Abstract
Reviewed by: Carmela Merola, Temple University Rome, Italy
Words such as ‘ragionare,’ or in modern Italian, ‘il bel parlare,’ abound in Boccaccio’s Decameron, and testify to its master’s high objective: the elevation of the word to its highest artistic possibilities. This same objective must have been uppermost in the mind of the more modern translators who have taken up the challenge of rendering Boccaccio’s masterpiece in English. For a seriousness of purpose has turned into an appreciable tradition of English language translations, as Elissa Weaver verifies in her review of Rebhorn’s translation of the Decameron. The most recent of these translators, Wayne Rebhorn continues in this fine tradition and takes it a step further. In his translator’s Introduction, Rebhorn not only provides a good deal of relevant information on Boccaccio’s life and times, he shares with his readers the piece-by-piece work involved in the realization of his translation. He points out the effort to render as much as possible even the inflections of the different Italian dialects contained in those tales which take place from one end of the Peninsula to the other. From these and other concerns, it can be deduced that Rebhorn’s is a dedicated effort capable of instilling an entirely new tone into the translation of Boccaccio’s masterpiece.
On a first reading of Rebhorn’s translation, in fact, the affinity between the language of the 14th-century master and the translator’s modern ‘American English’ is striking. It is an affinity which transpires as a result of the elimination of antiquated or Old English terms (such as can be found in the McWilliam translation). It also rests on a keen perception of the image-creating resources present in the English language. In a self-excusing tone at times, the translator speaks of the choices he has had to make, fully aware of the risks of losing along the way the meaning contained in the original work. On the subject of Boccaccio’s long sentences formed by lines of subordinate clauses, the translator states, “I have sometimes been forced to break them up in order to ensure that they are readable in English” (p. lxi).
The result is a linearity of syntax structure that sets in motion the action so characteristic of the Decameron. All of this must certainly have been achieved by a patient scrutinizing of the meaning of Boccaccio’s Italian, ‘something which is not always crystal clear,’ as Mark Musa declares in considering similar approaches in his translation of the Decameron. The ability to achieve a comparable elegance of speech in English renders everything possible, and most of all the shifts of tones: the high and the low, the eloquent and the popular, the tragic and the farcical. Along with the varied tones, there is a constant attention to precision of details. One of the first points of discussion in my classes has always been the significance of the ‘stout stick’ (1,1). While in McWilliam the meaning is vague, both Rebhorn and Musa clarify that it is a stick used for ‘beating’ dogs. Hence, there is no doubt that Ser Ciappelletto is not fond of women.
The tale of Madonna Bartolomea (2,10) is a plunge into a popular language of Boccaccio’s time, a feat for any translator. Bartolomea springs to life along with her social surroundings when the author sets the story in Pisa, a city where women are likened to ‘lucertole verminare.’ McWilliam translates this as ‘ugly as sin,’ Mark Musa as ‘gecko lizards,’ and Rebhorn as ‘wormy lizards.’ The two American translators opt for images that appeal to the modern reader’s sensibility. And by so doing, they create a happy meeting of two worlds removed in time but linked through the ‘realism’ of our modern world which is not extraneous but rather akin to that of Boccaccio himself. In the same tale, in the elaboration of her sexual life with her newfound pirate lover, Bartolomea refers to the male sexual organ as ‘the man’ (Musa), which is a literal translation of the original Italian ‘colui’ (‘the one’ – McWilliam); but Rebhorn deliberately chooses the term ‘guy’ because it is part of American slang.
When Rebhorn’s very last words in his Introduction refer to Boccaccio’s Decameron as not simply ‘one of the fundamental texts of the Italian literary tradition, but one of the great works of world literature – even in translation’ (p. lxvi) (and I heartily agree with him), he is justifying his labor in the name of the love of elegant speech. Furthermore, he is aligning himself with Boccaccio who asserts, in the Conclusion of his work, that in writing these tales he has, perhaps, ‘troppa licenza usata,’ but he also quickly adds, ‘per ciò che niuna sì disonesta n’è, che, con onesti vocaboli dicendola, si disdica ad alcuno’; Rebhorn translates this as follows: ‘for there is no story so unseemly that it may not be told, provided it is couched in seemly language, as I think I have done very well here.’
Much like Petrarch, and consistently through his beloved Decameron, Boccaccio reiterates the need to believe he will not be forgotten, while entrusting his immortality to the power of his words. In the same way, Rebhorn is wishing his translation well when he shares with us his belief that Boccaccio’s masterpiece is one of the great works of world literature, ‘even in translation.’
We are as convinced as Elissa B Weaver that Rebhorn’s ‘is a masterful translation,’ and we hope as well that there will soon be a lightweight, paperback edition to facilitate our students' reading of this wonderful work of literature.