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=Columbia University=
STUDIES IN ENGLISH AND COMPARATIVE
LITERATURE
EARLY THEORIES OF TRANSLATION
EARLY THEORIES OF TRANSLATION
BY
FLORA ROSS AMOS
OCTAGON BOOKS
A Division of Farrar, Straus and Giroux
New York 1973
Copyright 1920 by Columbia University Press
_Reprinted 1973
by special arrangement with Columbia University Press_
OCTAGON BOOKS
A DIVISION OF FARRAR, STRAUS & GIROUX, INC.
19 Union Square West
New York, N.Y. 10003
Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data
Amos, Flora Ross, 1881-
Early theories of translation.
Original ed. issued in series: Columbia University studies in
English and comparative literature.
Originally presented as the author's thesis, Columbia.
1. Translating and interpreting. I. Title.
II. Series: Columbia University studies in English and comparative
literature.
[PN241.A5 1973] 418'.02 73-397
ISBN 0-374-90176-7
_Printed in U.S.A. by_ NOBLE OFFSET PRINTERS, INC. New York, N.Y. 10003
TO
MY FATHER AND MY MOTHER
_This Monograph has been approved by the Department of
English and Comparative Literature in Columbia University as
a contribution to knowledge worthy of publication._
A. H. THORNDIKE,
_Executive Officer_
PREFACE
In the following pages I have attempted to trace certain developments in
the theory of translation as it has been formulated by English writers.
I have confined myself, of necessity, to such opinions as have been put
into words, and avoided making use of deductions from practice other
than a few obvious and generally accepted conclusions. The procedure
involves, of course, the omission of some important elements in the
history of the theory of translation, in that it ignores the
discrepancies between precept and practice, and the influence which
practice has exerted upon theory; on the other hand, however, it
confines a subject, otherwise impossibly large, within measurable
limits. The chief emphasis has been laid upon the sixteenth century, the
period of the most enthusiastic experimentation, when, though it was
still possible for the translator to rest in the comfortable medieval
conception of his art, the New Learning was offering new problems and
new ideals to every man who shared in the intellectual awakening of his
time. In the matter of theory, however, the age was one of beginnings,
of suggestions, rather than of finished, definitive results; even by the
end of the century there were still translators who had not yet
appreciated the immense difference between medieval and modern standards
of translation. To understand their position, then, it is necessary to
consider both the preceding period, with its incidental,
half-unconscious comment, and the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries,
with their systematized, unified contribution. This last material, in
especial, is included chiefly because of the light which it throws in
retrospect on the views of earlier translators, and only the main
course of theory, by this time fairly easy to follow, is traced.
The aim has in no case been to give bibliographical information. A
number of translations, important in themselves, have received no
mention because they have evoked no comment on methods. The references
given are not necessarily to first editions. Generally speaking, it has
been the prefaces to translations that have yielded material, and such
prefaces, especially during the Elizabethan period, are likely to be
included or omitted in different editions for no very clear reasons.
Quotations have been modernized, except in the case of Middle English
verse, where the original form has been kept for the sake of the metre.
The history of the theory of translation is by no means a record of
easily distinguishable, orderly progression. It shows an odd lack of
continuity. Those who give rules for translation ignore, in the great
majority of cases, the contribution of their predecessors and
contemporaries. Towards the beginning of Elizabeth's reign a small group
of critics bring to the problems of the translator both technical
scholarship and alert, original minds, but apparently the new and
significant ideas which they offer have little or no effect on the
general course of theory. Again, Tytler, whose _Essay on the Principles
on Translation_, published towards the end of the eighteenth century,
may with some reason claim to be the first detailed discussion of the
questions involved, declares that, with a few exceptions, he has "met
with nothing that has been written professedly on the subject," a
statement showing a surprising disregard for the elaborate prefaces that
accompanied the translations of his own century.
This lack of consecutiveness in criticism is probably partially
accountable for the slowness with which translators attained the power
to put into words, clearly and unmistakably, their aims and methods.
Even if one were to leave aside the childishly vague comment of
medieval writers and the awkward attempts of Elizabethan translators to
describe their processes, there would still remain in the modern period
much that is careless or misleading. The very term "translation" is long
in defining itself; more difficult terms, like "faithfulness" and
"accuracy," have widely different meanings with different writers. The
various kinds of literature are often treated in the mass with little
attempt at discrimination between them, regardless of the fact that the
problems of the translator vary with the character of his original.
Tytler's book, full of interesting detail as it is, turns from prose to
verse, from lyric to epic, from ancient to modern, till the effect it
leaves on the reader is fragmentary and confusing.
