An Essay Toward a History of Shakespeare in Norway by Martin Brown Ruud (best novels of all time .TXT) 📕

  Aa sanke dogg--til de eg kom;

  ei perle fester eg til kvar ein blom.

  Far vel, du ande-styving! Eg maa vekk;

  vaar dronning er her ho paa fljugand' flekk.

        Kvart nykelband

        er adelsmann,

      med ordenar dei glime kann;

        kvar blank rubin,

        paa bringa skin,

      utsender ange fin.

        Doggdropar blanke

        skal eg sanke,

        mange, mange,

        dei skal hange

        kvar av hennar

        adels-mennar

      glimande i øyra.

    [36. William Shakespeare--_Jonsok Draumen_--Eit Gamenspel. Paa

    Norsk ved Erik Eggen. Oslo, 1912.]

Now, admitting that

    eg dogge maa

    dei grøne straa

  som vaar dronning dansar paa.

is a better translation than in the _Syn og Segn_ text--which is

doubtful enough--it is difficult to see what can be the excuse for such

pompous banality as

    Kvart nykelband

    er adelsmann,

  med ordenar dei glime kann;

the first version is not above reproach in this respect. It might

fairly be asked: where does Eggen get his authority for

  sjaa dei stjernur alvar gav deim!

But the lines are not loaded down with imagery which is both misleading

and in bad taste. Eggen should have left his first version unchanged.

Such uninspired prose as:

    kvar blank rubin,

    paa bringa skin,

  utsender ange fin.

have to the ears of most Norwegians the atmosphere of the back stairs.

Better the unadorned version of 1903.

In the passage following, Robin's reply, the revised version is probably

better than the first, though there seems to be little to choose between

them. But in the fairy's next speech the translator has gone quite

beyond his legitimate province, and has improved Shakespeare by a

picture from Norwegian folklore. Following the lines of the original:

  Misleade nightwanderers, laughing at their harm,

Eggen has added this homelike conception in his translation:

  som òg kann draga fôr til hest og naut,

  naar berre du kvar torsdag fær din graut.

Shakespeare in Elysium must have regretted that he was not born in the

mountains of Norway!

And when Robin, in the speech that follows, tells of his antics, one

wonders just a little what has been gained by the revision. The same

query is constantly suggested to anyone who compares the two texts.

Nor do I think that the lyrics have gained by the revision. Just a

single comparison--the lullaby in the two versions. We have given it

above as published in _Syn og Segn_. The following is its revised form:

  _Fyrste alven_:

  Spettut orm, bustyvel kvass,

  eiter-ødle, sleve graa,

  fare burt fraa denne plass,

  so vaar dronning sova maa!

  _Alle_:

  Maaltrost, syng med oss i lund

  dronningi i sælan blund:

    Byssam, byssam barne,

    gryta heng i jarne.

      Troll og nykk,

    gakk burt med dykk

  denne sæle skymingsstund!

  So god natt! Sov søtt i lund!

  _Andre alven_:

  Burt, tordivel, kom kje her!

  Makk og snigill, burt dykk vinn!

  Kongro, far ei onnor ferd,

  langt ifraa oss din spune spinn!

  _Alle_:

  Maaltrost, syng med oss i lund, etc.

The first version is not only more literal but, so far as I can judge,

superior in every way--in music and delicacy of phrase. And again, Eggen

has taken it upon himself to patch up Shakespeare with homespun rags

from his native Norwegian parish. It is difficult to say upon what

grounds such tinkerings with the text as:

  Byssam, byssam barne,

  gryta, heng i jarne,

can be defended.

But we have already devoted too much space to this matter. Save for a

few isolated lines, Eggen might very well have left these scenes as he

gave them to us in 1903. We then ask, "What of the much greater part of

the play now translated for the first time?" Well, no one will dispute

the translator's triumph in this scene:[37]

  _Mønsaas_:

  Er heile kompanie samla?

  _Varp_:

  Det er best du ropar deim upp alle saman, mann for mann, etter

  lista.

  _Mønsaas_:

  Her er ei liste yver namni paa alle deim som me i heile Atén finn

  mest høvelege til aa spela i millomstykke vaareses framfyre hertugen

  og frua hans paa brudlaupsdagen um kvelden.

