6.  Chapter 6: The Translation of Poetry and Poetic Prose in Der Tod in Venedig

It has been seen 2.21 and 2.23 that both Lowe-Porter and Thomas Mann belonged to what has already been designated as the untranslatability school. Thomas Mann himself was only too aware of the difficulties involved in translating his own poetic prose. Thirwall, for example, quotes a statement from an interview with Frank Harriot in which Mann is supposed to have said:

To translate artistic prose into another language is as difficult as to translate poetry.(Thirlwall 1966: 95)

This chapter will concentrate on the purely poetic aspects of Mann’s style.

The analysis of Hölderlin’s and Joyce’s translations in the previous chapter has shown that ‘great’ translations of ‘great’ poetry and prose are possible, but the only hitch in this formula is that perhaps only ‘great’ poets are capable of this achievement. Lowe-Porter, however, argues that the contrary is the case when she compares W. H. Auden’s translation of Goethe’s poem commemorating the birthday of Archduke Karl August as quoted on the fly-leaf of Lotte in Weimar with her own version:

It is clear that Auden’s version is the work of a poet. It is eight lines of such verse as he might have written had he been the personal friend of, say F. D. R. But it is not, I feel, in spirit or technique, like the simple warm little patriotic Goethe lines. It does not seem eighteenth-century to me. Auden, I think, cannot be a translator, however hard he tries. He kept the first rule of a translator, to make, not a translation, which is ‘God bless us a thing of naught,’ but did not keep the second (which is to keep the words and the spirit). Or am I all wrong? (1966: 199. My emphasis.)

It is debatable whether or not Auden did “keep the words and the spirit” less than Lowe-Porter. It is appropriate at this stage to quote the original alongside Auden’s version followed by that of Lowe-Porter:

Goethe: Mit allem Schall und Klang

Der Transoxanen

Erkühnt sich unser Sang

Auf Deine Bahnen.

Uns ist für gar nichts bang

In dir lebendig

Dein Leben dauere lang

Dein Reich beständig.

Auden: Though conch and tribal gong

[page 130↓] Howl in the marches,

Bold be our rebel song,

Thy courts and arches

Stand. We dread no wrong

In thee made able.

O may thy reign be long

Thy kingdom stable. (Auden’s version in Thirlwall 1966: 197)

Lowe-Porter: Through all the bounce and blare

Of border races

Our song makes bold to fare

Upon thy traces.

We fear not any wrong

In thee residing -

Oh, may thy life be long,

Thy realm abiding. (Thirlwall 1966: 197-198)

Auden adheres rigidly to Goethe’s repetition of rhyme with the pattern ababacac whereas Lowe-Porter varies the scheme slightly with ababcdcd thus losing some of the witty tightness of the original. It is true, however, that Auden’s version misinterprets an essential point with the phrase “rebel song”, which takes the boldness of the subjects in celebrating their ruler so wildly and loudly more than one step too far by implying the wildness has inherent rebellious elements. Otherwise, Auden does seem to capture something of the spirit of the original. The basic idea of stable rule is well conveyed with the enjambment of the line “Thy courts and arches/Stand” so that the verb stand is highlighted. This theme is clinched in the last line “Thy kingdom stable” with the main emphasis on the final iamb giving this foot almost the force of a spondee, thus ending on a note of solidity and peace. The obscurity of “conch and tribal gong” in the first line reflects something of the ‘outlandishness’ of Goethe’s coinage of the word Transoxanen (which could be roughly translated as ‘people living beyond the Pale’) and adds a slightly humorous pagan or “tribal” touch to the poem. It is quite clear that, for Auden, the semiotics of the poem was more important than the semantics so that his translation of “Auf Deine Bahnen” by “Thy courts and arches” has more to do with finding a suitable rhyme for marches than to reflect the sense of the original. It is, however, still within the ‘spirit’ of the original as the courts and arches emphasise the ‘glory’ of the enlightened monarch, even though the idea of following the monarch is lost. Despite some semantic loss, Auden in the end has [page 131↓]produced a fluent and successful poem from an original which in itself can hardly be regarded as high poetry as it is only an example of Goethe’s occasional verse.

