Chapter III: Part 3

The capital of Southern China, called Quinsai, or Kinsai, by Marco Polo, a name signifying the “Celestial City,” was a place of prodigious magnitude, being, according to the reports of the Chinese, not less than one hundred miles in circumference. This rough estimate of the extent of Kinsai, though beyond doubt considerably exaggerated, is after all not so very incredible as may at first appear. Within this circumference, if the place was constructed after the usual fashion of a Chinese city, would be included parks and gardens of immense extent, vast open spaces for the evolutions of the troops, besides the ten market-places, each two miles in circumference, mentioned by Marco Polo, and many other large spaces not covered with houses. By these means Kinsai might have been nearly one hundred miles in circuit, without approaching London in riches or population. That modern travellers have found no trace of such amazing extent in Hang-chen, Kua-hing, or whatever city they determine Kinsai to have been, by no means invalidates the assertion of Marco Polo; for considering the revolutions which China has undergone, and the perishable materials of the ordinary dwellings of its inhabitants, we may look upon the space of nearly six hundred years as more than sufficient to have changed the site of Kinsai into a desert. Were the seat of government to be removed from Calcutta to Agra or Delhi, the revolution of one century would reduce that “City of Palaces,” to a miserable village, or wholly bury it in the pestilential bog from which its sumptuous but perishable edifices originally rose like an exhalation.

I will suppose, therefore, in spite of geographical skepticism, that Kinsai fell very little short of the magnitude which the Chinese, not Marco Polo, attributed to it. The city was nearly surrounded by water, having on one side a great river, and on the other side a lake, while innumerable canals, intersecting it in all directions, rendered the very streets navigable, as it were, like those of Venice, and floated away all filth into the channel of the river. Twelve thousand bridges, great and small, were thrown over these canals, beneath which barks, boats, and barges, bearing a numerous aquatic population, continually passed to and fro; while horsemen dashed along, and chariots rolled from street to street, above. Three days in every week the peasantry from all the country round poured into the city, to the number of forty or fifty thousand, bringing in the productions of the earth, with cattle, fowls, game, and every species of provision necessary for the subsistence of so mighty a population. Though provisions were so cheap, however, that two geese, or four ducks, might be purchased for a Venetian groat, the poor were reduced to so miserable a state of wretchedness that they gladly devoured the flesh of the most unclean animals, and every species of disgusting offal. The markets were supplied with an abundance of most kinds of fruit, among which a pear of peculiar fragrance, and white and gold peaches, were the most exquisite. Raisins and wine were imported from other provinces; but from the ocean, which was no more than twenty-five miles distant, so great a profusion of fish was brought, that, at first sight, it seemed as if it could never be consumed, though it all disappeared in a few hours.

Around the immense market-places were the shops of the jewellers and spice-merchants; and in the adjoining streets were numerous hot and cold baths, with all the apparatus which belong to those establishments in eastern countries. These places, as the inhabitants bathed every day, were well frequented, and the attendants accustomed to the business from their childhood exceedingly skilful in the performance of their duties. A trait which marks the voluptuous temperament of the Chinese occurs in the account of this city. An incredible number of courtesans, splendidly attired, perfumed, and living with a large establishment of servants in spacious and magnificent houses, were found at Kinsai; and, like their sisters in ancient Greece, were skilled in all those arts which captivate and enslave enervated minds. The tradesmen possessed great wealth, and appeared in their shops sumptuously dressed in silks, in addition to which their wives adorned themselves with costly jewels. Their houses were well built, and contained pictures and other ornaments of immense value. In their dealings they were remarkable for their integrity, and great suavity and decorum appeared in their manners. Notwithstanding the gentleness of their disposition, however, their hatred of their Mongol conquerors, who had deprived them of their independence and the more congenial rule of their native princes, was not to be disguised.

All the streets were paved with stone, while the centre was macadamized, a mark of civilization not yet to be found in Paris, or many other European capitals, any more than the cleanliness which accompanied it. Hackney-coaches with silk cushions, public gardens, and shady walks were among the luxuries of the people of Kinsai; while, as Mr. Kerr very sensibly remarks, the delights of European capitals were processions of monks among perpetual dunghills in narrow crooked lanes. Still, in the midst of all this wealth and luxury, poverty and tremendous suffering existed, compelling parents to sell their children, and when no buyers appeared, to expose them to death. Twenty thousand infants thus deserted were annually snatched from destruction by the Emperor Fanfur, and maintained and educated until they could provide for themselves.

Marco Polo’s opportunities for studying the customs and manners of this part of the empire were such as no other European has ever enjoyed, as, through the peculiar affection of the Great Khan, he was appointed governor of one of its principal cities, and exercised this authority during three years. Yet, strange to say, he makes no mention of tea, and alludes only once, and that but slightly, to the manufacture of porcelain. These omissions, however, are in all probability not to be attributed to him, but to the heedlessness or ignorance of transcribers and copyists, who, not knowing what to make of the terms, boldly omitted them. The most remarkable manufacture of porcelain in his time appears to have been at a city which he calls Trinqui, situated on one branch of the river which flowed to Zaitum, supposed to be the modern Canton. Here he was informed a certain kind of earth or clay was thrown up into vast conical heaps, where it remained exposed to the action of the atmosphere for thirty or forty years, after which, refined, as he says, by time, it was manufactured into dishes, which were painted and baked in furnaces.

