast’ as substitute names of Hg.
Finally, it is worth mentioning that the final paragraph of Bodl. ms. Copt. (p) a.
1 (= the penultimate of Bodl. ms. Copt. (p) a. 3) seems to point to another text.
This paragraph deals with the ⲙⲉⲭⲁⲛⲏ ⲛⲛⲥⲟⲫⲟⲥ, the “machine of the sages,” a
means or contrivance serving to decompose every substance (or at least, every
metal).48 This “machine,” however, needs what in Coptic is called a ⲡⲁϩⲣⲉ, a
“recipe” or “ingredient,” in order to work, and it is this recipe that the master
gives to his disciple in the text. The ending of the paragraph sounds like a to-becontinued, when the disciple says, “If God puts it into the heart of the master,
then he will let me know—the machine”. Is this an intertextual reference to
another alchemical text providing the continuation of the procedure? I shall
return to the issue later in the article.
Bodl. ms. Copt. (p) a. 2, comprising 72 lines altogether, is the shortest and in
some ways, the plainest (which does not mean easiest to understand) of the
Coptic alchemical treatises, a mere sequence of recipes structured by simple
47
48
Cf. Siggel, Decknamen; Ullmann, Die Natur- und Geheimwissenschaften 266–270.
The very result which was expected of a piece of equipment called menstruum universale
in early modern western alchemy.
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initial phrases such as ϫⲓ ⲛⲁⲕ, “take” or ⲁⲗⲗⲟⲥ, “another one” (sc. recipe of the
same purpose), cf. ex. 7:
Ex. 7
Bodl. ms. Copt. (p) a.2, lines 1–6: 1 ϫⲓ ⲛⲁⲕ ▭ ⲛⲃⲁⲣⲱⲑ ⲉⲗϩⲏϥ ⲙⲙⲟϥ ⲛϩⲙⲟⲩ
ϩⲓⲁϣⲁϩⲏⲣⲉ ⲉⲓϣⲟⲩⲉⲓ ⲙⲙⲟϥ ⲛⲟⲩ[ⲟⲩϣⲏ] 2 ⲉⲛⲧϥ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ϫⲉϩϫⲱϩϥ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ • ϫⲓ ⲙⲓⲗ ⲁ
ⲛϩⲏⲧϥ ⲙⲛ ⲙⲓⲗ ⲁ ⲛϩⲁⲧ ⲟⲩⲱⲑⲟⲩ ⲙⲛⲛⲉⲩ- 3 ⲉⲣⲏⲩ … ⲛϩⲏⲧϥ ⲛⲟⲩⲡⲁϣϣⲓ ⲛϩⲏⲧϥ
ⲁⲩⲱ [ⲟⲩ]ϣⲓ ⲟⲩⲁⲑ ⲁⲡⲓ▭ ⲧⲁϥ ⲉϩⲟⲩⲛ 4 ⲉⲡⲉϩⲙⲟⲩ ⲕⲁⲧⲁ ⲥⲟⲡ ⲛ̅ϣⲁⲕⲁϩⲙⲓ ⲛⲙⲟϥ
ⲧⲁϥ ⲉϩⲟⲩⲛ ⲉⲡⲉϩⲙⲟⲩ ϣⲁⲛⲧⲉⲕⲁϥ 5 ⲛⲣ ⲉϥ . ⲁⲕ ⲟⲩⲱⲑ ⲁⲁϥ ⲛ ⲁ ⲛⲁⲛⲟⲩ . ⲕⲁ . . ⲁⲗⲗⲁ
ⲉⲕϣⲁⲛⲁϥ . . ⲛ . . 6 ϣⲁϥⲕⲙⲟⲙ ⲛⲟⲩⲕⲟⲩⲓ “Take a (plate) [symbol: πέταλον]
of copper, cover (laḥafa) it with salt and al-shaḥīra (i.e., a vitriol),
roast (shawā) it one night, take it away, beat it. Take 11/2 mil(iarēsion)
of it and 1 mil(iarēsion) silver, melt them with each other, … in it, a
half-measure of it and [one] measure of (gold) [symbol: gold]. Melt(?)
the (plate) [symbol: πέταλον], put it into the salt, (namely) from time
to time when you heat (aḥmama) it, put it into the salt until you
make it a (plate) [symbol: πέταλον] which … . Melt it, make it one. It
is very(?) beautiful(?). But if you make it a …, it will become black
shortly.”
As a recurrent finishing clause it has the formula ⲟⲩⲇⲱⲕⲓⲙⲟⲛ ⲡⲉ. This could be
understood either in a special, technical sense, “this is a proof,” or, more likely,
as a general recommendation “it is proved,” as is an often-attested conclusion
in recipes in magic, medicine and cookery.
bl ms. Or. 3669(1) provides the most extensive and elaborate Coptic alchemical text. Its style is rich in imagery; alchemical metaphors and Decknamen are
excessively used making it even more difficult to understand what’s going on,
such as:
Ex. 8
bl ms. Or. 3669(1), fol. ivb 8: ⲙⲓⲙⲙⲟⲟⲩ ⲉϭⲓⲛϭ[ⲗⲱ] ‘bat urine’: cf. Siggel,
Decknamen 43, shīdarj ‘bat excrements’ as substitute name of Hg; cf.
ibid., 36 with bawl “urine.”
Ex. 9 bl ms. Or. 3669(1), fol. va 18: ⲧϭⲓⲛⲡⲓⲥⲉ ⲙⲡϩⲁⲗⲏⲧ “the way of cooking the
bird”: cf. Siggel, Decknamen 44f.: with ṭayr, “bird.”
Ex. 10 bl ms. Or. 3669(1), fol. viii a, 19: ⲁⲗⲗⲱⲗⲉ ‘pearl (al-luʾluʾ)’: cf. Siggel,
Decknamen 49: luʾluʾ raṭīb ‘liquid pearl’ as substitute name of Hg; cf.
ibid., 51: marjān ‘pearl’ as substitute name of Sf.
Ex. 11 bl ms. Or. 3669(1), fol. viii b, 12: ⲁⲗⲕⲓⲛ ‘slave’: cf. Siggel, Decknamen
45: several substitute names with ʿabd, ‘slave’, ‘servant,’ ibid., 37: jāriya
‘female slave’ (= Fe), and ibid., 38: khādim ‘servant’ (= Fe).
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The recurrent concluding formula of its recipes is ⲁϥϫⲱⲕ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ, “it is finished.”
Compare ex. 12:
Ex. 12 bl ms. Or. 3669(1), fol. via, 9–21: 9 ϫⲓ ⲛⲁⲕ ⲛⲓ̅ ⲛϣⲓ ⲛϩⲁⲗⲏⲧ: 10 ⲱ ⲓ̅: ⲛ̅ϣⲓ
ⲛⲁⲥⲥⲉⲣⲛ̅ⲏϩ ⲛ̅ⲕⲟⲕⲟⲥ 11 ϩⲁⲧⲟⲩ ⲉ̅ⲣⲱϥ: ϣⲁⲧⲉϥⲙⲟⲩ ⲕⲁⲗⲟⲥ: 12 ⲧⲁϩⲟⲩ ϩⲓⲛⲉⲩⲉⲣⲏⲩ:
ϭ[ⲟⲡ] ⲋ [ⲛ̅]ϣⲓ 13 ⲛ̅ⲕⲁⲓⲣⲉ: ⲥⲁⲕⲧⲟⲩ ⲧⲁⲁⲩ [ⲉⲩⲁⲗⲕⲁ] 14 ⲧⲁϩ ⲉ̅ⲥⲟⲩⲁⲛ: ϩⲟⲃⲥ̅ ⲕⲉⲟⲩⲁ
[ⲉϫⲟϥ:] 15 ϫⲁϩϥ ⲉⲛⲟⲙⲉ ⲛ̅ⲥⲟⲫⲟⲥ: ⲥ[ⲁϩⲧⲉ ϩⲁⲣⲟⲟⲩ?] 16 ϣⲁⲛⲧⲟⲩϩⲟⲗ ⲉϩⲣⲁⲓ: ϭⲟⲡ
ⲟⲩ[ϣⲓ] 17 ϩⲓⲟⲟϥ: ⲥⲁⲧϥ ϩⲓϫⲟ ⲣ̅ ⲛϣⲓ ⲛ̅ⲕⲁⲥⲓ 18 ⲧⲏⲣⲉⲛ: ⲁⲗⲗⲁ ⲥⲁⲃⲃⲓ ⲙ̅ⲡⲕⲁⲥⲓ 19
ⲧⲏⲣⲉ: ⲛ̅ϣⲟⲣⲡ̅ ϩⲓ ⲡⲉⲣⲟⲧⲉ: ⲙⲡⲉⲥ 20 ⲧⲁⲫⲟⲛⲉ: ⲡⲕ̅ϩⲱϥ ⲛⲁϫⲟⲕ 21 ⲉ̅ⲃⲟⲗ ⲕⲁⲗⲟⲟⲥ
ⲁϥϫ[ⲟⲕ] ⲉⲃⲟⲗ. “Take 10 units of the ‘bird’ and (wa-) 10 units of red
arsenic (al-zirnīkh) [i.e., realgar], ‘torture’ them until they ‘die’ well;
mingle them with each other, take six units of ‘throat,’ grind them, put
them into an open glass, put another one on it, smear it with ‘clay
of the sages’ [i.e., laboratory cement], heat beneath it until they ‘fly
up.’ Take one [unit] of it, spread it over 100 units of tin—but clean
(ṣaffā) the tin with laurel(?)-milk!—your work will succeed well. It is
finished.”
As might be expected, the aim of all recipes in these treatises is the extraction of
gold, silver, a kind of gold even better than common gold, and certain artificial
substances wanted for laboratory work, such as ⲟⲙⲉ ⲛⲥⲟⲫⲟⲥ, “clay of the sages,”
which is an artificial cement used for insulating laboratory vessels, and the
elixir, the ultimate catalyst, which is referred to as ⲁⲗⲭⲓⲙⲓⲉ ‘alchemy’ in bl ms.
Or. 3669(1),49 when it says:
Ex. 13 bl ms. Or. 3669(1), fol. iib, 16–22: 16 […] ϣⲁⲛⲧⲟⲩⲃⲟⲗ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ 17 ϩⲓϫⲛ ⲡⲕⲟϩⲧ̅: ⲕⲁⲁⲩ ϣⲁⲛⲧⲟⲩⲕⲃⲱ 18 ϣⲓⲧⲟⲩ ⲉⲓⲙⲉ ϫⲉ ⲟⲩⲏⲣ ϩⲓⲟⲟⲩⲉ ⲧⲏⲣⲟⲩ: 19 ⲧⲁⲗⲟⲟⲩ
ⲉⲡⲕⲟϩⲧ̅ ⲛ̅ⲕⲉⲥⲟⲡ: 20 ϯ ⲉϩⲣⲁⲓ [ⲉ]ϫ[ⲟ]ⲟⲩ ⲛⲟⲩϣⲓ ⲁⲗⲙⲁⲧⲕⲁⲗ̅: 21 ⲉ̅ⲛⲁⲗⲭⲓⲙⲓⲉ:
ⲉⲕϣⲁⲛⲁⲁϥ ⲙ̅ 22 ⲡⲉⲕⲙ̅ⲧⲟ ⲉⲙ̅ⲃⲟⲗ ⲛ̅ⲅ̅ⲓⲙⲉ ϫⲉ ⲁϥⲉⲣⲥⲁⲏ: “[…] until they dissolve
on the fire; let them, until they cool down, measure them to know how
much is in them altogether. Put them on the fire a second time, add
one mithqāl [-measure] of al-kīmiyāʾ [i.e., the elixir] to them. If you do
it in front of yourself, then you will know: it has become beautiful.”
49
For this meaning, cf. Dozy, Supplément 514b: “kīmiyāʾ désignait dans l’origine la substance
qui transmue les métaux, la pierre philosophale …; c’est le synonyme de iksīr … . La
science (l’alchimie) s’appelait ṣanaʿat al-kīmiyāʾ (= ṣanʿat al-iksīr), ʿilm ṣanʿat kīmiyāʾ, ʿilm
al-kīmiyāʾ, et enfin al-kīmiyāʾ tout court.” Stern, Fragment eines koptischen 102 was wrong
when he thought the ⲟⲙⲉ ⲛⲥⲟⲫⲟⲥ “clay of the sages” to be the elixir.
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The Setting of the Coptic Alchemical Dossier: Greek and Arabic
Alchemy in Late Antiquity and Early Islamic Times
In late antiquity two hitherto independent traditions were merged into a new
alloy, to invoke an apt metaphor. Bits of technological knowledge from the
realms of specialised crafts, such as goldsmithing,50 metal-working,51 glassmaking52 and dyeing53—so-called sub-scientific traditions according to Høyrup54—joined with the scientific knowledge of Greek philosophical thought
in the tradition of Empedocles, Plato and Aristotle. This novel and promising alliance of practice and theory, epitomised by the alchemical laboratory
equipped with an increasing inventory of tools, vessels and furnaces,55 had even
a third dimension: a gnostic hope of salvation through self-improvement.56
Processes such as distillation and sublimation were equated with purification
and the ascent of the soul, while the earthly body, due to its heavy, solid state
of matter, had to be left behind and overcome. Accordingly, in the alchemical
terminology metals are called τὰ σώματα, al-ajsād, “bodies,” while substances
such as quicksilver, sulphur, and Sal ammoniac are designated τὰ πνεύματα, alarwāḥ, “spirits.”57
Apart from the aforementioned (semi-)alchemical papyri at Leiden and Stockholm, the Greek alchemical tradition partly survived in a Byzantine compilation, the so-called Corpus Alchymicum Graecum, attested in a considerable
number of manuscripts.58 The oldest parts of that corpus, pseudepigraphic
treatises and dialogues, are assumed to have been composed in the first cen50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
Depauw, New light.
Cf. Reiter, Die Metalle; Tylecote, A history.
Cf. Nicholson, Egyptian; Stern and Schlick-Nolte, Early glass.
Cf. Pfister, Teinture et alchimie and Germer, Die Textilfärberei.
Høyrup, Integration/non-integration.
Cf. Mertens, Alchemy cxiii–clxix on the appareillage de Zosime; cf. also Ganzenmüller,
Liber Florum Geberti; Humphrey, Oleson and Sherwood, Greek and Roman; for pictures
and reconstructions, cf. Sezgin, Wissenschaft 109–153. For the excavation of an alchemical laboratory in 1882 at Dronkah south of Assiut see Maspero, Études de mythologie 1,
206–209, and Stern, Fragment eines koptischen 102. Regrettably, I could not find any information on the whereabouts of this unique archaeological evidence.
Cf. Eliade, Die hellenistische, Hofmeier, Alchemie; Merkur, A study; Stolzenberg, Unpropitious tinctures; Wilson, Pythagorean theory and Wilson, Distilling.
Cf. Macuch, Greek technical terms; Ullmann, Die Natur- und Geheimwissenschaften 148f.
Cf. Berthelot and Ruelle, Collection; Halleux, Les textes alchimiques; Rehm, Zur Überlieferung.
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the master spoke
table 2
Greek and Coptic Alchemical Manuscripts
Greek Papyri
(Halleux 1981)
Coptic Papyrus and Parchment mss.
P.Leid. x
P.Holm. P.Berlin
(inv. i 397)
p.8316
iiid / ivth c. c.e.
Corpus Alchymicum Graecum
(Berthelot 1888)
P.Bodl. mss. bl ms. Or. Cod.Marc. Cod.Par. Cod.Par.
a. 1, 2 & 3
3669(1)
299
2325
2327
viith/ viiith c. ixth / xth c.
xth/xith c. xith c.
xiiith c.
xvth c.
turies ce;59 however, the manuscripts themselves are considerably later (see
table 2). By far the earliest is a codex from the eleventh century kept in San
Marco in Venice, followed by two manuscripts in Paris from the thirteenth and
fifteenth centuries.60
However, when it comes to identifying a Vorlage of the Coptic texts, Greek
compositions can generally be left out of consideration, since all the four Coptic
alchemical treatises are so obviously influenced by Arabic models.61 A good
deal of alchemical ingredients (cf. e.g. ex. 14–34) and laboratory tools (cf. e.g.
ex. 35–39) have Arabic names:
Ex. 14 ⲁⲗⲕⲁⲗⲁⲕⲁⲛⲑ < al-qalqand < χάλκανθοϛ Siggel, Arabisch-Deutsches 86a:
“(green) vitriol, Cu-vitriol.”
Ex. 15 ⲁⲗⲕⲉⲗⲓ < al-qilī Siggel, Arabisch-Deutsches 86a: “potash, saltpetre.”
Ex. 16 ⲁⲗⲙⲁⲅⲛⲏⲥⲓⲁ < al-maghnīsiyā < μαγνήσια Sezgin 2003, 189; Siggel, Arabisch-Deutsches 88a; lsj 1071b: “manganise minerals.”
59
60
61
The model developed by Halleux, Les textes alchimiques 61–64 and Letrouit, La chronologie and adopted by Mertens, Alchemy distinguishes three chronological layers within the
corpus: 1st stratum (1st–3rd centuries ce)—pseudepigraphic writings (Moses, Isis, Cleopatra, Agathodaimōn, Thot, Hermes, Joseph, Maria the Jewess, Democritus, Zarathustra,
Ostanes, Chymes etc.), partly quoted and presupposed by Zosimos, perhaps the earliest
among them Physika kai mystika of Pseudo-Democritus; 2nd stratum (ca. 300ce)—the
writings of Zosimos of Panopolis; 3rd stratum (ca. 4th–7th centuries ce)—commenting
writings (e.g. Synesios, Olympiodor, Stephanos).
Cf. Halleux, Les textes alchimiques 60–61.
Already Chassinat, Un papyrus médical viii noticed à propos the influences of Arabic
science on the Papyrus Médical Copte ifao: “Elle se retrouvent encore, et cela sans
exception, dans les quelques écrits alchimiques que nous connaissons.”
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Ex. 17 ⲁⲗⲙⲁⲕⲛⲏⲧⲏⲥ < al-miqnāṭīs < μαγνήτιϛ (λιθοϛ), lsj 1071b; Sezgin, Wissenschaft 181: “magnetite.”
Ex. 18 ⲁⲗⲙⲁⲣⲑⲁⲕ < al-martak Siggel, Arabisch-Deutsches 88: “litharge.”
Ex. 19 ⲁⲗⲙⲁⲣⲕⲁϣⲓⲑⲉ < al-marqashīthā Siggel, Arabisch-Deutsches 88a; Sezgin,
Wissenschaft 179; Goltz, Studien 267 f.: “metallic sulphides.”
Ex. 20 ⲁⲗⲙⲟⲩⲗⲅⲁⲙ < al-mulgham Siggel, Arabisch-Deutsches 88b; Ullmann,
Katalog 264 s.v. talghīm, ilghām: “ointment, alloys of Hg.”
Ex. 21 ⲁⲗⲡⲁⲩⲣⲁⲕ < bawraq, bawrūq Siggel, Arabisch-Deutsches 78a; Sezgin,
Wissenschaft 197: “borax.”
Ex. 22 ⲁⲗⲭⲓⲙⲓⲉ < al-kīmiyaʾ Ullmann, Katalog 93 f., the “elixir,” cf. here above,
n. 49.
Ex. 23 ⲁⲗⲭⲓⲡⲣⲓⲧ, ⲁⲗⲭⲓⲡⲣⲓⲑ < al-kibrīt Siggel, Arabisch-Deutsches 86a; Sezgin,
Wissenschaft 200: “sulphur.”
Ex. 24 ⲁⲗϩⲁⲧⲓⲧ < al-ḥadīd Siggel, Arabisch-Deutsches 79b: “iron.”
Ex. 25 ⲁⲛⲛⲟⲩϣⲁ(ⲁ)ⲧⲉⲣ < al-nūshādir Siggel, Arabisch-Deutsches 89: “salmoniac.”
Ex. 26 ⲁⲥⲉϭ (al-zāj) Wahrmund, Handwörterbuch i 818; Siggel, Arabisch-Deutsches 81a: “vitriol, sulphate of iron or copper.”
Ex. 27 ⲁⲥⲥⲁⲃⲏϩⲉ < al-ṣafīḥa Siggel, Arabisch-Deutsches 98; Ullmann, Katalog
60: “metal plates.”
Ex. 28 ⲁⲥⲥⲉⲣⲛⲏϩ < al-zirnīkh Siggel, Arabisch-Deutsches 81; Sezgin, Wissenschaft 202: “arsenic.”
Ex. 29 ⲁⲥⲥⲓⲛϭⲁⲣ < al-zinjār Siggel, Arabisch-Deutsches 81; Goltz, Studien 256 f.:
“verdigris.”
Ex. 30 ⲁⲥⲥⲓⲛϭⲟⲩⲃⲣ < al-zunjufr, al-zinjafr, Dozy, Supplément i 606a; Siggel, Arabisch-Deutsches 81b; Sezgin, Wissenschaft 195: “cinnabar.”
Ex. 31 ⲁⲥⲥⲓⲡⲁⲕ < al-zībaq Dozy, Supplément i 616b; Siggel, Arabisch-Deutsches
81b; Sezgin, Wissenschaft 195: “quicksilver.”
Ex. 32 ⲁⲧⲧⲁⲗ(ⲉ)ⲕ < al-ṭalq Siggel, Arabisch-Deutsches 84a; Sezgin, Wissenschaft 197: “glimmer.”
Ex. 33 ⲁⲧⲧⲁⲛⲁⲭⲁⲣ < al-tinkār Siggel, Arabisch-Deutsches 78b: “borax.”
Ex. 34 ϩⲁϭⲁⲣ < ḥajar Dozy, Supplément i 250–252; Siggel, Arabisch-Deutsches
79a: “stone.”
Ex. 35 ⲁⲗⲕⲁⲧⲁϩ, ⲁⲗⲕⲓⲧⲁϩ < al-qadaḥ Siggel, Arabisch-Deutsches 99a: “cup,
glass.”
Ex. 36 ⲁⲗⲙⲛ̅ϩⲁⲁⲗ < al-munkhal Siggel, Arabisch-Deutsches 100: “sieve.”
Ex. 37 ⲁⲗⲡⲟⲩⲧⲁⲁⲕⲉ < al-būtaqa Siggel, Arabisch-Deutsches 96: “crucible, melting pot.”
Ex. 38 ⲁⲗⲭⲉⲛⲟⲩⲛ < al-kānūn Siggel, Arabisch-Deutsches 99: “small oven, stove.”
Ex. 39 ⲁⲗⲭⲟⲩⲥ < al-kūz Siggel, Arabisch-Deutsches 99: “jug.”
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the master spoke
And even more revealing, a number of verbal lexemes borrowed from Arabic
does occur (ex. 40–44 and fig. 5):62
Ex. 40 ⲁϩⲙⲓ < aḥmama: “to heat s.th.”
Ex. 41 ⲉⲓϭⲣⲓ < ajrā: “to cause to run s.th.”
Ex. 42 ⲉⲗϩⲏϥ < laḥafa Wahrmund, Handwörterbuch ii 626; Dozy, Supplément i
527a: “to wrap, to cover s.th.”
Ex. 43 ⲉⲥϩⲁⲕ < zahaqa Wahrmund, Handwörterbuch i 852: “to grind s.th.”
Ex. 44 ⲉⲧⲧⲁⲙ < addama Wahrmund, Handwörterbuch i 39b: “to join, to add
s.th. to s.th. other.”
In the language of alchemy—the art of producing, processing, managing par
excellence—verbal expressions could receive highly terminological semantic
values. Therefore, it is not surprising to find among the Arabic words borrowed
into the Coptic texts a number of terms which belong to a set of crucial concepts of alchemy called tadbīrāt or tadābīr, “managements, proceedings, methods,” such as dabara (in Coptic transcription taperi), “to prepare,” the verbal
item underlying the term tadbīr itself, and the other examples displayed in
table 3.
table 3
Arabic alchemical terminology: terms of tadābīr ‘procedures’ borrowed into Coptic
Procedure
Arabic term Word class
Coptic term Meaning
tadbīr
procedure63
dabbara
verb
ⲧⲁⲡⲉⲣⲓ
to prepare, to manage
κάθαρσις
al-taṣfiya
al-taṣfiya
ṣaffā
purifaction64 al-muṣaffi
nomen actionis
verb
adjective
ⲁⲑⲉⲥⲟⲩⲉ
ⲥⲁϥⲃⲓ, ⲥⲁⲃⲃⲓ
ⲁⲗⲙⲟⲩⲥⲁⲃⲃⲓ
purifaction, filtering
to purify, to filter
purified, filtered
πῆξις
verb
ⲁⲕⲏⲧ, ⲁⲕⲧ̅
to fix, to thicken
62
63
64
aʿqada
16 out of a total of 21 Arabic verbs borrowed into Coptic so far identified are attested in the
corpus of our dossier. As for the strategy of inserting Arabic verbal lexemes into Coptic
syntactic structures, cf. Richter, Coptic 498–499.
Ullmann, Katalog der arabischen ii 33.
Ullmann, Katalog der arabischen ii 263 s.v. taṣfiya; Ullmann, Katalog der arabischen ii 52.
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table 3
Arabic alchemical terminology: terms of tadābīr ‘procedures’ borrowed into Coptic (cont.)
Procedure
Arabic term Word class
Coptic term Meaning
taʿqīd
fixation65
al-ʿaqd
nomen
ⲁⲗⲁ(ⲁ)ⲕⲧ
fixed, thickened
taṣʿīd,
ṣaʿʿada
verb
ⲥⲁⲁⲧ, ⲥⲁⲉⲓⲇ
to distill, to condense, to
sublimate, to evaporate
distilled, sublimated
sublimation, al-muṣaʿʿad adjective
destillation66
ⲁⲗⲙⲟⲩⲥⲁⲁⲧ,
ⲁⲗⲙⲟⲩⲥⲁⲉⲓⲇ
ὄπτησις
ashwā
tashwiya
calcination67
verb
ⲉ(ⲓ)ϣⲟⲩⲉⲓ
to calcine, to roast
λύσις
inḥalla
taḥlīl
maḥlūl
dissolution68
verb
adjective
ⲛ̅ϩⲁⲗ
ⲙⲁϩⲗⲟⲩⲗ
to dissolve
dissolved
mauh
to dilute69
adjective
ⲁⲗⲙⲟⲩⲟⲩⲉⲓ
watered down, diluted
al-māwī
However, there are not only lots of lexical borrowings from Arabic, but also
some remarkable higher-level linguistic interference phenomena, such as the
occurrence of a linkage marker ⲱ, probably to be identified with the Arabic
wa- (see e.g. ex. 12). Arabic verbs are usually borrowed in their imperative
form,70 the grammatical equivalent of the predominant mode of recipes as a
65
66
67
68
69
70
Ullmann, Die Natur- und Geheimwissenschaften 263 s.v. taʿqīd.
Ullmann, Katalog der arabischen ii 263 s.v. taṣʿīd.
Ullmann, Katalog der arabischen ii 57 and Ullmann, Die Natur- und Geheimwissenschaften
263 s.v. tashwiya.
Ullmann, Die Natur- und Geheimwissenschaften 262, s.v. taḥlīl, ḥall (λύσις); Ullmann, Katalog der arabischen ii 27.
Wahrmund, Handwörterbuch i 2 956b; Dozy, Supplément ii 634a.
Cf. Richter, Coptic 498. Meanwhile, I am reasonably confident that examples (1) akēt
and (2) elhēf should also be interpreted as Arabic imperative (aʿqid, alḥif ), rather than
infinitive (iʿqād, ilḥāf ), forms. This was also suggested to me by my esteemed teacher of
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textual genre, however, this might be a linguistic rather than textual feature.
Both the quantity and quality of borrowings from Arabic attested in the Coptic
alchemical treatises leave no doubt that we have to look for Arabic Vorlagen. I
believe the most reasonable conclusion to be drawn from this kind of evidence
is that all the Coptic alchemical treatises came into being as translations of
Arabic texts.71
This conclusion seems even more convincing given the fact that not only
linguistic features point to Arabic patterns, but also the contents of the texts.
The entire Greek tradition, as far as it is known to us, is in quite a different
intellectual vein, as it were, being much more mysterious both in content and
style.72 The rather technical, scientific, matter-of-fact nature of our texts, by
contrast, seems to have its intellectual native soil, in Arabic alchemy. In the
course of the development of Arabic alchemy this quality evolved after the
translation movement from Greek into Arabic of the early Abbasid period and
is connected with the names of Jābir ibn Ḥayyān and Abū Bakr Muḥammad ibn
Zakariyya al-Rāzī.73 The latter died in 925 ce,74 while Jābir is now suspected
of having been a pseudepigraphic prosopon representing the intellectual and
religious efforts of an extreme Shiʿite school. The large volume of alchemical
literature claiming Jābir’s authorship is now assumed to have been composed
between the early ninth and the mid-tenth centuries ce.75 However, the issue
is still being debated, and I have to restrict myself to reporting the opinion
dominant at present.76
71
72
73
74
75
76
Arabic, Prof. Holger Preissler †.
This was already Stern’s opinion of bl ms. Or. 3669(1); cf. Stern, Fragment eines koptischen 102: “ein recht ansehnliches Fragment … welches, wie ich darthun werde, aus dem
Arabischen übertragen ist, aber die koptische Literatur gleichwohl in bedeutender Weise
bereichert.”
Cf. Eliade, Die hellenistische; Gundel, Alchemie; Merkur, A study; Plessner, Vorsokratische;
Riess, Alchemie; Reitzenstein, Zur Geschichte; Vereno, Studien 16–21; Viano, Gli alchimisti
and Viano, Alchimie.
Garbers and Weyer, Quellengeschichtliches 64–71; Hamarnehi, Arabic-Islamic; Kraus, Jābir
Ibn Ḥayyān ii 30–42; Landfester, Berger and Priesner, Chemie/alchemie; Rex, Zur Theorie; Sezgin, Geschichte 10–11; Ullmann, Die Natur- und Geheimwissenschaften 148–152; Ullmann, al-Kīmiya; Vereno, Studien 21–31; Weyer, Alchemie.
Partington, The chemistry; Sezgin, Geschichte 275–282; Ullmann, Die Natur- und Geheimwissenschaften 210–213.
Kraus, Der Zusammenbruch; Kraus, Jābir Ibn Ḥayyān i xxxvi–xlv; Kraus, Alchemie 27–46
and 47–70; cf. Capezzone, Jabir ibn Ḥayyān; Plessner, Jābir ibn Ḥayyān; Ruska, Arabische
428–430; Ullmann, Die Natur- und Geheimwissenschaften 198–208.
Against Kraus’ hypothesis, cf. e.g. Haschmi, The beginning; Holmyard, Alchemisten; Sezgin, Das Problem, Sezgin, Geschichte 132–269, and Sezgin, Wissenschaft 99–108.
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Be this as it may, our Coptic manuscripts, roughly datable to the tenth century and thereby surpassing in age the oldest extant Greek, as well as Arabic,
alchemical manuscripts, seem to be renderings of almost contemporary Arabic texts. Certainly it would be desirable to identify these Arabic Vorlagen.
Due to the striking feature of its unusual narrative frame, the most promising candidate for identification seems to be the text of Bodl. mss. Copt. (p)
a. 1 and 3. Unlike the great bulk of Greek as well as Arabic alchemical texts,
which are usually presented as a teacher’s exchanges with his pupil/son (and
reader), this text is structured quite differently. Phrases such as “I saw the master, as he did …” or “the master said …” might enable someone familiar with
the Arabic tradition to identify the text, if it is known at all. Since the experts
I asked were unable to do so,77 I am strongly inclined to believe that such an
Arabic text, if extant at all, has not yet been published which is hardly surprising. Despite the tremendous progress since the days of Marcellin Berthelot’s pioneering work La Chimie au Moyen Age in 1893, many texts even by
such famous authorities as al-Rāzī and Jābir ibn Ḥayyān remain unedited and
untranslated.78
An important issue related to the narrative framework of the text of Bodl.
mss. Copt. (p) a. 1 and 3 is its character in terms of reality vs. fictitiousness.
Initially, I had no doubts that the construct of the recording pupil was a literary
conceit, and for two reasons I felt inclined to assume the text belonged to
the huge corpus of writings composed in the name (or, as in our case, in the
attitude) of Jābir ibn Ḥayyān.
First, according to his legendary biography, Jābir was initiated into alchemy
by Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq, the sixth Shiʿite imām, and indeed several writings by Jābir do
contain references to his master Jaʿfar.79 On the other hand, the often-attested
77
78
79
So Charles Burnett and Wilferd Madelung in personal communications, Fuat Sezgin in a
letter from 28 April 2005, and Manfred Ullmann in a letter from 21 May 2005.
Cf. the verdict of Vereno, Studien 22: “Das auf Arabisch vorliegende Handschriftenmaterial ist gewaltig. Die beiden Handbücher Fuat Sezgins (gas iv; 1971) und Manfred Ullmanns (ngi; 1972) bezeugen dies eindrucksvoll. Doch dieses Handschriftenmaterial ist,
von wenigen Ausnahmen abgesehen, weder durch Editionen zuverlässig erschlossen noch
lexikalisch bearbeitet. Ein guter Teil ist womöglich noch nicht einmal katalogisiert. Sich
einen halbwegs vollständigen Überblick zu verschaffen, ist daher zum gegenwärtigen Zeitpunkt nicht möglich. Trotz einiger hervorragender Arbeiten ist die arabische Alchemie
als Ganzes noch als weitgehend unerforscht zu betrachten.” Cf. Ullmann, Die Natur- und
Geheimwissenschaften 150–151.
Kraus, Jābir Ibn Ḥayyān i xxv–xxvii.
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phrasing of these references, wa-ḥaqqa sayyidī, “and my Lord confirmed,”80
refers back to a distant past when Jābir was the disciple of Jaʿfar from a present
in which Jābir himself is teaching. This model is quite different from the narrative frame of Bodl. mss. Copt. (p) a. 1 and 3, where the entire text is presented as
notes kept by the disciple. Second, the authors of the corpus of Jābir’s writings
recommended and applied a strategy they called tabdīd al-ʿilm, “dispersion of
knowledge,” in order to prevent unworthy and unprepared minds from acquiring the entire store of alchemical truth all at once:
Um die Profanierung ihrer geheimen Künste zu verhindern, enthüllen die
Autoren des Corpus Gabirianum die ganze, ungeteilte Wahrheit nie an
einer Stelle. Sie begnügen sich vielmehr mit Andeutungen und verweisen
immer wieder auf andere Schriften des Corpus, in denen die übrigen Teile
der Wahrheit niedergelegt seien und die man also ergänzend studieren
müsse. Nur wer das ganze Corpus kenne, sei im Vollbesitz der Wahrheit.
Es ist das Prinzip der “Verstreuung des Wissens” [tabdīd al-ʿilm].81
I wonder if we do not have here a nice example of “dispersion of the knowledge”
in the aforementioned paragraph about the “machine of the sages” with its
conspicuous reference to a future time when the master might let his pupil
know the machine itself, in contrast to the present when he is feeding him mere
snippets of information (cf. ex. 45).82
80
81
82
Cf. Kraus, Jābir Ibn Ḥayyān i 91, nº (378); 106, nº (553); 113, n. 3 ad nº (947); 121, nº (972);
122, nº (974); 125–126, nº (988); 133, nº (1056); 143, nº (1800); 156, nº (2145); 171, nº (2958).
Among the writings of Jābir ibn Ḥayyān quoted in the Kitāb al-Fihrist, one title of the
collection “The 112 books” is called Kitāb al-Ṣādiq. Paul Kraus, Jābir Ibn Ḥayyān 37 ad
nº 101, raised the question: “Le titre se rapporte-t-il à Jaʿfar al-Ṣâdiq?” However the text
iteself is not preserved, or at least, is not available or not yet identified among the extant
Arabic manuscripts. A related phenomenon is mentioned by Kraus, Jābir Ibn Ḥayyān 65 à
propos the Kitāb Muṣaḥḥaḥāt iflāṭūn (Le livre des Rectifications de Platon): “Contrairement
à la plupart des écrits jābiriens, le k. muṣaḥḥaḥāt Iflāṭūn est conservé dans une rédaction
postérieure. Presque dans chaque chapitre l’auteur est introduit à la troisième personne:
“Jābir dit”; “Jābir ibn Ḥayyān dit”; “le maître (ustādh) Jābir ibn Ḥayyān dit”; une fois même
on lit “al-imām Jābir”, expression que ne se trouve que dans des textes tardifs.” But even
the “le maître dit” is still different from phrases such as “I saw the master,” even leaving
aside other difficulties.
Ullmann, Die Natur- und Geheimwissenschaften 4; cf. also Kraus, Jābir Ibn Ḥayyān i xxvii–
xxx, xxxi–xxxiii.
Another interpretation of this striking passage was proposed by James Montgomery and
should not be left out here: he posited an “opt-out clause” anticipating the unavoidable
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richter
Ex. 45 Bodl. ms. Copt. (p) a.1 d, line 11–12 || Bodl. ms. Copt. (p) a. 3, ro line 76–
77: ⲉⲣⲉⲡⲛⲟⲩⲧⲉ ⲧⲁⲁⲥ ⲉⲡϩⲏⲧ ⲛⲡⲥⲁϩ ⲛϥⲧⲁⲙⲟⲓ ⲉⲧⲙⲉⲭⲁⲛⲏ “God will put it
into the heart of the master, and he will let me know the machine
(too)!”
