Infinite Optimism 16

INFINITE OPTIMISM: FRIEDRICH J. BERTUCH’S PIONEERING TRANSLATION (1775-77) OF DON QUIXOTE by CANDACE MARY BEUTELL GARDNER DISSERTATION Submitted to the Graduate School of Wayne State University, Detroit, Michigan in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY 2006 MAJOR: MODERN LANGUAGES (German)

Approved by: ______________________________ Advisor Date ______________________________ ______________________________ ______________________________

© COPYRIGHT BY CANDACE MARY BEUTELL GARDNER 2006 All Rights Reserved

DEDICATION

Meinem Doktorvater Professor Guy Stern dankbar gewidmet

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Many people and institutions have, in their own unique way, played an important role in my attaining this degree. I will be eternally grateful to Dr. Robert Kyes, my former professor at the University of Michigan, for encouraging me to pursue my dream; to Dr. Donald Haase, Chair of the Department of German and Slavic Studies, for giving me the opportunity to do so; and to Wayne State University for the financial assistance which made it possible. I also wish to thank the members of my dissertation committee for their valuable time, continual support, and helpful suggestions. In addition to Dr. Haase, they are Dr. Suzanne Hilgendorf and Dr. Donald Schurlknight. Special thanks go to Dr. Guy Stern, my Doktorvater, for being my polestar, always ready to lead me in the right direction when my research overwhelmed me and my goal seemed distant.

Ms. Amanda

Rayha, the department’s administrative assistant, also provided me with invaluable assistance in communicating with my committee members. Since so many of my sources date from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries and are, therefore, difficult to find, I am also most grateful for the assistance given me by the Rare Book Rooms/Special Collections of the following libraries: Ohio State University, the University of Wisconsin, the University of Chicago, the University of Michigan, Eastern Michigan University, the University of Arizona, Indiana University, Purdue University, the University of Texas-Austin, Texas A & M, and the Library of Congress.

Wayne State’s InterlibraryLoan

Program also helped me immensely by procuring important books and microfiches from participating universities both in the United States and Germany. iii

In addition to these American libraries, archives in Germany granted me access to their collections.

Therefore, I would especially like to thank the

Staatsbibliothek and Kupferstichkabinett in Berlin, the Goethe- und Schiller-archiv, Hauptstaatsarchiv and the Anna Amalia Studienzentrum in Weimar, and the University of Leipzig’s library I would also like to express my most heartfelt thanks to Mr. Jeffery Slabaugh, a former teaching colleague, for the many hours he patiently spent both showing me how to use my computer more creatively and helping me solve technical difficulties. Finally, I wish to acknowledge my husband Richard, the best research assistant I could have had, for his unwavering support and help without which I could not have made this four-year journey.

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PREFACE I first discovered Don Quixote in the 1960’s while a student at the University of Michigan. Later, as a teacher, I regularly shared favorite passages from this remarkable work with my students. Now, this dissertation has enabled me to renew my acquaintance with the Knight of the Sad Countenance and his faithful squire Sancho Panza, and to refresh my memory of their remarkable adventures. At first, my task seemed quite straightforward: examine the first relatively complete German translation of Don Quixote done from the original Spanish, compare the author’s efforts with the original, and also include sufficient background information so as to place the translation in the proper perspective. The depth of this project, however, grew exponentially with each source I read, since one book’s bibliography led to twenty or thirty more references, culminating in my research in underutilized archives. After nine months of locating, reading, and absorbing the information contained in the various books, reviews, articles, etc., I then set about organizing the information gleaned from them. Keeping in mind the parameters my advisor, Professor Guy Stern, and I placed on the project, I decided to include biographies of Bertuch and of the famous illustrator Chodowiecki, whose detailed drawings grace Bertuch’s editions. After giving details about their birth and childhood, in general I limit my comments to their lives as they relate to their work on the Quixote. In addition, I have also written a chapter on the reception of the Quixote in Germany in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries in order to provide the

v

reader with sufficient background information to make the transition from the early sixteenth-century original to the late eighteenth-century edition of the German translation discussed, and one on the Romantics’ view of the novel, which differed substantially from Bertuch’s. The majority of the passages I quote this work are in German, Spanish and French.

Since unfamiliarity with these languages might hinder a reader’s

understanding of my findings, I provide my own translations, placed in brackets, immediately after each quotation. Thus, in a small way, I learned to appreciate even more Bertuch’s efforts. It is a true, and humbling, challenge to attempt to render an author’s words into another language accurately and not have the resulting passages sound awkward or forced.

I also use Edith Grossman’s

respected translation, published in 2003, to render all quotes from Cervantes’s work into English, and John E. Keller and Alberta Wilson Server’s 1980 translation to render into English all quotes from Avellaneda’s engraftment upon Don Quixote Part I. The primary texts I used in this study are as follows: for Cervantes’s work, Francisco Rico’s two-volume, critical edition, published in 1998 under the auspices of the Instituto Cervantes in Barcelona and Friedrich Justin Bertuch’s six-volume first edition, published in 1775-77 in Weimar; for Avellaneda’s 1614 Don Quixote II, I used a 1905 facsimile reissue published under the aegis of the Academia Española. The reader will find complete bibliographical information regarding these texts at the end of this work. As a matter of interest, I have also included copies of the title pages of Cervantes’s 1605 and 1615 editions and all of Bertuch’s editions. vi

In September 2005 I was fortunate enough to be able to visit the magnificent Goethe- und Schiller-archiv in Weimar and locate several letters exchanged between Bertuch and Chodowiecki in which they discuss the artist’s illustrations for Bertuch’s translation. Since I feel that readers can get a better feeling for these two men through their own words rather than just a glimpse of them from my two- or three-sentence summary of their frequent exchanges, I have included somewhat longer quotes than usual from these letters, with all of their grammatical and orthographical irregularities, in the chapter on Chodowiecki. I supplement these letters with other pertinent ones found in Daniel Chodowiecki: Briefwechsel zwischen ihm und seinen Zeitgenossen, edited by Charlotte Steinbrucker. This book contains letters which lie in private hands and are, therefore, inaccessible to me. In addition to visiting the archives in Weimar, I also visited that city’s Herder Church, where Bertuch was baptized, and was fortunate to see the church book in which his 1747 baptism and 1822 death are recorded.

I also walked down

Bertuch Street and strolled through Bertuch Garden where I visited the author’s grave.

Furthermore, through most serendipitous circumstances, I was given a

personal tour of Bertuch’s imposing house, one which Schiller called the most elegant in Weimar. This building was turned into the city’s museum in 1954 but has been closed the last two years due to financial difficulties. I also visited the nearby town of Jena, whose university Bertuch attended. The third city on my Don Quixote “pilgrimage” was Berlin, the home of Chodowiecki, whose grave I visited in the French Huguenots’ cemetery, Dorotheenstädtischen Friedhof. Furthermore, I was given the opportunity at that vii

city’s famous Kupferstichkabinett [Copper Engraving Museum] to examine this remarkable artist’s Don Quixote illustrations for both the 1771 Almanac généalogique and Bertuch’s 1775 and 1780 translations. By visiting these three cities I was able not only to further my research but also to gain a better understanding of and appreciation for both of these men. Writing this dissertation has been an interesting and challenging journey. Now that it is finished, it is my sincere hope that those who read it will gain a greater knowledge of the reception of Don Quixote in Europe and Germany in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries and a better appreciation for the challenging art of translation, as well as a deeper understanding of the connection linking Bertuch’s life and that of the illustrator to this literary masterpiece. I feel this goal, if achieved, will enhance readers’ enjoyment of the text the next time they encounter the Knight of the Sad Countenance, his loyal companion Sancho Panza and their fantastic adventures.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS Chapter

Page

DEDICATION......................................................................................................ii ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.....................................................................................iii PREFACE...........................................................................................................v LIST OF FIGURES.............................................................................................x CHAPTERS CHAPTER 1 – The Reception of Don Quixote in Germany in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries..........................3 CHAPTER 2 – Friedrich Justin Bertuch................................................25 CHAPTER 3 – Bertuch’s Translation....................................................57 CHAPTER 4 – Daniel Nikolaus Chodowiecki......................................147 CHAPTER 5 – Epilogue ………………………………………………….181 BIBLIOGRAPHY.............................................................................................194 ABSTRACT.....................................................................................................218 AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL STATEMENT............................................................220

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LIST OF FIGURES FIGURE

PAGE

Figure 1 Title Page from Cervantes’s 1605 Edition .....................................…1 Figure 2 Title Page from Cervantes’s 1615 Edition………………………..….…2 Figure 3 Frontispiece from Bastel von der Sohle’s 1648 Edition…………….. 19 Figure 4 Title Page from Betuch’s 1775 Edition……………………………. .…43 Figure 5 Title Page from Bertuch’s 1780 (Illustrated) Edition………………....45 Figure 6 Title Page from Bertuch’s 1780 (Unillustrated) Edition……………...45 Figure 7 Title Page from Bertuch’s 1798 Edition…………………………….....46 Figure 8 “Il prend de ces Brebis le timide Escadron Pour des Géants conduits par Alifanfaron”……………………......159 Figure 9 “Don Quixote ficht im Traume in seiner Kammer gegen Bockshäute voll Wein, die er für Riesen hält.”……………............. 168

x

1

(Fig. 1. Title page from Cervantes’s 1605 Part I.)

2

(Fig. 2. Title page from Cervantes’s 1615 Part II.)

3 CHAPTER 1 THE RECEPTION OF DON QUIXOTE IN GERMANY IN THE SEVENTEENTH AND EIGHTEENTH CENTURIES In 1605, when Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra (1547-1616) published the first part of his innovative novel Don Quixote, he never could have anticipated the reception it would receive, both at home and abroad. The fact that this groundbreaking work was reissued five times in Spain in the first year alone is evidence of the resounding success his novel enjoyed in his native country (Melz 301). When the author delayed writing his much-anticipated continuation, the reading public, eager for the novel’s sequel, rejoiced when Alonso de Avellaneda1 published his own Part II in 1614. Cervantes, angered but also motivated by Avellaneda’s audacity, completed his sequel the following year.

Today, four

hundred years later, Don Quixote continues to be the second most read book after the Bible (“News” par. 3); and in 2002, it was voted “the best work of fiction in the world” by “one hundred major writers from fifty-four countries” (Grossman, Don Quixote 3). Considered the first modern novel, Don Quixote’s popularity is due, in large part, to the fact that it offers something for everybody. Like Alice in Wonderland and Gulliver’s Travels, it can be read at different levels, enjoyed as a humorous tale, a biting satire, or a work of great literary depth. For its first 150 years, people simply enjoyed reading about the comical, farcical adventures entered into by the Knight of the Sad Countenance and his trusting and faithful squire Sancho Panza. Seen as a whimsical tale, who could not find it funny when the hero mistook windmills for giants, a barber’s basin for a

4 revered helmet, or a coarse and illiterate farm girl for the fair and graceful damsel Dulcinea de Toboso? Spanish reproductions of the novel outside of Spain appeared in other European countries not long after its first publication: in Brussels in 1607, in Milan in 1620, and in Antwerp in 1673. It is believed that other European nations were also familiar with this work not long after its first appearance, since “Spuren von Bekanntschaft mit dem Meisterroman lassen sich in Frankreich bis 1608, in England vielleicht schon bis 1607 zurückfolgen” [“Indications of familiarity with the masterpiece can be traced back to 1608 in France, and perhaps even to 1607 in England”] (Neumann 153). Despite this familiarity with and love for Cervantes’s protagonists, however, it took seven years before non-Spanish-speaking Europeans could enjoy the work in their native tongues. The very first translation of the novel was done by England’s Thomas Shelton,2 who published his Part I in 1612 and Part II in 1620. Renditions in other languages soon followed: César Oudin’s3 translation of Part I appeared in France in 1614, and his fellow countryman François de Rosset’s (1570-1630) translation of Part II was published in 1618. In addition to these English and French editions, Lorenzo Franciosini’s4 Italian version appeared four years later, in 1622, and Lambert van den Bos’s5 translation was published in the Netherlands in 1657. Germans were equally as enthusiastic about the humorous novel and its madcap heroes as their fellow Europeans. Wilhelm Feldmann comments on this in his 1902 dissertation, writing that “Dies Werk war in Deutschland seit seinem Erscheinen sehr beachtet worden” [“In Germany people took close notice of this

5 work ever since its first appearance”] (71).

The first evidence of familiarity with

the novel’s characters, and also proof that the novel was perceived as a humorous work, occurred in 1613 when figures representing Don Quixote and Sancho Panza appeared at a masquerade celebrating the marriage of Friedrich V of the Palatinate and Elizabeth Stuart of England (Fischer 331). “As part of the entertainment, Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, in archaic German, challenge the assembled guests to admit that Dulcinea is the most beautiful woman in the world; the audience must have been sufficiently familiar with the story to appreciate the dramatization of this episode” (Bergel 307). In that same year, in Dessau, the first known illustrations of the novel’s main characters appeared on a cartel or poster which had been drawn up for the town’s bucket race. These seven drawings, by Andreas Bretschneider (1578-1640?), further demonstrate the farcical interpretation of the novel then prevalent (Fischer 331). In a 1990 article on these illustrations, which appeared in the journal Cervantes, A. G. Lo Ré writes that Bretschneider’s drawings were then published a year later “in a book by Tobias Hübner entitled Cartel, Auffzuge, Vers und Abrisse” [Cartels, Parades, Poetry and Outlines]. Lo Ré describes the illustrations as “simply clownish figures of fun and derision as seen in scenes of the Italian Commedia dell’Arte, to be laughed at and even taunted by merry onlookers” (“A New First” 96). Three years later, in 1617, Germans had their first opportunity to read a portion of Cervantes’s work in their native tongue with the publication of a translation of “El Curioso Impertinente” [“The Man Who Was Recklessly Curious” or “The Impertinent Snoop”], one of the many novellas Cervantes included in his novel. As would be the case for all but two translations, one by Pahsch Bastel

6 von der Sohle6 in the mid-seventeenth century, the other by Friedrich Justin Bertuch in the late eighteenth century, the anonymous translator based his work on a French rendition:

“Der unbekannte Übersetzer gab ihr den Namen

‘Unzeitiger Fürwitz’ und benutzte als Vorlage die französische Übersetzung des Baudouin aus dem Jahre 1608” [“The unknown translator gave it the title ‘Inopportune Curiosity’ and used as his model Baudoin’s 1608 French translation”7] (T. Berger 9).

However, this work is not a faithful rendition of

Cervantes’s story. Instead, “Diese Übersetzung ist zum Teil verstümmelt, da die Reden der Leonela und des Lotario beträchtlich verkürzt sind und die Verse des Tansillo ganz fort blieben.

Einige Stellen hat der Übersetzer überhaupt nicht

verstanden” [“This translation is garbled in places since Leonela and Lotario’s conversations are considerably abridged and Tansillo’s poetry is completely omitted. The translator did not understand some passages at all”] (T. Berger 910). In 16488 Bastel von der Sohle published a longer translation, one covering the novel’s first 22½ chapters, because he “considered it a highly entertaining story which should be available to a wider public” (Melz 308). The translator was obviously familiar with both Shelton’s and Oudin’s works since he mentions them both in the book’s preface (10-11). However, it is not believed that he used either one in his rendition, which is entitled Juncker Harnisch aus Fleckenland [Sir Armor from the Land of Spots] – the author’s literal translation into German of the Spanish title. Instead, it is obvious that Bastel von der Sohle worked directly from the original Spanish, since in his preface he also explains the difficulties he encountered in translating Spanish words (agaçan, cavallerizo, Quixote) and

7 proverbs (14-15). The translating mistakes he does make – using Base [cousin] for sobrina [niece], Ohmb [uncle] for primo [male cousin], and rendering maligno [scoundrel] with the proper noun Maglimo – would seem to give further proof that he did not use another language’s translation in his effort, but instead relied on his knowledge of Spanish. The translator also demonstrates his familiarity with the customs and people of Spain when he correctly translates Potro de Cordova as Diebsbrunnenplatz zu Corduba [Thieves’ Well Square] “because he knows of the ill-famed quarter of Córdoba” (Melz 313). As happened with the translation of “El curioso impertinente,” however, this first German translation, although thoroughly enjoyable, is not a faithful one. Besides covering only 1/7 of the work’s 126 chapters, the book does not contain the novel’s dedication or any of its introductory poems, it numbers chapters slightly differently, and even eliminates some. These are changes which Bastel von der Sohle announces to his readers in the preface: “Und dannenhero hat sichs nothwendig begaben / daß ich nicht allein in der Zahl der Capitel etwas andere Ordnung halten / sondern auch die kleinere in gantze Haupttheil beschehene Eintheilung beyseit setzen müssen” [“And it so happens that I have not only followed a different order in the numbering of chapters, but I have also had to omit shorter sections of the work”] (18-19). For example, one of these changes occurs when the author divides Chapter 6 into two; therefore, his succeeding chapter numbers differ from Cervantes’s. In addition to renumbering chapters and omitting some shorter passages, the translator excludes longer parts of the novel which, in his opinion, do not

8 belong since they do not further the story. The translator explains the reasons for doing so in his preface also: Schlißlichen hab ich dieses zur Nachricht beym Eingang erinnern sollen: daß / was zu der eigentlichen Geschichte unsers Ritters nicht gehörig / derogleichen dann sehr viel Gesänge / Reime und weitläufige große vieler Bletter und Bogen lange Geschichte und Mährlein bey diesem Werck zubefinden / ich zu verdolmetschen mit fleiß unterlassen: … weiln sie zuweilen langweilig / der eigentlichen Hauptgeschicht nichts geben oder nehmen / den begierigen Leser allzulange von dem rechten Hauptwerck uffhalten unnd doch keine sonderliche oder bey weitern der rechten Geschicht night gleich Ergetzung bringen… . [Finally, I should mention the following right at the start: that whatever does not pertain to the tales of our knight – such as the many songs, rhymes and long-winded, pages- and pageslong stories and tales which are to be found in this work – I intentionally refrain from translating: … because they are at times boring; do not contribute to the main story; keep the eager reader from the main work and, therefore, bring no special or similar delight by far to the real story… .] (18) The pages- and pages-long story Bastel von der Sohle is referring to is Chapter 12, which recounts the story of Grisóstomo and Marcela, one of the many novellas Cervantes included in Part I. Dropping this chapter and also the majority of Chapter 14 forced the author to eliminate not only any references made in later chapters to these passages but also to rename Chapter 13, since Cervantes’s original title is “Donde se da fin al cuento de la pastora Marcela, con otros sucesos” [“In which the tale of the shepherdess Marcela is concluded, and other events are related”].

Fortunately, the author was able to amend Cervantes’s

sentences so that the necessary transitions are quite smooth. Bastel von der Sohle adds one final, and revealing, reason to his explanation of his editorial efforts: “… auch / weiln gleichwol des Narrwercks

9 einsten ein Ende gemacht werden muß” [“… also … because, nonetheless, one has to bring this foolish work to an end at some point”] (18). It is obvious from this last statement “daß der Übersetzer in den Geist des Werkes nicht eindrang; wie er auch mit ‘Narrenwerk’ andeutete, war für ihn Cervantes nur der witzige Spassmacher” [“that the translator never grasped the essence of the work. As he indicated by using the term ‘foolish work,’ Cervantes was only an amusing jokester to him”] (T. Berger 11). It would be another one hundred years before this attitude changed in Germany. Bastel von der Sohle’s translation ends rather abruptly, in the middle of Part I’s Chapter 23. Although in his preface he suggests the other chapters would be published at a later date – “… auch hierdurch mir anlaß geben wird / die noch ubrigen drey Theil gleicher gestalt ehistes herauß zugeben” [… this will also give me the opportunity to publish, as soon as possible, the three remaining parts in the same [[abridged]] form] – this was never done (19). Despite the work’s being an incomplete rendition, however, his translation was quite popular. In an article in which he evaluates the translator’s efforts, Christian Melz writes: There can be no doubt that Juncker Harnisch was widely read and well liked throughout the seventeenth century. In the foreword to the Hausvater of 1650, Johann Rist9 praises the translation and expresses the hope that the rest of it may soon be published… . The fact that the publisher thought it advisable to reprint the fragment twenty years later also speaks for its popularity. (303-04) In 1683, fourteen years after the 1669 reissue of Bastel von der Sohle’s work, another translation appeared in Germany.

Entitled Don Qvixote Von

Mancha abentheurliche Geschichte [Don Quixote of la Mancha’s Adventurous

10 Story], it was based not on the Spanish original but on the 1677-78 French translation by François Filleau de St. Martin (16??-1695). The translator, noted simply as J. R. B., did not have a favorable opinion of Juncker Harnisch. In his preface, he scorns it as an incomplete and mutilated version: … ist unbekannt, daß dieses Buch erstlich in Spanischer Sprach verfasst, und nachgehends in die Frantzösische, Engelische u. niemalen aber in die Teutsche übersetzt worden; Dann dasjenige was hievon zu Franckfurt am Mayn außgegangen mag sich nicht auff den siebenden Theil der ganzen Geschichte erstrecken, in welchem noch über das nach des Vbersetzers belieben, viel Sachen theils gar außgelassen, theils gestimmelt worden. [… [[people]] are unaware that this book, which was first published in Spanish and then in French, English, etc., has never been translated into German, because the one which was done in Frankfurt am Main does not even cover one-seventh of the whole story and, moreover, depending on the translator’s whim, many sections of it are either completely omitted or abridged.] However, despite J. R. B.’s beliefs to the contrary, his translation also has its weaknesses. Tjard Berger discusses the writer’s shortcomings in his 1908 dissertation entitled Don Quixote in Deutschland und sein Einfluss auf dem deutschen Roman [Don Quixote in Germany and Its Influence on the German Novel]: Obgleich er die Mängel der Bastel’schen Übertragung in dieser Weise aufzählt und selbst noch seine Übersetzung lobt, hat er seine Sache in Wirklichkeit nicht besser, sondern schlechter gemacht als sein Vorgänger. Er verschmilzt in derselben Weise wie Bastel mehrere Kapitel zu einem einzigen und die berufene ‘Zierlichkeit’ hat er nicht erreicht, vielmehr zeigt er oft grosse Ungeschicklichkeit im Ausdruck und übersetzt viel zu frei. [Although he enumerates the shortcomings of Bastel’s translation and even praises his own rendition, in reality he did a worse job than his predecessor, not a better one. He merges several chapters into a single one the same way Bastel did, and he did not

11 achieve a competent ‘delicateness’; rather, he often demonstrates great ineptitude in his expressions and translates much too freely.] (14) Another translation appeared only a few years later. In 1696 Der Spannische Waghalß: Oder des von Liebe bezauberten Ritters Don Quixott von Quixada Gantz Neue Ausschweiffung auf seiner Weissen Rosinannta [The Spanish Rash One: or The All New Wild Adventures of the Lovestruck Knight Don Quixote of Quixada on His White Rocinante] was published in Nürnberg. However, not much mention is made of this version in scholarly works since its unknown author did not attempt to translate Cervantes’s novel on his own; instead, he simply translated one of Filleau de St. Martin’s earlier French renditions into German (Goedeke 3: 246). It would be several years before anyone again took on the challenge of translating Don Quixote. In 1734, not one but two German translations were published in Leipzig. One work was translated by an anonymous author, the other by a Sekretär Wolf, sometimes identified as Georg Christian Wolf.10 The anonymous work, printed by Caspar Fritsch, a well-known Leipzig publisher, is entitled Des berühmten Ritters, Don Quixote von Mancha, Lustige und sinnreiche Geschichte [The Amusing and Useful Story of the Famous Knight, Don Quixote of la Mancha]. In his preface its author informs readers that his translation is based on a French version: “Bei gegenwärtiger Übersetzung ist man der französischen des M. Arnault gefolgt” [“This translation follows the French translation of M. Arnault”11]. Relatively successful, this edition would be reissued in 1753, and a revised edition appeared in Leipzig in 1767.

12 Sekretär Wolf’s12 rendition, similar to J. R. B.’s 1683 version, is also based on Filleau de St. Martin’s translation. Published in a work entitled Angenehmes Passe-Tems durch welches zwey Freund einander mit nützlichen und lustigen Discursen vergnügen [Pleasant Pastime through Which Two Friends Amuse Each Other with Useful and Amusing Discourses], this abridged version of Don Quixote’s adventures is related in a conversation between two men, Heraldo and Fernando (T. Berger 23-24; Schwering 502). In the preface to this work, its editor explains that he is offering readers a new translation because copies of the 1683 rendition are no longer available: “… ist er, ungeachtet die Übersetzung schlecht gerathen war, in keinem Buchladen mehr verhanden, weil alle Exemplarien abgegangen sind” [“… even though the [[earlier]] translation turned out poorly, copies are no longer available in bookstores because they are all sold out”] (Fassmann 3). The reception of these two translations in Germany shows a curious and significant bifurcation. Both editions appear to have been more successful with less-schooled German readers than with those who were educated. The latter, disdaining what they considered unsophisticated translations, preferred to read the work in French, a language with which they were quite familiar (T. Berger 25). They had many options since French translations of Cervantes’s novel appeared in 1677-79, 1693-98 and 1713-22. These discerning readers also had access to Alain René Le Sage’s13 1704 rendition of Avellaneda’s apocryphal Don Quixote II, which would be reprinted in 1716 and again in 1741.

Thus, “Es ist leicht

ersichtlich, dass durch diesen französischen Import die Kenntnis des Don Quixote

13 ausserordentlich gefördert war” [“It is quite apparent that this French import contributed greatly to knowledge of Don Quixote”] (T. Berger 24-25). All of these translations emphasized the novel’s humor. Even 150 years after its first publication, “… Don Quixote is mainly a book of entertainment and amusement…” (Bergel 308).

However, despite the success of these earlier

renditions, Auf die Dauer genügten indessen weder die französischen noch die deutschen Übersetzungen infolge ihrer Minderwertigkeit und so war eine mustergiltige deutsche Übertragung des spanischen Romans aus dem Urtext bei der wachsenden Beliebtheit desselben ein dringendes Bedürfnis geworden, dem erst 1775 durch Bertuchs Übersetzung abgeholfen wurde. [In the long run neither the French nor the German translations were sufficient because of their low quality and therefore, due to the work’s growing popularity, an exemplary German translation of the Spanish novel from the original became a pressing need, one which Bertuch’s 1775 translation met.] (T. Berger 25) Bertuch’s work, then, is quite significant because it was the first Spanish-toGerman translation of Don Quixote I and II. Unlike earlier translators, he did not rely on any French intermediary. Bertuch’s translation is also important because it reflects another interpretation of Don Quixote, one that emerged in the mid-eighteenth century when German literary critics began to formulate a new opinion of this seminal work. In their view, Cervantes’s novel was much less a comical tale than it was a biting satire in which the author exposed the very real social problems of his day, problems to which the eighteenth-century reader could also relate.

Indeed,

“Practically every aspect and phase of German life between 1750 and 1800 … is directly or indirectly related to Don Quixote” (Bergel 309).

For it was not only

14 during Cervantes’s lifetime that people were incarcerated without just cause; there was literary censorship; kings, princes and dukes ruled at their whim; religious intolerance was strong; strife continually threatened peace; and wealth bought privileges (Rose 145-156,162-163). Consequently, although it had always been popular because of its humor, Don Quixote now gained additional readers who saw reflections of their own concerns in the work. Like the novel’s hero, they too realized that there were “agravios que … deshacer, tuertos que enderezar, sinrazones que emendar y abusos que mejorar y deudas que satisfacer” [“evils to undo, wrongs to right, injustices to correct, abuses to ameliorate, and offenses to rectify”] (I, 2). Thus, despite the book’s foreign names, customs and cities, German readers could relate to the novel’s satire which reflected its underlying or “intellectual” realism (Baker 5). Satirical works, which poked fun at the aristocracy, clergy, religious intolerance, etc., had long been a popular genre in Germany, beginning with the publication of Reinecke Fuchs14 [Reynard the Fox] in the Middle Ages; continuing with the “satirische Spottdichtung” [“satirical mocking poems”] of the Renaissance and Johann Jacob Christoffel von Grimmelshausen’s15 seventeenth-century masterpiece Der abentheurliche Simplicissimus [The Adventurous Simplicissimus] (1669); and culminating in the eighteenth century’s satirical novels, e.g., Johann Karl August Musäus’s Grandison II [Grandison II] (1753), Christoph Martin Wieland’s Die Geschichte der Abderiten (1774) [The Story of the Abderites], and Johann Gottlieb Schummel’s Spitzbart [Goatee] (1779) (Kohlschmidt, Reallexikon 3: 615-16).

15 German authors’ fondness over the centuries for using satire to expose the faults, flaws and failings of their individual times also reflected their deep concern about very real social problems. In his definitive work on the history of German literature, the author Werner Kohlschmidt describes the resulting close relationship between the satirical novel and realism: … mit der Enstehung des Prosaromans geht auch die Entwicklung des s[atirischen] R[oman]s zusammen, und durch die in seinem tiefern Zweck begründete genaueste Erfassung bestimmter Eigentümlichkeiten des menschlichen Lebens hat er wesentlichen Anteil an der Ausbildung des Realismus als Stilgattung. Satire und Realismus stehen also in engster Wechselbeziehung. Der s[atirische] R[oman] wird stets unmittelbarer Zeitroman sein, Zeitfragen behandeln und wie in einem Spiegel durch indirekte oder direkte Satire der Gegenwart ihre Gebrechen vorhalten. [… the development of the s[[atirical]] n[[ovel]] merges with the origin of the prose novel and shares in the development of realism as a stylistic genre through its precise ascertainment of certain characteristics of human life, which constituted its deeper purpose. Satire and realism, therefore, are most closely interrelated. The s[[atirical]] n[[ovel]] will always be an engaged novel, treat questions of the day and hold up for examination, as in a mirror, the afflictions of its times either through direct or indirect satire.] (Reallexikon 3: 614) It was just this interpretation which inspired Bertuch to publish his new translation in 1775. In so doing, he was determined and eager to portray Don Quixote as Cervantes, in his opinion, had truly intended and thereby remove from the hero the “Bettlersmantel” [“beggar’s cloak”] in which all previous translators had clothed him.

Bertuch’s six-volume work, entitled Leben und Thaten des

weisen Junkers Don Quixote von Mancha [The Life and Exploits of the Wise Nobleman Don Quixote of la Mancha], appeared over the course of three years,

16 1775-77. The author and his hugely successful rendition will be discussed in greater detail in Chapters 2 and 3. Besides making Don Quixote available to non-Spanish-speaking Germans, translations also spurred scholars to investigate the author’s life, about which so little was known. The first of these biographers was Gregorio Mayans y Siscar (1699-1781) whose work on Cervantes was included in Lord John Carteret’s 16 de luxe Spanish edition of the novel, published in England in 1738.

Among the

German authors who wrote biographies of Cervantes later in the eighteenth century are Bertuch, who included one in each of his editions, basing his account on the works of Mayans y Siscar and other scholars and Franz von Kleist (17691797), whose work on Cervantes appeared in the 1792 issue of the literary journal Deutsche Monatsschrift [German Monthly Paper]. With the publication of each new biography, not only did the general knowledge of Cervantes increase, but so did interest in his novel. While Don Quixote is certainly not an autobiographical work, many of the episodes in this pioneering work were inspired by Cervantes’s life experiences: his participation in the Battle of Lepanto,17 his slavery in Algiers, his imprisonments in Spain and his encounters with a wide variety of people as he traveled life’s highways. Therefore, these incidents, as fictionalized by the author, were also at the basis of his novel’s success at this time. This remarkable novel influenced writers in other ways, too. Besides the types of works mentioned above, several European authors composed their own plays or novels in imitation of Cervantes’s unique style. In England William Shakespeare wrote The History of Cardenio, a play, which has unfortunately been

17 lost, based on one of the work’s novellas (Delahoyde par. 1), and Henry Fielding (1707-1754) published his imitative Joseph Andrews (1742). In France, Molière18 created Dom Juan [1655], Saint-Amant19 “Le paresseux” [“The Lazy One”] (1631), and Charles Sorel (16??-1674) Berger extravagant [The Eccentric Shepherd] (1627). In Germany, Wieland (1733-1813) wrote his Don Sylvio de Rosalva (1764) in direct imitation of Don Quixote, and Johann Gottwerth Müller (1743-1828) borrowed plotting and stylistic devices from Cervantes for his Siegfried von Lindenberg (1779). Other German authors used the work as their inspiration. For example, Richard Graves (1715-1804) published his Der geistliche Don Quixote, oder, Gottfried Wildgoosens den sommer über angestellte wanderschaft: ein komischer Roman [The Spiritual Don Quixote, or Gottfried Wildgoosen’s Journey Made over the Course of the Summer: A Comical Novel] (1773); Johann Karl Wezel (17471819) wrote Tobias Knaut [Tobias Knaut] (1773-76); and Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832) composed Der Triumph der Empfindsamkeit [The Triumph of Sentimentality] (1787) (Bergel 311-18). In addition to being the muse for translators, biographers and novelists, this work, or scenes from it, also influenced musicians who then adapted it for the operatic stage.

In the seventeenth century alone, Don Quixote’s adventures

inspired the creation of more than twenty-one different operas in Germany (Esquival-Heinemann 45). The first of these, Der irrende Ritter Don Quixotte de la Mancia [The Knight Errant Don Quixote of la Mancha], was presented in 1690 in Hamburg, which at that time was “the center of German operatic art” (Bergel 309). The opera’s musical score was composed by Johann Phillip Förtsch (1652-

18 1732) and the libretto was written by Heinrich Hinsch (16??-1712) (EsquivalHeinemann 46).

“Ein weiterer ‘Don Quixote’ von dem Braunschweiger Joh.

Samuel Müller, mit Musik von Conti, wurde im Jahre 1722 aufgeführt” [“Another Don Quixote by the Braunschweiger Joh. Samuel Muller (1701-1773) with music by Conti,20 was performed in 1722”] (Farinelli, “Spanien und die spanische Litteratur” 279). Georg Phillip Telemann (1681-1767) also composed music for two operas based on scenes from the Quixote. The first of these works has to do with Sancho Panza; the second opera deals with Don Quixote’s presence at the wedding of Camacho, one of the novel’s characters (Esquival-Heinemann 54-55). It is interesting to note that Telemann’s first work was written in 1727, the second not until 1761, a full thirty-four years later; such was the hold this work had on the composer. Cervantes’s masterpiece was also adapted in a variety of other ways in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Bertuch notes this fact in his preface, writing that the novel also stirred the creative productivity of, among others, “Zeichner” [illustrators], “Kupferstecher,” [copper engravers], and “Tapetenwürker” [weavers] (18).

The very first known drawings of Don Quixote and other figures

from the novel appeared, as mentioned earlier, in 1613. Five years later, in 1618, the first book illustration was published in Rosset’s translation. This drawing, “an engraved vignette on the printed title-page” would later be copied and then published both in Shelton’s second edition of Part I and his first edition of Part II (Lo Ré, More on the Sadness 76).21 Oudin’s and Rosset’s works would be published together in the first fully-illustrated French edition in 1665, under the title Histoire du redoubtable et ingénieux chevalier Dom Quixote de la Manche

19 [History of the Redoubtable and Ingenious Knight Don Quixote of la Mancha]. This work contained two frontispieces and eight illustrations which originally appeared in the 1657 Dutch edition mentioned below (Hartau 43). Bastel von der Sohle’s 1648 translation, which was the first edition to include engravings representing particular episodes from the book, and his 1669 reissue contain four illustrations by an unknown artist. The first fully illustrated edition of the novel, van den Bos’s 1657 Dutch translation, has twelve engravings which have been attributed to Jacobus Savery III (1617-1666); J. R. B.’s editions also contain Savery’s engravings (Henrich 493-94). The

anonymous

author’s

1734

and

1753

translations contain one illustration, a frontispiece, drawn and engraved by Christian Friedrich Boetius (1706-1782); his 1767 edition has the frontispiece by Boetius but also includes drawings by CharlesAntoine Coypel.22 Bertuch’s

rendition

was

the

first

truly

illustrated German translation and the only one published in the eighteenth century. His first edition includes six illustrations: a portrait of Cervantes drawn and engraved by the noted artist Christian

Fig. 3. Frontispiece from Bastel von der Sohle’s 1648 edition, from this author’s private collection.

Gottlieb Geyser (1742-1803) in the first volume, and frontispieces drawn and engraved by the famous Berlin artist Daniel Nikolaus Chodowiecki in volumes 2-6. The author’s second and more elaborate edition, which appeared in 1780, contains twenty-five additional drawings by Chodowiecki, which were then

20 engraved by the renowned German artist Daniel Berger (1744-1824). The artist and his famous illustrations will be discussed in greater detail in Chapter 4. A wonderful combination of illustrator’s drawings and weaver’s art can be seen in the Don Quixote tapestries displayed at Berlin’s Charlottenburg Palace. These wall-hangings, woven in Paris in the 1770s at the famous Gobelins23 factory, depict drawings created earlier in the century by the French illustrator Coypel. Since French kings traditionally gave tapestries as diplomatic gifts, it was not unusual when Louis XVI gave six of the original twenty-eight wall-hangings to Prince Heinrich, the younger brother of Friedrich the Great. Prince Heinrich in turn presented them to his nephew, Friedrich Wilhelm II, upon his coronation in 1786, specifically as ornamentation for two rooms of the king’s newly redecorated Winter Chambers. 24 To complete the “quixotic” decoration of one of the two rooms, the king also commissioned an artist to paint a ceiling medallion representing another of Coypel’s drawings, this one of Don Quixote and his beloved Dulcinea. The quote which encircles the painting reads: “Don Quichotte conduit par la Folie et Embrasé de l’amour extravagant de Dulcinée sort de chez luy pour estre Chevalier Errant” [“Don Quixote, driven by madness and burning with an eccentric love for Dulcinea, leaves home to become a knight errant”]. The decoration of these two rooms is yet further evidence of the high regard in which all echelons of eighteenth-century German society held Cervantes’s work. Thus, the influence of Don Quixote is reflected in a variety of ways in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries in Germany. Those who found themselves under the spell cast by the Knight of the Sad Countenance expressed their

21 interest in Cervantes’s work in their own unique fashions: authors either imitated Cervantes’s style or used his work as their muse; scholars investigated Cervantes’s life, thus expanding our knowledge of the author; illustrators depicted those scenes which, they felt, best captured the essence of the novel; engravers brought the illustrators’ drawings to the reading public; weavers produced incredible visual images on their looms; and composers brought scenes from the work to life on the stage. Chapters 2 and 3 will focus on Bertuch and his translation – as the first German to translate nearly the entire novel from the original Spanish, his groundbreaking work not only paved the way for subsequent Quixote translations but was also responsible for introducing followers of the new Classicism and its successor Romanticism to the work. Then, in Chapter 4, the life of Bertuch’s graphic designer Chodowiecki will be discussed in detail. This artist, who was the quintessential eighteenth-century illustrator in a century when illustrated books came into their own, captured the work’s essence in pictures as did Bertuch in words. Thus, both contributed to the novel’s continuing popularity in Germany.

22

NOTES 1

A pseudonym. Unfortunately, nothing definitive is known about this author. In the preface to her translation of his work, Alberta Server writes, “To this day no one knows the identity of Avellaneda, although some of the best scholars have attempted to recognize him” (vi). It has been suggested that it was the author Gerónimo de Pasamonte whom Cervantes then ridiculed in one of the novel’s characters, the criminal Ginés de Pasamonte. 2

The delighfull history of the wittie knight, Don Quiskote. Shelton used the Spanish edition published in Brussels in 1607, not the original Spanish one, for his translation of Part I. For Part II, he again used the Brussels edition, this one published in 1616 (Colón 13). 3

(15??-1625) “Le Valereux Don Quixote de la Manche, ov l’histoire de ses grands exploicts d’armes, fideles Amours et Aventures estranges. Traduit fidelement de l’Espagnol de Michel de Cervantes et dedié au Roy. Par Cesar Oudin, Secretaire ect. Paris, 1614, 1616. La 2me partie Paris 1618” [“The Valorous Don Quixote of la Mancha, or The Story of His Great Armed Exploits, Faithful Loves and Strange Adventures. Translated faithfully from the Spanish of Miguel de Cervantes and dedicated to the King. By Cesar Oudin, Secretary, etc. Paris, 1614, 1616. The second part in Paris 1618”] (T. Berger 11). 4

No birth/death date known. Chisciotte della Mancia.

Vita e azione dell’ingenoso cittadino D.

5

(1620?-1698) Tweede deel van den vromen verstandigen ridder Don Quichot de la Mancha. 6

A probable pseudonym “dessen Aufklärung aussichtslos blieb” [“whose real name is impossible to determine”] (Schröder 167). Some scholars believe he was Andreas Bastell, a doctor who had traveled to Madrid. K. Goedeke suggests “that the real translator was Johann Lauremberg, the Low German satirist” (Melz 305). In a very interesting article entitled “Der deutsche Don Kichote von 1648 und der Uebersetzer Aeschacius Major” [“The German Don Quixote of 1648 and the Translator Aeschacius Major”], H. Tiemann explains why he is convinced that the author was Cäsar von Joachimsthal, a known translator of other Spanish works (265). Different scholars have proposed yet other names. 7

No known birth/death date. Nicolas Baudouin. “Le curieux impertinent. El curioso impertinente Traduit d’Espagnol en François, par M. Bavdovin à Paris” [“‘The Impertinent Snoop’ translated into French from Spanish by Mr. Baudouin of Paris”] (T. Berger 9).

