the miscellaneous writings and speeches-1-第16章

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ons　inconsistent　with　the　creed　of　the　Catholic　Church。　　He　has　related　nothing　concerning　them　which　a　good　Christian　of　that　age　might　not　believe　possible。　　On　this　account　there　is　nothing　in　these　passages　that　appears　puerile　or　pedantic。　　On　the　contrary；　this　singular　use　of　classical　names　suggests　to　the　mind　a　vague　and　awful　idea　of　some　mysterious　revelation；　anterior　to　all　recorded　history；　of　which　the　dispersed　fragments　might　have　been　retained　amidst　the　impostures　and　superstitions　of　later　religions。　　Indeed　the　mythology　of　the　Divine　Comedy　is　of　the　elder　and　more　colossal　mould。　　It　breathes　the　spirit　of　Homer　and　Aeschylus；　not　of　Ovid　and　Claudian。

This　is　the　more　extraordinary；　since　Dante　seems　to　have　been　utterly　ignorant　of　the　Greek　language；　and　his　favourite　Latin　models　could　only　have　served　to　mislead　him。　　Indeed；　it　is　impossible　not　to　remark　his　admiration　of　writers　far　inferior　to　himself；　and；　in　particular；　his　idolatry　of　Virgil；　who；　elegant　and　splendid　as　he　is；　has　no　pretensions　to　the　depth　and　originality　of　mind　which　characterise　his　Tuscan　worshipper；　In　truth　it　may　be　laid　down　as　an　almost　universal　rule　that　good　poets　are　bad　critics。　　Their　minds　are　under　the　tyranny　of　ten　thousand　associations　imperceptible　to　others。　　The　worst　writer　may　easily　happen　to　touch　a　spring　which　is　connected　in　their　minds　with　a　long　succession　of　beautiful　images。　　They　are　like　the　gigantic　slaves　of　Aladdin；　gifted　with　matchless　power；　but　bound　by　spells　so　mighty　that　when　a　child　whom　they　could　have　crushed　touched　a　talisman；　of　whose　secret　he　was　ignorant；　they　immediately　became　his　vassals。　　It　has　more　than　once　happened　to　me　to　see　minds；　graceful　and　majestic　as　the　Titania　of　Shakspeare；　bewitched　by　the　charms　of　an　ass's　head；　bestowing　on　it　the　fondest　caresses；　and　crowning　it　with　the　sweetest　flowers。　　I　need　only　mention　the　poems　attributed　to　Ossian。　　They　are　utterly　worthless；　except　as　an　edifying　instance　of　the　success　of　a　story　without　evidence；　and　of　a　book　without　merit。　　They　are　a　chaos　of　words　which　present　no　image；　of　images　which　have　no　archetype：they　are　without　form　and　void；　and　darkness　is　upon　the　face　of　them。　　Yet　how　many　men　of　genius　have　panegyrised　and　imitated　them！

The　style　of　Dante　is；　if　not　his　highest；　perhaps　his　most　peculiar　excellence。　　I　know　nothing　with　which　it　can　be　compared。　　The　noblest　models　of　Greek　composition　must　yield　to　it。　　His　words　are　the　fewest　and　the　best　which　it　is　possible　to　use。　　The　first　expression　in　which　he　clothes　his　thoughts　is　always　so　energetic　and　comprehensive　that　amplification　would　only　injure　the　effect。　　There　is　probably　no　writer　in　any　language　who　has　presented　so　many　strong　pictures　to　the　mind。　Yet　there　is　probably　no　writer　equally　concise。　　This　perfection　of　style　is　the　principal　merit　of　the　Paradiso；　which；　as　I　have　already　remarked；　is　by　no　means　equal　in　other　respects　to　the　two　preceding　parts　of　the　poem。　　The　force　and　felicity　of　the　diction；　however；　irresistibly　attract　the　reader　through　the　theological　lectures　and　the　sketches　of　ecclesiastical　biography；　with　which　this　division　of　the　work　too　much　abounds。　It　may　seem　almost　absurd　to　quote　particular　specimens　of　an　excellence　which　is　diffused　over　all　his　hundred　cantos。　　I　will；　however；　instance　the　third　canto　of　the　Inferno；　and　the　sixth　of　the　Purgatorio；　as　passages　incomparable　in　their　kind。　The　merit　of　the　latter　is；　perhaps；　rather　oratorical　than　poetical；　nor　can　I　recollect　anything　in　the　great　Athenian　speeches　which　equals　it　in　force　of　invective　and　bitterness　of　sarcasm。　　I　have　heard　the　most　eloquent　statesman　of　the　age　remark　that；　next　to　Demosthenes；　Dante　is　the　writer　who　ought　to　be　most　attentively　studied　by　every　man　who　desires　to　attain　oratorical　eminence。