On the other hand, the separation of related material in order to limit the
circle of initiates seems not such an extraordinary strategy, especially in a secret
lore such as alchemy. So the mere fact that this literary technique was also
practiced in the Corpus Jabirianum would hardly provide sufficient grounds for
an attribution.83
As to the crucial question of whether or not the ‘recording pupil’ is a literary fiction, I was recently led to quite a different way of explaining the literary
form of Bodl. mss. Copt. (p) a. 1 and 3. Through discussions with experts in
Arabic science84 I learned that similarly organised treatises are attested elsewhere in the fields of early Arabic educational writing, such as in medical and
toxicological literature, and more generally, that the transformation of educational matters from oral to written and their migration from the classroom to
the institutions of literary transmission are well-evidenced stages in the formation of Arabic scientific literature.85 So the alternative, non-fictional possibility
that our pupil’s records of alchemical experiments executed by his nameless
“master” may be traceable back to actual lessons in alchemy in a real laboratory should be born in mind. If so, the original (Arabic) text of Bodl. mss. Copt.
(p) a. 1 and 3 might have left the ‘classroom’ and become literature some time
ago, as is indicated by its existence in Coptic translation and even in two Coptic
recensions (cf. above).
83
84
85
failure of many of the experiments: “It may be worth remembering that as these experiments were never successful, the treatises are bound to conclude some epistemological
mechanism which acts like an opt-out clause. ‘God will give it into the heart of the master,
that he will let me know the machine (too)’ is one such opt-out clause, it seems to me”
(letter from 29.09.2006).
Cf. Kraus, Jābir Ibn Ḥayyān i xxxi–xxxiii on the method of “dispersion of knowledge”
elsewhere in antique and mediaeval secret traditions.
I am grateful to Emilie Savage-Smith and James Montgomery for sharing their erudition
with me.
Cf. the studies by Gregor Schoeler on the “lecture note” phenomenon in the early Islamic
sciences, now available in Schoeler, The oral, the knowledge of which I owe to James
Montgomery.
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183
Conclusion
Although comprising only a small number of manuscripts, the Coptic dossier
of alchemical texts is of some importance for the history of science. Apart
from semi-alchemical texts such as the Greek papyri of Leiden and Stockholm
and the Coptic P.Berlin P. 8316, the Coptic alchemical treatises of London and
Oxford, datable to the ninth and/or tenth centuries, are by far the earliest
alchemical manuscripts known to us, significantly older than all of the extant
manuscripts of the Greek corpus of late antique alchemical writing, the Corpus
Chymicum Graecum, and older than any Arabic manuscript on alchemy known
thus far.86
The probable provenance of (at least some of) the Coptic manuscripts in
the environs of Akhmīm sheds further light on the importance of that upper
Egyptian town as a centre of alchemy in late antique and early Islamic period.
Despite its age, and contrary to what the Khālid ibn Yazīd legend of the Kitāb
al-Fihrist would indicate, the Coptic alchemical dossier cannot be considered a
link between Greek and Arabic alchemical traditions and does not contribute
to the issue of possible ancient Egyptian roots of alchemy.87 The language,
contents and literary genre of the Coptic texts prove them to be descendants of
the Arabic stock of alchemy, and in particular its more empirical branch. More
specifically, there is good reason to believe that they are renderings of almost
contemporary, still-unknown Arabic texts.
Seen from the perspective of Coptic literature, the Coptic alchemical dossier
belongs to a distinctive group of late Sahidic manuscripts dealing with matters
such as medicine,88 mathematics,89 astrology,90 or just alchemy, while referring
to taxonomies and technical terminologies of contemporary Arabic science. All
these texts bear witness to the intellectual efforts of educated members of the
Christian Egyptian society, who were willing and still able to think and write
in their native language, to grapple with the new culture. It was only now, on
86
87
88
89
90
As far as I know, the earliest known Arabic manuscripts on alchemy come from the
eleventh century, cf. Sezgin, Wissenschaft 109 (a manuscript of al-Kindī’s Kitāb Kīmiyā’
al-ʿiṭr dated to 405/1014, ed. Garbers 1948) and von Lippmann, Entstehung; the great bulk
of manuscripts is, however, much younger.
As for this, cf. Bain, Μελανίτιs γή; Daumas, L’Alchimie; Derchain, L’Atelier; Fowden, The
Egyptian Hermes and Lindsay, The origins.
Chassinat, Un papyrus médical; cf. Till, Die Arzneikunde.
Drescher, A Coptic.
Bouriant, Fragment.
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richter
the eve of the linguistic Arabisation of Egypt, that Coptic became a language of
sciences—albeit of Arabic sciences! Such efforts might have been stimulated
by the same feelings of fascination and the same high esteem underlying the
much more famous, and much better investigated, medieval translations of
Arabic scientific texts into Latin.91
Postscript (fall 2012)
After having finished the print version of this paper, my ongoing work on the
Coptic alchemical texts tremendously profited from two sources. First, grants
from the Alexander von Humboldt foundation and the Sarah J. Clackson fund
permitted me to stay at Oxford and London for five weeks in fall 2007 and
to thoroughly study the manuscripts. The results of this work, some of them
most amazing, shall be dealt with elsewhere; they do not contradict, but partly
enlarge, enrich and improve the observations communicated above. Second,
thanks to discussions with Bink Hallum, in writing and orally during the workshop on medieval alchemy held at the Warburg Institute in London in October
2007, I have become a little bit more cautious against a too straightforward
argument for a mere translation of the Coptic treatises from Arabic Vorlagen.
I have also become more sensitive to the possible complexity of the reception and transmission processes underlying, and eventually resulting in our
manuscripts. Taking the aforementioned linguistic observations into account,
I still find Ludwig Stern’s assumption that texts such as bl. Or 3669(1) might
have been somehow translated from Arabic compositions, a very likely and
convincing suggestion. But strong as it seems at first glance, this hypothesis has
some weak points too. For instance, a concept like the machine of the sages,
mechanē nnsophos as the text puts it, is linguistically composed of two Greek
terms, which needs to be explained if one assumes an Arabic composition
simply having been rendered into Coptic. Also certain palaeographic features
of the Coptic manuscripts, such as their use of cryptography and of symbols
of the σημεία τῆς ἐπιστήμης type, rather recall the habits of Greek alchemical
manuscripts. So I would no longer exclude the possibility that our texts have
been composed in Coptic, by Coptic authors, rather than translators, who were
familiar with contemporary Arabic and Greek alchemical traditions. But we
must not forget a remarkable gap in our knowledge: We do know fairly well,
91
Cf. Agius, The Arab; Al-Hassan, The Arabic, Burnett, The astrologer’s, Halleux, Les textes
alchimiques; Newman, The summa; Ryding, The heritage.
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how translating from Greek into Coptic worked—the kind of rendering attested
by the great bulk of Coptic literary texts, but we have simply no idea of what a
translation from Arabic into Coptic would look like.
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chapter 11
Terms for Vessels in Arabic and
Coptic Documentary Texts and Their
Archaeological and Ethnographic Correlates
Tasha Vorderstrasse
Introduction
Both papyri and material remains provide insights into the consumption and
construction of pottery in early Islamic Egypt by various members and groups
of the population. This paper will focus on terms for jars in Arabic and Coptic documentary papyri in the early Islamic period (7th–10th centuries) and
their possible archaeological correlates in pottery, metal, glass, and parchment.
There have been previous attempts to link jar terms, particularly in Greek
papyri (and occasionally in Coptic) with actual objects, but the Arabic evidence has remained largely unstudied in this regard. Archaeologists, however,
have tried to link pottery from all periods found in their Egyptian excavations
with ethnographic examples and to provide the pottery with Arabic names that
come from nineteenth-and twentieth-century pottery.
This paper will try to remedy this by offering a comparison of actual objects
with contemporary Arabic and Coptic names for vessels in order to better
understand consumption patterns in the early Islamic period in Egypt. First,
the archaeological evidence for different types of jars and containers from early
Islamic Egypt will be examined. Then the papyrological evidence will be compared with the ethnographic attestations of jars. Early Islamic period Arabic
papyrological terms for jars will subsequently be discussed in detail, including,
where it is possible to determine, the types of material from which these jars
were manufactured and what types of objects they contained. Finally, the Arabic, Coptic-Arabic, and Coptic papyrological and ethnographic evidence will
be combined in order to provide possible names for the archaeological objects.
Archaeological Evidence for Vessels
When one begins to examine vessels from early Islamic Egypt, one is presented
with a bewildering array of different forms, types, and materials, scattered
© Tasha Vorderstrasse, 2015 | doi:10.1163/9789004284340_012
This is an open access chapter distributed under the terms of the prevailing cc-by-nc License
at the time of publication.
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196
vorderstrasse
through a variety of publications in different languages. The types of jars that
will be examined here are storage jars, as the references in papyri are generally
to these kind of containers which are either being sent by the writers of the
documents or being received by them. This limits the research to vessels that
were sealed in some way and excludes therefore wide mouthed jars. The vessels
could be made from different types of materials including pottery, glass, metal,
and parchment. The vessels contained different types of goods (both edible
and non-edible) and were shipped in boats1 and by pack animals2 to their
destination. Sturdier vessels were tied with rope to attach them to saddles of
pack animals, while more fragile items were carefully packed in cloth sacks
or baskets.3 References in the Coptic ostraca to “camels of wine,” “camels of
dates” and “camels of wheat” suggest that items were transported in sacks that
weighed very little.4
The most common type of jar used in the early Islamic period was made
of the clay amphora. The ubiquity of amphorae in the early Islamic period is
not surprising, since they had been the primary transport jars used throughout the Hellenistic, Roman, and Byzantine periods. Their use simply continued
in the early Islamic period. Amphorae could contain a wide variety of liquid,
semi-liquid, and solid objects, including grain, olive oil, wine, garum, cheese,
and honey, which were transported on a wide scale throughout the Mediterranean. The majority of the goods shipped in the amphorae have not survived
in the archaeological record, although there is some evidence of oil residue,
grape seeds, and pitched interiors. Determining the contents of these vessels
remains a challenge for archaeologists. Trace analysis has been applied to some
vessels, particularly to amphorae. It has usually been assumed that if an interior of a pottery vessel is pitched, it would have contained wine or wine vinegar,
while non-pitched vessels would contain other liquids such as olive oil or dry
1 For depictions of boats carrying amphorae from early Byzantine Syria and Palestine, see
Decker, Food 77, fig. 4.5; Kingsley, The economic impact 52, 61, no. 48.
2 Cohen, Kissufim 255.
3 For an example of this type of packing, see Petrie Museum uc65051, two glass bottles wrapped
in textile. For the difficulties in shipping these types of objects see, for example, O.Mon.Claud.
128–129 (early 2nd century c.e.) In the first ostracon the writer asks for baskets to protect
water skins. Apparently he did not get them as he explains in the next letter that the skins
have become useless. In P.Oxy. 1294 (late 2nd/early 3rd century ce) the writer asks for a bread
basket with a lock that contained four flasks. Shipping objects was not without a certain
amount of risk, however. Individuals could and did injure themselves when loading full wine
amphorae (Mango, Beyond 96).
4 Heurtel, Écrits 143–144.
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goods, such as cereals.5 As the tests from Fusṭāṭ have indicated, however, it
is dangerous to assume that pitched amphorae always contained wine. It is
clear that pitched amphorae could in fact also contain other liquids such as oil,
sauces, honey, fish, or cheese.6 In general, the papyrological evidence from the
Hellenistic-Islamic periods suggests a large variety of commodities that were
transported in amphorae in Egypt.7
It is clear from the texts that orders for jars were either in bulk or small
quantities. The choice between these two options clearly depended on what
the individual was planning to use the jar(s) for. Individuals who were involved
in the production of liquid or solid goods that would be transported in vessels
would often order these containers in bulk. In O.EdfouIFAO 107, which dates to
the seventh century, for example, a potter promises to deliver 2070 jars (ⲕⲟⲩⲫⲟⲛ
from Greek κοῦϕα) without default. The word used for jar in this instance
means empty and this is a term that is used by transporters to refer to the
delivery of jars that were not filled with any goods. Often the delivery of jars
was by the thousands or at least hundreds although sometimes the numbers
were smaller.8 In the first part of the eighth century the correspondence of the
west-Theban anchorite Frange provides interesting details about the ordering
of containers that may have been fairly typical of individuals purchasing jars
for their own use. In this case Frange is ordering a jar that is essentially made to
order for him. In text no. 53, he asks an intermediary to order him a jar (ⲕⲱⲧⲱⲛ,
see discussion below) and demands that it should be of good quality, that it
should have a thick base (at the end of the text he reiterates that he wants a
large base) and that the two handles should be fitted securely.9
5 Peacock and Williams, Amphorae 2, 31; Greene, The archaeology 162; Curtis, Garum and
Salsamenta 35, 39; Bailey, Gaza jars 295–296; Whitbread, Greek transport 19; van Alfen, New
light 203, 208; Formenti and Duthel, The analysis 84; Blakely, Ceramics 38; Alcock, Food 14,
83, 86–87; Decker, Food 76, 80; Ballet, Un atelier d’amphore 363–364; Kingsley, The economic
impact 51; Mayerson, Pitch.
6 Vogt et al, Notes 76.
7 Curtis, Garum and Salsamenta 134–136; Chouliara-Raïos, L’abeille 74; Kruit and Worp, Geographical 98, 107–108; Mayerson, Radish oil 109, 113, 117.
8 Diethart, Neue papyri 80; Mayerson, A note; Mayerson, The knidion 166, no. 1; Mayerson,
Enigmatic; Bacot, Le vin 719; Bacot, Ostraca 10, 144 (Diethart is incorrectly cited here as Palme,
whose article on corrections to Edfu ostraca appears in the same volume and is also used by
this author). For attestations in Coptic, see Förster, Wörterbuch 440–441.
9 O.Frangé 10. For the dating of the texts, see Boud’hors and Heurtel, Les ostraca coptes 70–71.
In another text Frange orders a small limestone ϭⲁⲧ made for him to place a jar on (O.Frangé
113, notes on no. 120.22–32). For a discussion of Islamic stone jar stands, see Knauer Marble.
The jar stands discussed in this article are elaborately decorated and made of marble, with a
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In the early Byzantine period, the ubiquitous lra1 amphorae were produced
in Syria, Cyprus, Cilicia and elsewhere along the Turkish coast.10 They have
been found in large numbers throughout Egypt and the rest of the Mediterranean,11 while imitation lra1 amphorae were also produced in Egypt.12 This
amphora had a cylindrical form with a capacity of between 16.54 and 26.44
liters.13 The current archaeological evidence indicates that lra1 amphorae disappeared in Egypt during the course of the seventh century, particularly during
the second part of the seventh century after the Islamic conquest.14 The use of
these amphorae seems to have continued, however, at least in a limited way,
into the eighth century in Syria-Palestine.15 Imitation lra1 amphorae continued to be produced in Egypt, presumably to fill the gap left by the decrease in
import, into the eighth century. Again, however, the production centers were
limited. Such imitation amphorae have been found in late seventh/eighthcentury contexts at Kellia, Saqqara (where the excavator dates it no later than
the seventh century), Tod (dated to mid-8th/9th centuries), and Deir el-Naqlun
as well as the Sinai.16 Another popular type of amphorae in the early Byzantine
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
basin that allowed the water filtering through the jars to be collected and used later.
Knauer also discusses some other jar stands, including some that are simpler than the
Islamic ones, which she describes as being Coptic (Knauer, Marble 91–93).
Empereur and Picon, Les régions 224–225, 231–232, 236–243; van Alfen, New light 210;
Decker, Food 76–78; Manning et al, Late Roman 233–258; Opait, On the origin.
There are numerous sites where lra1 amphorae are found and a few examples are given
here: Egloff, Kellia 111; Ballet and Picon, Recherches 23; Gempeler, Elephantine x 52; Engemann, À propos 154; Ghaly, Pottery 168, 170; Majcherek, Roman amphorae 217; Bailey,
Marsa Matruh 80; Hayes, The pottery 121; Heidorn, Pottery 39; Tomber, Pottery 244; Gascoigne, Amphorae 164; Lecuyot, Amphores 377, 380–381. For discussion of the distribution
of lra1 in general, see Decker, Food, 76–77.
Ghaly, Pottery 168, 170; Bailey, Excavations 122; Dixneuf, Amphores 136, 174–175.
Decker, Food 76.
Egloff, Kellia 110, 114–115; Górecki, Deir el-Naqlun 58–59; Gempeler, Elephantine x no. 198;
Sidebotham, Bernard, and Pyke, Late Roman 215; Vogt, Les céramiques 257; Guidotti and
Pesi, La ceramica 33 (dates the lra1 amphorae to the 6th/7th century but is not more
specific); Marchand and Dixneuf, Amphores 319; Dixneuf, Amphores 174–175. The picture
may, however, be more complex. See Majcherek, Alexandria’s 235 who states that the
lra1 amphora imports continued into the early Islamic period at Alexandria and were
stable from the end of the Byzantine period (although he does not give an exact date) and
Rousset and Marchand, Secteur nord 409 and Marchand and Dixneuf, Amphores 319 who
state that the number of amphorae drops considerably between the first and the second
half of the seventh century at Tebtunis and Bawit.
Orssaud, De passage 197.
Ghaly, Pottery 168, 171; Bonnet 1994, 363; Godlewski, Derda, and Górecki, Deir el Naqlun
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period was the lra4, the so-called Gaza/Ashkelon amphora (see below), which
is common at sites in Egypt. This type of amphora is cylindrical in shape and
had a liquid capacity of between 16 and 26.5 liters. According to Kingsley, it is
only produced in southern Palestine but it enjoyed a large circulation throughout the Mediterranean.17 The date when this form of amphorae stopped being
produced is still unclear but its production seems to extend into the eighth
century.18 Therefore, while the chronology of these amphorae remains to be
studied in more detail, the use of the vessels does seem to extend into the early
Islamic period but to disappear from Egyptian sites in the course of the seventh
century, much as lra1 amphorae.19
One of the most common amphorae found in the early Islamic period are
of the lra7 type. These amphorae were made in different parts of Egypt from
the seventh to the eleventh centuries and are found throughout Egypt at sites
such as Tebtunis, Dayr al-Baḥrī, Fusṭāṭ, Tod, Bawit, and Alexandria. This type of
amphora has a spindly form that is only 10cm in width and 60–70cm in length.
It is 7 to 8 liters in volume, considerably smaller than the other amphorae, and
is often pitched on the inside. Archaeologists have suggested, based upon their
shape, that the amphorae were probably meant to transport a fluid such as
wine, oil, or garum. When such amphorae from Fusṭāṭ were tested to determine
their contents, however, they turned out to have contained fat, although a vine
branch was found embedded in the resin. At Kellia, an lra7 amphora was
found containing fish bones. These might of course have been wine amphorae
that were re-used,20 but this is not clear.
Another type of amphora found commonly in Egypt is lra5/6. These are the
so-called baggy amphorae which date from between the seventh and twelfth
centuries (continuing from earlier types). The amphorae are found primarily in
17
18
19
20
232, 256 (Figs. 21.2–3); Ballet, La céramique 164; Ballet, ʿUyûn Mûsâ 622–624; Marchand
and Dixneuf, Amphores 316; Dixneuf, Amphores 178–179.
Kingsley, The economic 49, 53.
Egloff, Kellia 117; Bailey, Excavations 123–124.
Majcherek, Alexandria’s 235; Marchand and Dixneuf, Amphores 310.
Górecki, Deir el-Naqlun 56, 61, 64; Vogt, Les céramiques 258–259; Rousset and Marchand
with Laisney and Robert, Tebtynis 185–262, 206; Rousset and Marchand, Secteur nord 409;
Rousset and Marchand, Secteur nord 2000 424, fig. 14.s-t, 435, 445, 458, fig. 40c and 460,
fig. 42o; Vogt et al, Notes 241, 65–80. 66–67, 76; Ballet and Dixneuf, Ateliers d’amphores
72; Lecuyot and Pierrat-Bonnefois, Corpus 166, no. 87–88; Bavay, Les amphores 391–393;
Gascoigne, Amphorae 166; Marangou and Marchand, Conteneurs 269–270; Marchand, Les
amphores 176, 179; Marchand and Dixneuf, Amphores 312–314; Wilson and Grigoropoulos,
The west 283; Simony, Étude 178; Dixneuf, Amphores 154–173 (with a list of find spots in
Egypt).
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Lower Egypt and the Fayyūm (Abu Mina, Tebtunis, Tod, Kellia, Fusṭāṭ, Alexandria, and Pelusium), although they are also found in Upper Egypt, at Elephantine and Ashmūnayn for example and in Middle Egypt at Amarna. In addition,
they are found in Palestine including in Jerusalem, Khirbet al-Mafjar, Nessana,
and Usais. The amphorae can be divided into two types: those made in Palestine and those made in Egypt.21 Indeed, archaeologists working in Palestine
have argued that the Egyptians imitated these amphorae because they hoped
to profit from the reputation of the Palestinian goods, particularly wine,22 often
transported in the amphorae. On the other hand, because they do not have
resin coating on the inside it has been argued that they probably were not used
to transport wine.23 The popularity of imitated lra 5/6 and lra1 in this period
may explain why fewer imported lra1 and lra4 were found in Egypt after the
Islamic conquest.24 Also in a later period amphorae produced in Egypt imitating the lra2 type that date from the ninth to the twelfth centuries were far
more popular than the imported lra2 types.25
In addition to the more common amphorae that would have been used to
transport goods over large distances and which were not all made in Egypt,
there are also other amphorae (some of which were quite small), flasks, and
jars.26 These types seem to have had a far more local distribution and were,
in fact, probably all produced in Egypt. At virtually every site such storage jars
have been found that would have been produced and traded throughout the
local area or even within Egypt at large. These include the ovoid amphorae
(6th–8th centuries) and small amphorae (mid 7th-mid 8th centuries) found
at Tod.27 Other amphorae are only found at Kellia (mid 7th-mid 8th centu21
22
23
24
25
26
27
Ballet, Un atelier 355, 357, 361; Rousset and Marchand with Laisney and Robert, Tebtynis
397; Gempeler, Elephantine x k766 200; Egloff, Kellia 117–118; Orssaud, De passage 198; Bonnet, Le matériel 365–372; Vogt, Les céramiques 257–258; Bailey, Excavations 123, 136–137;
Kingsley, The economic impact 50; Majcherek, Alexandria’s 61, 63; Ballet, La céramique
142, 206; Lecuyot and Pierrat-Bonnefois, Corpus 176, no. 131; Majcherek, Alexandria’s 235;
Faiers, A corpus 174, no. 438; Mouny, Note 632–633, pl. 1(4); Ballet, Un atelier; Gascoigne,
Amphorae 166; Marangou and Marchand, Conteneurs 269; Marchand, Les amphores 176,
179; Marchand and Dixneuf, Amphores 316–317; Wilson and Grigoropoulos, The eest 283;
Dixneuf, Amphores 142–153 (with a list of find spots in Egypt).
Kingsley, The economic impact 57.
Ballet, Un atelier 363–364.
Ballet, De l’Égypte 35–37.
Górecki, Deir el-Naqlun 61, 64; Bailey, Excavations 122; Ballet, De l’Égypte 37; Majcherek,
Alexandria’s 61, 63.
Egloff, Kellia 119, 128–129.
Lecuyot and Pierrat-Bonnefois, Corpus 175, no. 122–123.
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201
ries),28 and jars are found at Tebtunis.29 Some of these smaller jars have a local
distribution such as the spheroid amphorae which have been found at Kellia and Abu Mina and which date to the end of the seventh/beginning of the
eighth century.30 This is also true of other flasks and jars, which would also
have been used to store and send objects probably at a local level. Nevertheless, it is clear that the producers of these small jars, flasks, and amphorae
were the same potters as those who made the lra5/6 amphorae.31 There were
also Aswan amphorae that were found primarily in the Syene region and further south dating to between the middle of the sixth and the middle of the
eighth centuries. They are also common in Nubia, but rarely found north of
Aswan, except at a few sites in Middle Egypt such as Esna, Tod, and Ashmūnayn. Despite the fact that the amphorae are not common north of Aswan,
imitations were nonetheless produced, probably at Edfu which have been
found at Thebes. Again the reason for imitating these amphorae seems to
have been their association with the wines of Syene, which had a good reputation.32
In addition, there is one type which is not only extremely long-lived (the
earliest examples date to either the late pharaonic or Ptolemaic period) but
which is found at a variety of sites. This is the horizontal pilgrim jar which is
asymmetric and has a short neck. It was found in Armant and was identified
by the archaeologists as being a water vessel adapted to be slung on each
side of a donkey.33 This type of pottery was also found at Dakhla dating to
the Islamic period, where it is also identified as a water jar.34 The jars have
also been found in Upper Egypt at Tod (dated to the 11th–12th centuries or
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
Egloff, Kellia 117.
Rousset and Marchand with Laisney and Robert, Tebtynis fig. 42m–o, 458, fig. 40c and 460,
fig. 42o; Lecuyot and Pierrat-Bonnefois, Corpus 175, no. 124.
Egloff, Kellia 117–118. Interestingly, Egloff reports that a similar amphora was found in
Jerusalem.
Rousset and Marchand with Laisney and Robert, Tebtynis 409.
Jacquet-Gordon, Ceramique et objets 6, pl. cxc; Ballet, Mahmoud, Vichy and Picon,
Artisanat de la céramique, 140–141; Pierrat, Essai 187, fig. 59; Gempler, Elephantine x
191, Abb. 121, 12–122, 1–5, Taf. 38,6; Bailey, Excavations 136, pl. 85; Lecuyot and PierratBonnefois, Corpus 199, no. 227; Aston, Amphorae 432; Bavay, Les Amorphes 394–395, fig.
59.
Mond and Meyers, The Bucheum 82, pl. lxiv. 90. See Class 90. See also Aston, Amphorae
441; Ballet, Les amphores 482; Marchand, Les conteneurs 491–492, 495.
Hope, Dakhleh 235–236. See also Ashton, Comparative. The surface survey also revealed
Roman examples.
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later),35 but also on the Red Sea coast at Quṣayr al-Qadīm,36 and in south
Arabia.37
Unlike the other pottery jars found, this type of jar is still made today at the
Dakhla Oasis.38 The early twentieth-century researchers, Mond and Meyers,
found that the potters claimed they made Roman rather than Arab pottery
when referring to the asymmetric water jars. The researchers also concluded:
“In passing it may be remarked that this tendency has great advantages as
the old conservative idea for cleanliness has been preserved there in face of
the Arab and Turkish invasions.”39 Later twentieth-century observers suggested
that hygiene might not have been the main aim as the jars are primarily used
for carrying and short-term storage of water which may also have been the
function of the jar in antiquity. In addition, the jars might have been used in
order to store or transport wine.40 It has also been suggested that they may
have contained different types of agricultural products including wine, wheat,
barley, dates, olive oil, and castor oil. At the site of ʿAyn Manawir, located in the
Dakhla Oasis, the excavators found castor bean seeds in the excavations and
also mentioned in the Demotic ostraca.41 The modern examples from Dakhla
that are preserved in the Petrie Museum include undecorated forms and two
smaller painted versions which may have been produced for a specific purpose
or specific function.42
In contrast to pottery, glass does not always survive well in the archaeological
record, particularly not in large fragments. Glass is commonly found at archaeological sites but usually in small fragments, which makes such a reconstruction difficult. Further complicating the matter is the fact that glass is not always
published in detail. This means that it is difficult to assess the types of glass
storage jars that would have been used in the early Islamic period. The main
publication is Scanlon and Pinder-Wilson’s book on Islamic glass from Fusṭāṭ,43
but some glass bottles have also been published from other sites. The finds pub-
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
Pieerat, Essai 174; Lecuyot and Pierrat-Bonnefois, Corpus 169, no. 97, 176, no. 132.
Johnson and Whitcomb, Pottery pls. 36h, 47j (suggests this was a water bottle); Whitcomb,
Islamic pl. 50n–p.
Rougelle, Excavations 295–297, fig. 9/8–11.
Mond and Meyers, The Bucheum 82, pl. lxiv. 90; Hope, Dakhleh 235–236; Henein, Poterie
120–125.
Mond and Meyers, The Bucheum 82, pl. lxiv. 90.
Hope, Dakhleh 235–236.
Marchand, Les conteneurs 491.
Ashton, Comparative.
Scanlon and Pinder-Wilson, Fustat.
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203
lished include a wide variety of glass bottles that could easily contain the types
of materials noted in the papyri. The surviving glass bottles which have been
found at Fusṭāṭ are not very large, however.44 Similarly, the two glass flasks, now
in the Petrie Museum, from Oxyrhynchos that date to the early Islamic period
are also rather small. These two flasks were found in a cloth bag presumably to
protect the glass from being broken while being transported.45 Depictions and
other finds of glass in situ show the different methods of protection, such as
baskets and cloth bags.46 A mosaic and a painting, both from the 2nd century
c.e. from Carthage, show glass bottles in baskets47 and a 4th-century ce jug
preserved in a basket is now in the Corning Museum of Glass.48 The design of
some miniature amphorae even mimicked the basketry that would have contained actual glass vessels.49 Another example of glass stored in a basket as well
as goblet shaped baskets (one of which also contained its goblet) come from
the grave assemblage of Thaïas from Antinoe and are now in the Louvre.50 The
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
Lamm, Taf. 3. 34–35; Scanlon and Pinder-Wilson, Fustat Figs. 11–13. Most of the surviving
pieces are between 10 and 11 cm high. The exception to this is 13b, which is 18.5cm high. A
similar piece, 18.2 centimeters high, comes from Midum (Kröger, Islamische no. 10).
uc65051. The two dark green vessels were wrapped in textiles (http://www.petrie.ucl.ac
.uk/index2.html).
Meredith, Evaluating 196, no. 17, who states that glass was typically transported in leather
cases or basketry specifically produced for this purpose.
Foy and Nenna, Tout feu 114.
Corning Museum of Glass no. 77.1.3. See N.A., Recent Important no. 10. This glass is 25.2cm
in height.
Stern, Roman 154, no. 4, cat. no. 59 (first half of 1st century).
Foy and Nenna, Tout feu 115, nos. 136–137; Calament, La révélation 374; Bénazeth and van
Strydonck, Carbone 52, 55, 57, fig. 5. The dating of this material is problematic as carbon 14
dates of the individual pieces from the assemblage are not in accordance with one another.
Thaïas herself seems to have been buried in 660, while it has been argued that some pieces
are too early or too late to be part of the assemblage. The goblet in the small basket dates
between the end of the seventh and the ninth century (Bénazeth and van Strydonck,
Carbone 55, 57). The current state of publication is somewhat confusing on these pieces.
In Bénazeth and van Strydonck, Carbone, on the one hand, it is claimed that there are four
small baskets and only one large goblet, while it is the other way around in Foy and Nenna
(Tout feu 115, nos. 136–137). Calament, supporting the statement of Foy and Nenna, gives a
list of the objects displayed with Thaïas in 1898, which states that there were four goblet
cases and two other baskets. Calament identifies the times mentioned in this list with four
goblet shaped baskets and a basket containing a goblet in the Egyptian collection at the
Louvre and notes a goblet shaped basket conserved at Rennes (Calament, La révélation
374). Gayet, on the other hand, describes six baskets and one other basket (which seems
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most important piece for reconstructing the transport of items of glass in this
period, however, is a 32.2cm high glass bottle found at Tebtunis which dates
to the beginning of the tenth century. This bottle, like the lra7 amphorae, is
very spindly and therefore not very stable. The bottle is likely to have been
used to transport liquids similar to those transported in amphorae. It has been
suggested that this piece had a funerary aspect51 but this seems unlikely. It
should be kept in mind, however, that not all glasses found in baskets were
for transport. A second-century ce glass from the Fayyūm, found in a basket
together with its lid, is said to be a funerary urn.52
In the papyri, there are a number of examples where jars are being shipped
in baskets, although the jar’s material is not clear. In some cases, it is merely
stated that a “basket” of wine should be sent, which infers that there is a jar in
basket. In other cases, however, the texts explicitly mention that the wine is to
be sent in the baskets.53
The other main type of material used for transporting goods was metal.
Metal is even more problematic to assess than glass, because it tends not to
survive well and is often not published unless it is decorated. Therefore, one
is far more dependent on museum collections. Most of the metal objects from
Egypt are ewers or buckets and very little is known about metalwork in general
dating from the early Islamic period. In addition to these objects, there are
metal flasks that date from the seventh to the tenth centuries.54 It has been
claimed that, after the Islamic conquest, Egyptian metalwork, which had been
traded all over the Mediterranean even ending up in the Sutton Hoo treasure
in England, declined drastically because the population was heavily taxed and
was not in a position to offer fine metalwork.55 The metal bottles found in
51
52
53
54
55
to be the goblet shaped basket) (Gayet, Antinoë 53, engraving of goblet shaped basket 55,
engraving of a basket containing goblet 56).
Foy, Secteur nord 480–481. no. 151, Musée égyptien du Caire inv. j. 41879. Despite the fact
that this piece is published in a study of the glass of the current Tebtunis excavations, it
was found between 1909 and 1910.
Hassel, Glasamphore 908–999, Abb. 94.
Crum, A Coptic 777a; Crum, The monestary 75; Husselman, Coptic documents 68–69;
Bacot, Du nouveau 158. The texts where this is clear are P.Mon.Epiph. 90, O.CrumST 132,
and O.Crum 160.
Fehérvári, Islamic no. 2, 33–34, 41–42, 46, nos. 20–22; Baer, Metalwork 84–87, 90; Allen,
Concave 132; von Gladiss and Kröger, Islamische no. 139; Allen, Metalwork 16–17; Ward,
Islamic 42. The recent publication of bronze vessels from the Coptic museum mentions
some small bronze bottles whose chronology was difficult to establish (Bénazeth, La
vaisselle 103).
Ward, Islamic 42.
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the eastern Islamic empire in Sardis and Nishapur, but also in Syria provide
an indication of the types of containers that could have been used in this
period. The types seem to be long-lived, dating from the seventh to the eleventh
centuries. Some of these bottles are described as being “amphoresque.”56
In addition to the flasks of other materials, there were parchment flasks, but
their survival is very rare. One found at Tell Idfū excavations is a small flask
with a straw grill covered with transparent parchment.57 This is an exceptional
piece that would have probably transported something very light in weight. It
may be a type that was far more common but simply has not survived well in
the archaeological record.
Papyrology and Ethnography
The archaeological evidence shows that a wide variety of different types of
storage jars made of different materials was in use amongst the inhabitants of
early Islamic Egypt. It is therefore not surprising that the jars are frequently
mentioned in documentary papyri recording Egyptians’ daily life concerns
and activities. There are a variety of names attested in Coptic and Arabic
papyri and these can be compared to ethnographic works from nineteenth-and
twentieth-century Egypt that record Arabic terms for jars. There have been
attempts in the past to link the jars mentioned in the papyri with the jar names
from nineteenth-and twentieth-century Egypt,58 and with archaeological and
ethnographic terms,59 but there have been no attempts to join these three data
sets making connections between the archaeological and Arabic papyrological
terms. It has, however, been attempted for Greek papyri, with the study of jar
names that are derived from geographical locations. Greek geographical jar
names such as Rhodian and Gazan can indeed be linked to specific jar types.60
Even when it has been suggested that certain amphorae were identical to
jars mentioned in the papyri, making exact correlates can be problematic.
There is one instance, however, where it is possible to do so. The term “Aswan
plate” appears in Coptic-Arabic and Coptic spells as well as written on a plate
56
57
58
59
60
Allen, Nishapur; Waldbaum 1983; Mango, Beyond fig. 5.7; Pitarakis 2005; Mango, Tracking
Byzantine 230–231, fig. 15.5.
Henne, Rapport 9, 36
Karabacek. Papyrus Erzherzog; Lane, Manners 152, 155; Grohmann, From the world 10, fig. 1;
Grohmann, Einführung 9, Abb. 2.
Bailey, Excavations 75.
Kruit and Worp, Geographical 65, 72–75, 98, 105, 107, 140.
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in the British Museum.61 The piece is described by Hall as being a “part of a
moulded red-faced imitation Arrentine ware bowl.”62 One of the spells, however, Inv. no. 515, mentions white Aswan bowls.63 The word used for the vessel
is in this instance different from the word used in the other two texts. This
makes it likely that a different type of bowl or plate is being referred to here. The
qualification “white” added to “Aswan” might thus have referred to a specific
type of vessel.64 The same term for plate also appears in Coptic texts elsewhere and it has been suggested that it is not an ordinary plate.65 It is clear
from this example, however, that even when the identification between vessel
and name seems to be straightforward, it is always more complicated. Furthermore, the texts generally do not tell us whether the objects are made from
glass, ceramics, or metal, and only by looking at archaeology can it become
clear what types of objects might be actually meant in the texts.66 All of this
must be kept in mind when examining the terms for vessels. Both Arabic and
Coptic terms will be considered here. There are far more Coptic terms known
than Arabic ones, but this should not be considered surprising: far more Coptic ostraca and papyri have been published than Arabic texts. In addition to
papyri, a considerable amount of information about consumption in the early
Islamic period comes from the commodities listed on glass vessel stamps. Glass
vessel stamps are known in Egypt in the Byzantine period,67 but are found
in larger numbers in the early Islamic period.68 The glass stamps would have
been applied to vessels while still hot and they have been found attached to
several glass cups, including one from the American excavations at Fusṭāṭ.69
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
See van der Vliet, Varia 224–225. The Arabic-Coptic bilingual spell and one Coptic spell
are published in Bilabel and Grohmann, Griechische no. 123 (psr Inv. no. 500/1), line 1
(Arabic), no. 131 (psr Inv. no. 518) line 19 (the reading is according to Bilabel and Grohmann
somewhat uncertain, but they do restore it, although they do not translate it). Another
Coptic spell is published in Stegemann, Neue Zauber 78, l. 55–56 (psr Inv. no. 518). The
inscribed plate is published (with a drawing but no photo) in Hall 1905, pl. 38.1 (bm 27718).
