Again, in Lane’s text the tales number 62 (viz. 35 + 14 + 13), and as has been stated, all the longest have been omitted, save only Sindbad the Seaman. The anecdotes in the notes amount to 44 1/2 (viz. 3 1/2 + 35 + 6): these are for the most pert the merest outlines and include the 3 1/2 of volume i. viz. the Tale of Ibrahim al-Mausilí (p-24), the Tale of Caliph Mu’áwiyah (i. p-22), the Tale of Mukhárik the Musician (i. p- 26), and the half tale of Umm ‘Amr (i. ). They are quoted bodily from the “Halbat al- Kumayt” and from the “Kitáb al-Unwán fí Makáid al-Niswán,” showing that at the early stage of his labours the translator, who published in parts, had not read the book on which he was working; or, at least, had not learned that all the three and a half had been borrowed from The Nights. Thus the grand total is represented by 106 1/2 tales, and the reader will note the difference between 106 1/2 and the diligent and accurate reviewer’s “not much more than two hundred.” In my version the primary tales amount to 171; the secondaries, &c., to 96 and the total to 267, while Mr. Payne has 266.449 And these the critic swells to “over four hundred!” Thus I have more than double the number of pages in Lane’s text (allowing the difference between his 38 lines to an oft-broken page and my 41) and nearly two and a half tales to his one, and therefore I do not mean “a third as much again.”
Thus, too, we can deal with the dishonest assertions concerning Lane’s translation “not being absolutely complete” () and that “nobody desired to see the objectionable passages which constituted the bulk of Lane’s omissions restored to their place in the text” ().
The critic now passes to The Uncle’s competence for the task, which he grossly exaggerates. Mr. Lane had no “intimate acquaintance with Mahommedan life” (). His “Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians” should have been entitled “Modern Cairenes;” he had seen nothing of Nile-land save what was shown to him by a trip to Philæ in his first visit (1825-28) and another to Thebes during his second, he was profoundly ignorant of Egypt as a whole, and even in Cairo he knew nothing of woman-life and child-life — two thirds of humanity. I doubt if he could have understood the simplest expression in baby language; not to mention the many idioms peculiar to the Harem nursery. The characteristic of his work is geniality combined with a true affection for his subject, but no scholar can ignore its painful superficiality. His studies of legal theology gave him much weight with the Olema, although, at the time when he translated The Nights, his knowledge of Arabic was small. Hence the number of lapses which disfigures his pages. These would have been excusable in an Orientalist working out of Egypt, but Lane had a Shaykh ever at his elbow and he was always able to command the assistance of the University Mosque, Al-Azhar. I need not enter upon the invidious task of cataloguing these errors, especially as the most glaring have been cursorily noticed in my volumes. Mr. Lane after leaving Egypt became one of the best Arabic scholars of his day, but his fortune did not equal his deserts. The Lexicon is a fine work although sadly deficient in the critical sense, but after the labour of thirty-four years (it began printing in 1863) it reached only the 19th letter Ghayn (). Then invidious Fate threw it into the hands of Mr. Stanley Lane-Poole. With characteristic audacity he disdained to seek the services of some German Professor, an order of men which, rarely dining out and caring little for “Society,” can devote itself entirely to letters, perhaps he hearkened to the silly charge against the Teuton of minuteness and futility of research as opposed to “good old English breadth and suggestiveness of treatment.” And the consequence has been a “continuation” which serves as a standard whereby to measure the excellence of the original work and the woful falling- off and deficiencies of the sequel — the latter retaining of the former naught save the covers. 450
Of Mr. Lane’s Notes I have ever spoken highly: they are excellent and marvellously misplaced — non erat his locus. The text of a story-book is too frail to bear so ponderous a burden of classical Arabian lore, and the annotations injure the symmetry of the book as a work of art. They begin with excessive prolixity: in the Introduction these studies fill 27 closely printed pages to 14 of a text broken by cuts and vignettes. In chaps. i. the proportion is p, notes: 15 text, and in chaps. ii. it is p: 35. Then they become under the publisher’s protest, beautifully less; and in vol. iii. chaps. 30 (the last) they are p: 57. Long disquisitions, “On the initial Moslem formula,” “On the Wickedness of Women,” “On Fate and Destiny,” “On Arabian Cosmogony,” “On Slaves,” “On Magic,” “On the Two Grand Festivals,” all these being appended to the Introduction and the first chapter, are mere hors d’oeuvres: such “copy” should have been reserved for another edition of “The Modern Egyptians.” The substitution of chapters for Nights was perverse and ill-judged as it could be, but it appears venial compared with condensing the tales in a commentary, thus converting the Arabian Nights into Arabian Notes. However, “Arabian Society in the Middle Ages,” a legacy left by the “Uncle and Master”, and like the tame and inadequate “Selections from the Koran,” utilised by the grand-nephew, has been of service to the Edinburgh. Also, as it appears three several and distinct times in one article (p, 174, and 183), we cannot but surmise that a main object of the critique was to advertise the volume. Men are crafty in these days when practicing the “puff indirect.”