Lowe-Porter’s version attempts to be semantically closer to Goethe’s, but there is still some loss of poetic features. The first phrase in the first line “bounce and blare” for “Schall und Klang” is a not a collocation and thus has a bizarre effect. If some one is ‘full of bounce’, this means that they are very lively or ‘full of beans’ as with the very common collocation ‘a bouncy baby’. It could also unconsciously be an echo of the felicitous collocation ‘full of bounce and flair’ to describe an able and energetic person. It also reflects twentieth century colloquial usage so that her claim to have caught the ‘18th century spirit’ of the poem does not hold. When, however, the noun bounce is combined with blare, the confusion is increased. One may refer to the ‘blaring’ of trumpets, but, on its own, it has a puzzling effect as if the reference were made to the ‘banging of drums’, for example, by the word ‘bang’ and then made into a non-collocation such as bang and bounce! Confusion is further compounded when the non-collocation is referred to ‘border races’, which in turn is a very vague reference. What is a ‘border race’ and why should they be full of ‘bounce and blare’? Goethe’s reference, on the other hand, is precise, i.e. die Transoxanen and so, makes perfect sense.

Similarly, the next two lines have two non-collocations in the idea that a song ‘makes bold’ and ‘fare upon’ which is presumably meant ‘to follow’. The idea behind this is very obscure even after allowing for the non-collocations: that a song becomes bold enough to follow the footsteps of the ‘great’ duke. The second half of the poem is more felicitous, but the iambs in residing and abiding together with the weak feminine rhymes lack the solidity of Auden’s ‘able/stable’ rhyme. Lowe-Porter would certainly not be justified in her denunciation of Auden as being incapable of translation, “however hard he tries” because the latter understood the semiotics of the poem to a much higher degree, even though there was one serious semantic error, i.e. ‘our rebel song’. Secondly, even though Auden’s version by no means represents his best poetry, it reads well and fluently besides striking a poetic note whereas the first half of Lowe-Porter’s version can only be described as garbled.

A translator of poetry who lacks any poetic gifts is not likely to produce great poetry translations even if the translator may be a great philologist. Lowe-Porter said of herself: ‘I am not a literary bird.’She was by no means a gifted poet.⁴³

As has been demonstrated in 4.2-4.4, Thomas Mann’s prose often displays poetic elements not only with regard to associations and connotations, but also with regard to their sonic effects and rhythm. That Mann regarded the rhythmic aspects of his prose an essential feature, there is no doubt as testified by his letter, “An Bruno Walter zum siebzigsten Geburtstag”:

Ich bin überzeugt, daß die geheimste und stärkste Anziehungskraft einer Prosa in ihrem Rhythmus liegt, [. . .] dessen Gesetze so viel delikater sind als die offenkundig metrischen. (Mann 1961: 738: My emphasis.)

Although most of Der Tod in Venedig is written in poetic prose, there are many instances of Mann actually weaving classical rhythms and even full hexameters into his ‘prose’. Hayes, recognised two examples: one in the breakfast scene, “Oft [page 133↓]veränderten Schmuck und warme Bäder und Ruhe” and one some 150 words farther on in the text:

Auf diesem Kragen aber, der nicht einmal sonderlich elegant zum Charakter des Anzugs passen wollte, ruhte die Blüte des Hauptes in unvergleichlichem Liebreiz, [. . .] (das) Haupt des Eros, vom gelblichem Schmelze parischen Marmors. (Hayes 1974: 120-121. Italics indicate two hexameters.)

