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    ESSAY on the
    PRINCIPLES _of_
    TRANSLATION
    _by_ ALEXANDER
    FRASER·TYTLER
    LORD WOODHOUSELEE

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INTRODUCTION


Alexander Fraser Tytler, Lord Woodhouselee, author of the present essay
on Translation, and of various works on Universal and on Local History,
was one of that Edinburgh circle which was revolving when Sir Walter
Scott was a young probationer. Tytler was born at Edinburgh, October 15,
1747, went to the High School there, and after two years at Kensington,
under Elphinston—Dr. Johnson’s Elphinston—entered Edinburgh University
(where he afterwards became Professor of Universal History). He seems
to have been Elphinston’s favourite pupil, and to have particularly
gratified his master, “the celebrated Dr. Jortin” too, by his Latin verse.

In 1770 he was called to the bar; in 1776 married a wife; in 1790 was
appointed Judge-Advocate of Scotland; in 1792 became the master of
Woodhouselee on the death of his father. Ten years later he was raised
to the bench of the court of session, with his father’s title—Lord
Woodhouselee. But the law was only the professional background to his
other avocation—of literature. Like his father, something of a personage
at the Royal Society of Edinburgh, it was before its members that he
read the papers which were afterwards cast into the present work. In
them we have all that is still valid of his very considerable literary
labours. Before it appeared, his effect on his younger contemporaries in
Edinburgh had already been very marked—if we may judge by Lockhart. His
encouragement undoubtedly helped to speed Scott on his way, especially
into that German romantic region out of which a new Gothic breath was
breathed on the Scottish thistle.

It was in 1790 that Tytler read in the Royal Society his papers on
Translation, and they were soon after published, without his name. Hardly
had the work seen the light, than it led to a critical correspondence
with Dr. Campbell, then Principal of Marischal College, Aberdeen. Dr.
Campbell had at some time previous to this published his Translations
of the Gospels, to which he had prefixed some observations upon the
principles of translation. When Tytler’s anonymous work appeared he was
led to express some suspicion that the author might have borrowed from
his Dissertation, without acknowledging the obligation. Thereupon Tytler
instantly wrote to Dr. Campbell, acknowledging himself to be the author,
and assuring him that the coincidence, such as it was, “was purely
accidental, and that the name of Dr. Campbell’s work had never reached
him until his own had been composed.... There seems to me no wonder,”
he continued, “that two persons, moderately conversant in critical
occupations, sitting down professedly to investigate the principles of
this art, should hit upon the same principles, when in fact there are
none other to hit upon, and the truth of these is acknowledged at their
first enunciation. But in truth, the merit of this little essay (if it
has any) does not, in my opinion, lie in these particulars. It lies in
the establishment of those various subordinate rules and precepts which
apply to the nicer parts and difficulties of the art of translation; in
deducing those rules and precepts which carry not their own authority _in
gremio_, from the general principles which are of acknowledged truth, and
in proving and illustrating them by examples.”

Tytler has here put his finger on one of the critical good services
rendered by his book. But it has a further value now, and one that he
could not quite foresee it was going to have. The essay is an admirably
typical dissertation on the classic art of poetic translation, and of
literary style, as the eighteenth century understood it; and even where
it accepts Pope’s Homer or Melmoth’s Cicero in a way that is impossible
to us now, the test that is applied, and the difference between that test
and our own, will be found, if not convincing, extremely suggestive. In
fact, Tytler, while not a great critic, was a charming dilettante, and
a man of exceeding taste; and something of that grace which he is said
to have had personally is to be found lingering in these pages. Reading
them, one learns as much by dissenting from some of his judgments as
by subscribing to others. Woodhouselee, Lord Cockburn said, was not a
Tusculum, but it was a country-house with a fine tradition of culture,
and its quondam master was a delightful host, with whom it was a
memorable experience to spend an evening discussing the _Don Quixote_
of Motteux and of Smollett, or how to capture the aroma of Virgil in an
English medium, in the era before the Scottish prose Homer had changed
the literary perspective north of the Tweed. It is sometimes said that
the real art of poetic translation is still to seek; yet one of its most
effective demonstrators was certainly Alexander Fraser Tytler, who died
in 1814.

    The following is his list of works:

    Piscatory Eclogues, with other Poetical Miscellanies of
    Phinehas Fletcher, illustrated with notes, critical and
    explanatory, 1771; The Decisions of the Court of Sessions, from
    its first Institution to the present Time, etc. (supplementary
    volume to Lord Kames’s “Dictionary of Decisions”), 1778; Plan
    and Outline of a Course of Lectures on Universal History,
    Ancient and Modern (delivered at Edinburgh), 1782; Elements of
    General History, Ancient and Modern (with table of Chronology
    and a comparative view of Ancient and Modern Geography), 2
    vols., 1801. A third volume was added by E. Nares, being a
    continuation to death of George III., 1822; further editions
    continued to be issued with continuations, and the work was
    finally brought down to the present time, and edited by G.
    Bell, 1875; separate editions have appeared of the ancient
    and modern parts, and an abridged edition in 1809 by T. D.
    Hincks. To Vols. I. and II. (1788, 1790) of the Transactions
    of the Royal Society of Edinburgh Tytler contributed History
    of the Royal Society of Edinburgh, Life of Lord-President
    Dundas, and An Account of some Extraordinary Structures on the
    Tops of Hills in the Highlands, etc.; to Vol. V., Remarks on a
    Mixed Species of Evidence in Matters of History, 1805; A Life
    of Sir John Gregory, prefixed to an edition of the latter’s
    works, 1788; Essay on the Principles of Translations, 1791,
    1797; Third Edition, with additions and alterations, 1813;
    Translation of Schiller’s “The Robbers,” 1792; A Critical
    Examination of Mr. Whitaker’s Course of Hannibal over the
    Alps, 1798; A Dissertation on Final Causes, with a Life of
    Dr. Derham, in edition of the latter’s works, 1798; Ireland
    Profiting by Example, or the Question Considered whether
    Scotland has Gained or Lost by the Union, 1799; Essay on
    Military Law and the Practice of Courts-Martial, 1800; Remarks
    on the Writings and Genius of Ramsay (preface to edition of
    works), 1800, 1851, 1866; Memoirs of the Life and Writings of
    the Hon. Henry Horne, Lord Kames, 1807, 1814; Essay on the
    Life and Character of Petrarch, with Translation of Seven
    Sonnets, 1784; An Historical and Critical Essay on the Life
    and Character of Petrarch, with a Translation of a few of his
    Sonnets (including the above pamphlet and the dissertation
    mentioned above in Vol. V. of Trans. Roy. Soc. Edin.), 1812;
    Consideration of the Present Political State of India, etc.,
    1815, 1816. Tytler contributed to the “Mirror,” 1779-80, and to
    the “Lounger,” 1785-6.

    Life of Tytler, by Rev. Archibald Alison, Trans. Roy. Soc. Edin.




CONTENTS


                                                                      PAGE

    Introduction                                                         1

                                CHAPTER I

    Description of a good Translation—General Rules flowing from
    that description                                                     7

                               CHAPTER II

    First General Rule: A Translation should give a complete
    transcript of the ideas of the original work—Knowledge of
    the language of the original, and acquaintance with the
    subject—Examples of imperfect transfusion of the sense of the
    original—What ought to be the conduct of a Translator where the
    sense is ambiguous                                                  10

                               CHAPTER III

    Whether it is allowable for a Translator to add to or retrench
    the ideas of the original—Examples of the use and abuse of this
    liberty                                                             22

                               CHAPTER IV

    Of the freedom allowed in poetical Translation—Progress of
    poetical Translation in England—B. Jonson, Holiday, May,
    Sandys, Fanshaw, Dryden—Roscommon’s Essay on Translated
    Verse—Pope’s Homer                                                  35

                                CHAPTER V

    Second general Rule: The style and manner of writing in a
    Translation should be of the same character with that of the
    Original—Translations of the Scriptures—Of Homer, &c.—A just
    Taste requisite for the discernment of the Characters of Style
    and Manner—Examples of failure in this particular; The grave
    exchanged for the formal; the elevated for the bombast; the
    lively for the petulant; the simple for the childish—Hobbes,
    L’Estrange, Echard, &c.                                             63

                               CHAPTER VI

    Examples of a good Taste in poetical Translation—Bourne’s
    Translations from Mallet and from Prior—The Duke de Nivernois,
    from Horace—Dr. Jortin, from Simonides—Imitation of the same by
    the Archbishop of York—Mr. Webb, from the Anthologia—Hughes,
    from Claudian—Fragments of the Greek Dramatists by Mr.
    Cumberland                                                          80

                               CHAPTER VII

    Limitation of the rule regarding the Imitation of Style—This
    Imitation must be regulated by the Genius of Languages—The
    Latin admits of a greater brevity of Expression than the
    English; as does the French—The Latin and Greek allow of
    greater Inversions than the English, and admit more freely of
    Ellipsis                                                            96

                              CHAPTER VIII

    Whether a Poem can be well Translated into Prose?                  107

                               CHAPTER IX

    Third general Rule: A Translation should have all the ease of
    original composition—Extreme difficulty in the observance of
    this rule—Contrasted instances of success and failure—Of the
    necessity of sacrificing one rule to another                       112

                                CHAPTER X

    It is less difficult to attain the ease of original composition
    in poetical, than in Prose Translation—Lyric Poetry admits of
    the greatest liberty of Translation—Examples distinguishing
    Paraphrase from Translation, from Dryden, Lowth, Fontenelle,
    Prior, Anguillara, Hughes                                          123

                               CHAPTER XI

    Of the Translation of Idiomatic Phrases—Examples from Cotton,
    Echard, Sterne—Injudicious use of Idioms in the Translation,
    which do not correspond with the age or country of the
    Original—Idiomatic Phrases sometimes incapable of Translation      135

                               CHAPTER XII

    Difficulty of translating _Don Quixote_, from its Idiomatic
    Phraseology—Of the best Translations of that Romance—Comparison
    of the Translation by Motteux with that by Smollett                150

                              CHAPTER XIII

    Other Characteristics of Composition which render
    Translation difficult—Antiquated Terms—New Terms—_Verba
    Ardentia_—Simplicity of Thought and Expression—In Prose—In
    Poetry—_Naiveté_ in the latter—Chaulieu—Parnelle—La
    Fontaine—Series of Minute Distinctions marked by characteristic
    Terms—Strada—Florid Style, and vague expression—Pliny’s Natural
    History                                                            176

                               CHAPTER XIV

    Of Burlesque Translation—Travesty and Parody—Scarron’s _Virgile
    Travesti_—Another species of Ludicrous Translation                 197

                               CHAPTER XV

    The genius of the Translator should be akin to that of the
    original author—The best Translators have shone in original
    composition of the same species with that which they have
    translated—Of Voltaire’s Translations from Shakespeare—Of the
    peculiar character of the wit of Voltaire—His Translation
    from _Hudibras_—Excellent anonymous French Translation of
    _Hudibras_—Translation of Rabelais by Urquhart and Motteux         204

    Appendix                                                           225

    Index                                                              231




ESSAY ON THE PRINCIPLES OF TRANSLATION




INTRODUCTION


There is perhaps no department of literature which has been less the
object of cultivation, than the _Art of Translating_. Even among the
ancients, who seem to have had a very just idea of its importance,
and who have accordingly ranked it among the most useful branches of
literary education, we meet with no attempt to unfold the principles
of this art, or to reduce it to rules. In the works of Quinctilian, of
Cicero, and of the Younger Pliny, we find many passages which prove that
these authors had made translation their peculiar study; and, conscious
themselves of its utility, they have strongly recommended the practice
of it, as essential towards the formation both of a good writer and
an accomplished orator.[1] But it is much to be regretted, that they
who were so eminently well qualified to furnish instruction in the art
itself, have contributed little more to its advancement than by some
general recommendations of its importance. If indeed time had spared to
us any complete or finished specimens of translation from the hand of
those great masters, it had been some compensation for the want of actual
precepts, to have been able to have deduced them ourselves from those
exquisite models. But of ancient translations the fragments that remain
are so inconsiderable, and so much mutilated, that we can scarcely derive
from them any advantage.[2]

To the moderns the art of translation is of greater importance than
it was to the ancients, in the same proportion that the great mass of
ancient and of modern literature, accumulated up to the present times,
bears to the general stock of learning in the most enlightened periods
of antiquity. But it is a singular consideration, that under the daily
experience of the advantages of good translations, in opening to us
all the stores of ancient knowledge, and creating a free intercourse
of science and of literature between all modern nations, there should
have been so little done towards the improvement of the art itself, by
investigating its laws, or unfolding its principles. Unless a very short
essay, published by M. D’Alembert, in his _Mélanges de Litterature,
d’Histoire, &c._ as introductory to his translations of some pieces
of Tacitus, and some remarks on translation by the Abbé Batteux, in
his _Principes de la Litterature_, I have met with nothing that has
been written professedly upon the subject.[3] The observations of M.
D’Alembert, though extremely judicious, are too general to be considered
as rules, or even principles of the art; and the remarks of the Abbé
Batteux are employed chiefly on what may be termed the Philosophy of
Grammar, and seem to have for their principal object the ascertainment of
the analogy that one language bears to another, or the pointing out of
those circumstances of construction and arrangement in which languages
either agree with, or differ from each other.[4]

While such has been our ignorance of the principles of this art, it is
not at all wonderful, that amidst the numberless translations which every
day appear, both of the works of the ancients and moderns, there should
be so few that are possessed of real merit. The utility of translations
is universally felt, and therefore there is a continual demand for them.
But this very circumstance has thrown the practice of translation into
mean and mercenary hands. It is a profession which, it is generally
believed, may be exercised with a very small portion of genius or
abilities.[5] “It seems to me,” says Dryden, “that the true reason why
we have so few versions that are tolerable, is, because there are so few
who have all the talents requisite for translation, and that there is
so little praise and small encouragement for so considerable a part of
learning” (_Pref. to Ovid’s Epistles_).

It must be owned, at the same time, that there _have been_, and that
there _are_ men of genius among the moderns who have vindicated the
dignity of this art so ill-appreciated, and who have furnished us
with excellent translations, both of the ancient classics, and of the
productions of foreign writers of our own and of former ages. These
works lay open a great field of useful criticism; and from them it is
certainly possible to draw the principles of that art which has never yet
been methodised, and to establish its rules and precepts. Towards this
purpose, even the worst translations would have their utility, as in such
a critical exercise, it would be equally necessary to illustrate defects
as to exemplify perfections.

An attempt of this kind forms the subject of the following Essay, in
which the Author solicits indulgence, both for the imperfections of his
treatise, and perhaps for some errors of opinion. His apology for the
first, is, that he does not pretend to exhaust the subject, or to treat
it in all its amplitude, but only to point out the general principles of
the art; and for the last, that in matters where the ultimate appeal is
to Taste, it is almost impossible to be secure of the solidity of our
opinions, when the criterion of their truth is so very uncertain.




CHAPTER I

    DESCRIPTION OF A GOOD TRANSLATION—GENERAL RULES FLOWING FROM
    THAT DESCRIPTION


If it were possible accurately to define, or, perhaps more properly, to
describe what is meant by a _good Translation_, it is evident that a
considerable progress would be made towards establishing the Rules of
the _Art_; for these Rules would flow naturally from that definition
or description. But there is no subject of criticism where there has
been so much difference of opinion. If the genius and character of all
languages were the same, it would be an easy task to translate from one
into another; nor would anything more be requisite on the part of the
translator, than fidelity and attention. But as the genius and character
of languages is confessedly very different, it has hence become a
common opinion, that it is the duty of a translator to attend only to
the sense and spirit of his original, to make himself perfectly master
of his author’s ideas, and to communicate them in those expressions
which he judges to be best suited to convey them. It has, on the
other hand, been maintained, that, in order to constitute a perfect
translation, it is not only requisite that the ideas and sentiments
of the original author should be conveyed, but likewise his style and
manner of writing, which, it is supposed, cannot be done without a strict
attention to the arrangement of his sentences, and even to their order
and construction.[6] According to the former idea of translation, it is
allowable to improve and to embellish; according to the latter, it is
necessary to preserve even blemishes and defects; and to these must,
likewise be superadded the harshness that must attend every copy in which
the artist scrupulously studies to imitate the minutest lines or traces
of his original.

As these two opinions form opposite extremes, it is not improbable
that the point of perfection should be found between the two. I would
therefore describe a good translation to be, _That, in which the merit of
the original work is so completely transfused into another language, as
to be as distinctly apprehended, and as strongly felt, by a native of
the country to which that language belongs, as it is by those who speak
the language of the original work_.

Now, supposing this description to be a just one, which I think it is,
let us examine what are the laws of translation which may be deduced from
it.

It will follow,

I. That the Translation should give a complete transcript of the ideas of
the original work.

II. That the style and manner of writing should be of the same character
with that of the original.

III. That the Translation should have all the ease of original
composition.

Under each of these general laws of translation, are comprehended a
variety of subordinate precepts, which I shall notice in their order, and
which, as well as the general laws, I shall endeavour to prove, and to
illustrate by examples.




CHAPTER II

    FIRST GENERAL RULE—A TRANSLATION SHOULD GIVE A COMPLETE
    TRANSCRIPT OF THE IDEAS OF THE ORIGINAL WORK—KNOWLEDGE OF
    THE LANGUAGE OF THE ORIGINAL, AND ACQUAINTANCE WITH THE
    SUBJECT—EXAMPLES OF IMPERFECT TRANSFUSION OF THE SENSE OF THE
    ORIGINAL—WHAT OUGHT TO BE THE CONDUCT OF A TRANSLATOR WHERE THE
    SENSE IS AMBIGUOUS


In order that a translator may be enabled to give a complete transcript
of the ideas of the original work, it is indispensably necessary, that
he should have a perfect knowledge of the language of the original, and
a competent acquaintance with the subject of which it treats. If he is
deficient in either of these requisites, he can never be certain of
thoroughly comprehending the sense of his author. M. Folard is allowed
to have been a great master of the art of war. He undertook to translate
Polybius, and to give a commentary illustrating the ancient Tactic,
and the practice of the Greeks and Romans in the attack and defence of
fortified places. In this commentary, he endeavours to shew, from the
words of his author, and of other ancient writers, that the Greek and
Roman engineers knew and practised almost every operation known to the
moderns; and that, in particular, the mode of approach by parallels
and trenches, was perfectly familiar to them, and in continual use.
Unfortunately M. Folard had but a very slender knowledge of the Greek
language, and was obliged to study his author through the medium of a
translation, executed by a Benedictine monk,[7] who was entirely ignorant
of the art of war. M. Guischardt, a great military genius, and a thorough
master of the Greek language, has shewn, that the work of Folard contains
many capital misrepresentations of the sense of his author, in his
account of the most important battles and sieges, and has demonstrated,
that the complicated system formed by this writer of the ancient art of
war, has no support from any of the ancient authors fairly interpreted.[8]

The extreme difficulty of translating from the works of the ancients,
is most discernible to those who are best acquainted with the ancient
languages. It is but a small part of the genius and powers of a language
which is to be learnt from dictionaries and grammars. There are
innumerable niceties, not only of construction and of idiom, but even in
the signification of words, which are discovered only by much reading,
and critical attention.

A very learned author, and acute critic,[9] has, in treating “of the
causes of the differences in languages,” remarked, that a principal
difficulty in the art of translating arises from this circumstance,
“that there are certain words in every language which but imperfectly
correspond to any of the words of other languages.” Of this kind, he
observes, are most of the terms relating to morals, to the passions,
to matters of sentiment, or to the objects of the reflex and internal
senses. Thus the Greek words αρετη, σωφροσυνη, ελεος, have not their
sense precisely and perfectly conveyed by the Latin words _virtus_,
_temperantia_, _misericordia_, and still less by the English words,
_virtue_, _temperance_, _mercy_. The Latin word _virtus_ is frequently
synonymous to _valour_, a sense which it never bears in English.
_Temperantia_, in Latin, implies moderation in every desire, and is
defined by Cicero, _Moderatio cupiditatum rationi obediens_.[10] The
English word _temperance_, in its ordinary use, is limited to moderation
in eating and drinking.

                                  Observe
    The rule of not too much, by _Temperance_ taught,
    In what thou eat’st and drink’st.

                                   _Par. Lost_, b. 11.

It is true, that Spenser has used the term in its more extensive
signification.

    He calm’d his wrath with goodly _temperance_.

But no modern prose-writer authorises such extension of its meaning.

The following passage is quoted by the ingenious writer above mentioned,
to shew, in the strongest manner, the extreme difficulty of apprehending
the precise import of words of this order in dead languages: “_Ægritudo
est opinio recens mali præsentis, in quo demitti contrahique animo rectum
esse videatur. Ægritudini subjiciuntur angor, mœror, dolor, luctus,
ærumna, afflictatio: angor est ægritudo premens, mœror ægritudo flebilis,
ærumna ægritudo laboriosa, dolor ægritudo crucians, afflictatio ægritudo
cum vexatione corporis, luctus ægritudo ex ejus qui carus fuerat,
interitu acerbo._”[11]—“Let any one,” says D’Alembert, “examine this
passage with attention, and say honestly, whether, if he had not known
of it, he would have had any idea of those nice shades of signification
here marked, and whether he would not have been much embarrassed, had
he been writing a dictionary, to distinguish, with accuracy, the words
_ægritudo_, _mœror_, _dolor_, _angor_, _luctus_, _ærumna_, _afflictatio_.”

The fragments of Varro, _de Lingua Latina_, the treatises of Festus and
of Nonius, the _Origines_ of Isidorus Hispalensis, the work of Ausonius
Popma, _de Differentiis Verborum_, the _Synonymes_ of the Abbé Girard,
and a short essay by Dr. Hill[12] on “the utility of defining synonymous
terms,” will furnish numberless instances of those very delicate shades
of distinction in the signification of words, which nothing but the
most intimate acquaintance with a language can teach; but without the
knowledge of which distinctions in the original, and an equal power
of discrimination of the corresponding terms of his own language, no
translator can be said to possess the primary requisites for the task he
undertakes.

But a translator, thoroughly master of the language, and competently
acquainted with the subject, may yet fail to give a complete transcript
of the ideas of his original author.

M. D’Alembert has favoured the public with some admirable translations
from Tacitus; and it must be acknowledged, that he possessed every
qualification requisite for the task he undertook. If, in the course of
the following observations, I may have occasion to criticise any part
of his writings, or those of other authors of equal celebrity, I avail
myself of the just sentiment of M. Duclos, “On peut toujours relever les
défauts des grands hommes, et peut-être sont ils les seuls qui en soient
dignes, et dont la critique soit utile” (Duclos, _Pref. de l’Hist. de
Louis XI._).

Tacitus, in describing the conduct of _Piso_ upon the death of
Germanicus, says: _Pisonem interim apud Coum insulam nuncius adsequitur,
excessisse Germanicum_ (Tacit. An. lib. 2, c. 75). This passage is thus
translated by M. D’Alembert, “Pison apprend, dans l’isle de Cos, la
mort de Germanicus.” In translating this passage, it is evident that M.
D’Alembert has not given the complete sense of the original. The sense
of Tacitus is, that Piso was overtaken on his voyage homeward, at the
Isle of Cos, by a messenger, who informed him that Germanicus was dead.
According to the French translator, we understand simply, that when Piso
arrived at the Isle of Cos, he was informed that Germanicus was dead.
We do not learn from this, that a messenger had followed him on his
voyage to bring him this intelligence. The fact was, that Piso purposely
lingered on his voyage homeward, expecting this very messenger who here
overtook him. But, by M. D’Alembert’s version it might be understood,
that Germanicus had died in the island of Cos, and that Piso was informed
of his death by the islanders immediately on his arrival. The passage
is thus translated, with perfect precision, by D’Ablancourt: “Cependant
Pison apprend la nouvelle de cette mort par un courier exprès, qui
l’atteignit en l’isle de Cos.”

After Piso had received intelligence of the death of Germanicus, he
deliberated whether to proceed on his voyage to Rome, or to return
immediately to Syria, and there put himself at the head of the legions.
His son advised the former measure; but his friend Domitius Celer argued
warmly for his return to the province, and urged, that all difficulties
would give way to him, if he had once the command of the army, and had
increased his force by new levies. _At si teneat exercitum, augeat vires,
multa quæ provideri non possunt in melius casura_ (An. l. 2, c. 77). This
M. D’Alembert has translated, “Mais que s’il savoit se rendre redoutable
à la tête des troupes, le hazard ameneroit des circonstances heureuses et
imprévues.” In the original passage, Domitius advises Piso to adopt two
distinct measures; the first, to obtain the command of the army, and the
second, to increase his force by new levies. These two distinct measures
are confounded together by the translator, nor is the sense of either of
them accurately given; for from the expression, “se rendre redoutable
à la tête des troupes,” we may understand, that Piso already had the
command of the troops, and that all that was requisite, was to render
himself formidable in that station, which he might do in various other
ways than by increasing the levies.

Tacitus, speaking of the means by which Augustus obtained an absolute
ascendency over all ranks in the state, says, _Cùm cæteri nobilium,
quanto quis servitio promptior, opibus et honoribus extollerentur_
(An. l. 1, c. 2). This D’Alembert has translated, “Le reste des nobles
trouvoit dans les richesses et dans les honneurs la récompense de
l’esclavage.” Here the translator has but half expressed the meaning
of his author, which is, that “the rest of the nobility were exalted to
riches and honours, in proportion as Augustus found in them an aptitude
and disposition to servitude:” or, as it is well translated by Mr.
Murphy, “The leading men were raised to wealth and honours, in proportion
to the alacrity with which they courted the yoke.”[13]

Cicero, in a letter to the Proconsul Philippus says, _Quod si Romæ te
vidissem, coramque gratias egissem, quod tibi L. Egnatius familiarissimus
meus absens, L. Oppius præsens curæ fuisset_. This passage is thus
translated by Mr. Melmoth: “If I were in Rome, I should have waited
upon you for this purpose in person, and in order likewise to make my
acknowledgements to you for your favours to my friends Egnatius and
Oppius.” Here the sense is not completely rendered, as there is an
omission of the meaning of the words _absens_ and _præsens_.

Where the sense of an author is doubtful, and where more than one
meaning can be given to the same passage or expression, (which, by the
way, is always a defect in composition), the translator is called upon
to exercise his judgement, and to select that meaning which is most
consonant to the train of thought in the whole passage, or to the
author’s usual mode of thinking, and of expressing himself. To imitate
the obscurity or ambiguity of the original, is a fault; and it is still
a greater, to give more than one meaning, as D’Alembert has done in the
beginning of the Preface of Tacitus. The original runs thus: _Urbem
Romam a principio Reges habuere. Libertatem et consulatum L. Brutus
instituit. Dictaturæ ad tempus sumebantur: neque Decemviralis potestas
ultra biennium, neque Tribunorum militum consulare jus diu valuit._
The ambiguous sentence is, _Dictaturæ ad tempus sumebantur_; which may
signify either “Dictators were chosen for a limited time,” or “Dictators
were chosen on particular occasions or emergencies.” D’Alembert saw
this ambiguity; but how did he remove the difficulty? Not by exercising
his judgement in determining between the two different meanings, but by
giving them both in his translation. “On créoit au besoin des dictateurs
passagers.” Now, this double sense it was impossible that Tacitus should
ever have intended to convey by the words _ad tempus_: and between the
two meanings of which the words are susceptible, a very little critical
judgement was requisite to decide. I know not that _ad tempus_ is ever
used in the sense of “for the occasion, or emergency.” If this had been
the author’s meaning, he would probably have used either the words
_ad occasionem_, or _pro re nata_. But even allowing the phrase to be
susceptible of this meaning,[14] it is not the meaning which Tacitus
chose to give it in this passage. That the author meant that the Dictator
was created for a limited time, is, I think, evident from the sentence
immediately following, which is connected by the copulative _neque_
with the preceding: _Dictaturæ ad tempus sumebantur: neque Decemviralis
potestas ultra biennium valuit_: “The office of Dictator was instituted
for a limited time: nor did the power of the Decemvirs subsist beyond two
years.”

M. D’Alembert’s translation of the concluding sentence of this chapter is
censurable on the same account. Tacitus says, _Sed veteris populi Romani
prospera vel adversa, claris scriptoribus memorata sunt; temporibusque
Augusti dicendis non defuere decora ingenia, donec gliscente adulatione
deterrerentur. Tiberii, Caiique, et Claudii, ac Neronis res, florentibus
ipsis, ob metum falsæ: postquam occiderant, recentibus odiis compositæ
sunt. Inde consilium mihi pauca de Augusto, et extrema tradere: mox
Tiberii principatum, et cetera, sine ira et studio, quorum causas procul
habeo._ Thus translated by D’Alembert: “Des auteurs illustres ont fait
connoitre la gloire et les malheurs de l’ancienne république; l’histoire
même d’Auguste a été écrite par de grands génies, jusqu’aux tems ou la
necessité de flatter les condamna au silence. La crainte ménagea tant
qu’ils vécurent, Tibere, Caius, Claude, et Néron; des qu’ils ne furent
plus, la haine toute récente les déchira. J’écrirai donc en peu de mots
la fin du regne d’Auguste, puis celui de Tibere, et les suivans; sans
fiel et sans bassesse: mon caractere m’en éloigne, et les tems m’en
dispensent.” In the last part of this passage, the translator has given
_two_ different meanings to the same clause, _sine ira et studio, quorum
causas procul habeo_, to which the author certainly meant to annex
only one meaning; and that, as I think, a different _one_ from either
of those expressed by the translator. To be clearly understood, I must
give my own version of the whole passage. “The history of the ancient
republic of Rome, both in its prosperous and in its adverse days, has
been recorded by eminent authors: Even the reign of Augustus has been
happily delineated, down to those times when the prevailing spirit of
adulation put to silence every ingenuous writer. The annals of Tiberius,
of Caligula, of Claudius, and of Nero, written while they were alive,
were falsified from terror; as were those histories composed after their
death, from hatred to their recent memories. For this reason, I have
resolved to attempt a short delineation of the latter part of the reign
of Augustus; and afterwards that of Tiberius, and of the succeeding
princes; conscious of perfect impartiality, as, from the remoteness
of the events, I have no motive, either of odium or adulation.” In the
last clause of this sentence, I believe I have given the true version of
_sine ira et studio, quorum causas procul habeo_: But if this be the true
meaning of the author, M. D’Alembert has given two different meanings
to the same sentence, and neither of them the true one: “sans fiel et
sans bassesse: mon caractere m’en éloigne, et les tems m’en dispensent.”
According to the French translator, the historian pays a compliment first
to his own character, and secondly, to the character of the times; both
of which he makes the pledges of his impartiality: but it is perfectly
clear that Tacitus neither meant the one compliment nor the other;
but intended simply to say, that the remoteness of the events which
he proposed to record, precluded every motive either of unfavourable
prejudice or of adulation.




CHAPTER III

    WHETHER IT IS ALLOWABLE FOR A TRANSLATOR TO ADD TO OR RETRENCH
    THE IDEAS OF THE ORIGINAL.—EXAMPLES OF THE USE AND ABUSE OF
    THIS LIBERTY


If it is necessary that a translator should give a complete transcript
of the ideas of the original work, it becomes a question, whether it
is allowable in any case to add to the ideas of the original what may
appear to give greater force or illustration; or to take from them what
may seem to weaken them from redundancy. To give a general answer to
this question, I would say, that this liberty may be used, but with
the greatest caution. It must be further observed, that the superadded
idea shall have the most necessary connection with the original
thought, and actually increase its force. And, on the other hand, that
whenever an idea is cut off by the translator, it must be only such
as is an accessory, and not a principal in the clause or sentence. It
must likewise be confessedly redundant, so that its retrenchment shall
not impair or weaken the original thought. Under these limitations, a
translator may exercise his judgement, and assume to himself, in so far,
the character of an original writer.

It will be allowed, that in the following instance the translator, the
elegant Vincent Bourne, has added a very beautiful idea, which, while
it has a most natural connection with the original thought, greatly
heightens its energy and tenderness. The two following stanzas are a part
of the fine ballad of _Colin and Lucy_, by Tickell.

    To-morrow in the church to wed,
      Impatient both prepare;
    But know, fond maid, and know, false man,
      That Lucy will be there.

    There bear my corse, ye comrades, bear,
      The bridegroom blithe to meet,
    He in his wedding-trim so gay,
      I in my winding-sheet.

Thus translated by Bourne:

    Jungere cras dextræ dextram properatis uterque,
      Et tardè interea creditis ire diem.
    Credula quin virgo, juvenis quin perfide, uterque
      Scite, quod et pacti Lucia testis erit.

    Exangue, oh! illuc, comites, deferte cadaver,
      Qua semel, oh! iterum congrediamur, ait;
    Vestibus ornatus sponsalibus ille, caputque
      Ipsa sepulchrali vincta, pedesque stolâ.

In this translation, which is altogether excellent, it is evident, that
there is one most beautiful idea superadded by Bourne, in the line _Qua
semel, oh!_ &c.; which wonderfully improves upon the original thought.
In the original, the speaker, deeply impressed with the sense of her
wrongs, has no other idea than to overwhelm her perjured lover with
remorse at the moment of his approaching nuptials. In the translation,
amidst this prevalent idea, the speaker all at once gives way to an
involuntary burst of tenderness and affection, “Oh, let us meet once
more, and for the last time!” _Semel, oh! iterum congrediamur, ait._—It
was only a man of exquisite feeling, who was capable of thus improving on
so fine an original.[15]

Achilles (in the first book of the _Iliad_), won by the persuasion of
Minerva, resolves, though indignantly, to give up Briseis, and Patroclus
is commanded to deliver her to the heralds of Agamemnon:

    Ως φατο· Πατροκλος δε φιλω επεπεἰθεθ’ εταιρω·
    Εκ δ’ ἄγαγε κλισιης Βρισηιδα καλλιπαρηον,
    Δῶκε δ’ αγειν· τω δ’ αυτις ιτην παρα νηας Αχαιων·
    Ἡ δ’ αεκουσ’ ἁμα τοισι γυνὴ κιεν.

                                     _Ilias_, A. 345.

“Thus he spoke. But Patroclus was obedient to his dear friend. He brought
out the beautiful Briseis from the tent, and gave her to be carried away.
They returned to the ships of the Greeks; but she unwillingly went, along
with her attendants.”

    Patroclus now th’ unwilling Beauty brought;
    _She in soft sorrows, and in pensive thought,_
    _Past silent, as the heralds held her hand,_
    _And oft look’d back, slow moving o’er the strand._

                                                 POPE.

The ideas contained in the three last lines are not indeed expressed in
the original, but they are implied in the word αεκουσα; for she who goes
unwillingly, will _move slowly_, and _oft look back_. The amplification
highly improves the effect of the picture. It may be incidentally
remarked, that the pause in the third line, _Past silent_, is admirably
characteristic of the slow and hesitating motion which it describes.

In the poetical version of the 137th Psalm, by Arthur Johnston, a
composition of classical elegance, there are several examples of ideas
superadded by the translator, intimately connected with the original
thoughts, and greatly heightening their energy and beauty.

    Urbe procul Solymæ, fusi Babylonis ad undas
      Flevimus, et lachrymæ fluminis instar erant:
    Sacra Sion toties animo totiesque recursans,
      Materiem lachrymis præbuit usque novis.
    Desuetas saliceta lyras, et muta ferebant
      Nablia, servili non temeranda manu.
    Qui patria exegit, patriam qui subruit, hostis
      Pendula captivos sumere plectra jubet:
    Imperat et lætos, mediis in fletibus, hymnos,
      Quosque Sion cecinit, nunc taciturna! modos.
    Ergone pacta Deo peregrinæ barbita genti
      Fas erit, et sacras prostituisse lyras?
    Ante meo, Solyme, quam tu de pectore cedas,
      Nesciat Hebræam tangere dextra chelyn.
    Te nisi tollat ovans unam super omnia, lingua
      Faucibus hærescat sidere tacta meis.
    Ne tibi noxa recens, scelerum Deus ultor! Idumes
      Excidat, et Solymis perniciosa dies:
    Vertite, clamabant, fundo jam vertite templum,
      Tectaque montanis jam habitanda feris.
    Te quoque pœna manet, Babylon! quibus astra lacessis
      Culmina mox fient, quod premis, æqua solo:
    Felicem, qui clade pari data damna rependet,
      Et feret ultrices in tua tecta faces!
    Felicem, quisquis scopulis illidet acutis
      Dulcia materno pignora rapta sinu!

I pass over the superadded idea in the second line, _lachrymæ fluminis
instar erant_, because, bordering on the hyperbole, it derogates, in
some degree, from the chaste simplicity of the original. To the simple
fact, “We hanged our harps on the willows in the midst thereof,” which is
most poetically conveyed by _Desuetas saliceta lyras, et muta ferebant
nablia_, is superadded all the force of sentiment in that beautiful
expression, which so strongly paints the mixed emotions of a proud mind
under the influence of poignant grief, heightened by shame, _servili non
temeranda manu_. So likewise in the following stanza there is the noblest
improvement of the sense of the original.

    Imperat et lætos, mediis in fletibus, hymnos,
    Quosque Sion cecinit, _nunc taciturna!_ modos.

The reflection on the melancholy silence that now reigned on that sacred
hill, “once vocal with their songs,” is an additional thought, the force
of which is better felt than it can be conveyed by words.

An ordinary translator sinks under the energy of his original: the man of
genius frequently rises above it. Horace, arraigning the abuse of riches,
makes the plain and honest Ofellus thus remonstrate with a wealthy
Epicure (_Sat._ 2, b. 2).

    Cur eget indignus quisquam te divite?

A question to the energy of which it was not easy to add, but which has
received the most spirited improvement from Mr. Pope:

    How _dar’st_ thou let one worthy man be poor?

An improvement is sometimes very happily made, by substituting figure
and metaphor to simple sentiment; as in the following example, from Mr.
Mason’s excellent translation of Du Fresnoy’s _Art of Painting_. In the
original, the poet, treating of the merits of the antique statues, says:

                queis posterior nil protulit ætas
    Condignum, et non inferius longè, arte modoque.

This is a simple fact, in the perusal of which the reader is struck with
nothing else but the truth of the assertion. Mark how in the translation
the same truth is conveyed in one of the finest figures of poetry:

                  with reluctant gaze
    To these the genius of succeeding days
    Looks dazzled up, and, as their glories spread,
    Hides in his mantle his diminish’d head.

In the two following lines, Horace inculcates a striking moral truth; but
the figure in which it is conveyed has nothing of dignity:

    Pallida mors æquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas
    Regumque turres.

Malherbe has given to the same sentiment a high portion of tenderness,
and even sublimity:

    Le pauvre en sa cabane, où le chaume le couvre,
      Est sujet à ses loix;
    Et la garde qui veille aux barrieres du Louvre,
      N’en défend pas nos rois.[16]

Cicero writes thus to Trebatius, Ep. ad fam. lib. 7, ep. 17: _Tanquam
enim syngrapham ad Imperatorem, non epistolam attulisses, sic pecuniâ
ablatâ domum redire properabas: nec tibi in mentem veniebat, eos ipsos
qui cum syngraphis venissent Alexandriam, nullum adhuc nummum auferre
potuisse_. The passage is thus translated by Melmoth, b. 2, l. 12: “One
would have imagined indeed, you had carried a bill of exchange upon
Cæsar, instead of a letter of recommendation: As you seemed to think
you had nothing more to do, than to receive your money, and to hasten
home again. But money, my friend, is not so easily acquired; and I could
name some of our acquaintance, who have been obliged to travel as far
as Alexandria in pursuit of it, without having yet been able to obtain
even their just demands.” The expressions, “_money, my friend, is not so
easily acquired_,” and “_I could name some of our acquaintance_,” are not
to be found in the original; but they have an obvious connection with
the ideas of the original: they increase their force, while, at the same
time, they give ease and spirit to the whole passage.

I question much if a licence so unbounded as the following is
justifiable, on the principle of giving either ease or spirit to the
original.

In Lucian’s Dialogue _Timon_, Gnathonides, after being beaten by Timon,
says to him,

    Αει φιλοσκῴμμων συ γε· αλλα ποῦ το συμποσιον; ὡς καινον τι σοι
    ασμα των νεοδιδακτων διθυραμβων ἥκω κομιζων.

“You were always fond of a joke—but where is the banquet? for I have
brought you a new dithyrambic song, which I have lately learned.”

