THE SATIRIC GROUP
In France satire used the oriental tale seriously for the purpose of
criticizing contemporary society, morals, and politics; but also turned
its criticism against the oriental tale itself, which it travestied and
parodied. These forms of satire we may term, respectively, social and
literary,—the former, satire by means of the oriental tale; the latter,
satire upon the oriental tale. Such social satire had appeared as far
back as 1684 with the publication of _L’Espion turc_[171] by Giovanni
Paolo Marana. This pseudo-oriental translation catered to the growing
interest in the Orient, contributing an important element to the
oriental vogue not actually inaugurated until the publication of the
epoch-making _Mille et une Nuits_ (1704–1717). The genre of
pseudo-letters, founded—so far as we know—by Marana, was continued by
Charles Rivière Dufresny in his _Amusemens_ (_sic_) _serieux et
comiques_ (1699),[172] culminated in the _Lettres Persanes_ (1721) of
Montesquieu, and was widely diffused by a score of imitators.[173] A
particularly light and humorous form of social satire is exemplified in
Marmontel’s prose tale, _Soliman II._
The literary satire referred to above was a natural reaction against
current enthusiasm for the extravagance of the oriental tale. Count
Hamilton led this reaction with his entertaining parodies on oriental
stories and fairy tales; Caylus, Voltaire, and others followed. In
general the satirizing tendency seems to have been about evenly divided
between social and literary satire. The natural inclination of the
French to satirize foibles of social life and weaknesses of the social
structure is plainly visible. Equally apparent is their acuteness in
perceiving and criticizing faults of literary style. In England the
emphasis was characteristically different and rested more on conduct,
less on art. Numerous translations and imitations of Marana,
Montesquieu, and others appeared; and in Goldsmith’s _Citizen of the
World_ the genre of pseudo-letters reached its highest point of
development in England. There were a few interesting translations of
French tales in which literary and social satire were mingled, such as
those by Voltaire; and a few translations of literary parodies by
Caylus, Bougeant, and Hamilton. But, if we except Horace Walpole’s
trifling _Hieroglyphic Tales_, there was no original English
parody.[174]
As in France, so in England the impetus and direction to this particular
form of satire were first given by Marana.[175] The main idea of his
_Espion Turc_—the disguised Oriental observing and commenting on
European society and politics in a series of letters home—was apparently
original with him and was immediately popular. The first English
translation, by William Bradshaw, slightly edited by Robert Midgley,
appeared 1687–1693.[176] The character of the eight small, dusty volumes
of the English version is curious. An historical preface to Vol. I. is
followed by a Letter to the Reader which, like Irving’s account of the
disappearance of Diedrich Knickerbocker, tells how the Turk vanished
from his rooms leaving behind his roll of manuscript, and beseeches the
Gentle Reader’s respectful attention. The _Letters_ form a rambling
journal of gossip on current politics and satire on society. “We must
not expect to find here in Paris the great Tranquility which is at
_Constantinople_. The Town is so full of Coaches, of Horses and Waggons,
that the Noise surpasses Imaginations. Thou wilt certainly find it
strange that Men who are in Health ... should cause themselves to be
drawn in an Engine with Four Wheels.... The more _moderate French_,
which do not approve of this luxury, say, That, in the Time of Henry
III. there were but Three Coaches in _Paris_, whereof Two were the
King’s; But the Number is now so great, that they are not to be counted.
I can tell thee no more of the Genius of the French; thou knowest it
perfectly. _There is in all their actions a Spirit very delicate and an
Activity like that of Fire._ It seems as if none but they knew the short
Duration of man’s life; they do every Thing with so much Haste, as if
they had but one Day to live; _If they go on Foot, they run; if they
ride, they fly; and if they speak, they eat up half their Words_. They
love new Inventions passionately.... They love _Moneys_, which they look
upon as the _first Matter_, and _second Cause_ of all Things; They well
nigh adore it and that is the Original Sin of all Nations.”[177] On all
sorts of subjects the Spy makes all sorts of remarks, trivial and
serious, stupid and interesting, never very profound. He gives court
gossip; sketches his call upon Cardinal Richelieu in obedience to the
Cardinal’s command; and recounts stories of Spanish cavaliers, Italian
ladies, and Arab galley-slaves. In oriental colouring _The Turkish Spy_,
especially in its earlier volumes, is more consistent than later
imitations like, for example, Lyttelton’s _Persian Letters_. The Spy’s
point of view seems remote; he speaks as a foreigner might speak of
customs that appear to him different from those of his native country.
“How often,” he says (Vol. VI., p. 3), “have I been like to discover
myself by pronouncing the sacred _Bismillah_, either when I sat down to
eat, or ... began any other Action of Importance.... When I met any of
my acquaintance in the street, I was apt to forget that I had a hat on,
and instead of putting off that, according to the Fashion of the Franks,
I laid my hand in my Breast, and sometimes bow’d so low, that my Hat
fell off.... If I had Occasion to address myself to a Person of Quality,
I was ready to take up the Bottom of his Cloak, Gown, or Robe, and to
kiss it in token of Reverence, as the Custom is in the East, when we
salute the Grandees. Nay, sometimes I could not forbear falling on my
Knee, or prostrate on the Ground before Cardinal Richlieu [_sic_].” The
description (Vol. I., p. 107) of the fair Paradise of the faithful, clad
in robes of “pleasing green,” and receiving from the hands of God their
recompense, is not unlike the conventional descriptions in the
_Adventures of Abdalla_ or the _Persian Tales_. Eastern proverbs and
stories are quoted (Vol. I., pp. 119, 140), and Eastern or
pseudo-Eastern forms of blessing; _e.g._ “He that is Lord of the East
and the West, from whose Throne hang Millions of Stars in Chains of
Gold, encrease thy Virtues and Blessings, and preserve thee from the
Poison of ill Eyes and malicious Tongues, and bring thee to the _Fields
of Endless Light_” (Vol. II., p. 28); or “He that is merciful and
gracious, who hath separated the Brightness of the Day from the
Obscurity of the Night, defend both thee and me from the malice of
Whisperers, from the Enchantments of Wizards, and such as breathe thrice
upon the _Knot_ of the _Triple Cord_” (Vol. III., p. 47). By slight
touches throughout the _Letters_, the author with more or less success
keeps up the illusion. But “the chief permanent interest of the once
popular _Letters_ is derived from the fact that they inaugurated a new
species of literary composition. The similar idea of a description of
England as if by a foreigner was suggested by Swift as a good and
original one in the _Journal to Stella_, and was utilized by Ned Ward
and by many successors, but Montesquieu’s _Lettres Persanes_ (1723) is
the best classical example. Many subsequent writers, including Charles
Lamb, have been under obligations to the _Letters_, etc.”[178]
Dufresny’s influence as well as Marana’s on the development of the genre
of pseudo-letters is clearly visible. The _Amusements Serious and
Comical Calculated for the Meridian of London_ (1700),[179] by Thomas
Brown, is in part a verbal translation, in part a paraphrase of
Dufresny’s work, with the addition of graphic sketches of London scenes
and characters in the manner of Defoe. Brown nowhere acknowledges his
indebtedness, however. His Preface, or rather Dufresny’s, of which his
is practically a translation, defends the choice of the title,
_Amusements Serious and Comical_, for the thoughts on life he is about
to present; and avows his purpose of robbing neither the Ancients nor
the Moderns of learned quotations with which to decorate his style. He
will rather pillage all he gives his reader from “the Book of the World,
which is very ancient and yet always new.” _Amusement II., The Voyage of
the World_, a free translation of Dufresny’s _Amusement Second, Le
Voiage du Monde_, describes general impressions of life at court. Brown
adds vivid pictures of individuals, _e.g._ the _Character of the
Antiquated Beau_: “Observe that old starched Fop there; his Hat and
Peruque continue to have as little Acquaintance together as they had in
the year ’65. You would take him for a Taylor by his Mein, but he is
another sort of an Animal, I assure you, a Courtier, a Politician, the
most _unintelligible thing_ now in being,” etc.[180] _Amusement III.,
London_, is based on Dufresny’s _Amusement III., Paris_. For the
imaginary Siamese whom Dufresny conceives as a traveling companion,
Brown substitutes an Indian. Brown’s idea of the location of India seems
as vague as that of a fifteenth-century explorer. He calls his
companion, “my Indian” and “my friendly American,” and on the next page
makes him compare St. Paul’s with the Chinese Wall and contrast the
irreverent conduct of Englishmen in church with the devout worship by
his countrymen of “the gods in the pagods.”