Hayes notes that both Burke and Lowe-Porter missed the hexameters in this extract and claims that there are “some of the dactylic rhythms” in the Lowe-Porter version:

The lad had [. . .] a simple white standing collar round the neck [. . .] a not very elegant effect [. . .] yet above this collar the head was poised like a flower in incomparable loveliness. It was the head of Eros, with the yellowish bloom of Parian marble. (Lowe-Porter 1978: 34-35)

The few dactylic rhythms could be a matter of chance because any felicitous rhythmic effect is destroyed as Hayes rightly notes arguing, as it were, against himself:

She does preserve some of the dactylic rhythms: but the phrase “in incomparable loveliness” is so retardant that it interrupts any rhythmic flow. Also, her last sentence has eight accents instead of six. (Hayes 1974: 122)

Luke’s version reads quite fluently with a hint here and there of classical rhythms (particularly in the last line), but with nothing to suggest that perfect hexameters are encoded within the text:

[. . .] the boy was wearing [. . .] a simple white stand-up collar. But on this collar - which did not even match the rest of his suit very elegantly [. . .] there, like a flower in bloom, his head was gracefully resting. It was the head of Eros, with the creamy luster of Parian marble. (Luke 1988: 220)

Hayes demonstrates that it is possible to reproduce the hexameters without too much difficulty by offering his own felicitous rendering:

The difficulty in producing some sort of passable hexameter does not seem overwhelming: for example, the final translation might be “poised like a flower, his head was crowned with unmatchable charm - - (the) head of an Eros, with yellowing lustre of Parian marble.” My own preference, however, would be blank verse: “his head held poised, the flower’s crowning charm, was Eros’ head, in yellowed Paros marble.” (Hayes 1974: 130)

Hayes’ preference for the iambic pentameter is clear as he goes on to argue that “the Anglo-Saxon ear is not attuned to the rhythms of the classical hexameter” and he condones Burke’s use of the pentameter to translate Homeric hexameters:

In a passage like this one [i.e. the ‘Parian marble passage’] the translator is faced with a choice between preserving the exact form of the original or adjusting the form to transmit another effect by other means, in terms more appropriate to the receptor language. If he decides on the latter course, he will probably render the passage in iambic form, as it was discussed in [page 134↓]Chapter 2, above; and in that case, it seems to me, he should translate the Odyssey verse into an iambic pentameter, as Burke has done: “A frequent change of dress; warm baths, and rest”. (Hayes 1974: 121)

In this particular case, I would, however, argue the contrary to Hayes’ choice of pentameters over hexameters because the very artificiality of the hexameter reflects Aschenbach’s fastidiousness, thus adding to the humour and irony by gently mocking a writer who is a little too self-conscious and over-dexterous. This use of the hexameter also contains an element of Mann’s self-mockery. Many of the hexameters are indirect quotations which provide distance from the protagonist so that there is room for that gentle, all-pervading irony that runs through the whole text as recognised to a certain extent by Häfele and Stammel (1992):

Sicherlich hatte Thomas Mann seine Freude am Zitieren, vielleicht hat sie auch der Leser beim Auffinden kryptischer Verbindungslinien. Das Zitat ist vor allem Teil der ironischen Erzählstrategie und läßt als Wiedergabe fremder Meinung dem Erzähler die Freiheit, Distanz zu den Vorstellungen seines Helden zu wahren. (Häfele und Stammel 1992: 55)

Covert classical references are woven into the text within the Platonic dialogues on the destructiveness of art. There are also ‘classical’ passages in which the hexameter predominates with frequent quotations/translations of Homer such as the following example in the same chapter:

In Anlehnung an einen in Homers Odyssee (4. Buch, V 563) beschriebenen idyllischen Zustand fühlt er sich dagegen in Venedig und am Lido, wo „der zarten Sinneslust kein Ende“ (41) ist, „als sei er entrückt ins elysische Land, an die Grenzen der Erde, wo leichtestes Leben den Menschen beschert ist, wo nicht Schnee ist und Winter, noch Sturm und strömender Regen, sondern immer sanft kühlenden Anhauch Okeanos aufsteigen läßt, und in seliger Muße die Tage verrinnen, mühelos, kampflos und ganz nur der Sonne und ihren Festen geweiht. (Häfele und Stammel 1992: 54)

