faithful translator Hunayn ibn Ishaq promoted Galenic understanding

How should a text be translated? For readers who have no interest in textual sources, translation is merely manufacturing machinery, and all that counts is the end product. That tends to be how most persons value texts in our modern economies of goods. Yet historically, particular source texts — the Iliad, Hebrew scripture, the Gospels, Galenic medical knowledge, the Qur’an — have been highly valued. Translation trades reduced effort required from a reader to communicate with a valued source text for loss in connection to the source. Translation also enlarges the social influence of a source text and allocates value from that enlarged social influence between the source text and the translator. The ninth-century Baghdadi translator Hunayn ibn Ishaq addressed these allocations of value as a faithful translator of the second-century Roman physician Galen.

Hunayn worked within a tradition of Syriac translations of Greek texts. Most of the Greek New Testament was probably translated into Syriac by early in the fourth century. Many Christian theological texts were translated into Syriac in the fifth century. Sergius of Resh‘aina, who died in 536, apparently was the first person to translate Greek philosophical and medical texts into Syriac.[1] In the preface to his Syriac translation of pseudo-Aristotle’s letter On the Universe {Περὶ Κόσμου}, Sergius told the person (“elect one”) who had ordered the translation:

I urge you, dear sir, that if another copy of this letter is found, in which is anything more or less, please, elect one, do not blame our weakness. That which I have found in the copy that was sent from you, dear sir, I have taken care to preserve completely, neither adding anything to those things written here by the philosopher, nor on the other hand taking away from them according to my ability.[2]

Sergius invocation of “our weakness” expresses a modesty trope standard in Syriac literary prefaces since the fourth century. That modesty trope is consistent with the apostle Paul’s declarations of his weakness. Sergius’s preface to On the Universe also echoes the concluding warning in Revelation not to add or subtract anything from its words.[3]

Sergius described On the Universe as a letter from Aristotle the Philosopher to Alexander the King. Aristotle and Alexander were highly honored historical figures. In translating this letter, Sergius apparently proceeded as he would with a sacred text. He didn’t translate according to the rigid, word-for-word translation practice of seventh-century Syriac translators. He translated both with great respect for the source text and with concern to have his Syriac translation be hospitable to readers accustomed to Syriac literary language. Sergius was a scholar-translator and a Christian priest. Sergius translated Aristotle’s letter to Alexander faithfully.[4]

Within what modern scholars in their ignorance and bigotry have called the Golden Age of Latin literature, eminent authorities disparaged the “faithful translator.” Writing for the Roman elite, Horace in his Art of Poetry {Ars Poetica} counseled the reader against an unprofitable practice:

you take care to render word for word as a faithful translator

{ verbo verbum curabis reddere fidus interpres }[5]

In rendering this disparagement of such translation, the Loeb edition translated fidus interpres as “slavish translator.” In a letter to Romans about the year 55, Paul of Tarsus described himself as a “slave of Jesus Christ {δοῦλος Χριστοῦ Ἰησοῦ}.”[6] Paul meant that he was a faithful servant of Jesus Christ. The ancient Greek historian Polybius described the Aetolians, failing in battle against the Romans, acting according to the sense in which Paul was faithful to Jesus:

The Aetolians, after some further observations about the actual situation, decided to refer the whole matter to Manius Acilius Glabrio, committing themselves “to the faith” of the Romans, not knowing the exact meaning of the phrase, but deceived by the word “faith” as if they would thus obtain more complete pardon. But with the Romans to commit oneself “to the faith” of a victor is equivalent to surrendering unconditionally.

{ οἱ δ᾿ Αἰτωλοὶ καὶ πλείω λόγον ποιησάμενοι περὶ τῶν ὑποπιπτόντων ἔκριναν ἐπιτρέπειν τὰ ὅλα Μανίῳ, δόντες αὑτοὺς εἰς τὴν Ῥωμαίων πίστιν, οὐκ εἰδότες τίνα δύναμιν ἔχει τοῦτο, τῷ δὲ τῆς πίστεως ὀνόματι πλανηθέντες, ὡς ἂν διὰ τοῦτο τελειοτέρου σφίσιν ἐλέους ὑπάρξοντος. παρὰ <δὲ> Ῥωμαίοις ἰσοδυναμεῖ τό τ᾿ εἰς τὴν πίστιν αὑτὸν ἐγχειρίσαι καὶ τὸ τὴν ἐπιτροπὴν δοῦναι περὶ αὑτοῦ τῷ κρατοῦντι. }[7]

When the ancient Roman historian Livy translated into Latin Polybius’s account of the Aetolians’ surrender, Livy wrote that the Aetolians resolved that their best choice “would be to surrender themselves into the faith of the Romans {in fidem se permitterent Romanorum}.” When the Aetolians subsequently perceived the Romans to be treating them unjustly, the Aetolians protested, “we entrusted ourselves not into slavery, but into your faith {non in servitutem … sed in fidem tuam nos tradidimus}.”[8] Horace’s adjective fidus in fidus interpres is cognate to the Latin noun fides. In ancient Roman understanding, faithful translators entrust themselves completely to another.

Who was Horace’s prototypical faithful translator? Writing perhaps a half-century before Horace’s disparagement of the faithful translator, the classically revered Roman orator Cicero declared:

It is not necessary to squeeze out a text word by word, as ineloquent translators do, when there is a more familiar single word that would indicate the same overall meaning. Actually, for what the Greek text puts forth in one word, if I am unable to do anything else, I tend to use several words. However, I think we are obliged to concede to employ a Greek word when no Latin one will muster for use.

{ Nec tamen exprimi verbum e verbo necesse erit, ut interpretes indiserti solent, cum sit verbum quod idem declaret magis usitatum; equidem soleo etiam, quod uno Graeci, si aliter non possum, idem pluribus verbis exponere. Et tamen puto concedi nobis oportere ut Graeco verbo utamur, si quando minus occurret Latinum. }[9]

Cicero’s low-status “ineloquent translator {indisertus interpres}” apparently became Horace’s scorned “faithful translator {fidus interpres}.” Horace perhaps picked up a subtle allusion in another of Cicero’s descriptions of his translation pragmatics:

Indeed, I transferred the most famous orations of the two most eloquent Attic orators, Aeschines and Demosthenes, orations that they delivered against each other. I did not transfer them as a translator, but as an orator. I kept the same ideas and forms, or figures, so to speak. However, I used language that conforms to our usage. In doing so, I did not hold to be necessary to render word for word, but I preserved every category and the force of the words. Indeed, I did not think I was obliged to count words out to the reader, but to pay them by weight, so to speak.

{ Converti enim ex Atticis duorum eloquentissimorum nobilissimas orationes inter seque contrarias, Aeschinis et Demosthenis; nec converti ut interpres, sed ut orator, sententiis isdem et earum formis tamquam figuris, verbis ad nostram consuetudinem aptis. In quibus non verbum pro verbo necesse habui reddere, sed genus omne verborum vimque servavi. Non enim ea me adnumerare lectori putavi oportere, sed tamquam appendere. }[10]

In describing translation, Cicero repeatedly used “language of monetary exchange and correct (aristocratic) payment of debts.” He described “the interpreter’s process of translation as resembling an individual counting out of coins.” Cicero distinguished translations in terms of broad distinctions in social status:

Cicero is no petty merchant clinking coins together; unlike the fumbling interpres, he works in a large-scale economy and knows that true debt must be paid out in a grand manner, not coin by coin.[11]

While Cicero disparaged Catius, Amafinius, Rabirius and other Epicurean translators as pandering to the masses, elite Romans greatly respected Lucretius’s magnificent Epicurean epic, De rerum natura.[12] Epicureans weren’t a low-status Roman group associated with distrustful, coin-testing merchants. Jews, however, were such a group in the eyes of the Roman elite. Horace’s faithful translator is a Jew translating or interpreting sacred Hebrew texts while entrusting himself in faith to God.[13]

Jerome pondering translation

Faithful translation came to be practiced far beyond Jews. Jerome of Stridon (Eusebius Sophronius Hieronymus), a Christian priest and theologian, translated Hebrew scripture and the New Testament into Latin at the end of the fourth century. Jerome’s Latin translation of the Bible (the Vulgate) was used in Western European liturgy for more than a millennium. Christians around the world came to regard him as a saint. Jerome surely should be called a faithful translator.

Jerome was also a highly sophisticated writer. In a letter to his dear friend and fellow monk Pammachius, Jerome vibrantly and memorably explained his practices of translation. He ridiculed those whom he claimed charged him with criminal mistakes in translating from Greek to Latin a letter from Pope Epiphanius to John, Bishop of Jerusalem. Jerome declared:

Now my enemies, ranting against me, preach among the unlearned that I have falsified, that I have not expressed word for word, that I have written “dear friend” in place of “honorable sir,” and that — more disgraceful still! — I have maliciously translated by omitting to convey “most reverend father” into my Latin text. These and similar trifles constitute my criminal acts.

