The Amyntas of Tasso/Preface
THE
PREFACE.
As we have no tolerable translation of Tasso's Amyntas, I flatter myself that the following one will meet with a favourable reception from the publick. The poem is deemed, by all good judges, excellent in it's kind. It was written by one of the greatest poets the world ever saw, when his mind was in the maturity of it's vigour. He was well acquainted with the best models of pastoral writing; his soul felt their beauties: and as his feelings were delicate, and comprehensive, he was not a servile imitator; he revered the laws of his predecessors, and he caught their beauties; but he enriched his work with sentiments, and pictures of his own tender and warm imagination. The Amyntas, therefore, may, in just metaphor, be stiled, a garland composed of the choicest flowers of Arcadia.
Tasso, indeed, has been blasphemed by hardy, and profane mouths. Boileau, one of the contemptible French rhymers, talked impertinently about the [1]tinsel of Tasso; and the conceit has been echoed by criticks as frigid as himself. Such weak assailants cannot shake the reputation of Tasso; for it is founded upon a rock. A Colossus in genius must always expect a shower of harmless Lilliputian arrows. Homer had his Zoïlus, and Pope his Dennis, two generals of these pigmy troops. Nay, Pope to this day, is not allowed to be a poet by some of his learned Aristotelian countrymen; those passionate, and delirious admirers of antiquity, who mistake prejudice for rapture; and are fond of a book because it is written in Greek characters, and because it is long, very long ago since it's author lived. Thus merely the rarity, the sanctifying mould, and the defaced inscription of a medal make it of more value, than the most precious jewel in the estimation of the doting virtuoso.
I beg pardon for this digression, which I shall close by venturing two assertions. I am far from pretending to dictate: I am now expressing my dislike of dictators. I am very sensible that my opinion, as mine, can be of no weight. But I am ingenuous; and I am strongly impressed with a feeling of what I am going to advance: therefore my boldness will be forgiven by all readers whom I would wish to please.
Tasso is a greater poet than Virgil. Pope will be admired as long as the English language is understood; and as long as the human breast glows, while it imbibes the sacred flame of poetry. An Englishman, who is sensible to the charms of the Muses, and free from prejudice, not [2]bristled with Greek, however profound a Grecian he may be, would not so much regret the loss of the original Iliad, as of Pope's translation of that poem.
It may be objected to the Amyntas, especially in this free translation, that it hath sentiments by no means characteristick of rural life. But let me be permitted to observe, that if Tasso's Doric Muse appears sometimes in the buskin, she wears it not absurdly: his shepherds were peculiar favourites of the Nine, and sometimes honoured with the company of learned, and polite patrons.
Thyrsis, in the second scene of the first act, prevails with Amyntas to relate to him the story of his love by these arguments;
La fedele amicitia, et il commune
Studio de le Muse, ch' à me scuopra
Ciò ch' à gli altri si cela
“My faithful friendship well deserves the trust; and our converse with the Muses, which reveals objects to me that are concealed from vulgar minds."
Thyrsis went to the court of Ferrara; he met with a kind reception there; and the society of that court had the following effect upon him:
Pien di nova vertù; pieno di nova
Deitade: e cantai guerre, et heroi,
Sdegnando pastoral ruvido carme.
E se ben poi (come altrui piacque) fect.
Ritorno à queste selve, io pur ritenni
Parte di quello spirto; nè già suona
La mia sampogna humil, come soleva;
Mà di voce più altera, e più sonora,
Emula de le trombe, empie le selve.
Act i. Scene 2.
"On a sudden I grew greater than myself: I was fraught with new virtue and new inspiration. I sung of war, and heroes; and disdained the simple pastoral strain. And after my destiny had brought me back to these woods, I still retained a part of that spirit: nor has my pipe the humble sound it once had; but with a lofty and sonorous tone, it emulates the trumpet, and makes the forest ring."
Elpinus too, a principal character in this piece, had received very distinguished honours at court. He is represented as a great poet, and a great philosopher; the favourite of Apollo, and the counsellor of the afflicted. When Thyrsis is afraid that his friend Amyntas hath killed himfelf, he says;
Del faggio Elpino; ivi, s'è vivo, forse
Şarà ridotto, ove sovente suole
Raddolcir gli amarissimi martiri
Al dolce suon de la sampogna chiara,
Ch'ad udir trahe da gli alti monti i sassi;
E correr sa di puro latti i fiumi;
E stillar mele da le dure scorze.
Act iii. Scene I.
"I will go to the cave of the sage Elpinus: there probably he will be, if he is yet alive: there his amorous pain hath often been soothed by the musick of the harmonious poet; whose pathetick flute draws the rocks from the mountains; makes the streams flow with milk, and honey drop from the oak."
It is the province of the poet to transport us into an agreeable, and blooming region of his own creating: this is his birth-right; the appellation of poet, with which he is dignified, implies the privilege. If we view his most striking characters in all their parts, we shall find that there is not an original in nature which exactly corresponds with them. Without this liberty, which hath been allowed him by long prescription, the art of poetry would be annihilated. The poetical eloquence of a rough old Trojan, or Grecian warriour, would be no longer endured: a simple, untutored shepherd would not be suffered to observe, or to reflect: he must not deliver his sentiments in elegant, though simple verse; and his good rhyme kept up for many lines together, would be still more intolerable. In short, without improving, and embellishing the life of the swain by fiction, a pastoral could never have been produced.
