THE MORALISTIC GROUP
If among the imaginative tales there are some that approach the
moralistic, on the other hand there are among the moralistic tales at
least three thoroughly imaginative. Two are translations of _contes_ by
Marmontel: _The Watermen of Besons_ and _Friendship put to the Test_;
the third is Thomas Parnell’s poem, _The Hermit_. Marmontel’s two tales
share the characteristics of his _Contes Moraux_ in general, “light,
elegant, and graceful beyond anything to which I can compare them in
English: their form is exquisite, and they are sometimes imagined with a
fineness, a poetic subtlety, that is truly delicious. If the reader can
fancy the humor of some of the stories in the _Spectator_ turned wit,
their grace indefinitely enhanced, their not very keen perception of the
delicate and the indelicate indefinitely blunted, their characterization
sharpened almost to an edge of cynicism at times, he will have something
like an image of the _Moral Tales_ in his mind.”[68] In fact, as Mr.
Howells suggests in the same essay, “The _Moral Tales_ of Marmontel are
moral, as the _Exemplary Novels_ of Cervantes are exemplary; the
adjectives are used in an old literary sense, and do not quite promise
the spiritual edification of the reader, or if they promise it, do not
fulfil the promise ... they are not such reading as we might now put
into young people’s hands without fear of offending their modesty, but
they must have seemed miracles of purity in their time, and they
certainly take the side of virtue, of common sense, and of nature,
whenever there is a question of these in the plot.” Marmontel himself
says that he has endeavoured “de rendre la vertu aimable”; and he adds:
“Enfin j’ai tâché partout de peindre ou les mœurs de la societé, ou les
sentiments de la nature; et c’est ce qui m’a fait donner à ce Recueil le
titre de Contes Moraux.”[69]
Clearly, then, Marmontel stands half-way between purely imaginative
writers and weightier moralists like Dr. Johnson, who paraphrased
Horace:—
“Garrit aniles
Ex re fabellas.”
—_Sat._, II., VI., 76.
“The cheerful sage, when solemn dictates fail,
Conceals the moral counsel in a tale.”[70]
_The Watermen of Besons_[71] is a story of multifarious adventures. The
beautiful and virtuous heroine, a young French girl, is slave
successively to a sultan, a prince, an old Cypriote, and a Knight of
Malta; preserves both life and honour; and is ultimately reunited to her
faithful lover André, the Waterman of Besons. He, meanwhile, has been
hither and yon in the Orient, as prisoner, vizier, and cook, escaping
from one farcical predicament after another. The scenes change from
France to Persia, India, and Syria. The oriental setting is picturesque,
if slight, and assists in emphasizing the virtue and piety of the
heroine and in exalting the simple country life of the boatman and his
family in contrast to the luxury and vain pleasures of the sultan’s
court. The story is cleverly told from introduction to close; and,
except for some ostentatious moralizing and a few questionable
incidents, is thoroughly attractive. In _Friendship put to the
Test_,[72] there is more moralizing and less art. It is a commonplace
tale of the self-sacrifice of a youth who relinquishes his bride to his
friend on discovering their mutual love. The heroine is a young East
Indian, daughter to a pious Bramin who worships Vishnu by the sacred
Ganges. The author endeavours to give additional local colour by
referring to “the custom of flattering a widow before she is burned.” He
satirizes European bigotry by describing the Brahmin’s tolerance toward
other creeds; makes one of his oriental personages criticize European
etiquette in the manner of the _Lettres Persanes_; and praises
simplicity and the ingenuous emotions of nature quite after the fashion
of Rousseau.[73]
Marmontel’s tales have been praised by no less a critic than Ruskin as
being “exquisitely finished.” With them, so far as careful structure and
polished style are concerned, _The Hermit_[74] of Thomas Parnell may not
unreasonably be classed. The poem is so well-known that only a brief
comment is necessary here. It is a good example of the beauty and force
given to an exceedingly simple narrative by the power of style. The tale
was not original with Parnell, but was an inheritance from the earlier
stores of oriental fiction given to Europe by the East during the Middle
Ages. Pope writes: “The poem is very good.” The story was written
originally in Spanish [whence probably Howell had translated it into
prose, and inserted it in one of his letters].[75] Gaston Paris mentions
the same story, _L’ange et l’Ermite_ among the _contes dévots_ of the
Middle Ages, and says it is “juif sans doute d’origine.”[76] Wilhelm
Seele[77] enumerates various versions and mentions that of Parnell as
one of the accepted sources of _Zadig_.
The opening lines of Parnell’s poem describing the peaceful life of the
hermit are characteristic:—
“Far in a wild, unknown to public view,
From youth to age a reverend hermit grew;
The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell;
His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well:
Remote from man, with God he pass’d the days,
Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise.”
