F_or ladies' love I late was fit_,
A_nd good success my warfare blest_;
B_ut now my arms, my lyre I quit_,
A_nd hang them up to rust or rest_.
H_ere, where arising from the sea_
S_tands Venus, lay the load at last_,
L_inks, crowbars, and artillery_,
T_hreatening all doors that dared be fast_.
O_ Goddess! Cyprus owns thy sway_,
A_nd Memphis, far from Thracian snow_:
R_aise high thy lash, and deal me, pray_,
T_hat haughty Chloe just one blow!_
To translate in this manner is beyond all doubt to deserve the name of
poet.
We may go still farther and claim for Horace that he has been a dynamic
power in the art of translation, not only as it concerned his own poems,
but in its concern of translation as a universal art. No other poet
presents such difficulties; no other poet has left behind him so long a
train of disappointed aspirants. "Horace remains forever the type of the
untranslatable," says Frederic Harrison. Milton attempts the _Pyrrha_
ode in unrhymed meter, and the light and bantering spirit of Horace
disappears. Milton is correct, polished, restrained, and pure, but heavy
and cold. An exquisite _jeu d'esprit_ has been crushed to death:
W_hat slender youth, bedew'd with liquid odours_,
C_ourts thee on roses in some pleasant cave_,
P_yrrha? For whom bind'st thou_
I_n wreaths thy golden hair_,
P_lain in thy neatness? O how oft shall he_
O_n faith and changèd gods complain, and seas_
R_ough with black winds and storms_
U_nwonted shall admire_!
W_ho now enjoys thee credulous, all gold_,
W_ho, always vacant, always amiable_
H_opes thee, of flattering gales_
U_nmindful! Hapless they_
T_o whom thou untried seem'st fair! Me in my vowed_
P_icture, the sacred wall declares to have hung_
M_y dank and dropping weeds_
T_o the stern God of Sea_.
But let the attempt be made to avoid the ponderous movement and
excessive sobriety of Milton, and to communicate the Horatian airiness,
and there is a loss in conciseness and reserve:
W_hat scented youth now pays you court_,
P_yrrha, in shady rose-strewn spot_
D_allying in love's sweet sport_?
F_or whom that innocent-seeming knot_
I_n which your golden strands you dress_
W_ith all the art of artlessness?_
D_eluded lad! How oft he'll weep_
O_'er changèd gods! How oft, when dark_
T_he billows roughen on the deep_,
S_torm-tossed he'll see his wretched bark_!
U_nused to Cupid's quick mutations_,
I_n store for him what tribulations!_
B_ut now his joy is all in you_;
H_e thinks your heart is purest gold_;
E_xpects you'll always be love-true_,
A_nd never, never, will grow cold_.
P_oor mariner on summer seas_,
U_ntaught to fear the treacherous breeze!_
A_h, wretched whom your Siren call_
D_eludes and brings to watery woes_!
F_or me--yon plaque on Neptune's wall_
S_hows I've endured the seaman's throes_.
M_y drenchèd garments hang there, too_:
H_enceforth I shun the enticing blue._
It is not improbable that the struggle of the centuries with the
difficulties of rendering Horace has been a chief influence in the
development of our present exacting ideal of translation; so exacting
indeed that it has defeated its purpose. By emphasis upon the
impossibility of rendering accurately the content of poetry in the form
of poetry, scholastic discussion of the theory of translation has led
first to despair, and next from despair to the scientific and
unaesthetic principle of rendering into exact prose all forms of
literature alike. The twentieth century has thus opened again and
settled in opposite manner the old dispute of the French D'Alembert and
the Italian Salvini in the seventeen-hundreds, which was resolved by
actual results in favor of D'Alembert and fidelity to spirit as opposed
to Salvini and fidelity to letter.
In what we have said thus far of the dynamic power of Horace in literary
creation, we have dealt with visible results. We should not be misled,
however, by the satisfaction of seeing plainly in imitation, adaptation,
translation, quotation, or real creation, the mark of Horatian
influence. The discipline of the literary ideal in the individual, and
the moulding of character in literature as an organism, are effects less
clearly visible, but, after all, of greater value. If the bread and meat
of human sustenance should appear in the body as recognizable bread and
meat, it would hardly be a sign of health. Its value is in the strength
conferred by assimilation. With all respect and gratitude for creation
manifestly due to Horace, we must also realize that this is but a
superficial result as compared with the chastening restraint of
expression and the health and vigor of content that have been encouraged
by allegiance to him, but are known by no special marks. It is no bad
sign when we turn the pages of the _Oxford Selections of Verse_ in the
various modern languages and find but few examples of the visible sort
of Horatian influence. To detect the more invisible sort requires the
keen eye and the sensitive spirit of the poet-scholar, but the reader
not so specially qualified may have faith that it exists. With Goethe
writing of Horace as a "great, glowing, noble poet, full of heart, who
with the power of his song sweeps us along, lifts us, and inspires us,"
with Menéndez y Pelayo in Spain defining the Horatian lyric, whether
Christian or pagan, by "sobriety of thought, rhythmic lightness, the
absence of artificial adornment, unlimited care in execution, and
brevity," and holding this ideal aloft as the influence needed by the
modern lyric, and with no countries or periods without leaders in poetry
and criticism uttering similar sentiments and exhortations, it would be
difficult not to believe in a substantial Horatian effect on literary
culture, however slight the external marks.