Having now remained many years in China, the Polos began to feel the desire of revisiting their home revive within their souls; and this desire was strengthened by reflecting upon the great age of the khan, in the event of whose death it was possible they might never be able to depart from the country, at least with the amazing wealth which they had amassed during their long residence. One day, therefore, when they observed Kublai to be in a remarkably good-humour, Nicolo, who seems to have enjoyed a very free access to the chamber of the sovereign, ventured to entreat permission to return home with his family. The khan, however, who, being himself at home, could comprehend nothing of that secret and almost mysterious power by which man is drawn back from the remotest corners of the earth towards the scene of his childhood, and who, perhaps, imagined that gold could confer irresistible charms upon any country, was extremely displeased at the request. He had, in fact, become attached to the men, and his unwillingness to part with them was as natural as their desire to go. To turn them from all thoughts of the undertaking, he dwelt upon the length and danger of the journey; and added, that if more wealth was what they coveted, they had but to speak, and he would gratify their utmost wishes, by bestowing upon them twice as much as they already possessed; but that his affection would not allow him to part with them.

Providence, however, which under the name of chance or accident so frequently befriends the perplexed, now came to their aid. Not long after the unsuccessful application of Nicolo, ambassadors arrived at the court of the Great Khan, from Argûn, Sultan of Persia, demanding a princess of the imperial blood for their master, whose late queen on her deathbed had requested him to choose a wife from among her relations in Cathay. Kublai consented; and the ambassadors departed with a youthful princess on their way to Persia. When they had proceeded eight months through the wilds of Tartary, their course was stopped by bloody wars; and they were constrained to return with the princess to the court of the khan. Here they heard of Marco, who had likewise just returned from an expedition into India by sea, describing the facility which navigation afforded of maintaining an intercourse between that country and China. The ambassadors now procured an interview with the Venetians, who consented, if the permission of the khan could be obtained, to conduct them by sea to the dominions of their sovereign. With great reluctance the khan at length yielded to their solicitation; and having commanded Nicolo, Maffio, and Marco into his presence, and lavished upon them every possible token of his affection and esteem, constituting them his ambassadors to the pope and the other princes of Europe, he caused a tablet of gold to be delivered to them, upon which were engraven his commands that they should be allowed free and secure passage through all his dominions; that all their expenses, as well as those of their attendants, should be defrayed; and that they should be provided with guides and escorts wherever these might be necessary. He then exacted from them a promise that when they should have passed some time in Christendom among their friends, they would return to him, and affectionately dismissed them.

Fourteen ships with four masts, of which four or five were so large that they carried from two hundred and fifty to two hundred and sixty men, were provided for their voyage; and on board of this fleet they embarked with the queen and the ambassadors, and sailed away from China. It was probably from the officers of these ships, or from those with whom he had made his former voyage to India, that Marco Polo learned what little he knew of the great island of Zipangri or Japan. It was about fifteen hundred miles distant, as he was informed, from the shores of China. The people were fair, gentle in their manners, and governed by their own princes. Gold, its exportation being prohibited, was plentiful among them; so plentiful, indeed, that the roof of the prince’s palace was covered with it, as churches in Europe sometimes are with lead, while the windows and floors were of the same metal. The prodigious opulence of this country tempted the ambition or rapacity of Kublai Khan, who with a vast fleet and army attempted to annex it with his empire, but without success. It was Marco’s brief description of this insular El Dorado which is supposed to have kindled the spirit of discovery and adventure in the great soul of Columbus. Gentle as the manners of the Japanese are said to have been, neither they nor the Chinese themselves could escape the charge of cannibalism, which appears to be among barbarians what heresy was in Europe during the middle ages, the crime of which every one accuses his bitterest enemy. The innumerable islands scattered through the surrounding ocean were said to abound with spices and groves of odoriferous wood.

The vast islands and thickly-sprinkled archipelagoes which rear up their verdant and scented heads among the waters of the Indian ocean, now successively presented themselves to the observant eye of our traveller, and appeared like another world. Ziambar, with its woods of ebony; Borneo, with its spices and its gold; Lokak, with its sweet fruits, its Brazil wood, and its elephants;—these were the new and strange countries at which they touched on the way to Java the less, or Sumatra. This island, which he describes as two thousand miles in circumference, was divided into eight kingdoms, six of which he visited and curiously examined. Some portion of the inhabitants had been converted to Mohammedanism; but numerous tribes still roamed in a savage state among the mountains, feeding upon human flesh and every unclean animal, and worshipping as a god the first object which met their eyes in the morning. Among one of these wild races a very extraordinary practice prevailed: whenever any individual was stricken with sickness, his relations immediately inquired of the priests or magicians whether he would recover or not; and if answered in the negative, the patient was instantly strangled, cut in pieces, and devoured, even to the very marrow of the bones. This, they alleged, was to prevent the generation of worms in any portion of the body, which, by gnawing and defacing it, would torture the soul of the dead. The bones were carefully concealed in the caves of the mountains. Strangers, from the same humane motive, were eaten in an equally friendly way.

Here were numerous rhinoceroses, camphor, which sold for its weight in gold, and lofty trees, ten or twelve feet in circumference, from the pith of which a kind of meal was made. This pith, having been broken into pieces, was cast into vessels filled with water, where the light innutritious parts floated upon the top, while the finer and more solid descended to the bottom. The former was skimmed off and thrown away, but the latter, in taste not unlike barley-bread, was wrought into a kind of paste, and eaten. This was the sago, the first specimen of which ever seen in Europe was brought to Venice by Marco Polo. The wood of the tree, which was heavy and sunk in water like iron, was used in making spears.