In Dryden’s _Lucian_, “translated by several eminent hands,” this passage
is thus translated: “Ah! Lord, Sir, I see you keep up your old merry
humour still; you love dearly to rally and break a jest. Well, but have
you got a noble supper for us, and plenty of delicious inspiring claret?
Hark ye, Timon, I’ve got a virgin-song for ye, just new composed, and
smells of the gamut: ’Twill make your heart dance within you, old boy. A
very pretty she-player, I vow to Gad, that I have an interest in, taught
it me this morning.”

There is both ease and spirit in this translation; but the licence which
the translator has assumed, of superadding to the ideas of the original,
is beyond all bounds.

An equal degree of judgement is requisite when the translator assumes the
liberty of retrenching the ideas of the original.

After the fatal horse had been admitted within the walls of Troy, Virgil
thus describes the coming on of that night which was to witness the
destruction of the city:

    _Vertitur interea cœlum, et ruit oceano nox,_
    _Involvens umbrâ magnâ terramque polumque,_
    _Myrmidonumque dolos._

The principal effect attributed to the night in this description, and
certainly the most interesting, is its concealment of the treachery of
the Greeks. Add to this, the beauty which the picture acquires from this
association of natural with moral effects. How inexcusable then must Mr.
Dryden appear, who, in his translation, has suppressed the _Myrmidonumque
dolos_ altogether?

    Mean time the rapid heav’ns roll’d down the light,
    And on the shaded ocean rush’d the night:
    Our men secure, &c.

Ogilby, with less of the spirit of poetry, has done more justice to the
original:

    Meanwhile night rose from sea, whose spreading shade
    Hides heaven and earth, and plots the Grecians laid.

Mr. Pope, in his translation of the _Iliad_, has, in the parting scene
between Hector and Andromache (vi. 466), omitted a particular respecting
the dress of the nurse, which he thought an impropriety in the picture.
Homer says,

      Αψ δ’ ὁ παϊς προς κολπον ἐϋζωνοιο τιθηνης
    Εκλινθη ἰαχων.

“The boy crying, threw himself back into the arms of his nurse, whose
waist was elegantly girt.” Mr. Pope, who has suppressed the epithet
descriptive of the waist, has incurred on that account the censure of Mr.
Melmoth, who says, “He has not touched the picture with that delicacy of
pencil which graces the original, as he has entirely lost the beauty of
one of the figures.—Though the hero and his son were designed to draw
our principal attention, Homer intended likewise that we should cast a
glance towards the nurse” (_Fitzosborne’s Letters_, l. 43). If this was
Homer’s intention, he has, in my opinion, shewn less good taste in this
instance than his translator, who has, I think with much propriety, left
out the compliment to the nurse’s waist altogether. And this liberty of
the translator was perfectly allowable; for Homer’s epithets are often
nothing more than mere expletives, or additional designations of his
persons. They are always, it is true, significant of some principal
attribute of the person; but they are often applied by the poet in
circumstances where the mention of that attribute is quite preposterous.
It would shew very little judgement in a translator, who should honour
Patroclus with the epithet of _godlike_, while he is blowing the fire
to roast an ox; or bestow on Agamemnon the designation of _King of many
nations_, while he is helping Ajax to a large piece of the chine.

It were to be wished that Mr. Melmoth, who is certainly one of the
best of the English translators, had always been equally scrupulous in
retrenching the ideas of his author. Cicero thus superscribes one of his
letters: _M. T. C. Terentiæ, et Pater suavissimæ filiæ Tulliolæ, Cicero
matri et sorori S. D._ (Ep. Fam. l. 14, ep. 18). And another in this
manner: _Tullius Terentiæ, et Pater Tulliolæ, duabus animis suis, et
Cicero Matri optimæ, suavissimæ sorori_ (lib. 14, ep. 14). Why are these
addresses entirely sunk in the translation, and a naked title poorly
substituted for them, “To Terentia and Tullia,” and “To the same”? The
addresses to these letters give them their highest value, as they mark
the warmth of the author’s heart, and the strength of his conjugal and
paternal affections.

In one of Pliny’s Epistles, speaking of Regulus, he says, _Ut ipse mihi
dixerit quum consuleret, quam citò sestertium sexcenties impleturus
esset, invenisse se exta duplicata, quibus portendi millies et ducenties
habiturum_ (Plin. Ep. l. 2, ep. 20). Thus translated by Melmoth, “That he
once told me, upon consulting the omens, to know how soon he should be
worth sixty millions of sesterces, he found them so favourable to him as
to portend that he should possess double that sum.” Here a material part
of the original idea is omitted; no less than that very circumstance upon
which the omen turned, viz., that the entrails of the victim were double.

Analogous to this liberty of adding to or retrenching from the ideas of
the original, is the liberty which a translator may take of correcting
what appears to him a careless or inaccurate expression of the original,
where that inaccuracy seems materially to affect the sense. Tacitus
says, when Tiberius was entreated to take upon him the government of the
empire, _Ille variè disserebat, de magnitudine imperii, suâ modestiâ_
(An. l. 1, c. 11). Here the word _modestiâ_ is improperly applied. The
author could not mean to say, that Tiberius discoursed to the people
about his own modesty. He wished that his discourse should seem to
proceed from modesty; but he did not talk to them about his modesty.
D’Alembert saw this impropriety, and he has therefore well translated the
passage: “Il répondit par des discours généraux sur son peu de talent, et
sur la grandeur de l’empire.”

A similar impropriety, not indeed affecting the sense, but offending
against the dignity of the narrative, occurs in that passage where
Tacitus relates, that Augustus, in the decline of life, after the death
of Drusus, appointed his son Germanicus to the command of eight legions
on the Rhine, _At, hercule, Germanicum Druso ortum octo apud Rhenum
legionibus imposuit_ (An. l. 1, c. 3). There was no occasion here for
the historian swearing; and though, to render the passage with strict
fidelity, an English translator must have said, “Augustus, Egad, gave
Germanicus the son of Drusus the command of eight legions on the Rhine,”
we cannot hesitate to say, that the simple fact is better announced
without such embellishment.




CHAPTER IV

    OF THE FREEDOM ALLOWED IN POETICAL TRANSLATION.—PROGRESS OF
    POETICAL TRANSLATION IN ENGLAND.—B. JONSON, HOLIDAY, SANDYS,
    FANSHAW, DRYDEN.—ROSCOMMON’S ESSAY ON TRANSLATED VERSE.—POPE’S
    HOMER.


In the preceding chapter, in treating of the liberty assumed by
translators, of adding to, or retrenching from the ideas of the original,
several examples have been given, where that liberty has been assumed
with propriety both in prose composition and in poetry. In the latter, it
is more peculiarly allowable. “I conceive it,” says Sir John Denham, “a
vulgar error in translating poets, to affect being _fidus interpres_. Let
that care be with them who deal in matters of fact or matters of faith;
but whosoever aims at it in poetry, as he attempts what is not required,
so shall he never perform what he attempts; for it is not his business
alone to translate language into language, but poesie into poesie; and
poesie is of so subtle a spirit, that in pouring out of one language into
another, it will all evaporate; and if a new spirit is not added in the
transfusion, there will remain nothing but a _caput mortuum_” (Denham’s
_Preface to the second book of Virgil’s Æneid_).

In poetical translation, the English writers of the 16th, and the
greatest part of the 17th century, seem to have had no other care than
(in Denham’s phrase) to translate language into language, and to have
placed their whole merit in presenting a literal and servile transcript
of their original.

Ben Jonson, in his translation of Horace’s _Art of Poetry_, has paid no
attention to the judicious precept of the very poem he was translating:

    _Nec verbum verbo curabis reddere, fidus_
    _Interpres._

Witness the following specimens, which will strongly illustrate Denham’s
judicious observations.

              Mortalia facta peribunt;
    Nedum sermonum stet honos et gratia vivax.
    Multa renascentur quæ jam cecidere, cadentque
    Quæ nunc sunt in honore vocabula, si volet usus,
    Quem penes arbitrium est et jus et norma loquendi.

                                        _De Art. Poet._

                All mortal deeds
    Shall perish; so far off it is the state
    Or grace of speech should hope a lasting date.
    Much phrase that now is dead shall be reviv’d,
    And much shall die that now is nobly liv’d,
    If custom please, at whose disposing will
    The power and rule of speaking resteth still.

                                       B. JONSON.

    _Interdum tamen et vocem Comœdia tollit,_
    _Iratusque Chremes tumido delitigat ore,_
    _Et Tragicus plerumque dolet sermone pedestri._
    _Telephus et Peleus, cùm pauper et exul uterque,_
    _Projicit ampullas et sesquipedalia verba,_
    _Si curat cor spectantis tetigisse querela._

                                 _De Art. Poet._

    Yet sometime doth the Comedy excite,
    Her voice, and angry Chremes chafes outright,
    With swelling throat, and oft the tragic wight
    Complains in humble phrase. Both Telephus
    And Peleus, if they seek to heart-strike us,
    That are spectators, with their misery,
    When they are poor and banish’d must throw by
    Their bombard-phrase, and foot-and-half-foot words.

                                             B. JONSON.

So, in B. Jonson’s translations from the _Odes_ and _Epodes_ of Horace,
besides the most servile adherence to the words, even the measure of the
original is imitated.

    Non me Lucrina juverint conchylia,
      Magisve rhombus, aut scari,
    Si quos Eois intonata fluctibus
      Hyems ad hoc vertat mare:
    Non Afra avis descendat in ventrem meum,
      Non attagen Ionicus
    Jucundior, quam lecta de pinguissimis
      Oliva ramis arborum;
    Aut herba lapathi prata amantis, et gravi
      Malvæ salubres corpori.

                                HOR. _Epod. 2._

    Not Lucrine oysters I could then more prize,
      Nor turbot, nor bright golden eyes;
    If with east floods the winter troubled much
      Into our seas send any such:
    The Ionian god-wit, nor the ginny-hen
      Could not go down my belly then
    More sweet than olives that new-gathered be,
      From fattest branches of the tree,
    Or the herb sorrel that loves meadows still,
      Or mallows loosing bodies ill.

                                      B. JONSON.

Of the same character for rigid fidelity, is the translation of _Juvenal_
by Holiday, a writer of great learning, and even of critical acuteness,
as the excellent commentary on his author fully shews.

    _Omnibus in terris quæ sunt a Gadibus usque_
    _Auroram et Gangem, pauci dignoscere possunt_
    _Vera bona, atque illis multum diversa, remotâ_
    _Erroris nebulâ. Quid enim ratione timemus,_
    _Aut cupimus? quid tam dextro pede concipis, ut te_
    _Conatûs non pœniteat, votique peracti._
    _Evertêre domos totas optantibus ipsis_
    _Dii faciles._

                                        JUV. _Sat. 10._

    In all the world which between Cadiz lies
    And eastern Ganges, few there are so wise
    To know true good from feign’d, without all mist
    Of Error. For by Reason’s rule what is’t
    We fear or wish? What is’t we e’er begun
    With foot so right, but we dislik’d it done?
    Whole houses th’ easie gods have overthrown
    At their fond prayers that did the houses own.

                               HOLIDAY’S _Juvenal_.

There were, however, even in that age, some writers who manifested a
better taste in poetical translation. May, in his translation of Lucan’s
_Pharsalia_, and Sandys, in his _Metamorphoses_ of Ovid, while they
strictly adhered to the sense of their authors, and generally rendered
line for line, have given to their versions both an ease of expression
and a harmony of numbers, which approach them very near to original
composition. The reason is, they have disdained to confine themselves to
a literal interpretation, but have everywhere adapted their expression to
the idiom of the language in which they wrote.

The following passage will give no unfavourable idea of the style and
manner of May. In the ninth book of the _Pharsalia_, Cæsar, when in Asia,
is led from curiosity to visit the plain of Troy:

    Here fruitless trees, old oaks with putrefy’d
    And sapless roots, the Trojan houses hide,
    And temples of their Gods: all Troy’s o’erspread
    With bushes thick, her ruines ruined.
    He sees the bridall grove Anchises lodg’d;
    Hesione’s rock; the cave where Paris judg’d;
    Where nymph Oenone play’d; the place so fam’d
    For Ganymedes’ rape; each stone is nam’d.
    A little gliding stream, which Xanthus was,
    Unknown he past, and in the lofty grass
    Securely trode; a Phrygian straight forbid
    Him tread on Hector’s dust! (with ruins hid,
    The stone retain’d no sacred memory.)
    Respect you not great Hector’s tomb, quoth he!
    —O great and sacred work of poesy,
    That free’st from fate, and giv’st eternity
    To mortal wights! But, Cæsar, envy not
    Their living names, if Roman Muses aught
    May promise thee, while Homer’s honoured
    By future times, shall thou, and I, be read:
    No age shall us with darke oblivion staine,
    But our Pharsalia ever shall remain.

                            MAY’S _Lucan_, b. 9.

    Jam silvæ steriles, et putres robore trunci
    Assaraci pressere domos, et templa deorum
    Jam lassa radice tenent; ac tota teguntur
    Pergama dumetis; etiam periere ruinæ.
    Aspicit Hesiones scopulos, silvasque latentes
    Anchisæ thalamos; quo judex sederit antro;
    Unde puer raptus cœlo; quo vertice Nais
    Luserit Oenone: nullum est sine nomine saxum.
    Inscius in sicco serpentem pulvere rivum
    Transierat, qui Xanthus erat; securus in alto
    Gramine ponebat gressus: Phryx incola manes
    Hectoreos calcare vetat: discussa jacebant
    Saxa, nec ullius faciem servantia sacri:
    Hectoreas, monstrator ait, non respicis aras?
    O sacer, et magnus vatum labor; omnia fato
    Eripis, et populis donas mortalibus ævum!
    Invidia sacræ, Cæsar, ne tangere famæ:
    Nam siquid Latiis fas est promittere Musis,
    Quantum Smyrnei durabunt vatis honores,
    Venturi me teque legent: Pharsalia nostra
    Vivet, et a nullo tenebris damnabitur ævo.

                              _Pharsal._ l. 9.

Independently of the excellence of the above translation, in completely
conveying the sense, the force, and spirit of the original, it possesses
one beauty which the more modern English poets have entirely neglected,
or rather purposely banished from their versification in rhyme; I mean
the varied harmony of the measure, which arises from changing the
place of the pauses. In the modern heroic rhyme, the pause is almost
invariably found at the end of a couplet. In the older poetry, the sense
is continued from one couplet to another, and closes in various parts
of the line, according to the poet’s choice, and the completion of his
meaning:

    _A little gliding stream, which Xanthus was,_
    _Unknown he past—and in the lofty grass_
    _Securely trode—a Phrygian straight forbid_
    _Him tread on Hector’s dust—with ruins hid,_
    _The stone retain’d no sacred memory._

He must be greatly deficient in a musical ear, who does not prefer the
varied harmony of the above lines to the uniform return of sound, and
chiming measure of the following:

    Here all that does of Xanthus stream remain,
    Creeps a small brook along the dusty plain.
    While careless and securely on they pass,
    The Phrygian guide forbids to press the grass;
    This place, he said, for ever sacred keep,
    For here the sacred bones of Hector sleep:
    Then warns him to observe, where rudely cast,
    Disjointed stones lay broken and defac’d.

                                  ROWE’S _Lucan_.

Yet the _Pharsalia_ by Rowe is, on the whole, one of the best of the
modern translations of the classics. Though sometimes diffuse and
paraphrastical, it is in general faithful to the sense of the original;
the language is animated, the verse correct and melodious; and when we
consider the extent of the work, it is not unjustly characterised by Dr.
Johnson, as “one of the greatest productions of English poetry.”

Of similar character to the versification of May, though sometimes more
harsh in its structure, is the poetry of Sandys:

    There’s no Alcyone! none, none! she died
    Together with her Ceÿx. Silent be
    All sounds of comfort. These, these eyes did see
    My shipwrack’t Lord. I knew him; and my hands
    Thrust forth t’ have held him: but no mortal bands
    Could force his stay. A ghost! yet manifest,
    My husband’s ghost: which, Oh, but ill express’d
    His forme and beautie, late divinely rare!
    Now pale and naked, with yet dropping haire:
    Here stood the miserable! in this place:
    Here, here! (and sought his aërie steps to trace).

                                SANDYS’ _Ovid_, b. 11.

    _Nulla est Alcyone, nulla est, ait: occidit una_
    _Cum Ceyce suo; solantia tollite verba:_
    _Naufragus interiit; vidi agnovique, manusque_
    _Ad discedentem, cupiens retinere, tetendi._
    _Umbra fuit: sed et umbra tamen manifesta, virique_
    _Vera mei: non ille quidem, si quæris, habebat_
    _Assuetos vultus, nec quo prius ore nitebat._
    _Pallentem, nudumque, et adhuc humente capillo,_
    _Infelix vidi: stetit hoc miserabilis ipso_
    _Ecce loco: (et quærit vestigia siqua supersint)._

                                      _Metam._ l. 11.

In the above example, the _solantia tollite verba_ is translated with
peculiar felicity, “Silent be all sounds of comfort;” as are these words,
_Nec quo prius ore nitebat_, “Which, oh! but ill express’d his forme
and beautie.” “No mortal bands could force his stay,” has no strictly
corresponding sentiment in the original. It is a happy amplification;
which shews that Sandys knew what freedom was allowed to a poetical
translator, and could avail himself of it.

From the time of Sandys, who published his translation of the
_Metamorphoses_ of Ovid in 1626, there does not appear to have been much
improvement in the art of translating poetry till the age of Dryden:[17]
for though Sir John Denham has thought proper to pay a high compliment
to Fanshaw on his translation of the _Pastor Fido_, terming him the
inventor of “a new and nobler way”[18] of translation, we find nothing
in that performance which should intitle it to more praise than the
_Metamorphoses_ by Sandys, and the _Pharsalia_ by May.[19]

But it was to Dryden that poetical translation owed a complete
emancipation from her fetters; and exulting in her new liberty, the
danger now was, that she should run into the extreme of licentiousness.
The followers of Dryden saw nothing so much to be emulated in his
translations as the ease of his poetry: Fidelity was but a secondary
object, and translation for a while was considered as synonymous with
paraphrase. A judicious spirit of criticism was now wanting to prescribe
bounds to this increasing licence, and to determine to what precise
degree a poetical translator might assume to himself the character of an
original writer. In that design, Roscommon wrote his _Essay on Translated
Verse_; in which, in general, he has shewn great critical judgement; but
proceeding, as all reformers, with rigour, he has, amidst many excellent
precepts on the subject, laid down one rule, which every true poet (and
such only should attempt to translate a poet) must consider as a very
prejudicial restraint. After judiciously recommending to the translator,
first to possess himself of the sense and meaning of his author, and then
to imitate his manner and style, he thus prescribes a general rule,

    Your author always will the best advise;
    Fall when he falls, and when he rises, rise.

Far from adopting the former part of this maxim, I conceive it to be the
duty of a poetical translator, never to suffer his original to fall. He
must maintain with him a perpetual contest of genius; he must attend
him in his highest flights, and soar, if he can, beyond him: and when
he perceives, at any time, a diminution of his powers, when he sees
a drooping wing, he must raise him on his own pinions.[20] Homer has
been judged by the best critics to fall at times beneath himself, and
to offend, by introducing low images and puerile allusions. Yet how
admirably is this defect veiled over, or altogether removed, by his
translator Pope. In the beginning of the eighth book of the _Iliad_,
Jupiter is introduced in great majesty, calling a council of the gods,
and giving them a solemn charge to observe a strict neutrality between
the Greeks and Trojans:

    Ἠὼς μεν κροκόπεπλος ἐκιδνατο πᾶσαν ἐπ’ αίαν·
    Ζευς δε θεῶν ἀγορην ποιησατο τερπικέραυνος,
    Ἀκροτάτη κορυφη πολυδειραδος Οὐλυμποιο·
    Αὐτὸς δέ σφ’ ἀγόρευε, θεοὶ δ’ ἅμα πάντες ἄκουον·

“Aurora with her saffron robe had spread returning light upon the world,
when Jove delighting-in-thunder summoned a council of the gods upon the
highest point of the many-headed Olympus; and while he thus harangued,
all the immortals listened with deep attention.” This is a very solemn
opening; but the expectation of the reader is miserably disappointed by
the harangue itself, of which I shall give a literal translation.

      Κέκλυτέ μευ, πάντες τε θεοὶ, πᾶσαὶ τε θέαιναι,
    Ὄφρ’ εἴπω, τά με θυμὸς ἐνὶ στήθεσσι κελεύει·
    Μήτε τις οὖν θήλεια θεὸς τόγε, μήτε τις ἄρσην
    Πειράτω διακέρσαι ἐμὸν ἔπος· ἀλλ’ ἅμα πάντες
    Αἰνεῖτ’, ὄφρα τάχιστα τελευτήσω τάδε ἔργα.
    Ον δ’ ἂν ἐγὼν ἀπάνευθε θεῶν ἐθέλοντα νοήσω
    Ἐλθόντ, ἢ Τρώεσσιν ἀρηγέμεν, ἢ Δαναοῖσι,
    Πληγεὶς οὐ κατα κόσμον ἐλευσεται Οὔλυμπόνδε·
    Η μιν ἑλὼν ῥίψω ἐς Τάρταρον ἠερόεντα,
    Τῆλε μάλ’, ἦχι βάθιστον ὑπο χθονός ἐστι βέρεθρον,
    Ἔνθα σιδήρειαί τε πύλαι καὶ χάλκεος οὐδὸς,
    Τόσσον ἔνερθ’ Ἀΐδεω, ὅσον οὐρανός ἐστ’ ἀπὸ γαίης·
    Γνώσετ’ ἔπειθ’, ὅσον εἰμὶ θεῶν κάρτιστος ἁπάντων.
    Εἴ δ’ ἄγε, πειρήσασθε θεοὶ, ἵνα εἴδετε πάντες,
    Σειρην χρυσείην ἐξ οὐρανόθεν κρεμάσαντες·
    Πάντες δ’ ἐξάπτεσθε θεοὶ, πᾶσαί τε θέαιναι·
    Ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἂν ἐρύσαιτ’ ἐξ οὐρανόθεν πεδίονδε
    Ζῆν’ ὕπατον μήστωρ’ οὐδ’ εἰ μάλα πολλὰ κάμοιτε.
    Ἀλλ’ ὅτε δὴ καὶ ἐγὼ πρόφρων ἐθέλοιμι ἐρύσσαι,
    Αὐτῆ κεν γάιῃ ἐρύσαιμ’, αὐτῆ τε θαλάσσῃ·
    Σειρην μέν κεν ἔπειτα περὶ ῥίον Οὐλύμποιο
    Δησαίμην· τὰ δέ κ’ αὖτε μετήορα πάντα γένοιτο·
    Τόσσον ἐγώ περί τ’ εἰμὶ θεῶν, περί τ’ εἴμ’ ἀνθρώπων.

“Hear me, all ye gods and goddesses, whilst I declare to you the dictates
of my inmost heart. Let neither male nor female of the gods attempt to
controvert what I shall say; but let all submissively assent, that I may
speedily accomplish my undertakings: for whoever of you shall be found
withdrawing to give aid either to the Trojans or Greeks, shall return to
Olympus marked with dishonourable wounds; or else I will seize him and
hurl him down to gloomy Tartarus, where there is a deep dungeon under the
earth, with gates of iron, and a threshold of brass, as far below hell,
as the earth is below the heavens. Then he will know how much stronger
I am than all the other gods. But come now, and make trial, that ye may
all be convinced. Suspend a golden chain from heaven, and hang all by
one end of it, with your whole weight, gods and goddesses together: you
will never pull down from the heaven to the earth, Jupiter, the supreme
counsellor, though you should strain with your utmost force. But when I
chuse to pull, I will raise you all, with the earth and sea together, and
fastening the chain to the top of Olympus, will keep you all suspended at
it. So much am I superior both to gods and men.”

It must be owned, that this speech is far beneath the dignity of the
Thunderer; that the braggart vaunting in the beginning of it is nauseous;
and that a mean and ludicrous picture is presented, by the whole group
of gods and goddesses pulling at one end of a chain, and Jupiter at the
other. To veil these defects in a translation was difficult;[21] but
to give any degree of dignity to this speech required certainly most
uncommon powers. Yet I am much mistaken, if Mr. Pope has not done so. I
shall take the passage from the beginning:

      Aurora now, fair daughter of the dawn,
    Sprinkled with rosy light the dewy lawn,
    When Jove conven’d the senate of the skies,
    Where high Olympus’ cloudy tops arise.
    The fire of Gods his awful silence broke,
    The heavens attentive, trembled as he spoke.

      Celestial states, immortal gods! give ear;
    Hear our decree, and reverence what ye hear;
    The fix’d decree, which not all heaven can move;
    Thou, fate! fulfil it; and, ye powers! approve!
    What God but enters yon forbidden field,
    Who yields assistance, or but wills to yield,
    Back to the skies with shame he shall be driven,
    Gash’d with dishonest wounds, the scorn of Heaven;
    Or far, oh far, from steep Olympus thrown,
    Low in the dark Tartarean gulph shall groan;
    With burning chains fix’d to the brazen floors,
    And lock’d by hell’s inexorable doors;
    As deep beneath th’ infernal centre hurl’d,
    As from that centre to th’ ethereal world.
    Let him who tempts me dread those dire abodes;
    And know th’ Almighty is the God of gods.
    League all your forces then, ye powr’s above,
    Join all, and try th’ omnipotence of Jove:
    Let down our golden everlasting chain,
    Whose strong embrace holds Heav’n, and Earth, and Main:
    Strive all, of mortal and immortal birth,
    To drag, by this, the Thunderer down to earth:
    Ye strive in vain! If I but stretch this hand,
    I heave the gods, the ocean, and the land;
    I fix the chain to great Olympus’ height,
    And the vast world hangs trembling in my sight!
    For such I reign, unbounded and above;
    And such are men and gods, compar’d to Jove![22]

It would be endless to point out all the instances in which Mr. Pope
has improved both upon the thought and expression of his original.
We find frequently in Homer, amidst the most striking beauties, some
circumstances introduced which diminish the merit of the thought or of
the description. In such instances, the good taste of the translator
invariably covers the defect of the original, and often converts it into
an additional beauty. Thus, in the simile in the beginning of the third
book, there is one circumstance which offends against good taste.

    Ευτ’ ορεος κορυφῆσι Νοτος κατεχευεν ὀμιχλην,
    Ποιμεσιν ουτὶ φιλην, κλεπτη δε τε νυκτος αμεινω,
    Τὸσσον τις τ’ επιλευσσει, ὅσον τ’ επι λααν ἵησιν·
    Ὡς ἂρα των ὓπο ποσσι κονισσαλος ωρνυτ’ αελλης
    Ερχομενων· μαλα δ’ ώκα διεπρησσον πεδίοιο.

“As when the south wind pours a thick cloud upon the tops of the
mountains, whose shade is unpleasant to the shepherds, but more
commodious to the thief than the night itself, and when the gloom is so
intense, that one cannot see farther than he can throw a stone: So rose
the dust under the feet of the Greeks marching silently to battle.”

With what superior taste has the translator heightened this simile, and
exchanged the offending circumstance for a beauty. The fault is in the
third line; τοσσον τις τ’ επιλευσσει, &c., which is a mean idea, compared
with that which Mr. Pope has substituted in its stead:

    Thus from his shaggy wings when Eurus sheds
    A night of vapours round the mountain-heads,
    Swift-gliding mists the dusky fields invade,
    To thieves more grateful than the midnight shade;
    While scarce the swains their feeding flocks survey,
    Lost and confus’d amidst the thicken’d day:
    So wrapt in gath’ring dust the Grecian train,
    A moving cloud, swept on and hid the plain.

In the ninth book of the _Iliad_, where Phœnix reminds Achilles of the
care he had taken of him while an infant, one circumstance extremely
mean, and even disgusting, is found in the original.

              οτε δη σ’ επ εμοισιν εγα γουνασσι καθισας,
    Οψου τ’ ασαιμι προταμων, και οινον επισχων.
    Πολλακι μοι κατεδευσας επι στηθεσσι χιτωνα,
    Οινου αποβλυζων εν νηπιεη αλεγεινῆ.

“When I placed you before my knees, I filled you full with meat, and gave
you wine, which you often vomited upon my bosom, and stained my clothes,
in your troublesome infancy.” The English reader certainly feels an
obligation to the translator for sinking altogether this nauseous image,
which, instead of heightening the picture, greatly debases it:

    Thy infant breast a like affection show’d,
    Still in my arms, an ever pleasing load;
    Or at my knee, by Phœnix would’st thou stand,
    No food was grateful but from Phœnix hand:
    I pass my watchings o’er thy helpless years,
    The tender labours, the compliant cares.[23]

                                           POPE.

But even the highest beauties of the original receive additional lustre
from this admirable translator.

A striking example of this kind has been remarked by Mr. Melmoth.[24] It
is the translation of that picture in the end of the eighth book of the
_Iliad_, which Eustathius esteemed the finest night-piece that could be
found in poetry:

    Ὡς δ’ ὁτ εν ουρανῶ αστρα φαεινην αμφι σεληνην,
    Φαίνετ’ ἀριπρεπέα, ὅτε τ’ ἔπλετο νήνεμος αἰθὴρ,
    Ἔκ τ’ ἔφανον πᾶσαι σκοπιαί, καὶ πρώονες ἄκροι,
    Καὶ νάπαι· οὐρανόθεν δ’ ἄρ’ ὑπεῤῥάγη ἄσπετος αἰθὴρ,
    Πάντα δέ τ’ εἴδεται ἄστρα· γέγηθε δέ τε φρένα ποιμήν·

“As when the resplendent moon appears in the serene canopy of the
heavens, surrounded with beautiful stars, when every breath of air is
hush’d, when the high watch-towers, the hills, and woods, are distinctly
seen; when the sky appears to open to the sight in all its boundless
extent; and when the shepherd’s heart is delighted within him.” How nobly
is this picture raised and improved by Mr. Pope!

    As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night,
    O’er heav’n’s clear azure spreads her sacred light:
    When not a breath disturbs the deep serene,
    And not a cloud o’ercasts the solemn scene;
    Around her throne the vivid planets roll,
    And stars unnumber’d gild the glowing pole:
    O’er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed,
    And tip with silver every mountain’s head:
    Then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise,
    A flood of glory bursts from all the skies:
    The conscious swains rejoicing in the sight,
    Eye the blue vault, and bless the useful light.[25]

These passages from Pope’s _Homer_ afford examples of a translator’s
improvement of his original, by a happy amplification and embellishment
of his imagery, or by the judicious correction of defects; but to fix
the precise degree to which this amplification, this embellishment, and
this liberty of correction, may extend, requires a great exertion of
judgement. It may be useful to remark some instances of the want of this
judgement.

It is always a fault when the translator adds to the sentiment of the
original author, what does not strictly accord with his characteristic
mode of thinking, or expressing himself.

    Pone sub curru nimium propinqui
    Solis, in terrâ domibus negatâ;
    Dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo,
    Dulce loquentem.

               HOR. _Od. 22_, l. 1.

Thus translated by Roscommon:

    The burning zone, the frozen isles,
    Shall hear me sing of Celia’s smiles;
    All cold, but in her breast, I will despise,
    And dare all heat, but that in Celia’s eyes.

The witty ideas in the two last lines are foreign to the original; and
the addition of these is quite unjustifiable, as they belong to a quaint
species of wit, of which the writings of Horace afford no example.

Equally faulty, therefore, is Cowley’s translation of a passage in the
_Ode to Pyrrha_:

    Qui semper vacuam, semper amabilem
    Sperat, nescius auræ fallacis.

    He sees thee gentle, fair, and gay,
    And trusts the faithless April of thy May.

As is the same author’s version of that passage, which is characterised
by its beautiful simplicity.

                  somnus agrestium
    Lenis virorum non humiles domos
      Fastidit, umbrosamque ripam,
        Non zephyris agitata Tempe.

                         HOR. 3, 1.

    Sleep is a god, too proud to wait on palaces,
      And yet so humble too, as not to scorn
    The meanest country cottages;
      This poppy grows among the corn.
    The Halcyon Sleep will never build his nest
      In any stormy breast:
    ’Tis not enough that he does find
    Clouds and darkness in their mind;
    Darkness but half his work will do,
    ’Tis not enough; he must find quiet too.

Here is a profusion of wit, and poetic imagery; but the whole is quite
opposite to the character of the original.

Congreve is guilty of a similar impropriety in translating

    Vides, ut alta stet nive candidum
    Soracte: nec jam sustineant onus
    Sylvæ laborantes.

                           HOR. i. 9.

    Bless me, ’tis cold! how chill the air!
    How naked does the world appear!
    Behold the mountain tops around,
    As if with fur of ermine crown’d:
      And lo! how by degrees,
    The universal mantle hides the trees,
      In hoary flakes which downward fly,
    As if it were the autumn of the sky,
      Whose fall of leaf would theirs supply:
    Trembling the groves sustain the weight, and bow,
      Like aged limbs which feebly go,
    Beneath a venerable head of snow.

No author of real genius is more censurable on this score than Dryden.

    Obsidere alii telis angusta viarum
    Oppositi: stat ferri acies mucrone corusco
    Stricta parata neci.

                              _Æneis_, ii. 322.

Thus translated by Dryden:

    To several posts their parties they divide,
    Some block the narrow streets, some scour the wide:
    The bold they kill, th’ unwary they surprise;
    Who fights finds death, and death finds him who flies.

Of these four lines, there are scarcely more than four words which are
warranted by the original. “Some block the narrow streets.” Even this
is a faulty translation of _Obsidere alii telis angusta viarum_; but
it fails on the score of mutilation, not redundancy. The rest of the
ideas which compose these four lines, are the original property of the
translator; and the antithetical witticism in the concluding line, is far
beneath the chaste simplicity of Virgil.

The same author, Virgil, in describing a pestilential disorder among the
cattle, gives the following beautiful picture, which, as an ingenious
writer justly remarks,[26] has every excellence that can belong to
descriptive poetry:

    Ecce autem duro fumans sub vomere taurus
    Concidit, et mixtum spumis vomit ore cruorem,
    Extremosque ciet gemitus. It tristis arator,
    Mœrentem abjungens fraterna morte juvencum,
    Atque opere in medio defixa relinquit aratra.

Which Mr. Dryden thus translates:

    The steer who to the yoke was bred to bow,
    (Studious of tillage and the crooked plow),
    Falls down and dies; and dying, spews a flood
    Of foamy madness, mixed with clotted blood.
    The clown, who _cursing Providence repines_,
    His mournful fellow from the team disjoins;
    With many a groan forsakes his fruitless care,
    And in the unfinished furrow leaves the share.

“I would appeal to the reader,” says Dr. Beattie, “whether, by debasing
the charming simplicity of _It tristis arator_ with his blasphemous
paraphrase, Dryden has not destroyed the beauty of the passage.” He has
undoubtedly, even although the translation had been otherwise faultless.
But it is very far from being so. _Duro fumans sub vomere_, is not
translated at all, and another idea is put in its place. _Extremosque
ciet gemitus_, a most striking part of the description, is likewise
entirely omitted. “Spews a flood” is vulgar and nauseous; and “a flood
of foamy madness” is nonsense. In short, the whole passage in the
translation is a mass of error and impropriety.

The simple expression, _Jam Procyon furit_, in Horace, 3, 29, is thus
translated by the same author:

                The Syrian star
                Barks from afar,
    And with his sultry breath infects the sky.

This _barking_ of a _star_ is a bad specimen of the music of the spheres.
Dryden, from the fervour of his imagination, and the rapidity with
which he composed, is frequently guilty of similar impropriety in his
metaphorical language. Thus, in his version of Du Fresnoy, _de Arte
Graphica_, he translates

    Indolis ut vigor inde potens obstrictus hebescat,

“Neither would I extinguish the _fire_ of a _vein_ which is lively and
abundant.”

The following passage in the second _Georgic_, as translated by Delille,
is an example of vitious taste.

    Ac dum prima novis adolescit frondibus ætas,
    Parcendum teneris: et dum se lætus ad auras
    Palmes agit, laxis per purum immissus habenis,
    Ipsa acies nondum falce tentanda;—

    Quand ses premiers bourgeons s’empresseront d’eclore,
    Que l’acier rigoureux n’y touche point encore;
    Même lorsque dans l’air, qu’il commence à braver,
    Le rejetton moins frêle ose enfin s’elever;
    Pardonne à son audace en faveur de son age:—

The expression of the original is bold and figurative, _lætus ad
auras,—laxis per purum immissus habenis_; but there is nothing that
offends the chastest taste. The concluding line of the translation is
disgustingly finical,

    _Pardonne à son audace en faveur de son age._

Mr. Pope’s translation of the following passage of the _Iliad_, is
censurable on a similar account:

    Λαοὶ μεν φθινυθουσι περι πτολιν, αιπυ τε τεῖχος,
    Μαρναμενοι·

                                    _Iliad_, 6, 327.

    For thee great Ilion’s guardian heroes fall,
    Till heaps of dead alone defend the wall.

Of this conceit, of dead men defending the walls of Troy, Mr. Pope has
the sole merit. The original, with grave simplicity, declares, that the
people fell, fighting before the town, and around the walls.[27]

In the translation of the two following lines from Ovid’s _Epistle of
Sappho to Phaon_, the same author has added a witticism, which is less
reprehensible, because it accords with the usual manner of the poet whom
he translates: yet it cannot be termed an improvement of the original:

    “Scribimus, et lachrymis oculi rorantur abortis,
    Aspice, quam sit in hoc multa litura loco.”

    See while I write, my words are lost in tears,
    The less my sense, the more my love appears.

                                           POPE.

But if authors, even of taste and genius, are found at times to have made
an injudicious use of that liberty which is allowed in the translation
of poetry, we must expect to see it miserably abused indeed, where those
talents are evidently wanting. The following specimen of a Latin version
of the _Paradise Lost_ is an example of everything that is vitious and
offensive in poetical translation.

    Primævi cano _furta_ patris, _furtumque_ secutæ
    _Tristia fata necis_, labes ubi prima notavit
    Quotquot Adamæo genitos de sanguine vidit
    _Phœbus ad Hesperias ab Eoo cardine metas_;
    Quos procul _auricomis_ Paradisi depulit _hortis_,
    Dira cupido atavûm, _raptique injuria pomi_:
    Terrigena donec meliorque et major Adamus,
    Amissis meliora bonis, majora reduxit.
    Quosque dedit morti _lignum inviolabile_, mortis
    Unicus ille _alio_ rapuit de limine _ligno_.
    Terrenusque licet pereat Paradisus, at ejus
    Munere _laxa patet Paradisi porta_ superni:
    Hæc œstro stimulata novo mens pandere gestit.
    Quis mihi monstret iter? Quis carbasa nostra profundo
    Dirigat in dubio?

                     _Gul. Hogæi Paradisus Amissus_, l. 1.

How completely is Milton disguised in this translation! His Majesty
exchanged for meanness, and his simplicity for bombast![28]

The preceding observations, though they principally regard the first
general rule of translation, viz. that which enjoins a complete
transfusion of the ideas and sentiments of the original work, have
likewise a near connection with the second general rule, which I shall
now proceed to consider.




CHAPTER V

    SECOND GENERAL RULE: THE STYLE AND MANNER OF WRITING IN A
    TRANSLATION SHOULD BE OF THE SAME CHARACTER WITH THAT OF THE
    ORIGINAL.—TRANSLATIONS OF THE SCRIPTURES;—OF HOMER, ETC.—A JUST
    TASTE REQUISITE FOR THE DISCERNMENT OF THE CHARACTERS OF STYLE
    AND MANNER.—EXAMPLES OF FAILURE IN THIS PARTICULAR;—THE GRAVE
    EXCHANGED FOR THE FORMAL;—THE ELEVATED FOR THE BOMBAST;—THE
    LIVELY FOR THE PETULANT;—THE SIMPLE FOR THE CHILDISH.—HOBBES,
    L’ESTRANGE, ECHARD, ETC.


Next in importance to a faithful transfusion of the sense and meaning
of an author, is an assimilation of the style and manner of writing
in the translation to that of the original. This requisite of a good
translation, though but secondary in importance, is more difficult to
be attained than the former; for the qualities requisite for justly
discerning and happily imitating the various characters of style and
manner, are much more rare than the ability of simply understanding an
author’s sense. A good translator must be able to discover at once the
true character of his author’s style. He must ascertain with precision
to what class it belongs; whether to that of the grave, the elevated,
the easy, the lively, the florid and ornamented, or the simple and
unaffected; and these characteristic qualities he must have the capacity
of rendering equally conspicuous in the translation as in the original.
If a translator fails in this discernment, and wants this capacity, let
him be ever so thoroughly master of the sense of his author, he will
present him through a distorting medium, or exhibit him often in a garb
that is unsuitable to his character.