But　it　is　time　to　close　this　feeble　and　rambling　critique。　　I　cannot　refrain；　however；　from　saying　a　few　words　upon　the　translations　of　the　Divine　Comedy。　　Boyd's　is　as　tedious　and　languid　as　the　original　is　rapid　and　forcible。　　The　strange　measure　which　he　has　chosen；　and；　for　aught　I　know；　invented；　is　most　unfit　for　such　a　work。　　Translations　ought　never　to　be　written　in　a　verse　which　requires　much　command　of　rhyme。　　The　stanza　becomes　a　bed　of　Procrustes；　and　the　thoughts　of　the　unfortunate　author　are　alternately　racked　and　curtailed　to　fit　their　new　receptacle。　　The　abrupt　and　yet　consecutive　style　of　Dante　suffers　more　than　that　of　any　other　poet　by　a　version　diffuse　in　style；　and　divided　into　paragraphs；　for　they　deserve　no　other　name；　of　equal　length。

Nothing　can　be　said　in　favour　of　Hayley's　attempt；　but　that　it　is　better　than　Boyd's。　　His　mind　was　a　tolerable　specimen　of　filigree　work；rather　elegant；　and　very　feeble。　　All　that　can　be　said　for　his　best　works　is　that　they　are　neat。　　All　that　can　be　said　against　his　worst　is　that　they　are　stupid。　　He　might　have　translated　Metastasio　tolerably。　　But　he　was　utterly　unable　to　do　justice　to　the

〃rime　e　aspre　e　chiocce；　〃Come　si　converrebbe　al　tristo　buco。〃　（Inferno；　canto　xxxii。）

I　turn　with　pleasure　from　these　wretched　performances　to　Mr　Cary's　translation。　　It　is　a　work　which　well　deserves　a　separate　discussion；　and　on　which；　if　this　article　were　not　already　too　long；　I　could　dwell　with　great　pleasure。　　At　present　I　will　only　say　that　there　is　no　other　version　in　the　world；　as　far　as　I　know；　so　faithful；　yet　that　there　is　no　other　version　which　so　fully　proves　that　the　translator　is　himself　a　man　of　poetical　genius。　　Those　who　are　ignorant　of　the　Italian　language　should　read　it　to　become　acquainted　with　the　Divine　Comedy。　　Those　who　are　most　intimate　with　Italian　literature　should　read　it　for　its　original　merits：　　and　I　believe　that　they　will　find　it　difficult　to　determine　whether　the　author　deserves　most　praise　for　his　intimacy　with　the　language　of　Dante；　or　for　his　extraordinary　mastery　over　his　own。

。。。


CRITICISMS　ON　THE　PRINCIPAL　ITALIAN　WRITERS。

No。　II。　　PETRARCH。

（April　1824。）

Et　vos；　o　lauri；　carpam；　et　te；　proxima　myrte；　Sic　positae　quoniam　suaves　miscetis　odores。　　Virgil。

It　would　not　be　easy　to　name　a　writer　whose　celebrity；　when　both　its　extent　and　its　duration　are　taken　into　the　account；　can　be　considered　as　equal　to　that　of　Petrarch。　　Four　centuries　and　a　half　have　elapsed　since　his　death。　　Yet　still　the　inhabitants　of　every　nation　throughout　the　western　world　are　as　familiar　with　his　character　and　his　adventures　as　with　the　most　illustrious　names；　and　the　most　recent　anecdotes；　of　their　own　literary　history。　　This　is　indeed　a　rare　distinction。　　His　detractors　must　acknowledge　that　it　could　not　have　been　acquired　by　a　poet　destitute　of　merit。　　His　admirers　will　scarcely　maintain　that　the　unassisted　merit　of　Petrarch　could　have　raised　him　to　that　eminence　which　has　not　yet　been　attained　by　Shakspeare；　Milton；　or　Dante；that　eminence；　of　which　perhaps　no　modern　writer；　excepting　himself　and　Cervantes；　has　long　retained　possession；　an　European　reputation。

It　is　not　difficult　to　discover　some　of　the　causes　to　which　this　great　man　has　owed　a　celebrity；　which　I　cannot　but　think　disproportioned　to　his　real　claims　on　the　admiration　of　mankind。　In　the　first　place；　he　is　an　egotist。　　Egotism　in　conversation　is　universally　abhorred。　　Lovers；　and；　I　believe；　lovers　alone；　pardon　it　in　each　other。　　No　services；　no　talents；　no　powers　of　pleasing；　render　it　endurable。　　Gratitude；　admiration；　interest；　fear；　scarcely　prevent　those　who　are　condemned　to　listen　to　it　from　indicating　their　disgust　and　fatigue。　　The　childless　uncle；　the　powerful　patron　can　scarcely　extort　this　compliance。　　We　leave　the　inside　of　the　mail　in　a　storm；　and　mount　the　box；　rather　than　hear　the　history　of　our　companion。　　The　chaplain　bites　his　lips　in　the　presence　of　the　archbishop。　　The　midshipman　yawns　at　the　table　of　the　First　Lord。　　Yet；　from　whatever　cause；　this　practice；　the　pest　of　conversation；　gives　to　writing　a　zest　which　nothing　else　can　impart。　　Rousseau　made　the　boldest　experiment　of　this　kind；　and　it　fully　succeeded。　　In　our　own　time　Lord　Byron；　by　a　series　of　attempts　of　the　same　nature；　made　himself　the　object　of　general　i