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Title: The Oriental tale in England in the eighteenth century
Author: Martha Pike Conant
Release date: January 29, 2026 [eBook #77806]
Language: English
Original publication: New York: Columbia University Press, 1908
Credits: Richard Tonsing, Tim Lindell, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ORIENTAL TALE IN ENGLAND IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY ***
=Columbia University=
_STUDIES IN COMPARATIVE LITERATURE_
THE ORIENTAL TALE IN ENGLAND
IN THE
EIGHTEENTH CENTURY
This monograph has been recommended by the Department of Comparative
Literature as a contribution to the literature of the subject worthy of
publication.
J. B. FLETCHER,
_Professor of Comparative Literature_.
THE
ORIENTAL TALE IN ENGLAND
IN THE
EIGHTEENTH CENTURY
BY
MARTHA PIKE CONANT, PH.D.
[Illustration: Crowned emblem showing an open book beneath a crown; the
left page reads “1754 Columbia 1839,” the right page reads “University
Press,” with a scroll below bearing a Latin motto.]
=New York=
THE COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY PRESS
1908
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1908,
BY THE COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY PRESS.
Set up and electrotyped. Published January, 1908.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing Co.—Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
=To=
MY SISTER
CHARLOTTE HOWARD CONANT
PREFACE
This essay is a study in eighteenth-century English literature. The
author disclaims any knowledge of the oriental languages and attempts no
discussion of the ultimate sources of those genuine oriental tales that
appeared in English in the eighteenth century. Such a discussion is not
the purpose of this study. The aim here is rather to give a clear and
accurate description of a distinct component part of eighteenth-century
English fiction in its relation to its French sources and to the general
current of English thought. The oriental fiction that was not original
in English came, almost without exception, from French imitations or
translations of genuine oriental tales; hence, as a study in comparative
literature, a consideration of the oriental tale in England during the
eighteenth century possesses distinct interest. Moreover the presence of
this oriental and pseudo-oriental fiction in England,—as in France,—and
the mingled enthusiasm and disapproval with which in both countries it
was greeted, testify to the strength of established classicism and to
the advent of the new romantic spirit. The history of the oriental tale
in England in the eighteenth century might be called an episode in the
development of English Romanticism.
No general survey such as the present volume undertakes, has before been
made. Certain chapters in _Die Vorläufer der Modernen Novelle im 18ten
Jahrhundert_ (1897), by Dr. Rudolph Fürst, approach most nearly to the
present treatment and have given valuable suggestions; H. W. Weber’s
_Introduction_ to his _Tales of the East_ (1812) contains useful data;
M. Pierre Martino’s work, _L’Orient dans la littérature française au
XVII^e et au XVIII^e siècle_ (1906), came to hand after this essay was
practically completed, but has proved of distinct value; and M. Victor
Chauvin’s monumental _Bibliographie des ouvrages arabes_ (1892–1905) is
indispensable to any student of this subject. The _Bibliography,
Appendix B, II._, pp. 294–306, of this volume gives the full titles of
these and other books of reference to which I am indebted. None of
these, however, gives anything except incidental or partial treatment of
this subject. No attempt has hitherto been made to consider in a single
survey all the oriental and pseudo-oriental fiction that appeared in
England during the eighteenth century.
It is a pleasure to take this opportunity of thanking the many friends
whose assistance I have found invaluable. This book is the fruit of
studies begun under the inspiration of Professor George Edward
Woodberry,—an inspiration best appreciated by those students who had the
rare privilege of hearing his lectures and receiving his illuminating
and kindly criticism. To Dr. Frank W. Chandler, Professor of English in
the Brooklyn Polytechnic Institute and formerly Instructor in
Comparative Literature in Columbia University, I owe my first definite
interest in the English Romantic Movement. To Dr. J. E. Spingarn,
Adjunct-Professor of Comparative Literature, I am deeply indebted for
friendly criticisms and counsel. To Professor Jefferson B. Fletcher, of
the Department of Comparative Literature, I am especially grateful for
constant assistance during the past year—assistance as generous as it
was helpful; without it I could hardly have brought my work to
completion. To many of my fellow-students at Columbia University I am
under obligations: to Miss Mary Gertrude Cushing, now of the Department
of Romance Languages and Literatures at Mount Holyoke College, for
transcriptions made at the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris; to Mr. A. D.
Compton, Instructor in English in the College of the City of New York,
for notes on certain oriental tales; to Dr. John S. Harrison, of the
English Department of Kenyon College, for assistance in research; to Mr.
S. L. Wolff, Adjunct-Professor of English in the University of
Tennessee, for a study of oriental allusions in the eighteenth-century
periodicals; to Mr. Wolff and to Dr. S. M. Tucker, Professor of English
in the Florida State College for Women, for valuable suggestions. I
would acknowledge also the courtesies extended by the Librarians of the
British Museum, by Mr. T. J. Kiernan of the Harvard University Library,
and by the authorities of the Columbia University Library, especially
Mr. Frederic W. Erb. For assistance in research at the British Museum I
would thank my sister, Charlotte H. Conant; for similar work at Harvard
and in the Boston Libraries, Miss Mary H. Buckingham. Miss Buckingham
enriched my initial bibliography by examining the entire _Catalogue of
Printed Books_ of the British Museum. Finally, to Dr. Duncan B.
Macdonald and Dr. Edward Everett Hale I wish to express my appreciation
of their kindness in lending me valuable books.
The Appendices to the present volume comprise _Appendix A, Notes_,
chiefly concerning the indebtedness of Byron and others to the oriental
tales; and _Appendix B, I._, a _Chronological Table_, giving full titles
of the oriental tales considered, and _II._, a _Bibliography_ of the
books of reference most useful in a study of this subject. Each book in
_Appendix B, I._ and _II._, is numbered, and will be referred to in
footnotes by number when it is unnecessary to cite the full title;
_e.g._ in the footnote on p. 2, “Cf. App. B, I., No. 4, p. 269,”
reference is made to the full title of the earliest known edition of the
_Arabian Nights_, as given on p. 269. The date following the first
mention of an oriental tale is, unless otherwise specified, the date of
the first English edition, _e.g._ on p. 13, “1714” following “the
_Persian Tales_ or the _Thousand and One Days_.” Complete lists of the
oriental tales by the eighteenth-century essayists will be found in App.
B, I., _e.g._ No. 11, pp. 271, 272, _Addison_. Unknown essayists are
grouped, _e.g._ No. 12, p. 272.
M. P. C.
COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY,
June, 1907.
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION xv
CHAPTER I
THE IMAGINATIVE GROUP 1
CHAPTER II
THE MORALISTIC GROUP 73
CHAPTER III
THE PHILOSOPHIC GROUP 112
CHAPTER IV
THE SATIRIC GROUP 155
CHAPTER V
LITERARY ESTIMATE 226
APPENDIX A. NOTES 257
APPENDIX B. I. CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE 267
APPENDIX B. II. BOOKS OF REFERENCE 294
INDEX 307
INTRODUCTION
In a study of the oriental tale in England in the eighteenth century,
the high lights fall upon the _Arabian Nights_, Dr. Johnson’s
_Rasselas_, Goldsmith’s _Citizen of the World_, and Beckford’s _Vathek_.
The present volume aims to depict clearly the interesting orientalizing
tendency of which these apparently isolated works were the best
manifestations—a tendency itself a part of the larger movement of
English Romanticism. By “the oriental tale in England” I mean all the
oriental and pseudo-oriental fiction—chiefly prose—that appeared in
English, whether written originally in English or translated from the
French. Much of the fiction I shall consider deserves distinctly to be
called pseudo-oriental, _Rasselas_, for instance, and _The Citizen of
the World_; on the other hand, much of it, such as the _Arabian Nights_
and kindred literature, is genuinely oriental despite its
eighteenth-century dress. By “oriental” I mean pertaining to or derived
from “those countries, collectively, that begin with Islam on the
eastern Mediterranean and stretch through Asia,”[1] with—so far as this
specific treatment of the subject goes—one notable exception, Palestine.
To the Western mind to-day the Holy Land occupies, as Professor Pierre
Martino has pointed out, a unique position somewhat apart from other
oriental countries, a position which is of course due to the inherited
traditions of Christianity.[2] In the eighteenth century this feeling
was far more pronounced than it is in these days of modern scholarship;
and therefore, from the eighteenth-century “oriental” literature under
consideration we may legitimately exclude Hebrew literature and its
imitations. “Oriental,” then, includes here what it included according
to Galland, the first translator of the _Arabian Nights_ into French:
“Sous le nom d’Orientaux, je ne comprends pas seulement les Arabes et
les Persans, mais encore les Turcs et les Tartares et presque tous les
peuples de l’Asie jusqu’à la Chine, mahométans ou païens et
idolâtres.”[3]
The scope of our subject in time is less readily defined; since, as in
the case of most literary tendencies, both beginning and end were
gradual and transitional. The prelude was sounded in the late
seventeenth century by the first English translation of Marana’s satire,
_The Turkish Spy_. Yet, broadly speaking, the period began between the
years 1704 and 1712, with the first English version of the _Arabian
Nights_, a book so different in character from any oriental fiction then
known in England, and so far-reaching in influence, that it forms the
natural point of departure. The period drew to a close with the advent
of the more modern and scholarly translations of various works made
directly from oriental languages, which influenced later the poetry of
Southey, Moore, Byron, and others. For the approximate date we may take
1786. In that year was published _Vathek_,[4] the last notable oriental
tale of the century, itself foreshadowing the coming work of scholars
and poets. Only two years earlier Sir William Jones, the great
orientalist, had given his inaugural lecture as first president of the
Asiatic Society of Bengal. Yet the date 1786 is approximate only; for in
the sixties and seventies, some direct translations were made; and in
the eighties and nineties oriental tales appeared, so similar in
character to those of this period that they must logically be included.
For the period as a whole, despite the transitional nature of the
beginning and the end, has a distinctive character. It is obviously
different from the period that followed. The latter, beginning with the
direct translations by orientalists, has, from the days of Sir William
Jones to those of Kipling, been characterized by an increasing knowledge
of the Orient at first hand. By travel and residence in the East, by
contact with Eastern peoples, as well as by study of oriental history,
literature, and philosophy, Englishmen of the nineteenth and twentieth
centuries have learned to know more of the “inscrutable Orient” than
their ancestors of the eighteenth century ever imagined possible.[5]
This fact at once and radically differentiates these later centuries
from the period we are to consider. A brief glance over the history of
oriental fiction in England previous to the eighteenth century will make
the distinction equally clear from that side.
Oriental fiction had been borne to England from an early period by
various waves of influence. As far back as the eleventh century,
fictitious descriptions of the marvels of India are found in Anglo-Saxon
translations of legends concerning Alexander the Great. During the
Middle Ages many Eastern stories drifted across Europe by way of Syria,
Byzantium, Italy, and Spain. Merchants and travelers like Marco Polo,
missionaries, pilgrims, and crusaders aided the oral transmission of
this fiction; and scholars gave to Europe Latin translations of four
great collections of genuine oriental tales: _Sendebar_; _Kalila and
Dimna_, or _The Fables of Bidpai_; _Disciplina Clericalis_; and _Barlaam
and Josaphat_. A definite, though not large, share in this
treasure-trove fell to the lot of England and appeared in the form of
metrical romances, apologues, legends, and tales of adventure. The
_fabliau_ of _Dame Siriz_, _The Proces of the Sevyn Sages_, Mandeville’s
_Voiage_, Chaucer’s _Squier’s Tale_,—possibly several other _Canterbury
Tales_,—are typical instances.
In the sixteenth century, that great period of translation, were
published the first English editions of the _Gesta Romanorum_ and of the
_Fables of Bidpai_, the latter entitled _The Morall Philosophie of
Doni_ ... _englished out of Italian by Thomas North_ ... (1570). During
the reign of Elizabeth an entirely new line of intercourse between
England and the East was established by the voyages of exploration,
discovery, and commerce, characteristic of the Renaissance. Moreover,
since the Fall of Constantinople (1453), the Turks had been an
increasing menace to Europe. Their ascendancy culminated in the reign of
Soliman the Magnificent (1520–1566), and their continual advance upon
Christendom was checked only by their great defeat at the battle of
Lepanto (1571). Throughout the century, as a natural result of these
events and of the voyages referred to above, interest was aroused in
oriental—especially Turkish—history and fiction. In Painter’s _Palace of
Pleasure_, for instance, we find the stories _Mahomet and Irene_, and
_Sultan Solyman_; in the drama such plays as the _Soliman and Perseda_,
usually ascribed to Kyd; _Alaham_, and _Mustapha_, by Fulke Greville,
Lord Brooke; and Marlowe’s _Tamburlaine_. In Shakespeare’s plays, one
incident, _The Induction to the Taming of the Shrew_, has been traced
with a good deal of plausibility to Eastern fiction; otherwise, his
works show no oriental elements of importance. “The farthest steep of
India” as a part of Oberon’s fairy kingdom is possibly drawn from Lord
Berners’s prose version of _Huon of Bordeaux_. That the scene of _Antony
and Cleopatra_ is partly in the East does not make it anything but a
Roman play.
In the seventeenth century, interest in the Orient was shown by the
works of travelers, historians, translators of French heroic romances,
dramatists, and orientalists. Knolles’s famous _Generall History of the
Turks_ appeared in 1603, a result of the new interest in Turkey
mentioned above, and itself a notable factor in extending that interest
for years to come. Toward the middle of the century the pseudo-oriental
heroic romances of Mlle. de Scudéry and others were translated and won
great popularity. After the Restoration numerous heroic plays on similar
subjects followed in rapid succession. A few of these heroic romances
were reprinted in the eighteenth century and thus form one link between
the fiction of the two periods. Another link is Sir Roger L’Estrange’s
version of _The Fables of Bidpai_.[6] Still another is the Latin
translation by Edward Pococke (1648–1727), son of the Oxford
orientalist, of the Arabian philosophical romance _Hai Ebn Yockdhan_,
which appeared first in English in the eighteenth century. Marana’s
_Turkish Spy_ has already been mentioned as a late seventeenth-century
prelude to the oriental tale of our period.
Such was the oriental fiction that had entered England previous to 1700,
and had contributed to a more or less vague and general imaginative
acquaintance with the Orient. The sudden advent of the _Arabian Nights_,
full of the life, the colour, and the glamour of the East—even in the
Gallicized version of Antoine Galland—naturally opened a new chapter in
the history of oriental fiction in England.
The same had been true in France; in fact, the entire English movement
echoed to a certain extent the similar French movement. That,
also,—preluded by _The Turkish Spy_,—was inaugurated by the _Arabian
Nights_, first introduced into Europe by Galland in the famous
translation just referred to. Meeting with instant and great—though not
unanimous—favour, the _Arabian Nights_ was followed at once by the
equally popular translations by Pétis de la Croix, _L’histoire de la
Sultane de Perse et des Vizirs, Contes Turcs_ (1707), and _Les Mille et
un Jour [sic], Contes Persans_ (1710–1712). The time was ripe in France
for this new literary material. At the beginning of the new century
there were especial reasons for the welcome given to oriental stories
and to Perrault’s fairy tales, the chief reason being a natural reaction
from the dominant classicism of Boileau. From Fairy-land and the Far
East two streams began to flow into the main current of French
Romanticism. The romanticists of that day went wild over the fascinating
tales of “merchants, cadis, slaves, and calendars,” in a manner
foreshadowing the nineteenth-century romanticists who enthusiastically
welcomed _Les Orientales_.
Moreover, interest in the Orient had been growing throughout the
seventeenth century in connection with the colonial and commercial
expansion of France in the reign of Louis XIV. Merchants, Jesuit
missionaries, travelers, and ambassadors had returned with information
and entertaining or tragic stories.[7] Galland and Pétis de la Croix, in
their turn, found an enthusiastic reception.[8] Their collections were
succeeded by a swarm of preposterous imitations, such as those of
Gueullette, pretending also to be translated from oriental manuscripts
and catering to the inordinate popular demand for things oriental.
Fantastic elements from the fairy tales of Perrault and his successors
were mingled with the extravagances of oriental stories, until the
torrent of enthusiasm rapidly spent its force and left several new
channels open to French fiction. Satire on both oriental tales and fairy
stories inevitably appeared, and proved a sharp weapon in the hands of
Hamilton, Caylus, and a score of others. Philosophical satirists like
Montesquieu (_Lettres Persanes_, 1721) found the oriental tale a
convenient medium for scarcely veiled criticism of French society; and
the versatile genius of Voltaire perceived the latent capabilities of
this fiction as a vehicle for philosophy as well as for satire. The
coarseness present in many oriental tales, even in Galland’s expurgated
and Gallicized _Arabian Nights_, undoubtedly afforded to Crébillon
_fils_, and others, a starting point for their numerous _contes
licencieux_, which satirized the extravagance of the fairy stories and
the oriental tales and ridiculed the moralizing tendency as well. The
latter propensity was prominent in France toward the middle of the
century, witness the numerous works of Marmontel, the founder of the
so-called _conte moral_, or tale of manners and morals. Three of his
tales are oriental in setting. Parody and the use of the genre as a
vehicle for satire and didacticism assisted its decline.
In England the general development of the oriental tale was similar,
partly because of the direct influence of numerous translations from the
French and partly because of the presence of tendencies in England
analogous to those in France. The propensity to moralize and to
philosophize, the love of satire, and the incipient romantic spirit,
were common to both countries, although present—as we shall see—in
varying degrees. In England this fiction falls naturally into four
groups,—imaginative, moralistic, philosophic, and satiric. The
imaginative group, the earliest, and, at the beginning of the century,
the most significant, diminished as the other groups increased in
strength, but revived again near the end of our period in Beckford’s
_Vathek_. The moralistic and philosophic groups are prominent in the
periodical essays from Addison to Dr. Johnson. The philosophic group
comprises besides _Rasselas_ several translations from Voltaire’s
_contes philosophiques_. The satiric group is chiefly exemplified by the
pseudo-letters culminating, in English, in Goldsmith’s _Citizen of the
World_, and by Count Hamilton’s entertaining parodies. One work, indeed,
belonging in the imaginative group, was influential throughout the whole
period: the _Arabian Nights_—as numerous editions testify—was a
permanent factor in the development of the oriental tale in England.
Chapters I., II., III., and IV. of this volume will be devoted to a
description of the most important characteristics of these successive
groups, and the final chapter will present a literary estimate of the
genre as a whole.
THE ORIENTAL TALE IN ENGLAND
CHAPTER I
THE IMAGINATIVE GROUP
Of all the wide lands open to the wandering imagination none has a more
perennial charm than the mysterious East. To that magical country the
_Arabian Nights_, ever since its first appearance in English in the
early years of the eighteenth century, has proved a favourite gateway,
over which might well be inscribed:—
“Be glad, thou reder, and thy sorwe of-caste,
Al open am I; passe in, and by the faste!”
With the exception of the Hebrew Scriptures, the Orient has given us no
book that has become so intimate a part of our imaginative inheritance.
“Aladdin’s lamp,” the “Open Sesame,” “changing old lamps for new,” “the
Old Man of the Sea,” have entered into familiar household speech. Many a
reader has echoed the mood of Hawthorne, “To Persia and Arabia and all
the gorgeous East I owed a pilgrimage for the sake of their magic
tales.”[9]
It would be superfluous to describe this familiar book in detail. That
ground has been well covered by such translators and essayists as Sir
Richard Burton and Mr. John Payne. Our purpose is rather to examine
briefly the general character of the _Arabian Nights_[10] in order to
understand the significance of its sudden entrance into the England of
Queen Anne. The earliest collection of oriental tales to appear in
English in the century, it is also the richest in pure imaginative power
and therefore has a twofold right to first consideration in this
chapter.
One of the chief elements of charm in the _Arabian Nights_ has already
been suggested—the sense of mystery and magic. The arrangement of the
stories enhances this impression. At first glance the form seems simple.
The frame-tale, that well-known device believed to be of oriental
origin, is the story of the beautiful Scheherezade telling tales to the
cruel sultan for a thousand and one nights. But within this simple
setting the stories are so interwoven and so varied—apologues, romances,
anecdotes, and fables—that the total effect is as intricate as the
design of an oriental carpet. One strange story follows another in
bewildering profusion until the reader seems to be walking in a dream
“in the days of Haroun Alraschid,” when the unexpected always happens.
In this land of wonder and enchantment any threatening cloud may assume
the form of an enormous genie, white-bearded, terrific, with torch in
hand and a voice like thunder, “a Slave of the Lamp,” ready to carry a
sleeping prince a thousand leagues through the air or to erect over
night a palace of dazzling splendour; any serpent may be an enchanted
fairy; any beautiful woman may be a disguised princess or a cruel
sorceress with power to transform human beings into dogs or black
stones; and at every turn one may meet African magicians who can
pronounce the “Open Sesame” to subterranean treasure-caves. In the
bazaars fairies disguised as old women sell magic carpets to fortunate
princes; by the wayside an aged dervish sits for the sole purpose of
directing seekers toward the talking bird, the singing tree, and the
yellow water. “The wondrous horse of brass” is no more marvelous than
the roc, “a white bird of monstrous size and of such strength that it
takes elephants from the plains to the tops of the mountains.” In the
world of the _Arabian Nights_ is to be found the magic mirror that
reveals character by remaining unsullied only in the presence of the
pure in heart. On the sea furious storms arise and drive ships to sure
disaster against the black mountain of adamant. Shipwrecked Sindbad
meets strange dwarfs; “tremendous black giants, one-eyed and as high as
a tall palm-tree”; and, most dangerous of all, the terrible Old Man of
the Sea. Shark-headed monsters and beautiful mermaids arise from the
deep; and, if one could only look down far enough, one would see in the
ocean depths vast kingdoms of boundless wealth and unutterable beauty,
ruled over by the flamebreathing princes of the sea. In these enchanted
domains it is not surprising to find superlatively horrible monsters
“with the head of an elephant and the body of a tiger”; or to encounter
blinding flashes of lightning, “followed by most tremendous thunder, ...
hideous darkness, ... a dreadful cry, ... and an earthquake such as
Asrayel is to cause on the day of judgment.” The same naïve love of
magical unreality that adorns these stories with such transcendent
horrors produces the scenes of “surpassing beauty,” which have made the
splendour of the _Arabian Nights_ proverbial.[11] Aladdin’s magnificent
palace—jeweled windows and all—is eclipsed by the palace of the third
Calendar, “more splendid than imagination can conceive.”
And yet, despite all this misty atmosphere of wonder and magic, there is
in the _Arabian Nights_ a strange sense of reality in the midst of
unreality, a verisimilitude which accounts in large part for the steady
popularity the book has enjoyed with the English people. The cities of
Bagdad and Cairo, the countries of the East, the Seven Seas, are real
places, though so far-away that they seem on the borders of fairy-land.
Time as well as space is an actuality, however remote and vague.
Plausible introductory phrases imitate the manner of a veracious
historian, _e.g._, “There was a Sultan named Mirza who had peaceably
filled the throne of India many years.” It is easy for the reader to
imagine himself present at the scenes described, _e.g._, the opening of
the divan of the mock caliph in the _Sleeper Awakened_, when “the grand
vizier Giafar and the judge of the police ... first bowed themselves
down before him and paid him the salutations of the morning.” In the
bezesteins silk merchants, glass dealers, and jewelers sit by their
wares and fall in love with veiled ladies; venders of roses, dervishes,
and beggars crowd past; and dogs who may be enchanted princes tell false
coin from true to the delight of the lookers-on. At the water-gate of
the palace on the Tigris, the favourite slave of the sultaness Zobeide
outwits the crabbed old eunuch and secures safe admission for the trunk
containing her lover. Prince Houssain tells us travelers’ tales of the
brazen temple in which “the principal idol was ... of massive gold; its
eyes were rubies, so artificially set, that it seemed to look at the
spectator in whatever direction he stood.” When the king of Serendib
appears in public, he has a throne fixed on the back of an elephant and
is surrounded by attendants clad in silk and cloth of gold; “and the
officer before him cries out occasionally, ‘Behold ... the potent and
redoubtable sultan of the Indies, whose palace is covered with an
hundred thousand rubies, ... greater than the greatest of princes!’
After which the officer who is behind cries out, ‘This monarch, so
great, so powerful, must die, must die, must die.’ The officer who is
before replies, ‘Praise be to him who liveth forever.’”[12]
Other customs are described in equally vivid detail. The obsequies of a
prince include long processions of lamenting guards, anchorites, and
maidens; marriage ceremonies are accompanied by feasting, music,
dancing, and the bride’s seven-fold salutation of her husband. “The pure
religion of our holy prophet” is contrasted with the cruel rites of
fire-worshipers. Devout Mussulmans pass through the streets to the
mosques and make pilgrimages to Mecca.
But of all the glimpses of Eastern life the most interesting is the
constantly recurring picture of the oriental story-teller. Everywhere—in
the bazaars, by the wayside, in palace gardens or fishermen’s cottages,
during the feasts or before the caliph’s tribunal, by night and by
day—the teller of tales is sure of an interested audience. The variety
of stories in the _Arabian Nights_ makes credible the theory of recent
editors, that the ultimate sources were equally diverse,—an hypothesis
that goes far toward explaining the artistic excellences and limitations
of the collection.
What wonder that, with listeners clamouring like children for another
story, each narrator exerted his ingenuity to outdo his predecessors
and, like Scheherezade herself, promised greater marvels next time? In
most of the tales one surprising adventure succeeds another with
kaleidoscopic rapidity, unconnected except by the mere presence of the
hero. In that respect these tales resemble the modern historical
romance. The chief appeal is to the listener’s or reader’s curiosity,
and little thought is given to the structural unity of the narrative.
There is a succession of events, but rarely any causal sequence. Even in
so capital a story as _Aladdin_ the two elements of the climax—Aladdin’s
marriage and the magician’s resolve upon vengeance—are loosely knit by
chance and by magic. The close of the average story is usually as
movable a point as the climax. If the narrator thinks of another
incident, he merely adds a postscript. Witness the _Story of the
Barber’s Sixth Brother_, in which the misfortunes of Shacabac after the
Barmecide’s death are foisted upon the admirably dramatic tale of the
Barmecide’s feast.
But, though the majority of the tales possess little structural unity,
many individual incidents are perfect dramatic sketches, cleverly
introduced, wrought to a climax, developed to a dénouement, and
characterized by compression and rapid movement no less than by
brilliant descriptive phrases and good dialogue. Such are the disastrous
day-dream of Alnaschar the glass merchant, the adventure of the barber’s
blind brother, and the ruse of Abon Hassan and his wife to win gifts
from the caliph and Zobeide by feigning death.[13] The dénouement of the
last will readily be recalled. The perplexed caliph offered a thousand
pieces of gold to any one who could prove which of the two, Abon Hassan
or his wife, died first. “Instantly a hand was held out, and a voice
from under Abon Hassan’s pall was heard to say, ‘I died first, Commander
of the Faithful, give me the thousand pieces of gold.’” This dramatic
instinct for situation or incident is especially noticeable in the
numerous clever introductions. The favourite device of the disguised
caliph Haroun wandering through the city in search of adventure never
fails to awaken interest. Mysterious scenes of grief or sudden
exclamations stimulate curiosity at once. “‘For God’s sake, sir,’
replied the stranger, ‘let me go! I cannot without horror look upon that
abominable barber!’”
Beyond incident and situation, however, the dramatic instinct of the
story-teller does not go. He shows little psychological insight. His
characters are wooden automata, picturesque truly, but neither
individualized nor alive. Various figures recur repeatedly: the prodigal
youth, forsaken by his fair-weather friends; the tyrant sultan; the
clever man; the superlative hero; the unjust judge; good and bad
viziers; and good and bad sons. They might be shifted from one story to
another with no more shock than Aladdin’s palace felt when lifted and
set down again. The _Arabian Nights_ contains, fortunately, little or no
direct moralizing, but in these abstract types it offered suggestions
not lost upon the eighteenth-century writers of moralistic oriental
tales. Even familiar figures like Aladdin and Sindbad owe their
existence as individuals to the reader’s sympathetic imagination. They
are interesting, not in themselves, but on account of their marvelous
adventures.
For, after all, one supreme attraction of the _Arabian Nights_ is the
charm of pure adventure, the story for the sake of the story.
Sentimental tales are exceptional; in only eight is love the chief
interest. Adventurous tales of the _Sindbad_ type are more
characteristic. It is noticeable that in many of the stories where
picaresque or farcical realism is strong, magic plays no part. But in
all the tales, whether magical or realistic, the emphasis is thrown on
events. Exciting incidents are given verisimilitude by picturesque
details, until the reader, forgetting for the moment the absence of the
deeper realities of character, comes under the spell of pure romance,—as
in the case of _Robinson Crusoe_, the novels of Dumas, or the
folk-ballads,—and must himself “mitdichten.” The magical atmosphere, the
rich variety of dramatic incident, the spirit of adventure, and the
brilliant background, atone in part for the lack, in the _Arabian
Nights_, of structural unity and characterization. Across the scene
moves the seemingly endless, ever shifting pageant of _dramatis
personæ_, all sorts and conditions of men: princes and viziers,
ropemakers and fishermen, dervishes and cadis, sheiks and slaves, queens
and beggar-women. One can see them, hear them speak, and guess at their
characters as one might in observing passers-by in the bazaars of some
strange Eastern city. For the time being it is easy to follow Ali Baba
to the forest to gather wood; or to share the fright of the fisherman
who liberates the genie; or to hear the tired porter Hindbad railing at
Fortune as he rests in the cool street sprinkled with rose-water, while
the white-bearded, travel-wise Sindbad listens from his palace window
and summons the poor man in; or to feel the human interest in the
dramatic scene that serves as the general background—Scheherezade saving
the lives of her countrywomen by telling her tales to the sultan.
The collection of oriental tales next in order of importance is the
_Persian Tales_ or the _Thousand and One Days_[14] (1714), the
companion-piece to the _Arabian Nights_. The plan is similar: a
frame-tale which introduces and concludes the collection and links the
successive stories. But in the _Persian Tales_, instead of a sultan who
has lost faith in women, the central figure is the princess of Casmire,
who, having dreamed that she saw an ungrateful stag forsaking a hind,
has lost faith in men and has decided never to marry. Her beauty drives
men mad; the king, her father, is in despair; and her old nurse,
Sutlememé, undertakes to convert her by tales of faithful lovers. For a
thousand and one days the tales are told, but each hero is criticized by
the skeptical and obdurate princess. She is finally persuaded to marry
the prince of Persia only by the magic powers and religious authority of
a holy dervish. The conclusion of the frame-tale is unnecessarily
complicated by the introduction of the witch Mehrefsa, a Persian Circe.
There is at the close an attempt to recall the introduction by the story
of the prince’s dream that the princess, “fairer than a houri,” appeared
to him in a flowery meadow and told him of her dream and consequent loss
of faith in mankind. But this incident gives only a superficial unity to
the frame-tale; structural unity is lacking. The same criticism holds
true of the majority of individual stories in the _Persian Tales_.
Considerable unity of feeling, however, is given to the collection by
the fact that Sutlememé’s avowed purpose holds her chiefly to one
theme,—true love,—which often rises above the sensuous or the
ridiculously sentimental and throws a pleasant light over the stories as
a whole.
This characteristic differentiates the _Persian Tales_ at once from the
_Arabian Nights_. For instance, a typical story in the _Persian Tales_
begins as follows: the hero, Couloufe, a youth of noble birth, having
wasted his substance, wanders to a far-off city. A mysterious slave in
the bazaar beckons him. He follows into a palace; enters one hall after
another, each more glorious than the last; and beholds pillars of “massy
gold,” silver trees with emeralds for leaves, singing birds behind
golden lattices, fragrant roses growing around marble basins of crystal
water, banquets on sandalwood tables, little pages offering wine in cups
made of single rubies; and, finally, the princess arrayed in
“rose-coloured taffeta, thick-sown with pearls,” seated on a golden
throne, surrounded by “radiant damsels” singing to the lute or dulcimer,
“Love but once, but love forever.” “Couloufe imagined that he saw the
moon surrounded by the stars, and fainted, quite overpowered with the
sight of this ravishing object.” To faint seems, in fact, the customary
mode of showing affection. In another tale, the heroine on the slightest
provocation melts into “floods of tears” and the hero is not far behind
with his tears and swoons. Reproached by his mistress, he says, “It
struck me to my very soul, and in the height of my grief ... I fell into
a fit and swooned away at the foot of the throne.” Violent agitation, “a
languishing air,” transports of passion or of wrath, remorse which
causes death, call to mind the eighteenth-century novel of sentiment.
More sentimental than the _Arabian Nights_, the _Persian Tales_ is also
more fantastic. The talking bird of the prophet Isaac, which came to aid
Aboulfouaris on the desert island, had a blue head, red eyes, yellow
wings, and a green body. We are not surprised when the hero says, “I had
never seen one like it.” This remarkable bird is, however, eclipsed in
the same story by an ugly Afrite with a nose like an elephant’s trunk
and with one eye blood-red, the other blue, who led Aboulfouaris past
roaring lions, huge dragons, and fierce griffins. The Afrite and the
griffins themselves seem commonplace beside the prophet Elias, who is
pictured as a cavalier wearing a green turban set with rubies and riding
a rose-coloured horse under whose feet the earth immediately produces
flowers. In describing scenes of beauty or of horror the _Persian Tales_
is far more lavish than the _Arabian Nights_. The princess Tourandocte,
asking riddles of Prince Calaf, “not satisfied with putting this
question to him, ... maliciously threw off her veil, to dazzle and
confound him with the luster of her beauty. Her despite and shame [at
his having guessed her other riddles] had given her a blush which added
new charms, ... her head was adorned with ... flowers; ... and her eyes
shone brighter than the stars, brighter than the sun when he shines in
his full glory at the opening of the black cloud. The amorous son of
Timurtasch, at the sight of this incomparable princess ... stood mute.”
Scenes of horror are equally marvelous. The Persian Old Man of the Sea,
for instance, is a huge monster with tiger’s eyes and an impenetrable
skin, who meets his death only by battling with “the greatest roc that
was ever seen.”
Like the _Arabian Nights_, the _Thousand and One Days_ carries us to a
land of magic and enchantment. There we find the magic mountain of
polished steel which draws all ships to it with fatal power; the ring
with Solomon’s seal; and the magic chest that transports its occupant
through the air when guided by pressure of certain springs, like the
horse of brass. There are bad genii, black and lean with sparkling eyes
and horns; and there are good spirits, clothed in white like “religious
Sophis.” There are magicians like the witch Bedra, who sits in a dismal
cavern with a great book open upon her knees, in which she reads before
a furnace of gold, wherein there is a pot of silver, full of black earth
that boils without fire. Caverns of treasure contain kings and
princesses in magic sleep. One amusing variation from the ordinary
treasure-cave is the cavern of books. Avicena, the sage, says: “Towards
the Caspian Sea there is a mountain which is called the Red Mountain,
because it is covered with roses throughout the year.” At the foot is a
cavern of vast extent, the doors of which by virtue of a talisman open
once a year of their own accord and shut again in half an hour and
fifteen minutes, and if “any bookish man, too intent upon his choice of
authors,” stay, he is sure to be starved to death. “The wise Chec
Chehabeddin” gathered there twenty thousand books, which treat of the
philosopher’s stone, of the method of discovering hidden treasure, of
changing men into beasts, and of giving souls to vegetables: “all the
secrets of nature.”[15] Apparently this remarkable library was carefully
catalogued and efficiently watched by genii, who seized all persons that
neglected to return books and “tormented them cruelly, ... even to
death.”[16]
One of the greatest charms of the _Persian Tales_, as of its
better-known rival, lies in the mingling of reality and unreality.
Genuine glimpses of oriental customs and beliefs alternate with strange
adventures. The scenes are laid in real places, but the Eastern names
have a magic all their own. We see Aboulfouaris, “the Great Voyager,”
sailing down the Gulf of Basra, between Persia and Araby the Blest,
toward Ormus and the kingdom of Indes. It is easy for the fancy to fly
as on a magic carpet from the vale of Cashmere, from Carisme and
Candahar to Golconda and Samarcande; or to sail past China to the Isle
of Cheristany till our ship drives “to the Strait of the Moluccas, south
of the Philippines into seas unknown to our mariners.”
Strange customs are described with a lavish and yet plausible use of
detail. The throne of the king of China was “made of Catai steel in the
form of a dragon, about three cubits high; over it was a canopy of
yellow satin adorned with diamonds supported by four lofty pillars of
the same Catai steel.” The king, when disposed “to take the diversion of
fowling, ... was clothed in a straight caffetan, and his beard was tied
up in a black bag.” Grief of the Chinese courtiers for their king’s
death was expressed by dyeing their faces yellow and strewing rose
leaves before the throne. In the story of Aboulfouaris’s first voyage
occurs an elaborate description of the suttee—the funeral pyre, the
ablutions, the gorgeous apparel, and the voluntary suicide of the widow.
Other customs described are masquerades, visits, and feasts. On one
festival night fireworks were set off, sherbets and sweetmeats were
offered to every one, dancing to the tambours and deffs took place in
the square, and “Calenders ran to and fro in the street like men
transported with frenzy.” “The shops in all the great streets and
squares were hung with tapestry ... illuminated with sashes that
contained some verse out of the Alcoran; ... the sacred book might be
read entire as you walked the streets. It seemed as if the Angel Gabriel
had brought it down to our great prophet a second time in characters of
light.” The most binding oath is, “I swear by the black stone of the
sacred temple of Mecca and by the holy grove of Medina, where the tomb
of our prophet lies.” “There is no other God but one, and Mahomet is his
prophet.” Belief in the divine pen of fire that writes on a tablet of
light is referred to in the story of _Couloufe_. “I know not whether God
wills that I die or live for you, but at least I know well that it will
never be written in heaven that I shall repudiate you.” There are
several curious references to Eastern philosophies, _e.g._, the captive
princess who has just stabbed herself says: “[I learned in infancy] the
doctrine of Xaca, and you need not then wonder I had the courage to do
this. I am returning to my original nothing.” The king replies, “May
you ... after having passed through the nine hells, be born again
daughter of another sovereign as at the first transmigration.” In the
tale of _Fadlallah and Zemroude_ the idea of transmigration is
prominent.
