University of Virginia Library

PREFACE.

In laying before the British public an English reproduction of such a poem as Faust, the author of this translation is quite aware, that he is venturing upon a very hazardous undertaking. In a work of such depth of feeling, and variety of delineation, the vehement overboiling of youthful enthusiasm, is in as great danger of going beyond the mark, as the correct chasteness of a taste, formed on mere French and Italian models, is of falling within it. A man may be sweet with Petrarch, and brilliant with Voltaire, and yet be very unfit to sympathize with the many-sided nature of Goethe. The consciousness of the difficulty of the task would, long since, have deterred me from attempting it, had not a secret and deep-felt sympathy unconsciously drawn me on, and had I not been encouraged in my first attempts by the favourable opinion of a friend, of whose sincerity I could

have as little reason to doubt, as I was perfectly convinced of his fitness to pronounce a judgment on such a subject.

I am prefectly aware how very far any thing, that I can produce, must always fall beneath what a translation of Faust ought, according to my ideas, to be. But we might wait long enough before an English Goethe should arise, who would be fitted to do perfect justice to such a work; and, in the mean time, if the present attempt shall but serve to draw public attention, in some degree, to what still remains to be done in the wide domain of German literature, I shall have had my reward. The honesty of my intentions will be a sufficient excuse for their apparent presumption; and whatever the judgment of severe critics may be, I shall still be able to plead, in the language of my poetical master—

“So treib's ein jeder wie er kann,
Ein kleiner Mann ist auch Ein Mann.”

With those who have preceded me in this career, I enter into a friendly rivalry, not an envious competition. That man has very little ground to stand upon, who must first trip up the heels of his neighbour, in order to get a footing; and it sounds more like quackery than true science to trumpet forth the

value of one's own productions, by declaiming against the merits of those who have gone before us.

It is for these reasons that I have purposely abstained from all mention of former translations, either in the notes, or in the introductory remarks. My own translation was made altogether independently of any of them;—it was to me a re-echoing of a solemn sound, that had long been vibrating in my inmost soul, and become very part and parcel of my intellectual existence. I might, therefore, in all honesty, have subjected my predecessors to a rigid criticism, and exposed what I conceived to be their errors; but would it have been just, would it have been honourable, to do so, while I refrained from all mention of their excellencies, and those useful hints, which he who follows can never fail to receive, either directly or indirectly, from the labours of those who have preceded him?

To the public at large, it is my duty to state the principle on which this Translation is formed, and the manner in which it has been executed.

The great principle on which the excellence of a poetical translation depends, seems to be, that it should not be a mere transposing, but a recasting, of the original. On this principle, it has been my first

and chief endeavour to make my Translation spirited —to seize, if possible, the very soul and living power of the German, rather than to give a careful and anxious transcription of every individual line, or every minute expression. A poetical translator must, to a certain extent, aspire to the honour of original composition. He must stand on his own feet, and flap his own wings, else will his motions never fail to be stiff and artificial, and give any thing but a true idea of the living spring of the original; with this proviso, however, that, though each motion be his own, it preserve spontaneously a complete sympathy and harmony with each motion of the author, whose work he endeavours to reproduce. A man may make a stuffed bird the same in every feather, in every tint, as the natural bird from which it is copied; but the question always comes to be, Is it alive?

I make these remarks by the way of protest against those petty verbal criticasters, who seem to think that a translation is made for no other purpose than to enable them to bring to light their linguistical lore, in pointing out how each individual word of the original differs from each individual word of the translation. I hope, however, that the critics of philosophy and of feeling will not find my Translation wanting

even in that minute accuracy which the reverence due to such a genius as Goethe demands. At least, I am conscious to myself of having wrestled with an honest persevering striving, to give, as far as possible, an exact transcript of the expression, style, and measure, as well as of the spirit of the original. Indeed these two things are so intimately connected, that, like soul and body, they cannot be separated; only we must beware of falling into poetical materialism, by making the spirit bend to the form, instead of allowing the matter to be kneaded and moulded into shape, by the plastic power of the indwelling spirit.

