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TALES OF THE HASHISH EATERS
* * *
By the mid-nineteenth century, hashish was familiar to educated
Westerners from two colourful and unreliable sources. The first was
the stories of The Arabian Nights, which had achieved extraordinary
popular reach during the previous century, initially in Antoine Galland’s
French twelve-volume translation (or interpretation, or invention)5 of
1704–17 and subsequently in a profusion of bootlegged, embroidered
and bowdlerised versions. By 1882 the tales were, according to Robert
Louis Stevenson, ‘more generally loved than Shakespeare’, a world that
‘captivates in childhood, and still delights in age’.
6
‘Hashish’, in The Arabian Nights, was a European rendering of the
Arabic banj, which can refer to a variety of plant intoxicants: most
often cannabis, but also opium or deliriant nightshades such as datura
or henbane. The drug features in tales set in the streets of Baghdad
during the eighth-century golden age of Sultan Haroun al-Rashid,
where it circulates among low-life beggars, petty criminals and religious subversives: typical hashish eaters, in the view of the literary and
cultured elite of medieval Persia. It features in several tales, and inhabits
two well-defined roles. In some it was deployed as a knockout drug by
criminals and kidnappers to render their victims unconscious or amnesiac.7 In others, such as the well-known ‘Tale of the Hashish Eater’, it
was a comic device for provoking delusions of grandeur. In this instance
a beggar, reduced to poverty by his appetite for women and luxury, eats
a large lump of hashish and wanders into a bathhouse, a scene transformed before his eyes into a palace where slaves wash and perfume
him and he is supplied with alluring concubines. He drifts into a
blissful sleep and awakes to find himself immersed in a cattle-trough in
the street, naked and with an erection, to the amusement of the crowd
thronging the street. It was, in the bathetic punchline, all a dream.
The hashish tales of The Arabian Nights were broad, raucous comedy
relief, set among and appealing to the lower strata of society for whom
hashish was one of life’s few affordable luxuries. Their subjects were
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SATURNALIA OF THE SENSES
typically the feckless poor and their vain, presumptuous attempts to
gain rewards without earning them. Like Oliver Wendell Holmes’s
ether anecdote, they were a droll assurance to the respectable and
sober-minded that drug epiphanies were always exposed in the cold
light of day as delusions. Once the tales reached Europe several centuries later, however, hashish was opened to fresh interpretations: a
prompt to fantastical descriptions of Oriental opulence, or an affirmation of the power of the imagination to elevate the dreamer, if only
temporarily, from the gutter to the stars.
The second context in which hashish was familiar was the scholarly
debate around Marco Polo’s famous story of the Assassins, the mysterious and deadly sect who occupied an infamous position in European
cultural memory as the Crusaders’ most feared adversaries. In his
account, first published around 1300, Polo described (from hearsay) a
fortified palace and gardens hidden high in a remote mountain cleft in
the north of Persia, presided over by a potentate known as the Old
Man of the Mountain. The walled gardens were exquisitely designed
and tricked out with mechanical contrivances that made the rivers run
with wine, milk and honey. When the Old Man’s recruits and followers
arrived at the citadel they were given an intoxicating drink that sent
them into a deep sleep, from which they awoke to find themselves in
his gardens, surrounded by courtesans dressed in gold and silk. They
enjoyed this idyll of the senses until they eventually slept again, at
which point they were returned to the palace. On waking, the Old
Man informed them that he had magically transported them to
Paradise, and that after a life and death in his service as Assassins they
would return there. The recruits swore total obedience to him, most
famously demonstrated by their willingness, at the snap of the Old
Man’s fingers, to leap off the citadel walls and plunge to their deaths a
thousand feet below.
The sinister legend of the Assassins, and the brainwashing drug with
which the Old Man controlled his homicidal followers, posed many
mysteries for the Orientalist scholars of the eighteenth century. Some
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TALES OF THE HASHISH EATERS
suspected that the story referred to the Nizari Isma’ilis, a breakaway sect
from the Shi’a Fatimid caliphate of Cairo, but the etymology of the
name ‘Assassin’ remained obscure, as did the stupefying plant in the Old
Man’s potion, which was often translated as opium. In 1809, however,
in a celebrated lecture at the Institut de France in Paris, the leading
Oriental philologist Antoine Isaac Silvestre de Sacy presented a solution
to both riddles simultaneously. ‘Assassin’, he announced, was derived
from ‘al-Hashishiyya’, an Arabic term for the sect found in several medieval manuscripts, with the literal meaning of ‘hashish eaters’. The
Assassins were those who had been brainwashed by hashish into committing political murders: ‘delivered’, as de Sacy put it, ‘through the use of
hashish, to this absolute resignation to the will of their leader’.