23 8

In the early seventeenth century, German translations were announced in at least four different book catalogues: 1621, author unkown; 1624, the abovementioned Cäsar von Joachimsthal; 1644, Pahsch Bastel von der Sohle, perhaps a pseudonym for Joachimsthal ; 1647, author unknown. However, none of these earlier translations has ever been verified. Although Susan Bernofsky states in her 2005 article “What Did Don Quixote Have for Dinner?” that “The first German translation of the Quixote appeared not long after Cervantes’s death in 1616: Don Kichote de la Mantzscha, das ist: Juncker Harnisch auss Fleckenland (Cöthen 1621), translated in all likelihood by Pahsch Bastel von der Sohle and reprinted in 1624 and 1648… ,” she offers no corroborative evidence (5). My own research confirms Richard Alewyn’s assertion that “Die Meßkataloge selbst aber sind … bloße Ankündigungen und kein Beleg für tatsächliches Erscheinen” [“The trade fair catalogues themselves are simple announcements and not proof of actual publication”] (203). The 1648 translation by von der Sohle is the first German translation we can confirm. It was reissued in 1669, and in 1928 “a reprint of the earlier edition … was issued in Hamburg as a Festschrift [commemorative volume] to the Neuphilologentag” (Melz 303). 9

(1607-1667) “Johann Rist, a Protestant minister and poet, was a follower of Martin Opitz and founder of the Elbschwanenorden (1660), one of the Sprachgesellschaften [language societies] devoted to the promotion of the German language and its literature” (Melz 303). 0

(1722 -17??) Born in Mühlhausen. Very little is known about this author. According to the University of Göttingen’s library, he did translate some of Jonathan Swift’s works into German. 1

Unfortunately, no further information could be found about this author. Interestingly, however, this French translation appeared the same year as Filleau de St. Martin’s, leading scholars to believe that they were written by one and the same author, similar to the two 1734 German versions. See Note 12 below. 2

Scholars now believe that Sekretär Wolf was the author of both 1734 works. This point will be discussed in more detail in the Epilogue. 3

(1668-1747). This French author wrote several picaresque novels based on Spanish works, the most famous of which is Histoire de Gil Blas de Santillane [The Story of Gil Blas of Santillane]. 4

The satirical figure of Reynard the Fox dates to twelfth-century France and appears in numerous anthropomorphic fables across Europe. The general butts of these works are the aristocracy and the clergy. 15

(1621?-1676) His novel was modeled on the Spanish picaresque novel, as was Cervantes’s. 16

(1690-1763) Lord Carteret’s edition was the first deluxe edition of the Quixote to be printed in England.

24 17

(1571) This was the sea battle, fought near Lepanto, Greece, in which the unified European forces won a significant victory over the Turks. 18

(1622-1673) A pseudonym for French playwright Jean-Baptiste Poquelin.

19

(1594?-1661) Marc-Antoine Girard.

20

(1681/2-1732) He was an Italian composer who resided at the Viennese

court. 21

From the beginning, Cervantes’s work contained a title-page picture of a knight. However, these early “Ritterfiguren auf den Titelblättern haben noch keine Merkmale, die dem Text entnommen sind” [“figures of knights on the title pages give no indication that they are taken from the text”] (Hartau 15). 22

(1694-1752) Charles-Antoine Coypel was a French rococo court painter known for his series of illustrations for Don Quixote. 23

According to the Museums of Paris website (www.paris.org.Musees/ mus.metro/lesgobelins.f.html), this factory was originally “founded as a dye works in the mid-15th century by Jean Gobelin.” Beginning in 1697, it specialized in tapestries. 24

This information comes from a handout available at the palace.

25

CHAPTER 2 FRIEDRICH JUSTIN BERTUCH The lives of Cervantes and Friedrich Justin Bertuch, his first German translator of note, have many parallels. For example, Cervantes was born in 1547 and Bertuch was born exactly two hundred years later; their fathers were doctors;1 both had some university education but did not receive degrees; each set out to make his fortune at a young age; they practiced numerous professions; and both men, who loved to write, struggled to attain the longed-for recognition as authors. Their individual fame as authors derives from their connection to Don Quixote: Cervantes as its sixteenth-century author, Bertuch as its eighteenthcentury translator. Needless to say, Bertuch never achieved the renown of the Spanish author and, as a consequence, only a modicum of scholarly attention. Hence a brief biography seems in order. Bertuch was born in Weimar on September 30, 1747. His place of birth was a city of 6,000 inhabitants and 750 homes, which were nothing more than simple structures with thatched roofs and nearby barns. The town, which was surrounded by two walls, resembled more a simple medieval village than the seat of the duchy of Sachsen-Weimar.

Although paying jobs were scarce, some

inhabitants were employed at court (Busch-Salmen et al 11).

Most of the

residents supported themselves by working in their gardens and fields, raising crops for their personal use or for trade. Despite its lack of economic vitality,

26 however, Weimar had long been a city of beauty and culture. In addition to the pleasant surroundings afforded it by the nearby woods, hills, fields and waterways, the city offered its citizens a 200-year-old music program, a theater, a library, good schools, and modest art collections (Steiner and Kühn-Stillmark 14). When Bertuch was not quite five years old, his father, a respected army doctor for Duke Ernst August Constantine I, died of a cerebral hemorrhage (Bohadti 15). This tragedy, coupled with the earlier death of an infant daughter, spurred Bertuch’s mother to take a great interest in science and medicine. Without formal training but with a kind heart, she assisted those who came to her for treatments when they were unable to afford a doctor’s visit (Steiner and KühnStillmark 15). So, it was from his doctor father and his concerned mother that Bertuch inherited his lifelong interest in the sciences, as would be reflected later in many of the numerous scientific journals he chose to publish and the enterprises in which he would be involved. When his mother married a third time – her first husband Johann Georg Slevoigt had also been a doctor in the Duke’s army –, the family moved to nearby Jena. Bertuch’s stepfather, Pastor Johann Gottlieb Haensche, was a kind man who loved and nurtured the young boy. Unfortunately, Bertuch was left an orphan when his thirty-eight-year-old stepfather passed away on June 2, 1762, and his mother only five months later (Feldmann 2). The fifteen-year-old then returned to Weimar to live with his maternal uncle, Gottfried Mathias Ludwig Schrön, a clearthinking, rational man whose profession as a publisher and whose interests in literary and scientific writing would also have a profound influence on his nephew’s approach to life, future careers, goals, and community involvement. Of

27 the young man’s time with his uncle, Paul Kaiser and Uta Kühn-Stillmark, the authors of a detailed biography of Bertuch, write, “Er wächst heran in der Luft gesunden Fortschritts und tätigen Gemeinsinns” [“There he grew up in an atmosphere which encouraged common sense progress and active public involvement”] (4). After graduating from high school in 1767, where he enjoyed geography, literature and natural history, Bertuch went to nearby Jena to attend its university. At first he enrolled in the school of theology, which at that time was a common choice for young men of meager means. Although he later switched his major to law, he was drawn, once again, to the study of literature and science, and also to creative writing (Feldmann 2). Among his professors were Johann Heinrich Bohn, a professor of languages, and Johann Ernst Immanuel Welch, a professor of speech and poetry (Steiner and Kühn-Stillmark 18). While a student, Bertuch met both Wieland and Johann Heinrich Christian Boie (1744-1806), with whom he would be closely affiliated in his later life as a publisher. Deeply interested in writing, he turned to Wieland, whose works he had long admired and “schickte ihm seine Erstlingsgedichte zu… [“sent him his first attempts at poetry”] (Böttiger, Begegnungen 284). Wieland thought the young man’s efforts showed a great deal of promise, agreed to become Bertuch’s mentor, and encouraged him to continue writing. This was the beginning of a long friendship between the two (Feldmann 3). In 1769, Bertuch left the university while only part-way through his studies. Through mutual friends, he met Baron Ludwig Heinrich Bachoff von Echt who hired the impoverished intellectual to live in his home as the tutor for his children,

28 two sons and a daughter. Bertuch’s four years at Romschütz, the baron’s estate in the town of Altenburg, would prove invaluable to him for many reasons. It was there that Bertuch became acquainted with etiquette and protocol, since European elegance and customs were the norm in the former ambassador’s household (Böttiger, Begegnungen 285). The perfect manners, worldly demeanor and friendly politeness that Bertuch learned at the baron’s were abilities which would be extremely useful to him later (Steiner and Kühn-Stillmark 22). He also met important literary figures of the day like Christian Fürchtegott Gellert (17151769), Johann Christoph Gottsched (1700-1766) and Friedrich Gottlieb Klopstock (1729-1803), and attended lectures given by various professors in the nearby town. Furthermore, he was able to use his abundant free time to pursue his interest in literature, as both reader and author (Hohenstein 45). The baron, who had been a diplomat posted to the royal court in Madrid, had a wonderful library with many Portuguese and Spanish works, among them Don Quixote. In the space of six short weeks, von Echt, who was temporarily confined to bed with gout, met daily with Bertuch to teach him Spanish, using Cervantes’s masterpiece as their textbook. Captivated with this new language and its literature, the young man spent long hours each night in a poorly lit room, drinking copious amounts of coffee as he poured over his books. Unfortunately, this zeal resulted in his contracting a fever and a serious inflammation of the eye. He later said, jokingly and without regret, “er habe sein rechtes Auge zum Lehrgeld für die Spanische Sprache bezahlt” [“he paid his right eye as his tuition for learning the Spanish language”], and he referred to these six weeks as “Götternächte” [“nights of godly bliss”] (Böttiger, Begegnungen 287).

29 One of the many acquaintances the young man made while at Altenburg was Christian Felix Weiße (1726-1804), an important author of lyrical dramas. In a letter to Bertuch, Weiße mentioned how unfortunate it was that his inability to read Spanish kept him from fully utilizing the baron’s impressive library and thus forced him to remain forever ignorant of Spain’s literary treasures (Steiner and Kühn-Stillmark 23). This letter strengthened Bertuch’s desire to delve more deeply into the Iberian language, culture and history. The author, like his countrymen, while quite conversant with French, was unfamiliar with Spanish despite the fact that “soldados españoles estaban instalados en guarniciones alemanas” [“Spanish soldiers were settled in German garrisons] and “millares de ‘lansquenetes’ germanos servían en los ejércitos españoles…” [“thousands of German ‘mercenary soldiers’ served in Spanish armies…”] due to Spain’s close ties with Austria and the Netherlands (Bertrand, Cervantes en el país de Fausto 13-14). In order to fill this desire for Spanish literature in German translation, mentioned not only by Weiße but also by other visitors to the baron’s, Bertuch decided shortly thereafter to take on the challenge of translating the Quixote into German from the original Spanish. This had not been done since the book’s first partial German translation of 1648, entitled Junker Harnisch aus Fleckenland, by Pahsch Bastel von der Sohle. As noted in Chapter 1, the two other complete renditions which had appeared after this work were based on French translations, which were not known for their faithfulness to the original Spanish. However, Bertuch, who was quite familiar with them, felt correctly that they did not accurately capture Cervantes’s intent and that he could not only do a more faithful

30 translation, but a complete one from the original Spanish. Thus, he would be the first German to do so. This interest in Cervantes’s work reawakened Bertuch’s desire to be a published author, a desire which dated to his years at the university and his membership in various literary clubs. Firmly believing in his auctorial abilities, Bertuch published his first literary efforts: the text to a comic opera Das große Los [The First Prize]; the Märchen vom Bilboquet [Tales of Bilboquet]; and the lyrical drama Polyxena (Heinemann 10). Unfortunately, not all of these early literary attempts were well received. Of his first volume of poems a critic wrote, “Gewollt hat der Verfasser freilich wohl gute Verse zu machen, aber geworden sind sie gewiß nicht” [“Of course the author intended to write quality poetry, which it most definitely is not”] (qtd. in Kaiser 4).

To which Kaiser adds, “Mehr Glück hat

Bertuch als Übersetzer” [“Bertuch had more luck as a translator”] (4). Feldmann’s opinion is simiilar: “Bertuchs eigne Dichtungen sind ohne litteraturgeschichtliche und ästhetische Bedeutung… [“Bertuch’s own poems are without any literary or aesthetic significance… ”] (61). When he returned to Weimar in 1773,2 intent on earning his living as an independent author (a novel idea in those days), he continued to be guided by the principles of the Enlightenment, the literary and historical period into which he had been born. Bertuch often referred to the Age of Reason as a time of “gesunde Vernunft” [“sound common sense”], for it espoused a logical, sensible, orderly approach to life (Steiner and Kühn-Stillmark 6).

In a speech he gave about

Bertuch on the 150th anniversary of the author’s funeral, Doctor Helmut Holtzhauer said that “Die Ideen der Aufklärung beflügelten den jungen Mann, der

31 nach Studium und Hofmeistertätigkeit als junger Schöngeist und Kenner der adeligen wie der bürgerlichen Lebensweise nach Weimar kam und sich nach einer ihm gemäßen Tätigkeit umsah” [“The ideas of the Enlightenment inspired the young man who, after his studies and time spent as a tutor, returned to Weimar a young aesthete and as someone who, familiar with the upper- as well as the middle-class way of life, was on the look out for an appropriate job”] (7). The Weimar to which Bertuch returned was just entering its glory days. It was governed by the Duchess Anna Amalia (1739-1807) who became ruler of the duchy after her husband’s untimely death in 1758, which also was the year she gave birth to her second child.

She describes this bitter-sweet year in the

following way: “In meinem 18ten Jahre fing die größte Epoche meines Lebens an. Ich wurde zum zweytenmal Mutter, wurde Wittib, Obervormünderin und Regentin. Die schnellen Veränderungen, welche Schlag auf Schlag kamen, machten einen solchen Tumult in meiner Seele, daß ich nicht zu mir selbst komen konnte” [“In my eighteenth year began the greatest period of my life. I became a mother for the second time and also became a widow, guardian and regent. The quick changes, which came in rapid succession, created such a tumult in my soul that I could not become my normal self”] (qtd. in Die Größte Epoche). Although quite young, the duchess willingly took up the reins of government, determined to do the best she could for her subjects. During her sixteen-year-long regency, Anna Amalia oversaw several important changes in the city: street lighting was improved, parks were established, houses were built, its theater revived, a free art school was planned, and the health and police systems were reformed (Busch-Salmen 10). Her son Carl August, who assumed

32 the throne in 1775, would continue these social improvements by, for example, placing orphans into private homes instead of institutions, building additional parks and enlarging the palace’s library (Briefe 108-109). In addition to these matters, the duchess was especially concerned about the upbringing of her two young sons. To ensure that they were properly educated, Anna Amalia began to invite Germany’s intellectual elite to Weimar. The first scholar she turned to was Wieland, who taught philosphy at the University of Erfurt, a neighboring town. In 1773 he moved to Weimar to become Carl August’s tutor (Die Größte Epoche). It was Wieland who then suggested that the duchess bring the respected poet and translator Carl Ludwig von Knebel (1744-1834) to the court to be her younger son Friedrich Ferdinand Constantine’s tutor.

Over the next few years, under her rule and that of her son, invitations

were extended to other scholars, who quickly accepted. “So bestimmten ein kunstsinnig-aufgeklärtes Fürstenhaus und die herbeigerufenen Schriftsteller, Künstler, Philosophen und Gelehrten die folgenden Jahre und Jahrzehnte diese Stadt” [“In this way, an artistically inclined, enlightened royal house and the authors, artists, philosophers, and scholars it summoned defined this city for the following years and decades”] (Steiner and Kühn-Stillmark 25). Due to the duchess’s successful efforts to revitalize Weimar’s cultural life during the last few years of her reign (1772-1775), interests which she continued to cultivate in her retirement, her court is referred to as the “Musenhof” [“Court of the Muses”]. Over the next fifty years, Weimar would become the home of some of Germany’s greatest minds. In addition to Wieland and Knebel, authors and philosophers like Goethe, Friedrich Schiller3 and Johann Gottfried von Herder4

33 took up residence there, thus earning this small, rural city the impressive title “Athens on the Ilm” or “Athens of Germany.” In a small, interesting book of letters, written in 1800, the unknown author notes that, because of these numerous social and cultural improvements, Carl August’s court “ist sicher unter die beste Classe der deutschen Höfe zu zählen” [“is surely to be counted among the best of German courts”] and that Anna Amalia’s residence, which continued to be frequented by aesthetes, was “ein Aufenthalt alles Schönen und Guten [“a residence of everthing that is beautiful and good”] (Briefe 47, 49). It was at Anna Amalia’s court that Bertuch first found employment upon his return to Weimar. The duchess hired him to do translations of French works for the newly revived Weimar theater, for which he also served as an actor and prompter (Böttiger, Begegnungen 301).

Bertuch befriended the newly arrived

scholars, authors and philosophers, and quickly joined their circle. He also saw modest success as a playwright himself when his work Elfriede, written in honor of the young Duke Carl August’s sixteenth birthday, was produced on the Weimar stage (Kaiser 4). Besides being kept busy by his auctorial efforts and his position with the Weimar theater, Bertuch was also asked by Wieland to be a collaborator on his new publication Der teutsche Merkur, later called Der deutsche Merkur, a monthly literary publication which would soon become the most significant one of its day. This journal contained articles on nature, history, art, philosophy, science and literary criticism written by the best minds in Germany and also offered reviews of the latest works (Heinemann 10).

Bertuch’s position as a collaborator and

contributor proved to be most fortunate; not only did it enable him to continue to

34 have regular contact with the luminaries of Weimar’s literary circles, such as Goethe and Schiller, but it also enabled him to gain further valuable experience in the inner workings of the publishing world. The author would later serve as editor of this publication when Wieland had to withdraw from the magazine. In its later years, it would be printed on Bertuch’s own presses at his Landes-IndustrieComptoir (Bohadti 19). In addition to these undertakings, Bertuch returned once more to his Don Quixote translation, which he had begun at Romschütz. The comical tale of Don Quixote was well-known in Germany due to earlier translations. However, Bertuch was determined that his fellow countrymen enjoy the fantastic adventures of his beloved hero as Cervantes, in his opinion, really intended and not as the farcical character seen in earlier renditions. In a letter to fellow author and friend Johann Wilhelm Ludwig Gleim (1719-1803), dated November 21, 1774, he expresses this intention: “Ich habe es geschworen, schon vor 5 Jahren geschworen, die manes meines Lieblings Cervantes zu versöhnen, und dem liebenswürdigen Thor, Don Quixote, den Bettler Mantel abzunehmen, in welchem er seit länger als 26 Jahre schon in Teutschland herumzieht” [“Five years ago I swore to reconcile the fate of my beloved Cervantes and remove from the charming fool, Don Quixote, the beggar’s cloak which he has been wearing for more than twenty-six years as he wanders around Germany”] (Pröhle lxxvi). In the same letter, Bertuch includes these specific intentions: “Kurz ich will den Don Quixote des Cervantes und Avellaneda, zum erstenmale aus dem Spanischen übersetzen (verteutschen), mit Anmerkungen begleiten, selbst drucken, verlegen, kurz Alles thun …” [“In short, I intend to translate both

35 Cervantes’s and Avellaneda’s Don Quixote for the first time from Spanish, include comments, print and publish it myself, in a word, do everything…”] (Pröhle lxxvi). Only a month later he gave official notice of this decision in the December 1774 edition of Der teutsche Merkur. This announcement, entitled “Eine Frage an das teutsche Publikum” [“A Question to the German Readership”], reads in part: Leben und Thaten des weisen Junkers Don Quixote von Mancha, in sechs Bänden zum erstenmale aus der Urschrift übersetzt. Die Einrichtung davon soll folgende seyn: 1) Die ersten vier Bände werden das vollständige Werk des Cervantes, die zween letzteren aber gedachte Fortsetzung des Avellaneda enthalten. 2) Ich werde einen kurzen Auszug des weitläuftigen Don Gregorio Mayans y Siscar, von dem Leben und Schriften des Cervantes voranschicken, auch 3) in dem Werke selbst erläuternde Anmerkungen, wo sie nöthig, hinzufügen. 4) Das Werk soll in kleinem Oktavformat abgedruckt werden, und Schrift und Papier der neuen guten Ausgabe des Agathon haben. 5) Jedem Bande soll ein Titelkupfer von einem unsrer besten Charakteren-Zeichner entworfen, dem ersten aber Cervantes Bildnis vorgesetzt werden. [The Life and Deeds of the Ingenious Nobleman Don Quixote of la Mancha in six volumes Translated for the first time from the original. The organization of this work is as follows:

36 1) The first four volumes will contain the complete work of Cervantes, the last two volumes, however, will contain Avellaneda’s sequel. 2) At the beginning I will include a short excerpt from Don Gregorio Mayans y Siscar’s lengthy work on Cervantes’s life and writings, and 3) I will also include explanatory comments, where necessary, in the work itself. 4) The work will be published in octavo-form, and the font and paper will be that used in the new edition of the Agathon. 5) A title-page engraving by one of our best illustrators will appear in each volume, however the first volume will contain a portrait of Cervantes.] (276-77) The last part of this announcement asks people to subscribe to his work in advance and promises to publish the names of those who do so at the end of the sixth volume. The fifth point of Bertuch’s announcement served an important role in creating a market for his translation. In the late eighteenth century, illustrations in books, other than the Bible, were special indeed and thus indicated the high quality of the work. To do the illustrations Bertuch first turned to his friend Georg Melchior Kraus (1737-1806), a well known artist of the day. Having received his education in Paris, his students included Goethe when he was still an up-andcoming author. Unfortunately, Kraus, who was involved in many projects, could not meet the requested deadline, although he would contribute some vignettes and small sketches to the work. Therefore, the author turned to another friend, Daniel Chodowiecki, who was undoubtedly the most famous illustrator of the period.

37 Bertuch’s announcement in Der teutsche Merkur was met with great enthusiasm. On November 29, Bachoff von Echt wrote Bertuch, “Ihr vorhaben Werther Freund uns eine Übersetzung des Don Quichotte aus dem Spanischen zu liefern hat meinen ganzen Beyfall, und ich wünsche Ihnen tausend Glück daran. Sie machen sich hierdurch um die ganze Nation verdient” [“Your plan, dear friend, to give us a translation of Don Quixote from Spanish has my full approval, and I wish you great luck. In so doing, you are rendering the nation an outstanding service”] (qtd. in Steiner and Kühn-Stillmark 29). Christian Friedrich Daniel Schubart (1739-1791), the editor of the popular literary magazine Deutsche Chronik [German Chronicle], was also delighted at the news which he shared with his readers in the December 15, 1774 issue of his journal: Freu dich, Leser, der du feinen Witz, gesunde Vernunft und Wahre Laune liebst; wir bekommen einen deutschen Don Quixote nicht mehr aus dem Französischen, sondern aus dem spanischen Original ins Deutsche übersetzt und mit der launischen, aber höchst seltnen und unter uns Deutschen gar nicht bekannten Fortsetzung des Avellaneda bereichert. Ein Mann unternimmt das Werk, der dem Ding gewachsen ist. Der Titul wird sein: Leben und Taten des weisen Junkers Don Quixote von Mancha, in 6 Bänden, zum erstenmal aus der Urschrift übersetzt. Die ersten 4 Bände enthalten das vollständige Werk des Cervantes, die zween letztern aber gedachte Fortsetzung des Avellaneda. Voran steht eine Nachricht von dem Leben und Schriften des Cervantes, und durchgängig sollen erläuternde Anmerkungen hinzugefügt werden. Kupfer, Papier, Druck soll dem Werte des Werks entsprechen. Möchte doch mein Liebling Chodowiecki, der in Berliner Kalender schon gezeigt hat, was er zu leisten vermag, die Zeichnungen dazu liefern. … Möchtest du den Namen des Übersetzers wissen? Bertuch heißt er. Wenn du kein Fremdling in der deutschen Literatur bist, so wirst du ihn schon aus einigen drolligten Romanzen und gut geratenen Gedichten kennen und sehen, daß er Deutsch kann und eigne Laune hat.

38

[Rejoice, dear reader, you who love keen wit, common sense, and true whim; we are getting a German translation of Don Quixote, not based on a French version, but the Spanish original, one enriched by Avellaneda’s whimsical sequel which has appeared only rarely and is unknown to us Germans. A highly capable man is undertaking this project. The title will be: The Life and Deeds of the Ingenious Nobleman Don Quixote of La Mancha, in six volumes, translated for the first time from the original. The first four volumes contain the complete work of Cervantes, the last two Avellaneda’s intended sequel. At the beginning can be found information on the life and writings of Cervantes, and explanatory comments are to be added throughout. The engravings, paper and printing are to reflect the quality of the work. My favorite Chodowiecki, who has already shown his work in the Berlin almanac, is to demonstrate what he is capable of in the drawings he will produce for it. … Do you want to know the name of the translator? His name is Bertuch. If you are no stranger to German literature, you probably know him already from some of his funny romances and well-done poems, and you will see that he knows German and has his own whimsical side.] (83-84) As mentioned in both of these announcements, Bertuch planned to translate not only all of Cervantes’s work, traditionally referred to as Don Quixote I and II, but also the apocryphal sequel written by Avellaneda.

Although

Avellaneda’s work would later grow out of favor, when it first appeared it was wellreceived by an international reading public eager for more of the knight errant’s fantastic adventures. Fortunately for us, its success forced Cervantes to publish his own long-promised, long-anticipated but long-delayed Part II in 1615. Bertuch, in the preface to his work, notes that had Avellaneda not published his sequel, Cervantes’s Part II might never have been written: “Cervantes ärgerte sich heftig über diese Fortsetzung; mit seiner Galle aber ward auch zugleich seine Laune wieder rege; kurz er gab 1616 (sic) seine eigne Vollendung des Don Quixote heraus, und wer weiß, ob wir sie, ohne diesen Zufall, erhalten hätten, das es so

39 kurz vor seinem Ende war” [“Cervantes was extremely upset about this sequel; however, with this bitterness came activity; in short, he published his own sequel in 1616,5 and who knows if we would have ever received it without this coincidence, since it was so shortly before his death”] (xii). Of the numerous German editions of Don Quixote which have appeared over the centuries, Bertuch’s is the only one which contains Avellaneda’s work. The hard-working translator dedicated himself fully to his task and spent considerable time each day on this endeavor. Describing his daily routine to his friend Gleim in another letter dated July 14, 1775, he writes: Die meisten meiner Tage sind jetzt alle einander gleich; näml. früh 5 Uhr stehe ich auf und setze mich mit meinem lieben Ritter an den Schreibtisch und sitze da, die Eßenstunde ausgenommen bis Abends 6 Uhr. Da steht mein Gaul gesattelt vor der Thür, den besteige ich und reite bis 8 Uhr, oder gehe mit unsrer Wielands Familie spazieren; um 8 Uhr eße ich ein wenig kalt und schreibe noch bis 10 Uhr Briefe. So gleicht ein Tag itzt bey mir dem andern, wie ein Ey dem andern. [Most of my days now are the same; namely, I get up early at 5 a.m. and sit down at the desk with my beloved knight and stay there, except for mealtimes, until 6 p.m. Then, my saddled horse at the door, I mount and ride until 8 p.m., or take a walk with Wieland’s family; at 8 p.m. I have a light meal and write letters until 10 p.m. Thus, for me, does one day, like one egg, resemble another.] (Pröhle lxxxvi) Bertuch was so involved in his efforts that he rarely took time to visit with his old friends. Wieland commented on this in a June 19, 1775 letter to Gleim: “Bertuch steckt bis über die Ohren in Windmühlen und Walkmühlen. Man kriegt ihn gar nicht mehr zu sehen” [“Bertuch is up to his ears in windmills and fulling mills. We don’t get a chance to see him anymore”] (Briefwechsel 387). Although Bertuch’s work would be one more in the string of translations

40 and reworkings of the text which had appeared in Germany since the midseventeenth and eighteenth centuries, “keine davon kam auch nur entfernt dem Originale nahe” [“none of them was remotely close to the original”] (Bohadti 19). Bertuch believed they incorrectly emphasized the comical aspects of the story rather than the satire which Cervantes truly intended. Thus, confident of his abilities and his knowledge of Spanish, he was determined to rectify the situation. At the same time, in addition to capturing the deeper significance of the text, he also was determined to translate faithfully the Spaniard’s words themselves. For example, in order to capture accurately the jargon and expressions of the common folk, Bertuch paid special attention to the conversations of the merchants and customers who gathered daily beneath the windows of his first home, an apartment over shops at the Jakobstor in Weimar. He learned a great deal by listening to them and used this knowledge to render the novel’s many aphorisms and exclamations into German. Of these early years in Weimar, H. Pröhle writes: “Bertuch wohnte damals zu Weimar in einem Hause, wo er besonders an Werkeltagen die Krämer und Käufer belauschen konnte. Er benutzte dies, um viele spanische Redensarten durch deutsche zu übersetzen, die dem Handel und Verkehr in Deutschland abgelauscht waren” [“At that time Bertuch lived in a house in Weimar where on weekdays he could eavesdrop on the tradesmen and customers. He used this to translate into German the many Spanish expressions dealing with trade and communication that one normally learned in Germany just by listening”] (lxi). The author also incorporates into his translation the many useful expressions that he learned from one of the retainers at Romschütz who had

41 served the baron in Spain and was therefore quite familiar with the ordinary speech of the Spanish working class and its customs.

In his dissertation on

Bertuch, Feldmann notes the significance of this man’s help: “Ein alter Kammerdiener im Bachovschen Hause, der Spanien genau kannte, soll Bertuch Aufschlüsse über spanische Kloster- und Volkssitten gegeben haben, ohne deren Kenntnis eine richtige Übersetzung des Werkes unmöglich gewesen wäre” [“An old servant in Bachoff’s house, who knew Spain quite well, is said to have provided Bertuch with information about both religious and folk customs without which a proper translation of the work would have been impossible”] (69). Kaiser also discusses Bertuch’s efforts to capture both the lingo of the working class and Spanish folk customs: “Im Kramladen unter seiner Wohnung kann er den ländlichen Kunden ‘aufs Maul schauen’ und im Ohr hat er noch die Schilderungen spanischen Volkslebens des alten Kammerdieners…” [“In the junk shop below his apartment, he can ‘pay close attention’ to the rural customers and in his ear he can still hear the descriptions of Spanish country life as told him by the old valet… ”] (4). In addition to replicating the familiar expressions of the common folk, Bertuch also took great care to capture the somewhat stilted, formal, oldfashioned language of knights errant in the romances so popular in the sixteenth century. He expresses this goal in his prologue: “Die Alten und noch aus der Rittersprache

hergenommenen

Worte

und

Redensarten

sind

ein

sehr

angenehmes Colorit des Werks, und ich habe mir die möglichste Mühe gegeben, sie auch in meine Übersetzung mit überzutragen” [“The old-fashioned words and expressions taken from knightly discourse add a very pleasant flavor to the work,

42 and I have taken great pains to carry them over into my translation”] (x). Bertuch was encouraged in his endeavors by his good friend Wieland who, like many others of his day, had written a novel in imitation of Cervantes’s style. After reading an excerpt of Bertuch’s translation, Wieland proclaimed it “meisterhaft” [“masterly”].

This praise from his mentor “entflammte B[ertuchs]

Ehrgeiz noch mehr” [“aroused B[[ertuch’s]] ambition even more”] (Böttiger, Begegnungen 287). Perhaps as a show of respect for Wieland, Bertuch not only imitated some elements of the author’s general style but also borrowed some expressions and exclamations from his friend’s work, Don Sylvio von Rosalva, to use in his translation. Wieland’s influence on Bertuch’s translation will be explored in more detail in the following chapter. On September 20, 1775, Bertuch wrote to Gleim, telling him of his progress: “Ich … will den Monat … zur Vollendung der ersten Lieferung meines Ritters anwenden. Bald, bald, liebster Gleim, schicke ich Ihnen die beyden ersten Bände” [“I intend to spend the month finishing the first installment of my knight. Soon, soon, dear Gleim, I’ll send you both of the first volumes”] (Pröhle xxxvii). The first volume, which appeared in 1775, was extremely well received, earning Bertuch over 2,000 Thalers. This sum can best be appreciated when one realizes that it was the amount a university professor would earn in five to seven years (Steiner and Kühn-Stillmark 12).

In addition to quickly becoming a

bestseller, the work also spurred interest in the Spanish language, its literature and customs. The result of this book’s popularity, and that of the numerous other translations which Bertuch would later publish, was that Weimar became the center for disseminating works by the greatest Iberian as well as Italian authors in

43 German translation (Bohadti 20). The financial success of the early volumes enabled Bertuch to marry. He had met his wife, Friederike Elisabeth Caroline Slevoigt, through a fellow classmate while a student in Jena. Living in the rural town of Waldeck, Caroline came from a family of “Gelehrte und Geistliche [“scholars and clergymen”]. In April 1776 she and Bertuch married in a simple ceremony due to the sudden and serious illness of the bride’s mother. Although Bertuch had originally asked Gleim to be his best man, under these unusual conditions, he had to rescind the invitation (Steiner and Kühn-Stillmark 46-47). Bertuch and Caroline would have two children: their son Karl, who was born in 1777, and their daughter Charlotte, born in 1779 (Bohadti 20). Bertuch’s greatly improved financial stability also enabled the couple to move in 1777 from his Weimar apartment to a more comfortable and spacious home situated outside the city. Its location especially pleased the author. Fond of nature since his childhood, he had

developed a serious interest in

horticulture during his courtship of Caroline. While thoroughly enjoying the quiet beauty of his

new

surroundings,

he

completed

his

translation of Don Quixote (Feldmann 17-18). His six-volume work, which appeared over the course of three years (1775-1777), was enthusiastically received by the numerous

Fig. 4. Title page from Bertuch’s 1775 edition, from this author’s private collection.

44 German readers who were either truly interested in Spanish literature or simply enjoyed the whimsical adventures of the hapless knight. Indeed, after 1778 the profits from his first edition (fig. 4), the first two volumes of which he published himself in Weimar and Leipzig, made him one of the city’s wealthiest men. Unfortunately, his first two volumes were so popular that a pirated edition (177677) appeared soon after. This was a common occurrence in a country without copyright protection, and thus necessitated an authorized reissue in 1776-78. Laws preventing pirated editions would not be passed until 1823, one year after the author’s death. Although Bertuch “bemühte … sich …, den angekündigten Nachdruck seiner Don Quixote-Uebersetzung durch Schmieder in Karlsruhe zu verhindern” [“… tried … to prevent the an-nounced reprint of his Don Quixote translation by Schmieder in Carlsruhe”], his attempts were in vain (Feldmann 37). His second edition, which appeared in 1780-81, was also published in Leipzig not by him but by Caspar Fritsch, a firm which had experience with the text since it had published all three editions of the anonymous translation. It is a little known fact, however, that two different versions were issued that year. In addition to the de luxe translation which contained Chodowiecki’s five original drawings, his portrait of Cervantes, and twenty-four additional illustrations (fig. 5), Bertuch also authorized a simpler version, one without any engravings at all (fig. 6). After close examination, it can be stated with certainty that, other than the presence/lack of illustrations, both of these works differ only in their title pages from the first edition.

Further confirmation of this fact comes from the artist

himself. The following is an entry which appears in the only extant copy of a small, but important, book, one which contains Chodowiecki’s instructions for the

45 1780 de luxe edition: “Nachricht an den Buchbinder, wohin die Kupfer zur Ausgabe des Don Quixote von 1775 gebunden werden müssen” [“Instructions to the bookbinder on where the engravings have to be inserted into the 1775 edition of Don Quixote”]. The artist then lists the specific pages in each volume where the illustrations should appear. The bookbinder complied exactly with Chodowiecki’s instructions (XXIV Kupfer).

Fig. 5. Title page from Bertuch’s 1780 (illustrated) edition, courtesy of the Eduardo Urbina Cervantes Project, Texas A & M University

Fig. 6. Title page from Bertuch’s 1780 (unillustrated) edition, courtesy of Indiana University

Due to the translation’s continued success, in 1785 the unauthorized edition was also reissued in Carlsruhe by the Schmiederischen Buchhandlung. Bertuch’s third and final edition, published in Vienna by Franz Haas, appeared in 1798 (fig. 7). In addition to making significant changes to the work’s punctuation

46 and spelling, he also eliminated some footnotes and occasionally made slight changes to his word order and paragraph organization. Presumably it was this edition which Susan Bernofsky meant when she wrote that “A much-revised second edition of the translation appeared in 1780” in her 2005 article entitled “What Did Don Quixote Have for Supper?” (6). Although Bertuch’s translation did have some detractors, whose comments will be discussed in the following chapter, it was primarily thanks to this work that Germans in general and followers of the new Classicism and later Romanticism would come to know the Quixote. Wieland helped solidify Bertuch’s rising fortunes when he suggested that his eighteen-year-old former pupil, now Duke Carl August, appoint Bertuch his private secretary and head of the treasury. As Fig. 7. Title page from Bertuch’s 1798 edition, from this author’s personal collection.

treasurer,

Bertuch’s

responsibilities

included, of course, keeping strict account

of the duke’s expenditures, which included the monies paid out to support Carl August’s numerous new friends, the aesthetes and their hangers-on who had recently made Weimar their home. Bertuch remarked to a friend that there was one particular column of entries “die fast nichts als Hosen, Westen, Strümpfe und Schuhe für deutsche Genies enthielt, welche schlecht mit diesen Artikeln

47 versehen, zu Weimars Thoren einwanderten” [“which contained almost nothing other than pants, waistcoats, stockings and shoes for the German geniuses who, poorly equipped with these articles, arrived at Weimar’s gates”] (qtd. in Flik 199). The following comment by Bertuch’s friend Karl August Böttiger (1760-1835) about this was a bit more frank. He wrote that Bertuch “die Genies kleiden und füttern mußte” [“had to clothe and feed [[as in animals]] the geniuses”] (Begegnungen 35). In addition to these duties, Bertuch was also responsible for managing Carl August’s collections of engravings, paintings and antiques, supervising his library, and taking minutes at the duke’s many meetings (Kaiser 10; Hohenstein 53; Kühnlenz 287). To fulfill his additional responsibilities as protocol officer, Bertuch relied upon his experience gained while at the baron’s estate (Flik 207). For his many services for the Duke, which Bertuch called “Ein Glück für mich” [“a stroke of luck for me”], since it provided him with a steady income, he received a yearly salary of 300 Thalers (Kaiser 10). From his first publication in the mid-1770s until the end of his career, Bertuch was involved in numerous successful publications. Shortly after his first edition of Don Quixote appeared, encouraged by its enthusiastic reception and seeing the possibility of further financial gain, Bertuch decided to do more to familiarize Germans with Spanish and Portuguese literature.

Therefore, he

published the Magazin der spanischen und portugiesischen Litteratur [Magazine of Spanish and Portuguese Literature] from 1780-82, “nach dem Muster von ähnlichen Periodica für ausländische Literatur” [“following the model of similar periodicals for foreign literature”] (Briesemeister 148). Bertuch himself did most of

48 the translations for the early issues of this publication but then, due to his numerous enterprises, hired others to do so. This was a decision for which many of Weimar’s literati criticized him; they reasoned that if his name was on the magazine, the public rightfully expected the translations to be his. Despite this perceived fault, his publication further opened the door to Hispanic literature for Germans who otherwise had had to depend on poor translations. Bertuch also published an edition of Spanish and Portuguese literature entitled Theater der Spanier und Portugiesen [Theater of the Spanish and Portuguese] which included his translations of works by such famous Iberian authors as Lope de Vega,6 Luís de Camões (1524-1580), and Cervantes (Bohadti 20). In 1778, buoyed by his auctorial and publishing successes, Bertuch purchased an abandoned grinding mill just outside the city limits which he intended to convert into a paper and oil mill. There he could produce paper for his own publishing company, fine oils for the production of colored inks for his botanical prints, and also install several modern printing presses to meet all of his present and future publishing needs. Ever the entrepreneur, he also decided to divide the land surrounding his home into seventy-five plots which he then leased to small farmers for a few Thalers a year (Bohadti 21, 23) The financial success Bertuch enjoyed from his various literary publications, which eventually numbered forty, enabled him to purchase land and erect his own home, one large enough so that he could also house his various businesses. His younger days as a tutor, a position of societal servitude, had deepened his wish to be financially independent, to rely only on his own abilities, talents and money. These goals complied with the principles of the Enlightenment

49 which encouraged self-reliance and independent thought (Heinemann 26). Bertuch’s actions were motivated more by his personal economic objectives rather than the humanistic ideals of his contemporaries Wieland, Herder, Goethe, and Schiller. Contrary to these men who disdained, and perhaps envied, his financial success, he saw no conflict between earning a good living and bettering the common good; in his mind, these were not mutually exclusive. If one followed the logical principles of the Enlightenment, as he did, a man free of superstition, religious dogmas, feudal privileges and despotic power could free himself of his mental immaturity, take responsibility for his own intellect and, using that intellect, forge a better society (Steiner and Kühn-Stillmark 6). Bertuch’s next entrpreneurial endeavor began in 1782 when he and his wife, who always supported his innovative ventures, hired young, single, middleclass ladies of Weimar (among them Christiane Vulpius, Goethe’s future wife) to produce artificial flowers in a small factory which they established in the upper levels of their new home. Up until then, these flowers were made in France, which along with London was the center of European fashion. However, Bertuch saw no reason that Germans could not produce equally attractive flowers. He firmly believed in the hidden talents of his countrymen who were slaves to the fashion dictates of France and England. This undertaking, which Bertuch, in a letter to Knebel, referred to as “eine Entreprise meiner Frau” [“an undertaking of my wife”], at first employed only ten girls who worked four days a week (qtd. in Bohadti 21). However, it was so successful that many orders were turned down even though the number of employees rapidly grew to forty. In addition to providing these young ladies with a steady income, the

50 entrepreneur also started a small bank at the factory so that they could have savings accounts. The money deposited would then be returned to the young ladies when they married (Damm 74-76). Of course, until that day came, Bertuch had use of these funds which he used to expand and improve his business. This is a good example of his ability to blend humanistic goals, his true concern for others’ well-being, with economic ones, the improvement and expansion of his multi-faceted enterprises. In 1790, in order to consolidate his many undertakings under one roof and to encourage and promote German industry, he decided to invite local tradesmen to work in a new, large building which was an extension of his house. This latest undertaking, first called the Industrie-Comptoir and renamed the Landes-IndustrieComptoir in 1802, would prove to be the most influential endeavor in Weimar. Eventually it directly supported ten percent of the city’s population, making it second only to the court in the number of workers it employed.

