by Ilan Stavans
Smollett certainly had Jarvis’s translation before him. As Rocco Linsalata argued, Smollett plagiarized, paraphrased, rewrote, and inverted Jarvis’s translation. This, he believed, was done consistently except in the last three chapters of the First Part. Rocco Linsalata doubted that Smollett even knew Spanish. Since all sorts of strategies are in play, he concluded that the work is not that of a single man but a group. Several Smollett biographers share this view. The members of the novelist’s hack school (a practice, by the way, not more common then than it is today) did their job, depending on the biographer, sometime between 1752 and 1763. Why would Smollett engage in such a hoax? With the critical and commercial acclaim following Roderick Random in 1748, he was financially stable. Perhaps, since his name would certainly sell books, a hungry publisher approached him to retranslate El Quijote.
On a happier note, the club of English translators finally included a woman—and an American to boot—in 2003: Edith Grossman. Prior to rendering El Quijote in English, Grossman was known as a professional translator of celebrated Latin American works, including Gabriel García Márquez’s Love in the Time of Cholera; Álvaro Mutis’s Adventures and Misadventures of Maqroll; a couple of novels by Mario Vargas Llosa, including The Feast of the Goat; and Mayra Montero’s books/novels, among them The Last Night I Spent with You. But she had also translated novels by Spanish baroque authors like Julián Ríos. And she had worked on Spanish Golden Age poetry, rendering in English the poems of Lope de Vega, Góngora, and Quevedo, among others.
In interviews, Grossman said that she began her effort in February 2001, using Martin de Riquer’s edition of 1955, which is based on the first printing of the book and includes discussions of problematic words that emerge from English, French, and Italian translations. This allowed her to have the tradition of El Quijote across European languages at her fingertips.
Intriguingly, no recent rendition into English has generated as many accolades as Grossman’s. It has been enthusiastically embraced by readers, but it has also been attacked by some Cervantistas. Is it because she is female? Or because her inclination is to modernize, to bring the seventeenth-century narrative into the present? One reviewer of her rendition wondered, in an aside, if women read books differently than men. If so, it follows that male and female translators approach a text in divergent fashion. Still, while her approach scandalized the most puritanical of Cervantes scholars who took exception to her overall approach, it pleased a large audience, turning the book into an unexpected best seller. Harold Bloom wrote in his introduction to her translation that “the vitality of [Don Quixote and Sancho’s] characterization is more clearly rendered than ever before.” Carlos Fuentes called it “a major literary achievement.”
Grossman’s decisively modern, unadorned style makes the knight-errant’s monologues feel crisp and immediate. Her implicit argument for translating in this way was that during Cervantes’s own time, his text was neither archaic nor quaint. Instead, he wrote freshly, with an updated verbal reservoir. That is, he was modern before modernity even arrived. So there is no need to make his effort anachronistic, even if, for my taste, “Senor Knight” sounds too streetwise.
COMPARING VARIOUS TRANSLATIONS of Don Quixote demonstrates not only the evolution of the English language but also the different choices and liberties our group of translators have taken with the text. I have chosen a segment from the Second Part, chapter XVII, in which Don Quixote faces a cage full of lions, the scene where he utters the famous line “¿Leoncitos a mí? ¿A mí leoncitos y a tales horas?” in which the knight-errant displays the type of male bravado I mentioned in the previous section, or a critique of it:
Miguel de Cervantes (1615):
A lo que dijo don Quijote, sonriéndose un poco:
—¿Leoncitos a mí? ¿A mí leoncitos y a tales horas? Pues ¡por Dios que han de ser esos señores que acá los envían si soy yo hombre que se espanta de leones! Apeaos, buen hombre, y pues sois el leonero, abrid esas jaulas y echadme esas bestias fuera, que en mitad desta campaña les daré a conocer quién es don Quijote de la Mancha, a despecho y pesar de los encantadores que a mí los envían.