{ deditque adversariis latrandi contra me occasionem, ut inter imperitos concionentur, me falsarium, me verbum non expressisse de verbo: pro honorabili dixisse carissimum, et maligna interpretatione, quod nefas dictu sit, αἰδεσιμώτατον Παππαν, noluisse transferre. Haec et istiusmodi nugae crimina mea sunt. }[14]

Jerome confessed that he doesn’t translate word for word:

I indeed not only admit but freely announce that in translating from the Greek (except of course in the case of Holy Scripture, where even the order of words contains a mystery) I squeeze out not word for word, but sense for sense.

{ Ego enim non solum fateor, sed libera voce profiteor, me in interpretatione Graecorum, absque Scripturis sanctis, ubi et verborum ordo mysterium est, non verbum e verbo, sed sensum exprimere de sensu. }

Jerome then quoted in his defense the above-quoted statements of Cicero and Horace. With his great sense of humor, Jerome also aligned himself with the comic poets Menander, Plautus, and Caecilius:

Do they ever stick merely to words? Do they not rather attempt to preserve the beauty and elegance in translation? Such as you call truth in translation, learned men call “pestilent minuteness.” Such were my teachers about twenty years ago, and even then I was wronged by a similar erroneous charge

{ Numquid haerent in verbis: ac non decorem magis et elegantiam in translatione conservant? Quam vos veritatem interpretationis, hanc eruditi κακοζηλίαν nuncupant. Unde et ego doctus a talibus ante annos circiter viginti, et simili tunc quoque errore deceptus }

In his actual translation practice and in his letter to Pammachius, Jerome didn’t actually endorse literally translating scripture word for word.[15] He in fact put forth quotes from Holy Scripture highlighting the non-literal translation practices of Christian scriptural authorities:

The apostle Paul has not expressed his original word for word, but with “paraphrase” he has indicated the same sense in different phrasing. … From all these examples it is clear that in translating the Old Testament, the apostles and evangelists have sought for the sense rather than for the words. They have not with great effort ensured the word order and phrasing, so long as they could make clear the matter for understanding.

{ Apostolus non verbum expressit e verbo, sed παραφρασικῶς, eumdem sensum aliis sermonibus indicavit. … Ex quibus universis perspicuum est, Apostolos et Evangelistas in interpretatione veterum Scripturarum, sensum quaesisse, non verba: nec magnopere de ordine sermonibusque curasse, dum intellectui res pateret. }

In many different contexts, Jerome argued vigorously and robustly for what he regarded to be right. He, however, was modest enough not to assume that he had fully the same freedom in translating Holy Scripture as did the apostles and evangelists. Jerome was not a literal translator, nor a free translator, nor a person without a playful, vibrant sense of the fullness of life. Jerome was a faithful translator.

Nicole Oresme writing

Like Jewish translators in Cicero and Horace’s Rome, like Sergius of Resh‘aina and Jerome of Stridon, Hunayn ibn Ishaq was a faithful translator. A recent study categorized Hunayn ibn Ishaq relative to text-oriented translation and reader-oriented translation:

To assist us in the task of determining how Ḥunayn transformed Galen from Greek into Arabic, a scheme for classifying ancient translations, introduced by the Syriac scholar Sebastian Brock, will be employed. This scheme reflects the attitude of the translator to the source text. If the translator attempts to convey every textual detail of the source text into the target language, as if the revered source text were not to be changed, this is a ‘text-oriented’ translation. On the other hand, if the translator has the reader in the target language as his primary concern, and uses intertextual commentary, definition, or exposition of the cultural context in the target language, to convey the meaning of the source text and to render it as useful as possible, this translation is ‘reader-oriented’. The latter description applies to the translation activities at Baghdad by the mid-ninth century, when translators and scholars, such as Ḥunayn and al-Kindī, approached the Greek corpus with a robust confidence and, although accuracy was their aim, their own research agendas took precedence over strict one-to-one translation. Ḥunayn’s translations certainly fit the latter category, since he occasionally ‘corrected’ his originals, whether Greek or Syriac, and his pervasive textual ‘intrusions’ can be construed as aids for the reader.[16]

“Reader–oriented” and “text-oriented” should be understood not as a binary translation choice, but as a spectrum of choices in connecting the reader to a valued source text. Moreover, that spectrum of translation choices co-exists with the personal interests of the translator and the value of his translation not just to a single reader, but also to the whole social field of potential readers. Just as one might seek to make justice and mercy kiss, a faithful translator both seeks to meet readers where they are and transform their understanding for the better. As a flesh and blood human being who needs material sustenance, a faithful translator may consider how to acquire value for herself in doing her work of translation. But a faithful translator also entrusts himself in faith to a larger project of social good and evangelizes the value of studying a text not of his own making.

Hunayn ibn Ishaq exemplifies characteristics of a faithful translator. He was a Christian Arab from al-Ḥīra (al-Hirah). That was the capital of the Arabic vassal kingdom of the Lakhmids under the Persian Sassanid Empire. Hunayn thus lacked ready connections to the elite Syriac Christian physician-scholars or to the Abbasid court of the ruling Muslim Caliph in Baghdad. He had to make translations that would satisfy readers better than other translators could within a competitive ninth-century Mesopotamian market for translation. At the same time, Hunayn believed deeply in the importance of Galen’s medical learning. Hunayn studied Galen extensively and himself practiced Galenic medicine as a physician. Hunayn entrusted himself and his readers in faith to Galenic medicine, not to medicine of Hunayn’s own creation.

As a faithful translator, Hunayn identified with the evangelic practices of the apostle Paul and Galen. Hunayn strove to make Galenic medical knowledge accessible to all readers. At the request of the Syriac physician Salmawayh ibn Bunān, Hunayn translated Galen’s On Habits from Greek into Syriac. Hunayn recognized in his prefatory letter to that translation that Salmawayh was an expert reader of Galen. Hunayn, however, made a translation that would serve all readers. He explained:

with books, one should not merely aim at what the minds of one or two men from among the people can grasp, but rather out of his love for benefiting people a book’s author should endeavor that the minds of many men grasp his work. This being the case, I decided it was necessary to add a translation of a commentary explaining the meaning of each of the quotations which are included in the book by way of analogy and exemplification. That way, anyone who has not applied his intellect to one of the books from which Galen drew these quotations will be able to understand its meanings rapidly and with ease.[17]

For quotations from Hippocrates, Hunayn translated and added commentary from other works of Galen. For a long quotation from Plato’s Timaeus, Hunayn translated and added commentary by Proclus. These changes to the source text weren’t “reader-oriented” relative to the reader who had ordered the translation. According to Hunayn, Salmawayh had no need of additional commentary. But with the additional commentary Hunayn demonstrated his own expertise and thus enhanced his competitive position as a translator. His additional commentary also served his larger social project of making Galenic medical knowledge readily available to all. Hunayn translated Galen’s On Habits not as a literal translator, but as a faithful translator.[18]

Faithful translation necessarily involves difficult circumstantial judgments. No abstract formula exists for meeting readers in their actual life circumstances and bringing them as close as possible to the valued source text. While prudently serving her own material interests, a faithful translator strives not to have her interests control her translation. Moreover, in making a popularizing translation, the faithful translator seeks to avoid replacing or even devaluing the source text.[19]

Alternatives to faithful translation are unfaithful translation, free translation, or no translation at all. Unfaithful or free translation by definition is easy for anyone to do. No translation is even easier. That latter choice doesn’t necessarily indicate indolence.[20] A very highly valued text  — a sacred text, a text thought to represent the word of God — might be regarded as too precious to risk making the circumstantial judgments necessary for faithful translation. That’s how Muslims view translating the Qur’an from Arabic. An Italian proverb from no later than the nineteenth century declares, “translator — traitor! {traduttore, traditore}.”[21] Those who attempt faithful translation tremble at the thought of betraying their source texts.

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Notes:

[1] Brock (2004) pp. 3-4. Syriac translations of Greek Biblical and patristic texts in the fourth and fifth centuries were relatively free and in some cases amounted to expanded paraphrases. Id. p. 6, Brock  (1979) p. 75.

[2] Sergius of Resh‘aina, Syriac translation from Greek of pseudo-Aristotle, On the universe {De mundo / Περὶ Κόσμου}, translator’s preface, folio 108r in British Library Add. MS 14,658, from Syriac trans. McCollum (2011) p. 167. In citing Syriac and Arabic translations here and elsewhere, I haven’t included the source texts because they aren’t readily accessible in electronic form.

In translating the index of plant names in Galen’s On simple drugs from its original Greek into Syriac, Sergius maintained the Greek collation. About half of the plant names, typically the more rare or obscure ones, Sergius merely transliterated into Syriac. In some cases where he translated the plant name into Syriac, Sergius added the adverb “perhaps,” apparently to suggest his uncertainty about the proper Syriac identification of the plant. Calà & Hawley (2017). For study of a recently recovered copy of Sergius’s translation of Galen’s On simple drugs, Hawley et al. (2013) and Afif et al. (2018).

[3] On the apostle Paul’s declaration of weakness, 2 Corinthians 11:30-12:10. On not adding or subtracting, Revelation 22:18-19.