The unique

venture encouraged the production of German-made goods, for Bertuch firmly believed that his countrymen could manufacture wares equal in quality and style to those of England and France which, in addition to their role in fashion, were Europe’s leading manufacturing countries. To break this “Sclavenkette” [“slave’s chains”], he brought in numerous engravers, illustrators, artisans, and workers of all kinds who produced a remarkable variety of goods: optics, tools, books, magazines, atlases and globes, chocolate and champagne, leather goods, ceramic- and glassware, and cloth (Bohadti 24; Steiner and Kühn-Stillmark 68; Heinemann 17). To stimulate interest in and thus open a market for these goods, he

51 included articles about them in his most popular literary endeavor, the Journal des Luxus und der Mode [Journal of Luxury and Fashion]. This magazine, which Bertuch had begun in 1786, offered its readers a wide range of articles dealing with fashion, inventions, health, etc.

It also included in each issue an insert

containing advertisements for the many products available through the IndustrieComptoir. Thus, those who read the magazine and were intrigued by a product mentioned in it could readily find all of the particulars regarding its purchase too. It was a stroke of genius which was, in large part, responsible for the tremendous success of his newest enterprise (Purdy 8). The most important and financially rewarding arm of this business, however, was its publishing house, which was a major player in the growing book culture of the day. Bertuch felt that if the entire process could be handled by one company, then authors could be better paid, something which the other publishing houses in Weimar opposed. The money he earned from the Industrie-Comptoir enabled him to put his plan into action. At first, he offered books of literature to be used in schools and popular science works; he also rewrote and simplified erudite writings for the masses. These types of publications caused the town’s other publishers to refer disdainfully to the Industrie-Comptoir as “a grocery story for printing” (Steiner and Kühn-Stillmark 74). However, the financial success of these undertakings enabled Bertuch to publish works of quality too, e.g., the collected works of some of Weimar’s greatest authors like Goethe, Schiller, and Wieland (Bohadti 22).

In their extensive work on Bertuch, Steiner and Kühn-Stillmark

succinctly capture the significance of the entrepreneur’s numerous publishing efforts, and the importance of the publishing trade in general during the

52 Enlightenment, when they write “Mehr als Gold habe das Blei die Welt verändert, und mehr als das Blei in der Flinte das im Setzkasten” [“Lead changed the world more than gold, and more than the lead in a shotgun, that in a printer’s tray”] (73). It was Bertuch’s role in this endeavor which would contribute the most to his social position in Weimar. Of all of the people involved in the publishing of a book (authors, printsetters, bookbinders, etc.), the publisher was the most important.

Only audacious, bold personalities succeeded in this field and, if

successful, they joined the social elite. This is what happened to Bertuch. A man who was orphaned at fifteen and who left school because he was unable to pay for his college education took his place among the notables of Weimar society thanks in large part to his accomplishments as a publisher. The immense success of the Industrie-Comptoir and its many affiliates enabled Bertuch to retire from Duke Carl August’s service in 1796, at the age of forty-nine (Bohadti 28). However, in his letter of resignation he promised the duke he would always be concerned about the state’s welfare and would continue to serve Weimar to the best of his abilities (Steiner and Kühn-Stillmark 59). After his retirement, Bertuch said, “Ich bin nun ein freier Mann und kann nun nur meinen Geschäften und Freunden leben” [“I am now a free man and now I can dedicate myself solely to my businesses and friends”] (qtd. in Kaiser 13). In addition to exploring other possible financial endeavors and spending time with his friends, he also wished to resume writing poetry (Feldmann 48). However, Bertuch could not completely withdraw from public service; besides working on his numerous enterprises, in 1811 he was elected to serve on the town council as a respected city elder. During these years the “retired”

53 entrepreneur also served on committees dealing with the city’s buildings, parks and cemetery, and with the poor, whose well-being concerned him greatly. He was especially interested in the welfare of those families struggling financially after the deaths of their loved ones, soldiers who had fought in recent wars. To ease their burden, this compassionate man approached wealthy friends and requested financial donations which he used to alleviate their suffering. He also visited wounded soldiers in hospitals and collected items needed by the army (Bohadti 36). Despite Bertuch’s many economic successes, he also encountered adversity. The early years of the nineteenth century were especially difficult ones for Bertuch financially. Due to the hardships endured by Germans during the Napoleonic wars, people did not have money to spend on books; his LandesIndustrie-Comptoir, which had supplied maps to the military, saw a sharp decrease in sales; and the cost of raw materials rose significantly (Feldmann 30). At one point, as a desperate measure to raise enough money to pay his workers wages which amounted to 500 Thalers a week, Bertuch found it necessary to petition the Duke for a loan, which was granted. Fortunately, he and his many enterprises were able to weather these difficult times (Bohadti 30, 32). Over

the

years,

Bertuch’s

industriousness,

innovations

and

accomplishments earned him numerous honors. For example, in 1788 he was made an honorary member of the Preussische Akademie der Künste und Wissenschaften [Prussian Academy of Arts and Sciences]; in 1792 he became a member of the Deutsche Akademie der Naturforscher Leopoldina [German Academy of Naturalists]; in 1794 Catherine II of Russia named him a member of

54 the Ökonomische Gesellschaft [Economic Society] in St. Petersburg (Kaiser 69); in 1806 he received an honorary doctorate from the University of Halle (Bohadti 35); in 1815 the Duke named him a member of the “Weißen Falken [White Falcons] for his many years of service; and in 1816 he became the director of the Akademie gemeinnütziger Wissenschaften [Academy of Science for the Public Good] in Erfurt (Fink 20, 22). The fact that his portrait hangs just outside the ballroom in the Wittumspalais, Duchess Anna Amalia’s former residence, is a further indication of the important role Bertuch played in Weimar’s court life. In 1817, after a lifetime of remarkable achievements, and some failures, as an author, publisher, editor and entrepreneur, ill health forced Bertuch to retire. Because his son had died in 1815 of typhus, he handed control of his many businesses to his son-in-law, Dr. Ludwig Friedrich von Froriep. Unfortunately, the hard-working, innovative entrepreneur did not have long to enjoy his retirement; he died only a few years later, on April 3, 1822, after a long and productive life (Fink 22). His son-in-law placed an announcement of Bertuch’s death in the April 5, 1822 edition of the Weimarisches Wochenblatt [Weimar Weekly News]. The first entry under Familien-Nachrichten [Family News], it reads in part: “Er starb in seinem 75. Jahre und mit dem Bewusstseyn, nicht vergebens für seine Zeit gelebt zu haben” [“He died at the age of 75 with the awareness that he did not live in vain for his time”]. On the significance of his life, Holtzhauer said: “Als Bertuch am 3. April 1822, fünfundsiebzigjährig, die Augen schloß, war nicht nur eine für Weimar ungewöhnliche Persönlichkeit dahingegangen, sondern geradezu der Typus eines Unternehmers, der für die ganze Epoche des Manufakturkapitalismus und der

55 Aufklärung stand” [“When the seventy-five-year-old Bertuch closed his eyes on April 3, 1822, not only did an exceptionally strong personality for Weimar pass away but someone who was the very model of an entrepreneur who personified the entire epoch of small-factory capitalism and the Enlightenment”] (7). His passing was mourned by many. Among those attending his funeral, in addition to his daughter, grandchildren and colleagues, were the numerous people whom he had provided with jobs. These loyal workers wanted to pay their final respects to a man who had done so much for the economy of Weimar and the well-being of its citizens. At the service, Kanzler Friedrich von Müller read a moving eulogy written by Goethe, Bertuch’s longtime friend and occasional detractor. The author-publisher-entrepreneur was then buried in his beloved gardens next to his son and his wife, who had died in 1810 (Fink 22). Everything Bertuch accomplished in his lifetime was achieved not through an inheritance or gifts but from his own hard work, innovation, and determination. All of his successes arose from small beginnings, hardships, struggles, and the firm belief that he could achieve anything he set out to do, once again reflective of the philosophy of the Enlightenment. Although Bertuch’s name was once one of the most well-known in Germany, it has faded from memory as the centuries pass. Except in Weimar, where it lives on. For example, many residents still refer to Weimarhallenpark as “Bertuchschen Garten”; a city street bears his name; his former home is now the city museum; and, most appropriately, a new publishing house, one bearing his name (although not related to him), recently opened its doors.

56

NOTES 1

While Bertuch’s father had formal medical training, Cervantes’s father was an unschooled country doctor. While most scholars write that Bertuch returned to Weimar in 1773, Böttiger wrote that it was 1772 (Begegnungen 287). 2

3

(1759-1805) Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller, along with Goethe, was an important poet and playwright of the late eighteenth century. 4

(1744-1803) Johann Gottfried von Herder was a poet, literary critic, and philosopher. As Weimar’s dean, he was also the pastor of Bertuch’s church which today is called the Herderkirche [Herder Church]. 5

6

Bertuch mistakenly wrote 1616; Cervantes’s Part II was published in 1615.

(1526-1635) Felix Lope de Vega Carpio was the star of Spain’s Siglo de Oro or Golden Age.

57

CHAPTER 3 BERTUCH’S TRANSLATION

“Endeavoring to translate artful writing, particularly an indispensable work like Don Quixote, grows out of infinite optimism as the translator, perhaps quixotically, attempts to enter the mind of the first writer through the gateway of the text. It is a daunting and inspiring enterprise” (Grossman, “Translating” 1).

Bertuch’s ambitious work, translating not only Cervantes’s Don Quixote I and II but also Avellaneda’s apocryphal Part II, was but the latest translation published in a country that esteemed other cultures’ writings. In the early nineteenth century, the British author Thomas Carlyle, in an essay entitled “State of German Literature,” commented on the Germans’ deep interest in a wide variety of literary efforts and the popularity and quality of that country’s translations: The Germans study foreign nations in a spirit which deserves to be oftener imitated. It is their honest endeavour to understand each, with its own peculiarities, in its own special manner of existing; not that they may praise it, or censure it, or attempt to alter it, but simply that they may see this manner of existing as the nation itself sees it, and so participate in whatever worth or beauty it has brought into being. Of all literatures, accordingly, the German has the best as well as the most translations. (55) This predilection for translations was not limited only to Carlyle’s times but has a long history in Germany.

Centuries before Luther’s ground-breaking

58 translation of the New Testament in 1522, “there had appeared German versions of works in the language of the countries which surrounded the Holy Roman Empire and which had already developed literary cultures, which, as some Germans realized, were more advanced and more prestigious than their own.”

In the

Middle Ages numerous translations of Greek and Roman works were produced, but it was Gutenberg’s invention of movable type around 1450 which greatly increased the availability of writings, not only from the classical world but from other cultures, too. In fact, this invention’s importance was such that “By 1560, that is, by the end of the first century of printing, German versions existed of key classical works such as Homer’s Odyssey, Virgil’s Aeneid, the Parallel Lives of Plutarch and Aesop’s fables, done into the German prose and verse styles characteristic of the period” (Sagarra 46). In addition to spreading knowledge and other languages’ literary traditions, such works served another significant role, namely the furthering of the German language. In the 1620’s, the influential author Martin Opitz (1597-1639) commented on the importance translations have in “refining, improving and extending the German language and the cultural range of literature written in it” (Sagarra 45). German readers must have taken these words to heart because this genre flourished to such an extent in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries that “By the mid-1770’s, translations accounted for a good one-third of the new books offered for sale at the Leipzig Book Fair each year…” (Bernofsky, Foreign Words 7). It was precisely at this time, the apogee of translations’ popularity in Germany, that Bertuch published his Don Quixote, employing a translation theory

59 called “Nachdichten” [“paraphrasing”]. Popular in the late-seventeenth and earlyeighteenth centuries, this method gave the translator great leeway in his writing; he “was at liberty to alter the tone, style, diction or form of a work, even to delete certain passages or add new ones of his own if he thought it would improve the final product” (Bernofsky, Foreign Words 1). This approach continued, with little change, through the Enlightenment. In her 1924 dissertation, Bettina Kronacher discusses the translation theory prevalent in the Age of Reason, the literary period during which Bertuch wrote: die … Eigentümlichkeiten der Bertuch’schen Uebersetzungsmethode [halten] sich zum grossen Teile durchaus innerhalb des allgemein geübten Uebersetzungsbrauches seiner Zeit… . Denn obwohl mit den früheren, sehr primitiven Vorstellungen von Uebersetzung gebrochen war, hielten sich die Aufklärer doch immer noch für berechtigt, willkürlich am Text des Originals zu ändern. [the … characteristics of Bertuch’s translation methods follow, in large part, the generally accepted translation theory of his day. Because even though they had distanced themselves from earlier, very simple ideas about translation, those of the Enlightenment still considered it legitimate to alter arbitrarily the text of the original. (42) One can understand, therefore, why Bertuch, following this theory, shortened or omitted various passages when translating different Spanish, English and French works. In the preface to his Don Quixote translation, Bertuch advises his readers of and his reasons for the alterations he chose to make. Although the following passage from that preface is relatively long, it is essential for an understanding of the comments found in reviews by his contemporaries. Discussing Cervantes’s times, he writes that: Sein Jahrhundert war das Jahrhundert der Novelen; man durstete in Spanien und Italien darnach, und sein Don Quixote würde im

60 Jahr 1605 gewiß weniger gefallen haben, wenn man nicht so angehehme Ruheplätgen darinnen gefunden hätte. Wir zwar werden ungeduldig, wenn wir uns durch eine vier Bogen lange fade und langweilige Liebesgeschichte hindurchwinden, und so lange die besser Unterhaltung der Hauptgeschichte, ohne Erfaß, entbehren sollen. Für uns sind es also immer Fehler. Diesen nun so viel möglich abzuhelfen, habe ich die meisten Episoden, die mit der Hauptgeschichte verwebt sind, abgekürzt, jedoch ohne dem Wesentlichen und dem Zusammenhange zu schaden. Dieß habe ich z. E. mit der Geschichte der Marcella und des Chrisostomus, des Cardenio und der Dorothea, und des Sclaven im 2ten Theile gethan; die Novele vom Curioso impertinente aber habe ich hingegen ganz weggeschnitten, theils weil sie mit der Hauptgeschichte gar keinen Zusammenhang hatte, …; theils weil sie bereits unter die Novelas Exemplares des Cervantes aufgenommen war. Ich hoffe meine Leser sollen mir diese Vorsorge für ihr Vergnügen danken. Sollte es aber jemand, wider Vermuthen, für einen Verlust halten, den weise ich ganz ruhig zur vorigen Uebersetzung des Don Quixote, wo er alle diese Herrlichkeiten wörtlich und weitläufig zu seiner Erbauung finden kann. [His century was the century of novellas; people thirsted for them in Spain and Italy, and his Don Quixote would have been less popular in 1605 if such pleasant little breaks had not been included. We, however, grow impatient when we have to wind through a four-page long, dull and boring love story, and have to go a long time without the better entertainment of the main story. Therefore, for us, they [[the novellas]] are always mistakes. So, in order to put an end to this as much as possible, I have shortened most of those episodes which are interwoven into the main story without damaging/harming the fundamental tale and its continuity. I did this, for example, in the second part with the stories of Marcela and Crisóstomo, of Cardenio and Dorotea, and of the slave; on the other hand, I have completely omitted the novella of The Impertinent Snoop, partly because it has no connection [[to the novel]], …; partly because it has already been included in Cervantes’s Novelas exemplares [[Exemplary Tales]]. I hope my readers will thank me for this concern for their [[reading]] pleasure. However, should anyone, contrary to my expectations, consider it a loss, then I quite calmly point him to the earlier translation of Don Quixote where he will find, word-for-word and at length, all of these wonderful things for his edification.] (xv-xvi) Although Bertuch’s decision to edit out Cervantes’s novellas was quite in tune with the early eighteenth-century concept of translation theory and that of the

61 Enlightenment, it contradicted a newer approach that Johann Jakob Breitinger (1701-1776), one of the leading literary critics of the eighteenth century, discusses in his 1740 work entitled Critische Dichtkunst. After calling the art of translation “eine höchstnützliche Übung” [“a most useful exercise”], he rejects the earlier translation theory and proposes one that stresses the importance of a translator’s fidelity to the original text: Von einem Uebersetzer wird erfodert, daß er eben dieselben Begriffe und Gedancken, die er in einem trefflichen Muster vor sich findet, in eben solcher Ordnung, Verbindung, Zusammenhange, und mit gleich so starckem Nachdrucke … ausdrücke, so daß die Vorstellung der Gedancken unter beyderley Zeichen einen gleichen Eindruck auf das Gemüthe des Lesers mache. [A translator is required to express the exact same concepts and thoughts which he finds in the splendid sample before him with just the same order, connection, and coherence, and with the same degree of emphasis, so that the presentation of thoughts under both signs [[in both languages]] makes a similar impression on the reader’s mind.] (139) Thus, this new approach, which Susan Bernofsky calls “service translation,” meant that no longer was it considered acceptable for an author to edit substantially or omit passages of the original text.

Instead, this theory

emphasized the importance of including everything that appeared in the original work (Foreign Words 5-6). Therefore, although Bertuch’s efforts were extremely well received by the reading public, for the most part his translation was sharply criticized by reviewers, strong adherents of this new theory, for its numerous omissions.

Had his work been published thirty-five years earlier, few, if any,

critics would have cavilled. Reviews of his efforts appeared in two respected literary journals shortly after the publication of the first few volumes. The first article, entitled “Leben und

62 Thaten des weisen Junkers Don Quixote von Mancha. Erster und zweyter Theil” [Life and Deeds of the Wise Nobleman Don Quixote of la Mancha. Parts I and II] – a review that, to the best of my knowledge, has not been previously mentioned in Bertuch scholarship – was published in the 1776 Journal zur Kunstgeschichte und zur allgemeinen Litteratur [Journal of Art History and General Literature]. In it, the anonymous author expresses his dissatisfaction with Bertuch’s efforts, calling the translation “flüchtig” [“superficial”] (396). In the same sentence, he also compares Bertuch’s effort to an “umgewandte Tapete” [“a tapestry seen from the back side”], perhaps paraphrasing Don Quixote when, in II, 62, he says: “… el traducir de una lengua en otra … es como quien mira los tapices flamencos por el revés, que aunque se veen las figuras, son llenas de hilos que las escurecen y no se veen con la lisura y tez de la haz” [“… translating from one language to another … is like looking at Flemish tapestries from the wrong side, for although the figures are visible, they are covered by threads that obscure them, and cannot be seen with the smoothness and color of the right side”]. The reviewer also suggests Bertuch “hätte sich zu einer so schweren Arbeit mehr Zeit nehmen sollen wenn er die Wolfische Uebersetzung verdunkeln wollte” [“should have taken more time for such a difficult task if he wanted to improve upon [[Sekretär]] Wolf’s translation”] (396).

The author then writes that

the only thing that separated Bertuch’s work from the latter was his choice of vocabulary: “Einzelne Kleinigkeiten, z. B. Escudero durch Schildknappe, statt Stallmeister, fahrende Ritter, statt irrende Ritter u. zu geben, machen noch wenig aus” [“A few small things, for example rendering escudero with squire instead of

63 head groom, knight errant instead of wandering knight, etc., make little difference”] (396). Ironically, while withholding praise for Bertuch’s linguistic efforts, the reviewer then mentions the difficulties he himself encountered when he attempted to translate the novel: “Ich fieng vor 4 Jahren an das erste und zweyte Buch des Quixote zu übersetzen, aber ich fand bald, daß man sehr viel Localspanisch verstehen müsse, und ließ ab davon. Ich schrieb dieses alles freymüthig Herrn Bertuchen” [“Four years ago I began to translate the first and second books of the Quixote, but I soon discovered that one needs to understand a great deal of colloquial Spanish, so I gave it up. I candidly explained all of this to Mr. Bertuch in a letter”] (396). Perhaps these words reveal a bias against Bertuch’s translation: if he, the reviewer, found the task too daunting, then, in his opinion, no one else, not even Bertuch, could do a proper job either. The reviewer then discusses what he perceives as Bertuch’s greatest failure, his having omitted several of the work’s passages. Considering this a mutilation of the novel, he writes: “Herr Bertuch wollte ja das Original, wie es ist, den Lesern … liefern, warum nimmt er sich denn die Freyheit heraus, es zu castriren?” [“Mr. Bertuch wanted to provide readers with the original, as it is; why, then, does he take the liberty to castrate it?”] (398). He then implies that it was the author’s greed – the book’s immediate financial success made Bertuch one of the wealthiest citizens of Weimar –that was responsible for what he considers a hasty translation: “Es ist zu wünschen, daß Herr Bertuch dieser Uebersetzung viele Zeit schenke. Es wird nicht darauf ankommen, ob sie etliche Jahre eher oder später fertig ist, und die Gewinnsuch muß von allen dergleichen Unternehmungen

64 entfernet seyn, wenn sie allgemeinen Beyfall erhalten sollen” [“It would have been better if Mr. Bertuch had given more time to this translation. It does not matter if it is finished a few years sooner or later, and greed for profit must be removed from all similar undertakings if they are to receive general approval”] (401-02). However, the reviewer does admire Bertuch’s ability to capture the humor of a particular scene: Das achte Kapitel, des 2ten Theils, … meines Bedünkens eines der launischsten im ganzen Buche, ist Herrn Bertuch sehr gut gerathen, und er hat das Drollichste des Spanischen so gut ausgedruckt, daß ich eben so herzlich bey dessen Durchlesung lachte, als ich allemal thun muß, wenn ich es in der Sprache des unglücklichen Cervantes lese. [Mr. Bertuch did a very good job on the eighth chapter of the second part, in my opinion one of the most capricious in the whole book, and he captured the most comical aspect of the Spanish so well, that I laughed as heartily reading it as I always do when I read it in the language of the unfortunate Cervantes.] (398-99) A second review entitled “Leben und Thaten des weisen Junkers Don Quixote von Mancha. Neue Ausgabe aus der Urschrift des Cervantes, nebst der Fortsetzung des Avellaneda” [“Life and Deeds of the Wise Nobleman Don Quixote of la Mancha.

A New Edition from Cervantes’s Original, along with

Avellaneda’s Sequel”], one presumably also ignored in Bertuch scholarship, appeared in the well-known literary journal Allgemeine deutsche Bibliothek [General German Library].

Like the first author, this reviewer is equally

disapproving of Bertuch’s having omitted the work’s novellas. Referring to the translator’s explanation for having done so, he writes: “Dann sagt der Ueb[ersetzer] er habe die Novelen theils verkurzt, theils weggelassen, weil sie in den itzigen Zeiten ein wirklicher Fehler des Werkes wären. Ich weiß nicht, ob

65 diese Entschuldigung gültig ist: vielmehr sollte er uns ja wohl seinen ganzen Autor unverbessert und unverändert geben” [“Then the trans[[lator]] says that he partly shortened, partly omitted some of the novellas because they are a real mistake in present times. I do not know if this excuse is valid: on the contrary, he should have given us his whole author, unimproved and unchanged”] (3395). The reviewer also finds fault with Bertuch’s attempt to capture Cervantes’s subtle, “lachendste Ironie und das herrlichste Komische” [“most enjoyable irony and most marvelous comic elements”] that he finds hidden under his “zuweilen zu kalte und gedehnte Ernsthaftigkeit” [“occasionally too cold, too drawn out seriousness”]. In contrast to Cervantes’s satisfying style, the article’s author considers the translator’s style “zu munter, concis, vorlaut, witzelnd, keck” [“too cheerful, concise, forward, joking, cheeky”]. Despite these words, however, in the next sentence he writes that in some places, “mag er bessere Wirkung thun, als der Cervantische” [“In some places his style may create a better effect than does Cervantes’s”] (3396). This literary critic also has kind words to say about the translation, which seem to contradict his earlier comments, writing that “Die Uebers[etzung’ verdient allerdings wegen der Treue und des Fleisses Lob” [“The trans[[lation]] certainly deserves praise because of its faithfulness and [[the translator’s]] diligence] (3395).

He also acknowledges the work’s significance.

And, although he

personally prefers “die alte deutsche Uebers[etzung]” [“the old German translation”], he recognizes the profound significance of Bertuch’s translation since the earlier version “nur frey aus einer freyen französischen gemacht ist” [“is only a free translation derived from a loose French translation”] (3396).

66 Despite these two less-than-enthusiastic critiques, however, Bertuch’s translation (1775-77) did receive some favorable notice. For example, an article that appeared in an Erfurt1 newspaper notes that Bertuch “habe alles erfüllet, und das Original völlig erschepfet” [“fulfilled everything and exhausted the original work”] (qtd. in “Leben, Erster und zweyter Theil” 397). A much more concrete proof of this work’s success, though, was its overwhelming popularity among German readers who were delighted finally to have the first Spanish-to-German translation of both parts of the famous novel familiar to them for more than 150 years (Steiner and Kühn-Stillmark 30). This meant that they no longer had to rely on the French authors Oudin, Rousset, Filleau de St. Martin and Le Sage as their intermediary translators, since French translators, as did German ones, often edited the work to suit their own or their readers’ tastes. Although both reviewers faulted Bertuch for his abridgments and omissions, he had made these to modernize the work and thus make it more appealing to the German readers of his time. However, this was not the only decision Bertuch had to make. Indeed, there were many other possible changes that he had to take into consideration when translating this novel, or any work. Breitinger, Bertuch’s contemporary, succinctly summarizes the challenges that confront every translator: “… es [kommt] einem Uebersetzer oft sauer [an], die Gedancken seines Originales ohne Verminderung des Nachdruckes und der Schönheit … auszudrücken, welche in seiner Sprache nicht fremd klingen, und dem Character derselben nicht Gewalt anthun” [“… it is often difficult for a translator to express the thoughts of the original without a lessening of its

67 emphasis and beauty, not have it sound strange in his own language, and not violate the character of the same”] (143). This statement is especially true when the original piece is in a language whose culture is substantially different from the target language, for the translator needs to consider many other factors in addition to word order and vocabulary. For example, should a translator retain the characters’ names in the original language — doing so would “foreignize” the text — or would it be better to render those names in the target language, and thus “domesticate” the text (Venuti 13; Borges 36)? The translator must also apply this same rationale to other cultural differences, i.e., measurements, money, food, etc.

If the author makes no

changes and retains these cultural differences, he risks losing his intended audience, since a text’s having too many foreign words could possibly dissuade readers from finishing the work. If, however, by translating these items into his target language he bridges the cultural gap too much, he also risks losing the foreign flavor, creativity, and identity of the original work. Besides these important considerations, Bertuch faced another challenge when he took on the task of translating Cervantes’s novel: no good SpanishGerman dictionaries were available, a problem that he would solve a few years later by writing and publishing his own. Instead, he had to rely on the Spanish he had learned from Bachoff von Echt, the idioms and proverbs taught him by the baron’s valet who had served with the diplomat von Echt in Spain, and the everyday expressions and speech patterns of the tradesmen who frequented the shop below his first apartment in Weimar.

68 How, then, did this seminal work render Spanish names, measurements, foods, aphorisms, exclamations, profanities and other cultural differences? How did Bertuch treat various verb tenses; where did he stick to solid, word-for-word renditions or, conversely, have recourse to looser translations; and what were his occasional translation errors? This study will answer these questions and also discuss how Bertuch adapted Cervantes’s unique literary style and also included numerous interesting alliterative elements.

FOREIGNIZING AND DOMESTICATING THE TEXT As his translated text clearly indicates, Bertuch decided to take a middleof-the-road approach as far as either foreignizing or domesticating the German version is concerned. In contrast to Bastel von der Sohle, who translates many of the characters’ names, including Don Quixote’s, Bertuch retains the majority of them in their original form. The only exception he makes is to Germanize a few first names. Thus, Juan becomes Hans or Johann, Guillermo becomes Wilhelm, Pedro becomes Peter and Luis becomes Ludwig. He also translates honorifics, changing señor to Herr, emperador to Kaiser [emperor], preste to Priester [priest], caballero to Ritter [knight], Molinera to Müllerin [miller’s wife], San to Sanct [saint], reina to Königin [queen], alcaide to Burgvogt [burgrave], etc. Also, instead of retaining the Spanish versions of Latin and Greek names, Bertuch employs the standard German forms: Zoilus, Xenophon, Cato, Plutarch, Homer, etc. If a character’s name is one invented by Cervantes to incorporate a play on words, Bertuch retains Cervantes’s creative version, e.g., Laurcalco [Laurelfacsimile],

Miulina

[Mewlina],

Malindrania

[wicked],

Alifanfarón

69 [Alibombast],

Micocolembo

[Monkeywedge],

Brandabarbarán

de

Boliche

[Brandabarian of Ninepins], Alfeñiquén del Algarbe [Mollycoddle of Babble], and Timonel de/von Carajona [Helmsman of Guffawjona]. Unfortunately, perhaps because Bertuch himself did not catch the play on words, he rarely footnotes these names so that the reader might better understand the humor they contain. One of the few times Bertuch does explain the pun involved appears in II, 47/15.2 In this chapter, Sancho mispronounces the name of the character Pedro Recio [vigorous or difficult] de Agüero [omen], saying instead Pedro Recio de Malagüero [evil omen], who comes from the village of Tirteafuera [get the hell out]. Bertuch, making no mention of the latter pun, notes that for the former, “Aguero heißt auch ein Zeichen, Omen. Sancho spielt mit dem Worte, und macht daraus Malaguero, böses Zeichen [“‘Agüero’ also means a ‘sign,’ an ‘omen.’ Sancho makes a pun and creates ‘Malagüero,’ ‘evil omen,’ out of it”]. In addition to these changes, like Bastel von der Sohle, Bertuch slightly alters a name’s orthography, choosing to give it a more phonetic spelling in order to accommodate either German pronunciation or orthographic rules. Therefore, he changes: Zancas to Sancas, Panza to Pansa, Rocinante to Rozinante, Recio to Rezio, Placerdemivida to Plazerdemivia, Henares to Enares, Mallorca to Majorka, Hircania to Hirkanien, don Quirieleisón to Don Kyrie-Eleison, Palomeque to Palomeke, Jarifa to Xarifa, Jerez to Xerez, Jaramilla to Xaramilla, Trujillo to Truxillo, Jáurigui to Xaurigui,

Montemayor to Montemajor, and Candaya to

Candaja. The author frequently replaces with a v those names containing a b – these two letters represent the same phoneme in Spanish –, e.g., Cristóbal becomes

Christoval,

Córdoba

becomes

Cordova,

Alcobendas

becomes

70 Alcovendas, Alcarbe becomes Alcarve, Torralba becomes Torralva, and Bamba becomes Vamba. However, he does make a few exceptions to this alternation, e.g., Almodovar, Villalpando, Zocodover and Viso; and in one instance, he changes the Spanish v to a b. Thus, Vizcayo becomes Biscayo. Bertuch also domesticates most units of measurement that have no German equivalent, substituting instead an approximation for the Spanish amounts. For example, he replaces dedo [finger] with Zoll [inch], vara [yardstick, pole] with Steinwurf [throw of the stone]; celemín [4.6 dry liters] with Scheffelsack [bushel bag]; azumbres [1 azumbre equals 2 liters] with Kannen [jugs], 6 arrobas [1 arroba of liquid measure equals 2.6-3.6 gallons] with ein halber Eimer [half a bucket], and once arrobas [11 arrobas; as a measure of weight, 1 arroba equals 24-36 pounds] with eilf (sic)Viertelscentner [11 quarter-centners; 1 centner equals 100 kilograms] – perhaps Bertuch uses this unusual expression of weight to capture the rustic and uneducated manner of the speaker. However, in another passage, the author retains arrobas [Arroben] and explains this unique Spanish measurement with a footnote.

On two occasions he translates simple

expressions of quantity with thoroughly German ones: seiscientos huevos [six hundred eggs] becomes zehn Schock Eyer [ten Schock of eggs] – a Schock is a German measurement that has sixty pieces to it (II, 7); and media docena [half a dozen] becomes ein halb Mandel [one half Mandel; one Mandel equals 15 pieces; four Mandel equal 1 Schock] (II, 4). For distances, the translator always renders legua [league] with Meile [mile]. When dealing with money, Bertuch at times chooses to domesticate the text by replacing some Spanish monetary units with terms more familiar to

71 Germans, but then he foreignizes his work by retaining others. For example, he replaces dos ardites [two ardites; an ardite is a coin of little value] with keinen Pfifferling [not worth a bean]; real [a Spanish coin] with Thaler [a German coin] (although on occasion Bertuch also uses Realen); and blanca [a coin worth half of a maravedí] and un cornado [a cornado was the smallest coin possible; there were six cornados in one maravedí] with Heller [penny]. However, he retains some monetary units. Thus the word ducados remains Dukaten, pesos remains Pesos, cuartos remains Cuartos, zoltanís remains Sultanen, doblas remains Dublones and maravedís remains Maravedis, although in one case he renders maravedís with Kronen. When translating escudos, he employs a variety of words: Goldstücke, Pistolen, Dublonen, Thaler, Dukaten, Gold and Kronen, although Kronen is the most common choice. Interestingly, on one occasion he renders un ardite with keinen Maravedi, thus translating one Spanish monetary unit with another. As far as food is concerned, Bertuch again uses either the Spanish term, e.g., (olla podrida [meat and vegetable stew], salpicón [chopped meat with onion, tomato and peppers]), or he replaces the word with something more Germanic. Thus, una hogaza [a large, round loaf of bread] becomes ein Stück Pumpernickel [a piece of pumpernickel] (I, 18); bizcocho [hardtack] becomes Zwieback (I, 41/12); alfeni [sugar candy] becomes Pfefferkuchen [gingerbread] (II, 1); badeos [watermelons] becomes Butterbirnen [very juicy pears] (II, 4); tortas y pan pintado [pies and iced cake] becomes Zuckerbrod und Marzipan [sweet bread and marzipan] (II, 17); cosas de masa [rounds of dough] becomes Pfannkuchen [pancakes] (II, 19); and manjar blanco y de albondiguillas [white morsels made of

72 chicken breasts, rice, flour, milk and sugar, and rissoles] becomes Reißbrey und Fleischklösgen [rice pudding and meatballs] (II, 62/30). Whenever he does retain a Spanish word referring to measurements, money or food, Bertuch usually includes an informative footnote that gives the reader a very good explanation of the concept. These detailed footnotes, much favored by Aufklärer or followers of the Enlightenment, also demonstrate the depth of Bertuch’s knowledge of Spain’s cuisine and culture. For example, in I, 2 he explains that truchuela “heißt gewöhnlicher weise in Spanien eine kleine Forelle, und als Stockfisch, wie es hier der Wirth braucht, ist es Provinzial Wort” [“in Spain usually refers to a small trout and the word ‘stockfish,’ as the innkeeper uses it here, is a provincial word”]. More of these illuminating footnotes will be given in a later section. Another means by which Bertuch frequently domesticates the text is the way he renders the novel’s numerous adages, especially those uttered by Sancho Panza. Although in some instances there are direct correlations between the two languages, for the most part these phrases express the same idea in very different, and very colorful, ways.

The following are examples of Bertuch’s

Germanic equivalent translations of various Spanish expressions: de mis viñas vengo, no sé nada [I tend to my vines, it’s their business, not mine] becomes ich stecke meine Nase nicht in andrer Leute Brodsack [I don’t stick my nose into other people’s breadbags] (I, 25/1); ¡esas burlas, a un cuñado! [try those tricks on your brother-in-law!] becomes den Sattel legt auf ein ander Pferd [put the saddle on another horse] (II, 69/37); vienen a volverse en humo [to go up in smoke] becomes vor die Hunde gehen [to go to the dogs] (II 65/33); and y no miel sobre

73 hojuelas [not honey on hotcakes] becomes immer aus dem Regen in die Dachtraufe [always out of the rain into the eavestroughs] (II 69/37). He translates cuando a Roma fueres, haz como vieres [when you are in Rome, do as you see] as wenn man unter Wölfen ist, so muß man mit ihnen heulen [when you’re among wolves, you have to howl with them] (II 54/21); no hay de mi casa a la suya un tiro de ballesta [it’s only the distance of a crossbow shot from my house to his] as er wohnt ja nur einen Katzensprung weit von meinem Hause [he only lives a cat’s jump away from my house] (II, 31); de noche todos los gatos son pardos [at night all cats are [[brownish]] gray] as in der Nacht sind alle Kühe schwarz [at night all cows are black]; como los frailecicos que hacen los niños [like the dolls children make out of beans] as wie Schneemänner, die die Kinder machen [like the snowmen children build] (I, 34/8); como anillo al dedo [[[fits]] like the ring on your finger] as wie Speck zur Bratwurst [like fat on a sausage]; and no ande buscando tres pies al gato [don’t go looking for a 3-legged cat] as bekümmert Euch nicht um ungelegte Eyer [don’t worry about unlaid eggs] (I, 22). Perhaps to further the novel’s folksy flavor, Bertuch freely adds similar expressions to his translation, e.g., ein gebranntes Kind fürchtet das Feuer [a child, once burned, fears the fire or “once bitten, twice shy”] (II, 17); ein feig Herz freyet keine schöne Frau [a cowardly heart doesn’t marry a beautiful woman] (II, 10); guter Muth überwindet alles [courage overcomes everything] (II, 10); and wer nicht wagt der gewinnt nicht [he who doesn’t dare doesn’t win or “nothing ventured, nothing gained”] (II, 10). Bertuch treats the text’s numerous exclamations in much the same way as he does foods and adages. That is, he uses a literal translation wherever

74 possible. Therefore he regularly translates por Dios as ums Himmels Willen [for heaven’s sake]; del amor de Dios as Liebe Gottes [for the love of God]; and bendito sea Dios as Gott sey Dank [thank God].

For other expressions, he falls

back on common ones for his time, although Kronacher suggests that he borrowed them from his friend Wieland’s Don Sylvio von Rosalva (41). Some examples of these typical German expressions are: sachte [take it easy]; meiner Treu [upon my word], zum Henker [hang it all, damn it], meiner Six [a reference to the River Styx], meine Seele [my soul], Gott verzeyh’ mir [may God forgive me], and zum Guckuck [for crying out loud; what the dickens]. Bertuch also includes numerous Potz exclamations, like Potz tausig, Potz Sackerlot, and Potz (alle) Blitz, all of which mean “my soul.” Bertuch likewise favors Sackerlot, a variant of Sapperlot, which also means “upon my soul.”

Additional typical German

exclamations that Bertuch includes are: hole mich der Henker [may the hangman take me]; hol’ dich der Geyer [to hell with you]; and beym Teufel [damn it].

SPAIN’S CULTURE AND HISTORY The depth of Bertuch’s knowledge of Spanish culture and history is revealed in the numerous footnotes he includes in his translation for his readers’ benefit. For example, he fully explains the significance of the Potro de Córdoba, describing it as a “bekannte Orte in Spanien, wo man mehr Diebe und Beutelschneider als ehrliche Leute findet” [“a well-known place in Spain where one finds more thieves and crooks than honest people”] (1, 17). He understands Cervantes’s reference to Alcarria and informs his readers that “Alcarria heißt … im Spanischen ein Strich Landes, wo nichts als kleine Dörfer und elende

75 Bauerhütten sind” [“In Spanish, Alcarria refers to a stretch of land where there is nothing but small villages and miserable peasants’ shacks”] (1, 4). Bertuch also knows who King Bamba was, describing him as “Ein bekannter Gothischer König, so zwischen den Jahren 670 und 680 in Spanien regierte” [“A well-known Gothic king who ruled in Spain from 670-680”] (I, 27/3). He describes the Sumulas von Villalpando in the following manner: “So heißt das Compendium der Logik, worüber in Spanien gelesen wird” [“This is the name of the compendium of logic that is lectured on in Spain”] (I, 47/16). He informs his readers that Berengena is “ein Kraut welches häufig in Spanien wächst und eine Gurken ähnliche zween Zoll lange bräunlich Saamenhülse trägt, welche zu Rind- oder Hammelfleisch gekocht wird. Der lateinische Nahme ist, Solanum pomiferum” [“an herb that frequently grows in Spain and bears a cucumber-like, two-inch-long, brownish pod that is cooked with beef or mutton. The Latin name is Solanum porniferum”] (II, 2). He understands the underlying humor in one particular passage, informing his readers that “Besser zu verstehen wie unser Ritter hier von dem Andern gefoppt wird, muß man wißen, daß die Fahne auf dem großen Thurme zu Sevilla, eine vergoldete weibliche Statue von coloßalischer Größe ist, und Giralda heißt” [“In order to understand better how the other knight is pulling our knight’s leg, one has to know that the flag atop the great tower of Seville bears a gilded, female figure of enormous size called ‘Giralda’”] (II, 14). In addition, Bertuch knows that the word sayagues refers to “das arme Landvolk in der Gegend um Zamora [“the poor folk in the region around Zamora”] (II, 19), and that Zocodover refers to “Ein Marktplatz in Toledo” [“a market square in Toledo”] (II, 19). He also understands the importance and many uses of olive

76 oil in Spain, noting that “In Spanien werden fast alle Speisen mit Oliven-Oehl geschmelzet, welches auch, statt des Schmalzes, zu allem Fettgebacknen gebraucht wird” [“In Spain almost all dishes are prepared with olive oil that, instead of lard, is also used to prepare all cakes”] (II, 20). Then he informs his readership that there are two types of Spanish penitents.

