Autumnal Night—Meteors—The Spanish Mackerel—Professor
Blackie's Translations from the Gaelic—The "Translations" of the Gaelic
Society of Inverness.
"On the Rialto, every night
at twelve,
I take my evening's walk of meditation."
So says the love-sick knight in Venice
Preserved. "We
have never, much as we should like it, had an opportunity of enjoying a
Rialto midnight meditation ramble. There is poetry and romance in the
very thought of it; hut Ave know something more poetical and in every
way better still, namely, a midnight meditative stroll along our own
beautiful silvery sanded beach, what time the sea is so calm that its
breathings are low and soft as the respirations of a child whose sleep
is undisturbed save by angel-whispered dreams; the cloudless sky above,
with its waning moon and thousands of sparkling stars, each star a
living intelligence; its sparkling speech, and no sound to disturb the
solemn silence, except now and again the wakeful sea-bird's eerie
scream, and the voice of many waters, as the mountain torrents leap
adown their channels to the sea, a voice so mellowed by the distance
that it becomes solemn and musical as the fast-falling concluding notes
of a grand organ hymn—the Pentecostal "Veni,
Creator Spiritus, for
example. During the fine weather of this exceptionally fine season
[August 1875] Ave have
rarely gone to bed before midnight, more frequently, indeed, long after,
and our last thing at night has been a sea-shore stroll, a half or
quarter hour so thoroughly enjoyable that Ave have
come to miss it sadly, if by adverse weatlier, absence from home, or any
other cause, we are obliged to forego it. In addition to all the other
attractions of a midnight sea-side stroll in such weather as the tropics
themselves might be proud of, the reader must remember that August is
one of our meteor months—the second week particularly being remarkable
for the number and brilliancy of the Perseides, so
called from their seeming mainly to radiate from the direction of the
constellation Perseus. Never
was there a finer season to observe them than this; and although they
have, perhaps, been less numerous than usual, the brilliancy of many of
them was so remarkable, and their paths throughout so easily followed,
that their very infrequency only added to the eagerness and interest
with which one watched and waited for them. The finest display of the
season was from midnight on to nearly two a.m.
on the night of the 11th and 12th, in which time we counted thirty-three noticeable meteors—of
which seven were what might be called first-class meteors of a nucleus
brilliancy equal to or exceeding that of first magnitude stars, with
broad, bright, well-defined trains, that wholly or in part, in three or
four instances, remained in sight, mapping out the meteor's trajectory
for several seconds after the disappearance or extinction of the parent
orb or meteor proper itself. Mr. W. B. Symington, who was among the
Hebrides at the time on a yachting cruise, writes on the subject as
follows :— "Notwithstanding your injunction to be on the qui
vive as
to the August meteors, I am sorry to say that I forgot all about it on
the nights of the 9th and 10th, although the weather was beautifully
clear. On the 11th, 12th, and 13th, however, the sailing-master and
myself were sharply on the look-out, and our watchfulness was rewarded
by the sight of some really very splendid examples. There were on each
night scores and scores of the more common, lesser, and fainter meteors,
but our attention was of course principally directed to the more
brilliant ones.
Of these latter we had, during about an hour and a
quarter's observation, four very fine ones, with long bright tails, on
the 11th; nine on the 12th; and one magnificent fellow, that lighted up
the deck, sails, and rigging of the yacht with a strange greenish glare,
on the 13th. This last was at 11.5 P.M. One
of the men said that before daybreak on the 12th there were some very
large and bright meteors. As far as my observations went, the course of
these meteors seemed to be mainly to the west and south-west, although
two at least of the larger ones rushed in a directly opposite path,
namely, to east and north-east. As I am likely to be at sea in November,
though in a very different kind of craft, I will endeavour to give you a
more careful and satisfactory account of the meteor display of that
month. I may tell you that one of the men caught a scad of
large size, the biggest, I believe, I ever saw. It weighed nearly four
pounds. I thought it not bad eating, though the rest of them in the
cabin said it was coarse and tasteless. It was caught by a long line and
herring baited hook, that was allowed to drag after the ship in a breeze
that gave us at the time a speed of at least eight knots an hour."
The fish referred to by our correspondent is also called
the Spanish mackerel, it being very common on some parts of the Spanish
coast. It belongs to the order Scomberidce, and
is a cousin of our own better known mackerel proper, though a
considerably larger fish, and not nearly so good for the table as its
beautiful congener. The Spanish differs from the mackerel proper in one
very remarkable particular; it has an air
bladder which
the true mackerel of our shores has not, and yet the latter is one of
the readiest and swiftest swimmers, and at all depths, of any fish in
the sea. The fact is that the real use of the air bladder in the economy
of fish still continues an unresolved and seemingly an unresolvable
puzzle.