A doubt of the wisdom and power of Providence impels him to go out into
the world to observe the ways of God with men. A beautiful youth becomes
his companion and startles him by committing strange crimes culminating
in apparently wanton murder. The hermit, in anger, begins to rebuke the
youth:—
“‘Detested wretch!’—but scarce his speech began,
When the strange partner seem’d no longer man:
His youthful face grew more serenely sweet;
His robe turn’d white, and flow’d upon his feet;
Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair;
Celestial odours breathe through purpled air;
And wings, whose colours glitter’d on the Day,
Wide at his back their gradual plumes display.
The form ethereal bursts upon his sight,
And moves in all the majesty of light.”
The angel explains each apparent crime as in reality a deed of
benevolence; the hermit learns to trust the mysterious ways of
Providence and returns in peace to his cell. The poem has been called
Parnell’s masterpiece; and is, indeed, an admirable example of the
_conte moral_ in verse.
We suggested, above, two meanings of the word “moral”: one, that of
Marmontel, referring chiefly to manners; the other, that of Dr. Johnson,
emphasizing conduct. It is the latter meaning that best characterizes
the numerous moral oriental tales in eighteenth-century England—the
tales which we designate as “moralistic.”
Even in the hands of Addison and Steele the oriental tale was speedily
utilized to inculcate right living and was made into a story “with a
purpose,”—in a word, became moralistic. The avowed aim of the
_Spectator_ and the _Tatler_ was to reconcile wit and morality, to
entertain and to preach, to hold the mirror of kindly ridicule up to
society, to smile away the follies or vices of the world, and to present
serene, temperate, and beautiful ideals of thought and of conduct.
Hence, even the fiction that frequently constitutes a vital part of the
essays is permeated with the same spirit. This holds true of the
character-sketches of Addison’s real and imaginary correspondents and
acquaintances, including even Sir Roger himself. It is true, also, of
the frequent allegorical visions and dreams, of the numerous classical
stories, and of the occasional oriental tales. To these various forms of
fiction Addison turned, “rambling,” as he says, “into several stories,
fetching one to my present purpose.” Attracted as the great essayists
were by the touch of extravagance, the strange dress and colouring, the
unfamiliar nomenclature and oriental fancies in these tales, they felt
constrained, nevertheless, to apologize for such unclassical material
and to justify their use of it. In the _Spectator_, No. 512, on the
fable as the best form of giving advice, Addison tells the entertaining
story of the Sultan Mahmoud and the vizier who pretended to understand
birds’ conversation, and introduces it by saying: “[There is] a pretty
instance of this nature in a Turkish Tale, which I do not like the worse
for that little oriental extravagance which is mixed with it.” “The
virtue of complaisance in friendly intercourse” is “very prettily
illustrated by a little wild Arabian tale,” the story of _Shacabac and
the Barmecide’s Feast_.[78]
The story of the _Santon Barsisa_[79] is praised by Steele for
suggesting serious reflections and an obvious Christian moral.
_Alnaschar_ from the _Arabian Nights_ is used to conclude an essay upon
the transitoriness of human life and the vain hope of worldly ambitions.
Addison says, “What I have here said may serve as a moral to an Arabian
fable which I find translated into French by Monsieur Galland [and which
is marked by] a wild but natural simplicity.”[80] In the story of the
_Persian Emperor’s Riddle_,[81] the question, “What is the tree that has
three hundred and sixty-five leaves, black and white?” is one of the
riddles in the story of the _Princess of China_ (_Persian Tales_). The
same answer is given, “A year,” but Addison affixes the reflection that
the leaves represent the king’s acts, which look white to his friends
and black to his enemies. The “Persian story” of the just sultan, who
executed a culprit in the dark, though he knew that it might be his son,
concludes an essay on justice.[82] The riddle-like acts of the sultan
and his final explanation seem characteristically oriental.
Two tales are apparently original with Addison: the _Story of Helim and
Abdallah_[83] and the _Story of Hilpa, Harpath, and Shalum_.[84] The
former Addison says he found “lately translated out of an Arabian
manuscript.” It has, he thinks, “very much the turn of an oriental
tale; ... never before printed; ... [and doubtless will be] highly
acceptable to the reader.” From such an introduction the reader
naturally infers that Addison invented the tale. The character of the
story confirms this inference. Helim, the great physician, educates
Ibrahim and Abdallah, sons to the tyrant Alnareschin, who has killed
thirty-five wives and twenty sons. Abdallah and Balsora, the daughter of
Helim, fall in love; the king covets Balsora; Helim gives her a sleeping
potion; and she wakes in a tomb with Abdallah.[85] They escape past the
guards in the guise of spirits and live happily in a beautiful retreat
on a mountain. After the tyrant’s death Helim reunites Ibrahim and
Abdallah, and ultimately Abdallah’s son succeeds Ibrahim. For oriental
colouring Addison refers to the seal of Solomon, Persia, Mahomet, etc.
