i

UNIVERSAL CLASSICS
LIBRARY

ILLUSTRATED
WITH PHOTOGRAVURES ON
JAPAN VELLUM, ETCHINGS
HAND PAINTED INDIA-PLATE
REPRODUCTIONS, AND
FULL PAGE PORTRAITS
OF AUTHORS.

M WALTER DUNNE, PUBLISHER
NEW YORK & LONDON

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Copyright, 1903,
BY
M. WALTER DUNNE;
PUBLISHER

iv

THE TOMB OF OMAR
From an old painting by an unknown artist

THE SUFISTIC QUATRAINS OF
OMAR KHAYYAM

IN DEFINITIVE FORM
INCLUDING THE TRANSLATIONS OF

EDWARD FITZGERALD
(101 quatrains)
With Edward Heron-Allen's Analysis

E.H. WHINFIELD
(500 quatrains)

J.B. NICOLAS
(464 quatrains)

WITH PREFACES BY EACH TRANSLATOR AND A
GENERAL INTRODUCTION DEALING WITH
OMAR'S PLACE IN SUFISM, BY

ROBERT ARNOT, M.A.
Author of "The Vine in Symbolism"

M. WALTER DUNNE, PUBLISHER,
NEW YORK & LONDON

v

Copyright, 1903,
BY
M. WALTER DUNNE,
PUBLISHER

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ILLUSTRATIONS

ix

TABLE OF CONTENTS

xi

GENERAL INTRODUCTION

The earliest reference to Omar Khayyam dates from the middle of the seventh century of the Hijra.[1] Mohammad Shahrazuri, author of a little-used history of learned men, bearing the title of «Nazhet-ul-Arwah,» devotes to Khayyam the following passage:

«'Omar Al-Khayyami was a Nishapuri by birth and extraction. He [may be regarded as] the successor of Abu 'Ali (Avicenna) in the various branches of philosophic learning; but he was a man of reserved character and disliked entertaining (sayyik al-'atan). While he was in Ispahan he perused a certain book seven times and then he knew it by heart. On his return to Nishapur he dictated it [from memory] and on comparing it with the original copy, it was found that the difference between them was but slight. He was averse both to composition and to teaching. He is the author of a handbook on natural science, and of two pamphlets, one entitled ‹Al-Wujud› (or ‹Real Existence›) and the other ‹Al-Kawn w'al Taklif.›[2] He was learned in the law, in classical Arabic, and in history.

«One day Al-Khayyami went to see the Vezir, Abd-ur-Razzak, the Chief of the Koran Readers. Abu-l-Hasan Al-Ghazzali was with this latter [at the time], and the two were discussing the disagreement of the Koran Readers in regard to a certain verse. [As Omar entered] the Vezir said, ‹Here we have the authority,› and proceeded to ask Al-Khayyami [for his opinion] on the matter. ['Omar] enumerated the various readings of the Readers, and explained the grounds ('ilal) for each one.xii He also mentioned the exceptional readings and the arguments in favor of each, and expressed his preference for one view in particular.

«Al-Ghazzali then said: ‹May God add such men as thee to the number of the learned! Of a truth, I did not think any one of the Koran Readers knew the readings by heart to this extent—much less one of the secular philosophers.›

«As for the sciences, he had mastered both mathematics and philosophy. One day ‹the Proof of Islam›, Al-Ghazzali, came to see him and asked him how it came that one could distinguish one of the parts of the sphere which revolve on the axis from the rest, although the sphere was similar in all its parts. Al-Khayyami pronounced his views, beginning with a certain category; but he refrained from entering deeply into the discussion—and such was the wont of this respected Sheykh. [Their conversation was interrupted by] the call to mid-day prayer, whereupon Al-Ghazzali said, ‹Truth has come in, and lying has gone out.› 'Omar arose and went to visit Sultan Sanjar. The latter was [at the time] a mere child, and was suffering from an attack of smallpox. When he came away the Vezir asked him, ‹How did you find the child, and what did you prescribe for him?› 'Omar answered, ‹The child is in a most precarious state.› An Ethiopian slave reported this saying to the Sultan, and when the Sultan recovered he became inimical to 'Omar and did not like him. Melik-Shah treated him as a boon companion; and Shams-ul-Mulk honored him greatly, and made him sit beside him on his throne.

«It is related that ['Omar] was [one day] picking his teeth with a toothpick of gold, and was studying the chapter on metaphysics from [Avicenna's] ‹Book of Healing.› When he reached the section on ‹The One and the Many› he placed the toothpick between the two leaves, arose, performed his prayers and made his last injunctions. He neither ate nor drank anything [that day]; and when he performed the last evening prayer, he bowed himself to the ground and said as he bowed: ‹Oh, God! verily I have known Thee to the extent of myxiii power: forgive me, therefore. Verily my knowledge of Thee is my recommendation to Thee.› And [so saying], he died; may God have pity on him!»

We may look upon Omar as a deeply learned man, following his own convictions, who, tortured with the question of existence, and finding no solution to life in Musulman dogmas, worked out for himself a regular conception of life based on Sufistic Mysticism; a man who, without discarding belief, smiled ironically at the inconsistencies and peculiarities of the Islam of his time, which left many minds dissatisfied in the fourth and fifth centuries, needing as it did vivification. It found this in the person of Ghazzali, who in this movement assigned the proper place to the Mystic element. Omar was a preacher of moral purity and of a contemplative life; one who loved his God and struggled to master the eternal, the good, and the beautiful.

In this manner also is Omar portrayed in the various early biographical notices: a defender of «Greek Science,» famous for his knowledge of the Koran and the Law, and at the same time a «stinging serpent» to the dogmatic; a wit and a mocker, a bitter and implacable enemy of all hypocrisy; a man who, while curing others of the wounds of worldly triviality, impurity, and sinful vanity, himself only with almost his last breath closed the philosophic book on «Healing» and turned with a touching prayer to the One God, the Infinite, whom he had been striving to comprehend with all the strength of his mind and heart. Khayyam's lively protests and his heated words in freedom's cause brought upon him many bitter moments in his life and exposed him to numerous attacks at the hands of the mullahs, especially those of the Shiite community.

Besides these, then as now (apart from hypocrites), persons were not wanting who, failing to understand Omar, regarded him as an unbeliever, atheist, and materialist. But in the course of centuries the people of Persia and India, realizing, perhaps instinctively, the injustice of former reproaches, have taken to publishing and reading Omar Khayyam in collections side by side with Abu-Said,xiv Abd-Allah Ansari, and Attar—that is to say, with Sufi Mystics of the purest water, men whose moral and religious reputations were spotless.

Rightly to understand Omar some knowledge of Sufism and its tenets is necessary. Sufism is a mystical doctrine which had its birth on the Arabian coast, and succeeded in implanting itself there to the point of putting a decisive check upon the orthodox philosophy. The etymology of the name is difficult to find. According to some, it comes from the word suf (wool, a woolen garment) because the first persons to adopt this doctrine clothed themselves in wool.

We can give, as a proof, in support of this etymology, the fact that the Persians call their dervishes Sufis, pechmineh pôch (clothed in wool). The name could also come from the Arabic safou (purity) or the Greek σοφία (wisdom). Again, some Arabic authors call by the name of Soufa an Arabic tribe that separated themselves from the world in the ante-Islamic period, consecrating themselves to the keeping of the temple of Mecca. A man who professed the Mystic principles of tasawouf (the spiritual life) they called a «Sufi.»

The origin of Musulman Mysticism is a question entailing some controversy, for whoever knows the detailed ritual and the dogmatic coldness of the Koran finds it impossible to reconcile Islamic dogma with any idea of Mysticism whatsoever. In vain does one seek to find an example of Mystical teaching in this aphorism attributed to Mahomet: «It is when he prays that the faithful one is nearest God,» as Islamism holds to a definite separation between the Divinity and the world, between the Creator and the thing created. The religious customs that Mahomet instituted and the moral action that he taught served only to merit the good-will of the Divinity; at the utmost he only believed that he would be permitted to see Him face to face.

Whence comes then this Mystical idea which, for so many centuries, has occupied all the minds and absorbed all the intellectual force of the Musulman world? Two different origins can be given for it: the idea of emanationxv from and return to the divine essence whence it came—what we call Neo-platonism. Added to this are Contemplation and Annihilation, which come to it through Persia and the Vedantic school as intermediaries, bringing with it Pantheism, which made its way late into Sufism, and almost solely among the Persians. Also, it could be said that originally Sufism owed its principles to the Alexandrian school.

The Arabs, who studied and translated the greater part of Aristotle, knew Plato only by name; but they came under his influence and received his doctrines, strongly impregnated with the Mysticism of the Kabbala, through the Alexandrians and especially through Philon. To annihilate reason, or at least to subordinate it to feeling; to attack liberty, in order to subject the whole of life to love; and, furthermore, the blind abandoning of self—such is the aim of Sufism, as it is of all Mystic philosophy.

The doctrine of the Sufis has been set forth in a great number of treatises, notably that of Sohrawdi. God alone exists; He is in everything and everything is in Him. All beings emanate from Him, without being really distinct from Him. The world exists for all eternity; the material is only an illusion of the senses. Sufism is the true philosophy of Islamism, «which is the best of religions,» but religions have only a relative importance and serve but to guide us toward the Reality.

God is the author of the acts of the human race; it is He who controls the will of man, which is not free in its action. Like all animals man possesses an original mind, an animal or living mind, a mind instinctive, but he has also a human mind, breathed into him by God, and of the same character as the original and constructive element itself. The concomitant mind comprehends the original element and the human mind; it extends itself over the triple domain: animal, vegetable, and mineral. The soul, which existed before the body, is confined in the body as in a cage; death, then is, the object of the Sufi's desires, since it returns him to the bosom of the Divinity. This metempsychosis permits the soul which has not fulfilledxvi its destiny here below to be purified and worthy of a re-union with God. This spiritual union all can strive for ardently, but all cannot attain, because it is a product of the grace of God.

The Sufi, during his sojourn in the body, is uniquely occupied in meditating upon his unity with God (Wahdanija), the reminiscence of the names of God (Zikr), and the progressive advancement in the tarika or journey of life, up to his unification with God.

What is the Sufi journey, then? Human life has been likened to a voyage, where the traveler is seeking after God. The aim of the voyage is to attain to a knowledge of God, for human existence is a period of banishment for the soul, which cannot return to God until it has passed through many successive stages. The natural state of man is called nasout (humanity); the disciple should observe the law and conform to all the rites of believers. The other stages are: the nature of the angels (malakout), where one follows the way to purity, the possession of power (djabrout), the degree to which knowledge corresponds (m'arifa), and finally, extinction or absorption in the Deity, the degree to which truth corresponds. The voyager agrees to renouncement, which is of two kinds: external and internal. The first is the renouncement of riches and worldly honors; the second is the renouncement of profane desires. And he should especially guard against idolatry, which for some is the adoration of worldly achievement, for others a too assiduous practice of praying and fasting.

To arrive at this aim, the voyager has three necessary aids: attraction (indïïdhah), the act of God which draws all men who have that tendency or inclination to Him; devotion (ibâda), continuing the journey by two roads—towards God and in God, the first limited, the second without limit; finally, elevation (ouroudi). But the voyage cannot be accomplished alone; it is necessary to have a guide or a monitor taken from the second class (ibâda). The believer who, after having been tâlib (an educated man doubting the reality of God) and mourid (desirous of following out his quest), becomes axvii salik (traveler), places himself under the authority of a Sufi guide who teaches him to serve God until, through divine influence, he attains to the ichk (love) stage. Divine love, removing all mundane desires from his heart, causes him to arrive at zouhd (isolation); he then leads a contemplative life, passes through the m'arifa degree, and awaits the direct illumination of wadja (ecstasy).

After having received a revelation of the true nature of God (the hakika stage) he arrives at the wasl stage (union with God); he cannot go further; death alone remains, by which he will arrive at the final degree, absorption in the Divinity. The Zikr are only various forms of devotion invented by the Sufi guides to develop the spiritual life. The conduct of the disciple in the presence of his master is determined by rules which differ little from those imposed upon all dervishes.

Some authors distinguish, in the Sufi voyage, seven stages, corresponding to the degrees in the celestial sphere, in order to have the soul received there after death. But, protest metaphysicians, the soul cannot return to a determined place, since it does not come from a determined place. Celestial intelligence, to which corresponds the degree of intelligence reached by man, will absorb the soul after its separation from the body.

The Sufis attribute a high antiquity to their doctrines. They do not hesitate to refer them to as far back as Abraham; they pretend that one of the founders of their sect was own son-in-law to the prophet Ali, son of Abou-Tâlib. Finally, «there came a pious woman from Jerusalem, by the name of Rabia, whose words recall the Christian Mysticism.»

The first person to take the name of Sufi was Abou-Hachim of Koufa. The first convent or Khanakah was founded in Khorasan by Abou-Said, the Persian, although the prophet had prohibited monkish life in Islam. Another convent was established at Ramia, in Syria, and Saladin founded one in Egypt. Sufism then was divided into two schools: The Persian Bestâmi (a.d. 875) inclined towards Pantheism; Djonaid, of Bagdad, preached a system reconcilable with Musulman dogmatism. One of the mostxviii celebrated doctors of this school was Halladj, burnt alive in a.d. 922. They discoursed upon Sufism under the Kalifs Al-Motazz and Al-Mohtadi, and preached it under Al-Motamid. The principal Sufi writers are: Mohammed Salami an Nichabouri (a.d. 1021), El-Kochairi (a.d. 1072), Ghazli (a.d. 1111), Sohrawdi (a.d. 1234), Ferid-ed-din Attar (a.d. 1230), Djami (a.d. 1492), and Ech-Cha'rani (a.d. 1565).

This Mysticism, so sweet and so full of sentiment, exhales itself in poesy, and is as much stamped with tenderness and resignation as it is overflowing with sensuality and drunkenness. The best and most illustrious of the Persian poets are of this sect: Djelal-ed-din er-Roumi, author of the «Mesnewi», Djami, author of «Salaman ou-Absa», Ferid-ed-din Attar, author of «Mantik-ut-tair»; S'adi, Hafiz de Chiraz, Bayazid-al-Bestami.

