Dorothy M. Hoare (essay date 1937)
SOURCE: Hoare, Dorothy M. “The Dreamer in Contact with Icelandic Saga.” In The Works of Morris and of Yeats in Relation to Early Saga Literature, pp. 50-76. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1937.
[In the following excerpt, Hoare examines Morris' translations and adaptations of the Volsunga Saga, arguing that his rendition of it changes the nature of the original text and replaces its direct style with dense medieval prose.]
It is this writer [William Morris] (who is following his own natural bent when describing the slow-moving pictures of his fancy) who attempts to deal with the vivid, impressive, passionate strength of the Norse tales. How individual a body of literature they are has already been seen; how different, too, from the “sweet” pathos, the dallying sentiment, the tender feeling, which is evident often in Morris' original work. This difference is emphasised strikingly, in a comparison of Morris' translations and free renderings of the Norse matter with the originals.
Morris' work in connection with the Norse sagas consists (1) in the translations which he and Magnússon jointly made from a selected number of them, and of certain of the Edda poems belonging to the matter of the Völsunga Saga; and (2) in the free paraphrases and re-tellings which Morris made of the Norse matter, including two of the greatest stories: the Laxdœla Saga and the Völsunga Saga.
1 (A). MORRIS' TRANSLATIONS FROM THE SAGAS
Any comparison of a translation with the original from which it has been translated is interesting. There is bound to be a difference; something of the essence of the original escapes; something of the essence of the new language enters in. From the point of view of obtaining an exact estimate of the original, this difference is a loss; from another point of view, it may be a gain, by emphasising the difference between two modes of thought. A good translator ought to reduce this difference to a minimum; he ought to be so imbued with the proper tone and atmosphere of what he translates, that the miracle of capturing that in other words is almost achieved. But when one finds that the difference has become so great as to make the translation quite a different thing from the original, one is able sometimes, on examination, to find a sufficiently convincing reason for it.
Morris had a sincere interest in the Norse sagas, spent much time over them, translated and paraphrased and re-told them, and made two journeys to Iceland. This last fact is considerable evidence of the deep interest he had in the Norse matter; the journey to Iceland entailed a fair amount of hardship; once arrived there, there was the rough life, the difficult and even sometimes dangerous travelling by horseback through comparatively uninhabited and unknown country, to be undergone. Morris, the most stay-at-home and contented man, did not relish this when he set out; he was away for six weeks, and, as he himself confesses, was often uneasy and homesick. Yet so much had he been stirred by the poems and tales he had read that, knowing the difficulties which would have to be undergone, he went through with the journey, and two years afterwards went a second time to Iceland. He was quite sincerely and deeply attracted to it; in spite of this, the Norse matter which he deals with turns in his hands to something quite other than its real nature.
His translations,1 as will be seen from any comparison with their originals, change the vitality, directness and freedom of the Icelandic prose to a kind of weighted medieval utterance. For example, in Grettis Saga:2
Hinn þriðja dag fór prestr með þeim ok leituðu allan daginn ok fannȝ Glámr eigi. Eigi vildi prestr optar til fara, en sauðamaðr fannȝ þegar prestr var eigi í ferð. Létu þeir þá fyrir vinnast, at foera hann til kirkju, ok dysjuðu hann þar, sem hann var kominn. Lítlu síðar urðu menn varir við þat, at Glámr lá eigi kyrr.
[On the third day the priest went with them, and they searched all day but Glamr was not found. The priest would not go again; but the shepherd (i.e. Glamr) was found as soon as the priest was not with them. Then they stopped trying to bring him to church, and they buried him in a cairn, in the place where he was. Shortly afterwards people became aware that Glamr was not at rest.]
This has humour, vitality, a neat and direct expression. Morris renders it thus: “The third day the priest fared with them, and they sought all day, but found not Glam. The priest would go no more on such search, but the herdsman was found whenso the priest was not in their company. Then they let alone striving to bring him to church, and buried him there, whereto he had been brought. A little time after men were ware, that Glam lay not quiet.”3 In the ingenious search for the words which come nearest to the actual form of the Icelandic, the life and nearness, the directness has vanished. Again, in his effort to come near the original, he deliberately uses in his translation words which are not modern, forgetting, or not realising, that Icelandic prose is colloquial and rapid. The effective, quiet energy of what is not said, in Icelandic, loses its point in the long drawn out and rounded translation, as for instance, again from the same saga:4
þat var einn morgin er Grímr kvam heim af veiði, at hann gekk inn í skállann, ok stappaði fótum ok vildi vita hvárt Grettir svaefi; en hann brá sér hvergi við ok lá kyrr; … gjörir hann nú hark mikit, svá at Grettir skyldi orð finnast, en at var eigi.