But the chief difference between Brown’s work and Dufresny’s is due to
the clever way in which the English writer enriches the brief,
generalized, mildly satirical comments of his French original by
concrete sketches of street life,—frequently coarse, but always
picturesque,—which recall the work of Defoe or Hogarth. For instance,
Dufresny writes: “Je supose[181] donc que mon Siamois tombe des nuës, et
qu’il se trouve dans le milieu de cette Cité vaste et tumultueuse, où le
repos et le silence on peine à regner pendant la nuit même. D’abord le
cahos bruiant de la rüe Saint Honoré l’étourdit et l’épouvante; la tête
lui tourne.
“Il voit une infinité de machines differentes que des hommes font
mouvoir: les uns sont dessus, les autres dedans, les autres derriere;
ceux-ci portent, ceux-la sont portez; l’un tire, l’autre pousse; l’un
frape, l’autre crie; celui-ci s’enfuit, l’autre court aprés. Je demande
à mon Siamois ce qu’il pense de ce spectacle.—J’admire et je tremble, me
repond-il; j’admire que dans un espace si etroit tant de machines et
tant d’animaux, dont les mouvements sont opposez ou differens, soient
ainsi agitez sans se confondre; se démêler d’un tel embarras, c’est un
chef-d’œuvre de l’adresse des François.... En voiant vôtre Paris,
continuë ce Voiageur abstrait, je m’imagine voir un grand animal; les
ruës sont autant de veines où le peuple circule: quelle vivacité que
celle de la circulation de Paris!—Vous voiez, lui dis-je, cette
circulation qui se fait dans le cœur de Paris; il s’en fait une encore
plus petillante dans le sang des Parisiens; ils sont toujours agitez et
toujours actifs, leurs actions se succedent avec tant de rapidité qu’ils
commencent mille choses avant que d’en finir une, et en finissent milles
autres avant que de les avoir commencées. Ils sont également incapables
et d’attention et de patience; rien n’est plus prompt que l’effet de
l’oüie et de la vûë, et cependant ils ne se donnent le tems ni
d’entendre ni de voir.”[182]
Compare the corresponding but far livelier passage in Brown.[183] “I
will therefore suppose this _Indian_ of mine dropt perpendicularly from
the Clouds, and finds himself all on a sudden in the midst of this
prodigious and noisy City, where Repose and Silence dare scarce shew
their Heads in the darkest Night. At first dash the confused Clamours
near _Temple-Bar_ stun him, fright him and make him giddy.
“He sees an infinite number of different _Machines_, all in violent
motion, some _riding_ on the top, some within, others behind, and Jehu
on the Coach-box, whirling some _dignified Villain_ towards the _Devil_,
who has got an Estate by cheating the Publick. He lolls at full Stretch
within, and half a dozen brawny ... Footmen behind.
“In that dark Shop there, several Mysteries of _Iniquity_ have seen
_Light_; and its a Sign our Saviour’s Example is little regarded, since
the Money-changers are suffered to live so near the Temple.... Here
stands a Shop-keeper who has not Soul enough to wear a Beaver-Hat, with
the Key of his Small-Beer in his Pocket; and not far from him a stingy
Trader who has no Small-Beer to have a Key to.... Some carry, others are
carried; _Make way there_, says a gouty-legged Chairman.... _Make room
there_, says another Fellow driving a wheelbarrow of Nuts, that spoil
the Lungs of the City Prentices.... One draws, another drives. _Stand up
there, you blind Dog_, says a Carman, _will you have the Cart squeeze_
[you]?... One Tinker knocks, another bawls, _Have you Brass-pot, Kettle,
Skillet, or Frying-Pan to mend?_ Whilst another ... yelps louder than
Homer’s Stentor, _Two a groat and Four for sixpence Mackerel?..._ Here a
sooty Chimney-sweeper takes the Wall of a grave _Alderman_ and a
_Broomman_ justle[s] the _Parson_ of the Parish.... _Turn out there,
you_ ... says a _Bully_ with a Sword two Yards long jarring at his
Heels, and throws him into the Kennel. By and by comes a _Christening_
with a Reader screwing up his Mouth to deliver the Service _alamode de
Paris_, and afterwards talk immoderately nice and dull with the
Gossips ... followed with ... a ... Trumpeter calling in the Rabble to
see a Calf with six Legs and a Topknot. There goes a Funeral with the
Men of Rosemary after it, licking their Lips after their hits of White,
Sack, and Claret in the House of Mourning, and the _Sexton_ walking
before, as big and bluff as a Beef-eater at a Coronation. Here’s a
_Poet_ scampers for’t as fast as his Legs will carry him, and at his
heels a brace of _Bandog Bailiffs_, with open Mouths, ready to devour
him and all the Nine Muses.”
Then follows the story of a visit to a coffeehouse, to St. Paul’s, to
the shops in Cheapside, and to many other places. During the walk
Brown’s Indian makes the remark Dufresny puts into the mouth of his
Siamese concerning the city as an “Animal” through whose veins—the
streets—life circulates. To the final sentence: “[The people] don’t
allow themselves time either to hear or to see,” Brown adds, “but like
Moles, work in the dark and undermine one another.” The above quotations
suggest better than any comments the way in which Brown utilized and
enriched his source. He discussed the same topics: the playhouse, the
promenades, gallantry, marriage, and gaming-houses; and from Dufresny’s
_Cercle Bourgeois_ developed _The City Lady’s Visiting-Day_, which,
despite Brown’s characteristically coarse tone and biting satire,
recalls some of Addison’s essays. That Brown influenced Addison has, in
fact, been suggested.[184] The earlier writer certainly holds a
significant place in the line of development of the pseudo-letter genre.
The work of Marana, Dufresny, and Brown was continued by Addison and
Steele, the first notable English men of letters to utilize the oriental
material as a vehicle for satire. In the case of the moralistic and
philosophic groups of oriental tales they gave the initial impulse; in
this instance, though they did not originate the satiric tendency, they
did assist in popularizing it. As early as No. 50 of the _Spectator_
(April 27, 1711), Addison handles similar material in his account of
“the very odd observations by four [American] Indian kings” as set down
in a manuscript left behind them. St. Paul’s they imagined to have been
wrought out of a huge misshapen rock. “It is probable that when this
great work was begun, ... many hundred years ago, there was some
religion among this people; for they give it the name of a temple and
have a tradition that it was designed for men to pay their devotions
in.... But ... I could not observe any circumstances of devotion in
their behaviour.... Instead of paying their worship to the deity of the
place, they were most of them bowing and courtesying to one another, and
a considerable number of them fast asleep.” “This island was very much
infested with a monstrous kind of animals, in the shape of men, called
whigs; ... apt to knock us down for being kings.... (The tory) was as
great a monster as the whig and would treat us ill for being
foreigners.” After ridiculing the wigs of Englishmen and the patches of
English ladies, the observations close, and Addison draws the moral that
we should not be so narrow as these Indians, who regard as ridiculous
all customs unlike their own. Another essay in the _Spectator_,[185]
similarly modeled on _The Turkish Spy_ or the _Amusements_, is a letter
to the King of Bantam from his ambassador in England, 1682, criticizing
the empty compliments of English social and diplomatic circles, and
giving clever pictures of London life. The pretended letter from the
King of China to the Pope asking for a Christian wife[186] ridicules
fantastic “oriental” descriptions; the assumptions of “his majesty of
Rome and his holiness of China”; and “the lady who shall have so much
zeal as to undertake this pilgrimage, and be an empress for the sake of
her religion.”
Two other essays, not pseudo-letters, complete the slender number of
satiric oriental tales used by Addison and Steele. In one, the story of
the transmigrations of Pug, the monkey, satirizes the ape-like character
of the beau supposed to be incarnate in Pug.[187] In the other[188] Will
Honeycomb, apropos of “those dear, confounded creatures, women,”
suggests having a marriage-fair as they do, he says, in Persia, where
homely women are endowed with the money paid for beauties. He questions
which would be the stronger motive in Englishmen, love of money or love
of beauty. The same essay contains a story of a merchant in a Chinese
town after a Tartar victory. He buys a sack for a high price, discovers
in it an old woman, and is about to throw her into the river, but
relents when she promises wealth. She keeps her promise, and their
married life is contented.