[4] On characteristics of Sergius’s translation of De mundo, McCallum (2011). With respect to his translating Aristotle’s Categories from Greek into Syriac, Sergius wrote in a preface to Theodore, Bishop of Kark Juddan:

When, therefore, we were translating certain books of the doctor Galen from Greek into Syriac, I, on the one hand, was translating, you, on the other hand, were writing after me while you were amending the Syriac words in accordance with the requirements of the idiom of this language.

From Syriac trans. Bhayro (2017) p. 139. For a similar translation, McCollum (2015) pp. 22-3. See also Brock (2004) p. 4. Late in the seventh century, Phocas bar Sergius of Edessa described Sergius’s translation of pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite as lacking fluency in Syriac. McCollum (2015) pp. 25-7. On Sergius’s translation of that text, Perczel (2000) and Perczel (2008).

Sergius did not always follow practices of a faithful translator. In translating Alexander of Aphrodisias’s On the Principles of the Universe, Sergius apparently omitted large portions and Christianized the parts that he translated. He may have been working from a Greek text in which those alterations had already been made. Id. p. 176.

[5] Horace, Art of Poetry {Ars Poetica} vv. 133-4, Latin text from Rushton Fairclough (1926), my English translation. Id. is the Loeb edition cited subsequently above. In translating this and subsequent Latin quotes, I distinguish between various Latin words having meaning within the domain of “translation.” On Latin words for translation, McElduff (2013), Appendix.

In the past, scholars of Arabic literature referred to a Golden Age of classical Arabic literature. The concept of a Golden Age of classical literature has now been largely discredited among scholars of Arabic literature. See, e.g. Cooperson (2017).

[6] Romans 1:1. Similarly, Philippians 1:1, Titus 1:1. Paul was like Galen in his dedication to his great project.

[7] Polybius, Histories 20.9.11-14, Greek text and English translation from Paton (2012).

[8] Livy, History of Rome 37.28.4, Latin text from Yardley (2018), my English translation, benefiting from that of id. The previous short quote is similarly from id. 37.27.8.

[9] Cicero, About Good and Bad Ends {De finibus bonorum et malorum} 3.15, Latin text from Rackham (1914), my English translation benefiting from those of id. and McElduff (2013) pp. 114-5. McElduff provided the translation of indisertus as “ineloquent” and comments, “Indisertus means ineloquent in a particular sense, namely, uneducated in rhetoric, the final stage in a Roman education.” Id. p. 115.

McElduff sets out three stages of Roman education: literary play {ludus litterarius}, the school of the grammarian {schola grammatici}, and the school of the rhetorician {rhetoris schola}. Cicero’s practice of translation favors elite Roman learning: rhetoris schola relative to schola grammatici. Id. pp. 115-9. Copeland argues that in antiquity, grammar and rhetoric shaped different understandings of the translator’s task. Copeland (1995) Ch. 1.

[10] Cicero, On the Best Kind of Orators {De Optimo Genere Oratorum} 14-16, Latin text from Hubbell (1949), my English translation, benefiting from that of id. and McElduff (2013) p. 112. For a freely available version of McElduff’s analysis of Cicero on translation, McElduff (2009).

[11] McElduff (2013) p. 114. The two previous short quotes above are from id. p. 113.

[12] Cicero was concerned about low-quality Epicurean translators in the competitive Roman market for translations. Cicero staked out a distinctive position in that market:

Cicero’s control over his sources is absolute — he takes what he wants, as he wants. And this is the point of having Cicero translate, after all: you get the value of his taste and literary ability. If that doesn’t interest you, then you might as well pick up a text translated by Rabirius or Amafinius.

McEldulf (2013) pp. 109-10. Lamenting about faulty philosophical views in bantering correspondence with Cicero, Cassius referred to “all these Catiuses and Amafiniuses, bad translators of words {omnes Catii et Amafinii, mali verborum interpretes}.” Cicero, Letters to Friends 215 (15.19) 2-3, Latin text from Shackleton Bailey (2001), my English translation. Cicero noted the popularity of such Epicurean translators. Cicero, Tusculian Disputations 4.6-7. Cicero and Varro regarded Amafinius and his associates as unsophisticated translators. Cicero, Academica 1.4-6.

[13] Horace’s disparagement of the faithful translator, meaning Jews, is consistent with his disparagement of Jews elsewhere. “Today is the thirtieth Sabbath. Do you want / to offend the mutilated Jews {hodie tricesima sabbata: vin tu / curtis Iudaeis oppedere}?” Horace, Satires 1.9.68-9. Ridiculing superstition at Gnatia, Horace declared, “Apella the Jew may believe it, not I {credat Iudaeus Apella, / non ego}.” Satires 1.5.100-1. Latin text of Smart (1836) via Perseus, my English translation. Horace was thus plausibly disparaging a specific, actual translation practices: that of Jews in Rome.

As a small minority living within Roman culture that privileged Greek and Latin, translation was of considerable practical importance to Jews. Classicists have trended to view Roman culture in terms of “both tongues {utraque lingua},” meaning Greek and Latin. Copeland (1995) and McElduff (2013) scarcely mention Jews and Hebrew. A considerable record exists of ancient Hebrew literature and Jewish literary activity. Nonetheless, McElduff declared:

Despite the multiplicity of languages in the Roman Empire, it is difficult to discuss linguistic matters there without straying into a binary discussion of Latin and Greek, with a few references to Punic or some other nonclassical language. This is a legacy of our literary sources, which the issues under debate revolved around speaking or writing correct Greek or Latin, both of which were critical to elite identity; these sources ignore other languages unless they cause exceptional problems or the author wants to make a point.

McElduff (2013) p. 17.

[14] Jerome, Letter {Epistula) 56.2, To Pammachius on the Best Method of Translating {Ad Pammachium de optimo genere interpretandi}, Latin text from Patrologia Latina 22, my English translation benefiting from those of Freemantle (1892) and Carroll (1956). Jerome wrote this letter in 395 GC. The three subsequent quotes are similarly from Jerome’s letter to Pammachius, paragraphs 5 (I indeed not only admit…; Do they ever stick merely to words? …), and 9 (The apostle Paul…).

[15] How to characterize Jerome’s translation of the Bible (the Vulgate) is a matter of some controversy. The Vulgate can reasonably be characterized as a fairly literal translation. Marlowe (2010). In medieval Europe, translations from Greek to Latin tended to be quite literal. Vaiopoulos (2016).

[16] Cooper (2019) p. 182. On Brock’s distinction, Brock (1979). With respect to his Syriac translation of Galen’s Fullness, Hunayn explained:

I recently translated this for Buḫtīšūʿ in the manner that I usually adopt when translating, namely what I think is the most elegant and expressive language, and closest to the Greek, without, however, violating the laws of Syriac.

English translation from Overwien (2012) p. 167, which also supplies the Arabic text that comes from one of Hunayn’s epistles. For more on Hunayn’s translation style, Overwien (2015).

[17] Ḥunayn Ibn Isḥāq’s Letter to Salmawayh ibn Bunān C.9-11, originally written in Syriac, Arabic text and English translation (presentation simplified slightly) from Connelly (2020) pp. 187-8. The Arabic text is preserved uniquely in MS Aya Sofya 3725, folios 193v-194v (Süleymaniye Yazma Eser Kütüphanesi, Istanbul). Galen’s On Habits is also known by its Latin title De consuetudinibus.

[18] Based on close study of Hunayn’s translations of Galen’s Crises {De crisibus} and Critical Days {De diebus decretoriis}, Cooper judged, “Ḥunayn was generally an accurate translator, and sometimes even an exceptional one.” Cooper (2016) p. 6. At the same time, Hunayn “added whatever he thought necessary to help his reader understand the text and its complex subject matter.” Id., from abstract.

In translating Galen, Hunayn filled in gaps or smoothed our contradictions or mistakes in his source text based on his knowledge of the subject matter and closely related Galenic texts. He omitted passages that wouldn’t benefit his readers. He also occasionally added substantial explanations of obscure terms. In short, “the Greek original was not sacrosanct to Ḥunayn.” Overwien (2012) p. 155, drawing upon Vagelpolh (2011).

[19] Cicero argued for elite translation of Greek texts so as to make Greek libraries unnecessary in Rome. Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 2.5. For discussion of this aim, McEldulf (2013) pp. 103-4, 119-20. The Latin reception of Parthenius of Nicaea’s Greek text Sufferings in Love {Ἐρωτικὰ Παθήματα} regrettably lost vital insights into love and gender.

Medieval authors invoked “faithful translator” in sophisticated ways. In translating Porphyry’s Isagoge from Greek into Latin, Boethius, an early sixth–century Christian theological author and public figure, ironically embraced Horace’s “blame” for being a faithful translator and claimed that he, like Cicero, was eliminating the need for the Greek source text:

I indeed fear that I have incurred the blame of the faithful translator, as I have rendered it word for word, plainly and equally. The reason for that begins with this: for writings in which knowledge of the matter is sought, it is necessary to express, not the charm of a sparkling oration, but the uncorrupted truth. About this I would see myself as very successful, if with philosophical texts composed into the Latin language by complete and genuine translations, Greek texts are no longer desired.