With regard to the versification, I am afraid many of my readers may be inclined to say of it, as the Edinburgh Reviewer said of Sir Walter Scott's Lay, that it is “in the highest degree irregular and capricious.” So far as concerns the measure of the original, I can say, with the whole of Germany, that it is in the highest degree beautiful and harmonious, and must appear so to every one, whose musical perception has not been lulled asleep by the sing-song of the Popian couplet. Measure is the flexible clothing, not the clogging fetter, of the poet's song,—it waves and folds itself in sympathetic obedience to every motion of his inward man; and, as he is no orator

who makes as little distinction in the intonation of the different parts of an oration, as a child does when repeating his catechism, so he understands but poorly the nature of verse, who does not know that every feeling and passion, every swelling and falling of every feeling, has as necessarily its own peculiar and only proper measure, as every sentence has its peculiar intonation. But after the examples which Scott and Southey, Wordsworth and Coleridge, have set before us in this regard, I think it unnecessary to detain the reader with any lengthened apology for the peculiar versification of Goethe's Faust.

I need only state, that I have, except in a very few cases, faithfully followed the measure of the original; and, in so far as it is possible in a Translation, endeavoured to echo back the tones of the Goethian harp. This, however, is the most trying point of all; and I beg of the English reader, if he finds the Poem unharmonious, to lay all the blame on him, to whom alone it belongs, and who is, at the same time, most willing to bear it.

One thing I must mention to avoid misconception. I have frequently, in imitation of the original, introduced Alexandrines in situations, where, to the English ear, they appear altogether uncalled for. I am

of opinion, however, that these long lines have a peculiar beauty in giving a slow and easy undulation to the verse, and varying the monotony of the ten-syllabled lines. They are, accordingly, seldom introduced by our Poet without cause; and wherever they are manifestly intended to produce the impression of slowness and ease, I have been most scrupulous in retaining them. Thus, for instance, in p. 34, the long line of my Translation, is an exact imitation of the original: And who is there so deaf to harmony, that does not perceive instinctively the beauty of this versification? The two lines spoken into Mephistopheles' ear, by the old hag of the kitchen (p. 108) are long on the same principle; and, though not always so distinctly expressible, there is always an instinctive mental harmony, that regulates the length of the lines in Goethe's versification. Even when tortured through the crucible of a translation, Goethe's measure still retains a great portion of its wondrous music; and I shall be much disappointed, indeed, if I have not been able to convey some faint idea, even of this peculiar beauty, to the English ear.

With regard to the mere mechanics of this Translation, I have rhymed, because the original rhymes; and because I cannot see how rhyme can be separated from the aesthetical form of the poem. The difficulties, which this peculiar mode of translation is supposed to present, exist more in the indolence of the Translator, than in the nature of the thing; and a man who is in love with his work, will not be deterred by a mere mechanical impediment, which a little perseverance, and a little dexterity, will, in a short time, altogether remove. Some rhymeless lines the reader will find, here and there; for this procedure I had peculiar reasons, known only to him who has experienced the difficulty of producing a translation, at once accurate, easy, and spirited.

A strong desire to give as close a transcript as possible of the original, has also induced me, on one or two occasions, to admit rhymes, which would have been altogether inexcusable in the freedom of original composition; but these impure rhymes will, I hope, be found to be comparatively few, in proportion to the length of the poem; and the reader may be assured that they never occur, except from perhaps an over-anxious striving to keep as nearly as possible to the German text.

To attempt to imitate the double endings, whereever they occur in the original, would shew a great misconception of the capabilities of the two languages. Lord Leveson Gower, whose powers of English versification are, on many occasions, so favourably exhibited in his translation of Faust, would, in my opinion, have given a much better version, both of the prologue-hymn, and of the dedication, had he not imposed upon himself the necessity of repeating the alternate trochaic rhymes of the original. Even Shelley's exquisite translation of the above hymn, has, I think, suffered somewhat from the same cause; and, warned by these two examples, and in order to give as literal a transcript as possible of this beautiful piece of composition, I have retained the trochaic ending of the first and third lines in these stanzas, but only rhymed the second and fourth.

Having thus rendered an account of my stewardship, I leave Goethe and myself, with all good cheer, in the hands of a discriminating public. Let me not, however, close these remarks, without returning publicly my thanks to those learned and talented gentlemen, who have assisted me with their advice and encouragement in the prosecution of this work. I am under especial obligations to Sir William Hamilton,

Bart., Professor Wilson, and George Moir, Esq. Advocate, who have either revised my manuscript, corrected my proofs, or furnished me with assistance in collecting the Notes, which to such a poem as Faust were indispensable: nor should I forget to mention the names of Mr Repp and Dr Nachot, whom I have consulted as to the meaning of some German phrases, in regard to which I was doubtful; —and last, not least, be my thanks paid to Mr D. Haig, Librarian of the Advocates' Library, who gave me every facility in bringing to the light of day those musty old tomes on the black art, of which I have made so copious use in my notes.