That amiable and devoted Arabist, the late Edward William Lane does not
score a success in his “New Translation of the Tales of a Thousand and
One Nights” (London: Charles Knight and Co., MDCCCXXXIX.) of which there
have been four English editions, besides American, two edited by E. S.
Poole. He chose the abbreviating Bulak Edition; and, of its two hundred
tales, he has omitted about half and by far the more characteristic
half: the work was intended for “the drawing-room table;” and,
consequently, the workman was compelled to avoid the “objectionable” and
aught “approaching to licentiousness.” He converts the Arabian Nights
into the Arabian Chapters, arbitrarily changing the division and, worse
still, he converts some chapters into notes. He renders poetry by prose
and apologises for not omitting it altogether: he neglects assonance and
he is at once too Oriental and not Oriental enough. He had small store
of Arabic at the time—Lane of the Nights is not Lane of the
Dictionary—and his pages are disfigured by many childish mistakes. Worst
of all, the three handsome volumes are rendered unreadable as Sale’s
Koran by their anglicised Latin, their sesquipedalian un-English words,
and the stiff and stilted style of half a century ago when our prose
was, perhaps, the worst in Europe. Their cargo of Moslem learning was
most valuable to the student, but utterly out of place for readers of
“The Nights;” re-published, as these notes have been separately (London,
Chatto, 1883), they are an ethnological text-book.

Mr. John Payne has printed, for the Villon Society and for private
circulation only, the first and sole complete translation of the great
compendium, “comprising about four times as much matter as that of
Galland, and three times as much as that of any other translator;” and
I cannot but feel proud that he has honoured me with the dedication of
“The Book of The Thousand Nights and One Night.” His version is most
readable: his English, with a sub-flavour of the Mabinogionic
archaicism, is admirable; and his style gives life and light to the
nine volumes whose matter is frequently heavy enough. He succeeds
admirably in the most difficult passages and he often hits upon choice
and special terms and the exact vernacular equivalent of the foreign
word, so happily and so picturesquely that all future translators must
perforce use the same expression under pain of falling far short. But
the learned and versatile author bound himself to issue only five
hundred copies, and “not to reproduce the work in its complete and
uncastrated form.” Consequently his excellent version is caviaire to
the general—practically unprocurable.

And here I hasten to confess that ample use has been made of the three
versions above noted, the whole being blended by a _callida junctura_
into a homogeneous mass. But in the presence of so many predecessors a
writer is bound to show some _raison d’être_ for making a fresh attempt
and this I proceed to do with due reserve.

Briefly, the object of this version is to show what “The Thousand Nights
and a Night” really is. Not, however, for reasons to be more fully
stated in the terminal Essay, by straining _verbum reddere verbo_, but
by writing as the Arab would have written in English. On this point I am
all with Saint Jerome (Pref. in Jobum) “Vel verbum e verbo, vel sensum e
sensu, vel ex utroque commixtum, et medie temperatum genus
translationis.” My work claims to be a faithful copy of the great
Eastern Saga-book, by preserving intact, not only the spirit, but even
the _mécanique_, the manner and the matter. Hence, however prosy and
long-drawn out be the formula, it retains the scheme of the Nights
because they are a prime feature in the original. The Ráwí or reciter,
to whose wits the task of supplying details is left, well knows their
value: the openings carefully repeat the names of the _dramatis personæ_
and thus fix them in the hearer’s memory. Without the Nights no Arabian
Nights! Moreover it is necessary to retain the whole apparatus: nothing
more ill-advised than Dr. Jonathan Scott’s strange device of garnishing
The Nights with fancy head-pieces and tail-pieces or the splitting-up of
Galland’s narrative by merely prefixing “Nuit,” etc., ending moreover,
with the ccxxxiv^{th} Night: yet this has been done, apparently with the
consent of the great Arabist Sylvestre de Sacy (Paris, Ernest Bourdin).
Moreover, holding that the translator’s glory is to add something to his
native tongue, while avoiding the hideous hag-like nakedness of Torrens
and the bald literalism of Lane, I have carefully Englished the
picturesque turns and novel expressions of the original in all their
outlandishness; for instance, when the dust-cloud raised by a tramping
host is described as “walling the horizon.” Hence peculiar attention has
been paid to the tropes and figures which the Arabic language often
packs into a single term; and I have never hesitated to coin a word when
wanted, such as “she snorted and snarked,” fully to represent the
original. These, like many in Rabelais, are mere barbarisms unless
generally adopted; in which case they become civilised and common
currency.