Moreover, there has never been uniformity of opinion with regard to the
aims and methods of translation. Even in the age of Pope, when, if ever,
it was safe to be dogmatic and when the theory of translation seemed
safely on the way to become standardized, one still hears the voices of
a few recalcitrants, voices which become louder and more numerous as the
century advances; in the nineteenth century the most casual survey
discovers conflicting views on matters of fundamental importance to the
translator. Who are to be the readers, who the judges, of a translation
are obviously questions of primary significance to both translator and
critic, but they are questions which have never been authoritatively
settled. When, for example, Caxton in the fifteenth century uses the
"curious" terms which he thinks will appeal to a clerk or a noble
gentleman, his critics complain because the common people cannot
understand his words. A similar situation appears in modern times when
Arnold lays down the law that the judges of an English version of Homer
must be "scholars, because scholars alone have the means of really
judging him," and Newman replies that "scholars are the tribunal of
Erudition, but of Taste the educated but unlearned public must be the
only rightful judge."
Again, critics have been hesitant in defining the all-important term
"faithfulness." To one writer fidelity may imply a reproduction of his
original as nearly as possible word for word and line for line; to
another it may mean an attempt to carry over into English the spirit of
the original, at the sacrifice, where necessary, not only of the exact
words but of the exact substance of his source. The one extreme is
likely to result in an awkward, more or less unintelligible version; the
other, as illustrated, for example, by Pope's _Homer_, may give us a
work so modified by the personality of the translator or by the
prevailing taste of his time as to be almost a new creation. But while
it is easy to point out the defects of the two methods, few critics have
had the courage to give fair consideration to both possibilities; to
treat the two aims, not as mutually exclusive, but as complementary; to
realize that the spirit and the letter may be not two but one. In the
sixteenth century Sir Thomas North translated from the French Amyot's
wise observation: "The office of a fit translator consisteth not only in
the faithful expressing of his author's meaning, but also in a certain
resembling and shadowing forth of the form of his style and manner of
his speaking"; but few English critics, in the period under our
consideration, grasped thus firmly the essential connection between
thought and style and the consequent responsibility of the translator.
Yet it is those critics who have faced all the difficulties boldly, and
who have urged upon the translator both due regard for the original and
due regard for English literary standards who have made the most
valuable contributions to theory. It is much easier to set the standard
of translation low, to settle matters as does Mr. Chesterton in his
casual disposition of Fitzgerald's _Omar_: "It is quite clear that
Fitzgerald's work is much too good to be a good translation." We can, it
is true, point to few realizations of the ideal theory, but in
approaching a literature which possesses the English Bible, that
marvelous union of faithfulness to source with faithfulness to the
genius of the English language, we can scarcely view the problem of
translation thus hopelessly.
The most stimulating and suggestive criticism, indeed, has come from men
who have seen in the very difficulty of the situation opportunities for
achievement. While the more cautious grammarian has ever been doubtful
of the quality of the translator's English, fearful of the introduction
of foreign words, foreign idioms, to the men who have cared most about
the destinies of the vernacular,--men like Caxton, More, or
Dryden,--translation has appeared not an enemy to the mother tongue, but
a means of enlarging and clarifying it. In the time of Elizabeth the
translator often directed his appeal more especially to those who loved
their country's language and wished to see it become a more adequate
medium of expression. That he should, then, look upon translation as a
promising experiment, rather than a doubtful compromise, is an essential
characteristic of the good critic.
The necessity for open-mindedness, indeed, in some degree accounts for
the tentative quality in so much of the theory of translation.
Translation fills too large a place, is too closely connected with the
whole course of literary development, to be disposed of easily. As each
succeeding period has revealed new fashions in literature, new avenues
of approach to the reader, there have been new translations and the
theorist has had to reverse or revise the opinions bequeathed to him
from a previous period. The theory of translation cannot be reduced to a
rule of thumb; it must again and again be modified to include new facts.
Thus regarded it becomes a vital part of our literary history, and has
significance both for those who love the English language and for those
who love English literature.
In conclusion, it remains only to mention a few of my many obligations.
To the libraries of Princeton and Harvard as well as Columbia University
I owe access to much useful material. It is a pleasure to acknowledge my
indebtedness to Professors Ashley H. Thorndike and William W. Lawrence
and to Professor William H. Hulme of Western Reserve University for
helpful criticism and suggestions. In especial I am deeply grateful to
Professor George Philip Krapp, who first suggested this study and who
has given me constant encouragement and guidance throughout its course.
_April, 1919._
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE MEDIEVAL PERIOD 3
II. THE TRANSLATION OF THE BIBLE 49
III. THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY 81
IV. FROM COWLEY TO POPE 135
INDEX 181
I. THE MEDIEVAL PERIOD
EARLY THEORIES OF TRANSLATION
I
THE MEDIEVAL PERIOD
From the comment of Anglo-Saxon writers one may derive a not inadequate
idea of the attitude generally prevailing in the medieval period with
regard to the treatment of material from foreign sources. Suggestive
statements appear in the prefaces to the works associated with the name
of Alfred. One method of translation is employed in producing an English
version of Pope Gregory's _Pastoral Care_. "I began," runs the preface,
"among other various and manifold troubles of this kingdom, to translate
into English the book which is called in Latin _Pastoralis_, and in
English _Shepherd's Book_, sometimes word by word, and sometimes
according to the sense."[1] A similar practice is described in the
_Proem_ to _The Consolation of Philosophy_ of Boethius. "King Alfred was
the interpreter of this book, and turned it from book Latin into
English, as it is now done. Now he set forth word by word, now sense
from sense, as clearly and intelligently as he was able."[2] The preface
to _St. Augustine's Soliloquies_, the beginning of which, unfortunately,
seems to be lacking, suggests another possible treatment of borrowed
material. "I gathered for myself," writes the author, "cudgels, and
stud-shafts, and horizontal shafts, and helves for each of the tools
that I could work with, and bow-timbers and bolt-timbers for every work
that I could perform, the comeliest trees, as many as I could carry.
