LONGFELLOW'S TRANSLATION OF DANTE'S DIVINA COMMEDIA. if Mr. March, 1809, we of Dante: "This we can pronounce, with confidence, to be the most literal translation in poetry in our language." "As to Cary," writes Prescott in 1824, "I think Dante would have given him a place in his ninth heaven, if he could have foreseen his translation. It is most astonishing, giving not only the literal corresponding phrase, but the spirit of the original, the true Dantesque manner. It should be cited as an evidence of the compactness, the pliability, the sweetness of the English tongue." If we turn to English scholars, we shall find them holding the same language, and equally ready to assure you that you may confidently accept Cary's version as a faithful transcript of the spirit and letter of the original. And this was the theory of translation throughout almost the first half of the present century. Cary's position in 1839 was higher even than it was in 1824. With many other claims to respect, he was still best known as the translator of Dante. In 1839 Mr. Longfellow published five passages from the Purgatorio, translated with a rigorous adhesion to the words and idioms of the original. Coming out in connection with translations from the Spanish and German, and with original pieces which immediately took their place among the favorite poems of every household, they could not be expected to attract general attention. But scholars read them with avidity, for they found in them the first successful solution of one of the great problems of literature, Can poetry pass from one language into another without losing its distinctive characteristics of form and expression? Dryden, Pope, Cowper, Sotheby, had answered no for Greek and Latin, Coleridge for German, Fairfax and and Cary Longfellow could of the Divina Commedia as he had translated these five passages, great as some of these names were, it was evident that the lovers of poetry would call for new translations of all the great poets. This he has now done. The whole poem is before us, with its fourteen thousand two hundred and seventy-eight lines, the English answering line for line and word for word to the original Italian. We purpose to show, by a careful comparison of test-passages with corresponding passages of Cary, what the American poet has done for the true theory of translation. It is evident that, while both translators have nominally the same object in view, they follow different paths in their endeavors to reach it; or, in other words, that they come to their task with very different theories of translation, and very different ideas of the true meaning of faithful rendering. Translation, according to Mr. Cary, consists in rendering the author's idea without a strict adherence to the author's words. According to Mr. Longfellow, the author's words form a necessary accompaniment of his idea, and must, wherever the idioms of the two languages admit of it, be rendered by their exact equivalents. The following passage, from the twenty-eighth canto of the Purgatorio, will illustrate our meaning: "In questa altezza che tutta è disciolta Literally, In this height which is all detached And makes the wood resound because it is thick. Such are the words of Dante line by line. Let us now see how Cary renders them: "Upon the summit, which on every side Is open, doth that motion strike, and makes Beneath its sway the umbrageous wood resound." The fundamental idea of this passage is the explanation of the sound of the forest, and this idea Cary has preserved. But has he preserved it in its force and simplicity and Dantesque directness? We will not dwell upon the rendering of altezza by summit, although a little more care would have preserved the exact word of the original. But we may with good reason object to the expansion of Dante's three lines into four. We may with equal reason object to "which on every side To visitation of the impassive air as a correct rendering of "To visitation of the impassive air," is a sonorous verse; but it is not Dante's verse, unless all detached means on every side is open to visitation, and impassive air means living air. Beneath its sway, also, is not Dante's; nor can we accept umbrageous wood, with its unmeaning epithet, for the wood because it is thick, an explanation of the phenomenon which had excited Dante's wonder. Here, then, we have Cary's theory, the preservation of the fundamental idea, but the free introduction of such accessory ideas as convenience may suggest, whether in the form of epithet or of paraphrase. Mr. Longfellow's translation of this passage may also be accepted as the exposition of his theory; "Upon this height that all is disengaged In living ether, doth this motion strike, And make the forest sound, for it is dense." We have here the three lines of the original, and in the order of the original; we have the exact words of the original, disciolta meaning disengaged as well as detached, and therefore the ideas of the original without modification or change. The passage is not a remarkable one in form, although a very important one in the description of which it forms a part. The sonorous second line of Mr. Cary's version is singularly false to the movement, as well as to the thought, of the original. Mr. Longfellow's lines have the metric character of Dante's precise and direct description. The next triplet brings out the difference between the two theories even more distinctly: "E la percossa pianta tanto puote Che della sua virtute l' aura impregna, Thus far Dante. “And in the shaken plant such power resides, That it