His characters are the commonplace types: the tyrant, the wise
physician, the beautiful girl, and others. He employs fanciful touches
in describing the black marble palace with its hundred ebony doors
guarded by negroes and its five thousand lamps; and also in recounting
the lovers’ escape by moonlight as spirits in white and azure silk
robes. No direct moral is drawn, but virtue is rewarded and vice
thwarted. The other moral oriental tale by Addison is called by him “an
antediluvian novel,”[86] the _Story of Hilpa, Harpath, and Shalum_. He
pretends to have found it in Chinese records, “the only antediluvian
_billet-doux_ in existence,” and attempts to give verisimilitude by
localizing it in places with fictitious names that have an oriental
sound, and by using flowery language. A humorous effect of mock
antiquity is obtained by exaggerating the age of the characters,—Hilpa,
for instance, is a beautiful girl of seventy,—and a touch of satire, by
implying that only an antediluvian woman would marry for money. The
feeble characterization—if characterization it can be called—of the
haughty and contemptuous Harpath and the good and gentle Shalum
forecasts the later efforts of Johnson and Hawkesworth. Although the
tale contains no explicit moral, it is used to illustrate a “kind of
moral virtue”—the planting of trees. Antediluvians had an advantage over
us in that they outlived the trees they planted. The lack of direct
moralizing in these two original tales is unusual: at least half the
oriental tales quoted or adapted in the Addisonian periodicals enunciate
an express moral lesson. The morality, like the philosophy, is not
distinctly oriental in character. Industry and economy, health and
cleanliness, prudence and justice, kindly “complaisance,” the art of
giving advice and seeking instruction, serenity in the face of calumny
and death,—it is the Addisonian code of virtues in oriental guise.
In thus utilizing the oriental tale for moralistic purposes and—as we
shall see later[87]—for philosophic ends also, Addison gave the prelude
and the direction to two distinct tendencies of the entire period.[88]
The strength of the moralizing proclivity may be illustrated from the
translation of the imaginative _Mogul Tales_ of Gueullette. On the
title-page of the edition of 1736, the anonymous English translator
quotes:—
“In pleasing Tales, the artful Sage can give
Rules, how in Happiness and Ease to live:
Can shew what Good should most attract the Mind,
And how our Woes we from our Vices find;
Delighting, yet instructing thus our Youth,
Who catch at Fable—How to gather Truth.”
He then gives a prefatory “Discourse on the Usefulness of Romances,”[89]
in the course of which he says that romances are useful in that they
“Engage Young People to love Reading,” instil in them “Address,
Politeness, and a high sense of Virtue,” and teach them the geography
and customs of foreign countries. “Clownish People, and Persons long
doom’d to what is called Low-Life ... ought on their coming into the
World to be treated as Children and these Books recommended to them. By
them they are led at once into Courts and into Camps, are taught the
Language of the Toilette and the Drawing-Room, and are made acquainted
with those superior Sentiments which inhabit only great Souls, and
distinguish true Heroes from the Vulgar. By turning over such Volumes,
Rusticity is quickly polished, and the Beauties of a gentile Behaviour
set in such a light, as must attract a Heart not entirely Savage.... The
late Humour of reading Oriental Romances, such as the Arabian, Persian,
and Turkish Tales, though I will not contend, it has much better’d our
Morals, has, however, extended our Notions, and made the Customs of the
East much more familiar to us than they were before, or probably ever
would have been, had they not been communicated to us by this indirect,
and pleasant Way. Now these are certainly very great Advantages, and
very valuable Acquirements, even to Men; and many giddy young Fellows
have been, by amusing themselves with such Trifles, taught to conceive
clearly, and to converse properly, in relation to Things which otherwise
they would have known nothing about.” The writer then proceeds to bring
out the moral which, in his opinion, is latent in oriental tales,
especially in this collection. “The grand Moral of these ingenious Tales
is contained in this Sentence: True Virtue alone is capable of standing
all Trials, and persisting therein is the only means of attaining solid
Happiness. The Author has illustrated the Truth of this Maxim by a
Multitude of Instances, all of them probable, and some of them I have
Reason to think founded upon matters of Fact. Human Nature is
represented ... with strict regard to Truth, and in a manner which
cannot fail of improving, as well as entertaining, the considerate
Reader. From the perusal of these Sheets, he will have it in his Power
to make a hundred Reflections, which may produce very happy Effects, if
apply’d to the Regulation of his own Conduct. He will, for Example, see
how ridiculous it is for a Man in Years to hope for Satisfaction from
engaging in new Amours, and vainly flattering himself that Fondness and
grey Hairs will ever attach the Soul of a sprightly young Woman.... The
Misfortunes of the Blind Man of Chitor, cannot fail of putting him who
reads them, in Mind of the Danger there is in making an ill Use of Court
Favour, and of studying nothing but the gratification of sensual
Appetites; what is supernatural in that Story, is certainly wrought with
great Strength of Genius, and gives us a fine Idea of the Wisdom and
Justice of Providence, in punishing the Offenses of Mankind,” and so on
to the end. Similar sentiments, though less explicit, are found in
Gueullette’s own dedication of the _Tartarian Tales_ to the Duke of
Chartres. “The Book ... is of the Nature of those which are improving as
well as entertaining. Though the Subject appear light, yet it conduces
to something useful on Account of the Morality couched in it.”[90]
In addition to giving a general moralistic direction to the uses of
oriental or pseudo-oriental material, Addison initiated the method
employed in writing moral oriental tales. The similarities between the
two oriental tales written by Dr. Johnson for the _Rambler_, and
Addison’s original stories in the _Spectator_, are obvious and afford
another instance of Johnson’s well-known emulation of the earlier
essayist. In each case the result was insignificant in literary
value.[91] Yet the attitude Addison took toward this oriental material
and the use he made of it are exceedingly interesting to the student of
the period, even though the actual tales he composed are so few and so
trifling. The same is true of Dr. Johnson, and although his “clumsy
gambols,”[92] and those of his contemporary imitator, Dr. John
Hawkesworth, need not detain us long, they must not be overlooked.