  _Varp_:

  Du Per Mønsaas, lyt fyrst segja kva stykke gjeng ut paa; les so upp

  namni paa spelarne, og so--til saki.

  _Mønsaas_:

  Ja vel. Stykke heiter: "Det grøtelege gamanspele um Pyramus og Tisbi

  og deira syndlege daude."

  _Varp_:

  Verkeleg eit godt stykke arbeid, skal eg segja dykk, og morsamt med.

  No, min gode Per Mønsaas, ropa upp spelarne etter lista. Godtfolk,

  spreid dykk.

  _Mønsaas_:

  Svara ettersom eg ropar dykk upp.

  Nils Varp, vevar?

  _Varp_:

  Her! Seg kva for ein rolle eg skal hava, og haldt so fram.

  _Mønsaas_:

  Du, Nils Varp, er skrivin for Pyramus.

  _Varp_:

  Kva er Pyramus for slags kar? Ein elskar eller ein fark?

  _Mønsaas_:

  Ein elskar som drep seg sjølv paa ægte riddarvis av kjærleik.

  _Varp_:

  Det kjem til aa koste taarur um ein spelar det retteleg. Fær eg

  spela det, so lyt nok dei som ser paa, sjaa til kvar dei hev augo

  sine; eg skal grøte steinen, eg skal jamre so fælt so. For resten,

  mi gaave ligg best for ein berserk. Eg skulde spela herr Kules

  fraamifra--eller ein rolle, der eg kann klore og bite og slaa all

  ting i mòl og mas:

    Og sprikk det fjell

    med toresmell,

    daa sunder fell

    kvar port so sterk.

    Stig Føbus fram

    bak skyatram,

    daa sprikk med skam

    alt gygere-herk.

  Det der laag no høgt det. Nemn so resten av spelarane. Dette var

  rase til herr Kules, berserk-ras; ein elskar er meir klagande.

    [37. Act II, Sc. 2.]

There can be no doubt about the genuineness of this. It catches the

spirit of the original and communicates it irresistibly to the reader.

When Bottom (Varp) says "Kva er Pyramus for slags kar?" or when he

threatens, "Eg skal grøte steinen, eg skal jamre so fælt so," one who

has something of Norwegian "Sprachgefühl" will exclaim that this is

exactly what it should be. It is not the language of Norwegian

artisans--they do not speak Landsmaal. But neither is the language of

Shakespeare's craftsmen the genuine spoken language of Elizabethan

craftsmen. The important thing is that the tone is right. And this

feeling of a right tone is still further satisfied in the rehearsal

scene (III, Sc. 1). Certain slight liberties do not diminish our

pleasure. The reminiscence of _Richard III_ in Bottom's, "A calendar, a

calendar, looke in the Almanack, finde out moonshine," translated "Ei

almanakke, ei almanakke, mit kongerike for ei almanakke," seems,

however, a labored piece of business. One line, too, has been added to

this speech which is a gratuitous invention of the translator, or

rather, taken from the curious malaprop speech of the laboring classes;

"Det er rett, Per Mønsaas; sjaa millom aspektarane!" There can be no

objection to an interpolation like this if the translation does not aim

to be scholarly and definitive, but merely an effort to bring a foreign

classic home to the masses. And this is, obviously, Eggen's purpose.

Personally I do not think, therefore, that there is any objection to a

slight freedom like this. But it has no place at all in the fairies'

lullaby.

When we move to the circle of the high-place lovers or the court,

I cannot feel that the Landsmaal is quite so convincing. There is

something appallingly clumsy, labored, hard, in this speech of Hermia's:

      Min eigin gut,

  eg sver ved beste bogen Amor hev,

  ved beste pili hans, med odd av gull,

  ved duvune, dei reine og dei kvite

  som flyg paa tun hjaa fagre Afrodite,

  ved det som knyter mannehjarto saman,

  ved det som føder kjærlerks fryd og gaman,

  ved baale, der seg dronning Dido brende,

  daa seg Æneas trulaus fraa ho vende,

  ved kvar den eid som falske menn hev svori--

  langt fleir enn kvinnelippur fram hev bori,

  at paa den staden du hev nemnt for meg,

  der skal i morgo natt eg møte deg.

