T_hen we drop from the heights atmospheric_ T_o Herrick_, O_r we pour the Greek honey, grown blander_, O_f Landor_,
O_r our cosiest nook in the shade is_ W_here Praed is_, O_r we toss the light bells of the mocker_ W_ith Locker_.
O_ the song where not one of the Graces_ T_ightlaces_,-- W_here we woo the sweet Muses not starchly_, B_ut archly_,--
W_here the verse, like a piper a-Maying_ C_omes playing_,-- A_nd the rhyme is as gay as a dancer_ I_n answer_,--
I_t will last till men weary of pleasure_ I_n measure!_ I_t will last till men weary of laughter_ ...
A_nd after!_
Whatever we may say of the indebtedness of things like these to the letter of the ancient poet, we must acknowledge them all alike as examples of the dynamic power of Horace.
_ii_. CREATION
But there are other examples whose character as literary creation is still farther beyond question. Such a one, to mention one brilliant specimen in prose, is the letter of Andrew Lang to Horace. In verse, Austin Dobson again affords one of the happiest examples:
TO Q.H.F.
"H_oratius Flaccus_, B.C. 8,"
T_here"s not a doubt about the date_,-- Y_ou"re dead and buried_: A_s you observed, the seasons roll_; A_nd "cross the Styx full many a soul_ H_as Charon ferried_, S_ince, mourned of men and Muses nine_, T_hey laid you on the Esquiline_.
A_nd that was centuries ago!_ Y_ou"d think we"d learned enough, I know_, T_o help refine us_, S_ince last you trod the Sacred Street_, A_nd tacked from mortal fear to meet_ T_he bore Crispinus_; O_r, by your cold Digentia, set_ T_he web of winter birding-net_.
O_urs is so far-advanced an age!_ S_ensation tales, a cla.s.sic stage_, C_ommodious villas!_ W_e boast high art, an Albert Hall_, A_ustralian meats, and men who call_ T_heir sires gorillas!_ W_e have a thousand things, you see_, N_ot dreamt in your philosophy_.
A_nd yet, how strange! Our "world," today_, T_ried in the scale, would scarce outweigh_ Y_our Roman cronies_; W_alk in the Park,--you"ll seldom fail_ T_o find a Sybaris on the rail_ B_y Lydia"s ponies_, O_r hap on Barrus, wigged and stayed_, O_gling some unsuspecting maid_.
T_he great Gargilius, then, behold!_ H_is "long-bow" hunting tales of old_ A_re now but duller_; F_air Neobule too! Is not_ O_ne Hebrus here,--from Aldershot?_ A_ha, you colour!_ B_e wise. There old Canidia sits_; N_o doubt she"s tearing you to bits_.
A_nd look, dyspeptic, brave, and kind_, C_omes dear Maecenas, half behind_ T_erentia"s skirting_; H_ere"s Pyrrha, "golden-haired" at will_; P_rig Damasippus, preaching still_; A_sterie flirting_,-- R_adiant, of course. We"ll make her black_,-- A_sk her when Gyges" ship comes back_.
S_o with the rest. Who will may trace_ B_ehind the new each elder face_ D_efined as clearly_; S_cience proceeds, and man stands still_; O_ur "world" today"s as good or ill_,-- A_s cultured_ (_nearly_), A_s yours was, Horace! You alone_, U_nmatched, unmet, we have not known_.
But it is not only to comparatively independent creation that we must look. The dynamic power of Horace is to be found at work even in the translation of the poet. The fact that he has had more translators than any other poet, ancient or modern, is itself an evidence of inspirational quality, but a greater proof lies in the variety and character of his translators and the quality of their achievement. A list of those who have felt in this way the stirrings of the Horatian spirit would include the names not only of many great men of letters, but of many great men of affairs, whose successes are to be counted among examples of genuine inspiration. Translation at its best is not mere craftsmanship, but creation,--in Roscommon"s lines,
"T_is true, composing is the n.o.bler Part_, B_ut good Translation is no easy Art_.