The chief characteristic of the historical style of the sacred
scriptures, is its simplicity. This character belongs indeed to the
language itself. Dr. Campbell has justly remarked, that the Hebrew is
a simple tongue: “That their verbs have not, like the Greek and Latin,
a variety of moods and tenses, nor do they, like the modern languages,
abound in auxiliaries and conjunctions. The consequence is, that in
narrative, they express by several simple sentences, much in the way of
the relations used in conversation, what in most other languages would
be comprehended in one complex sentence of three or four members.”[29]
The same author gives, as an example of this simplicity, the beginning of
the first chapter of Genesis, where the account of the operations of the
Creator on the first day is contained in eleven separate sentences. “1.
In the beginning God created the Heaven and the Earth. 2. And the earth
was without form, and void. 3. And darkness was upon the face of the
deep. 4. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. 5. And
God said, let there be light. 6. And there was light. 7. And God saw the
light, that it was good. 8. And God divided the light from the darkness.
9. And God called the light day. 10. And the darkness he called night.
11. And the evening and the morning were the first day.” “This,” says
Dr. Campbell, “is a just representation of the style of the original. A
more perfect example of simplicity of structure, we can nowhere find. The
sentences are simple, the substantives are not attended by adjectives,
nor the verbs by adverbs; no synonymas, no superlatives, no effort at
expressing things in a bold, emphatical, or uncommon manner.”

Castalio’s version of the Scriptures is intitled to the praise of elegant
Latinity, and he is in general faithful to the sense of his original; but
he has totally departed from its style and manner, by substituting the
complex and florid composition to the simple and unadorned. His sentences
are formed in long and intricate periods, in which many separate members
are artfully combined; and we observe a constant endeavour at a classical
phraseology and ornamented diction.[30] In Castalio’s version of the
foregoing passage of Genesis, nine sentences of the original are thrown
into one period. 1. _Principio creavit Deus cœlum et terram._ 2. _Quum
autem esset terra iners atque rudis, tenebrisque effusum profundum, et
divinus spiritus sese super aquas libraret, jussit Deus ut existeret
lux, et extitit lux; quam quum videret Deus esse bonam, lucem secrevit a
tenebris, et lucem diem, et tenebras noctem appellavit._ 3. _Ita extitit
ex vespere et mane dies primus._

Dr. Beattie, in his essay _On Laughter and Ludicrous Composition_, has
justly remarked, that the translation of the Old Testament by Castalio
does great honour to that author’s learning, but not to his taste. “The
quaintness of his Latin betrays a deplorable inattention to the simple
majesty of his original. In the Song of Solomon, he has debased the
magnificence of the language and subject by _diminutives_, which, though
expressive of familiar endearment, he should have known to be destitute
of dignity, and therefore improper on solemn occasions.” _Mea Columbula,
ostende mihi tuum vulticulum; fac ut audiam tuam voculam; nam et voculam
venustulam, et vulticulum habes lepidulum.—Veni in meos hortulos,
sororcula mea sponsa.—Ego dormio, vigilante meo corculo_, &c.

The version of the Scriptures by Arias Montanus, is in some respects
a contrast to that of Castalio. Arias, by adopting the literal mode
of translation, probably intended to give as faithful a picture as he
could, both of the sense and manner of the original. Not considering
the different genius of the Hebrew, the Greek, and the Latin, in the
various meaning and import of words of the same primary sense; the
difference of combination and construction, and the peculiarity of idioms
belonging to each tongue, he has treated the three languages as if they
corresponded perfectly in all those particulars; and the consequence
is, he has produced a composition which fails in every one requisite
of a good translation: it conveys neither the sense of the original,
nor its manner and style; and it abounds in barbarisms, solecisms, and
grammatical inaccuracy.[31] In Latin, two negatives make an affirmative;
but it is otherwise in Greek; they only give force to the negation:
χωρις εμου ου δυνασθε ποιειν ουδεν, as translated by Arias, _sine me
non potestis facere nihil_, is therefore directly contrary to the sense
of the original: And surely that translator cannot be said either to
do justice to the manner and style of his author, or to write with the
ease of original composition, who, instead of perspicuous thought,
expressed in pure, correct, and easy phraseology, gives us obscure and
unintelligible sentiments, conveyed in barbarous terms and constructions,
irreconcileable to the rules of the language in which he uses them. _Et
nunc dixi vobis ante fieri, ut quum factum fuerit credatis.—Ascendit
autem et Joseph a Galilæa in civitatem David, propter esse ipsum ex domo
et familia David, describi cum Maria desponsata sibi uxore, existente
prægnante. Factum autem in esse eos ibi, impleti sunt dies parere
ipsam.—Venerunt ad portam, quæ spontanea aperta est eis, et exeuntes
processerunt vicum.—Nunquid aquam prohibere potest quis ad non baptizare
hos?—Spectat descendens super se vas quoddam linteum, quatuor initiis
vinctum.—Aperiens autem Petrus os, dixit: in veritate deprehendo quia non
est personarum acceptor Deus._[32]

The characteristic of the language of Homer is strength united with
simplicity. He employs frequent images, allusions, and similes; but
he very rarely uses metaphorical expression. The use of this style,
therefore, in a translation of Homer, is an offence against the character
of the original. Mr. Pope, though not often, is sometimes chargeable with
this fault; as where he terms the arrows of Apollo “the feather’d fates,”
_Iliad_, 1, 68, a quiver of arrows, “a store of flying fates,” _Odyssey_,
22, 136: or instead of saying, that the soil is fertile in corn, “in wavy
gold the summer vales are dress’d,” _Odyssey_, 19, 131; the soldier wept,
“from his eyes pour’d down the tender dew,” _Ibid._ 11, 486.

Virgil, in describing the shipwreck of the Trojans, says,

    _Apparent rari nantes in gurgite vasto_,

Which the Abbé des Fontaines thus translates: “A peine un petit nombre
de ceux qui montoient le vaisseau purent se sauver à la nage.” Of this
translation Voltaire justly remarks, “C’est traduire Virgile en style de
gazette. Où est ce vaste gouffre que peint le poête, _gurgite vasto_?
Où est l’_apparent rari nantes_? Ce n’est pas ainsi qu’on doit traduire
l’Eneide.” _Voltaire_, _Quest. sur l’Encyclop. mot Amplification_.

If we are thus justly offended at hearing Virgil speak in the style of
the _Evening Post_ or the _Daily Advertiser_, what must we think of the
translator, who makes the solemn and sententious Tacitus express himself
in the low cant of the streets, or in the dialect of the waiters of a
tavern?

_Facile Asinium et Messalam inter Antonium et Augustum bellorum præmiis
refertos_: Thus translated, in a version of Tacitus by Mr. Dryden
and several eminent hands: “Asinius and Messala, who feathered their
nests well in the civil wars ’twixt Antony and Augustus.” _Vinolentiam
et libidines usurpans_: “Playing the good-fellow.” _Frustra Arminium
præscribi_: “Trumping up Arminius’s title.” _Sed Agrippina libertam
æmulam, nurum ancillam, aliaque eundem in modum muliebriter fremere_:
“But Agrippina could not bear that a freedwoman should _nose_ her.” And
another translator says, “But Agrippina could not bear that a freedwoman
should _beard_ her.” Of a similar character with this translation of
Tacitus is a translation of Suetonius by several gentlemen of Oxford,[33]
which abounds with such elegancies as the following: _Sestio Gallo,
libidinoso et prodigo seni_: “Sestius Gallus, a most notorious old Sir
Jolly.” _Jucundissimos et omnium horarum amicos_: “His boon companions
and sure cards.” _Nullam unquam occasionem dedit_: “They never could
pick the least hole in his coat.”

Juno’s apostrophe to Troy, in her speech to the Gods in council, is thus
translated in a version of Horace by “The Most Eminent Hands.”

                          _Ilion, Ilion,_
    _Fatalis incestusque judex, &c._

                              HOR. 3, 3.

    O Ilion, Ilion, I with transport view
    The fall of all thy wicked, perjur’d _crew_!
    Pallas and I have _borne a rankling grudge_
    To that _curst_ Shepherd, that incestuous judge.

The description of the majesty of Jupiter, contained in the following
passage of the first book of the _Iliad_, is allowed to be a true
specimen of the sublime. It is the archetype from which Phidias
acknowledged he had framed his divine sculpture of the Olympian Jupiter:

    Η, και κυανεησιν επ’ οφρυσι νευσε Κρονιων·
    Αμβροσιαι δ’ αρα χαιται επερρωσαντο ανακτος,
    Κρατος απ’ αθανατοιο, μεγαν δ’ ελελιξεν Ολυμπον.

    He spoke, and awful bends his sable brows,
    Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gives the nod,
    The stamp of fate, and sanction of the God:
    High heaven, with trembling, the dread signal took,
    And all Olympus to its centre shook.

                                                  POPE.

Certainly Mr. Hobbes of Malmsbury perceived no portion of that sublime
which was felt by Phidias and by Mr. Pope, when he could thus translate
this fine description:

    This said, with his black brows he to her nodded,
      Wherewith displayed were his locks divine;
    Olympus shook at stirring of his godhead,
      And Thetis from it jump’d into the brine.

In the translation of the _Georgics_, Mr. Dryden has displayed great
powers of poetry. But Dryden had little relish for the pathetic, and
no comprehension of the natural language of the heart. The beautiful
simplicity of the following passage has entirely escaped his observation,
and he has been utterly insensible to its tenderness:

    _Ipse cavâ solans ægrum testudine amorem,_
    _Te, dulcis conjux, te solo in littore secum,_
    _Te veniente die, te decedente canebat._

                                   VIRG. _Geor. 4._

    Th’ unhappy husband, now no more,
    Did on his tuneful harp his loss deplore,
    And sought his mournful mind with music to restore.
    On thee, dear Wife, in deserts all alone,
    He call’d, sigh’d, sung; his griefs with day begun,
    Nor were they finish’d till the setting sun.

The three verbs, _call’d_, _sigh’d_, _sung_, are here substituted, with
peculiar infelicity, for the repetition of the pronoun; a change which
converts the pathetic into the ludicrous.

In the same episode, the poet compares the complaint of Orpheus to the
wailing of a nightingale, robb’d of her young, in those well-known
beautiful verses:

    _Qualis populea mœrens Philomela sub umbra_
    _Amissos queritur fœtus, quos durus arator_
    _Observans nido implumes, detraxit: at illa_
    _Flet noctem, ramoque sedens miserabile carmen_
    _Integrat, et mœstis late loca questibus implet._

Thus translated by De Lille:

    Telle sur un rameau durant la nuit obscure
    Philomele plaintive attendrit la nature,
    Accuse en gémissant l’oiseleur inhumain,
    Qui, glissant dans son nid une furtive main,
    Ravit ces tendres fruits que l’amour fit eclorre,
    Et qu’un leger duvet ne couvroit pas encore.

It is evident, that there is a complete evaporation of the beauties of
the original in this translation: and the reason is, that the French
poet has substituted sentiments for facts, and refinement for the
simple pathetic. The nightingale of De Lille melts all nature with her
complaint; accuses with her sighs the inhuman fowler, who glides his
thievish hand into her nest, and plunders the tender fruits that were
hatched by love! How different this sentimental foppery from the chaste
simplicity of Virgil!

The following beautiful passage in the sixth book of the _Iliad_ has
not been happily translated by Mr. Pope. It is in the parting interview
between Hector and Andromache.

    Ως ειπων, αλοχοιο φιλης εν χερσιν εθηκε
    Παιδ’ ἑον· ἡ δ’ αρα μιν κηωδει δεξατο κολπω,
    Δακρυοεν γελασασα· ποσις δ’ ελεησε νοησας,
    Χειρι τε μιν κατερεξεν, επος τ’ εφατ’ εκ τ’ ονομαζε.

    He spoke, and fondly gazing on her charms,
    Restor’d the pleasing burden to her arms;
    Soft on her fragrant breast the babe she laid,
    Hush’d to repose, and with a smile survey’d.
    The troubled pleasure soon chastis’d by fear,
    She mingled with the smile a tender tear.
    The soften’d chief with kind compassion view’d,
    And dried the falling drops, and thus pursu’d.

This, it must be allowed, is good poetry; but it wants the affecting
simplicity of the original. _Fondly gazing on her charms—pleasing
burden—The troubled pleasure soon chastised by fear_, are injudicious
embellishments. The beautiful expression Δακρυοεν γελασασα is totally
lost by amplification; and the fine circumstance, which so much heightens
the tenderness of the picture, Χειρι τε μιν κατερεξεν, is forgotten
altogether.

But a translator may discern the general character of his author’s
style, and yet fail remarkably in the imitation of it. Unless he is
possessed of the most correct taste, he will be in continual danger of
presenting an exaggerated picture or a caricatura of his original. The
distinction between good and bad writing is often of so very slender a
nature, and the shadowing of difference so extremely delicate, that a
very nice perception alone can at all times define the limits. Thus,
in the hands of some translators, who have discernment to perceive the
general character of their author’s style, but want this correctness of
taste, the grave style of the original becomes heavy and formal in the
translation; the elevated swells into bombast, the lively froths up into
the petulant, and the simple and _naïf_ degenerates into the childish and
insipid.[34]

In the fourth Oration against Catiline, Cicero, after drawing the most
striking picture of the miseries of his country, on the supposition that
success had crowned the designs of the conspirators, closes the detail
with this grave and solemn application:

_Quia mihi vehementer hæc videntur misera atque miseranda, idcirca in
eos qui ea perficere voluerunt, me severum, vehementemque præbeo. Etenim
quæro, si quis paterfamilias, liberis suis a servo interfectis, uxore
occisa, incensa domo, supplicium de servo quam acerbissimum sumserit;
utrum is clemens ac misericors, an inhumanissimus et crudelissimus esse
videatur? Mihi vero importunus ac ferreus, qui non dolore ac cruciatu
nocentis, suum dolorem ac cruciatum lenierit._

How awkwardly is the dignified gravity of the original imitated, in the
following heavy, formal, and insipid version.

“Now as to me these calamities appear extremely shocking and deplorable:
therefore I am extremely keen and rigorous in punishing those who
endeavoured to bring them about. For let me put the case, that a
master of a family had his children butchered, his wife murdered, his
house burnt down by a slave, yet did not inflict the most rigorous of
punishments imaginable upon that slave: would such a master appear
merciful and compassionate, and not rather a monster of cruelty and
inhumanity? To me that man would appear to be of a flinty cruel nature,
who should not endeavour to soothe his own anguish and torment by the
anguish and torment of its guilty cause.”[35]

Ovid, in describing the fatal storm in which Ceyx perished, says,

    _Undarum incursa gravis unda, tonitrubus æther_
    _Fluctibus erigitur, cœlumque æquare videtur_
    _Pontus._

An hyperbole, allowable in poetical description; but which Dryden has
exaggerated into the most outrageous bombast:

    Now waves on waves ascending scale the skies,
    And in the fires above the water fries.

In the first scene of the _Amphitryo of Plautus_, Sosia thus remarks on
the unusual length of the night:

    _Neque ego hac nocte longiorem me vidisse censeo,_
    _Nisi item unam, verberatus quam pependi perpetem._
    _Eam quoque, Ædepol, etiam multo hæc vicit longitudine._
    _Credo equidem dormire solem atque appotum probe._
    _Mira sunt, nisi invitavit sese in cœna plusculum._

To which Mercury answers:

    _Ain vero, verbero? Deos esse tui similes putas?_
    _Ego Pol te istis tuis pro dictis et malefactis, furcifer,_
    _Accipiam, modò sis veni huc: invenies infortunium._

Echard, who saw no distinction between the familiar and the vulgar, has
translated this in the true dialect of the streets:

“I think there never was such a long night since the beginning of the
world, except that night I had the strappado, and rid the wooden horse
till morning; and, o’ my conscience, that was twice as long.[36] By the
mackins, I believe Phœbus has been playing the good-fellow, and ’s asleep
too. I’ll be hang’d if he ben’t in for’t, and has took a little too much
o’ the creature.”

“_Mer._ Say ye so, slave? What, treat Gods like yourselves. By Jove, have
at your doublet, Rogue, for _scandalum magnatum_. Approach then, you’ll
ha’ but small joy here.”

“Mer. _Accedam, atque hanc appellabo atque supparasitabo patri._” Ibid.
sc. 3.

“_Mer._ I’ll to her, and tickle her up as my father has done.”

“Sosia. _Irritabis crabrones._” Ibid. act 2, sc. 2.

“_Sosia._ You’d as good p—ss in a bee-hive.”

Seneca, though not a chaste writer, is remarkable for a courtly dignity
of expression, which, though often united with ease, never descends to
the mean or vulgar. L’Estrange has presented him through a medium of such
coarseness, that he is hardly to be known.

_Probatos itaque semper lege, et siquando ad alios divertere libuerit,
ad priores redi.—Nihil æque sanitatem impedit quam remediorum crebra
mutatio_, Ep. 2.—“Of authors be sure to make choice of the best; and,
as I said before, stick close to them; and though you take up others by
the bye, reserve some select ones, however, for your study and retreat.
Nothing is more hurtful, in the case of diseases and wounds, than the
frequent shifting of physic and plasters.”

_Fuit qui diceret, Quid perdis operam? ille quem quæris elatus, combustus
est._ _De benef._, lib. 7. c. 21.—“Friend, says a fellow, you may hammer
your heart out, for the man you look for is dead.”

_Cum multa in crudelitatem Pisistrati conviva ebrius dixisset._ _De ira_,
lib. 3, c. 11. “Thrasippus, in his drink, fell foul upon the cruelties of
Pisistratus.”

From the same defect of taste, the simple and natural manner degenerates
into the childish and insipid.

    J’ai perdu tout mon bonheur,
    J’ai perdu mon serviteur,
      Colin me délaisse.
    Helas! il a pu changer!
    Je voudrois n’y plus songer:
      J’y songe sans cesse.

                ROUSSEAU, _Devin de Village_.

    I’ve lost my love, I’ve lost my swain;
      Colin leaves me with disdain.
    Naughty Colin! hateful thought!
      To Colinette her Colin’s naught.
    I will forget him—that I will!
    Ah, t’wont do—I love him still.




CHAPTER VI

    EXAMPLES OF A GOOD TASTE IN POETICAL TRANSLATION.—BOURNE’S
    TRANSLATIONS FROM MALLET AND FROM PRIOR.—THE DUKE DE NIVERNOIS
    FROM HORACE.—DR. JORTIN FROM SIMONIDES.—IMITATION OF THE SAME
    BY DR. MARKHAM.—MR. WEBB FROM THE ANTHOLOGIA.—HUGHES FROM
    CLAUDIAN.—FRAGMENTS OF THE GREEK DRAMATISTS BY MR. CUMBERLAND.


After these examples of faulty translation, from a defect of taste in the
translator, or a want of a just discernment of his author’s style and
manner of writing, I shall now present the reader with some specimens of
perfect translation, where the authors have entered with exquisite taste
into the manner of their originals, and have succeeded most happily in
the imitation of it.

The first is the opening of the beautiful ballad of _William and
Margaret_, translated by Vincent Bourne.

    I

    When all was wrapt in dark midnight,
      And all were fast asleep,
    In glided Margaret’s grimly ghost,
      And stood at William’s feet.

    II

    Her face was like the April morn,
      Clad in a wintry-cloud;
    And clay-cold was her lily hand,
      That held her sable shrowd.

    III

    So shall the fairest face appear,
      When youth and years are flown;
    Such is the robe that Kings must wear,
      When death has reft their crown.

    IV

    Her bloom was like the springing flower,
      That sips the silver dew;
    The rose was budded in her cheek,
      And opening to the view.

    V

    But Love had, like the canker-worm,
      Consum’d her early prime;
    The rose grew pale and left her cheek,
      She died before her time.

    I

    _Omnia nox tenebris, tacitâque involverat umbrâ._
      _Et fessos homines vinxerat alta quies;_
    _Cùm valvæ patuere, et gressu illapsa silenti,_
      _Thyrsidis ad lectum stabat imago Chloes._

    II

    _Vultus erat, qualis lachrymosi vultus Aprilis,_
      _Cui dubia hyberno conditur imbre dies;_
    _Quaque sepulchralem à pedibus collegit amictum,_
      _Candidior nivibus, frigidiorque manus,_

    III

    _Cùmque dies aberunt molles, et læta juventus,_
      _Gloria pallebit, sic Cyparissi tua;_
    _Cùm mors decutiet capiti diademata, regum_
      _Hâc erit in trabeâ conspiciendus honos._

    IV

    _Forma fuit (dum forma fuit) nascentis ad instar_
      _Floris, cui cano gemmula rore tumet;_
    _Et Veneres risere, et subrubuere labella,_
      _Subrubet ut teneris purpura prima rosis._

    V

    _Sed lenta exedit tabes mollemque ruborem,_
      _Et faciles risus, et juvenile decus;_
    _Et rosa paulatim languens, nudata reliquit_
      _Oscula; præripuit mors properata Chloen._

The second is a small poem by Prior, intitled _Chloe Hunting_, which is
likewise translated into Latin by Bourne.

    Behind her neck her comely tresses tied,
    Her ivory quiver graceful by her side,
    A-hunting Chloe went; she lost her way,
    And through the woods uncertain chanc’d to stray.
    Apollo passing by beheld the maid;
    And, sister dear, bright Cynthia, turn, he said;
    The hunted hind lies close in yonder brake.
    Loud Cupid laugh’d, to see the God’s mistake:
    And laughing cried, learn better, great Divine,
    To know thy kindred, and to honour mine.
    Rightly advis’d, far hence thy sister seek,
    Or on Meander’s banks, or Latmus’ peak.
    But in this nymph, my friend, my sister know;
    She draws my arrows, and she bends my bow.
    Fair Thames she haunts, and every neighbouring grove,
    Sacred to soft recess, and gentle Love.
    Go with thy Cynthia, hurl the pointed spear
    At the rough boar, or chace the flying deer:
    I, and my Chloe, take a nobler aim;
    At human hearts we fling, nor ever miss the game.

    _Forte Chloe, pulchros nodo collecta capillos_
    _Post collum, pharetrâque latus succincta decorâ,_
    _Venatrix ad sylvam ibat; cervumque secuta_
    _Elapsum visu, deserta per avia tendit_
    _Incerta. Errantem nympham conspexit Apollo,_
    _Et, converte tuos, dixit, mea Cynthia, cursus;_
    _En ibi (monstravitque manu) tibi cervus anhelat_
    _Occultus dumo, latebrisque moratur in illis._
      _Improbus hæc audivit Amor, lepidumque cachinnum_
    _Attollens, poterantne etiam tua numina falli?_
    _Hinc, quæso, bone Phœbe, tuam dignosce sororem,_
    _Et melius venerare meam. Tua Cynthia longè,_
    _Mæandri ad ripas, aut summi in vertice Latmi,_
    _Versatur; nostra est soror hæc, nostra, inquit, amica est._
    _Hæc nostros promit calamos, arcumque sonantem_
    _Incurvat, Tamumque colens, placidosque recessus_
    _Lucorum, quos alma quies sacravit amori._
    _Ite per umbrosos saltus, lustrisque vel aprum_
    _Excutite horrentem setis, cervumve fugacem,_
    _Tuque sororque tua, et directo sternite ferro:_
    _Nobilior labor, et divis dignissima cura,_
    _Meque Chloenque manet; nos corda humana ferimus,_
    _Vibrantes certum vulnus nec inutile telum._

The third specimen, is a translation by the Duke de Nivernois, of
Horace’s dialogue with Lydia:

    HORACE

    Plus heureux qu’un monarque au faite des grandeurs,
      J’ai vu mes jours dignes d’envie,
    Tranquiles, ils couloient au gré de nos ardeurs:
      Vous m’aimiez, charmante Lydie.

    LYDIE

    Que mes jours étoient beaux, quand des soins les plus doux
      Vous payiez ma flamme sincére!
    Venus me regardoit avec des yeux jaloux;
      Chloé n’avoit pas sçu vous plaire.

    HORACE

    Par son luth, par sa voix, organe des amours,
      Chloé seule me paroit belle:
    Si le Destin jaloux veut épargner ses jours,
      Je donnerai les miens pour elle.

    LYDIE

    Le jeune Calaïs, plus beau que les amours,
      Plait seul à mon ame ravie:
    Si le Destin jaloux veut épargner ses jours,
      Je donnerai deux fois ma vie.

    HORACE

    Quoi, si mes premiers feux, ranimant leur ardeur,
      Etouffoient une amour fatale;
    Si, perdant pour jamais tous ses droits sur mon cœur,
      Chloé vous laissoit sans rivale——

    LYDIE

    Calaïs est charmant: mais je n’aime que vous,
      Ingrat, mon cœur vous justifie;
    Heureuse également en des liens si doux,
      De perdre ou de passer la vie.[37]

If any thing is faulty in this excellent translation, it is the last
stanza, which does not convey the happy petulance, the _procacitas_ of
the original. The reader may compare with this, the fine translation of
the same ode by Bishop Atterbury, “Whilst I was fond, and you were kind,”
which is too well known to require insertion.

The fourth example is a translation by Dr. Jortin of that beautiful
fragment of Simonides, preserved by Dionysius, in which Danae, exposed
with her child to the fury of the ocean, by command of her inhuman
father, is described lamenting over her sleeping infant.

_Ex Dionys. Hal. De Compositione Verborum_, c. 26.

    Οτε λαρνακι εν δαιδαλεα ανεμος
    Βρεμη πνεων, κινηθεισα δε λιμνα
    Δειματι ερειπεν· ουτ’ αδιανταισι
    Παρειαῖς, αμφι τε Περσεῖ βαλλε
    Φιλαν χερα, ειπεν τε· ω τεκνον,
    Ὁιον εχω πονον. συ δ’ αυτε γαλαθηνω
    Ητορι κνοσσεις εν ατερπει δωματι,
    Χαλκεογομφω δε, νυκτιλαμπεῖ,
    Κυανεω τε δνοφω· συ δ’ αυαλεαν
    Υπερθε τεαν κομαν βαθειαν
    Παριοντος κυματος ουκ αλεγεις
    Ουδ’ ανεμου φθογγων, πορφυρεα
    Κειμενος εν χλανιδι, προσωπον καλον·
    Ει δε τοι δεινον το γε δεινον ην
    Και μεν εμων ρηματων λεπτον
    Υπειχες οὐας. κελομαι, ἑυδε, βρεφος,
    Ἑυδετω δε ποντος, ευδετω αμετρον κακον.
    Ματαιοβουλια δε τις φανειη
    Ζευ πατερ, εκ σεο· ὁτι δη θαρσαλεον
    Επος, ευχομαι τεκνοφι δικας μοι.

    Nocte sub obscura, verrentibus æquora ventis,
      Quum brevis immensa cymba nataret aqua,
    Multa gemens Danaë subjecit brachia nato,
      Et teneræ lacrymis immaduere genæ.
    Tu tamen ut dulci, dixit, pulcherrime, somno
      Obrutus, et metuens tristia nulla, jaces!
    Quamvis, heu quales cunas tibi concutit unda,
      Præbet et incertam pallida luna facem,
    Et vehemens flavos everberat aura capillos,
      Et prope, subsultans, irrigat ora liquor.
    Nate, meam sentis vocem? Nil cernis et audis,
      Teque premunt placidi vincula blanda dei;
    Nec mihi purpureis effundis blæsa labellis
      Murmura, nec notos confugis usque sinus.
    Care, quiesce, puer, sævique quiescite fluctus,
      Et mea qui pulsas corda, quiesce, dolor.
    Cresce puer; matris leni atque ulciscere luctus,
      Tuque tuos saltem protege summe Tonans.

This admirable translation falls short of its original only in a
single particular, the measure of the verse. One striking beauty of
the original, is the easy and loose structure of the verse, which
has little else to distinguish it from animated discourse but the
harmony of the syllables; and hence it has more of natural impassioned
eloquence, than is conveyed by the regular measure of the translation.
That this characteristic of the original should have been overlooked
by the ingenious translator, is the more remarkable, that the poem is
actually quoted by Dionysius, as an apposite example of that species
of composition in which poetry approaches to the freedom of prose; της
εμμελους και εμμετρου συνθεσεως της εχουσης πολλην ὁμοιοτητα προς την
πεζην λεξιν. Dr. Markham saw this excellence of the original; and in
that fine imitation of the verses of Simonides, which an able critic[38]
has pronounced to be far superior to the original, has given it its
full effect. The passage alluded to is an apostrophe of a mother to her
sleeping infant, a widowed mother, who has just left the deathbed of her
husband.

    His conatibus occupata, ocellos
    Guttis lucidulis adhuc madentes
    Convertit, puerum sopore vinctum
    Qua nutrix placido sinu fovebat:
    Dormis, inquiit, O miselle, nec te
    Vultus exanimes, silentiumque
    Per longa atria commovent, nec ullo
    Fratrum tangeris, aut meo dolore;
    Nec sentis patre destitutus illo
    Qui gestans genibusve brachiove
    Aut formans lepidam tuam loquelam
    Tecum mille modis ineptiebat.
    Tu dormis, volitantque qui solebant
    Risus in roseis tuis labellis.——
    Dormi parvule! nec mali dolores
    Qui matrem cruciant tuæ quietis
    Rumpant somnia.—Quando, quando tales
    Redibunt oculis meis sopores!

The next specimen I shall give, is the translation of a beautiful
epigram, from the _Anthologia_ which is supposed by Junius to be
descriptive of a painting mentioned by Pliny,[39] in which, a mother
wounded, and in the agony of death, is represented as giving suck to her
infant for the last time:

    Ελκε τάλαν παρα μητρος ὅν οὐκ ἔτι μαζὸν ἀμελξεις,
      Ελκυσον ὑστατιον νᾶμα καταφθιμενης
    Ηδη γαρ ξιφέεσσι λιπόπνοος, ἀλλὰ τὰ μητρος
      Φιλτρα καὶ εν ἀϊδη παιδοκομειν ἔμαθον.

Thus happily translated into English by Mr. Webb:

    Suck, little wretch, while yet thy mother lives,
    Suck the last drop her fainting bosom gives!
    She dies: her tenderness survives her breath,
    And her fond love is provident in death.

Equal in merit to any of the preceding, is the following translation by
Mr. Hughes from _Claudian_.

_Ex Epithalamio Honorii & Mariæ._

    _Cunctatur stupefacta Venus; nunc ora puellæ,_
    _Nunc flavam niveo miratur vertice matrem._
    _Hæc modo crescenti, plenæ par altera Lunæ:_
    _Assurgit ceu fortè minor sub matre virenti_
    _Laurus; et ingentes ramos, olimque futuras_
    _Promittit jam parva comas: vel flore sub uno_
    _Seu geminæ Pæstana rosæ per jugera regnant._
    _Hæc largo matura die, saturataque vernis_
    _Roribus indulget spatio: latet altera nodo,_
    _Nec teneris audet foliis admittere soles._

    The goddess paus’d; and, held in deep amaze,
    Now views the mother’s, now the daughter’s face.
    Different in each, yet equal beauty glows;
    That, the full moon, and this, the crescent shows,
    Thus, rais’d beneath its parent tree is seen
    The laurel shoot, while in its early green
    Thick sprouting leaves and branches are essay’d,
    And all the promise of a future shade.
    Or blooming thus, in happy Pæstan fields,
    One common stock two lovely roses yields:
    Mature by vernal dews, this dares display
    Its leaves full-blown, and boldly meets the day
    That, folded in its tender nonage lies,
    A beauteous bud, nor yet admits the skies.

The following passage, from a Latin version of the _Messiah_ of Pope,
by a youth of uncommon genius,[40] exhibits the singular union of ease,
animation, and harmony of numbers, with the strictest fidelity to the
original.

    _Lanigera ut cautè placidus regit agmina pastor,_
    _Aera ut explorat purum, camposque virentes;_
    _Amissas ut quærit oves, moderatur euntûm_
    _Ut gressus, curatque diu, noctuque tuetur;_
    _Ut teneros agnos lenta inter brachia tollit,_
    _Mulcenti pascit palma, gremioque focillat;_
    _Sic genus omne hominum sic complectetur amanti_
    _Pectore, promissus seclo Pater ille futuro._

    As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care,
    Seeks freshest pasture and the purest air;
    Explores the lost, the wandering sheep directs,
    By day o’ersees them, and by night protects;
    The tender lambs he raises in his arms,
    Feeds from his hand, and in his bosom warms:
    Thus shall mankind his guardian care engage
    The promis’d Father of the future age.

To these specimens of perfect translation, in which not only the
ideas of the original are completely transfused, but the manner most
happily imitated, I add the following admirable translations by Mr.
Cumberland,[41] of two fragments from the Greek dramatists Timocles and
Diphilus, which are preserved by Athenæus.

The first of these passages beautifully illustrates the moral uses of the
tragic drama:

    Nay, my good friend, but hear me! I confess
    Man is the child of sorrow, and this world,
    In which we breathe, hath cares enough to plague us;
    But it hath means withal to soothe these cares:
    And he who meditates on others’ woes,
    Shall in that meditation lose his own:
    Call then the tragic poet to your aid,
    Hear him, and take instruction from the stage:
    Let Telephus appear; behold a prince,
    A spectacle of poverty and pain,
    Wretched in both.—And what if you are poor?
    Are you a demigod? Are you the son
    Of Hercules? Begone! Complain no more.
    Doth your mind struggle with distracting thoughts?
    Do your wits wander? Are you mad? Alas!
    So was Alcmeon, whilst the world ador’d
    His father as their God. Your eyes are dim;
    What then? The eyes of Œdipus were dark,
    Totally dark. You mourn a son; he’s dead;
    Turn to the tale of Niobe for comfort,
    And match your loss with hers. You’re lame of foot;
    Compare it with the foot of Philoctetes,
    And make no more complaint. But you are old,
    Old and unfortunate; consult Oëneus;
    Hear what a king endur’d, and learn content.
    Sum up your miseries, number up your sighs,
    The tragic stage shall give you tear for tear,
    And wash out all afflictions but its own.[42]

The following fragment from Diphilus conveys a very favourable idea of
the spirit of the dialogue, in what has been termed the New Comedy of the
Greeks, or that which was posterior to the age of Alexander the Great.
Of this period Diphilus and Menander were among the most shining
ornaments.

    We have a notable good law at Corinth,
    Where, if an idle fellow outruns reason,
    Feasting and junketting at furious cost,
    The sumptuary proctor calls upon him,
    And thus begins to sift him.—You live well,
    But have you well to live? You squander freely,
    Have you the wherewithal? Have you the fund
    For these outgoings? If you have, go on!
    If you have not, we’ll stop you in good time,
    Before you outrun honesty; for he
    Who lives we know not how, must live by plunder;
    Either he picks a purse, or robs a house,
    Or is accomplice with some knavish gang,
    Or thrusts himself in crowds, to play th’ informer,
    And put his perjur’d evidence to sale:
    This a well-order’d city will not suffer;
    Such vermin we expel.—“And you do wisely:
    But what is that to me?”—Why, this it is:
    Here we behold you every day at work,
    Living, forsooth! not as your neighbours live,
    But richly, royally, ye gods!—Why man,
    We cannot get a fish for love or money,
    You swallow the whole produce of the sea:
    You’ve driv’n our citizens to brouze on cabbage;
    A sprig of parsley sets them all a-fighting,
    As at the Isthmian games: If hare or partridge,
    Or but a simple thrush comes to the market,
    Quick, at a word, you snap him: By the Gods!
    Hunt Athens through, you shall not find a feather
    But in your kitchen; and for wine, ’tis gold—
    Not to be purchas’d.—We may drink the ditches.[43]

Of equal merit with these two last specimens, are the greatest part of
those translations given by Mr. Cumberland of the fragments of the Greek
dramatists. The literary world owes to that ingenious writer a very high
obligation for his excellent view of the progress of the dramatic art
among the Greeks, and for the collection he has made of the remains of
more than fifty of their comic poets.[44]




CHAPTER VII

    LIMITATION OF THE RULE REGARDING THE IMITATION OF STYLE.—THIS
    IMITATION MUST BE REGULATED BY THE GENIUS OF LANGUAGES.—THE
    LATIN ADMITS OF A GREATER BREVITY OF EXPRESSION THAN THE
    ENGLISH;—AS DOES THE FRENCH.—THE LATIN AND GREEK ALLOW GREATER
    INVERSIONS THAN THE ENGLISH,—AND ADMIT MORE FREELY OF ELLIPSIS


The rule which enjoins to a translator the imitation of the style of the
original author, demands several limitations.

1. This imitation must always be regulated by the nature or genius of the
languages of the original and of the translation.

The Latin language admits of a brevity, which cannot be successfully
imitated in the English.

Cicero thus writes to Trebatius (lib. 7, ep. 17):

_In Britanniam te profectum non esse gaudeo, quod et tu labore caruisti,
et ego te de rebus illis non audiam._

It is impossible to translate this into English with equal brevity,
and at the same time do complete justice to the sentiment. Melmoth,
therefore, has shewn great judgement in sacrificing the imitation of
style to the perfect transfusion of the sense. “I am glad, for my sake
as well as yours, that you did not attend Cæsar into Britain; as it has
not only saved you the fatigue of a very disagreeable journey, but me
likewise that of being the perpetual auditor of your wonderful exploits.”
_Melm. Cic. Lett._ b. 2, l. 12.

Pliny to Minutianus, lib. 3, ep. 9, says, towards the end of his letter:
_Temerè dixi—Succurrit quod præterieram, et quidem serò: sed quanquam
preposterè reddetur. Facit hoc Homerus, multique illius exemplo. Est
alioqui perdecorum: a me tamen non ideo fiet._ It is no doubt possible
to translate this passage into English with a conciseness almost equal
to the original; but in this experiment we must sacrifice all its ease
and spirit. “I have said this rashly—I recollect an omission—somewhat too
late indeed. It shall now be supplied, though a little preposterously.
Homer does this: and many after his example. Besides, it is not
unbecoming; but this is not my reason.” Let us mark how Mr. Melmoth,
by a happy amplification, has preserved the spirit and ease, though
sacrificing the brevity of the original. “But upon recollection, I find
that I must recall that last word; for I perceive, a little too late
indeed, that I have omitted a material circumstance. However, I will
mention it here, though something out of its place. In this, I have
the authority of Homer, and several other great names, to keep me in
countenance; and the critics will tell you this irregular manner has its
beauties: but, upon my word, it is a beauty I had not at all in my view.”

An example of a similar brevity of expression, which admits of no
imitation in English, occurs in another letter of Cicero to Trebatius,
_Ep._ l. 7, 14.

_Chrysippus Vettius, Cyri architecti libertus, fecit, ut te non immemorem
putarem mei. Valde jam lautus es qui gravere literas ad me dare, homini
præsertim domestico. Quod si scribere oblitus es, minus multi jam te
advocato causâ cadent. Sin nostri oblitus es, dabo operam ut isthuc
veniam antequam planè ex animo tuo effluo._

In translating this passage, Mr. Melmoth has shewn equal judgement.
Without attempting to imitate the brevity of the original, which he knew
to be impossible, he saw that the characterising features of the passage
were ease and vivacity; and these he has very happily transfused into his
translation.

“If it were not for the compliments you sent me by Chrysippus, the
freedman of Cyrus the architect, I should have imagined I no longer
possessed a place in your thoughts. But surely you are become a most
intolerable fine gentleman, that you could not bear the fatigue of
writing to me, when you had the opportunity of doing so by a man, whom,
you know, I look upon as one almost of my own family. Perhaps, however,
you may have forgotten the use of your pen: and so much the better, let
me tell you, for your clients, as they will lose no more causes by its
blunders. But if it is myself only that has escaped your remembrance, I
must endeavour to refresh it by a visit, before I am worn out of your
memory, beyond all power of recollection.”

