The Arabian Nights and Orientalism: Perspectives from East and West

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The Arabian Nights and Orientalism

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism

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The Arabian Nights and Orientalism PERSPECTIVES FROM EAST & WEST YURIKO YAMANAKA and TETSUO NISHIO

I.B. TAURIS LONDON AND NEW YORK

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism Published in 2006 by IB Tauris & Co Ltd 6 Salem Road, London W2 4BU 175 Fifth Avenue, New York NY 10010 www.ibtauris.com In the United States of America and in Canada distributed by Palgrave Macmillan, a division of St Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York NY 10010175 Copyright © 2006 National Museum of Ethnology The rights of Yuriko Yamanaka and Tetsuo Nishio to be identified as the Editors of this work has been asserted by the Editors in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988 All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in a review, this book, or any part thereof, may not be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher. ISBN 1 85043 768 8 EAN 978 85043 768 8 A full CIP record for this book is available from the British Library A full CIP record for this book is available from the Library of Congress Library of Congress catalog card: available Production co-ordination by M & M Publishing Services, 33 Warner Road, Ware, Herts SE12 9JL, UK

Typeset in 11.5 on 13.5pt Goudy OS by FiSH Books, Enfield Middx, UK Printed and bound in Great Britain by TJ International Ltd, Padstow, Cornwall

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Contents

Preface Robert Irwin

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Introduction: The Imagined Other and the Reflected Self Yuriko Yamanaka, Tetsuo Nishio

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I. Motifs and Formulas 1. The Arabian Nights in Comparative Folk Narrative Research Ulrich Marzolph 2. Mythological Constituents of Alf layla wa layla Hasan El-Shamy 3. Formulas and Formulaic Pictures: Elements of Oral Literature in the Thousand and One Nights Kathrin Müller 4. Repetitiveness in the Arabian Nights: Openness as Self-foundation Etsuko Aoyagi II. Sources and Influences 5. Alexander in the Thousand and One Nights and the Ghaz¯al¯ı Connection Yuriko Yamanaka 6. The Arabian Nights in Modern Japan: A Brief Historical Sketch Hideaki Sugita

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1 3 25

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The Arabian Nights and Orientalism 7. The Arabian Nights and Orientalism from a Japanese Perspective Tetsuo Nishio

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II. Text and Image 8. The Evolution of the Arabian Nights Illustrations: An Art Historical Review 171 Kazue Kobayashi 9. Body, Voice and Gaze: Text and Illustration in the Frame Story of the Thousand and One Nights 194 Akiko Motoyoshi Sumi and Claus Clüver 10. The Image of Sheherazade in French and English Editions of the Thousand and One Nights (Eighteenth–nineteenth centuries) 219 Margaret Sironval Bibliography

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Index of Subjects

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Index of Cycles and Tales from the Nights

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Preface

Preface

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HE CONFERENCE ON the Arabian Nights held in Osaka, Japan in 2002 was held to mark the tercentenary of the publication of the first volumes of Antoine Galland’s Les Mille et Une Nuits in 1704. In that year and almost overnight the antiquarian and Orientalist Galland, hitherto best known as a numismatist, became the talk of the salons and academies. Society ladies, scholars and children read his translation. He was mobbed in the streets by people demanding more of the Arabian stories. In the course of the eighteenth century, his translation from the Arabic into French would be in turn retranslated into most of the other European languages. Complete editions of his translation sat on the shelves of gentlemen’s libraries. Extracts were peddled as chapbooks at marketplaces and fairs. In La Crise de la conscience européene, (Paris, 1935), the intellectual historian, Paul Hazard sought to set out the elements that shaped the modern European mind around the beginning of the eighteenth century and he pointed out that some of those elements were not so very European: When Scheherazade began to recount her stories of the night, to unfold the infinite wealth of an imagination enriched with all the dreams of Araby of Syria and the great Levant: when she began to tell of the manners and customs of the peoples of the East, their religious ceremonies, their domestic habits, the details of their dazzling and colourful existence; when she showed how mankind could be held and enthralled, not by abstruse intellectual ideas, not by recondite reasoning, but by the charm of colours and the lure of fairy tales, all Europe was fain to listen. Then did the fairies Carabosse and Aurora make way for the throng of Sultanas, Viziers, Dervishes, Greek doctors, Negro vii

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism slaves. Light fairylike edifices, fountains, pools guarded by lions of massy gold, spacious chambers hung with silks and tapestries from Mecca – all these replaced the palaces where the Beast waited for Beauty to open her loving eyes . . . As the researches of Hazard and others have shown, the reception of Galland’s translation of the Arabian Nights was only one of the unexpectedly exotic constituents of the Enlightenment. European identity was in large part shaped by a widening awareness of other cultures, other sensibilities and other ways of doing things. The accounts by Jean Chardin and others of seventeenth-century Safavid Persia fed into Montesquieu’s Letttres Persanes (1721), as well as informing some of the socio-political considerations of the same author’s De l’espirit des lois (1748). Abraham Hyacinthe AnquetilDuperron introduced Europe to the ancient religions of India. Sir William Jones, the presiding genius of the Asiatick Society of Bengal, argued for the affinity of Sanskrit with the Latin Celtic and Gothick languages. Reports from Jesuit missionaries in China introduced Europe to Confucian philosophy and Mandarin culture. Western drawing rooms became crowded with a clutter of chinoiserie. Only Japan remained largely closed to Western scrutiny. What little that was known in Europe about Japanese culture in the eighteenth century depended on second- and third-hand reports from the solitary Dutch trading colony in the proximity of Nagasaki. This was to change in the Meiji period (1868–1912). Under the slogan Bunmei Kaika, or Civilization and Enlightenment, Japan sought to appropriate and, if possible even surpass almost all aspects of Western culture and science. An inevitable concomitant was that Japanese culture began to be studied, imitated and occasionally even parodied in the West. In the 1880s Japanese themes and colouristic effects started to appear in the paintings of Vincent Van Gogh and James Whistler, and Gilbert and Sullivan’s The Mikado was first performed in the same decade. Lafcadio Hearn’s Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan was published in 1894. When Japan opened its doors to the West there were many visitors who compared the country to something out of the Arabian Nights. Indeed that comparison became something of a cliché. As Baron von Hübner put it when describing his encounter with the Court of Japan in his Promenade autour du monde (1871): viii

Preface I do not think that I shall ever forget the scene of this morning; that fairy garden, those mysterious pavilions, those statesmen in full dress, pacing with us in the shrubbery; this oriental potentate who looks like an idol, and believes himself a God are things which surpass the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments. But Japanese study of Western culture was both more intense and more comprehensive than early Western studies of Japanese culture and it even embraced those aspects of Middle Eastern and Islamic culture that had become familiar to the Western reading public, including the Arabian Nights. Two of the chapters in Arabian Nights and Orientalism (by Hideaki Sugita and Tetsuo Nishio) trace the story of the introduction of the Nights to Japan and the numerous ways in which Japanese versions of the great Arab story collection influenced Japanese literature and culture more widely. As Sugita points out it was ‘in 1875, eight years after the Meiji Restoration, that the first Japanese translation of the Arabian Nights was made . . . ’. That translation depended on an adaptation of an English translation of Galland’s French translation of the original Arabic. That was usually the way of it in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Very few scholars outside the Middle East had a good command of Arabic and presumably many of those who were competent to translate the stories believed they had more serious tasks ahead of them than the translating or retranslating of Oriental fairy tales. Therefore for a long time translations of the Nights into such languages as Hebrew, Polish or Russian tended to be based on French or English intermediaries. Even the Turks came to prefer to translate from Galland’s French. The Arab stories that were then published in, say, Eastern Europe, Turkey or Japan were subtly Europeanised, as, in the process of their transmission, they tended to acquire something of Galland’s courtliness, or Lane’s ponderous, pedagogical, glossing approach, or Burton’s raunchy exaggerations, or the sugar-sweet, louche whimsicality of Mardrus. In a chapter in my The Arabian Nights: A Companion (1994, reprinted 2004), I discussed the influence of the Nights on European and American literature and suggested, at the risk of hyperbole, that that influence was so all-pervasive that ‘it might have been an easier, shorter chapter if I had discussed those writers who were not influenced by the Nights. A discussion of the lack of influence on, say, ix

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism William Blake, Evelyn Waugh and Vladimir Nabokov might have been just as rewarding.’ Yet it turns out that I had underestimated the gravitational power of the Nights to bring writers into its field of influence. Last summer, when I was in St Petersburg, I made a literary pilgrimage to the Nabokov family home on the Bolshaya Morskaya ulitsa. That house, abandoned at the time of the Russian Revolution when the Nabokovs fled to Germany, was reopened as the Nabokov Museum in 1997. Only a few volumes of the original family library had been reassembled in the museum, but there in a glass case I spotted a copy of the fin-de-siècle translation by Mardus, the Livre des Mille Nuits et Une Nuit, traduction littérale et complete du texte arabe. (Jorge Luis Borges, in an essay entitled ‘Translators of the Thousand and One Nights’, characterised Mardrus’s prose as luxuriant and remarked that he added ‘Art Nouveau passages, fine obscenities, brief comical interludes, circumstantial details symmetries, vast quantities of visual Orientalism’.) The sight of the Nabokovs’ copy of Mardrus’s version of the Nights made me think again. I returned to England and my library and found my copy of Ada (1969), which is Nabokov’s most luxuriant novel in the fin-de-siècle manner. Its eroticism and its fantasy parallel that of the Nights and the contribution of the Arab story collection to the manner in which Nabokov chose to relate his love story is perhaps covertly acknowledged in the novel when Ada goes questing in the family library for erotica and finds a copy of the Arabian Nights. So perhaps it is now time to reconsider the possible influence of the Arabian Nights on the poetry of William Blake and the fiction of Evelyn Waugh . . . The presence of the Nights in the works of Dickens and Nabokov, as well as in those of the South African André Brink and the Japanese Mishima Yukio suggests the degree to which the Arabic stories have become part of world literature – a fairly early instance of literary globalisation. In recent years specialised studies have appeared of Turkish, Persian, Ukrainian, Greek and Latin American translations and the reception of the Nights in those cultures. As for Japan, it is curious to think of ‘the throng of Sultanas, Viziers, Dervishes, Greek doctors, Negro slaves’ peopling the imaginations of the former samurais of Edo or entering the tale-telling repertoire of Japanese mothers. The story of the introduction of the Nights to the Japanese reading public in the nineteenth century and the later engagement of x

Preface Japanese academics with the text (as is instanced in most of the papers that follow this preface) raise important complex questions about the nature of Orientalism and globalization. Can the Orient reflect upon the Orient? Does it indeed have the power to represent itself? Some have doubted these things and have argued that Orientalism must be a monopoly of the West and an intrinsic part of a discourse that licenses imperialism and racism and, in particular, has given a kind of imaginative and intellectual legitimacy to British and French intervention in and occupation of the Arab lands. In Europe’s Myths of the Orient (1986) Ranna Kabbani wrote disparagingly of the Nights and Western enthusiasm for its stories: ‘For Europe was already expressing relentless economic interest in the Orient, and the end of the eighteenth century would usher in the beginning of the imperialist presence there. Thus the fascination with a make-believe location was contiguous to the penetration of real Eastern markets.’ Also: ‘the Orient of the Western imagination provided respite from Victorian sexual repressiveness. It was used to express for the age the erotic longings that would otherwise have remained suppressed.’ Elsewhere Ziauddin Sardar has commented on the curious nature of the European obsession ‘with what is after all only a collection of unrelated bawdy tales’ and has argued that Orientalism ‘was legitimised and institutionalised’ by the Arabian Nights. In his famous, or notorious, study, Orientalism (1978), Edward Said acknowledged the existence of Oriental Orientalisms, but was casually disparaging about their quality: there is reason for alarm in the fact that its [Orientalism’s] influence has spread to ‘the Orient’ itself: the pages of books and journals in Arabic (and doubtless in Japanese, various Indian dialects, and other Oriental languages) are filled with secondorder analyses of Arabs of ‘the Arab mind’, ‘Islam’, and other myths. While there may be something to be said for the positions taken above (and they are attractive in their simplicity), a reading of Arabian Nights and Orientalism is likely to suggest that the relationship between Orientalism and the Arabian Nights and between Western Orientalism and Oriental Orientalisms has been more nuanced and more complex xi

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism and, perhaps less wholly malign than the critics quoted above have suggested. Japan had no great imperial ambitions in the Middle East, nor did its nineteenth-century inhabitants obviously suffer from ‘Victorian repressiveness’. As for the sweeping characterisation of Japanese studies on the Middle East as ‘second-order Orientalism’, this surely smacks of casually unresearched insolence? More research and analysis on all these issues is needed. It is not merely the case of Japanese exceptionalism. As the contributions in this volume by Ulrich Marzolph, Hasan ElShamy, Kathrin Müller and Yuriko Yamanaka demonstrate, stories of the Nights should not be studied in isolation as a collection of purely Arab stories – as laboratory specimens, as it were, of peculiar features of an Arab way of life and Arab imagination. Rather they deserve to be set in the broader context of comparative studies in literature, mythology, tale-types and folklore. Academic study of the Nights in the East and West has evolved over the centuries. At the beginning of the nineteenth century such grand Orientalists as Antoine Isaac Silvestre de Sacy and Joseph von Hammer-Purgstall disputed the origins of the tales and hunted for a single Indian, Persian or Arab source. A later generation, including Edward William Lane and Richard Burton, used the various surviving texts to carry glosses in which the translators explained the manners and customs of the Arabs and Persians. In the twentieth century Duncan Black Macdonald and Muhsin Mahdi sought to establish the manuscript stemma of the stories, while Mia Gerhardt, Peter Carraciolo, Abdelfattah Kilito and many others took more purely literary approaches to the stories. Today all these approaches have their proponents, but, as the contents of the present volume suggest, structural and comparative approaches have come to seem more fruitful than hitherto. There is also now the beginnings of a much greater interest in the way that the Nights have been illustrated, (as evidenced here by the contributions of Kazue Kobayashi, Akiko Motoyoshi Sumi and Claus Clüver and Margaret Sironval). In Europe and Japan alike the publication of the Nights had a liberating effect on the literary imagination. In Tennyson’s poem ‘Recollections of the Arabian Nights’, he evoked a time when ‘the breeze of a joyful dawn blew free/ In the silken sail of infancy’ and the child found himself carried back to ‘the golden prime/ Of good Haroun Alraschid’. In another part of the world in another century, the boy xii

Preface Mishima took the decision to become a writer only after his grandmother and his father decided to confiscate the volumes of the Arabian Nights that had given rise to so much childish dreaming. If Mishima could no longer read the Nights, he resolved that he would make himself into the writer who could produce their Japanese equivalent. As with literature, so with literary studies. The best academic treatments of the Arabian Nights and similar story-collections should retain that sort of a sense of wonder and offer a liberation of the intellect. The ideal reader of Arabian Nights and Orientalism will open it looking for pleasure as well as erudition and not be disappointed. ROBERT IRWIN Middle East Editor Times Literary Supplement

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Introduction: The Imagined Other and the Reflected Self

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N 1704, THE FIRST WESTERN RENDITION of the Thousand and One Nights appeared in France, made by the French Orientalist, Antoine Galland. The translation of the Thousand and One Nights, later more commonly called the Arabian Nights, was an epochal event which triggered off the European fascination for orientalia, and consequently the phenomenon of what is now termed ‘Orientalism’. The Arabian Nights played a decisive role in forming the general image of the Islamic Middle East in Europe, which in turn influenced the Japanese view of the Middle East. Since all the early Japanese translations of these tales were made indirectly from European versions, its reception into Japan hence occurred hand-in-hand with the importation of European notions of the Islamic world. This Arabian Nights vision fostered in the Japanese mind is probably, still to this day, a major component of the Middle Eastern image prevalent in Japan. Thus it was three hundred years ago that the Nights left its homeland to be regenerated and transformed in the Orientalist climate of Europe, and subsequently, to become one of the masterpieces of world literature. UNESCO designated 2004 as the 300th anniversary of the translation of the Nights. Many relevant events have taken place world wide. In Japan, a ‘Special Exhibition: the Arabian Nights’ was planned at the National Museum of Ethnology (NME) in Osaka from 9 September to 7 December 2004, and is scheduled to tour Japan in 2005 and 2006.1 A precursory joint research project in preparation for the exhibition ran for a period of three years at the museum, with Tetsuo Nishio as the project leader. Part of the research was also funded by the Grant-in-Aid for Scientific Research of the Japan Society for the Promotion of Science. During this time, we were able to build a substantial collection of editions of the Nights and other related books, some of which are very rare even in the libraries of Europe. The Nights collection in the NME xv

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism may indeed be one of the most extensive library collections on the subject throughout the world, and we hope that scholars from all nations will profit from it in the future. The present volume is already a testimony of the international collaboration on the Nights that is taking place at our institute. The articles included in this book were originally papers that were given at the international symposium ‘The Arabian Nights and Orientalism in Resonance’, held at NME on 12–13 December 2002. Scholars from various disciplines such as linguistics, comparative literature, folk narrative studies, and art history, and from different academic backgrounds of France, Germany, Egypt, USA, and Japan were invited to examine and discuss the relationship between the Nights and ‘Orientalism’. Four essays dealing with narrative motifs and style fall into the first section on ‘Motifs and Formulas’. Ulrich Marzolph presents a state of knowledge in the field of Nights research as well as the potential of folk narrative studies. Hasan El-Shamy explores the ancient Egyptian mythological origins of some of the tales. Kathrin Müller analyses the elements of oral literature in the formulaic expressions of the Arabic text. Etsuko Aoyagi applies post-modern literary theory to understand the meaning of repetitions in the Nights narrative. The essays in the second section, ‘Sources and Influences’, examine the Nights from a comparative point of view, and investigate influences from and to other cultural spheres. Yuriko Yamanaka points out the connection to the Persian ‘mirror for princes’ by Ghaz¯alı¯. Hideaki Sugita makes a historical overview of the reception of the Nights into Japan. Tetsuo Nishio illustrates how the Japanese image of the Middle East in the post-Meiji period was deeply affected by the popularity of the Nights. Finally section three on ‘Text and Image’ unfolds the relationship between the written text and its pictorial representation. Kazue Kobayashi contributes an art historical survey of Nights illustrations. Akiko M. Sumi and Claus Clüver select illustrations from the prologue and epilogue of the Nights and draw the correlation between the narrative and the picture, whereas Margaret Sironval concentrates mainly on the transformation of the image of Sheherazade in the illustrations of the early French and English editions of the Nights. No doubt, the Nights is a product of the West’s interaction with the Orient, and much has been said on the subject. However, we believe that this volume will be a unique contribution to the field, in that it presents a new perspective from the Far East. xvi

Introduction The Far East is a region that is usually outside the scope of researchers in Middle East Studies, and most people in the West and Middle Eastern countries are not aware that there is an active interest in such a topic as the Arabian Nights in Japan. The Japanese contributions in this volume show that there is significant scholarly engagement with the Nights and Arabic literature. Moreover, what would be of particular interest to the Western reader would be the studies on the reception of the Nights into Japan, the Japanese view of the Middle East generated through the Nights’ image, and pictorial representation of stories from the Nights by Japanese artists. The purpose of this book is to make readers recognize that the Nights is indeed a literary phenomenon that encompasses the Far West to the Far East. Perhaps in no other literary work do we see such a rich crossfertilization of cultures. We sincerely hope that this volume will only be a beginning for further international cooperation on the study of the Arabian Nights. Japanese names in the articles appear family name first, followed by the given name, according to Japanese custom (Mishima Yukio, instead of Yukio Mishima). Exceptions are names of the contributors to this volume which follow the Western standard. As for the capitalization of titles Mille et Une Nuit and Mille Nuits et Une Nuit, we follow the convention adopted by most French publishers. We would like to thank the Hayashibara Foundation for having cosponsored the international symposium and making the invitation of foreign participants possible. We are truly grateful and honoured to have the volume open with a preface by the renowned Arabian Nights scholar, Robert Irwin. Our appreciation must also be expressed to Dr Ruth Meserve who proofread the manuscripts with great care. And without the efforts of Hanako Birks, Abigail Fielding-Smith at I. B. Tauris and Mike Moran of M & M Publishing Services, the publication of this book would not have been achieved. YURIKO YAMANAKA National Museum of Ethnology, Osaka and TETSUO NISHIO Graduate University of Advanced Studies National Museum of Ethnology Osaka, 2005 NOTE 1. The catalogue in Japanese is available, ed. National Museum of Ethnology, 2004

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism

The Arabian Nights in Comparative Folk Narrative Research

I. Motifs and Formulas

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism

CHAPTER I

The Arabian Nights in Comparative Folk Narrative Research

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HE INTRODUCTION OF the Arabian Nights into European and, hence, into world culture almost three hundred years ago has had a tremendous effect on all areas of the creative arts. Ever since, the Nights has served as a continuous source of inspiration, thus contributing to the genesis of a considerable number of important (and innumerable less important) works of Western creative imagination. As Robert Irwin in his 1994 Companion to the Arabian Nights put it, instead of listing European writers of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries that were in some way or other influenced by the Nights, it would be easier to list those that were not (Irwin, 1994: 290f.). Similar statements could be made about certain periods of European painting, particularly the French artists known as Les Orientalistes; in architecture, the Nights played a role in fashioning a particular Orientalist style; and in early twentieth-century films, they served as the matrix for such highly influential works as the 1924 Thief of Baghdad featuring Douglas Fairbanks.1 No other single work of Oriental literature (besides the Bible) has had such a long-lasting and deep impact on world culture. In the following, I propose to focus on a specific aspect of this impact, the relationship between the Nights and the discipline of comparative folk narrative research. Rather than presenting new research, the presentation aims to recall some basic problems researchers encounter when studying the Nights. In introducing the subject, it is necessary to sketch a number of commonly acknowledged facts relating to the history and general character of the Nights. After all, the Arabian Nights have a highly complex character and do not constitute a standardized authored text with clearly defined boundaries of origin, authorship and intention. Rather, research has come to understand the 3

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism Nights as a specific form of the creative device of frame narrative (Gerhardt, 1963: 395–416; Irwin, 1994: 142–162), and even more so as a creative notion (Marzolph, 1988). While this creative notion in whatever initial corpus of ‘exemplary’ tales (Mahdi, 1985) was related to the collection’s frame through the telling of tales to ransom life (hence the term of ‘ransom stories’; Gerhardt, 1963: 401–416), it soon turned into an abstract device allowing the inclusion of virtually all kinds of tales into an almost boundless frame. This device in turn has given rise to a number of voluminous compilations that are collectively known as the Thousand and One Nights, or – as I prefer to call them here for purely practical reasons, using the common English denomination – the Arabian Nights.2 While most of the influential European versions have been created by specific individuals, each version of the Nights constitutes a specific embodiment of a collective phenomenon engendered and kept alive by the narrative power attributed to Shehrazad. The continuous attractiveness of the Nights is nurtured by the magic and charm of narrative creativity, and the embedded potential of diversion, entertainment, education and criticism. In addition, for the Western versions, the equally collective fascination of the West with the Oriental Other played an important role. To begin with, it is useful to remember the context of the collection’s introduction into world literature. Towards the end of the seventeenth century, the Muslim Ottoman Empire had ceased to constitute a military threat for Christian central Europe. In consequence, the previously reigning anxiety directed against the Turks faded away and soon gave rise to an uncritical enthusiasm for everything Turkish, a turquoiserie that in its turn generated a popular enthusiasm for everything Oriental.3 An essential constituent of this form of Orientalism – notably both product and producer – were the various European translations of the Nights. The Nights were first introduced to the European public by the French scholar Antoine Galland from 1704 onwards in a form that has aptly been termed an ‘appropriation’ rather than a translation.4 Galland’s text not only supplied new narrative material to the French court, but rather quickly, in the whole of Europe, a tremendous inspiration was evoked in various areas of creative imagination, including novel, drama, pantomime, opera, ballet, puppet show, shadow play, music and painting. The cultural complexity of the 4

The Arabian Nights in Comparative Folk Narrative Research Nights was unravelled by research only following its popular reception, that is, from the late nineteenth century onwards (Knipp, 1974; Ali, 1980, 1981), and until today remains rather unknown to the general public. It is quite telling that in common apprehension a few stories have become more or less synonymous for the Arabian Nights. Notably, these were stories that prior to Galland’s text had never belonged to the collection and do not figure in pre-Galland Arabic manuscripts. Moreover, these tales – which Mia Gerhardt has termed ‘orphan stories’ (Gerhardt, 1963: 12–14) – owe much of their particular characteristics to the individual influence of the ostensible translator. In terms of inspiration, the most productive of these stories is the story of Aladdin and the Magic Lamp. While the basic structure of that story is legitimized as ‘authentic’ by the oral (and, possibly, also written) performance of the Syrian Christian narrator Hanna Diyab, the story contains elements that strongly suggest an autobiographic reworking by Galland.5 What the readers perceive therefore as the ‘Orient’ within the tale is little more than their own imaginations and fantasies about the Orient in an authentic garb, in other words, an ‘Orient within’. This critique similarly applies to wide areas of the reception of the Nights in the nineteenth century, above all for the abundantly annotated translations prepared by Edward William Lane (1839–41; see Schacker-Mill, 2003: 78–116) and Richard Burton (1885–88; see Kabbani, 1988: 37–66). Both translations in many ways correspond to a ‘text in the mind of people’ rather than to an Arabic or ‘Oriental’ reality. Similar to the impact of the Nights on literature and the arts, the impact on European folk narrative and folk narrative research is considerable. In fact, the Nights contributed to the discipline of folk narrative research in two decisive ways. First, they introduced European narrative fantasy to a ‘whole new world’ (see Disney’s Aladdin) that, due to political circumstances, had hitherto been largely experienced as hostile. In consequence, both a veritable cult of ‘A Thousand and Ones’ and a literary mania for Orientalist settings in the telling of folk and fairy tales was inaugurated. Later, when printed editions of the Nights or individual tales had flooded the European market, popular storytellers and narrators retold and imitated stories originating from the Nights. These storytellers would often shape their adaptations in a highly characteristic way, at times even generating new and independent strands of European tradition. The most prominent examples of this 5

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism kind of productive reception of the Nights in European folk narrative comprise such popular tales as those classified in international folknarrative research as Aarne/Thompson (1961) tale-types AT 331: The Spirit in the Bottle, or AT 562: The Spirit in the Blue Light. Actually, characters such as the bottled genie (from the tale of Aladdin) and formulas such as the ‘Open, Sesame’ (from the tale of Ali Baba) have become proverbial in many European languages. The historical depth of the impact of the Arabian Nights on European popular literature reaches at least as far back as the Italian Renaissance, when elements from the structure and content of the frame tale of the Nights – including the tale known as Aarne/ Thompson (1961) 1426: The Wife kept in a Box – were mirrored in novels by Giovanni Sercambi (1347–1424) and Ludovico Ariosto (1474–1533; see Irwin, 1994: 98–99). In this way, the Nights continue to influence European folk narrative until the present day, and by leaving their traces in various genres of European folk narrative, they have also contributed to shaping the discipline of folk narrative research. The major comparative annotation of the collection as a whole, contained in volumes 4–7 of Victor Chauvin’s Bibliographie des ouvrages arabes (1900–03), constitutes one of the discipline’s key studies and today still is a research tool indispensable for all serious research on specific tales. Yet, the complex character of the Nights has prevented major comprehensive surveys, favouring instead studies focusing on single tales or particular aspects. As an omnium gatherum (apud Irwin), they both factually contain and are potentially able to integrate tales of the most diverse origins. Moreover, the majority of studies on the Nights are less concerned with folklorist relevance. When one considers some of the written statements in research about the Nights, it might at times rather appear as if the folklorist approach to the Nights was evaluated as less important in comparison to philological study or analytical interpretation. Quite to the contrary, I argue that no method is better suited to revealing and unravelling the hybrid character of the Nights, many of whose tales belong to a complex web of tradition. This web extends from the Buddhist Far East to the Christian West, and draws on a large variety of traditions, including (Buddhist) Indian, (Zoroastrian) Persian, (Muslim) Arabic and Jewish narrative traditions. In this way, the Nights both originate from a multiplicity of origins and in turn have passed on their legacy to a large variety of narratives worldwide. 6

The Arabian Nights in Comparative Folk Narrative Research The discipline of narrative research (German: Erzählforschung), or narratology (Bal, 1985), as it is sometimes called, in principle encompasses two largely independent areas. One area, the theory of narrative in literature, deals primarily with structures and modes of plot development and narration in authored literature. Adding the qualification ‘folk’ to the term of ‘narrative research’ rather than narrowing down the specification of a wider field leads to the other area and implies a completely different notion. Folk narrative research has grown together with the discipline of folklore in the age of European Romanticism. It was developed into a full-fledged scientific discipline in its own right from the beginning of the nineteenth century by such prominent scholars as the German brothers Jacob (1785–1863) and Wilhelm Grimm (1786–1859), the founding fathers of German studies, German indologist Theodor Benfey (1809–81), Finnish folklorists Julius (1835–88) and Kaarle Krohn (1863–1933) and Antti Aarne (1867–1925), Bohemian scholar Albert Wesselski (1871–1939), and many others. In their understanding, folk narrative research is defined as a comparative and historical discipline. In the preface of the discipline’s major work of reference, the Enzyklopädie des Märchens (= EM, 1977), the area of research is outlined fairly generally as ‘the way human beings have grasped their relation to the world both outside and within themselves in narratives’ (EM, 1977: v). The discipline’s task lies in ‘comparing the stock of traditional narratives, whether originating from written sources or living in oral tradition, in a large variety of ethnicities, and to trace and analyse their historical, social, psychological and religious backgrounds’ (EM, 1977: vi). In other words, folk narrative research is concerned with a perception of the world in terms of narrative culture. While such a perspective is admittedly limited, it is justified – if justification be needed – by the fact that telling stories in whichever way constitutes a basic element of human communication and, in fact, of the conditio humana in general. In the perception of Kurt Ranke (1978), the founding father of the Enzyklopädie des Märchens, the human being is essentially a homo narrans. Considering the Arabian Nights from the point of view of folk narrative research can be achieved in a variety of ways. Rather than continuing to elaborate well-known facts about the collection’s genesis, historical development and general characteristics, in the following I would like to discuss a few specific points. The first point 7

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism relates to the way the Nights are represented in folk narrative research. The second point is to introduce a major research project completed and published in the UNESCO sponsored Arabian Nights year in 2004. The major folklorist contribution to Arabian Nights research still today remains the work compiled by the Belgian scholar Victor Chauvin. The full title of his Bibliographie defines the work’s scope as being concerned with publications originating from the Arab world or treating Arab culture as published in Christian Europe roughly during the nineteenth century. In the four volumes dedicated to the Nights, Chauvin, besides supplying exhaustive bibliographical data on printed texts and translations (including comparative tables for the printed editions), presents summaries of some 450 tales, together with an overwhelming wealth of comparative data relating to both Oriental and European literature. For each tale, Chauvin supplies the following bibliographical data: occurrence in (1) Arabic manuscripts, (2) printed editions and (3) major translations, and (4) references to similar tales in Arabic tradition. The main body of each entry contains a – usually detailed and sometimes annotated – summary of the tale in question. Each entry concludes by listing comparative data relating to Near Eastern and European analogues. Unfortunately, Chauvin’s work has not received the international attention it deserves, a fact that, besides the lack of an index, is probably due to its language of publication being French. However, when the major comparative tools of folk narrative research were prepared in the first half of the twentieth century, Chauvin’s compilation came to serve as the quintessential representative of Arabic Islamic narrative, notably not only for the Nights, but also for the other influential collections of Oriental narrative, Kalila and Dimna and the Sindbad-name. It is due to Bloomington folklorist Stith Thompson that Chauvin’s comparative data were included in both the Types of the Folktale, Thompson’s revised edition of the work originally conceived by Finnish folklorist Antti Aarne (Aarne and Thompson, 1961), and the Motif-Index, Thompson’s ‘atomized’ companion to the former work that – speaking in very general terms – serves to document in a hierarchical decimal order the basic constituents employed to construct larger narrative units (Thompson, 1955–58). The Types of the Folktale contains just less than 130 references to Chauvin’s Bibliographie, about half of which refer to the volumes dealing with the Nights. Besides Chauvin, Thompson in 8

The Arabian Nights in Comparative Folk Narrative Research two places also refers to the Burton (Aarne and Thompson, 1961: 1591) and Littmann translations of the Nights (ibid.: 1426), both of which he has not, however, considered systematically. Fables and animal tales (ibid.: 1–299), a certain amount of which are also included in the Nights (Osigus, 2000), are treated in Chauvin’s second volume dedicated to Kalila and Dimna. In consequence, references to the Nights in The Types of the Folktale predominantly range in the categories of Ordinary Folktales and Jokes and Anecdotes, that is, between the Aarne/Thompson (1961) tale-type numbers 300 and 2,000. Given the amount of about 450 tales documented by Chauvin (many of which do not relate to the Nights proper, but rather to Orientalist collections inspired by the Nights), the number of some 70 tales from the Nights corresponding to Aarne/Thompson tale-types may appear small. However, the amount must be interpreted against the explicit intention of the Aarne/Thompson work of reference, aimed at documenting traditional Indo-European folk narrative. Accordingly, the Nights are shown to contain a comparatively large number of narratives not corresponding to the standard patterns of IndoEuropean folk narrative, tales that playfully integrate and combine various narrative elements rather than complying with standardized main strands of tradition. This characteristic also accounts, at least partly, for the fact that Chauvin’s Bibliographie figures more prominently in Thompson’s Motif-Index, which in its present version contains more than 700 references to single motifs contained in tales from the Nights. Hasan El-Shamy, the Bloomington-based folklorist, compiler of a motif-index of Arab narratives (El-Shamy, 1995), and the greatest living authority on motif classification, has recently compiled a Motif-Index of the Arabian Nights, breaking down the tales of a popular Arabic edition of the Nights into several tens of thousands of often newly conceived units (see El-Shamy, 2002). Once published, ElShamy’s motif-index of the Arabian Nights is bound to convey a much more detailed classificatory assessment of the narrative elements contained in the Nights and will enable future research to conduct highly specific comparative studies. It is an interesting task to analyse the occurrence of Aarne/ Thompson tale-types in the Nights in relation to both their position within the collection and their relative occurrence in specific versions of the Nights. As is well known, no complete Arabic manuscript of the 9

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism Nights predating Galland is preserved, and ‘anything likely to be regarded as a Vulgate text of the Nights was not created until late in the eighteenth century’ (Marzolph, 1988: 156). Moreover, the eighteenthand nineteenth-century Arabic manuscripts were compiled ‘in direct response to the European demand for complete editions [that had been] initiated by the enthusiastic reception’ (ibid.) of Galland’s publication. In order to satisfy demand, the compilers of these manuscripts exploited a large range of sources in addition to the basic stock of Arabian Nights tales. This range of material is vast; besides anecdotes and stories of all kinds, it comprises geographical and historical literature. Due to the large range of material, so far only parts of the narrative repertoire of the Nights have been studied in relation to their sources. Considering these circumstances, a thorough analysis of the occurrence of Aarne/ Thompson tale-types in the Nights is bound to shed more light on the techniques of composition, particularly of the Arabic post-Galland manuscripts. As a contribution towards this goal, the present essay is supplemented by an exhaustive index of Aarne/Thompson tale-types in major European translations of the Nights. A detailed interpretation of these data will have to take into account a number of general assumptions, above all the fact that the qualification of a given tale within the Aarne/Thompson (AT) register, if anything, bespeaks its international diffusion but is not necessarily indicative of its popularity within a particular ethnic context. The various reasons why and how a given tale has gained such a diffusion (spontaneous generation vs. monogenesis; from an originally ‘Oriental’ version vs. incorporation of an originally ‘European’ tale into the Nights) cannot be discussed here. Even leaving aside these details, the survey indicates the following basic facts: • Out of a total of some 550 tales in the major Arabic versions and European translations surveyed, less than a quarter enjoy an international diffusion. This fact is indicative of a high percentage of material germane to Arabic tradition. Notably, this evaluation is valid all the more for the ‘Vulgate’ corpus of tales in the Calcutta II edition, of which only some 15 per cent (42 of 262 tales) enjoy an international diffusion. Post-Galland compilers, in general, appear to have drawn to a greater extent from the stock of internationally distributed tales. 10

The Arabian Nights in Comparative Folk Narrative Research • Within the major categories of tales, animal tales, religious tales and tales of the stupid ogre appear to be relatively few in number. While this evaluation holds true for the first and third categories, tales from the second category are bound to be rather individual, and religious tales from different religious creeds should not necessarily be expected to correspond. This explains why only very few of the religious tales distributed in Islamic cultures have been included in the AT register, notably those included in internationally distributed collections such as Barlaam and Josaphat. The singular tale-type listed in the category of tales of lying (AT 1889 H: Submarine Otherworld) refers to the tales of Jullanâr and ‘Abdallâh the Fisherman and ‘Abdallâh the Merman, respectively, both of which do not constitute tales of lying but rather elaborate a motif that also happens to occur in tall tales; in consequence, the classification needs to be reconsidered. • The main categories of internationally distributed tales encountered in the Nights comprise jokes and anecdotes (49), tales of magic (33) and romantic tales (24). Regarding additional material in the postGalland manuscripts, the large amount of previously undocumented anecdotes in the Wortley-Montague manuscript indicates a particularly creative effort on the part of its compiler. Mardrus, the translator/compiler of a highly influential European version of the Nights (1899–1904), is known to have incorporated narrative material from the most diverse sources, including contemporary Near Eastern collections of popular tales; a detailed analysis is needed to scrutinize the tales’ position in Near Eastern (oral or written) tradition. An application of the methodological approach of folk narrative research must consider the fact that the Arabian Nights became known and available to world literature at a comparatively recent date. Two other major collections of Oriental narrative, Kalila and Dimna and the Sindbad-name, have served to transmit large amounts of Oriental narrative to the West. Both collections are similar to the Nights inasmuch as they rely on a distinctive frame story that organizes the contained narratives in a comparatively strict manner. In contrast to the Nights, however, these collections were known in Europe from late antiquity and were widely appreciated in medieval Europe, at first in 11

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism Latin versions and later in the European vernacular languages. Given this situation, these collections could exercise a strong influence on what was later to become popular and oral folk narrative. After all, folk narratives do not come into existence ex nihilo. All popular narrative needs institutions both creating and distributing its contents. In other words, many of the tales today known as ‘popular’ or ‘folk’ tales do not originate from folk material incorporated in written collections, but have rather come into existence the opposite way. Written versions of narratives, which in their structure and content contained messages appealing to the ‘folk’, contained the potential to become ‘folk narrative’. Time will show to what extent tales from the Nights have exercised a similar influence, but most likely the impact on oral folk narrative of the collection as a whole will remain limited. On the one hand, some of the ‘orphan tales’, such as Aladdin and Ali Baba, have been and continue to remain influential, both in traditional print media as well as in the modern media of film and the internet. Notably, in popular culture or comprehension these tales are considered as ‘semi-detached’ offspring identified with the Nights only as a vague backdrop. On the other hand, most of the tales of the Nights are far too complex to be appreciated by modern audiences in such a way as to become part of the standard stock of folk narrative. Modern audiences rather opt for short narrative accounts such as the genre of ‘modern’ or ‘urban legends’ with its surprising working of the extraordinary or the supernatural within contemporary society. In terms of scholarly studies, including some with a strong folklorist focus, the past decades have witnessed a rise of interest in the Arabian Nights. Up to the middle of the twentieth century, with the exception of Chauvin’s Bibliographie and a series of articles published towards the end of the nineteenth century by René Basset (1894–1903), probably less than a thousand pages of serious scholarly studies on the Nights had been written. In the second half of the twentieth century, contributions such as Mia Gerhardt’s The Art of Story-telling (1963) drew attention to the Arabian Nights simply by analysing the work as ‘serious’ literature. In the following years, both Heinz and Sophia Grotzfeld’s (1984) detailed survey, Die Erzählungen aus ‘Tausendundeiner Nacht’, and Wiebke Walther’s (1987) equally solid companion, Tausend und eine Nacht, went more or less internationally unnoticed. In 1984, Muhsin Mahdi’s long awaited two-volume edition of the oldest 12

The Arabian Nights in Comparative Folk Narrative Research known manuscript, the fifteenth-century Syrian manuscript that served as a basis for Galland’s appropriation, finally constituted the Arabian Nights as part of the Orientalist canon. Even so, the 1994 publication of Robert Irwin’s Companion to the Arabian Nights has shown that, although a growing number of specialist studies on the Nights exist, there is a need for comprehensive information about the Nights that would at the same time be scholarly reliable and accessible to the interested average reader. This situation gave rise to a research project funded by the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft and conducted under my supervision during the three-year period 2000–02. The project, since completed and published in 2004, has aimed at the compilation of an exhaustive reference guide on the Arabian Nights comprising detailed, up-to-date and easily accessible encyclopaedic information on virtually all aspects of the Nights that either a general or a specialized reader might be interested in. Drawing on the project’s comprehensive archive of scholarly studies on the Nights, most of the draft writing of this reference guide has been done by the Dutch scholar Richard von Leeuwen, who, besides several studies on the Nights, has successfully translated the Nights’ complete text into Dutch. The English-language reference guide, entitled The Arabian Nights Encyclopedia, besides an extensive introductory essay, contains three different sections, two of which comprise a total of some 800 alphabetically arranged entries of between 200 and 2,000 words, covering all major aspects of the Nights. The articles are structured so as to supply reliable and detailed information drawing on available primary sources and previously published research. In addition to each article being supplied with specialized references and suggestions for further reading, the guide contains an exhaustive general bibliography on the Nights. Aiming at an international audience, the documentation includes important references in languages other than English. One of the main goals in preparing The Arabian Nights Encyclopedia has been to supply folklorists with information about the specific tales included in the various manuscripts, editions and translations of the Nights. A total of some 550 tales have been summarized, ranging alphabetically from the short tale of ‘Abbâs, the caliph al-Mansûr’s chief of guard, in the Reinhardt (Strassburg) manuscript to that of Zunnâr ibn Zunnâr, a certain king who is tricked to fall in love with Sitt al-Husn, the 13

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism king of Iraq’s daughter, in the Wortley-Montague (Oxford) manuscript. Four hundred and seventeen tales refer to the Burton translation, 262 of which Burton translated from the Calcutta II (Macnaghten) edition (1839–42), supplemented by tales from the Breslau (Habicht) edition (1824–43; 82 items), the ‘orphan tales’ (12 items), and tales from the Worley-Montague (52 items) and Chavis (9 items) manuscripts. This core corpus is supplemented in The Arabian Nights Encyclopedia by some 80 additional tales originating from the translations of Habicht (1825–38), Weil (1838–41) and Mardrus (1899–1904), all of which were highly influential in shaping contemporary and later popular understanding of what the Nights are (or might be). Unpublished manuscripts are considered only in so far as detailed information on their content is available; this criterion applies to another 55 tales summarized according to the Wortley-Montague (23 items) and Reinhardt (33 items) manuscripts (see Tauer, 1995; Chraïbi, 1996). Besides the entries summarizing specific tales, a second section of the reference guide in a series of about 250 entries documents and discusses a variety of topics related to the Nights, including major protagonists, editions and translations, aspects of textual history, adaptations, reworkings and works inspired by the Nights, as well as numerous other aspects of theory and general interest. These entries, documenting the ‘World of the Arabian Nights’, range from the Abbâsid caliphate to Hermann Zotenberg, the French Orientalist scholar who first systematically reconstructed the textual history of the Nights and presented a critical survey of existing manuscripts. A third, and introductory, section of the reference guide presents inspiring and at times provocative original essays contributed by a number of renowned international scholars, most of them specialists in the field. The topics treated by these authors are intended as ‘food for thought’ and as starting points for further reflections rather than exhaustive treatments of their topic. The essays reflect a variety of topics and methodological approaches, ranging from textual history to the role of poetry, from the background of the Nights in oral tradition and popular culture to their representation in Orientalist films, and from structuralist reflections to the impact of the Nights on modern Arabic literature. As a final point, I would like to draw attention to an area of particular relevance for folk narrative research. This area is concerned 14

The Arabian Nights in Comparative Folk Narrative Research with the flexible character of narratives, demonstrating once more that the Nights are neither a static nor a monolithic narrative monument, but rather a flowing compilation whose external position as well as internal boundaries have constantly been reshaped and redefined in a multiplicity of ways. Various case studies on different versions of specific tales, such as David Pinault’s study of the City of Brass (1992: 148–239), have successfully argued in the vein of the basic folklorist assumption that tales may change their meanings according to their context, written presentation and/or oral performance. Much as these case studies convey about the meaning of single tales, they do not allow the reconstruction of a coherent narrative strategy throughout the whole collection. In particular, the Nights make it difficult to extract a discernable intention on the part of its author or authors, precisely because their heterogeneous character has permitted the integration of many different genres of tale. Nevertheless, the numerous case studies on specific tales that have been achieved so far add up to a better understanding of their narrative universe, which is not only marvellous but also highly instructive in its embedded cultural notions. I would like to end on a reflective note questioning our fascination with the Arabian Nights. Had it not been for Galland and the specific cultural context his appropriation of the Nights met with, the Arabian Nights might well have remained relegated to the obscurity many other works of Arabic literature still dwell in. Considering the presently available knowledge about the history of the Nights, it appears wise to remember that to a large extent it was Western expectations and projections that shaped the Nights into what they are today. At the same time both readers and researchers ought to be aware of the degree their fascination with the Nights risks standing in the way of an adequate understanding of its position in their original context as well as of the scope and character of Arabic narrative art in general. Folk narrative research has contributed decisively to widening our horizons in this respect, and I trust it will continue to do so in the future. Ulrich Marzolph Enzyklopädie des Märchens

15

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism INDEX OF AT TALE-TYPES IN MAJOR EUROPEAN TRANSLATIONS OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS

The index lists only clearly corresponding items. It is constructed according to the following format: AT tale-type number and title (plus, if available, the relevant reference in the Enzyklopädie des Märchens, EM) = number and title of the entry in The Arabian Nights Encyclopaedia. Within the lists referring to specific translations, the tale-types are arranged chronologically. Multiple occurrences of any given taletype are only listed within their first occurrence. A. Burton (apud Calcutta II) AT 155: The Ungrateful Serpent Returned to Captivity = 47 The Wolf and the Fox AT 157 A: The Lion Searches for Man (EM 5: 576–584) = 44 The Birds and Beasts and the Carpenter AT 178: The Faithful Animal Rashly Killed = 10 Sindbâd and His Falcon AT 207 A: Ass Induces Overworked Bullock to Feign Sickness (EM 1: 989–994) = 2 The Bull and the Ass + 3 The Merchant and His Wife AT 331: The Spirit in the Bottle (EM 5: 922–928) = 8 The Fisherman and the Jinnî AT 400: The Man on a Quest for His Lost Wife (EM 9: 195–210) = 178 Jânshâh; 230 Hasan of Basra; 549 Dâmir and al-‘Anqâ’ AT 449: The Tsar’s Dog (Sidi Numan) = 7 The Third Shaykh’s Story; 351 Sîdî Nu‘mân; 468 Diamond AT 516 A: The Sign Language of the Princess = 41 ‘Azîz and ‘Azîza AT 519: The Strong Woman as Bride (Brunhilde) (EM 6: 745–753) = 39 ‘Umar ibn al-Nu‘mân AT 567: The Magic Bird-Heart = 61 Qamar al-Zamân and Budûr AT 575: The Prince’s Wings (EM 4: 1358–1365) = 103 The Ebony Horse AT 613: The Two Travellers (Truth and Falsehood) = 255 Abû Qîr and Abû Sîr; 382 Abû Niyya and Abû Niyyatayn; 400 Muhsin and Mûsâ AT 670: The Animal Languages = 2 The Bull and the Ass + 3 The Merchant and His Wife 16

The Arabian Nights in Comparative Folk Narrative Research AT 706: The Maiden Without Hands (EM 8: 1375–1387) = 95 The Woman Whose Hands Were Cut Off for Giving Alms to the Poor AT 712: Crescentia (EM 3: 167–171) = 163 The Jewish Qâdî and His Pious Wife; 306 The Devotee Accused of Lewdness; 512 OftProved Fidelity AT 736 A: The Ring of Polycrates (EM 10: 1164–1168) = 255 Abû Qîr and Abû Sîr; 352 Hasan al-Habbâl AT 750 A: The Wishes = 199 The Three Wishes AT 759: God’s Justice Vindicated (EM 3: 1438–1446) = 172 The Prophet and the Justice of Providence AT 763: The Treasure Finders Who Murder One Another = 56 The Merchant and the Two Sharpers; 299 The Three Men and Our Lord ‘Îsâ AT 861: Sleeping at the Rendezvous = 41 ‘Azîz and ‘Azîza; 401 Muhammad the Shalabî AT 881: Oft-Proved Fidelity (EM 5: 168–186) = 163 The Jewish Qâdî and His Pious Wife; 306 The Devotee Accused of Lewdness; 384 The Lovers of Syria; 512 Oft-Proved Fidelity AT 891 B*: The King’s Glove = 138 The King and the Virtuous Wife; 182 The King and His Vizier’s Wife; 285 Fîrûz and his Wife; 313 The King and His Chamberlain’s Wife AT 916: The Brothers Guarding the King’s Bedchamber and the Snake under section (II c) = 10 Sindbâd and His Falcon AT 936*: The Golden Mountain (EM 6: 538–540) = 178 The Story of Jânshâh; 230 Hasan of Basra AT 978: The Youth in the Land of the Cheaters = 205 The Sandalwood Merchant and the Sharpers AT 1137: The Ogre Blinded (Polyphemus) (EM 10: 1174–1184) = 179 Sindbâd the Seaman; 229 Sayf al-Mulûk AT 1358 B: Husband Carries off Box Containing Hidden Paramour (EM 3: 1055–1065) = 196 The King’s Son and the Merchant’s Wife AT 1419 D: The Lovers as Pursuer and Fugitive = 187 The Lady and Her Two Lovers AT 1422: Parrot Unable to Tell Husband Details of Wife’s Infidelity (EM 3: 1065–1068) = 11 The Husband and the Parrot; 183 The Confectioner, His Wife and the Parrot AT 1426: The Wife Kept in a Box (EM 5: 186–192) = 1 Shahriyâr 17

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism and his Brother; 204 The King’s Son and the ‘Ifrît’s Mistress AT 1430: The Man and His Wife Build Air Castles (EM 8: 1260–1265) = 33 The Barber’s Tale of His Fifth Brother; 238 The Fakir and His Jar of Butter AT 1515: The Weeping Bitch (EM 6: 1368–1372) = 193 The Wife’s Device to Cheat Her Husband AT 1526: The Old Beggar and the Robbers (EM 2: 263–268, at 266–267) = 224 Dalîla the Crafty AT 1529: Thief Claims to have been Transformed into a Horse (EM 3: 640–643) = 118 The Simpleton and His Sharper AT 1591: The Three Joint Depositors (EM 5: 1274–1276) = 207 The Stolen Purse AT 1610: To Divide Presents and Strokes = 133 Masrûr the Eunuch and Ibn al-Qâribî AT 1645: The Treasure at Home = 99 The Ruined Man Who Became Rich Again through a Dream AT 1681*: Foolish Man Builds Air Castles (EM 8: 1260–1265) = 33 The Barber’s Tale of His Fifth Brother; 238 The Fakir and His Jar of Butter AT 1730: The Entrapped Suitors (EM 8: 1056–1063) = 198 The Lady and Her Five Suitors; 393 The Goodwife of Cairo and Her Four Gallants AT 1737: The Parson in the Sack to Heaven (EM 10: 884–887) = 224 Dalîla the Crafty AT 1889 H: Submarine Otherworld = 227 Jullanâr; 256 ‘Abdallâh the Fisherman and ‘Abdallâh the Merman AT 2036: Drop of Honey Causes Chain of Accidents = 189 The Drop of Honey B. Burton (apud Breslau) AT 655: The Wise Brothers (EM 2: 874–887) = 289 The King Who Kenned the Quintessence of Things; 358 The Three Sharpers AT 910 D: The Treasure of the Hanging Man = 291 The Sage and His Three Sons; 459 Zulaykhâ AT 930 B: Prophecy: At Sixteen Princess Will Fall in Love with Forty Arabs = 307 The Hireling and the Girl AT 938: Placidas (Eustacius) (EM 10: 1069–1074) = 316 The King Who Lost His Kingdom; 408 The King 18

The Arabian Nights in Comparative Folk Narrative Research AT 960 A: The Cranes of Ibykus (EM 8: 331–334) = 337 The Fifteenth Constable’s History AT 1423: The Enchanted Pear Tree (EM 2: 417–421) = 295 The Simpleton Husband [1]; 388 The Simpleton Husband [2] AT 1531: The Man Thinks He Has Been in Heaven (EM 1: 1343–1346) = 263 The Sleeper and the Waker AT 1556: The Double Pension (Burial Money) (EM 10: 709–713) = 263 The Sleeper and the Waker AT 1617: Unjust Banker Deceived into Delivering Deposits (EM 8: 375–380) = 304 The Melancholist and the Sharper; 354 ‘Alî Khawâjâ; 426 The Unjust Banker AT 1641 A: Sham Physician Pretends to Diagnose Entirely from Urinalysis = 308 The Weaver Who Became a Leach by Order of His Wife AT 1641: Doctor Know-All (EM 3: 734–742) = 308 The Weaver Who Became a Leach by Order of His Wife; 517 The Soothsayer and His Apprentice AT 1654: The Robbers in the Death Chamber (EM 11: 345–348) = 309 The Two Sharpers Who Each Cozened His Compeer C. Burton (apud Galland and Pétis de la Croix) AT 465: The Man Persecuted Because of His Beautiful Wife (EM 9: 162–171) = 355 Ahmad and the Fairy Perî Bânû AT 561: Aladdin (EM 1: 240–247) = 346 ‘Alâ’ al-Dîn AT 653 A: The Rarest Thing in the World (EM 2: 903–912) = 355 Ahmad and the Fairy Perî Bânû; AT 676: Open Sesame (EM 1: 302–311) = 353 ‘Alî Bâbâ and the Forty Thieves AT 707: The Three Golden Sons = 356 The Two Sisters Who Envied Their Cadette; 382 Abû Niyya and Abû Niyyatayn AT 726**: The Prince and His Three Hosts Tell Their Adventure = 349 The Caliph’s Night Adventure AT 836 F*: The Miser and the Eye Ointment = 350 Bâbâ ‘Abdallâh AT 954: The Forty Thieves (EM 1: 302–311) = 353 ‘Alî Bâbâ and the Forty Thieves D. Burton and Tauer (apud Wortley-Montague manuscript) AT 550: Search for the Golden Bird = 375 King of al-Yaman and His 19

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism Three Sons AT 560: The Magic Ring = 380 The Fisherman and His Son AT 655 A: The Strayed Camel and the Clever Deductions (EM 2: 874–887) = 357 The Sultan of al-Yaman and His Three Sons AT 888 A*: The Basket-Maker = 390 The Three Princes of China; 477 The Tenth Captain’s Tale AT 926: Judgement of Solomon = 370 The Tale of the Qâdî and the Bhang-Eater AT 949*: Young Gentleman Learns Basketwork = 390 The Three Princes of China; 477 The Tenth Captain’s Tale AT 1000: Bargain Not to Become Angry = 390 The Three Princes of China AT 1250: Bringing Water from the Well (EM 2: 950–954) = 365 The Broke-Back Schoolmaster AT 1284: Person Does Not Know Himself (EM 7: 20–27) = 503 The Numskull Who Does Not Count the Ass He is Sitting on AT 1288: Numskulls Cannot Find Their Own Legs (EM 2: 64–67) = 508 The Stupid Berbers AT 1288 A: Numskull Cannot Find Ass He is Sitting on = 503 The Numskull Who Does Not Count the Ass He Is Sitting on AT 1327: Emptying the Meal Sack = 508 The Stupid Berbers AT 1380: The Faithless Wife (EM 2: 471–474) = 402 The Fellah and His Wicked Wife; 511 The Silly Woman Who Wanted to Blind Her Stepson AT 1381: The Talkative Wife and the Discovered Treasure (EM 5: 148–159) = 371 The Bhang-Eater and His Wife AT 1406: The Merry Wives Wager = 503 The Numskull Who Does Not Count the Ass He is Sitting on AT 1419: The Returning Husband Hoodwinked = 394 The Tailor and the Lady and the Captain; 398 Coelebs the Droll; 427 The Adulteress Who Tested Her Husband’s Trust; 447 ‘Alî the Fisherman AT 1537: The Corpse Killed Five Times (EM 8: 902–907) = 504 The Three Corpses AT 1538: The Youth Cheated in Selling Oxen (EM 11: 149–153) = 376 History of the First Larrikin AT 1539: Cleverness and Gullibility (EM 8: 1104–1108) = 377 History of the Second Larrikin 20

The Arabian Nights in Comparative Folk Narrative Research AT 1545: The Boy with Many Names (EM 7: 773–777) = 395 The Syrian and the Three Women of Cairo AT 1551: The Wager that Sheep Are Hogs = 376 History of the First Larrikin AT 1563: ‘Both?’ (EM 2: 55–64) = 406 The Youth Who Would Futter His Father’s Wives AT 1642: The Good Bargain (EM 6: 448–453) = 371 History of the Bhang-Eater and His Wife; 520 Hasan AT 1741: The Priest’s Guest and the Eaten Chickens (EM 10: 1308–1311) = 403 The Woman Who Humoured Her Lover at Her Husband’s Expense E. Burton (apud Chavis manuscript) AT 62: Peace Among the Animals – the Fox and the Cock (EM 5: 341–346) = 413 The Cock and the Fox AT 150: Advice of the Fox [or rather: Bird] (EM 8: 883–889) = 414 What Befell the Fowlet with the Fowler AT 245*: The Birds Discuss the Trap = 414 What Befell the Fowlet with the Fowler AT 301: The Three Stolen Princesses (EM 10: 1363–1369) = 417 The Three Princes and the Genius Morhagian AT 562: The Spirit in the Blue Light (EM 5: 928–933) = 412 The Warlock and the Young Cook of Baghdad; 545 Hasan, the King of Egypt AT 681: King in the Bath; Years of Experience in a Moment = 412 The Warlock and the Young Cook of Baghdad; 435 Shahâb alDîn; 443 Solomon and the Queen of Sheba; 456 The Two Lives of Sultan Mahmûd AT 851 A: Turandot (EM 11: 286–294) = 411 The Linguist-Dame, the Duenna and the King’s Son AT 852: The Hero Forces the Princess to Say, ‘That is a Lie’ = 409 The Say of Hayqâr the Sage AT 910 K: The Precepts and the Uriah Letter (EM 5: 662–671) = 411 The Linguist-Dame, the Duenna and the King’s Son AT 921 E: Never Heard Before (EM 8: 156–160) = 409 Hayqâr the Sage AT 922 A: Achikar (EM 1: 53–59) = 409 Hayqâr the Sage

21

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism F. Habicht AT 612: The Three Snake-Leaves = 432 ‘Adîla AT 1417: The Cut-off Nose (Hair) (EM 9: 1225–1230) = 431 The Shoemaker’s Wife AT 1525 Q: The Two Thieves Married to the Same Woman = 425 The Woman Who Had Two Husbands AT 1615: The Heller Thrown into Other’s Money = 425 The Woman Who Had Two Husbands G. Weil translation AT 678: The King Transfers His Soul to a Parrot = 441 The King Who Transferred His Soul into a Parrot AT 910 B: The Servant’s Good Counsels (EM 11: 259–267) = 440 The Shoemaker and His Lover AT 976: Which Was the Noblest Act? (EM 6: 459-464) = 439 The Thief Discovered by Story-Telling AT 1215: The Miller, His Son and the Ass: Trying to Please Everyone (EM 1: 867–873) = 436 The Gardener, His Son and the Donkey AT 1510: The Matron of Ephesus (Vidua) = 443 Solomon and the Queen of Sheba H. Mardrus AT 314: The Youth Transformed to a Horse (EM 5: 1372–1383) = 462 The He-Goat and the King’s Daughter; 463 The Prince and the Tortoise; 478 The Eleventh Captain’s Tale AT 325: The Magician and His Pupil = 479 The Twelfth Captain’s Tale AT 410: Sleeping Beauty = 476 The Ninth Captain’s Tale AT 510 A: Cinderella (EM 3: 39–57) = 461 The Anklet AT 513 C: The Son of the Hunter = 471 The Third Captain’s Tale; 472 The Fourth Captain’s Tale AT 621: The Louse-Skin (EM 8: 795–801) = 474 The Sixth Captain’s Tale AT 875: The Clever Peasant Girl (EM 1: 1353–1365) = 464 The Chick-Pea Seller’s Daughter AT 879: The Basil Maiden (The Sugar Puppet, Viola) (EM 1: 1308–1311) = 464 The Chick-Pea Seller’s Daughter AT 923 B: The Princess Who Was Responsible for Her Own Fortune 22

The Arabian Nights in Comparative Folk Narrative Research = 473 The Fifth Captain’s Tale AT 1164: The Evil Woman Thrown into the Pit (EM 2: 80–86) = 458 The Youth Behind Whom Indian and Chinese Airs Were Played AT 1419 B: The Animal in the Chest (EM 2: 565–568) = 453 The Qâdî and the Ass’s Foal AT 1419 C: The Husband’s One Good Eye Covered (Treated) (EM 3: 1082–1084) = 466 The Captain of Police AT 1534: Series of Clever Unjust Decisions = 454 The Astute Qâdî AT 1567 C: Asking the Large Fish (EM 4: 1218–1221) = 489 The Parasite AT 1675: The Ox (Ass) as Mayor (EM 10: 188–193) = 452 The Qâdî-Mule A statistical survey of the above listing in terms of categories of tales yields the following result: A 1–299 Animal Tales 300–749 Tales of Magic

12

750–849 Religious Tales

3

850–999 Romantic Tales

6

1000–1199 Tales of the Stupid Ogre

1

1200–1874 Jokes and Anecdotes

B

C

D

4

14

E

F

G

H

3 1

6

3

3

7 1

1

6

1 4

1

33 4

3

5

2

3

24

2

6

49

1 7

Total

2

17

3

1875–1999 Tales of Lying

1

1

2000–2199 Cumulative Tales

1

1

Total

42

12

8

24

11

4

5

15

121

NOTES 1. On Orientalism in the arts and in film, see MacKenzie, 1995; Bernstein and Studlar, 1997. 2. On the specific implications of the collection’s various denominations, see most recently Sallis, 1999. 3. Schulze, 1988; Sievernich and Budde, 1989; Im Lichte des Halbmonds, 1995, 1996. 4. The literature on Galland is vast; see for example, Abdel-Halim, 1964;

23

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism Hagège, 1980; Hawari, 1980; May, 1986; Larzul, 1996; Bauden, 2001; Hoang, 2001; Wieckenberg, 2002. 5. The tale of Aladdin is probably the most often studied tale of the Arabian Nights; see most recently Hänsch, 1988; Cooperson, 1994; Marzolph, 1995; Wise, 2003.

