THE SUPPRESSED OMAR KHAYYAM ETCHING
When the iconography of Edward FitzGerald’s _Ruba’iyat of Omar Khayyam_
comes to be compiled, there will be one item which will be found to be
well-nigh unattainable by the enthusiastic collector. That item is not
unnaturally dismissed in a very few words by Colonel W. F. Prideaux
in his “Notes for a Bibliography of Edward FitzGerald.” He is dealing
with the third edition, published by Quaritch in the year 1872. “It may
be added,” he writes, “that a weird frontispiece to this edition was
designed and etched by Mr. Edwin Edwards, the artist friend to whom
FitzGerald lent his house at the beginning of 1871, and whose death in
1879 was a source of sorrow to him. A few copies of the etching were
struck off, but it did not meet with the {180} approval of FitzGerald,
and was consequently never used.”
Now, I am inclined to think that this, as I believe, the only published
reference to an interesting rarity, will hardly satisfy the craving
of the FitzGerald enthusiast. I shall therefore give the fullest
information on the subject, whereby the modern Mæcenas will be afforded
full particulars of what only a few of the cult of Omar can ever hope
to possess.
Those who know their _Ruba’iyat_ as they should will remember that
there are several allusions made by the philosopher to the amusements
of his countrymen.
Take the FitzGerald quatrain:—
“When you and I behind the veil are passed,
Oh, but the long, long while the world shall last,
Which of our Coming and Departure heeds
As the Sea’s self should heed a pebble cast.”
Here, in the last line, we have what is probably an allusion to the
game of “Ducks and Drakes,” “which,” says Mr. Edward Heron-Allen in the
notes to his admirable translation, “was known to the Egyptians and
also to the Greeks under the {181} name of ἐποστρακισμος. It was played
with oyster-shells. The curious are referred to Minutius Felix (A.D.
207), who describes the game in his preface.” This last is a gentleman
with whose name I am free to confess I have hitherto been unfamiliar,
and to whose writings I have no access. I must therefore leave the
enthusiastic reader to follow up the clue for himself. However, with
the aid of Liddell and Scott, I find myself able to go one better than
Mr. Heron-Allen, and would refer the reader to Archæologus Pollux, the
author of _Onomastikon_, whose date is prior to Felix by twenty-nine
years!
Another game which we find Omar Khayyam alluding to is that of
chequers, which is familiar to us in FitzGerald’s oft-quoted quatrain:—
“But helpless pieces of the game he plays
Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days;
Hither and thither moves, and checks and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet lays”;
altered in the later edition to:—
“’Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days,
Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays;
Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays
And one by one back in the Closet lays.”
{182}
Again we have allusion to what is probably some form of the game of
tennis in the following:—
“The Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes
But Right or Left as strikes the Player goes,
And He that tossed Thee down into the Field
He knows about it all—HE knows—HE knows.”
Other passages might be quoted, but these are enough for our purpose,
for the form of amusement with which we have immediately to concern
ourselves is rather a toy than a game—a toy indeed which would seem to
have been the forerunner of a somewhat elaborate apparatus which, being
used at first for more frivolous purposes, has now been largely adapted
to educational ends.
The Magic Lantern of modern times is generally referred back to
Athanasius Kircher, who died in 1680, although, according to some,
it was known four centuries earlier to Roger Bacon. This may be true
enough so far as the “projecting lantern” is concerned, but it can
hardly be doubted that it had in the line of its earlier ancestors the
Persian Fanus i Khiyal or Lantern of Fancy, which is used with such
effect by the Philosopher of Naishápur, and which instigated the design
of the {183} rare suppressed etching of which I here propose to treat
with some particularity.
As literally translated by Mr. Heron-Allen, the quatrain referring
thereto runs as follows:—
“This vault of heaven, beneath which we stand bewildered,
We know to be a sort of magic-lantern;
Know thou that the sun is the lamp flame and the universe is the lamp,
We are like figures that revolve in it.”
As literally translated by Mr. John Payne it run:—“This sphere of
the firmament, wherein we are amazed, The Chinese lantern I think a
likeness of it; The sun the lamp-stand and the world the lantern; We
like the figures are that in it revolve.”
As metrically translated by him into a throwback quatrain it runs:—
“The Sphere and mankind, who therein in amaze are,
Chinese-lantern like, well it may seem, to our gaze are;
See, the sun is the lamp and the world is the lantern
And the figures ourselves, that revolve round the blaze are.”
As rendered by FitzGerald more literally than is his wont it ran in its
first state as follows:—
“For, in and out, above, below,
’Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show,
Play’d in a box whose Candle is the Sun
Round which we Phantom Figures come and go.”
