again come on earth, he might not feel so much displeasure as pity, since the present attempt is only in furtherance of the grand book-making system, by which the world of British Letters is at present governed. Milton has been epitomized; and, therefore, if fellowship in misfortune can alleviate the pain thus produced, Cervantes may commune with the author of Paradise Lost. The very title of the work strikes us with astonishment, the abridgment of a book, in which the grand merits are the style and imitation of books of Chivalry. If an abridgment be made, the facts alone can be retained, not the style. But the style is what constitutes the principal merit, and therefore the principal merit is rejected. M. Gombert in his preface manages, with that skill often exercised by those who have a bad cause, to make it appear that the present work would be most useful to all who perused it. On examining, however, both the preface and the epitome, it will be pretty clear that the abridger is more indebted to his astuteness than to the facts he can urge. He commences: "Il est généralement reconnu que les progrès des enfants dépendent en grande partie du choix des livres qu'on met entre leurs mains." if This is clear. But when we are considering the progress of children, we are to remember what language the children are learning. If they are learning French, we ought to give them books which have been originally written in French, and not those which have been translated from another language: for it is a known fact, that translations, good ones, cannot possess that spirit which is necessary to enable the pupil to benefit by his reading. Thus, taking it in the light of a good translation, the work cannot be regarded as of advantage. And, if it be translated in that mode so well calculated to destroy every work,—namely, by a liberal rendering of the sense, without regard to the form, then it would be as well to abstain from making any attempt of the kind. M. Gombert, speaking of the excellencies of Don Quixote, says, "Une diction élégante, chaste, variée, qui se plie à tous les sujets, et qui reproduit dans une traduction le sel la gaité et la fraicheur de l'original." The gentleman can certainly not be here speaking from his own experience. A great number and the principal points in Cervantes, are his frequent plays on words, and those it is impossible to translate. There are, however, many parts which would bear a very excellent translation, and would, in fact, be beautiful in whatever language they appeared. These, however, are generally omitted, or the sense perverted. One part of the preface is devoted to drawing the character of Don Quixote. This, one would suppose, was a forerunner of a preservation of the character as Cervantes drew it, but the supposition would be groundless. Even in those instances where the retention of two or three words would be quite sufficient to mark the character, those words with studious anxiety are omitted. It cannot be expected that, in the limits of the present number, we can mention every error committed. We must, therefore, be contented with mentioning a few of them. In page 3, we have an attempt to translate a pun of Cervántes in describing Rozinante: "Fué luego á ver á su rocin y anuque tenia mas quartos que un real y mas tachas que el caballo de Gonela," &c. This is rendered,— "Alors il fut voir son cheval, et quoique la pauvre bête ne fût qu'un squelette vivant," &c. Here is an evident proof of the impossibity of translating this work with "la fraicheur de l'original." Again, in page 33, a proof of the impotence of the French, or any other language, to express the true meaning of the Spanish phrase. The Biscayner says, “Si lanza arrojas, y espada sacas, el agua quan presto verás, que al gato llevas. "Il s'approcha de Don Quichotte, qu'il tira rudement par sa lance, et qu'il accabla d'injures." as There is nothing about taking the knight by the lance; but, "lanza" was mentioned, of course he must mention it also. As to rendering the phrase, it is impossible, since it depends on a Spanish game, in which two persons at the end of a rope endeavour to throw each other into a pond. The character of the work is lost at the commencement of the 11th ch. p. 42, from the ignorance or carelessness of the epitomizer. Cervantes wrote, "Mas apénas comenzó á describrirse el dia por los balcones del oriente," &c. Here he intended to imitate the turgid style of books of Chivalry; but the translator has most effectually frustrated that intention by the tame phrase "L'aurore commençait à peine à éclairer l'orient," &c.. The epitaph of Grisóstomo is very oddly translated, p. 47: "Yace aquí de un amador El misero cuerpo helado Murió á manos del rigor De una esquiva hermosa ingrata, This is most exquisitely and literally translated : "Ci gît l'amant le plus fidèle: Passant tremble de voir Marcelle In