But the just complaint against Lane’s work is its sin of omission. The partial Reviewer declares (p 75) that the Arabist “retranslated The Nights in a practical spirit, omitting what was objectionable, together with a few tales(!) that were, on the whole, uninteresting or tautological, and enriching the work with a multitude of valuable notes. We had now a scholarly version of the greater part of The Nights imbued with the spirit of the East and rich in illustrative comment; and for forty years no one thought of anything more, although Galland still kept his hold on the nursery.” Despite this spurious apology, the critic is compelled cautiously to confess (), “We are not sure that some of these omissions were not mistaken;” and he instances “Abdallah the Son of Fazil” and “Abu’l-Hasan of Khorasan” (he means, I suppose, Abu Hasan al-Ziyádi and the Khorasani Man, iv. 285), whilst he suggests, “a careful abridgment of the tale of Omar the Son of No’man” (ii. 7,, etc.). Let me add that wittiest and most rollicking of Rabelaisian skits, “All the Persian and the Kurd Sharper” (iv. 149), struck-out in the very wantonness of “respectability;” and the classical series, an Arabian “Pilpay,” entitled “King Jali’ád of Hind and his Wazir Shimas” (iv. 32). Nor must I omit to notice the failure most injurious to the work which destroyed in it half the “spirit of the East.” Mr. Lane had no gift of verse or rhyme: he must have known that the ten thousand lines of the original Nights formed a striking and necessary contrast with the narrative part, acting as aria to recitativo. Yet he rendered them only in the baldest and most prosaic of English without even the balanced style of the French translations. He can be excused only for one consideration — bad prose is not so bad as bad verse.
The ill-judged over-appreciation and glorification of Mr. Lane is followed () by the depreciation and bedevilment of Mr. John Payne, who first taught the world what The Nights really is. We are told that the author (like myself) “unfortunately did not know Arabic;” and we are not told that he is a sound Persian scholar: however, “he undoubtedly managed to pick up enough of the language(!) to understand The Arabian Nights with the assistance of the earlier translations of (by?) Torrens and Lane,” the former having printed only one volume out of some fifteen. This critic thinks proper now to ignore the “old English wall-papers,” of Mr. R. S. Poole, indeed he concedes to the translator of Villon, a “genius for language,” a “singular robust and masculine prose, which for the present purpose he intentionally weighted with archaisms and obsolete words but without greatly injuring its force or brilliancy” (). With plausible candour he also owns that the version “is a fine piece of English, it is also, save where the exigencies of rhyme compelled a degree of looseness, remarkably literal” (). Thus the author is damned with faint praise by one who
utterly fails to appreciate the portentous difference between linguistic genius and linguistic mediocrity, and the Reviewer proceeds, “a careful collation” (we have already heard what his “careful” means) “of the different versions with their originals leads us to the conclusion that Mr. Payne’s version is little less faithful than Lane’s in those parts which are common to both, and is practically as close a rendering as is desirable” (). Tell the truth, man, and shame the Devil! I assert and am ready to support that the “Villon version” is incomparably superior to Lane’s not only in its simple, pure and forcible English, but also in its literal and absolute correctness, being almost wholly free from the blunders and inaccuracies which everywhere disfigure Torrens, and which are rarely absent from Lane. I also repeat that wherever the style and the subject are the most difficult to treat, Mr. Payne comes forth most successfully from the contest, thus giving the best proof of his genius and capacity for painstaking. Of the metrical part, which makes the Villon version as superior to Lane’s as virgin gold to German silver, the critique offers only three inadequate specimens specially chosen and accompanied with a growl that “the verse is nothing remarkable” () and that the author is sometimes “led into extreme liberties with the original” (ibid.). Not a word of praise for mastering the prodigious difficulties of the monorhyme!