8
De Sacy’s solution posed further riddles, not least about the nature
of hashish and its connection with hemp – which was also known,
following classical sources, as cannabis, from which the textile ‘canvas’
was derived. It was a well-recognised fibre crop, widely cultivated across
northern Europe, and although the plant grew differently in Arab
regions – shorter and stubbier, with large, sticky flower heads – it
seemed curious that the European variety had no intoxicating qualities.9 De Sacy’s sources, mostly medieval Muslim clerics, attributed
terrible effects to hashish. Its users were said to be frenzied and deluded,
deprived of their reason and degraded below the level of humanity. He
quoted anecdotes still in circulation that recalled the world of The
Arabian Nights, such as one of a dissolute hashish addict who believed
he was a pasha, lounging on a divan, airily discoursing on high affairs
of state and condemning his enemies to imprisonment.
10
De Sacy informed his audience that ‘the Arabs use the word kayf
[kif] to describe . . . voluptuous abandon’ and ‘delicious stupor’.11 His
source for this was the French naturalist Charles Sonnini de
Manoncourt, who had observed hashish users during his travels in
Egypt in the 1780s. Manoncourt commented that ‘our language has
no terms to express’ kif, which he conceived as a distinctively Arab state
of mind in which rational thought is erased by blissful dreams and
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SATURNALIA OF THE SENSES
reveries.12 It seemed curious that the same drug could also provoke the
homicidal violence demanded by the Assassins’ vocation, but de Sacy
resolved the apparent contradiction by theorising that the Old Man
had used the ‘state of ecstasy and sweet, profound illusions’ induced by
hashish to initiate his followers, after which they were joined irrevocably to his murderous sect and needed no further drugs to commit
their infamous acts. (De Sacy’s identification of the ‘Assassins’ as Nizari
Isma’ilis has subsequently been confirmed, but his assertion that they
used hashish is widely rejected. They appear to have been strict, devout
and ascetic, and to have prohibited all intoxicants on pain of death.)
* * *
The first sustained interaction between the modern West and the
hashish eaters of the Arab world occurred during Napoleon’s invasion
of Egypt in 1798, which culminated in a ban on the use of hashish by
French troops in October 1800. Hashish, according to the decree by
General Jacques-François Menou (Napoleon himself had already left
the country) caused its users to ‘lose reason and fall into a violent
delirium, which often leads them to commit excesses of all kinds’.13 No
direct testimony was cited from hashish-using soldiers themselves, and
it seems that Menou intended the ban to align the occupying regime
with the interests of the Egyptian Sunni elite who, like many of de
Sacy’s sources, associated hashish with the criminal underclass, Sufi
mendicants and political undesirables. Hashishin, as it had been in the
era of the Crusades, was used as a dismissive term along the lines of
‘riff-raff’ or ‘dregs of society’, the sense in which it seems to have been
applied to the Nizari Isma’ilis by their enemies.
The effects of hashish on the mind were eventually established in the
time-honoured manner, by self-experiment. ‘I challenge the right of
anyone to discuss the effects of hashish if he is not speaking for himself,’
wrote Jacques-Joseph Moreau, the physician who became synonymous
with hashish in Europe’s medical world.14 Moreau’s interest in the drug
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TALES OF THE HASHISH EATERS
was prompted by his travels in Egypt, Turkey and Syria from 1837 to
1840, as a junior doctor accompanying wealthy patients from the
Charenton asylum in the suburbs of Paris. He had joined the asylum
staff in 1826, while completing his doctoral thesis, to work under the
direction of Jean-Étienne Dominique Esquirol, the doyen of French
mental therapy. Esquirol followed his own mentor, Philippe Pinel, in
conceiving madness, or ‘alienation’, not as a religious judgement or a
moral weakness but a physical condition, a disease of the brain and
nerves. Like Pinel, he encouraged physicians to spend time with their
patients, show them empathy and guide them towards self-observation
and insight into their condition. For those who could afford it, he
would often arrange rest cures and changes of scene, with a junior
physician such as Moreau assigned to accompany them.
