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It is strange—to say the least—that
there is no good complete
translation
of the Poetic Edda on
the market.
There is Benjamin Thorpe's version,
published in 1866. This was a rather poor
performance at the time and is now out of print.
It was, to be sure, reprinted in the so-called
"Norraena Series", but as to this, least said is
soonest mended. For that matter, I never was
able to arrive at any conclusion as to whether
Thorpe's performance was meant to be in verse or
prose.
The very respectable prose version of
Vigfusson in the Corpus
Poeticum Boreale, made in
1884, is now thoroughly antiquated. At best, it
represented the frequently erratic and generally
unacceptable theories of that brilliant scholar.
It is on the market for those who can pay $30.
It has not been, nor does it deserve to be,
reprinted.
Lastly, there is Olive Bray's pedestrian
translation
(1908) of
the mythological poems of the Edda published in
the Transactions of the Viking Club.1
As no more has appeared, these ten years, it is
safe to say that the undertaking has, for the
time being, been abandoned.
1
Viking Club
Translation
Series.
Vol. 2.
Fortunately, it is not likely that this
regrettable condition will continue long. As I
learn, there are now no less than five new
versions under way, nearing completion, or
completed. It is not easy to forecast how good
these will be, but the hope is justifiable that
the publishers will consult competent scholars
on their respective merits. My own
translation
is one of those nearing
completion. While engaged in this work the
following reflections and considerations have
occurred to me.
When envisaging the task of translating
the Poetic Edda into a modern Germanic tongue it
becomes plain that two, and only two, courses
are open: either a rendering into prose; which
means, inevitably, a total (and to my feeling
unwarranted) obliteration of its salient
characteristics, or else a faithful
reproduction, or imitation, if you please, of
the original in the original metres.
Now, as regards the use of prose for the
rendering of Old Germanic poetry, I have no
prejudice against it. In fact, I confess that
Tinker's prose rendering of
Beowulf
appeals rather more
to me than, say, Gummere's or Leslie Hall's
versions in the original metre. Nor is it my
intention to enter here into a discussion as to
the merits of prose, as against verse,
translations of Old Germanic monuments in
general. Such a discussion simply does not apply
to the Edda—
which is not—like Beowulf,
the other great Anglo-Saxon
poems, and the Old Saxon
Heliand—, an epic poem
composed in one and the same metre throughout;
but, rather, a collection of poetic material of
the most various kinds. It is to be recalled
that among its forty odd numbers there are
didactic poems, genealogical rigmaroles,
roystering dramatic ballads, elegiac songs,
rough, coarse 'flytings,' purely narrative
poems, and still other kinds. And hardly two
agree in their handling of the three basic
stanza forms employed, let alone stylistic
differences. It would obviously be a hopeless
and vain task to make any prose convey a tittle
more than their bare contents—which would be
utterly unfair to the genius of the individual
poems. It would cheat the student who has a
right to demand at least an adumbration of the
original in spirit and appeal.
But if prose be rejected, I can see no
other alternative than just an absolutely
faithful adherence to the original metres. For
what other course is open to us? To write
alliterative verse and then,
ad libitum—or,
shall I maliciously say,
propter necessitate—to do
for several lines, or even stanzas, at a time
without alliteration (which, I submit, is the
very stuff and substance of the alliterative
measures)—as does Olive Bray, is to fall between
two stools. Again, it goes without saying, we
cannot translate a Ljóðsháttr
stanza in
Fornyrðislag
metre. Even to change
Málaháttr
into
Fornyrðislag,
and vice versa, is unwarranted. Nor is
it possible to substitute a measure of our own
invention;2
unless, indeed, we intend to make a paraphrase
and not a
translation, as
did e.g., William Morris in his
Earthly Paradise.
So, I say, there is no alternative to prose but
just an absolutely faithful adherence to the
original metres.
By faithful adherence I mean, of course,
not slavish adherense. If, e.g., stanzas of the
original should contain, here and there, as a
license, a threesyllable half-line in a
Fornyrdislag
metre poem I would certainly not feel myself
bound to follow suit. I hold it a good rule that
the translator should, if anything, stick closer
to the norm than the original: the possibility
of
text corruptions should very properly ever be
present to him; unless, of course, irregularity
be the norm, as in the
Hárbardsljóð"3.
Obviously, in the rendering of the sense
of a passage it frequently may be necessary,
owing to deep-going differences between archaic
Old Norse and Modern English, to let whole
stanzas go into the melting pot, to be entirely
recast in conformity with English syntax. To do
this, without serious damage to the spirit of
the original, naturally is the hardest part of
the translator's task and one insuperable but to
the serious student of Old Norse literature.
In the matter of text it should be the
translator's endeavor to adhere to the
manuscript readings whenever possible.