I would like to thank J. van der Vliet for the reference to his article.
Hall, Coptic pl. 38.1 (bm 27718).
White bowls, without the appellation “Aswan,” also appear in a Coptic text now in Leiden.
Van der Vliet, Varia 224.
Bacot and Heurtel, Ostraca coptes 24.
Mossakowska-Gaubert, La verrerie 1443–1444.
Lane-Poole, Catalogue xviii–xix; Ross, Byzantine 83; Sams, The weighting 202–230, 210.
Bates, The function 63–92, 63–64; Bacharach, Introduction 5. For glass stamps from outside of Egypt, see Morton, A catalogue 39; Heidemann, Katalog 195–196.
Scanlon and Pinder-Wilson, Fustat glass fig. 37. The glass would have been for dried plums.
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terms for vessels in arabic and coptic documentary texts
207
The glass vessel stamps give different types of information, including contents, measures, and weight and occasionally the name of the person who
authorised the issue of these stamps. It used to be assumed that glass vessel stamps indicated commodities that would have been used in pharmaceuticals or even more general weights.70 There has been a growing understanding, however, that glass vessel stamps are likely to have indicated items
consumed or used on a daily basis. The commodities include oil (olive oil,
etc.), fat, dairy products (milk, cheese, clarified butter), lentils (black lentils
and skinned lentils), spices (coriander, fenugreek, mustard, cumin), lupines,
sesame, peaches or plums, honey, jujubes, palm fruit, cooked noodles, wine,
beer, millet beer, henna, garlic, meat.71 This information can be combined with
the information from the amphorae to see the wide variety of different food
stuffs attested.
The amount that a vessel might hold is often difficult to determine. Even
when there is information about this in texts, it is not always straightforward.
The authors of the papyri did not specify weights; it is to the literary texts that
one must turn in order to gain information about how much a particular vessel
might have carried or how large a particular measure was. The authors of these
texts, however, do not always agree, and it is clear that the contents, weight and
size of measures differed per region. Even within Egypt, the size of a particular
measure was not always the same.72 The differences were not only determined
by where a particular measure came from but also by the type of liquid or dry
goods that it was used for. Wine, oil, and honey all required different measures;
an equal volume of honey has a greater weight than a similar amount of wine,
while wine and oil are quite compatible.73
70
71
72
73
Lane-Poole, Catalogue, vii, xvii, xxii–xxiv; Miles, Contributions 384. This affects how Miles
translated the names of particular commodities (Miles, Egyptian glass 384–389). Balog,
Umayyad 10, 12, 29; Eldada, Glass weights 113; Hamarneh and Awad, Glass vessel 168.
Miles, Contributions; Miles, Egyptian glass 386–387; Balog, Umayyad 30; Bacharach, Introduction 117, 147; Eldada, Glass weights 113, 117; Hamarneh and Awad, Glass vessel 167,
169–171, 174, no. 5.
Sauvaire, On a treatise 291–292, 297–299; Rogers 1878, 98–112, 110; Sauvaire, Arabic metrology 253–284, 253–254, 256.
Sauvaire, Arab metrology 495–524, 495. Ms. Madrid ms. arabe gg. 57.
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Arabic Terms for Vessels
There is a number of terms for vessels that appear in Arabic papyri, some
of these words were borrowed from Coptic (possibly to describe vessels that
the Arabs were not familiar with).74 One of the most common terms was
jarra ()ﺟﺮة, which is attested in papyri dating to between the eighth and tenth
centuries. Those papyri of which the find spots can be determined come from
Medīnat al-Fayyūm (one example) and Edfu (two examples). The jarras are
said to have contained a large variety of commodities such as honey, wine,
sugar syrup, grape syrup, and water.75 David-Weill published a papyrus from
the Louvre mentioning a jarra containing oil made, in his translation, from
eggplant seeds.76 This seems an unlikely translation as not much oil can be
extracted from eggplant grains. While the contents of the jarra are varied, this
also held true for the size of a jarra. According to the literary sources, a jarra
of Antioch held 23kg, a large jarra 11 kg, and a small one 1.9kg.77 The term may
also be attested in a Coptic text. Crum reports that in Bibliothèque Nationale
ms. 55 there is mention of ϯϫ (( )ﺻﺎﻏﺮة1 var. )ﺟﺮة. In Coptic, this appears to be
ϫⲟⲣⲃⲉⲥ, which Crum translates as a small (?) vessel.78 Again, there is no material
specified, but the size suggests that the jarra was made of pottery and it could
easily be connected with one of the amphorae found at the archaeological sites.
Therefore, at least some jarra could be lra7 or lra 5/6 which is found so
frequently at early Islamic sites and which seem to have been used for the same
goods that the papyri mention in relation to the jarra. If small jarras are being
referred to in the papyri, then they might be the small flasks, made from glass or
metal, that have been found at archaeological sites. In illuminated manuscripts,
vessels identified by jarra are drawn as two handled jars apparently made of
metal.79
When one turns to the ethnographic attestations of the jarra, however,
the picture is very different. The papyrological evidence suggests that the
74
75
76
77
78
79
It should be kept in mind, however, that amphorae have been found in Arabia. See, for
example, Sedov, New archaeological 113–114.
Grohmann, From the world commentary on P.Cair.Arab. iv 339.9; Grohmann, Einführung
1954, 170–171; Marrow, Two Arabic Inv. no. 36.2; Rāġib, Quatre papyrus iii recto 8; P.Khalili
i 7.3.6; P.Vind.Arab. i 4.7.
David-Weill, Papyrus arabes no. 12.
Grohmann, Einführung 170–171.
Crum, A Coptic 785b.
Hill, The book 49, 54, 72, 78, 80, 82, 84, 88, 100, 113–114, 130 (Models 4, 7, 19–22, 32, 38–39,
46).
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terms for vessels in arabic and coptic documentary texts
209
jarra would be a rather large pottery jar used to transport liquids of all types.
The ethnographic attestations of jarra, however, suggest that a jarra or jarrat al-mayya (Eg.) al-kabīra is, in fact, the unusually shaped jar mentioned
above that is still being produced at Dakhla. In Egyptian and Syrian/Jordanian colloquial a jarra is a clay water jar or pitcher.80 In Syria and Jordan
jarra is also used in more general terms for a storage jar.81 Water jars which
are known in some areas as jarra are called elsewhere in Egypt zīr.82 The
jarra in Egypt can also preserve cheese and the jarrat al-laban holds milk.83
Therefore, there seems to be two types of jarra in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries: unusually shaped flasks that hold water and cheese and milk
jars. This suggests that the meaning of jarra has changed through time and
that it has become a far more specific term than it was in the early Islamic
period.
Another common term in the Arabic papyri is qisṭ ( ;)ﻗﺴﻂthe term is derived
from the Greek measure ξέστης (coming to the Arabic either from Greek or
from Egyptian via Coptic, where the term also occurs as the measure ⲕⲥⲉⲥⲧⲏⲥ,
ⲝ, ⲝⲉⲥⲧ̅, ⲝⲉⲥⲧⲁ, ⲝⲉⲥⲧⲉ, etc.).84 In Arabic, however, the term may refer either
to a vessel or a measure,85 and it is difficult to determine which is meant.
The term qisṭ, after all, even when used as a measure, implies the use of
a vessel to contain the object in question. The papyri mentioning qisṭ date
from between the eighth and tenth centuries and the find spots of most of
the papyri cannot be determined, but where it has been established, they
come from Arsinoe/Fayyūm. As for contents a variety of liquid and semi-liquid
commodities have been determined: oil (olive, radish, linen, and sesame),
honey, wine, vinegar, and butter. Many of the references in the papyri refer to
parts of a qisṭ, which could suggest that these refer to a measure rather than to
a specific vessel.86 In glass vessel stamps, the commodities mentioned include
liquids such as wine and olive oil.87
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
Hinds and Badawi, A dictionary 155.
Mershen, Recent hand-made 76, n. 7; Taniguchi, Ethnoarchaeological 144.
Henein, Poterie 161, 163; Ashton, Comparative.
Henein, Poterie 161, 163; Ashton, Comparative
Miles, Egyptian glass 385; Kruit and Worp, Metrological notes 111 (who note there are over
1,000 Greek examples of the word used as a measure); Förster, Wörterbuch 555. Grohmann,
however, thinks it came from Aramaic into Arabic (Grohmann, Einführung 167).
Grohmann, Einführung 167; Morton, A catalogue 31.
Grohmann, Einführung 167–170.
Morton, A catalogue 31.
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In one instance, the qisṭ is a bronze vessel,88 while in others it is made
from glass.89 It is clear that there are a variety of sizes of qisṭ. In P.Cair.B.E. inv.
no. 326.4 there is a reference to a large qisṭ (a term which also occurs in glass
weights) and to a qisṭ al-laytī. In the papyri, qisṭs are referred to as whole, half,
quarter, and eighth. According to literary evidence a small qisṭ was 1.19kg and a
large qisṭ 2.4kg. On the basis of this information Grohmann suggested that one
qisṭ was equal to 1.4 liters while Miles interpreted it to be a pint in size.90 This
could suggest that the qisṭ was a relatively small-sized vessel, but the evidence
makes clear that the qisṭ measure was not fixed. Indeed, both small and large
qisṭs are attested.91 The side of a glass cup from the Metropolitan Museum of Art
has been stamped with the words: qisṭ wafī (full measure). The glass cup holds
50 cubic centimeters, but this does not compare with the qisṭs attested in the
literature. It has been suggested that the glass measure must be incorrect and
should have read half of a quarter of a qisṭ as fractions of a qisṭ are common in
glass weights,92 but it seems more likely that in glass measures, as in the papyri,
the size of a qisṭ measure differed significantly.
Once again, when one attempts to find archaeological correlates to a qisṭ,
one is confronted with the possibility that it may refer to different vessels, in
particular when it is used as a measure. The qisṭ seems to have been much
smaller than the jarra, referring to smaller pottery, glass, and metal vessels. It
is interesting that the qisṭ seems to have evolved from a measure to a term that
meant both a measure and a vessel. In Coptic, this process also seems to have
occurred. While almost all the references to the term in Coptic appear to be
measures, there is one exception to this, O.Medin.Habu Copt 5.11, where a list of
goods is given and the word ⲟⲩⲝⲉⲥⲧⲏⲥ appears. The editors do not comment on
this, they merely translate it as xestes. In the context of the list, the meaning of
the word appears to be for a vessel rather than a measure.93
In modern Egyptian Arabic a qisṭ is used for a metal can (such as milk man’s
churn)94 and an oil pitcher.95 Rogers, in his study of weights and measures,
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
Grohmann, Einführung 167.
Day, An Umayyad 259; Miles, Egyptian glass 385, 387–388.
Grohmann, Einführung 167–170; Hinz, Islamische 50; See Grohmann’s commentary on
P.Cair.Arab. iv 342; Miles, Egyptian glass 385; Balog, Umayyad 30.
Sauvaire, A treatise 113; Morton, A catalogue 31.
Day, An Umayyad 259; Miles, Egyptian glass 385, 387–388; Balog, Umayyad 31.
See, for example, P.Ryl.Copt. 238.41 is a list (8th century) that has a half xestes of or for oil
(ⲟⲩⲡⲁϣⲝⲉⲥⲧⲏⲥ) and P.Ryl.Copt. 240.4 (ⲟⲩⲝ[ⲉ]ⲥⲧⲏⲥ ⲛⲥⲱ).
Hinds and Badawi, A dictionary 699.
Spiro, An Arabic-English 486.
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terms for vessels in arabic and coptic documentary texts
211
noted the presence of a qisṭ on glass weights and made enquiries in Cairo about
the object. He found evidence in 1878 for a vessel called an oil qisṭ that was used
to dip into oil jars ()ﻗﺴﻂ اﻟﺰﯾﺖ, which did not have a specific size. He stated that
the word was not used anymore for a fixed measure of capacity.96 Unlike other
terms that appear in ethnographic studies, the qisṭ is not a term that appears in
separate pottery studies. This is probably due to the fact that by the nineteenth
and twentieth centuries the term had come to refer to a metal vessel. The use
of the term apparently changed through time, losing its meaning as a measure
and becoming used exclusively to refer to a metal vessel.
The third common term in Arabic is the qulla ()ﻗ, which, like qisṭ, comes
from a Coptic word, but in this instance not originally coming from Greek. The
Coptic root is ⲕⲉⲗⲱⲗ, ⲕⲟⲩⲗⲱⲗ, ⲕⲟⲗⲟⲗ, which means pitcher or jar for water,97
originally from hieroglyphic and known as krr in demotic.98 The term was
then used in Greek as κρωρι99 and became very common in Greek in the fifth
century ce and later (κουρι).100 Kruit and Worp suggest that it is equivalent to
Greek/Coptic κόλλαθον,101 but this is not the case. Despite the fact that qulla
comes from the Coptic word kelal, it appears in several manuscripts as the
equivalent to the Arabic words qisṭ and kūz,102 which suggests that the authors
of the papyri were not aware of the equivalence between the two terms.
The term is attested in Arabic texts dating from between the eighth and
ninth centuries but no provenance for the papyri can be determined. The types
of contents of this jar include liquid and semi-liquid contents: wine (including
date wine), butter, cheese, molasses, raw sugar, oil (Palestinian olive oil and
radish oil), soap, and black olives (which although being solid would have
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
Rogers, Unpublished glass 112.
Crum, A Coptic 104a. For some reason Alcock only gives the meaning “pitcher,” although
he does note its etymology, which is neglected by Crum (Alcock, Coptic terms 2). Another
possible spelling in Coptic may be ⲕⲟⲩⲗⲉ as it appears in O. Frangé 253.9 referring to a jar.
Boud’hors and Heurtel, Les ostraca suggest that this is perhaps the word ⲕⲉⲗⲱⲗ ⲕⲟⲩⲗⲱⲗ or
ⲕⲗⲉ ⲕⲉⲗⲏ (Crum, A Coptic 102a) which is a vessel for liquids such as honey and oil.
Černý, Coptic 56.
According to Bilabel, there is a papyrus that comes from the Hibeh cartonnage (Heidelberg 414) which contains a Greek Demotic glossary, with the Demotic written in Greek
letters. Therefore: λεκάνιον-κρωρι (Bilabel 1938, 79). Quecke suggests after a recent re-study
of the papyrus that κωρι means τ(ά)λαντον, talent (Quecke, Eine griechische-ägyptische
72–73).
Kruit and Worp, Metrological 110–111.
Kruit and Worp, Geographical 138.
Crum, A Coptic 104a.
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probably been stored in oil). Diem also suggested that one of the jars referred
to in Grohmann’s publication of perf 769 may have held mixed pickles rather
than the water that Grohmann suggested.
There are at least four sizes of qulla jars in the papyri: an ordinary qulla,
which could be either a half or whole qulla, a large qulla, a small qulla, and
a hip qulla.103 Although Grohmann assumed that the qulla was a large jar that
would have stored 55 kg,104 the papyri show that there was a variety of different
sizes. Further, a jarra is apparently smaller than a qulla because one qulla is
said to have contained six jarra.105 In Coptic the term ⲕⲉⲗⲱⲗ is often found in
lists of metal vessels etc., without any sort of object contained within it.106 The
fact that Palestinian olive oil is attested in one of the papyri as being contained
in the jar could argue for the idea that the qulla is actually the lra 5/6 which
was produced in Palestine and Egypt and would have contained olive oil.107 If
a jar was likely to be imported to Egypt containing olive oil, the chances that it
was the lra5/6 is quite high. The smaller version of the jar may be made from
metal, as suggested by the Coptic variants. If Grohmann’s hypothesis is correct
the qulla might have been a very large storage jar, perhaps far larger than any
of the amphorae.
The term qulla is known from a variety of ethnographic sources, already
noted early on in Description de l’Égypte. Indeed, when Karabacek discusses
perf 710, he thinks that the qulla in the papyrus is the same as the one
illustrated in Description de l’Égypte.108 He did not discuss the correlation in
great detail, however. Edward William Lane stated that the qulla was used in
nineteenth-century Cairo as a water bottle and glass sherbet cup.109 This suggests that the term could refer to a wide variety of vessels both large and quite
small. In Morocco it is thought to be an oil measure which in Casablanca contains 30kg of oil and in Mazagan 17kg. This suggests oil would have been stored
in a large jar in this period, perhaps not unlike the type seen by Lane in Cairo
in the nineteenth century.110 Further, the term appears to have remained popular into the twentieth century, when it continued to mean a jar that contains
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
Grohmann, From the world 164; Grohmann, Einführung 171; P.Khalili i 3; P.Vind.Arab. i 16.5.
Hip: P. Khalili i 7.5.
Grohmann, Einführung 171.
Grohmann, Einführung 171.
P.Ryl.Copt. 238.31; 242.4.
P.Berl.Arab. ii 40.6.
Karabacek, Papyrus perf 710.
Lane, Manners 155.
Grohman, Einführung 171.
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terms for vessels in arabic and coptic documentary texts
213
liquids, such as water.111 In Egyptian Arabic a qulla is an earthenware jug112 or a
water bottle.113 Pots found in the Kellia excavations have been associated with
the modern qulla,114 while other archaeoglogical material has also been connected to the ethnographic evidence of the qulla.115 Once again, there seems to
be a change that has occurred between the attestations in the papyri and the
ethnographic attestations. There are some qulla which seem to be quite large
while others are very small.
In addition to these three fairly common terms for vessels in the Arabic
papyri, there are two less common ones. One of these is the iqnīz ()ٕاﻗﻨﲒ. The
word iqnīz comes from Greek κνίδιον, which also occurs in Coptic texts as
ⲕⲛⲓⲕⲓϫⲓ, ⲕⲛⲓⲕⲓⲇⲓ, and ⲕⲟⲩⲛⲇⲟⲩ and is equivalent to the Coptic word ⲗⲁⲕⲟⲟⲧⲉ.116
The term is very popular in both Greek and Coptic papyri, although it is rare
in the Arabic papyri. Indeed, the term knidion is the most widely attested
amphora name in the late antique period, although attestations first begin
in the Ptolemaic period, then stop and begin again in the second century ce
and continue into the ninth century. The Greek attestations of knidion jars
indicate that it contained large amounts of wine and olive oil, but also other
items such as honey, cheese, money, grapes, cheap wine or vinegar, mixed
honey and wine, and honey and water drinks, garum, sweet olives, olives,
pickles, and pickled calf meat.117 It has been argued that in the Byzantine period
knidion jars ceased to be identified with a specific form or type, but rather
referred generally to jar. This seems to be supported by the archaeological
evidence as there are no imitation jars from Knidos produced in Egypt in the
Byzantine period and in several Coptic texts knidion jars are equated with
Coptic measures.118 Texts describe knidion jars to have been produced in Egypt.
This suggests that the term continued to represent both the wine jar and a
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
Blackman, The fellahin 140; Mond and Meyers, The Bucheum 84; Brissaud, Les ateliers 217;
Golvin, Thiriot, and Zakariya, Les potiers 27, no. 1, 28; Henein, Poterie 104, 154; Nicholson,
Deir Mawas 142.
Hinds and Badawi, A Dictionary 716.
Spiro, An Arabic-English 500.
Henein, Poterie 104, 154. See also Ashton, Comparative.
Egloff, Kellia 128.
Bell, Metrology 22; Crum, A Coptic 111b; Grohmann, Einführung 170, no. 5; Černý, Coptic 59;
Alcock, Coptic terms 1–2; Kruit and Worp, Geographical 72–75.
Clackson, Coptic 27, 157; Kruit and Worp, Geographical 104–105, 108; Mayerson, The knidion 165–166; Mayerson, Enigmatic knidion 205–209.
For Coptic measures, see Kruit and Worp, Geographical 72–75; Černý, Coptic 59; Alcock,
Coptic terms 2.
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measure in the late Roman/Byzantine period,119 and presumably this would
hold true for the early Islamic period as well. Whether or not the term knidion
retained its geographical meaning in Coptic, it is clear that the term ceases to
refer to an actual jar but rather becomes an extremely common wine measure
in the early Islamic period.120 It was also used to measure other substances,
such as pickles.121
In Arabic the term seems to refer to actual jars, rather than to a measure. This
suggests that the term may be adapted from the Greek rather than the Coptic
and hence it retained its original meaning. The Arabic texts date to between the
seventh and eighth centuries and, where find spots can be determined, come
from the Fayyūm and from Khirbat al-Mird in Palestine (one). The containers
primarily contain liquids and semi-liquids such as wine (the most popular),
but fat and soap are also attested.122 There is some evidence for the type of
material that the objects were made of. The vessel from Khirbat al-Mird is made
of bronze123 and Grohmann suggests that this is a small vessel,124 but there is no
evidence for its actual size. The fact that it was in one instance made of metal
suggests that metal was used in other instances too, although the carrying of
liquid contents may also suggest amphorae.
The term does not survive in modern Egyptian Arabic and therefore is
not attested in ethnographic studies or in dictionaries. This may have to do
with the fact that it is a measure in Coptic and was rare in Arabic. The only
excavators to discuss a possible equivalence for the term knidion are those
who worked at Ashmūnayn. They suggested that a lra7 type found there and
dating to at least the eighth century can be identified as the knidion.125 The
lra7 is generally dated to a later period than this, while it was not made in
Knidos, even though the geographical association might have been lost by
this time. There is another problem, however, namely that the object found
at Ashmūnayn does not correlate with the known sizes of knidion jars in the
texts.126
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
Mayerson, Enigmatic especially 205, 209.
Bell, Metrology 22; Clackson, Coptic 26–27; Bacot, Le vin 714–715. See also Wipszycka, La
Fonctionnement 170–171.
Bell, Metrology 23. O.Sarga 87.
Karabacek, Bemerkungen; Grohmann, Einführung 170.
P.Mird 41. For these papyri see Cotton and Millar, The papyrology 215, no. 8.
Grohmann, Einführung 170.
Bailey, Excavations 129–130; Pyke 2005, 217.
Bavay, Les amphores 391.
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terms for vessels in arabic and coptic documentary texts
215
The least common Arabic jar name in the papyri seems to be a barniyya
()ﺑﻧﺮﯿﺔ. This jar appears in a. Ch. 2924.7, which dates to the tenth century. Diem
suggests that the jar contained several truffles,127 which seems a somewhat
unusual content. The jar is not attested anywhere else, which makes it difficult to speculate about what it was. In colloquial Egyptian, however, barniyya
means an earthenware pot or dish glazed on the inside.128 This could suggest
that ethnographically it is a jar that would normally hold liquids or be used in
cooking. More attestations of this jar are needed in the papyri, however, before
we can make more in depth statements about what it might be. This demonstrates, however, the evolving nature of the evidence in Arabic papyri for jar
terms. There are more jar names attested in the ethnographic studies than have
been found in the papyri, suggesting that there were more Arabic jar names in
the early Islamic period than what we have found so far.129
Coptic Terms
The Coptic terms that have correlates in the Arabic papyri have been discussed
above, but there are also terms that only appear in the Coptic. As mentioned
above, due to a discrepancy in the publication record, there are many more
terms known from Coptic papyri than from the Arabic. In spite of the abundance of this evidence, the treatment of Coptic jar terms has been limited to
discussing the degree to which they constitute Greek loan words (such as discussed by Förster and Kruit and Worp) or ‘genuinely’ Coptic terms (such as
discussed in Alcock, which is essentially a list from Crum’s Coptic dictionary
with a few additions130). A more complete discussion of all the Coptic terms is a
desideratum and it is hoped that this article will stimulate further discussion on
this topic that will examine all occurrences of the different jar names in detail
and publish more texts concerning jars. Such a study may reveal whether or
not certain jar names predominate in certain regions, as has been suggested for
some measures which seem to predominate in the Edfu, Theban, and Oxyrhynchite areas.131 Here, the jar names under discussion will be divided into two
127
128
129
130
131
P.Vind.Arab. i 4.7. Cf. Diem’s discussion of the term in the commentary to this text (p. 26).
Hinds and Badawi, A dictionary 70.
See, for example, Wassef, Pratiques 400–402.
Alcock, Coptic terms 1.
Bacot, Quelques 35, 37–38; Bacot, Le vin 716. Bacot suggests that the local measures at Edfu
are ⲗⲁϩⲉ, ⲃⲁⲓϣⲟⲙⲛⲧ, ⲧⲁⲣϣⲉ, and ⳓⲓϫ. The term ⲃⲁⲓϣⲟⲙⲛⲧ also appears at Bawit. Another
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categories: those that are attested commonly (both Greek loan words and those
that are Coptic) and those which are more rarely attested. Attestations from
texts that date generally to the sixth/seventh century will also be included in
the discussion here because they may in fact date to after the Islamic conquest.
Several Greek loanwords that are attested in Coptic and Arabic texts, such as
knidion, have already been discussed, and we will now turn to those other Greek
words for jars that are attested as loanwords only in Coptic and that are very
common in the papyri and the ostraca. The term ⲁⲅⲅ, ⲁⲅⲅⲉⲓⲛ, or ⲁⲅⲅⲉⲛ, comes
from the Greek ἀγγεῖον, and means jar.132 In Coptic texts from western Thebes
the jar co ntained vinegar or oil (early 8th century),133 while Greek texts mention it containing wine (from 6th/7th-century Hermopolis/Ashmūnayn,134 late
7th-century Edfu135 and 8th- century Bawit).136 The contents are therefore similar to those mentioned in pre-Islamic documents from early seventh-century
Apollonopolis Heptakomias, namely wine.137 All these texts have thus a middle
or upper Egyptian provenance and refer to measures holding liquids.
Another jar term which is common is ⲥⲕⲁⲓⲟⲥ from Greek σκεῦος, which
occurs frequently in Coptic texts.138 The ⲕⲁⲇⲟⲩⲥ from κάδος in some cases
contained wine.139 The ⲁⲥⲕⲁⲗⲱⲛⲉ, from the Greek ἀσκαλώνιον, might refer to an
actual jar or a measure in this period. Most scholars, such as Bell, Hasitzska, and
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
local term from Edfu is ϣⲛⲧⲁⲉⲥⲉ, ⲯⲉⲛⲧⲁⲉⲥⲉ, which occurs as a wine measure, and as a
measure for vinegar and herbs in the wider Theban area outside of settlements such as
Djeme. It can also be found at Hnes, Ashmūnayn, and Wadi Sarga. It also appears in Greek
texts as ψινθ ( ) from Edfu with salt, boiled wine concentrate, must, and wine (PApoll.
93.a. 11, 12, 17 and 93.b.2.3.11, 23). See Crum, A Coptic 573b; Bacot, Du nouveau 153; Worp,
Notes 571. Another local term is ⲗⲁⲕⲟⲟⲧⲉ, which especially occurs in Middle Egypt (Bell,
Metrology 23). The measure ⲗⲁϩⲏ appears in Greek and Coptic, but while the Coptic term
appears at a variety of sites such as Edfu and Bawit, in Greek papyri it is almost entirely
limited to the Oxyrhynchite nome (Worp, Notes 565; Bacot, Ostraca 10, 65).
Förster, Wörterbuch 6–7.
Förster, Wörterbuch 6–7. For ⲁⲛⲅⲉⲛ: See O.Frangé 118.7, 120.23, 343.13–14 (mentions an
amphora of vinegar), ⲁⲅⲅⲓ: see O.Frangé 82.7: jar(s) of oil.
sb 18.13585-6, 13589; P.Lond. iii 1036.
P.Apoll. 97.
O.BawitIFAO 33.2. 36. 2, and possibly 38.4 (the contents are not clear in the last text).
P.Grenf. 1, 63, P.Drexel, and Par.suppl.gr. 1291.1. For more on P.Gren. 1, 62, its dating, and the
provenance of Apollonopolis Heptakomias (Kom Isfaht) rather than Edfu, see Benaissa,
Two bishops 179–180. For P.Drexel and Par. suppl. gr. 1291.1, see Bainassa, Two Bishops
184–187, 187–191. The monastery of Bawit is located in the vicinity of this city.
Bell, Metrology 25; P.Mon.Epiph. 3; Förster, Wörterbuch 735–737.
Förster, Wörterbuch 357–358.
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terms for vessels in arabic and coptic documentary texts
217
Förster, believe that it is a measure but Kruit and Worp treat it as a jar. In Coptic,
the term is primarily attested at Ashmūnayn, but also appears commonly at
Wadi Sarga. It appears in the Coptic texts very frequently as either a measure
or container for cheese140 although wine is also attested.141 Mayerson suggested
that ⲁⲥⲕⲁⲗⲱⲛⲉ was a form of amphora from Palestine. He noted that this type
of jar contained wine, sweetmeats, fish sauce and cheese in the papyri which
he felt would fit with an amphora in general. He did not discuss either the jars
or the papyri in detail, but identifies ἀσκαλώνιον and γαζίτιον to lra 4 jars .142
Once again, the jar name seems to have lost its meaning as a container and to
have become a measure.
There are several other words that appear in Coptic whose actual origin is
disputed. The word ⲕⲟⲉⲓⲥ, which Crum, following Krall in cpr ii, suggests is
also borrowed from Greek κόις, has been thought by Worp to be a word which
comes from Coptic as it is only found once in Greek. Again, however, this jar
type seems to refer to quite varied types and while it normally contains wine
and vinegar, it can also contain solids. At Ashmūnayn a ⲕⲟⲉⲓⲥ maker is attested
in the seventh century promising to deliver new ⲕⲟⲉⲓⲥ jars.143 It is attested in
the Theban region, Bawit144 and at Edfu.145 Bacot suggests that ⲕⲟⲉⲓⲥ, ⲕⲟⲗⲟⲃⲟⲛ,
and ⲡⲩⲣⲣ[ⲟⲥ] are jars attested at Edfu that contain wine although confusingly
she also calls them measures.146 This might be the same as ⲡⲟⲣⲟ, which is
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
O.Sarga 196, 198, 203 from Wadi Sarga; P.Lond.Copt. i 1044, 1085, 1126 from Ashmūnayn; cpr
xii 30.26.
O.Sarga 237 and 275. Bell, Metrology 20; Hasitzska, cpr xii 40; Mayerson, The Gaza Kruit
and Worp, Geographical 100 (their list provides only some of the Coptic examples); Förster,
Wörterbuch 114.
Mayerson, The Gaza 79–80; Zemer 1977, Peacock and Williams, Amphorae 197–199; Kruit
and Worp, Metrological 97; Kruit and Worp, Geographical 100–101; Gorzalczany, A baptismal 116–117. There are various varieties of southern Palestinian amphorae (Majcherek,
Gazan amphorae; Fabian and Goren, A new type; Ward, From provincia arabia 199–209).
cpr ii 223 = cpr iv 35.
See Krall commentary on cpr ii 223; Crum, A Coptic 120a; Worp, Notes 568. The exact size
of this jar is unknown but it is probably smaller than a knidion jar (Kruit and Worp, A
seventh-century 49).
O.EdfouIFAO 29; 70.
Bacot, Quelques 35; Bacot, Le vin 716; Bacot, Ostraca 10, 56. Kruit and Worp, A seventhcentury 49 treat ⲕⲟⲉⲓⲥ as a jar. For ⲕⲟⲗⲟⲃⲟⲛ, see Kuentz, Remarques 199, who argues that
it is a wine measure. Bell, Metrology 22 merely states that it has an obscure meaning but
includes it in his metrology discussion, suggesting he believes it is a measure as well. Crum,
A Coptic 28 also discusses it as a measure although he refers in his dictionary to it as a vessel. Kruit and Worp, A seventh-century 49 also believe this is a vessel.
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attested in O.CrumST 117 and is defined by Crum as a jar holding oil.147 ⲡⲩⲣⲣ[ⲟⲥ]
comes from the Greek word πυρρόν, red, and is equivalent to Coptic ⲧⲁⲣϣⲉ,
which in turn is derived from the ancient Egyptian sd dšr, red vase. The term
appears not only at Edfu, but also at Jeme/Medinet Habu and the Monastery of
Phoebammon.148 Kruit and Worp note that Edfu pottery includes both brown
and brown with red slip ware.149 Because red is one of the most common
colors in pottery this does not particularly assist in finding any archaeological
correlates for this type at Edfu.
In addition to these more common loan words from Greek, there are some
less frequently attested ones, such as ⲕⲉⲣⲁⲙⲓ[ⲁ], from κεράμια150 and ⲡⲓⲑⲟⲥ from
πιθος151 Additionally, there are two words for jars that may in fact not come
from Greek at all: ⳓⲁⲗⲓⲧⲉ, which in the Frange material (spelled ⲕⲁⲗⲓⲧⲉ), refers
to a vessel filled with oil or simply as a vessel.152 It also appears in the Wadi
Sarga texts as a vessel also filled with oil.153 Another term possibly referring
to a storage vessel is ⲟⲣⲅⲟⲛ, which holds many different types of foodstuffs.154
The word ⲕⲱⲧⲱⲛ, which may come from the Greek word κώθων has been
attested at Edfu, and elsewhere where it contains honey, wine, and pickled
food.155
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
Crum, A Coptic Dictionary 268a.
Kruit and Worp, A seventh-century 51. As noted by Heurtel, this word does not appear
in the Coptic dictionary. Two attestations of this word which suggest that it is a measure
or container (Heurtel, Reçus 151). See also Bacot, Quelques 35; Bacot, Le vin 716; Bacot,
Ostraca 11, 66.
Kruit and Worp, A seventh-century 51.
Förster, Wörterbuch 405.
Förster, Wörterbuch 643.
Oil: no. 88.12. Vessel: nos. 328.10 and 329.6.
In the dictionary Crum suggests that it is the form of κόλλαθον in Coptic, but he acknowledges in his commentary on O.Sarga 91 no. 4 that it does not look very similar. Bell,
however, accepts the idea that the two are the same, but Förster has a question mark
(Bell, Metrology 22; Crum, A Coptic 813a; Förster, Wörterbuch 428–429). Occurrences of
the Greek measure κόλλαθον in Coptic are very frequent.
Bell, Metrology 25. Bell argues it was a dry measure, for cheese as well as wine and pickles.
He suggests that it comes from the Greek ὂργανον. See, however, Förster, Wörterbuch 586,
no. 7. The latter argues that this equivalence with the Greek is questionable. It is not always
a vessel, however. See Crum’s commentary on P.Mon.Epiph. 312, no. 1. There he states that
it is a mill, wine press, or instrument.
Edfu: P.Mon.Epiph. 532.15 and 543.7 (in a list). Crum commentary on P.Mon.Epiph. 543;
Boud’hours and Heurtel, Les ostraca 71–72.
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terms for vessels in arabic and coptic documentary texts
219
There are also Coptic names for jars such as ϣⲟϣⲟⲩ, which is found at Wadi
Sarga and the Theban region referring to a large jar containing wine.156 It may
be related to the word ϣⲁϣ, which Crum defines as a vessel or measure for wine.
In three cases, the jar holds the wine of Tiloj. In one case, the papyrus probably
comes from the Fayyūm as it was given to the British Museum by Graf,157 while
the other text, an ostracon cited by Crum, is a Theban account and another
is a list of wine jars from Wadi Sarga.158 This suggests that the wines of Tilodj
(Nilopolis/Dallās) were well known outside of their production center, namely
the Fayyūm.159
Other jar names include ⲙⲣⲱϣⲉ/ⲙⲣⲱϩⲉ, which Crum defines as a vessel of
clay,160 ⲟⲉⲓⲡⲉ, which is both a measure and a vessel,161 ⲗⲟⲕ or ⲗⲁⲕ, which is a
small pot (about 1/2 liter in size) that contains pure honey or oil in the Frange
correspondence and is referred to as a jar at Jeme without any contents listed,162
ϩⲟⲧⲥ,163 and ϩⲱⲧⲉ which is a jar but also seems to be a measure or jar for
bread.164 Another example is ⲉⲕⲱⲛⲉ, which in the texts of Frange is a vessel
filled with oil.165 It is described elsewhere as a bronze vessel or as a vessel or
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
Crum, A Coptic 609a; Bacot, Du nouveau 158–159. For some reason Alcock misspells it as
ϣⲟϣⲟⲏ (Alcock, Coptic terms 5).
P.Lond.Copt. i 697.
0.Sarga 135.
Crum commentary on P.Lond.Copt. 697 (where he is not certain what the word means);
commentary by Crum on O.Sarga 135 (where he translates the text as wine jars of (?) for
Tiloj); Crum, The monestary 162, no. 5; Crum, A Coptic 604b–605a. For the city of Tilodj,
see Timm, Das christlich-koptische 498–502.