Numberless instances of a similar exercise of judgement and of good
taste are to be found in Mr. Murphy’s excellent translation of Tacitus.
After the death of Germanicus, poisoned, as was suspected, by Piso, with
the tacit approbation of Tiberius, the public loudly demanded justice
against the supposed murderer, and the cause was solemnly tried in
the Roman Senate. Piso, foreseeing a judgement against him, chose to
anticipate his fate by a voluntary death. The senate decreed that his
family name should be abolished for ever, and that his brother Marcus
should be banished from his country for ten years; but in deference to
the solicitations of the Empress, they granted a free pardon to Plancina,
his widow. Tacitus proceeds to relate, that this sentence of the senate
was altered by Tiberius: _Multa ex ea sententia mitigata sunt a principe;
“ne nomen Pisonis fastis eximeretur, quando M. Antonii, qui bellum patriæ
fecisset, Juli Antonii, qui domum Augusti violasset, manerent;” et M.
Pisonem ignominiæ exemit, concessitque ei paterna bona; satis firmus,
ut sæpe memoravi, adversus pecuniam; et tum pudore absolutæ Plancinæ
placabilior. Atque idem cum Valerius Messalinus signum aureum in æde
Martis Ultoris, Cæcina Severus aram ultioni statuendam censuissent,
prohibuit: ob externas ea victorias sacrari dictitans, domestica mala
tristitia operienda._ An. l. 3, c. 18.

Thus necessarily amplified, and translated with the ease of original
composition, by Mr. Murphy:

“This sentence, in many particulars, was mitigated by Tiberius. The
family name, he said, ought not to be abolished, while that of Mark
Antony, who appeared in arms against his country, as well as that of
Julius Antonius, who by his intrigues dishonoured the house of Augustus,
subsisted still, and figured in the Roman annals. Marcus Piso was left
in possession of his civil dignities, and his father’s fortune. Avarice,
as has been already observed, was not the passion of Tiberius. On this
occasion, the disgrace incurred by the partiality shewn to Plancina,
softened his temper, and made him the more willing to extend his mercy to
the son. Valerius Messalinus moved, that a golden statue might be erected
in the temple of Mars the Avenger. An altar to Vengeance was proposed by
Cæcina Severus. Both these motions were over-ruled by the Emperor. The
principle on which he argued was, that public monuments, however proper
in cases of foreign conquest, were not suited to the present juncture.
Domestic calamity should be lamented, and as soon as possible consigned
to oblivion.”

The conclusion of the same chapter affords an example yet more striking
of the same necessary and happy amplification by the translator.

_Addiderat Messalinus, Tiberio et Augustæ, et Antoniæ, et Agrippinæ,
Drusoque, ob vindictam Germanici grates agendas, omiseratque Claudii
mentionem; et Messalinum quidem L. Asprenas senatu coram percunctatus
est, an prudens præterîsset? Actum demum nomen Claudii adscriptum est.
Mihi quanto plura recentium, seu veterum revolvo, tanto magis ludibria
rerum mortalium cunctis in negotiis obversantur; quippe fama, spe,
veneratione potius omnes destinabantur imperio, quam quem futurum
principem fortuna in occulto tenebat._

“Messalinus added to his motion a vote of thanks to Tiberius and Livia,
to Antonia, Agrippina, and Drusus, for their zeal in bringing to justice
the enemies of Germanicus. The name of Claudius was not mentioned.
Lucius Asprenas desired to know whether that omission was intended.
The consequence was, that Claudius was inserted in the vote. Upon an
occasion like this, it is impossible not to pause for a moment, to make a
reflection that naturally rises out of the subject. When we review what
has been doing in the world, is it not evident, that in all transactions,
whether of ancient or of modern date, some strange caprice of fortune
turns all human wisdom to a jest? In the juncture before us, Claudius
figured so little on the stage of public business, that there was scarce
a man in Rome, who did not seem, by the voice of fame and the wishes
of the people, designed for the sovereign power, rather than the very
person, whom fate, in that instant, cherished in obscurity, to make him,
at a future period, master of the Roman world.”

So likewise in the following passage, we must admire the judgement of
the translator in abandoning all attempt to rival the brevity of the
original, since he knew it could not be attained but with the sacrifice
both of ease and perspicuity:

_Is finis fuit ulciscenda Germanici morte, non modo apud illos homines
qui tum agebant, etiam secutis temporibus vario rumore jactata;
adeo maxima quæque ambigua sunt, dum alii quoquo modo audita pro
compertis habent; alii vera in contrarium vertunt; et gliscit utrumque
posteritate._ An. l. 3, c. 19.

“In this manner ended the enquiry concerning the death of Germanicus; a
subject which has been variously represented, not only by men of that
day, but by all subsequent writers. It remains, to this hour, the problem
of history. A cloud for ever hangs over the most important transactions;
while, on the one hand, credulity adopts for fact the report of the day;
and, on the other, politicians warp and disguise the truth: between
both parties two different accounts go down from age to age, and gain
strength with posterity.”

The French language admits of a brevity of expression more corresponding
to that of the Latin: and of this D’Alembert has given many happy
examples in his translations from Tacitus.

_Quod si vita suppeditet, principatum divi Nervæ et imperium Trajani,
uberiorem, securioremque materiam senectuti seposui: rarâ temporum
felicitate, ubi sentire quæ velis, et quæ sentias dicere licet_, Praef.
ad Hist. “Si les dieux m’accordent des jours, je destine à l’occupation
et à la consolation de ma vieillesse, l’histoire interessante et
tranquille de Nerva et de Trajan; tems heureux et rares, où l’on est
libre de penser et de parler.”

And with equal, perhaps superior felicity, the same passage is thus
translated by Rousseau: “Que s’il me reste assez de vie, je réserve pour
ma vieillesse la riche et paisible matiere des regnes de Nerva et de
Trajan: rares et heureux tems, où l’on peut penser librement, et dire ce
que l’on pense.”

But D’Alembert, from too earnest a desire to imitate the conciseness
of his original, has sometimes left the sense imperfect. Of this an
example occurs in the passage before quoted, _An._ l. 1, c. 2. _Cum
cæteri nobilium, quanto quis servitio promptior, opibus et honoribus
extollerentur_: the translator, too studious of brevity, has not given
the complete idea of his author, “Le reste des nobles trouvoit dans les
richesses et dans les honneurs la récompense de l’esclavage.” _Omnium
consensu capax imperii nisi imperasset_, Tac. Hist. 1, 49. “Digne de
l’empire au jugement de tout le monde tant qu’il ne regna pas.” This is
not the idea of the author; for Tacitus does not mean to say that Galba
was judged worthy of the empire till he attained to it; but that all
the world would have thought him worthy of the empire if he had never
attained to it.

2. The Latin and Greek languages admit of inversions which are
inconsistent with the genius of the English.

Mr. Gordon, injudiciously aiming at an imitation of the Latin
construction, has given a barbarous air to his translation of Tacitus:
“To Pallas, who was by Claudius declared to be the deviser of this
scheme, the ornaments of the prætorship, and three hundred seventy-five
thousand crowns, were adjudged by Bareas Soranus, consul designed,”
_An._ b. 12.—“Still to be seen are the Roman standards in the German
groves, there, by me, hung up,” _An._ lib. 1. “Naturally violent was the
spirit of Arminius, and now, by the captivity of his wife, and by the
fate of his child, doomed to bondage though yet unborn, enraged even to
distraction.” _Ib._ “But he, the more ardent he found the affections of
the soldiers, and the greater the hatred of his uncle, so much the more
intent upon a decisive victory, weighed with himself all the methods,”
&c. _Ib._ lib. 2.

Thus, Mr. Macpherson, in his translation of Homer, (a work otherwise
valuable, as containing a most perfect transfusion of the sense of
his author), has generally adopted an inverted construction, which is
incompatible with the genius of the English language. “Tlepolemus, the
race of Hercules,—brave in battle and great in arms, nine ships led
to Troy, with magnanimous Rhodians filled. Those who dwelt in Rhodes,
distinguished in nations three,—who held Lindus, Ialyssus, and white
Camirus, beheld him afar.—Their leader in arms was Tlepolemus, renowned
at the spear, _Il._ l. 2.—The heroes the slaughter began.—Alexander first
a warrior slew.—Through the neck, by the helm passed the steel.—Iphinous,
the son of Dexius, through the shoulder he pierced—to the earth fell the
chief in his blood, _Ib._ l. 7. Not unjustly we Hector admire; matchless
at launching the spear; to break the line of battle, bold, _Ib._ l. 5.
Nor for vows unpaid rages Apollo; nor solemn sacrifice denied,” _Ib._ l.
1.

3. The English language is not incapable of an elliptical mode of
expression; but it does not admit of it to the same degree as the Latin.
Tacitus says, _Trepida civitas incusare Tiberium_, for _trepida civitas
incepit incusare Tiberium_. We cannot say in English, “The terrified city
to blame Tiberius:” And even as Gordon has translated these words, the
ellipsis is too violent for the English language; “hence against Tiberius
many complaints.”

    Εννημαρ μεν ανα στρατὸν ωκετο κῆλα θεοῖο.

                           _Il._ l. 1, l. 53.

“For nine days the arrows of the god were darted through the army.” The
elliptical brevity of Mr. Macpherson’s translation of this verse, has no
parallel in the original; nor is it agreeable to the English idiom:

    “Nine days rush the shafts of the God.”




CHAPTER VIII

    WHETHER A POEM CAN BE WELL TRANSLATED INTO PROSE


From all the preceding observations respecting the imitation of style,
we may derive this precept, That a Translator ought always to figure to
himself, in what manner the original author would have expressed himself,
if he had written in the language of the translation.

This precept leads to the examination, and probably to the decision, of a
question which has admitted of some dispute, Whether a poem can be well
translated into prose?

There are certain species of poetry, of which the chief merit consists in
the sweetness and melody of the versification. Of these it is evident,
that the very essence must perish in translating them into prose. What
should we find in the following beautiful lines, when divested of the
melody of verse?

    She said, and melting as in tears she lay,
    In a soft silver stream dissolved away.
    The silver stream her virgin coldness keeps,
    For ever murmurs, and for ever weeps;
    Still bears the name the hapless virgin bore,
    And bathes the forest where she rang’d before.

                          POPE’S _Windsor Forest_.

But a great deal of the beauty of every regular poem, consists in
the melody of its numbers. Sensible of this truth, many of the prose
translators of poetry, have attempted to give a sort of measure to their
prose, which removes it from the nature of ordinary language. If this
measure is uniform, and its return regular, the composition is no longer
prose, but blank-verse. If it is not uniform, and does not regularly
return upon the ear, the composition will be more unharmonious, than
if the measure had been entirely neglected. Of this, Mr. Macpherson’s
translation of the _Iliad_ is a strong example.

But it is not only by the measure that poetry is distinguishable from
prose. It is by the character of its thoughts and sentiments, and by
the nature of that language in which they are clothed.[45] A boldness
of figures, a luxuriancy of imagery, a frequent use of metaphors, a
quickness of transition, a liberty of digressing; all these are not only
_allowable_ in poetry, but to many species of it, _essential_. But they
are quite unsuitable to the character of prose. When seen in a _prose
translation_, they appear preposterous and out of place, because they are
never found in an _original prose composition_.

In opposition to these remarks, it may be urged, that there are examples
of poems originally composed in prose, as Fenelon’s _Telemachus_.
But to this we answer, that Fenelon, in composing his _Telemachus_,
has judiciously adopted nothing more of the characteristics of poetry
than what might safely be given to a prose composition. His good taste
prescribed to him certain limits, which he was under no necessity of
transgressing. But a translator is not left to a similar freedom of
judgement: he must follow the footsteps of his original. Fenelon’s _Epic
Poem_ is of a very different character from the _Iliad_, the _Æneid_, or
the _Gierusalemme Liberata_. The French author has, in the conduct of his
fable, seldom transgressed the bounds of historic probability; he has
sparingly indulged himself in the use of the Epic machinery; and there
is a chastity and sobriety even in his language, very different from the
glowing enthusiasm that characterises the diction of the poems we have
mentioned: We find nothing in the _Telemaque_ of the _Os magna sonaturum_.

The difficulty of translating poetry into prose, is different in its
degree, according to the nature or species of the poem. Didactic poetry,
of which the principal merit consists in the detail of a regular system,
or in rational precepts which flow from each other in a connected train
of thought, will evidently suffer least by being transfused into prose.
But every didactic poet judiciously enriches his work with such ornaments
as are not strictly attached to his subject. In a prose translation
of such a poem, all that is strictly systematic or preceptive may be
transfused with propriety; all the rest, which belongs to embellishment,
will be found impertinent and out of place. Of this we have a convincing
proof in Dryden’s translation of the valuable poem of Du Fresnoy, _De
Arte Graphica_. The didactic parts of the poem are translated with
becoming propriety; but in the midst of those practical instructions in
the art of painting, how preposterous appear in prose such passages as
the following?

“Those things which the poets have thought unworthy of their pens, the
painters have judged to be unworthy of their pencils. For both those
arts, that they might advance the sacred honours of religion, have raised
themselves to heaven; and having found a free admission into the palace
of Jove himself, have enjoyed the sight and conversation of the Gods,
whose awful majesty they observe, and whose dictates they communicate to
mankind, whom, at the same time they inspire with those celestial flames
which shine so gloriously in their works.

“Besides all this, you are to express the motions of the spirits, and the
affections or passions, whose centre is the heart. This is that in which
the greatest difficulty consists. Few there are whom Jupiter regards with
a favourable eye in this undertaking.

“And as this part, (the Art of Colouring), which we may call the utmost
perfection of Painting, is a deceiving beauty, but withal soothing and
pleasing; so she has been accused of procuring lovers for her sister
(Design), and artfully engaging us to admire her.”

But there are certain species of poetry, of the merits of which it will
be found impossible to convey the smallest idea in a prose translation.
Such is Lyric poetry, where a greater degree of irregularity of thought,
and a more unrestrained exuberance of fancy, is allowable than in any
other species of composition. To attempt, therefore, a translation of a
lyric poem into prose, is the most absurd of all undertakings; for those
very characters of the original which are essential to it, and which
constitute its highest beauties, if transferred to a prose translation,
become unpardonable blemishes. The excursive range of the sentiments, and
the play of fancy, which we admire in the original, degenerate in the
translation into mere raving and impertinence. Of this the translation of
Horace in prose, by Smart, furnishes proofs in every page.

We may certainly, from the foregoing observations, conclude, that it is
impossible to do complete justice to any species of poetical composition
in a prose translation; in other words, that none but a poet can
translate a poet.




CHAPTER IX

    THIRD GENERAL RULE—A TRANSLATION SHOULD HAVE ALL THE EASE OF
    ORIGINAL COMPOSITION.—EXTREME DIFFICULTY IN THE OBSERVANCE OF
    THIS RULE.—CONTRASTED INSTANCES OF SUCCESS AND FAILURE.—OF THE
    NECESSITY OF SOMETIMES SACRIFICING ONE RULE TO ANOTHER


It remains now that we consider the third general law of translation.

In order that the merit of the original work may be so completely
transfused as to produce its full effect, it is necessary, not only that
the translation should contain a perfect transcript of the sentiments
of the original, and present likewise a resemblance of its style and
manner; but, That the translation should have all the ease of original
composition.

When we consider those restraints within which a translator finds himself
necessarily confined, with regard to the sentiments and manner of his
original, it will soon appear that this last requisite includes the most
difficult part of his task.[46] To one who walks in trammels, it is
not easy to exhibit an air of grace and freedom. It is difficult, even
for a capital painter, to preserve in a copy of a picture all the ease
and spirit of the original; yet the painter employs precisely the same
colours, and has no other care than faithfully to imitate the touch and
manner of the picture that is before him. If the original is easy and
graceful, the copy will have the same qualities, in proportion as the
imitation is just and perfect. The translator’s task is very different:
He uses not the same colours with the original, but is required to
give his picture the same force and effect. He is not allowed to copy
the touches of the original, yet is required, by touches of his own,
to produce a perfect resemblance. The more he studies a scrupulous
imitation, the less his copy will reflect the ease and spirit of the
original. How then shall a translator accomplish this difficult union of
ease with fidelity? To use a bold expression, he must adopt the very soul
of his author, which must speak through his own organs.

Let us proceed to exemplify this third rule of translation, which regards
the attainment of ease of style, by instances both of success and failure.

The familiar style of epistolary correspondence is rarely attainable
even in original composition. It consists in a delicate medium between
the perfect freedom of ordinary conversation and the regularity of
written dissertation or narrative. It is extremely difficult to attain
this delicate medium in a translation; because the writer has neither
a freedom of choice in the sentiments, nor in the mode of expressing
them. Mr. Melmoth appears to me to be a great model in this respect.
His Translations of the _Epistles of Cicero_ and of Pliny have all the
ease of the originals, while they present in general a very faithful
transcript of his author’s sense.

“Surely, _my friend_, your couriers are _a set of the most unconscionable
fellows_. _Not that they have given_ me any particular offence; but as
they never bring me a letter when they arrive here, _is it fair_, they
should always press me for one when they return?” Melmoth, _Cic. Ep._ 10,
20.

_Præposteros habes tabellarios; etsi me quidem non offendunt. Sed tamen
cum a me discedunt, flagitant litteras, cum ad me veniunt, nullas
afferunt._ Cic. Ep. l. 15, ep. 17.

“Is it not more worthy of your _mighty_ ambition, to be blended with your
learned brethren at Rome, than to stand _the sole great wonder of wisdom_
amidst a _parcel of paltry provincials_?” Melmoth, _Cic. Ep._ 2, 23.

_Velim—ibi malis esse ubi aliquo numero sis, quam isthic ubi solus sapere
videare._ Cic. Ep. l. 1, ep. 10.

“_In short_, I plainly perceive your _finances_ are in no flourishing
situation, and I expect to hear the same account of all your neighbours;
so that famine, _my friend, most formidable famine_, must be your _fate_,
if you do not provide against it in due time. And since you have been
reduced to sell your horse, _e’en mount_ your mule, (the only animal,
_it seems_, belonging to you, which you have not yet _sacrificed to your
table_), and _convey yourself_ immediately to Rome. _To encourage you to
do so_, you shall be honoured with a chair and cushion next to mine, and
sit the second _great pedagogue_ in my _celebrated_ school.” Melmoth,
_Cic. Ep._ 8, 22.

_Video te bona perdidisse: spero idem isthuc familiares tuos. Actum
igitur de te est, nisi provides. Potes mulo isto quem tibi reliquum dicis
esse (quando cantherium comedisti) Romam pervehi. Sella tibi erit in
ludo, tanquam hypodidascalo; proxima eam pulvinus sequetur._ Cic. Ep. l.
9, ep. 18.

“Are you not a _pleasant mortal_, to question me concerning the fate of
those estates you mention, when Balbus had just before been _paying you a
visit_?” Melmoth, _Cic. Ep._ 8, 24.

_Non tu homo ridiculus es, qui cum Balbus noster apud te fuerit, ex me
quæras quid de istis municipiis et agris futurum putem?_ Cic. Ep. 9, 17.

“_And now_ I have raised your expectations of this piece, _I doubt_ you
will be disappointed when _it comes to your hands_. In the meanwhile,
however, you may expect it, as something that will please you: _And who
knows but it may?_” Plin. Ep. 8, 3.

_Erexi expectationem tuam; quam vereor ne destituat oratio in manus
sumpta. Interim tamen, tanquam placituram, et fortasse placebit,
expecta._ Plin. Ep. 8, 3.

“I consent to undertake the cause which you so earnestly recommend to me;
but _as glorious and honourable as it may be, I will not be your counsel
without a fee_. Is it possible, you will say, that _my friend Pliny_
should be so mercenary? _In truth it is_; and _I insist upon_ a reward,
which will do me more honour than the most disinterested patronage.”
_Plin. Ep._ 6, 23.

_Impense petis ut agam causam pertinentem ad curam tuam, pulchram
alioquin et famosam. Faciam, sed non gratis. Qui fieri potest (inquis)
ut non gratis tu? Potest: exigam enim mercedem honestiorem gratuito
patrocinio._ Plin. Ep. 8, 3.

To these examples of the ease of epistolary correspondence, I add a
passage from one of the orations of Cicero, which is yet in a strain
of greater familiarity: “A certain mechanic—_What’s his name?—Oh, I’m
obliged to you for helping me to it_: Yes, I mean Polycletus.” Melmoth.

_Artificem—quemnam? Recte admones. Polycletum esse ducebant._ Cicero,
Orat. 2, in Verrem.

In the preceding instances from Mr. Melmoth, the words of the English
translation which are marked in Italics, are those which, in my opinion,
give it the ease of original composition.

But while a translator thus endeavours to transfuse into his work all
the ease of the original, the most correct taste is requisite to prevent
that ease from degenerating into licentiousness. I have, in treating of
the imitation of style and manner, given some examples of the want of
this taste. The most licentious of all translators was Mr. Thomas Brown,
of facetious memory, in whose translations from Lucian we have the most
perfect ease; but it is the ease of Billingsgate and of Wapping. I shall
contrast a few passages of his translation of this author, with those of
another translator, who has given a faithful transcript of the sense of
his original, but from an over-scrupulous fidelity has failed a little in
point of ease.

GNATHON. “What now! Timon, do you strike me? Bear witness, Hercules! O
me, O me! But I will call you into the Areopagus for this. TIMON. Stay a
little only, and you may bring me in guilty of murder.”[47] Francklin’s
_Lucian_.

GNATHON. “Confound him! what a blow he has given me! What’s this for, old
Touchwood? Bear witness, Hercules, that he has struck me. I warrant you,
I shall make you repent of this blow. I’ll indite you upon an action of
the case, and bring you _coram nobis_ for an assault and battery.” TIMON.
“Do, thou confounded law-pimp, do; but if thou stay’st one minute longer,
I’ll beat thee to pap. I’ll make thy bones rattle in thee, like three
blue beans in a blue bladder. Go, stinkard, or else I shall make you
alter your action, and get me indicted for manslaughter.” _Timon_, Trans.
by Brown in Dryden’s _Lucian_.

“On the whole, a most perfect character; we shall see presently, with
all his modesty, what a bawling he will make.” Francklin’s _Lucian_,
_Timon_.[48]

“In fine, he’s a person that knows the world better than any one, and is
extremely well acquainted with the whole Encyclopædia of villany; a true
elaborate finished rascal, and for all he appears so demure now, that
you’d think butter would not melt in his mouth, yet I shall soon make
him open his pipes, and roar like a persecuted bear.” Dryden’s _Lucian_,
_Timon_.

“He changes his name, and instead of Byrria, Dromo, or Tibius, now takes
the name of Megacles, or Megabyzus, or Protarchus, leaving the rest of
the expectants gaping and looking at one another in silent sorrow.”
Francklin’s _Lucian_, _Timon_.[49]

“Straight he changes his name, so that the rascal, who the moment
before had no other title about the house, but, you son of a whore, you
bulk-begotten cur, you scoundrel, must now be called his worship, his
excellency, and the Lord knows what. The best on’t is, that this mushroom
puts all these fellows noses out of joint,” &c. Dryden’s _Lucian_,
_Timon_.

From these contrasted specimens we may decide, that the one translation
of Lucian errs perhaps as much on the score of restraint, as the other on
that of licentiousness. The preceding examples from Melmoth point out,
in my opinion, the just medium of free and spirited translation, for the
attainment of which the most correct taste is requisite.

If the order in which I have classed the three general laws of
translation is their just and natural arrangement, which I think will
hardly be denied, it will follow, that in all cases where a sacrifice is
necessary to be made of one of those laws to another, a due regard ought
to be paid to their rank and comparative importance. The different genius
of the languages of the original and translation, will often make it
necessary to depart from the manner of the original, in order to convey
a faithful picture of the sense; but it would be highly preposterous
to depart, in any case, from the sense, for the sake of imitating the
manner. Equally improper would it be, to sacrifice either the sense
or manner of the original, if these can be preserved consistently
with purity of expression, to a fancied ease or superior gracefulness
of composition. This last is the fault of the French translations of
D’Ablancourt, an author otherwise of very high merit. His versions are
admirable, so long as we forbear to compare them with the originals; they
are models of ease, of elegance, and perspicuity; but he has considered
these qualities as the primary requisites of translation, and both the
sense and manner of his originals are sacrificed, without scruple, to
their attainment.[50]




CHAPTER X

    IT IS LESS DIFFICULT TO ATTAIN THE EASE OF ORIGINAL COMPOSITION
    IN POETICAL, THAN IN PROSE TRANSLATION.—LYRIC POETRY ADMITS OF
    THE GREATEST LIBERTY OF TRANSLATION.—EXAMPLES DISTINGUISHING
    PARAPHRASE FROM TRANSLATION,—FROM DRYDEN, LOWTH, FONTENELLE,
    PRIOR, ANGUILLARA, HUGHES.


It may perhaps appear paradoxical to assert, that it is less difficult
to give to a poetical translation all the ease of original composition,
than to give the same degree of ease to a prose translation. Yet the
truth of this assertion will be readily admitted, if assent is given to
that observation, which I before endeavoured to illustrate, viz. That
a superior degree of liberty is allowed to a poetical translator in
amplifying, retrenching from, and embellishing his original, than to a
prose translator. For without some portion of this liberty, there can
be no ease of composition; and where the greatest liberty is allowable,
there that ease will be most apparent, as it is less difficult to attain
to it.

For the same reason, among the different species of poetical composition,
the lyric is that which allows of the greatest liberty in translation; as
a freedom both of thought and expression is agreeable to its character.
Yet even in this, which is the freest of all species of translation,
we must guard against licentiousness; and perhaps the more so, that we
are apt to persuade ourselves that the less caution is necessary. The
difficulty indeed is, where so much freedom is allowed, to define what
is to be accounted licentiousness in poetical translation. A moderate
liberty of amplifying and retrenching the ideas of the original, has
been granted to the translator of prose; but is it allowable, even to
the translator of a lyric poem, to add new images and new thoughts to
those of the original, or to enforce the sentiments by illustrations
which are not in the original? As the limits between free translation
and paraphrase are more easily perceived than they can be well defined,
instead of giving a general answer to this question, I think it safer to
give my opinion upon particular examples.

Dr. Lowth has adapted to the present times, and addressed to his own
countrymen, a very noble imitation of the 6th ode of the third book
of Horace: _Delicta majorum immeritus lues_, &c. The greatest part of
this composition is of the nature of parody; but in the version of the
following stanza there is perhaps but a slight excess of that liberty
which may be allowed to the translator of a lyric poet:

    _Motus doceri gaudet Ionicos_
    _Matura virgo, et fingitur artubus_
        _Jam nunc, et incestos amores_
          _De tenero meditatur ungui._

    The ripening maid is vers’d in every dangerous art,
    That ill adorns the form, while it corrupts the heart;
      Practis’d to dress, to dance, to play,
      In wanton mask to lead the way,
    To move the pliant limbs, to roll the luring eye;
    With Folly’s gayest partizans to vie
      In empty noise and vain expence;
      To celebrate with flaunting air
      The midnight revels of the fair;
    Studious of every praise, but virtue, truth, and sense.

Here the translator has superadded no new images or illustrations; but he
has, in two parts of the stanza, given a moral application which is not
in the original: “That ill adorns the form, while it corrupts the heart;”
and “Studious of every praise, but virtue, truth, and sense.” These moral
lines are unquestionably a very high improvement of the original; but
they seem to me to transgress, though indeed very slightly, the liberty
allowed to a poetical translator.

In that fine translation by Dryden, of the 29th ode of the third book of
Horace, which upon the whole is paraphrastical, the version of the two
following stanzas has no more licence than what is justifiable:

    _Fortuna sævo læto negotio, et_
    _Ludum insolentem ludere pertinax,_
        _Transmutat incertos honores,_
          _Nunc mihi, nunc alii benigna._

    _Laudo manentem: si celeres quatit_
    _Pennas, resigno quæ dedit: et mea_
        _Virtute me involvo, probamque_
          _Pauperiem sine dote quæro._

    Fortune, who with malicious joy
      Does man, her slave, oppress,
    Proud of her office to destroy,
      Is seldom pleas’d to bless.
    Still various and inconstant still,
    But with an inclination to be ill,
    Promotes, degrades, delights in strife,
    And makes a lottery of life.
    I can enjoy her while she’s kind;
    But when she dances in the wind,
      And shakes her wings, and will not stay,
      I puff the prostitute away:
    The little or the much she gave is quietly resign’d;
      Content with poverty, my soul I arm,
    And Virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm.

The celebrated verses of Adrian, addressed to his Soul, have been
translated and imitated by many different writers.

    Animula, vagula, blandula,
    Hospes, comesque corporis!
    Quæ nunc abibis in loca,
    Pallidula, frigida, nudula,
    Nec ut soles dabis joca?

By Casaubon.

    Ερασμιον ψυχαριον,
    Ξενη και εταιρη σωματος,
    Ποι νυν ταλαιν ελευσεαι,
    Αμενης, γοερατε και σκια,
    Ουδ’ ὁια παρος τρυφησεαι;

Except in the fourth line, where there is a slight change of epithets,
this may be termed a just translation, exhibiting both the sense and
manner of the original.

By Fontenelle.

    Ma petite ame, ma mignonne,
    Tu t’en vas donc, ma fille, et Dieu sache ou tu vas.
    Tu pars seulette, nue, et tremblotante, helas!
    Que deviendra ton humeur folichonne?
    Que deviendront tant de jolis ébats?

The French translation is still more faithful to the original, and
exhibits equally with the former its spirit and manner.

The following verses by Prior are certainly a great improvement upon the
original; by a most judicious and happy amplification of the sentiments,
(which lose much of their effect in the Latin, from their extreme
compression); nor do they, in my opinion, exceed the liberty of poetical
translation.

    Poor little pretty flutt’ring thing,
      Must we no longer live together?
    And do’st thou prune thy trembling wing,
      To take thy flight, thou know’st not whither?

    The hum’rous vein, the pleasing folly,
      Lies all neglected, all forgot;
    And pensive, wav’ring, melancholy,
      Thou dread’st and hop’st thou know’st not what.

Mr. Pope’s _Dying Christian to his Soul_, which is modelled on the
verses of Adrian, retains so little of the thoughts of the original,
and substitutes in their place a train of sentiments so different, that
it cannot even be called a _paraphrase_, but falls rather under the
description of _imitation_.

The Italian version of _Ovid_ in _ottava rima_, by Anguillara, is a work
of great poetical merit; but is scarcely in any part to be regarded as
a translation of the original. It is almost entirely paraphrastical. In
the story of Pyramus and Thisbe, the simple ideas announced in these two
lines,

    Tempore crevit amor: tædæ quoque jure coïssent;
    Sed vetuere patres quod non potuere vetare,

are the subject of the following paraphrase, which is as beautiful in its
composition, as it is unbounded in the licence of its amplification.

    Era l’amor cresciuto à poco à poco
    Secondo erano in lor cresciuti gli anni:
    E dove prima era trastullo, e gioco,
    Scherzi, corrucci, e fanciulleschi inganni,
    Quando fur giunti a quella età di foco
    Dove comincian gli amorosi affanni
    Che l’alma nostra ha si leggiadro il manto
    E che la Donna e’l huom s’amano tanto;

    Era tanto l’amor, tanto il desire,
    Tanta la fiamma, onde ciascun ardea:
    Che l’uno e l’altro si vedea morire,
    Se pietoso Himeneo non gli giungea.
    E tanto era maggior d’ambi il martire,
    Quanto il voler de l’un l’altro scorge.
    Ben ambo de le nozze eran contenti,
    Ma no’l soffriro i loro empi parenti.

    Eran fra i padri lor pochi anni avanti
    Nata una troppo cruda inimicitia:
    E quanto amore, e fè s’hebber gli amanti,
    Tanto regnò ne’ padri odiò e malitia.
    Gli huomini della terra piu prestanti,
    Tentar pur di ridurli in amicitia;
    E vi s’affaticar piu volte assai;
    Ma non vi sepper via ritrovar mai.

    Quei padri, che fra lor fur si infedeli
    Vetaro à la fanciulla, e al giovinetto,
    A due si belli amanti, e si fedeli
    Che non dier luogo al desiato affetto:
    Ahi padri irragionevoli e crudeli,[51]
    Perche togliete lor tanto diletto;
    S’ogn’un di loro il suo desio corregge
    Con la terrena, e la celeste legge?

    O sfortunati padri, ove tendete,
    Qual ve gli fa destin tener disgiunti?
    Perche vetate, quel che non potete?
    Che gli animi saran sempre congiunti?
    Ahi, che sara di voi, se gli vedrete
    Per lo vostro rigor restar defunti?
    Ahi, che co’ vostri non sani consigli
    Procurate la morte a’ vostri figli!

In the following poem by Mr. Hughes, which the author has intitled an
imitation of the 16th ode of the second book of Horace, the greatest part
of the composition is a just and excellent translation, while the rest is
a free paraphrase or commentary on the original. I shall mark in Italics
all that I consider as paraphrastical: the rest is a just translation, in
which the writer has assumed no more liberty, than was necessary to give
the poem the easy air of an original composition.

    I

      Indulgent Quiet! _Pow’r serene,_
      _Mother of Peace, and Joy, and Love,_
      _O say, thou calm, propitious Queen,_
        _Say, in what solitary grove,_
      _Within what hollow rock, or winding cell,_
          _By human eyes unseen,_
      _Like some retreated Druid dost thou dwell?_
          _And why, illusive Goddess! why,_
          _When we thy mansion would surround,_
      _Why dost thou lead us through enchanted ground,_
    _To mock our vain research, and from our wishes fly._

    II

      The wand’ring sailors, pale with fear,
        For thee the gods implore,
      When the tempestuous sea runs high
    And when through all the dark, benighted sky
      No friendly moon or stars appear,
      To guide their steerage to the shore:
      For thee the weary soldier prays,
      Furious in fight the sons of Thrace,
    And Medes, that wear majestic by their side
      A full-charg’d quiver’s decent pride,
    Gladly with thee would pass inglorious days,
      Renounce the warrior’s tempting praise,
      And buy thee, if thou might’st be sold,
    With gems, and purple vests, and stores of plunder’d gold.

    III

    But neither boundless wealth, nor guards that wait
      Around the Consul’s honour’d gate,
    Nor antichambers with attendants fill’d,
    The mind’s unhappy tumults can abate,
      Or banish sullen cares, that fly
      Across the gilded rooms of state,
      _And their foul nests like swallows build_
    _Close to the palace-roofs and towers that pierce the sky?_
      Much less will Nature’s modest wants supply:
      And happier lives the homely swain,
      Who in some cottage, far from noise,
      His few paternal goods enjoys;
      Nor knows the sordid lust of gain,
      Nor with Fear’s tormenting pain
      His hovering sleeps destroys.

    IV

      Vain man! that in a narrow space
    At endless game projects the darting spear!
      For short is life’s uncertain race;
      Then why, capricious mortal! why
      Dost thou for happiness repair
    To distant climates and a foreign air?
      Fool! from thyself thou canst not fly,
      Thyself the source of all thy care:
    _So flies the wounded stag, provoked with pain,_
    _Bounds o’er the spacious downs in vain;_
      _The feather’d torment sticks within his side,_
      _And from the smarting wound a purple tide_
    _Marks all his way with blood, and dies the grassy plain._

    V

      But swifter far is execrable Care
        Than stags, or winds, that through the skies
      Thick-driving snows and gather’d tempests bear;
      Pursuing Care the sailing ship out-flies.
      Climbs the tall vessel’s painted sides;
      Nor leaves arm’d squadrons in the field,
      But with the marching horseman rides,
    And dwells alike in courts and camps, and makes all places yield.

    VI

      Then, since no state’s completely blest,
      Let’s learn the bitter to allay
      With gentle mirth, and, wisely gay,
      Enjoy at least the present day,
        And leave to Fate the rest.
      Nor with vain fear of ills to come
      Anticipate th’ appointed doom.
      Soon did Achilles quit the stage;
      The hero fell by sudden death;
    While Tithon to a tedious, wasting age
        Drew his protracted breath.
      And thus, old partial Time, my friend,
      Perhaps unask’d, to worthless me
      Those hours of lengthen’d life may lend,
        Which he’ll refuse to thee.

    VII

      Thee shining wealth, and plenteous joys surround,
        And all thy fruitful fields around
      Unnumber’d herds of cattle stray;
      Thy harness’d steeds with sprightly voice,
      Make neighbouring vales and hills rejoice,
    While smoothly thy gay chariot flies o’er the swift-measur’d way.
      To me the stars with less profusion kind,
        An humble fortune have assign’d,
      And no untuneful Lyric vein,
      But a sincere contented mind
    That can the vile, malignant crowd disdain.[52]




CHAPTER XI

    OF THE TRANSLATION OF IDIOMATIC PHRASES.—EXAMPLES FROM COTTON,
    ECHARD, STERNE.—INJUDICIOUS USE OF IDIOMS IN THE TRANSLATION,
    WHICH DO NOT CORRESPOND WITH THE AGE OR COUNTRY OF THE
    ORIGINAL.—IDIOMATIC PHRASES SOMETIMES INCAPABLE OF TRANSLATION.


While a translator endeavours to give to his work all the ease of
original composition, the chief difficulty he has to encounter will be
found in the translation of idioms, or those turns of expression which
do not belong to universal grammar, but of which every language has its
own, that are exclusively proper to it. It will be easily understood,
that when I speak of the difficulty of translating idioms, I do not
mean those general modes of arrangement or construction which regulate
a whole language, and which may not be common to it with other tongues:
As, for example, the placing the adjective always before the substantive
in English, which in French and in Latin is most commonly placed after
it; the use of the participle in English, where the present tense is
used in other languages; as he is writing, _scribit_, _il écrit_; the
use of the preposition _to_ before the infinitive in English, where the
French use the preposition _de_ or _of_. These, which may be termed the
_general_ idioms of a language, are soon understood, and are exchanged
for parallel idioms with the utmost ease. With regard to these a
translator can never err, unless through affectation or choice.[53] For
example, in translating the French phrase, _Il profita d’un avis_, he
may choose fashionably to say, in violation of the English construction,
_he profited_ of _an advice_; or, under the sanction of poetical licence,
he may choose to engraft the idiom of one language into another, as Mr.
Macpherson has done, where he says, “Him to _the strength of Hercules_,
the lovely Astyochea bore;” Ον τεκεν Αστυοχεια, βιη Ηρακληειη· _Il._ lib.
2, l. 165. But it is not with regard to such idiomatic constructions,
that a translator will ever find himself under any difficulty. It is in
the translation of those particular idiomatic phrases of which every
language has its own collection; phrases which are generally of a
familiar nature, and which occur most commonly in conversation, or in
that species of writing which approaches to the ease of conversation.

The translation is perfect, when the translator finds in his own language
an idiomatic phrase corresponding to that of the original. Montaigne
(_Ess._ l. 1, c. 29) says of Gallio, “Lequel ayant été envoyé en exil en
l’isle de Lesbos, on fut averti à Rome, _qu’il s’y donnoit du bon temps_,
et que ce qu’on lui avoit enjoint pour peine, lui tournoit à commodité.”
The difficulty of translating this sentence lies in the idiomatic phrase,
“_qu’il s’y donnoit du bon temps_.” Cotton finding a parallel idiom in
English, has translated the passage with becoming ease and spirit: “As
it happened to one Gallio, who having been sent an exile to the isle of
Lesbos, news was not long after brought to Rome, that _he there lived as
merry as the day was long_; and that what had been enjoined him for a
penance, turned out to his greatest pleasure and satisfaction.” Thus, in
another passage of the same author, (_Essais_, l. 1, c. 29) “_Si j’eusse
été chef de part_, j’eusse prins autre voye plus naturelle.” “_Had I
rul’d the roast_, I should have taken another and more natural course.”
So likewise, (_Ess._ l. 1, c. 25) “Mais d’y enfoncer plus avant, et de
_m’être rongé les ongles à l’étude d’Aristote_, monarche de la doctrine
moderne.” “But, to dive farther than that, and to have _cudgell’d my
brains in the study of Aristotle_, the monarch of all modern learning.”
So, in the following passages from Terence, translated by Echard: “_Credo
manibus pedibusque obnixè omnia facturum_,” Andr. act 1. “I know he’ll be
at it tooth and nail.” “_Herus, quantum audio, uxore excidit_,” Andr. act
2. “For aught I perceive, my poor master may go whistle for a wife.”

In like manner, the following colloquial phrases are capable of a perfect
translation by corresponding idioms. _Rem acu tetigisti_, “You have hit
the nail upon the head.” _Mihi isthic nec seritur nec repitur_, Plaut.
“That’s no bread and butter of mine.” _Omnem jecit aleam_, “It was neck
or nothing with him.” Τι προς τ’ αλφιτα; Aristoph. _Nub._ “Will that make
the pot boil?”

