Metamorphosis 1; Part II

We are back yet again for another "Tale of Two Translations," where, in order to form our own distinct translation styles we turn to esteemed translations throughout history. As we continue to venture through Ovid's Metamorphosis, be sure to take note of how different translations address confusing pieces of Latin grammar. Latin is not a language easily transformed into English, and often translations will disagree over how best to interpret a piece of the original text. These disagreements have the potential of radically changing the interpretation of the entire text writ large. Therefore, I urge you, as you continue reading, to prepare your own translation alongside the ones provided here, making your own choices as to how best to translate these formative pieces of Latin literature. It is crucial that alongside gaining exposure to a wide variety of Latin translations, every beginner translator grapples with the Latin alone first. After all, that is why we position the original latin before any subsequent translation. Additionally, be sure to, if you missed it, check out last weeks post on the Metamorphosis to stay up to date with the content of the story. Without further ado, enjoy this week's section of the Metamorphosis.

Original Latin

Aurea prima sata est aetas, quae vindice nullo,

sponte sua, sine lege fidem rectumque colebat.

poena metusque aberant, nec verba minantia fixo

aere legebantur, nec supplex turba timebat

iudicis ora sui, sed erant sine vindice tuti.

nondum caesa suis, peregrinum ut viseret orbem,

montibus in liquidas pinus descenderat undas,

nullaque mortales praeter sua litora norant;

nondum praecipites cingebant oppida fossae;

non tuba derecti, non aeris cornua flexi,

non galeae, non ensis erat: sine militis usu

mollia securae peragebant otia gentes.

ipsa quoque inmunis rastroque intacta nec ullis

saucia vomeribus per se dabat omnia tellus,

contentique cibis nullo cogente creatis

arbuteos fetus montanaque fraga legebant

cornaque et in duris haerentia mora rubetis

et quae deciderant patula Iovis arbore glandes.

ver erat aeternum, placidique tepentibus auris

mulcebant zephyri natos sine semine flores;

mox etiam fruges tellus inarata ferebat,

nec renovatus ager gravidis canebat aristis;

flumina iam lactis, iam flumina nectaris ibant,

flavaque de viridi stillabant ilice mella.

Postquam Saturno tenebrosa in Tartara misso

sub Iove mundus erat, subiit argentea proles,

auro deterior, fulvo pretiosior aere.

Iuppiter antiqui contraxit tempora veris

perque hiemes aestusque et inaequalis autumnos

et breve ver spatiis exegit quattuor annum.

tum primum siccis aer fervoribus ustus

canduit, et ventis glacies adstricta pependit;

tum primum subiere domos; domus antra fuerunt

et densi frutices et vinctae cortice virgae.

semina tum primum longis Cerealia sulcis

obruta sunt, pressique iugo gemuere iuvenci.

Tertia post illam successit aenea proles,

saevior ingeniis et ad horrida promptior arma,

non scelerata tamen; de duro est ultima ferro.

protinus inrupit venae peioris in aevum

omne nefas: fugere pudor verumque fidesque;

in quorum subiere locum fraudesque dolusque

insidiaeque et vis et amor sceleratus habendi.

vela dabant ventis nec adhuc bene noverat illos

navita, quaeque prius steterant in montibus altis,

fluctibus ignotis insultavere carinae,

communemque prius ceu lumina solis et auras

cautus humum longo signavit limite mensor.

nec tantum segetes alimentaque debita dives

poscebatur humus, sed itum est in viscera terrae,

quasque recondiderat Stygiisque admoverat umbris,

effodiuntur opes, inritamenta malorum.

iamque nocens ferrum ferroque nocentius aurum

prodierat, prodit bellum, quod pugnat utroque,

sanguineaque manu crepitantia concutit arma.

vivitur ex rapto: non hospes ab hospite tutus,

non socer a genero, fratrum quoque gratia rara est;

inminet exitio vir coniugis, illa mariti,

lurida terribiles miscent aconita novercae,

filius ante diem patrios inquirit in annos:

victa iacet pietas, et virgo caede madentis

ultima caelestum terras Astraea reliquit.