24

CHAPTER 2

Mythological Constituents of Alf laylah wa laylah PREFACE

Typological Tools

A

S STUDENTS OF elite Arabic literature increasingly address issues pertaining to folklore, knowledge of some basic references dealing with the literary aspects of folk traditions should prove beneficial. The narratives that constitute Alf laylah wa laylah (henceforth Alf laylah) are assumed to be derived mostly from oral traditions. In the present folkloristic essay, identification of traditional data is undertaken in terms of two classificatory concepts: ‘tale-type’, and ‘motif’. These terms are associated with the Finn Antti Aarne and the American Stith Thompson.1 Simply stated, a tale-type is a full narrative that recurs cross-culturally. The term ‘subtype’ is a derivative concept used to refer to a recurrent variation on a tale-type (or a tale’s plot); a subtype may characterize the traditions of a certain social group on the basis of age, gender, ethnicity, location, social status or occupation. Meanwhile, the term ‘motif’ denotes a smaller narrative unit recurrent in folk literature. Thompson described motifs as ‘those details out of which full-fledged narratives are composed’.2 Through the use of motifs cultural material can be identified with a specificity. For example, the herb that allows one to walk on water in the story of Bulu¯qiya¯, and the herb (plant) of immortality in the Gilgamesh epic may not be treated as equivalent.3 A tale-type is designated by a digital number that may end with an alphabetical letter (or an asterisk) to indicate that it is a subtype or a variation on a cardinal tale-type;4 meanwhile a motif is designated by an alphabetical letter indicating its general nature within Thompson’s motif schema followed by a digital number.5 Most oral tales incorporate

25

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism a limited number of tale types; however, a tale may contain dozens of motifs. It should be pointed out that the application of either concept is not an end in itself, but only a tool to assist researchers in locating parallels and counterparts of certain data (tale, or theme/motif) for the purpose of conducting objective research. Both indexes provide a wealth of bibliographic references specifying occurrences of the motif or taletype across the world. One such reference is Victor Chauvin’s invaluable encyclopaedic work, Bibliographie des ouvrages arabes ou relatifs aux arabes, on narrative traditions including Alf laylah. Regrettably, with reference to Arabic-Islamic traditions both The Types of the Folktale and the Motif-Index as they stand now are woefully inadequate in terms of inclusion of available data, and recognition of culture-specific concepts and social practices.6 Two new reference works have been developed by the present writer to address Arab World traditions more precisely: Folk Traditions of the Arab World: A Guide to Motif Classification; and Types of the Folktale in the Arab World: A Demographically Oriented Tale-Type Index. All new tale-types added to the Aarne/Thompson tale-type system and new motifs added to the Thompson motif system are marked by the section sign (§) at the end of the number. A double dagger sign (‡) indicates a newer tale type or motif, developed or added after the publication of Folk Traditions of the Arab World in 1995.7 What is Mythological? This essay explores some of the quasi-sacred (religious) and the quasihistorical components found in one edition of Alf laylah.8 The theses presented are based on the premise that the narratives constituting the Nights were derived mainly from oral traditions and constitute representation by literate adult males (El-Shamy, 1990). Such cultural data are often viewed as ‘mythological’ or ‘legendary’ and may be grouped in two categories as designated by Norwegian folklorist Christiansen (1958: 39): 1. ‘lower mythology’, which refers to less elaborate forms of supernatural, or beliefs and ‘superstitions’ that lack stylization (formularization). 26

Mythological Constituents of Alf laylah wa laylah 2. ‘higher mythology’, which designates intricate highly polished and elaborate forms. In his inclusive work on The Folktale, Stith Thompson delineated the boundaries of ‘myth’ as a genre within the general context of the folktale as a ‘tale laid in a world supposed to have preceded the present order. It tells of sacred beings and of semi-divine heroes and of the origins of all things, usually through the agency of these sacred beings’ (1946: 9). Naturally, myths and the mythical are manifested in a variety of forms and behavioural patterns that need not be necessarily in a narrative form. An idea, a concept or a sentiment can be as mythical as an ancient narrative account of the deeds of Osiris, Isis or Gilgamesh. A myth is something that is believed to be true, whereas in reality it is not. In the daily lives of laymen, the ‘mythological’ – ‘high’ or ‘low’, narrative or ‘non-narrative’ – is typically intertwined with sacred religious dogmas and rituals but is not considered part of these dogmas. Such is the situation with some of the supernatural beliefs and associated practices recurrent in Alf laylah. These include supernatural beliefs about acquisition of immortality, ogres, flying horses, efficacy of magic rituals and transformations, and terrestrial utopian communities (earthly paradises). Such supernatural beliefs occur within descriptions of life – real or fictitious (that is, stories) – presented to readers as ‘true’ or ‘untrue/fantasy’. Scholars may characterize these narratives in terms of literary genres as novelle (realistic romantic tales), Zaubermärchen (magic-tales, fairy tales), humorous anecdotes, exempla or religious and historical legends. It should be pointed out that attempting to establish the relationship between contemporary narratives and their ancient counterparts constitutes not a quest for origins but an effort to ascertain the stability of a tradition and its social, cultural and affective (emotional) relevance (El-Shamy, 1980: 239–240). Consequently, the occurrence of a motif in cultures separated by vast stretches of time or space does not necessarily mean that the more recent is necessarily derived from the older, or that the specially at hand is connected to the distant.9 Yet, under the same conditions, the likelihood of the existence of an organic connection between full narratives (tale-types) is greater.10

27

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism THE SACRED IN ALF LAYLAH

Sacred religious beliefs recur in Alf laylah with the same high frequency with which they occur in actual social life. Examples of these religious doctrines are: ‘Creator’s command: Be! – it becomes’;11 ‘Paradise as garden (Garden of Eden)’;12 ‡‘tashahhud (uttering the testimony: “No god but God, and Mohammed is His Messenger”): dying Moslem’s last rite’;13 ‘Miraculous effects of invoking God’s attributes (basmalah, h.asbanah, h.awqalah, and so on)’.14 Numerous narratives are religious belief legends, fraught with the miraculous and given in a religious context. Such is the case, for example, with the untitled story about a pious Jew who was a craftsman and his faithful wife. He was delivered miraculously from the machination of an adulterous customer by receiving help from an angel who carried him off the top of her house.15 Generally speaking, such beliefs in themselves lie outside the realm of the mythical. Frequently, a sacred belief may occur within a mythological context. Lower Mythology in Alf laylah Other recurrent beliefs that are not part of sacred dogma include the following: ‡‘Demon (afrit, jinni, magician and the like) flies man to destination – usually by carrying him on his back’;16 ‘Fortune told by cutting sand [raml/ramma¯l]’;17 ‘Horoscope taken by means of stars [astrology]’;18 ‘Princess (maiden) abducted by monster (ogre)’;19 ‡‘Woman abducted by (transformed) fairy’;20 and ‘Saint in several places at once [min ’ahl-al-khut.wah, min al-’abda¯l]’.21 Higher Mythology in Alf laylah A few of the Nights’ narratives fall clearly within the ‘higher mythology’ category. This quality may be overt and directly observable, or covert and its mythological nature less readily discernible. Overt Higher Mythology An example of the overt category of higher mythology is the narrativecomplex of H . ¯asib Karı¯m al-Dı¯n (ibn Da¯nya¯l) and its sub-narratives 28

Mythological Constituents of Alf laylah wa laylah given under the titles Bulu¯qiya¯ (Balou ¯qiya) (Chauvin, 1900–03: VII, No.77), Djamasp (ibid.: V, 255 No.152.) and Djanchah.22 These stories are linked together serially through the adventures of the protagonists whose names they bear as titles; yet, the ending of the story-complex converges with its beginning through the success of its initial main 23 character, H . ¯asib. As a literary genre, this mythical account is qualitatively different from the rest of the typical contents of Alf laylah. Consequently, Edward E. Lane excluded it from his translation on the grounds that it is ‘a compound of the most extravagant absurdities’ (Lane, 1839–41: II, 643, emphasis added). It is worth noting that the H . ¯asib Karı¯m al-Dı¯n narrative-complex is not part of Antoine Galland’s celebrated translation which introduced the Arabian Nights to Europe. In this account the mythological occurs in association with ordinary as well as sacred contexts. It begins with common themes. A Grecian savant and his wife are childless. A son, H . ¯asib, is born after the death of the father. As an inheritance, the father leaves for his yet-to-be-born child a few pages constituting all that remained from his library after a shipwreck. The son is unpromising; he does not learn at school, and fails at numerous manual professions. Finally, he is sent to learn the lowly profession of firewood gathering. The boy discovers a cache of wild honey in a well (cistern). His companions lower him into the well to gather the honey in instalments with his help, and sell it in town. Yet, they abandon the boy in the well so as not to share in the revenue; they claim to his mother that her son might have been eaten by a wolf. Inside the cave a scorpion accidentally falls, the boy follows it and discovers a ray of light, which leads to a regally furnished court. Following this realistic introduction,24 the narrative is transformed into a mythological account beginning with the hero’s advent into the kingdom of vipers25 as he followed the scorpion and the ray of light. There, the queen of vipers receives him courteously and tells him a story about Bulu¯qiya¯, and how he learned of the mission of Prophet Muhammad at the latter days. Hearing this prophecy H . ¯asib begins his 26 quest to learn about this ultimate truth. A key element in this transformation is the recurrent theme of ‘Mystic (spiritual) experience while in cave (in mountain)’.27 The hero travels to distant lands and extraterrestrial realms seeking the truth, meets various supernatural characters, and learns a variety of life’s secrets including acts of divine creation. These acts are ‘laid in a world supposed to have preceded the 29

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism present order’, and are mostly incongruent with established religious dogma. The account also contains narrative data, given as details of events, pertaining to the following tale-types (narrative plots) recurrent in folk oral traditions: 806§, Tour of Sky-Worlds – mortal visits heavens; 400, The Swan Maid – when her feathers are burned, she becomes a beautiful girl; 936*, The Golden Mountain – treacherous magician (merchant) has assistant carried by bird to mountain top then abandons him. It also incorporates a love story comparable to AT 970, The Twining Branches. Two branches grow from the grave of unfortunate lovers. This detail narrative is woven around the motifs: T86.0.1§, ‡‘Lovers buried in side-by-side graves’; and T86.0.1.1§, ‡‘Lover builds grave next to that of dead sweetheart and awaits own death’. Within that broader story-complex we encounter a host of mythological characters (persona). Frequently, a sacred personage appears in accordance with his role in formal religious dogma. One such personage is Archangel Gabriel, who descends from heaven to revive the hero who had fainted, and answers some of his questions. Typically, these functions of Gabriel are reserved for God’s messengers (rather than ordinary individuals or folk heroes who normally encounter angels of far lesser stature).28 However, the majority of the characters are extrareligious and are, thus, mythological. One of the most salient of the ‘myths’ portrayed is the description of the emergence (or creation) of Iblis (Lucifer). So radically different is this report from the Quranic (38: 78) and biblical accounts that no oral rendition or other written counterparts of it have so far been reported. As provided in Alf laylah, this component of the story is stated by the mythical character S.akhr the king of jinn. This component may be titled ‘Eblis: Disobedient Son Transformed’. As for us [jinn, said S. akhr], the Almighty Maker created us of the fire; for the first that he made in Jahannam were two of His host, whom he called Khalit and Malit. Now Khalit was fashioned in the likeness of a lion, with a tail like a tortoise twenty years’ 30

Mythological Constituents of Alf laylah wa laylah journey in length and ending in a member masculine; while Malit was like a pied wolf whose tail was furnished with a member feminine. Then Almighty Allah commanded the tails to couple and copulate and do the deed of kind, and of them were born serpents and scorpions, whose dwelling is in the fire, that Allah may therewith torment those whom He casteth therein; and these increased and multiplied. Then Allah commanded the tails of Khalit and Malit to couple and copulate a second time, and the tail of Malit conceived by the tail of Khalit and bore fourteen children, seven male and seven female, who grew up and intermarried one with other. All were obedient to their sire, save one who disobeyed him and was changed into a worm which is Iblis (the curse of Allah be upon him!). (Alf laylah, 3: 33; trans. Burton, 1885–88 V: 319) This etiological account also contains the following unique mythological and other accompanying motifs: F252.1, ‘Fairy king’; F252.1.0.1.1§ (formerly F252.1.0.1§), ‘King of the jinn’; Z100.2.3§, ‡‘Awe-evoking name of jinni King: S.akhr (rock)’; B14.6§, ‡‘Khalı¯t: mythical animal created in the image (form) of lion with tail of viper. Its length is worth twenty years of travel’; B14.7§, ‡‘Malı¯t: mythical animal created in the image (form) of wolf, with tail of female-tortoise’; A2145.7§, ‡‘Origin of hell’s vipers’; A2145.7.1§, ‡‘Hell’s vipers (and scorpions) are the offspring of Khalı¯t and Malı¯t (mythical hybrids’ first pregnancy)’; A1274.1.1§, ‡‘Scores of twin brother-and-sister as children of first parents – (twenty, one hundred and twenty, etc.)’; A0164.1, ‘Brother–sister marriage of the Gods’; T587.0.1§, ‘Twin brother and sister’; A2921.1§, ‡‘Eblis: born as one of the fourteen children of Khalı¯t and Malı¯t. He disobeyed his father by refusing to marry one of his seven twin-sisters, and was transformed into a worm (which became Eblis)’; T415.5.1.2§, ‡‘Father weds (plans to wed) own daughter to own son’; 31

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism Q551.3.0.1.2§, ‡‘Eblis transformed from (mighty) hybrid form to worm (for disobeying own parent)’; A1552.4§, ‡‘Pairs of twin brother–sister children of first parents marry each other’; A1552.5§, ‡‘Scores of twin brothers and sisters children of first demonic parents marry each other’; A1274.4.1§, ‡‘Fourteen brothers and sisters born to first hybrid demons (Khalı¯t and Malı¯t)’. Another curious aspect of this myth is that it endorses twin brother–sister marriage and metes out humiliating punishment for the one who opposes it.29 In this respect, the myth contradicts earlier reports about first marriages among the children of Adam and Eve. The Qur’ân mentions only the incident of fratricide due to acceptance of an offering from one brother but not from the other (5: 27). Yet, para-religious literature argued that first marriages were deemed legitimate only between cross twins. The first murder was argued to have been a fratricide committed over tabooed marriage to one’s own twin sister (Mot. A1297.1§, Cain killed Abel in order not to lose own twin sister as wife).30 This theme of brother-sister marriage, or incest, is of considerable psychosocial significance and constitutes an aspect of the ‘Brother– Sister Syndrome Theory’ developed by the present writer with reference to Arab cultures.31 It is recurrent in both oral and literary traditions. A number of tale-types revolve around it.32 Besides, there is some evidence suggesting that a European tale may have been derived from our present narrative-complex (or vice versa). The tale is AT 613C*, Brother and Sister Heal the King. Although The Types of the Folktale ignores the brother–sister incestuous theme, the description of the contents provides evidence to its presumed link to our present narrative-complex.33 A king with seven sons and seven daughters wants his sons to marry his daughters but the youngest son and daughter do not agree to this plan and leave. They sleep under a tree. The daughter has a dream about an ill king who could be healthy again if he takes a bath in the water coming from that tree. [The sister (daughter) masked as man, and, along with her brother, heals the king, who marries her afterwards.] 32

Mythological Constituents of Alf laylah wa laylah The tale-type and the myth share the following pivotal themes: the number of brothers and sisters, the demand by the father, the rejection of the incestuous marriage by the children, and the healing of the king.34 However, the determination as to whether AT 615C* is actually related to our myth, or that the similarities are coincidental (or archetypal) must await further research. In addition to the act of creation of Khalı¯t and Malı¯t, the storycomplex describes other mythological acts: C721, ‘Tabu: bathing’; E765.4.8.1§, ‡‘Queen of vipers will die when man (hero) bathes’; A1413.7.2§, ‡‘Doorkeeper of Cape of “Majma’ al-Bah.rayn”’;35 A1413.6§, ‡‘Harnessing (channelling) of water power’; A1413.7§, ‡‘Control of flow of waters from (celestial) sources’. Also encountered are mythological locations: B225.3§, ‡‘Kingdom of vipers: all females’; F709.5.2.2§, ‡‘White Land, beyond Qa¯f Mountains: faraway’; F499.3.5§, ‘Habitat of the jinn’; F709.5.2.2.0.1§, ‡‘White Land, beyond Qa¯f Mountains, is Land of Shadda¯d ibn ‘Ad F709.5.2.2.1§, ‡‘White Land, beyond Qa¯f Mountains, inhabited by jinn’; F709.5.2.2.2§, ‡‘White Land, beyond Qa¯f Mountains, is meetingplace for angels (with certain mission)’; A965.5.1§, ‡‘Mountain of ice shields earth from heat of hell’s fire’; A1413.7.1§, ‡‘Meeting (convergence) spot of two seas. Strait (Majma’ al-Bah.rayn)’; A1114§, ‡‘Origin (source) of world waters’; A1114.1§, ‡A1114§ ‘All waters of the world (salt and sweet) spring from water reservoir located under God’s Throne’;36 A1413.6.1§, ‡‘Celestial dam harnesses all waters of universe (Located in sky, under God’s Throne)’. Virtually all of the above-cited themes are alien to formal Islam. Furthermore, these themes portray a world view incongruent with recurrent folk beliefs encountered in daily life.37 Yet, as components of 33

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism a literary belief system, these themes reveal affective (psychological) dimensions espoused by the social groups to whom they belong. Covert Higher Mythology Other examples of higher mythology in Alf laylah appear as ordinary folktales with the tale’s characteristic forms and contents. In this respect, nineteenth- and twentieth-century debates about how folktales originated may be recalled. According to Lord Raglan’s ‘Ritualistic Theory’, contemporary folktales are descendants of ancient priestly texts (‘myths’) which were misunderstood and distorted by ‘peasants’ and ‘savages’ who lacked the intellect to understand them. In attempting to retell what they had heard at the temple, they produced what came to be known to us as fairy tales. This process is referred to as ‘evolutionary degeneration’.38 A tale that manifests these qualities is the account of Abu¯-Qı¯r and Abu ¯-Sı . ¯r (Alf laylah, 4: 182–197; see Chauvin 5, 15, No.10). In this case, the mythical attributes of the story can be inferred only from historical records and through its association with other traditions – ancient and contemporary, written and oral. This story is idiosyncratically39 identified in The Types of the Folktale as Type 980*, The Painter and the Architect;40 (or, more precisely, ‘[The vile dyer and the noble barber (Abu¯-Qı¯r and Abu ¯-Sı . ¯r) – designated as new taletype 613A1§]. The plot given under AT 980* is actually a variation on the theme of AT 613, The Two Travellers (Truth and Falsehood),41 which is included in only some editions of Alf laylah, and is lacking in others including the one under consideration in this essay.42 These two tale-types, AT 613 and 980*, are modern variations on the ancient Egyptian ‘sacred account’/‘myth’ of ‘The Blinding of Truth by Falsehood’, and ‘The Contendings of Horus and Seth for the Rule’. Regrettably, as explained elsewhere, ancient Egyptian narrative and related traditions are almost totally lacking in basic folkloristic literature and indexes. Consequently, ancient Egyptian traditions remain outside folklore indexes. The rich data and constructive thoughts that Gaston Maspero, for example, offered in his works (especially Popular Stories of Ancient Egypt) played no significant role in the development or the testing of folklore theories.43 In contemporary Arab and related folk cultures, Type 613 often 34

Mythological Constituents of Alf laylah wa laylah carries the title “El-‘As.il we-l-Khasis” (The Noble and the Vile)’, or a similar appellation expressing personality contrast. The story accounts for how an evil person mutilates and blinds his good-hearted companion (brother), and eventual triumph of good over evil. Two friends, or brothers, travel together. They agree to share their rations; they start with Noble’s until it is all consumed. Vile refuses to share his food or water with Noble. He sells him morsels of bread or swallows of water for body organs, and ends up by mutilating and blinding Noble and abandons him in a well. In the well, Noble hears secrets about healing herbs from benevolent supernatural beings (angels, arch-saints). He applies the medicine to himself and regains his lost limbs and eyes. He also learns of a sick princess (usually she is blind) and how she can be healed. Noble marries the princess after using his supernatural herb to cure her. Vile wanders about in pitiful condition. Noble invites him and shares with him the secret of the healing herb. When Vile tries to imitate, he is killed.44 This tale, it has been concluded, seems to have its roots in an ancient Egyptian religious account of a conflict between Truth and Falsehood. The written text dates back to the 19th Dynasty of the thirteenth century BC.45 The ancient account may be summarized as follows: Falsehood accuses his older brother, Truth, of having lost or damaged an extraordinarily huge knife or sword and asks the Ennead that Truth be blinded and forced to serve as the keeper of his gate. They agree (cf. Mot. K451.1, ‘Unjust umpire decides a religious dispute’). Still jealous of Truth’s virtue, Falsehood orders two of his brother’s servants to take him to the desert and throw him to lions. They spare his life, leave him at the foot of a hill, and report to Falsehood that his brother has been torn apart by a lion (Mot. K512, ‘Compassionate executioner’, K419.11.1§, ‡‘Blame for missing person (child) fastened on wolf (or the like)’). Truth is discovered by some maids who report his beauty to their mistress. She sleeps with him and he begets a child with her; nonetheless, 35

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism Truth still serves as her doorkeeper. The child grows and goes to school, where he is reproached for being fatherless. He inquires of his mother, and she points out his father (Mot. H1381.2.2.1, ‘Boy twitted with illegitimacy seeks unknown father’). The father tells him the story. To vindicate his father, the son leaves a fine steer with Falsehood’s shepherds. Falsehood admires the calf, slaughters it and eats it. The son demands his calf back and claims that it was of supernatural size or that it gave birth to 60 calves daily (Mot. X1237, ‘Lie: remarkable ox or steer’). The matter is taken to the gods, and they state that such a calf cannot exist. The youth then asks them, ‘How can there be a knife as large as you had stated before?’ (Mot. J1163, ‘Pleading for accused by means of parable’). The son then reveals his identity. Falsehood contests the youth’s claim and swears that Truth is dead and wagers to lose his eyes and to serve as Truth’s doorkeeper if Truth is proved to be alive (Mot. N2.3.3, ‘Eyes wagered’). The youth produces Truth, his father, and the punishment is carried out. And thus the dispute between Truth and Falsehood is resolved. On the basis of newly discovered traditions, it may be concluded that this ancient Egyptian account seems to have developed into two independent narratives in modern Egyptian lore. It also seems to have generated a number of proverbial expressions and songs. The first part concerning the unjust decision and the blinding of Truth appears as a belief legend recurrent in rural areas. It combines Motif K451.1 of the unjust umpire with Motif N61, ‘Wager that falsehood is better than truth’. Briefly stated, the modern story states that: Truth and Falsehood are partners who own a farm jointly. Falsehood cheats Truth out of his share, then his land, then his house, and finally wants him to leave the village. They agree to ask the first man they meet to judge their case – the umpire states, ‘Truth should leave the village, and Falsehood should remain.’ This entire narrative is usually summed up in the proverbial form: ‘We said, “Truth!” They replied, “Get out of the village!”’46 A number of (Egyptian) narrators have pointed out that the contents of the tale and those of a frequently recurrent folk song are identical. 36

Mythological Constituents of Alf laylah wa laylah The song may have originated as a reference to the incident cited in the ancient account. The song states, Vile said to Noble, ‘Come, we will make you a servant for us. You will eat and drink, and among the servants you will be [another] servant.’ The second part of the ancient narrative concerning the restoration of Truth’s eyesight is doubtless associated with AT 613. Egyptologists advanced certain arguments in this regard without reference to modern lore. In his introduction to Adolph Erman’s The Ancient Egyptians, W.K. Simpson states that this narrative ‘certainly reflects the avenging of Osiris by Horus’ (Erman, 1966: xv). Similarly, Emma Brunner-Traut, addressing herself to F. von der Leyen’s inquiry into the nature of the ‘clever youth’ who does not know his father, concludes that this youth is ‘no one but the boy Horus who strove for justice for his father Osiris’ (Brunner-Traut, 1965: 262). Thus the conflict between Falsehood and Truth is actually the conflict between Osiris and his younger brother Seth. Although the episode of the son is missing from all available variants, the general pattern and beliefs associated with the ancient Egyptian account still live in current oral traditions of Egypt (El-Shamy, 1980: 261–262). Folklorists’ Premature Conclusions During the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, folklorists advanced ‘theories’ about the origins of certain tales in almost total absence of knowledge of Egyptian and other Arab folk traditions. On the basis of R.Th. Christiansen’s monographic study of AT 613 titled The Tale of the Two Travellers, and other investigations by K. Krohn and M. Gaster, Thompson stated that ‘as a literary story the tale is not less than fifteen hundred years old. It is found in Chinese Buddhistic literature.’ Thompson also concludes that ‘its rather remote and oriental origin seems clear. . . ’ (Thompson, 1946: 80). W. Eberhard and P.N. Boratav (1953: 306) quote the same literature attributing the origins of the tale to Indian and related Buddhist literature. In light of the new evidence from ancient Egyptian literature of 3,300 years ago, and the modern texts presented in El-Shamy’s 37

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism Folktales of Egypt (1980: 263–264, No.14), these conclusions should be reconsidered. 47 ‘Abu¯-Qı¯r and Abu¯-Sı . ¯r’ One tale of dual literary and oral recurrence is the story bearing the title of Abu¯-Qı¯r wa Abu¯-Sı .¯r. The core plot may be designated as a variation on Type 613, The Two Travellers (Truth and Falsehood); as such it has been designated as a new tale-type: 613A1§, The Vile Dyer Seeks to Eliminate the Noble Barber (Abu¯-Qı¯r and Abu¯-Sı . ¯r). In its literary format, the story may be summarized as follows:

Two poor craftsmen from Alexandria – a dishonest dyer named Abu¯-Qı¯r and [an honest] barber named Abu¯-Sı . ¯r – form a pact. They travel together by sea; the barber works and earns plenty of food and the dyer gluttonously devours all the barber’s earnings. They reach land where they live on the barber’s savings; the barber becomes ill and his friend steals his money and abandons him. The dyer discovers that the inhabitants have only partial knowledge of the art of dying; he applies his craft and becomes rich. When the barber visits him, the dyer accuses him of being a thief and gives him a beating. The barber, in turn, discovers that the inhabitants have no knowledge of public baths; he applies his art, refuses to overcharge his customers and still becomes very rich. The dyer visits the barber, claims that he had been searching for him in order to repay his debts, and suggests to the barber that he present to the king a medicine for removing body hair. But the dyer tells the king that the barber intends to kill him with a smelly poison claiming it to be medicine; he further proposes that the barber should be put in a sack full of ‘live lime’ and thrown into the sea in order to die by burning and drowning simultaneously. The king assigns this task to the captain of his ship, but out of gratitude to the barber, the captain spares his life. The barber works as a fisherman and catches a fish that had swallowed the king’s magic ring in which his power to rule resided. He takes the ring to the king and the truth is learned. The king refuses a plea from the barber to forgive the dyer and has him executed in the same manner proposed for killing the barber. 38

Mythological Constituents of Alf laylah wa laylah The barber leaves for Alexandria with his wealth; upon reaching his homeland, he finds in the sea the sack containing the corpse of the dyer. The barber mourns his friend, gives him a decent burial in a shrine, and when his own death comes, he is buried nearby. ‘And due to this [dual burial], that place was named Abu¯-Qı¯r and Abu¯-Sı . ¯r, and has now come to be known as [only] Abu¯-Qı¯r. . . ’. The shared core of the two narratives (Types 613, and 613A1§/980*) is the ancient religious themes of: A106, ‡‘Opposition of good and evil gods’; U20§, ‘Opposites are ever present side by side: good–evil (honesty–fraud, truth–falsehood)’; The two narratives also share the following themes: A1617, ‘Origin of place-name [(Abu¯-Qı¯r)]’; Z0183.0.1§, ‘Meaning of a name – [(Abu¯-Sı . ¯r/Bu¯sı¯ris/Osiris)]’; W185, ‘Violence of temper’; K2296, ‘Treacherous partner’; F901.2, ‘Extraordinary twofold death: burning, drowning’; K1633.1.1§, ‘The evil counsel: death by burning and drowning; applied to counsellor’; E192.6.1§, ‘Corpse thrown into sea (river) drifts to its home’; V113.6§, ‘Evil doer enshrined’;48 V401§, ‘Charitable endowment (waqf/’awqa¯f ): property whose income is to be used for maintaining philanthropic institution (for example, school, hospital, orphanage, shrine and so on)’. The arguments that this narrative is connected to AT 613, and that one of the two names (Abu¯-S. ¯r) ı denoted a noble character are substantiated by the fact that Osiris was referred to as ‘the lord of Bu¯Sı¯r’: Bu¯-Sı¯r (Abu¯-Sı . ¯r) being a site in the Eastern Nile Delta that was a centre for the veneration of Osiris.49 While many of the themes cited here may not necessarily be mythological, the modern tales are mere adaptations of the descriptions of the deeds of good and evil deities when gods acted like ordinary men. 39

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism As already pointed out,50 Egyptologists confirm the existence in antiquity of folk narrative traditions. Edward F. Wente states that ‘the Tale of the Two Brothers is not an official version of the myth’.51 He also proposes that ‘one form of the Egyptian faith was the popular story which might be told by a raconteur in the marketplace’ (1972: 92–93). Similarly, John A. Wilson points out that the tale of ‘The Contest of Horus and Seth for Rule’ draws from ‘the [priestly] myth for a lusty folk-story told for entertainment rather than didactic purposes’ (Pritchard, 1950: 14, 23). Thus, it may be concluded that folklore in general and the folktale in particular seem to have existed for millennia coterminous with learned elite culture. On the whole, it seems that the emergence of lore was not dependent on the development of a specific social class, nor was the emergence of the folktale ushered in by the disintegration of priestly accounts as postulated by Lord Raglan.

CONCLUSION

A symbiotic relationship between the sacred (holy or mythical) intended for veneration, and the ordinary narratives intended for entertainment seems to have existed side by side since the earliest days of recorded literature. The cases from Alf laylah treated in this essay provide vivid illustrations of that type of relationship. In our own contemporary global culture, to understand the relationship between the ancient ‘mythological’ and the modern sacred and quasi-sacred is to open vistas on contemporary human psyches and the variety of genetically transmitted emotions as well as learned sentiments52 that lurk within them. HASAN EL-SHAMY Indiana University, Bloomington

NOTES 1. See Aarne and Thompson (1961), abbreviated AT or Aa-Th. For a discussion in Arabic of systems of classification, see El-Shamy (June 1969, March 1969, 1988).

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Mythological Constituents of Alf laylah wa laylah 2. Thompson (1955–58: 1, 10). Also see El-Shamy (1997). 3. As components of a system, the ‘plant of immortality’ is a subdivision of the category of Mot. D1330, ‘Magic object works physical change’; D1346.5, ‡‘Plant of immortality’; D1346.5.1§, ‡‘Herb of immortality’; D1346.5.1.1§, ‡‘Herb extends life till End of World (blowing of trumpet)’; D1346.10.1§, ‡‘Water of immortality: makes one immortal when drunk’. Meanwhile, ‘the herb which, when pounded and squeezed yieldeth a juice, and this rubbed upon the feet conferreth the power of walking dryshod upon what sea soever Almighty Allah hath created’ (Burton, 5: 309) is a subdivision of the category of Mot. D1520, ‘Magic object affords miraculous transportation’; D1524.1, ‡‘Magic object permits man to walk on water’; D1524.1.1, ‡‘Medicine on feet permits man to walk on water’. Addressing this issue, Stanislav Segert states that Bulu¯qiya¯ searched for the plant providing immortality, just as Gilgamesh did, according to tablet XI of the Akkadian epos. But the role of the snake is different in the two stories: it aided Bulu¯qiya¯ in his search, but it took the plant from the tired Gilgamesh (108). This assertion seems not to coincide with the Arabic text. Actually, in his quest for the water (not ‘plant’) of immortality, Bulu¯qiya¯ and his companion ‘Affa¯n were required to secure the ring off the hand of the [presumably mummified] corpse of Solomon. Only ‘Affa¯n attempted to commit this sacrilege in spite of warnings; consequently, a giant viper (female) blew flames at him and reduced him to ashes. Bulu¯qiya¯ gave up the quest for the water of life, and acquired the herb that allows one to walk on water. Besides, the search for immortality is a recurrent theme in oral traditions. It occurs as a single motif, or as an independent narrative plot (designated as a new tale-type: 774R§, Why a Certain Mortal is Immortal. Account of how immortality was gained by person or animal). For an example, see ‘How el-Khidr Gained Immortality’ (which also explains how Alexander failed to gain immortality), El-Shamy (1980: 37–138, 271–272 No.23). It is worth noting here that the themes of a mummified corpse and viper guardian of tombs (Mot. N582, ‘Serpent guards treasure’, and N582.1§, ‡‘Viper guards treasure’) are common motifs with established ritual practices in ancient Egypt. See El-Shamy in Maspero (lxiv), and Maspero No. 7 (103) n.23, and no. 24; and (105) n. 32, respectively. However, to conclude that the recent is directly derived from the ancient would be premature. On the significance of ‘viper’ as opposed to ‘snake’ or ‘serpent’, see note. 25 below. 4. For example, AT 400, The Man on a Quest for his Lost Wife [Supernatural (fairy) wife departs for own home]; and its subtype AT 400*, The Swan Maid (When her feathers are burned, she becomes a beautiful girl). The following are examples of motifs found in both the tale-type and its subtype: B652.1, ‡‘Marriage to swan-maiden’; D361.1.1, ‘Swan Maiden finds her wings and resumes her form’; F234.1.15, ‡‘Fairy in form of bird’; F302, ‘Fairy mistress. Mortal man marries or lives with fairy woman’ (Thompson, 1955–58).

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The Arabian Nights and Orientalism 5. The schema is as follows: A. Mythological Motifs; B. Animals; C. Tabu; D. Magic; E. The Dead; F. Marvels; G. Ogres; H. Tests; J. The Wise and the Foolish; K. Deceptions; L. Reversal of Fortune; M. Ordaining the Future; N. Chance and Fate; P. Society; Q. Rewards and Punishments; R. Captives and Fugitives; S. Unnatural Cruelty; T. Sex; U. The Nature of Life; V. Religion; W. Traits of Character; X. Humour; Z. Miscellaneous Groups of Motifs (Thompson, 1955–58). 6. For remarks on these shortcomings, see ‘The Aarne–Thompson Type Index and Egyptian Folktales’, El-Shamy (1995: I, xiii–xiv). 7. See Appendix I, ‘Locations of Tale-types in the Arab World’, I, 415–442). 8. Anonymous, Alf laylah wa laylah, 4 vols. (Cairo: Maktabat al-Jumhu ¯ryyah al‘Arabiyyah, n.d.). Selected on bases of being a ‘folk edition’ as manifested in printing techniques, marketing outlets, availability to folk consumers and so on. 9. An example relevant to our present inquiry is Stanislav Segert’s viewpoint concerning the possible relationship between a holy text and one from Alf laylah. He states: ‘In continuation of the H.¯asib story there is another ancient motif well known from the Hebrew Bible and even from the use of the Joseph story in Sura 12 of the Qur’a¯n: . . . H.¯asib was left by his companion in a cistern and they told his mother that he was torn to pieces by a wolf’. On the bases of that similarity, Segert argued that ‘The story may be of Jewish origin, too, as the name of its hero, Bulu¯qiya¯, goes back to Hebrew H.ilqı¯ya ¯’ (1997: 107). The core themes here are Motifs S146.1, ‘Abandonment in well’, and K419.11.1§, ‡‘Blame for missing person (child) fastened on wolf (or the like)’. Both are recurrent themes in folk traditions (see the ancient Egyptian ‘Truth and Falsehood’ below). A number of oral traditional tales include these themes in addition to the companion motif P251.5.3, ‘Hostile brothers [(Jealous brothers, in conflict)]’. This motif-complex forms vital affective aspects of numerous tale-types without clear connection to the holy texts; among these are: 301A, Quest for a Vanished Princess; 303B§, Six Jealous Brothers against their Youngest: to whom does the Extra Bride Belong?; 303C§, The Brothers’ Wager with Princess (Maiden, Woman): Telling an Alllies-tale (or the like). Only one escapes enslavement; 550, Search for the Golden Bird [Jealous brothers as rivals (adversaries)]; 550A, Only One Brother Grateful; 676, Open Sesame [Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves: the rich but unkind bother imitates; he is killed]. 10. As in the case of AT 400, The Swan Maid. When her feathers are burned, she becomes a beautiful girl – which also appears as an independent text under the title ‘H . asan of Basra’ (see Chauvin, 1900–03: VII, No.212A). 11. Designated as new Mot. A611.0.1.1§. See Alf laylah, 1 (209), Story by Nuzhat az-Zama¯n (Chauvin, 0); Alf laylah, 2 (042) – poem: creation of beautiful eyes, The story of Sitt-al-Badour (Chauvin, 7, No.374); Alf laylah, 3 (15): The Story of Conversion of a Princess (Chauvin, 1900–03: V,

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Mythological Constituents of Alf laylah wa laylah No.139). 12. Designated as new Mot. A0694.3§. See cf. Alf laylah, 1 (135–137) Two Viziers – Anı¯s al-Galı¯s (Chauvin, 1900–03: V, No.58); Alf laylah, 4 (80–82) Nu ¯r al-Dı¯ne and Miryam (Chauvin, 1900–03: V, No.271). 13. Designated as new Mot. V28.0.1§. See: Alf laylah, 1 (130), Anı¯s al-Galı¯s (Chauvin, 1900–03: V, No.58); Alf laylah, 1 (319) ‘Azı¯z-‘Azı¯zah (Chauvin, 1900–03: V, No.71). 14. Designated as new motif V90§. See Alf laylah, 1 (41) Story by First Calendar (Chauvin, 1900–03: V, No.115); Alf laylah, 1 (166) ‘Umar al-Nu‘ma¯n (Chauvin, 1900–03: VI, No.277); Alf laylah, 2 (014) ‘Azı¯z-‘Azı¯zah (Chauvin, 1900–03: V, No.71); Alf laylah, 3 (132) City of copper, (Chauvin, 1900–03: V, No.16); Alf laylah, 4 (291) Ma‘ru¯f (Chauvin, 1900–03: VI, No.250). 15. AT 802C*, Rooms in Heaven [Palace in paradise for the true believer]. See Alf laylah, 3 (13–14), Chauvin, 1900–03: VI, No.354 (187). 16. Designated as new Mot. D2121.5.1§. See Alf laylah, 3 (120) Seventh Voyage of Sindba¯d (Chauvin, 1900–03: VII, No.373G); Alf laylah, 3 (194) Djaudar/Gawdar/Jawdar (Chauvin, 1900–03: V, No.154); Alf laylah, 4 (293) Ma‘ru ¯f (Chauvin, 1900–03: VI, No.250). 17. Mot. D1812.3.2. See Alf laylah, 3 (194) Djaudar/Gawdar/Jawdar (Chauvin, 1900–03: V, No.154); Alf laylah, 3 (231, 240) Dalı¯la (Chauvin, 1900–03: V, No.147). 18. Mot. M302.4. See Alf laylah, 1 (105) Barber of Baghdad (Chauvin, 1900–03: V, No.78); Alf laylah 3, (19) Bulu¯qiya¯ (Chauvin, 1900–03: VII, No.77); Alf laylah, 3 (39) Djanchah (Chauvin, 1900–03: V, No.153); Alf laylah, 3 (139) Women’s Treachery (Chauvin, 1900–03: VIII, No.1). 19. Mot. R11.1. See: Alf laylah, 1 (4) Afrı¯t and Girl in Shahriya ¯r and Brother Sha¯hzama¯n (Chauvin, 1900–03: V, No.111); Alf laylah, 3 (172) Jinni and Woman in Chest (Chauvin, 1900–03: VIII, No.24); Alf laylah, 3 (287) Saif al Mulu¯k (Chauvin, 1900–03: VI, No.348). 20. Mot. R16.3. See Alf laylah, 1 (44), Story by Second One-eyed Vagabond (Chauvin, 1900–03: V, No.116); Alf laylah, 3 (172), Jinni and Woman in Chest (Chauvin, 1900–03: VIII, No.24). 21. Mot. V0225. See Alf laylah, 1 (241) Ja¯riyah/Spy 5 (Chauvin, 0); Alf laylah, 3 (74) Adventures of Bulu¯qiya¯/Resumed (Chauvin, 1900–03: VII, No.77). 22. Chauvin, 1900–03: V, 255, No.153/212. According to Burton, the name is Farsi/Persian signifying ‘Ruler of World’ (new mot. Z183.0.1§, ‘Meaning of a name’); A517§, ‡Culture-hero as ruler of the entire world (cosmocrator) – Alexander, Solomon and so on. 23. Typically, a story that is constituted of various independent narratives is labelled ‘Composite-text’. 24. This portion of the narrative is realistic and is free of the supernatural. Therefore, it may be characterized as a ‘novella’. It incorporates the following

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The Arabian Nights and Orientalism

25.

26.

27.

28. 29. 30. 31. 32.

motifs: P230.0.2.2.1§, ‘Importance of having a son (male child)’; T548.1, ‘Child born in answer to prayer [(‘t.ulbah’)]’; J166.0.1§, ‡‘Book (written scroll) as sole inheritance’; J1067§, ‡‘The stupid pupil (apprentice) fails to learn’; L121, ‘Stupid hero’; P458.1§, ‡‘Firewood (underbrush) gatherervendor (h.at.t.¯ab)’; K2296, ‘Treacherous partner’; S146.2, ‡‘Abandonment in cave’; N771.0.2§, ‡‘Person abandoned in cave (pit, well): adventures follow’; R212, ‘Escape from grave’; R212.3§, ‡‘Escape from grave (cave) by following wild animal (or animal’s tracks)’; R212.4§, ‡‘Escape from (cave) by following ray of light’ (Alf laylah, 3, 18–20). It is important to note that translating the Arabic ‘‘af‘a ¯’ as ‘snake’, or ‘serpent’ is a common occurrence, as is the case in Burton’s translation. However, in Arabic usage the word signifies ‘viper’, which is invariably perceived as female and evokes certain symbolism that is not shared with the male thu‘ba- n or h.anash. See notes to Tale No.34, in El-Shamy (1980: 280; also compare n.40 (lx)). The event includes the following motifs, some of which recur in ordinary folktales: B3.1§, ‡‘Viper with human face’; B225.3§, ‡‘Kingdom of vipers: all females’; H1258§, ‡‘Quest for ultimate (sacred) truth’; H1258.1§, ‡‘Quest for future sacred deliverer of humanity’; and M363.5§, ‡‘Coming of Prophet Mohammed (Islam) prophesied’. Designated as Mot. N793.1§; it recurs in a number of tale-types: AT 766, The Seven Sleepers; 953B§, Men Trapped in a Cave (Mountain): Each Tells of a Deed Done for ‘God’s Sake’ (They are miraculously freed); AT 967, The Man Saved by a Spider Web [Pursuers conclude that cave in which fugitive is hiding has not been disturbed]; and AT 1645B*, God will Care for all [The Lord will provide (or reward tenfold)]. Mot. V332, ‡Angel as helper; and A165.2.3.1§, Archangel Gibrı¯l (Gabriel) as God’s messenger (Alf laylah, 3: 28). Mot. A2921.1§, Q551.3.0.1.2§. See, for example, Tha‘labı-, Kita¯b qis.as. al-’anbiya ¯’ (n.d.: 26–27). See El-Shamy, ‘The Brother–Sister Syndrome , and Belief Characters as Anthropomorphic Psychosocial Realities , n.24, 16. Examples are tale-types AT 313E*, Girl Flees from Brother who Wants to Marry her; 932A§ (formerly 932§), The Sister who Desires a Son Sired by her Brother Achieves her Goal: the Unsuspecting Brother; and 932B§, A Mother’s own Daughter as her Daughter-in-law; Bride Behaves as a Daughter-in-law. Brother-sister marriage (sister as wife). For texts and further analyses of these tale-types, see ‘Fair Fa¯tmah’, no.46; ‘My Daughter is my Son’s Wife’, no.44; and “‘Azı¯z Son of His Maternal-uncle”, no.49, respectively, in Hasan El-Shamy, Tales Arab Women Tell. A number of key themes in these tale-types hark back to antiquity. These include the following motifs: A112.1.2.1§, ‡Anubis born from brother–sister incest – unsuspecting brother (Osiris tricked by Nephthus); A511.1.3.2.1§, Culture-hero son of

44

Mythological Constituents of Alf laylah wa laylah

33.

34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45.

sister by her brother; L0111.5.1§, Child born of brother–sister incest as hero: ‘Son of own maternal-uncle’; L111.5.1.1§, ‡Boy born of brother–sister incest as hero (for example, ‘Azı¯z-son-of-Abu-Zaid, Luqaym-son-of-Luqma ¯n) as hero. Also see AT 613C*, below. The theme is overtly presented in Alf laylah in the story of the First Calender (Chauvin, 1900–03: V, No.115), where the brother–sister incest is premeditated and mutual; and in the sı¯rah of ‘Umar al-Nu‘ma¯n and his Two Sons – Sharka¯n and D ¯n (Chauvin, . aw’ al-Maka 1900–03: VI, No.277), where the incest is committed unwittingly. Key motifs are: T415.5.1§, ‡‘Parents approve (arrange) marriage between their son and daughter (brother–sister)’; T415.5.1.2§, ‡‘Father weds (plans to wed) own daughter to own son’; and F779.2§, ‡‘Bathing as cure’ (Alf laylah, 3, 80). It may be presumed that characterizing this plot as a subtype of AT 613 was done on the basis of the shared theme of magic healing, rather than the flight of brother and sister to escape incest. Additionally, the classifier (Thompson) perceived the female protagonist as a daughter to a father rather than as sister to a brother. Consequently, this classification is non-systemic. Moreover, the Type Index reports the occurrence of the brother–sister incest in AT 313E* only from Lithuanian, Polish and Russian sources. Similarly, AT 613C* is reported only from Hungary. By contrast, the theme is widely spread in Middle Eastern lore. The limited European distribution may suggest recent borrowing from Middle Eastern sources. The component appears at the close of the narrative-complex. See Alf laylah, 3: 79–81; Burton, 1885–88, V: 389–394. The reference here is to the act of keeping a gate or entrance. The geographic location is mentioned in Qur’an, 18: 60. This concept occurs in ancient Egyptian mythology as part of the world view: Mot. A659.3.1§, ‡‘River’s source in heaven. (Nile)’. See Ions (1968: 21) Maspero No.1 (2002, 9, n.1). The exception is Mot. A965.5.1§. On degeneration, see ‘Lord Raglan’s “Ritualistic Theory” of Imitation’, ElShamy (1967: 117–120). As a unit under ‘Other Romantic Tales: 970–990’. The Types of the Folktale does not mention the text in Chauvin’s Bibliographie, and reports the tale only from Estonia and India. Under ‘Magic Remedies’: 610–619. The story does not appear in the Bu ¯la ¯q, Cairo, Hammer and Mardrus editions. See El-Shamy, ‘Introduction to this Edition’, in Maspero (2002: xiv–xv). Summary based on a field recording published in El-Shamy (1980: No.14; for additional texts from the Arab world, see 261–265). The translation of the ancient text appears in Gardiner (1935: 2). It is also given with valuable comments in Lefébvre (1949: 159) and Brunner-Traut

45

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism

46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51.

52.

(1965: no.6). A more recent translation and notes are provided by Edward F. Wente Jr. in Simpson (1972: 127–132). See El-Shamy (1999: 46–47, Resumé no.11). The names signify: Abu¯-Khair and Abu¯-Shar. For detailed treatments of the names involved see El-Shamy (1990: 85–92); and ibid. (1983: 341–346). Compare the modern theme of ‘Harmful saint: uses his supernatural powers to cause mischief’ (Mot. V220.0.8.2§). See H.assan, Maws· ¯u‘at Mis· r (161, 380, n.2); and Wente (1972: 126), where the name appears as ‘Busiris’. See ‘Introduction’, El-Shamy (1980: l). AT 318, The Faithless Wife. Batu: the Egyptian ‘Two Brothers’ Tale [The chaste youth severs own organ to show innocence, and is subsequently betrayed by his divine mate (wife)]. Besides being a myth about two local Egyptian deities, it also is reported to be the oldest fairy tale in the world. See Hollis (1990). For a clarification of differences between ‘emotion’ and ‘sentiment’, see ElShamy, ‘Emotionskomponente’ (1981).