Moreau was fascinated by life in the Arab world. He followed
Esquirol’s advice to dress in the local style, see the sights, immerse
himself in the crowds and adopt the local customs. As an alienist, he
was particularly interested in differences between Arab and European
mentalities, and he interrogated his guide and translator, a dragoman
named Kelim, about his inner world. Kelim was a firm believer in
djinn, with which he had had several terrifying encounters, and in the
prophetic power of dreams. These forms of private experience would be
described by many European doctors as hallucinations and diagnosed
as symptoms of mental disease; yet Kelim appeared otherwise quite
sane, and his beliefs were typical of a population in which mental illness
was encountered far less frequently than in Europe.
Moreau’s doctoral thesis had been on monomania, a diagnosis
developed by Esquirol that he saw as a disease of over-focused attention leading to obsessive behaviour. By 1840 it had become the most
prominent form of insanity in France, accounting for a quarter of all
diagnoses. Moreau wondered if the visions or fantasies that Kelim
experienced, when sanctioned by a culture that permitted indulgence
in a rich inner life, might be not a sign of madness but a possible
remedy for it. He was particularly intrigued by the absence of alcohol
175
SATURNALIA OF THE SENSES
18. A hashish market in Cairo around the time of Jacques-Joseph
Moreau’s residency in Egypt.
in Arab culture and the corresponding prevalence of hashish, which
seemed to accompany and enhance this communal fantasy world of
folklore, storytelling and dreams.
Moreau discovered that he was not the only French doctor in Egypt
interested in hashish. An epidemiologist named Louis Aubert-Roche,
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TALES OF THE HASHISH EATERS
who had been based in Egypt since 1830, was investigating it as a treatment for typhoid and bubonic plague. Aubert-Roche believed these
were diseases of the nervous system that spread in unhygienic conditions, and that hashish might help to prevent. ‘If this plant has intoxicating powers’, he reasoned, ‘it must have some medical power over the
nervous system.’15 Aubert-Roche was working in a hospital in Cairo
and supplied cannabis, in the palatable form of dawamesc, to patients,
doctors and interested medical researchers, including Moreau.
* * *
The idea of developing cannabis into a Western medicine, in the form
of a tincture with a standardised dose, had recently been pioneered by
France’s great colonial rival. William Brooke O’Shaughnessy, a dynamic
Irish physician and pharmacist working in British Bengal, was, like
Aubert-Roche, initially attracted by the possibility of treating local
infectious diseases, in his case cholera. Previously, British physicians
had paid little attention to the plant’s mind-altering properties, but
O’Shaughnessy recorded them with evident interest. If he experimented on himself, he left no record of it; instead, he enlisted local
subjects, including ‘the proprietor of a celebrated place of resort for
hemp devotees in Calcutta, who is considered the best artist in his
profession’. He compiled a taxonomy of local preparations that paralleled those of Egypt, including the plant itself (gunjah), a drink
prepared traditionally for religious ceremonies (bhang), a hashish-style
concentrated extract (churrus) and the sweet confection majoun.
16
In a paper delivered to the Medical and Physical Society of Calcutta
in 1839, O’Shaughnessy presented his experimental findings on ‘this
extraordinary agent’.17 He had begun his trials with a dog that he dosed
with ‘ten grains of Nepalese churrus dissolved in spirit’; it became
‘stupid and sleepy’, ‘ate some food greedily’ and ‘staggered to and fro’
with ‘a look of utter and helpless drunkenness’. After six hours it recovered, becoming ‘perfectly well and lively’.18 He proceeded to dose fish,
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SATURNALIA OF THE SENSES
birds and other mammals, noting only minor effects on ‘the horse, deer,
monkey, goat, sheep and cow’, before proceeding to human subjects:
patients at Calcutta’s Native Medical Hospital. On these, a dose of
churrus produced some striking physical responses, including in one
instance ‘that strange and most extraordinary of all nervous conditions’,
catalepsy, in which the patient became a waxen statue, oblivious for an
hour to all external stimuli. More common were bizarre states of mind,
such as that witnessed in ‘an old muscular cooly [labourer], a rheumatic
malingerer’, who:
became talkative and musical, told several stories, and sang songs to
a circle of highly delighted auditors, ate the dinners of two persons
subscribed for him in the ward, sought also for other luxuries I can
scarcely venture to allude to, and finally fell soundly asleep, and so
continued until the following morning. On the noon-day visit, he
expressed himself free from headache or any other unpleasant
sequel, and begged hard for a repetition of the medicine, in which
he was indulged for a few days, and then discharged.
