Part 9

In deciding on the form to be taken by a new translation of Omar, the fact of the existence of a previous verse translation of universally acknowledged merit ought not, of course, to be left out of account. The successor of a translator like Mr. Fitzgerald, who ventures to write verse, and especially verse of the metre which he has handled with such success, cannot help feeling at almost every step that he is provoking comparisons very much to his own disadvantage. But I do not think this consideration ought to deter him from using the vehicle which everything else indicates as the proper one.

As regards metre, there is no doubt that the quatrain of ten-syllable lines which has been tried by Hammer, Bicknell, and others, and has been raised by Mr. Fitzgerald almost to the rank of a recognised English metre, is the best representative of the _Ruba'i_. It fairly satisfies Conington's canon, viz., that there ought to be some degree of metrical conformity between the measure of the original and the translation, for though it does not exactly correspond with the _Ruba'i_, it very clearly suggests it. In particular, it copies what is perhaps the most marked feature of the _Ruba'i_,--the interlinking of the four lines by the repetition in the fourth line of the rhyme of the first and second. Mr Swinburne's modification of this metre, in which the rhyme is carried on from one quatrain to the next, is not applicable to poems like Omar's, all of which are isolated in sense from the context. Alexandrines would, of course, correspond more nearly than decasyllables with _Ruba'i_ lines in number of syllables, and they have been extensively used by Bodenstedt and other German translators of the metre but, whatever may be the case in German, they are apt to read very heavily in English, even when constructed by skilful verse-makers, and an inferior workman can hardly hope to manage them with anything like success. The shorter length of the decasyllable line is not altogether a disadvantage to the translator. Owing to the large number of monosyllables in English, it is generally adequate to hold the contents of a Persian line a syllable or two longer; and a line erring, if at all, on the side of brevity, has at any rate the advantage of obliging the translator to eschew modern diffuseness, and of making him try to copy the «classical parsimony,» the archaic terseness and condensation of the original.

The poet Cowper has a remark on translation from Latin which is eminently true also of translation from Persian. He says, «That is epigrammatic and witty in Latin which would be perfectly insipid in English.... If a Latin poem is neat, elegant, and musical, it is enough, but English readers are not so easily satisfied.» Much of Omar's matter, when literally translated, seems very trite and commonplace, many of the «conceits,» of which he is so fond, very frigid, and even his peculiar grotesque humour often loses its savour in an English _replica_. The translator is often tempted to elevate a too grovelling sentiment, to «sharpen a point» here and there, to trick out a commonplace with some borrowed modern embellishment. But this temptation is one to be resisted as far as possible. According to the _Hadis_, «The business of a messenger is simply to deliver his message,» and he must not shrink from displaying the naked truth. A translator who writes in verse must of course claim the liberty of altering the form of the expression over and over again, but the substituted expressions ought to be in keeping with the author's style, and on the same plane of sentiment as his. It is beyond the province of a translator to attempt the task of «painting the lily.» But it is easier to lay down correct principles of translation than to observe them unswervingly in one's practice.

As regards subject matter, Omar's quatrains may be classed under the following six heads:--

I. _Shikayat i rozgar_--Complaints of «the wheel of heaven,» or fate, of the world's injustice, of the loss of friends, of man's limited faculties and destinies.

II. _Hajw_--Satires on the hypocrisy of the «unco' guid,» the impiety of the pious, the ignorance of the learned, and the untowardness of his own generation.

III. _Firakiya_ and _Wisaliya_--Love-poems on the sorrows of separation and the joys of reunion with the Beloved, earthly or spiritual.

IV. _Bahariya_--Poems in praise of spring, gardens, and flowers.

V. _Kufriya_--Irreligious and antinomian utterances, charging the sins of the creature to the account of the Creator, scoffing at the Prophet's Paradise and Hell, singing the praises of wine and pleasure--preaching _ad nauseam_, «eat and drink (especially drink), for to-morrow ye die.»

VI. _Munajat_--Addresses to the Deity, now in the ordinary language of devotion, bewailing sins and imploring pardon, now in Mystic phraseology, craving deliverance from «self,» and union with the «Truth» (_Al Hakk_), or Deity, as conceived by the Mystics.

