attempt to dispense with the middleman the publisher. He has gone
straight to the printer, he himself undertaking the business of
distribution. It is time somebody should be energetic. With curious
submission authors go on bearing their grievances, and sow that others
may reap. Whole editions of travels are issued, and the person most
concerned, the author, gets a pittance of £5. And only the other day
Walt Whitman, most illustrious of American poets, and in the opinion of
capable judges the most illustrious man of letters across the Atlantic,
publicly announced that the profits on his writings for a whole year
amounted to a few dollars. Captain Burton has broken through the
bondage, and the result promises to be highly satisfactory. But he has
been threatened with pains and penalties; one trade journal, the
_Printing Times and Lithographer_, under the immediate direction of an
eminent bookseller, known for his vast purchases of rare publications,
announced that _The Arabian Nights_ would be suppressed unless its tone
and morals were unexceptionable! In short, publishers are exasperated,
and, like the Peers, they do not see the force of being abolished. The
authors, however, who sigh to be independent, must not take it for
granted that the experiment is easy, or likely to be often successful.
In this particular instance it is a case of _the_ Man and _the_ Book.
There is only one _Arabian Nights_ in the world, and only one Captain
Burton. The general tone of the London press has been distinctly
favourable, the _Standard_ leading the way and other journals following
suit. The _Pall Mall_ made an effort to lodge the author in Bow Street,
with its “Chief Director,” but it has likewise had the fairness to give
both sides of the question, and whilst attacking on its own account, to
admit letters and articles in defence of a genuine and unsophisticated
translation. As we have said [in our notice of last week] Captain Burton
has been explicit on the point that his edition is by no means intended
for the circulating library. It is mainly for scholars, for students
whose tastes lead them Eastwards, and last, but not least, it is
intended as a guide for our rulers and statesmen. England, we are
reminded, “the greatest Mohammedan empire in the world,” neglects
Arabism, and discourages it in examinations for the Indian Civil
Service, “hence, when suddenly compelled to assume the reins of
Government in Moslem lands, as Afghanistan in times past, and Egypt at
present, she fails after a fashion which scandalises her few friends;
and her crass ignorance concerning the Oriental peoples which should
most interest her exposes her to the contempt of Europe as well as of
the Eastern world. The deadly blunders we commit through ignorance are
brought out in the one fact, that with the English army in Suakim,
during the troubles of 1883–84, not an English official in camp, after
the death of the gallant and lamented Major Morice, was capable of
speaking Arabic.” _The Thousand Nights and a Night_ offers a complete
picture of Eastern peoples. But the English reader must be prepared to
find that the manners of Arabs and Moslems differ from his own. Eastern
people look at things from a more natural and primitive point of view,
and they say what they think with all the unrestraint of children. At
times their plain speaking is formidable, but they are not conscious of
impropriety, and their coarseness is not intentional. It is their nature
to be downright, and to be communicative on subjects about which the
Saxon is shy or silent, and it must be remembered that the separation of
the sexes adds considerably to this freedom of expression. Their
language is material in quality, every root is objective; as an
instance, for the word _soul_ they have no more spiritual equivalent
than _breath_. Even the conversation between parents and children is of
incredible frankness, and the Wazir of Egypt talks to his daughter, “the
Lady of Beauty,” in a fashion astonishing to the West. But the Arabs are
a great mixture. They are keenly alive to beauty, and every youth and
every damsel is described in glowing, rapturous terms. We have heard in
our own country, so far north as chilly Scotland, of a whole audience
standing up in a theatre to applaud the entrance and acknowledge the
charms of a beautiful woman. In the East they are far more readily
subjugated, and the event is of every-day occurrence, and not a wonder.