Theodore Martin"s rendering of I. 21, _To a Jar of Wine_, already quoted in part, is an example. Another brilliant success is Sir Stephen E. De Vere"s I. 31, _Prayer to Apollo_, quoted in connection with the poet"s religious att.i.tude. No less felicitous are Conington"s spirited twelve lines, reproducing III. 26, _Vixi puellis_:
VIXI PUELLIS NUPER IDONEUS
F_or ladies" love I late was fit_, A_nd good success my warfare blest_; B_ut now my arms, my lyre I quit_, A_nd hang them up to rust or rest_.
H_ere, where arising from the sea_ S_tands Venus, lay the load at last_, L_inks, crowbars, and artillery_, T_hreatening all doors that dared be fast_.
O_ G.o.ddess! Cyprus owns thy sway_, A_nd Memphis, far from Thracian snow_: R_aise high thy lash, and deal me, pray_, T_hat haughty Chloe just one blow!_
To translate in this manner is beyond all doubt to deserve the name of poet.
We may go still farther and claim for Horace that he has been a dynamic power in the art of translation, not only as it concerned his own poems, but in its concern of translation as a universal art. No other poet presents such difficulties; no other poet has left behind him so long a train of disappointed aspirants. "Horace remains forever the type of the untranslatable," says Frederic Harrison. Milton attempts the _Pyrrha_ ode in unrhymed meter, and the light and bantering spirit of Horace disappears. Milton is correct, polished, restrained, and pure, but heavy and cold. An exquisite _jeu d"esprit_ has been crushed to death:
W_hat slender youth, bedew"d with liquid odours_, C_ourts thee on roses in some pleasant cave_, P_yrrha? For whom bind"st thou_ I_n wreaths thy golden hair_, P_lain in thy neatness? O how oft shall he_ O_n faith and changed G.o.ds complain, and seas_ R_ough with black winds and storms_ U_nwonted shall admire_!
W_ho now enjoys thee credulous, all gold_, W_ho, always vacant, always amiable_ H_opes thee, of flattering gales_ U_nmindful! Hapless they_ T_o whom thou untried seem"st fair! Me in my vowed_ P_icture, the sacred wall declares to have hung_ M_y dank and dropping weeds_ T_o the stern G.o.d of Sea_.
But let the attempt be made to avoid the ponderous movement and excessive sobriety of Milton, and to communicate the Horatian airiness, and there is a loss in conciseness and reserve:
W_hat scented youth now pays you court_, P_yrrha, in shady rose-strewn spot_ D_allying in love"s sweet sport_?
F_or whom that innocent-seeming knot_ I_n which your golden strands you dress_ W_ith all the art of artlessness?_
D_eluded lad! How oft he"ll weep_ O_"er changed G.o.ds! How oft, when dark_ T_he billows roughen on the deep_, S_torm-tossed he"ll see his wretched bark_!
U_nused to Cupid"s quick mutations_, I_n store for him what tribulations!_
B_ut now his joy is all in you_; H_e thinks your heart is purest gold_; E_xpects you"ll always be love-true_, A_nd never, never, will grow cold_.
P_oor mariner on summer seas_, U_ntaught to fear the treacherous breeze!_
A_h, wretched whom your Siren call_ D_eludes and brings to watery woes_!
F_or me--yon plaque on Neptune"s wall_ S_hows I"ve endured the seaman"s throes_.
M_y drenched garments hang there, too_: H_enceforth I shun the enticing blue._
It is not improbable that the struggle of the centuries with the difficulties of rendering Horace has been a chief influence in the development of our present exacting ideal of translation; so exacting indeed that it has defeated its purpose. By emphasis upon the impossibility of rendering accurately the content of poetry in the form of poetry, scholastic discussion of the theory of translation has led first to despair, and next from despair to the scientific and unaesthetic principle of rendering into exact prose all forms of literature alike. The twentieth century has thus opened again and settled in opposite manner the old dispute of the French D"Alembert and the Italian Salvini in the seventeen-hundreds, which was resolved by actual results in favor of D"Alembert and fidelity to spirit as opposed to Salvini and fidelity to letter.