In the later periodicals throughout the century the number of such tales
is even smaller than in the _Spectator_. The _World_, No. 40, on the
“Infelicities of Marriage owing to the Husband’s not giving way to the
Wife,” contains a bald abridgment of the _Story of King Ruzvanchad and
the Princess Cheristany_ “from the first volume of the _Persian Tales_.”
The _Story of the Dervise’s Mirror_[189] has almost no oriental
colouring and is used for social satire. The mirror has the power of
reflecting what a person really is, what he wishes to be, and what he
thinks he is. The _Connoisseur_, No. 21, contains the story of
Tquassaouw and Knonmquaiha, “an Hottentot story,” which has been well
described as “an indecent parody of the oriental style,” and is the only
example of deliberate parody in all the eighteenth-century periodicals.
As suggested elsewhere,[190] English writers used the oriental tale, not
so much for literary as for social satire, and expressed their
disapproval of the genre by direct criticism in preference to parody.
After the social satire of Addison and of Steele, the next in point of
time and the most notable is that of Montesquieu. His _Lettres Persanes_
appeared in 1721.[191] The date of the first extant English translation,
by Mr. Ozell, was 1730; of the third edition of Ozell’s version, 1731;
of an anonymous translation, sixth edition, 1776. Thus, from 1721 on
past the middle of the century, the work was accessible to English
readers, and made the figure of the observant, satirical European in
oriental disguise, introduced by _The Turkish Spy_, almost as familiar
in England as on the Continent. _Les Lettres Persanes_ is unquestionably
the most artistic example of the oriental pseudo-letter. Montesquieu’s
genius raised his work above the level of the casual and intermittent
comments and external details found in _The Turkish Spy_ and the court
memoirs of the seventeenth century, to philosophic and organic criticism
of life. His chief aim was to express his views on social customs, forms
of government, and questions of religion and conduct; and as he
published the book anonymously, he was enabled to write with great
freedom. His secondary purpose was to entertain, and to this purpose his
genius cleverly adapted the oriental colouring. The two Persians
visiting Paris, the serious Usbek and the younger and gayer Rica, and
their various correspondents, are vivaciously, if slightly, sketched;
the best parts of the book are the comments on European ideas and
customs, but the slender thread of story is not without interest. As the
author, in the _Preliminary Reflections_ prefixed to the quarto edition,
says: “There is nothing in the _Persian Letters_ that has given readers
so general a satisfaction as to find in them a sort of romance without
having expected it.”[192] The “sort of romance” relates the
insubordination of Usbek’s wives in his absence and culminates in the
unfaithfulness of his favourite wife Roxane and the death of her lover.
It is Roxane who writes to Usbek the concluding letter, informing him
that she has taken poison, and reproaching him with bitter scorn.
The oriental colouring in the _Letters_ is thin, and is often set aside
by the author in his eagerness to discuss general questions. Usbek and
Rica write, it is true, of bashaws, brachmans, transmigrations; the
Guebres, who worship the sun and talk ancient Persian; Haly and
Zoroaster; imams, magi, and the Koran. Customs of the seraglio are
frequently used as an excuse for extreme license in description. But the
author, by taking nominally the Persian point of view and by contrasting
Persian ways with European, satirizes the latter adroitly. Among the
subjects discussed are the evils of despotism, the value of a mild
government and of a just administration of laws, the greediness of
clergy, the fallibility and conceit of the French Academy, the caprices
of fashion, the vanity of authors and of women. Of Spanish literature
Rica writes: “You may meet with wit and good sense among the Spaniards,
but look for neither in their books. View but one of their libraries,
romances on this side, and school divines on the other; you would say
that they had been made ... by some secret enemy to human reason. The
only good one of all their books, is that which was wrote to show the
ridiculousness of all the others” (_Letter_ LXXVIII.). Sometimes the
criticism is embodied in clever character-sketches, like those of the
would-be wits (_Letters_ LIV., LXXXII.); the newsmongers or Quidnuncs
(_Letter_ CXXX.);[193] and the men of fashion (_Letter_ LXXXVIII.). In
_Letter_ LXXII. Rica describes “a man who was highly pleased with
himself.” “He had decided, in a quarter of an hour, three questions in
morality, four historical problems, and five points in natural
philosophy. I never saw so universal a decider; his mind was never
suspended by the least doubt. We left the sciences; talked of the news
of the times. He decided the news of the times. I was willing to catch
him, and said to myself; I must get into my strong fort; I will take
refuge in my own country; I talked to him of Persia; but I had scarce
spoke four words to him, but he contradicted me twice, upon the
authority of Tavernier and Chardin. Hah! said I to myself, what a man is
this here? He will presently know all the streets in Ispahan better than
myself; I soon determined what part to take: I was silent, I left him to
talk; and he yet decides.” The question put to Usbek whether happiness
is attained by virtue or by self-indulgence is answered by the story of
the Troglodites, an ancient Arabian people to whom selfishness brought
adversity, and virtue prosperity.[194] Other stories inserted, after the
fashion of the pseudo-letter genre, are _The History of Apheridon and
Astarte_;[195] a so-called _Greek myth_;[196] the story of the _Persian
Lady Anais_;[197] and the incident of the patient cured of insomnia by
reading dull books of devotion.[198] It is not surprising to read in the
_Preliminary Reflections_: “So great a call was there for the _Persian
Letters_, upon their first publication, that the booksellers exerted
their utmost efforts to procure continuations of them. They pulled every
author they met by the sleeve, and said, Sir, I must beg the favour of
you to write me a collection of _Persian Letters_.”[199]
The first English collection of pseudo-letters written in imitation of
Montesquieu and his predecessors was the _Persian Letters_ of Lord
Lyttelton (1735).[200] Although inferior to _Les Lettres Persanes_ in
literary value, the book needs more comment here because it is an
English work and is less well known, and also because it directly
influenced Goldsmith’s _Citizen of the World_. The _Prefatory Letter_
asserts that these letters are translated from the Persian, acknowledges
that they lack the “Eastern sublimity” of the original, and attempts to
forestall the accusation that the character of the Persian is
fictitious. Many such counterfeits have appeared both in France and
England, the author says, but this is genuine. His defense not only
fails to convince the reader but confirms the opinion gained from
various authorities on Lyttelton’s life and from the book itself, that
it is a pseudo-translation written in English by Lyttelton.
The letter-form is used with far less skill than in the _Lettres
Persanes_. Selim the Persian at London is supposed to write all the
seventy-eight letters to his friend Mirza at Ispahan, and the letters
have thus the monotony of a journal instead of the varied interest of
letters by several people. Lyttelton makes a slight and ineffectual
attempt to imitate the artistic qualities of the dramatic narrative
which forms the framework of the _Lettres Persanes_, but the reader can
with difficulty disentangle the fragments of plot. In _Letter_ XXIII.
Selim’s friend Abdalla is introduced, but does not appear again until
_Letter_ XLII. He then intrusts his wife Zelis to Selim while he returns
to the East to ransom his father from captivity. The thread of the story
is lost again until _Letter_ LXXVIII., which recounts Abdalla’s
adventures and his reunion with Zelis.[201] Finally, in _Letter_ LXXIX.
Selim reveals to Mirza his hopeless love for Zelis and consequent
determination to return to Persia. The oriental colouring is as slight
as the narrative. The author occasionally remembers to refer to Persia,
“the resplendent palace of our emperor,” and the seraglio, or to use an
oriental phrase. “Madam” (says Selim to the mother of an English girl
whom he wishes to marry), “I have a garden at Ispahan, adorned with the
finest flowers in the East: I have the Persian jasmine and the tulip of
Candahar; but I have beheld an English lily more fair ... and far more
sweet.”[202] Occasionally, the incongruity between the Persian and
English points of view results in humour. Selim describes a card-party
as a sight “very strange to a Persian; ... tables ... round which were
placed several sets of men and women; they seemed wonderfully intent
upon some bits of painted paper ... in their hands. I imagined at first
that they were performing some magical ceremony, and that the
figures ... on ... the ... paper were a mystical talisman. What more
confirmed me in this belief was the grimaces and distortions of their
countenances, much like those of our magicians in the act of conjuring.
But ... I was told they were at play, and that this was the favourite
diversion of both sexes.”[203] Again he writes of a visit to a suburban
villa, elegant, but so cold that he thought “the great saloon” the
family burying-place, and caught a cold, “which,” as he said, “took away
my voice in the very instant that I was going to complain of what he
made me suffer” (_Letter_ XXXII.).
But the author often forgets the Persian point of view; his thin
disguise falls off and reveals the grave English gentleman seriously
concerned over the shortcomings of English society and government. He
uses the pseudo-letter merely as a means to a definite satirical end. He
comments freely upon the unhappy victims of injustice in the debtors’
prison; upon the courts of law, parliament, the evils of parties, “the
abuse of the thing called eloquence,” the growth and value of the
constitution, the faults of the educational system, the soporific
effects of fashionable opera, and the immorality of society. He depicts
various types of character. “There is a set of people in this country,
whose activity is more useless than the idleness of a monk. They are
like those troublesome dreams which often agitate and perplex us in our
sleep, but leave no impression behind them when we wake. I have sent
thee an epitaph made for one of those _men of business_, who ended his
life and his labours not long ago; ... ‘_Here lies ..., who lived
threescore and ten years in a continual hurry. He had the honour of
sitting in six parliaments, of being chairman in twenty-five committees,
and of making three hundred and fifty speeches.... He left behind him
memoirs of his own life, in five volumes in folio. Reader, if thou
shouldst be moved to drop a tear for the loss of so considerable a
Person, it will be a Singular favour to the deceased; for nobody else
concerns himself about it, or remembers that such a man was ever born_’”
(_Letter_ XXV.). Other “Characters” are the good-natured country
gentleman, the benevolent bishop, the virtuoso, the vain man, the true
wit, and the rough country squire. The last is drawn with real vigour.
The squire was vastly enjoying the bear- and bull-baiting; and when
Selim and a Frenchman criticized the dreadful cruelty of the sport, he
“cast a very sour look at both.... He was dressed in a short black wig,
had his boots on, and held in his hand a long whip, which, when the
fellow fought stoutly, he would crack very loudly by way of
approbation, ... [and would say] ‘Let me tell you that if more people
came hither and fewer loitered in the drawing-room, it would not be
worse for Old England’” (_Letter_ III.).
One of the best letters[204] bears a close resemblance to _Letter_ XIV.
in _The Citizen of the World_: “The other morning a friend ... told me,
with the air of one who brings an agreeable piece of news that there was
a _lady_ who most _passionately desired the pleasure of my
acquaintance_, and had commissioned him to carry me to see her. _I will
not deny_ to thee, that _my vanity_ was a little _flattered_ with this
message: I fancied _she had seen me in some public place and had_ taken
a liking to _my person_; not being able to comprehend what other motive
could make her send for a man she was a stranger to, in so free and
extraordinary a manner, I _painted her_ in _my_ own _imagination_ very
young, and very handsome, and _set out with most pleasing expectations_,
to see the _conquest I had made_: but when I arrived at the place of
assignation, I found a little old woman, very dirty, encircled by four
or five strange fellows, one of whom had a paper in his hand, which he
was reading to her with all the emphasis of an author.” She greeted
Selim “with great satisfaction,” saying she had long been curious to
know a Mahometan and to be initiated into all the mysteries of the Koran
in order to perfect a system of theology she had herself contrived.
“‘Madam,’ replied I, in great confusion, ‘I did not come to England as a
missionary.... But if a Persian tale would entertain you, I could tell
you one that the Eastern ladies are mighty fond of.’ ‘A Persian Tale!’
cried she, ‘Really, sir, I am not used to be so affronted.’ At these
words she retired into her closet, with her whole train of
metaphysicians; and left my friend and me to go away, as unworthy of any
further communications with her.” Another proof that Goldsmith borrowed
from Lyttelton is the similarity of certain names and incidents in
Goldsmith’s story of the Chinese Philosopher’s son and the beautiful
captive[205] to those in the tale of Abdalla in the _Persian Letters_.
In both are to be found the heroine Zelis, the sudden appearance of the
beautiful slave to the hero, her account of her master’s partiality, her
flight with the hero, the separation and final reunion of hero and
heroine. In putting in such a story Goldsmith followed the traditional
lines of the genre and, as usual, improved upon the crude method of
Lyttelton, exemplified in the utterly extraneous, coarse, and inartistic
tales of _Ludovico and Honoria_,[206] and of _Acasto and
Septimius_,[207] apparently of Italian or Spanish origin. Not until
almost the last _Letter_ does Lyttelton introduce the love of Selim for
Zelis,—a belated attempt to enliven the tedium by some human interest.
The slight sketches of English life break the monotony occasionally, but
are not enough to redeem the dullness of the book as a whole. The satire
is such as might be expected from a man who has been called amiable,
ignorant of the world, “a poor practical politician,” and “a gentleman
of Elegant Taste in Poetry and Polite Literature.” His chief claim to
remembrance lies in the fact that he influenced Goldsmith.[208]
The English pseudo-letters, aside from Lyttelton’s _Persian Letters_ and
Goldsmith’s _Citizen of the World_, are comparatively insignificant.
Among them the most popular was Horace Walpole’s _Letter from
Xo-Ho_,[209] which was written May 12, 1757, and went through five
editions in a fortnight. It is a brief, witty satire, aimed chiefly at
the injustice of the system of political rewards and punishments, as
exemplified in Admiral Byng’s recent execution. There are a few good
hits at social amusements, at the English weather, and at foibles of the
English character in general. The oriental disguise is extremely thin,
but is cleverly used to point the satire. For instance, Xo-Ho says: “I
thought when a nation was engaged in a great war with a superior power,
that they must have council [_sic_]. I was deceived; reason in China is
not reason in England ... my friend Lien Chi, I tell thee things as they
are; I pretend not to account for the conduct of Englishmen; I told thee
before, they are incomprehensible.” Xo-Ho refers to “our august
emperor,” and swears by “Cong Fu-tsee,” but the mask does not conceal
Walpole’s supercilious smile. As a link in the development of
pseudo-letters in England, _Xo-Ho_ is especially interesting, being in
all probability one of the sources of Goldsmith’s _Chinese Philosopher_.
The _Citizen of the World_ is a good illustration of the tribute paid by
Dr. Johnson to Goldsmith: “Nullum quod tetigit non ornavit.” First
printed in the form of bi-weekly letters in Newbery’s _Public Ledger_,
beginning January 24, 1760, the book was immediately popular, and was
published in 1762 under the title _The Citizen of the World,[210] or
Letters from a Chinese Philosopher residing in London to his friends in
the East_. Numerous editions followed. From what source Goldsmith caught
the phrase “Citizen of the World” is unknown.[211] He may have taken it
from a French book which had appeared only a few years before, _Le
Cosmopolite_ (1750), by Fougeret de Monbron, and which had been
reprinted in 1752 under the title _Le Citoyen du Monde_.[212] Byron
called it “an amusing little volume full of French flippancy,” and drew
from it a quotation[213] which he prefixed to _Childe Harold’s
Pilgrimage_. Among Goldsmith’s other sources are, of course, Montesquieu
and Marana, possibly also Dufresny. The name _Fum-Hoam_ he probably drew
from the _Chinese Tales_. It is not unlikely that he knew the recent
translation of _Hau Kiou Chooan_,[214] by Wilkinson. He undoubtedly
utilized Lyttelton’s _Persian Letters_.
Like its predecessors, _The Citizen of the World_ is a series of letters
written ostensibly by an Oriental describing and satirizing the manners
and customs of Europe by sharp contrast with the real or imaginary
customs of his native land. Previous pseudo-letters had been
interspersed, like the Addisonian periodicals, with episodical stories
and character-sketches, and _The Citizen of the World_ elaborated both
these lines of decoration. The most famous sketches are those of the
“Man in Black,” “Beau Tibbs,” and the “Wooden-legged Soldier.” But to
the student of oriental fiction the chief interest of these _Letters_
lies in the ease and facility with which Goldsmith handles his oriental
material. Instead of attempting a cumbersome description of the Chinese
Philosopher, Lien Chi Altangi, the first letter gives brief credentials
as to his honesty and respectability in a way that would surely appeal
to the English public. His friend Fum-Hoam is a shadowy figure, just
distinct enough to be a receptive correspondent. A touch of romance is
given by the frequent mention of Lien Chi’s longing for home and the
improbable but interesting love story of his son. The heroine, a
beautiful slave, proves to be the niece of the Man in Black, Lien Chi’s
best friend in London. The character of the Chinese Philosopher is
purposely vague; the comments on London life are Goldsmith’s own. Every
now and then he remembers to hold the mask before his face and to drop a
sudden remark in character, and the result is a humorous incongruity.
The picture of London streets where “a great lazy puddle moves muddily
along” is more vivid by contrast to Lien Chi’s memory of the golden
streets of Nankin.[215] Ideals of feminine beauty are all the more
acutely and quizzically described by praising absolutely opposite
Chinese standards. The justice of literary patronage in China is
contrasted with the bribery and falsity of the English custom. Absurd
English fashions in dress and household decoration, cruelty to animals,
and inconsistent funeral rites are freely criticized. Goldsmith employs
effectively the indirect method of the satirist who condemns one custom
by praising its opposite. He seeks to give verisimilitude by quotations
from Confucius, “the Arabian language,” “Ambulaachamed the Arabian
poet,” and “a South American Ode.” In the half-serious, half-humorous
_Preface_ Goldsmith tells us that “the metaphors and allusions are all
drawn from the East. This formality our author [_i.e._ Lien Chi]
carefully preserves. Many of their favourite tenets in morals are
illustrated. The Chinese are grave and sententious; so is he. But in one
particular the resemblance is peculiarly striking; the Chinese are often
dull, and so is he. Nor has my assistance been wanting. We are told in
an old romance of a certain knight-errant and his horse who contracted
an intimate friendship. The horse most usually bore the knight, but, in
cases of extraordinary despatch, the knight returned the favour, and
carried his horse. Thus, in the intimacy between my author and me, he
has usually given me a lift of his Eastern sublimity, and I have
sometimes given him a return of my colloquial ease.”[216] Usually
Goldsmith begins a _Letter_ with an oriental metaphor and soon drops
into plain English. Sometimes his philosopher remembers to draw the
letter to a close with a figure of speech. _Letter_ II. begins: “Friend
of my Heart, May the wings of peace rest upon thy dwelling.” In the same
letter the ship’s progress is compared to the swiftness of an arrow from
a Tartar bow. The goddess of Poverty is likened to a veiled Eastern
bride supposed to be beautiful, but hideous when the veil is drawn.
Vauxhall Gardens look to Lien Chi like the dreams of Mahomet’s paradise.
But Goldsmith’s sense of humour and instinct of artistic restraint show
him the absurdities of the pseudo-oriental style, and lead him to use
such figures sparingly.
The tales inserted in the _Citizen of the World_ reveal a similar
mastery of material. The majority are stories with a moral or satirical
import and exemplify some general proposition. The insincerity and the
brevity of effusive affection are amusingly illustrated by a variant of
the _Matron of Ephesus_: the story of _Choang the fondest husband and
Hansi the most endearing wife_ (_Letter_ XVIII.).[217] The virtue of
benevolence is set forth in the tale of the good king Hamti’s triumphal
procession, made up of the poor whose sufferings he had relieved
(_Letter_ XXIII.). _The Rise and Decline of the Kingdom of Lao_
(_Letter_ XXV.) is a moralistic tale concerning political evils, and is
modeled apparently on the _History of the Troglodites_ in Montesquieu or
Lyttelton. False politeness is ridiculed, first directly, and then
indirectly, by two amusing letters from the English lady Belinda and the
Chinese lady Yaoua (_Letter_ XXXIX.). Each describes an absurdly
ceremonious call which her suitor makes upon her father. The folly of
avarice is taught by the story of Whang the miller,—a tale not unlike
the familiar one of the woman who killed the goose that laid the golden
egg (_Letter_ LXX.). Injustice thwarted by quick wit is illustrated in
the conclusion of the story of the clever prime minister (_Letter_
CI.).[218] Unjustly accused of misgovernment, he asked to be banished to
a desolate village. His queen granted the request, but could find no
such village. Hence she realized the universal prosperity of the country
under her vizier’s rule, and withdrew the unjust accusation. Several
Eastern apologues are also used to illustrate some generalization. The
fable of the elephant who prayed to be as wise as man, suffered
discontent, and was happy only when restored to his former state of
ignorance, exemplifies “the misery of a being endowed with sentiments
above its capacity of fruition” (_Letter_ LXXXII.);[219] _A Chinese
fable, ... Five animals at a meal_, sets forth the rapacity of lawyers
(_Letter_ XCVIII.); and _An Eastern Apologue of the Genius of Love_,
illustrates feminine insincerity and “false idolatry” (_Letter_ CXIV.).
Similar to this apologue is the author’s dream of the _Glass of Lao_
(_Letter_ XLVI.), which reflects the true character of all the ladies
who look into it. All prove to be faulty except one. Before her face the
mirror remains fair,—because she has been “deaf, dumb, and a fool from
the cradle.” Two allegories in the manner of Addison and Johnson occur,
one of _Gardens of Vice and Virtue_ (_Letter_ XXXI.)[220]; the other, of
the _Valley of Ignorance_, said by Goldsmith to be drawn from the
_Zend-Avesta_, but resembling the Happy Valley of _Rasselas_ (_Letter_
XXXVII.). In addition to these more or less humorous short stories with
a moralizing turn, there is one clever parody in Hamilton’s style, of
the fairy stories and oriental tales: the story of Prince Bonbenin
bonbobbin bonbobbinet and the white mouse with the green eyes; and one
longer romantic narrative: the love and adventures of the Chinese
Philosopher’s Son and the beautiful Zelis (beginning in _Letter_
VI.).[221] Several tales of travel are found in the account of the
Philosopher’s journey to Europe through countries “where Nature sports
in primeval rudeness.” In general, Goldsmith’s use of tales and fables
is similar to Addison’s and Johnson’s. His purpose is to say something
serious under the guise of entertainment, to instruct as well as to
amuse. In the mouth of his Chinese Philosopher the half-serious,
half-humorous criticism gains poignancy.[222]
The concept of this central character stimulated Goldsmith’s quizzical
common sense and keen appreciation of that incongruity which is the soul
of humour; and also afforded an opportunity to express his democratic
sympathies,—his benevolence towards all men, Chinese and English, far
and near. This is the more noticeable in contrast with the attitude of
polite society towards the East. The Chinese Philosopher is not unduly
puffed up by his reception. “The same earnestness,” he writes, “which
excites them to see a Chinese, would have made them equally proud of a
visit from a rhinoceros.” The amusing scene (_Letter_ XIV.)—already
alluded to (p. 184)—describing Lien Chi’s visit to the old lady,
ridicules the current fad for grotesque Chinese bric-a-brac. “She took
me through several rooms, all furnished, she told me, in the Chinese
manner; sprawling dragons, squatting pagodas, and clumsy mandarins were
stuck upon every shelf; in turning round one must have used caution not
to demolish a part of the precarious furniture. In a house like this,
thought I, one must live continually upon the watch; the inhabitant must
resemble a knight in an enchanted castle, who expects to meet an
adventure at every turning.”
In general, the oriental decorations of the book are quite external. Yet
the repeated reference to what the author imagines, or pretends to
imagine, is the Chinese attitude of mind or turn of phrase, adds to _The
Citizen of the World_ a distinct and admirable element of humour. The
book may justly be regarded as one of the best English oriental tales of
the period.
Of the numerous French imitations of Marana and Montesquieu only a few
of any importance were translated into English, for instance, the
_Chinese Letters_ (1741)[223] of D’Argens, and the _Letters of a
Peruvian Princess_ (1748),[224] by Mme. F. Huguet de Graffigny.
A few other comparatively unimportant satires similar to the
pseudo-letters may be mentioned briefly. As early as 1705 appeared _The
Consolidator, or Memoirs of sundry transactions from the World in the
Moon. Translated from the Lunar Language By the Author of the True-Born
Englishman._[225] In this prose satire Defoe imagines the author of
these _Memoirs_ journeying from China to the Moon, in a remarkable,
feathered flying-machine called the “Consolidator,” and criticizing the
state of European society, politics, and letters by comparison and
contrast with Lunar and with Chinese conditions. Defoe’s _Tour through
England_, (1724–1726), though not satire, is connected with the genre of
pseudo-letters in being written as if by a foreigner. In 1730 appeared
Paul Chamberlain’s translation of Mme. de Gomez’s _Persian
Anecdotes_,[226] “a historical romance,” purporting to be founded on
actual history: “the singular events in the life of Ismael, Sophy of
Persia,” as related in the memoirs of D’Agout, De la Porte, and De la
Forests, ambassadors of France at the Porte. The author protests
vigorously against the charge that the romance is fictitious, but the
character of the work seems to indicate that the charge is well founded.
Upon an incoherent basis of historical fact is built a still more
incoherent and rambling structure of fiction,—a panorama of stories
concerning innumerable characters, more or less connected with the
figures of the two friends, Ismael and Tor. Full of battles,
insurrections, crimes, intrigues,—political and romantic,—the book is
commonplace and of little general value. It is of interest here only
because the externals are oriental: the scenes are laid in the East; the
proper names are Eastern, and there is a slight attempt to reproduce
oriental customs. The popularity of the oriental disguise for various
purposes is also shown by books like the _Perseis or Secret Memoirs for
a History of Persia_.[227] The preface to the French original asserts
that the book is translated from an English work by an Englishman who
made at Ispahan “un assez long séjour.” A Key is affixed telling who the
different characters are, _e.g._ Cha-Abbas I. is Louis XIV.; Cha-Sephi
I., Louis XV. The history begins with the death of Cha-Abbas and
continues through part of the reign of Cha-Sephi I. It is somewhat
satirical, and contains more or less court gossip and criticism of
various personages, but is stupid reading. _The Conduct of Christians
made the sport of Infidels, in a letter from a Turkish merchant at
Amsterdam to the Grand Mufti at Constantinople on occasion of ... the
late scandalous quarrel among the clergy_ [by Kora Selym Oglan,
_pseud._], London, 1717, is a satirical pseudo-letter. _Milk for Babes,
Meat for Strong Men, and Wine for Petitioners, being a Comical,
Sarcastical, Theological Account of a late Election at Bagdad for
Cailiff of that City. Faithfully Translated from the Arabick and
Collated with the most Authentick Original Manuscripts By the Great,
Learned and Most Ingenious Alexander the Coppersmith_ [W. Boles?] ...
second edition, Cork, 1731, is a worthless political satire. _The
Oriental Chronicles of the Times; being the translation of a Chinese
manuscript supposed to have been written by Confucius the Sage_ [a
satirical account of events in 1784–1785 in defense of C. J. Fox],
London (1785), is arranged in chapters and verses like the Old Testament
and is a feeble effort. _The Trial and execution of the Grand Mufti,
From an ancient Horsleian manuscript found in the Cathedral of
Rochester_, London (1795?), is a satire on S. Horsley, Bishop of
Rochester. _A Brief and Merry History of Great Britain Containing an
account of the religious customs, etc., ... of the people written
originally in Arabick_ [by Ali Mohammed Hadji, _pseud._]. _Faithfully
rendered into English by A. H._ [A. Hillier], London (1710?), is a
carping and coarse diatribe on English manners and life, with rare
references to the superiority of Eastern ways, in the manner of the
_Turkish Spy_, but far inferior.
Smollett’s political satire, the _History and Adventures of an Atom_
(1769),[228] is a pretended account of Japanese events as chronicled by
a personified atom, who, by means of ridiculing the Japanese people,
actually satirizes the English, _e.g._ in the description of the
Council’s going to sleep while discussing the defense of the nation from
foreign invaders; or that of the councilor who endeavoured to make a
speech and could only cackle. Smollett’s introduction is picturesque. He
imagines himself meeting “an old maid in black Bombazine,” the
administratrix of Nathaniel Peacock. She gives him Peacock’s manuscript,
which recounts how the atom appeared to Peacock and told him of its
experiences in Japan. The book as a whole is of trifling value,
occasionally humorous or bitterly sarcastic, and often coarse.[229]
Defoe’s _System of Magic_ (1726)[230] contains the _Story of Ali
Abrahazen and the Devil_ and the _Story of the Arabian Magician in
Egypt_.[231] Finally, _The Bramine’s Journal_ by Laurence Sterne, an
unpublished manuscript now in the British Museum, is an interesting
instance of the utilization of the oriental disguise.[232]
Enough has been said to illustrate the tendency in England to use
oriental fiction for the purpose of social and political satire. In
France such satire was frequently combined with parody of the rambling,
complicated structure of many oriental tales, _e.g._ the frame-tale; and
also with ridicule of the “oriental” style and diction. In England there
was almost no parody of the narrative form of the oriental tale.
Criticism tended rather to parody of the oriental diction and to frank
mockery of the entire genre.
In one translation from the French the satire is purely social:
Marmontel’s _Soliman II._[233] (1764). This story, one of the cleverest
of all Marmontel’s _Contes Moraux_, recounts briefly the conquest of the
great sultan by a pretty European slave, Roxalana,—a conquest so
complete that her “little, turned-up nose” overthrows the laws of the
empire. In the original preface the author writes: “I proposed to myself
to display the folly of those who use authority to bring a woman to
reason; and I chose for an example a sultan and his slave, as being two
extremes of power and dependence.”[234] When the story opens, Soliman,
afflicted with ennui, demands in place of the “soft docility”[235] found
in his Eastern women, the charms of “hearts nourished in the bosom of
liberty.” Three European slaves are therefore brought to his seraglio.
The first, Elmira, is beautiful and affectionate; the second, Delia, has
a charming voice; with each Soliman is content for a brief time. The
third is the madcap Roxalana, who expostulates against the restraints of
the seraglio with such vivacity that, despite her lack of regular
beauty, her piquant charm “disconcerts the gravity” of Soliman. “But the
great, in his situation, have the resource of silence; and Soliman, not
knowing how to answer her, fairly walked off, concealing his
embarrassment under an air of majesty.” At another time, he says: “But,
Roxalana, do you forget who I am, and who you are?”—“Who you are and who
I am? You are powerful, I am pretty; and so we are even.” She continues
to laugh at him, to do exactly as she pleases, and to entertain him with
clever satire on European ways and Eastern customs. Finally, in order to
impress her, he allows her to see him in all his glory, receiving
ambassadors. But the effect on Roxalana is startling. “Get you gone out
of my sight,” she says to him.... “Is this your art of love? Glory and
grandeur, the only good things ... are reserved for you alone, and you
would have me love you!... If my lover had but a hut, I would share his
hut with him and be content. He has a throne; I will share his throne or
he is no lover of mine. If you think me unworthy to reign over the
Turks, send me back to my own country where all pretty women are
sovereigns.” There is nothing for Soliman to do but to marry this
extraordinary slave “in contempt of the laws of the sultans.”
Among the translations from the French showing mingled social and
literary satire, Voltaire’s tales[236] take precedence, notably _The
Black and the White_; _The White Bull_; _The Princess of Babylon_;
_Memnon the Philosopher_; and _Bababec_. The scenes of part of
Voltaire’s _Travels of Scarmentado_ are laid in the East. _The Princess
of Babylon_ may be taken to illustrate Voltaire’s method. The aged
Belus, so the story begins, “thought himself the first man upon earth;
for all his courtiers told him so, and his historians proved it.” An
oracle had ordained that the hand of his daughter, the surpassingly
beautiful Formosanta, should be given only to the prince who could bend
the bow of Nimrod and kill a ferocious lion. At a gorgeous tournament
three kings strove in vain. Suddenly a handsome youth appeared, riding
on an unicorn and bearing a phœnix on his wrist. He bent the bow, saved
the life of one of his rivals, sent a love poem to the princess, cut off
the lion’s head, gracefully drew its teeth, replaced them with
magnificent diamonds, and gave the trophy to his phœnix. “Beautiful
bird,” said he, “carry this small homage and lay it at the feet of
Formosanta.” The great admiration and curiosity aroused, were increased
by his sudden departure on receiving news of his father’s mortal
illness. After this opening scene, the rest of the story recounts the
wanderings of the princess through almost all the known countries of
Asia and Europe in search of the stranger, until they are finally
reunited. The extravagant plot, incident, and diction of the earlier
oriental tales are entertainingly parodied, and the travels of the
princess and her lover give a good opportunity for keen satire on
European customs and ideas. For instance, in one country the princess
finds that birds also meet in a grove to worship God, and that they have
some parrots that preach wonderfully well. Voltaire’s satire strikes the
hypocrisy of self-seeking clergy, the frivolity of “at least one hundred
thousand” Parisians, and the wickedness of inquisitors who burned their
victims “for the love of God.” With satire in one hand and praise in the
other, he commends reason in the Germans, good government among the
English, and ideal government in Russia, which he calls the Cimmerians’
land, probably meaning that ideal government is yet in Cimmerian
darkness.