“Man theilt die

Büßenden bey einer Disciplinanten-Prozeßion in Spanien in Lichtbüßende und Blutbüßende ein. Jene ziehen nur mit, ohne sich zu geißeln, und tragen Kerzen, diese aber geißeln sich und sind die eigentlichen Disciplinanten” [“In Spain penitents in a penitential procession are divided into light-atoners and bloodatoners. The former march along without scourging themselves and carry candles; the latter, however, scourge themselves and are the real disciplinarians”] (II, 35/3). The author also shares with his readers the fact that olla podrida is “Ein Nationalessen der Spanier, welches aus allen Arten Fleisch, klein geschnitten und zusammen gedämpft, besteht” [“a national dish of Spain that consists of all kinds of meat that has been cut up in small pieces and steamed together”] (II, 47/15), and that salpicón “besteht aus kaltem Rindfleisch, klein geschnitten, und mitt Eßig, Oehl, Pfeffer und Zwiebeln zurecht gemacht [“consists of cold beef, cut into small pieces, to which vinegar, oil, pepper and onions are added”] (II, 49/17). Finally, Bertuch explains that Montjuich or Montjoy is “Ein kleiner Berg mit einer Fortereße, ohnweit Barcelona, wo die Wache gleich ein Zeichen giebt, so bald was in der See sich sehen läßt” [“A small mountain, not far from Barcelona, with a fortress where the sentry immediately gives a signal as soon as he sees something on the sea”] (II, 63/31).

77 From his numerous footnotes, it is obvious that Bertuch had a strong command not only of the Spanish language but also of its foods, customs, history and geography, and that he felt compelled to share this extensive knowledge with his readers so that they might more fully appreciate Cervantes’s vocabulary, puns, and numerous literary and historical references. Interestingly, Edith Grossman, to whom this study owes the English translations of Don Quixote, helps her readers better understand the novel’s references to various authors, historical facts, literary figures and those customs unique to the Spanish people by also providing footnotes in her work for the majority of items that Bertuch discusses.

SANCHO-ISMS Cervantes makes it quite clear in I, 7 that the naïve Sancho Panza is not a scholar when he introduces this memorable character in the following manner: “En este tiempo solicitó don Quijote a un labrador vecino suyo, hombre de bien … pero de muy poca sal en la mollera” [“During this time, Don Quixote approached a farmer who was a neighbor of his, a good man … but without much in the way of brains”].

Cervantes then sets about capturing Sancho’s rustic, uneducated

persona by attributing to him, among other things, a lack of familiarity with scholarly vocabulary. In general, Bertuch is able to retain the comical effect evoked by Sancho’s inability to pronounce more erudite terms. For example, when Cervantes has Sancho distort the word ceremonias [ceremonies] – he pronounces it cirimonias – Bertuch has Sancho mispronounce the equivalent Zeremonie as Sarmunie (II, 32). In another example, Sancho’s tongue trips on

78 both teología or Theologie [theology] and teólogo or Theologe [theologian], producing tologías or Tologie (II, 19) and tólogo or Tologe (II, 27). Many times, however, these humorous passages involve plays on Spanish words. Due to basic vocabulary differences between the two languages, only on rare occasions is Bertuch able to maintain a pun with the same word.

For

instance, when, in Cervantes’s text, Sancho confuses the lady’s name Fili with hilo [thread], Bertuch has him turn it into Filtze [filly] (I, 22). In most other cases, though, this was not possible. Therefore, Bertuch maintains Cervantes’s comical effect by continuing to have Sancho utter nonsensical words. For example, Don Quixote’s squire contorts Fierabras [Don Quixote’s magic elixir] into the amusing word Frobias (I, 15). Instead of Baccalaureus [one who holds a bachelor’s degree] the squire uses Barklars (II, 15). Sancho also twists Calculo Ptolomäi3 [Claudius Ptolemy] into Bulculo Bartelmäi (II, 29), and, much to Don Quixote’s chagrin, contorts the names Mambrino [a name] into Malandrin (I, 19), Madasima [another name] into Magimasa (I, 25), and the Universität Salamanka [University of Salamanca] into Umverstät Salmanka (II, 19). Bertuch also captures Sancho’s unschooled character throughout the translation by attributing to him numerous contractions involving prepositions and definite articles – auf’n and aufs [on the], um’s [for the] – and those formed with a variety of words and the neuter subject pronoun es [it], e.g., möchts [I would like it], ich’s [I it], geb’s [give it], glaub’s [believe it], ists [is it], wenn’s or wenns [if it], wie’s [how it], wills [want it], ihr’s [you it], ob’s [if it], etc. Although the latter contractions are not solely limited to the unschooled – Don Quixote himself uses it on occasion – Sancho’s utterances abound with them.

79 To further rusticate Sancho’s character, Bertuch increases the number of similes found in the original work, usually incorporating more Germanic ones to which his readers could relate. These similes are either spoken by Sancho or used to describe him. Those which the squire utters are, for example, wie ein Däußgen [like the dickens] (I, 11; I 44/13); wie eine leere Breyschüssel [like an empty porridge bowl] (I, 20); wie Speck zur Bratwurst [like fat on a sausage] (I, 20); ich schwitze wie ein Braten [I’m sweating like a meat roast] (II, 70/38); and so wenig verzaubert als mein Queersack [as unenchanted as my saddlebag] (II, 33/11). Some of the folksy similes that Bertuch includes to describe Sancho are: so fest, wie ein Dach im Winter schlief [he was sleeping as soundly as a roof in winter] (I, 43/13); hungrig wie ein Wolf [hungry as a wolf] (I, 19); zitterte … wie Espen-Laub [he was trembling like an aspen leaf] (I, 19); anfieng zu zittern wie ein Kind vor dem Knecht Rupprecht [he began to tremble like a child in front of Saint Ruprecht – a figure who accompanies St. Nicholas and punishes bad little children with the switch he carries – ] (II, 14); and lag zu Boden wie ein Frosch [he was lying on the ground like a frog] (I, 15).

WORD REVERSAL Bertuch frequently reverses Cervantes’s serial nouns when people of position are mentioned, perhaps to show respect to those he considered to be more important. Thus, de sus hijos y mujer [by his children and wife] regularly becomes von Frau und Kindern [by his wife and children]; de su ama y sobrina [by his housekeeper and niece] becomes von Nichte und Ausgeberin [by his niece

80 and housekeeper]; and reyes y emperadores [kings and emperors] repeatedly becomes Kaiser und Könige [emperors and kings]. Sobre los unjustos y justos [over the unjust and the just] becomes über Gerechte und Ungerechte [over the just and unjust] (I, 18); su marido, señor y padre [their husband, master and father] becomes ihren Herrn, Mann und Vater [their master, husband and father] (I, 44/13); ensilla … a Rocinante y apareja tu jumento y el palafrán de la reina [saddle Rocinante … and harness your donkey and the palfrey of the queen] becomes sattle der Königin ihren Zelter, mir den Rozinante und dir deinen Grauen [saddle the queen’s palfrey, my Rocinante and your donkey] (I, 46/15); and dejando al jumento y a Rocinante a sus anchuras [leaving the donkey and Rocinante free] becomes ließen den Rozinante and das Eselein völlig frey [they let Rocinante and the donkey completely free] (I, 15). While it appears that Bertuch makes this change according to a person’s (or animal’s) prominence, it is difficult to divine his reasons for the following examples: coronados con guirnaldas, que … eran cuál de tejo y cuál de ciprés [wearing wreaths … either of yew or cypress] becomes theils mit Cypressen – theils mit Eiben-Kränzen auf den Köpfen [wearing either cypress or yew wreaths on their heads] (I, 13); con las herraduras y con los dientes [with hooves and teeth] becomes mit Beißen und Hufschlägen [with bites and kicks] (I, 15); a pie y a caballo [on foot and on horseback] becomes zu Pferd und zu Fuß [on horseback and on foot] (I, 17); lágrimas y ruegos [tears and pleas] becomes Bitten und Thränen [pleas and tears] (I, 20); napeas y dríadas [nymphs and dryads] becomes Dryaden und Napäen [dryads and nymphs] (I, 25/1); caldeas o griegas [Chaldean or Greek] becomes Griechisch oder Chaldäisch [Greek or Chaldean] (I,

81 30/6); and con lanzas y adargas [with lances and shields] becomes mit Schild und Lanzen [with shield and lances] (I, 36/9). Bertuch reverses paired words so often that when he does not do so, it is immediately obvious. Here are two examples of the rare instances when he retains Cervantes’s word order, since these are also typical expressions in German: pan y queso remains Brot und Käse [bread and cheese] (I, 23); and fraude y engaño remains Betrug und Meineid [fraud and deceit] (I, 23). Finally, in the following two examples, he retains Cervantes’s word order for all but the last two words in the series: de diamantes, de carbuncos, de rubíes, de perlas, de oro y de esmeraldas [diamonds, carbuncles, rubies, pearls, gold, and emeralds] becomes Diamanten, Carfunkel, Rubinen, Perlen, Smaragden und Gold [diamonds, carbuncles, rubies, pearls, emeralds and gold] – perhaps he reverses these two words to keep the plural nouns together, or maybe he does so in order to keep the names of gems together (I, 50/19); de los grandes y de los chicos, de los pobres y de los ricos, de los letrados e ignorantes, de los plebeyos y caballeros [great and small, poor and rich, learned and uneducated, lowborn and gentry] becomes Vornehm und Gering, Arm und Reich, Gelehrt und Ungelehrt, Hoh und Niedrig [noble and humble, poor and rich, educated and ignorant, high-ranking and lowly] (I, 50/19). Perhaps in the latter example he wishes once again to place people according to their prominence.

Yet this

reasoning does not explain why he then does not do the same thing with Arm und Reich [poor and rich]; maybe he does so because it, too, is a typical German phrase.

82 SENTENCE REORGANIZATION Cervantes’s unique sentence structure poses a challenge for any translator to replicate. For example, it is not at all unusual for a sentence to consist of seven lines and contain several clauses connected by numerous commas and semicolons. In fact, in one case, Cervantes’s sentence is twelve lines long and contains twenty commas. Frequently Bertuch chooses to divide the Spaniard’s flowing sentences into two or three shorter ones. One reason for his doing so is the basic grammatical and structural differences between the two languages, i.e., the use of present participles, perfect participles, etc., that made it difficult for Bertuch to duplicate certain elements of Cervantes’s style. Perhaps a second reason for this decision is that Bertuch was firmly grounded in the Enlightenment, the Age of Reason. As an adherent of this literary approach, Bertuch, “a no-nonsense man,” favored clarity, simplicity and brevity. Therefore, to simplify the text’s lengthy sentences, he regularly, but not always, replaces with semicolons those commas that Cervantes uses to connect clauses, and with periods, Cervantes’s semicolons.

Side-by-side examples illustrate Bertuch’s

method: Cervantes

Bertuch

Entraron dentro todos, y la ama con ellos, y hallaron más de cien cuerpos de libros grandes, muy bien encuadernados, y otros pequeños; y así como el ama los vio, volvióse a salir del aposento con gran priesa, y tornó luego con una escudilla de agua benedita y un hisopo … .

Sie giengen mit der Ausgeberin hinein, und fanden mehr als hundert Stück Folianten und viele in kleinerem Format, sehr schön eingebunden. Als die Ausgeberin diesen Vorrath erblickte lief sie eiligst zurück, und kam bald darauf mit einem Schüsselchen Weyhwasser und einem Büchsel Ysop zurück:

83 [All of them went in, including the housekeeper, and they found more than a hundred large volumes, nicely bound, and many other smaller ones; and as soon as the housekeeper saw them, she hurried out of the room and quickly returned with a basin of holy water and a hyssop… . (I, 6)

[They went in with the housekeeper and found more than a hundred folios, and many others in smaller format, very nicely bound. As the housekeeper saw this supply, she ran out as fast as she could and quickly returned with a small basin of holy water and a small piece of hyssop.]

In this example, Bertuch divides the original two Spanish clauses that are connected by a semicolon into two separate ones, thus replacing Cervantes’s semicolon with a period. Interestingly, although in this passage the American translator Edith Grossmann is able to maintain Cervantes’s sentence structure, she, like Bertuch, often has to break the Spaniard’s intricate sentences into two or more. Kronacher,4 in her oft-cited 1924 dissertation – it is the only work besides this one to present more than a short study of Bertuch’s translation — describes this typical reorganization of the original sentences in the following way: “Die langen … gebauten Sätze des Spanischen werden fast immer aufgelöst” [“The long, … structured sentences of the Spanish are almost always broken up”] (14). In the next example of this reorganization of sentences, Bertuch again replaces Cervantes’s semicolon with a period. Cervantes

Bertuch

Llenóse la fantasía de todo aquello que leía, así de encantamentos como de pendencias, batallas, desafíos, heridas, requiebros, amores, tormentas y disparates imposibles; y asentósele de tal modo en la imaginación que era verdad toda aquella máquina de aquellas soñadas invenciones que leía, que para él no había otra historia más cierta en el mundo.

Seine Einbildungskraft strotzte von allem dem, was er in seinen Büchern gelesen hatte, und folglich von Bezauberungen, Streiten, Gefechten, Ausfoderungen, Wunden, Klagen, Seufzern, Liebeshändeln, Martern, und tausend andern Narrheiten. Alles dieß drückte er sich so fest ein, daß ihm endlich dieser Wust so wahr schien, als die gewißeste und mit allen

84

Dokumenten der historischen Wahrheit bestätigte Geschichte. His fantasy filled with everything he had read in his books, with enchantments, as well as combats, battles, challenges, wounds, courtings, loves, torments, and other impossible foolishness, and he became so convinced in his imagination of the truth of all of the countless grandiloquent and false inventions he read that for him no history in the world was truer. (I, 1)

[His imagination filled up with everything that he had read in his books, consequently of enchantments, disputes, battles, challenges, wounds, lamentations, sighs, lovers’ quarrels, torments, and a thousand other foolishnesses. He impressed all of this so firmly in his mind that this jumble of information finally seemed as real to him as the most certain history, confirmed in its truthfulness by all possible documents.]

In the following passage, he breaks up Cervantes’s nine-line-long sentence into two, replacing one of the author’s commas – not a serial comma, but one that Cervantes uses to separate thoughts – with a semicolon: Cervantes

Bertuch

Hechas, pues, estas prevenciones, no quiso aguardar más tiempo a poner en efecto su pensamiento, apretándole a ello la falta que él pensaba que hacía en el mundo su tardanza, según eran los agravios que pensaba deshacer, tuertos que enderezar, sinrazones que emendar y abusos que mejorar y deudas que satisfacer.

Nach allen diesen gemachten Vorbereitungen, konnte er nicht länger warten sein Vorhaben ins Werk zu setzen; worinn ihn der Gedanke, daß durch sein Zaudern der Welt großer Nachtheil erwachse, manches Ungebühr unabgeschaft, manche Uebel ungebeßert, und manches Unrecht ungerächt bleibe, besonders bestärkte.

And so, having completed these preparations, he did not wish to wait any longer to put his thought into effect, impelled by the great need in the world that he believed was caused by his delay, for there were evils to undo, wrongs to right, injustices to correct, abuses to ameliorate, and offenses to rectify. (I, 2)

[After all of these preparations were done, he could not wait any longer to carry out his plan; his resolve was further strengthened by the thought that through his delay the world was put at a greater disadvantage, since much impropriety remained unchallenged, many evils unimproved, and much injustice unrectified.]

85 Although Bertuch’s nearly invariable tendency is to divide Cervantes’s sentences into two or more independent ones, there are also occasions when, conversely, he creates longer sentences than appear in the original work. He does this by joining rather than breaking up Cervantes’s sentences. For example, in I, 2 we see: Cervantes

Bertuch

Con estos iba ensartando otros disparates, todos al modo de los que sus libros le habían enseñado, imitando en cuanto podía su lenguaje. Con esto, caminaba tan despacio, y el sol entraba tan apriesa y con tanto ardor, que fuera bastante a derretirle los sesos, si algunos tuviera.

Mit diesem und andern ähnlichen Unsinn, nach Form und Schnitt seiner Bücher, reiste und unterhielt er sich fortan, bis ihm endlich die Sonne so gerade und so heiß auf den Kopf brannte, daß sie ihm leicht hätte am Gehirn Schaden thun können, wenn er noch welches gehabt hätte.

He strung these together with other foolish remarks, all in the manner his books had taught him and imitating their language as much as he could. As a result, his pace was so slow, and the sun rose so quickly and ardently, that it would have melted his brains if he had had any.

[With this and other similar nonsense, according to the form and manner of his books, from then on he traveled and enjoyed himself, until finally the sun beat so directly and so hotly on his head, that it could easily have done damage to his brain, if he had had any.]

And on occasion, Bertuch can match Cervantes line for line and comma for comma: Cervantes

Bertuch

Ya en este tiempo se había levantado Sancho Panza, algo maltratado de los mozos de los frailes, y había estado atento a la batalla de su señor don Quijote, y rogaba a Dios en su corazón fuese servido de darle vitoria y que en ella ganase alguna ínsula de donde le hiciese gobernador, como se lo había prometido.

Während dessen hatte sich der von den Maulthiertreibern der Mönche wohlzerdroschne Sancho Pansa wieder aufgerafft, dem Treffen seines lieben Herrn Don Quixote wohl zugeschauet, und in seinen Herzen andächtig und inniglich gebetet, Gott wolle doch seinem Herrn und Meister Sieg in diesem Kampfe verleyhen und ihn eine Insel gewinnen lassen, in

86

By this time, Sancho Panza, rather badly treated by the servants of the friars, had gotten to his feet and was paying close attention to the battle waged by his master and imploring God, in his heart, that it would be His will to grant Don Quixote a victory in which he would win an island and make Sancho the governor, as he had promised. (I, 10)

welcher er ihn zum Statthalter, versprochnermaßen, machen könne. [In the meantime Sancho Panza, who had been thoroughly threshed by the monks’ muleteers, struggled to his feet, closely watched his dear master’s encounter, and in his heart devoutly and fervently prayed that God might grant his lord and master victory in this battle, and let him win an island over which he could make him governor as promised.]

PARAGRAPH REORGANIZATION In general Bertuch arbitrarily reorganizes Cervantes’s paragraphs in much the same fashion that he reorganizes the author’s sentences, especially if they contain, in his opinion, separate thoughts. In the following passage, for example, Bertuch divides Cervantes’s five-sentence paragraph into two. While his first paragraph consists of only one sentence, the second has five, since he divides one of the original sentences into two. Cervantes

Bertuch

Y diciendo estas y otras semejantes razones, soltando la adarga, alzó la lanza a dos manos y dio con ella tan gran golpe al arriero en la cabeza, que le derribó en el suelo tan maltrecho, que si segundara con otro, no tuviera necesidad de maestro que le curara. Hecho esto, recogió sus armas y tornó a pasearse con el mismo reposo que primero. Desde allí a poco, sin saberse lo que había pasado – porque aún estaba aturdido el arriero –, llegó otro con la mesma intención de dar agua a sus mulos y,

Mit diesen Worten entledigte er sich seiner Tartsche, faßte die Lanze mit beyden Händen und schlug den Maulthiertreiber damit so mächtig über den Kopf, daß der arme Kerl von diesem einzigen Schlage zur Erde stürzte, und, wenn dem noch ein zweeter nachgefolgt wäre, er gewiß keinen Wundarzt mehr nöthig gehabt hätte. Dieß gethan, las er seine Waffen gelassen wieder zusammen, und spazierte, mit eben der Heldenruhe als zuerst, vor ihnen umher. Kurze darauf kam ein anderer Maul-

87 llegando a quitar las armas para desembarazar la pila, sin hablar don Quijote palabra y sin pedir favor a nadie soltó otra vez la adarga y alzó otra vez la lanza y, sin hacerle pedazos, hizo más de tres la cabeza del segundo arriero, porque se la abrió por cuatro. Al ruido acudió toda la gente de la venta, y entre ellos el ventero. Viendo esto don Quijote, embrazó su adarga y, puesta mano a su espada, dijo:

thiertreiber, der noch nicht wußte was vorgefallen war, – denn der erste lag noch ganz betäubt auf dem Wahlplatze – in eben der Absicht seine Maulthiere zu tränken, zum Brunnen, und hob die Waffen weg, den Trog zu öffnen. Don Quixote, ohne ein Wort zu sagen, und ohne sich jemandem in der Welt zu empfehlen, legte seine Tartsche zum zweytenmale ab, schwung zum zweytenmale seine Lanze, und schlug dem andern Maulthiertreiber, ohne weiters Umstände, drey Löcher in den Kopf. Der Verwundete machte Geschrey und Lärmen, auf welches alles Volk in der Schenke zulief; untern andern auch der Wirth. Da Don Quixote dieß sah, ergriff er hurtig seine Tartsche wieder, legte Hand an den Degen und sprach:

And saying these and other similar phrases, and dropping his shield, he raised his lance in both hands and gave the muledriver so heavy a blow on the head that he knocked him to the ground, and the man was so badly battered that if the first blow had been followed by a second, he would have had no need for a physician to care for his wounds. Having done this, Don Quixote picked up his armor and began to pace again with the same tranquility as before. A short while later, unaware of what had happened – for the first muledriver was still in a daze – a second approached, also intending to water his mules, and when he began to remove his armor to allow access to the trough, without saying a word or asking for anyone’s favor, Don Quixote again dropped his shield and again raised his lance, and did not shatter it but instead broke the head of the second

[With these words, he dropped his shield, seized his lance with both hands and hit the muledriver on the head with it so powerfully that the poor fellow fell to the ground with this single blow and, even if a second blow had followed, he certainly would have had no need for a surgeon. Having done this, Don Quixote calmly gathered his weapons and paced before them with the same heroic composure as before. A short time later there arrived another muledriver, who did not yet know what had happened, – since the first one was still lying dazed on the ground – intending to water his mules at the well, and moved his armor aside in order to access the trough. Don Quixote, without saying a word and without commending himself to anyone in the world, dropped his shield a second time, raised his lance a second time and,

88 muledriver into more than three pieces because he cracked his skull in at least four places. When they heard the noise, all the people in the inn hurried over, among them the innkeeper. When he saw this, Don Quixote took up his shield, placed his hand on his sword and said: (I, 3)

with no further ado, hit the muledriver with it, cracking his skull in three places. The wounded man kicked up a great fuss and to-do that all of the people in the inn ran towards, among them the innkeeper. When Don Quixote saw this, he quickly took up his shield again, laid his hand on his sword and said:]

The following selection is another example of Bertuch’s typical paragraph reorganization. In this passage, besides dividing Cervantes’s eighteen-line-long sentence into three, he also breaks the original paragraph into two, perhaps in order to make the passage from the work’s prologue stand out. This was a typical convention in the eighteenth-century novel: Cervantes

Bertuch

Con silencio grande estuve escuchando lo que mi amigo decía, y de tal manera se imprimieron en mí sus razones, que, sin ponerlas en disputa, las aprobé por buenas y de ellas mismas quise hacer este prólogo, en el cual verás, lector suave, la discreción de mi amigo, la buena ventura mía en hallar en tiempo tan necesitado tal consejero, y el alivio tuyo en hallar tan sincera y tan sin revueltas la historia del famoso don Quijote de la Mancha, de quien hay opinión, por todos los habitadores del distrito del campo de Montiel, que fue el más casto enamorado y el más valiente caballero que de muchos años a esta parte se vio en aquellos contornos.

Mit ehrerbietigen Schweigen stund ich da, und hörte meinem Freunde zu. Seine Gründe schienen mir auch so einleuchtend, daß ich, ohne einen ferneren Gedanken von Zweifel, sie billigte und annahm, und auf der Stelle beschloß, diesen Prolog daraus zu machen. Du siehest hieraus, holdseeliger Leser, wie glücklich ich war einen so klugen Freund und treuen Rathgeber bey meiner Nothdurft zu finden, und wie glücklich auch du bist, rein, lauter und unverbrämt die Geschichte des weltberühmten Don Quixote von la Mancha zu erhalten, von dem alle Bewohner des Feldes Montiel glauben, er sey der keuscheste Liebhaber und tapferste Ritter gewesen, den man seit vielen Jahren in ihren Gränzen gesehen habe.

In deep silence I listened to what my friend told me, and his words

[In respectful silence I stood there and listened to my friend. His

89 made so great an impression on me that I did not dispute them but acknowledged their merit and wanted to use them to write this prologue in which you will see, gentle reader, the cleverness of my friend, my good fortune in finding the adviser I needed in time, and your own relief at finding so sincere and uncomplicated a history as that of the famous Don Quixote of La Mancha, who is thought by all the residents of the district of Montiel to have been the most chaste lover and the most valiant knight seen in those environs for many years… (I, Prologue)

reasons seemed so plausible to me that, without a further thought of doubt, I approved and accepted them, and immediately decided to use them to write this prologue. You see from this, gentle reader, how fortunate I was to find, in my need, such a clever friend and devoted adviser, and how fortunate you also are to receive the unvarnished, honest, and straight-forward history of the world renowned Don Quixote of La Mancha, whom all the residents of the district of Montiel believe to have been the most chaste lover and the most valiant knight that has been seen in their region for many years.]

Although Bertuch frequently divides Cervantes’s longer paragraphs into two or more, he was not adverse to long paragraphs per se, and often joins several of the author’s shorter paragraphs into one long one.

He does this

especially when Cervantes treats dialogue as separate paragraphs, which is typical of Spanish writing. Cervantes

Bertuch

Y viendo Don Quijote lo que pasaba, con voz airada dijo: – Descortés caballero, mal parece tomaros con quien defender no se puede; subid sobre vuestro caballo y tomad vuestra lanza – que también tenía une lanza arrimada a la encina adonde estaba arrendada la yegua –, que yo os haré conocer ser de cobardes los que estáis haciendo. El labrador, que vio sobre sí aquella figura llena de armas blandiendo la lanza sobre su rostro, túvose por muerto, y con buenas palabras respondió: – Señor caballero, este muchacho

Da Don Quixote sahe was hier vorgieng, wurde er grimmig, und rufte dem Bauer zu: “Ungezogener Ritter, es ist nicht Manier es mit Jemandem aufzunehmen, der sich nicht wehren kann; besteiget euer Roß, und nehmet eure Lanze – wofür er eine Stange ansahe, die an der Eiche lehnte, an welche das Pferd gebunden war – und ich will euch zeigen, daß dieß nur eine feige Memme thut.” Der Bauer, welcher diese geharnischte Figur erblickte, die ihm noch dazu immer mit der Lanze unter dem Gesichte herumspielte, war halb todt, und gab

90 que estoy castigando es un mi criado, que me sirve de guardar una manada de ovejas que tengo en estos contornos, el cual es tan descuidado, que cada día me falta una; y porque castigo su descuido, o bellaquería, dice que lo hago de miserable, por no pagalle la soldada que le debo, y en Dios y en mi ánima que miente.

die besten Worte. “Herr Ritter, sprach er, der Junge, den ich da züchtige, ist einer von meinen Purschen, die meine Heerde Schaafe in dieser Gegend hüthen. Er ist aber so lüderlich, daß mir täglich ein Schaaf wegkömmt; und wenn ich ihn über seine Nachläßigkeit und Bosheit bestrafe, so spricht er noch obendrauf, ich thät es nur darum, damit ich ihm seinen schuldigen Lohn nicht bezahlen dürfe; und, mein Seele, Herr Ritter! er lügt’s in seinen Hals hinein.”

And when Don Quixote saw this, he said in an angry voice: “Discourteous knight, it is not right for you to do battle with one who cannot defend himself; mount your horse and take up your lance” – for a lance was leaning against the oak where the mare was tied – “and I shall make you understand that what you are doing is the act of a coward.” The peasant, seeing a fully armed figure ready to attack and brandishing a lance in his face, considered himself a dead man, and with gentle words he replied: “Señor Knight, this boy I’m punishing is one of my servants, and his job is to watch over a flock of sheep I keep in this area, and he’s so careless that I lose one every day, and when I punish his carelessness, or villainy, he says I do it out of miserliness because I don’t want to pay him his wages, and by God and my immortal soul, he lies!” (I, 4)

[When Don Quixote saw what was happening there, he became furious and shouted to the farmer: “Ill-bred knight, it is not polite for you to pick a fight with someone who cannot defend himself; mount your horse and take up your lance,” for he saw a pole leaning against an oak to which the horse was tied, “and I will show you that only a coward does what you are doing.” The peasant, who saw this armored figure playing around with a lance before his face, was paralysed and gave his word: “Sir Knight,” he said, “the boy I’m punishing is one of my servants who watch over my flock of sheep in this area. But he is so careless that every day one sheep gets away; and whenever I punish him for his carelessness and malice, he says that I only do so so that I don’t have to pay him his wages; and, my word, Sir Knight, he’s lying through his teeth.”]

CHAPTER REORGANIZATION, OMISSIONS AND ADDITIONS

91 Bertuch’s tendency to reorganize sentences and paragraphs carries over to his reorganization of chapters, but for a slightly different reason.

Due to his

excluding three novellas from Part I – in his preface he refers to them as “Fehler” [“mistakes”] on Cervantes’s part (xv) – Bertuch found it necessary to renumber a few of Part I’s chapters. For example, he combines two chapters (I, 13-14) into one when he greatly abridges the tale of Crisóstomo and Marcela. Although he mentions his reasons for doing so in his preface, he again informs his readers of this decision in a footnote towards the end of his chapter: Ich ziehe hier zwey Kapitel des Originals zusammen, lasse die vier Seiten lange Verzweiflungs Ode des Chrysostomus und die nicht kürzere Schutz- und Stand-Rede der Marcella weg, und verkürze – ich hoffe zu Dank meiner Leser – diese lange und ermüdende Episode so viel es nur immer der Zusammenhang der Geschichte leidet. Denn, sie ganz herauszuschneiden war nicht möglich. [Here I combine two chapters of the original, omit Crisóstomo’s four-page-long ode to despair and Marcela’s no shorter speech in which she explains her actions, and I shorten – I hope for my readers’ pleasure – this long and tiring episode as much as the continuity of the story permits. Because cutting it out completely was not possible.] Despite his omitting long passages, however, Bertuch is able to make relatively smooth segues. For example, instead of including lovelorn Crisóstomo’s ode, he writes: “Vivaldo las es ab, und die Verse gefielen den Umstehenden sehr” [“Vivaldo read it aloud and those standing around liked his poem very much”] I, 13-14). As for the fair Marcela’s speech, Bertuch consolidates her equally long discourse into three lines, all from the original text: “‘Ich will frey seyn, sprach sie; meine Heerde ist mein Zeitvertreib, und die Schönheiten der Natur und des Himmels in diesen Gebürgen sind meine Freude. Mehr wünsche und begehr’ ich nicht.’ Mit diesen Worten kehrte sie um, und gieng durch die rauhesten Wege

92 über den Felsen zurück” [“‘I want to be free,’ she said, ‘my pastime is my flocks, and the beauties of nature and the heavens in these mountains are my joy. More I do not wish or desire.’ With these words, she turned around and went back, along the roughest paths, over the rocks”] (I, 13-14). When, in Part I, the author excludes the novella “El curioso impertinente” [“The Man Who Was Recklessy Curious” or “The Impertinent Snoop”], which composes Cervantes’s Chapters 33-35, he once again explains to readers via a footnote his reasons for so doing – he even further justifies his action by citing Cervantes himself who, in Part II, 12, explains how these stories came to be included in Part I. Bertuch writes: Hier schneide ich nun die mehr als 4 Bogen lange Novele vom unvorsichtigen Neugierigen hinweg, aus Gründen die ich bereits in der Vorrede angegeben habe. Sie ist mit der Hauptgeschichte nicht nur gar nicht verwebt, sondern ihr vielmehr aufgedrungen. Ueberhaupt hat dieser zweete Theil vor allen Andern das Unglück gehabt, mit dergl. Episoden überschwemmt zu werden. Cervantes hat diesen Fehler selbst gemerkt, da er in der Folge sagt: im Originale des Cid-Hamed Ben-Engely wären diese Episoden nicht gewesen, sondern der obgedachte Mohrische Uebersetzer habe sie eingeschoben, die zu trockne Geschichte des Don Quixote dadurch unterhaltender zu machen. [At this point I now cut out the more than four-page-long novella of the impertinent snoop, for reasons that I have already stated in the prologue. Not only is it not interwoven with the story but is, on the contrary, forced into it. In general, this second part, above all others, has had the misfortune to be flooded with such episodes. Cervantes himself noticed this shortcoming as he states in his sequel: ‘These episodes were not in Cide Hamete Benengeli’s original, instead the Moorish translator mentioned earlier inserted them in order, by so doing, to make the too-dry story of Don Quixote more entertaining.’] (I, 35/8) Since Bertuch begins each volume with Chapter 1, this omission, which occurs in his Volume 2, is not as obvious as it could be. This time he makes the

93 segue to the next passage by simply writing, “Als nun Alle, so aufmerksam um den Pfarrer hersaßen, und zuhörten, …” [“As everyone sat attentively around the priest and listened, …”], and thus skips over the long and detailed story that Cervantes has the priest tell the other guests at the inn ( I, 35/8). Bertuch also excludes several shorter passages from I, 36/9 that contains the episode with Dorotea, Luscinda, Cardenio and Don Fernando. To make the first transition, Bertuch writes: “Dies, und noch mehr dergleichen, brachte Dorothea so beweglich und unter so vielen Thränen vor, …” [“This, and other similar things, moved Dorothea and brought her to so many tears, …”]. Only three pages later, Bertuch transitions the next omission in a similar way: “Diese und noch viel mehrere Gründe erweckten endlich Don Ferdinands Edelmuth wieder” [“These and many other reasons finally reawakened Don Fernando’s noble-mindedness”]. Bertuch’s final, large-scale omission is the novella known as “El historio del cautivo” [“The Captive’s Tale”]. This largely autobiographical story, replete with details about Cervantes’s naval battles, capture, imprisonment and eventual ransom, comprises Cervantes’s chapters 39-41.

Bertuch, who combines the

original three chapters into one – his Chapter 12 of Volume 2 – first omits some fifty lines describing the fall of the Spanish fortress La Goleta in 1574. This time, Bertuch makes no mention of his omission and seamlessly connects passages. Then, after excluding the two sonnets that begin Cervantes’s Chapter 40, the author simply picks the tale back up, skipping some of the biographical details of the captive’s captors. He summarizes the passages he omitted by having the captive say, “Nur die Furcht, Euch Langweile zu machen, hat verursacht, daß ich

94 vieles weggelassen habe” [“Only the fear of boring you has caused me to leave out a lot”]. Due to these numerous changes, therefore, the total number of chapters in each author’s work differs. Whereas Cervantes’s novel has 52 chapters in Part I and 74 in Part II, or 126 chapters, Bertuch’s Part I comprises 45 chapters and his Part II has 74, the same number as Cervantes’s.

Therefore, his translation

contains a total of 119 chapters, 7 chapters fewer than the Spaniard’s novel. In addition to leaving out either all or a large part of the three novellas mentioned above, Bertuch also omits several of the work’s preliminary passages, i.e., the various official approvals, Cervantes’s dedication to his patron the Duke of Béjar,5 and all ten laudatory poems addessed to various characters in the work – such poems were typically found in courtly novels. Other omissions include the first of Cardenio’s two songs in I, 27/3. In a lengthy footnote, he again explains his reason for doing so: Cervantes ist hier sehr freygebig mit Liedern gewesen, denn er läßt den unbekannten Sänger gleich ihrer zween in einem Athem singen. Das erste davon laße ich weg, weil es ein eben so unübersetzlich als langweiliges Echo von Verachtung, Eifersucht, Abwesenheit, Amor, Fortuna, Himmel, Tod, Veränderung und Narrheit ist… . [Cervantes was quite generous with songs here, since he has the unknown singer sing two of them in one breath. I leave the first of them out because it is as untranslatable as it is a tedious echo of contempt, jealousy, absence, love, fortune, heaven, death, change and foolishness… ]. Because of this omission, Bertuch also must leave out the two or three lines that both precede and follow the song, since they allude to it.

95 Only a few chapter laters, in I, 43/13, he leaves out two poems, besides the two sonnets mentioned earlier, from the abridged novella “The Captive’s Tale.” Bertuch transitions the first omission, the first of the young muleteer’s two songs, by writing that Dorotea “horchte und hörte ein höchst zärtliches Liebes-Liedgen, voll Klagen… und Hoffnung” [“listened and heard a most tender love song full of laments … and hope”]. He summarizes the second poetic omission by writing that Clara, after being awakened from a deep sleep, “endlich aber hörte … den Sänger… ” [“finally heard the singer… ”]. In Part II, Bertuch once again omits all of the various authorizations and approvals and the Spaniard’s dedication to the Count of Lemos,6 Cervantes’s new patron. He also excludes the author’s prologue, explaining in his own prologue his reason for doing so: “… da sie nichts Wesentliches, sondern nur eine bescheidene Vertheidigung gegen die ungerechten Ausfälle seines Gegners auf ihn enthält. Wen intereßiren Autorenkriege?” [“… because it contains nothing essential but only a miserable defense against the unfair attack on him by his rival [[Avellaneda]]. Who is interested in author-wars?”]. On the same page, Bertuch also explains that it was his original intent to insert Avellaneda’s sequel at that point before continuing with Cervantes’s work. However, he refrained from doing so “weil ich überhaupt die Zwischenspiele nicht liebe” [“because I do not at all like the transition”]. Other than the omissions mentioned above, Bertuch was much less prone to exclude material from Part II, although there are some exceptions.

For

example, in II, 14 Bertuch leaves out Don Lorenzo’s poetic glosses, explaining once again via a footnote his reasons: “Die Glosse, die sonst in Spanien ziemlich

96 Mode war, ist nichts beßer als eine poetische Spielerey… ” [“The gloss, which was quite fashionable in Spain, is nothing better than a poetic game… ”]. This time Bertuch makes the transition by writing, “Als Don Lorenzo seine Glosse ausgelesen hatte… ” [“Once Don Lorenzo had read his gloss aloud… ”]. In several places in Part II, Cervantes includes couplets, excerpts from longer poems, that are set apart from the text. not treat these paired lines as poetry.

For the most part, Bertuch does

Instead, he simply incorporates the

thoughts they express into his narrative. The following example appears in II, 10. Instead of: Mensajeros sois, amigo, no merecéis culpa, non. [You are the mesenger, my friend, and do not deserve the blame.] Bertuch writes: “Ja, ja, du bist ein Abgesandter, Bruder, auf dich kommt keine Schuld! [“Yes, yes, you are a messenger, friend; no blame comes to you!”]. Another example of this can be found in II, 16 when Bertuch, rephrases Cervantes’s passage: “… que soy caballero destos que dicen las gentes que a sus aventuras van.” [“… I am a knight the kind, as people say, who go to seek adventures.”] Instead, he writes: “… aber Eure Verwunderung wird bald aufhören, wenn ich Euch sage, daß ich ein sogenanter abentheuernder Ritter bin” [“… but your

97 astonishment will soon abate when I tell you that I am one of those so-called adventuring knights”]. Here is one final example of Bertuch’s incorporating a couplet into his narrative. It is in II,18 that we find the following passage in the Spanish work: “… y sospirando, y sin mirar lo que decía, ni delante de quién estaba, dijo: –¡Oh, dulces prendas, por mi mal halladas, dulces y alegres cuando Dios quería!” [“… and heaving a sigh, and not caring what he said or whom he was with, he said: ‘O sweet treasures, discovered to my sorrow, sweet and joyous when God did will them so!’”] Bertuch renders this passage in the following manner: “Ohne zu wissen was er that, und wo er war … fieng er … zu seufzen an: ‘O ihr süßen Pfänder; muß ich euch zu meinem Leide hier finde? Wie frölich wollt ich auch aufsehen, wenn Gott wollte!’ ” [“Without knowing what he was doing and where he was, he began to sigh: ‘Oh, you sweet tokens, must I, to my sorrow, find you here? How cheerfully I too would look up, if God so willed!’”].