46

CHAPTER 3

Formulas and Formulaic Pictures: Elements of Oral Literature in the Thousand and One Nights INTRODUCTION

T

HE TITLE THE Thousand and One Nights embraces a wide variety of very different types of stories.1 In her book on The Art of StoryTelling, Mia Gerhardt divides these stories1 according to their content into the following five groups: ‘love-stories, crime-stories, travelstories, fairy tales, and learning-wisdom-piety’ (Gerhardt, 1963: 116ff. ch. IV). These are stories which arose in different places and at different times. We know from historical sources that during the eighth and ninth centuries of the Christian era a great number of entertaining stories were circulating in the region corresponding to present-day Iraq. Some of them started there, others had been brought by travellers from faraway places such as India and Persia. Individual stories became so popular that they were noted down by enthusiasts, and so entered the stage of written literature. These were then retold in the lands of the Arab world, always in new forms and altered to suit the circumstances of different regions; in this way they remained topical and interesting for the audiences. In the 1930s, the American scholar Milman Parry and his pupil Albert Lord developed theories about the performance practices of story-tellers (Schoeler, 1981: 205 nn.3, 4): these people are often unable to read and write; their narrative material is passed on by word of mouth, and is partly stored in the memory, partly developed afresh 47

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism during performances. In an instructive article published in 1981, the German Arabist Gregor Schoeler pointed out that the characteristics of orally transmitted popular literature, as established by the two Americans, also apply to parts of the Arabic folk-literature, such as the tales of the Thousand and One Nights (ibid.: 234, 6 ‘das sog. Volksepos’ and 235 n.158). The most important characteristics which are identified in the oral tradition of literature of this kind are: (i) anonymity of authors; (ii) identity of authors and performers;2 (iii) the improvised delivery, which has the effect that each performance is the personal version of the performer, so there is no established text, and no original version created by an author; (iv) formulas and stereotyped themes, which make it easier for the performers to improvise; (v) the heroic subject matter, which goes back to historical events, but which is poetically stylised and pervaded by fictional elements; and (vi) the audience, which consists of middle-class townspeople or country people, who are mostly uneducated (ibid.: 234, 9). Now I would like to take up the second of these points, the use of formulas and stereotyped themes that make improvisation easier for the performer. It is indeed the case that the stories of the Nights, in the written form which we now possess, display a great number of oral elements which recur so frequently that one is justified in speaking of formulas. From the very large number of individual formulas I have chosen a few striking and interesting examples. The formulas occur at different places in the text, and have a variety of functions. In my research, I have found that we can distinguish two groups of formulas: first, the ‘formulas of narrative technique’, which come at the beginning or at the end of whole stories or sections of stories; and second, ‘decorative formulas’, which are found interspersed in the stories.3

FORMULAS OF NARRATIVE TECHNIQUE

I have divided the formulas of narrative technique into three groups, according to their function: introductory formulas, concluding formulas and transitional formulas. In this category we find, on the one hand, introductory and concluding formulas enclosing a single Night, and, on the other, introductory and concluding formulas which enclose 48

Elements of Oral Literature in the Thousand and One Nights a story. It hardly ever happens that the end of a Night and the beginning of the next coincides with the end of a story and beginning of the next4 – for, the principle is that Shahraza¯d breaks off her nightly story as the dawn approaches, and the King gives her permission to continue, or finish the story the next night. There is also a third conspicuous formula, a short piece of text which links two Nights or two stories together; but because the place here is limited, I shall not be discussing it in this essay. Formulas Enclosing the Nights Beginning of a Night The beginning of a new Night is marked by a phrase which almost always has the same wording. In the oldest manuscript of the Nights from the fourteenth–fifteenth century (Alf laylah [L], cf. Grotzfeld: 1984, 26f.) – we read for example at the beginning of the fifth Night (Alf laylah [L], 80, 3):5 fa-lamma¯ ka¯nati l-laylatu l-qa¯bilatu qa¯lat Dı¯na¯raza¯du li-ukhti-ha¯ Shahra¯za¯da6 bi-lla¯hi ya¯ ukht-a¯h in kunti ghayra na¯’imatin fah.addithi-na¯ bi-h.udu ¯thatin min ah.a¯dı¯thi-ki qa¯lat h.ubban wakara¯matan balagha-nı¯ ayyuha¯ l-maliku l-‘azı¯zu anna . . . When the next night came, Dı¯na¯raza¯d said to her sister Shahraza¯d: ‘In God’s name, sister, if you are not asleep, then tell us one of your stories!’ Shahraza¯d answered: ‘With great pleasure!7 I have heard tell,8 honoured King, that . . . 9 Here the story interrupted on the morning of the same day is continued. At the beginning of every other Night there is a similar text. I would like to show this by means of a second example chosen at random. Here is the beginning of the fifty-first Night (Alf laylah [L], 175, 3): fa-lamma¯ ka¯nati l-laylatu l-qa¯bilatu qa¯lat Dı¯na¯raza¯du li-ukhti-ha¯ Shahra¯za¯da ya¯ ukht-a¯h in kunti ghayra na¯’imatin fa-h.addithı¯-na¯ ba¯qiya h. adı¯thi-ki qa¯lat h. ubban wa-kara¯matan balagha-nı¯ [ayyuha¯ l-maliku] anna … When the next night came, Dı¯na¯raza¯d said to her sister 49

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism Shahraza¯d: ‘Sister, if you are not asleep, then tell us the rest of your stories!’ Shahraza¯d answered: ‘With great pleasure! I have heard tell, O King, that . . . 10 And now this story too continues from the point where it had stopped that morning. In the oldest manuscript of the Nights we can observe that, for the early Nights, the author uses detailed formulations such as those which I have already quoted; but towards the end of his manuscript he makes the formulas shorter and shorter.11 He no longer mentions the sister of Shahraza¯d, so that when one of the last Nights is introduced, the formula is reduced simply to this:12 fa-lamma¯ ka¯nati l-laylatu l-qa¯bilatu qa¯lat balagha-nı¯ ayyuha¯ lmaliku s-sa‘ı¯du anna . . . And when the next night came, she said: ‘I have heard tell, O fortunate King, that . . . 13 and so Shahraza¯d, the story-teller, goes on with her tale. In the complete major editions of the text from the first half of the nineteenth century, the process of abbreviation and assimilation has already gone so far that, with a few exceptions, we find only this short version of the formula.14 At this point one fact needs to be mentioned which is very significant as a token of the oral tradition of these tales. In some editions of the Nights, the introductory formula is followed by the last two or three sentences of the narrative from the previous Night – just as nowadays, in television films consisting of several parts, the final scenes of the previous part are shown again at the beginning of the next one. In just the same way, in orally transmitted literature, this practice makes it easier not only for the narrator but also for his audience to get back into the story. But in the written tradition, this repetition of the text is in fact quite unnecessary, and so it is dropped in some editions of the text. End of a Night Now as far as the end of a Night is concerned, the fifteenth-century 50

Elements of Oral Literature in the Thousand and One Nights manuscript which I have already referred to, marks it with an equally detailed formula. For example, at the end of one of the first Nights we read (Alf laylah [L] 100,–3 [15th N.]): wa-adraka Shahra¯za¯du s.-s.aba¯h.a fa-sakatat ‘ani l-h.adı¯thi fa-qa¯lat ukhtu-ha¯ Dı¯na¯raza¯du ma¯ ah.sana h. adı¯tha-ki wa-a‘jaba-hu ¯ qa¯lat waayna ha¯dha¯ mimma¯ ah.duthu-kum bi-hı¯ fı¯ l-laylati l-qa¯bilati wa-huwa a‘jabu wa-aghrabu. Then Shahraza¯d reached the morning, and fell silent in the telling of her tale. Then her sister Dı¯na¯raza¯d said: ‘How beautiful your story is, and how wonderful!’ Shahraza¯d answered: ‘What is that compared to what I shall tell you tomorrow night? That is even more wonderful and even stranger.’15 The wording of this formula varies between the Nights in this manuscript. Towards the end of the manuscript, a short phrase occurs more and more frequently, as if the scribe had tired of always repeating the same text for every Night.16 Here it is reduced to:17 wa-adraka Shahra¯za¯du s.-s. ubh. a fa-sakatat ‘ani l-h. adı¯thi And so Shahraza¯d reached the morning. Then she fell silent in the telling of her tale.18 In many of the printed editions available today, a short formula has become standard every time one Night is followed by the next; the formula has been changed into rhyming prose19 – the end of the second part now rhymes with the first part of the phrase:20 wa-adraka Shahraza¯du s.aba¯h. | fa-sakatat ‘ani l-kala¯mi l-muba¯h.21 Then Shahraza¯d saw that morning had broken | and fell silent in the tale which she had spoken.22 This concluding formula is surely one of the best known among the textual formulas characteristic of the Nights. The formulaic nature of these phrases at the beginning and end of the Nights eventually reaches the point where no further variation is offered and the wording is always identical. This shows a later stage in the revision of the text, such as we see in the modern printed editions. 51

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism Whereas, in the manuscript of the fifteenth century, we quite clearly a rough style of narration which has not routine; when we turn to the editions of the nineteenth individual formulations are eliminated and their place formulas which always have the same wording.

can still see yet become century, the is taken by

Formulas Enclosing the Stories23 At the beginning of the stories, we once again find formulas which give a clear signal that something new is starting. As I have already hinted, these use decorative formulations to establish the connection with a particular genre, so that the listener at once realises what kind of narrative is about to begin. The very first sentences show him that it will not be an old Arabic poem or a religious sermon, but a fabulous story.24 Beginning of a Story Like most of the Nights, a large number of the stories also begin with Shahraza¯d addressing the King in a formulaic manner. After that, there is a listing of those facts which are of fundamental importance in the story: the time, the place and the persons. The first formula is usually a vague indication of time; then come the other facts, expressed in phrases which rhyme with the first.25 Here for example is the beginning of the Story of the Hunchback:26 qa¯lat balagha-nı¯ ayyuha¯ l-maliku s-sa‘ı¯du anna-hu¯ ka¯na fı¯ qadı¯mi z-zama¯n | wa-sa¯lifi l-‘as.ri wa-l-awa¯n fı¯ madı¯nati s.-S.¯ni ı rajulun khayya¯t.un . . . She said: ‘I have heard tell, O fortunate King, that in days of old, | and in times of which the memory has long grown cold, in a city of China there lived a tailor. . . 27 and then the story takes its course. It is interesting to see that there are many other stories which have similar introductory phrases with the rhyme -a¯n. The version of this formula about past times is found in about 20 other tales from the Nights. As I have mentioned, it is followed by words introducing the 52

Elements of Oral Literature in the Thousand and One Nights persons and the place of the story. Here it is possible to continue the rhymes already begun with personal names such as Shahrima¯n (in text nos.8, 17), Marwa¯n (no.14), S. afwa¯n (no.19) and others of this kind,28 and also with place names such as Khura¯sa¯n (nos. 10, 17, 18, 25), Is. baha¯n (no. 5), Ruma¯n (no. 1) or others.29 However, the formula with rhymes in -a¯n is not confined to the tales of the Nights,30 but is also found in other folktales.31 End of a Story At the beginning of a story the narrator wants to get to the point as quickly as possible, so as to avoid keeping the listener on the rack for too long. But the end of a story is formulated at length. This is similar to what we observe in European music, for example a symphony, where the listener is sometimes very well prepared over many bars for the approaching end of the piece. Like German fairy tales, where the listener is released from the story with the formula ‘And so they lived happily until they died’,32 so too the long narratives of the Nights generally end with the deaths of their heroes. Once again, the storyteller has at his disposal a formula in rhyming prose, which we find in many of the tales.33 In one of these texts, in the Story of Ni‘ma ibn al-Rabı¯‘ and his slavegirl Nu‘m (in the Story of Qamar al-Zama¯n), the formula runs as follows (text no.4): wa-aqa¯mu ¯ fı¯ at.yabi ‘ayshin wa-arghadi-hı¯ ila¯ an da¯ra ‘alay-him ha¯dimu l-ladhdha ¯t | wa-mufarriqu l-jama ¯‘a ¯t There they lived a most beautiful and happy life, until there came to them the One who ends all delight | and breaks the bonds of affection with his might.34 Here once again, in respect of their endings, the stories from the Nights are close to the other great popular romances, where, as a comparison with the Romance of Bahra¯m makes plain, the same concluding formulas recur (Pantke, 1974: 197,-9). Another example from the Nights, which clearly shows how the formulaic expressions can be made more elaborate, is the end of the Story of Ma‘ru¯f the cobbler (text no.32): 53

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism wa-aqa¯mu ¯ maddatan fı¯ arghadi ‘ayshin wa-s.afat la-humu¯ l-awqa ¯t | wa-t. a¯bat la-humu¯ l-masarra¯t | ila¯ an ata¯-hum ha¯dimu l-ladhdha ¯t | wa-mufarriqu l- jama ¯‘a ¯t | wa-mukhribu d-diya¯ri l-‘a ¯mira ¯t | wamuyattimu l-banı¯na wa-l-bana¯t fa-subh. a¯na l-h. ayyi lladhı¯ la¯ yamu ¯ t | wa-bi-yadi-hı¯ maqa¯lı¯du lmulki wa-l-malaku¯ t For a while they lived on without any care, and their days were untroubled and bright, | joyful to them was every sound and sight, | until there came to them the One who ends all delight, | who breaks the bonds of affection with his might, | casts over great houses his blight, | and turns sons and daughters to orphans in the night. Praise be to the Living One, to Him who shall never die, | in His hands the keys to all power and riches lie.35 The formulas I have discussed up to now may at first seem to be merely technical devices; in fact, I myself have called them ‘formulas of narrative technique’. Yet through the language used to express them, they also serve to decorate the story, sometimes in a more elaborate way, sometimes rather more simply – just as in old manuscripts people would illuminate the first letter of a text and embellish it with many a flourish, or paint the whole first page in rich colours, or fill the space left on the last page with arabesque-like ornamentation. Now we turn to the second group of formulas, or more precisely, pictures built up in a formulaic manner, which decorate the stories of the Nights inside the narrative.

DECORATIVE FORMULAS

Besides a number of short formulas, most of which consist of two or three rhyming phrases, we can identify longer descriptions, generally in rhyming prose. 54

Elements of Oral Literature in the Thousand and One Nights Short Formulas The ‘Needle Formula’ One of the many examples of short formulas is a remarkable sentence which is used in several stories in the Nights, always in similar words.36 One such phrase we find in the Story of the Porter and the Three Ladies is:37 lı¯ h. adı¯thun law kutiba bi-l-ibar | ‘ala¯ a¯ma¯qi l-bas.ar | la-s.a¯ra ‘ibratan li-mani ‘tabar I’ve heard of a tale [or, as a variant: This is a tale] which a needle might incise | in the corner of the eyes | as a lesson to the wise. This formula38 is used either in places where the storyteller tells us in advance that he has had a strange experience which he is just about to relate, or in places where someone says in retrospect, about a story already told, that it is indeed a strange one.39 If phrases like these with fixed wording are often repeated, the repetition leads to a certain loss of meaning. As a result, the phrase turns into a set expression which can be interchanged as a whole unit. This interchangeability can be illustrated here by means of a passage in the Story of King ‘Umar ibn an-Nu‘ma¯n: in one of the editions the ‘needle formula’ occurs, while in another, in the very same place, we find a different phrase, which also rhymes, and goes like this:40 wa-lı¯ h.ika¯yatun la¯ awwalun la-ha¯ yu‘raf | wa-la¯ a¯khirun la-ha¯ yu ¯ s.af I’ve heard of a tale, where nobody knows the start, | and no one can ever tell the final part. As we can see, these two variants of the saying are obviously no more than florid expressions which mark the present story as interesting and worth telling. The ‘Evening Formula’ The second formula I would like to show appears in about 20 places in the stories of the Nights.41 The formula indicating time also comprises two rhyming elements. In the description of a battle between two armies, we are told that during the fierce fighting the sword never paused in its work (see nos. 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9). 55

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism ila¯ an walla¯ n-naha¯r | wa-aqbala l-laylu bi-l-i‘tika¯r till daylight began to fade | and night cast the world into shade.42 A half of these occurrences – the example just cited is belonging to these – are found in one story alone, the Story of King ‘Umar ibn anNu‘ma¯n. There the formula is used in the context of battle descriptions – but not only there. So an attentive listener may be struck by interesting associations when, in the same story, the formula occurs in the description of a drinking party which goes on late into the night (see nos. 1, 2). Sometimes we find variants of the first part: ila¯ an dhahaba n-naha¯r – till the day left (no. 7) ila¯ an mad. a¯ n-naha¯r – till the day went away (nos. 12, 18, 19) ila¯ an yuwalliya n-naha¯r – till the day vanishes (no. 11) h. atta¯ farigha n-naha¯r – till the day came to an end (no. 16) h. atta¯ walla¯ n-naha¯r – till the day vanished (nos. 13, 14, 15) wa-walla¯ naha¯r – and the day vanished (no. 10) or of the second part: wa-az. lama l-laylu bi-l-i‘tika¯r – and the night became black with intense darkness (no.15) wa-aqbala l-laylu bi-daya¯jı¯ l-i‘tika¯r – and the night brought intense darkness with it (no.18) wa-yuqbila l-laylu bi-l-i‘tika¯r – and the night brings intense darkness with it (no.11) wa-ma¯lati sh-shamsu ila¯ l-is.fira¯r – and the sun became yellow (no.10). In the same sense we find a formula with another rhyme: ila¯ an walla¯ n-naha¯r bi-r-rawa ¯h. | wa-arkha¯ l-laylu l-jana ¯h. till the day vanished and the night lowered its wings (no.1). In two passages of the Story of King ‘Umar ibn an-Nu‘ma¯n the author describes the coming day by a similar formula:

56

Elements of Oral Literature in the Thousand and One Nights h.atta¯ yat.lu‘a l-fajru wa-n-naha ¯ r | wa-yadhhaba l-laylu bi-l-i‘tika ¯r till the dawn and the day rise and the night removes its intense darkness43 h.atta¯ t.ala‘a d. aw’u n-naha ¯ r | wa-dhahaba l-laylu bi-l-i‘tika ¯r till the daylight rose and the night left with its intense darkness.44 Formulaic Descriptions Besides the many formulas of this kind, there are some longer descriptions, which are of particular interest because they suggest that the storyteller had at his disposal a whole battery of rhyming elements from which he could choose at his own pleasure.45 Such descriptions are mostly concerned with pretty girls and attractive young men, green gardens, luxurious chambers, rich banquets, martial fights and other themes.46 These decorative pictures also have a narrative function, in that they slow down the pace of narration, before new events are related which increase the tempo again. The alternation between descriptive and therefore static texts, and reports of events following one after the other, creates suspense, bringing the listener under the spell of the story and keeping him there. If we now read a number of descriptions of the same object, we immediately notice that what we have is not an account of the distinctive qualities of individuals, but a constant repetition of the characteristic properties. Not only the content is repeated, but often the wording too. It is interesting to see that on the one hand particular stories appear to have a certain repertoire of formulations which distinguishes them from the rest. But on the other hand the formulations are repeated in stories which are widely separated in the corpus of the Nights. In what follows I would like once again to give two examples of this phenomenon: the description of the ‘young man’, and the description of the ‘garden’. The ‘Young Man’ The tales of the Nights include several descriptions of a young man, in a fairly long piece of rhyming prose.47 Here I would like to show two of 57

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism the descriptions; the first of them is found in the Story of the Fisherman and the Demon (no.1: the text of Alf laylah [L]): wa-huwa sha¯bbun48 malı¯h. | bi-qaddin49 rajı¯h. | wa-lisa¯ nin fas.¯h ı. bi-jabı¯nin azhar | wa-wajhin aqmar | wa-‘idha¯rin akhd.ar | wakhaddin ah.mar | wa-sha¯matin ‘alay-hi ka-qurs.i ‘anbar He was a handsome youth, beyond all doubt, | his figure was stout, | and a clear voice from his lips poured out. Radiant was his forehead, | and a face that shone like the moon he had, | and a downy beard, | his cheek was red, | and on it a mole like a round speck of ambergris appeared.50 The second text – in the Story of the Three Apples – is as follows (no.3: the text of Alf laylah [L]): wa-idha¯ sha¯bbun mina sh-shaba¯b | naqı¯yu l-athwa¯b bi-wajhin aqmar | wa-t.arfin ah.war | wa-jabı¯nin azhar | wakhaddin ah.mar | wa-‘idha¯rin akhd.ar | wa-sha¯matin ka-anna-ha¯ qurs. u ‘anbar Then came a youth, | finely dressed, in truth, his face like moonlight, | his eyes were dark and bright, | radiant was his forehead, | his cheeks were red, | he had a downy beard, | and a mole like a round speck of ambergris appeared.51 Many of the elements referring to parts of the body are identical in the two descriptions. Here it is of no importance in which order the elements come, or how many of them there are, or even which are selected. There are seven further descriptions of young men which also contain some of these rhyming elements ending in aK1K2ar.52 All elements of the description draw on a collection of characteristics which refer to external beauty. Many of the beautiful features are identical in both men and women, for example, among those we have just seen, the ‘radiant forehead’ and the ‘red cheeks’. Especially typical of young men is of course the ‘downy beard’.53 And the mole or dark spot on the skin is another of the topics often celebrated in young men (Bauer, 1998: 248ff.). As I have said, there are no individual distinguishing features. So the mole and the downy beard are constantly repeated in further descriptions of young men in the Nights. 58

Elements of Oral Literature in the Thousand and One Nights While descriptions of pretty young women and handsome young men are found repeatedly in many of the stories, other types of description are less common for reasons connected with their content. The last type of description I would like to illustrate here is that of the ‘garden’. The ‘Garden’ In some stories – especially travel-stories – it often happens that after many days of travelling through barren lands, the hero arrives at a garden as wonderful as the garden of Paradise. At this point the storyteller starts to decorate his story with images of green trees, colourful fruits and flowers, sparkling brooklets and wild animals at pasture.54 Mostly he uses rhyming prose, often he adds similar verses from a poet, whether famous or unknown. The Story of the Porter and the Three Ladies shows us one example (no.1: the text of Alf laylah [C]): . . . baitan ka-anna-hu¯ l-jannatu wa-f¯ı -hi busta¯nun ashja¯ru-hu¯ mukhad. d. irah | wa-thima¯ru-hu¯ ya¯ni‘ah | wa-at.ya¯ru-hu¯ s.¯adih.ah | wa-miya¯hu-hu¯ mutadaffiqah fa-rta¯h.a bi-ha¯ kha¯tir-ı¯ wa-tamashshaitu baina l-ashja ¯r | washammamtu rawa¯’ih.a l-azha ¯r | wa-shami‘tu ghina¯’a l-at. ya ¯r | wahiya tusabbih.u l-wa¯h.ida l-qahha ¯r | wa-ra’aitu lawna t-tuffa¯h. i bayna h.mira ¯r | wa-s.fira ¯r . . . a chamber fair as Paradise. In it there was a garden, where green trees were found, | and fruits did abound, | and birds sang all around | to the water’s rushing sound. My mind became tranquil, and among the trees I went, | breathing in the flowers’ sweet scent, | and on the song of the birds intent | as they praised the glory of the Almighty Lord of the Firmament, | and I saw the apples, reddish yellow of tint.55 In the descriptions of gardens the fantasy of the authors/performers begins to flow over, so that many of the pictures are filled with more individual and less formulaic descriptions. Nevertheless the storytellers use characteristic words relating to gardens, for example ashja¯r (trees, bushes), athma¯r (fruits), azha¯r (flowers), at. ya¯r (birds), anha¯r (rivers, brooks), which act as rhyming words (nos. 8, 11, 12). In other 59

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism descriptions we find rhyming epithets, such as ba¯siqah (tall) of trees, ya¯ni‘ah (ripe) of fruits, trees, na¯bi‘ah (welling) or ra¯fiqah (flowing gently) or da¯fiqah (springing) of waters, na¯t.iqah or mughridah (singing) of birds, ra¯ti‘ah (pasturing) of wild animals (nos. 5, 7, 9). And there are also rhyming verbs such as tamrah. (they move in a lively manner) of birds, gazelles, wild animals, tashrah. (they sing) of birds, tasnah. (they present themselves) of gazelles or wild cows (nos. 4, 5, 7).

CONCLUSION

As we have seen, the texts of the Thousand and One Nights are equipped with a great number of formulas and formulaic descriptions. Many of these are first and foremost devices of narrative technique which open and close Nights or stories, others serve mainly to decorate a text. It would be an interesting project for the future to compile an inventory of all the formulas used in the Nights – and in other stories of folk literature (cf. El-Shamy, 1995). Kathrin Müller Bavarian Academy of Sciences and Humanities

NOTES 1. See Gerhardt (1963: 18), the ‘List of full titles’ referring to the 180 stories contained in Littmann’s German collection which is based on the Calcutta edition of Alf laylah and enlarged by other texts. 2. Cf. Gerhardt (1963: 40f.), ‘narrator / redactor / storyteller’. 3. Alf laylah [Bq] = Bulaq edition, 1252 a.h.; Alf laylah [Br] = Breslau edition, 1825–43; Alf laylah [C] = Calcutta edition, 1839–42; Alf laylah [L] = Leiden edition, 1994; Littm. = Littman’s German translation, 1953. 4. See, for example, the beginning of Night 146 = the beginning of the Story of the animals and man: Alf laylah [C], I, 716 = Littm., II, 225, the beginning of Night 153 = the beginning of the Story of ‘Alı¯ ibn Bakka¯r and Shams an-Naha¯r: Alf laylah [C], I, 760 = Littm., II, 289, the beginning of Night 170 = the beginning of the Story of Qamar az-Zama¯n: Alf laylah [C], I, 811 = Littm., II, 357. 5. I would like to thank my colleague John Blundell from the Bavarian Academy of Sciences and Humanities, who not only translated my lecture from

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6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15.

16.

17. 18. 19. 20.

21. 22.

German but also proved himself a poet in turning the formulas into appropriate English rhyming prose. In Alf laylah [L] we find the form Shahra¯za ¯d, in the other editions Sha¯hiraza¯d or Shahraza¯d. Literally ‘With love and honour!’ Literally ‘It has reached me . . . ’. See Haddawy (1987: 23, -5), ‘The following night, Dinarzad said to her sister Shahrazad, “Please, sister, if you are not sleepy, tell us one of your little tales.” Shahrazad replied, “With the greatest pleasure”: I heard, dear King, that . . . ’. See Haddawy (1987: 110, -3), ‘The following night Dinarzad said to her sister Shahrazad, “Sister, if you are not sleepy, tell us the rest of the story.” Shahrazad replied, “With the greatest pleasure”: I heard, O King, that . . . ’. Long formulas: Nights 3, 5–21, 23–41, 43–60, 75, 76, 169, 171, 178, 201, 272. Short formulas: Nights 1, 2, 4, 22, 42, 61–74, 77–168, 170, 172–177, 179–200, 202–271, 273–282. For example, Alf laylah [L] 526, -5 [267th N.]. See Haddawy (1987: 422, -12), ‘The following night Shahrazad said: I heard, O happy King, that . . . ’. I checked only the first half of the Nights in the edition of Alf laylah [C]. Long formulas: Nights 2–6, 10, 252, 280, 300. Short formulas: Nights 7–9, 11–251, 253–279, 281–299, 301–555. See Haddawy (1987: 43, -14), ‘But morning overtook Shahrazad, and she lapsed into silence. Then her sister Dinarzad said, “What a strange and lovely story!” Shahrazad replied, “What is this compared with what I shall tell you tomorrow night! It will be even stranger and more amazing”.’ Long formula: Nights 1–66, 68, 69, 74–213, 232, 234, 235, 255, 268, 271, 273, 274, 278, 282. Short formula: Nights 67, 70–73, 214, 216–231, 233, 236–254, 256–267, 269, 270, 272, 275, 276, 277, 279–281. Without a formula: Night 215. For example, in Alf laylah [L] 213, 12 [67th N.] and 233, 11 [73rd N.]. See Haddawy (1987: 145, 15 and 164, 10), ‘But morning overtook Shahrazad, and she lapsed into silence’. In Arabic saj‘; see the article sadj‘ in EI. See, for example, Alf laylah [C], I, 25,11 [3rd N.], [Bq], I, 12, 11 [3rd N.]. In [Br] we also find non-rhyming formulas such as wa-adraka Sha¯hira¯za¯du s..saba¯h.a fa-sakatat ‘ani l-h.adı¯thi – see, for example, I, 59, 4 [6th N.], wa-adraka Sha¯hira¯za¯du .s-s.aba¯h.a fa-sakatat – see, for example, I, 63, 8 [7th N.], or similar ones. The vertical line separates two rhyming components, rhyming words are printed in bold letters. Literally ‘And so Shahraza¯d reached the morning. Then she fell silent in the words which were allowed her.’

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The Arabian Nights and Orientalism 23. In what follows the text of the editions Alf laylah [C] and [Bq] are used as main sources. In some instances parallel texts from the other editions are added. 24. In the famous Grimm collection of German fairy tales we find a characteristic formula of beginning: ‘Es war einmal ein König und eine Königin . . . ’ – most of the 200 tales begin in this or a similar way. 25. 1. Alf laylah [C], I, 26, -11 [4th N.] = Littm., I, 56, -15 / [Bq], I, 12, -7 2. I, 149, 3 [20th N.] = I, 224, -6 / I, 54, 13 [19th N.] 3. I, 199, 3 [24th N.] = I, 292, 2 / I, 73, 15 4. I, 320, 9 [38th N.] = I, 460, 7 / I, 125, -6 [36th N.] 5. I, 552, 9 [107th N.] = II, 7, -11 / I, 228, -11 6. I, 716, 8 [146th N.] = II, 225, 11 / I, 301, 6 7. I, 760, -2 [153rd N.] = II, 289, 10 / I, 320, -11 8. I, 811, 4 [170th N.] = II, 357, 13 / I, 343, 9 9. II, 64, -10 [249th N.] = II, 569, -11 / I, 416, -9 10. II, 212, -6 [308th N.] = III, 207, 11 / I, 484, 10 11. II, 345, 2 [371st N.] = III, 385, 11 / I, 546, 3 12. II, 406, 6 [394th N.] = III, 508, 15 / I, 575, -10 13. II, 582, -2 [482nd N.] = III, 762, -4 / I, 657, 14 14. III, 83, 5 [566th N.] = IV, 208, -6 / II, 37, -10 15. III, 115, 10 [578th N.] = IV, 259, 7 / II, 52, -7 16. III, 236, -5 [624th N.] = IV, 432, 3 / II, 105, -4 17. III, 540, 4 [738th N.] = V, 87, -4 / II, 242, 14 18. III, 589, -11 [756th N.] = V, 219, -11 / II, 263, -7 19. III, 595, -6 [758th N.] = V, 228, 4 / II, 266, 14 20. IV, 3, -9 [778th N.] = V, 315, -7 / II, 294, 16 21. IV, 150, -7 [831st N.] = V, 503, -7 / II, 359, -11 22. IV, 190, -2 [845th N.] = V, 557, 3 / II, 377, -10 23. IV, 246, 4 [863rd N.] = V, 624, -9 / II, 405, 2 24. IV, 366, 2 [899th N.] = VI, 7, 4 / II, 461, 7 25. Ali Baba, 333, 1 = Littm., II, 791, 12. 26. See no.3 and the parallel text Alf laylah [L] 280, 6 [102nd N.], qa¯lat Shahra¯za¯du za‘amu¯ ayyuha¯ l-maliku anna-hu¯ ka¯na fı¯ madı¯nati s.-S.¯ni ı waQajqa¯ra rajulun khayya¯.t un . . . = Haddawy (1987: 206, 15), ‘Shahrazad said: It is related, O King, that there lived once in China a tailor. . . ’ 27. See Littm., I, 291, -2. 28. See the name Sulaima¯n in text no.5, Yu¯na¯n in no. 1, al-Yu¯na¯n in no.13. 29. See also ash-Sha¯m in text no.14. 30. But many of the short anecdotes begin with a short formula like wa-mimma¯ yuh.ka¯ (ayd.an) anna . . . – ‘And what is told is that . . . ’; for example, in Alf laylah [C], II, 308, 10 and 309, 10 [351st N.], 310, -6 [352nd N.], 312, -9 [353rd N.], 316, -9 [355th N.], 318, -3 [357th N.].

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Elements of Oral Literature in the Thousand and One Nights 31. For example in the Romance of Bahra¯m. There the rhyming introductory formula has five components, including the formula of time ending with the words zama¯n and awa¯n; see Pantke, 1974: 33, 7: ‘zama¯n, awa¯n, sha¯n, Sa¯sa¯n, ¯I ra¯n’. 32. ‘And they lived happily ever after’ in English fairy tales. While the formula ‘und wenn sie nicht gestorben sind, so leben sie noch’ is considered to be the typical ending of a German fairy tale, it is found only once in the Grimm collection; see Grimm Märchen no.51, the tale of the Fundevogel. But another ending formula is found instead: ‚und sie lebten vergnügt bis an ihr Ende’ (nos.6, 11, 31, 50, 71, 88, 122, 125). 33. 1. Alf laylah [C], I, 278, 12 [34th N.] = Littm., I, 406, 9 / [Bq], I, 106, 4 [32nd N.] 2. I, 649, -9 [137th N.] = II, 133, -2 / I, 271, -11 3. I, 715, -2 [145th N.] = II, 224, -10 / I, 300, -2 4. II, 58, -2 [246th N.] = II, 561, 8 / I, 414, 7 5. II, 64, 8 [249th N.] = II, 569, 9 / I, 416, -11 6. II, 125, -5 [270th N.] = II, 658, -3 [269th N.] / I, 444, -9 [269th N.] 7. II, 176, 7 [294th N.] = III, 155, 1 / I, 467, -1 8. II, 251, 3 [327th N.] = III, 258, -11 / I, 503, 1 9. II, 282, -4 [338th N.] = III, 298, -9 / I, 518, 6 10. II, 318, -5 [357th N.] = III, 350, 9 / I, 534, 13 11. II, 344, -3 [371st N.] = III, 385, 4 / I, 546, 2 12. II, 376, 8 [381st N.] = III, 425, 10 / I, 562, 7 13. II, 386, 2 [385th N.] = III, 438, -3 / I, 566, -7 14. II, 487, 6 [434th N.] = III, 622, 11 / I, 612, -4 15. II, 569, 6 [477th N.] = III, 743, 11 / I, 650, -5 16. II, 699, 11 [536th N.] = IV, 97, 13 / I, 710, -7 17. III, 83, 1 [566th N.] = IV, 201, -4 / II, 37, -11 18. III, 194, 4 [606th N.] = IV, 368, -13 / II, 86, -3 19. III, 367, 13 [680th N.] = IV, 616, -15 / II, 165, 8 20. III, 479, -2 [719th N.] = IV, 776, 2 / II, 215, 13 21. III, 539, -1 [738th N.] = V, 87, -12 / II, 242, 13 22. III, 589, 8 [756th N.] = V, 153, -5 / II, 263, -9 23. III, 663, 11 [778th N.] = V, 315, 13 / II, 294, 14 24. IV, 150, 12 [831st N.] = V, 503, 16 / II, 359, -13 25. IV, 190, -5 [845th N.] = V, 556, -5 / II, 377, -11 26. IV, 241, -7 [862nd N.] = V, 619, 5 / II, 402, -3 27. IV, 246, 1 [863rd N.] = V, 624, 16 / II, 405, 1 28. IV, 352, -4 [894th N.] = V, 757, -8 / II, 455, 14 29. IV, 516, -6 [946th N.] = VI, 215, -6 / II, 526, 6 30. IV, 557, 7 [959th N.] = VI, 408, -13 / II, 543, -2 31. IV, 677, 2 [989th N.] = VI, 571, -12 / II, 595, -2

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34.

35.

36.

37.

38. 39.

32. IV, 730, 3 [1001st N.] = VI, 644, 7 / II, 619, 4 33. Alf laylah [L], 480, -7 [229th N.] = Haddawy (1987: 383, 17), and cf. the parallel text in Alf laylah [C], I, 320, 6 [38th N.] = Littm., I, 459, -1 / I, 125, -8 [36th N.] 34. Aladdin, 82, 14 = Littm., II, 791, 3 35. Ali Baba, 385, -2 = Littm., II, 859, -3. See Littm., II, 561, 7. Cf. the end of The story of the lady Anı¯s al-Jalı¯s and Nu ¯r al-Dı¯n, in Alf laylah [L], 480, 20 [229th N.], wa-ma¯ za¯la huwa wa-l-ja¯riyatu fı¯ arghadi ‘ayshin wa-ahna¯-hu ila¯ an ata¯-hum ha¯dimu l-ladhdha ¯t | wa-l-mufarriqu bayna l-jama ¯‘a ¯t = Haddawy (1987: 383, 19), ‘Then Nur al-Din and Anis alJalis lived the happiest and most delightful of lives until they were overtaken by the breaker of ties and destroyer of delights.’ Literally ‘They remained for a while in a carefree life and the times were untroubled for them and the joys were delightful for them, until there came to them He who destroys pleasures, who severs (human) companies, who lays waste the houses of rulers, who makes orphans out of sons and daughters. Praise be to the Living One, who does not die, who holds the keys of possession and power in his hand.’ Cf. Littm., VI, 644, 5. 1. Alf laylah [C], I, 11, -1 [1st N.] = Littm., I, 34, -13 / [Bq], I, 7, 3 2. I, 46, 2 [7th N.] = I, 83, -14 / I, 21, 10 3. I, 74, 7 [11th N.] = I, 120, -1 / I, 31, 15 4. I, 81, 11 [12th N.] = I, 131, -4 / I, 34, -11 5. I, 121, 7 [16th N.] = I, 186, -9 / I, 44, 3 [15th N.] 6. I, 311, 5 [37th N.] = I, 448, -10 / I, 121, -13 [35th N.] 7. I, 455, -5 [74th N.] = I, 637, -2 / I, 185, -9 8. II, 28, 6 [233rd N.] = II, 519, 3 / I, 400, 9 9. II, 166, -3 [290th N.] = III, 142, 12 / I, 463, 15 10. II, 191, -11 [301st N.] = III, 177, -11 / I, 474, -4 11. III, 505, -1 [726th N.] = V, 42, 8 / II, 227, 11 / [Br], V, 192, 5 [375th N.] 12. III, 516, 6 [730th N.] = V, 56, 13 / II, 231, -8 / [Br], V, 213, 1 [378th N.] 13. IV, 521, 2 [948th N.] = VI, 359, 12 / II, 528, 5. See no.5 and cf. the parallel text of Alf laylah [L], 201, -3 [63th N.], jara¯ lı¯ h. adı¯thun ‘ajı¯b | wa-amran (sic!) gharı¯b || law kutiba bi-l-ibar | ‘ala¯ ¯ama¯qi lbas.ar | ka¯na ‘ibratan li-mani ‘tabar = Haddawy (1987: 134, -14), ‘My case is so strange and my tale is so amazing that were it engraved with needles at the corner of the eye, it would be a lesson for those who wish to consider.’ Cf. Pinault (1992: 22 and 202), here the author designates words like ‘ibratun (warning) as Leitwörter (leading words) and formulas like ‘a warning to whoso would be warned’ as ‘Leitsätze’ (leading sentences). The last part of the formula is also used for persons or things which serve as a warning; see, for example, Alf laylah [C], II, 137, 7 [275th N.] = Littm., III, 101, -8 / [Bq], I, 449, 16 [274th N.]; II, 331, -9 [364th N.] = III, 368, 3

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40. 41.

42. 43. 44. 45.

46. 47.

/ I, 540, 8; III, 105, 8 [574th N.] = IV, 245, 6 / II, 48, 4. Cf. Walther Nächte 25, -15 and Heath Romance (Part II) 17, -1. See no.7: the text of Alf laylah [C]; in [Bq] the parallel text uses the formula mentioned above: wa-lı¯ h.ika¯yatun tuktabu bi-l-ibar | ‘ala¯ ¯ama¯qi l-bas.ar. 1. Alf laylah [C], I, 373, 1 [49th N.] = Littm., I, 528, -1 / [Bq], I, 148, 17 2. I, 374, -9 [49th N.] = I, 530, -3 / I, 149, 5 3. I, 386, -10 [50th N.] = I, 545, -1 / I, 154, 15 4. I, 387, -3 [50th N.] = I, 547, -9 / I, 155, 1 5. I, 388, -4 [50th N.] = I, 548, -2 / I, 155, 14 6. I, 389, 6 [50th N.] = I, 549, 15 / I, 155, -14 7. I, 522, 8 and -10 [98/99th N.] = I, 727, 13 and -10 / I, 215, -8 and -4 8. I, 525, -5 [100th N.] = I, 731, -1 / I, 217, 12 9. I, 534, -5 [102nd N.] = I, 743, -5 / I, 221, 17 10. I, 538, 7 [102nd N.] = I, 748, -14 / I, 223, 2 11. I, 577, 12 [115th N.] = II, 39, 1 / I, 240, -10 12. II, 39, -8 [238th N.] = II, 535, 4 / I, 405, 12 13. III, 274, -5 [638th N.] = IV, 485, -1 / II, 123, 1 14. III, 275, 11 [638th N.] = IV, 487, 1 / II, 123, 10 15. III, 283, 5 [641st N.] = IV, 497, -7 / II, 126, -10 16. III, 295, 5 [646th N.] = IV, 514, -8 / II, 132, 7 17. III, 336, 5 [663rd N.] = IV, 572, -4 / II, 151, 12 18. IV, 315, -10 [883rd N.] = V, 709, -9 / II, 438, 18 19. IV, 723, 11 [1000th N.] = VI, 635, -13 / II, 616, 9. Literally ‘till the day vanished and the night brought intense darkness [lit.: confusion] with it’ (nos.2–5, 6–9, 17). Alf laylah [C], I, 668, 6 [140th N.] = Littm., II, 159, 14 / [Bq], I, 279, -5. Alf laylah [C], I, 668, 8 [140th N.] = Littm., II, 159, 17 / [Bq] —. See Pinault (1992: 93, 7), ‘the cluster of saj‘-rhymes . . . can be said to comprise a formulaic system at the disposal of the storyteller, who relies on this conventional phrasing to render a familiar scene frequently encountered in the Nights’. See Steinbach (1972: 120 n.6); and Gerhardt (1963: 45, -3), ‘stock descriptions’. 1. Alf laylah [C], I, 44, -5 [7th N.] = Littm., I, 81, -2 / [Bq], I, 20, -1 / [L], 113, -1 [21st N.] = Haddawy (1987: 54, -1) and see Pinault (1992: 66, 2) 2. I, 133, 2 [18th N.] = I, 203, 6 / I, 48, 9 [17th N.] / 212, 10 [67th N.] = Haddawy (1987: 144, 11) 3. I, 143, 12 [19th N.] = I, 217, 9 / I, 52, 11 [18th N.] / 220, 21 [70th N.] = Haddawy (1987: 152, 14) 4. I, 205, -6 [25th N.] = I, 301, -7 / I, 76, 10 / 290, 20 and 291, 4 [110/111th N.] = Haddawy (1987: 216, 8 and -18) 5. I, 281, 11 [34th N.] = I, 410, 10 / I, 107, -13 [32nd N.] / 438, 1 [203rd N.]

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48. 49. 50.

51.

52. 53. 54.

= Haddawy (1987: 347, -7) 6. I, 561, 5 [110th N.] = II, 18, 14 / I, 232, -9 7. I, 563, -8 [110th N.] = II, 21, 13 / I, 333, -3 8. I, 659, 9 [138th N.] = II, 148, 1 / I, 275, -2 9. I, 761, 6 [153rd N.] = II, 289, -6 / I, 320, -7 / 380, 6 [171st N.] = Haddawy (1987: 296, 5) 10. I, 812, -1 [171st N.] = II, 359, -6 / I, 344, 2 / 535, 6 [273rd N.] 11. I, 815, 7 [172nd N.] =II, 362, -3 / I, 345, 10 / 536, 9 [274th N.] 12. I, 821, 6 [177th N.] = II, 370, -11 / I, 348, 5 / 540, 5 [277th N.] 13. I, 835, -8 [184th N.] = II, 389, 2 / I, 354, -9 14. II, 219, 2 [311th N.] = III, 216, 1 / I, 487, -11 15. II, 466, 11 [424th N.] = III, 593, 9 / I, 603, 13 16. II, 490, 11 [436th N.] = III, 627, 6 / I, 614, 11 17. IV, 280, -1 [872nd N.] = V, 666, -8 / II, 422, 13 18. IV, 590, -7 [968th N.] = VI, 454, 14 / II, 558, -14. In the edition: sha¯bban. In the edition: wa-qaddan. Literally ‘He was a handsome young man with a heavy frame and a clear voice, with gleaming brow, a face bright as the moon, a soft downy beard, a red cheek, and a mole on it like a round spot of ambergris’. See Haddawy (1987), ‘He was a handsome young man, with a full figure, clear voice, radiant brow, bright face, downy beard, and ruddy cheeks, graced with a mole like a speck of amber’; see also Pinault (1992: 93). Literally ‘There was a young man (from the young men), with clean clothes, a face bright as the moon, a dark look, a gleaming brow, red cheeks, a soft downy beard and a mole like a round spot of ambergris’. Cf. Haddawy (1987), ‘a neatly dressed young man . . . He had a bright face, with dark eyes, fair brow, and rosy cheeks covered with a downy beard, and graced with a mole like a disk of ambergris’. Nos. 4, 5, 6, 7, 16, 17; K1 meaning the first consonant, K2 meaning the second consonant. In his book about love poetry, Thomas Bauer stated that since the time of the poet Abu¯ Tamma¯m – who died in the year 231/845 – a flood of verses and poems about the downy beard arose; see Bauer (1998: 255, -10ff.). 1. Alf laylah [C], I, 117, -4 [16th N.] = Littm., I, 182, 3 / [Bq] — / [L], 196, 12 [61st N.] = Haddawy (1987), 130, 1 2. I, 118, 9 [16th N.] = I, 182, -9 / — / 196, 21 [61st N.] = Haddawy (1987), 130, 21 3. I, 299, 4 [36th N.] = I, 433, 14 / I, 115, -8 [34th N.] / 459, 11 [214th N.] = Haddawy (1987), 365, -15 4. I, 358, -6 [46th N.] = I, 511, 5 / I, 143, 4 5. I, 506, -4 [94th N.] = I, 707, 8 / I, 208, -8

66

Elements of Oral Literature in the Thousand and One Nights 6. I, 562, 8 [110th N.] = II, 19, -8 / I, 233, 11 7. II, 599, -3 [490th N.] = III, 785, -10 / I, 664, -1 8. III, 18, -10 [543rd N.] = IV, 115, -1 / II, 9, 7 9. III, 55, -6 [556th N.] = IV, 164, -1 / II, 25, -12 10. III, 254, 7 [629/630th N.] = IV, 457, 4 / II, 113, -10 11. III, 284, -11 [642nd N.] = IV, 499, -10 / II, 127, 10 12. III, 307, -8 [650th N.] = IV, 532, -8 / II, 137, -6 13. IV, 546, 12 [956th N.] = VI, 394, 10 / II, 539, 12 14. Aladdin, 9,11 = Littm., II, 672,9. 55. Literally ‘. . . a chamber like Paradise. In it there was a garden – its trees were green, its fruits were abundant, its birds were singing, and its waters were running. My mind became tranquil and I walked through the trees, smelling the scent of the flowers, listening to the song of the birds, which praised the glory of the Almighty One, and I saw the colour of the apples between red and yellow.’

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CHAPTER 4

Repetitiveness in the Arabian Nights: Openness as Self-Foundation INTRODUCTION

T

HE TEXT OF The Arabian Nights abounds in repetitions of various kinds. Examination of them reveals a forgotten aspect of narrative products, which leads to a new view of human existence and all existences. The significance of repetitions in the Nights will be clarified when we refer to Jacques Derrida’s concept of ‘iterability’. What are important for us are not particular instances of repetition in themselves, but repetition as a general and generative rule of this amorphous work. While telling marvellous stories full of exciting events and attractive characters, the Nights represents, through its repetitiveness or iterability, a non-identical (or half-identical) manner of existence. We sum up this new vision tentatively as ‘openness as self-foundation’. Key concepts involved in this view are: ‘exemplarity’, ‘anti-originality’ and ‘otherness of the subject’. The work shows us that we can overcome the dualism between subject and object, or between the individual and the universal, by means of narrative activities. Before developing our arguments, we should say that this study is mainly concerned with the Nights as a whole, not with individual tales in it. In our perspective, what is most interesting is the general tendency that we find throughout the Nights, as well as the very complicated course of evolution that this collection has followed until now. The Arabian Nights fascinates us in that it is a work which has always been transfiguring itself. So, there is no complete version of this work. The fourteenth-century manuscript used by Antoine Galland, which is 68

Repetitiveness in the Arabian Nights the oldest extant manuscript,1 is not definitive. Neither are the Bu¯la¯q edition (1835), which even now prevails as the standard text in the Arabic world, nor the edition made by Macnaghten (1839–42), which is commonly called the second Calcutta ‘complete’ edition and from which many Western translations have been made. Among various translations which differ from each other as to contained tales and style, we cannot find any definitive versions, despite their pretension to be integral, authentic or complete editions.2 With this in mind, in this essay we tentatively adopt Zotenberg’s Egyptian Recension, hereafter ZER, as a basic version for analysing the whole work. The titles of tales follow Richard Burton’s translation.3 Numbers appear at the head of the titles, also following Burton’s numbering system.

GENERAL ATTITUDES TOWARD REPETITIONS IN THE ARABIAN NIGHTS: NEGATIVE EVALUATION

The phenomenon of repetition in the Nights has so far received negative evaluation.4 Edward Lane is a good example. As is well known, he was an excellent Orientalist, well informed of Arabic culture (especially Egyptian culture), and in 1838 he started to publish a translation of the Nights from the Bu ¯la ¯q printed edition.5 This reputable work is not a complete translation of the Nights. He illustrates his negative attitude toward repetitions in his notes where he explains some reasons for omitting many of the tales. For example, concerning the omission of the whole story of ‘(132) The Queen of the Serpents’ including ‘The Adventures of Bulukiya’ and ‘The Story of Janshah’, he states as follows: It [‘The Queen of the Serpents’] is mainly a compound of the most extravagant absurdities, and would, I think, be extremely tedious to many readers of the present translation, with the exception of the portion relating to Jánsháh; but this is similar in its general character, and in the incidents upon which it is chiefly founded, to the Story of H.asan of El-Bas.rah, which is one that I purpose to include in this work. I therefore pass on to . . . the Story of Es-Sindbád of the Sea (the famous Voyager) and Es-Sindbád of the Land (Lane, 1839–41: II, 577–578). 69

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism As this passage shows, the chief reason for omission is, in most cases, the presence of similar tales in this collection.6 Repetition is considered to be a mere redundancy and a wasteful and tedious matter. In short, it is a fault. Another more obvious example is Joseph Charles Mardrus. In his French translation (1899–1904), which is really more of a loose adaptation, he deletes any of the repetitions we will present below.7 This case demonstrates strongly that repetition is radically incompatible with the European reader’s taste, especially in the modern age.8 In our opinion, however, repetitions give us a great pleasure. As Roland Barthes states, words give us profound enjoyment if they are repeated to excess.9 This applies to the Nights, in which excessive repetitions form an indispensable element of its attractiveness. They constitute even one of the most important features of this huge narrative work.

REPETITIONS IN EXPRESSION

Now, let us take up several kinds of repetitions and discuss their effects. First, we examine reappearances of the same phrases in the text. Repetitions at Night Breaks: Symbolic Use of Repetitions At divisions of nights, we find almost identical sentences. That is the well-known breaking ritual formula. Let us cite an example. But morning overtook Shahrazad, and she lapsed into silence. Then Dinarzad said to her sister Shahrazad, ‘What a strange and entertaining story!’ Shahrazad replied, ‘What is this compared with what I shall tell you tomorrow night if the king spares me and lets me live!’ THE ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SEVENTH NIGHT The following night Shahrazad said: ‘I heard, O King, that the steward told the king of China that the young man said:’ (Haddawy, 1987: 233–234)

70

Repetitiveness in the Arabian Nights The quotation is taken from Husain Haddawy’s translation of Muhsin Mahdi’s edition of the fourteenth-century manuscript, where repetitions are quite rigorous. Every interruption of Shahrazad’s storytelling is introduced by a literally identical expression.10 The numbering of the next night follows it and then comes the ritual expression, ‘The following night Shahrazad said’. She resumes her story every night with the same words and notices the telescopic frame of the story in detail. In addition to this repeating formula, we see another repetition of phrases at the night break. Before and after the night break, the same or almost same phrases appear. They are parts of a story given by Shahrazad at the end of the previous night and the beginning of the following night. We, the readers of the Nights, read them successively. As for the previous example, the 136th night story ends with the phrase, ‘The caliph said, “Open the chest, so that I may see what is in it,” and the eunuch rushed to open the chest’, while the 137th night’s story begins with the phrase, ‘The caliph said to the eunuchs, “Open this chest, so that I may see what is in it.”’ In ZER, recapitulation of the final contents of the previous night takes more space. The night break, which is the most characteristic formal feature of the Nights as a whole work, thus represents a privileged place of repetitions. Stock Descriptions: De-Individualization and Type-Making Effect We can point out another sort of verbal repetition. As everyone can see, similar descriptions occur with great frequency in the Nights: such as the descriptions of beautiful girls and boys, of monstrous jinns, or of the effects of sudden passion. Similar lines with stereotyped metaphors turn up in tale after tale. For instance, beautiful girls and boys are described always with ‘a face like a rising full-moon’, ‘cheeks like red anemones’, ‘a mouth like the seal of Solomon’, and ‘teeth like a row of pearls set in coral’. And almost every monstrous being, whether it is an ifrit, an ibris, a jinn, a demon, or any other hideous creature, has ‘a head like a dome’, ‘a mouth like a cave’, ‘hands like pitchforks’, and ‘legs long like as masts’, standing with ‘his crown in the clouds’.11 Also, whenever someone is taken by a sudden grief, ‘the light becomes darkness’ in his sight.12 71

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism Certainly, these stock descriptions are not found exclusively in the Nights, but this collection stands out in their intensive use. It seems that the Nights makes it a principle to repeat identical expressions and to give the same description to different people or different situations. Consequently, people who should be distinguished from each other all come to have similar characters in this collection. They are half deprived of their individuality and then come together as a particular type. With this type-making tendency at the level of textual expression in mind, we will observe the manner of representing human beings peculiar to this collection.

REPETITIONS IN CHARACTERS

Throughout this collection, we meet repeatedly some prominent figures who are modelled on actual persons, such as Harun al-Rashid, his spouse lady Zubaydah, his wazir Ja’afar, his sword-bearer Masrur, his favourite slave girl Kut al-Kulub, poet Abu al-Nuwas, caliph Muhammad al-Amin, the Persian King Anushirwan, or Iskandar zu alQarnayn (Alexander the Great).13 However, rather than the reappearance of characters, we want to pay attention to the repetition of the names of the main characters in the whole work. Homonym: Compatibility of the Sameness and Difference It can be observed in the Arabian Nights that the main characters have an identical name from one tale to another. Even taking into consideration the fact that the homonym is frequent in Arabic society,14 we may assume that this collection intentionally uses identical denomination. Here, we give homonyms of the principal characters in the Nights, taken up from Burton’s translation. Kamar al-Zaman (21) Tale of Kamar al-Zaman (and the Princess Budur) (168) Kamar al-Zaman and the Jeweller’s Wife Sindbad (or al-Sindibad) (2ab) Story of King Sindbad and the Falcon 72

Repetitiveness in the Arabian Nights (133) Sindbad the Seaman and Sindbad the Landsman (145) Craft and Malice of Woman Marjanah (9) Tale of King Omar Bin al-Nu‘uman and his sons Sharrkan and Zau al-Makan … (155a) Story of Prince Sayf al-Muluk and the Princess Badi’a alJamal (Suppl.) Story of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves Nur al-Din Ali (5) Tale of Nur al-Din Ali and His Son Badr al-Din Hasan (7) Nur al-Din Ali and the Damsel Anis al-Jalis cf. Ali Nur al-Din (159) Ali Nur al-Din and Miriam the Girdle-Girl Princess Budur (21) Tale of Kamar al-Zaman (and the Princess Budur) (42) The Loves of Jubayr bin Umayr and the lady Budur cf. Badr al-Budur (Suppl.) Alaeddin; or the Wonderful Lamp Hayat al-Nufus (21) Tale of Kamar al-Zaman (and the Princess Budur) [after the 209th night] (153) Ardashir and Hayat al-Nufus Dalilah (9aa) Tale of Aziz and Azizah [lover of Aziz] (151) The Rogueries of Dalilah the Crafty and her Daughter Zaynab the Coney-Catcher (152) The Adventures of Mercury Ali of Cairo Two different main characters are named Kamal al-Zaman, even though they do not share any nature or fate. Is it by mere accident? How about Sindbad? There are four different persons given this name in the whole of the Nights. Brilliant slave girls are called Marjanah in several tales that are not related. Princesses of China are named 73

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism equally Budur in three famous different stories. Not a few readers might have confused two creatures named Nur al-Din Ali, when they try to recall stories after reading the Nights. Homonymous main characters, despite particularities of their situations, necessarily become similar in the oceans of stories. We notice here that homonymous characters appearing in different tales represent the relation of ‘same-but-different’ and the reverse. Intentional use of homonymy is more obvious, when the same name recurs within a tale. Two Sindbads, one is poor and the other is rich; in the framework of ‘(133) Sindbad the Seaman and Sindbad the Landsman’ represent this case. Another example is the tale of ‘(158) Khalifah the Fisherman of Baghdad’. In this tale, the coincidence between the fisherman’s name and the title ‘caliph’ (as a commander of the faithful) of Harun al-Rashid suggests the replacement of the two persons. The most remarkable case is ‘(164) Abdullah the Fisherman and Abdullah the Merman’. In this tale, readers meet four Abdullahs. In the middle of this tale, Abdullah the Fisherman, now married to the Princess of the Kingdom, tells the King a strange story about his relation with a merman, who has made him rich. He also talks about his relationship with a baker who remained charitable toward him in his poor days. So the King asks him the name of the baker. The fisherman replies, ‘His name is Abdullah the Baker; and my name is Abdullah of the Land, and that of my friend, the Merman, Abdullah of the Sea’. Hearing this, the King states as follows, ‘And my name also is Abdullah; and the servants of Allah15 are all brethren’ (the 943rd night). All men are equal. In this thought we may see certain reflections of the Islamic view of mankind. By emphasizing the repetitive relation between characters, the Nights demonstrates that persons cannot be ‘unique’ in the strict sense of this word. Sharing the name with others, a character in the Nights rids itself of absolute uniqueness, or isolated individuality. This means that even the main characters in this collection are presented as ‘no one’, or someone who represents ‘everyone’.16 Anti-Hero-ness: Protagonist as an Exemplar In connection with the theme of de-individualization, we would like to point out the anti-hero-ness or the counter-hero-ness of the main characters in the Arabian Nights. Contrary to ‘heroes’ in modern 74

Repetitiveness in the Arabian Nights Western novels, the main characters in the Nights are not outstanding in ability or in activity. That is to say, the Nights’ heroes are not ‘heroes’ in the most typical sense. As for main characters in the Nights, it is emphasized in almost all tales that they have no merit. Especially, they never have supereminent intelligence. Chief characters in this collection are marked by mediocrity, or even by inability. As an example, let us examine the third sailing of Sindbad of the Sea. In this episode, Sindbad happens to come across a flesh-eating monster.17 It will be very interesting to compare this episode with its European source: Book Nine of The Odyssey,18 in order to extract the fundamental difference in qualifications for being a protagonist. In Homer’s work, the hero Odysseus, the commander of his company, is willing to meet a cannibal monster Cyclops and confronts it with a strong will and daring actions. He makes a secret plan and defeats it by using highly ingenious tactics: making it drunk with the wine he prepared, then attacking its eye with a long piece of wood sharpened and hidden in advance during the day, and furthermore preventing its fellows from helping it by having taught it a false name, ‘No man’, as his own name. In addition, when escaping from its cave he gains a flock of sheep as a trophy, by hiding his followers under rams it breeds (Homer, 1955: 161–181). Odysseus is the complete hero. On the other hand, in the Nights, the mere merchant Sindbad, who happens to drift ashore to an island in a shipwreck, does nothing but be afraid in front of the monster. He is always terrified, feels faint and becomes nearly dead for excess of horror. He only repeats words of despair together with his company: ‘there is no escape for us’, ‘By Allah, we had better throw ourselves into the sea and be drowned than die roasted’. He never leads others. The person who first proposes to think about some way to kill the giant is another merchant. After this proposal, Sindbad suggests preparing a boat on which they will leave this island, without knowing how they can defeat the monster at all. When they thrust two iron spits into the eyes of the giant, all of them collaborate to do it, with their ‘united strength and force’ (Lane, 1839–41: III, 28). There is no commander among them. Sindbad, the chief character of this story, is nothing more than an ordinary person. While they are in terrible fear of the monster roaring and groping after them, and remain as dead men despairing of escape, the monster itself 75

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism goes out from its castle. Then the merchants leave there following it and get into the boat on the seashore. Only Sindbad and two others happen to survive the attack of rocks thrown by the monster and its company. And they are carried in the midst of the sea by the winds and waves. We remember here how he outlives the experienced captain of the ship who, as a man of strong frame, is eaten first by the monster. This occurs because Sindbad is a miserable scarecrow, far from tempting the monster’s appetite.19 Thus, we can conclude that incompetence makes him the major character. He escapes from danger, not with his own ability, but thanks to a succession of accidental situations. The Nights presents us with many unforgettable fascinating characters. Notice that they are conspicuous not for their internal merits – many of them are shockingly irresponsible, cowardly and unthinking – but for the strange happenings they encounter. That is to say, if any other person has the same experiences as they do, he will probably substitute for them. Thus, on the one hand, a character in the Nights fascinates us as a very attractive person and, on the other hand, represents a figure who is replaceable with anyone: this is the specific mode of existence typically observed with the main characters of the Nights. This mode may be referred to as the ‘exemplarity’ of existence. For example, the third calendar of the cycle of ‘(3) The Porter and the Three Ladies of Baghdad’ is no less a person than himself, and at the same time, he represents the destiny of the two other calendars. He is the very ‘exemplar’. How about the beautiful young men, all mutilated, who appear in the tales of the barber’s six brothers in the Hunchback cycle? They prove the interchangeability of their destinies through their peculiar episodes. The function of characters in the Nights as an exemplar is emphasized by the lack of the name often observed with them, the poverty of their individuality, and the absence of internal description about them. Exemplarity and Literature In fact, exemplarity is an essential property of narrative works in general. While reading a story, we can identify ourselves with another person: namely a fictional character. We think and feel as if we stand in his place. We share his character and his situation. Therefore we can 76

Repetitiveness in the Arabian Nights say that a fictional person in a tale has value in that he can represent someone else (that is, the reader) while he stands out as himself in an impressive manner. Literature is the privileged place of exemplarity where the distinction of self and other becomes obscured by the virtue of fictional characters. Thus, a character becomes unique and universal at once. He stays a hero, as an irreplaceable self, and at the same time gives his existence to the others (that is, we, the readers). He represents his own particular conditions, and in parallel he presents them to us as our own problems. We readers also maintain a very high self-consciousness in the act of reading (in reading a story about others), while identifying ourselves with others (that is, heroes). In our view, the current importance of literature (especially narrative work) consists in this interpenetration of self and other. In literature, whether a reader or a character, one can combine the individual aspect and the general aspect within himself. Every thing and being can appear as a particular and a universal existence at the same time. Thus literature presents us with a new ‘relational’ image of independency. According to this image, while retaining our own particularities, we can remain in close connection with others, not being cut off from them. This is the very problem that the twentieth-century Russian philosopher Mikhail Bakhtin has discussed all his life in terms of the notion of ‘dialogism’. For example, in his article ‘Toward a Reworking of the Dostoevsky Book’ (originally written in 1961), he explains fundamental ‘otherness’ of the dialogical self with these words: ‘To be means to be for another, and through the other, for oneself. A person has no internal sovereign territory, he is wholly and always on the boundary; looking inside himself, he looks into the eyes of another or with the eyes of another’ (Bakhtin, 1984: 287). We know that for him the novel is the privileged place where the inter-subjectivity emerges in the most intense manner. According to him, ‘Literature creates utterly specific images of people, where I and another are combined in a special . . . way: I in the form of another or another in the form of I’ (ibid.: 293–294). We should also refer to the thought of Milan Kundera, one of the most successful writers of the present world, about the importance of the novel. He says in one of his works that the ‘compassion’ understood 77