Thomas Shelton (1620):
To which quoth Don Quixote, smiling a little, “Your lion whelps to me? to me your lion whelps? and at this time of day? Well, I vow to God, your General that sends ’em this way shall know whether I be one that am afraid of lions. Alight, honest fellow, and, if you be the keeper, open their cages, and let me your beasts forth; for I’ll make ’em know, in the midst of this champian, who Don Quixote is, in spite of those enchanters that sent ’em.”
Peter Anthony Motteux (1700–1703):
What! Said Don Quixote, with a scornful Smile, Lion-Whelps against Me! Against Me those puny Beasts! And at this time of Day! Well, I’ll make those Gentlemen that sent their Lions this Way, know whether I am a Man to be scar’d with Lions. Get off, honest Fellow; and since you are the Keeper, open their Cages, and let ’em both out; for maugre and in despite of those Inchanters that have sent ’em to try me, I’ll make the Creatures know in the midst of this very Field, who Don Quixote de la Mancha is.
Charles Jarvis (1742):
At which Don Quixote, smiling a little, said, “To me your lion-whelps! your lion-whelps to me! and at this time of the day! By the living God, those who sent them hither shall see whether I am a man to be scared by lions! Alight, honest friend; and, since you are their keeper, open the cages, and turn out those beasts; for in the midst of this field will I make them know who Don Quixote de la Mancha is, in spite of the enchanters that sent them to me.”—
Tobias Smollett (1755):
To which intreaty, Don Quixote answer’d with half a smile, “What are your lion whelps to me, and at this time of day too! Are lion whelps brought against me! I’ll make those who sent them hither, yes—by the holy God! I’ll make them see whether I am a man to be scared by lions. Come, honest man, get off, and as you are their keeper, open the cages and turn them out; for, in the midst of this plain, will I make the savage beasts of the wilderness know who Don Quixote de la Mancha is, in defiance of the inchanters who have sent them against me.”
John Ormsby (1885):
Hereupon, smiling slightly, Don Quixote exclaimed, “Lion-whelps to me! to me whelps of lions, and at such a time! Then, by God! those gentlemen who send them here shall see if I am a man to be frightened by lions. Get down, my good fellow, and as you are the keeper open the cages, and turn me out those beasts, and in the midst of this plain I will let them know who Don Quixote of La Mancha is, in spite and in the teeth of the enchanters who send them to me.”
Samuel Putnam (1949):
“Lion whelps against me?” said Don Quixote with a slight smile. “Lion whelps against me? And at such an hour? Then, by god, those gentlemen who sent them shall see whether I am the man to be frightened by lions. Get down, my good fellow, and since you are the lion-keeper, open the cages and turn those beasts out for me; and in the middle of this plain I will teach them who Don Quixote de la Mancha is, notwithstanding and in spite of the enchanters who are responsible for their being here.”
J. M. Cohen (1961):
To which Don Quixote replied with a slight smile: “Lion cubs to me? To me lion cubs, and at this time of day? Then I swear to God the gentlemen who have sent them here shall see if I am a man not to be frightened by lions. Get down, my good fellow, and if you are the lion-keeper, open these cages and turn out these beasts for me. For in the middle of this field I will teach them who Don Quixote de la Mancha is, in despite and defiance of the enchanters who have sent them to me.”
Burton Raffel (1999):
Don Quijote smiled faintly.
“Lion cubs against me? Against me—lion cubs? And right when they’re hungry? Well, we’re going to show the gentlemen who sent them here whether I’m the man to worry about a couple of lions! Out of your cart, you, and since you’re the lion keeper, open those cages and let these animals come out against me, and right here in the midd
le of this meadow I’ll let them know just who Don Quijote de La Mancha is, and the devil with all the enchanters who sent them here after me.”
John Rutherford (2000):
To which Don Quixote said with a smile:
“Lion-whelps now, is it? Is it now lion-whelps, and at this time of day? Well, by God, those fellows sending them here will soon see whether I’m the sort to be afraid of lions! Climb down, my good man and, since you’re their innkeeper, open these crates and turn the animals out: here, in the middle of this field, I will show them what sort of a man Don Quixote de la Mancha is, in spite of all the enchanters who have sent them after me.”
