What to do-Strong enough-Fame and profit-Alliterative euphony-Excellent fellow-Listen to me-A plan-Bagnigge Wells.
ANXIOUS thoughts frequently disturbed me at this time with respect to what I was to do,and how support myself in the Great City.My future prospects were gloomy enough,and I looked forward and feared;sometimes I felt half disposed to accept the offer of the Armenian,and to commence forthwith,under his superintendence,the translation of the Haik Esop;but the remembrance of the cuffs which I had seen him bestow upon the Moldavian,when glancing over his shoulder into the ledger or whatever it was on which he was employed,immediately drove the inclination from my mind.I could not support the idea of the possibility of his staring over my shoulder upon my translation of the Haik Esop,and,dissatisfied with my attempts,treating me as he had treated the Moldavian clerk;placing myself in a position which exposed me to such treatment would indeed be plunging into the fire after escaping from the frying-pan.The publisher,insolent and overbearing as he was,whatever he might have wished or thought,had never lifted his hand against me,or told me that I merited crucifixion.
What was I to do?turn porter?I was strong;but there was something besides strength required to ply the trade of a porter-a mind of a particularly phlegmatic temperament,which I did not possess.What should I do?enlist as a soldier?I was tall enough;but something besides height is required to make a man play with credit the part of soldier,I mean a private one-a spirit,if spirit it can be called,which will not only enable a man to submit with patience to insolence and abuse,and even to cuffs and kicks,but occasionally to the lash.I felt that I was not qualified to be a soldier,at least a private one;far better be a drudge to the most ferocious of publishers,editing Newgate lives,and writing in eighteenpenny reviews-better to translate the Haik Esop,under the superintendence of ten Armenians,than be a private soldier in the English service;I did not decide rashly-I knew something of soldiering.What should I do?I thought that I would make a last and desperate attempt to dispose of the ballads and of Ab Gwilym.
I had still an idea that,provided I could persuade any spirited publisher to give these translations to the world,I should acquire both considerable fame and profit;not,perhaps,a world-embracing fame such as Byron's;but a fame not to be sneered at,which would last me a considerable time,and would keep my heart from breaking;-profit,not equal to that which Scott had made by his wondrous novels,but which would prevent me from starving,and enable me to achieve some other literary enterprise.I read and re-read my ballads,and the more I read them the more I was convinced that the public,in the event of their being published,would freely purchase,and hail them with the merited applause.Were not the deeds and adventures wonderful and heart-stirring-from which it is true I could claim no merit,being but the translator;but had Inot rendered them into English,with all their original fire?Yes,I was confident I had;and I had no doubt that the public would say so.And then,with respect to Ab Gwilym,had I not done as much justice to him as to the Danish ballads;not only rendering faithfully his thoughts,imagery,and phraseology,but even preserving in my translation the alliterative euphony which constitutes one of the most remarkable features of Welsh prosody?