“When the people of Damascus saw Ajib’s beauty and brilliancy and
perfect grace and symmetry (for he was a marvel of comeliness and
winning loveliness, softer than the cool breeze of the North, sweeter
than limpid waters to man in drouth, and pleasanter than the health for
which sick man sueth) a mighty many followed him, whilst others ran on
before and sat down on the road until he should come up, that they might
gaze on him.” The Arabs are highly imaginative, and their world is
peopled with supernatural beings, whilst Ovid is surpassed in the number
and ingenuity of their metamorphoses. Their nerves are highly strung,
they are emotional to the hysteric degree, and they do everything in the
superlative fashion. They love at first sight, and one glimpse of a face
is enough to set them in flames; they cease to sleep or to eat until
they are admitted to the adored presence, they weep till they faint,
they rend their garments, pluck their beards, buffet their faces, and
after paroxysms of passion they recover sufficiently to recite
verses—“and he beat his face and head and recited these couplets”—“then
she recited, weeping bitterly the while”—“When the young man heard these
words he wept with sore weeping, till his bosom was drenched with tears,
and began reciting.” All this effervescence, so different to our rigid
repression, all this exuberance of feeling is the gift of a hot climate.
And, besides this easy stirring of their passions, they always live in
supreme consciousness that every impulse, every act is decreed, that
they drift without will of their own, and are the helpless creatures of
destiny. Half their talk consists of invocations to Allah, the
All-ruling, All-gracious Allah! This fatalistic element is a leading
feature in the _Nights_. All that happens is accepted with submission,
and with the conviction that nothing can be averted. The Wazir’s eye is
knocked out, “as fate and fortune decreed,” the one pomegranate seed
escapes destruction, and the Princess dies in consequence; the beautiful
lad secreted in a cave _under the earth_ to keep him from harm, because
it is foretold by the astrologers that he will die on a certain day,
meets with his death at the appointed hour despite all precautions. This
is one of the myriad instances, says Captain Burton, showing “that the
decrees of Anagké, Fate, Destiny, Weird are inevitable.” And yet, in the
face of overwhelming evidence that Moslems in all things bow to the
stroke of destiny, it is singular to note that a Turkish scholar like
Mr. Redhouse, translator of the “Mesnevi,” fails to realise this most
characteristic trait of Mahometan belief, and confuses it with the
Christian idea of Providence and Premonition. The folk in Arabian tales,
as might be expected, meet calamity in the shape of death with
fortitude. The end of life is not a terror acutely feared as with us.
They die easily, and when the time comes they give up the ghost without
repining, although the mourning by survivors is often loud and vehement,
and sometimes desperately prolonged. This facility in dying is partly
due to their fatalistic philosophy, and partly it is the effect of
climate. It is in rugged climes that death is appalling, and comes as
the King of Terrors, but the hotter the country the easier it is to
enter the Door of Darkness. All these things which make the difference
between Orientals and ourselves must be taken into account by readers of
Arabian story, and the coarseness, as Captain Burton shows, “is but the
shade of a picture which otherwise would be all light;” the general tone
of the Nights “is exceptionally high and pure, and the devotional
fervour often rises to boiling point.” We have shown how Captain Burton
has rendered the prose of the Nights, how vigorous, yet simple, is the
language, how pleasant is his use of antique phrase, serving as it often
does to soften the crudity of Oriental expression. In translating the
poetry, which finally will amount to nearly 10,000 lines, he has again
started on a path of his own. He has closely preserved the Arab form,
although, as he says, an absolutely exact copy of Arabic metres is an
impossibility. Like the prose, the verse belongs to three separate
epochs. In the prose there are two sets of apologues or beast-fables,
which may date from any remote age, one having been found on an Egyptian
papyrus; we have next the fairy tales, and these were borrowed from the
Persians, whose marvellous poetic old Guebres, who gave to Islamism
everything it has which breathes of spiritualism or romance; and we have
the histories whose proper names, such as Harun al-Rashid, with that of
his Wazir, Ja’afar, give the dates. And so with the poetry. Here and
there we have some grand old fragment of pre-Islamitic verse taken from
the Hamásah anthology or from the “Suspended Poems;” but more common are
the quotations from Abou Nowas, Amaí, and other singers of the
_décadence_ who were the ornaments of Harun al-Rashid’s court: and
lastly, there are the _pièces de occasion_, the copies of verses made by
the writer or writers of the Nights, and as a rule these are mere
doggerel. When the story is a love story the poetry is abundant, the
agitated youths and damsels bandying verses to express the intensity of
their emotions. Some tales are nearly half verse, and then when we get
into parts where the sentiment is less exalted, where the recitals are
mixed with humorous touches, such as in the “Hunchback’s Tale,” or “The
Barber’s Tale of Himself,” or “The Tale of the Tailor,” we have pages of
nearly unbroken prose. A striking novelty in Captain Burton’s
translation is the frequent occurrence of passages in cadenced prose,
called in Arabic “Saj’a,” or the cooing of a dove. These melodious
fragments have a charming effect on the ear. They come as
dulcet-surprises, and mostly occur in highly-wrought situations; or they
are used to convey a vivid sense of something exquisite in art or
nature. We give one or two instances of these little eddies of song set
like gems in the prose. Their introduction seems due to whim or caprice,
but really is due to profound study of the situation as if the
tale-teller felt suddenly compelled to break into the rhythmic strain.