From Sumatra they sailed to the Nicobar and Andaman islands, the natives of which were naked and bestial savages, though the country produced excellent cloves, cocoanuts, Brazil wood, red and white sandal wood, and various kinds of spices. They next touched at Ceylon, which appeared to Marco Polo, and not altogether without reason, to be the finest island in the world. Here no grain, except rice, was cultivated; but the country produced a profusion of oil, sesamum, milk, flesh, palm wine, sapphires, topazes, amethysts, and the best rubies in the world. Of this last kind of gem the King of Ceylon was said to possess the finest specimen in existence, the stone being as long as a man’s hand, of corresponding thickness, and glowing like fire. The wonders of Adam’s Peak Marco Polo heard of, but did not behold. His account of the pearl-fishery he likewise framed from report.

From Ceylon they proceeded towards the Persian Gulf, touching in their way upon the coast of the Carnatic, where Marco learned some particulars respecting the Hindoos; as, that they were an unwarlike people, who imported horses from Ormus, and generally abstained from beef; that their rich men were carried about in palankeens; and that from motives of the origin of which he was ignorant, every man carefully preserved his own drinking-vessels from the touch of another.

At length, after a voyage of eighteen months, they arrived in the dominions of Argûn, but found that that prince was dead, the heir to the throne a minor, and the functions of government exercised by a regent. They delivered the princess, who was now nearly nineteen, to Kazan, the son of Argûn; and having been magnificently entertained for nine months by the regent, who presented them at parting with four tablets of gold, each a cubit long and five fingers broad, they continued their journey through Kurdistan and Mingrelia, to Trebizond, where they embarked upon the Black Sea; and, sailing down the Bosphorus and Dardanelles, crossed the Ægean, touched at Negropont, and arrived safely at Venice, in the year 1295.

On repairing to their own house, however, in the street of St. Chrysostom, they had the mortification to find themselves entirely forgotten by all their old acquaintance and countrymen; and even their nearest relations, who upon report of their death had taken possession of their palace, either could not or would not recognise them. Forty-five years had no doubt operated strange changes in the persons of Nicolo and Maffio; and even Marco, who had left his home in the flower of his youth, and now returned after an absence of twenty-four years, a middle-aged man, storm-beaten, and bronzed by the force of tropical suns, must have been greatly altered. Besides, they had partly forgotten their native language, which they pronounced with a barbarous accent, intermingling Tartar words, and setting the rules of syntax at defiance. Their dress, air, and demeanour, likewise, were Tartarian. To convince the incredulous, however, and prove their identity, they invited all their relations and old associates to a magnificent entertainment, at which the three travellers appeared attired in rich eastern habits of crimson satin. When all the guests were seated, the Polos put off their satin garments, which they bestowed upon the attendants, still appearing superbly dressed in robes of crimson damask. At the removal of the last course but one of the entertainment, they distributed their damask garments also upon the attendants, these having merely concealed far more magnificent robes of crimson velvet. When dinner was over, and the attendants had withdrawn, Marco Polo exhibited to the company the coats of coarse Tartarian cloth, or felt, which his father, his uncle, and himself had usually worn during their travels. These he now cut open, and from their folds and linings took out so prodigious a quantity of rubies, sapphires, emeralds, carbuncles, and diamonds, that the company, amazed and delighted with the beauty and splendour of these magnificent and invaluable gems, no longer hesitated to acknowledge the claims of the Polos, who, by the same arguments, might have proved their identity with Prester John and his family.

The news of their arrival now rapidly circulated through Venice, and crowds of persons of all ranks, attracted, partly by their immense wealth, partly by the strangeness of their recitals, flocked to their palace to see and congratulate them upon their return. The whole family was universally treated with distinction, and Maffio, the elder of the brothers, became one of the principal magistrates of the city. Marco, as being the youngest, and probably the most communicative of the three, was earnestly sought after by the young noblemen of Venice, whom he entertained and astonished by his descriptions of the strange and marvellous things he had beheld; and as in speaking of the subjects and revenues of the Great Khan he was frequently compelled to count by millions, he obtained among his companions the name of _Marco Millione_. In the time of Ramusio the Polo palace still existed in the street of St. Chrysostom, and was popularly known by the name of the _Corte del Millioni_. Some writers, however, have supposed that this surname was bestowed on the Polos on account of their extraordinary riches.

Marco Polo had not been many months at Venice before the news arrived that a Genoese fleet, under the command of Lampa Doria, had appeared near the island of Curzola, on the coast of Dalmatia. The republic, alarmed at the intelligence, immediately sent out a numerous fleet against the enemy, in which Marco Polo, as an experienced mariner, was intrusted with the command of a galley. The two fleets soon came to an engagement, when Marco, with that intrepid courage which had carried him safely through so many dangers, advanced with his galley before the rest of the fleet, with the design of breaking the enemy’s squadron. The Venetians, however, who were quickly defeated, wanted the energy to second his boldness; and Marco, who had been wounded in the engagement, was taken prisoner and carried to Genoa.