Edith Grossman (2003):
To which Don Quixote, smiling slightly, said:
“You talk of lions to me? To me you speak of these little lions, and at this hour? Well, by God, those gentlemen who sent them here will see if I am a man who is frightened by lions! Get down, my good man, and since you are the lion keeper, open those cages and bring out those beasts, for in the middle of these fields I shall let them know who Don Quixote de La Mancha is, in spite and in defiance of the enchanters who have sent them to me.”
Tom Lathrop (2005):
To which don Quixote said with half a smile: “Little lions for me? For me, little lions, and at this time of day? Well, by God, those men who sent them to me will see if I’m a man to be frightened by lions or not. Get down, my good man, and since you’re the lion keeper, open those cages and send those beasts out—for in the middle of this field I’ll show them who don Quixote de La Mancha is, in spite of all the enchanters who have sent them to me.”
James H. Montgomery (2009):
To which Don Quixote responded with a slight smile:
“Tiny little lions against me? Against me, Don Quixote? And at such hour? Well, by heavens, those gentlemen who have sent them here shall see whether I am a person who fears lions! My good man, since you are the lion-keeper, kindly dismount, open those cages, and release those beasts, for in the middle of this field I shall show them who Don Quixote de La Mancha is despite all the enchanters who may have sent them here.”
One sees in these excerpts the gorgeous evolution the English language has undergone over a period of four hundred years. The dashes present at the beginning disappear as versions come closer to our time. Motteux resorts to an archaic and arbitrary use of uppercase letters that became normalized by the mid-twentieth century. Then come the divergent choices. Motteux describes the lions as “Lion-Whelps,” whereas Grossman calls them “little lions.”
More worrisome—or, depending on how one sees it, perhaps more commendable—are the cases of outright interpretation. Putnam, following Shelton, says, “Lion whelps against me?” the preposition against highlighting the threat of the encounter. Rutherford eliminates the emphasis by simply stating, “Lion whelps now, is it?” In this he follows Jarvis, who writes, “To me your lion-whelps!” Smollett modifies Jarvis by announcing, “What are your lion whelps to me, and at this time of day too!”
Whatever opinion one might have about a translator’s right—that is, freedom—to interpret, all of these translations are remarkably similar. It can’t be otherwise: the task of bringing a text from the source language to the target one allows for some flexibility, but it also has its limits. Translators are working with similar tools applied to the same raw material. Earlier on, I described Smollett as a plagiarist, since in my mind the evidence proves he did not perform the task of translation on his own. But perhaps it is true that all the renditions I have quoted might be described thus.
Less inflammatory and no doubt more pertinent is the question of why all these twenty-plus translations exist, notwithstanding the fact that some are out of print. Once a classic enters the public domain, any publisher is able to capitalize on its enduring bankability. Meanwhile, society changes in its tastes, and language continues to evolve. New renditions are needed because new generations of readers want to access the classic in their own terms, that is, in their own language. And publishers want to continue making profits.
Yet El Quijote has not been translated into French this many times, or into any other language for that matter. There is, it seems to me, a unique obsession with the novel in the English-speaking world. This linguistic habitat has constantly made room for it. There is also the fact that English is the lingua franca of today, as Latin was during the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. There are more non-native English-language speakers in the world now than non-native speakers of any other language, making English a global language, nurtured by all sorts of influences and influencing a whole array of cultures. For that reason, the United States and Britain export more translations than do the economically advanced countries in other linguistic habitats, say Germany, France, and even Spain.
Cervantes’s is the novel most translated into English because English speakers have identified it as a cornerstone of Western civilization; because they are drawn to it as a source of nourishment for the idealism ingrained in human nature; and because it is an open-ended classic that allows—nay, invites—for multiple interpretations.
IN 2002, I WAS PART of a radio show in Barcelona around the topic of Spanglish, the hybrid tongue spoken by millions in the United States and elsewhere. The moderator was talking to me as well as to a member—whose name I do not wish to remember—of the Real Academia Española. To understand what transpired on that show, let me offer some context.
