the rest of the stanza being as in edd. 3 and 4.
STANZA
XLIX. In ed. 2:
A Hair, they say, divides the False and True.
The change from «does» to «may» in the last line was made by FitzGerald
in MS.
L. In ed. 2:
A Hair, they say, divides the False and True.
LII. In edd. 2 and 3:
He does Himself contrive, enact, behold.
LIII. In the first draft of ed. 3:
To-morrow, when You shall be You no more.
LIV. In ed. 2:
Better be merry with the fruitful Grape.
LV. In ed. 2:
You know, my Friends, how bravely in my House
For a new Marriage I did make Carouse.
LVII. In ed. 2:
Have squared the Year to Human Compass, eh?
If so, by striking from the Calendar.
LXII. In ed. 2
When the frail Cup is crumbled into Dust!
LXIII. In ed. 2:
The Flower that once is blown for ever dies.
LXV. In edd. 2 and 3:
They told their fellows, and to Sleep return'd.
LXVI. In ed. 2:
And after many days my Soul return'd
And said, «Behold, Myself am Heav'n and Hell.»
LXVII. In ed. 2:
And Hell the Shadow of a Soul on fire.
LXVIII. In ed. 2:
Of visionary Shapes that come and go
Round with this Sun-illumin'd Lantern held.
LXIX. In ed. 2:
Impotent Pieces of the Game He plays.
LXX. In ed. 2:
But Right or Left as strikes the Player goes.
STANZA
LXXII. In ed. 2 and the first draft of ed. 3:
And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky.
In edd. 2 and 3:
As impotently rolls as you or I.
LXXIX. In ed. 2:
Pure Gold for what he lent us dross-allay'd.
LXXXI. In ed. 2:
For all the Sin the Face of wretched Man
Is black with--Man's Forgiveness give--and take!
LXXXIII. In ed. 2:
And once again there gather'd a scarce heard
Whisper among them; as it were, the stirr'd
Ashes of some all but extinguisht Tongue
Which mine ear kindled into living Word.
LXXXIV. In ed. 2:
My Substance from the common Earth was ta'en,
That He who subtly wrought me into Shape
Should stamp me back to shapeless Earth again?
LXXXV. In ed. 2
Another said--«Why, ne'er a peevish Boy
Would break the Cup from which he drank in Joy;
Shall He that of His own free Fancy made
The Vessel, in an after-rage destroy!»
LXXXVI. In ed. 2:
None answer'd this, but after silence spake.
LXXXVII. In ed. 2:
Thus with the Dead as with the Living, _What?_
And _Why?_ so ready, but the _Wherefor_ not,
One on a sudden peevishly exclaim'd,
«Which is the Potter, pray, and which the Pot?»
STANZA
LXXXVIII. In ed. 2:
Said one--«Folks of a surly Master tell,
And daub his Visage with the Smoke of Hell;
They talk of some sharp Trial of us--Pish!
He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well.»
In the first draft of ed. 3. the stanza begins:
«Why,» said another, «Dismal people tell
Of an old Savage who will toss to Hell
The luckless Pots,» etc.
LXXXIX. In ed. 2:
«Well,» said another, «Whoso will, let try.»
XC. In ed. 2:
One spied the little Crescent all were seeking.
XCI. In ed. 2:
And wash my Body whence the Life has died.
XCIII. In ed. 2:
Have done my credit in Men's eye much wrong.
XCV. In ed. 2:
One half so precious as the ware they sell.
XCVII. In ed. 2:
Toward which the fainting Traveller might spring.
XCVIII. In ed. 2:
Oh if the World were but to re-create,
That we might catch ere closed the Book of Fate,
And make The Writer on a fairer leaf
Inscribe our names, or quite obliterate!
XCIX. In ed. 2:
Ah Love! could you and I with Fate conspire.
C. In ed. 2:
But see! The rising Moon of Heav'n again
Looks for us, Sweet-heart, through the quivering Plane:
How oft hereafter rising will she look
Among those leaves--for one of us in vain!
STANZA
CI. In ed. 2:
And when Yourself with silver Foot shall pass.
