From the “True Legends” project curated by Tom Bacon Ohayon

Two of my paintings appear in the second volume, along with works by another 27 artists/illustrators.

The tale I illustrated is called Ziryab Adds a String.

What is culture? Despite all of us using this word all the time, the answer is not simple. Culture is everything that defines and distinguishes one society from another, yet there is something special that can change every person into a cultured person – manners, appreciation for art, and maintaining good relations with the environment. With the help of all of these, every person can be cultured, no matter from which society he hails.

For past centuries, many have praised and lauded European culture. It is indeed worthy of praise – this is the culture that brought us the artworks of the Italian Renaissance and the classical music of Bach and Mozart. From opera to ballet, gourmet restaurants and breathtaking ball gowns, there is definitely cause for praise. But who brought culture to Europe? This tale will respond to this question.

One thousand three hundred years ago, the capital of world culture was the city of Baghdad, in Iraq. Between its splendid walls and twisting streets, the city was proud of its many refined poems and songs, enchanting music, and numerous centers of learning and education. Its many libraries housed wonderful Arabic poetry, science and philosophy books from Greece and Rome, and even ancient religious books from the early culture of Persia and Babylonia. It was there, in the year 789, that Abu Hassan Ali Ibn Nafi was born. Due to his wondrous singing voice, he was called “Ziryab,” or blackbird in Arabic.  

Ziryab proved his musical talent at a very young age, playing an instrument and singing. Not much time passed until he was accepted as a student by Ishaq, the royal musician in the court of the great Abbasid Caliph Haroun al-Rashid.

Ishaq taught Ziryab the complicated art of playing the oud, the four-stringed Arabic guitar. The studies were very difficult, as playing the traditional oud involves many scales and complex forms. Ishaq the master insisted that Ziryab learn all of them in the correct way – and only in this way.

Young Ziryab was not afraid of hard work. He practiced for many long hours on his teacher’s scales and rhythms, but something still disturbed him. While playing, he felt new melodies beating in his heart, as if the oud itself were begging to have sounds heard unlike anything else ever sounded.

His strict teacher was unwilling to hear about it – his opinion was that his was the correct way to play the instrument, and that his way was the only way. Ishaq considered any divergence from this way as the insolence of a rebellious student. Ziryab learned that if he wanted to attempt a different kind of playing, he must do so in secret.

Every day, he would go to his teacher, study his craft with the patience of a submissive pupil, and every evening he would secretly leave the city, sit underneath a tree on the bank of the Euphrates, and play strange and unusual melodies.

He enjoyed his experimentation so much that he decided he would go further and break his teacher’s rules entirely: he took his oud, broke it down into  its components, and reassembled it – but this time, with five strings instead of four. As if that weren’t enough, Ziryab invented a new style of playing music which integrated delicate instrumentation with marvelous singing. At present, we know many singers who accompany themselves on the guitar, but in those days, it was unheard of, as playing music and singing were separate arts.

One day, the great Caliph asked Master Ishaq which of his students showed the greatest promise. Without hesitation, he spoke of Ziryab as one faithfully devoted to his studies and played properly, exactly as he should. Haroun al-Rashid was intrigued, and asked to have the lad brought to court to play for him. The young Ziryab responded that he would be happy to play before the caliph, but on condition that he be permitted to play on his own instrument. Nothing like that had ever been heard – at the caliph’s court, no one except for the ruler ever set terms.

The caliph’s curiosity overcame his pride, and he agreed to the lad’s terms. How great was the amazement in the hall, when Ziryab presented his unique oud to the audience – an oud with five strings. The courtiers began to whisper among themselves, “Who is this boastful lad who thinks that he can reinvent everything we know and have loved for years?” but all speaking ceased when the young man began to play and sing.

Such sounds had never been heard within the palace. Ziryab’s bold musicianship and marvelous singing were integrated delicately and naturally. It seemed as if Ziryab, assisted by the oud, was playing upon the emotions of those present. He played a joyful song and the audience rejoiced; when he played a sad song, all began to cry. It was if the listeners’ souls, which had become accustomed to the familiar rhythms and scales, suddenly released themselves from their earthly cages to be borne upwards to realms reserved for people privileged to have been exposed to high art. When Ziryab concluded, the caliph and his retinue rushed to praise the wonderful playing and singing, and all were proudly happy to have been in the company of such huge talent.

