| | | | | Why have we so few first-rate poetical translations? For several | reasons. First, because there is no great | demand for them. Those who take a warm interest in any foreign | literature generally have acquired that interest by first knowing | the foreign language; without the foreign tongue, one not only | wants the key to a foreign method of thought, but, for the most | part, also the desire to use it. Second, | because the work of translation, like that of criticism, is more | exposed to be undertaken by unqualified persons than almost any | other work. When a great poem once gets a name, it is used by | everybody, and turned into a thousand shapes by everybody; and | what everybody thinks himself entitled to meddle with is very | apt to be ill done. But a third reason is | stronger than these. Translation is really one of the most difficult | kinds of literary work; and requires, for a decided success, such a | combination of learning, judgment, perseverance, enthusiasm | and taste, as is seldom found in the same person. It is quite | certain that a first-rate poetical translation is a much more | difficult task than a first-rate original composition; not, of course, | that Schlegel or Tieck would have found it more easy to write | one of Shakspeare's plays than to translate them (for they could | not have written them any more than a barn-fowl could soar like | an eagle), but that, given a man with a poetical genius, such as | Sir Walter Scott, it is a more easy thing for such a man to | compose an original poem, like the "Lady of the Lake," than to | translate from Sanscrit, Greek, or German, a poem of the same | style and dimensions. And why? Just because it is more | pleasant and more natural for a mind with a creative power to | mould into a living organism its own materials than to accept | materials from another; and not only materials, but the translator | must accept the form, style, tone, colour of his work, from | foreign dictation, and thus is made to feel what are usually called |

"trammels."

Besides, if

"glory"

have any | sound at all to a poetical ear, and the love of praise be potent, it is | plain that a man will get more immediate literary reputation by a | single original song that happily hits the feeling of the time and | place, such as Am Rhein. or | Partant pour la Syrie, than by a whole | weighty folio of the most erudite translation. And, if there be | little glory often gained by such labour, there is less gain. The | booksellers will certainly inform the enterprising young | gentleman freshly | | imported from a German university, and full of a noble longing | to add his name to the long list of translators of Faust ~~ to such | a one the booksellers will certainly say that, of all wares in the | paper market, translations and pamphlets are the most | unmarketable. But we may add yet a fourth | reason, peculiar to this country. To translate well upon a | large scale requires a certain philosophic and cosmopolitan turn | of mind, which, without meaning any offence, it must be | candidly admitted that we Englishmen do not possess, or at least | have not hitherto shown that we possess in any remarkable | degree. Englishmen are Englishmen. John Bull is an energetic | character; and it is part of his energy to stamp his own name on | everything with which he comes in contact. Now this does very | well for conquering India, or blowing Sebastopol to pieces, or | cutting out a canal through islands of icebergs within a few | hundred miles of the North Pole. Wonderful things of all kinds | have been done, and will yet be done, by the potent nationality of | this remarkable Bull. But translation is one of the difficult things | that will not be achieved in this way. Our world-famous | Shakspeare has been called an excellent ; but the | translator will not be allowed to adapt. He must adapt himself; | he must be adapted ~~ therein lies the difficulty. If adaptation | would do, I imagine the English would be the first translators in | the world, for who can deny their rare talent in telling a story, | whether in verse or prose? But adaptation produces only what | rhetoricians call technically a rifaccimento | ~~ that is, a pudding made of the same flour, but with | different plums put into it, and a different seasoning. Of all | literary animals at present existing, if the Englishman be one of | the best adapters, the German is certainly the most adaptable. No | person goes so easily out of himself ~~ which is the first duty of | a philosopher and of a translator; therefore the Germans | generally are admirable translators, and, though they incline not a | little to the extreme of a certain stiff daguerreotype fidelity, they, | at all events, give you the true thing. They give you Homer | without a pipe in his mouth; whereas, Homer's heroes, in English | hands, have hitherto been made to assume the garb and the gait | of that most perfect of all well-bred animals ~~ an English | gentleman. | Shall, therefore, the work of translation in this country be given | up altogether as a hopeless affair? Far from it! Certain books | must be translated, for they belong, like the Bible, not to any | particular nation, but to the whole world. Homer is one of these, | and Plato is another. Let us see, therefore, in this age, where | there is so much expert intellect afloat, whether we may not | succeed inlaying down some fixed principles in regard to this | matter; and, to avoid vague wandering, let us fix our eye on | Homer as an intelligible and practicable problem. Why has | Homer not been scientifically done into English hitherto? and on | what principles are future workmen to proceed in order to insure | a success which has been denied to such mighty men as | Chapman, and Pope, and Cowper? Professor Arnold has done | good service by starting this question in the three ingenious and | graceful lectures now generally known; and, though I cannot | agree in his conclusions, I think I may succeed in using the grand | facts and principles admitted by him as a sure basis of future | operations. | The first requisite for the translator of a poet is that himself | should be a poet. I do not mean by this that he must necessarily | be a great figure among the gods and demigods of poetic | reputation; but he must have the poetic temperament; he must be | naturally impelled to express his thoughts in rhythm; he must | have a natural enjoyment of the luxury of sound, and a curious | pleasure in the graceful garniture of thought, and in the elegant | setting of a fine idea. In this sense it must be said of a translator | as of a poet, | There is an instinct in the musical use of language which may be | improved by training, but cannot be taught by precept. There is a | | great deal of common-place poetry published, but even the | commonest of the common-place cannot be written mechanically. | A primrose is a common flower, but it is a flower with a hue and | a fragrance, and every thing that distinguishes a growth from a | manufacture. So to the man who has a genuine vocation for | translation there belongs a native fervour, glow, and fresh colour | of diction, that no trained versifier can approach. The poetical | translator, in fact, is a poet in all respects, except in the range | faculty of invention. There must be all the difference betwixt | him and the man of prose that there is between a Pegasus and a | common horse. The Pegasus has wings, and a common horse | has not. Only the Pegasus of the original poet pursues an | adventurous flight over untravelled regions, full of beautiful | novelty; the Pegasus of the translator repeats the already-made | journey in the humble capacity of an admiring imitator. Still he | makes a journey which only a Pegasus can make ~~ | | which to every four-footed beast ~~ hippopotamus, elephant, or | even a lion, king of the forest ~~ is impossible. | But more than this. The successful translator of a poet must not | only be a poet himself, but he must be a poet of the same class, | and of a kindred inspiration. A