Addison’s touch is lighter, as might be expected, while Johnson’s manner
is certainly clumsy; but in childish simplicity of plan, of
characterization, and of oriental colouring, such a tale as _Hamet and
Raschid_[93] is not unlike _Hilpa, Harpath, and Shalum_.[94] Hawkesworth
followed Johnson closely in these respects.
“Ingenious Hawkesworth to this school we owe
And scarce the pupil from the tutor know.”[95]
The only detailed description containing local colour is the picture of
Bozaldab’s son upon “the throne of diamonds.” He is seated beside a
princess “fairer than a Houri” and is surrounded by Rajahs of fifty
nations. The hall is adorned with jasper statues and ivory doors with
hinges of Golconda gold. A few customs are briefly mentioned, _e.g._
pressing the royal signet to the forehead in token of obedience, and
meeting at the well in the desert where caravans stop.[96] Neither
Johnson nor Hawkesworth attempts to localize the action beyond alluding
to Bagdad, the plains of India, or “all the East.”
One curious characteristic differentiating these two later essayists
from Addison, is their far more elaborate care to adorn their narratives
with what they style “the pompous language of the East.” Orientalized
phrases are found in Addison’s tales, but are far simpler and less
frequent. Hawkesworth carries the mannerism to extremes. “Amurath,
Sultan of the East, the judge of nations, the disciple of adversity,
records the wonders of his life.” “As the hand of time scattered snow
upon his head, its freezing influence extended to his bosom.” The
flutter of the Angel’s wings is like “the rushing of a cataract,” a
beautiful valley is “the Garden of Hope,” a dog is “thy brother of the
dust.” “Despair has armed [his hand] with a dagger.” Figures of speech
in Biblical phraseology are frequent, _e.g._ a smile “diffused gladness
like the morning,” “the straight road of piety,” “the cup of
consolation,” the “Angel of Death came forward like a whirlwind.” In
Johnson’s tales and to a certain extent in Hawkesworth’s _Carazan_,[97]
the phrases are frequently dignified as well as sonorous, but in other
tales by Hawkesworth and Warton the language is absurdly
“elevated,”—“the hoary sage”; “the fatal malignity,” _i.e._ the cup of
poison; “the screams of the melancholy birds of midnight that flit
through the echoing chambers of the Pyramids.” Such diction is
noticeable in contrast to the plain English of Hawkesworth’s
non-oriental tales, _e.g._ the story of _Melissa_,[98] and indicates
unmistakably that “pompous language” was one essential in the
eighteenth-century concept of the oriental tale. This is the more
curious, since in the genuine oriental tales known in England at the
time Johnson and Hawkesworth were writing, such language is the
exception rather than the rule.[99] In the _Persian Tales_, for
instance, the collection where one might expect to find figurative
language, reference is made once or twice to the nightingale as lover of
the rose, but figures such as the following are noticeably rare: “I lie
down upon the thorns of uneasiness; the poison of your absence preys
upon my heart and insensibly consumes my very life.” “Your forehead is
like a plate of polished silver; your brows resemble two spacious
arches; your eyes sparkle beyond diamonds; ... your mouth is a ruby
casket that holds a bracelet of pearls.” The rarity of such language is
worth noting, for, as has been suggested, the later pseudo-orientalists
thought they must fill their pages with such figures in order to be
“oriental”—a delusion satirized by Goldsmith. “They believe,” he says,
“that in an oriental tale nothing is required but sublimity ... all is
great, obscure, magnificent, and unintelligible.”[100].
