Curiosities of Literature (Vol. 1-3). Disraeli Isaac

the remains of an inscription erected for an ancient surveyor of the roads; and he read their saintship thus:—

      PRÆFECTUS VIARum.

      Maffei, in his comparison between Medals and Inscriptions, detects a literary blunder in Spon, who, meeting with this inscription,

      Maximo VI Consule

      takes the letters VI for numerals, which occasions a strange anachronism. They are only contractions of Viro Illustri—V I.

      As absurd a blunder was this of Dr. Stukeley on the coins of Carausius; finding a battered one with a defaced inscription of

      FORTVNA AVG.

      he read it

      ORIVNA AVG.

      And sagaciously interpreting this to be the wife of Carausius, makes a new personage start up in history; he contrives even to give some theoretical Memoirs of the August Oriuna.92

      Father Sirmond was of opinion that St. Ursula and her eleven thousand Virgins were all created out of a blunder. In some ancient MS. they found St. Ursula et Undecimilla V. M. meaning St. Ursula and Undecimilla, Virgin Martyrs; imagining that Undecimilla with the V. and M. which followed, was an abbreviation for Undecem Millia Martyrum Virginum, they made out of Two Virgins the whole Eleven Thousand!

      Pope, in a note on Measure for Measure, informs us, that its story was taken from Cinthio's Novels, Dec. 8. Nov. 5. That is, Decade 8, Novel 5. The critical Warburton, in his edition of Shakspeare, puts the words in full length thus, December 8, November 5.

      When the fragments of Petronius made a great noise in the literary world, Meibomius, an erudit of Lubeck, read in a letter from another learned scholar from Bologna, "We have here an entire Petronius; I saw it with mine own eyes, and with admiration." Meibomius in post-haste is on the road, arrives at Bologna, and immediately inquires for the librarian Capponi. He inquires if it were true that they had at Bologna an entire Petronius? Capponi assures him that it was a thing which had long been public. "Can I see this Petronius? Let me examine it!"—"Certainly," replies Capponi, and leads our erudit of Lubeck to the church where reposes the body of St. Petronius. Meibomius bites his lips, calls for his chaise, and takes his flight.

      A French translator, when he came to a passage of Swift, in which it is said that the Duke of Marlborough broke an officer; not being acquainted with this Anglicism, he translated it roué, broke on a wheel!

      Cibber's play of "Love's Last Shift" was entitled "La Dernière Chemise de l'Amour." A French writer of Congreve's life has taken his Mourning for a Morning Bride, and translated it L'Espouse du Matin.

      Sir John Pringle mentions his having cured a soldier by the use of two quarts of Dog and Duck water daily: a French translator specifies it as an excellent broth made of a duck and a dog! In a recent catalogue compiled by a French writer of Works on Natural History, he has inserted the well-known "Essay on Irish Bulls" by the Edgeworths. The proof, if it required any, that a Frenchman cannot understand the idiomatic style of Shakspeare appears in a French translator, who prided himself on giving a verbal translation of our great poet, not approving of Le Tourneur's paraphrastical version. He found in the celebrated speech of Northumberland in Henry IV.

      Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,

       So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone—

      which he renders "Ainsi douleur! va-t'en!"

      The Abbé Gregoire affords another striking proof of the errors to which foreigners are liable when they decide on the language and customs of another country. The Abbé, in the excess of his philanthropy, to show to what dishonourable offices human nature is degraded, acquaints us that at London he observed a sign-board, proclaiming the master as tueur des punaises de sa majesté! Bug-destroyer to his majesty! This is, no doubt, the honest Mr. Tiffin, in the Strand; and the idea which must have occurred to the good Abbé was, that his majesty's bugs were hunted by the said destroyer, and taken by hand—and thus human nature was degraded!

      A French writer translates the Latin title of a treatise of Philo-Judæus Omnis bonus liber est, Every good man is a free man, by Tout livre est bon. It was well for him, observes Jortin, that he did not live within the reach of the Inquisition, which might have taken this as a reflection on the Index Expurgatorius.

      An English translator turned "Dieu défend l'adultère" into "God defends adultery."—Guthrie, in his translation of Du Halde, has "the twenty-sixth day of the new moon." The whole age of the moon is but twenty-eight days. The blunder arose from his mistaking the word neuvième (ninth) for nouvelle or neuve (new).

      The facetious Tom Brown committed a strange blunder in his translation of Gelli's Circe. The word Starne, not aware of its signification, he boldly rendered stares, probably from the similitude of sound; the succeeding translator more correctly discovered Starne to be red-legged partridges!

      In Charles II.'s reign a new collect was drawn, in which a new epithet was added to the king's title, that gave great offence, and occasioned great raillery. He was styled our most religious king. Whatever the signification of religious might be in the Latin word, as importing the sacredness of the king's person, yet in the English language it bore a signification that was no way applicable to the king. And he was asked by his familiar courtiers, what must the nation think when they heard him prayed for as their most religious king?—Literary blunders of this nature are frequently discovered in the versions of good classical scholars, who would make the English servilely bend to the Latin and Greek. Even Milton has been justly censured for his free use of Latinisms and Grecisms.

      The blunders of modern antiquaries on sepulchral monuments are numerous. One mistakes a lion at a knight's feet for a curled water dog; another could not distinguish censers in the hands of angels from fishing-nets; two angels at a lady's feet were counted as her two cherub-like babes; and another has mistaken a leopard and a hedgehog for a cat and a rat! In some of these cases, are the antiquaries or the sculptors most to be blamed?93

      A literary blunder of Thomas Warton is a specimen of the manner in which a man of genius may continue to blunder with infinite ingenuity. In an old romance he finds these lines, describing the duel of Saladin with Richard Cœur de Lion:—

      A Faucon brode in hande he bare, For he thought he wolde thare Have slayne Richard.

      He imagines this Faucon brode means a falcon bird, or a hawk, and that Saladin is represented with this bird on his fist to express his contempt of his adversary. He supports his conjecture by noticing a Gothic picture, supposed to be the subject of this duel, and also some old tapestry of heroes on horseback with hawks on their fists; he plunges into feudal times, when no gentleman appeared on horseback without his hawk. After all this curious erudition, the rough but skilful Ritson inhumanly triumphed by dissolving the magical fancies of the more elegant Warton, by explaining a Faucon brode to be nothing more than a broad faulchion, which, in a duel, was certainly more useful than a bird. The editor of the private reprint of Hentzner, on that writer's tradition respecting "the Kings of Denmark who reigned in England" buried in the Temple Church, metamorphosed the two Inns of Court, Gray's Inn and Lincoln's Inn, into the names of the Danish kings, Gresin and Lyconin.94

      Bayle supposes that Marcellus Palingenius, who wrote the poem entitled the Zodiac, the twelve books bearing the names of the signs, from this circumstance assumed the title of Poeta Stellatus. But it appears that this writer was an Italian and a native of Stellada, a town in the Ferrarese. It is probable that his birthplace originally produced the conceit of the title of his poem: it is a curious instance how critical conjecture may be led astray by its own ingenuity, when ignorant of the real fact.

      A LITERARY WIFE.