Crum, A Coptic 184a; Crum commentary on P.Mon.Epiph. 549. See also Schäfer, Ein Trichter
152. Crum thinks it may have been a strainer in this context. This is followed by Wilfong,
Women’s 216, who notes the original editors of the O.Medin.HabuCopt. 5 translated it as
vessel.
Crum, A Coptic 256a.
O.Medin.HabuCopt.5; O.Frangé 100.9 (where it refers to a jar of pure honey), 236.3 (jar of
oil), 237.11, 633.10 (jar of honey), 770.18. Crum, A Coptic 138a–b, defines it as a bowl or cup
or a measure for oil.
Crum, A Coptic 727a. This is a jar or a pot. It is attested in O.Sarga 66 as containing cheese,
186 as holding vinegar and pickles, and 344 as containing wine. See commentary of Crum
on the Wadi Sarga texts on p. 148, no. 2.
O.Frangé 93.7, 11, 24 (Frange asks for a ϩⲱⲧⲉ of bread), 328.9 and 329.4 (where it seems to be
a jar). Crum, A Coptic 722a, states that it is a vase name. This is not to be confused with ϩⲏⲗⲉ,
which is also a measure or container for bread (Crum, A Coptic 667a; Wilfong, Women’s
217, who suggests that the iron ϩⲁⲗⲉ and wooden ϩⲁⲗⲉ mentioned in O.Medin.HabuCopt.
85 are not furniture but rather bread containers or measures).
Nos. 87.7–8, 327.11.
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tank of metal or wood.166 It is apparently an object used in the kitchen, as
it appears in a list of kitchen objects from the Theban area.167 It also may be
related to a word ⲕⲛⲛⲉ or ⲕⲏⲛⲉ, which is found in a list of vessels.168
There is evidently borrowing from Coptic into Greek as well. One word is
ⳓⲉⲗⲙⲁⲓ, which seems to refer to a metal vessel.169 The word ⲕⲟⲩⲛϫⲟⲩ refers
to metal or clay vessels170 and is attested in Greek as κόντσου.171 There are at
least two sizes referred to as a μεγάλη and μικρὸν κόντσου.172 ⲥⲟⲣⲟⲩⲧⲟⲛ, ⲥⲓⲣⲱⲧⲟⲛ
is another common word in Coptic which usually refers to a vessel holding
wine or vinegar, except in two cases when the contents may be explained as
“filtered” wine.173 Husselman suggested that it was a jar with a strainer on
the top174 but this would argue against it being a storage jar, as transporting
anything in it would be difficult. Worp has tried to connect this word to the
Greek σιρώτ(ησ)/σιρωτόν/ν. In his discussion of the term he begins by stating
that it also looks similar to the Coptic word ⲥⲓⲣ, but the relationship between
ⲥⲓⲣ and ⲥⲓⲣⲱⲧ remains unclear.175 ⲥⲓⲣ has been connected to the Arabic zīr which
is a common term for jar, basing his findings on a literary text.176 This has been
described as a Coptic loan word in Arabic,177 although the Coptic use is limited
to one attestation.178 In Greek, the term was used exclusively for containers
for wine and vinegar in texts from the sixth to the eighth centuries.179 It also
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
O.Medin.HabuCopt. 5.
SBKopt. ii. 1048.6.
P.Mon.Epiph. 543; Crum, A Coptic 112a; O.Frangé, p. 72.
Crum, A Coptic 811a. See also Worp, Notes 570, who discusses this term in a Greek text of
the sixth century.
Crum, A Coptic 113a; Alcock, Coptic terms 2. See also Stefanski and Licthheim, commentary on O.Medin.HabuCopt 5 no. 7. At Edfu: O.EdfouIFAO 127 is list of objects paid as wages
including two jars: ⲕⲟⲩⲛϫⲟⲩ (here ⲕⲟⲩϫⲟⲩ). The word also appears elsewhere in the Theban area (O.Frangé 631.8).
sb 1 1160 of unknown provenance and date (Torallas Tovar, Egyptian 169).
Worp, Notes 568–569.
Crum, A Coptic 148, no. 3. See commentary on O.Sarga 186.7.
Husselman, Coptic 68.
Worp, Notes 569–570.
Crum, A Coptic 353b; Worp, Notes 569, no. 28.
Bishai, Coptic 47.
Crum, A Coptic 353b.
Sixth century: P.Prag. 1.92.1, sb 1 1960.6 = O.Petr. 452. Seventh century: P.Apoll. 93.a.5.
Early seventh century from Arsinoites: bgu ii 377.2. Seventh/eighth century: P.Bad. iv.
97.10.15.
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terms for vessels in arabic and coptic documentary texts
221
appears in two Coptic-Greek texts from eighth-century Bawit referring to containers for vinegar.180
In addition to these fairly common types, there are also a number of words
that are found less commonly in Coptic. What follows are some of them. ⳓⲁⲡⲉ
has been suggested to be a small vessel.181 ⳓⲁ or ⲕⲁⲓ,182 ⲉⲓⲟⲡⲉ,183 and ⲕⲗⲉ refer to
a vessel for honey or oil.184 ⲥⲁϥ is defined as a measure or a vessel.185 ϣⲟⲩⲟ has
been identified as a vessel possibly holding corn.186 ϩⲁⲗⲁϩⲱⲙ may be a vessel.187
ϫⲓ seems to be a metal vessel or utensil.188 ⲙⲟⲥⲛ(ⲉ)might be a vessel or dry
measure.189 ϩⲁⲧⲙⲉ,190 ϩϫⲁ are both described as a vessel or measure.191 ⳓⲟⲡⲉ
seems to be a small vessel.192 ⲕⲁⲡ or ⳓⲁⲡ ⲏas been defined as a receptacle or
measure for corn and honey.193
In other cases, the meaning of the jars is not entirely clear. The word ⲕⲁⲙⲧⲉ
or ⲃⲏⲥⲉ, for example, was defined by Crum as a pail or bucket in the dictionary
but he has defined it as a vessel holding oil, dates, or grapes elsewhere.194 Other
containers are attested in the papyri such as a water bottle (ⲃⲁⲗⲕⲟⲩ),195 bottle or
tube (ⲡⲟⲛⲕϥ),196 and ampoule (ⲁⲙⲡⲟⲩⲗⲉ). This latter term appears twice in the
correspondence of Frange who in one case asks that he be sent a large ampoule
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
P.Brux.Bawit 9, 13.
Crum, A Coptic 825b. This term is found primarily in literary texts, but it also appears in
P.Ryl.Copt. 397. In note 10 to this text Crum suggests that it is perhaps the Coptic equivalent
of the Greek word αγάπη but he seems to have abandoned this idea by the time he wrote
the dictionary.
Crum, A Coptic 802a. In bku 1 21 it holds boiling water.
Crum, A Coptic 82a. He suggests it is either a measure or vessel for oil.
Crum, A Coptic 102a
Crum, A Coptic 378b.
Crum, A Coptic 603a.
Crum, A Coptic 672b.
Crum, A Coptic 752a. This jar appears in list from Jeme/Medinet Habu where it was
translated as a bronze vessel (O.Medin.HabuCopt. 27).
Crum, A Coptic 186b. See also O.Crum 216 (Cairo 8215). He translates it as a “small basket
of olives” here. The dictionary entry does not explain why he changed his mind.
Crum, A Coptic 724a.
Crum, A Coptic 742b–743a.
Crum, A Coptic 825b.
Crum, A Coptic 113b; Crum commentary P.Mon.Epiph. 536, no. 2.
Crum, A Coptic 110b; Crum commentary P.Mon.Epiph. 551 n.
Crum, A Coptic 38a.
Crum, A Coptic 266a.
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of fish sauce.197 There are also words for which the meaning remains unknown
such as ⲃⲏⲃ, which appears in lists of vessels198 and ⲕⲛⲛⲉ.199
The different products packed in these jars include wine, vinegar, honey,
salted fish, garum, pickles, meat, salted preserves, herbs, olives, and cheese.200
The types of objects, and the foodstuffs they contain, that appear in the Coptic
texts are similar to those attested in the Arabic papyri, but they are encountered
more frequently and in more variety in the Coptic texts. It is not always clear
from the papyrological evidence what type of material the vessels are made of.
Sometimes the material is stated, namely pottery or metal,201 but in other cases,
this is not clear at all. In the case of the word ⳓⲁⲗⲁϩⲧ, for example, which Crum
defines as a pot,202 the type of material is not specified. In the Frange letters
published by Boud’hors and Heurtel, the word appears three times but only
in one instance is it clear that a blacksmith is involved, leading the editors to
suggest that it is a pot or cooking pot made from copper rather than a ceramic
jar.203
As has been observed above, there have been few attempts to find archaeological correlates for the Coptic jar names. There is a large variety of different
vessels attested in the texts and an equally large variety of objects attested in
the archaeological record. The large numbers of terms in Coptic and a certain
amount of uncertainty makes it necessary to examine these terms in considerable detail to try to determine whether certain objects are jars or measures,
how they might be used and in what context. Moreover, many of the sites where
a large number of texts have been recovered and studied have not been published archaeologically.204
The site of tt29, however, provides considerable information about pottery
production and consumption, both from an archaeological and textual point
of view. At the site, archaeologists have discovered the voluminous correspon-
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
O.Frangé 53. 15 (commentary Boud’hours and Heurtel, Les ostraca 71–72); O.Bale inv. Lg Ae
bjf 31c (commentary Boud’hors, Pièces 105–106).
Crum, A Coptic 28b.
Crum, A Coptic 112a.
Kruit and Worp, Geographical 138; Worp 2004, 558.
See, for example, O. Medin.HabuCopt. 27.1 and 7, which notes that the jar ⳓⲟⲛϫⲟⲩ is made
of bronze. This term is not attested in Crum (Crum, A Coptic 113a, 184a; Alcock, Coptic
terms 2). See also Stefanski and Licthheim, commentary on O.Medin.HabuCopt. 5 no. 7;
Crum commentary on P.Mon.Epiph. 549.
Crum, A Coptic 813b–814a.
O.Frangé 79.10–11 and commentary.
Bavay, Les amorphes 391.
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223
dence of the anchorite Frange, as well as large amounts of pottery from the
same context.205 This combined evidence provides information about what
the anchorite ate and insights about the operations of exchange and transport which were conducted in order to keep him provisioned. The pottery dates
to the first part of the eighth century and is very homogeneous which has led
to the suggestion that the material might have belonged to the anchorite and
those who lived around him. The pottery consists of lra7 from Ashmūnayn (a
type that also occurs frequently at the Monastery of Epiphanius), pottery that
has similarities to jars found at Elephantine and Tod, amphorae from Aswan
and local imitations of Aswan amphorae made in middle Egypt which are
found frequently in the Theban area.206 But it is difficult to know which of the
jar names used in Frange’s correspondence can be connected to the amphorae
found archaeologically. Once the ceramics from the site have been published, it
will be interesting to make a detailed analysis of both the texts and the pottery.
Conclusion
A wide variety of different types of jars have been found at sites all over Egypt.
Similarly, the Coptic, Greek and Arabic papyrological material contains numerous references to jars and containers. The difficulty is trying to understand how
the archaeology and the papyri can be connected. The Arabic evidence remains
small and there are not enough names known from the papyri to match the
variety of archaeological attested material. Moreover, like the Greek and Coptic
textual material the Arabic papyri lack exactitude and details in the descriptions needed for exact matching. This leads to a certain amount of confusion.
It also means that it is difficult to make exact correlates. The appearance of
new papyrological terms, especially from newly published Arabic material, has
made it clear that there are doubtlessly many more attestations of jars in the
papyri that are waiting to be published. The ethnographic evidence shows not
only that there is a wide variety of different names for jars, but also how the
names of jars have evolved through time and changed their meaning. The fact
that there are different sizes of jars and that different types of materials are
used for jars that carry the same name, suggests that the same term is applied
to different types of vessels, something which also exists concerning the ethnographic terms.
205
206
O.Frangé 21.
Bavay, Les amphores 390–391, 394–397.
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The Coptic documentary papyri provide a far more complete picture of the
large number of jar names that exists although more work is needed before
a clear picture emerges. The information available so far does indicate that
many jars seem to have had their own specific names. Finally, the papyrological
evidence provides a good corrective to the archaeological record. There is often
the tendency in archaeology to assume that storage jars found on sites would
have always contained wine. The large variety of commodities attested in the
papyri shows that this need not be the case and that the picture is far more
complex. Indeed, the attempts to correlate papyri and archaeology in general
show that although we are sometimes limited by what has been published,
this unique material is still the best way to help us to understand consumption
patterns better in early Islamic Egypt.
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chapter 12
A Qurānic Amulet on Papyrus: P.Utah.Ar. 342
W. Matt Malczycki
Introduction
Quranic texts on papyrus are fairly rare: the late Sergio Noja Noseda found only
seven published fragments of the Quran on papyrus.1 He could have added the
P.Bad. v 143 through P.Bad. v 153 and the unpublished P.Duke.inv.274 to this
total.2 With the possible exceptions of P.Michael. inv. 23 and P.Noseda.Koranic,
all of these texts were amulets. P.Utah.Ar. 342 is similar to these other papyri. It
contains all of Sūrat al-Ikhlāṣ (q 112) and Sūrat al-Falaq (q 113), most of Sūrat
al-Nās (q 114), and the first thirteen verses of Sūrat Yā’ Sīn (q 36). The four
sūras are parts of prayers and rituals for the sick, dying, and dead. According
to ḥadīth literature, as the prophet Muḥammad lay dying he uttered Sūrat
al-ikhlāṣ and Sūrat al-falaq (also called al-maʿūdhātayn).3 Also according to
ḥadīth literature, sūra Yā’-Sīn is one of the sūras one should recite over the dying
and dead. In addition to the Fātiḥa (q 1) and Sūrat al-Mulk (q 67), Sūrat Yā’ Sīn,
Sūrat al-Ikhlāṣ, Sūrat al-Falaq, and Sūrat al-Nās are among the most commonly
recited sūras in times of sickness, dying, death, and burial.4 They are also among
those that appear most frequently in Quranic papyrus amulets.5
1 Noseda, A third 316.
2 A digital image of P.Duke.inv.274 is available at Duke University’s website: http://library.duke
.edu/rubenstein/scriptorium/papyrus/records/274.html.
3 For the ḥadīth that al-Bukhārī relates in reference to the last three sūras of the Quran, see
al-ʿAsqalānī, Fatḥ al-bārī 74–79. In other editions of al-Bukhāri’s Ṣaḥīḥ, one can find these
ḥadīths in the chapters about the moral excellence of the Quran ( faḍāʾil al-qurān).
4 Abū Dāwūd and Ibn Mājah relate ḥadīths that say that Sūrat Yā’ Sīn was appropriate for
prayers for the dying and in funerals. In most editions of ḥadīth collections, one can find these
ḥadīths under the chapters relating to funerals (al-janāʾiz) (Abū Dāwūd, Sunan Abī Dāwūd
vol. 5pt. 2, 543; Ibn Mājah, Sunan Ibn Mājah, 7:212). Al-Tirmidhī describes Sūrat Yā’-Sīn as “the
heart of the Qurān” (al-Mubārakfūrī, Tuḥfat 196–198). This passage is in the chapter entitled
“Faḍāʾil al-qurān” in most editions of al-Tirmidhī’s Jāmiʿ. These are only a few of the references
to the sūras in question that one can find in the ḥadīth literature.
5 P.Bad. v 147 contains the first lines of Sūrat Yā’ Sīn. P.Bad. v 145, 151, and 153 contain part or all
of Sūrat al-Ikhlāṣ. P. Bad. v 143 contains each of the last three sūras. P.Duke.inv.274 contains
Sūrat al-Falaq and Sūrat al-Nās.
© W. Matt Malczycki, 2015 | doi:10.1163/9789004284340_013
This is an open access chapter distributed under the terms of the prevailing cc-by-nc License
at the time of publication.
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P.Utah.Ar. 342 (21.2 ×32.5cm)
This is a good quality brown papyrus with a small papyrus cord in the upper
middle part of the papyrus. The verso has traces of writing, but it seems that
these were washed out.6 On the verso the four vertical folding marks are also
clearly visible. There is one fold in the centre, another fold mark 2.12cm to the
right of centre, another fold mark 2.9cm to the left of centre, another fold mark
5.9cm left of centre, and another fold mark 9.8cm left of centre.
The recto contains separate texts on the right and left sides of the centre fold.
The margin between the right and left sides of the text ranges from 2.5 to 3.5 cm.
The text runs parallel to the fibres. The ink is black and the strokes are thicker
than normal for a papyrus-era text. The right side of the recto contains all of
Sūrat al-Ikhlāṣ and Sūrat al-Falaq. It also contains Sūrat al-Nās albeit with some
omissions—the scribe omits the second verse (malik al-nās), the third verse
(ilāh al-nās), and the word al-nās from the fifth verse. There is an intermittent
vertical lacuna on the right side that ranges between 0.3 and 1 cm wide and runs
through the text beginning between 4 and 4.5 cm from the right margin.
The left side of the recto contains most of the first thirteen verses of Sūrat
Yāʾ Sīn. The left side text contains many more lacunae than the right side,
including a large one (6 ×6.5 cm) in the centre that would have contained most
of lines 7–11. Lines 11–12 are badly damaged, but enough text remains to offer
a reconstruction. Lines 13–16 are all but obliterated, so the edition that follows
is based on the amount of text that the scribe could most probably have fit on
the remainder of the page. It seems that the scribe made an effort to imitate
an angular script in the first few lines, but overall the script is more curved
than angular. There are no consonantal diacritical marks, and there are also
no symbols to separate the verses.
In the Arabic edition that follows, I have attempted to be as faithful to the
original papyrus text as possible. To that end, I have not added consonantal
diacritical marks, tanwīn, hamza, or any other letters or pronunciation signs
except when filling in lacunae and adding scribal omissions. I have added the
missing verses and words in angular brackets, but I have not corrected the
scribe’s use of the plural where, according to the canonical edition of the Quran,
he should have used the singular. The word Allāh is spelled with shadda and alif
qaṣīra.
6 Lola Atiya’s inventory says that the recto is blank and that text is on the verso. She also says that
two scribes were at work. A closer analysis reveals that this was not the case (Atiya, University
32).
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a qurānic amulet on papyrus: p.utah.ar. 342
237
The English translation that follows is an adaptation of the pertinent passages of Arberry’s The Koran Interpreted.7 The chapter and verse numbers from
the canonical version of the Quran appear in double parentheses. In cases in
which the scribe broke words between two lines, the English equivalents are
also broken in the translation. One is forced to admit that the bracketing of the
portions of English words is arbitrary, but there seems to be no other way to be
true to the text. The rest of the punctuation marks are standard papyrological
symbols.
Translation: Right Side
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
((q 112)) In the Name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate
((1)) Say: ‘He is God, One, ((2)) God the Everlasting Refuge, ((3)) who has
not
[be]gotten, and has not been begotten ((4)) and equal to him is not
anyone.’
((q 113)) In the Name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate
((1)) S[ay:] ‘I take refuge with the Lo[rd] of the [Day]break ((2)) from the
evil of what He has created,
((3)) from the evil of darkness when it gathers,
((4)) and from the evil of women who blow on knots
((5)) and from] the ev[il] of an envier when he envies.’
((q 114)) In the name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate
((1)) Say: ‘I take refuge with the Lord of men ⟨((2)) the King of men, ((3))
the God of men,⟩ ((4)) from the evil of the whisperer,
the withdrawer,8 ((5)) who whispers in the breasts ⟨of men⟩ of jinn and me-n
((q 36)) In the name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate
7 Arberry, The Koran 353–354.
8 Here I have diverged from Arberry and translated al-Khanās as “the withdrawer.” Al-Khanās
refers, of course, to the Devil, who withdraws at the mention of God.
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malczycki
Translation: Left Side
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
((1)) Yāʾ Sīn ((2)) By the Wise Quran ((3)) thou art truly among the Envoys
((4)) on] a straight path ((5)) the sending down of the All-mighty,
the All-]wise ((6)) that thou mayest warn a people whose fathers
[were] never warned, so they are heedless. ((7)) The Word has been
realised against
[most] of them, yet they do not believe. ((8)) Surely We have put
[on] their necks fetters up to the chin,
[so their] heads are rais[ed; ((9)) and We have put] before them
[a bar]rier and [behind them a barrier;] and We have covered them up,
so they [do not see. ((10)) Alike it is] to them
[whether thou hast warned] them [or thou hast not warned them, they
do not bel]ieve. [((11)) Thou only
warnest him who [follows the Remembrance and] who fears the A[ll]merciful
[in the Unseen;] so give them9 good tidings of forgive[ness and a generous wage. ((12)) Surely it is We who [bring the dead to life
[and write down what they have forwarded and what they have left
behind; Every-]
[thing We have numbered in a clear register.]
[((13)) Strike for them a similitude—the inhabitants of the city …]
The Text: Right Side
ﯨﺴﻢ اﻟﻠﻪ اﻟﺮﲪﮟ اﻟﺮﺣﯩﻢ
ڡﻞ ﻫﻮ اﻟﻠﻪ اﺣﺪ اﻟﻠﻪ اﻟﺼﻤﺪ ﱂ
ﯾـ[ـ و ﱂ ﯨﻮ و ﱂ ﯨﻜﮟ ﻛڡﻮا
اﺣﺪ
ﯨﺴﻢ اﻟﻠﻪ اﻟﺮﲪﮟ اﻟﺮﺣﯩﻢ
ڡـ]ـﻞ[ اﻋﻮد ﯨﺮ]ب[ اﻟـ]ﻓـ[ـﻠٯ ﻣﮟ ﴎ ﺣﻠٯ
و ﻣﮟ ﴎ ﻋـ]ـﺎ[ﺳٯ ادا وڡٮ
١
٢
٣
٤
٥
٦
٧
9 Arberry’s translation reads “him” instead of “them.” Arberry, The Koran 144. However, as will
be explained below, the papyrus uses the plural rather than the singular.
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239
٨
٩
١٠
١١
١٢
١٣
١٤
١٥
a qurānic amulet on papyrus: p.utah.ar. 342
و ﻣﻦ[ ﺳـ]ـﺮ[ اﻟﯩڡﯩﺎٮ
اﻟﻌڡﺪ و ﻣﮟ ﴎ ﺣﺎﺳﺪ ادا ﺣﺴﺪ
ﯨﺴﻢ اﻟﻠﻪ اﻟﺮﲪﮟ اﻟﺮﺣﯩﻢ
ڡﻞ اﻋﻮد ﯨﺮٮ اﻟﯩﺎس⟩ﻣ اﻟﻨﺎس ا اﻟﻨﺎس⟨ ﻣﮟ اﻟﻮﺳﻮاس
اﳊﯩﺎس اى ﯨﻮﺳﻮس ﺻﺪ
ور ⟩اﻟﻨﺎس⟨ ﻣﮟ اﳊﯩﻪ و اﻟﯩﺎ
س
ﯨﺴﻢ اﻟﻠﻪ اﻟﺮﲪﮟ اﻟﺮﺣﯩﻢ
The Text: Left Side
١
٢
٣
٤
٥
٦
٧
٨
٩
١٠
١١
١٢
١٣
١٤
١٥
١٦
ﯨﺲ و اﻟڡﺮان اﳊﻜﯩﻢ اﯨﮏ ﳌﮟ اﳌﺮﺳﻠﯩﮟ
]ﻋﲆ[ ﴏاط ﻣﺴـﯩڡﯩﻢ ﯨﯨﻞ اﻟﻌﺮﯨﺮ
]اﻟﺮﺣـ[ـ ﻟﯩﯩﺪر ڡﻮﻣﺎ ﻣﺎ اﯨﺪ⟩ر⟨ اﱒ
]ﻓـ[ـﻬﻢ ﻋﺎڡﻠﻮں ﻟڡﺪ ﺣٯ اﻟڡﻮل ﻋﲆ
اﻛﱶ[ﱒ ڡـ]ـﻬﻢ ﻻ[ ﯨﻮﻣﯩﻮں ا ﺣﻌﻠﯩﺎ
]ﰲ ا[ﻋﯩﺎڡﻬﻢ اﻋﻼل ڡﻬـﻰ اﱃ دڡﺎں
]ﻓﻬﻢ[ ﻣڡﻤﺤﻤﻮ]ن و ﺟﻌﻠﻨﺎ[ ﻣﮟ ﯨﯩﮟ اﯨﺪ]ﳞﻢ
]ﺳـ[ـﺪا و ]ﻣﻦ ﺧﻠﻔﻬﻢ ﺳّﺪ[ا ڡﺎﻋـ]ـﺸﯿﳯﻢ
ڡﻬـ]ـﻢ ﻻ ﯾﺒﴫون و ﺳﻮاء[ ﻋﻠﻢ ا
]ﻧﺬرﺗـ[ـﻬﻢ ]ام ﱂ ﺗﻨﺬرﱒ ﻻ ﯾﺆﻣـ[ـﯩﻮں ]اﳕﺎ
]ﺗﻨﺬر[ ﻣﮟ ]اﺗﺒﻊ اﻛﺮ و[ ﺣﴗ ]ا[ﻟﺮﲪﮟ
]ﻟﻐﯿﺐ[ ڡﯩﴪﱒ ﻌڡﺮ]ة و اﺟﺮ ﻛﺮ[
ا ﮟ ـ]ـﻰ[ اﻟـ]ـﻤﻮٰﰏ[
]و ﻧﻜﺘﺐ ﻣﺎ ﻗﺪﻣﻮا اوءاﺛٰـﺮﱒ وﻛـﻞ[
]ﳽء اﺣﺼﯿﻨٰـﻪ ﰲ اﻣﺎم ﻣﺒﲔ[
]و اﺿﻈـﺮب ﳍﻢ ﻣﺜ ً
ﻼ اﲱٰـﺐ اﻟﻘﺮﯾﺔ اذ[
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Notes: Right Side
1. The scribe attempted to imitate the Kufic script, and there are some paleographic features of the script that are more typical of early texts than later
ones.10 There are, for example, incomplete final upward strokes of the nūn
(right side lines 1, 3, 5, 6, 7, 10, and 13; left side lines 1, 4, 5, and 11), horizontally elongated oblique strokes of the kāf and ṣād (right side lines 2 and 3), and
hooked dāls (right side lines 2 and 3).
The horizontal extension of the letter ḥāʾ in al-raḥmān (the Merciful) is an
example of mashq, the technique in which scribes lengthen words horizontally
to fill lines for aesthetic effect.11
The downward horizontal curved nūn that is extended without being completely returned to the horizontal axis of the line is typical of Arabic handwriting from the first through the third Islamic centuries.12
2. The horizontal extension of the oblique stroke of the final dāl and the small
upward right hook of this stroke in the words aḥad (one) and al-ṣamad (the
everlasting refuge) are typical of second/eighth-century scripts.13 The horizontal extension of the letter ṣād in the word al-ṣamad also is common in the Kufic
scripts of all eras. The angularity of the script in these first two lines gives the
impression that the scribe was trying to execute and perform the Kufic script
in the first few lines.
3. The horizontal extension of the oblique stroke of the letter kāf and the
upward right hook of this stroke in the words yakun and kufuwan is typical
of second/eighth-century penmanship.14 The scribe uses alif to indicate the
10
11
12
13
14
The script of P.Utah. Ar. 342 resembles what François Déroche describes as “the New Style”
in his The Abbasid Tradition: Qurans of the 8th to 10th Centuries. Here Déroche argues that
the traditional categories of kūfī and naskhī are not totally accurate, and, accordingly,
he introduces a new category, “the New Style.” The New Style is more round than kūfī
scripts but not as round as naskhī scripts. Déroche says that the New Style first appears in
non-Quranic texts datable to the third/ninth century and in Quranic manuscripts datable
to the fourth/early tenth century (Déroche, The Abbasid 132–137).
For mashq, see Abbott, The rise 23–28. Al-Sijistāni relates that as early as four generations
before his time, some scholars disliked the use of mashq in Quranic texts (al-Sijistānī, Kitāb
al-maṣāḥif 134).
Gruendler, The development 100–104.
P.Khalili i, 29–32.
Gruendler, The development 88–92; P.Khalili i, 34–37.
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a qurānic amulet on papyrus: p.utah.ar. 342
accusative case of the word, kufuwan, although there are no marks to indicate
tanwīn. The alif in this word bends down to the right at the bottom, a tendency
typical of early scripts.15
4. From this line forward, the script becomes more curved as the scribe abandoned his attempt to imitate Kufic. Although some of the dāls/dhāls have the
upward hook typical of early papyri, all of them after line 4 in the right side
lack this feature.16 All of the scribal tendencies from this point forward suggest
a third/ninth-century date of composition.
8. In the word al-naffāthāt, the scribe of P.Utah. Ar. 342 writes mater lectionis alif
after the fāʾ but not after the thāʾ. According to al-Dānī, the word al-naffāthāt
should be spelled without alif, although in modern editions of the Quran, one
finds alif qaṣīra in place of mater lectionis alif.17
9. The rightward bend of the yāʾ in fī is typical of all papyrus-era texts.18
11. In the canonical versions of the Quran, there are two more verses than there
are here. These verses come between the words bi-rabb al-nās and al-waswās.
These two verses are short (two words each), and both end with the word
al-nās.19 Such omissions are common in Quranic papyri.
Notes: Left Side
1. Size is the main difference between the scripts of the right and left sides. In the
left side of the text, the scribe writes his letters smaller, avoids mashq entirely,
and decreases the space between lines. This reduced size of the letters is most
apparent in the final forms of sīn, nūn, and yāʾ. None of the letters with the
exception of the kāf in line 1 exhibit features common in early papyri.
15
16
17
18
19
Abbott, The rise plate v; P.Khalili i, 27–29.
P.Khalili i, 29–32.
al-Dānī, Kitāb al-Muqniʿ 24.
Gruendler, The development 112–116; P.Khalili i, 38–42.
Ibn Wathīq al-Andalusī (d. 462/1070) mentions that some people added words to this sūra
and thereby lengthened it, but he does not say that there are any instances of its having
been shortened (1988, 150).
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2. The scribe spells ṣirāṭ mustaqīm with mater lectionis alif. According to al-Dānī
(d. 462/1070), the ʿulamāʾ of all regions agreed that it should be written without
it.20
4. In the last word of the line, ʿalā, one sees the omission of the alif maqṣūra
that is typical of Arabic papyri.21
6. The orthography of the word aghlāl here is interesting. Al-Dānī says that
scribes spelled aghlālan with alif qaṣīra (or no alif at all) in place of the mater
lectionis alif between the lāms, and with tanwīn fatḥa seated on a prosthetic
alif marking the accusative case at the end of the word. Here the scribe uses
the mater lectionis alif between the first and second lāms and omits the alif of
tanwīn fatḥa. Al-Dānī does not record this spelling of aghlāl.22
12. The phrase fa-bashshirhum merits comment because it ends with the third
person plural enclitic pronoun -hum whereas the now-standard version of the
Quran contains the singular -hu. If line 11 were intact, one could examine it to
find out if the scribe treated the verb ittabʿa the same way.
This is not a variant known from the different lists of qirāʾāt. Rather, scribal
error explains the scribe’s use of -hum instead of -hu as well as the missing
āya. Verse 11 of Sūrat Yāʾ Sīn reads innamā tundhiru man-ittabʿa al-dhikra wa
khashiya al-raḥmāna bi-l-ghaybi fa-bashshirhu bi-maghfiratin wa-ʾajrin karīmin.
The conjunctive particle man is singular and indeclinable; however, it can convey a collective meaning (i.e. those, those who).23 Perhaps the scribe assumed
that he was to take man to mean “those who” rather than he who and then
added -hum to fa-bashshir- accordingly.24 That a constructio ad sensum lies
behind this variant is an attractive thought as it appears in many other Quranic
20
21
22
23
24
al-Dānī, Kitāb al-Muqniʿ 97.
Hopkins, Studies 57–60.
al-Dānī, Kitāb al-Muqniʿ 19.
For a treatment of man, see Wright, Grammar 2:273.
Another explanation for the use of -hum is that the scribe made a careless mistake because
of the context in which verse 10 appears. Throughout this part of Sūrat Yā’-Sīn, God is
speaking to the Prophet about other groups of people: those who have heard no revelation
(verse 6), those who refuse to listen to revelation (verse 7), those whom God has shut off
from the light of revelation and punished (verses 8–10), and the dead (verse 13). The first
person subject is always plural. The second person subject is always singular. With the
exception of verse 10 all third-person subjects and objects are plural. Therefore, the third
person singular that one finds in verse 10 is, in a sense, out of place.
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243
papyrus fragments. Regardless of how one explains it, the use of the plural pronoun here does not change the meaning of the verse. It is a minor variation that
is most likely due to scribal error.
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New Editions & Collections
∵
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chapter 13
Les papyrus arabes de Heidelberg disparus.
Essai de reconstruction et d’analyse
R.G. Khoury
i
La collection de papyrus arabes de Heidelberg
La collection de papyrus arabes de Heidelberg est une des plus prestigieuses
dans le monde. Non qu’ elle soit une des plus importantes concernant le nombre de ses pièces, car elle est nettement inférieure à la plupart de ce que l’on
trouve, surtout à Vienne, où les papyrus arabes, et ce que l’on peut rattacher à
la papyrologie arabe sont plus de 50.000 pièces complètes ou fragmentaires.
Entre-temps les fonds de cette collection sont bien connus, pour avoir été
décrits, en fonction de beaucoup de publications de certains de ses papyrus.
Avant mes travaux concernant les manuscrits historiques rares, et les plus vieux
de leur genre, que j’ai publiés au cours des années, et dès 19721, Richard Seider en avait livré un aperçu général en 1964 dans la collection «Heidelberger
Jahrbücher. »2 Notons qu’il s’agit à Heidelberg d’une riche collection, dans
laquelle les papyri gréco-latins sont de loin les plus nombreux. A côté de papyrus importants en copte, nous avons des papyri arabes qui ont été acquis par
l’Université de Heidelberg, pour être conservés dans sa Bibliothèque Universitaire, vers la fin du 19e et surtout vers le début du 20e siècle. Elle porte comme
sigle les lettres psr, c’est-à-dire Papyri Schott – Reinhardt; ce dernier était un
bavarois et avait travaillé des années comme drogman au consulat allemand au
Caire, avec une formation générale d’orientaliste pour l’époque ; F. Schott était
un industriel, originaire de la région de Stuttgart (Göppingen) et était devenu
le directeur général de la fabrique de ciment (Portland – Zementwerke, Heidelberg et Mannheim, aujourd’hui seulement Zement ag, Heidelberg), qui est
devenue une des meilleures à travers le monde. Ce directeur, un riche mécène,
fit don de plusieurs centaines (plus de 1000) pièces de papyrus (et de documents sur papier aussi) à l’Université. La collection resta à l’intérieur de la
Bibliothèque Universitaire, jusqu’au moment où elle fut levée en 1976 au rang
1 Là-dessus, voyez Khoury, Wahb ibn Munabbih et Khoury, ʿAbd Allāh.
2 Seider, Aus der Arbeit 142ff.
© R.G. Khoury, 2015 | doi:10.1163/9789004284340_014
This is an open access chapter distributed under the terms of the prevailing cc-by-nc License
at the time of publication.
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khoury
d’un Institut de ma Faculté, et cet Institut de Papyrologie a toujours été dirigé
par un spécialiste des papyrus grecs, du fait que ceux-ci sont de loin les plus
nombreux.
Dans la masse de ces manuscrits il s’agit de documents, de lettres et de
contrats de toutes sortes, de mandats d’impôts etc. Loin de vouloir minimiser la
valeur de ce genre de pièces, il faut noter que peu d’entre elles sont complètes,
ou révolutionnaires dans leur contenu, du fait que nous avons des milliers
de documents importants, même très importants, surtout à Vienne, dans la
Bibliothèque Nationale Autrichienne (Österreichische Nationalbibliothek), et
que d’autres collections à travers le monde occidental, et bien sûr dans la
Bibliothèque Nationale (Dār al-kutub) du Caire en ont aussi. Parmi toutes ces
pièces, les manuscrits sur pauyrus l’emportent, numériquement.
ii
Quelques raretés spécialement précieuses
Quelques papyrus sont cependant d’une importance capitale et ont toujours
contribué à donner à toute la collection arabe une renommée spéciale, aussi
bien en Europe qu’en Orient :
ii/1
Plusieurs lettres de Qurra ibn Sharīk (m. 96 / 714), gouverneur omeyyade
d’Egypte, sur des questions administratives, fiscales et économiques, concernant des enquêtes, ou sur des réclamations de rapports sur des faits délictueux
à cet égard. Carl Heinrich Becker était le premier à éditer cette collection de
lettres, qui est la plus importance numériquement à Heidelberg, en 19063.
Naturellement Heidelberg n’est pas le seul lieu, dans lequel sont conservées
quelques autres lettres, aussi bien en Europe (Paris, Londres, Vienne) qu’en
Egypte (le Caire). Notre collègue Jaser Abu Safiyya vient de donner une édition
assez complète de toutes ces lettres, avec une étude générale sur le gouverneur
et son activité4.
ii/2
Deux textes historiques admirables sont à nommer, à côté de ces lettres, à
l’aide desquelles on peut écrire une véritable grammaire de l’ancien arabe, en
3 P.Heid.Arab. i. Voyez aussi Rāġib, Lettres nouvelles 173–187; Sijpesteijn, Une nouvelle; Dietrich, Die arabischen et Diem, Philologisches.