Here, as at Venice, the extraordinary nature of his adventures, the _naïveté_ of his descriptions, and the amiableness of his character soon gained him friends, who not only delighted in his conversation, but exerted all their powers to soften the rigours of his captivity. Day after day new auditors flocked around this new Ulysses, anxious to hear from his own lips an account of the magnificence and grandeur of Kublai Khan, and of the vast empire of the Mongols. Wearied at length, however, with for ever repeating the same things, he determined, in pursuance of the advice of his new friends, to write the history of his travels; and sending to Venice for the original notes which he had made while in the East, compiled or dictated the brief work which has immortalized his memory. The work was completed in the year 1298, when it may also be said to have been published, as numerous copies were made and circulated.

Meanwhile, his father and uncle, who had hitherto looked to Marco for the continuation of the Polo family, and who had vainly endeavoured by the offer of large sums of money to redeem him from captivity, began to deliberate upon the course which they ought to adopt under the present circumstances; and it was resolved that Nicolo, the younger and more vigorous of the two, should himself marry. Four years after this marriage, Marco was set at liberty at the intercession of the most illustrious citizens of Genoa; but on returning to Venice he found that three new members had been added to the Polo family during his absence, his father having had so many sons by his young wife. Marco continued, however, to live in the greatest harmony and happiness with his new relations; and shortly afterward marrying himself, had two daughters, Maretta and Fantina, but no sons. Upon the death of his father, Marco erected a monument to his memory in the portico of the church of St. Lorenzo, with an inscription stating that it was built in honour of the traveller’s father. Neither the exact date of his father’s death nor of his own has hitherto been ascertained; but it is supposed that our illustrious traveller’s decease took place either in the year 1323 or 1324. According to Mr. Marsden’s opinion, he was then seventy years of age; but if we follow the opinion of the majority of writers, and of M. Walkenaer among the rest, he must have attained the age of seventy-three or seventy-four. The male line of the Polos became extinct in 1417, and the only surviving female was married to a member of the noble house of Trevisino, one of the most illustrious in Venice.

When the travels of Marco Polo first appeared, they were generally regarded as a fiction; and this absurd belief had so far gained ground, that when he lay upon his deathbed, his friends and nearest relatives, coming to take their eternal adieu, conjured him, as he valued the salvation of his soul, to retract whatever he had advanced in his book, or at least such passages as every person looked upon as untrue; but the traveller, whose conscience was untroubled upon that score, declared solemnly in that awful moment, that far from being guilty of exaggeration, he had not described one-half of the wonderful things which he had beheld. Such was the reception which the discoveries of this extraordinary man experienced when first promulgated. By degrees, however, as enterprise lifted more and more the veil from central and eastern Asia, the relations of our traveller rose in the estimation of geographers; and now that the world, though still containing many unknown tracts, has been more successfully explored, we begin to perceive that Marco Polo, like Herodotus, was a man of the most rigid veracity, whose testimony presumptuous ignorance alone can call in question.

To relate the history of our traveller’s work since its first publication would be a long and a dry task. It was translated during his lifetime into Latin (for the opinion of Ramusio that it was originally composed in that language seems to be absurd), as well as into several modern languages of Europe; and as many of those versions were made, according to tradition, under the author’s own direction, he is thought to have inserted some numerous particulars which were wanting in others; and in this way the variations of the different manuscripts are accounted for. The number of the translations of Marco Polo is extraordinary; one in Portuguese, two in Spanish, three in German, three in French, three or four in Latin, one in Dutch, and seven in English. Of all these numerous versions, that of Mr. Marsden is generally allowed to be incomparably the best, whether the correctness of the text or the extent, riches, and variety of the commentary be considered.

IBN BATŪTA.

Born about 1300.—Died after 1353.

This traveller, whose name and works were little known in Europe before the publication of Professor Lee’s translation, was born at Tangiers, in Northern Africa, about the year 1300. He appeared to be designed by nature to be a great traveller. Romantic in his disposition, a great lover of the marvellous, and possessing a sufficient dash of superstition in his character to enable him everywhere to discover omens favourable to his wishes, the slightest motives sufficed to induce him to undertake at a day’s notice the most prodigious journeys, though he could reckon upon deriving from them nothing but the pleasure of seeing strange sights, or of believing that he was fulfilling thereby the secret intentions of Providence respecting him.

Being by profession one of those theologians who in those times were freely received and entertained by princes and the great in all Mohammedan countries, he could apprehend no danger of wanting the necessaries of life, and had before him at least the chance, if not the certain prospect, of being raised for his learning and experience to some post of distinction. The first step in the adventures of all Mohammedan travellers is, of course, the pilgrimage to Mecca, as this journey confers upon them a kind of sacred character, and the title of Hajjî, which is a passport generally respected in all the territories of Islamism.

Ibn Batūta left his native city of Tangiers for the purpose of performing the pilgrimage in the year of the Hejira 725 (A. D. 1324-5). Traversing the Barbary States and the whole breadth of Northern Africa, probably in company with the great Mogrebine caravan which annually leaves those countries for Mecca, he arrived without meeting with any remarkable adventure in Egypt, where, according to the original design of his travels, he employed his time in visiting the numerous saints and workers of miracles with which that celebrated land abounded in those days. Among the most distinguished of these men then in Alexandria was the Imam Borhaneddin el Aaraj. Our traveller one day visiting this man, “Batūta,” said he, “I perceive that the passion of exploring the various countries of the earth hath seized upon thee!”—“I replied, Yes,” says the traveller, “though I had at that time no intention of extending my researches to very distant regions.”—“I have three brothers,” continued the saint, “of whom there is one in India, another in Sindia, and the third in China. You must visit those realms, and when you see my brothers, inform them that they are still affectionately remembered by Borhaneddin.”—“I was astonished at what he said,” observes Batūta, “and determined within myself to accomplish his desires.” He in fact regarded the expressions of this holy man as a manifestation of the will of Heaven.

