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]