WHETHER IT IS ALLOWABLE FOR A TRANSLATOR TO ADD TO OR RETRENCH
THE IDEAS OF THE ORIGINAL.—EXAMPLES OF THE USE AND ABUSE OF
THIS LIBERTY
If it is necessary that a translator should give a complete transcript
of the ideas of the original work, it becomes a question, whether it
is allowable in any case to add to the ideas of the original what may
appear to give greater force or illustration; or to take from them what
may seem to weaken them from redundancy. To give a general answer to
this question, I would say, that this liberty may be used, but with
the greatest caution. It must be further observed, that the superadded
idea shall have the most necessary connection with the original
thought, and actually increase its force. And, on the other hand, that
whenever an idea is cut off by the translator, it must be only such
as is an accessory, and not a principal in the clause or sentence. It
must likewise be confessedly redundant, so that its retrenchment shall
not impair or weaken the original thought. Under these limitations, a
translator may exercise his judgement, and assume to himself, in so far,
the character of an original writer.
It will be allowed, that in the following instance the translator, the
elegant Vincent Bourne, has added a very beautiful idea, which, while
it has a most natural connection with the original thought, greatly
heightens its energy and tenderness. The two following stanzas are a part
of the fine ballad of _Colin and Lucy_, by Tickell.
To-morrow in the church to wed,
Impatient both prepare;
But know, fond maid, and know, false man,
That Lucy will be there.
There bear my corse, ye comrades, bear,
The bridegroom blithe to meet,
He in his wedding-trim so gay,
I in my winding-sheet.
Thus translated by Bourne:
Jungere cras dextræ dextram properatis uterque,
Et tardè interea creditis ire diem.
Credula quin virgo, juvenis quin perfide, uterque
Scite, quod et pacti Lucia testis erit.
Exangue, oh! illuc, comites, deferte cadaver,
Qua semel, oh! iterum congrediamur, ait;
Vestibus ornatus sponsalibus ille, caputque
Ipsa sepulchrali vincta, pedesque stolâ.
In this translation, which is altogether excellent, it is evident, that
there is one most beautiful idea superadded by Bourne, in the line _Qua
semel, oh!_ &c.; which wonderfully improves upon the original thought.
In the original, the speaker, deeply impressed with the sense of her
wrongs, has no other idea than to overwhelm her perjured lover with
remorse at the moment of his approaching nuptials. In the translation,
amidst this prevalent idea, the speaker all at once gives way to an
involuntary burst of tenderness and affection, “Oh, let us meet once
more, and for the last time!” _Semel, oh! iterum congrediamur, ait._—It
was only a man of exquisite feeling, who was capable of thus improving on
so fine an original.[15]
Achilles (in the first book of the _Iliad_), won by the persuasion of
Minerva, resolves, though indignantly, to give up Briseis, and Patroclus
is commanded to deliver her to the heralds of Agamemnon:
Ως φατο· Πατροκλος δε φιλω επεπεἰθεθ’ εταιρω·
Εκ δ’ ἄγαγε κλισιης Βρισηιδα καλλιπαρηον,
Δῶκε δ’ αγειν· τω δ’ αυτις ιτην παρα νηας Αχαιων·
Ἡ δ’ αεκουσ’ ἁμα τοισι γυνὴ κιεν.
_Ilias_, A. 345.
“Thus he spoke. But Patroclus was obedient to his dear friend. He brought
out the beautiful Briseis from the tent, and gave her to be carried away.
They returned to the ships of the Greeks; but she unwillingly went, along
with her attendants.”
Patroclus now th’ unwilling Beauty brought;
_She in soft sorrows, and in pensive thought,_
_Past silent, as the heralds held her hand,_
_And oft look’d back, slow moving o’er the strand._
POPE.
The ideas contained in the three last lines are not indeed expressed in
the original, but they are implied in the word αεκουσα; for she who goes
unwillingly, will _move slowly_, and _oft look back_. The amplification
highly improves the effect of the picture. It may be incidentally
remarked, that the pause in the third line, _Past silent_, is admirably
characteristic of the slow and hesitating motion which it describes.