Having thus conceived the bold design of exploring the remotest countries of the East, Ibn Batūta was impatient to be in motion; he therefore abridged his visits to the saints, and proceeded on his journey. Nevertheless, before his departure from this part of Egypt he had a dream, which, being properly interpreted by a saint, greatly strengthened him in his resolution. Falling asleep upon the roof of a hermit’s cell, he imagined himself placed upon the wings of an immense bird, which, rising high into the air, fled away towards the temple at Mecca. From thence the bird proceeded towards Yarren, and, after taking a vast sweep through the south and the regions of the rising sun, alighted safely with his burden in the land of darkness, where he deposited it, and disappeared. On the morrow the sage hermit interpreted this vision in the sense most consonant with the wishes of the seer, and, presenting our traveller with some dirhems and dried cakes, dismissed him on his way. During the whole of his travels Ibn Batūta met with but one man who equalled this hermit in sanctity and wisdom, and observes, that from the very day on which he quitted him he experienced nothing but good fortune.

At Damietta he saw the cell of the Sheïkh Jemaleddin, leader of the sect of the Kalenders celebrated in the Arabian Nights, who shave their chins and their eyebrows, and spend their whole lives in the contemplation of the beatitude and perfection of God. Journeying onwards through the cities and districts of Fariskūr, Ashmūn el Rommān, and Samānūd, he at length arrived at Misz, or Cairo, where he appears to have first tasted the pure waters of the Nile, which, in his opinion, excel those of all other rivers in sweetness.

Departing from Cairo, and entering Upper Egypt, he visited, among other places, the celebrated monastery of Clay and the minyet of Ibn Khasib. Upon the mention of this latter place, he takes occasion to relate an anecdote of a poet, which, because it is in keeping with our notions of what a man of genius should be, we shall here introduce. Ibn Khasib, raised from a state of slavery to the government of Egypt, and again reduced to beggary, and deprived of sight by the caprice and cruelty of a calif of the house of Abbas, had while in power been a munificent patron and protector of literary men. Hearing of his magnificence and generosity, a poet of Bagdad had undertaken to celebrate his praises in verse; but before he had had an opportunity of reciting his work, Khasib was degraded from his high office, and thrown out in blindness and beggary into the streets of Bagdad. While he was wandering about in this condition, the poet, who must have known him personally, encountered him, and exclaimed, “O, Khasib, it was my intention to visit thee in Egypt to recite thy praises; but thy coming hither has rendered my journey unnecessary. Wilt thou allow me to recite my poem?”—“How,” said Khasib, “shall I hear it? Thou knowest what misfortunes have overtaken me!” The poet replied, “My only wish is that thou shouldst hear it; but as to reward, may God reward thee as thou hast others.” Khasib then said, “Proceed with thy poem.” The poet proceeded:—

“Thy bounties, like the swelling Nile,
Made the plains of Egypt smile,” &c.

When he had concluded, “Come here,” said Khasib, “and open this seam.” He did so. Khasib then said, “Take this ruby.” The poet refused; but being adjured to do so, he complied, and went away to the street of the jewellers to offer it for sale. From the beauty of the stone, it was supposed it could have belonged to no one but the calif, who, being informed of the matter, ordered the poet before him, and interrogated him respecting it. The poet ingenuously related the whole truth; and the tyrant, repenting of his cruelty, sent for Khasib, overwhelmed him with splendid presents, and promised to grant him whatever he should desire. Khasib demanded and obtained the small minyet in Upper Egypt in which he resided until his death, and where his fame was still fresh when Ibn Batūta passed through the country.

Frustrated in his attempt to reach Mecca by this route, after penetrating as far as Nubia, our traveller returned to Cairo, and from thence proceeded by way of the Desert into Syria. Here, like every other believer in the Hebrew Scriptures, he found himself in the midst of the most hallowed associations; and strengthened at once his piety and his enthusiasm by visiting the graves of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, as well as the many spots rendered venerable by the footsteps of Mohammed. As the believers in Islamism entertain a kind of religious respect for the founder of Christianity, whom they regard as a great prophet, Batūta did not fail to include Bethlehem, the birthplace of Christ, in the list of those places he had to see. Upon this town, however, as well as upon Jerusalem, Tyre, Sidon, and others of equal renown in Syria, he makes few observations which can assist us in forming an idea of the state of the country in those times; but in return for this meagerness, he relates a very extraordinary story of an alchymist, who had discovered the secret of making gold, and exercised his supernatural power in acts of beneficence.

From Syria he proceeded towards Mesopotamia, by Emessa, Hameh, and Aleppo, and having traversed the country of the Kurds, and visited the fortresses of the Assassins, the people who, as he says, “act as arrows for El Malik el Nāisr,” returned to Mount Libanus, which he pronounces the most fruitful mountain in the world, and describes as abounding in various fruits, fountains of water, and leafy shades. He then visited Baalbec and Damascus; and, after remaining a short time at the latter city, departed with the Syrian caravan for Mecca. His attempt to perform the pilgrimage, a duty incumbent on all true Mussulmans, was this time successful: the caravan traversed the “howling wilderness” in safety; arrived at the Holy City; and the pilgrims having duly performed the prescribed rites, and spent three days near the tomb of the prophet, at Medina, Ibn Batūta joined a caravan proceeding through the deserts of Nejed towards Persia.