page 57, there is an evident misunderstanding of the author. Don Quixote requires the secresy of Sancho, and says, "Mas esto que ahora quiero decirte, que lo tendrás secreto hasta despues de mi muerte." M. Gombert translates this "Commence par me jurer que tu le garderas jusqu' á la mort.” Don Quixote meant that the secret should be kept till after his own death, and not till after the death of Sancho, as M. G. would have us think. In p. 83, 83, a phrase which is perfectly characteristic, and easy of a literal translation, is spoiled by what we presume would be called a liberal one. Don Quixote, after freeing the galley-slaves, and being treated with ingratitude by them, remarks, Siempre, Sancho lo he oido decir, que el hacer bien á villanos, es echar agua en la mar." "Sancho l'on a raison de dire que jamais on ne gagne rien à obliger des méchans." Without mentioning an innumerable quantity of faults, which are to be found in this part, we will come to that beautiful episode of Cardenio. Never perhaps was the conduct of a romantic lover, driven mad by his ill-fated passion, more finely drawn than in the conduct of Cardenio; and never was the elegant sympathy of a chivalrous gentleman described more admirably than in the proffered services of Don Quixote. Had the whole of it been omitted, we might have attributed that circumstance to the necessity in which an epitomizer is sometimes placed. But it is omitted, and it is not omitted. The property of Cardenio and his dead mule are found; he is seen by Sancho and his master, leaping from rock to rock, and the goatherd tells them all he knows of the unhappy madman, but any more we hear not. Thus, no one who had not read Cervantes himself, could divine why or wherefore the character was introduced. Again, Dorothea is in fact thrown into the story; but how she comes, or who she is, or what she is, we know not. To occupy our readers much longer in proving the self-evident proposition of the poverty of this abridgment, would in fact be wasting their time and our paper. One more instance will suffice. When the Duchess asks Sancho whether he is the person whose name she has seen in the history already published of the Adventures of Don Quixote, he says, p. 198 "Soy yo, sino es que me trocáron en la cuna, quiero decir que me trocaron en la estampa." "C'est moi, à moins que l'imbécile d'historien ne m'ait changé en nourrice." Now, here there is something like the sense of the words; but the archness of Sancho is by no means preserved, although nothing could have been more easy. Innumerable instances of the same description might be selected; but, for the reasons above stated, we abstain from tiring the patience of our readers. Reviewing the whole book, we may say that it consists of the principal facts of the history, but containing neither the wit, eloquence, character, nor moral, on which Cervantes' fame is erected, is consequently no more equal to the original work than was that of Avelleneda; the Odyssey of Tryphiodorus to that of Homer, or the Gerusalemme Conquistata to the Liberata. The Museum, a Poem. By John Bull.-London, Taylor and Hessey. 1824. The treasures of our national museum are sufficiently interesting and important to form the materials of a great and magnificent poem. The present production on the subject is a specimen, to the extent of two cantos, of a projected poem. It is written in the stanza of Spenser, and is an evident imitation of Byron's Childe Harold. The author appears to be a pious man, imbued with some poetical feeling; and these cantos were written under the oppression of much mental anguish and domestic affliction, which rendered the labour of writing them almost too much for his bodily strength. The author pauses at the entrance of "this chamber to the soul," and asks What then are all the galleries of artThe treasuries of knowledge? Are they not The tombs of vanish'd genius, where a part Of her embodied thoughts repose? And what Are all the riches of this hallowed spotThis temple, on whose threshold now we tread? Fragments of many a nation's fame, whose lot Is now to be with barbarous hosts o'erspread, Tho' sons they had, whose names reign o'er the ancient dead. Here let ambition pause, that blazing star, Whose fervent path with quenchless heat doth burn; Rides o'er the panting world! Here let her learn, Struck down in youth, or from the mount of years, Where, full of fame, they stood beside their brave compeers! Our mourning thoughts, when on these works we gaze, Dropt o'er the vanities of other days, Are gracious as the dew of twilight spheres, Then, though Death cut it down, it ceaseth not to blow. "Tis not time lost, to talk with antique lore, A partial conquest over time, from whence Where life, with all its pomp, appeareth worse than vain. Turn, turn, from earth to heav'n, for here we find By these best treasures of the world, to bind, |