The divine comedy of Dante Alighieri : a poetic translation in iambic pentameter and terza rima

818 Pages·1994·3.2 MB·English

by  Arndt

DANTE’S DIVINE COMEDY
A POETIC TRANSLATION
IN IAMBIC PENTAMETER
AND TERZA RIMA
Stephen Wentworth Arndt
Text Copyright © 2013 Stephen Wentworth Arndt
All Rights Reserved

Cover design by Dr. Daniel James Herlihy
eBook editions (ePub and Kindle) by eBooks By Barb for booknook.biz
For Mary Alexa
il sol de li occhi miei
(3.30.75)
Table of Contents
Translator’s Note
THE INFERNO
THE PURGATORIO
THE PARADISO
CONCLUDING ESSAY:
DANTE’S SELF-PRESENTATION AS POET
About the Author
TRANSLATOR’S NOTE
At the outset every translator must make certain decisions, and I consider it only
fair to apprise the reader of mine.
Above all, I have striven for literal accuracy. Taking the sentence as the basic
unit of translation, I have tried in each case to render its core of meaning while
preserving vocabulary, grammatical structure, and idiom as far as possible. It
has, of course, proved necessary at times to rearrange clauses within a sentence,
to divide a longer sentence into shorter ones, or to combine shorter sentences
into a longer one. Since, in the vast majority of cases, the end of a tercet in the
original coincides with the end of a clause or a sentence, I have also sought to
respect the integrity of the individual tercet by rendering its meaning within the
confines of its three lines. On many occasions, however, it has not been possible
to match the translation line for line with the original, and I have therefore
needed to transpose lines within a tercet and, on rare occasions, between tercets.
Regrettably, because of the constraints of rhyme, meter, or syntax, I have in very
few cases found it necessary to omit some word or phrase of the original. If at all
significant, the missing information is supplied in the notes. Much more
frequently I have seen myself obliged to make small additions, usually of one to
four syllables, in order to fill out the pentameter line or to make a rhyme. Such
additions usually consist of a more precise specification of a less specific term,
the amplification of a compact expression, a synonymic phrase for a single word,
or an interpolation in keeping with the tenor of the passage. On the whole,
English vocabulary possesses many more one-syllable words than Italian.
Consequently, an English line will generally contain more words than an Italian
line of the same syllable count. I calculate, for example, that Canto I of the
Inferno averages 7.4 words per line in the original Italian and 8.3 words per line
in my translation.
As a matter of principle, I have chosen always to employ “perfect rhymes”
(words with identical sounds in the accented vowels and following consonants
but with variations in the preceding consonants), allowing only two minor
exceptions to the rule. The first involves the utilization of “identical rhymes”
(words with identical sounds in the accented vowels and in both the preceding
and following consonants) such as here and hear or retain and detain, of which
Dante himself makes frequent use. The second consists of three “light rhymes”
(words in which a syllable receiving primary stress rhymes with a syllable
receiving secondary stress), the first one rhyming say with the nonsensical word
aleppe, the second see and glee with the Latin cui, and the third see and she with
the Latin mei. In the first case, English has no corresponding rhyme; in the
second and third cases, though there are some relatively close rhymes like dewy
or clayey, none of them fit the required sense. There are no “eye rhymes” (words
with identical spellings but different pronunciations), such as love and prove, in
the entire work. I must point out, however, that dictionaries list two valid
pronunciations for many words containing an or-sound in the final syllable, the
one marked phonetically with a long o, the other with an ô. Thus, for
legitimately rhymes with fore, cord with scored, born with borne, sort with port,
and war with wore, the first member of each pair exhibiting only the ô-sound,
the second allowing both. Furthermore, words with two entirely different
pronunciations may make rhymes with either. Thus, route may rhyme with
words such as fruit on some occasions and with words such as out on others.
Finally, I have elected to use only “masculine rhymes” (those ending in a
stressed syllable) because “feminine rhymes” (those ending in an unstressed
syllable) occur much less frequently in English than in Italian and because the
extra, unstressed syllable at the end of the line tends to disrupt the smooth flow
of the iambic verse, which must begin with an unstressed syllable as well. Lines
in Latin and lines ending in Italian proper names, of course, form an exception.
As just noted, I have also chosen iambic pentameter as the closest English
equivalent to Dante’s hendecasyllables (eleven-syllable lines). In order to
maintain the meter as carefully as possible, some trisyllabic words may undergo
syncopation to disyllabic ones. Thus, memory becomes mem’ry on occasion, and
reverence turns into rev’rence. Since the dictionary cites some words as two or
three-syllables, such as boundary or difference, and others as capable of
alternative stress, such as díverse or divérse, either variant may appear, with the
metric context determining the correct pronunciation. For the purpose of
scansion, four and five-syllable words must receive a secondary stress. Thus,
honorable should be scanned as hónoráble and impracticably as imprácticábly.
