My dearest Johnny,—Now you may rest. Now I can give you joy of the period, of which I gave you hope in my last; the period of all your labours in my service.[590] But this I can foretell you also, that, if you persevere in serving your friends at this rate, your life is likely to be a life of labour. Yet persevere! Your rest will be the sweeter hereafter! In the meantime I wish you, if at any time you should find occasion for him, just such a friend as you have proved to me!
W. C.
PART THE THIRD.
Having now arrived at that period in the history of Cowper, when he had brought to a close his great and laborious undertaking, his version of Homer, we suspend for a moment the progress of the correspondence, to afford room for a few observations.
We have seen in many of the preceding letters, with what ardour of application and liveliness of hope he devoted himself to this favourite project of enriching the literature of his country with an English Homer, that might justly be esteemed a faithful yet free translation; a genuine and graceful representative of the justly admired original.
After five years of intense labour, from which nothing could withhold him, except the pressure of that unhappy malady which retarded his exertions for several months, he published his complete version in two quarto volumes, on the first of July, 1791, having inscribed the Iliad to his young noble kinsman, Earl Cowper, and the Odyssey to the dowager Countess Spencer—a lady for whose virtues he had long entertained a most cordial and affectionate veneration.
He had exerted no common powers of genius and of industry in this great enterprise, yet, we lament to say, he failed in satisfying the expectations of the public. Hayley assigns a reason for this failure, which we give in his own words. "Homer," he observes, "is so exquisitely beautiful in his own language, and he has been so long an idol in every literary mind, that any copy of him, which the best of modern poets can execute, must probably resemble in its effect the portrait of a graceful woman, painted by an excellent artist for her lover: the lover indeed will acknowledge great merit in the work, and think himself much indebted to the skill of such an artist, but he will never admit, as in truth he never can feel, that the best of resemblances exhibits all the grace that he discerns in the beloved original."
This illustration is ingenious and amusing, but we doubt its justness; because the painter may produce a correct and even a flattering likeness of the lover's mistress, though it is true that the lover himself will think otherwise. But where is the translator that can do justice to the merits of Homer? Who can exhibit his majestic simplicity, his sententious force, the lofty grandeur of his conceptions, and the sweet charm of his imagery, embellished with all the graces of a language never surpassed either in harmony or richness? The two competitors, who are alone entitled to be contrasted with each other, are Pope and Cowper. We pass over Ogilby, Chapman, and others. It is Hector alone that is worthy to contend with Achilles. To the version of Pope must be allowed the praise of melody of numbers, richness of poetic diction, splendour of imagery, and brilliancy of effect; but these merits are acquired at the expense of fidelity and justness of interpretation. The simplicity of the heroic ages is exchanged for the refinement of modern taste, and Homer sinks under the weight of ornaments not his own. Where Pope fails, Cowper succeeds; but, on the other hand, where Pope succeeds, Cowper seems to fail. Cowper is more faithful, but less rich and spirited. He is singularly exempt from the defects attributable to Pope. There is nothing extraneous, no meretricious ornament, no laboured elegance, nothing added, nothing omitted. The integrity of the text is happily preserved. But though it is in the page of Cowper that we must seek for the true interpretation of Homer's meaning—though there are many passages distinguished by much grace and beauty—yet, on the whole, the lofty spirit, the bright glow of feeling, the "thoughts that breathe, the words that burn," are not sufficiently sustained. Each of these distinguished writers, to a certain extent, has failed, not from any want of genius, but because complete success is difficult, if not unattainable. Two causes may perhaps be assigned for this failure; first, no copy can equal the original, if the original be the production of a master artist. The poet who seeks to transfuse into his own page the meaning and spirit of an author, endowed with extraordinary powers, resembles the chemist in his laboratory, who, in endeavouring to condense the properties of different substances, and to extract their essence, has the misfortune to see a great portion of the volatile qualities evaporate in the process, and elude all the efforts of his philosophic art. Secondly, Homer still remains untranslated, because of all poets he is the most untranslateable. He seems to claim the lofty prerogative of standing alone, and of enjoying the solitary grandeur of his own unrivalled genius; allowing neither to rival nor to friend, to imitator nor to translator, the honours of participation; but exercising the exclusive right of interpreting the majestic simplicity of his own conceptions, in all the fervour of his own poetic fancy, and in the sweet melody of his own graceful and flowing numbers. He who wishes to understand and to appreciate Homer, must seek him in the charm and beauty of his own inimitable language.
As Cowper's versions of the Iliad and Odyssey have formed so prominent a feature in his correspondence, for five successive years, we think it may be interesting to subjoin a few specimens from each translator, restricting our quotations to the Iliad, as being the most familiar to the reader.
We extract passages, where poetic skill was most likely to be exerted.