{ quidem vereor ne subierim fidi interpretis culpam, cum verbum verbo espressum comparatumque reddiderim. Cuius incepti ratio est quod in his scriptis in quibus rerum cognitio quaeritur, non luculentae orationis lepos sed incorrupta veritas exprimenda est. Quocirca multum profecisse videor, si philosophiae libris Latina oratione compositis per integerrimae translationis sinceritatem nihil in Graecorum litteris amplius desideretur. }

Boethius, introduction to his translation of Isagoge {Εἰσαγωγή} (introduction to Aristotle’s Categories), Latin text from Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum (CSEL) 48, p. 135, and English translation (modified slightly) from Copeland (1995) p. 52. Boethius made this translation c. 508.

In his preface to his translation of the mystical and obscure neo-Platonic corpus attributed to Dionysius the Areopagite, the Christian poet, philosopher, and theologian John Scotus Eriugena also embraced blame as a faithful translator:

If one would judge the before-said translation series truly obscure or lacking explicitness, let that person regard me not as this work’s expositor, but as its translator. In that I greatly fear that I run strongly into the blame of being a faithful translator. And if one supposes that something superfluous has been added, or that something is lacking in the integrity of the Greek constructions, let him refer to the Greek codex, from which I have translated. He will perhaps discover, whether or not it is so.

{ Sin vero obscuram minusque apertam praedictae interpretationis seriem iudicaverit, videat me interpretem huius operis esse, non expositorem. Ubi valde pertimesco, ne forte culpam fidi interpretis incurram. At, si aut superflua quaedam superadiecta esse aut de integritate Grecae constructionis quaedam deesse arbitratus fuerit, recurrat ad codicem Grecum, under ego interpretatus sum: ibi fortasse iveniet, itane est necne. }

Latin text from MGH Epistolae 6, no. 14, 24-32, p. 159 (PL 122: 1032C), my English translation benefiting from that of Copeland (1995) p. 52 and Rorem (2005) p. 49. John Scotus Eriugena wrote this prefatory disclaimer at the Carolingian royal school at Aachen about 860. On this work, Budde (2011). To his nearly word-for-word translation of the Greek Eriugena added his own paraphrase / commentary. Rorem (2005) p. 49.

[20] A variant of the “no translation” alternative is academic self-fashioning. The status market in academic humanities favors grandiloquent claims. Academic competition particularly rewards deconstructing true-false and related binaries, condemning power and domination, and emphasizing the liberating importance of academic word-work in constructing all of reality. Implicitly playing to dominant academic values, Robinson thus argued:

Certainly the importance of asceticism for the history of Western translatology cannot be over-emphasized. ‘Normal’ translation as it has been imagined in the West for sixteen centuries, and continues to be imagined today, is hegemonically ascetic (although humanistic strains from Cicero and the other classical theorists survive even within Christian asceticism, encouraging the translator to develop, to grow, through translation). Indeed it is difficult to recall (or even to imagine) a Western definition of translation, simple or complex, old or new, that does not immediately betray its ascetic aims. Consider only the ‘renunciations’ that are now and have long been expected of the translator: the renunciation of source-language syntax and ‘colour’ or ‘feel’ or ‘mood’, in the reduction of the source-language text to an abstract ‘sense’; the renunciation of personal biases, predilections, preferences, and opinions in the education of the translator into a neutral transfer-machine. Consider the diatribes launched at ‘word-for-word’ and ‘free’ translations, and the temptation good translators feel and resist to indulge those pleasures: to cling ‘too’ closely to the source-language text, to trace its contours lovingly in the target language, by translating word for word; or to strike off ‘too’ boldly in a new direction, to sever ideologically-controlled ties with source language meaning, by translating freely. Consider the discipline required of the translator to renounce all this, to resist such temptations, and the institutional support (translator training, translator organizations and conferences, legal and financial sanctions) provided to back up that discipline. The history of Western translatology is many things, but above all it is a history of ascetic discipline. After Jerome and Augustine, even the worldly rebels against ascetic translatology typically only modify the prescribed ascesis.

Robinson (1992) pp. 5-6. Concluding his many vigorous words against ascesis, Robinson revealed:

But this is simplistic. Translation remains normatively a cenobitic discipline; but in the repressive dualism of Western thought, norms are predicated upon deviations, and therefore depend on them for their impact. Cenobitic translation, bound as it is by the subtracted self’s dialectics of success and failure and of the familiar and the alien, is built upon the repression of eremitism. Eremitic translation, bound as it is by the isolated self’s dialectics of brilliance and heresy, mystical oneness with the source-language author and audience response, is built upon the repression of cenobitism. Ascetic translation itself, eremitic and cenobitic, is built upon the repression of classical humanism, which was bound by the created self’s dialectics of passive reception and anxious appropriation, other- and inner-direction.

And the key to the complexity of Western translation theory is this: what is repressed in each successive theory does not thereby vanish, but survives in the resistance that maintains the repression, survives in a vital enough form to anticipate and in some sense engineer its own return. Cicero and Luther sound in Jerome. Quintilian and Goethe sound in Augustine. Repressed echoes striate each theory, every voice. It is only by listening to those echoes and tracing those striations that we can begin to move beyond the hegemonic repetition – Cicero and Jerome and Luther and Dryden and everybody between and since calling for sense-for-sense rather than word-for-word translation – to which the history of Western translation theory has conventionally been, and continues today to be, reduced.

Id. p. 24. Such work ultimately reduces thousands of years of human culture to facile dismissal through indolent self-assurance of one’s own ideologically superior, totalitarian vision.

[21] On the textual history of “traduttore, traditore,” Davie (2012). The Italian phrase benefits from very similar-sounding words (a near-pun). An Italian proverb of men’s sexed protest, “Who said woman, said damage {Chi disse donna disse danno}” has a similar linguistic structure.

[images] (1) Saint Jerome pondering translation. Detail from fresco that Domenico Ghirlandaio painted in 1480 in the Church of the Savior of All Saints {Chiesa di San Salvatore di Ognissanti} in Florence, Italy. Source image via Wikimedia Commons. (2) Fourteenth-century philosopher Nicole Oresme, who translated Aristotle, writing at his desk. Detail from illustration on folio 1r of instance of Nicole Oresme, Treatise of the Sphere {Traité de la sphère}, Bibliothèque nationale de France. Département des Manuscrits. Français 565.

References:

Afif, Naima, Siam Bhayro, Grigory Kessel, Peter E. Pormann, William I. Sellers, and Natalia Smelova. 2018. “The Syriac Galen Palimpsest: A Tale of Two Texts.” Manuscript Studies: A Journal of the Schoenberg Institute for Manuscript Studies. 3 (1): 110-154.

Bhayro, Siam. 2017. “Galen in Syriac: Rethinking Old Assumption.” Aramaic Studies. 15 (2): 132-154.

Brock, Sebastian. 1979. “Aspects of Translation Technique in Antiquity.” Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies. 20 (1979): 69–87.

Brock, Sebastian. 2004. “Changing Fashions in Syriac Translation Technique: The Background to Syriac Translations under the Abbasids.” Journal of the Canadian Society for Syriac Studies. 4 (1): 3-14.

Budde, Timothy R. 2011. The Versio Dionysii of John Scottus Eriugena. A Study of the Manuscript Tradition and Influence of Eriugena’s Translation of the Corpus Areopagiticum From the 9th through the 12th century. Ph. D. Thesis, University of Toronto. Ottawa: Library and Archives Canada = Bibliothèque et Archives Canada.

Calà, Irene, and Robert Hawley. 2017. “Transliteration versus Translation of Greek Plant Names in the Syriac Medical Writings of Sergius of Reš ʿAynā: On the Tables of Contents in BL Add. 14,661.” Aramaic Studies. 15 (2): 155-182.

Carroll, Paul, trans. 1956. The Satirical letters of St. Jerome. Chicago: Gateway Editions, distributed by H. Regnery Co.

Connelly, Coleman. 2020. “Ḥunayn Ibn Isḥāq’s Conception of his Reading Public according to a Previously Unpublished Letter.” Arabic Sciences and Philosophy. 30 (2): 159-189.

Cooper, Glen M. 2016. “Ḥunayn ibn Isḥāq’s Galen Translations and Greco-Arabic Philology: Some Observations from the Crises (De crisibus) and the Critical Days (De diebus decretoriis).” Oriens. 44 (1-2): 1-43.

Cooper, Glen M. 2019. “Ḥunayn Ibn Isḥāq and the Creation of an Arabic Galen.” Ch. 9 (pp. 179-195) in Bouras-Vallianatos, Petros, and Barbara Zipser, eds. Brill’s Companion to the Reception of Galen. Brill’s Companions to Classical Reception, 17. Leiden: Brill.