Just as Sufis leave the true faith for its semblance, so they also exchange the external features of all things for the internal (the corporeal for the spiritual) and give a spiritual significance to outward forms. They behold objects of a precious nature in their natural character, and for this reason, the greater part of their words have a spiritual and visionary meaning.

For instance, when, like Omar, they mention wine, they mean a knowledge of God, which, extensively considered, is the love of God. Wine, viewed extensively, is also love: love and affection are here the same thing. The wine-shop with them means the murshid i kiamil (spiritual director), for his heart is said to be the depository of the love of God; the wine-cup is the telkin (the pronunciation of the name of God in a declaration of faith as: There is no God but Allah), or it signifies the words which flow from the murshid's mouth respecting divine knowledge, and which, heard by the salik (the Dervish, or one who pursues the true path), intoxicates his soul, and divests his mind (of passions) giving him pure, spiritual delight.

The sweetheart or Beloved means the preceptor, because, when any one sees his beloved he admires her proportions, with a heart full of love. The Dervish beholdsxix the secret knowledge of God which fills the heart of his spiritual preceptor (murshid), and through it receives a similar inspiration, and acquires a full perception of all that he possesses, just as the pupil learns from his master. As the lover delights in the presence of his sweetheart, so the Dervish rejoices in the company of his beloved preceptor. The sweetheart is the object of a worldly affection; but the preceptor commands a spiritual attachment.

The curls or ringlets of the beloved are the grateful praises of the preceptor, tending to bind the affections of the Dervish-pupil; the moles on her face signify that when the pupil, at times, beholds the total absence of all worldly wants on the part of the preceptor, he also abandons all the desires of both worlds—he, perhaps, even goes so far as to desire nothing else in life than his preceptor; the furrows on the brow of the beloved one, which they compare to verses of the Koran, mean the light of the heart of the murshid: they are compared to the verses of the Koran, because the attributes of God, in accordance with the injunction of the Prophet: «Be ye endued with divine qualities,» are possessed by the sheikh (or murshid).

Perhaps I can do no better than to quote one of the foremost authorities on Sufism[3] in regard to Omar's teachings.

«Seldom has a poet suffered from his friends and his foes as has Omar Khayyam. ‹He has been regarded,› says a writer, ‹as a free-thinker, a subverter of faith; an atheist and materialist; a pantheist and a scoffer at Mysticism; an orthodox Musulman; a true philosopher, a keen observer, a man of learning; a bon vivant, a profligate, a dissembler and a hypocrite, and a blasphemer—nay, more, an incarnate negation of positive religion and of all moral beliefs; a gentle nature, more given to the contemplation of things divine than worldly enjoyments; an epicurean sceptic; the Persian Abu-l-Ala, Voltaire, and Heine in one.› The writer has in view the well-known criticisms of Von Hammer, Renan, Ellis, Nicolas, Garcinxx de Tassy, Whinfield, Aug. Muller, etc. He might have added Vedder's curious misunderstanding of the ‹Beloved,› making him a damsel and a playtoy, and the thousand and one small ideas set forth by Omarian Societies.

«All this criticism is curious because it is so completely out of harmony with the facts of Omar's life. It is true that no complete, authentic manuscript of Omar's is known, and equally true that no comprehensive biography is known; but detailed information has come down to us from his contemporaries. From these notes enough can be gathered to show that Omar was a great man indeed, one who clearly and forcibly shows the four sides of a perfect character.

«A perfect character is first and fundamentally powerful. It is based upon the One, be it in idea or in action. Next, it is so simple and direct that all extraneous thoughts and purposes are unknown to it. These two sides condition one another. No power without simplicity and no directness without power. The third side of a great character is love or human feeling; a fullness that seeks to draw all men to the One, and the fourth and last characteristic is harmony or a welding together into One of all these four. The last characteristic is, of course, an impossibility where the others do not exist; nor can the others attain any vividness or fullness without love.

«A perfect character is rare. We see, however, glimpses of it here and there. Omar Khayyam was a type of perfect character. He is full of the One; he knows of nothing but the One; he burns to draw his fellow-men to the One; he belongs nowhere but in the One, in whom he indeed can be said to move, live, and have his being. In the One he attained Wholeness, harmony. Omar's philosophy is that of the Sufis. In that, too, he is consistent. The one is Truth; Truth is the reality of things, Truth burns to draw men to Itself; Truth is the Law or ‹Universe.› His method is Symbolism, viz.: he chooses the transparencies of Nature in order to show his hearers how Truth or Wisdom and Love or Devotion everywhere appear to be the reality behind ‹the magic Shadow-shapesxxi that come and go.› His most prominent symbols are Wine and Love; Roses, Springtime, and Death.

«Omar's ethics are not those of Mohammedanism. He advocates Resignation, to be sure, but not Mohammedan fatalism as popularly understood. His morals spring from his conception of the fullness of the One, and as such they are in harmony with the most universal notions of mankind. In one word, Omar's theology, philosophy, method, and morals are Sufistic, Sufism taken in the highest sense as the unifying notion for Wholeness, Love, Truth, and Power. A study of Sufism will reveal the real Omar—hitherto but little known, if known at all.

       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

«No one has attempted, so far as I know, to classify the various Sufistic systems. It is not so difficult to do so when a key can be found to them. The best key is that four-foldness which manifests itself in all human character, endeavor, and work. Corresponding to the four-foldness of character delineated above, I shall now take the terms Life, Love, Light, and Law and say that Al-Ghazzali and Jelaladdin represent the first and, as a proof, point to their constant emphasis of will as being the dominant power of existence, and the prominence they give to moral worth. The type of Love, in the form of poetry and feeling, is represented by Hafiz and Jami. The third group is fully and completely filled by Shabistani, the author of ‹Gulshan-i-Raz.› It is Light, and its form is Philosophy, Truth, and Understanding. The last, the fourth, sums up in a measure, the three preceding, and is also a clearly defined group by itself. It is Law, Order, Unity, and Reality. There is more independence in it than in any of the others, because it is the nearest approach known in existence to Wholeness or Unity. It contains the opposites of existence, both cosmic and human, viz.: the protest of the Mystic and also his affirmation, and the new Hope he represents.

«Omar Khayyam belongs to this fourth group. I do not say he alone fills it. But he exhibits that Independence and Protest which is the first and outward characteristicxxii of it. He is also from time to time soaring into the realms of the Truth or Unity, in a way not found in any other Sufi poet or doctor.

«Under the garb of the Mystic's favorite method of Doubt and Protest, the Sufi (Omar) pictures the process of the Awakening of the Soul. That is the purpose of the ‹Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go› in the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. His pictures are sufficiently transparent for us to see The Reality Behind.

«While so much is claimed for Omar, it must not be forgotten that it has not been said that he is the only perfect Sufi. It is not our intention to say or to intimate that. Omar is great enough when we attribute to him the office of an Awakener; not merely that of a John the Baptist, but the office of one who is himself full of the Awakening he preaches. Such an one is a unique character, and is truly an At-oner, one who heals all wounds and binds up broken limbs.»

I have already stated, if not in actual words, at least by inference, that Khayyam's philosophical and religious opinions were in certain essential points based upon the teaching of the Vedantas. He must have been familiar with the general scope of their philosophy, although attaching himself, as we have seen, to the ranks of the Sufi Mystics. Sufism and Babism are probably the most widely spread doctrines current in modern Persia, and after all are but forms of Vedantic pantheism despoiled of real significance by the effort to accommodate themselves to the creed of Islam. We learn from El Kifti that Khayyam «exhorted to the seeking of the One, the Ruler, by the purification of bodily movements, for the cleansing of the human soul,» an unmistakable exposition of Sufi practices, although based originally upon the customs of the Vedantic sages.

He certainly did not practice asceticism and other quasi-religious forms, which had been grafted upon the austere simplicity of the original Vedantic creed, but he did inculcate the necessity of acquiring «the knowledge of the unity of the soul with God»—the one thing important—whichxxiii can only be achieved by the renouncement of desire, the purification of the soul from the lusts of the world, and the practice of kindliness, goodness, universal sympathy with mankind, and the patience which brings perfect work.

That Omar was a man of many moods is evident. His poetic faculties, acted upon by an intelligence that was profound, and by a wit as cutting as the tulwar of a Persian soldier, swayed him hither and thither upon the sea of daily doubts and fears which are part of man's existence. Yet, in his way, he was a beacon light, not only in the history of Sufi Mysticism, but in the annals of God-seeking. I can find no better yoke-fellow for him than Luther, like whom he was indeed an Apostle of Protest.

xxiv

THE FIRST EDITION OF
EDWARD FITZGERALD'S TRANSLATION
OF THE
QUATRAINS OF OMAR KHAYYAM

1

OMAR KHAYYAM

THE
ASTRONOMER-POET OF PERSIA

Omar Khayyam was born at Naishapur in Khorassan in the latter half of our eleventh, and died within the first quarter of our twelfth Century. The slender story of his life is curiously twined about that of two other very considerable figures in their time and country: one of whom tells the story of all three. This was Nizam ul Mulk, Vizyr to Alp Arslan the son, and Malik Shah the grandson, of Toghrul Beg the Tartar, who had wrested Persia from the feeble successor of Mahmud the Great, and founded that Seljukian Dynasty which finally roused Europe into the Crusades. This Nizam ul Mulk, in his «Wasiyat»—or «Testament»—which he wrote and left as a memorial for future statesmen—relates the following, as quoted in the «Calcutta Review,» No. lix., from Mirkhond's «History of the Assassins.»

«‹One of the greatest of the wise men of Khorassan was the Imam Mowaffak of Naishapur, a man highly honoured and reverenced—may God rejoice his soul; his illustrious years exceeded eighty-five, and it was the universal belief that every boy who read the Koran or studied the traditions in his presence, would assuredly attain to honour and happiness. For this cause did my father send me from Tus to Naishapur with Abd-us-samad, the doctor of law, that I might employ myself in study and learning under the guidance of that illustrious teacher. Towards me he ever turned an eye of favour and kindness, and as his pupil I felt for him extreme affection2 and devotion, so that I passed four years in his service. When I first came there, I found two other pupils of mine own age newly arrived, Hakim Omar Khayyam, and the ill-fated Ben Sabbah. Both were endowed with sharpness of wit and the highest natural powers; and we three formed a close friendship together. When the Imam rose from his lectures, they used to join me, and we repeated to each other the lessons we had heard. Now Omar was a native of Naishapur, while Hasan Ben Sabbah's father was one Ali, a man of austere life and practice, but heretical in his creed and doctrine. One day Hasan said to me and to Khayyam, «It is a universal belief that the pupils of the Imam Mowaffak will attain to fortune. Now, even if we all do not attain thereto, without doubt one of us will, what then shall be our mutual pledge and bond?» We answered, «Be it what you please.»—«Well,» he said, «let us make a vow, that to whomsoever this fortune falls, he shall share it equally with the rest, and reserve no pre-eminence for himself.»—«Be it so,» we both replied, and on those terms we mutually pledged our words. Years rolled on, and I went from Khorassan to Transoxiana, and wandered to Ghazni and Cabul; and when I returned, I was invested with office, and rose to be administrator of affairs during the Sultanate of Sultan Alp Arslan.›

«He goes on to state, that years passed by, and both his old school-friends found him out, and came and claimed a share in his good fortune, according to the school-day vow. The Vizier was generous and kept his word. Hasan demanded a place in the government, which the Sultan granted at the Vizier's request; but, discontented with a gradual rise, he plunged into the maze of intrigue of an Oriental court, and, failing in a base attempt to supplant his benefactor, he was disgraced and fell. After many mishaps and wanderings, Hasan became the head of the Persian sect of the Ismailians—a party of fanatics who had long murmured in obscurity, but rose to an evil eminence under the guidance of his strong and evil will. In a.d. 1090, he seized the castle of Alamut, in the province of Rudbar,3 which lies in the mountainous tract south of the Caspian Sea; and it was from this mountain home he obtained that evil celebrity among the Crusaders as the OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAINS, and spread terror through the Mohammedan world; and it is yet disputed whether the word Assassin, which they have left in the language of modern Europe as their dark memorial, is derived from the hashish, or opiate of hemp-leaves (the Indian bhang), with which they maddened themselves to the sullen pitch of Oriental desperation, or from the name of the founder of the dynasty, whom we have seen in his quiet collegiate days, at Naishapur. One of the countless victims of the Assassin's dagger was Nizam ul Mulk himself, the old school-boy friend.[4]

«Omar Khayyam also came to the Vizier to claim his share; but not to ask for title or office. ‹The greatest boon you can confer on me,› he said, ‹is to let me live in a corner under the shadow of your fortune, to spread wide, the advantages of Science, and pray for your long life and prosperity.› The Vizier tells us, that, when he found Omar was really sincere in his refusal, he pressed him no further, but granted him a yearly pension of 1200 mithkals of gold, from the treasury of Naishapur.»

«At Naishapur thus lived and died Omar Khayyam, ‹busied,› adds the Vizier, ‹in winning knowledge of every kind, and especially in Astronomy, wherein he attained to a very high pre-eminence. Under the Sultanate of Malik Shah he came to Merv, and obtained great praise for his proficiency in science, and the Sultan showered favours upon him.›

«When Malik Shah determined to reform the calendar, Omar was one of the eight learned men employed to do it; the result was the Jalali era (so called from Jalal-ud-din one of the king's names)—‹a computation of time,›4 says Gibbon, ‹which surpasses the Julian, and approaches the accuracy of the Gregorian style.› He is also the author of some astronomical tables, entitled ‹Ziji-Malik-skahi,›» and the French have lately republished and translated an Arabic treatise of his on algebra.