The «complaints» may obviously be connected with the known facts of the poet's life, by supposing them to have been prompted by the persecution to which he was subjected on account of his opinions. His remarks on the Houris and other sacred subjects raised such a feeling against him that at one time his life was in danger, and the wonder is that he escaped at all in a city like Naishapur, where the _odium theologicum_ raged so fiercely as to occasion a sanguinary civil war. In the year 489 A.H., as we learn from Ibn Al Athir,[101] the orthodox banded themselves together under the leadership of Abul Kasim and Muhammad, the chiefs of the Hanefites and the Shafeites, in order to exterminate the Kerramians or Anthropomorphist heretics, and succeeded in putting many of them to death, and destroying all their establishments. It may be also that after the death of his patron, Nizam ul Mulk, Omar lost his stipend and was reduced to poverty.

The satires probably owed their origin to the same cause. _Rien soulage comme la rhetorique_, and if Omar could not relieve his feelings by open abuse of his persecutors, he made up for it by the bitterness of his verses. The bitterness of his strictures on them was no doubt fully equalled by the rancour of their attacks upon him.

The love-poems are samples of a class of compositions much commoner in later poets than in Omar. Most of them probably bear a mystical meaning, for I doubt if Omar was a person very susceptible of the tender passion. He speaks with appreciation of «tulip cheeks» and «cypress forms,» but apparently recognises no attractions of a higher order in his fair friends.

The poems in praise of scenery again offer a strong contrast to modern treatment of the same theme. The only aspects of nature noticed by Omar are such as affect the senses agreeably--the bright flowers, the song of the nightingale, the grassy bank of the stream, and the shady garden associated in his mind with his convivial parties. The geographer translated by Sir W. Ouseley says of Naishapur, «The city is watered by a subterranean canal, which is conveyed to the fields and gardens, and there is a considerable stream that waters the city and the villages about it--this stream is named _Saka_. In all the provinces of Khorassan there is not any city larger than Naishapur, nor any blessed with a more pure and temperate air. » No doubt it was some of these gardens that called forth Omar's encomiums.

But it is in the _Kufriya_, or antinomian quatrains, and in the _Munajat_, or pious aspirations, that the most remarkable and characteristic features of Omar's poetry are exhibited. The glaring contrast between these two classes of his poetry has led his readers to take very opposite views of him, according as they looked at one or the other side of the shield. European critics, like his contemporaries, mostly consider him an infidel and a voluptuary «of like mind with Sardanapalus.» On the other hand, the Sufis have contrived to affix mystical and devotional meanings even to his most Epicurean quatrains; and this method of interpretation is nowadays as universally accepted in Persia and India as the Mystical interpretation of the Canticles is in Europe. But neither of these views can be accepted in its entirety. Even if the Sufi symbolism had been definitely formulated as early as Omar's time, which is very doubtful, common sense would forbid us to force a devotional meaning on the palpably Epicurean quatrains; and, on the other hand, unless we are prepared to throw over the authority of all the manuscripts, including the most ancient ones, we must reckon with the obviously Mystical and devotional quatrains. The essential contradiction in the tone and temper of these two sections of Omar's poetry cannot be glossed over, but calls imperatively for explanation.

His poems were obviously not all written at one period of his life, but from time to time, just as circumstances and mood suggested, and under the influence of the thoughts, passions, and desires which happened to be uppermost at the moment. It may be that the irreligious and Epicurean quatrains were written in youth, and the _Munajat_ in his riper years. But this hypothesis seems to be disproved by Sharastani's account of him, which is quite silent as to any such conversion or change of sentiment on his part, and also by the fact that he describes himself from first to last as a «_Dipsychus_» in grain, a halter between two opinions, and an _«Acrates_,» or back-slider, in his practice.