Neither came I with a burden home, for it did not please me to bring all
the wood back, even if I could bear it. In each tree I saw something
that I needed at home; therefore I advise each one who can, and has many
wains, that he direct his steps to the same wood where I cut the
stud-shafts. Let him fetch more for himself, and load his wains with
fair beams, that he may wind many a neat wall, and erect many a rare
house, and build a fair town, and therein may dwell merrily and softly
both winter and summer, as I have not yet done."[3]
Aelfric, writing a century later, develops his theories in greater
detail. Except in the _Preface to Genesis_, they are expressed in Latin,
the language of the lettered, a fact which suggests that, unlike the
translations themselves, the prefaces were addressed to readers who
were, for the most part, opposed to translation into the vernacular and
who, in addition to this, were in all probability especially suspicious
of the methods employed by Aelfric. These methods were strongly in the
direction of popularization. Aelfric's general practice is like that of
Alfred. He declares repeatedly[4] that he translates sense for sense,
not always word for word. Furthermore, he desires rather to be clear and
simple than to adorn his style with rhetorical ornament.[5] Instead of
unfamiliar terms, he uses "the pure and open words of the language of
this people."[6] In connection with the translation of the Bible he lays
down the principle that Latin must give way to English idiom.[7] For all
these things Aelfric has definite reasons. Keeping always in mind a
clear conception of the nature of his audience, he does whatever seems
to him necessary to make his work attractive and, consequently,
profitable. Preparing his _Grammar_ for "tender youths," though he knows
that words may be interpreted in many ways, he follows a simple method
of interpretation in order that the book may not become tiresome.[8] The
_Homilies_, intended for simple people, are put into simple English,
that they may more easily reach the hearts of those who read or hear.[9]
This popularization is extended even farther. Aelfric explains[10] that
he has abbreviated both the _Homilies_[11] and the _Lives of the
Saints_,[12] again of deliberate purpose, as appears in his preface to
the latter: "Hoc sciendum etiam quod prolixiores passiones breuiamus
verbis non adeo sensu, ne fastidiosis ingeratur tedium si tanta
prolixitas erit in propria lingua quanta est in latina."
Incidentally, however, Aelfric makes it evident that his were not the
only theories of translation which the period afforded. In the preface
to the first collection of _Homilies_ he anticipates the disapproval of
those who demand greater closeness in following originals. He recognizes
the fact that his translation may displease some critics "quod non
semper verbum ex verbo, aut quod breviorem explicationem quam tractatus
auctorum habent, sive non quod per ordinem ecclesiastici ritus omnia
Evangelia percurrimus." The _Preface to Genesis_ suggests that the
writer was familiar with Jerome's insistence on the necessity for
unusual faithfulness in translating the Bible.[13] Such comment implies
a mind surprisingly awake to the problems of translation.
The translator who left the narrow path of word for word reproduction
might, in this early period, easily be led into greater deviations from
source, especially if his own creative ability came into play. The
preface to _St. Augustine's Soliloquies_ quoted above carries with it a
stimulus, not only to translation or compilation, but to work like that
of Caedmon or Cynewulf, essentially original in many respects, though
based, in the main, on material already given literary shape in other
languages. Both characteristics are recognized in Anglo-Saxon comment.
Caedmon, according to the famous passage in Bede, "all that he could
learn by hearing meditated with himself, and, as a clean animal
ruminating, turned into the sweetest verse."[14] Cynewulf in his
_Elene_, gives us a remarkable piece of author's comment[15] which
describes the action of his own mind upon material already committed to
writing by others. On the other hand, it may be noted that the
_Andreas_, based like the _Elene_ on a single written source, contains
no hint that the author owes anything to a version of the story in
another language.[16]
In the English literature which developed in course of time after the
Conquest the methods of handling borrowed material were similar in their
variety to those we have observed in Anglo-Saxon times. Translation,
faithful except for the omission or addition of certain passages,
compilation, epitome, all the gradations between the close rendering and
such an individual creation as Chaucer's _Troilus and Criseyde_, are
exemplified in the works appearing from the thirteenth century on. When
Lydgate, as late as the fifteenth century, describes one of the
processes by which literature is produced, we are reminded of
Anglo-Saxon comment. "Laurence,"[17] the poet's predecessor in
translating Boccaccio's _Falls of Princes_, is represented as
In his Prologue affirming of reason,
That artificers having exercise,
May chaunge & turne by good discretion
Shapes & formes, & newly them devise:
As Potters whiche to that craft entende
Breake & renue their vessels to amende.