"many-sided"

Goethe, | if the phrase be still fashionable, may translate many things, | perhaps all things; but a light, luxurious, sparkling Moore will | not translate AEschylus or Dante well; Anacreon is his man, if he | will translate, and he has the sense to know it. So the | metaphysical Coleridge was a good translator of the | metaphysical Schiller; but from that

"old heathen,"

| Goethe, full of Greek realism and Greek sensuousness, he wisely | abstained. | Let us now inquire how our most notable translators of Homer | stand these two tests. Hobbes, of course, falls by the first test. | No man pretends that he was in the least a poet by nature, or in | any wise of a poetical temperament. The man who translated | | into | | was capable of any atrocity. By the same test I am afraid another | of our translators, Professor F. W. Newman, must fall. I do not | wish to say anything severe of Mr. Newman; not only because he | is a personal friend of my own, and a man whom I love and | respect with no common reverence, but because he is a man | altogether of such fine qualities, of such purity, truthfulness, | acuteness, erudition, and various accomplishments, that no man | of good feeling would like to fling a stone at him. Nevertheless, | I must say what I think of his Homeric workmanship; for, to pass | him in silence, would be an affectation, and a wrong done to him | as a literary man greater than any sentence of open, manly, | though severe criticism. I say, therefore, that Mr. Newman's | translation of the Iliad is a mistake, for other reasons to be | mentioned immediately, but specially for this, that Mr. Newman | is not a poet. I don't say this because, so far as I know, Mr. | Newman has never published any poetry. ; and of those | who have penned it they are not seldom the wisest who have not | published; but I say he is no poet from the internal evidence | which his translation affords; for no man could have studiously | wandered so far away from the natural graces of poetic diction as | he has done in this book, had he been able to claim any natural | vocation for writing in verse rather than prose. Those who have | read Mr. Newman's prose writings, however they may differ | from his religious sentiments, must acknowledge that they bear | the stamp of subtle thinking, fine acumen, and pure emotion, | adequately and gracefully expressed. They are works which a | devout, catholic, and tolerant thinker will always read with | pleasure. But his | | metrical version of Homer produces quite a different effect. No | doubt it bears on every page the visible signs of original thought | and subtle observation. But it is written in a style which has | neither the sobriety of prose nor the dignity of poetry; a diction | which is neither regal purple nor