«His Takhallus or poetical name (Khayyam) signifies a Tentmaker, and he is said to have at one time exercised that trade, perhaps before Nizam ul Mulk's generosity raised him to independence. Many Persian poets similarly derive their names from their occupations; thus we have Attar, ‹a druggist,› Assar, ‹an oil presser,› etc.[5] Omar himself alludes to his name in the following whimsical lines:—

«We have only one more anecdote to give of his life, and that relates to the close; it is told in the anonymous preface which is sometimes prefixed to his poems; it has been printed in the Persian in the appendix to Hyde's ‹Veterum Persarum Religio,› p. 499; and D'Herbelot alludes to it in his Bibliothèque, under Khiam:[6]—

«‹It is written in the chronicles of the ancients that this King of the Wise, Omar Khayyam, died at Naishapur in the year of the Hegira 517 (a.d. 1123); in science he was unrivalled,—the very paragon of his age. Khwajah Nizami of Samarcand, who was one of his pupils, relates the following story: «I often used to hold conversations with my teacher Omar Khayyam, in a garden; and one day he said to me, ‹My tomb shall be in a spot where the north wind may scatter roses over it.› I wondered at the words he spake, but I knew that his were no idle5 words.[7] Years after, when I chanced to revisit Naishapur, I went to his final resting-place, and lo! it was just outside a garden, and trees laden with fruit stretched their boughs over the garden wall, and dropped their flowers upon his tomb, so that the stone was hidden under them.»›»

Thus far—without fear of trespass—from the «Calcutta Review.» The writer of it, on reading in India this story of Omar's grave, was reminded, he says, of Cicero's account of finding Archimedes' tomb at Syracuse, buried in grass and weeds. I think Thorwaldsen desired to have roses grow over him; a wish religiously fulfilled for him to the present day, I believe. However, to return to Omar.

Though the Sultan «shower'd favours upon him,» Omar's Epicurean audacity of thought and speech caused him to be regarded askance in his own time and country. He is said to have been especially hated and dreaded by the Sufis, whose practice he ridiculed, and whose faith amounts to little more than his own, when stript of the Mysticism and formal recognition of Islamism under which Omar would not hide. Their poets, including Hafiz, who are (with the exception of Firdausi) the most considerable in Persia, borrowed largely, indeed, of Omar's material, but turning it to a mystical use more convenient to themselves and the people they addressed;6 a people quite as quick of doubt as of belief; as keen of bodily sense as of intellectual; and delighting in a cloudy composition of both, in which they could float luxuriously between heaven and earth, and this world and the next, on the wings of a poetical expression, that might serve indifferently for either Omar was too honest of heart as well as of head for this. Having failed (however mistakenly) of finding any Providence but destiny, and any world but this, he set about making the most of it; preferring rather to soothe the soul through the senses into acquiescence with things as he saw them, than to perplex it with vain disquietude after what they might be. It has been seen, however, that his worldly ambition was not exorbitant; and he very likely takes a humorous or perverse pleasure in exalting the gratification of sense above that of the intellect, in which he must have taken great delight, although it failed to answer the questions in which he, in common with all men, was most vitally interested.

For whatever reason, however, Omar, as before said, has never been popular in his own country, and therefore has been but scantily transmitted abroad. The MSS. of his Poems, mutilated beyond the average casualties of Oriental transcription, are so rare in the East as scarce to have reached westward at all, in spite of all the acquisitions of arms and science. There is no copy at the India House, none at the Bibliothèque Nationale of Paris. We know but of one in England: No. 140 of the Ouseley MSS. at the Bodleian, written at Shiraz, a.d. 1460. This contains but 158 Rubaiyat. One in the Asiatic Society's Library at Calcutta (of which we have a copy) contains (and yet incomplete) 516, though swelled to that by all kinds of repetition and corruption. So Von Hammer speaks of his copy as containing about 200, while Dr. Sprenger catalogues the Lucknow MS. at double that number.[8] The scribes, too, of the Oxford7 and Calcutta MSS. seem to do their work under a sort of protest; each beginning with a tetrastich (whether genuine or not), taken out of its alphabetical order; the Oxford with one of apology; the Calcutta with one of expostulation, supposed (says a notice prefixed to the MS.) to have arisen from a dream, in which Omar's mother asked about his future fate. It may be rendered thus—

The Bodleian quatrain pleads Pantheism by way of Justification.

The reviewer,[9] to whom I owe the particulars of Omar's life, concludes his review by comparing him with Lucretius, both as to natural temper and genius, and as acted upon by the circumstances in which he lived. Both indeed were men of subtle, strong, and cultivated intellect, fine imagination, and hearts passionate for truth and justice; who justly revolted from their country's false religion, and false, or foolish, devotion to it, but who fell short of replacing what they subverted by such better hope as others, with no better revelation to guide them, had yet made a law to themselves. Lucretius, indeed, with such material as Epicurus furnished, satisfied himself with the theory of a vast machine fortuitously constructed, and acting by a law that implied no legislator; and so composing himself into a Stoical rather than Epicurean severity of attitude, sat down to contemplate the mechanical drama of the Universe which he was part actor in; himself and all about him (as in his own sublime description of the Roman Theatre) discolored with the lurid8 reflex of the curtain suspended between the spectator and the sun. Omar, more desperate, or more careless of any so complicated system as resulted in nothing but hopeless necessity, flung his own genius and learning with a bitter or humorous jest into the general ruin which their insufficient glimpses only served to reveal; and, pretending sensual pleasure as the serious purpose of life, only diverted himself with speculative problems of Deity, Destiny, Matter and Spirit, Good and Evil, and other such questions, easier to start than to run down, and the pursuit of which becomes a very weary sport at last!

With regard to the present translation. The original Rubaiyat (as, missing an Arabic guttural, these Tetrastichs are more musically called) are independent stanzas, consisting each of four lines of equal, though varied, prosody; sometimes all rhyming, but oftener (as here imitated) the third line a blank. Somewhat as in the Greek alcaic, where the penultimate line seems to lift and suspend the wave that falls over in the last. As usual with such kind of Oriental verse, the Rubaiyat follow one another according to alphabetic rhyme—a strange succession of grave and gay. Those here selected are strung into something of an eclogue, with perhaps a less than equal proportion of the «Drink and make-merry» which (genuine or not) recurs over-frequently in the original. Either way the result is sad enough: saddest perhaps when most ostentatiously merry: more apt to move sorrow than anger toward the old Tentmaker, who, after vainly endeavouring to unshackle his steps from destiny, and to catch some authentic glimpse of To-morrow, fell back upon To-day (which has outlasted so many To-morrows!) as the only ground he had got to stand upon, however momentarily slipping from under his feet.

While the second Edition of this version of Omar was preparing, M. Nicolas, French Consul at Resht, published a very careful and very good edition of the text, from a lithograph copy at Teheran, comprising 464 Rubaiyat, with translation and notes of his own.

9

M. Nicolas, whose edition has reminded me of several things, and instructed me in others, does not consider Omar to be the material Epicurean that I have literally taken him for, but a Mystic, shadowing the Deity under the figure of wine, wine-bearer, etc., as Hafiz is supposed to do; in short, a Sufi Poet like Hafiz and the rest.

I cannot see reason to alter my opinion, formed as it was more than a dozen years ago[10] when Omar was first shown me by one to whom I am indebted for all I know of Oriental, and very much of other, literature. He admired Omar's genius so much, that he would gladly have adopted any such interpretation of his meaning as M. Nicolas' if he could.[11] That he could not, appears by his paper in the «Calcutta Review» already so largely quoted; in which he argues from the Poems themselves, as well as from what records remain of the Poet's Life.

And if more were needed to disprove M. Nicolas' theory, there is the Biographical Notice which he himself has drawn up in direct contradiction to the interpretation of the Poems given in his notes. Indeed I hardly knew poor Omar was so far gone till his apologist informed me. For here we see that, whatever were the wine that Hafiz drank and sang, the veritable juice of the grape it was which Omar used, not only when carousing with his friends, but (says M. Nicolas) in order to excite himself to that pitch of devotion which others reached by cries and «hurlemens.» And yet, whenever wine, wine-bearer, etc., occur in the text—which is often enough—M. Nicolas carefully annotates «Dieu,» «La Divinité,» etc.: so carefully indeed that one is tempted to think that he was indoctrinated by the Sufi with whom he read the Poems. A Persian would naturally wish to vindicate a distinguished countryman: and a Sufi to enrol him in his own sect, which already comprises all the chief poets in Persia.

10

What historical authority has M. Nicolas to show that Omar gave himself up «avec passion à l'étude de la philosophie des Soufis»? The doctrines of Pantheism, Materialism, Necessity, etc., were not peculiar to the Sufi; nor to Lucretius before them; nor to Epicurus before him; probably the very original irreligion of thinking men from the first; and very likely to be the spontaneous growth of a philosopher living in an age of social and political barbarism, under shadow of one of the Two-and-Seventy Religions supposed to divide the world. Von Hammer (according to Sprenger's «Oriental Catalogue») speaks of Omar as «a Free-thinker and a great opponent of Sufism»; perhaps because, while holding much of their doctrine, he would not pretend to any inconsistent severity of morals. Sir W. Ouseley has written a note to something of the same effect on the fly-leaf of the Bodleian MS. And in two Rubaiyat of M. Nicolas' own Edition Suf and Sufi are both disparagingly named.

No doubt many of these Quatrains seem unaccountable unless mystically interpreted; but many more as unaccountable unless literally. Were the Wine spiritual, for instance, how wash the Body with it when dead? Why make cups of the dead clay to be filled with—«La Divinité»—by some succeeding Mystic? M. Nicolas himself is puzzled by some «bizarres» and «trop Orientales» allusions and images—«d'une sensualité quelquefois révoltante» indeed—which «les convenances» do not permit him to translate; but still which the reader cannot but refer to «La Divinité».[12] No doubt also many of the11 Quatrains in the Teheran, as in the Calcutta, Copies, are spurious; such Rubaiyat being the common form of epigram in Persia. But this, at best, tells as much one way as another; nay, the Sufi, who may be considered the scholar and man of letters in Persia, would be far more likely than the careless epicure to interpolate what favours his own view of the poet. I observe that very few of the more mystical Quatrains are in the Bodleian MS. which must be one of the oldest, as dated at Shiraz, a.h. 865, a.d. 1460. And this, I think, especially distinguishes Omar (I cannot help calling him by his—no, not Christian—familar name) from all other Persian poets: That, whereas with them the poet is lost in his song, the man in allegory and abstraction, we seem to have the man—the bonhomme—Omar himself, with all his humours and passions, as frankly before us as if we were really at table with him, after the wine had gone round.

I must say that I, for one, never wholly believed in the mysticism of Hafiz. It does not appear there was any danger in holding and singing Sufi Pantheism, so long as the poet made his salaam to Mohammed at the beginning and end of his song. Under such conditions Jelaluddin, Jami, Attar, and others sang; using wine and beauty indeed as images to illustrate, not as a mask to hide, the Divinity they were celebrating. Perhaps some allegory less liable to mistake or abuse had been better among so inflammable a people: much more so when, as some think with Hafiz and Omar, the abstract is not only likened to, but identified with, the sensual Image; hazardous, if not to the devotee himself, yet to his weaker brethren; and worse for the profane in proportion as the devotion of the initiated grew warmer. And all for what? To be tantalized with images of sensual enjoyment which must be renounced if one would approximate a God, who according to the doctrine, is sensual matter as well as spirit, and into whose universe one expects unconsciously to merge after death, without hope of any posthumous beatitude in another world to compensate for all one's self-denial in this. Lucretius'12 blind Divinity certainly merited, and probably got, as much self-sacrifice as this of the Sufi; and the burden of Omar's song—if not «Let us eat»—is assuredly—«Let us drink, for to-morrow we die!» And if Hafiz meant quite otherwise by a similar language, he surely miscalculated when he devoted his life and genius to so equivocal a psalmody as, from his day to this, has been said and sung by any rather than spiritual worshippers.

However, as there is some traditional presumption, and certainly the opinion of some learned men, in favour of Omar's being a Sufi—and even something of a saint—those who please may so interpret his wine and cup-bearer. On the other hand, as there is far more historical certainty of his being a philosopher, of scientific insight and ability far beyond that of the age and country he lived in; of such moderate worldly ambition as becomes a philosopher, and such moderate wants as rarely satisfy a debauchee. Other readers may be content to believe with me that, while the wine Omar celebrates is simply the juice of the grape, he bragged more than he drank of it, in very defiance perhaps of that spiritual wine which left its votaries sunk in hypocrisy or disgust.

EDWARD FITZGERALD.

13

THE FITZGERALD FIRST EDITION

[The first Edition of the translation of Omar Khayyam, which appeared in 1859, differs so much from those which followed, that it has been thought better to print it in full, instead of merely attempting to record the differences.]

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

X.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIV.

XV.

XVI.

XVII.

XVIII.

XIX.

XX.

XXI.

XXII.

XXIII.

XXIV.

XXV.

XXVI.

XXVII.

XXVIII.

XXIX.

XXX.

XXXI.

XXXII.

XXXIII.

XXXIV.

XXXV.

XXXVI.

XXXVII.

XXXVIII.

XXXIX.

XL.

XLI.

XLII.

XLIII.

XLIV.

XLV.

XLVI.

XLVII.

XLVIII.

XLIX.

L.

LI.

LII.

LIII.

LIV.

LV.

LVI.

LVII.

LVIII.

       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

25

KUZA-NAMA

LIX.

LX.

LXI.

LXII.

LXIII.

LXIV.

LXV.

LXVI.

       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

LXVII.

LXVIII.

LXIX.

LXX.

LXXI.

LXXII.

LXXIII.

LXXIV.

LXXV.

TAMAM SHUD.

29

NOTES.

(Stanza II.) The «False Dawn»; Subhi kazib, a transient Light on the Horizon about an hour before the Subhi sadik, or True Dawn; a well-known Phenomenon in the East.

(IV.) New Year. Beginning with the Vernal Equinox, it must be remembered; and (howsoever the old Solar Year is practically superseded by the clumsy Lunar Year that dates from the Mohammedan Hegira) still commemorated by a Festival that is said to have been appointed by the very Jamshyd whom Omar so often talks of, and whose yearly Calendar he helped to rectify.

