The Lusiad; Or, The Discovery of India, an Epic Poem
judgment more credit than when he confessed that he dreaded Camoëns as a
rival; or his generosity more honour than when he addressed the elegant
sonnet to the hero of the Lusiad, commencing--
"Vasco, le cui felici, ardite antenne
In contro al sol, che ne riporta il giorno."
It only remains to give some account of the version of the Lusiad which
is now offered to the public. Beside the translations mentioned in the
life of Camoëns, M. Duperron De Castera, in 1735, gave, in French prose,
a loose unpoetical paraphrase[19] of the Lusiad. Nor does Sir Richard
Fanshaw's English version, published during the usurpation of Cromwell,
merit a better character. Though stanza be rendered for stanza, though
at first view it has the appearance of being exceedingly literal, this
version is nevertheless exceedingly unfaithful. Uncountenanced by his
original, Fanshaw--
"Teems with many a dead-born just."[20]
Nor had he the least idea of the dignity of the epic style,[21] or of
the true spirit of poetical translation. For this, indeed, no definite
rule can be given. The translator's feelings alone must direct him, for
the spirit of poetry is sure to evaporate in literal translation.
Indeed, literal translation of poetry is a solecism. You may construe
your author, indeed, but, if with some translators you boast that you
have left your author to speak for himself, that you have neither added
nor diminished, you have in reality grossly abused him, and deceived
yourself. Your literal translation can have no claim to the original
felicities of expression; the energy, elegance, and fire of the original
poetry. It may bear, indeed, a resemblance; but such a one as a corpse
in the sepulchre bears to the former man when he moved in the bloom and
vigour of life.
_Nec verbum verbo curabis reddere, fidus
Interpres,_
was the taste of the Augustan age. None but a poet can translate a poet.
The freedom which this precept gives, will, therefore, in a poet's
hands, not only infuse the energy, elegance, and fire of his author's
poetry into his own version, but will give it also the spirit of an
original.
He who can construe may perform all that is claimed by the literal
translator. He who attempts the manner of translation prescribed by
Horace, ventures upon a task of genius. Yet, however daring the
undertaking, and however he may have failed in it, the translator
acknowledges, that in this spirit he has endeavoured to give the Lusiad
in English. Even farther liberties, in one or two instances, seemed to
him advantageous---- But a minuteness[22] in the mention of these will
not appear with a good grace in this edition of his work; and besides,
the original is in the hands of the world.
MICKLE'S INTRODUCTION TO THE LUSIAD.
If a concatenation of events centred in one great action--events which
gave birth to the present commercial system of the world--if these be of
the first importance in the civil history of mankind, then the Lusiad,
of all other poems, challenges the attention of the philosopher, the
politician, and the gentleman.
In contradistinction to the Iliad and the Æneid, the Paradise Lost has
been called the Epic Poem of Religion. In the same manner may the Lusiad
be named the Epic Poem of Commerce. The happy completion of the most
important designs of Henry, Duke of Viseo, prince of Portugal, to whom
Europe owes both Gama and Columbus, both the eastern and the western
worlds, constitutes the subject of this celebrated epic poem. But before
we proceed to the historical introduction necessary to elucidate a poem
founded on such an important period of history, some attention is due to
the opinion of those theorists in political philosophy who lament that
India was ever discovered, and who assert that increase of trade is only
the parent of degeneracy, and the nurse of every vice.
Much, indeed, may be urged on this side of the question; but much, also,
may be urged against every institution relative to man. Imperfection, if
not necessary to humanity, is at least the certain attendant on
everything human. Though some part of the traffic with many countries
resemble Solomon's importation of apes and peacocks; though the
superfluities of life, the baubles of the opulent, and even the luxuries
which enervate the irresolute and administer disease, are introduced by
the intercourse of navigation, yet the extent of the benefits which
attend it are also to be considered before the man of cool reason will
venture to pronounce that the world is injured, and rendered less
virtuous and happy by the increase of commerce.
If a view of the state of mankind, where commerce opens no intercourse
between nation and nation be neglected, unjust conclusions will
certainly follow. Where the state of barbarians, and of countries under
different degrees of civilization are candidly weighed, we may
reasonably expect a just decision. As evidently as the appointment of
nature gives pasture to the herds, so evidently is man born for society.
As every other animal is in its natural state when in the situation
which its instinct requires, so man, when his reason is cultivated, is
then, and only then, in the state proper to his nature. The life of the
naked savage, who feeds on acorns and sleeps like a beast in his den, is
commonly called the natural state of man; but, if there be any propriety
in this assertion, his rational faculties compose no part of his nature,
and were given not to be used. If the savage, therefore, live in a state
contrary to the appointment of nature, it must follow that he is not so
happy as nature intended him to be. And a view of his true character
will confirm this conclusion. The reveries, the fairy dreams of a
Rousseau, may figure the paradisaical life of a Hottentot, but it is
only in such dreams that the superior happiness of the barbarian exists.