In the first draft of ed. 3 «Foot» is changed to «step.»
In ed. 3:
And in your blissful errand reach the spot.
STANZAS WHICH APPEAR IN THE SECOND EDITION ONLY
XIV. Were it not Folly, Spider-like to spin
The Thread of present Life away to win--
What? for ourselves, who know not if we shall
Breathe out the very Breath we now breathe in!
XX. (This stanza is quoted in the note to stanza XVIII.
in the third and fourth editions.)
XXVIII. Another Voice, when I am sleeping, cries,
«The Flower should open with the Morning skies.»
And a retreating Whisper, as I wake--
«The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.»
XLIV. Do you, within your little hour of Grace,
The waving Cypress in your Arms enlace,
Before the Mother back into her arms
Fold, and dissolve you in a last embrace.
LXV. If but the Vine and Love-abjuring Band
Are in the Prophet's Paradise to stand,
Alack, I doubt the Prophet's Paradise
Were empty as the hollow of one's Hand.
LXXVII. For let Philosopher and Doctor preach
Of what they will, and what they will not--each
Is but one Link in an eternal Chain
That none can slip, or break, or over-reach.
LXXXVI. Nay, but, for terror of his wrathful Face,
I swear I will not call Injustice Grace,
Not one Good Fellow of the Tavern but
Would kick so poor a Coward from the place.
XC. And once again there gather'd a scarce heard
Whisper among them; as it were, the stirr'd
Ashes of some all but extinguisht Tongue,
Which mine ear kindled into living Word.
(In the third and fourth editions stanza LXXXIII. takes the place of
this.)
XCIX. Whither resorting from the vernal Heat
Shall Old Acquaintance Old Acquaintance greet,
Under the Branch that leans above the Wall
To shed his Blossom over head and feet.
(This was retained in the first draft of ed. 3.)
CVII. Better, oh better, cancel from the Scroll
Of Universe one luckless Human Soul,
Than drop by drop enlarge the Flood that rolls
Hoarser with Anguish as the Ages Roll.
QUATRAINS OF OMAR KHAYYAM
COMPARATIVE TABLE OF STANZAS IN THE FOUR[100] EDITIONS OF FITZGERALD
Ed. 1 Ed. 2 Edd. 3 and 4
I I I
II II II
III III III
IV IV IV
V V V
VI VI VI
VII VII VII
VIII IX IX
IX X X
X XI XI
XI XII XII
XII XIII XIII
XIII XV XIV
XIV XVII XVI
XV XVI XV
XVI XVIII XVII
XVII XIX XVIII
XVIII XXIV XIX
XIX XXV XX
XX XXI XXI
XXI XXII XXII
XXII XXIII XXIII
XXIII XXVI XXIV
XXIV XXVII XXV
XXV XXIX XXVI
XXVI LXVI LXIII
XXVII XXX XXVII
XXVIII XXXI XXVIII
XXIX XXXII XXIX
XXX XXXIII XXX
XXXI XXXIV XXXI
XXXII XXXV XXXII
XXXIII XXXVII XXXIV
XXXIV XXXVIII XXXV
XXXV XXXIX XXXVI
XXXVI XL XXXVII
XXXVII
XXXVIII XLIX XLVIII
XXXIX LVI LIV
XL LVII LV
XLI LVIII LVI
XLII LX LVIII
XLIII LXI LIX
XLIV LXII LX
XLV
XLVI LXXIII LXVIII
XLVII XLV XLII
XLVIII XLVI XLIII
XLIX LXXIV LXIX
L LXXV LXX
LI LXXVI LXXI
LII LXXVIII LXXII
LIII LXXIX LXXIII
LIV LXXXI LXXV
LV LXXXII LXXVI
LVI LXXXIII LXXVII
LVII LXXXVII LXXX
LVIII LXXXVIII LXXXI
LIX LXXXIX LXXXII
LX XCIV LXXXVII
LXI XCI LXXXIV
LXII XCII LXXXV
LXIII XCIII LXXXVI
LXIV XCV LXXXVIII
LXV XCVI LXXXIX
LXVI XCVII XC
LXVII XCVIII XCI
LXVIII C XCII
LXIX CI XCIII
LXX CII XCIV
LXXI CIII XCV
LXXII CIV XCVI
LXXIII CVIII XCIX
LXXIV CIX C
LXXV CX CI
VIII VIII
XIV
Note on
XX XVIII
XXVIII
XXXVI XXXIII
XLI XXXVIII
XLII XXXIX
XLIII XL
XLIV
XLVII XLVI
XLVIII XLVII
L XLIX
LI L
LII LI
LIII LII
LIV LIII
LV XLI
LIX LVII
LXIII LXI
LXIV LXII
LXV
LXVII LXIV
LXVIII LXV
LXIX XLIV
LXX XLV
LXXI LXVI
LXXII LXVII
LXXVII