«The sudden approach and rapid advance of the Spring,» says Mr. Binning,[13] «are very striking. Before the Snow is well off the Ground, the Trees burst into Blossom, and the Flowers start forth from the Soil. At Now Rooz [their New Year's Day] the Snow was lying in patches on the Hills and in the shaded Valleys, while the Fruit-trees in the Gardens were budding beautifully, and green Plants and Flowers springing up on the Plains on every side—

Among the Plants newly appeared I recognised some old Acquaintances I had not seen for many a Year: among these, two varieties of the Thistle—a coarse species of Daisy like the ‹Horse-gowan›—red and white Clover—the Dock—the blue Corn-flower—and that vulgar Herb the Dandelion rearing its yellow crest on the Banks of the Water-courses.» The Nightingale was not yet heard, for the Rose was not yet blown; but an almost identical Blackbird and Wood-pecker helped to make up something of a North-country Spring.

«The White Hand of Moses.» Exodus iv. 6; where Moses draws forth his Hand—not, according to the Persians, «leprous as Snow,» —but white, as our May-blossom in Spring perhaps. According to them also the Healing Power of Jesus resided in His Breath.

(V.) Iram, planted by King Shaddad, and now sunk somewhere in the Sands of Arabia. Jamshyd's Seven-ring'd Cup was typical of the 7 Heavens, 7 Planets, 7 Seas, etc., and was a Divining Cup.

30

(VI.) Pehlevi, the old Heroic Sanskrit of Persia. Hafiz also speaks of the Nightingale's Pehlevi, which did not change with the People's.

I am not sure if the fourth line refers to the Red Rose looking sickly, or to the Yellow Rose that ought to be Red; Red, White, and Yellow Roses all common in Persia. I think that Southey in his «Common-Place Book,» quotes from some Spanish author about the Rose being White till 10 o'clock; «Rosa Perfecta» at 2; and «perfecta incarnada» at 5.

(X.) Rustum, the «Hercules» of Persia, and Zal his Father, whose exploits are among the most celebrated in the Shahnama. Hatim Tai, a well-known type of Oriental generosity.

(XIII.) A Drum—beaten outside a Palace.

(XIV.) That is, the Rose's Golden Centre.

(XVIII.) Persepolis: call'd also Takht.i-Jamshyd—The Throne of Jamshyd, «King Splendid,» of the mythical Peshdadian Dynasty, and supposed (according to the Shahnama) to have been founded and built by him. Others refer it to the Work of the Genie King, Jan Ibn Jan—who also built the Pyramids—before the time of Adam.

Bahram Gur—Bahram of the Wild Ass—a Sassanian Sovereign—had also his Seven Castles (like the King of Bohemia!) each of a different Colour; each with a Royal Mistress within; each of whom tells him a Story, as told in one of the most famous Poems of Persia, written by Amir Khusraw: all these Seven also figuring (according to Eastern Mysticism) the Seven Heavens; and perhaps the Book itself that Eighth, into which the mystical Seven transcend, and within which they revolve. The Ruins of Three of those Towers are yet shown by the Peasantry; as also the swamp in which Bahram sunk like the Master of Ravenswood while pursuing his Gur.

This Quatrain Mr. Binning found, among several of Hafiz and others, inscribed by some stray hand among the ruins of Persepolis. The Ringdove's ancient Pehlevi Coo, Coo, Coo, signifies also in Persian, «Where? Where? Where?» In Attar's «Bird-parliament» she is reproved by the Leader of the Birds for sitting still, and for ever harping on that one note of lamentation for her lost Yusuf.

Apropos of Omar's Red Roses in Stanza xix., I am reminded of an old English superstition, that our Anemone Pulsatilla, or purple «Pasque Flower» (which grows plentifully about the Fleam Dyke, near Cambridge), grows only where Danish blood has been spilt.

(XXI.) A thousand years to each Planet.

(XXXI.) Saturn, Lord of the Seventh Heaven.

(XXXII.) Me-and-Thee: some dividual Existence or Personality distinct from the Whole.

31

(XXXVII.) One of the Persian Poets—Attar, I think—has a pretty story about this. A thirsty Traveller dips his hand into a Spring of Water to drink from. By and by comes another who draws up and drinks from an earthen Bowl, and then departs, leaving his Bowl behind him. The first Traveller takes it up for another draught; but is surprised to find that the same Water which had tasted sweet from his own hand tastes bitter from the earthen Bowl. But a Voice—from Heaven, I think—tells him the clay from which the Bowl is made was once Man; and, into whatever shape renewed, can never lose the bitter flavour of Mortality.

(XXXIX.) The custom of throwing a little Wine on the ground before drinking still continues in Persia, and perhaps generally in the East. Mons. Nicolas considers it «un signe de libéralité, et en même temps un avertissement que le buveur doit vider sa coupe jusqu' à la dernière goutte.» Is it not more likely an ancient Superstition; a Libation to propitiate Earth, or make her an Accomplice in the illicit Revel? Or, perhaps, to divert the Jealous Eye by some sacrifice of superfluity, as with the Ancients of the West? With Omar we see something more is signified; the precious Liquor is not lost, but sinks into the ground to refresh the dust of some poor Wine-worshipper foregone.

Thus Hafiz, copying Omar in so many ways: «When thou drinkest Wine pour a draught on the ground. Wherefore fear the Sin which brings to another Gain?»

(XLIII.) According to one beautiful Oriental Legend, Azrael accomplishes his mission by holding to the nostril an Apple from the Tree of Life.

This and the two following Stanzas would have been withdrawn, as somewhat de trop, from the Text, but for advice which I least like to disregard.

(LI.) Prom Mah to Mahi; from Fish to Moon.

(LVI.) A Jest, of course, at his Studies. A curious mathematical Quatrain of Omar's has been pointed out to me; the more curious because almost exactly parallel'd by some Verses of Bishop Donne's, that are quoted in Izaak Walton's Lives! Here is Omar: «You and I are the image of a pair of compasses; though we have two heads (sc. our feet) we have one body; when we have fixed the centre for our circle, we bring our heads (sc. feet) together at the end.» Dr. Donne:—

(LIX.) The Seventy-two Religions supposed to divide the World, including Islamism, as some think: but others not.

(LX.) Alluding to Sultan Mahmud's Conquest of India and its dark people.

(LXVIII.) Fanusi khiyal, a Magic-lantern still used in India; the cylindrical Interior being painted with various Figures, and so lightly poised and ventilated as to revolve round the lighted Candle within.

(LXX.) A very mysterious Line in the Original:—

breaking off something like our Wood-pigeon's Note, which she is said to take up just where she left off.

(LXXV.) Parwin and Mushtari—The Pleiads and Jupiter.

(LXXXVII.) This Relation of Pot and Potter to Man and his Maker figures far and wide in the Literature of the World, from the time of the Hebrew Prophets to the present; when it may finally take the name of «Pot theism,» by which Mr. Carlyle ridiculed Sterling's «Pantheism.» My Sheikh, whose knowledge flows in from all quarters, writes to me—

«Apropos of old Omar's Pots, did I ever tell you the sentence I found in Bishop Pearson on the Creed? ‹Thus are we wholly at the disposal of His will, and our present and future condition framed and ordered by His free, but wise and just, decrees. Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump to make one vessel unto honour, and another unto dishonour? (Rom. ix. 21.) And can that earth-artificer have a freer power over his brother potsherd (both being made of the same metal), than God hath over him, who, by the strange fecundity of His omnipotent power, first made the clay out of nothing, and then him out of that?›»

And again—from a very different quarter—«I had to refer the other day to Aristophanes, and came by chance on a curious Speaking-pot story in the Vespæ, which I had quite forgotten.

Φιλοκλέων.      Ἄκουε, μὴ φεῦγ'· ἐν Συβάρει γυνή ποτε     1. 1435
κατέαξ' ἐχῖνον.

Κατήγορος.      Ταῦτ' ἐγὼ μαρτύρομαι.

Φι.                   Οὑχῖνος οὖν ἔχων τιν' ἐπεμαρτύρατο·
Εἶθ' ἡ Συβαρῖτις εἶπεν, εἰ ναὶ τὰν κόραν
τὴν μαρτυρίαν ταύτην ἐάσας, ἐν τάχει
ἐπίδεσμον ἐπρία, νοῦν ἂν εἶχες πλείονα.

«The Pot calls a bystander to be a witness to his bad treatment. The woman says, ‹If, by Proserpine, instead of all this «testifying»33 (comp. Cuddie and his mother in «Old Mortality!») you would buy yourself a rivet, it would show more sense in you!› The Scholiast explains echinus as ἀγγος τι ἐκ κεράμον.»

One more illustration for the oddity's sake from the «Autobiography of a Cornish Rector,» by the late James Hamley Tregenna. 1871.

«There was one old Fellow in our Company—he was so like a Figure in the ‹Pilgrim's Progress› that Richard always called him the ‹Allegory,› with a long white beard—a rare Appendage in those days—and a Face the colour of which seemed to have been baked in, like the Faces one used to see on Earthenware Jugs. In our Country-dialect Earthenware is called ‹Clome›; so the Boys of the Village used to shout out after him—‹Go back to the Potter, old Clome-face, and get baked over again.› For the ‹Allegory,› though shrewd enough in most things, had the reputation of being saift-baked, i.e., of weak intellect.»

(XC.) At the Close of the Fasting Month, Ramazan (which makes the Musulman unhealthy and unamiable), the first Glimpse of the New Moon (who rules their division of the Year) is looked for with the utmost Anxiety, and hailed with Acclamation. Then it is that the Porter's Knot may be heard—toward the Cellar. Omar has elsewhere a pretty Quatrain about the same Moon—

AN ANALYSIS OF

EDWARD FITZGERALD'S TRANSLATION

OF THE

QUATRAINS OF OMAR KHAYYAM

(Fifth Edition)

By EDWARD HERON-ALLEN

37

PREFACE

The object with which this volume has been compiled has been to set at rest, once and for ever, the vexed question of how far Edward FitzGerald's incomparable poem may be regarded as a translation of the Persian originals, how far as an adaptation, and how far as an original work. In the Introduction to my recently published translation of the Ouseley MS. in the Bodleian Library at Oxford, and more particularly in the Essay which terminates the second edition of that work, I have dwelt at considerable length upon the history of Edward FitzGerald's poem and the influences of various Oriental works which are traceable in it. As it is doubtful whether the present volume will reach the hands of, or at any rate be critically considered by, any students of the poem who have not already had access to my former work, I do not think that it would be either expedient or useful to repeat in this place the information which is collected there, but a short history of the major portion of Edward FitzGerald's material is necessary, for the purpose of showing why this question of translation, adaptation, or original composition should have been a question open to lengthy argument, and why it has been impossible to set it at rest until the present time, when forty years have elapsed since first Edward FitzGerald's poem attracted the attention of those great scholars and poets who rescued it, as recounted in the threadbare anecdote, from the oblivion of the penny box.

The influence of the Ouseley MS. upon the poem forms the subject of the volume to which I have referred, and, save in so far as it recurs in the parallels which give excuse38 for the present work, may be dismissed, but the doubts which have sprung up as to the extent to which Edward FitzGerald took, as his editor, Mr. Aldis Wright, says, «great liberties with the original,» have arisen in consequence of the vicissitudes which have befallen the rest of the material from which the poet worked during the construction of his first edition. We know that Prof. Cowell made a copy of the Ouseley MS. for Edward FitzGerald just before he went to India in August, 1856. In another letter he says «I got a copy made for him from the one MS. in the Bengal Asiatic Society's Library at Calcutta soon after I arrived in November, 1856. It reached FitzGerald June 14th, 1857, as I learn by a note in his writing. Some time after this I sent him a copy of that rare Calcutta printed edition which I got from my Munshi.» To possess oneself therefore of full information as to what material Edward FitzGerald really worked from in making the original edition of his poem, it was necessary to consult, line by line, and word by word, the Calcutta MS. (noted as No. 1548 in the Bengal Asiatic Society's Library) and the Calcutta printed edition of 1836,—in addition, of course, to the Ouseley MS. Prof. Cowell most generously placed at my disposal his copy of the Calcutta MS., but, as he himself has recorded, the copy was made by an inferior scribe in a hand which is exceedingly difficult to read. I therefore communicated with Mr. A.T. Pringle, Director of Indian Records in the Home Department at Calcutta, himself a keen and critical student of Omar Khayyam, with a view to getting either a photographic reproduction, or a clean copy of this MS. made for me. Careful search and widely spread enquiry brought to light the fact that the MS. was lost, stolen, or strayed, so that Prof. Cowell's copy was the only record left of this portion of Edward FitzGerald's material. This copy I sent out to India, and had copied by a good writer, a copy being made at the same time to replace that which had been stolen.

I next addressed myself to the discovery of «that rare Calcutta printed edition,» of whose existence, after searching in vain every European State library and many others,39 and every library in India of which I could learn, I began to have grave doubts, thinking that Prof. Cowell had inadvertently confused it with an edition lithographed simultaneously at Calcutta and Teheran in 1836. In the summer, however, when I had given up all hope, one of Mr. Pringle's clerks picked up a copy of the long sought book in the Bazar at Calcutta, printed from type at Calcutta in 1836. A circumstance that greatly adds to the interest of this discovery, whilst at the same time it very greatly lessened my labours, lies in the fact that this edition is evidently printed from the lost Calcutta MS. itself, both introduction and quatrains being identical in readings and sequence. A few quatrains, including the repetitions, forming part of the MS. and nearly all those written in the margins of the MS. are omitted, but nearly all of these are added as an appendix to the book, the printer explaining in a short note that they were found in a bayaz (or book of extracts), and were added in that place instead of in their diwan (or alphabetical) order on account of their more than ordinarily antinomian tendency. A very interesting question arises hereon, whether these latter were printed into the book from the margins of the MS. after being purposely or accidentally omitted, or whether they were written on to the margin of the MS. from this book at some date between 1836 and 1856. I think that the former is the more likely explanation, but in the absence of the MS. this question cannot be solved.