"hoddin-grey;"

but a | peculiar mixture, manufactured, as he states in the preface, by | himself for his own purposes: a mixture which he calls , | but which other Englishmen will be apt to call ridiculous. Such a | mistake a man of unquestionable talent has made, by intruding | with speculative subtleties into a region where only the living | instinct of rhythmical genius has anything to say. But, with all | this, his book is a good book; as poetry, indeed null; but, as | exhibiting the point of view from which one of the most subtle | Englishmen of the nineteenth century contemplates the most | remarkable book in the world ~~ after the Bible ~~ it is a | valuable production. I, for one, when I am puzzling myself | about any knotty passage, never think I have done my work | thoroughly till I see what Newman makes of it. Though I cannot | always agree with his conclusions, I generally find something | suggestive even in his blunders. Most men blunder by ignorance | and impudence. Professor Newman, in his translation of the | Iliad, errs by ingenuity out of place, and erudition not gracefully | applied. | As to other translators, all unquestionably poets ~~ ay, and great | poets too, some of them ~~ if they have failed, altogether, or | partially, it must be by virtue of our second test ~~ that is to say, | from want of a proper relationship between the poetic genius of | the original and that of the translator. Now, with regard to this, | one might be apt to think that a translator would be led by a sure | instinct to recognise the author who is kindred to himself in taste | and spirit, and whom he therefore has a special vocation to | translate. But it is a notorious fact that great mistakes are | constantly made in this matter. And this may arise from different | causes. The charm of novelty, and the attraction of contraries, | may lead a poet to occupy himself with the translation of an | author who is, in some respects, the very reverse of himself; and, | in doing this, he will unconsciously interpolate a considerable | expression of himself into a writer of an essentially different type, | and thus produce an abortion. Such an abortion ~~ a very | beautiful one, indeed, but still an abortion ~~ is Shelley's | translation of the Brocken Scene in Faust; for Shelley's style was | as unlike Goethe's as an aurora borealis is to the light of a good | domestic fire, or the common light of the common sun. On the | other hand, the translator, with every desire to adapt himself to | the genius of an admired author, may not know his man ~~ nay, | the circumstances of the time and place may be such that it is | morally impossible for him to take the true measure of his man. | This I take to have been peculiarly the case with Homer. | Profound admiration, as much as profound contempt, has a | natural virtue to pervert sound judgment. I am persuaded, from a | minute examination of many parts of Chapman's Homer, that he | has erred in not a few places from too profound an admiration of | his great author; and the same feeling has misled both Pope and | Cowper to a very considerable extent. Transcendental | admiration has always produced nonsense in religion; and in | translation it certainly has a tendency to produce the curious | bombast which so often grandly defaces Chapman, and the | pseudo-sublime into which Pope is so fond of rising. It is quite | evident to me that Homer is far too plain and simple a man for | the exaggerated ideal of many of his commentators and critics. | An amusing instance of this kind I stumbled upon the other day, | in the thirteenth book of the Iliad, v. 568, where the honest old | minstrel, who moved much among farmers, takes a simile from | the common process of winnowing . Now, Pope, and | Chapman were evidently impressed with far too high a notion of | the dignity of the father of classic poetry, to think that such | vulgar things as | | ~~ though they might perhaps sound well enough in Greek | ~~ could be tolerated in English heroic verse: so Pope has | changed the black pulse into

