The Geographer's Library

Jon Fasman
The king summoned al-Idrisi on this March morning in 1154 with an
affirmative answer to his geographer’s request. Al-Idrisi would be given
leave, expenses, a ship, and a staff to embark on the greatest cartographical
undertaking of his life, and certainly the greatest in Sicilian history: to draw a
map of the known world. He would begin, of course, with Europe, and he
would begin in the north; letters to King Sweyn III of Denmark requesting
favor and safe conduct had already been dispatched. Not without a degree of
sadness, Roger granted him freedom to leave at will; al-Idrisi commended
into his liege’s keeping his gardens, orchards, and his home, requesting only
that he always keep the library—the curiosities as well as the books—
together. To the queen, al-Idrisi gave his jewels, “precious gifts from a life of
wandering that I had hoped would pass to my wives and daughters. I see now
that I will have none, and if you should take them in remembrance of me,
perhaps you will do me the honor of passing them to your daughters and so,
together with the comfort and presence of God, lessen the dolor and quiet
the regrets of a lonely old man.”
Late that summer al-Idrisi paid his visit to the Danish king Sweyn, who
was curious to meet a foreigner from the south, permanently tanned by the
desert sun. The cartographer’s stay was not a long one; he wrote to Roger
that “moving northward, a man naturally passes from civilization into barbarism;
indeed, one might reasonably question whether civilization is possible
in the northern climes. Where a man’s energies must principally be
expended on defending himself from the cold in winter, infernal mosquitoes
and disease in summer, and infidel raiders at all times, how can he expect to
develop those arts of the soul and intellect—I speak here of music, learning,
conversation, cuisine—that, by the grace of God, prevail at your noble court,
which I so dearly miss?”
He wrote that he would depart the Danish court as quickly as possible,
“for, if I would speak truly here (and pray God that this message falls into no
hands but your own), the men are given only to drunkenness, brawlings, contests
of brute strength, and an artless chanting which they mistakenly call
singing. By God’s provident design, a young bishop named Meinhard is at
the court now. He will sail east after the days begin to wane and cool, and, for
the sake of your name and the justly earned fame of your most royal court,
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