...
And semblably these clerkes in writing
Thing that was made of auctours them beforn
They may of newe finde & fantasye:
Out of olde chaffe trye out full fayre corne,
Make it more freshe & lusty to the eye,
Their subtile witte their labour apply,
With their colours agreable of hue,
To make olde thinges for to seme newe.[18]
The great majority of these Middle English works contain within
themselves no clear statement as to which of the many possible methods
have been employed in their production. As in the case of the
Anglo-Saxon _Andreas_, a retelling in English of a story already
existing in another language often presents itself as if it were an
original composition. The author who puts into the vernacular of his
country a French romance may call it "my tale." At the end of _Launfal_,
a version of one of the lays of Marie de France, appears the
declaration, "Thomas Chestre made this tale."[19] The terms used to
characterize literary productions and literary processes often have not
their modern connotation. "Translate" and "translation" are applied
very loosely even as late as the sixteenth century. _The Legend of Good
Women_ names _Troilus and Criseyde_ beside _The Romance of the Rose_ as
"translated" work.[20] Osbern Bokenam, writing in the next century,
explains that he obtained the material for his legend of St. Margaret
"the last time I was in Italy, both by scripture and eke by mouth," but
he still calls the work a "translation."[21] Henry Bradshaw, purposing
in 1513 to "translate" into English the life of St. Werburge of Chester,
declares,
Unto this rude werke myne auctours these shalbe:
Fyrst the true legende and the venerable Bede,
Mayster Alfrydus and Wyllyam Malusburye,
Gyrarde, Polychronicon, and other mo in deed.[22]
Lydgate is requested to translate the legend of St. Giles "after the
tenor only"; he presents his work as a kind of "brief compilation," but
he takes no exception to the word "translate."[23] That he should
designate his _St. Margaret_, a fairly close following of one source, a
"compilation,"[24] merely strengthens the belief that the terms
"translate" and "translation" were used synonymously with various other
words. Osbern Bokenam speaks of the "translator" who "compiled" the
legend of St. Christiana in English;[25] Chaucer, one remembers,
"translated" Boethius and "made" the life of St. Cecilia.[26]
To select from this large body of literature, "made," "compiled,"
"translated," only such works as can claim to be called, in the modern
sense of the word, "translations" would be a difficult and unprofitable
task. Rather one must accept the situation as it stands and consider the
whole mass of such writings as appear, either from the claims of their
authors or on the authority of modern scholarship, to be of secondary
origin. "Translations" of this sort are numerous. Chaucer in his own
time was reckoned "grant translateur."[27] Of the books which Caxton a
century later issued from his printing press a large proportion were
English versions of Latin or French works. Our concern, indeed, is with
the larger and by no means the least valuable part of the literature
produced during the Middle English period.
The theory which accompanies this nondescript collection of translations
is scattered throughout various works, and is somewhat liable to
misinterpretation if taken out of its immediate context. Before
proceeding to consider it, however, it is necessary to notice certain
phases of the general literary situation which created peculiar
difficulties for the translator or which are likely to be confusing to
the present-day reader. As regards the translator, existing
circumstances were not encouraging. In the early part of the period he
occupied a very lowly place. As compared with Latin, or even with
French, the English language, undeveloped and unstandardized, could make
its appeal only to the unlearned. It had, in the words of a
thirteenth-century translator of Bishop Grosseteste's _Castle of Love_,
"no savor before a clerk."[28] Sometimes, it is true, the English writer
had the stimulus of patriotism. The translator of _Richard Coeur de
Lion_ feels that Englishmen ought to be able to read in their own
tongue the exploits of the English hero. The _Cursor Mundi_ is
translated
In to Inglis tong to rede
For the love of Inglis lede,
Inglis lede of Ingland.[29]
But beyond this there was little to encourage the translator. His
audience, as compared with the learned and the refined, who read Latin
and French, was ignorant and undiscriminating; his crude medium was
entirely unequal to reproducing what had been written in more highly
developed languages. It is little wonder that in these early days his
English should be termed "dim and dark." Even after Chaucer had showed
that the despised language was capable of grace and charm, the writer of
less genius must often have felt that beside the more sophisticated
Latin or French, English could boast but scanty resources.
