translator of Dante, although the comments it calls for may lead to a slight digression from the line of the narrative:—“As to Cary’s translation of ‘La Divina Commedia,’ I still hold translating Dante as an impossibility. … Cary does not satisfy me, for, as he gave himself all the latitude of blank verse, I cannot help thinking he might have done more justice to the gems.”
With the opinion expressed in the first clause of this extract few will disagree. Lady Dacre, indeed, might have extended her sentence to other poets besides Dante, and, it may be said, to poets in general of any marked eminence.
Of these poets, or of any save those of the second or third class, to which may be added certain of the satirical and didactic category, it is not too much to assert that nothing that could be called a sufficient translation has yet been accomplished. By translation is here meant not a mere rendering, however faithful and intelligent, of the words, phrases, and plain meaning, but a transfusion, by the translator’s own genius, of the spirit of the original into the ordinary diction, idioms and peculiarities of another language. Pope and Dryden have, perhaps, arrived nearest this result; but, too great themselves, they have so imbued their greater originals with their own spirit—a spirit in many respects differing widely from the classical, that their versions may with more justice be called paraphrases than translations. Still, if there are degrees of impossibility, Dante is fully entitled to a place in the first class of such impossibilities.
To Lady Dacre’s assertion, however, of the facility which Cary ought to have derived from his use of blank verse, exception may well be taken. Although in some cases, as in translating Petrarch, it may be difficult, and in others, as in rendering certain classic metres, impossible, to reproduce in the alien language the exact form of verse employed in the original (and with the form of his verse, it must be observed, the spirit of the poet is always indissolubly connected), yet it is necessary to a good and true translation that this course should be adopted wherever practicable. Dante is a rhymed poet, and the system both of his rhymes and of his verse is by no means uncommon in English poetry; to none, it might be supposed, more familiar than to Lady Dacre. For this reason alone it would appear that if Dante, of all poets, is to be clothed anew in English garb, the most fitting attire for him would not be blank verse.
These remarks are merely by the way, our work is not particularly concerned with poetry, but with the life of Panizzi, who was then (1829) engaged upon his “Orlando Innamorato di Bojardo: Orlando Furioso di Ariosto: with an Essay on the Romantic Narrative Poetry of the Italians; Memoirs, and Notes by Antonio Panizzi.” 9 vols. 8vo. London, 1830–34.
The first volume of this edition, dedicated to his benefactor Roscoe, contains a dissertation on Italian Romantic Poetry, with analyses of the “Teseide” of Boccaccio, the “Morgante” of Luigi Pulci, and the “Mambriano” of Francesco Bello, besides other Italian romantic epics. The second volume is prefaced by a memoir of Bojardo, with an essay making him full amends for the long usurpation of his fame by his adaptor Berni. It also contains a life of Ariosto.
The corrupt text of the “Orlando Innamorato” is restored, with great acumen (from a collation of rare editions, principally contributed by the Right Hon. Thomas Grenville and Earl Spencer), and, as well as that of the “Furioso” (published later on, 1834), is accompanied by long and learned notes in English, “from an idea that they would prove more acceptable to the English reader, who will gladly excuse any errors, when he reflects that, had I not preferred his language, he would not have enjoyed the beautiful translations by Lady Dacre; W. S. Rose, Esq., and W. Sotheby, Esq., which adorn this introductory essay.”
The first part is well worthy the consideration of such as are curious in tracing the windings of the stream of civilization from its fountain head. In this, with great ingenuity, the author describes the passions and incidents of the most remarkable period in the history of mediæval times—the age of chivalry—which institution he attributes to Celtic sources. Chivalry raised Europe from its barbarous condition. Every institution, indeed, is of lowly origin. Love, naturally a brutal appetite, only becomes refined by emulation among men, advancing knowledge, and civilization. Panizzi (p. 29) tells us that the Italians were indebted to the popular songs sung in the north for their long prose romances, giving, as an example of the most popular and inspiriting of these songs, the Lays of Roland and Charlemagne, sung by Taillefer, the Norman standard-bearer who led the charge at the battle of Hastings. “If,” Panizzi continues, at p. 34, “the original destination of poetry were in every nation of the world to celebrate the glorious actions of heroes, one of the provinces of England, possessing one of the most ancient languages extant, would seem to have surpassed all other countries in the application of the art. All the chivalrous fictions, since spread throughout Europe, appear to have had their birth in Wales. … So famous were their lays in France, that the French trouvères were accustomed to cite the British originals as vouchers for the truth of their stories, while some of them were translated by Marie de France. A glance at these translations will show the lays to be of British origin.”
To this ingenious theory it is difficult, without considerable further inquiry, to give so unqualified an assent as the Editor of Bojardo appears to have done. The subject, however, opens up a field of discussion far too wide to be entered into in this biography.
Besides Panizzi’s valuable notes, his work is further embellished with a selection from Lady Dacre’s translations from Petrarch. The peculiar skill with which this most elegant authoress could transfer to her own language the graces of her Italian original will be best presented to the reader by an example of her art:—
And Forisene was in her heart aware,
That love of her was Oliver’s sole care.
And because Love not willingly excuses
One who is loved, and loveth not again;
(For tyrannous were deem’d the rule he uses,
Should they who sue for pity sue in vain;
What gracious lord his faithful liege refuses?)
So when the gentle dame perceived the pain,
That well-nigh wrought to death her valiant knight,
Her melting heart began his love requite.
And from her eyes soft beamed the answering ray,
That Oliver’s soul-thrilling glance returns;
Love in these gleamy lightnings loves to play,
Till but one flame two youthful bosoms burns.
Or Forisena intanto come astuta
Dell’ amor d’ Ulivier s’era avveduta.
E perchè amor malvolentier perdona
Ch’ e’ non sia alfin sempre amato chi ama,
E non saria sua legge giusta e buona,
Di non trovar merzè chi pur la chiama;
Nè giusto sire il suo servo abbandona:
Poi che s’accorse questa gentil dama,
Come per lei si moriva il Marchese,
Subito tutta del suo amor s’accese.
E cominciò con gli occhi a rimandare
Indietro