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism as co-feeling toward others ‘signifies the maximal capacity of affective imagination, the art of emotional telepathy’ (Kundera, 1984: 19), and he raises it to supremacy in the hierarchy of sentiments. According to him, the novel is the very place for this supreme activity of mind. He emphasizes that, contrary to philosophical thought, ‘novelistic thinking’ is a non-linear thinking in which we think about ourselves through the medium of the other beings.20 In this respect, the Nights can be regarded as the most representative literary work today. This work provides us with fictional characters functioning as vacant spaces where diverse subjects meet together. We recall that figures in this collection often come to being by repeating other figures, and will be repeated by other characters. This repetitiveness gives them a particular mode of identity: identity emerging from the transference of self to others or, so to speak, open identity. REPETITIONS IN CONTENTS

Next, let us discuss the phenomenon of repetitions in regard to the contents of stories, in order to see that this device works as a fundamental principle in the whole construction of the text. Preferred Motifs In the Arabian Nights, the same motifs and themes appear again and again.21 We can give as an example the common setting in which an old king (or a rich merchant) has been finally blessed with a child. Other motifs, such as the infidelity of women, conflicts between brothers and violation of prohibition, also recur again and again in the whole piece. Duplicate Stories More remarkable cases of repetitions are so-called duplicate stories, that is, sets of tales sharing most of the contents in great detail. We give here typical examples where the whole evolution of a story, or a great part of it, is reproduced in more than one tale.22 ‘Persian love stories’: fall in love without watching the partner who is a man-hater 78

Repetitiveness in the Arabian Nights (9a) Tale of Taj al-Muluk and the Princess Dunya (153) Ardashir and Hayat al-Nufus (166) Ibrahim and Jamilah ‘Bird-Maiden’ stories (132b) Story of Janshah (156) Hassan of Bassorah Reunion of sweet hearts; girl disguised as a king (21) Tale of Kamar al-Zaman (and the Princess Budur) (41) Ali Shar and Zumurrd Competition between Jinni and Jinniyah (5) Tale of Nur al-Din Ali and his son Badr al-Din Hasan (21) Tale of Kamar al-Zaman (and the Princess Budur) Readers might be surprised by these manifest reappearances of stories. Are they defects caused by carelessness on the part of compilers? For instance, specialists have inferred that an Egyptian compiler introduced ‘(9a) Tale of Taj al-Muluk’ in the Nights along with the long cycle of King Omar, without realizing the fact that almost the same story (that of the tale of ‘(153) Ardashir and Hayat al-Nufus’) had already been included (cf. Macdonald, 1922: 321; Gerhardt, 1963: 53). When we take account of the general tendency to reemploy story materials, however, we are inclined to suppose that the introduction of the ‘Tale of Taj al-Muluk’ (a more sophisticated version of the ‘original’) was not by accident but by design – by the design of the text. We find a parodic version of the ‘Persian love story’ in the tale of ‘(166) Ibrahim and Jamilah’, which was probably made later in Egypt. This is one of the good examples indicating that reappearances of stories are not by mere chance.23 Besides the reappearances of the same story on a large scale, we meet innumerable recurrences of impressive anecdotes in the Nights. Among them, the most remarkable cases are: infidelity of a beautiful woman captured by a demon (in the frame story of the whole piece and in ‘(135w) The King’s Son and the Ifrit’s Mistress’ in the cycle of ‘The Craft and Malice of Woman’); the story of a man who ‘counts chickens before they are hatched’ (in ‘(162b) The Fakir and His Jar of Butter’ in 79

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism the cycle of ‘King Jali’ad of Hind and His Wazir Shimas’, and in ‘(6ee) The Barber’s Tale of His Fifth Brother’ in the Hunchback cycle); Lady Zubaydah’s jealousy (in ‘(8) Tale of Ghanim Bin Ayyub, the Distraught, the Thrall O’ Love’ and in ‘(157) Khalifah the Fisherman of Baghdad’); and a slave girl on the market who chooses her master (in ‘(41) Ali Shar and Zumurrud’, and in ‘(159) Ali Nur al-Din and Mariam the Girdle-Girl’). The episode in ‘The Third Voyage of Sindbad’ that we discussed above (a story in which a man defeats a cannibal monster by thrusting hot iron spits into its eyes) reappears in a short form in ‘(153a) Story of Prince Sayf al Muluk and the Princess Badi’a al-Jamal’. This episode is inserted in the tale of the adventures that the foster brother of the Prince Sayf al Muluk has had before his reunion with the Prince. Another episode from Sindbad’s sailing,24 in which an old man rides on the hero’s shoulder and never gets down, also reappears in the same tale with some modifications. What does this strong tendency toward repetition mean? We can assume that the text of the Nights has an ‘intention’, or an inherent direction, to develop itself by reuse of its own elements. Every anonymous author, copier and compiler of the Nights has followed, probably unconsciously, the intention of the text to repeat its own parts. Generalizing the recycling of stories observed above, we can state that, in the Nights, fascinating plots are always repeated. To put it conversely, motifs used only once are recognized as of little value. Here we can remember the old German proverb cited in Milan Kundera’s novel: ‘einmal ist keinmal’, that is to say, ‘what happens but once, might as well not have happened at all’ (Kundera, 1984: 8). In the Nights, the repetition provides tales or anecdotes with their attractive force. Parodic Tales We find in the middle of ZER several blocks of short tales which are made from the same motifs and share the same plots. A succession of tales that have much resemblance to each other arouses the attention of readers who have become accustomed to the connection of quite disparate tales in Shahrazad’s storytelling in the Nights. In these blocks, a reader cannot read a later tale without comparing it with the earlier one. The memory of the earlier tale gives a later one some twisting 80

Repetitiveness in the Arabian Nights taste. The former works as a basic model and the latter as the parody or as the transformed version.25 Obvious sets are: Bestiality (57) Wardan the Butcher’s Adventure with the Lady and the Bear (58) The King’s Daughter and the Ape Chain poems (65) The Loves of the Boy and Girl at the School (66) Al-Mutalammis and His Wife Umaymah (67) Harun al-Rashid and Zubaydah in the Bath (68) Harun al-Rashid and the Three Poets Rivalry between the Caliph’s slave girls (71) Harun al-Rashid and the Two Slave-Girls (72) Harun al-Rashid and the Three Slave-Girls The Angel of Death (114) The Angel of Death with the Proud King and the Devout Man (115) The Angel of Death and the Rich King (116) The Angel of Death and the King of the Children of Israel As the best example, look at the 387th night, which contains two very short tales in succession: ‘(71) Harun al-Rashid and the Two SlaveGirls’ and ‘(72) Harun al-Rashid and the Three Slave-Girls’. Roughly speaking, most of the tale ‘(72) Three Slave-Girls’ is a reproduction of the tale ‘(71) Two Slave-Girls’ – a quarrel between slave girls over the right to Harun’s organ. Only a new conclusion (the words of the third slave girl) is added to the previous tale. The setting and conclusion modified in relation to the previous tale engender the fun of the latter tale. The two tales are not juxtaposed as simple variations of a certain original tale, but intentionally arranged (by the text) so as to be read in a row to produce a parodic effect. Here again we clearly recognize the highly intentional use of repetitions in the Nights. Repetitions as a Generative Rule in the Arabian Nights In an older version, for example in the manuscript of the fourteenth 81

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism century, repetitions have already constituted a principle of storytelling. The frame story itself repeatedly takes up a theme of a woman’s infidelity. This theme appears three times: in the anecdote of the brother King Shahzaman, then in the anecdote of King Shahryar, and lastly in the anecdote of a beautiful woman captured by a demon. In his ‘Alf Layla wa-Layla’ entry in the Encyclopaedia of Islam, Littman argues, on the basis of a study by Emmanuel Cosquin (Etudes folkloriques, 1922), that these anecdotes were added in Persia to the original frame story made in India: a clever daughter of the wazir tides over the crisis of her life by telling stories (Littman, 1960: 373). Also in other canonic tales included in the fourteenth-century manuscript, repetitions are remarkable. As we know from Sandra Naddaff’s (1991) careful analysis, repetitions are abundant in the cycle of ‘The Porter and the Three Ladies’. In the Hunchback cycle also, we find innumerable repetitions of various kinds, both in the contents and in the narrative structure. We must point out that these two stories made somewhere in the Arabic world, probably in the thirteenth or fourteenth century, are apparently modelled upon the frame story of the Nights in that they are constructed on the theme of storytelling as a ransom device. Thus, the Nights has contained repetitious aspects from a very early time and has expanded itself by taking full advantage of repetitions. The device of repeating some elements that have already been introduced is adopted by the text throughout the history of its development. Thus we can say that repetition forms a generative rule of the Nights and that this rule is operative in the text from the beginning of the work. From this point of view, we must put a high value on the last part of the Nights of ZER. The tale starting at the 947th night and the ones that follow are usually underestimated26 as a patchwork of motifs already used elsewhere in the Nights. Certainly, in the tale of ‘(163) Abu Kir the Dyer and Abu Sir the Barber’, we again meet the anecdotes in the fourth voyage of Sindbad. The tale of ‘(164) Abdullah the Fisherman and Abdullah the Merman’ repeats descriptions of the under-sea world in ‘(154) Julnar the Sea-Born and Her Son King Badr Basim of Persia’. The next, ‘(165) Harun al-Rashid and Abu Hasan, the Merchant of Oman’, is one of the tales we come across several times in the Nights, about a man who spends all his money for a girl. The tale of ‘(166) 82

Repetitiveness in the Arabian Nights Ibrahim and Jamilah’ is, as we have seen above, a rehash of ‘(153) Ardashir and Hayat al-Nufus’ and its duplicate story, ‘(9a) Tale of Taj al-Muluk and the Princess Dunya’. The anecdote of stealing into the Caliph’s harem to meet the lover told in ‘(167) Abu al-Hasan of Khorasan’ is borrowed from ‘(6b) The Reeve’s Tale’ in the Hunchback cycle. The two jealous brothers appearing in ‘(169) Abdullah bin Fazil and his Brothers’ who were turned into dogs are copies of the two envious sisters of ‘(3d) The Eldest Lady’s Tale’ in the Porter cycle, and then correspond to the two dogs in ‘(1b) The Second Shaykh’s Story’. The final tale in ZER, ‘(170) Ma’aruf the Cobbler and His Wife Fatimah’, is nothing but an Egyptian burlesque version of ‘(111) Ali the Cairene and the Haunted House in Baghdad’. Therefore, for most readers, this tale must look to be a degrading copy of the famous story of Aladdin (‘(Suppl.) Alaeddin; or the Wonderful Lamp’). The tale of ‘(168) Kamar al-Zaman and the Jeweller’s Wife’ excels others in the reuse of plots and motifs. This tale, probably made later (from the sixteenth or even the early seventeenth century) in Egypt (Gerhardt, 1963: 140) and brought into the Nights as one of the latest additions, seems to us to have rounded up all the anecdotes that already existed in this collection. It has a setting in which a young boy, finally born after a long yearning of his rich parents, sets out on a journey to test his ability in the trade, just as in the tale of ‘(22) Ala aldin Abu al-Shamat’. Having fallen madly in love with a beautiful girl on hearing a rumour of her, he goes on a long trip to meet his unknown lover, just as in the ‘Persian love stories’ that we have discussed above. The episode of the beautiful woman’s promenade in the empty streets every Friday reminds us of the similar episodes in ‘(31) The Sweep and the Noble Lady’ and in the famous story of Aladdin. Readers already know that the action develops while the flabby protagonist is asleep before his beloved, having read ‘(9a) Tale of Aziz and Azizah’, ‘(41) Ali Shar and Zumurrd’, ‘(159) Ali Nur al-Din and Mariam the Girdle-Girl’ and many other tales. Finally the main story of getting another man’s wife, or the story of a wife duping the husband to reject him totally, is a recapitulation of ‘(158) Masrur and Zayn al-Wasif’. Thus, the last part crowns the Nights as a gallery of repeated motifs and imitated stories. It represents the essential generative mode of this huge narrative fabric.

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The Arabian Nights and Orientalism Outward Orientation in the Repetition Here, we argue about another effect brought on by motif repetitions. Reappearance of motifs gives us a sense of déjà vu and makes us aware of the connection between tales in the Arabian Nights and some other stories. As we have mentioned before, we can easily recognize that the episode of the flesh-eating monster of the Sindbad cycle comes from Homer’s work. The tale of ‘Hasan from Basra’ and the tale of Janshah remind us of other ‘Bird-Maiden’ stories existing all over the world. We all know that storytelling as a life-prolonging device in the framework of the Nights derives from tales of Old Indian tradition, such as Panchatantra or Vetalapanchavinsat (‘Twenty-Five Tales of a Vampire’). We can connect the tale of ‘(162b) The Fakir and His Jar of Butter’ with the old Sanskrit tale of the Brahman and the Pot of Rice in Panchatantra, or with the Ancient Greek tale of a market-woman who kicked over her eggs in Aesop’s Fables, and we can also compare it with Rabelais and La Fontaine. An underground path which enables secret meetings for lovers in ‘(168) Kamar al-Zaman and the Jeweller’s Wife’ is a device found also in Plautus’ Miles Gloriosus; both tales deriving from an Ancient Greek source (Gerhardt, 1963: 140). The tale of the clever slave girl Tawaddud who answers all the questions in full in every branch of learning (‘(113) Abu al-Husn and His Slave-Girl Tawaddud’) seems to be based on some Greek prototype; in turn this tale in the Nights furnished the source for Doncella Teodor, which was very popular from the thirteenth to the nineteenth century in Spain. Studies of relations between tales contained in the Nights and other stories in the world have been carried out extensively in the investigations of folktale motifs. We must remember that the Nights is a work which gathers, in principle, stories that have already existed somewhere as written texts. We all know that the origin of this work was a translation into Arabic of a Persian storybook: Hazar Afsana, or ‘Thousand Tales’. In the medieval Arabic world, the work was extended by integrating many tales which had been made independently of it (Miquel, 1991: I, 14), or by adding new stories composed on the basis of various tale-sources of the world. In the latter half of the eighteenth century, many tales were introduced into this collection to make it reach the exact number

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Repetitiveness in the Arabian Nights of a thousand and one ‘Nights’; they were also the pieces which had already existed as independent works (Mahdi, 1994: 98–100; Macdonald, 1922: 320–321). Therefore, we can say that the greater part of the tales in this collection are borrowed from outside. This work maintains innumerable correlations with outer narrative heritages. In other words, the repetitive connection between the inside and the outside of the Nights sustains the whole structure of this work. In our view, individual tales in the Nights are not distinguished in their isolated singularity, but in their deep openness: the openness which suggests infinite association among tales. They are doors to the outside. Instead of reinforcing the inner construction of this collection, repetitions in the Nights function as a self-opening device. Readers of the Nights find a universe where the boundary between the inside and the outside is fading away.

PHILOSOPHICAL POTENTIALITY OF REPETITIONS: RE-EVALUATION OF REPETITION BY JACQUES DERRIDA

What sort of innovation does the discussion of the effects of repetitions bring to our world view and our human view? To go to the heart of this problem, we now refer to arguments made by the French philosopher Jacques Derrida. We will try to describe his argument as simply as possible. Existence without Origin Derrida has attempted from the beginning of his career to reveal that the common thought of the ‘origin’ as the basis of our existence is nothing but an illusion. According to him, the foundations of all things and beings are not assured by their original origin, nor by their unique and independent property. His aim is to deny the self-identical identity of all subjects. Instead, he attempts to illustrate the basic openness of our existence toward others. Today it is called ‘otherness of the subject’. From this perspective, he finds primary importance in our linguistic activity, especially in the act of writing (Derrida, 1967). It is evident that writing is an act in which we reproduce linguistic signs that already exist. 85

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism Actually, a repetitive use of signs is a fundamental condition of our language act. According to his thought, our existence is also based, from its very origin, on repetition of something other than itself. Signature Derrida demonstrates this idea by introducing the signature as an example (Derrida, 198227). Here we try to explain in plain manner how the ‘signature’ symbolizes the de-originated origin of all existences. In our daily life, do we not assume our signature to be a symbol of our identity? To speak more generally, is the signature not taken as a proof of the autonomy of our existence? The signature thus symbolizes singularity and uniqueness. However, the function of a signature does not come from its singularity. In fact, a signature has no uniqueness. For instance, let us imagine a case where we buy something with our credit card. The signature that we put on a bill certifies the fact that we ourselves (not another person) have bought this item right then and there. Now let us consider how our signature functions as a valid one. In fact, our signature on the credit slip functions because it coincides with another signature that we made on the occasion of our registration with the credit company. That is to say, signature functions by repetition. Let us consider the case of traveller’s cheques as another example. When I buy a traveller’s cheque, I immediately write my signature on it. When I use it, I validate my traveller’s cheque by writing the same signature on it for a second time, guaranteeing the authenticity of my original signature. Also, we are now well aware that the first signature acquires meaning only from the possibility that it will be repeated later. ‘Iterability’: Potential Repeatable-ness A signature must be repeatable and must begin by repeating, and the same is true for all other things and beings. Derrida called the possibility of repetition as the basis of existence ‘iterability’, to distinguish it from simple repetition. This concept of iterability shows us the potential openness of our subjectivity. Through this idea, we can call into question the authorizing notion of ‘origin’, on which all modern European thought has 86

Repetitiveness in the Arabian Nights been constructed. Then, we are able to sketch out a way to overcome self-centred identity. We might find a way out of the modernistic closed individuality. Derrida explains this perspective by discussing the fundamental capacity of language. Let us quote some very elucidating lines: The ‘power’ that language is capable of, the power that there is, as language or as writing, is that a singular mark should also be repeatable, iterable, as mark. It then begins to differ from itself sufficiently to become exemplary and thus involve a certain generality. (Derrida, 1992: 42–43) Every ‘singular’ mark possesses the possibility of being repeated, as far as it is recognized as a linguistic sign. Then a singular mark should ‘differ from itself’ to achieve its true existence. Thus every individual thing takes on generality and reaches a status of exemplar. In light of the concept of iterability, now we can recognize the full significance of the repetitions in the Arabian Nights.

CONCLUSION: OPENNESS AS SELF-FOUNDATION IN THE ARABIAN NIGHTS

As we have observed above, in the Nights, impressive phrases, the characters’ names, or story motifs tend to be repeated, as far as they are attractive. By the repetition, they become more outstanding, while losing their uniqueness. That is to say, things, characters, events, expressions and even tales establish themselves by shifting their centre into the connection with others. The subject, now becoming exemplar, is founded on its openness.28 In the universe where fundamental openness establishes our self and the core of substances, the particular and the general, as well as the individual and the universal, are compatible with each other. In our opinion, the current virtue of literature consists in the ability to show this paradoxical situation as the truth of human life. In this regard, the Arabian Nights exceeds most modern European novels. By way of excessive use of repetitions on many different levels, this immense collection of tales teaches us a non-identical or half87

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism identical manner of existence, or ‘openness as self-foundation’ in our terms.29 ETSUKO AOYAGI University of Tsukuba

NOTES 1. Except for some fragments of the ninth-century manuscript of the Nights, which was studied by Nabia Abott (Abott, 1949). 2. See the titles of some major translations: John Payne, The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night, now first completely done into English prose and verse, from the original Arabic, 9 vols. (1882–84); Richard Burton, A Plain and Literal Translation of the Arabian Nights Entertainments, Now Entitled the Book of the Thousand Nights and a Night, 10 vols. (1885); J.C. Mardrus, Le Livre des Mille Nuits et Une Nuit: Traduction littérale et complète du texte arabe par le Dr. J.C. Mardrus, 16 vols. (1899–1904) [underlines added]. 3. Our quotations are from Burton (1897). 4. Important exceptions are studies by Picot (1990) and Naddaff (1991). 5. Lane’s translation was finished in 1841 and finally bound in 3 volumes: The Thousand and One Nights, commonly called in England the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, a new translation from the Arabic, with copious notes by Edward William Lane. 6. Another main reason is obscenity of the stories. He cut off from his version many tales which he thought unsuitable for family reading. 7. In Mardrus’ translation, the night formula is diminished to the minimum, and repetitive scenes and expressions are eliminated from text. He omitted tales containing similar anecdotes, as Lane did. Moreover, he invented expressive and individualized names for the heroes and heroines. His concern is to accumulate ‘singularities’ to create a universe of wonder. A sense of déjà vu and vertiginous circulation are unsuited for the straight developing worlds of his tales. 8. However, we also realize that Galland’s text, written in the elegant style that fits with the classical literary taste of the seventeenth century, already had the same tendency as that of Mardrus. 9. ‘la répétition engendrerait elle-même la jouissance . . . : répéter à l’excès, c’est entrer dans la perte, dans le zéro du signifié’; ‘En somme, le mot peut être érotique à deux conditions opposées, toutes deux excessives: s’il est répété à outrance, ou au contraire s’il est inattendu’ (Barthes, 1973: 67–68). 10. In the Calcutta II edition, the last part of the 1,000th night tells that the morning was broken, that the King Shahryar managed the affairs of state all

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11. 12.

13.

14. 15. 16.

17. 18.

19.

day, and moreover that after finishing all the affairs, he returned to the harem to get into the room of Shahrazad. Nevertheless, just as all the other nights do, the night ends with the ritual formula: ‘And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased telling her permitted tale’ (this formula is omitted in Burton’s translation, but literally translated in the Japanese edition, Maejima and Ikeda, 1976–92: XVIII, 423). This incoherence shows how highly the Nights esteems the repetition of the ritual formula at the night break. The expressions are gathered from Haddawy’s and Burton’s translations. Recurrence of this same (or almost same) expression is remarkable in ‘(21) Tale of Kamar al-Zaman’: ‘Now when the King heard these her words, the light became darkness in his sight’ (the 179th night, Burton, 1885–88: III, 16), ‘Now when the King heard these words of the Minister, light became darkness in his sight’ (the 189th night, ibid.: III, 35), ‘Now when the duenna heard this, the light starkened in her sight’ (the 192nd night, ibid.: III, 41). In general, Burton’s translation pays close attention to reproducing repetitive expressions as truly as possible. We also notice that these names are given to other fictional characters in the Nights: the wife of Ala al-Din is named Zubaydah (‘(22) Ala al-Din Abu alShamat’); the merchant who has fallen in love with the wife of a Jew is named Masrur (‘(158) Masrur and Zayn al-Mawasif’). So we do not take into consideration frequent reappearance of common names as H.asan, Ibrahı¯m, Alı¯, Zaynab and so on. Needless to say, ‘Abdullah’ means ‘servant, or slave, of Allah’. The anonymity also diminishes the identity of characters, as Ferial Ghazoul pointed out about the wives of the two kings in the frame story (cf. Ghazoul, 1996: 32). We would like to pay attention to the fact that nameless persons can be found all over the work. Especially, when protagonists have no ‘proper’ name, they easily and perhaps inevitably become ‘exemplar’, in other words, unique and universal (universalisable) figures. The 546th–547th nights, in ‘(133c) The Third Voyage of Sindbad the Seaman’ (Burton, 1885–88: IV, 365–368). Galland already noticed that the episode of the cannibal giant in the third voyage of Sindbad resembles that of Polyphemus in Homer’s work. Close comparison between these two episodes is done by Maejima (1995). In chapter four he points out the divergence in physical features of the two monsters and variations of plots between the two stories. However, our interest is rather in the difference in nature of the two protagonists, and in the radical opposition in the philosophical and literary view induced from it. As for the relation of Homer and the Arabian Nights, see also Irwin (1994: 70–71). His attribution of the source of this episode to Iliad is a simple mistake. ‘He [the frightful giant] took me up in his hand and turning me over felt me, as a butcher feeleth a sheep he is about to slaughter. . . ; but finding me lean

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20. 21. 22.

23.

24. 25.

26.

27.

28.

29.

and fleshless for stress of toil and trouble and weariness, let me go and took up another’ (the 547th night, Burton, 1885–88: IV, 365–366). See the idea of ‘pensée romanesque’ in Kundera (1986, 1993). Cf. Chauvin (1899); Elisséeff (1949). Mia Gerhardt pays much attention to duplicate stories in the Nights (Gerhardt, 1963: 52–55, passim). But she is interested mainly in the processes of derivation of the pair stories. We are rather concerned about the effect of these obvious repetitive stories upon the readers. This is why we do not include in our list the pair of ‘(50) Ibrahim bin al-Mahdi and the Merchant’s Sister’ and ‘(98) Isaac of Mosul and the Merchant’, which are discussed closely in her work. This case is in fact a mere reuse of the same setting, with no recognizable correspondence of actions in the development of stories. The amusement of ‘(91) The Schoolmaster Who Fell in Love by Report’ and ‘(168) Kamar al-Zaman and the Jeweller’s Wife’ also derives from a twisting use of ‘Persian love story’. It is presupposed that readers already know very well the serious ‘Persian love’ tales gathered in the Nights. Cf. the 557th night, in ‘(133e) The Fifth Voyage of Sindbad’. Here we include in the definition of parody, ‘the serious parody’ (the parody without burlesque effects) as Gérard Genette did in Plimpsestes (Genette, 1982: 35). What is in question here are all the relations between a preexisting text (‘hypotext’) and the text derived from it by the operation of transformation or imitation (‘hypertext’ or ‘text in second degree’). See Genette (1982: 11–14). To give an example, Lane omits four tales (165, 167, 168, 169) among the last six pieces of the Nights. Here also, the reason is that they are similar to other tales already included in his translation. Another cause for the omission is the vulgarity and immorality of actions in these tales (Lane, 1839–41: III, 587, 613). Derrida states about the effects of signature as follows: ‘In order to function, that is in order to be legible, a signature must have a repeatable, iterable, imitable form; it must be able to detach itself from the present and singular intention of its production. It is its sameness which, in altering its identity and singularity, divides the seal’ (Derrida, 1982: 328–329). We can call this self-opening existence mode emerging from infinite repetitions an ‘Arabesque’ mode. On the relation between repetitions of the Nights and principles of Arabesque, see Ali (1980: 205). See also Naddaff (1991: ch. 6) for a closer examination. Further investigation on this matter remains to be done. The hybrid features that this uncommon collection of tales has obtained over the course of its history reinforce this opening identity. We will discuss this issue in another essay.

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II. Sources and Influences

CHAPTER 5

Alexander in the Thousand and One Nights and the Ghaza¯lı¯ Connection INTRODUCTION

T

HE TALE WHICH we are about to examine, the tale of ‘Alexander the Two-Horned and a Certain Tribe of Poor Folk’, is a very minor episode in the whole of the Thousand and One Nights, hidden away behind the spectacle of the ebony horse, the splendour of the city of brass, or the sparkle of the magic lantern. In fact, the whole central block of the Nights, consisting of nearly 100 short edifying anecdotes, has been overshadowed by the full-length tales of love and marvels. European translators have not paid much attention to them. Galland’s translation does not contain this section, and Lane and Mardrus only selected a limited number of tales of this type. For example, Lane compresses most of these shorter stories into the notes to the chapters in small print, and omits to mention even the title of minor tales such as that of Alexander.1 Perhaps partly due to this, very few studies have been dedicated to this section of the Nights.2 In this essay, by shedding light on the neglected Alexander anecdote, we shall reveal an important source for certain clusters of tales in the Nights which had hitherto remained virtually unnoticed.

THE STORY

The tale in question is told on the 464th night in the Calcutta II edition.3 It belongs to a series of 18 short moral anecdotes with themes about death, and about righteousness of kings. The story starts like this: 93

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism It is related that Iskandar Zu al-Karnayn once came, in his journeyings, upon a tribe of small folk, who owned naught of the weals of the world and who dug their graves over against the doors of their houses and were wont at all times to visit them and sweep the earth from them and keep them clean and pray at them and worship Almighty Allah at them; and they had no meat save grasses and the growth of the ground. (English translation, Burton, 1885–88: V: 252–254) To the significance of the name Zu al-Karnayn, or Dhu¯ ’l-qarnayn, we shall return later. Let us continue with the story. Iskandar (Alexander) summons the king of these people, but he refuses to come, saying ‘I have no need of him’. So Iskandar goes to him and asks him a series of questions on why his people live the way they do. Asked about the graves in front of their house doors, he answers, That they may be the prospective of our eye-glances (nus.ba a‘yunina¯, before our eyes); so we may look on them and ever renew talk and thought of death, neither forget the world to come; and this wise the love of the world be banished from our hearts and we be not thereby distracted from the service of our Lord, the Almighty. Then, asked about their vegetarian diet, he answers, ‘Because we abhor to make our bellies the tombs of animals and because the pleasure of eating outstrippeth not the gullet.’ The king of the poor folk then shows two human skulls to Iskandar, saying that one was the skull of a ‘King of the Kings of the world, who dealt tyrannously with his subjects, specially wronging the weak and wasting his time in heaping up the rubbish of this world, till Allah took his sprite and made the fire his abiding-site; and this is his head’. And the other skull belonged to ‘another King, who dealt justly by his lieges and was kindly solicitous for the folk of his realm and his dominions, till Allah took his soul and lodged him in His Garden and made high his degree in Heaven’. Upon hearing the king say, ‘Would I knew which of these two art thou’, Iskandar recognizes his wisdom and weeps and asks him to join his company as wazir. This request the king refuses: 94

Alexander in the Thousand and One Nights Because all men are thy foes by reason of the wealth and the worlds thou hast won: while all men are my true friends, because of my contentment and pauperdom, for that I possess nothing, neither covet aught of the goods of life; I have no desire to them nor wish for them, neither reck I aught save contentment. So Iskandar leaves them in peace and goes his way. End of story. Burton in his commentary on this tale says that this sort of moral tale is the ‘staple produce of Oriental tale-literature’. However, this particular story actually has its origins already in Greek antiquity. In fact, it is rooted in an event that probably actually took place during Alexander’s expedition into India.

ALEXANDER AND THE INDIAN SAGES IN GREEK HISTORIES AND THE ALEXANDER ROMANCE

Let us now uncover the historical core of this tale, and go over relevant events during Alexander’s expedition into India (cf. Stoneman, 1997: 61–69). It was in spring 327 BC that Alexander’s army crossed the Hindu Kush. After a difficult campaign to subdue the mountain communities of Bajaur and Swat (Afghan–Pakistani borderland), Alexander advanced to the Indus plain in the spring of 326, and remained some three months in Taxila, which was a centre of learning at that time. It was during this stay that Alexander and his people were impressed with the practices of a group of ascetics whom the Greeks called gymnosophistae, ‘the naked philosophers’. Onesicritus, one of the attendants of Alexander and pupil of Diogenes (c.412– 323 BC) the Cynic philosopher, went to converse with them through means of interpreters. Aristobulus, a historian in the service of Alexander, reported on Onesicritus’ meeting with the gymnosophists, and this is cited by Strabo (c.63 BC–AD24). According to Strabo’s summary of Aristobulus’ account (15.1.61–65), Onesicritus was sent to converse with these sophists, who were standing, sitting or lying naked and motionless in front of the city. One of them named Calanus told Onesicritus to take his clothes off and lie down on the stones if he wished to learn their teachings. Then Mandanis, who was the oldest and wisest of the philosophers, 95

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism accused Calanus himself of being conceited and ‘commended the king [Alexander] because, although busied with the government of so great an empire, he was desirous of wisdom’. He gave a discourse in which he says ‘the best teaching is that which removes pleasure and pain from the soul . . . ’. Then Mandanis, being told by Onesicritus that such doctrines were taught by Greek philosophers such as Pythagoras, Socrates and Diogenes, remarks that the Greeks were as soundminded, but wrong in one respect that they preferred custom to nature, otherwise they would not be ashamed to go naked. Onesicritus then makes an observation on how they study natural phenomena, how they receive offerings of fruit and oil and food, and about their practice of committing suicide by fire when they become diseased. Certain scholars have considered this episode to be a later invention of the Cynic school, but others maintain that a meeting between Onesicritus and Indian ascetics probably did take place (Stoneman, 1995). Onesicritus’ report about his conversation with the Indian ascetics did seem to have inspired later Cynic writers who invented anecdotes about Alexander himself meeting with the Indian sages. The story, illustrating the stark contrast between Alexander’s unquenchable ambition and the rigorous asceticism of the sages, became very popular and circulated in late antiquity in several forms. It seems that there was an independent, full-standing version of the legend in circulation as early as 100 BC as papyrus finds indicate.4 Even Arrian’s (second century BC) Anabasis, which is considered by modern historians to be the most reliable historical source for Alexander’s expedition, includes a fictitious story (7.1.5–7.2.4) where Alexander is told by the Indian wise men that ‘each man possesses just so much of the earth as this on which we stand; and you being a man like other men, save that you are full of activity and relentless, are roaming over all this earth far from your home, troubled yourself, and troubling others’ (Arrianos Flavios, 1976, trans. Brunt). Plutarch’s (AD c.46–c.120) Parallel Lives (Alexander 64.1–65.4) gives an account where Alexander captures ten gymnosophists, poses questions to nine of them and orders the last one to judge upon the answers, threatening death if they do not answer correctly. There is also a similar question-and-answer session in the version attributed to Palladius, bishop of Helenopolis (c.363–c.430), which seems to have 96

Alexander in the Thousand and One Nights been later incorporated into the so-called Pseudo-Callisthenes’ Alexander Romance, a fictitious narrative about Alexander’s life originally compiled in Greek in Alexandria sometime between 3 BC and 3 AD. As the stemma of the various versions is complicated, we will not enter into the details here.5 Let us look at the episode in question from Pseudo-Callisthenes’ Alexander Romance, Book III, 5–6 (Pseudo-Callisthenes, 1991, trans. Stoneman: 131–133). Alexander sees the philosophers ‘entirely without clothing and living in huts and caves’ and asks them some questions. ‘Do you have no graves?’ was the first. ‘This ground where we dwell is also our grave,’ came the reply. ‘Here we lie down and, as it were, bury ourselves when we sleep. The earth gives us birth, the earth feeds us, and under the earth when we die we spend our eternal sleep.’ ‘Who are the greater in number?’ he asked next. ‘The living or the dead.’ ‘The dead are more numerous,’ they replied, ‘but because they no longer exist they cannot be counted. The visible are more numerous than the invisible.’ Next he asked, ‘Which is stronger, death or life?’ ‘Life,’ they replied, ‘because the sun as it rises has strong bright rays, but when it sets, appears to be weaker.’ ‘Which is greater, the earth or the sea?’ ‘The earth. The sea is itself surrounded by the earth.’ ‘Which is the wickedest of all creatures?’ ‘Man,’ they replied. And he, ‘Why?’ ‘Learn from yourself the answer to that. You are a wild beast, and see how many other wild beasts you have with you, to help you tear away the lives of other beasts.’ Alexander was not angry, but smiled. Then he asked, ‘What is kingship?’ ‘Unjust power used to the disadvantage of others; insolence supported by opportunity; a golden burden.’ ‘Which came first, day or night?’ ‘Night. What is born grows first in the darkness of the mother’s womb, and at birth it encounters the light of day.’ 97

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism ‘Which side is better, the left or the right?’ ‘The right. The sun rises on the right and then makes its way to the left-hand side of the sky. And a woman gives suck first with her right breast.’ Then Alexander asked him if they had any property. ‘Our possessions,’ Dandamis replied, ‘are the earth, the fruit trees, the daylight, the sun, the moon, the chorus of the stars, and water. When we are hungry, we go to the trees whose branches hang down here and eat the fruit they produce. The trees produce fruit every time the moon begins to wax. Then we have the great river Euphrates, and whenever we are thirsty we go to it, drink its water, and are contented. Each of us has his own wife. At every new moon each goes to mate with his wife, until she has borne two children. We reckon one of these to replace the father, and one to replace the mother.’ Then Alexander tells them that he will give them whatever they want, to which they answer, ‘Give us immortality’. Alexander replies that he himself, being a mortal, does not have the power to grant that. The philosophers reproach him for making so many wars and seizing everything when he has to leave everything behind. ‘It is ordained by Providence above’, replies Alexander: that we shall all be slaves and servants of the divine will. The sea does not move unless the wind blows it, and the trees do not tremble unless the breezes disturb them; and likewise man does nothing except by the motions of divine Providence. For my part I would like to stop making war, but the master of my soul does not allow me. If we were all of like mind, the world would be devoid of activity: the sea would not be filled, the land would not be farmed, marriages would not be consummated, there would be no begetting of children. How many have become miserable and lost all their possessions as a result of my wars? But others have profited from the property of others. Everyone takes from everyone, and leaves what he has taken to others: no possession is permanent. The question-and-answer dialogue reminds us of a Zen Buddhist interlocution. Actually, comparison has been made to the Questions of 98

Alexander in the Thousand and One Nights Milinda or Milindapanha, and the problem of influence either from the Milindapanha to the Alexander Romance or vice versa has been discussed by scholars.6 What is particularly interesting about this Romance version of the dialogue is that Alexander does not just retreat in defeat to the admonitions of the sages. Whereas the intent of the Cynic version of the tale was to criticize Alexander’s hubris, in the Romance version, Alexander’s response to the sages illustrates that if everyone was content to just sit around naked on stones and only eat fruit from the trees, the world would simply be a dull and boring place. The same episode in the Syriac translation of the PseudoCallisthenes Alexander Romance is basically identical to that of the Greek Pseudo-Callisthenes (Budge, 1889: 92–94). And since – as Nöldeke (1890) pointed out in his important study on the transmission of the Alexander Romance to the Orient – the Syriac version is supposedly based on a lost Pahlavi (Middle-Persian) translation from which later Arabic and Persian Alexander Romances originated, we can assume that the story circulated in a similar form in the early Islamic period, although no literary evidence of a complete and independent Arabic version of the Alexander Romance survives from that time. However, the life story of Alexander in Firdawsı¯’s Persian epic, the Sha¯hna¯mah (The Book of Kings), from the end of the tenth century, is said to be based on the supposed Pahlavi Alexander Romance. And, indeed, Alexander’s conversation with the Brahmans in the Sha¯hna¯mah (Persian text Firdawsı¯, ed. Bertel, 1960–71: VII, 67–68; trans. Warner, 1905–25: VI, 143–147), although in a versified form, preserves the content of the Pseudo-Callisthenes version of the tale rather faithfully, down to the part where the Brahmans question Alexander, ‘Why seek to win the world by toil . . . Why hope to live so much?’ to which Alexander answers, ‘neither man of lore nor warrior evadeth that decree [of God], strive how he may’.

ALEXANDER’S MEETING WITH THE SAGES OF THE SOUTH IN JUDAIC TRADITIONS

Before going into the question of how this tale evolved in the medieval Islamic world, we must take a brief look at how it was received into 99

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism Judaic Rabbinical literature, because certain versions of the tale probably passed through the filter of the Judaic tradition before it came to be known to Muslims. In the Babylonian Talmu ¯d (fifth century AD), Ta¯mı¯d 31b–32a has an anecdote about Alexander’s meeting with the ‘Elders of the South’: Alexander of Macedon put ten questions to the Elders of the South. He asked: ‘Which is further, from heaven to earth or from east to west?’ They replied: ‘From east to west. The proof is that when the sun is in the east all can look at it, and when it is in the west all can look at it, but when the sun is in the middle of the sky nobody can look at it.’ The Sages, however, say: ‘The distance is in both cases the same, as it says (Ps. 103: 11–12): For as the heaven is high above the earth etc., as far as the east is from the west. Now if one of these distances is greater, the text should not write both but only the one which is greater. What then is the reason that nobody can look at the sun when it is in the middle of the sky? Because it is absolutely clear and nothing obstructs the view.’ He said to them: ‘Were the heavens created first, or the earth?’ They replied: ‘The heavens were created first, as it says (Gen. 1: 1): In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.’ He said to them: ‘Was light created first, or darkness?’ They replied: ‘This question cannot be solved,’ Why did they not reply that darkness was created first, since it is written (Gen. 1: 2): Now the earth was unformed and void and darkness, and after that (Gen. 1: 3): And God said: ‘Let there be light, and there was light’? They thought to themselves: ‘Perhaps he will go on to ask what is above and what is below, what is before and what is after.’ If that is the case, they should not have answered his question about the heaven either. At first they thought that he just happened to ask that question, but when they saw that he pursued the same subject, they bethought themselves not to answer him lest he should go on to ask what is above and what is below, what is before and what is after. He said to them: ‘Who is called wise?’ They replied: ‘Who is wise? He who discerns what is come to pass.’ He said to them: ‘Who is called a mighty man?’ They replied: ‘Who is a mighty man? He who subdues passion.’ He said to them: ‘Who is called a rich man?’ They replied: ‘Who 100

Alexander in the Thousand and One Nights is rich? He who rejoices in his portion.’ He said to them: ‘What shall a man do to live?’ They replied: ‘Let him mortify himself “with study and work”.’ He said to them: ‘What shall a man do to kill himself?’ They replied: ‘Let him keep himself alive “by indulging himself in luxuries”.’ He said to them: ‘What should a man do in order to be accepted by others?’ They replied: ‘Let him hate rule and government.’ He said to them: ‘I have a better answer than yours: let him be a friend of rule and government and “use his position” to do good to mankind.’ He said to them: ‘Is it better to dwell on sea or on dry land?’ They replied: ‘It is better to dwell on dry land, because those who set out to sea are never free from anxiety till they reach dry land again.’ He said to them: ‘Which among you is the wisest?’ They replied: ‘We are equal, because we have all concurred in the same answers to your questions.’ He said to them: ‘Why did you oppose me?’ They replied: ‘The Satan is too powerful.’ He said to them: ‘Behold, I will slay you by royal decree.’ They replied: ‘Power is in the hands of the king, but it does not befit a king to lie.’ Immediately he clothed them with garments of purple and put chains of gold on their necks. (cited from Bekkum, 1992: 7–9) This question-and-answer episode in the Babylonian Talmu ¯d is said to be a Judaic reworking of the Pseudo-Callisthenes passage on Alexander and the Indian gymnosophists, going back perhaps to Hellenistic Jewishapologetic literature (cf. Lévi, 1881; Wallach, 1941; Bekkum, 1992: 7–13). The dialogical style is indeed similar but the content of the Talmudic version is evidently more biblical and moral. ‘The Brahmans’ of India of the Pseudo-Callisthenes Alexander Romance become less geographically oriented into ‘Elders of the South’. And of course it lacks Alexander’s own discourse about the ‘motions of divine Providence’, justifying his actions. A detailed comparison between the Romance and the Talmudic versions has already been made by Wallach, and he assumes a Pahlavi Alexander Romance to be the source that underlies the above passage of the Talmu ¯d (Wallach, 1941: 53). 101

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism DIFFERENT VERSIONS OF THE STORY IN ARABIC AND PERSIAN SOURCES

Thus Alexander was already incorporated into Jewish (and also Christian) religious narratives as a sacred figure before the coming of Islam. This takes us back to the question of his epithet Dhu¯ ’lqarnayn, ‘the two-horned’. The association between Alexander and the two horns already existed in the monotheistic literature preceding Islam. To make a long story short, tales about Alexander the twohorned, bestowed with special authority by God to spread the faith from the western end of the world to the eastern end, which was current among Jews and Christians in Arabia, probably reached Muh. ammad and was incorporated into the Qur’a¯n, Su ¯ra 18 (‘the Cave’). However, in the process, the name of the Macedonian conqueror was omitted and the historical context surrounding the figure was completely discarded, to be replaced by the religious symbolism of the ‘two horns’. Despite the continuous disputes among scholars, since the early Islamic eras, concerning whether the Quranic Dhu¯ ’lqarnayn is to be identified with Alexander, the link between the historical Alexander and the Quranic Dhu¯ ’l-qarnayn has persisted. Because of this, the figure of Alexander acquired a religious aura in the medieval Islamic world.7 Now, coming back to our tale, the Dhu¯ ’l-qarnayn passage in the Qur’a¯n (Su¯ra 18: 82–97) itself does not include the dialogue with the sages. However, a tafsı¯r (commentary of the Qur’a¯n) by T.abarı¯ (d.923) records a tradition going back to Wahb ibn Munabbih, a Yemenite who lived sometime between 654 and 732 and whose Jewish father converted to Islam, and who became famous for transmitting Judeo-Christian lore.8 This tradition, or h. ad¯ı th, says that Dhu¯ ’lqarnayn was ‘a man from Ru¯m (which designates Greece or Rome)’, who, after having subdued the people of the setting place of the sun and the rising place of the sun to spread the true faith, builds a wall to shut out the Gog and the Magog (Ya¯ju¯j wa Ma¯ju¯ j), and then meets ‘just moderate people who divide by equality and judge by justice and assist one another and love and respect one another’. Dhu¯ ’l-qarnayn asks questions concerning their ascetic and virtuous life: ‘Why is it that the tombs of your deceased are at the entrance to your houses?’ ‘In order not to forget about death . . . ’ ‘Why is it that your houses 102

Alexander in the Thousand and One Nights have no doors?’ ‘Because there are no suspicious ones among us . . . ’, and so on. This question-and-answer session evidently echoes the dialogue of Alexander and the Brahmans in the Pseudo-Callisthenes Alexander Romance and the passage of the Babylonian Talmu ¯d, as we have seen above. However, the questions concerning cosmology (for example, ‘Which is further, from heaven to earth or from east to west?’) have disappeared. And also the questions are formed less like a quiz or riddle, and more like an interview about their ascetic way of life. And these pious people in the tradition recorded by T.abarı¯ have no particular name and are not associated with any geographical location. There are many other versions of the meeting of Alexander (or Dhu¯ ’l-qarnayn) with the Indian sages in Arabic and Persian sources, such as the one in Ya‘qu ¯bı¯’s History, or Mas‘u¯dı¯’s Golden Meadows, or in Niz.a¯mı¯’s Iskandarna¯mah, but limited space does not allow us to introduce all of them here in detail.9 However, in tracing this trail, we were able to ascertain what was most likely to be the direct source for this episode as found in the Thousand and One Nights. The source in which we have found a passage that fits the puzzle almost perfectly is Ghaza¯lı¯’s Nas.¯h ı . at almulu¯k. Nas.¯h ı . at al-mulu¯k is, as the title says, a book of counsel for kings, or what is called in Western languages a ‘mirror for princes’.10 It – or at least the first part which is an exposition of the faith composed for a prince – was originally written in Persian by Ghaza¯lı¯ for a Selju¯q prince sometime between 1105 and 1111 (the year of Ghaza¯lı¯’s death).11 Then, the chapters that are now known to be Part Two of the Nas.¯h ı . at, which offer more practical or mundane counsel on the art of government, on virtue and vice of women, and aphorisms of sages, seem to have been written apparently by another unknown Iranian author, probably a younger contemporary of Ghaza¯lı¯. A work, attributed wholly to Ghaza¯lı¯, comprising both these two parts was translated into Arabic by ‘Alı¯ ibn Muba¯rak ibn Mawhu¯b (1169–1239) of Irbı¯l for the ‘Atabeg’ Alp Qutlugh Beg Qayma¯z al-Zayn under the title al-Tibr al-masbu¯k fı¯ nas.¯h ı . at al-mulu¯k (the Melted Ingot of Gold on Advice to Kings) sometime before 1199. Whereas the Persian original virtually went out of circulation, this Arabic translation was copied often during Mamluk and Ottoman times.12

103

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism PARALLELS IN THE NAS.¯I H . AT

In the section at the beginning of Part One of the Nas.¯h ı . at (in other words, in the part that is said to be authentically by Ghaza¯lı¯) there is a chapter entitled ‘The Two Springs which water the Tree of Faith’. The ‘First Spring’ deals with the knowledge of the lower world (dunya¯) and the ‘Second Spring’ is about the ‘last breath (nafas-i ba¯z pası¯n)’, meaning death. Our episode is the last one of the five anecdotes (h.ika¯ya¯t) that illustrate the inevitability of death. It has been related that Dhu¯ ’l-qarnayn came to a nation who had no possessions. He saw graves dug at the doors of their houses; and every day they went to these graves and worshipped. Their only food was herbs. Dhu¯ ’l-qarnayn sent a messenger to summon their king, but he refused to come, saying: ‘I have no business with Dhu¯ ’l-qarnayn, and no demands to make of him.’ Then Dhu¯ ’lqarnayn went to him and asked, ‘What has befallen you?’ ‘Why [do you ask that]?’ he said. ‘For this reason,’ he replied, ‘I do not see any possessions belonging to you people. Why do not you amass silver and gold, and thereby gain profit?’ ‘Because no person has ever gained satisfaction from such profit,’ he said; ‘and because it always brings loss in the world to come.’ ‘For what purpose did you dig these graves?’ he asked. ‘So that I may at every hour see what stage has been reached on the road to the after-world,’ he said; ‘thus [are we reminded] not to forget death and not to let his lower world become dear to our hearts, but to remain assiduous in worship.’ ‘Why do you eat herbs?’ he asked. ‘Because we think it hateful,’ he said, ‘to turn our stomachs into tombs for [animals] when the delights of food go no further than the throat.’ Then the king put his hand down [into a crevice] and brought forth a human skull, [which he placed] before Dhu¯ ’lqarnayn, saying: ‘O Dhu¯ ’l-qarnayn, do you know who this was?’ ‘Perhaps this was one of the kings of this world, who ruled unjustly, spent his time amassing worldly wealth, and oppressed and despoiled the subjects. The True God on High saw his tyranny, took his soul, and sent him to Hell. This is his head!’ Then he put [his hand] down again, picked up another skull and placed it before Dhu¯ ’l-qarnayn saying: ‘O Dhu¯ ’l-qarnayn do you 104

Alexander in the Thousand and One Nights know who this was?’ ‘Tell me,’ he requested. ‘This,’ he said, ‘was one of the just and righteous kings, who was kind and merciful to the subjects. When God on High took his soul, He sent him to Paradise.’ After saying this, he laid his hand upon Dhu¯ ’lqarnayn’s head, saying, ‘O Dhu¯ ’l-qarnayn, I see this head of yours. Perhaps it will soon be one of those two!’13 On hearing these words, Dhu¯ ’l-qarnayn wept and said to him: ‘If you will consent to accompany us as wazı¯r, I will grant you up to half of my empire.’ ‘No,’ he answered. ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘The whole of mankind,’ he answered, ‘are hostile to you on account of your sovereignty and wealth. To me they will always be friendly, on account of my contentment and poverty.’ (Ghaza ¯lı¯, 1964, trans. Bagley: 42–43; Persian text, see Ghaza ¯lı¯, 1361/1982, ed. Huma¯’ı¯: 74–77) We have compared the corresponding passage in the Arabic translation, Tibr al-masbu¯k (Ghaza ¯lı¯, 1968: 41–42), to the Nights’ Arabic text, and apart from minor differences in the wording, the two Arabic versions are substantially identical. However, one disparity that should be noted is that Ghaza ¯lı¯ (neither in Persian nor in the Arabic translation) does not mention the name Iskandar together with the epithet Dhu¯ ’l-qarnayn, whereas the Nights text calls him Iskandar Dhu¯ ’l-qarnayn, as well as simply Iskandar or Dhu¯ ’l-qarnayn.14 There is even further evidence. The four anecdotes that precede the Dhu¯ ’l-qarnayn episode in the Nas.¯h ı . at are short stories about the ‘Angel of Death’ (malak al-mawt).15 Three of these anecdotes correspond exactly to the three stories that precede the Iskandar Dhu¯ ’l-qarnayn tale in the Nights. See the list of comparison below. Nas.¯h ı . at al-mulu¯k (Persian text Ghaza¯lı¯, 1361/1982: 66–77; Ghaza¯lı¯, 1968: 37–42; English trans. Ghaza¯lı¯, 1964: 39–43) Anecdote 1: The king, the Angel of Death, and the devout man (mu’min) who welcomes death [beginning: ‘Wahb ibn Munabbih, who was one of the scholars of the Jews and became a Muslim, has related that . . . ’] Anecdote 2: The rich man and the Angel of Death disguised as darwı¯sh begging for bread. [‘It is related that . . . ’] 105

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism Anecdote 3: The Israelite tyrant and the Angel of Death (tyrant begs for ‘one more hour’). [‘Yazı¯d Raqa¯shı¯ reports that . . . ’]16 Anecdote 4: The Angel of Death and King Solomon (who sends his boon companion to Hindusta¯n to make him escape death but his destiny was to die there). [‘It is related that . . . ’] Anecdote 5: Dhu ¯ ’l-qarnayn and the people who had no possessions. [‘It has been related that . . . ’] Alf laylah (Bu¯la¯q I: 636–639; Calcutta II: 537–544; Burton, 1885–88: V, 246–255)17 Night 462 The Angel of Death with the proud king and the devout man (= anecdote 1 of Nas.¯h ı . at) Night 462–3 The Angel of Death and the rich king (= anecdote 2) Night 463–4 The Angel of Death and the king of the children of Israel (= anecdote 3) Night 464 Iskandar Dhu ¯ ’l-qarnayn and a certain tribe of poor folk (= anecdote 5) Night 464–5 The righteous king Anushirwan (also from Nas.¯h ı . at) Only anecdote 4 about the Angel of Death and King Solomon is missing in the Nights. One must also take notice of the short tale immediately following the Iskandar story in the Nights, which is the tale of ‘The Righteous King Anushirwan’. It is a story of the Sassanid king Anu¯shı¯rwa¯n, who sends out men to fetch mud bricks from a ruined village in his realm, that he might use it as medicine. When the men come back empty handed because they could not find any ruined villages, the king knows that ‘the affair of the reign is best-conditioned’. We even found the very same anecdote in the Tibr al-masbu¯k, the Arabic translation of the Nas.¯h ı . at, in Part Two of the book in the section on ‘qualities required of Kings’.18 What is truly interesting is that the moral that is told at the end of the Anu¯shı¯rwa¯n anecdote in the Tibr is, in the Nights, conveyed through the mouth of Shehrazad. Let us compare the two parallel passages. The Arabic Ghaza¯lı¯ reveals the lesson of the story thus: 106

Alexander in the Thousand and One Nights The efforts of these kings to develop the world were [made] because they knew that the greater the prosperity, the longer would be their rule and the more numerous would be their subjects. They also knew that the sages had spoken rightly when they said: ‘The religion depends on the monarchy, the monarchy on the army, the army on supplies, supplies on prosperity, and prosperity on justice.’ They would not tolerate any [infraction], small or great, because they knew beyond all doubt that where injustice and oppression are present, the people have no foothold; the cities and localities go to ruin, the inhabitants flee and move to other territories, the cultivated lands are abandoned, the kingdom fall into decay, the revenue diminishes, the treasury becomes empty, and happiness fades among the people. The subjects do not love the unjust king, but always pray that evil may befall him. (Ghaza¯lı¯, 1964: 56) In the Nights, at the end of the tale of the ‘righteous king Anushirwan’, Shehrazad drives home the moral by telling Shahriyar: And ken thou, O King, . . . that these olden Kings strave not and toiled not for the peopling of their possessions, but because they knew that the more populous a country is, the more abundant is that which is desired therein; and because they wist the saying of the wise and the learned to be true without other view, namely, ‘Religion dependeth on the King, the King on the troops, the troops on the treasury, the treasury on the populousness of the country and its prosperity on the justice done to the lieges.’ Wherefore they upheld no one in tyranny or oppression; neither suffered their dependants and suite to work injustice, knowing that kingdoms are not established upon tyranny, but that cities and places fall into ruin when oppressors are set as rulers over them, and their inhabitants disperse and flee to other governments; whereby ruin falleth upon the realm, the imports fail, the treasuries become empty and the pleasant lives of the subjects are perturbed; for that they love not a tyrant and cease not to offer up successive prayers against him; so that the King hath no ease of his kingdom, and the vicissitudes of fortune speedily bring him to destruction. (Burton, 1885–88: V, 255) 107

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism Shehrazad, as the narrator, rarely makes personal commentary on the tales she tells throughout the 1,001 nights, but here she actually assumes the role of counsellor to the king! The raconteuse speaking her mind so boldly to the king about matters of government is quite a deviation in the recurrently formulaic narrative style of how she usually ends her stories in the rest of the Nights,19 although this style of presenting ideals of kingship together with illustrative moral anecdotes is typical for the eleventh–twelfth-century Seljuq ‘mirror for princes’ genre. Thus, the most reasonable assumption is that these tales are borrowings from the Arabic version of Ghaza¯lı¯’s Book of Counsel for Kings. Victor Chauvin, in the volumes dedicated to the Thousand and One Nights in his Bibliographie des ouvrages Arabes, actually had noted several parallel anecdotes between the Nights and the Tibr (Chauvin, 1900–03: V–VI).20 However, the question of the influence of the Nas.¯h ı . at on the Nights collection – or, less possibly but not totally impossibly, vice versa – does not seem to have been further explored in later studies,21 perhaps because, as we remarked at the beginning of this essay, these short moral tales usually do not receive as much attention as the more marvellous stories of the Nights. We have compared the tales in the Nas.¯h ı . at to the Nights, and with the help of Chauvin and Huma¯’ı¯’s references, we located nine more tales in the Nights that are also found in the Nas.¯h ı . at, as well as one other that had been overlooked by both Chauvin and Huma¯’ı¯. These ten are as listed below (in order of appearance in Calcutta II):22 Tales from the Nights with parallels in Nas.¯h ı . at:23 1. ‘Generous dealing of Yahya¯ ibn Kha¯lid the Barmakid with Mansu¯r’ Alf laylah, Night 305–306. Bu¯la¯q I: 480–481; Calcutta II: 204–207; Lane, 1839–41: II, 381–382; Burton, 1885–88: IV, 179–181. Ghaza¯lı¯ (P) 205–210; (A) 101–102; (E) 125–127. Part II, ch. on ‘Magnanimity in Kings’. Chauvin, 1900–03: V, 165, no.88. 2. ‘Generous dealing of Yahya¯ ibn Kha¯lid with a man who forged a letter in his name’ Alf laylah, Night 306–307. Bu¯la¯q I: 481–483; Calcutta II: 207–210; 108