"golden grain,"

and the | other has omitted the simile altogether! This mistake, in my | opinion arose not only from a peculiar falseness of style, which | belonged both to Queen Ann's poets and to the Elizabethan age, | but also and especially from this ~~ that Chapman and Pope had | not yet arrived at that period in the evolution of modern thought | and feeling, when it was possible for literary men to recognise | Homer in his true double character, not only as the father of epic | poetry, but as the king of all popular minstrels. If any man in the | last century could have recognised this double character, it was | Cowper; but Cowper unquestionably did not do so. No doubt he | had truthfulness and taste enough to throw away all the brilliant | bombast of the Elizabethan dramatist, and the towering tinsel of | Queen Anne's chief wit; but the sacred awe of the old | translations held his spirit bound so severely, that the simple | notes of the shepherd's pipe were often metamorphosed into the | grand swell of Milton's organ, before they found full utterance in | Cowper's English. Whereas, sublime though Homer can be | when he pleases, in his own rapid, flashing, thundering way, he | is no more like Milton in his fundamental tone than Pindar is like | Robert Burns, or Dante like Walter Scott. | Homer is an or popular minstrel, who addressed his | narrative songs to the ear of the masses for their amusement ~~ | not a , or modern poetic man of genius, who addresses | his epos to the cultivated understanding and the polished taste of | the reading public, or, it may be, only a small fraction of that | public. This truth must be admitted, and its significance known | and felt, before a single step can be taken towards a translation of | Homer in the spirit in which Homer was written. As to a mere | rifaccimento of it in a modern shape, to | which a writer in the June number of Fraser | seems to point as a desideratum, that may be all very well. | Let every age tell the famous old story after its own fashion, if it | pleases. Pope did it pretty well, or rather very well, for his own | age; let Tennyson or Kingsley do it for our age, if they can find | nothing better to do; but a regular translation of Homer, as good | in its way as Coleridge's version of Wallenstein, will justly be | demanded by the British public; and there is no lack of active, | adventurous literary talent in the country, to meet the demand. | But whoever essays to do this important work, must not | commence, as Professor Arnold seems inclined to do, by flinging | Frederick Augustus Wolf and the German ballad-theory | altogether overboard. The truth which lies at the bottom of that | theory is altogether independent of the critical extravagancies | which have been worked out of it by a class of one-eyed, operose | Germans, who can never do anything without overdoing it. | Every great discovery is apt to drive the discoverer mad, in the | first place; and, after that, to raise up a legion of mad disciples | ~~ mad, however, in this second stage, without genius ~~ who | hymn poems upon his grave, till the world becomes sick of the |

"damnable iteration,"

and bolts back again into its | original position. But the matter may not settle here. The third | move is the sober intelligent recognition of the discovery without | the madness; and this move I believe the best part of the literary | mind of England has clearly made or is making; though I must | confess, I am extremely sorry to find Mr. Grote, in his second | volume, advocating the

"no Homer"

