Persian Literature, Volume 1, Comprising The Shah Nameh | Page 7

England.
Abul Kasim Mansur is indeed a genuine epic poet, and for this reason
his work is of genuine interest to the lovers of Homer, Vergil, and

Dante. The qualities that go to make up an epic poem are all to be
found in this work of the Persian bard. In the first place, the "Sháh
Námeh" is written by an enthusiastic patriot, who glorifies his country,
and by that means has become recognized as the national poet of Persia.
In the second place, the poem presents us with a complete view of a
certain definite phase, and complete era of civilization; in other words,
it is a transcript from the life; a portrait-gallery of distinct and unique
individuals; a description of what was once an actual society. We find
in it delineated the Persia of the heroic age, an age of chivalry,
eclipsing, in romantic emotion, deeds of daring, scenes of love and
violence, even the mediaeval chivalry of France and Spain. Again, this
poem deals principally with the adventures of one man. For all other
parts of the work are but accessories to the single figure of Rustem, the
heroic personage whose superhuman strength, dignity, and beauty
make him to be a veritable Persian Achilles. But when we regard the
details of this work we see how deeply the literary posterity of Homer
are indebted to the Father of European Poetry. The fantastic crowd of
demons, peris, and necromancers that appear as the supernatural
machinery of the Sháh Námeh, such grotesque fancies as the serpents
that grew from the shoulders of King Zohák, or the ladder of Zerdusht,
on which he mounted from earth to heaven--all these and a hundred
other fancies compare unfavorably with the reserve of Homer, in his
use of such a personage as Circe, and the human grace and dignity
which he lends to that genial circle on Olympus, whose
inextinguishable laughter is called forth by the halting wine-bearer a
god like themselves. While we read the "Sháh Námeh" with keen
interest, because from its study the mind is enlarged and stimulated by
new scenes, new ideas and unprecedented situations, we feel grateful
that the battle of Salamis stopped the Persian invasion of Europe, which
would doubtless have resulted in changing the current of literature from
that orderly and stately course which it had taken from its fountain in a
Greek Parnassus, and diverted it into the thousand brawling rills of
Persian fancy and exaggeration.
It is a hundred years ago that a certain physician in the employment of
the East India Company, who then represented British supremacy in
Bengal and Calcutta, published the "Story of Sohrab," a poem in heroic
couplets, being a translation of the most pathetic episode in the "Sháh

Námeh." If we compare this English poem with Jules Mohl's literal
translation of the Persian epic into French, we find that James Atkinson
stands very much in the same relation to Firdusi as Pope does to Homer.
It would be indeed absurd for an English writer to attempt to conform,
in an English version, to the vagaries of Persian idiom, or even to
attempt a literal rendering of the Persian trope. The manner of a poet
can never be faithfully reproduced in a translation, but all that is really
valuable, really affecting, in an epic poem will survive transfusion into
the frank and natural idiom of another tongue. We say epic poem,
because one of the distinguishing features in this form of literary
expression is that its action hinges on those fundamental passions of
humanity, that "touch which makes the whole world kin," whose
alphabet is the same in every latitude. The publication of "Sohrab" was
nevertheless the revelation of a new world to London coteries, and the
influence of Mr. Atkinson's work can be traced as well in the Persian
pastorals of Collins as in the oriental poems of Southey and Moore.
This metrical version of "Sohrab" is the only complete episode of the
Sháh Námeh contained in the present collection. When we consider that
the Persian original consists of some one hundred and twenty thousand
lines, it will easily be understood that a literal rendering of the whole
would make a volume whose bulk would put it far out of reach to the
general reader. Atkinson has very wisely furnished us with a masterly
_résumé_ of the chief episodes, each of which he outlines in prose,
occasionally flashing out into passages of sparkling verse, which run
through the narrative like golden threads woven into the tissue of some
storied tapestry. The literary style of the translator is admirable.
Sometimes, as when he describes the tent of Maníjeh, he becomes as
simple and direct as Homer in depicting the palace of Alcinous. The
language of his Sohrab recalls the pathos of Vergil's