Scattered through the _Persian Tales_ are incidents and phrases
suggesting familiar European stories. It is interesting to note the
resemblances, but impossible to say whether the original source was
oriental or European.[17] For instance, this version of the _Ballad of
the Heir of Linne_ occurs. Atalmulc, the spendthrift son of a rich
jeweler, had been told by his dying father that after he had wasted all
his patrimony, he should tie a rope to the branch of a certain tree in
the garden and “prevent the miseries of poverty.” Atalmulc, thinking his
father had suggested suicide, endeavoured to hang himself. The branch
broke, disclosing the careful father’s hoard of jewels. In the story of
_King Ruzvanchad_ the king marries the princess of the genii with the
promise never to reprove her, but to say, “She is a genie and has
special reasons for her actions.” He breaks his promise, after great
provocation; and she vanishes, to return after ten years to reward his
constancy. There is a resemblance here to the story of _Undine_. Both
tales, like _Lohengrin_ and _Cupid and Psyche_, are variants on the
world-wide theme: Lack of faith means loss of love. Other incidents in
_Ruzvanchad_ might find parallels in Celtic, or Teutonic, or Greek
legends. The king meets a white doe, “beautifully sprinkled with blue
and black spots; with rings of gold upon her feet; and upon her back a
yellow satin, bordered round with embroidery of silver.” She disappears
into a fountain; the king, thinking her a nymph in disguise, falls
asleep to be awakened by “a ravishing symphony” coming from “a very
magnificent palace all illuminated,” which has been raised by superhuman
power. Later he finds a melancholy lady in torn garments, who says: “I
am the daughter and the wife of a king, and yet not what I say. I am a
princess, and yet not what I am.” Her misfortunes prove to be due to the
machinations of a witch who, Duessa-like, has assumed her form and won
away her husband. In the _History of Two Brothers, Genies_ [_sic_],
_Adis and Dahy_, a tale in some respects coarse and repulsive, there is
a curious description of an island where ideas of beauty are topsyturvy;
the wrinkles and decrepitude of old age are adored and the loveliness of
youth despised—characteristics recalling the Topsyturvy land of European
story. In the same tale the costume of the islanders seems borrowed from
the _san benito_. They wore “long robes of cotton on which were painted
several figures of demons in red, green, and yellow, with flames and
other odd conceits.” In _The History of Malek and the Princess
Schirine_, Malek, by flying in a magic chest, gains entrance to the
apartment of the princess and persuades her and her father that he is
the prophet Mahomet and her destined husband. There are touches of
humour here, a rare quality in these tales. “I had eat up all my
provisions and spent all my money. The prophet Mahomet was reduced to as
low a state of want as ever man was that had asked alms.” Throughout the
tale there is a spirit of mockery, of practical joking, not unlike that
of a Spanish story. One cannot help surmising that Le Sage’s
collaboration with Pétis de la Croix went further than strictly
editorial work. In fact, in view of the resemblances to European legend
noted above, it is most probable that Pétis de la Croix himself, taking
advantage of the wave of enthusiasm recently aroused by Galland’s _Mille
et une Nuit_,[18] treated his oriental manuscripts far more freely even
than Galland, added decorative incidents from European sources, and
invented the title _Mille et un Jour_.[19] in direct imitation of
Galland’s title.
In general the _Persian Tales_ resembles the _Arabian Nights_ in the
mingling of magic and reality, of strange enchantments and oriental
customs almost as strange; in dramatic presentation of picturesque
incident and background; in lack of characterization and, with few
exceptions, of structural unity. But the _Persian Tales_ is far more
sentimental, more fantastic, more brilliant in colour. Here the reader
is in a fairy-land of charming or grotesque surprises, while in the
_Arabian Nights_, despite the misty clouds of enchantment, there is
substantial ground under foot. May not this be one reason why the
_Arabian Nights_ has always been a greater favourite in England than the
_Persian Tales_; and why, in France, the popularity of the _Persian
Tales_ has equaled, if not surpassed, that of the _Arabian Nights_?
The _Turkish Tales_, the third important collection, was translated from
French into English in 1708, and appeared also in a version called _The
Persian and the Turkish Tales Compleat [sic]_ (1714).[20] It is a
version of the old oriental story of _Sendebar_, best known to English
students in the Middle English form, _The Seven Sages of Rome_. The
frame-tale in this version is briefly as follows: Queen Canzade’s evil
passion for her stepson turns to hatred upon his rejection of her love
and her scheme to murder the king. The prince is bound to forty days’
silence for fear of a mysterious calamity predicted by his tutor. The
latter, meanwhile, to avoid questions retires discreetly into a cave.
Canzade persuades the king to decree the prince’s death; the forty
viziers successively plead for him by stories of wicked women and loyal
sons; the queen endeavours to win her way by tales of evil viziers and
murderous princes; until finally the tutor is unearthed, the prince
justified, and the queen condemned in his stead. The Tales are
appropriately called by the Turks “Malice of Women,” for the queen’s
stories reveal her malice and the vizier’s tales defend the prince more
by attacking women in general, and the queen in particular, than by
praising him.
In this satirical spirit the _Turkish Tales_ affords a marked contrast
to the _Persian Tales_. The two collections are similar in use of magic
and of oriental customs, lack of structural unity, absence of
characterization, and emphasis on the story for the story’s sake. The
_Turkish Tales_ differs in that it contains no elaborate descriptions.
This absence of stage-setting, as it were, focuses attention on the plot
and throws the characters into bolder relief. A few of the tales, as a
result, are admirable narratives. The best is the most famous of the
collection, _The Santon Barsisa_, quoted by Steele in the _Guardian_,
No. 148, and in that form suggesting to Lewis—according to his own
statement—the idea of _The Monk_.[21] The story here is brief and crude,
but swift in movement and powerful in a way not unlike early versions of
the Faust saga. The dialogues between the devil and the saint are
thoroughly dramatic; no mention has been made of the devil at all, and
the reader is as utterly unprepared for his sudden stage-entrance as is
the saint himself. An evil idea arises in the santon’s mind and, quick
as thought, “the devil, taking this opportunity, whispered in his ear
thus: ‘O santon, do not let slip such a fortunate minute.’” The santon
yields, commits one crime after another, is detected, and condemned to
be hanged. On the scaffold he hears a whisper in his ear: “‘O santon, if
you will worship me, I will extricate you out of this difficulty and
transport you two thousand leagues from here, into a country where you
shall be reverenced by men as much as you were before this
adventure.’—‘I am content,’ says Barsisa; ‘deliver me and I will worship
thee.’ ‘Give me first a sign of adoration,’ replies the devil; whereupon
the santon bowed his head and said, ‘I give myself to you.’ The devil,
then raising his voice, said, ‘O Barsisa, I am satisfied; I have
obtained what I desired’; and with these words, spitting in his face, he
disappeared, and the wretched santon was hanged.”
Of the other tales, six deserve mention. Two were quoted in the
_Spectator_: _Chec Chehabeddin and the Sultan of Egypt_ in No. 94; _The
Fable of the Sultan Mahmoud and the Two Owls_ in No. 512. The third, the
story of the _King of Aad_,[22] has an interesting resemblance to an
incident in _Gulliver’s Travels_. The fourth and fifth are
characteristic of the collection, _The History of the Brahman and the
Young Fiquay_, a Turkish version of the Aladdin story, and the oriental
apologue of _King Togrul-Bey_. The sixth, _The History of the Prince of
Carizme and the Princess of Georgia_, may be noted as exceptionally
fantastic, and as containing the song attributed to John Hughes:—
“Eternal are the chains which here
The generous souls of lovers bind,” etc.[23]
After the _Arabian Nights_, the _Persian Tales_, and the _Turkish
Tales_, the best imaginative oriental tales are the English versions of
the so-called pseudo-translations. The first to appear in English was
_The Travels and Adventures of the Three Princes of Serendip_[24] ...
(1722) from the French of De Mailli [or Mailly], whose version was in
turn from the Italian _Peregrinaggio_ ... by Armeno (1557).[25] The
events of the story, in De Mailli’s rendering, are said to have occurred
“in the happy time when kings were philosophers and sent each other
important problems to solve,”—a sentiment lacking in the Italian, and
characteristic of a French eighteenth-century version. The frame-tale
recounts the travels of three “equally beautiful and gifted” princes,
who seek culture and win success in various enterprises. In the Emperor
Behram’s country, their first adventure is the one probably imitated by
Voltaire in _Zadig_. They tell a camel driver that his lost camel is
blind, lame, and laden with honey, butter, etc., but that they have not
seen him. When accused of theft, they inform the judge that their close
observation of the camel’s footprints, the cropped herbage, etc., has
led them to infer the truth. Another achievement is their recovery of
the Emperor’s lost mirror of justice, which has the extraordinary
property of detecting false accusations. If a slanderer look into the
mirror, his face turns black and can be restored only by public
confession and penance. Many of the stories are apparently based on
Italian _novelle_ of shepherdesses, Venetian ladies, clever goldsmiths,
and other similar characters, and are unoriental. There is one story of
metempsychosis, however, similar to the oriental tale, _Fadlallah and
Zemroude_, in the _Persian Tales_. But “the general plan of the
_Peregrinaggio_ is more inflexible and homogeneous than is usual in
oriental tales.”[26] The English version stands by itself in being
perhaps the only pseudo-translation which came by way of
eighteenth-century France from sixteenth-century Italy.
One of the most facile and prolific of French writers of
pseudo-translations was Thomas Simon Gueullette (1683–1766). Four of his
collections were translated into English under the names: _Chinese
Tales, or the Wonderful Adventures of the Mandarin Fum-Hoam_ ... (1725);
_Mogul Tales, or the Dreams of Men Awake: being Stories Told to Divert
the Sultanas of Guzarat, for the Supposed Death of the Sultan_ (1736);
_Tartarian Tales; or, a Thousand and One Quarters of Hours_ (1759); and
_Peruvian Tales Related in One Thousand and One Hours by One of the
Select Virgins of Cuzco, to the Inca of Peru_ ... (1764, Fourth (?)
Edition).[27] The last named is a worthless collection, oriental or
rather pseudo-oriental in everything except _locale_ and interesting
only as an example of the ultra-fantastic, degenerate oriental tale. One
bit of unconscious humour rewards the reader; the author gives local
colour to the terrors of Peru by mentioning “muskettas, reptiles, and
other insects.”
Of the three other collections, the _Chinese Tales_ may serve as the
type. The frame-tale is as follows: The sultan of China in disguise wins
the love of the princess Gulchenraz, kills the usurper of her kingdom,
tests her love by the suit of a mock-sultan, and is accepted by her on
condition that her Mahometan faith be unmolested. She agrees to listen
to the Mandarin Fum-Hoam, who tells her tales to convert her to belief
in transmigration; and the sultan promises that, if she remain
unconverted, he will become a Mahometan. Fum-Hoam tells many tales, and
at the end reveals himself as her lost brother, who is wise as Solomon,
and who has brought to pass all the events of the story. He then
transports them to his kingdom, Georgia, and admits that there is no
truth in the transmigration theory, and that he has told his tales
solely to make the sultan keep his promise of embracing Mahometanism.
The frame-tale closes with the implication that they all lived happily
ever after. The oriental colouring is very slight. Transmigration is
mentioned only to be ridiculed. Reference is made to the suttee, to
pilgrimages to Mecca, and to the fast of Ramadan according to the Koran.
Descriptions of emotion are absurd; one hero dies of grief, with
lamentations “like the roarings of a lion.” The narratives are often
grotesque, _e.g._ the journey to the Country of Souls,[28] where the
soul can be put into a bag to be brought back to the land of the living
and reëmbodied by placing the bag at the mouth of the corpse. The
author’s fancy runs riot as to the successive transmigrations of
Fum-Hoam, who assumes in tedious succession numerous forms, such as
those of a dog, a maid, a flea, and a bat. There is surprisingly little
satire, considering the opportunities for observing mankind possible to
the ubiquitous Fum-Hoam. In the use of magic, the _Chinese Tales_
follows conventional lines—the elixir of life or water of youth, the
secret of transmuting metals to gold, the mysterious words of Solomon
which command the genii; cabalistic prayers, which reveal black marble
staircases leading to subterranean treasure-caves; and incantations in
the manner of Theocritus. Many other incidents imply a knowledge of
European legend and literature. One story tells of Grecian shepherds;
another of Kolao, the wild man, and his Robinson Crusoe life; another
recalls Pandora; another, the fairy tale of brothers rewarded for
helping fairies in the form of animals. One incident might easily be a
masque of Neptune—a venerable man rising from the sea in a chariot of
mother-of-pearl, drawn by sea-horses, and accompanied by mermaids. The
adventure of the prince in the haunted tower of the forty virgins serves
as sequel to a story similar to the _Pied Piper of Hamelin_. A dwarf
agreed for a certain sum to free the city of Ispahan from rats by
playing on tabor and pipe. When the people refused payment, they were
threatened with dire punishments by the dwarf’s mother, “a genie in the
shape of an old black woman above fifty feet high ... with a whip in her
hand,” unless they brought at once forty of their most beautiful
daughters. To the sound of the genie’s leather trumpet, “these unhappy
victims of their father’s perfidy” were led to the tower and seen no
more until rescued by the prince. The _Chinese Tales_ contains less
moralizing than the other pseudo-translations. There is one reference to
the happiness of a tranquil life away from court, from lawsuits, and
from women; one moral drawn as to the ill results of educating women: “I
am, from my own experience, fully satisfied that the care to govern her
family should be the only employ of a virtuous wife; and that it is next
to a miracle, if pride, or some other more dangerous passion, make not a
woman neglect her duty, when she once comes to apply herself to the
study of learning, and affects to surpass the rest of her sex.” We find,
also, the poetical fancy common in Persian literature that even the
palace of the king is but an inn, for its successive inhabitants are but
travelers upon earth toward the same common end,—death;[29] and the
equally familiar figure in which life is compared to a game of chess.
“Some act the kings, the queens, the knights, the fools, and simple
pawns. There is a vast difference between them, while they are in
motion; but when once the game is over, and the chess-board shut, they
are all thrown promiscuously together into the same box, without any
sort of distinction—all then become equal; and there is nothing but our
good works and charity towards our neighbours, that will give us the
superiority.”
Gueullette’s two other collections, the _Mogul Tales_ and the _Tartarian
Tales_, are similar in plan and treatment. Extravagant in the use of
magic, fantastic in description and incident, employing European legends
freely and oriental colouring very slightly, sometimes moralizing,
sometimes coarse, seldom satirical, imitating the faults rather than the
excellences of genuine oriental translations, these narratives are
frequently entertaining, but possess little intrinsic value.
One special point of interest in the _Mogul Tales_ must not be
omitted,—the incident of the sinners with flaming hearts,—since this was
probably the source of the parallel passage in Beckford’s _Vathek_. It
is worth remark as external evidence that the _Mogul Tales_ is in the
catalogue of Beckford’s library. The points of similarity and the
superiority of _Vathek_ are obvious, if the quotations from _Vathek_,
pp. 62–65 of this chapter, are compared with the following extract from
the _Mogul Tales_ (Weber’s _Tales of the East_, Edinburgh, 1812, Vol.
III., p. 58 _et seq._). Aboul-Assam tells how he saw “a flambeau ...
carried by a little man ... entering a subterranean passage.... We went
down together ... into the mountain; at last we traversed a long alley
of black marble; but so finely polished, that it had the appearance of a
looking-glass; ... we reached a large hall, where we found three men
standing mute, and in postures of sorrow. They were looking earnestly on
a triangular table, whereon lay a book, with clasps of gold; on its back
was this inscription: ‘Let no man touch this divine treatise that is not
perfectly pure’ ... I wish, said I ... that this peace may continue
always among you. Peace is banished from these sad places, replied the
eldest of the three, with an air of sternness.... We wait, said the
second, in this sepulcher, for the just judgment of God.—You are then,
continued I, great sinners.—Alas! cried the third, we are continually
tortured for our evil actions ... they unbuttoned their waistcoats, and
through their skin, which appeared like crystal, I saw their hearts
compassed with fire, by which, though burnt without ceasing, yet [they
were] ... never consumed; I then was at no loss for the reason of their
looking so ghastly and affrighted.” Aboul-Assam is then shown paintings
representing their crimes, rebukes them in horror, is in turn rebuked by
a picture of his own past sins, and condemned to blindness for seven
years. Vathek is also punished, but the genius of Beckford chooses a
more dramatic and awful penalty.
In connection with _Vathek_, the _Adventures of Abdalla, Son of
Hanif_ ... by Jean Paul Bignon, translated into English by William
Hatchett (1729),[30] is of even greater interest than the _Mogul Tales_.
It is similar in general character to its predecessors. The frame-tale,
which recounts Abdalla’s search for the fountain of youth, includes all
his adventures and the past history of all the people he meets, and is
so bewilderingly entangled that the _Arabian Nights_, by contrast, seems
simplicity itself. The tales are more or less interesting stories[31] of
adventure and love, and are melodramatic, humorous, moralizing, and
satirical. Magic abounds, European legends and previous oriental tales
are freely utilized, and great stress is laid upon the “horrid,” the
grotesque, the fantastic. Given these characteristics, it is easy to see
how _Abdalla_ appealed to the author of _Vathek_. That it did make a
strong appeal is shown by Beckford’s numerous borrowings. In every
instance he improved upon his original. The author of _Abdalla_
describes rest in a delightful country place surrounded by “flowers of
remarkable beauty,” “birds of every colour,” and “very fine trees.”
Beckford’s similar description gives concrete images—fountains, roses,
jessamines, violets, nightingales, doves, orange trees, palms, and
pomegranates. Dilsenguin, the hero in _Abdalla_, “precipitated himself
into a subterranean apartment,” seeking “detestable volumes” of magic.
The phantoms seized Dilsenguin by the feet and threw him into the well,
head foremost. When he reached the hall of Eblis, he found it an immense
temple of black and white marble. At the keystone of one of the arches
he saw “a globe of fire, which, sometimes obscure and sometimes
brilliant, filled the temple with unsteady flashes of light.” The globe
opened and there descended from it a huge old man in a yellow robe,
holding a scepter of gold. He “seated himself upon the throne. It was
the formidable Eblis.... His looks were horrid, his beard and hair
bristled.... [He had] a hole in the place of a nose,” etc. When
Dilsenguin thanked him for his magic books, Eblis, “enraged that a
mortal should break silence in his temple,” kicked him so violently that
he lost consciousness. Contrast the impressive description of Vathek’s
reception by “the formidable Eblis” enthroned upon the globe of fire.
“His person was that of a young man, whose noble and regular features
seemed to have been tarnished by malignant vapours; in his large eyes
appeared both pride and despair; his flowing hair retained some
resemblance to that of an angel of light; in his hand, which thunder had
blasted, he swayed the iron scepter that causes the monster Ouranabad,
the Afrits, and all the powers of the abyss to tremble; at his presence
the heart of the Caliph sunk within him, and for the first time, he fell
prostrate on his face.” Beckford’s Eblis is a faint but not wholly
unworthy echo of Milton’s Satan, while Bignon’s Eblis is merely the
grotesque ogre of the fairy tale.
The last pseudo-translation that need be noticed is the _New Arabian
Nights_ (1792), from the French of Dom Chavis and M. Cazotte.[32] The
book purported to be a continuation of the _Arabian Nights_, translated
from the Arabic. Modern scholars believe that the “translators”
undoubtedly utilized Arabic manuscripts as a basis, but made so many
changes that the book is to be regarded as a pseudo-translation. It may
be dismissed as a weak imitation of the _Arabian Nights_, redeemed in
part by two admirable tales: _The Robber Caliph_ and _The History of
Maugraby[33] the Magician_. The latter has additional interest in that
it suggested to Southey the germinal idea of _Thalaba_.[34] Maugraby,
the evil enchanter, half human, half genie, carries away children to his
magical domains under Mt. Atlas, and by tortures and caresses enslaves
them for his master Zatanai [Satan]. If obedient, they are taken to the
caverns under the sea adjoining the Dom Daniel near Tunis,—the school of
magic and the magnificent court of Asmodeus,—where evil magicians
assemble in the wane of the moon. The hero of this tale is the captive
prince Habed, who after exciting adventures compasses the destruction of
Maugraby and the liberation of his prisoners, including the princess of
Egypt. The story closes with the marriage of the prince and the
princess. The narrative is marred by coarse incidents and a few long
digressions, but contains several interesting passages, _e.g._ the
introductory scenes between Maugraby, the vizier, the buffoon,[35] and
the king; the descriptions of the wiles of the magician; and the account
of Habed’s life in the fairy palace. The interest is always centered on
the hero’s terrible task of fighting the powers of darkness, led by
Maugraby. The latter possesses no countenance peculiar to himself, but
changes even his features according to the passion of the moment and
transfers his evil soul from one body to another. “He takes every method
to engage the kings of the earth to part with their first-born sons to
him that they may become powerful instruments in his hands; ... he
prowls about the houses of those that are discontented. If a father ...
be displeased with his son and happen to curse him, he seizes the child;
if, on the other hand, the son should curse his father, still the child
is made his prey.... If a caravan set out for Upper Egypt ... through
the desart [_sic_], the magician mounts on the wind schirak ... in order
to destroy them. When the unfortunate company are reduced to the last
extremity, he appears ... as a benefactor ... on condition that they
shall surrender themselves soul and body to him, to Zatanai [Satan] and
the great Kokopilesobe [Lucifer]. The caravan agreeing, presently
arrives at his retreat, and, instead of two or three hundred beasts of
burden, there are now above four hundred; for all the merchants and
other persons are metamorphosed into brutes.... Though he was handsome
in his youth, his person is now become a mass of deformity, as well as
his mind. His decrepitude is such as may be expected from his great age,
which exceeds a century and a half. His human body is a mere chimera; he
can, however, assume every form he chooses, and nothing discovers him
but the sinister expression of his eye.”[36]
The other tale, _The Robber Caliph_, is farcical and amusing—very
different from _Maugraby_. Haroun Alraschid, tired of elaborate court
festivals, escapes to his beloved streets of Bagdad in the disguise of
an Arab robber-chief, “Il Bondocani.” His thirst for adventure is
gratified by the rescue of a white-handed beggar-woman, who proves to be
the princess of Persia. She, likewise, wanders disguised through the
city, and unwittingly rouses Haroun’s jealousy of a young officer,
Yemalledin. The latter and the princess are imprisoned. Again the
disguised caliph goes forth, finds a poor old woman with a marvelously
beautiful daughter, Zutulbe, and sends the mother to order the cadi to
marry Zutulbe and “Il Bondocani.” The old woman’s mystification, the
cadi’s haughty behaviour and his sudden obsequiousness at the name of
“Il Bondocani” are amusing; and so are the sudden preparations for the
gorgeous wedding-feast and the more sudden dispersal of clamouring
neighbours by the display of “Il Bondocani’s” ring. The caliph discovers
from the old woman’s talk the innocence of her son Yemalledin, reveals
his identity, restores Yemalledin to honour, and gives him the Princess
of Persia. Of course all live happily ever after. The dramatic effect
throughout is capital, for the reader is in the secret and enjoys with
Haroun the complication and the resolution of the plot. There are many
admirable touches in dialogue, description, and oriental setting. On the
whole, the story deserves to rank with the true _Arabian Nights_.
Following these pseudo-translations, three small groups of imaginative
oriental fiction deserve brief notice: the heroic romances, the
realistic tales, and the eclogues. Of little intrinsic value, they are
interesting chiefly as evidence of the diffusion of the orientalizing
tendency. The first group includes reprints and imitations of a few of
the heroic romances of the previous century. _The Beautiful Turk_ (1720)
is another translation of the French romance by G. de Brémond translated
as _Hattige, or the Amours of the King of Tamaran ..., a Novel_ (a
_roman à clef_ concerning Charles II. and the Duchess of Cleveland),
published Amsterdam, 1680, and also in Vol. I. (1679 or 1683?), of R.
Bentley’s _Modern Novels_, London (1679–1692).[37] The _Bajazet_ of J.
Regnauld de Segrais was reprinted in 1725.[38] Mrs. Aubin’s _Noble
Slaves, or the Lives and Adventures of Two Lords and Two Ladies_
(1722?)[39] is Spanish in plot and character, but contains minor
personages,—Chinese, Persian, etc.,—who recount their experiences. In
1733 appeared a translation from the French of D’Orville: _The
Adventures of Prince Jakaya, or the Triumph of Love over Ambition, being
Secret Memoirs of the Ottoman Court_,[40] a romantic tale. Jakaya, the
true heir to the Ottoman sultanate, flees in disguise from his brother’s
murderous wrath, has many adventures, marries for love, and renounces
ambition. The story is imaginative, but is too frequently moralistic and
didactic. Yet, with others of the same type, it is interesting as
constituting the last feeble wave of the receding tide of
seventeenth-century heroic romances. It is true that these romances were
read far into the eighteenth century; witness Mrs. Lennox’s satire, _The
Female Quixote_, and George Colman’s _Polly Honeycomb_. But by 1740
imitations had ceased to be written; the wave had spent its force and
ebbed away in stories like _The Adventures of Prince Jakaya_.
The second group referred to at the beginning of the preceding
paragraph, also of little intrinsic value, is of even greater
consequence as a touchstone of the times. The realistic oriental tales
connect the orientalizing tendency, if one may so call it, with the more
profound and widespread tendency of the age toward realism.
Appropriately enough, the first great writer of realistic fiction in the
century, was also the first to utilize—though very slightly—the oriental
material in a realistic tale. In _The Farther Adventures of Robinson
Crusoe_ (1719),[41] the hero travels through China, where he meets
mandarins, sees porcelain houses, and witnesses “incredible
performances.” In Muscovy he destroys a village idol, escapes in safety,
fights Cossacks, etc.—incidents in the manner of travelers’ accounts. In
1755 a feeble imitation of _Robinson Crusoe_ appeared, with some
resemblance to an oriental tale. It is best described by the title: _The
Life and surprizing Adventures of Friga Reveep, of Morlaix, France, who
was Sixteen years in an uninhabited Part of Africa and how he met with a
young Virgin who was bannish’d and in what manner they liv’d together
and had two children, a Son and a Daughter, the latter dying when she
was six years of Age; together with their surprizing Deliverance to
their own Country again with a faithful Relation of all that past during
the Time that he was there. Written in French by himself and translated
into English by Mr. Transmarine_ (1755).[42] Four or five other members
of this realistic group, though comparatively unimportant, are worth
notice, because they are possibly founded on tales brought home from the
East by English merchants, and thus bear witness to the growing interest
of England in the Orient. In _The History of Rodomond and the Beautiful
Indian_,[43] an English merchant, saved from treacherous natives by an
East Indian girl, escapes with her to England and marries her. _The
History of Henrietta de Bellgrave_[43] is the story of a girl, who,
shipwrecked in the East Indies, escapes from pirates, leads a Robinson
Crusoe life, and is finally married to a “Banyan.” _The Disinterested
Nabob_ (1788)[44] is an anonymous “novel, interspersed with genuine
descriptions of India, its Manners and Customs.” The scene is laid
partly in India, and there is an unsuccessful attempt at local colour.
The story is in reality a mediocre imitation of _Sir Charles Grandison_.
_The Asiatic Princess_, by Mrs. Pilkington (1800),[45] is oriental only
in so far as the heroine is the Princess Merjee of Siam and references
are made to Eastern treatment of slaves and to the suttee. The princess
is intrusted to an English lady and her husband to be educated by
travel. Her instructors moralize on the differences between oriental and
English ways, and endeavour to guide her by moral tales. Another
realistic story, _The Female Captive_, has far more life. The entire
title reads, _The Female Captive, a narrative of Facts which happened in
Barbary in the Year 1756, written by herself_. London, 1769.[46] It has
many evidences of being a true story. The heroine, engaged to an
Englishman, sails for home from Minorca under the care of a Mr. Crisp.
Captured by Moors, she passes for his sister, and later for his wife, to
save herself. After imprisonments and other hardships, she is given an
audience by the prince of the country and thoughtlessly repeats unknown
words a French boy interpreter asks her to say. They prove to be, “There
is no God but God, and Mahomet is his prophet,” and she is told by the
prince that her saying them has made her a Moor, subject to death by
fire if she prove renegade.[47] Through Mr. Crisp’s aid she escapes to
England. There she finds her fiancé unworthy, and is finally married to
Mr. Crisp. The narrative is by far the best of the realistic group.
There are frequent appeals to Virtue and Fortitude in true
eighteenth-century style, but the story is well told. Little direct
description of the narrator is given, yet from what she does and suffers
and what others do for her, it is easy to picture her as a fair English
girl, shy and brave—an attractive heroine.
_The Fair Syrian_, by Robert Bage (1787),[48] is a long and tedious
novel in letter-form, diversified by the adventures of the English
heroine among the Turks, and extolling her devotion to Virtue. _The
Anaconda_, by “Monk” Lewis, in _Romantic Tales_ (1808),[49] belongs in
certain respects to this group, being a realistic story of the
adventures of various English people and natives in the East in their
struggles with an anaconda. Before leaving these realistic tales, it may
be well to mention _The Unfortunate Princess_, by Mrs. Eliza Haywood
(1741),[50] a fantastic tale called by the author “a veracious history,”
but bearing every mark of invention. Extravagant in describing magic
storms and horrible monsters, coarse, didactic, and bombastic, the story
is valuable only as exemplifying both the moralizing and the fantastic
tendencies under the guise of realism.
The third group referred to above (p. 46) includes the oriental
eclogues, of which the chief writers were William Collins, Thomas
Chatterton, and John Scott.[51] The four brief poems by Collins
published in 1742 as _Persian Eclogues_,[52] and afterward (1757) called
_Oriental Eclogues_, include: I. _Selim, or the Shepherd’s Moral_, which
represents the shepherd Selim in “a valley near Bagdat” calling the
shepherdesses to practise various virtues; II. _Hassan, or the Camel
Driver_, being Hassan’s lament over the dangers of the desert; III.
_Abra, or the Georgian Sultana_, a poem praising the pastoral life of
the beautiful shepherdess who married the Sultan and brought him back
occasionally to the happy shepherd life for a vacation from the cares of
state; and IV. _Agib and Secander, or the Fugitives_. These eclogues
bear to the later and better work of Collins a relation similar to that
borne by Tennyson’s youthful experiments in versification to the poems
of his maturity. Collins’s eclogues are not remarkable as poetry, but
they are superior to Chatterton’s or Scott’s, and they possess something
of the delicate finish and the pensive note characteristic of the author
of _The Ode to Evening_. Chatterton’s _African Eclogues_[53] are three
in number: I. _Narva and Mored_ (May, 1770), recounting the love of the
priest Narva for the beautiful Mored, and their tragic death; II. _The
Death of Nicou_ (June, 1770), who avenged his sister and slew himself;
and III. _Heccar and Gaira_ (printed 1784; written January, 1770), the
vengeance wrought by Gaira for the enslaving of his family. These poems
are characterized by crude imaginative force and incoherent, almost
Ossianic, fervor. John Scott’s (1730–1783) _Oriental Eclogues_
(1782)[54] (I. _Zerad, or the Absent Lover, an Arabian Eclogue_; II.
_Serim, or the Artificial Famine, an East-Indian Eclogue_; and III.
_Li-po, or the Good Governor, a Chinese Eclogue_) are early examples of
the influence of the movement we have called the new scholarly movement.
The author refers to the “elegant and judicious essay” of the “learned
and ingenious Mr. Jones” [_i.e._ Sir William Jones]; and, like Moore and
Southey, though with less assimilative power, draws copiously from
numerous orientalists. Hence Scott’s use of oriental material forms an
interesting link between the simple Johnsonian manner of orientalizing
by a few phrases—a manner exemplified in the eclogues of Collins—and the
elaborate orientalization in the verse of Southey and of Moore.[55]
Two years after the death of Scott, in 1785, appeared one of the most
interesting of all the imaginative oriental tales: _Charoba_, translated
from the French, and published by Clara Reeve in _The Progress of
Romance_.[56] In addition to considerable intrinsic value, _Charoba_
deserves especial notice as the direct source of Landor’s poem, _Gebir_
(1798). The story of _Charoba_ is briefly as follows: Gebirus, the
fierce and gigantic king of the Gadites, determines to marry Charoba,
queen of Egypt, and take possession of her kingdom. His naïve motive is
the hope of being cured of an illness by the favourable climate of that
country. A prelude concerning Charoba gives an account of her father
Totis, a cruel despot, who, like Balak, seeks to propitiate God’s
servant—in this case, Abraham. Totis dies; Charoba, handsome,
“ingenious,” generous, and wise, is made queen, and receives from
Abraham a blessing, which distinctly foreshadows her victory over
Gebirus, and enhances the artistic effect: “Great God, give her subtilty
to deceive her enemies and to vanquish all those who shall arise to do
her harm and to strive with her for her land.” On the appearance of
Gebirus, Charoba’s nurse, a great enchantress, persuades him by rich
gifts and by Charoba’s promise to marry him when his task is done, to
build a city with the stones he has brought to dam the Nile. He makes no
progress, because the nurse employs demons of the sea to tear down the
work each night. At last he learns from a melancholy shepherd that every
evening a fair lady rises from the sea, overcomes the shepherd in
wrestling, and takes away a sheep; the flock is diminishing, and he is
pining for love of her. Gebirus in his stead overcomes the lady and wins
as price of her freedom the secret of circumventing the destructive
demons and of getting treasure from a magic cave. Thus he finishes his
city. Charoba, desperate, by her nurse’s advice poisons his army,
receives him with royal honours, and kills him with a poisoned robe.[57]
Three years later she dies from a serpent’s sting, and is buried in
Gebirus’s city.
The scene of the death of Gebirus is dramatic. The subtle nurse,
throwing over his shoulders the poisoned robe, sprinkled him with magic
water, and he fell at Charoba’s feet. The attendants raised him up and
seated him on a throne. The nurse said to him: “‘Is the king well
tonight?’—He replied—‘A mischief on your coming hither!—May you be
treated by others as you have treated me!—this only grieves me, that a
man of strength and valour should be overcome by the subtilty of a
woman.’ ‘Is there anything you would ask of me before you taste of
death?’ said the queen—‘I would only intreat,’ said he, ‘that the words
I shall utter may be engraven on one of the pillars of this palace which
I have built.’ Then said Charoba, ‘I give thee my promise that it shall
be done; and I also will cause to be engraven on another pillar, “This
is the fate of such men as would compel queens to marry them, and
kingdoms to receive them for their kings.” Tell us now thy last words.’
“Then the king said—‘I, Gebirus the Metaphequian, the son of Gevirus,
that have caused marbles to be polished,—both the red and the green
stone to be wrought curiously; who was possessed of gold, and jewels,
and various treasures; who have raised armies; built cities, erected
palaces:—who have cut my way through mountains; have stopped rivers; and
done many great and wonderful actions:—with all this my power and my
strength, and my valour and my riches, I have been circumvented by the
wiles of a woman; weak, impotent, and deceitful; who hath deprived me of
my strength and understanding; and finally hath taken away my
life:—wherefore, whoever is desirous to be great and to prosper; (though
there is no certainty of long success in this world)—yet, let him put no
trust in a woman, but let him, at all times, beware of the craft and
subtilty of a woman.’ After saying these words, he fainted away and they
supposed him dead; but after some time he revived again. Charoba
comforted him and renewed her promise to him. Being at the point of
death, he said: ‘Oh Charoba!—triumph not in my death!—for there shall
come upon thee a day like unto this, and the time is not very far
distant.—Then thou shalt reflect on the vicissitudes of fortune and the
certainty of death.’”[58]
The other notable scene, the victory of Gebirus over the sea-nymph,
recalls the Siegfried-Brunhilde story. The entire shepherd-episode, the
nightly destruction of the day’s work, and the incident of the poisoned
robe, are like classic legends. The strange demons of the sea, the
spell-bound statues, the enchanted cave, remind one of many oriental
tales. Magic in _Charoba_ is used with considerable skill, and is made
subsidiary to, and symbolic of, human subtlety. It is the cunning of
Charoba’s nurse, more than her witchcraft, that wins the final victory,
and both kinds of skill typify the desperate resistance of Charoba’s
will to the determination of Gebirus. But the characterization is faint,
as in other oriental tales; the characters are suggested rather than
wrought out. As a whole, _Charoba_ has a rude, tragic force far superior
to that of the average oriental tale. No wonder it kindled the
imagination of Landor.
The poet’s use of the material he found in _Charoba_ is characteristic
of his peculiar genius. He has kept the main features: the determined
wooing of the princess by Gebir, the building and destruction of his
city, the shepherd-episode, and the manner of Gebir’s death. He has
omitted the prelude concerning Totis and Abraham, and the sequel
concerning Charoba’s death. The poem closes with the death of Gebir,
consistently with Landor’s theme, which is not _The History of Charoba_,
but _Gebir_. For the same reason throughout the poem he has heightened
the character of Gebir into an heroic figure of almost epic proportions.
The Gebirus of the _History_, a fierce and rude giant, who covets Egypt
for selfish reasons, gives place to a patriotic hero, who invades Egypt
in revenge for ancestral wrongs, ambitious, brave, full of pity for his
brother Tamar and of love for Charoba, devout and reverent to the gods,
oppressed by impending fate, yet undaunted. It is the figure of the
traditional epic hero. To throw it into bolder relief, Landor has
changed Charoba from the proud queen to a love-sick girl, whose fear and
pride keep her from avowing her passion for Gebir. Her silence causes
Gebir’s death, for her nurse Dalica, inferring that she does not love
him, proceeds, unknown to Charoba, to compass his death. Dalica’s use of
magic gives Landor the opportunity of inserting one of his most striking
passages, describing her visit to the ruined city and incantations over
the poisoned robe. The magic in _Gebir_ is no longer the primitive
enchantment of _The History of Charoba_. The latter recalls Biblical and
oriental stories, such as the _Witch of Endor_ or the _Arabian Nights_;
but the former is rather the magic of classical legend,—incantations
like those in Theocritus and Homer. The descent into the subterranean
treasure-cave in _Charoba_ is replaced by the journey of Gebir to Hades,
where he is taught the futility of ambition and the certainty of
punishment for evil-doers and of reward for the righteous after death.
The shepherd-episode is developed into a story by itself after the
manner of Ovid, with descriptions of the nymph, the woods, the seashore,
the shepherd, and the wrestling-match. In such ways the poem assumes an
entirely different aspect from that of the _History_. It has lost the
crude and primitive simplicity of the conflict between the wills of
Charoba and of Gebirus, but it has gained in the heroic proportions of
the character of Gebir, in remarkable descriptive passages, and in blank
verse of great, though uneven, beauty.
Of even greater significance than _Charoba_ is the _History of the
Caliph Vathek_,[59] the bizarre masterpiece of William Beckford, which
holds among all the oriental tales of the century a unique and
deservedly high place. It is indeed almost the only modern oriental
story “which might appear without disadvantage in the _Arabian Nights_,
with Aladdin on its right hand and Ali Baba on its left.”[60] Although
not a great book, it is entitled to live chiefly for the sake of one
remarkable scene—the catastrophe in the Hall of Eblis—in which the
author, having laid aside the mockery, the coarseness, and the flippancy
that reduce the first part of the book to the level of a mere _jeu
d’esprit_, shows himself capable of conceiving and depicting an
impressive catastrophe. From the moment when Vathek and Nouronihar
approach the dark mountains guarding the infernal regions until they
meet their doom, the note of horror is sustained. “A deathlike stillness
reigned over the mountain and through the air; the moon dilated on a
vast platform the shade of the lofty columns which reached from the
terrace almost to the clouds; the gloomy watch-towers were veiled by no
roof, and their capitals, of an architecture unknown in the records of
the earth, served as an asylum for the birds of darkness, which, alarmed
at the approach of such visitants, fled away croaking.” They proceeded,
and, “ascending the steps of a vast staircase, reached the terrace,
which was flagged with squares of marble, and resembled a smooth expanse
of water, upon whose surface not a leaf ever dared to vegetate; on the
right rose the watch-towers, ranged before the ruins of an immense
palace.” On the walls Vathek beheld an Arabic inscription permitting him
to enter the subterranean abode of Eblis. “He had scarcely read these
words before the mountain against which the terrace was reared,
trembled, and the watch-towers were ready to topple headlong upon them;
the rock yawned, and disclosed within it a staircase of polished marble
that seemed to approach the abyss; upon each stair were planted two
large torches, like those Nouronihar had seen in her vision, the
camphorated vapour ascending from which gathered into a cloud under the
hollow of the vault.” They descended to be welcomed by the malignant
Giaour who had first tempted Vathek, and to be led into a magnificent
hall radiant with light and fragrant with subtle odours, but containing
“a vast multitude incessantly passing, who severally kept their right
hands on their hearts,” as if in agony. Refusing to explain this ominous
mystery, the guide conducted them into the presence of “the formidable
Eblis,” the fallen archangel enthroned on a globe of fire.[61] He
received them and promised them treasures and talismans. But when they
eagerly followed the evil Giaour to an inner treasurechamber, they heard
from “the great Soliman” himself an account of his ambitions, his evil
deeds, and his terrible punishment. He “raised his hands toward
Heaven ... and the Caliph discerned through his bosom, which was
transparent as crystal, his heart enveloped in flames.” To Vathek’s cry
of terror the malicious Giaour replied: “‘Know, miserable prince! thou
art now in the abode of vengeance and despair: thy heart also will be
kindled, like those of the other votaries of Eblis. A few days are
allotted to thee previous to this fatal period; employ them as thou
wilt; recline on these heaps of gold; command the Infernal
Potentates, ... no barrier shall be shut against thee; as for me, I have
fulfilled my mission: I now leave thee to thyself.’ At these words he
vanished.” When the inevitable hour came, their hearts “immediately took
fire, and they at once lost the most precious of the gifts of
Heaven—Hope.” Their mutual passion turned into hate and they “plunged
themselves into the accursed multitude, there to wander in an eternity
of unabating anguish.”