{184}
As altered later, it assumed the following more familiar form:—
“We are no other than a moving row
Of Magic-Shadow shapes that come and go
Round with the Sun-illumin’d Lantern held
In Midnight by the Master of the Show.”
All who have read the published letters of Edward FitzGerald will have
been struck by the infinite pains which he took to make this highest
effort of his genius, the translation of Omar, as perfect as possible.
His correspondence with his friend Professor Cowell teems with
allusions to, and innumerable discussions on, minute points of meaning
in the Persian.
Therefore it will not surprise us to find that the figure of the Fanus
i Khiyal (literally the lanthorn[32] of fancy), here made use of in so
masterly a manner, had its characteristics and peculiarities carefully
considered.
[32] It is a not uninteresting fact that the old English spelling of
the word “lantern” used above is due to the mistaken association of
the word with the plates of transparent horn formerly used in place of
glass.
By the kindness of Mrs. Edwin Edwards and the late Professor Cowell,
I am enabled to give extracts from an unpublished letter written
by the {185} latter to FitzGerald in the year 1868, dealing
somewhat exhaustively with the matter. This letter appears to have
been forwarded by FitzGerald to Edwin Edwards, the artist, by way
of inspiration for an etched frontispiece to the edition of _The
Ruba’iyat_ which was to be published by Quaritch in 1871, not, I think,
in 1872, as Colonel Prideaux has it.
_From Professor Cowell to Edward FitzGerald._
MY DEAR E. F. G.—I have sent off one letter to you to-day, but I did
not answer a question of yours in it, after all, which you remind me
of in your letter just received by this evening’s post.
First as to the famous Fanus i Khiyal—you will find it explained
in a note by the editor at the end of my Calcutta Review Paper. I
have often seen them in Calcutta. The lantern is about a foot and a
half high—and nearly a foot in diameter, and it moves round with
a slow and slightly vibratory motion. The candle is placed inside,
and the draught sends it round. The editor in his note explains how
the draught is produced:—They are made of a talc[33] cylinder with
figures of men and animals cut out of paper and pasted on it. The
cylinder, which is very light, is suspended on an axis, round which it
easily turns. A hole {186} is cut near the bottom, and the part cut
out is fixed at an angle to the cylinder so as to form a vane. When a
small lamp or candle is placed inside, a current of air is produced
which keeps the cylinder slowly revolving. (Here is a small drawing.)
I cannot recollect how it was suspended, the reviewer says, “on an
axis.” I think it was hung by a string from the top over a candle.
I remember seeing it go round one evening in our dining-room—the
Khánsamah brought one to show me. . . .
Nicolas’s Fanus[34] is more elaborate than our Calcutta one, but on
the same principle. He says the figures move round from right to left
or _vice versa_—as may be. His _fanal_[35] is like mine, only it has
a metal top and bottom—the cylindrical sides being of waxed cloth and
painted; it has a handle fixed on the top which the man holds; the
candle is placed inside on the metal floor. . . .
(Here is another small drawing.) . . .
Yours affectionately,
EDW. B. COWELL.
CAMBRIDGE,
_January 16, 1868._
[33] This word is curiously enough misprinted “tall” in both Nichols’
and Quaritch’s editions of Mr. Heron-Allen’s book, whilst in the note
to Professor Cowell’s article it is printed “tale.” It is something of
a record, I should think, to find so many compositors and readers all
at fault.
[34] Professor Cowell here refers to J. B. Nicolas, author of a French
translation of Omar, published at Paris, 1867. In a note to _Les
quatrains de Khéyam traduit du Persan_, he says: “In Persia the lantern
is made of two copper basins, separated by a shade of waxed calico
about a yard high. The lower one contains the candle, and the upper one
has a handle for the arm of the ferrásh who carries it. The shade is
folded like the familiar ‘Chinese lantern.’ Ornaments are painted on
the cloth, and it is to the vacillation of these, as the carrier shifts
it from one hand to another, that Omar refers.”
[35] Qy.: Has this French word for lantern the same root as Fanus?