There were difficulties and limitations also in the choice of material
to be translated. Throughout most of the period literature existed only
in manuscript; there were few large collections in any one place; travel
was not easy. Priests, according to the prologue to Mirk's _Festial_,
written in the early fifteenth century, complained of "default of
books." To aspire, as did Chaucer's Clerk, to the possession of "twenty
books" was to aspire high. Translators occasionally give interesting
details regarding the circumstances under which they read and
translated. The author of the life of St. Etheldred of Ely refers twice,
with a certain pride, to a manuscript preserved in the abbey of Godstow
which he himself has seen and from which he has drawn some of the facts
which he presents. The translator of the alliterative romance of
_Alexander_ "borrowed" various books when he undertook his English
rendering.[30] Earl Rivers, returning from the Continent, brought back a
manuscript which had been lent him by a French gentleman, and set about
the translation of his _Dictes and Sayings of the Old Philosophers_.[31]
It is not improbable that there was a good deal of borrowing, with its
attendant inconveniences. Even in the sixteenth century Sir Thomas
Elyot, if we may believe his story, was hampered by the laws of
property. He became interested in the acts and wisdom of Alexander
Severus, "which book," he says, "was first written in the Greek tongue
by his secretary Eucolpius and by good chance was lent unto me by a
gentleman of Naples called Padericus. In reading whereof I was
marvelously ravished, and as it hath ever been mine appetite, I wished
that it had been published in such a tongue as more men might understand
it. Wherefore with all diligence I endeavored myself whiles I had
leisure to translate it into English: albeit I could not so exactly
perform mine enterprise as I might have done, if the owner had not
importunately called for his book, whereby I was constrained to leave
some part of the work untranslated."[32] William Paris--to return to the
earlier period--has left on record a situation which stirs the
imagination. He translated the legend of St. Cristine while a prisoner
in the Isle of Man, the only retainer of his unfortunate lord, the Earl
of Warwick, whose captivity he chose to share.
He made this lyfe in ynglishe soo,
As he satte in prison of stone,
Ever as he myghte tent therto
Whane he had his lordes service done.[33]
One is tempted to let the fancy play on the combination of circumstances
that provided him with the particular manuscript from which he worked.
It is easy, of course, to emphasize overmuch the scarcity and the
inaccessibility of texts, but it is obvious that the translator's
choice of subject was largely conditioned by opportunity. He did not
select from the whole range of literature the work which most appealed
to his genius. It is a far cry from the Middle Ages to the seventeenth
century, with its stress on individual choice. Roscommon's advice,
Examine how your humour is inclined,
And what the ruling passion of your mind;
Then seek a poet who your way does bend,
And choose an author as you choose a friend,
seems absurd in connection with the translator who had to choose what
was within his reach, and who, in many cases, could not sit down in
undisturbed possession of his source.
The element of individual choice was also diminished by the intervention
of friends and patrons. In the fifteenth century, when translators were
becoming communicative about their affairs, there is frequent reference
to suggestion from without. Allowing for interest in the new craft of
printing, there is still so much mention in Caxton's prefaces of
commissions for translation as to make one feel that "ordering" an
English version of some foreign book had become no uncommon thing for
those who owned manuscripts and could afford such commodities as
translations. Caxton's list ranges from _The Fayttes of Armes_,
translated at the request of Henry VII from a manuscript lent by the
king himself, to _The Mirrour of the World_, "translated ... at the
request, desire, cost, and dispense of the honorable and worshipful man,
Hugh Bryce, alderman and citizen of London."[34]
One wonders also how the source, thus chosen, presented itself to the
translator's conception. His references to it are generally vague or
confused, often positively misleading. Yet to designate with any
definiteness a French or Latin text was no easy matter. When one
considers the labor that, of later years, has gone to the classification
and identification of old manuscripts, the awkward elaboration of
nomenclature necessary to distinguish them, the complications resulting
from missing pages and from the undue liberties of copyists, one realizes
something of the position of the medieval translator. Even categories were
not forthcoming for his convenience. The religious legend of _St.
Katherine of Alexandria_ is derived from "chronicles";[35] the moral tale
of _The Incestuous Daughter_ has its source in "romance";[36]
Grosseteste's allegory, _The Castle of Love_, is presented as "a romance
of English ... out of a romance that Sir Robert, Bishop of Lincoln,
made."[37] The translator who explained "I found it written in old hand"
was probably giving as adequate an account of his source as truth would
permit.
Moreover, part of the confusion had often arisen before the manuscript
came into the hands of the English translator. Often he was engaged in
translating something that was already a translation. Most frequently it
was a French version of a Latin original, but sometimes its ancestry was
complicated by the existence or the tradition of Greek or Hebrew
sources. The medieval Troy story, with its list of authorities, Dictys,
Dares, Guido delle Colonne--to cite the favorite names--shows the
situation in an aggravated form. In such cases the earlier translator's
blunders and omissions in describing his source were likely to be
perpetuated in the new rendering.