The rest of the book does not begin to equal the catastrophe. Perhaps,
indeed, one should not take it too seriously, but regard it rather as an
intentionally absurd and brilliant extravaganza. Beckford seems to have
begun merely with the idea of writing a clever oriental tale in the
lighter manner of Voltaire and Count Hamilton; but, as he went on
improvising one fantastic scene after another, the concept of the Hall
of Eblis fired his imagination and roused his real genius. The plot
follows the caprice of the narrator in turning aside for grotesque
episodes, but is clear in its main course. It begins with Vathek’s
impious building of a marvelously high tower from whence he studies
astrology. Suddenly “a hidious Giaour” appears at court and intensifies
the Caliph’s evil ambition for power and riches at any cost. Vathek
abjures his Mahometan faith, murders, or at least attempts to murder,
fifty innocent children after winning their confidence; with the aid of
his mother, a horrible sorceress, kills many of his faithful subjects;
insults holy dervishes; and finally violates the sacred hospitality of
the Emir Fakreddin by seducing his daughter Nouronihar. Her ambition
strengthens that of Vathek, and together they go on to their inevitable
fate. Throughout the story premonitions, ominous hints of impending
disaster, are skilfully used to prepare for the tragic outcome. Charming
scenes of quiet beauty—serene sunsets, children playing with butterflies
and flowers, nightingales singing among the roses—are almost invariably
followed by some sudden horror: an eclipse, streaks of blood across the
blue sky, a vast black chasm, and other terrifying portents. The whole
book gives the impression of an extraordinary dream. On one occasion
Nouronihar, led by a strange globe of fire, followed through the
darkness. “She stopped a second time, the sound of waterfalls mingling
their murmurs, the hollow rustlings amongst the palm-branches, and the
funereal screams of the birds from their rifted trunks, all conspired to
fill her with terror; she imagined every moment that she trod on some
venomous reptile; all the stories of malignant Dives and dismal Goules
thronged into her memory; but her curiosity was, notwithstanding,
stronger than her fears.” Such passages reveal the kinship of _Vathek_
with _The Mysteries of Udolpho_ and other “tales of terror.” An
interesting distinction is noticeable between the kind of horror present
here and that in tales like the _Arabian Nights_. In the latter it is
more objective and lacks the psychological, uncanny quality found in
_Vathek_ and the others. _Vathek_ is, however, a thoroughly oriental
tale of terror. The author handles his rich store of oriental allusions,
names, phrases, and imagery, so easily that one would hardly realize how
great the abundance is, if one were not confronted with the elaborate
annotations by the first editor, Henley. The exotic brilliance of the
various scenes is enhanced by references to the angels Munkir and Nekir,
who guard the bridge of death; to incantations and prayers; to the blue
butterflies of Cashmere; the loves of Megnoun and Leileh; cheeks the
colour of the blossom of the pomegranate, etc. Another element of charm
in _Vathek_ is the style, admirably clear and forcible, though
occasionally grandiose. Written by Beckford originally in French, the
book retains in the English version something of the French manner.
Always lucid, sometimes oratorical, frequently crisp and witty, the
style recalls that of Count Hamilton and of Voltaire. Beckford follows
his French prototypes, also, in his spirit of mockery and sarcasm, his
fitful humour, and intentional extravagance. When Vathek was angry “one
of his eyes became so terrible, that no person could bear to behold it,
and the wretch upon whom it was fixed instantly fell backward and
sometimes expired. For fear, however, of depopulating his domains and
making his palace desolate, he but rarely gave way to his anger.” Vathek
“wished to know everything, even sciences that did not exist.” In one of
the most grotesque scenes the Caliph and all his court were bewitched
into kicking the Giaour, who had rolled himself up into a ball, until he
disappeared into a chasm.
But Beckford’s mockery has frequently a repulsive quality; it is brutal
as well as cynical, and usually dwells with repellent emphasis on things
that appeal to the senses. His brief and brilliant descriptions of
sensuous beauty—colour, form, fragrance, melody—are also too frequently
tinged with sensuality. This does not preclude, however, the moralizing
tendency; in fact, the two propensities are often coexistent in the
oriental tales, as they are in other forms of literature. Besides
repulsive mockery and sensuality the most serious defect in _Vathek_ is
one we have noticed as distinctive of the oriental fiction under
discussion, _i.e._ lack of characterization. The hero himself is a mere
bundle of attributes, self-indulgent, voluptuous, cruel, and ambitious,
not a living individual. Hence even the impressive catastrophe lacks
vitality and fails to rouse either the tragic terror or the tragic pity.
_Vathek_ has been called a sporadic and isolated phenomenon in
eighteenth-century fiction. In one sense that is true; there was before
_Vathek_ no book just like it, and there has been none since. Yet it is
far more closely connected with its predecessors and successors than has
been generally acknowledged. We have already pointed out the obligations
of Beckford to the _Mogul Tales_ and the _Adventures of Abdalla_ and
suggested his indebtedness to Hamilton and Voltaire. The _Arabian
Nights_ was an obvious source of inspiration. The moralistic tales of
Dr. Johnson and of Hawkesworth, in which the hero is punished for evil
deeds, in all probability gave suggestions to Beckford. In the scene of
the Hall of Eblis, _Vathek_ is unique, and in a certain brilliance of
execution the book has few equals. Yet far from being sporadic or
abnormal, it is rather an epitome of many characteristic features of the
oriental tale: fantastic in plot and brilliant in colouring like the
_Arabian Nights_; weak in characterization, marred by sensuality, and
grotesque in incident like many oriental tales; witty and satirical like
some of the fiction of Voltaire and Hamilton; and tinged with the
moralizing spirit seen in Dr. Johnson’s tales. As a “tale of terror” it
exemplifies another contemporary tendency of English fiction. The wealth
of oriental allusion drawn from books reflects one more contemporaneous
movement, the revival of interest in the East by scholars like Sir
William Jones, and in so far foreshadows the similar use of similar
material by Moore, Southey, and Byron. To Byron,[62] moreover, as to
lesser writers like Barry Cornwall,[63] _Vathek_ was a direct source of
inspiration.[64] For all these reasons the book is especially
interesting to students of the literary history of the times.[65]
Half-way between the imaginative oriental tales and the moralistic is a
small group including such stories as _Amorassan, or the Spirit of the
Frozen Ocean_[66] and _The History of Abdalla and Zoraide, or Filial and
Paternal Love_. The former is one of the _Romantic Tales_ of M. G. Lewis
(1808), and is in part a close translation from _Der Faust der
Morgenländer_ by F. M. Klinger and in part original with Lewis. It is a
heavy and uninteresting story concerning a caliph, his brother, good and
bad viziers, genii, and fishermen. The spirit of the frozen ocean comes
to the good vizier Amorassan “to dispel illusions,” and shows him so
much of the truth about mankind that he is handicapped in all his
actions and exiled. He attains happiness only after dismissing the
uncomfortable monitor. The moral is explicit: Do not endeavour to dispel
illusions, “let benevolence and reason guide you: beyond that all is
Destiny.” There is a slight attempt at oriental colouring and at
fanciful descriptions, but the tale is of little value. _The History of
Abdalla and Zoraide_[67] (1750?) is recommended on the title-page as
“well worthy the perusal of every tender parent and dutiful child”; and,
as might be inferred, is a highly moral effort. It is interesting
chiefly in that it is the possible source of a tale used by Goldsmith to
embellish _The Citizen of the World_, and that it may, with _Amorassan_,
be taken as a type of the imaginative oriental tale so far removed from
purely imaginative fiction like the _Arabian Nights_, the _Persian
Tales_, or _Charoba_, as to be almost moralistic.
CHAPTER II
THE MORALISTIC GROUP
If among the imaginative tales there are some that approach the
moralistic, on the other hand there are among the moralistic tales at
least three thoroughly imaginative. Two are translations of _contes_ by
Marmontel: _The Watermen of Besons_ and _Friendship put to the Test_;
the third is Thomas Parnell’s poem, _The Hermit_. Marmontel’s two tales
share the characteristics of his _Contes Moraux_ in general, “light,
elegant, and graceful beyond anything to which I can compare them in
English: their form is exquisite, and they are sometimes imagined with a
fineness, a poetic subtlety, that is truly delicious. If the reader can
fancy the humor of some of the stories in the _Spectator_ turned wit,
their grace indefinitely enhanced, their not very keen perception of the
delicate and the indelicate indefinitely blunted, their characterization
sharpened almost to an edge of cynicism at times, he will have something
like an image of the _Moral Tales_ in his mind.”[68] In fact, as Mr.
Howells suggests in the same essay, “The _Moral Tales_ of Marmontel are
moral, as the _Exemplary Novels_ of Cervantes are exemplary; the
adjectives are used in an old literary sense, and do not quite promise
the spiritual edification of the reader, or if they promise it, do not
fulfil the promise ... they are not such reading as we might now put
into young people’s hands without fear of offending their modesty, but
they must have seemed miracles of purity in their time, and they
certainly take the side of virtue, of common sense, and of nature,
whenever there is a question of these in the plot.” Marmontel himself
says that he has endeavoured “de rendre la vertu aimable”; and he adds:
“Enfin j’ai tâché partout de peindre ou les mœurs de la societé, ou les
sentiments de la nature; et c’est ce qui m’a fait donner à ce Recueil le
titre de Contes Moraux.”[69]
Clearly, then, Marmontel stands half-way between purely imaginative
writers and weightier moralists like Dr. Johnson, who paraphrased
Horace:—
“Garrit aniles
Ex re fabellas.”
—_Sat._, II., VI., 76.
“The cheerful sage, when solemn dictates fail,
Conceals the moral counsel in a tale.”[70]
_The Watermen of Besons_[71] is a story of multifarious adventures. The
beautiful and virtuous heroine, a young French girl, is slave
successively to a sultan, a prince, an old Cypriote, and a Knight of
Malta; preserves both life and honour; and is ultimately reunited to her
faithful lover André, the Waterman of Besons. He, meanwhile, has been
hither and yon in the Orient, as prisoner, vizier, and cook, escaping
from one farcical predicament after another. The scenes change from
France to Persia, India, and Syria. The oriental setting is picturesque,
if slight, and assists in emphasizing the virtue and piety of the
heroine and in exalting the simple country life of the boatman and his
family in contrast to the luxury and vain pleasures of the sultan’s
court. The story is cleverly told from introduction to close; and,
except for some ostentatious moralizing and a few questionable
incidents, is thoroughly attractive. In _Friendship put to the
Test_,[72] there is more moralizing and less art. It is a commonplace
tale of the self-sacrifice of a youth who relinquishes his bride to his
friend on discovering their mutual love. The heroine is a young East
Indian, daughter to a pious Bramin who worships Vishnu by the sacred
Ganges. The author endeavours to give additional local colour by
referring to “the custom of flattering a widow before she is burned.” He
satirizes European bigotry by describing the Brahmin’s tolerance toward
other creeds; makes one of his oriental personages criticize European
etiquette in the manner of the _Lettres Persanes_; and praises
simplicity and the ingenuous emotions of nature quite after the fashion
of Rousseau.[73]
Marmontel’s tales have been praised by no less a critic than Ruskin as
being “exquisitely finished.” With them, so far as careful structure and
polished style are concerned, _The Hermit_[74] of Thomas Parnell may not
unreasonably be classed. The poem is so well-known that only a brief
comment is necessary here. It is a good example of the beauty and force
given to an exceedingly simple narrative by the power of style. The tale
was not original with Parnell, but was an inheritance from the earlier
stores of oriental fiction given to Europe by the East during the Middle
Ages. Pope writes: “The poem is very good.” The story was written
originally in Spanish [whence probably Howell had translated it into
prose, and inserted it in one of his letters].[75] Gaston Paris mentions
the same story, _L’ange et l’Ermite_ among the _contes dévots_ of the
Middle Ages, and says it is “juif sans doute d’origine.”[76] Wilhelm
Seele[77] enumerates various versions and mentions that of Parnell as
one of the accepted sources of _Zadig_.
The opening lines of Parnell’s poem describing the peaceful life of the
hermit are characteristic:—
“Far in a wild, unknown to public view,
From youth to age a reverend hermit grew;
The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell;
His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well:
Remote from man, with God he pass’d the days,
Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise.”
A doubt of the wisdom and power of Providence impels him to go out into
the world to observe the ways of God with men. A beautiful youth becomes
his companion and startles him by committing strange crimes culminating
in apparently wanton murder. The hermit, in anger, begins to rebuke the
youth:—
“‘Detested wretch!’—but scarce his speech began,
When the strange partner seem’d no longer man:
His youthful face grew more serenely sweet;
His robe turn’d white, and flow’d upon his feet;
Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair;
Celestial odours breathe through purpled air;
And wings, whose colours glitter’d on the Day,
Wide at his back their gradual plumes display.
The form ethereal bursts upon his sight,
And moves in all the majesty of light.”
The angel explains each apparent crime as in reality a deed of
benevolence; the hermit learns to trust the mysterious ways of
Providence and returns in peace to his cell. The poem has been called
Parnell’s masterpiece; and is, indeed, an admirable example of the
_conte moral_ in verse.
We suggested, above, two meanings of the word “moral”: one, that of
Marmontel, referring chiefly to manners; the other, that of Dr. Johnson,
emphasizing conduct. It is the latter meaning that best characterizes
the numerous moral oriental tales in eighteenth-century England—the
tales which we designate as “moralistic.”
Even in the hands of Addison and Steele the oriental tale was speedily
utilized to inculcate right living and was made into a story “with a
purpose,”—in a word, became moralistic. The avowed aim of the
_Spectator_ and the _Tatler_ was to reconcile wit and morality, to
entertain and to preach, to hold the mirror of kindly ridicule up to
society, to smile away the follies or vices of the world, and to present
serene, temperate, and beautiful ideals of thought and of conduct.
Hence, even the fiction that frequently constitutes a vital part of the
essays is permeated with the same spirit. This holds true of the
character-sketches of Addison’s real and imaginary correspondents and
acquaintances, including even Sir Roger himself. It is true, also, of
the frequent allegorical visions and dreams, of the numerous classical
stories, and of the occasional oriental tales. To these various forms of
fiction Addison turned, “rambling,” as he says, “into several stories,
fetching one to my present purpose.” Attracted as the great essayists
were by the touch of extravagance, the strange dress and colouring, the
unfamiliar nomenclature and oriental fancies in these tales, they felt
constrained, nevertheless, to apologize for such unclassical material
and to justify their use of it. In the _Spectator_, No. 512, on the
fable as the best form of giving advice, Addison tells the entertaining
story of the Sultan Mahmoud and the vizier who pretended to understand
birds’ conversation, and introduces it by saying: “[There is] a pretty
instance of this nature in a Turkish Tale, which I do not like the worse
for that little oriental extravagance which is mixed with it.” “The
virtue of complaisance in friendly intercourse” is “very prettily
illustrated by a little wild Arabian tale,” the story of _Shacabac and
the Barmecide’s Feast_.[78]
The story of the _Santon Barsisa_[79] is praised by Steele for
suggesting serious reflections and an obvious Christian moral.
_Alnaschar_ from the _Arabian Nights_ is used to conclude an essay upon
the transitoriness of human life and the vain hope of worldly ambitions.
Addison says, “What I have here said may serve as a moral to an Arabian
fable which I find translated into French by Monsieur Galland [and which
is marked by] a wild but natural simplicity.”[80] In the story of the
_Persian Emperor’s Riddle_,[81] the question, “What is the tree that has
three hundred and sixty-five leaves, black and white?” is one of the
riddles in the story of the _Princess of China_ (_Persian Tales_). The
same answer is given, “A year,” but Addison affixes the reflection that
the leaves represent the king’s acts, which look white to his friends
and black to his enemies. The “Persian story” of the just sultan, who
executed a culprit in the dark, though he knew that it might be his son,
concludes an essay on justice.[82] The riddle-like acts of the sultan
and his final explanation seem characteristically oriental.
Two tales are apparently original with Addison: the _Story of Helim and
Abdallah_[83] and the _Story of Hilpa, Harpath, and Shalum_.[84] The
former Addison says he found “lately translated out of an Arabian
manuscript.” It has, he thinks, “very much the turn of an oriental
tale; ... never before printed; ... [and doubtless will be] highly
acceptable to the reader.” From such an introduction the reader
naturally infers that Addison invented the tale. The character of the
story confirms this inference. Helim, the great physician, educates
Ibrahim and Abdallah, sons to the tyrant Alnareschin, who has killed
thirty-five wives and twenty sons. Abdallah and Balsora, the daughter of
Helim, fall in love; the king covets Balsora; Helim gives her a sleeping
potion; and she wakes in a tomb with Abdallah.[85] They escape past the
guards in the guise of spirits and live happily in a beautiful retreat
on a mountain. After the tyrant’s death Helim reunites Ibrahim and
Abdallah, and ultimately Abdallah’s son succeeds Ibrahim. For oriental
colouring Addison refers to the seal of Solomon, Persia, Mahomet, etc.
His characters are the commonplace types: the tyrant, the wise
physician, the beautiful girl, and others. He employs fanciful touches
in describing the black marble palace with its hundred ebony doors
guarded by negroes and its five thousand lamps; and also in recounting
the lovers’ escape by moonlight as spirits in white and azure silk
robes. No direct moral is drawn, but virtue is rewarded and vice
thwarted. The other moral oriental tale by Addison is called by him “an
antediluvian novel,”[86] the _Story of Hilpa, Harpath, and Shalum_. He
pretends to have found it in Chinese records, “the only antediluvian
_billet-doux_ in existence,” and attempts to give verisimilitude by
localizing it in places with fictitious names that have an oriental
sound, and by using flowery language. A humorous effect of mock
antiquity is obtained by exaggerating the age of the characters,—Hilpa,
for instance, is a beautiful girl of seventy,—and a touch of satire, by
implying that only an antediluvian woman would marry for money. The
feeble characterization—if characterization it can be called—of the
haughty and contemptuous Harpath and the good and gentle Shalum
forecasts the later efforts of Johnson and Hawkesworth. Although the
tale contains no explicit moral, it is used to illustrate a “kind of
moral virtue”—the planting of trees. Antediluvians had an advantage over
us in that they outlived the trees they planted. The lack of direct
moralizing in these two original tales is unusual: at least half the
oriental tales quoted or adapted in the Addisonian periodicals enunciate
an express moral lesson. The morality, like the philosophy, is not
distinctly oriental in character. Industry and economy, health and
cleanliness, prudence and justice, kindly “complaisance,” the art of
giving advice and seeking instruction, serenity in the face of calumny
and death,—it is the Addisonian code of virtues in oriental guise.
In thus utilizing the oriental tale for moralistic purposes and—as we
shall see later[87]—for philosophic ends also, Addison gave the prelude
and the direction to two distinct tendencies of the entire period.[88]
The strength of the moralizing proclivity may be illustrated from the
translation of the imaginative _Mogul Tales_ of Gueullette. On the
title-page of the edition of 1736, the anonymous English translator
quotes:—
“In pleasing Tales, the artful Sage can give
Rules, how in Happiness and Ease to live:
Can shew what Good should most attract the Mind,
And how our Woes we from our Vices find;
Delighting, yet instructing thus our Youth,
Who catch at Fable—How to gather Truth.”
He then gives a prefatory “Discourse on the Usefulness of Romances,”[89]
in the course of which he says that romances are useful in that they
“Engage Young People to love Reading,” instil in them “Address,
Politeness, and a high sense of Virtue,” and teach them the geography
and customs of foreign countries. “Clownish People, and Persons long
doom’d to what is called Low-Life ... ought on their coming into the
World to be treated as Children and these Books recommended to them. By
them they are led at once into Courts and into Camps, are taught the
Language of the Toilette and the Drawing-Room, and are made acquainted
with those superior Sentiments which inhabit only great Souls, and
distinguish true Heroes from the Vulgar. By turning over such Volumes,
Rusticity is quickly polished, and the Beauties of a gentile Behaviour
set in such a light, as must attract a Heart not entirely Savage.... The
late Humour of reading Oriental Romances, such as the Arabian, Persian,
and Turkish Tales, though I will not contend, it has much better’d our
Morals, has, however, extended our Notions, and made the Customs of the
East much more familiar to us than they were before, or probably ever
would have been, had they not been communicated to us by this indirect,
and pleasant Way. Now these are certainly very great Advantages, and
very valuable Acquirements, even to Men; and many giddy young Fellows
have been, by amusing themselves with such Trifles, taught to conceive
clearly, and to converse properly, in relation to Things which otherwise
they would have known nothing about.” The writer then proceeds to bring
out the moral which, in his opinion, is latent in oriental tales,
especially in this collection. “The grand Moral of these ingenious Tales
is contained in this Sentence: True Virtue alone is capable of standing
all Trials, and persisting therein is the only means of attaining solid
Happiness. The Author has illustrated the Truth of this Maxim by a
Multitude of Instances, all of them probable, and some of them I have
Reason to think founded upon matters of Fact. Human Nature is
represented ... with strict regard to Truth, and in a manner which
cannot fail of improving, as well as entertaining, the considerate
Reader. From the perusal of these Sheets, he will have it in his Power
to make a hundred Reflections, which may produce very happy Effects, if
apply’d to the Regulation of his own Conduct. He will, for Example, see
how ridiculous it is for a Man in Years to hope for Satisfaction from
engaging in new Amours, and vainly flattering himself that Fondness and
grey Hairs will ever attach the Soul of a sprightly young Woman.... The
Misfortunes of the Blind Man of Chitor, cannot fail of putting him who
reads them, in Mind of the Danger there is in making an ill Use of Court
Favour, and of studying nothing but the gratification of sensual
Appetites; what is supernatural in that Story, is certainly wrought with
great Strength of Genius, and gives us a fine Idea of the Wisdom and
Justice of Providence, in punishing the Offenses of Mankind,” and so on
to the end. Similar sentiments, though less explicit, are found in
Gueullette’s own dedication of the _Tartarian Tales_ to the Duke of
Chartres. “The Book ... is of the Nature of those which are improving as
well as entertaining. Though the Subject appear light, yet it conduces
to something useful on Account of the Morality couched in it.”[90]
In addition to giving a general moralistic direction to the uses of
oriental or pseudo-oriental material, Addison initiated the method
employed in writing moral oriental tales. The similarities between the
two oriental tales written by Dr. Johnson for the _Rambler_, and
Addison’s original stories in the _Spectator_, are obvious and afford
another instance of Johnson’s well-known emulation of the earlier
essayist. In each case the result was insignificant in literary
value.[91] Yet the attitude Addison took toward this oriental material
and the use he made of it are exceedingly interesting to the student of
the period, even though the actual tales he composed are so few and so
trifling. The same is true of Dr. Johnson, and although his “clumsy
gambols,”[92] and those of his contemporary imitator, Dr. John
Hawkesworth, need not detain us long, they must not be overlooked.
Addison’s touch is lighter, as might be expected, while Johnson’s manner
is certainly clumsy; but in childish simplicity of plan, of
characterization, and of oriental colouring, such a tale as _Hamet and
Raschid_[93] is not unlike _Hilpa, Harpath, and Shalum_.[94] Hawkesworth
followed Johnson closely in these respects.
“Ingenious Hawkesworth to this school we owe
And scarce the pupil from the tutor know.”[95]
The only detailed description containing local colour is the picture of
Bozaldab’s son upon “the throne of diamonds.” He is seated beside a
princess “fairer than a Houri” and is surrounded by Rajahs of fifty
nations. The hall is adorned with jasper statues and ivory doors with
hinges of Golconda gold. A few customs are briefly mentioned, _e.g._
pressing the royal signet to the forehead in token of obedience, and
meeting at the well in the desert where caravans stop.[96] Neither
Johnson nor Hawkesworth attempts to localize the action beyond alluding
to Bagdad, the plains of India, or “all the East.”
One curious characteristic differentiating these two later essayists
from Addison, is their far more elaborate care to adorn their narratives
with what they style “the pompous language of the East.” Orientalized
phrases are found in Addison’s tales, but are far simpler and less
frequent. Hawkesworth carries the mannerism to extremes. “Amurath,
Sultan of the East, the judge of nations, the disciple of adversity,
records the wonders of his life.” “As the hand of time scattered snow
upon his head, its freezing influence extended to his bosom.” The
flutter of the Angel’s wings is like “the rushing of a cataract,” a
beautiful valley is “the Garden of Hope,” a dog is “thy brother of the
dust.” “Despair has armed [his hand] with a dagger.” Figures of speech
in Biblical phraseology are frequent, _e.g._ a smile “diffused gladness
like the morning,” “the straight road of piety,” “the cup of
consolation,” the “Angel of Death came forward like a whirlwind.” In
Johnson’s tales and to a certain extent in Hawkesworth’s _Carazan_,[97]
the phrases are frequently dignified as well as sonorous, but in other
tales by Hawkesworth and Warton the language is absurdly
“elevated,”—“the hoary sage”; “the fatal malignity,” _i.e._ the cup of
poison; “the screams of the melancholy birds of midnight that flit
through the echoing chambers of the Pyramids.” Such diction is
noticeable in contrast to the plain English of Hawkesworth’s
non-oriental tales, _e.g._ the story of _Melissa_,[98] and indicates
unmistakably that “pompous language” was one essential in the
eighteenth-century concept of the oriental tale. This is the more
curious, since in the genuine oriental tales known in England at the
time Johnson and Hawkesworth were writing, such language is the
exception rather than the rule.[99] In the _Persian Tales_, for
instance, the collection where one might expect to find figurative
language, reference is made once or twice to the nightingale as lover of
the rose, but figures such as the following are noticeably rare: “I lie
down upon the thorns of uneasiness; the poison of your absence preys
upon my heart and insensibly consumes my very life.” “Your forehead is
like a plate of polished silver; your brows resemble two spacious
arches; your eyes sparkle beyond diamonds; ... your mouth is a ruby
casket that holds a bracelet of pearls.” The rarity of such language is
worth noting, for, as has been suggested, the later pseudo-orientalists
thought they must fill their pages with such figures in order to be
“oriental”—a delusion satirized by Goldsmith. “They believe,” he says,
“that in an oriental tale nothing is required but sublimity ... all is
great, obscure, magnificent, and unintelligible.”[100].
Not only in language, but also in incident, Hawkesworth is far more
fantastic than either Addison or Johnson. Obidah, in _Obidah, the son of
Abensima, and the Hermit, an Eastern Story_,[101] follows a pleasant but
misleading path, is overtaken by a storm, and meets a Hermit who
preaches to him on the journey of life and the necessity of following
the right road. The _Story of the Shepherds Hamet and Raschid_[102] is
equally brief and unintricate. The fields of the two shepherds, who
lived on the plains of India, were suffering from drought. A genius
appeared with the offer of gifts. Hamet asked a little, steady brook;
Raschid demanded the Ganges. The moral is as prompt and complete as in
an old-fashioned Sunday-school tale. Hamet’s grounds prospered;
Raschid’s were swept away, and—“a crocodile devoured him”! Hawkesworth
is not content with such childlike simplicity. His _Ring of
Amurath_[103] is as ingenious as it is moral. The sultan Amurath is
presented with a magic ring by a Genius, who warns him that the ring
will grow pale and press his finger whenever he sins. Amurath
degenerates into a cruel and sensual tyrant, vainly pursues Selima, the
daughter of his vizier, throws away the painful ring, and is transformed
by the Genius into a “monster of the desert.” Captured and cruelly
abused, he finally saves the life of his keeper, and in reward for this,
his first good act, is changed into a dog. In this form, entering by
chance the city of lawless pleasure, he beholds the horrors of
unrestrained crime, and is poisoned. In his next form, that of a white
dove, he reaches—again by chance—a hermit’s cave, where he beholds
Selima telling her story to the hermit. Amurath feels “the sentiments of
pure affection” and, in consequence, resumes human shape. The hermit,
who is the Genius, preaches a final sermon and dismisses them to reign
over Golconda. They will now be happy, he says, because they have
learned to be wise and virtuous. Equally fantastic and more fortuitous
are the events in the sketch, _Transmigration of a Soul_,[104] a story
told by a flea, a realistic, disagreeable account of cruelties inflicted
by men on animals. Sometimes Hawkesworth’s tales are free from grotesque
fancies, _e.g._ the story of Carazan[105] the miser, who dreams he is
before the Judgment Seat and condemned to eternal solitude. He awakens,
reforms, and gives a great feast to the poor. Such a tale is
commonplace, but in its simplicity is not entirely unimpressive. In the
majority of Hawkesworth’s tales, however, the fantastic elements
predominate.
Of _Almoran and Hamet_ (1761), the best known of Hawkesworth’s tales
outside of the periodicals, much the same may be said. The story is
similar to _Nouraddin and Amana_, but is more elaborate. The _deus ex
machina_ is a genius who gives supernatural aid to the tyrant Almoran in
pursuing his evil desires. A magic talisman enables Almoran to assume
other persons’ forms, prodigies apparently from heaven alarm his
opponents; yet each of his wishes is frustrated by the virtuous acts of
his brother Hamet and the beautiful Almeida, until in the end he is
metamorphosed into a rock, and they are left to reign in peace. The
oriental colouring is thin and the characterization feeble. Yet the tale
won, for a time, great popularity, due partly to the melodramatic
interest, partly to the moralizing tone.[106] The author discourses on
the essentials of good government, the duties of a king, the question of
immortality, and the idea that the pursuit of pleasure alone defeats its
own end. In certain ways the story reminds one of _Vathek_ and again of
_Seged_.[107] Almoran, like Vathek, longs for the gratification of every
desire. “If I must perish,” said he, “I will at least perish unsubdued.
I will quench no wish that nature kindles in my bosom; nor shall my lips
utter any prayer but for new powers to feed the flame.” In answer to
these words, the Genius appears, “one of those delusive phantoms, which,
under the appearance of pleasure, were leading him to destruction.” Like
Seged, Almoran finds that the deliberate attempt to be happy at any cost
ends in greater pain. Both tales represent an idea that was persistent
in the philosophy of the eighteenth century, and was to find its most
artistic expression in _Rasselas_ and _The Vanity of Human Wishes_.
Two other moral tales, Langhorne’s _Solyman and Almena_ (1762),[108] and
Mrs. Sheridan’s _Nourjahad_ (1767),[109] similar to Hawkesworth’s
stories, likewise enjoyed considerable popularity. Nourjahad narrates
the experiences of a sultan’s favourite, whose chief desires are
inexhaustible riches and “prolongation of his life to eternity to enjoy
them.” The sultan causes the apparent fulfilment of these wishes, and
Nourjahad rapidly degenerates through selfish indulgence in pleasures of
the senses into an impious and murderous tyrant. His acts are
accompanied by increasing unhappiness: the loss of his mistress,
Mandana, the ingratitude of his son, the desertion of all his servants
except one, Cozro, who acts as his conscience, recapitulates his sins,
and demonstrates that, “by the immutable laws of Heaven ... either in
this world or the next, vice will meet its just reward.” Cozro teaches
the repentant Nourjahad the happiness that comes from generosity to the
poor and suffering, and the faith in one’s own rectitude and in Heaven,
that makes man superior to death. Nourjahad is finally brought to
despise riches; to desire to save Cozro’s life by losing his own; and,
when that is unavailing, to accept the prospect of death rather than
bribe his jailer. At the last moment the sultan reveals to Nourjahad
that he has been disguised as Cozro, that Mandana still lives and has
impersonated Nourjahad’s guardian genius, and that the whole series of
events has been arranged to test and to purify Nourjahad’s character.
The story has a certain amount of interest. The illusion is well
sustained, and the dénouement comes with considerable force. There is an
attempt at oriental colouring in the descriptions of the omnipotent
sultan, the forests and gardens, the mourning in the city for the
sultan’s death, the bribery of cadi and jailers, and the urns full of
gold pieces and rare jewels in the subterranean treasure-vault. But the
colouring is faint and serves only as a vague background for the story.
There is unity in the development of the central idea of Nourjahad’s
evil desires, their result and his change of heart; there is, however,
no real characterization. The burden of the moral and of the inflated,
pompous diction is heavy, but the narrative is clear and often vivid.
In _Solyman and Almena_ the oriental colouring is paler even than in
_Nourjahad_. “In the pleasant valley of Mesopotamia on the banks of the
Irwan lived Solyman, son of Ardavan the sage,” who worshipped the sacred
Mithra. Names, places, mention of a few oriental customs like the
suttee, occasional metaphors, suffice in the eyes of the author to make
the tale oriental. His chief delight is to moralize and philosophize in
gentle and leisurely fashion. The story begins with Solyman’s desire to
travel in order to gain knowledge of mankind and of God. It advances
slowly because frequently broken by generalizations, by descriptions of
places like the “frowning” ruins of Persepolis and emotions aroused
thereby, and also by digressions on the state of literature and manners
in England. The extreme sentimentality of the lovers and their floods of
tears often delay the progress of events. The language used is eminently
suitable. When Solyman found that “to all the elegant graces of female
softness, she [Almena] added the virtues of benevolence, his friendship
for her was heightened into the most refined affection.” On the whole,
although the story is stiff, tedious, and over-moralistic, it has an
attractive kind of purity and sweetness like the fragrance from an
old-fashioned garden.
In many respects similar to the fiction discussed above, but superior in
narrative directness and force is the moral tale by Miss Edgeworth,
_Murad the Unlucky_. It was not published until 1804,[110] and therefore
would fall outside of our study, were it not so similar in character to
the fiction under consideration. The starting point of this story is a
query by the Sultan of Constantinople concerning the tale of _Cogia
Hassan, the Rope-maker, and the Two Friends Saad and Saadi_ in the
_Arabian Nights_. The Sultan, like Haroun Alraschid, is amusing himself
by going at night, in disguise, through the streets of his city.
Recollecting the tale of _Cogia Hassan_, he declares to his companion,
the vizier, that “fortune does more for men than prudence.” The vizier
takes the opposite view and cites as instances two brothers, called
Murad the Unlucky and Saladin the Lucky. The brothers recount the
stories of their lives, and at the close the Sultan says to his vizier:
“I acknowledge that the histories of Saladin the Lucky and Murad the
Unlucky favour your opinion, that prudence has more influence than
chance in human affairs. The success and happiness of Saladin seem to me
to have arisen from his prudence: by that prudence Constantinople has
been saved from flames and from the plague. Had Murad possessed his
brother’s discretion, he would not have been on the point of losing his
head for selling rolls which he did not bake; he would not have been
kicked by a mule or bastinadoed for finding a ring; he would not have
been robbed by one party of soldiers or shot by another; he would not
have been lost in a desert, or cheated by a Jew; he would not have set a
ship on fire; nor would he have caught the plague, and spread it through
Grand Cairo; he would not have run my sultana’s looking-glass through
the body, instead of a robber; he would not have believed that the fate
of his life depended on certain verses on a china vase; nor would he, at
last, have broken this precious talisman by washing it with hot water.
Henceforward, let Murad the Unlucky be named Murad the Imprudent; let
Saladin preserve the surname he merits, and be henceforth called Saladin
the Prudent.”[111] Such a quotation readily shows how far removed from
the _Arabian Nights_ were the moralistic tales, imitating, as they did,
the manner only and not the spirit of their prototypes.
Of Ridley’s _Tales of the Genii_ (1764),[112] the translation of Le
Camus’s _Abdeker, or the Art of Preserving Beauty_ (1754),[113] and _The
Vizirs, or the Enchanted Labyrinth, an Oriental Tale_ (1774)[114] by
Mme. Fauques de Vaucluse, the same may be said with even greater
emphasis. The subtitle of the first, “Delightful Lessons of Horam the
Son of Asmar,” betrays the author’s purpose, which proves to be to
disguise “the true doctrines of morality under the delightful allegories
of romantic enchantment.” The disguise is thin, though the “enchantment”
is plentiful. Incantations, genii, sudden transformations, flowery
valleys, crystal palaces, deserts, volcanoes, shipwrecks, are all
lavishly employed. The attempt to accumulate horrors results once in
unconscious humour: the description of the “horrid” sorcerer, who lurks
in his lurid den, cherishing “his tube burning with the fœtid herb
tobacco, filling the cave with its poisonous odour.” But the narratives,
in general, are tedious, and the continual moralizing is anything but
“delightful.” _Abdeker_ is also unimportant but curious—an awkward
combination of an Eastern love story with recipes for cosmetics and
lectures on hygiene. The form is a frame-tale in which a few minor
tales, such as _Zinzima and Azor_, are inserted. _The Vizirs_ is a
fanciful, tediously moralized story of the complicated adventures of
several Eastern princes and princesses.
One curious instance of the general propensity to moralize is _Dinarbas,
a Tale, being a Continuation of Rasselas, Prince of Abissinia_
(1790).[115] The idea of such a sequel was suggested to the author by
Sir John Hawkins’s statement that Dr. Johnson “had an intention of
marrying his hero and placing him in a state of permanent
felicity.”[116] The author’s purpose is to show that love, friendship,
and virtuous, altruistic conduct bring happiness. Rasselas is the hero
of the book; Dinarbas is his friend. Rasselas quells a rebellion against
his father, the Emperor; is falsely accused, imprisoned, and, by aid of
Dinarbas, liberated; succeeds to the throne of Abyssinia, marries the
sister of Dinarbas, and gives his sister Nekayah to Dinarbas. The story
closes with their visit to the Happy Valley to set free its inhabitants.
Throughout the book the author inculcates resignation, rectitude,
courage, usefulness, and other virtues, and endeavours “to afford
consolation or relief to the wretched traveler, terrified and
disheartened at the rugged paths of life.” _Dinarbas_ is obviously
inferior to its predecessor; its value is not literary but historical—as
an evidence of the desire to moralize everything, even the philosophic
tales.