In the poetical version of the 137th Psalm, by Arthur Johnston, a
composition of classical elegance, there are several examples of ideas
superadded by the translator, intimately connected with the original
thoughts, and greatly heightening their energy and beauty.
Urbe procul Solymæ, fusi Babylonis ad undas
Flevimus, et lachrymæ fluminis instar erant:
Sacra Sion toties animo totiesque recursans,
Materiem lachrymis præbuit usque novis.
Desuetas saliceta lyras, et muta ferebant
Nablia, servili non temeranda manu.
Qui patria exegit, patriam qui subruit, hostis
Pendula captivos sumere plectra jubet:
Imperat et lætos, mediis in fletibus, hymnos,
Quosque Sion cecinit, nunc taciturna! modos.
Ergone pacta Deo peregrinæ barbita genti
Fas erit, et sacras prostituisse lyras?
Ante meo, Solyme, quam tu de pectore cedas,
Nesciat Hebræam tangere dextra chelyn.
Te nisi tollat ovans unam super omnia, lingua
Faucibus hærescat sidere tacta meis.
Ne tibi noxa recens, scelerum Deus ultor! Idumes
Excidat, et Solymis perniciosa dies:
Vertite, clamabant, fundo jam vertite templum,
Tectaque montanis jam habitanda feris.
Te quoque pœna manet, Babylon! quibus astra lacessis
Culmina mox fient, quod premis, æqua solo:
Felicem, qui clade pari data damna rependet,
Et feret ultrices in tua tecta faces!
Felicem, quisquis scopulis illidet acutis
Dulcia materno pignora rapta sinu!
I pass over the superadded idea in the second line, _lachrymæ fluminis
instar erant_, because, bordering on the hyperbole, it derogates, in
some degree, from the chaste simplicity of the original. To the simple
fact, “We hanged our harps on the willows in the midst thereof,” which is
most poetically conveyed by _Desuetas saliceta lyras, et muta ferebant
nablia_, is superadded all the force of sentiment in that beautiful
expression, which so strongly paints the mixed emotions of a proud mind
under the influence of poignant grief, heightened by shame, _servili non
temeranda manu_. So likewise in the following stanza there is the noblest
improvement of the sense of the original.
Imperat et lætos, mediis in fletibus, hymnos,
Quosque Sion cecinit, _nunc taciturna!_ modos.
The reflection on the melancholy silence that now reigned on that sacred
hill, “once vocal with their songs,” is an additional thought, the force
of which is better felt than it can be conveyed by words.
An ordinary translator sinks under the energy of his original: the man of
genius frequently rises above it. Horace, arraigning the abuse of riches,
makes the plain and honest Ofellus thus remonstrate with a wealthy
Epicure (_Sat._ 2, b. 2).
Cur eget indignus quisquam te divite?
A question to the energy of which it was not easy to add, but which has
received the most spirited improvement from Mr. Pope:
How _dar’st_ thou let one worthy man be poor?
An improvement is sometimes very happily made, by substituting figure
and metaphor to simple sentiment; as in the following example, from Mr.
Mason’s excellent translation of Du Fresnoy’s _Art of Painting_. In the
original, the poet, treating of the merits of the antique statues, says:
queis posterior nil protulit ætas
Condignum, et non inferius longè, arte modoque.
This is a simple fact, in the perusal of which the reader is struck with
nothing else but the truth of the assertion. Mark how in the translation
the same truth is conveyed in one of the finest figures of poetry:
with reluctant gaze
To these the genius of succeeding days
Looks dazzled up, and, as their glories spread,
Hides in his mantle his diminish’d head.
In the two following lines, Horace inculcates a striking moral truth; but
the figure in which it is conveyed has nothing of dignity:
Pallida mors æquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas
Regumque turres.