All were happy except for one: Ishaq the royal musician was infuriated. He was angered by the bold insolence with which the young musician had allowed himself to scorn all of the rules of playing an instrument that he had learned, but more so because he was jealous of his talent. He saw the new admiration that his student had acquired, and feared that Ziryab might replace him as the royal musician. Thus, in thrall to the green-eyed monster – jealousy – he ordered Ziryab to leave Baghdad immediately, warning him that if he dared show his face in town Ishaq would make sure it was his end. The unfortunate Ziryab, who had hoped that his distinguished teacher would be proud of him, was forced to become an exile from his own country.

For many years he moved around, wandering from city to city, alone and destitute. He played in Damascus, Cairo, and Tunisia, learning the unique style of each location. Despite his empty pockets, ZIryab succeeded in finding good people in each place he stopped who admired his talent and paid him for his playing, thus ensuring that he had enough money on which to live.

At the same time, in the city of Cordoba in Andalusia, Spain, the great Caliph al-Hakim I had a big problem. Throughout the entire Arab world, people were talking about the wonderful cultures of Baghdad, Cairo, and Damascus, and no one ever told stories about his city.

He wanted Cordoba to become a world cultural capital, like Baghdad, Cairo, and Damascus. But how does one make a city into a cultural capital? Al-Hakim’s advisors told him that there was a young musician named Zinyab, who moved royal courts with his playing – maybe he could bring culture to Cordoba. The caliph agreed and demanded an immediate royal invitation be issued to Ziryab.

Ziryab, who had his fill of wandering, was pleased, hoping that he would find a new, permanent home in Cordoba. Feeling very happy, he set out on the long journey from Tunis to Morocco, and from there by ship through the Straits of Gibraltar, to Spain. When he reached the gates of Cordoba, he discovered to his amazement that the caliph who invited him had passed away, and was succeeded by his son Abed al-Rahman II, who knew nothing about the invitation to the foreign singer/musician.

The new caliph was wondering about the arrival of the young musician, and when it was explained to him that his father had invited him hoping that he would bring some culture to the city, he decided to honor his father’s memory and invite Ziryab to be the court musician.

When Ziryab entered the caliph’s court, he was shocked and horrified; despite Cordoba being the capital of the great kingdom of Andalusia, the hall was filthy, and the courtiers were sitting around crude wooden tables, shouting at each other and making so much noise, that it was impossible to hear anything except the crowd. Not only was there noise, but Ziryab’s nostrils filled with the sharp scent of sweat and a foul stench.

Every musician who values his art knows that to succeed one must respect every stage on which he is invited to appear. With this realization, Ziryab closed his eyes and began to pluck the strings of the oud, singing a sad, melancholy song that he had composed during his wanderings.

When he finished and opened his eyes, he was astounded to discover that the entire audience was in tears. Not one of those present had ever heard such sweet music. Their crude emotions, which had not yet been refined by high art that refines the soul with its charm, burst out from them in wailing. Ziryab was also very moved; everywhere he went people appreciated his playing, but he had never before seen an audience so totally connected to his music. When the melody ceased and silence reigned over the hall, the young caliph fell on his knees and said a prayer of thanks to his later father’s spirit for the gift that he sent to the court.

To express his thanks, the caliph ordered that a large mansion in the city be given to Ziryab, with a monthly salary of 200 gold dinars. This was a huge sum, which until this point was reserved only for the ruler’s closest advisors. Ziryab understood that from now on he need have no worries about his future.

The grateful musician asked the generous ruler what he wanted in exchange for such a handsome sum. The caliph responded with a single word: “Culture.”

In this way, Ziryab became the first “Minister of Culture” in history. As such, he was charged with the task of transforming Cordoba into a glistening pearl of culture on the world map.