Not only in language, but also in incident, Hawkesworth is far more
fantastic than either Addison or Johnson. Obidah, in _Obidah, the son of
Abensima, and the Hermit, an Eastern Story_,[101] follows a pleasant but
misleading path, is overtaken by a storm, and meets a Hermit who
preaches to him on the journey of life and the necessity of following
the right road. The _Story of the Shepherds Hamet and Raschid_[102] is
equally brief and unintricate. The fields of the two shepherds, who
lived on the plains of India, were suffering from drought. A genius
appeared with the offer of gifts. Hamet asked a little, steady brook;
Raschid demanded the Ganges. The moral is as prompt and complete as in
an old-fashioned Sunday-school tale. Hamet’s grounds prospered;
Raschid’s were swept away, and—“a crocodile devoured him”! Hawkesworth
is not content with such childlike simplicity. His _Ring of
Amurath_[103] is as ingenious as it is moral. The sultan Amurath is
presented with a magic ring by a Genius, who warns him that the ring
will grow pale and press his finger whenever he sins. Amurath
degenerates into a cruel and sensual tyrant, vainly pursues Selima, the
daughter of his vizier, throws away the painful ring, and is transformed
by the Genius into a “monster of the desert.” Captured and cruelly
abused, he finally saves the life of his keeper, and in reward for this,
his first good act, is changed into a dog. In this form, entering by
chance the city of lawless pleasure, he beholds the horrors of
unrestrained crime, and is poisoned. In his next form, that of a white
dove, he reaches—again by chance—a hermit’s cave, where he beholds
Selima telling her story to the hermit. Amurath feels “the sentiments of
pure affection” and, in consequence, resumes human shape. The hermit,
who is the Genius, preaches a final sermon and dismisses them to reign
over Golconda. They will now be happy, he says, because they have
learned to be wise and virtuous. Equally fantastic and more fortuitous
are the events in the sketch, _Transmigration of a Soul_,[104] a story
told by a flea, a realistic, disagreeable account of cruelties inflicted
by men on animals. Sometimes Hawkesworth’s tales are free from grotesque
fancies, _e.g._ the story of Carazan[105] the miser, who dreams he is
before the Judgment Seat and condemned to eternal solitude. He awakens,
reforms, and gives a great feast to the poor. Such a tale is
commonplace, but in its simplicity is not entirely unimpressive. In the
majority of Hawkesworth’s tales, however, the fantastic elements
predominate.
Of _Almoran and Hamet_ (1761), the best known of Hawkesworth’s tales
outside of the periodicals, much the same may be said. The story is
similar to _Nouraddin and Amana_, but is more elaborate. The _deus ex
machina_ is a genius who gives supernatural aid to the tyrant Almoran in
pursuing his evil desires. A magic talisman enables Almoran to assume
other persons’ forms, prodigies apparently from heaven alarm his
opponents; yet each of his wishes is frustrated by the virtuous acts of
his brother Hamet and the beautiful Almeida, until in the end he is
metamorphosed into a rock, and they are left to reign in peace. The
oriental colouring is thin and the characterization feeble. Yet the tale
won, for a time, great popularity, due partly to the melodramatic
interest, partly to the moralizing tone.[106] The author discourses on
the essentials of good government, the duties of a king, the question of
immortality, and the idea that the pursuit of pleasure alone defeats its
own end. In certain ways the story reminds one of _Vathek_ and again of
_Seged_.[107] Almoran, like Vathek, longs for the gratification of every
desire. “If I must perish,” said he, “I will at least perish unsubdued.
I will quench no wish that nature kindles in my bosom; nor shall my lips
utter any prayer but for new powers to feed the flame.” In answer to
these words, the Genius appears, “one of those delusive phantoms, which,
under the appearance of pleasure, were leading him to destruction.” Like
Seged, Almoran finds that the deliberate attempt to be happy at any cost
ends in greater pain. Both tales represent an idea that was persistent
in the philosophy of the eighteenth century, and was to find its most
artistic expression in _Rasselas_ and _The Vanity of Human Wishes_.
Two other moral tales, Langhorne’s _Solyman and Almena_ (1762),[108] and
Mrs. Sheridan’s _Nourjahad_ (1767),[109] similar to Hawkesworth’s
stories, likewise enjoyed considerable popularity. Nourjahad narrates
the experiences of a sultan’s favourite, whose chief desires are
inexhaustible riches and “prolongation of his life to eternity to enjoy
them.” The sultan causes the apparent fulfilment of these wishes, and
Nourjahad rapidly degenerates through selfish indulgence in pleasures of
the senses into an impious and murderous tyrant. His acts are
accompanied by increasing unhappiness: the loss of his mistress,
Mandana, the ingratitude of his son, the desertion of all his servants
except one, Cozro, who acts as his conscience, recapitulates his sins,
and demonstrates that, “by the immutable laws of Heaven ... either in
this world or the next, vice will meet its just reward.” Cozro teaches
the repentant Nourjahad the happiness that comes from generosity to the
poor and suffering, and the faith in one’s own rectitude and in Heaven,
that makes man superior to death. Nourjahad is finally brought to
despise riches; to desire to save Cozro’s life by losing his own; and,
when that is unavailing, to accept the prospect of death rather than
bribe his jailer. At the last moment the sultan reveals to Nourjahad
that he has been disguised as Cozro, that Mandana still lives and has
impersonated Nourjahad’s guardian genius, and that the whole series of
events has been arranged to test and to purify Nourjahad’s character.