It is not perhaps possible to produce a happier instance of translation
by corresponding idioms, than Sterne has given in the translation of
_Slawkenbergius’s Tale_. “_Nihil me pœnitet hujus nasi_, quoth Pamphagus;
that is, My nose has been the making of me.” “_Nec est cur pœniteat_;
that is, How the deuce should such a nose fail?” _Tristram Shandy_, vol.
3, ch. 7. “_Miles peregrini in faciem suspexit. Dî boni, nova forma
nasi!_ The centinel look’d up into the stranger’s face.—Never saw such a
nose in his life!” _Ibid._

As there is nothing which so much conduces both to the ease and spirit
of composition, as a happy use of idiomatic phrases, there is nothing
which a translator, who has a moderate command of his own language, is
so apt to carry to a licentious extreme. Echard, whose translations of
_Terence_ and of _Plautus_ have, upon the whole, much merit, is extremely
censurable for his intemperate use of idiomatic phrases. In the first
act of the _Andria_, Davus thus speaks to himself:

    _Enimvero, Dave, nihil loci est segnitiæ neque socordiæ._
    _Quantum intellexi senis sententiam de nuptiis:_
    _Quæ si non astu providentur, me aut herum pessundabunt;_
    _Nec quid agam certum est, Pamphilumne adjutem an auscultem seni._

                                        TERENT. _Andr._ act 1, sc. 3.

The translation of this passage by Echard, exhibits a strain of vulgar
petulance, which is very opposite to the chastened simplicity of the
original.

“Why, seriously, poor Davy, ’tis high time to bestir thy stumps, and to
leave off dozing; at least, if a body may guess at the old man’s meaning
by his mumping. If these brains do not help me out at a dead lift, to pot
goes Pilgarlick, or his master, for certain: and hang me for a dog, if I
know which side to take; whether to help my young master, or make fair
with his father.”

In the use of idiomatic phrases, a translator frequently forgets both
the country of his original author, and the age in which he wrote; and
while he makes a Greek or a Roman speak French or English, he unwittingly
puts into his mouth allusions to the manners of modern France or
England.[54] This, to use a phrase borrowed from painting, may be termed
an offence against the _costume_. The proverbial expression, βατραχω
ὑδωρ, in _Theocritus_, is of similar import with the English proverb,
_to carry coals to Newcastle_; but it would be a gross impropriety to
use this expression in the translation of an ancient classic. Cicero, in
his oration for Archias, says, “_Persona quæ propter otium et studium
minime in judiciis periculisque versata est._” M. Patru has translated
this, “Un homme que ses études et ses livres ont éloigné du commerce du
_Palais_.” The _Palais_, or the Old Palace of the kings of France, it is
true, is the place where the parliament of Paris and the chief courts
of justice were assembled for the decision of causes; but it is just
as absurd to make Cicero talk of his haranguing in the _Palais_, as it
would be of his pleading in Westminster Hall. In this respect, Echard is
most notoriously faulty: We find in every page of his translations of
_Terence_ and _Plautus_, the most incongruous jumble of ancient and of
modern manners. He talks of the “Lord Chief Justice of Athens,” _Jam tu
autem nobis Præturam geris?_ Pl. Epid. act 1, sc. 1, and says, “I will
send him to Bridewell with his skin stripped over his ears,” _Hominem
irrigatum plagis pistori dabo_, Ibid. sc. 3. “I must expect to beat
hemp in Bridewell all the days of my life,” _Molendum mihi est usque
in pistrina_, Ter. Phormio, act 2. “He looks as grave as an alderman,”
_Tristis severitas inest in vultû_, Ibid. Andria, act 5.—The same author
makes the ancient heathen Romans and Greeks swear British and Christian
oaths; such as “Fore George, Blood and ounds, Gadzookers, ’Sbuddikins, By
the Lord Harry!” They are likewise well read in the books both of the Old
and New Testament: “Good b’ye, Sir Solomon,” says Gripus to Trachalion,
_Salve, Thales!_ Pl. Rudens, act 4, sc. 3; and Sosia thus vouches his
own identity to Mercury, “By Jove I am he, and ’tis as true as the
gospel,” _Per Jovem juro, med esse, neque me falsum dicere_, Pl. Amphit.
act 1, sc. 1.[55] The same ancients, in Mr. Echard’s translation, are
familiarly acquainted with the modern invention of gunpowder; “Had we
but a mortar now to play upon them under the covert way, one bomb would
make them scamper,” _Fundam tibi nunc nimis vellem dari, ut tu illos
procul hinc ex oculto cæderes, facerent fugam_, Ter. Eun. act 4. And
as their soldiers swear and fight, so they must needs drink like the
moderns: “This god can’t afford one brandy-shop in all his dominions,”
_Ne thermopolium quidem ullum ille instruit_, Pl. Rud. act 2, sc. 9. In
the same comedy, Plautus, who wrote 180 years before Christ, alludes to
the battle of La Hogue, fought A.D. 1692. “I’ll be as great as a king,”
says Gripus, “I’ll have a _Royal Sun_[56] for pleasure, like the king of
France, and sail about from port to port,” _Navibus magnis mercaturam
faciam_, Pl. Rud. act 4, sc. 2.

In the Latin poems of Pitcairne, we remark an uncommon felicity in
cloathing pictures of modern manners in classical phraseology. In
familiar poetry, and in pieces of a witty or humorous nature, this has
often a very happy effect, and exalts the ridicule of the sentiment, or
humour of the picture. But Pitcairne’s fondness for the language of
Horace, Ovid, and Lucretius, has led him sometimes into a gross violation
of propriety, and the laws of good taste. In the translation of a Psalm,
we are shocked when we find the Almighty addressed by the epithets of
a heathen divinity, and his attributes celebrated in the language and
allusions proper to the Pagan mythology. Thus, in the translation of the
104th Psalm, every one must be sensible of the glaring impropriety of the
following expressions:

    Dexteram invictam canimus, Jovemque
    Qui triumphatis, hominum et Deorum
    Præsidet regnis.

    Quam tuæ virtus tremefecit orbem
    Juppiter dextræ.

    Et manus ventis tua Dædaleas
                Assuit alas.

              facilesque leges
    Rebus imponis, quibus antra parent
    Æoli.

    Proluit siccam pluvialis æther
    Barbam, et arentes humeros Atlantis.

    Que fovet tellus, fluviumque regnum
    Tethyos.

    Juppiter carmen mihi semper.

    Juppiter solus mihi rex.

In the entire translation of the Psalms by Johnston, we do not find a
single instance of similar impropriety. And in the admirable version
by Buchanan, there are (to my knowledge) only two passages which are
censurable on that account. The one is the beginning of the 4th Psalm:

    O Pater, O hominum _Divûmque_ æterna potestas!

which is the first line of the speech of Venus to Jupiter, in the 10th
_Æneid_: and the other is the beginning of Psalm lxxxii. where two entire
lines, with the change of one syllable, are borrowed from Horace:

    Regum timendorum in proprios greges,
    Reges in ipsos imperium est _Jovæ_.

In the latter example, the poet probably judged that the change of
_Jovis_ into _Jovæ_ removed all objection; and Ruddiman has attempted to
vindicate the _Divûm_ of the former passage, by applying it to saints
or angels: but allowing there were sufficient apology for both those
words, the impropriety still remains; for the associated ideas present
themselves immediately to the mind, and we are justly offended with the
literal adoption of an address to Jupiter in a hymn to the Creator.

If a translator is bound, in general, to adhere with fidelity to the
manners of the age and country to which his original belongs, there
are some instances in which he will find it necessary to make a slight
sacrifice to the manners of his modern readers. The ancients, in the
expression of resentment or contempt, made use of many epithets and
appellations which sound extremely shocking to our more polished ears,
because we never hear them employed but by the meanest and most degraded
of the populace. By similar reasoning we must conclude, that those
expressions conveyed no such mean or shocking ideas to the ancients,
since we find them used by the most dignified and exalted characters. In
the 19th book of the _Odyssey_, Melantho, one of Penelope’s maids, having
vented her spleen against Ulysses, and treated him as a bold beggar who
had intruded himself into the palace as a spy, is thus sharply reproved
by the Queen:

    Παντως θαρσαλεη κυον αδδεες, ουτι με ληθεις
    Ερδουσα μεγα εργον, ὁ ση κεφαλη αναμαξεις.

These opprobrious epithets, in a literal translation, would sound
extremely offensive from the lips of the περιφρων Πηνελοπεια, whom
the poet has painted as a model of female dignity and propriety. Such
translation, therefore, as conveying a picture different from what the
poet intended, would be in reality injurious to his sense. Of this sort
of refinement Mr. Hobbes had no idea; and therefore he gives the epithets
in their genuine purity and simplicity:

    Bold bitch, said she, I know what deeds you’ve done,
    Which thou shalt one day pay for with thy head.

We cannot fail, however, to perceive, that Mr. Pope has in fact been more
faithful to the sense of his original, by accommodating the expressions
of the speaker to that character which a modern reader must conceive to
belong to her:

    Loquacious insolent, she cries, forbear!
    Thy head shall pay the forfeit of thy tongue.

A translator will often meet with idiomatic phrases in the original
author, to which no corresponding idiom can be found in the language
of the translation. As a literal translation of such phrases cannot
be tolerated, the only resource is, to express the sense in plain and
easy language. Cicero, in one of his letters to Papirius Pætus, says,
“_Veni igitur, si vires, et disce jam προλεγομενας quas quæris; etsi
sus Minervam_,” Ep. ad Fam. 9, 18. The idiomatic phrase _si vires_,
is capable of a perfect translation by a corresponding idiom; but that
which occurs in the latter part of the sentence, _etsi sus Minervam_,
can neither be translated by a corresponding idiom, nor yet literally.
Mr. Melmoth has thus happily expressed the sense of the whole passage:
“If you have any spirit then, fly hither, and learn from our elegant
bills of fare how to refine your own; though, to do your talents justice,
this is a sort of knowledge in which you are much superior to your
instructors.”—Pliny, in one of his epistles to Calvisius, thus addresses
him, _Assem para, et accipe auream fabulam: fabulas immo: nam me priorum
nova admonuit_, lib. 2, ep. 20. To this expression, _assem para_, &c.
which is a proverbial mode of speech, we have nothing that corresponds
in English. To translate the phrase literally would have a poor effect:
“Give me a penny, and take a golden story, or a story worth gold.” Mr.
Melmoth has given the sense in easy language: “Are you inclined to hear
a story? or, if you please, two or three? for one brings to my mind
another.”

But this resource, of translating the idiomatic phrase into easy
language, must fail, where the merit of the passage to be translated
actually lies in that expression which is idiomatical. This will often
occur in epigrams, many of which are therefore incapable of translation:
Thus, in the following epigram, the point of wit lies in an idiomatic
phrase, and is lost in every other language where the same precise idiom
does not occur:

_On the wretched imitations of the_ Diable Boiteux _of Le Sage_:

    Le Diable Boiteux est aimable;
    Le Sage y triomphe aujourdhui;
    Tout ce qu’on a fait après lui
      N’a pas valu le Diable.

We say in English, “’Tis not worth a fig,” or, “’tis not worth a
farthing;” but we cannot say, as the French do, “’Tis not worth the
devil;” and therefore the epigram cannot be translated into English.

Somewhat of the same nature are the following lines of Marot, in his
_Epitre au Roi_, where the merit lies in the ludicrous _naïveté_ of
the last line, which is idiomatical, and has no strictly corresponding
expression in English:

    J’avois un jour un valet de Gascogne,
    Gourmand, yvrogne, et assuré menteur,
    Pipeur, larron, jureur, blasphémateur,
    Sentant la hart de cent pas à la ronde:
    Au demeurant le meilleur filz du monde.

Although we have idioms in English that are nearly similar to this, we
have none which has the same _naïveté_, and therefore no justice can be
done to this passage by any English translation.

In like manner, it appears to me impossible to convey, in any
translation, the _naïveté_ of the following remark on the fanciful
labours of Etymologists: “Monsieur,—dans l’Etymologie il faut compter les
voyelles pour rien, et les consonnes pour peu de chose.”




CHAPTER XII

    DIFFICULTY OF TRANSLATING DON QUIXOTE, FROM ITS
    IDIOMATIC PHRASEOLOGY.—OF THE BEST TRANSLATIONS OF THAT
    ROMANCE.—COMPARISON OF THE TRANSLATION BY MOTTEUX WITH THAT BY
    SMOLLET.


There is perhaps no book to which it is more difficult to do perfect
justice in a translation than the _Don Quixote_ of Cervantes. This
difficulty arises from the extreme frequency of its idiomatic phrases. As
the Spanish language is in itself highly idiomatical, even the narrative
part of the book is on that account difficult; but the colloquial part
is studiously filled with idioms, as one of the principal characters
continually expresses himself in proverbs. Of this work there have
been many English translations, executed, as may be supposed, with
various degrees of merit. The two best of these, in my opinion, are the
translations of Motteux and Smollet, both of them writers eminently well
qualified for the task they undertook. It will not be foreign to the
purpose of this Essay, if I shall here make a short comparative estimate
of the merit of these translations.[57]

Smollet inherited from nature a strong sense of ridicule, a great fund
of original humour, and a happy versatility of talent, by which he could
accommodate his style to almost every species of writing. He could adopt
alternately the solemn, the lively, the sarcastic, the burlesque, and
the vulgar. To these qualifications he joined an inventive genius, and a
vigorous imagination. As he possessed talents equal to the composition of
original works of the same species with the romance of Cervantes; so it
is not perhaps possible to conceive a writer more completely qualified to
give a perfect translation of that romance.

Motteux, with no great abilities as an original writer, appears to me
to have been endowed with a strong perception of the ridiculous in
human character; a just discernment of the weaknesses and follies of
mankind. He seems likewise to have had a great command of the various
styles which are accommodated to the expression both of grave burlesque,
and of low humour. Inferior to Smollet in inventive genius, he seems
to have equalled him in every quality which was essentially requisite
to a translator of _Don Quixote_. It may therefore be supposed, that
the contest between them will be nearly equal, and the question of
preference very difficult to be decided. It would have been so, had
Smollet confided in his own strength, and bestowed on his task that time
and labour which the length and difficulty of the work required: but
Smollet too often wrote in such circumstances, that dispatch was his
primary object. He found various English translations at hand, which he
judged might save him the labour of a new composition. Jarvis could give
him faithfully the sense of his author; and it was necessary, only to
polish his asperities, and lighten his heavy and aukward phraseology. To
contend with Motteux, Smollet found it necessary to assume the armour of
Jarvis. This author had purposely avoided, through the whole of his work,
the smallest coincidence of expression with Motteux, whom, with equal
presumption and injustice, he accuses in his preface of having “taken his
version wholly from the French.”[58] We find, therefore, both in the
translation of Jarvis and in that of Smollet, which is little else than
an improved edition of the former, that there is a studied rejection
of the phraseology of Motteux. Now, Motteux, though he has frequently
assumed too great a licence, both in adding to and retrenching from the
ideas of his original, has upon the whole a very high degree of merit
as a translator. In the adoption of corresponding idioms he has been
eminently fortunate, and, as in these there is no great latitude, he has
in general preoccupied the appropriated phrases; so that a succeeding
translator, who proceeded on the rule of invariably rejecting his
phraseology, must have, in general, altered for the worse. Such, I have
said, was the rule laid down by Jarvis, and by his copyist and improver,
Smollet, who by thus absurdly rejecting what his own judgement and taste
must have approved, has produced a composition decidedly inferior, on the
whole, to that of Motteux. While I justify the opinion I have now given,
by comparing several passages of both translations, I shall readily allow
full credit to the performance of Smollet, wherever I find that there is
a real superiority to the work of his rival translator.

After Don Quixote’s unfortunate encounter with the Yanguesian carriers,
in which the Knight, Sancho, and Rozinante, were all most grievously
mauled, his faithful squire lays his master across his ass, and conducts
him to the nearest inn, where a miserable bed is made up for him in a
cock-loft. Cervantes then proceeds as follows:

_En esta maldita cama se accostó Don Quixote: y luego la ventera y su
hija le emplastáron de arriba abaxo, alumbrandoles Maritornes: que
asi se llamaba la Asturiana. Y como al vizmalle, viese la ventera tan
acardenalado á partes á Don Quixote, dixo que aquello mas parecian golpes
que caida. No fuéron golpes, dixo Sancho, sino que la peña tenia muchos
picos y tropezones, y que cada uno habia hecho su cardinal, y tambien le
dixo: haga vuestra merced, señora, de manera que queden algunas estopas,
que no faltará quien las haya menester, que tambien me duelen á mí un
poco los lomos. Desa manera, respondió la ventera, tambien debistes vos
de caer? No caí, dico Sancho Panza, sino que del sobresalto que tome de
ver caer á mí amo, de tal manera me duele á mí el cuerpo, que me parece
que me han dado mil palos._

_Translation by Motteux_

“In this ungracious bed was the Knight laid to rest his belaboured
carcase; and presently the hostess and her daughter anointed and
plastered him all over, while Maritornes (for that was the name of the
Asturian wench) held the candle. The hostess, while she greased him,
wondering to see him so bruised all over, I fancy, said she, those bumps
look much more like a dry beating than a fall. ’Twas no dry beating,
mistress, I promise you, quoth Sancho; but the rock had I know not how
many cragged ends and knobs, and every one of them gave my master a
token of its kindness. And by the way, forsooth, continued he, I beseech
you save a little of that same tow and ointment for me too, for I don’t
know what’s the matter with my back, but I fancy I stand mainly in
want of a little greasing too. What, I suppose you fell too, quoth the
landlady. Not I, quoth Sancho, but the very fright that I took to see my
master tumble down the rock, has so wrought upon my body, that I am as
sore as if I had been sadly mauled.”

_Translation by Smollet_

“In this wretched bed Don Quixote having laid himself down, was anointed
from head to foot by the good woman and her daughter, while Maritornes
(that was the Asturian’s name) stood hard by, holding a light. The
landlady, in the course of her application, perceiving the Knight’s whole
body black and blue, observed, that those marks seemed rather the effects
of drubbing than of a fall; but Sancho affirmed she was mistaken, and
that the marks in question were occasioned by the knobs and corners of
the rocks among which he fell. And now, I think of it, said he, pray,
Madam, manage matters so as to leave a little of your ointment, for it
will be needed, I’ll assure you: my own loins are none of the soundest at
present. What, did you fall too, said she? I can’t say I did, answered
the squire; but I was so infected by seeing my master tumble, that my
whole body akes, as much as if I had been cudgelled without mercy.”

Of these two translations, it will hardly be denied that Motteux’s is
both easier in point of style, and conveys more forcibly the humour of
the dialogue in the original. A few contrasted phrases will shew clearly
the superiority of the former.

_Motteux._ “In this ungracious bed was the Knight laid to rest his
belaboured carcase.”

_Smollet._ “In this wretched bed Don Quixote having laid himself down.”

_Motteux._ “While Maritornes (for that was the name of the Asturian
wench) held the candle.”

_Smollet._ “While Maritornes (that was the Asturian’s name) stood hard
by, holding a light.”

_Motteux._ “The hostess, while she greased him.”

_Smollet._ “The landlady, in the course of her application.”

_Motteux._ “I fancy, said she, those bumps look much more like a dry
beating than a fall.”

_Smollet._ “Observed, that those marks seemed rather the effect of
drubbing than of a fall.”

_Motteux._ “’Twas no dry beating, mistress, I promise you, quoth Sancho.”

_Smollet._ “But Sancho affirmed she was in a mistake.”

_Motteux._ “And, by the way, forsooth, continued he, I beseech you save
a little of that same tow and ointment for me; for I don’t know what’s
the matter with my back, but I fancy I stand mainly in need of a little
greasing too.”

_Smollet._ “And now, I think of it, said he, pray, Madam, manage matters
so as to leave a little of your ointment, for it will be needed, I’ll
assure you: my own loins are none of the soundest at present.”

_Motteux._ “What, I suppose you fell too, quoth the landlady? Not I,
quoth Sancho, but the very fright,” &c.

_Smollet._ “What, did you fall too, said she? I can’t say I did, answered
the squire; but I was so infected,” &c.

There is not only more ease of expression and force of humour in
Motteux’s translation of the above passages than in Smollet’s, but
greater fidelity to the original. In one part, _no fueron golpes_,
Smollet has improperly changed the first person for the third, or the
colloquial style for the narrative, which materially weakens the spirit
of the passage. _Cada uno habia hecho su cardenal_ is most happily
translated by Motteux, “every one of them gave him a token of its
kindness;” but in Smollet’s version, this spirited clause of the sentence
evaporates altogether.—_Algunas estopas_ is more faithfully rendered by
Motteux than by Smollet. In the latter part of the passage, when the
hostess jeeringly says to Sancho, _Desa manera tambien debistes vos de
caer?_ the squire, impatient to wipe off that sly insinuation against the
veracity of his story, hastily answers, _No cai_. To this Motteux has
done ample justice, “Not I, quoth Sancho.” But Smollet, instead of the
arch effrontery which the author meant to mark by this answer, gives a
tame apologetic air to the squire’s reply, “I can’t say I did, answered
the squire.” _Don Quix._ par. 1, cap. 16.

Don Quixote and Sancho, travelling in the night through a desert valley,
have their ears assailed at once by a combination of the most horrible
sounds, the roaring of cataracts, clanking of chains, and loud strokes
repeated at regular intervals; all which persuade the Knight, that his
courage is immediately to be tried in a most perilous adventure. Under
this impression, he felicitates himself on the immortal renown he is
about to acquire, and brandishing his lance, thus addresses Sancho, whose
joints are quaking with affright:

_Asi que aprieta un poco las cinchas a Rocinante, y quédate a Dios, y
asperame aqui hasta tres dias, no mas, en los quales si no volviere,
puedes tú volverte á nuestra aldea, y desde allí, por hacerme merced
y buena obra, irás al Toboso, donde dirás al incomparable señora mia
Dulcinea, que su cautivo caballero murió por acometer cosas, que le
hiciesen digno de poder llamarse suyo._ Don Quix. par. 1, cap. 20.

_Translation by Motteux_

“Come, girth Rozinante straiter, and then Providence protect thee: Thou
may’st stay for me here; but if I do not return in three days, go back to
our village, and from thence, for my sake, to Toboso, where thou shalt
say to my incomparable lady Dulcinea, that her faithful knight fell a
sacrifice to love and honour, while he attempted things that might have
made him worthy to be called her adorer.”

_Translation by Smollet_

“Therefore straiten Rozinante’s girth, recommend thyself to God, and wait
for me in this place, three days at farthest; within which time if I come
not back, thou mayest return to our village, and, as the last favour and
service done to me, go from thence to Toboso, and inform my incomparable
mistress Dulcinea, that her captive knight died in attempting things that
might render him worthy to be called her lover.”

On comparing these two translations, that of Smollet appears to me to
have better preserved the ludicrous solemnity of the original. This is
particularly observable in the beginning of the sentence, where there
is a most humorous association of two counsels very opposite in their
nature, the recommending himself to God, and girding Rozinante. In the
request, “and as the last favour and service done to me, go from thence
to Toboso;” the translations of Smollet and Motteux are, perhaps, nearly
equal in point of solemnity, but the simplicity of the original is better
preserved by Smollet.[59]

Sancho, after endeavouring in vain to dissuade his master from engaging
in this perilous adventure, takes advantage of the darkness to tie
Rozinante’s legs together, and thus to prevent him from stirring from
the spot; which being done, to divert the Knight’s impatience under this
supposed enchantment, he proceeds to tell him, in his usual strain of
rustic buffoonery, a long story of a cock and a bull, which thus begins:
“_Erase que se era, el bien que viniere para todos sea, y el mal para
quien lo fuere á buscar; y advierta vuestra merced, señor mio, que el
principio que los antiguos dieron a sus consejas, no fue así como quiera,
que fue una sentencia de Caton Zonzorino Romano que dice, y el mal para
quien lo fuere á buscar._” Ibid.

In this passage, the chief difficulties that occur to the translator
are, _first_, the beginning, which seems to be a customary prologue to
a nursery-tale among the Spaniards, which must therefore be translated
by a corresponding phraseology in English; and _secondly_, the blunder
of _Caton Zonzorino_. Both these are, I think, most happily hit off by
Motteux. “In the days of yore, when it was as it was, good betide us all,
and evil to him that evil seeks. And here, Sir, you are to take notice,
that they of old did not begin their tales in an ordinary way; for ’twas
a saying of a wise man, whom they call’d Cato the Roman Tonsor, that
said, Evil to him that evil seeks.” Smollet thus translates the passage:
“There was, so there was; the good that shall fall betide us all; and he
that seeks evil may meet with the devil. Your worship may take notice,
that the beginning of the ancient tales is not just what came into the
head of the teller: no, they always began with some saying of Cato, the
censor of Rome, like this, of “He that seeks evil may meet with the
devil.”

The beginning of the story, thus translated, has neither any meaning in
itself, nor does it resemble the usual preface of a foolish tale. Instead
of _Caton Zonzorino_, a blunder which apologises for the mention of Cato
by such an ignorant clown as Sancho, we find the blunder rectified by
Smollet, and Cato distinguished by his proper epithet of the Censor.
This is a manifest impropriety in the last translator, for which no
other cause can be assigned, than that his predecessor had preoccupied
the blunder of _Cato the Tonsor_, which, though not a translation of
_Zonzorino_, (the purblind), was yet a very happy parallelism.

In the course of the same cock-and-bull story, Sancho thus proceeds:
“_Asi que, yendo dias y viniendo dias, el diablo que no duerme y que
todo lo añasca, hizo de manera, que el amor que el pastor tenia á su
pastora se volviese en omecillo y mala voluntad, y la causa fué segun
malas lenguas, una cierta cantidad de zelillos que ella le dió, tales
que pasaban de la raya, y llegaban á lo vedado, y fue tanto lo que el
pastor la aborreció de alli adelante, que por on verla se quiso ausentar
de aquella tierra, é irse donde sus ojos no la viesen jamas: la Toralva,
que se vió desdeñada del Lope, luego le quiso bien mas que nunca le habla
querido._” Ibid.

_Translation by Motteux_

“Well, but, as you know, days come and go, and time and straw makes
medlars ripe; so it happened, that after several days coming and going,
the devil, who seldom lies dead in a ditch, but will have a finger in
every pye, so brought it about, that the shepherd fell out with his
sweetheart, insomuch that the love he bore her turned into dudgeon and
ill-will; and the cause was, by report of some mischievous tale-carriers,
that bore no good-will to either party, for that the shepherd thought
her no better than she should be, a little loose i’ the hilts, &c.[60]
Thereupon being grievous in the dumps about it, and now bitterly hating
her, he e’en resolved to leave that country to get out of her sight: for
now, as every dog has his day, the wench perceiving he came no longer a
suitering to her, but rather toss’d his nose at her and shunn’d her, she
began to love him, and doat upon him like any thing.”

I believe it will be allowed, that the above translation not only conveys
the complete sense and spirit of the original, but that it greatly
improves upon its humour. When Smollet came to translate this passage,
he must have severely felt the hardship of that law he had imposed on
himself, of invariably rejecting the expressions of Motteux, who had in
this instance been eminently fortunate. It will not therefore surprise
us, if we find the new translator to have here failed as remarkably as
his predecessor has succeeded.

_Translation by Smollet_

“And so, in process of time, the devil, who never sleeps, but _wants to
have a finger in every pye_, managed matters in such a manner, that the
shepherd’s love for the shepherdess was turned into malice and deadly
hate: and the cause, according to evil tongues, was a certain quantity
of small jealousies she gave him, exceeding all bounds of measure. And
such was the abhorrence the shepherd conceived for her, that, in order
to avoid the sight of her, he resolved to absent himself from his own
country, and go where he should never set eyes on her again. Toralvo
finding herself despised by Lope, began to love him more than ever.”

Smollet, conscious that in the above passage Motteux had given the best
possible _free_ translation, and that he had supplanted him in the
choice of corresponding idioms, seems to have piqued himself on a rigid
adherence to the very _letter_ of his original. The only English idiom,
being a plagiarism from Motteux, “_wants to have a finger in every pye_,”
seems to have been adopted from absolute necessity: the Spanish phrase
would not bear a literal version, and no other idiom was to be found but
that which Motteux had preoccupied.

From an inflexible adherence to the same law, of invariably rejecting the
phraseology of Motteux, we find in every page of this new translation
numberless changes for the worse:

_Se que no mira de mal ojo á la mochacha._

“I have observed he casts a sheep’s eye at the wench.” _Motteux._

“I can perceive he has no dislike to the girl.” _Smollet._

_Teresa me pusieron en el bautismo, nombre mondo y escueto, sin
anadiduras, ni cortopizas, ni arrequives de Dones ni Donas._

“I was christened plain Teresa, without any fiddle-faddle, or addition of
Madam, or Your Ladyship.” _Motteux._

“Teresa was I christened, a bare and simple name, without the addition,
garniture, and embroidery of Don or Donna.” _Smollet._

_Sigue tu cuenta, Sancho._

“Go on with thy story, Sancho.” _Motteux._

“Follow thy story, Sancho.” _Smollet._

_Yo confieso que he andado algo risueño en demasía._

“I confess I carried the jest too far.” _Motteux._

“I see I have exceeded a little in my pleasantry.” _Smollet._

_De mis viñas vengo, no se nada, no soy amigo de saber vidas agenas._

“I never thrust my nose into other men’s porridge; it’s no bread and
butter of mine: Every man for himself, and God for us all, say I.”
_Motteux._

“I prune my own vine, and I know nothing about thine. I never meddle with
other people’s concerns.” _Smollet._

_Y advierta que ya tengo edad para dar consejos. Quien bien tiene, y mal
escoge, por bien que se enoja, no se venga._[61]

“Come, Master, I have hair enough in my beard to make a counsellor: he
that will not when he may, when he will he shall have nay.” _Motteux._

“Take notice that I am of an age to give good counsels. He that hath
good in his view, and yet will not evil eschew, his folly deserveth to
rue.” _Smollet._ Rather than adopt a corresponding proverb, as Motteux
has done, Smollet chuses, in this instance, and in many others, to make
a proverb for himself, by giving a literal version of the original in a
sort of doggrel rhime.

_Vive Roque, que es la señora nuestra amo mas ligera que un alcotan, y
que puede enseñar al mas diestro Cordobes o Mexicano._

“By the Lord Harry, quoth Sancho, our Lady Mistress is as nimble as an
eel. Let me be hang’d, if I don’t think she might teach the best Jockey
in Cordova or Mexico to mount a-horseback.” _Motteux._

“By St. Roque, cried Sancho, my Lady Mistress is as light as a hawk,[62]
and can teach the most dexterous horseman to ride.” _Smollet._

The chapter which treats of the puppet-show, is well translated both by
Motteux and Smollet. But the discourse of the boy who explains the story
of the piece, in Motteux’s translation, appears somewhat more consonant
to the phraseology commonly used on such occasions: “Now, gentlemen, in
the next place, mark that personage that peeps out there with a crown on
his head, and a sceptre in his hand: That’s the Emperor Charlemain.—Mind
how the Emperor turns his back upon him.—Don’t you see that Moor;—hear
what a smack he gives on her sweet lips,—and see how she spits, and wipes
her mouth with her white smock-sleeve. See how she takes on, and tears
her hair for very madness, as if it was to blame for this affront.—Now
mind what a din and hurly-burly there is.” _Motteux._ This jargon appears
to me to be more characteristic of the speaker than the following: “And
that personage who now appears with a crown on his head and a sceptre in
his hand, is the Emperor Charlemagne.—Behold how the Emperor turns about
and walks off.—Don’t you see that Moor;—Now mind how he prints a kiss in
the very middle of her lips, and with what eagerness she spits, and wipes
them with the sleeve of her shift, lamenting aloud, and tearing for anger
her beautiful hair, as if it had been guilty of the transgression.”[63]

In the same scene of the puppet-show, the scraps of the old Moorish
ballad are translated by Motteux with a corresponding naïveté of
expression, which it seems to me impossible to exceed:

    _Jugando está á las tablas Don Gayféros,_
    _Que y a de Melisendra está olvidado._

    Now Gayferos the live-long day,
    Oh, errant shame! at draughts doth play;
    And, as at court most husbands do,
    Forgets his lady fair and true. _Motteux._

    Now Gayferos at tables playing,
    Of Melisendra thinks no more. _Smollet._

    _Caballero, si á Francia ides,_
    _Por Gayféros preguntad._

    Quoth Melisendra, if perchance,
    Sir Traveller, you go for France,
    For pity’s sake, ask, when you’re there,
    For Gayferos, my husband dear. _Motteux._

    Sir Knight, if you to France do go,
    For Gayferos inquire. _Smollet._

How miserably does the new translator sink in the above comparison! Yet
Smollet was a good poet, and most of the verse translations interspersed
through this work are executed with ability. It is on this head that
Motteux has assumed to himself the greatest licence. He has very
presumptuously mutilated the poetry of Cervantes, by leaving out many
entire stanzas from the larger compositions, and suppressing some of
the smaller altogether: Yet the translation of those parts which he has
retained, is possessed of much poetical merit; and in particular, those
verses which are of a graver cast, are, in my opinion, superior to those
of his rival. The song in the first volume, which in the original is
intitled _Cancion de Grisōstomo_, and which Motteux has intitled, _The
Despairing Lover_, is greatly abridged by the suppression of more than
one half of the stanzas in the original; but the translation, so far as
it goes, is highly poetical. The translation of this song by Smollet,
though inferior as a poem, is, perhaps, more valuable on the whole,
because more complete. There is, however, only a single passage in which
he maintains with Motteux a contest which is nearly equal:

    O thou, whose cruelty and hate,
      The tortures of my breast proclaim,
    Behold, how willingly to fate
      I offer this devoted frame.
    If thou, when I am past all pain,
      Shouldst think my fall deserves a tear,
    Let not one single drop distain
      Those eyes, so killing and so clear.
    No! rather let thy mirth display
      The joys that in thy bosom flow:
    Ah! need I bid that heart be gay,
      Which always triumph’d in my woe. _Smollet._

It will be allowed that there is much merit in these lines, and that
the last stanza in particular is eminently beautiful and delicate. Yet
there is in my opinion an equal vein of poetry, and more passion, in the
corresponding verses of Motteux:

    O thou, by whose destructive hate
    I’m hurry’d to this doleful fate,
      When I’m no more, thy pity spare!
    I dread thy tears; oh, spare them then—
    But, oh! I rave, I was too vain—
      My death can never cost a tear! _Motteux._

In the song of Cardenio, there is a happy combination of tenderness of
expression with ingenious thought; the versification is likewise of a
peculiar structure, the second line forming an echo to the first. This
song has been translated in a corresponding measure both by Motteux and
Smollet; but by the latter with far inferior merit.

CANCION DE CARDENIO

    I

    Quien menoscaba mis bienes?
                              Desdenes.
    Y quien aumenta mis duelos?
                              Los Zelos.
    Y quien prueba mi paciencia?
                              Ausencia.
    De ese modo en mi dolencia,
    Ningun remedio se alcanza;
    Pues me matan la Esperanza,
    Desdenes, Zelos, y Ausencia.

    II

    Quien me causa este dolor?
                              Amor.
    Y quien mi gloria repuna?
                              Fortuna.
    Y quien consiente mi duelo?
                              El Cielo.
    De ese modo yo rezelo,
    Morir deste mal extraño,
    Pues se aunan en mì daño
    Amor, Fortuna, y el Cielo.

    III

    Quien mejorará mi suerte?
                              La Muerte.
    Y el bien de amor, quien le alcanza?
                              Mudanza.
    Y sus malos quien los cura?
                              Locura.
    De ese modo no es cordura
    Querer curar la pasion;
    Quando los remedios son
    Muerte, Mudanza, y Locura.

CARDENIO’S SONG, by MOTTEUX

    I

    What makes me languish and complain?
                              O, ’tis _Disdain_!
    What yet more fiercely tortures me?
                              ’Tis _Jealousy_.
    How have I my patience lost?
                              By _Absence_ crost.
    Then Hope, farewell, there’s no relief;
    I sink beneath oppressing grief;
    Nor can a wretch, without despair,
    _Scorn_, _Jealousy_, and _Absence_, bear.

    II

    What in my breast this anguish drove?
                              Intruding _Love_.
    Who could such mighty ills create?
                              Blind _Fortune’s_ hate.
    What cruel powers my fate approve?
                              The _Powers_ above.
    Then let me bear, and cease to moan;
    ’Tis glorious thus to be undone:
    When these invade, who dares oppose?
    _Heaven_, _Love_, and _Fortune_ are my foes.

    III

    Where shall I find a speedy cure?
                              Oh! _Death_ is sure.
    No milder means to set me free?
                              _Inconstancy._
    Can nothing else my pains assuage?
                              _Distracting Rage._
    What, die or change? Lucinda lose?
    O let me rather madness chuse!
    But judge, ye gods, what we endure,
    When _death_ or _madness_ are a cure!

In the last four lines, Motteux has used more liberty with the thought
of the original than is allowable for a translator. It must be owned,
however, that he has much improved it.

CARDENIO’S SONG, by SMOLLET

    I

    Ah! what inspires my woful strain?
                      Unkind Disdain!
    Ah! what augments my misery?
                      Fell Jealousy!
    Or say what hath my patience worn?
                      An absent lover’s scorn!
    The torments then that I endure
    No mortal remedy can cure:
    For every languid hope is slain
    By Absence, Jealousy, Disdain.

    II

    From Love, my unrelenting foe,
                      These sorrows flow:
    My infant glory’s overthrown
                      By Fortune’s frown.
    Confirm’d in this my wretched state
                      By the decrees of Fate,
    In death alone I hope release
    From this compounded dire disease,
    Whose cruel pangs to aggravate,
    Fortune and Love conspire with Fate!

    III

    Ah! what will mitigate my doom?
                      The silent tomb.
    Ah! what retrieve departed joy?
                      Inconstancy!
    Or say, can ought but frenzy bear
                      This tempest of despair!
    All other efforts then are vain
    To cure this soul-tormenting pain,
    That owns no other remedy
    Than madness, death, inconstancy.

“The torments then that I endure—no _mortal_ remedy can cure.” Who ever
heard of a _mortal_ remedy? or who could expect to be cured by it? In the
next line, the epithet of _languid_ is injudiciously given to Hope in
this place; for a _languid_ or a _languishing_ hope was already dying,
and needed not so powerful a host of murderers to _slay_ it, as Absence,
Jealousy, and Disdain.—In short, the latter translation appears to me to
be on the whole of much inferior merit to the former. I have remarked,
that Motteux excels his rival chiefly in the translation of those poems
that are of a graver cast. But perhaps he is censurable for having thrown
too much gravity into the poems that are interspersed in this work, as
Smollet is blameable on the opposite account, of having given them too
much the air of burlesque. In the song which Don Quixote composed while
he was doing penance in the _Sierra-Morena_, beginning _Arboles, Yerbas
y Plantas_, every stanza of which ends with _Del Toboso_, the author
intended, that the composition should be quite characteristic of its
author, a ludicrous compound of gravity and absurdity. In the translation
of Motteux there is perhaps too much gravity; but Smollet has rendered
the composition altogether burlesque. The same remark is applicable to
the song of Antonio, beginning _Yo sé, Olalla, que me adoras_, and to
many of the other poems.

On the whole, I am inclined to think, that the version of Motteux is
by far the best we have yet seen of the Romance of Cervantes; and that
if corrected in its licentious abbreviations and enlargements, and
in some other particulars which I have noticed in the course of this
comparison, we should have nothing to desire superior to it in the way of
translation.




CHAPTER XIII

    OTHER CHARACTERISTICS OF COMPOSITION, WHICH RENDER
    TRANSLATION DIFFICULT.—ANTIQUATED TERMS—NEW TERMS—VERBA
    ARDENTIA.—SIMPLICITY OF THOUGHT AND EXPRESSION—IN PROSE—IN
    POETRY.—NAÏVETÉ IN THE LATTER.—CHAULIEU—PARNELL—LA
    FONTAINE.—SERIES OF MINUTE DISTINCTIONS MARKED BY
    CHARACTERISTIC TERMS.—STRADA.—FLORID STYLE AND VAGUE
    EXPRESSION.—PLINY’S NATURAL HISTORY.