For years I have devoted time, energy, and much passion to the analysis of this controversial linguistic phenomenon, thoroughly disliked by purists for its polluted qualities. So let me say it at the outset: Spanglish is beautiful. It is the by-product of two syntactically standardized languages, Spanish and English, which, in constant contact, generate an amorphous crossbreed, a neither-here-nor-there that has grown dramatically since the 1970s as a result of the demographic explosion of the Latino community in the United States.
Spanglish is not solely a verbal manifestation. It is evidence of the arrival of a new mestizo culture, for Latinos—that is, people of Hispanic descent living north of the Rio Grande—are already the largest, fastest-growing minority, numbering, according to the 2010 census, more than fifty million and accounting for roughly 15 percent of the country’s population.
Just as Cervantes’s Spanish was the outcome of an evolution that began with the arrival of the Romans on the Iberian Peninsula, the state of Spanglish might be explained by looking at a number of factors. First, it is not a recent occurrence; the earliest speakers of it—or some proto-manifestation of it—date back to the colonial period, when Spanish explorers and missionaries roamed through what we would come to know as the states of Florida, New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado, Texas, and California, among others. Second, the closeness of Mexico, Cuba, Puerto Rico, the Dominican Republic, and other countries in Latin America to the United States explains its vitality, for Spanglish is not a stepping stone, a middle stage for immigrants and other speakers between the loss of Spanish and the acquisition of English, but, instead, a clearly defined form of communication. And third, just as there is not one Spanish language but numerous varieties (e.g., Argentine, Colombian, Mexican, Panamanian, Venezuelan), rather than a single, unified Spanglish, there are modalities shaped by the origin, age, education, milieu, and date of arrival of Latino immigrants to the United States. These variations, which are often interconnected, include Cubonics, Dominicanish, Nuyorican, Chicano, and others. Likewise, there is an urban Spanglish as well as varieties that pertain to advertising, sports, youth, immigration, and the Internet (i.e., “cyber-Spanglish”), among other possibilities.
In general, Spanglish speakers, in their linguistic exchanges, employ three distinctive strategies: first, code-switching, which means that within the same sentence, they communicate by going back and forth between two standard languages (I want to rogarte que you should darme el dinero); second, simultaneous, automatic translation, which happens when a person thinks in one language but communicates in anot
her (te llamo pa’ trás); and third, the coining of new terms (el bloque, friqueado, hanguear, la factoría).
At some point during the radio chou in Barcelona, the RAE member, recognizing that Spanglish had deep roots, said to me, wisely, that this hybrid tongue (“But is it really a language?” he repeatedly asked) should not be taken seriously unless and until it produces a literary work of the caliber of El Quijote. For—in his words, or close to them—“only a language capable of insight is worth our attention.”
I told him he was correct. I added that there would surely come a time when such a work would be written, and that, ironically, the work would need to be translated into Spanish or English in order to be understood by speakers of the other language. (Time has proved me right: important works—novels by Julia Alvarez, Oscar Hijuelos, Sandra Cisneros, Cristina García, and Junot Díaz, memoirs by Esmeralda Santiago and Carlos Eire, among others—have been released in translation in the Spanish-speaking world.)
Plus, I said tongue in cheek, it would be delicious to translate El Quijote into Spanglish . . . today!
This thought generated much chatter at the end of the show, including a series of call-in comments. As soon as I made it back to my hotel, I found a message left by a newspaper editor asking if I would put my foot where my mouth is and render the First Part, chapter I of El Quijote into Spanglish.
I pondered the invitation for a while—honestly, not too long. In retrospect, the fact that such conversation (and the subsequent publication of the translation in the supplement Cultura/s of the daily newspaper La Vanguardia) took place in the capital of independently minded Catalonia is not, in my view, accidental. After all, this Mediterranean metropolis exists in a state of double consciousness, one in which Spanish and Catalan, as well as Castañol, are spoken.
To add to the list of renditions above, here is the fragment on the leoncitos in Spanglish: