It is seldom that we come across a poem which it is impossible to
classify in accordance with European standards. Yet such a poem is
Omar's "Rubáiyát." If elegiac poetry is the expression of subjective
emotion, sentiment, and thought, we might class this Persian masterpiece
as elegy; but an elegy is a sustained train of connected imagery and
reflection. The "Rubáiyát" is, on the other hand, a string of quatrains,
each of which has all the complete and independent significance of an
epigram. Yet there is so little of that lightness which should
characterize an epigram that we can scarcely put Omar in the same
category with Martial, and it is easy to understand why the author
should have been contented to name his book the "Rubáiyát," or
Quatrains, leaving it to each individual to make, if he chooses, a more
definite description of the work. To English readers, Mr. Edward
Fitzgerald's version of the poem has provided one of the most masterly
translations that was ever made from an Oriental classic. For Omar, like
Háfiz, is one of the most Persian of Persian writers. There is in this
volume all the gorgeousness of the East: all the luxury of the most
refined civilization. Omar's bowers are always full of roses; the notes
of the nightingale tremble through his stanzas. The intoxication of wine
and the bright eyes of lovely women are ever present to his mind. The
feast, the revel, the joys of love, and the calm satisfaction of
appetite make up the grosser elements in his song. But the prevailing
note of his music is that of deep and settled melancholy, breaking out
occasionally into words of misanthropy and despair. The keenness and
intensity of this poet's style seem to be inspired by an ever-present
fear of death. This sense of approaching Fate is never absent from him,
even in his most genial moments; and the strange fascination which he
exercises over his readers is largely due to the thrilling sweetness of
some passage which ends in a note of dejection and anguish.
Strange to say, Omar was the greatest mathematician of his day. The
exactness of his fine and analytic mind is reflected in the exquisite
finish, the subtile wit, the delicate descriptive touches, that abound
in his Quatrains. His verses hang together like gems of the purest water
exquisitely cut and clasped by "jacinth work of subtlest jewelry." But
apart from their masterly technique, these Quatrains exhibit in their
general tone the revolt of a clear intellect from the prevailing bigotry
and fanaticism of an established religion. There is in the poet's mind
the lofty indignation of one who sees, in its true light, the narrowness
of an ignorant and hypocritical clergy, yet can find no solid ground on
which to build up for himself a theory of supernaturalism, illumined by
hope. Yet there are traces of Mysticism in his writings, which only
serve to emphasize his profound longing for some knowledge of the
invisible, and his foreboding that the grave is the "be-all" and
"end-all" of life. The poet speaks in tones of bitterest lamentation
when he sees succumb to Fate all that is bright and fresh and beautiful.
At his brightest moments he gives expression to a vague pantheism, but
all his views of the power that lies behind life are obscured and
perturbed by sceptical despondency. He is the great man of science, who,
like other men of genius too deeply immersed in the study of natural law
or abstract reasoning, has lost all touch with that great world of
spiritual things which we speak of as religion, and which we can only
come in contact with through those instinctive emotions which scientific
analysis very often does so much to stifle. There are many men of
science who, like Darwin, have come, through the study of material
phenomena in nature, to a condition of mind which is indifferent in
matters of religion. But the remarkable feature in the case of Omar is
that he, who could see so clearly and feel so acutely, has been enabled
also to embody in a poem of imperishable beauty the opinions which he
shared with many of his contemporaries. The range of his mind can only
be measured by supposing that Sir Isaac Newton had written Manfred or
Childe Harold. But even more remarkable is what we may call the
modernity of this twelfth century Persian poet. We sometimes hear it
said that great periods of civilization end in a manifestation of
infidelity and despair. There can be no doubt that a great deal of
restlessness and misgiving characterizes the minds of to-day in regard
to all questions of religion. Europe, in the nineteenth century,
as reflected in the works of Byron, Spencer, Darwin, and Schopenhauer,
is very much in the same condition as intellectual Persia in the twelfth
century, so far as the pessimism of Omar is representative of his day.
This accounts for the wide popularity of Fitzgerald's "Rubáiyát." The
book has been read eagerly and fondly studied, as if it were a new book
of _fin du siècle_ production: the last efflorescence of intellectual
satiety, cynicism, and despair. Yet the book is eight centuries old, and
it has been the task of this seer of the East to reveal to the West the
heart-sickness under which the nations were suffering.
Omar Khayyám--that is, Omar the tent-maker--was born in the year 1050 at
Níshapúr, the little Damascus (as it is called) of Persia: famous as a
seat of learning, as a place of religion, and a centre of commerce. In
the days of Omar it was by far the most important city of Khorasan. The
poet, like his father before him, held a court office under the Vizir of
his day. It was from the stipend which he thus enjoyed that he secured
leisure for mathematical and literary work. His father had been a
khayyám, or tent-maker, and his gifted son doubtless inherited the
handicraft as well as the name; but his position at Court released him
from the drudgery of manual labor. He was thus also brought in contact
with the luxurious side of life, and became acquainted with those scenes
of pleasure which he recalls only to add poignancy to the sorrow with
which he contemplates the yesterday of life. Omar's astronomical
researches were continued for many years, and his algebra has been
translated into French: but his greatest claim to renown is based upon
his immortal Quatrains, which will always live as the best expression of
a phase of mind constantly recurring in the history of civilization,
from the days of Anaxagoras to those of Darwin and Spencer.