Alexander in the Thousand and One Nights Lane, 1839–41: II, 383–385; Burton, 1885–88: IV, 181–185. Ghaza¯lı¯ (P) 211–215; (A) 102–105; (E) 127–130. Part II, ch. on ‘Magnanimity in Kings’. Chauvin, 1900–03: V, 166, no.89. 3. ‘Caliph al-Ma’mu¯n and the strange scholar’ Alf laylah, Night 307–308. Bu¯la¯q I: 483–484; Calcutta II: 210–212; Lane, 1839–41: II, 386; Burton, 1885–88: IV, 185–187. Ghaza¯lı¯ (P) 249–251; (A) 119–121; (E) 150–151. Part II, ch. on ‘Intelligence and Intelligent Persons’. Chauvin, 1900–03: V, 279–280, no.163. 4. ‘King Anu¯shirwa¯n and the village damsel’ Alf laylah, Night 389–390. Bu¯la¯q I: 571–572; Calcutta II: 397–398; Lane, 1839–41: II, 523–525; Burton, 1885–88: V, 87–88. Ghaza¯lı¯ (P) 140–142; (A) 70–71; (E) 83–84. Part II, ch. on ‘Qualities required for Kings’. Chauvin, 1900–03: VI, 26–27, no.198. 5. ‘The water-carrier and the goldsmith’s wife’ Alf laylah, Night 390–391. Bu¯la¯q I: 572–573; Calcutta II: 398–400; Lane omitted; Burton, 1885–88: V, 89–90. Ghaza¯lı¯ (P) 278–280; (A) 132–133; (E) 168–169. Part II, ch. on ‘Women and their Good and Bad Points’. Chauvin, 1900–03: VI, 192, no.361. 6. ‘Khusraw and Shı¯rı¯n and the fisherman’ Alf laylah, Night 391. Bu¯la¯q I: 573; Calcutta II: 400–401; Lane, 1839–41: II, 525–526; Burton, 1885–88: V, 91–92. Ghaza¯lı¯ (P) 283–284; (A) 134–135; (E) 171–172. Part II, ch. on ‘Women and their Good and Bad Points’. Chauvin, 1900–03: V, 280–281, no.164. 7. ‘Yah.ya¯ ibn Kha¯lid the Barmakid and the Poor Man’ Alf laylah, Night 391–392. Bu¯la¯q I: 573–574; Calcutta II: 401–402; Lane, 1839–41: II, 526; Burton, 1885–88: V, 92–93. Ghaza¯lı¯ (P) 201; (A) 98; (E) 122. Part II, ch. on ‘Magnanimity in Kings’. Chauvin, 1900–03: V, 168, no.93. 109

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism 8. ‘Muh.ammad al-Amı¯n and the slave-girl’ Alf laylah, Night 392. Bu¯la¯q I: 574; Calcutta II: 402–403; Lane, 1839–41: II, 526–527; Burton, 1885–88: V, 93–94. Ghaza¯lı¯ (P) 201–204; (A) 99; (E) 122–123. Part II, ch. on ‘Magnanimity in Kings’. Chauvin, 1900–03: V, 109, no.42. 9. ‘The sons of Yah.ya¯ ibn Kha¯lid and Sa‘ı¯d ibn Sa¯lim al-Ba¯hilı¯’ Alf laylah, Night 392–393. Bu¯la¯q I: 574–575; Calcutta II: 403–405; Lane, 1839–41: II, 527–528; Burton, 1885–88: V, 94–96. Ghaza¯lı¯ (P) 204–205; (A) 99–100; (E) 123–124. Part II, ch. on ‘Magnanimity in Kings’. Chauvin, 1900–03: V, 169, no.94. 10. ‘The pilgrim man and the old woman’. Alf laylah, Night 434–436. Bu¯la¯q I: 612–614; Calcutta II: 487–489; Lane, 1839–41: II, 570–572; Burton, 1885–88: V, 186–188. Ghaza¯lı¯ (P) 130–132; (A) 64–65; (E) 76–77. Part II, ch. on ‘Qualities required for Kings’. Chauvin, 1900–03: VI, 28, no.200. Anecdotes 1, 2 and 3 form a block of continuous tales in the Nights; 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 and 9 form another block. Tale 10 stands apart from these, but actually appears close to the series of ‘Angel of Death’ stories which we have already seen above. In the Nas.¯h ı . at, 1, 2, 7, 8 and 9 are all found in the same chapter on ‘Magnanimity in Kings’. These stories dealing with the subject of generosity actually form a series of consecutive tales in the Nas.¯h ı . at, the original order being: 7, 8, 9, here a short Anu¯shı¯rwa ¯n episode that is missing in the Nights, 1, then 2. The protagonists are all members of the circle of ‘Abbasid Caliph Ha¯ru¯n al-Rashı¯d. In 1, 2 and 7 it is Yah.ya¯ ibn Kha¯lid the Barmakid, the famous wazı¯r of Ha¯ru ¯n al-Rashı¯d. Fad.l and Ja‘far of anecdote 9 are the sons of this wazı¯r. And in anecdote 8 it is Ja‘far ibn Mu ¯sa ¯ al-Ha¯dı¯, the son of Caliph Ha¯dı¯ (brother of Ha¯ru ¯n), who gives up a beautiful slave girl to his cousin Muh.ammad al-Amı¯n (son of Ha¯ru ¯n).24 Anecdote 3 is from another chapter in Nas.¯h ı . at, but in the Nights it immediately follows the ‘forged letter’ anecdote. 110

Alexander in the Thousand and One Nights Just as we have seen in the case of the ‘Angel of Death’ stories above, here too are the tales taken from the Nas.¯h ı . at in clusters and placed collectively inside the Nights in a series of short anecdotes. One cannot not completely ignore the possibility that the direction of influence could have been the other way around, that is, that the Nas.¯h ı . at had borrowed the tales from the Nights. Although the ‘Angel of Death’ stories and the Alexander episode are undoubtedly ‘Isra¯’ilı¯ya¯t’ drawn by Ghaza¯lı¯ himself from his own earlier work Ih.ya¯ (see note 15), the other tales included in Part Two of the Nas.¯h ı . at, especially the ‘Ha ¯ru¯n cycle’ stories, could have been inspired by tales from the Nights. One could very well imagine that this unknown twelfth-century author of the second part of Nas.¯h ı . at was familiar with the ‘Ha¯ru¯n cycle’, or one could say, at least, that they were both based on a common source. However, considering the version as it stands in the Egyptian recension of the Nights, it is more likely to assume the opposite, because the unusual didactic discourse by Shehrazad on the righteousness of kings can only be explained if it was borrowed from the Nas.¯h ı . at. We therefore conjecture that, first, since these blocks of tales are not included in the Syrian recension of the Nights dating from the thirteenth or early fourteenth century, and second, since the Arabic translation of the Nas.¯h ı . at had a rather wide circulation in the Mamluk and Ottoman periods, a compiler (or compilers), probably in Egypt before the 1800s, took certain blocks of tales from the Tibr and introduced them into the Nights. Besides the often-remarked motive of trying to increase the number of nights to add up to 1,001 (Irwin, 1994: 57), the compiler might also have had the intention of heightening the moralistic tone of the collection by using tales from the Book of Counsel. It is indeed interesting that the compiler exploited the potential of Shehrazad’s role, to make her not only a captivating entertainer but also a wise counsellor. Although, whether the compiler aimed to make the Nights into a kind of ‘mirror for princes’, with a selectively princely audience/readership in mind, is questionable. It is more plausible to think that for the compiler, the Nas.¯h ı . at was a source of witty tales fit for everyman, as can be seen in the title of an Arabic manuscript (Bodleian Library, Laud Or. 210): Kita¯b nas.¯h ı . att al-mulu¯k wa kull ghanı¯ wa su‘lu¯k (The Book of Counsel for Kings and Every Rich Man and Beggar). 111

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism CONCLUSION

Our point of departure was a seemingly insignificant Alexander anecdote in the Thousand and One Nights. But while grubbing its roots, we seem to have excavated an important literary source that had been virtually ignored in the study of the Nights. We may still need to delve into other parts of the Nights to find more tales that may be connected at the roots. A detailed study of manuscripts is also necessary to determine more precisely which recension of the Nas.¯h ı . at was used at what time for which redaction of the Nights, but this is outside the scope of this essay. The Nights and the Nas.¯h ı . at are texts that would generally be categorized into ‘popular’ literature and ‘elite’ literature respectively. However, we have seen that on the one hand, a ‘popular’ legend that had diffused among many peoples in different forms, such as the story of Alexander and the sages, was incorporated into a ‘mirror for princes’ as an anecdote that illustrates a moral. On the other, a Book of Counsel for Kings, intended originally for a prince, circulated widely later in an amended form and eventually became a book of everyman’s wisdom. This leads us to think that perhaps the gap between the ‘popular’ and the ‘elite’ is not so large, or in fact, that the two are closely intertwined.25 YURIKO YAMANAKA National Museum of Ethnology, Osaka

NOTES 1. In the Preface to his translation, Lane remarks, ‘I have thought it right to omit such tales, anecdotes, etc., as are comparatively uninteresting or on any account objectionable’ (Lane, 1839–41: xiii). 2. Mia Gerhardt’s chapter on ‘Learning, Wisdom, and Piety’ (1963: 341–374) is a rare contribution in this respect. 3. Alf laylah, Calcutta II: 541–543; Bu¯la¯q I: 638; Cairo II: 313–314. The tale is not found in the Breslau edition. 4. Pap. Berol. 13044. See Wilcken (1923). 5. For how the gymnosophist episode became integrated into the Alexander Romance, see Merkelbach (1977: 72–75, 142, 157–161, with further references). See also Derrett (1960); Pfister (1941).

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Alexander in the Thousand and One Nights 6. The discussion is summarized by Stoneman (1995: 113). 7. I have dealt extensively with this subject in a recent article, ‘“Alexander the Sacred” in Arabic and Persian Literature’ (Yamanaka, 2003). 8. T.abarı¯, Tafsı¯r 16: 17–18. Cf. Yamanaka (2003). 9. One of the earlier Arab historians, Dı¯nawarı¯ (d.895), does not include this episode in his chronicle. The Ta’rı¯kh (History) written by Ya‘qu¯bı¯ (d.897) has a short account on Kayhan the sage king of India: Among their king was Kayhan. He was a man who was wise, intelligent and refined. Alexander made him king after Fu¯r (Porus) over the entire land of Hind. Kayhan had applied reflection (al-fikr). And he was the first to speak of the power of autosuggestion (al-tawahhum), that natural disposition changes over to what one believes it to be, and what is imagined does the useful even if something was harmful. Kayhan ate Bı¯sh [name of poisonous plant resembling ginger], a lethal poison, then imagined that on his heart were loads of ice and that this Bı¯sh will not harm him, until its [poisonous] liquid was burned up. He was one of the most intellectually sound of the creatures of God and the most mindful and most clever. (97; author’s translation) Nöldeke (1890: 47) proposes that Kayhan is derived from Kayhan? / Kand? / Kaid / Dandamis, since Pahlavi HN can be read T(D). On ‘tawahhum’ (imagination, or autosuggestion), Mas‘u¯dı¯ notes that it was a science possessed by the Indians (Muru¯j § 696 [2: 276]). Mas‘u¯dı¯’s (d.c.956) Muru¯j al-dhahab (Golden Meadows) § 680–698 (2: 260–278) contains a passage where the philosopher king of India, Kand, sends Alexander a sage, a beautiful young girl, a physician and a cup. A witty exchange follows between Alexander and the sage. Alexander sends back the cup filled with butter, and then the sage sticks needles in the butter. When Alexander melts the needles into a perfect sphere, the sage flattens it into a mirror. Alexander then places the mirror in a basin of water, and the sage makes the mirror into a bowl that floats on the water. Alexander finally fills it with fine earth (2: 265–276). There is a close parallel in Naysa¯bu¯rı¯’s (end of eleventh century) Persian Tales of the Prophets (326–327). The Persian poet Niz.¯amı¯ (1141–1209) incorporates this episode at the end of his Alexander epic. Alexander, having witnessed the utopian existence of the community of pious people, abandons his prophetic mission and turns back, only to be struck down by an illness soon after (Iqba¯lna¯mah: 27.96–27.176 [1995: 1425–8]). 10. In a previous article, I have speculated on the suitability of using ‘mirror for princes’ as a genre designating term in discussing Oriental literatures (Yamanaka, ‘History and Kingship through the Looking Glass’, 2003).

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The Arabian Nights and Orientalism 11. The authorship of the Nas.¯h ı . at al-mulu¯k has been much debated. See Huma¯‘ı¯’s introduction to the Persian edition (Ghaza¯lı¯, 1361/1982); Bagley’s introduction to the translation (Ghaza¯lı¯, 1964); Crone (1987). In this essay we have tried to avoid cumbersome expressions such as ‘attributed generally to Ghaza¯lı¯’, and used Nas.¯h ı . at to designate the work that was known to be that of Ghaza¯lı¯, and sometimes Tibr, when the Arabic text is specifically in question. 12. About the Arabic translation and manuscripts see Bagley’s introduction (Ghaza¯lı¯, 1964: xviii–xxiv). 13. In the Kama¯l al-dı¯n wa-tama¯m al-ni‘ma, by tenth-century Shı¯‘ite theologian Ibn Ba¯bawayh, there is a story of a counsellor who presents to a king a skull from the royal tombs, asking whether it belonged to a king or a pauper (see Stern, 1971: 6–9, 24–28). It is also reminiscent of Hamlet’s famous graveyard scene. 14. Another small difference in the text is that the last part of the sage’s statement in the Nights (‘for that I possess nothing, neither covet them nor wish for them, neither reck I of aught save contentment’) is in neither Nas.¯h ı . at nor Tibr. 15. These ‘Angel of Death’ stories of Jewish origin – Mia Gerhardt also guessed its Jewish derivation and pointed out Jewish parallels in Gaster, without knowing its immediate source (1963: 366) – or ‘Isra¯’ilı¯ya¯t’, all come from Ghaza¯lı¯’s earlier work, Ih.ya¯’ ‘ulu¯m al-dı¯n (Revivification of the Science of Religion), finished around 1100, and ultimately go back to lost works of Wahb ibn Munabbih, according to Bagley (Ghaza¯lı¯, 1964: lvii). Ghaza¯lı¯ himself cites Wahb ibn Munabbih as his source for the first anecdote (Ghaza¯lı¯, 1361/1982: 66). 16. The Raqa¯shı¯s are known to have been talented poets and qus.s.a¯s., or popular storytellers. Cf. ‘k.¯as.s.’, EI2. 17. The texts of these tales in the Bu¯la¯q and Calcutta II editions are identical. 18. Ghaza¯lı¯(1968: 47). Since this story is included in Part Two of Nas.¯h ı . at, it is probably not by the pen of Ghaza¯lı¯ himself. Although the anecdote is not included in the Persian edition, Bagley incorporates it into his translation of Nas.¯h ı . at (Ghaza¯lı¯, 1964: 55–56) using an Arabic recension (Bodleian, Laud Or. 210, transcribed by H.D. Isaacs for Ph.D. thesis, Manchester University, 1956) as the basis. Bagley remarks in his introduction to the translation (Ghaza¯lı¯, 1964: xxiii) that in the Persian manuscript, certain Anu¯shı¯rwa¯n anecdotes were very corrupt and also the Arabic edition (Cairo, 1317/1900) used by the editor Huma¯’ı¯ lacked the Anu¯shı¯rwa¯n stories. 19. See Müller’s contribution to this volume. 20. Although not completely. For example, he missed that there is a parallel passage on Anu¯shı¯rwa¯n in Tibr (Chauvin, 1900–03: VI, 27). I was not able to consult the exact same edition of Tibr as used by Chauvin (printed in the

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21.

22. 23. 24.

25.

margins of T.urtu¯shı¯’s Sira¯j al-mulu¯k, Cairo, 1889/1306) to check whether his edition lacked this particular episode or not. In the introduction to the Persian edition of Nas.¯h ı . at, Huma¯’ı¯ remarks that the Thousand and One Nights is one of the works that had borrowed from the Nas.¯h ı . at. However, he only randomly notes two parallel tales (‘Caliph alMa’mu¯n and the strange scholar’ and ‘Khusrau and Shirin and the fisherman’) to the Nights (sad va panj). The texts of these tales in the Bu¯la¯q and Calcutta II editions are identical. Ghaza¯lı¯ (P) refers to Huma¯’ı¯’s Persian edition (1361/1982), (A) the Arabic translation Tibr al-masbu¯k (1968), and (E) the English translation by Bagley (1964). It has been pointed out by the Persian editor Huma¯’ı¯ (cited by Bagley, in Ghaza¯lı¯, 1964: lviii) that the Barmakid anecdotes are shortened versions of stories found in the Ta¯rı¯kh Bara¯mikah (or Kita¯b-i akhba¯r-i Bara¯mika) attributed to an author by the name of Muh.ammad ibn H.usayn Harawi (ed. Mı¯rza¯ ‘Abd al-Karı¯m Kha¯n Gurga¯nı¯, Tehran: 1312s, 75). The present author was not able to consult the edition of Ta¯rı¯kh-i Bara¯mika at the time of writing. As was suggested by Sadan. He compares the episode of ‘Ha¯ru ¯n al-Rashı¯d and the False Caliph’ in the Nights and a story about ‘Ha¯ru ¯n al-Rashı¯d and the Brewer’ from an adab collection in a manuscript in Paris and argues that there is a perpetual interplay between the two levels of adab and h.ika¯ya¯t (1998: 22).

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CHAPTER 6

The Arabian Nights in Modern Japan: A Brief Historical Sketch

M

ORE THAN 120 YEARS have passed since the Arabian Nights was first introduced into Japan in the latter half of the nineteenth century. During these years, which covered the Meiji (1868–1911), Taisho ¯ (1912–26), Sho¯wa (1926–88) and Heisei (1989–) eras, this collection of stories has been translated repeatedly either in an abridged or in a more or less complete form, mainly from English and other European languages. Side by side with these translations, movies and the theatre also played an important role in popularizing the stories. Not only did these Japanese versions of the Nights contribute greatly to cultivating a vivid, if biased, image of medieval Middle Eastern society among the Japanese, but they also furnished many artists and writers with valuable materials for their creative activities. In this survey, the outline of this process, ranging from outright acceptance to creative adaptation, will be traced from the very beginning roughly up to the pre-war era.

EARLY TRANSLATIONS IN THE MEIJI ERA

Nagamine Hideki It was in 1875, eight years after the Meiji Restoration, that the first Japanese translation of the Arabian Nights was made by Nagamine Hideki (1848–1927),1 a teacher at the Naval Academy. Nagamine was a famous and prolific translator, among whose works the most celebrated was François Guizot’s General History of Civilization in Modern Europe (1877). His translation was entitled Arabiya monogatari ( ), or Arabian Stories, with a two-lined subtitle Kaikan kyo¯ki,

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The Arabian Nights in Modern Japan written in four Chinese characters( ), which literally means that the reader would be amazed at the strangeness of the story as soon as he opens the very first page of the book. Subtitles of this kind – apparently modelled on either the title of a popular storybook Kaikan kyo¯ki kyo¯kakuden ( , 1832–35), written by the Edo novelist Kyokutei Bakin (1767–1848), or that of Ling Mengchu’s (1580–1644) collected short stories, Pai an jing qi/Hakuan kyo¯ki ( ), written in colloquial Chinese and published in the Ming period – became more and more popular in early modern Japan under the momentum of Nagamine’s book. The main title, Arabiya monogatari, was also written in four Chinese characters, of which the first two, Arabiya, a phonetic spelling of the English ‘Arabian’, literally mean a stormy night. This very aptly implies the content of this collection of stories, for indeed it includes tales of sea adventures and shipwrecks. Nagamine made it clear in his own preface (1875: I, 2) that the original book he used was G.F. Townsend’s The Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, an abridged and adapted version of Jonathan Scott’s English translation, which in turn was made from Antoine Galland’s French edition. A close examination of the two texts reveals, however, that he also used Edward Lane’s English translation as a supplementary text at the same time. In fact, at least three out of the four illustrations contained in Nagamine’s translation were taken from Lane’s book. For example, Figure 6 1, a lithograph made by Cho¯koku-gaisha, the first Japanese private printing company founded in 1874 in Tokyo, is a faithful copy of William Harvey’s original wood-block print, entitled ‘The Second Sheikh Saved from Drowning’ (Figure 6.2). Nagamine’s book is an abridged translation which, beginning with the Introduction and comprising the first ten stories, ends with ‘The History of the Young King of the Black Isles’. Accordingly, it covers no more than six per cent of Townsend’s book. As for the text, it is not only plain and simple, but also precise and conscientious, written in a literary style generally called kanbun kundoku, or a traditional way of reading classical Chinese writings by putting them in Japanese word order. Most proper nouns are also transcribed in Chinese characters, with the result that Schahriar and Scheherazade, for example, are transliterated as ‘Su-ka-ri-a ( )’ and ‘Suke-be-ra-ze¯-do ( )’ respectively. In his preface, Nagamine described the purpose of his translation as didactic, saying that the stories would give 117

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Figure 6.1: An illustration for ‘The History of the Second Old Man and the Two Black Dogs’, in Nagamine (1875: I, 36).

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Figure 6.2: William Harvey, ‘The Second Sheykh Saved from Drowning’, in Lane (1839–41: I, 49).

a lesson to readers in the rewarding of virtue and the punishment of evil on the one hand, and that they would show them foreign manners and customs on the other (1875: I, 2). This purpose roughly corresponds to that of Townsend’s (1866: Preface, v), except that Nagamine himself was not particularly interested in the Arabs or the Middle East. Inoue Tsutomu From a historical point of view, Nagamine’s Arabiya monogatari was the first Japanese translation made in the field of European literature in general during the Meiji period. Despite its high quality, however, it could not find a large audience, partly because the title Arabiya did not 119

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism appeal so much to the general public, and partly because it was published in an old-fashioned Japanese binding. In stark contrast to Arabiya monogatari, the second Japanese translation, made by Inoue Tsutomu (1850–1928), being widely read, had a great influence upon the young generation at that time. This new translation, entitled Zensekai ichidai kisho ( ), or The Most Curious Book in the Whole World, was first issued in ten separate parts in 1883, eight years after the publication of Nagamine’s book; a one-volume edition was published two years later. It went through several impressions, and various new editions continued to be published for more than 20 years. These figures testify to the popularity of Inoue’s translation. Inoue Tsutomu was one of the most famous translators of the 1880s. Amongst his translations were such wide-ranging works as Thomas More’s Utopia (1882), Jules Verne’s Cinq semaines en ballon (1883), Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice, Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe (1883), and Goethe’s Reineke Fuchs (1884), mostly made from English. The title of his Arabian Nights, or Zensekai ichidai kisho, seems to have been a parody of the set phrase Chu ¯goku shidai kisho ( ), or ‘the four most curious books in China’, which consists of Shui hu zhuan (Water Margin, or All Men Are Brothers), San guo zhi yan yi (Romance

figure 6.3: An illustration for ‘The Story of the First Night’, in Inoue (1885: 94).

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Figure 6.4: S.J. Groves, a vignette for the opening story of The Arabian Nights’ Entertainments (1865: 1).

of the Three Kingdoms), Xi you ji (Hsi Yu Chi, or Monkey), and Jin ping mei (The Golden Lotus), all of which are full-length novels of the Ming period, written in colloquial Chinese. Inoue’s title, The Most Curious Book in the Whole World, replaced the number four in the parody with one, and China with the whole world, thus implying that it was even more curious than those great Chinese novels. Although Inoue himself did not make clear what the original text was, it is inferred from internal textual evidence that he used an anonymous English translation, entitled The Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, published in Edinburgh in 1865, with wood-block illustrations by S.J. Groves. This was the so-called ‘Grub Street’ edition, an English translation made by an unknown translator from Galland’s French version in as early as c.1706, which has been read ever since by a wide variety of English-speaking readers. In fact, Inoue not only reproduced four of S.J. Groves’ illustrations in his own book (compare Figures 6.3 and 6.4); he also turned to Gustav Weil’s German translation for additional illustrations, for he took 24 of Friedrich Gross’ lithographs from Weil’s book, as is indicated by Figures 6.5 and 6.6. 121

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Figure 6.5: Kobayashi Kiyochika, an illustration for ‘The Story of the Three Calendars, Sons of Kings and of the Three Ladies of Baghdad’, in Inoue (1885: 330).

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Figure 6.6: Friedrich Gross, an illustration for ‘Geschichte der drei Kalendar’, in Weil (1838–41: I, 165).

As was the case with Nagamine’s, Inoue’s translation was also an abridged one, beginning with the opening story and ending rather abruptly with ‘The Second Voyage of Sindbad the Sailor’, which corresponded to the seventy-fourth night of the Grub Street edition. Although an epilogue was added in 1888, Inoue’s version covered approximately one-sixth of the original. Compared with Nagamine’s translation, Inoue’s was written in an ornate and florid style, full of literary embellishments. It partly reflected the character of the English text itself, for he translated the original more or less literally. At the same time, however, he tended to add explanations and descriptions whenever he felt it necessary. These inserted sentences are not only characterized by such rhetorical devises as kakekotoba (wordplay), engo (associate words, a kind of double 123

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism entendre) and makurakotoba (pillow words, or set epithets), but are also interspersed with the favourite phraseology of Kyokutei Bakin, the above-mentioned famous novelist of the Edo period, and often written in seven-and-five-syllable meter. A case in point is the scene in the opening story where King Schahriar put his adulterous wife to death. The English text goes as follows: As soon as he [Schahriar] arrived, he ran to the sultaness’s apartment, commanded her to be bound before him, and delivered her to his grand vizier, with an order to strangle her, which was accordingly executed by that minister without inquiring into her crime. (The Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, 1865: 6) Inoue transformed this rather curt narrative into an elaborate description of how the sultaness, ‘being bound tightly to a pillar in the court with a hemp rope, looked reproachfully at the king and drooped her head without a word’, adding that: Her sorrowful appearance resembled either an aronia flower languishing in the rain or a peony in a vase, unable to suck up moisture. Her fragrant, raven-black hair hung down on her shoulders so gracefully that it looked as if the long drooping branches of a spring willow tree fascinated the beholder. (ibid., 53) The original Japanese sentences are composed in seven-and-fivesyllable meter, as they read: ‘tsutsu ni sashitaru [7] botanka no [5], mizu agekaneshi [7] fuzei nite [5], nioi koboruru [7] kurokami no [5], kata ni kakarumo [7] tawoyaka ni [5], haru no yanagi no [7] ito tarete [5], hito wo maneku ni [7] samo nitari [5]’. As a matter of fact, the whole passage was borrowed from a scene in Bakin’s very popular novel, Nanso¯ Satomi hakkenden (The Biographies of Eight Dogs, 1814–42), in which the author relates how the adulteress Tamazusa was put to death by the lord Satomi Yoshizane (Bakin, 1937–41: I, 94). It is evident that Inoue intended the effect of superposing these two texts, following the practice of traditional poets in taking the words of a classical work and incorporating them into his own composition without changing them. In all ways, his style carried on the great literary tradition of the Edo period. 124

The Arabian Nights in Modern Japan As stated before, his translation exerted a great influence upon the young generation of poets and writers in the Meiji era. For instance, Hinatsu Ko¯nosuke (1890–1971), a major poet and critic of the Taisho¯ and Sho¯wa eras, described Zensekai ichidai kisho as having been his favourite book in his younger days, saying that he was greatly indebted to it for his dreams, poetry, theory and even his own life (Hinatsu, 1942: 402–403). He referred to its Romantic style as exquisite and clumsy at the same time, making use of the rhetorical device generally called oxymoron (Hinatsu, 1929: 58–59). Another major poet, Kitahara Hakushu¯ (1885–1942), looked back upon his boyhood in his second collection of poems entitled Omoide (Recollections, 1911), in which Inoue’s one-volume translation, called ‘the red-covered Arabian Nights’, was regularly associated with a longing for, and a fear of, the exotic world (Kitahara, 1911: 219). But it was Kinoshita Mokutaro¯ (1885–1945), a writer and poet of the Taisho¯ and Sho¯wa periods, who made the most of Inoue’s translation in the poems and dramas of his younger days. Ishi Dooban no kubi (The Physician Douban’s Head, 1910) is one of his masterpieces, a oneact play based on ‘The Story of the Grecian King and the Physician Douban’. This is a story of a king, who, after having been miraculously cured of a fatal disease by an ingenious physician called Douban, cruelly ordered his head cut off, taking the advice of his envious vizier. At his death, Douban left a book which, according to Inoue’s version, was also entitled Zensekai ichidai kisho (The Most Curious Book in the Whole World). He thus revenged himself on the king, for when the king opened the book and continued to turn over the leaves following the order of Douban’s severed head, the poison, with which each leaf was imbued, came to have its effect until at last, he fell down at the foot of the throne in violent convulsions (Inoue, 1885: 218–40). When Kinoshita published this Ishi Dooban no kubi together with other pieces as a book entitled Izumiya Somemonoten (The Dye House Izumiya) in 1912, he wrote in his postscript that he intended to symbolize artistically ‘the discrepancy between two tendencies of my temperament, which troubled me so much at its maximum’ (Kinoshita, 1912: 5). He implied by these words that the Physician Douban represented the infinite joy and the beautiful truth of life, whereas the vizier represented the law and morals which set a limit to man’s life. The former corresponded to Kinoshita’s Romantic tendency, and the 125

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism latter to his Realistic one. The king, who was poisoned after having sentenced the physician to death, thus symbolized the dramatist Kinoshita himself, who was to devote himself to studying medical science as a dermatologist at the cost of literature. Figure 6.7 is an illustration for the drama drawn by Kinoshita himself, which seems to have been copied from a wood engraving of Inoue’s book (Figure 6.8), which again was reproduced from Friedrich Gross’ lithograph (Figure 6.9). In this way, the three illustrations clearly testify to the relationship between these three texts. Incidentally, this story was also dramatized both by Goethe in his Lila (1776–77) and by C.M. Wieland in his Schach Lolo (1778), which Kinoshita may or may not have known. Other Translations Following both Nagamine’s and Inoue’s books, not a few translations had appeared by the end of the Meiji period, either in book form or as

Figure 6.7: Kinoshita Mokutaro¯, an illustration for his Ishi Doban no kubi, in Izumiya somemonoten (1912: 60–61).

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Figure 6.8: An illustration for ‘The Story of the Seventeenth Night’, in Inoue (1885: 238).

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The Arabian Nights and Orientalism articles in magazines. Amongst them are Yano Ryu¯kei’s (1850–1931) Perusia shinsetsu retsujo no homare (A New Persian Story: The Heroine’s Honour, 1887) and Shibetto sho¯nin monogatari (The Story of a Tibetan Merchant, 1887), as well as Yokoyama Mineichi’s Hashi kidan kigu¯ yumemonogatari (A Strange Persian Story: Encounter with Three Dreaming Ladies, 1888). The first two were translations from the English of ‘Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves’ and ‘Abu al-Hasan, or the Awakened Sleeper’, respectively. The third one was a translation, or rather an adaptation, of ‘The Two Sisters who Envied Their Younger Sister’, apparently based on some German translation. In addition to these, Nakagawa J¯ urei’s (1849–1917) ‘Hasan Aruhabaru no hanashi’ and Nagao So¯jo ¯’s ‘Arajin monogatari’, each of which was an incomplete translation of ‘Khwaja Hasan al-Habbal’ and ‘Ala al-Din and the Marvelous Lamp’, also appeared in the magazines Tsu ¯zoku gakugei shirin (Popular Magazine on Art and Science, 1887) and Seiyo¯ so¯dan (Western Miscellanea, 1888), respectively. As Figures 6.10–12 show, all the characters in these stories were depicted as being dressed in European or American style, following the practice of the illustrators in those days. It is worthy of note that all these stories belonged to what Mia Gerhardt called Galland’s orphan stories, for which no authentic Arabic text has been discovered at all. In this connection, it indicates how important a role Galland’s edition (and its English as well as German translations) played in the first phase of the reception of the Arabian Nights in Meiji Japan.

Figure 6.9: Friedrich Gross, an illustration for ‘Geschichte des griechischen Königs und des Artzes Duban’, in Weil (1838–41: I, 130).

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The Arabian Nights in Modern Japan JUVENILE LITERATURE AND PORNOGRAPHY

By the middle of the Meiji era, which roughly corresponds to the end of the nineteenth century, most of the famous stories contained in Galland’s edition were translated into Japanese in some form or other. Thereafter, a demand increased for comprehensive and artistically more refined translations. It was quite natural therefore that during the Taisho¯ and the early Sho¯wa eras, which correspond to the 1910s and 1920s, three complete translations of Edward Lane’s and Richard Burton’s English texts were made successively on the one hand, and on the other, new translations of good quality, intended mainly for children and the younger generation, appeared. Two antithetical images of the Nights as juvenile literature and pornography have been formed among the general public since this period.

Figure 6.10: The frontispiece of Yano Ryu¯kei, Perusia shinsetsu retsujo no homare (1887).

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Figure 6.11: Yo¯shu¯ Chikanobu, the frontispiece of Yokoyama, Hashi kidan kigu¯ yumemonogatari (1888).

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The Arabian Nights in Modern Japan The Arabian Nights for Children It was mainly through Iwaya Sazanami’s (1870–1933) effort that the Arabian Nights began to be recognized as children’s literature in the Taisho¯ era. As a prolific writer and storyteller for children, he published both Sekai otogibanashi (World Fairy Tales Series, 1899–1908) in 100 volumes and Sekai otogibunko (World Fairy Tales Library, 1908–15) in 50 volumes, in which he included Kitai no ranpu/Fushigi no uma (The Marvellous Lamp/The Magic Horse, 1900) and Yo¯kaitsubo (The Genie in the Bottle, 1909) respectively. These seem to have been adapted from Paul Benndorf’s German versions of ‘Ala al-Din’, ‘The Ebony Horse’ and ‘The Fisherman and the Demon’, together with many original illustrations. He also adapted ‘The Story of the Simpleton and the Rogue’ (not included in Galland’s edition) for a Noh comedy (Kyo¯gen, a comic interlude performed during a Noh programme) entitled Umanusubito (A Horse Stealer, 1906) to be enacted by schoolchildren. It was based on C. F. Lauckhard’s German adaptation for children.

Figure 6.12: An illustration for Nagano’s ‘Arajin monogatari’ (1888).

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The Arabian Nights and Orientalism With a gradual increase of public interest in juvenile literature in general and with the subsequent flood of children’s books and magazines in the Taisho¯ period, various excellent juvenile editions of the Nights, boasting gay and plentiful illustrations, were published one after another. Among them, deserving of special mention is the two-volume Shin’yaku Arabiyan Naito (The Newly-Translated Arabian Nights) by Sugitani Daisui (1874–1915) in the years 1915–16. It was translated mainly from Andrew Lang’s English adaptation, which in turn had depended on Antoine Galland’s French edition. Not only were Henry J. Ford’s illustrations, whose female figures reflected the Pre-Raphaelite ideal of Celtic feminine beauty, reproduced, but Edmund Dulac’s coloured illustrations were also copied in black and white. Here, a comparison between Figures 6.13 and 6.14 indicates that the blue-dominated magical world of Dulac’s original watercolours had certainly lost its appeal to a great degree in the monochrome version, but that some kind of attractiveness still remained all the same, with its effective use of contrast between black and white, as well as of the expanses of white lavished by the painter. In addition, Sugitani’s text was also interspersed with original illustrations and quasi-original ones, some of which were modelled after Thomas B. Daziel’s (Figures 6.15 and 6.16), drawn by such Japanese painters as Kosugi Misei (1881–1964) and Okamoto Kiichi (1888–1930). The frontispiece of Volume 1 (Figure 6.17), for example, drawn by Okamoto and entitled ‘Sen’ichiya no togi’ (Entertaining for 1,001 nights), was distinguished by the beautiful curved lines of the flowing robe and the effective contrast between black and white, even reminiscent of the European art nouveau style. It is no wonder that Sugitani’s deluxe edition, with its numerous illustrations and plain and sophisticated prose text, had an enormous impact on children of the middle and the upper classes in the Taisho¯ period. Even today, many intellectuals look back upon it with much admiration and nostalgia.2 It was followed by a variety of illustrated Nights, mostly published as part of a whole series of children’s tales. Amongst them were Kikuchi Kan’s (1888–1946) Arabiya yawashu¯ (The Arabian Nights, 1928), illustrated by the famous avant-garde artist Murayama Tomoyoshi (1901–77), and Nakajima Koto¯’s (1878–1946) Arabiyan Naito (The Arabian Nights, 1929), of which the 1931 edition was interspersed with 132

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Figure 6.13: Edmund Dulac, an illustration for ‘The Story of the Magic Horse’, in Housman (1907: 70).

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Figure 6.14: An illustration for ‘Kaiba monogatari [The Enchanted Horse]’, in Sugitani (1915–16: II, 204).

134

The Arabian Nights in Modern Japan Hatsuyama Shigeru’s (1897–1973) black-and-white illustrations. Murayama’s cuts, as Figures 6.18 and 6.19 indicate, are characterized by their bold contours and a touch of humour, whereas Nakajima’s adaptation is known to have been one of Mishima Yukio’s (1925–70) favourite books in his childhood.3 In the last year of the Taisho¯ era, two translations of Edward Lane’s edition were published independently and almost at the same time: one by the novelist Morita So¯hei (1881–1949) in four volumes (Sen’ichiya monogatari [The Stories of the Thousand and One Nights], 1925–28) for the Sekai meisaku taikan (A Survey of the Great Monuments in World Literature) series and the other by the poet and scholar Hinatsu Ko¯nosuke in three volumes (Issen’ichi yatan [Thousand and One Nights Stories], 1925–27), also as a part of the series Sekai do¯wa taikei (A Compendium of World Fairy Tales). The former was literal and scholarly, with most of Lane’s notes included, whereas the latter

Figure 6.15: Thomas B. Dalziel, ‘Meeting of the Brothers’, in Dalziel’s Illustrated Arabian Nights’ Entertainments (1865: 366).

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The Arabian Nights and Orientalism tended to be free and poetic, without any annotation. Both seem to have been intended not only for the younger generation, but also for folklorists and students of narrative literature. Morita noted in his preface that, although he had been fully aware of the value of Burton’s edition, he was obliged to rely on Lane’s, much to his regret, for a Japanese translation of Burton’s would not have been permitted in the existing circumstances. However, he added that as Lane, the moralist, had either omitted or varied every indecent passage, his translation could safely be read aloud even to any noblewoman, and that there was no need for him to take censorship into consideration (1925–28: I, Preface, 5). In any case, it was to Morita’s as well as to Hinatsu’s credit that the general reading public became acquainted with something of the style of the original text.

Figure 6.16: An illustration for ‘Ryo ¯ ¯oji Amujia¯do no Assa¯do no hanashi [The History of Prince Amgiad and of Prince Assad]’ in Sugitani (1925–26: I, 412).

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Figure 6.17: Okamoto Kiichi, ‘Sen’ichiya no togi’, frontispiece of Sugitani (1915–16: I).

The Arabian Nights as Pornography The general preoccupation with the Nights as pornography in the Taisho¯ and the early Sho¯wa periods was triggered by the introduction of Mardrus’ and Burton’s editions into Japan. An abridged and salaciously illustrated one-volume Japanese translation of the former, subtitled ‘The World-Famous Classic on Love’, was published by a dilettante bibliophile named Sakai Kiyoshi (1895–1952) in 1927, which was immediately put under the ban of the censor. A more or less complete 137

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism ¯ ya So¯ichi translation of the latter was made by the journalist O (1900–70) and his company in 12 volumes from 1929 to 1930, but its value was impaired by the fact that not only had it eliminated all of Burton’s numerous notes, but it was also filled with mistranslations, omissions and suppressed or censored passages. Figure 6.20 is a page ¯ ya So¯ichi’s translation, in which censored words are replaced by from O ‘X’s. Ironically, they aroused the readers’ curiosity all the more. One of the most celebrated novelists in the Taisho¯ and the Sho¯wa eras, Tanizaki Jun’ichiro¯ (1886–1965), who had been infatuated with the Nights in his younger days, made effective use of Burton’s edition in his novel Tade kuu mushi (Some Prefer Nettles, 1929). In the sixth chapter of his novel, the hero Shiba Kaname receives a complete set of Burton’s edition as a gift from his friend Takanatsu, who has just returned from Shanghai. Takanatsu tells him how hard it was for him to get it there at Kelly and Walsh (the first foreign bookshop founded in Shanghai in 1870) and bring it back to Japan. Kaname’s son, Hiroshi, asks him out of curiosity about the difference between the children’s editions and Burton’s one. ‘And those seventeen volumes were a problem too. It’s classed as obscene, and it’s full of illustrations that give it away. I thought customs might be embarrassing if I got caught with seventeen obscene volumes, so I put all seventeen in my trunk. Which was all right, except then my trunk was practically immovable. You’ve no idea how I laboured for those books. Most people would expect a fat commission.’ Takanatsu used English for words like ‘obscene’ and ‘illustrations’. ‘It’s different from my Arabian Nights?’ Hiroshi had not entirely understood what Takanatsu was talking about, but his curiosity was aroused. He cast an eager eye at the book, trying to get a glimpse of the illustration under his father’s hand. ‘In places it’s the same and in places different. The Arabian Nights is for grown-ups, but there are some stories that are all right for you. Those are the ones in the Arabian Nights you have.’ ‘Is Ali Baba in it?’ ‘He is.’ ‘And Aladdin’s lamp?’ ‘It is.’ 138

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Figure 6.18: Murayama Tomoyoshi, an illustration for ‘The Story of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves’, in Kikuchi (1928: 41).

‘And “Open Sesame”?’ ‘It is – all the ones you know are there.’ (Tanizaki, 1929: 76) It can be inferred from this passage that the bifurcation of the Nights into two spheres, juvenile literature and pornography, had already begun at that time. 139

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism

Figure 6.19. Murayama Tomoyoshi, an illustration for ‘The Second Voyage of Sindbad the Sailor’, in Kichuki (1928: 115).

In the eighth chapter of the novel, Kaname takes a secret pleasure in poring over Burton’s ‘anthropological’ notes. His interest in this kind of curious sexual lore is congruous with the novel’s setting: both Kaname and his father-in-law have concubines, while Kaname’s wife also has relations with a young lover. Tanizaki tries to depict an untraditional, eccentric and in a sense modern kind of conjugality: hence the title Some Prefer Nettles. 140

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¯ ya (1929–30: I, 6). Figure 6.20: A page from the opening story, in O

141

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism Interestingly enough, this hero Kaname is probably modelled after the author himself, who had a complete set of Burton’s edition bought at Shanghai by his friend Tsuchiya Keizo¯ (1888–1973) and had it brought back to Japan by a certain Uemura Kiyotoshi, an employee of the publishing company Kaizo¯sha in 1925 (Tanizaki, ‘To Tsuchiya Keizo¯’, 1970: 237, 239). Moreover, in making use of this Shanghai connection, Tanizaki seems to have got the counsel of his fellow writer Akutagawa Ryu¯nosuke (1892–1927), who made a trip to Shanghai in 1921 to find a complete set, which he bought in 1923.4 The next year, Akutagawa contributed to the magazine Shomotsu ¯orai (Bibliophilism) an article entitled ‘Richa¯do Baaton yaku “Issen’ichiya monogatari” ni tsuite’ (On Richard Burton’s Translation of The Thousand Nights and a Night), in which he showed how literal and excellent it was, accepting Burton’s own words at face value. For example, he spoke highly of a passage from the opening scene of the story: then he [a blackamoor] bussed her [the Queen] and winding his legs round hers, as a button-loop clasps a button, he threw her and enjoyed her. (Burton, 1885–88: I, 6) According to Akutagawa, this is a case where Burton translated into English the Arabic mode of expression quite literally (1924: 138). However, a critical comparison between Burton’s text and the Arabic original proves that the above-quoted passage was interpolated by Burton himself, without any Arabic counterpart.5 The same is true of the other case where Akutagawa expresses great admiration for ‘the bold and open Oriental hedonism’ (ibid.: 138) by citing a couplet: The penis smooth and round was made with anus best to match it; Had it been made for cunnus’ sake it had been formed like hatchet! (Burton, 1885–88: III, 303) The corresponding Arabic text does not exist at all either in the Bu ¯la¯q or the Calcutta II edition.6 It is well known today that Burton often tampered with the text itself this way, either to satisfy his own curiosity or to make it suit the special purposes of his anthropological notes. Burton’s edition, including the Supplements and their copious 142

The Arabian Nights in Modern Japan ¯ ba Masafumi (1914–69) after the annotations, was re-translated by O Second World War and published in 21 volumes as the Kadokawa Library edition. Together with the translation of Mardrus’ French adaptation by Toyoshima Yoshio (1890–1955) and others, which was also published between 1940 and 1959 in 26 volumes as the Iwanami Library edition, it contributed greatly to popularizing the Nights in Japan and emphasizing its pornographic side, with the result that their real characteristics have been passed unnoticed ever since, owing to their own claim of literalness. It was only ten years ago that the first Japanese translation, directly made from Arabic by Maejima Shinji (1903–83) and Ikeda Osamu (1933–), was completed in 19 volumes.

THE THEATRE AND THE CINEMA

Apart from translation, other media also played a subsidiary part. Ali Baba, Aladdin and Sindbad the Sailor have been great favourites with students, partly because their stories have often been chosen for English readers in secondary and high schools since 1887. Yet particular mention should be made here of two media: the theatre and the cinema. The Arabian Nights on the Stage From the very beginning, the Nights had much to do with theatrical performances in Japan: even before Nagamine’s first translation, a burlesque entitled Aladdin, or the Wonderful Scamp was staged on 6 January 1870, as the opening of the new Gaiety Theatre in Yokohama, intended for foreign residents.7 There followed other pieces, Ali Baba, or the Thirty-Nine Thieves in September 18788 and The Arabian Nights’ by the dramatist Sidney Grundy in July 1895 (Masumoto, 1978: 203). However, no Japanese was likely to be among the audience or the performers. As a matter of fact, the afore-mentioned translation, Perusia shinsetsu retsujo no homare (A New Persian Story: The Heroine’s Honour) of 1887 also had something to do with the stage, for it first appeared serially in Yano Ryu¯kei’s own newspaper Yu¯bin ho¯chi shinbun, with the subtitle ‘A Pantomime at Christmas in London’. Yano, who had just returned from London earlier that year and intended to take part in 143

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism theatrical reforms, one of the major problems with which Meiji Japan was confronted, made a report on the pantomime performances he had seen in London. His translation of ‘Ali Baba’ was therefore intended for the stage, at least at the outset. Again, brief mention was previously made of Iwaya Sazanami’s 1906 adaptation for the Noh comedy Umanusubito (A Horse Stealer). In the same year, another play entitled Kigeki Arabiya yobanashi (A Comedy from the Arabian Nights) was presented at the Kabukiza Theatre in Tokyo. It was an adaptation from the latter half of ‘Abu al-Hasan, or the Awakened Sleeper’, intended for a Kabuki performance by the playwright Enomoto Haryu¯ (Torahiko, 1866–1920). It was constructed just in the same way as Carl Maria von Weber’s comic opera ‘Abu Hassan’ (1811), only the scene was laid in modern Japan, with Harun al-Rashid and Zubayda replaced with Count and Countess Aoyama respectively. A new departure from convention, this play was presented repeatedly in 1915, 1917 and 1919 (Kokuritsu gekijo ¯, 1990: 736; Sho¯chiku hyakunenshi, 1996: 40, 432, 617, 618, 840). By this time, the first impact of the Ballets Russes began to be felt in Japan. A young graphic designer, Sugiura Hisui (1876–1965), depicted Zobeïde, the female lead in the ballet Schéhérazade (first performed in Paris in 1910) on the cover of the drama magazine Engei gaho¯ in January 1913 (Figure 6.21), although the work was not well received by the readers, for most of them were Kabuki fans, unfamiliar with Western dance. The next year, Hasegawa Kiyoshi’s (1891–1980) woodblock print appeared on the cover of the literary magazine Kamen (Mask, Figure 6.22). It depicted ‘the slave in gold’ of the same ballet Schéhérazade, danced by Vatslav Nijinsky.9 From time to time, the Girl’s Operetta Troupe at Takarazuka, founded by Kobayashi Ichizo¯ (1873–1957) in 1913, has also staged the Arabian Nights plays since as early as the 1920s; among its early performances were such operettas as Arabian Naito (The Arabian Nights, 1921), Do¯ ban no kubi (Douban’s Head, 1923) and Bagudaddo no isha (The Physician of Baghdad, 1930).10 While Kinoshita Mokutaro¯’s drama Ishi Dooban no kubi (The Physician Douban’s Head) was not particularly intended for the actual stage, Mishima Yukio’s musical drama Arabian Naito (The Arabian Nights) was presented in November 1966, with Mishima himself ¯ ba Masafumi’s translation acting as a slave (Figure 6.23). Turning to O 144

The Arabian Nights in Modern Japan of Burton’s edition for guidance, he wove several stories, including ‘The Young King of the Black Isles’, ‘The Porter and the Three Ladies’, ‘Sindbad the Sailor’ and ‘The City of Brass’, into one continuous narrative, with Sindbad the Sailor as the leading character. He commented on his own work, referring to Hugo von Hofmannsthal’s essay, ‘Tausend und eine Nacht’ (1907),11 in which ‘The Story of Ali Shar and Zumurrud’ was admired for its mysterious description of the hero who, overcome with drowsiness at the very decisive moment, missed the golden opportunity of delivering his beloved from captivity: I remember Hofmannsthal saying that it is none other than the spirit of the Arabian Nights. Sleepiness that crept over the young man at that time is something as miraculous as any fairytale miracle, any magic or daemon in the Thousand and One Nights, the most mysterious in the world, that is, something symbolic of ‘the incapacity inherent in the essence of human nature to have things one’s own way’. . . The trouble is that this is the most antitheatrical and anti-dramatic spirit . . . Therefore, my Sindbad, in accordance with the necessities of the drama, is lacking in the most important spirit of the Arabian Nights, that is to say, the spirit of ‘forgetting the important thing’. (Mishima, ‘Gikyoku’, 1966: 475) As the point made by Hofmannsthal was rather different from Mishima’s summary, Mishima seems to have contorted the original passage from its proper meaning. Nevertheless, he ingeniously explained the dilemma he had faced in dramatizing the Nights. It is no wonder that the work did not get a favourable reception from the critics, just as he had feared.12 The Impact of the Cinema Finally some mention should be made of the role played by the movies in familiarizing the general public with the Arabian Nights. The first Nights film imported into Japan was the Pathé Brothers’ Ali Baba et les quarante voleurs (1902), which was put on the screen in 1907 under the ¯ eyama sanzoku taiji (The European Version of the Story title of Seiyo¯ O 145

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism

Figur 6.21: Sugiura Hisui. ‘Zobeïde’, cover of Engie gaho¯, vol.7, no.1 (1913).

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Figure 6.22: Hasegawa Kyoshi, ‘Dance’, cover of Kamen, vol.3, no.1 (1914).

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Figure 6.23: A scene from Arabian Naito by Mishima Yukio, in Shimazaki and Mishima (1972: 67).

¯ e), a title of the Hero Yorimitsu Subjugating the Bandits of Mount O ¯ allusive to the old legend of Shuten Do¯ji, a fiend of Mount Oe that was killed by the hero Minamotono Yorimitsu (Tanaka, 1957: I, 1975). But it was in the 1920s and the 1930s that new Arabian Nights films such as Kalif Storch (1924), Sumurun (1924), The Thief of Baghdad (1925), Die Abenteuer des Prinzen Achmed (1929), Geheimnis des Orients (1930) and Chu Chin Chow (1935) were imported from abroad one after another.13 The artistic beauty and technical refinement of both The Thief of Baghdad (dir. Raoul A. Walsh) and Die Abenteuer des Prinzen Achmed (dir. Lotte Reiniger) impressed themselves upon the memory of not a few writers and artists of the age. For instance, the young novelist Kajii Motojiro ¯ (1901–32) compared in his novella ‘Deinei’ (Mud, 1925) the bottles of liquors and drinks arranged in the cupboard of a cafe bar to

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¯ fuji Noburo¯, in Kinema junpo¯, Figure 6.24: A scene from Bagudajo¯ no to¯zoku by O no. 230 (11 June 1926).

‘Arabian soldiers’ ‘at the festival of Baghdad’ (Kajii, 1931: 73). Horiguchi Daigaku (1892–1981) composed an erotic poem entitled ‘Hiko¯ ju¯tan’ (The Flying Carpet) in 1931, comparing a young lady to the magic carpet that had appeared in The Thief of Baghdad: My beloved is and is not a woman at the same time. My beloved is a flying carpet that gives me a ride on it. Oh my beloved, my dear flying carpet, let’s fly high into the sky of Baghdad! (Horiguchi, 1947: 57–58) At the same time, Geheimnis des Orients (dir. Alexander Volkoff) and 149

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism Chu Chin Chow (dir. Walter Forde), both of which inherited the narrative and visual traditions of popular Orientalism, contributed to diffusing the notion of the mysterious and voluptuous Orient among the public. What is worthy of note in this connection, however, is that Kalif Storch (dir. E.M. Schumacher), the first silhouette film to be ¯ fuji Noburo¯ introduced into Japan, inspired the young artist O (1900–61) to make his own animated film entitled Bagudajo¯ no to¯zoku (The Thief of Castle Baguda) in 1926. As implied by the title, the story was modelled after The Thief of Baghdad and adapted for the Japanese audience, with its setting laid in medieval Japan (Figure 6.24); Baghdad was transformed into a quasi-Japanese toponym ‘Baguda ( )’. It was very much to his credit that he made use of coloured Japanese paper called chiyogami for both puppets and the background,

Figure 6.25 A scene from Tezuka, Sen’ya ichiya monogatari (1969).

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The Arabian Nights in Modern Japan for celluloid was not yet readily available in Japan at that time.14 ¯ fuji’s film was to be regarded as an experiArtistically speaking, O mental attempt of a primitive character, especially when compared with Lotte Reiniger’s masterpiece. Yet it was an indispensable step in the history of animation in Japan. In it can be found the germ of what developed afterwards into Tezuka Osamu’s (1928–89) variety of coloured animated films. One such masterpiece was his Sen’ya ichiya monogatari (The Thousand and One Nights) of 1969 (Figure 6.25). Having depended on Burton’s edition, it was predictably filled with sensually stimulating descriptions.15 To conclude, how should the whole process in which the Arabian Nights has been introduced, accepted, adapted and recreated in Japan since the beginning of the Meiji era be understood? This seems to depend on the definition of the Nights. So long as it is regarded as a work of Arabic literature, and the process is judged by the absolute standard of the Arabic original, it must be admitted that those Japanese versions of the Nights were something different from the original. But if the Nights is taken as a masterpiece of European art and literature, it can be regarded as an everlasting source of inspiration for many generations of writers and artists who enriched Japanese culture in their own way. HIDEAKI SUGITA University of Tokyo

NOTES 1. In conformity to the customary name order, the Japanese family name is followed by the given name in this article. 2. See, for instance, the recollections of Matsuda Michio (paediatrician and critic, 1808-98), Fujikawa Hideo (Germanist, 1909–2003), Togawa Ema (female critic, 1911–86), Hayashi Kentaro¯ (historian, 1913–2004) and Seta Teiji (scholar of juvenile literature, 1916–79). Matsuda 8; Fujikawa (1989: 66); Togawa (1985: 36); Hayashi (1999: 7); Seta (1982: II, 262). 3. Mishima (1946: 561; 1967: 530). His strong interest in, and obsession with, incest, as triggered by reading ‘The Story of the First Mendicant’, is reflected in such works as Kagi no kakaru heya, Kazoku awase and Nettaiju. See Mishima (1948: 372; 1954: 210; 1960: 487).

151

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism 4. Akutagawa’s letters, ‘To Oana Ryu¯ichi’ and ‘To Fujikura Ko¯ichi’ (1924). Morita So¯hei reproduced in his Lane translation some illustrations of Burton’s edition from Akutagawa’s own copy (Morita, 1925–28: I, Preface, 6). 5. Alf laylah wa-laylah, Calcutta edn. I, 3; Bu¯la¯q edn. I, 3. 6. Alf laylah wa-laylah, Calcutta edn. II, 898; Bu¯la¯q edn. I, 383. 7. A detailed report is found in the Far East (an illustrated fortnightly newspaper published at Yokohama). Also quoted in Masumoto (1978: 32–33). 8. For the stage, see the article ‘“Ali Baba” at the Gaity Theatre’. Also quoted in Masumoto (1978: 154, 194). According to this report, the scenery was painted by ‘Nakayama Toshitsugi, a very clever native artist’ (ibid.: 1001). 9. For the impact of the Ballets Russes on Japan, see Numabe (2003: 79–84). 10. Takarazuka Kagekidan, 132–36. For the libretti, see Takarazuka Sho¯jo Kageki kyakuhon shu¯ (The Libretti for the Girls’ Operetta Troupe of Takarazuka) 20: 25–34 (Arabian Naito); 37: 19–28 (Do¯ban no kubi); 113: 6–12 (Bagudaddo no isha). 11. Hugo von Hofmannsthal, ‘Tausend und eine Nacht’ (1950–55: II, 275–77). This essay, initially written as a preface to Felix Paul Greve’s German translation made from Burton’s edition, was also reproduced as the preface to Enno Littmann’s new German edition. Having been translated into Japanese by Fujikawa Hideo in as early as 1942, it was available to Mishima, who possessed a copy of the second edition in his own library. Shimazaki and Mishima (1972: 435). 12. In some reviews of his Arabian Naito, critics made such negative comments as ‘tedious though dreamy’ (23 Nov. 1966), ‘not so exciting to spectators’ imagination’ (24 Nov. 1966) or ‘worth nothing, if not gorgeous’ (30 Nov. 1966). 13. For the screening of these films, see Tanaka (1957: I, 47, The Thief of Baghdad; II, 87, Die Abenteuer des Prinzen Achmed; II, 90, Geheimnis des Orients; II, 216, Chu Chin Chow). For reviews, see Kinema junpo¯ (The Movie Times) 152: 24 (1 Mar. 1924, Kalif Storch); 181: 29–30 and 184: 45 (1 Jan. 1925 and 1 Feb. 1925, The Thief of Baghdad); 181: 48 (1 Jan. 1925, Sumurun); 337: 46 (21 July 1929, Die Abenteuer des Prinzen Achmed); 352: 90 (1 Jan. 1930, Geheimnis des Orients). A Japanese scenario of The Thief of Baghdad (ed. Yoneyama Roka), as well as a bilingual scenario of Oscar Asche’s Chu Chin Chow (trans. Makimura Goro¯), was also published, a fact that testifies to the popularity of these films. Today the following VHS videofilms are available: The Thief of Baghdad, Die Abenteuer des Prinzen Achmed and Chu Chin Chow. ¯ fuji Toshiro¯, see Yamaguchi and Watanabe (1977: 15–16). 14. For the works of O For reviews, Kinema junpo¯, 234: 52 (21 Aug. 1926); 235: 56 (1 Aug. 1926). A VHS videocassette version for this work is included in Sho¯wa shoki no

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The Arabian Nights in Modern Japan anime¯shon shu ¯. 15. For Tezuka Osamu’s Arabian Nights animations, see Yamaguchi and Watanabe (1977: 167–68). A videocassette version is also available.

