The legendary Anthea Bell has said that classic works needed to be re-translated to bring them up-to-date. That is certainly true of Helen Lowe-Porter’s 1928 translation. Scholars have long bemoaned its inadequacies: the omissions, the errors and even the moral judgment of the translator. There has even been a thesis written about it! I didn’t notice any of that when I reread it two years ago, without recourse to the German original. I did notice the archaic vocabulary, particulary the repeated use of the word “gay” in the former sense of the word, although the irony is that the current sense would not go amiss – or would it? It appears there’s as much controversy about the homeoerotic nature of the content as there is about Lowe-Porter’s translation. But that is a subject for another post – today it’s all about translation.Mann’s novella, originally published in 1912, must be one of the most translated in the whole of German literature. Eric MacMillan has taken a number of these and done a fine job of comparing the various strategies of the translators. Heim’s translation (no longer the most recent as there is now a centennial edition), is not included amongst them. So in the spirit of a translation duel, let’s pit Helen Porter-Lowe against Michael Henry Heim. Sadly neither translator is here to speak for themselves. Helen Porter-Lowe died in 1963 and the world of translation is still mourning Michael Henry Heim, who passed away only last month.However, as a reader, I can still compare and contrast. In so doing, I’ll use the same key sentence as MacMillan.
Lowe-Porter
Aschenbach noticed with astonishment the lad’s perfect beauty. His face recalled the noblest moment of Greek sculpture—pale, with a sweet reserve, with clustering honey-coloured ringlets, the brow and nose descending in one line, the winning mouth, the expression of pure and godlike serenity. Yet with all this chaste perfection of form it was of such unique personal charm that the observer thought he had never seen, either in nature or art, anything so utterly happy and consummate.
Heim
Aschenbach noted with astonishment that the boy was of a consummate beauty; his face – pale and charmingly reticent, ringed by honey-colored hair, with a straight nose, lovely mouth, and an expression of gravity sweet and divine – recalled Greek statuary of the noblest period, yet its purest formal perfection notwithstanding it conveyed a unique personal charm such that whoever might gaze upon it would believe he had never beheld anything so accomplished, be it in nature or art.
Thomas Mann
Mit Erstaunen bemerkte Aschenbach, daß der Knabe vollkommen schön war. Sein Antlitz,—bleich und anmutig verschlossen, von honigfarbenem Haar umringelt, mit der gerade abfallenden Nase, dem lieblichen Munde, dem Ausdruck von holdem und göttlichem Ernst, erinnerte an griechische Bildwerke aus edelster Zeit, und bei reinster Vollendung der Form war es von so einmalig-persönlichem Reiz, daß der Schauende weder in Natur noch bildender Kunst etwas ähnlich Geglücktes angetroffen zu haben glaubte.
Points to observe
1) As an English reader (without looking at the German) I prefer Lowe-Porter’s translation. It flows much better due to the break down of Mann’s two sentences into three.
Lowe-Porter 1 Heim 0
2) While Heim’s translation sounds stilted in English, it preserves the formality and intellectuality of Mann’s syntax. That is the point. Aschenbach is an intellectual and proud of it. Death in Venice is the story of his decay, consumed internally by illicit desire, externally by cholera. But, that’s not the person we meet in chapter 3. Heim’s translation preserves the nature and tone of that man.
Lowe-Porter 1 Heim 1
3) Zooming in on the vocabulary. Would Aschenbach be so casual as to think of someone as a lad (Lowe-Porter)? I think not.
Lowe-Porter 1 Heim 2
4) I’m undecided about that “lieblichen Mund” and declaring it a draw. Is a mouth more winning (Lowe-Porter) than lovely (Heim)? Did people talk about lovely mouths in 1928? Do we now? Mann did and Heim sticks to it. But we just don’t say that in English. It’s lovely lips, isn’t it? Luscious even though that would be sexualising the text way too much.
5) “Ernst” has a lot more gravitas than serenity (Lowe-Porter). Heim’s call is the correct one.
So final score from just one sentence. Lowe-Porter 1 Heim 3.
Strangely enough that’s confirmation of my gut feeling star-ratings. I felt a bit meh when I finished Lowe-Porter’s version a couple of year ago and guilty for awarding only 3-stars to a German masterpiece. Much happier with Heim’s work and, therefore, 4-stars – same as I’d give the original.
I’d go with Heim too, for many of the same reasons (the ‘lad’ – criminally overused in German translations – is totally out of place here). I agree that ‘lovely mouth’ is a bit weak though – sweet mouth, perhaps? All in all, Heim captures the feel of the original better… but that doesn’t mean that it would be the more pleasant to read 🙂
I’m having fun with translation myself this month. Most of my posts will have quotations followed by translations – all done by yours truly. I thought it would be better to try myself than look up the published translations (where available) on the internet. Feel free to comment and criticise 😉
Reblogged this on An Underdog's Tale and commented:
This is interesting 🙂 I’m *finishing* Death In Venice in a few months
I love this compare and contrast exercise! It’s amazing how different translators can bring different meaning to the same piece of prose. I’m with you on the Heim – it’s a more modern feeling translation without losing any of the gravitas of the original. I also agree with Tony’s comment about “Knabe” being translated as “Lad” I can’t think of a word in English though that fully evokes the German meaning, or is it more that the modern meaning of the word “Lad” in English is now very different to what it meant in 1928?