{187}
The letter was illustrated with two rough drawings of the Fanus
for FitzGerald’s guidance. The last of them represented the toy
held out by a truncated arm. Edwin Edwards, to whom the letter was
forwarded, at once with true artistic instinct caught at the suggestion
unintentionally conveyed, and, as will be seen from the etching here
reproduced, accentuated the hidden presence of the “Master of the
Show,” by making the arm which holds suspended this “Sun-illumined
Lantern” of a world issue from the impenetrable darkness which hides
its mysterious lord. Unfortunately, the Fanus is not etched with great
success, although the artist made a special visit to the old India
Museum, now dispersed, to study an example there on exhibition. Had the
etching equalled the conception, the design could hardly have failed to
satisfy even FitzGerald’s fastidious requirements. As it was, only a
limited number[36] of proofs (from twenty to twenty-five) were printed
by that cleverest printer of etchings, Mrs. Edwin Edwards, and the
plate destroyed. Hence their rarity. {188}
[36] At least six of these have lately gone to America where they were
feverishly bought up by enthusiastic Omarians.
The conception is a really fine one, and might well have proved an
illustration of the text in the best sense of that much-abused term,
being, as it is, a very different thing from a mere translation of
the words into pictorial form. It is far more than this. It is an
illuminator of the meaning, and accentuates its spiritual significance.
This is what illustration should do, but rarely does do, in these days
of rapid and perfunctory production.
Of Edwin Edwards the artist I should like to take this opportunity
of saying a word. His name is little known outside artistic circles,
and it would be somewhat unfair to advertise it in connection with an
etched plate which failed to give satisfaction without at the same time
making allusion to pictorial work which was successful and meritorious.
That he did produce work of real value is evident from the fact that
one of his oil pictures of the Thames hangs at the Luxembourg in the
Salle des Étrangers (for he was always more appreciated in France than
in England), and that two years ago another canvas, and that hardly one
of the best examples of his {189} work, was chosen by Sir Edward
Poynter to be well hung in the Tate Gallery.
[Illustration: The suppressed frontispiece For “Omar Khayyam.” (_By
Edwin Edwards_)]
It may also be mentioned that high appreciation of his talents has been
shown across the Channel by eulogistic articles in the _Gazette des
Beaux Arts_, _Les Beaux Arts Illustrés_, _La Vie Moderne_, _L’Art_,
etc., etc.
It is, however, on his work as an etcher that his reputation must
chiefly rest, and it would be more than unjust to allow the artist who
produced such a _tour de force_ as the great etching of “London from
the Greenwich Observatory,” to mention only one of his three hundred
and seventy-one works in this medium, to be advertised by an etching,
finely conceived it is true, but unsatisfactorily carried to an issue.
Not that these facts will in any way affect the thoroughgoing
rarity-hunter in his estimate of the suppressed plate here described.
It will be enough for him to know that not more than a quarter of a
hundred of his rivals can own a proof of the etching to make him ready
to sell his last shirt for its acquisition. He will continue to value a
print for its rarity rather than for its beauty, {190} a book for its
height in millimetres rather than for its depth in thought.
No doubt these be hard words. Then why, it will be asked, pander to
so foolish a passion? Shall I confess? Yes, indeed, and glory in the
confession that I, too, am of the gentle brotherhood, that I, too, am
a subscriber to _The Connoisseur_ (or “The Connoyzer,” as one of my
friends at Mr. W. H. Smith’s bookstall used to call that delightful
publication), that I, too,—in fine, that I am, by the favour of
Fortune, the happy possessor of two proofs of the suppressed etching to
the Omar of 1872!
And now just one word with that gentle hunter, Mr. Thomas B. Mosher
of Portland, Maine, U.S.A., who did me the honour of transferring a
large portion of the above, originally written for _The Bookman_, to
the pages of his beautiful 1902 edition of _The Ruba’iyat_. Of that
I make no complaint, for I think it very probable that he asked and
obtained my permission. What I do complain of is that, in a footnote,
he falls foul of me for being “ungracious” to Colonel Prideaux in
suggesting the date 1871 as the year of publication of the {191} third
edition, instead of the year 1872, as Colonel Prideaux has it in his
most valuable little “Notes for a Bibliography of Edward FitzGerald”
1901. Mr. Mosher says “no manner of doubt exists as to the date.” Let
me tell him that I have it on the authority of one who was on intimate
terms both with FitzGerald and Edwin Edwards at the time when this
third edition was published that, though the book bore the date 1872
on the title, as a matter of fact it was _published_ in the autumn of
1871 and _post-dated_. If it be “ungracious” to give Colonel Prideaux
a piece of information which he had not the opportunity of obtaining
for himself, then I sincerely hope that all who read this volume, and
find themselves better informed, as well they may, than I am, will be
equally “ungracious” to me. _La plupart des hommes n’ont pas le courage
de corriger les autres, parcequ’ils n’ont pas le courage de souffrir
qu’on les corrige._
{192}