In the two preceding chapters I have treated pretty fully of what I have
considered as a principal difficulty in translation, the permutation of
idioms. I shall in this chapter touch upon several other characteristics
of composition, which, in proportion as they are found in original works,
serve greatly to enhance the difficulty of doing complete justice to them
in a translation.

1. The poets, in all languages, have a licence peculiar to themselves,
of employing a mode of expression very remote from the diction of prose,
and still more from that of ordinary speech. Under this licence, it is
customary for them to use antiquated terms, to invent new ones, and to
employ a glowing and rapturous phraseology, or what Cicero terms _Verba
ardentia_. To do justice to these peculiarities in a translation, by
adopting similar terms and phrases, will be found extremely difficult;
yet, without such assimilation, the translation presents no just copy
of the original. It would require no ordinary skill to transfuse into
another language the thoughts of the following passages, in a similar
species of phraseology:

Antiquated Terms:

    For Nature crescent doth not grow alone
    In thews and bulk; but as this temple waxes,
    The inward service of the mind and soul
    Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves thee now,
    And now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch
    The virtue of his will.

                           SHAK. _Hamlet_, act 1.

New Terms:

              So over many a tract
    Of heaven they march’d, and many a province wide,
    Tenfold the length of this terrene: at last
    Far in th’ horizon to the north appear’d
    From skirt to skirt a fiery region, stretcht
    In battailous aspect, and nearer view
    Bristl’d with upright beams innumerable
    Of rigid spears, and helmets throng’d, and shields
    Various with boastful argument pourtrayed.

                                 _Paradise Lost_, b. 6.

              All come to this? the hearts
    That spaniel’d me at heels, to whom I gave
    Their wishes, do discandy.

           SHAK. _Ant. & Cleop._ act 4, sc. 10.

Glowing Phraseology, or _Verba ardentia_:

    Poor naked wretches, wheresoe’er ye are,
    That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,
    How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides,
    Your loop’d and window’d raggedness defend you
    From seasons such as these? Oh, I have ta’en
    Too little care of this: Take physic, pomp!
    Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
    That thou may’st shake the superflux to them,
    And show the heavens more just.

                                 SHAK. _K. Lear_.

                    Tremble, thou wretch,
    That hast within thee undivulged crimes,
    Unwhipt of justice! Hide thee, thou bloody hand;
    Thou perjure, and thou simular of virtue,
    That art incestuous! Caitiff, shake to pieces,
    That under covert and convenient seeming
    Hast practis’d on man’s life! Close pent up guilts,
    Rive your concealing continents, and ask
    Those dreadful summoners grace.

                                                 _Ibid._

    Can any mortal mixture of Earth’s mould,
    Breathe such divine, enchanting ravishment?
    Sure something holy lodges in that breast,
    And with these raptures moves the vocal air
    To testify his hidden residence:
    How sweetly did they float upon the wings
    Of silence, through the empty-vaulted night;
    At every fall smoothing the raven down
    Of darkness till it smil’d: I have oft heard,
    Amidst the flow’ry-kirtled Naiades,
    My mother Circe, with the Sirens three,
    Culling their potent herbs and baleful drugs,
    Who, as they sung, would take the poison’d soul
    And lap it in Elysium.——
    But such a sacred, and home-felt delight,
    Such sober certainty of waking bliss,
    I never heard till now.

                                   MILTON’S _Comus_.

2. There is nothing more difficult to imitate successfully in a
translation than that species of composition which conveys just, simple,
and natural thoughts, in plain, unaffected, and perfectly appropriate
terms; and which rejects all those _aucupia sermonis_, those _lenocinia
verborum_, which constitute what is properly termed _florid writing_.
It is much easier to imitate in a translation that kind of composition
(provided it be at all intelligible),[64] which is brilliant and
rhetorical, which employs frequent antitheses, allusions, similes,
metaphors, than it is to give a perfect copy of just, apposite, and
natural sentiments, which are clothed in pure and simple language: For
the former characters are strong and prominent, and therefore easily
caught; whereas the latter have no striking attractions, their merit
eludes altogether the general observation, and is discernible only to the
most correct and chastened taste.

It would be difficult to approach to the beautiful simplicity of
expression of the following passages, in any translation.

“In those vernal seasons of the year, when the air is calm and pleasant,
it were an injury and sullenness against Nature, not to go out to see her
riches, and partake in her rejoicing with heaven and earth.” Milton’s
_Tract of Education_.

“Can I be made capable of such great expectations, which those animals
know nothing of, (happier by far in this regard than I am, if we must
die alike), only to be disappointed at last? Thus placed, just upon the
confines of another, better world, and fed with hopes of penetrating into
it, and enjoying it, only to make a short appearance here, and then to
be shut out and totally sunk? Must I then, when I bid my last farewell
to these walks, when I close these lids, and yonder blue regions and all
this scene darken upon me and go out; must I then only serve to furnish
dust to be mingled with the ashes of these herds and plants, or with this
dirt under my feet? Have I been set so far above them in life, only to be
levelled with them at death?” Wollaston’s _Rel. of Nature_, sect. ix.

3. The union of just and delicate sentiments with simplicity of
expression, is more rarely found in poetical composition than in prose;
because the enthusiasm of poetry prompts rather to what is brilliant than
what is just, and is always led to clothe its conceptions in that species
of figurative language which is very opposite to simplicity. It is
natural, therefore, to conclude, that in those few instances which are to
be found of a chastened simplicity of thought and expression in poetry,
the difficulty of transfusing the same character into a translation
will be great, in proportion to the difficulty of attaining it in the
original. Of this character are the following beautiful passages from
Chaulieu:

    Fontenay, lieu délicieux
    Où je vis d’abord la lumiere,
    Bientot au bout de ma carriere,
    Chez toi je joindrai mes ayeux.
    Muses, qui dans ce lieu champêtre
    Avec soin me fites nourir,
    Beaux arbres, qui m’avez vu naitre,
    Bientot vous me verrez mourir.

           _Les louanges de la vie champêtre._

    Je touche aux derniers instans
    De mes plus belles années,
    Et déja de mon printems
    Toutes les fleurs sont fanées.
    Je ne vois, et n’envisage
    Pour mon arriere saison,
    Que le malheur d’etre sage,
    Et l’inutile avantage
    De connoitre la raison.

    Autrefois mon ignorance
    Me fournissoit des plaisirs;
    Les erreurs de l’espérance
    Faisoient naitre mes désirs.
    A present l’experience
    M’apprend que la jouissance
    De nos biens les plus parfaits
    Ne vaut pas l’impatience
    Ni l’ardeur de nos souhaits.
    La Fortune à ma jeunesse
    Offrit l’éclat des grandeurs;
    Comme un autre avec souplesse
    J’aurois brigué ses faveurs.
    Mais sur le peu de mérite
    De ceux qu’elle a bien traités,
    J’eus honte de la poursuite
    De ses aveugles bontés;
    Et je passai, quoique donne
    D’éclat, et pourpre, et couronne,
    Du mépris de la personne,
    Au mépris des dignités.[65]

          _Poesies diverses de Chaulieu_, p. 44.

4. The foregoing examples exhibit a species of composition, which uniting
just and natural sentiments with simplicity of expression, preserves at
the same time a considerable portion of elevation and dignity. But there
is another species of composition, which, possessing the same union
of natural sentiments with simplicity of expression, is essentially
distinguished from the former by its always partaking, in a considerable
degree, of comic humour. This is that kind of writing which the French
characterise by the term _naif_, and for which we have no perfectly
corresponding expression in English. “Le naif,” says Fontenelle, “est une
nuance du bas.”

In the following fable of Phædrus, there is a _naïveté_, which I think it
is scarcely possible to transfuse into any translation:

_Inops potentem dum vult imitari, perit._

    In prato quædam rana conspexit bovem;
    Et tacta invidiâ tantæ magnitudinis
    Rugosam inflavit pellem: tum natos suos
    Interrogavit, _an bove esset latior_.
    Illi _negarunt_. Rursus intendit cutem
    Majore nisu, et simili quæsivit modo
    _Quis major esset?_ Illi dixerunt, _bovem_.
    Novissimè indignata, dum vult validius
    Inflare sese, rupto jacuit corpore.

It would be extremely difficult to attain, in any translation, the
laconic brevity with which this story is told. There is not a single word
which can be termed superfluous; yet there is nothing wanting to complete
the effect of the picture. The gravity, likewise, of the narrative when
applied to describe an action of the most consummate absurdity; the
self-important, but anxious questions, and the mortifying dryness of
the answers, furnish an example of a delicate species of humour, which
cannot easily be conveyed by corresponding terms in another language. La
Fontaine was better qualified than any another for this attempt. He saw
the merits of the original, and has endeavoured to rival them; but even
La Fontaine has failed.

    Une Grenouille vit un boeuf
    Qui lui sembla de belle taille.
    Elle, qui n’etoit pas grosse en tout comme un oeuf,
    Envieuse s’étend, et s’enfle, et se travaille
      Pour égaler l’animal en grosseur;
      Disant, Regardez bien ma soeur,
    Est ce assez, dites moi, n’y suis-je pas encore?
    Nenni. M’y voila donc? Point du tout. M’y voila
    Vous n’en approchez point. La chetive pecore
      S’enfla si bien qu’elle creva.
    Le monde est plein de gens qui ne sont pas plus sages,
    Tout bourgeois veut batir comme les grands seigneurs;
    Tout prince a des ambassadeurs,
    Tout marquis veut avoir des pages.

But La Fontaine himself when original, is equally inimitable. The
source of that _naïveté_ which is the characteristic of his fables, has
been ingeniously developed by Marmontel: “Ce n’est pas un poete qui
imagine, ce n’est pas un conteur qui plaisante; c’est un temoin present
à l’action, et qui veut vous rendre present vous-même. Il met tout en
oeuvre de la meilleure foi du monde pour vous persuader; et ce sont
tous ces efforts, c’est le sérieux avec lequel il mêle les plus grandes
choses avec les plus petites; c’est l’importance qu’il attache à des jeux
d’enfans; c’est l’interêt qu’il prend pour un lapin et une belette, qui
font qu’on est tenté de s’écrier a chaque instant, _Le bon homme!_ On le
disoit de lui dans la societé. Son caractere n’a fait que passer dans
ses fables. C’est du fond de ce caractere que sont émanés ces tours si
naturels, ces expressions si naïves, ces images si fideles.”

It would require most uncommon powers to do justice in a translation
to the natural and easy humour which characterises the dialogue in the
following fable:

_Les animaux malades de la Peste._

    Un mal qui répand la terreur,
    Mal que le ciel en sa fureur
    Inventa pour punir les crimes de la terre,
    La peste, (puis qu’il faut l’apeller par son nom),
    Capable d’enrichir en un jour L’Acheron,
      Faisoit aux animaux la guerre.
    Ils ne mouroient pas tous, mais tous etoient frappés.
      On n’en voyoit point d’occupés
    A chercher le soûtien d’une mourante vie;
      Nul mets n’excitoit leur envie.
      Ni loups ni renards n’épioient
      La douce et l’innocente proye.
      Les tourterelles se fuyoient;
      Plus d’amour, partant plus de joye.
    Le Lion tint conseil, et dit, Mes chers amis,
      Je crois que le ciel a permis
      Pour nos pechés cette infortune:
      Que le plus coupable de nous
    Se sacrifie aux traits du céleste courroux;
    Peut-être il obtiendra la guérison commune.
    L’histoire nous apprend qu’en de tels accidents,
    On fait de pareils dévoûements:
    Ne nous flattons donc point, voions sans indulgence
      L’état de notre conscience.
    Pour moi, satisfaisant mes appetits gloutons
      J’ai dévoré force moutons;
      Que m’avoient-ils fait? Nulle offense:
    Même il m’est arrivé quelquefois de manger le Berger.
    Je me dévoûrai donc, s’il le faut; mais je pense
    Qu’il est bon que chacun s’accuse ainsi que moi;
    Car on doit souhaiter, selon toute justice,
      Que le plus coupable périsse.
    Sire, dit le Renard, vous êtes trop bon roi;
    Vos scrupules font voir trop de délicatesse;
    Eh bien, manger moutons, canaille, sotte espece,
    Est-ce un péchê? Non, non: Vous leur fites, seigneur,
      En les croquant beaucoup d’honneur:
        Et quant au Berger, l’on peut dire
        Qu’il etoit digne de tous maux,
    Etant de ces gens-là qui sur les animaux
      Se font un chimérique empire.
    Ainsi dit le Renard, et flatteurs d’applaudir.
        On n’osa trop approfondir
    Du Tigre, ni de l’Ours, ni des autres puissances
      Les moins pardonnables offenses.
    Tous les gens querelleurs, jusqu’aux simples mâtins
    Au dire de chacun, etoient de petits saints.
    L’âne vint à son tour, et dit, J’ai souvenance
      Qu’en un pré de moines passant,
    La faim, l’occasion, l’herbe tendre, et je pense
      Quelque diable aussi me poussant,
    Je tondis de ce pré la largeur de ma langue:
    Je n’en avois nul droit, puisqu’il faut parler net.
    À ces mots on cria haro sur le baudet:
    Un loup quelque peu clerc prouva par sa harangue
    Qu’il falloit dévoüer ce maudit animal,
    Ce pelé, ce galeux, d’ou venoit tout leur mal.
    Sa peccadille fut jugee un cas pendable;
    Manger l’herbe d’autrui, quel crime abominable!
      Rien que la mort n’etoit capable
    D’expier son forfait, on le lui fit bien voir.
    Selon que vous serez puissant ou misérable,
    Les jugements de cour vous rendront blanc ou noir.

5. No compositions will be found more difficult to be translated, than
those descriptions, in which a series of minute distinctions are marked
by characteristic terms, each peculiarly appropriated to the thing to
be designed, but many of them so nearly synonymous, or so approaching
to each other, as to be clearly understood only by those who possess
the most critical knowledge of the language of the original, and a
very competent skill in the subject treated of. I have always regarded
Strada’s _Contest of the Musician and Nightingale_, as a composition
which almost bids defiance to the art of a translator. The reader will
easily perceive the extreme difficulty of giving the full, distinct, and
appropriate meaning of those expressions marked in Italics.

    Jam Sol a medio pronus deflexerat orbe,
    Mitius e radiis vibrans crinalibus ignem:
    Cum fidicen propter Tiberina fluenta, sonanti
    Lenibat plectro curas, æstumque levabat,
    Ilice defensus nigra, scenaque virenti.
    Audiit hunc hospes sylvæ philomela propinquæ,
    Musa loci, nemoris Siren, innoxia Siren;
    Et prope succedens stetit abdita frondibus, altè
    Accipiens sonitum, secumque remurmurat, et quos
    Ille modos variat digitis, hæc gutture reddit.

      Sensit se fidicen philomela imitante referri,
    Et placuit ludum volucri dare; plenius ergo
    Explorat citharam, tentamentumque futuræ
    Præbeat ut pugnæ, percurrit protinus omnes
    Impulsu pernice fides. Nec segnius illa
    Mille per excurrens variæ discrimina vocis,
    Venturi specimen præfert argutula cantûs.

      Tunc fidicen per fila movens trepidantia dextram,
    Nunc contemnenti similis _diverberat ungue,_
    _Depectitque pari chordas et simplice ductu:_
    _Nunc carptim replicat, digitisque micantibus urget,_
    _Fila minutatim, celerique repercutit ictu._
    Mox silet. Illa modis totidem respondet, et artem
    Arte refert. Nunc, ceu rudis aut incerta canendi,
    Projicit in longum, _nulloque plicatile flexu,_
    _Carmen init simili serie, jugique tenore_
    Præbet iter liquidum labenti e pectore voci:
    Nunc _cæsim variat, modulisque canora minutis_
    _Delibrat vocem_, tremuloque reciprocat ore.

      Miratur fidicen parvis è faucibus ire
    Tam varium, tam dulce melos: majoraque tentans,
    _Alternat mira arte fides_; dum _torquet acutas_
    _Inciditque, graves operoso verbere pulsat_,
    Permiscetque simul _certantia rauca sonoris_;
    Ceu resides in bella viros clangore lacessat.
    Hoc etiam philomela canit: dumque ore liquenti
    _Vibrat acuta sonum, modulisque interplicat æquis_;
    Ex inopinato gravis intonat, et _leve murmur_
    _Turbinat introrsus, alternantique sonore,_
    _Clarat et infuscat_, ceu martia classica pulset.

      Scilicet erubuit fidicen, iraque calente,
    Aut non hoc, inquit, referes, citharistia sylvæ,
    Aut fractâ cedam citharâ. Nec plura locutus,
    Non imitabilibus plectrum concentibus urget.
    Namque manu per fila volat, simul hos, simul illos
    Explorat numeros, chordâque laborat in omni;
    Et _strepit et tinnit_, crescitque superbius, et se
    _Multiplicat relegens, plenoque choreumate plaudit_.
    Tum stetit expectans si quid paret æmula contra.

      Illa autem, quanquam vox dudum exercita fauces
    Asperat, impatiens vinci, simul advocat omnes
    Necquicquam vires: nam dum discrimina tanta
    Reddere tot fidium nativa et simplice tentat
    Voce, canaliculisque imitari grandia parvis,
    Impar magnanimis ausis, imparque dolori,
    Deficit, et vitam summo in certamine linquens,
    Victoris cadit in plectrum, par nacta sepulchrum.

He that should attempt a translation of this most artful composition,
_dum tentat discrimina tanta reddere_, would probably, like the
nightingale, find himself _impar magnanimis ausis_.[66]

It must be here remarked, that Strada has not the merit of originality
in this characteristic description of the song of the Nightingale. He
found it in Pliny, and with still greater amplitude, and variety of
discrimination. He seems even to have taken from that author the hint of
his fable: “Digna miratu avis. Primum, tanta vox tam parvo in corpusculo,
tam pertinax spiritus. Deinde in una perfecta musicæ scientia modulatus
editur sonus; et nunc continuo spiritu trahitur in longum, nunc variatur
inflexo, nunc distinguitur conciso, copulatur intorto, promittitur
revocato, infuscatur ex inopinato: interdum et secum ipse murmurat,
plenus, gravis, acutus, creber, extentus; ubi visum est vibrans, summus,
medius, imus. Breviterque omnia tam parvulis in faucibus, quæ tot
exquisitis tibiarum tormentis ars hominum excogitavit.—Certant inter se,
palamque animosa contentio est. Victa morte finit sæpe vitam, spiritu
prius deficiente quam cantu.” Plin. _Nat. Hist._ lib. 10, c. 29.

It would perhaps be still more difficult to give a perfect translation
of this passage from Pliny, than of the fable of Strada. The attempt,
however, has been made by an old English author, Philemon Holland; and
it is curious to remark the extraordinary shifts to which he has been
reduced in the search of corresponding expressions:

    _Explorat numeros, chordaque laborat in omni._

“Surely this bird is not to be set in the last place of those that
deserve admiration; for is it not a wonder, that so loud and clear a
voice should come from so little a body? Is it not as strange, that
shee should hold her wind so long, and continue with it as shee doth?
Moreover, shee alone in her song keepeth time and measure truly, she
riseth and falleth in her note just with the rules of music, and perfect
harmony; for one while, in one entire breath she drawes out her tune
at length treatable; another while she quavereth, and goeth away as
fast in her running points: sometimes she maketh stops and short cuts
in her notes; another time she gathereth in her wind, and singeth
descant between the plain song: she fetcheth in her breath again, and
then you shall have her in her catches and divisions: anon, all on a
sudden, before a man would think it, she drowneth her voice that one
can scarce heare her; now and then she seemeth to record to herself,
and then she breaketh out to sing voluntarie. In sum, she varieth and
altereth her voice to all keies: one while full of her largs, longs,
briefs, semibriefs, and minims; another while in her crotchets, quavers,
semiquavers, and double semiquavers: for at one time you shall hear her
voice full of loud, another time as low; and anon shrill and on high;
thick and short when she list; drawn out at leisure again when she is
disposed; and then, (if she be so pleased), shee riseth and mounteth
up aloft, as it were with a wind organ. Thus shee altereth from one to
another, and sings all parts, the treble, the mean, and the base. To
conclude, there is not a pipe or instrument devised with all the art and
cunning of man, that can affoord more musick than this pretty bird doth
out of that little throat of hers.—They strive who can do best, and one
laboreth to excel another in variety of song and long continuance; yea,
and evident it is that they contend in good earnest with all their will
and power: for oftentimes she that hath the worse, and is not able to
hold out with another, dieth for it, and sooner giveth she up her vitall
breath, than giveth over her song.”

The consideration of the above passage in the original, leads to the
following remark.

5. There is no species of writing so difficult to be translated, as
that where the character of the style is florid, and the expression
consequently vague, and of indefinite meaning. The natural history of
Pliny furnishes innumerable examples of this fault; and hence it will
ever be found one of the most difficult works to be translated. A short
chapter shall be here analyzed, as an instructive specimen.

_Lib._ 11, _Cap._ 2.

In magnis siquidem corporibus, aut certe majoribus, facilis officina
sequaci materia fuit. In his tam parvis atque tam nullis, quæ ratio,
quanta vis, quam inextricabilis perfectio! Ubi tot sensus collocavit in
culice? Et sunt alia dictu minora. Sed ubi visum in eo prætendit? Ubi
gustatum applicavit? Ubi odoratum inseruit? Ubi vero truculentam illam
et portione maximam vocem ingeneravit? Qua subtilitate pennas adnexuit?
Prælongavit pedum crura? disposuit jejunam caveam, uti alvum? Avidam
sanguinis et potissimum humani sitim accendit? Telum vero perfodiendo
tergori, quo spiculavit ingenio? Atque ut in capaci, cum cerni non possit
exilitas, ita reciproca geminavit arte, ut fodiendo acuminatum, pariter
sorbendoque fistulosum esset. Quos teredini ad perforanda robora cum sono
teste dentes affixit? Potissimumque e ligno cibatum fecit? Sed turrigeros
elephantorum miramur humeros, taurorumque colla, et truces in sublime
jactus, tigrium rapinas, leonum jubas; cùm rerum natura nusquam magis
quam in minimis tota sit. Quapropter quæso, ne hæc legentes, quoniam ex
his spernunt multa, etiam relata fastidio damnent, cùm in contemplatione
naturæ, nihil possit videri supervacuum.

Although, after the perusal of the whole of this chapter, we are at
no loss to understand its general meaning, yet when it is taken
to pieces, we shall find it extremely difficult to give a precise
interpretation, much less an elegant translation of its single sentences.
The latter indeed may be accounted impossible, without the exercise
of such liberties as will render the version rather a paraphrase than
a translation. _In magnis siquidem corporibus, aut certe majoribus,
facilis officina sequaci materiæ fuit._ The sense of the term magnus,
which is in itself indefinite, becomes in this sentence much more so,
from its opposition to _major_; and the reader is quite at a loss to
know, whether in those two classes of animals, the _magni_ and the
_majores_, the largest animals are signified by the former term, or by
the latter. Had the opposition been between _magnus_ and _maximus_, or
_major_ and _maximus_, there could not have been the smallest ambiguity.
_Facilis officina sequaci materiæ fuit._ _Officina_ is the workhouse
where an artist exercises his craft; but no author, except Pliny himself,
ever employed it to signify the labour of the artist. With a similar
incorrectness of expression, which, however, is justified by general use,
the French employ _cuisine_ to signify both the place where victuals are
dressed, and the art of dressing them. _Sequax materia_ signifies pliable
materials, and therefore easily wrought; but the term _sequax_ cannot
be applied with any propriety to such materials as are easily wrought,
on account of their magnitude or abundance. _Tam parvis_ is easily
understood, but _tam nullis_ has either no meaning at all, or a very
obscure one. _Inextricabilis perfectio._ It is no perfection in anything
to be inextricable; for the meaning of inextricable is, embroiled,
perplexed, and confounded. _Ubi tot sensus collocavit in culice?_ What is
the meaning of the question _ubi_? Does it mean, in what part of the body
of the gnat? I conceive it can mean nothing else: And if so, the question
is absurd; for all the senses of a gnat are not placed in any _one_ part
of its body, any more than the senses of a man. _Dictu minora._ By these
words the author intended to convey the meaning of _alia etiam minora
possunt dici_; but the meaning which he has actually conveyed is, _Sunt
alia minora quam quæ dici possunt_, which is false and hyperbolical;
for no insect is so small that words may not be found to convey an idea
of its size. _Portione maximam vocem ingeneravit._ What is _portione
maximam_? It is only from the context that we guess the author’s meaning
to be, _maximam ratione portionis_, i. e. _magnitudinis insecti_; for
neither use, nor the analogy of the language, justify such an expression
as _vocem maximam portione_. If it is alledged, that _portio_ is here
used to signify the power or intensity of the voice, and is synonymous in
this place to _vis_, ενεργεια, we may safely assert, that this use of the
term is licentious, improper, and unwarranted by custom. _Jejunam caveam
uti alvum_; “a hungry cavity for a belly:” but is not the stomach of all
animals a hungry cavity, as well as that of the gnat? _Capaci cum cernere
non potest exilitas._ _Capax_ is improperly contrasted with _exilis_, and
cannot be otherwise translated than in the sense of _magnus_. _Reciproca
geminavit arte_ is incapable of any translation which shall render the
proper sense of the words, “doubled with reciprocal art.” The author’s
meaning is, “fitted for a double function.” _Cum sono teste_ is guessed
from the context to mean, _uti sonus testatur_. _Cum rerum natura nusquam
magis quam in minimis tota sit._ This is a very obscure expression of a
plain sentiment, “The wisdom and power of Providence, or of Nature, is
never more conspicuous than in the smallest bodies.” Ex his _spernunt
multa_. The meaning of _ex his_ is indefinite, and therefore obscure: we
can but conjecture that it means _ex rebus hujusmodi_; and not _ex his
quæ diximus_; for that sense is reserved for _relata_.

From this specimen, we may judge of the difficulty of giving a _just
translation_ of Pliny’s _Natural History_.




CHAPTER XIV

    OF BURLESQUE TRANSLATION.—TRAVESTY AND PARODY.—SCARRON’S
    VIRGILE TRAVESTI.—ANOTHER SPECIES OF LUDICROUS TRANSLATION.


In a preceding chapter, while treating of the translation of idiomatic
phrases, we censured the use of such idioms in the translation as do
not correspond with the age or country of the original. There is,
however, one species of translation, in which that violation of the
_costume_ is not only blameless, but seems essential to the nature of
the composition: I mean burlesque translation, or Travesty. This species
of writing partakes, in a great degree, of original composition; and
is therefore not to be measured by the laws of serious translation.
It conveys neither a just picture of the sentiments, nor a faithful
representation of the style and manner of the original; but pleases
itself in exhibiting a ludicrous caricatura of both. It displays an
overcharged and grotesque resemblance, and excites our risible emotions
by the incongruous association of dignity and meanness, wisdom and
absurdity. This association forms equally the basis of Travesty and of
Ludicrous Parody, from which it is no otherwise distinguished than by
its assuming a different language from the original. In order that the
mimickry may be understood, it is necessary that the writer choose, for
the exercise of his talents, a work that is well known, and of great
reputation. Whether that reputation is deserved or unjust, the work may
be equally the subject of burlesque imitation. If it has been the subject
of general, but undeserved praise, a Parody or a Travesty is then a fair
satire on the false taste of the original author, and his admirers, and
we are pleased to see both become the objects of a just castigation.
The _Rehearsal_, _Tom Thumb_, and _Chrononhotonthologos_, which exhibit
ludicrous parodies of passages from the favourite dramatic writers of the
times, convey a great deal of just and useful criticism. If the original
is a work of real excellence, the Travesty or Parody detracts nothing
from its merit, nor robs the author of the smallest portion of his just
praise.[67] We laugh at the association of dignity and meanness; but the
former remains the exclusive property of the original, the latter belongs
solely to the copy. We give due praise to the mimical powers of the
imitator, and are delighted to see how ingeniously he can elicit subject
of mirth and ridicule from what is grave, dignified, pathetic, or sublime.

In the description of the games in the 5th _Æneid_, Virgil everywhere
supports the dignity of the Epic narration. His persons are heroes,
their actions are suitable to that character, and we feel our passions
seriously interested in the issue of the several contests. The same
scenes travestied by Scarron are ludicrous in the extreme. His heroes
have the same names, they are engaged in the same actions, they have even
a grotesque resemblance in character to their prototypes; but they have
all the meanness, rudeness, and vulgarity of ordinary prize-fighters,
hackney coachmen, horse-jockeys, and water-men.

            _Medio Gyas in gurgite victor_
    _Rectorem navis compellat voce Menœtem;_
    _Quo tantum mihi dexter abis? huc dirige cursum,_
    _Littus ama, et lævas stringat sine palmula cautes;_
    _Altum alii teneant. Dixit: sed cæca Menœtes_
    _Saxa timens, proram pelagi detorquet ad undas._
    _Quo diversus abis? iterum pete saxa, Menœte,_
    _Cum clamore Gyas revocabat._

    Gyas, qui croit que son pilote,
    Comme un vieil fou qu’il est, radote,
    De ce qu’en mer il s’elargit,
    Aussi fort qu’un lion rugit;
    Et s’ecrie, écumant de rage,
    Serre, serre donc le rivage,
    Fils de putain de Ménétus,
    Serre, ou bien nous somme victus:
    Serre donc, serre à la pareille:
    Ménétus fit la sourde oreille,
    Et s’éloigne toujours du bord,
    Et si pourtant il n’a pas tort:
    Habile qu’il est, il redoute
    Certains rocs, ou l’on ne voit goute—
    Lors Gyas se met en furie,
    Et de rechef crie et recrie,
    Vieil coyon, pilote enragé,
    Mes ennemis t’ont ils gagé
    Pour m’oter l’honneur de la sorte?
    Serre, ou que le diable t’emporte,
    Serre le bord, ame de chien:
    Mais au diable, s’il en fait rien.

In Virgil, the prizes are suitable to the dignity of the persons who
contend for them:

    Munera principio ante oculos, circoque locantur
    In medio: sacri tripodes, viridesque coronæ,
    Et palmæ, pretium victoribus; armaque, et ostro
    Perfusæ vestes, argenti aurique talenta.

In Scarron, the prizes are accommodated to the contending parties with
equal propriety:

    Maitre Eneas faisant le sage, &c.
    Fit apporter une marmitte,
    C’etoit un des prix destinés,
    Deux pourpoints fort bien galonnés
    Moitié filet et moitié soye,
    Un sifflet contrefaisant l’oye,
    Un engin pour casser des noix,
    Vingt et quatre assiettes de bois,
    Qu’Eneas allant au fourrage
    Avoit trouvé dans le bagage
    Du vénérable Agamemnon:
    Certain auteur a dit que non,
    Comptant la chose d’autre sorte,
    Mais ici fort peu nous importe:
    Une toque de velous gras,
    Un engin à prendre des rats,
    Ouvrage du grand Aristandre,
    Qui savoit bien les rats prendre
    En plus de cinquante façons,
    Et meme en donnoit des leçons:
    Deux tasses d’etain émaillées,
    Deux pantoufles despareillées,
    Dont l’une fut au grand Hector,
    Toutes deux de peau de castor—
    Et plusieurs autres nippes rares, &c.

But this species of composition pleases only in a short specimen. We
cannot bear a lengthened work in Travesty. The incongruous association
of dignity and meanness excites risibility chiefly from its being
unexpected. Cotton’s and Scarron’s _Virgil_ entertain but for a few
pages: the composition soon becomes tedious, and at length disgusting. We
laugh at a short exhibition of buffoonery; but we cannot endure a man,
who, with good talents, is constantly playing the fool.

There is a species of ludicrous verse translation which is not of the
nature of Travesty, and which seems to be regulated by all the laws
of serious translation. It is employed upon a ludicrous original, and
its purpose is not to burlesque, but to represent it with the utmost
fidelity. For that purpose, even the metrical stanza is closely
imitated. The ludicrous effect is heightened, when the stanza is peculiar
in its structure, and is transferred from a modern to an ancient
language; as in Dr. Aldrich’s translation of the well-known song,

    A soldier and a sailor,
    A tinker and a tailor,
    Once had a doubtful strife, Sir,
    To make a maid a wife, Sir,
        Whose name was buxom Joan, &c.

    _Miles et navigator,_
    _Sartor et ærator,_
    _Jamdudum litigabant,_
    _De pulchra quam amabant,_
        _Nomen cui est Joanna, &c._

Of the same species of translation is the facetious composition intitled
_Ebrii Barnabæ Itinerarium_, or _Drunken Barnaby’s Journal_:

    _O Faustule, dic amico,_
    _Quo in loco, quo in vico,_
    _Sive campo, sive tecto,_
    _Sine linteo, sine lecto;_
    _Propinasti queis tabernis,_
    _An in terris, an Avernis._

    Little Fausty, tell thy true heart,
    In what region, coast, or new part,
    Field or fold, thou hast been bousing,
    Without linen, bedding, housing;
    In what tavern, pray thee, show us,
    Here on earth, or else below us:

And the whimsical, though serious translation of Chevy-chace:

    _Vivat Rex noster nobilis,_
      _Omnis in tuto sit;_
    _Venatus olim flebilis_
      _Chevino luco fit._

    God prosper long our noble King,
      Our lives and safeties all:
    A woful hunting once there did
      In Chevy-chace befal, &c.




CHAPTER XV

    THE GENIUS OF THE TRANSLATOR SHOULD BE AKIN TO THAT OF THE
    ORIGINAL AUTHOR.—THE BEST TRANSLATORS HAVE SHONE IN ORIGINAL
    COMPOSITION OF THE SAME SPECIES WITH THAT WHICH THEY HAVE
    TRANSLATED.—OF VOLTAIRE’S TRANSLATIONS FROM SHAKESPEARE.—OF
    THE PECULIAR CHARACTER OF THE WIT OF VOLTAIRE.—HIS TRANSLATION
    FROM HUDIBRAS.—EXCELLENT ANONYMOUS FRENCH TRANSLATION OF
    HUDIBRAS.—TRANSLATION OF RABELAIS BY URQUHART AND MOTTEUX.


From the consideration of those general rules of translation which in
the foregoing essay I have endeavoured to illustrate, it will appear no
unnatural conclusion to assert, that he only is perfectly accomplished
for the duty of a translator who possesses a genius akin to that of
the original author. I do not mean to carry this proposition so far as
to affirm, that in order to give a perfect translation of the works
of Cicero, a man must actually be as great an orator, or inherit the
same extent of philosophical genius; but he must have a mind capable of
discerning the full merits of his original, of attending with an acute
perception to the whole of his reasoning, and of entering with warmth
and energy of feeling into all the beauties of his composition. Thus
we shall observe invariably, that the best translators have been those
writers who have composed original works of the same species with those
which they have translated. The mutilated version which yet remains to us
of the _Timæus_ of Plato translated by Cicero, is a masterly composition,
which, in the opinion of the best judges, rivals the merit of the
original. A similar commendation cannot be bestowed on those fragments
of the _Phænomena_ of Aratus translated into verse by the same author;
for Cicero’s poetical talents were not remarkable: but who can entertain
a doubt, that had time spared to us his versions of the orations of
Demosthenes and Æschines, we should have found them possessed of the most
transcendent merit?

We have observed, in the preceding part of this essay, that poetical
translation is less subjected to restraint than prose translation, and
allows more of the freedom of original composition. It will hence follow,
that to exercise this freedom with propriety, a translator must have the
talent of original composition in poetry; and therefore, that in this
species of translation, the possession of a genius akin to that of his
author, is more essentially necessary than in any other. We know the
remark of Denham, that the subtle spirit of poesy evaporates entirely in
the transfusion from one language into another, and that unless a new,
or an original spirit, is infused by the translator himself, there will
remain nothing but a _caput mortuum_. The best translators of poetry,
therefore, have been those who have approved their talents in original
poetical composition. Dryden, Pope, Addison, Rowe, Tickell, Pitt, Warton,
Mason, and Murphy, rank equally high in the list of original poets, as in
that of the translators of poetry.

But as poetical composition is various in its kind, and the characters
of the different species of poetry are extremely distinct, and often
opposite in their nature, it is very evident that the possession of
talents adequate to one species of translation, as to one species of
original poetry, will not infer the capacity of excelling in other
species of which the character is different. Still further, it may be
observed, that as there are certain species of poetical composition, as,
for example, the dramatic, which, though of the same general character
in all nations, will take a strong tincture of difference from the
manners of a country, or the peculiar genius of a people; so it will be
found, that a poet, eminent as an original author in his own country,
may fail remarkably in attempting to convey, by a translation, an idea
of the merits of a foreign work which is tinctured by the national
genius of the country which produced it. Of this we have a striking
example in those translations from Shakespeare by Voltaire; in which the
French poet, eminent himself in dramatical composition, intended to
convey to his countrymen a just idea of our most celebrated author in
the same department. But Shakespeare and Voltaire, though perhaps akin
to each other in some of the great features of the mind, were widely
distinguished, even by nature, in the characters of their poetical
genius; and this natural distinction was still more sensibly increased by
the general tone of manners, the _hue and fashion_ of thought of their
respective countries. Voltaire, in his essay _sur la Tragédie Angloise_,
has chosen the famous soliloquy in the tragedy of Hamlet, “_To be, or
not to be_,” as one of those striking passages which best exemplify the
genius of Shakespeare, and which, in the words of the French author,
_demandent grace pour toutes ses fautes_. It may therefore be presumed,
that the translator in this instance endeavoured, as far as lay in his
power, not only to adopt the spirit of his author, but to represent him
as favourably as possible to his countrymen. Yet, how wonderfully has he
metamorphosed, how miserably disfigured him! In the original, we have the
perfect picture of a mind deeply agitated, giving vent to its feelings
in broken starts of utterance, and in language which plainly indicates,
that the speaker is reasoning solely with his own mind, and not with any
auditor. In the translation, we have a formal and connected harangue, in
which it would appear, that the author, offended with the abrupt manner
of the original, and judging those irregular starts of expression to be
unsuitable to that precision which is required in abstract reasoning, has
corrected, as he thought, those defects of the original, and given union,
strength, and precision, to this philosophical argument.

    Demeure, il faut choisir, et passer à l’instant
    De la vie à la mort, ou de l’être au néant.
    Dieux justes, s’il en est, éclairez mon courage.
    Faut-il vieillir courbé sous la main qui m’outrage,
    Supporter, ou finir mon malheur et mon sort?
    Que suis-je? qui m’arrête? et qu’est ce que la mort?
    C’est la fin de nos maux, c’est mon unique azile;
    Apres de longs transports, c’est un sommeil tranquile.
    On s’endort et tout meurt; mais un affreux reveil,
    Doit succéder peut-être aux douceurs du sommeil.
    On nous menace; on dit que cette courte vie
    De tourmens éternels est aussitôt suivie.
    O mort! moment fatale! affreuse éternité!
    Tout cœur à ton seul nom se glace épouvanté.
    Eh! qui pourrait sans toi supporter cette vie?
    De nos prêtres menteurs bénir l’hypocrisie?
    D’une indigne maitresse encenser les erreurs?
    Ramper sous un ministre, adorer ses hauteurs?
    Et montrer les langueurs de son âme abattue,
    A des amis ingrats qui detournent la vue?
    La mort serait trop douce en ces extrémités.
    Mais le scrupule parle, et nous crie, arrêtez.
    Il defend à nos mains cet heureux homicide,
    Et d’un héros guerrier, fait un Chrétien timide.[68]

Besides the general fault already noticed, of substituting formal and
connected reasoning, to the desultory range of thought and abrupt
transitions of the original, Voltaire has in this passage, by the
looseness of his paraphrase, allowed some of the most striking beauties,
both of the thought and expression, entirely to escape; while he has
superadded, with unpardonable licence, several ideas of his own, not only
unconnected with the original, but dissonant to the general tenor of the
speaker’s thoughts, and foreign to his character. Adopting Voltaire’s
own style of criticism on the translations of the Abbé des Fontaines, we
may ask him, “Where do we find, in this translation of Hamlet’s soliloquy,

    “The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune——
    To take arms against a sea of troubles——
    The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks
    That flesh is heir to——
    Perchance to dream; ay, there’s the rub——
    The whips and scorns of time——
    The law’s delay, the insolence of office——
    The spurns—that patient merit from th’ unworthy takes——
    That undiscover’d country, from whose bourne
    No traveller returns——?”

Can Voltaire, who has omitted in this short passage all the above
striking peculiarities of thought and expression, be said to have given a
translation from Shakespeare?