I find myself therefore in the interesting position of having the whole of FitzGerald's material before me; and though (so perfectly did Edward FitzGerald identify himself with his author's habit of mind) many other MSS. contain quatrains that closely resemble his marvellous paraphrase, there is nothing written by or attributed to Omar Khayyam which served FitzGerald for inspiration in making his first edition, other than what is to be found in the three, or rather two, texts above referred to. I have spoken already (and at length, in the Terminal Essay to my former volume) of the influences exerted by other Oriental poets upon his work, and especially that of the Mantik ut-tair, or Parliament of Birds of40 Ferid ud din Attar; where it was direct or exclusive I have set it down in the parallels which follow. The result of my observations may be summarised as follows:

Of Edward FitzGerald's quatrains, forty-nine are faithful and beautiful paraphrases of single quatrains to be found in the Ouseley or Calcutta MSS., or both.[14]

Forty-four are traceable to more than one quatrain, and therefore may be termed «composite» quatrains.

Two are inspired by quatrains found by FitzGerald only in Nicolas' text.

Two are quatrains reflecting the whole spirit of the original poem.

Two are traceable exclusively to the influence of the Mantik ut-tair of Ferid ud din Attar.

Two quatrains primarily inspired by Omar were influenced by the Odes of Hafiz.

And three, which appeared only in the first and second editions and were afterwards suppressed by Edward FitzGerald himself, are not—so far as a careful search enables me to judge—attributable to any lines of the original texts. Other authors may have inspired them, but their identification is not useful in this case.

The «fillip,» so to speak, given to FitzGerald's interest in the ruba'iyat, by the publication of Monsieur J.B. Nicolas' text and translation of 464 «Les Quatrains de Khèyam» (Paris, 1867), must not be lost sight of, and may be held responsible for many, if not most of the variations and additions that differentiate the second, third, and fourth editions from the first. This volume, as FitzGerald himself records in his Introduction to the second and subsequent editions, «reminded him of several things and instructed him in others.» Two of FitzGerald's later quatrains at least (Nos. 46 and 98) come from that text, and these I have never seen in any MS. text; and, in seeking the parallels to the present volume, I have collated exactly 5,235 ruba'iyat in the original Persian.41 I have appended to every Persian ruba'i in the following pages, references to the texts in which I have found the same ruba'i, in the identical form, or more or less varied, and it will be observed that, for the most part, the ruba'iyat which inspired FitzGerald are those which have so appealed to the Oriental mind as to be represented in nearly all the MSS. and texts under examination. The Ouseley MS. being the first text that occupied FitzGerald's attention, where his inspirational lines occur both in that MS. and the Calcutta MS., I have given the Ouseley MS. version, noting any important variations to be found in the Calcutta MS. It will be observed that FitzGerald's tendency, after the second edition, was to eliminate quatrains which were merely suggested by the general tone and sentiment of the original poem, and not the reflection or translation of particular and identifiable ruba'iyat. The reader is especially recommended, when studying these parallels, to turn to the corresponding quatrain in the first edition, for FitzGerald often diverged further from the originals in making his subsequent variations—notably, for instance, in the first and forty-eighth quatrains.

With regard to my own translations of the originals in the following pages, I may remark that the excessive baldness of the translation is intentional, for I deemed it better to put before the lovers of FitzGerald's poem the closest and most unpolished English rendering, rather than to attempt to clothe the literal meaning of the originals in graceful phraseology.

I desire to record in this place my most cordial thanks, for the invaluable assistance they have given me in the preparation of this volume, to Mr. A.T. Pringle, Professor E.B. Cowell, and Dr. E. Denison Ross, and to Mr. Aldis Wright, Edward FitzGerald's literary executor, and his publishers Messrs. Macmillan, for their very kind permission to reproduce in this volume the poem which has brought it into existence.

EDWARD HERON-ALLEN.

42

EXPLANATION OF THE REFERENCES IN THE FOLLOWING PARALLELS

The following are the alternative texts and translations referred to in the following parallels:—

O.—The Ouseley MS. No. 140 in the Bodleian Library at Oxford, dated a.h. 865 (a.d. 1460), containing 158 ruba'iyat. A facsimile and translation with notes, etc., were published by H.S. Nichols, Ltd. (London, 1898).

C.—The Calcutta MS. No. 1548 in the Bengal Asiatic Society's Library at Calcutta, containing 510 ruba'iyat. The original has been lost or stolen, but a copy has been made from the copy made for Edward FitzGerald at the instance of Prof. Cowell.

L.—The Lucknow lithograph. The edition referred to is that of a.h. 1312 (a.d. 1894), containing 770 ruba'iyat.

W.—The text and metrical translation published by E.H. Whinfield (London, Trübner, 1883), containing 500 ruba'iyat.

N.—The text and prose translation published by J.B. Nicolas (Paris, Imprimerie Impériale, 1867), containing 464 ruba'iyat.

S.P.—The text lithographed at St. Petersburg, a.h. 1308 (a.d. 1888), containing 453 ruba'iyat. Almost identical with N.

B.—A collection of poems lithographed at Bombay, a.h. 1297 (a.d. 1880), containing 756 ruba'iyat of Omar. Almost identical with L.

B. ii.—The MS. in the Public Library at Bankipur, dated a.h. 961-2 (a.d. 1553-4), containing 604 ruba'iyat.

P.—The MS. in the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris. Supplément Persan, No. 823, ff. 92-113. Dated a.h. 934 (a.d. 1527), containing 349 ruba'iyat.

P. ii.—Seven ruba'iyat written upon blank pages of MS. of the Diwan of Emad. Dated a.h. 786 (a.d. 1384). Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris. Supplément Persan, No. 745. The handwriting is of the end of the 9th or beginning of the 10th century of the Hijrah.

43

P. iii.—Six ruba'iyat written in a handwriting of the 11th century of the Hijrah, on fol. 104 of a MS. collection of poems. Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris. Supplément Persan, No. 793.

P. iv.—The MS. in the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris. Supplément Persan, No. 826, ff. 391-394. Dated a.h. 937 (a.d. 1530), containing 76 ruba'iyat.

P. v.—The MS. in the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris. Ancien Fonds., No. 349, ff. 181-210. Dated a.h. 920 (a.d. 1514), containing 213 ruba'iyat.

T.—The MS. in the Library of the Nawab of Tonk. Apparently copied about a.d. 1840 principally from C., containing 369 ruba'iyat.

E.C.—The quatrains translated by Prof. E.B. Cowell in his article in the «Calcutta Review,» No. 59, March, 1858, p. 149.

De T.—The ten quatrains translated from the Ouseley MS. by Garcin de Tassy in his «Note sur les Ruba'iyat d'Omar Khaïyām.» (Paris, Imprimerie Impériale, 1857.)

V.—The metrical translation by John Payne, published by the Villon Society (London, 1898), containing 845 quatrains.

44

ANALYSIS OF
EDWARD FITZGERALD'S QUATRAINS

I.

This version of the opening quatrain is gradually evolved through the four editions. The quatrain, which, in the first edition runs:

is inspired by C. 134.

Ref.:[15]L. 235, B. 232, C. 134, P. 320, T. 138.—W. 233, V. 242.

45

It is not surprising that Mr. Aldis Wright, in his editorial note at the end of Messrs. Macmillan's definitive edition (London, 1890), states that «the first stanza is entirely his own,» for, in this precise form the ruba'i is only to be found in the Calcutta MS. and in a recently discovered MS. copied largely from it and belonging to the Nawab of Tonk. The matter rests upon the word «stone» in the second line. The word means «to fling a stone into a cup or pot,» which is the signal for «striking camp» among tribes of nomad Arabs. All the other texts I have seen read wine for stone which has made the translators (Whinfield and Payne) properly render the passage «pours wine into the cup.»

II.

The inspiration for this quatrain is to be found in C. 5:

Ref.: L. 1, B. 1, C. 5, B. ii. 1, T. 3.—W. 1, N. 1, V. 1.

In FitzGerald's quatrain there is traceable the influence of one of the odes of Hafiz, translated by Prof. Cowell (in «Fraser's Magazine,» September, 1854), which he greatly admired. The lines in question run:

The influence of these lines is carried on into the next quatrain.

III.

The inspiration for this quatrain is found in four ruba'iyat of the Calcutta MS., viz.: 641, 207 (ll. 3 and 4), 273, 247.

Ref.: L. 685, B. 676, C. 461, S.P. 448, B. ii. 599.—W. 483, N. 454, V. 737.

Ref.: L. 281, B. 277, C. 207.—V. 285.

47

Ref.: L. 431, B. 427, P. 289, C. 273, B. ii. 307, T. 173, P. v. 163.—N. 235,
V. 469.

Ref.: L. 402, B. 398, P. 224, S.P. 213, C. 247, B. ii. 282, P. iv. 21.—N. 214, V. 425.

IV.

This quatrain is translated from two ruba'iyat in the Ouseley MS., 13 and 80.

Ref.: P. 194, O. 13.—W. 116.

48

Ref.: O. 80, L. 272, B. 268, C. 204, S.P. 186, P. 157.—W. 201, N. 186, V. 276.

V.

This is a very composite quatrain, which cannot be claimed as a translation of all, or the main part of any, of the C. or O. quatrains. All the texts, as indeed all Persian poetry, are filled with references of which we find an echo here. In the authorities at our disposal, Jamshyd is referred to in C. 254. The Ruby in the Wine occurs in O. 39, 87, 149, and in C. 296, 304, 413, and 460. The Garden by the Water occurs in O. 151 (C. 415), and in C. 44 and 417. I have never found any reference to the Garden of Iram in quatrains attributed to Omar Khayyam.[23]

VI.

This quatrain (eliminating the reference to David[24]) is translated from O. 67.

49

Ref.: O. 67, L. 291, B. 287, S.P. 153, P. 230.—W. 174, N. 153, V. 294.

VII.

This is another composite quatrain, and the similarity of its sentiment to that of No. 94 (post) makes it somewhat difficult to allocate the parallels to it. The first two lines come from two quatrains in C. 431 and 460 (ll. 1 and 2).

Ref.: C. 431, L. 655, B. 647, B. ii. 510.—W. 425, V. 704.

Ref.: C. 460, L. 684, B. 675, B. ii. 540.—V. 736.

50

The image of the flight of time permeates the whole of the quatrains. The precise image that FitzGerald uses in ll. 3 and 4 I find in the 24th distich of the Mantik ut-tair of Ferid ud din Attar.

The bird of the sky flutters along its appointed path.

VIII.*[28]

This quatrain is taken mainly from O. 47 (C. 123). It does not occur in the first edition, and FitzGerald was evidently «reminded of it» by Nicolas, in whose reading of the text, alone, the town of Naishapur is mentioned instead of Balkh. Balkh and Babylon are constantly interchanged in Persian belles lettres.

Ref.: O. 47, L. 299, B. 226, C. 123, S.P. 105, P. 51, T. 99.—W. 134, N. 105, E.C. 2, V. 236.

If closer reference for line 3 be required, it may be found in N. 18, ll. 3 and 4.

51

Ref.: L. 35, B. 32, S.P. 18.—W. 21, N. 18, V. 33.

«The leaves of life» recur constantly either as leaves of a tree, or of a book. FitzGerald's inspiration comes from C. 377, ll. 1 and 2. (Vide also sub. No. 9.)

Ref.: C. 377, L. 574, B. 567, S.P. 265, B. ii. 353, T. 249.—W. 309, N. 266, V. 614.

IX.

This quatrain owes its origin to three separate ruba'iyat, viz.: O. 135 (ll. 3 and 4) C. 500 (ll. 1 and 2), C. 481 (ll. 3 and 4).

Ref.: O. 135, L. 671, B. 663, S.P. 366, B. ii. 483, T. 277.—W. 414, N. 370, V. 720.

Ref.: C. 500, L. 745, B. 731, P. 242, S.P. 397, B. ii. 531.—W. 444, N. 402, V. 797.

52

Ref.: C. 481, L. 712, B. 701, S.P. 449, P. 216, B. ii. 603.—W. 484, N. 455, V. 764.

X.

The first two lines of this quatrain echo two fragments from the MSS. O. 139 (ll. 3 and 4), and C. 57 (ll. 1 and 2).

Ref.: O. 136, L. 650, B. 642, S.P. 378, P. 246, B. ii. 511, P. v. 178.—N. 382, V. 609.

Ref.: C. 57, L. 122, B. 119, S.P. 61, P. 297.—W. 64, N. 61, V. 121.

53

The last two lines are translated from C. 503 (ll. 3 and 4).

Ref.: C. 503, L. 746, B. 732. S.P. 411, P. 150, B. ii. 552, P. iv. 23.—W. 455, N. 416, V. 798.

XI.

XII.

This pair of quatrains must be considered together. They owe their origin to O. 155 and O. 149.

Ref.: O. 155, C. 474, L. 697, B. 688, S.P. 442, P. 229, B. ii. 591. T. 292, P. iv. 24, P. v. 109.—W. 479, N. 448, V. 749.

Ref.: O. 149, S.P. 408.—W. 452, N. 413, E.C. 13.

54

XIII.

The original of this quatrain is found in O. 34.

Ref.: O. 34, C. 51, L. 95, B. 91, P. iii. 3, P. 323, P. v. 36.—W. 108, V. 95.

C. 156 is almost identical in sentiment:

Ref.: C. 156, L. 297, B. 293, S.P. 169, B. ii. 223, T. 141.—N. 169, V. 300.

C. 288 reproduces the same image, and we have a parallel for ll. 1 and 2 in ll. 1 and 2 of C. 225.

Ref.: C. 225, L. 279, B. 275, S.P. 167, T. 163.—W. 184, N. 167, V. 283.

55

O. 40 may also be cited for the closeness of its parallel both to this, and to the preceding quatrain:

Ref.: O. 40, L. 89, B. 85, C. 107, S.P. 92, T. 84, P. v. 176.—W. 94, N. 92, V. 89.

XIV.

This quatrain is translated from C. 383

Ref.: C. 383 only.

XV.

The inspiration for this quatrain comes from O. 68.

56

Ref.: O. 68, C. 151, L. 277, B. 273, S.P. 156, P. 336, P. v. 11.—W. 175, N. 156, E.C. 31, V. 281.

XVI.

The inspiration for this quatrain is to be found in C. 266.

Ref.: C. 266, L. 420, B. 416, P. 144, B. ii. 260, T. 168.—V 443.

XVII.

This quatrain owes its origin to C. 95.