The story has a certain amount of interest. The illusion is well
sustained, and the dénouement comes with considerable force. There is an
attempt at oriental colouring in the descriptions of the omnipotent
sultan, the forests and gardens, the mourning in the city for the
sultan’s death, the bribery of cadi and jailers, and the urns full of
gold pieces and rare jewels in the subterranean treasure-vault. But the
colouring is faint and serves only as a vague background for the story.
There is unity in the development of the central idea of Nourjahad’s
evil desires, their result and his change of heart; there is, however,
no real characterization. The burden of the moral and of the inflated,
pompous diction is heavy, but the narrative is clear and often vivid.
In _Solyman and Almena_ the oriental colouring is paler even than in
_Nourjahad_. “In the pleasant valley of Mesopotamia on the banks of the
Irwan lived Solyman, son of Ardavan the sage,” who worshipped the sacred
Mithra. Names, places, mention of a few oriental customs like the
suttee, occasional metaphors, suffice in the eyes of the author to make
the tale oriental. His chief delight is to moralize and philosophize in
gentle and leisurely fashion. The story begins with Solyman’s desire to
travel in order to gain knowledge of mankind and of God. It advances
slowly because frequently broken by generalizations, by descriptions of
places like the “frowning” ruins of Persepolis and emotions aroused
thereby, and also by digressions on the state of literature and manners
in England. The extreme sentimentality of the lovers and their floods of
tears often delay the progress of events. The language used is eminently
suitable. When Solyman found that “to all the elegant graces of female
softness, she [Almena] added the virtues of benevolence, his friendship
for her was heightened into the most refined affection.” On the whole,
although the story is stiff, tedious, and over-moralistic, it has an
attractive kind of purity and sweetness like the fragrance from an
old-fashioned garden.
In many respects similar to the fiction discussed above, but superior in
narrative directness and force is the moral tale by Miss Edgeworth,
_Murad the Unlucky_. It was not published until 1804,[110] and therefore
would fall outside of our study, were it not so similar in character to
the fiction under consideration. The starting point of this story is a
query by the Sultan of Constantinople concerning the tale of _Cogia
Hassan, the Rope-maker, and the Two Friends Saad and Saadi_ in the
_Arabian Nights_. The Sultan, like Haroun Alraschid, is amusing himself
by going at night, in disguise, through the streets of his city.
Recollecting the tale of _Cogia Hassan_, he declares to his companion,
the vizier, that “fortune does more for men than prudence.” The vizier
takes the opposite view and cites as instances two brothers, called
Murad the Unlucky and Saladin the Lucky. The brothers recount the
stories of their lives, and at the close the Sultan says to his vizier:
“I acknowledge that the histories of Saladin the Lucky and Murad the
Unlucky favour your opinion, that prudence has more influence than
chance in human affairs. The success and happiness of Saladin seem to me
to have arisen from his prudence: by that prudence Constantinople has
been saved from flames and from the plague. Had Murad possessed his
brother’s discretion, he would not have been on the point of losing his
head for selling rolls which he did not bake; he would not have been
kicked by a mule or bastinadoed for finding a ring; he would not have
been robbed by one party of soldiers or shot by another; he would not
have been lost in a desert, or cheated by a Jew; he would not have set a
ship on fire; nor would he have caught the plague, and spread it through
Grand Cairo; he would not have run my sultana’s looking-glass through
the body, instead of a robber; he would not have believed that the fate
of his life depended on certain verses on a china vase; nor would he, at
last, have broken this precious talisman by washing it with hot water.
Henceforward, let Murad the Unlucky be named Murad the Imprudent; let
Saladin preserve the surname he merits, and be henceforth called Saladin
the Prudent.”[111] Such a quotation readily shows how far removed from
the _Arabian Nights_ were the moralistic tales, imitating, as they did,
the manner only and not the spirit of their prototypes.