It is not surprising to find in this period several editions of the
_Fables of Pilpay_ [or _Bidpai_], a version of the ancient _Kalila and
Dimna_, which had been known in England since the Middle Ages. The
moralistic note in addition to the perennial interest of these stories
made an especial appeal to eighteenth-century readers. In 1743 appeared
_The Instructive and Entertaining Fables of Pilpay, an ancient Indian
Philosopher, containing a number of excellent rules for the conduct of
persons of all ages_. London, 1743. As early as 1711 there had appeared
a book of extracts: _Æsop naturaliz’d: in a collection of diverting
fables and stories from Æsop, Lockman, Pilpay, and others_. London,
1711; 1771.[117]
The name of the minor moralists of this period is Legion. It would be
superfluous to do more than mention briefly the titles of a few works:
_Contentment, a Fable_;[118] _Hassan_ (178-?);[119] _The History of
Arsaces, Prince of Betlis by the editor of Chrysal_ (1774);[120] _The
Caliph of Bagdad, Travels before the Flood, an Interesting Oriental
record of men and manners in the antediluvian world interpreted in
fourteen evening conversations between the Caliph of Bagdad and his
Court, translated from Arabic_ (1796);[121] _The Grateful Turk_, in
_Moral Tales by Esteemed Writers_ (1800?);[122] _Hamet and Selinda an
Eastern Tale_ in _The Baloon or ærostatic Spy, a novel containing a
series of adventures of an aerial traveller_ (1786).[123]
In the last half of the century several collections of such oriental
tales, chiefly moralistic, were made. “Mr. Addison’s” _Interesting
Anecdotes, memoirs, Allegories, essays, and poetical fragments, tending
to amuse the fancy and inculcate morality_ (1797)[124] in sixteen
volumes, contains a great variety of oriental and unoriental tales
taken, usually without naming the author, from the _Rambler_, the
_Adventurer_, and other sources. A similar collection is _The
Orientalist, a volume of Tales after the Eastern taste, by the author of
Roderick Random, Sir Lancelot Greaves, etc., and Others_ (1773).[125]
Some of these tales are fanciful; many moralizing. One is a direct and
unacknowledged translation of Marmontel’s _Soliman II._[126] No authors’
names are given. The tales are brief, uninteresting, and, with a few
exceptions such as _Soliman II._, of little value. The tendency, found
in France earlier in the century, to “moralize” oriental stories and
fairy tales for the edification of children is exemplified by a
collection popular for several years after its publication: _The
Blossoms of Morality. Intended for the Amusement and Instruction of
Young Ladies and Gentlemen by the Editor of the Looking Glass for the
Mind_ (1789).[127] In this collection are a few “oriental” tales, _e.g._
_The Pleasures of Contentment_, a “tedious brief” story of the good
vizier Alibeg, unjustly exiled, discovered contentedly living as a
hermit, surrounded by affectionate domestic animals. Recalled to office
by popular demand, Alibeg sheds a few tears upon leaving his pastoral
retreat, but returns to the city, rules wisely, and is content always
and everywhere. The same collection contains _An Oriental Tale_;
_Generosity Rewarded_; _The Anxieties of Royalty_; _The Generous
Punishment_;—all, tales with “oriental” traces;—and _The Beautiful
Statue_, a diluted version of the admirable tale of _Zeyn Alasnam_ in
the _Arabian Nights_, pitiably moralized. Finally, _The Oriental
Moralist_ appeared, in which “_the Beauties of the Arabian Nights’
Entertainments_” were “accompanied with suitable reflections adapted to
each story,” by the Rev. Mr. Cooper (1790?).[128] The editor’s preface
needs no comment: “During a trip which I lately made to the Continent, I
accidentally met with (at an Inn where I had occasion to halt a short
time) a French edition of the _Arabian Nights’ Entertainments_; having
no other book at hand I was induced to wade through it. When I had
finished ... it struck my imagination, that those tales might be
compared to a once rich and luxuriant garden, neglected and run to
waste, where scarce anything strikes the common observer but the weeds
and briars with which it is overrun, whilst the more penetrating eye of
the experienced gardener discovers ... some ... delightful flowers. Full
of this idea, I determined to turn florist, and to traverse this wild
and unweeded spot with a cautious and discriminating eye, ... to cull a
pleasing nosegay for my youthful friends. Quitting the simile, I have
endeavoured to select a few of the most interesting tales, have given
them a new dress in point of language, and have carefully expurgated
everything that could give the least offense to the most delicate
reader. Not satisfied barely with these views, I have added many moral
reflections, wherever the story would admit of them. I have, in many
instances, considerably altered the fables, and have given them a turn,
which appeared to me the most likely to promote the love of virtue, to
fortify the youthful heart against the impressions of vice, and to point
out to them the paths which lead to peace, happiness, and honour.” In
accordance with this purpose Cooper gave the following new ending to
_Aladdin_: “Sir, said the Sultana, after she had finished the story of
the Wonderful Lamp, your majesty, without doubt, has observed, in the
person of the African magician, a man abandoned to the passion of
possessing immense treasures by the most horrid and detestable means. On
the contrary, your majesty sees in Aladdin a person of mean birth,
raised to the regal dignity, making use of the same treasures ... just
as he had occasion for them, or when an opportunity offered of applying
them to the relief of the necessitous, or in rewarding industry and
encouraging the practice of virtue.” After that, the instant execution
of the Sultana would have been, on the part of his majesty, justifiable
homicide. Hawkesworth, in the concluding number of the _Adventurer_,
confesses—hardly to the surprise of the reader who has perused the
previous one hundred and thirty-nine essays—that he is a moral writer,
and that he has found it necessary, in writing for “the Young and the
Gay,” to amuse the imagination “while approaching the heart.” The editor
of the _Observer_ declares that simply to say that he has “written
nothing but with a moral design would be saying very little, for it is
not the vice of the time to countenance publications of an opposite
tendency; to administer moral precepts through a pleasing medium seems
now the general study of our essayists, dramatists, and novelists, ...
to bind the rod of the moralist with the roses of the muse.” Beyond such
didacticism no moralist could go.
If we pause to consider the Moralistic Group as a whole, our strongest
impression is that of the general paucity of literary merit. Aside from
Parnell’s _Hermit_, Marmontel’s _contes_, some of the tales quoted by
Addison and Steele, and the _Fables of Bidpai_, there is nothing of
noticeable intrinsic value. The moral oriental tales composed by
Addison, Johnson, and Miss Edgeworth are the least valuable part of
their work, far inferior, for instance, to the philosophic oriental
tales, _The Vision of Mirza_ and _Rasselas_. Only unusual genius can
make an art of moralizing. Average writers,—like the authors of the
fifteenth-century morality plays or the eighteenth-century moralists
when they turned to oriental fiction,—in their desire to express a
universal truth concerning human character or conduct, eliminate so many
individualizing traits that their personages become mere abstractions.
They do not know the secret of embodying these abstract ideas in
concrete and appropriate types, and hence their work lacks the beauty
and universal human interest of the _Pilgrim’s Progress_, the _Faerie
Queene_, or the parables of Scripture. Yet the minor writers of any
period—and the same is true of minor works by great writers—frequently
reflect most clearly the current opinions of their age.[129] For that
reason the Moralistic Group of oriental tales possesses a distinct
historical value.
CHAPTER III
THE PHILOSOPHIC GROUP
The Philosophic Group of oriental tales is in number far smaller and in
literary value far more considerable than the Moralistic. Here, again,
Addison was the guide, using several oriental stories to illustrate
philosophical ideas and composing one famous oriental tale, or rather
sketch, _The Vision of Mirza_.[130] The _Vision_ is so familiar and so
accessible that any detailed account of it would be superfluous. Mirza,
from the topmost pinnacle of the high hills of Bagdad, beholds
multitudes passing over the bridge of life, which spans a part of the
great tide of eternity. Sooner or later all fall from the bridge and are
borne out into the thick mist toward either the islands of the blest or
the dark clouds beyond the rock of adamant. By means of this vision,
Mirza realizes the vicissitudes of life, the certainty of death, the
consolation of faith, and the mystery enveloping man’s existence. It is
Addison’s way of saying “From the great deep to the great deep he
goes.”[131]. The form of the _Vision_ is simplicity and clearness
itself. The language, lucid and direct, displays Addison’s
characteristic restraint in the use of oriental ornament and imagery.
The literary value of _The Vision of Mirza_ as an oriental tale lies
less in the specific detail of oriental colouring than in the general
impression of beauty and of awe. “But instead of the rolling tide, the
arched bridge, and the happy islands, I saw nothing but the long hollow
valley of Bagdat, with oxen, sheep, and camels, grazing upon the sides
of it,”—a serene English valley, orientalized only by the name _Bagdat_
and the presence of the camels. And yet, if the oriental elements were
cut away from _The Vision of Mirza_, the picturesque attributes of the
central metaphor, the bridge of human life, would go, for they are drawn
from the Mahometan tradition of the bridge “Al Sirát,” laid across hell,
“finer than a hair and sharper than the edge of a sword,” over which the
souls of men pass,—the good to the Mahometan paradise, the wicked to
hell, which is encircled by a wall of adamant. Moreover, the quiet,
cumulative force of one slight stroke of oriental imagery after another
produces a sense of remoteness and stimulates the imagination,
especially when the phrases echo Biblical cadences and thus attain an
added solemnity. “‘Surely,’ said I, ‘man is but a shadow and life a
dream....’ ‘The valley that thou seest,’ said he, ‘is the vale of
misery, and the tide of water that thou seest, is part of the great tide
of eternity....’ ‘I wished for the wings of an eagle that I might fly
away to those happy seats; but the genius told me there was no passage
to them except through the gates of death.’”
The other philosophic oriental tales in the Addisonian periodicals
illustrate various themes: the transitoriness of life, the subjectivity
of time, personal identity, and so on. Frequent phrases suggest that in
oriental thought and imagery what appealed most forcibly to Addison’s
reverent nature was “likeness to those beautiful metaphors in
scripture.”[132] One brief story is told by him to illustrate the figure
“where life is termed a pilgrimage, and those who pass through it are
called strangers and sojourners upon earth,” and to conclude an essay on
the value of contemplating the transitoriness of human life. A dervish
mistakes a palace for an inn, and when the king asks an explanation,
replies by a series of questions leading up to an admirable climax.
“‘Sir,’ says the Dervish, ‘give me leave to ask your Majesty a question
or two. Who were the persons that lodged in this house when it was first
built?’ The King replied, his ancestors. ‘And who,’ says the Dervish,
‘was the last person that lodged here?’ The King replied, his father.
‘And who is it,’ says the Dervish, ‘that lodges here at present?’ The
King told him that it was he himself. ‘And who,’ says the Dervish, ‘will
be here after you?’ The King answered, the young Prince, his son. ‘Ah,
Sir,’ said the Dervish, ‘a house that changes its inhabitants so often
and receives such a perpetual succession of guests, is not a Palace, but
a Caravansary.’”[133] The oriental colouring here is slightly stronger
than in _The Vision of Mirza_. The dervish, “traveling through Tartary,”
arrived “at the town of Balk, ... laid down his wallet and spread his
carpet in order to repose himself upon it, after the manner of Eastern
nations.” The notion of the subjectivity of time as set forth by Locke
is exemplified in the account of Mahomet’s journey to the seven heavens
in the twinkling of an eye,[134] as well as by the adventures of the
Sultan of Egypt.[134] The latter story, drawn from the _Turkish Tales_,
is interestingly told, though shorn of most of its picturesque details.
From the _Persian Tales_ an unknown contributor to the _Spectator_ takes
the story of _Fadlallah and Zemroude_, and introduces it by a quotation
from “Mr. Locke” on personal identity and by these remarks: “I was
mightily pleased by a story in some measure applicable to this piece of
philosophy, which I read the other day in the _Persian Tales_, as they
are lately very well translated by Mr. Philips ... these stories are
writ after the Eastern manner, but somewhat more correct.”[135] The
writer chastens the style of his quotation still further by eliminating
many of the imaginative elements for the sake of the “piece of
philosophy.” The idea of perpetual suspense is illustrated by reference
not only to the mediæval ass between two bundles of hay but also to
Mahomet’s coffin suspended in midair by magnets.[136] The misery and
ingratitude of humanity is shown by a vision.[137] The conception of the
development of philosophy and virtue in a man on a desert island, guided
by “the pure light and universal benevolence of nature,”[138] is given
as a quotation from an Arabian author. It calls to mind Mrs. Behn’s
_Oroonoko_ and his successor, the “natural man” of the eighteenth
century. In all these narratives or fragments of narratives the tone is
speculative rather than directly didactic, but all except _Fadlallah and
Zemroude_ are used to point a moral. With one exception, all the
philosophical and moral ideas in the twenty-nine oriental tales found in
these early periodicals, from the opening number of the _Tatler_, in
1709, to the last issue of the _Freeholder_, in 1716, are either
noticeably English in character or else universal ideas, common to
English and oriental thought. The one exception[139] is the doctrine of
transmigration of souls, which has been attributed to oriental
philosophy. Yet this doctrine is Pythagorean as well as oriental, and
the ultimate source, though possibly oriental, is unknown. In general
the philosophizing in the periodicals is along the lines of universal
thought, expressed in a thoroughly English and Addisonian manner.
In the philosophic as in the moralistic tales the most famous of
Addison’s successors was Dr. Johnson. As suggested above,[140] the
difference in temperament between the two men is clearly reflected in
their periodicals. Addison’s lighter touch and buoyant spirit are
replaced in the _Rambler_ and the _Idler_ by Johnson’s heavier style and
more uniformly serious purpose. And yet the _Rambler_ and its imitators
have much in common with the earlier group. The similarity is especially
noticeable in those parts of Johnson’s work that are deliberate and
conscious imitations. Addison had used the oriental tale among other
devices to convey instruction under the guise of amusement; Johnson did
likewise. The story of _Ortogrul of Basra_[141] distinctly recalls
Addison’s oriental tales. The scene is laid in Bagdad, and the narrative
opens with an account of Ortogrul wandering in “the tranquillity of
meditation” along the streets. He is taught the value of slow and
constant industry by a dream, in which, like Mirza, he beholds a vision
from a hilltop. The genius in _Mirza_ is replaced by the father of
Ortogrul, who directs the latter’s gaze to an ineffectual torrent and to
a slow but sure “rivulet,” and points the moral. For local colour in
these tales Johnson is satisfied with vague allusions such as that to
the vizier’s return from the divan to spacious apartments in his palace,
hung with golden tapestry and carpeted with silk. Dates, places, and
oriental customs are likewise indistinct. “In the reign of Zenghis Can,”
“Samarcand,” “Arabia,” “the emirs and viziers, the sons of valour and of
wisdom, that stand at the corners of the Indian throne, to assist the
Councils,”—such brief references suffice for Johnson’s purpose. Like
Addison, too, Johnson feels that an oriental tale demands elevated and
dignified diction, Biblical imagery, and the abstract, general term
instead of the concrete.
But there the likeness ends, for Johnson’s early oriental tales, far
more than any of his other writings, are embellished with peculiarly
Johnsonian Latin derivatives and resounding antitheses. Sometimes the
style gains by these means the added force and dignity purposed by the
author. “In the height of my power, I said to defamation, who will hear
thee? and to artifice, what canst thou perform?”... “The clouds of
sorrow gathered round his head.” But often this attempt at rhetorical
ornamentation results in bombast and unintentional humour: “The curls of
beauty fell from his head;” “the voracious grave is howling for its
prey;” “he practised the smile of universal courtesy;” “a frigorific
torpor encroaches upon my veins.” In _Ortogrul_, Johnson goes even to
this extreme in describing the rich vizier’s life: “The dishes of Luxury
cover his table, the voice of Harmony lulls him in his bowers; he
breathes the fragrance of the groves of Java, and sleeps upon the down
of the cygnets of Ganges.” Grandiloquence of this sort takes the place
of detail in description. When Johnson wishes to depict an Eastern
princess, he portrays her “sitting on a throne, attired in the robe of
royalty, and shining with the jewels of Golconda; command sparkled in
her eyes and dignity towered on her forehead.” Such a description is
eminently in keeping with Johnson’s didactic purpose. Didactic in the
_Rambler_ Johnson always is. “Instruction,” in Boswell’s words, “is the
predominant purpose of the _Rambler_,”[142]—instruction, whether
directly inculcating morality, as in the moralistic tales, or indirectly
setting forth some philosophic idea connected with human conduct, as in
the six so-called philosophic tales. Yet, even in the latter group,
Johnson’s speculation is always concerned with questions of vital
interest to mankind, and hence in the deepest sense moral questions. In
all of his fiction, moralistic teachings are present, whether explicit
or implicit, although less prominent than the philosophic ideas.
Frequently pompous in diction and artificial in manner, these stories,
nevertheless, do not lack a certain impressive simplicity in their
presentation of various aspects of Johnson’s earnest philosophy of life.
His convictions of the vanity of accumulating riches, expecting
gratitude, seeking happiness, desiring fame, forming a definite plan for
one’s life, are all found here and are all variations on his favourite
theme: the vanity of human wishes. But, even in these short stories,
Johnson reveals two other equally characteristic aspects of his
philosophy: religious faith, and brave insistence on duty. _Nouradin the
Merchant and his son Almamoulin_, which forms the whole of the
_Rambler_, No. 120, is prefaced by quotations on virtue, and teaches the
vanity of gathering riches. _Morad the son of Hanuth and his son
Abonzaid_[143] sets forth the vanity of labours that wish to be rewarded
by gratitude, and concludes that the only satisfactory aim of life is to
please God. _Seged, Lord of Ethiopia, and his efforts to be happy_,[144]
is obviously an earlier draft of _Rasselas_.[145] Seged, having
fulfilled all his duties as king, determined to retire for ten days from
the cares of state, in order to be happy for that short interval. He
commanded “the house of pleasure built in an island of the Lake Dambia,
to be prepared,” and endeavoured to gratify every desire. But the first
day there were so many pleasures to choose from that the day slipped by
without a choice; and the other days were marred by accidents, a bad
dream, tyranny, envy among those whom he sought to please, by the memory
of a defeat, and finally by the death of his daughter. Hence the king
concluded: “Let no man ever presume to say, ‘This day shall be a day of
happiness.’” The narrative is better than in the other tales; it
possesses more unity and more interest. The oriental setting is slight,
the descriptions are vague, and emphasis is thrown upon the unadorned
theme. The strength of the story lies in the force of this theme and the
sympathetic account of Seged’s successive feelings. It is interesting to
find Johnson meditating on these questions seven years before writing
_Rasselas_. Two other tales, published after _Rasselas_, treat of
similar ideas. _Gelalledin_[146] is like a part of the story of Imlac in
_Rasselas_. Gelalledin, the learned youth, refused a professor’s chair
in hopes of returning to his native city “to dazzle and instruct,” but
when he returned, was unnoticed and ignored. _Omar, Son of Hassan_,[147]
the good and wise servant of the caliph, tells the plan he made in youth
for his life: ten years study; ten years travel; marriage, and
retirement from court. But he “trifled away the years of improvement,”
and each part of his plan was frustrated. Terrestrial happiness is
short, and it is vanity to plan life according to one’s wishes,—surely
an echo of the theme of _Rasselas_.
The imitators of Johnson apparently found it easier to write moralistic
than philosophic tales. At least this is true of the editor of the
_Adventurer_, who was so voluminous a moralist. Only one of his stories,
_Almet the Dervise_,[148] can be called philosophic, and even here the
author moralizes throughout. The title given the essay is _The Value of
Life fixed by Hope and Fear and therefore dependent upon the Will: an
Eastern story_. Almet is taught by an angel, who shows him in a vision a
fair landscape and an “austere” scene and comments on them. Like
Johnson, Hawkesworth employs oriental colouring sparingly. He exerts his
imagination upon the picture of the dervish Almet watching the sacred
lamp in the sepulcher of the prophet and, after the angel has vanished,
finding himself at the temple porch in the serene twilight. One other
imitation of Johnson’s philosophic tales is Goldsmith’s _Asem, an
Eastern Tale: or a vindication of the wisdom of Providence in the moral
government of the world_.[149] Asem is taught by the customary vision
and Genius. Goldsmith’s fancy, not content with the conventional
introduction, pictures the Genius walking over the lake and guiding Asem
to a beautiful country beneath its depths. The lucid style and the
occasional satire, characteristic of the author, serve to distinguish
this sketch from those of his predecessors.
We have spoken of the development of the philosophic oriental tale from
Addison’s _Vision of Mirza_ on through Johnson’s work in the _Rambler_
and the _Idler_ to Hawkesworth’s and Goldsmith’s imitations. There
remain to be considered the translations from Voltaire, especially
_Zadig_, and the most important philosophical oriental tale of the
period, Johnson’s _Rasselas_. But before examining these books, which
carry on the philosophizing tendency to its culmination, it may be well
to mention two works, somewhat apart from the general current, yet
warranting a brief digression.
One is a pseudo-translation: _The Bonze, or Chinese Anchorite_;[150] the
other, a genuine translation from the Arabic, _The Life of Hai Ebn
Yokdhan_. The full title of the latter reads:[151] _The Improvement of
Human Reason, Exhibited in the Life of Hai Ebn Yokdhan: Written in
Arabick above 500 years ago, by Abu Jaafar Ebn Tophail, In which is
demonstrated, By what Methods one may, by the meer Light of Nature,
attain the Knowledg of things Natural and Supernatural; more
particularly the Knowledg of God, and the Affairs of another Life,
Illustrated with proper Figures. Newly Translated from the Original
Arabick, by Simon Ockley, A. M. Vicar of Swavesey in Cambridgshire. With
an Appendix, In which the Possibility of Man’s attaining the True
Knowledge of God, and Things necessary to Salvation, without
Instruction, is briefly consider’d_. London ... 1708. The bookseller’s
preface to the reader summarizes the author’s purpose and outlines the
story with sufficient clearness: “The Design of the Author (who was a
Mahometan Philosopher) is to shew how Humane Reason may, by Observation
and Experience, arrive at the Knowledge of Natural Things, and from
thence to Supernatural; particularly the Knowledge of God and a Future
State. And in order to [do] this, he supposes a Person brought up by
himself, where he was altogether destitute of any Instruction, but what
he could get from his own Observation. He lays the scene in some
Fortunate Island, situate under the Equinoctial; where he supposes this
Philosopher, either to have been bred (according to _Avicen’s_
Hypothesis, who conceiv’d a Possibility of a Man’s being form’d by the
Influence of the Planets upon Matter rightly disposed) without either
Father or Mother; or else expos’d in his Infancy, and providentially
suckled by a Roe. Not that our Author believ’d any such matter, but only
having design’d to contrive a convenient place for his Philosopher, so
as to leave him to Reason by himself, and make his Observations without
any Guide.... Then he shews by what Steps ... he advanc’d ... till at
last he perceived the Necessity of acknowledging an Infinite, Eternal,
Wise Creator, and also the Immateriality and Immortality of his own
Soul, and that its Happiness consisted only in a continued Conjunction
with this supream Being.” The bookseller continues with a comment to
which the reader will assent: “The Matter of this Book is curious.” One
interesting description of the solitary hero’s method of making himself
comfortable on the island recalls _Robinson Crusoe_, and as this book
appeared only eleven years before _Crusoe_, the passage may possibly
have been seen by Defoe. Hai Ebn Yokdhan, by the time he was twenty-one
years old, “had made abundance of pretty Contrivances. He made himself
both Cloaths and Shoes of the Skins of such Wild Beasts as he had
dissected. His thread was made of Hair, and of the Bark of ...
Plants.... He made awls of sharp Thorns.... He learn’d the Art of
Building from the Observations he made upon the Swallows Nests....
He ... made a Door ... of Canes twisted together ... etc.”[152] One
other passage of interest is the account of his mystical trance.[153] He
prepared himself by abstinence and by “Imitation of the Heavenly Bodies”
in three respects, first in exercising beneficence toward animals and
plants, second in keeping himself “clear, bright, and pure” like the
light, third in “practising a circular motion” until dizziness weakened
his bodily faculties and purified his spirit.[154] By such means and by
constant meditation, he at last attained to the sight of perfect vision
in the highest sphere. There he beheld the reflection of the divine
glory, the perfection of beauty, splendour, and joy; and after that, the
successive reflections of the divine essence in the other heavenly
spheres. Thus he came to realize the dependence of all created things on
the “one, true, necessary, self-existent” First Cause: and saw that this
world followed “the Divine World as a Shadow does the Body.” The story
concludes with an account of the friendship formed by the philosopher
with a holy man who came to the island, and of their “serving God ...
till they died.” In addition to the slight resemblance to _Robinson
Crusoe_ noted above, the book possesses interest as a link between the
work of seventeenth-century orientalists like Dr. Pococke[155] and the
oriental tales of our period; and also as an example of the exaltation
of the “natural man” found earlier in _Oroonoko_ and later in the works
of Rousseau.
_The Bonze_ is more curious but less valuable. It is an odd medley of
moralistic and philosophic rhapsodies on all sorts of subjects,—the
Trinity, Lucifer, Adam’s fall,—combined with sentimental and coarse
love-tales concerning the Chinese prince Zangola’s transmigrations, and
recounted in a vision to the sage Confuciango. The style is so atrocious
as to be amusing, _e.g._ the “gay pomposity” of the peacock’s “beauteous
tail,” “horrific scenes,” “old dreadful tygers” [_sic_], the “elegance
of heaven,” and “the hideous tenebrosity of hell.” “Elegance” of every
kind is frequent. “Never before was my heart susceptible of such elegant
feelings.” “Methought mortality fell from me like the catterpiller’s
[_sic_] form, when he becomes invested with elegance, and shaking his
golden wings, disdaining earth, he flies exulting towards heaven.” But
when the writer goes so far as to describe “a sunrise, orientally
decorated,” one is irresistibly reminded of Fielding’s cheerful parodies
of flamboyant preambles in, for example, the opening paragraph of Chap.
II., Book IV., of _Tom Jones_: “A short hint of what we can do in the
sublime, and a description of Miss Sophia Western.” _The Bonze_ in
extravagance thus occupies a unique, if insignificant, place among the
philosophic tales. Like them it discusses questions such as the origin
of evil and the search for happiness, attempts but little local colour,
and regards the East as “romantic” and “barbaric,”—words at that time
almost synonymous. “He received me in as kind a manner as it is possible
for a mere barbarian.” “There was a romantic palace in the free taste of
China, which, tied to no partial rules, admitted all the beauties of
architecture.” The attitude of the writer is one of apologetic
admiration of objects and ideas so foreign to eighteenth-century
standards. But _The Bonze_, despite its aim to “mingle instruction with
delight in hope to gain the smile of approbation,” stands at one side in
any general view of the philosophic oriental tale, and serves to bring
into greater prominence the real value of such works as Voltaire’s
_Zadig_ and Johnson’s _Rasselas_.
In France, the _Conte Philosophique_, founded by Voltaire, had been one
of the most notable imitations of the genuine oriental tale. In 1749,
only a year after the first complete French edition appeared,
_Zadig_[156] was translated into English. The popularity it attained in
England was due in part to the fact that one of its chapters, _The
Hermit_, was based on the poem by Thomas Parnell,[157] in part to the
fame of Voltaire, and chiefly to the character of the book itself.
Abounding in wit, humour, and philosophy,—qualities enhanced by
Voltaire’s keen and brilliant style,—_Zadig_ has a permanent value,
visible even through the medium of translation. There is a slight but
sufficiently firm thread of story,—the love of Zadig for the queen,—and
on this are strung Zadig’s separate and vari-coloured adventures. The
discovery of the king’s lost palfrey by circumstantial evidence, Zadig’s
pretense at worshiping candles to rebuke his idolatrous master, the
frustrated attempt of Zadig’s affectionate wife to cut off his nose, his
rescue from death by a parrot’s finding his verses, the fantastic scene
of the maidens in a meadow searching for a basilisk,—such incidents are
cleverly told, and even in the English version show something of the wit
of the original French. The main story has a good climax and a happy
dénouement. Voltaire’s clever manipulation of oriental colouring
apparently contributed not a little to the immediate popularity of both
the French and the English versions. By the time _Zadig_ appeared,[158]
the European critic of manners and thought in the disguise of an
Oriental had become a conventional type in the oriental tale.[159]
_Zadig_ is a variant on the theme of the _Lettres Persanes_. Voltaire is
a more subtle satirist in that he does not locate his Oriental in Paris,
but in Babylon. Hence, like Swift’s satires, Voltaire’s criticisms of
European customs, because ostensibly remote and not aimed at Europe, are
the more penetrating. “That show of insignificant words which in Babylon
they called polite conversation.”... “They would not suffer him to open
his mouth in his own vindication. His pocket-book was sufficient
evidence against him. So strict were the Babylonish laws.” Zadig is, of
course, Voltaire himself, and the other characters with fanciful
“oriental” names—Arimanzes, Astarte, Seloc—are said to be Voltaire’s
court enemies and friends. Like the similar device in the pastoral, this
gave piquancy to the narrative. Voltaire’s twofold aim, to be the
entertaining story-teller and the satirical philosopher, is discernible
on every page, and his light and facile use of oriental setting is not
unlike Goldsmith’s in _The Citizen of the World_. He lays the scene in
Babylon or Egypt, the Indies or Memphis, and mentions Siberia and
Scythia to add to the sense of remoteness. His characters wear turbans
and sandals, travel on the “swiftest dromedaries” and camels, are sold
as slaves to an Arab merchant, are threatened with the bowstring and
poisoned cup. The “fair coquet” insists that the old and gouty chief
Magus shall “dance a saraband” before her, and the beautiful Almona is
rescued from the suttee by the ability of Zadig. Besides such references
to Eastern customs, there are quotations of proverbs and of Zoroastrian
precepts, and various references to religious beliefs and observances,
_e.g._ the bridge of death, the angel Azrael, Oromazdes, and temple
worship. Chap. XI., _The Evening’s Entertainment_, treats of ideas found
also in Voltaire’s _Fragments historiques sur l’Inde_: the worship of
one God under the symbol of fire by the ancient Persians; of one supreme
Deity under various symbols by the Egyptians, etc. A heated discussion
takes place between an Egyptian, an Indian, a Greek, and others as to
the superior claims of their respective religions. They are finally
brought by Zadig’s sense and tact to acknowledge that, in truth, they
all worship the Supreme Creator as behind and above all symbols.[160] By
this mockery of oriental fanaticism, Voltaire is actually satirizing
European bigotry and unreason. In a similar manner he strikes at the
metaphysicians. Zadig “was well instructed in the science of the ancient
Chaldeans ... and understood as much of metaphysics as any that have
lived after him,—that is to say, he knew very little about it.” And,
aiming ostensibly at the mercenary selfishness of the Babylonian
courtiers, Voltaire hits the sycophants of the French court. The king
ordered Zadig’s fine of four hundred ounces to be restored to him.
“Agreeable to his Majesty’s commands, the clerk of the court, the
tipstaffs, and the other petty officers, waited on Zadig ... to refund
the four hundred ounces of gold; modestly reserving only three hundred
and ninety ounces, to defray the fees of the court and other expenses.”
The inconsistency of the oriental freebooter who thought it wrong for
the rich, but quite right for himself, to get and keep wealth, might
easily have found a parallel in France. “I was distracted to see” (he
says) “in a wide world which ought to be divided fairly among mankind,
that Fate had reserved so small a portion for me.” Other themes
illustrated are the misery caused by tyrants; the injustice of the
social structure; the fickleness of women who protest too much; and
above all the question of the part played in human life by destiny,—the
apparent supremacy of Chance, and the real supremacy of a foreknowing
and overruling Providence. Zadig’s adventures hinge upon trivial
happenings, and hence he doubts Providence, until the angel, disguised
as a hermit, teaches him.[161] We have spoken of Voltaire’s facile use
of oriental colouring. But in _Zadig_ few figures of speech occur. On
one occasion Zadig addresses the judges as “glorious stars of justice,”
and “mirrors of equity.” Such figures, however, are rare, a fact the
more remarkable since Voltaire considered the immoderate use of metaphor
one of the chief characteristics of oriental writing,[162] and another
instance of the way in which he subordinated the oriental setting to his
serious purpose.
Besides _Zadig_, several other _contes philosophiques_ by Voltaire were
early translated into English. In the majority of them, literary and
social satire predominates over philosophical speculation, and therefore
these tales may best be classified among the Satiric Group in Chap. IV.
But in two, though satire is present, speculation is predominant: _The
World as it Goes_, (1754)[163] and _The Good Bramin_ (1763).[164] Both
are brief. The latter is a sketch of a good Bramin who had studied much
and, in his own estimation, learned nothing. Hence he was unhappy, yet
he preferred his condition to that of an old woman, who lived near him,
contented because ignorant. In conclusion the author states that he has
been unable to find any philosopher who would accept happiness on the
terms of being ignorant. All men seem to set a greater value on reason
than on happiness. Is not that folly? _The World as it Goes_ is an
account of a visit to Persepolis, _i.e._ Paris, by Babouc the Scythian,
sent by the genie Ithuriel to observe the inhabitants in order to assist
Ithuriel in deciding whether or not to destroy Persepolis. Babouc
observed soldiers, church-goers, lawyers, merchants, magi, men of
letters, and women. In each group he found both good and bad qualities
so mingled that he wavered back and forth in his judgment, and finally
grew fond of a city, “the inhabitants of which were polite, affable, and
beneficent, though fickle, slanderous, and vain.” When obliged to report
to the angel, he presented him with a little statue made of base metals,
gold, and jewels. “Wilt thou break,” said he to Ithuriel, “this pretty
statue because it is not wholly composed of gold and diamonds?” Ithuriel
understood, and resolved to spare the city and to leave “the world as it
goes.” “For,” he said, “if all is not well, all is passable.” Except for
these _contes_ by Voltaire, no philosophic oriental tales of any
importance were translated from the French. The current tended, in fact,
the other way. English tales, both moralistic and philosophic, were
translated and adapted for use in _Les Mercures de France_.
Of the philosophic oriental tales composed in English, _Rasselas_
(1759),[165] the most important, remains to be discussed. The
culmination of the fiction in the _Rambler_ and the _Idler_, this brief
sketch may be regarded as the best type of the serious English oriental
tale. Written immediately after the death of Johnson’s mother, it
expresses the substance of the author’s somber philosophy of life.
Though darkened by his immediate grief, the philosophy is essentially
the same as that revealed in his conversations and his verse. The theme
of the tale can hardly be stated in a better phrase than “The Vanity of
Human Wishes.” Rasselas, confined in the Happy Valley all the days of
his youth, realizes that the gratification of desire does not confer
lasting happiness; and, with his sister Nekayah and two other
companions, escapes into the world only to discover unhappiness
everywhere. Unable to obtain even his wish to govern a little kingdom
beneficently, he resolves to return to Abyssinia. In sight of this
conclusion, the princess Nekayah significantly declares: “The choice of
life is become less important. I hope hereafter to think only on the
choice of eternity.”
The story is broken by continual philosophizing, or rather the
philosophizing—to the author more important—is held together by the
slender thread of narrative. Serious and leisurely conversations held by
Rasselas with his companions turn upon the problems of government; the
characteristics of melancholia; the mysterious causes of good and evil;
the immortality of the soul; and, most frequently, the impossibility of
attaining happiness. One of the chief reasons for discontent is the lack
of free choice. “Very few ... live by choice. Every man is placed in his
present condition by causes which acted without his foresight and with
which he did not always willingly coöperate; and therefore you will
rarely meet one who does not think the lot of his neighbours better than
his own.” Each endeavour of Rasselas to find a happy man is
unsuccessful. “The young men of spirit and gaiety,” whose only business
is pleasure, are not happy; shepherds in the much-praised pastoral life
and courtiers in gay society are envious and discontented; hermits are
at heart unhappy, and so are the sages who trust in empty and eloquent
commonplaces on the superiority of reason; men who advise living
“according to nature” attain only a false content. “Marriage has many
pains, but celibacy has no pleasures;” old age is darkened by loneliness
and disappointed hopes; happiness itself is the cause of keenest misery
to the man who has loved and lost a friend, and “human life is
everywhere a state in which much is to be endured and little to be
enjoyed.”
The mitigating circumstance which affords this little enjoyment is the
power of man to attain knowledge and to retain integrity. An educated
intellect and a quiet conscience go far, in Johnson’s estimation,
towards winning serenity and patience. “Knowledge” includes poetry; the
poet Imlac is a man of learning, a scholar; and poetry is “considered as
the highest learning and regarded with a veneration....” The poet should
educate himself by study and by observation until he is able to fulfil
his function “as the interpreter of nature and the legislator of
mankind, ... presiding over the thoughts and manners of future
generations, ... a being superior to time and place.” To Johnson,
thoroughly convinced that life ought to be viewed from the moralistic
side, knowledge is valuable only when ideas are applied to life, and his
philosophizing continually verges towards the dividing line between
speculation and conduct. He rebukes those who, while “making the choice
of life,” “neglect to live”; those who, like Rasselas, pass “four months
in resolving to lose no more time in idle resolves”; he inculcates
employment as the best cure for sorrow; perseverance, courage, and
honesty as essentials of character; and concludes that “all that virtue
can afford is quietness of conscience and a steady prospect of a happier
state; this may enable us to endure calamity with patience, but remember
that patience must suppose pain.”
This fundamental characteristic of Johnson’s philosophy of life—the
sense of the consolation offered to man in the midst of mystery and
unhappiness by virtue, by knowledge, and by faith in a future
existence—renders interesting a comparison of _Rasselas_ and
_Candide_.[166] The two _contes philosophiques_ were published almost
simultaneously,[167] and show striking points of similarity and of
difference. Johnson’s reverent manner, for instance, is opposed to
Voltaire’s habitual mockery; yet Johnson sometimes satirizes shams with
savage irony, and Voltaire, underneath his mockery, has an honest
reverence for the truth. Both are absolutely independent and fearless in
facing intellectual or philosophic problems.
The themes of _Rasselas_ and _Candide_ are strikingly similar. In this
enigmatical world, says Voltaire, which is full of unhappiness due to
misfortune and crime, optimism is false and futile. Candide spends his
sheltered youth in a castle which he is taught to believe blindly is the
most magnificent of all castles in the best of all possible worlds,—an
environment of ideas as artificial as the Happy Valley is for Rasselas,
and affording an equally sharp contrast to the real life outside. For
the Happy Valley, if we look for the meaning of Johnson’s allegory,
signifies the environment, whether inherited or self-made, of the
extreme optimist. Rasselas has the optimistic temperament, hopeful,
charitable, saying confidently: “Surely happiness is somewhere to be
found.” The other inhabitants of the Happy Valley, who enter it
voluntarily and can never leave it, may be likened to optimists like Dr.
Pangloss, Candide’s base and foolish tutor, whose blindness is the
darker because self-imposed,—none so blind as those who will not see.
Gradually the conviction is borne in upon Rasselas that every search for
happiness is futile, and his efforts end in a “conclusion in which
nothing is concluded.” The disillusionment of Candide, less profound
than that of Rasselas, is more bitter because based on intimate and
vivid experiences of crime and horrors.
_Rasselas_ is Voltairean not only in general theme but also in several
specific ideas. Johnson treats with keen satire the philosopher who
“looked round him with a placid air and enjoyed the consciousness of his
own beneficence,” after exhorting men to “live according to nature.”
Rasselas respectfully asked him to define his terms, whereupon he
enlarged as follows: “‘To live according to nature is to act always with
due regard to the fitness arising from the relations ... of cause and
effects; to concur with the great ... scheme of universal felicity; to
coöperate with the general disposition and tendency of the present
system of things.’ The prince found that this was one of the sages whom
he should understand less as he heard him longer. He therefore bowed and
was silent; and the philosopher, supposing him satisfied, and the rest
vanquished, rose up and departed with the air of a man that had
coöperated with the present system.” The irony of Voltaire finds an echo
in Imlac’s words: “learning from the sailors the art of navigation,
which I have never practised, and ... forming schemes for my conduct in
different situations, in not one of which I have ever been placed.”
There is obvious satire too in the account of the eminent mechanist who
discoursed learnedly upon the art of flying. But his flying machine
refused to fly and he promptly dropped into the lake, from which “the
prince drew him to land half dead with terror and vexation.”[168]
Johnson’s “wise and happy man,” who talks nobly about fortitude, but who
is unable to sustain the loss of his daughter, resembles the philosopher
in Voltaire’s sketch, _Les deux Consolés_, who seeks to solace a lady’s
grief by eloquence and refuses to be similarly comforted upon the death
of his son. Imlac’s encomium upon the busy and cheerful monastic life
has been compared with the close of _Candide_. There the hero meets a
contentedly ignorant old man whose entire life is employed in
cultivating his garden, and who thus escapes from ennui, vice, and want.
Candide is profoundly impressed, and brushes aside the grandiloquence of
Pangloss with the significant reply: “Cela est bien dit, ... mais il
faut cultiver notre jardin.” This is Voltaire’s last word in _Candide_,
and, like Johnson’s comment upon the return of Rasselas to Abyssinia, is
“a conclusion in which nothing is concluded.” Thus the similarity of
incidents and ideas brings us back to the deeper analogy between the
themes: the disillusionment of the optimist who has been brought up in
unreality.