Cooperson, Michael. 2017. ‘The Abbasid “Golden Age”: An Excavation.’ Al-ʿUsur Al-Wusta: The Journal of Middle East Medievalists. 25: 41–65.

Copeland, Rita. 1995. Rhetoric, Hermeneutics, and Translation in the Middle Ages: academic traditions and vernacular texts. Cambridge Studies in Medieval Literature, 11. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Davie, Mark. 2012. “Traduttore traditore.” OUPblog. Online, September 30, 2012.

Freemantle, William Henry, trans. 1892.  The Principal Works of St. Jerome.  Philip Schaff, ed. Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, 2nd Series, vol. 6. Oxford: Parker.

Hawley, Robert, Bhayro, Siam, Kessel, Grigory, and Pormann, Peter. 2013. “The Syriac Galen Palimpsest: Progress, Prospects and Problems.” Journal of Semitic Studies. 58 (1): 131-148.

Hubbell, H. M., ed. and trans. 1949. Cicero. On Invention. The Best Kind of Orator. Topics. Loeb Classical Library 386. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Marlowe, Michael. 2010. “The Literal Character of the Vulgate.” Online.

McCollum, Adam. 2011. “Sergius of Reshaina as Translator: The Case of the De Mundo.” Ch. 10 (pp. 165-178) in Josef Lössl and John W. Watt, eds. Interpreting the Bible and Aristotle in Late Antiquity: The Alexandrian Commentary Tradition Between Rome and Baghdad. Farnham, UK: Ashgate Publishing.

McCollum, Adam Carter. 2015. “Greek Literature in the Christian East: Translations into Syriac, Georgian, and Armenian.” Intellectual History of the Islamicate World. 3 (1-2): 15-65.

McElduff, Siobhán. 2009. “Living at the Level of the Word: Cicero’s Rejection of the Interpreter as Translator.” Translation Studies. 2 (2): 133-46.

McElduff, Siobhán. 2013. Roman Theories of Translation: surpassing the source. Routledge Monographs in Classical Studies, 14. London: Routledge. (review by Chiara Battistella and by Christodoulos Zekas)

Overwien, Oliver. 2012. “The Art of the Translator, or: How did Ḥunayn ibn Isḥāq and his School Translate?” Pp. 151‒169 in Pormann, Peter E, ed. Epidemics in Context: Greek commentaries on Hippocrates in the Arabic tradition. Berlin: De Gruyter.

Overwien, Oliver. 2015. “The Paradigmatic Translator and His Method: Ḥunayn ibn Isḥāq’s Translation of the Hippocratic Aphorisms from Greek via Syriac into Arabic.” Intellectual History of the Islamicate World. 3 (1-2): 158-187.

Paton, W. R. ed. and trans., revised by F. W. Walbank and Christian Habicht. 2012. Polybius. The Histories, Volume V: Books 16-27. Loeb Classical Library 160. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Perczel, István. 2000. “Sergius of Reshaina’s Syriac Translation of the Dionysian Corpus: Some Preliminary Remarks.” Pp. 79-94 in Baffioni, Carmela, ed. La diffusione dell’eredità classica nell’età tardoantica e medievale: filologia, storia, dottrina: atti del seminario nazionale di studio (Napoli-Sorrento, 29-31 ottobre 1998). Roma: Ed. dell’Orso.

Perczel, István. 2008. “The Earliest Syriac Reception of Dionysius.” Modern Theology. 24 (4): 557-571.

Rackham, H., ed. and trans. 1914. Cicero. On Ends. Loeb Classical Library 40. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Robinson, Douglas. 1992. “The Ascetic Foundations of Western Translatology: Jerome and Augustine.” Translation and Literature. 1: 3-25.

Rorem, Paul. 2005. Eriugena’s Commentary on the Dionysian Celestial Hierarchy. Studies and texts / Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 150. Toronto, Ontario, Canada: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies.

Rushton Fairclough, H., ed. and trans. 1926. Horace. Satires. Epistles. The Art of Poetry. Loeb Classical Library 194. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Shackleton Bailey, D. R., ed. and trans. 2001. Cicero. Letters to Friends, Volume II: Letters 114-280. Loeb Classical Library 216. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University.

Vagelpohl, Uwe. 2011. “In the Translator’s Workshop.” Arabic Sciences and Philosophy. 21 (2): 249-288.

Vaiopoulos, Vaios. 2016. “Latin translations of Greek texts in Middle-Ages. Some characteristic cases.” Paper presented at Profilingua 2016. University of West Bohemia, Pilsen, Czech Republic.

Yardley, J. C. ed. and trans. 2018. Livy. History of Rome, Volume X: Books 35-37. Loeb Classical Library 301. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Alfonso X’s 13th-century song on the dean of Cádiz & his books

On the thirteenth-century Iberian peninsula, Christian, Hebrew, and Islamic cultures interacted closely. Islamic culture, drawing upon a half millennium of extraordinary development, arguably was the most advanced. Alfonso X, King of Castile, León and Galicia, a king who came to be called “the Learned {el Sabio},” sponsored extensive translations from Arabic and Hebrew into Castilian and Latin. These translations included Kalilah wa Dimnah and Sendibar, magical works such as Lapidario and Picatrix, the composite Universal History {General Estoria}, The Book of Games {Libro de los Juegos}, and many other texts. Alfonso himself directed and helped to write Songs of Holy Mary {Cantigas de Santa Maria}, a collection of 420 songs in praise of Mary, the mother of Jesus.[1] Benefiting from the relatively liberal and tolerant intellectual circumstances of medieval Europe, Alfonso X also wrote “songs of scorn and ridicule {cantigas d’escarnho e mal dizer}” that probably would have gotten his public standing canceled if he were any Western man politician today. King Alfonso X the Learned has been rightly called an “emperor of culture” and a “marvel of the world {stupor mundi},” not just for the thirteenth century, but for all time.[2]

King Alfonso X, the Learned

Alfonso X’s medieval songs of scorn and ridicule include songs both sexually themed and poetically sophisticated. Like U.S. President Lyndon Baines Johnson, King Alfonso X attended to the characteristics of a man’s johnson:

Johan Rodriguiz went to take Balteira’s
measure for her to receive his stud,
and he said: “If you want to do well,
you have to get an exact measure,
neither more nor less in any way.”

And he said: “This is the right stud,
and in addition I don’t give it only to you,
and I have to bring it in straight and fully.
It has to be of such right length
to fit between the stairs’ legs.

To great Moniz I’ve already given another great one,
and she received its measure without displeasure,
and Mari’ Airas was another who did the same,
and Alvela, who strolls in Portugal,
and they have already taken it in the mountains.

And he said: “This is the measure of Spain,
not that of Lombardy or Germany,
and, although it’s thick, don’t be troubled.
A small battering ram has no value.
That I know well, being well-endowed.”

{ Joan Rodriguiz foi esmar a Balteira
sa midida per que colha sa madeira;
e disse: “Se [a] ben queredes fazer,
de tal midida a devedes a colher
e non meor, per nulha maneira.”

E disse: “Esta é a madeira certeira,
e, demais, non na dei eu a vós si[n]lheira;
e, pois que s’en compasso á de meter,
atan longa deve toda [a] seer
per antr’as pernas da [e]scaleira.

A Maior Moniz dei ja outra tamanha,
e foi-a ela colher logo sen sanha;
e Mari’Airas feze-o logo outro tal,
e Alvela, que andou en Portugal;
e ja i as colheron na montanha.”.

E diss’: “Esta é a midida d’Espanha,
ca non de Lombardia nen d’Alamanha,
e, porque é grossa, non vos seja mal,
ca delgada pera gata ren non val:
desto mui máis sei eu ca boudanha.” }[3]

This song conflates home construction with heterosexual intercourse. Balteira (Maria Pérez Balteira) was a famous Galician woman sex-worker from a relatively wealthy family. She served men soldiers in their camps as they traveled on Crusade to engage in brutal violence against men in the Holy Land.[4] Johan Rodriguiz, a proud Spaniard, apparently worked for many women with his internationally impressive equipment. Unlike Balteira, Rodriguiz almost surely wasn’t paid money for his sex work. Alfonso X’s song drew upon a medieval Hebrew tradition of earthy biblical puns, including “to sacrifice the battering-ram,” where the Hebrew word ‘ayil means both “ram” and “battering-ram.”[5]

medieval peasants warming their genitals

Displaying his cosmopolitan learning, Alfonso X depicted a Moorish knight within the deeply entrenched literary tradition of brutalizing men’s sexuality. The Moorish knight engaged in one-on-one combat with the Spanish lady Domingas Eanes:

Domingas Eanes had her fight
with a Moorish knight and was badly wounded.
She, however, was so ardent in battle
that after she had to be conquered for certain.
In truth, she conquered a good horseman.
But he was so agile with his lance
that she had to endure some hurts.

The blow that she received was in a hole
in her chain-mail, which was displaced.
I regret it, because at this thrust,
although she also took others (I value God),
she conquered. But then the horseman,
because of his weapons and his skillfulness,
ensured that she would be forever marked with change.

