Orlando Furioso: Part Two

Copy was battered and in poor condition

great

When Barbara Reynolds' translation of "Orlando Furioso" was first listed on Amazon, only the first volume was available, and some readers wondered if there even was a volume containing Part Two. Years later, when both volumes were released on Kindle, they were so littered with optical scanning errors that some readers immediately returned them in disgust.But now both volumes have long been available from Amazon in paperback, and their Kindle versions have long been cleansed of nearly all electronic misprints. So, to my mind at least, Amazon customers no longer have any reason to hesitate among their options: if you are going to read Ariosto's immensely entertaining masterpiece in English, the Reynolds translation is the way go. The seven other versions do have their merits, but for sustained balance of semantic fidelity, syntactic limpidity, and sheer skill in versification, among translators of Ariosto Barbara Reynolds has no peer.By way of illustration, let me quote, almost at random, one brief passage from her version (24:60-64); and, by way of comparison, let me also quote the first two stanzas of that passage from each of her fellow translators. The two characters here are, first, the pagan king of Tartary, Mandricardo, who, being determined to acquire the panoply of arms used by Hector in the Trojan War, has just appropriated Durindana, the legendary sword now wielded by Orlando; and, second, Prince Zerbino of Scotland, a friend of Orlando's who has caught Mandricardo in the act:1. Sir John Harington, 1591 (st. 50-51 in his version):Zerbino crieth out, what? peace for shame,Take not his sword, or think not I will beare it,If by the coat of Hector so you came,You stale it, and unworthy are to weare it:Tush (quoth the Pagan) I will beare that blame,As for your threatning, do not think I feare it:Thus t'ones sharp answers, t'others sharp replyingMade them to fall to termes of flat defying.And either shewing signes of plaine hostilitie,Prepares the t'other fiercely to invade,Zerbino with his skill and great agilitie,His party good against the Pagan made,And voided all the blowes with much facilitie,Though having great disvantage in the blade,And in that armour massie so and strong,That in times past to Hector did belong.2. William Huggins, 1755:Forbear to take it, to him Zerbin cries;Or think not to retain it without fight:If Hector's arms you seize on in such guise,By robbery you have it, not by right.Without more speech, each at the other flies,Great paragons of courage, and of might;Of hundred strokes, the noise now echoes round,Ere yet they fully were in combat found.In swiftness Zerbin does like flame appear,Where Durindana falls, away to get,He makes his war-horse leap as does a deer,This way and that, where his road seems most fit:And not to lose the least, he must take care;For he must go, if by this sword once hit,To find those shades out, who, inspir'd with love,Fill the dark confines of the myrtle grove.(The "forest of shady myrtles" was the destination of unfortunate lovers in Virgil's version of the afterlife.)3. John Hoole, 1783:"Rash knight, refrain — nor think," Zerbino cries,"Without dispute, to snatch the glorious prize.If such thy claim to Hector's arms, then knowT'was theft, not valour, did these arms bestow."No more was said; for each with equal heat,And equal courage, springs his foe to meet.Scarce is the fight begun, when echo'd roundA hundred blows their polish'd arms resound.Where Durindana threatens from on high,Zerbino seems a rapid flame to flyThe falling stroke, whene'er to shun the steelAs a deer he makes his courser wheel,behoves him now his utmost skill t' employ,Since, from that edge, accustom'd to destroy,One wound might send him to the dreary grove.Where love-lorn ghosts through shades of myrtle rove.4. William Stewart Rose, 1831:"Take it not thence," to him Zerbino cried,"Nor think to make it thine without a fight:If so thou tookest Hector's arms of pride,By theft thou hadst them, rather than by right."Without more parley spurred upon each side,Well matched in soul and valour, either knight.Already echoed are a thousand blows;Nor yet well entered are the encountering foes.In scaping Durindane, a flame in show(He shifts so quickly) is the Scottish lord.He leaps about his courser like a doe,Where'er the road best footing does afford.And well it is that he should not foregoAn inch of vantage; who, if once that swordSmite him, will join the enamoured ghosts, which roveAmid the mazes of the myrtle grove.5. Allan H. Gilbert, 1954:Zerbino was shouting at him: "Do not take it, or else consider that without strife you will not keep it. If you took the armor of Hector in this way, you hold it by theft rather than by right." Without further speech one rode at the other, a great match of spirit and courage. The sound of a hundred blows is already resounding, and they are not yet well into the fight.Zerbino seems a flame of readiness in getting himself away from wherever Durindana falls; he makes his courser like a young goat leap here and there where the surface is best. And it is well that he lose not a dram of it, for if a single time that sword reaches him, he will go to join the spirits of lovers that fill the forest of the shady myrtles.6. Guido Waldman, 1974:‘Do not touch it!’ cried Zerbin. ‘At least don’t imagine you’ll have it unopposed. If you take Hector’s weapon thus, it will be sheer thievery rather than of right.’ Without further words they fell upon each other; each was the other’s match for courage and valour. Already a hundred blows had echoed forth and battle was not yet fully joined. / Wherever Durindana fell, Zerbino was not there: he moved quick as a flame. He had his steed leaping this way and that like a doe, wherever the footing was best. And how right he was not to forfeit the best ground, for if that blade caught him a blow, he would have gone to join the dead lovers who people the forest of shady myrtles!7. David R. Slavitt, 2012:He picks up Durindana and as he doesZerbino challenges him: "Either put it backor defend yourself and try to maintain a causethat is unjust." Forthwith, they both attackin a match of courage and spirit, for each hasboth in great abundance. They thrust and hackand the sounds of their blows echo through the airin a classic illustration of armed warfare.Zerbino's horsemanship is especially fine,and he makes his horse seem nimble as a goatas it scampers and leaps to avoid Mandricardo's lineof attack with Durindana with which he smoteagain and again, as if it were his designto slice the air. However we must notethat Zerbino was on defense mostly, while heought perhaps to have acted aggessively.So much for the seven alternatives. Here is the translation I am recommending:8. Reynolds, 1978:Zerbino shouted, ‘Do not touch that sword,Or think that you can seize it undefied.The blade of Hector does not well accordWith such a thief as you!’ At once they rideAgainst each other with no further word,Two paragons of prowess, each well-tried.The wood already echoes with the din,Almost the very moment they begin.Twisting and turning like a living flame,Zerbino dodged where Durindana fell.As nimble as a doe his horse became,Leaping now here, now there; and it is wellIt yielded not one jot in such a game,Else were the prince despatched at once to dwellAmong his fellow-sufferers in loveWhose mingling shadows haunt the myrtle-grove.Just as a hound will rush towards the boarWhich in the fields has wandered from its herd,And round it run in circles, ever more,Until to a mistake the prey is lured,So, as the weapon flashed above him orBelow him, Prince Zerbino never erred,Striving his best to see, in all the strife,How he might save both honour and his life.But when the pagan plied his sword, the soundWith whining, whistling winds might well compareWhich through the mountain peaks in March resound,Or seize the forest by its tangled hair,Bending the tree-tops down to kiss the ground,And whirling broken branches through the air.Although the prince avoided many blows,One finally was sure to come too close.One mighty stroke at last achieved its aim.Between his sword and shield it reached his breast.His mail was thick, his corslet was the same,His metal apron too was of the best,Yet through them passed that sword of cruel fame.They being unequal to this crucial test,Nothing resisted the descending blowWhich slashed from mid-breast to the saddle-bow.Now, I own all of these translations and am glad to have them, but no other translator engages and repays my attention with such sustained vigor, vivacity, and vibrancy as Reynolds. For those accustomed to reading Elizabethan poetry, Harington's stanzas have the inimitable sparkle and splendor of that golden era, but at the cost of taking what would now be seen as unconscionable liberties with the text. Huggins, though deftly following the meaning and meter of the original without departing from reasonably straightforward syntax, only rarely manages to distinguish himself for poetic grace or gusto. Hoole perversely shuns the Ariostan octave in favor of heroic couplets, and, while his couplets may be adequate, they are hardly so exceptional as to palliate the substitution. Rose's sentence structure is so often convoluted that Huggins' relative simplicity seems in comparison a marvel of syntactic clarity. Gilbert gives us the plain meaning of the Italian accurately and sparely, while Waldman adorns it with silken grace, but neither brings us the POETRY of the poem, the vivifying power of its embodiment in verse. As for Slavitt, the offhand manner of his own verse can at times be irresistibly engaging, but for me is too often disengaged from any attempt to convey the actual meaning, energy, or artistry of the Italian.Of course, the aesthetic and incantatory effect of verse or prose rhythms and sonorities is cumulative, and can only begin to reveal itself in brief excerpts like these. But when it comes to full command of the faculties needed to translate Ariostan epic poetry, it seems to me that, where these other noble translators stagger, stumble, or fall short, Reynolds courses on, unflagging; or rather, where their footsteps falter, she takes flight and soars. Is there room for improvement? Absolutely, should a translator with the gifts of a Lord Byron come along. But among those who have actually translated the poem, she is unmatched---and in this second volume she outdoes even herself. She could, I think, do with a bit more of Harington's sparkle and splendor, but I certainly stand by the conclusion to my review of Part One:"As Amazon reviewer Laon says: Hers is not merely the best English translation of Ariosto, it is one of the best translations in English verse of any long poem ever."So. If you're looking for a scintillating, sensual, intricate, astonishingly varied narrative tapestry of extravagant medieval fantasy, rollicking adventure, gripping peril, star-crossed romance, hilarious misadventure, and biting satire, nobody does it better than Ariosto. If you're looking to have all forty-six courses of that sumptuous chivalric banquet served to you in English on a silver charger, nobody does that better than Barbara Reynolds."(2022 Addendum: The following lavishly illustrated new translation, arguably among the best ever, and certainly the best bargain, appeared too late to be included in the body of this review:Orlando Furioso or Orlando's Frenzy tr A. S. Kline illus Gustave Dore KindleOrlando Furioso or Orlando's Frenzy tr A. S. Kline illus Gustave Dore paperback)