But — and there is a remarkable power in this particle — Mr. Payne’s work is “restricted to the few wealthy collectors of proscribed books and what booksellers’ catalogues describe as facetiæ’” (); for “when an Arabic word is unknown to the literary language” (what utter imbecility!), “and belongs only to the low vocabulary of the gutter” (which the most “elegant” writers most freely employ), “Mr. Payne laboriously searches out a corresponding term in English ‘Billingsgate,’ and prides himself upon an accurate reproduction of the tone of the original” (). This is a remarkable twisting of the truth. Mr. Payne persisted, despite my frequent protests, in rendering the “nursery words” and the “terms too plainly expressing natural situations” by old English such as “kaze” and “swive,” equally ignored by the “gutter” and by “Billingsgate”: he also omitted an offensive line whenever it did not occur in all the texts and could honestly be left untranslated. But the unfact is stated for a purpose: here the Reviewer mounts the high horse and poses as the Magister Morum per excellentiam. The Battle of the Books has often been fought, the crude text versus the bowdlerised and the expurgated; and our critic can contribute to the great fray only the merest platitudes. “There is an old and trusty saying that ‘evil communications corrupt good manners,’ end it is a well-known fact that the discussion(?) and reading of depraved literature leads (sic) infallibly to the depravation of the reader’s mind” (). 451 I should say that the childish indecencies and the unnatural vice of the original cannot deprave any mind save that which is perfectly prepared to be depraved; the former would provoke only curiosity and amusement to see bearded men such mere babes, and the latter would breed infinitely more disgust than desire. The man must be prurient and lecherous as a dog-faced baboon in rut to have aught of passion excited by either. And most inept is the conclusion, “So long as Mr. Payne’s translation remains defiled by words, sentences, and whole paragraphs descriptive of coarse and often horribly depraved sensuality, it can never stand beside Lane’s, which still remains the standard version of the Arabian Nights” (). Altro! No one knows better than the clique that Lane, after an artificially prolonged life of some half-century, has at last been weighed in the balance and been found wanting; that he is dying that second death which awaits the unsatisfactory worker and that his Arabian Nights are consigned by the present generation to the limbo of things obsolete and forgotten.
But if Mr. Payne is damned with poor praise and mock modesty, my version is condemned without redemption — beyond all hope of salvation: there is not a word in favour of a work which has been received by the reviewers with a chorus of kindly commendation. “The critical battery opens with a round-shot.” “Another complete translation is now appearing in a surreptitious way” (). How “surreptitious” I ask of this scribe, who ekes not the lack of reason by a superfluity of railing, when I sent out some 24,000 — 30,000 advertisements and published my project in the literary papers? “The amiability of the two translators (Payne and Burton) was testified by their each dedicating a volume to the other. So far as the authors are concerned nothing could be more harmonious and delightful; but the public naturally ask, What do we want with two forbidden versions?” And I again inquire, What can be done by me to satisfy this atrabilious and ill-conditioned Aristarchus? Had I not mentioned Mr. Payne, my silence would have been construed into envy, hatred and malice: if I am proud to acknowledge my friend’s noble work the proceeding engenders a spiteful sneer. As regards the “want,” public demand is easily proved. It is universally known (except to the Reviewer who will not know) that Mr. Payne, who printed only 500 copies, was compelled to refuse as many hundreds of would be subscribers; and, when my design was made public by the Press, these and others at once applied to me. “To issue a thousand still more objectionable copies by another and not a better hand” (notice the quip cursive!) may “seem preposterous” (), but only to a writer so “preposterous” as this.