LXXX LXXIV
LXXXIV LXXVIII
LXXXV LXXIX
LXXXVI
XC LXXXIII
XCIX
CV XCVII
CVI XCVIII
CVII
NOTE
It must be admitted that FitzGerald took great liberties with the
original in his version of Omar Khayyam. The first stanza is entirely
his own, and in stanza XXXI. of the fourth edition (XXXVI. in the
second) he has introduced two lines from Attar. (See «Letters,» p. 251.)
In stanza LXXXI. (fourth edition), writes Professor Cowell, «There is no
original for the line about the snake: I have looked for it in vain in
Nicolas; but I have always supposed that the last line is FitzGerald's
mistaken version of Quatr. 236 in Nicolas's ed. which runs thus:
«O thou who knowest the secrets of every one's mind,
Who graspest every one's hand in the hour of weakness,
O God, give me repentance and accept my excuses,
O thou who givest repentance and acceptest the excuses of every one.
«FitzGerald mistook the meaning of _giving_ and _accepting_ as used
here, and so invented his last line out of his own mistake. I wrote to
him about it when I was in Calcutta; but he never cared to alter it.»
THE
QUATRAINS OF OMAR KHAYYAM
TRANSLATED BY
E.H. WHINFIELD, M.A.
INTRODUCTION
Omar is a poet who can hardly be translated satisfactorily otherwise
than in verse. Prose does well enough for narrative or didactic poetry,
where the main things to be reproduced are the matter and substance, but
it is plainly contra-indicated in the case of poetry like Omar's, where
the matter is little else than «the commonplaces of the lyric ode and
the tragic chorus,» and where nearly the whole charm consists in the
style and the manner, the grace of the expression and the melody of the
versification. A literal prose version of such poetry must needs be
unsatisfactory, because it studiously ignores the chief points in which
the attractiveness of the original consists, and deliberately renounces
all attempt to reproduce them.
In deciding on the form to be taken by a new translation of Omar, the
fact of the existence of a previous verse translation of universally
acknowledged merit ought not, of course, to be left out of account. The
successor of a translator like Mr. Fitzgerald, who ventures to write
verse, and especially verse of the metre which he has handled with such
success, cannot help feeling at almost every step that he is provoking
comparisons very much to his own disadvantage. But I do not think this
consideration ought to deter him from using the vehicle which everything
else indicates as the proper one.
As regards metre, there is no doubt that the quatrain of ten-syllable
lines which has been tried by Hammer, Bicknell, and others, and has been
raised by Mr. Fitzgerald almost to the rank of a recognised English
metre, is the best representative of the _Ruba'i_. It fairly satisfies
Conington's canon, viz., that there ought to be some degree of metrical
conformity between the measure of the original and the translation, for
though it does not exactly correspond with the _Ruba'i_, it very
clearly suggests it. In particular, it copies what is perhaps the most
marked feature of the _Ruba'i_,--the interlinking of the four lines by
the repetition in the fourth line of the rhyme of the first and second.
Mr Swinburne's modification of this metre, in which the rhyme is carried
on from one quatrain to the next, is not applicable to poems like
Omar's, all of which are isolated in sense from the context.