impregnates with its efficacy The voyaging breeze, upon whose subtle plume That, wafted, flies abroad." Thus far Cary. Cary's first line is a tolerably near approach to the original, although a distinction might be made between the force of power resides in, and power possessed by. The second line falls short of the conciseness of the original by transposing the object of impregnates into the third. This, however, though a blemish, might also be passed over. But what shall we say to the expansion of aura into a full line, and that line so Elizabethan and un-Dantesque as "The voyaging breeze upon whose subtle plume"? In this, too, Mr. Cary is faithful to his theory. theory. Mr. Longfellow is equally faithful to his : "And so much power the stricken plant possesses, That with its virtue it impregns the air, And this, revolving, scatters it around." We have seen how Cary's theory permits the insertion of a new line, or, more correctly speaking, the expansion of a single word into a full line. But it admits also of the opposite extreme, - the suppression of an entire line. "Ch' io vidi, e anche udi' parlar lo rostro, E sonar nella voce ed io e mio, Quand' era nel concetto noi e nostro." For I saw and also heard speak the beak, And sound in its voice and I and my, When it was in the conception we and our. Paradiso, XIX. 10. There is doubtless something quaint and peculiar in these lines, but it is the quaintness and peculiarity of Dante. The I and my, the we and our, are traits of that direct and positive mode of expression which is one of the distinctive characteristics of his style. Do we find it in Cary? "For I beheld and heard The beak discourse; and what intention formed Of many, singly as of one express." Do we not find it in Longfellow? "For speak I saw, and likewise heard, the beak, And utter with its voice both I and My, When in conception it was We and Our. It is not surprising that the two translators, starting with theories essentially so different, should have produced such different results. Which of these results is most in harmony with the legitimate object of translation can hardly admit of a doubt. For the object of translation is to convey an accurate idea of the original, or, in other words, to render the words and idioms of the language from which the translation is made by their exact equivalents in the language into which it is made. The translator is bound by the words of the original. He is bound, so far as the difference between languages admits of it, by the idioms of the original. And as the effect of words and idioms depends in a great measure upon the skill with which they are arranged, he is bound also by the rhythm of the original. If you would copy Raphael, you must not give him the coloring of Titian. The calm dignity of the "School of Athens" conveys a very imperfect idea of the sublime energy of the sibyls and prophets of the Sistine Chapel. But can this exactitude be achieved without forcing language into such uncongenial forms as to produce an artificial effect, painfully reminding you, at every step, of the labor it cost? And here we come to the question of fact; for if Mr. Longfellow has succeeded, the answer is evident. We purpose, therefore, to take a few test-passages, and, placing the two translations side by side with the original, give our readers an opportunity of making the comparison for themselves. First, however, let us remind the reader that, if it were possible to convey an accurate idea of Dante's style by a single word, that word would be power. Whatever he undertakes to say, he says in the form best suited to convey his thought to the reader's mind as it existed in his own mind. If it be a metaphysical idea, he finds words for it which give it the distinctness and reality of a physical substance. If it be a landscape, he brings it before you, either in outline or in detail, either by form or by color, as the occasion requires, but always with equal force. That landscape of his ideal world ever after takes its place in your memory by the side of the landscapes of your real world. Even the sounds which he has described linger in the ear as the types of harshness, or loudness, or sweetness, instantly coming back to you whenever you listen to the roaring of the sea, or the howling of the wind, or the carol of birds. He calls things by their names, never shrinking from a homely phrase where the occasion demands it, nor substituting circumlocution for direct expression. Words with him seem to be things, real and tangible; not hovering like shadows over an idea, but standing out in the clear light, bold and firm, as the distinct representatives of an idea. In his verse every word has its appropriate place, and something to do in that place which no other word could do there. Change it, and you feel at once that something has been lost. Next to power, infinite variety is the characteristic of Dante's style, as it is of his invention. With a stronger individuality than any poet of any age or country, there is not a trace of mannerism in all his poem. The stern, the tender, the grand, simple exposition, fierce satire, and passionate appeal have each their appropriate words and their appropriate cadence. This Cary did not perceive, and has told the stories of Francesca and of Ugolino with the same Miltonian modulation. Longfellow, by keeping his original constantly before him, has both seen and reproduced it. We begin our quotations with the celebrated inscription over the gate of hell, and the entrance of the two poets into "the secret things." The reader will remember that