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CHAPTER 7

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism from a Japanese Perspective INTRODUCTION

O

NE OF THE MOST popular Arabic literary works in Japan is the Thousand and One Nights or the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments. It used to be and still remains influential in the formation of Japan’s images of the Middle East or the Arab Islamic world. The names, such as Aladdin, Ali Baba and Sindbad, are very popular characters among Japanese children, whereas the title of the Arabian Nights is often associated with an erotic flavour. Why does the Nights give such a double image? In the following, I will discuss the reception and transformation of the Nights and its influence on the formation of the Middle Eastern images in Europe and Japan in connection with the emergence of the so-called Orientalism. I will also finally discuss how the Nights has resonated Orientalism in Europe and Japan from a comparative perspective.

THE ARABIAN NIGHTS AND ORIENTALISM IN EUROPE: THE EVE OF JAPANESE ENCOUNTER

Almost 300 years have passed since the French Orientalist, Antoine Galland, translated Alf laylah wa-laylah from Arabic into French for the first time. His Les Mille et Une Nuits in French was soon translated into other European languages. The increasing popularity of the Arabian Nights in Britain in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries contributed to the literary fame of the Nights as world literature, as well as 154

Orientalism from a Japanese Perspective the transformation of its literary quality. Around the turn of the nineteenth century, the British readership was radically changed by the so-called ‘Industrial Revolution’, with the result that the middle class appeared.1 They gradually formed their own lifestyle that differed from the aristocracy. In due course, they needed to teach their morals to their children. This is why, in general, the genre of children’s literature appeared, and in particular, why some stories from the Nights were selected and revised for educational or nursery purposes.2 The emergence of the new form of the Nights as children’s literature spread its readership to other genres of literary entertainments, such as theatres, pantomimes and so on. Another trend that involved the Nights in the nineteenth century, especially in the Victorian milieu, was the emergence of so-called ‘Orientalism’.3 In this trend with increasing British interests,4 be they political, economical or cultural, towards the Islamic world, the Nights received a new light from an academic angle. British readers of the Nights sincerely and fervently wanted to read the whole work composed of the one thousand and one nights as shown by the original title of the Arabian Nights.5 This led to the need for a new translation, not from Galland’s French edition, but from the original Arabic.6 It was Edward William Lane who translated the Nights from the ‘complete’ original Arabic text7 for the first time.8 Lane was a linguist and anthropologist in the strictly modern sense of the term.9 With his scientific eyes as a linguist (or more properly, lexicographer) and anthropologist, he regarded the Nights as an ethnographic text full of encyclopaedic information concerning Middle Eastern popular culture. His evaluation seemed to be shared by Antoine Galland himself,10 who published the first academic encyclopaedia of the Orient, Bibliothèque orientale, but Lane was much more critical and systematic in the sense that he always compared any piece of textual information with his observation in his real life in Cairo; he tried to classify all the folkloric materials available at hand in the same way as he compiled his monumental Arabic dictionary, so that he could reconstruct a medieval Islamic popular society. For him, the Nights was not a mere fantasy, but a historical source of medieval Cairo. Lane’s translation gained popularity,11 and helped to bring the final version of the Nights onto the scene. The so-called Second Calcutta edition of the Arabic original text was an epoch-making event in the history of the relationship between 155

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism Europe and the Nights.12 It was, and still is, the last and complete edition that was edited by European hands for satisfying European enthusiasm for the original Arabic text composed of 1,001 nights. It is said that this edition was based on the Arabic manuscript (now missing) brought from Cairo, but scholarly research has made it clear that it contains tales from different manuscript sources, and that, even if it used some single Egyptian manuscript which is now lost, this manuscript itself may be an amalgamated textual construction. It is no exaggeration to say that the printing of the Second Calcutta edition (and its translation made by Sir Richard F. Burton) is the final realization of European imaginary tradition about the Nights that Antoine Galland ‘created’. Europe encountered the Nights, longing for the Orient or the Middle East in the imaginary world constructed through the Nights and realizing the imagined Orient by fabricating even the original Nights with their own hands with no reference to the real Orient. The Nights can be regarded as a typical phenomenon of ‘Orientalism’ in the very Saidean sense. It follows that the popularity of Burton’s translation was a historical consequence in the sense that it is the last and complete English fully annotated translation, made by an authority of the Middle Eastern culture, from the last and complete Arabic original text of the Nights which contains 1,001 nights. His translation and annotation, as we know, is a main source for the erotic image concerning the Nights, but this is due to his personality, as well as the Victorian romantic mentality (see Nasir, 1976), in which they represented the Orient as being what they wanted it to be or obliged it to be.13

THE JAPANESE ENCOUNTER WITH THE ARAB WORLD THROUGH THE EUROPEAN LOOKING GLASS OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS

We can say that the discovery of the Arabian Nights is as important as that of the New World, or America. Even in America, many versions of the Arabian Nights were imported from Europe. From the end of the eighteenth century onwards, numerous Arabian Nights were published, usually pirated copies, in the United States.14 When the first American version of the Arabian Nights was published, in 1790 or 1794,15 the 156

Orientalism from a Japanese Perspective Arabian Nights was one of the four bestsellers, among which, of course, the Bible was the best one (Sha’ban, 1991). The influence of the Nights upon the imaginary world view of the American people is beyond the scope of the present essay (see Sha’ban, 1991: ch.8), but it is very interesting, because, as a younger state or nation, the American people in those times were trying to find a new national identity, as opposed to one reflecting their past home countries, such as Britain. The independent America had to undertake independent diplomatic action in order to establish international relationships with European countries.16 America turned its international concerns to the East via the Pacific Ocean. This is why the famous Admiral Perry found his way to Japan at the end of the Edo Era (1603–1867). When we now turn our eyes to pre-Perry Japan, when contacts with foreign cultures were very limited because of the policy of seclusion, we find that some information about the Middle East had nevertheless infiltrated via China, Portugal and the Netherlands. We find many loanwords of Arabic origin, most of which were introduced indirectly by way of Chinese literature in early modern times, or by way of new European artefacts with Portuguese or Spanish names in medieval times.17 Those artefacts with their original Arabian flavours had enormous influences upon the emergence and later development of Japanese images towards the Middle East or Islamic cultures. For example, Japan’s first contact with camels, which were imported from the Arabian Peninsula by some Dutch merchants in 1821, or Bunsei 4 of the Edo Era, made a lasting effect among urban people.18 A sexual folklore developed concerning camels, and this folklore, together with romantic images of desert life, gave rise to the typical fantasy about a camel-riding prince and princess in bridal procession. This scene is still fostered in the hearts of almost all Japanese by way of the famous nostalgic song called ‘The Dune in the Moon’.19 It should be noted here that although until comparatively recent times, Japanese contacts with the Middle Eastern or Islamic cultures were indirect, the source countries from which the information or artefacts pertaining to Middle Eastern or Islamic cultures were brought had rather great economic and political, sometimes military, interests in those areas. In this sense, Japan had a chance to obtain information of excellent quality, though very limited in quantity, about those areas throughout its history. First, China had a national border with the 157

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism Abbasid dynasty; second, both the Portuguese and Spanish were hostile towards Islam after the so-called Reconquista; and third, the Dutch, who had a monopoly on trade with Japan during the Edo Era, developed commercial interests with Islamic regions, especially South and Southeast Asia, and as a result became a leading country even in the academic sphere with respect to Middle Eastern studies or Oriental studies, at least for the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries (Brugman and Schröder, 1979). So many books in Dutch were imported into Japan and translated into Japanese that at least some among the elite who were engaged in administrative work in EdoBakufu, or the central government, had some solid knowledge about the geography and culture of the Islamic world.20 The early eighteenth century knows of two leading Japanese scholars, especially in the domain of foreign knowledge, that is, Arai Hakuseki and Nishikawa Joken,21 both of whom were contemporaries of Antoine Galland. When it comes to the Nights, we know from recent discovery that, already in the Edo Era, at least two copies of Dutch versions of the Nights and one copy of an English version were brought into Japan by Dutch merchants.22 In the Edo Era, scientific works written in Dutch were translated into Japanese, but we find no Japanese translations of Dutch books for children,23 let alone that of the Nights. Even in the last decades of the Edo Era, some people had a keen awareness of international affairs,24 but it was not until the Meiji Era (1868–1912) that new knowledge about the world poured into Japan. The first Japanese translation of the Nights was made by Nagamine Hideki in 1875.25 This translation was one of the earliest works of foreign literature introduced in the Meiji Era.26 Nagamine27 based his translation on the English Arabian Nights edited by the Revd George F. Townsend,28 which is a version arranged for educational purposes with some moralistic concern. Nagamine’s motive for his translation of the Arabian Nights was, in general, to introduce world culture to Japanese people and, in particular, to utilize the stories from the Arabian Nights for educational purposes in order for young women to be engaged in social activities. His first motive was shared with many people in the early Meiji Era, but the second one sounds somewhat strange to modern Japanese readers who harbour erotic images towards the Nights. He seemed to regard the Nights as belonging to European civilization, which people in the Meiji Era ardently tried to imitate. In other words, the 158

Orientalism from a Japanese Perspective European values of the Nights in the nineteenth century, which produced such versions as Townsend’s and Lane’s, were adapted to those current in Japan in that age, with the result that one of the essential values, or literary functions in the society, of the Nights for Europeans had disappeared. The Nights had given up its literary capacity for presenting a text through which readers could understand the Arab world or Middle Eastern cultures. This situation remains virtually unchanged to the present day, at least in the popular understanding of the Nights. Nagamine’s Arabian Nights was a partial translation and, unfortunately, did not become very popular among Japanese readers. However, the second translation by Inoue Tsutomu29 was a complete version, and gained much popularity throughout the Meiji Era. As is shown by its Japanese title, Zensekai ichidai kisho, which means ‘The Most Marvellous Book in the World’, Inoue’s Arabian Nights was intended as entertainment for its readers. His, or the publisher’s, intention was, of course, in accordance with the English original title of the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, and still more with the primitive literary function of the Nights, when it had been current both in medieval Cairo and during Galland’s times. In this connection, we can say that Inoue had a good eye for evaluating the essential potential of the Nights for his contemporary readership in Japan. The stories in the Nights, which originated in the Arab Islamic world and spread into Europe, charmed Japanese readers with completely different cultural backgrounds. Several Japanese versions of the Nights followed, and until recently they have been indirect translations made from English or French versions, such as those of Lane, Burton and Mardrus. As such, the Nights has been regarded as belonging to English or French literature.30 From the middle of the Meiji Era to the present day, the Arabian Nights, or at least some of its stories, have been sources of creative inspiration for writers and artists, as well as an imaginative view for children. Both ways of social consumption of the Nights in Japan seem to be in the wake of those in Europe, but there used to be, and still is, no functional aspect of the Nights as a product of Orientalism. The Nights was translated into Japanese, and was consumed within Japanese readership, but had rarely been used as a reference work to understand the world originally represented in the story. Very few Japanese readers tried to find in the Nights the real people of the Middle East. It can be said that, as we have already discussed above, the relationship concerning the 159

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism Nights between the Orient (or the Middle East) and Europe had been bilateral, but in the case of Japan, the relationship was only unidirectional with Europe and not with the Middle East. This seems to be why, when Burton’s Nights, which can be regarded as an ultimate literary realization of European Orientalism, was translated into Japanese, only its romantic or erotic elements were skimmed and emphasized among the Japanese readership, even though those elements, in fact, were fabricated as a part of the imagined Orient on which European minds projected their desire of how the real Orient should be. In this sense, Mardrus’ Nights is most appropriate for the Japanese readership, because it is a purely fantastic creation of literary imagination, and, what is more, a part of French literature that is often regarded as an ideal of literature in Japan. Maejima and Ikeda (1966–92) is the first and only Japanese translation from the Arabic original. Their translation was made from the Second Calcutta edition. Japanese readers very enthusiastically welcomed this publication.31 This enthusiasm seems to be rooted in the same frame of mind as that found in the nineteenth-century British milieu. That is, in order to understand the essence of the Nights, which is its function of understanding the Middle East (the Orient), we must read the original Nights, which is not deformed by European people, and only in this way can we acquire a sound international relationship with the Middle Eastern or Islamic countries. In reality, however, this proves to be another fantasy, when we take the historical formation of the Second Calcutta into account.32 Since the Meiji Era, Japan has accepted European civilization, to which the Nights belongs as a literary product of Orientalism. It is true that Japan adapted herself to the Orientalistic values of Europe in the historical process of modernization.

CONCLUDING DISCUSSION

In the Middle East before the Nights was transplanted onto European soil, it had already acquired some social functions of collected local knowledge, which was shared at least among urban people. This is why the Nights, not merely as entertainment but also as encyclopaedic references, charmed Galland and his successors, who made a literary 160

Orientalism from a Japanese Perspective composition of the imagined Orient as the imagined other in their narrative space, on the basis of the Nights. This reconstructed Nights in the European milieu still contained another original function of it, which was ascribed to that of folktales as its constituents. The truth value of the Nights was only assured by the fact that it was shared with all the members participating in European civilization. In other words, as the imagined Orient found in the Nights was increasingly referred to in literary discourse, so was it also beginning to find its way into another literary space, in which the imagined Orient (= the imagined other) behaves as a self-defined entity in opposition to Europe (the reflected self ). One should note that this process was intermingled or interacted with the process of discovering self-consciousness in the modern sense in Europe, by which the various genres of literary fiction emerged in order for the imagined other and the reflected self to play their respective roles as controllable entities in the virtual narrative space. In the very same manner, Europe discovered her self-identity (or her self-consciousness as an identifiable autonomous civilization) in the virtual narrative space called Orientalism. In this sense, the Orientalism that occurred in the European milieu should not be regarded as a universal phenomenon applicable straightforwardly to other similar phenomena, rather as some unique phenomenon in the history of the human kind that has been realized in modern European civilization. Our Nights was obliged to play a unique role in European Orientalism by an accidental encounter with the French Orientalist, Antoine Galland. Fukuzawa Yukichi is one of the most distinguished scholars of the theoretical development of modernization in Japan throughout the Meiji Era. In his influential book, Introduction to the Theory of Civilization (Bunmeiron no gairyaku), he made extensive references to M. Guizot’s General History of Civilization in Europe, which was translated coincidentally by Nagamine Hideki, the first translator of the Nights. Fukuzawa adopted Guizot’s definition of civilization, by which a civilized society (Europe) is opposed to undeveloped savage societies in the Orient. Because this Orient seemingly includes Japan as its constituent, Fukuzawa tried to find a new uncivilized Orient in order for Japan to be engaged as a full-fledged member of civilized societies. China was seen as this uncivilized Orient, although it was formerly the socio-economical and ontological centre of the Chinese 161

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism civilizational sphere in East Asia. In consequence, Japan began to discriminate the terms composed of Sina (or China) in favour of the comparatively new term Toyo (the Orient), in order to re-nominate East Asian civilizational membership from Japan’s own new perspective (Koyasu, 2003).33 Japan accepted the Arabian Nights as a constituent part of European civilization. European images of the Orient, or the Middle East, which had been formed through the encounter with the Nights, also found their way into Japan. While those images were transplanted to Japanese soil with some modification, Japan learned to acquire a new perspective on the world system that was structurally different from what it used be. Japan began to reflect herself as a member of the European civilization, and with this process of modernization, became involved in the Orientalistic milieu. Japan imported Orientalism as a part of the European civilizational system, but, in order to realize this new international system of Orientalism, Japan had to change her target radically in place of the Middle East as the Orient for the Europeans. Japan rediscovered China and its neighbouring regions in Asia, and restructured the world system surrounding Japan from the Orientalistic perspective. Unfortunately, however, Japan failed to recognize the essence of Orientalism in the European milieu as a by-product of the holistic interactive relationship between Europe and the Orient or the Middle East. Japan, so to speak, mechanically applied the Orientalistic mode to control China as the Orient, whereas Japan found Europe to be the imagined other in order to behave as a self-defined entity.34 China, or more properly, the imagined China, did not play the same role in the formation of the Japanese Orientalism as the Middle East or the Arab Islamic world had played in the European Orientalism. In the discourse of the Japanese Orientalism, the Nights was very often referred to as a symbolic or semiotic term that represented the imagined other which would behave as Japan wanted to be. This discourse, as found in expressions such as ‘like the world of the Arabian Nights’, is, of course, a continuation of the usage also found in European Orientalistic discourse, and still an applicable expression with some fantastic connotation in the modern Japanese cultural scene. In Japan’s new restructured world system, Europe has played a double role as the reflected self and the imagined other in the formation of Japanese self-identity. The Middle East as the Orient in 162

Orientalism from a Japanese Perspective the European milieu has ceased to play its Orientalistic role in the Japanese milieu, and instead has been downgraded to the background. The Middle East as portrayed in the Arabian Nights is to be located beyond – although it is geographically in-between – Europe and China (or Asia) in the Japanese imaginary world. TETSUO NISHIO Graduate University of Advanced Studies National Museum of Ethnology

NOTES 1. In addition, some other elements, such as the invention and improvement of printing devices and higher literacy, caused the change of readership in Britain. For the influence of printing on the formation of nationalism, see Anderson (1991), and, for its relevancy on the Arab world, see Nishio (2001). 2. In this trend, the translators with a religious motive, such as Jonathan Scott and Edward Forster, published their new translations, pretending that they translated from the Arabic original. Jonathan Scott’s moralistic Nights was used as a basis for popular children’s versions. See Irwin (1994: 22). 3. The term ‘Orientalism’ has been used in a rather loose way. It is desirable, at least in academic discussion, to separate its three meanings, or three modes as analytical concepts. The first, which emerged earliest, is ‘Orientalism as a social mode’, in which the other culture or cultural elements are imagined idiosyncratically or combined as unrelated parts in an unsystematic way. The second is ‘Orientalism as a historical mentalité’, used as a Saidean (Edward W. Said) term, by which he regards Orientalism as an indispensable element of European civilization which is shared as a self-sufficient total unit of discourse through all kinds of textual representation. This representation or imagined construction without any reference to the real Orient is obliged to give impetus to control the Orient. In a post-Saidean term, Orientalism is becoming a rather semiotic concept, in which a given society as a civilized entity represents other similar entities as a textual construction, sometimes with the intention to control them. 4. The motive of printing the so-called First Calcutta edition in 1814–18 was to teach the Arabic language to British students in the College of Fort William in Calcutta, in order for them to read Islamic documents. It is not a mere coincidence that the first printing of the Arabic text of the Nights is John Richardson’s A Grammar of the Arabick Language (London, 1776), which

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5. 6.

7.

8. 9.

10.

11.

12. 13.

includes the tale of the hundred and second night. The British Empire had the largest Muslim population in the world. For the historical role of Galland’s edition in the formation of European view of the Arabic original of the Nights, see Mahdi’s painstaking study (1995). Many of the English translators, such as Edward Forster (1802), G.S. Beaumont (1808) and Jonathan Scott (1811), insisted that they were newly translated from the Arabic original, but, in fact, their translations were based on the last French edition. The so-called Bu ¯la ¯q edition (1835), on which Lane’s translation was based, used some unidentified or lost Arabic manuscript of the Egyptian recension. Mahdi (1995: 97–101) argues that the Bu ¯la ¯q edition, even though printed in Cairo, was influenced by the Arabic textual tradition adapting to the stories found in Galland’s Mille et Une Nuits. For the Egyptian recension, see also Chauvin (1899) and Irwin (1994: 46–48). Lane expurgated many tales and omitted the poetry in his translation. See Irwin (1994: 23–25). For Lane’s essence, see Arberry (1960). Ahmed (1978) studied Lane’s life and works with respect to the British idea of the Middle East, but, as we find from the recent studies made by Jason Thompson in his preface of the newly edited Lane’s Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians, Lane’s works must be re-analysed on the basis of his authentic texts (Lane, 2003). This evaluation was also shared with English readers in the eighteenth century, because the English title of the Nights usually goes as ‘The Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, consisting of One Thousand and One Stories, Told by the Sultaness of the Indies to divert the Sultan from execution of a bloody vow he had made to marry a lady every day, and have her cut off next morning, to avenge himself for the disloyalty of his first Sultaness, and a better account of the customs, manners and religion of the Eastern Nations, viz Tartars, Persians, and Indians, than is to be met with in any author hitherto published’. Here, we must take commercial activities into account when we analyse the influence of the Nights as a social phenomenon. The publisher of Lane’s translation sold its first printing as weekly magazines with illustrations, totalling 32 parts, and then sold it as a three-volume set. This way of selling was a commercial strategy at that time. Storywriters were sometimes requested to write a three-volume story. For Calcutta II, see Mahdi (1995: 101–126). It should be noted here that the way of regarding the Nights as a product of ‘Orientalism’ has flaws (some of which, in fact, are due to a theoretical flaw in Saidean Orientalism and its successors). It disregards the reaction of the real Orient, which behaves sometimes as protesting against its own image represented by Europe, and sometimes behaves as moulding itself as

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14.

15. 16.

17. 18.

19.

represented by Europe. In this connection, we must take into consideration the printing of the so-called Bu ¯la ¯q edition and the existence of many Arabic manuscripts after Galland’s publication, and even the ambivalent attitudes of the Middle Eastern people towards the Nights. All of them are not mere idiosyncratic and sporadic accidents in the history of the Nights, but rather, they are diagnostic signs that affected the deep structure of the Orient itself. This flaw may well be the case with Europe. As the discussion of the literary framework of Orientalism indicates, the Nights had, and still has, an ineffaceable influence in the emergence of modern literary genres in Europe and in the formation of the modern sense of self-consciousness, at least as literary textual (or virtual) constructs. For the literary influence of the Nights, see Irwin (1994: 237ff.). For further theoretical discussion, see ‘Concluding Discussion’ in this essay. To date, we do not have any bibliography of the printing history of the Nights in the United States. Such a survey must be done for a better understanding of the historical role of the Nights, because some American versions might have been brought to other countries, such as Japan, and used for translations. J. Cooper, The Oriental Moralists. It is well known that this was a favourite book of President Abraham Lincoln, who actually cited some passages. The Tripoli war was the first war between the United States and the Arab world. This experience can be regarded as a symbolic model of the American policy towards the Middle East. For this event and its influence on American diplomatic identity, see Allison (1995). For the general history of Japanese encounter with the Middle East, see Sugita (1995). See also Kobayashi (1988) in connection with the history of Islam in Japan. The Japanese popular image of camels is a typical and good example of the historical formation of the Middle Eastern image in Japan. Long before camels were imported from the Middle East, Japanese people had some knowledge about Bactrian types of camels through old Chinese literature. Camels were thought of as imaginary animals in a geographically dim area that stretched beyond China. When the Japanese saw another type of camel, the dromedary, they understood the strange animals in connection with their old information, with the result that Arabian camels were illustrated like Bactrian ones, sometimes with the pictorial image of a Chinese person, whose image was, in turn, regarded as representative of foreigners, at least in popular belief. Composed by Kato Masao in 1923. It is still one of the most popular nursery songs in Japan, as one can easily find by the sheer fact that, when the Japanese Postal Bureau issued a stamp series of the most popular nursery songs in Japan, the stamp of ‘The Dune in the Moon’ was the first issued.

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20. 21.

22.

23.

24.

According to the writer of this song, he wrote the song in association with the Nights. This association is shared by almost all Japanese people. In spite of the detailed study of Sugita (1995), it is still a matter of scholarly research regarding just what kind of information about the Middle East or Islamic world found its way into Japan, particularly in the Edo Era. Nishikawa wrote a treatise on the commercial goods of foreign countries, including the Middle East, with some detailed remarks about geographical and cultural traits. After this work, he published the famous illustrated book, in which people in ethnic clothes from 42 countries were illustrated, including examples of Turkish and Persian people. His illustrated book was popular and was reprinted many times, sometimes with additional information. We find the titles among the registered lists of personal belongings owned by the Dutch merchants who lived and died on Dejima Island, Nagasaki. Registered as: Arabian Nights Entertainments . . . Translated into French … by M. Galland . . . and now done into English . . . , Tenth edition. 4 vols. W. Whitestone: Dublin, 1776. 1001 Nacht, Arabische vertellingen, U. h. Fr. Vert. Verbet. en verm. M. 3 dln., die nooit te voren in ‘t Nederd. Vert. geweest zyn. Amst., S. v. Esveldt, 1755. See Matsuda (1998: 366, 376). The only exception is the story of Robinson Crusoe. Its Dutch version was translated into Japanese c.1848, but it is not clear whether or not the translation was read by children. To be sure, some Dutch books for children or nursery books were imported and used for educational purposes. For example, one recent discovery is Ikokujunozuemaki (now preserved in NME), a rolled book with many illustrations of animals, such as a camel and an elephant, which was used as a picture book for children. It belongs to the stock of Hirado Han (Hirado regional government), which is situated near Nagasaki where the Dutch trading centre, Dejima, was located. Some say that Seizan Matsu’ura, the learned head of Hirado Han who was famous for his collection of Dutch printed matters and artefacts, ordered his painter to make those illustrations. We are now probing the source of those illustrations, but it is highly possible that the painter modelled his work on some Dutch illustrated book for children. In this connection, one should note that the Edo government started a large project of translating the Dutch encyclopaedia, which was not finished before the Meiji Era. A very curious discovery is a treatise about characters in the world, which is now preserved in NME. This treatise was written by Fujita Yukoku and his son, Fujita Toko. They were Samurai-members of the Mito Han, which was well known for its ultra-nationalistic doctrine. Fujita Toko was a leading figure of his age. We find, in their handwritten book, a sample of the Arabic alphabet. It is very interesting that the members of the Mito Han had such interest in foreign cultures. It is highly possible that they

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25. 26. 27.

28. 29.

30. 31. 32.

33.

34.

consulted some imported Dutch or Chinese book, in spite of the fact that the Edo government officially banned the import of Islamic books from China. For the early translations of the Nights in Japan, see Sugita (1999; see also his essay in this volume) and Tarumoto (2002). For general information about the study of Arabic literature in Japan, see Nishio (2002). For general and bibliographical information about the translations of foreign literature in the Meiji Era, see Yanagida (1935). Nagamine (1848–1927) was an English teacher in the Japanese Navy College. He translated many English works, among which we find not only literary works, such as the Arabian Nights and M. Guizot’s General History of Civilization in Europe, but also many scientific ones. His translations of Lord Chesterfield’s Letters to His Son, and E.F. Haskell’s The Housekeeper’s Encyclopedia, show his concerns, which echoed his motive to translate the Arabian Nights. For his biography, see Hosaka (1990). In his preface, Nagamine stated that he translated from Townsend’s edition. But he seemed to have used Lane too. See Sugita (1999: 3–9; see also his essay in this volume) and Tarumoto (2002). Inoue (1850–1928) was a prolific translator and one of the most famous translators in his age. He translated many literary works, including William Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice, Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe and Thomas More’s Utopia. For his translation, see Sugita (1999: 9–18). It is symbolic that English or French books of the Nights were, and still are, used as textbooks for teaching foreign languages. Its translators were presented with the most famous prize for translated literature in Japan. In this connection, what is needed now is not only to reconstruct medieval Arabic society by using the Nights as an historical source, but also to reevaluate Western images of the Middle East and their influence on Japanese culture. We have already put all the text of Calcutta II into a computerized text data, by which we are preparing a dictionary of cultural terms for the analysis of medieval Arab society. It should be noted here that the Japanese term Toyo, which was originally used to indicate a very limited area in medieval Chinese literature, was adopted by Sakuma Shozan, a leading scholar in the last decades of the Edo Era, for the first time, to indicate the Orient as a regional entity sharing some similar cultural value, as used in its modern sense. The recent discussion by Nishihara (2003) is very stimulating. He has made clear the literary influence of the Nights on the Chinese image embraced by Tanizaki Jun’ichiro (1886–1965), a Japanese novelist in the Taisho Era.

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III. Text and Image

CHAPTER 8

The Evolution of the Arabian Nights Illustrations: An Art Historical Review INTRODUCTION

T

HE ARABIAN NIGHTS has had the power to arouse the artist’s imagination over 300 years since its first European translation by Antoine Galland (Hackford, 1982; Murphy, 1985; Kobayashi, 2004). Unfortunately, in the Islamic countries very few illustrated manuscripts of the Nights were made before Galland’s translation (Kobayashi, 2004). Therefore no models, except the images connected to the ‘Sindbad stories’, existed for European artists (Kobayashi, 2001; see also Badiee, 1978: 130–133). The aim of this essay is to make clear how the illustration of the Nights formed and developed in Europe, especially in England, France and Germany. At the same time, some aspects of ‘Orientalism’ in art, which appeared in the Arabian Nights illustrations, will be focused on. At the end of the chapter the chart ‘Representative art on the Arabian Nights’ offers a full list of illustrated European editions until World War II.

BROADSIDES AND CHAPBOOKS

The first edition of Galland in 1704 had no illustrations. Only the monotype fleuron or the ornamental patterns were displayed in the vacant space of each chapter like many other books made in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The distinguishing feature of such ornament is that it has no relation to the subject of the text (Bland, 1951: 47–48). 171

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Figure 8.1: ‘Sheheraza¯d and King Shahrya¯r’, in Galland’s edition (1706).

The first illustration related to the Nights was published in 1706 (Figure 8.1), not in France but in England as a frontispiece for the translation of Galland’s edition.1 Here we see an image with the figures of Sheheraza¯d, King Shahrya¯r in the bedstead with a gorgeous canopy, and the other lady (probably Dinazad). They are depicted entirely in Western style, though King Shahrya¯r wears a turban-like headdress (Dilke, 1902). In the background, a vaulted niche was shown. The vaulted niche was a common background motif for portraits of saints or 172

The Evolution of the Arabian Nights Illustrations historical persons in traditional Western paintings. This picture became popular with readers of the Nights, for it was copied and the details tampered with in the later editions including Galland’s pirate editions.2 Technically speaking, the seventeenth and early eighteenth century was a period of transition from wood-cut print to copper-engraving, although in some special fields, such as in botanical books, wood-cut and hand-painting methods were still used. Throughout the eighteenth century, France led other European countries (Italy, Germany and so on) in the art of book illustration, but it seemed that the same works, such as those of Molière, Ovid and Boccaccio, were illustrated repeatedly. Illustrating the Arabian Nights was very rare until the end of the eighteenth century in France. On the other hand, since 1706 in England this work had been depicted, especially in picture books for children called chapbooks, which were 5.5 by 4.25 inches (14 by 11cm) in size and consisting of 16 or 24 pages (or multiples of four), illustrated with woodcuts. They contained tales of popular heroes, legend and folklore, nursery tales and so on. Unfortunately, in chapbooks the name of the illustrator is hardly ever given. However, we can mention Newbery as a remarkable producer of such chapbooks. It is said that Newbery often employed original artists to illustrate his works, and improved the standard of cheap publication for children in many ways (Darton, 1970: 138). An Elizabeth Newbery edition of the History of Sindbad the Sailor is known from 1784 (Alderson, 1988: 90–92, ill. 2). In the meantime, Galland’s translation was reprinted again and again in France as well as in other countries of Europe in the eighteenth century. These books had only one illustration as their frontispiece inserted between the pages with a few woodcuts or etchings-vignettes drawn by the hands of anonymous artists. In 1785, for the first time, an edition which indicated the illustrator’s name was published in London by Harrison and Company. The artist’s name was Edward Frances Burney. Also listed as his co-illustrators were Henry Coulbert and Thomas Stothard. They made 11 leaves for this edition. However, in the same year, a much more important work was published in Geneva. Le Cabinet des fées, published in 41 volumes between 1785 and 1789, included stories from the Nights (vols. 7–11 by Galland and vols. 38–41 by Chavis and Cazotte). The French artist Pierre-Clément Marillier designed all 110 plates for this collection (Ray, 1982). After 173

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism the French Revolution, in 1818 Huot designed 36 woodcut and coloured plates for the Lendentu edition. The British artist Robert Smirke worked first for the Edward Forster edition in 1802, and his illustrations were adopted by J. Scott in 1811 (6 vols). Their works were not for children but for adult readers, though they were depicted completely in the traditional Western style.

ORIENTALISM IN ART AND THE WOOD-ENGRAVING PROCESS

From the artistic point of view, the first turning point came with Napoleon’s Expedition in Egypt (1798–1801). As we know, it was Napoleon who really opened the door to Egypt and the Middle Eastern countries to the West. During his campaign, he invited scholars and artists to accompany the expedition, and the Committee of Arts and Sciences followed the soldiers wherever they went, returning to France with a wealth of documentation on geography, natural history, contemporary culture and antiquities (Description de L’Egypt, 1820–29). This event had given rise to a taste for the Orient (MacKenzie, 1995). The taste was embellished in such works called ‘Orientalist Paintings’ (Thornton, 1984). For these painters, the ‘Orient’ meant first of all the Levant. It included Egypt, Syria, Lebanon, Palestine and the North African coast. However, the pictures were linked thematically rather than stylistically.3 No school of ‘Orientalist painting’ exists. Today, in art-historical terms, ‘Orientalism’ is applied to a category of subject matter referring to the depiction of the Near East by Western artists, particularly in the nineteenth century. It is worthy of note that the socalled ‘Orientalist artists’ curiously never depicted paintings related to the Nights. One of the famous Orientalist artists, Jean-Léon Gérôme, later contributed to the reprint of the Burton Club edition (Figure 8.2), but his work ‘Moorish Bath (Lady of Cairo Bathing)’,4 inserted into the 1903 edition, was originally painted in 1870 and was not initially intended as an illustration of Burton’s text. Simultaneously the rise of interest about the Middle East in the West led to the reappraisal of the Nights in the Middle Eastern world itself. The first editions of the Arabic text were published between 1814 and 1842. They have no illustrations, but these editions stimulated new 174

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Figure 8.2: ‘Moorish Bath (Lady of Cairo Bathing)’, by Jean-Léon Gerôme (painted in 1870, used in Burton Club ed. 1903)

translations in the Western languages directly from the Arabic. Edward W. Lane was one such significant translator, and he himself also spent several years in Egypt and published An Account of Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians in 1836. Lane supervised all the illustrations in his edition (1839–41). He asked William Harvey to design the illustrations and gave him a detailed account of each subject; therefore, Lane’s opinion was reflected in every small vignette. 175

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism Until then, most illustrations of this sort were depicted in a Western style and the setting was not based on reality. In this respect, the Lane edition was groundbreaking in the history of Arabian Nights illustration, with its ethnographical details. Actually, Lane had built up a solid reputation as a scholar of Oriental studies with his former book, Manners and Customs, but the contents of his Nights was severely criticized. It was thanks to the illustrations designed by William Harvey that his reputation was not totally ruined. It should be noted that William Harvey was one of the pupils of Thomas Bewick (1753–1823), who innovated the printmaking technique of wood engraving that made it possible from the 1840s for illustrations to be presented on the same page with the typescript. Compared with copper engraving or steel engraving, the woodengraving method cost less. Despite certain ill effects that came from the separation of designer and engraver, wood engraving made a triumphant return which lasted until the invention of photo engraving. With this new print process the number of illustrations increased in leaps and bounds. English wood engravers enjoyed some prestige in France and often cut the designs of French draughtsmen.

Figure 8.3: ‘Sinbad and the Old Man of the Sea’, by Friedrich Gross (1838–41).

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Figure 8.4: ‘Sinbad and the Old Man of the Sea’, in Galland’s translation with the dissertation of Silvestre de Sacy, by anonymous illustrator (1840)

We now turn to Germany, which was the birthplace of lithography, although during the nineteenth century original lithography seemed to have been used very little for illustrations of books. It was used mainly for reproductive works, where wood engraving was the favourite process for the illustration of books. Friedrich Gross, a German artist and lithographer (see Rümann, 1926: 78–79), designed over 2,000 illustrations for the Gustav Weil edition (1838–41) (Figure 8.3). Galland’s translation with the dissertation by Silvestre de Sacy (1840) (Figure 8.4) also contained a number of plates and vignettes based on the same works designed by Gross, but plates by Marillier and other artists were also inserted. These vignettes and plates were reproduced again and again, even for the editions published in the Middle East. Adolphe Lalauze and Albert Letchford were equally known as illustrators of Richard Francis Burton’s private edition. Lalauze first designed 21 etchings for an edition of Galland’s translation in 1881 (Figure 8.5). Subsequently then his illustrations were repeatedly adopted for other editions, for example in J. Scott’s 1883 edition and in 177

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Figure 8.5: ‘Aladdin; or the Wonderful Lamp’, by Adolphe Lalauze (1881)

John Payne’s 1889 edition (Payne’s first edition, 1882–84, had no illustrations.). In the background of the works by Lalauze, as is the case with Orientalist oil paintings, Spanish and Moorish architecture was repeatedly depicted. At the same time, several illustrations show a taste for Japanese objects. 178

The Evolution of the Arabian Nights Illustrations Letchford, on the other hand, was discovered by Burton, who asked him to make illustrations for him in Italy. As Lane and Harvey did, Letchford followed Burton’s suggestion and studied the manners and customs of the Middle East in museums and libraries. Burton’s own collection, amassed while in Cairo, afforded many specimens of arms, lamps, stools and so on, which were of the greatest use in his work. Letchford’s work was all done at Naples, and some of the landscapes were taken from the surrounding countryside. The rugged seacoast and fine rocks which stretch from the Bay of Naples to Castellammare and Sorrento figured in some of the pictures of Abdullah the Fisherman and

Figure 8.6: ‘Abdullah the Fisherman and Abdullah the Merman’, by Albert Letchford (1897)

179

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism Abdullah the Merman (Figure 8.6). Letchford had studied art under the guidance of the famous Orientalist painter, Gérôme. Therefore, we could see ‘the atmosphere of the Orientalist painting’ in his works (Penser, 1923: 325–328). Although Burton’s first private edition (1885–88) had no illustrations, the reprinted edition by Nichols and Smithers (1897) had a portrait of Burton and 70 illustrations by Letchford and 21 etchings by Lalauze. Letchford produced oil paintings which were then printed from collotype, a photomechanical printing process. This technique, suited for reproducing limited numbers of artistic works, was not for mass production. The Burton Club’s edition (1903) had 114 illustrations and one portrait by Frederic Leighton. The following artists illustrated this edition: Letchford and Lalauze, Batten, Gavarni, Wattier, Cormon, Learned, Gérôme, Bougereau, Boulanger, Beda, and De Beaumont (Penser, 1923: 126–130). As mentioned above, like Gérôme, the other artists except for Letchford did not create works for Burton; J.D. Batten worked for Fairy Tales from the Arabian Nights, edited and arranged by E. Dixon (1893, 1895).

INTERNATIONAL EXPOSITIONS AND THE NEW STREAM OF ART HISTORY

As in the Burton Club’s edition, numerous artists vied with one another on the subject of the Nights. In the latter half of the nineteenth century, numerous illustrators turned out pieces on the Nights. In England, the Dalziel brothers produced The Arabian Nights and engraved hundreds of illustrations designed by several pre-Raphaelite artists: John Tenniel, George J. Pinwell, Arthur B. Houghton, John E. Millais, John D. Watson, Thomas B. Dalziel and others. This work was originally published serially in parts between 1864 and 1865, and was later bound in two volumes (Caracciolo, 1988: 33–34). The book’s major artists, Houghton and Thomas Dalziel, worked together, the Anglo-Indian Houghton sharing his knowledge of India with his English colleague and giving him free access to his collection of Indian materials (Muir, 1971: 222; Dalziel, 1901: 222). S.J. Groves created many works on wood for another edition directly translated from the Arabic in 1865, published in Edinburgh. 180

The Evolution of the Arabian Nights Illustrations In France, it was also common for several artists to contribute to one book at that time. Gustave Doré joined the Lahure edition (1865) (Galland’s new edition) and depicted the illustrations on Sindbad the Sailor and some other stories. Doré was the final great artist and engraver before wood was supplanted by metal. The international exposition started in 1851 in London with the Crystal Palace Exhibition. It was consecutively held in London in 1862 (Waring, 1863) and in Paris in 1867 (L’Exposition Universelle de 1867, 1867). These exhibitions were very significant for art history. Here, Japanese fine arts and craft works were introduced for the first time,

Figure 8.7: ‘Aladdin, or the Wonderful Lamp’, by Walter Crane (1875)

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The Arabian Nights and Orientalism triggering European curiosity to turn to the East. However, the taste for the Far East increased the complexity of the situation, not to mention the fact that the difference between Japan and China could hardly be distinguished; confusion with the image of the Middle East was also found among Europeans. Another significant event in art history was the first ‘Impressionists’ exhibition held in 1874. Japanese fine arts, especially Ukiyo-e woodcut prints, were said to have urged the birth of the impressionist movement. In 1875 Walter Crane made a picture book on Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves and Aladdin, or the Wonderful Lamp. His works were not wood engravings but coloured lithographs. According to the text, Aladdin was a Chinese boy and the story was set in China, but Crane’s coloured paintings with bold outlines were considerably influenced by Japanese woodcut prints, especially by Hiroshige, and some objects on his plates show an overlap (Figure 8.7) (Smith and Hyde, 1989: 78). Therefore, seeing his illustrations, most Japanese would feel a certain awkwardness, even if we knew that the composition and technique was influenced by Japanese Ukiyo-e prints. But the artist is not to be blamed. At that time such confusion between things Chinese and Japanese was found frequently in book illustrations, not only in the Nights but also in other texts. For example, if we look at Thomas Morten’s illustration of Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels, many images in the chapter ‘A Voyage to Laputa’ show a mixture of japonaiserie and chinoiserie. In the scene ‘He Called Aloud To Me Not To Disturb His Webs’, we can see two Chinese-like figures, one of which wears a Japanese kimono-style costume (Swift, 1865: 220). The relevant text by Swift includes no elements connected with China, and the story set in Japan exists in another chapter. Like impressionism, art nouveau was a rebellion against classical and traditional art. The use of large, flat coloured areas and designs without any use of perspective in the art-nouveau style also showed the Japanese influence. The movement was very successful in going beyond the borders of fine art and spreading into commercial and decorative arts. The Arabian Nights became the subject matter of ‘prize competitions’ in the famous magazine The Studio in 1900 and 1908. The works submitted show a certain taste for the art-nouveau style. Aubrey Beardsley was one of the key figures of the art-nouveau book in the 1890s. Beardsley himself worked on only one cover design and on an 182

The Evolution of the Arabian Nights Illustrations illustration for Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves (Smithers’ edition) in 1897 (Taylor, 1979: 101–102), but he could not finish the complete work on the Nights illustrations (Beardsley, 1899; 1900; 1925). His technique was unique in that he used the process of line-block without adopting the photomechanical method which was in fashion those days. Many artists in Britain were involved in the Nights in the 1890s; Stanley L. Wood worked on the G.F. Townsend edition (from the text by Dr Jonathan Scott, 1890), Joseph B. Clark and William Strang for Sindbad and Ali Baba (1895), Frank Brangwyn for the Lane edition (1896), Henry J. Ford for Andrew Lang’s edition (1898), Frederick Pegram (1898), W.H. Robinson, Helen Stratton, Arthur D. McCormick, A.L. Davis and Arthur E. Norbury for the same text as Pegram but another edition (1899).

GOLDEN AGE OF BOOK ILLUSTRATION AND THE ARABIAN NIGHTS

With the emergence of the three-coloured process and the fullcoloured offset printing, the ‘Golden Age of Fantastic Illustrations’ arrived. Since then innumerable artists have been involved in works on the Arabian Nights. Representative illustrators of that period, Arthur Rackham and Edmund Dulac, created their own works for the Nights. Rackham illustrated The Story of Sindbad the Sailor in The Arthur Rackham Fairy Book (1933), whereas Dulac contributed largely to the popularity of the Arabian Nights and had a strong influence on other illustrators. His The Stories from the Arabian Nights retold by Laurence Housman, published by Hodder & Stoughton in London (1907), was a great success, and he went on to create Princess Badoura (1913) and Sindbad the Sailor (1914). He ardently studied Islamic book illustrations and Japanese woodcut prints (White, 1976). In particular, his third book (Figure 8.8) suggested the remarkable influence of Persian book illustrations (Kobayashi, 1993). His contemporaries, René Bull (1912) and William Pogany, produced The Arabian Nights (1915). The work by Kay Nielsen unfortunately remained unknown until it was finally published in 1977. Other notable illustrators are Charles Robinson for The Story of Prince Ahmed and the Fairy Perie Banou (1913), C. Folkard (1913), Monro S. Orr (1913) and Edward J. Detmold (1924). 183

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Figure 8.8: ‘Sindbad the Sailor’, by Edmund Dulac (1914)

It is true that depicting Arabian objects was a vogue at that time, but we notice a taste similar to Dulac’s in the colour plates by Léon Carré, the French illustrator. Carré also illustrated the Mardrus translation of the Nights (1926–32) (Figure 8.9). Before he did the work on the Nights, he designed illustrations for Anthar in 1898 and Le Jardin des caresses in 1914, both works with Arabian subjects (Ray, 1982: 418–419). His style, including composition, flat colouring, perspective, modelling and so on, looked conspicuously like that of Dulac. 184

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Figure 8.9: ‘Scheheraza¯d and King Shahrya¯r’, by Léon Carré (1926–32)

Although the first edition translated by J.C. Mardrus, in the Revue Blanche in 16 volumes [1899–1904], had no illustrations, Kees van Dongen, one of the leading Fauvists, also contributed to another edition published in 1918 and 1955. In Germany and Austria at the beginning of the twentieth century, the major influence on book illustration was that of Secessionist painters, in particular Max Slevogt. Bruno Cassirer published Ali Baba und die vierzig Räuber in 1903, which had a mixture of Slevogt’s lithographs and line drawings. Five years later Slevogt illustrated Sindbad 185

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism der Seefahrer for the same publisher (1908). Slevogt also worked for Die Inseln WakWak; Eine Erzählung aus 1001 Nachts (1921). Many American artists created their own visual world in the twentieth century. Needless to say, some artists had already illustrated the book before, but significant works were made in this century, such as that of Maxfield Parrish (1909), Milo Winter (1914), Eric Pape (1923), Virginia Sterett (1928) and Polish-American artist Arthur Szyk (1949 and 1954, posthumous publication). Parrish’s work had gone through over 14 printings in the edition of Smith and Wiggens. Pape’s title illustrations for each story have hand-lettered headings and intricate and clever designs. Scattered throughout are small vignettes based on Arabian motifs. Aladdin and the other story depicted by Sterett have a different facet compared with other illustrators’ works. Her paintings are in the atmosphere of the Far Eastern tastes. Arthur Szyk is said to have been the greatest twentieth-century illuminator

Figure 8.10: ‘Sindbad and the Roc’, by N.A. Ushin (1932)

186

The Evolution of the Arabian Nights Illustrations working in the style of sixteenth-century miniatures. His Nights images look like manuscript paintings of the modern age. In other countries, the Russian artist N.A. Ushin created original illustrations for the Salier edition (1929–33) (Figure 8.10),5 which owed the details of their background to Persian paintings. In Germany, F. Schultz-Wettel illustrated the Weil edition (1914). Artistic tableaux deserve a place beside book illustrations in the history of the visualization of the Nights. Marc Chagall was commissioned to illustrate the Arabian Nights in 1948 and made 13 ‘original lithographs’ in colour related to four tales, the Tale of Qamar al-Zama¯n and Budu¯r, Jullana¯r, ‘Abdalla¯h the Fisherman and ‘Abdalla¯h the Merman, and The Ebony Horse. Paul Klee created an oil and watercolour painting titled The Sailor; Battle Scene from the Comic-Fantastic Opera (1923), which is said to be the illustration related to the story of Sindbad the Sailor. Henri Matisse created The Thousand and One Nights (1950), a gouache on cut-and-pasted paper.

THE MODERN PICTURE BOOK: RECONSIDERATION OF ORIENTALISM IN ART

After the Second World War, worldwide media mix made it impossible to consider the history of the artistic representation of the Nights only from the viewpoint of book illustrations. Artists of all fields, such as cinema, theatre, comics and animation film, have had interests in the Nights. Although the animation film Aladdin produced recently by Disney has become too famous, many book illustrators still continue to create their own world of the Arabian Nights. Two book illustrators are of particular note. One is Ludmila Zeman (1947–) and the other is Margaret Early (1951–). Their works have a close relationship with traditional Islamic paintings. As for Zeman’s Sindbad, she copied the composition and landscape scenery from some Persian miniatures for its background. For example the image ‘Sindbad Saved a Life by Foreign Men’ (Zeman, 1998: 22) shows that this work was inspired from a traditional Persian illustration in a manuscript made in the fourteenth century.6 Early’s Ali Baba adopted the style typical of Persian paintings in which we could recognize flat colourings, usage of patterns and compositions common in Islamic art. The above187

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism mentioned ‘Orientalism’ is applied to a category of subject matter referring to the depiction of the Near East by Western artists in the nineteenth century. The same phenomenon happened in respect to Japan: ‘japonaiserie’, the depiction of Japanese subjects or objects in a Western style. In contrast, when we use the term ‘japonisme’, it suggests the more profound influence of Japanese aesthetics on Western art. The French term is used to describe a range of European borrowings from Japanese art (Berger, 1992). Looking back on the past, some artists, such as the Russian artist N.A. Ushin and especially Edmund Dulac and his followers, referred to Persian book paintings and skilfully incorporated them into their own illustrations. In the case of Nielsen, from the printed images (see Larkin, 1977), it is not obvious, but upon direct observation, one perceives the features of Islamic pictorial art reproduced in his matière and usage of delicate gold lines.7 On the other hand, the so-called Orientalists in the nineteenth century never depicted the Arabian Nights nor accepted the aesthetics of Islamic art. In the case of the Fasquelle edition (1908–12), many of the plates were facsimile reproductions from a Turkish manuscript, Matalı¯, and some Persian and Indian Mughal manuscripts kept at the Bibliothèque Nationale and the Museé Guimet in Paris. But such images have nothing to do with the story of the Nights.8 The significant difference between japonaiserie and japonisme should be applied also to Oriental taste paintings in the Western style and the Orientalist paintings which were influenced by Oriental (or Islamic) aesthetics. Oriental-style paintings were strongly connected with colonialism. Recently a few scholars have started to point out the existence of the Orientalist paintings in the field of the artistic tableaux (Sweetman). Art and the artists of the Nights have played a special role in the birth of Orientalism in art in the real sense of the term. That is because it always makes the artist imagine the culture in the Arabic or the Islamic world beyond the time. Furthermore, going beyond the text, modern artists have freely created their own visual world, inspired by the Nights and Islamic culture in brand-new media, including a set of artistic playing cards9 and 3D computer animated films.10 KAZUE KOBAYASHI Waseda University 188

The Evolution of the Arabian Nights Illustrations NOTES 1. On early translation of the Nights, see Macdonald (1900). 2. Macdonald (1932) suggested that a pirate version of the Nights published in Amsterdam in the same year (1706) has a frontispiece depicting a king with attendants and the same frontispiece was used for the English translation published after the Dutch edition. But I have had no opportunity to see these books, therefore it is not confirmed whether they are the same picture or not. 3. See Koppelkamm (1987). It is safe to say that the following are the keywords for understanding Orientalism in art: (1) Moorish style, (2) Spanish Alhambra, (3) Turkish bath, harem and Turkish café. In 1854 and 1856, Owen Jones wrote Alhambra and The Grammar of Ornament, which encouraged the painters to depict in such manners and styles. 4. In French, Bain turc ou bain maure (deux femmes), 1870. Now it is kept in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Massachusetts, see Ackerman (2000). 5. This illustration was inspired by a traditional Persian illustration in a manuscript. Matalı¯, Bibliothèque Nationale, Mss. Turc 242, fol. 84 verso. 6. Shah Nameh, the so-called ‘Demotte edition’, Vever Collection, Paris. See Grabar (1980: 40–41). 7. Meticulous research on the original works by Kay Nielsen made it possible to recognize the usage of gold. I am sincerely grateful to Ms Claudine Dixon, curator of the UCLA Armand Hammer Museum in California. 8. With the kind cooperation of Dr Amina Okada, chief curator of the Museé Guimet, I could identify most of the Persian and Mughal miniatures kept in the Museé Guimet and the Bibliothèque Nationale in 2001. The result is due to be published in another paper. 9. In 1993, a set of 92 artistic playing cards called ‘Magic: The Gathering’, based on the Nights, was released. See Moursund (2002). 10. In 1998, the Japanese artist Amano Yoshitaka designed for the first philharmonic production of the 3D/2D animated short film, 1001 Nights, which debuted at the Los Angeles Philharmonic April Concert. Another Japanese comic-artist, Monkey Punch, also made a 3D animated short film for the special exhibition on ‘The Arabian Nights’ to be held in the National Museum of Ethnology in Osaka.

189

List of Illustrated Books and Artists on the Arabian Nights (Before World War II) Fig. No.

18th 8.1

Date

Arabian Nights (1) Data of the Book

Arabian Nights (2) Illustrator

1704–17

The first edition of Les Mille et Une Nuits translated by Antoine Galland (1646–1715), Paris F The first English translation, London E LaHaye, Pierre Husson F Die Tausend und Eine Nacht, Leipzig G The Oriental Moralist [Chap Book], Newberry edition E The History of Sindbad the Sailor [Chap Book], London: E. Newberry edition E Arabian Nights entertainments, London, Harrison and Co. E

No illustrations

1706 1706–17 1731–1738 1784 1785

1789–1799 1791

190

8.3 8.4

Edward Frances Burney, Henry Coulbert and Thomas Stothard Pierre-Clément Marillier (1740–1808)

The Oriental Moralist,or the Beauties of the Arabian Nights Entertainments, by the Revd Mr Cooper, Elizabeth Newberry edition E The History of Sindbad the Sailor [Chap Book] London: Newberry edition E

anonymous illustrator

1802 1811 1814–1842 1814 1818 1819 1819 1822–1823 1824 1825–1843 1829 1829 1836

Edward Forster edition, London, W. Bulmer and Co. E J. Scott edition, London, Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown E The first edition of Arabic printed texts A Liverpool, Nuttall, Fisher and Dixon E Ledentu edition, Paris F The History of Sindbad the Sailor [Chap Book] Glasgow: J. Lumsden E The Arabian Nights, London, J. Booker E Gauttier, M. Edouard [AG], Paris F The History of Sindbad the Sailor [Chap Book] Glasgow E Maximilian Habicht edition, Breslau, Josef Max und Komp G Jos. von Hammer edition, London, H. Colburn, 2nd edition E The History of Sindbad the Sailor [Chap Book] E

Robert Smirke Robert Smirke No illustrations anonymous illustrator Huot anonymous illustrator R. Westall anonymous illustrator anonymous illustrator anonymous illustrator anonymous illustrator anonymous illustrator

1837 1838–1841 1839–41 1840

Paris, P.M. Purrat F The edition of Gustav Weil (vols.4) G The edition of Edward W. Lane(vols.3) E Galland’s translation with the dissertation of Silvestre de Sacy F

1842–45 1841 1843

anonymous illustrator Friedrich Gross William Harvey Pierre-Clément Marillier, and lots of French and foreign artists (F. Gross)*

The Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, London, Tilt and Bunje E Les Mille et Une Nuits : contes arabes, Paris, P.-C. Lehuby F

J. Gilbert Demoraine, Engravers are MM. Brugnot, Chevin, Pouget, Budzilowiez et Bernard.

1794

19th

Le Cabinet des fées in 41 vols (vols. 7–11 by Galland and vols. 38–41 by Chavis and Cazotte), Genève: Chez Barde, Manget & Compagnie F

anonymous illustrator anonymous illustrator anonymous illustrator anonymous illustrator

anonymous illustrator

French Revolution Wood-engraving improved by Thomas Bewick (1753– 1823) at the end of 18th C.

Edward W. Lane, An Account of Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians

Owen Jones, Alhambra, London

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism

1785–1789

Art History/Exhibition Historical Events

1851 1852 1852 1855

191

8.5

8.6

D. C. Johnston Abl-Hassan Ghaffa¯ri

1855 1862

The Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, Philadelphia : Lippincott, Grambo & Co. E

Van Ingen

1863–65

Dalziel’s Illustrated Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, London, Ward Lock and Tyler E

1864–65 1865 1865 1867 1868 1869

Librairie de L. Hachette, Paris F The Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, Edinburgh, William P. Nimmo E George F. Townsend’s edition, London, F. Warner and Co. E

John Tenniel, George J. Pinwell, Arthur B.Houghton, John E. Millais, John D. Watson, Thomas B. Dalziel and Thomas Morten Gustave Doré and others S. J. Groves Thomas B. Dalziel

The Arabian Nights’ Entertainments. A new edition, London, J. Dicks E Paris, Garnier Frère

Frederick Gilbert M.M. Français and others

1875 1876

Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves and Aladdin, or the Wonderful Lamp E

Walter Crane

Tausend und eine Nacht. Für die Jugend bearbeitet von C.F. Lauckhard, Leipzig G Les Mille et Une Nuits, Nouvelle Édition, Paris, Librairie des Bibliophiles F Albert Ludwig Grimm edition, Leipzig, J. M. Gebhardt G

W. Friedrich Adolphe Lalauze Heinrich Leutemann

1885–88 1889 1889 1890 1891

Burton’s first private edition E

No illustrations

Dutch edition, Nijmegen, E. and m. Cohen D J. C. Scott edition, London, Pickering & Chatto E

Gust Stanley. L. Wood

1891 1893

George Fyler Townsend edition, New York, Frederick A. Stokes Fairy Tales from the Arabian Nights edited and arranged by E. Dixon, London, J.M. Dent E

Thomas McIlvaine J. D. Batten

1894–1897

Burton Club edition by Nichols & Smithers E

1895–1896

Danish edition, Copenhagen, Det. Schubotheske Forlag Da

Albert Letchford and Adolphe Lalauze Hans Nic. Hausen

1878 1878 1881–82 1884 1885

Crystal Palace Exhibition, London Exposition Universelle, Paris The International Exposition, London

Exposition Universelle, Paris Claude Monet, Impression the Sunrise, the First ‘Impressionists’ exhibition(1874) Exhibition of Persian art, the South Kensinton Museum, London Exposition Universelle, Paris

Exhibition of Persian art, the Burlington Fine Arts Club, London Exposition Universelle, Paris Carpet Exhibition, Handelsmuseum, Vienna Exposition des Arts Muslmans, (Grand Palais) Paris

The Evolution of the Arabian Nights Illustrations

8.7

The Thousand and One Nights, Boston, Phillips, Sampson Manuscript commissioned by Persian King, Na¯sir al-Din Mirza P

Fig. No.