Alexandrines would, of course, correspond more nearly than decasyllables
with _Ruba'i_ lines in number of syllables, and they have been
extensively used by Bodenstedt and other German translators of the metre
but, whatever may be the case in German, they are apt to read very
heavily in English, even when constructed by skilful verse-makers, and
an inferior workman can hardly hope to manage them with anything like
success. The shorter length of the decasyllable line is not altogether a
disadvantage to the translator. Owing to the large number of
monosyllables in English, it is generally adequate to hold the contents
of a Persian line a syllable or two longer; and a line erring, if at
all, on the side of brevity, has at any rate the advantage of obliging
the translator to eschew modern diffuseness, and of making him try to
copy the «classical parsimony,» the archaic terseness and condensation
of the original.
The poet Cowper has a remark on translation from Latin which is
eminently true also of translation from Persian. He says, «That is
epigrammatic and witty in Latin which would be perfectly insipid in
English.... If a Latin poem is neat, elegant, and musical, it is enough,
but English readers are not so easily satisfied.» Much of Omar's matter,
when literally translated, seems very trite and commonplace, many of the
«conceits,» of which he is so fond, very frigid, and even his peculiar
grotesque humour often loses its savour in an English _replica_. The
translator is often tempted to elevate a too grovelling sentiment, to
«sharpen a point» here and there, to trick out a commonplace with some
borrowed modern embellishment. But this temptation is one to be resisted
as far as possible. According to the _Hadis_, «The business of a
messenger is simply to deliver his message,» and he must not shrink from
displaying the naked truth. A translator who writes in verse must of
course claim the liberty of altering the form of the expression over and
over again, but the substituted expressions ought to be in keeping with
the author's style, and on the same plane of sentiment as his. It is
beyond the province of a translator to attempt the task of «painting the
lily.» But it is easier to lay down correct principles of translation
than to observe them unswervingly in one's practice.
As regards subject matter, Omar's quatrains may be classed under the
following six heads:--
I. _Shikayat i rozgar_--Complaints of «the wheel of heaven,» or fate, of
the world's injustice, of the loss of friends, of man's limited
faculties and destinies.
II. _Hajw_--Satires on the hypocrisy of the «unco' guid,» the impiety of
the pious, the ignorance of the learned, and the untowardness of his own
generation.
III. _Firakiya_ and _Wisaliya_--Love-poems on the sorrows of separation
and the joys of reunion with the Beloved, earthly or spiritual.
IV. _Bahariya_--Poems in praise of spring, gardens, and flowers.
V. _Kufriya_--Irreligious and antinomian utterances, charging the sins
of the creature to the account of the Creator, scoffing at the Prophet's
Paradise and Hell, singing the praises of wine and pleasure--preaching
_ad nauseam_, «eat and drink (especially drink), for to-morrow ye die.»
VI. _Munajat_--Addresses to the Deity, now in the ordinary language of
devotion, bewailing sins and imploring pardon, now in Mystic
phraseology, craving deliverance from «self,» and union with the «Truth»
(_Al Hakk_), or Deity, as conceived by the Mystics.
The «complaints» may obviously be connected with the known facts of the
poet's life, by supposing them to have been prompted by the persecution
to which he was subjected on account of his opinions. His remarks on the
Houris and other sacred subjects raised such a feeling against him that
at one time his life was in danger, and the wonder is that he escaped
at all in a city like Naishapur, where the _odium theologicum_ raged so
fiercely as to occasion a sanguinary civil war. In the year 489 A.H., as
we learn from Ibn Al Athir,[101] the orthodox banded themselves together
under the leadership of Abul Kasim and Muhammad, the chiefs of the
Hanefites and the Shafeites, in order to exterminate the Kerramians or
Anthropomorphist heretics, and succeeded in putting many of them to
death, and destroying all their establishments. It may be also that
after the death of his patron, Nizam ul Mulk, Omar lost his stipend and
was reduced to poverty.
The satires probably owed their origin to the same cause. _Rien soulage
comme la rhetorique_, and if Omar could not relieve his feelings by open
abuse of his persecutors, he made up for it by the bitterness of his
verses. The bitterness of his strictures on them was no doubt fully
equalled by the rancour of their attacks upon him.