The early part of this journey offered nothing which our traveller thought worthy of remark; but he at length arrived at Kadisia, near Kufa, anciently a great city, in the neighbourhood of which that decisive victory was obtained by Saad, one of the generals of Omar, over the Persians, which established the interests of Islamism, and overthrew for ever the power of the Ghebers. He next reached the city of Meshed Ali, a splendid and populous place, where the grave of Ali is supposed to be. The inhabitants, of course, were Shiahs, but they were rich; and Ibn Batūta, who was a tolerant man, thought them a brave people. The gardens were surrounded by plastered walls, adorned with paintings, and contained carpets, couches, and lamps of gold and silver. Within the city was a rich treasury, maintained by the votive offerings of sick persons, who then crowded, and still crowd, to the grave of Ali, from Room, Khorasān, Irak, and other places, in the hope of receiving relief. These people are placed over the grave a short time after sunset, while other persons, some praying, others reciting the Koran, and others prostrating themselves, attend expecting their recovery, and before it is quite dark a miraculous cure takes place. Our traveller, from some cause or another, was not present on any of these occasions, and remarks that he saw several afflicted persons who, though they confidently looked forward to future benefit had hitherto received none.

The whole of that portion of Mesopotamia was at this period in the power of the Bedouin Arabs, without whose protection there was no travelling through the country. With them, therefore, Ibn Batūta proceeded from Basra, towards various holy and celebrated places, among others to the tomb of “My Lord Ahmed of Rephaā,” a famous devotee, whose disciples still congregate about his grave, and kindling a prodigious fire, walk into it, some eating it, others trampling upon it, and others rolling in it, till it be entirely extinguished, while others take great serpents in their teeth, and bite the head off. From hence he again returned to Basra, the neighbourhood of which abounded with palm-trees. The inhabitants were distinguished for their politeness and humanity towards strangers. Here he saw the famous copy of the Koran in which Othman, the son of Ali, was reading when he was assassinated, and on which the marks of his blood were still visible.

Embarking on board a small boat, called a sambūk, he descended the Tigris to Abbadān, whence it was his intention to have proceeded to Bagdad; but, adopting the advice of a friend at Basra, he sailed down the Persian Gulf, and landing at Magul, crossed a plain inhabited by Kurds, and arrived at a ridge of very high mountains. Over these he travelled during three days, finding at every stage a cell with food for the accommodation of travellers. The roads over these mountains were cut through the solid rock. His travelling companions consisted of ten devotees, of whom one was a priest, another a muezzin, and two professed readers of the Koran, to all of whom the sultan of the country sent presents of money.

In ten days they arrived in the territories of Ispahan, and remained some days at the capital, a large and handsome city. From thence he soon departed for Shiraz, which, though inferior to Damascus, was even then an extensive and well-built city, remarkable for the beauty of its streets, gardens, and waters. Its inhabitants likewise, and particularly the women, were persons of integrity, religion, and virtue; but our singular traveller remarks, that for his part he had no other object in going thither than that of visiting the Sheïkh Majd Oddin, the paragon of saints and workers of miracles! By this holy man he was received with great kindness, of which he retained so grateful a remembrance, that on returning home twenty years afterward from the remotest countries of the east, he undertook a journey of five-and-thirty days for the mere purpose of seeing his ancient host.

The greater portion of the early life of Ibn Batūta was consumed in visiting saints, or the birthplaces and tombs of saints: but his time was not therefore misemployed; for, besides the positive pleasure which the presence or sight of such objects appears to have generated in his own mind, at every step he advanced in this sacred pilgrimage his personal consequence, and his claims upon the veneration and hospitality of princes and other great men, were increased. As he may be regarded as the representative of a class of men extremely numerous in the early ages of Islamism, and whose character and mode of life are highly illustrative of the manners of those times, it is important to follow the footsteps of our traveller in his whimsical wanderings a little more closely than would otherwise be necessary.

Proceeding, therefore, at the heels of the honest theologian, we next find him at Kazerun, beholding devoutly the tomb of the Sheïkh Abu Is-hāk, a saint held in high estimation throughout India and China, especially by sailors, who, when tossed about by adverse or tempestuous winds upon the ocean, make great vows to him, which, when safely landed, they pay to the servants of his cell. From hence he proceeded through various districts, many of which were desert and uninhabitable, to Kufa and Hilla, whence, having visited the mosque of the twelfth imam, whose readvent is still expected by his followers, he departed for Bagdad. Here, as at Rome or Athens, the graves of great men abounded; so that Ibn Batūta’s sympathies were every moment awakened, and apparently too painfully; for, notwithstanding that it was one of the largest and most celebrated cities in the world, he almost immediately quitted it with Bahadar Khan, sultan of Irak, whom he accompanied for ten days on his march towards Khorasān. Upon his signifying his desire to return, the prince dismissed him with large presents and a dress of honour, together with the means of performing the pilgrimage to Mecca, which, as an incipient saint, he imagined he could not too frequently repeat.