But in return for what he has retrenched from his author, he has made a
liberal addition of several new and original ideas of his own. Hamlet,
whose character in Shakespeare exhibits the strongest impressions of
religion, who feels these impressions even to a degree of superstition,
which influences his conduct in the most important exigences, and renders
him weak and irresolute, appears in Mr. Voltaire’s translation a thorough
sceptic and freethinker. In the course of a few lines, he expresses his
doubt of the existence of a God; he treats the priests as liars and
hypocrites, and the Christian religion as a system which debases human
nature, and makes a coward of a hero:

    Dieux justes! S’il en est——
    De nos prêtres menteurs bénir l’hypocrisie——
    Et d’un héros guerrier, fait un Chrêtien timide——

Now, who gave Mr. Voltaire a right thus to transmute the pious and
superstitious Hamlet into a modern _philosophe_ and _Esprit fort_?
Whether the French author meant by this transmutation to convey to his
countrymen a favourable idea of our English bard, we cannot pretend to
say; but we may at least affirm, that he has not conveyed a just one.[69]

But what has prevented the translator, who professes that he wished
to give a just idea of the merits of his original, from accomplishing
what he wished? Not ignorance of the language; for Voltaire, though no
great critic in the English tongue, had yet a competent knowledge of it;
and the change he has put upon the reader was not involuntary, or the
effect of ignorance. Neither was it the want of genius, or of poetical
talents; for Voltaire is certainly one of the best poets, and one of the
greatest ornaments of the drama. But it was the original difference of
his genius and that of Shakespeare, increased by the general opposition
of the national character of the French and English. His mind, accustomed
to connect all ideas of dramatic sublimity or beauty with regular design
and perfect symmetry of composition, could not comprehend this union
of the great and beautiful with irregularity of structure and partial
disproportion. He was capable indeed of discerning some features of
majesty in this colossal statue; but the rudeness of the parts, and the
want of polish in the whole figure, prevailed over the general impression
of its grandeur, and presented it altogether to his eye as a monstrous
production.

The genius of Voltaire was more akin to that of Dryden, of Waller, of
Addison, and of Pope, than to that of Shakespeare: he has therefore
succeeded much better in the translations he has given of particular
passages from these poets, than in those he has attempted from our great
master of the drama.

Voltaire possessed a large share of wit; but it is of a species peculiar
to himself, and which I think has never yet been analysed. It appears
to me to be the result of acute philosophical talents, a strong spirit
of satire, and a most brilliant imagination. As all wit consists in
unexpected combinations, the singular union of a philosophic thought with
a lively fancy, which is a very uncommon association, seems in general to
be the basis of the wit of Voltaire. It is of a very different species
from that wit which is associated with humour, which is exercised in
presenting odd, extravagant, but natural views of human character, and
which forms the essence of ludicrous composition. The novels of Voltaire
have no other scope than to illustrate certain philosophical doctrines,
or to expose certain philosophical errors; they are not pictures of life
or of manners; and the persons who figure in them are pure creatures
of the imagination, fictitious beings, who have nothing of nature in
their composition, and who neither act nor reason like the ordinary
race of men. Voltaire, then, with a great deal of wit, seems to have
had no talent for humorous composition. Now if such is the character of
his original genius, we may presume, that he was not capable of justly
estimating in the compositions of others what he did not possess himself.
We may likewise fairly conclude, that he should fail in attempting to
convey by a translation a just idea of the merits of a work, of which
one of the main ingredients is that quality in which he was himself
deficient. Of this I proceed to give a strong example.

In the poem of _Hudibras_, we have a remarkable combination of Wit
with Humour; nor is it easy to say which of these qualities chiefly
predominates in the composition. A proof that humour forms a most capital
ingredient is, that the inimitable Hogarth has told the whole story of
the poem in a series of characteristic prints: now painting is completely
adequate to the representation of humour, but can convey no idea of wit.
Of this singular poem, Voltaire has attempted to give a specimen to his
countrymen by a translation; but in this experiment he says he has found
it necessary to concentrate the first four hundred lines into little more
than eighty of the translation.[70] The truth is, that, either insensible
of that part of the merit of the original, or conscious of his own
inability to give a just idea of it, he has left out all that constitutes
the humour of the painting, and attached himself solely to the wit of
the composition. In the original, we have a description of the figure,
dress, and accoutrements of Sir Hudibras, which is highly humorous, and
which conveys to the imagination as complete a picture as is given by the
characteristic etchings of Hogarth. In the translation of Voltaire, all
that we learn of those particulars which _paint_ the hero, is, that he
wore mustachios, and rode with a pair of pistols.

Even the wit of the original, in passing through the alembic of Voltaire,
has changed in a great measure its nature, and assimilated itself to
that which is peculiar to the translator. The wit of Butler is more
concentrated, more pointed, and is announced in fewer words, than the
wit of Voltaire. The translator, therefore, though he pretends to have
abridged four hundred verses into eighty, has in truth effected this by
the retrenchment of the wit of his original, and not by the concentration
of it: for when we compare any particular passage or point, we find there
is more diffusion in the translation than in the original. Thus, Butler
says,

    The difference was so small, his brain
    Outweigh’d his rage but half a grain;
    Which made some take him for a tool
    That knaves do work with, call’d a fool.

Thus amplified by Voltaire, and at the same time imperfectly translated.

    Mais malgré sa grande eloquence,
    Et son mérite, et sa prudence,
    Il passa chez quelques savans
    Pour être un de ces instrumens
    Dont les fripons avec addresse
    Savent user sans dire mot,
    Et qu’ils tournent avec souplesse;
    Cet instrument s’appelle un sot.

Thus likewise the famous simile of Taliacotius, loses, by the
amplification of the translator, a great portion of its spirit.

    So learned Taliacotius from
    The brawny part of porter’s bum
    Cut supplemental noses, which
    Would last as long as parent breech;
    But, when the date of nock was out,
    Off dropt the sympathetic snout.

    Ainsi Taliacotius,
    Grand Esculape d’Etrurie,
    Répara tous les nez perdus
    Par une nouvelle industrie:
    Il vous prenoit adroitement
    Un morceau du cul d’un pauvre homme,
    L’appliquoit au nez proprement;
    Enfin il arrivait qu’en somme,
    Tout juste à la mort du prêteur
    Tombait le nez de l’emprunteur,
    Et souvent dans la même bière,
    Par justice et par bon accord,
    On remettait au gré du mort
    Le nez auprès de son derriere.

It will be allowed, that notwithstanding the supplemental witticism of
the translator, contained in the last four lines, the simile loses, upon
the whole, very greatly by its diffusion. The following anonymous Latin
version of this simile is possessed of much higher merit, as, with equal
brevity of expression, it conveys the whole spirit of the original.

    _Sic adscititios nasos de clune torosi_
    _Vectoris doctâ secuit Talicotius arte,_
    _Qui potuere parent durando æquare parentem:_
    _At postquam fato clunis computruit, ipsum_
    _Unâ sympathicum cœpit tabescere rostrum._

With these translations may be compared the following, which is taken
from a complete version of the poem of _Hudibras_, a very remarkable
work, with the merits of which (as the book is less known than it
deserves to be) I am glad to have this opportunity of making the English
reader acquainted:

    Ainsi Talicot d’une fesse
    Savoit tailler avec addresse
    Nez tous neufs, qui ne risquoient rien
    Tant que le cul se portoit bien;
    Mais si le cul perdoit la vie,
    Le nez tomboit par sympathie.

In one circumstance of this passage no translation can come up to the
original: it is in that additional pleasantry which results from the
structure of the verses, the first line ending most unexpectedly with a
preposition, and the third with a pronoun, both which are the rhyming
syllables in the two couplets:

    So learned Taliacotius _from_, &c.
    Cut supplemental noses, _which_, &c.

It was perhaps impossible to imitate this in a translation; but setting
this circumstance aside, the merit of the latter French version seems to
me to approach very near to that of the original.

The author of this translation of the poem of _Hudibras_, evidently
a man of superior abilities,[71] appears to have been endowed with an
uncommon share of modesty. He presents his work to the public with the
utmost diffidence; and, in a short preface, humbly deprecates its censure
for the presumption that may be imputed to him in attempting that which
the celebrated Voltaire had declared to be one of the most difficult of
tasks. Yet this task he has executed in a very masterly manner. A few
specimens will shew the high merit of this work, and clearly evince, that
the translator possessed that essential requisite for his undertaking, a
kindred genius with that of his great original.

The religion of Hudibras is thus described:

    For his religion, it was fit
    To match his learning and his wit:
    ’Twas Presbyterian true blue;
    For he was of that stubborn crew
    Of errant saints, whom all men grant
    To be the true church-militant:
    Such as do build their faith upon
    The holy text of pike and gun;
    Decide all controversies by
    Infallible artillery;
    And prove their doctrine orthodox,
    By apostolic blows and knocks.

                            _Canto_ 1.

    Sa réligion au genie
    Et sçavoir étoit assortie;
    Il étoit franc Presbyterien,
    Et de sa secte le soutien,
    Secte, qui justement se vante
    D’être l’Eglise militante;
    Qui de sa foi vous rend raison
    Par la bouche de son canon,
    Dont le boulet et feu terrible
    Montre bien qu’elle est infallible,
    Et sa doctrine prouve à tous
    Orthodoxe, à force de coups.

In the following passage, the arch ratiocination of the original is
happily rivalled in the translation:

    For Hudibras wore but one spur,
    As wisely knowing could he stir
    To active trot one side of’s horse,
    The other would not hang an a—se.

    Car Hudibras avec raison
    Ne se chaussoit qu’un éperon,
    Ayant preuve démonstrative
    Qu’un coté marchant, l’autre arrive.

The language of Sir Hudibras is described as a strange jargon, compounded
of English, Greek, and Latin,

    Which made some think when he did gabble
    They’d heard three labourers of Babel,
    Or Cerberus himself pronounce
    A leash of languages at once.

It was difficult to do justice in the translation to the metaphor of
Cerberus, by translating _leash of languages_: This, however, is very
happily effected by a parallel witticism:

    Ce qui pouvoit bien faire accroire
    Quand il parloit à l’auditoire,
    D’entendre encore le bruit mortel
    De trois ouvriers de Babel,
    Ou Cerbere aux ames errantes
    Japper trois langues différentes.

The wit of the following passage is completely transfused, perhaps even
heightened in the translation:

    For he by geometric scale
    Could take the size of pots of ale;
    Resolve by sines and tangents straight
    If bread or butter wanted weight;
    And wisely tell what hour o’ th’ day
    The clock does strike, by algebra.

    En géometre raffiné
    Un pot de bierre il eut jaugé;
    Par tangente et sinus sur l’heure
    Trouvé le poids de pain ou beurre,
    Et par algebre eut dit aussi
    A quelle heure il sonne midi.

The last specimen I shall give from this work, is Hudibras’s consultation
with the lawyer, in which the Knight proposes to prosecute Sidrophel in
an action of battery:

    Quoth he, there is one Sidrophel
    Whom I have cudgell’d—“Very well.”—
    And now he brags t’have beaten me.
    “Better and better still, quoth he.”—
    And vows to stick me to the wall
    Where’er he meets me—“Best of all.”—
    ’Tis true, the knave has taken’s oath
    That I robb’d him—“Well done, in troth.”—
    When h’ has confessed he stole my cloak,
    And pick’d my fob, and what he took,
    Which was the cause that made me bang him
    And take my goods again—“Marry, hang him.”
    ——“Sir,” quoth the lawyer, “not to flatter ye,
    You have as good and fair a battery
    As heart can wish, and need not shame
    The proudest man alive to claim:
    For if they’ve us’d you as you say;
    Marry, quoth I, God give you joy:
    I would it were my case, I’d give
    More than I’ll say, or you believe.”

    Il est, dit-il, de par le monde
    Un Sidrophel, que Dieu confonde,
    Que j’ai rossé des mieux. “Fort bien”—
    Et maintenant il dit, le chien,
    Qu’il m’a battu.—“Bien mieux encore.”—
    Et jure, afin qu’on ne l’ignore,
    Que s’il me trouve il me tuera—
    “Le meilleur de tout le voila”—
    Il est vrai que ce misérable
    A fait serment au préalable
    Que moi je l’ai dévalisé—
    “C’est fort bien fait, en vérité”—
    Tandis que lui-meme il confesse,
    Qu’il m’a volé dans une presse,
    Mon manteau, mon gousset vuidé;
    Et c’est pourquoi je l’ai rossé;
    Puis mes effets j’ai sçu reprendre—
    “Oui da,” dit-il, “il faut le pendre.”
    ——Dit l’avocat, “sans flatterie,
    Vous avez, Monsieur, batterie
    Aussi bonne qu’on puisse avoir;
    Vous devez vous en prévaloir.
    S’ils vous ont traité de la sorte,
    Comme votre recit le porte,
    Je vous en fais mon compliment;
    Je voudrais pour bien de l’argent,
    Et plus que vous ne sauriez croire,
    Qu’il m’arrivât pareille histoire.”

These specimens are sufficient to shew how completely this translator
has entered into the spirit of his original, and has thus succeeded in
conveying a very perfect idea to his countrymen of one of those works
which are most strongly tinctured with the peculiarities of national
character, and which therefore required a singular coincidence of the
talents of the translator with those of the original author.

If the English can boast of any parallel to this, in a version from the
French, where the translator has given equal proof of a kindred genius
to that of his original, and has as successfully accomplished a task of
equal difficulty, it is in the translation of Rabelais, begun by Sir
Thomas Urquhart, and finished by Mr. Motteux, and lastly, revised and
corrected by Mr. Ozell. The difficulty of translating this work, arises
less from its obsolete style, than from a phraseology peculiar to the
author, which he seems to have purposely rendered obscure, in order to
conceal that satire which he levels both against the civil government
and the ecclesiastical policy of his country. Such is the studied
obscurity of this satire, that but a very few of the most learned and
acute among his own countrymen have professed to understand Rabelais in
the original. The history of the English translation of this work, is
in itself a proof of its very high merit. The three first books were
translated by Sir Thomas Urquhart, but only two of them were published in
his lifetime. Mr. Motteux, a Frenchman by birth, but whose long residence
in England had given him an equal command of both languages, republished
the work of Urquhart, and added the remaining three books translated by
himself. In this publication he allows the excellence of the work of
his predecessor, whom he declares to have been a complete master of the
French language, and to have possessed both learning and fancy equal to
the task he undertook. He adds, that he has preserved in his translation
“the very style and air of his original;” and finally, “that the English
readers may now understand that author better in their own tongue, than
many of the French can do in theirs.” The work thus completed in English,
was taken up by Mr. Ozell, a person of considerable literary abilities,
and who possessed an uncommon knowledge both of the ancient and modern
languages. Of the merits of the translation, none could be a better
judge, and to these he has given the strongest testimony, by adopting it
entirely in his new edition, and limiting his own undertaking solely
to the correction of the text of Urquhart and Motteux, to which he has
added a translation of the notes of M. Du Chat, who spent, as Mr. Ozell
informs us, forty years in composing annotations on the original work.
The English version of Rabelais thus improved, may be considered, in
its present form, as one of the most perfect specimens of the art of
translation. The best critics in both languages have borne testimony
to its faithful transfusion of the sense, and happy imitation of the
style of the original; and every English reader will acknowledge, that
it possesses all the ease of original composition. If I have forborne
to illustrate any of the rules or precepts of the preceding Essay from
this work, my reasons were, that obscurity I have already noticed, which
rendered it less fit for the purpose of such illustration, and that
strong tincture of licentiousness which characterises the whole work.




APPENDIX


No. I

_STANZAS from TICKELL’S Ballad of COLIN AND LUCY_

_Translated by LE MIERRE_

    Cheres compagnes, je vous laisse;
      Une voix semble m’apeller,
    Une main que je vois sans cesse
      Me fait signe de m’en aller.

    L’ingrat que j’avois cru sincere
      Me fait mourir, si jeune encor:
    Une plus riche a sçu lui plaire:
      Moi qui l’aimois, voila mon sort!

    Ah Colin! ah! que vas tu faire?
      Rends moi mon bien, rends-moi ta foi;
    Et toi que son cœur me préfère
      De ses baisers détourne toi.

    Dès le matin en épousée
      À l’église il te conduira;
    Mais homme faux, fille abusée,
      Songez que Lucy sera là.

    Filles, portez-moi vers ma fosse;
      Que l’ingrat me rencontre alors,
    Lui, dans son bel habit de noce,
      Et Lucy sous le drap des morts.

    _I hear a voice you cannot hear,_
      _Which says I must not stay;_
    _I see a hand you cannot see,_
      _Which beckons me away._

    _By a false heart, and broken vows,_
      _In early youth I die;_
    _Am I to blame, because his bride_
      _Is thrice as rich as I?_

    _Ah Colin, give not her thy vows,_
      _Vows due to me alone;_
    _Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss,_
      _Nor think him all thy own._

    _To-morrow in the church to wed,_
      _Impatient both prepare,_
    _But know, fond maid, and know, false man,_
      _That Lucy will be there._

    _There bear my corse, ye comrades, bear,_
      _The bridegroom blithe to meet;_
    _He in his wedding-trim so gay,_
      _I in my winding-sheet._


No. II

_ODE V. of the First Book of HORACE_

_Translated by MILTON_

_Quis multa gracilis, &c._

    What slender youth, bedew’d with liquid odours,
    Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave?
        Pyrrha, for whom bind’st thou
        In wreaths thy golden hair,

    Plain in thy neatness? O how oft shall he
    On faith and changed Gods complain, and seas
        Rough with black winds, and storms
        Unwonted, shall admire.

    Who now enjoys thee credulous, all gold,
    Who always vacant, always amiable,
        Hopes thee; of flattering gales
        Unmindful? Hapless they

    To whom thou untry’d seem’st fair. Me in my vow’d
    Picture the sacred wall declares t’have hung
        My dank and dropping weeds
        To the stern God of sea.


No. III

_The beginning of the VIIIth Book of the ILIAD_

_Translated by T. HOBBES_

    The morning now was quite display’d, and Jove
      Upon Olympus’ highest top was set;
    And all the Gods and Goddesses above,
      By his command, were there together met.
    And Jupiter unto them speaking, said,
      You Gods all, and you Goddesses, d’ye hear!
    Let none of you the Greeks or Trojans aid:
      I cannot do my work for you: forbear!
    For whomsoever I assisting see
      The Argives or the Trojans, be it known,
    He wounded shall return, and laught at be,
      Or headlong into Tartarus be thrown;
    Into the deepest pit of Tartarus,
      Shut in with gates of brass, as much below
    The common hell, as ’tis from hell to us.
      But if you will my power by trial know,
    Put now into my hand a chain of gold,
      And let one end thereof lie on the plain,
    And all you Gods and Goddesses take hold,
      You shall not move me, howsoe’er you strain
    At th’ other end, if I my strength put to ’t,
      I’ll pull you Gods and Goddesses to me,
    Do what you can, and earth and sea to boot,
      And let you hang there till my power you see.
    The Gods were out of countenance at this,
      And to such mighty words durst not reply, &c.


No. IV

A very learned and ingenious friend,[72] to whom I am indebted for some
very just remarks, of which I have availed myself in the preceding Essay,
has furnished me with the following acute, and, as I think, satisfactory
explanation of a passage in Tacitus, extremely obscure in itself, and
concerning the meaning of which the commentators are not agreed. “Tacitus
meaning to say, ‘That Domitian, wishing to be the great, and indeed
the only object in the empire, and that no body should appear with any
sort of lustre in it but himself, was exceedingly jealous of the great
reputation which Agricola had acquired by his skill in war,’ expresses
himself thus:

In Vit. Agr. cap. 39

“_Id sibi maxime formidolosum, privati hominis nomen suprà principis
attolli. Frustra studia fori, et civilium artium decus in silentium
acta, si militarem gloriam alius occuparet: et cætera utcunque facilius
dissimulari, ducis boni imperatoriam virtutem esse._ Which Gordon
translates thus: ‘Terrible above all things it was to him, that the name
of a private man should be exalted above that of the Prince. In vain had
he driven from the public tribunals all pursuits of popular eloquence
and fame, in vain repressed the renown of every civil accomplishment,
if any other than himself possessed the glory of excelling in war: Nay,
however he might dissemble every other distaste, yet to the person of
Emperor properly appertained the virtue and praise of being a great
general.’

“This translation is very good, as far as the words ‘civil
accomplishment,’ but what follows is not, in my opinion, the meaning of
Tacitus’s words, which I would translate thus:

“‘If any other than himself should become a great object in the empire,
as that man must necessarily be who possesses military glory. For however
he might conceal a value for excellence of every other kind, and even
affect a contempt of it, yet he could not but allow, that skill in war,
and the talents of a great General, were an ornament to the Imperial
dignity itself.’

“Domitian did not pretend to any skill in war; and therefore the word
‘_alius_’ could never be intended to express a competitor with him in
it.”




FOOTNOTES


[1] Vertere Græca in Latinum, veteres nostri oratores optimum judicabant.
Id se Lucius Crassus, in illis Ciceronis de oratore libris, dicit
factitasse. Id Cicero suâ ipse personâ frequentissimè præcipit. Quin
etiam libros Platonis atque Xenophontis edidit, hoc genere translatos.
Id Messalæ placuit, multæque sunt ab eo scriptæ ad hunc modum orationes
(_Quinctil. Inst. Orat._ l. 10, c. 5).

Utile imprimis, ut multi præcipiunt, vel ex Græco in Latinum, vel
ex Latino vertere in Græcum: quo genere exercitationis, proprietas
splendorque verborum, copia figurarum, vis explicandi, præterea
imitatione optimorum, similia inveniendi facultas paratur: simul quæ
legentem fefellissent, transferentem fugere non possunt (_Plin. Epist._
l. 7, ep. 7).

[2] There remain of Cicero’s translations some fragments of the
_Œconomics_ of Xenophon, the _Timæus_ of Plato, and part of a poetical
version of the _Phenomena_ of Aratus.

[3] When the first edition of this Essay was published, the Author had
not seen Dr. Campbell’s new translation of the Gospels, a most elaborate
and learned work, in one of the preliminary dissertations to which, that
ingenious writer has treated professedly “Of the chief things to be
attended to in translating.” The general laws of the art as briefly laid
down in the first part of that dissertation are individually the same
with those contained in this Essay; a circumstance which, independently
of that satisfaction which always arises from finding our opinions
warranted by the concurring judgement of persons of distinguished
ingenuity and taste, affords a strong presumption that those opinions
are founded in nature and in common sense. Another work on the same
subject had likewise escaped the Author’s observation when he first
published this Essay; an elegant poem on translation, by Mr. Francklin,
the ingenious translator of Sophocles and Lucian. It is, however, rather
an apology of the art, and a vindication of its just rank in the scale
of literature, than a didactic work explanatory of its principles. But
above all, the Author has to regret, that, in spite of his most diligent
research, he has never yet been fortunate enough to meet with the work
of a celebrated writer, professedly on the subject of translation,
the treatise of M. Huet, Bishop of Avranches, _De optimo genere
interpretandi_; of whose doctrines, however, he has some knowledge, from
a pretty full extract of his work in the _Dictionnaire Encyclopédique de
Grammaire et Litterature_, article _Traduction_.

[4] Founding upon this principle, which he has by no means proved, That
the arrangement of the Greek and Latin languages is the order of nature,
and that the modern tongues ought never to deviate from that order, but
for the sake of sense, perspicuity, or harmony; he proceeds to lay down
such rules as the following: That the periods of the translation should
accord in all their parts with those of the original—that their order,
and even their length, should be the same—that all conjunctions should
be scrupulously preserved, as being the joints or articulations of the
members—that all adverbs should be ranged next to the verb, &c. It may be
confidently asserted, that the Translator who shall endeavour to conform
himself to these rules, even with the licence allowed of sacrificing to
sense, perspicuity, and harmony, will produce, on the whole, a very sorry
composition, which will be far from reflecting a just picture of his
original.

[5]

    Such is our pride, our folly, or our fate,
    That few, but such as cannot write, translate.

                        _Denham to Sir R. Fanshaw._

                      hands impure dispense
    The sacred streams of ancient eloquence;
    Pedants assume the task for scholars fit,
    And blockheads rise interpreters of wit.

                  _Translation by Francklin._

[6] _Batteux de la Construction Oratoire_, par. 2, ch. 4. Such likewise
appears to be the opinion of M. Huet: “_Optimum ergo illum esse dico
interpretandi modum, quum auctoris sententiæ primum, deinde ipsis
etiam, si ita fert utriusque linguæ facultas, verbis arctissimè adhæret
interpres, et nativum postremo auctoris characterem, quoad ejus fieri
potest, adumbrat; idque unum studet, ut nulla cum detractione imminutum,
nullo additamento auctum, sed integrum, suique omni ex parte simillimum,
perquam fideliter exhibeat.—Universè ergo verbum, de verbo exprimendum,
et vocum etiam collocationem retinendam esse pronuncio, id modo per
linguæ qua utitur interpres facultatem liceat_” (Huet de Interpretatione,
lib. 1).

[7] Dom Vincent Thuillier.

[8] _Mémoires militaires de M. Guischardt._

[9] Dr. George Campbell, _Preliminary Dissertations to a new Translation
of the Gospels_.

[10] _Cic. de Fin._ l. 2.

[11] _Cic. Tusc. Quæst._ l. 4.

[12] _Trans. of Royal Soc. of Edin._ vol. 3.

[13] The excellent translation of Tacitus by Mr. Murphy had not appeared
when the first edition of this Essay was published.

[14] Mr. Gordon has translated the words _ad tempus_, “in pressing
emergencies;” and Mr. Murphy, “in sudden emergencies only.” This sense
is, therefore, probably warranted by good authorities. But it is
evidently not the sense of the author in this passage, as the context
sufficiently indicates.

[15] There is a French translation of this ballad by Le Mierre, which,
though not in all respects equal to that of Bourne, has yet a great
deal of the tender simplicity of the original. See a few stanzas in the
Appendix, No. I.

[16] From the modern allusion, _barrieres du Louvre_, this passage,
strictly speaking, falls under the description of imitation, rather than
of translation. See _postea_, ch. xi.

[17] In the poetical works of Milton, we find many noble imitations of
detached passages of the ancient classics; but there is nothing that can
be termed a translation, unless an English version of Horace’s _Ode to
Pyrrha_; which it is probable the author meant as a whimsical experiment
of the effect of a strict conformity in English both to the expression
and measure of the Latin. See this singular composition in the Appendix,
No. 2.

[18]

    That servile path thou nobly dost decline,
    Of tracing word by word, and line by line.
    A new and nobler way thou dost pursue,
    To make translations and translators too:
    They but preserve the ashes, thou the flame;
    True to his sense, but truer to his fame.

                       DENHAM to Sir R. FANSHAW.

[19] One of the best passages of Fanshaw’s translation of the _Pastor
Fido_, is the celebrated apostrophe to the spring—

    Spring, the year’s youth, fair mother of new flowers,
    New leaves, new loves, _drawn by the winged hours_,
    Thou art return’d; but the felicity
    Thou brought’st me last is not return’d with thee.
    Thou art return’d; but nought returns with thee,
    Save my lost joy’s regretful memory.
    Thou art the self-same thing thou wert before,
    As fair and jocund: but I am no more
    The thing I was, so gracious in her sight,
    _Who is heaven’s masterpiece and earth’s delight_.
    O bitter sweets of love! far worse it is
    To lose than never to have tasted bliss.

    O Primavera gioventu del anno,
    Bella madre di fiori,
    D’herbe novelle, e di novelli amori:
    Tu torni ben, ma teco,
    Non tornano i sereni,
    E fortunati dì de le mie gioie!
    Tu torni ben, tu torni,
    Ma teco altro non torna
    Che del perduto mio caro tesoro
    La rimembranza misera e dolente.
    Tu quella se’ tu quella,
    Ch’eri pur dianzi vezzosa e bella.
    Ma non son io già quel ch’un tempo fui,
    Sì caro a gli occhi altrui.
    O dolcezze amarissime d’amore!
    Quanto è più duro perdervi, che mai
    Non v’haver ò provate, ò possedute!

           _Pastor Fido_, act 3, sc. 1.

In those parts of the English version which are marked in Italics, there
is some attempt towards a freedom of translation; but it is a freedom of
which Sandys and May had long before given many happier specimens.

[20] I am happy to find this opinion, for which I have been blamed
by some critics, supported by so respectable an authority as that of
M. Delille; whose translation of the _Georgics_ of Virgil, though
censurable, (as I shall remark) in a few particulars, is, on the whole,
a very fine performance: “Il faut etre quelquefois superieur à son
original, précisément parce qu’on lui est très-inférieur.” _Delille Disc.
Prelim. à la Trad. des Georgiques._ Of the same opinion is the elegant
author of the poem on Translation.

    Unless an author like a mistress warms,
    How shall we _hide his faults_, or taste his charms?
    How all his modest, latent beauties find;
    How trace each lovelier feature of the mind;
    _Soften each blemish_, and _each grace improve_,
    And treat him with the dignity of love?

                                         FRANCKLIN.

[21] Witness the attempt of a translator of no ordinary ability.

    Pulchra mari, crocea surgens in veste, per omnes
    Fundebat sese terras Aurora: deorum
    Summo concilium cœlo regnator habebat.
    Cuncta silent: Solio ex alto sic Jupiter orsus.

      Huc aures cuncti, mentesque advertite vestras,
    Dîque Deæque, loquar dum quæ fert corde voluntas,
    Dicta probate omnes; neve hinc præcidere quisquam
    Speret posse aliquid, seu mas seu fœmina. Siquis
    Auxilio veniens, dura inter prælia, Troas
    Juverit, aut Danaos, fœde remeabit Olympum
    Saucius: arreptumve obscura in Tartara longè
    Demittam ipse manu jaciens; immane barathrum
    Altè ubi sub terram vasto descendit hiatu,
    Orcum infra, quantum jacet infra sidera tellus:
    Ære solum, æterno ferri stant robore portæ.
    Quam cunctis melior sim Dîs, tum denique discet.
    Quin agite, atque meas jam nunc cognoscite vires,
    Ingentem heic auro e solido religate catenam,
    Deinde manus cuncti validas adhibete, trahentes
    Ad terram: non ulla fuat vis tanta, laborque,
    Cœlesti qui sede Jovem deducere possit.
    Ast ego vos, terramque et magni cœrula ponti
    Stagna traham, dextra attollens, et vertice Olympi
    Suspendam: vacuo pendebunt aëre cuncta.
    Tantum supra homines mea vis, et numina supra est.

        _Ilias Lat. vers. express. a Raym. Cunighio_, _Rom._ 1776.

[22] See a translation of this passage by Hobbes, in the true spirit of
the _Bathos_. Appendix, No. III.

[23] A similar instance of good taste occurs in the following translation
of an epigram of Martial, where the indelicacy of the original is
admirably corrected, and the sense at the same time is perfectly
preserved:

    _Vis fieri liber? mentiris, Maxime, non vis:_
      _Sed fieri si vis, hac ratione potes._
    _Liber eris, cœnare foris, si, Maxime, nolis:_
      _Veientana tuam si domat uva sitim:_
    _Si ridere potes miseri Chrysendeta Cinnæ:_
      _Contentus nostrâ si potes esse togâ._
    _Si plebeia Venus gemino tibi vincitur asse:_
      _Si tua non rectus tecta subire potes:_
    _Hæc tibi si vis est, si mentis tanta potestas,_
      _Liberior Partho vivere rege potes._

                              MART. lib. 2, ep. 53.

      Non, d’etre libre, cher Paulin,
    Vous n’avez jamais eu l’envie;
    Entre nous, votre train de vie
    N’en est point du tout le chemin.

      Il vous faut grand’chere, bon vin,
    Grand jeu, nombreuse compagnie,
    Maitresse fringante et jolie,
    Et robe du drap le plus fin.

      Il faudrait aimer, au contraire,
    Vin commun, petit ordinaire,
    Habit simple, un ou deux amis;
    Jamais de jeu, point d’Amarante:
    Voyez si le parti vous tente,
    La liberté n’est qu’à ce prix.

[24] Fitzosborne’s _Letters_, l. 19.

[25] Thus likewise translated with great beauty of poetry, and sufficient
fidelity to the original:

    Ut lunam circa fulgent cum lucida pulchro
    Astra choro, nusquam cœlo dum nubila, nusquam
    Aerios turbant ventorum flamina campos;
    Apparent speculæ, nemoroso et vertice montes
    Frondiferi et saltus; late se fulgidus æther
    Pandit in immensum, penitusque abstrusa remoto
    Signa polo produnt longe sese omnia; gaudet
    Visa tuens, hæretque immoto lumine pastor.

        _Ilias Lat. vers. a Raym. Cunighio_, _Rom._ 1776.

[26] Dr. Beattie, _Dissertation on Poetry and Music_, p. 357. 4to. ed.

[27] Fitzosborne’s _Letters_, 43.

[28] It is amusing to observe the conceit of this author, and the
compliment he imagines he pays to the taste of his patron, in applauding
this miserable composition: “Adeo tibi placuit, ut quædam etiam in
melius mutasse tibi visus fuerim.” With similar arrogance and absurdity,
he gives Milton credit for the materials only of the poem, assuming to
himself the whole merit of its structure: “Miltonus Paradisum Amissum
invenerat; ergo Miltoni hìc lana est, at mea tela tamen.”

[29] _Third Preliminary Diss. to New Translation of the Four Gospels._

[30] “His affectation of the manner of some of the poets and orators
has metamorphosed the authors he interpreted, and stript them of the
venerable signatures of antiquity, which so admirably befit them; and
which, serving as intrinsic evidence of their authenticity, recommend
their writings to the serious and judicious. Whereas, when accoutred in
this new fashion, nobody would imagine them to have been Hebrews; and
yet, (as some critics have justly remarked), it has not been within the
compass of Castalio’s art, to make them look like Romans.” Dr. Campbell’s
10th _Prelim. Diss._

[31] Dr. Campbell, 10th _Prel. Diss._ part 2.

[32] The language of that ludicrous work, _Epistolæ obscurorum virorum_,
is an imitation, and by no means an exaggerated picture, of the style
of _Arias Montanus’s_ version of the Scriptures. _Vos bene audivistis
qualiter Papa habuit unum magnum animal quod vocatum fuit Elephas; et
habuit ipsum in magno honore, et valde amavit illud. Nunc igitur debetis
scire, quod tale animal est mortuum. Et quando fuit infirmum, tunc Papa
fuit in magna tristitia, et vocavit medicos plures, et dixit eis: Si est
possibile, sanate mihi Elephas. Tunc fecerunt magnam diligentiam, et
viderunt ei urinam, et dederunt ei unam purgationem quæ constat quinque
centum aureos, sed tamen non potuerunt Elephas facere merdare, et sic est
mortuum; et Papa dolet multum super Elephas; quia fuit mirabile animal,
habens longum rostrum in magna quantitate.—Ast ego non curabo ista
mundana negotia, quæ afferunt perditionem animæ. Valete._

[33] _Lond._ 1691.

[34]

            _Sectantem levia nervi_
    _Deficiunt animique: professus grandia turget:_
    _Serpit humi tutus nimium timidusque procellæ._
    _In vitium ducit culpæ fuga_, si caret arte.

                                HOR. _Ep. ad. Pis._

[35] The _Orations of M. T. Cicero_ translated into English, with notes
historical and critical. Dublin, 1766.

[36] Echard has here mistaken the author’s sense. He ought to have said,
“o’ my conscience, this night is twice as long as that was.”

[37]

    _Hor._ Donec gratus eram tibi,
      Nec quisquam potior brachia candidæ
    Cervici juvenis dabat;
      Persarum vigui rege beatior.

    _Lyd._ Donec non aliam magis
      Arsisti, neque erat Lydia post Chloen;
    Multi Lydia nominis
      Romanâ vigui clarior Iliâ.

    _Hor._ Me nunc Thressa Chloe regit,
      Dulceis docta modos, et citharæ sciens;
    Pro qua non metuam mori,
      Si parcent animæ fata superstiti.

    _Lyd._ Me torret face mutuâ
      Thurini Calaïs filius Ornithi;
    Pro quo bis patiar mori,
      Si parcent puero fata superstiti.

    _Hor._ Quid, si prisca redit Venus,
      Diductosque jugo cogit aheneo?
    Si flava excutitur Chloe,
      Rejectæque patet janua Lydiæ?

    _Lyd._ Quamquam sidere pulchrior
      Ille est, tu levior cortice, et improbo
    Iracundior Hadriâ;
      Tecum vivere amem, tecum obeam libens.

                           HOR. l. 3, Od. 9.

[38] Dr. Warton.

[39] _Hujus (viz. Aristidis) pictura est, oppido capto, ad matris
morientis e vulnere mammam adrepens infans; intelligiturque sentire mater
et timere, ne emortuo lacte sanguinem infans lambat._ Plin. Nat. Hist.
l. 35, c. 10.—If the epigram was made on the subject of this picture,
Pliny’s idea of the expression of the painting is somewhat more refined
than that of the epigrammatist, though certainly not so natural. As a
complicated feeling can never be clearly expressed in painting, it is not
improbable that the same picture should have suggested ideas somewhat
different to different observers.

[40] J. H. Beattie, son of the learned and ingenious Dr. Beattie of
Aberdeen, a young man who disappointed the promise of great talents by
an early death. In him, the author of _The Ministrel_ saw his _Edwin_
realised.

[41] _Observer_, vol. 4, p. 115, and vol. 5, p. 145.

[42] The original of the fragment of Timocles:

    Ω ταν, ἂκουσον ην τι σοι μέλλω λέγειν.
    Ανθρωπός ἐστι ζῶον ἐπίπονον φύσει,
    Καὶ πολλὰ λυπῆρ’ ὁ βίος ἐν ἑαυτω φέρει.
    Παραψυχὰς ουν φροντίδων ανευρατον
    Ταυτας· ὁ γὰρ νοῦς των ἰδίων λήθην λαβὼν
    Πρὸς ἀλλοτριῳ τε ψυχαγωγηθεὶς πάθει,
    Μεθ’ ἡδονῆς ἀπῆλθε παιδευθεὶς ἃμα.
    Τοὺς γὰρ τραγῳδοὺς πρῶτον εἰ βούλει σκόπει,
    Ὡς ὠφελοῦσί παντας· ὁ μὲν γὰρ ὤν πένης
    Πτωχότερον αὑτου καταμαθὼν τὸν Τήλεφον
    Γενόμενον, ἤδη την πενίαν ῥᾶον φέρει.
    Ο νοσῶν δὲ μανικῶς, Αλκμαίων’ εσκεψατο.
    Οφθαλμιᾶ τις; εἰσὶ Φινεῖδαι τυφλοί.
    Τέθνηκε τω παῖς; η Νιόβη κεκούφικε.
    Χωλός τις ἐστι, τὸν Φιλοκτήτην ὁρᾷ.
    Γέρων τὶς ἀτυχεῖ; κατέμαθε τὸν ΟΙνέα.
    Απαντα γὰρ τὰ μείζον’ ἤ πέπονθέ τις
    Ατυχήματ’ ἄλλοις γεγονότ’ ἐννοούμενος,
    Τὰς αὐτὸς αὑτοῦ συμφορὰς ῥᾷον φέρει.