The love-poems are samples of a class of compositions much commoner in
later poets than in Omar. Most of them probably bear a mystical meaning,
for I doubt if Omar was a person very susceptible of the tender passion.
He speaks with appreciation of «tulip cheeks» and «cypress forms,» but
apparently recognises no attractions of a higher order in his fair
friends.
The poems in praise of scenery again offer a strong contrast to modern
treatment of the same theme. The only aspects of nature noticed by Omar
are such as affect the senses agreeably--the bright flowers, the song of
the nightingale, the grassy bank of the stream, and the shady garden
associated in his mind with his convivial parties. The geographer
translated by Sir W. Ouseley says of Naishapur, «The city is watered by
a subterranean canal, which is conveyed to the fields and gardens, and
there is a considerable stream that waters the city and the villages
about it--this stream is named _Saka_. In all the provinces of Khorassan
there is not any city larger than Naishapur, nor any blessed with a more
pure and temperate air. » No doubt it was some of these gardens that
called forth Omar's encomiums.
But it is in the _Kufriya_, or antinomian quatrains, and in the
_Munajat_, or pious aspirations, that the most remarkable and
characteristic features of Omar's poetry are exhibited. The glaring
contrast between these two classes of his poetry has led his readers to
take very opposite views of him, according as they looked at one or the
other side of the shield. European critics, like his contemporaries,
mostly consider him an infidel and a voluptuary «of like mind with
Sardanapalus.» On the other hand, the Sufis have contrived to affix
mystical and devotional meanings even to his most Epicurean quatrains;
and this method of interpretation is nowadays as universally accepted in
Persia and India as the Mystical interpretation of the Canticles is in
Europe. But neither of these views can be accepted in its entirety. Even
if the Sufi symbolism had been definitely formulated as early as Omar's
time, which is very doubtful, common sense would forbid us to force a
devotional meaning on the palpably Epicurean quatrains; and, on the
other hand, unless we are prepared to throw over the authority of all
the manuscripts, including the most ancient ones, we must reckon with
the obviously Mystical and devotional quatrains. The essential
contradiction in the tone and temper of these two sections of Omar's
poetry cannot be glossed over, but calls imperatively for explanation.
His poems were obviously not all written at one period of his life, but
from time to time, just as circumstances and mood suggested, and under
the influence of the thoughts, passions, and desires which happened to
be uppermost at the moment. It may be that the irreligious and Epicurean
quatrains were written in youth, and the _Munajat_ in his riper years.
But this hypothesis seems to be disproved by Sharastani's account of
him, which is quite silent as to any such conversion or change of
sentiment on his part, and also by the fact that he describes himself
from first to last as a «_Dipsychus_» in grain, a halter between two
opinions, and an _«Acrates_,» or back-slider, in his practice.
If his poems be considered not in the abstract, but in the light of
history, taking into account his mental pedigree and his intellectual
surroundings, a more plausible explanation of his inconsistencies
readily presents itself. In his youth, as we know, he sat at the feet of
the Suni theologian Imam Muaffik, and he was then no doubt thoroughly
indoctrinated with the great Semitic conception of the One God, or, to
use the expressive term of Muhammadan theology, «the Only Real Agent»
(_Fa' il i Hakiki_). To minds dominated by the overwhelming sense of
Almighty Power, everywhere present and working, there seems no room for
Nature, or human will, or chance, or any other Ahriman whatsoever, to
take the responsibility of all the evils in the world, the storms and
the earthquakes, the Borgias and the Catilines. The «Only Real Agent»
has to answer for all. In the most ancient document of Semitic religious
speculation now extant, the Book of Job, we find expostulations of the
boldest character addressed to the Deity for permitting a righteous man
to be stricken with unmerited misfortunes, though the writer ultimately
concludes in a spirit of pious agnosticism and resignation to the
inscrutable dispensations of Providence. In the Book of Ecclesiastes
again, the same problems are handled, but in a somewhat different
temper. The «weary king Ecclesiast» remarks that there is one event to
all, to him that sacrificeth and him that sacrificeth not--that
injustice and wrong seem eternally triumphant, that God has made things
crooked, and none can make them straight; and concludes now in favour of
a sober «_carpe diem_» philosophy, now in favour of a devout «fear of
the Lord.» Of course the manner in which the serious Hebrew handles
these matters is very different from the levity and flippancy of the
volatile Persian, but it can hardly be denied that the Ecclesiast and
Omar resemble one another in the double and contradictory nature of
their practical conclusions.