All this similarity is, however, counterbalanced by an utter
dissimilarity of treatment. A consideration of Voltaire’s artistic
method throws Johnson’s concept of an oriental tale into bolder relief,
with the high lights on those elements that he considered of prime
importance. Voltaire enjoyed telling the story for the sake of the
story, and delighted in the means he took to make blind optimism
ridiculous, wit and keen satire, vivid description and incident, clever
characterization,—in short, an artistic use of the concrete. _Candide_
has been called “the wittiest book of the eighteenth century,” and wit
is a characteristic as far removed as possible from the seriousness of
_Rasselas_. To Johnson the story was a means to an end,—a frame
necessary to hold together and enhance the thought,—hence the simpler
the frame the better. In _Candide_ the story is interpenetrated with the
theme, but not borne down by it. Candide, like Rasselas, is searching
for happiness; but unlike Johnson’s hero, he desires not happiness in
the abstract,—a philosophical possibility,—but pleasure in the concrete
form of his mistress. He travels far and wide, in hopeful anticipation;
but when he finds her at last, she is no longer fair or lovable, and his
marriage with her is perfunctory and joyless,—a concrete, Voltairean
expression of the idea that happiness attained is often no happiness,
but vanishes in one’s grasp like the apples of dust.
The scenes of Voltaire’s tale, moreover, are not laid in remote
Abyssinia, but chiefly in Europe, with an excursion to “El Dorado” in
the New World, an impossible and comfortable Utopia, the memory of which
serves to embitter Candide’s distress during his subsequent misfortunes.
The Europe of the tale is clearly the Europe of Voltaire’s own day:
there are obvious allusions to contemporary events, such as the
execution of the innocent English admiral Byng in 1757, an excellent
opportunity for Voltaire’s famous gibe at the English: “Dans ce pays-ci
il est bon de tuer de temps en temps un amiral pour encourager les
autres.” The characters also are more individualized than in _Rasselas_,
and scenes like the visit to the blasé Venetian senator Pococurante
(Chap. XXV.)[169] are brilliantly depicted. Throughout the entire story
one definite incident follows another, good and bad, but never
indifferent; until a general effect of rich complexity, of rapid
movement—not unlike that of _Gil Blas_—is attained. In the last analysis
what more striking contrast to this work of Voltaire, the consummate
artist and keen satirist, than _Rasselas_, the profoundly philosophical
tale of Johnson the moralist? Voltaire’s keen wit and brilliant mockery
is indeed exhilarating after the slow and ponderous progress of
Johnson’s thought; but, on the other hand, after the atmosphere of
turmoil, excitement, and repulsive crime in _Candide_, the clear and
pure air of _Rasselas_ affords a welcome relief. In the remote regions
of Johnson’s imaginary Abyssinia and Egypt, events are of minor
importance; the quiet, even advance of speculation concerning truth is
Johnson’s chief interest. There is no emphasis on any incident that
might distract the attention,—in fact the only noticeable events are the
flight from the Happy Valley and the adventure of Pekuah. Neither is
there any emphasis on description; the Happy Valley is depicted in the
most general terms; it might be any valley anywhere. Similarly, in
describing the Lady Pekuah in the Arab’s tent, or Rasselas in Cairo, or
the pyramids of Egypt,—in each case Johnson abstains from the concrete
and prefers the general term. Again, as to time and place he is vague.
His scene is laid far from contemporary Europe. “Rasselas was the fourth
son of the mighty emperor, in whose dominions the Father of Waters
begins his course, whose bounty ... scatters over half the world the
harvests of Egypt.” In fact Johnson’s method of orientalizing his tale
was extremely simple. “Imlac in _Rasselas_,” he says, “I spelt with a
_c_ at the end, because it is less like English, which should always
have the Saxon _k_ added to the _c_.”[170] Eastern localities are only
occasionally mentioned, and always in a thoroughly Johnsonian manner:
“Agra, the capital of Indostan, the city in which the Great Mogul
resides;” “Persia, where I saw many remains of ancient magnificence, and
observed many new accommodations of life.” But there is no local colour,
even in the account of Imlac’s journey with the caravan to the Red Sea,
or of the Arab bandits who demanded ransom for the Lady Pekuah, or of
the story-telling in the cool of the day. The language, clear and often
simple, always dignified and powerful, sometimes pompous, is seldom
orientalized by the introduction of figures such as “the frown of
power,” “the eye of wisdom,” “the waves of violence,” “the rocks of
treachery.” Unobstructed by imagery, it reflects Johnson’s clear and
serious thought. The Happy Valley, as a central concept, is as simple as
the bridge in _The Vision of Mirza_; indeed, Johnson’s treatment of
imaginative elements in general is like Addison’s. Rasselas, like Mirza,
is so generalized as to be “Everyman,” lacking the specific traits of a
living individual and in so far resembling characters in other oriental
tales. Yet the earnestness and dignity of the author raise _Rasselas_
above the average oriental tale. Both theme and treatment compel
attention, and like music, may be interpreted by each reader for
himself. To a man of Johnson’s temperament, habitually threatened by
melancholy, the brighter side of life was invisible; such facts as
abiding joy, enduring content, true happiness, were beyond his field of
vision. Consequently _Rasselas_ shows only the shadows of the picture,
and is, in so far, untrue to life as a whole. But the truth that Johnson
saw, he faced unflinchingly and depicted powerfully, and by this truth,
so depicted, _Rasselas_ still lives. Emphasis on philosophizing rather
than on narrative; creation of a setting faint in colour; intentional
vagueness regarding character, time, and place, result in a strong
impression of remoteness. The Abyssinia and Cairo of _Rasselas_ are
far-away and shadowy places, in which shadowy people move; but the
questions raised, the grief expressed, come home to whoever “hath kept
watch o’er man’s mortality,” and, like Johnson, perplexed by
“the mystery, ...
the heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world,”
has taken refuge in “learning,” “integrity,” and “faith.” These are the
realities behind the shadows in _Rasselas_,—realities which gain from
the vagueness and remoteness of setting a heightened effect of
universality.
CHAPTER IV
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.”
CHAPTER V
LITERARY ESTIMATE
Upon a general survey of the four groups of oriental tales described in
the preceding chapters, one is impressed by the exceedingly diversified
nature of the collection, and—paradoxical though the statement may
seem—by the presence of a sufficient number of common qualities to give
the collection as a whole a distinctive character: it is “the oriental
tale in England in the eighteenth century.” In form this fiction
includes within its wide range the frame-tale, in which
stories—sometimes in letter-form—are inclosed; isolated apologues and
other short tales used to point the moral of an Addisonian or Johnsonian
essay; fantastic tales in which adventure is everything; tales equally
fantastic but coloured by satire; and tales with the thinnest possible
thread of plot to sustain the predominant satiric, moralistic, or
philosophic purpose. The characterization is uniformly slight, and tends
toward more or less abstract types. The scene is laid in the Orient,
from Egypt to China, or in Europe visited by Orientals; and is given a
picturesque background of strange Eastern customs, sometimes enriched by
allusions to religious or philosophical beliefs, often by lavish use of
magic and enchantment. Oriental or pseudo-oriental nomenclature aids in
producing the desired effect of remoteness. The language is usually
coloured by oriental phraseology, and is frequently—but not
necessarily—figurative and inflated. As might be expected, the amount of
local colour, the richness of detail, and the truth to oriental manners
and places are greater as the stories approximate genuine Eastern
fiction like the _Arabian Nights_. At the other end of the scale, in
thoroughly Anglicized oriental tales, such as _Rasselas_ and
_Nourjahad_, the background is pale and shadowy, details are sparse, and
references to Eastern places and customs are rare. But in all this
fiction there is a distinctly exotic flavour, distilled through the
medium of eighteenth-century ideas.
The general course of development of the genre in England followed the
lines of the similar French movement, but with characteristically
different emphasis. In France the movement—preluded by the
pseudo-oriental satire, _The Turkish Spy_—was initiated by highly
imaginative oriental translations contemporaneous with the fairy tales
of Perrault. It was continued by imitations in which qualities from both
oriental tales and fairy tales were blended,—notably extravagant
invention and magic; by literary parodies aimed at form and style; and
by social satires, ranging from comments on manners to philosophic
criticism of life. Finally, the natural decline of the oriental tale as
a genre, together with that of the fairy tale, was hastened by the
weight of extreme license on the one hand and of moralistic didacticism
on the other. In England, the _Arabian Nights_ and its companions were
warmly welcomed, but there was no sudden efflorescence of imaginative
and fanciful fiction as there had been in France. English writers at
first contented themselves, as far as imaginative tales were concerned,
with translating from the French. It is worth noting that they did not
translate the fairy tales of Perrault until 1729.[248] The blending of
the fairy tales with the oriental tales in France was one of the most
striking characteristics of the movement, and the comparative lack of
the fairy element in England limited, in so far, the initial scope of
the English movement. But in France, after the first furore, no new
kinds of purely imaginative oriental stories or fairy tales appeared;
while in England, from time to time throughout the century, imaginative
oriental tales were written, including realistic stories, a tragic
romance, _Charoba_ (translated from a seventeenth-century French
version), and a tale of terror, _Vathek_. In both countries dramas,
especially farces, were based on this fiction.[249]
Satire in France—as suggested above—followed two lines of development:
the social line inaugurated by Marana, and the literary or parodic,—a
natural reaction from the extravagances of the imaginative tales.
English satire in oriental guise was chiefly social, occasionally
political, rarely parodic. The reaction against the enthusiasm with
which the oriental tales had been greeted, was voiced not so much in
actual parody as in direct ridicule or critical disapproval. Pope’s
friend, Bishop Atterbury, was not alone in thinking “the Arabian Tales”
“so extravagant, monstrous, and disproportioned” that they “gave a
judicious eye pain.”[250] Pope’s own gibe at the hack-writer who could
“turn a Persian tale for half-a-crown” was echoed fifty years later by
Goldsmith: “Mr. Tibs [is] a very _useful hand_; he writes receipts for
the bite of a mad dog and throws off an eastern tale to
perfection.”[251] What there was of parody was directed against the
so-called oriental diction and phraseology, while in France parody was
aimed chiefly at the narrative form and the extravagance of incident. On
the whole, English satire had a narrower range and followed chiefly the
line of light and cheerful humour best exemplified in _The Citizen of
the World_. French satire, more pervasive and more penetrating,
expressed—especially when touched by the genius of Voltaire and
Montesquieu—something of the deep unrest of France in the eighteenth
century, the era before the Revolution. Even the _contes philosophiques_
are tinged with satire. The typical English writer of philosophic
oriental tales, on the contrary, dwelt in an imaginary country of pure
speculation, and entered the world of fact only for the purpose of
moralizing.
The emphasis which in France was thrown upon satire fell in England upon
philosophy and morals. From _The Vision of Mirza_ to _Rasselas_; from
Parnell’s _Hermit_ to Miss Edgeworth’s _Murad the Unlucky_; throughout
the entire period the two tendencies were steadily prominent. At the
outset, Addison and Steele set the example of wresting the new
imaginative oriental fiction just received from France out of its
original shape into something more conformable to their sincere ideas of
worthy literature. Dr. Johnson and many others, especially in the
periodical essays, intensified this didactic tradition. In literary
merit the philosophic tales take precedence over the moralistic, though
the latter are far more numerous. Enough has been said in the preceding
chapters to make clear the character of the two groups. The questions at
present of greater importance in our discussion are the reasons why the
genre in England followed the philosophic and moralistic tendencies and
the other lines of development mentioned in the preceding paragraphs.
How may we account for the presence and more or less general popularity
of this fiction in England during the eighteenth century? Why were the
imaginative tales so soon diverted to didactic purposes?
The environment into which the _Arabian Nights_ and the _Persian Tales_
came was that of an age which expressed itself most naturally in
rationalistic prose and satiric verse. The moralizing tendency,
characteristic also of the eighteenth century on the continent, has been
called a fundamental instinct of the British character; and at that time
was so powerful and widespread as to colour all English literature. Even
Fielding did not escape, much less the writers of these Eastern stories.
The environment proved stronger than the new organism. Too exotic to
become easily acclimated, such tales were regarded as entertaining
trifles, to be tolerated seriously only when utilized to point a moral.
The moralizing tendency and the rationalistic mood were two barriers
opposed to the free development of imaginative oriental fiction. A third
obstacle was the deference shown to the canons of French classicism. All
things French were welcomed, but only those sanctioned by Boileau found
lasting and serious consideration; and the sober second thought of
Augustan criticism was thus strengthened in its disdain of the oriental
tale. Furthermore, a barrier existed in the insularity of English life
and thought. Aside from her connection with France, England was
surprisingly insular in the early eighteenth century. Literary England
was confined, in large measure, to London alone, because of the
practical difficulties of communicating with the country. Roads were
bad, journeys difficult and perilous. Foreign travel was by no means so
common as later in the century. The East was indeed the “Far East,”
chiefly used as a figure of speech for fabulous wealth or excessive
tyranny. Usually the contrast was drawn in favour of England. Dyer, in
his poem, _The Fleece_, even praises the happy English sheep in
comparison with the less favoured sheep of other lands. Mohammedanism
was regarded as an imposture and Buddhism was practically unknown. It
was not until the victories of Clive in India and the era of expansion
under the elder Pitt that England took any vital interest in the
Orient,—an interest first expressed in literature by direct translations
from oriental language in the last quarter of the century. In the
earlier decades, England, on the whole prosperous and peaceful under
Walpole’s long rule, was satisfied with her insularity; a feeling voiced
by Shenstone in the poem entitled, _Declining an invitation to visit
foreign Countries, he takes Occasion to intimate the Advantages of his
own_.[252]
But, even had there been no such obstacles to overcome in the
environment, a barrier to the free imaginative development of the
oriental tale would have existed in the character of the first
eighteenth-century translations of oriental fiction. They lacked too
frequently not only the graphic detail, which in accounts of far distant
lands fascinates the reader, but also the deeper elements of
characterization that make the whole world kin and are the most potent
means of breaking down superficial barriers between alien peoples. When
Galland prepared his version of the _Arabian Nights_ for European
readers, he omitted not only the coarseness of the original, but also
many of its interesting minutiæ, details which give to our later
versions—Burton’s and Payne’s, for instance—the charm of good tales of
travel, and produce in the reader the vivid sense of actually being in
the picturesque Orient. The French and English successors of Galland
followed him in this respect and fell short even of his achievement.
Hardly any English writers until past the middle of the century knew or
apparently cared to know the East well, either through travel or through
books; hence the pale and colourless quality of their oriental
fiction.[253] Beckford was the first to introduce much picturesque
detail, and in so doing anticipated the methods of Moore, Southey,
Byron, and their successors.
The lack of vivid descriptions, however, was far less serious than the
presence of alien elements without the saving grace of deep human
interest. Unlike Gothic legend, Celtic poem, or English ballad, the
oriental tale formed no intimate part of the national heritage.
Something latent or sleeping in the nature of the English people was
roused during this century by a sudden revival of interest in things
their ancestors had loved and lived with; and Percy’s _Reliques_,
Walpole’s _Castle of Otranto_, the _Poems of Ossian_, struck a
responsive chord. But the oriental tale was alien; and incident,
atmosphere, fancies, understood and liked by Eastern listeners, seemed
too grotesque and incredible to make more than a limited appeal to
untraveled English readers. They welcomed, rather, with characteristic
heartiness the homely, realistic background of Defoe’s stories. If the
oriental tale had emphasized the more fundamental elements of human
character—the passions of love, hate, ambition, revenge—in addition to
the spirit of adventure and delight in the picturesque and the
mysterious, then whatever was alien in setting or incident would have
been no barrier. For instance, the oriental custom most frequently
alluded to by English writers throughout the century is the suttee. They
were impressed not only by the outlandish barbarity of the custom, but
also by the universal ideal of supreme fidelity in love and heroic
devotion to religious belief. Witness also the strong appeal made to-day
to Western imaginations by modern versions of Afghan ballads afire with
passion; or by romantic legends like that of the Persian sculptor,
Farhad, and the Princess Schirin.[254]
But in spite of all these barriers to the free imaginative development
of this fiction,—the rationalistic classicism; the moralistic,
philosophic, and satiric moods; the insularity of the English people;
and the alien characteristics of the oriental tale,—nevertheless, the
presence and the genuine if limited popularity of this fiction in
eighteenth-century England are undeniable facts. The reasons behind
these facts will bring us to the question of the ultimate significance
of the genre as a manifestation of the Romantic spirit.
The first and obvious reason for the welcome given the oriental tale by
the London of Pope and Addison—despite Bishop Atterbury’s censure—was
that it came from France. Especially since 1660, French influence had
prevailed in England, French literary critics were regarded as
authoritative, and French fashions in literature were followed. Since,
then, the vogue of the oriental tale was so great in France, it was
naturally echoed in England. That the fairy tales—equally popular in
France—did not cross the Channel at that time may be due to the fact
that Perrault drew directly from French folk-lore, and hence made an
especial appeal to the French people; and that the Countess D’Aulnoy and
other aristocratic ladies gave to the stories they retold from
Straparola a prestige only local. Moreover, the fairy tales—charming as
they are—lack the quality possessed by the _Arabian Nights_,—what we
have called “the sense of reality in the midst of unreality,” a quality
particularly attractive to English readers.
The same fact of French influence accounts largely for the favourable
reception given to the _Turkish Spy_, and later to the _Lettres
Persanes_. The popularity of such oriental pseudo-letters in England was
a part of a general European tendency.[255] Similarly England had shared
in a widely diffused interest in an analogous form of satire; that of
Boccalini’s _Ragguagli di Parnaso_, a type generally known and
frequently imitated throughout seventeenth-century Europe.[256]
Boccalini had imagined Apollo, king of Parnassus, conducting discussions
among his courtiers,—men of genius from every nation and age,—and
passing criticism on political and literary questions; Boccalini himself
being the reporter who brought these “Advices” from Parnassus to Europe.
The analogy between such satire and that of Marana is striking. In one
sense Apollo and the departed shades, observing Europe from the remote
regions of mythology, were forerunners and equivalents of the later
learned Turkish spies, Persian travelers, and Chinese philosophers from
the Far East.[257]
Another reason for the welcome given the _Arabian Nights_ and _The
Persian Tales_ is found in connection with the history of the novel.
The elements of interest essential to great narrative art are plot,
character, and background. Of these essentials it has been said that
the _Sir Roger de Coverley_ papers possess two: admirable
characterization and well-defined background; and that the absence
of plot alone denies to _Sir Roger de Coverley_ the name of the
first English novel.[258] Almost exactly contemporary with the _De
Coverley_ papers appeared the _Arabian Nights_; and, in the light of
what has just been said, the auspicious reception of these oriental
tales gains new significance. Stories of pure adventure, in
fantastic and often brilliant setting, sometimes emotional or
sentimental, never strong in characterization—they offered just that
element of plot which was lacking in the periodical sketches. The
plot, indeed, is frequently strong only in incident, and is tangled
in construction. Yet, in the _Arabian Nights_, there are several
tales that, in certain respects, deserve to be called classical;
_Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves_, or _Zeyn Alasnam and the King of
the Genii_, for instance, despite all their oriental decorations,
are admirably simple and well-proportioned; and the _Arabian
Nights_, as a whole, is a treasure-house of story perhaps
unsurpassed in literature. Nothing so rich in adventurous incident
appeared in England until _Robinson Crusoe_ (1719); and in plot
nothing so well-constructed as some of these tales until Fielding’s
masterpieces. Historians of English fiction have insufficiently
recognized the fact that the oriental tale was one of the forms of
literature that gave to the reading public in Augustan England the
element of plot which, to a certain extent, supplemented that of
character, afforded by sketches like the _De Coverley_ papers. The
English novel, as a recent writer has pointed out in his admirable
outline of its history, is particularly rich in the variety of
elements assisting in its development. Of the seventeenth century he
writes: “The heroic romance died and left no issue. And the
influence that the century exercised on the growth of pure fiction,
the foundations it laid for the coming novel, are to be sought, not
in the writers of romance, but in the followers of other branches of
literature, often remote enough from fiction, in satirists and
allegorists, newspaper scribes and biographers, writers of travel
and adventure, and fashionable comic playwrights.”[259] Yet the
translators of oriental fiction in the early eighteenth
century—“writers of romance” in one sense though they were—deserve a
place among these diverse influences. The _Arabian Nights_ was the
fairy godmother of the English novel.
But the love of story for the story’s sake was not the only or the chief
reason for the welcome given the _Arabian Nights_ and its immediate
successors. In France, the popularity of these fantastic and marvelous
stories, restless in plot and exuberant in colour, had testified to a
truant desire to escape from the strict artistic rules and classical
ideals of masters like Boileau. Conditions were similar in England.
Pseudo-classicism was the natural literary ideal of the men gathered in
the coffee-houses around Pope and Addison. The rule of reason, of order,
of good sense, was unquestioned; and, to so keen and clever a society,
the satiric verse of Pope was ideal poetry. But even the author of the
_Essay on Criticism_ allowed his fancy to stray at times beyond the
well-defined limits of traditional art. He enjoyed the Arabian Tales,
commended them to his friend, Bishop Atterbury,[260] and planned himself
to write a “wild” Eastern tale.[261] Lady Montagu did much to excite and
to gratify curiosity concerning Turkish life by her entertaining letters
from Constantinople.[262] Swift read the _Arabian Nights_ and fairy
tales. He writes to Stella: “I borrowed one or two idle books of _Contes
des Fées_ and have been reading them these two days, although I have
much business upon my hands.”[263] Goldsmith dreamed ardently of a
journey to the Far East,[264] and Dr. Johnson himself came somewhat
under the oriental spell. The men of the eighteenth century were not
devoid of passion and imagination; they were not without a love for the
country, though they liked the town far better; they were not without an
appreciation of nature, though they preferred cultivated plains to
“horrid Alps”; but they considered it bad form to express such feelings
in polite society or in serious literature. Oppressed by the bare and
hard rationalism of the day, people craved more and more earnestly
adequate food for their imagination, their fancy, their emotion. This
hunger explains the growing interest in varied fields of artistic
activity: the popularity of the new Italian operas and of Handel’s
oratorios, the vogue of the bourgeois drama, the interest in Hogarth’s
realistic art, and the appearance of nature poetry like Thomson’s
_Seasons_.
To the general though gradual romantic expansion of outlook there are
many witnesses; and it is significant to note that the strand of
interest in the Orient is interwoven with other romantic threads. As
early as 1692, Sir William Temple shows interest in Norse poetry and
mythology, in Indian and Chinese life and art.[265] Addison soon follows
with his defense of _Chevy Chase_; Ambrose Philips, the translator of
the _Persian Tales_, also edits old English ballads, and Bishop Percy,
toward the end of the period, manifests a curious range of interest:
English ballads, Northern antiquities, Chinese literature, etc.[266]
Similarly in France, Caylus, Pétis de la Croix, and Galland had been
antiquarians as well as orientalists. In such a widening of outlook the
Romantic Movement resembles the Renaissance.
The chief reason, then, for the popularity of the oriental fiction was
its romantic character. No wonder that the growing demands of the
reaction against pseudo-classicism found a certain satisfaction in these
extraordinary tales, which brought into the comparatively gray and
colourless life of Augustan England the fascinating marvels of oriental
legend, encompassed, even in the translations from the French, by
something of the magical atmosphere and strange glamour of the East. It
would be as difficult as superfluous to analyze the world-wide charm of
these tales. The caliph in disguise, wandering the streets of Bagdad in
search of adventure, appeals to the same naïve sense of delight that is
excited by Richard Cœur-de-Lion or Robin Hood. There is in most people
at all times something of the child’s love of the marvelous. In the
eighteenth century a special reason for the popularity of these tales
lay in the fact that they offered to the reactionary spirit, always
characteristic of romanticism, romantic themes and treatment, and voiced
the romantic mood. In varying degree these stories show a love of
adventure and of mystery; a desire to excite the feelings of surprise,
horror, or delight; a child’s joy in the extravagant, the unusual, and
the exotic; and an equally childlike desire to achieve the apparently
impossible. The _Persian Tales_ is tinged with sentimentalism;
Anglicized tales such as _Rasselas_ sound a decided note of subjectivity
and melancholy; _Vathek_ is unreal and “wild.” It is interesting to find
Horace Walpole calling his _Castle of Otranto_ “so wild a tale,” for
just this quality of wildness in both the oriental and the Gothic tale
manifests romantic longings. In the one there is the reactionary desire
to escape to the far-away, mysterious East,—the remote in space; in the
other, the desire to return to the Middle Ages,—the remote in time; in
both, the longing for picturesque colouring, for magical atmosphere, for
strangeness, coupled sometimes with beauty, sometimes with horror.
But, it may be said, the oriental tale is romantic only in external
qualities, and should be classed as pseudo-romantic. Every romantic
revival passes through a stage of what may be called pseudo-romanticism
or, more accurately, superficial romanticism, gradually deepening and
strengthening as it grows toward its culmination. The movement known in
literary history as the Romantic Movement in England began almost
imperceptibly early in the eighteenth century. Its sources were as
diverse as those of the English novel. If we take as the highest
standards of English romanticism the picturesque, objective mediævalism
of Scott; the deep spirituality of Wordsworth; the intense subjectivity
of Emily Bronté; Shelley’s “cloudless clarity of light”; the strange
beauty of Keats’s verse,—the sense of melancholy, of mystery, of
sympathy with sorrow found in all great romantic poets,—then the
beginnings of English romanticism seem what they are, mere beginnings,
so remote from the great romantic literature that the difference in
degree amounts to a difference in kind. From this point of view,
critical analysis, noting that the Gothic tale and the oriental tale
lack the more subtle and essential elements of the romantic spirit,
justly regards them as romantic only in externals.
Yet romanticism is a relative term; and if all that is not romantic in
the highest sense be dismissed as unromantic, there is great danger of
ignoring the gradual evolution of the profounder elements of the
romantic spirit and of overlooking the genuine romanticism latent or
obscured in early romantic art. Critics of classicism, who regard solely
the highest forms in which that literary tendency embodies itself, often
pay the penalty of losing perspective, of disregarding evolution. If the
great classics—Homer, Æschylus, Virgil—be taken as the norm, then works
of the later Greek or Roman periods, or the so-called “classic” period
in France, may be regarded justly as pseudo-classical. At the same time,
genuinely classical qualities are present in Racine and Corneille, and
must be recognized, together with the equally obvious pseudo-classical
elements, as contributing to the evolution of French classicism. Here,
again, it is a question of the point of view. Criticism may consider a
work of art in the light of the absolute standard,—the ideal,—and may
also consider it in relation to the evolution of literary types or
tendencies.
In judging a romantic revival, such criticism finds its task at once
peculiarly difficult and peculiarly interesting; for the very nature of
romanticism is elusive, and its methods are those of symbolism and
suggestion rather than of clear definition. Yet, taking a broad view
over the entire romantic revival in England,—and the same holds true of
France in even greater degree,—one can see clearly that the orientalism
and pseudo-orientalism of the eighteenth century distinctly preluded the
use of oriental material by the romantic writers of the early nineteenth
century. As Allan Ramsay and Thomson prepared the way for Burns and
Wordsworth, so, less obviously, but none the less truly, the translators
and writers of the oriental tale, together with historians and
travelers, were forerunners of Southey, Moore, Byron, Matthew Arnold,
Fitzgerald, and many others, on to Kipling in the present day.
Moreover, the oriental tale directly contributed romantic elements to
the imaginative inheritance of later writers. Its influence is clearly
traceable throughout the entire nineteenth century. We have seen that
the _History of Charoba_ was the acknowledged inspiration of Landor’s
_Gebir_. _Vathek_ exerted great influence on Byron’s youthful work, an
influence easily understood if one recalls the mockery, the
sensuousness, and the brilliant setting of Beckford’s masterpiece, and
especially the sinister horror of the catastrophe.[267] Barry Cornwall
drew more definitely from _Vathek_ in his brief poem, _The Hall of
Eblis_.[268] Beckford himself borrowed directly from the _Adventures of
Abdalla_ and the _Mogul Tales_.[269] Lewis may have derived his tale of
terror, _The Monk_, from a _Turkish Tale_.[270] Possibly Swift also drew
from the _Turkish Tales_.[271] Smollett makes Lydia, the sentimental
country heroine of _Humphrey Clinker_, compare the “grandeur” of London
to the dazzling enchantments of oriental story.[271] Southey explicitly
states his indebtedness to the _New Arabian Nights_ for the idea of
_Thalaba_.[271] James Thomson (1834–1882), with equal frankness,
acknowledges his obligation to the _Arabian Nights_, in the case of _The
Doom of a City_.[271] Tennyson’s early poem, _Recollections of the
Arabian Nights_, is a good instance of the strong appeal made to
youthful imagination by the splendours of
“the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid.”[272]
Wordsworth and Scott, as schoolboys, came eagerly under the spell.
“The tales that charm away the wakeful night
In Araby”
were to Wordsworth a precious treasure, setting free the child’s
imagination.[273] Part of the romantic charm of Venice in Wordsworth’s
eye, was that
“Once did she hold the gorgeous East in fee.”
Scott’s mature imagination also retained an interest in the Orient;
witness _The Talisman_, _The Surgeon’s Daughter_, _Count Robert of
Paris_, and possibly the arrow contest in _The Monastery_.[274] De
Quincey, in one of the most interesting passages in his
_Autobiography_,[275] after disparaging remarks concerning _Sindbad_ and
_Aladdin_, goes on to say that one solitary section of the latter story
“fixed and fascinated” his gaze: the incident of the murderous
magician,—who could gain the lamp only by the aid of a pure
child,—listening with ear to the ground in order to distinguish the
footsteps of his innocent young victim thousands of miles away. Dickens
in _David Copperfield_, Thackeray in _Vanity Fair_ and _The Virginians_,
and Stevenson in many passages, testify to a fondness for oriental
tales. Instances might be multiplied, but enough have been given to show
clearly that the oriental tales, from the early versions of the _Arabian
Nights_ on, have had a distinct value in stimulating the imagination of
numerous writers and countless readers.[276] In all these cases, the
vital and life-giving elements in this fiction have been the picturesque
and suggestive details about strange oriental customs; mysterious ideas
like metempsychosis; entertaining narrative; richness of invention,—in
short, the romantic qualities. These have constituted the chief charm of
oriental story from the time of Addison to the present day.
It must always be remembered that the oriental tale met with disapproval
as well as with favour. The full significance of the genre is understood
only when we recognize it as a test of the public opinion of the age
concerning romanticism, and not merely as a witness to the romantic
mood. On the one hand, condemned by typical men of letters as “wild” and
“romantick,” it reveals the strength of Augustan classicism as the law
of the land; on the other, welcomed with enthusiasm, persisting in one
form or another throughout the century, utilized even by such defenders
of the classical stronghold as Dr. Johnson,[277] it testifies, by its
mere presence, to the new spirit of romanticism.
But before the death of the last great classicist of the century new
forces were already at work, which were to bring the Orient much nearer
to England than ever before. The growth of the Indian empire, of
commercial intercourse with the East, and of the new democratic belief
in the brotherhood of the whole world, helped to break down England’s
insularity and to awaken a fresh interest in the Orient. In letters,
this modern spirit was first expressed by the increased number of
travelers’ accounts, and by the accompanying activity of orientalists
under the guidance of Sir William Jones. Direct translations from
oriental languages into English made a notable contribution to English
knowledge of Eastern life and literature, and had a large share in
turning the imaginations of nineteenth-century poets and story-tellers
toward the use of oriental material. A fresh chapter in the history of
oriental influence upon England thus opened. This chapter—still in the
making—has been distinguished throughout its entire course by actual
first-hand knowledge of the Orient,—one vital characteristic which
throws it into sharp contrast with the chapter discussed in the present
volume. But to consider even the beginnings of the modern period, in the
new scholarly movement inaugurated by Sir William Jones, would carry us
beyond the limits of our subject. By the time the new movement was well
under way, the oriental tale of the eighteenth century had done its work
and had passed on its inheritance to its successors.
APPENDIX A
NOTES
Page 204, =Sterne=. The manuscript of Sterne’s _Bramine’s Journal_, now
in the British Museum (Add. Ms. 34,527), is exhibited with the following
note: “The _Bramine’s Journal_, being Sterne’s Journal addressed to Mrs.
Eliza Draper after her departure for India. It extends from 13 April
(1767) to 4 August with a postscript on 1 Nov. and is entirely in the
author’s hand. It is full of expressions of extreme devotion, and was
discontinued on the arrival of Mrs. Sterne. At the beginning is a note
(evidently prefixed with a view to publication) stating that the names
are fictitious and the whole translated from a French manuscript. The
page exhibited contains the record for 17 June: ‘I have brought your
name _Eliza_! and Picture into my Work [The Sentimental Journey, see the
page exhibited above, No. 23] where they will remain when you and I are
at rest forever.—Some annotator or explainer of my works in this place
will take occasion to speak of the Friendship which subsisted so long
and faithfully betwixt Yorick and the Lady he speaks of.’ See also the
letter of W. M. Thackeray exhibited in Case VII., No. 44, written after
reading the Ms. [Add. Ms. 34,527]. Bequeathed in 1894 by T. W. Gibbs,
Esq.” In Case VII. the letter exhibited reads as follows: “He wasn’t
dying, but lying, I’m afraid—God help him—a falser and wickeder man it’s
difficult to read of.... Of course any man is welcome to believe as he
likes for me _except_ a parson: I can’t help looking upon Swift and
Sterne as a couple of traitors and renegades—... with a scornful pity
for them in spite of their genius and greatness.” “Dated 12 Sept. [1851]
Holograph. [Add. Ms. 34,527, f. 75.] Bequeathed in 1894 by T. W. Gibbs,
Esq.”
Page 251, note 1, =Byron=. On Byron’s indebtedness to the oriental tale,
cf. (_a_) _Die Belesenheit des jungen Byrons_ ... Dissertation ... von
Ludwig Fuhrmann, Berlin, 1903, pp. 60, 61, also 5, 6.
(_b_) _Byron’s und Moore’s Orientalische Gedichte, Eine Parallele_ ...
Dissertation ... von O. Thiergen. Leipzig, 1880.
(_c_) _Byron und Moore_ ... Dissertation ... von Edgar Dawson. Leipzig,
1902, p. 60.
(_d_), (1), _Childe Harold_, Canto I., 22, note by editor. _Works of
Lord Byron_ ... edited by T. Moore, in 14 vols., Vol. VIII. London,
1832: “‘Vathek’ (says Lord Byron in one of his diaries) was one of the
tales I had a very early admiration of. For correctness of costume,
beauty of description, and power of imagination, it far surpasses all
European imitations; and bears such marks of originality, that those who
have visited the East will find some difficulty in believing it to be no
more than a translation. As an Eastern tale, even Rasselas must bow
before it: his ‘happy valley’ will not bear a comparison with the ‘Hall
of Eblis.’”
(2) _The Siege of Corinth_, same edition, Vol. X., p. 131, Byron
acknowledges that an idea in certain lines was drawn from _Vathek_, and
then goes on to say, “[_Vathek_ is] a work to which I have before
referred; and never recur to, or read, without a renewal of
gratification.”
(3) _The Giaour_, same edition, Vol. IX., p. 178,
“To wander round lost Eblis throne;
And, fire unquenched, unquenchable,
Around, within thy heart shall dwell;” etc.
(4) _Manfred_, Act II., Sc. 4, p. 112 and notes. _Poetry_, Vol. IV., of
_The Works of Lord Byron ..._ edited by E. H. Coleridge ... London ...
New York, 1901. Byron’s note at beginning of the scene, “The Hall of
Arimanes—Arimanes on his Throne, a Globe of Fire, surrounded by the
Spirits.”
Page 252, note 4, =Swift=. (In strict compliance with our avowed
exclusion of Hebrew literature from our subject, the following note
would be omitted. But since the _Turkish Tales_ is little known to-day,
the student of Swift may find it convenient to have access to this
curious story here.) In the _Turkish Tales_, the story of the King of
Aad, a distorted legend[278] based on the conflict of the Children of
Israel with Og, King of Bashan and the Sons of Anak, reads as follows
[abridged from H. Weber: _Tales of the East_, Edinburgh, 1812, Vol.
III., p. 198]:—
“Aoudge-Ibn-Anak, King of Aad, being informed that the prophet Mousa, at
the head of 600,000 Israelites, was coming to preach the Jewish religion
to him, sent an army.... The prophet was strangely surprised when he saw
the King of Aad’s troops ... whose children were above an hundred feet
high. His zeal then cooled a little; and before coming into action, ...
he sent twelve doctors to tell their prince that it was a great pity
such proper men should be ignorant of God. This compliment was not
difficult to remember; and yet the doctors forgot it when they came into
the presence of Aoudge, who was cutting his nails with a terrible large
axe. This monstrous king, seeing the prophet’s twelve doctors so
affrighted that they could not speak one word, began to laugh so loud
that the echo resounded for the space of fifty leagues around; he then
put them all into the hollow of his left hand, and turning them about
like ants with the little finger of his right hand, he said, ‘If these
wretched animals would but speak, we would give them to our children for
playthings.’ After this, he put them into his pocket and marched
[against] the Israelites. When he came [near], he pulled their twelve
doctors out of his pocket; but they were no sooner on the ground than
they fled with all possible speed, and never looked behind them. The
Jews, terrified with the enormous size of their enemies, abandoned their
prophet. Their wives attempted in vain to animate and embolden them; but
their timorous husbands forced them with them in their flight, saying,
‘Let us fly, and leave the affair to the prophet. The Lord hath no
occasion for anybody besides himself to work a miracle.’ Mousa ... then
marched singly against the people of Aad. The terrible Aoudge expected
him unconcerned ... and lanced a rock at him, which had crushed the
prophet if God had not sent an angel in the shape of a bird, which, with
one peck of his bill, cleft the rock in two.... Mousa then ... by a
prodigious effort of the Omnipotent Power became 70 cubits higher than
his natural stature; he then flew into the air for the space of 70
cubits, and his rod was 70 cubits long, with which he touched Aoudge’s
knee, and that prince died suddenly. The people of Aad immediately fled,
and the Israelites returned to offer their service to the prophet; who
said to them, ‘Since you are so timorous, as not to have courage enough
to follow the generous counsel of your wives, God will make you wander
in the lands of Teyhyazousi, for the space of 40 years.’”
Cf. in a _Voyage to Lilliput_, in _Gulliver’s Travels_, edited by G. R.
Dennis, London, 1899, Vol. VIII., p. 30, of _Prose Works_ of J. Swift,
edited by Temple Scott, the incident of Gulliver’s putting into his
pocket five Lilliputians, who had shot arrows at him. “As to the sixth,
I made countenance as if I would eat him alive. The poor man squalled
terribly ... but ... looking mildly ... I set him gently on the ground,
and away he ran. I treated the rest in the same manner, taking them one
by one out of my pocket....” The picture of Aoudge holding the doctors
in his hand and putting them into his pocket is quite in the manner of
Swift; the mockery of the doctors and the ironical description of the
courageous wives of the Jews, and of the miracle, is thoroughly Swiftian
in spirit. Yet the similarity may be chance coincidence. Cf. Dennis,
_op. cit._, _Introduction_, p. xxiii, on the sources of _Gulliver’s
Travels_.
Page 252, note 4, =Smollett=. Cf. The Works of _Tobias Smollett ..._
Edinburgh, 1883. On pp. 497, 498 of _The Expedition of Humphrey
Clinker_, Lydia Melford writes about London to her friend Miss Letitia
Willis at Gloucester: “All that you read of wealth and grandeur in the
Arabian Nights’ Entertainments and the Persian Tales, concerning Bagdad,
Diabekir, Damascus, Ispahan, and Samarkand, is here realized....