In spite of the translator's obvious effort to put fire into the

passage, his failure is all too evident. Even the ornament of these

lines--to which there is nothing to correspond in the original--only

makes the poetry more forcibly feeble:

  ved duvune, dei reine og dei kvite

  som flyg paa tun hjaa fagre Afrodite,

Shakespeare says quite simply:

  By the simplicity of Venus Doves,

and to anyone but a Landsmaal fanatic it seems ridiculous to have

Theseus tell Hermia: "Demetrius er so gild ein kar som nokon."

"Demetrius is a worthy gentleman," says Shakespeare and this has

"the grand Manner." But to a cultivated Norwegian the translation is

"Bauernsprache," such as a local magnate might use in forcing a suitor

on his daughter.

All of which goes back to the present condition of Landsmaal. It has

little flexibility, little inward grace. It is not a finished literary

language. But, despite its archaisms, Landsmaal is a living language and

it has, therefore, unlike the Karathevusa of Greece, the possibility of

growth. The translations of Madhus and Aasen and Eggen have made notable

contributions to this development. They are worthy of all praise. Their

weaknesses are the result of conditions which time will change.

One might be tempted to believe from the foregoing that the

propagandists of "Maalet" had completely monopolized the noble task of

making Shakespeare accessible in the vernacular. And this is almost

true. But the reason is not far to seek. Aside from the fact that in

Norway, as elsewhere, Shakespeare is read mainly by cultivated people,

among whom a sound reading knowledge of English is general, we have

further to remember that the Foersom-Lembcke version has become standard

in Norway and no real need has been felt of a separate Norwegian version

in the dominant literary language. In Landsmaal the case is different.

This dialect must be trained to "Literaturfähigkeit." It is not so much

that Norway must have her own Shakespeare as that Landsmaal must be put

to use in every type of literature. The results of this missionary

spirit we have seen.

One of the few translations of Shakespeare that have been made into

Riksmaal appeared in 1912, _Hamlet_, by C.H. Blom. As an experiment it

is worthy of respect, but as a piece of literature it is not to be taken

seriously. Like Lassen's work, it is honest, faithful, and utterly

uninspired.

The opening scene of _Hamlet_ is no mean test of a translator's

ability--this quick, tense scene, one of the finest in dramatic

literature. Foersom did it with conspicuous success. Blom has reduced

it to the following prosy stuff:

  _Bernardo_:

  Hvem der?

  _Francisco_:

  Nei, svar mig først; gjør holdt og sig hvem der!

  _Ber_:

  Vor konge længe leve!

  _Fra_:

      De, Bernardo?

  _Ber_:

  Ja vel.

  _Fra_:

      De kommer jo paa klokkeslaget.

  _Ber_:

  Ja, den slog tolv nu. Gaa til ro, Francisco.

  _Fra_:

  Tak for De løser av. Her er saa surt, og jeg er dødsens træt.

  _Ber_:

  Har du hat rolig vagt?

  _Fra_:

      En mus har ei

  sig rørt.

  _Ber_:

      Nu vel, god nat.

  Hvis du Marcellus og Horatio ser,

  som skal ha vakt med mig, bed dem sig skynde.

  _Fra_:

  Jeg hører dem vist nu. Holdt hoi! Hvem der.

    (Horatio og Marcellus kommer.)

  _Horatio_:

  Kun landets venner.

  _Marcellus_:

      Danekongens folk!

  _Fra_:

  God nat, sov godt!

  _Mar_:

      Godnat, du bra soldat!

  Hvem har løst av?

  _Fra_:

      Bernardo staar paa post.

  God nat igjen. (Gaar.)

It requires little knowledge of Norwegian to dismiss this as dull

and insipid prose, a part of which has accidentally been turned into

mechanical blank verse. Moreover, the work is marked throughout by

inconsistency and carelessness in details. For instance the king begins

(p. 7) by addressing Laertes:

  Hvad melder _De_ mig om _Dem_ selv, Laertes?

and two lines below:

  Hvad kan _du_ be mig om?

It might be a mere slip that the translator in one line uses the formal

_De_ and in another the familiar _du_, but the same inconsistency occurs

again and again throughout the volume. In itself a trifle, it indicates

clearly enough the careless, slipshod manner of work--and an utter lack

of a sense