“A careful (again!) examination of Captain Burton’s translation shows that he has not, as he pretends(!), corrected it to agree with the Calcutta text, but has made a hotch-potch of various texts, choosing one or another — Cairo, Breslau, Macnaghten or first Calcutta — according as it presented most of the ‘characteristic’ detail (note the dig in the side vicious), in which Captain Burton’s version is peculiarly strong” (). So in return for the severe labour of collating the four printed texts and of supplying the palpable omissions, which by turns disfigure each and every of the quartette, thus producing a complete copy of the Recueil, I gain nothing but blame. My French friend writes to me: Lorsqu’il s’agit d’établir un texte d’après différents manuscrits, il est certain qu’il faut prendre pour base une-seule redaction. Mais il n’est pas de même d’une traduction. Il est conforme aux règles de la saine critique littéraire, de suivre tous les textes. Lane, I repeat, contented himself with the imperfect Bulak text while Payne and I preferred the Macnaghten Edition which, says the Reviewer, with a futile falsehood all his own, is “really only a revised form of the Cairo text” 452 (ibid.). He concludes, making me his rival in ignorance, that I am unacquainted with the history of the MS. from which the four- volume Calcutta Edition was printed (ibid.). I should indeed be thankful to him if he could inform me of its ultimate fate: it has been traced by me to the Messieurs Allen and I have vainly consulted Mr. Johnston who carries on the business under the name of that now defunct house. The MS. has clean disappeared.
“On the other hand he (Captain Burton) sometimes omits passages which he considers(!) tautological and thereby deprives his version of the merit of completeness (e.g. vol. v. ). It is needless to remark that this uncertainty about the text destroys the scholarly value of the translation” (). The scribe characteristically forgets to add that I have invariably noted these excised passages which are always the merest repetitions, damnable iterations of a twice-, and sometimes a thrice-told tale, and that I so act upon the great principle — in translating a work of imagination and “inducing” an Oriental tale, the writer’s first duty to his readers is making his pages readable.
“Captain Burton’s version is sometimes rather loose” (p.180), says the critic who quotes five specimens out of five volumes and who might have quoted five hundred. This is another favourite “dodge” with the rogue-reviewer, who delights to cite words and phrases and texts detached from their contexts. A translator is often compelled, by way of avoiding recurrences which no English public could endure, to render a word, whose literal and satisfactory meaning he has already given, by a synonym or a homonym in no way so sufficient or so satisfactory. He charges me with rendering “Siyar, which means ‘doings,’ by ‘works and words”’; l
ittle knowing that the veteran Orientalist, M. Joseph Derenbourgh (, Johannes de Capua, Directorium, etc.), renders “Akhlák-í wa Síratí” (sing. of Siyar) by caractère et conducte, the latter consisting of deeds and speech. He objects to “Kabir” (lit.=old) being turned into very old; yet this would be its true sense were the Ráwí or story-teller to lay stress and emphasis upon the word, as here I suppose him to have done. But what does the Edinburgh know of the Ráwí? Again I render “Mal’únah” (not the mangled Mal’ouna) lit. = accurst, as “damned whore,” which I am justified in doing when the version is of the category Call-a-spade-a-spade.
“Captain Burton’s Arabian Nights, however, has another defect besides this textual inaccuracy” (); and this leads to a whole page of abusive rhetoric anent my vocabulary: the Reviewer has collected some thirty specimens — he might have collected three hundred from the five volumes — and he concludes that the list places Captain Burton’s version “quite out of the category of English books” () and “extremely annoying to any reader with a feeling for style.” Much he must know of modern literary taste which encourages the translator of an ancient work such as Mr. Gibb’s Aucassin and Nicolette (I quote but one in a dozen) to borrow the charm of antiquity by imitating the nervous and expressive language of the pre-Elizabethans and Shakespeareans. Let him compare any single page of Mr. Payne with Messieurs Torrens and Lane and he will find that the difference saute aux yeux. But a purist who objects so forcibly to archaism and archaicism should avoid such terms as “whilom Persian Secretary” (); as anthophobia, which he is compelled to explain by “dread of selecting only what is best” (), as anthophobist (); as “fatuous ejaculations” (), as a “raconteur” (), and as “intermedium” () terms which are certainly not understood by the general. And here we have a list of six in thirty-three pages: — evidently this Reviewer did not expect to be reviewed.
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