Ranelagh looks like the enchanted palace of a genie, adorned with the
most exquisite performances of painting, carving, and gilding,
enlightened with a thousand golden lamps that emulate the noonday sun;
crowded with the great, the rich, the gay, the happy, and the fair;
glittering with cloth of gold and silver, lace, embroidery and precious
stones. While these exulting sons and daughters of felicity tread this
round of pleasure, or regale in different parties and separate lodges,
with fine imperial tea and other delicious refreshments, their ears are
entertained with the most ravishing delights of music, both instrumental
and vocal.... I really thought myself in paradise.”
Page 252, n. 4, =Southey=. Cf. _Thalaba the Destroyer_. In the Preface
to the fourth edition, Cintra, 1800, quoted on p. 6 of Vol. IV.,
_Poetical Works of R. Southey_, Boston, 1880, Southey writes: “In the
continuation of the Arabian Tales, the Domdaniel is mentioned,—a
seminary of evil magicians, under the roots of the sea. From this seed
the present romance has grown.”
Page 252, n. 4, =James Thomson= (1634–1882). Cf. _Poetical Works of
James Thomson_, edited ... by B. Dobell in 2 vols., London, 1895, Vol.
II., p. 109, _The City of Dreadful Night_. Thomson says, p. 442, note 3,
“The city of the statues is from the tale of Zobeide in the History of
the Three Ladies of Bagdad and the Three Calendars. This episode and the
account of the Kingdoms of the Sea in Prince Beder and —— impressed my
boyhood more powerfully than anything else in the Arabian Nights.”
Page 253, n. 1, =Wordsworth=. Cf. _The Prelude_, Book V. _The Poetical
Works of William Wordsworth_, edited ... by E. Dowden in 7 vols., l. 460
_et seq._, Vol. VII., London, 1893.
“A precious treasure had I long possessed,
A little yellow, canvas-covered book,
A slender abstract of the Arabian Tales;
And, from companions in a new abode,
When first I learnt, that this dear prize of mine
Was but a block hewn from a mighty quarry—
That there were four large volumes, laden all
With kindred matter, ’twas to me, in truth,
A promise scarcely earthly. Instantly,
With one not richer than myself, I made
A covenant that each should lay aside
The moneys he possessed, and hoard up more,
Till our joint savings had amassed enough
To make this book our own. Through several months
In spite of all temptation, we preserved
Religiously that vow; but firmness failed.
Nor were we ever masters of our wish.
And when thereafter to my father’s house
The holidays returned me, there to find
That golden store of books which I had left,
What joy was mine! How often....
For a whole day together, have I lain
Down by thy side, O Derwent! murmuring stream,
On the hot stones, and in the glaring sun,
And there have read, devouring as I read,
· · · · ·
A gracious spirit o’er this earth presides,
And o’er the heart of man: invisibly
It comes, to works of unreproved delight,
And tendency benign, directing those
Who care not, know not, think not what they do.
The tales that charm away the wakeful night
In Araby, romances; legends penned
For solace by dim light of monkish lamps;
Fictions, for ladies of their love, devised
By youthful squires; adventures endless,
· · · · ·
Dumb yearnings, hidden appetites, are ours,
And _they must_ have their food. Our childhood sits,
Our simple childhood, sits upon a throne
That hath more power than all the elements.
... Ye dreamers, then
Forgers of daring tales! we bless you then.
Imposters, drivellers, dotards, as the ape
Philosophy will call you: _then_ we feel
With what, and how great might ye are in league,
Who make our wish, our power, our thought a deed,
An empire, a possession,—ye whom time
And seasons serve; all Faculties to whom
Earth crouches, the elements are potter’s clay,
Space like a heaven filled up with northern lights,
Here, nowhere, there, and everywhere at once.”
Page 253, n. 1, =Scott=. Cf. _Autobiography_ in Lockhart’s _Life of
Scott_, in five vols., Vol. I., p. 29, Boston, 1902.
“In the intervals of my school hours I had always perused with avidity
such books of history or poetry or voyages and travels as chance
presented to me—not forgetting the usual, or rather ten times the usual
quantity of fairy tales, eastern stories, romances, &c. These studies
were totally unregulated and undirected. My tutor thought it almost a
sin to open a profane book or poem.” Cf. also references such as that in
_Waverley_, Chap. V., to Prince Hussein’s tapestry, and “Malek’s flying
sentry box”; and in the Introduction to _Quentin Durward_ to the
“generous Aboulcasem.”
Page 253, n. 1, =Dickens=. (1) _David Copperfield_, Chap. IV. “My father
had left a small collection of books.... From that blessed little room,
Roderick Random, Peregrine Pickle, Humphrey Clinker, Tom Jones, The
Vicar of Wakefield, Don Quixote, Gil Blas, and Robinson Crusoe, came
out, a glorious host, to keep me company. They kept alive my fancy, and
my hope of something beyond that place and time [his dreary
childhood],—they, and the Arabian Nights and the Tales of the Genii,—and
did me no harm.”
(2) When a child, Dickens wrote a tragedy called _Misnar, the Sultan of
India_, founded on the _Tales of the Genii_. See _Life of Dickens_ by
John Forster, Vol. I., pp. 7, 29, 34; also Chauvin, _op. cit._, IV., p.
11.
Page 253, n. 1, =Thackeray=. Cf. (1) _Vanity Fair_, Chap. V. “On a
sunshiny afternoon ... poor William Dobbin ... was lying under a tree in
the playground, spelling over a favorite copy of the _Arabian
Nights_—apart from the rest of the school—quite lonely and almost
happy.... Dobbin had for once forgotten the world and was away with
Sinbad the Sailor in the Valley of Diamonds or with Prince Ahmed and the
Fairy Peribanon in that delightful cavern where the prince found her,
and whither we should all like to make a tour.” Chap. III. “She [Becky]
had a vivid imagination; she had, besides, read the _Arabian Nights_ and
_Guthrie’s Geography_.”
(2) _The Virginians_, Chap. XXIII. Hetty Lambert “brought out ‘The
Persian Tales’ from her mamma’s closet.” Chap. XXX. Harry Warrington
writes home of reading “in French the translation of an Arabian Work of
Tales, very diverting.”
(3) _Roundabout Papers._ In the paper “On a Lazy, Idle Boy,” Thackeray
refers to “a score of white-bearded, white-robed warriors, or grave
seniors of the city, seated at the gate of Jaffa or Beyrout, and
listening to the story teller reciting his marvels out of _The Arabian
Nights_.”
(4) _Eastern Sketches_ contains many references to the pleasure
Thackeray has always taken in the _Arabian Nights_, _e.g._ pp. 338, 339,
of _Works_, Vol. X.
APPENDIX B. I.
CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE
_A list of the more important oriental tales published in English during
the period under consideration. The order of arrangement is determined
by the date of the earliest edition extant. The works of each author are
grouped under his name. Editions given immediately after the titles are
first editions unless otherwise stated. Editions starred are those
referred to in the text or notes._
_Abbreviations_: Sp. = _Spectator_; Gu. = _Guardian_; Fr. =
_Freeholder_; Ra. = _Rambler_; Adv. = _Adventurer_; Wo. = _World_;
Con. = _Connoisseur_; Ba. = _Babler_; Id. = _Idler_; Mir. = _Mirror_;
Obs. = _Observer_; tr. = _translated_.
1. 1687. =Marana, Giovanni Paolo.= _Letters writ by a Turkish Spy, who
liv’d five and forty years ... at Paris: giving an Account ... of
the most remarkable transactions of Europe ... from 1637 to 1682_
[tr. from French, by W. Bradshaw, and edited by Robert Midgley,
M.D.], 8 vols., London, 1687–1693. Twenty-second edition, 1734; ...
edition, *1748; twenty-sixth edition, 1770.
2. 1700, =Brown, Thomas=. _Amusements Serious and Comical Calculated
for the Meridian of London_, separately published in 1700; and also
in the _Works of Thomas Brown, in three volumes, with a Character of
the author by James Drake, M.D._, *1707–1708. Cf. the four volumes
in the Boston Athenæum; (_a_) the title-page of the first volume
reads, _The Works of Thomas Brown, Serious, Moral, Comical and
Satyrical In Four Volumes, containing Amusements_ [then follows
table of contents of all four volumes]. _To which is prefixed a
Character of Mr. Brown and his Writings, by James Drake, M.D. The
Fourth edition, Corrected, with large Additions, and a Supplement_,
London. Printed for Samuel Briscoe, 1715; (_b_) the title-page of
the third volume reads, _The Third Volume of the Works of Mr. Tho.
Brown, Being Amusements, Serious and Comical, Calculated for the
Meridian of London. Letters Serious and Comical to Gentlemen and
Ladies. Æneas Sylvius’s Letters in English. A Walk around London and
Westminster, Exposing the Vices and Follies of the Town. The
Dispensary, a Farce. The London and Lacedemonian Oracles. The Third
Edition, with large Additions._ London, Printed for Sam. Briscoe,
and sold by J. Morphew near Stationers’ Hall,* 171-[date imperfect,
conjecture: 1711]. In the last-named volume, “_A Walk around London
and ... the Town_,” p. 244, is entitled also, _The Second Part of
the Amusements Serious and Comical_.
3. 1700. =[Avery, John]=?
(_a_) _The Life and Adventures of Captain John Avery ... now in
possession of Madagascar written by a person who made his escape
from thence_, 1700.
(_b_) _The King of the Pirates, being an account of the Famous
Enterprises of Captain Avery, the Mock King of Madagascar, with
His Rambles and Piracies, wherein all the Sham Accounts formerly
publish’d of him, are detected. In two Letters from Himself: one
during his Stay at Madagascar and one since his Escape from
thence_, London, 1720. [According to J. K. Langton in _Dict.
Nat. Biog._ article, “John Avery,” (_b_) has been attributed to
Defoe, and both (_a_) and (_b_) are “fiction, with scarcely a
substratum of fact”].
4. Between 1704 and 1712. _Arabian Nights Entertainments: consisting
of One Thousand and One Stories, told by the Sultaness of the
Indies, to divert the Sultan from the Execution of a bloody vow ...,
containing a better account of the Customs, Manners, and Religion of
the Eastern Nations, viz.: Tartars, Persians and Indians, than is to
be met with [in] any Author hitherto published. Translated into
French from the Arabian MSS. by M. Galland, ... and now done into
English from the third Edition in French...._ The fourth Edition,
London, Printed for Andrew Bell, In 12 [vols. 1–6], *1713–1715.
First edition, date unknown; second edition, *1712; edition called
the fourteenth edition, London, *1778, 4 vols. [= “the oldest
edition which I have seen containing the latter half of Galland’s
version.” W. F. Kirby in App. II., p. 467, Vol. X., of Burton’s
_Arabian Nights_, Benares, 1884].
5. 1705. =Defoe, Daniel.=
(_a_) _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_, London, ... *1705.
(_b_) _The Farther Adventures of Robinson Crusoe_, London, *1719.
(_c_) _A System of Magic_, London, *1726.
6. 1707. _Arimant and Tamira; an eastern tale_ [in verse] _In the
manner of Dryden’s fables; By a gentleman of Cambridge_. London,
1707.
7. 1708. _Turkish Tales; consisting of several Extraordinary
Adventures: with the History of the Sultaness of Persia and the
viziers. Written Originally in the Turkish Language by Chec Zade,
for the use of Amurath II., and now done into English._ London ...
Jacob Tonson, *1768. Cf. also No. 15 (_b_) below: 1714, _Persian and
Turkish Tales compleat_.
8. 1708. =Abu Jaafar Ebn Tophail.= _The Improvement of Human Reason,
exhibited in the Life of Hai Ebn Yokdhan; Written in Arabick above
500 years ago, by Abu Jaafar Ebn Tophail.... Translated by Simon
Ockley_ ..., London ... *1708; another edition, 1711. The first
English version was published in 1674, anonymously, with the title
“_An Account of the Oriental Philosophy ... [etc.]_.” Cf. _Brit.
Mus. Catalogue_ under “Abu Jaafar Ebn Tophail,” and _Dict. Nat.
Biog._ under “Geo. Ashwell” (1612–1695). Cf. for full title of
Ockley’s translation, pp. 126, 127, _ante_.
9. (1710?). =Ali Mohammed Hadji= (_pseud._). _A brief and merry
History of Great Britain, containing an account of the religion,
customs ... etc. of the people, written originally in Arabick by Ali
Mohammed Hadji.... Faithfully rendered into English by A. Hillier_,
London (1710?). Another edition, *1730.
10. 1711. =Bidpai.= Principal eighteenth-century versions. (1) _Æsop
Naturalized, in a collection of fables and stories from Æsop ...
Pilpay and others ..._ London, *1711; another edition, 1771; (2)
_The Instructive and Entertaining Fables of Pilpay, an ancient
Indian Philosopher, containing a number of excellent rules for the
conduct of persons of all ages._ London, 1743. [This is a
reproduction of the 1679 version, “_Made for the Duke of
Gloucester_.”] Other editions, 1747, 1754; fifth edition, 1775;
sixth edition, 1789. Cf. Chauvin, _Bibliographie_, II., pp. 33, 40,
70, and Table opposite p. 1. The earliest English version of Bidpai
is Sir Thomas North’s _Morall Philosophie of Doni ..._ 1570.
11. 1711. =Addison, Joseph.=
[_Sp._ No. 50, April 27, 1711. _Observations by four Indian
Kings._]
_Sp._ No. 94, June 18, 1711. (1) _Mahomet’s journey to the seven
heavens._ (2) _The adventures of the Sultan of Egypt._
_Sp._ No. 159, Sept. 1, 1711. _The Vision of Mirza._
_Sp._ No. 195, Oct. 13, 1711. _Story of sick king cured by
exercise with drugged mallet._
[_Sp._ No. 237, Dec. 1, 1711. _Jewish tradition concerning
Moses._]
_Sp._ No. 289, Jan. 31, 1711–1712. _Story of the dervish who
mistakes a palace for an inn._
_Sp._ No. 293, Feb. 5, 1711–1712. _Persian fable of drop of water
which became a pearl._
_Sp._ No. 343, April 3, 1712. _Story of Pug the monkey._
_Sp._ No. 349, April 10, 1712. _Story of courageous Muli Moluc,
Emperor of Morocco._
_Sp._ No. 511, Oct. 16, 1712. (1) _Persian marriage-auction._ (2)
_Merchant who purchased old woman in a sack._
_Sp._ No. 512, Oct. 17, 1712. _Story of Sultan Mahmoud and his
vizier._
_Sp._ No. 535, Nov. 13, 1712. _Story of Alnaschar._
_Gu._ No. 99, July 4, 1713. _Persian story of just sultan._
_Gu._ No. 167, Sept. 22, 1713. _Story of Helim and Abdallah._
_Sp._ No. 557, June 21, 1714. _Letter to the King of Bantam._
_Sp._ Nos. 584 and 585, Aug. 23 and 25, 1714. _Story of Hilpa,
Harpath, and Shalum._
_Fr._ No. 17, Feb. 17, 1716. _Persian Emperor’s riddle._
12. 1712. =Unknown Contributors to Guardian and Spectator.=
_Gu._ No. 162, Sept. 16, 1712. _Story of Schacabac and the
Barmecide._
_Sp._ No. 578, Aug. 9, 1714. _Story of Fadlallah and Zemroude._
_Sp._ No. 587, Aug. 30, 1714. _Story of Mahomet, Gabriel, and the
black drop of sin._
_Sp._ No. 604, Oct. 8, 1714. _Vision at Grand Cairo._
_Sp._ No. 631, Dec. 10, 1714. _Story of the dervise who forgot to
wash his hands._
13. 1713. =Pope, Alexander.=
_Gu._ No. 61, May 21, 1713. _Fable of the traveller and the
adder._
14. 1712. =Steele, Sir Richard.=
_Sp._ No. 545, Nov. 25, 1712. _Letter from the Emperor of China to
the Pope._
_Gu._ No. 148, Aug. 31, 1713. _Story of the Santon Barsisa._
15. 1714. _Persian Tales._
(_a_) _The Thousand and One Days, Persian Tales. Translated from
the French by Mr. Ambrose Philips._ London, *1714–1715. [Cf.
Chauvin, _Bibliographie_, IV., pp. 123–127.] Third edition,
1722; fifth, 1738; sixth, 1750; *seventh, 1765; other editions,
1781, 1783.
(_b_) _The Persian and the Turkish Tales compleat_ [sic]
_Translated formerly from those languages into French_ [or
rather compiled] _by M. Pétis de la Croix ..._ [assisted by A.
R. Le Sage] _and now into Englsh_ [sic] _from that translation
by ... Dr. King, and several other hands. To which are added;
Two letters from a French Abbot to his friend at Paris, giving
an account of the island of Madagascar; and of the French
Embassador’s reception by the King of Siam._ London, *1714.
(_c_) Cf. Edward Button, _A New Translation of the Persian Tales_,
London, 1754; and the anonymous _Persian Tales designed for use
and entertainment_, *Coburg, 1779–1781.
16. 1717. =Kora Selyn Oglan= (_pseud._). _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_, *1717.
17. 1720. =Brémond, G. De.= _The Beautiful Turk, Translated from the
French original, Printed in the Year 1720._ [London.] This is
another translation of the French tale by G. de Brémond translated
“by B. B.” as _Hattige or the amours of the King of Tamaran_,
published in Amsterdam, 1680; and also in Vol. I., *1679 or 1683(?)
in R. Bentley’s _Modern Novels_.
18. 1722. (Dec. 11, 1721.) =Parnell, Thomas.= _The Hermit_, printed
posthumously in _Poems on Several Occasions.—Written by Dr. Thomas
Parnell, late Arch-Deacon of Clogher: and published by Mr. Pope._
London, *1722 (Dec. 11, 1721). For numerous volumes containing this
poem, see _Brit. Mus. Catalogue_.
19. 1722. =Aubin, Mrs. Penelope.= _The Noble Slaves, or the Lives and
Adventures of Two Lords and Two Ladies_ (in Aubin’s _Histories and
Novels_), London, *1722. Another edition, Dublin, (1730); also in
Mrs. E. Griffith’s collection, 1777.
20. 1722. =Mailly= [or =Mailli=], =Chevalier de=. _The Travels and
Adventures of three princes of Sarendip. Intermixed with eight
delightful and entertaining novels, translated from the Persian_ [or
rather the Italian of Chr. Armeno] _into French, an_ [sic] _from
thence done into English_. London, *1722.
21. 1725. =Segrais, J. Regnauld de.= _Bajazet or The Imprudent
Favorite_, in _Five Novels Translated from the French_. London,
*1725.
22. 1725. =Gueullette, Thomas Simon.=
(_a_) _Chinese Tales, or the wonderful Adventures of the Mandarin
Fum-Hoam translated from the French_ [of T. S. Gueullette].
London, 1725. Another translation, _Chinese Tales ...
Fum-Hoam ... translated by the Rev. Mr. Stackhouse_, London,
n.d. (Cook’s pocket edition of select novels). Another edition,
*1781.
(_b_) _Mogul Tales ... Now first translated into English ... With
a prefatory discourse on the usefulness of Romances._ London,
*1736. Second edition, 1743.
(_c_) _Tartarian Tales, or a thousand and one Quarters of Hours,
Written in French by the celebrated Mr. Guelletee_ [sic] _Author
of the Chinese, Mogul and other Tales. The whole now for the
first time translated into English by Thomas Flloyd._ London,
printed for J. and R. Tonson in the Strand, *1759. Another
edition, Dublin, printed for Wm. Williamson, Bookseller, at
Mæcenas’s Head, Bride St., 1764; another edition, London, 1785;
printed in the _Novelist’s Magazine_, 1785.
(_d_) _Peruvian Tales related in one thousand and one hours, by
one of the select virgins of Cuzco to the Ynca of Peru ...
Translated from the original French by S. Humphreys (continued
by J. Kelly)._ Fourth edition. London, 1764. Another edition,
1786.
23. 1729. =Bignon, Jean Paul.= _Adventures of Abdalla, Son of Hanif,
sent by the Sultan of the Indies to make a Discovery of the island
of Borico ... translated into French from an Arabick manuscript ...
by Mr. de Sandisson_ [_pseud._] _... done into English by William
Hatchett...._ London, *1729. Second edition, *1730.
24. 1730. =Montesquieu, C. de Secondat, Baron de.= _Persian Letters
Translated by Mr. Ozell._ London, *1730. Third edition, 1731; sixth
edition, anon., Edinburgh, *1773.
25. 1730. =Gomez, Mme. Madeleine Angelique (Poisson) de.= _Persian
Anecdotes; or, Secret memoirs of the Court of Persia. Written
originally in French, for the Entertainment of the King, by the
celebrated Madame de Gomez, Author of La Belle Assemblée. Translated
by Paul Chamberlain, Gent._ London *1730. The title in the _British
Museum Catalogue_ reads, “_The Persian Anecdotes ... Persia,
containing the history of those two illustrious heroes,
Sophy-Ismael, surnamed the Great, and Tor, King of Ormus, etc._
[Translated from the French by P. Chamberlen.] London, 1730.”
26. 1731. [=Boles, W.?=] _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 Authentic
Original Manuscripts. By the Great, Learned and Most Ingenious
Alexander the Copper Smith...._ Second edition, Cork, *1731.
27. 1733. [=D’Orville, Adrien de la Vieuville.=] _The Adventures of
Prince Jakaya or the Triumph of Love over Ambition, being Secret
Memoirs of the Ottoman Court. Translated from the Original
French...._ London, *1733.
28. 1735. =Lyttelton, George=, First Baron (1709–1773). _Letters from
a Persian in England to his friend at Ispahan._ London, *1735. Fifth
edition, 1774; printed also in Harrison’s _British Classicks_,
London, *1787–1793. Vol. I.; and in numerous editions of Lyttelton’s
_Works_. See _Brit. Mus. Catalogue_.
29. 1735. =Crébillon, C. P. Jolyot de.=
(_a_) _The Skimmer, or the history of Tanzai and Neardarné (a
Japanese tale), tr. from the French._—1735. Another edition,
1778.
(_b_) _The Sopha, a moral tale, tr. from the French_ (a new
edition).... London, 1781.
30. 1736. _The Persian Letters, continued._ Third edition, London,
*1736 [“erroneously ascribed to Lord Lyttelton,” _Dict. Nat.
Biog._].
31. 1739. =Boyer (Jean Baptiste de) Marquis d’Argens.= _Chinese
Letters; being a philosophical, historical, and critical
correspondence between a Chinese Traveler at Paris and his
countrymen in China, Muscovy, Persia, and Japan. Translated ...
into_ [or rather written in] _French by the Marquis d’Argens; and
now done into English...._ London, *1741.
32. (17-?). =Bougeant, G. H.= _The Wonderful Travels of Prince
Fan-Feredin, Translated from the French_ [of G. H. Bougeant, *1735],
Northampton, n.d. For full title, cf. p. 213, _ante_.
33. 1741. =Haywood, Mrs. Eliza.= _The Unfortunate Princess, or the
Ambitious Statesman, containing the Life and surprizing_ [sic]
_Adventures of the Princess of Ijaveo [Ijaves], Interspers’d with
several curious and entertaining Novels_. London, *1741.
34. 1742. =Collins, William.= _Persian Eclogues, Written originally
for the entertainment of the Ladies of Tauris and now translated_,
*1742; reprinted *1757 as _Oriental Eclogues_.
35. 1744. _The Lady’s Drawing Room ... interspersed with entertaining
and affecting Novels._ London, *1744 [contains _The History of
Rodomond and the Beautiful Indian_, and _The History of Henrietta de
Bellgrave_].
36. 1745. =Caylus, A. C. P. de Tubières, Comte de.= _Oriental Tales,
collected from an Arabian Manuscript in the Library of the King of
France...._ London, *1745. Another edition (1750?).
37. 1745. =Vieux-maisons, Mme. de= _or_ =Pecquet, A. (?)=. _The
Perseis, or secret memoirs for a History of Persia_ [a political
satire], _translated from the French with a key...._ London, *1745.
Another edition, 1765.
38. 1748. =Graffigny, F. Huguet de.= _Letters written by a Peruvian
Princess, translated from the French_ [of F. Huguet de Graffigny].
London, 1748. Another edition, Dublin, *1748. Another translation,
_The Peruvian Letters, translated from the French, with an
additional original volume by R. Roberts_. London, 1774.
39. 1749. =Voltaire, F. M. Arouet de.=
1749. (_a_) _Zadig, or the Book of Fate, an Oriental History,
translated from the French original of M. Voltaire_, London,
printed for John Brindley, etc., *1749. A version by F. Ashmore,
London, 1780; another edition, 1794. Also in (1) _The Works of
M. de Voltaire Translated from the French with Notes, Historical
and Critical. By T. Smollett, M.D., T. Francklin, M.A., and
others_, Vols. I.–XXV., London ... 1761–1765; Vol. XI., ...
London ... 1762; in (2) _The Works of M. de Voltaire. Translated
from the French with Notes, Historical, critical and
Explanatory. By T. Francklin, D.D., Chaplain to his Majesty, and
late Greek Professor in the University of Cambridge, T.
Smollett, M.D., and others._ A new edition, 38 vols.,
1778–1761–1781, Vol. XI. ... London ... 1779; and in (3)
_Romances, Tales and Smaller Pieces of M. de Voltaire_, Vol.
I., ... London.... 1794.
1754. (_b_) _Babouc or the World as it goes. By ... Voltaire. To
which are added letters, etc._ London, *1754. Also in (1)
_Works_, Vol. XI., 1762; in (2) _Works_ (new edition), Vol. XI.,
1779; and in (3) _Romances_, 1794, all cited above under
_Zadig_.
1762. (_c_) _A Letter from a Turk concerning the Faquirs, and his
Friend Bababec_, in (1) _Works_, Vol. XIII., 1762 (?); in (2)
_Works_, new edition, Vol. XIII., 1779; and in (3) _Romances_,
1794, all cited above under _Zadig_.
1762. (_d_) _History of the Travels of Scarmentado. Written by
himself_, in (1) _Works_, Vol. XII., *1762 (?); in (2) _Works_,
new edition, Vol. XII., 1779; and in (3) _Romances_, 1794, all
cited above under _Zadig_.
1762. (_e_) _Memnon; or Human Wisdom._ [_Memnon the Philosopher_]
in (1) _Works_, Vol. XIII., *1762 (?); in (2) _Works_, new
edition, Vol. XIII., 1779; and in (3) _Romances_, 1794, all
cited above under _Zadig_.
1763. (_f_) _History of a Good Bramin_ in (1) _Works_, Vol. XXVI.,
*1763; and in (2) _Works_, new edition, Vol. XIX., 1780, both
cited above under _Zadig_. Also printed separately as follows:
_The History of a Good Bramin to which is annexed an essay on
the reciprocal contempt of nations proceeding from their
vanity._ London, 1795 [no author or translator given].
1765. (_g_) _The Black and the White_, in (1) _Works_, Vol. XXV.,
*1765; and in (3) _Romances_, 1794, both cited above under
_Zadig_.
1769. (_h_) _The Princess of Babylon._ London, *1769. Also in (1)
_Works ..._ Vol. XXV., 1770; and in (3) _Romances_, 1794, both
cited above under _Zadig_.
1774. (_i_) _The White Bull_ [tr. by J. Bentham], *1774. Also in
(3) _Romances_, 1794, cited above under _Zadig_.
1774. (_j_) _The Hermit, an Oriental Tale. Newly translated from
the French of M. de Voltaire_ [being a chapter of _Zadig_],
1774.
[_N.B._—Apparently Voltaire’s oriental sketches: _André des Touches at
Siam_, _A Conversation with a Chinese_, and _An Adventure in India_,
as well as the _Letters of Amabed_, were not translated into English
in the eighteenth century.]
40. 1750. =Johnson, Samuel.=
_Ra._ No. 38, July 28, 1750. _Hamet and Raschid._
_Ra._ No. 65, Oct. 1750. _Obidah, the son of Abensima, and the
Hermit._
_Ra._ No. 120, May 11, 1751. _Nouradin the Merchant and his son
Almamoulin._
_Ra._ No. 190, Jan. 11, 1752. _Morad the son of Hanuth and his son
Abonzaid._
_Ra._ Nos. 204, 205, Feb. 29, March 3, 1752. _Seged, Lord of
Ethiopia._
1759. _The Prince of Abissinia_ [sic], _a Tale_ [= _Rasselas_].
London, 1759. Second edition, 1759; another edition, Dublin,
1759; ... ninth edition, 1793.
_Id._ No. 75, Sept. 22, 1759. _Gelalledin._
_Id._ No. 99, March 8, 1760. _Ortogrul of Basra._
_Id._ No. 101, March 22, 1760. _Omar, Son of Hassan._
41. 1750? _The History of Abdallah and Zoraide, or Filial and Paternal
Love.... To which is added The Maiden Tower or a Description of an
Eastern Cave, Together with Contentment, a Fable._ London *(1750?).
42. 1752. =Hawkesworth, John.=
_Adv._ No. 5, Nov. 21, 1752. _The Transmigrations of a Soul._
_Adv._ Nos. 20, 21, 22, Jan. 13, 16, 20, 1753. _The Ring of
Amurath._
_Adv._ No. 32, Feb. 24, 1753. _Omar the Hermit and Hassan._
_Adv._ No. 72, July 14, 1753. _The Story of Amana and Nouraddin._
_Adv._ No. 76, July 28, 1753. _The Story of Bozaldab._
_Adv._ No. 91, Sept. 18, 1753. _Yamodin and Tamira._
_Adv._ No. 114, Dec. 8, 1753. _Almet the Dervise._
_Adv._ No. 132, Feb. 9, 1754. _Carazan._
1761. _Almoran and Hamet: an Oriental Tale._ London, 1761, 2 vols.
Second edition, London, 1761; another edition, 1780; another,
London (1794?).
43. 1753. =Moore, E.=
_Wo._ No. 40, Oct. 4, 1753. _Prince Ruzvanchad and the princess
Cheheristany, The Infelicities of Marriage._
44. 1754. =Cambridge, Richard Owen.=
(_a_) _Wo._ No. 72, May 16, 1754. _Princess Parizade._
(_b_) _The Fakeer, a Tale_ [in verse], —— 1756.
45. 1754. =Colman and Thornton.=
_Con._ No. 21, June 20, 1754. _Story of Tquassaouw and
Knonmquaiha._
46. 1754. =Le Camus, A.= _Abdeker, or the art of preserving beauty.
Translated from an Arabic manuscript_ [or rather from the French of
A. Le Camus]. London, *1754. Another edition, Dublin, 1756.
47. 1754. =Murphy, Arthur, Esq.= _Works of A. Murphy_ in 7 volumes.
London, 1786. Vol. VI. contains the _Gray’s Inn Journal_, in No. 64
of which, Jan. 5, 1754, is a tale (entitled, _Aboulcasem of
Bagdad_), said to be by “my friend Capt. Gulliver.”
48. 1755. =Transmarine, Mr.= [_pseud._]. _The Life and surprizing_
[sic] _Adventures of Friga Reveep ... Written in French by himself
and translated into English by Mr. Transmarine_, *1755. For full
title, cf. pp. 48, 49, _ante_.
49. 1757. =Walpole, Horace.=
(_a_) _A Letter from Xo-Ho, a Chinese Philosopher at London to his
friend Lien Chi at Peking_, *1757.
(_b_) _Hieroglyphic Tales._ Strawberry Hill, *1785.
50. 1760. =Goldsmith, Oliver.=
(_a_) _The Citizen of the World_, first printed in form of
bi-weekly letters in Newbery’s _Public Ledger_ beginning Jan.
24, 1760. First edition, London, *1762. 2 vols. Other editions,
1769, 1774, 1796.
(1765). (_b_) _Asem, an Eastern Tale: or a vindication of the
wisdom of Providence in the moral government of the world_
*(1765 or 1759?). Cf. footnote to p. 125, _ante_.
51. 1760. =Hamilton, Antoine, Count.=
1760. (_a_) _The History of the Thorn-Flower_ [= _May-Flower_], in
(1) _Select Tales of Count Hamilton, Author of the Life and
Memoirs of the Count de Grammont, Translated from the French_.
In two volumes. Vol. I., London ... 1760; and (2) _History of
May-Flower, A Circassian Tale_, second edition ... Salisbury ...
London, 1796.
(_b_) _The Ram_, in (1) 1760, cited above under _The History of
the Thorn-Flower_.
(_c_) _The History of the Four Facardins_, in Vol. II. of (1),
1760, cited above under _The History of the Thorn-Flower_.
52. 1762. =Langhorne, John.= _Solyman and Almena._ Probably *1762.
Second edition, London, 1764; also edition in 1781; and one in East
Windsor, Connecticut, 1799.
53. 1764. =Ridley, James=, Rev., Chaplain to the East India Company
[_Morell, Sir C._ = _pseud._]. _Tales of the Genii; or ...
Delightful Lessons of Horam, the Son of Asmar ... tr. from the
Persian Manuscript by Sir C. Morell_, 1764. 2 vols. Also editions
1780, *1785, *1794.
54. 1764. =Marmontel, J. F.=
1764. (_a_) _Soliman II._ in (1) _Moral Tales by M. Marmontel_,
*1764–1766 (?). Vol. I.... London ... *1764; in (2) _Moral
Tales, by M. Marmontel. In three Volumes._ Vol. I., Edinburgh,
1768; in (3) _Moral Tales, by M. Marmontel Translated from the
French, by C. Dennis and R. Lloyd. In three Volumes._ Vol. I.,
London ... 1781; in (4) another edition of (3) Vol. I.,
Manchester ... [1790 (?)]; in (5) _Moral Tales by M. Marmontel.
Translated from the French. In two Volumes._ Vol. I. Cooke’s
edition ... London ... (1795); and in (6) _Moral Tales by M.
Marmontel._ Vol. I. A new edition ... London ... 1800.
1766 (?). (_b_) _Friendship put to the Test_ in (1) Vol. III.
*(1766?) of (1) cited above under _Soliman II._; in (2) Vol.
III. (1768) of (2) cited above under _Soliman II._; in (3) Vol.
III., 1781, of (3) cited above under _Soliman II._; in (4) =
(4), (1790?), cited above under _Soliman II._; in (5) = (5),
(1795), cited above under _Soliman II._; in (6) _Marmontel’s
Tales, Selected and abridged for the Instruction and Amusement
of Youth, by Mrs. Pilkington ..._ London ... 1799; and in (7) =
(6), 1800, cited above under _Soliman II._
1799. (_c_) _The Watermen of Besons_, in (6) cited above under
_Friendship put to the Test_.
55. 1767. [=Kelly, Hugh.=]
_Ba._ June 18, [1767]. _Orasmin and Elmira, an Oriental Tale._
Also printed in Harrison’s _British Classicks_, Vol. VI.,
London, *1794.
56. 1767. =Sterne, Laurence.= _The Bramine’s Journal._ Written 1767,
unpublished Ms. in the Additional Ms. 34,527, in British Museum.
57. 1767. [=Sheridan, Mrs. Frances (Chamberlaine).=] _The History of
Nourjahad. By the editor of Sidney Biddulph_; Dublin, *1767. Other
editions, London, 1788, and 1792.
58. 1769. =Smollett, Tobias G.=
1769. (_a_) _The History and Adventures of an Atom by Nathaniel
Peacock_ [_i.e._ T. Smollett]. London, 2 vols., *1749 [1769].
Tenth edition, London, 2 vols., 1778; Edinburgh, 1784; London,
1786.
1773. (_b_) _The Orientalist: A Volume of Tales after the Eastern
Taste. By the Author of Roderick Random, Sir Lancelot Greaves,
&c., and others...._ Dublin, *1773.
59. 1769. =Musgrave, Sir W.= _The Female Captive_ [_i.e._ Mrs. Crisp]
_a narrative of Facts which happened in Barbary in 1756 written by
herself_. London, *1769, 2 vols.
60. 1769. =D’Alenzon Mons.= _The Bonze or Chinese Anchorite, an
Oriental Epic Novel Translated from the Mandarine Language of
Hoamchi-vam, a Tartarian Proselite, by Mons. D’Alenzon...._ London,
*1769, 2 vols. [also 1770?]. Cf., for full title, p. 126, n. 1,
_ante_.
61. 1770. =Chatterton, Thomas.=
(_a_) _Narva and Mored, an African Eclogue_, first printed in
_London Magazine_, May, *1770; and reprinted in the
_Miscellanies_, *1778.
(_b_) _The Death of Nicou, an African Eclogue_, first printed in
_London Magazine_, June, *1770; and reprinted in the
_Miscellanies_, *1778.
(_c_) _Heccar and Gaira, an African Eclogue_, printed in the
_Supplement to the Miscellanies_, *1784; (written Jan. 1770).
62. 1774. =Vaucluse, Mad^e Fauques= [or =Falques=] =de=. _The Vizirs,
or the Enchanted Labyrinth, an Oriental Tale._ London, *1774, 3
vols.
63. 1774. =Johnstone, Charles.=
(_a_) _The History of Arsaces, Prince of Betlis, by the editor of
Chrysal._ London, *1774.
(_b_) _The Pilgrim, or a Picture of Life, in a series of letters
written mostly from London by a Chinese philosopher to his
friend at Quang-Tong, containing remarks upon the Laws, Customs
and Manners of the English and other Nations...._ London
*[1775], 2 vols. Other editions, London, 1775; Dublin, 1775.
64. 1776. =Irwin, Eyles.=
(_a_) _Bedukah, or the Self-Devoted. An Indian Pastoral. By the
Author of Saint Thomas’s Mount...._ London ... *1776.
(_b_) _Eastern Eclogues; Written during a Tour through Arabia,
Egypt, and other parts of Asia and Africa, In the Year
1777, ..._ London, ... *1780. [Contents: _Eclogue_ I. _Alexis:
or The Traveller._ Scene: The Ruins of Alexandria. Time:
Morning.... _Eclogue_ II. _Selima, or the Fair Greek._ Scene: A
Seraglio in Arabia Felix. Time: Noon.... _Eclogue_ III. _Ramah;
or the Bramin._ Scene: The Pagoda of Conjeveram. Time:
Evening.... _Eclogue_ IV. _The Escape, or, the Captives._ Scene:
The Suburbs of Tunis. Time: Night....]
65. 1779. =Richardson, Mr.= “Professor of Humanity at Glasgow.”
_Mir._ No. 8, Feb. 20, 1779. _The Story of the Dervise’s Mirror._
66. (178-?) =Moir, The Rev. J.= _Gleanings, or Fugitive Pieces_,
London *(178-?), [contains _Hassan_].
67. 1782. =Scott, John= (d. 1783). _Oriental Eclogues_ in volume
entitled _The Poetical Works of John Scott_, London, *1782. [The
_Arabian Eclogue_ in this collection was written by 1777.]
68. 1782. =Scott, Helenus, M.D.= _The Adventures of a Rupee wherein
are interspersed ... anecdotes Asiatic and European._ London, *1782.
69. 1783. =Chilcot, Harriet= (afterward =Mezière=). _Ormar and Zabria;
or the Parting Lovers, an Oriental Eclogue_, in volume entitled
_Elmar and Ethlinda, a Legendary Tale and Adalba and Ahmora, an
Indian_ [= Peruvian] _Tale: with other pieces ..._ London ... 1783.
70. 1785. =Reeve, Clara.= _The Progress of Romance, through Times,
Countries and Manners, with Remarks on the good and bad effects of
it, on them respectively, in a course of evening conversations. By
C. R., author of the English Baron, The Two Mentors, etc...._
Dublin, *1785 [contains _The History of Charoba_, extracted from the
_History of Ancient Egypt, Translated by J. Davies_, *1672, _from
the French of Monsieur Vattier, written originally in the Arabian
tongue by Murtadi_. [Cf. Part II. of this Bibliography, No. 48.]