No sooner was Islam established than the same problem of the existence
of evil in the handiwork of the Almighty Author and Governor of all
began to trouble the Moslem theologians, and by their elaboration of the
doctrine of Predestination they managed to aggravate its difficulties.
One of the chief «roots» of their discussions was how to reconcile the
Divine justice and benevolence with the Divine prescience,--the
predestination of some vessels to honour, and others to dishonour,--the
pre-ordainment of all things by a kind of mechanical necessity (_Jabr_),
leaving no possibility of the occurrence of any events except those
which actually do occur. The consideration of one corollary of a similar
doctrine moved the pious and gentle Cowper to use language of indignant
dissent; and there is high theological authority for the view that it is
calculated «to thrust some into desperation,» but to stimulate the piety
of others. Omar is constantly dwelling on this doctrine, and he seems to
be affected by it in the double way here mentioned.
Other influences which acted on Omar must not be left out of account.
Born as he was in Khorassan, «the focus of Persian culture,» he was no
doubt familiar with speculations of the Moslem philosophers, Alkindi,
Alfarabi, and Avicenna,[102] the last of whom he may possibly have seen.
And though, think he was not himself a Sufi, in the sense of being
affiliated to any Sufi order, he can hardly have been unaffected by the
mysticism of which his predecessor in _Ruba'i_ writing, Abu Sa'id bin
Abul Khair, his patron Nizam ul Mulk, and his distinguished countryman
Imam Ghazali were all strong adherents. His philosophical studies would
naturally stimulate his sceptical and irreligious dispositions, while
his Mystic leanings would operate mainly in the contrary direction.
If this explanation of the inconsistencies in his poetry be correct, it
is obvious that the parallel often sought to be traced between him and
Lucretius has no existence. Whatever he was, he was not an Atheist. To
him, as to other Muhammadans of his time, to deny the existence of the
Deity would seem to be tantamount to denying the existence of the world
and of himself. And the conception of «laws of nature» was also one
quite foreign to his habits of thought. As Deutsch says, «To a Shemite,
Nature is simply what has been begotten, and is ruled absolutely by One
Absolute Power.»
Hammer compares him to Voltaire, but in reality he is a Voltaire and
something more. He has much of Voltaire's flippancy and irreverence. His
treatment of the doctrine of the Resurrection of the Body, for instance,
which Muhammad took from Christianity, and travestied by the
embellishments he added to it, is altogether in Voltaire's manner. And
his insistence on the all importance of kindness and charity recalls the
better side of Voltaire's character, viz., his kindness to Calas, and
the other victims of ecclesiastical persecution. But Omar also
possessed, what Voltaire did not, strong religious emotions, which at
times overrode his rationalism, and found expression in those devotional
and Mystical quatrains, which offer such a strong contrast to the rest
of his poetry.
E.H. WHINFIELD
NOTE
The text has been framed from a comparison of the following
authorities:--
I. The Bodleian manuscript, No. 140 of the Ouseley Collection,
containing 158 quatrains.
II. The Calcutta Asiatic Society's manuscript, No. 1548, containing
516 quatrains.
III. The India Office manuscript, No. 2420, ff. 212 to 267, containing
512 quatrains.
IV. The Calcutta edition of 1252 A.H., containing 438 quatrains,
with an appendix of 54 more, which the editor says he found in a
Bayaz, or common-place book, after the others had been printed.
V. The Paris edition of M. Nicolas, containing 464 quatrains.
VI. The Lucknow lithographed edition, containing 763 quatrains.