Malherbe has given to the same sentiment a high portion of tenderness,
and even sublimity:
Le pauvre en sa cabane, où le chaume le couvre,
Est sujet à ses loix;
Et la garde qui veille aux barrieres du Louvre,
N’en défend pas nos rois.[16]
Cicero writes thus to Trebatius, Ep. ad fam. lib. 7, ep. 17: _Tanquam
enim syngrapham ad Imperatorem, non epistolam attulisses, sic pecuniâ
ablatâ domum redire properabas: nec tibi in mentem veniebat, eos ipsos
qui cum syngraphis venissent Alexandriam, nullum adhuc nummum auferre
potuisse_. The passage is thus translated by Melmoth, b. 2, l. 12: “One
would have imagined indeed, you had carried a bill of exchange upon
Cæsar, instead of a letter of recommendation: As you seemed to think
you had nothing more to do, than to receive your money, and to hasten
home again. But money, my friend, is not so easily acquired; and I could
name some of our acquaintance, who have been obliged to travel as far
as Alexandria in pursuit of it, without having yet been able to obtain
even their just demands.” The expressions, “_money, my friend, is not so
easily acquired_,” and “_I could name some of our acquaintance_,” are not
to be found in the original; but they have an obvious connection with
the ideas of the original: they increase their force, while, at the same
time, they give ease and spirit to the whole passage.
I question much if a licence so unbounded as the following is
justifiable, on the principle of giving either ease or spirit to the
original.
In Lucian’s Dialogue _Timon_, Gnathonides, after being beaten by Timon,
says to him,
Αει φιλοσκῴμμων συ γε· αλλα ποῦ το συμποσιον; ὡς καινον τι σοι
ασμα των νεοδιδακτων διθυραμβων ἥκω κομιζων.
“You were always fond of a joke—but where is the banquet? for I have
brought you a new dithyrambic song, which I have lately learned.”
In Dryden’s _Lucian_, “translated by several eminent hands,” this passage
is thus translated: “Ah! Lord, Sir, I see you keep up your old merry
humour still; you love dearly to rally and break a jest. Well, but have
you got a noble supper for us, and plenty of delicious inspiring claret?
Hark ye, Timon, I’ve got a virgin-song for ye, just new composed, and
smells of the gamut: ’Twill make your heart dance within you, old boy. A
very pretty she-player, I vow to Gad, that I have an interest in, taught
it me this morning.”
There is both ease and spirit in this translation; but the licence which
the translator has assumed, of superadding to the ideas of the original,
is beyond all bounds.
An equal degree of judgement is requisite when the translator assumes the
liberty of retrenching the ideas of the original.
After the fatal horse had been admitted within the walls of Troy, Virgil
thus describes the coming on of that night which was to witness the
destruction of the city:
_Vertitur interea cœlum, et ruit oceano nox,_
_Involvens umbrâ magnâ terramque polumque,_
_Myrmidonumque dolos._
The principal effect attributed to the night in this description, and
certainly the most interesting, is its concealment of the treachery of
the Greeks. Add to this, the beauty which the picture acquires from this
association of natural with moral effects. How inexcusable then must Mr.
Dryden appear, who, in his translation, has suppressed the _Myrmidonumque
dolos_ altogether?
Mean time the rapid heav’ns roll’d down the light,
And on the shaded ocean rush’d the night:
Our men secure, &c.
Ogilby, with less of the spirit of poetry, has done more justice to the
original:
Meanwhile night rose from sea, whose spreading shade
Hides heaven and earth, and plots the Grecians laid.
Mr. Pope, in his translation of the _Iliad_, has, in the parting scene
between Hector and Andromache (vi. 466), omitted a particular respecting
the dress of the nurse, which he thought an impropriety in the picture.
Homer says,
Αψ δ’ ὁ παϊς προς κολπον ἐϋζωνοιο τιθηνης
Εκλινθη ἰαχων.
“The boy crying, threw himself back into the arms of his nurse, whose
waist was elegantly girt.” Mr. Pope, who has suppressed the epithet
descriptive of the waist, has incurred on that account the censure of Mr.