The prose ripples and rises to dancing measure when the King of the Age,
wandering in a lonely palace, comes upon the half-petrified youth, “the
Ensorcelled Prince.”
“Now when the Sultan heard the mournful voice he sprang to his feet, and
following the sound found a curtain let down over the chamber door. He
raised it and saw behind it a young man sitting upon a couch about a
cubit above the ground: he fair to the sight a well-shaped wight, with
eloquence dight, his forehead was flower-white, his cheek rosy bright,
and a mole on his cheek breadth like an ambergris mite.”
It is broken again to bring into fuller notice the perfections of one of
the three merry ladies of Baghdad, sitting under a silken canopy, the
curtains “looped up with pearls as big as filberts and bigger.” We are
told to note how eastern are the metaphors, how confused the flattery.
“Thereupon sat a lady bright of blee, with brow-beaming brilliancy, and
her eyebrows were arched as for archery; her breath breathed ambergris
and perfumery, and her lips were sugar to taste and carnelian to see.
Her stature was straight as the letter I (the letter Alif a straight
perpendicular stroke), and her face shamed the noon sun’s radiancy; and
she was even as a galaxy or a dome with golden marquetry, or a bride
displayed on choicest finery, or a noble maid of Araby.”
And prose is not thought adequate to do justice to the natural beauty of
a garden “like one of the pleasaunces of Paradise.”
“It was a garden with trees of freshest green and ripe fruits of yellow
sheen; and its birds were singing clear and keen, and rills ran wimpling
through the fair terrene.”
It is a marvel that these cadences have never been reproduced before.
They have been faintly attempted by Eastwick, in his “Gulistan,” whilst
Mr. Payne simply passed them over, rejected them as of no account. They
fall in with Captain Burton’s plan of omitting nothing; of giving the
_Nights_ intact in the precise form in which they are enjoyed by the
Oriental. Beside the verses so characteristic of exaggerated Arabic
sentiment, and the rhymed cadences, let like precious stones into the
gold of the prose, the proverbs embodying the proverbial wit and wisdom,
are all rhymed as in the original Arabic. What Arabists think of this
translation we may learn from a professed Arabist writing to this
effect:—“I am free to confess, after many years study of Arabic, a
comparison of your translation with the text has taught me more than
many months of dry study,” whilst Englishmen who for years have lived in
the East, are making the discovery that, after all, they have known
little or nothing, and their education is only beginning with this
version of the _Arabian Nights_. It is only knowledge that knows how to
observe; and it is satisfactory to observe that Captain Burton’s amazing
insight into Eastern peculiarities has been put to its best use in
giving a true idea of the People of the Sun and a veritable version of
their Book of Books. The labour expended on this edition has been
enormous. The work could only have been completed by the most excessive
and pertinacious application. All the same we are told it has been “a
labour of love,” a task that has brought its own exceeding great reward.
