SECOND GENERAL RULE: THE STYLE AND MANNER OF WRITING IN A
TRANSLATION SHOULD BE OF THE SAME CHARACTER WITH THAT OF THE
ORIGINAL.—TRANSLATIONS OF THE SCRIPTURES;—OF HOMER, ETC.—A JUST
TASTE REQUISITE FOR THE DISCERNMENT OF THE CHARACTERS OF STYLE
AND MANNER.—EXAMPLES OF FAILURE IN THIS PARTICULAR;—THE GRAVE
EXCHANGED FOR THE FORMAL;—THE ELEVATED FOR THE BOMBAST;—THE
LIVELY FOR THE PETULANT;—THE SIMPLE FOR THE CHILDISH.—HOBBES,
L’ESTRANGE, ECHARD, ETC.
Next in importance to a faithful transfusion of the sense and meaning
of an author, is an assimilation of the style and manner of writing
in the translation to that of the original. This requisite of a good
translation, though but secondary in importance, is more difficult to
be attained than the former; for the qualities requisite for justly
discerning and happily imitating the various characters of style and
manner, are much more rare than the ability of simply understanding an
author’s sense. A good translator must be able to discover at once the
true character of his author’s style. He must ascertain with precision
to what class it belongs; whether to that of the grave, the elevated,
the easy, the lively, the florid and ornamented, or the simple and
unaffected; and these characteristic qualities he must have the capacity
of rendering equally conspicuous in the translation as in the original.
If a translator fails in this discernment, and wants this capacity, let
him be ever so thoroughly master of the sense of his author, he will
present him through a distorting medium, or exhibit him often in a garb
that is unsuitable to his character.
The chief characteristic of the historical style of the sacred
scriptures, is its simplicity. This character belongs indeed to the
language itself. Dr. Campbell has justly remarked, that the Hebrew is
a simple tongue: “That their verbs have not, like the Greek and Latin,
a variety of moods and tenses, nor do they, like the modern languages,
abound in auxiliaries and conjunctions. The consequence is, that in
narrative, they express by several simple sentences, much in the way of
the relations used in conversation, what in most other languages would
be comprehended in one complex sentence of three or four members.”[29]
The same author gives, as an example of this simplicity, the beginning of
the first chapter of Genesis, where the account of the operations of the
Creator on the first day is contained in eleven separate sentences. “1.
In the beginning God created the Heaven and the Earth. 2. And the earth
was without form, and void. 3. And darkness was upon the face of the
deep. 4. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. 5. And
God said, let there be light. 6. And there was light. 7. And God saw the
light, that it was good. 8. And God divided the light from the darkness.
9. And God called the light day. 10. And the darkness he called night.
11. And the evening and the morning were the first day.” “This,” says
Dr. Campbell, “is a just representation of the style of the original. A
more perfect example of simplicity of structure, we can nowhere find. The
sentences are simple, the substantives are not attended by adjectives,
nor the verbs by adverbs; no synonymas, no superlatives, no effort at
expressing things in a bold, emphatical, or uncommon manner.”
Castalio’s version of the Scriptures is intitled to the praise of elegant
Latinity, and he is in general faithful to the sense of his original; but
he has totally departed from its style and manner, by substituting the
complex and florid composition to the simple and unadorned. His sentences
are formed in long and intricate periods, in which many separate members
are artfully combined; and we observe a constant endeavour at a classical
phraseology and ornamented diction.[30] In Castalio’s version of the
foregoing passage of Genesis, nine sentences of the original are thrown
into one period. 1. _Principio creavit Deus cœlum et terram._ 2. _Quum
autem esset terra iners atque rudis, tenebrisque effusum profundum, et
divinus spiritus sese super aquas libraret, jussit Deus ut existeret
lux, et extitit lux; quam quum videret Deus esse bonam, lucem secrevit a
tenebris, et lucem diem, et tenebras noctem appellavit._ 3. _Ita extitit
ex vespere et mane dies primus._
Dr. Beattie, in his essay _On Laughter and Ludicrous Composition_, has
justly remarked, that the translation of the Old Testament by Castalio
does great honour to that author’s learning, but not to his taste. “The
quaintness of his Latin betrays a deplorable inattention to the simple
majesty of his original. In the Song of Solomon, he has debased the
magnificence of the language and subject by _diminutives_, which, though
expressive of familiar endearment, he should have known to be destitute
of dignity, and therefore improper on solemn occasions.” _Mea Columbula,
ostende mihi tuum vulticulum; fac ut audiam tuam voculam; nam et voculam
venustulam, et vulticulum habes lepidulum.—Veni in meos hortulos,
sororcula mea sponsa.—Ego dormio, vigilante meo corculo_, &c.