Translation I: Arthur Golding, 1567

*Arthur Golding was an English translator of more than 30 works from Latin into English; his translation of the Metamorphoses is notorious for having influenced William Shakespeare's writings

First was the Golden Age. Then rectitude

spontaneous in the heart prevailed, and faith.

Avengers were not seen, for laws unframed

were all unknown and needless. Punishment

and fear of penalties existed not.

No harsh decrees were fixed on brazen plates.

No suppliant multitude the countenance

of Justice feared, averting, for they dwelt

without a judge in peace. Descended not

the steeps, shorn from its height, the lofty pine,

cleaving the trackless waves of alien shores,

nor distant realms were known to wandering men.

The towns were not entrenched for time of war;

they had no brazen trumpets, straight, nor horns

of curving brass, nor helmets, shields nor swords.

There was no thought of martial pomp —secure

a happy multitude enjoyed repose.

Then of her own accord the earth produced

a store of every fruit. The harrow touched

her not, nor did the plowshare wound

her fields. And man content with given food,

and none compelling, gathered arbute fruits

and wild strawberries on the mountain sides,

and ripe blackberries clinging to the bush,

and corners and sweet acorns on the ground,

down fallen from the spreading tree of Jove.

Eternal Spring! Soft breathing zephyrs soothed

and warmly cherished buds and blooms, produced

without a seed. The valleys though unplowed

gave many fruits; the fields though not renewed

white glistened with the heavy bearded wheat:

rivers flowed milk and nectar, and the trees,

the very oak trees, then gave honey of themselves.

When Saturn had been banished into night

and all the world was ruled by Jove supreme,

the Silver Age, though not so good as gold

but still surpassing yellow brass, prevailed.

Jove first reduced to years the Primal Spring,

by him divided into periods four,

unequal,—summer, autumn, winter, spring.—

then glowed with tawny heat the parched air,

or pendent icicles in winter froze

and man stopped crouching in crude caverns, while

he built his homes of tree rods, bark entwined.

Then were the cereals planted in long rows,

and bullocks groaned beneath the heavy yoke.

The third Age followed, called The Age of Bronze,

when cruel people were inclined to arms

but not to impious crimes. And last of all

the ruthless and hard Age of Iron prevailed,

from which malignant vein great evil sprung;

and modesty and faith and truth took flight,

and in their stead deceits and snares and frauds

and violence and wicked love of gain,

succeeded.—Then the sailor spread his sails

to winds unknown, and keels that long had stood

on lofty mountains pierced uncharted waves.

Surveyors anxious marked with metes and bounds

the lands, created free as light and air:

nor need the rich ground furnish only crops,

and give due nourishment by right required,—

they penetrated to the bowels of earth

and dug up wealth, bad cause of all our ills,—

rich ores which long ago the earth had hid

and deep removed to gloomy Stygian caves:

and soon destructive iron and harmful gold

were brought to light; and War, which uses both,

came forth and shook with sanguinary grip

his clashing arms. Rapacity broke forth—

the guest was not protected from his host,

the father in law from his own son in law;

even brothers seldom could abide in peace.

The husband threatened to destroy his wife,

and she and her husband: horrid step dames mixed

the deadly henbane: eager sons inquired

their fathers, ages. Piety was slain:

and last of all the virgin deity,

Astraea vanished from the blood-stained earth.

Translation 2: Anthony S. Kline, 2000

*A.S. Kline is a poet, author, and translator who graduated from the Unviersity of Manchester and dedicated his life to translations of Latin, Anchient Greek, Classical Chinese, and other European languages. He is best known for his contributions to the cite "Poetry in Translation," where he serves as the chief translator.

