Chapter 7
Central texts and central cultures
The translators of the Authorized Version warn in their preface that “he that meddleth with men’s religion in any part, meddleth with their custom, nay, with their freehold.” If a text is considered to embody the core values of a culture, if it functions as that culture’s central text, translations of it will be scrutinized with the greatest of care, since “unacceptable” translations may well be seen to subvert the very basis of the culture itself. This is what Sir Thomas More accuses Tyndale of when he makes the charge that “Tyndale changed in his translation the common known words to the intent to make a change in the faith.” If, on the other hand, a certain culture considers itself “central” with regard to other cultures, it is likely to treat the texts produced by those cultures in the rather cavalier manner Herder deplores in the French translations of Homer: “Homer must enter France a captive and dress according to their fashion, so as not to offend their eyes.” Edward Fitzgerald, a member of the central culture that succeeded in France, actually boasts: “It is an amusement for me to take what liberties I like with these Persians.”
It is in the treatment of texts that play a central role within a culture and in the way a central culture translates texts produced by cultures it considers peripheral, that the importance of such factors as ideology, poetics, and the Universe of Discourse is most obviously revealed.
Sir Thomas More, 1477−1535 English humanist, writer, and statesman.
Extract from the conclusion of the second book of the Confutation of Tyndale’s Answer, 1532.
For every man well knoweth that the intent and purpose of my dialogue was none other, but to make the people perceive that Tyndale changed in his translation the common known words to the intent to make a change in the faith. As for example that he changed the word church into this word congregation, because he would bring it in question which were the church and set forth Luther’s heresy that the church which we should believe and obey, is not the common known body of all Christian realms remaining in the faith of Christ…but that the church which we should believe and obey, were some secret unknown sort of evil living and worse believing heretics. And that he changed priest into senior because he intended to set forth Luther’s heresy teaching that priesthood is no sacrament but the office of a lay man or a lay woman appointed by the people to preach. And that he changed penance into repenting because he would set forth Luther’s heresy teaching that penance is no sacrament.
And I made my book to good Christian people that know such heresies for heresies to give them warning that by scripture of his own false forging (for so is his false translation, and not the scripture of god) he should not beguile them, and make them ween the thing were otherwise than it is in deed. For as for such as are so mad all ready, to take those heresies for other than heresies, and are thereby them selves no faithful folk but heretics, if they list not to learn and leave off, but longer to lie still in their false belief: it were all in vain to give them warning thereof. For when their wills be bent thereto, and their hearts set thereon: there will no warning serve them. And therefore sith Tyndale hath here confessed in his defense that he made such changes for the setting forth of such things as I said: it is enough for good Christian men that know these things for heresies, to abhor and burn up his books.
And yet defending him self so fondly, and teaching open heresies so shamefully: he sayeth it appeareth that there was no cause to burn his translation, wherein such changes be found as ye see, and being changed for such causes as him self confesseth that is to wit for a foundation of such pestilent heresies as him self affirmeth and writeth in his abominable books: he might much better if he cut a man’s throat in the open street, say there were no cause to hang him but bid men seek up his knife and see it him safe. This might he in good faith much better say then, than he may now say that there is no cause to burn his translation. With the falsehood whereof and his false heresies brought in there withal: he hath killed and destroyed diverse men, and may hereafter many, some in body, some in soul, and some in both twain.
Anonymous
Extract from “The Translators to the Reader,” the translators’ preface to the 1611 Authorized Version of the Bible.
For he that meddleth with men’s religion in any part, meddleth with their custom, nay, with their freehold; and though they find no content in that which they have, yet they cannot abide to hear of altering.
Translation it is that openeth the window, to let in the light; that breaketh the shell, that we may eat the kernel; that putteth aside the curtain, that we may look into the most holy place; that removeth the cover of the well, that we may come by the water, even as Jacob rolled away the stone from the mouth of the well, by which means the flocks of Laban were watered. Indeed without translation into the vulgar tongue, the unlearned are but like children at Jacob’s well (which was deep) without a bucket or something to draw with.