extravagance of | the ultra-Wolfians; while Mure, Gladstone and Arnold certainly | do not seem at all adequately impressed with the importance of | the ballad element in the Homeric poems. But Homer is a | ballad-singer, at once in respect of his materials, of his tone, and | his method of handling; only he rises above all ballad-singers in | the vividness of his genius, in the grandeur of his conceptions, | and in the constructiveness of his intellect. By virtue of these | qualities, he raised his | | ballads into the culminating position of the popular Epos; a feat | which it required a Homer to perform, in like manner as it | required a divine power to make the world. | This great principle being laid down ~~ we shall have no | difficulty in seeing the real nature of some of the most striking | mistakes made in our translations of that great work. As already | said, we fail in simplicity; we take our mouth too full, we stalk in | buskins, we blow trumpets. We are always aiming at artistic | artificial effects of which Homer had no conception. Not that | Homer was altogether artless: on the contrary, he was a master | of art; but it was the art of a minstrel; the art of a man who told, | or rather sang, a pleasant story to the people. Therefore he never | deals in curt sentences, in condensed thoughts, in brilliant | antitheses, in subtle and curious setting of words. He is | continually committing careless sins, which would bring down | upon any poor modern rhymer the lash of the keen-eyed critic | with most effective demonstration. Professor Newman saw this | clearly, and deserves credit for having boldly state it. . | With all this I agree, except one word ~~ Homer is not | quaint. The Elizabethan writers are often | quaint; Chapman is studded over with quaint fancies, fine | conceits, and blazing affections: but Homer is altogether remote | from anything of the kind. This absence of the brilliant tricks of | accomplished art seems, indeed, to be the grand generic | characteristic which distinguishes all popular poetry from | productions addressed by literary men to a literary age. | But let us not do injustice to such men as Chapman, Pope, and | Cowper, by bringing only their faults into the foreground. Each | of them has familiarized the English ear with some one element | of Homer's rich muse in such a masterly fashion that he who | comes after must sweat hardly, if he desires to surpass or even to | reach his predecessor, in his own peculiar walk. For real lusty | vigour, and sturdy snatches of grand conception such as only an | Elizabethan Englishman knew how to make, Chapman will | always stand unrivalled; in these points he is as finely Homeric | as he is English. For grand roll, rapid dash, and sounding | fullness of verse, Pope surpasses Chapman as much as in rude | vigour he falls behind; and, by virtue of this quality, though less | effective in single passages, as a whole he is much more | enjoyable, and more easily digested than the Elizabethan. I | cannot help thinking, indeed, that it has been too much the | fashion lately, both to over-rate Chapman, and to under-rate Pope. | I never could see that Chapman's offences not only against the | manner of Homer, but against all principles of good taste, are a | whit less gross than Pope's; while I am quite certain that, except | to a man bitten with a regular Elizabethan mania, Chapman is not | at all a pleasurable translator to read. If his Muse rides in a very | magnificent chariot, she certainly jolts on a very rough road. | Now, of all vices of poetical composition, this is that which is at | once most disagreeable to the general reader, and most opposed | to what is most prominent both in the language which Homer | used, and to the style in which he used it. What scholar is not | familiar with the sonorous vocal swell of the line ~~ | | The man who has an ear to enjoy such luxury of vocal music in | rhythmical speech will almost always prefer | | Pope to Chapman, in passages where the sense does not so | grandly overtop the sound that the latter is altogether | subordinated. | The great excellence of Cowper lies in his avoidance of the grand | faults of his two great predecessors: when they are turgid, | bombastical, and bespangled with artificial conceits, he is always | chaste, simple, natural, and at the same time dignified. But he | wants fire and rapidity ~~ a very great defect in the popular epos, | and every un-Homeric ~~ nor can he pretend to equal Pope in | sound, or Chapman in vigour. In the "Odyssey" his quiet manner | is more at home, and his translation of that work is perhaps the | best version of any Homeric poem existing in the English | language. | Of Sotheby and Wright I have little to say. The former I have | not examined accurately; but, so far as I know it, I was strongly | impressed with the feeling that, being conceived mainly in the | style and manner of Pope, and not being characteristically | different from him, it made no change in the position of the | English mind in reference to the great original, and therefore, as | a literary achievement, was unnecessary and ineffective. Wright, | again, I have minutely examined; and he stands exactly in the | same relation to Cowper that Sotheby stands to Pope. His | manner strikes you in the main as exactly Cowper's; and, while | in some passages he excels, in others he falls beneath that great | writer. On the whole, therefore, I do not think, that this most | recent translator has made any decided advance on his | predecessors. His translation is an extremely careful, judicious, | tasteful, and good piece of workmanship: but it fails in giving | the English reader a