WHATEVER IS MINE IN THIS BOOK

IS INSCRIBED TO MY WIFE.

I NEED not dilate here on the characteristics of

the first epoch of Italian Poetry; since the extent

of my translated selections is sufficient to afford a

complete view of it. Its great beauties may often

remain unapproached in the versions here attempted;

but, at the same time, its imperfections are not all

to be charged to the translator. Among these I may

refer to its limited range of subject and continual

obscurity, as well as to its monotony in the use of

rhymes or frequent substitution of assonances. But

to compensate for much that is incomplete and in-

experienced, these poems possess, in their degree,

beauties of a kind which can never again exist in art;

and offer, besides, a treasure of grace and variety in

the formation of their metres. Nothing but a strong

impression, first of their poetic value, and next of

the biographical interest of some of them (chiefly

of those in my second division), would have inclined

me to bestow the time and trouble which have re-

sulted in this collection.

Much has been said, and in many respects justly,

against the value of metrical translation. But I think

it would be admitted that the tributary art might

find a not illegitimate use in the case of poems which

come down to us in such a form as do these early

Italian ones. Struggling originally with corrupt

dialect and imperfect expression, and hardly kept

alive through centuries of neglect, they have reached

that last and worst state in which the coup-de-grace

has almost been dealt them by clumsy transcription

and pedantic superstructure. At this stage the task

of talking much more about them in any language

is hardly to be entered upon; and a translation (in-

volving, as it does, the necessity of settling many

points without discussion,) remains perhaps the most

direct form of commentary.

The life-blood of rhymed translation is this,?that

a good poem shall not be turned into a bad one.

The only true motive for putting poetry into a fresh

language must be to endow a fresh nation, as far as

possible, with one more possession of beauty. Poetry

not being an exact science, literality of rendering is

altogether secondary to this chief aim. I say literality,

?not fidelity, which is by no means the same thing.

When literality can be combined with what is thus

the primary condition of success, the translator is

fortunate, and must strive his utmost to unite them;

when such object can only be attained by paraphrase,

that is his only path.

Any merit possessed by these translations is de-

rived from an effort to follow this principle; and, in

some degree, from the fact that such painstaking in

arrangement and descriptive heading as is often

indispensable to old and especially to ?occasional?

poetry, has here been bestowed on these poets for the

first time.

That there are many defects in these translations,

or that the above merit is their defect, or that they have

no merits but only defects, are discoveries so sure to be

made if necessary (or perhaps here and there in any

case), that I may safely leave them in other hands.

The collection has probably a wider scope than some

readers might look for, and includes now and then

(though I believe in rare instances) matter which

may not meet with universal approval; and whose

introduction, needed as it is by the literary aim of

my work, is I know inconsistent with the principles

of pretty bookmaking. My wish has been to give

a full and truthful view of early Italian poetry;

not to make it appear to consist only of certain

elements to the exclusion of others equally belonging

to it.

Of the difficulties I have had to encounter,?the

causes of imperfections for which I have no other

excuse,?it is the reader's best privilege to remain

ignorant; but I may perhaps be pardoned for briefly

referring to such among these as concern the exi-

gencies of translation. The task of the translator

(and with all humility be it spoken) is one of some

self-denial. Often would he avail himself of any

special grace of his own idiom and epoch, if only his

will belonged to him: often would some cadence

serve him but for his author's structure?some struc-

ture but for his author's cadence: often the beautiful

turn of a stanza must be weakened to adopt some

rhyme which will tally, and he sees the poet revelling

in abundance of language where himself is scantily

supplied. Now he would slight the matter for the

music, and now the music for the matter; but no,

he must deal to each alike. Sometimes too a flaw

in the work galls him, and he would fain remove it,

doing for the poet that which his age denied him;

but no,?it is not in the bond. His path is like that

of Aladdin through the enchanted vaults: many are

the precious fruits and flowers which he must pass

by unheeded in search for the lamp alone; happy

if at last, when brought to light, it does not prove

that his old lamp has been exchanged for a new one,?

glittering indeed to the eye, but scarcely of the same

virtue nor with the same genius at its summons.

In relinquishing this work (which, small as it is,

is the only contribution I expect to make to our

English knowledge of old Italy), I feel, as it were,

divided from my youth. The first associations I

have are connected with my father's devoted studies,

which, from his own point of view, have done so

much towards the general investigation of Dante's

writings. Thus, in those early days, all around me

partook of the influence of the great Florentine; till,

from viewing it as a natural element, I also, growing

older, was drawn within the circle. I trust that

from this the reader may place more confidence in a

work not carelessly undertaken, though produced in

the spare-time of other pursuits more closely followed.

He should perhaps be told that it has occupied the

leisure moments of not a few years; thus affording,

often at long intervals, every opportunity for consi-

deration and revision; and that on the score of care,

at least, he has no need to mistrust it.

Nevertheless, I know there is no great stir to

be made by launching afresh, on high-seas busy

with new traffic, the ships which have been long

outstripped and the ensigns which are grown strange.

The feeling of self-doubt inseparable from such an

attempt has been admirably expressed by a great

living poet, in words which may be applied exactly

to my humbler position, though relating in his case

to a work all his own.

• ?Still, what if I approach the august sphere
• Named now with only one name,?disentwine
• That under current soft and argentine
• From its fierce mate in the majestic mass
• Leaven'd as the sea whose fire was mix'd with glass
• In John's transcendent vision,?launch once more
• That lustre? Dante, pacer of the shore
• Where glutted Hell disgorges filthiest gloom,
• Unbitten by its whirring sulphur-spume?
• Or whence the grieved and obscure waters slope
• Into a darkness quieted by hope?
• Plucker of amaranths grown beneath God's eye
• In gracious twilights where His chosen lie,?
• I would do this! If I should falter now!....?

( Sordello, byRobert Browning, B. i.)

It may be well to conclude this short preface with

a list of the works which have chiefly contributed to

the materials of the present volume.