An Essay Toward a History of Shakespeare in Norway - Martin Brown Ruud (book club reads .TXT) 📗
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to give an easier more unconstrained movement."
Occasionally a syllable is lacking, and the foot seems to halt as in
V, 1-17:
As far as Belmont. In such a night, etc.
Here a syllable is lacking in the third foot. But artistically this is
no defect. We cannot ask that Jessica and Lorenzo always have the right
word at hand. The defective line simply means a pause and, therefore,
instead of being a blemish, is exactly right.
On the other hand, there is often an extra light syllable before the
caesura. (I, 1-48):
Because you are not merry; and 'twere as easy, etc.
This extra syllable before the pause gives the effect of a slight
retardation. It was another device to make the verse easy and
unconstrained.
Though the prevailing verse is iambic pentameter, we rarely find
more than three or four real accents. The iambic movement is constantly
broken and compelled to fight its way through. This gives an added
delight, since the ear, attuned to the iambic beat, readily recognizes
it when it recurs. The presence of a trochee is no blemish, but a
relief:
Vailing her high tops higher than her ribs. (I, 1-28)
This inverted stress occurs frequently in Norwegian poetry. Wergeland
was a master of it and used it with great effect, for instance, in his
poem to Ludvig Daa beginning:
Med døden i mit hjerte,
og smilet om min mund,--
All this gives to Shakespeare's verse a marvellous flexibility and
power. Nor are these devices all that the poet had at his disposal. We
frequently find three syllables to the foot, giving the line a certain
fluidity which a translator only rarely can reproduce. Finally, a
further difficulty in translating Shakespeare lies in the richness of
the English language in words of one syllable. What literature can rival
the grace and smoothness of:
In sooth I know not why I am so sad.
Ten monosyllables in succession! It is enough to drive a translator to
despair. Or take:
To be or not to be, that is the question.
To summarize, no other language can rival English in dramatic dialogue
in verse, and this is notably true of Shakespeare's English, where the
word order is frequently simpler and more elastic than it is in modern
English.
Two reviews of Collin quickly appeared in a pedagogical magazine, _Den
Höiere Skole_. The first of them,[26] by Ivar Alnæs, is a brief, rather
perfunctory review. He points out that _The Merchant of Venice_ is
especially adapted to reading in the gymnasium, for it is unified in
structure, the characters are clearly presented, the language is not
difficult, and the picture is worth while historically. Collin has,
therefore, done a great service in making the play available for
teaching purposes. Alnæs warmly praises the introduction; it is
clear, full, interesting, and marked throughout by a tone of genuine
appreciation. But right here lies its weakness. It is not always easy
to distinguish ascertained facts from Collin's imaginative combinations.
Every page, however, gives evidence of the editor's endeavor to give to
the student fresh, stimulating impressions, and new, revealing points of
view. This is a great merit and throws a cloak over many eccentricities
of language.
[26. Vol. 5 (1903), pp. 51 ff.]
But Collin was not to escape so easily. In the same volume Dr.
August Western[27] wrote a severe criticism of Collin's treatment
of Shakespeare's versification.
[27. _Ibid._ pp. 142 ff.]
He agrees, as a matter of course, that Shakespeare is a master of
versification, but he does not believe that Collin has proved it. That
blank verse is the natural speech of the chief characters or of the
minor characters under emotional stress, that prose is _usually_ used by
minor characters or by important characters under no emotional strain
is, in Dr. Western's opinion, all wrong. Nor is prose per se more
restful than poetry. And is not Shylock more emotional in his scene
(I, 3) than any of the characters in the casket scene immediately
following (II, 1)? According to Collin, then, I, 3 should be in verse
and II, 1 in prose! Equally absurd is the theory that Shakespeare's
characters speak in verse because their natures demand it. Does Shylock
go contrary to nature in III, 1? There is no psychological reason for
Verse in Shakespeare. He wrote as he did because convention prescribed
The same is true of Goethe and Schiller, of Bjørnson and Ibsen intheir earlier plays. Shakespeare's lapses into prose are, moreover, easy
to explain. There must always be something to amuse the gallery. Act
III, 1 must be so understood, for though Shakespeare was undoubtedly
moved, the effect of the scene was comic. The same is true of the
dialogue between Portia and Nerissa in Act I, and of all the scenes
in which Launcelot Gobbo appears.
Western admits, however, that much of the prose in Shakespeare cannot
be so explained; for example, the opening scenes in _Lear_ and _The
Tempest_. And this brings up another point, i.e., Collin's supposition
that Shakespeare's texts as we have them are exactly as he wrote them.
When the line halts, Collin simply finds proof of the poet's fine ear!
The truth probably is that Shakespeare had a good ear and that he always
wrote good lines, but that he took no pains to see that these lines were
correctly printed. Take, for example, such a line as:
As far as Belmont.
In such a night
This would, if written by anyone else, always be considered bad, and Dr.
Western does not believe that Collin's theory of the pauses will hold.
The pause plays no part in verse. A line consists of a fixed number
of _heard_ syllables. Collin would say that a line like I, 1-73:
I will not fail you,
is filled out with a bow and a swinging of the hat. Then why are the
lines just before it, in which Salarino and Salario take leave of each
other, not defective? Indeed, how can we be sure that much of what
passes for "Shakespeare's versification" is not based on printers'
errors? In the folio of 1623 there are long passages printed in prose
which, after closer study, we must believe were written in verse--the
opening of _Lear_ and _The Tempest_. Often, too, it is plain that
the beginnings and endings of lines have been run together. Take the
passage:
_Sal_:
Why, then you are in love.