At first Ziryab was happy – not only did his new fortune ensure that he could live his life as he always dreamed of doing, but now his status would enable him to shape his environment and to act to benefit it. After all, every artist dreams of these goals.

Afterwards, when he looked around him, his excitement subsided. Everyone was sitting on a filthy floor. Although there were many different delicacies set on the tables, they tasted bland and were colorless. As if that were not enough, they were thrown onto each table in an unpleasant-looking heap.

Furthermore, those around the table did not look any better than their environment; ZIryab looked on in shock as he saw how each of them took a fistful of food in his hand, shoved it into his mouth, and wiped his hands on his clothing. Everyone was wearing a long, grey, stained robe; each had long hair gathered into a clumsy braid whose thinning edges peeked out from every side. If Ziryab had to bring culture to the city, he was facing a great deal of work.

“O generous ruler,” Ziryab addressed Abd al-Rahman II, “I am grateful from the bottom of my heart for the favor you have bestowed on me. However, please forgive me, but please explain what is the most fitting way in your eyes for me to fulfill the duties of my office?”

The caliph thought about it for some time. He gazed at ZIryab – with his noble modesty, lovely clothing and quiet manners – all the while remembering his wonderful music and beautiful singing, and responded: “Forgive me but I cannot help you with this. I have no doubt that in all matters of culture you are superior to all other citizens of Cordoba. You said that you are grateful and I thank you, but you are a free man, not bound by your thanks, and you are to do anything you wish on condition that you work to enrich our city’s culture.” 

Something magical happens when artists are given a free hand. Suddenly, one focus expands to infinite inspired possibilities, and they use their talent to create never-before-seen things.

First, Ziryab established the first school in Europe for music, song, and dance. It was not like the school he knew from his Baghdad childhood: they did not only study the important old laws, but encouraged artists to experiment, innovate, and even invent new styles themselves. The school was a tremendous success, producing many musicians who filled the city with dance, melodies, and song.

Everyone lauded Ziryab for his great contribution to the city and sent him heartfelt thanks, but this was only the beginning of his work. He knew that listening was only one of the human senses, and that if he truly wished to enrich the city’s culture, he would have to enrich the other senses. Only in this way could he develop the greatest art – the art of refining the soul.

He made sure to import the best treasures of the East into the city – fabrics from Palmyra, Mosul and Damascus; books from Baghdad and Cairo; and various spices from India to Marrakech. He replaced the old metal beakers with high-quality crystal goblets and acquainted diners with the use of tablecloths and serviettes.

Because he knew that each facet of life could be rich with art, a new custom began: instead of an overladen table, from now on, there would be courses in an orderly arrangement. He explained that the meal would begin with soup to stimulate the appetite, followed by different salads to accompany fish or meat. The final course would be a sweet dessert or simply nuts and roasted seeds. He even invented several new dishes himself, which were so tasty that even now some restaurants call certain dishes after Ziryab.

After addressing the sense of taste, he continued to the sense of smell, importing spices from all over the world, and even invented a new type of mint toothpaste and the first version we know of for deodorant.

As if that were not enough, Ziryab began to design fashion for the city – people would no longer wear long shapeless grey robs, but from now on would try out various fabrics and designs. Under his patronage, special fashion designs began for each season to have its own style and character: In winter people would wear clothing made of breathable warm material, in summertime in sparkling white robes. Springtime was for boldly colorful fabrics, and dresses embroidered with flowers.

He also demonstrated a new style for men’s haircuts: instead of a clumsy braid above a scraggly beard, he proposed short, well arranged hair, around a clean-shaven face. For women, he invented bangs and encouraged women to experiment with unique haircuts. Thus Ziryab became one of the first fashion designers in history.

Only a short time passed until Cordoba became the world capital of culture and style. Many other cities began to import clothing and cosmetics from Cordoba that were unobtainable elsewhere, as well as artists and craftsmen, chefs and other professionals who could teach how to enrich residents’ lives and refine their taste like the people of Cordoba.

The residents of the city thanked Ziryab and made him their national hero. They asked him about the source of his inspiration for so many inventions. In his modesty and with his manners, he responded, “Me? I just added a string.”