4 Abū Safiyya 1425/2004.
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251
complément des textes coraniques. Ils sont attribués à Wahb ibn Munabbih
(34–110 ou 114 / 654-655-728 ou 732):
ii/2.1
Ḥadīth Dāwūd – ou Histoire du roi David, la plus ancienne de son genre dans
l’histoire islamique, et qui porte la date la plus vieille qu’un manuscrit arabe
littéraire (dans le sens qu’il n’appartient pas au genre des documents purs)
ait jamais porté dans la culture arabe: Dhū l-qaʿda 229 / juillet 844. Dès mon
édition de ce papyrus et de celui qui suit j’ai insisté plus d’une fois sur le
fait qu’il s’agissait là d’une version, à partir d’un original, qui a été exécutée
en Egypte, à Fusṭāṭ, dans la maison du juge de ce pays ʿAbd Allāh ibn Lahīʿa,
dont il sera question plus loin, dans la présentation du troisième papyrus
historico-littéraire, que j’ai publié avec les autres, dans une série de volumes
entre 1972 et 1986.
On y distingue deux parties déterminées :
a. La première concerne le règne de Saül. Il commence par la désignation de
ce dernier par le prophète Samuel, à laquelle suit l’histoire de son choix,
comme premier roi des Israélites. Puis viennent l’épisode sur l’arche d’alliance (al-Tābūt), le combat de David contre Goliath (Jālūt) et enfin les péripéties autour de la jalousie de Saül vis-à-vis de David, auquel il a donné sa
propre fille en mariage, sans pourtant l’associer à son règne, comme il le lui
avait promis. Cette partie se termine par la tentative du roi d’assassiner son
rival David, par son repentir et par sa mort.
b. La deuxième décrit le règne de David. Elle commence par des détails sur
sa manière de vivre et de régner ; puis viennent les descriptions de sa tentation, suivie du conte des «plaideurs »5, en guise d’introduction aux très
belles pages sur le repentir de David, pour avoir convoité et épousé la femme
de son officier ʿUriyya, après avoir envoyé ce dernier de campagne en campagne contre les ennemis jusqu’à sa mort ; puis une description de la révolte
de son fils Absalon contre lui et la mort de celui-ci. Le tout prend fin par les
très belles pages sur Salomon et ses trois jugements: la femme convoitée par
le juge, le chef de police et le responsable du marché; les deux femmes, les
deux enfants et le loup, ainsi que le texte relatif à la Sourate 21, 78–79, auxquels succèdent de brefs récits, entre autres sur la construction du temple,
commencée par David, ainsi que sur la mort de celui-ci.
5 Coran 38: 21 ff.
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ii/2.2
Maghāzī rasūl allāh (terme valable aussi bien pour la vie (Sīra) que pour les
véritables campagnes militaires, auxquelles il fut plus tard réservé)6.
A l’encontre du papyrus précédent, celui-ci ne porte ni titre, ni date, mais est
de la même écriture et appartient, sans doute à la même époque, de laquelle
sont certains transmetteurs de tous ces écrits, qui avaient affaire, en Egypte,
avec la maison du juge Ibn Lahīʿa, dont il sera tout de suite question. Il comprend les événements suivants de la vie et des campagnes du Prophète Mahomet :
–
–
–
–
La rencontre d’ al-ʿAqaba.
Le conseil des qurayshites à Dār al-nadwa (Maison du conseil).
L’émigration de la Mecque à Médine (Hijra).
La campagne de ʿAlī contre la tribu Khathʿam et la conversion de celle – ci à
l’Islam.
Pour toutes les questions concernant ces textes, leur auteur, ou premier transmetteur, ainsi que leur attribution à lui, c’est-à-dire à Wahb Ibn Munabbih,
voyez là-dessus mon livre sur lui7.
ii/3
Un dernier texte littéraire est enfin le fameux rouleau de papyrus (ṣaḥīfa) attribué à ʿAbd Allāh Ibn Lahīʿa (97–174 / 715–790). Celui-ci était devenu d’abord
juge d’Egypte, et puis sa grande autorité, qui avait dans sa maison une bibliothèque, dans laquelle il rassemblait, ou copiait ou laissait copier des originaux
ou des copies d’originaux, de sorte que cette bibliothèque fut à l’origine non
seulement des manuscrits sur papyrus, décrits ici, mais aussi d’autres qui ont
été découverts avec eux et qui formaient des documents de toutes sortes; sans
que l’on puisse dire toujours de quels documents exactement il est question,
car ils ne portent pas de signes attestant leur provenance, ou la place de leur
conservation. Mais du fait que sa bibliothèque était devenue centrale pour
l’Egypte de son temps, et aussi pour tous ceux d’entre les savants qui la visitaient, il est évident qu’elle a dû contenir un nombre importants d’autres
manuscrits, parmi ses uṣūl et furuʿ, dont il est toujours question. Depuis mon
livre sur lui, et l’édition de son rouleau, on ne peut plus en douter, d’autant plus
6 Voyez M. Hinds, ‘al-Maghāzī,’ Encyclopaedia of Islam. New Edition, 5:1161.
7 Khoury, Wahb ibn Munabbih 9 ff. ; 34ff. (ḥadīth Dāwūd); 118ff. (Maghāzī), comme auteur de
ces papyrus, 183 ff.
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que plusieurs de mes travaux qui ont suivi, depuis 1986, ne font que corroborer
ces données sur lui8.
Ce côté-là est important, pour expliquer la provenance et le lieu de conservation de beaucoup de documents arabes sur papyrus surtout, qui nous sont
venus des trois premiers siècles, et qui ont dû avoir comme possesseur, quand
on peut les dater, exactement ou approximativement, quand ils ne le sont pas
du tout, ou Ibn Lahīʿa ou quelqu’un qui a travaillé sous son autorité, copié et
transmis des manuscrits, sous sa dictée, enseigné comme maître à son tour
et donné le droit de copier, de transmettre et d’enseigner9. C’était le plan de
Becker lui-même qui prévoyait la publication des papyrus d’Ibn Munabbih et
d’Ibn Lahīʿa, malheureusement rien n’en a été; et ce que Gertrud Mélamède
a essayé de donner s’est limité aux deux premiers feuillets des Maghāzī de
Wahb, desquels elle a carrément laissé tomber toute la première page (sauf
l’ isnād de deux lignes), de la deuxième page manquent cinq lignes, et de la
quatrième manquent quatre lignes vers la fin ; de plus elle a laissé beaucoup
de lacunes etc10. Parmi les documents, en dehors de ces textes, dits historiques
et littéraires, il y a un certain nombre d’autres pièces, qui ont été publiées par
quelques spécialistes, dont je nommerai quelques-uns, à cause de leur importance scientifique (et aussi numérique):
iii
Les documents médicaux
Plusieurs papyrus ont en effet un contenu médical, et Becker, ayant quitté
Heidelberg pour Hambourg, encouragea E. Seidel à se vouer à la publication de
8
9
10
Sur lui, v. Khoury, ʿAbd Allāh vie et œuvre, 7ff. ; sur sa maison et sa bibliothèque, 27ff.;
édition, 243 ff., 31–32 où ce passage avait été déjà présenté et traduit par moi, pour la
première fois; je l’ai repris plusieurs fois plus tard dans une série de différents articles,
dont le dernier est le suivant: L’apport spécialement important de la papyrologie dans
la transmission et la codification des plus anciennes versions des Mille et Une Nuits et
d’autres livres des deux premiers siècles islamiques, in : Sijpesteijn et Sundelin, Papyrology
70ff. (l’article: 63–95). De plus, al-Jābirī, Takwīn 61 ff., ce livre ne m’était pas à cette époque
disponible; j’en ai pris connaissance à travers la critique adressée à lui par Georges
Tarābīshī, Ishkāliyyāt 11 ff.
Concernant ces « Certificats», délivrés à la fin de véritables séances, et appelés Ijāzāt
samāʿ, ou « Certificats d’audition et de transmission», qui ont pris place tôt dans la
culture de l’Islam classique, voyez Vajda, Les certificats ; Sellheim, Gelehrte 54–79; Mackay,
Certificates 197; Khoury, Asad ibn Mūsā 91–108, il s’ agit là de 28 certificats.
Là-dessus, Khoury, Wahb ibn Munabbi 4–5; Mélamède, The meetings 17–58.
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ces documents ; celui-ci suivit le conseil et les livra en quatre parties à Becker
pour sa revue Der Islam, que celui – ci venait de fonder en 1910:
«Medizinisches aus der Heidelberger Papyri Schott-Reinhardt », i. Teil: Der
Islam, 1 (1910): 145–152. ii. Teil: Der Islam, 1 (1910): 238–268. iii. Teil: Der Islam,
2 (1911): 220–230. iv. Teil: Der Islam, 3 (1912): 273–291.
iv
Le reste des documents travaillés
Puis 12 ans passèrent, jusqu’à ce que Grohmann publia 11 textes de protocoles,
et 10 ans après suivirent 11 textes de magie, travaillés par Grohmann, Bilabel
et Graf11. Voilà quelques spécimens, auxquels il faut ajouter quelques textes,
surtout des lettres importantes que K. Jahn édita peu après12 et un document
intéressant, contenant un achat de drogues, qui fut publié par A. Dietrich13.
Le reste est plus proche de nous, et il s’agit de quelques autres documents
ou lettres parus dans différentes publications dans ma Chrestomathie ou dans
certains travaux de W. Diem, sur lesquels je ne m’attarde pas ici.
v
Les papyrus disparus de la collection
Entre-temps plusieurs membres d’universités surtout arabes ont passé par
Heidelberg, ont essayé de classer, d’inventorier les documents que la collection
possède ; et l’on attend des jeunes qui s’occupent de la publication du reste
non sérieusement touché. Dans mes recherches sur tous les documents de
toutes sortes que Grohmann avait prévu de publier dans sa Chrestomathie, qui
a vu le jour, entièrement revue corrigée et élargie par moi-même dans deux
volumes14, je suis tombé sur un certain nombre de papyrus, inventoriés par
Grohmann et qu’il voulait publier, mais dont il n’a laissé que quelques notices
et dont les originaux ont tout à fait disparu dans la collection de Heidelberg.
Toutes mes longues recherches n’ont abouti jusqu’à maintenant à rien. Et
pourtant les pièces de toute la collection étaient bien gardées, à l’intérieur
de la Bibliothèque Universitaire, où elles sont restées jusqu’à la fondation de
l’Institut de Papyrologie et de sa séparation des locaux bibliothécaires en 1976.
11
12
13
14
Khoury, Wahb ibn Munabbih 4 et Bibliographie.
Jahn, Vom frühislamischen 153–200.
Dietrich, Zum Drogenhandel.
Chrest.Khoury i et ii.
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Peut-être que ces textes ont été déplacés, pour tomber dans la main d’un
spécialiste, qui les garda à l’intérieur de sa propre bibliothèque, ou pour finir
dans des caisses étrangères et ainsi appartenir à une autre institution ou tout
simplement trouver leur fin dans un incendie ou une destruction quelconque.
On ne peut le dire !
De quoi s’agit-il dans ces pièces qui comptent 159 pièces ? Il est bon de
donner quelques notions, au moins générales, pour ouvrir les yeux sur des
pertes possibles, à l’intérieur de chaque collection à travers le monde, et ainsi
avoir des éléments de compléments heureux :
v/1
D’abord nous avons d’eux des numéros d’inventaires. Ces numéros commencent assez bas, par le chiffre 63, pour aller de centaine en centaine et arriver
jusqu’à 1451. Ils ne sont pas consécutifs, mais ont dû être pris de leurs anciens
numéros, pour être travaillés, sans qu’ils aient appartenu à un même fond suivi,
comme c’est le cas, assez souvent, au moins au début du classement de ces
documents, après leur acquisition et les premiers essais de les rendre accessibles aux chercheurs.
Grohmann, qui semble avoir voulu les travailler, pour les publier, ne mentionne cependant pas toujours sur quel matériel chaque document a été écrit,
et donc trouvé par lui dans la collection. Quelques fois il le mentionne, ce qui
fait qu’il a dû disposer de certaines pièces de manière sûre; alors que concernant d’autres, presque la majorité, il n’y a aucune mention à ce sujet ; ce qui
laisse penser que les documents ont dû lui échapper, avant qu’il n’ait pu terminer son travail de description assez générale, sans avoir pu retenir des indications précises sur la plupart de ces textes. Quant au sigle général de psr,
employé par lui, il ne peut pas jeter de la lumière sur ce côté, car tous les textes
de la collection portent cette étiquette, qui concernait et concerne toutes les
pièces de toutes sortes, qui forment partie de la collection de Heidelberg dans
l’ensemble. Donc là où le matériel porte une marque spéciale de Grohmann,
comme «papyrus fin » ou «moyennement fin » etc., on peut conclure avec
certitude qu’il s’agissait d’un texte sur papyrus; mais ces notations sont malheureusement très rares.
Les 159 textes n’étaient pas tous complets, mais certains, assez nombreux,
étaient endommagés, à très endommagés :
Comme psr 151v., qui forme une lettre d’affaires, avec la mention «sehr
beschädigt » (très endommagé), alors que le recto de cette lettre est formée de
9 lignes, dont les deux premières sont vides, et que de 5 à 9 sont plus remplies.
De même 181r, un contrat de bail (Pachtvertrag) de 11 lignes, avec des lacunes,
du iiie siècle, portant la date de 269 H. Un autre contrat de bail, psr 69, de 12
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lignes, offre aussi des lacunes, mais est du iiie siècle, de même psr 259, de 13
lignes, aussi avec des lacunes, de même psr 259r, de 13 lignes.
D’autres étaient restés en bon état (gut erhalten), comme un contrat de
mariage (répudiation / Trennung), formant 14 lignes. Ce contrat aurait été
bien pour mon ancien élève Abdulbary, qui a publié une thèse de doctorat
sur des contrats de mariage sur papyrus, avec une grande introduction sur
la diplomatique, ou l’étude structurelle et idéelle des contrats au cours des
premiers siècles en Egypte15. Un contrat de bail, qui est bien conservé en 16
lignes, est même daté de 209; quel dommage! Un autre psr 1520 n’a que 8
lignes, sans autre indication.
Dans l’ensemble on a un certain nombre de contrats de bail qui étaient en
bon état : ainsi psr 63, avec un calcul du montant du bail et des dépenses, avec
des données concernant les mesures du papyrus (décrit comme fin): 16.5 ×12.4;
puis psr 251, de 14 lignes, psr 428, de 11 lignes. D’un autre psr 116, de 9 lignes,
il s’agirait vraisemblablement aussi d’un contrat de bail, qui serait, selon les
indications des Grohmann, daté de 266 h.
Un grand nombre d’entre ces papyrus perdus (?) sont des listes d’impôts, sur
lesquelles Faleh Hussein a aussi travaillé il y a vingt cinq ans, dans son doctorat
sous ma direction16:
Impôt capital (Kopfsteuer / jizya): psr 1225, de 4 lignes. psr 235v, avec une
liste d’impôts de 12 lignes, sur un papyrus brun ouvert et moyennement fin,
et aussi ses mesures que Grohmann a pu encore vérifier: 33.5 ×17. psr 431v,
avec un calcul des impôts, de 5 lignes. psr 511r des impôts de 9 lignes, et plus
important psr 531r, de même sur 30 lignes, ainsi que psr 539 de 18 lignes, et du
iiie siècle.
Quelques listes de calculs (d’impôts) vont de même très haut dans le nombre
de leurs lignes, ainsi: psr 546r, de 24 lignes, du iiie siècle aussi, psr 546v (?)
une liste de calculs de céréales, sur 29 lignes. D’autres nombreuses quittances
de plusieurs lignes, comme psr 615r, 16 lignes ; psr 618, 13 lignes, du iiie siècle ;
psr 622, 8 lignes, aussi du iiie siècle, ainsi du même siècle, psr 627, 12 lignes. Des
listes de calcul d’impôts (vraisemblablement) sont assez nombreuses, comme
psr 1151, de 14 lignes, psr 1157r, 10 lignes, psr 1159 de 11 lignes.
Il est toujours très regrettable d’être confronté à des données pareilles, sans
avoir la possibilité de voir un original, ou une copie de lui, pour pourvoir
travailler, publier ou au moins dire quelque chose de plus sur le contenu et
les modalités de la conclusion du contrat, ou au moins sur quelques détails
15
16
al-Mudarris 2009.
Hussein, Papyrologische 19–254 / 639–868.
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importants de cette conclusion. On voit dans l’ensemble qu’il s’agit là-dedans
des données suivantes, que ces papyrus ont voulu attester par écrit :
– Des contrats de bail, dont plusieurs étaient assez complets, d’autres avec
des lacunes, et même parfois avec certaines lignes vides, parce que non
employées.
– Des listes d’impôts, très nombreuses, avec des pièces plus complètes,
d’autres moins complètes, et d’autres avec de grosses lacunes.
– Des listes de calcul de toutes sortes, et pas seulement concernant des problèmes de taxation.
– Des listes de dépenses.
– Une liste d’ustensiles ménagers.
– Une liste de marchandises avec leurs prix.
– Une liste de biens.
– Des quittances de toutes sortes.
– Des listes de noms (affaires, impôts ?).
– Un papyrus même concerne la vente d’une maison (psr 1451, de 27 lignes),
un autre l’achat d’une maison (psr 190 plus 191, 33 lignes / 12 plus 21, de 270
h.).
– Et certaines lettres privées, avec règlements de certaines affaires.
– Même un contrat de mariage, bien conservé, psr 209, 14 lignes, qu’on a vu
plus haut.
Dans cette collection il y a une omoplate d’une chèvre, publiée (psr 1204,
8×17.5, du ier / iie siècle H. Le texte a été publié par Becker)17. De même une
lettre à un gouverneur, psr 594r, de 9 lignes, avec des lacunes. Deux textes de
protocoles, psr 433r, 11 lignes, et 433v de 10 lignes, déjà publiés par Grohmann,
dans ses textes de protocoles18.
Voilà un aperçu général de ces textes sur papyrus de la collection de Heidelberg. Je l’ai donné ici, en vue d’informer un public, intéressé à la papyrologie
arabe surtout, et pour attirer l’attention sur d’autres textes possibles, qui pourraient avoir une relation quelconque avec de telles données. Il y a eu quelques
papyrus anciens, qui seraient un complément à des pièces plus nombreuses
de Heidelberg, qui ont fini par se retrouver en Amérique, dans la collection de
17
18
Dans P.Heid.Arab. i 7. Y. Rāġib en a publié deux lettres aussi, voyez plus haut, note 3, et
W. Diem des remarques sur les publications en général Philologisches, 251–275; le même,
Der Gouverneur 104–111.
cpr iii/1 et aussi dans Chrest.Khoury i.
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Chicago: ainsi un début de papyrus sur la création du monde, qui rappelle le
genre de récits attribués à Wahb Ibn Munabbih, comme le livre de Badʾ al-khalq
wa-qiṣaṣ al-anbiyāʾ, d’Abū Rifāʿa ʿUmāra Ibn Wathīma Ibn Mūsā al-Fārisī, que
j’ai publiés en 197819, et qui remontent à Wahb en premier lieu ; l’un d’eux a été
publié par Nabia Abbott dans ses «Studies »20.
Pour le reste je n’ai pas besoin de répéter qu’il faut à tout prix faire connaître
tout ce qui n’est pas connu de chaque collection papyrologique, car il y a
toujours des textes qui viennent des mêmes fouilles, des mêmes lieux, et qui
offrent des ressemblances étonnantes, qu’on peut faire connaître, à la lumière
d’autres qui sont connus, publiés et donc devenus accessibles. Ceci pourrait
aider à replacer ce qui a été perdu, à sa juste place, et peut-être lui trouver
un complément adéquat. De plus travailler des papyrus, n’est pas une affaire
simple à accomplir ; et il faut être prudent, honnête, et savoir jusqu’où vont
ses propres compétences, afin de savoir rendre le service attendu, et aider par
là la science concernant les époques islamiques anciennes à donner un bon
rendement, et non une idée faussée de la réalité historique, linguistique et
sociale de ce passé, malheureusement toujours difficile à cerner, à analyser
de manière entièrement satisfaisante. De bonnes publications papyrologiques
seraient le meilleur moyen d’arriver à des résultats plus réels et donc plus
positifs.
Il faut insister, pour terminer, sur le fait que les spécialistes doivent s’entraider, s’épauler, pour arriver au meilleur résultat possible, pour le bien de notre
recherche scientifique et l’intérêt des pays en question: les documents sur
papyrus, en effet, ne mentent pas et ne faussent donc pas la réalité historique, que d’autres textes ne reproduisent pas toujours avec fidélité. Là – dessus le travail de Abdelbary al-Mudarris est particulièrement intéressant, surtout concernant le rôle positif joué par la femme musulmane dans les documents de mariage, sur lequel il faut attirer l’attention, de manière spéciale
aujourd’hui21. De plus Y. Rāġib a publié une étude générale sur les «Actes
de vente d’esclaves et d’animaux d’Egypte médiévale », comme suite à son
premier volume sur ce sujet22 : Là – dedans il analyse systématiquement les
«caractères externes » et «internes » de ces actes, y compris l’objet, les questions de prix et des autres modalités touchant toute sorte de clauses et de
témoignages. Ces données bibliographiques n’ont par ailleurs aucune pré-
19
20
21
22
Khoury, Les légendes.
Abbott, Studies.
al-Mudarris, Papyrologische.
Rāġib, Actes de vente 1 et 2.
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tention d’être exhaustives. Des renseignments beaucoup plus complets sont
amplement amenés dans le Arabic Papyrology Database23.
Bibliographie
Abbott, N., Studies in Arabic literary papyri i (Historical texts [oip 75]), Chicago 1957.
Dietrich, D., Zum Drogenhandel im islamischen Ägypten. Eine Studie über die arabische
Handschrift 912 der Heidelberger Papyrussammlung, Heidelberg 1954.
. Die arabischen Papyri des Topkapı Sarayı-Museums in Istanbul, in Der Islam
33 (1957), 37–50.
Diem, W., Philologisches zu den arabischen Aphrodito – Papyri, in Der Islam 61 (1984),
251–275.
. Der Gouverneur an den Pagarchen. Ein verkannter Papyrus vom Jahre 65 der
Hiǧra, in Der Islam 60 (1983), 104–111.
Hinds, M., al-Maghāzī, in Encyclopaedia of Islam. New Edition, 5: 1161.
Hussein, F., Das Steuersystem in Ägypten von der arabischen Eroberung bis zur Machtergreifung der Ṭulūniden 19–254 / 639–868. Mit besonderer Berücksichtigung der Papyrusurkunden, Francfort a. M. 1982.
al-Jābirī, M., Takwīn al-ʿaql al-ʿarabī, 2e éd., Beyrouth 1985.
Jahn, K., Vom frühislamischen Briefwesen, in Archív Orientální 9 (1937), 153–200.
Jāsir Abū Safiyya, Bardiyyāt Qurra Ibn Sharīk al-ʿAbsī. Dirāsa wa-taḥqīq, Riyad 1425/2004.
Khoury, R.G., L’apport spécialement important de la papyrologie dans la transmission
et la codification des plus anciennes versions des Mille et Une Nuits et d’autres
livres des deux premiers siècles islamiques, in P.M. Sijpesteijn et L. Sundelin (eds.),
Papyrology and the history of early Islamic Egypt (Islamic history and civilization.
Studies and texts vol. 55), Leyde 2004, 63–95.
. ʿAbd Allāh Ibn Lahīʿa. Juge et grand maître de l’Ecole Egyptienne. Avec éd.
Critique de l’unique rouleau de papyrus arabe conservé à Heidelberg (Codices Arabici
Antiqui iv), Wiesbaden 1986.
. Les légendes prophétiques dans l’Islam depuis le ier jusqu’au iiie siècle de
l’Hégire. (Codices Arabici Antiqui iii), Wiesbaden 1978.
. Asad ibn Mūsā. K. az-Zuhd. Nouvelle éd. Revue, corrigée et augmentée de tous
les certificats de lecture (Codices Arabici Antiqui ii), Wiesbaden 1976, 91–108.
. Wahb ibn Munabbih (Codices Arabici Antiqui i), Wiesbaden 1972.
Mackay, P.A., Certificates of transmission on a manuscript of the Maqāmāt of Ḥarīrī
(ms. Cairo, Adah 105) (Transactions of the American Philosophic Society, n.s. 61/4),
Philadelphia 1971.
23
http://orientw.uzh.ch:8080/apd/project.jsp.
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Mélamède, G., The meetings at al-ʿAqaba, Le Monde Oriental 28 (1934), 17–58.
al-Mudarris, A., Papyrologische Untersuchungen zur arabischen Diplomatik anhand von
Eheurkunden (Codices Arabici Antiqui x), Wiesbaden 2009.
Rāġib, Y., Actes de vente d’esclaves et d’animaux d’Egypte médiévale 2 (Cahier des
Annales Islamologiques 28), Le Caire 2006.
. Actes de vente d’esclaves et d’animaux d’Egypte médiévale 1 (Cahier des Annales Islamologiques 23), Le Caire 2002.
. Lettres nouvelles de Qurra ibn Šarīk, in Journal of Near Eastern Studies 40
(1981), 173–187.
Seider, R., Aus der Arbeit der Universitätsinstitute. Die Universitätspapyrussammlung,
in Heidelberger Jahr – Bücher 8 (1964), 142–203.
Sellheim, R., Gelehrte und Gelehrsamkeit im Reiche der Chalifen, in H. Strasburger
(ed.), Festschrift für P. Kirn, Berlin 1963, 54–79.
Sijpesteijn, P.M., Une nouvelle lettre de Qurra ibn Šarīk. P.Sorb. inv. 2345, in Annales
Islamologiques 45 (2011), 257–267.
. et L. Sundelin (eds.), Papyrology and the history of early Islamic Egypt (Islamic
history and civilization. Studies and texts vol. 55), Leyde 2004.
Tarābīshī, G., Ishkāliyyāt al-ʿaql al-ʿarabī, Beyrouth et Londres 1998.
Vajda, G., Les certificats de transmission dans les manuscrits arabes de la Bibliothèque
Nationale de Paris, Paris 1956.
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chapter 14
Two New Arabic Editions: A Land Survey from
Ihnās and Ḥadīths Concerning Funerary Practice
Alia Hanafi
This article provides editions of two unrelated documents, one paper, the other
papyrus, which were never studied previously. The first text is in fact a small
codex consisting of two folded sheets of paper resulting in eight pages of text.
It records the land holdings in the estate (ḍayʿa) of Drinja in the pagarchy Ihnās
as measured in the survey of the year 383/993–994. A nice example of medieval
record keeping, it can be used to examine administrative practice, preservation and archiving. Although publicly taxed kharāj land is mentioned in the
text, there are also suggestions that it refers to a more privately managed or
tax-farming context. Close examination could result in a better understanding
of the relation between privately and publically held property, disentangling
the often difficult to distinguish categories of farmed out, rented, managed or
owned land.
The second text contains ḥadīths concerning funerary practice. Funerary
practices have been vehemently discussed in Islam from its earliest history up
to the modern period.1 Typically these rituals with their strong (local) traditions and customs are measured against Muslim tradition and practice.2 Bearing strong associations and intense emotions for believers they are a powerful
tool in Islamic identity formation. Whether this papyrus fragment should be
interpreted as taking part in this debate or simply as the part of the chapter on
funerary practices in a regular ḥadīth collection cannot be determined at this
point. It is written on an early papyrus and records some known and unknown
traditions with the chains of transmitters going back to the prophet Muḥammad or his companions. Most of the traditions are well-known although the
papyrus contains some variants in the text and in the isnāds.
1 For the medieval period, see for example Halevi, Muhammad’s. For current debates, see for
example Becker, Islamic (Africa), Federspiel, Persatuan (Indonesia) and Abashin, The logic
(Central Asia). See also Anne Regourd’s article in this volume.
2 Halevi, Muhammad’s; Smith and Haddad, The Islamic.
© Alia Hanafi, 2015 | doi:10.1163/9789004284340_015
This is an open access chapter distributed under the terms of the prevailing cc-by-nc License
at the time of publication.
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262
1
hanafi
Report of a Surveyor
P. Haun. Inv. Arab. 21; 22 Provenance Ihnās (left outlined) figs. 14.1–14.4
No. 21 (30.9×17.2cm.)
383ah (26 Feb. 993–17 Jan. 994c.e.)
No. 22 (30.9×21.1 cm.)
The two sheets of paper are brown and strong. They are each folded in half
and written on both sides, forming eight pages of text. Sheet no. 22 is complete
and measures 30.9cm. (width) by 21.1 cm (length). No. 21 measures 30.9cm. by
17.2cm., so a stroke of 3.9cm is missing at the bottom. There are large and small
holes in the middle part of the sheets.
The handwriting in black ink is a clerical and skilled hand. Dacritical points
are lacking. Since the ink had not completely dried before the scribe turned
the page, a slight copy of the letters appears on the facing pages. Accordingly,
it seems that although these sheets were part of a notebook they were not
quired.3 We do, however, undoubtedly have successive leaves, with each sheet
folded vertically down the middle producing conjoint leaves. The scribe started
his writing on the outer page of the left-hand leaf of the first sheet, then
continued on the inner page of the same leaf, first filling the right side then the
left side of the page, moving to the right side of the outer page of the first leaf
(all inv. Arab 21). He then moved to the outer page of the second leaf, where he
started on the left side of the page repeating the same pattern as before ending
on the right side of the outer page (all inv. Arab 22).
Page 1 is clearly the beginning of the book, as the title of the account appears
on it, with pages 4, 5, 6 and 7 containing the bulk of the text. Page 8 seems to
be the end of the document.
The document is a report of a surveyor concerning an estate called Drinja
( )درﳒﻪin the pagarchy of Ihnās (Heracleopolite) and deals with the annual
assessment of taxes. It is dated 383ah (26 February 993–17 January 994), during
the rule of the Fāṭimid caliph Abū Manṣūr Nizār al-ʿAzīz bi-llāh (r. 975–996).
Different agricultural products are mentioned such as ordīnāry flax (kattān)
(p. 4, ll. 1, 5, and p. 5, ll. 1, 2) and flax of high quality (p. 3, l. 6), grapes, lotus fruit
(both p. 7, l. 5), figs (p. 2, l. 6), pulse (qaṭānī), barley (shaʿīr), trefolium, cartamus
(safflower) (all four p. 4, l. 3) folium and calamus aromaticus (both p. 5, l. 1).
Two major features may be noted in the structure of our document providing
insights into agricultural record keeping. The real aggregate survey of the land
of the whole ḍayʿa of Drinja is registered first, followed by the actual measure
3 For the structure of a codex, see Casson and Hettich, Excavation 3.
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two new arabic editions
of farmed land. At the end of the document different payments are recorded in
the names of different individuals (p. 8). In Egypt, the survey made at the time
of the seasonal decrease of the Nile flood recorded not only the actual area of
land involved but also the amount of work needed considering the degree of
natural irrigation by the flood. On the basis of these two factors the amount
of taxation that could be expected to be raised was calculated. At later stages
the taxes due were adjusted based on the actual land worked and the measure
in which crops grew.4 Notary practice can also be observed in the text. In the
margin, next to some of the lines the balance of the estimated assessment is
written (e.g. p. 3, l. 3 )اﳌﻮﻗـﻒ. The scribe used some abbreviations such as the
letter nūn for niṣf (half) and ﻓﺪاfor ﻓﺪا.
P. Haun. Inv. Arab. 215
Page 1 (Fig. 14.1, left side)
ارﺗﻔـــــــﺎع اﻟﻀﯿﻌﺔ اﳌﻌﺮوﻓﺔ ﺑﺪرﳒﺔ
ﻟﺴـﻨﺔ ﺛﻠﺚ وﲦﻨﲔ وﺛﻠﯾﺔ
1
ﺑﺴﻢ اﻟﻠﻪ اﻟﺮﲪﻦ اﻟﺮﺣﲓ
ﻣـ]ـﺒﻠـ[ـﻎ ]ﻣـ[ـﺎ ارﺗﻔﻌﺖ ﻋﻘﻮد اﻟﻀﯿﻌﺔ اﳌﻌﺮوﻓﺔ ﺑﺪرﳒﺔ ﻣﻦ ﻛﻮرة ٔاﻫﻨﺎس
[.....] ﻟﺴـﻨﺔ ﺛﻠﺚ وﲦﻨﲔ وﺛﻠﯾﺔ ﻋﲆ ﻣﺎ ارﺗﻔﻌﺖ ﺑﻪ ]ﻣﺴﺎﺣـ[ـﺔ اﲮﻖ اﻟـﺒـ]ـﺎد[ﳻ
[ اﱃ ذ ﻣﻦ ﻣﺎل إﻻﺳـﺘﺪوال..] ﻋﻠﯿﻪ أﻻﺳﻌﺎر ﰱ اﳌﻮاد ؤان ]ﯾﺘـ[ـﺤﻤﻞ
ﻋﲆ ٔاﻟﻒ ن وﯾﺘﺤﻤﻞ ﰱ ذ ﻣﻦ ﻣﺎل أﻻوان واﻟﴫف ﻋﲆ ﻣﺎ ﯾﺘﻮﻓﺮ ﺑﻔﻀ
ﻓﯿﺒﻘﻰ ﻣﺎ ﯾﺮﺟﺎ ﻣﻦ ﳕﻮ ﺑﻌﺾ اﻟﺘﲔ وﻣﺎ ﯾﺘﺤﺼﻞ ﻣﻦ ﻛﺘﺎن زرع أﻻوﺳـﯿﺔ
[اﱃ ٔان ﯾﻌـ]ـﺮف[ ﻣﺒﻠﻎ ﻋﻨﺪ ﺣﺒﯿﻘﺔ وﻫﻮ اﳌﺎﺋﺔ ﻓﯿﻀﺎف اﱃ
[اﳌﺎﺋﺔ وﺳـﺘﲔ دﯾﻨﺎ)ر( ؟
[وﻧﺼﻒ وﺛﻠﺚ وﺳـ]ـﺪ[س
1
ﻟﻠـﻪ اﶵﺪ واﳌﻨﺔ
2
Page 2 (Fig. 14.2, right side)
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
4 For this system, see the description by al-Makhzūmī (d. 585/1189), Kitāb Minhāj 58–63 (cited
in P.Khalili i, pp. 61 ff.); Frantz-Murphy, The agrarian 20–26.
5 In the edition hamza is added according to the rules of standard Arabic orthography.
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hanafi
)Page 3 (Fig. 14.2, left side
1
2
3
4
5
6
]ﻣـ[ـﻦ ]ذ[ﻟـﻚ
ﺧﺮاج ٔارض ]…[ ٔاﻟﻒ ؤارﺑﻊ ﻣﺎﺋﺔ وﺗﺴﻌﺔ وﺳـﺘﲔ ﻓﺪا)(
ورﺑﻊ وﺳﺪس
ٔاﻟﻒ ﺗﺴﻌﺔ وﺳـﺒﻌﲔ ﻓﺪا)(
اﳌﻮ]ﻗـ[ــــــــــــــﻒ
وﺛﻠﺜﲔ وﲦﻦ؟
ﻋﻦ ﲦﻦ ﻣﺎﺋﺔ وﺛﻼث وﺛﻼ]ﺛﲔ [
ارﺑﻊ ﻣﺎﺋﺔ وﺳـﺘﺔ دﯾﻨﺎر
اﻟﻘــــــــــــــــــــــﻤﺢ
وﻧﺼـ]ـﻒ[وﻧﺼﻔﳥﻦ
ﻋﻦ ﻣﺎﺋﱴ واﺣﺪ وﺳـﺒﻌﲔ ﻓﺪا وﻧﺼﻒ وﻧﺼﻒ
ﲦﻦ
ارﺑﻊ ﻣﺎﺋﺔ وﲬﺲ دﯾﻨﺎر
ﻣﻨـــــــــــــــــــــــﻪ
ﻋﻦ ﻣﺎﺋﱴ وﺳـﺒﻌﲔ ﻓﺪا ﻛﺘﺎن وﻧﺼﻔﺎ ورﺑﻊ
اﻟﻔﺪان
دﯾﻨـﺎر واﺣﺪ
وﻣﻨــــــــــــــــــﻪ
وﻧﺼﻒ وﻧﺼﻔﳥﻦ
ﻋﻦ ﻓﺪان وﻧﺼﻒ وﻧﺼﻔﳥﻦ ﻛﺘﺎن ﻋﺎﱃ
)Page 4 (Fig. 14.1, right side
1
2
3
4
5
ﻣﻨــــــــــــــــــﻪ
ﻋﻦ ﻣﺎﺋﺔ وﺳـﺒﻌﺔ ﻋﴩ ﻓﺪا وﻧﺼﻒ وﲦﻦ
ﻛﺘﺎن ﺛﻠﺚ اﻟﻔﺪان
وﻣﻨـــــــــــــــــــﻪ
ﻋﻦ ﺳـﺒﻌﺔ وﻋﴩﯾﻦ و]ﲦـ[ـﻦ و]ﻧﺼﻒ ﲦـ[ن ]
اﻟﻔﺪان
اﻟﻘﻄﺎﰃ واﻟﺸﻌﲑ واﻟﻘﺮط واﻟﻘﺮﻃﻢ
ﻋﻦ ٔارﺑﻊ ﻣﺎﺋﺔ ؤارﺑﻌﺔ ؤارﺑﻌﲔ وﻧﺼﻒ ورﺑﻊ
ﻣﻨـــــــــــــﻪ
ﻋﻦ ﺛﻠﯾﺔ وﺗﺴﻌﺔ وﲦﻨﲔ ﻓﺪا وﲦﻦ
ﻛﺘﺎن ⟩و⟨اﺣﺪ ﻓﺪا)ن( وﻧﺼﻒ ورﺑﻊ وﺳﺪس؟
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ﺛﻠﯾﺔ وﺗﺴـ]ـﻌـ[ـﺔ ﻓـ]ـﺪا)([
وﻧﺼﻒ ورﺑﻊ ]وﺳﺪ[س
ﲬﺲ ﻋﴩ ﻓﺪا)(
[ وﺳﺪس
] ﻣﺎ[ﺋﱴ وﺗﺴﻌﺔ وﻧﺼﻒ ﻓﺪا)(
وﺛﻠﺚ ورﺑﻊ وﺳﺪس
ﻣﺎﺋﱴ واﺣﺪ ]وﻋﴩﯾـ[ـﻦ ﻓﺪا)(
265
two new arabic editions
P. Haun. Inv. Arab. 22
)Page 5 (Fig. 14.3, left side
1
2
3
4
ﺳﺬاج واﻟﻜﺘﺎن واﻟﻘﺼﺐ اﻟﻔﺎرﺳــﻰ ]
[ ..
