Dante's Comedy is propelled forward
along three vectors: the action, the rhythm and the rhyme. The first is
largely given, and the demand on the translator is to research its meaning and
deliver it clearly. The second provides a metric continuity of hendecasyllabic
verse. The third is a unique scheme, terza rima, in which the middle line of
one three–line stanza, or tercet, sets the rhyme for the first and third lines
of the next tercet. (LP test)
Any non–prose translation of the Comedy
is, in some sense, achieved through a compromise between the second and third
elements, the rhythm and the rhyme. My version relaxes the regimen of the
original meter for the sake of adhering to the triple-rhyme scheme. This is not
an arbitrary choice, nor a stubborn attempt to confront a nearly impossible
rhyming challenge. Indeed, nothing would be more mistaken than to
"imprint" onto the terza rima pattern, assuming, as some have done,
that it must be duplicated just because it exists.
If we imagine Dante's tercets laid out
horizontally, not vertically, we see that the kernel of each tercet splits into
the peripheries of the next, so that a repetitively emergent burst of energy
travels straight through each canto:
________________
________________
________________
What we label a triple–rhyme scheme, and
usually visualize as an interlocking geometric pattern, is merely the static
outline of a dynamic thrust which carries us through the poem. The premise of
this translation is that this thrust is fundamental and must not be sacrificed.
Thus for this translator the "torture" is worth it. Indeed, the
tension of constantly being involved in two demands for rhyme, each needing
experimentation both forward and backward, stretches one into a general
alertness, while the labor of achieving the rhyme puts one in perpetual
sympathy with the exhausting journey of the protagonist.
The opening tercets of the very first
canto can perhaps convey some of this, as well as demonstrate the concessions
one is forced to make almost at once:
1In the middle of our
life's way
I found myself in a wood so dark
That I
couldn't tell where the straight path lay.
4Oh how hard a thing it
is to embark
Upon the story of that savage wood,
For the
memory shudders me with fear so stark
7That death itself is
hardly a more bitter food;
Yet whatever I observed there I'll convey,
In order to
tell what I found that was good.
Confronted at the outset with the demand
for intricate rhyme, the translator's attitude may well parallel the confusion,
regret and resolution of the first three tercets. If adhered to, this kind of
congruency between the translator's internal dynamics and the dynamics of the
poem can be a useful facilitator of sympathetic translation.
As for compromise, clearly the rhyme in
line 7 is inexact. Yet the translation would suffer severely if, in order to
satisfy an inflexible quest for perfect rhyme, the line – or even the entire
tercet – were twisted in meaning or crippled in rhythm. Fortunately the spelling
is parallel in the three rhyming words, and the visual match may soothe the
sense of audible deficiency for the reader. For the translator, however, these
early lines point to the double "torture" in store: first, that of
having to attempt the triple–rhyme some fifteen hundred times, and second, that
of having to accept the compromises attendant upon so many of these attempts.
The description of the three–headed
monster, Cerberus, in Canto VI, offers an example of a well–defined challenge.
While not itself to do with rhyme, it will introduce a new tool to deal with
rhyming problems. Here is the original:
16Li occhi ha vermigli, la barba
unta e atra,
E 'l ventre largo, e unghiate le mani;
Graffia li spirti, scuoia ed isquatra.
19Urlar li fa la pioggia come
cani;
De l'un de' lati fanno a l'altro schermo;
Volgonsi spesso i miseri profani.
Line 16 goes well beyond eleven
syllables, echoing with its verbal excess the beast's great belly, extra
throats, and general monstrosity. In spite of this, the words are not visually
overextended on the page, demonstrating the author's poetic control, and
forecasting the tangible control which Virgil, Dante's guide, will soon exert.
In translation:
16His eyes are bloody, his belly that of a hog,
His beard
slobbered black; his clawed hands disembowel,
Flay and rend the spirits in
the bog
19Into little pieces, leaving them to howl
In pain,
using one side of their bodies to screen
The other from attack while
they yelp and growl.
Initial attempts to emulate the original
overloading spilled line 16 sloppily onto the level below, confusing the
portrayal of crudity with a crude portrayal. Thus to convey the untamed sense
which Dante emphasizes, the translation bloats line 17 slightly, but does
something more pervasive as well. It begins the monster's vicious activity –
quite awkwardly – in the middle of line 17, and from then on moves ahead
without a semi–colon or period at the rhymes. This enjambement, or
"overrun", removes any visual or aural pause which might occur at the
end of the lines, and – still held within the framework of the now unaccented
rhymes – induces a controlled sense of monstrosity.