This Moor carried along with his rod
its two companions throughout the battle.
He is also known for never failing
to strike a great blow with his spear.
And he tumbled her onto her back
and gave her such a blow from above
that now the wound will never be closed.

Doctors experienced with it say
that such a wound can never be closed,
even with all the wool that this land has,
nor with oil can it be soothed.
Because the wound doesn’t go straight in,
but spirals like a screwing,
it becomes established as a passageway.

{ Dominga Eanes ouve sa baralha
con ũu genet’e foi mal ferida,
empero foi ela i tan ardida
que ouve depois a vencer sen falha,
e, de pran, venceu bõo cavaleiro;
mais empero era-x’el tan braceiro
que ouv’end’ela de ficar colpada.

O colbe colheu-[a] per ũa malha
da loriga, que era desmentida;
e pesa-m’ende porque essa ida,
de prez que ouve máis, se Deus me valha,
venceu ela; mais [pel]o cavaleiro,
per sas armas e per com’er’arteiro,
ja sempre end’ela seera sinalada.

E aquel mouro trouxe con o veite
dous companhões en toda esta guerra,
e demais á preço que nunca erra
de dar gran colpe con seu tragazeite;
e foi-[a] achar come costa juso,
e deu-lhi por én tal colpe de suso
que ja a chaga nunca vai çarrada.

E dizen meges que usan tal preit’e
que atal chaga ja máis nunca serra
se con quanta lãa á en esta terra
a escaentassen, nen con no azeite,
porque a chaga non vai contra juso,
mais vai en redor come perafuso,
e por én muit’á que é fistolada. }[6]

Culturally advanced for his time, Alfonso X depicted Domingas Eanes as developing strong, independent sexuality after her first sexual experience. The double sense of the song evokes the classical understanding of chivalry. The song’s intercultural intercourse represents centuries of ordinary experience on the Iberian Peninsula. At the same time, with ambivalence in describing who conquers whom, Alfonso X hints at both medieval gynocentrism and the medieval Christian ideal of conjugal partnership.

Perhaps the most brilliant of King Alfonso the Learned’s songs concerns a learned man and bookish study. This song praises learned lust:

I noticed a man carrying books
from Vejer that he got from Cádiz’s dean,
and when I asked to take a look,
he said, “Sir, with the two books you see
and others the dean has just like these,
he’s able to fuck as much as he pleases.

And that’s not all I will tell you:
although in the Law he often doesn’t read,
from what I know of the dean of Cádiz,
his books enable him to get
them all excited until they seem
like eagles, cranes or crows in heat.

When it comes to the art of fucking,
his books have all one needs to know,
and he does absolutely nothing
but read them day and night, and so
in the art of fucking he’s very wise
and fucks every Moorish dame he desires.

These are things that he can do
with his books like no one else:
he leaves them open while he screws,
and should some woman be possessed,
he fucks her with such skill and flair
the demon doesn’t have a prayer.

With his books this clever dean
can even cure St. Marcoul’s fire.
If a woman has this disease,
by his fucking he can charm her
until the fire begins to seem
merely snow or frost or sleet.”

{ Ao daian de Calez eu achei
livros que lhi levavan da Beger,
e o que os tragia preguntei
por eles, e respondeu-m’el: “Senher,
con estes livros que vós veedes (dous)
e con os outros que el ten dos sous
fod’el per eles quanto foder quer.

E ainda vos end’eu máis direi:
macar na lei muitas [vezes non quer]
leer, por quant’eu sa fazenda sei,
con os livros que ten non á molher
a que non faça que semelhen grous
os corvos, e as aguias babous,
per força de foder, se x’el quiser,

ca non á máis, na arte do foder,
do que, [e]nos livros que el ten, jaz;
e el á tal sabor de os leer
que nunca noite nen dia al faz;
e sabe d’arte do foder tan ben
que con nos seus livros d’artes, que ten,
fod’el as mouras cada que lhi praz.

E máis vos contarei de seu saber
que con nos livros que el[e] ten faz:
manda-os ante sí todos trager
e, pois que fode per eles assaz,
se molher acha que o demo ten,
assi a fode per arte e per sén
que saca dela o demo malvaz.

E, con tod’esto, ainda faz al
con o[s] livros que ten, per bõa fe:
se acha molher que aja [o] mal
deste fogo que de San Marçal é,
assi [a] vai per foder encantar
que, fodendo, lhi faz ben semelhar
que é geada ou nev’e non al.” }[7]

While Alfonso X might rightly be faulted for his song brutalizing men’s sexuality, in this song he at least recognizes benefits that men’s sexuality provides to women. Medieval authorities understood that husbands’ sexual obligation to their wives is vitally important. This song describes men’s sexuality as being capable of exercising demons from women. Moreover, men’s sexuality can heal St. Marcoul’s fire, a skin infection that produces a painful and dangerous red rash.[8] Why do benighted authorities today with acute gender discrimination persecute men’s sexuality and deprive men of any reproductive rights whatsoever?

Scholars have pondered the identity of Cádiz’s learned dean. Cádiz is a Spanish port city close to the strait of Gibraltar. Alfonso X retook Cádiz from Moorish control in 1262. In 1264, Cádiz’s dean, a senior church official ranking just below a bishop, was Rui Dias. He was one of the royal officials who carried out the redistribution of houses and lands (repartimiento) after Alfonso X retook the city Jerez from the Moors in the province of Cádiz in 1264. In 1267, Alfonso X dealt with fiscal problems in the church administration of Cádiz.[8] That may have motivated Alfonso to ridicule Rui Dias as learnedly devoted to illicit sexual activity.

Christian church officials were less devoted to bookish study than were Hebrew or Muslim scholarly officials. The word for dean, daian, could be interpreted as a transliteration of the Hebrew word dayán. A dayán was a scholar-judge of a rabbinical tribunal. A rabbinical scholar-judge devoted to studying erotic texts and having sex with Moorish women would be a figure of ridicule among Christian royal officials.[10] Such a song would convey a Christian sense of cultural superiority despite having less scholarly learning.

The dean of Cádiz might refer to an Islamic scholar-judge. Arabic texts were by far the leading source of erotically explicit works.[9] Compared to a Christian or a Jew, a Muslim is more likely to have a collection of Arabic erotic books. Moreover, the poem refers in a matter-of-fact way to the dean of Cádiz having casual sex with Moorish women. The Christian church official or a rabbinical scholar-judge having casual sex with Moorish women in thirteenth-century Andalusia would be regarded as outrageous and wildly implausible. An Islamic scholar-judge having causal sex with Moorish women is much closer to the realm of actual possibility.

Moreover, Cádiz is close to the Arabic term for a judge of an Islamic court, a qadi {قاضي}. Under Moorish rule from 711 to 1262, Cádiz was called Qādis. The “dean of Cádiz” may have been a humorous reference to a senior judge among the qadis.[11] The song declares “his books have all one needs to know” and “these are things that he can do / with his books like no one else.” Alfonso X satirizing the learning of an Islamic scholar could be interpreted as defensive humor relatively to Islamic / Arabic superiority in learning implicitly acknowledged in Alfonso’s extensive translation program.

None of these possible identifications of the dean of Cádiz addresses an interpretive problem in verse 2. That verse uses the word beger / berger, thought to be a toponym for Vejer de la Frontera in the province of Cádiz. Vejer, however, was repopulated with civilians only in 1288. Prior to that time, it was a Castilian castle outpost subject to frequent raids from Moors.[12] Alfonso X died in 1284. Many Arabic erotic books wouldn’t plausibly be found in Vejer prior to 1284.

A better reading of beger / berger could contribute to identifying the dean of Cádiz. In one of the most influential medieval works of men’s sexed protest, the brilliant, twelfth-century author Walter Map wrote:

Canius of Cádiz, a poet of a light and jovial wit, enjoyed the loves of many women. The grave and uxorious Livy of Carthage scolded him with these words: “You cannot share in our love of learning because you share yourself with many women.”

{ Canius a Gadibus, poeta facundie leuis et iocunde, reprehensus est a Liuio Peno, graui et uxorato historico, quod multarum gauderet amoribus, his uerbis: “Nostram philosophiam participare non poteris, dum a tot participaris” }[13]

With complex poetic rhetoric, Canius of Cádiz in response brought together love of women and love of learning:

The alterations of night and day make them happier, but a perpetual shadow is like Hell. So the first lilies of the spring’s sun delight with various temperatures if they enjoy winds both from the Southeast and from the Southwest. But a single blast of air from the South makes them fall over. Hence Mars broke the cords and reclines at the Heavenly banquet, while from that banquet the uxorious Vulcan is restrained by his long rope. Many threads bind more lightly than one chain. Love of learning is to me pleasure, but to you solace.