Melmoth, who says, “He has not touched the picture with that delicacy of
pencil which graces the original, as he has entirely lost the beauty of
one of the figures.—Though the hero and his son were designed to draw
our principal attention, Homer intended likewise that we should cast a
glance towards the nurse” (_Fitzosborne’s Letters_, l. 43). If this was
Homer’s intention, he has, in my opinion, shewn less good taste in this
instance than his translator, who has, I think with much propriety, left
out the compliment to the nurse’s waist altogether. And this liberty of
the translator was perfectly allowable; for Homer’s epithets are often
nothing more than mere expletives, or additional designations of his
persons. They are always, it is true, significant of some principal
attribute of the person; but they are often applied by the poet in
circumstances where the mention of that attribute is quite preposterous.
It would shew very little judgement in a translator, who should honour
Patroclus with the epithet of _godlike_, while he is blowing the fire
to roast an ox; or bestow on Agamemnon the designation of _King of many
nations_, while he is helping Ajax to a large piece of the chine.
It were to be wished that Mr. Melmoth, who is certainly one of the
best of the English translators, had always been equally scrupulous in
retrenching the ideas of his author. Cicero thus superscribes one of his
letters: _M. T. C. Terentiæ, et Pater suavissimæ filiæ Tulliolæ, Cicero
matri et sorori S. D._ (Ep. Fam. l. 14, ep. 18). And another in this
manner: _Tullius Terentiæ, et Pater Tulliolæ, duabus animis suis, et
Cicero Matri optimæ, suavissimæ sorori_ (lib. 14, ep. 14). Why are these
addresses entirely sunk in the translation, and a naked title poorly
substituted for them, “To Terentia and Tullia,” and “To the same”? The
addresses to these letters give them their highest value, as they mark
the warmth of the author’s heart, and the strength of his conjugal and
paternal affections.
In one of Pliny’s Epistles, speaking of Regulus, he says, _Ut ipse mihi
dixerit quum consuleret, quam citò sestertium sexcenties impleturus
esset, invenisse se exta duplicata, quibus portendi millies et ducenties
habiturum_ (Plin. Ep. l. 2, ep. 20). Thus translated by Melmoth, “That he
once told me, upon consulting the omens, to know how soon he should be
worth sixty millions of sesterces, he found them so favourable to him as
to portend that he should possess double that sum.” Here a material part
of the original idea is omitted; no less than that very circumstance upon
which the omen turned, viz., that the entrails of the victim were double.
Analogous to this liberty of adding to or retrenching from the ideas of
the original, is the liberty which a translator may take of correcting
what appears to him a careless or inaccurate expression of the original,
where that inaccuracy seems materially to affect the sense. Tacitus
says, when Tiberius was entreated to take upon him the government of the
empire, _Ille variè disserebat, de magnitudine imperii, suâ modestiâ_
(An. l. 1, c. 11). Here the word _modestiâ_ is improperly applied. The
author could not mean to say, that Tiberius discoursed to the people
about his own modesty. He wished that his discourse should seem to
proceed from modesty; but he did not talk to them about his modesty.
D’Alembert saw this impropriety, and he has therefore well translated the
passage: “Il répondit par des discours généraux sur son peu de talent, et
sur la grandeur de l’empire.”
A similar impropriety, not indeed affecting the sense, but offending
against the dignity of the narrative, occurs in that passage where
Tacitus relates, that Augustus, in the decline of life, after the death
of Drusus, appointed his son Germanicus to the command of eight legions
on the Rhine, _At, hercule, Germanicum Druso ortum octo apud Rhenum
legionibus imposuit_ (An. l. 1, c. 3). There was no occasion here for
the historian swearing; and though, to render the passage with strict
fidelity, an English translator must have said, “Augustus, Egad, gave
Germanicus the son of Drusus the command of eight legions on the Rhine,”
we cannot hesitate to say, that the simple fact is better announced
without such embellishment.