This device of overrun has uses which
are broader and more significant than the localized one we just saw in the
depiction of Cerberus. Let's utilize Canto XXVI, one of the most famous in the
Inferno, to study its use in combatting what might be called the
"jingle" effect. By this is meant the sound of obvious rhymes sitting
plumply at the ends of bouncy lines, such as the reader might produce with a
childish rendition of "Mary had a little lamb..." or "Little
Jack Horner..." First consider the opening lines of this canto, which in
Italian end squarely and deliberately on the rhyme, accentuating the ironic
celebration of the fame of Florence:
1Godi, Fiorenza, poi che
se' si grande,
Che per mare e per terra batti l'ali,
E per lo
'nferno tuo nome si spande!
The translation does the same, without
inducing any sense of unwanted jingle:
1Rejoice, Florence, for
you are so great that you fan
Your wings over sea and land, and your fame
Spreads
through hell's depth and span!
This has no pause at the end of the
first line, but echoes "fan" with "land" as well as
"and" in the second, and comes to a full stop at the end of the
third. Although this might be an unnecessary refinement, it's nevertheless an
attempt to retain the ironic rhyme without being too blatant. By contrast,
consider the culmination of Ulysses' account in the canto's last thirteen
lines, where the translation will use overrun as an "anti–jingle device":
130 Cinque volte racceso e tante casso
Lo lume era de sotto dalla luna,
Poi che 'ntrati eravam ne l' alto passo,
133Quando n'apparve una montagna, bruna
Per la distanza, e parvemi alta tanto
Quanto
veduta non avea alcuna.
136Noi ci allegrammo, e tosto tornò in
pianto;
Chè della nova terra un turbo nacque,
E percosse del legno il primo canto.
139Tre volte il fè girar con tutte
l'acque:
Alla quarta levar la poppa in suso
E la prora ire in giù, com' altrui piacque,
142Infin che 'l mar fu sopra noi
richiuso."
In the original, there are only four
overruns (lines 130, 133, 134, and 140), whereas the translation requires – or at
least makes use of – ten. Of the three non–overruns in the translation, two
(134 and 140) culminate a middle line, where the rhyme is initiated and thus
cannot yet "jingle", while the third ends the canto, where there must
be a period:
130Five times the light of the moon had
surged
And then diminished since we'd entered by
That narrow pass; before us there emerged
133A great mountain, dim in the
distance, and so high
That among all those I'd seen it seemed the tallest.
My companions and I were elated, but as if to deny
136Our joy there rose a violent,
swirling tempest
From the new land, battering the bow
Of our boat while in despair we witnessed
139Our doom at
Another's pleasure.Three times
now
Our vessel was whirled around in a watery spin;
And the fourth time the stern lurched up, the prow
142Plunged down, and above us the sea
closed in."
Although Dante did use overrun for his
own reasons, he had little need to employ it as an anti–jingle device. Italian
carries so much natural rhyme – the number of its distinct vowel sounds being
about one–eighth the number in English – that ending on a rhyme is not nearly so
startling as it is in English. Indeed, an inadvertent rhyme in Italian
conversation usually goes unnoticed. Because the original poem does often
overrun, however, the translator can do the same with a clear conscience, even
if his purposes differ from the poet's.
To get a general sense of the flow of
triple–rhyme, with several of its compromises exhibited, let's look at the well
known episode in Canto XXXIII in which Ugolino describes the death of his sons.
The original is omitted:
37"...................I awoke as daybreak
neared
And
heard my sons weeping for bread
As they slept beside
me.What my heart feared
40Then was so grievous that your own heart would
be dead
With
cruelty if you didn't already ache
At the thought of
it.Indeed, if your eyes aren't
red
43With weeping now, what would ever make
Them
weep?The hour at which they
brought our meal
Drew near, and all of my
sons were now awake,
46Agitated from their dreams.I heard them seal
The
door to that horrible tower down below,
And without a word I
looked at the mute appeal
49In the faces of my sons.I did not weep, so
Stony
did I grow inside; but my sons did,
And my little Anselmuccio
wanted to know:
52'Father, you look strange, what's wrong?'I hid
My
feelings, shedding no tears and staying silent
All day and all night
until the dawning sun slid
55A thin ray of light into our dismal compartment;
In
their faces I could see my own reflected
Fourfold, and in anguish
at our imprisonment
58I bit into both my hands.Believing that I acted
Out
ofhunger, my sons at once arose
and drew
Nearer to me, saying: 'Father,
we'd be less afflicted
61With pain if you'd feed on us; for it was you
Who
gave us this wretched flesh, and therefore
You can take it
away.'Then I deliberately grew
64Calm so as not to sadden them any more.
That
day and the next we said nothing at all;
Oh hard earth!Why did you not open up before
67That fourth day, when Gaddo could merely crawl
Toward
my feet and cry: 'Why don't you help me,
Father!'He died right there, and I saw the
others fall
70During the fifth and sixth days, one by one, all
three.
By now
I'd gone blind, and had begun
Groping over the beloved
bodies I couldn't see.
73Though they were dead, I called out for two days
to each son;
But then
grief was overcome by the power of hunger."