Thus, in the literal version of Dalechampius:

    _Hem amice, nunc ausculta quod dicturus sum tibi._
    _Animal naturâ laboriosum homo est._
    _Tristia vita secum affert plurima:_
    _Itaque curarum hæc adinvenit solatia:_
    _Mentem enim suorum malorum oblitam,_
    _Alienorum casuum reputatio consolatur,_
    _Indéque fit ea læta, et erudita ad sapientiam._
    _Tragicos enim primùm, si libet, considera,_
    _Quàm prosint omnibus. Qui eget,_
    _Pauperiorem se fuisse Telephum_
    _Cùm intelligit, leniùs fert inopiam._
    _Insaniâ qui ægrotat, de Alcmeone is cogitet._
    _Lippus est aliquis, Phinea cœcum is contempletur._
    _Obiit tibi filius, dolorem levabit exemplum Niobes._
    _Claudicat quispiam, Philocteten is respicito._
    _Miser est senex aliquis, in Oeneum is intuetor._
    _Omnia namque graviora quàm patiatur_
    _Infortunia quivis animadvertens in aliis cùm deprehenderit,_
    _Suas calamitates luget minùs._

[43] The original of the fragment of Diphilus:

    Τοιοῦτο νόμιμόν ἐστὶ βέλτιστ’ ενθαδε
    Κορίνθίοις, ἵν’ ἐαν τιν’ ὀψωνοῦντ’ ἀεὶ
    Λαμπρῶς ὁρωμεν, τοῦτον ἀνακρινείν πόθεν
    Ζῇ, καὶ τί ποιῶν. κᾂν μεν οὐσίαν εχῃ
    Ης αἱ προσοδοι λυουσι τ’ ἀναλώματὰ,
    Εᾶν ἀπολαύειν. ἤδε τοῦτον τὸν βίον.
    Εαν δ’ ὑπέρ την οὐσίαν δαπανῶν τύχῃ,
    Απεῖπον αὐτῶ τοῦτο μὴ ποιεῖν ἔτι.
    Ος ἂν δὲ μή πείθητ’, ἐπέβαλον ζημίαν.
    Εάν δὲ μηδε ὁτιοῦν ἔχων ζῇ πολυτελῶς,
    Τῷ δημιῳ παρέδωκαν αὐτον. Ηράκλεις.
    ΟΥκ ἐνδέχεται γὰρ ζῇν ἂνευ κακοῦ τινὸς
    Τοῦτον. συνίης; ἀλλ’ ἀναγκαίως ἔχει
    Ηλοποδυτεῖν τὰς νύκτας, ἢ τοιχωρυχεῖν,
    Η τῶν ποιουντων ταῦτα κοινωνεῖν τισιν.
    Η συκοφαντεῖν κατ’ ἀγορὰν, ἢ μαρτυρεῖν
    Ψευδῆ, τοιοῦτων ἐκκαθαίρομεν γενος.
    Ορθῶς γε νὴ Δί’, ἀλλὰ δὴ τί τοῦτ’ ἐμοί;
    Ορῶμεν ὀψωνοῦνθ’ ἑκάστης ἡμέρας,
    ΟΥχι μετριως βέλτιστέ σ’, ἀλλ’ ὑπερηφάνως.
    ΟΥκ ἔστιν ἰχθυηρὸν ὑπὸ σοῦ μεταλαβεῖν.
    Συνηκας ἡμῶν εἰς τὰ λάχανα την πόλιν,
    Περὶ τῶν σελινων μαχόμεθ’ ὥσπερ Ισθμίοις.
    Λαγώς τις εἰσελήλυθ’. ευθὺς ἥρπακας.
    Πέρδικα δ’ ἢ κιχλην; καὶ νὴ Δί’ οὐκ ἔτι
    Εστιν δἰ ὑμᾶς οὐδὲ πετομενην ἰδεῖν,
    Τὸν ξενικὸν οἶνον ἐπιτετίμηκας πολύ.

Thus in the version of Dalechampius:

    A. _Talis istic lex est, ô vir optime,_
    _Corinthiis: si quem obsonantem semper_
    _Splendidiùs aspexerint, illum ut interrogent_
    _Unde vivat, quidnam agat: quòd si facultates illi sunt_
    _Quarum ad eum sumptum reditus sufficiat,_
    _Eo vitæ luxu permittunt frui:_
    _Sin amplius impendat quàm pro re sua,_
    _Ne id porrò faciat interdicitur._
    _Si non pareat, mulctâ quidem plectitur._
    _Si sumptuosè vivit qui nihil prorsus habet,_
    _Traditur puniendus carnifici._

    B. _Proh Hercules._

    A. _Quod enim scias, fieri minimè potest_
    _Ut qui eo est ingenio, non vivat improbè: itaque necessum_
    _Vel noctu grassantem obvios spoliare, vel effractarium, parietem
      suffodere,_
    _Vel his se furibus adjungere socium,_
    _Aut delatorem et quadruplatorem esse in foro: aut falsum_
    _Testari: à talium hominum genere purgatur civitas._

    B. _Rectè, per Jovem: sed ad me quid hoc attinet?_

    A. _Nos te videmus obsonantem quotidie_
    _Haud mediocriter, vir optime, sed fastuosè, et magnificè,_
    _Ne pisciculum quidem habere licet caussâ tuâ:_
    _Cives nostros commisisti, pugnaturos de oleribus:_
    _De apio dimicamus tanquam in Isthmiis._
    _Si lepus accessit, eum extemplo rapis._
    _Perdicem, ac turdum ne volantem quidem_
    _Propter vos, ita me Juppiter amet, nobis jam videre licet,_
    _Peregrini multùm auxistis vini pretium._

[44] It is to be regretted that Mr. Cumberland had not either published
the original fragments along with his translations, or given special
references to the authors from whom he took them, and the particular
part of their works where they were to be found. The reader who wishes
to compare the translations with the originals, will have some trouble
in searching for them at random in the works of Athenæus, Clemens
Alexandrinus, Stobæus, and others.

[45] C’est en quoi consiste le grand art de la Poësie, de dire figurément
presque tout ce qu’elle dit. _Rapin. Reflex. sur la Poëtique en général._
§ 29.

[46] “Quand il s’agit de représenter dans une autre langue les choses,
les pensées, les expressions, les tours, les tons d’un ouvrage; les
choses telles qu’elles sont sans rien ajouter, ni retrancher, ni
déplacer; les pensées dans leurs couleurs, leurs degrés, leurs nuances;
les tours, qui donnent le feu, l’esprit, et la vie au discours; les
expressions naturelles, figurées, fortes, riches, gracieuses, délicates,
&c. le tout d’après un modele qui commande durement, et qui veut qu’on
lui obéisse d’un air aisé; il faut, sinon autant de génie, du moins
autant de gout pour bien traduire, que pour composer. Peut-être même
en faut il davantage. L’auteur qui compose, conduit seulement par une
sorte d’instinct toujours libre, et par sa matiere qui lui présente des
idées, qu’il peut accepter ou rejetter à son gré, est maitre absolu
de ses pensées et de ses expressions: si la pensée ne lui convient
pas, ou si l’expression ne convient pas à la pensée, il peut rejetter
l’une et l’autre; _quæ desperat tractata nitescere posse, relinquit_.
Le traducteur n’est maitre de rien; il est obligé de suivre partout
son auteur, et de se plier à toutes ses variations avec une souplesse
infinie. Qu’on en juge par la variété des tons qui se trouvent
nécessairement dans un même sujet, et à plus forte raison dans un même
genre.——Quelle idée donc ne doit-on pas avoir d’une traduction faite avec
succès?”—_Batteux de la construction Oratoire_, par. 2.

[47] ΓΝ. Τι τοῦτο; παιεις ω Τιμων; μαρτυρομαι· ω Ηρακλεις· ιου, ιου.
Προκαλοῦμαι σε τραυματος εις Αρειον παγον· Τιμ. Και μεν αν γε μακρον
επιβραδυνης, φονον ταχα προκεκληση με. _Lucian_, _Timon_.

[48] Και ὅλως πανσοφον τι χρημα, και πανταχοθεν ακριβες, και ποικιλως
εντελες· οιμωξεται τοιγαρουν ουκ εις μακραν χρηστος ων. _Lucian_, _Timon_.

[49] Αντι του τεως Πυρριου, η Δρομωνος, η Τιβιου, Μεγακλης, Μεγαβυζος,
η Πρωταρχος μετονομασθεις, τους ματην κεχηνοτας εκεινους εις αλληλους
αποβλεποντας καταλιπων, &c. _Lucian_, _Timon_.

[50] The following apology made by D’Ablancourt of his own version of
Tacitus, contains, however, many just observations; from which, with a
proper abatement of that extreme liberty for which he contends, every
translator may derive much advantage.

Of Tacitus he thus remarks: “Comme il considere souvent les choses par
quelque biais étranger, il laisse quelquefois ses narrations imparfaites,
ce qui engendre de l’obscurité dans ses ouvrages, outre la multitude des
fautes qui s’y rencontrent, et le peu de lumière qui nous reste de la
plupart des choses qui y sont traitées. Il ne faut donc pas s’étonner
s’il est si difficile à traduire, puisqu’il est même difficile à
entendre. D’ailleurs il a accoutumé de méler dans une même période, et
quelquefois dans une même expression diverses pensées qui ne tiennent
point l’une à l’autre, et dont il faut perdre une partie, comme dans
les ouvrages qu’on polit, pour pouvoir exprimer le reste sans choquer
les délicatesses de notre langue, et la justesse du raisonnement. Car
on n’a pas le même respect pour mon François que pour son Latin; et
l’on ne me pardonneroit pas des choses, qu’on admire souvent chez lui,
et s’il faut ainsi dire, qu’on revere. Par tout ailleurs je l’ai suivi
pas à pas, et plutôt en esclave qu’en compagnon; quoique peut-être je
me pusse donner plus de liberté, puisque je ne traduis pas un passage,
mais un livre, de qui toutes les parties doivent être unies ensemble,
et comme fondues en un même corps. D’ailleurs, la diversité qui se
trouve dans les langues est si grande, tant pour la construction et la
forme des périodes, que pour les figures et les autres ornemens, qu’il
faut à touts coups changer d’air et de visage, si l’on ne veut faire un
corps monstrueux, tel que celui des traductions ordinaires, qui sont ou
mortes et languissantes, ou confuses et embrouillées, sans aucun ordre
ni agrément. Il faut donc prendre garde qu’on ne fasse perdre la grace
à son auteur par trop de scrupule, et que de peur de lui manquer de
foi en quelque chose, on ne lui soit infidèle en tout: principalement,
quand on fait un ouvrage qui doit tenir lieu de l’original, et qu’on ne
travaille pas pour faire entendre aux jeunes gens le Grec ou le Latin.
Car on fait que les expressions hardies ne sont point exactes, parce que
la justesse est ennemie de la grandeur, comme il se voit dans la peinture
et dans l’ecriture; mais la hardiesse du trait en supplée le défaut,
et elles sont trouvées plus belles de la sorte, que si elles étoient
plus régulières. D’ailleurs il est difficile d’etre bien exact dans la
traduction d’un auteur qui ne l’est point. Souvent on est contraint
d’ajouter quelque chose à sa pensée pour l’eclaircir; quelquefois
il faut en retrancher une partie pour donner jour à tout le reste.
Cependant, cela fait que les meilleures traductions paroissent les moins
fideles; et un critique de notre tems a remarqué deux mille fautes dans
le Plutarque d’Amyot, et un autre presqu’autant dans les traductions
d’Erasme; peut-être pour ne pas savoir que la diversité des langues et
des styles oblige à des traits tout differens, _parce que l’Eloquence est
une chose si delicate, qu’il ne faut quelquefois qu’une syllabe pour la
corrompre_. Car du reste, il n’y a point d’apparence que deux si grands
hommes se soient abusés en tant de lieux, quoiqu’il ne soit pas étrange
qu’on se puisse abuser en quelque endroit. Mais tout le monde n’est pas
capable de juger d’une traduction, quoique tout le monde s’en attribuë la
connoissance; et ici comme ailleurs, la maxime d’Aristote devroit servir
de regle, qu’il faut croire chacun en son art.”

[51] A striking resemblance to this beautiful apostrophe “Ahi padri
irragionevoli,” is found in the beginning of Moncrif’s _Romance d’Alexis
et Alis_, a ballad which the French justly consider as a model of
tenderness and elegant simplicity.

    Pourquoi rompre leur mariage,
      Mechans parens?
    Ils auroient fait si bon menage
      A tous momens!
    Que sert d’avoir bagues et dentelle
      Pour se parer?
    Ah! la richesse la plus belle
      Est de s’aimer.

    Quand on a commencé la vie
      Disant ainsi:
    Oui, vous serez toujours ma mie,
      Vous mon ami:
    Quand l’age augmente encor l’envie
      De s’entreunir,
    Qu’avec un autre on nous marie
      Vaut mieux mourir.

[52]

    Otium divos rogat in patenti
    Prensus Ægeo, simul atra nubes
    Condidit Lunam, neque certa fulgent
          Sidera nautis.

    Otium bello furiosa Thrace,
    Otium Medi pharetrâ decori,
    Grosphe, non gemmis, neque purpurâ ve-
          nale, nec auro.

    Non enim gazæ, neque Consularis
    Summovet lictor miseros tumultus
    Mentis, et curas laqueata circum
          Tecta volantes.

    Vivitur parvo bene, cui paternum
    Splendet in mensâ tenui salinum:
    Nec leves somnos Timor aut Cupido
          Sordidus aufert.

    Quid brevi fortes jaculamur ævo
    Multa? quid terras alio calentes
    Sole mutamus? Patriæ quis exul,
          Se quoque fugit?

    Scandit æratas vitiosa naves
    Cura, nec turmas equitum relinquit,
    Ocyor cervis, et agente nimbos
          Ocyor Euro.

    Lætus in præsens animus, quod ultra est
    Oderit curare; et amara lento
    Temperat risu. Nihil est ab omni
          Parte beatum.

    Abstulit clarum cita mors Achillem:
    Longa Tithonum minuit senectus:
    Et mihi forsan, tibi quod negârit,
          Porriget hora.

    Te greges centum, Siculæque circum
    Mugiunt vaccæ: tibi tollit hinnitum
    Apta quadrigis equa: te bis Afro
          Murice tinctæ.

    Vestiunt lanæ: mihi parva rura, et
    Spiritum Graiæ tenuem Camœnæ
    Parca non mendax dedit, et malignum
          Spernere vulgus.

                        HOR. _Od. 2, 16._

[53] There is, however, a very common mistake of translators from the
French into English, proceeding either from ignorance, or inattention
to the general construction of the two languages. In narrative, or the
description of past actions, the French often use the present tense
for the preterite: _Deux jeunes nobles Mexicains jettent leurs armes,
et viennent à lui comme déserteurs. Ils mettent un genouil à terre
dans la posture des supplians; ils le saisissent, et s’élancent de la
platforme.—Cortez s’en débarasse, et se retient à la balustrade. Les deux
jeunes nobles périssent sans avoir exécuté leur généreuse entreprise._
Let us observe the aukward effect of a similar use of the present tense
in English. “Two young Mexicans of noble birth throw away their arms and
come to him as deserters. They kneel in the posture of suppliants; they
seise him, and throw themselves from the platform.—Cortez disengages
himself from their grasp, and keeps hold of the ballustrade. The noble
Mexicans perish without accomplishing their generous design.” In like
manner, the use of the present for the past tense is very common
in Greek, and we frequently remark the same impropriety in English
translations from that language. “After the death of Darius, and the
accession of Artaxerxes, Tissaphernes accuses Cyrus to his brother of
treason: Artaxerxes gives credit to the accusation, and orders Cyrus
to be apprehended, with a design to put him to death; but his mother
having saved him by her intercession, sends him back to his government.”
Spelman’s _Xenophon_. In the original, these verbs are put in the present
tense, διαβαλλει, πειθεται, συλλαμβανει, αποπεμπει. But this use of the
present tense in narrative is contrary to the genius of the English
language. The poets have assumed it; and in them it is allowable, because
it is their object to paint scenes as present to the eye; _ut pictura
poesis_; but all that a prose narrative can pretend to, is an animated
description of things past: if it goes any farther, it encroaches on the
department of poetry. In one way, however, this use of the present tense
is found in the best English historians, namely, in the summary heads,
or contents of chapters. “Lambert Simnel invades England.—Perkin Warbeck
is avowed by the Duchess of Burgundy—he returns to Scotland—he is taken
prisoner—and executed.” Hume. But it is by an ellipsis that the present
tense comes to be thus used. The sentence at large would stand thus.
“_This chapter relates how_ Lambert Simnel invades England, _how_ Perkin
Warbeck is avowed by the Duchess of Burgundy,” &c.

[54] It is surprising that this fault should meet even with approbation
from so judicious a critic as Denham. In the preface to his translation
of the second book of the _Æneid_ he says: “As speech is the apparel of
our thoughts, so there are certain garbs and modes of speaking which vary
with the times; the fashion of our clothes being not more subject to
alteration, than that of our speech: and this I think Tacitus means by
that which he calls _Sermonem temporis istius auribus accommodatum_, the
delight of change being as due to the curiosity of the ear as of the eye:
and therefore, if Virgil must needs speak English, it were fit he should
speak, not only _as a man of this nation, but as a man of this age_.” The
translator’s opinion is exemplified in his practice.

    _Infandum, Regina, jubes renovare dolorem._

    “_Madam_, when you command us to review
    Our fate, you make our old wounds bleed anew.”

Of such translation it may with truth be said, in the words of Francklin,

    Thus Greece and Rome, in modern dress array’d,
    Is but antiquity in masquerade.

[55] The modern air of the following sentence is, however, not
displeasing: Antipho asks Cherea, where he has bespoke supper; he
answers, _Apud libertum Discum_, “At Discus the freedman’s.” Echard, with
a happy familiarity, says, “At old Harry Platter’s.” _Ter. Eun._ act 3,
sc. 5.

[56] Alluding to the French Admiral’s ship _Le Soleil Royal_, beaten and
disabled by Russell.

[57] The translation published by Motteux declares in the title-page,
that it is the work of several hands; but as of these Mr. Motteux was
the principal, and revised and corrected the parts that were translated
by others, which indeed we have no means of discriminating from his own,
I shall, in the following comparison, speak of him as the author of the
whole work.

[58] The only French translation of _Don Quixote_ I have ever seen, is
that to which is subjoined a continuation of the Knight’s adventures,
in two supplemental volumes, by Le Sage. This translation has undergone
numberless editions, and is therefore, I presume, the best; perhaps
indeed the only one, except a very old version, which is mentioned in the
preface, as being quite literal, and very antiquated in its style. It
is therefore to be presumed, that when Jarvis accuses Motteux of having
taken his version entirely from the French, he refers to that translation
above mentioned to which Le Sage has given a supplement. If this be
the case, we may confidently affirm, that Jarvis has done Motteux the
greatest injustice. On comparing his translation with the French, there
is a discrepancy so absolute and universal, that there does not arise the
smallest suspicion that he had ever seen that version. Let any passage be
compared _ad aperturam libri_; as, for example, the following:

“De simples huttes tenoient lieu de maisons, et de palais aux habitants
de la terre; les arbes se defaisant d’eux-memes de leurs écorces,
leur fournissoient de quoi couvrir leurs cabanes, et se garantir de
l’intempérie des saisons.”

“The tough and strenuous cork-trees did of themselves, and without other
art than their native liberality, dismiss and impart their broad, light
bark, which served to cover those lowly huts, propped up with rough-hewn
stakes, that were first built as a shelter against the inclemencies of
the air.”—MOTTEUX.

“La beaute n’étoit point un avantage dangereux aux jeunes filles; elles
alloient librement partout, etalant sans artifice et sans dessein tous
les présents que leur avoit fait la Nature, sans se cacher davantage,
qu’autant que l’honnêteté commune à tous les siecles l’a toujours
demandé.”

“Then was the time, when innocent beautiful young shepherdesses
went tripping over the hills and vales, their lovely hair sometimes
plaited, sometimes loose and flowing, clad in no other vestment but
what was necessary to cover decently what modesty would always have
concealed.”—MOTTEUX.

It will not, I believe, be asserted, that this version of Motteux bears
any traces of being copied from the French, which is quite licentious and
paraphrastical. But when we subjoin the original, we shall perceive, that
he has given a very just and easy translation of the Spanish.

_Los valientes alcornoques despedian de sí sin otro artificio que el de
su cortesia, sus anchas y livianas cortezas, sin que se commençaron á
cubrir las casas, sobre rusticas, estacas sustentadas, no mas que para
defensa de las inclemencias del cielo._

_Entonces sí, que andaban las simples y hermosas zagalejas de valle en
valle, y de otero en otero, en trenza y en cabello, sin mas vestidos de
aquellos que eran menester para cubrir honestamente lo que la honestidad
quiere._

[59] Perhaps a parody was here intended of the famous epitaph of
Simonides, on the brave Spartans who fell at Thermopylæ:

    Ω ξειν, αγγειλον Λακεδαιμονιοις, οτι τηδε
    Κειμεθα, τοις κεινων ρημασι πειθομενοι.

“O stranger, carry back the news to Lacedemon, that we died here to prove
our obedience to her laws.” This, it will be observed, may be translated,
or at least closely imitated, in the very words of Cervantes; _diras—que
su caballero murio por acometer cosas, que le hiciesen digno de poder
llamarse suyo_.

[60] One expression is omitted which is a little too gross.

[61] Thus it stands in all the editions by the Royal Academy of Madrid;
though in Lord Carteret’s edition the latter part of the proverb is given
thus, apparently with more propriety: _del mal que le viene no se enoje_.

[62] _Mas ligera que un alcotan_ is more literally translated by Smollet
than by Motteux; but if Smollet piqued himself on fidelity, why was
_Cordobes o Mexicano_ omitted?

[63] Smollet has here mistaken the sense of the original, _como si ellos
tuvieran la culpa del maleficio_: She did not blame the hair for being
guilty of the transgression or offence, but for being the cause of the
Moor’s transgression, or, as Motteux has properly translated it, “this
affront.” In another part of the same chapter, Smollet has likewise
mistaken the sense of the original. When the boy remarks, that the Moors
don’t observe much form or ceremony in their judicial trials, Don Quixote
contradicts him, and tells him there must always be a regular process and
examination of evidence to prove matters of fact, “_para sacar una verdad
en limpio menester son muchas pruebas y repruebas_.” Smollet applies this
observation of the Knight to the boy’s long-winded story, and translates
the passage, “There is not so much proof and counter proof required to
bring truth to light.” In both these passages Smollet has departed from
his prototype, Jarvis.

[64] I add this qualification not without reason, as I intend afterwards
to give an example of a species of florid writing which is difficult to
be translated, because its meaning cannot be apprehended with precision.

[65] The following translation of these verses by Parnell, is at once
a proof that this excellent poet felt the characteristic merit of the
original, and that he was unable completely to attain it.

    My change arrives; the change I meet
      Before I thought it nigh;
    My spring, my years of pleasure fleet,
      And all their beauties die.
    In age I search, and only find
      A poor unfruitful gain,
    Grave wisdom stalking slow behind,
      Oppress’d with loads of pain.

    My ignorance could once beguile,
      And fancied joys inspire;
    My errors cherish’d hope to smile
      On newly born desire.
    But now experience shews the bliss
      For which I fondly sought,
    Not worth the long impatient wish
      And ardour of the thought.

    My youth met fortune fair array’d,
      In all her pomp she shone,
    And might perhaps have well essay’d
      To make her gifts my own.
    But when I saw the blessings show’r
      On some unworthy mind,
    I left the chace, and own’d the power
      Was justly painted blind.

    I pass’d the glories which adorn
      The splendid courts of kings,
    And while the persons mov’d my scorn,
      I rose to scorn the things.

In this translation, which has the merit of faithfully transfusing
the sense of the original, with a great portion of its simplicity of
expression, the following couplet is a very faulty deviation from that
character of the style.

    My errors cherish’d hope to smile
      On newly born desire.

[66] The attempt, however, has been made. In a little volume, intitled
_Prolusiones Poeticæ_, by the Reverend T. Bancroft, printed at Chester
1788, is a version of the _Fidicinis et Philomelæ certamen_, which
will please every reader of taste who forbears to compare it with the
original; and in the Poems of Pattison, the ingenious author of the
_Epistle of Abelard to Eloisa_, is a fable, intitled, the _Nightingale
and Shepherd_, imitated from Strada. But both these performances serve
only to convince us, that a just translation of that composition is a
thing almost impossible.

[67] The occasional blemishes, however, of a good writer, are a fair
subject of castigation; and a travesty or burlesque parody of them will
please, from the justness of the satire: As the following ludicrous
version of a passage in the 5th _Æneid_, which is among the few examples
of false taste in the chastest of the Latin Poets:

    ——_Oculos telumque tetendit._

    ——He cock’d his eye and gun.

[68]

    To be, or not to be, that is the question:—
    Whether ’tis better in the mind to suffer
    The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune;
    Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
    And by opposing end them? To die;—to sleep;
    No more?—And by a sleep, to say we end
    The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks
    That flesh is heir to;—’tis a consummation
    Devoutly to be wish’d. To die;—to sleep;—
    To sleep! perchance to dream;—ay, there’s the rub;
    For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
    When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
    Must give us pause: There’s the respect,
    That makes calamity of so long life:
    For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
    The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
    The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay,
    The insolence of office, and the spurns
    That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
    When he himself might his quietus make
    With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
    To groan and sweat under a weary life;
    But that the dread of something after death—
    That undiscover’d country, from whose bourne
    No traveller returns—puzzles the will;
    And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
    Than fly to others that we know not of?
    Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, &c.

                             _Hamlet_, act 3, sc. 1.

[69] Other ideas superadded by the translator, are,

    Que suis-je——Qui m’arrête?——
    On nous menace, on dit que cette courte vie, &c.
    ——Affreuse éternité!
    Tout cœur à ton seul nom se glace épouvanté——
    A des amis ingrats qui detournent la vue——

In the _Essay on the Writings and Genius of Shakespeare_, which is one
of the best pieces of criticism in the English language, the reader will
find many examples of similar misrepresentation and wilful debasement of
our great dramatic poet, in the pretended translations of Voltaire.

[70] Pour faire connoitre l’esprit de ce poëme, unique en son genre, il
faut retrancher les trois quarts de tout passage qu’on veut traduire; car
ce _Butler_ ne finit jamais. J’ai donc réduit à environ quatre-vingt vers
les quatre cent premiers vers d’Hudibras, pour éviter la prolixité. _Mel.
Philos. par Voltaire, Oeuv. tom. 15. Ed. de Genève._ 4to.

[71] I have lately learnt, that the author of this translation was
Colonel Townley, an English gentleman who had been educated in France,
and long in the French service, and who thus had acquired a most intimate
knowledge of both languages.

[72] James Edgar, Esq., Commissioner of the Customs, Edinburgh.




INDEX


    A

    Ablancourt, his translations excellent, 120

    ——, his just observations on translation, 120

    Adrian, his _Address to his Soul_, 126

    Alembert, D’, quoted, 13

    ——, his translations from Tacitus, 15 _et seq._ 34

    _Alis et Alexis_, romance, 129

    Aldrich, Dr., his translation of a humorous song, 202

    Ambiguous expressions, how to be translated, 17

    Ancient translation, few specimens of, existing at present, 4

    Anguillara, beautiful passage from his translation of Ovid’s
    _Metamorphoses_, 128

    _Anthologia_, translation of an epigram from, by Webb, 88

    Aratus, _Phenomena_ of, translated by Cicero, 2

    Arias Montanus, his version of the Scriptures, 67

    Atterbury, his translation of Horace’s dialogue with Lydia, 85


    B

    Barnaby, _Ebrii Barnabæ Itinerarium_, 202

    Batteux, Abbé, remarks on the art of translation, 3, 4, 112

    Beattie, Dr., his remark on a passage of Dryden, 58; his remark
    on Castalio, 66

    Beattie, J. H., his translation of Pope’s _Messiah_ quoted, 90

    Bible, translations of, 64 _et seq._ _See_ Castalio, Arias
    Montanus

    Bourne, Vincent, his translation of _Colin and Lucy_, 23; of
    _William and Margaret_, 80; of _Chloe hunting_, 82

    Brown, Thomas, his translations from Lucian, 118

    Buchanan, his version of the Psalms, 145

    Burlesque translation, 197 _et seq._

    Butler. _See_ _Hudibras_


    C

    Campbell, Dr., preliminary dissertation to a new translation of
    the Gospels, 3, cited 64 _et seq._

    Casaubon, his translation of Adrian’s _Address to his Soul_, 126

    Castalio, his version of the Scriptures, 65

    Cervantes. _See_ _Don Quixote_

    Chaulieu, his beautiful _Ode on Fontenai_ quoted, 181

    Chevy-chace, whimsical translation of, 203

    Cicero had cultivated the art of translation, 1; translated
    Plato’s _Timæus_, Xenophon’s _Œconomics_, and the _Phenomena_
    of Aratus, 2

    ——, epistles of, translated by Melmoth, 17, 28, 32

    Claudian, translation from, by Hughes, 89

    _Colin and Lucy_, translated by Bourne, 23; by Le Mierre, _see_
    Appendix, No. 1

    Colloquial phrases, 135 _et seq._

    Congreve, translation from Horace cited, 57

    Cotton, his translation of Montaigne cited, 138; his Virgil
    travesty, 201

    Cowley, translation from Horace cited, 56

    Cumberland, Mr., his excellent translations of fragments of the
    ancient Greek dramatists, 90 _et seq._

    Cunighius, his translation of the _Iliad_ cited, 49, 55


    D

    Definition or description of a good translation, 8

    Delille, or De Lille, his opinion as to the liberty allowed in
    poetical translation, 46; his translation of the _Georgics_
    cited, 61, 73

    Denham, his opinion of the liberty allowed in translating
    poetry, 35; his compliment to Fanshaw, 43

    Descriptions, containing a series of minute distinctions,
    extremely difficult to be translated, 188

    Diphilus, fragment of, translated by Mr. Cumberland, 91

    _Don Quixote_, difficulty of translating that romance, 150;
    comparison of the translations of, by Motteux and Smollet, 151
    _et seq._

    Dryden improved poetical translation, 44; his translation of
    Lucian’s dialogues, 29, 118; his translation of Virgil cited,
    30, 57, 58, 72; his translation of Du Fresnoy on painting, 59,
    110; his translations from Horace, 59, 125; his translation of
    Tacitus, 70; translation from Ovid’s _Metamorphoses_, 76

    Duclos, a just observation of, 14

    Du Fresnoy’s _Art of Painting_ admirably translated by Mr.
    Mason, 27; translation of, by Dryden, 59, 110


    E

    Echard, his translation of Plautus cited, 77, 143 _et seq._

    ——, his translation of Terence cited, 138, 140, 143 _et seq._

    Ellipsis more freely admitted in Latin than in English, 105

    Epigrams sometimes incapable of translation, 147

    Epigram from Martial well translated, 53

    _Epistolæ obscurorum virorum_, 68

    Epithets used by Homer, sometimes mere expletives, 31


    F

    Fanshaw praised as a translator by Denham, 43; his translation
    of _Pastor Fido_ cited, 44

    Fenelon’s _Telemachus_, 108

    Festus _de verborum significatione_, 13

    Florid writing, 179, 192

    Folard, his commentary on Polybius erroneous from his ignorance
    of the Greek language, 11

    Fontaine, La, his character as a fabulist drawn by Marmontel,
    185

    ——, his fables cited, 184, 188

    Fontaines, Abbé des, his translation of Virgil, 69

    Fontenelle, his translation of Adrian’s _Address to his Soul_,
    127

    Fresnoy. _See_ Du Fresnoy.


    G

    Girard, _Synonymes François_, 14

    Gordon’s Tacitus cited, 19, 104; his injudicious imitation of
    the Latin construction, 19, 104

    Greek language admits of inversions which are inconsistent with
    the genius of the English, 104

    Guischardt has demonstrated the errors in Folard’s commentary
    on Polybius, 11


    H

    Hobbes, his translation of Homer cited, 50, 71, 146

    Hogæus, _Paradisus Amissus Miltoni_ cited, 61

    Holland’s translation of Pliny cited, 191

    Homer, his epithets frequently mere expletives, 32

    Homer, characteristics of his style, 69

    ——, Pope’s translation of the _Iliad_ cited, 25, 31, 46 _et
    seq._, 60, 71, 73 (_see_ Cunighius, Hobbes); Mr. Pope departs
    sometimes from the character of Homer’s style, 69; translation
    of the _Odyssey_ cited, 146; Macpherson’s Homer cited, 105, 108

    Horace, translations from, cited. _Vide_ Jonson, Roscommon,
    Dryden, Congreve, Nivernois, Hughes

    _Hudibras_, remarkable combination of wit and humour in that
    poem, 213; Voltaire has attempted to translate some passages of
    that poem, 214 _et seq._; excellent French translation of that
    poem cited, 215

    Hughes’s translation from Claudian cited, 89; ditto from
    Horace, 130


    I

    Ideas superadded to the original by the translator—examples of,
    from Bourne, 23; from Pope’s _Homer_, 25; from his imitations
    of Horace, 27; from Johnston’s version of the Psalms, 25; from
    Mason’s _Du Fresnoy on Painting_, 27; from Malherbe, 28; from
    Melmoth’s _Cicero’s Epistles_, 27; from Dryden’s _Lucian_, 29

    Ideas retrenched from the original by the translator—examples
    of, from Dryden’s _Virgil_, 30; from Pope’s _Iliad_, 31; from
    Melmoth’s _Cicero’s Epistles_, 32, 33

    The liberty of adding to or retrenching from the ideas of
    the original, is more allowable in poetical than in prose
    translation, 35; and in lyric poetry more than any other, 123

    Idiomatic phrases, how to be translated, 135; the translation
    is perfect, when corresponding idioms are employed, 137;
    examples from Cotton’s translation of Montaigne, from Echard,
    Sterne, 138 _et seq._; licentiousness in the translation of
    idioms, 140; examples, 141; translator’s resource when no
    corresponding idioms are to be found, 147

    _Iliad._ _See_ Homer

    Isidorus Hispalensis, _Origines_, 13


    J

    Jonson, Ben, translation from Horace, 36 _et seq._

    Johnston, Arthur, his translation of the Psalms, 25, 144

    Jortin, Dr., translation from Simonides, 85

    Juvenal, translation of, by Holiday cited, 38


    L

    Latin language admits of a brevity of expression which
    cannot be successfully imitated in English, 96; it admits of
    inversions, which are inconsistent with the genius of the
    English, 104; admits of ellipsis more freely than the English,
    105

    L’Estrange, his translations from Seneca cited, 78

    Lowth, Dr., his imitation of an ode of Horace, 124

    Lucan. _See_ May, Rowe.

    _Lucian_, Francklin’s translation of, cited, 118 _et seq._;
    Dryden’s, Brown’s, &c., 117 _et seq._


    M

    Macpherson’s translation of the _Iliad_, 105, 108

    Malherbe cited, 28

    Markham, Dr., his imitation of Simonides, 87

    Mason’s translation of Du Fresnoy’s _Art of Painting_, 27

    May, his translation of Lucan, 39 _et seq._; compared with
    Rowe’s, 41

    Melmoth, one of the best of the English translators, 32, 114
    _et seq._; his translation of Cicero’s _Epistles_ cited, 17,
    28, 32, 96, 98, 114, 147; his translation of Pliny’s _Epistles_
    cited, 33, 97, 116, 117, 147; his unjust censure of a passage
    in Mr. Pope’s version of the _Iliad_, 31

    Milton, his translation of Horace’s _Ode to Pyrrha_, 43, App.
    No. 2

    ——, a passage from his tractate on education difficult to be
    translated with corresponding simplicity, 179; his _Paradise
    Lost_ cited, 177 (_see_ Hogæus); his _Comus_ cited, 178

    Moncrif, his ballad of _Alexis et Alis_, 129

    Montaigne, Cotton’s translation of, cited, 138

    Motteux, his translation of _Don Quixote_ compared with that of
    Smollet, 151 _et seq._; his translation of Rabelais, 222

    Murphy, his translation of Tacitus cited, 17, 19, 99 _et seq._


    N

    _Naïveté_, in what it consists, 183, 185; the fables of Phædrus
    are remarkable for this character, 183; as are those of La
    Fontaine, 184, 185; _naïveté_ of particular phrases very
    difficult to be imitated in a translation, 149

    Nivernois, Duc de, his translation of Horace’s dialogue with
    Lydia, 83

    Nonius, _de Proprietate Sermonum_, 13


    O

    Ovid. _See_ Sandys, Dryden, Anguillara

    Ozell, his edition of Urquhart and Motteux translation of
    Rabelais, 223


    P

    Paraphrase, examples of, as distinguished from translation,
    124, 127, 128 _et seq._

    Parnell, his translation of Chaulieu’s verses on Fontenai, 181

    Phædrus, his fables cited, 183

    Pitcairne, Dr., his Latin poetry characterised, 143

    Pitt, eminent as a translator, 206

    Plautus. _See_ Echard

    Pliny the Elder, his description of the Nightingale, 190;
    analysis of a chapter of his _Natural History_, 190

    Pliny the Younger, his _Epistles_. _See_ Melmoth

    Poem, whether it can be well translated into prose, ch. 8

    Poetical translation, liberty allowed to it, 35 _et seq._

    ——, progress of poetical translation in England, 36 _et seq._

    Poetry, characteristics essential to it, 108; didactic poetry
    is the most capable of a prose translation, 109; lyric poetry
    incapable of a prose translation, 111; lyric poetry admits of
    the greatest liberty in translation, 123

    Polybius erroneously understood by Folard, 10

    Pope. _See_ Homer. His translation of Sappho’s _Epistle to
    Phaon_ cited, 61; his _Dying Christian to his Soul_, 127

    Popma, Ausonius, _de Differentiis Verborum_, 13

    Prior, his _Chloe Hunting_ translated by Bourne, 82


    Q

    Quinctilian recommends the practice of translation, 1

    _Quixote, Don_, comparison of Motteux’s translation of, with
    Smollet’s, 151 _et seq._


    R

    Rabelais admirably translated by Urquhart and Motteux, ch. 15

    Roscommon’s Essay on translated verse, 45; a precept of
    his, with regard to poetical translation, controverted, 45;
    translation from Horace cited, 55

    Rousseau, _Devin de Village_ cited, 79; his translations from
    Tacitus cited, 103

    Rowe’s Lucan cited, 41


    S

    Sandys, his character as a translator of poetry, 42; his
    translation of Ovid cited, 42

    Scarron’s burlesque translation of Virgil cited, 200

    Seneca. _See_ L’Estrange

    Shakespeare, translations from, by Voltaire, 209 _et seq._;
    his phraseology difficult to be imitated in a translation, 177,
    178

    Simonides, fragment of, translated by Jortin, 85; imitated by
    Dr. Markham, 87

    Simplicity of thought and expression difficult to be imitated
    in a translation, 179

    Smart’s prose translation of Horace, 111

    Spelman’s _Xenophon_ cited, 136

    Sterne’s _Slawkenbergius’s Tale_ cited, 139

    Strada’s _Contest of the Musician and Nightingale_, extreme
    difficulty of translating it, 187

    Style and manner of the original to be imitated in the
    translation, 63 _et seq._; a just taste requisite for the
    discernment of those characters, 74; limitations of the rule
    regarding the imitation of style, 96 _et seq._


    T

    Tacitus. _See_ D’Ablancourt, D’Alembert, Gordon, Murphy,
    Dryden, Rousseau. Difficulty of translating that author, 120

    _Telemachus_, a poem in prose, 108

    Terence. _See_ Echard

    Tickell’s ballad of _Lucy and Colin_, translated by Bourne, 23;
    translated by Le Mierre, Appendix, No. 1

    Timocles, fragment of, translated by Cumberland, 90

    Townley, Colonel, his translation of _Hudibras_, 218

    Translation, art of, very little cultivated, 1; ancient
    translations, few specimens of, existing, 2 _et seq._; reasons
    why the art is at a low ebb among the moderns, 5; description
    or definition of a good translation, 7, 8; laws of translation,
    9; first general law, “That the translation should give a
    complete transcript of the ideas of the original work,” 10 _et
    seq._; second general law, “The style and manner of writing
    in a translation should be of the same character with that
    of the original,” 63 _et seq._; specimens of good poetical
    translations, 80 _et seq._; third general rule, “A translation
    should have all the ease of original composition,” 112 _et
    seq._; a translator ought always to figure to himself in what
    manner the original author would have expressed himself, if he
    had written in the language of the translation, 107; licentious
    translation, 117; the best translators have shone in original
    composition of the same species, 206

    Travesty or burlesque translation, 197 _et seq._; Scarron’s and
    Cotton’s Virgil Travesty, 200, 202


    U

    Urquhart, Sir Thomas, his excellent translation of Rabelais, 222


    V

    Varro, _de Lingua Latina_, 13

    Virgil. _See_ Dryden, Delille, Fontaines. Example of false
    taste in a passage of Virgil, 199

    Voltaire, his remark on the Abbé des Fontaines’s translation of
    Virgil, 69; his translations from Shakespeare very faulty, 207;
    character of the wit of Voltaire, 212; he had no talent for
    humorous composition, 213 _et seq._; character of his novels,
    213


    W

    Warton, eminent as a poetical translator, 206

    Wollaston’s _Religion of Nature_, passage from, difficult to be
    translated, 180


    X

    Xenophon’s _Œconomics_ translated by Cicero, 1, 2; Spelman’s
    Xenophon cited, 136

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