Finding, on his return to Bagdad, that a considerable time would elapse before the departure of the caravan for the Holy City, he resolved to employ the interval in traversing various portions of Mesopotamia, and in visiting numerous cities which he had not hitherto seen. Among these places the most remarkable were Samarā, celebrated in the history of the Calif Vathek; Mousul, which is said to occupy the site of ancient Nineveh; and Nisibēn, renowned throughout the east for the beauty of its position, and the incomparable scent of the rose-water manufactured there. He likewise spent some time at the city and mountain of Sinjar, inhabited by that extraordinary Kurdish tribe who, according to the testimony of several modern travellers, pay divine honours to the Devil.

This little excursion being concluded, Batūta found the caravan in readiness to set out for Mecca, and departing with it, and arriving safe in the Holy City, he performed all the ceremonies and rites prescribed, and remained there three years, subsisting upon the alms contributed by the pious bounty of the inhabitants of Irak, and conveyed to Mecca by caravans. His travelling fit now returning, he left the birthplace of the prophet, and repairing to Jidda, proceeded with a company of merchants towards Yemen by sea. After being driven by contrary winds to the coast of Africa, and landing at Sūakin, he at length reached Yemen; in the various cities and towns of which he was entertained with a hospitality so generous and grateful that he seems never to be tired of dwelling on their praises. He did not, however, remain long among his munificent hosts, but, taking ship at Aden, passed over once more into Africa, and landed at Zaila, a city of the Berbers. The inhabitants of this place, though Mohammedans, were a rude, uncultivated people, living chiefly upon fish and the flesh of camels, which are slaughtered in the streets, where their blood and offals were left putrefying to infect the air. From this stinking city he proceeded by sea to Makdasha, the Magadocia of the Portuguese navigators; a very extensive place, where the hospitable natives were wont, on the arrival of a ship, to come down in a body to the seashore, and select each his guest from among the merchants.—When a theologian or a nobleman happened to be among the passengers, he was received and entertained by the kazi; and as Ibn Batūta belonged to the former class he of course became the guest of this magistrate. Here he remained a short time, passing his days in banqueting and pleasure; and then returned to Arabia.

During the stay he now made in this country he collected several particulars respecting the trade and manners of the people, which are neither trifling nor unimportant. The inhabitants of Zafār, the most easterly city of Yemen, carried on at that period, he observes, a great trade in horses with India, the voyage being performed in a month. The practice he remarked among the same people of feeding their flocks and herds with fish, and which, he says, he nowhere else observed, prevails, however, up to the present day, among the nations of the Coromandel coast, as well as in other parts of the east. At El Ahkāf, the city of the tribe of Aād, there were numerous gardens, producing enormous bananas, with the cocoanut and the betel. Our fanciful traveller discovered a striking resemblance between the cocoanut and a man’s head, observing that exteriorly there was something resembling eyes and a mouth, and that when young the pulp within was like brains. To complete the similitude, the hair was represented by the fibre, from which, he remarks, cords for sewing together the planks of their vessels, as also cordage and cables, were manufactured. The nut itself, according to him, was highly nourishing, and, like the betel-leaf, a powerful aphrodisiac.

Still pursuing his journey through Arabia, he crossed the desert of Ammān, and met with a people extraordinary among Mahommedans, whose wives were liberal of their favours, without exciting the jealousy of their husbands, and who, moreover, considered it lawful to feed upon the flesh of the domestic ass. From thence he crossed the Persian Gulf to Hormuz, where, among many other extraordinary things, he saw the head of a fish resembling a hill, the eyes of which were like two doors, so that people could walk in at one eye and out at the other! He now felt himself to be within the sphere of attraction of an object whose power he could never resist. There was, he heard, at Janja-bal, a certain saint, and of course he forthwith formed the resolution to refresh himself with a sight of him. He therefore crossed the sea, and hiring a number of Turcomans, without whose protection there was no travelling in that part of the country, entered a waterless desert, four days’ journey in extent, over which the Bedouins wander in caravans, and where the death-bearing simoom blows during the hot months of summer. Having passed this desolate and dreary tract, he arrived in Kusistān, a small province of Persia, bordering upon Laristān, in which Janja-bal, the residence of the saint, was situated. The sheïkh, who was secretly, or, as the people believed, miraculously, supplied with a profusion of provisions, received our traveller courteously, sent him fruit and food, and contrived to impress him with a high idea of his sanctity.

He now entered upon the ancient kingdom of Fars, an extensive and fertile country, abounding in gardens producing a profusion of aromatic herbs, and where the celebrated pearl-fisheries of Bahrein, situated in a tranquil arm of the sea, are found. The pearl divers employed here were Arabs, who, tying a rope round their waists, and wearing upon their faces a mask made of tortoise-shell, descended into the water, where, according to Batūta, some remained an hour, others two, searching among forests of coral for the pearls.

Ibn Batūta was possessed by an extraordinary passion for performing the pilgrimage to Mecca; and now (A. D. 1332), the year in which El Malik El Nāsir, sultan of Egypt, visited the holy city, set out from Persia on his third sacred expedition. Having made the necessary genuflexions, and kissed the black stone at the Kaaba, he began to turn his thoughts towards India, but was prevented, we know not how, from carrying his design into execution; and traversing a portion of Arabia and Egypt, entered Room or Turkey. Here, in the province of Anatolia, he was entertained by an extraordinary brotherhood, to whom, as to all his noble hosts and entertainers, he devotes a portion of his travels. This association, which existed in every Turcoman town, consisted of a number of youths, who, under the direction of one of the members, called “the brother,” exercised the most generous hospitality towards all strangers, and were the vigorous and decided enemies of oppression. Upon the formation of one of these associations, the brother, or president, erected a cell, in which were placed a horse, a saddle, and whatever other articles were considered necessary. The president himself, and every thing in the cell, were always at the service of the members, who every evening conveyed the product of their industry to the president, to be sold for the benefit of the cell; and when any stranger arrived in the town, he was here hospitably entertained, and contributed to increase the hilarity of the evening, which was passed in feasting, drinking, singing, and dancing.