Such, roughly speaking, were the circumstances under which the
translator did his work. Some of his peculiar difficulties are,
approached from another angle, the difficulties of the present-day
reader. The presence of one or more intermediary versions, a
complication especially noticeable in England as a result of the French
occupation after the Conquest, may easily mislead us. The originals of
many of our texts are either non-extant or not yet discovered, but in
cases where we do possess the actual source which the English writer
used, a disconcerting situation often becomes evident. What at first
seemed to be the English translator's comment on his own treatment of
source is frequently only a literal rendering of a comment already
present in his original. It is more convenient to discuss the details of
such cases in another context, but any general approach to the theory of
translation in Middle English literature must include this
consideration. If we are not in possession of the exact original of a
translation, our conclusions must nearly always be discounted by the
possibility that not only the subject matter but the comment on that
subject matter came from the French or Latin source. The pronoun of the
first person must be regarded with a slight suspicion. "I" may refer to
the Englishman, but it may also refer to his predecessor who made a
translation or a compilation in French or Latin. "Compilation" suggests
another difficulty. Sometimes an apparent reference to source is only an
appeal to authority for the confirmation of a single detail, an appeal
which, again, may be the work of the English translator, but may, on the
other hand, be the contribution of his predecessor. A fairly common
situation, for example, appears in John Capgrave's _Life of St.
Augustine_, produced, as its author says, in answer to the request of a
gentlewoman that he should "translate her truly out of Latin the life of
St. Augustine, great doctor of the church." Of the work, its editor, Mr.
Munro, says, "It looks at first sight as though Capgrave had merely
translated an older Latin text, as he did in the _Life of St. Gilbert_;
but no Latin life corresponding to our text has been discovered, and as
Capgrave never refers to 'myn auctour,' and always alludes to himself
as handling the material, I incline to conclude that he is himself the
original composer, and that his reference to translation signifies his
use of Augustine's books, from which he translates whole passages."[38]
In a case like this it is evidently impossible to draw dogmatic
conclusions. It may be that Capgrave is using the word "translate" with
medieval looseness, but it is also possible that some of the comment
expressed in the first person is translated comment, and the editor adds
that, though the balance of probability is against it, "it is still
possible that a Latin life may have been used." Occasionally, it is
true, comment is stamped unmistakably as belonging to the English
translator. The translator of a _Canticum de Creatione_ declares that
there were
--fro the incarnacioun of Jhesu
Til this rym y telle yow
Were turned in to englisch,
A thousand thre hondred & seventy
And fyve yere witterly.
Thus in bok founden it is.[39]
Such unquestionably _English_ additions are, unfortunately, rare and the
situation remains confused.
But this is not the only difficulty which confronts the reader. He
searches with disappointing results for such general and comprehensive
statements of the medieval translator's theory as may aid in the
interpretation of detail. Such statements are few, generally late in
date, and, even when not directly translated from a predecessor, are
obviously repetitions of the conventional rule associated with the name
of Jerome and adopted in Anglo-Saxon times by Alfred and Aelfric. An
early fifteenth-century translator of the _Secreta Secretorum_, for
example, carries over into English the preface of the Latin translator:
"I have translated with great travail into open understanding of Latin
out of the language of Araby ... sometimes expounding letter by letter,
and sometimes understanding of understanding, for other manner of
speaking is with Arabs and other with Latin."[40] Lydgate makes a
similar statement:
I wyl translate hyt sothly as I kan,
After the lettre, in ordre effectuelly.
Thogh I not folwe the wordes by & by,
I schal not faille teuching the substance.[41]
Osbern Bokenam declares that he has translated
Not wurde for wurde--for that ne may be
In no translation, aftyr Jeromys decree--
But fro sentence to sentence.[42]
There is little attempt at the further analysis which would give this
principle fresh significance. The translator makes scarcely any effort
to define the extent to which he may diverge from the words of his
original or to explain why such divergence is necessary. John de
Trevisa, who translated so extensively in the later fourteenth century,
does give some account of his methods, elementary, it is true, but
honest and individual. His preface to his English prose version of
Higden's _Polychronicon_ explains: "In some place I shall set word for
word, and active for active, and passive for passive, a-row right as it
standeth, without changing of the order of words. But in some place I
must change the order of words, and set active for passive and
again-ward. And in some place I must set a reason for a word and tell
what it meaneth. But for all such changing the meaning shall stand and
not be changed."[43] An explanation like this, however, is unusual.
Possibly the fact that the translation was in prose affected Trevisa's
theorizing. A prose rendering could follow its original so closely that
it was possible to describe the comparatively few changes consequent on
English usage. In verse, on the other hand, the changes involved were so
great as to discourage definition. There are, however, a few comments on
the methods to be employed in poetical renderings. According to the
_Proem_ to the _Boethius_, Alfred, in the Anglo-Saxon period, first
translated the book "from Latin into English prose," and then "wrought
it up once more into verse, as it is now done."[44] At the very
beginning of the history of Middle English literature Orm attacked the
problem of the verse translation very directly. He writes of his
Ormulum:
Icc hafe sett her o thiss boc
Amang Godspelles wordess,
All thurrh me sellfenn, manig word
The rime swa to fillenn.[45]
Such additions, he says, are necessary if the readers are to understand
the text and if the metrical form is to be kept.
Forr whase mot to laewedd follc
Larspell off Goddspell tellenn,
He mot wel ekenn manig word
Amang Godspelless Wordess.