In what we have said thus far of the dynamic power of Horace in literary creation, we have dealt with visible results. We should not be misled, however, by the satisfaction of seeing plainly in imitation, adaptation, translation, quotation, or real creation, the mark of Horatian influence. The discipline of the literary ideal in the individual, and the moulding of character in literature as an organism, are effects less clearly visible, but, after all, of greater value. If the bread and meat of human sustenance should appear in the body as recognizable bread and meat, it would hardly be a sign of health. Its value is in the strength conferred by a.s.similation. With all respect and grat.i.tude for creation manifestly due to Horace, we must also realize that this is but a superficial result as compared with the chastening restraint of expression and the health and vigor of content that have been encouraged by allegiance to him, but are known by no special marks. It is no bad sign when we turn the pages of the _Oxford Selections of Verse_ in the various modern languages and find but few examples of the visible sort of Horatian influence. To detect the more invisible sort requires the keen eye and the sensitive spirit of the poet-scholar, but the reader not so specially qualified may have faith that it exists. With Goethe writing of Horace as a "great, glowing, n.o.ble poet, full of heart, who with the power of his song sweeps us along, lifts us, and inspires us,"
with Menendez y Pelayo in Spain defining the Horatian lyric, whether Christian or pagan, by "sobriety of thought, rhythmic lightness, the absence of artificial adornment, unlimited care in execution, and brevity," and holding this ideal aloft as the influence needed by the modern lyric, and with no countries or periods without leaders in poetry and criticism uttering similar sentiments and exhortations, it would be difficult not to believe in a substantial Horatian effect on literary culture, however slight the external marks.
3. HORACE IN THE LIVING OF MEN
Let us take leave of these ill.u.s.trations of the dynamic power of Horace in letters, and consider in conclusion his power as shown directly in the living of men.
First of all, we may include in the dynamic working of the poet his stirring of the heart by pure delight. If this is not the highest and the ultimate effect of poetry, it is after all the first and the essential effect. Without the giving of pleasure, no art becomes really the possession of men and the instrument of good. As a matter of fact, many of the most frequently and best translated _Odes_ are devoid both of moral intent, and, in the ordinary sense, of moral effect. _To Pyrrha_, _Soracte Covered with Snow_, _Carpe Diem_, _To Glycera_, _Integer Vitae_, _To Chloe_, _Horace and Lydia_, _The Bandusian Spring_, _Faunus_, _To an Old Wine-Jar_, _The End of Love_, and _Beatus Ille_ are merely _jeux-d"esprit_ of the sort that for the moment lighten and clear the spirit. The same may be said of _The Bore_ and the _Journey to Brundisium_ among the _Satires_, and of many of the _Epistles_.
But these trifles light as air are nevertheless of the sort for which mankind is eternally grateful, because men are convinced, without process of reason, that by them the fibre of life is rested and refined and strengthened. We may call this familiar effect by the less familiar name of re-creative. What lover of Horace has not felt his inmost being cleansed and refreshed by the simple and exquisite art of _The Bandusian Spring_, whose cameo of sixty-eight Latin words in four stanzas is an unapproachable model of vividness, elegance, purity, and restraint:
O_ crystal-bright Bandusian Spring_, W_orthy thou of the mellow wine_ A_nd flowers I give to thy pure depths_: A_ kid the morrow shall be thine_.
T_he day of l.u.s.tful strife draws on_, T_he starting horn begins to gleam_; I_n vain! His red blood soon shall tinge_ T_he waters of thy clear, cold stream_.
T_he dog-star"s fiercely blazing hour_ N_e"er with its heat doth change thy pool_; T_o wandering flock and ploughworn steer_ T_hou givest waters fresh and cool_.
T_hee, too, "mong storied founts I"ll place_, S_inging the oak that slants the steep_, A_bove the hollowed home of rock_ F_rom which thy prattling streamlets leap_.
Or who does not live more abundant life at reading the _Chloe Ode_, with its breath of the mountain air and its sense of the brooding forest solitude, and its exquisite suggestion of timid and charming girlhood?
"Y_ou shun me, Chloe, wild and shy_ A_s some stray fawn that seeks its mother_ T_hrough trackless woods. If spring-winds sigh_, I_t vainly strives its fears to smother_;--
"I_ts trembling knees a.s.sail each other_ W_hen lizards stir the bramble dry_;-- Y_ou shun me, Chloe, wild and shy_ A_s some stray fawn that seeks its mother_.