19
O’Shaughnessy’s research excited ‘the utmost interest’ among his
medical staff and students, and ‘several pupils commenced experiments
on themselves’ with the tinctures that he was producing. Unlike
Humphry Davy, O’Shaughnessy did not solicit first-person testimony
from his native subjects: he followed more closely the example of
Robert Hooke, relaying and vouching for their experiences rather than
presenting them as direct evidence. He noted their ‘vivid ideas’ and
‘unusual loquacity’, and in one remarkable case introduced his subject
by name:
In one pupil, Dinonath Dhur, a retiring lad of excellent habits, ten
drops of the tincture, equal to a quarter of a grain of the resin,
induced in twenty minutes the most amusing effects I ever
witnessed. A shout of laughter ushered in the symptoms, and a
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TALES OF THE HASHISH EATERS
transitory state of cataleptic rigidity occurred for two or three
minutes. Summoned to witness the effects, I found him enacting
the part of a Raja giving orders to his courtiers . . . He entered on
discussions on religious, scientific, and political topics, with astonishing eloquence, and disclosed an extent of knowledge, reading,
and a ready apposite wit, which those who knew him best were
altogether unprepared for . . . A scene more interesting it would be
difficult to imagine.
20
Like the hashish eaters of The Arabian Nights, Dhur’s behaviour was
expansive and grandiose, but in this case there was no rude awakening:
his mental brilliance while under the influence was palpable, and
O’Shaughnessy was lost for an explanation. He drew suggestive comparisons with ‘the effects produced by the reputed inspiration of the
Delphic oracles’, and speculated that ‘the same kind of excitement’,
some intoxicating plant or vapour, might have been implicated in the
oracular trance state.
The recommendations that concluded O’Shaughnessy’s paper
focused on his trials of cannabis in cases of tetanus. It was, he claimed,
highly effective, ‘in a large proportion of cases effecting a perfect cure’,
an outcome he attributed to its anti-spasmodic and muscle relaxant
properties.21 He concluded that the violent psychic effects of the drug
mentioned in the Bengali medical and legal literature were genuine but
rare, and should not discourage physicians and pharmacists from
including cannabis preparations in the Western pharmacopoeia. He set
out the basics of a formula for pharmacists: boiling the flowering tops
of gunjah, dissolving it in spirit (it was not water-soluble), and evaporating it to a consistency where it could be made into pills.
* * *
O’Shaughnessy’s work prompted a surge of medical interest in Europe.
Chemists in Edinburgh and Paris began to develop pills, tinctures and
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SATURNALIA OF THE SENSES
standardised doses for the pharmaceutical market. But the effects of
hashish on the European mind still awaited a full description. This
came from Jacques-Joseph Moreau, on his return to Paris in 1840 to
take up the post of resident physician at the Bicêtre asylum in the
south of the city. While researching a paper on hallucinations and their
treatment, he made his first self-experiment with a strong dose of the
dawamesc that Aubert-Roche had supplied him with in Cairo, in
company with two friends.
22
Moreau’s first surprise was that the supposedly delicious confection
was horribly bitter to taste, and he ‘swallowed it with great effort’.23
The three sat down to eat oysters, and after a little while Moreau was
stricken by sudden fits of laughter. His friends noticed the effects at the
same time, and drew his attention to a lion’s head which seemed to
have materialised on their dinner plate. Consumed by mirth, all
adjourned to the drawing room, where Moreau started to play the
piano before being distracted by a vision of his brother standing on top
of it. After much hilarity, confusion and ‘a thousand incoherent
speeches, gesticulating, shouting like all the masks I believed I saw’, he
stumbled into an unlit room and believed he had fallen into the well in
the grounds of the Bicêtre hospital. He felt thousands of insects running
through his hair, and then abruptly ‘an intoxicating happiness’ at a
cherubic vision of his young son fluttering in a dazzling blue sky on
pink and white wings. The pace of the visions accelerated, as memories, illusions, nightmares and fantasies swirled together:
I spoke about people whom I had not seen in several years. I recalled
a dinner I attended five years ago in Champagne. I saw the guests.
General H. served a fish surrounded with flowers . . . I felt that I
was at home, that everything I was seeing had happened in a distant
time. However, the people seemed to me to be there. What was I to
believe? . . . I cannot describe the thousand fantastic ideas that
passed through my brain during the three hours that I was under
the influence of the hashish. They seemed too bizarre to be cred-
180