If his poems be considered not in the abstract, but in the light of history, taking into account his mental pedigree and his intellectual surroundings, a more plausible explanation of his inconsistencies readily presents itself. In his youth, as we know, he sat at the feet of the Suni theologian Imam Muaffik, and he was then no doubt thoroughly indoctrinated with the great Semitic conception of the One God, or, to use the expressive term of Muhammadan theology, «the Only Real Agent» (_Fa' il i Hakiki_). To minds dominated by the overwhelming sense of Almighty Power, everywhere present and working, there seems no room for Nature, or human will, or chance, or any other Ahriman whatsoever, to take the responsibility of all the evils in the world, the storms and the earthquakes, the Borgias and the Catilines. The «Only Real Agent» has to answer for all. In the most ancient document of Semitic religious speculation now extant, the Book of Job, we find expostulations of the boldest character addressed to the Deity for permitting a righteous man to be stricken with unmerited misfortunes, though the writer ultimately concludes in a spirit of pious agnosticism and resignation to the inscrutable dispensations of Providence. In the Book of Ecclesiastes again, the same problems are handled, but in a somewhat different temper. The «weary king Ecclesiast» remarks that there is one event to all, to him that sacrificeth and him that sacrificeth not--that injustice and wrong seem eternally triumphant, that God has made things crooked, and none can make them straight; and concludes now in favour of a sober «_carpe diem_» philosophy, now in favour of a devout «fear of the Lord.» Of course the manner in which the serious Hebrew handles these matters is very different from the levity and flippancy of the volatile Persian, but it can hardly be denied that the Ecclesiast and Omar resemble one another in the double and contradictory nature of their practical conclusions.

No sooner was Islam established than the same problem of the existence of evil in the handiwork of the Almighty Author and Governor of all began to trouble the Moslem theologians, and by their elaboration of the doctrine of Predestination they managed to aggravate its difficulties.

One of the chief «roots» of their discussions was how to reconcile the Divine justice and benevolence with the Divine prescience,--the predestination of some vessels to honour, and others to dishonour,--the pre-ordainment of all things by a kind of mechanical necessity (_Jabr_), leaving no possibility of the occurrence of any events except those which actually do occur. The consideration of one corollary of a similar doctrine moved the pious and gentle Cowper to use language of indignant dissent; and there is high theological authority for the view that it is calculated «to thrust some into desperation,» but to stimulate the piety of others. Omar is constantly dwelling on this doctrine, and he seems to be affected by it in the double way here mentioned.

Other influences which acted on Omar must not be left out of account. Born as he was in Khorassan, «the focus of Persian culture,» he was no doubt familiar with speculations of the Moslem philosophers, Alkindi, Alfarabi, and Avicenna,[102] the last of whom he may possibly have seen. And though, think he was not himself a Sufi, in the sense of being affiliated to any Sufi order, he can hardly have been unaffected by the mysticism of which his predecessor in _Ruba'i_ writing, Abu Sa'id bin Abul Khair, his patron Nizam ul Mulk, and his distinguished countryman Imam Ghazali were all strong adherents. His philosophical studies would naturally stimulate his sceptical and irreligious dispositions, while his Mystic leanings would operate mainly in the contrary direction.

If this explanation of the inconsistencies in his poetry be correct, it is obvious that the parallel often sought to be traced between him and Lucretius has no existence. Whatever he was, he was not an Atheist. To him, as to other Muhammadans of his time, to deny the existence of the Deity would seem to be tantamount to denying the existence of the world and of himself. And the conception of «laws of nature» was also one quite foreign to his habits of thought. As Deutsch says, «To a Shemite, Nature is simply what has been begotten, and is ruled absolutely by One Absolute Power.»

Hammer compares him to Voltaire, but in reality he is a Voltaire and something more. He has much of Voltaire's flippancy and irreverence. His treatment of the doctrine of the Resurrection of the Body, for instance, which Muhammad took from Christianity, and travestied by the embellishments he added to it, is altogether in Voltaire's manner. And his insistence on the all importance of kindness and charity recalls the better side of Voltaire's character, viz., his kindness to Calas, and the other victims of ecclesiastical persecution. But Omar also possessed, what Voltaire did not, strong religious emotions, which at times overrode his rationalism, and found expression in those devotional and Mystical quatrains, which offer such a strong contrast to the rest of his poetry.

E.H. WHINFIELD

NOTE

The text has been framed from a comparison of the following authorities:--

I. The Bodleian manuscript, No. 140 of the Ouseley Collection, containing 158 quatrains.

II. The Calcutta Asiatic Society's manuscript, No. 1548, containing 516 quatrains.

III. The India Office manuscript, No. 2420, ff. 212 to 267, containing 512 quatrains.

IV. The Calcutta edition of 1252 A.H., containing 438 quatrains, with an appendix of 54 more, which the editor says he found in a Bayaz, or common-place book, after the others had been printed.