98 the beginning of this old and famous ballad here, to which Cervantes so often alludes”]. After then including the first fifty-two, four-line stanzas, he notes that: “Der Romanze ist zu lang, um ganz ihn hier einzuschalten. Ich behalte mir vor, ihn bey einer andern Gelegenheit dem Publico zu liefern. Hier war er nur so weit nöthig, daß dem Leser die beyden Stellen, welche Don Quixote daraus braucht, veständlich werden” [“The ballad is too long to include here in its entirety. I intend to provide the public with it some other time. Here it was necessary to present only enough so that both passages that Don Quixote takes from it are understandable to the reader”]. Bertuch does this again in his I, 13/14. In this chapter, Cervantes cites only the first stanza of a ballad about Lancelot. Rather than simply translating this passage, the poem’s four most famous lines, Bertuch includes the entire ballad, all nine four-line stanzas, so that his readers might fully appreciate Cervantes’s reference. Again in II, 9, Cervantes includes only two lines from the ballad of Roncesvalles. Instead of translating this short passage, Bertuch, in a footnote, writes: “Ich will diesen schönen alten Volks Romanzen, da er nicht zu lang ist, hier ganz liefern” [“At this point I want to include this lovely old ballad in its entirety since it is not too long”]. He then goes on to translate the work’s thirty-seven, four-line verses, keeping the poem as a footnote for the next several pages. In this next illustration, Cervantes, in II, 23, includes only eight lines from a long poem about the French hero Durandarte or Roland. While Bertuch does not include these eight lines in the body of his translation, he does offer most of the poem in yet another footnote, writing that: “Folgender alte Volks-Romanze enthält

99 einen Theil von Durandartes Geschichte. Mir scheint er … nur Fragment zu seyn” [“The following old romance contains part of Durandarte’s story. It appears to me to be only a fragment.”] He then includes the poem’s fifteen, four-line stanzas among which Cervantes’s excerpt can be found. Finally, in II, 27 Bertuch once again includes several stanzas from a poem to which Cervantes alludes, citing the verses that precede Cervante’s reference. As with his other footnotes, he does so to supply his readers with more complete background information.

INITIAL ELEMENT RETAINED AT BEGINNING OF SENTENCE Although

Bertuch

repeatedly

reorganizes

the

novel’s

sentences,

paragraphs and, occasionally, its chapters, he makes every attempt to retain the numerous initial elements with which Cervantes begins his sentences. We find, for example: Hecho esto or Dieß gethan [This done]; Con esto or Hiermit [With this]; Por el sol que nos alumbra or Bey der Sonne, die uns bescheint [By the sun that shines down on us]; Esto digo yo también or Das sag’ ich auch [That is what I say too]; Ferido no or Verwundert nicht [Not wounded]; Aquella noche quemó or Diese Nacht verbrannte er [That night he burned]; Con estas promesas y otras tales or Auf diese und dergleichen herrliche Versprechungen [With these and similar [[wonderful]] promises]; and Y, sin querer cansarse más en leer libros de caballería [And not wishing to tire himself further with the perusal of books of chivalry] or und ohne sich weiter mit Aufschlagen der Bücher zu bemühen [and without making a further effort to open the books]. Thus, in this respect, Bertuch’s text closely resembles Cervantes’s.

100

INDIRECT AND DIRECT ADDRESS In Don Quixote I, Bertuch converts numerous third-person passages into dialogue, something that he does far less frequently in Don Quixote II. It appears that he does so in order to maintain the liveliness that more active repartee lends to the text. For example: Cervantes

Bertuch

Díjole don Quijote que contase algún cuento para entretenerle, como se lo había prometido; a lo que Sancho dijo que sí hiciera, si le dejara el temor de lo que oía.

“Erzähl mir doch nun zum Zeitvertreib ein Mährchen, Sancho, wie du versprochen hast: sprach Don Quixote.” — “Das wollt’ ich wohl, versetzte Sancho, wenn ich mich nur nicht so gräulich vor dem Lärmen fürchtete, den ich höre.”

[Don Quixote told him to recount some story to amuse him, as he had promised, to which Sancho replied that he would, if his terror at what he was hearing allowed him to.] (I, 20)

[“Tell me a story to pass the time, Sancho, the way you promised to,” said Don Quixote. “I would gladly do so,” Sancho replied, “if only I weren’t so frightened by the noises that I hear.”]

Another example of this alteration can be seen in the following passage: Cevantes

Bertuch

Profiaba Sancho que era venta, y su amo que no, sino castillo… .

Sancho schwur hoch und theuer: “es ist eine Schenke!” “Nein, es ist ein Castel!” schrie Don Quixote.

Sancho insisted it was an inn, and his master said no, it was a castle… . ](I, 16)

[Sancho swore up and down, ”It’s an inn!” “No, it is a castle,” cried Don Quixote.]

Conversely, although it appears less frequently, Bertuch converts to indirect address quite short passages that Cervantes writes as direct address, as this example from I, 42/13 demonstrates:

101 Cervantes

Bertuch

… Cardenio … dijo: – Quien no duerme, escuche, que oirán una voz de un mozo de mulas que de tal manera canta, que encanta.

… kam Cardenio an ihre Kammerthür, und rufte ihnen zu, wenn si nicht schliefen, so sollten sie doch hören, wie schön der junge Maulthiertreiber sänge.

… Cardenio said, “If anyone is awake, listen and you will hear the voice of one of the muledriver’s boys; he sings so well that he sounds like an angel.”

[… Cardenio arrived at the door to their room and said to them that, if they weren’t sleeping, they should listen to how beautifully the young muledriver sang.]

This final example can be found in II, 18: … tuvo lugar don Lorenzo … de decir a su padre: – ¿Quién diremos, señor, que es este caballero que vuesa merced nos ha traído a casa?

… machte sich Don Lorenzo … an seinen Vater, und fragte ihn: wer denn eigentlich der Herr sey, den er da mitgebracht habe?

… Don Lorenzo … had the opportunity to say to his father: – Señor, who can this knight be whom you have brought to our house?

[… Don Lorenzo … turned to his father and asked him who the man was that he had brought home.]

A curious thing happens in I, 31/7 and II, 7, where the majority of the chapter deals with a conversation between Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. Rather than introducing each participant’s words with “said Don Quixote” or “responded Sancho,” Bertuch simply places either “Don Quix.” or “Sancho” before each character’s lines, thereby eliminating such phrases entirely.

VERB TENSES Bertuch is very proficient in retaining both the Spanish text’s compound tenses and first person plural commands, since their use in both languages is quite similar. For example, we find that: hubiera mandado becomes befohlen

102 hätte [had ordered]; habían oído becomes gehöret hatten [had heard]; habían encontrado becomes hätten angetroffen [had found]; había prometido becomes versprochen hatte [had promised]; han hecho becomes gethan haben [have done]; veamos becomes sehen wir [let’s see]; and dejemos becomes lassen wir [let’s leave]. However, he encountered a challenge when translating verbal constructions that do not exist in German, e.g., Spanish’s progressive tenses, and the frequency and use of present participles that differ from German. To solve this problem, Bertuch renders both present participle verb forms and past progressive constructions with the German simple past tense, and the abundant present progressive forms with the present tense. Thus, oyendo becomes hörte, dándose becomes schlug, escuchando becomes hörte, dejando becomes verließ, iba caminando becomes reißte, estaba diciendo becomes schrie, se iba dando becomes fluchte, está atendiendo becomes erwartet, estoy castigando becomes ich züchtige, and va haciendo becomes wird.

On the rare occasion when

Cervantes employs an infinitive progressive or a progressive perfect form, Bertuch uses a dependent clause, since German has no similar construction. Therefore, estarse leyendo [to be reading] becomes daß mein Herr Onkel … las [that my uncle read]; and habiendo ganado [having won] becomes da wir … davongetragen hatten [since we had won].

PASSIVE VOICE Spanish and German compose the passive voice in very similar ways. Although Cervantes does not use this construction very often in his novel, when

103 he does, Bertuch usually retains it. In the following examples, both authors form the passive voice by using the auxiliary verb (ser or werden) and a past participle. Thus, we find fue depositado or wurde beygesetzt [was laid to rest]; lejos de poder ser hallado or nicht konnte gefunden werden [could not be found]; fui recibido or wurde aufgenommen [was received]; fue aborrecido or wurde verabscheuet [was detested]; and habían sido librados or befreyet worden waren [had been freed]. A second way that both languages can form the passive voice is by making the verb pronominal. Although on one occasion Bertuch replicates this form of Cervantes’s passive voice construction – se puede llevar or trägt sich [can be worn] – for the most part he prefers the passive construction mentioned above. Therefore, he changes se imprimió to gedruckt wurde [was printed]; se pintan to gemalt werden [are painted]; se firman to werden unterschrieben [are signed]; se han compuesto to geschrieben worden sey [have/has been written]; and se han visto to verrichtet worden sind [have been witnessed]. A third way the passive voice is often formed in German is by using the third person impersonal pronoun man [one].

In several instances, Bertuch

chooses this form to render Cervantes’s use of the pronominal construction. Accordingly, he changes suele decirse to pflegt man zu sagen [used to be said]; cuéntase to man sagt [it is said]; se oyen to hört man [are heard]; se consiente imprimir to erlaubt man den Druck [printing is permitted]; and las heridas que se dan to Wunden und Schläge, die man mit Instrumenten … empfängt [injuries inflicted by the tools]. Perhaps, Bertuch employs the pronominal passive less

104 frequently because in the late eighteenth century it was less favored than these other two forms. On at least one occasion, Bertuch transforms Cervantes’s active voice construction into a passive one. Hence we find la han criado [have reared her] changed to ist sie erzogen worden [she was reared]. Conversely, the translator renders two passive voice constructions with active ones: fue informada de Sancho [was informed by Sancho] becomes Sancho ihr gemeldet hatte [Sancho had informed her]; and se debe perdonar [should be forgiven] becomes könnten wir es schonen [we could forgive it]. It should be noted here that, in general, the passive construction occurs more frequently in German than in Spanish.

CAUSATIVE CONSTRUCTION Bertuch is also able to retain Cervantes’s occasional use of the causative construction in his translation, since both languages use it in a similar way. As a result, hacerla trasladar remains abschreiben lassen [have it transcribed]; hice que la ensillase remains ließ es satteln [had it saddled]; hacer pintar remains mahlen lassen [have depicted]; nos hace pensar [makes us think] remains läßt vermuthen [makes [[us]] suppose]; and haciendo llamar al duque remains hatte den Herzog rufen lassen [sending/had sent for the duke]. There are also rare instances when Bertuch rewords Cervantes’s phrase in order to employ this construction, perhaps because this construction does appear more frequently in German than in Spanish. Therefore, le curaremos [we will cure him] becomes ihm helfen zu lassen [have him helped]; and pondrás [you will put] becomes setzen lassen [have put].

105

ALLITERATION AND RHYMING ELEMENTS Scholars are not sure why Bertuch chose to include as many alliterative and rhyming elements in his translation as he did.

Perhaps being a good

Protestant he was influenced by Martin Luther who incorporated such alliterative and/or rhyming phrases, which were part of everyday German, into his works, thus giving them an official stamp of approval, e.g., Rhat und Tat [moral and practical support] (passim), Hülle und Fülle [in abundance] (passim), etc. Perhaps Bertuch was influenced by Bastel von der Sohle who also employed numerous such expressions. Perhaps the few rhyming pairs that do appear in Cervantes’s text caught his eye, e.g., desechado y desdeñado [scorned and disdained] (I, 26). It is much more likely, however, that he was imitating the use of alliterative expressions found in devotional literature and calendars that could be found in virtually every household in Germany at the time (Wilpert 319). Whatever the reason, Bertuch’s translation abounds with them. Thus, we find: Lug und Trug [lies and deception] (passim); Sack und Pack [bag and bundle] (I, 18); Schimpf und Schmähworten [affronts and abuses] (I, 17); frisch und feucht [fresh and damp] (I, 20); schlammig und schlüpfrig [muddy and slippery] (I, 2); Wohl und Weh [weal and woe] (I, 21); zerbrochen und zertreten [smashed and crushed] (I, 24); Gickel Gackel and Gicks Gacks [squeeks and cackles] (II, 5); Gewühl und Getümmel [a milling crowd and tumult] (I, 45/14); Gestalten, Gespenster und Geister [figures, ghosts and spirits] (I, 46/15); and a personal favorite, verfluchter Flegel und Freßwanst [you damned lout and pot-belly] (II, 17). Although Cervantes occasionally pairs up nouns, adjectives and verbs, he does

106 not do so to the extent that Bertuch does and only rarely do they alliterate or rhyme.

RELIGION If Bertuch includes so many alliterative and rhyming elements due to Luther’s influence, perhaps this next point is another reflection of his strong religious beliefs. Throughout his translation, Bertuch freely adds numerous phrases that refer to God or Christianity, or he rewords Cervantes’s expressions in order to incorporate a religious sentiment. However, once again, these could be due to the ubiquitous calendars and popular devotional literature. The phrases that follow are typical of those that the author frequently adds to the text: du lieber Gott [dear God], in Gottes Namen [in God’s name], bey Gott im Himmel [by God in Heaven], daß Gott erbarm [may God have mercy], das weiß der liebe Gott [the dear Lord knows], aus bloßer Christenpflicht [out of pure Christian duty], Gott verzeyh’ mir meine Sünde [may God forgive me my sins], and ich bitte Euch um’s alleinigen Gottes willen [I ask you for the sake of the one and only God]. The following examples reflect Bertuch’s rewording of a Cervantine phrase in order to incorporate a more religious one: en menos de un abrir y cerrar de ojos [in the wink of an eye] becomes ehe man noch ein Vaterunser betet [before you can say another “Our Father”] (II, 5); en todo el orbe [in all the world] becomes unter Gottes Sonne [under God’s sun] (II, 13); no sé [I don’t know] becomes weiß der liebe Gott [only the good Lord knows] (I, 7); y convidaron a los dos … con lo que tenían [and invited the two of them to share what they had] becomes und baten ihre beyden Gäste … zu dem was Gott bescheert hatte [and

107 asked their two guests … to share what God had given] (I, 11); and como el agua de mayo [like the showers of May] becomes wie auf den heiligen Christ [like on the blessed Lord] (II, 73/41). When Cervantes’s lines refer to the terminology, traditions or prayers of the Catholic Church, Bertuch sometimes retains them, sometimes omits them, and other times rephrases them to make them more Lutheran. For example, in I, 17 and 22 and in II, 41/9 the author retains the names of prayers addressed to the Virgin Mary, i.e., the Hail Mary and Salve, that other Protestant authors tend to replace with Vater Unser [Our Father] (Melz 340). In II, 26 Bertuch, like other Lutheran translators, also replaces the Creed with Vater Unser – although he does retain the name of this prayer in other parts of his work. Therefore, the Spanish phrase en menos de dos credos [in less time than it takes to say two Creeds] becomes in weniger als zwey Vaterunser [in less time than it takes to say two Our Fathers] (II, 26). In I, 40/12 Bertuch completely omits the following passage that refers to the un-Lutheran practice of praying to the Virgin Mary: y que tuviese cuidado de encomendarnos a Lela Marién con todas aquellas oraciones que la cautiva le había enseñado [and that she should be sure to commend all of us to Lela Marién [[the Virgin Mary]] with the prayers the slave woman had taught her]. Instead, he writes: und daß ihr Rath so gut sey, als hätte ihr ihn Lela Marien gegeben [and that her advice was as good as if the Virgin Mary had given it to her]. In II, 9 Bertuch replaces Cervantes’s el cura y el sacristán [the priest and the sacristan] with Herr Magister und der Schulmeister [a person holding a master’s degree and a schoolmaster]. He also replaces the original “Catholic” with “Christian” in II, 26.

108 Thus, los dos católicos amantes [the two Catholic lovers] becomes den beiden christlichen Liebchen [the two Christian lovers].

Then, in II, 37/5, Bertuch

changes Cervantes’s phrasing in order to avoid its reference to the Catholic practice of confession. Therefore, he converts Cervantes’s el tal vicario tomó la confesión a la señora [the same vicar heard the lady’s confession] into der Capellan sah das Versprechen [the chaplain witnessed her promise]. In contrast to these omissions or alterations, in I, 5 and I, 18 Bertuch adds the following phrase, one that refers to a Catholic practice, to Cervantes’s text: und kreuzigte und segnete sich [and crossed and blessed himself].

And in II,

55/23 he replaces Cervantes’s reference to hell [infierno] with Fegfeuer [purgatory], a most decidedly un-Lutheran concept, but one that appears in Wieland’s work.

REDUPLICATION Contrary to Cervantes’s style, but perhaps in imitation of his friend Wieland, Bertuch slightly alters the initial words of many dialogues by first starting the quote, adding inquit forms, and then repeating the opening words.

For

example, in II, 17 we find: Cervantes

Bertuch

… don Quijote …, en llegando, le dijo: – Dame amigo, esa celada… .

“Geschwind lieber Sancho, sprach Don Quixote, als er zu ihm kam, geschwind meinen Helm her.”

… as soon as he approached, Don Quixote said: “Friend, hand me the helmet… .”

[“Quickly, dear Sancho,” said Don Quixote as he approached him, “quickly, bring me my helmet.”]

Another example of this can be found in II, 41/9:

109

Cervantes

Bertuch

Y apartando a Sancho entre unos árboles del jardín y asiéndole ambas las manos, le dijo: – Ya vees, Sancho hermano, el largo viaje que nos espera…

“Höre – sprach er zu ihm, als er mit ihm ein wenig seitwärts gegangen war, und ihn bey beyden Händen hielt – höre, lieber Sancho, du siehst was wir für eine weite Reitse zu machen haben… ”

And leading Sancho to some trees in the garden, and grasping both his hands, he said: “You see now, friend Sancho, the long journey that awaits us… .”

[“Listen,” he said to him after he had gone a little to the side with him and held him by both hands, “listen, dear Sancho, you see what a long trip we have to make… .”]

A third example appears in II, 42/10: Cervantes

Bertuch

–Infinitas gracias doy al cielo, Sancho amigo, … .

“Ich danke, fieng er mit ganz ruhiger Stimme an, ich danke dem Himmel unendlich, Freund Sancho..”

“I give infinite thanks to heaven, Sancho my friend, … .”

[ “I thank,” he began in quite a calm voice, “I thank heaven infinitely, Sancho my friend, … .”

This final example comes from II, 73/41: Cervantes

Bertuch

Y, volviéndose a Sancho, le dijo: –Perdóname, amigo, de… .

“Verzeyhe mir, Freund, sprach er, und kehrte sich zu Sancho um; verzeyhe mir daß ich … .”

And turning to Sancho, he said: “Forgive me, my friend, for… .”

[“Forgive me, friend,” he said, and turned to Sancho; “forgive me for… .”]

GOOD RENDITIONS

110 Despite the frequent alterations Bertuch makes to Cervantes’s text, there are also numerous instances where his translation is extremely close to the original. Space does not permit including the example, Don Quixote’s famous battle with the windmills, that the reviewer for the Journal zur Kunstgeschichte und zur allgemeinen Litteratur found so rewarding in 1776, but the following selection will serve equally well. Although in this passage Bertuch once again divides the original’s sentences differently, his rendition is almost word-for-word. Cervantes

Bertuch

Yo no sé, mi señor, cómo dar orden que nos vamos a España, ni Lela Marién me lo ha dicho, aunque yo se lo he preguntado. Lo que se podrá hacer es que yo os daré por esta ventana muchísimos dineros de oro: rescataos vos con ellos, y vustros amigos, y vaya uno en tierra de cristianos y compre allá una barca y vuelva por los demás; y a mí me hallarán en el jardín de mi padre que está a la puerta de Babazón, junto a la marina, donde tengo de estar todo este verano con mi padre y con mis criados. De allí, de noche, me podréis sacar sin miedo y llevarme a la barca; y mira que has de ser mi marido, porque, si no, yo pediré a Marién que te castigue. Si no te fías de nadie que vaya por la barca, rescátate tú y ve, que yo sé que volverás mejor que otro, pues eres caballero y cristiano. Procura saber el jardín, y cuando te pasees por ahí sabré que está solo el baño y te daré mucho dinero. Alá te guarde, señor mío.

“Ich weiß nicht, wie wir nach Spanien kommen wollen, denn Lela Marien hat mir es nicht gesagt, so sehr ich sie auch drum gebeten habe. Alles, was ich thun kann, ist, daß ich dir durch dieses Fenster sehr viel Geld gebe, damit du dich und deine Freunde loskauffen kannst. Einer von Euch muß ins Land der Christen gehen, eine Barke kauffen, und widerkommen, die Andern abzuholen. Mich werdet ihr in einem Garten meines Vaters vor dem Babazon-Thore, hart am Meere, finden. Da bin ich diesen ganzen Frühling mit meinem Vater und mit meinen Sclavinnen; von da kannst du mich des Nachts ohne Furcht in dein Schiff hohlen. Aber siehe ja zu, daß du mein Mann wirst; denn thust du es nicht, so werde ich die Lela Marien bitten, daß sie dich straft. Wenn du niemand hast, auf den du dich verlassen kannst, so kaufe dich zuerst los, und gehe hin, und hohle eine Barke; denn ich weiß, du wirst am sichersten wiederkommen, da du ein Ritter und Christ bist. Mache dir auch den Garten bekannt. Und wenn du wieder hieher unter das Fenster kommst, soll es mir ein

111 Zeichen seyn, daß das Bad leer ist, und dann will ich dir viel Geld bringen. Ala behüte dich, lieber Herr!” “I do not know, Señor, how we shall go to Spain; Lela Marién has not told me, though I have asked her, but what we can do is this: I shall give you many gold coins through the window; use them to ransom yourself and your friends, and one of you go to a Christian land and buy a boat and come back for the others; you will find me on my father’s country estate, which is near the Babazón Gate, close to the ocean, where I must spend the summer with my father and my servants. At night you could safely take me from there to the boat; remember that you must marry me, because if you do not, I shall ask Marién to punish you. If you do not trust anyone else to go for the boat, pay your own ransom and go yourself; I know you are more likely to return than any of the others, for you are a gentleman and a Christian. Try to learn where the estate is, and when you come out to the roof I shall know that the bagnio is empty, and give you a good deal of money. Allah keep you, Señor.” (I, 40)

[“I do not know how we shall get to Spain; Lela Marien has not told me no matter how much I asked her. All I can do is give you much money through this window so that you can ransom yourself and your friends. One of you must go to a Christian land, buy a boat, and come back for the others. You will find me in my father’s garden by the Babazón Gate, close to the ocean. I’ll be there the whole spring with my father and my servants; at night you can take me from there to the ship. But see to it that you become my husband; because if you don’t do so, I shall ask Lela Marien to punish you. If you don’t have anyone on whom you can depend, then ransom yourself first and go and get a boat; because I know you are most likely to return, for you are a gentleman and a Christian. Acquaint yourself with the garden. And when you come back under this window, it will be a sign to me that the bagnio is empty, and I will give you a lot of money. May Allah keep you safe, kind sir.”]

In the next passage, although Bertuch again arbitrarily combines Cervantes’s paragraphs and reorganizes his sentences, his words are quite close to the original text.7 Cervantes

Bertuch

En esto comenzó a llover un poco, y quisiera Sancho que se entraron en el molino de los batanes, mas habíales cobrado tal aborrecimiento

Indessen fieng es ein wenig an zu regnen, und Sancho wollte gern in der Walkmühle einkehren. Don Quixote aber hatte durch den

112 don Quijote por la pesada burla, que en ninguna manera quiso entrar dentro; y, así, torciendo el camino a la derecha mano, dieron en otro como el que habían llevado el día de antes. De allí a poco, descubrió don Quijote un hombre a caballo que traía en la cabeza una cosa que relumbraba como si fuere de oro; y aun él apenas le hubo visto, cuando se volvió a Sancho y le dijo: – Paréceme, Sancho, que no hay refrán que no sea verdadero, porque todos son sentencias sacadas de la mesma experiencia, madre de las ciencias todas, especialmente aquel que dice: ‘donde una puerta se cierra, otra se abre.’ Dígolo porque si anoche nos cerró la ventura la puerta de la que buscábamos, engañán-donos con los batanes, ahora nos abre de par en par otra, para otra mejor y más cierta aventura, que si yo no acertara a entrar por ella, mía será la culpa, sin que la pueda dar a la poca noticia de batanes ni a la escuridad de la noche. Digo esto porque, si no me engaño, hacia nosotros viene uno que trae en su cabeza puesto el yelmo de Mambrino, sobre que yo hice el juramento que sabes.

vorgefallenen Spaß einen solchen Abscheu dafür bekommen, daß er schlechterdings nicht hinein wollte. Sie schlugen sich also rechter Hand und kamen auf einen andern Weg, als sie Tage zuvor gehabt hatten. Sie waren noch nicht weit, so entdeckte Don Quixote einen Reuter mit einem Dinge auf dem Kopfe, das wie Gold glänzte. Kaum hatte er ihn erblickt, so wandt’ er sich zu Sancho, und sprach: “Ich glaube, Sancho, es lügt kein einziges Sprüchwort in der Welt, denn es sind lauter aus der Erfahrung der Mutter aller Wissenschaften, fließende Sätze. Für eins der wahresten aber halt ich dies! Wo eine Thür sich schießt, da geht die andere auf. Dieß sag ich deswegen, weil, wenn uns das Glück die Thür, die wir suchten, diese Nacht verschloß, und uns mit Walkmühlen betrog, es uns jetzt eine andere zu einem grössern und gewissern Abentheuer öffnet. Wenn ich nicht zu dieser eingehen wollte, so wär es meine eigene Schuld. Hier gilt weder Unkenntniß der Walkmühlen noch Finsterniß der Nacht als Vorwand. Siehe hin, Sancho, warum ich dir’s sage. Denn ich müßte gewaltig irren, oder dort kommt einer, der Mambrins Helm trägt, über den ich, wie du weißt, den großen Eyd gethan habe.”

At this point a light rain began to fall, and Sancho would have liked for them to take shelter in the fulling mill, but Don Quixote had acquired such an aversion to it because of the insufferable deception that under no circumstances did he wish to go inside, and so, turning to the right, they came upon another road similar to the one they had followed on the previous day.

[In the meantime, it began to rain a little, and Sancho wanted to stop at the fulling mill. But Don Quixote had acquired such an aversion to it due to the prank that had happened that he simply did not want to go inside. So they turned to the right and came upon another road like the one they had followed the day before. They hadn’t gone far when Don Quixote noticed a rider with something on his

113 A short while later, Don Quixote caught sight of a man riding toward them and wearing on his head something that glistened as if it were made of gold, and no sooner had he seen him than he turned to Sancho and said: “It seems to me, Sancho, that there is no proverb that is not true, because all of them are judgments based on experience, the mother of all knowledge, in particular the one that says: ‘One door closes and another opens.’ I say this because if last night fortune closed the door on what we were seeking, deceiving us with fulling hammers, now she opens wide another that will lead to a better and truer adventure; if I do not succeed in going through this door, the fault will be mine, and I shall not be able to blame my ignorance of fulling hammers or the dark of the night. I say this because, unless I am mistaken, coming toward us is a man who wears on his head the helmet of Mambrino, concerning which, as you well know, I have made a vow.” (I, 21)

head that gleamed like gold. No sooner had he seen him than he turned to Sancho and said: ‘I believe, Sancho, that not a single proverb in the world lies because they are nothing but flowing maxims of experience, the mother of all knowledge. However, I hold this one as one of the truest: ‘When one door closes, another opens.’ I say this because if tonight fortune closed the door we sought and deceived us with fulling hammers, it now opens another one for us leading to a greater and more certain adventure. If I do not go through it, it will be my own fault. Neither ignorance of fulling mills nor darkness serves as an excuse. Look there, Sancho, why I say this. Because either I am greatly mistaken or here comes one who wears Mambrino’s helmet, concerning which, as you know, I have made the greatest vow.”]

LOOSE TRANSLATION In contrast to the faithful renditions noted above, Bertuch also translates other passages quite freely, by abridging a passage, adding or omitting short phrases, changing the order of sentence elements, etc.

His less-than-faithful

efforts can be seen in the following excerpts: Cervantes

Bertuch

Mal año y mal mes para don Belianís y para todos aquellos que dijeren que se le igualó en algo, porque se engañan, juro cierto.

“Ich lache nur, wenn man den Don Belianis mit ihm vergleichen will, denn es ist falsch, ich kann dir es zuschwören.”

114

“Bad luck and worse fortune for Don Belianís and for anyone else who may claim to be his equal in anything, because, by my troth, they are deceived.” (I, 25)

[“I only laugh when people want to compare him to Don Belianis, because it is false, I can assure you.”]

The following excerpt is another example of the freedom Bertuch sometimes takes when translating: Cervantes

Bertuch

Pero, decidme, señores, si habéis mirado en ello: ¿cuán menos son los premiados por la guerra que los que han perecido en ella? Sin duda habéis de responder que no tienen comparación ni se pueden reducir a cuenta los muertos, y que se podrán contar los premiados vivos con tres letras de guarismo. Todo esto es al revés en los letrados, porque de faldas (que no quiero decir de mangas) todos tienen en qué entretenerse.

“Habt Ihr wohl je bedacht, meine Herren, wie erstaunend klein die Zahl der durch den Krieg Glücklichen, gegen die Zahl der im Kriege Unglücklichen und Umgekommenen ist? Habt Ihr’s, so müßt Ihr mir bekennen, daß zwischen beyden Theilen gar kein Verhältniß ist, und daß die Summe der Ersten gegen die Summe der Letzten völlig verschwindet. Ganz anders verhält sichs aber mit dem Gelehrten; denn Alle haben, mehr oder weniger, doch wovon sie sich ernähren können, …”

“But tell me, Señores, if you have considered it: how many more perish in war than profit from it? No doubt you will respond that there is no comparison, that the number of dead cannot be counted, and those who have been rewarded, and survived, can be counted in three digits and never reach a thousand. All of this is the opposite of what happens to lettered men, for with their fees, not to mention the bribes they receive, they have enough to get by… .” (I, 38)

[“Have you ever considered, gentlemen, how surprisingly small the number of those who profit from war is compared with the number of those wounded and dead? If you have, then you must admit to me, that there is no comparison between the two, and that the sum of the former completely disappears when compared with the sum of the latter. It is completely different, however, with lettered men; because all of them have, more or less, enough to live on, …”]

115 In addition to these kinds of less-than-faithful translations, Bertuch’s work is peppered with small additions – sometimes an adjective, sometimes an adverb – and abridgments. MISTRANSLATIONS Considering the fact that he had no Spanish-German dictionary to help him in his efforts, Bertuch’s work is remarkably free of translation mistakes. The ones that do appear are minor and do not really mislead the reader. For example, the author translates Cervantes’s ahechar [to winnow] as fegen [to sweep (I, 31/7); la rodilla de la pierna izquierda [left knee] as linken Fuß [left foot] (I, 29/5); and después de mañana [the day after tomorrow] as morgen [tomorrow] (II, 71/39). One more obvious mistake revolves around the pair of words caballo [horse] and cabello [hair]. In this case, his translating Cervantes’s los caballos del Sol [the horses of the Sun] as die Haare der Sonne [the hair of the Sun] does feel awkward in its context (II, 38/6). Another minor error occurs when Bertuch chooses the incorrect meaning for infante, which can mean either “child” or “prince.” Therefore, he renders the phrase aquel delicado infante [that delicate child] with diesen zarten Prinzen [that delicate prince] (I, 4). He also mistakenly translates un agudo venablo [a short, sharp lance] as ein spitziges Fangeisen [a sharp trap] (II, 34/2), and a rey ni a roque [the king or the rook; terms in chess] as weder dem König noch dem Sanct Roch [neither the king nor Saint Roch] (II, 1). In one passage, Bertuch’s mistranslation reveals that he did not understand the historical reference it contains. The original phrase, que se ahogó

116 en la Herradura [who drowned at La Herradura], refers to the tragic drowning deaths of more than 4,000 people when a “galley ship sank in the port of La Herradura, near Vélez Málaga, in 1562…” (Grossman, Don Quixote 662). Bertuch, not appreciating this reference, translates this phrase und sich im Schmiedeteiche ersäufte [who drowned in the smithy’s pond]. His translation is a reasonable one since in Spanish herrador means “blacksmith” and herradura means “horseshoe” (II, 31). Other discrepancies that appear in his text are difficult to explain. For example, Bertuch incorrectly translates the phrase y a obra de las tres del día [at about three in the afternoon] as ohngefähr drey Stunden nach Sonnenaufgang [about three hours after sunrise] (I, 7). In one passage, he translates Cervantes’s dos leguas [two leagues] with drey Meilen [three miles] (I, 29/5), and in another he replaces pagará con el cuatro [he will pay four times over] with er … doppelt büßen müßte [he might have to pay double] – perhaps because “doppelt büßen” is a set phrase in German (II, 42/10). Another unusual discrepany occurs when Bertuch translates mil leguas [one thousand leagues] as eine halbe Meile [half a mile] (II, 47/15).

This is very strange since Bertuch consistently equated

Cervantes’s “leagues” with “miles” and certainly knew his numbers. Therefore, in these three phrases, his mistaking dos [two] for tres [three], cuatro [four] for dos [two], and mil for media [half] does not seem the likely explanation for these incorrrect renditions. Despite these relatively insignificant mistakes, Bertuch’s translation is quite accurate, thus proving that he was a good student of both Bachoff von Echt, the baron’s retainer, and Weimar’s various tradesmen.

In his well-known article

117 entitled “Spanien und die spanische Litteratur im Lichte der deutschen Kritik und Poesie,” [“Spain and Spanish Literature in the Light of German Criticism and Poetry”], Doctor Artur Farinelli affirms this, writing that “Er hat bei seiner Interpretation nicht die groben, grammatikalischen Fehler … begangen …” [“In his interpretation, he did not make flagrant grammatical mistakes …”] (321).

TRANSLATION DIFFICULTIES As mentioned in an earlier section, there are instances when Bertuch simply cannot translate certain phrases because the words Cervantes uses are puns or plays on words. The author usually acknowledges this difficulty via a footnote. For example, early in the novel, in I, 1, Cervantes writes this famous passage: La razón de la sinrazón que a mi razón se hace, de tal manera mi razón enflaquece, que con razón me quejo de la vuestra fermosura [“The reason for the unreason to which my reason turns so weakens my reason that with reason I complain of thy beauty”]. After Bertuch attempts to translate this passage, he includes a footnote, writing that: “Dergleichen Stellen sind unübersetzlich. Alles beruhet hier auf einem Wortspiele mit ‘la razon,’ welches im Spanischen sowohl Vernunft, als auch Recht, Grund, Ursach, bedeutet” [“These sorts of passages are untranslatable. In this case, everything is based on a play on words with ‘la razón,’ which in the Spanish language means ‘discernment’ as well as ‘right,’ ‘ground,’ ‘cause’”]. Therefore, for many such passages, Bertuch, well aware that certain plays on words cannot be translated, footnotes the pertinent phrases and offers his readers a detailed explanation of Cervantes’s intentional humor.

118

POEMS Poetry, undoubtedly, is the most difficult text for anyone to translate since, in addition to vocabulary, idioms and word order, one must also take poetic feet, meter and rhyme scheme into account. If Bertuch had been translating from Spanish into Italian, his task would have been relatively easy, since both languages have similar syllable stress and word endings. However, this is not the case with Spanish and German, which display quite different lexical and syntactic structures.

For example, the majority of Spanish words carry stress on the

penultimate syllable; if such a word ends a poem’s line, that verse is said to have a “feminine” rhyme. A smaller percentage of words carry stress on the ultimate syllable; a poetic line that ends with a stressed syllable is said to have a “masculine” rhyme. Fewer words yet carry stress on a syllable other than those aforementioned. In German, however, stress often falls on the first syllable of a polysyllabic word, although penultimate and ultimate syllable stress also exist in a large number of words. It is also much easier to have end rhyme or syllable rhyme in Spanish, since the majority of nouns and adjectives end in either –o or –a, and the majority of past participles end in –do or –to. In addition to past participles, which are used with auxiliary verbs to form compound tenses, the majority of verb endings in Spanish, especially those of the imperfect, future, conditional and various subjunctive tenses, have very similar endings, thus further facilitating syllable rhyme.

119 Besides dissimilarities in syllable stress, the two languages differ greatly in their syntax. In Spanish, for example, if there is only one verb in a sentence, object pronouns precede it. However, if the conjugated verb is followed by an infinitive, then the pronouns can either precede the conjugated verb or attach to the infinitive. To further complicate matters, if the verb is an affirmative command, the pronouns are attached to the end of the verb. In contrast, German places those same pronouns after the verb. Furthermore, in German the verb must always be the second element in a sentence. Therefore, if a sentence begins with anything other than the subject, the subject must be placed immediately after the verb. The last major syntactic difference between the two languages is that in German, with few exceptions, the conjugated verb must come at the the end of a dependent clause. Due to these basic differences between the two languages, Bertuch faced a real challenge when translating the novel’s poems, especially since the work abounds in sonnets, odes, couplets and other lyric genres. Although in some instances he simply omits these items, the author does translate the majority of them, relying, perhaps, on his own attempts as a youth to write poetry. While Bertuch’s poetic translations are not his forte, he was nevertheless able to capture a given poem’s essence while using a slightly different meter or rhyme scheme.

For example, in I, 23 Cervantes includes a sonnet whose

feminine rhyme scheme is abba abba cde cde and whose verses consist solely of iambic pentameter. Bertuch’s translation, whose alternating feminine/masculine rhyme scheme is slightly different – abba abba ccd ccd – also has iambic pentameter.

The sentiments expressed in both poems are extremely similar,

120 although the two languages’ syntactic differences prohibited Bertuch from doing a word-for-word translation. Thus, with only a slight variation in the rhyme scheme, Bertuch’s rendition replicates the poem’s form, its meter, and its thought. The following strophe from this sonnet will exemplify this point: Cervantes Pero, si Amor es dios, es argumento que nada ignora, y es razón muy buena que un dios no sea cruel. Pues ¿quién ordena el terrible dolor que adoro y siento?

Bertuch Doch, ist er Gott, wie könnt’ er meine Leiden Nicht wissen, wären sie auch noch so klein? Und ist er Gott, wie könnt’ er grausam seyn? Wie könnt’ er sich an meinen Schmerzen weiden?

But if Love is a god, then logic tells us that he is ignorant of nothing, teaches that a god’s not cruel. Then who has ordained this terrible anguish that I adore?

[But if he [[Love]] is a god, how could he not know My sufferings, even if they were small? And if he is a god, how could he be cruel? How could he gloat over my pain?]

In I, 27/3 Cervantes presents another sonnet, therefore a poem of fourteen lines, with an all-feminine, perfect rhyme scheme similar to the first poem. Its pentametric verses consist of an interesting mixture of iambic, trochaic, anapectic and dactylic feet.

In Bertuch’s translation, we find a sixteen-line poem, with

alternating feminine/masculine rhyme. Unlike Cervantes’s perfect rhyme scheme, Bertuch employs one that is occasionally imperfect, e.g., Blick/zurück, Müde/Friede. Furthermore, although lines 1, 3 and 4 of each of his stanzas are in iambic pentameter, lines 2 are consistently iambic tetrameter. However, once again, despite these poetic differences, the thoughts expressed in Bertuch’s rendition are very close to those found in Cervantes’s poem.

121 One final example is Don Quixote’s epitaph, composed by Sansón Carrasco, one of the novel’s characters, that appears in II, 74/42.

Feminine

rhyme is predominant in the ten lines of this two-stanza poem – only lines 2 and 4 demonstrate masculine rhyme (advierte, muerte). The rhyme scheme is ababa ccddc, and the tetrametric verses consist of a mixture of poetic feet. Bertuch’s poem, which consists entirely of iambic tetrameter, has only masculine pair rhyme (aabbcc, etc.). Despite his use of a slightly different poetic foot and rhyme scheme, however, as in the other poems, Bertuch is able to capture the thoughts expressed in Cervantes’s verses.

BERTUCH’S CORRECTIONS OF CERVANTES’S “MISTAKES” In an attempt to be helpful to his favorite author and also in order not to mislead the novel’s readers regarding certain details, Bertuch corrects minor factual mistakes made by Cervantes.

For example, in I, 7 Cervantes refers to

Sancho Panza’s wife as Juana Gutiérrez, yet only four lines later calls her Mari Gutiérrez. Bertuch, making no note of this variation, simply gives her the name Marie in both places.

Another example can be found in I, 25, when Cervantes

incorrectly refers to Perseus instead of Theseus as having escaped from the labyrinth: “a imitación del hilo del laberinto de Perseo” [“as did the thread of Perseus in the labyrinth”].