Ludovico Ariosto, apesar do seu gênio, é um dos poetas “mais fáceis” da literatura universal; não precisa de comentários nem impõe esforços de interpretação. Em prosa e rima Ariosto conta a estória de um homem que se faz louco furioso porque a mulher que ele ama não renuncia à liberdade de escolher seu próprio amor e de conduzir sua própria vida. Se o comportamento de um cavaleiro medieval tivesse para o homem moderno o mesmo interesse que o noticiário dos telejornais, “Orlando Furioso” poderia ser lido com um romance policial. De ser um espelho da época não se pode falar. “Orlando Furioso” é pura invenção; o próprio autor nãos nos pede que acreditemos na realidade das suas fantasias. E que fantasias! A imaginação do maior gênio não teria sido suficiente pra inventar ‘tantas loucuras’; na verdade, Ariosto foi buscar inspiração na obra inacabada “Orlando Innamorato”, de Boiardo, colocando os cavaleiros bárbaros da Idade Média no ambiente fino da Renascença. Os cortesãos e humanistas da cidade não acreditaram na historicidade nem na possibilidade daquele mundo romântico, e o próprio Ariosto também não. Ao contrário, Ariosto ironiza continuamente os seus personagens; sublinha em apartes maliciosos a inverossimilhança das façanhas e o absurdo das paixões; e deixa-nos perplexos com a pergunta nos lábios: por que o poeta inventou um mundo para considera-lo depois com tanto ceticismo. Cético ou talvez indiferente à realidade, o seu poema não é o espelho fiel de um mundo brilhante e suntuoso. O mundo é, para Ariosto, um caos desordenado de criaturas e coisas absurdas; só um deus seria capaz de fazer disso um cosmos, e Ariosto não se julga divino; é apenas poeta! O mundo fantástico de Ariosto é puramente verbal, ou antes, musical; um tema com variações, tão irreal como são todas as almas musicais. Em suma, Ariosto é o maior mestre da “ottava rima”, dominando a realidade pela arte. Ariosto é um clássico; e o classicista adapta a sua arte ao mundo, enfeitando-o com decorações ilusórias.

a classic book and a very good translation, used to be an essential for every educated person it should be still

Begging your pardon: I say Western World Literature because my reading of Other World Literature is wanting--and I really don't know how many 'Wonders' there are. But like Walter Scott I would learn Italian to feed on this work in the original, it is so enrapturing. In my reading Pantheon is Quixote, Divine Comedy, Ulysses (Homer and Joyce), Huck Finn, and the indomitable Will Shakespeare: I gladly submit to those reads that take me epochally away and demand a great and gruesome gestation. I have taught and directed for the stage various of Shakespeare's works for forty years now and still revel in their creations. So Orlando for me is now at this later date in my experience vaulted into the firmament. It's Awesome! I would learn Italian because there are those unexpected moments Reynolds' otherwise swooping translation hits a traffic bump, (admittedly, Ariosto's own rhetorical patterns run so different than anything we commonly use) but this work never (well, once) let me go, (even reading passages out loud, marveling and laughing) and I've gone back for a second dose immediately, this time beginning with the Introduction. It's the threading of descriptive extravagance and seeming random and distracted narration with an embracing humor that lifts one away as though on Pegasus--although in Orlando it's a Hyppogriff. Yes, one must occasionally toil through Ariosto's honoring of his patrons, the d'Este family, but that done, one can disrespectfully reflect upon who we treasure more--the barbaric barons or the humanely inspired. That said, if you yearn for a soaring, roaring, and delectable literary feast for to last longer than anything you imagined--I kept putting off finishing--indulge in, not just Orlando's, but Humanity's continuing Madness, glazed with a sauce of exquisite taste. There is nothing like it. Nothing. It is unique.