Clara Reeve modernized the language of Davies’s translation
somewhat].
71. (1785?) =Confucius the Sage= (_pseud._). _The Oriental Chronicles
of the times; being the translation of a Chinese manuscript supposed
to have been written by Confucius the Sage_, London *(1785?).
72. (1785?) =Cumberland, Richard.=
_Obs._ No. 14 (1785?), _Abderama_.
73. 1786. =Beckford, William.=
(_a_) _History of the Caliph Vathek._ English, *1786; French,
*1787.
(1) The title-page of the first English edition reads: _An
Arabian tale from an unpublished ms., with notes critical
and explanatory_, London, 1786. On p. v, another title is
given: _The History of the Caliph Vathek, with notes_. The
notes were by the translator, Samuel Henley, D.D.
(2) The book had been written between Jan. 1782 and Jan. 1783,
in French by Beckford, and was published in French by him in
1787, one edition at Lausanne, another at Paris. [Cf. Part
II. of this Bibliography, No. 5, (1), Garnett’s edition.]
(_b_) _The Story of Al Raoui—a tale from the Arabick._ London,
*1799. Given in _Memoirs of Wm. Beckford_ by C. Redding. London,
*1859. Vol. I., p. 217.
74. 1786. _The Baloon, or Aerostatic Spy. A Novel containing a series
of adventures of an aerial traveller_ [contains the _Eastern Tale of
Hamet and Selinda_]. London, *1786. 2 vols.
75. 1787. =Bage, Robert.= _The Fair Syrian (a novel)_, *1787. See _La
Belle Syrienne, Roman en trois parties; par l’auteur du Mont-Henneth
et des Dunes de Barrham. Traduit de l’Anglois ..._ *1788.
76. 1788. _The Disinterested Nabob, a novel interspersed with genuine
descriptions of India, its manners and customs._ London, *1788. 3
vols. [Second edition.]
77. 1789. =Berquin, Arnaud.= _The Blossoms of Morality,—by the Editor
of the Looking-Glass for the Mind._ London, *1789. Also, 1796.
78. (1790?) =Cooper, J.= _The Oriental Moralist or the Beauties of the
Arabian Nights Entertainments. Translated from the original_ [_i.e._
from Galland’s French version] _and accompanied with suitable
reflections adapted to each story by the Rev. Mr. Cooper, author of
the History of England, etc._, London *(1790?). Cf. also _The
Beauties of the Arabian Nights Entertainments consisting of the most
entertaining Stories_, London, 1792.
79. 1790. =Knight, Ellis Cornelia.= _Dinarbas, a Tale: being a
continuation of Rasselas, Prince of Abissinia_ [_sic_], London,
*1790. Third edition, London, 1793; fourth edition, London, *1800.
Also printed in same volume with S. Johnson’s _Rasselas ..._
Greenfield, Mass., 1795.
80. 1790. =Caraccioli, Louis Antoine de.= _Letters on the Manners of
the French ... written by an Indian at Paris. Translated from the
French by Chas. Shillito._ Colchester, *1790.
81. 1792. [_New Arabian Nights._] _Arabian Tales, or a continuation of
the Arabian Nights Entertainments ... newly tr. from the original
Arabic into French by Dom Chavis ... and M. Cazotte ... and tr. from
the French into English by Robert Heron_, Edinburgh and London,
*1792. 4 vols. Another edition, London, 1794, 3 vols.
82. (1795?) _The Arabian Pirate, or authentic history and fighting
adventures of Tulagee Angria_ [a chapbook], Newcastle.
83. (1795?) _The Trial and Execution of the Grand Mufti, from an
ancient Horsleian manuscript, found in the Cathedral of
Rochester ..._ London *(1795?).
84. 1796. _The Siamese Tales, Being a Collection of Stories told to
the son of the Mandarin Sam-Sib, for the Purpose of Engaging his
mind in the Love of Truth and Virtue, with an historical account of
the Kingdom of Siam. To which is added the Principal Maxims of the
Talapoins. Translated from the Siamese_, London, 1796. Another
edition, Baltimore ... 1797.
85. 1796. [=Mathias, T. J.=] _The Imperial Epistle from Kien Long,
Emperor of China to George III., King of Great Britain in the year
1794. Translated into English from the original Chinese ..._
[pseudo-oriental satire in verse,] London, *1796. Other editions,
1798, 1802; and Philadelphia, 1800.
86. 1796. =Klinger, F. M. von.= _The Caliph of Bagdad, Travels before
the Flood, an Interesting Oriental record of men and manners in the
antediluvian world, interpreted in fourteen evening conversations
between the Caliph of Bagdad and his court, tr. from Arabic_ [=
translated from the German of F. M. von Klinger], London, *1796. Cf.
also No. 93 below, Lewis: _Amorassan_.
87. 1797. =Addison, Mr.= _Interesting Anecdotes, Memoirs, Allegories,
essays and poetical fragments, tending to amuse the fancy and
inculcate morality_, London, *1797. 16 vols.
88. 1799. =Du Bois, Edward.= _The Fairy of Misfortune; or the Loves of
Octar and Zulima, an Eastern Tale Translated from the French by the
Author of a Piece of Family Biography. The Original of the above
Work is supposed to be in the Sanskrit in the Library of the Great
Mogul._ London, *1799.
89. 1800. =Pilkington, Mrs. [Mary P.].=
(_a_) _The Asiatic Princess, a tale._ London, *1800. 2 vols.
(_b_) _A Mirror of the Female Sex. Historical Beauties for Young
Ladies, intended to lead the female mind to the Love and
Practice of Moral Goodness, Designed Principally for the use of
Ladies Schools_: London, *1804. [Third Edition] contains _The
Governor’s wife of Minchew_; _The Princess of Jaskes_; _The
Empress of China_; _Amestris_, _Queen of Persia_; _Inkle_ and
_Yarico_ [West-Indian, not oriental, taken from Addison, _Sp._
No. 11, March 13, 1710–1711].
90. (1800?) =Day, Thomas.= _Moral Tales by Esteemed Writers_ [contains
_The Grateful Turk_], London *(1800?).
91. 1802. =Crookenden, Isaac.= _Romantic Tale. The Revengeful Turk or
Mystic Cavern._ London, *1802.
92. 1804. =Edgeworth, Maria.= _Popular Tales_ [contains _Murad the
Unlucky_]——, 1804; second edition, London, 1805.
93. 1808. =Lewis, Matthew Gregory.= _Romantic Tales._ London, *1808, 4
vols. Contains _The Anaconda, an East Indian Tale_, in Vol. II.;
_The Four Facardins, an Arabian tale_ [in part a translation, and in
part an original continuation by Lewis, of Hamilton’s tale, _Les
Quatre Facardins_] in Vols. II. and III.; and _Amorassan or the
spirit of the frozen ocean, an Oriental Romance_ [in part a close
translation from _Der Faust der Morgenländer_ by F. M. von Klinger]
in Vol. IV.
APPENDIX B. II.
BOOKS OF REFERENCE, CRITICAL, HISTORICAL, ETC.
_An alphabetical list of the books most useful in a study of this subject.
Standard references of obvious value, e.g. the Dictionary of National
Biography, Boswell’s Johnson, Chalmers’s English Poets, Lane’s Arabian
Nights, etc., are, with a few exceptions, omitted._
1. _Arabian Nights._
(_a_) =Burton, Sir Richard F.= _A Plain and literal translation of
the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, now entitled the Book of the
Thousand Nights and a Night, with introduction, explanatory
notes on the manners and customs of Moslem men and a terminal
essay upon the history of the nights_ (in 10 vols.), Benares,
1885. Printed by the Kamashastra Society for private subscribers
only. Cf. especially in Vol. X., Burton’s _Terminal Essay_, and
W. F. Kirby’s _Bibliography of the Thousand and One Nights and
their imitations_.
(_b_) =Payne, John.= _The Book of the thousand nights and one
night ... done into English prose and verse ..._ by John Payne.
New York, 1884. 9 vols. (Villon Society Publications; Vols.
III.–IX., published in London.) Cf. especially essay at end of
Vol. IX. on the _Book of the Thousand Nights and one Night: its
history and character_.
(_c_) =Payne, John.= _Alaeddin and the Enchanted lamp; Zein ul
Asnam and the King of the Jinn: Two stories done into English
from the recently discovered Arabic text, by John Payne_,
London, 1889.
2. _Archiv für das Studium der neueren Sprachen und Literaturen_, ...
herausgegeben v. Alois Brandl u. Heinrich Morf ... Braunschweig
[especially the volumes since 1902].
3. =Armeno, M. Christoforo.=
(_a_) _Peregrinaggio di tre giovanni figliuoli del Re di
Serendippo. Per opera di M. Christoforo Armeno dalla Persiana
nell’ Italiana lingua trasportato_, Venetia, 1557.
(_b_) _Die Reise der Söhne Giaffers aus dem Italienischen des
Christoforo Armeno übersetzt durch Johann Wetzel 1583_,
herausgegeben von Hermann Fischer und Johann Bolte, Tübingen,
1895.
4. =Beckford, William.=
(_a_) _Vathek, an Arabian Tale_, edited by R. Garnett, London,
1893.
(_b_) _Vathek, réimprimé sur l’original français avec la préface_
[de 1876] _de Stéphane Mallarmé_, Paris ... 1893.
5. =Bédier, Joseph.= _Les Fabliaux. Études de littérature populaire et
d’histoire littéraire du moyen âge...._ Paris, 1895, 2^e éd.
6. =Beers, H. A.= _History of English Romanticism in the Eighteenth
Century._ New York, 1899.
7. =Beljame, A.= _Le public et les hommes de lettres en Angleterre au
dixhuitième siècle, 1660–1774_; Paris, 1897, 2^e éd.
8. =Beloe, William.= _Miscellanies: consisting of Poems, Classical
Extracts, and Oriental Apologues, by Wm. Beloe, F.S.A., Translator
of Herodotus, Aulus Gellius, etc._, London, 1795. 3 vols.
9. =Bidpai.= _The Fables of Pilpay._
(_a_) _The Fables of Pilpay_ [translated from the French
translation of Gilbert Gaulmin and Dāwūd Said, by Joseph Harris,
and remodelled by the Rev. J. Mitford]. London, *1818.
(_b_) _The Earliest English Version of the Fables of Bidpai, The
Morall Philosophie of Doni by Sir T. North_, edited by Joseph
Jacobs, London, 1888.
(_c_) _Kalilah and Dimnah; or the Fables of Bidpai: being an
account of their literary history, with an English translation
of the later Syriac version of the same, and notes by J. G. N.
Keith-Falconer_, Cambridge [England], 1885.
(_d_) =Knatchbull, W.= _Kalila and Dimna or the Fables of Bidpai,
translated from the Arabic_, Oxford, 1819.
10. _British Museum Catalogue of Printed Books_, _passim_.
11. =Brunetière, Ferdinand.= _Études critiques sur l’histoire de la
littérature française, huitième série_, Paris, 1907. [Contains a
review of Pierre Martino: _L’Orient dans la littérature française au
XVII^e et au XVIII^e siècle_, Paris, 1906.]
12. _Le Cabinet des Fées; ou Collection Choisie des Contes des Fées,
et Autres Contes Merveilleux_ [edited by C. J. Mayer], 41 Tom. (This
collection originally consisted of but 37 vols. Four additional
volumes were published at Geneva with two title-pages, on the second
of which is the date 1793, making the numbers of volumes all
together 41.) Paris et Geneva, 1785–1789. This collection contains
_Abdalla (Adventures d’)_; _Aulnoy (Comtesse d’)_; _Bidpai et
Lokman_; _Caylus (Comte de)_; _Contes des genies_; _Contes turcs_;
_Gueulette_ [sic]; _Hamilton (A. comte d’)_; _Mille (Les) et un
jours, contes persans_; _Mille (Les) et une nuit, contes Arabes_;
_... suite (Dom Chavis et M. Cazotte)_; _Nourjahad_; _Perrault
(Charles)_.
13. =Campbell, Killis.=
(_a_) _Study of the Romance of the Seven Sages, etc._ in
_Publications of the Modern Language Association of America_,
1899, Vol. XIV., 1 (n.s. VII., 1), edited by J. W. Bright,
Baltimore, 1899.
(_b_) _The Seven Sages of Rome edited from the manuscripts with
introduction, notes, and glossary_, in the Albion Series, Ginn &
Co., Boston, New York, Chicago, London, 1907.
14. =Chambers, Sir William.= _Dissertation on Oriental Gardening._
London, 1772.
15. =Charlanne, Louis.= _L’influence française en Angleterre au XVII^e
siècle._ Paris, 1906.
16. =Chauvin, Victor.= _Bibliographie des ouvrages arabes ou relatifs
aux arabes, publiés dans l’Europe chrétienne de 1810 à 1885_, par
Victor Chauvin, professeur à l’université de Liége: ouvrage auquel
l’Académie des Inscriptions a accordé en partage le prix
Delalande-Guerineau. Liége et Leipzig, 1892–1905 [9 vols, in 3, 1
tab.]. Contents: 1, _Préface, Table de Schnurrer, Les proverbes_; 2,
_Kalilah_; 3, _Louqmâne et les Fabulistes, Barlaam, Antar et les
romans de chevalerie_; 4–7, _Les Mille et Une Nuits_; 8, _Syntipas_;
9, _Pierre Alphonse...._
17. =Clarétie, Leo.= _Le roman en France au début du 18^{me} siècle;
Lesage, romancier, d’après de nouveaux documents._ Paris, 1890.
18. =Clouston, W. A.=
(_a_) _Flowers from a Persian Garden, and other papers._ London,
1890.
(_b_) _Group of Eastern romances and stories from the Persian,
Tamil and Urdu: with introduction, notes, and appendix._
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19. =Boileau-Despreaux, Nicolas.= _Les Héros de roman ..._ edited by
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21. =Drake, Nathan, M.D.=
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(_b_) _Essays, Biographical, Critical and Historical, Illustrative
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22. =Drujon, F.= _Les Livres à clef._ Paris, 1888, 2 vols.
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25. =Gladwin, Francis.= _The Persian Moonshee...._ Calcutta [Persian
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26. =Goldsmith, Oliver.= _The Citizen of the World_, edited by A.
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27. =Gueullette, T. S.= and =Caylus, Comte de=.
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28. (_a_) _Haoui-heu-Chuen. The Fortunate Union, a_
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Proverbs; and III. Fragments of Chinese Poetry, with notes_
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29. =D’Herbelot de Molainville, B.= _Bibliothèque orientale ou
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34. =Hoppner, J.= _Oriental Tales translated into English Verse._
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36. =Inatulla.= _Persian Tales._
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37. =Johnson, Samuel.= _Rasselas_, edited by G. B. Hill, Oxford, 1887.
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40. =Keightley, Thomas.= _The Fairy Mythology_, London, 1833, 2 vols.
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43. =Loiseleur-Deslongchamps, A. L. A.=
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_Introduction_ by editor.]
44. =Marmontel, J. F.=
(_a_) _Memoirs of Jean François Marmontel. With an essay by
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57. =Rigault, A. H.= _Histoire de la querelle des anciens et des
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58. =Saintsbury, George.= _Essays on French Novelists...._ London,
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59. =Sayous, P. A.= _Histoire de la littérature française à l’étranger
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66. =Varnhagen, Hermann.=
(_a_) _Ein indisches Märchen auf seiner Wanderung durch die
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INDEX
_Abdeker_, 102, 103.
Abu Jaafar Ebn Tophail, 126, 127.
Addison, Joseph, 232, 238, 244, 246, 255;
moralistic tales, 79–85, 110;
philosophic tales, 112–118;
satiric tales, 169–173.
“Addison, Mr.,” 106.
_Adventurer_, 89–95, 109, 125, 224 n. 2;
_see_ App. B, I., No. 42, pp. 281, 282.
_Adventures of Abdalla, Son of Hanif, The_, 38–41, 70, 252.
_Adventures of Prince Jakaya, The_, 47.
_African Eclogues_, 53, 54.
_Almoran and Hamet_, 95–97.
_Amorassan_, 71, 72, 105 n. 5.
_Amusements Serious and Comical_, 163–170.
_Amusements sérieux et comiques_, 156–170, 181 n. 1.
_Anaconda, The_, 51.
_Arabian Nights_, xv, xvii, xxii, xxiii, xxvi, 1–13, 41, 62, 100, 102,
108, 214, 228, 230, 233, 235, 241–244, 252, 254, _et passim_.
Armeno, M. Chr., 30.
Arnold, Matthew, 251.
_Asem_, 125, 126.
_Asiatic Princess, The_, 50.
Atterbury, Bishop, 230, 238, 244.
Aubin, Penelope, _Noble Slaves_, 46.
_Bababec_, 207, 209, 210.
Bage, Robert, _The Fair Syrian_, 51.
_Bajazet_, 46.
_Baloon, The_, 105.
_Barlaam and Josaphat_, xix.
_Beautiful Turk, The_, 46.
Beckford, William, xv, xxvi, 37–41, 61–71, 252.
_Bedukah_, 52 n. 2.
_Bélier, Le_, 217–219.
Bentley, R., _Modern Novels_, 46.
Bickerstaffe, Isaac, 204 n. 2.
_Bidpai_, xix, xx, 104, 105, 110, 117 n. 4.
Bignon, Jean Paul, 38.
_Black and the White, The_, 207, 209.
_Blossoms of Morality, The_, 107.
Boccalini, T., 240.
Boileau, 233, 243.
Boles, W., 202.
_Bonze, The_, 126, 131–132.
Bougeant, G. H., 157, 213.
Bradshaw, William, 158.
_Bramine’s Journal, The_, 204.
Brémond, G. de, 46.
_Brief and Merry History of Great Britain, A_, 202.
Brown, T., 85 n. 1, 156 n. 1, 163–170.
Bryan, W. J., 191 n. 1.
Byron, Lord, xvii, 71, 189, 203 n. 2, 236, 251.
_Caliph of Bagdad, The_, 105.
_Candide_, 144–151.
_Castle of Otranto, The_, 236, 248.
Caylus, A. C. P. de T., Comte de, xxiv, 157, 211–213, 246.
Cazotte, M., 41.
Chamberlain, Paul, 200.
Chambers, Sir William, 196 n. 1, 224 n. 2.
_Charoba_, 55–61, 229, 230, 246 n. 2, 251.
Chatterton, Thomas, 52–54.
Chavis, Dom, 41.
Chilcot, Harriet, 52 n. 2.
Chinese architecture and decorations, craze for, 223–225.
_Chinese Letters_, 199.
_Chinese Tales_, _see_ Gueullette.
_Citizen of the World, The_, xv, xxvi, 72, 93 n. 1, 135, 157, 179,
184–199, 222, 223, 231.
Collins, William, 52–53.
_Conduct of Christians, The_, 201.
_Consolidator, The_, 199–200.
_Contentment_, 105.
_Contes Philosophiques_, 132–140, 144–151, 231.
Cooper, Rev. Mr., 107–109.
“Cornwall, Barry,” 71, 251, 252.
_Coverley, Sir Roger de_, 241, 242.
Crébillon, C. P. J. de, xxv, 277, App. B, I., No. 29.
D’Argens, Marquis, 199.
D’Aulnoy, Countess, 228 n. 1 (_c_), 239.
Defoe, Daniel, 163, 165, 237;
_The Farther Adventures of Robinson Crusoe_, 48;
_Consolidator_, 199, 200;
_Tour through England_, 200;
_System of Magic_, 203;
_Story of Ali Abrahazen and the Devil_, 203;
_Story of the Arabian Magician in Egypt_, 203;
_Robinson Crusoe_, 12, 129, 130, 242.
De Quincey, T., 253, 254.
Dickens, C., 254.
Dickinson, G. Lowes, 191 n. 1.
_Dinarbas_, 103, 104.
_Disciplina Clericalis_, xix.
_Disinterested Nabob, The_, 49.
_Dissertation on Oriental Gardening_, 196 n. 1.
_Doom of a City, The_, 252.
D’Orville, _The Adventures of Prince Jakaya_, 47.
Dramas, 76 n. 2, 96 n. 1, 230 n. 1.
Dufresny, C. R., 156, 163–170, 181 n. 1.
_Eastern Eclogues_, 52 n. 2.
Edgeworth, Maria, 100–102, 110, 232.
_Elia, Essays of_, 162 n. 1.
_Espion Turc, L’_, 155, 157;
_see also_ _Turkish Spy_ and Marana.
Evelyn, John, 239 n. 1.
_Fables of Pilpay_, xix, xx, 104, 105, 110, 117 n. 4.
_Fair Syrian, The_, 51.
_Farther Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, The_, 48.
Fauques de Vaucluse, Mme., 102.
_Faust der Morgenländer, Der_, 71.
_Female Captive, The_, 50–51, 210.
Fielding, Henry, 131, 233, 242.
Fitzgerald, Edward, 251.
_Fleur d’Epine_, 213–217.
_Four Facardins, The_, 219, 220.
_Friendship put to the Test_, 73, 76.
Galland, Antoine, xvi, xxii-xxv, 24, 81, 235, 236, 246.
_Gebir_, 55, 59–61, 251.
_Generall History of the Turks, The_, xxi, 236 n. 1.
Goldsmith, Oliver, xv, xxvi, 72, 92, 125, 126, 135, 179, 183 n. 1,
185–199, 222, 223, 231, 245.
Gomez, Mme. de, 200, 201.
_Good Bramin, The_, 139.
Graffigny, Mme. F. Huguet de, 199.
_Grateful Turk, The_, 105.
_Guardian_, 27, 81;
_see also_ Addison and Steele.
Gueullette, Thomas Simon, 31;
_Chinese Tales_, 31–36, 190;
_Mogul Tales_, 31, 36–38, 70, 85–88, 252;
_Tartarian Tales_, 32, 36;
_Peruvian Tales_, 32.
_Gulliver’s Travels_, 29.
_Hai Ebn Yokdhan_, [or “_Yockdhan_”] _The Life of_, xxii, 126–131.
Hale, Edward Everett, _My Double and How He Undid Me_, 39 n. 1.
_Hall of Eblis, The_, 252.
_Hamet and Selinda_, 105.
Hamilton, Antoine, 68–70, 157, 213–220.
_Hassan_, 105.
Hatchett, William, 38.
_Hattige_, 46.
_Hau Kiou Chooan_, 190.
Hawkesworth, John, 70, 89–97, 109, 125.
Haywood, Mrs. Eliza, 52.
_Hermit, The_, 73, 77–79, 110, 232.
_Hieroglyphic Tales_, 157, 220, 221.
Hillier, A., 202.
_History and Adventures of an Atom_, 203.
_History of Abdalla and Zoraide, The_, 71, 72, 105 n. 2, 180 n. 1.
_History of Arsaces, The_, 105.
_History of Henrietta de Bellgrave, The_, 49.
_History of Rodomond and the Beautiful Indian, The_, 49.
_History of the Caliph Vathek_, see _Vathek_.
Hughes, John, 29.
_Humphrey Clinker_, 252.
_Interesting Anecdotes_, 106.
Irving, Washington, 18 n. 2.
Irwin, Eyles, 52 n. 2.
Johnson, Samuel, 54, 70, 79, 110, 245, 255;
moralistic tales, 88–93;
philosophic tales in _Rambler_ and _Idler_, 118–124;
_Rasselas_, xv, xxvi, 103, 110, 123, 124, 140–154, 227, 232, 248.
Johnstone, Charles, 286, App. B, I., No. 63, _see also History of
Arsaces_.
Jones, Sir William, xvii, xviii, 54, 70, 256.
_Kalila and Dimna_, xix, 104.
Kelly, Hugh, 76 n. 2.
Klinger, F. M., 71.
Knight, Ellis Cornelia, 103 n. 1.
Knolles, R., xxi, 236 n. 1.
Lamb, Charles, 162.
Landor, Walter Savage, _Gebir_, 55, 59–61, 251.
Langhorne, John, 97.
Le Camus, A., 102.
Le Sage, A. L. R., 22 n. 1, 24.
_Letters from a Chinese Official_, 191 n. 1.
_Letters from Xo-Ho_, 187, 188.
_Letters of a Peruvian Princess_, 199.
_Letters to a Chinese Official_, 191 n. 1.
_Letters Writ by a Turkish Spy_, xvii, 158–162, 228, 239.
_Lettres Persanes, Les_, 134, 156, 173–180.
Lewis, Matthew Gregory, _The Anaconda_, 51;
_The Monk_, 27, 252;
_Romantic Tales_, 51, 71;
_Four Facardins_, 219 n. 1.
_Life and Surprising Adventures of Friga Reveep ..., The_, 48–49.
Lyttelton, Lord, 72 n. 1, 160, 178–186, 190.
Marana, G. P. xvii, 85 n. 1, 155–163, 189, 230, 240 n. 2.
Marmontel, Jean François, xxv, 73–77, 79, 106, 110, 111 n. 1, 156,
204–207.
_Matron of Ephesus, The_, 194 n. 1.
_Maugraby the Magician_, 42.
_May-Flower_, 214–217.
_Memnon the Philosopher_, 207, 209.
Midgley, Robert, 158, 162 n. 1.
_Milk for Babes_, 201, 202.
_Mille et un Jours, Les_, xxiii;
_see also_ Pétis de la Croix.
_Mille et un Nuits, Les_, 155;
_see_ Galland.
_Mogul Tales_, _see_ Gueullette.
_Monk, The_, 27, 252.
Montagu, Lady M. W., 244.
Montesquieu, C. de S., Baron de, xxiv, 156, 173–178, 189, 231.
Moore, Thomas, xvii, 54, 70, 236, 251.
_Moral Tales by Esteemed Writers_, 105.
_Murad the Unlucky_, 100–102, 232.
_Mysteries of Udolpho, The_, 67.
_New Arabian Nights_, 41–45, 252.
_Noble Slaves_, 46.
_Nourjahad_, 97–99, 227.
Novel, The English, 241–243.
_Oriental Chronicle, The_, 202.
_Oriental Eclogues_, by Collins, 52, 53;
by J. Scott, 54.
Oriental fiction in England before eighteenth century, xix-xxii.
_Orientalist, The_, 106.
_Oriental Moralist, The_, 107–109.
Oriental tale, definition of, xv, xvi.
_Oriental Tales, The_, 211–213.
_Ormar and Zabria_, 52 n. 2.
Parnell, Thomas, 73, 77–79, 110, 133, 232.
_Peregrinaggio di tre giovanni figliuoli del Re di Serendippo_, 30.
_Periodicals_, 224, 225;
_see_ Addison, Hawkesworth, Steele, and App. B, I., _passim_.
Perrault, Charles, xxiii, 228, 238.
_Perseis_, 201.
_Persian Anecdotes_, 200, 201.
_Persian Eclogues_, 52, 53.
_Persian Letters_, by Lyttelton, 72 n. 1, 160, 178–186, 190;
by Montesquieu, _see_ _Lettres Persanes, Les_.
_Persian Tales_, 13–25, 81, 233, 241, 248;
_see also_ Pétis de la Croix.
_Persian Tales of Inatulla_, 92 n. 1.
_Peruvian Tales_, _see_ Gueullette.
Pétis de la Croix, xxiv, 24, 246;
_see also_ _Persian Tales_.
Philips, Ambrose, 221, 222, 246;
_see also_ _Persian Tales_.
_Pied Piper of Hamelin, The_, 34.
Pilkington, Mrs. Mary P., 50.
Pococke, Edward, xxii, 130 n. 2.
Pope, Alexander, 77, 221, 222, 230, 238, 243, 244.
_Princess of Babylon, The_, 207–209.
_Progress of Romance, The_, 55.
_Quatre Facardins, Les_, 219, 220.
_Ragguagli di Parnaso_, 240.
_Ram, The_, 218, 219.
_Rasselas_, xv, xxvi, 103, 110, 123, 124, 140–154, 227, 232, 248;
_see also_ _Dinarbas_, 103, 104.
_Recollections of the Arabian Nights_, 252.
Reeve, Clara, 55, 246 n. 2.
Ridley, Rev. J., 102.
_Robber Caliph, The_, 42, 44, 45.
_Robinson Crusoe_, 12, 129, 130, 242;
_Farther Adventures of_, 48.
_Romance of an Hour, The_, 76 n. 2.
Romanticism, xv-xxiii, Chap. V.
_Romantic Tales_, 51.
_Santon Barsisa, The_, 27, 28, 81.
Scott, John, 52, 54.
Scott, Sir Walter, 253.
_Seged, Lord of Ethiopia_, 123, 124.
Segrais, J. Regnauld de, _Bajazet_, 46.
_Selima and Azor_, 204 n. 2.
_Sendebar_, xix, 26.
_Seven Sages of Rome, The_, 26.
Sheridan, Mrs. Frances, 97.
Smollett, T., 203, 252.
_Soliman II._, 106, 204–207.
_Solyman and Almena_, 97, 99–100.
Southey, Robert, xvii, 42, 54, 70, 236, 251, 252.
_Spectator_, _see_ Addison and Steele.
Steele, Sir Richard, 27, 79, 170, 232;
_see_ Addison.
Sterne, Laurence, 204.
Stevenson, R. L., 254.
_Story of Ali Abrahazen and the Devil_, 203.
_Story of the Arabian Magician in Egypt_, 203.
_Sultan, or a Peep into the Seraglio, The_, 204 n. 2.
Swift, J., 162, 204 n. 1, 244;
_Gulliver’s Travels_, 29.
_System of Magic, A_, 203.
_Tales of the Genii_, 102, 103.
_Tartarian Tales_, _see_ Gueullette.
_Tatler_, 79.
Temple, Sir William, 246.
Tennyson, A., 252.
Thackeray, W. M., 254.
_Thalaba_, _see_ Southey.
Thomson, James (1832–1882), 252.
_Thorn-Flower_, 214–217.
_Thousand and One Days_, _see_ _Persian Tales_.
_Thousand and One Nights_, _see_ _Arabian Nights_.
_Tour through England_, 200.
_Travels and Adventures of the Three Princes of Serendip_, 29–31.
_Travels of Scarmentado_, 207, 210.
_Trial and Execution of the Grand Mufti, The_, 202.
_Turkish Spy, The_, xvii, 157–162, 228, 239.
_Turkish Tales_, 25–29, 80, 252.
_Unfortunate Princess, The_, 52.
_Vathek_, xvii, xxvi, 37–41, 43 n. 1, 61–71, 230, 248, 251.
_Vision of Mirza, The_, 110, 112–114, 126, 232.
_Vizirs, The_, 102.
Voltaire, F. M. A. de, 68, 70, 126;
“_contes philosophiques_,” 132–140, 231, and 144–151 (_Candide_);
satiric tales, 156, 157, 207–211, 231.
Walpole, Horace, 29 n. 3, 157, 187, 188, 220, 221, 223, 236, 248.
_Watermen of Besons, The_, 73, 75, 76.
_White Bull, The_, 207, 209.
Whitehead, William, 224.
_Wonderful Travels of Prince Fan-Feredin, The_, 213.
Wordsworth, W., 253.
_World_, 224, 225.
_World as It Goes, The_, 138–140.
_Zadig_, 126, 132–138;
_see also_ _Hermit, The_.
-----
Footnote 1:
_Standard Dictionary of the English Language_, Vol. II., New York,
London, and Toronto, 1895.
Footnote 2:
Martino, Pierre, _L’Orient dans la littérature française au XVII^e et au
XVIII^e siècle_, Paris, 1906, p. 20.
Footnote 3:
Galland, _Paroles remarquables des Orientaux_, Paris, 1694,
Avertissement, quoted by P. Martino, _op. cit._, p. 221.
Footnote 4:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 73, pp. 288, 289.
Footnote 5:
Cf. F. Brunetière, _Études critiques sur l’histoire de la Littérature
française, huitième série_, Paris, 1907: _L’Orient dans la littérature
française_, p. 183: “Schopenhauer, dont la philosophie n’est elle-même
qu’un bouddhisme occidental, a écrit quelque part, en 1819 ou 1822,
que ‘le XIX^e siècle ne devrait guère moins un jour à la connaissance
du vieux monde oriental que le XVI^e siècle à la découverte ou à la
révélation de l’antiquité gréco-romaine.’”
Footnote 6:
Cf. pp. 104, 105, and App. B, I., No. 10, p. 271, _post_.
Footnote 7:
M. de Cézy, French ambassador to Constantinople, thirty years before
Racine’s _Bajazet_, brought the original story to Paris. Cf. P.
Martino, _op. cit._, p. 196.
Footnote 8:
Galland and Pétis de la Croix both went to the East with embassies.
Footnote 9:
_Nathaniel Hawthorne_, by G. E. Woodberry, in the American Men of
Letters Series. Boston and New York, 1902, p. 54; cf. p. 12.
Footnote 10:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 4, p. 269.
Footnote 11:
Proverbial despite the “extreme simplicity of its style,” noted by Mr.
John Payne, Vol. IX., pp. 373, 375, of his edition of _The Book of the
Thousand Nights and a Night_. London, 1884. “Nothing can be more
unlike the idea of barbaric splendour, of excessive and heterogeneous
ornament, that we are accustomed to associate with the name, than the
majority of the tales that compose the collection. The life described
in it is mainly that of the people, those Arabs so essentially brave,
sober, hospitable, and kindly, almost hysterically sensitive to
emotions of love and pity as well as to artistic impressions.
* * * * *
The splendours of description, the showers of barbaric pearl and gold,
that are generally attributed to the work exist but in isolated
instances. The descriptions are usually extremely naïve.”
Footnote 12:
Cf. _Rambler_, No. 17.
Footnote 13:
_The Story of the Sleeper Awakened or The Dead Alive._
Footnote 14:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 15, p. 273.
Footnote 15:
The _Persian Tales_, in _Tales of the East_, edited by Henry Weber.
Edinburgh, 1812, Vol. II., p. 455.
Footnote 16:
Washington Irving compares the reading-room of the British Museum to the
scene in “an old Arabian tale, of a philosopher who was shut up in an
enchanted library, in the bosom of a mountain, that opened only once a
year; where he made the spirits of the place obey his commands, and
bring him books of all kinds of dark knowledge, so that at the end of
the year, when the magic portal once more swung open on its hinges, he
issued forth so versed in forbidden lore, as to be able to soar above
the heads of the multitude and to control the powers of Nature.”—_The
Art of Bookmaking_, in the _Sketch-Book_.
Footnote 17:
It is particularly difficult in the case of the _Persian Tales_, because
Le Sage “revised” the manuscripts.
Footnote 18:
_Les Mille et une Nuit [sic], Contes Arabes traduits en François [sic]
par M. Galland. A Paris_, 1704–1717.
Footnote 19:
_Les Mille et un Jour [sic] Contes Persans traduits en François [sic]
par M. Pétis de la Croix. A Paris_, 1710–1712.
Footnote 20:
Cf. App. B, I., Nos. 7 and 15 (_b_), pp. 270 and 273.
Footnote 21:
Cf. _Archiv für das Studium der neueren Sprachen und Literaturen_, Vol.
CXI. (n. s., XI.), pp. 106–121, “Studien zu M. G. Lewis’s Roman
‘Ambrosio, or the Monk,’” by Otto Ritter; pp. 316–323, “Die
eigentliche Quelle von Lewis’s ‘Monk,’” by Georg Herzfeld; Vol.
CXIII., pp. 56–65, “Die angebliche Quelle von M. G. Lewis’s ‘Monk,’”
by Otto Ritter; Vol. CXIV., p. 167, under _Kleine Mitteilungen_, “Zu
Archiv CXIII., 63 (Lewis’s ‘Monk’),” by Otto Ritter.
Footnote 22:
Cf. App. A, pp. 259–262.
Footnote 23:
The Persian words also are given in the 1708 edition (App. B, I., No. 7,
p. 270).
Footnote 24:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 20, p. 274. Cf. Horace Walpole’s coinage of the word
“serendipity,” meaning “accidental sagacity”; _Letters of Horace
Walpole_, edited by Mrs. Paget Toynbee in sixteen volumes. Oxford
MCMIII., Vol. III., pp. 203, 204; Letter No. 382, to Horace Mann,
January 28, 1754.
Footnote 25:
Cf. App. B, II., No. 3, p. 295.
Footnote 26:
_Die Reise der Söhne Giaffers aus dem Italienischen des Christoforo
Armeno übersetzt durch Johann Wetzel_, 1583, herausgegeben v. H.
Fischer und J. Bolte, Tübingen, 1895, p. 178.
Footnote 27:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 22, p. 275.
Footnote 28:
Cf. _Orlando Furioso_, Canto XXXIV., Astolfo’s journey to the moon,
where wits are kept.
Footnote 29:
Cf. _Spectator_, No. 289.
Footnote 30:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 23, pp. 275, 276.
Footnote 31:
One incident recalls Dr. Edward Everett Hale’s entertaining story, _My
Double and How He Undid Me_: A good fairy created for King Giamschid a
double, “a phantom, who ate with a very good appetite and who
pronounced at intervals, in the tone and voice of the true Giamschid,
a few sentences very much to the purpose.” (H. Weber’s _Tales of the
East_, 1812, Vol. III., p. 671.) The similarity is a mere coincidence.
Dr. Hale informs me that he was unacquainted with this story when he
wrote _My Double_.
Footnote 32:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 81, p. 290.
Footnote 33:
The writer of a recent review, in the _New York Evening Post_, of Vol.
IV., Lane’s _Arabian Nights_, Bohn edition, just issued, interprets
the “African” magician of _Aladdin_ as the “Tunisian” magician, and
continues: “That Tunis was especially famous for magic does not seem
to be elsewhere recorded. Such was, and is, the reputation rather of
Morocco and of Africa farther west in general, and in this same tale
the magician is also called a Maghribi, strictly a Moroccan.”
Footnote 34:
Cf. App. A, p. 263.
Footnote 35:
Cf. opening scenes of _Vathek_.
Footnote 36:
Weber, _op. cit._, Vol. II., p. 290.
Footnote 37:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 17, p. 274.
Footnote 38:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 21, pp. 274, 275.
Footnote 39:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 19, p. 274.
Footnote 40:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 27, p. 277.
Footnote 41:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 5 (_b_), p. 270.
Footnote 42:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 48, p. 283. In the above-mentioned title, the
original spelling is preserved.
Footnote 43:
These two are included in a frame-tale called _The Lady’s Drawing-room_
(1744). App. B, I., No. 35, p. 278.
Footnote 44:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 76, p. 289.
Footnote 45:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 89, (_a_), p. 292.
Footnote 46:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 59, p. 286.
Footnote 47:
Cf. Voltaire’s _Travels of Scarmentado_, p. 210, _post_.
Footnote 48:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 75, p. 289.
Footnote 49:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 93, pp. 292, 293.
Footnote 50:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 33, p. 278.
Footnote 51:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 69, p. 288, Chilcot, Harriet: _Ormar and Zabria_;
and No. 64 (_a_), p. 287, Irwin, Eyles: _Bedukah_ and _Eastern
Eclogues_.
Footnote 52:
“Written originally for the entertainment of the Ladies of Tauris and
now translated,” a phrase omitted from later editions. Cf. Dr.
Johnson, _Life of Collins_ (Chalmers, _English Poets_. London, 1810,
Vol. XIII., p. 193): “In his last illness ... he spoke with
disapprobation of his Oriental Eclogues, as not sufficiently
expressive of Asiatic manners, and called them his Irish Eclogues.”
Cf. App. B, I., No. 34, p. 278.
Footnote 53:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 61, p. 286.
Footnote 54:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 67, p. 287.
Footnote 55:
The only other poems that may be classed as imaginative oriental
tales—and that only by stretching a point—are _The Indian
Philosopher_, by Isaac Watts, and the fragment of an eclogue called
_An Indian Ode_, by William King. Cf. Chalmers’s _English Poets_.