_Ant_:
Fie, fie!
_Sal_:
Not in love neither? Then let us say you are sad--
The first line is one foot short, the second one foot too long. This
Collin would call a stroke of genius; each _fie_ is a complete foot,
and the line is complete! But what if the line were printed thus:
_Sal_:
Why, then you are in love.
_Ant_:
Fie, fie!
_Sal_:
Not in
Love neither? Then let us say you are sad.
or possibly:
Love neither? Then let's say that you are sad.
Another possible printer's error is found in I, 3-116:
With bated breath and whispering humbleness
Say this;
Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last.
Are we here to imagine a pause of four feet? And what are we to do with
the first folio which has
Say this; Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last.
all in one line? Perhaps some printer chose between the two. At any
rate, Collin's theory will not hold. In the schools, of course, one
cannot be a text critic but, on the other hand, one must not praise in
Shakespeare what may be the tricks of the printer's devil. The text is
not always faultless.
Finally, Dr. Western objects to the statement that the difficulty in
translating Shakespeare lies in the great number of monosyllables and
gives
In sooth, I know not why I am so sad
as proof. Ten monosyllables in one line! But this is not impossible in
Norwegian:
For sand, jeg ved ei, hvi jeg er saa trist--
It is not easy to translate Shakespeare, but the difficulty goes deeper
than his richness in words of one syllable.
With the greater part of Dr. Western's article everyone will agree. It
is doubtful if any case could be made out for the division of prose and
verse based on psychology. Shakespeare probably wrote his plays in verse
for the same reason that Goethe and Schiller and Oehlenschläger did. It
was the fashion. And how difficult it is to break with fashion or with
old tradition, the history of Ibsen's transition from poetry to prose
shows. It is equally certain that in Collin's _Introduction_ it is
difficult to distinguish ascertained facts from brilliant speculation.
But it is not easy to agree with Dr. Western that Collin's explanation
of the "pause" is a tissue of fancy.
In the first place, no one denies that the printers have at times
played havoc with Shakespeare's text. Van Dam and Stoffel, to whose book
Western refers and whose suggestions are directly responsible for this
article, have shown this clearly enough. But when Dr. Western argues
that because printers have corrupted the text in some places, they must
be held accountable for every defective short line, we answer, it does
not follow. In the second place, why should not a pause play a part in
prosody as well as in music? Recall Tennyson's verse:
Break, break, break,
On thy cold, grey stones, o sea!
where no one feels that the first line is defective. Of course the
answer is that in Tennyson no accented syllable is lacking. But it is
difficult to understand what difference this makes. When the reader has
finished pronouncing _Belmont_ there _must_ be a moment's hesitation
before Lorenzo breaks in with:
In such a night
and this pause may have metrical value. The only judge of verse, after
all, is the hearer, and, in my opinion, Collin is right when he points
out the value of the slight metrical pause between the bits of repartee.
Whether Shakespeare counted the syllables beforehand or not, is another
matter. In the third place, Collin did not quote in support of his
theory the preposterous lines which Dr. Western uses against him. Collin
does quote I, 1-5:
I am to learn.
and I, 1-73:
I will not fail you
is a close parallel, but Collin probably would not insist that his
theory accounts for every case. As to Dr. Western's other example of
good meter spoiled by corrupt texts, Collin would, no doubt, admit
the possibility of the proposed emendations. It would not alter his
contention that a pause in the line, like a pause in music, is not
necessarily void, but may be very significant indeed.
The array of Shakespearean critics in Norway, as we said at the
beginning, is not imposing. Nor are their contributions important.
But they show, at least, a sound acquaintance with Shakespeare and
Shakespeareana, and some of them, like the articles of Just Bing,
Brettville Jensen, Christen Collin, and August Western, are interesting
and illuminating. Bjørnson's article in _Aftenbladet_ is not merely
suggestive as Shakespearean criticism, but it throws valuable light
on Bjørnson himself and his literary development. When we come to the
dramatic criticism of Shakespeare's plays, we shall find renewed
evidence of a wide and intelligent knowledge of Shakespeare in Norway.
CHAPTER III (Performances Of Shakespeare's Plays In Norway)
_Christiania_
The first public theater in Christiania was opened by the Swedish
actor, Johan Peter Strömberg, on January 30, 1827, but no Shakespeare
production was put on during his short and troubled administration.
Not quite two years later this strictly private undertaking became a
semi-public one under the immediate direction of J.K. Böcher, and at
the close of the season 1829-30, Böcher gave by way of epilogue to
the year, two performances including scenes from Holberg's _Melampe_,
Shakespeare's _Hamlet_, and Oehlenschläger's _Aladdin_. The Danish actor
Berg played Hamlet, but we have no further details of the performance.
We may be sure, however, that of the two translations available, Boye's
and Foersom's, the latter was used. _Hamlet_, or a part of it, was thus
given for the first time in Norway nearly seventeen years after Foersom
himself had brought it upon the stage in Denmark.[1]
[1. Blanc:
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