The savage, it is true, is reluctant to leave his manner of life; but,
unless we allow that he is a proper judge of the modes of living, his
attachment to his own by no means proves that he is happier than he
might otherwise have been. His attachment only exemplifies the amazing
power of habit in reconciling the human breast to the most uncomfortable
situations. If the intercourse of mankind in some instances be
introductive of vice, the want of it as certainly excludes the exertion
of the noblest virtues; and, if the seeds of virtue are indeed in the
heart, they often lie dormant, and even unknown to the savage possessor.
The most beautiful description of a tribe of savages (which we may be
assured is from real life) occurs in these words:[23] And the five spies
of Dan "came to Laish, and saw the people that were there, how they
dwelt careless, after the manner of the Zidonians, quiet and secure; and
there was no magistrate in the land, that might put them to shame in
anything...." And the spies said to their brethren, "Arise, that we may
go up against them; for we have seen the land, and, behold, it is very
good.... And they came unto Laish, unto a people that were at quiet and
secure: and they smote them with the edge of the sword, and burnt the
city with fire. And there was no deliverer, because it was far from
Zidon, and they had no business with any man." However the happy
simplicity of this society may please the man of fine imagination, the
true philosopher will view the men of Laish with other eyes. However
virtuous he may suppose one generation, it requires an alteration of
human nature to preserve the children of the next in the same generous
estrangement from the selfish passions--from those passions which are
the parents of the acts of injustice. When his wants are easily
supplied, the manners of the savage will be simple, and often humane,
for the human heart is not vicious without objects of temptation. But
these will soon occur; he that gathers the greatest quantity of fruit
will be envied by the less industrious. The uninformed mind seems
insensible of the idea of the right of possession which the labour of
acquirement gives. When want is pressing, and the supply at hand, the
only consideration with such minds is the danger of seizing it; and
where there is no magistrate to put to shame in anything, depredation
will soon display all its horrors. Let it even be admitted that the
innocence of the men of Laish could secure them from the consequences of
their own unrestrained desires, could even this impossibility be
surmounted, still are they a wretched prey to the first invaders, and
because they have no business with any man, they will find no deliverer.
While human nature is the same, the fate of Laish will always be the
fate of the weak and defenceless; and thus the most amiable description
of savage life raises in our minds the strongest imagery of the misery
and impossible continuance of such a state. But if the view of these
innocent people terminate in horror, with what contemplation shall we
behold the wilds of Africa and America? The tribes of America, it is
true, have degrees of policy greatly superior to anything understood by
the men of Laish. Great masters of martial oratory, their popular
assemblies are schools open to all their youth. In these they not only
learn the history of their nation, and what they have to fear from the
strength and designs of their enemies, but they also imbibe the most
ardent spirit of war. The arts of stratagem are their study, and the
most athletic exercises of the field their employment and delight; and,
what is their greatest praise, they have magistrates "to put them to
shame." They inflict no corporeal punishment on their countrymen, it is
true; but a reprimand from an elder, delivered in the assembly, is
esteemed by them a deeper degradation and severer punishment than any of
those too often most impolitically adopted by civilized nations. Yet,
though possessed of this advantage--an advantage impossible to exist in
a large commercial empire--and though masters of great martial policy,
their condition, upon the whole, is big with the most striking
demonstration of the misery and unnatural state of such very imperfect
civilization. "Multiply and replenish the earth" is an injunction of the
best political philosophy ever given to man. Nature has appointed man to
cultivate the earth, to increase in number by the food which its culture
gives, and by this increase of brethren to remove some, and to mitigate
all, the natural miseries of human life. But in direct opposition to
this is the political state of the wild aborigines of America. Their
lands, luxuriant in climate, are often desolate wastes, where thousands
of miles hardly support a few hundreds of savage hunters. Attachment to
their own tribe constitutes their highest idea of virtue; but this
virtue includes the most brutal depravity, makes them esteem the man of
every other tribe as an enemy, as one with whom nature had placed them
in a state of war, and had commanded to destroy.[24] And to this
principle their customs and ideas of honour serve as rituals and
ministers. The cruelties practised by the American savages on their
prisoners of war (and war is their chief employment) convey every idea
expressed by the word diabolical, and give a most shocking view of the
degradation of human nature. But what peculiarly completes the character
of the savage is his horrible superstition. In the most distant nations
the savage is, in this respect, the same. The terror of evil spirits
continually haunts him; his God is beheld as a relentless tyrant, and is
worshipped often with cruel rites, always with a heart full of horror
and fear. In all the numerous accounts of savage worship, one trace of
filial dependence is not to be found. The very reverse of that happy