There is only one regret, the circulation is bound to be limited. We
cannot help hoping, at some future time, a selection may be made from
the ten volumes, and even as they now stand many of the stories could be
read aloud. If the public cannot have the whole work, at least it might
have a part, and not be shut out from a masterpiece unparalleled.
LYTTELTON TIMES, _August 25th, 1886_.
THE NEW “ARABIAN NIGHTS.”
Sir Richard Burton’s version of the _Thousand Nights and a Night_,
privately printed for the use of men and scholars, is now unobtainable.
The edition sold off immediately, and the price has already reached
twenty-six guineas. The best critics among the thousand purchasers say
that the language is wonderful, the words graceful, the rendering of
thought, as well as words, most accurate, and the poetry marvellous. The
Oriental purchasers say that the language is wonderful, and they declare
that they have learnt more orientalism in the volumes than by long years
of study.
LAND AND WATER, _September 4th, 1886_.
Some time since I had occasion to speak out energetically about this
same work, thinking that a book which, though running only to a small
edition, might from its general interest excite the curiosity of those
who saw copies of it, and that, within its luxurious covers, matters of
prurient crudity might meet the prying eyes of those whom we would guard
against such knowledge. * * * Of the vigorous and poetic English of
Captain Burton’s translation, its freshness and virility, it is needless
to speak.
UNITED SERVICE GAZETTE, _September 11th_.
There is a charm and fascination about Burton’s translation that
enchains the reader. The Eastern beauties of expression are singularly
attractive, and, under careful editing, we may rely on a rich feast of
such gems of thought and poesies of imagination as only the resplendent
Orient can produce.
COURT CIRCULAR, _September 11th, 1886_.
Sir Richard Burton’s translation of _The Arabian Nights_ is a work of
marvellous erudition, and a perpetual delight to Arabic scholars and all
who care to read these famous stories as accurately reproduced as
possible. But they contain much that is not fit reading for women and
for young people.
LONDON AND WESTMINSTER SPORTING LIFE, _September 18th, 1886_.
From a private note which I have received from Sir Richard Burton I
judge that the supplementary volumes to the _Thousand Nights and a
Night_ will be of great and peculiar interest. Indeed the entire set
will form a library of Oriental lore of unique value.
NOTTINGHAM JOURNAL, _October 6th, 1886_.
That Captain Burton’s work gives delight to the subscribers may be
inferred from their encomiums. One writes, “I would give passages of it
to the Board Schools”; another goes so far as to say, “It is like a new
Bible for beauty of expression, and can you fancy a more wondrous gift
than a second inspired Book?”
STAFFORDSHIRE SENTINEL, _Hanley, October 13th_.
_Honi soit qui mal y pense._ Are we not living in a too-squeamish age?
First an expurgated edition of the _Arabian Nights_ from the pen of
Captain Burton, now a similar act of Vandalism to that book of our
boyhood, _Robinson Crusoe_. What there was in the pages of the immortal
work of Defoe, to which even the most susceptible could take exception,
is one of those things known only to the Society for the Promotion of
Christian Knowledge, to whom we are indebted for this last act of
Bowdlerizing.
CIVIL SERVICE GAZETTE, _November 2nd, 1886_.
Whatever reason there may have been for limiting to the number of a
thousand copies the original translation by Captain Sir Richard F.
Burton, his literally correct, complete, and beautiful version of the
_Arabian Nights, The Thousand Nights and One Night_ tales—a work of
prodigious erudition and mastery of Oriental language, literature,
manners, and customs—we cannot but think it was a pity to have placed
exclusively within the reach of the select, opulent, scholarly, and
fastidious few that which would have been a delight and joy for ever to
the less favoured of fortune—the countless millions. The “_Arabian
Nights Entertainments_” even in the imperfect, garbled, second-hand
version which has been current in England for a hundred and eighty years
through the French paraphrase by Professor Galland, has been read by all
classes, high and low, with admiration of the wonderful invention,
marvellous adventures, oriental imagery, charming dramatic scenes,
exquisite poetry, varied pictures of Eastern life and habits—with all
which the collection abounds. Why, then, when a genuine translation, the
work of many years, has been completed by a matchless Arab scholar,
traveller, and linguist is perfected, should it be withheld from the
multitude, and reserved for the delectation of the learned and the rich.