This was the Golden Age that, without coercion, without laws, spontaneously nurtured the good and the true. There was no fear or punishment: there were no threatening words to be read, fixed in bronze, no crowd of suppliants fearing the judge’s face: they lived safely without protection. No pine tree felled in the mountains had yet reached the flowing waves to travel to other lands: human beings only knew their own shores. There were no steep ditches surrounding towns, no straight war-trumpets, no coiled horns, no swords and helmets. Without the use of armies, people passed their lives in gentle peace and security. The earth herself also, freely, without the scars of ploughs, untouched by hoes, produced everything from herself. Contented with food that grew without cultivation, they collected mountain strawberries and the fruit of the strawberry tree, wild cherries, blackberries clinging to the tough brambles, and acorns fallen from Jupiter’s spreading oak-tree. Spring was eternal, and gentle breezes caressed with warm air the flowers that grew without being seeded. Then the untilled earth gave of its produce and, without needing renewal, the fields whitened with heavy ears of corn. Sometimes rivers of milk flowed, sometimes streams of nectar, and golden honey trickled from the green holm oak.

When Saturn was banished to gloomy Tartarus, and Jupiter ruled the world, then came the people of the age of silver that is inferior to gold, more valuable than yellow bronze. Jupiter shortened spring’s first duration and made the year consist of four seasons, winter, summer, changeable autumn, and brief spring. Then parched air first glowed white scorched with the heat, and ice hung down frozen by the wind. Then houses were first made for shelter: before that homes had been made in caves, and dense thickets, or under branches fastened with bark. Then seeds of corn were first buried in the long furrows, and bullocks groaned, burdened under the yoke.

Third came the people of the bronze age, with fiercer natures, readier to indulge in savage warfare, but not yet vicious. The harsh iron age was last. Immediately every kind of wickedness erupted into this age of baser natures: truth, shame and honour vanished; in their place were fraud, deceit, and trickery, violence and pernicious desires. They set sails to the wind, though as yet the seamen had poor knowledge of their use, and the ships’ keels that once were trees standing amongst high mountains, now leaped through uncharted waves. The land that was once common to all, as the light of the sun is, and the air, was marked out, to its furthest boundaries, by wary surveyors. Not only did they demand the crops and the food the rich soil owed them, but they entered the bowels of the earth, and excavating brought up the wealth it had concealed in Stygian shade, wealth that incites men to crime. And now harmful iron appeared, and gold more harmful than iron. War came, whose struggles employ both, waving clashing arms with bloodstained hands. They lived on plunder: friend was not safe with friend, relative with relative, kindness was rare between brothers. Husbands longed for the death of their wives, wives for the death of their husbands. Murderous stepmothers mixed deadly aconite, and sons inquired into their father’s years before their time. Piety was dead, and virgin Astraea, last of all the immortals to depart, herself abandoned the blood-drenched earth.

When he had spoken, some of the gods encouraged Jupiter’s anger, shouting their approval of his words, while others consented silently. They were all saddened though at this destruction of the human species, and questioned what the future of the world would be free of humanity. Who would honour their altars with incense? Did he mean to surrender the world to the ravages of wild creatures? In answer the king of the gods calmed their anxiety, the rest would be his concern, and he promised them a people different from the first, of a marvellous creation.

In conclusion....

I will once again leave you with these two excellent translations, which showcase the wide range of interpretations one Latin text allows. Now, there are three competing translations offering different interpretations of the same Latin text. Let me know in the comments which one you feel is most compelling, and whose style you see your own translations gravitating towards. Alternatively, whose translation do you think does the worst job of remaining true to the Latin? Who fails to keep you engaged? And, for extra credit, what do you think differentiates a great translation from a subpar one from a terrible one? All these insights will compound into helping you become a formidable Latin translator. As we continue to move forward throughout the Metamorphoses, expect to see new translators and new sections!

We hope you enjoyed our second entry in the Tale of Two Translations, featuring the first few sections of Metamorphoses Book 1. Please leave any comments, questions, or concerns below, and be sure to recommend future translations, texts, prose, or poems for us to dive into!