Lovers of living, healthy poetry—healthy as the mountain
breeze, and free and sparkling as the mountain stream, and more
especially our Celtic friends who have been taught to honour and
reverence the "kilted" muse—will be glad to know that Professor Blackie
has in preparation the materials of what cannot fail to prove a very
interesting volume, consisting of translations of some of the most
admired compositions of our modern Gaelic bards. Macintyre's Ben.
Dorain, Alasdair
Macdonald's Berliun, with
many of such lesser popular lyrics, as Am
Breacan Wallach, Failte na Mor-Thir, A Bhanarach Dhoun a Gruidh,
&c., will thus appear for the first time in a becoming Saxon garb;
not—to use the milliner's phrase—too tight a fit, observe, but natural
and easy, though "made to measure," and we venture to predict that our
English readers, who as yet know them not at all, and our Gaelic
friends, who know them well and have long known them, will alike be
pleased with the results of the learned Professor's gallant raid into
bard-land. The Professor has been visiting us here lately, and we can
honestly say that such specimens of his work as he was good enough to
read to us—and there are few better readers than Professor
Blackie—seemed to us admirably done. His version of Ben.
Dorain particularly,
which we had an opportunity of hearing twice, and of which we can thus
speak most positively, is thoroughly well done; so well, so faithfully,
and with such spirit and verve as
must delight not only the ordinary reader, but the very "ghost" of the
original author—Macintyre himself—if, like the Ossianic departed heroes,
he is permitted to know and appreciate sublunary affairs from out the
bosom of "his cloud." The Professor translates these Gaelic poems into
English verse just as, in our opinion, they should be translated; not
too literally, but with all necessary freedom and elbow room, and yet so
literally that any one knowing the English version may rest assured that
he knows also the original quite as intimately and correctly as it is
possible in the circumstances for any mere outsider to know it. Johnson,
in his Life
of Dryden, referring
to the latter's version of the Æaeid, &c.,
has a paragraph which is worth quoting in this connection:—"When
languages are formed upon different principles, it is impossible that
the same modes of expression should always he elegant in both. "While
they run on together,
the closest translation may be considered the best; but when they
divaricate, each must take its natural course. Where correspondence
cannot be obtained, it is necessary to be content with something
equivalent. 'Translation, therefore,' says Dryden, is
not so loose as paraphrase, nor so close as metaphrase.'" With all this
we entirely concur, more especially when such widely different languages
as the English and Gaelic have to be dealt with. We do not know that
Professor Blackie ever read the paragraph quoted, or, even if he did
read it, that he now remembers it; but to his translations from the
Gaelic, to so much of them, at all events, as were submitted to our
notice, Dryden's dictum is entirely applicable—they are not so loose as
paraphrase, nor so close as metaphrase. They strike a golden mean very
difficult of attainment in such efforts; and on the appearance of the
volume itself, we shall be disappointed if nine-tenths at least of the
many readers it is sure to command do not entirely agree with us. But nous
verrons, if
we live we shall see.
The Transactions of
the Gaelic Society of Inverness for 1873-4 and 1874-5, have reached us.
The Secretary's paper on "Coinneach Odhar," the Brahan seer, is most
interesting, containing as it does the best account that we have met
with of that uncanny Ross-shire worthy. That he was an impostor, and a
vulgar impostor too, there can be no doubt; but the story of a
man—clever, shrewd rascal as he was—in whom the people so thoroughly
believed, is worth the telling, and Mr. Mackenzie tells it very well. He
should, we think, give us, if possible, a second paper, containing the
many other wonderful vaticinations attributed to his hero, who seems to
have latterly been too clever by half; for he who could foresee the
misfortunes of others—the death even of a cow—couldn't evidently foresee
the well-merited fate "that awaited himself; for he was hanged, and we
have no doubt at all that he richly deserved that species of exaltation.
What Thomas the Rhymer—him of Ercil-doune—was in the south of Scotland
at a much earlier period, this Coirmeach
Odhar, comparing
small things with great, seems to have been in the North-West Highlands
during the latter half of the seventeenth century. "True Thomas,"
however, was a gentleman and a scholar; whereas Coinneach was,
of course, utterly illiterate, conducting his scheme of imposture solely
by the aid of natural talents, which must have been considerable, and a
large and ever-ready stock of impudence and cunning, nicely calculated
to impose upon the vulgar. He made his grand mistake when he flew at
such high game as Lady Seaforth and her domestic affairs. She was too
clever, too intelligent and well-educated to be imposed upon. She
ordered him to be hanged, a doom to which many were led at that period
who probably less richly deserved it than such a prying, meddling,
mischief-maker as was Kenneth the Seer. |