Therefore blessed be they, and most honoured be their name, that break the ice, and giveth onset upon that which helpeth forward to the saving of souls…Yet for all that, as nothing is begun and perfected at the same time, and the latter thoughts are thought to be the wiser: so, if we building upon their foundation that went before us, and being holpen by their labours, do endeavour to make better what they left so good; no man, we are sure, hath cause to mislike us; they, we persuade ourselves, if they were alive, would thank us.
And what can the King command to be done, that will bring him more true honour than this? and wherein could they that have been set at work, approve their duty to the King, yea their obedience to God, and love his Saints more, than by yielding their service, and all that is within them, for the furnishing of the work?
A man may be counted a virtuous man, though he have made many slips in his life (else there were none virtuous, for in many things we offend all) also a comely man and lovely, though he have some warts upon his hand; yea not only freckles upon his face, but also scars. No cause therefore why the word translated should be denied to be the word, or forbidden to be current, notwithstanding that some imperfections and blemishes may be noted in the setting forth of it.
We must answer a third cavill and objection of theirs against us, for altering and amending our translations so oft; wherein truly they deal hardly and strangely with us. For to whom ever was it imputed for a fault (by such as were wise) to go over that which he had done, and to amend it where he saw cause?…If we will be sons of the truth, we must consider what it speaketh, and trample upon our own credit, yea, and upon other men’s too, if either be any hindrance to it.
To make a good one better, or out of many good ones, one principal good one, not justly to be excepted against; that hath been our endeavour, that our mark.
And in what sort did [the translators] assemble? In the trust of their own knowledge, or of their sharpness of wit, or deepness of judgement, as it were in an arm of flesh? At no hand. They trusted in him that hath the key of David, opening and no man shutting; they prayed to the Lord, the Father of our Lord…In this confidence, and with this devotion, did they assemble together, not too many, lest one should trouble another; and yet many, lest many things haply might escape them.
Therefore, as St. Augustine saith, that variety of translations is profitable for the finding out the sense of the Scriptures: so diversity of signification and sense in the margin, where the text is not so clear, must needs do good; yea, is necessary, as we are persuaded…They that are wise had rather have their judgements at liberty in differences of readings, than be captivated to one, when it may be the other.
We cannot follow a better pattern of elocution than God himself; therefore he using divers words, in his holy writ, and indifferently for one thing in nature: we, if we will not be superstitious, may use the same liberty in our English versions out of Hebrew and Greek, for that copy or store that he hath given us.
Johann Gottfried Herder, 1744−1803. German writer, philosopher, and translator.
Extracts from the Fragmente (“Fragments”), published in 1766 and 1767.
The real translator should therefore adapt words, manners of speaking, and combinations from a more developed language to his mother tongue, preferably from Greek and Latin but also from younger languages. Like older nations and their works, all older languages have more characteristic features than the languages that are not as old. Our language should therefore be able to learn more from them than from languages with which it claims close kinship.
The book is made: for the translator it is his bread and butter; for the publisher an article to sell in the market place; for the buyer a book in his library. And for literature? Nothing! Or even a negative contribution. Zero or less than zero.
The French, who are much too proud of their own taste, adapt all things to it, rather than try to adapt themselves to the taste of another time. Homer must enter France a captive and dress according to their fashion, so as not to offend their eyes. He has let them take his venerable beard and his old simple clothes away from him. He has to conform to French customs, and where his peasant coarseness still shows he is treated as a barbarian. But we poor Germans, who are still almost an audience without a fatherland, who are still without tyrants to dictate our taste, want to see him the way he is.
And the best translation cannot achieve this for Homer without the help of notes and explanations written in the highest critical spirit.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, 1749−1832. German poet, dramatist, novelist, and critic.
Extract from Dichtung und Wahrheit (“Poetry and Truth”), written between 1811 and 1814.