Lastly, contrary to popular pronunciation, but in accordance with dictionary
stipulations, the words hour and our count as monosyllables and do not rhyme
with tower or power. Likewise, words ending with the sound represented by ire,
such as desire, gyre, and choir, do not split their final syllable into two and
therefore do not rhyme with higher or buyer.
Proper names pose a particularly difficult metrical problem, and I have allowed
myself a certain license in fitting them into the iambic-pentameter line. Thus,
Abraham may become Abram through substitution of alternative forms, whereas
Anaxagoras may shorten to Anaxag’ras through syncope, Filippo Argenti to
Filipp’ Argenti through apocope, and the five-syllable Pen-tha-si-le-a to the
four-syllable Pen-tha-si-lia (with the i pronounced as a y) through
diphthongalization. Heraclitus may be anglicized as Heraclite and Avicenna
gallicized as Avicenne. Generally speaking, Italian, Latin, and Greek names
should be pronounced according to the rules of their own languages, with every
vowel sounded, none silent. In particular, the Latin ending -ius counts as two
syllables rather than one, hence Sta-ti-us or Per-si-us. The more familiar Cassius
and Dionysius, however, retain their standard English pronunciation, the former
rating as a two and the latter as a four-syllable word. Beatrice is also pronounced
with three syllables as in English, not four as in Italian. To aid to the reader, I
have provided some names (as well as other words) of doubtful pronunciation
with an acute accent ( ´ ) to indicate stress. Thus, Semíramis receives the stress
on the second syllable, not the third. Other names I have supplied with a dieresis
( ¨ ) to split a diphthong. Thus, Caïna, Ceüta, and Gaëta all figure as three
syllable words. It is not possible, however, to adapt some names, such as
Nebuchadnezzar or Ghisolabella, to the iambic pattern.
Although (with the exception of Latin lines and longer proper names) it is
theoretically possible to read the entire work in perfect iambs without ever
altering the natural stress of a word, such a reading would result in metronomic
monotony. But if one reads according to meaning, observing the natural rhythms
of the sentence, emphasizing words according to their importance, raising and
lowering the pitch, and quickening and slackening the pace, then, to invoke a
musical analogy, the regular iambic meter will supply a kind of steady base line,
the varied natural rhythms of speech a kind of syncopated chordal blocking, and
the triplet rhyme pattern a kind of melodic line in an intricate symphony of
sound.
As Dante wrote in a vernacular Italian readily intelligible to the common man of
his day, so I have made every effort to write in contemporary English, with a
certain preference for one or two-syllable words of Anglo-Saxon derivation over
polysyllabic Latinate terms. I have resolutely avoided archaic second-person
pronouns (thou, thee, ye), second and third-person singular verb forms (sayest,
saith), and emphatic verb forms (did say, does say) for the simple tenses (said,
says), except for where the lattermost would be used in prose.[1] On extremely
rare occasions, however, I have used a primarily literary or even an archaic word
in rhyme.
Similarly, I have attempted to write in normal syntax as far as possible. At the
sentence level normal syntax includes, but does not limit itself to, the case of
subject–verb–complement for statements, verb–subject–complement for
questions, and complement–subject–verb for emphatic statements and
exclamations. The vast majority of sentences fall into one of these patterns. Most
of the deviations from normal syntax occur at the clausal or phrasal level, the
most common consisting of noun–adjective, such as Love Divine (1.1.39);
prepositional phrase–verb–subject, such as to such torments went those damned
(1.5.37–38); and prepositional phrase–past participle, such as (his hands) with
talons crowned (1.6.17). Wherever such inverted constructions have proved
necessary, I have aimed at metering them in such a way that the reader will not
perceive them as interrupting the natural flow of the sentence.
For the convenience of the reader, I have prefaced each canto with an
“argument,” as it is traditionally called, which divides the canto into smaller
narrative movements by line number and gives a prose summary of each.
Furthermore, I have also appended to each canto a set of notes that identify or
explain as briefly as possible matters of history, biography, geography,
chronology, astronomy, philosophy, and theology. Those readers particularly
interested in philosophical and theological issues may consult the much more
extensive notes of my earlier version: The Divine Comedy of Dante Alighieri. A
Poetic Translation in Iambic Pentameter and Terza Rima.
(Lewiston/Queenston/Lampeter: The Edwin Mellen Press, 1994).
As I worked upon the present translation, I had before me the translations of
Anderson, Bergin, Bickersteth, Binyon, Bandini, Carey, Carlyle–Wicksteed,
Chipman, Ciardi, Fletcher, Huse, Lillie, Longfellow, Mandelbaum, Musa,
Sayers, Singleton, Sinclair, and White. On many occasions I have translated a
word, a phrase, or a sentence as another already had (though in many cases I was
able to improve the rhyme, meter, or syntax), since difference merely for the
sake of difference and not in the service of greater accuracy or elegance would
hardly qualify as a virtue. I hereby acknowledge my indebtedness to all those
from whom I have borrowed anything.