Without drawing his readers’ attention to this slip,

Bertuch simply incorporates the correct name in his translation, writing “Die werden dir so gut als dem Theseus sein Faden im Labyrinthe dienen… ” [“They will serve you as well as his thread served Theseus in the labyrinth… “]. Yet another example is found in II 45/13, when Cervantes writes: “… y por esto, y

122 porque él era algún tanto corto de vista, mi señora la duquesa le despidió, … ” [“… and for that reason, and because he was somewhat shortsighted, my lady the duchess dismissed him, … ”]. Martín de Riquer, a well-known Cervantine scholar and editor of a critical edition of the Quixote, believes that the printer confused this noblewoman with Doña Rodríguez’s current employer (884). Bertuch, having noticed this oversight, again simply corrects it in his translation: “… aber eben darum und weil er ein bisgen kurzsichtig war, wurf die Dame einen Haß auf ihn und dankte ihn ab …” [“… and for just this reason and because he was a little shortsighted, the lady took a strong dislike to him and dismissed him…”]. In II 60/28 there is another obvious mistake on Cervantes’s part when he confuses Busiris, “an Egyptian king who killed foreigners as sacrifices to the gods” with Osiris, the Egyptian god of the dead (Grossman, Don Quixote 852): porque no habéis caído en las manos de algún cruel Osiris [for you have not fallen into the hands of some cruel Osiris]. Bertuch simply corrects Cervantes’s wording, replacing the incorrect Osiris with Busiris: Ihr seyd keinem fürchterlichen Busiris in die Hände gefallen [you have not fallen into the hands of an awful Busiris]. However, in one passage, it appears that Cervantes intentionally makes a mistake in order to stress the simplicity of the speaker. In I, 29/5 he writes: treinta o diez mil [thirty or ten thousand]; Bertuch, again without comment, changes this to the logical dreyzig oder vierzig tausend [thirty or forty thousand]. In a similar manner, and likely for the same reason, Bertuch changes Cervantes’s mis siete, o mis cinco sentimientos [my seven senses, or five] to a more logical, in his mind, meine sechs oder fünf Sinnen [my six or five senses] (II, 5).

123 One correction, in particular, is quite interesting. In I, 4, a young man tells Don Quixote that his master has failed to pay him his wages for nine months, and that he earns seven reales a month. “Hizo la cuenta don Quijote y halló que montaban setenta y tres reales… .” [“Don Quixote calculated the sum and found it amounted to seventy-three reales… “]. Although Francisco Rico, the editor of the Spanish text I am using, footnotes this mathematical discrepancy, suggesting it was just a slip on Cervantes’s part (64), Riquer feels strongly that this was not simply a mistake on the part of the typesetter, since all early editions of the novel contain the same “mistake.” Instead, he suggests two different explanations. The first is that it this an error “que intencionadamente Cervantes hace cometar a don Quijote, tan sabio en armas y en letras” [“that Cervantes intentionally has Don Quixote, so wise in the areas of arms and the arts, commit”] in order to reinforce “el sentido irónico de la frase ‘Hizo la cuenta don Quijote,’ como si se tratase de une operación complicada” [the ironic sense of the sentence ‘Don Quixote made the calculation,’ as if it dealt with a complicated operation] (56). The second possible explanation, according to Riquer, is that Cervantes did so as an ironical allusion to his three unfortunate imprisonments for faulty accounts (56). Bertuch, assuming it was an error on Cervantes’s part, changes the text to read “drey und sechzig Realen” [“sixty-three reales”]. However, considering how often Cervantes incorporates tongue-in-cheek comments into his work, it would not be surprising if Riquer’s reasoning is correct. What makes this particular correction by Bertuch so interesting is that in so doing he disregards a comment he made earlier, in I, 4, about a discrepancy of time. In a footnote concerning that

124 passage, he informs his readers that what might appear to be a mistake in the text is often intentional on the part of Cervantes: Dieß ist einer der oft vorkommenden scheinbaren Widersprüche und Anachronismen, welche dem armen Cervantes, von den Hyperkritikern seiner Zeit, als große Fehler angerechnet wurden. Aber diese Elenden sahen nicht, daß in eben diesen kleinen Widersprüchen, theils die feinste Ironie oder die stärkste Charakteren-Zeichnung versteckt liege, theils auch Cervantes, blos ihnen zu Gefallen, viele begangen habe, um sich mit diesen Herren einen Spaß zu machen. [This is one of the apparent contradictions and anachronisms that often appear [[in his text]] and which the hypercritics of his day considered as serious mistakes by Cervantes. But these miserable people did not realize that in even these small contradictions lies hidden in part the keenest irony or character portrayal, and in part that Cervantes made so many mistakes simply to please them and thus to play a bit of a joke on these gentlemen.] Thus, in correcting Cervantes’ “seventy-three,” perhaps Bertuch himself missed his beloved author’s “feinste Ironie” [“keenest irony”]. When Bertuch finds it impossible to correct an oversight by Cervantes unobtrusively, he footnotes the discrepancy. For example, in I, 20 Cervantes has the illiterate Sancho Panza refer to maxims by Cato the Censor. 8 Bertuch translates the passage but notes this incongruity in a footnote: Daß Sancho, der kurz zuvor nicht einmal lesen und schreiben kann, hier vom Römischen Cato, und dessen Sentenzen schwazt, ist freylich eine von den kleinen Autor-Sünden des guten Cervantes, ob denen ihn seine kritischen Höllenrichter mächtig hart angelassen haben. [That Sancho, who just before cannot even read and write, discusses here the Roman Cato and his maxims is, of course, one of the good Cervantes’ small auctorial transgressions because of which his critical, diabolical judges reproved him quite harshly.]

125 One of, if not the, most cited of Cervantes’s mistakes – a mistake that he corrects in his second edition – occurs in I, 23 when he has Sancho Panza dismount his donkey that had been stolen in the previous chapter. Again, Bertuch translates the passage but footnotes this comment:

“Hier und in etlichen

folgenden Stellen kommen nun die bekannten Widersprüche des Cervantes; denn Sancho soll hier von seinem Esel absteigen, und kurz zuvor ist er ihm doch gestohlen worden” [“Here and in a few other places that follow are Cervantes’s well-known contradictions, since here Sancho dismounts from his donkey and only a little while before it was stolen from him”].

When the donkey is finally

restored to Sancho in I, 25/1, Bertuch informs his readers that the oversight by Cervantes was done “mehr mit Vorsatz als aus Unachtsamkeit” [“more with intent than from carelessness”]. Thus, either unobtrusively or via a footnote, Bertuch amends what he perceives as mistakes on Cervantes’s part. Whether all of these “corrections” by Bertuch were warranted or not, they clearly demonstrate that he paid extremely close attention to the Spanish text, and that the author tried to help Cervantes when he thought it was needed.

PROFANITIES AND VULGARITIES In most instances, Bertuch has no hesitation about translating the numerous profanities and vulgarities that appear in Cervantes’s work. Besides retaining those words referring to excrement and bodily functions, the author not only keeps other vulgarities like puta or Hure [whore] and bastardo, puto, hideputa or Hurensohn [son of a bitch] but, on numerous occasions, actually

126 increases the number of similar expressions in the work. Feeling, perhaps, that such inclusions strengthen the text’s down-to-earth flavor, he adds, for example, the following phrases: und heißt mich eine Hure [and call me a whore] (I, 5) and schob sie ihn in ihren schönen Busen [she pushed it into her lovely bosom] (I, 31/7). He also slightly alters certain phrases, so that Cervantes’s relatively benign se dio a esperar a su puntualísima Maritornes [to wait for his extremely punctual Maritornes] becomes und erwartete mit heißem Liebs-Verlangen seine pünktliche Maritorne [and waited with burning desire for his punctual Maritornes] (I, 16); and the simple word miente [she is lying] is intensified, becoming lügt sie … wie eine Staupbesen-Hure [she is lying like a battleaxe of a whore] (II, 45/13). Occasionally, Bertuch completely replaces inoffensive expressions with coarser ones. Therefore, the harmless ladrón [thief] becomes Hurensohn [son of a bitch] (I, 30/6) – although in another instance he renders this word with the less crude Spitzbube [rogue] (I, 17); pintor [painter] becomes Saukerl [bastard] (I, 70/38); las posas [my bottom] becomes den Arsch [my ass] (II, 41/9); destraídas mozas [profligate wenches] becomes Metzen [whores] (I, 2); a estos pecadores [for these sinners] becomes für die armen Huren [for these poor whores] (II, 39/7); estas duennas [those duennas] becomes die armen Huren [those poor whores] (II, 41/9); por los huesos de mi padre y por el siglo de mi madre [by the bones of my father and my mother’s old white head] becomes Ihr sollt mich ewig eine Hure heißen [call me forever a whore] (I, 35/8); and ¡andad luego, … churrilera, desvergonzada y embaidora! [leave now, … you charlatan and brazen liar!] becomes geh’ zum Teufel, … du unverschämte Gassenhure …! [go to hell, you impudent street whore!] (II, 45/13). Indeed, the words Hure [whore], Hurensohn

127 [son of a bitch], and Arsch [ass] abound in his translation. It appears that Bertuch did this in order to heighten the novel’s earthy flavor, the same reason why he added folksy proverbs to the text. On the other hand, certain passages are simply too crude for Bertuch to translate fully. Therefore, similar to what happens in American print when editors replace profanities with grawlixes (ampersands, exclamation marks, asterisks and octothorps or &!*#), Bertuch, after giving the first letter of the word, uses dashes or asterisks before completing the offending expression with the correct noun or verb ending. For example, he translates echó al aire entrambas posaderas [stuck out both buttocks] as reckte den ganzen H___rn [stuck out his whole behind] (I, 20). Interestingly, in three cases the original text contains nothing vulgar, but Bertuch chooses to include an expression that he then considers too offensive to his readers to write out fully.

In the first example, Cervantes’s inoffensive

cuchilladas, mojicones, palos, coces y efusión de sangre [attacks with knives, fists, sticks, feet, and the spilling of blood] becomes the coarse Prügel, A**Tritte, blutige Nasen und Gesichter [beatings, kicks in the a**, bloody noses and faces] (I, 45/14). In the second example, Cervantes’s simple llorón [tearful] becomes the crude Heul__sch [crying a**] (II, 2) – although in a later chapter Bertuch has no compunction about spelling out the entire word: Heularsch [crying ass] (II, 53/21; 54/22). In the third example, Cervantes’s innocent aunque tú más me digas [no matter what you say] becomes the vulgar du dich be__est [shit on yourself] (II, 5). It is intriguing to note that Wieland likewise uses this configuration three times in

128 his Don Sylvio. Thus, these examples could well be Bertuch’s imitation of his mentor’s style. Although he employs dashes or asterisks to replace certain offensive words, in the following two examples Bertuch chooses instead to reword Cervantes’s sentences completely, perhaps because they express too indelicate a thought for him to translate literally: A Sanchica tu hija se le fueron las aguas sin sentirlo de puro contento [Your daughter Sanchica wet herself without realizing it, she was so happy]. Instead of using this phrasing, Bertuch, capturing the same feeling of exultation, writes: Sanchica hat sich vor lauter Freuden gar gewälzt [Sanchica rolled on the ground with pure joy] (II, 52/20). In this second example, Bertuch again substitutes an expression far less coarse than the original one. He rewords para ponerme la mano en la horcajadura [to put my hand in my crotch], writing instead, daß ich immer die Hände in die Tasche stecken soll [I always have to put my hands in my pocket] (I, 30/6). Finally, Bertuch regularly substitutes the coarser Maul [animal’s mouth] for boca [mouth], fressen [to eat, referring to animals] for comer [to eat], and Klauen [claws, talons] for manos [hand].

Although these phrases are also used on

occasion by Don Quixote, they are especially prevalent in Sancho’s speech, most likely in a further attempt by Bertuch to reflect the squire’s simple and unrefined nature. It must be noted here that Wieland regularly incorporates these words into his servant Pedrillo’s speech. Thus, Bertuch’s inclusion of such expressions in his translation could very well be yet another example of his imitating his mentor’s style.

129 OTHER AUTHORS’ INFLUENCES Bertuch, though granting him all the merits of his originality, obviously stood on the shoulders of various predecessors also. Although a close analysis of Bertuch’s indebtedness to them would go beyond the frame of this study, a few broad observations can be made. In general, the first volume of Bertuch’s translation is an amalgam of his own efforts and those of Bastel von der Sohle’s with nuances of several other authors. In the prologue to his work, Bertuch discusses two translations that he knew and admired. He refers to Franciosini’s version as “eine der besten die ich kenne” [“one of the best that I know”] (xiii). The author next mentions Bastel von der Sohle’s 1669 Junker Harnisch – the reissue of the original 1648 work –, writing that this author “fieng … an ihn treu und ziemlich gut aus dem Originale ins Teutsche zu übersetzen… ” [“began to translate it faithfully and fairly well from the original into German… ”] (xiii). In addition to mentioning these two translators in his prologue, in his 1774 letter to Gleim, cited in Chapter 3,9 Bertuch refers to a third author whose work had appeared thirty-some years earlier. If one considers the remarks made by the reviewer for the 1776 Journal zur Kunstgeschichte und zur allgemeinen Litteratur, this comment must allude to the anonymous translation that appeared in 1734, forty, not thirty, years earlier. Besides the Italian and German translators, other authors helped mold Bertuch’s work, i.e., Mayans y Siscar, Le Sage and Wieland. Mayans y Siscar’s 1737 work, Vida de Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra [The Life of Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra], is the basis for the biography of Cervantes that precedes Bertuch’s translation. Bertuch was also quite familiar with and admired Le Sage’s

130 popular 1704 version of Avellaneda’s apocryphal Part II. In fact, he would model his translation of that work after the Frenchman’s. And then there is Wieland, the author’s close friend and mentor, whose Don Sylvio served as a model for certain elements of Bertuch’s translation. The role that these authors and/or their works had, or might have had, on Bertuch’s translation is mentioned in all of the biographies written about him. For example, Feldmann, when referring to Don Sylvio in his dissertation on Bertuch, writes: “Dies Wielandsche Werk war Bertuchs Vorbild bei der Übersetzung des Don Quixote, zu der er ausser der deutschen Übersetzung von 1734 auch eine französische Ausgabe benutzte” [“This work by Wieland was Bertuch’s model for his translation of Don Quixote for which, besides the German translation of 1734, he also used a French edition”] (72). Unfortunately, Feldmann offers no examples to support this statement. Kronacher also comments on the similarities between Don Sylvio and Bertuch’s translation, concentrating on the depictions of Sancho and Pedrillo. She discusses the fact that both characters use similar exclamations, utter numerous folksy proverbs, and have difficulty pronouncing erudite words (41-42). This certainly is true. However, one must also consider the fact that Wieland’s work is an intentional imitation of Don Quixote. Therefore, one expects Pedrillo to be extremely similar to Sancho Panza. Indeed, it would truly be surprising if the two figures did not resemble each other for it is precisely these traits that made Cervantes’s Sancho Panza so endearing and unique. What definitely can be stated in this regard is that Bertuch employs many of the same exclamations and a few of the same proverbs that are found in Wieland’s work. He also attributes several contractions to Sancho, contractions that are

131 very similar to those Wieland gives Pedrillo in order to underscore his servant’s humble origins. In addition to these similarities, and the fact that Wieland’s use of reduplication, something not seen in Cervantes’s work, influenced Bertuch’s own sentence structure, Bertuch also imitated certain other elements of his mentor’s style. For example, in his translation, Bertuch frequently includes short phrases that regularly appear in Don Sylvio, phrases like kurz [in short], in der That [indeed] and mit diesen Worten [with these words] – although, once again, these expressions often appear in Cervantes’s text. He and Wieland also employ similar terms when talking to their companions. For example, both heroes address their servants as mein lieber … [my dear … ], Freund [my friend], Memme [coward], and alberner Tropf [you foolish twit]. Besides these similarities beween Bertuch’s and Wieland’s texts, one can also find correspondences between Bertuch’s work and the earlier German translations. For example, in addition to having numerous alliterative and rhyming elements and omitting the same novellas – for identical reasons –, Bastel von der Sohle’s work and Bertuch’s translation also demonstrate a high degreee of parallelism.

Concerning this similarity, the renowned Germanist Hermann

Tiemann, in his afterword to the 1928 reissue of Bastel von der Sohle’s work, writes that “Für den ersten Teil von Bertuchs Arbeit ist sie eine Hauptquelle: Die Kürzungen, einzelne Ausdrücke und ganze Sätze werden von ihm übernommen” [“For the first part of Bertuch’s work, it is the main source. Abridgments, individual expressions and entire sentences are adopted by him”] (414).

The following

passages, all from the first twenty-three chapters of Part I, are examples of this

132 similarity.

The numbers in parentheses reflect the respective pages of each

author’s work. Bastel von der Sohle

Bertuch

… weil sie von Toboso gebürtig war.

... weil sie von Toboso gebürtig war.

[… because Toboso.] (32)

[… because Toboso.] (14)

she

was

born

in

she

was

born

in

… daß er noch nicht zum Ritter geschlagen war.

… daß er noch nicht zum Ritter geschlagen sey.

[… that he had not yet been dubbed a knight.] (34)

[… that he had not yet been dubbed a knight.] (15)

… fuhr er in seinem Schreyen und Rasen fort.

… fuhr er in seinem Schreyen und Thorheit fort.

[… he continued with his screaming and ravings.] (104)

[… he continued with his screaming and foolishness.] (96)

Despite these close similarities, which may simply have been dictated by the original, it is immediately obvious from reading Bertuch’s work that he did, indeed, work from the Spanish. This is demonstrated, for example, by the fact that translation mistakes that appear in Bastel von der Sohle’s work do not occur in his. For example, in Chapter 2 of this work it is mentioned that the earlier translator renders sobrina [niece] with the incorrect Base [female cousin] and ama [housekeeper] with Muhme [aunt]. He also misread the noun maligno [rogue], translating it instead as the proper noun Maglimo. It is interesting to note that the anonymous 1734 edition also has some of these same translation mistakes. There are also numerous passages where the two works differ substantially, as can be seen in the following two excerpts: Bastel von der Sohle

Bertuch

133 Dann sie geben nicht drey Heller werth auff alle die wallenden Ritter so auff der ganzen Welt mögen zu finden seyn.

Sie fragt den Teufel was nach allen fahrenden Rittern in der Welt;

[Because they don’t care three pennies for all the knights errant that might be found in the whole world.] (394)

[They couldn’t care less about all the knights errant in the world.] (368)

Bastel von der Sohle

Bertuch

Selbige Nacht kamen sie bis auff die Helffte des rechten inwendigen schwarzen Gebirges welches Orts dann dem Santscho rathsamb zu seyn bedünckte daß sie so wol dieselbe Nacht als auch noch etliche mehr Tage zubrächten unnd zum wenigsten so lange als der Vorrath seiner Speis-Cammer die er mit sich führte wären unnd außtragen würde.

Diese Nacht gelangten sie bis mitten in die Sierra Morena, wo Sancho für gut fand, einige Tage stille zu liegen und sich verborgen zu halten; wenigstens so lange, als der Proviant dauerte, den er bey sich hatte.

[That same night they reached the middle of the inner Sierra Morena, at which place Sancho thought it advisable they stay, that night as well as several more days, and at least as long as the supplies in the pantry he carried with him would last.] (397)

[That night they reached the middle of the Sierra Morena, where Sancho thought would be a good place to stay and hide themselves for a few days, at least as long as the provisions that he had with him lasted.] (379)

Thus, it would be an injustice to Bertuch to suggest that he depended extensively on the 1648/1669 translation. It is obvious from these passages and many others in his work that, although Bastel von der Sohle’s work and his translation at times parallel each other closely, Bertuch indeed produced a rendition that differs substantially from the 1648 version. If one next compares Bertuch’s translation with the anonymous 1734 version or its 1753 reissue, certain similarities can also be found between the two texts. For example, both authors translate Cervantes’s epigraph for Chapter 9 –

134 “Donde se concluye y da fin a la estupenda batalla que el gallardo vizcaíno y el valiente manchego tuvieron” [“In which the stupendous battle between the gallant Basque and the valiant Manchegan is concluded and comes to an end”] – in a similar way:

Anonymous

Bertuch

Beschluß des erschrecklichen Kampfes zwischen dem Biscajer und dem tapfern Don Quixote.

Beschluß des schrecklichen Kampfes zwischen dem raschen Biscaieer und dem kühnen Junker von la Mancha.

[Conclusion of the frightful battle between the Basque and the brave Don Quixote.]

[Conclusion of the terrible battle between the speedy Basque and the bold nobleman of la Mancha.]

Thus, there are parallelisms between this anonymous text and Bertuch’s just as there are similarities between Bastel von der Sohle’s and Bertuch’s versions. The following translations are the authors’ respective renditions of an excerpt from I, 1. The original passage reads: “Cuatro días se le pasaron en imaginar qué nombre le pondría; porque – según se decía él a sí mesmo – no era razón que caballo de caballero tan famoso, y tan bueno él por sí, estuviese sin nombre conocido” [“He spent four days thinking about the name he would give him; for – as he told himself – it was not seemly that the horse of so famous a knight, and a steed so intrinsically excellent, should not have a worthy name”]: Anonymous

Bertuch

Er sonne vier ganzer Tage darauf, was er ihm für einen Namen geben wollte; weil er es für unrecht hielt, wenn ein Pferd eines so berühmten Ritters nicht auch einen weltberühmten Namen führte.

Vier Tage lang gieng er mit sich zu Rathe, was er ihm für einen Namen geben wollte: “Denn, sprach er bey sich selbst, es wäre doch Sünde und Schande, wenn das Pferd eines so berühmten Ritters, das auch an sich schon so gut und vortrefflich ist, keinen berühmten Namen führen

135 sollte.” [For four whole days he thought about what he wanted to give him for a name; because he considered it wrong if a horse of such a famous knight did not also bear a worldfamous name.]

[For four long days he gave a lot of thought to what he wanted to give him for a name. “Because,” he said to himself, “it would be a sin and shame if such a famous knight’s horse, which is just as good and superb, didn’t bear a famous name.”]

Although some of the words in this excerpt are the same, there are also substantial differences between the two.

Bertuch, for instance, more fully

translates the original passage in that he includes the words “he said to himself.” This passage also exemplifies, once again, Bertuch’s changing Cervantes’s narrative passages into dialogue, his addition of alliterative elements, and his tendency to reorganize Cervantes’s sentences by replacing the original semicolon with a period. Additional similarities between the texts can be seen in this excerpt from I, 9. Cervantes’s words are: “Apartéme luego con el morisco por el claustro de la iglesia mayor, y roguéle me volviese aquellos cartapacios, todos los que trataban de don Quijote, en lengua castellana, sin quitarles ni añadirles nada… .” [“I immediately went with the Morisco to the cloister of the main church and asked him to render the journals, all those that dealt with Don Quixote, into the Castilian language, without taking away or adding anything to them… ”]. Note that both translations say “with my Moor” instead of “with the Moor”: Anonymous Ich gieng gleich hierauf mit meinem Mohren durch den Kreuzgang der großen Kirche, und bath ihn, er sollte mir diese arabische Schrift in das Spanische übersetzen, ohne etwas weg zu lassen, oder hinzu zu

Bertuch Drauf gieng ich eilends mit meinem Mohren in den Kreuzgang der Hauptkirche, und bath ihn dringend, er möchte mir Alles, was in diesen Papieren von Don Quixote handele, ohne etwas davon oder dazu zu

136 fügen.

thun, ins Spanische übersetzen.

[Immediately after that I went with my Moor through the big church’s cloister and asked him to translate this Arabic writing for me, without leaving anything out or adding anything to it.]

[After that I immediately went with my Moor to the cloister of the main church and insisted he translate for me into Spanish everything in these papers that deals with Don Quixote, without doing [[removing]] anything from or [[adding]] to it.]

Further examples would reveal similar affinities. Thus, there are certain elements, certain phrases, which appear in both the anonymous 1734 text and Bertuch’s translation. However, such passages are neither as long nor as parallel as those found when comparing Bastel von der Sohle’s text and Bertuch’s work. Sekeretär Wolf, whose translation also appeared in 1734, is the next author whose influence should be discussed. Ostensibly, it is this work to which the literary journal’s reviewer refers in his 1776 critique of Bertuch’s edition when discussing their close similarities. However, Kronacher has an entirely different opinion concerning the role this translator plays in Bertuch’s work. In a footnote, she writes: Ein Vergleich der beiden Übersetzungen scheint mir jedoch zu ergeben, daß Bertuch dem älteren Werk, das er in seiner Einleitung nicht erwähnt, und das sich große Freiheiten gestattet, höchstens einige ihm gut dünkende, namentlich komische Ausdrücke, entnahm. Es erübrigt sich deshalb, näher darauf einzugehen. [A comparison of both translations appears to me, however, to suggest that, at most, Bertuch took from the older work, which he does not mention in his preface and which takes great liberties, some funny expressions that seemed good to him. Therefore, it is not worth the time to deal with it any further] (5). Thus, there is a distinct difference of opinion regarding the importance that Sekretär Wolf’s translation had on Bertuch. After examining both texts, I believe

137 that Kronacher’s statement regarding the partial translation by Sekretär Wolf, which appeared in a longer work entitled Angenehmes Passe-tems [Pleasant Pastime], is correct. There is no similarity between the translations. The question then arises: How can Kronacher and the reviewer have such antipodal opinions? How can the 1776 reviewer’s comments be explained?

There is an answer.

Some scholars have long suspected that Sekretär Wolf was also the author of the anonymous 1734 work – it is admittedly odd that two translations would appear in the same city in the same year. This belief is strengthened when one considers a statement made by a reviewer in a seldom-referenced article that appeared in the 1801 edition of the Neue allgemeine deutsche Bibliothek [New General German Library]. After first giving a brief history of the novel’s German translations, he then discusses the 1734 translation: “Eine zweyte Uebersetzung, die … einen gewissen Secretär Wolf zum Verfasser haben soll, kam zuerst zu Leipzig bey Fritsch 1734, und hernach öfter, zuletzt 1767 heraus” [“A second translation, which supposedly has a certain Secretary Wolf as its author, was first published in 1734 in Leipzig by Fritsch and several times after that, its latest being in 1767”] (Km 307). This is the same publisher and these are the same dates attributed to the anonymous translation. Therefore, that being the case, both comments are true. Kronacher, having read the translation attributed openly to Sekretär Wolf, is correct when she writes that it is not worth the effort to compare the texts any further. However, the journal’s reviewer, who was, unlike Kronacher, living when the anonymous text appeared, must have known that Sekretär Wolf was the author of both renditions, one published as a complete work, the other as a partial

138 version. Therefore, he is also correct when he writes that there is much similarity between the two translations. Another author whose work is reflected in Bertuch’s translation is Mayans y Siscar. In his preface, Bertuch includes a thirteen-page, condensed biography of Cervantes based, in large part, on the Spaniard’s earlier work, “doch sind auch andre Nachrichten benutzt” [“although other pieces of information are included”] (Leben, Neue Ausgabe 3395). Regarding this biography, Siglinde Hohenstein, in her book about Bertuch, writes that “Bertuchs Einleitung, die Cervantes Leben und Werk kurz beschreibt, ist gleichfalls keine Eigenleistung, sondern fast gänzlich der unzureichenden Cervantes-Biographie des Don Gregorio Mayáns y Siscar entnommen” [“Bertuch’s introduction, which briefly describes Cervantes’s life and works, is not original work but instead is mostly taken from the inadequate Cervantes biography by Mayans y Siscar”], thus implying that Bertuch plagiarized Mayans y Siscar’s work. (112). Kronacher’s words are even stronger; she writes that “Die Übereinstimmung geht so weit, dass manche Sätze als Uebersetzung erscheinen” [“The similarities are so extensive that many sentences appear to be translations”] (79). After making this assertion, she then goes on to give two similar passages from their works. These two authors’ statements are immensely unfair. Bertuch makes no pretense of having thoroughly researched Cervantes’s life. Instead, referring to Mayans y Siscar’s well-known biography, the first one ever written about Cervantes, he tells his readers that “…ich [habe] meinen Lesern einen Auszug davon versprochen, da es ihnen allerdings angenehm seyn muß, auch nur so viel noch von dem Manne zu erfahren, der uns den Don Quixote hinterließ. Hier ist er,

139 nebst dem, was ich noch anderwärts zerstreut von ihm habe finden können” [“… I have promised my readers an extract from it, since it certainly has to be a pleasure for them to learn more about the man who left us Don Quixote. Here it is, along with what I have been able to find out about him elsewhere”] (iii). He then does just that, he translates sections of the Spaniard’s work and also includes facts that were uncovered after its original publication, e.g., Cervantes’s birthplace and his experiences while a prisoner in Algiers. Throughout the short biography, Bertuch regularly attributes his information to Mayans and other Cervantine scholars, like Don Augustin de Montiano y Luyendo, Martin Sarmiento, Don Blas Nassarre y Ferriz, and Diego de Hardo. Therefore, the statements by Hohenstein and Kronacher are too harsh. In fact, given the often loose copyright observation of his times, Bertuch is rather fastidious by eighteenth-century practices. The final author who influenced Bertuch’s work is Le Sage.

Bertuch

mentions him in the preface to his Avellaneda translation, which comprises Volumes 5 and 6. Regarding this author’s work, Bertuch writes: “Le Sage übersetzte sie 1704 in’s Französische, und verbesserte sie an verschiednen Stellen glücklich. Ich werde seine Verbesserungen, wo es würklich welche sind, annehmen, und die langweiligen Stellen, die den längst verloschnen Zwist betreffen, wegschneiden. Beydes, hoffe ich, werden mir die Leser danken” [“In 1704 Le Sage translated it [[Avellaneda’s rendition]] into French and successfully improved it in various places. I will adopt his improvements, where there truly are some, and cut out the tedious places that concern the feud that was resolved long ago. My readers, I hope, will thank me for both.”]

140 A close comparison of Bertuch’s and Avellaneda’s translations of Part II, intended originally as part of this study, soon proved to be “quixotic.”

After

reading Bertuch’s translation and then comparing it with both Avellaneda’s and Le Sage’s renditions, I found that this two-volume translation by Bertuch, which professes to be a translation of Avellaneda’s work, is essentially a translation of Le Sage’s version, with occasional omissions and variations.

The numerous

alliterative and rhyming elements of the first four volumes are scarce. Nor are there very many helpful footnotes explaining Spanish customs, geography or history. Finally, while it is obvious when comparing Bastel von der Sohle’s work and Bertuch’s translation that the latter had indeed worked from the Spanish, since he readily noticed and corrected Bastel von der Sohle’s incorrect spelling of a word (writing Maglimo for maligno), there is no trace of that in Bertuch’s translation of Avellaneda. For example, in II, 7/610 Le Sage misspells the proper name Calatayud; he reverses the “l” and “t,” thus writing Catalayud instead. Bertuch repeats the incorrect spelling in his work. This is a small but significant point.

Coupled with the consistent parallelisms between Le Sage’s work and

Bertuch’s, this perpetuation of the former’s errors demonstrates that Bertuch concentrated on the French version when translating the spurious Part II. Two excerpts from all three authors’ renditions will immediately demonstrate this point. The numbers in parentheses refer to the pages in the respective works. Avellaneda Envainó don Quixote con mucha pausa y gravedad, quedando molido y sudado de dar cuchilladas en la pobre cama, cuyas mantas y

Le Sage Cette asseurance fit succeder le calme à la tempeste. Notre Chevalier renguaina son épée avec le mesme flegme & la mesme gravité

Bertuch Diese Versicherung stellte unsern Ritter auf einmal zufrieden. Er steckte den Degen mit eben so viel kaltem Blute und Würde ein, als

141 almohadas dexó hechas una criba y lo mesmo hiziera del pobre Sancho si pudiera alcançarle.

que s’il ne s’estoit rien passé en lui d’extraordinaire: tout harasse pourtant, & plein de sueur des terribles coups qu’il avoit appliqués sur le lit & ailleurs en voulant attraper le prétendu geant.

wenn nichts Außerordentliches vorgefallen wäre; schwitzte jedoch über und über vor den schrecklichen Hieben, die er seinem Bette gegeben hatten, den vorgeblichen Riesen zu erlegen.

[Don Quixote very slowly and gravely sheathed his sword; he was fatigued and sweaty from slashing at the poor bed whose blankets and pillows he had turned into a sieve, and if he could have caught up with him, he would have done the same thing to poor Sancho, … .] (II, 5)

[This assurance made the calm follow the storm. Our knight resheathed his sword with the same composure and the same gravity as if nothing unusual had happened to him, although completely exhausted, and covered with sweat from the terrible blows which he had given the bed and elsewhere while trying to catch the alleged giant.]

[This assurance immediately satisfied our knight. He resheathed his sword with just as much calm and dignity as if nothing unusual had happened; however, he was sweating all over from the terrible blows which he had given his bed while slaying the alleged giant.]

This second excerpt comes from II, 11/15. Avellaneda … á al son de las cuales partió nuestro caballero solo con su adarga en el braço izquierdo, espoleando muy aprisa á Rocinante, que con toda la que él le daba, corría poco más de á medio galope; pero fue tan desgraciado, que llegando á la sortija, echó el lançon cosa de dos palmos más arriba della por encima de la cuerda y acabando la carrera, baxó muy aprisa la lança, mirando con mucha atencion si llevaba en ella el anillo; … .

Le Sage … les trompettes donnerent le signal. Don Quichotte pressa les flancs de Rocinantes, qui voulant contribuer à la gloire de son Maistre parut plein d’ardeur, & n’eut pas sitôt reçu vingt coups d’éperon qu’il partit avec une vitesse qui ne lui estoit pas ordinaires; mais déplorons ici le caprice de la fortune, que se plaist à détruire en un moment les espérances les mieux fondées. Déja Rocinantes estoit au milieu de la carriere, il étoit déja prés du lieu où la bague étoit

Bertuch Sogleich gaben die Trompeten das Signal, und voller Eifer stieß unser Ritter seinem Rozinante die Sporen bis an die Fersen in die Seiten. Der arme Gaul, der gern seinem Herrn diese Freude machen wollte, lief auch dießmal so schnell, als er seit undenklichen Zeiten nicht gethan hatte. Aber, wenn Unglück seyn soll, muß sich alles fügen; denn mitten in der Bahn, nahe dem ausgestreckten Ringe, stolperte

142

[When he heard them, our knight set out alone, his shield on his left arm, hurriedly spurring Rocinante who, despite the way he was being urged on, was running at a little more than a halfgallop. But he was so unfortunate that when he reached the ring, he placed the lance about two spans above it, over the cord. As he finished the run he lowered the lance in great haste, looking at it very carefully to see whether he had the ring on it.] (91)

attachée, lorsque le beau feu qui l’animoit, le trahit. Il fit un faux pas, & s’abbatit sous son Maître

unglücklicherweise Rozinante, und da lag unser Ritter zusamt dem Gaule und wälzte sich im Staube.

[… the trumpets gave the signal. Don Quixote pressed the flanks of Rocinante who, wanting to contribute to his master’s glory, seemed full of enthusiasm, and no sooner had he received twenty kicks with the spur than he left with a speed which was not his ordinary one; but here let us deplore the vagaries of fate which enjoys destroying in one moment the best founded hopes. No sooner was Rocinante in the middle of the run, he was already close to the place where the ring was attached, when the burning fire which drove him betrayed him. He stumbled and fell down under his master.] (191)

[Immediately the trumpets gave the signal and, full of enthusiasm, our knight put his spurred heels into Rocinante’s sides. The poor horse, who usually wanted to make his master happy, ran as quickly as he hadn’t since time immemorial. However, when misfortune strikes, everything has to fall into line; because in the middle of the run, near the extended ring, Rocinante unfortunately stumbled, and there lay our knight together with his horse, rolling around in the dust.] (202)

Thus, it is obvious when comparing the three authors’ versions of the same passage, that Bertuch much more closely follows Le Sage’s text than he does Avellaneda’s. Why he did so is intriguing.

Certainly it was not Avellaneda’s

language which dissuaded Bertuch from delving more deeply into the work; after successfully translating Cervantes’s Parts I and II, the apocryphal novel’s vocabulary would have posed no difficulties for him.

Perhaps the word

“apocryphal” is the key here. Not much was known about Avellaneda, other than

143 that he claimed to be from Tordesillas, a town north of Madrid. In fact, it had long been rumored that Avellaneda was none other than Cervantes himself tasting the waters, so to speak, to see if his knight’s popularity had dwindled. Possibly, after spending so much time with Cervantes’s text and therefore becoming quite familiar with his unique style, Bertuch’s enthusiasm for the Tordesillan’s version waned because he then realized that Avellaneda’s Part II truly was a spurious one and as such did not deserve the tremendous amount of time a thorough translation would require. This would explain the paucity of informative footnotes and alliterative phrases found in the two-volume translation. It is hard to imagine any other reason for the sudden change of heart in Bertuch, who in the preface to his first volume refers to the sequel as a “würklich launige und unterhaltende Fortsetzung der Arbeit des Cervantes” [“a truly witty and entertaining continuation of Cervantes’s work”] (xi). When translating Avellaneda’s and Le Sage’s works, Bertuch makes changes similar to those he makes to Cervantes’s text. That is, he adds or omits vulgarities and religious references, and reorganizes sentences and paragraphs. In addition to these changes, besides deleting longer passages from Le Sage’s work, he also adds an adjective or adverb here and there. Therefore, like his translation of Cervantes’s novel, Bertuch’s rendition of Avellaneda’s and Le Sage’s works is not a word-for-word translation, but a close approximation. As a note of interest, the last time either author’s work was translated into German was in Bertuch’s 1798 third edition. After that, translators pointedly ignored it.

CONCLUSION

144 After all of these comparisons, there are some conclusions we can make about Bertuch’s efforts.

The first one is that no, Bertuch did not offer his

subscribers a word-for-word rendition of his beloved novel, although in his mind, I am sure he felt it was.

Secondly, yes, the author subjectively abridged or

eliminated novellas, poems, paragraphs and words.

He also reorganized the

structure of Cervantes’s sentences, paragraphs and dialogues and added his own Germanic touches. Yet, despite these modifications, his work is an extremely lively and entertaining rendition.

It is also a remarkable achievement simply

because this dyed-in-the-wool man of the Enlightenment, an author in his own right, who had very decided opinions about how Cervantes’s masterpiece should be constructed, was the first German ever to translate the work from the original Spanish. His lack of formal instruction in the Spanish language makes his feat even more noteworthy. And due to the immense popularity of this particular novel among Germans and the author’s wise selection of Chodowiecki, the most famous graphic artist of the eighteenth century, as his illustrator, his work was an assured success. The influence Bertuch’s translation had on his contemporaries and later authors, especially the Romantics, cannot be overstated.

This seminal work

opened the door to all future translations of Don Quixote published in Germany. In his article entitled “Spanien und die spanische Litteratur im Lichte der deutschen Kritik und Poesie,” Farinellli summarizes the incredible importance of Bertuch’s translation thusly: Er drang in einen schönen Garten hinein, zählte die Blumen und achtete dagegen auf ihre Farben und auf ihren Duft nicht. Für einen umbarmherzigen Verstümmler nach Art des Florian müssen

145 wir aber Bertuch nicht halten. Seine Übersetzung machte Epoche. Mit ihrer Hülfe konnte Cervantes Geist in alle Schichten des deutschen Volkes eindringen [He entered a beautiful garden, counted the flowers but paid no attention to the colors or the fragrance around him. However, we must not consider Bertuch a merciless mutilator in the style of Florian. His translation was epoch-making. With its help Cervantes’s spirit was able to penetrate all strata of German society. (321). The first part of Farinelli’s comment notwithstanding, my opinion is that Bertuch’s translation was absolutely appropriate for his times and his readers. His 1775 publication, along with his magazine on Iberian literature and theater, helped satisfy his countrymen’s hunger for Spanish literature in German translation. Furthermore, his numerous, detailed footnotes conformed to the literary style of the Enlightenment. As this study reveals, although it was not a word-for-word rendition, his translation did indeed capture the colors, fragrance and the very essence of Cervantes’s work. For this reason, if for no other, Friedrich Justin Bertuch rightfully deserves his place in Germany’s stellar literary history.

146

NOTES 1

Erfurt is a university town just west of Weimar, Bertuch’s home.

2

Bertuch begins each of his volumes with Chapter 1. Therefore, Cervantes’s Chapter 26 of Part I is Bertuch’s Chapter 2 of Volume 2, etc. Bertuch’s Volumes 3 and 4 contain Part II. Consequently, Cervantes’s Chapter 47 is Bertuch’s Chapter 15 of Volume 4, etc. 3

(85-116). Claudius Ptolemy was a Greek astronomer, geographer, mathematician and author. He believed, among other things, that the sun, moon and stars revolved around the earth. This erroneous theory is known as geocentrism. 4

Dr. Kronacher’s 1924 dissertation is the only work which has ever dealt with Bertuch’s Don Quixote translation in any detail. Therefore, in the majority of books written since then, authors depend on her work for any comments they make regarding Bertuch’s translation. Likewise, Kronacher often cites the few pages (72-74) concerning the author’s translation that appear in an earlier dissertation, one written in 1902 by Wilhelm Feldmann. 5

(1577-1619). Don Alonso López de Zúñiga y Sotomayor, also known as the Duke of Béjar, was a patron to many other authors, too. Rico, in his footnote regarding this gentleman, suggests that Cervantes did not compose this dedication. Instead, he believes that it is one assembled by Cervantes’s editor, Francisco de Robles, who patched it together using parts of other authors’ dedications to the duke (7). 6

(1576-1622). Don Pedro Fernández de Castro was the patron of various other authors in addition to Cervantes. Rico writes that the Spaniard also dedicated his Novelas ejemplares, Comedias y entremeses, and Persiles to the count (622). 7

Bertuch’s translation of the opening words is more faithful to Cervantes’s text than is Edith Grossman’s. 8

(234-149 BC). Marcus Porcius Cato, also known as Cato the Elder, was a Roman statesman and moralist. 9

In the letter to Gleim, he states that five years earlier he had sworn to write a translation that would not stress Don Quixote’s foolish nature like the version

147 published more than twenty-five years earlier. If one makes the calculations, 1774 – 5 = 1769 and 1769 – 26 = 1743, it is likely that this quote refers to one of the 1734 translations. 0

Since Bertuch follows more Le Sage’s translation than Avellaneda’s Spanish work, the corresponding chapters in each text often differ. Thus II, 7/6 refers to Avellaneda’s Chapter 7 and Bertuch’s Chapter 6.