V. The Paris edition of M. Nicolas, containing 464 quatrains.

VI. The Lucknow lithographed edition, containing 763 quatrains.

VII. A fragment of an edition begun by the late Mr. Blochmann, containing only 62 quatrains.

QUATRAINS OF OMAR KHAYYAM

1.

At dawn a cry through all the tavern shrilled, «Arise my brethren of the revellers' guild, That I may fill our measure, full of wine Or e'er the measure of our days be filled.»

1. Bl. C. L. N. A. I. J. Bl. considers this quatrain Mystical.

2.

Who was it brought thee here at nightfall, who? Forth from the harem in this manner, who? To him who in thy absence burns as fire, And trembles like hot air, who was it, who?

2. Bl. C. L. N. A. I. J. Bl. says the omission of the copulative _wa_ in line 4 of the original is characteristic of Khayyam. In line 4 I follow Blochmann's rendering. It may mean, «when the wind blows.»

3.

'Tis but a day we sojourn here below, And all the gain we get is grief and woe, And then, leaving life's riddles all unsolved, And burdened with regrets, we have to go.

3. N.

4.

Khaja! grant one request, and only one, Wish me God-speed, and get your preaching done; I walk aright, 'tis you who see awry; Go! heal your purblind eyes, leave me alone.

4. Bl. C. L. N. A. I. J.

5.

Arise! and come, and of thy courtesy Resolve my weary heart's perplexity, And fill my goblet, so that I may drink, Or e'er they make their goblets out of me.

5. Bl. C. L. N A. I. J. The heart is supposed to be the seat of reason. «Or ever» and «or e'er» are both found in Elizabethan English. Abbot, Shakespearian Grammar, p. 89.

6.

When I am dead, with wine my body lave, For obit chant a bacchanalian stave, And, if you need me at the day of doom, Beneath the tavern threshold seek my grave.

6. Bl. C. L. N. A. I. J.

7.

Since no one can assure thee of the morrow, Rejoice thy heart to-day, and banish sorrow With moonbright wine, fair moon, for heaven's moon. Will look for us in vain on many a morrow.

7. Bl. C. L. N. A. B. I. J. Line 2 is in metre 14.

8.

Let lovers all distraught and frenzied be, And flown with wine, and reprobates, like me; When sober, I find everything amiss, But in my cups cry, «Let what will be, be.»

8. Bl. L. N. Line 3 is in metre 13.

9.

In Allah's name, say, wherefore set the wise Their hearts upon this house of vanities? Whene'er they think to rest them from their toils, Death takes them by the hand, and says, «Arise.»

9. Bl. C. L. N. A. I.

10.

Men say the Koran holds all heavenly lore, But on its pages seldom care to pore; The lucid lines engraven on the bowl,-- _That_ is the text they dwell on evermore.

10. Bl. L. N. A. B. I. J. Lines were engraven on the bowl to measure out the draughts. Bl.

11.

Blame not the drunkards, you who wine eschew, Had I but grace, I would abstain like you, And mark me, vaunting zealot, you commit A hundredfold worse sins than drunkards do.

11. Bl. C. L. N. A. I.

12.

What though 'tis fair to view, this form of man, I know not why the heavenly Artisan Hath set these tulip cheeks and cypress forms To deck the mournful halls of earth's divan.

12. Bl. C. L. N. A. I.

13.

My fire gives forth no smoke-cloud here below, My stock-in-trade no profit here below, And you, who call me tavern-haunter, know There is indeed no tavern here below

13. Bl. C. L. N. A. I. J. The anacoluthon in line 3, and the missing rhyme before the burden, in line 4, are characteristic of Khayyam. Bl.

14.

Thus spake an idol to his worshipper, «Why dost thou worship this dead stone, fair sir? 'Tis because He who gazeth through thine eyes, Doth some part of His charms on it confer.»

14. L. Meaning, all is of God, even idols.

15.

Whate'er thou doest, never grieve thy brother, Nor kindle fumes of wrath his peace to smother; Dost thou desire to taste eternal bliss, Vex thine own heart, but never vex another!

15. L. b. Line 1 is in metre 14.

16.

O Thou! to please whose love and wrath as well, Allah created heaven and likewise hell; Thou hast thy court in heaven, and I have naught, Why not admit me in thy courts to dwell?