& icc ne mihhte nohht min ferrs
Ayy withth Godspelless wordess
Wel fillenn all, & all forrthi
Shollde icc wel offte nede
Amang Godspelless wordess don
Min word, min ferrs to fillenn.[46]
Later translators, however, seldom followed his lead. There are a few
comments connected with prose translations; the translator of _The Book
of the Knight of La Tour Landry_ quotes the explanation of his author
that he has chosen prose rather than verse "for to abridge it, and that
it might be better and more plainly to be understood";[47] the Lord in
Trevisa's _Dialogue_ prefixed to the _Polychronicon_ desires a
translation in prose, "for commonly prose is more clear than rhyme, more
easy and more plain to understand";[48] but apparently the only one of
Orm's successors to put into words his consciousness of the
complications which accompany a metrical rendering is the author of _The
Romance of Partenay_, whose epilogue runs:
As ny as metre can conclude sentence,
Cereatly by rew in it have I go.
Nerehand stafe by staf, by gret diligence,
Savyng that I most metre apply to;
The wourdes meve, and sett here & ther so.[49]
What follows, however, shows that he is concerned not so much with the
peculiar difficulty of translation as with the general difficulty of
"forging" verse. Whether a man employs Latin, French, or the vernacular,
he continues,
Be it in balede, vers, Rime, or prose,
He most torn and wend, metrely to close.[50]
Of explicit comment on general principles, then, there is but a small
amount in connection with Middle English translations. Incidentally,
however, writers let fall a good deal of information regarding their
theories and methods. Such material must be interpreted with
considerable caution, for although the most casual survey makes it clear
that generally the translator felt bound to put into words something of
his debt and his responsibility to his predecessors, yet one does not
know how much significance should attach to this comment. He seldom
offers clear, unmistakable information as to his difficulties and his
methods of meeting them. It is peculiarly interesting to come upon such
explanation of processes as appears at one point in Capgrave's _Life of
St. Gilbert_. In telling the story of a miracle wrought upon a sick man,
Capgrave writes: "One of his brethren, which was his keeper, gave him
this counsel, that he should wind his head with a certain cloth of linen
which St. Gilbert wore. I suppose verily," continues the translator, "it
was his alb, for mine author here setteth a word 'subucula,' which is
both an alb and a shirt, and in the first part of this life the same
author saith that this holy man wore next his skin no hair as for the
hardest, nor linen as for the softest, but he went with wool, as with
the mean."[51] Such care for detail suggests the comparative methods
later employed by the translators of the Bible, but whether or not it
was common, it seldom found its way into words. The majority of writers
acquitted themselves of the translator's duty by introducing at
intervals somewhat conventional references to source, "in story as we
read," "in tale as it is told," "as saith the geste," "in rhyme I read,"
"the prose says," "as mine author doth write," "as it tells in the
book," "so saith the French tale," "as saith the Latin." Tags like these
are everywhere present, especially in verse, where they must often have
proved convenient in eking out the metre. Whether they are to be
interpreted literally is hard to determine. The reader of English
versions can seldom be certain whether variants on the more ordinary
forms are merely stylistic or result from actual differences in
situation; whether, for example, phrases like "as I have heard tell,"
"as the book says," "as I find in parchment spell" are rewordings of the
same fact or represent real distinctions.
One group of doubtful references apparently question the reliability of
the written source. In most cases the seeming doubt is probably the
result of awkward phrasing. Statements like "as the story doth us both
write and mean,"[52] "as the book says and true men tell us,"[53] "but
the book us lie,"[54] need have little more significance than the
slightly absurd declaration,
The gospel nul I forsake nought
_Thaugh_ it be written in parchemyn.[55]
Occasional more direct questionings incline one, however, to take the
matter a little more seriously. The translator of a _Canticum de
Creatione_, strangely fabulous in content, presents his material with
the words,
--as we finden in lectrure,
I not whether it be in holy scripture.[56]
The author of one of the legends of the Holy Cross says,
This tale, quether hit be il or gode,
I fande hit writen of the rode.
Mani tellis diverseli,
For thai finde diverse stori.[57]
Capgrave, in his legend of _St. Katherine_, takes issue unmistakably
with his source.
In this reknyng myne auctour & I are too:
ffor he accordeth not wytz cronicles that ben olde,
But diversyth from hem, & that in many thyngis.