The version of the Scriptures by Arias Montanus, is in some respects
a contrast to that of Castalio. Arias, by adopting the literal mode
of translation, probably intended to give as faithful a picture as he
could, both of the sense and manner of the original. Not considering
the different genius of the Hebrew, the Greek, and the Latin, in the
various meaning and import of words of the same primary sense; the
difference of combination and construction, and the peculiarity of idioms
belonging to each tongue, he has treated the three languages as if they
corresponded perfectly in all those particulars; and the consequence
is, he has produced a composition which fails in every one requisite
of a good translation: it conveys neither the sense of the original,
nor its manner and style; and it abounds in barbarisms, solecisms, and
grammatical inaccuracy.[31] In Latin, two negatives make an affirmative;
but it is otherwise in Greek; they only give force to the negation:
χωρις εμου ου δυνασθε ποιειν ουδεν, as translated by Arias, _sine me
non potestis facere nihil_, is therefore directly contrary to the sense
of the original: And surely that translator cannot be said either to
do justice to the manner and style of his author, or to write with the
ease of original composition, who, instead of perspicuous thought,
expressed in pure, correct, and easy phraseology, gives us obscure and
unintelligible sentiments, conveyed in barbarous terms and constructions,
irreconcileable to the rules of the language in which he uses them. _Et
nunc dixi vobis ante fieri, ut quum factum fuerit credatis.—Ascendit
autem et Joseph a Galilæa in civitatem David, propter esse ipsum ex domo
et familia David, describi cum Maria desponsata sibi uxore, existente
prægnante. Factum autem in esse eos ibi, impleti sunt dies parere
ipsam.—Venerunt ad portam, quæ spontanea aperta est eis, et exeuntes
processerunt vicum.—Nunquid aquam prohibere potest quis ad non baptizare
hos?—Spectat descendens super se vas quoddam linteum, quatuor initiis
vinctum.—Aperiens autem Petrus os, dixit: in veritate deprehendo quia non
est personarum acceptor Deus._[32]
The characteristic of the language of Homer is strength united with
simplicity. He employs frequent images, allusions, and similes; but
he very rarely uses metaphorical expression. The use of this style,
therefore, in a translation of Homer, is an offence against the character
of the original. Mr. Pope, though not often, is sometimes chargeable with
this fault; as where he terms the arrows of Apollo “the feather’d fates,”
_Iliad_, 1, 68, a quiver of arrows, “a store of flying fates,” _Odyssey_,
22, 136: or instead of saying, that the soil is fertile in corn, “in wavy
gold the summer vales are dress’d,” _Odyssey_, 19, 131; the soldier wept,
“from his eyes pour’d down the tender dew,” _Ibid._ 11, 486.
Virgil, in describing the shipwreck of the Trojans, says,
_Apparent rari nantes in gurgite vasto_,
Which the Abbé des Fontaines thus translates: “A peine un petit nombre
de ceux qui montoient le vaisseau purent se sauver à la nage.” Of this
translation Voltaire justly remarks, “C’est traduire Virgile en style de
gazette. Où est ce vaste gouffre que peint le poête, _gurgite vasto_?
Où est l’_apparent rari nantes_? Ce n’est pas ainsi qu’on doit traduire
l’Eneide.” _Voltaire_, _Quest. sur l’Encyclop. mot Amplification_.