I have endeavoured in this translation, to express the sentiments of Tasso as he would have done had he been an Englishman, without a servile regard to his words: nay, in some places, I have added sentiments, and lines of my own; a liberty, which, I think, may be allowed in translating works of imagination, and amusement, though it is unpardonable in transfusing history and severer truth from one language into another. I have not, however, suppressed any part of the original, and where I have made additions to it, I thought the translation would have been flat without them. The Italian language is so liquid, and flowing, so poetical an organ of sentiment, that an Italian line, which is good poetry, will lose a great part of it's beauty, when translated into an English verse, however easy and harmonious. In such a case, an English translator must have recourse, if he can, to that vigour of thought which is so peculiar to his nation. England hath produced the greatest poets in Europe, not because our language, though a very noble one, is better adapted to poetry than any other; but because we have had sublimer geniuses than any people in the world. I am far from arrogating any excellence to myself: indeed it was not necessary in translating Amyntas. I have only endeavoured, where it was requisite, to tread in the steps of my countrymen.
Poetry, and it's diction should always be considered as coherent, and inseparable. Many minute criticks, and [3]Mr. Hume amongst the rest, have, with much gravity, and discussion, found out, that the finest passages of the most celebrated poets, have nothing in them striking, when divested of their animated expression, and harmony of numbers. This is only discovering to us, that poetry, when turned into prose, ceases to be poetry, and that man consists of a body as well as a soul.
We often hear pastorals despised by those, who seem to think themselves great judges of literary productions. If they despise them because few have succeeded in composing them, every species of writing is liable to the same objection. But if they relish not the true subject of the pastoral poet, the scenes which he should paint, and the sentiments with which he should actuate his characters, they bring a heavy accusation against themselves. People of very profligate lives, in their still hours, after their minds have been tormented with the anxiety of vice, and their bodies jaded with it's debauchery, will have recourse to a book which presents better images than those to which they are accustomed, as to a temporary asylum; and endeavour to cheat themselves into a belief, that they are yet somewhat virtuous, because they are affected with the charms of virtue. But they who take no pleasure in viewing the objects of innoxious life; the humble cottage, and the quiet shade; the simplicity of the swain's manners, his honest labour, and his artless love; and in whom the poet who holds forth these objects to their view, excites ridicule, instead of tender feelings, are irrecoverably poisoned by the contagion of society; they are lost to a sense of peace, innocence, and virtue.
I must, in justice to my author, inform the reader, that the original never departs more from the usual simplicity of a pastoral, than I have done in the additions which I have made, and which I have already mentioned. I am warranted, however, by the model of the poem, and I had the entertainment of my reader in view. I am thus frank and explicit, because I would rather be accused of errour than disingenuity. In short, they who are curious to be acquainted with Tasso himself, will read the original; and they who are not, may, perhaps, be satisfied with my translation. If they are, my intention is fulfilled, and my hopes are gratified.
I beg leave to lay my humble attempt before the tribunal of candour, and sentiment. My translation is an English one; and I am only ambitious to please English men. I shall despise the impertinent censure of any pedantick Italian, any word-catcher, who lives on syllables, who, full of cavil and envy, but destitute of judgment, and taste, having first caught his mother-tongue like a parrot, hath, afterwards, learned all it's inflexions by poring over a grammar; and has, at length compleated his mechanism of language by the dictionary of Crusca.
- ↑ Tous les jours à la cour, un sot de qualité
Peut juger à travers avec impunité;
A Malherbe, à Racan préférer Théophile,
Et le Clinquant de Tasse à tout l'or de Virgile.
Boileau, Satire ix. - ↑ Un pédant enyvré de sa vaine science,
Tout hérisé de Grec, tout bouffi d'arrogance;
Et qui, de mille auteurs, retenus mot pour mot,
Dans sa tête entassés, n'a souvent fait qu'un sot,
Croit qu'un livre fait tout, et que sans Aristote,
La raison ne voit goute, et le bon sens radote.
Boileau, Satire iv. - ↑ We may observe that those compositions which we read the oftenest, and which every man of taste has got by heart, have the recommendation of simplicity, and have nothing surprising in the thought, when divested of that elegance of expression, and harmony of numbers, with which it is cloathed. If the merit of the composition lies in a point of wit, it may strike at first; but the mind anticipates the thought in the second perusal, and is no longer affected by it. When I read an epigram of Martial, the first line recalls the whole; and I have no pleasure in repeating to myself what I know already. But each line, each word in Catullus has it's merit, and I am never tired with the perusal of him, 'Tis sufficient to run over Cowley once; but Parnel, after the fiftieth reading, is as fresh as at the first. I will not pretend to cope with Mr. Hume in learning, politicks, or sophistry. But surely after this quotation, so full of absurdity, and his placing of good Dr. Parnel on the summit of Parnassus, one may venture to assert, that he is destitute of taste in poetry, and incapable of feeling those ardent sentiments which it is it's nature to inspire.
Essay on Simplicity and Refinement.