[One morning when Grimr came home from fishing, he went into the hut and stamped his feet and wanted to find out whether Grettir was sleeping; but he lay still and did not move. Then he made a great noise so that Grettir should break into words, but he did not.]
The merit of this consists largely in its simplicity and utmost clearness as of a person relating what he has just seen. Morris at once destroys this: “But one morning whenas Grim came in from fishing, he went into the hut and stamped his foot and would know whether Grettir slept; but he started in nowise, but lay still: so he made a great noise that Grettir should chide him therefore, if he were awake, but that befell not.”5 This use of semi-biblical and dignified language, where such an effect is entirely incongruous, spoils the essential meaning of the passage.
Again, Morris' manner—in his effort to impose a tone of dignity—has often the effect of making his translation appear unintelligible to a reader who has no knowledge of Icelandic, for example:
- (1) Hjarandi said he would not bring his brother to purse.6
Hjarrandi kvazt eigi mundu bera bróður sinn í sjóði.
[Hjarandi said he would not take compensation for his brother's death.]
- (2) They said that they wotted not if he would drag the rule west of the sea to King Harald.
Eigi sögðust þeir vita, at hann draegi Haraldi konungi ríki fyrir vestan haf.7
[They said that they did not know that he would obtain a dominion for King Harald in the British Isles.]
- (3) The body of Bergðor was covered over with a tilt for the night.
En þar var tjaldat yfir Bergðóri um nóttina.8
[A cloth was hung over Bergthor's body for the night.]
Sometimes indeed a wrong impression is conveyed, e.g.
And yet withal it misliked them both.
Ok likaði þo hvargi vel.9
[Yet neither was pleased.]
—which might mean that both had a foreboding of what was to come, which is by no means indicated in the saga. Or again, in full medieval cry—
Then they tilted over a wain in most seemly wise.
þeir tjölduðu vagn allvegligan10
[They put a canopy over a splendid carriage.]
—which surely conveys, if any meaning, the utterly inappropriate picture of a kind of leisurely wrestling.
It is evident that Morris did not grasp the nature of the style and the matter with which he was dealing, or the result would not have been so entirely different from the effect which is obtained on reading Icelandic for oneself. His faults in manner—of reducing the speed, economy, plainness and vividness of the original to diffuseness, false rhetoric, obscurity, unfamiliarity, by making too literal a translation where the idiom needs to be translated by a corresponding English idiom, or by using phrases and syntax not in modern usage, and thus giving a kind of remote, medieval flavour to what is fresh and modern in spirit—may ultimately be reduced to the same first cause, the idea that the life dealt with was heroic in the ideal sense, a kind of earthly paradise where men were simple and free and noble, and untroubled by the misfortunes and oppressions of the modern world. This pre-misconception is what makes his style pitched up, and hollowly dignified. Because of this, the spirit of the Norse matter is altered.
1 (B). TRANSLATIONS FROM THE “EDDA” POEMS
So much for the translation of the sagas. Morris also translated certain of the Edda poems. It is difficult to deal with Morris' work in this connection; again it is obvious that for some reason he appreciated the Norse poems; this time, too, not for a quality superimposed by himself, a romantic feeling for the past, as in the sagas, but apparently with a direct realisation of their proper worth. In the preface to the Völsunga Saga,11 where the translations of the poems are incorporated, Morris and Magnússon say: “As to the literary quality of this work we might say much, but we may well trust the reader of poetic insight to break through whatever entanglement of strange manners or unused element may at first trouble him, and to meet the nature and beauty with which it is filled: we cannot doubt that such a reader will be intensely touched by finding, amidst all its wildness and remoteness, such a startling realism, such subtilty, such close sympathy with all the passions that may move himself to-day.”
On the other hand, one cannot count much artistically on Morris' rendering of the Norse poems; it is not quite his own effort. Magnússon and he read the poems together, Magnússon then produced a literal version from which Morris proceeded to his rendering—a method of collaboration which is unhappy even in the case of a first-rate poet. It comes, in fact, to a poetising of a prose translation; hardly the best way in which to reproduce the spirit of the original.
It will be seen that the same faults are evident as in the saga translations, and it must be said (in spite of the contradictory evidence quoted above) for the same reason, an incapacity to comprehend the spirit which looks on life and death with equal courage and acceptance, which faces facts as they are and deals with them in full knowledge of their value.
Although the Edda poems are in the heroic manner and dignified, they are not static; the verse is compressed, allusive, packed full with meaning, but at the same time it has a fire and energy of speed. The poems are not cold though they are constrained; nor does their energy cloud the flame of high spirit which is evident in them. The words do not make us pause; they are molten and flexible because of the feeling which fills them. In Morris' version because he, whose virtue is a characteristic leisureliness and pleasant discursiveness, is dealing with matter wholly different, he interprets literally, apparently with the desire to imitate the multum in parvo of the Norse. Sometimes the result is merely ludicrous—in the translation of the Runes of Brynhild:12
Brimrúnar skalt kunna ef vilt borgit hafa á sundi seglmörum.