ﻋﻦ ﺛﻼﺛﺔ ﻓﺪادﯾﻦ
] ﺑـ[ـﻜـــــــ]ـﺮ [
ﻋﻦ ﻓﺪاﻧﲔ ورﺑﻊ وﺳﺪس وﺳﺪس ﲦﻦ ﻛﺘﺎن ﻧﺼﻒ
اﻟﻔﺪان
اﻟﻘﳰﺔ ﻟﻠﻔـــــــﺪان
ﻋﻦ ﻧﺼﻒ وﻧﺼﻔﳥﻦ
ذ ﻧــــــــــــــــــــ
[ ..
ﺗﺴﻌﺔ دﯾﻨﺎر
وﺳﺪس وﻧﺼﻒ ﲬﺲ
دﯾﻨﺎر واﺣﺪ
وﲬﺲ
ﺛﻠﺋﺔ وﺗﺴﻌﺔ ؤاﻟﻒ ﻓﺪا)(
وﻧﺼﻒ وﲬﺲ
)Page 6 (Fig. 14.4, right side
1
2
3
4
اﻟﻀــــــــــ]ـﯿﺎع
[ ﻣـﺎﺋﺔ وﺗﺴﻌﺔ وﲦﻨﲔ ﻓﺪا)(
وﺛﻠﺚ وﲬﺲ
[ٔارﺑﻌﲔ ﻓﺪا)( اﻟﺴـﺎﺣﻞ ٔارﺑﻌﺔ ﻋﴩ ﻓﺪا)(
اﻟـ]
اﳋـ]ـﻀـ[ـﺮ ﻣﺎﺋﺔ وﻋﴩ ﻓﺪا)(
ﻣﺎﺋﺔ ودﯾﻨﺎرن
اﻟﺼــــــــــــﺮف
ﻧﺼـ)ـﻒ(
ﻋﻦ ٔاﻟﻒ وﲬﺲ ﻣﺎﺋﺔ وﺛﻠﺜﺔ وﺛﻠﺜﲔ ﻓﺪا)( وﺛﻠﺚ وﻧﺼﻒ ﺳﺪس
ورﺑﻊ وﺳﺪس
ﻣﻨﻪ دﯾﻨﺎر
ﻋﻦ ﻣﺎ ﲡﻤﺪ ﻣﻦ ﺳـﻨﺔ
دﯾﻨـــــﺎر
اﻻٔﻛﺮﯾــــــــــــــﺔ
وﻧـ )ـﺼﻒ (
وﻧﺼﻒ ورﺑﻊ
)Page 7 (Fig. 14.4, left side
1
2
ﰠ ﻣﻦ ذ
ﻣﻨﻪ ﻣﺎ ﲪﻞ اﱃ اﳊﴬة ﰱ دﻓﻌﺎت ﺷـﱴ وﻣﺎ ﲪﻞ اﱃ ﺛﻘﯿﻒ ا]ﻟـ
واودع ﻗﺒﻞ ] ﻋـ[ـﲆ؟ ن ﻓﻘﺮ؟ ﰲ ﲦﻨﯿﻪ؟ اﶵﺪ ﻟﻠﻪ ]
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hanafi
3
ﻣﻦ ذ ﻣﺎ ﯾﻀﻤﻨﻪ ﺣﳰﺪ ﻣﺪﻛﻮر ﺑﻦ ﺳﻠﻤﻰ اﱃ ﺳﻠﺦ ﯾﺴـ ]
4
ﺑﻪ ؤاﻣﺸﲑ ﺗﺴﻌﺔ وﻧـ)ـﺼﻒ( ﻓﺪا)(
ﺑﺮﺎت ﻣﺎﺋﺔ وﺳـﺘﺔ وﲬﺴﲔ ﻓﺪا)(
وﺳﺪ]س[
5
6
7
8
..وﻧﺼﻒ وﺛﻠﺚ
ﻟﻌﻨﺐ وﻧﺒﻖ ﺛﻠﯾﺔ وﺗﺴﻌﺔ ﻋـ]ﺷـﺮ[ ﻓﺪا)(
ﺑﺮﻣﻮدة ﻣﺎﺋﱴ واﺣﺪ ؤارﺑﻌﲔ ﻓﺪا)(
وﻧـ)ـﺼﻒ( وﺛﻠﺚ ورﺑﻊ
وﻧـ)ـﺼﻒ(
وﻣﻦ ذ ﻣﺎ ﲨﻌـ]ـﺘﻪ[ وﺑﻌﺜﺘﻪ وﻛﺘﺒﺖ ﻋﲆ ﻣﺪ ﺳﲈح واﺣﺪ وا] [ ﻣﺎﺋﺔ وﺳـﺒﻌﺔ وﺳـﺒﻌﲔ ﻓﺪا)(
وﺛﻠﺚ ورﺑﻊ وﺳﺪﺳـﳥﻦ
اﻟﺼﺎﱀ ﺳـﳣـ]ـﺎﯾﺔ و[ﺳﺒـ] [..
اﻟﻔﲔ وﻣﺎﺋﺔ واﺣﺪ وﺛﻼﺛﲔ ﻓﺪا)(
[ وﻧﺼﻒ ورﺑﻊ
[ ..
وﻣﻦ ذ]
)Page 8 (Fig. 14.3, right side
1
[.
2
ﻣﺎﺋﺔ دﯾﻨﺎر
[ .ﻧﻘﺪا ﻟﻨﺎﴏ؟
وﻣﻨﻪ ﻣﺎ ﰠ ﲜﻬﺔ اﻟﻘﺎﴇ ٔاﺳﺪ اﻟﻠﻪ ]ﺑـ[ـﻦ زﯾﺪ وﻛﺘﺐ ﺗﺴﻌﺔ وﺗﺴﻌﲔ ﻓﺪا)(
وﺛﻠﺜﲔ
ﺳـﺒﻌﲔ ﻓﺪا)(
ﻣﻦ ذ ﻣﺎ ﲪﻞ اﻟﯿﻪ ﻋﯿﻨـــــــــــــــــﺎ
ورﺑﻊ وﺳﺪس
ارﺑﻌﺔ وﺛﻠﺜﲔ ﻓﺪا)(
دﻓﻌـــــﺔ .[ ].
ﺗﺴﻌﺔ ﻋﴩ ﻓﺪا)(
دﻓﻌـــــــﺔ
وﻧﺼﻒ وﺛﻠﺚ
ﻗﯿﺪ اﻟﻮﻛﯿﻞ؟
ﻋﻦ ﻋﴩﯾﻦ ﻓﺪا)( وﺛﻠﺚ ورﺑﻊ
ﻋﻦ ﲬﺴﺔ وﺛﻠﺜﲔ ]ﻓﺪا)(
ﻋﺸـ]ـ[ـﺮﯾﻦ دﯾﻨﺎر)ا(
دﻓـﻌـ]ـ[ـﺔ
ٔاﺣﺪ ﻋﴩ ﻓﺪا)(
دﻓﻌـــــــﺔ
ﻋﻦ ﺗﺴﻊ ]
ﻋﻦ اﺛﲎ ﻋﴩ
] وا[ﺣﺪ وﻋﴩﯾﻦ ﻓﺪا)(
وﻣﻦ ذ ﻣﺎ ﴏف ﲜﻬﺎت
[ ور]ﺑـﻊ
اﻟﺒﻮاﰵ ] [ ﻋﴩون
ورﺑـ]ـﻊ
4
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Translation
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The result of the survey of the domain known as Drinja.
For the year three hundred and eighty three. (vac.) To Him comes praise
and He is generous.
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In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful.
Amount of what resulted from the contracts of the domain known as
Drinja of the district of Ihnās.
For the year three hundred and eighty three on what was aggregated of the
gross from the survey of (the domain of) Isḥāq, originating from Bā[d]is?
and? ….
to which [are added] the prices of the materials, and Abū Rā[ḍī?] should
be charged for that from the circulated money
on one thousand now and he will pay in that (case) from the current
money and expenses on what is saved from its growth (or increase).
So, the rest is what will be expected from growing some figs (trees) and
what is collected from the flax (kattān) of the cultivation of the estate.
] to collect a sum from Ḥabīqa. It is one hundred, which should be added
to
] one hundred and sixty dīnārs
] and a half and one third and one sixth
] ..
Page 3
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(vac.) There from (vac.)
kharāj land [ ] one thousand four hundred sixty nine faddāns and a
quarter and one sixth.
The situation (is) eight hundred and [thirty] three … (from) one thousand
and seventy nine faddāns and two thirds and one eighth.
The wheat: from two hundred seventy one faddāns and a half and one
half of an eighth (comes) four hundred and six dīnārs, and a half and one
half of an eighth.
Thereof: two hundred seventy faddāns of flax and a half and a quarter
faddān (comes) four hundred and five dīnārs.
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And from one faddān and a half and one half of an eighth of high quality
flax (comes) one dīnār and a half and one half of an eighth.
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Thereof: from one hundred and seventeen faddāns and a half and one
eighth, one third of the faddān of flax (comes) three hundred and nine?
… and a half and one quarter and one sixth [ faddāns].
And thereof: from twenty seven and [one eighth] and [one half of an
eighth] faddāns is fifteen faddāns [ ] and one sixth.
The pulse, barley, trefolium and cartamus (safflower) from four hundred
forty four and a half and a quarter (is) two hundred and nine and a half
faddāns and one third and a quarter and one sixth.
Thereof: from three hundred and eighty nine faddāns and one eighth,
flax: one faddān and half and one sixth? (is cultivated) two hundred and
one faddāns.
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Folium, flax and calamus aromaticus (from) three faddāns (is) [ ] .. and
one sixth and one half of an eighth.
Bakr, from two faddāns and one quarter and one sixth and one sixth of
one eighth, flax: a half of a faddān (is) nine dīnārs and one sixth and one
half of one fifth.
The pure income of the faddān: A half and one half of an eighth (is) one
dīnār and one fifth.
Thereof is now one thousand and three hundred and nine faddāns and a
half and one fifth.
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The domains (are) one hundred eighty nine faddāns and a third and a
fifth.
The [ ] forty? faddāns, the coast (is) forty faddāns
The conversion charge: from one thousand and five hundred and thirty
three faddāns and a quarter and one sixth (is) one hundred and two
dīnārs and one third and one half of one sixth. The leguminous plants
(are) one hundred and ten faddāns.
The rents (are) one dīnār and a half and a quarter. Of what were arrears
from one year and a half, thereof (is) one dīnār.
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It has been approved thereof
Thereof: what has been carried to the town in various payments, and what
has been carried to Thaqīf …… and what has been deposited at ʿAlī. Now,
he has acknowledged its price. All Praise belongs to God [
Thereof: what is guaranteed by Ḥumayd Madhkūr ibn Salmī towards
Salkh? …
Bābah and Amshīr: nine and a half faddān .. and a half and one third.
Baramhāt one hundred fifty six faddāns and one sixth.
Baramūdah: two hundred forty one faddāns and a half. For grapes and
nabq (fruit of the lotus): three hundred and nineteen faddāns and a half
and one third and a quarter.
And thereof what I have collected and dispatched, and I wrote for a period
of sufferance one and …. [ ] one hundred and seventy seven faddāns and
one third and a quarter and one sixth of one eighth.
Two thousand and one hundred and thirty one faddāns [ ] and a half and
a quarter. The good (lands) six hundred and ….
Thereof [ ] ….
Page 8
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].
]. Cash for Nāṣr? one hundred dīnārs
] Vac.
And thereof what has been approved for the judge Asad al-Allāh ibn Zayd
and it has been recorded: ninety nine faddāns and two thirds.
Thereof what has been carried in kind: seventy faddāns and one quarter
and one sixth.
A payment concerning twenty faddāns. Nineteen faddāns and one third
and a quarter. A payment is paid on the account of the agent concerning
thirty five [ faddāns] (the payment is for) thirty four faddāns and a half
and one third.
A payment concerning twelve ⟨ faddāns⟩ (the payment is for) eleven
faddāns. A payment concerning ….[(the payment is for) twenty? dīnārs.
Thereof what has been spent in (some) directions [ ] twenty one faddāns
[ ] and a quarter? [
The rest is twenty [ faddāns? ] and one quarter [
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Commentary
Page 1
1. The term ارﺗﻔﺎعrelates to the result of the survey usually referring to gross
receipts (Frantz-Murphy, The agrarian 34 n. 4, 101, P.Khalili i, pp. 63ff. and
cf. P.Cair.Arab. iv 265 and 266). A ḍayʿa is a rural property rarely extending
beyond the area of a village, usually owned by a civilian and managed by a
bailiff (wakīl). If the holder of the ḍayʿa is a Muslim, he has to pay two kinds
of taxes: first, the zakāt that should be paid by all Muslims, taking the form
of a tithe (ʿushr) (usually a fifth of the kharāj) (Lambton, State 215); secondly,
the kharāj, which is a tax levied on agricultural lands and should be paid by
Muslims and non-Muslims (Abū Yūsuf, Kharāj, 41). In the Abbasid East, the
ḍayʿa was administered by a different government office than that pertaining to
kharāj lands (cpr xxi, p. 186 n. 3). درﳒﻪcan be read as Drinja, Dranja or Drunja.
This town, in the kūra of Ihnās, could not be identified.
2. Medial long alif is written with scriptio defectiva in the date (Hopkins,
Studies§10, a).
3. ﻟﻠﻪ اﶵﺪ واﳌﻨﺔ: The addition of a religious formula between the basmala and the
main text is often found in literary and documentary texts (see Ibn Khaldūn,
Muqaddima, 1: xxxi. Cf. اﶵﺪ ﻟﻠﻪ واﻟﺸﻜﺮ, P.Cair.Arab. i 54.2; )واﶵﺪ ﰷﳌﺴـﺘﺤﻖ.
Page 2
3. ﻣﻦseems to be corrected from ﰱwhich makes better sense grammatically.
Min refers to the distance from a place (Wright, A grammar iii: 132d), while
the preposition fī is used to refer to the place itself. So, one may consider that
Ihnās itself was at some distance to the ḍayʿa. In Egypt, the term kūra was used
in the early Arab period to refer to an administrative district that had a town
at its centre (cf. al-Yaʿqūbī, Buldān 331: وﻛﻮر ﻣﴫ ﻣﻨﺴﻮﺑﺔ ٕاﱃ ﻣﺪﳖﺎ ٔﻻن ﺑﲁ ﻛﻮرة ﻣﺪﯾﻨﺔ
)ﳐﺼﻮﺻﺔ ﺑﺎٔﻣﺮ ﻣﻦ أﻻﻣﻮر. The administrative district of kūrat Ihnās is not mentioned
in lists other than the one cited by al-Maqrīzī (Khiṭaṭ 1: 72), where the kūra
of the town of Ihnās is said to have consisted of ninety-five villages plus some
kufūr. Ibn Khurradādhbih also mentioned the kūra of Ihnās as one of the kuwar
Miṣr (Masālik 81). For the frequent changes in the geographical extent of this
administrative district which was combined with the administrative district
of the kūrat al-Bahnasā at certain periods, see Grohmann, Probleme 381–394
and P.Khalili i 66. Two towns are known by the name Ihnās (Yāqūt, Buldān
1:409–410), the first is located in Middle Egypt on the westbank of the Nile (now
called Ahnās al-madīna), the second was called Ihnās al-ṣughrā (small Ihnās),
and it was a large village in the kūra of al-Bahnasā. The town of Ihnās has been
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known by many names. Today it is sometimes called Ihnasiyya Umm al-Kimām,
meaning “Ihnās, mother of the sherds.” In Coptic it was called Hnēs/Ehnēs.
Important since the early dynasties, its main god was Hershef assimilated by
the Greeks to Heracles after which they called the city Heracleopolis Magna
(see Maspéro et Wiet 1919, 28). The Arabic papyrus perf 612 (dated 102/720)
actually refers to it as ﻫﺮﻗﻠﻮس, Haraqlūs (Maspéro et Wiet, Matériaux 28).
3. Isḥāq is written with scriptio defectiva of the medial long a (Hopkins, Studies
§10, a). The nisba can be restored as اﻟﺒـ]ـﺎد[ﳻor اﻟﻔـ]ـﺎر[ ﳻ. In P.Cair.Arab.
iii 270, 4 (3rd/9th century) we encounter also an Isḥāq from Bādis. There are
traces of the bottom of about 5 letters at the end of the line. One may read وزادت
which agrees with the rest of the sentence written on the following line.
4. [ؤان ]ﯾﺘـ[ـﺤﻤﻞ ﰱ ذ ٔاﺑﻮ را]ﴇ: The reading is uncertain.
ﺳـﺘﺪوال: There is a half curve visible above the letter lām.
5. اﻟﴫف, the expenses, refers to a sum to be expended for the land. Grohmann
translated this word as “conversion charge” (P.Cair.Arab. iii 239.2) and “allowance for security” (P.Cair.Arab. iii 283.3, 7) without explaining how he came to
this meaning. The term ﻓﻀﻞappears in P. Khalili i 2.14. Khan (P.Khalili i, p. 64)
has noted that some other terms are used to express the survey increase such
as ( زاﺋﺪal-Makhzumī, Minhāj 60, 61, and al-Nuwayrī, Nihāyat 8:251), ( ٕاﺿﺎﻓﺔalNābulusī cited in Cahen, Le régime 16–17), and ( ﺗﺎٔرﱗal-Makhzumī, Minhāj 61;
al-Nuwayrī, Nihāyat 8: 250 and al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ 3:458).
6. أﻻوﺳـﯿﺔis the Arabic rendering of the Greek ousia (Grohmann, Griechische
281 f.). Such estates had a special place in the social and economic life in
Byzantine Egypt before the Arab conquest (Hardy, The large 113 ff.).
7. (( اﳌﺌﺔ وﺳـﺘﲔ دﯾﻨـﺎ)رl. ( )اﳌﺎﺋﺔet passim): There is an oblique slight ripple of a stroke
written above the letter sīn of the word ﺳـﺘﲔwhich has no teeth, and the word
( دﯾﻨـﺎ)رis abbreviated.
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2. Around the end of the third/ninth century a legal discussion arose about
the nature of kharāj. The final outcome of this discussion was that kharāj was
considered as a rent on the land (Tabatabāʾī, Kharāj 201; Lambton, State 258)
which had to be paid by whomever cultivated the land. After ﺧﺮاج ٔارضone
should expect the kind of plant cultivated on the land, such as ( ﺧﺮاج اﻟﻘﺼﺐsee
P.Cair.Arab. iii 234.10).
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3. وﺛﻠﺜﲔ وﲦﻦ: the reading is uncertain.
4. Kharāj was assessed in cash from the end of the third/ninth century onwards,
when an attempt was made to establish a unified system of accounting on the
basis of the gold standard with a legal tariff for the exchange of the dirham.
Hence the qualification dīnār in this line and in other places in the text.
6. Kattān ʿālā is fine flax (Latin Linum usitatissimum) contrasting the unqualified flax attested in other places in this text. The tax on flax in this text comes
to one dīnār per faddān. For flax, see further P.Cair.Arab. ii, p. 46 f.
Page 4
1. The number may be 319 or 329, or 339, etc., because there is a letter wāw after
the number nine, we expect a multiple of ten. In the lacuna a qualification such
as faddāns may be restored (cf. p. 4, ll. 2, 3, 4). It is to be noted that the flax here
as well as in line 4 is not a fine flax (see note to p. 3, l. 6).
2. ﻋﻦ ﺳـﺒﻌﺔ وﻋﴩﯾﻦ و]ﲦـ[ـﻦ و]ﻧﺼﻔﳥـ[ن اﻟﻔﺪانmay be read.
3. ( اﻟﻘﻄﺎﱏpulse) (s. qaṭnīya). Pulse is the common name for members of the
fabaceae (leguminosae), a large plant family, also called the pea, or legume.
Legumes were equally important as fodder and forage plants. The pulse family
also provides dyes, medicines and other commercial items such as flavorings,
fibres, etc.
Shaʿīr, barley (Latin hordeum vulgare, hordeum distichon and hordeum irregulare, see Hitchcock, Manual sv. “Barley”), is one of the most ancient of cultivated grains. Barley plants are annual grasses either harvested in winter or
spring.
Qirṭ (Latin trefolium alexandrinum and trefolium resupinatum, see Schnebel,
Die Landwirtschaft 213 ff.), trefoil, was the most common fodder for animals
in Egypt according to al-Suyūṭī (see al-muḥāḍara 2: 231). Ibn ʿAbd al-Ḥakam
writes that trefoil was exempted from kharāj tax (Futūḥ 153), but in Arabic
papyri we find assessments for this plant (P.Cair.Arab. iii 231 n. 4). For kharāj
on trefoil, see for example P.Ryl.Arab. vii 19.4, and P.Cair.Arab. iv 231.4 and
commentary.
Qurṭum, safflower (Latin Carthamus tinctorius), is identified by Ibn Manẓūr
qurṭum as saffron (Lisān sv. )ﻗﺮﻃﻢ. Safflower is one of humanity’s oldest crops.
The Arabic name lays at the origins of the general pharmaceutical name flores carthami. The Arabic name is derived from the verb qarṭama (to dye) in
reference to the use of safflower flowers for textile dyeing. Its modern Arabic
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name uṣfur (saffron), from aṣfar, yellow, has entered many languages through
the mediaeval Andalusian pronunciation.
5. (⟩و⟨اﺣﺪ ﻓﺪا)ن( وﻧﺼﻒ ورﺑﻊ وﺳﺪ)س: The reading of this line is uncertain.
(⟩و⟨اﺣﺪ ﻓﺪا)ن: the Kūfan grammarians allow the placement of the adjective of
the cardinal number if the genitive is an object (see Ibn Hishām, Shudhūr 1: 216
”)“وﻟﻠﻜﻮﻓﯿﲔ ﳇﻬﻢ ﰲ ٕاﺟﺎزة ﳓﻮ اﻟﺜﻼﺛﺔ أﻻﺛﻮاب وﳓﻮﻩ ﳑﺎ اﳌﻀﺎف ﻓﯿﻪ ﻋﺪد واﳌﻀﺎف ٕاﻟﯿﻪ ﻣﻌﺪود. For the
cardinal number اﺣﺪ،واﺣﺪ, etc. see Hopkins, Studies §91a.
Page 5
1. ﺳﺬاجl. ( ﺳﺎذجLatin folium). This word is known to have been written with
the alif as third or second letter. Ibn Sīnā (d. 1037) describes the plant and its
medicinal use (Ibn Sīnā, al-Qānūn fī al-ṭīb s.v. )ﺳﺎذج.
Al-qaṣab al-fārisī (Latin calamus aromaticus) is a sort of reed, or sweetscented cane, without branches, with a crown at the top, and beset with spines,
about two feet in height, bearing from the root a knotted reddish stalk, quite
round, containing in its cavity a soft white pith. It grows in Egypt, Syria, and
India and is said to make the air scent while growing. When cut down, dried
and powdered, it forms an ingredient in the richest perfumes and is used in
medicine (see Webster’s New International Dictionary of the English Language
sv. “Calamus”). Frantz-Murphy translates the name of the plant literarily as “Persian reeds” (The agrarian 34, 18).
Page 6
1. A careless curved joint line links the alif and lām so one can read the word as
أﻻﺿﯿﺎع.
3. The reading of اﳋـ]ـﻀـ[ـﺮ, vegetables, is uncertain. After the article the letter
may be jīm or khāʾ. Vegetables are frequently mentioned in Arabic papyri (see
for example P.Cair.Arab. iii 266.7; 268.14). For kharāj on leguminous plants, see
per. Inv. Ar. Pap. 10151, 13.
Page 7
2. اﳊﴬة: means the “town.” See Ibn Manẓūr, Lisān, sv. “ﺣﴬ.”
ﺛﻘﯿﻒ: the reading is uncertain. Thaqīf is an Arab tribe living to the south-east
of Mecca (Kister, Mecca 134).
ﻗَﺒﻞ ]ﻋـ[ـﲆ ن ﻓﻘﺮ ﺑﳥﻨﯿﻪ: the reading is uncertain. It seems that ʿAlī belongs to
the tribe of Thaqīf. He acknowledges that he has received some of what has
been collected from the kharāj.
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3. ﺳﻠﺦ: its diminutive name is ﺳﻠﯿﺦ, as recorded in al-Dhahabī, Mushtabah 271.
5. ʿInab are more frequently attested in the papyri as kurūm, vineyards. For viticulture, see P.Cair.Arab. i, p. 10. Here there is clearly mention of the production
of the vineyards as well as the lotus tree (i.e. Nabq).
Nabaq are the fruits (cones) of the lotus, sidr or cedar tree. The lotus is a large
hardwood tree, which can grow more than 5 meters high (Nour and Ahmed, A
chemical 271–273) and bears a round and yellowish cherry-like fruit (al-Anṭākī,
Ṭadhkirat 186 f.; Ibn al-Bayṭār, Jāmiʿ 3: 4, 32). The fruit is used for food and as a
medicine (Kamal, The ancient 305 ff.). The tree is mentioned in the Quran as a
tree in the afterlife in whose shade the righteous will recline (q 56:28).
6. For baʿtha in the sense of ‘dispatch,’ see P.Cair.Arab. iv 401.1–12.
Page 8
6. The payment should be for 20 faddāns but what has been paid was for only
19 faddāns and one third and one quarter, which means that 5/12 faddān has
not been farmed.
7. اﺛﲎ ﻋﴩ: the reading is uncertain. ⟨() ⟩ﻓﺪاshould be added (cf. l. 6 on the same
page).
9. اﻟﺒﻮاﰵ ﻋﴩون: may be read.
2
Instructions Concerning Funerals
p. acpsi 126 (P. Rag.) Provenance unknown (outlined left) figs. 14.5–14.6
15 ×8.5 cm.
ca. 2nd /8th century
The papyrus is broken off at the bottom, the left and right sides. It is damaged at
the right and bottom sides, though the original margin has remained at the top.
The papyrus, which was folded four times from left to right, is of light brown
colour, fairly fine. A small piece measuring 5 ×0.8cm and bearing about six
upper halves of letters is torn off on side a.
The text was written on both sides of the papyrus, in black ink, in a neat,
elegant hand pointing to the beginning of the second/eighth century. Diacritical points are rarely used. The side where the writing goes perpendicular to
the fibres was written first, after which the scribe continued on the other side.
There is a correction above line one which can be read while the superscript
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of line three can only be partly read. The end of each ḥadīth is indicated with a
circular sign.
The text was probably longer than the thirteen lines written on both sides of
the papyrus. The writer presents the aḥādīth sometimes in his own words (a1),
other times by citing them literally (b4). The text contains both prophetic and
companions’ aḥādīth, and all the transmitters are known in these traditions.
The place of discovery is unknown.
)Side a (Fig. 14.6
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
ﺣﺪﺛﻨﺎ[ راﻓﻊ ٔان ٔا ﻫﺮﯾﺮة ٔاوﺻﺎ ٔاﻫ ﺣﺬرو ﰱ ٔاﻻ ﯾﻈﻬﺮوا ﻋﻠﯿﻪ }ﻃﯿﺒﺎ{ اﻟﻄﯿﺐ وﻻ ﳚﻌﻠﻮﻩ ﰱ
ﻗﻄﯿﻔﺔ ﲪﺮ]اء
[ﻗﺎل وﻗﺪ ﺑﻠﻐﲎ ﻋﻦ ٔاﰉ ﺳﻌﯿﺪ اﳋﺪرى ﻣﯿ ﰱ اﻟﻘﻄﯿﻔﺔ ]ٔا[ ﴐﲠﻢ اى ﯾﻘﻮل ﺧﻠﻒ اﳉﻨﺎزة
اﺳـﺘﻐـ]ـﻔﺮوا ﻏﻔﺮ اﻟﻠﻪ ﻟﲂ
[واﺧﱪﱏ ﻋﻦ’ﳛﲕ ﺑﻦ زﯾﺪ -----ﻋﻦ ٔاﰉ؟ ﺳﻌﯿﺪ ﺣﻔﺺ ﺑﻦ ﻣﯿﴪة ﻋﻦ ٔاﰉ ⟧ﲻﺮ اﻟﺼﺤﺎﰉ⟦
ؤاﺳﺎﻣﺔ ﺑﻦ زﯾﺪ ﻋﻦ ﻋﺒﺪ اﻟﺮﲪﻦ]
ﺑﻦ ﺣﺮﻣ أﻻﺳﻠﻤﻰ ﻋﻦ ﺳﻌﯿﺪ ﺑﻦ اﳌﺴﯿﺐ ٔاﻧﻪ ﻗﺎل اﻧﻈﺮوا ﻟﺮاﺟﺰﰼ ﻫﺬا اى ]
ﯾﻘﻮل اﺳـﺘﻐﻔﺮوا ﻏﻔﺮ اﻟﻠﻪ ﻟﲂ وﻻ ﯾﻨﺒﻐﻰ Oﻫﺬا وﻗﺎل ﺧﺎرﺟﺔ ﺑﻦ زﯾﺪ]
ﺑﻦ ﺑﺖ ٔاﻧﻪ ﻗﺎل ٕاذا ﲰﻊ ﻣﻦ ﯾﻘﻮل ﰱ اﳉﻨﺎزة ٔان اﺳـﺘﻐﻔﺮوا ﻏﻔﺮ اﻟﻠﻪ ﻟﲂ ]
[ ﳏﺪث وﯾﻘـ] [وذ ﻋﻨﺪ اﻟﻠﻪ ] [ ﻣﺎﻻ را ] [ ا Oﻗﺎل ﻗﺎل اﻟـ]
[دﻋﺎ ] [ ] Oوﯾﻘـ[ـﻮ] ل? [
)Side b (Fig. 14.5
1
2
3
4
5
وﲻﺮو ﺑﻦ اﳊﺎرث ﻋﻦ ﺑﻜﲑ ﺑﻦ أﻻﴉ ﻋﻦ ﺑﴪ ﺑﻦ ﺳﻌﯿﺪ ٔان اﻟﻨﱮ ﻗﺎل اﻟﻌﲔ ﺗﺪﻣﻊ
واﻟﻘﻠﺐ ﳛﺰن ٕاك اﻟﴫاخ ﻗﺎل ﺑﲀﱏ وﺑﲀ اﻟﻨﱮ ﻋﲆ }{ﺑﻨﯿﻪ وﻗﺎل اﻟﺒﲀ
ﻣﻦ اﻟﺮﲪﺔ واﻟﴫاخ ﻣﻦ اﻟﺸـﯿﻄﺎن Oواﺧﱪﱏ ﻋﻦ اﺑﻦ ﺟﺮﱕ ٔان رﺳﻮل
اﻟﻠﻪ ﻗﺎل ﺗﺪﻣﻊ اﻟﻌﲔ وﳛﺰن اﻟﻘﻠﺐ وﻻ ﻧﻘﻮل ﻣﺎ ﯾﺴﺨﻂ اﻟﺮب
) (vac.واﻟﺴﲅ ﻋﲆ ٔاﻫﻞ اﻟﻘﺒﻮر
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Translation
Side a
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
] Rāfiʿ [has reported that] Abū Hurayra commanded his family to be
careful not to apply any perfume on him and not to shroud him in red
velvet (after death) [
] He said, and it has been reported to me, about Abū Saʿīd al-Khudrī that
he inclined towards the red velvet. The one who was behind the funeral
harms them (the death) by saying: “Ask forgiveness [for him. May God
forgive you.”
] And he reported to me on the authority of Ḥafṣ ibn Maysara on the
authority of Yaḥyā ibn Zayd—on the authority of Abū Saʿīd ⟦ʿUmar alṢaḥābī⟧ and Usāma ibn Zayd on the authority of ʿAbd al-Raḥmān [
ibn Ḥarmala al-Aslamī on the authority of Saʿīd ibn al-Musayyab that he
said: “Look at your poet who [
says: “Ask forgiveness for him, God forgives you.” This is not allowed.” In
addition to this, Khārija ibn Zayd [
ibn Thābit said that he said: “If it is heard that the man behind the funeral
says: “Ask forgiveness for him, God forgives you [
] being said [ ] he says [ ] and that is with God alone [ ] …. [ ] O. He said:
“The one who [ ] said [
] pray [ ] O. And [he] says [
Side b
1
2
3
4
5
And ʿAmr ibn al-Ḥārith on the authority of Bukayr ibn al-Ashajj on the
authority of Bisr ibn Saʿīd, that the Prophet said: “The eyes are shedding
tears
and the heart is grieved. Do not scream.” He (also) said I wept and the
Prophet wept for his sons, and he (the Prophet) said: “Weeping is
from mercy and screaming is from the devil.” O And he reported to me on
the authority of Ibn Jurayj that the messenger
of God said: “The eyes are shedding tears and the heart is grieved and we
will not say what enraged God.”
(vac.) And Peace is upon those who are in the graves.
Commentary
Side a
1. Rāfiʿ ibn Khadīj (al-Dhahabī, Muqtanā 1:214 no. 1944) died when he was
86 years old in 73/692 or 74/693 (al-Bustī, Thiqāt 3:121 no. 407). He lived and
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died in Madīna (al-Dhahabī, Muqtanā 1:467 no. 1778). At the battle of Badr
this companion from the Khazraj was deemed too young to fight (Juynboll,
Encyclopedia 10). Abū Hurayra (d. 59/687) is the well-known companion and
ḥadīth transmitter (Ibn Saʿd, Ṭabaqāt 4:325; Ibn ʿAbd al-Barr, Istīʿāb 4:202; Juynboll, Encyclopedia 45–47). He appears very frequently in isnāds of ḥadīths. This
ḥadīth is not known to have been transmitted on the authority of Abū Hurayra
nor on that of Rāfiʿ, although both stipulated conditions in their will about how
their body should be dealt with after their death. Abū Hurayra forbade the use
of a majmara (censer) (Ibn Abī Shayba, Muṣannaf 2:472 no. 11170).
Awṣā ( ٔاوﺻﺎl. )ٔاوﴅis written with alif mamdūda (Hopkins, Studies §12c).
The verb awṣā was used in some aḥādīth in relation to red velvet and rajaz (see
commentary to b4) (Ibn Saʿd, Ṭabaqāt 5:142; 8:74).
Ḥadhirū fī allā yuẓhirū ʿalayhi al-ṭīb. Verbs signifying ‘to forbid,’ ‘fear,’ and
the like, are followed by an with the subjunctive. The negative lā is sometimes
inserted after an without affecting the meaning. Cf. annī akhāfu allā yatrakanī,
“I am afraid he will not leave me,” or “I am afraid he will leave me” (Wright, A
grammar 2 §15 a). Al-ṭīb refers to well-scenting fragrances. The use of essences
in the treatment of the deceased body is described in several ḥadīths. In a ḥadīth
narrated by Umm ʿAṭiyya, one of the anṣār, she said that Muḥammad instructed
her when she was giving a bath to his deceased daughter saying: “Wash her
three, five or more times with water and sidr, lotus, and sprinkle camphor on
her at the end. When you finish, notify me.” (al-Bukhārī, Ṣaḥīḥ no. 1183). Ibn
Masʿūd in another ḥadīth reported that the body of the deceased should be
dried after washing with a clean cloth and some camphor should be applied to
the sujūd parts (those parts of the body that touch the ground during prayer)
(al-Bukhārī, Ṣaḥīḥ no. 6495).
