[Footnote 104: Two small islands at the mouth of the Arno.]
We had marked one or two more pieces for transcription, but we deem it useless; for a diligent collation of Mr. Parsons's text with the literal translation we have given ad calcem will at once convince the reader of the faithfulness of the work. Of course, it would be absurd to expect that words were rendered for words. It is simply impossible. Again: there are words which cannot be rendered. We know the Italian language pretty well—and why shouldn't we?—yet we have never been able to find the Italian word corresponding with the English "home"; nor have twenty-three years of close and earnest study of the English language yet enabled us to find an English word corresponding with the Italian vagheggiare. We say, "He was lost in the contemplation of a picture:" the Italian will simply say, "Vagheggiava la pittura." Translate, if you can, "L'amante vagheggia la sua bella!" You can do it no more than the Italian can render with corresponding meaning the words, "Home! sweet home!"
In our opinion a too literal translation will not give us Dante; it will only give his words. Although we must admit that the meaning of the word, as it conveys the idea, must be scrupulously rendered as well as the idiom, yet it is evident that too great an anxiety in translating the word into that which bears the greatest resemblance to the original may lead into a misconception or misrepresentation of the author's idea. In an elaborate article in the Atlantic Monthly, of August, 1867, the word height, employed by Mr. Longfellow in his translation of Dante, (Purgat, xxviii. v. 106,) receives the preference over summit, employed by Cary. True, height is the literal rendition for altezza; yet Dante there employs altezza not in its literal meaning, which is one of measurement, but in that of a summit, or a top. A comparison with parallel cases in the Commedia will bear us out in our remark. We must not be understood as if we meant to prefer Cary to Longfellow. By no means: for the former gives us Cary's Dante, whereas the latter gives us, if we may be allowed the expression, Dante's Dante. Which remark, however, must not be taken as if we were disposed to endorse the fidelity of every line of the American translator. The very narrow limits to which he has confined himself often place him under the necessity of employing words which convey not the original's idea; while, on the other hand, often must he add words in order to fill up his line; for example,
"When he had said this, with his eyes distorted."
That his Dante never put there; why, it is a pleonasm.
While we do not like nor did ever like the freedom of Cary, nay, have felt indignant at the liberties he has taken with the text, we are amazed at the boldness with which Mr. Longfellow has endeavored to master his Procrustean difficulties; but we give preference to the work of Dr. Parsons, because his translation is easy (disinvolta, the Italians would call it) and yet faithful; it is poetical, and yet we challenge our readers to point to any idea which is not conveyed to the English mind in scrupulous fidelity to Dante's ideas. He sits in Alighieri's chair, and he is at home.
Were we requested by him who knew Italian only moderately as to the easiest method to understand and enjoy Dante, we would say: Read the text, collating it verse for verse with Longfellow; then read Parsons. Yet, to be candid, we hope no American scholar will form his idea of Dante's transcendental merit on the translation of Mr. Longfellow, who, it must be admitted, has done more meritorious work in behalf of Dante than the one hundred thousand and one who have written comments on him. But one feels a painful sensation in alighting from Dante's text on Longfellow's translation, whereas the transition from the perusal of the original to Parsons's causes no jerking in our soul, and the pleasure, decies repetita, never abates. To the Italian scholar Mr. Longfellow's translation will never prove satisfactory.
Lest our readers should think that we are blind admirers of Dr. Parsons, we will conclude this part of our paper with the remark that we wish different words were in a few occasions employed by him. Thus, for instance, the word, "in blackest letters," (Inf. c. iii, v. 10,) do not convey the full meaning of Dante's "parole di colore oscuro." Of course the doctor can easily defend his rendition (and we know he long pondered on the suitableness of the word) with the obvious remark that a scoundrel may be black without being an Abyssinian, hence his "blackest letters" must be taken in a moral sense; yet it requires an after-thought to understand it, whereas the word "oscuro" at once hints at something black in itself and dreadful in its forebodings. But what English word will convey the idea?
Our article, incomplete as it is, would yet appear more deficient were we not to give our readers a general idea of what the Divina Commedia is, what it proposes to convey to the reader's mind. Were we to form an idea of the nature of this poem from what has been written about it, we should call it a saddle. For there is no system, theological, philosophical, or political, the supporters whereof have not taken their proofs from Dante. According to some, Dante was a Catholic devotee; while others, especially in these our days, will represent him as the most determined and conscientious foe of everything Catholic, et sic de ceteris.