Personally, I do not let this prevent me from
siding with the so-called 'constructive'
editors, notably Gering, Finnur Jónsson,
Sijmons—who refuse to grovel before the readings
of the codices in all cases, as do Neckel,
Detter and Heinzel—even where the corruption
thereof stmketh to heaven, or at any rate defies
an intelligent understanding.
Neither do I see why manifest
interpolations should not be translated, if
marked as such; or, again, why some of the happy
restorations, by Gering, Sophus Bugge, and Svend
Grundtvig, of lost lines or stanzas should not
be incorporated, providing the conjecture be
made evident as such at a glance.
On the other hand I refuse to go as far
as Genzmer, the author of the most recent German
translation,
who under
the leadership of the brilliant and poetically
gifted Andreas Heusler attempts a
rapprochement
to
modern taste which, I am ready to admit, is at
times highly satisfactory, but by that very fact
open to suspicion.
2
I call attention to
my colleague, Professor Leonard's adaptation of
the Nibelungen stanza for the
translation
of
Beowulf. (University
o] Wisconsin Studies in Language and
Literature.) No. 2.
I need hardly add that surely no one has
any business to attempt a
translation
of an Old Germanic monument who is not
thoroughly conversant with both its higher and
lower criticism. This is especially true in the
case of the Edda, where whole stanzas have been
most variously interpreted and the text fairly
bristles with difficulties of all kinds. To pin
one's faith to one edition or text will never
do; for if the translator should follow one
edition through thick and thin he will presently
find himself the slave of his chosen editor's
theories;3
instead of standing on his
own feet. Let him bear in mind that, though
assuredly interpretation, a
translation
is not a text.
3
I note, e.g., that
the author of a most valuable recent edition,
with a cliquishness wholly unbecoming to serious
scholarship, virtually ignores valuable
suggestions made in a rival undertaking which I,
for my part, gladly accept.
The great difficulty of doing
alliterative verse into Modem English lies in
the restricted number of words from the old
stock at hand. For, while scouting any
rigorously puristic ideas, I yet hold
emphatically that, to give a fair equivalent,
Germanic material must be drawn upon to the
utmost extent, and later elements used most
sparingly and only whenever indispensable or
unavoidable, and even then only after anxiously
considering whether consonant with the total
effect of the whole. The stylistic feeling of
the translator must here be the court of last
instance; for what is perfectly proper in one
place—say in the more mediaeval and knightly
Atlamál—may
be utterly out of place in a rough-shod ballad
such as the Thrymskviða.
And yet, I say it again, I
lay the utmost stress on avoiding non-Germanic
material, and see failure or success in the
skill and resourcefulness with which the old
vocabulary is handled.
At the same time I do not mean to be
squeamish and avoid a given word just because it
is not found in Anglo-Saxon before the battle of
Hastings, or because I have preconceived notions
about the relative merit of Teutonic and
French-Latin elements. Any one who has given the
matter thought knows that no amount of
linguistic contortions will furnish Germanic
equivalents for such oft-recurring words,
embodying absolutely basic conceptions of Old
Teutonic antiquity, as: war, battle, hero,
glory, revenge, defeat, victory, peace, honor,
and the like.4 Still, wherever
possible, Germanic words ought to be chosen, not
because of Anglo-Saxo-mania, but because of the
tang and flavor still residing in the homelier
indigenous speech-material. I have no quarrel
with those who are not aware of this. They are
suffering with the painless evil of Ajax.
4
May I take this
opportunity again to call the attention of
Germanic scholars to the remarkable volumes of
Vilhelm Gronbech,
Vor Folheatl i Otdtiden
dealing fundamentally with
these conceptions; see my reviews,
Journal of English and
Germanic Philology
1910, p. 269-278, and 1915. p. 124-135.
Another difficulty: the old Germanic
poetry, however scant in content, and in however
narrow circle it moves, is phenomenally rich in
vocabulary and shines with a dazzling array of
synonyms for one and the same conception.
Scherer has shown how this state of affairs was
brought about by the very principle of
alliteration, and in its turn finally gave rise
to the empty verbiage and jingling of Skaldic
poetry, where sense is drowned in a flood of
heiti
and kennings.
The Edda shows almost all stages in this
development short of the final consummation,
from the austere art of the
Völundarkvida
to the ornate
manner of the Hymiskvida.
When we take into
consideration that the Old poet had at his
disposal, some 20 words for 'man,' 23 for
'hero,' 48 for 'prince,' 32 for "brave,'
20 for 'treasure,' 25 for 'battle,' 30 for
'wise,'' and so forth, it will be clear that, in
order to avoid the overhanging danger of
monotony,5
all the resources of the
English vocabulary ought to be at one's
disposal. I am thinking chiefly of the material
in the Scottish and English ballads. The reader
ought to understand this and not balk at words
like etin, fey, grisly,
featly, bairn, and the
like.