_The Black and the White_, a distinct and clever parody on oriental
stories and fairy tales, recounts the passion of Rustan for a princess
of Cashmere, who proves to be imaginary. He goes through marvelous
adventures under the guidance of a good genius, “the White,” and an evil
genius, “the Black.” But in the end he awakes out of an hour’s sleep to
find that he has dreamed all his adventures, including the death of his
princess and his own mortal wound. “Take heart,” said Topaz; “you never
were at Kaboul; ... the princess cannot be dead, because she never was
born; and you are in perfect health.” _The White Bull_ is a similar
satire on oriental stories and fairy tales, and also on the miracles of
the Old Testament and ignorant worship. The White Bull is the
metamorphosed Nebuchadnezzar, who receives human form at the last and
marries the princess of Egypt. Other characters are the Witch of Endor,
Jonah’s whale, Balaam’s ass, and the serpent of Eden. _Memnon the
Philosopher_ is a satire on the vanity of attempting to be a perfect
philosopher. _Bababec_ is a sketch, mocking the folly of religious
fanatics by describing the Fakir who becomes famous and thinks himself
religious because he tortures himself with nails, in contrast with the
wisdom of men who live useful, sensible lives.[237] _The Travels of
Scarmentado_, a satire on persecution for conscience’ sake, recounts one
incident that recalls _The Female Captive_ (cf. p. 50, _ante_). The hero
hears a fair Circassian say “Alla, Illa, Alla” so tenderly that he
thinks the words are expressions of love, and repeats them in his turn.
He is accused of having become a Turk by saying those words, and escapes
only with a fine. He flees to Persia. In his own words: “On my arrival
at Ispahan, the people asked me whether I was for white or black mutton?
I told them that it was a matter of indifference to me, provided it was
tender. It must be observed that the Persian empire was at that time
split into two factions, that of the white mutton and that of the black.
The two parties imagined that I had made a jest of them both; so that I
found myself engaged in a very troublesome affair at the gates of the
city, and it cost me a great number of sequins to get rid of the white
and the black mutton.”
In all these tales—even those that are apparently written for mere
amusement—Voltaire’s genius, masterly command of his material, and
intense hatred of hypocrisy and injustice give to his satire a keen and
penetrating quality which at once differentiates it from the
comparatively care-free and superficial fun of Marmontel, Caylus,
Bougeant, and Hamilton.
The three last named are the only other French satirists of any
consequence whose works were translated into English in this period.
_The Oriental Tales_ (1745)[238] of Caylus is a good parody of the
collections of oriental stories. The frame-tale, itself a satire upon
the interminable method of story within story, is briefly as follows:
Hudjadge, King of Persia, though gentle by nature, grows tyrannical from
insomnia. He commands his jailer on pain of death to find a story-teller
who can lull him to sleep. The jailer’s beautiful daughter Moradbak
offers herself somewhat as Scheherazade does in the _Arabian Nights_,
and succeeds so admirably that the sultan sleeps in peace, regains his
temper, and marries her. The first tale she tells is the appropriate
_History of Dakianos and the Seven Sleepers_, and the king, “whose eyes
had begun to close during the recital, ... came to himself when she had
ceased speaking. ‘I am satisfied,’ said he; ... ‘I listened with some
attention to the beginning of the history, but I did not interest myself
much for thy little dog, and I was almost asleep with Jemlikha, as if I
had been in his cavern; therefore, I know not much of what passed
afterwards.’—‘If your majesty has the least curiosity ... I will
begin ... again.’—‘No, no,’ said the king, ‘I have enough for the first
time.’” After another tale “the sultan ... had appeared very wide awake
all the time, though he might with reason have dropt asleep at some
parts of it.” Caylus succeeded only too well with his parody; most of
his stories are decidedly soporific. A few familiar tales, such as the
_Seven Sleepers_, and some entertaining stories like _Jahia and
Meimoune_, break the otherwise uniform monotony. For oriental colouring
we find the usual references to Mohametan legend: the mountain of Kaf,
which surrounds the world and is composed of one emerald; the angel
Israphil; magical flights; genii and monsters; devout heroes; Solomon’s
ring; a treasure-cave accessible to an old dervish by means of his magic
candlestick; and curious riddles like those in the _Persian Tales_. The
descriptions are fantastic, extravagant, and occasionally coarse. Though
the _Oriental Tales_ is said to have been based upon genuine oriental
manuscripts, it shows few traces of any such source, and is of value
chiefly as exemplifying the tendency towards parody.
_The Wonderful Travels of Prince Fan-Feredin, in the country of Arcadia,
interspersed with observations historical, geographical, physical,
critical, and moral. Translated from the original French of Guillaume
Hyacinthe Bougeant_, Northampton, n. d.,[239] is an entertaining parody
on the heroic romances by name, _e.g._ _Astrea_, _Palmerin_, etc., and
on the fairy tales, with occasional satirical remarks on the oriental
tales as well.
One of the most popular of all the parodies and satires that followed so
rapidly on the heels of the extravagant pseudo-translations in France
was _Fleur d’Epine_, by Count Anthony Hamilton, the author of the
_Memoirs of Count Grammont_. The English version, _Thorn-Flower_,
1760,[240] lost much of the wit and charm of Hamilton’s style, and yet
kept, of course, the humour of situation and narrative. How Hamilton
began to write these tales, half earnest, half satirical, is quite in
keeping with their light and entertaining character. “The conversation
happened to turn in a company in which he was present on the _Arabian
Nights’ Entertainments_, which were just published; every one highly
commended the book; many seemed to hint at the difficulty of writing
that species of composition. ‘Nothing can be more easy,’ replied Count
Hamilton, ‘and as a proof of it I will venture to write a Circassian
tale after the manner of the _Arabian Nights’ Entertainments_ on any
subject which you can mention.’—‘Fiddlesticks!’ (Tarare) replied the
other.—‘You have hit it,’ said Count Hamilton; ‘and I promise you that I
shall produce a tale in which Fiddlestick shall be the principal hero.’
In a few days he finished this tale, which he called _Fleur d’Epine_. It
was much read and admired in Paris.”[241] The popularity is not
surprising, for the story is an exceedingly clever imitation—and
parody—of its extravagant predecessors. The author pretends that it is
one of the _Arabian Nights’ Entertainments_, and in the introductory
scene puts into the mouth of Dinarzade some capital mockery of the
long-winded confusion of some of her sister Scheherazade’s tales.
Throughout, as in Hamilton’s other tales, the interruptions and comments
by the audience form comic interludes. Hamilton has caught the manner of
the earlier stories admirably, and heightens it in ostensible
seriousness just enough to bring it within the pale of ridicule. To say
that his story is located far in the East is not sufficient. He proceeds
to say exactly how far: “two thousand four hundred and fifty leagues
from here.” His princess, like her prototypes, is superlatively fair;
but, moreover, her eyes are so brilliant that men die from her glance as
if struck by lightning, and the artist who paints her portrait is
obliged to wear smoked glasses. The introduction of the hero is
farcical. He is a disguised prince, and when asked by the caliph what
his name is, startles the whole court by replying, “‘Tarare!’
(Fiddlestick!) ‘Tarare!’ says the caliph; ‘Tarare!’ say all the
counselors; ‘Tarare!’ says the Chancellor. ‘I ask you,’ says the caliph,
‘what is your name?’—‘I know it well, Sire,’ he replies.—‘Well, then,’
says the caliph.—‘Tarare!’ says the other, making a bow.... ‘And why are
you named Tarare?’—‘Because that is not my name.’ ‘And how so?’ says the
caliph.—‘It is because I have dropped my name to assume this one,’ says
he.—‘Nothing could be clearer,’ says the caliph, ‘and yet it would have
taken me more than a month to find it out.’” The characterization is
purposely colourless, as in the parodied tales. Yet there is
occasionally a clever bit of character analysis, such as the account of
May-Flower’s sudden interest in her rival. In the use of magic,
Hamilton’s fancy runs riot side by side with his keen sense of the
ridiculous; here his parody reaches its highest point. One of the tasks
set the hero is the theft from an old witch of the “sounding mare.” That
remarkable creature carried a golden bell on every hair, and thus made
“ravishing music.” The ingenious Tarare silenced this music by filling
each bell with a kind of glue, mounted the mare with May-Flower, and
fled from the pursuing sorceress. The latter nearly succeeded in coming
up with them, when at the last desperate moment, “Sonante,” the mare,
shook her left ear three times. The prince found in it a little stone,
which he threw over his left shoulder. Instantly and just in time to
save them there arose out of the ground a protecting wall, only sixty
feet high, but so long that one could see neither the beginning nor the
end. Other difficulties in the hero’s path consisted of the animals that
opposed his passage through the forest. “One would say that these
accursed beasts knew his purpose, for in place of taking pains to come
at him, they merely spread out to right and left; three hydras, ten
rhinoceroses, and some half dozen of griffons, gazed upon his progress.
