Ortensi seems carelessly to have read "sel" (salt) as "selle" (saddle) and so we have the comical reading "e correte sù! voi non gli metterete ma la sella sulla coda." One would have thought that the ludicrous picture of "auld Satan" careering about with "a saddle" on his tail might have warned him that there was something wrong in his "uptak"." Perhaps it is only fair to say that possibly some of the blunders may be due to misprints, for the book so abounds in printer's errors as to show that any correction of proofs that may have taken place must have been of the most superficial nature. Superficiality, unfortunately, is only too painfully characteristic of the translations themselves. The writer of an English preface to this work says he advised the author "to throw his translation of Burns into a metrical form," and adds, "it is not enough that a translator reproduces his author's meaning, he must also strive to convey to the reader of the translation, as near as possible, the same impression as the original conveys to those conversant with it. This is what Signor Ortensi has aimed at." The characteristics of a good translation are exceedingly well stated in these words, but whilst fully appreciating the time and labour spent, and no doubt the kindly intention, no one will consider for a moment that Signor Ortensi has achieved his purpose, whatever he may have aimed at. I see the present volume is called "Parte Prima," and SO infer that further translations will appear. If so, Signor Ortensi must become better acquainted with the original; avoid 1 And, quick! you will never put the saddle on his tail. the abject, slavish following of other translators; avoid the long, lumbering lines which are so abundant; try to write the songs so that they can be sung to the music to which the original songs are set; then he may accomplish the desirable achievement so fittingly described by the amiable writer of this English preface. SCOTTISH GAELIC. IN coming to the ancient languages of our own country I have had more difficulty in discovering translations than I had even with the Russian version; neither in Scottish Gaelic, Irish Gaelic, nor Welsh has any volume of Burns's translations been published. I have succeeded in getting a few from magazines, and otherwise, rendered into each of these tongues, which I now place before the reader. Scottish Gaelic.-Not knowing Gaelic, at least to an extent to be of the slightest use in this task, and being unable to carry out the plan indicated in the preface, I had recourse to a valued friend of high intellectual endowments and scholarly attainments, equally at home in deep thought and lofty expression in both the English and Gaelic languages, to assist me in my dilemma. With that kindness which an old and valued friendship alone can inspire, he writes me: "To translate Lowland Scotch into the ancient Celtic tongue of the Highlander is quite as difficult as to turn Burns's poetry into Greek or Latin. The languages are fundamentally distinct. Highland poets and scholars have made repeated attempts, but with no such success as to justify us in saying that any of his songs or poems are sung or recited in any of their social gatherings. The translations, though interesting as scholarly exercises, have not melted into the Celtic mind and mixed with their native poetry. Burns in Gaelic is a David in armour. His movements lack freedom, grace, and vivacity. The mental atmosphere in which the Highland poet lives, makes him into another type of man. Nature, for her own sake, is passionately loved by him and minutely described; here are no vague and languid descriptions like Thomson's 'Seasons,' but vivid and glowing sketches of nature seen face to face, and her magic felt in intense emotions of awe and rapture by the poet. There is little humour in Celtic poetry, and very little of the typical varieties of men and women, and scarcely a trace of that mental and moral anatomy of the soul so common in modern poetry. Love songs abound -form and features described in full-but of the inner and true woman, next to nothing. In Burns, nature, which he loves with such boundless love, is yet subordinate to the human interest. Every type of man and woman he sees the reckless and rollicking crew at Poosie Nansie's is sculptured out into individual forms by an art and power of character-reading altogether foreign to the Celtic Muse. Burns's unseen world-of ghosts and witches (including poor old Nicky Ben himself, whom he makes us love rather than fear) all belong to another mode of conception, vitally distinct from that of the Celts. In Burns it is humour, fancy, fun; the Celtic poet would represent them as awful powers that rule in the Spirit world. 'Tam o' Shanter' could hardly have been written in the Highlands. "The heroic element in Burns-his life-long devotion and enthusiasm for Bruce and Wallace and all things Scottish-would touch a kindred chord in the Highland nature loyalty, devotion, (and courage) to a cause or a chief is the essence of the Celtic nature. This Celtic strain Burns undoubtedly possessed. In Scots, wha hae, this feeling has found its expression-fierce, abrupt, condensed, every line an appeal to the heroic in man, or infamy to the coward, traitor, and slave." The Rev. Angus MacIntyre's translation is about as faithful as it well could be. It is ingenious and energetic, but one cannot help feeling that the loud beat of Burns's war-drum, and the marvellous "Ca prosneach fire that fills every line in its original Scottish verse, are largely lost by being turned into a smoother language. BROSNACHADH BHruce. [Translated by the late Rev. Angus MacIntyre, Kinlochspelvie, Mull. Extracted from Filidh nam Beann ("The Mountain Songster"). Glasgow, Archibald Sinclair.] 'Threun', le Wallace, dh' fhuiling creuchd! 'S le Bruce chaidh dàn' gu àr nan euchd ! No buaidh gu treun 'san strìth! So latha 'chruais—an uair tha làth'ir ! Có 'thig do'n strìth neo-dhìleas, claon? Air cùl nan claon-fhear clìth? Có 'n càs an rìgh, a rìogh'chd 'sa reachd, 1 War incitement. |