[Thou must know sea-runes if thou wilt have safety for the floating ships (lit. sail-steeds).]
Sea-runes good at need Learnt for ship's saving For the good health of the swimming horse.
Sometimes it is easily apparent that Morris has given himself over to the delight of building up words, of embroidery: as for example in his translation of “ok biðja a dísir duga” [and pray for the help of the dísir (goddesses)], “call for the good folk's gamesome helping”, which at once throws in the antique, pseudoromantic feeling. Sometimes, again, he makes strange and unreal what is said with fierce directness:
Melta knátt móðugr manna valbráðir eta at ölkrásum. …(13)
[You are proudly digesting human flesh and consuming it as a dainty with your ale.]
In most heavy mood Brood over venison of men.
It is very significant that where he is able to catch the tone of the original, and render it without loss, it is when he has an opportunity of dealing, in images, with the softened note of romance. The Lay of Helgi Hundingsbane opens characteristically with the passion, fierceness and energy of the North: Sigrun's immediate outbreak into curses on the news of her lover's death. Yet the poem as a whole belongs to romance rather than to epic; the last verse, which brings one away from the unearthly meeting to the cold twilight on the hillside, strikes a note which is to be heard again and again in balladry. And precisely because of this, Morris' touch in his translation is more certain. Indeed at one point he manages the metaphors well, in the passage:
Svá bar Helgi af hildingum sem ítrskapaðr askr af þyrni eða sá dýrkalfr döggu slunginn, es efri ferr öllum dýrum (ok horn glóa við himin sjalfan).(14)
[So did Helgi surpass the warriors as a graceful ash (surpasses) a thorn, or the deer who moves, bedewed, higher than other beasts—and its horns glitter to heaven itself.]
As high above all lords Did Helgi bear him As the ash-tree's glory From the thorn ariseth Or as the fawn With the dew-fall sprinkled Is far above All other wild things, As his horns go gleaming 'Gainst the very heavens.
It is a different matter when he deals with such a characteristic poem as The Whetting of Gudrun.15 The value of this lies in the exceedingly swift and stern narration, not a word given more than is absolutely necessary, and yet each helping to convey fully the force and passion of the whole. In Morris the expression loses all its sharpness, and becomes clogged and heavy. The first verse, for example, is quite alien to the terse, pointed phrase of the original:
þá frák sennu slíðrfengligsta trauð mál talið af trega stórum.(16)
[Then I heard most dire words of strife, words uttered with difficulty out of mighty grief.]
Words of strife heard I Huger than any Woeful words spoken Sprung from all sorrow.
Again, the mournful emphasis of the Icelandic is destroyed by a banality of rhythm and iteration which is ludicrous:
ól ek mér jóð erfivörðu erfivörðu Jónakrs sonu.(17)
[I brought forth children, the sons and heirs of Jonakr.]
Offspring I brought forth Props of a fair house Props of a fair house, Jonakr's fair sons.
Any translation of such compressed, fiery and allusive utterance is difficult. Indeed, parts of the poem seem almost untranslatable, their peculiar virtue residing in the sound and stress of the words by which the meaning is attained, e.g.
hvítum ok svörtum á hervegi gráum gangtömum Gotna hrossum.(18)
[(Trodden) on the warpath by the white and the black and the grey well trained pacing horses of the Goths.]
Or the fiery scorn which leaps through Gudrun's bare words:
hví sitið ér? hví sofið lífi? hví tregrat ykr teiti at maela … ?(19)
[Why do you sit idle? Why do you sleep away your life? Why does it not grieve you to speak cheerful words?]
The characteristics of this kind of poetry are its speed, its compression, and its pride. Matthew Arnold, in his essay on Homer and the epic way of writing, has laid his finger on the essential thing about it: “That severity of poetical style … which comes from saying a thing with a kind of intense compression or in an allusive, brief, almost haughty way, as if the poet's mind were charged with so many and such grave matters that he would not deign to treat any one of them explicitly.”
This compression and intensity turns in Morris' hands to obscurity and heaviness. His translation is effortful, striving after something which is alien from himself and which he does not seem to understand. In the attempt to come near his original, he uses the same kind of metre, without appearing to realise that the authentic use of it, with the immense stress laid on assonance and alliteration, is entirely different from an imitation of it in English which does not lend itself to that kind of handling, but depends to a much greater extent on accent and rhyme. Even when he is comparatively...
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