Of Ridley’s _Tales of the Genii_ (1764),[112] the translation of Le
Camus’s _Abdeker, or the Art of Preserving Beauty_ (1754),[113] and _The
Vizirs, or the Enchanted Labyrinth, an Oriental Tale_ (1774)[114] by
Mme. Fauques de Vaucluse, the same may be said with even greater
emphasis. The subtitle of the first, “Delightful Lessons of Horam the
Son of Asmar,” betrays the author’s purpose, which proves to be to
disguise “the true doctrines of morality under the delightful allegories
of romantic enchantment.” The disguise is thin, though the “enchantment”
is plentiful. Incantations, genii, sudden transformations, flowery
valleys, crystal palaces, deserts, volcanoes, shipwrecks, are all
lavishly employed. The attempt to accumulate horrors results once in
unconscious humour: the description of the “horrid” sorcerer, who lurks
in his lurid den, cherishing “his tube burning with the fœtid herb
tobacco, filling the cave with its poisonous odour.” But the narratives,
in general, are tedious, and the continual moralizing is anything but
“delightful.” _Abdeker_ is also unimportant but curious—an awkward
combination of an Eastern love story with recipes for cosmetics and
lectures on hygiene. The form is a frame-tale in which a few minor
tales, such as _Zinzima and Azor_, are inserted. _The Vizirs_ is a
fanciful, tediously moralized story of the complicated adventures of
several Eastern princes and princesses.
One curious instance of the general propensity to moralize is _Dinarbas,
a Tale, being a Continuation of Rasselas, Prince of Abissinia_
(1790).[115] The idea of such a sequel was suggested to the author by
Sir John Hawkins’s statement that Dr. Johnson “had an intention of
marrying his hero and placing him in a state of permanent
felicity.”[116] The author’s purpose is to show that love, friendship,
and virtuous, altruistic conduct bring happiness. Rasselas is the hero
of the book; Dinarbas is his friend. Rasselas quells a rebellion against
his father, the Emperor; is falsely accused, imprisoned, and, by aid of
Dinarbas, liberated; succeeds to the throne of Abyssinia, marries the
sister of Dinarbas, and gives his sister Nekayah to Dinarbas. The story
closes with their visit to the Happy Valley to set free its inhabitants.
Throughout the book the author inculcates resignation, rectitude,
courage, usefulness, and other virtues, and endeavours “to afford
consolation or relief to the wretched traveler, terrified and
disheartened at the rugged paths of life.” _Dinarbas_ is obviously
inferior to its predecessor; its value is not literary but historical—as
an evidence of the desire to moralize everything, even the philosophic
tales.
It is not surprising to find in this period several editions of the
_Fables of Pilpay_ [or _Bidpai_], a version of the ancient _Kalila and
Dimna_, which had been known in England since the Middle Ages. The
moralistic note in addition to the perennial interest of these stories
made an especial appeal to eighteenth-century readers. In 1743 appeared
_The Instructive and Entertaining Fables of Pilpay, an ancient Indian
Philosopher, containing a number of excellent rules for the conduct of
persons of all ages_. London, 1743. As early as 1711 there had appeared
a book of extracts: _Æsop naturaliz’d: in a collection of diverting
fables and stories from Æsop, Lockman, Pilpay, and others_. London,
1711; 1771.[117]
The name of the minor moralists of this period is Legion. It would be
superfluous to do more than mention briefly the titles of a few works:
_Contentment, a Fable_;[118] _Hassan_ (178-?);[119] _The History of
Arsaces, Prince of Betlis by the editor of Chrysal_ (1774);[120] _The
Caliph of Bagdad, Travels before the Flood, an Interesting Oriental
record of men and manners in the antediluvian world interpreted in
fourteen evening conversations between the Caliph of Bagdad and his
Court, translated from Arabic_ (1796);[121] _The Grateful Turk_, in
_Moral Tales by Esteemed Writers_ (1800?);[122] _Hamet and Selinda an
Eastern Tale_ in _The Baloon or ærostatic Spy, a novel containing a
series of adventures of an aerial traveller_ (1786).[123]
In the last half of the century several collections of such oriental
tales, chiefly moralistic, were made. “Mr. Addison’s” _Interesting
Anecdotes, memoirs, Allegories, essays, and poetical fragments, tending
to amuse the fancy and inculcate morality_ (1797)[124] in sixteen
volumes, contains a great variety of oriental and unoriental tales
taken, usually without naming the author, from the _Rambler_, the
_Adventurer_, and other sources. A similar collection is _The
Orientalist, a volume of Tales after the Eastern taste, by the author of
Roderick Random, Sir Lancelot Greaves, etc., and Others_ (1773).[125]
Some of these tales are fanciful; many moralizing. One is a direct and
unacknowledged translation of Marmontel’s _Soliman II._[126] No authors’
names are given. The tales are brief, uninteresting, and, with a few
exceptions such as _Soliman II._, of little value. The tendency, found
in France earlier in the century, to “moralize” oriental stories and
fairy tales for the edification of children is exemplified by a
collection popular for several years after its publication: _The
Blossoms of Morality. Intended for the Amusement and Instruction of
Young Ladies and Gentlemen by the Editor of the Looking Glass for the
