For among the missing arrows is one that hits, meaning that even a miser may have a fit of generosity (see Ar. Prov., ii. 625).
So he was not slow (lit., he belied him not) to set his net and to bake his fish before the fire.—These are two proverbial expressions, according to a marginal note in “Myths of Modern Origin,” for using stratagem or planning deceit, the former self-evident, the latter arising from the practice of a thief, who on seeing a fire, walked up to it with the purpose of stealing, but when surprised, pretended he had come to bake his fish by it.
Are rooted more firmly than mount Raẓwá.—This is the name of a mountain near Medina with far-spreading ramifications, which explains the comparison here made between its extent and that of the Kadi’s wisdom and clemency.
Whose gifts are like yon quails and yon manna, allusion to Koran, ii. 54: “And We caused the clouds to overshadow you, and We sent down manna and quails upon you” (comp. also vii. 160 and xx. 82).
Then the youth repented bitterly.—The Arabic for this: fa-suqit̤a
’l-fatá fî yadi-hi, contains a peculiarity of idiom, which has greatly
exercised the ingenuity of the philologists. Suqût̤, to fall, is a neuter
verb of which the passive can only be used in the third person
singular suqit̤a, with the impersonal meaning “it was fallen,” and
the proverbial expression suqit̤a fî yadi-hi (Ar. Prov., i. 604), which
is applied to one deeply repentant, signifies, a falling into his hand
was caused, namely, of his head or mouth, brought about by his
remorse, since people in a paroxysm of contrition were wont to bite
their fingers. A note in De Sacy’s second edition points out, that
grammatically speaking the phrase is very similar to the Latin “Sic
itur ad astra,” literally, “thus a going or soaring to the stars is
done,” for: this is the road to fame. The Arabic mode of speech
seems to have been unknown to the poets of the pre-Islamite period,
but appears for the first time in the Koran, vii. 148, where it is said
of the worshippers of the golden calf wa-lammâ suqit̤a fî aidî-him, translated
by Rodwell: “But when they bitterly repented.” Mohammed,
no doubt, had heard the locution on his journeys amongst the desert
Arabs, but when the later poets adopted it from the sacred book,
they inadvertently or intentionally overlooked the impersonality of
the passive form, and Abû Nuwâs, for instance, was not afraid to
say: wa niswatin suqit̤t̤u minhâ fî yadî. This is about the same as if
a facetious Latinist of the middle ages had, in the sentence quoted
above, added the termination of the first person to the verbal form
itur, and written: sic ituro ad astra. Intelligent readers would
have understood him to mean: “Thus I do what is done to reach
the stars or the pinnacle of glory,” just as the fellow-countrymen of
Abû Nuwâs perceived his meaning to be: “And there is many a
woman by whom I was made sorely to repent.” In the present case the
construction could have been rendered perfectly correct in two ways
by saying either: fa iẕâ ’l-fatâ suqit̤a fî yadi-hi or fa suqit̤a fî yadi
’l-fatâ, the former signifying “Then, as for the youth, it was fallen
into his hand,” the latter meaning, “Then it was fallen into the
hand of the youth,” where the expression “it was fallen” is to be
explained as has been done in the beginning of this note. Now it
may be asked, why did Ḥarîri, who possessed such a thorough
mastery over his language, choose the more objectionable form
when he knew better? My answer is, that it is not he who speaks
in his work, but the Râwî, who relates Abû Zayd’s adventures, and
Ḥarîri shows his skill in making him speak in the most natural and
life-like manner. Al Ḥârith, who may be supposed to be an Arab of
liberal education, above all well versed in his Koran and the poetry
of his age, had begun with the proverbial and sacred formula fa
suqit̤a, but remembering that the pronoun in yadi-hi would be
without a subject to refer to, as the person mentioned last, was the
Kadi, he throws in at once, by way of parenthesis, the word al-
And (might) learn from what tree his fire sprang, lit., might know the tree of his fire, for “his origin and character,” alluding to the proverb (Ar. Prov., ii. 207, 256): “In every tree is fire, but the Markh and the ‘Ufâr excel,” viz., in yielding fire when rubbed, or feeding it, when kindled; so much so that in the hot season frequently trees of these kinds are set aflame by the friction, brought about by the wind, and spread conflagration over a whole valley. A poet of the Hamâseh says:
“Thy fire-shafts are the best of fire-shafts of kings in which the Markh-
But even wert thou in the darkness of night to rub a pebble with the wood of the Naba‘ tree, thou wouldst elicit fire.”
The Naba‘ is a tree whose wood, on account of its hardness, is preferred for making bows, so that the production of a spark by rubbing it against a pebble is a striking simile for any marvellous and extraordinary feat.
To inquire after his good and evil hap, in Arabic li-asta‘rifa sâniḥahu wa bâriḥa-hu. This is taken from the flight of a bird, or from game, which are called sâniḥ, if coming from the left and turning their right to you, which is considered by most Arabs to portend good, while bâriḥ means the reverse, and is said to augur evil. According to Sherîshi, however, the people of Nejd regard, on the contrary, the former as an ominous, the latter as an auspicious sign.