Even in the ‘less poetic’ passages, there are frequent hexameters. Hayes identifies one more passage where the dactylic/spondee rhythms are clearly evident even though the sentences may not be perfect hexameters. The first example is taken from Chapter IV:

Er war früh auf, wie sonst bei pochendem Arbeitsdrange, und vor den meisten am Strand, wenn die Sonne noch milde war und das Meer weißblendend in Morgenträumen lag. Er grüßte menschenfreundlich die Wächter der Sperre, grüßte auch vertraulich den barfüßigen Weißbart, der ihm die Stätte bereitet, das braune Schattentuch ausgespannt, die Möbel der Hütte hinaus auf die Plattform gerückt hatte, und ließ sich nieder. (Hayes 1974: 123. Hayes’ italics)

As Hayes does not offer a detailed scansion analysis, it is difficult to see in the above the justification for the line breaks, but, whatever, there are clear classical rhythms in this extract.

Other critics such as Hofmiller (1966) claim that the nightmare sequence with the Dionysian feast is also rich in hexameters such as in the following extract:

Aber alles durchdrang und beherrschte der tiefe, lockende Flötenton. Lockte er nicht auf ihn, den widerstrebenden Erlebenden, schamlos beharrlich zum Fest und Unmaß des äußersten Opfers? Groß war sein Abscheu, groß seine Furcht, redlich sein Wille, bis zuletzt das seine zu schützen gegen den Fremden, den Feind des gefaßten und würdigen Geistes. (1977: 393).

Similarly, Dittmann also identified a hexameter in the sixth paragraph of the same chapter:

In Chapter IV, the poetic element is dominant in the passages where the passion and tension increase. This chapter is also full of classical references and displays of metrical virtuosity, so much so, that the author himself referred to it as “das antikisierende Kapitel”⁴⁴. Similarly, Häfele and Stammel (1992) refer to the poetic elements in their study as a case of “der antikisierende Rhythmus” and they also recognise the deliberate exaggeration which is at the root of the self-parody and irony in the passage by describing the poetic elements as “überhöht” (exaggerated):

Das vierte Kapitel beginnt mit einer ins mythische Bild überhöhte Beschreibung der Sonnenglut am Strand. (Häfele und Stammel 1992: 54)

The opening passage of Chapter IV deserves to be quoted in full because, under analysis, it can be shown that this passage is such an extreme example of poetic prose that it could be regarded as a covert poem. In this passage Mann gives an exalted description in classical style of the ‘blissful’ days Aschenbach spent in Venice during the latter part of his stay:

Nun lenkte Tag für Tag der Gott mit den hitzigen Wangen nackend sein gluthauchendes Viergespann durch die Räume des Himmels, und sein gelbes Gelock flatterte im zugleich ausstürmenden Ostwind. Weißlich seidiger Glanz lag auf den Weiten des träge wallendes Pontos. Der Sand glühte. Unter der silbrig flirrenden Bläue des Äthers waren rostfarbene Segeltücher vor den Strandhütten ausgespannt, und auf dem scharf umgrenzten Schattenfleck, [page 136↓]den sie boten, verbrachte man die Vormittagsstunden. Aber köstlich war auch der Abend, wenn die Pflanzen des Parks balsamisch dufteten, die Gestirne droben ihren Reigen schritten und das Murmeln des umnachteten Meeres, leise heraufdringend, die Seele besprach. Solch ein Abend trug in sich die freudige Gewähr eines neuen Sonntages von leicht geordneter Muße und geschmückt mit zahllosen, dicht beieinanderliegenden Möglichkeiten lieblichen Zufalls. (Mann 1977: 370)

One aspect which has not been noted and which must, therefore, be argued is that the first four lines all display the distinctive features of Homeric hexameters. The characteristic last two feet consisting of a dactyl followed by a spondee or trochee, thus displaying the typical rhythm - v v \ - - can be recognised in the first four lines which can be set out as almost perfect hexameters. Sometimes, there is one foot too many (which is indicated with a zero) or a word which can be regarded as a link with the next line and thus metrically redundant as a hexameter:

The linking lines are marked with an even number, but despite these ‘imperfections’ the rhythms of this opening passage do produce a ‘classical’ effect. Not all the [page 137↓]rhythms of the opening paragraph are, however, typically classical. It can also be argued that Thomas Mann’s irony and self-parodying are by no means absent in these passages which are a little too purple and a little too precious, though deliberately so, resulting in a brilliant parody of classical aestheticism. The whole paragraph can be set out as a poem in four parts:

I

1. Nun lenkte Tag für Tag der Gott mit den hitzigen Wangen

2. Nackend

3. Sein gluthauchendes Viergespann durch die Räume des Himmels,

4. Und sein gelbes

5. Gelock flatterte im zugleich ausstürmenden Ostwind.

6. Weißlich seidiger

7. Glanz lag auf den Weiten des träge wallenden Pontos.

II

1. Der Sand glühte.

III

1. Unter der silbrig flirrenden Bläue des Äthers

2. Waren rostfarbene Segeltücher aufgespannt

3. Und auf dem scharf umgrenzten Schattenfleck,

4. Den sie boten,

5. Verbrachte man

6. Die Vormittagsstunden

IV

1. Aber köstlich war auch der Abend,

2. Wenn die Pflanzen des Parkes balsamisch dufteten

3. Die Gestirne droben ihre Reigen schritten

4. Und das Murmeln des umnachteten Meeres

5. Leise heraufdringend

6. Die Seele besprach.

This example of line-sequencing is just one of many possibilities. Lines 2, 4 and 6, for example in verse I, are links based on the assumption that their corresponding preceding lines are more or less complete Homeric hexameters as analysed in this Section. The classical rhythms were totally abandoned in verses II-IV as if the poet is returning from the heavens (Himmel - der Gott) to earth and so there is a beautiful, but powerful simplicity in this line. Also the division of the first half into three verses makes hermeneutic sense in that the verses are divided according to their role in the structure or semiotics of the ‘elements’: verse I - the sky and fire; verse II - linking of the element fire with earth; verse III - air to earth via water (the sea) and verse IV - air and sea. A full verse value is given to the one line Der Sand glühte because this line acts as a bridge between the land and the sea, and the ‘glowing’ of the sand is suggestive of the fire theme as in the first verse. The second half of the ‘poem’ (verses II and IV) returns to the twentieth century so that ‘vers libre’ form is more appropriate.

It is then interesting now to examine how many of these rhythmical aspects are encoded in the translations concerned. Hayes claims that Lowe-Porter does use ‘iambic combinations’ in her translations, (Hayes 1974: 125), but he does not highlight what these ‘combinations’ are. At best, it could be asserted that there is some attempt at writing rhythmic prose, but this is by no means clear. What is certain is that there is no equivalent poetic effect in her version:

Lowe-Porter: Now daily the naked god with cheeks aflame drove his four fire-breathing steeds through heaven’s spaces; and with him streamed the strong east wind that fluttered his yellow locks. A sheen, like white satin, lay over all the idly rolling sea’s expanse. The sand was burning hot. Awnings of rust-coloured canvas were spanned before the bathing-huts, under the ether’s quivering silver blue; one spent the morning hours within the small, sharp square of shadow they purveyed. But the evening too was rarely lovely: balsamic with the breath of flowers and shrubs from the nearby park, while overhead the constellations circled in their spheres, and the murmuring of the night girded sea swelled softly up and whispered to [page 139↓]the soul. Such nights as these contained the joyful promise of a sunlit morrow, brim-full of sweetly ordered idleness, studded thick with countless precious possibilities. (Lowe-Porter 1978: 46-47)

The same criticism could also apply to Luke:

Luke: Now day after day the god with the burning cheeks soared naked, driving his four fire-breathing steeds through the spaces of heaven, and now, too, his yellow-gold locks fluttered wide in the outstorming east wind. Silk-white radiance gleamed on the slow-swelling deep’s vast waters. The sand glowed. Under the silvery quivering blue of the ether, rust-covered awnings were spread out in front of the beach cabins, and one spent the morning hours on the sharply defined patch of shade they provided. But exquisite, too, was the evening, when the plants in the park gave off a balmy fragrance, and the stars on high moved through their dance, and the softly audible murmur of the night-surrounded sea worked its magic on the soul. (Luke 1988: 231)

Neither passage attempts to capture the strict classical metre of the original, but both do aim at capturing something of the exalted tone and diction of Mann’s poetic prose whilst missing the self-parodying aspects of the extract where the deliberate, even elaborate display of metrical virtuosity can be seen to reflect the affected traits in Aschenbach’s character as has also been implied by Häfele and Stammel’s use of the adjective überhöht. Indeed, the overwriting is so obvious that despite the classical vigour of the hexameters, there is a narcissistic element hinting at Aschenbach’s inherent decadence which leads to his final downfall. The Lowe-Porter version does manage, however, to be very slightly poetic with the use of inversion, rhythm and alliteration in the second clause:

[. . .] and with him streamed the strong east wind that fluttered his yellow locks (Lowe-Porter 1978: 46. My emphasis.)

This line reads quite well despite its being marred by the incorrect use of flutter as a transitive verb⁴⁵. Compounds such as “night-girded sea” and “brim-full” are generally infelicitous in English. The whole passage has a vigorous and energetic rhythm which contradicts the inherently decadent tone in the original. Luke’s version also reads quite well on the first reading, but he too produces some barbaric compounds such as “the out-storming east wind”. Although the phrase “night-surrounded sea” may be slightly more preferable to Lowe-Porter’s equivalent phrase “night-girded sea”, the effect is still clumsy. The embedded hexameters are, however, completely ignored by both translators and the inherent poetic form is lost. The use of the impersonal [page 140↓]pronoun in both translations also trivialises the high poetic tone by producing an inappropriately ‘English’ upper-class effect:

Lowe-Porter: One spent the morning hours within the small, sharp square of the shadow they purveyed

Luke: [. . .] One spent the morning hours on the sharply defined patch of shade they provided. (My emphasis.)

In short, both versions fail to communicate the sense of excitement, intoxication with language and form of the original; there is no hint that here is a piece of high poetry together with sophisticated self-parodying decadence. Instead, we are presented with two passages of overblown, awkward English prose.

The three main Italian versions read much better. Both the Maffi (1994) and Rho (1954) versions display poetic qualities with assonance, rhythm and sound repetition for which the Italian language is renowned as does the Castellani (1988) translation to a very high degree.

Rho: Ormai, giorno per giorno, il dio dalle guance ardenti conduceva nudo la quadriga di fuoco attraverso gli spazi del cielo, e la sua chioma d’oro ondeggiava al vento di levante subitamente calmato. Una serica bianchezza posava sulle distese del Ponto torpido e ondoso. La sabbia bruciava. Sotto l’etere azzurro dai barbagli d’argento erano tese davanti alle cabine tende di traliccio color ruggine, e sulla netta macchia d’ombra da esse proiettata si passavan le ore del pomeriggio. Ma non meno deliziosa era la sera, quando gli alberi del parco esalavano profumi balsamici, le stelle compivano lassù la loro danza, e il mormorio del mare notturno saliva dolcemente parlava alle anime. Quelle sere portavano in sé la lieta promessa di una nuova giornata di sole, di facili e ordinati piaceri, abbellita da infinite occasioni di gradevoli casi. (Rho 1954: 53)