Travelling to Iconium, and other cities of Asia Minor, in all of which he was received and entertained in a splendid manner, while presents of slaves, horses, and gold were sometimes bestowed upon him, he at length took ship at Senab, and sailed for Krim Tartary. During the voyage he endured great hardships, and was very near being drowned; but at length arrived at a small port on the margin of the desert of Kifjāk, a country over which Mohammed Uzbek Khan then reigned. Being desirous of visiting the court of this prince, Ibn Batūta now hired one of those arabahs, or carts, in which the inhabitants travel with their families over those prodigious plains, where neither mountain nor hill nor tree meets the eye, and where the dung of animals serves as a substitute for fuel, and entered upon a desert of six months’ extent. Throughout these immense steppes, which are denominated _desert_ merely in reference to their comparative unproductiveness, our traveller found cities, but thinly scattered; and vast droves of cattle, which, protected by the excessive severity of the laws, wandered without herdsmen or keepers over the waste. The women of the country, though they wore no veils, were virtuous, pious, and charitable; and consequently were held in high estimation.

Arriving at the _Bish Tag_, or “Five Mountains,” he there found the _urdu_ (whence our word _horde_) or camp of the sultan, a moving city, with its streets, palaces, mosques, and cooking houses, “the smoke of which ascended as they moved along.” Mohammed Uzbek, then sovereign of Kifjāk, was a brave and munificent prince; and Ibn Batūta, having, according to Tartar etiquette, first paid a visit of ceremony to each of his wives, was politely received by him.

From this camp our traveller set out, with guides appointed by the sultan, for the city of Bulgār, which, according to the Maresid Al Etluā, is situated in Siberia. Here, in exemplification of the extreme shortness of the night, he observes, that while repeating the prayer of sunset he was overtaken, though he by no means lagged in his devotions, by the time for evening prayer, which was no sooner over than it was time to begin that of midnight; and that before he could conclude one voluntary orison, which he added to this, the dawn had already appeared, and morning prayer was to be begun. Forty days’ journey to the north of this place lay the land of darkness, where, he was told, people travelled over interminable plains of ice and snow, on small light sledges, drawn by dogs; but he was deterred from pushing his researches into these Cimmerian regions by the fear of danger, and considerations of the inutility of the journey. He returned, therefore, to the camp of the sultan.

Mohammed Uzbek had married a daughter of the Greek Emperor of Constantinople, who, being at this time pregnant, requested his permission to be confined in her father’s palace, where it was her intention to leave her child. The sultan consented, and Ibn Batūta, conceiving that an excellent opportunity for visiting the Greek capital now presented itself, expressed a desire to accompany the princess, but the sultan, who regarded him apparently as something too gay for a saint, at first refused to permit him. Upon his pressing the matter, however, representing that he should never appear before the queen but as his servant and guest, so that no fears need be entertained of him, the royal husband, relenting, allowed him to go, and presented him, on his departure, with fifteen hundred dinars, a dress of honour, and several horses; while each of his sultanas, together with his sons and daughters, caused the traveller to taste of their bounty.

The queen, while she remained in her husband’s territories, respected the religion and manners of the Mohammedans; but she had no sooner entered her father’s dominions, and found herself surrounded by her countrymen, than she drank wine, dismissed the ministers of Islamism, and was reported to commit the abomination of eating swine’s flesh. Ibn Batūta was still treated with respect, however, and continuing to be numbered among the suite of the sultana, arrived at length at Constantinople, where, in his zeal to watch over the comfort of his royal mistress, he exposed himself to the risk of being squeezed to death in the crowd. On entering the city, his ears appear to have been much annoyed by the ringing of numerous bells, which, with the inveterate passion of all Europeans for noise when agitated by any joyous emotions, the Greeks of Constantinople substituted for their own voices in the expression of their satisfaction.

Remaining about five weeks in Constantinople, where, owing to the difference of manners, language, and religion, he does not appear to have tasted of much pleasure, he returned to Mohammed Uzbek, whose bounty enabled him to pursue his journey towards the east in a very superior style. The country to which his desires now pointed was Khavāresm, the road thither traversing, during the greater part of the way, a barren desert, where little water and a very scanty herbage were to be found. Crossing this waste in a carriage drawn by camels, he arrived at Khavāresm, the largest city at that period possessed by the Turks. Here he found the people friendly towards strangers, liberal, and well-bred,—and no wonder; for in every mosque a whip was hung up, with which every person who absented himself from church was soundly flogged by the priest, besides being fined in five dinars. This practice, which Ibn Batūta thought highly commendable, no doubt contributed greatly towards rendering the people liberal and well-bred. Next to the refinement of the people, the most remarkable thing he observed at Khavāresm was a species of melon, green on the outside, and red within, which, being cut into thin oblong slices and dried, was packed up in cases like figs, and exported to India and China. Thus preserved, the Khavāresm melon was thought equal to the best dried fruits in the world, and regarded as a present worthy of kings.