57

Ref.: C. 95, L. 203, B. 200, S.P. 67, P. 120, B. ii. 42, T. 79 and 357.—W. 70, N. 67, V. 199.

XVIII.

The original of this quatrain is C. 99.

Ref.: C. 99, L. 210, B. 207, S.P. 69, P. 48 and 139, B. ii. 51, T. 82 and 294, P. iv. 12, P. v. 156.—W. 72, N. 69, V. 205.

XIX.

The original of this quatrain is found in O. 43.

58

Ref.: O. 43, C. 47, L. 110, B. 106, B. ii. 105, T. 304, P. v. 159.—W. 104, E.C. 4, V. 109.

XX.

The original of this quatrain was C. 44.

Ref.: C. 44, L. 62, B. 59, S.P. 59, P. 64, T. 349, P. iv. 20.—W. 62, N. 59, V. 61.

XXI.

This quatrain is translated from C. 348.

59

Ref.: C. 348, L. 546, B. 540, S.P. 268, P. 122, B. ii. 351, T. 233, P. v. 96.—W. 312, N. 269, V. 586.

XXII.

The inspiration for this quatrain is found in C. 185.

Ref.: C. 185, L. 381, B. 377, P. ii. 4, B. ii. 141.—W. 219, V. 379.

XXIII.

The main inspiration of this quatrain comes from C. 388.

60

Ref.: C. 388, L. 585, B. 578, S.P. 322, P. 159 and 178, B. ii. 430, T. 264, P. iv. 29 and 62.—W. 366, N. 325, V. 632.

Combined with the suggestion contained in this ruba'i, we find the echo of a sentiment that recurs continually in the originals, e.g., C. 82 (ll. 3 and 4) and O. 129 (ll. 3 and 4).

Ref.: C. 82, L. 191, B. 188, S.P. 70, P. 305, B. ii. 36, T. 63 and 351.—W. 73, N. 70, V. 187.

Ref.: O. 129, C. 416, L. 634, B. 626, S.P. 345, P. 47, B. ii. 464, P. v. 131—W. 390, N. 348, E.C. 3, V. 683.

XXIV.

The inspiration for this quatrain is found in the following (O. 76 and 35).

61

Ref.: O. 76, C. 173, L. 315, B. 311, P. 189, B. ii. 233, T. 121, P. v. 39.—de T. 9, V. 317.

Ref.: O. 35, C. 80, L. 188, B. 185, P. 284, T. 60.—W. 107, V. 184.

XXV.

The inspiration for this quatrain is in C. 396.

Ref.: C. 396, L. 591, B. 584, S.P. 324, P. iii. 6, P. 65.—W. 376, N. 337, V. 638.

XXVI.

This quatrain is taken from O. 140 and C. 236.

62

Ref.: O. 140, C. 453, L. 687, B. 678, S.P. 380, P. 260, B. ii. 525, T. 279, P. v. 22.—W 428, N. 384, V. 739.

Ref.: C. 236, L. 326, B. 322, S.P. 120, T. 155, W. 147, N. 120, V. 328.

XXVII.

XXVIII.

These two quatrains must be considered together. They are inspired by O. 121, C. 281, and O. 72.

Ref.: O. 121, L. 544, B. 538, B. ii. 420, P. v. 99.—W 353, V. 584.

63

Ref.: C. 281, L. 429, B. 425, S.P. 224, P. 30, B. ii. 295, T. 184.—W. 264, N. 225, V. 467.

A quatrain that probably contributed to FitzGerald's verse is:

Ref.: O. 72, C. 176, L. 357, B. 353, S.P. 175, B. ii. 211, P. v. 210—W. 190, N. 175, V. 356.

XXIX.

The inspiration for this quatrain is to be found in the following: C. 235 and O. 20 (ll. 1 and 2).

Ref.: C. 235, L. 324, B. 320, S.P. 117, T. 153.—W. 145, N. 117, V. 326.

64

Ref.: O. 20, C. 23 and 55, L. 84, B. 80, S.P. 22, P. ii. 2, P. 162, B. ii. 24 and 88, T. 22 and 305, P. v. 140 and 186, W. 26, N. 22 and 42, V. 83.

XXX.

This quatrain owes its origin to two ruba'iyat in O., viz., 21 and 151.

Ref.: O. 21, C. 49, L. 94, B. 90, B. ii. 86, P. v. 123.—W. 110, V. 94.

Ref.: O. 157, C. 494, L. 732, B. 720, P. 88, B. ii. 590 and 593, P. iv. 17, P. v. 130.—W. 490, E.C. 30, N. 450, V. 785.

65

XXXI.

This quatrain is translated from C. 314.

Ref.: C. 314, L. 491, B. 487, B. ii. 338, T. 215.—W. 303, V. 531.

XXXII.

The main inspiration of this quatrain is found in C. 387.

Ref.: C. 387, L. 581, B. 574, P. 33, B. ii. 421, T. 260.—W. 389, V. 628.

We also see in the quatrain the influence of O. 29 and C. 193, ll. 1 and 2.

66

Ref.: O. 29, C. 56, L. 61, B. 58, S.P. 43, P. 63, B. ii. 103, P. v. 188.—W. 47, N. 44, V. 60.

Ref.: C. 193, L. 345, B. 341, S.P. 177, B. ii. 212.—W 192, N. 177, V. 346.

XXXIII.*

This is the quatrain (not No. 31 as stated by Mr. Aldis Wright in his Editorial Note) taken by Edward FitzGerald from the Mantik ut-tair of Ferid ud din Attar. The story which inspired it begins at distich No. 972, and is as follows:

67

XXXIV.

That Edward FitzGerald was not following any particular ruba'iyat of the original MSS. is clearly indicated by the great variation observable in the forms that this quatrain successively assumed in the first, second and third editions. It suggests an exposition of the Sufi doctrine of the emanation of the mortal Creature from God the Creator, and his reabsorption into God. There is a quatrain in L. (No. 641) and in B. ii. (No. 457) which is akin to it, but FitzGerald was not acquainted with these texts. (It is No. 400 in W.) I have no doubt that FitzGerald's 34th quatrain was suggested to him by two intricate passages in the Mantik ut-tair, commencing respectively at distich 3090 and distich 3735. The first of these may be translated:

«The Creator of the World spoke thus to David from behind the Curtain of the Secret: ‹For everything in the world, good or bad, visible or invisible, thou canst find a substitute, but for Me, thou canst find neither substitute nor equal. Since nothing can be substituted for Me, do not cease to abide in Me. I am thy Soul, destroy not thou thy Soul, I am necessary to thee, O thou my servant. Seek not to exist apart from Me.›»

The second passage reads: «Since long ago, really, I am thee, and thou art Me, we two are but One. Art thou Me, or am I thee? is there any duality in the matter? Either I am thee, or thou art Me, or thou, thou art thyself. Since thou art Me and I am thee for ever, our two bodies are One: Salutation!»

68

XXXV.

This quatrain is translated from O. 100:

Ref.: O. 100, C. 283, L. 446, B. 442, P. 99, B. ii. 303, T. 185, P. v. 193.—W. 274, E.C. 25, V. 482.

C. 489 is a mystic and doctrinal quatrain containing the same injunction.

Ref.: C. 489, L. 723, B. 712, S.P. 385, B. ii. 526, P. iv. 67, P. v. 104—W. 431, N. 389, V. 775.

XXXVI.

The inspiration for this quatrain occurs in O. 9.

Ref.: O. 9, C. 48 and 426, L. 81, B. 77, S.P. 28, P. 108, B. ii. 28, P. v. 142.—W. 32, N. 28, E.C. 5, V. 80.

69

XXXVII.

The original of this quatrain is O. 89.

Ref.: O. 89, C. 261, L. 411, B. 407, S.P. 210, P. 100, B. ii. 274, P. iv. 71, P. v. 198.—W. 252, N. 211, V. 434.

XXXVIII.*

This quatrain, which is in the nature of a reflection upon the three preceding ones, conveys an idea which is constantly recurrent in the ruba'iyat. Edward FitzGerald himself records, in a note, that, in composing this quatrain, he had in mind a very beautiful story in the Mantik ut-tair of the water of a certain well which, ordinarily sweet, became bitter when drawn in a vessel made from clay which once had been a man. For its inclusion in this poem FitzGerald had the support of two (among many) quatrains from C. 475 and 488.

Ref.: C. 475, L. 698, B. 689, S.P. 426, P. 103, B. ii. 576.—W. 466, N. 431, V. 750.

70

Ref.: C. 488, L. 721, B. 710, P. 101, B. ii. 543.—W 493, V. 773.

XXXIX.*

This quatrain is taken from ll. 1 and 2 of O. 81

Ref.: O. 81, C. 180, L. 367, B. 363, S.P. 188, P. 231, B. ii. 241, P. v. 187.—W. 203, N. 188, V. 366.

XL.*

The original of this quatrain is C. 37.

Ref.: C. 37, L. 136, B. 133, S.P. 39, B. ii. 84, T. 40 and 311.—W 44, N. 40, V. 135.

71

XLI.*

The sentiment of this quatrain is very recurrent. I think that FitzGerald's first inspiration comes from O. 73.

Ref.: O. 73, C. 179, L. 256, B. 253, S.P. 176.—W. 191, N. 176, V. 262.

Ll. 3 and 4 of O. 118 suggest the quatrain also.

Ref.: O. 118, L. 571, B. 564, S.P. 293, B. ii. 391.—W. 332, N. 294, V. 611.

Ll. 1 and 2 of O. 131 are also in point:

Ref.: O. 131, C. 443, L. 670, B. 662, S.P. 356, P. 296, B. ii. 480, T. 276, P. v. 158.—W. 426, N. 359, V. 719.

FitzGerald was probably «reminded of» these by Nicolas whose quatrains 48, 155, and 359 (C. 443) convey the same idea.

72

XLII.

The inspiration for this quatrain is contained in the following, O. 102 and C. 412.

Ref.: O. 102, C. 291, L. 454, B. 450, S.P. 241, P. 202, B. ii. 322, T. 192 and 296, P. iv. 26, P. v. 5.—W. 282, N. 242, V. 493.

Ref.: C. 412, L. 619, B. 611, P. 116, B. ii. 444, P. v. 121.—V. 666.

XLIII.

This quatrain owes its origin to C. 256.[53]

73

Ref.: C. 256, L. 408, B. 404, B. ii. 273.—W. 254, V. 431.

XLIV.

This quatrain is translated from O. 145.

Ref.: O. 145, C. 447, L. 707, B. 697, S.P. 389, P. 111, B. ii. 523.—W. 436, N. 394, E.C. 7, V. 759.

XLV.

This quatrain is translated from C. no. 110.

74

Ref.: C. 110, L. 100, B. 96, S.P. 80, B. ii. 95, T. 86, P. v. 172.—W. 82, N. 80, V. 100.

XLVI.*

FitzGerald was indebted for this quatrain to N. 137. The original ruba'i is not in O. or C.

Ref.: N. 137,[56] W. 161, V. 397.

XLVII.*

In this quatrain FitzGerald is «reminded of» O. 26 and 51 by N. 123.

75

Ref.: O. 26, C. 83, L. 192, B. 189, S.P. 85, B. ii. 110, T. 64, P. v. J 34.—W. 87, N. 85, V. 188.

Ref.: O. 51, C. 129, L. 232, B. 229, S.P. 157, P. 55, B. ii. 158, T. 104.—W. 176, N. 157, E.C. 17, V. 239.

Ref.: N. 123, W. 150, V. 395.

XLVIII.

We must consider here the form in which this quatrain first made its appearance in the edition of 1859:

The inspiration for this richly varied quatrain comes from O. 60.

76

Ref.: O. 60, C. 135, L. 245, B. 242, P. 223, S.P. 106, B. ii. 146, T. 139.—W. 136, N. 106, V. 251.

Ll. 3 and 4 of C. 368 may also be quoted:

Ref.: C. 368, L. 566, B. 559, S.P. 301, B. ii. 404, T. 242.—W. 338, N. 302, V. 606.

XLIX.*

L.*

This pair of quatrains must also be considered together. The idea contained in them is, I think, collected from C. 482 and 19, and from O. 28.

Ref.: C. 482, L. 714, B. 703, S.P. 414, B. ii. 560.—W. 458, N. 419, V. 766.

77

Ref.: C. 19, L. 131, B. 127, S.P. 20, B. ii. 22, T. 20.—W. 24, N. 20, V. 130.

Ref.: O. 28.—W. 109.

LI.*

In this quatrain FitzGerald has made a masterly conversion of C. 72.

Ref.: C. 72, L. 179, B. 176, S.P. 73, B. ii. 31, T. 51.—W. 75, N. 73, V. 175.

C. 40 may also be cited.

78

Ref.: C. 40, L. 63, B. 60, S.P. 54, T. 45.—W. 57, N. 54, V. 62.

«From Mah to Mahi»—i.e., from Moon to Fish is a common Oriental metaphor for universality. See FitzGerald's note on this subject, and the Terminal Essay to my former volume, p. 309.

LII.*

This quatrain is translated from C. 479.

Ref.: C. 479, L. 705, B. 695, S.P. 437.—W. 475, N. 443, V. 757.

LIII.*

The original of this quatrain is C. 24.

79

Ref.: C. 24, L. 78, B. 74, S.P. 49, P. 85, B. ii. 106, T. 25.—W. 52, N. 49. V. 77.

LIV.

The inspiration for this quatrain comes from O. 50 and O. 107:

Ref.: O. 50, L. 262, T. 102, P. v. 164.—W. 216, V. 267.

Ref.: O. 107, C. 312, L. 489, B. 485, B. ii. 341, T. 213, P. v. 207.—W. 304, V. 259.

80

LV.

This quatrain is translated from C. 175.

Ref.: C. 175, L. 267, B. 263, P. 288, P. v. 209.—V. 271.

LVI.

This quatrain is translated from O. 120:

Ref.: O. 120, L. 523, B. 518, S.P. 299, P. 265, B. ii. 409, P. v. 38.—W. 336, N. 300, V. 563.

