Some time after, Ḥarîri, being in the mosque of the Benû Ḥarâm, in the quarter of Basra where he lived, observed an old man enter in worn garments, and with all the marks of poverty. He had the wallet of a foot traveller, and had evidently come from afar. Abû’l Ḳâsim ‘Abdallah, the son of Ḥarîri, who tells the story, says, “The company asked him whence he came; he answered, ‘From Serûj:’ asked concerning his kinyeh or byename, he answered that it was Abû Zayd.” This wanderer had excited the curiosity of the company by the fluency and eloquence of his address, in which he had related the destruction of his city, the loss of his daughter, and his own exile and beggary. Ḥarîri went home and wrote what is now the forty-eighth Assembly, in which he describes this incident. In this Assembly, which bears the name of Ḥarâmîyeh, the usual order of narration is reversed; for Abû Zayd is his own Râwi, and Ḥârith, son of Hammâm, is introduced incidentally. Abû Zayd is made to say that he had long wished to visit Basra, the city of learning and piety, of mosques and shrines, and that, at last, when fortune had brought him to it, he had made his way one evening to the mosque, where the people were engaged in a grammatical dis­cussion on the , or interchangeable letters. He had entered to ask their bounty, not to learn their opinions on grammar; but, before he had time to test their liberality, the hour of prayer arrived, and the people began their devotions. When these were over, a man of noble mien and great eloquence stood forth and made a pious address to the worshippers, who asked the reason of his zeal, and were informed by him that he was a backslider, who had fallen from the practice of piety into debauchery, and had broken the vow which he had made never to drink wine. The stranger concluded by asking the faithful if they knew of any due atonement. The dialogue between the repentant sinner and the people is of course recited at length by Abû Zayd, who then relates that he had started forward and told the stranger that there was an effectual method of wiping away his guilt, and that was by bestowing alms on him, Abû Zayd, for that he had fallen from high estate to bitter poverty. In plaintive verse Abû Zayd described that he was of the dwellers in Serûj, a people of religion and right guidance; that there he had been wealthy and liberal, his mansion the gathering place of guests, and his substance freely given up to them; that like the Arabs of old he had kindled his fire on the height to attract the traveller, when the niggard let his fire burn low. This prosperity had now passed away, for God had brought the people of Rûm (so the Arabs call the Byzantines, whom Abû Zayd here confounds with the Franks) on the land, and these had spoiled the home of every Unifier of God, that is, every Moslem. He, him­self, had been driven forth to exile and poverty, while his daughter remained a captive in their hands, and he had not wherewith to ransom her. If, then, the stranger would pity and relieve him he would find pardon from God for the fault which he deplored. Abû Zayd then goes on to relate that the stranger had given him money and promised him more, and that Al Ḥârith, son of Hammâm, had complimented him on his eloquence and skill in opening men’s purses. But, says Abû Zayd: I laughed exceedingly, and recited without hesitation:—

“Live by beguiling, for thou art in a world (or time) whose sons are as the lions of Bîsheh.

And turn on the stream of craft, so mayest thou make the mill of livelihood go round.

Hunt after the eagle, but if the chase fail, be content if thou but strike off a feather.

Seek to pluck the fruit, but if that escape thee, be satisfied with the leaves.

Ease thy heart from distracting care if fortune be adverse;

For the changing of events gives notice to man of life’s uncer­tainty.”

Every subsequent Assembly composed by Ḥarîri is but a variation on this theme. His hero, Abû Zayd, is always the same ill-dressed, crafty old man, full of genius and learning, unscrupulous of the artifices which he uses to effect his purpose, reckless in spending in forbidden indulgences the money he has obtained by his wit or deceit, but with veins of true feeling in him, and ever yielding to unfeigned emotion when he re­members his devastated home and his captive child. There can be no doubt that Ḥarîri intends to represent the groundwork of Abû Zayd’s history as true, however much the vagabond improviser may romance on other matters. But it may be as well to mention here a supplement to the tradition concerning the origin of the character. The commentator, Ar Râzi, cited by De Sacy in his commentary to the forty-eighth Assembly, re­lates as follows: “I was told by the Imâm Al Ḥâfiẓ al Bendehi, who had it from Abû Bekr al Berathîni, who had it from Al Ḥarîri, that the Serûji was a fluent old man, full of eloquence and cleverness, who visited us in Basra, and, standing in the mosque of the Benû Ḥarâm, conversed with the people and asked alms of them. One or more of the magistrates was there, and the mosque was crowded with people of eminence, whom he pleased with the fluency and beauty of his language, describing how his daughter had been made captive by the men of Rûm, as is mentioned in the Assembly called Al Ḥarâmîyeh. “That evening,” continued Ḥarîri, “there were assembled at my house some people of eminence and learning in the city, and I related to them what I had witnessed, describing the eloquence of this mendicant, and his art in effecting his purpose, upon which each one of them told how he had heard the same man discourse in a different mosque, and on a different subject, still more excellently; for he had changed his dress and figure in every mosque, and showed his wit by a variety of artifices. I was filled with wonder, and began that same night the composi­tion of the Assembly Al Ḥarâmîyeh, imitating his style; and when it was finished I read it to a company of the chief people, who admired it exceedingly, and brought it to the knowledge of the Wazîr, Sheref ad Dîn Anûshirwân ibn Khâlid. He pressed me to compose others like it, and I complied.”