{ Vices noctium dies reddunt leciores, sed tenebrarum perpetuitas instar inferni est. Sic lilia primeua uerni solis deliciata teporibus uarietate tum Euronothi tum Zephiri leticia effusiore lasciuiunt, quibus uno spiritu fulmineus Libs occasum facit. Hinc Mars ruptis resticulis in mensa celesti recumbit conuiua superum, a qua uxorius Mulciber suo fune longe religatur. Sic leuius ligant multa fila quam una cathena, suntque michi a philosophia delicie, tibi solacia. }[14]

The perpetual shadow and the single blast of air from the South seem to figure a wife. The man who loves many women enjoys the freedom and variety of a Heavenly banquet. He gets from studying books similar pleasure. The married man suffers like the uxorious Vulcan and turns to learning for solace, like Cicero or some Christians studying the Bible. The dean of Cádiz similarly reconciled love of many women with love of learning.

Canius of Cádiz employed pastoral themes in bringing together love of women and love of learning. In the ancient Roman world, Cádiz was a well-known city called Gades. Canius of Cádiz apparently refers to Canius Rufus of Gades. He was an eminent Latin poet who flourished in the first century. Nothing has survived of his poetry, but he was described as always smiling.[15] Perhaps he wrote pastoral poetry similar to that of the man trobairitz Gavaudan. In Alfonso’s song, beger / berger might be read as a Galician-Portuguese analog to the Middle / Old French word berger / bergier, meaning “shepherd.” The dean of Cádiz might thus be reading books of the shepherd, alluding with a slant pun to Canius of Cádiz. The dean of Cádiz is a worthy follower of the smiling classical poet Canius of Gades.

Alfonso X the Learned deserves his name and his fame. With freedom of expression scarcely imaginable today, he drew upon the rich heritage of Hebrew, Arabic, and Latin literature to depict the fullness of life in thirteenth-century Iberia. That fullness of life should still be possible in lands of the free today.

I’ll never again be cheered
by the chirping
and delicate songs of birds
nor by love or great riches
nor by weapons (whose perils,
I confess,
have come to make me tremble),
but only by a seaworthy vessel
to carry me with all good speed
away from this land’s demon
heart, full of scorpions,
as my heart knows, being sore
from all their stinging poison.

{ Non me posso pagar tanto
do canto
das aves nen de seu son,
nen d’amor nen da misson
nen d’armas (ca ei espanto
por quanto
mui perigo[o]sas son),
come d’un bõo galeon
que mi alongue muit’aginha
deste demo da campinha
u os alacrães son,
ca dentro no coraçon
senti deles a espinha. }[16]

*  *  *  *  *

Read more:

Notes:

[1] Here’s an overview of translation under Alfonso X. Patrick (2015) provides detailed analysis of three works of translation: Kalilah wa Dimnah (Calila e Dimna), Sendebar, and Libro de los doze sabios {Book of the twelve wise men}. Attrell & Porrecam (2019) provides a scholarly edition and translation of Picatrix. On the Cantigas de Santa Maria, Ferreira (2016). In addition to the General Estoria, Alfonso also supervised the production of the influential History of Spain {Estoria de España}. On the close relation between these two histories, both written in Old Spanish, Fernández-Ordóñez (1999).

Alfonso’s General Estoria praised Ovid:

The pagan authors were all very wise and spoke about great things … and above all other authors, Ovid in his larger book.

{ Los auctores delos gentiles fueron muy sabios omnes e fablaron de grandes cosas … et sobre todos los otros auctores, Ouidio en el su Libro major }

Cited in Hexter (2002) p. 424 (translation modified slightly). Ovid’s larger book was his Metamorphoses. The General Estoria incorporated in translation eleven of the epistles from Ovid’s Heroides. Puerto Benito (2008).

The Cantigas de Santa Maria indicate Alfonso X’s ardent Christian piety:

Alfonso X, king of Castile and León, sings mightily of the pure love he feels for Mary, a love far exceeding the love possible with earth-bound ladies.

Snow (1990) p. 132. Alfonso chided other troubadours for not praising Mary, the mother of Jesus:

Tell me, oh troubadours:
the Lady of ladies,
why do you not praise Her?

If you know well your art,
she is through whom you have God:
why do you not praise Her?

{ Dized’, ai trobadores,
a Sennor das sennores,
porqué a non loades?

Se vos trobar sabedes,
a por que Deus avedes,
porqué a non loades? }

Alfonso X, Cantigas de Santa Maria 260, Galician-Portuguese text and English translation from Ferreira (2016) p. 325. Complete text of this cantiga; musical performance, without the poetry.

[2] Burns (1990a), Burns (1990b). Alfonso X’s epithet “el sabio” is often translated as “the Wise,” but Alfonso wasn’t wise as a political leader. Burns (1990b) p. 3.

[3] Alfonso X {Afonso X}, Galician-Portuguese text of Universo Cantigas 479 (B 481, V 64) (see also Cantigas Medievais Galego-Portuguesas), English translation benefiting from those of Lazar (1989) p. 269, Keller (1967) pp. 104-5, and the Galician paraphrase and glossary of Universo Cantigas. In parenthesis is the number of the cantiga in the song-book {cancioneiro} manuscripts B (Cancioneiro da Biblioteca Nacional) and V (Cancioneiro da Vaticana).

[4] Maria Pérez Balteira was a famous soldadeira. A soldadeira literally means a woman of soldiers’ camps. A soldadeira, like the singing slave-girls of the Islamic world, was often skilled in singing and dancing as well as in providing soldiers with sex in exchange for money or material goods. For more on Balteira, Alvar Ezquerra (1985) and Corral (2015). Balteira is regarded as so imporant that the Equality Commission {Comisión de Igualdade} of the Galician Cultural Council {Consello da Cultura Galega} recently published the texts of all songs referring to Balteira. Iconos (2014) celebrates Balteira for having strong, independent sexuality like that of Messalina and Empress Theodora.

[5] Lazar (1989) p. 269. Other such phrases were “to open a window in the ark” (to have sex with a virgin woman) and “there is good taste in the sciatic nerve” (the sciatic nerve, which is prohibited for consumption by Jewish law, was a euphemism for the penis). Id.

Afonso Lopes de Baião’s cantiga beginning, “Em Arouca ũa casa faria,” also uses construction as a metaphor for heterosexual intercourse. In this song, new wood apparently refers to a young nun warmly receptive to sex with the poetic voice:

Oh, dear friends, by Saint Mary,
if only I got new wood,
I now would build a house
and cover it and uncover it,
and turn it around if necessary,
and if the abbess would give me
new wood, I would do that with her.

{ E, meus amigos, par Santa Maria,
se madeira nova podess’haver,
log’esta casa iria fazer
e cobri-la e descobri-la ia,
e revolvê-la, se fosse mester;
e se mi a mi a abadessa der
madeira nova, esto lhi faria. }

“Em Arouca ũa casa faria,” stanza 3, Galician-Portuguese text (B 1471, V 1081) from Cantigas Medievais Galego-Portuguesas, English translation benefiting from that of Lazar (1989) p. 271 and Arias (2017) p. 91 (which provides an English paraphrase of the whole song). The first verse refers to a monastery at Arouca, Portugual. That apparently was the place where the sexual construction would occur.

[6] Alfonso X {Afonso X}, Galician-Portuguese text of Universo Cantigas 493 (B 495, V 78) (see also Cantigas Medievais Galego-Portuguesas), English translation benefiting from those of England (2017) p. 269 and Arias (2017) p. 108, and the Galician paraphrase and glossary of Universo Cantigas. The Galician-Portuguese text is substantially identical to the reading of Ferreiro (2010), except for v. 23. In that verse, Ferreiro follows V (Cancioneiro da Vaticana), while Universo Cantigas follows B (Cancioneiro da Biblioteca Nacional).

Some scholars assert that Domingas Eanes’s wound is literally venereal disease. E.g. Lazar (1989) p. 270, and the note to v. 28 in Cantigas Medievais Galego-Portuguesas. In its allegorical erotic context, the “wound” seems to me to represent both some tearing of Domingas Eanes’s hymen and her subsequent eagerness to have heterosexual intercourse. Medieval literature of men’s sexed protest frequently addressed men’s suffering under women’s high sexual demands. With respect to Iberian literature of men’s sexed protest, Morán (2018) pp. 387-90.

Martial metaphors are regrettably common in describing heterosexual intercourse. Another song uses competitive crossbow sport shooting as a metaphor for sex with Maria Pérez Balteira. She’s described as a cunning competitor who knows a lot and extracts semen and money from men — she cleaned out the undergarment bag of a man who shot with her. See Pero Garcia de Ambroa, “The crossbowmen of this frontier {Os beesteiros daquesta fronteira}” (manuscript B 1574).

Intercultural sexual intercourse interacted with intercultural commercial intercourse. In one song, the Christian prostitute Maior Garcia has sex with a Jew and a Muslim. See João Baveca, “I saw today an enraged squire {Um escudeiro vi hoj’arrufado}” (manuscripts B 1454, V 1064). Lirica Medievale Romanza offers the song with Italian translation.

[7] Alfonso X {Afonso X}, Galician-Portuguese text of Universo Cantigas 491 (B 493, V 76) (see also Cantigas Medievais Galego-Portuguesas), English translation from Zenith (1995) pp. 105, 107 (with changes discussed subsequently). Other English translations are Keller (1967) p. 107 and Arias (2017) p. 108, and the Galician paraphrase and glossary of Universo Cantigas.