If we are thus justly offended at hearing Virgil speak in the style of
the _Evening Post_ or the _Daily Advertiser_, what must we think of the
translator, who makes the solemn and sententious Tacitus express himself
in the low cant of the streets, or in the dialect of the waiters of a
tavern?
_Facile Asinium et Messalam inter Antonium et Augustum bellorum præmiis
refertos_: Thus translated, in a version of Tacitus by Mr. Dryden
and several eminent hands: “Asinius and Messala, who feathered their
nests well in the civil wars ’twixt Antony and Augustus.” _Vinolentiam
et libidines usurpans_: “Playing the good-fellow.” _Frustra Arminium
præscribi_: “Trumping up Arminius’s title.” _Sed Agrippina libertam
æmulam, nurum ancillam, aliaque eundem in modum muliebriter fremere_:
“But Agrippina could not bear that a freedwoman should _nose_ her.” And
another translator says, “But Agrippina could not bear that a freedwoman
should _beard_ her.” Of a similar character with this translation of
Tacitus is a translation of Suetonius by several gentlemen of Oxford,[33]
which abounds with such elegancies as the following: _Sestio Gallo,
libidinoso et prodigo seni_: “Sestius Gallus, a most notorious old Sir
Jolly.” _Jucundissimos et omnium horarum amicos_: “His boon companions
and sure cards.” _Nullam unquam occasionem dedit_: “They never could
pick the least hole in his coat.”
Juno’s apostrophe to Troy, in her speech to the Gods in council, is thus
translated in a version of Horace by “The Most Eminent Hands.”
_Ilion, Ilion,_
_Fatalis incestusque judex, &c._
HOR. 3, 3.
O Ilion, Ilion, I with transport view
The fall of all thy wicked, perjur’d _crew_!
Pallas and I have _borne a rankling grudge_
To that _curst_ Shepherd, that incestuous judge.
The description of the majesty of Jupiter, contained in the following
passage of the first book of the _Iliad_, is allowed to be a true
specimen of the sublime. It is the archetype from which Phidias
acknowledged he had framed his divine sculpture of the Olympian Jupiter:
Η, και κυανεησιν επ’ οφρυσι νευσε Κρονιων·
Αμβροσιαι δ’ αρα χαιται επερρωσαντο ανακτος,
Κρατος απ’ αθανατοιο, μεγαν δ’ ελελιξεν Ολυμπον.
He spoke, and awful bends his sable brows,
Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gives the nod,
The stamp of fate, and sanction of the God:
High heaven, with trembling, the dread signal took,
And all Olympus to its centre shook.
POPE.
Certainly Mr. Hobbes of Malmsbury perceived no portion of that sublime
which was felt by Phidias and by Mr. Pope, when he could thus translate
this fine description:
This said, with his black brows he to her nodded,
Wherewith displayed were his locks divine;
Olympus shook at stirring of his godhead,
And Thetis from it jump’d into the brine.
In the translation of the _Georgics_, Mr. Dryden has displayed great
powers of poetry. But Dryden had little relish for the pathetic, and
no comprehension of the natural language of the heart. The beautiful
simplicity of the following passage has entirely escaped his observation,
and he has been utterly insensible to its tenderness:
_Ipse cavâ solans ægrum testudine amorem,_
_Te, dulcis conjux, te solo in littore secum,_
_Te veniente die, te decedente canebat._
VIRG. _Geor. 4._
Th’ unhappy husband, now no more,
Did on his tuneful harp his loss deplore,
And sought his mournful mind with music to restore.
On thee, dear Wife, in deserts all alone,
He call’d, sigh’d, sung; his griefs with day begun,
Nor were they finish’d till the setting sun.
The three verbs, _call’d_, _sigh’d_, _sung_, are here substituted, with
peculiar infelicity, for the repetition of the pronoun; a change which
converts the pathetic into the ludicrous.