Wieland’s translation of Shakespeare appeared. It was devoured, passed around, and recommended to friends and acquaintances. We Germans had the advantage that many important works of foreign nations were first translated in a light and bantering vein. The translations of Shakespeare into prose, first Wieland’s, then Eschenburg’s, were able to spread quickly as reading matter. They were generally intelligible and suited to the common reader. I respect both rhythm and rhyme because they are what makes poetry into poetry indeed. Yet what is left of a poet when he has been translated into prose is what is really deeply and thoroughly operative, what really shapes and improves. What remains is the pure, perfect essence. A blinding exterior often succeeds in deluding us into believing that such an essence is there when it is not, or in hiding it when it is. That is why I think translations into prose are more useful than translations into verse in the first stages of education. Boys, who turn everything into a joke, make fun of the sound of words and the fall of syllables, and destroy the deep essence of the noblest work out of a certain sense of parodistic devilry. I would therefore like you to consider whether we could not use a prose translation of Homer at this moment, provided it is worthy of the level German literature has reached by now. I leave this and my other remarks to the consideration of our worthy pedagogues who can rely on extensive experience in this matter. I simply want to remind you of Luther’s Bible translation as an argument in favor of my proposal. Religion has benefited more from the fact that this excellent man translated a work written in the most different array of styles into a work all of one piece in our mother tongue, than it would have if he had aspired to recreate the original’s idiosyncrasies down to the smallest detail. Luther also gave us the poetic, historical, imperative, and didactic tone we find in the Bible. And that, too, he gave us in one piece, so to speak. Later translators have tried in vain to make us enjoy the Book of Job, the Psalms, and other canticles in their poetic form. If you want to influence the masses a simple translation is always best. Critical translations vying with the original really are of use only for conversations the learned conduct among themselves.
Extract from the West-Östlicher Diwan (“Book of West and East”), published in 1819.
There are three kinds of translation. The first acquaints us with foreign countries on our own terms. A simple prosaic translation is the best in this respect. Since prose totally cancels all peculiarities of any kind of poetic art and since prose itself pulls poetic enthusiasm down to a kind of common water-level, it performs the greatest service in the beginning by surprising us with foreign excellence in the midst of our national homeliness, our everyday existence. It offers us a higher mood and real edification, and all the while we do not realize what is happening to us. Luther’s Bible translation is sure to produce this kind of effect at any time.
Much would have been gained if the Nibelungen had been put into decent prose at the outset, and if it had been stamped a popular romance. Its singular, dark, noble, awesome sense of chivalry would then have addressed itself to us with its full strength. Those who have applied themselves more thoroughly to these matters of great antiquity will be best able to judge whether such a course of action is still advisable, or even feasible at the present moment.
A second epoch follows in which the translator really only tries to appropriate foreign content and reproduce it in his own sense, even though he tries to transport himself into foreign situations. I would like to call this kind of epoch the parodistic one, in the fullest sense of the word. Men of wit feel called to this kind of trade in most cases. The French use this method in their translations of all kinds of poetic works. Hundreds of examples can be found in the translations produced by Delille. Just as the French adapt foreign words to their own pronunciation, so do they treat feelings, thoughts, and even objects. For every foreign fruit they demand a counterfeit grown in their own soil.
Wieland’s translations belong to this category. He, too, had a singular sense of taste and understanding that brought him close to antiquity and foreign countries only as far as he could still feel at ease. This excellent man may be considered the representative of his time. He has had an extraordinary impact, precisely because what he found pleasing, how he appropriated it, and how he communicated it in his turn, seemed pleasing and enjoyable to his contemporaries as well.
Since it is impossible to linger too long in either perfection or imperfection, and since one change must of necessity follow another, we have lived through the third epoch, which could be called the highest and final one, namely the one in which the aim is to make the original identical with the translation, so that one should be valued not instead of the other, but in the other’s stead.
Originally this kind of translation had to overcome the greatest resistance, since the translator who attaches himself closely to his original more or less abandons the originality of his own nation, with the result that a third essence comes into existence, and the taste of the multitude must first be shaped to accept it.
Voss, who can never be praised enough, could not satisfy the public when he began to translate, but that same public slowly became receptive to his new manner and grew comfortable with it. Whoever is now able to see what happened, what versatility has come to the Germans, what rhetorical, rhythmical, metrical advantages are at the disposal of the talented and knowledgeable youngster, how Ariosto and Tasso, Shakespeare and Calderon are now presented to us twice and three times over as foreigners who have been made German, should hope that literary history will plainly state who was the first to take this road despite so many obstacles.
