The Rubaiyat: Quatrain XVI

A few words about Quatrain XVI, the first Edition, and its versions in the Second and Fifth Editions.


First Edition: Quatrain XVI

Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai
Whose Doorways are alternate Night and Day,
How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp
Abode his Hour or two, and went his way.



Second Edition: Quatrain XVIII

Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai
Whose Portals are alternate Night and Day,
How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp
Abode his destined Hour, and went his way.



Fifth Edition: Quatrain XVII

Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai
Whose Doorways are alternate Night and Day,
How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp
Abode his destined Hour, and went his way.


The subsequent versions show only minor differences. "Doorways" become "Portals" in the Second and Fifth Editions. I guess "Portals" is more poetic than "Doorways" which seem a rather ordinary entrance or exit to commonplace structures whereas "Portals" suggests an opening into much wider variety of locales.

The other change occurred in the fourth line: from "Abode his Hour or two, and went his way" in the First Edition to "Abode his destined Hour, and went his way" in the Second and Fifth Editions. The addition of "destined" adds an element of fate or almost suggests a fixed future that wasn't present in the first edition. Moreover, dropping the "or two" from the first edition removes some impreciseness or vagueness--his Hour or two--and leaving only "his destined Hour" seems more fixed or exact. The sultan's time here seems to be a destined and fixed period beginning in the Second and Fifth editions when compared to the First Edition.

This quatrain restates a theme that has already appeared previously: life is short and where we come from and where we go is a mystery. What's interesting is that a caravanserai is an inn that has accommodations for caravans and their draft animals. A caravanserai is therefore a resting place. Life here is therefore a resting place for a brief period before we continue on our journey, from an unknown origin to an unknown destination.

"Pomp" in the third line brought a stanza from another poem to mind--Thomas Gray's "Elegy Written in a Churchyard."

"The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave
Awaits alike the inevitable hour,
The paths of glory lead but to the grave."

I think Gray and FitzGerald/Khayyam had the same idea in mind: it matters not who we are, for we all have the same destination--the grave.