new and striking impression of the original. | These remarks on the existing translations, if well founded, | contain something that will go a considerable way in enabling us | to decide the great question which Professor Arnold has placed | before us ~~ if we are to have another poetical version of Homer, | in what measure ought that version to be made? Now a practical | eye will at once see that it would be wise at least to try | something new. Assuming that our heroic blank verse were the | right method (which, however, I am far from imagining), and | that Tennyson, or Kingsley, might give us an English Homer in | that measure, which would be extremely enjoyable for many | reasons, this is no reason why a translator generally should | imitate Mr. Wright, throw away the grand advantage of novelty, | and insist on occupying a position which has been already so | creditably maintained by one of our greatest poets. But there are | other, and very weighty, reasons against the use of blank verse. | The peculiar character of that measure is weight, massiveness, | stateliness and gravity. Not that every writer of blank verse must | set up Milton as his model. We may write blank verse with a | genial, careless ease, as Mrs. Browning did in "Aurora Leigh," or | with a curious, graceful, subtle ease, as Tennyson does in the | "Idylls." But none of these varieties are at all Homeric; they all | want rapidity and they want sound; when you come to the rolling | stone, the flooded river, the roaring storm, and the tumbling | wave, Pope will beat them all, you may depend upon it. And | why will Pope beat them all? Perhaps for several reasons; but | certainly for this one ~~ because he rhymes. And in favour of | rhyme, that good old English luxury ~~ that happy modern | invention ~~ I must here, before proceeding further, put in a | strong plea, ~~ partly because it is the fashion, in certain quarters, | to talk cheaply of it; partly because Professor Arnold most | unhandsomely disowns it; and partly because I am certain that no | translation of Homer, however well executed, will have any | chance of popularity without it. The general argument in favour | of rhyme is so strong that it may be regarded as forming a | prima facie case for its adoption in any | English poem, where special weighty reasons do not establish an | exception. Rhyme is English; it belongs to the habit of the | English ear; it is an additional vocal | | luxury; it is an additional proof of artistic skill; and, when well | used, is a powerful instrument of emphasis and effect. By far the | greater number of popular English poems ~~ not being dramas | ~~ are rhymed; those that are otherwise owe their success to | some compensating element, that renders the want of the | favourite rhythmical ornament less notice. As to the special case | of translations from the classical languages, some persons have | an idea that rhyme, being altogether a modern invention, suits as | little with the massive simplicity of the antique, as the | flosculosities of Gothic ornamentation would accord with the | plain majesty of a Doric temple. But the case is quite otherwise. | It is the English language that is bald; the Greek that is redundant | with ornament. Therefore, in order to give any impression of the | vocal luxuriance of Homer, we must not rashly throw away the | greatest instrument of musical effect which our poetical language | supplies. We must take our language as we find it. If the rich | fulness of majestic spondees and dactyls may not be ours, we | must see to it, at least, that we use wisely the compensating | element which we have, in the sonorous emphasis of well chosen | and judiciously varied rhymes. Nay more; it is a certain fact that | Homer himself rhymes. I do not mean by this that there occur in | his poems accidental instances, not unfrequent, of two lines | ending with the same sound ~~ but what I mean is, that any | language, like Greek, Latin, and Sanscrit, that makes a free and | full use of flexional terminations, must rhyme, and is, in fact, | always rhyming, by the natural force of these terminations. The | three first lines quoted above, page 273, supply abundant | illustrations of this remark. The essence of a rhyme is a recurrent | sound; and is produced often in Homer, though this recurrence | does not take place at the end of the line. Now, in our own | ballad measure, nothing is more common than to introduce this | rhyme in the middle of the verse, in such a way as to make the | fourth syllable rhyme with the eighth. This natural musical | device of the English ballad style, is essentially Homeric; and yet | we shall be told, by certain classical transcendentalists, that all | rhyme is a modern impertinence, which cannot be imposed upon | Horace or Homer without profanation! In these, as in more | serious matters, the letter killeth, the spirit only maketh alive. | There are only two other objections which have been made to | rhyme that deserve any consideration. One we shall give in the | words of Professor Newman, the other in the words of Professor | Arnold: ~~ . The answer to this is plain. Literal | faithfulness is not the business of any poetical translator, or, | indeed, of any good translation at all; and for this very plain | reason, that poetical translation is not a process of mechanical | transference, but of refusion and reconstruction. What we want | in a poetical translation is not the verbal equivalent of each word, | but the reproduction of the aesthetic tone and character, so far as | that is possible. For those who are curiously anxious about | verbal faithfulness, a prose translation should be made with | every