the last three triplets contain a remarkable example of the correspondence of sound with sense. "Per me si va nella città dolente; Per me si va nell' eterno dolore; Per me si va tra la perduta gente; Giustizia mosse 'l mio alto fattore: Fecemi la divina potestate, La somma sapienza e il primo amore. Dinanzi a me non fur cose create Se non eterne, ed io eterno duro : Lasciate ogni speranza voi che 'ntrate. Queste parole di colore oscuro Vid' io scritte al sommo d' una porta; Perch' io: maestro, il senso lor m' è duro. Ed egli a me, come persona accorta : Qui si convien lasciare ogni sospetto, Ogni viltà convien che qui sia morta. Noi sem venuti al luogo ov' io t'ho detto Che vederai le genti dolorose Ch' hanno perduto il ben dello 'ntelletto. E poichè la sua mano alla mia pose Con lieto volto, ond' io mi confortai, Mi mise dentro alle secrete cose. Quivi sospiri, pianti ed alti guai Risonavan per l' aer senza stelle, Perch' io al cominciar ne lagrimai. Diverse lingue, orribili favelle, Parole di dolore, accenti d' ira, Voci alte e fioche, e suon di man con elle, Facevano un tumulto il qual s' aggira Sempre 'n quell' aria senza tempo tinta, "Through me the way is to the city dolent; Through me the way is to eternal dole ; Through me the way among the people lost. Justice incited my sublime Creator; Created me divine Omnipotence, The highest Wisdom and the primal Love. All hope abandon, ye who enter in !' Written upon the summit of a gate; And he to me, as one experienced : 'Here all suspicion needs must be abandoned, All cowardice must needs be here extinct. We to the place have come, where I have told thee Thou shalt behold the people dolorous Who have foregone the good of intellect.' And after he had laid his hand on mine With joyful mien, whence I was comforted, He led me in among the secret things. There sighs, complaints, and ululations loud Resounded through the air without a star, Whence I, at the beginning, wept thereat. Languages diverse, horrible dialects, Accents of anger, words of agony, And voices high and hoarse, with sound of hands, Made up a tumult that goes whirling on Forever in that air forever black, Even as the sand doth, when the whirlwind "Through me you pass into the city of woe: All hope abandon, ye who enter here.' Such characters, in color dim, I marked Here sighs, with lamentations and loud moans, With hands together smote that swelled the sounds, Cary. The following, though less remarkable for its poetry than many others which we might select, is very difficult for the translator. We cite it as an illustration of the boldness with which Mr. Longfellow meets difficulties. "E quale è quei che suo dannaggio sogna, Che sognando disidera sognare, Si che quel ch' è, come non fosse, agogna; Che disiava scusarmi e scusava E fa ragion ch' io ti sempre allato, Inferno, XXX. 136-148. For to excuse myself I wished, and still Excused myself, and did not think I did it. 'Less shame doth wash away a greater fault,' The Master said, than this of thine has been; Therefore thyself disburden of all sadness, And make account that I am aye beside thee, If e'er it come to pass that fortune bring thee Where there are people in a like dispute; For a base wish it is to wish to hear it."" Longfellow. "As a man that dreams of harm 'More grievous fault than thine has been, less shame,' My master cried, 'might expiate. Therefore cast Cary. The following passage from the Purgatorio is not only strikingly difficult, but strikingly beautiful. "Ed un di lor, non questi che parlava, Si torse sotto 'l peso che lo 'mpaccia, E videmi e conobbemi, e chiamava Tenendo gli occhi con fatica fisi A me che tutto chin con loro andava. Oh, diss' io lui, non se' tu Oderisi, L'onor d' Agobbio e l' onor di quell' arte Ch' alluminare è chiamata in Parisi? Frate, diss' egli, più ridon le carte Che pennelleggia Franco Bolognese : L'onore è tutto or suo, e mio in parte. Ben non sare' io stato sì cortese Mentre ch' io vissi, per lo gran disio Dell' eccellenza ove mio core intese. Di tal superbia qui si paga il fio: Ed ancor non sarei qui, se non fosse Che, possendo peccar, mi volsi a Dio. Oh vana gloria dell' umane posse, Com' poco verde in su la cima dura Tenor lo campo; ed ora ha Giotto il grido, La gloria della lingua ; e forse è nato Non è il mondan romore altro ch' un fiato Di vento ch' or vien quinci ed or vien quindi, Che fama avrai tu più se vecchia scindi Spazio all' eterno ch' un muover di ciglia Dinanzi a te, Toscana sorò tutta, La rabbia Fiorentina, che superba And looked at me, and knew me, and called out, On me, who all bowed down was going with 'O,' asked I him, 'art thou not Oderisi, While I was living, for the great desire And yet I should not be here, were it not How little green upon thy summit lingers, Should hold the field, now Giotto has the cry, The glory of our tongue, and he perchance Is born, who from the nest shall chase them both. Naught is this mundane rumor but a breath Of wind, that comes now this way and now that, And changes name, because it changes side. What fame shalt thou have more, if old peel off From thee thy flesh, than if thou hadst been dead In front of me, all Tuscany resounded; Which comes and goes, and that discolors it "Listening I bent my visage down and one (Not he who spake) twisted beneath the weight That urged him, saw me, knew me straight, and called; Holding his eyes with difficulty fixed Intent upon me, stooping as I went Companion of their way. 'Oh!' I exclaimed, 'Art thou not Oderigi? art not thou Agobbio's glory, glory of that art Which they of Paris call the limner's skill?' |