There is no reason to doubt the truth of this adven­ture. The talent for rhetorical and poetical improvisation which had always distinguished the Arabs, even in the most barbarous times, had been so much exercised by the literary fashions of the age, that it was no uncommon thing to find even an obscure and needy person who could pronounce a khoṭbah or moral address in rhymed prose, or could versify on a given theme. The Abû’l Fatḥ of Hamadâni, and the Abû Zayd of Harîri, were not imaginary types, and though we may well suppose that the themes of such strollers were often common-place, and their style unpolished, yet they served to give more gifted persons the idea of a new form of composition. It may even be that the Assem­blies of Hamadâni had inspired, here and there, a poor man of letters with the ambition of playing the part of Abû’l Fatḥ, and that Abû Zayd was one of these. However this may be, it is certain that Ḥarîri’s first essay in this kind of writing was received with un­bounded applause. The tradition which makes Sheref ad Dîn Abû Naṣr Anûshirwân al Iṣfahani the patron of Ḥarîri is probably correct. He was a man of ability and taste, and became in later years Wazîr to the Khalif Mustarshid billah, and to the Sultan Mas‘ûd. In his Pre­face Ḥarîri says that the composition of his Assemblies was at the dictation of one whose hint was a command, and to obey whom was a pleasure and advantage. This is generally supposed to refer to Anûshirwân, though Ibn Khallikân, in his life of the author, says, that being at Cairo, in the year 656, he had seen a copy of several of the Assemblies written by the hand of Ḥarîri, and on the cover of them a declaration that he had composed them for the Wazîr Jelâl ad Dîn ‘Amîd ad Dowlat ibn Ṣadaḳah, who was also Wazîr of Mustarshid. But this, which rests only on the doubtful genuineness of a hand­writing, cannot outweigh the general tradition that is opposed to it, and Ibn Khallikân himself seems to feel this, for he adds, “God knows the truth.” It is reason­able then to conclude that Anûshirwân, having read the first composed Assembly, and perceiving that Ḥarîri had rivalled in it his predecessor, Badî‘ az Zemân, urged the author to add others to it, and that Ḥarîri obeyed, with less unwillingness and modesty than he pretends. The tradition is, that he composed, from time to time, forty Assemblies, each of them, as we see, recounting an ad­venture of Abû Zayd, but without any connection with any other. His performances obtained for him the friendship of Anûshirwân, and he frequently visited Bagdad and payed his court to his patron. From a copy of verses preserved by ‘Imâd ad Dîn, it would seem that the author was somewhat importunate in his devotion, for he complains not only of his separation from Anû-shirwân, but also of the latter’s neglect in not answering his letters. But such was the style of the poets of the time, who carried the besetting sins of servility and adulation further than any of their race before or since.

The friendship of Anûshirwân could not, however, prevent Ḥarîri from being endangered both in life and property by the calamities which came upon his city. Wars, predatory inroads of the neighbouring Arabs, political revolutions, followed by merciless executions of men in high position, disturbed many years of the author’s life. But his Assemblies were still given to the world from time to time. As soon as he had composed some ingenious exercise, he fitted it to an adventure of Abû Zayd, named it after some city of Islam, and repairing to the portico of the mosque, read it to the admiring crowd. The learned criticized; some in a friendly spirit, others with less good will, and Ḥarîri never hesitated to correct his work if he found in it an inelegant expression, a word used without authority, a solecism in grammar, a phrase of the Koran or a tradition misapplied, or a proverb wrongly quoted. On the other hand, he main­tained his opinion when convinced that he was in the right, explaining his meaning, and refuting his adver­saries in commentaries by his own hand, or in lectures to his pupils, whom he instructed in the full meaning of his compositions. His reputation soon surpassed that of the “Wonder of the Time” himself. Nothing so witty, so ingenious, and, what an Arab savant valued above all, so difficult, had ever been produced. Al Hamadâni’s most esteemed compositions were tame when compared with the marvellous rhetoric of his successor. The Assem­blies, handed about singly or in groups, made their way to all the cities of the East, and were destined, before the death of their author, to be perused from the Indus to the Guadalquivir.