There he accordeth, ther I him hold;
And where he diversyth in ordre of theis kyngis,
I leve hym, & to oder mennys rekenyngis
I geve more credens whech be-fore hym and me
Sette alle these men in ordre & degre.[58]
Except when this mistrust is made a justification for divergence from
the original, these comments contribute little to our knowledge of the
medieval translator's methods and need concern us little. More needful
of explanation is the reference which implies that the English writer is
not working from a manuscript, but is reproducing something which he has
heard read or recounted, or which he has read for himself at some time
in the past. How is one to interpret phrases like that which introduces
the story of _Golagros and Gawain_, "as true men me told," or that which
appears at the beginning of _Rauf Coilyear_, "heard I tell"? One
explanation, obviously true in some cases, is that such references are
only conventional. The concluding lines of _Ywain and Gawin_,
Of them no more have I heard tell
Neither in romance nor in spell,[59]
are simply a rough rendering of the French
Ne ja plus n'en orroiz conter,
S'an n'i vialt manconge ajoster.[60]
On the other hand, the author of the long romance of _Ipomadon_, which
follows its source with a closeness which precludes all possibility of
reproduction from memory, has tacked on two references to hearing,[61]
not only without a basis in the French but in direct contradiction to
Hue de Rotelande's account of the source of his material. In _Emare_,
"as I have heard minstrels sing in sawe" is apparently introduced as
the equivalent of the more ordinary phrases "in tale as it is told" and
"in romance as we read,"[62] the second of which is scarcely compatible
with the theory of an oral source.
One cannot always, however, dispose of the reference to hearing so
easily. Contemporary testimony shows that literature was often
transmitted by word of mouth. Thomas de Cabham mentions the
"ioculatores, qui cantant gesta principum et vitam sanctorum";[63]
Robert of Brunne complains that those who sing or say the geste of _Sir
Tristram_ do not repeat the story exactly as Thomas made it.[64] Even
though one must recognize the probability that sometimes the immediate
oral source of the minstrel's tale may have been English, one cannot
ignore the possibility that occasionally a "translated" saint's life or
romance may have been the result of hearing a French or Latin narrative
read or recited. A convincing example of reproduction from memory
appears in the legend of _St. Etheldred of Ely_, whose author recounts
certain facts,
The whiche y founde in the abbey of Godstow y-wis,
In hure legent as y dude there that tyme rede,
and later presents other material,
The whiche y say at Hely y-write.[65]
Such evidence makes us regard with more attention the remark in
Capgrave's _St. Katherine_,
--right soo dede I lere
Of cronycles whiche (that) I saugh last,[66]
or the lines at the end of _Roberd of Cisyle_,
Al this is write withoute lyghe
At Rome, to ben in memorye,
At seint Petres cherche, I knowe.[67]
It is possible also that sometimes a vague phrase like "as the story
says," or "in tale as it is told," may signify hearing instead of
reading. But in general one turns from consideration of the references
to hearing with little more than an increased respect for the superior
definiteness which belongs to the mention of the "black letters," the
"parchment," "the French book," or "the Latin book."
Leaving the general situation and examining individual types of
literature, one finds it possible to draw conclusions which are somewhat
more definite. The metrical romance--to choose one of the most popular
literary forms of the period--is nearly always garnished with references
to source scattered throughout its course in a manner that awakens
curiosity. Sometimes they do not appear at the beginning of the romance,
but are introduced in large numbers towards the end; sometimes, after a
long series of pages containing nothing of the sort, we begin to come
upon them frequently, perhaps in groups, one appearing every few lines,
so that their presence constitutes something like a quality of style.
For example, in _Bevis of Hamtoun_[68] and _The Earl of Toulouse_[69]
the first references to source come between ll. 800 and 900; in _Ywain
and Gawin_ the references appear at ll. 9, 3209, and 3669;[70] in _The
Wars of Alexander_[71] there is a perpetual harping on source, one
phrase seeming to produce another.
Occasionally one can find a reason for the insertion of the phrase in a
given place. Sometimes its presence suggests that the translator has
come upon an unfamiliar word. In _Sir Eglamour of Artois_, speaking of a
bird that has carried off a child, the author remarks, "a griffin, saith
the book, he hight";[72] in _Partenay_, in an attempt to give a vessel
its proper name, the writer says, "I found in scripture that it was a
barge."[73] This impression of accuracy is most common in connection
with geographical proper names. In _Torrent of Portyngale_ we have the
name of a forest, "of Brasill saith the book it was"; in _Partonope of
Blois_ we find "France was named those ilke days Galles, as mine author
says,"[74] or "Mine author telleth this church hight the church of
Albigis."[75] In this same romance the reference to source accompanies a
definite bit of detail, "The French book thus doth me tell, twenty
waters he passed full fell."[76] Bevis of Hamtoun kills "forty
Sarracens, the French saith."[77] As in the case of the last
illustration, the translator frequently needs to cite his authority
because the detail he gives is somewhat difficult of belief. In _The
Sege of Melayne_ the Christian warriors recover their horses
miraculously "through the prayer of St. Denys, thus will the chronicle
say";[78] in _The Romance of Partenay_ we read of a wondrous light
appearing about a tomb, "the French maker saith he saw it with eye."[79]
Sometimes these phrases suggest that metre and rhyme do not always flow
easily for the English writer, and that in such difficulties a stock
space-filler is convenient. Lines like those in Chaucer's _Sir Thopas_,
And so bifel upon a day,
Forsothe _as I you telle may_
Sir Thopas wolde outride,
and
The briddes synge, _it is no nay_,
The sparhauke and the papejay
may easily be paralleled by passages containing references to source.