He knew the rules of war well enough; so, after having examined the
situation and their appearance, he saw their design, and since the sides
were not equal, he had recourse to stratagem.” One marvelous event is
piled upon another until the author breaks out into an apostrophe: “Oh!
how great a help are enchantments in the dénouement of an intrigue or
end of a tale!”
Another of Count Hamilton’s stories, _Le Bélier_,[242] half parody, half
imitation of the fairy tales, incidentally pokes fun at the oriental
tales, too. The fair heroine, Alie, insane with love, imagines that she
is Scheherazade in the _Thousand and One Nights_, and that she must at
once tell a tale. In the midst of her soliloquy she falls asleep, to be
awakened by her father, who is somewhat startled to have her address him
as “Great Commander of the Faithful!” The Ram is an enchanted prince who
tells a tale to his master, the giant, beginning abruptly: “‘After the
white fox was wounded, the queen did not fail to visit him.’ ‘Friend
Ram,’ said the giant, interrupting him, ‘I do not understand that at
all. If you would begin at the beginning, you would give me pleasure;
these tales that begin in the middle only confuse[243] my
imagination.’—‘Very well,’ said the Ram. ‘I consent, against the usual
custom, to put each event in its place; the beginning of my story shall
be at the commencement of my recital.’” Later, when the story-teller
follows the conventional method in leaving some of his personages on a
magic island at a critical juncture, the giant again objects, and
forbids him to leave the island until he has quite finished their story.
Of talismans, Hamilton says: “Great was the virtue of ancient talismans,
and even greater the faith of those that believed in them.” He describes
extravagant emotions thus: “Joy, astonishment, and anxiety were
simultaneously depicted on the face of the druid, though it is rather
difficult to depict them all at once on the same face.”
_Les Quatre Facardins_,[244] the last in order of composition of
Hamilton’s tales, is the least interesting. As the author confesses, in
his rhymed preface, one who like himself sets out jokingly to imitate
and to make fun of such absurdities ends by becoming equally absurd.
That is true of _The Four Facardins_. No oriental tale could be more
extravagant in plot and incident. The various adventures of the four
princes of the same name, Facardin, are so utterly tangled that the
reader, like the giant in _Le Bélier_, feels as if his imagination were
becoming “embrouillée.” It is not surprising that the author left the
story unfinished. The frame-tale begins hopefully to recount how Prince
Facardin of Trebizonde tells his adventures to Sultan Schariar,
Scheherazade, and Dinarzade; but, after the other Facardins begin their
own stories, the main thread would be hard to follow, were that
necessary. Their various adventures include encounters with lions,
enchanters, giants, and fair ladies, and are enlivened with fanciful
descriptions,—sometimes in questionable taste,—and occasional humour. On
the whole _The Four Facardins_ is not nearly so entertaining as
Hamilton’s other tales.
The only English writer who made a deliberate attempt to parody the
structure of the oriental tales was Horace Walpole. His _Hieroglyphic
Tales_ (1785)[245] are, as the postscript says, “mere whimsical trifles,
written chiefly for private amusement; half a dozen copies only are
printed.” But even though a mere skit, the book is interesting as a
straw to show which way the wind was blowing. The Preface is a rather
clever satire on the pretentious, highly moralistic, and would-be
scholarly prefaces to oriental tales; and informs the reader that “the
Hieroglyphic Tales were undoubtedly written a little before the creation
of the world ... and preserved by oral tradition in the mountains of
Crampcraggi, an uninhabited island not yet discovered.” The seven short
stories which make up the book are somewhat similar to Hamilton’s. The
scene of the first, _A New Arabian Nights’ Entertainment_, is laid in
the kingdom of Larbidel. “The other side of the mountain was inhabited
by a nation of whom the Larbidellians knew no more than the French
nobility do of Great Britain, which they think is an island that somehow
or other may be approached by land.” The other stories are also
parodies: _The King and his Three Daughters_; _The Dice-box_; _The Peach
in Brandy, a Milesian Tale_; _Mi Li, a Chinese Fairy Tale_; and a
_Venetian Love-story_ of two black slaves who prove to be dogs.
Walpole’s tone of supercilious mockery toward the oriental tales was
typical of critical opinion generally between the middle of the century
and the end of our period (c. 1786). Preluded by Pope’s ridicule of
Ambrose Philips as
“The bard whom pilfer’d Pastorals renown,
Who Turns a Persian Tale for half-a-crown,”
such criticism found its best expression in Goldsmith. _The Citizen of
the World_ (_Letter_ XXXIII.) ridicules authors who attempt “to write in
the true Eastern style, where nothing is required but sublimity.” Lien
Chi is amused to hear an English lady say: “Oh, for a history of
Aboulfaouris [_sic_], the grand voyager, of genii, magicians, rocs, bags
of bullets, giants, and enchanters, where all is great, obscure,
magnificent, and unintelligible;” and even more amused when an author in
the company rejoins: “I have written many a sheet of Eastern tale
myself ... and I defy the severest critic to say but that I have stuck
close to the true manner. I have compared a lady’s chin to the snow upon
the mountains of Bomek; a soldier’s sword to the clouds that obscure the
face of heaven. If riches are mentioned, I compare them to the flocks
that graze the verdant Tefflis; if poverty, to the mists that veil the
brow of mount Baku. I have used _thee_ and _thou_ upon all occasions, I
have described fallen stars, and splitting mountains, not forgetting the
little Houris who make a pretty figure in every description. But you
shall hear how I generally begin. ‘Eben-ben-bolo, who was the son of
Ban, was born on the foggy summits of Benderabassi. His beard was whiter
than the feathers which veil the breast of the Penguin; his eyes were
like the eyes of doves, when washed by the dews of the morning; his
hair, which hung like the willow weeping over the glassy stream, was so
beautiful that it seemed to reflect its own brightness; and his feet
were as the feet of a wild deer, which fleeth to the tops of the
mountains.’ There, there, is the true Eastern taste for you; every
advance made towards sense is only a deviation from sound. Eastern tales
should always be sonorous, lofty, musical, and unmeaning.”
Except for the _Arabian Nights_, many of the oriental tales that had
appeared up to 1760–1761, when Goldsmith wrote, or even up to the date
of Walpole’s parody (1785), gave considerable provocation for such
criticism. Indeed, to a certain extent, the vogue of these tales was
another expression of the tendency more grotesquely manifested in the
current craze, likewise ridiculed, for Chinese domestic architecture and
house furnishings. “A few years ago,” William Whitehead writes (_World_,
No. 12, 1753), “everything was Gothic, now it is Chinese.” In 1754
William Lloyd describes a country place decorated by “Chinese artists”:—
“The trav’ler with amazement sees
A temple, Gothic or Chinese;
With many a bell and tawdry rag on,
And crested with a wooden dragon.”[246]
The _World_, No. 117, ridicules the “applause so fondly given to Chinese
decorations or to the barbarous productions of a Gothic genius which
seems once more to threaten the ruin of ... [Greek] ... simplicity ...
[which is so] ... superior.” The same essay describes a visit to Lady
Fiddlefaddle’s Chinese dressing-room. She had thrown aside her
grandfather’s fine Italian pictures for the sake of red dragons,
“pagods,” and ugly monsters. Just as “the Greek and Roman architecture
are discarded for the novelties of China ... [so] Correggio is neglected
for gothic designs ... and the tinsel of a Burletta has more admirers
than the gold of Shakespeare.”[247] It may be, Warton goes on to say,
that an attempt to improve this state of learning and taste will be
thought “romantic ... and chimerical.” The _Connoisseur_, No. 122,
ridicules the faults of a man of fashion who goes so far as to think the
Bible to be “as romantic as the Alcoran.” To a writer in the _World_,
No. 70, one redeeming quality in the craze for oriental tales is the
fact that some of them “contain useful morals and well-drawn pictures
from common life.” A later contributor to the same periodical, No. 121,
writes to the editor: “Among the many visions related by your
predecessors and contemporaries, the writers of periodical essays, I
remember few but what have been in the oriental style.” And he adds a
sentence which may be taken as epitomizing the critical opinion of his
contemporaries: “For my own part, I am neither Dervise nor Brachman, but
a poet and a true Christian.”