16. Bl. L. The person addressed is the prophet Muhammad. The Sufis were fond of dwelling on the opposition between the beautiful and the terrible attributes of Deity.

17.

So many cups of wine will I consume, Its bouquet shall exhale from out my tomb, And every one that passes by shall halt, And reel and stagger with that mighty fume.

17. Bl. C. L. N. A. I. J.

18.

Young wooer, charm all hearts with lover's art, Glad winner, lead thy paragon apart! A hundred Ka'bas equal not one heart, Seek not the Ka'ba, rather seek a heart!

18. Bl. C. L. N. A. I. J. Line 2, «In the presence seize the perfect heart.»

19.

What time, my cup in hand, its draughts I drain, And with rapt heart unconsciousness attain, Behold what wondrous miracles are wrought, Songs flow as water from my burning brain.

19. L. N.

20.

To-day is but a breathing space, quaff wine! Thou wilt not see again this life of thine; So, as the world becomes the spoil of time, Offer thyself to be the spoil of wine!

20. L. N.

21.

'Tis we who to wine's yoke our necks incline, And risk our lives to gain the smiles of wine; The henchman grasps the flagon by its throat And squeezes out the lifeblood of the vine.

21. L. N. Line 3 is in metre 19.

22.

Here in this tavern haunt I make my lair, Pawning for wine, heart, soul, and all I wear, Without a hope of bliss, or fear of bale, Rapt above water, earth, and fire, and air.

22. Bl. C. L. N. A. B. I. J.

23.

Quoth fish to duck, «Twill be a sad affair, If this brook leaves its channel dry and bare»; To whom the duck, «When I am dead and roasted The brook may run with wine for aught I care.»

23. L. Meaning, «_Après nous le déluge_».

24.

From doubt to clear assurance is a breath, A breath from infidelity to faith; O precious breath! enjoy it while you may, 'Tis all that life can give, and then comes death.

24. Bl. C. L. N. A. I. J.

25.

Ah! wheel of heaven to tyranny inclined, 'Twas e'er your wont to show yourself unkind; And, cruel earth, if they should cleave your breast, What store of buried jewels they would find!

25. Bl. C. L. N. A. I. J. «Wheel of heaven,» _i.e._, destiny, fortune. Sir Thomas Browne talks of the «wheel of things.»

26.

My life lasts but a day or two, and fast Sweeps by, like torrent stream or desert blast, Howbeit, of two days I take no heed,-- The day to come, and that already past.

26. Bl. C. L. N. A. B. I. J.

27.

That pearl is from a mine unknown to thee, That ruby bears a stamp thou canst not see The tale of love some other tongue must tell, All our conjectures are mere phantasy.

27. Meaning, real love of God differs from the popular idea of it. Bl.

28.

Now with its joyful prime my age is rife, I quaff enchanting wine, and list to fife; Chide not at wine for all its bitter taste, Its bitterness sorts well with human life!

28. Bl. C. L. N. A. B. I. J.

29.

O soul! whose lot it is to bleed with pain, And daily change of fortune to sustain, Into this body wherefore didst thou come, Seeing thou must at last go forth again?

29. Bl. C. L. N. A. I. J.

30.

To-day is thine to spend, but not to-morrow, Counting on morrows breedeth naught but sorrow; Oh! squander not this breath that heaven hath lent thee, Nor make too sure another breath to borrow!

30. Bl. C. N. A. B. I.

31.

'Tis labour lost thus to all doors to crawl, Take thy good fortune, and thy bad withal; Know for a surety each must play his game, As from heaven's dice-box fate's dice chance to fall.

31. Bl. C. L. N. A. I. J. _Naksh_, the dots on dice.

32.

This jug did once, like me, love's sorrows taste, And bonds of beauty's tresses once embraced, This handle, which you see upon its side, Has many a time twined round a slender waist!

32. Bl. C. L. N. A. B. I. J.

33.

Days changed to nights, ere you were born, or I, And on its business ever rolled the sky; See you tread gently on this dust--perchance 'Twas once the apple of some beauty's eye.

33. C. L. N. A. I. J.

34.

Pagodas, just as mosques, are homes of prayer, 'Tis prayer that church-bells chime unto the air, Yea, Church and Ka'ba, Rosary and Cross Are all but divers tongues of world-wide prayer.