Wa-lā yajʿalūhu fi qaṭīfa ḥamrāʾ. When Rāfiʿ ibn Khadīj died, his bed was
covered in red velvet to the astonishment of the people (Ibn Ḥanbal, Musnad
no. 16637). See also the commentary to line 2. After the Prophet’s death, his
mawlā6 Shuqrān threw a red velvet burda (cloak) on the dead body because
Muḥammad had disliked wearing another one (Muslim, Ṣaḥīḥ no. 967, and alRāzī, Jarḥ 6:164). It is also said that Shuqrān placed the red villous cloth (qaṭīfa)
in the Prophet’s grave to prevent others from using it (Juynboll, Encyclopedia
523).
Based on the prophet’s burial and expressed preferences, the shroud normally used by Muslims consists of white cloths. Samura ibn Jundab (d. ca. 52–
6 It is said that ʿAbd al-Raḥmān ibn ʿAwf (d. 32/652) either donated or sold Shuqrān, the
Ethiopian, to the Prophet who set him free after the battle of Badr (al-ʿAsqalānī, Qawl 5:80).
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53/672–673) reported that Muḥammad said: “Wear white. It is purer and more
wholesome, and shroud your dead in it” (al-Bayhaqī, Madkha, 3:402). ʿĀʾisha
(d. 58/678) reportedly said: “God’s messenger was shrouded in three garments
of white Yemeni fabric, amongst which was neither a shirt nor a turban” (Abū
Dāwūd, Sunan, Kitāb al-Janāʾiz 20:3145). Children are shrouded in one to three
pieces of cloth. Young females are shrouded in a shirt and two wraps. Males are
covered by three pieces of cloth, and adult females in five.
2. Abū Saʿīd al-Khudrī (d. 74/693) held the full name, Saʿd ibn Mālik ibn Sinān.
He was one of the prophet’s companions and transmitted many prophetic
ḥadīths. (Ibn Saʿd, Ṭabaqāt 5:142). In spite of the statement in this text, it
is said that Abū Saʿīd al-Khudrī demanded that at his funeral no rājaz (see
commentary on b4), or censer should be present, and that his body should not
be carried on red velvet (Ibn Saʿd, Ṭabaqāt 5:142).
A]ḍarra bihim alladhī yaqūlu khalfa al-janāza ʾistaghfarū lahu ghafara allāh
lakum. For the restoration of this sentence, see the commentary to lines b4–5.
The negative sense of ٔاﴐﲠﻢis contradicted by ḥadīths showing that the
Prophet approved of the custom to ask for forgiveness of the deceased while
following his funeral procession ( janāza) (Muslim, Ṣaḥīḥ no. 2094).
3. The scribe began to write Abī as part of the name of Abū Saʿīd but then
continued to write the name ʿUmar al-Ṣaḥābī. He then crossed out the name
ʿUmar al-Ṣaḥābī and returned to write the full name of Abū Saʿīd without
deleting Abī that he had already written and adding Saʿīd above the line.
Between the name of Yaḥyā ibn Zayd and Abū Saʿīd there are traces of some
illegible letters.
ʿAbd Allāh ibn ʿUmar al-Ṣaḥābī is ʿAbd Allāh ibn ʿUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb ibn
Nufal, also known as Abū ʿAbd al-Raḥmān (d. 73/692), belonging to the tribe
of al-ʿAdawī al-Qurayshī (cf. Juynboll, Encyclopedia 10–11). He lived in Madīna
and died in Marw. ʿAbd Allāh was renowned for his close observation of the
Prophet’s actions as observed by ʿĀʾisha: “There was no one who followed
the prophet’s footsteps as did Ibn ʿUmar.” He would only relate a ḥadīth if
he was completely sure that he remembered every word of it. One of his
contemporaries said: “Among the companions of the Prophet, no one was more
cautious about adding to or subtracting from the ḥadīth of the prophet than
ʿAbd Allāh ibn ʿUmar (see Ibn Ḥajar, Iṣāba no. 4825).” Yaḥyā ibn Zayd (d. 63/682)
is Yaḥyā ibn Zayd ibn Thābit ibn al-Ḍahāk (Ibn Saʿd, Ṭabaqāt 5:264). He was
killed at the battle of Ḥarra in 63/683 (Ibn Saʿd, Ṭabaqāt 5:236). His brother is
Khārija ibn Zayd ibn Thābit, for whom see the commentary to b5. Abū Saʿīd
is Abū Saʿīd al-Khudrī for whom see above in the commentary to a2. Ḥafṣ
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ibn Maysara al-Kanʿanī al-ʿAsqalānī (d. 181/797) (al-Dhahabī, Muqtanā 1:422,
no 4522; Juynboll, Encyclopedia 403). According to some scholars he came from
the town of Ṣanʿā’ in Syria while others identified it with the town with the same
name located in Yemen (al-Bukhārī, Tārīkh al-Ṣaghīr 2:369; al-Mizzī, Tahdhīb
al-kamāl 7:73, no. 1417). He was considered a reliable source for ḥadīths. Usāma
ibn Zayd (d. ca. 54/674) was the son of Zayd ibn Hārith, a manumitted slave
and the Prophet’s adopted son who became one of his companions (Ibn ʿAbd
al-Barr, Istīʿāb 1:77; 3:1137–1140, and Fuʿad 2003, 8, 161). Some weeks before his
death, Muḥammad appointed Usāma, still quite young and unexperienced at
the time, at the head of a large expedition against Syria, which caused some
of the leading muslims to complain. Usāma died in al-Jurf and was buried in
Madīna (Vacca, ei s.v.).
4. ʿAbd al-Raḥmān ibn Ḥarmala (d. 145/762) was a well-educated member of
the Banū Mālik ibn ʿAqṣa, belonging to Madīna’s élite (al-Bustī, Mashahīr 1:137
no. 1081). He reported on the authority of Saʿīd ibn al-Musayyab (d. 94/712)
as we have here and others (al-Maqdisī, Aḥādīth 4:233; al-Khurāsānī, Sunan
1:309 no. 1107). Saʿīd ibn al-Musayyab is Saʿīd ibn al-Musayyab ibn Ḥazan ibn
Abī Wahhāb ibn ʿAmr also known as Abū Muḥammad, belonging to the tribe
of al-Quraysh. He lived and died in Madīna (Ibn Abī Shayba, Muṣannaf 7:19,
24; al-Qurṭubī, Jāmiʿ 8:239; Ibn ʿAbd al-Barr, Istīʿāb 1:77; 3:1137–1140; al-Ṭabarī,
Bayān 10:68).
The rājiz recites poems in the rajaz meter. According to different authorities,
performing rajaz at funerals is forbidden in Islam. Abū Muṭīʿ narrated that ʿAbd
al-Raḥmān ibn Ḥarmala was at a funeral when he heard a man saying: “Ask
God’s forgiveness for her, and Saʿīd ibn al-Musayyib said: What is their poet
saying? I commanded my wife not to call their poet (at my funeral)” (Ibn Abī
Shayba, Muṣannaf 11:198; Ibn Saʿd, Ṭabaqāt 5:141).
5. Istaghfarū lahu ghafara allāh lakum wa-lā yanbaghī. Correct would have been
istaghfarū lahu ghafara allāh lahu as is mentioned in certain aḥādīth, such as:
The Prophet came to them (his companions) and said: “Ask forgiveness for
Māʿiz ibn Mālik.” They said: “May God forgive Māʿiz ibn Mālik” (al-Nasāʾī, Sunan
4:276). Cf. Ibn Abī Shayba, Muṣannaf 2:474 nos. 11193; 11194 and 11199; al-Bustī,
Thiqāt 1:405 no. 6975. In general the ṣaḥāba are said to have disliked the raising
of loud voices at funerals (al-Bayḥaqī, Madkhal 4:74 nos. 6974–6975).
وﻻ ﯾﺒﺘﻐﻰor وﻻ ﯾﻨﺒﻐﻰAlthough the word is dotted the reading is doubtful.
5–6. Khārija ibn Zayd ibn Thābit (d. 99/717 or 100/718) was a great traditionist
who transmitted few aḥādīth (Ibn al-Qayṣarānī, Tadhkirat 1:91 no. 82; al-ʿIjlī,
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Maʿrifat 1:330 no. 385). He was also a great faqīh who was being consulted on
matters of Islamic law (al-Dhahabī, Siyar 4:439–440). Khārija claimed that at
the order of the Prophet he learned Hebrew so that he could “write and read
the letters of the Jews,” in half a month (al-Dhahabī, Siyar 17:467). He was one
of the anṣār.
6. Idhā sumiʿa man yaqūlu fī al-janāza istaghfarū lahu ghafara allāh lakum. We
expect a sentence to follow such as ﻓﺎﳖﻮﻩ, then prevent him, or ﻓﺎﻣﻨﻌﻮﻩ, then stop
him.
Side b
1. ʿAmr ibn al-Ḥārith, written with defective long a (see Hopkins, Studies §10 a),
(d. 148/765 or 149/766) belonged to the tribe of al-Anṣarī (al-Bustī, Mashāhīr
1:187 no. 1498; al-Iṣfahānī, Ḥilyat 2:540 no. 846). He lived in Egypt and he
was known as faqīh al-dayār al-Miṣriyya. The well-known Egyptian scholar
ʿAbd Allāh ibn Wahb (d. 197/812) was his most famous transmitter (Juynboll,
Encyclopedia 11 n. 3). He was considered to be a reliable muḥaddith, famous
for his knowledge of religious philology, as an eloquent narrator of poems
and an orator (al-Ḥākim al-Nīsābūrī, Mustadrak 1:2093). Bukayr ibn al-Ashajj
(d. 115/733?) was also known as Abū ʿAbd Allāh, as well as Abū Yūsuf al-Qurayshī
al-Madanī al-Miṣrī, because he spent some time in Egypt. He lived in Madīna.
Bisr ibn Saʿīd (d. 100/718) was born in Madīna. He was considered a reliable
ḥadīth transmitter and was also considered to be a ṣūfī (al-Iṣfahānī, Rijāl 1:96;
al-Dhahabī, Siyar 5:113).
2–3. Wa bakā al-nabī ʿalā banīhi wa-qāla al-bukā’ min al-raḥma wa-l-ṣurākh min
al-shayṭān. Bakā is written with an alif mamdūda instead of an alif maqsūra.
It seems that the writer began to write ( أﻻﺑﻨﺎءthe sons) but he changed his
mind and wrote ( ﺑﻨﯿﻪhis sons) without effacing the article. The Prophet begot
four daughters and three sons, the latter of whom all died as young children.
Muḥammad is said to have cried at the death of his children and grandchildren
allowing tears and sadness to show but forbidding such pre-Islamic customs
as tearing ones’ clothes, slapping face and wailing loudly at someone’s death.7
(al-Bayhaqī, Madkhal 4:6941, 6943; Ibn Ḥanbal, Musnad no. 25267; al-Nawawī,
Saḥīḥ Muslim 2:110, and 6:224–225). This ḥadīth is not known to have been
7 For an example of pre-Islamic funerary customs, note the lines of the poet Tarafa ibn al-ʿAbd
(d. c.e. 569): “When I die, mention my qualities as befits me, and rend your garments for me,
o daughter of Maʿbad. Do not make me like a man whose aspirations are not my aspirations,
who could not do what I could do, or play the role I play (al-Nawawī, Riyād 86).
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transmitted on the authority of Bisr ibn Saʿīd but on that of Anas ibn Mālik
(d. 93/712) (al-Bukhārī, Ṣaḥīḥ no. 1220).
3. Ibn Jurayj (d. 150/767), in full, ʿAbd al-Malik ibn ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz ibn Jurayj
(al-Dhahabī, Siyar 6:325, no. 138; Juynboll, Encyclopedia 212–225) is said to have
been a mawlā of Umayya ibn Khālid and to have been of Byzantine descent
(al-Dhahabī, Siyar 6:325–336).
4. Tadmaʿu al-ʿayn wa yaḥzanu al-qalb wa-lā naqūlu mā yaskhiṭu al-rabb. This is
a part of the same ḥadīth discussed above (see note b2–3). It is set at the dying
of Ibrāhīm, the Prophet’s son. Muḥammad entered upon his son Ibrāhīm as he
was surrendering his soul (i.e., dying). Tears began to well up in the Prophet’s
eyes. ʿAbd al-Raḥmān ibn ʿAwf said to him: “Even you, o messenger of God?” He
said: “O, Ibn ʿAwf, this is compassion.” Then he wept some more and said: “The
eyes shed tears, and the heart feels grief, but we will not say what enraged the
Lord. And truly we are deeply grieved by your departure, o Ibrāhīm” (Muslim,
Ṣaḥīḥ no. 1578).
5. Salām is written with defective long a (see Hopkins, Studies §9 c). When
visiting the tombs Muslims should say “peace be upon you, o people who
inhabit the graves (three times), you are the predecessors and we are the
successors” (al-Ṭabatānī, Muʿjam 8:129 no. 8178).
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1415/1994.
Ibn Sīnā (d. 1037), al-Qānūn fī al-ṭibb, Cairo 1877.
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1893.
al-Maqrīzī (d. 845/1442), al-Mawāʾiz wa-l-iʿtibār fī dhikr al-khiṭaṭ wa-l-āthār, Cairo 1987.
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s.d.
al-Mundhirī (d. 656/1258), al-Targhīb wa-l-tarhīb min al-ḥadīth al-sharīf, ed. I. Shams
al-Dīn, Beirut 1417/1996.
al-Mizzī (d. 742/1341), Tahdhīb al-kamāl, 35 vols., ed. B.ʿA. al-Maʿrūf, Beirut 1985–1992.
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. Riyāḍ al-ṣāliḥīn, ed. ʿA.ʿA. Rabāḥ and A.Y. al-Daqqāq, Riyadh 1413/1993.
al-Nasāʾī (d. 303/915), Kitāb al-Sunan al-kubrā, 6 vols., ed. ʿA.Gh.S. al-Bundārī et al.,
Beirut 1411/1991.
al-Nuwayrī (d. 733/1333), Nihāyat al-ʿarab fī funūn al-adab, Cairo 1923.
al-Qalqashandī (d. 821/1418), Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā fī ṣināʿat al-inshā, Cairo 1903.
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. al-Jāmiʿ li-aḥkām al-Qurʾān, 20 vols., Cairo 1372/1952.
al-Rāzī (d. 327/938), al-Jarḥ wa-l-taʿdīl, 9 vols., Beirut 1271/1952.
al-Ruwayānī (d. 307/919), Musnad al-Ruwayānī, 2 vols., Cairo 1416/1995.
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fig. 14.1
P. Haun. Inv. Arab. 21 recto. Courtesy of the Papyrus Carlsberg
Collection. The P.Haun. collection is now housed together with the P.
Carlsberg collection in Copenhagen, but the manuscripts retain their
original inventory numbers.
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fig. 14.2
hanafi
P. Haun. Inv. Arab. 21 verso. Courtesy of the Papyrus Carlsberg Collection.
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two new arabic editions
fig. 14.3
P. Haun. Inv. Arab. 22 recto. Courtesy of the Papyrus Carlsberg Collection.
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fig. 14.4
hanafi
P. Haun. Inv. Arab. 22 verso. Courtesy of the Papyrus Carlsberg Collection.
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fig. 14.5
289
P. ACPSI (= P.Rag.) 126 recto.
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fig. 14.6
hanafi
P. ACPSI (= P.Rag.) 126 verso.
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chapter 15
Sunshine Wine on the Nile
Nicole Hansen
Introduction
In his 1982 work Weinstudien: Untersuchungen zu Anbau, Produktion und Konsum des Weins im arabisch-islamischen Mittelalter, Peter Heine devoted a chapter to wine production methods. While he collected valuable evidence, he
treated wine production across Arabic-speaking countries as undifferentiated,
giving short shrift to regional variations. He also relied solely on lexical texts
and poetry to reconstruct the methods of wine production.1
This approach is not surprising, for the study of the early Islamic period
in Egypt has been traditionally based on non-documentary textual evidence.
However, such texts alone only give us a small part of a bigger picture. Archaeology is the study of the traces left behind by human activity. While not necessarily as deliberate an act of leaving a record as writing a text, these traces are
important for our understanding of history. Equally important for supplementing our knowledge is art, a non-verbal alternative to textual documentation, but
similar to textual sources in that it is a product of the human hand and a human
desire to record information for future consultation. Finally, ethnographic evidence, or in the case of this article, the observations of early European travelers
to Egypt, is invaluable.
Five years after Heine’s work appeared, an early Arabic cookbook was published, which forms the focus of this article: the Kitāb al-Ṭabīkh of Abū Muḥammad al-Muẓaffar ibn Naṣr ibn Sayyār al-Warrāq. It was probably compiled in the
second half of the tenth century ce in Baghdad. Several manuscript copies are
known.2 Most of the recipes in this cookbook are not identified by the region
from which they come. But two recipes for wine are identified as Egyptian.
In an attempt to better understand these early Islamic period recipes, I will
draw upon evidence from earlier and later time periods, and also expand the
type of evidence considered. The ancient Egyptians depicted the preparation
of food and beverages frequently in their tombs and temples, and archaeologi-
1 Heine, Weinstudien 31.
2 al-Warrāq, Kitāb al-Ṭabīkh.
© Nicole Hansen, 2015 | doi:10.1163/9789004284340_016
This is an open access chapter distributed under the terms of the prevailing cc-by-nc License
at the time of publication.
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cal remains help fill in some of the gaps in our knowledge. Non-Arabic texts and
early European travelers’ accounts round out the sources. Examined together
with these other sources, these two recipes are of great importance in tracing
and reconstructing winemaking techniques used in Egypt from prehistory to
the present day.
The Role of Wine in Early Islamic Egypt
The manufacture of wine faced a challenge at the beginning of the eleventh
century ce in Egypt. Al-Ḥākim (Fatimid caliph r. 374–411/985–1021), a ruler
known for a number of bizarre and strict rules he imposed on the people,
prohibited the import and sale of raisins to Egypt in order to stamp out wine
production. Raisins were burned, thrown in the Nile, or thrown in the streets
and trodden upon. The vineyards of Giza were cut down and he gave orders for
the same to be carried out elsewhere. Five thousand jars of honey were dumped
in the Nile.3 What were the drinks made from these raisins, grapes and honey
that inspired these acts?
These beverages were actually among the most popular of the time. ʿAlī ibn
Raḍwān, who lived during the eleventh century ce, described Egypt’s vintages
thus: “The favoured drink among the people is al-Shamsī (sunny) because the
honey in it preserves its strength and does not allow it to change quickly. The
beverage is made when the weather is hot, so that the heat brings the drink
to maturity. The raisins used in it are imported from a country with better air.
Concerning Egyptian wine, it is rare that honey is not added when it is pressed.
Because wine is pressed from native grapes, it resembles their temperament,
and therefore the people prefer al-Shamsī to it.”4
During the early Islamic period and later, wine production was mainly in the
hands of Christians and Jews.5 Monasteries were large-scale producers of wine
during the sixth through eighth centuries ce; in particular, Bawit and Wadi
Sarga were important centres for winemaking, and at least at the latter, wine
was the biggest source of revenue.6 During the twelfth century, the Arabic texts
indicate wine was still made widely in monasteries.7
3
4
5
6
Heine, Weinstudien 50; Lutz, Viticulture 5–6.
Ridwan, Medieval 91 (English), 7 (Arabic).
Heine, Weinstudien 31.
Bacot, La circulation 272–273, 284. For wine production in Bawit, see also P.Brux.Bawit, 93–94.
For other places in Egypt, see for example Bacot, Le vin(Edfou), Konstantinidou, Aspects
(Wadi Natrun) and more generally Dixneuf, Amphores.
7 Monneret de Villard, Il monastero 89.
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sunshine wine on the nile
Monneret de Villard argued that wine production remained common in
Egypt from the coming of Islam to at least the twelfth century. He found
many Coptic documents mentioning wine in the Vienna papyrus collection,
and a number of Arabic ones as well, dating from 724–887ce, mostly from
the Fayyūm.8 The association of the Fayyūm with wine was long lasting. In
the seventeenth century ce, a European visitor to the Fayyūm described the
making of wine there.9 It remained the sole province producing wine when
the French invaded Egypt, and they quickly recognised that the methods used
were the same as those depicted on ancient tomb walls.10
Honey Wine
The first recipe for Egyptian wine in the cookbook is for a so-called “honey
wine” or a mead. I will give the Arabic version,11 with my own translation,
interspersed with relevant commentary:
ﲻﻞ اﻟﻨﺒﯿﺬ اﳌﴫي
ﯾﻮﺧﺬ ﺟﺰء ﻋﺴﻞ ﺑﺸﻤﻌﻪ ورﻏﻮﺗﻪ ﻓﯿﺠﻌﻞ ﰲ ﻗﺪر وﺗﺼﺐ ﻋﻠﯿﻪ ﲬﺴﺔ اﺟﺰا ﻣﺎ وﯾﻐﲆ ﺣﱴ ﯾﺬﻫﺐ ﻣﻨﻪ
اﻟﺮﺑﻊ
Making Egyptian Wine
Take one part honey with its wax and its froth and put it in a pot and pour
five parts water on it and boil it until it is reduced by a quarter.
Arabic texts tell us that grapes were pressed, and presumably picked, in July,
August and September.12 Several Greek texts indicate grapes were picked between the end of July and the middle of August.13 While we do not have such
detailed records from ancient times, wine was closely tied in ancient Egypt with
the star Sirius, which rose in mid-summer.14 Arabic sources indicate that honey
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
Ibid., 88.
Vansleb, Nouvelle 255–256.
Gerard, Details 129–130.
As published in al-Warrāq, Kitāb al-Ṭabīkh 303. Cf. Nasrallah, Annals 462.
Heine, Weinstudien 32; Pellat, Cinq 247.
Kruit, The meaning 273; Rathbone, Economic 250.
Meeks, Oléiculture 20.
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was collected mainly in June and the work finished in July, just as the grape harvest and pressing began.15
Thus it is not surprising to find a close connection between honey and
grape-based beverages. We see this close association in the paper by Alain
Delattre in this volume. The pre-Islamic predecessor of this so-called “Egyptian
wine” made from honey was something known in Greco-Roman times and
late antiquity by a variety of Greek names οἰνό-μελι, ὑδρόμελον or μελίκρατον.
This mixture of honey and water was used frequently in Greek medicine and
appears in even earlier Greek medical papyri. It also could be used in dyeing
and alchemy.16 This beverage may have an even more ancient history. It has
been suggested that two ancient scenes, one from a temple and the other from
a tomb, represent the making of such a fermented honey drink.17
The next line of our text reads:
ﰒ ﯾﱰك ﺣﱴ ﯾﱪد وﳚﻌﻞ ﰲ دن او ﻛﲒان و ﳚﻌﻞ ﻋﲆ راﺳﻪ ورق اﻟﻜﺮم و ﯾﺜﻘﺐ ﰲ راﺳﻪ ﺛﻘﺐ
ﻟﯿﺨﺮج اﻟﻐﻠﯿﺎ ﻣﻨﻪ
Then leave it until it cools and put it in an earthenware wine jug or large
vessel with handles and put grape leaves on top of it and pierce its neck
with a hole to allow the fermentation gases to escape from it.
This description is very close to a find dating probably to the seventh century
ce from the Monastery of Epiphanius in Luxor of amphorae with wads of vine
leaves stuffed into the necks and then covered over with a 10cm high stopper
of mud and chopped straw.18 Rush bungs were used as stoppers in the wine
jars found in King Tutankhamun’s (pharaoh r. ca. 1332–1323 bce) tomb and at
the palace of Malqata belonging to Amenhotep iii (pharaoh r. ca. 1386–1349
bce). Other ancient stoppers found include those made from a circular reed
mat, a bung of chopped chaff mixed with adhesive, a bung of chaff with mud,
reed wadded up in a ball, or even a pottery stopper (either a disc or a shard of
pottery).19
15
16
17
18
19
Pellat, Cinq 231. However, in modern times honey is not collected during the summer
(Kuény, Scènes 90).
P. Alex inv. 291 (Andorlini, Greek 166); Chouliara-Raïos, L’Abeille 150–151.
Kuény, Scènes 92.
Winlock and Crum, The monastery 79.
Hope, Jar sealings 14; Lesko, King 20.
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The effect of summer heat under which this fermentation took place is
represented in ancient tomb scenes showing wine jars overflowing.20 In one
relief, the overflowing jars were being fanned by a man, perhaps in a futile
attempt to keep them cool.21
Piercing a hole in the neck relieved the pressure of the turbulent fermentation going on inside. Holes for the fermentation to escape in the jars from
the Monastery of Epiphanius were either made in the mud stopper or drilled
directly into the neck of the jar with a metal awl or something similar after baking.22 Similar artefacts were found at a monastery in Meinarti in Nubia. There,
holes had been drilled in the necks of the pitched jars, which were then sealed
with mud. This work took place in a chamber adjacent to the monastery’s refectory.23 During his excavations on the shores of Lake Maryut, Empereur found
amphorae with holes in their necks.24 In fact, one ancient tomb scene depicts
the collection of taxes and among the remittances are jars labelled as honey.
The mud covers on these jars are depicted with what may be holes identical
to those depicted in paintings of wine jars, although these could simply be
seals.25
These methods date back at least to the earliest period of Egyptian history.
Wine jars found at the Early Dynastic sites of Saqqara and Abydos had such
holes.26 New Kingdom tomb scenes depict wine jars with square-topped seals
with such holes clearly illustrated.27
Lerstrup and Mayerson have argued that such holes may not have been used
to allow the secondary fermentation to escape, for they do not occur in all wine
jars, and the latter has suggested they were instead used to draw the wine out
of the jars.28 These arguments are not convincing, for at least two reasons. First,
these holes are not always very easy to see and therefore may have been more
common than previously noted.29 Secondly, many of the surviving wine jars
did not have their original stoppers, as it seems that some wine was rebottled
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
Davies, The tombs pl. xxx.
Davies and Gardiner, The tomb pl. xxvi.
Winlock and Crum, The monastery 79.
Adams, The vintage 283.
Empereur, La production 42.
Meeks, Oléiculture 23 n. 135.
James, The earliest 198.
Davies, The tombs pl. xxx; Säve-Söderbergh, Four pl. xv.
Lerstrup, The making 73; Mayerson, Jar stoppers 219–220.
James, The earliest 198.
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after it reached its final destination, thus there would be no secondary fermentation lock.30
One is next instructed thus:
ﻓﺎذا ﻫﺪا ﻏﻠﯿﺎﻧﻪ ﻃ ّﲔ وﺗﺮك ﰲ اﻟﺸﻤﺲ ارﺑﻌﲔ ﯾﻮﻣﺎ
When its fermentation subsides, coat it with clay and leave it in the sun
for forty days.
This describes a process that is well attested during Greco-Roman times in
Egypt. In those days, wine was left to age in sunning areas known as ἡλιαστήριον. The first mention we have of a ἡλιαστήριον was not actually from a Greek
papyrus, but from a demotic one that dates to between 107–30bce.31 We know
from texts that the ἡλιαστήριον was well-guarded and had locks and keys.32 Two
papyri from Oxyrhynchos described what happened in the ἡλιαστήριον. One,
dating to 257ce said, “And when these [jars] have been filled with wine, we
shall place them in the sunning area, seal them, move them, and guard them
for as long as they stay there …”33 However, the presence of a guard may have
not been simply for the purpose of protecting against theft, but also to ensure
that the wine was fermenting properly. A papyrus from Oxyrynchus detailing
an inspection of wine amphorae before they were sealed deemed a number of
them undrinkable because they had turned to vinegar.34 An intriguing tomb
scene from the New Kingdom seems to indicate that the history of the ἡλιαστήριον goes back to ancient Egyptian times. This depicts a guarded walled
enclosure filled with wine jars (the guard however seems to have tasted a little
too much wine and has fallen asleep on the job). The walls of the enclosure
are shown with undulating tops. Säve-Söderberg suggested that these walls
might represent the walls of an enclosure, rather than a wine cellar. However,
30
31
32
33
34
McGovern, Wine 91–95. Additional evidence that wine was rebottled after reaching its
destination is a limestone stamp found in Tuthmosis iv’s (pharaoh r. 14th c. bce) temple
at Thebes used to stamp wine as coming from an area in the Delta (Petrie, Six 3). Moreover,
among the pierced jar sealings found at Amenhotep iii’s temple at Malqata, two were for
jars containing fat, suggesting that jars originally used to ship wine to Thebes were reused
to hold other substances (Hope, Jar sealings 7).
P. Dem. Gieben 2 (Vandorpe and Clarysse, A Greek 131). The word was written in demotic
as h'ly'stryn.
Vandorpe and Clarysse, A Greek 129.
Mayerson, ἀμπελουργον 188. See also Rathbone, Economic 253.
P. Oxy. 1673 (Brun, Le vin 71).
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he thought this was simply a temporary storage location, rather than an integral part of the winemaking process.35 However, I would argue that it might
actually represent a ἡλιαστήριον.36 Another tomb scene depicts a garden surrounded by an undulating wall.37 Such undulating brick walls have been found
by archaeologists and were used as enclosure walls of cult temple complexes.38
Therefore, it seems such walls were used for open areas such as the ἡλιαστήριον,
not for roofed enclosures.
The Geniza documents contain a recipe for “good wine” that involved mixing honey with spices, plastering the jar over, and leaving it in the sun for 7
days. Shamsī is specifically mentioned elsewhere in the Geniza documents.39
Vansleb, a seventeenth-century visitor to Egypt observed that wine was left
open in the sun in those days.40
Finally we read:
ﰒ ّﳓﻲ ﻣﻦ اﻟﺸﻤﺲ وﺟﻌﻞ ﻋﲆ روﺳﻬﺎ ﺟﻠﻮد و ﺗﱰك ارﺑﻌﺔ اﺷﻬﺮ ﰲ اﻟﻈﻞ وﺗﺴـﺘﻌﻤﻞ ﺑﻌﺪ ذ ان ﺷﺎ
اﻟﻠﻪ
Then remove it from the sun and put skins on its necks and leave it for
four months in the shade and then use it after that, God willing.
The Greek texts indicate there were two stages of fermentation of wine: one
of two weeks, another of several months.41 From one Greek papyrus, it can
be deduced that the period of fermentation of grape wine was similar in the
Greco-Roman period. In this text, the author wrote that he had not sealed some
wine jars because the merchants wished to wait until December 31 to ascertain
whether the wine had a good odour before purchasing it.42 In Greco-Roman
times, wine was drawn from the vats between December and March.43
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
Säve-Söderbergh, Four 18.
Säve-Söderbergh, Four pl. xv.
Wilkinson, The manners 143.
Spencer, Brick 114–116.
ena 2808, f. 22 (Goitein, A Mediterranean society).
Vansleb, Nouvelle 255–256.
Kruit, The meaning 273.
P. Oxy. 1673 (Brun, Le vin 71).
Kruit, The meaning 273.
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Raisin Wine
The second recipe is for a raisin wine:
:ﺻﻔﺔ ﲻﻞ اﻟﺰﺑﯿﺐ ﴰﴘ ﻋﲆ رٔاي اﻫﻞ ﻣﴫ
ﯾﻮﺧﺪ ﻟﲁ ﻋﴩة ارﻃﺎل ﳌﴫي ﺳـﺒﻌﺔ وﻋﴩﯾﻦ رﻃﻼ ﻣﺎ ﺣﻠﻮا ﯾﻮﺧﺪ ﻣﻦ اﳌﺎ اﳌﺬﻛﻮر ﺳـﺒﻌﺔ ارﻃﺎل
وﯾﻨﻘﻊ اﻟﺰﺑﯿﺐ ﰲ اﻟﻌﴩﯾﻦ رﻃﻞ اﳌﺎ ﰲ ﻣﻄﺮ ﻣﺰﻓﺖ او ﻏﲑﻩ ﯾﻘﻌﺪ ﻣﻨﻘﻮع ﺳـﺘﺔ ﺳـﺒﻊ ام وﳝﺮس ﰲ ﰻ
ﯾﻮم ﻣﻦ ﺛﲏ ﺛﻼﺛﺔ ﻣﺮس ﺟﯿﺪ ﻗﻮي
Recipe for making ‘Sunshine’ Raisin (Drink) According to the Custom of
the People of Egypt
For every 10 Egyptian raṭls [of raisins] take 27 raṭls of sweet water. Take
from this water 7 raṭls and soak the raisins in 20 raṭls of water in a pitched
or unpitched Byzantine amphora and let it sit soaking for 6 or 7 days,
squeezing it strongly two or three times every day.
The Eucharistic wine of the Coptic Church is normally made from raisins.
The raisins are cleaned with water and then placed in an earthenware pot
filled with water to a depth of six centimetres above the raisins. They are
soaked for three to five days, after which they are removed and squeezed.44
Wine made from raisins was also esteemed in Napoleon’s time as a source of
vinegar. In those days, the raisins used were often imported from Cyprus or
Greece.45
The amphorae at the monastery of Epiphanius also were smeared with a
resinous pitch for the clay of the jar would have otherwise been too porous to
keep the wine from evaporating.46
Two hundred years ago, the wine was first put in cylindrical earthenware jars
and allowed to ferment for eight to fifteen days.47 In Vansleb’s day, this initial
fermentation period lasted seven days, like in our text.48
44
45
46
47
48
Khs-Burmester, The Egyptian 113.
Girard, Details 235.
Winlock and Crum, The monastery 79.
Gerard, Details 130.
Vansleb, Nouvelle 255–256.
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sunshine wine on the nile
ﰒ ﯾﻔﺮﻏﻪ ﰲ ﳎﻮر ﻛﺒﲑ وﯾﺪوﺳﻪ ﺑﺮﺟﻠﯿﻪ
Then you pour it into a large trough and crush it with the feet.
Ancient Egyptians treaded grapes with the feet to release their juices. This is
frequently depicted in ancient tomb scenes.49 It is also mentioned in Greek
language texts from Egypt.50 The French savants noted that the grapes were first
crushed for about an hour in an earthenware jar.51 A number of large crushing
installations have been unearthed, the earliest dating to the New Kingdom at
the site of Tell el-Daba, but also a fair number from the Byzantine Period. In fact,
one such installation was found at the site of Marea and another very similar
one was excavated at Abu Mina both possibly dating to the fifth or sixth century
ce.52
ﰒ ﯾﻌﴫﻩ وﯾﻐﺴﻞ اﻟﺘﻔﻞ ﻟﺴـﺒﻌﺔ ارﻃﺎل اﳌﺎ اﳌﻌﺰول اﳌﺘﺎﺧﺮة ﻣﻦ ﺗﱲ اﻟﻮزن ﻏﺴـﯿﻞ ﻣﻠﯿﺢ اﱃ ان ﻻ
ﯾﺒﻘﻰ ﰲ اﻟﺘﻔﻞ ﺷـٔﯿﺎ
and then you press it and wash the sediment with the seven raṭls of water
left over until no sediment is left.
Napoleon’s scholars witnessed the grapes being put in a wool sack and twisted
to squeeze out their juice.53 Grapes were pressed in a similar manner in ancient
Egypt, but in a linen sack.54
وﯾﺼﻔﯿﻪ وﯾﻀﺎف اﻟﲓ ﯾﻔﻠﺶ ّﴰﺮ ﻏﺮﯾﺾ وﺑﻼب ﻓﻠﻮش ﻣﺮﺗﲔ اﺧﴬ وﺑﳥﻦ دراﱒ ورق ﻧرﺪ واوﻗﯿﺔ زر
ورد وﳛﻼ ﺑﺜﻼﺛﺔ ارﻃﺎل ﻓﻄﺎرﻩ ﻋﺎل
And strain it and add to it 1 fals of fresh fennel seeds, 3 fals fresh wormwood and rosebay (murratayn akhḍar), 8 dirhams of bay leaves and an
49
50
51
52
53
54
For an overview of treading grapes in ancient Egypt, see Murray, Boulton, and Heron,
Viticulture 586–588.
Rathbone, Economic 253–254.
Gerard, Details 130.
al-Fakharani, Recent 183–184.
Gerard, Details 130.
Montet, La fabrication 120–124.
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uqiyya of rose petals and sweeten it with 3 raṭls of excellent-quality fermented dough ( faṭṭara ‘āl).55
Wine made from raisins, known as “straw wine” in Europe, is extremely sweet
and needs no extra sweeteners.56 In fact, according to Heine, additives like
pepper, saffron, rosewater and musk were often used to compensate for the
overly sweet taste of some wines.57 However, in this case some sort of sweetener
was also added. The “good wine” in the Geniza texts that I mentioned earlier
was suggested by Goitein to simply be a syrupy additive to flavour grape wine.58
In our recipe, it seems that something similar was happening.
وﯾﻮﻋﻰ ﰲ اﳉﺮار وﳛﻂ ﰲ اﻟﺸﻤﺲ اﺳـﺒﻮﻋﲔ وان اﺿﺎف اﻟﯿﻪ دردى اﶆﲑة ﰷن اﺻﻠﺢ
and put it in a bottle and put it in the sun for two weeks and if you add
the dregs of yeast it will be better.
The bottle used here, the jarra, had a tall neck and two handles and was the
kind of vessel in which wine was normally sold.59 According to Napoleon’s
savants, the fermented wine was finally poured off into jars that had been used
to import oil into Egypt, buried up to their neck, and then sealed.60 The juice of
the Eucharistic wine is poured into vessels in which they are allowed to ferment
for at least forty days, after which it may be used for the Eucharist.61 Adding
yeast would have helped to speed up the fermentation process and may have
been necessary if the wine were made in winter from raisins dried during the
previous summer’s harvest.