superfluous word in italics, that | the conscientious quoter may know what he is about. In a book | like the Bible, for obvious reasons, such a method is absolutely | necessary. But what we want in poetry is not the exact | transference of the matter, but the reproduction of the style; the | how in all poetry, as Goethe said, being | infinitely more important than the what. | One of Burn's songs, or Beranger's, translated into English prose | faithfully, would look very stupid ~~ might, perhaps, be a very | exact piece of workmanship, and yet be as like the original as | dancing is to walking. The Germans have produced not a few | abortions of so-called poetical translations, from this misapplied | rage for verbal faithfulness; but the vigorous sense of the English | mind, represented by such masters as Dryden, | | Chapman, Pope, Fairfax, Cowper, Martin, and others, has | hitherto kept us free from any such painful absurdities. As to | Professor Arnold, his objection to rhyme, in the case of Homer, | is more ingenious, though, unfortunately, not more sound. The | real objection to rhyme, he says, is, that it separates what | naturally goes together. The answer to this is twofold. The basis | of the Homeric rhythm, as of all popular poetry, is the couplet. | This remark has appeared strange to many persons to whom I | have made it, but there is nothing more certain. It is seen in a | thousand places, but we shall quote the following six lines of the | twenty-fourth book, as they happen to turn up, v. 671-676: | | In verses so constructed it is plain that rhyme, which gives a | couplet a more natural completeness, is not only not a blemish, | but a great beauty ~~ a decoration, as the architects say, growing | out of the construction. But Homer was too great a genius to | confine himself to the constant repetition of the simple couplet, | in the wearisome way in which that simplest style of composition | occurs in the modern Romaic ballads. He varies his rhythm | constantly with the triplet; and, when passion rises high and | fierce, he knows how to override and overbrim the natural | boundaries of his verse in a manner which, so far as I know, he | alone, of all popular minstrels, has achieved. Now, as to the | frequently recurring case of the triplet, to a man using Pope's | couplet, it presents no difficulty at all; for he will naturally turn it | into two couplets, and thus preserve complete unity of effect, | though in a different way. As little difficulty ought Chapman to | have found with his long line, had he known how to handle it for | Homeric purposes; for he would have been wise generally to | translate line for line, and then the triplet is as easy and as | complete in English as in Greek. Take an example. The first | seven lines of the seventh book of the Iliad are as follows: ~~ | | These Chapman renders thus: ~~ | | In reference to which version Professor Arnold would say, that | the fourth, fifth, and sixth lines, which have a compact unity in | the Greek, are drawn out of their coherence by the rhyme in the | sixth line, and made to belong to what follows, rather than to | what goes before. Well, admitting this to be a serious objection, | what workman that knows how to use his tools would find any | difficulty in giving a fair impression of the whole rhythmical | movement of the original, as follows: ~~ | | | | So much for the triplets. As for those cases in which the | swelling passion of the poet boldly overbrims the vase, and runs | violently over into the following line; we see no reason why an | English translator should not practise this as adroitly, as it is as | constantly practised by Ariosto, within the narrow bounds of is | ottava rima, or by Byron, in the grand | use which he makes of the Spenserian stanza. Of all offences the | translator of a long poem should be most anxious to avoid | monotony. | These observations on rhyme have brought us quite close to what | appears to me to be the just conclusion of the whole argument ~~ | that a new translation of Homer should be attempted in some or | our well-known ballad measures. The reasons in favour of this | are obvious. It possesses rhyme, and that with much greater | richness, than the heroic couplet; it has rapidity and variety; and, | above all, it brings with it the very characteristic minstrel | element, which has hitherto been so unfortunately ignored in the | translation of the great father of all minstrels. It has (certain | forms of it at least) the immense advantage of being able to | render Homer line for line, generally without unnatural | condensation on the one hand, or verbose expansion on the other. | That it maybe handled in a loose slip-shod way, and even with a | protrusion of vulgarities, is quite plain; but Professor Arnold is | quite one-sided in supposing that there is anything necessarily | vulgar in the mere form of the ballad. Locksley Hall is in ballad | measure ~~ the less common Trochaic variety indeed, but still | ballad; ~~ and no person ever accused Mr. Tennyson's Muse of | vulgarity in any shape. Or take, if you please, the following lines, | into which Mr. Martin has, with so much spirit, transfused the | rapid Galliambics of Catullus, and say whether you find a want | of nobleness there? | | A more difficult question it certainly is which of our many fine | ballad measures would be most suitable for Homer. Walter | Scott's verse is not deficient in ease, flow, rapidity, and, when | well-handled, variety; it has also a genuine, healthy, sunny tone, | at once thoroughly Greek, thoroughly Homeric, and very | characteristic of minstrel poetry; and, on the whole, what | Professor Newman says is