Mind_ (1789).[127] In this collection are a few “oriental” tales, _e.g._
_The Pleasures of Contentment_, a “tedious brief” story of the good
vizier Alibeg, unjustly exiled, discovered contentedly living as a
hermit, surrounded by affectionate domestic animals. Recalled to office
by popular demand, Alibeg sheds a few tears upon leaving his pastoral
retreat, but returns to the city, rules wisely, and is content always
and everywhere. The same collection contains _An Oriental Tale_;
_Generosity Rewarded_; _The Anxieties of Royalty_; _The Generous
Punishment_;—all, tales with “oriental” traces;—and _The Beautiful
Statue_, a diluted version of the admirable tale of _Zeyn Alasnam_ in
the _Arabian Nights_, pitiably moralized. Finally, _The Oriental
Moralist_ appeared, in which “_the Beauties of the Arabian Nights’
Entertainments_” were “accompanied with suitable reflections adapted to
each story,” by the Rev. Mr. Cooper (1790?).[128] The editor’s preface
needs no comment: “During a trip which I lately made to the Continent, I
accidentally met with (at an Inn where I had occasion to halt a short
time) a French edition of the _Arabian Nights’ Entertainments_; having
no other book at hand I was induced to wade through it. When I had
finished ... it struck my imagination, that those tales might be
compared to a once rich and luxuriant garden, neglected and run to
waste, where scarce anything strikes the common observer but the weeds
and briars with which it is overrun, whilst the more penetrating eye of
the experienced gardener discovers ... some ... delightful flowers. Full
of this idea, I determined to turn florist, and to traverse this wild
and unweeded spot with a cautious and discriminating eye, ... to cull a
pleasing nosegay for my youthful friends. Quitting the simile, I have
endeavoured to select a few of the most interesting tales, have given
them a new dress in point of language, and have carefully expurgated
everything that could give the least offense to the most delicate
reader. Not satisfied barely with these views, I have added many moral
reflections, wherever the story would admit of them. I have, in many
instances, considerably altered the fables, and have given them a turn,
which appeared to me the most likely to promote the love of virtue, to
fortify the youthful heart against the impressions of vice, and to point
out to them the paths which lead to peace, happiness, and honour.” In
accordance with this purpose Cooper gave the following new ending to
_Aladdin_: “Sir, said the Sultana, after she had finished the story of
the Wonderful Lamp, your majesty, without doubt, has observed, in the
person of the African magician, a man abandoned to the passion of
possessing immense treasures by the most horrid and detestable means. On
the contrary, your majesty sees in Aladdin a person of mean birth,
raised to the regal dignity, making use of the same treasures ... just
as he had occasion for them, or when an opportunity offered of applying
them to the relief of the necessitous, or in rewarding industry and
encouraging the practice of virtue.” After that, the instant execution
of the Sultana would have been, on the part of his majesty, justifiable
homicide. Hawkesworth, in the concluding number of the _Adventurer_,
confesses—hardly to the surprise of the reader who has perused the
previous one hundred and thirty-nine essays—that he is a moral writer,
and that he has found it necessary, in writing for “the Young and the
Gay,” to amuse the imagination “while approaching the heart.” The editor
of the _Observer_ declares that simply to say that he has “written
nothing but with a moral design would be saying very little, for it is
not the vice of the time to countenance publications of an opposite
tendency; to administer moral precepts through a pleasing medium seems
now the general study of our essayists, dramatists, and novelists, ...
to bind the rod of the moralist with the roses of the muse.” Beyond such
didacticism no moralist could go.
If we pause to consider the Moralistic Group as a whole, our strongest
impression is that of the general paucity of literary merit. Aside from
Parnell’s _Hermit_, Marmontel’s _contes_, some of the tales quoted by
Addison and Steele, and the _Fables of Bidpai_, there is nothing of
noticeable intrinsic value. The moral oriental tales composed by
Addison, Johnson, and Miss Edgeworth are the least valuable part of
their work, far inferior, for instance, to the philosophic oriental
tales, _The Vision of Mirza_ and _Rasselas_. Only unusual genius can
make an art of moralizing. Average writers,—like the authors of the
fifteenth-century morality plays or the eighteenth-century moralists
when they turned to oriental fiction,—in their desire to express a
universal truth concerning human character or conduct, eliminate so many
individualizing traits that their personages become mere abstractions.
They do not know the secret of embodying these abstract ideas in
concrete and appropriate types, and hence their work lacks the beauty
and universal human interest of the _Pilgrim’s Progress_, the _Faerie
Queene_, or the parables of Scripture. Yet the minor writers of any
period—and the same is true of minor works by great writers—frequently
reflect most clearly the current opinions of their age.[129] For that
reason the Moralistic Group of oriental tales possesses a distinct
historical value.