London, 1810, Vol. XIII., p. 63, and Vol. IX., p. 302.
Footnote 56:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 70, p. 288.
Footnote 57:
Cf. Sophocles, _Trachiniæ_ (Death of Hercules).
Footnote 58:
Cf. _Iliad_, XXII (Death of Hector).
Footnote 59:
In English, 1786; in French, 1787. It had been written between January,
1782, and January, 1783, in French, by Beckford. Cf. App. B, I., No.
73 (_a_), p. 288; and _Vathek_, edited by Richard Garnett. London,
1893, Introduction.
Footnote 60:
Garnett, _op. cit._, Introduction, p. xxvii.
Footnote 61:
Cf. Lady Burton’s version of Sir Richard Burton’s _Arabian Nights_,
edited by J. H. McCarthy (London, 1886), n., p. 11, which, following
the _Koran_ and the _Talmud_, calls Iblis (Eblis) a rebellious angel
who refused to worship Adam, caused Adam and Eve to lose Paradise, and
still betrays mankind.
Cf. E. W. Lane, _Arabian Society in the Middle Ages, Studies in the
Arabian Nights_, edited by S. Lane-Poole, London, 1883, who, on p. 32,
says, “Iblees is represented as saying, ‘Thou hast created _me_ of
_fire_ and hast created _him_ [Adam] of _earth_.’ Kur. VII. and
XXXVIII., 77.”
Footnote 62:
Cf. App. A., pp. 258, 259.
Footnote 63:
Cf. pp. 251, 252, _post_.
Footnote 64:
Cf. also the two voices overheard by Nouronihar with _The Ancient
Mariner_ and Tennyson, _The Two Voices_.
Footnote 65:
Beckford also wrote a short oriental tale, _Al Raoui_, nominally
“translated from the Arabic” but probably composed by Beckford, 1783,
and first printed 1799. It is a fanciful and rather pleasing romantic
tale and may be found in Cyrus Redding, _Memoirs of William Beckford_.
London, 1859, Vol. I., pp. 213–226.
Footnote 66:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 93, pp. 292, 293.
Footnote 67:
Based on a story in Lyttelton’s _Persian Letters_. Cf. pp. 180, n. 1,
and 185, _post_. Goldsmith may have drawn directly from Lyttelton, or
from this more recent (1750?) version. Cf. also App. B, I., No. 41, p.
281.
Footnote 68:
Marmontel, J. F., _Memoirs_ (Boston, 1878). Introductory essay by W. D.
Howells, p. 25.
Footnote 69:
Preface to _Contes Moraux_ in _Œuvres_, Paris, 1818, Vol. III., p. xiv.
Footnote 70:
_Rambler_, No. 65.
Footnote 71:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 54 (_c_), p. 285.
Footnote 72:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 54 (_b_), pp. 284, 285.
Footnote 73:
Hugh Kelly’s _The Romance of an Hour, an afterpiece in two acts_, was
performed first, 1774. Two editions were printed. The plot was
borrowed from Marmontel’s tale, _L’Amitié à l’Epreuve_. [Gordon
Goodwin in _Dictionary of National Biography_, article “Hugh Kelly”.]
Footnote 74:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 18, p. 274.
Footnote 75:
_Spence’s Anecdotes, Observations, and Characters of Books and Men, a
Selection_, edited by John Underhill. London [n. d.], p. 168.
Footnote 76:
_La littérature française au moyen âge._ Paris, 1905, p. 242.
Footnote 77:
_Voltaire’s Roman Zadig ou la Destinée, Eine Quellen-forschung ..._ von
Wilhelm Seele ... Leipzig, Reudnitz, 1891. Cf. also G. A. Aitken’s
Introduction to _Parnell’s Poems_, Aldine Edition. London, 1894, and
Rev. John Mitford’s _Life of Parnell_ (p. 61 n.), prefixed to _The
Poetical Works of Thomas Parnell_. London, 1852.
Footnote 78:
_Guardian_, No. 162.
Footnote 79:
_Ibid._, No. 148, cf. pp. 27, 28, _ante_.
Footnote 80:
_Spectator_, No. 535.
Footnote 81:
_Freeholder_, No. 17.
Footnote 82:
_Guardian_, No. 99. Cf. _The Persian Moonshee_, Pt. II., Story 5,
translated by Francis Gladwin, Calcutta and London, 1801, p. 3.
Footnote 83:
_Guardian_, No. 167.
Footnote 84:
_Spectator_, Nos. 584, 585.
Footnote 85:
Cf. _Romeo and Juliet_.
Footnote 86:
_Spectator_, No. 583.
Footnote 87:
Chap. III.
Footnote 88:
In the satirical group Marana and Brown precede Addison. The great
essayist assisted in directing the tendency, and was the first notable
English writer to popularize it. Cf. Chap. IV.
Footnote 89:
Dedicated to Raphael Courtevile, Esq. In the passage quoted the author’s
spelling is preserved.
Footnote 90:
Quoted in the translation of 1759.
Footnote 91:
Only in so far as the moralistic tales composed by Addison and Johnson
are concerned. Those referred to, pp. 80–81, _ante_, as adapted by
Addison, possess intrinsic value.
Footnote 92:
Leslie Stephen, _Hours in a Library. Second Series._ London, 1876, p.
211.
Footnote 93:
Cf. p. 93, _post_.
Footnote 94:
Cf. p. 83, _ante_.
Footnote 95:
Courtenay, _Verses on the Moral and Literary Character of Dr. Johnson_,
quoted by Boswell; _Life of Johnson_, edited by G. B. Hill. Oxford,
1887, Vol. I., p. 223.
Footnote 96:
The _Story of Nouraddin and Amana, Adventurer_, No. 72 (1753). This was
one of the stories translated into French and published in _Le Mercure
de France_. The French title was _Les Souhaits Punis, Conte Oriental_;
date, August, 1760.
Footnote 97:
_Adventurer_, No. 132.
Footnote 98:
_Ibid._, Nos. 7 and 8.
Footnote 99:
Contrast the later oriental tales translated about the close of this
period, _e.g._ the _Persian Tales of Inatulla_, which is exceedingly
flowery in language. For full title, cf. App. B, II., No. 36, p. 301.
Footnote 100:
_Citizen of the World_, Letter XXXIII. Cf. Chap. IV.
Footnote 101:
_Rambler_, No. 65.
Footnote 102:
_Ibid._, No. 38.
Footnote 103:
_Adventurer_, Nos. 20, 21, 22.
Footnote 104:
_Adventurer_, No. 5.
Footnote 105:
_Adventurer_, No. 132.
Footnote 106:
_The Fair Circassian, a Tragedy_, by Samuel J. Pratt, second edition,
London, 1781; third edition, same year, was based on _Almoran and
Hamet_. Cf. _Preface_, third edition. This must not be confused with
_The Fair Circassian, a dramatic performance by a gentleman-commoner
of Oxford [Samuel Croxall].... Taken from the Song of Solomon_, 1755.
Footnote 107:
Cf. p. 123, _post_.
Footnote 108:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 52, p. 284.
Footnote 109:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 57, p. 285.
Footnote 110:
In _Popular Tales_. Cf. App. B, I., No. 92, p. 292.
Footnote 111:
_Popular Tales_, by Miss Edgeworth. Philadelphia and New York, 1849, pp.
67, 68.
Footnote 112:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 53, p. 284.
Footnote 113:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 46, p. 282.
Footnote 114:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 62, p. 286.
Footnote 115:
Published anonymously; written by Ellis Cornelia Knight, “lady companion
to the Princess Charlotte of Wales,” and reaching its fourth edition
by 1800. Cf. App. B, I., No. 79, p. 290. On _Rasselas_, cf. Chap.
III., _post_.
Footnote 116:
_Introduction to Dinarbas._
Footnote 117:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 10, p. 271.
Footnote 118:
Bound in with _The History of Abdalla and Zoraide, or Filial and
Paternal Love_. London, 1750. Cf. p. 71, _ante_, and App. B, I., No.
41, p. 281.
Footnote 119:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 66, p. 287.
Footnote 120:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 63 (a), p. 286.
Footnote 121:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 86, p. 291, and _Amorassan_, p. 71, _ante_.
Footnote 122:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 90, p. 292.
Footnote 123:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 74, p. 289.
Footnote 124:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 87, p. 291.
Footnote 125:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 58 (_b_), pp. 285, 286.
Footnote 126:
Cf. p. 204 _et seq._, _post_.
Footnote 127:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 77, p. 289.
Footnote 128:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 78, p. 290.
Footnote 129:
“Yet for the real student, these secondary writers [_e.g._
Marmontel] ... have, as they had for Sainte-Beuve, a peculiar
interest. We see the movement, the drift, the line, in them more
clearly than in their betters, precisely because it is less mingled
with and distorted by any intense personal idiosyncrasy. They are not
distractingly great nor distracted by their own greatness; they are
clear if limited, comprehensible from beginning to end. The man of
genius, being never merely, is never quite, of his time, the man of
talent is.” Professor Saintsbury’s _Introduction_ to Marmontel’s
_Moral Tales...._ London, 1895, p. xiv.
Footnote 130:
_Spectator_, No. 159.
Footnote 131:
One is reminded also of the Anglo-Saxon story of the sparrow flying
through the lighted hall from darkness to darkness again, as a type of
human life; and of the inscription on the Taj Mahal: “This world is
only a bridge; therefore cross over it, but build not upon it. The
future is veiled in darkness, and one short hour alone is given thee.
Turn every moment into prayer if thou wouldst attain unto Heaven.”
Footnote 132:
_Spectator_, No. 289.
Footnote 133:
_Spectator_, No. 289; attributed by Addison to the travels of Sir John
Chardin.
Footnote 134:
_Spectator_, No. 94.
Footnote 135:
_Spectator_, No. 578.
Footnote 136:
_Spectator_, No. 191.
Footnote 137:
_Spectator_, No. 604.
Footnote 138:
_Guardian_, No. 61 (Pope). The story is probably _The Life of Hai Ebn
Yokdhan_, cf. p. 126 _et seq._, _post_. Pope also quotes the tale of
the Traveler and the Adder, which he calls “one of the Persian fables
of Pilpay.”
Footnote 139:
_Spectator_, No. 343. At the opening of this essay Addison makes Will
Honeycomb quote Sir Paul Rycaut’s account of Mahometan beliefs,
including transmigration. The story of Pug’s adventures resembles that
of the transmigrations of Fum-Hoam (_Chinese Tales_, cf. Chap. I.,
_ante_). The idea of metempsychosis was a favourite one in the early
eighteenth century, witness Fielding’s _Journey from this World to the
Next_.
Footnote 140:
p. 89.
Footnote 141:
_Idler_, No. 99.
Footnote 142:
_Life of Johnson_, edited by G. B. Hill. Oxford, 1887, Vol. I., p. 215.
Footnote 143:
_Rambler_, No. 190.
Footnote 144:
_Rambler_, Nos. 204, 205.
Footnote 145:
In a _Voyage to Abyssinia_, by Lobo, a Portuguese Jesuit, which Johnson
translated, 1735, from a French version, mention is made, Chap. X., of
Sultan Segued, Emperor of Abyssinia, “the much-talked-of lake of
Dambia,” and the bridge built across the Nile by Sultan Segued.
Neither in the edition of _Rasselas_ by G. B. Hill nor in that by
James Macaulay is the resemblance between _Seged_ and _Rasselas_
noted.
Footnote 146:
_Idler_, No. 75.
Footnote 147:
_Idler_, No. 101.
Footnote 148:
_Adventurer_, No. 114.
Footnote 149:
Published in _Essays by Dr. Goldsmith_, 1765 (N.B., the Preface says:
“The following essays have already appeared at different times and in
different publications”); to be found in _The Bee and other Essays by
Oliver Goldsmith...._ London and Philadelphia, 1893, p. 187.
Footnote 150:
_The Bonze, or Chinese Anchorite, an Oriental Epic Novel. Translated
from the Mandarine language of_ _Hoamchi-vam, a Tartarian Proselite,
by Mons. D’Alenzon, Dedicated to Lord Kilwarling Son and Heir of the
Earl of Hillsborough, Secretary of State for the Northern Colonies.
With Adventurous wing exploring new found Worlds, the Orient Muse
unfettered with Rhyme who Sings of Heaven, of Earth, and Wondrous
mutations; Strives to Mingle instruction with delight, in hope to gain
the smile of Approbation._ Two vols. London, 1769.
Footnote 151:
The original spelling is preserved in the quotations given from this
work. Cf. App. B, I., No. 8, p. 270.
Footnote 152:
p. 57, edition of 1708.
Footnote 153:
pp. 114–139, same edition.
Footnote 154:
Cf. the dancing dervishes.
Footnote 155:
Dr. Edward Pococke (1604–1691) wrote a preface to a Latin translation of
_Hai Ebn Yockdhan_, published, Oxford, 1671, by his son Edward Pococke
(1648–1727).
Footnote 156:
_Zadig, or the Book of Fate, an Oriental History translated from the
French original of Mr. Voltaire._ London ... 1749. Several other
editions appeared later in the century, and one chapter, _The Hermit_,
separately, _e.g._ 1779. Cf. App. B, I., No. 39 (_a_), p. 279; and No.
39 (_j_), pp. 280, 281.
Footnote 157:
Cf. pp. 77–79, _ante_. Parnell’s poem was one of the sources, not the
only source, of Voltaire’s chapter.
Footnote 158:
In French, 1747, 1748; in English, 1749.
Footnote 159:
Cf. Chap. IV., p. 155 _et seq._, _post_.
Footnote 160:
Cf. Lessing: _Nathan der Weise_ (apologue of the three rings).
Footnote 161:
Cf. W. Seele, _op. cit._, p. 77, n. 4, _ante_, in which, on p. 64,
reference is made to the high estimation by Gaston Paris, of _Zadig_
as the most beautiful of Voltaire’s romances, and of the “Hermit” as
the best chapter in _Zadig_.
Footnote 162:
Cf. “On a Passage in Homer” under “Ancients and Moderns” in Voltaire’s
_Philosophical Dictionary_, tr. by W. F. Fleming, Vol. I., Paris,
London, New York, Chicago, 1901.
Footnote 163:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 39 (_b_), p. 279.
Footnote 164:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 39 (_f_), p. 280.
Footnote 165:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 40, p. 281.
Footnote 166:
First French edition, _Candide ou l’optimisme_, ... 1759; first English
edition, same year.
Footnote 167:
_Rasselas_ was written soon after January 23, 1759, and published in
March or April of that year. Johnson was one of the first to observe
the similarity between the two books. “I have heard Johnson say, that
if they had not been published so closely one after the other that
there was not time for imitation, it would have been in vain to deny
that the scheme of that which came latest was taken from the other.”
Boswell, _Life of Johnson_, edited by G. B. Hill, Vol. I., p. 342.
Hill’s note, same page: “It should seem that _Candide_ was published
in the latter half of February, 1759 ... _Rasselas_ was written before
March 23; how much earlier cannot be known.”
Footnote 168:
Cf. G. B. Hill’s note, p. 165 of his edition of _Rasselas_, Oxford,
1887: “Johnson is content with giving the artist a ducking. Voltaire
would have crippled him for life at the very least; most likely would
have killed him on the spot.”
Footnote 169:
For a sketch of this scene, cf. an essay on _Indifferentism_, by Bliss
Perry in the _Atlantic Monthly_, Vol. XCII., p. 329 _et seq._
Footnote 170:
Boswell’s _Life of Johnson_, edited by G. B. Hill ... Oxford, 1887, Vol.
IV., p. 31. Cf. on “the Saxon _k_,” Thomas R. Lounsbury, _Confessions
of a Spelling Reformer, Atlantic Monthly_, May, 1907 (Vol. XCIX.), p.
627: “The Saxon _k_ was the lexicographer’s personal contribution to
the original English alphabet.”
Footnote 171:
Cf. P. Martino, _op. cit._, p. 284.
Footnote 172:
Cf. T. Brown, _Amusements_, p. 163, _post_. P. Martino, _op. cit._ (p.
288, n. 3), gives 1705 as the date of the first edition of _Dufresny_.
But D. Jouaust, in his _Avertissement to Entretiens ou Amusements
sérieux et comiques par Rivière-Dufresny_, Paris, 1869, affirms that
this work, whence “Montesquieu a pris l’idée de son immortelle
satire,” appeared “pour la première fois en 1699,” and was reprinted.
Pétit de Julleville: _Histoire de la langue et de la littérature
française des origines à 1900_, Paris, 1898, Tome V., ... p. 596, also
gives 1699 as the date of Dufresny’s work.
Footnote 173:
Cf. P. Martino, _op. cit._, p. 299.
Footnote 174:
Cf. _The Story of Tquassaouw_, p. 173, _post_.
Footnote 175:
The “Characters” (character-sketches) of the seventeenth century, both
in France and in England, undoubtedly contributed to the
pseudo-letters, and _vice versa_. Cf. _e.g._ pp. 183 and 239, n. 1,
_post_.
Footnote 176:
This English version has been ascribed to Sir Roger Manley by his
daughter, Mrs. Manley; but it is now “practically certain ... that the
first volume of the _Letters_ was composed, not by Manley, but by
Marana; and it is at least very probable that the Italian was the
author of the remainder of the work.” J. M. Rigg in the _Dictionary of
National Biography_, article “Robert Midgley” (1653–1723). For title
of this English version, cf. App. B, I., No. 1, p. 267.
Footnote 177:
_Letter_ VIII. _The Eight Volumes of Letters Writ by a Turkish Spy ...
translated ... into English...._ London ... 1748, Vol. I. Quotations
are from this edition, and are given in the original spelling, etc.
Footnote 178:
J. M. Rigg, in the _Dictionary of National Biography_, article on
“Robert Midgley” (1653–1723). The date, 1723, for Montesquieu’s
_Lettres Persanes_ should read 1721. Mr. Rigg cites several volumes of
_Notes and Queries_; but does not give _Notes and Queries_, 4th
Series, VIII., November, 1871, p. 415, in which Arthur Bateman writes:
“Who but remembers Elia’s account of the first discovery of roast
pig?... In the _Turkish Spy_ (Vol. IV., book 1, letter 5) I read as
follows: ‘The historians say that the first inhabitants of the earth,
for above two thousand years, lived altogether on the vegetable
products, of which they offered the first fruits to God—it being
esteemed an inexpiable wickedness to shed the blood of any animal,
though it were in sacrifice, much more to eat of their flesh. To this
end they relate the first slaughter of a bull to have been made at
Athens ... and the bull being flea’d [_sic_], and fire laid on the
altar, they all assisted at the new sacrifice.... In process of time a
certain priest, in the midst of his bloody sacrifice, taking up a
piece of the broiled flesh which had fallen from the altar on the
ground, and burning his fingers therewith, suddenly clapped them to
his mouth to mitigate the pain. But when he had once tasted the
sweetness of the fat, he not only longed for more of it, but gave a
piece to his assistant, and he to others, who, all pleased with the
new found dainties, fell to eating of flesh greedily; and hence this
species of gluttony was taught to other mortals.’”
Footnote 179:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 2, pp. 267, 268.
Footnote 180:
Quotations, in which the original spelling and capitalization are
preserved, are taken from _The Third Volume of the Works of Mr. Thomas
Brown_ ... _The Third Edition_ ... _London_ ... 1715 (?).
Footnote 181:
Cf. p. 166, note 1, _post_.
Footnote 182:
The above quotation, in which the original spelling, etc., are
preserved, is from _Entretiens ou Amusements sérieux et comiques par
Rivière-Dufresny_, D. Jouaust, Paris, 1869.
Footnote 183:
Frequent coarseness of expression precludes quotation of the entire
passage.
Footnote 184:
George Saintsbury, _A Short History of English Literature_. New York,
London, 1905, p. 526: “The great essayist who immediately followed him
[_i.e._ Brown], owed more to him than might be imagined, and in not a
little of his work, especially in his _Amusements, Serious and
Comical_, which attempt an early ‘London from day to day,’ there is a
vividness of manners which anticipates the best of the later
novelists.”
Footnote 185:
No. 557.
Footnote 186:
_Spectator_, No. 545.
Footnote 187:
_Spectator_, No. 343.
Footnote 188:
_Ibid_, No. 511.
Footnote 189:
_Mirror_, No. 8.
Footnote 190:
p. 157, _ante_; and p. 230, _post_.
Footnote 191:
Cf. L. Dangeau, _Montesquieu, Bibliographie de ses œuvres_. Paris, 1874;
A. Sorel, _Montesquieu_ (In the Series, Great French Writers), tr. by
G. Masson ... London, 1887, p. 46. L. Vian, _Histoire de
Montesquieu...._ Paris, 1879, Chap. V.
Footnote 192:
Reprinted in _Persian Letters, by M. de Montesquieu, translated from the
French, in two volumes...._ The Sixth Edition ... Edinburgh, 1773. The
following quotations are from this edition.
Footnote 193:
Cf. John Gay’s poem, _The Quidnunkis_, in Chalmers, _English Poets_,
London, 1810, Vol. X., p. 503.
Footnote 194:
_Letters_ XI.–XIV.
Footnote 195:
_Letter_ LXVII.
Footnote 196:
_Letter_ CXLII.
Footnote 197:
_Letter_ CXLI.
Footnote 198:
_Letter_ CXLIII.
Footnote 199:
P. IV. of _Persian Letters_ cited, p. 175 n., _ante_.
Footnote 200:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 28, p. 277.
Footnote 201:
_Abdalla and Zoraide, or Filial and Paternal Love_, carries the same
story to this point and ends with Abdalla’s expression of gratitude to
Selim. Cf. p. 72, _ante_.
Footnote 202:
_Letter_ XXII. Quotations are from the edition of 1774.
Footnote 203:
_Letter_ V. Cf. P. Martino, _op. cit._, p. 289, where reference is made
to a similar passage in Dufresny’s _Amusements_.
Footnote 204:
_Letter_ LXVII. The words underlined are found in the parallel passage
in Goldsmith. Other similarities are noticeable.
Footnote 205:
Cf. pp. 71 and 180, n. 1, _ante_; and 197, _post_.
Footnote 206:
_Letter_ VI.
Footnote 207:
_Letter_ XXXI.
Footnote 208:
Cf. in regard to Lyttelton (_a_) _The Persian strip’d of his
disguise ..._ Dublin, 1735, a small pamphlet of twenty-three pages
attacking Lyttelton’s “late libel intitled _Letters from a Persian in
England to his friend in Ispahan_.”
(_b_) The _Persian Letters continued_, London, 1736, third edition,
“erroneously ascribed to Lord Lyttelton.” (_Dictionary of National
Biography_.)
(_c_) Edward Moore’s poem in defense of Lord Lyttelton, _The Trial of
Selim the Persian for divers high crimes and misdemeanours_.
(Chalmers: _English Poets_, London, 1810, Vol. XIV., p. 202.)
(_d_) _The Court Secret a Melancholy Truth, now first translated from
the original Arabic by an Adept in the Oriental Tongues_, London,
1742, an anonymous work ascribed to Lord Lyttelton, but not included
in the third edition of his works.
Footnote 209:
_A Letter from Xo-Ho, a Chinese Philosopher at London, to his friend
Lien Chi at Peking_, in _Works_ of Horatio Walpole, Earl of Orford,
London, 1798, Vol. I., p. 205.
Footnote 210:
Cf. _The Citizen of the World_, edited by A. Dobson, 2 vols., London,
1893. Introduction, pp. xi, xii.
Footnote 211:
The earliest use of the phrase “citizen of the world” in English is
believed to be in “England’s Path to Wealth and Honour,” by Puckle,
1700. In that work is found “An honest man is a citizen of the world.
Gain equalizeth all places to me.” Cf. Socrates (Plutarch: _De
Exilio_, V.), “I am a citizen not of Athens or of Greece, but of the
world;” E. Edwards: _Words, Facts, and Phrases_, London, 1882, pp.
117, 118; also Dante, “My country is the whole world,” _De vulg.
eloq._ lib. 1, cap. 6, quoted by Burckhardt: _Civilization of the
Renaissance ..._ tr. Middlemore ... 1904, pp. 132, 133, and note.
Footnote 212:
Cf. _Nouvelle Biographie Générale_ ... sous la Direction de M. le Dr.
Hoefer ... Paris, Firmin Didot Frères, Fils et Cie, Editeurs ... 1865,
Tome 35; article on “Monbron,” which mentions _Le Cosmopolite_, 1750,
and adds: “Il y a des exemplaires, avec la date de 1752, qui portent
le titre: ‘Le Citoyen du monde.’” E. H. Coleridge, _Works of Lord
Byron_, London, New York, 1901, Vol. II. (_Childe Harold_,
title-page), gives 1753 instead of 1752; and T. Moore, _Works of Lord
Byron_, London, 1832, Vol. VIII., gives 1798.
Footnote 213:
“L’univers est une espèce de livre, dont on n’a lu que la première page
quand on n’a vu que son pays. J’en ai feuilleté un assez grand nombre,
que j’ai trouvé également mauvaises. Cet examen ne m’a point été
infructueux. Je haïssais ma patrie. Toutes les impertinences de
peuples divers, parmi lesquels j’ai vécu, m’ont réconcilié avec elle.
Quand je n’aurais tiré d’autre bénéfice de mes voyages que celui-là,
je n’en regretterais ni les frais ni les fatigues.”
Footnote 214:
_Hau Kiou Chooan; or the pleasing History, a translation_ [by J.
Wilkinson] _from the Chinese ..._ [edited by T. Percy], London, 1761.
Cf. App. B, II., No. 28, pp. 299, 300.
Footnote 215:
Cf. _Letters from a Chinese Official, being an Eastern View of Western
Civilization_ by G. Lowes Dickinson. New York, McClure, Phillips &
Co., MCMIII. Mr. Dickinson’s book is an exceedingly interesting and
timely criticism of Western civilization, and an instance of the
vitality of the pseudo-letter genre, when the author has something to
say. Cf. Mr. William Jennings Bryan’s reply: _Letters to a Chinese
Official, being a Western View of Eastern Civilization_. New York,
McClure, Phillips & Co., MCMVI.
Footnote 216:
Quotations are from _The Citizen of the World, by Oliver Goldsmith_,
edited by Austin Dobson, London, 1893, 2 vols.
Footnote 217:
Cf. note on this _Letter_ in Dobson’s edition of _The Citizen of the
World_ (_op. cit._, p. 182, n.); W. Seele: _Voltaire’s Zadig_ (_op.
cit._, p. 128); and K. Campbell: _The Seven Sages of Rome ..._ Boston,
1907, Introduction, pp. ci-cviii, which gives seventy-six derivates
and analogues of the story known as _Vidua_, of which _The Matron of
Ephesus_ is the most famous version.
Footnote 218:
Possibly suggested by Addison’s tale, _Spectator_, No. 512.
Footnote 219:
Drawn from “the fables of Locman the Indian moralist.”
Footnote 220:
Cf. Sir William Chambers’s _Dissertation on Oriental Gardening_ ...
London, 1772; and Dobson’s edition (1893) of _The Citizen of the
World_, Vol. I., n. to p. 52, l. 4, in which the editor refers to _An
Heroic Epistle_ by William Mason, ridiculing Chambers’s
_Dissertation_. Cf. also the satire in verse, _Kien Long, a Chinese
Imperial eclogue translated from a curious Oriental manuscript and
inscribed to the author of An Heroic Epistle to Sir William Chambers_,
London, 1775.
Footnote 221:
Cf. pp. 71; 180 n. 1; 185; and 191, _ante_.
Footnote 222:
“Goldsmith remembered a quotation from Voltaire made by himself in _The
Monthly Review_ for August, 1757: ‘The success of the _Persian
Letters_ arose from the delicacy of their satire. That satire which,
in the mouth of an Asiatic, is poignant, would lose all its force when
coming from an European.’” Editor’s _Prefatory Note_ to _The Citizen
of the World_ in Vol. II., p. 86, _Works of Oliver Goldsmith_, edited
by Peter Cunningham, F.S.A., in four volumes, New York ... 1881.
Footnote 223:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 31, p. 277.
Footnote 224:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 38, p. 278.
Footnote 225:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 5, pp. 269, 270.
Footnote 226:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 25, p. 276.
Footnote 227:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 37, p. 278.
Footnote 228:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 58 (_a_), p. 285.
Footnote 229:
Cf. _The Works of Lord Byron ..._ edited ... by E. H. Coleridge, London,
New York, 1899, _Poetry_, Vol. II., p. 40, n.†.
Footnote 230:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 5 (_c_), p. 270.
Footnote 231:
In _Novels and Miscellaneous Works of Daniel Defoe_, Oxford, London,
1840, Vol. XII., pp. 101–135 and 154–181.
Footnote 232:
Cf. App. A, pp. 257, 258, _post_. Swift’s descriptive satirical poem,
_The Virtues of Sid Hamet the Magician’s Rod_, likewise uses oriental
disguise.
Footnote 233:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 54 (a), p. 284. It became popular also in
dramatic form, _The Sultan or a Peep into the Seraglio, a Farce in
two Acts_, by Isaac Bickerstaffe, first acted 1775; printed, 1784,
1786, 1787. Another of Marmontel’s works,—not a tale, but a
_comédie-ballet_,—called _Zemire et Azor_, formed the basis of a
popular comic opera, _Selima and Azor a Persian Tale_, with music
by Thomas Linley, Sr., London [1776]. It is a version of the story
of _Beauty and the Beast_.
Footnote 234:
Quoted in _Moral Tales by M. Marmontel. Translated from the French_ ...
New York, 1813, Vol. I.
Footnote 235:
Quotations that follow are from _Marmontel’s Moral Tales Selected_ ...
by George Saintsbury, London, 1895.
Footnote 236:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 39, pp. 279, 281.
Footnote 237:
R. Cambridge’s poem, _The Fakeer, a Tale_, first published in 1756, is
admittedly based on Voltaire. Chambers, _English Poets_, London, 1810,
Vol. XVIII., p. 288.
Footnote 238:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 36, p. 278.
Footnote 239:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 32, pp. 277, 278.
Footnote 240:
Translated also as _May-Flower, a Circassian Tale_, second edition,
Salisbury ... London, 1796. Cf. App. B, I., No. 51, pp. 283, 284.
Footnote 241:
Quoted in _The Cabinet of Irish Literature ..._ by Charles A. Read....
London, 1880, Vol. I., p. 94, n. 2.
Footnote 242:
_The Ram_, in _Select Tales_.... Translated from the French ... London,
1760.
Footnote 243:
“Embrouiller.”
Footnote 244:
_The Four Facardins_, in _Select Tales_ ... translated from the French,
London, 1760. Cf. also M. G. Lewis: _Romantic Tales_, London, 1808.
Footnote 245:
Cf. App. B, I., No. 49 (_b_), p. 283.
Footnote 246:
_Connoisseur_, No. 135. Chalmers, _English Poets_, London, 1810, Vol.
XV., p. 81.
Footnote 247:
Warton, in _Adventurer_, No. 139. Cf. also _World_, Nos. 26, 38, 59, 65,
205; _Rambler_, 82; _Adventurer_, 109; _Connoisseur_, 65, 73;
_Mirror_, 17; _Lounger_, 79; and Sir William Chambers’s _Designs of
Chinese Buildings, etc._, London, 1757.
Footnote 248:
Cf. (_a_) _The Blue Fairy Book ... edited with an Introduction by Andrew
Lang ..._ [Large Paper], London, 1889. Introduction: “Though published
in 1697, Perrault’s Contes de ma Mère l’Oye do not seem to have been
Englished till 1729. A version is advertised in a newspaper of that
year, but no copy exists in the British Museum.”
(_b_) _English Fairy Tales, collected by Joseph Jacobs ..._ third
edition ... New York, 1898, p. 229. _Notes._ “In the middle of the
last century the genius of Charles Perrault captivated English and
Scotch children.... Cinderella and Puss-in-Boots ... ousted Childe
Rowland, and Mr. Fox and Catskin. The superior elegance and clearness
of the French tales replaced the rude vigour of the English ones. What
Perrault began, the Grimms completed. Tom Tit Tot gave way to
Rumpelstilzchen.... The English Fairy Tale became a _mélange confus_
of Perrault and the Grimms.”
(_c_) The Countess D’Aulnoy’s _Tales of the Fairies_ was translated in
1707.
Footnote 249:
Cf. pp. 76, n. 2; 96, n. 1; and 204, n. 2, _ante_. Dramas based more or
less on oriental history appeared from time to time, _e.g._ Hughes’s
_Siege of Damascus_ (1720); D. Mallet’s _Mustapha_ (1739); Johnson’s
_Irene_ (1749); Hodson’s _Zoraida_ (1780); A. Dow’s _Zingis, a
Tragedy_, new edition (1773); and translations of Voltaire’s
_Mahomet_, _Zara_, and _Orphan of China_. Cf. Dr. Hoops, _Present
Problems_ (App. B, II., No. 33, p. 300).
Footnote 250:
_Works of A. Pope ..._ edited ... by ... Rev. W. L. Bowles, London,
1806, Vol. VIII., pp. 110, 112.
Footnote 251:
_Citizen of the World ..._ edited by A. Dobson ... London, 1893, p. 121,
note to p. 141, l. 25: “Mr. Tibs (is) a different person, by the way,
from the inimitable little Beau.”
Footnote 252:
Shenstone’s _Poems_, in Chalmers, _English Poets ..._ London, 1810, Vol.
XIII., p. 272.
Footnote 253:
Dr. Johnson (_Rambler_, No. 122) commends Knolles’s _History of the
Turks_, but declares the subject foreign and uninteresting, a remote
and barbarous nation “of which none desire to be informed.”
Footnote 254:
_Persia, Past and Present ..._ by A. V. W. Jackson ... New York, 1906,
p. 226. Cf. also _The Power of Bible Poetry_, by J. H. Gardiner in
_Atlantic Monthly_, September, 1906 (Vol. XCVIII., pp. 384–394).
Footnote 255:
Cf. _The Literary Remains of John Evelyn ..._ edited ... by William
Upcott ... second edition ... London, 1834. On p. xiii Evelyn’s
_Tyrannus or the Mode_ (1661) is mentioned as a “very curious and rare
pamphlet to be found ... in the second volume of the Evelyn papers,” a
pamphlet in which the author argues for the superiority of the Persian
fashion of dress over the English. Charles II. adopted the costume for
a short while, probably as a result of Evelyn’s reasoning. On pp.
141–167 is printed Evelyn’s _A Character of England as it was lately
presented in a letter to a nobleman of France_ (1651; third edition,
1659), a satiric jeu d’esprit, in which the author assumes the guise
of a Frenchman and gives a “character” of England from the French
point of view. He concludes: “In summe, my Lord, I have found so many
particulars worthy of reproof ... that to render you a veritable
account of England as it is at present I must pronounce with the
poet,—_Difficile est satyram non scribere_.”
Footnote 256:
Cf. _Trajano Boccalini’s Einfluss auf die Englische Literatur_, by R.
Brotanek, in _Archiv für das Studium der neueren Sprachen u.
Literaturen_, Vol. CXI. (n. s. XI.), 1903; cf. also _Spectator_, No.
514, Steele’s _Vision of Parnassus_; Swift, _Journal to Stella_,
Saturday, April 28th, 1711; and others.
Footnote 257:
At the present writing there is no proof for, or against, a causal
relation; it is possible that Boccalini influenced Marana, but in the
absence of satisfactory evidence I do not wish to imply anything more
than an interesting and suggestive analogy. Cf. P. Toldo. _Dell’
Espion di Giovanni Paolo Marana e delle sue attinenze con le Lettres
Persanes del Montesquieu_, in _Giornale Storico_, Vol. XXIX., pp.
46–79; esp. 53; and Antonio Belloni, in Vol. VII. of _Storia
Litteraria d’Italia ... Il Seicento ..._ Milano, 1898–1899, p. 374.
Footnote 258:
Cf. W. Raleigh, _The English Novel ..._ New York, 1904. Fifth edition,
p. 120.
Footnote 259:
W. Raleigh, _op. cit._, p. 109.
Footnote 260:
_Works of A. Pope ..._ edited by Rev. W. L. Bowles, London, 1806, Vol.
VIII., pp. 110–112; Vol. IX., p. 372, n.
Footnote 261:
Spence, _op. cit._, on p. 77, n. 2; p. 169. “After reading the _Persian
Tales_ (and I had been reading Dryden’s _Fables_ just before them) I
had some thoughts of writing a Persian Fable; in which I should have
given full loose to description and imagination. It would have been a
very wild thing if I had executed it, but might not have been
unentertaining.”
Footnote 262:
During her husband’s embassy there, 1711–1718. _Letters and Works_ of
Lady Mary Wortley Montagu ... new edition, 2 vols., London, 1887. The
date of the first edition of _Turkish Letters_ was 1763.
Footnote 263:
_Swift’s Journal to Stella._ A.D. _1710–1713_, edited ... by F. Ryland,
London, 1897, p. 327. _Letter_ XL., January 26, 1711–1712.
Footnote 264:
Cf. numerous references in _Oliver Goldsmith ..._ by W. Irving. Hudson
edition ... New York, 1864.
Footnote 265:
_Works of Sir William Temple, Bart._, Vol. III., London, 1757, pp.
304–393; _Of heroic Virtue_, pp. 430–472. _An essay upon Ancient and
Modern Learning._
Footnote 266:
To this list other names might be added, _e.g._ that of Clara Reeve,
author of _The Old English Baron_ and editor of _Charoba_.
Footnote 267:
Cf. App. A, pp. 258, 259, Byron.
Footnote 268:
Cf. _Source of the Hall of Eblis by B. Cornwall_, by H. Jantzen, _Archiv
für das Studium der neueren Sprachen u. Literaturen ..._ Vol. CVIII.
(n. s. VIII.), 1902, p. 318 _et seq._
Footnote 269:
Cf. Chap. I., pp. 36–38.
Footnote 270:
Cf. Chap. I., p. 27.
Footnote 271:
Cf. App. A, pp. 259–262, Swift; 262, 263, Smollett; 263, Southey and
Thomson.
Footnote 272:
Cf. on the “goodness” of Haroun Alraschid, J. Payne: _The Book of the
Thousand Nights and One Night_, in nine volumes ... London, 1884, Vol.
IX. _Concluding Essay._
Footnote 273:
Cf. App. A, pp. 263–265, Wordsworth; 265, Scott; 265, 266, Dickens; 266,
Thackeray.
Footnote 274:
V. Chauvin, _Bibliographie des ouvrages arabes_, Vol. VI., § 286 n.,
“Pari Banou.” In _Waverley_, Chap. V., Scott refers to Prince
Hussain’s tapestry and Malek’s flying sentry-box. The subtitle of _The
Betrothed_ is _A Tale of the Crusaders_, but the story is in no
respects oriental.
Footnote 275:
_The Collected Writings of Thomas De Quincey ..._ edited by David
Masson, Edinburgh, 1889, Vol. I., pp. 127–130. Cf. _Revue des deux
Mondes_, 1896, Vol. 138, pp. 121, 122.
Footnote 276:
Cf. V. Chauvin, _op. cit._, Vol. VI., for influence of Arabian tales on
European writers. Of course nineteenth-century authors were influenced
also by versions of the _Arabian Nights_ later than those of the
period under discussion, _e.g._ those of J. Scott, Burton, Lane,
Payne, etc.
Footnote 277:
On one aspect of the duality in Dr. Johnson’s nature, cf. _The Prayers
of Dr. Johnson_, edited by W. A. Bradley, New York, 1902, pp. 84, 85.
Footnote 278:
I am informed by Professor Charles C. Torrey of Yale University, that
this legend, of the duel between Moses and “Auj” (Og, King of Bashan),
is found in the oldest Arabic history of Egypt, written about the
middle of the ninth century A.D.
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