148 CHAPTER 4 DANIEL NIKOLAUS CHODOWIECKI Chodowiecki war! War! Wär er nicht gewesen So blieb wohl eine Schar von unsern Büchern ungelesen! [Chodowiecki lived! Lived! If he had not lived, Then a great many of our books Would probably have remained unread!] (Gleim 200)

This short poem, which appeared in the 1802 edition of the literary magazine Göttinger Musenalmanch, was written by Gleim upon the death of the famous illustrator Daniel Nikolaus Chodowiecki. Although quite brief, it captures the important role that Chodowiecki played in the late-eighteenth-century world of book illustrations. The inclusion of drawings in books had changed dramatically since the invention of the printing press. In the Middle Ages, for example, art work was more decorative than illustrative and was usually reserved for religious texts like prayer books, missals or the Bible, since it was so time-consuming to produce. However, the use of illustrations in non-spiritual works rapidly increased after the 1450 invention of movable type.

In his book Les dessinateurs

d’illustrations du XVIIIe siècle [Illustrators of the Eighteenth Century], Roger Portalis discusses the effects this invention had on book illustrations:

149 Enfin l’imprimerie est découverte, et l’on assiste alors à une véritable explosion artistique. L’auteur ou l’editeur, sentant le

besoin d’attirer le lecteur par la figuration visible des principales situations de l’oeuvre, de les souligner … et de donner à ses yeux un amusement, un attrait de plus, appellent à leur aide le dessinateur et le graveur… . [Finally, printing is discovered, and one then witnesses a veritable artistic explosion. The author or the editor, feeling the need to attract the reader by the visible representation of the work’s main scenes … and to give his [[the reader’s]] eyes one more lure, calls on the illustrator and engraver to help them… .] (vi-vii) Between the mid-fifteenth and eighteenth centuries, the availability of books in Germany grew and reading for spiritual or intellectual edification was encouraged. This was especially true during the Aufklärung, the Age of Reason, when people read books not only for their spiritual guidance but also for the knowledge they contained: “… wer Bücher besaß, hielt den Schlüssel in der Hand zu der Pforte, die in das Paradies dieser ‘Aufklärung’ führte [“… he who owned books held in his hand the key to the gate that led to the paradise of this ‘Enlightenment’” (Landau 84). However, some still frowned upon reading for pleasure and disapproved of Germany’s newly established libraries that made such works available: “Ganz allgemein zählte man das Lesen von Romanen zu den verderblichen geheimen Sünden, vor allem zu den Sünden der Jugend. Deswegen bezeichnete man die Leihbibliotheken besonders gern als ‘moralische Giftbuden’” [“In general, one counted the reading of novels among the pernicious, secret sins, above all among the sins of youth. Therefore, lending libraries were referred to as ‘places of moral poison’”] (Brinitzer 346). Although the intelligentsia looked down on the popularity of novels, the genre proliferated. For example, from 1773-1787 the number of authors who

150 wrote novels went from 3,000 to 6,000 (Brinitzer 348). Therefore, the timing for Bertuch’s translation was perfectly attuned to the changing market. His decision to include illustrations, which over time had gone from decorative elements to detailed, full-page drawings, could only increase the desirability of his work (Rümann, Das deutsche illustrierte Buch 9).

The author, realizing that those

engravings must be created by a well-known artist, first considered his good friend Georg Kraus.

When the artist was not able to meet the necessary

deadline, Bertuch turned to Chodowiecki, the most renowned illustrator of the century. Despite the fact that Chodowiecki spent most of his life in Berlin, leading Germans to claim him as one of their own, he was born in Danzig on October 16, 1726, to a Polish father, who was a grain trader, and a French mother, who ran the household. His father, who enjoyed doing watercolors as a hobby and was also a copyist, taught his son how to draw minatures at a young age. Chodowiecki’s paternal aunt Justine, who painted on enamel, continued the fourteen-year-old boy’s basic artistic education by giving him lessons after his father’s death in 1740. Therefore, in much the same way that Bertuch’s father, mother and uncle shaped his future, the interests of the members of his extended family helped mold Chodowieck’s life as an artist (Liliencron 133). With no professional schooling in the arts except for what he had learned from his father and aunt, Chodowiecki became self-taught in his early teen years. In order to improve his techniques, he concentrated on the shapes and shading he observed in the works of famous artists of his day – the results of these efforts would be evidenced in his Don Quixote illustrations. After copying the drawings

151 as best he could, he then tried to miniaturize them, using a feather as his paintbrush for the outlines of figures.

The budding artist saw some modest

success with these early works and was able to earn pocket money when he sold them alongside his aunt’s more accomplished paintings (Weise xxxiii). However, his mother did not believe her son could earn a living as an artist. Instead, she preferred to see him become a businessman like his father. At her behest Chodowiecki went to Berlin to learn the spice trade in a family member’s shop, where his duties kept him busy from 6 a.m. until 10 p.m. each day. Despite these long hours, the young man’s love of drawing could not be suppressed. In the evenings, as soon as he could be excused from the family gathering, he went up to his room to sketch – until sleep overcame him or his candle went out – “avec l’espoir que la vente de ses dessins pourrait améliorer la situation de sa mère” [“in the hope that the sale of his drawings would be able to improve his mother’s situation”] (Portalis, Les dessinateurs d’illustrations 70).

His dedication

to drawing even carried over to Sunday services, which at that time he attended more out of an interest in art than in worship. He would carefully examine the paintings in church and then, since he could not openly draw during the service, sketch them with his index finger onto his hand or hymnal. By so doing, he sufficiently committed to memory the outlines of the figures to enable him to copy them onto paper after returning home (Weise xxxiv). Unfortunately, the spice business went bankrupt eighteen months later, so Chodowiecki returned to his mother’s house in Danzig, where he continued to draw and paint.

Working once more with his aunt, the young man copied the

images she created onto tins that were then sold. He also sent some of his draw-

152 ings off to Berlin in the hopes of seeing them published. When these pictures were returned, Chodowiecki recognized his need to improve significantly in order to earn a living as an artist (Meyer 4). In 1743, Chodowiecki moved once again to Berlin, the city which would be his home for the next fifty-seven years, to live with his maternal uncle Anthoine Ayrer, a shop owner, and work for him as a bookkeeper. During his spare time, Chodowiecki perfected his miniature techniques by copying and recopying several paintings by “zwei geschickten Miniaturmalern” [“two talented miniature painters”] that his uncle had recently received (Weise xxxv). This constant practice enabled the artist to develop a better style and a fine sense of shading, which would be reflected later in the drawings he would do for Bertuch. Ayrer recognized the talent that Chodowiecki displayed in these endeavors and “pensa alors à lui faire apprendre la peinture sur émail, afin de rendre plus lucrative son industrie des boîtes émaillées” [“thought about having him learn enamel painting in order to make his [[Ayrer’s]] trade in enameled boxes more lucrative”] (Portalis, Les dessinateurs d’illustrations 71). To this end, the uncle brought to Berlin Johann Jakob Haid (1704-1767), an artist from Augsburg, to teach this technique to Chodowiecki and his brother Gottfried, who also worked for Ayrer. Once Chodowiecki mastered this medium, he decorated tins, rings, lockets and snuffboxes, all quite fashionable at the time, that his uncle then sold for a nice profit. He also continued to perfect his miniature paintings, doing them on ivory or vellum (Kaemmerer 10). The interesting discussions that Chodowiecki, his brother and Haid had during their sessions together rekindled his love of art and strengthened the

153 young man’s resolve to become a real artist and abandon the personally unfulfilling world of enamel painting and business. Calling the time with Ayrer his second “Kunstperiode” [“artistic period”], he left his uncle’s employ in 1754 and struck out on his own (Weise xxxv). After once again imitating the works of established French Rococo artists like Jean-Antoine Watteau (1689-1721) and François Boucher (1703-1770), he began to develop his own style and thus grew more assured of his abilities. However, due to his sessions with Haid, he was well aware of his need for additional formal instruction in drawing, composition, shading, etc. (Chodowiecki, “Daniel Chodowiecki von ihm selbst” 3). Therefore, Chodowiecki visited the renowned court painter Antoine Pesne (1683-1757), who took him on as a student.

Unfortunately, Pesne’s death a short time later left Chodowiecki

deprived of a valuable mentor. He then proceeded to make friends with other established painters like Joachim Martin Falbe (1709-1782), Johann Gottlieb Glume (1711-1778), Johann Wilhelm Meil (1732-1805) and Bernhard Rode (17251797), artists who were happy to share their knowledge with a talented young man who was so eager to learn (Meyer 4-6). When Rode then opened a small art academy in his home, Chodowiecki enrolled in evening classes.

His drawings from this time demonstrate “ein

genaues Beobachten der Natur in allen ihren Theilen” [“a detailed observation of nature in all of its elements”] (Weise xxxvii). He also improved his techniques in capturing light and shadow in his drawings, a talent for which he would be renowned in his later book and calendar illustrations; his Don Quixote illustrations are marvelous examples of this.

154 In 1755 the twenty-nine-year-old Chodowiecki married Jeanne Barez, the eldest daughter of a goldsmith, whose family belonged to the French Huguenot settlement in Berlin (Meyer 6). Along with marriage there obviously came new financial responsibilities, so he sought additional ways to earn money. Although in the ensuing years he was able to support his wife and children from the sale of his miniature paintings, for which there was a strong market, he continued his formal studies in art and diligently practiced drawing. For example, when in the company of others, he preferred to sit in a corner sketching interesting figures that caught his eye, so that he could further perfect his techniques. He often told others that, ever the artist, he sketched while “stehend, gehend, reitend” [“standing, walking, riding”] (qtd. in Kaemerrer 15). In addition to doing drawings, enamel paintings and miniatures, the versatile artist also explored oil painting and was determined to become a great painter, like Raphael (1483-1520) or Watteau. In the winter of 1755, undaunted by his lack of formal training in the medium, Chodowiecki began to develop his technique. In the evening, once his other work was completed, the artist sat down at his canvas and, working by the light cast by an ingenious system he had devised (described in the following citation), practiced until sleep won out (Weise xxxvii). His complete dedication not only to learning but to mastering new media can be seen in this passage, in which he describes this first attempt at oil painting: Ich setzte meine Palette auf und malte denselben Abend noch eines alten Mannes Kopf. Wie groß war meine Freude, da ich sah, ich würde die Abende können in Ölfarbe malen, bei Tage war es anderer Geschäfte halber unmöglich. Darauf ging ich weiter; ich legte ein Stück Leinwand gerade horizontal auf den Tisch vor mich, setzte eine Lampe vor mich hin, fing die Strahlen des Lichtes durch ein konvexes Glas auf und führte

155 sie auf meine Leinwand, wohin ich sie brauchte. Das erleichterte mir sehr die Arbeit, und ich malte, so lange mir der Schlaf Frieden ließ. … Eines Abends als ich zu Herrn Rode in die Akademie kam, sah ich das Modell noch angekleidet neben einem eisernen Ofen sitzen; es war wenig Andres Licht im Zimmer als das Feuer im Ofen, das machte einen herrlichen Rembrandtschen Effekt. Ich zeichnete es sogleich, und da ich nach beendeter Akademie nach Hause kam, setzte ich nach dem Abendessen noch die Palette auf und malte denselben Abend bis drei Uhr in der Nacht das Bild fertig. [I set up my palette and that same evening I painted the head of an old man. How great was my joy when I saw that I would be able to spend my evenings painting in oils, since it was impossible to do so during the day due to my other duties. I continued; I laid a piece of canvas horizontally before me on the table, placed a lamp before me, catching its rays by means of a convex glass and directing it to where I needed it on my canvas. That made my work much easier and I painted as long as sleep left me alone. … One evening, as I entered Mr. Rode’s academy, I saw a still-dressed model sitting next to the iron stove; there was little light in the room other than the fire in the stove, and it made a wonderful Rembrandt-like effect. I sketched it immediately and, once I got back home after class, I set up my palette after dinner and finished painting the picture by 3 a.m. that night.] (qtd. in Landau 21) Then, in the spring of 1756, Chodowiecki became interested in the intricate process of copper engraving. For his first plate, he took a sketch he had made of an interesting acquaintance and began to teach himself the etching process (Liliencron 133). At first, he had a great deal of trouble perfecting the many-stepped process

–

for example, he had to adjust the strength of the

etching water repeatedly – and it was only after two years of numerous attempts that he finally produced an engraving with which he was satisfied (Weise xxxviii). It would eventually be this skill that gained him the most recognition. To celebrate the peace of 1763, which ended the Seven Years’ War, Chodowiecki did a detailed drawing of King Friedrich II (1712-1786) that was so

156 exceptional that his friends suggested he make a copper engraving of it. Once he had done so, at the urging of mutual friends, the modest artist made a gift to the king of this drawing and some of his other prints. At their meeting the king, who was familiar with the artist’s name due to the latter’s numerous enamel paintings that the king had his jeweler mount on snuffboxes as gifts for his friends, inquired as a matter of courtesy about the artist’s background and was delighted when the latter responded in French, the Prussian king’s preferred language (Meyer 13-15). Unfortunately, King Friedrich was highly displeased with the style of clothes in which Chodowiecki depicted him.

Saying that “Dieses Kostüm ist nur für

Theaterhelden” [This outfit is only for heroes on the stage], he ordered the immediate destruction of the plate, to which Chodowiecki, of necessity, agreed. (Landau 79) Thanks to this unusual meeting with the king, however, Chodowiecki’s popularity grew. Soon thereafter, he accepted an important commission from the large French settlement in Berlin to design a hymnal cover. And in 1767 he was hired to paint an oil portrait of Princess Friderike Wilhelmine Sophie of Prussia, upon her engagement to the Prince of Orange, as a gift to the prince (Chodowiecki, “Daniel Chodowiecki von ihm selbst” 6).

During this period

Chodowiecki also began to devote most of his time to the art of engraving in the hopes of both satisfying the public’s interest and improving his financial condition, as he would eventually have several children to educate. He really did not have any competition in this medium since the only other engraver in Berlin was Meil, whose drawings and etchings were not as detailed.

Mastering this difficult

medium took the talented and determined artist more than ten years. But master

157 it he did and he became the most renowned engraver of the eighteenth century, one of the reasons that Bertuch selected him to illustrate and engrave five frontispieces for his new work. (Meyer 11). In 1767, when Chodowiecki’s engraving of his acclaimed oil painting “Der Abschied des Jean Calas1 von seiner Familie” [“The Farewell of Jean Calas from His Family”] met with even greater approval, his future as an artist was secured. He soon received numerous commissions from publishers, “so daß er bald zum gesuchtesten Illustrator im deutschen Staatengefüge avancierte” [“so that he soon became the most sought-after illustrator in Germany”] (Lammel 101).

In his bio-

graphy of the artist, Paul Landau discusses Chodowiecki’s popularity due to the Calas painting and print: So sehr beschäftigte sich die Welt mit diesem Stich und seinem Schöpfer, daß Chodowiecki von nun an einer der gesuchtesten Künstler wird. Nicht nur die Wortführer der neuen Aufklärungsund Sturm- und Drang-Litteratur, die Nicolai, Basedow, Lavater werden auf ihn aufmerksam, sondern auch die Verleger in Berlin und Leipzig, die nach dem Vorbild des französischen Rokokobuches auch ihre Werke mit Kupfern und Vignetten schmücken wollten. [The world was so taken by this engraving and its creator that from then on Chodowiecki became one of the most sought-after artists. Not only do Nicolai, Basedow and Lavater, the spokesmen of the new Enlightenment and Storm and Stress literature, become aware of him but also publishers in Berlin and Leipzig who, following the model of French rococo books, also wanted to decorate their works with engravings and vignettes.] (31) However, despite his new-found popularity, which enabled him to give up painting miniatures and greatly improved his financial situation, Chodowiecki did not agree to every enterprise offered him. Any commission he did accept had to accord with his moral principles and he rejected those that did not. For example,

158 on one occasion the artist refused the unreasonable demand made by the secretary of the Russian legation to do twenty obscene drawings (Weise xlii). On another occasion, the artist, who had inherited his mother’s piousness, hesitated to illustrate the third volume of Friedrich Nicolai’s 2 work, entitled Das Leben und die Meinungen des Herrn Magister Sebaldus Nothanker [The Life and Opinions of Sebaldus Nothanker], “in dem die christliche Kirche und ihre Vertreter verspottet werden” [“in which the Christian Church and its followers are riciduled”] (Briefwechsel 14). In his rarely referenced March 10, 1776, letter to the author, editor and publisher of the work, the artist expresses the discomfort he feels: So lange ich diesen Guten Mann um seiner Irrthümer Willen leiden sah, hatte ich mittleiden mit ihm. Obgleich ich ihn nicht immer billigte, gab ich seinem Charakter doch den Vorzug vor seinen Verfolgern; da er aber durch seine Übersetzung aus dem Englischen die Religion in der ich geboren bin und die ich noch nie Ursach gehabt habe mit einer andern zu verwechseln, in ihren Grund Sätzen zu untergraben sucht so muß ich ihn als einen Gefährlichen Menschen meiden und kan meine Kunst nicht mehr zu seiner verzierung anwenden. [So long as I saw this good man suffer because of his mistakes, I had compassion for him. Although I did not always condone what he did, I preferred his character to his persecutors’; however, when, in his translation from the English, he attempts to undermine the principles of the religion into which I was born and one that I have never had cause to change for another, then I must avoid him as [[I would]] a dangerous man and cannot use my art anymore for his ornamentation.] Chodowiecki only agreed to the project once Nicolai ameliorated the offending passages (Rümann, Das deutsche illustrierte Buch 77). In 1768, the Royal Prussian Academy of Arts, which had honored the artist four years earlier by hiring him to teach miniature painting, further recognized Chodowiecki’s artistic talent and his importance by requesting he do the

159 illustrations for the following year’s Almanac généalogique [Genealogical Almanac], known under its German title as the Berliner Genealogische Kalendar [Berlin Genealogical Calendar]. Each year this calendar, printed in both French and German, contained scenes from a well-known literary work, with a rhyming caption beneath each drawing.

For the 1769 calendar, Chodowiecki simply

redrew in miniaturized form illustrations drawn by his friend Rhode that he also engraved (Rümann, Das deutsche illustrierte Buch 74-75). Then, in 1769, the art academy’s Privy Councillor, Professor Ludwig von Beausobre (1730-1783), approached him about drawing twelve scenes from Don Quixote for their 1771 publication. In the following letter, dated October 13, 1769,3 Chodowiecki accepts the commission, states his fee, and asks for guidance in choosing the scenes: Si je ne fais qu’une planche pour vos almanacs je ne puis pas la faire à moins de Rh. 200 mais je ne saurois la Livrer plustot qu’a La fin de février. Jay comancé a tirer des Sujets Lors de Lhistoire en question, je trouve La Matiere si riche qu’on pouroit en faire une Suite de plusieurs almanacs, c’est pour cella qu’avant de commencer a mettre mes Sujets au net j’aurois Lhonneur de vous demander si voules que dans celuici je mette les principaux Sujets de toute Lhistoire ou seullement Le commencement Laissant La Suite pour Les Allmanacs Suivans. [If I do only one plate4 for your almanac, I cannot do it for less than 200 Thalers5 and I could not deliver it any sooner than the end of February. I have begun to select subjects from the story in question. I find the material so rich that one could make a series of several almanacs from it. That is why, before I begin engraving my subjects, I respectfully ask if in this matter you want me to include the main characters from the whole story or only from the beginning, leaving the others for future almanacs.] (Briefwechsel 40) In the end, creating what would be a prelude to his work for Bertuch’s translation, he chose to illustrate the novel’s main scenes, selecting events that clearly depict Don Quixote’s unique view of reality: his mistaking country inns for

160 castles, sheep for giants, a maiden for a princess, and servants for duchesses (fig. 8). These same drawings would also appear in the German version of the calendar, although for that edition they were etched by Daniel Berger, who would also engrave all of Chodowiecki’s drawings for Betuch’s de luxe 1780 Don Quixote translation. By an unfortunate coincidence, the cover of the 1771 calendar depicted Emperor Joseph II (Cover title: Iosephus. II. RomaFig. 8. “Il prend de ces Brebis le timide Escadron, Pour des Géants conduits par Alifanfaron.” [“He takes this timid herd of sheep for giants led by Alifanfaron.”] Courtesy of Berlin’s Kupferstichkabinett.

norum Imperator [Joseph II, Roman Emperor]), who was often referred to, in a deprecating way, as another Don Quixote (Brinitzer 144-46).

Thus, some in Austria

saw in that year’s choice of illustrations a not-

so-subtle insult. Landau writes that in order to forestall any possible political repercussions “Friedrich befahl … daß der Kalender auf 1772 sein Bildnis bringe und dazu Blätter über ein nicht minder burleskes und beziehungsreiches Thema, nämlich zu Ariosts ‘Rasenden Ro-land’… ” [“Friedrich ordered … that his portrait adorn the 1772 calendar, which would contain illustrations of a subject no less burlesque or rich in association, namely Ariosto’s ‘Raging Roland’… ”] (92).

161 The illustrator’s numerous calendar drawings “souvent d’actualité, d’autres fois de fantaisie, mais toujours agréablement et ingénieusement traités, donnèrent à ces éphémères publications une vogue extraordinaire” [“often from real life, other times from fantasy, but always treated pleasantly and ingeniously, gave

these

short-lived

publications

dessinateurs d’illustrations 71).

extraordinary

style”]

(Portalis,

Les

Landau writes that “Ein Kalender hatte kein

rechtes Glück, ‘keinen Schick,’ wenn er nicht ein paar jener feingestrichelten, warmgetönten, so sauber und sinnvoll schmückenden Kupfer von seiner Hand enthielt” [“A calendar had no real success, no ‘style,’ if it did not contain, from his hand, a few finely sketched, warmly tinted engravings that perfectly and meaningfully embellished it”] (86). Chodowiecki illustrated these calendars and almanacs, whose detailed drawings form an important part of his oeuvre, for more than thirty years (Rümann, Das deutsche illustrierte Buch 75). The tremendous success of the 1771 calendar soon brought the busy artist numerous requests for work.

He began illustrating the “Taschenkalender” or

pocket calendars, which were quite popular in those days. People would use these miniaturized calendars as berloques, i. e., watch pendants. In his biography of Chodowiecki, Ludwig Kaemerrer writes that this miniature format suited the artist’s talents “vortrefflich, und einige der Kalenderfolgen zählen zu dem Vollendetsten, was seine Radiernadel hervorgebracht” [“perfectly, and some of these calendar series count among the most accomplished [[works]] that his etching needle produced”] (35). The artist took a much needed break from his work in 1773 and returned to Poland to visit his mother whom he had not seen in thirty years. Because he was

162 not fond of traveling in a carriage and in order to observe better those things that interested him, Chodowiecki rode horseback the whole way. Showing the singlemindedness of task he would display when creating his famous illustrations for Bertuch’s Don Quixote translation, he sometimes held the reins in his mouth during the ride (thus losing a few teeth) so that he could sketch something that caught his eye (Meyer 30). Upon his return to Berlin, he was commissioned once again by Johann Kaspar Lavater (1741-1801), a Swiss mystic and philosopher, to do both the drawings and engravings for his next publication (Chodowiecki, “Fortsetzung” 31). The quality of these illustrations further increased Chodowiecki’s fame in Germany and also brought him to the attention of authors and publisher from outside Germany. At first the numerous out-of-town booksellers hired him just to do the drawings and had others do the engravings, which were usually of poor quality. Then, when these book dealers realized that Chodowiecki was also a master engraver, he was soon hired to do both.

In fact, due to his talent in this

medium, his name was soon so well known that letters arrived at his home simply addressed “An den sehr berühmten Kupferstecher, Herrn Daniel Chodowiecki, in Berlin” [“To the very famous engraver, Mr. Daniel Chodowiecki, in Berlin”] (Landau 31). When Bertuch decided his new Quixote translation should be an illustrated one, since in the eighteenth century the inclusion of engravings in books was an indicator of the work’s value, he decided upon two different men. In the course of my research I was able to identify, possibly for the first time, the name of the artist that Bertuch commissioned for the title page engraving, which is a portrait of

163 Cervantes.

This illustrator, Christian Gottlieb Geyser (1742-1803), was a well-

known Leipzig artist and good friend of Chodowiecki. A brief mention of the artist and his drawing appears in the second issue of the 1776 edition of Der teutsche Merkur, the leading literary journal of the day: “Im verflossenen Jahr hat er … verschiedenes gemacht, unter andern die Bildnisse des Cervantes zu Bertuchs neuer Uebersetzung des Don Quixots…” [“This past year he did a variety [[of works]], among them the portrait of Cervantes for Bertuch’s new translation of Don Quixote”] (Chodowiecki, “Nachricht” 268-69). However, to create the illustrations for volumes two through six, Bertuch chose Chodowiecki. The artist and the author had known each other for a few years, ever since the illustrator had done the Don Quixote drawings for the 1771 Almanac généalogique, so Bertuch was well aware of his friend’s talent and, ever the shrewd businessman, his marketability. The illustrator was delighted to accept the commission. In a May 9, 1775, letter he informs Bertuch of this and also asks which scenes he should illustrate: Mit vielen Vergnügen will ich … die 5 gegenstände aus dem Don Quixote radiren. Zu Ende August sollen Sie die Zwey ersten und zu Endes December die 3 letzten a 6 Louisd’or pro stück haben. … da Sie nun das werck genau kennen so würden Sie mir Die Mühe benehmen können es durch zu lesen wenn Sie mir von den vorzüglichsten gegenständen jedes Theils mit anführung des orths wo sie in einer französischen oder teutschen übersetzung zu finden sind einige anzeigen wolten. ich habe zwar diese Beschäftigung da ich die 12 Gegenstände zu unserm Kalender auszog schon ein mahl gehabt, aber die dazumahligen Gedancken sind von soviel folgenden aus meinem Gehirn verdrängt worden, so daß ich es von neuem anfangen muß, denn repetiren wolte ich mich nicht gern.

164 [With great pleasure will I engrave five scenes from Don Quixote. You should have the first two by the end of August and the last three, at 6 Louis d’or each, by the end of December. … Since you are so familiar with the work, you could save me the trouble of reading it all the way through if you would point out to me some of the best scenes in each volume, giving me the place where they can be found in either a French or German translation. I have already done something similar to this since I did 12 scenes for our calendar, but my ideas from those days have been displaced by so much that has happened since, that I would have to start anew, something I would rather avoid.] In his response dated June 10, 1775, Bertuch, after apologizing for the delay in his answer, expresses his delight that Chodowiecki accepted the commission and bows to the artist’s own decision regarding the illustrations: … erst vor 2 Tagen bin ich zurück, und da fand ich Ihren lieben Brief mit der angenehmen Versicherung, daß Sie meine Bitte gütigst erfüllen, und die 5 Kupfer für meinen Don Quixote übernehmen wollen. Mein Dank dafür ist unbegränzt, und ich nehme nicht allein den Preis, à 6 Louis d’or pro Stük, mit Vergnügen an, sondern finde ihn auch, für einen Mann von Ihren Talenten, höchst freundschaftlich und billig [.…] Aber was fordern Sie von mir, bester Mann! Ich soll Ihnen die Gegenstände, die Sie bearbeiten sollen, aus jedem Bande selbst angeben? Dieß kann ich unmöglich; denn ich kenne nur gar zu gut die Schwierigkeiten, einem Genie zu sagen: Das sollst Du machen! Überdieß thut nicht immer eine, in der Beschreibung, höchst komische Scene, dieselbe Wirkung in der Zeichnung; und ich bin zu wenig Kenner, jederzeit die rechte für Sie auszufinden. Kurz, es läßt sich nicht alles zeichnen, und ich könnte Ihnen gerade Gegenstände wählen, die die wenigste Wirkung thäten. [… I only arrived back home two days ago, and there I found your welcome letter with the pleasant assurance that you will kindly fill my request and take on the five engravings for my Don Quixote. My thanks is boundless, and I accept the fee, at 6 Louis d’or per drawing, not only with great pleasure but I also find it a most friendly and reasonable one for a man of your talent [[.…]] But what you ask of me, dear man! I should tell you the scenes to draw for each volume? This is impossible for me to do; for I know only too well the difficulties in saying to a genius: “This is what you should do!” Moreover, the funniest scene in a description does not always have the same effect in a drawing; and I am too little an expert in the matter to choose the right one

165 for you. In short, not everything is appropriate for a drawing and I could choose scenes for you that would have the least effect] (Chodowiecki, Briefwechsel 130). Thus, although the majority of authors and publishers at the time instructed the artist on which scenes to illustrate, not so Bertuch who had full confidence in his friend’s choices. Referring to the trust between Chodowiecki and Bertuch, Landau writes: “Nicht immer harmoniert er mit ihnen so vollständig, wie … mit Bertuch, dem Weimarer Freunde, der bescheiden erklärt, ‘Einem Genie darf man nicht vorschreiben.’ [“He did not get on as fully with others [[publishers]] as with Bertuch, his Weimar friend, who simply stated, ‘One cannot tell a genius what to do.’” (93) Bertuch continues his letter, reminding Chodowiecki of his familiarity with earlier Quixote drawings and suggests the artist refresh his memory of the story by rereading either a German or French translation: Sie wißen auch was Sie bereits vor Gegenstände daraus in den Kalender gewählt haben, und kennen also alles was aus dem Don Quixote bereits gezeichnet worden ist; Ihnen wird es also leicht seyn noch einige neue intereßante Scenen, aus diesem, für den Zeichner so reichen Werke zu finden. Erzeigen Sie mir also doch ja die Freundschaft und lesen oder durchblättern Sie noch einmal meinen lieben Ritter vom 2ten Bande an, in der franzöß. oder teutschen Übersetzung; er wird Sie aufs neue zur Arbeit begeistern, und Ihnen gewiß treffliche Gegenstände liefern. Was den 5ten u. 6ten Band, oder Avellanedas Fortsetzung betrift, so will ich, --- da ich nicht weiß, ob Sie des le Sage franzöß. Übersetzung davon haben --- Ihnen das Manuscript, oder einige Auszüge daraus nach Michael liefern. --- Bis Ende August brauche ich nur die TittelKupfer zum 2ten und 3ten Bande, zu deren Maaße ich Ihnen hier ein Blat vom Druke des Werks selbst beylege. [You know what [[scenes]] you already chose for the calendar, and also which ones have already been depicted [[in other translations]]; it will be easy for you to find some additional ones in this work, which is a treasure trove for illustrators. Demonstrate your friendship and once more read or page through my beloved knight

166 from the second volume on, in either a French or German translation; he will fill you with enthusiasm for the job and will certainly supply you with splendid scenes. As to the fifth and sixth volumes, or Avellaneda’s sequel – since I don’t know if you have Le Sage’s French translation of it – I will supply you either with the manuscript or some excerpts from it after Michaelmas. – By the end of August I only need the title page engravings for the second and third volumes; in regards to their size, I include in this letter a page from a printing of the work.] (130) A few weeks later, on July 8, Chodowiecki, in response to Bertuch’s letter, agreed with the author’s suggestion that he reread the text: Sie haben recht, es ist beßer ich lese noch ein mahl das buch und wähle selbst, ich wolte mir eine Mühe besparen, aber es kan nicht anders seyn. ware es aber nicht nöthig daß ich wüste wie weit der zweyte band, der dritte gehe? Damit ich nicht etwan in den Zweyten bringe waß erst im Dritten vorkommt od. umgekehrt. so auch mit dem avelaneda. [You are right. It is better that I read the book once more and choose [[the scenes]] myself. I wanted to spare myself the trouble, but it cannot be avoided. Wouldn’t I have to know how far the second and third volumes go? That way I won’t put something into the second [[volume]] that happens in the third and vice-versa. And the same thing with Avellaneda’s work.] Bertuch was delighted with Chodowiecki’s decision to reread the work, for he was sure the artist would find inspiration in the text. In his letter from July 22 he writes: Ich danke Ihnen, recht von Herzen dank’ ich Ihnen mein Theuerster Freund, daß Sie meinen lieben Ritter nochmals selbst lesen wollen. Der Geist des Cervantes wird über Sie kommen, und warm von dieser Lektüre werden Sie Wunder thun. Wahl der Sujets und deren Behandlung ist Ihnen, wie gesagt, gänzlich überlaßen. [I thank you, from the bottom of my heart I thank you, my dearest friend, for wanting to reread my beloved knight. The spirit of Cervantes will come over you and, keen from this reading, you will create wonders. The choice of subjects and their treatment is, as already mentioned, completely up to you.] (Chodowiecki, Briefwechsel 137)

167

Although Bertuch leaves the final choice of scenes to Chodowiecki, he does, however, suggest the artist depict some of the same scenes that appeared in the anonymous 1734, 1753 and 1767 illustrated editions, such as the events that happen to Don Quixote in the Sierra Morena and those of his self-imposed penance. Other than that, “steht Ihnen also auch das ganze Feld offen” [“the field is wide open for you”] (138). In the same letter Bertuch also expresses specific ideas about the clothes the characters should wear and their physical appearance: Das Costume der Spanier kennen Sie zu gut, als daß ich Ihnen hier etwas darüber zusagen hätte, nur ein Paar kleine Anmerkungen über Don Quixotes und Sanchos Auszeichnendes erlauben Sie, liebster Freund, meiner schriftstellerischen Mikrologie. Don Quixote führt einen Knebel- und Zwickbart; ist übrigens von Cervantes deutlich genug gezeichnet. Sanchos Portät ist zerstreuter. Er hat auch einen Bart; führt eine Art von rundem kleinen Hut oder Bart, und zum Gewehr eine Art von alten Hirschfänger; hat einen dicken Wanst und kurze dicke Latschbeine; führt einen SteinEsel und auf demselben seinen Brodsack und Weinschlauch. [You are well acquainted with the clothes of Spaniards, so that I don’t have to say much about it. But permit my writer’s love of detail, dearest Friend, to make a few small comments about Don Quixote’s and Sancho’s depiction. Don Quixote has a twisted moustache and a Vandyke beard; other than that, he is clearly depicted by Cervantes. Sancho’s portrait is less specific. He also has a beard; he wears a kind of small, round cap, and for a weapon, a kind of old hunting knife; he has a pot-belly and short, thick legs; he rides a donkey on which he carries his knapsack and wineskin.] (138) Unfortunately, the hard-working Chodowiecki was not able to deliver the first two sketches to Bertuch by the end of August as promised. In a letter dated September 3, he explains why: “Da ich versprach mit Ende August die Zwey ersten KupferPlatten abzuliefern, dachte ich nicht daran daß ich im Monath

168 August ausziehen würde” [“When I promised to deliver the first two engravings to you by the end of August, I did not think about the fact that I would be moving in August”]. In this same letter, he writes that he has followed Bertuch’s suggestion and has indeed reread Don Quixote; he also discusses his inspiration for the costumes: … Ich habe Ihren Rath gefolgt und habe die teutsche übersetzung nun wieder ein mahl durch gelauffen, und alles ausgezeichnet waß ich glaubte daß sich schicken würde, Auch den Avelanede habe ich mit vergnügen durchgegangen. Cervantes und dieser sind so reich an Mahlerischen Gegenständen daß man mehr mühe hatt zu waß man weg laßen soll, als was man bey behalten kan. Die Kupferstiche des Folkema habe ich gesucht zu nutzen ich zweyfle aber daß sein Costum gantz richtig sey, er mag wohl keine von den Kleidungen die er gezeichnet hatt gesehen haben. Da ich die Kupfer zu dem Kalender 1772 machte gab ich meinem ritter große Reuter Stieflen und eine weste wie man sie heut trägt Dieses war freylich nicht recht; jetzt hab ich ihn so gekleidet wie vor diesem die Mode in frankreich und in den Niederlanden war, denn aus Spanien hatt man doch keine Gemählde als die von Rubens u von van Dyck, und diese habe ich zu rathe gezogen. [… I followed your advice and once again read a German translation and noted everything I thought would be appropriate. I even went through Avellaneda’s work with pleasure. His and Cervantes’s works are so abundant in picturesque scenes that one must make more of an effort to decide which ones to leave out than which ones to retain. I tried to use the engravings by Folkema. 6 However, I have doubts that his costumes are quite right. When I did the engravings for the 1772 [[1771]] calendar, I gave my knight big riding boots and a waistcoat done in today’s fashion. This, of course, was not accurate. Now I’ve dressed him in such a way as before this became fashionable in France and the Netherlands, since we have no paintings from Spain except those by Rubens and van Dyck, and it is these that I consulted.] Chodowiecki closes his letter with the request that Bertuch send him a copy of his new translation: “Als Soubscribent bitte ich mir ein Exemplar von Dero

169 Ubersetzung aus, ich habe noch Keinen Don Quichott und bin versichert daß ich keine beßere übersetzung als die Ihrige finden werde …” [“As a subscriber I ask that you send me a copy of your translation since I have none of Don Quixote and I am sure that I will find no better translation than yours… ”]. The first illustration that Chodowiecki drew was the frontispiece for Bertuch’s second volume. Inspired by an event found in that book’s ninth chapter, this drawing depicts Don Quixote, wearing his nightclothes and sword in hand, engaged in a “bloody” battle with wineskins. In his sleepwalking state, the knight believes they are the giant who is keeping a fair princess from assuming her rightful throne (fig. 9). A brief, little known, mention of this drawing was made in an article that appeared in the June 1776 issue of Der teutsche Mer-kur: “Von Daniel Chodowiecki ist … in diesem Jahr verschiedenes ans Licht gekommen. Fig. 9. “Don Quixote ficht im Traume in seiner Kammer gegen Bockshäute voll Wein, die er für Riesen hält.” [“In his dreams, Don Quixote fights in his bedroom against buckskins full of wine, which he thinks are giants.”] From this author’s private collection.