Of course it is important here not to
weight a stanza down with an undue number of
archaic and obsolete expressions. The much
overpraised translations of William Morris e.g.
have done more harm than good by rendering the
Old Norse sagas into a most perplexing and
astonishing English which requires a pretty fair
acquaintance with Anglo-Saxon, Edmund Spenser,
and Thomas Mallory to be rightly understanded.
Vestigia terrent!.
Still worse is an injudicious
mixture of Latin and Anglo-Saxon elements. As to
this, the very respectable scholar Benjamin
Thorpe should be a warning and an example.7
The proper rendition of Old Norse proper
names presents a knotty problem to the would-be
translator. Shall he translate them all, to the
best of his knowledge—and that is a difficult
task; or some only, and if so which? Or shall he
leave all untranslated—much the easiest course.
Or shall he try to render only those parts of
proper nouns, which are of more general
significance? e.g.: shall he call the dwarf
Alvfs or Allwise; Thor, Sithgrani's son or
Longbeard's son; the seeress, Hyndla or
Houndling; the localities Gnipalund and Hatun,
Cliffholt and Hightown? Shall we say Alfheim,
Elfham, or Alf-home? Are we to render
Skioldungar, Ylfingar by Shieldings and
Wolfings? And so forth, and so forth. I do not
hesitate to say that on the translator's tact
and skill in meeting this problem—for dodge it
he cannot—will depend in large measure the
artistic merit of his work and its modicum of
palatableness to the modern reader.
Aside from these obstacles, the
difficulty of reproducing alliterative verses in
English has, to my mind, been exaggerated. To be
sure, English has lopped off about all its
inflectional endings and is frequently and
exasperatingly monosyllabic, especially in its
Anglo-Saxon elements; whence an unavoidable
inclination on the part of the translator to
pack too much into the arsis and to overwork
Sievers' type E, as against C and D. Yet, with
reasonable diligence and care this tendency may
be largely counteracted.
5
See Richard M. Meyer,
Die aligermanische
Poesit, nach ihren formelhaften EUmenUn
beschrieben, p. 170
ff.,
and Theodor Wise"n,
Om Ordjogningen i den iUdre Eddan,
p. 2 ff.
6 I note, for
example, that in the 43 stanzas of the
Helsakvidha Hundingsbana
alone there occur 19
words for 'hero.' No apologies are needed for my
translation
being even more monotonous,
stylistically, and more narrowly Germanic, than
the original. Any yielding to the impulse to
'touch up' the leanness of the manner of poems
of this nature by resorting to allusions,
conceptions, descriptive epithets and adjectives
foreign to their habit will at once introduce a
false note.
7 Let me cite the
first four stanzas of his rendering of the
Hymiskvita
as a sample of barbaric and
absurd mixing of these elements—one wonders
whether he had any feeling whatsoever for the
emotional connotation of words: 1) Once the
celestial gods had been taking fish and were in
compotation, ere they the truth discovered. Rods
they shook and blood inspected, when they found
at Ægir's a lack of kettles. 2) Sat the
rockdweller glad as a child, much like the son
of Miscorblindi. In his eyes looked Ygg's son
steadfastly: "Thou to the Aesir shalt oft a
compotation give." 3) Caused trouble to the
Jotun th' unwelcome worded As: he forthwith
meditated vengeance on the gods. Sif's husband
he besought a kettle him to bring "in which beer
for all of you I may brew." 4) The illustrious
gods found that impossible, nor could the
exalted powers it accomplish till from
true-heartedness Ty to Hlorrithi much friendly
counsel gave.
As to the result and success of
a
translation
along the lines above indicated
I would say that I cherish no
unwarrantable optimism. Of such a
translation
even if made with unerring skill
and infinite resourcefulness may be
said, with still greater justice, though
in a different sense, what the Ettrick
Shepherd's mother said to Sir Walter
Scott: "There was never ane of ma sangs
prentit till ye prentit them yoursel,
and ye hae spoilt them athegither. They
were made for singing and no for
reading, but ye hae broken the charm
now, and they'll niver be sung mair. . .
." Surely, never. And, indeed, it is
open to doubt in how far the modern ear
feels any pleasure in the clash and
clang of recurrent initial sound, as it
certainly does in the music of rhythm
and rime; and is not offended, rather,
by the essential irregularity of the Old
Germanic line. As to myself, I confess
that the measure of satisfaction which I
derive from alliterative verse may be
due to years of occupation with it. It
is only fair to acknowledge that it has
become utterly foreign to our habit. So
I am aware that an alliterative version
of the Edda, though logically the best,
and however well done, has no chance
whatsoever to become 'popular reading.'
It will have to stand on its merits as
an adequate help to students of Old
Germanic literatures and folklore who
cannot afford the time to go into a
detailed study of the Edda, yet wish to
have in their hands a reasonably fair
approximation of the original. Even so,
somewhat lengthy introductions,
explanations, and copious foot-notes
will be found indispensable aids in to a
proper understanding of this hoary ruin
of antiquity.
Lee
M.
Hollander.
University of Wisconsin.
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