And with eyes contorted,
his narrative now done,
76He attacked the wretched skull with renewed
anger,
Although the rhymes flow comfortably in
a passage such as this, there is often a clipped quality in English rhyme
compared with Italian, sometimes even a skimpiness. Because Italian words end
in a vowel, rhymes are always two–syllabled, making them seem more ample. The
very last syllable is all one can reasonably hope to rhyme in English, and when
one manages more than this, such as the "ct" in lines 56, 58, and 60,
or the "ng" in lines 74, 76, and the unprinted 78, one feels
fortunate. A more common occurrence is the unexceptional rhyme of lines 53, 55,
and 57, lines which have the added deficiency of imprecisely correlated
accents, as do lines 62, 64, and 66. Once again, this is not a problem in
Italian, and while one tries to make the accents correlate in translation, it
is not always possible.
Having touched on overrun, visual rhyme
and misaligned accent as devices for dealing with the difficulties of terza
rima, let's look at a final device which might be called "blatant
interpolation." It's fitting that the culminating rhyme of the last canto
should be particularly torturesome – indeed, virtually impossible. Just as
Dante and Virgil finally see the "bright world" above them, but have
to emerge through one specific, tiny hole, so the translator sees the goal, but
has to go through one particular rhyme, tighter than any other. Here is the
original:
127Luogo è là giù da Belzebu remoto
Tanto quanto la tomba se distende,
Che non per vista, ma per suono e noto
130D'un ruscelletto che quivi discende
Per la buca d'un sasso, ch'elli ha roso,
Col corso ch'elli avvolge, e poco pende.
133Lo duca e io per quel cammino ascoso
Intrammo a ritornar nel chiaro mondo;
E sanza cura aver d'alcun riposo,
136Salimmo sù, el primo e io secondo,
Tanto ch'i' vidi delle cose belle
Che porta 'l ciel, per un pertugio tondo;
139E quindi uscimmo a riveder le
stelle.
The last word is the challenge. Not only
the Inferno, but also the Purgatorio and Paradiso end with this word, and
clearly "stars" must be the final word of each. Yet any rhyme one can
imagine for "stars" in line 137 seems far–fetched and distracting.
Once I'd found my own solution, I was
curious to see how others had dealt with the problem. Two previous translations
had used the word "cars" – in the sense of chariots – to end line
137, which does have some logic to it, but seems terribly disconcerting at this
ultimate moment. The reader should not have to wonder what cars are doing in
the sky. What this translation does is insert two items which, like cars, are
admittedly not mentioned in the original, but which are appropriate enough in
the physical circumstance to be unobtrusive. Further, they will themselves
constitute two of the Heavens in the Paradiso, and therefore seem doubly
fitting to be seen overhead by the travelers:
127Somewhere below, at the farthest bound
Of Beelzebub's tomb, there is a place
Recognized
not by sight but by sound;
130One hears a stream winding
through a space
It has hollowed in rock and continues to erode
In a gentle
incline.Vigorous of pace,
133My guide and I entered that hidden road
To reach the bright world once more,
And with no thought of rest we
strode
136Ahead, he first, I following, as so often
before,
Until, through a round hole, I looked up toward Mars,
Venus, and
all the beautiful things in Heaven's store;
139And we came out again to see the stars.
* Adapted from an essay in the
Proceedings of the American Translators Association, 1993; by permission of
Learned Information, Inc., Medford, NJ., and a later version in Metamorphoses, vol. 3, #1, Dec. 1994
Seth
Zimmerman was introduced to the Comedy of Dante as
a Dartmouth undergraduate by Professor Thomas Vance. He began this translation
of the Inferno while residing in Florence, pursuing it through
several revisions (see essay on triple-rhyme). Formerly a professor
of mathematics at Evergreen Valley College, San Jose, California, his version
of the Inferno is used there
as a humanities text. Earlier versions of several cantos appeared in Willow
Springs, Spoon River Poetry Review, Metamorphoses, Two Lines, RE:AL, Exchanges,and The Proceedings of the American Translators
Association, 1993.
His translations of the
later poems of the Russian poet Osip Mandelstam have appeared in Prairie Schooner, Spoon River Poetry Review, The
Literary Review, Nimrod, RE:AL, Metamorphoses, Rattle, Rhino, The Carolina
Quarterly, Blue Unicorn, Poetry International, Asheville Poetry Review, Tampa
Review, Mobius, Circumference, Ars Interpres and Beacons. His mathematical and scientific papers have been published in The
College Mathematics Journal, The American Mathematical Monthly, Mathematics Magazine, The Gazette of the Australian Mathematical Society, The International Journal of Mathematics Education, Human Evolution, and Physics Education.
You can contact him about this Inferno translation, about how you or your students can
make use of this web site, or about the site itself, (for whose construction he
is responsible), at sz@infernodante.com .