Er

ist

eigentlich

ein

Miniaturmaler, hat aber seit einigen Jahren vieles für Kupferstecher ge-zeichnet und auch nach eigner Erfindung ge-äzt” [“Various things have … been produced by Daniel Chodowiecki this year. He is essentially a

painter of miniatures, but in the last few years he has drawn a lot for copperplate

170 engravers and has also done some etching using his own methods”]. The article then lists the numerous works that the artist produced that year, the last of which is “das Titelkupfer zu dem 2ten Theil der neuen teutschen Uebersetzung des Don Quixote” [“the title page en-graving for the second volume of the new German translation of Don Quixote”] (Chodowiecki, “Nachricht” 276-78). In a letter dated March 4, 1776, Bertuch requests that the frontispiece engravings for volumes three and four be finished by Easter and also mentions how hard he had worked to capture the characters of the story as Cervantes intended: Die Charaktere habe ich mit der scrupulösesten Treue nachgezeichnet; kein Zug fehlt, auch der feinste nicht, der den Personen Individualität und Ausdruck geben konnte. Was nur immer überzutragen möglich war, habe ich mit übergetragen; und man sieht es mancher Stelle manchen Perioden gewiß nicht an, daß ich zu 2 od. 3 Stunden lang darüber modelliert habe. Beobachten Sie also nur Spanisches Costume, so können Sie sich, was das Uebrige betrift, gewiß auf meine Uebersetzung verlassen. [I have portrayed the characters with the most scrupulous accuracy; no trait is missing, not even the smallest, that could give the character individuality and expression. I translated whatever could be translated; and in many places one cannot tell that I worked on a passage for two or three hours. Therefore, just imitate Spanish clothing; as far as the rest is concerned, you can certainly rely on my translation.] (Chodowiecki, Briefwechsel 152-53) Chodowiecki finished these first five illustrations and engravings by the end of August 1776. He informed Bertuch of this in a letter dated August 25: “… ich lege Ihnen … Abdrücke von den Ihnen noch fehlenden drey Platten zum 4then Theil des Cervantischen D. Quichotts und zu den Zwey Theilen der Avelanedischen Vorsetzung… [“… I am sending you … prints of the three

171 engravings still due you for the fourth volume of Cervantes’s Don Quixote and the two volumes of Avellaneda’s sequel.”] The artist had not heard from Bertuch for several months. In his letter of September 24, 1776, the author apologizes profusely for not having written Chodowiecki since March and explains that his civic duties, his marriage and his ill health have kept him from his work on the Quixote: Wir wollen’s einander herzlich verzeyhen, lieber, bester Chodowiecky, daß wir faule Briefschreiber sind, denn ich glaube wir haben beyde nicht über den Überfluß müßiger Stunden zu klagen; sie bey Geschäften der Kunst, und ich als treuer Schatten eines Fürsten. Seit meinem letzen Briefe an Sie im März, bin ich Ehemann worden, bin an einem pleuritischen Gallenfieber im Rachen des Todtes gewesen, wieder genesen, noch als ein halb Kranker mit meinem Herzog 6 Wochen verreißt gewesen, wieder hier in Geschäfte gestürzt worden, wie ein Volant umgeflogen. Sie können denken, bester Freund, daß bei solchen Unruhen kein Augenblick für meinen armen Ritter übrig blieb. Ja ich war so todt für meine PrivatGeschäfte, daß ich sogar vergaß Ihnen ein Exemplar der 3 Ersten Bände zu schicken. Verzeihen Sie mir’s! Hier ist es; nehmen Sie’s als Freund für Ihre HandBibliothek. Schande wär’s mir, wenn Sie’s erkauffen müßten. Izt bin ich nun, den guten Göttern sey Dank, so ziemlich wieder Herr meiner Zeit, die ich ganz der Vollendung meines Don Quixote wiedme, so daß ich den Rest davon auf kommende Ostern völlig zu liefern gewiß gedenke. Sie haben mir also durch die Abdrücke der 3 letzen Platten große Freude gemacht. [We both need to forgive ourselves, dear, best Chodowiecki, for being such bad letter writers, because I don’t think we can complain about having an abundance of free time – you with your artistic responsibilities, and I as the duke’s faithful shadow. Since my last letter to you in March I have married, almost died of a gallbladder attack, recovered, traveled with my duke for six weeks although still ill, thrown myself back into my business here, flying around like a shuttlecock. You can imagine, dear friend, that with so much commotion I have not had a second for my poor knight. In fact, I was so useless for my own affairs that I even forgot to send you a copy of the first three volumes. Please forgive me! Here they are; please take them as a friend for your private library. It would be an absolute disgrace for me

172 if you had to buy them. Now, thank God, I am once more master of my own time, which I am dedicating to finishing my Don Quixote, such that I fully intend to deliver it by next Easter. Your prints of the last three engravings greatly please me.] (Chodowiecki, Briefwechsel 170). In these five illustrations, as with all of his commissions, Chodowiecki strove to give Bertuch truly original drawings and did his best to avoid the influence of earlier illustrators, often preferring not to see their works. In a letter to the author on November 18, 1777, he discusses this: Die Picartschen und Coypelschen Kupferstiche zum D[on] Qu[ixote] sind mir mehrentheils in Gedancken, ich werde suchen die Sujets die diese Künstler bearbeitet haben zu vermeiden. und wenn ich je einige mache so will ich sie doch ganz neu anordnen u[nd] deßwegen mag ich jene nicht sehen, ich danke Ihnen aber sehr für Ihren guten willen. … Es ist wahr, daß ich sehr beladen bin, aber ich habe gute Schultern und Ihr Ritter ist mir ein so lieber Kerl daß ich gewiß alle meine Kraftte für ihn anspannen werde um ihn eben so launig vorzustellen als Sie mir ihn darstellen, dazu hab ich ja die schönen Sommer Tage vor mir. [Picart’s7 and Coypel’s engravings for D[[on]] Qu[[ixote]] are often in my thoughts. I will try to avoid the scenes that these artists depicted a[[nd]] if I do use some of them, I will arrange them in a different way, and that’s why I don’t like to see them, but I thank you for your kind intention. … It is true that I am loaded with work, but I have good shoulders and your knight is such a dear fellow to me that I certainly will exert all of my energies on him in order to depict him as wittily as you have done. I have all of the beautiful summer days before me to do so.] According to Wilhelm Engelmann, the foremost chronicler of Chodowiecki’s works, over the course of two years, from 1775-1776, the artist drew and engraved five illustrations for volumes 2-6 of Bertuch’s first edition. He also drew a portrait of Cervantes and an additional twenty-four illustrations, which were then etched by Daniel Berger, a talented engraver of the day, for the fully illustrated

173 version of Bertuch’s second edition, published in 1780. In a letter from September 4, 1781, to Nicolai, who was planning to publish a book on Chodowiecki’s oeuvre, the artist includes in his list of works produced in 1778: “12 8˚ Blad zum Don Quichote für Berger” [“12 octavo sheet to Don Quixote for Berger”] (Briefwechsel 233).

A different engraver, the Austrian artist Johann Caspar Weinrauch (1765-

1846), engraved some of Chodowiecki’s illustrations for Bertuch’s less illustrated third edition, published in 1798; each volume contains only two drawings: one title page illustration and a smaller vignette on the facing page. The author’s decision to leave the choice of scenes to Chodowiecki was a wise one. That the artist chose admirably can be seen in Alexander Mrugowski’s comments concerning the drawings. In his afterword to a Don Quixote translation that contains Chodowiecki’s illustrations, he writes that: “Sie haben jedesmal eine Geschichte mitzuteilen, die man oft genug auch ohne den Text verstehen kann” [“They [[the pictures]] each have a story to share that one can often understand without the text”] (119). The talented illustrator did not try to represent the heroic nature of Don Quixote. Instead, “Er faßte die Figur des Ritters von der menschlichen vielleicht sogar ein wenig von der sentimentalen Seite her, und dieser unverbesserliche Narr und Abenteuerer schien ihm weniger eine lächerliche als eine tragische Person zu sein, die unser Mitleid herausfordert” [“He depicted the figure of the knight from the human, perhaps even a bit from the sentimental side, and this incorrigible fool and adventurer appeared to him to be less a foolish character than a tragic one who invites our sympathy”] (Mrugowski 120). In addition to the artist’s uncanny ability to capture touching scenes, Mrugowski further writes “Er hatte durchaus Verständnis für die Komik der

174 einzelnen Situationen, vermied es aber, mit seiner Darstellung in das Burleske und Groteske zu verfallen, wie es häufig bei den ausländischen Zeichnern geschehen ist. Es liegt bei ihm etwas Rührendes in der Gestalt Don Quixotes” [“He had an absolute sense of the comic element of the individual scenes, but he avoided sinking to the burlesque and grotesque in his illustrations, something that happened frequently among foreign illustrators. There is something touching in the figure of Don Quixote”] (120). Thus, Chodowiecki’s interpretative illustrations mirror Bertuch’s intention, stated in his letter to Gleim, to remove from the novel’s hero the “beggar’s cloak” with which earlier translations had clothed him and to restore his dignity. Instead, the artist’s touching drawings showed the reader that there was more to the hero than the simple, comical fool.

Concerning this point, Mrugowski writes that

“Chodowiecki hat uns Deutsche gelehrt, in den Don Quixote nicht nur den närrischen und tollen Phantasten zu sehen, wie es bis dahin der Fall war, sondern ihn auch ernst zu nehmen” [“Chodowiecki taught us Germans to see Don Quixote not only as a dotty, mad, starry-eyed idealist, as had been the case until then, but also to take him seriously”] (120). When discussing Chodowiecki’s comic but touching depiction of Sancho Panza, Mrugowski notes that “…auch bei ihm wird alles übermäßig Karrikierende weggelassen, und das Treuherzige und Biedere, das Hilfsbereite und Verständige tritt neben dem Niederen und Nüchternen in seinem Wesen deutlich genug hervor.

Auch auf den Bildern ist er der vollwertige Gegenspieler seines Herrn”

[“all excessive caricature in regard to him is omitted, and the trusting and unsophisticated, the helpful and sensible sides of his nature emerge alongside

175 the common and matter-of-fact.

In the illustrations, too, he is the complete

opposite of his master”] (120). Landau also describes the reason Chodowiecki’s illustrations were so appropriate for Bertuch’s interpretation of the novel: Die grandiose Dämonie des ‘Don Quixote’ blieb ihm freilich ebenso fremd, wie den Meisten der Mitlebenden, die das ewige Werk in Bertuchs treuer Verdeutschung kennen lernten; … er mühte sich … den Ritter von der traurigen Gestalt, den er zuerst in Reiterstiefeln und Rokoko-West dargestellt hatte, in das echte Kostüm zu stecken, und verlieh den Figuren eine menschliche Wärme… . [The magnificent delusion of Don Quixote was as foreign to him as it was to the majority of his contemporaries, who came to know the timeless work through Bertuch’s faithful translation into German; he strove to put the Knight of the Sad Countenance, whom he had first depicted in riding boots and a rococo waistcoat, into an authentic costume, and he gave the figures a human warmth … .] (89) Thus, unlike other illustrators’ earlier depictions, which dwelt on the burlesque, or later ones, which would emphasize the hero’s delusions, Chodowiecki’s drawings captured the human side of Don Quixote. A little known review of twelve of Chodowiecki’s drawings for Bertuch’s more elaborately illustrated second edition (1780) appeared in the December 1779 issue of Teutscher Merkur. Entitled “Kupfer zu den Leben und Thaten des Don Quixote von Mancha” [“Engravings from the Life and Deeds of Don Quixote of la Mancha”], it first discusses the weaknesses of earlier Quixote illustrators like Coypel, Picart and John Vanderbank (1694-1739). After noting that all three are good artists, it then comments on their inability to capture Cervantes’s mood fully, resulting in “die Leblosigkeit ihrer Figuren. Keine hat Charakter; keine handelt” [“the lifelessness of their figures. None has character; none comes alive”] (294).

176 The article then offers extremely favorable comments about Chodowiecki’s drawings: … in unsers Chodowieckis Blätter hingegen ist Alles Seele und Leben, jeder Strich Commentar über seinen Schriftsteller. Man sieht da, nicht wie gewöhnlich, Marionetten, sondern Menschen, und gerade dieselben, die der Dichter schuf. Szenen, die schon vielmal von ihm bearbeitet worden, erscheinen von seiner Hand immer wieder neu, und man fühlt augenblicklich, daß man sie noch nie gesehen hat. […in our Chodowiecki’s pictures, however, everything is soul and life, each stroke a commentary on its author. There one does not see, as is common, puppets but human beings, and precisely those that the author created. Scenes, which he has treated many times before, appear time and again new from his hand, and one immediately feels that one has never seen them before.] (294) The only negative comment the reviewer makes, “damit unser gerechter Beyfall, den wir diesem Werke geben, nicht den Anstrich der Partheylichkeit habe” [“so that the impartial approval, which we give this work, does not have a touch of bias”] is that: Auf dem VII. Blatte nemlich ist die schöne Zoraida zur Schwarzen oder Negerin gemacht. Dies ist falsch, und Herr Chodowiecki hat sich durch den Mißbrauch des Worts Mor, Morin, der leider unter uns noch so gemein und fälschlich mit Schwarzen, Neger, Synonim ist, dazu verleiten lassen. Moren, Maurus, Moro, heißen in allen alten Ritterbüchern und Reisebeschreibungen die Araber, oder Mauritanier, die sonst den südlichen Theil Spaniens inne hatten; und diese waren so weiß und schön als irgend sonst Europäer. [In the seventh picture the beautiful Zoraida has been depicted as a Black or Negress. This is wrong, and Mr. Chodowiecki has let himself be misled by the improper use of the word “Moor,” which unfortunately is still coarsely and incorrectly used among us as a synonym for Black or Negro. “Moor,” “Maurus,” “Moro” are what the Arabs or Mauritanians, who occupied the southern part of Spain, are called in all of the old books about knights and travel books; and they were as white and attractive as any other European.] (294).

177

Due to his drawings for Bertuch and many other notable authors, Chodowiecki’s fame as an illustrator and engraver grew even more. Regarding the high esteem in which the artist was held, Franz Dülberg notes, “Dichter, Schöngeister, Philosophen, Geistliche und Aufklärer aus allen Lagern folgten einander mit dem Wunsche, ihre Bücher von Chodowiecki illustriert oder wenigstens

mit

Vignetten

geschmückt

zu

sehen”

[“Authors,

aesthetes,

philosophers, clergymen and followers of the Enlightenment from all sides followed one another with the wish to see their books illustrated by Chodowiecki or at least adorned with some of his vignettes”] (89). Therefore, publishers, understanding more than ever the monetary value of his name, included his drawings as often as possible in the works they printed, whether they were appropriate or not, to enhance revenue. It was precisely for this

reason,

for

example,

that

his

name

was

prominently

displayed

(posthumously) on the pirated 1818 edition of Ludwig Tieck’s9 translation; drawings done by a man of the Enlightenment were added to a work by an author from the Romantic period simply to increase sales. In addition to benefitting publishers, the engraver Daniel Berger’s own renown grew and his income increased by 50% once his name became associated with Chodowiecki’s art work. Even lesser-known engravers depended on him for their success. Landau writes that they “hofften an den ‘Rockschößen’ des Meisters in den ‘Tempel des Ruhmes’ einzuziehen und bettelten deshalb um seine Bilder” [“hoped to ride the master’s ‘coattails’ into the ‘Temple of Fame’ and therefore begged him for his pictures”] (94).

178 Chodowiecki’s success, however, was not solely dependent on his artistic abilities. Like Bertuch’s, it was also due to the long hours he spent working each day. For example, in a letter to Geyser, dated February 25, 1775, he wrote, “Sie wollen wissen, mein liebster Freund, wie ich bisher gelebt habe: Wie ein Galeerensklave; aber wie ein solcher, der sein Ruder mit Lust bewegt. Ich muß fast Tag und Nacht arbeiten, um jeden zu befriedigen, und ich tu es gern.” [“You want to know, my dear friend, how I have lived up until now: like a galley slave; but like one who loves pulling his oar. I have to work almost night and day in order to satisfy everyone, and I do it gladly”] (qtd. in Landau 140). Ten years later, in a letter to Lavater, he again discusses his long days, “Ich arbeite, wenn ich kann, bis um zwei Uhr in die Nacht hinein und werde niemals fertig. Immer geh’ ich unzufrieden zu Bett, weil ich nicht machen konnte, was ich wollte” [“I work, when I can, until 2 a.m. and still I never finish. I always go to bed unhappy that I was unable to do everything I wanted”] (qtd. in Lammel 106). This extremely productive artist, who worked “like a galley slave,” – perhaps a reference to Cervantes’s imprisonment –, often toiled until the early hours of the morning. He regularly went to bed clothed and bewigged, sleeping upright against his pillows in order not to muss his hair, so that he could start work immediately upon awaking. As Lammel describes it: “Er schlief sogar manchmal sitzend, um nicht am Morgen Zeit mit dem Ordnen der Perücke zu verlieren…” [“Often he slept sitting up in order not to lose time in the morning arranging his wig”] (35). In fact, the hard-working artist kept an alarm clock in his room to assure he did not oversleep (Meyer 41). Chodowiecki, explaining part of the

179 reason for his long days, writes: “Ich halte, daß, wo Genie ist, da ist auch Liebe zur Kunst, und wo diese ist, ist notwendig Fleiß” [“I believe that where there is genius, there is also the love of art, and where this [[love of art]] is, hard work follows”] (qtd. in Landau 33-34). He put in these long hours, however, not only out of love for his work but also out of necessity, since he had many commissions to fulfill. Like Bertuch, Chodowiecki received many honors during his lifetime. A longtime, proud member of the Königliche Preußische Akademie der Künste und mechanischen Wissenschaften [Royal Prussian Academy of Arts and Mechanical Sciences], he was named a rector in 1764, its Vice-Director in 1788, and Director in 1797. In 1798 Chodowiecki also received an honorary diploma from the Art Academy of Sienna for his remarkable illustrations (Meyer 20; Landau 128). The artist worked tirelessly, despite his growing ill health, until his death on February 7, 1801. He was laid to rest in the Dorotheenstädtischen Friedhof, a cemetery established in 1762 for the repose of those who, like his wife, were members of the French Huguenot enclave in Berlin. This talented artist, who did illustrations for novels, calendars, almanacs, dramas, scientific treatises and other works, was the most influential, versatile, and successful illustrator of

the eighteenth century. His artistic renown and

importance are succinctly summarized in the following quote that appeared in the January 13, 1777 issue of Schubart’s Deutsche Chronik [German Chronicle]: “Der große Chodowiecki, bewundert vom Ausland, größer als Hogarth und schöpfrischer als irgendeiner in der Welt… ” [“The great Chodowiecki, admired abroad, greater than Hogarth8 and more creative than anyone in the world”] (225).

180

NOTES

181 1

(1690-1762) On March 10, 1762, Jean Calas was executed one day after being found guilty for the murder of his son Marc-Antoine. Calas, a Protestant in a predominantly Catholic country, reportedly was angry that Marc-Antoine was considering converting to Catholicism as had his older brother in 1756. A victim of religious intolerance, Calas was found innocent in 1765, four years after his execution. Leading spokesmen across Europe decried the infamous “Affaire Calas.” 2

(1733-1811) This influential publisher was also the founder of the literary magazine Allgemeine deutsche Bibliothek [General German Library]. This magazine would review Bertuch’s 1775 and Tieck’s 1799 translations. 3

Chodowiecki’s letters are presented with all of their orthographical errors. This native son of Poland, although fluent in German and French, was challenged by their orthography. 4

Chodowiecki drew all twelve pictures on one plate.

5

According to Charlotte Steinbrucker, who edited Daniel Chodowiecki: Briefwechsel zwischen ihm und seinen Zeitgenossen, the fee that the artist set was a reasonable one, indeed, since, his colleague Meil asked 220 Thaler for a similar project (40). 6

(1692-1767) Jakob Folkema was a Dutch printmaker.

7

(1673-1733)

8

(1697-1764) William Hogarth. Famed British painter and printmaker.

Bernard Picart was a talented and prolific French artist.

9

J. Ludwig Tieck and his 1799 translation of Don Quixote will be discussed in greater detail in the following chapter.

CHAPTER 5

182 EPILOGUE Thanks to Bertuch’s translation, which was greatly admired by adherents of the Enlightenment, Germans in general and followers of the new Classicism and later Romanticism would come to know the Quixote. In fact, it was his rendition that intrigued the young J. Ludwig Tieck (1773-1853), who would become a leading member of the Romantic School and the second German to translate the novel from Spanish. In 1788, at the age of fifteen, he came across Bertuch’s work, which a family member had borrowed from the city’s library. He was so mesmerized by it that he feigned illness in order to stay home from school to read it (Lussky 119). This fascination with Don Quixote led to Tieck’s decision in 1792 to pursue the study of the Spanish language and its literature under the tutelage of the renowned Professor Thomas Christian Tychsen1 at Göttingen, a university noted for its “excellent tradition … in Spanish” (Gillies 398).

In 1794, Tieck

returned to Berlin, the city of his birth, without having completed his education. Three years later, he became friends with two influential writers, August Wilhelm von Schlegel (1767-1845) and his younger brother Friedrich (1772-1829), who would play a significant role in his career as a writer. Bertuch’s translation, although written with the mindset of an Aufklärer, was respected and appreciated by both Classicists and Romantics because of its lively style and pioneering importance. A. W. Schlegel, who with his brother Friedrich ushered in the nascent Romantic movement, acknowledged the ground-breaking nature and the resulting significance of Bertuch’s efforts in the following excerpt from the July 20, 1799, issue of the Allgemeine Literatur-Zeitung [General Literary

183 Newspaper].

His comments parallel Farinelli’s “seine Übersetzung machte

Epoche” [“his translation was epoch-making”]: Als vor etwas fünf und zwanzig Jahren ein gelehrter Kenner der spanischen Sprache und Litteratur anfieng, uns mit der letzten bekannt zu machen, und besonders den noch so gut wie völlig fremden Don Quixote in Deutschland einführte, so schlug er bei diesem Unternehmen, wie der lebhafte Beifall und die schnelle Verbreitung bewies, für die damalige Lage unserer eigenen Literatur und die allgemeine Empfänglichkeit der Lesewelt unstreitig den richtigsten Weg ein. [When, about twenty-five years ago, a learned scholar of the Spanish language and literature began to acquaint us with the latter and, especially, introduced Don Quixote, which was as good as completely unknown, into Germany, he adopted in this undertaking – as the vigorous approval and rapid circulation proved – unquestionably the most correct path for the situation of our own literature at that time and for the general receptivity of the reading world.] (“Leben und Thaten” 178) Schlegel’s words “und besonders den noch so gut wie völlig fremden Don Quixote” [“and, especially, Don Quixote, which was as good as completely unknown”] further validate the importance of Bertuch’s work.

This passage

indicates that Schlegel, like Bertuch, disregarded all German translations prior to Bertuch’s rendition, considering them misguided and inconsequential, since they were based on French versions and not the Spanish original. Gradually, however, literary tastes evolved. Herder, a leading poet and literary critic of the eighteenth century, commented on this aspect of human nature, writing that “Was eine Nation zu einer Zeit für gut, für schön, für nützlich, für angenehm, für wahr hält; könnte sie das zu einer andern Zeit für schlecht, für häßlich, für unnütz, für unangenehm, für falsch halten? – Und doch geschieht dies! [“What a nation at a given time considers good, beautiful, useful, pleasant

184 and true, could it [[the nation]] consider it, at another time, to be bad, ugly, useless, unpleasant and false?

And yet it happens!”] (29). Therefore, what was

once considered a solid translation suddenly seemed old-fashioned and inappropriate. Thus, although recognizing the importance of Bertuch’s rendition, Schlegel, a prolific translator in his own right, considered it an incomplete one due to, among other things, Bertuch’s having omitted some of the work’s poems and novellas.

According to Schlegel who, along with other Romantics, favored a

mélange de genres, such exclusions necessarily affected the novel’s interpretation. Consequently, once again, Bertuch’s work was faulted in a literary journal for its omissions: Die eingestreuten Gedichte wurden meist ausgelaßen, einige ernste Scenen verkürzt und eine beträchtlich lange Novelle blieb ganz weg; und was nach Wegnahme des poetischen Besandtheils nothwendig erfolgen müßte, das Komische und Burleske trat stärker hervor und wurde herrschender Charakter des Werks. [The poems scattered throughout the work were mostly omitted, some of the serious scenes abridged; and, what necessarily had to happen because of the removal of the poetic elements, the comic and burlesque emerged and became the dominant character of the work.] (A. W. Schlegel, “Leben und Thaten” 177) Not only did August Wilhelm believe that a new and more faithful translation was needed, he was also quite sure in his own mind the shape that translation should take: it should include everything that Cervantes had written. Perhaps recalling Breitinger’s words, written fifty years earlier, Schlegel and the other Romantics stressed the importance of faithfully translating an original work without omitting anything. They believed that, just as a symphony cannot be considered complete if one or more of its movements are omitted, no translation of

185 Don Quixote could be considered whole if it left out the work’s poems or novellas (F. Schlegel, “Nachschrift” 280). As mentioned earlier, the first German translators had dwelt simply on the comical aspects of Don Quixote. Rico comments on this in his Quixote edition: “La lectura del Quixote como libro de burlas que provocan la risa … fue la que predominó en los siglos XVII y XVIII [“The interpretation of the Quixote as a book of jokes that made people laugh … was the one that predominated in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries”] (18).

While Bertuch, on the other hand,

stressed the work’s satire, the Romantics saw even more depth in the novel. To them, Don Quixote represented poetry and Sancho Panza stood for prose or, put another way, fantasy versus reality (Minder 375-76). Therefore, in their opinion, it took all of the work’s various elements combined to form a unified literary masterpiece.

Consequently, in the eyes of the Romantics, Bertuch’s numerous

omissions were grievous errors that destroyed the essence of the novel. A. W. Schlegel summarizes the Romantics’ view of the interconnectedness of all the elements in Cervantes’s work in the following way: … die Dichtung des göttlichen Cervantes ist etwas mehr als eine geistreich gedachte, keck gezeichnete, frisch und kräftig kolorierte Bambocciate… ; sie ist zugleich ein vollendetes Meisterwerk der höheren romantischen Kunst. In dieser Rücksicht beruht Alles auf dem großen Contrapost zwischen parodischen und romantischen Massen, der immer unaussprechlich reizend und harmonisch ist, zuweiilen aber, wie bei der Zusammenstellung des verrückten Cardenio mit dem verrückten Don Quixote, ins Erhabne übergeht. [… the divine Cervantes’s poetry is something more than just cleverly thought up, impertinently drawn, freshly and powerfully colored Bambocciate [[an art form popular in the 17th century that depicted the everyday lives of ordinary people]] … : it is at the same time a perfect masterpiece of the highest romantic art. In

186 light of this, everything is based on the great contrast, which is always indescribably charming and harmonious, between parodistic and romantic elements and, at times, as with the combination of the mad Cardenio with the crazy Don Quixote, turns into the sublime.] (“Leben und Thaten” 177) In fact, Friedrich Schlegel felt so strongly the need for a proper translation that he briefly considered doing it himself. In an October 31, 1797 letter to his brother, he writes that: Unger hat mich letzthin gefragt, ob ich den Don Quixote wohl übersetzen wollte? – Da Uebersetzung klassischer Prosa, und Romankunst schon sehr mein Augenmerk sind, und noch immer mehr seyn werden, so war das gar nicht von der Hand. Eine Hauptschwierigkeit sind nur die Verse, die vorkommen. Willst Du Dir wohl den D. Q. einmal ansehen, ob Du das machen kannst und willst… ? Schreib mir doch recht offenherzig, … ob Du mir dazu räthst. … Ich habe eigentlich recht große Lust dazu. … Möchte ich aber nicht, so hätte ich … Zutrauen zu Tieck… . [Unger2 recently asked me if I really wanted to translate Don Quixote. Since the translation of classical prose and novels already has my attention, and always will, it was not out of the question. A main difficulty is the poems that are in it. Do you want to take a look at Don Quixote to see if you want to and can do it? Write me your honest opinion whether you advise me to do it. … I really feel like doing it … However, if I choose not to, … I would have confidence ... in Tieck.] (Kritische Ausgabe 33) Friedrich did change his mind; he and his brother decided they did not have the time to devote to such an important endeavor. Therefore, they encouraged their friend Tieck, whom they called “der rechte Mann dazu” [“the right man for the job”], to write a translation that would truly reflect Romantic theory, the literary philosphy in which they so firmly believed and about which they were so passionate (F. Schlegel, Kritische Ausgabe 46). Tieck’s youthful attachment to Don Quixote had continued into his adulthood. He considered the novel “das einzige Buch, in welchem Laune, Lust,

187 Scherz, Ernst und Parodie, Poesie und Witz, das Abenteuerlichste der Phantasie und das Herbste des wirklichen Lebens zum ächten Kunstwerk ist erhoben worden” [“the only book in which whimsy, joy, jokes, seriousness and parody, poetry and wit, the most fantastic elements of fantasy and the bitterest elements of real life are elevated to a genuine work of art”] (Kritische Schriften 184). Therefore, Tieck was happy to accept the challenge, not only because he held the work in such high esteem, but because he now disapproved of Bertuch’s translation, even though, as a teenager, he had been fascinated by it. In a truly ironic twist, Tieck now rejected Bertuch’s translation for the very same reason that Bertuch had rejected all earlier attempts: its failure, in his opinion, truly to capture Cervantes’s intent. In a letter written to A. W. Schlegel in December 1797, Tieck expresses his frank opinion of that rendition: … der Bertuch ist gar kein Don Quixote, er ist ein ganz andres Buch… , für das eigentliche Romantische der Novellen, für die herrlichen Verse, für die süßen Schilderungen der Liebe hat er gar keinen Sinn gehabt, er hat gemeint, seinen Lesern ein großes Geschenk zu machen, wenn er das meiste davon ausläßt. Wie wenig ist überhaupt die wahre Herrlichkeit dieses Romans erkannt! Man hält es doch immer nur für ein Buch mit angenehmen Possen. [… Bertuch’s [[work]] is not at all Don Quixote, it is quite a different book, …; he had absolutely no feel for the essential romantic elements of the novellas, for the glorious poems, for the sweet depictions of love; he thought he was giving his readers a big present by omitting the majority of them. In general, how little the real magnificence of this novel is recognized! People still consider it to be only a book of amusing farces.] (Ludwig Tieck 26) In the second issue of the 1799 edition of Athenäum, the Schlegel brothers’ new literary magazine, Friedrich expresses his delight that Tieck has accepted the mission. He felt that the promising young author was just the person to rectify the

188 mistakes found in all previous translations: “Ein Dichter und vertrauter Freund der alten romantischen Poesie wie Tieck muß es sein, der diesen Mangel ersetzen und den Eindruck und Geist des Ganzen im Deutschen wiedergeben und nachbilden will” [“It takes a poet and close friend of old romantic poetry like Tieck to make up for these deficiencies, return the spell and spirit of the whole work, and reproduce it in German”] (”Nachschrift” 281). The publication date for the first volume of Tieck’s four-volume edition, which appeared over the course of five years (1799-1804), was announced by his publisher Unger in the January 1799 issue of the journal Allgemeine LiteraturZeitung’s [General Literary Newspaper] Intelligenzblatt [special insert]. His brief article, entitled “Neue Übersetzung des Don Quixots, von Ludwig Tieck” [“A New Translation of Don Quixote by Ludwig Tieck”] states: “Von der im vorigen Jahr angekündigten neuen Übersetzung des Don Quixotte erscheint Ende Januars der erste Band in meinem Verlage. Für das Äussere wird so viel als möglich gesorgt werden, wozu noch der berühmte Künstler Wilhelm Meil in Berlin Kupfer liefert” [“The first volume of a new translation of Don Quixote, which was announced last year, will be published by my firm at the end of January.

As much care as

possible will be taken for its outward appearance, for which end the famous Berlin artist Wilhelm Meil3 will provide the copper engravings”] (38). In spite of this statement, the first volume did not appear until five months later, since Tieck was not known for meeting deadlines. In fact Friedrich Schlegel wrote his brother in December 1797 that “Der ganze D[on] Q[uixote] soll zu Ostern 1799 … erscheinen” [“The entire D[[on]] Q[[uixote]] should appear by Easter 1799”] (Kritische Ausgabe 56). Therefore, Unger issued a revised date of

189 publication in the May 25 Intelligenzblatt of the same literary paper. His entry is included under “Ankündigungen neuer Bücher” [“Announcements of New Books”]: “Leben und Thaten des geistreichen Edlen Don Quixote von la Mancha, von Migual [sic] Cervantes Saavedra, übersetzt von Ludwig Tieck. Iter Th. (Die hierzu gehörigen Kupfer von Hrn. W. Meil können erst beym letzten Bande geliefert werden” [“Life and Deeds of the Witty Nobleman Don Quixote of la Mancha, by Miguel Cervantes Saavedra, translated by Ludwig Tieck. Vol.1. (The copper engravings by Mr. W. Meil, which were to be included in this volume, will not be provided until the last volume)”] (516). Unger’s two announcements regarding Meil’s work notwithstanding, no drawings were ever included in this edition, nor did any appear in the 1810-16 second or 1832 third editions, although Chodowiecki’s work, due to his immense popularity and marketability, did appear in an unauthorized version that was published in 1818. It was not until Tieck’s fourth edition – mistakenly named his third –, published posthumously in 1866, that his work was illustrated.

That

edition contains 376 remarkable drawings, illustrations that touch on the phantasmagoric, by the noted French artist Gustav Doré.4 Tieck’s translation was an immediate success with most literary critics. Reviews of the first few volumes appeared in several noteworthy literary journals including, of course, the Athenäum. In the second issue of that journal’s 1799 edition, Friedrich Schlegel is exuberant in his praise of Tieck’s translation. In an article entitled “Nachschrift des Uebersetzers an Ludwig Tieck” [“The Translator’s Postscript to Ludwig Tieck”], he writes:

190 In Ihrem Don Quixote erkenne ich die reiche Zierlichkeit, die wohlklingende und gerundete Umständlichkeit der Castilianischen Prosa; in den Liedern und Sonetten glaube ich Laute jener süßen südlichen Poesie zu vernehmen, deren geistiger Geist und sinnreich zarte Gefühle uns noch so fremde sind. Ihre Arbeit hat uns einige schöne Abende verschafft… . [In your Don Quixote, I recognize the rich delicateness, the melodi-ous and rounded elaborateness of its Castilian prose; in its songs and sonnets I believe I hear the sounds of that sweet southern poetry, whose intellectual spirit and profoundly delicate feelings are still so foreign to us. Your work has provided us with many lovely evenings… .] (277) A second review, one rarely mentioned in Tieck scholarship, was by an author, identified only as Go., who wrote for the 1802 Neue allgemeine deutsche Bibliothek [New General German Library]. Like F. W. Schlegel, this literary critic especially appreciates Tieck’s ability to translate Cervantes’s poems: “Vornehmlich ist der Vorzug des … Fleißes, und des … Talents, in den poetischen Stücken sichtbar” [“His diligence and talent are obvious, above all, in the quality of his poetic pieces”] (364). However, not all reviews were as glowing as these two. For example, the infrequently mentioned reviewer for the 1801 issue of the same literary magazine was not as impressed with Tieck’s efforts as the others. Commenting on what he perceives as the author’s general inability to overcome the “nicht geringen Schwierigkeiten” [“less than minor difficulties”] of the numerous verses, the author discusses Tieck’s translation of one poem in particular: “Man bemerkt leicht das Steife, Unnatürliche und Sprachwidrige fast in jeder Zeile dieser Uebersetzung” [“One easily notices a stiff, unnatural and awkward tone in almost every line of this translation”]. He then continues, “in manchen andern poetischen Stücken ist

191 dieß noch häufiger und auffallender” [“in many other poems this is even more frequent and conspicuous”] (Km 314). Therefore, just as Bertuch had his admirers and critics, so did Tieck. Unlike Bertuch’s Aufklärung-inspired translation, which favored extensive footnotes, Tieck’s Romantic version contains none.

Some feel this is one of his

work’s drawbacks, since ordinary readers might not be as well versed in Spain’s unique expressions, customs, or historic and literary figures as its author (Km 314). In addition to the lack of footnotes, some critics also commented on his “Ungenauigkeiten, Fehler, und Auslassungen” [“inaccuracies, mistakes, and omissions”] (Rheinfelder 455). Nevertheless, perhaps due to Heinrich Heine’s5 kind words about it in his foreword to the anonymous 1837-38 rendition, it is Tieck’s version that is most synonymous with German translations (Heine, Sämtliche Schriften 151,162)

Repeatedly reissued over the centuries, its most

recent publication was in 2004, thus demonstrating the respect, despite its flaws, that it still garners today. It would be interesting, indeed, for another inquisitive scholar to pick up this work where I must leave off. What might an examination of Tieck’s version, like the one presented in this study of Bertuch’s translation, reveal? For example, how does the author render Spanish names, foods, money, and measurements? Do his poems more closely resemble Cervantes’s in form, meter and rhyme than do Bertuch’s? How does he treat religious practices and vulgarities?

Does

Tieck, like Bertuch, reorganize Cervantes’s sentences and paragraphs, or is he able to reproduce their ebb and flow? To what extent, then, does the Romantic

192 approach affect his work? The answers to these and many other questions would be most interesting. Bertuch’s work opened the door for Tieck’s rendition, which was but the first in a century filled with a spate of Quixote translations. For example, a third translation appeared almost simultaneously to Tieck’s.

Written by Dietrich

Wilhelm Soltau,6 it too had its critics, which included the Schlegels. However it also had numerous admirers.

It found favor, for instance, with the reviewer for

the 1801 Neue allgemeine deutsche Bibliothek, who commented on weaknesses in Tieck’s translation. He writes that “bey weiterer Durchlesung, die Soltauische Uebersetzung mehr befriedigt, und nicht nur in den ganzen Charakter des Originals mehr eingehend, sondern auch im Tone der Erzählung leichter und natürlicher geschienen habe” [“after additional rereadings, Soltau’s translation is more satisfying, and not only does it enter more into the original, but it also seems lighter and more natural in the tone of the story”] (Km 307). Other renditions, by a variety of authors – some still known today, others who have faded into oblivion – appeared in quick succession: 1825 (Hieronymus Müller), 1835 (Louise Hölder, adapted for children), 1837-38 (Anonymous; introduction by Heinrich Heine; much of it follows Bertuch’s translation), (1839-1841) Adelbert von Keller, 1867 (Edmund von Zoller), 1869 (Karl Lauckhard, adapted for children), 1877 (Wilhelm Lange, based on Soltau’s work), 1880 (Karl Seifart, adapted for children), 1884 (Ludwig Braunfels), and 1884 (Franz Hoffman, adapted for children). This trend continued throughout the twentieth century, when many authors reworked and modernized eighteenth-century translations, e.g., Will Vesper’s work, which was based on Bertuch’s rendition, and also those by Wilhelm Cremer, Wolfgang

193 Sorge, Walter Widmer and Konrad Thorer, to name but a few. One might even ask how their world view – for example, Will Vesper was a Fascist sympathizer – affected their texts. It was through these numerous translations, the seed for which was sown by Friedrich Justin Bertuch, that Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra’s Don Quixote was disseminated among German-speaking peoples. Even though the world’s numerous celebrations in honor of the quatercentenary of this famous work ended on December 31, 2005, the Knight of the Sad Countenance, his faithful squire Sancho Panza, and the novel’s ingenious author will live on, thanks in large part to these works. And it is through past, present and future translations that they will continue not only to influence authors, but also to inspire artists, weavers, composers, sculptors, playwrights, illustrators and, yes, even graduate students.

194 NOTES 1

(1758-1834) According to Gillies, Tychsen had traveled throughout Spain. Upon his appointment to the university, he began compiling “an important bibliography of Spanish literature.” It was on this marvelous collection that its reputation was firmly based (397). 2

(1755-1804) Johann Friedrich Unger was a well-known Berlin typefounder and publisher. He would publish Tieck’s first and second editions of Don Quixote. 3

Johann Wilhelm Meil was a renowned illustrator and engraver. In 1801, he succeeded Chodowiecki as director of the Berliner Akademie [Berlin Academy of Art]. 4

(1832-1883) Paul Gustav Doré was a famous Parisian book illustrator. His fantastic Don Quixote illustrations have been intimately linked not only with Tieck’s translation but with many others. 5

(1797-1856) Christian Johann Heinrich Heine was one of Germany’s most significant lyric poets. Just as Tieck was enchanted by Bertuch’s translation, Heine was fascinated by Tieck’s work. 6

(1745-1827) Soltau’s translation rivaled Tieck’s in popularity. Each author had staunch supporters who made a point of criticizing the other’s translation.

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219 ABSTRACT INFINITE OPTIMISM: FRIEDRICH J. BERTUCH’S PIONEERING TRANSLATION (1775-77) OF DON QUIXOTE by CANDACE MARY BEUTELL GARDNER MAY 2006 Advisor: Dr. Guy Stern Major: Modern Languages (German) Degree: Doctor of Philosophy Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra published the first part of his inventive novel, Don Quixote de la Mancha, in 1605. Literally overnight he went from a struggling writer, whose early renown had dimmed in the light cast by the major stars of Spain’s Siglo de Oro, to the most popular author in Spain.

At first

perceived as a delightfully whimsical novel about the exotic adventures of an eccentric knight and his rustic squire, the work’s fame quickly spread across Europe. This dissertation consists of five chapters, the first of which describes this work’s reception in Germany in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. In the second chapter, I discuss the life of the author Friedrich Justin Bertuch.

His

seminal 1775 translation of Don Quixote was the first, relatively complete, German rendition based solely on the original Spanish text, since two earlier versions (1683, 1734) were modeled on seventeenth-century French translations.

Ber-

tuch’s rendition contains not only Cervantes’ Part I and his 1615 Part II, but also Alonso de Avellaneda’s 1614 apocryphal Part II.

220 In the third chapter, I delve into various aspects of Bertuch’s translation including how he: foreignizes and/or domesticates elements like names, money, foods, measurements, exclamations and customs; deals with the novel’s religious references, profanities, and vulgarities; and treats Cervantes’s unique sentence structure and abundant use of present participles. Besides giving examples of both his word-for-word renditions as well as his translation mistakes, I also comment on Bertuch’s interesting addition of numerous alliterative and rhyming elements. The final point discussed is the significant influence other authors had on his work. The penultimate chapter of this work deals with the renowned artist Daniel N. Chodowiecki and the evolution of his Don Quxote illustrations for Bertuch’s various editions. Because he was the most prolific and popular illustrator of the eighteenth century, having Chodowiecki’s name on the title page of Bertuch’s translation assured its success. This dissertation concludes with an epilogue in which the Romantics’ translation theory, which differed substantially from Bertuch’s Enlightenment translation theory, is briefly presented, along with comments about their new interpretation of Cervantes’s work, and Ludwig Tieck’s 1799-1804 resulting translation.

221 AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL STATEMENT Candace Mary Beutell Gardner

After receiving my B.A. in 1969 and my M.A. in 1970 from the University of Michigan, with a major in German and a minor in Spanish and French, I began teaching those languages at Dearborn High School in Dearborn, Michigan. In 1972, I started attending evening classes at Wayne State University and continued taking classes at Wayne throughout my teaching career. I retired in 2001, after thirty years in the classroom, and decided to pursue my Ph. D., my own “impossible dream.” To achieve this dream, I applied to and was accepted by Wayne State University whose unique Ph. D. in Modern Languages enabled me to maintain my fluency in German, French and Spanish. With the personal attention and support afforded me by the remarkable professors in the Department of German and Slavic Studies, I was able to complete my course work in two years. I spent the next eighteen months gathering research for this dissertation. Since many of my sources date from the eighteenth century, it was necessary to visit the rare book rooms of many universities, both here and in Germany, in order to examine various texts.

The journey, both literally and

figuratively, is finally completed and was immensely interesting, challenging and rewarding.

I now look forward with great anticipation to what awaits me just

around the bend.