In the same episode, the poet compares the complaint of Orpheus to the
wailing of a nightingale, robb’d of her young, in those well-known
beautiful verses:
_Qualis populea mœrens Philomela sub umbra_
_Amissos queritur fœtus, quos durus arator_
_Observans nido implumes, detraxit: at illa_
_Flet noctem, ramoque sedens miserabile carmen_
_Integrat, et mœstis late loca questibus implet._
Thus translated by De Lille:
Telle sur un rameau durant la nuit obscure
Philomele plaintive attendrit la nature,
Accuse en gémissant l’oiseleur inhumain,
Qui, glissant dans son nid une furtive main,
Ravit ces tendres fruits que l’amour fit eclorre,
Et qu’un leger duvet ne couvroit pas encore.
It is evident, that there is a complete evaporation of the beauties of
the original in this translation: and the reason is, that the French
poet has substituted sentiments for facts, and refinement for the
simple pathetic. The nightingale of De Lille melts all nature with her
complaint; accuses with her sighs the inhuman fowler, who glides his
thievish hand into her nest, and plunders the tender fruits that were
hatched by love! How different this sentimental foppery from the chaste
simplicity of Virgil!
The following beautiful passage in the sixth book of the _Iliad_ has
not been happily translated by Mr. Pope. It is in the parting interview
between Hector and Andromache.
Ως ειπων, αλοχοιο φιλης εν χερσιν εθηκε
Παιδ’ ἑον· ἡ δ’ αρα μιν κηωδει δεξατο κολπω,
Δακρυοεν γελασασα· ποσις δ’ ελεησε νοησας,
Χειρι τε μιν κατερεξεν, επος τ’ εφατ’ εκ τ’ ονομαζε.
He spoke, and fondly gazing on her charms,
Restor’d the pleasing burden to her arms;
Soft on her fragrant breast the babe she laid,
Hush’d to repose, and with a smile survey’d.
The troubled pleasure soon chastis’d by fear,
She mingled with the smile a tender tear.
The soften’d chief with kind compassion view’d,
And dried the falling drops, and thus pursu’d.
This, it must be allowed, is good poetry; but it wants the affecting
simplicity of the original. _Fondly gazing on her charms—pleasing
burden—The troubled pleasure soon chastised by fear_, are injudicious
embellishments. The beautiful expression Δακρυοεν γελασασα is totally
lost by amplification; and the fine circumstance, which so much heightens
the tenderness of the picture, Χειρι τε μιν κατερεξεν, is forgotten
altogether.
But a translator may discern the general character of his author’s
style, and yet fail remarkably in the imitation of it. Unless he is
possessed of the most correct taste, he will be in continual danger of
presenting an exaggerated picture or a caricatura of his original. The
distinction between good and bad writing is often of so very slender a
nature, and the shadowing of difference so extremely delicate, that a
very nice perception alone can at all times define the limits. Thus,
in the hands of some translators, who have discernment to perceive the
general character of their author’s style, but want this correctness of
taste, the grave style of the original becomes heavy and formal in the
translation; the elevated swells into bombast, the lively froths up into
the petulant, and the simple and _naïf_ degenerates into the childish and
insipid.[34]
In the fourth Oration against Catiline, Cicero, after drawing the most
striking picture of the miseries of his country, on the supposition that
success had crowned the designs of the conspirators, closes the detail
with this grave and solemn application:
_Quia mihi vehementer hæc videntur misera atque miseranda, idcirca in
eos qui ea perficere voluerunt, me severum, vehementemque præbeo. Etenim
quæro, si quis paterfamilias, liberis suis a servo interfectis, uxore
occisa, incensa domo, supplicium de servo quam acerbissimum sumserit;
utrum is clemens ac misericors, an inhumanissimus et crudelissimus esse
videatur? Mihi vero importunus ac ferreus, qui non dolore ac cruciatu
nocentis, suum dolorem ac cruciatum lenierit._
How awkwardly is the dignified gravity of the original imitated, in the
following heavy, formal, and insipid version.