unquestionably true, that . | But the objection made to this rhythm, by many persons, that it is | too short, and wants dignity, seems not altogether unfounded. It | may seem a strange thing, but so it is, that in poetry, as in | architecture, a great deal depends on mere magnitude and | compass. As no person could imagine the severe, slow, | thoughtful terza rima of Dante, done | with its natural effect into the short Anacreontic | measure of , so one feels a sort of descent, as | from a kings throne to a common chair, when the stately march | of the | | is changed into what appears to our ears the light familiar trip of | | | It must also be considered that a long line of a certain magnitude | always offers a greater variety of pause than a short line; and this | alone would determine me in favour of Chapman's line of | fourteen syllables couplet, varied as that unquestionably was by | the easy play of his strong and graceful genius. Chapman's | measure has, besides, the immense advantage, already mentioned, | of corresponding generally, line for line, to the original; for, | though a constant mechanical observance of any such rule will | never be tolerated by a man of real genius, it is unquestionable | that the choice of a line of corresponding compass is the only | sure safeguard against the great temptation to which a translator | is always exposed of unduly condensing, or immoderately | expanding, his materials. Of both offences Pope and Chapman | afford abundant examples: Pope, because his verse forced it | upon him; Chapman, because he did not handle the ballad | measure as a ballad measure in any sense, and, though he uses | rhyme, never seems in the least solicitous that the couplet, the | natural product of rhyme, should strike the ear of the reader. On | the contrary, he continually breaks up his rhymed verse by the | freely-varied pauses which belong to blank verse: and this is one | cause of the great want of musical flow which characterizes his | work. But though, on the whole, I think the old verse of | Chapman, handled with a real ballad feeling, and at the same | time with dignity, is the most convenient medium for presenting | the real old Homer to English readers, I see no reason why other | measures of the same class should not succeed in the hands of a | master. Professor Aytoun, in Blackwood's | Magazine, for 1839, favoured us with a book of Homer in | the measure of Locksley Hall; and there seems no reason why | what was done successfully with one book might not be done | with the whole poem. Certainly the Trochaic measure possesses | both rapidity and dignity; it is not so common as the Iambic, and, | therefore, more majestic, not only in its native movement but in | the accidental associations of the English ear. Nevertheless there | can be no doubt of the philological fact, that Iambic is the natural | rhythm of the English language, and the rhythm which has been | used with the greatest success by all our great poets. There is no | English poem I know of any length written in Trochaic verse, | except Hiawatha. The man who writes Iambic verse in English | always follows more the natural movement of the language, and, | with a moderate amount of genius, is more sure of success. Lord | Byron, who was a great genius, but, at the same time, a thorough | Englishman, almost always wrote Iambic verse, and generally | rhymed. | A single word, in conclusion, on English hexameters. I regard | them as excluded from the present question from the one plain, | practical consideration, that English versions of Latin and Greek | poems are not made for the curious amusement of academical | ears, but for the entertainment and instruction of the unlearned. | A translator is not in a position to dictate to the popular ear, and | to attempt to mould it to the movement of any foreign rhythm to | which he, in the course of his private studies, may have attuned | his organ. Whatever be the virtue of English hexameters, they | are, in English poetry, a great and a daring innovation; and, so far | as they have been tried yet, have found nine gainsayers for one | approver. But, if they would succeed, they must be tried under | the auspices of some great, original genius. Even in erudite and | cosmopolitan Germany they never could have succeeded as a | recognised form of classical translation, had not Klopstock first, | and then Goethe, added the stamp of native authority to the | importation. But, besides this, it maybe proved scientifically that | English hexameters naturally have not, and never can have, to | the English ear, the , or weighty majesty, which the | ancient critics recognised in the sounding march of Homeric and | Virgilian verse. In fact, an ancient hexameter was really, | according to musical laws, a march; | ours is | | rather a jig. On this subject I wrote a paper, several years ago, in | the Classical Museum (vol. iv. p. 320), | which those who are curious in such matters may consult. | One thing remains. Professor Arnold, in the ingenious, graceful, | and thoughtful little book, which has given occasion to these | critical remarks, showed a good example to all critics by giving a | specimen of the sort of hexameters into which he was of opinion | that homer should be translated. I should consider myself | somewhat of a sneak if after having commented so freely on his | opinions, I should not follow his practice. Here, therefore, I fling | down for his critical dissection and disapproval ~~ for I cannot | expect him to approve of my ballad measure any more than I do | of his hexameters ~~ the well-known smart interlude between | Ulysses and Thersites, in the second book of the Iliad. | | |