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.