We are of opinion that the Arabian Tales, which are so universally
pleasing to the people, should not be withheld from them, as they would
be practically if shut up in glass cases, among the _éditions de luxe_
of connoisseurs.
FUN, _November 2nd, 1886_.
NEW LEAVES.
Apart from the learning and labour so lavishly bestowed upon the
original edition, there is ever a charm of seeming enchantment
surrounding these wondrous stories, which age does not abate, nor time
destroy—yet the truthfulness of this translation enriches and enhances
them.
EASTERN DAILY PRESS, _November 13th, 1886_.
I think I should like to shake the curators of the Bodleian library.
Last September Sir Richard Burton applied to them through Dr. Rost, the
chief librarian at the India Office, for leave to have a MS. of the
_Arabian Nights_ transferred from the Bodleian to the India Office under
the custody of Dr. Rost. The request was a perfectly regular and usual
one, and in Sir Richard Burton’s case it was accompanied by a distinct
promise that no “indelicate or immoral” tale should be translated. There
was therefore no fear that the peculiar frankness which characterised
Sir Richard’s renderings of previous tales would be repeated. A
month—six weeks—passed without a reply from the curators, the fact being
that they had met twice without being able to get the necessary quorum
of three, and once again without doing anything at all. Then Sir Richard
Burton got curt note informing him that at the fourth meeting the
majority of the curators were unwilling to lend the MS. At the same
meeting they allowed sundry MSS. to be sent to the India Office. Now
this not only implies a gross neglect of duty, but it is a wanton insult
to a man who, after all, is one of the most distinguished Orientalists
of his day. Burton’s _Arabian Nights_, disfigured as they are by the
indelicacy of the original, are a masterpiece of idiomatic translation;
and as a purely literary work must rank very high indeed. Moreover, the
shadow of an excuse for the curator’s conduct disappeared after Sir
Richard’s pledge to keep within the lines of strict propriety. After
all, learned men have a sad tendency to degenerate into meddling old
women.
COUNTY GENTLEMAN, _November 27th, 1887_.
Sir Richard Burton’s work has been criticised in some quarters for a too
obvious straining after the literal reproduction of the original. In our
opinion, such a course deserves rather praise than censure. And, indeed,
we would demur to the phrase “obvious straining” in connection with the
great Orientalist and explorer’s wonderfully successful representation
to English eyes and ears of both the meaning and the form of this
marvellous mosaic of Eastern fancy and imagination. That certain words
and phrases Sir Richard makes use of are unfamiliar to the British
reader is perfectly true. But it must be remembered that they have been
made the means of rendering intelligible unfamiliar modes of thought and
feeling which are entirely beyond the reach of smug literary conventions
and forms of expression. For ourselves, we can honestly say that these
very outrages upon Philistine sensibility have been amongst the
principal charms of this unequal and unrivalled translation—adding
vastly to the vicissitudes and seeming fidelity of the work. The marvel
to us has been rather—remarking the uniformly level execution of the
whole—that so few verbal ingenuities of the kind referred to have been
found necessary, and that so much of the translated prose is English
undefiled, albeit of the vigorous and vertebrate order, and so much of
the translated poetry has the ring of genuine English verse. We might,
however, write pages in explanation of our view of the manner in which
Sir Richard has discharged his task without approaching his definition
of his work as “a faithful copy of the great Eastern Saga-book by
preserving intact not only the spirit, but even the méchanique, the
manner, and the matter.” Of the tales themselves, we can, of course, say
nothing true that is new, or nothing new that is also true. No romances
of intrigue and adventure, of wealth and poverty, of luxury and love,
have had such universal acceptance, or received so much of that homage
which is said to be the sincerest—the flattery of imitation. And this by
means of the garbled and imperfect versions which have hitherto obtained
currency in the Western world.
THE PHILADELPHIA, _December 12th, 1887_.
ONCE MORE IN PRINT.