“Now as to me these calamities appear extremely shocking and deplorable:
therefore I am extremely keen and rigorous in punishing those who
endeavoured to bring them about. For let me put the case, that a
master of a family had his children butchered, his wife murdered, his
house burnt down by a slave, yet did not inflict the most rigorous of
punishments imaginable upon that slave: would such a master appear
merciful and compassionate, and not rather a monster of cruelty and
inhumanity? To me that man would appear to be of a flinty cruel nature,
who should not endeavour to soothe his own anguish and torment by the
anguish and torment of its guilty cause.”[35]
Ovid, in describing the fatal storm in which Ceyx perished, says,
_Undarum incursa gravis unda, tonitrubus æther_
_Fluctibus erigitur, cœlumque æquare videtur_
_Pontus._
An hyperbole, allowable in poetical description; but which Dryden has
exaggerated into the most outrageous bombast:
Now waves on waves ascending scale the skies,
And in the fires above the water fries.
In the first scene of the _Amphitryo of Plautus_, Sosia thus remarks on
the unusual length of the night:
_Neque ego hac nocte longiorem me vidisse censeo,_
_Nisi item unam, verberatus quam pependi perpetem._
_Eam quoque, Ædepol, etiam multo hæc vicit longitudine._
_Credo equidem dormire solem atque appotum probe._
_Mira sunt, nisi invitavit sese in cœna plusculum._
To which Mercury answers:
_Ain vero, verbero? Deos esse tui similes putas?_
_Ego Pol te istis tuis pro dictis et malefactis, furcifer,_
_Accipiam, modò sis veni huc: invenies infortunium._
Echard, who saw no distinction between the familiar and the vulgar, has
translated this in the true dialect of the streets:
“I think there never was such a long night since the beginning of the
world, except that night I had the strappado, and rid the wooden horse
till morning; and, o’ my conscience, that was twice as long.[36] By the
mackins, I believe Phœbus has been playing the good-fellow, and ’s asleep
too. I’ll be hang’d if he ben’t in for’t, and has took a little too much
o’ the creature.”
“_Mer._ Say ye so, slave? What, treat Gods like yourselves. By Jove, have
at your doublet, Rogue, for _scandalum magnatum_. Approach then, you’ll
ha’ but small joy here.”
“Mer. _Accedam, atque hanc appellabo atque supparasitabo patri._” Ibid.
sc. 3.
“_Mer._ I’ll to her, and tickle her up as my father has done.”
“Sosia. _Irritabis crabrones._” Ibid. act 2, sc. 2.
“_Sosia._ You’d as good p—ss in a bee-hive.”
Seneca, though not a chaste writer, is remarkable for a courtly dignity
of expression, which, though often united with ease, never descends to
the mean or vulgar. L’Estrange has presented him through a medium of such
coarseness, that he is hardly to be known.
_Probatos itaque semper lege, et siquando ad alios divertere libuerit,
ad priores redi.—Nihil æque sanitatem impedit quam remediorum crebra
mutatio_, Ep. 2.—“Of authors be sure to make choice of the best; and,
as I said before, stick close to them; and though you take up others by
the bye, reserve some select ones, however, for your study and retreat.
Nothing is more hurtful, in the case of diseases and wounds, than the
frequent shifting of physic and plasters.”
_Fuit qui diceret, Quid perdis operam? ille quem quæris elatus, combustus
est._ _De benef._, lib. 7. c. 21.—“Friend, says a fellow, you may hammer
your heart out, for the man you look for is dead.”
_Cum multa in crudelitatem Pisistrati conviva ebrius dixisset._ _De ira_,
lib. 3, c. 11. “Thrasippus, in his drink, fell foul upon the cruelties of
Pisistratus.”
From the same defect of taste, the simple and natural manner degenerates
into the childish and insipid.
J’ai perdu tout mon bonheur,
J’ai perdu mon serviteur,
Colin me délaisse.
Helas! il a pu changer!
Je voudrois n’y plus songer:
J’y songe sans cesse.
ROUSSEAU, _Devin de Village_.
I’ve lost my love, I’ve lost my swain;
Colin leaves me with disdain.
Naughty Colin! hateful thought!
To Colinette her Colin’s naught.
I will forget him—that I will!
Ah, t’wont do—I love him still.