I think perhaps ‘lad’ had a more innocent meaning in the past – now it smacks of beer and Zoo magazine 😉
Exactly!
This is a fascinating comparison, thank you for sharing it.
Does the translation have to start with Aschenbach? If not here’s how I would start (needless to say I find both translations quite meh… The character of the original is lost.)
” With surprise Aschenbach noticed the young boy’s perfect beauty…”
To start with the name takes away the awe and a feeling of seeing something almost holy which is contained in the original.
I take your point, Caroline, but it sounds so forced to me. I do like the use of “astonishment” in both English versions emphasising the intensity of Aschenbach’s feelings.
I’m with Lizzy here – I think it’s no coincidence that both English versions begin almost identically 🙂
Nice post, Lizzy! It was fun for me to read both the translations you have quoted and read your thoughts on them. I loved the way you have dissected the translations using different parameters. I also found the discussion in the comments quite fascinating. I read ‘Death in Venice’ last year and I didn’t read it slow enough to appreciate it as much as I had hoped to. I should read it again one of these days. The translation I read was that of Kenneth Burke. The above sentence reads like this in the translation I read :
“With astonishment Aschenbach noted that the boy was absolutely beautiful. His face, pale and reserved, framed with honey-colored hair, the straight sloping nose, the lovely mouth, the expression of sweet and godlike seriousness, recalled Greek sculpture of the noblest periods; and the complete purity of the form was accompanied by such a rare personal charm that, as he watched, he felt that he had never met with anything equally felicitous in nature or the plastic arts.”
What do you think about this translation when compared to the above two? Would love to hear your thoughts.
Vishy, that’s the one I like best, I feel it’s closer to the original, although with a modernized feel. No idea why I wrote “With surprise” . But in any case the sentence cannot start with his name, that’s too many miles form the feel of the original which is indeed a bit forced and a tad artificial. It’s Thomas Mann after all. 🙂
But it doesn’t actually feel as natural as the other two in English – the word order just feels wrong…
Just the start, I mean 😉
So the third translator actually madea mistake?
I call this poetical license, it’s not the conventional word order but it’s not conventional in German either. I thought starting a sentence with the actant is something you teach in school but not for writers. 😉
Nice to know that, Caroline. It looks like Kenneth Burke knew your mind 🙂 I liked what you said – ‘miles from the feel of the original’. I like that phrase 🙂 I will save it and use it sometime 🙂
Vishy
I like Burke’s translation also – it doesn’t read as badly as I suspected it would. However, I still don’t like the sentence not starting with the subject. I’d accept poetic licence like this in a poem but not in prose, however, highly stylised. German syntax allows for this – reverting subject and verb in the main clause is legitimate grammatical syntax when there is a preceding phrase. Not so in English and that’s why it just don’t feel right to me.
Thanks Lizzy, I didn’t want to provoke as much s learn something, btw. I was really keen on knowing more about this and if it was allowed and acceptable for prose, it seems rather unusual.
I wasn’t provoked. Caroline. Just working out in my own head why something feels right and acceptable and something else doesn’t. The fact that Burke does exactly the thing you wanted him to do, shows that this kind of thing can be done in English, even if Tony and I don’t buy it! 🙂
Interesting to know that, Lizzy! I enjoyed this conversation hearing your thoughts and that of Caroline and Tony – it was quite fascinating to hear different points of you and the merits of different translations.
I read the older version just because I read it 20 years ago ,I would gone with Heim thou if faced with two now he is just a genius one of best translators ever loved his Kundera translations also wonder hugo claus by him my favourite book of all time ,all the best stu
Hey … I have really enjoyed reading all your thoughts on translation, and on Thomas Mann translations in particular. I have a professional interest in this question, and, if I may advertise myself a little, I would like to draw attention to my detailed study of the subject, “Thomas Mann in English: A Study in Literary Translation” (Bloomsbury 2013). It seeks to put the kind of things you have been discussing on a more systematic level.
This is a great post. I think one point worth mentioning is neither of the two editions cited has annotations.
Death in Venice makes countless references, both direct and indirect to Greek mythology, Plato, Nietzsche and Schopenhauer. Without being made aware of these references, it’s impossible to gain a complete understanding and appreciation of the novella.
So, on that basis I’m, going to recommend the translation by Clayton Koelb for Norton Critical Editions. Every literary reference has been noted in the footnotes with explanations. Also the translation is both scholarly and fluent. I can’t recommend it highly enough.