Verse 9 hasn’t been transmitted well. Zenith has the reading “macar no leito muitas [el ouver],” and translates “a number of women in his bed.” Zenith (1995) pp. 104-5. Arias has “macar na Lei muitas [vezes no quer]” and translates “although he many times does not want to read the Law (Bible), as far as I know”. Arias (2017) pp. 102-3. Keller has “ca tam mal e muyt’a fee leer” and translates “for by my faith, he, through the books”. Keller (1967) pp. 107-8. I provide an English translation of v. 9 for the text of Universo Cantigas.

[8] St. Marcoul’s fire {fogo que de San Marçal} is also known as St. Anthony’s fire (which Zenith uses in his translation), St. Francis’s fire, and the “holy fire {ignis sacer}.” These terms probably refer to skin infections now medically known as ergotism and erysipelas. These highly communicable skin infections were a type of plague in medieval Europe. They killed thousands of persons in France in the twelfth century. Zenith (1995) p. 254 (note to song 49, “Ao daian de Calez eu achei”) and Morros (1995).

[8] D’Agostino (2012), Sodré (2013). The twelfth-century Catalan man trobairitz Guilhem de Berguedan vigorously satirized a fornicating priest:

The young woman,
panting and moaning,
who is reclining under cleric Roger,
is all in motion
and so much at ease
feeling her cunt’s sweetness
that with her urine
she makes a potion,
and her cunt is without rest or truce.
In this city of Poitiers
she broke her back screwing.

{ La mesquina
Flaira e grina,
Que maistre Rogier enclina,
Tan festina
E s’aisina
Tro sent la douçor conina;
De s’orina
Fai mezina,
E’l con non cessa ni fina,
Qu’en la ciutat peitavina
Se rompèt fotent l’esquina. }

Guilhem de Berguedan, “A deceiver {Un trichaire}” (PC 210,22), vv. 23-33 (stanza 3), Old Occitan text from Corpus des Troubadours (see also Rialto), English translation from Lazar (1989) p. 264 (modified slightly to follow the Old Occitan more closely).

This cleric Roger reportedly did a remarkable amount of sexual work in a week:

A Christian woman
under the cover
he screwed forty times a week.

{ Crestïana
Fot sotz vana
Quaranta vetz la setmana. }

“Un trichaire” vv. 48-50, sourced as above. That record of sexual work, while impressive, is less than twice the one-day record of Charlemagne’s peer Oliver.

Alfonso X almost surely knew Guilhem de Berguedan’s “Un trichaire.” In his song “O genete,” Universo Cantigas 489 (B 491, V 74), Alfonso chided his knights for fleeing from Moorish knights. Alfonso apparently wrote “O genete” as a contrafactum to “Un trichaire.”

[9] The eminent, influential ninth-century Arabic scholar al-Jahiz referred to the sexual school of the great woman scholar Al-Alfiya. She apparently wrote the Arabic text Of the penis and the vulva {Alfiyya wa-shalfiyya}. That text probably drew upon Indian literature (such as the Kamasutra) and Persian learning. Late in the eleventh century, Constantine the African brought to Salerno, Italy, many Arabic medical manuscripts. These included texts on love and sex. They may well have included a version of Alfiyya wa-shalfiyya. Drawing upon such Arabic texts, Constantine the African wrote in Latin the Book of Sexual Intercourse {Liber de coitu}. Al-Alfiya and Liber de coitu seem to have influenced the fifteenth-century Catalan work Mirror of Fucking {Speculum al foderi}. Compared to these works, ibn Hazm’s early eleventh-century Arabic poem Ring of the Dove {طوق الحمامة / Ṭawq al-Ḥamāmah} is much less sexually explicit.

[10] D’Agostino (2012), pp. 290-1, insightfully put forward this reading.

[11] Qādis apparently was an Arabic transliteration of Gades, the Roman name for Cádiz.

[12] For identification of beger as a toponym for Vejer de la Frontera, Ferreiro (2014) pp. 181-5. In v. 2, V (Cancioneiro da Vaticana) has beger, while B (Cancioneiro da Biblioteca Nacional) has berger. Universo Cantigas reads in B the r in berger as being canceled with a vertical line. See Note 1 here. Cantigas Medievais Galego-Portuguesas reads from B simply berger and puts that forward as the better text. On Vejer de la Frontera being a castle outpost repopulated (with Spanish civilians) only in 1288, O’Callaghan (2011) pp. 6, 51, 56.

[13] Walter Map {Gualterus Map}, On Courtiers’ Trifles {De nugis curialium} 4.3, Latin text from James, Brooke & Mynors (1983) p. 300, my English translation, benefiting from that of id. No Livy of Carthage is known to exist, nor is this conversation elsewhere documented. Livy of Carthage apparently is a textual corruption arising from “Peno” (of Carthage) being read for “Aponi” (Bagni d’Albano near Padua) in Martial, Epigrams 1.61.3-9. Id. p. 301, n. 4.

The Roman historian Titus Livius (Livy) could fairly be regarded as a grave and uxorious man. See, e.g. Livy’s account of the Bacchanalia Affair of 186 BGC in Livy’s History 39.8-19. Nonetheless, this conversation between Livy and Canius of Gades almost surely is Map’s creative fiction. Subsequent quotes from this conversation are similarly sourced from De nugis curialium 4.3.

In Walter Map’s account of the conversation of Livy and Canius of Gades, Livy continues:

Tityus cannot love Juno when many vultures tear his liver into many pieces.

{ non enim eo iecore Iunonem amat Ticius quod multi uultures in multa diuellunt. }

After being killed, Tityus (Tityos) was stretched out and bound to the ground in the underworld. Two vultures continually tore at his liver. Homer, Odyssey 11.576. In the ancient Mediterranean world, the liver was thought to be the source of passions. Juno, the Roman goddess of marriage, was extremely jealous of her husband Jove’s strong, independent sexuality. Walter Map seems to be suggesting that a man must have undivided passion to be worthy of marriage.

Criminal justice systems have long been highly biased towards penal punishment of men. Leto’s children Artemis and/or Apollo reportedly killed Tityos for attempting to rape Leto. Some ancient sources identify Tityos’s mother Elara as Leto. Moreover, ancient sources also indicate that Juno, a very powerful goddess, commanded Tityos to rape Leto because Juno was angry that Leto had sex with Jove, Juno’s husband. Here’s a review of ancient sources concerning Tityus. What actually happened in this myth matters less for real social justice than recognizing that women play a significant role in inciting men to violence, violence mainly directed at other men.

[14] Libs is glossed as auster {south wind} in the manuscript. James, Brooke & Mynors (1983) p. 300, note v. In Map’s Latin text, Vulcan is called Mulciber {the softener}. That epithet adds irony to Vulcan’s hard marital conditions.

Canius of Gades began his response to Livy with these words of wisdom:

If ever I fall, I get up more cautiously. If for a moment I sink, I resume breathing more happily.

{ Si quando labor, resurgo caucior; si paululum opprimor, alacrius resumo aerem. }

Enjoying the loves of many women is dangerous for men. Men pursuing such a life course must be resilient.

[15] Ancient Roman literature includes references to Gades {Cádiz} and Canius of Gades. Listing eminent literary figures, Martial declares: “merry Gades rejoices in her Canius {gaudent iocosae Canio suo Gades}.” Martial, Epigrams 1.61.9. This Canius is called Canius Rufus {Canius the Red-Head}. He spent time in Tarentum in Rome’s Campus Martius. He seems to have been a learned man of leasure. What is he doing in Rome? “He’s laughing {ridet}.” Martial, Epigrams 3.20. Canius may have playfully conversed in Rome with Emperor Caligula (reigned 37 to 41 GC). Boethius, The Consolation of Philosophy {De consolatione philosophiae} 1.95-9. On the dancing girls of Gades and pleasures in Gades, Fear (1991).

[16] Alfonso X {Afonso X}, Galician-Portuguese text of Universo Cantigas 478 (B 480, V 63) (see also Cantigas Medievais Galego-Portuguesas) stanza 1, English translation from Zenith (1995) p. 93. Here’s a recorded performance of this song. On interpretations of it, Hart (1999).

[images] (1) Portrait of Alfonso X the Learned. From an illuminated manuscript of The Book of Games {Libro de los juegos} translated from Arabic in 1283. Via Wikimedia Commons. (2) Peasant life in February. At the bottom left of the composition, peasants sit by a fire and warm their genitals, while in the upper right, a man in tight underwear chops down a tree in the cold. The composition apparently associates generation with the sun’s fire and anticipates seasonal warming. Painted about 1415 by Paul Limbourg. Detail from folio 2v of Très Riches Heures du duc de Berry, Musée Condé (Chantilly, France), MS 65. Via Wikimedia Commons. (3) Video recording of song “Maria Balteira” from A Quenlla’s album Na Boca Unha Cantiga, vol. II (1998). Via YouTube.

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