Maffi: Ormai, giorno per giorno, il dio dalle guance di fuoco guidava nudo negli spazi celesti la rutilante quadriga, e la sua bionda chioma ondeggiava al libeccio improvvisamente calato. Una bianca, serica lucentezza indugiava sulle distese del Ponto pigramente ondoso. La sabbia bruciava. Sotto l’azzurro dell’ etere sfavillante d’argento, ruvidi teli color ruggine erano stesi davanti ai capanni, e, sulla loro macchia d’ombra nettamente segnata, si trascorrevano le ore pomeridiane. Ma era altrettanto deliziosa la sera, quando nel giardino le piante esalavano balsamici profumi, le stelle eseguivano lassù la loro danza, e il mormorio sommesso del mare avvolto nella notte e parlava all’anima: una sera che portava in sé l’ilare garanzia di una nova giornata di sole e di facile ozio, adorna d’infinite e quasi ininterrotte possibilità di eventi gradevoli. (Maffi 1994: 74-75)

[page 141↓] Castellani: Giorno dopo giorno, ormai, il dio dalle guance infocate correva ignudo con la fiammea quadriga attraverso gli spazi celesti e la sua chioma d’oro fluttuava al vento di levante mutatosi in placida brezza. Un lucido biancore di seta posava sulle pigre ondeggianti distese del ponto; la sabbia ardeva, l’etere azzurro sfavillava d’argento. Dinanzi ai capanni della spiaggia erano tese tende color ruggine: alla loro ombra che si proiettava netta, si trascorrevano le ore pomeridiane. Ma deliziosa era pure la sera, quando le piante del parco esalavano effluvi balsamici e si compiva nel cielo la danza delle stelle, quando il murmure delle acque avvolte nell’ oscurità si levava sommesso a parlare all’anima. Ognuna di quelle sere portava con sé la gioiosa certezza di una nuova giornata di sole sotto il segno di un facile ozio, ornato di innumerevoli, ininterrotte probabilità di cari incontri. (Castellani 1988: 45)

It is beyond the scope of this analysis to compare all the European versions of the Thomas Mann translations, but, even with a superficial acquaintance of Italian, it is clear that all three versions display a great sense of rhythm and poetry. The Rho version is very close to the original and is the least poetic despite some pleasing effects such as:

Una serica bianchezza posava sulle distese del Ponto torpido e ondoso.

The Maffi version displays greater rhythmical variety with his greater use of dactylic rhythms in phrases such as “subitamente calmato” and in his translation of the line quoted as immediately above:

Una bianca, serica lucentezza indugiava sulle distese del Ponto pigramente ondoso.

The Castellani version, however, attempts to capture the classical rhythms of the original with dactyl/spondee rhythms in phrases such as “correva ignudo”, “attraverso gli spazi celesti”, “placida brezza”,“sulle pigre”and “ondeggianti distese del ponto”. The choice of vocabulary is also more felicitous with the phrases such as “la gioiosa certezza” as opposed to the more prosaic noun garanzia in the Maffi version or in the Rho’s use of the noun promessa in the relatively dull phrase, “la lieta promessa”. All three versions, however, miss the irony and self-parody in that they are merely poetic rather than being over-poetic at the same time. Nevertheless, the reader is aware that poetry as well as prose is embedded in this passage.

The Bertaux, Nesme and Sigwalt (1997) French version is both a very close translation and highly poetic. The rich mixture of classical metres in phrases such as “conduisait nu son quadrige enflammé” and “au même moment déchaîné” in the first [page 142↓]sentence echo one another more in the manner of French alexandrines in the manner of Corneille and Racine. This would seem to be a successful strategy as most literary French readers would perceive high classical metres and rhythms more through the French classics than directly from the Greek whereas the English pentameter has more immediate associations with Shakespeare and the English tradition than with Latin and Greek models:

Maintenant, tous les jours, le dieu au visage ardent conduisait nu son quadrige enflammé a travers les espaces du ciel, et sa chevelure d’or flottait au vent d’Est au même moment déchaîné. Une blancheur soyeuse et éblouissante s’étendait sur les lointains de la mer et la houle paresseuse. Le sable brûlait. Sous l’éther azuré aux vibrations d’argent, des voiles couleur de rouille étaient tendues devant les cabines, et sur la tâche d’ombre nettement découpée qu’elles projetaient, on passait les heures de la matinée. Mais non moins exquise était la soirée, quand les plantes du parc exhalaient leurs parfums balsamiques, que les constellations accomplissaient là-haut leur ronde et que le murmure de la mer plongée dans la nuit montait doucement vers les âmes pour leur faire ses mystérieuses confidences. (Bertaux, Nesme and Sigwalt 1997: 63-64)

The lines following the opening alexandrines are high prose with poetic effects such as the inversion in the line, “Mais non moins exquise était la soirée” and the rich assonance and alliteration in the final clause, “le murmure de la mer plongée dans la nuit montait doucement vers les âmes pour leur faire ses mystérieuses confidences”. Even though the French version almost reads as poetry (a great achievement), the deliberate overwriting and pretentiousness, and thus parody, irony and self-mockery of the original is also lost except perhaps for the phrase, “Mais non moins exquise était la soirée” where the adjective exquise is the le mot juste being both poetic and pretentious.

It has been seen that the Italian and French versions capture not only many of the poetic aspects, but something of the classical metre. As the passage has an element of self-parody, an exaggerated use of metre, rhythm and poetic effects would be in order as long as the exaggeration can be seen to be deliberate. This is expecting rather a lot from a literary translator, but as has been seen with Joyce’s translation into Italian and even the German versions of Finnegans Wake, it is remarkable how far translation can go in the hands of skilled writers and poets. Even if one goes half way as do the one French and three Italian versions, something has been achieved, and an echo of Thomas Mann’s brilliant and sophisticated language games is preserved, but [page 143↓]if no or little attempt is made, as in the English versions in this study, then the result is disastrous: overblown and ungrammatical prose as in the case of Lowe-Porter and dull, pretentious prose as in Luke’s case with little evidence of Homeric rhythm or Mann’s sophisticated parody of an aesthete. On the other hand, a more parodying version with recondite words and metrical displays of virtuosity is also possible. It is not within the province of the dissertation to give a prescriptive formula for translating Thomas Mann works. The strategic approach depends on many other factors (target readership, publishing contract, general strategy domesticating, semantic, communicative, adaptation and rewriting). Lowe-Porter’s and Luke’s versions reveal the limitations of the academic approach. The reader is short-changed. For a brilliant piece of style, in covert poetic form, full of metrical games and self-parody, we receive from both translators two passages of dull, overblown, pedantic prose.

Footnotes and Endnotes

⁴³ 

It may seem churlish to point out the poetic deficiencies of a translator, but it is necessary in this case to emphasise the point that it takes a poet to translate poetry successfully, particularly in the light of her casual dismissal of Auden’s talents as a translator of poetry. The poems, quoted in Thirlwall ostensibly for the readers’ admiration, illustrate this point in the following two examples of Lowe-Porter’s poetry:

Example 1

Words are dear,

And names are dear,

And words of place fall sweet upon the air.

But most of all the names of English places,

Of English settlements and shires,

Stealing like drowsy music on the ears,

And specially of all the shires there be

In Oxford, Bucks and Berks

The names are dear to me.

Example 2

A face is a face is a face:

A mouth and a nose and an eye

Or two, in the usual place

Make us all look alike, you’ll agree,

So how can you tell it is me,

When we’re all so alike in the face?

I boast no unusual feature,

No arrangement distinctive or odd,

And yet this quite commonplace creature

When modelled by Gina you’ll see

Can surely be no one but me. (Thirlwall 1966: viii-ix)

⁴⁴  This reference is taken from his letter to Heinrich Mann on 2nd April, 1912 (Mann: 1985).

⁴⁵  The wrong use of transitive and intransitive verbs is a typical feature of Lowe-Porter’s abuse of English grammar. In Appendix I, the thirteen examples 2. 4111 - 2. 4123 are taken from Tristan and Tonio Kröger alone, but there are many more examples throughout her oeuvre.