The works of von Hammer point for the most part to a similar treatment of Oriental masterpieces, in which approximation to the external form of the original is to be most recommended. The passages of a translation of Firdausi our friend has provided us with are unquestionably more useful when compared to those of an adaptor. In my opinion, adapting a poet is the saddest mistake a diligent translator, who is also well-suited to his task, could make. Yet since these three epochs are repeated and inverted in every literature, and since they can be in effect applied simultaneously, a translation into prose of the Shah-nama and the works of Nizami is still in order. It could be used for a quick reading that would serve to unlock the main sense. We would be pleased with the historical, the legendary, and the generally ethical, and we would move closer and closer to ways of thinking and feeling until we could totally fraternize with them at last.
Remember how we Germans awarded the most resolute recognition to such a translation of the Sakuntala. We can ascribe its great impact to the general prose in which the poem has been diluted. Yet the time has come for someone to offer it to us in a translation of the third type, which would do justice to the different dialects and to the rhythmical, metrical, and prosaic manners of speech in the original. Such a translation would allow us to enjoy the poem again with all its idiosyncrasies and would naturalize it for us.
Extract from Schriften zur Literatur (“Writings on Literature”), published in 1824.
There are two maxims in translation: one requires that the author of a foreign nation be brought across to us in such a way that we can look on him as ours. The other requires that we ourselves should cross over into what is foreign and adapt ourselves to its conditions, its peculiarities, and its use of language. There are enough perfect examples of both kinds, and educated people are familiar with the advantages of both. Our friend [Wieland], who wanted to find the middle way in this matter also, tried to reconcile both. But since he was a man of feeling he preferred the first maxim when in doubt.
August Wilhelm Schlegel, 1767−1845. German critic, translator, and literary historian.
Extract from “Wettstreit der Sprachen” (“Argument Between Languages”), published in 1798.
Extract from Geschichte der klassischen Literatur (“History of Classical Literature”), published in 1803.
Poetic translation is a very difficult art. One could write a lengthy essay on its principles, but not without devoting much attention to both grammatical and philological detail. Allow me to make just a few observations about it here, namely that this art was invented only a few years ago, if you leave a few exceptions out of consideration, and that its invention was reserved for German fidelity and perseverance. In the first period of their history, when they modelled their language after Greek forms, and not without violence, the Romans seem to have had relatively faithful translations of Greek poems, as far as we can judge from a few fragments, even though the translations were not altogether without rough and clumsy passages. In fact, everything started with translation in their case. Later, in what is called the Golden Age of their poetry, when it had evolved its own system of diction, it seems to have lost this ability more and more, and if people were not satisfied with free imitations, as is most often the case, the translations certainly lost character and became more mannered. Greek and Latin are, moreover, closely related; one could almost think of them as dialect and standard language, and in that case poetic recreation has been known to succeed to a very high degree, and without much of an effort, as in the case of Spanish and Italian, for instance. Other nations, however, have adopted a totally conventional phraseology in poetry and made it into an unbreakable rule, so that it is totally impossible to make a poetic translation of anything whatsoever into their language—French is an example and so is contemporary English, albeit to a lesser extent.
It is as if they want every foreigner among them to dress and behave according to the customs of the nation, and that explains why they never really get to know a foreigner. If they torture themselves to achieve the highest possible fidelity, they do so in prose, which totally changes everything: they offer us the dead parts, the living breath has gone. Literalness is a long way from fidelity. Fidelity means that the same or similar impressions are produced, for these are the heart of the matter. That is why all translations of verse into prose should be proscribed, because meter should not just be an external ornament (just as it is not, in real poems); rather it ranks among the original and essential prerequisites of poetry. Furthermore, since all metrical forms have a definite meaning, and their necessary character in a given language may very well be demonstrated (for unity of form and essence is the goal of all art, and the more they interpenetrate and reflect each other, the higher the perfection achieved), one of the first principles of the art of translation is that a poem should be recreated in the same meter, as far as the nature of the language allows. Translators are very much inclined to deviate from this, partly because it is very difficult and partly because they have grown fond of the practice as it has been accepted up to now: two very good reasons to proclaim the greatest stringency as a general law.
Edward Fitzgerald, 1809−1883. English translator and poet.
Extract from a letter written to E.B.Cowell in 1857.
It is an amusement for me to take what liberties I like with these Persians, who (as I think) are not Poets enough to frighten one from such excursions, and who really do want a little Art to shape them.