Date

Arabian Nights (1) Data of the Book

Arabian Nights (2) Illustrator

1896 1898 1898 1899

Edward William Lane edition, London, Gibbings E The Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, London, Service & Paton E Andrew Lang edition, London and New York, Longmans, Green and Co. The Arabian Nights, London, G. Newnes / New York, Dodge E

1899 1899–1904

Ferdinand Goebel edition, Wessel, s.n. unknown publisher G the first Mardrus edition(Revue Blanche ) vols.16 F

Frank Brangwyn Fred Pegram Henry J. Ford W. H. Robinson, Helen Stratton, A. D. McCormick, A. L. Davis, and A. E. Norbury. W. Schafer No illustrations

1900 1900 & 1908

20th

192

1903 1903

Ali baba und dei Vierzig Rauber, Berlin, Bruno Cassire G Burton Club’s edition E

1906 1906 1907

Amy Steedman edition, London, T. C. & E. C. Jack/ New York, E. P. Dutton & Co. Edward William Lane edition, London, C.A.Pearson E The Stories from the Arabian Nights retold by Laurence Housman, London, Hodder & Stoughton E

c1907 c1907 1908 1909 1908–12

W.H.D. Rouse edition, London, Ernest Nister/ New York, E.P. Dutton & Co. Norwegian edition of T. Vetlesson, Kristinia, Albert Crammermeyer Bruno Cassire, Sindbad der Seehahrer G The Arabian Nights retold by K. D. Wiggin and N. Smith E Mardrus edition, Paris, Fasquelle F

1910 1910

Kathleen Fitzgerald edition, London, Hill and Co. E Anna Tweed edition, New York, Baker Taylor Co. E

1910

Little Stories for Little People. [From the Arabian Nights] told by Githa Sowerby, London, Henry Frowde & Hodder & Stoughton E The Arabian Nights Entertainments, London, Constable & Co. E George Frilley edition, Paris, J. Tallandier F Mille et Une Nuit, Paris, P. Laffite et Cie F Aladdin und die Wunderlampe : tausend und einer Nacht, Berlin:Ullstein G Princess Badoura retold by Laurence Housman, London, Hodder & Stoughton E The Arabian nights, London, Adam & Charles Black Stories from the Arabian Nights. Edward W. Lane, edited and arranged for young by Frances Jenkins Olcott, London, G. G. Harrap & Co. E Tales from the Arabian nights, New York , H. Holt and Co. E Die Erzählungen aus den tausend Nächten und der einen Nacht, Carl Theodor Ritter von Riba edition, Beriln, W. Borngraber G Adolf Kohut edition, Wiesbaden, Volksbildungsverein The Arabian Nights Abridgements, Selections, London, Headley Bros E London, Headley Bros. E Sindbad the Sailor retold by Laurence Housman, London, Hodder & Stoughton E Ludwig Fulda edition of Gustav Weil’s translation, Berlin, Neufeld & Henius G The Arabian Nights Entertainments,London, Duckworth & Co E

1912 1912 1912 1912 1913 1913 1913 1913 1913

8.8

1913 1913 1913 1914 1914 1914

Max Slevogt Albert Letchford, Adolphe Lalauze and others F. M. B. Blaikie Lancelot Speed Edmund Dulac Walter Paget Louis Moe Max Slevogt Maxfield Parrish Persian & Turkish, Mughal miniatures and others (not yet identified) Gilbert James Leon D’Enno, Casper Emerson(co-illustrator) Millicent Sowerby

Exposition Universelle, Paris Arabian Nights: the subject matter of ‘Prize Competitions} in The Studio Exposition des Arts Muslmans, Pavillion de Marsan, Paris Exposition de Tissus et de Miniatures d’Orient, Musee des Arts Decoratifs, Paris

René Bull Lusien Laforge du Guydo Max Liebert Edmund Dulac Charles Folkard Monro S. Orr William Pogany F. v. Bayros J. J. Vrieslander George Soper George Soper Edmund Dulac Fernand Schultz-Wettel Milo Winter

World War I (1914–18)

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism

8.2

Art History/Exhibition Historical Events

1914

1923 1923 1923 1924 1924 1924 1925

193

8.9

8.10

Mardrus edition, ed. by E. Powys Mathers, private print for subscribers, London, The Casanova Society E Sindbad der Seefahrer, Wien, Deutsche Verlag fur Jugend und Volk Gesellschaft G Les Mille et une nuits des familles, Paris, Garnier F The Arabian Nights, London, Hodder & Stoughton E Orton Lowe edition, Chicago, John C. Winston E Ernst Raenau edition, Chicago, Julius Wisotzki E

Harry G. Theaker K. Mühlmeister Ruby Winckler Louis Rhead Kees Van Dongen T.B. Mackenzie H. L. Shindler A. E. Jackson W. & F. Brundage and J. Willis Grey Max Slevogt Elsie M. Kroll Ch. Picart Le Doux Eric Pape Paul Klee, Battle scene from the comic-fantastic opera “(Sindbad) the Sailor” oil & watercolor on paper Roderick McRae Richard Rothe Henri Lanos Edward Julius Detmold Adeline H. Bolton Rosa

1926–32

Mardrus edition d’Art, Paris, H.Piazza F

Léon Carré

1926

Max Henning translation, Wilhelm Fronemann edition, Leipzig, Ph. Reclam jun. G Histoire de la princesse Boudour, Mardrus Edition, unknown publisher F Leipzig, A.Auton G Tusind og en nat, København : Baltisk Forlag Da Hildegarde Hawthorne edition, Philadelphia, Penn Publishing E Arabian Nights’ Fairy Tales, New York, J.H. Sears & Co. E Salie, M. A. edition, Leningrad, Academia R Boston and New York: Houghton Mifflin Company E “The magic Horse, from the Arabian Nights, London : Victor Gollancz Ltd E”

Hanns Pellar

New York, Blue Ribbon Books E Las mil y una noches, Barcelona : Salvat Editores S The Arthur Rackham Fairy Book, London, George G. Harrap E The Children’s Sindbad, London : George G. Harrap E The Arabian Nights, New York : D. Appleton-Century E

Steele Savage José Segrelles Arthur Rackham C. Appleton Boris Artzybasheff

1926 1927 1927–28 1928 1928 1929–39 1929 1930 1931 1932 1932 1933 1935 1936

F.L. Schmied Rei Cramer Gudmund Hentze Virginia Frances Sterrett Charlotte Becker Nikolai Alekseevich Ushin Lacy Hussar Ceri Richards

Exhibition of F.R.Martin’s collection, V&A Museum, London/Exposition d’Art Oriental, China-Japon-Perse, Paris “Oriental Department, Hemitage, Leningrad(1926)

International Exhibition of Persian Art, Burlington House, London/ Exhibition Colonoale Paris

World War II (1939–45)

Abbreviations: E: in English, F: in French, G: in German, R: in Russian, D: in Dutch, Da: in Danish *Listed only the first edition *Omitted the books with anonymous illustrator after 1840

The Evolution of the Arabian Nights Illustrations

1914 1915 1916 1918 1918 1919 1920 1921 1921 1922 1922 1923

Children’s Stories from the Arabian Nights, by Rose Yeatman Woolf. Edited by Edric Vredenburg, London, R. Tuck & Sons E Paul Moritz edition, Stuttgart, Thienemann G Martha A. L. Lane edition, Boston, Ginn & Co. E New York, London, Harper & brothers E Hassan Badreddine el Bassraoui, conte des 1001 nuits, Mardrus edition, Paris, la Sirène F Aladdin and his Wonderful Lamp in rhyme, London E Stories from the Arabian Nights, London : Andrew Melrose E Tales from the Arabian Nights, London & Melbourne, Ward, Lock & Co. E The Arabian Nights/arranged by Helen Marion Burnside, London, Raphael Tuck & Sons E Die Inseln Wak Wak; aus 1001 Nachts, Berlin, Bruno Cassire G Sindbad the Sailor and other Arabian nights stories, Racine, Wisconsin, Weatern Printing E Histoire de Douce Amie conte des mille et une nuits The Arabian Nights, selected and edited by Padraic Colum, New York, The Macmillan Company E

CHAPTER 9

Body, Voice and Gaze: Text and Illustration in the Frame Story of the Thousand and One Nights

T

HIS ESSAY WILL EXPLORE the relation of text and image in three illustrated editions of the Thousand and One Nights from the perspective of inter-arts criticism. It will focus on the interaction between narrative and iconography1 in selected illustrations of the frame story of Nights depicting its female storyteller, Shahraza¯d. The aim is to ‘read’ visual art in connection with verbal art by use of Western critical theories on word-and-image relations, in particular those of Mieke Bal, who defines ‘reading’ in this context as ‘describing and interpreting images and stories both verbal and visual’ (1991: 9). Though scholarly concern with the connection between literature and the visual arts has increased over the last decade in Arab-Islamic and Middle Eastern studies, the division between textual and visual domains of investigation still remains prevalent.2 In her earlier work, Akiko Motoyoshi Sumi has explored word-and-image relations in the verbal representations of visual art, a singing performance, and architecture in classical Arabic poetry (Sumi, 2004).3 In this collaborative essay, we will investigate the immediate relationship between word and image established by illustrations reproduced alongside the text. We are particularly concerned with the relations among speech (storytelling), sight (viewing or gazing) and (representations of) the female body.4 In the frame story as it appears in the versions we shall discuss,5 Shahraza¯d, the queen of storytelling, must use her body to begin her words; the manipulation of body and word is her ruse (kayd6) to save herself from execution. The frame story consists of the work’s prologue and epilogue and is an integral part of the work, functioning as a huge 194

Body, Voice and Gaze parenthesis bracketing Shahraza¯d’s many stories. It explains why Shahraza¯d begins narrating tales for 1,001 nights and how she ends up marrying King Sha¯hriya¯r, who had intended to kill her: before this encounter, every night Sha¯hriya¯r would murder a maiden after taking her virginity. Shahraza¯d is this night’s intended victim, who must use her body before she can start telling her intriguing tales. We will examine how readers might interpret the relationship between text and illustration in two editions of the French translation, Le Livre des Mille Nuits et Une Nuit, by Joseph Charles Mardrus (1868–1949): one, published in 1926–32, was illustrated by the French painter Léon Carré (1878–1942), and the other, published in 1955, had illustrations by the more famous French painter Kees van Dongen (1877–1968), who had also illustrated the very first edition of Mardrus’ translation, published in 1918; van Dongen’s later illustrations were different from the first. In addition, we will explore the illustrations that Furusawa Iwami (1912–2000), a modern Japanese painter, ¯ ba Masafumi’s (1914–69) translation into Japanese, prepared for O published in 1966–67, of Richard Burton’s (1821–90) widely received English translation of the Nights (1885–88). All three artists illustrated the prologue, but only van Dongen and Furusawa furnished illustrations for the epilogue. For this comparative undertaking we shall assume the position of a reader who approaches the original text and the translations7 as well as the work of all three twentieth-century artists from the same perspective, within the same context and with the same assumptions, so that we have sufficient space for pursuing our specific topic. We shall therefore assume that all three artists read the same text and addressed the same audience; that they all worked within the same artistic traditions; that they all had recourse to the same cultural and ideological constructs that have come to be known, since Edward Said’s groundbreaking study, as Western ‘Orientalism’, and of which the Western reception of the Nights as well as the many pictorial representations of Arab women in closed quarters for well over a century are a significant part. Questioning any of these assumptions would open up different approaches to these illustrations and their relations to the verbal text(s); and so would many other questions of intertextuality, including questions about the connection of these images to the rest of the three artists’ work and specifically to other illustrations they have produced. 195

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism This study focuses on the depiction of Shahraza¯d in these illustrations as a narrating body, on the ways they make her body ‘speak’. Body is situated at a point of transition between narration and illustration. The physicality of body evoked in the narrative is embodied in the painting. We shall argue that both in the verbal text and the various and significantly different visual texts Shahraza¯d is transformed from the object of desire into the subject of life through the representation of her body.

TEXT AND ILLUSTRATION

Modes of illustration range from the placement of the verbal text within the visual text, as in Persian illuminated manuscripts,8 to the insertion of occasional illustrations in the publication of a text in book form, usually on separate pages, with or without captions. In the editions of the Nights under review, the ratio of the visual text to the verbal text is small: in volume one of the Japanese version of the Nights there are only 16 illustrations in a 500-page book, that is, approximately one illustration per 30 pages. In the light of this structural ratio, it is not surprising that the illustrations of the frame story appear to offer an emphatic, condensed image of a situation, with varying degrees of generality, rather than depicting a specific moment in the narrative. Many forms of illustration can be thought of as translations or, more correctly, intersemiotic transpositions (cf. Clüver, 1989) from one medium to another, from ‘telling/listening’ or ‘writing/reading’ to ‘showing/seeing’, from description to depiction. Like all translation, illustration is based on interpretation – it always conveys how the artist understood the verbal text, how he felt about it, and what he considered important. Moreover, illustrations may be designed to serve many functions – offering a faithful reconstruction of the verbal narrative in the new medium, providing an explication or clarification of the text, or commenting, questioning, criticizing and even subverting the text by suggesting a counter-narrative. But even a ‘faithful’ transposition of a narrative or a description will inevitably leave out much of what is denoted or connoted in the text, and include even more that is not there. Assuming that the illustration will be positioned next to the verbal text, artists rely on the reader to 196

Body, Voice and Gaze supply what is left out; they also count on his discovering and responding to what has been added. Some illustrators give ‘a plausible visualization of a scene described in the text’, others provide ‘a symbolic recreation of the ideas embodied in that scene’ (Mitchell, 1978: 18). An illustration may help the reader’s imagination and thus increase his enjoyment of the narrative, but it may also disappoint and irritate because the concrete image it offers falls short of what he had pictured in his mind. Similarly, the following descriptions of the illustrations, like any intersemiotic translation from a visual to the verbal medium, will leave out much of what is seen, and by the order in which items are described and by the terms chosen to describe them, they will also inevitably add to the visual text and may constrain the viewer/reader’s own reception or even provoke disagreement. Like the artists, we shall rely on the juxtaposition of text and image to enable the reader to assess the relation of our descriptions to the actual illustrations.

NARRATING SPACE: LÉON CARRÉ

Léon Carré, whose illustration of the prologue in the 1926 edition of Mardrus’ French translation we shall consider first (Figure 9.1), had become fascinated with Algeria during a visit in 1905; from 1909 onwards he spent his entire life in Algeria except for visits to Spain, Morocco, Paris and Alsace. In 1914 his miniatures for Le Jardin des caresses of Franz Toussaint were exhibited by La Société des Peintres Orientalistes Français; their success led to his illustrating the 12volume Le Livre des Mille Nuits et Une Nuit (1926–32) and other books (Thornton, 1989: 222). Carré’s illustration appears near the end of the prologue but does not depict specifically what is described on the opposite page.9 It shows the three figures whom the narrative places in King Sha¯hriya¯r’s bedroom, the king himself, Shahraza¯d and her sister Dunya¯za¯d, who has been asked by her to initiate the ruse of shifting the king’s desire from her sister’s body to her sister’s tales and is placed by the narrator at the foot of the bed, from where she also witnesses the intercourse. Having deprived Shahraza¯d of her virginity, the king is sexually satisfied and ready to kill her, but with her sister’s help she lays a snare 197

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism

Figure 9.1: Léon Carré (1878–1942), illustration for the prologue, in Mardrus (1926–32: I, opposite p. 8), watercolour and ink, 16.7 x 13.6 cm.

inviting him to another kind of pleasure: that of listening to stories. An uninterrupted activity of nocturnal enchantment begins, and in that activity he never achieves satisfaction, because it invariably ends with his disappointment – the conclusion of each story being delayed until the following night. The setting of this illustration shows a section of the king’s bedroom in perspective drawing, seen from a vantage point slightly above the 198

Body, Voice and Gaze scene, that of someone who is excluded from the diegetic space. ‘Night’ is indicated by the dark starry sky and the shadowy luxurious plants seen through the wide columned opening in the wall, and by the lamp hanging from the unseen ceiling as well as two huge candles in large ornamented candlesticks placed on the floor. These vertical objects of questionable practical effect are inevitably associated with phalluses. Carré pays attention to details not mentioned in the text: embroidered rugs and cushions, richly patterned wall decorations, a large plate laden with various fruits, and a curvaceous vase-like open container sitting next to one of the phallic candles. The king, whose rather effeminate bearing suggests a lifestyle of pleasure and dissipation, casually holds a glass in one hand and a rose in the other. The whole setting reeks of sensuous enjoyment and consumption. Shahraza¯d sits on the floor to the right, apart from the other two figures – the king on the raised bed on the left and her sister on the floor directly below him, with her back turned to the viewer. Shahraza¯d is shown in an almost frontal position, with her head and eyes lowered and her left hand raised in a gesture that indicates speech but also seems to be fending off advances. The king is likewise seen almost from the front, in a relaxed pose, his body placed at the same slight angle toward Shahraza¯d as hers is toward him; but his head is stretched towards her and thus seen in profile, with an expression of desire that may be directed toward her person or her story. In fact, it is difficult to tell the specific moment that is depicted here. Shahraza¯d’s ‘speaking hand’10 and her lowered eyes may suggest that she is asking the king for permission to tell a story (in accordance with the narrative); her sister’s right hand raised to her lips may indicate anxiety or suspense about the king’s response. But despite the fact that in the narrative Shahraza¯d’s storytelling begins immediately after intercourse with the king, in the picture the three figures are all heavily and meticulously dressed. Since Carré does depict female nudes in other scenes of the Nights, he obviously wanted to show Shahraza¯d dressed and without any suggestion of physical contact. In strictly realistic terms it might place this scene at the beginning of the encounter; but as we shall suggest, such terms may not be appropriate here.11 One of the most significant aspects of the image is the treatment of space. There is space between Shahraza¯d and Sha¯hriya¯r, with no expression of intimacy. Moreover, an imaginary line connecting the 199

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism two candlesticks, which becomes very evident from the viewer’s perspective, divides the space containing Sha¯hriya¯r and Dunya¯za¯d, which is visually closed off to the left, from the space inhabited by Shahraza¯d, which opens up into unknown dimensions behind her. The right side is that of the storyteller, illuminated by the lamp hanging above her (and directly above the nearby candle, whose flame is seen at the height of her body); the left is that of the audience. This invisible line may be seen to function like a wall obstructing the connection between Shahraza¯d, a possible victim of murder, and Sha¯hriya¯r, the possible murderer; but it also signifies a border that is to be crossed. According to Bal, there is ‘a direct relationship among viewing, desiring, and the impulse to fulfill the desire’ (Bal, 1991: 150). That impulse is shown in the face and posture of the king, whose face is not benign and who holds a cut rose in one hand, a conventional symbol of women enjoyed and destroyed. His posture, his attire, his couch with its swelling pillow, the cup he holds, all indicate that he is a man used to having his desires satisfied. But his head is stretched out toward a speaking figure sitting on her heels on the floor, fully dressed. To enter her space the king has to cross the line of the phalluses and get past the bowl of fruit waiting to be consumed. But his desire does not seem to be for sex as much as it is for the story he will be told. As Fedwa Malti-Douglas has argued, on this night the king’s desire for sexual satisfaction begins to be transformed into the desire for story listening. If the sexual motive is considered masculine, the substitution of storytelling introduces a motive suggesting a more feminine approach (Malti-Douglas, 1991: 21). Carré’s illustration, while in its symbols representing the strong sexual context of the encounter, can be seen as emphasizing the desire for hearing stories told. As we have already indicated, a significant means in creating this emphasis is Carré’s treatment of space, which to us suggests a display of the space of narration. The image clearly marks the areas of the storyteller and of her listeners from whom she is distanced, a distance that Shahraza¯d will fill from now on by spinning the texture of narration; and the relatively wide area of floor space that extends indefinitely to the right, as well as the opening up of the space above her into the night, function also as indications of time, of the duration of the storytelling not only that night, but of the entire Thousand and One Nights. 200

Body, Voice and Gaze Ostensibly the imaged scene is dominated by the king, as it should be, according to the narrative; but the highly controlled design directs all attention, that of the other two figures in the scene as well as the viewer’s, to the young woman on the right, who appears to control the situation, just as she will control her narration. Her posture, her lowered and inward-looking eyes, and above all her gesture are read by the viewer as expressing a seemingly effortless power – although this reading relies heavily on the illustrated narrative. It is a power portrayed as independent of erotic appeal – all references to the sexual context that is so crucial to the scene are visually conveyed by symbols. The world we view is closed in on itself and dominated by the ‘speaking hand’. What the illustration shows is the realm of storytelling. NARRATING BODY: KEES VAN DONGEN

Kees van Dongen offers a remarkably different view of the scene, which is still heavily imbued with marks of his dedication, from 1906 to 1912, to Fauvism with its bright colours and sketchy style. One year older than Carré and of Dutch birth, he lived from 1897 onwards mostly in Paris. Women were his favourite subjects. In 1910 and 1913 he travelled through Spain, Morocco and Egypt, whose exotic atmospheres attracted him and led him to accept a commission to illustrate Le Livre des Mille Nuits et Une Nuit by Mardrus, first published in 1918 (Turner, 1996–: IX, 134–135). Late in his life he provided new illustrations for another edition in three volumes. It is his images for the frame story of the 1955 edition which we shall discuss here. His compositional arrangement of the prologue illustration (Figure 9.2)12 is remarkable for the close-up view of Shahraza¯d and the king and the absence of the sister as well as of all references to the environment. The role played by Dunya¯za¯d in the narrative is thus omitted from the visual representation, whose focus is much narrower: it shows the king gazing at Shahraza¯d’s naked sensuous body, with an unmistakably male gaze, unlike that of Carré’s king who seems anxious to listen to a tale. In this watercolour picture, Shahraza¯d’s back is facing us. She is completely naked except for her hair band, earring and bracelets. We cannot see her face. Since her arms are raised and her torso is slightly turned we can see the tip of her left breast. Her hands are again 201

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Figure 9.2: Kees van Dongen (1877–1968), illustration for the prologue, in Mardrus (1955: I opposite p. 16), watercolour and ink 17.2 x 13.3 cm. © DACS, London and APG-Japan/JAA, Tokyo, 2005

‘speaking hands’ but this time with a much exaggerated gesture. We should in fact say ‘speaking arms’ or even ‘speaking body’ because her legs open wide, parallel with her arms, as if they were also a representation of the speaking gesture. The contours of her body are drawn by a line, and the roundness of her curvaceous limbs is highlighted in white, with the brownish yellow of her skin contrasted by the blue colour in front of her. The greyish blue looks like smoke and can be read as enveloping him in the haze of her tale. This illustration deals with the issue of seeing, presenting a voyeuristic image. Sha¯hriya¯r, with a turban on his head and apparently fully 202

Body, Voice and Gaze dressed, is gazing at Shahraza¯d. His eyes are disproportionately large, his nose narrow, his mouth full and sensuous in the bearded face; his body is insubstantial, dissolved in that greyish-blue haze. His gaze is intent, focused on the nude form before him. Since Shahraza¯d narrates the story with her entire body, to which Sha¯hriya¯r’s attention is directed, there is no telling whether he is more absorbed by viewing her body or by listening to her tale. This is van Dongen’s way of showing how the king responds to Shahraza¯d’s shifting the question of desire from the area of sex to that of text. In contrast to Carré, who relegated the expression of the sexuality of their encounter to erotic symbols, van Dongen fuses the king’s double desire into the one gaze. After all, their encounters during all those nights were also sexual encounters – but she had to make sure that his desire transcended sexual satisfaction. The king is not the only one to whose voyeuristic desire the image appeals. The artist’s way of rendering Shahraza¯d’s well-proportioned body will also appeal to the viewer’s desire, although van Dongen reserves the view of her nude front, including her breasts, her exposed genitals, and even her face, for the king. The picture thus suspends the viewer’s desire, but not entirely, because the intensity of the king’s gaze may invite identification and make the viewer feel as if he/she were seeing what the king is. In fact, although he appears to look at Shahraza¯d, Sha¯hriya¯r’s gaze seems to include the viewer. For the king to see only the young woman, his gaze should be directed a little lower and to the left. As it is, it seems to draw the viewer into the situation depicted. Interestingly, van Dongen defers the satisfaction of the viewer’s desire to see her face and body till the epilogue, just as the fulfilment of the king’s desire to listen to the end of a story was deferred every night for 1,001 nights. Connecting the image with the narrative text, we can read the king’s exaggerated gaze as suggesting still another implication: that in his mind there still lingers the pivotal significance of seeing with his own eyes. In the prologue, Sha¯hriya¯r is told by his brother of his wife’s infidelity, but he insists that he must see the facts with his own eyes. This eyewitness experience of misfortune, however, leads him astray, and he begins to murder maidens (Malti-Douglas, 1991: 24). It is only when he is introduced into the world of telling and listening that he returns to a path of righteousness. 203

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Figure 9.3: Kees van Dongen, illustration for the epilogue, in Mardrus (1955: III), opposite p. 816 watercolour and ink, 17.5 x 13.0 cm. © DACS, London and APG-Japan/JAA, Tokyo, 2005

Even more so than Carré’s illustration, van Dongen’s cannot be linked to a particular moment in the development of the narrative.13 It seems pointless to argue that, since Shahraza¯d is shown naked and gesticulating as if speaking, the sexual union must have taken place and she must have begun telling her first story. The focus is on the king’s gaze and her effort to turn her body from object of sexual desire into the speaking body that will appeal to another desire; the image symbolizes the gist of the entire situation. He is not portrayed as having been turned into a listener, yet. His sight and her speech intersect at the point of her body – there exists tension between vision and speech. His gaze may still kill. But he may also succumb to the power of the 204

Body, Voice and Gaze speaking body. The concentrated image that, in contrast to Carré’s, has so little narrative content conveys more than our description can, and it also refuses to surrender to the demands of verbal precision. Both images are illustrations and thus ultimately depend on the relations the reader establishes between them and the narrative they interpret. Kees van Dongen’s illustration of the epilogue (Figure 9.3) corresponds to the narrative scene in which Shahraza¯d reveals the existence of her three children to Sha¯hriya¯r, immediately after she has completed the last of her 1,001 nights.14 Dunya¯za¯d begs him to spare her sister’s life. In response, the king repents of his past behaviour and praises Shahraza¯d’s chastity, piety and wisdom. The picture shows Shahraza¯d standing and held in the king’s arms, as well as her three children and her sister. Shahraza¯d is shown in an upright semi-frontal position. She is naked, but her breasts and genitals are not displayed. Moreover, her contours are less firmly drawn and rimmed with white on the inside, since the colour indicating her skin tone has been applied only sparingly and unevenly – a technique not applied to the naked bodies of her children and her sister, where the skin colour fills the entire outline. But van Dongen had used it in the prologue, except that the white rim was narrower and regular and suggested an appealing roundness of body and limbs. The different treatment here undermines any erotic appeal. The reader’s voyeuristic desire remains unsatisfied. The nudity of Shahraza¯d, her children and Dunya¯za¯d is van Dongen’s contribution. While on a number of occasions figures are indeed said to be nude in the Nights, the narrative corresponding to the artist’s illustration of the epilogue has no mention of the women and the children appearing undressed. But as we realized in the case of the prologue illustration, it would be entirely erroneous to apply criteria of realistic representation to this image. The king is again almost bodiless; his place is marked by a wide shapeless cloak or mantle extended as if for protection around the figure of Shahraza¯d as well as the three children, from where emerge the king’s hands tenderly to hold her inclined head and reach around her back. His head is inclined above hers, his eyelids are lowered; hers are closed. The motif of the gaze, represented by wide open, oversized eyes, has been transferred to the sister, the witness of all that has happened between the king and Shahraza¯d during all those nights, and to the 205

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism two older children, a boy and a girl, fruits of their union like the toddler crawling toward the couple. The two are shown frontally, standing hand in hand against the large mantle but in a blue space of their own. The mantle is decorated with stars in a childlike design, and one star is shown below their feet, in the same blue space that is a sign of the night and of all those nights. The sister is seen partly hidden behind the mantle, against an even green that serves as background for the entire upper half of the image and has a thin crescent moon in it – suggestions, in this final illustration, of the Arabian nights that have spawned all those tales. This is an image of family, poignant in its celebration of harmony and fulfilled desires. The murderous king and deceived husband who had taken the lives of so many virgins after deflowering them, never fulfilled before, but changed by the 1,001 nights of storytelling during which Shahraza¯d has become a mother (as her body clearly indicates), is shown entering into a matrimonial relationship that will continue until the end of their days. That, of course, is again an interpretation of the illustration based on the narrative. It is in keeping with this interpretation that we see the children as symbols of what is to come, and understand their gaze as directed outward and into the future. The presence of Dunya¯za¯d in this depiction is warranted by the narrative, of course, since it is she who begs the king to pardon her sister and her future will be tied to the couple’s. She is seen from the front, with most of her body concealed by the cloak, but her head, neck and one arm and breast are visible, with her hand reaching into the couple’s space. The way she is shown reminds us both of how the king saw her sister in the first illustration, and of her role as observer and witness (almost as though she represented the narrator here). She has played a more active role in the narrative, and some of that seems expressed here as well. The king is visually the dominant figure, and his benign gesture also implies his power. Yet he is framed by the two women, whose heads appear on the same level. Shahraza¯d’s head is demurely inclined, as it behoves her in this situation. It is she who has led the king to this point, and it is she who, with her sister as her accomplice, has conceived of and executed the ruse. Shahraza¯d’s eyes are closed at this moment; but Dunya¯za¯d’s eyes are wide open.

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Body, Voice and Gaze BODY AS SPECTACLE: FURUSAWA IWAMI

Furusawa Iwami, born in Saga, started his career as a painter in Tokyo in 1927 and became one of the pioneers of Surrealism in Japan; in 1947 he organized the Japanese Association of Avant-garde Artists. The Museum of Furusawa Iwami was established in Yamanashi in 1975. A book illustrator since early in his career (see Shinohara and Akishima, 1998), he undertook illustrating Senyaichiya monogatari (The Thousand and One Nights) in 1966. Furusawa created two illustrations for the prologue, and there is also a watercolour frontispiece preceding the table of contents, with a caption below (in Japanese): ‘The two brother kings and the woman of the Jinn (the Prologue)’. The frontispiece may have little effect on the reader’s reception of the two pen drawings encountered in the body of the prologue; readers may be more likely to find it echoed in the watercolour illustrating the epilogue, which shows the two royal brothers again, now with their new brides, as we shall see below. But the first of the two pen drawings will unquestionably influence the reader’s reaction to the second, which we shall analyse here. The pen drawings have no captions, and there is no table of illustrations. But the scene depicted in the first15 is easily understood in the light of the narrative on the facing page (I, 28), which tells of King Sha¯hzama¯n seeing ten couples in amorous embrace, all of them his brother’s concubines and male slaves, and then noticing among them King Sha¯hriya¯r’s wife kissing and embracing her black slave: the pair in centre-front among the almost naked couples shown in the drawing is thus easily identified, and the illustration (which does not indicate who is observing the scene) highlights the event witnessed by Sha¯hriya¯r and his brother that set him on his destructive course. In keeping with our project we shall focus on the second drawing, because it is comparable to the prologue illustrations by Carré and van Dongen. But the reader of the Japanese version will inevitably relate the depiction of the encounter between Sha¯hriya¯r and Shahraza¯d, which illustrates the turn in the king’s attitude and behaviour, to the erotic scene portrayed in the first. The second pen and ink drawing (Figure 9.4)16 displays the body of Shahraza¯d in frontal view leaning back against King Sha¯hriya¯r on a large bed seen from a vantage point that is considerably higher than 207

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¯ ba figure 9.4: Furasawa Iwami (1912–2000), illustration for the prologue, in O (1966–67: I, 45), pen and ink drawing, 15.2 x 10.2 cm.

that of Carré’s illustration. Her nude torso is almost upright, her arms are raised; her right arm reaches behind and around the king’s head, her left is held up, gesturing. Sha¯hriya¯r’s head is inclined toward hers, with a tender, sensual expression on his bearded face, his eyes with lowered lids looking not at her body but at her face that is turned up 208

Body, Voice and Gaze towards his and seen in profile, with a large eye whose glance is directed at him. His left arm reaches below hers, with his hand touching the rim of her breast. Her legs, clad in loose light trousers, are spread wide; he has bent his right leg from behind over her right thigh and planted his stockinged calf firmly against her crotch. There is not the slightest sense of threat in this highly eroticized scene, no sexual tension, and the only expectation on the king’s part seems to be connected with what is visually expressed as a mouth that seems to speak, and a ‘speaking hand’. Their bodies appear at ease, and her narrative holds the king’s attention. The entire scene seems staged for the benefit of the external onlooker. All visual emphasis is placed on her white body displayed not so much for the king’s pleasure as for the viewer’s gaze. The body is only given in sensuous outline, with no internal markings besides nipple and navel and with beaded jewellery drawn to emphasize the curve of her breast. The white extends to their faces and, with a few internal lines, to his turban and the light tunic draped over his bent knee that visually provides an upward counterthrust to the rising shapes of the couple. Black contrast is achieved by the line that descends from the man’s eyebrows, lids and beard to her eye and full long hair that highlights the curve of her back and separates her nude shape from the king’s clothed body. All of this is framed by heavy, gorgeously embroidered drapes, technically the curtains of a four-poster bed but appearing in this high perspective like curtains pulled back to reveal a staged scene for an onlooker who is thus placed in the position of a voyeur. The only actual witness, Dunya¯za¯d, is seen crouching at the foot of the bed, filling the lower left corner of the image in a posture that suggests she has fallen asleep. The pattern of her dress imitates that of the curtains; she seems to merge into the surrounding design of the rugs and of the drapes. Altogether, the various patterns of bedclothes, curtains, rug and dress provide different tones of grey in order to make the white of Shahraza¯d’s body stand out more strikingly. There is even a black area directly behind the bed, somewhat awkwardly representing a pulledback curtain, above their heads – which may also serve as an indication of the night. A bowl of fruit, a Turkish pipe and a vase have been placed beside the bed in the lower right. The entire image is presented as a framed picture. The medium is used to good advantage. 209

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism This depiction is strong enough to provoke the viewer’s sensual desire. Visually, sexuality and corporeality are highlighted, particularly with his leg in the centre. One might even argue that the posture of the younger sister-maiden stimulates the voyeuristic desire. She is supposed to witness the scene but does not, which frees or even provokes the viewer into taking her place. But the viewer’s response will depend on what he, or she, brings to the image. There is nothing in the text that describes any of the details depicted here, and which we have had to put into words; the verbal text places the sister at the scene and at the foot of the bed (there is a bed in the text) and assigns her important functions, but it does not suggest anything about her reaction to witnessing the sexual union. Western as well as Japanese readers who know the Orientalist tradition of depicting women in closed quarters will most likely react quite differently to the image than readers who come across the illustration without much visual information. But all readers/viewers will find themselves assuming the voyeuristic gaze assigned to them by the image. One can argue that Furusawa has more explicitly fused into one image the two crucial events of the prologue – the intercourse and the narration – and that this has resulted in fixing the temporal moment more clearly than in the other two illustrations. The frankly displayed body (to the viewer, not to the sister) and the suggestively positioned leg emphasize the sexual aspects of this encounter; the relaxed physical intimacy and the signs of speaking and listening indicate that the union has taken place and the narration begun. While Furusawa’s illustration shares with Carré’s the representation of greater detail (though in an undefined place restricted to a large bed), it is much closer to van Dongen’s in its emphasis on the gaze, but it inverts the strategy (which is not to suggest that the Japanese artist was familiar with the Frenchman’s illustration). Van Dongen’s nude faces the king and is exposed to his penetrating gaze, which includes the viewer and draws him into the scene. Her front and her speaking face are left to the viewer’s imagination, which engages with her sensuously depicted back, quite aware of the voyeuristic desire it evokes. There is no sign of intimacy, and the king is practically disembodied. Furusawa stages a spectacle for the viewer’s benefit, where the raised curtains reveal to the onlooker’s gaze an eroticized scene with a satisfied couple absorbed in each other, undisturbed by the 210

Body, Voice and Gaze presence of the sleeping sister. Instead of Carré’s phallic candles we see the man’s leg planted between the woman’s legs, and the couple is bathed in a light that has no recognizable source and casts no shadows. The sister’s eyes are closed, the king’s are looking down at Shahraza¯d under lowered lids, her lively eye returns his looks, and only the viewer’s leisurely gaze takes in the entire self-enclosed scene. At first glance there is little that seems to connect Furusawa Iwami’s illustration of the epilogue (Figure 9.5) with the pen and ink drawing he made for the prologue. Even the medium is different. The frame as device is the same, but it is now in several colours and encloses an image rendered in watercolours, with a few defining contours drawn in. The original text has two versions of the epilogue, according to the Arabic editions. There is a short one that ends with the marriage of Sha¯hriya¯r and Shahraza¯d and his recognition of their three children. Both Mardrus and Burton adopted the longer version, in which the king, having pardoned Shahraza¯d and decided to marry her, summons his younger brother Sha¯hzama¯n, who decides to marry Dunya¯za¯d. In the shorter version, Sha¯hzama¯n does not reappear at the end. The longer version is characterized by an elaborate description of the display of the two brides during the wedding, which emphasizes their erotic charm (Malti-Douglas, 1991: 26). Furusawa’s illustration offers a representation of the wedding, which ¯ ba, 1966–67: VII, in the Japanese edition is described in four pages (O 432–435). The two sisters’ splendid beauty is said to fascinate the spectators, in particular the two kings. The narrative describes the two brides’ appearance before their bridegrooms as follows: Then the two Kings entered the Hammam-bath, and when they came forth, they sat down on a couch set with pearls and gems, whereupon the two sisters came up to them and stood between their hands, as they were moons, bending and leaning from side to side in their beauty and loveliness. (Burton, 1885–88: X, 58) It is to this moment that the illustration seems to correspond, showing the two brother-kings seated on a couch and looking at their respective brides. The narrative text says nothing about the colours of their dresses at this stage and only mentions the embroidered patterns of animals and birds – which the illustration omits. However, as we shall 211

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¯ ba (1966–67: VII): Figure 9.5: Furasawa, illustration for the epilogue, in O opposite p. 304 watercolour and ink, 15.5 x 10.3 cm.

see, at one point one of the dresses worn by Dunya¯za¯d is described as green, and so we can assume that the figure in the foreground is King Sha¯hriya¯r and the lady in red, Shahraza¯d. The verbal text has many ways of describing the two women as beautiful and charming.17 It is done mostly through figurative language, rarely direct description. Standard comparisons include the moon, as we have just seen, and also brilliant flambeaux that are outshone by 212

Body, Voice and Gaze the ladies’ faces – which may account for the candlestick in the background of the image, here with less phallic suggestiveness than Carré’s. Their beauty is also conveyed by the effect they have on others, likewise given in conventional phrases. The text says that Dunya¯za¯d’s bridegroom almost fainted when he saw her, filled with ‘amorous desire’ and ‘distraught with passion for her’ (Burton, 1885–88: X, 58). It is in this regard that the illustration almost seems to subvert the verbal statements. The seated men’s faces, seen at the height of the ladies’ waists, are serious, almost sullen. Sha¯hriya¯r, shown in profile, is looking up; his brother, seen from the front, barely raises his eyes to the two figures that pass between them. Both seem to stare, but not really at the women; their lips are closed. There is not the slightest sign of interaction or mutual acknowledgement between the two sisters and their bridegrooms. Instead, the sisters are involved with each other; Shahraza¯d, leading the way, is turning back to Dunya¯za¯d, who looks at her. The position of their heads – one in profile, one almost shown en face – are reflecting those of the respective grooms, and they look as much alike as do the brothers, all with features that seem to be imitating Persian drawings. Shahraza¯d’s left hand points forward, out of the picture; the angle of her arm is echoed by her sister’s, whose right hand is held up as if to display the heavy rings, part of the array of rich jewellery both are wearing. Their faces, high above those of the kings, as well as their posture and gestures, are self-assured. They are indeed beautiful and lovely, but do not look like brides. One of the ways to convey the women’s beauty in the narrative is the alternation of prose and verse. Each change of the sisters’ wardrobe is related in a combination of prose and verse description: ornamental prose is followed by verse quotations inserted as if presenting the highlights of a scene from a fashion show. This is how the younger sister is described in her sixth dress: Then they returned to Dunya¯za¯d and displayed her in the fifth dress and in the sixth, which was green, when she surpassed with her loveliness the fair of the four quarters of the world and outvied, with the brightness of her countenance, the full moon at rising tide; for she was even as saith of her the poet in these couplets:

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The Arabian Nights and Orientalism A damsel ‘twas the tirer’s art had decked with snare and sleight, And robed with rays as though the sun from her had borrowed light: She came before us wondrous clad in chemisette of green, As veiled by his leafy screen Pomegranate hides from sight … (Burton, 1885–88: X, 59) In the Arab-Islamic tradition, poetry enjoys a much longer and a far greater literary prestige than prose. It operates very much with set pieces and conventional phrases and images. It is obviously very difficult to render visual equivalents to the kind of descriptions exemplified above. Moreover, modern readers are likely to have a less than spontaneous response to these literary devices and may receive them as exactly that: conventional devices. One way to read Furusawa’s illustration is to see its apparent visual imitation of earlier modes of representation as a self-conscious exercise: it quotes conventional stylistic features and images characteristic of the culture that also produced the Thousand and One Nights against a background of loosely rendered architecture in modern style. In this respect it is similar to Furusawa’s prologue illustration, which also looks like a selfconscious exercise in style, in a different medium. The stylistic features evoked are neither Japanese nor European. The decision to depict a moment of the wedding ritual underlines its great significance for the entire Nights, since it represents the fulfilment of Shahraza¯d’s desire to wed the king officially who had conceived true love for her. In the course of the entire narrative the sexual act has been transformed from one yielding only physical, sexual pleasure to one with social and communal recognition that leads to begetting heirs (MaltiDouglas, 1991: 26). The illustrator likewise starts with the spectacular display of sexuality and physical intimacy and ends with the representation of the celebratory display of the two women’s adorned bodies in the wedding festivities. Furusawa’s illustration of the epilogue condenses the long, elaborate description of the magnificent ceremony into a compact, vivid panel. But while it thus highlights one of the important themes of the frame story of Nights, marriage, it goes about it in a curious way, suggesting neither joyous celebration nor impending matrimonial intimacy. What it carries across most convincingly is the elevation of the successful sisters above their men. 214

Body, Voice and Gaze VOICE, BODY AND VISION

What we have offered here is a ‘reading’ of the visual signs created by three illustrators as interpretations of the verbal signs originally contained in a compilation of tales in Arabic. This reading, which is in its turn an interpretation, suggests how the illustrations may affect a reader’s interpretation of the text as she looks at the images that accompany it. It is quite obvious that the interpretations of the illustrations presented here are not the only ones possible, and consequently each individual reader will create in her mind a different sense of the interaction of text and image. The comparison of these illustrations has brought to the fore, as expected, that the three artists not only read the verbal narratives differently, but that they also made a host of different decisions to render these readings into visual signs. Prominent among these decisions had to be finding a way to deal with narration, for not only were they dealing with a narrative text and therefore a narrator’s voice, but they also had to represent the decisive turn where a woman’s body viewed and used for sexual pleasure turns into the vehicle for a storytelling voice enjoyed for the tales it has to tell. The substitution of description and narration by depiction, and the challenge of representing ‘storytelling’ visually, were achieved, in these instances and with regard to this text, by focusing on the ‘gaze’ and the ‘body’. This included both the ways figures within the scene are shown to look at each other and the ways the viewer’s gaze is directed and manipulated. It involved in particular the ‘male gaze’ directed at the female storyteller’s body. That body is shown both as an object of desire and, primarily by means of the motif of ‘speaking hands’, as the locus of narration. The way the viewer is induced to gaze at the body and the body is presented to the viewer’s gaze will influence the viewer/reader of the illustrated text. Different types of media, ‘reading’ and ‘seeing’ interact at the crossing point of ‘body’ in the story. ‘Body’ imaged in the illustration concretely shows forth what the narrative signs at best suggest, especially in a text that relies on the descriptive devices considered above. The three artists reached decisions ranging from giving the twentieth-century viewer some sense, though in a clearly distancing fashion, of how body might have been depicted in the culture that spawned the text (Furusawa), to 215

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism boldly juxtaposing contemporary ways of visually representing body and gaze with (a contemporary version of ) the much older Arabic text (van Dongen). Another important decision facing the illustrator of the frame story concerns the selection of the moment to be represented, or the representation of temporal succession in the space of one image. All three artists chose to focus the illustration of the prologue on the two principals, with a marginalized Dunya¯za¯d included by Carré and Furusawa. The most crucial events are the sexual union and the evasion of death by initiating the storytelling, or the change of the body from object of desire to source of narration, and the consequent transformation of gazing to listening on the king’s part. Léon Carré relies on symbols and spatial arrangement to suggest both phases simultaneously while subduing the body’s erotic appeal, Kees van Dongen confronts a nude speaking body with a penetrating gaze in a spatially and thereby also temporally abstract setting, and Furusawa Iwami displays her nude body for the spectator while showing her speaking to the attentive king in what appears to be post-coital tenderness. Furusawa’s illustration for the epilogue continues the motif of spectacular presentation, though now of splendidly adorned bodies, in a somewhat ambiguous visual version of the wedding parade. His depiction will direct the reader/viewer’s interpretation of the narrative text along rather different lines from those suggested by van Dongen’s final image with its emphasis on the transformation of King Sha¯hriya¯r’s sexual desire into wisdom and intelligent judgement through listening to her stories, and of Shahraza¯d, who was the object of desire in the beginning and has, in the end, become the subject of life. AKIKO MOTOYOSHI SUMI Kyoto Notre Dame University and CLAUS CLÜVER Indiana University

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Body, Voice and Gaze NOTES 1. According to Bal, ‘iconography means, literally, writing by means of images’ (1991: 178). 2. For studies on this subject, see Rosenthal (1971) and the recent collection edited by Grabar and Robinson (2001). 3. Sumi’s book examines the relationships between poetry and non-verbal arts in the verbal representations of a wall painting, a wine goblet, a performance of song, and the Alhambra palace in a selected group of Arabic qası¯dahs (odes). 4. The issue of a female ‘body’ has been studied both in the Arab and the nonArab worlds. In this essay, we mostly rely on chapter 1 of Malti-Douglas (1991) on Shahraza¯d. For other studies on the Nights, see Clinton (1985) and Gerhardt (1963). Malti-Douglas likewise deals with body in her more recent book, Medicines of the Soul (2001). Leila Ahmed has an article on Arab culture and women’s bodies (1989). For studies of the female body and literature see also Conboy, Medina and Stanbury (eds) (1997), and Lomperis and Stanbury (eds) (1993). For the Arabic text of Nights, see Alf laylah walaylah, 2 vols. (Cairo: Matba‘at Bu¯la¯q edition, 1252/1835). 5. Margaret Sironval’s essay in the present volume, which deals with the widely different versions of the frame story that appeared in early French and English editions, points out that in some of them Shahraza¯d’s story was marginalized and many of the details our discussion takes for granted were missing. 6. The Arabic word kayd is usually understood as ‘ruse’, ‘craftiness’, ‘deception’ or ‘trick’. 7. The translations by Burton and Mardrus are in fact not very much alike and may not have been based on the same version of the ‘original’, which has of course a complex oral and written history behind it. Nevertheless, since our comparisons of the images with the text do not rely on precise verbal phrases and descriptive detail (with one exception), the assumption that the three artists illustrated ‘the same text’ may be a defensible stance, although van Dongen’s and Furusawa’s choice for the illustration of the epilogue may have been in part determined by the considerable differences in the versions they read. 8. A representative work of this kind is the Sha¯hna¯meh of Ferdowsi. For a work on illustration in Persian lithographed books, see Marzolph (2001), and on the illustration and the text of the Sha¯hna¯meh, see Clinton (2001)’. 9. This picture appears opposite the passage narrating the vizier’s attempt to dissuade his daughter Shahraza¯d from sacrificing herself to the king. That is obviously not the situation depicted here. 10. The hands of the two women function as what Bal calls ‘iconographic symbols conveying the idea that those figures are speaking’ (1991: 104).

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The Arabian Nights and Orientalism 11. The illustration has no caption. But in the table of illustrations it is designated by a text (I, 199): ‘Le roi ne fut pas fâché d’entendre le conte de Schahrazade’ (The king was not displeased to hear Shahraza¯d’s tale). This would indicate a specific moment in the narrative, especially since the phrase is a direct quotation from the text (11). However, it is more likely that the table with its texts is the work of the volume’s editor rather than the illustrator, and we cannot be sure that Carré had this line in mind when he set to work. 12. As in the edition with Carré’s illustrations, there are no captions under the image in this volume, but there is again a table of illustrations that refers to the images with short phrases (I, 835). For the one in the prologue it reads, ‘Et Schahrazade commença’ (And Shahraza¯d began), a direct quotation from the text (17) that occurs on the page following the illustration; for the one in the epilogue, the caption is ‘Schahrazade pardonnée’ (Shahraza¯d pardoned, III, 831). Again, the table with its texts is most likely the work of the editor and should not be read as the artist’s verbal guide to the images. 13. This statement is contradicted by the captions in the tables of illustrations of both volumes, whose main function is to direct the interested reader to the images; however, if the tables are indeed the work of the respective editors of these volumes, these captions are readers’ interpretations, even though they are quotations from the illustrated text. 14. The colour plate appears between pp.816 and 817 of volume 3, which contain the ending of the final tale. The ‘Conclusion’, which corresponds to the epilogue, begins on p.818. 15. In contrast to the colour plates, the pen drawings have been inserted directly into the text, close to the passages they illustrate. The first appears on p.29. 16. The second drawing (Figure 9.4) appears on p.45, and the narrative about Shahraza¯d’s encounter with the king begins on the verso of this page, with the scene including the king and the two sisters described on p.47. 17. The colour plate has been inserted between p.304, where the description of the ‘fashion show’ begins in vol.7, and p.305, where it continues.

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CHAPTER 10

The Image of Sheherazade in French and English Editions of the Thousand and One Nights (Eighteenth–Nineteenth Centuries) INTRODUCTION

W

HEN WE APPROACH the long history of the compilation of the Thousand and One Nights, covering more than ten centuries and continuing until today with new translations and new editions, we note that already the early manuscripts, far from being a fixed text, bear the mark of much recombining. Indeed, the tales have been transformed several times: first orally, then in writing, later recombined, and collected for the first time in Iraq around the tenth century. They were then repeated and enlarged with other tales and then re-collected in Egypt in the fourteenth century. By the end of the eighteenth century, new manuscripts were drawn up, including the Nights, as we know them now in their complete edition. Manuscripts, translations, editions of the Nights bring new variants as the story passes on from one translator to another, from one edition to another, and from one illustrator to another. This transmission is linked to historical, cultural and social developments. The first story from the Nights, the story of Sheherazade, is usually indicated as the frame story.1 The frame story of the Nights is without doubt one of the most powerful narratives in world literature. This lies in the unique relationship it seals between sexual and narrative desire. Sheherazade is the principal character in the inaugural account: every 219

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism night, Sheherazade risks death. Sheherazade has become the literary myth of the collection at the beginning of the twentieth century and everybody knows the character and her story. Sheherazade has inspired all sorts of musical, dance, theatrical and film adaptations since the early nineteenth century. But this has not always been the case. In the early European editions, the frame story was presented as an introductory pretext to a collection of entertaining stories. Ever since Galland’s first European translation, the story of Sheherazade has been the object of different representations in text and in illustrations. What adjustments and variations took place between the story and its different editions? We have followed these developments in the French and English editions of the Nights.

THE FIRST EDITIONS

The printed history of the Nights begins in France, with Galland’s translation published in 1704 by the widow of Claude Barbin.2 This bookshop specialized in travellers’ tales and fairy tales. Barbin was also the printer of the Bibliothèque orientale of Barthélemi d’Herbelot (see Laurens, 1978). The publication went quickly. The manuscript of the Arabian stories was submitted to the Chancellery for approval a week after Galland had submitted it to Fontenelle,3 who wrote in his Approbation, ‘I have read, by order of my Lord Chancellor, this manuscript wherein I find nothing that ought to hinder its being printed. And I am of opinion, that the public will be very well pleased with the perusal of these Oriental stories.’ Barbin’s bookshop was granted the sole publishing rights for six years. The first volumes were rapidly out of print. This success meant that new editions were needed quickly. Barbin profited from this success, rather like Sheherazade stirring up the Sultan’s interest by never finishing her story at the end of the night. At the end of each story of the Nights the editor leaves the end in suspense to stimulate the reader’s expectations. Such suspense at the end of each story was meant to kindle the reader’s anticipation. This edition was an immediate success, and conquered the whole of Europe through translations into various European languages. This first edition of the Nights served as a basis for the translation of the stories into different languages throughout Europe for more than a century until 1840. 220

The Image of Sheherazade Indeed, England was the first country to translate the Nights from Galland’s French version (Caracciolo, 1988: I, 80) and it was this translation that circulated there until the discovery of new Arabic manuscripts and their translation by Edward Lane, beginning in 1839. The Nights have been known in England since 1706, in an anonymous translation called the ‘Grub Street’ edition. Grub Street was a place where many printers-bookshops were to be found. Publishers were divided into two principal districts: one to the north around Smithfield, and another on London Bridge. The most distinguished printers were to be found around Fleet Street and St Paul’s Churchyard.4 Grub Street was in reality a district of London where ‘grey’ literature or marginal (hack) literature was printed. Here, bookshops set up business to escape censure. Grub Street also evokes the dredges of literature. Here dirty stories and pornography, which eat and destroy society from inside, were printed: in fact, both Cromwell and Milton lived there. All sorts of scurrilous writing pornographic as well as seditious, was spawned in Cripplegate and along its main street. It had already passed its peak of prosperity by 1700, and by the time Pope attacked it, and the Grub Street Journal flourished, and Samuel Johnson lived there . . . and the word Grub street might have suggested a refuse ditch and a verb meaning ‘to dig up, to destroy by digging’ as well as ‘a small worm that eats holes in bodies’ (Johnson) – all connotations which Swift exploits in the course of the Tale. (Rogers, 1972: 22)5 Grub Street was the refuge of revolutionary writers, poets pursued by bailiffs, and Huguenots. It served as a prostitutes’ lane as well. The cultural and social history of Grub Street revived for us by Pat Rogers reminds us that the street was situated in the district of St Giles where the Rag Fair was held. Grub Street has acquired nobility thanks to the famous writers who were born there or lived nearby. Swift’s correspondence in the years between 1709 and 1712 makes allusions to it several times. Defoe was one of the most famous citizens of what he called the ‘Republic of Grub Street’. The author of Robinson Crusoe was born near Grub Street, at Cripplegate, where his father was a butcher and he died in a lane a few metres from this same street. 221

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism The street, as a sally, was referred to as the Grub Street Nights’ Entertainments. It is not certain whether Grub Street was thus called in order to parody the title of the anonymous translation of the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments published in this same street, or perhaps inversely, that the jargon Grub Street Nights’ Entertainments was the reason behind the change of the French title One Thousand and One Nights to Arabian Nights’ Entertainments. For sure, the first Arabian Nights was not published as a children’s book, but it quickly figured among those books which children might be expected, or might not be allowed, to read (Avery and Briggs, 1989: 10). The first copy of the Arabian Nights (or, as it also calls itself, the Arabian Winter-Evenings Entertainments) is in the holdings of the Bodleian Library.6 It contains the first translations of these Arabian tales into English, only a year after their previous appearance in French. It could be one of the two only known copies dated 1706. The other copy is in the Princeton University Library. These copies are illustrated. This first illustrated copy is in two volumes. It was printed for Andrew Bell, at the Cross Keys and Bible in Cornhill. After the publication of the Arabian Nights in Grub Street, several English reissues appeared simultaneously in 1708 at Andrew Bell’s Bookshop. Bell and his successors pursued the publication of the English translation of Galland until the business was taken over by a group of publishers directed by W. Taylor. Finally, towards 1720, the rights of the collection fell into the hands of Robert Osborne and Thomas Longman. Longman remained long beyond the nineteenth century the editor of the Nights. From 1728 onwards, the distribution of Galland’s One Thousand and One Nights spread throughout the counties of the kingdom. Dublin was the first capital to publish the book. Then, chronologically, the cities of Manchester, Edinburgh, Liverpool and Glasgow published them. As early as the end of the eighteenth century, the English translation from Galland was exported to Halifax, Montreal, Philadelphia, New York and Sydney,7 and also in the form of chapbooks (See Neuburg, 1968; Duval, 1991) the Nights circulated throughout the English-speaking world. Chapbooks had their origin in the cheaply produced and widely disseminated folk-tales which the London publisher-booksellers around Aldemary Churchyard distributed. They were published in the mid-seventeenth century and continued to be 222

The Image of Sheherazade issued in vast quantities right into the mid-nineteenth century. The chapbook was easily packed into bundles for distribution by pedlars throughout the country, and was sold as popular literature for the masses, adults, young people and children alike.8 Then, some translators, almost forgotten today, produced new translations from the French by Galland into English, such as the English scholar, Richard Gough in 1798,9 the Reverend Forster in 1802 and G.S. Beaumont10 in 1808.11 In England, the Nights would rapidly take two roads: editions for adults and for children. This development as children’s literature was introduced by the Newberys, who published an extract of stories, chosen from the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, revised and corrected, as early as 1790 (Johnson, [1790]). John Newbery was the first publisher-bookseller to recognize the potential of publishing books for children as the social base of a widened book market. From 1840 onwards, English editors published new translations of the complete book. Translations such as those of William Lane in 1839, John Payne in 1882, and Richard Burton in 1885 were based on the editions of Arabic manuscripts, complete editions of the stories by Boulac for the one made in Cairo and by Macnaghten in Calcutta (cf. Chauvin, 1900–03: IV, no.263, 182).