Conclusion
While wine remained a drink of the elite throughout pharaonic times, its
production methods are well-attested in visual and archaeological sources. In
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
As Nasrallah (Annals, 262 n.13) points out there are a number of Egyptian dialectal forms
in this recipe such as reading ‘sh’ for ‘s.’
Heine, Weinstudien 34–35.
Ibid., 82.
Goitein, A Mediterranean society 260.
Heine, Weinstudien 85.
Gerard, Details 130.
Khs-Burmester, The Egyptian 82. According to Butler (The Ancient 281), this wine is not
fermented, but from his description of its manufacture, this seems unlikely.
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sunshine wine on the nile
301
Greco-Roman times, wine became a drink of the masses and its production is
mentioned frequently in both Greek and Demotic texts. Although the coming
of Islam gradually reduced the importance of wine as a beverage, it continued to be manufactured in the monasteries and in the Fayyūm until recent
centuries as attested by textual, archaeological and ethnographic sources. By
tracing this process through the full range of sources available, it is apparent
that winemaking in Egypt is an unbroken tradition of at least 5000 years. The
climate and agricultural seasons played a pivotal role in shaping and maintaining the particular process and nature of Egyptian wine that distinguishes it
from the wine in other parts of the Middle East, to the extent that Ibn al-Warrāq
specifically indicated that two recipes in his compilation were Egyptian ones.
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Index
Abbasid 5, 18, 65, 67, 67n34, 150, 167n42, 179,
270
ʿAbd al-Malik ibn ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz ibn Jurayj (Ibn
Jurayj d. 150/767) 276, 281
ʿAbd al-Raḥmān ibn Ḥarmala (d. 145/762)
276, 279
ʿAbd Allāh ibn Lahīʿa (d. 174/790) 6, 251, 252,
253
ʿAbd Allāh ibn Wahb (d. 197/812) 280
Abu Mina 200, 201, 299
Abū ʿAbd al-Raḥmān (d. 73/692) 278
Abū ʿAbd Allāh Muḥammad ibn Umayl
167
Abū al-Faraj Muḥammad ibn Isḥāq al-Nadīm
(d. 385/995 or 388/998) See Ibn
al-Nadīm
Abū Bakr Muḥammad ibn Zakariyya al-Rāzī
(d. 313/925 or 323/935) See al-Rāzī
Abū Hurayra (d. 59/687) 276
Abū Manṣūr Nizār al-ʿAzīz bi-llāh (Fatimid
caliph r. 365–386/975–996) See Nizār
al-ʿAzīz bi-llāh
Abū Saʿīd al-Khudrī (d. 74/693) 276
al-ʿAdawī al-Qurayshī (Arab tribe) 278
Administration
Arab 2, 5, 60, 61n24, 133–137, 133, 134, 135,
139, 140, 149n17
Arabic 43–49, 43, 44, 47, 133n*, 133n2, 150
of inheritances (Dīwān al-mawārīth) 3,
15n29, 16
Persian 5
records 2
ʿĀʾisha (d. 58/678) 278
Akhmīm (Panopolis) 133–141, 133, 137, 138,
140, 163, 164, 165n30, 166, 167, 167n42,
166–173, 183
al-Andalus 241n19
Alans 31, 35, 36, 36n51, 37, 38
Ālāt (accessories) 113
Alchemical
manuscripts 6, 158–161, 159, 163, 166n32,
175, 180, 184
papyri 160, 161n11, 174
texts 158n, 161, 169n45, 171, 172, 180, 183,
184
symbols (σημεία τῆς ἐπιστήμης) 184
Alchemy 6, 158–193, 159, 159n*, 160n9, 161,
161–173, 161, 162n11, 162n14, 163, 165, 165n30,
166–173, 166n34, 167, 167n42, 171n48, 173,
174–182, 174n55, 175n59, 177, 179, 180, 182, 183,
183n86, 184, 294
Alexandria 3, 28, 30, 30n16, 30n17, 31, 31n17,
32, 33, 34, 57, 70, 85, 86, 93, 96, 103, 108, 111,
118, 119, 119n82, 119n83, 120, 120n85, 120n87,
121, 121n91, 122, 122n101, 123, 123n104, 124,
125n17, 125n116, 158n, 198n14, 199, 199n18,
200, 200n21, 200n25
Persian conquest of 30, 31–32
Alexandrian majuscule 169
ʿAlī ibn Raḍwān (11th c.) 292
Amenhotep iii (pharaoh r. ca. 1386–1349 bce)
294, 296n30
ʿAmr ibn Kulthūm (d. 584), Dīwān 141
ʿAmr ibn al-Ḥārith (d. 148/765 or 149/766)
276, 280
Amtiʿa (personal belongings) 113
Amshīr (Coptic month) 269
Amulets 235–246235
Anāhīt (goddess) 37, 38n60
Anas ibn Malik (d. 93/712) 281
Anṣar 277, 280
al-Anṣarī (Arab tribe) 280
Antinoe 83, 86, 97, 203
Apions 5, 28, 28n8, 28n9
ʿAqaba (boat) 103, 108, 111, 112, 252
Arabisation of Egypt 149, 184
Arabs, tribes 88–91, 134, 135, 139, 141, 145, 208,
273, 278, 279, 280
Aristotle 174
Asad al-Allāh ibn Zayd (judge) 269
Ashmūn, Ashmūnayn (Hermopolis) 80nn16,
86, 87, 134, 135, 216
Ashrafī 116, 123n109
al-ʿAsqalānī (d. 181/797), Ḥafṣ ibn Maysara
al-Kanʿanī 279
Assiut 86, 174n55
al-Asyūṭī (d. 849/1445) 109, 109n24, 109n25,
109n26, 110, 110n30, 111, 111n37, 112, 112n39,
112n40, 113, 113n45, 114, 114n57, 115, 117,
117n70
al-ʿAṭf 120, 121
Ayyubid 11–26, 11, 12, 14, 15, 17
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306
Bābah (Coptic month) 269
Baghdad 291
al-Bahāʾī, Muḥammad ibn ʿAbd al-Raḥmān
108
al-Bahnasā (Oxyrhynchos) 27, 28, 28n8, 87,
203, 215, 216n131, 270, 296
Bailiff (Ar. wakīl), agent 270
Banaji, Jairus 5, 52n6
Banū Malik ibn ʿAqṣa (Arab tribe) 279
Baramhat (Coptic month), 269
Baramūdah (Coptic month), 269
Barley (Ar. shaʿīr) 202, 262, 268, 272
Barsbāy (Mamluk sultan r. 825–841/1422–1438)
121
Basileios 63, 135, 136
Basmala 11n5, 12, 102, 105, 138, 270
Bath 153, 277
Bauden, Frédéric 3, 11n1, 18, 18n41, 102n2,
102n3, 103n4, 103n5, 105, 107n17, 108n21,
116n64, 116n68, 117n71, 117n72, 118n74
Bawit 43n3, 44n6, 155n31, 198n14, 199,
215n131, 216, 216n137, 217, 221, 292, 292n6
monastery of 4, 43–49, 43, 44, 45, 46
Baybars (Mamluk sultan r. 658–676/1260–
1277), 14
Bayt al-māl (See also Treasury) 13, 16n29, 17
Berthelot, Marcellin 162n15, 174n58, 175
Beverages 291, 292, 294, 301
Bisr ibn Saʿīd (d. 100/718) 276, 280, 281
Bloom, Jonathan 18, 18n42
Bodies / spirits (τὰ σώματα / τὰ πνεύματα,
al-ajsād / al-arwāḥ) 174
Bookbinding 2, 90n60
Brancacci, F. 121, 121n93, 122n101, 123,
123n104, 123n107, 123n108
Branche Bolbitine See Nile
Bruning, Jelle 137n15
Bukayr ibn Ashajj (d. 115/733?) 276, 280
Būlāq 3, 103, 103n7, 108, 112n42, 115, 118, 119,
123, 124n114, 125n117
Bunduqī 116
Burial 3, 4, 6, 15, 167n42, 235, 277
(funeral) 4, 6, 235n4, 274–281, 276, 278,
279
Buṭrus al-Ḥakīm al-Ikhmīmī 167
Byzantine 28, 31, 32, 33, 33n35, 67, 68, 133,
134, 135, 141, 149, 150, 154, 174, 196, 196n1, 198,
198n14, 206, 206n67, 213, 214, 271, 281, 298,
299
index
Cairo 3, 6, 12, 14, 14n23, 16n29, 31n21, 160n6,
161n11, 165n30, 211, 212
Calamus aromaticus 262, 267, 273
Camphor 277
Caucasus 31, 35, 35n46, 35n48, 36
Censer (Ar. majmara) 277, 278
Chester, Greville John 165, 165n30
Children 34, 52, 53, 54, 56, 69, 87, 151, 251,
278, 280
daughter 17, 31, 31n20, 251, 277, 280,
280n7
grandchildren 280
son 12, 19, 21, 28n9, 31, 31n20, 33, 34,
34n39, 37n55, 47, 64, 87, 97, 102, 106, 135,
138, 139, 180, 251, 276, 279, 280, 281
Christianity 2, 4, 80, 138, 152
Christians 15n23, 31, 68, 88, 149, 292
Clackson, Sarah 43, 43n3, 44, 46, 133n1, 160,
160n10, 184, 213n117, 214n120
Clay of the sages 170, 173, 173n49
Conquest, Arab 52, 54, 61n24, 67, 80n16, 141,
143n1, 271
Contract 3, 50, 65, 267
shipping 3, 77, 83, 93, 109n22
Contrats de bail 255, 256, 257
Cooking, cookbook 6, 172, 215, 222, 291, 293
Coptic Church 298
Corpus (al)chymicum Greacum 159n3, 174,
175, 183
Corpus Jabirianum (Gabirianum) 181, 182
Crime, as reason for travel 85
Cromwell, Jennifer 133n1, 139n17, 159n*
Crum, Walter 79n12, 80, 80n12, 80n20,
83n26, 96, 160, 160n6, 160n8, 161n11, 162n11,
163, 163n17, 163n20, 164n22, 164n24, 164n26,
165, 165n29, 165n30, 168, 168n43, 204n53,
208, 208n78, 211n102, 213n116, 215, 216n131,
217, 217n144, 217n146, 218, 218n147, 218n153,
218n154, 218n155, 219, 219n156, 219n159,
219n160, 219n161, 219n162, 219n163, 219n164,
220n168, 219n169, 219n170, 219n173, 219n176,
219n178, 221, 221n181, 221n182, 221n183,
221n184, 221n185, 221n186, 221n187, 221n188,
221n189, 221n190, 221n191, 221n192, 221n193,
221n195, 221n196, 221n197, 222, 222n199,
222n200, 222n202, 222n203, 294n18,
295n22, 298n46
Cryptography 184
Cyprus 198, 298
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Dakhla Oasis 202
Kellis 83, 86
Dār al-kutub / Bibliothèque Nationale, Le
Caire 250
Darband 31, 35, 35n46, 35n47, 35n48, 36,
36n48, 36n49, 36n51, 37, 38
Sasanian name of 36n51
Death 2, 3, 6, 11–26, 52, 85, 137n15, 160, 236,
239, 243n24, 276–280
report of 11–26, 11, 12, 12n10, 13–17, 14,
17–18, 17, 18, 18n39, 19, 20
Delattre, Alain 4, 44n6, 47n11, 90n62
Delta 120n85, 296n30
Dennett, Daniel 59n19, 140
Dhimmī (See also Christians, Jews) 14, 15n23
Dhū l-Nūn 167
Diem, Werner 12n10, 95n73, 100n*, 110n31,
135n8, 212, 215, 215n127, 250n3, 254, 257n17
Dīnār 55, 64, 123n109, 124, 135, 136, 267, 268,
269, 272
Dirham 272, 299
Dispersion of knowledge (tabdīd al-ʿilm) 181
Distillation 174
Dīwān (See also above, Administration) 11,
14, 14n18, 14n23, 15, 15n23, 15n29, 140
of intestate successions 13, 14, 14n23,
15n29, 16–17
government office 270
administration 140
Documents médicaux 253–254
Dolfin, Biagio 102n3, 124
Dolfin, Lorenzo 103, 124, 125n115
Dragoman 6
Drinja 4, 261, 262, 267, 270
Ducat 103, 104n8, 108, 115, 116, 117, 123, 124,
124n114, 125n117
Dye 162, 163, 163n21, 167n42, 272
Dyeing 162n14, 167, 167n42, 174, 272, 294
Economy 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 51, 52, 52n6, 53,
53n6, 54, 54n8, 57, 59, 61, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68
Edfu 61n24, 87, 91n66, 198, 202, 209, 216,
216n131, 217, 217n131, 217n137, 218, 219n155,
221n170
Edkū 120
Egypt
Ancient 6, 95, 159, 183, 218, 291, 293, 296,
299, 299n49
Byzantine Egypt 271
307
Lower Egypt 51, 80n16, 163, 201
Upper Egypt 58, 79, 80, 87, 94, 137–141,
163, 164, 167, 170, 183, 201, 202, 217
Eisenlohr, August 164, 164n27
El-Abbadi, Mostafa 2, 5, 63n27, 143n1
el-Meshaikh (Lepidotonpolis in Upper Egypt)
161n11, 165, 165n30, 166n32
Empedocles (d. 430bce) 174
Estate
Ar. ḍayʿa 4, 261, 262, 263, 267, 270
Gr. ousia 28, 271
Expedition 32, 67, 68, 279
Expenses (See also conversion charge, Ar.
ṣarf ) 268, 271
Faddān 267, 268, 269, 272, 274
Fatimid 3, 13, 14n17, 120n90, 125n117, 167n42,
262, 292
Fayyūm 5, 27, 28, 28n9, 31, 79n6, 80n16, 88,
95, 162n11, 165n29, 200, 204, 209, 214, 219,
293, 301
Feast 3, 79, 80
Fennel seeds 299
Fibre 168, 236, 272, 274
Fig 262, 267
Firanjī 116
Flavouring 272
Flax (Ar. kattān) 262, 267, 268, 272
Fodder 272
Folium (Ar. sidāj) 262, 267, 268, 273
Food 6, 53, 54, 55, 87, 94, 207, 218, 274, 291
Frange
monk (Theben) 2, 79n7, 81n20?, 89,
90, 90n60, 91, 91n65, 197, 197n9, 218, 219,
219n164, 221, 222, 223
tt 29 88
Frantz-Murphy, Gladys 54n8, 135, 167n42,
263n4, 270, 273
Frescobaldi 100n1, 120, 120n88, 121, 121n92,
121n93, 122, 122n100, 122n101, 123, 125n117
Fugitive 94, 134
Funeral 4, 235, 235n4, 276, 278, 279
funerary practices 261–281
procession 278
Fusṭāṭ 14, 15n23, 119, 119n82, 135, 137n15, 138,
138n17, 197, 199, 200, 202, 203, 206, 251
Fuwwa 100, 103, 103n7, 108, 111, 115, 118,
120, 120n87, 121, 122, 122n101, 123, 123n104,
124
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308
Gascou, Jean 27
Gaza 50, 63, 66, 136, 150, 197n5, 199, 217n141,
217n142
Geniza (Cairo), 12, 13, 14, 19, 20, 22, 109,
109n23, 110, 111, 117, 118, 120n87, 121n92, 123,
124, 125, 297, 300
German consulate in Cairo 6
Girga (Upper Egpyt) 165, 165n30
Giza 292
Gonis, Nikolaos 46
Grape (Ar. ʿinab) 196, 208, 213, 221, 262, 269,
292, 293, 294, 297, 299, 299n49, 300
Grave 203, 276, 277, 281
Greco-Roman 8, 294, 296, 297, 298, 301
Greece 298
Grohmann, Adolf 7, 138n15, 210n90, 212, 214,
254, 255, 256, 257, 270, 271
Guard 296
Guo, Li 3n6, 12, 12n7, 13n12, 13n13, 109n23
Ḥadīth 6, 235, 235n3, 235n4, 251, 252n7,
261–290
Companion ḥadīth; Prophetic ḥadīth
275, 277, 278, 279, 281
Ḥadīth Dāwūd (Histoire de D.) 244n4, 251,
252n7
Ḥafṣ ibn Maysara al-Kanʿanī al-ʿAsqalānī
(d. 181/797) See al-ʿAsqalānī
al-Ḥākim (Fatimid caliph r. 374–411/985–1021)
292
Halleux, Robert 160, 160n7, 162n11, 162n15,
163n15, 163n16, 163n21, 166n33, 174n58, 175,
175n59, 175n60, 184n91
Hallum, Bink 158n, 184
Hanafi, Alia 4, 261
Hansen, Nicole 6, 291
al-Ḥaram al-Sharīf 15, 15n29, 105n11
Harff, Arnold von 123
Ḥarra 278
Heart 31, 171, 182, 182n82, 235n4, 276,
281
Heidelberg, papyrus collection in 6, 12n10,
211n99, 249–259
Heine, Peter 291, 291n1, 292n3, 292n5,
293n12, 300, 300n56
Heir 3, 13, 13n16, 14, 14n16, 15, 15n23, 16,
16n34, 17, 19, 64, 85, 148
Hellenism 4, 145n6, 150n18
Heracles 271
index
Heraclius (Byzantine emperor r. 610–641)
30, 30n17, 31, 33, 33n31, 33n33, 34, 34n39
Hermopolis See Ashmūn
Hershef 271
Hill, Donald 38, 38n64, 208n79
History
intellectual 2, 6
macro-economic 4
maritime 3
of science 160, 183
social 2, 4
Honey 55, 196, 197, 207, 208, 209, 211n97,
213, 218, 219, 219n162, 221, 222, 292,
293–297
Hopkins, Simon 105, 105n12, 242n21, 270, 271,
273, 277, 280, 281
Høyrup, Jens 174, 174n54
Ibn ʿAbd al-Ḥakam (d. 257/871), Futūḥ Miṣr
32n28, 133, 134, 134n5, 140, 272
Ibn al-Kādd (?) 103, 106, 108
Ibn Khurradādhbih (d. ca. 300/911), Kitāb
al-Masālik 35, 36n51, 270
Ibn Lahīʿa (d. 174/790) 6, 251, 252, 253
Ibn Mammātī (d. 606/1209), Kitāb Qawānīn
al-dawāwīn 13, 13n16, 15n26, 15n28,
15
Ibn al-Nadīm (d. 385/995 or 388/998), Abū
al-Faraj Muḥammad ibn Isḥāq, Kitāb
al-Fihrist 158, 167
Ibn Sīnā (d. 428/1037) 273
Ibn Taghrī Birdī (d. 874/1470), 14, 116,
116n65
Ibrāhīm (son of prophet Muḥammad) 281
Ihnās (Heracleopolis) 4, 141n24, 261–290
Ijāra (rent) 109, 110
Illness, travel 84–85
India 273
Indigo 124
Iqnīz (Gr. knidion; jar) 5, 213
Iqrār (acknowledgement) 15, 16, 16n34
Irrigation 56, 263
Ishqūh (Aphroditō) 51, 79, 79n6, 134n3, 135
Isnād 38, 253, 261, 277
Jābir ibn Ḥayyān 167, 179, 179n73, 179n75, 180,
180n79, 181n80, 181n81, 182n83
Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq (6th Shiʾite imam d. 148/765)
180, 181n80
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Jar (See also vessel, iqnīz, jarra, qulla) 5,
195, 196, 197, 197n5, 197n9, 200, 201, 202,
204, 205, 208, 209, 210, 211, 211n97, 212,
213, 214, 215, 216, 216n133, 217, 217n144,
217n146, 218, 219, 219n159, 219n162, 219n163,
219n164, 220, 220n170, 221, 221n188, 222,
212n202, 223, 224, 292, 294, 294n19, 295,
295n28, 296, 296n30, 297, 298, 299,
300
Jarm (boat) 121, 121n91
Jarra (vessel) 5, 208, 209, 210, 212, 300
al-Jazīrī (d. 585/1189) 113
Jeme 84, 89, 91, 95, 218, 219, 221n188
Jerusalem 15n29, 29n11, 30n18, 68, 91, 105,
105n11, 200, 201n30
pilgrimage 91
Jews (Jewish; Jew) 12, 14, 15n23, 280, 292
Jizya (See also Tax, poll-tax) 134, 135,
256
Jordan 1, 67, 67n34, 68, 209
Journey, Alexandria 86
Judge 65, 269
al-Jurf 279
Kārim 106
Kahle jr., Paul 160
Kashīda 117
Kavād ii (Sasanian King r. 628) 33
Kellia 86, 200, 201
Khālid ibn Yazīd (d. 85/704 or 90/709) 158,
159n1, 160, 183
Khan, Geoffrey 1, 12, 13, 14, 20, 271
Kharāj (land-tax) 261, 267, 270, 271, 272
Kharīja ibn Zayd ibn Thābit (d. 99/7171 or
100/718) 279
Khoury, R.G. 6
Khusrō i (Sasanian King r. 531–579) 29n13,
35n48, 36, 36n51, 37
Khusrō ii (Parvez Sasanian King r. 590–628)
5, 29, 30n14, 32, 33, 37
al-Kindī (d. 350/961), Kitāb al-Wulāt 140,
183n86
Kitāb See Permit
Kitāb al-fihrist (Ibn Nadīm) 158, 183
Kraemer Jr., Casper J. 4
Kūfa 273
Land, agricultural 263, 270
Land survey 261–290, 267, 270
309
Languages, travel 95
Latin, learning 86
Laurel leaves 299
Law, Islamic
discussion 271
dispute 3
Malikite 14
Shafiʿite 13n16, 14
witnesses 139
Lease 2
Legendre, Marie 139n17
Liste de biens 257
Listes de dépenses 257
Listes d’impôts 257, 256
Liste de marchandises, avec leurs prix
257
Listes de noms 257
Liste d’ustensiles ménagers 257
Logos
guarantee of unimpeded passage 90
promise 90
See also Permit, Schutzbrief, Passports,
Safe-conduct
Lotus tree (Ar. sidr) 274, 277
fruit (Ar. nabaq) 262, 269, 274
Lower Egypt See Egypt
Lutfi, Huda 15n24, 15n26, 15n27, 15n28,
15n29, 16, 16n29, 16n30, 16n31, 16n32, 16n33,
16n35, 17n
MacCoull, Leslie S.B. 87n46, 160, 160n9,
162n14, 165, 165n30, 167n42
Machine of the sages 171, 181, 184
Madīna 115, 277, 278, 279, 280
Maghāzī rasūl allāh 252
al-Makhzūmī (d. 585/1189), Kitāb Minhāj
119n80, 263n4, 271
Malczycki, Matt 5, 6
al-Malik al-ʿĀdil (Ayyubid sultan r. 596–
615/1200–1218) 12
al-Malik al-Kāmil (Ayyubid sultan r. 615–
635/1218–1238) 12
Mamluk 12, 14, 15, 15n29, 17, 18, 102n2, 102n3,
103n6, 107n17, 124n113
al-Maqrīzī (d. 846/1442), Al-Mawāʿiẓ wa-liʿtibār fī dhikr al-khiṭaṭ wa-l-āthār 125,
270
Marea 299
Markab (boat) 109n26, 112, 113n43
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310
index
Marw 278
Maryut, lake 295
Mashq 240, 240n11, 241
Mawlā (client) 277, 281
Mead (See also honey wine) 293
Medicine 172, 183, 272, 273, 274, 294
Meinarti (Nubia) 295
Meizoteros (Gr.), māzūt (Ar.), village head
140
Meshullam de Volterre 123
Monastery 4, 50, 78n4, 81, 81n17, 81n20,
83, 84, 87, 88n52, 93, 95n74, 155n31, 160,
164, 216n137, 218, 223, 292, 294, 295, 298,
300
of Epiphanius in Luxor 294, 298
of Bawit See Bawit
Monneret de Villard 292n7, 293
Muʿallim 110
al-Muʾayyad Shaykh 116
al-Mudarris, Abdelbary 256n15, 258, 258n21
Muḥammad (See also Prophet) 21, 235, 261
Multilingualism 5, 133, 143n1
al-Mushkhaṣ (specified) 115, 116
Musk 300
Nākhūdhā 110
Napoleon 298, 299, 300
Nāṣir ibn ʿUmar ibn Abū Bakr 103, 108
al-Nāṣir Muḥammad ibn Qalāwūn (Mamluk
sultan r. 693/1293–1294, 698–708/1299–
1309, 709–741/1310–1341) 120, 125n117
Nessana 1n4, 4, 50–74, 136, 137, 143–157, 200
Nile 82, 83, 84, 86, 86n41, 92, 165n30, 263,
270, 291–303
Branche Bolbitine 119, 120, 122
flood 263, 270
Nisba 271
Nizār al-ʿAzīz bi-llāh (Fatimid caliph r.
365–386/975–996), Abū Manṣūr 262
Nubia 201, 295
al-Nuwayrī (d. 732/1332), Nihāyat al-arab 14,
14n23, 107n19, 271
O’Sullivan, Shaun 4, 50, 149n17
Orator 280
Oxyrhynchos, oxyrhynchite See al-Bahnasā
Pagarch 134
Pagarchy (Ar. kūra)
270
Pahlavi 1, 1n1, 28n7, 29n13
Palestina Tertia 137
Palestine 1, 1n1, 4, 29, 32, 51, 52, 54, 60, 64, 66,
67, 68, 136, 145, 146, 149, 150, 153, 154, 155,
196n1, 199, 200, 212, 214, 217
Paneuphemos 28
Panopolis See Akhmīm
Papyri
Middle Persian 28
Oxyrhynchite 27, 28, 296
See Schott-Reinhardt, papyrus collection
Papyrus disparus de la collection 254–259
Papyrus Médicale Copte ifao 166, 169,
175n61
Passports, Coptic (See also Logos, Permit,
Safe-conduct, Schutzbrief ) 88n51, 89
Peacock, David 11, 11n2, 12n6, 13n11, 197n5,
217n142
Pelusium 200
Pepper 300
Perfume, fragrance 273, 276, 277
Permit 2, 88, 88n51, 89, 94, 134, 135
application 88
Ar. kitāb 88
Gr. sigillion 88
See also Logos, Schutzbrief, Passports,
Safe-conduct, Surety
Persian
occupation 27, 81n17, 87, 87n46, 88
riots 87, 97
See also Sasanian 5
Petra 1, 148
Pharmaceutical 207, 272
Pilgrimage 79n10, 91, 93
Plato 174
Poethke, G. 27
Portland-Zementwerke, HeidelbergMannheim 249
Prayer
book 6
funeral 4, 235n4
Procedure (Ar. tadbīr) 177, 178
Promise See Permit
Pulse (Ar. qaṭānī) 262, 267, 272
Qāḍī (judge) 15, 16, 16n34, 65, 137n15
al-Qalaṣādī (d. 891/1486) 123, 123n105
Qalāwūn (Mamluk sultan r. 678–689/1279–
1290) 14
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al-Qalqashandī (d. 821/1418), Ṣubḥ alʿashā 11n5, 13n15, 14n17, 15, 105n13, 116,
116n66
Qaṣr Ibrīm 12, 12n10
Qisṭ (measure) 5, 59, 209, 210, 211
Quittances de toutes sortes 257
Qulla (vessel) 5, 211, 212, 213
Quran 5, 236, 237, 241, 242, 274
fragments on papyrus 5, 235–246, 235, 241
ḥadīth and 235n3
orthography 5, 240–243
qirāʾāt 242
Sūrat al-Falaq 235, 235n5, 236, 238, 239
Sūrat al-Ikhlāṣ 235, 235n5, 236, 238
Sūrat al-Mulk 235
Sūrat al-Nās 235, 235n5, 236, 238, 239
Sūrat Yāʾ Sīn 235, 235n4, 235n5, 236, 238,
242, 242n24, 243
Qurra ibn Sharīk (in office 90–96/709–715)
6, 63, 134, 135, 250
Qurṭūm(Lt. cartamus, safflower) 262, 268,
272
Quṣayr 2, 12, 13, 13n12, 18, 19, 20, 21
Quṣayr al-Qadīm 11–26, 11, 11n2, 12, 13, 13n11,
18, 19, 20, 21, 23, 24, 109, 109n23, 202
Quṭuz (Mamluk sultan r. 657–658/1259–1260)
17
Rabie, Hassanein 12n8, 13n16, 14, 14n22, 15,
15n25, 16, 16n35, 17, 17n36, 17n37
Rāfiʿ ibn Khadīj (d. 73/692 or 74/693) 276,
277
Raisin 292, 298–300, 298, 300
Rājiz (poetry in rajaz metre) 279
Raqaba 113, 114
Raṭl (measure) 298, 299, 300
Rayyis (raʾīs; head) 105, 110, 110n31, 110n32
al-Rāzī (d. 313/925 or 323/935), Abū Bakr
Muḥammad ibn Zakariyya 167, 179
Razmy(a)ozan 30, 32, 34
Rea, John 27, 27n2
Recycling of paper 18
Red Sea, coast 11, 202
Reed (Ar. qaṣab) 273, 294
Regourd, Anne 3, 11n3, 13n11, 13n12, 261n1
Reinhardt, Carl 6
Richter, Sebastian Tonio 6, 80n14, 133n1,
143n1, 159n*, 159n3, 161n11, 162n11, 163n18,
166n30, 177n62, 178n70
311
Roman government 4, 52, 53n6
Rose petals 300
rosewater 300
Rosetta 112n42, 119, 119n82, 120, 121n92, 123,
124, 124n114
Rubbān 110
Ruska, Julius 159, 159n2, 159n3, 160,
160n75
Safe-conduct 134
Arabic 88n51, 89, 89n57
travel permit 2, 135, 135n8
See also Logos, Passports, Permit, Schutzbrief
Safflower See Qurṭūm
Saffron 272, 273, 300
Saint Mark 103, 116, 124
Saint Paul 116
Saint Peter 116
Saladin (Salāḥ al-Dīn Ayyūbid ruler r.
570–589/1174–1193) 16, 125n117
Samura ibn Jundab (d. ca. 52–53/672–673)
277
Ṣanʿāʾ 279
Säve-Söderberg, Torgny 295n27, 296,
297n35, 297n36
Sayf ibn ʿUmar (d. ca. 180/796) 5, 38
Schott, Friedrich 6, 249
Schott-Reinhardt, papyrus collection 6, 249,
254
Schutzbrief (See also Logos, Permit, Safeconduct) 90
Scribe 262, 263
Scribes, mistakes by 6
Selander, Anna 2, 3, 77, 90n62
Semitic 5, 145, 147, 148n15, 149, 150, 153
Shahralanyozan 5, 27–42
name/title explained 27n2, 34, 37, 38
Shahrvaraz (Sasanian general) 5, 28n10, 29,
29n11, 29n13, 30, 30n16, 30n18, 31, 31n21, 32,
33, 33n33, 33n35, 34, 34n40, 37, 38
fancy names of 29
Christianity within family 31
controlled Alexandria in 629 30, 32, 33
deal with Heraclius 31, 33, 34
descendants connected with Darband 38
led the invasion of Egypt 30n16, 31, 32
Shihāb al-Dīn Aḥmad ibn Fakhr al-Dīn
ʿUthmān 103, 107, 108
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Shipping contract 77, 83, 109n22
Shroud 276, 277, 278
Sigillion (See also Permit) 88
Sigoli 100, 120n88
Sijill (See also Permit) 88
Sijpesteijn, Petra M. 1n4, 2n4, 18, 18n40, 51n3,
61n24, 188n78, 200n82, 133n1, 134n3, 140n21,
140n22, 141n24, 155n31, 169n45, 250n3
Sinaï 100, 147, 198
Sōhāg (Upper Egypt) 164
Stern, Ludwig 159, 160, 160n5, 164, 164n22,
164n24, 164n25, 164n27, 173n49, 174n52,
174n55, 179n71, 184, 203n49
Stroumsa, Rachel 4, 143
Sublimation 174, 178
Substitute names (Decknamen) 171, 172
Ṣūfī 280
Surety (See also Logos, Passports, Permit,
Schutzbrief, Safe-conduct) 134
Syria 29, 32, 34, 53, 66, 67, 68, 141, 145, 150,
153, 197, 199, 206, 210, 273, 279
index
Tissu 103, 112, 113, 125n116
Tithe (Ar. ʿushr) 270
Titkooh 47
See also Bawit
Tod 198, 199, 200, 201, 223
Tomb 281, 291, 293, 294, 295, 296, 297, 299
Egyptian 91, 95
of King Tutankhamun 294
Theban 89
Transport 3, 78n5, 87, 92n68, 93, 94n72,
100–125, 196, 199, 200, 204, 209, 223
camel 82, 83, 83n26, 84
donkey 3, 82, 83, 83n26, 84, 93, 201
mode of 3, 78, 82–84, 93, 94
boat/ferry/ship/vessel 3, 82, 83, 108, 109,
115, 117, 117n69 121, 196, 196n1, 197
Travel 2, 3, 77–97
abroad 91, 92
crime 85
difficulties 84–85, 95
food shortage 87
illness 84–85
night 92
phrases 80
primary sources Arabic 88
primary sources Coptic 77–92
primary sources Greek 84n29, 92
pilgrimage 79n11
reasons 79, 81, 92
restrictions 87–89
time 92
work 81
Traveler, European to Middle East/ accounts
by 291, 293
Treasury 13, 14, 15, 15n23, 16n29?, 17, 134, 138
Trefoil (Ar. qirṭ) 272
Tribe See Arabs, tribes
Trombley, Frank 135n8
tt 29 81n20, 89, 89n56, 90n60
Tukharistan 1
Tutankhamun (pharaoh r. ca. 1332–1323 bce)
294
Tuthmosis iv (pharaoh r. 14th c. bce)
296n30
al-Ṭabarī (d. 310/923) 29n12, 30, 30n18, 31,
31n21, 32, 32n25, 32n27, 33n33, 34n40,
35n46, 36, 36n50, 36n51, 38, 38n63, 279
Tabatabāʾī 271
Taḥṭā 138, 139
Tax
arrears 60, 62, 136, 268
collector 66, 134, 135, 136
Islamic, 2, 3, 4, 256, 262
on flax 272
payers 2, 4, 51, 54, 59, 61, 62, 63, 72, 133,
134, 135
payment 2, 4, 46, 51, 54, 59, 62, 79, 88, 95
poll-tax (See also Jizya) 50, 61, 65, 72, 95,
134, 135
protest 50, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 136, 137, 139
revolt 133
Taxation 4, 43–47, 63, 64, 66, 67, 68, 133, 136,
257, 263
Tebtunis 198n4, 199, 200, 201, 204, 204n51
Temple 251, 291, 294, 296n30, 297
Testament 124, 124n113
Textile 3, 52, 90n60, 108, 123, 124, 125, 125n116,
167, 167n42, 196n3, 203n45, 272
ʿUdad 113
Thaqīf (Arab tribe) 269, 273
Ultimate catalyst (al-kīmiyāʾ) 173, 173n49,
Thebes 2, 81, 81n17, 83, 87, 87n47, 95, 166, 201,
176, 179
216, 296n30
ʿUmar (caliph r. 13–23/634–644) 6, 103, 108
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313
index
ʿUmar ibn ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz (Umayyad caliph
r. 99–101/718–720) 140
Umayyad 4, 5, 51, 53, 54n8, 55, 58, 59, 60, 61,
62, 65, 66, 67, 67n34, 68, 69, 71, 72, 139, 140,
149, 150, 153, 155, 158, 210n89
Upper Egypt See Egypt
Usāma ibn Zayd (d. ca. 54/674) 276, 279
Uṣūl / furūʿ 252
ʿUthmān ibn Suwayd Ḥarī al-Ikhmīmī 18,
18n43, 167
Valérian, Dominique 18
Vansleb 293n9, 297, 297n40, 298, 298n48
Vegetable 55, 273
Velvet (red) 276, 277, 278
Venice 3, 102n2, 103, 106n14, 110, 115, 116, 124,
175
Village 2, 47, 53, 59, 71, 79, 86, 87, 90, 134, 135,
136, 137, 140, 141, 147, 165, 165n29, 270
Vinegar 144, 196, 209, 213, 216, 216n131,
216n133, 217, 219n163, 220, 221, 222, 296,
298
Vineyard 274, 292
Viticulture 274
Vorderstrasse, Tasha 5, 195
Wadi Sarga 216n132, 217, 217n140, 218, 219,
219n163, 292
Wahb ibn Munabbih (d. 110 or 114 /728 or 732):
251, 252, 258
Waqf (pious endowment) 17
al-Warrāq (10th c.), Kitāb al-Ṭabīkh 6, 291,
291n2, 293n11, 301
Washing 277
Weber, Dieter 1n2, 27n1, 28n6, 28n7, 34,
34n41
Wheat (Ar. qamḥ) 66, 78n5, 136, 196, 202, 267
Will See Testament
Wine 6, 55, 141, 291–301
fermentation 294, 295, 296, 297, 298, 300
production 292n6
wine jug/jar, earthenware (Ar. dinān;
kīzān) 294, 296
See also Jar
Witness
clause 12, 15, 18, 20, 22
names of 20, 139
Wormwood 299
Yaḥyā ibn Zayd (d. 63/682) 276, 278
Yašts (epic song) 27n2, 35n43, 37, 37n59, 38,
38n59
Yemen 18, 279
Zakāt (alms) 270
Zosimos of Panopolis
166, 175n59
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