81

LVII.*

This quatrain owes its inspiration to C. 381 and O. 20, ll. 3 and 4:

Ref.: C. 381, L. 580, B. 573, B. ii. 383, T. 259.—W. 350, V. 619.

Ref.: O. 20, C. 23 and 55, L. 84, S.P. 22, B. 80, P. 162, B. ii. 24 and 88, P. ii. 2, T. 22 and 305, P. v. 140 and 186.—W. 26, N. 22 and 42, V. 83.

LVIII.

This quatrain is a refined version of C. 297.

82

Ref.: C. 297, L. 462, B. 458, S.P. 243, P. 278, T. 197.—W. 284, N. 244, V. 501.

LIX.

This quatrain is translated from O. 77.

Ref.: O. 77, C. 165, L. 305, B. 301, S.P. 179, P. 283, T. 112, P. v. 152.—W. 194, V. 308.

LX.

This reference to Mahmoud the Ghasnavide, who made war upon the black infidels of Hindostan, comes from an apologue in the Mantik ut-tair of Ferid ud din Attar, (beginning at distich 3117). The last two lines come from O. 81, ll. 3 and 4.

83

Ref.: O. 81, C. 180, L. 367, B. 363, S.P. 188, P. 231, B. ii. 241, P. v. 187.—W. 203, N. 188, V. 366.

LXI.*

The inspiration for this quatrain is contained in O. 75.

Ref.: O. 75, C. 202, L. 356, B. 352, S.P. 182, P. 324, B. ii. 234, T. 129, P. v. 181.—W. 197, N. 182, V. 355.

LXII.*

This quatrain is taken from C. 505 and O. 143, ll. 3 and 4.

Ref.: C. 505, L. 748, B. 734, P. 250, B. ii. 587.—V. 800.

84

Ref.: O. 143, C. 495. L. 733, B. 721, S.P. 379, P. 209, B. ii. 529, P. v. 129.—W. 427, N. 383, V. 786.

LXIII.

The inspiration for this quatrain comes from O. 35 of which ll. 1 and 2 are quoted as parallel to quatrain No. 24 ante.

Ref.: O. 35, C. 80, L. 188, B. 185, P. 284, T. 60.—W. 107, V. 184.

LXIV.*

This is a constantly recurring image in the ruba'iyat. C. 36 and 270 may be cited:

Ref.: C. 36, L. 57, B. 54. T. 39.—W. 129, V. 56.

85

Ref.: C. 270, L. 424, B. 420, S.P. 216, P. 121, B. ii. 286, P. v. 9.—W. 258, N. 217, V. 462.

C. 211 and 277 contain the same image.

LXV.*

This quatrain is translated from C. 127.

Ref.: C. 127, L. 261, B. 258, P. 86, T. 101.—W. 209, N. 464, V. 266.

LXVI.*

This quatrain is inspired by O. 15.

86

Ref.: O. 15, L. 59, B. 56, P. 114, B. ii. 69, P. v. 79—W. 114, V. 58.

LXVII.*

The inspiration for this verse comes from O. 33.

Ref.: O. 33, C. 90, L. 199, B. 196, S.P. 90, P. 148, T. 70, P. v. 183.—W. 92, N. 90, V. 195.

FitzGerald's verse was evidently also influenced by distich 1866 of the Mantik ut-tair.

87

LXVIII.

This quatrain is translated from O. 108.

Ref.: O. 108, C. 332, L. 505, B. 501, S.P. 266, P. 40, B. ii. 356, P. iv. 34.—W. 310, N. 267, E.C. 28, de T. 10, V. 545.

LXIX.

This quatrain is translated from O. 94.

Ref.: O. 94, C. 280, L. 443, B. 439, S.P. 230, P. 31, B. ii. 291, T. 183, P. v. 10.—W. 270, N. 231, E.C. 27, V. 480.

88

LXX.

This quatrain is translated from C. 422.

Ref.: C. 422, L. 633, B. 625, P. 167, B. ii. 462, T. 274.—W. 401, V. 682.

LXXI.

The origin of this quatrain is to be found in O. 31

Ref.: O. 31, C. 87, L. 195, B. 192, S.P. 31, B. ii. 60, T. 67, P. v. 211.—W. 35, N. 31, V. 191.

89

LXXII.

The inspiration for this quatrain comes from O. 134, ll. 1 and 2, and O. 41.

Ref.: O. 134, C. 435, L. 657, B. 649, S.P. 360, P. 34, B. ii. 481, P. v. 154.—W. 408, N. 363, V. 706.

Ref.: O. 41, C. 62, L. 80, B. 76, S.P. 95, P. 45.—W. 96, N. 95, V. 79.

LXXIII.

In this quatrain we trace the influence of O. 31 (quoted in the parallel to quatrain No. 71, ante) and of O. 95.

90

Ref.: O. 95, L. 430, B. 426, S.P. 215, P. 59, B. ii. 292.—W. 257, N. 216, E.C. 15, V. 468.

LXXIV.*

The first half of this quatrain comes from O. 152 and the second half from O. 26, ll. 3 and 4.

Ref.: O. 152, C. 473, L. 702, B. ii. 564, P. v. 196.—W. 489, V. 754.

Ref.: O. 26, C. 83, L. 192, B. 189, S.P. 85, B. ii. 110, T. 64, P. v. 34.—W 87, N. 85, V. 188.

91

LXXV.

This quatrain is translated from C. 147.

Ref.: C. 147, L. 286, B. 282, S.P. 110.—W. 140, N. 110, V. 289.

LXXVI.

The sentiment of this quatrain is contained in C. 143.

Ref.: C. 143, L. 311, B. 307, P. 81, T. 134.—V. 314.

92

LXXVII.

This quatrain is translated from O. 2.

Ref.: O. 2, C. 272, L. 427, B. 423, S.P. 221, P. 7, B. ii. 294, T. 172.—W. 262, N. 222, V. 465.

LXXVIII.*

It is not easy to deal with this and the three following quatrains separately, the sentiments of all four being closely interchangeable and largely identical. To avoid confusion, however, I have attempted the task. There are some scores of ruba'iyat that may be said to have contributed their imageries to the quatrain. The main sources of the first of them seem to be C. 85 and N. 226:

Ref.: C. 85, L. 194, B. 191, S.P. 99, P. 18, T. 66.—W. 100, N. 99, V. 190.

93

Ref.: N. 226, L. 442, B. 438, S.P. 225, P. 317, B. ii. 297, T. 180.—W. 265, V. 479.

LXXIX.*

This quatrain would seem to be specially inspired by C. 201 and 433, which are so much alike (ll. 2, 3, and 4 are practically identical in both) that one or the other is obviously the addition of a later scribe.

Ref.: C. 201, L. 355, B. 351, T. 128.—W. 221, V. 354.

LXXX.

94

This quatrain is translated from O. 148.

Ref.: O. 148, B. ii. 546.—W. 432, N. 390.

LXXXI.

       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

This is a very composite quatrain, round which some controversy has raged. Professor Cowell has given the weight of his authority to the statement that «there is no original for the line about the snake.» This is true in so far as that the image does not occur in Omar, but FitzGerald had seen it in an important apologue in the Mantik ut-tair (beginning at distich 3229) in which we read of the presence of the Snake (Iblis) in Paradise, at the moment of the creation of Adam, and in the course of which, Satan himself addresses God thus:

The influence of the following is traceable in the quatrains, C. 115, C. 286, and C. 510:

95

Ref.: C. 115, L. 217, B. 214, S.P. 91, P. 23.—W. 93, N. 91, V. 211.

Ref.: C. 286, L. 449, B. 445, S.P. 235, B. ii. 308, T. 188.—W. 276, N. 236, V. 488.

Professor Cowell attributes FitzGerald's quatrain to the above ruba'i. Vide the Editorial Note previously referred to.

Ref.: C. 510, L. 700, B. 691, S.P. 431, P. 2, B. ii. 584.—W. 471, N. 436, V. 753.

LXXXII.[82]

96

LXXXIII.*

LXXXVII (post).

FitzGerald constructed these three quatrains from O. 103.

Ref.: O. 103, C. 301, L. 470, B. 466, S.P. 242, P. 102, B. ii. 323, T. 202 and 297, P. v. 37.—W. 283, N. 243, E.C. 26, V. 509.

It will be observed that the reading of quatrain 87, l. 4, in the third edition of FitzGerald is close to this original. «Who makes—Who buys—Who sells—Who is the Pot?»

«Hunger stricken Ramazan» is described in C. 198.

Ref.: C. 198, L. 352, B. 348, S.P. 172, P. 347, B. ii. 216, T. 125.—W. 188, N. 172, V. 351. See also the quatrain from the «Notes,» p. 155.

97

LXXXIV.

The sentiment of this quatrain is traceable in C. 293.

Ref.: C. 293, L. 456, B. 452, B. ii. 321, T. 194.—W. 290, V. 495.

LXXXV.

The inspiration for this quatrain comes from O. 19.

Ref.: O. 19, C. 64, L. 40, S.P. 37, P. ii. 7, P. 95, B. ii. 77, T. 309.—W. 42, N. 38, V. 220.

LXXXVI.

98

This quatrain is a perfect reflection and companion of all these Kuza Nama quatrains, but I have not found a ruba'i in O. or C. which can be pointed out as having directly inspired[85] it. It must, I think, be considered together with No. 88.

LXXXVII.

LXXXVII. Ante sub LXXXIII.

LXXXVIII.

The inspiration for this quatrain, and I think for No. 86, comes from C. 69 and C. 159:

Ref.: C. 69, L. 103, B. 99, P. 94, B. ii. 107.—W. 126, V. 103.

99

Ref.: C. 159, L. 316, B. 312, S.P. 178, P. 197.—W. 193, N. 178, V. 318.

LXXXIX.

This quatrain is inspired by C. 188 and O. 116:

Ref.: C. 188, S.P. 115.—N. 115.

Ref.: O. 116, C. 345, L. 539, B. 534, S.P. 289, P. 227, B. ii. 385, T. 230, P. v. 146.—W. 330, N. 290, V. 579.

100

XC.

       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

This quatrain which concludes the Kuza Nama is inspired by the concluding quatrain of O. 158.

Ref.: O. 158.—W. 218.

XCI.

This quatrain owes its inspiration to C. 12.

Ref.: C. 12, L. 13, B. 12, S.P. 7, P. 299, B. ii. 9, T. 12.—W 6, N. 7, V. 11

THE APPROACH TO NAISHAPUR
From a painting by I.R. Herbert

O. 69 may also be quoted:

Ref.: O. 69, C. 158, L. 308, B. 304, S.P. 109, P. 212, B. ii. 199, T. 143, P. v. 153.—W. 139, N. 109, V. 311.

XCII.

This quatrain is translated from C. 16.

Ref.: C. 16, L. 28, B. 26, S.P. 14, B. ii. 11.—W. 17, N. 14, V. 27.

XCIII.

The inspiration for this quatrain comes from C. 170.

102

Ref.: C. 170, L. 366, B. 362, S.P. 162, P. 343, B. ii. 207, T. 118.—W. 180, N. 162, V. 365.

The last line is suggested by O. 22.

XCIV.

This quatrain is inspired by C. 431.

Ref.: C. 431, L. 655, B. 647 B. ii. 510.—W. 425, V. 704.

XCV.

103

The original of this quatrain is O. 62.

Ref.: O. 62, C. 196, L. 350, B. 346, P. 311, B. ii. 167, T. 123, P. iv. 63, P. v. 202.—W. 208, N. 463, E.C. 11, V. 350.

XCVI.

This quatrain is translated from C. 223.

Ref.: C. 223, L. 332, B. 328, S.P. 128, B. ii. 155, T. 161.—W. 155, N. 128, V. 334.

XCVII.*

This quatrain is inspired by C. 509.

104

Ref.: C. 509, L. 768, B. 754, S.P. 395, B. ii. 522.—W. 442, N. 400, V. 820.

XCVIII.*

This quatrain in its original form in the second edition was closer to the original Persian.

It owes its inspiration to N 457.

Ref.: N. 457, S.P. 451.—W. 486, V. 841.

105

XCIX.

       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

This quatrain is translated from C. 395.

Ref.: C. 395, L. 594, B. 587, S.P. 337, P. 98, B. ii, 450, T. 268.—W. 379, N. 340, V. 641.

C.

This quatrain in its various forms is inspired by O. 5.

Ref.: O. 5, C. 7, L. 5, S.P. 8, P. 219, B. 4, B. ii. 8, T. 6, P. v. 168.—W. 7, N. 8, E.C. 5, V. 4.

106

CI.

This quatrain is taken from O. 83 and 84.

Ref.: O. 83.—W. 234, V. 459.

Ref.: O. 84, L. 290, B. 286, S.P. 191, P. 226, B. ii. 245.—W. 205, N. 192, V. 293.

107

APPENDIX.

In addition to the quatrains composing the final form in which we know his poem, there are a few stray quatrains scattered about Edward FitzGerald's Introduction and Notes. There are also two quatrains which appeared in the first edition only, and nine that appeared in the second edition only. I do not think that this work would be complete without an attempt to identify these quatrains in the original texts which inspired them.

IN THE INTRODUCTION.[95]

Page 4.

The quatrain upon p. 4 is a literal translation by Prof. Cowell of O. 22.

Ref.: O. 22, C. 59, L. 74, B. 70, S.P. 81, P. 205, B. ii. 94, T. 307, P. iv. 65, P. v. 195.—W. 83, N. 81, V. 73.

Page 7.

The quatrain upon p. 7 is FitzGerald's rendering of C. I.

108

Ref.: C. 1, L. 769, B. 755, S.P. 453, P. ii. 1, B. ii. 537, T. 1.—W. 488, N. 459, V. 821.

Page 7.

The quatrain on p. 7 is FitzGerald's rendering of O. 1.

Ref.: O. 1, C. 274, L. 423, B. 419, P. 4, S.P. 228, B. ii. 302, P. iv. 8.—W. 268, N. 229, V. 461.

109

IN THE NOTES.

XVIII.

The quatrain in the note to quatrain No. 18 is translated from C. 419.

Ref.: C. 419, L. 627, B. 619, S.P. 347, P. 140, B. ii. 459, P. iv. 13.—W. 392, N. 350, V. 677.