THE PRINTED TEXT OF EARLY FRENCH AND ENGLISH EDITIONS OF GALLAND

In the printed text of Galland’s translation, Sheherazade is hardly mentioned, neither in the text, nor in the pictures.12 Sheherazade remains backstage as a story producer, completely outside the drama of the first account. And it is not even clear that she is risking death with every story she is telling.13 In the text, Sheherazade is simply not described in physical terms. Probably, her beauty is not mentioned because the female body and physical seduction play no part in her performance. The desire she awakens in the Sultan is less ‘sexual’ than ‘textual’. She incites in the king other kinds of desires; a thirst for knowledge (what happens next?), and a yearning for a resolution (what happens in the end?). She initiates a pattern of desire, conclusion and renewal free from the damaged and broken cycle of Shahriyar’s sexual 223

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism pattern.14 It is certain that in the Parisian and provincial editions in France, neither the scene of the frame story nor the character of Sheherazade is illustrated. Why did Sheherazade figure in neither the introductory story of Galland’s Nights nor the illustrations of the time, and why did she appear later? We shall examine the story of Sheherazade in French and English editions of the Nights, and more particularly from the following three perspectives: 1. The English translation of the French title 2. The French and English table of contents 3. The illustrations The Titles of the French and English Editions15 In the Galland tradition, the book is entitled Les Mille et Une Nuits, contes arabes (Figure 10.1) which in English would give One Thousand

Figure 10.1: Title page of Galland’s translation, Les Mille et Une Nuits, contes arabes (1704: I)

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The Image of Sheherazade

Figure 10.2: Title page from the English translation of Galland, Arabian Nights’ Entertainments: consisting of One Thousand and One Stories (1706)

and One Nights, Arabian Tales. It was however translated into English as Arabian Nights’ Entertainments: consisting of the Thousand and One Stories. In other words, Arabian Stories became Arabian Nights. The use of two different words is important: ‘entertainment’ and ‘stories’ (Figure 10.2). The first English edition transforms the original title, and this affects Sheherazade’s role and opens up a new way of reading. The temporal aspect (that is, the number of nights) is replaced by the narrative aspect (that is, the number of stories). The first part of this English translation ushers in a new reading space. Arabian tales have become Arabian Nights. Is this due to the anonymous translator or to the editor aiming at making the collection more attractive? This erroneous translation created confusion between the number of nights and the number of stories. We no longer speak of 1001 nights 225

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism but of 1001 stories. The title of the English edition takes us even further away from Sheherazade’s drama. She is no longer perceived as being threatened by the end of the night nor does she need to interrupt her story at the right moment. The suspense, linked to the time on which her life depends, is thus suppressed and so her narration is no longer associated with the idea of a sequel on the following day. Table of Contents The frame story appears in the French table of contents under the heading ‘The Story of the Genie and the Lady Shut Up in a Glass Case’. Similarly, the English heading of the frame story in the table of contents is identical to that of the French edition: ‘The Story of the Genie and the Lady Shut Up in a Glass Case’. This choice is probably due to the editor, Galland having delivered his French manuscript with no headings. For whom was Galland writing? To whom was the editor appealing? This heading, in fact, corresponds to readers’ taste in the early eighteenth century, preferring to enjoy themselves by imagining the coming episode of an amorous intrigue. It achieves this effect successfully, letting the reader anticipate one of the dramatic situations of the story, not that of the king, but that of the cheated genie, thus thrusting Sheherazade and her strategies aside. Of the dramatic situations of the two female roles, the heading indicates the publisher’s preference for the kidnapped Lady who uses her charms to avenge the imprisonment imposed on her by the genie. In fact, the bodily constraint used by the Lady (collector of lovers) on the two men, is preferred to the ‘verbal’ seduction used by Sheherazade to please the Sultan and save her own life. Thus, this choice of the ‘Lady episode’ leads to a different reading of the story and hides Sheherazade’s scheme: she is left in the shadows of the printed text. She fades away behind the ‘Lady Shut Up in the Glass Case’ who takes her place in the table of contents and whose story identifies itself with that of the introductory account. The headings of the first English edition, compared to the original French edition, reinforces the fading of Sheherazade, by suppressing the suspense linked to time and to the interrupted story.

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The Image of Sheherazade The Illustrations: The Image of the Lady Shut Up in a Glass Case Another formal element contributes to the fading of Sheherazade, namely, the first illustration of the frame story. The first two illustrated editions appeared simultaneously in France and in England in 1785. The French edition of the Nights, published in the 30-volume Cabinet des fées, was illustrated by Marillier,16 who opens the first illustration of the frame story with the sequence relating to ‘the Lady Shut Up in the Glass Case’, namely ‘the Lady’ of the genie showing two kings the silken cord on which the 98 rings are threaded, and asking the two kings for their rings (Figure 10.3). This full-page engraving is underlined with the caption ‘These are the Rings of all the men to whom I have granted my favours’. The illustrator’s choice confirms the taste of the editors, who had preferred this episode to identify and entitle the frame story. On the other hand, the English translation of Galland published by Harrison in 1785 in the Novelist Magazine, illustrated by Thomas Stothard,17 has no illustration for the frame story. The ten pictures for the Nights are the last of Stothard’s work for the Magazine. However, Stothard illustrates a few years later, in 1826, the frame story as ‘The Genie and the Lady Shut Up in a Glass Box’ for J.F. Dove’s English Classics. In England, after Harrison, we must wait until 1802, when a new translation of Galland’s text by the Reverend Edward Forster appears, published by William Miller. The first illustration of the frame story by Robert Smirke18 (Figure 10.4) paves the way for the opening story illustration in England and continues the French illustrating tradition: the title of his engraving is ‘The Lady Shut Up in a Glass Case’. Robert Smirke, however, introduces a variation to the French illustration by choosing another sequence from the ‘Lady episode’. The Lady has just seen the two kings hidden in the tree, she is sitting up on her knees, her chest naked, one arm pointing towards the two men who bend forward to her answer-call, the genie is asleep beside her on the ground. This choice, when compared to the French edition, comprises a difference in the reading of the episode. Robert Smirke, in line with the suspense suggested by the text, prefers the opening sequence of this episode, whereas the French illustrator, Marillier, illustrates the final scene where the Lady obtains the favour of the two kings, thus preventing the reader from imagining any other end to the adventure.

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The Arabian Nights and Orientalism

Figure 10.3: Marillier’s illustration of the ‘Lady and the Glass Case’ in Galland, Le Cabinet des fées 1785:III

Contrary to the French illustrator, the English illustrator uses a technical device: the ecstatic point is far better rendered when the final scene itself is not represented, but rather the climax just before. Thus the imagination remains free. Some other French and English editions make the same choice, illustrating the frame story by the episode of the Lady. In both French and English editions, the frame story is merely seen as an exploration of the theme of infidelity and betrayal. As a result, the drama accompanying Sheherazade during the whole narration does not correspond to the promise of entertainment that Galland, the first translator, and all his successors and editors had guaranteed to the 228

The Image of Sheherazade

Figure 10.4: Robert Smirke’s illustration of the ‘Lady of the Glass Case’, in Forster, The Arabian Nights’ Entertainments (1802)

readers of the Nights. Furthermore, it was current practice to choose the engraving theme from the titles of the stories listed in the table of contents. Therefore, the picture usually acts as a mirror to the titles and determines the way in which the story is read.

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The Arabian Nights and Orientalism AN EXCEPTION: THE PIRATE EDITION

However, there is an exception. We find the scene of the frame story presented in a French edition printed in Holland. These editions made by Protestant refugees were considered as pirate editions. Holland welcomed Protestants driven out of France by the Reform. Holland played a mediating role thanks to its tolerance of all religions, Protestant, Catholic or Jewish, and by welcoming students who came from all over Europe to study there. Claude Barbin’s widow negotiated with the Protestant bookseller refugees who looked for manuscripts to publish and she herself bought copies of French works from Dutch booksellers that she sold afterwards in Paris. Certain Dutch booksellers settled in towns where fairs were held, in Germany, in spite of protests from their German colleagues who saw their trade threatened. This was the case of Johan Ludwig Gleditsch, for example, who succeeded in settling in Leipzig in Germany. It was he who printed the German illustrated edition of Die Tausend und Eine Nacht in 1711.19 It is probable that the Arabian stories of Galland were caught up in this commercial network. In any case, Galland’s Mille et Une Nuits were printed in The Hague by Pierre Husson, and the title page specifies ‘according to the copy printed in Paris’ (suivant la copie imprimée à Paris) (Figure 10.5). Chauvin notes that this ‘pirate’ edition appeared in The Hague in 1706. It was the same date as the first anonymous English edition (Grub Street, published by Andrew Bell). The bookseller enriched the copy he received from Paris with illustrations. The eight volumes are decorated with copper-engraved frontispieces signed by the engraver D. Coster (D. Coster fecit). Of the four kinds of frontispieces, divided into groups of two volumes, only volumes 3 and 4, illustrating the frame story, do not bear the name of D. Coster. This frontispiece is the one decorating the first volume of the first edition of the anonymous English translation of the Arabian Nights from 1706. The illustrations of the first two volumes of the Grub Street edition published in London in 1706 ‘at the Cross Key and Bible in Cornhill’ might indeed be a copy of volumes 3 and 4 of the French edition published in The Hague by Pierre Husson. The scenes look alike, but numerous details of the engraving show that one is the copy of the other.20 Considering that a copy involves a simplification of the original 230

The Image of Sheherazade

Figure 10.5: Frontispiece of The Hague pirate edition of Les Mille et Une Nuits, contes arabes, translated in French by M. Galland, according to the copy printed in Paris, illustrated by D. Coster (1714:IV)

image, we can observe that numerous details illustrated in the first English edition were simplified as compared to the French/Dutch illustrations, especially regarding the decoration (four-poster bed, curtains, bedroom dome, blanket folds, female characters and so on). Another significant remark concerns volume 3 and 4 of the French/ Dutch edition, where the name of the illustrator D. Coster is not mentioned. We can suppose that an unknown artist accomplished the illustrations of these specific volumes. The copy of such illustration in volume 1 of the Grub Street edition also entailed some modifications but was all the more facilitated as the original images were anonymous. All those changes point to the fact that the illustrations of the Grub Street first edition are copies of the French/Dutch illustrations. In addition, the caption of the French/Dutch edition is ‘Les Mille et Une 231

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism Nuits’, incorrectly translated from the French into English as ‘The Thousand and One Stories’. In the frontispiece illustration, Shahriyar and Sheherazade are in bed sheltered by a canopy from which a heavy curtain hangs down. Next to Sheherazade, hardly hidden by the folds of the curtain, stands Dinarzade, waiting to prompt her sister to continue the story. The scene is in the spirit of gallant eighteenth-century engravings; it is the golden age of frontispiece and ornate titles, a kind of advertising and introductory leaflet in which the artist tries to sum up in a single page the subject of the book he is illustrating. The frontispiece of this first volume of the Nights evokes the theme of intimate surprise, amorous relationships, very much in fashion under the artist’s pen.

THE EMERGENCE OF THE SHEHERAZADE FIGURE

After the illustration of the frame story in the French edition printed in The Hague by Pierre Husson, Sheherazade’s illustrative life begins in France and in England in 1840, almost a century and a half after her long editorial absence. Romantic editions open their title pages, frontispieces and vignettes to the illustration of the frame story. This second period of illustrations is at the same time an important period for English translations. First of all, Edward Lane in 1839–41, then John Payne in 1882–86 and Richard Burton in 1885–88 produced their translations during this period. In France, at the end of the nineteenth century there was the version of Joseph Charles Mardrus. His translation of the Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night came out in 1899–1904, published by La Revue Blanche21 without illustrations. Sheherazade’s drama moved the literary world as soon as her picture appeared in 1840. Consequently, the tales as such became less important than the conditions imposed on her to remain alive. Her arrival on the scene as a champion of freedom against despotism made her into a model for Victorian society which believed that fiction had the power to change reality. The famous French Bourdin edition,22 in 1840, for the very first time presents the famous threesome: Sheherazade, King Shahriyar and her sister Dinarzade (Figure 10.6). The frontispiece imagined by E. Vattier 232

The Image of Sheherazade

Figure 10.6: Frontispiece of the Bourdin edition of Les Milles et Une Nuits, contes arabes (1838–40)

was engraved on wood by the famous trio of engravers, John Andrews, Adolphe Best and Isidore Leloir.23 Above the Nights threesome is a medallion with the portrait of Galland, the translator, narrator and author. At the bottom of the engraving are a number of motifs obviously inspired by the narrator and representing both the East and the various things of the tales-themes. Thus, it is now the first picture that points to the structure of the Nights. 233

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism The East as evoked by the picture in the Bourdin edition is one of many shapes and colours. The abundance of details is characteristic of the representation of the distant Eastern civilisations to which the Nights supposedly belong. A mixture of Arabian houses and palaces, Indian elephants, Chinese dragons, sabres, vases and fabrics from the East, all resembling war booty, points to a merely symbolic and at best fragmented knowledge of the East. At the same time, in England, Sheherazade’s status is essentially marked by Lane’s new and complete translation under the title The Thousand and One Nights, commonly called The Arabian Nights’ Entertainments illustrated by W. Harvey.24 In a scrupulously careful way, Harvey reproduces costume and architectural details to such a point that this edition became tantamount to A pictorial Journal of Lane’s travels in the East. The documentary aspect of the Book of Nights, indeed, appears more interesting than the stories. In Harvey’s illustrations, Sheherazade makes a discreet entrance in a three-panelled headpiece reproducing an Islamic architectural scene of a dome in which she occupies the centre with her sister Dinarzade, while Sultan Shahriyar is almost occulted. And now, the English title on the first page is no longer the Thousand and One Stories but the Thousand and One Nights, also printed for the first time in Arabic at the bottom of the page. In this edition, each sequence of the frame story is illustrated (that is, the threesome), the sequence of each picture is linked to the sequences of the text, and the idea of travel in the East underlines the Orientalism of the period. Now, the English translators such as Lane, Payne and Burton who disposed of the Arabic texts continued, however, to translate the frame story in the same way as Galland and the English translators of Galland, even after 1840. But here two of them, Lane and Burton, explain, each in his own way, in a note about their work. Lane says he has deviated a little from the original Arabic because the sentence was turned in a such way as to make us suppose that Sheherazade was determined to kill the King. Lane explains: I here deviate a little from my original, in which Sheherazade is made to say, ‘Either I shall live, or I shall be a ransom for the daughters of the Muslims, and the cause of their deliverance from him’. Upon this, the Sheykh Mohammad Eiyad has remarked, in 234

The Image of Sheherazade a marginal note, ‘It would seem that she had contrived some stratagem to prevent his marrying again if he determined to kill her: otherwise, the mere killing her would not be a means of rescuing the others maidens.’ (Lane, 1883: 35, no.29) The choice of the English translators, their comments and notes have contributed considerably to the varied images of Sheherazade, from a brave woman who has decided on a plan to save herself and the other women of the kingdom, to a self-sacrificing woman offering herself as a willing victim ready to immolate herself. Lane privileges the picture of Sheherazade’s more conventional femininity, which corresponds to the Victorian image of a lady. According to the conventions, Sheherazade is more acceptable as a willing victim, with no precise project, and devoted to the Sultan. Lane’s translation presents Sheherazade as a Victorian lady strongly desiring to be a noble martyr. This image will be retained by the Dalziel brothers for their illustration of the frame story.

THE VICTORIAN SHEHERAZADE AND THE OTHERS

The Dalziel brothers commissioned the most impressive illustrated children’s book edition of the Nights, published by Ward and Lock in two volumes in 1864, previously issued in 104 weekly parts.25 For this a number of artists were engaged, and this book is an outstanding example of the true classic of the 1860 school of illustration. Dalziels’ illustrated Arabian Nights Entertainments uses Galland’s translation. However, William Harvey, illustrator of Lane’s Arabian Nights, supervised this edition without doing the illustrations. Famous illustrators produced the engravings, Arthur Boyd Houghton, Sir John Tenniel, Millais, Pinwell, Watson and the Dalziel brothers themselves. The illustration of ‘The Sleeping Genie and the Lady’ in Dalziels’ edition is one of Tenniel’s masterpieces. Moreover, Houghton and Dalziel illustrated the frame story, bringing us two Sheherazades. The first is a Victorian representation of Sheherazade figuring on the frontispiece of the book. She appears as a European image of femininity, an admirable figure (Figure 10.7). However, the caption under the illustration reads ‘The Sultan Pardons Scheherazade’. Is this Victorian 235

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Figure 10.7: Frontispiece of Dalziel’s Illustrated Arabian Nights’ Entertainments (1864–65)

Sheherazade guilty of something? Is it because Victorian morality wanted Sheherazade to be guilty of something? The second representation of Sheherazade in Dalziels’ illustration is the Eastern version of the famous threesome (King Shahriyar, Sheherazade and Dinarzade) and it can be found a few pages down. The scene looks like an Orientalist painting. 236

The Image of Sheherazade Sir Richard Burton’s translation in England and Dr Mardrus’ in France opened a new path for the Nights. In Sir Richard Burton’s 17volume translation,26 his full-length photo is to be found in the first volume. Sheherazade has again disappeared and is replaced by Sir Richard Burton, storyteller, translator and author. Richard Burton kept the Arabic passage where Sheherazade undertakes to divert the King from the cycle of vengeance and death. She says, ‘I wish thou wouldst give me in marriage to this King Shariyar; either I shall live or I shall be a ransom for the virgin daughters of the Moslems and the cause of their deliverance from his hands and thine’ (Burton, 1885–88: I, 15), but Burton underlined it with one of his anthropological-ethnological notes of which he had the secret. This rather laconic note leads the reader to the distorted view of Sheherazade. Burton presents her in a note as an avenging virgin with the intention of killing the King by saying, ‘Probably she proposes to “Judith” the King. These learned and clever young ladies are very dangerous in the East’ (Burton, 1885–88: I, 15). In agreement with his friend, the painter Albert Letchford,27 Burton takes up the original illustration of the frame story and re-edits, in another form, the picture of the Lady calling the two kings hidden in the tree. But he does not represent Sheherazade. After Burton’s and Mardrus’ translations, the theme of the Nights was reproduced in a number of artistic forms, including painting, music, dance and opera. At the turn of the twentieth century the Nights, which had started their career in Europe as a source of instructive entertainment and as an example of good conduct, drifted towards being a symbol of loose morals (or libertinage in French). Mardrus’ erotic interpolations and Burton’s own obsession with black male sexuality can thus be found in the interpretation of RimskyKorsakov’s opera Sheherazade, composed for the Ballets Russes. Misinterpretation of the story of Sheherazade reaches a high point in the Libretto written by Michel George-Michel, who was inspired by Mardrus’ Mille Nuits et Une Nuit. He changed the story thus.28 Sheherazade becomes identified with an adulterous, treacherous wife (like the Lady in the glass case and the first wife of Sultan Shahriyar), and in the final act, she kills herself with a knife because in the end she feels guilty. Sheherazade no longer tells her tales to the Sultan in order to save the other maidens of the realm, but in order to save herself, because like other wives she was unfaithful. 237

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism The Ballets Russes of Serge Diaghilev were invited to London in 1911 to perform at the Royal Opera House’s Coronation Season. The first performance of Scheherazade ‘fell some what flat . . . it perturbed the prudish who objected to love-making between black slaves and white women’ (quoted in Spencer, 1995: 97). Newspaper comments included phrases like ‘unclothed humanity’ and ‘love affairs of painted orientals’. Charles Ricketts29 wrote in his Journal, ‘In Scheherazade the performers put such beauty into their deaths that we became amorous of death’.

THE IMAGE OF THE NIGHTS AND THE IMAGE OF THE EAST

The Nights have a strong metaphorical potential. The One Thousand and One Nights form an image and ever create images. They have been challenging the imagination of writers and artists of different epochs, and the individual images they have created form a collective imagery with distinguishing characteristics according to the period. In this sense, the shifting imagery of the Nights is a collective social and historical phenomenon. There is a dynamic interrelationship between the written text and its readers. And the fact is that the preface to Galland’s edition of the Nights invites readers to perceive the text as a mirror to reality as much as to fiction. Orientalism, being the sum of knowledge pertaining to the East, indeed pre-existed the discovery of the Nights in Europe. Accounts such as those written by the travelling erudites and antiquarian scientists sent to the East by King Louis XIV of France, as well as the information collated there by religious missionaries and sent back to Europe, played an important role in inducing scientific studies of the East. To which should be added the fact that as of the second half of the seventeenth century, and as the image of the threatening Turkish enemy started to fade away, objective conditions were found for a more positive and less biased European perception of the East, based not on fear and on hostility as had hitherto been the case, but on a delicate mixture of hunger for scholarly thoroughness and of thirst for exotica. The golden age of the earlier Orientalism rested in fact upon scholarship. In this first period, Orientalism rested on the scholar’s knowledge of the East: Barthélemi d’Herbelot’s Bibliothèque orientale is the culmination of this first Orientalism. The idea of the East makes 238

The Image of Sheherazade itself especially felt in the movement of ideas rather than in the imaginary. The realism which satisfied the scholars did not, however, prove sufficient to quench the thirst of a general readership eager for exoticism. Yet this discerning readership demanded that the exotica it was being offered be based on reality, and not merely the result of some delirious imagination. As a result of which, the emerging image of the East remained for long hesitant and even contradictory, balancing uneasily between Oriental scholarship on the one hand, and the sensuality of the harems on the other. Then came the Nights, which happily reunited the two components of this early Orientalism: reality and fiction. In this second period, the East in fiction or in the Nights has been used as an image of the East. Now, it is Galland himself who introduces these two ways of looking. In his preface to the first volume of the Nights, Galland strongly contributes to the mixing of the two components. He writes, ‘Thus without suffering the fatigue of going to look for these people in their countries, the reader will have the pleasure here, of seeing them act and hearing them speak. We have taken care in keeping their characters, and not wandering from their expressions and their feelings.’30 Thus the Nights is caught up in a network of reality and fiction. What you read in them may be taken for truth there. Despite his notoriety, Galland was a scholar elected to the Royal College in 1709, a fact that guaranteed the credibility of such a reading, that Eastern reality may be found in the fiction of Arabian stories. Moreover, by indicating that one could know the peoples of the East (‘without suffering the fatigue of going to look for these peoples in their countries’), Galland makes the journey to the East of dreams useless. This same theme of the journey on the spot is fascinating, since it resembles the one proposed later by the French writer Xavier de Maistre in A journey round my room (Voyage autour de ma chambre, Paris, 1794).31 The imagination is appealed to and confronted not with the reality of life in the East, but with one’s own reality: that of a Western reader. We are already at the beginning of exoticism here. The invitation to the journey is left to the initiative of the reader and his own imagination. In the nineteenth century the spirit of travel changes and takes on individual characteristics. More than the journey itself, it is the 239

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism traveller who becomes interesting: what he has seen, how he has seen it, his impressions. The traveller is the hero of the journey, sometimes a mythical hero of the journey. It is his autobiography, his travel notes, which bear witness to a reality, which is none other than his own understanding. This new spirit of travel had an influence on the reading of the Nights of the Romantic period. The two famous nineteenth-century English translators, Edward Lane and Richard Burton, had both travelled and stayed in the East. Their translations were augmented by an extremely abundant display of notes in keeping with the dawning movement of anthropology and ethnology. They provided information on the peoples of the East, their morals and customs. This information given in fragments concerns all kinds of subjects, and these notes appear well informed and veracious. The stories of the Nights support this ‘real’ but outrageously ‘exoticized’ East. The Nights, as a written fiction and as an account of reality, are used to reveal not the East but a personal East. Now we turn to the paintings of Orientalist painters who actually travelled. The ‘real’ Orient is the one proposed by talented illustrators such as Léon Carré, illustrating Mardrus’ Arabian Nights, and Edmund Dulac at the beginning of the twentieth century.32

CONCLUSION

Variations in pictorial representations are the expression of different readings of the story by contemporaries. By introducing the illustrated dimension into the interpretative process, the perspective is changed with a different awareness of a text that titillates the imagination. It must never be forgotten that this text remains unchanged in the printed versions. With or without illustrations of the frame story, Sheherazade, for more than ten centuries now, has always kept her word: her collection of stories. MARGARET SIRONVAL Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique

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The Image of Sheherazade NOTES 1. See the résumé of the frame story in Chauvin (1900–03: V, 188, no.111). 2. The complete edition was published in 12 volumes between 1704 and 1717 (Galland in bibliography II). Cf. Reed (1974). See also, about the distribution of the Nights in France, Répertoire alphabétique des livres publiés de 1778 à 1789, manuscrit français no.22019. This manuscript recorded printing requests and the number of editions made by bookshops, and mentioned the name and address of the editor. 3. Bernard le Bouyer de Fontenelle (1657–1757) was poet, dramatic author, moralist and philosopher. Louis XIV’s Chancellery put him in charge of the permission to publish, he gave his approval to the publishing of the Mille et Une Nuits, contes arabes, in these terms: ‘Ces contes arabes doivent plaire encore par les coutumes et les moeurs des orientaux’ (Mille et Une Nuits, 1704: Approbation, tome 1, de Galland, 1704). 4. On London printers and distributors, see the map established by Spufford (1981: 114). 5. In 1830 Grub Street was turned into Milton Street (Rogers, 1972: 353; see also Eisenstein, 1990). Grub Street itself awaits its historians. A series of fascinating studies by Robert Darnton has illuminated the ‘low-life of literature’ in eighteenth-century France and the strategic role played by frustrated literary careerists in translating Enlightenment doctrines into radical political action (Darnton, 1979). Glimpses of a distinctive subculture associated with literary hackwork are offered in scattered studies devoted to early sixteenth-century Venice and Elizabethan London; but the full picture, which would provide a needed perspective on French eighteenth-century developments, has not yet been sketched. The same point applies to the development of a profitable clandestine book trade and black markets for forbidden books (Eisenstein, 1990: 98). 6. The Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, 4 vols., 1706–17 were bought in 1962 for the Bodleian Library (Peter Opie Collection, 31). 7. For the American editions, see Chauvin (1900–03: IV, 79, no.222f.). 8. In France, the Nights met with the same kind of distribution under the name of the Bibliothèque bleue. Aladin and the wonderful lamp was the first story distributed by the Bibliothèque bleue (La lampe merveilleuse ou Histoire d’Aladdin, Troyes, Pierre Garnier, c.1730); see Sironval (forthcoming). 9. Richard Gough (1735–1809) was an English antiquary. His collection of books and manuscripts is in the Bodleian Library, Oxford. He seems to be the first known translator after the anonymous translation of Grub Street (see Gough in bibliography II). This translation was re-edited a few years later, without the translator’s name, as The Arabian Nights’ Entertainments consisting of One Thousand and One Stories, 3 vols. with preface (1820). But we have

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10. 11.

12. 13. 14. 15. 16.

17.

18.

19.

identified the preface of the work as being identical to the one signed by Richard Gough in the 1798 edition. Gough, a grand erudite, recognized for his talents as a great translator of the French language, translated The History of the Bible which the Frenchman David Martin had published in 1700 in Amsterdam. The colophon is inscribed ‘Done at twelve years and a half old’. He has kept his reputation even today as the author of an important topographical work on England. See Lister (1993). To our knowledge, Beaumont was the first translator to inscribe on the title page the One Thousand and One Nights, instead of the One Thousand and One Stories. For G.S. Beaumont’s translation, see Jonathan Scott, Arabian Nights Entertainments, 6 vols. (1811). The first five volumes of Scott give G.S. Beaumont’s translation revised and expurged. See also Chauvin (1900–03: IV, no.284, 113). Sironval discussed this point in ‘Shahra ¯ za ¯ d, à l’aube du romantisme’ (1992). Eva Sallis offers an excellent over all view of the story of Sheherazade in ‘Sheherazade/Shahrazad: A Commentary on the Frame Tale’, in Sallis (1999: ch.5, 85–107). See also Musawi (1981). See Sallis (1999: 102) about these observations discussed with complementary arguments. Some of the ideas were already evoked by Naddaff (1991), Malti-Douglas (1991) and Sironval (1990). For commentaries about the title of the Nights, see Pinault (1992: 1–16). The Nights are in volumes VII to XI (see Galland 1785; Chavis 1788–89). Marillier (1740–1808) was a French draughtsman. Having first studied painting in Dijon, in 1760 he became Noël Hallé’s pupil in Paris. Like Charles Eisen, whose associate he became, he devoted himself mainly to illustrating the amorous poetry. During the period of French Revolution (1789–95) he found a role in organizing the national festivals in Melun. Thomas Stothard (1755–1834). At the age of 15 the proprietor of Novelist’s Magazine employed him to make a series of designs. He had been an industrious worker during a long life, and his designs have been estimated at 4,000. Robert Smirke (1752–1845). In 1772 he entered the Royal Academy schools and exhibited several times. In 1804 he was elected the keeper of the Royal Academy, but he was known to have expressed strong and revolutionary opinions, and the King refused to sanction his appointment. He continued to paint subjects of domestic nature, in which a quiet humour chiefly predominated, and his later years were devoted to Don Quixote, Gil Blas, Shakespeare and the Arabian Nights. See under Galland in bibliography II. The forward was written by Talander. Talander is the nom de plume of August Bohse, professor at the Ritter Akademie de Liegnits.

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The Image of Sheherazade 20. We have not held this English edition in our hands, and we can say nothing on the question of the original illustration, as the Dutch edition we disposed of came from the French collection of the British Library and was already a fourth edition. Our commentary is based on the reproduction of the original page in this English edition according to Hunt 14 (plate from Opie collection, Oxford). 21. The English translation of Mardrus’ French by Edward Powys Mathers appeared in 1923. 22. Les Mille et Une Nuits, contes arabes, with ‘roughly 1000 wood engravings included in the text’ (Paris, Bourdin, 1839–1840). The German edition of Gustav Weil’s translation uses again the illustrations of the French edition (Bourdin) and includes them at the same places in the text. About Weil’s translation, see Walther (1987: 44–45). 23. Adolphe Jean Best (1808–79), Isidore Leloir (born c.1803) and John Andrews became partners and founded an engraving studio. The three names became inseparable and their initials are to be found on the same engraving. Their studio obtained the gold medal at the 1844 Exhibition for the engravings for the l’Histoire des Mongols and the Livre des Rois (Paris, Imprimerie nationale, 1839). 24. W. Harvey (1796–1866) was apprenticed to Thomas Bewick and chiefly employed upon common trade-work on copper and wood. In 1840, he became largely employed for the illustration of works published by Charles Knight. 25. See under Dalziel in bibliography II. Reviewed in Athenaeum (London), 12 Nov. 1864 (no.1933) p.641; quoted in Engen (1991). 26. See Chauvin (1900–03: IV, 83). 27. Albert Letchford became the Burtons’ ‘court painter’, as it were, frequently working in their house, and both he and his sister admired, or rather worshipped, Sir Richard down to the ground. Even as a child, Albert Letchford was remarkable for his thoughtful look and his strong sense of beauty. At 17 he studied art in Venice. From Venice he went to Florence, where he met the Burtons. We then find him in Paris, in London, in Egypt, where he acquired that knowledge of the East which helped him later when he illustrated the Arabian Nights. 28. Rimsky-Korsakov was inspired by Galland’s translation to compose his musical suite. But Michel Georges-Michel specially wrote a poem to accompany Diaghilev’s ballet. The poem tells the adventure of Shahriyar’s first wife, of his servants with the Palace’s black slaves. The fours songs are called: I. The Sultan’s sadness. II. The negroes triumph. III. The massacre of the favourites. IV. The death of Sheherazade. 29. Charles de Soussy Ricketts (1866–1931) was an illustrator, book designer, publisher, painter, author, art critique and art collector. He studied Japanese

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The Arabian Nights and Orientalism art extensively. His first encounter with theatre design came when Ricketts provided sets costumes for his friend Oscar Wilde. In 1923 he became Art Advisor to the National Gallery of Canada. 30. ‘ainsi sans avoir essuyé la fatigue d’aller chercher ces peuples dans leurs pays, le lecteur aura ici le plaisir de les voir agir et de les entendre parler. On a pris soin de conserver leurs caractères, de ne pas s’éloigner de leurs expressions et de leurs sentiments’, Galland (1704, Preface). 31. Xavier de Maistre (1763–1852). Being an officer in the Sardinian Army, he followed General Suvaroff to Russia. But his protector fell into disgrace and he was reduced to earning his living by painting, being a landscape artist of great ability. He entered the Admiralty Office and became in 1805 librarian of the Admiralty Museum. After a short stay in Paris in 1839, he returned to St Petersburg, where he died at the age of 89. It may be said that de Maistre became a writer by chance. When a young officer at Alexandria, in Piedmont, he was arrested for duelling. Having been sentenced to remain in his quarters for 42 days he composed his Voyage autour de ma chambre. He added some chapters later, but did not judge the work worthy of being published; but his brother, however, having read the manuscript, had it printed (1794). 32. Concerning these illustrations, see Sumi’s and Kobayashi’s contribution to this volume.

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Bibliography I. Arabic texts of the Arabian Nights Aladdin – Histoire d’‘Alâ al-Dîn ou La lampe merveilleuse, texte arabe, publié par H. Zotenberg, Paris, Imprimerie nationale, 1888. Alf laylah wa laylah, 4 vols., Cairo, Maktabat al-Jumhu¯rı¯yah al-‘Arabı¯yah, n.d. Alf laylah wa laylah – Tausend und Eine Nacht. Arabisch. Nach einer Handschrift aus Tunis, eds. Maximilian Habicht and Heinrich Leberecht Fleischer, Vols.I–XII, Breslau, Josef Max und Co., 1825–43. Alf laylah wa laylah, ed. ‘Abd al-Rah.ma¯n al-S.aftı¯ al-Sharqa¯wı¯, 2 vols., Cairo, Bu¯la¯q, 1252/1835; Baghdad, Maktabat al-muthanna¯, c.1965. Alf laylah wa laylah – The Alif Laila or, Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night, Commonly known as ‘The Arabian Nights’ Entertainments’, ed. W.H. Macnaghten, 4 vols., Calcutta, W. Thacker and Co., St. Andrew’s Library – London, W.H. Allen and Co., 1839–1842. Alf laylah wa laylah, 4 vols., Cairo, Mat. ba‘a al-Wahbı¯ya, 1297/1879. Alf laylah wa laylah – The Thousand And One Nights (Alf Layla wa-Layla): From the Earliest Known Sources, Arabic text ed. with introduction and notes by Muhsin Mahdi. Part 1: Arabic Text, Part 2: Critical Apparatus, Description of Manuscripts, Leiden, E.J. Brill, 1984. Part 3: Introduction and Indexes, Leiden, E.J. Brill, 1994. Ali Baba – Macdonald, Duncan B. ‘“Ali Baba and the forty thieves” in Arabic from a Bodleian Ms’, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society (London, 1910), 327–386. II. European translations of the Arabian Nights cited in this volume Arabian Nights Entertainments Consisting of One Thousand Stories, told by the sultaness of the Indies, to divert the sultan from the execution of a bloody vow. . . Tr. into French from the Arabian mss. by M. Galland . . . and now done into English, 4 vols., London, A. Bell, 1706. The Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, Consisting of One Thousand and One Stories, 3 vols., London, F.C. Rivington and Co., Longman, Hurst, Rees, etc., 1820. The Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, Consisting of One Thousand and One Stories, illus. Thomas Stothard, 3 vols., London, J.F. Dove (Dove’s English classics), 1826. The Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, Translated from the Arabic, a New and Complete Edition, illus. S.J. Groves, Edinburgh, Nimmo, 1865.

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The Arabian Nights and Orientalism Beaumont, G.S. (trans.), The Arabian Nights’ Entertainments or The Thousand and One Nights, trans. from the French of M. Galland, illus. Craig, 4 vols., London, Ballintine and Law, Duke Street, 1808. Benndorf, Paul (trans.), Märchen aus Tausend und eine Nacht, Stuttgart, Effenberger, 1886. Burton, Richard (trans.), A Plain and Literal Translation of the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, Now Entituled The Book of the Thousand Nights and a Night, with introduction, explanatory notes on the manners and customs of Moslem men and a terminal essay upon the history of the Nights, 10 vols. and 6 vols. suppl., Benares [= Stoke Newington], Kamashastra Society, 1885–1888; repr. and ed. Leonard C. Smithers, Library edition of the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, illus., London, H.S. Nichols, 1897. Cabinet des fées ou collection choisie des contes des fées et autres contes merveilleux, 41 vols., Genève, Barde et Manget; Paris, Cuchet, 1785–1789. (See also Galland 1785 and Chavis) Chavis, Dom Denis, and Jacques Cazzotte, La suite de mille et une nuitts, contes arabes, Le Cabinet de fées, vol. 38–41, Genève, Barde, Manget & Compagnie, 1788–89. Dalziel’s Illustrated Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, London, Ward, Lock and Tyler, 1864–1865. Eight Tenniel illustrations, 87 by A.B. Houghton, 89 by T. Dalziel, others by Millais, G.J. Pinwell, T. Morten, J.D. Watson and E. Dalziel, all engraved on wood by the Dalziels. First issued in weekly parts, later issued in 2 vols. October 1864 (dated 1865) [Not to be confused with London, F. Warne, 1866–67 edn., Revd G.F. Towsend (ed.), with 16 illus., none by Tenniel]. Reissued c.1870 bound from original parts; London: Routledge, 1877. Dove’s English classics, The Arabian Nights Entertainments, Consisting of One Thousand and One Stories, 3 vols., illus. Th. Stothard, London, J.F. Dove, 1826. Forster, Edward (trans.), The Arabian Nights’ Entertainment translated by the Reverend Edward Forster with engravings from pictures by Robert Smirke, 5 vols., London, William Miller, 1802. Galland, Antoine, Les Mille et Une Nuits, contes arabes, traduits en français par M Galland, Paris, chez la Veuve de Claude Barbin, au Palais, sur le second Perron de la Sainte Chapelle, vols.1–4, 1704, vols.5–12, 1705–17. ———, Les Mille et Une Nuits, contes arabes, trans. into French by M Galland, according to the copy printed in Paris, illus. D. Coster, The Hague, Pierre Husson, 1706-17. ———, Die Tausend und Eine Nacht, worinnen seltzame arabische historien und wunderbahre Begebenheiten benebst artigen Liebenintriguen . . . Weise erzehlet werden aus Galland’s französ ins Deutsche übersetz. Mit der Vorrede Hrn. Talander’s gedruckt zum andern Mahl, 4 vols., Leipzig, J.L. Gleditsch and M.G. Weidmanns, 1711. ———, The Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, Consisting of one Thousand and One Stories, translated into French from the Arabian MSS. by M. Galland, of the Royal Academy, and now done into English, London, printed for Andrew Bell, at the Cross Keys and Bible in Cornhill, 1713.

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The Arabian Nights and Orientalism ———, ‘Arabian naito hon’yaku kotohajime: Meiji zenki nihon e no inyu¯ to sono eikyo¯’ [Early Japanese Translations of the Arabian Nights], Proceedings of the Foreign Language Sciences, Graduate School of Arts and Sciences, College of Arts and Sciences, the University of Tokyo, 4 (1999), 1–57. Takarazuka Kagekidan (ed.), Takarazuka kagegi no nanaju¯ nen [Seventy Years of The Girls’ Operetta Troupe at Takarazuka], Takarazuka, Hyo¯go, Takarazuka Kagekidan, 1984. Tanaka Jun’ichiro¯, Nihon Eiga Hattatsushi [A History of the Movies in Japan], 3 vols., Tokyo, Chu¯¯o Ko¯ronsha, 1957. Tanizaki, Jun’ichiro¯, Some Prefer Nettles, trans. Edward G. Seidensticker, New York, Vintage-Random, 1995; trans. of Tade kuu mushi, 1929. ———, ‘To Tsuchiya Keizo¯’, 15 April 1925 and 23 May 1925, letters 67 and 70 of Tanizaki Jun’ichiro zenshu ¯ [Complete Works], vol.24, Tokyo, Chu ¯¯o Ko¯ronsha, 1970 (237–240). Tarumoto, Teruo, ‘Arabia Monogatari no Teihon: Nihonsaisho no Arabian Naito’ [The Original Text of Arabian Tales: The First Japanese Arabian Nights], Osaka Keidai Ronshu (Journal of Osaka University of Economics), 52/6 (2002), 83–135. Tezuka, Osamu (ed.), Sen’ya ichiya monogatari: Otona no ehon [The Thousand Nights and a Night: A Picture Book for Adults], Tokyo, Chikuma Shobo¯, 1969. Togawa, Ema, Ichigo ichie sho¯ [Memories of Once-in-a-Life Encounters], Tokyo, Ko¯dansha, 1985. Yamaguchi, Katsunori and Watanabe Yasushi, Nihon anime¯shon eigashi [A History of Animation Films in Japan], Tokyo, Yu¯bunsha, 1977. Yanagida, Izumi, Meiji shoki no hon’yaku bungaku [Translated Foreign Literature in the Early Meiji Era], Tokyo, Shunjusha, 1935. Yoneyama, Roka (ed.), Bagudaddo no to¯zoku, Tokyo, Nakamura Shoten, 1925; Japanese version of the scenario for The Thief of Baghdad. VI. Films Die Abenteuer des Prinzen Achmed, dir. Lotte Reiniger, music Wolfgang Zeller, 1923, videocassette, Milestone, 2001. Chu Chin Chow, dir. Walter Forde, perf. Fritz Cortner and Anna May Wong, 1934, videocassette, Nostalgia, 2000. Sen’ya ichiya monogatari [A Thousand and One Nights], dir. Tezuka Osamu, perf. Aoshima Yukio, Akutagawa Hiroshi and Kishida Kyo¯ko, music Tomita Isao, 1969, videocassette, Japan Herald, n.d. Sho¯wa shoki no anime¯shon shu¯ [A Collection of Animation Films in the Early Sho¯wa Era], videocassette, Natco, n.d. The Thief of Baghdad, dir. Raoul A. Walsh, perf. Douglas Fairbanks, Julanne Johnston, Anna May Wong and Kamiyama So¯jin, 1924, videocassette, 2 vols., IVC, n.d.

264

Index Bu¯la¯q edition 60 n.3, 114 n.17, 115 n.22, 142, 164 n.7, 165 n.13, 223 Bull, René 183, 192 Burton, Richard F. ix, xii, 5, 9, 14, 16-23, 43 n.22, 44 n.25, 69, 89 n.10-12, 95, 129, 136-143, 145, 151, 152 n.4 n.11, 156, 159-160, 174-175, 177, 179-180, 191-192, 211, 217 n.7, 223, 232, 234, 237, 240, 243 n.27

INDEX OF SUBJECTS Aarne, Antti 6-7, 16-23, 25-26, 40 n.1, 42 n.6, Die Abenteuer des Prinzen Achmed 148, 152 n.13 Akutagawa Ryu¯nosuke 142, 152 n.4 Alexander the Great 41 n.3, 43 n. 22, 72, 93-115 Alexander Romance 96-99, 101, 103, 112 n.5 Amano Yoshitaka 189 ancient Egyptian literature 35-37, 39-40 ancient Greek literature 84, 95-99 Angel of Death 81, 105-106, 110111, 114 n.15 Anu¯shı¯rwa¯n 72, 106-107, 109-110, 114 n.18 n.20 Arabic narrative tradition xii, 6, 810, 14-16, 26, 34-35, 37, 48 Arrian 96 Babylonian Talmu¯d 100-101, 103 Bal, Mieke 7, 194, 200, 217 n.1 n.10 Ballets Russes 144, 152 n.9, 237238 Bakhtin, Mikhail 77 Barthes, Roland 70, 88 n.9 Beardsley, Aubrey 182-183 Beaumont, G. S. 164, 223, 242 n.10 n.11 beauty, formulaic description of 5759, 71 Bibliothèque orientale 155, 220, 238 Breslau (Habicht) edition 14, 1819, 60, 112, 190 Brother-Sister Syndrome 31-33, 44 n. 31, n. 32, 45 n. 33

Le Cabinet des fées 173, 227-228 Calcutta I edition 163 n.4 Calcutta II edition 10, 14, 16-18, 60 n.1 n.3, 69, 88 n.10, 93, 106, 108-110, 112 n.3, 114 n.17, 115 n.22, 142, 152 n.5 n.6, 155-156, 160, 164 n.12, 167 n.32, 223 Carré, Léon 184-185, 193, 195, 197-201, 203-205, 207-208, 210211, 213, 216, 218 n.11 n.12, 240 Chagall, Marc 187 chapbooks vii, 171, 173, 222-223 Chauvin, Victor 6, 8-9, 12, 26, 45 n. 40, 108-110, 114 n.20, 230, 241 n.1 Chavis manuscript 14, 21-23, 173 children’s literature 129-136, 138, 155, 158-159, 163 n.2, 166 n.23, 173-174, 191-193, 223, 235 Christiansen, Reidar 26-27, 37 Chu Chin Chow 148, 150, 152 n.13 cinema in Japan 143, 145, 148-151 collotype 180 comparative literature xii, xvi, 3ff, 93ff, 116ff copper-engraving 173, 176, 230, 234 n.24

265

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism Crane, Walter 181-182, 191 Dalziel, Thomas B. 135, 180, 191, 235-236, 243 n.25 Derrida, Jacques 68, 85-87, 90 n.27 Dhu¯ ‘l-qarnayn 72, 94, 102-106 Dı¯na¯raza¯d (Dinarzad, Dinarzade, Dinazad, Dunya¯za¯d) 49, 51, 61, 70, 172, 197, 200-201, 205-206, 209, 211-213, 216, 232, 234, 236 Doré, Gustave 181, 191 Dulac, Edmund 132, 133, 183-184, 188, 192, 240

Gerhardt, Mia xii, 4-5, 12, 47, 60 n.1, n.2, 90 n.22, 112 n.2, 114 n.15, 128 Gérôme, Jean-Léon 174-175, 180 Ghaza¯lı¯ 103-115 Gross, Friedrich 121-123, 126, 128, 176-177, 190 Groves, S. J. 121, 180, 191 Grub Street 121-123, 221-222, 230232, 241 n.5 n.9, Habicht edition see Breslau edition Hanna Diyab 5 Ha¯run al-Rashı¯d xii, 72, 74, 81-82, 110, 115 n.25, 144 Harvey, William 117, 119, 175-176, 179, 190, 234-235, 243 n.24 Hasegawa Kiyoshi 144, 147 Hatsuyama Shigeru 135 Hayat al-Nufus 73, 79, 83 Haza¯r Afsa¯na 84 Hazard, Paul vii-viii Hinatsu Ko¯nosuke 125, 135-136 Homer 75, 84, 89 n.18 Horiguchi Daigaku 149 Houghton, Arthur Boyd 180, 191, 235

Early, Margaret 187 Edo era 117, 124, 157-8, 166 n.2024, 167 n.33 elite literature 25, 40, 112 Enlightenment viii, 241 erotic literature 129, 137-143, 149, 154, 160, 221, 237 Firdawsı¯, Sha¯hna¯mah 99, 217 folk narrative research xii, 3-24, 2546 Ford, Henry J. 132, 183, 192 formula 6, 26, 47-67, 70-71, 88 n. 7, 89 n.10, 108 Foster, Edward 163 n.2, 164 n.5, 174, 190, 223, 227-229 frame story (frame-tale, frame narrative) 4, 6, 11, 79, 82, 84, 89 n.16, 194-196, 201, 214-216, 217 n.5, 219-220, 224, 226-230, 232237, 240, 241 n.1, 242 n.13 Fukuzawa Yukichi 161 Furusawa Iwami 195, 207-216, 217 n.7

iconography xvi, 194ff, 219ff Ikeda Osamu 89 n.10, 143, 160 illustrations xii, xvi, 117-143, 171ff, 194ff, 219ff, immortality 25, 27, 41 n. 3, 98 Indian literature xii, 6, 37, 82, 84, 98-99 Inoue Tsutomu 119-127, 159, 167 n.29 Irwin, Robert vii-xiii, 3, 6, 13, 89 n.18 Islam 33, 44 n. 26, 74, 102, 158, 165 n. 17 Iwaya Sazanami 131, 144

Galland, Antoine vii-ix, xv, 4-5, 10-11, 13, 15, 19, 23, 29, 68-69, 88 n.8, 89 n.18, 93, 117, 121, 128-129, 131-132, 154-156, 158161, 164 n. 5 n.7, 165 n.13, 166 n.22, 171-173, 177, 181, 190, 220-235, 238-240, 241 n.2 n.3, 242 n.16 n.19, 243 n.28, 244 n.30 garden 28, 57-60, 67 n.55 Geheimnis des Orients 148, 150, 152 n.13 genie see jinn

Japanese reception of the Nights ix, xv-xvii, 116ff, 154ff. Japonaiserie, Japonisme 182, 188 jinn (genie, demon) 6, 28, 30-33, 43 n. 20, 71, 79, 82, 226-227 Jones, Owen 189 n.3, 190 Judaic tradition 6, 42 n.9, 100-102, 114 n.15

266

Index

Kajii Motojiro¯ 148-149 Kalila wa Dimna 8-9, 11 Kato Masao, “The Dune in the Moon” 157, 165 n.19 Kikuchi Kan 132, 139 Kinoshita Mokutarı¯ 125-126, 144 Kitahara Hakushu¯ 125 Klee, Paul 187, 193 Kosugi Misei 132 Kundera, Milan 77-78, 80, 90 n.20 kyo¯gen (noh comedy) 131, 144 Kyokutei Bakin 117, 124

158-162, 165 n.17, 167 n.26 mirror for princes 103, 108, 111112, 113 n.10 Mishima Yukio x, 135, 144-145, 148, 151 n.3, 152 n.11 Monkey Punch 189 Morita So¯hei 135-136, 152 n.4 motifs, narrative 8-11, 25-33, 3946, 78-84, 87 motifs, visual 172, 186, 205, 215216, 233 Murayama Tomoyoshi 132, 134, 139 mythology xii, 25ff

Lalauze, Adolphe 177-178, 180, 191, 192 Lane, Edward William ix, xii, 5, 29, 69, 88 n.5 n.7, 90 n.26, 93, 112 n.1, 117, 119, 129, 135-136, 152 n.4, 155, 159, 164 n.7-9 n.11, 167 n.28, 175-176, 179, 183, 190, 192-193, 221, 223, 232, 234-235, 240 Lang, Andrew 132, 183, 192 Letchford, Albert 177, 179-180, 191, 192, 237, 243 n. 27 lithography 117, 121, 126, 177, 182, 185, 187, 217 Littman, Enno 9, 60 n.1 n.3, 82 152 n.11 Lord, Albert 47-48

Nabokov, Vladimir x Naddaff, Sandra 82, 90 n.28, 242 n.14 Nagamine Hideki 116-119, 123, 143, 158-159, 161, 167 n.27 n.28 Nakagawa Ju¯rei 128 Nakajima Koto¯ 132, 135 narrative techniques 4, 7-15, 47-60, 68-88 Naz·¯h ı · at al-mulu¯k 103ff Newbery, Elisabeth and John 173, 190, 223 Nielsen, Kay 183, 188, 189 n.7 Niz· a¯mı¯ 103, 113 n.9 Nur al-Din Ali 64 n.33, 73-74, 7980, 83 ¯ ba Masafumi 143, 145, 195 O ¯ fuji Noburı¯ 149-151 O ¯ kamoto Kiichi 132, 137 O Orientalism xi-xii, xv-xvi, 4-5, 9, 13-14, 23 n.1, 150, 154ff, 171, 174, 188, 189 n.3, 195, 210, 234, 238-240 Orientalist painting 3, 23, 174, 178, 180, 188, 197, 236 ‘orphan stories’ 5, 12, 14, 128 ¯ ya So¯ichi 138 O

Macdonald, Duncan Black xii, 189 n.1 n.2 Macnaghten, W. H. 14, 69, 223 (see also Calcutta II edition) Maejima Shinji 89 n.10 n.18, 143, 160 Mahdi, Muhsin xii, 12, 71, 164 n.5 Maistre, Xavier de 239, 244 n. 31 Mardrus, Joseph Charles ix-x, 11, 14, 22, 45, 70, 88 n.2 n.7 n.8, 93, 137, 143, 159-160, 185, 192-193, 195, 197-198, 202-204, 211, 217 n.7, 232, 237, 240, 243 n.21 Marillier, Pierre-Clément 173, 177, 190, 227-228, 242 n.16 Marjanah 73 Mas‘u¯dı¯ 103, 113 Matisse, Henri 187 Meiji era viii-ix, 116-130, 143, 151,

Pape, Eric 186, 193 Parrish, Maxfield 186, 192 Parry, Milman 47 Payne, John 88 n.2, 178, 223, 232, 234 Persian literature xii, 6, 78-79, 8384, 90 n.23, 99, 103, 105, 113 n.9, 114 n.18, 128, 143, 183

267

The Arabian Nights and Orientalism Persian painting 183, 187-188, 189 n.8, 191, 196, 213 photo engraving 176 pirate editions 156, 173, 189 n.2, 230-232 Plutarch 96-97 popular literature 5-6, 9, 12, 34, 48, 53, 112, 114 n.16, 117, 154, 163, 223 Pseudo-Callisthenes see Alexander Romance

Strabo 95-96 Sugitani Daisui 132, 134, 136-137 Sugiura Hisui 144, 146 Szyk, Arthur 186-7 T·abarı¯ 102-103, 113 n.8 Taisho¯ era 116, 125, 129, 131-138, 167 n.34 Takarazuka Girl’s Operetta 144, 152 n.10 tale-types xii, 8-11, 16-23, 25-27, 32-34, 41 n.4, 42 n.7 n.9 Tanizaki Jun’ichiro 138-142, 167 n. 34 Tenniel, John 180, 191, 235 Tennyson, Alfred xii Tezuka Osamu 150-151, 153 n.15 theater in Japan 143-145 Thief of Baghdad 3, 148-150, 152 n.13 Thompson, Stith 6, 8-10, 16-23, 25-27, 40 n.1 Townsend, Rev. George F. 117, 119, 158-159, 167 n.28, 183, 191 Toyoshima Yoshio 143

Quran 30-32, 42 n. 9, 45 n. 35, 102 Rackham, Arthur 183, 193 Reinhardt (Strassburg) manuscript 13-14 repetition 47ff, 68ff rhyming prose (saj‘) 51, 53-60, 61 n.19, 65 n.45 Rimsky-Korsakov 237, 243 n.28 Said, Edward xi, 156, 163 n.3, 164 n.13, 195 Sakai Kiyoshi 137 Schoeler, Gregor 47-48 Schultz-Wettel, F. 187, 192 Scott, Jonathan 117, 163 n.2, 164 n.6, 174, 177, 183, 190, 191, 242 n.11 Shahraza¯d (Shehrazad, Sheherazade, Scheherazade) 4, 49-52, 61 n.6 n.9 n.10 n.13 n.15 n.18 n.22, 62 n.26, 70-71, 80, 89 n.10, 106-108, 111, 117, 172, 185, 194-218, 219-244 Shahriya¯r (Schahriar) 17, 43 n.19, 107, 117, 124, 223, 232, 234, 236-237, 243 n.28 Sho¯wa era 116, 137, 143-145, 149151 Silvestre de Sacy, Antoine Isaac xii, 177, 190 Sindbadname 8, 11 Slevogt, Max 185-186, 192, 193 Smirke, Robert 174, 190, 227, 229, 242 n.18 Sterett, Virginia 186 stock description 65 n.46, 71-72 Stothard, Thomas 173, 190, 227, 242 n.17

Ushin, N. A. 187, 189 n. 5 van Dongen, Kees 185, 193, 195, 201-207, 210, 216, 217 n.7 Victorian milieu 155-156, 232-236 Weil, Gustav 14, 22, 121, 123, 128, 177, 187, 190, 192, 243 n.22 Winter, Milo 186, 192 Wood, Stanley 183, 191 wood engraving 126, 176-177, 182, 243 n.22 Wortley-Montague manuscript 11, 14, 19-21 Yano Ryu¯kei 128, 129, 143-144 Ya‘qu¯bı¯ 103, 113 n.9 Yokoyama Mineichi 128, 130 Zeman, Ludmila 187 Zotenberg, Hermann 14, 69 Zubaydah (Zobeïde) 72, 80-81, 89 n.13, 144, 146

268

Index INDEX OF CYCLES AND TALES FROM THE NIGHTS ‘Abdalla¯h the Fisherman and ‘Abdalla¯h the Merman 11, 18, 74, 82, 179-180, 187 Abu¯ Qı¯r and Abu¯ S·¯r ı 16, 34-39, 82 Aladdin (Ala al-Din) 5-6, 12, 19, 24, 64, 67, 83, 89 n.13, 128, 131, 138, 143, 154, 178, 181-182, 186-187, 191-192, 241 Alexander and a Certain Tribe of Poor Folk 93-95 Ali Baba 6, 12, 42 n.9, 62 n.25, 64 n.33, 73, 128, 138-139, 143-145, 152, 154, 182-183, 185, 187, 191-192 Bulu¯qiya¯ 25, 29-34, 41 n.3, 42 n.9, 43 n.21, 69 City of Brass 15, 93, 145 Dalı¯la the Crafty 18, 73 Ebony Horse 16, 93, 131, 133-134, 187, 193 The Fisherman and the Jinnı¯ 16, 58, 131 H . asan of Basra 16-17, 42 n.10, 69, 84 H . asib Karı¯m al-Dı¯n 28-30

The Hunchback 52, 76, 80, 82-83 Jullana¯r 11, 18, 187 King ‘Umar ibn an-Nu‘ma¯n 16, 43, 45, 55-56 The Lady Shut Up in the Glass Case 226-229, 237 Ma‘ru¯f the Cobbler 53, 83 Masrur and Zayn al-Wasif 72, 83, 89 n. 13 The Porter and the Three Ladies 55, 59, 76, 82-83, 145 Qamar al-Zama¯n 16, 53, 60 n.4, 72,-73, 83-84, 89-90,187 Sayf al Mulu¯k 17, 73, 80 Sindbad the Seaman and Sindbad the Landsman 72-76, 69, 80-82, 84, 89 n.18, 123, 140, 143, 145, 154, 171, 173, 181, 183-187, 190, 192-193, The Three Calenders 43, 45, 76, 122 The Three Apples 58-59

269