Translated from the Arabic
By JONATHAN SCOTT, LL.D.
Unfortunately for his readers Scott enrolled himself amongst the acolytes of Professor Galland, a great and original genius in the line Raconteur, and a practical Orientalist whose bright example was destined to produce disastrous consequences. The Frenchman, however unscrupulous he might have been about casting down and building up in order to humour the dead level of Gallican bon goût, could, as is shown by his “Aladdin,” translate literatim and verbatim when the story-stuff is of the right species and acceptable to the average European taste. But, as generally happens in such cases, his servile suite went far beyond their master and model. Petis de la Croix (“Persian and Turkish Tales”), Chavis and Cazotte (“New Arabian Nights”), Dow (“Ináyatu llah”) and Morell (“Tales of the Genii”), with others manifold whose names are now all but forgotten, carried out the Gallandian liberties to the extreme of licence and succeeded in producing a branchlet of literature, the most vapid, frigid and insipid that can be imagined by man,—a bastard Europeo-Oriental, pseudo-Eastern world of Western marionettes garbed in the gear which Asiatic are (or were) supposed to wear, with sentiments and opinions, manners and morals to match; the whole utterly lacking life, local colour, vraisemblance, human interest. From such abortions, such monstrous births, libera nos, Domine!
And Scott out-gallanded Galland:——
Diruit, ædificat, mutat quadrata rotundis.
It is hard to quote a line which he deigned textually to translate. He not only commits felony on the original by abstracting whole sentences and pages ad libitum, but he also thrusts false goods into his author’s pocket and patronises the unfortunate Eastern story-teller by foisting upon him whatever he, the “translator and traitor,” deems needful. On this point no more need be said: the curious reader has but to compare any one of Scott’s “translations” with the original or, for that matter, with the present version.
I determined to do that for Scott which Lane had done partly and imperfectly, and Payne had successfully and satisfactorily done for Galland. But my first difficulty was about the text. It was impossible to face without affright the prospect of working for months amid the discomforts and the sanitary dangers of Oxford’s learned atmosphere and in her obsolete edifices the Bodleian and the Radcliffe. Having ascertained, however, that in the so-called “University” not a scholar could be found to read the text, I was induced to apply for a loan—not to myself personally for I should have shunned the responsibility—but in the shape of a temporary transfer of the seven-volumed text, tome by tome, to the charge of Dr. Rost, the excellent Librarian of the India Office.
My hopes, however, were fated to be deferred. Learned bodies, Curators and so forth, are ponderous to move and powerless to change, for
The trail of the slow-worm is over them all.
My official application was made on September 13th, 1886. The tardiest steps were taken as if unwillingly and, when they could no longer decently be deferred, they resulted in the curtest and most categorical but not most courteous of refusals, under circumstances of peculiar disfavour, on November 1st of the same year. Here I shall say no more: the correspondence has been relegated to Appendix A. My subscribers, however, will have no reason to complain of these “Ineptiæ Bodleianæ.” I had pledged myself in case of a loan “not to translate Tales that might be deemed offensive to propriety:” the Curators have kindly set me free from that troublesome condition and I thank them therefor.