XC.

The quatrain in the note to quatrain No. 90 is translated from C. 218.

Ref.: C. 218, B. ii. 186.

110

IN THE FIRST EDITION.

XXXIII.

XLV.

XXXVII.

In the first edition we find quatrain No. 33, which, like its distant cousin in the fourth edition (No. 34), appears to have no near parallel in the texts. No. 45 is a quatrain in a like predicament, and it may be for this reason that FitzGerald dropped it out of all subsequent editions.

The only other quatrain peculiar to the first edition is No. 37. This would appear to have been inspired by ll. 3 and 4 of O. 20, quoted in the parallels to quatrain No. 57 and by O. 17, ll. 3 and 4.

Ref.: O. 17, C. 84, L. 193, B. 190, P. 126, B. ii. 59, T. 65 and 352, P. iv. 68, P. v. 62.—W 112, E.C. 6, V. 189.

111

IN THE SECOND EDITION.

The quatrains peculiar to the second edition are as follows:

XIV.

This quatrain is inspired by O. 136.

Ref.: O. 136, C. 504 and 427, L. 740, B. 726, S.P. 362, P. 207, B. ii. 484, P. v. 64.—W. 411, N. 366, V. 730.

XXVIII.

This was replaced by No. 63 in the fourth and fifth editions, taken from the same original.

XLIV.

The sentiment of this quatrain is traceable in C. 189, ll. 1 and 2, and in C. 195.

112

Ref.: C. 189, L. 393, B. 389, S.P. 160, B. ii. 203.—N. 160, V. 390.

Ref.: C. 195, L. 349, B. 345, S.P. 163, P. 287, B. ii. 206, T. 122.—W. 181, N. 163, V. 349.

LXV.

This quatrain is inspired by O. 127 and by C. 60.

Ref.: O. 127, L. 608, B. 601, S.P. 339, P. 330, B. ii. 453, P. v. 151.—W. 381, N. 342, V. 655.

FitzGerald was evidently «reminded of» this by N. 64 which is C. 60.

Ref.: C. 60, L. 158, B. 155, S.P. 64, T. 308, P. v. 29.—W. 67, N 64, V. 156.

113

LXXVII.

For this quatrain I can find neither authority nor inspiration.

LXXXVI.

I think the inspiration for this must have been C. 8.

Ref.: C. 8, L. 3, B. ii. 15, T. 9.—V. 416.

XC.

This was a fourth quatrain evolved out of O. 103. Vide quatrains Nos. 82, 83, and 87 ante.

114

XCIX.

This quatrain, interpolated after No. 91 of the fourth edition (= No. 98 of the second edition), is an elaboration founded upon the story told by Nizam ul-Mulk and recorded by FitzGerald in his Introduction.

CVII.

This quatrain, interpolated after the quatrain which became No. XCVIII. in the fourth edition, was no doubt inspired by N. 457 (q.v. sub No. 98 ante) and by O. 54.

Ref.: O. 54, B. ii. 144.

115

VARIATIONS
BETWEEN THE SECOND, THIRD AND FOURTH EDITIONS OF FITZGERALD'S TRANSLATION OF
OMAR KHAYYAM

STANZA

I. In ed. 2:

In the first draft of ed. 3 the first and second lines stood thus

II. In ed. 2:

V. In edd. 2 and 3:

IX. In edd. 2 and 3:

X. In ed. 2:

In ed. 3:

STANZA

XII. In ed. 2:

XIII. In ed. 2:

XX. In ed. 2:

XXII. In edd. 2 and 3:

XXVI. In edd. 2 and 3.

XXVII. In ed. 2:

XXVIII. In edd. 2 and 3.

XXX. In ed. 2.

XXXI. In ed. 2:

XXXII. In edd. 2 and 3:

XXXIII. In ed. 2:

XXXIV. In ed. 2:

XXXV. In ed. 2:

STANZA

XXXVI. In ed. 2:

XXXVIII. In ed. 2 the only difference is «For» instead of «And» in the first line; but in the first draft of ed. 3 the stanza appeared thus:

In ed. 3 the first line was altered to—

XXXIX. In ed. 2:

XL. In ed. 2:

In the first draft of ed. 3 the stanza is the same as in edd. 3 and 4, except that the second line is—

XLI. In ed. 2 and the first draft of ed. 3:

XLII. In ed. 2:

The first draft of ed. 3 agrees with edd. 3 and 4, except that the first line is—

STANZA

XLIII. In ed. 2:

In the first draft of ed. 3 the only change made was from «proffering» to «offering,» but in ed. 3 the stanza assumed the form in which it also appeared in ed. 4. The change from «the Angel» to «that Angel» was made in MS. by FitzGerald in a copy of ed. 4.

XLIV. In ed. 2:

XLV. In ed. 2:

XLVI. In ed. 2:

XLVII. In ed. 2:

In ed. 3:

XLVIII. In ed. 2:

In the first draft of ed. 3 the third line originally stood:

the rest of the stanza being as in edd. 3 and 4.

119

STANZA

XLIX. In ed. 2:

The change from «does» to «may» in the last line was made by FitzGerald in MS.

L. In ed. 2:

LII. In edd. 2 and 3:

LIII. In the first draft of ed. 3:

LIV. In ed. 2:

LV. In ed. 2:

LVII. In ed. 2:

LXII. In ed. 2

LXIII. In ed. 2:

LXV. In edd. 2 and 3:

LXVI. In ed. 2:

LXVII. In ed. 2:

LXVIII. In ed. 2:

LXIX. In ed. 2:

LXX. In ed. 2:

STANZA

LXXII. In ed. 2 and the first draft of ed. 3:

In edd. 2 and 3:

LXXIX. In ed. 2:

LXXXI. In ed. 2:

LXXXIII. In ed. 2:

LXXXIV. In ed. 2:

LXXXV. In ed. 2

LXXXVI. In ed. 2:

LXXXVII. In ed. 2:

STANZA

LXXXVIII. In ed. 2:

In the first draft of ed. 3. the stanza begins:

LXXXIX. In ed. 2:

XC. In ed. 2:

XCI. In ed. 2:

XCIII. In ed. 2:

XCV. In ed. 2:

XCVII. In ed. 2:

XCVIII. In ed. 2:

XCIX. In ed. 2:

C. In ed. 2:

STANZA

CI. In ed. 2:

In the first draft of ed. 3 «Foot» is changed to «step.»

In ed. 3:

STANZAS WHICH APPEAR IN THE SECOND EDITION ONLY

XIV. Were it not Folly, Spider-like to spin
The Thread of present Life away to win—
What? for ourselves, who know not if we shall
Breathe out the very Breath we now breathe in!

XX. (This stanza is quoted in the note to stanza XVIII.
in the third and fourth editions.)

XXVIII. Another Voice, when I am sleeping, cries,
«The Flower should open with the Morning skies.»
And a retreating Whisper, as I wake—
«The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.»

XLIV. Do you, within your little hour of Grace,
The waving Cypress in your Arms enlace,
Before the Mother back into her arms
Fold, and dissolve you in a last embrace.

LXV. If but the Vine and Love-abjuring Band
Are in the Prophet's Paradise to stand,
Alack, I doubt the Prophet's Paradise
Were empty as the hollow of one's Hand.

LXXVII. For let Philosopher and Doctor preach
Of what they will, and what they will not—each
Is but one Link in an eternal Chain
123That none can slip, or break, or over-reach.

LXXXVI. Nay, but, for terror of his wrathful Face,
I swear I will not call Injustice Grace,
Not one Good Fellow of the Tavern but
Would kick so poor a Coward from the place.

XC. And once again there gather'd a scarce heard
Whisper among them; as it were, the stirr'd
Ashes of some all but extinguisht Tongue,
Which mine ear kindled into living Word.

(In the third and fourth editions stanza LXXXIII. takes the place of this.)

XCIX. Whither resorting from the vernal Heat
Shall Old Acquaintance Old Acquaintance greet,
Under the Branch that leans above the Wall
To shed his Blossom over head and feet.

(This was retained in the first draft of ed. 3.)

CVII. Better, oh better, cancel from the Scroll
Of Universe one luckless Human Soul,
Than drop by drop enlarge the Flood that rolls
Hoarser with Anguish as the Ages Roll.

124

QUATRAINS OF OMAR KHAYYAM

COMPARATIVE TABLE OF STANZAS IN THE
FOUR[100] EDITIONS OF FITZGERALD

NOTE

It must be admitted that FitzGerald took great liberties with the original in his version of Omar Khayyam. The first stanza is entirely his own, and in stanza XXXI. of the fourth edition (XXXVI. in the second) he has introduced two lines from Attar. (See «Letters,» p. 251.) In stanza LXXXI. (fourth edition), writes Professor Cowell, «There is no original for the line about the snake: I have looked for it in vain in Nicolas; but I have always supposed that the last line is FitzGerald's mistaken version of Quatr. 236 in Nicolas's ed. which runs thus:

«FitzGerald mistook the meaning of giving and accepting as used here, and so invented his last line out of his own mistake. I wrote to him about it when I was in Calcutta; but he never cared to alter it.»

129

THE
QUATRAINS OF OMAR KHAYYAM
TRANSLATED BY
E.H. WHINFIELD, M.A.

131

INTRODUCTION

Omar is a poet who can hardly be translated satisfactorily otherwise than in verse. Prose does well enough for narrative or didactic poetry, where the main things to be reproduced are the matter and substance, but it is plainly contra-indicated in the case of poetry like Omar's, where the matter is little else than «the commonplaces of the lyric ode and the tragic chorus,» and where nearly the whole charm consists in the style and the manner, the grace of the expression and the melody of the versification. A literal prose version of such poetry must needs be unsatisfactory, because it studiously ignores the chief points in which the attractiveness of the original consists, and deliberately renounces all attempt to reproduce them.

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 not132 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 a133 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,134 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. » No135 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.

136

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 of137 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 his138 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

139

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.

141

QUATRAINS OF OMAR KHAYYAM

1.

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

2.

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.

3. N.

142

4.

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

5.

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.

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

7.

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

143

8.

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

9.

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

10.

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

11.

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

144

12.

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

13.

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.

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

15.

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

145

16.

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.

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

18.

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

19.

19. L. N.

146

20.

20. L. N.

21.

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

22.

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

23.

23. L. Meaning, «Après nous le déluge».

147

24.

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

25.

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.

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

27.

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

148

28.

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

29.

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

30.

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

31.

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

149

32.

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

33.

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

34.

34. Bl. C. L. N. A. I. J. Meaning, forms of faith are indifferent.

35.

35. C. L. N. A. B. I. J. Meaning, fate is heartless and resistless.

150

36.

36. Bl. C. L. N. A. I. J. Hale, a state of ecstasy.

37.

37. Bl. L. N. Meaning, Mullahs' fables will not go down with us.

38.

38. L. N. Meaning, weakness of human rule compared to the strength of Divine decrees.

39.

39. L. N. These gnomical epigrams are not common in Khayyam.

151

40.

40. C. L. N. A. I. J. Jigar, the liver, was considered to be the seat of love.

41.

41. C. N. I. Masti o: scan mastiyo. The Epicurean golden mean. See Ecclesiastes, vii, 16, 17.

42.

42. C. N. A. B. I. J. Pryalae, a cup. So Job, «Thy hands have made me, yet thou dost destroy me.»

43.

43. L. N. Meaning, the Sufi doctrine of Baka ba'd ul fana. See Gulshan i Raz, p. 31.152

44.

44. C. L. N. A. I. J.

45.

45. C. L. N. A. I. J. Meaning, the futility of striving against predestination. Ank, for anki. Bl., Prosody 13.

46.

46. C. L. N. A. B. I. See note on No. 130

47.

47. C. L. N. A. B. I. J.

153

48.

48. L. N.

49.

49. C. L. N. A. B. I. J. Meaning, souls re-absorbed in the Divine essence have no concern with the material heaven and hell.

50.

50. L. N. Meaning, all is illusion (Maya).

51.

51. C. L. N. A. B. I. J. So Homer, Kasignetos thanatoio.

154

52.

52. C. L. N. A. I. In line 2 scan Ilahi. Bl., Prosody, p. 7.

53.

53. C. L. N. A. I. J. See Koran, lxxxii. 1. Note the alif i wasls in lines 1 and 2. In line 4 scan kata lat, transposing the last vowel. Bl., Prosody, p. ii.

54.

54. C. L. N. A. B. I. There is a variation of this, beginning Asrar i jahan.

55.

55. C. L. N. A. I. In line 3 scan mayast. Bl., Prosody, p. 13, and note tashdid on hakk dropped. Ibid, p. iv.

155

56.

56. C. L. N. A. I. J.

57.

57. C. L. N. A. I. J. In line 3 scan bedariyi.

58.

58. L. N. For the story of Solomon and the ants, see Koran, xxvii., 18. Kasab, linen made in Egypt.

59.

59. C. L. N. A. I. J.

156

60.

60. C. L. N. A. I. J. Ummed has the tashdid ob metrum. Bl., Prosody 9. Line 2 is in metre 17. Gil i mara for gil i man ra, Vullers, pp. 173 and 193.

61.

61. C. L. N. A. I. J. «Sleep of hares,» deceit.

62.

62. C. L. N. A. I. J. Juyiy: the ya of juy is hamzated because followed by another ya. Vullers, p. 24.

63.

63. C. L. N. A. I. J. Compare Hafiz, Ode 79: «Wherever love is, there is the light of the Beloved's face.»

157

64.

64. C. L. N. A. I. J. Kawus is the old spelling.

65.

65. L. N.

66.

66. C. L. N. A. I. J. Perhaps a hit at the orthodox Sufis.

67.

67. C. L. N. A. I. J. Line 4 is in metre 17.

158

68.

68. C. L. N. A. I. J. The point, of course, is that Ramazan is the Mahammadan Lent.

69.

69. L. N. Does Sada mean the winter feast?

70.

70. Bl. C. L. N. A. I. J. Wamanda, «leavings.»

71.

71. Bl. C. L. N. A. I. J. Bar bar «blooming, on the branch,» i.e., you are still young. Bl.

159

72.