Stray Leaves from Strange Literature and Fantastics

Dedication

TO MY FRIEND

Explanatory

While engaged upon this little mosaic work of legend and fable, I felt much like one of those merchants told of in Sindbad’s Second Voyage, who were obliged to content themselves with gathering the small jewels adhering to certain meat which eagles brought up from the Valley of Diamonds. I have had to depend altogether upon the labor of translators for my acquisitions; and these seemed too small to deserve separate literary setting. By cutting my little gems according to one pattern, I have doubtless reduced the beauty of some; yet it seemed to me their colors were so weird, their luminosity so elfish, that their intrinsic value could not be wholly destroyed even by so clumsy an artificer as I.

In short, these fables, legends, parables, etc., are simply reconstructions of what impressed me as most fantastically beautiful in the most exotic literature which I was able to obtain. With few exceptions, the plans of the original narratives have been preserved. Sometimes I have added a little, sometimes curtailed; but the augmentations were generally made with material drawn from the same source as the legend, while the abbreviations were effected either with a view to avoid repetition, or through the necessity of suppressing incidents unsuited to the general reading. I must call special attention to certain romantic liberties or poetic licenses which I have taken.

In the Polynesian story (“The Fountain Maiden”) I have considerably enlarged upon the legend, which I found in Gill’s Myths and Songs of the South Pacific—a curious but inartistic book, in which much admirable material has been very dryly handled. In another portion of Mr. Gill’s book I found the text and translation of the weird “Thieves’ Song”; and conceived the idea of utilizing it in the story, with some fanciful changes. The Arabic “Legend of Love” is still more apocryphal, as it consists of fragmentary Arabian stories, borrowed from De Stendhal’s L’Amour, and welded into one narrative.

In the Rabbinical legends I have often united several incidents related about one personage in various of the Talmudic treatises; but this system is sufficiently specified by references to the Gemara in the text. By consulting the indices attached to Hershon’s Miscellany, and Schwab’s translations of the Jerusalem Talmud, it was easy to collect a number of singular traditions attaching to one distinguished Rabbi, and to unite these into a narrative. Finally, I must confess that the story of “Natalika” was not drawn directly from Ferista, or Fihristah, but from Jacolliot, a clever writer, but untrustworthy Orientalist, whose books have little serious value. Whether true or false, however, the legend of the statue seemed to me too pretty to overlook.

In one case only have I made a veritable translation from the French. Léouzon Le Duc’s literal version of the “Kalewala” seemed to me the most charming specimen of poetical prose I had met with among translations. I selected three incidents, and translated them almost word for word.

Nearly all of the Italic texts, although fancifully arranged, have been drawn from the literatures of those peoples whose legends they introduce. Many phrases were obtained from that inexhaustible treasury of Indian wisdom, the Pantchatantra; others from various Buddhist works. The introductory text of the piece, entitled “The King’s Justice,” was borrowed from the Persian Mantic Uttaïr, of Farid Uddin Attar; and the text at the commencement of the Buddhist Parable (which was refashioned after a narrative in Stanislas Julien’s Avadanas) was taken from the Dhammapada. The briefer stories, I think, have generally suffered less at my hands than the lengthier ones. That wonderful Egyptian romance about the Book of Thoth is far more striking in Maspéro’s French translations from the original papyrus; but the Egyptian phrases are often characterized by a nakedness rather more startling than that of the dancing girls in the mural paintings....

Upon another page will be found a little bibliography of nearly all the sources whence I have drawn my material. Some volumes are mentioned only because they gave me one or two phrases. Thus, I borrowed expressions or ideas from “Amarou,” from Fauche’s translation of the Ritou Sanhara, and especially from the wealth of notes to Chézy’s superb translation of Sacountala.

This little collection has no claim upon the consideration of scholars. It is simply an attempt to share with the public some of those novel delights I experienced while trying to familiarize myself with some very strange and beautiful literatures.

During its preparation two notable works have appeared with a partly similar purpose: Helen Zimmern’s Epic of Kings, and Edwin Arnold’s Rosary of Islam. In the former we have a charming popular version of Firdusi, and upon the latter are exquisitely strung some of the fairest pearls of the “Mesnewi.” I hope my far less artistic contribution to the popularization of unfamiliar literature may stimulate others to produce something worthier than I can hope to do. My gems were few and small: the monstrous and splendid await the coming of Sindbad, or some mighty lapidary by whom they may be wrought into jewel bouquets exquisite as those bunches of topaz blossoms and ruby buds laid upon the tomb of Nourmahal.

NEW ORLEANS, 1884